>S 2919 
 .S35 
 L895 
 ^opy 1 
 
 POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 MISS ELIZA J. STEPHENS, 
 
 OK 
 
 STEVENSON, CONN. 
 
POEMS 
 
 BV 
 
 Miss ELIZA J, STEPHENS, 
 
 STEVENSON, CONN, 
 
 SEYMOUR, CONN. 
 
 F'tablistied by A?V. C. SHARPE, 
 
 No. 72 Main Street. 
 
 1895. 
 

 t'l^^rsf^ 
 
POEMS. 
 
 i-^^ 
 
 THE STAR OF HOPE. 
 
 Tliou gentle star that kindly beams 
 
 Upon the weary traveler's sight, 
 When he has seen his brightest dreams 
 
 Fade as tlie day does into the night ; 
 Thou then dost cheer his lonely way, 
 
 And lift his drooping head, 
 And speak of pleasures yet for him 
 
 Though those he loved have fled. 
 
 Thou bidst the mourner cease to weep 
 
 And lift his eye above. 
 And think no more of death's long sleep 
 
 But of a Saviour's love. 
 Thou bidst him look beyond the grave 
 
 To scenes of bliss on high, 
 Where hopes shall never know decay. 
 
 And pleasures never die. 
 
 THE LILIES. 
 
 Sweet lilies are blooming in stagnaterl pools, 
 And shed a perfume the most dehc-i.te there; 
 
 They llouiish uustiuted amid the deep jiloom, 
 Unrivalled in beauty, in punty rare. 
 
 And thus by their presence redeeming a spot 
 Thatel.se would seem loathsome and full of decay. 
 
 And we are subdued by their iufluence sweet; 
 All sense but of pleasure is banished away. 
 
 Some mortals are living surrounded by ills, 
 And yet are themselves what is noble and pure, 
 
 So watchful and faithful in life's every work, 
 So patient, whatever they're called to endure. 
 
 By this is their presence most certainly known. 
 And hearts will be moved by their labors of love, 
 
 They're like the sweet lilies that bloom in the mire, 
 Upheld by the hand of the Father above. 
 
 THE DERBY EXTENSION. 
 
 They came from the crowded cities. 
 Those men of the tireless brain, 
 
 And roamed o'er the hills aud mountains 
 As well as the valley and plain. 
 
 A Starbuck and Stevenson came, 
 With surveyors, contractors and bosses. 
 
 Each eagerly looking for gains 
 And keenly forseeing the losses. 
 
 With transit and chain and level 
 They carefully measured the sod, 
 
 Where never before in the ages 
 A foot of humanity trod. 
 
 And when all the inches were counted 
 And noted down ever so nice, 
 
 Thiu all of these briars and brambles 
 Were liought at a liberal price. 
 
 And then came a host from Italia 
 And Erin, beautiful isle. 
 
 And hurrying hither and thither 
 Were jabbering all the while. 
 
 They slaughtered the kings of the forest. 
 
 As well as the tenderest shoot. 
 And lest there should be a revival 
 
 They burned them branches and root. 
 
 And rocks that were firm as a fortress. 
 
 And towering high in the air, 
 Were quickly broken asunder 
 
 And scattered everywhere. 
 
 And bridges were thrown o'er the chasm 
 
 Though yawning ever so wide. 
 And tunnels were made through the mountain 
 
 Aud streamlets forever wei-e dried. 
 
 And the sound of th« pick aud shovel 
 From dawn until dark was heard. 
 
 And quite too often was mingled 
 With none of the gentlest word. 
 
 With horses, and mules, and oxen. 
 With drag, wheelbarrow and car, 
 
 They shifted the dirt from the hillside 
 And scattered it near and far. 
 
 There were shanties along the roadside. 
 Anil tents on the meadows were seen. 
 
 And little was known of the Sabbath 
 As if there had none ever been. 
 
 Some men have been blown in fragments 
 Some blinded, and crippled beside. 
 
 Some wearily homesick have been. 
 Some alas! sickened and died. 
 
 But oft we've heard the rock-a-by song 
 
 Come floating over the hill. 
 And sung as none agaiu can sing. 
 
 Whatever may be their will. 
 
 As often heard the dancers' feet 
 
 Keep time on the old barn floor. 
 The music's hushed, that old tin pan 
 
 Is brighter than twas before. 
 
 But now the ties are all scattered. 
 The rails are holding them down. 
 
 And soon the brightest of engines 
 Will sweep us into the town. 
 
 Yes, now we have a new railroad, 
 'Tis puff and whistle and whew ! 
 
 But this is only the telling 
 What push and the cash can do. 
 
 CHANGE. 
 
 They lived, to us the world seemed bright, 
 'Twas song and gladness everywhere. 
 
 The skies were clear, the flow'rs were gay, 
 And fragrance lingered in the air. 
 
 They died, and what a change is wrou' 
 The world for us is wrapt in gloom. 
 
 And all our ways are lonely now. 
 For love outlives the deepest tomb. 
 
 ht. 
 
POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 I wasted health when young and strong, 
 For life was fair and promised length ; 
 I toiled, enjoyed with all my strength, 
 
 And never asked it right or wrong. 
 
 I wasted time in seeking place, 
 And scorned each homely duty done. 
 Nor felt the days glide one by one, 
 
 And leave me with no added grace. 
 
 I wasted love, for vainest things 
 Were oft enthroned within my heart, 
 Until they made of life a part. 
 
 And then alas! took airy wings. 
 
 And now when sick, alone and old, 
 I come, O gracious God, to thee; 
 And thou wilt welcome such as me, 
 
 And gather me within thy fold. 
 
 COMING FROM SCHOOL. 
 
 They are coming, happy children, 
 School is out and they're at play, — 
 
 Coming through the lane and orchard, 
 Surely not the nearest way 
 
 Rosy cheeks and eyes that sparkle, 
 Laugh that's ringing loud and free, 
 
 Constant din of childish prattle. 
 Not a heart hut's tilled with glee. 
 
 Koaming here and there 'mid flowers, 
 Playing drive, or take a ride, 
 
 (^ountmg o'er the mountain frolics, 
 Source alike of joy and pride. 
 
 Naught care they for wealth or fashion, 
 Bonnets swinging in the hand; 
 
 Fairy locks are freely waving. 
 Round the brows so deeply tanned. 
 
 Little hats are clutched half brimless, 
 Butterflies must now take care, 
 
 Earnestly, ea(;h youthful sportsman 
 Longs to take them in his snare. 
 
 Tiny feet are treading homeward. 
 By the brook and 'long the hill, 
 
 Pausing at each downy bird's nest. 
 And the rocks beside the mill. 
 
 Merry shout and songs and laughter, 
 
 Fall united on the ear, 
 Sweet enough to rouse the languid, 
 
 And the drooping spirit cheer. 
 
 They are weaving childish fancies, 
 Seeing through the golden light. 
 
 Everyday, as it advances, 
 Bringing something pure and bright. 
 
 Life with them is sport and pastime. 
 Earth a paradise of flowers, 
 
 And they revel 'mid its beauties. 
 Dreaming not of wintry hours. 
 
 Tell them not of their delusion. 
 Nor recite some woeful tale, 
 
 Better list to their rejoicings 
 Than to hear them sigh and wail. 
 
 Soon enough they'll share the anguish, 
 Soon enough will joiu the strife. 
 
 Bear the burdens and the crosses. 
 Know indeed what's meant by Life. 
 
 UNSATISFIED. 
 
 We ever long for things beyond, 
 And most for that which farthest lies. 
 
 As if the meaner gifts were ours. 
 And all withheld that we could prize. 
 
 We search for gold with greedy pains. 
 And when 'tis found we fear its loss, 
 
 And fret and weai- our lives away 
 To win and hoard the shining dross. 
 
 We seek for fame— the noisy breath 
 Of flattering crowds we pine to hear; 
 
 Where'er 'tis won, each word of praise 
 Was dearly bought with sigh and tear. 
 
 And much is envied beauty's dower, 
 Though frail as is the thistle down, 
 
 It dazzles only tor an hour, 
 And flies if sorrow do but frown. 
 
 But friends, and health, and faithful love, 
 These are of life the nobler part; 
 
 Oh, fling your baubles all aside, 
 And prize the joys that reach the heart. 
 
 A DAY. 
 
 The morning comes in splendor bright 
 
 With glittering dew and opening flowers. 
 Sweet songsters waken us to light' 
 
 And glory in these wondrous hours ; 
 We revel 'mid earth's choicest sweets 
 
 And gaze on beauty with delight, 
 Our senses quickened by repose 
 
 Throughout the long and peaceful night. 
 
 The noontide comes with busy hum, 
 
 And ceaseless steps of hurrying feet. 
 While voices quick and harsh and loud. 
 
 Proclaim the traffic of the street. 
 The sun holds fierce, relentless sway. 
 
 There's burning heat and sweat and dust, 
 And mortals fret and toil and wear, 
 
 And question ever why they must. 
 
 But gently falls the eventide, 
 
 A few soft clouds are in the west, 
 Sweet sounds are in the distance heard, 
 
 And zephyrs softly breathe of rest, 
 And man so zealous through the day 
 
 Is weatied out with all the strife. 
 And bows his head in thankfulness, 
 
 Then falls asleep, and this is Life. 
 
 THE EXILED EMPRESS. 
 
 Hera was a noble womanhood, 
 So full of rarest, sweetest grace, 
 
 So rich in goodness, showing forth 
 In love for all the human race. 
 
 A faithful wife, she gladly sought 
 The counsel of her husband wise. 
 
 And he in turn, accounted her, 
 Of all he held, the deavest prize. 
 
 A loving mother, e'en in death 
 Forgetting naught of tenderness, 
 
 She yearned her children to behold, 
 To bid farewell, once more to bless. 
 
 Still sighing for her native land 
 Until at last she fell asleep ; 
 
 Can it be wrong when such are dead 
 To pause awhile and o'er them weep ? 
 
POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 MAY. 
 
 The slumbering May awoke one morn, 
 And whispered to' the birds and flowers, 
 
 Come let ns roam o'er all the world, 
 And prove what love and grace are ours. 
 
 The fields are now all cold and brown. 
 My breath will warm them as I pass. 
 
 And you full soon can follow on, 
 Above the quickened springing grass. 
 
 Eight glad were they at this request, 
 They longed to beautify the earth ; 
 
 And soon each lonely nook and glen 
 Eesounded with sweet songs of mirth. 
 
 The blackbirds sang among the pines. 
 
 The robins warbled in the glade, 
 And e'en the modest little wren 
 
 Its simple song once more essayed. 
 
 And violets bloomed beside the brook, 
 And daisies starred the grassy plain, 
 
 And song, and warmth, and flowers made earth 
 A dear delightful throne again. 
 
 OUR HEROES. 
 
 We sometimes say the world has selfish grown— 
 
 That morials aie of meaner mold 
 Than were the heroes and the niartyis, all. 
 
 Who blessed the wondrous days of old. 
 
 Or else their story only was a myth. 
 
 Contrived by some ideal mind. 
 So prone aie we to doubt a worth exists. 
 
 That we have sought in vain to find. 
 
 But now our cavils evermore are hushed, 
 
 Our doubts to rest forever laid ; 
 And by the world, as 'twere one grateful heart, 
 
 A well-desei ved tribute's paid. 
 
 For noue more generous were than Peiiton, 
 "Who loved his life, but dared to brave 
 
 The awful water's madly raging flood 
 His fellow creatures' lives to save. 
 
 While yet all mindful of his peril stern, 
 
 Was rushing onward to his dwath. 
 Nor paused once, in all his faithful work, 
 
 ■'A warning cry his latest breath." 
 
 And saintly Crossett. who for love cf souls 
 
 Keliuquished all the joys of home. 
 And toiling, suffering, but still hoping on, 
 
 Was glad in heathen lands to roam, 
 
 If work of his could only bring true peace 
 To some poor sinner's troubled breast. 
 
 Ah, he was great, his labors still are known, 
 Though he has passed to promised rest. ' 
 
 And Damien, happy owner well possessed 
 
 Of every grace of form and mind, 
 A gift of love to all our erring race, 
 
 A hope to suffering human kind. 
 
 The outcast, and the leper stricken ones 
 Were objects of his tenderest care. 
 
 The sick, the poor, the friendless and forlorn. 
 Found him a friend, their griefs to share. 
 
 We'll call these heroes, right! ully they're named, 
 No lives were purer, mo.:e sublime. 
 
 No sacrifice of self was more complete, 
 A blessed memory's their's through time. 
 
 THE STARS. 
 
 Oh wondrous stars ! six thousand years 
 Those pure unchanging beams of light, 
 
 Have travell'd through immensity, 
 The crowning glory of the night. 
 
 For you were there on that glad morn. 
 When first creations work was done; 
 
 Tour songs of praise ascended with 
 The shouts of joy then just begun. 
 
 And when God bless'd as "very good" 
 The creatures of His mighty hand. 
 
 Ye had begun your tireless race 
 In grandeur too a matchless band. 
 
 While our Eden's perfect bloom. 
 Around that sinless happy pair. 
 
 Tour calm effulgence gently spread 
 A lustre as divinely fair. 
 
 And when was made that fearful plunge 
 From innocence to guilt so vast. 
 
 That angels wept o'er ruined man. 
 No clouds athwart your beams were cast. 
 
 But ye through sure appointment led 
 The path to where the Savior lay ; 
 
 A sacrifice complete for all. 
 A sacred teacher of the Way. 
 
 And while within the garden lone 
 
 He knelt in agonizing prayer; 
 When dear disciples soundly slept, 
 
 You kept the solemn watches there. 
 
 Nor can we doubt, but o'er the Mount 
 Where Christ for sinners did atone ; 
 
 You pierced the awful darkness through. 
 And 'round the cross in glory shone. 
 
 So when the angel roll'd the stone 
 Back from the portal of His tomb. 
 
 Ye were tne first, with chasten'd beams, 
 "To enter that sepulchral gloom." 
 
 And as He then revealed to man 
 
 A helper for each trying hour ; 
 So ye are ever showing forth 
 
 Eternal majesty and power. 
 
 And bidding us who fear to doubt, 
 Yet long to change our faith for sight ; 
 
 Be faithful and we yet shall find 
 Beyond your spheres a source of light. 
 
 CHANGE. 
 
 A summer day, how fair it broke. 
 With ceaseless song, and cloudless skies. 
 
 And fragrance wafted on the breeze, 
 From flowrets of a thousand dyes. 
 
 And thought was busy everywhere. 
 Each mortal had a separate plan 
 
 Of pleasure, or of good to win, 
 Or how to spend life's little span. 
 
 So in a quiet country home 
 
 Was heard the voice of childhood sweet. 
 And hopeful hearts, and loyal ones. 
 
 Went forth the ways of life to meet. 
 
 We know they were in joyful mood. 
 But what has joy to do with earth ? 
 
 And theirs were pure and noble souls. 
 But death spares not for youth or worth. 
 
 A moment's agony intense 
 That every nerve and fibre thrilled— 
 
6 POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 And they no more may know of earth. 
 
 THE SUNBEAM. 
 
 Each throbbing pulse forever stilled. 
 
 
 And soft the evening sliadows fell 
 
 I am a ray of sunlight, 
 A gorgeous dazzling thing 
 
 Across the hill and o'er the plain — 
 
 And flit about for pastime. 
 
 And hushed to silence every song. 
 
 Like bird upon the wing. 
 
 But with the dawn they'll rise again. 
 
 
 
 I rest upon the forest, 
 
 But desolate that lovely home, 
 
 And as the leaves unfold, 
 
 Its light and joy forever fled, 
 
 I give to them their colors 
 
 For those who glad went forth at morr;, 
 At night were sleeping with the dead. 
 
 Of purest green and gold. 
 
 
 I glance upon the river 
 
 
 Before as dark as night. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL LIVES. 
 
 Anon 'tis rolling onward 
 
 
 A wondrous flood of light. 
 
 Oh beautiful lives some are living. 
 
 
 Unheeded, it may be unknown. 
 
 I dart within the lily 
 
 That will never be wiitten in story. 
 
 To tiiid the dew-drop there. 
 
 Or graven on standard or stone. 
 
 And joy to make it sparkling 
 
 
 As any jewel rare. 
 
 So quietly doing their duties. 
 So patient with burdens to bear, 
 
 I tint the clouds of evening 
 
 That smother whatever of gladness 
 
 With deep and varied h-ie, 
 
 Their spirits could otherwise share. 
 
 And everj' morning give them 
 
 
 A shade of something new. 
 
 And such have I seeu, so devoted 
 
 
 To one who had blighted their life, 
 
 I burnish well the castle, 
 
 , Had wasted of talent and fortune 
 
 The halls of wealth and pride, 
 
 In vice and dishonor and strife. 
 
 For wh.it were all their splendors 
 
 
 If they had naught beside ! 
 
 Had made an abode of stern sorrow 
 
 I visit oft the cottage, 
 
 What ouce was a beautiful home ; 
 
 Had broken the heart of the mother 
 
 And look in at the door, 
 
 And driven the children to roam. 
 
 Because I know the children 
 
 
 Are playing on the floor. 
 
 And yet when by reason of weakness 
 
 I gild the pagan temple — 
 The Chiistiaii's house of prayer— 
 
 His steps he no longer could guide, 
 These friends gave an arm to support him 
 
 And never a word that would chide. 
 
 The foulest, as the purest. 
 
 
 Are objects of my care. 
 
 And watched with a pleasure unfeigned 
 
 
 Each slight indication of thought, 
 
 The aged and the infant — 
 
 Well knowing that his was a ruin. 
 
 The cradle and the bier — 
 
 That selfish indulgence had wrought. 
 
 I touch them all, but kindly, 
 As well the smile and tear. 
 
 And when at the last they had laid him 
 To slumber beneath the green sod. 
 
 And love awhile to linger 
 
 They buried his faults and his follies. 
 Commending his soul unto God. 
 
 Upon the grassy sod 
 That hides the mortal vesture 
 
 
 Of souls returned to God. 
 
 Ah, these had the spirit of martyrs, 
 And aie to such nearly allied ; 
 
 Oh mine's a pleasant mission, 
 So full it is of love; 
 
 They braved a whole host of misfortunes 
 
 And conquered ambition and pride. 
 
 And easily accomplished. 
 While floating here above. 
 
 ARE THEY WITH US? 
 
 SUMMER IS COMING. 
 
 Are they with us, who can tell me 
 
 Over the hill and the valley, 
 
 If the friends we helil so dear, 
 
 Over the mountain and plain, 
 
 That have passed beyoud our vision, 
 
 Joyfully summer is coming, 
 
 Come in spirit to us here? 
 
 Bringing her beauties again. 
 
 Do they leave the realms of glory, 
 
 See she is laden with garlands. 
 
 Mansions too of heavenly bliss, 
 
 Flinging them low at your feet ; 
 
 Where no pain or death can enter, 
 
 Colors the purest and deepe.st, 
 
 To revisit scenes like this? 
 
 Odors refreshing and sweet. 
 
 Leave companionship so blessed 
 
 Listen, for songs are her welcome, 
 
 As the angel host above, 
 
 With thousands of voices in tune, 
 
 Wishing still to linger near us, 
 
 Woodland and grove are resounding, 
 
 Watching over earthly love ? 
 
 Merrily usheiing June. 
 
 Have they known how we have missed them 
 
 Sunbeams are chasing the shadtnvs 
 
 All these long and weary years? 
 
 OiT from the velvety lea, 
 
 Known our heavy weight of sorrow. 
 
 Dancing and flitting like fairies, 
 
 Measured not by sighs and tears. 
 
 Mirthful, exultant and free. 
 
 'T would be sweet to know them near us, 
 
 StrOiiger and fresher and lighter. 
 
 Though too pure for mortal sight; 
 
 Every heart beats to-day, 
 
 'T would dispel life's deepest shadows- 
 
 Gently the spirit of summer 
 
 Earth would still seem fair and bright. 
 
 Bids us be hopeful for aye. 
 
POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 'Twas Spring, though tiny drifts of snow 
 
 Along the fence were seen ; 
 The trees had not put on their leaves — 
 
 The meadows were not green. 
 
 The sky had yet a Wintry look, 
 
 That cold and cheerless blue, 
 Save where the sunlight touched a cloud 
 
 With faintest rosy hue. 
 
 Just then, while standing in my door, 
 
 I heard as sweec a strain 
 As e'er had fallen on my ear. 
 
 Or ever will again. 
 
 'Twas but a robin's simple song ; 
 
 Yet 'twas so soft and clear, 
 It woke a thousand memories, 
 
 My heart still owned as dear. 
 
 It seemed, indeed, the very note 
 
 I heard long years ago. 
 While wandering by the brook one day. 
 
 To mark its changeful flow. 
 
 It called to mind the face and form, 
 
 And e'en the voice's tone, 
 Of those who sported wilb me then, 
 
 Though many years have flown, 
 
 Since eagerly we climbed that hill. 
 And sought and found the nest, 
 
 Where objects of untiring love 
 Their downy pillow prest. 
 
 I saw the looks of wondeiment, 
 
 And every childish word 
 Was fresh again in memory, 
 
 As if but lately heard. 
 
 They seemed to me as children still. 
 Each brow all smooth and fair ; 
 
 I could not think of them as changed 
 Since when I saw them there ; 
 
 It seemed as if the robin's song 
 Would find them just as gay ; 
 
 Their step as light, their cheek as fresh. 
 As on that Summer's day. 
 
 As if no chilling blast of care 
 
 Had ever o'er them swept ; 
 As if o'er no departed joys 
 
 They e'er had sighed or wept. 
 
 And yet I know it could not be, 
 
 For I have sadder grown ; 
 It cannot be of all that band 
 
 That I am changed alone. 
 
 COMPENSATION. 
 
 There's many a wreath for the conqueror bold 
 
 Who widens his country's domain, 
 Though every rood was bought dearly with blood, 
 
 And mothers are mourning the slaiu. 
 
 There's chapters and songs for the fortunate ones 
 
 Who win in the struggle for fame. 
 They give to our souls the sweet treasures of 
 '^ thought 
 And justly a tribute can claim, 
 
 We've praises for beauty, we marvel at wit, 
 Though both are so transient and vain, 
 
 Tbe wealthy are flattered, and everywhere 
 The mirthful are welcome again. 
 
 But Where's the reward of that noblest of work, 
 
 The ever-yday work of life. 
 The humblest of duties must needs be fulfilled 
 
 And peace make entreaty of strife. 
 
 Ah foolish are we that we dally with pride 
 
 When little attention is given, 
 To virtues that make the great comfort of life 
 
 And seek no reward but in Heaven. 
 
 THE LONELY WORSHIPPER. 
 
 It is related of Robert Thorn, a staunch old 
 Quaker, that after his accustomed church had 
 been almost depleted by death and removals, he 
 continued to worship there, with no companion 
 but Ills clog. 
 
 Where nature lavished many gifts. 
 
 Of wooded bills and valleys green. 
 Of bubbling- br-ooks and rivers grand, 
 
 Whose waters sparkled silver sheen; 
 A worthy Ijaud sought out their homes, 
 
 Apart from aught of worldly strife, 
 And gladly wrouglit in sweet content, 
 
 The noblest attributes of life. 
 
 They buildcd wisely, dwellings fair, 
 
 Anrl furnished them for use, not show. 
 They planted trees, and ate their fruit. 
 
 And reaped whatever they did sow; 
 They taught their children how to live. 
 
 To shun the hateful ways of sin. 
 And more than all the tongues of earth. 
 
 To heed the monitor within. 
 
 For they had styled themselves as Friends, 
 
 And steadfastly believing still. 
 That oft as sought, tbe Master gave 
 
 A revelatiou of His will — 
 And there in that sequestered spot. 
 
 They built a temple to the Lord, 
 And gathei-ed there from year to year, 
 
 And pondered on the sacred word. 
 
 In after times the young went forth. 
 
 Where fortune's wilder freaks were played, 
 And one by one the fathers slept, 
 
 And in their honored graves were laid : 
 Until of all those worshippers 
 
 There was remaining only one. 
 But he still followed out the course 
 
 He had in early life begun ; 
 
 And often as tlie Sabbath dawned. 
 
 He sought his old accustomed place, 
 He waited for a blessing there, 
 
 And felt the glow of quickened grace. 
 His faithful dog lay at bis feet, 
 
 Aud slept and dreamed the hours away ; 
 The quaint old man had holy thoughts 
 
 And visions of eternal day. 
 
 Oh. brave old man, what memories 
 
 Uncalled, would thrill his heart and brain. 
 And people all that sileut room 
 
 With those who ne'er would come again. 
 Oh, brave ohl man, that dared to look 
 
 Along the busy, changeful past. 
 That calmly faced that present hour. 
 
 While time from him was gliding fast. 
 
 His hopes were in the life beyond— 
 The ways and people here were strange. 
 
 His faith was steadfast in his God, 
 He waited only one more change. 
 
POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 RETROSPECTION. 
 
 The year is past, the one wo b< ileil 
 With mirth aud music, jost, and song, 
 
 Time has with steady, noiseless step, 
 Borue that as others, swilt along. 
 
 And 'twas alas like those before- 
 Had smiles of joy and tears of grief- 
 Had Tain regrets for yesterday, 
 Hopes of the morrow false and brief. 
 
 And earnest aspiration^ too,— 
 Deep yearnings for the pui o and good— 
 
 But when temptati<ma passed between, 
 Our feeble nature scarce withstood. 
 
 A present bliss o'ercame the faith 
 That light alone should triumph here; 
 
 We counted each piivaiion great, 
 And evevy trial thought severe. 
 
 "We sought for wealth, 'twas worse than rain- 
 For fame, and yet we found it nor, 
 
 And dreamed of love in hearts ot those, 
 Who had our very name forgot. 
 
 We made new friends, neglected old— 
 Nor thought at what a fearful cost. 
 
 Till later hours ol bitterness. 
 Had proved tlie worth of those we lost. 
 
 We heard some breathe the wedding vow, 
 And shared in scenes of festal mirth— 
 
 As oft we've looked upon the dead, 
 Or sat beside a lonely hearth. 
 
 And chequered thus with sun and shade, 
 Has been our path a few short years; 
 
 No day has been completely l)rigbt, 
 And none entirely tilled with tears. 
 
 And can we hope that years to come 
 
 Will have a fairer record page ; 
 Do we iu p tieuce still improve, 
 
 Aud does our strength increase with age. 
 
 It rests with us— nor blot nor stain 
 Can make the faintest impress there, 
 
 If faithfully we act our part. 
 Content alike to do ana bear. 
 
 ■ HEREAFTER. 
 
 We can but wonder, with our feeble .senses, 
 How flowers of fairest form aud purest shade 
 
 Can bud and blossom all unceasingly. 
 And never suffer blight aud never fade. 
 
 Or how sweet groves in all their strength and 
 grandeur. 
 
 And clothed iu verdure picked from every cbme, 
 Can live from year to vear nor lose their beauty, 
 
 Before that arch destroyer, ruthless Time. 
 
 While from the hills flow cool and sparkling foun- 
 tains, „ , , , 
 
 With which the streams of earth could never vie, 
 And oflTered free for every one that's thirsty, 
 
 Yet never troubled, neither ever dry. 
 
 And all these hills, that arc for everlasting. 
 
 Are resting in a must eflulgent light. 
 And gloomy clouds will never round them hover. 
 
 And never on them fall the shades of night. 
 And will this spirit, so afraid of leaving 
 
 A little mass of perishable clay. 
 Awake in presence of the great Creator 
 
 A living form that never shall decay ? 
 
 And can there be a love that's never waning, 
 A friendship pure that never will grow cold, 
 
 A beauty that's supreme and never fading. 
 And youthful strength that never shall grow old? 
 
 And stranger yet, will sin have no dominion. 
 Nor longer bind us with its galling chain? 
 
 Shall we no moiv, be tempted unto yielding. 
 And know no more of sorrow, guilt and pain? 
 
 Ah. this is only in the great hereafter;— 
 To mortal senses there must be denied 
 
 A perfect knowledge of the heavenly country 
 And joys that wait upon the justified. 
 
 INVOCATION TO HOPE. 
 
 O, come and sit beside my hearth. 
 Thou dearest guest of all on earth : 
 Come with thy kindly voice and smile 
 Aud help my weaiiuess beguile. 
 
 Wilt thou to me sweet counsel give 
 Of how I may serenely live, 
 I'm glad thou hast not tarried late. 
 Lest 1 perchance should war with faith. 
 
 For I have friends that careless prove— 
 They barken not to words of love ; 
 And hast thou known of such before. 
 And they returned to vex no more? 
 
 Will see I am by care opprest, 
 My hands are tired, my brain distressed; 
 VVliat, would not ask these cires removed ■ 
 So sweet to toil for those beloved. 
 
 But sure my griefs are hard to bear 
 So heavy and so great a share ; 
 Is't wrong to mourn those passed away 
 To happiness that lasts for aye ? 
 
 Well what of pains that know no cure. 
 
 If I still patiently endure, 
 
 Rejoicing ? Is it sure at last 
 
 Wheu care and grief and pain are past? 
 
 I thank thee, Hope ; thou art the best 
 Of earthly friends the tenderest. 
 But stay with me, for all the while 
 I need thy kindly voice and smile. 
 
 WRATH AND MERCY. 
 
 The angel of wrath as he pondered the world, 
 Beholding its hate, its deceit and its strife, 
 
 Its worship of gain and its hosts ot depraved, 
 Abusing the gift aud the blessings of life. 
 
 Besought as a favor that he for a time 
 Miglit hold undisputed aud absolute sway, 
 
 Might show to transgressors the power of his arm 
 And teach them at once to both fear and obey. 
 
 He boasted how soon there'd be nothing but good. 
 That wrong and its triumphs to; ever would 
 cease. 
 
 That force was the agency meant for control— 
 The rod was the greatest promoter of peace. 
 
 And with the permission what whirlwinds arose. 
 What deadliest pestilence lurked iu the air, 
 
 And lightnings descended with terrible stroke, 
 Aud famine, and deluge, and scorchings were 
 tliere. 
 
 And wretched humanity, burdened with woe, 
 Was driven to frenzy of rage aud despair. 
 
 And wai lings and curses were heard on each hand. 
 But still the stern angel would never forbear. 
 
POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 Till mercy's sweet angel at last interposed 
 With piteous pleadings commiiislcd witli tears. 
 
 "For what is a betterment worth," she would cry, 
 ' That's wrought by chastisement and gloomiest 
 fears ?" 
 
 She plead, too, the frailty and weakness of all, 
 -By nature imperfect since formed from the dust ; 
 
 And if a sore punishment fell on the bad 
 She prayed it should never descend on the just. 
 
 And when in due time her entreaties prevailed, 
 And wrath from its scourgings forever must 
 cease. 
 
 ITow glad was the summons borne over the world 
 For all to unite iu promotion of peace. 
 
 And then were rejoicings that came from the heart, 
 And surely their echoes re-sounded above, 
 
 For mercy had proved the best government known 
 Was ever the sacred commamlment of love. 
 
 WANDERING. 
 
 Two lovely children wandered forth. 
 
 As rosy ns the morn. 
 With l^eautiful and soul lit eyes. 
 
 And lips where smiles were born. 
 
 They laughed and prattled gaily on. 
 
 Sometimes a song would sing, 
 Then gathered pebbles out the sand. 
 
 And tossed them in the spring. 
 
 rincked flowers and played in meadows green, 
 
 Then sought the forest shade, 
 lu quest of cones beneath the pines, 
 
 Or mosses in the glade. 
 
 They listened to the thrushes' song. 
 
 The robins' simple lay, 
 And tilled their hands with drooping lerns, 
 
 That grew along the way. 
 
 Sometimes they trod on ctuel thorns, 
 
 The bitter cause of tears. 
 Anon some haish and weighty sound 
 
 Awakened all their fears. 
 
 But when the sun bade earth adieu, • 
 
 And vanished in the west. 
 The little ones together cried. 
 
 Let us go homo and -rest. 
 
 We laugh at childhood's simple ,joys, 
 
 And e'en its gravest care. 
 And yet our lives are much the same, 
 
 In trifles still we share. 
 
 If disappointed we are sad. 
 Successful we are blest. 
 
 And when our day is done, we sigh- 
 Let us go homo and rest. 
 
 DOUBTING. 
 
 " I cannot pray in the dark, mamma, 
 
 1 am afraid God will not hear, 
 t)r if he does, can't .see it is me," 
 
 So said a little child sincere. 
 
 Ah, we that are older sometimes feel 
 
 It is so dark we cannot pray, 
 Wo sometimes feai- that God will not hear, 
 
 Jiut has in anger turned away. 
 
 And yet wo know that His promises 
 Aril sure to those who pray aright. 
 
 No darkness ever beclouds liis view, 
 llis grace aflords us needed light. 
 
 EARTH'S TREASURES. 
 
 The dearest smile is that which greets 
 
 The wanderer from his native land. 
 Who, houseless, homeless, journeys on 
 
 Where few his speech can understand; 
 But if his call at plenty's door 
 
 Is answered with a kindly smile. 
 Though hungry, cold and lonely too. 
 
 It brightens life a little while. 
 
 The sweetest lips are those that breathe 
 
 In nirrcy's soft but meaning tone, 
 Ot peace and pardon, full and free. 
 
 Awaiting the repentant one ; 
 That bring a message full of hope 
 
 Where health and wealth have been denied, 
 Or whisper tender sympathy 
 
 To those overwhelmed by sorrow's tide. 
 
 The fairest hands are tho.se that soothe 
 
 The brow that's racked by feverish pain — 
 That bind up wounds as with a baldi 
 
 Restoring them to health again ; 
 That feed the poor of every kind. 
 
 In lowly hut or wildwood haunts. 
 That give to age a friendly aid, 
 
 And minister to childish wants. 
 
 The purest hearts may ne'er possess 
 
 What most delights the vain and gay ; 
 They bow not to ambition's rule 
 
 Nor yield to pride's delusive sway, 
 But rich in justice, peace and truth ' 
 
 They live earth's sordid things above. 
 Contented well in duty's sphere, 
 
 And happy in unselfish love. 
 
 THE OLD MAN'S MEDITATION 
 
 We're growing old, our eyes have not 
 The perfect sight of early years; 
 
 They're growing dim, we know it well, 
 Thank God they are not dimmed by tears. 
 
 Our ears no longer catch the sound 
 As once they did of lightest word. 
 
 And yet the gentle tones of love 
 Are even now distinctly heard. 
 
 Our cheeks have not that healthful glow 
 Our hearts do not as wildly leap. 
 
 But oh, we have a sense of joy 
 As constant as 'tis calm and deep. 
 
 We know our tread is not as firm 
 As when in youth o.- manhood's prime, 
 
 But wo are keeping step full well 
 With others in the march of time. 
 
 We're passing onward to a land 
 Where age will never dim the sight 
 
 And there, though lacking lustre now. 
 Our eyes will beam with heavenly light. 
 
 And softer, sweeter sounds by far 
 Will fall upon our q\iickened ear, 
 
 Thau e'er in brightest moments we 
 Have heard or even fancied here. 
 
 There blooming cheeks will never fade, 
 
 Our hearts will there beat light and free- 
 There gloomy sorrow never comes. 
 There sighs and tears will never be. 
 
 If treml)ling limbs and feeble steps 
 Will only bear us to that shore, 
 
 How joyfully we'll journey on 
 To tlwell in bliss tor evermore. 
 
10 
 
 POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 THE OLD DESERTED HOME. 
 
 'Tis sad to see a torn and battered roof, 
 And weeds grown rank beside the garden wall, 
 
 Sweet flowers run wild, once kept by careful hands. 
 Lone paths where children's feet were wont to 
 fall. 
 
 And sadder yet to enter silent halls 
 That echoed erst to greetings glad and sweet, 
 
 While memory triumphs over change and death, 
 In visions of the group we used to meet. 
 
 And as we wander on from room to room. 
 Each brings to mind some past endearing scene 
 
 That gently strikes a chord within our hearts. 
 And makes a fading recollection green. 
 
 While once again we faithfully recall 
 The features of some long forgotten face, 
 
 The kindly accents of a loved one's voice. 
 Or some dear form of most bewitching grace. 
 
 We seem again to see those blooming youth 
 Rejoicing in their golden dreams of life ; 
 
 Those aged friends still round the fiie.'ido cling 
 In sweet content, apart from worldly strife. 
 
 We think how much of hope bad here its birth, 
 Was fondly cherished, too, and now is fled; 
 
 How many fears, what anxious cares were known 
 That bulled lie in ashes of the dead. 
 
 How much of great resolve and patient toil. 
 What aspiraiions for a truer sphere. 
 
 Made beautiful and fragrant to us still, 
 The transient lives of those who JDurneyod here. 
 
 How many heie have shown abiding faith, 
 And love as constant as their very breath ! 
 
 Here some awoke at first to mortal life, 
 And some have closed their weary eyes in death. 
 
 These memories consecrate the rudest spot. 
 Forever dear to us though far we roam. 
 
 Whene'er we turn, amid ojr busy life, 
 A reverend look upon our early homo. 
 
 WORLD'S FAIR GREETING. 
 
 Hail lovers of progress, hero's greeting to day, 
 And thoroughly earnest of sympathy too. 
 
 While reverence "due to the old we accoiil, 
 Our hopes of the future are all in the new. 
 
 Hail masters of thought, through whose efforts 
 sublime , ■ -, 
 
 The grandest of triumphs have oft been achieved, 
 Your record is here writ in letters of love, 
 By thousands you've beltered, and thousands 
 relieved. 
 Hail toilers and workers in each worthy sphere. 
 You stand where the greatest of living have 
 stood, ^ , - • 
 
 Yoi'r lives so unselfish, one great meed of prai.-e. 
 To him that is giver of all that is good. 
 
 So come all ye people in friend.ship allied, 
 Come join with us, celebrate our natal day. 
 
 Bring otf'oriugs to each the best of its kind, 
 And here on this altar of Thanksgiving lay. 
 
 CHILDISH DREAMS. 
 
 our chiMisli dreams were all too brigbt- 
 
 So rosv of the coming clay— 
 We nothing knew of busy cares— 
 
 Or griefs that lurked along the way. 
 
 We laid our plans of ple^isurc well, 
 And thought 'twas living to enjoy— 
 
 We ne'er had felt relentless pain 
 That comes to blight, perhaps destroy. 
 
 We built our castles towering high ; 
 
 Had visions fair of wealth and fame; 
 Was sure that all could gather gold. 
 
 And al) who wished could win a name. 
 
 Wc thought each kindly word sincere, 
 And jironipted by a kindly heart. 
 
 Nor could believe that smoothest tones 
 Too oft concealed a venomcd dart. 
 
 Oh yes, our dreams were all too bright 
 And vanished one by one away— 
 
 But they were pleasant for a time ; 
 Their memory is sweet today. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 And what of hope; ah sure my friend, 
 
 Thou wcrt a wreck today. 
 If all the good that hope has brought 
 
 To thee were swept away. 
 
 If all the strength it can impart 
 
 To meet the ids of life. 
 Should fail thee, 'twere an evil hour 
 
 And thou must quit the strife. 
 
 For even to sweet childhood's dream 
 
 It gives the dearest joy, 
 It paints the future rosy hued. 
 
 Unmixed with care's alloy. 
 
 And 'tis the steady, firm support 
 
 Of our maturer years, 
 I« lifts the drooping spirit up, 
 
 And banishes our fears. 
 
 It is the priceless boon of ago- 
 Dispelling all of gloom- 
 Still whispering the promises 
 Of life beyond the tomb. 
 
 ARBUTUS. 
 
 These dainty clusters, pink and white. 
 So mingled with this leafy green. 
 
 Awaken peasant memories 
 Of many a delightful scene. 
 
 Too well I knew thy rugged home. 
 This lonely wild on mountain side. 
 
 Where hemlock, pints, and laurel grow, 
 And in their shade thy verdure hide 
 
 No mortal hand has tended thee. 
 Or guarded thee with selfish care, 
 
 Ami yet, ere winter snows were g^ne, 
 Thy fragrant bloom perfumed the air. 
 
 A struggle must be thine to live 
 In such a lone, secluded place. 
 
 But if 'twas desolate before. 
 Thy presence gives it wondrous grace. 
 
 And who can say 'twas not for this, 
 A Being full of love has made 
 
 Thy homo amid the moss and rocks, 
 And bids thee live, and bloom in shade 
 
 For often in some favored dell, 
 Such lloral masses we can see. 
 
 That with their beauty and perfume, 
 It cannot have a need of thee. 
 
 And thou art in thy fitting sphere. 
 Though anywhere an added charm, 
 
 A Mighty Being planted thee. 
 His love has shielded thee from harm. 
 
POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 11 
 
 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 
 
 Purest lily of the valley, 
 Sweetest flow ret that I know, 
 
 Welcome, in tiay simple beauty, 
 Leaves so dark, and bells like snow : 
 
 Thriving most when thou art hidden 
 From the careless gazer's eye — 
 
 Gaudy neighbors win attention, 
 Charms like thine are passed by, 
 
 Till thy fragrance, ever seeming 
 Like a breath from heaven above, 
 
 Draws them back, to look upon thee, 
 Only to admire and love. 
 
 So some unobtrusive spirits, 
 Too much dreading worldly glare, 
 
 Seek some quiet nook of Nature — 
 Dwell unknown, unheeded there. 
 
 Minds resplendent in their beauty. 
 Hearts the world would jov to know, 
 
 Scatter blessings upon mortals 
 All unmindful whence they flow. 
 
 EVENTIDE. 
 
 Give me the harp. I fain would sing 
 A varied song of days gone by, 
 
 Thou needst not stay, but if thou must, 
 Alike to me are smile or sigh. 
 
 What matters now thy praise or blame. 
 Thy pity, or thy deepest scorn, 
 
 Thou canst not cloud those sunny days. 
 Nor make the saddest less forlorn. 
 
 As he who's passed through winter's cold. 
 Anon through summer's burning heat, 
 
 Is gad when comes the autumn time, 
 To And at last a calm retreat. 
 
 So I can sit and calmly take 
 
 A quiet look along the pa.st. 
 Not long the way, but oh the work, 
 
 In hopes and fears to me how vast. 
 
 Yes, I had hopes, and far too bright, 
 For aught but youth's delusive dream, 
 
 I looked at life through rosy light, 
 Aud how delightful did it seem. 
 
 I saw a path with pleasures spread, 
 A wreath of honor for my brow. 
 
 And all the grandeur gold could buy, 
 But Where's that fooiish fancy new? 
 
 I might have spared those wakeful nights. 
 Those days of constant toil and care, 
 
 And known as much of fame as now, 
 And had of wealth as gieat a share. 
 
 For is it mnch in poiLt of fame 
 That half my neighbors scarce can tell, 
 
 Wheo asked of me, what name I bear. 
 Or o'en ihe street wherein I dwell. 
 
 And as for grandeur, idle theme, 
 How little gold would serve to buy 
 
 This plate and board from which to eat, 
 This simple bed whereon to lie. 
 
 Nor have I trod those pleasant paths, 
 
 Kesorts of gaiety and ease, 
 Where friendship ever has her reign, 
 
 And every thing designed to please. 
 
 Yet mine has been no bitter lot, 
 No gloomy night without the day 
 
 Though clouds were often thick and dark, 
 A sunbeam chased them all away. 
 
 Some hopes were surely not in vain, 
 Some friends have proved themselves as true. 
 
 The world was always beautiful, 
 A life beyond was kept in view. 
 
 And this has made me what I am, 
 
 Contented, trusting One divine. 
 Yielding to wisdom infinite. 
 
 This solfi.sh, erring will of mine. 
 
 HENRY 
 
 STANLEY, 
 
 Oh great explorer, gladly going forth. 
 
 To succor in most dire distress, 
 A fellow laborer in the same great work 
 
 Of savmg men from wretchedness. 
 
 Delaying not because of rebel hosts 
 Or traitor's arts that morn depress, 
 
 The fearful juDijles, or the ba?ren ■waste 
 Or dangers of the wilderness. 
 
 But suflering, and well pleased to endure 
 
 Until the rescue sure was made — 
 Then nature's strength first yielded to the strain 
 
 And fell disease upon thee preyed. 
 
 But Providence had kindly raised thee up, 
 
 And counted not thy labors done. 
 For wondrous siiihts were yet in store tor thee 
 
 Beneath the glow of Afric's sun. 
 
 Wdd mountain ranges, with their peaks of snow. 
 Stood frowning there, though all alone. 
 
 And mighty rivers thundered on their course. 
 To all our race but thee unknown. 
 
 And forests tall and far extending too. 
 Whose wealth had never been foretold, 
 
 And sunny plains outstretched before thee lay 
 Where stranger's foot ne'er pressed the mold. 
 
 And lakes, that ne'er had mirror'd such a face. 
 
 Responsive gave a look to thee, 
 And thoughtful people thronged about thy way 
 
 That were a goodly race to see. 
 
 But after a'l the wonders thou hast seen. 
 So much that gave sincere delight, 
 
 A simple church surmounted by a cross. 
 Was unto thee a rapturous sight. 
 
 And 80 it is, though honors thee await, 
 For all those gracious deeds of thine, 
 
 Thy noble heart holds sacred in its love, 
 That symbol of the gilt divine. 
 
 AN OLD STORY. 
 
 A child once wandered in a wood 
 Where reigned the wildest solitude, 
 No sound of living thing he hoard. 
 Save now and then some little bird. 
 As it to try its tiny throat 
 Warbled a clear melodious note — 
 So as he slowly walked along 
 He sang some snatches of a song, 
 Softly he murmured the simple strain. 
 Softly echo repeats it again. 
 
 He sang again each self-same word, 
 And soon those very notes he heard ; 
 They banished pleasure from his breast. 
 And filled it with a deep unrest. 
 For thinking 'twas some hateful boy 
 That sang to mock ?Tid to aymoy, 
 
12 
 
 POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 He looked around with angry mien, 
 But, nowhere could such boy be seen ; 
 Truly ho wished for a meeting there, 
 Insult like that he'd not tamely boar. 
 
 no shouted then in fiercer tone, 
 
 His words came quick, bad words alone ; 
 
 Harsh names he called enough to wound 
 
 The heait of those who caught their sound. 
 
 All those soon fell upon his ear. 
 
 It maddened him those words to hoar, 
 
 And rushing from that lonely spot 
 
 He sought his mother in lier cot. 
 
 Hoping for comfort, he made complaint, 
 
 E'en while his anger knew no restraint. 
 
 A boy ho said had him abused, 
 Had mocked at him, and t )0 had nsed, 
 Bi d words he would not speak again, 
 Lest thev should give her bosom pain. 
 But such an in.=;ult every look 
 Told plain his spirit ill could brook. 
 The mother gazed upon her child. 
 She took his hand, her manners mild, 
 Calming the wildly excited youth. 
 She bade him list to this simple truth. 
 
 'Twas but the echo of thy voice. 
 
 Hiid pleasant words but been thv choice, 
 
 Thou wouldst have them as clearly hoard, 
 
 The murmur of each gentle word. 
 
 I,ot this a lasting lesson be. 
 
 And may it useful prove to thee. 
 
 The world the feeling will return 
 
 That in thv bo.som s Cms to burn — 
 
 Dost thou thy follows unkindly treat. 
 
 Surely wilt thou the like usage meet. 
 
 But if thv actions speak of love 
 Thy gentleness their hearts will move, 
 And snn.shine from thy spirit thrown 
 To gladden those who pine alone, 
 Will bring such joy into thy heait 
 As time and change ne'er make depart, 
 Will banish clouds fiom thee away 
 And make thy life one pleasant day. 
 Ever may this in thy niemorv iivo, . 
 Thou wilt receive like that thou dost give. 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Again we greet thee Christmas morn, with rev- 
 erent grateful he.arts, ^ ^ „ 
 
 Rejoicing in our Maker s love, and hope that He 
 ' im)>arts. 
 
 Though undeserving still, we claim IIis mercies 
 more and more. 
 
 Though much we ask. He freely gives the bless- 
 ing we implore. 
 
 Our mighty Lord remembered us, He knew our 
 
 feeble frame, 
 He knew our strengh would weakness prove, 
 
 when strong temptation came. 
 And when He saw us deep in sin. as rebels each 
 
 arrayed, . ^^. 
 
 He pitied and He loved us too, for this Ills arm 
 
 was stayed.. 
 
 Until that babe at Bethlehem brought joy to all 
 our rare, 
 
 Made glad indeed the Father's home, the inimit- 
 able space. 
 
 Brought light to every darkened mmd, and peace, 
 the greater prize, 
 
 Was bought for all by that dear Son, the earth 
 born sacrifice. 
 
 And that sweet song the angels sang, long cen- 
 turies ago. 
 
 Has never lost one note of love in all its ceaseless 
 How ; 
 
 That mes.sage of goodwill and peace, resoumling 
 everywliere. 
 
 Has power to soothe the pains of death, and cure 
 the soul's despair. 
 
 THE LEATHER MAN. 
 
 He came from a land of sunniest skies — 
 
 And beautiful vine clad hills, 
 Wliere blossoms unfold theirloveliest dyes — 
 
 And bubble clear founts and rills. 
 
 Forsaking all those in earliest prime, 
 
 Wliile favored with strength and grace- 
 Though never a working ol guiit or crime 
 Was written upon his face. 
 
 A stranger was he, without friend or kin— 
 
 A being indeed forlorn. 
 And wandering hither and thither was seen, 
 
 With pity, but not with scorn. 
 
 Though children at first beheld him with fear, 
 
 And huiriedly by him past. 
 And many a home when lir.st he drew near. 
 
 Had doors securely made fast 
 
 His language we illy could understand. 
 But sometimes in sweetest tone. 
 
 He sang a dear hymn so hopeful and grand, 
 It seemed the hope was his own . 
 
 His clothing of leather was ne'er out of date, 
 
 He wasted uo time in talk- 
 But whene\ er seen, if early or late. 
 
 Was Soberly on the walk" 
 
 But never a word was he heard to say 
 
 Of parent or child or wife, 
 An:l naught of the woe that made him a prey 
 
 And wrecked his reason and life 
 
 And never but once was he seen to smile. 
 
 And that when a child at play 
 With very winsomeness seemed to beguile 
 
 The care from his Ijreast away. 
 
 He sought for the deepest, loneliest wood. 
 
 Afar Irom the haunts of men. 
 And there in the dreariest solitude 
 
 He slept in his cheerless den 
 
 And often as asked why choosing his way 
 
 "So sorry, ' was the reply, 
 If sorry for what, he only would say 
 
 "For much,'" and then breathe a sigh. 
 
 And so at last, when racked with pain, 
 
 Refusing all proflered aid. 
 He feebly crept to his cavern again. 
 
 And death's stern summons obeyed. 
 
 Oh well may we pray the Father of all 
 
 To guide us with His liand, 
 Life's a struggle, the bravest ma}' fall, 
 
 The yielding can scarcely stand. 
 
 THE EYE. 
 
 Within those depths how much we trace 
 Of earnest thought e'en when the face 
 
 Is passionless and cold, 
 The will may do its utmost there, 
 The wily tongue as oft forbear. 
 
 And yet the tale be told. 
 
POEiMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 13 
 
 We read of hope, we lead of fear, 
 See eyes that weep, thuuf,'h not a tear 
 
 Is coursing down tlie clieek. 
 Know well the sympathetic flow 
 Of feeling deep for others woe, 
 
 The lips may never speak. 
 
 We read ambitions fltful strife. 
 It- secret cares that waste the life. 
 
 Whatever be its aim, 
 Its disappointments stern and dread. 
 That bleach the hapless mortal's head 
 
 Who seeks fcr wealth or fame. 
 
 Deceit with all her coward train, 
 But proves her labor lost and vain, 
 
 She is no mistress there. 
 No art of hej 's can truly hide 
 The hateful glance of sellisli pride, 
 
 Or scorns ilisdainful stare. 
 
 When fiery anger fills the brea-it, 
 A look betrays the fierce unrest 
 
 By which the .-^oul is stirred, 
 More venom th .n those rays can dart 
 More fury kindle in the heart 
 
 Than any taunting word. 
 
 We see the softened light, when love 
 The spirit's tenderness would prove, 
 
 By beauty's potent charm. 
 So mild, so gently then tliey beam, 
 'Tis strange such orbs can ever gleam 
 
 With aught that tells of harm. 
 
 Oh wondi'ous index, written iiage 
 
 Of all our thoughts from youth to age, 
 
 A gift divinely given 
 This world were happier far I ween, 
 Did we but see them as they're seen 
 
 By purer eyes in heaven. 
 
 A VISIT TO PLEASANT VALE. 
 
 The following very happy poetic de.sciiption of 
 what is kii(>v\n as 'PleaMaiit Vale" extending lioiu 
 Zoar Bridge on the Ilousatonic to ilie location of 
 the Dawson Woolen factory, will be familiar to 
 lliDSo who were acquainted with the place seme 
 yeais ago. It mark.s the changes of time in that 
 locality very feelingly : 
 
 And this i.^ dear old Pleasant Vale, 
 
 One.' so familiar to my sight, 
 Uere is the fair extended view, 
 
 A youthful fancy's loved delight. 
 
 Again I hear the river's song. 
 And mark its rapid ceaseless flow. 
 
 And watch it shimmer in the suu, 
 As in the days of long ago. 
 
 This is the path I used to tread 
 At early morn and close of day, 
 
 'Tis worn as smooth and winds about 
 The same inexplicable way. 
 
 Here was the store where dainty sweets 
 Were placea in jars to tempt our gaze, 
 
 How covetous we soon become. 
 
 What spendthrifts too in childish ways. 
 
 This building has a brighter look, 
 Aud more of dainties in display, 
 
 But time has wrought its wonted change ; 
 I pass without regret today. 
 
 My >oad is near the mountain's base, 
 Huge rocks o'erhead 'twould seem might fall, 
 
 While mosses grow on every ledge, 
 And wild flowers bloom about ihem all. 
 
 The blacksmith shop was just beyond. 
 Where truant ones were sure to tire. 
 
 They loved to watch the smithy's work 
 And lingjr round his cheerful fire. 
 
 There's nothing now to mark the spot. 
 Except the weeds are ranker grown. 
 
 And bits of coal are mingled with 
 A shapeless mass of dirt and stone. 
 
 A little farther was a cot, 
 
 With roses clustering round the door, 
 The house is gone, its habitants 
 
 Are dwelling on the brighter shore. 
 
 And now I roach the quaint old church, 
 A long and well remembered place, 
 
 Time was when mid its worshippers 
 I scarce beheld a stranger's f ice. 
 
 Again 1 stand upon the step. 
 
 And look within the open door, 
 How quickly memory pictures there, 
 
 The listening throng that met of yore. 
 
 The quiet graveyard is clo.se by, 
 Each stone bears some familiar name, 
 
 And here and there an epitaph, 
 The sleepers' virtues yet proclaim. 
 
 In childhood oft I sought this ground. 
 
 To me 'twas neither sad or drear, 
 For cheerily the blackbirds sang. 
 
 In groves of pines then growing near. 
 
 And on the hillside just below, 
 We found fine ferns and berries sweet. 
 
 And made beneath the maple shade 
 A mimic house we thought complete. 
 
 Thornde stone bridge still spans the stream, 
 Wheie yoirthlul anglers tried their skill, 
 
 Till many torn and brimless hats 
 
 VV^ere proof they'd labored with a will. 
 
 Below the bridge a wealth of mint, 
 
 And r jshes tall and thrifty grew. 
 We gathered these at morn and noon, 
 
 Now happly other children do. 
 
 The school house is the very same. 
 That memory long has held so dear. 
 
 For happier hours I ne'er have known. 
 Than those that passed so quickly here. 
 
 Those youthful friends, where are they now ? 
 
 I try to trace their worldly lot. 
 Though some have erred, and some are dead, 
 
 Among them all there's none forgot. 
 
 The stern old scholar too who came, 
 And questioned us in ancient lore. 
 
 Has passed beyond our mortal ken. 
 And wiser is than e'er before. 
 
 He had his faults, we'll pass them by, 
 His virtues our remembrance claim, 
 
 And now that we are growing gray. 
 Will ever kindly speak his name. 
 
 The factory's hum is heard no more,. 
 
 For ruin there is all complete. 
 And nothing breaks the silence now 
 
 But babbling brooks, and .songsters sweet. 
 
 But this is still dear Pleasant Vale, 
 (A homely spot to some it seems,) 
 
 But passing through it once again, 
 Kecalls for me life's brightest dreams. 
 
14 
 
 rOEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 BE ACTIVE. 
 
 Oh, never sit with folded bauds 
 And tliiuk "Tlieie's notUiiig I can do," 
 
 As iuiu{;lit that's made wan made in vain, 
 There surely is a work for you. 
 
 So much of health, and strength, and youth. 
 
 So luauy giacos of the miud. 
 To waste away in indolence, 
 
 'Tis plain enough was ne'er designed. 
 
 'Twa.s not for this that Plenty sniilcd 
 Upon the home that gave >ou hirth ; 
 
 'Twa.s not for this that fr lends were yours, 
 As true as any friends of earth. 
 
 But since you own these preciou.s gifts. 
 Prove you possess a grateful heart, 
 
 Oil, pray be doing all the while. 
 Lest you sbould lail to act your part. 
 
 There's woi k fur you ou eitiier side, 
 A work that's noble and sublime; 
 
 If done, 'twill be .^our munuiuent 
 
 When you have passed the bounds of time. 
 
 You might perhaps lead some away 
 From paths of darkness and of .nin — 
 
 Might waken thoughts of purity, 
 Where now all seems so foul within. 
 
 There's many weak desponding ones 
 
 Who bow to every trilling care, 
 Oh, do I heir drooping spirits cheer, 
 
 For gloom is half the load they bear. 
 
 There's many lonely mourners too. 
 Who slowly pine away with grief 
 
 But gentle words of s\ mpathy 
 To such afford a sweet reliel. 
 
 The sick and poor are everywhere, 
 Their anguish they alone can know. 
 
 How much distress you might relieve, 
 Witli what of aid you can bestow. 
 
 Then live in earnest, while you live, 
 Improve each swiflly gliding hour, 
 
 Be doii.g good where'er you can. 
 Do it with all your heait and power. 
 
 Who breathed into this clod of clay 
 A living, feelii g, anxious soul ? 
 
 Whence and what are we, who can tell 
 And what is this stupendous whole * 
 
 THE INQUIRY. 
 
 Awake my soul, a flood of light 
 Is poured upon the world around, 
 
 A Hood of glory, that my sight, 
 My mortal senses cannot bound. 
 
 Awake and read this cumbrous chain 
 That I have wound about my brow. 
 
 How long 'twas sought, and yet 'tis found, 
 A burden and a torture now. 
 
 I see the forests many dye'd, 
 
 A beauty in each falling leaf. 
 Yet cannot read the mysteries 
 
 Of anything so frail and briet. 
 
 And mu.sic floats upon the air 
 
 From birds of many colored wing, 
 Whence comes the plumago that they wear 
 
 Who taught to each the .-iongs Ihoy sing ? 
 1 sit beside the deep blue sea. 
 
 And list' the waters as they go, 
 A thousand st cams ai'e mingled there. 
 
 But tell me whither can they flow ? 
 
 Whence comes the fragrance of the rose, 
 Who formed the dainty lily's bell, 
 
 Who raised the lofty mountain height 
 Or made the silent leafy dell? 
 
 THE OLD CHESTNUT TREE. 
 
 I woulil we might hear thy story, 
 
 Thou beautiful Chestnut tree ! 
 Methinks 'twould be worth the hearing, 
 
 As every lesson should be. 
 
 For certain it is thou wert planted 
 
 By none but the hand divine; 
 As carefully watered and guarded, 
 
 Where softly the sunbeams shine. 
 
 Perhaps thou w'ert one of .a forest 
 
 That grew in wonderful pride, 
 For the Oak was tall and stately 
 
 That flourished at thy siile, 
 
 And yet, when the winds of autumn 
 
 Swept over the lonely bill. 
 They snapt it, and tossed the branches 
 
 Aijout with furious will. 
 
 But thou bast past, in thy grandeur. 
 Through tempest so bravely borne. 
 
 That tho'iigh thou art wrinkled and rugged 
 There's none of thy beauty shorn. 
 
 And we can but think of the changes, 
 
 So wonderful all around, 
 Since thou wert a tiny It aUet, 
 
 Just bursting from out the ground. 
 
 How fierce and bitter the conflict.s. 
 
 That seemed as never to cease ! 
 How precious the blooil that purchased 
 
 Our country's enduring peace ! 
 
 For all of the.se homes about thee, 
 
 And many gone to decay. 
 Have risen to their existence 
 
 Since first was begun thy day. 
 
 Perhaps the red man of the forest 
 Here planned his sway to increase. 
 
 And when the rude battle was over 
 'Twas here smoked the pipe of peace. 
 
 And maybe he taught his children 
 
 Here first how to use the bow, 
 And watched with delight as he saw them 
 
 The beautiful deer laying low. 
 
 Perhaps the wild beasts in their prowling 
 
 A covert sought in thy shade ; 
 Fierce birds too have swept fnnn thy branches, 
 
 And furious onslaught made. 
 
 The honej' bee here found a tlwelling. 
 
 And stored abundance of sweet ; 
 An<f squirrels too here bail a resting — 
 
 A quiet and safe retr. at. 
 
 And songsters their notes have warbled 
 
 From out thy leafiest screen. 
 And children around thee have sported 
 
 As gaily as ever was seen. 
 
 For gathering nuts was a pastime 
 
 Of which none ever could tire. 
 And every autumn brought tliem 
 
 Fulfilment of their desire. 
 
 Now all this picture is ended 
 
 By hurry and work anew ; 
 But thou art a gift of Nature, 
 
 That many delight to view. 
 
POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 15 
 
 THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 The New Year comes, all myrtle crowned, 
 And bearing brimming cups of wine; 
 
 His breath is sweet with mirth and song, 
 His robes with very whiteness shine. 
 
 He bids us don our gay attire. 
 And taste o( pleasures rich and rare ; 
 
 And sings of life a syi'cn's song, 
 Attuned to some delusive air. 
 
 TheVe's time, he says, for us to toil. 
 When just a few more mouths are flcwii : 
 
 Why should we wait on carking care. 
 When joys like these may be our own. 
 
 Why should we choose to join the throng, 
 Who burdens lay on heart and brain? 
 
 As if the very haiids that sowed, 
 VV'eie sure to reap the golden grain 
 
 Too well he knows his subtle power, 
 Full well he knows our love of ease, 
 
 How soon we shirk whate'er annoys. 
 For what is light and meant to p. ease. 
 
 Too long we've listened to his wiles. 
 We've trifled more than two score years; 
 
 'Tis time we answered duty's call, 
 So long unheeded by our ears. 
 
 'Tis time we gave our thought and strength 
 To work, lest we should feel the shame. 
 
 Of having liveil out all our days. 
 And nothing done to earn a "name. 
 
 For soon with grizzled head and beard. 
 The year itself will haste away, 
 
 And leave us with repioaches too, 
 For every lost or misspent day. 
 
 THE LEAVES. 
 
 The Autumn wines were blowing 
 With all their fearless might, 
 
 And ma<le the hil s and forests 
 A sad and cheerless sight; 
 
 While thick along my pathway. 
 The fading leaves v\ere seen, 
 
 With hues much like the rainbow. 
 Instead of simple green : 
 
 And as I slowly walked along 
 
 Upiin this carpet fair, 
 Tiiinking of cast es here <m earth. 
 
 Or building some in air; 
 
 1 saw a leaf both bright and green, 
 
 Still cliiiging to a tree, 
 Instinctively I paused awhile. 
 
 To note its destiu}'. 
 
 When lo! a sudden gust of wind 
 Soon snapped it from the stem, 
 
 And fresher than the other leaves, 
 It lay along with them ; 
 
 But scarce was it upon the ground 
 
 Ere all were borne way— 
 I saw that in the chilly blast 
 
 It fared the same as they. 
 
 And then I knew, what first I might. 
 
 Had it but been my care, 
 That in the changes great for all, 
 
 Each leaf must bear a share. 
 
 With us, mcthinks, 'tis much the same, 
 Our life, tliough not as brief, 
 
 Has many changes, and as great 
 As those that 'wait the leaf. 
 
 Thougii some may seem to be more blest 
 
 Than others for awhile. 
 Have more of health, and more of wealth. 
 
 And more of friendship's smile, 
 
 Yet soon lieneath misfortune's blast, 
 
 We see them sadly fall, 
 And then we learn that grief and change, 
 
 Alike await us all. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 Wild Asters bloom beside the road, 
 With Goklen Itod the pasture's gay. 
 
 And leaves are brightening on the the trees 
 As Autuui winds begin their away. 
 
 The Thistle's down floats on the air 
 Like little fairies clothed in white, 
 
 While cricKeis chirp aiuid the glass, 
 And buds are southward taking flight. 
 
 Ko biilliant butterflies are seen, 
 They vanished with the summer's heat. 
 
 But bees are huiumiug all around 
 And gathering their stores of sweet. 
 
 The Iriiit is dropping fiom the bough.s, 
 And fii'lds of coin all ripened .stand,' 
 
 And nuts are scattered on the ground 
 For troops of children near at hand. 
 
 The woods a darker shadow cast 
 And they no more resound with song, 
 
 The evening air is damp and chill, 
 And Kali-Dids their cries prolong. 
 
 And so wo gather 'round the fire 
 And watcU the embers fade and glow, 
 
 Aud meditate on days to come 
 
 When earth is wiapt in ice and snow. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 We linger here a little time, 
 Amid these scenes that ever change. 
 
 But whether dark or whether biight, 
 Xhtre's always something new ami strange. 
 
 And wo are ever changing too, 
 
 Fiom when we Hist behold the light, 
 
 Until our mortal day Is done. 
 And we are borne beyond the night. 
 
 We all have had some blessed hope 
 That sometiiues raised our spirits high, 
 
 And all have had depressing fears 
 Whose memory still brings a sigh. 
 
 And sometimes joy has been a guest 
 From which we hoped to ne' er part, 
 
 But sorrow came with awful power 
 To chill and crush the bravest heart. 
 
 We've all had friends whoso tireless love 
 Ciave life its dearest, sweetest char.j, 
 
 We've had our foes whoso only wish 
 Would seem to be of doing harm. 
 
 We've tasted pleasures, idle, vain, 
 Aud fleeting as the early flowers, 
 
 But i»ain came lasting and severe. 
 
 We womlered why so much was ours. 
 
 And darkest doubts will surely come, 
 
 And question of the life above, 
 But faun may triumph over all 
 
 And lead us to the laud of love. 
 
IG 
 
 POEMiS BY MLSS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 How glad aro tho homes when the children are born 
 There's thankfulness, feasting and mirth, 
 
 As each little moi tal, a being to love, 
 Awakes to the beauties of earth. 
 
 And glad are the hearts if the children prove fair. 
 Have cheeks that with roses can vie. 
 
 Hive brows that are lofty and lips that are curved. 
 Are thoughtful and dreamy of eye. 
 
 But great the rejoicing if too they are good. 
 
 And loving what's noble and pure, 
 For brow, cheek and lips are soon blighted by time, 
 
 Uut goodness may ever endure. 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 The snow li' s deep o'er vale and hill, 
 
 Fur not a tiace of earth is seen, 
 Save just a ciicle brown and dark, 
 
 lieneath some stately evergieen ; 
 And compensation then is made 
 
 For leaving bare the trunk below ; 
 By giving to each stooping bough 
 
 A gentle drift of fleecy .snow. 
 
 The torrent we were wont to see 
 
 its foi ming waters grandly pour 
 Adowu the crags and o'er the rocks, 
 
 Is hii.shed as if forevermoie. 
 And like a castle hung in air 
 
 It glitters in the morning sun, 
 With lofty icy baitlements. 
 
 And crystal turrets quaintly done. 
 
 And beautiful the clouds of frost 
 
 Thai hover 'round the mountain's brow, 
 At tiist a thin and silvery veil, 
 
 But tinted like the rainbow now. 
 How well their beauty does accord. 
 
 As gi'acefully they float along, 
 Wilh mu.--ic wafted through the pines 
 
 Which seems the sp irit of a song. 
 
 What myriads of travelers too 
 
 There is abroad both day and night. 
 Though footprints left are all the proof 
 
 That often greets the human sight. 
 But thick beneath the sturdy oak. 
 
 And 'round rtbouc the chestnut tree, 
 And among the gardens withered weeds, 
 
 The tracks are wonderful to see. 
 
 And paths are hard on many hills. 
 
 Worn smooth as glass by tiny feet. 
 For sure, without the ice and snow. 
 
 The children's jo.vs were ne'er complete, 
 With rosy cheeks and flashing eyes. 
 
 With merry laugh and shout and song, 
 Now flrst they leara to prize their time. 
 
 For quite too swift it speeds along. 
 
 They must divide the precious hours 
 
 Between the sports of skate and sled. 
 And half the figures they can make 
 
 Upon the ice would turn your head. 
 They leave the hili and seek the pond. 
 
 Then hie again from pond to hill, 
 And though to labor not a friend, 
 
 Are laboring with an earnest will. 
 
 But many joys the winter beings 
 For those long past their youthlul years. 
 
 or ijuiet ease, and plenty joined. 
 
 And friendly intercourse that cheers, 
 
 And though it has a chilling voice, 
 A grasp that often makes us start. 
 
 There is no winter we should dread 
 Unless 'tis winter of the heart. 
 
 But if the wealth of love is hid. 
 
 And checked the flow of feeling warm 
 
 The souls best attributes are dead. 
 And living is a useless form. 
 
 BELIEVING. 
 
 Be sure there's some believe ia good, 
 That faithfully perform their part. 
 
 And would rejoice if all were blest. 
 And peace enthroned in every heart. 
 
 That steadfast hold the ancient faith 
 That each will meet their ju.st reward, 
 
 And reverence still the sacred word 
 As revelation from the Lord. 
 
 And strive to keep alive the hope 
 The world grows better day by day, 
 
 That all grow wise with wisdom learuecl 
 Each in their own peculiar way. 
 
 And some there are with souls so great 
 They live all selfishness above. 
 
 And laboring for the good of all 
 They triumph by the power of love. 
 
 SELF. 
 
 He turned aside from anght of pain, 
 
 Nor lent a listening ear to grief. 
 In old or young such heartlessness 
 
 Was strange, almost beyond belief. 
 
 He gave no alms to those in need. 
 
 No sympathy for all their woe. 
 Not even kindly words he said. 
 
 That bless the heart from whence they flow. 
 
 And love, hia love was all for self. 
 His hedit had no responsive chorda, 
 
 He longed for piaise, for flattery. 
 The meed a trifling world awards. 
 
 But when misfortune came to him 
 
 He wondered that his ftieuda wore few, 
 
 He had not seen as others saw. 
 The world was wiser than he knew. 
 
 TRIALS. 
 
 The way is lonely ; friends we loved, 
 The friends who made our journey bright 
 
 Have suifered, and have passed beyond 
 The farthest range of mortal sight. 
 
 Our paths are rough, and we forlorn 
 Have sought for aid on every side; 
 
 But when misfortune's torrent sweeps, 
 Neglect will surely swell the tide. 
 
 And we have toiled with all our .strength 
 For what we've seen our fellows gain ; 
 
 To them it came unsought, unasked. 
 But all our patient toil was vain. 
 
 In sickness and in sore distress 
 
 We've tound that sy iipathy was rare ; 
 
 Companions asked why should we fret, 
 For we the common lot must share. 
 
 And so it is; why should we fret 
 At sickness, sorrow, pain or loss, 
 
 Since none can hope to win a crown 
 Who faint and falter 'uoath a cross. 
 
POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 17 
 
 BE GENTLE, KIND AND TRUE. 
 
 Be gentle, friends, in word and deeil, 
 
 For liarshness is a hateful sin, 
 And oft o'erthrows a wealth of good 
 
 That gentleness were sure to win. 
 
 Be kind to all, however good 
 
 There's none that's free from woe and care, 
 And those who tread forbidden paths 
 
 Must still your kindly pity share. 
 
 Be true in all that you may say— 
 
 With friend and foe alike sincere- 
 True to yourself in living well, 
 AVith faitli in God and conscience clear. 
 
 IN THE WOODS. 
 
 Here in the woods the gra.ss is tall, 
 
 But lowly bends as if to hear 
 The hosts of nature hasteninj; 
 
 To beautify and bless the year. 
 
 The breeze has blown the old dry loaves 
 From olf the fragrant winter green, 
 
 And winter clover fresh and bright 
 In pretty rivalry is seen. 
 
 Here's wind flower and the drooping fern, 
 And moss in blossom under trees, 
 
 Jack in the pulpit preaching, too, 
 A sermon that is sure to pleise. 
 
 Here's oak and chestnut, maple, beech, 
 Hemlock and ced<tr, trembling pine, 
 
 The lowly shrub, and rankling weed, 
 And here and there a clasping vine. 
 
 Beside the brook is liverwort 
 And violets both white and blue, 
 
 Th« Mayflower in a wealth of bloom 
 And beautiful strange orchids, too 
 
 Here little squirrels frisk about. 
 
 But watch me with attentive eye, 
 And rabbits sit in underbrush 
 
 And peer around alert and shy. 
 
 Here's music perfect, of its kind, 
 Now soft and low, then loud and strong, 
 
 As robin, thrush and wren unite 
 In one unceasing flow of song. 
 
 Sure, here is pleasure true for those 
 Possessed of hearing and of sight ; 
 
 Nothing that will the senses pall, 
 A healthful and a pure delight. 
 
 UNDER THE SNOW. 
 
 The flowers that made the meadow bright, 
 
 The buttercups and daisies white, 
 
 The violets of deepest blue, 
 
 The fragrant crimson clovers too. 
 
 Where are they now ? I see them not; 
 
 The bee no longer haunts the spot, 
 
 Nor butterfly yet lingers there 
 
 To dine on such delicious fare; 
 
 But o'er the valley, o'er the hill. 
 
 The wintry wind sounds loud and chill, 
 
 And where the sweetest flowers did blow, 
 
 'Tis laying now the drifts of snow. 
 
 The forest, oh, how gi'aud a sight 
 When bathed in the summer's golden light. 
 When all so woudrously arrayed 
 In leaves of every form and shade; 
 
 The mighty oak, the mountain's pride. 
 Close by the quivering Aspen's side ; 
 The tasselcd birch, the cone-clad pine. 
 Arranged in harmony divine — 
 But now their lofty branches rise 
 In mournful grandeur to the skies; 
 They seem as if in silent woe. 
 Their leaves are lying 'neath the snow. 
 
 'Twould seem the streamlet had a voice. 
 That bade each careful lieart rejoice, 
 As gliding on through grassy meads. 
 O'er shining sands, through tangled weeds, 
 Now dark and slow, then swift and bright, 
 First touched by shade, then bathed in light. 
 But making sweetest music ever, 
 'Till lost in some wild flowing river ; 
 Today we hear no babbling brook, 
 Nor on its waters gladly look, 
 The ice has stopped its gentle flow. 
 It Ues concealed beneath the snow. 
 
 How bright the hopes we had last year. 
 Our path seemed smooth, our sky how clear 
 Those hopes on airy wings have flown. 
 Those cherished dreams, alas, are gone, 
 But spring will come with ready hand 
 Will wave her beauty giving wand, 
 And meadow flowers again will blow. 
 And forest leaves all brightly glow; 
 And so to us new hopes will come. 
 As bright as those already gone. 
 And then our tears will cease to flow 
 O'er hopes as dead as flow'rs 'neath snow. 
 
 ENCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 I saw a plant that just had sprung 
 
 From out the teeming earth. 
 And 'twas a pale and puny thing, 
 
 That seemed of little worth. 
 
 And the young thing grow close beside 
 
 A ruin d; rk and tall, 
 When cold and dark throughout the day 
 
 The gloomy shade would fall. 
 
 And There it stood for many weeks, 
 
 Yet scarcely seemed alive ; 
 At last I bore it far from thence 
 
 To see if 'twould not thrive. 
 
 I placed it where refreshing dews 
 
 Wonkl fall at close of day. 
 And where the sun might warm to life, 
 
 With its reviving ray. 
 
 And soon a lovely, beautiful plant 
 
 Rewai'ded well my care ; 
 Where once was naught but tiny leaves, 
 
 Were blossoms sweet and fair. 
 
 Methought how many, like this plant, 
 
 Dwell in unfavored homes — 
 Where dewy love, and sunny hope, 
 
 And friendship never comes. 
 
 And there they stay, and droop and pine. 
 Perhaps grow sick and bad — 
 
 And think their lot of all that live, 
 Is surely the most sad. 
 
 But give to them the helping hand, 
 
 And bid them courage take. 
 And place them where the dawn of love 
 
 Upon their night will break ; 
 
 And see how soon those woful looks 
 Give place to looks of health, 
 
 And founts of feeling there gush forth. 
 Unbounded in their wealth. 
 
18 
 
 POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 I oft have heard the merry laugh 
 
 Of children at their play- 
 It came from hearts of purity, 
 
 As sweetly pure as they. 
 
 I've heard a song from beauty's lip, 
 
 It's melody was rare, 
 And failing softly on my ear, 
 
 It seemed to Ijanish care. 
 
 The murmur of the waterfall, 
 
 The music of the bird, 
 I own these have a magic power, 
 
 Tliat oft my soul has stirred. 
 
 And yet, by tar the sweetest sounds, 
 
 E cr borne upon the air. 
 Were words that bre.ithed of hope and peace 
 
 To hearts of dull despair. 
 
 Methinks the angels pause to hear, 
 
 A sound so truly sweet. 
 Rejojced that from a vi'orld like this, 
 
 Such sounds their ears can greet. 
 
 TO MY BROTHER. 
 
 Since thou art gone how lonely is our home. 
 How desolate the place which once was glad : 
 
 Past is the lovely Spring and Summer's bloom,— 
 But still we mourn thee, still our hearts are sad. 
 
 We wander through each old familiar room. 
 Where our companion thou wast wont to be. 
 
 And seeing them the same as in the past, 
 We look around, but look in vain for thee. 
 
 We for the moment fail to realize 
 
 The sad, the fearful work wliich death has done ; 
 How cold and still the heart that loved us lies,— 
 
 Forever hushed when life had just begun. 
 
 Here is thy chair in its accustomed place, 
 Thy books still lying on the table by. 
 
 Thy pictures hanging on the wall— all these 
 Reminding us of thee, will meet the eye. 
 
 But oh, we miss that happy beaming smile. 
 That gladdened all with whom thou chanced to 
 meet. 
 
 We miss the accents of that well-known voice, 
 Whose every tone for us was music sweet. 
 
 We miss that cheerful spirit so resigned 
 Whatever ills of life were thine to bear; 
 
 But most we miss the sympathizing friend. 
 Who shared alike our joys and deepest care. 
 
 Where e'er we turn, our thoughts are still of thee 
 At morn, at noon, or at the evening hour; 
 
 Death could not rob us of thy memory. 
 Time only has a gentle soothing power. 
 
 And yet 'tis well, tho' we've known much of care 
 Though dark with sorrow were the paths we've 
 trod, 
 
 If wc shall gain at last the eternal rest— 
 At last are with thee, and thenceforth with God. 
 
 BEAUTY. 
 
 The spirit of Beauty has many a dwelling, 
 Delightfully varied in form and in place; 
 
 It niakoth its home on tho earth and the water, 
 And surely it fllleth the heavenly space. 
 
 It glows when the earliest flash of a sunbeam 
 Is gilding the opening gates of tho day, 
 
 And ever ita presence is round and above us. 
 When softly the daylight is fading away. 
 
 And night, the deep night, his a glory that's 
 matchly. 
 That beam.s in the light of each wonderful .star, 
 We look from the earth when 'tis shrouded in dark- 
 ness 
 To beauty and majesty mingled afar. 
 
 And ocean forever the story is telling. 
 Of waves that are tossing iu grandeur and might, 
 
 We listen with awe to the sound of the waters. 
 Rejoicing and trembling too at the sight. 
 
 And see on the mountains the bright buds of 
 springtime 
 Are clothing the trees that through winter were 
 bare. 
 How gently the breezes are swaying the branches, 
 And glad we behold them for beauty is there. 
 
 The rocks that were towering boldly and grandly, 
 Are fringed with mosses of every hue. 
 
 And down where the brooklet soltest i.s flowing 
 Are violets bloommg of loveliest blue. 
 
 The swallows are flying about the old ruin, 
 A robin and wren the decayed tree have found. 
 
 And sparrows, the sweetest of songsters, are 
 singing. 
 And buildins 
 
 ground. 
 
 their nests in dry grass on the 
 
 And rosiest children are watching and waiting. 
 Expectantly too for a sight in the nest, 
 
 Thus early admiring the bright gifts of Nature, 
 Themselves of her beauties the sweetest and best. 
 
 THREE CROWNS. 
 
 A homely cot, where want and toil, 
 Had ever close companions been. 
 
 Where learned guest with brilliant talk 
 Was never kuown to enter in. 
 
 But here a noble thoughtful yonth 
 Was constant poring o'er his book. 
 
 And nothing could his search beguile. 
 Though worn and pallid was his look. 
 
 When some deplored that in such work 
 He would his youthful spirits drown, 
 
 (Ambition here had found a slave) 
 He said, "I seek a scholar's crown." 
 
 And one there was in early prime, 
 A strong and self reliant man, 
 
 With all the plentitude of grace, 
 A r.iind to execute his plan. 
 
 "My father is a king," he said, 
 
 "And I his loyal only son, 
 I have no war to wage with fate, 
 
 My crown has been already won." 
 
 Another came in humble garb. 
 Who scarcely drew a passing glance. 
 
 So often going to and fro, 
 It only seemed as if by chance. 
 
 And yet he always seemed intent. 
 Serene and gentle too his mood. 
 
 He wished for none to herald him. 
 His days were spent m doing good. 
 
 When asked his hope of a reward 
 He said, "May I deserve some day 
 
 The promised crown of righteousness. 
 The gift that fadeth not away." 
 
POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 19 
 
 MURDOCK GILLIS. 
 
 Mnrdoct Gillis rescued the crew of the schooner 
 Avenger by swimming a long distance with the life- 
 line through a boisterous sea in a blinding snow 
 storm. 
 
 In one of winter's blinding storms, 
 While waves were topping wild and high, 
 
 A vessel grounded on a rock 
 And all on board it seemed must die. 
 
 Afar from shore and numbed with cold, 
 Each close the others' face could scan, 
 
 For tenor bated every breath, 
 And all were looking strangely wan. 
 
 In vain they launched their only boat — 
 The waves seemed glad to show their power — 
 
 What wonder that their cheeks were blanched, 
 It was indoeJ a feaiful hour. 
 
 Then loud was heard the captain's call. 
 
 In spite of all the awful loar, 
 "Is there a man who dares to swim 
 
 And bear the life-line to the shore 1" 
 
 And quick an earnest voice replied — 
 
 "Aye! aye! sir, I will be the one ; 
 Make fast the line, God granting strength 
 
 Tou need not fear, it shall be done." 
 
 An active, able man was he. 
 
 Well used upon the sea to ride ; 
 A mighty wave swept him along. 
 
 And bore him to the mountain side. 
 
 But lo ! 'twas rock, so steep and bare, 
 
 That he no footing could obtain. 
 He labored bravely for awhile. 
 
 And then was drawn to ship again. 
 
 But after rest, yet undismayed. 
 His work of peril tried once more ; 
 
 His ettbrts met their just reward. 
 He made the life-line fast on shore. 
 
 And then a stronger line he drew, 
 And made it more securely fast, 
 
 And all that seeming fated crow. 
 Were safely bronght to shore at last. 
 
 Ah, Gillis beats an honored name. 
 
 He acted well a noble part. 
 And while in life those friends remain, 
 
 He holds a place in every heart. 
 
 IN THE SPRINGTIME. 
 
 I heard a sound of music unmeasured float along, 
 In breezes from the mountain, and in the brooklets' 
 
 song, 
 The merry langh of childhood, the feathered war- 
 
 biers' note. 
 United in an anthem as from one tuneful throat. 
 And questioning my heart I said, what voice like 
 
 this can sing? 
 Its quickened pulses answered, it is the voice of 
 
 Spring. 
 
 Before me lay the river, its waters silver bright, 
 
 Around were grassy meadows in mellow golden 
 light. 
 
 The forest trees were waving their branches high 
 in air, 
 
 And beautiful the blossoms that clustered here and 
 there, 
 
 I asked whence came this beauty pervading every- 
 thing 
 
 And Nature sweetly answered, it is the smile of 
 Spring. 
 
 Below me in the valley beside the silent mill, 
 Dark evergreens were standing in winter vesture 
 
 still, 
 But when the sunlight touched them they too were 
 
 passing fair, 
 For e'en tjie smallest branches seemed hung with 
 
 jewels rare. 
 And very much I wondered what such a change 
 
 could bring 
 Till fancy quaintly whispered, the gentle tears of 
 
 Spring. 
 
POEMS BT MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 21 
 
 OVERJOYED, 
 
 Ah, joy does kill as well as grief, 
 
 For hearts that long have known suspense. 
 
 If all too sudden they ai-e blest, 
 
 Must break, the chords are strung so tense. 
 
 'Twas thus the aged mother who 
 For long had mourned her absent son, 
 And ventui-ed o'er the briny deep 
 To see again her darling one. 
 
 But Ob, the blessing was too great. 
 She could not bear the glad first sight. 
 And with his name upon her lips 
 Her spirit vfinged its upward flight. 
 
 THE BURNING ORPHAN ASYLUM, 
 
 What is that sharply crackling sound 
 That's bursting on the midnight air. 
 
 That stifling smoke, so dense and dark. 
 And now that fearful, blinding glare. 
 
 . There's shouting, screaming, wildest fright, 
 
 And haste and confusion most dire; 
 And weeping, praying on every side. 
 The Orphan Home is all on fire. 
 
 And men are toiling witli their might. 
 
 And devising every way. 
 Endangering limb, aud even life. 
 
 To save those children if they may. 
 
 And silent women rush to rooms. 
 
 And clasp those little ones in arms. 
 And bear them out through heat and smoke. 
 
 And hush their cries, sooth their alarms. 
 
 Now there's rejoicing that all are saved. 
 
 The work was gladly, nobly done. 
 The poor blind sister, where is she? 
 
 The best beloved is the missing one. 
 
 'Twas she who nursed when dread disease 
 Assailed them all as with a blight. 
 
 And watching o'er those helpless ones. 
 She gave for them her precious sight. 
 
 And swift to her rescue they fly. 
 
 To find her sitting, calm, alone. 
 Waiting whatever may befall. 
 
 In peace like that the saints have known. 
 
 They catch her up with joy elate. 
 
 Though death seems on the backward route. 
 They brave the peril and are blest. 
 
 And now ascends a thankful shout. 
 
 Blest attributes of humanity 
 
 Are those of sympathy and love. 
 Implanted deep in every breast 
 
 By Infinite wisdom above. 
 
 THEIR PART. 
 
 One sang a song, a simple strain. 
 
 With little of the grace of art. 
 But all its words were comforting 
 
 And meant to soothe a troubled heart. 
 
 One told a tale of noble deeds. 
 
 Of those who sought to right the wrong. 
 Inspiring courage in the weak. 
 
 And, too, I'ejoicing with the strong. 
 
 One spoke a kind reclaiming word 
 To those, the outcast and forlorn. 
 
 Had pity for their sinful souls. 
 Instead of bitterness and scorn. 
 
 And so they acted each a part; 
 
 Each made a record on that day ; 
 The good they wrought may ne'er be known. 
 
 'Till in the land that's far away. 
 
 HOME MEMORIES. 
 
 A seeming presence in these rooms 
 Still beautifies and makes them dear. 
 
 For loved and lost companionship 
 Survives in sweetest memories here. 
 
 We bring to mind familiar forms, 
 Though in the mold for long they've lain. 
 
 And give to each their wonted place. 
 As if in truth they lived again. 
 
22 
 
 POEMS BY MISS ELTZA JANE STEPHENS. 
 
 And echoes of each loved one's voice 
 Seem wafted from the happier shoi-e. 
 
 rn all those sweet inspiring tones 
 That we shall hear on earth no more. 
 
 Those friends still cheer us with such smiles 
 
 As now their ansel faces wear. 
 Beloved ones, they're safe at home, 
 
 And wait for us that home to share. 
 
 MUSINGS. 
 
 My brain is tired with ceaseless thought 
 Of how I best can fill my place. 
 
 No word unsaid, no work undone. 
 That can uplift in faith and grace. 
 
 So if my hands are tired, 'tis well, 
 I need not murmur or complain 
 
 If they can help some burdens bear. 
 Or give relief to want and pain. 
 
 And if my feet make journeys oft 
 That bring to me no blest return. 
 
 IJ they are treading duty's path 
 I will not grudge the wage they earn. 
 
 These heartaches will e'er long be o'er, 
 So these regrets for joys now fled, 
 
 Then may I gently pass beyond 
 Without one thought of fear or dread. 
 
 THE SILENT MEETING. 
 
 Quaker hill is a lovely place 
 When gentle summer lingers there. 
 
 Its meadows are the richest green. 
 Its orchards fairest of the fair. 
 
 There's fragrance borne on every breeze 
 Prom flowers of brightest, rarest hue. 
 
 And woodland warblers seem to vie 
 In always singing something new. 
 
 But when stern winter's icy breath 
 Makes brown the trees and white the cartli. 
 
 Then desolation reigns supreme 
 O'er all except the cottage hearth. 
 
 But there in friendsliip's sweetest guise 
 The neighbors meet and while away 
 
 In pleasant games and social chat 
 The closing hours each winter's day. 
 
 A conscientious people, they. 
 
 Attentive are to duty's call. 
 And often meet and ask the aid 
 
 Of Him, who cares alike for all. 
 
 But so it happed one meeting day. 
 
 'Twas so extremely cold, that then 
 Of all that worthy brotherhood. 
 
 None ventured forth but two old men. 
 
 They reached the church and made a fire. 
 
 For warmth they had not long to wait. 
 A silent meeting oft was held. 
 
 So both sat down to meditate. 
 
 They were at peace with all the world. 
 At peace with conscience sure to keep. 
 
 And in that stupifying warmth 
 The two old men soon fell asleep. 
 
 The sun had reached the western sky. 
 But flight of time disturbed them not. 
 
 Their's was a calm, unbroken rest. 
 All cares and griefs alike forgot. 
 
 The hours wore on, and shades of night 
 Soon wrapped the outward world in gloom. 
 
 But still the Are burned warm and bright, 
 And beautified that homely room. 
 
 Their friends, now in a great alarm, 
 Unto the church in haste could come. 
 
 They roused them from a slumber deep. 
 And much amused, all journeyed home. 
 
 Quakerhill, a beautiful hamlet in Duchess 
 County, N. Y,,, so named from its Society of 
 Friends, or Quakers, 
 
L,. 
 
 En Voyage. 
 
 Wl.icbcver way the wind clod, blow 
 Some heart is glad to have it so. 
 J.. en blow it east or blow it west. 
 
 My httle craft sails not alone; 
 
 A thousand fleets from every zone 
 
 Are out upon a thousand seas; 
 
 And what for me were favoring breeze 
 jr,g.,t^dash another. With the Shock 
 Of loom upon some hidden rock. 
 And so I do not dare to pray 
 
 For jvinds to waft me on my way; 
 
 «ut leave It to a Higher Will 
 
 i.0 stay or speed me-trusting still 
 
 ihatall IS well, and sure that He 
 
 Sou'h"t^'"^'^''^'■^^^'''^«'^'^^>■"'™e 
 
 wi ate^ ei breezes may prevail. 
 10 land me-every peril past- 
 WitlunH.ssheltering haven at last. 
 
 llicn, whatsoever wind doth blow 
 My heart ,s glad to have it so; 
 
 And blow it east or blow it west. 
 
 Ibewmd that blows, that wind is best. 
 
 -Ex. 
 
 n 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 016 225 901 5i 
 
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