Class 4^Sli2J_ Book tR^^ CopyiightN" COPVRtGHT DEPOStR WAYSIDE BLOSSOMS WAYSIDE BLOSSOMS MARY MATTHEWS BRAY RICHARD G. BADGER THE GORHAM PRESS BOSTON Copyright 1912 by Mary Matthews Bray All Rights Reserved t-^^w The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. gCl.A316264 TO C. M. B. Thy name. Beloved, lendeth to this verse A fragrance as uf April violets Or Summer Roses. It is like a dream of June, In a dull wintry day. CONTENTS Wayside Blossoms 9 Sweet Spring with Violets Laden 11 May Day Song 12 Evening Fancies 13 Unrest 14 Chrysanthemums 15 Swinging 16 My Friend and I 17 The Riddle of Life 18 Songs of the Sea 19 New Year's Eve at Sea 22 Homeward Bound 24 A Chance Meeting 25 Indecision 26 Waiting for Spring 27 Two Pictures 28 Return of the Volunteers 30 To-Night 31 Death of Summer 32 Decoration Day 33 White Roses 35 Parted 37 An Old Wound 38 Life is not All Poetry 39 An Easter Concert 40 Burial of Garfield 42 A Harvest Festival 43 0, Quaint Little Town 44 One Year Ago 45 Arbor Day 47 Mayflowers and Violets 48 Whither 49 Henry Bergh 51 A Plea for Night 53 In Memoriam^ — A . E 55 5 Face to Face 57 Just Enough 59 Wheaton Days 60 In Memoriam — A. B 61 Memorial Day 63 Opportunity 64 The Haven 65 Life 67 Failure 68 Neal Dow 69 One by One 71 Only One Day at a Time 72 A Spirit Now 73 Look Into Thy Heart and Write 74 The Muse's Gift 75 Dreaming and Waking 78 On the Desert 79 One Gift Above All Others I Desired 82 Had We E'er Met Before? 83 In Memoriam^ — C. F. S 84 Columbus Day 86 Flag of My Country 88 Rosemary and Rue Low He Lieth 97 Mystery 98 One Year Apart 101 You and 1 101 Revisited 102 Since Thou Art Gone 107 Thy Birthday 108 0, Earthborn Hands and Lips and Eyes 110 Could'st ThouNot Tarry?... Ill Again the South Wind Blowing 113 /// Could Know 114 A Memory and A Hope 115 6 WAYSIDE BLOSSOMS / saw some handfuls of the rose in bloom. With bands of grass, suspended from a dome, I said ''What means this worthless grass, that it Should in the rose's fairy circle sit?'' Then the grass — weeping — said ''Mine is no beauty, hue or fragrance true. But in the garden of my Lord, I grew." From Saadi's Gulistan . WAYSIDE BLOSSOMS Flowers by the wayside growing Needing no culture nor care; Asking only a foothold, Only sunshine and air. Dandelions gay and golden, Fringing the dusty street; In haste to greet the springtime. Fearing not April's sleet. Violets dim and tender Hiding amid the grass; Buttercups sunny and cheerful. Nodding to all who pass. Daisies, milk white daises, Tossing as though in glee; Clover blooms, sweet and useful. The haunt of bird and bee. Celandine, meek yet persistent; Wind flowers fair and frail; Filmy white lace of Queen Anne; Mallows pearly and pale. Graceful columbines calling "List to my bells, — O, hush!" Roses, wild roses, blowing. Pink as the dawn's first blush. Lowly plantain and yarrow Making the most of dearth; Sorrel in crimson patches. Clinging heath-like to earth. Chicory softly tinted, Blue as the sky o'erhead; And asters, everywhere asters. The stars of earth outspread. Lilies of tawny orange, Making a goodly show; Golden-rod plumes and pennants, Flaming like lamps aglow. Wilding blooms of the Wayside, Sown, broadcast, near and far; Sweet in their simple beauty, Dear to our hearts they are. Like unto wilding blossoms, Are these unstudied lays; Frail hints of grace and fragrance. Along Life's common ways. Out of the whirl of living. Out of its hopes and fears; Its aims, its stress and labor; Out of its smiles and tears; Out of friendship's fealty. And love's beguiling dream; Out of memories tender These wayside verses gleam. 10 SWEET SPRING WITH VIOLETS LADEN Sweet Spring with violets laden, Steps blithely o'er the hills; The slumbering sod she wakens, Her breath unlocks the rills. Where'er her light foot treadeth, The earth with grass is fringed; When her blue eyes she lifteth. The sky with blue is tinged. She smiles, and lo! responsive, The day light lingers long; The murmur of the South Wind, Doth echo still her song. Stirred by her swaying garments. The budded leaves unfold; And fast she droppeth violets, On hillside and on wold. 11 MAY DAY SONG Away to the woods, for the Mayflowers are blooming, We '11 give them glad greeting this first day of May; Come children and maidens, come brothers and mothers, Away to the woods, and be happy today. Brush away brown leaves and search among mosses, There they are hiding away from your view; Down by the rocks and on bright sunny hillsides, There they are smiling and waiting for you. The wild winds of March rang a summoning call. And the warm April rains breathed a soft wooing lay; The sun threw warm kisses, the birds sang of love; So they sprang up from slumber to welcome the May. Waxen and pearly and pink-tinted blossoms. Hues of the snow-drift and hints of the rose; Breathing from dewy lips odors entrancing. What fairer flower can the summer disclose .f^ "Epigae Repens," the botanists call them. And Trailing Arbutus rings sweet to the ear : Dearer the name that our fore-fathers gave them. Saying "Henceforward our Mayflower is here.*' Whispers of hope and sweet tokens of promise. Such did they seem to that sad stranger band; Beautiful messengers, foretelling harvests. Which later should crown the wild wave- beaten strand. 12 EVENING FANCIES Up the crimson bars of sunset. My thoughts mount fast and far; O'er the silvery track of moonbeams They travel from star to star. Oh for a hand that could picture The beautiful visions I see! Oh for the skill to embody The dreams that come unto me! Melodies wildly entrancing, Ring in the breezes of night; Oh for a voice that could render The wonderful songs aright! Splendors of sunset and star beams. How the West blushes and burns! Longing and rapture and sadness, Thrill me and fill me, by turns. Lustres of moon rise and star gleams, Lo, in the East now they reign! Longing and sadness and rapture, Blend in a pathos, not pain. 13 UNREST Rest thee, unquiet brain! Canst thou not rest? Thou 'mindst me of some little wildwood bird, — Whose careless song from many a spray was heard, — Imprisoned suddenly within a room ! Flying from pane to pane, from door to door, With desperate energy, unknown before. Dost thou not see a power above thine own, From freedom and from work has shut thee out? Turn where thou wilt, thou art compassed all about. By the strong wall of stern necessity ; Thou can'st but dash thy wings 'gainst that in vain. Then fall back faint with weariness and pain. Why wilt thou strive? The self -same Hand that gave Life, and the power to thee for toil and song, Hath for a season, by this barrier strong, Made them of little value unto thee. Thou need'st must wait; why not with patient grace, Till thou canst see the way from out thy prison place? 14 CHRYSANTHEMUMS In the dim November weather, When the fields are bare and brown ; And the trees with patient sadness, Watch their last leaves flutter down; When the summer's cherished blossoms,- AU have vanished; then doth come Latest in the gay procession, The dear, brave chrysanthemum. Lighting with its cheerful beauty Every garden plot and plain; Looking up to greet the sunshine, Bending low beneath the rain; Drooping under frosty touches, Of the nights so long and chill; Rising up again undaunted. Fair and bright and smiling still. Struggling bravely for existence, While the winter hastes apace; Smitten in the unequal contest, — Who could win in such a race.? Soon the bitter cold enfoldeth. All things in its icy clasp; Gentle blossoms, pale and withered. Dead they lie in winter's grasp. 15 SWINGING Under the trees, on this bright summer day Two Httle children are busy at play; Hand clasped in hand, swinging together; Smile answers smile from one to the other. Upward they rise, high, higher, in air, And the sunlight gleams on their flowing hair; Now downward they go, far into the shade. And the gold is brown, on each bright young head. Oh! little they think — those children so fair. Happily swinging, unmindful of care. How like a symbol, their afternoon's play, Of life's many changes; of earth's checkered way. Now on the hilltops of fortune they'll ride; Then in dim valleys, perchance they must bide; Oft in the sunshine, their pathway may keep; Often the shadows around them will creep. Upward or downward, still safe in the swing, While to the rope, and each other they cling; Thus, through the whirl of the years may they move. Guided and guarded by conscience and love. 16 MY FRIEND AND I In the sunshine of fortune, she sits, I stand in the shade; Her hopes and joys seem perennial flowers ; Mine bloom but to fade. She wishes; Lo! fairies of old In human disguise, Hasten the wish to fulfil, — Mine Into empty air flies. She plans, and some spirit of love Into mortal shape wrought. Hovers o'er to protect from all harm; My plans come to naught. She strives, and her effort is crowned with success; Is it merit or chance .f^ I strive, but my striving is vain; I have broken my lance. 17 THE RIDDLE OF LIFE The good I wished for, was not given; The good I asked not, — that is mine; O, troubled heart, dost thou repine And wonder if there be a Heaven, This life's sad riddle to define? O heart ! thou need'st not wait for Heaven, To learn that both in peace and pain, In hours of sunshine or of rain, In bliss withheld, or blessings given, Something there is, for thee to gain. 18 SONGS OF THE SEA I sat on deck in the morning light, And watched the blue waves sparkling bright, As they played about the prow; And idling thus, the hours away I seemed to hear, mid the dashing spray, The song that follows now. Morning Song Merry indeed is the life we lead. Neither toil nor trouble, we fear; We foam and dash, we sparkle and splash We sport from year to year. No comrades we own, save winds, alone, But a jolly band are they! Like us, they are free, and dance with glee When they join us in our play. Though man would fain all things enchain, Unto his lofty will; No slaves are we, right valiantly We guard our freedom still. The ships so strong — that with labor long And skill and care, are wrought — With them we sport, while we bear them to port. As a child with toys just bought. O, merry indeed, is the life we lead. Neither toil nor trouble we fear! We foam and dash, we sparkle and splash. We sport from year to year. 19 The day was dying, glory-crowned, And cloud-wrought spendors blazed all round. The sky before so clear; The waters caught a crimson glow, And 'mid the rippling music's flow, This song I seemed to hear. Sunset Song Far under the waves, are gleaming caves. Filled with all things most rare ; Amber and gold of wealth untold And precious pearls are there. And fairy bowers of pallid flowers. With sea- weeds twining round; And sheltered dells, where bright lipped shells, And ghstening stones abound. And coral groves, where the merman roves, With comrades bold and gay; Through the arching halls, their laughter calls, As they chase each other in play. And mermaids fair, with streaming hair, Sit on the moss-strown floor; Weaving the gems into diadems. Or counting their treasures o'er. No sunbeam glides through the restless tides, To tell of the garish day; But a mellow light, most fair to sight. Through cool depths finds a way. 20 Slowly the pageant flitted past, And twilight shadows overcast All things with sober gray; The rippling waves seemed hushed in sleep, But from the dark unfathomed deep Came up a mournful lay. Evening Song Treasures more bright to the wistful sight, Lie under our foaming tides, Than all the gold a thousand fold, Or starry gems besides. Not all return, of those who yearn. O'er wintry wastes to roam; And a wailing cry goes up on high. From many a stricken home. On the ocean beds, are bright young heads. For whom no dawn will rise; O, tragic fate! O, grief how great. Over such sacrifice ! True hearts and brave, beneath the wave. Lie wrapped in dreamless rest; Ah! none may tell, how long and well, They strove the floods to breast. The surges rave o'er many a grave, To longing love unknown; And wild winds sweep across the deep, With dirge-like undertone. 21 NEW YEARNS EVE AT SEA Swiftly our bark glides on her way, Round her the freshening breezes play The waves dash up with whitening foam, And bear us ever nearer home. Soft on our track The moonlight falls; Bright in our wake Flash silvery balls, But wind nor wave nor pale moonlight Care ought for the year that will die to- night. The sailor's work for the day is done; To his pillow slumber sweet has come; The din of labor, the sounds of mirth As hushed as though they ne'er had birth. No lonely isle These waters lave; No sail save ours Gleams o'er the wave; I sit alone in the shadowy light, And watch with the year that will die to-night. He must not go unmourned, unloved, For he a generous friend has proved; From him I've won a boon much prized. And hopes, long cherished, realized. Through dangers rife On sea and land, He held me safe Within his hand. Therefore my heart is sad to-night For the year that will die ere the morning light. 22 He showed me distant lands and fair. And as I roved a stranger there, He led mj wandering steps to meet Friends whom I cannot soon forget. Around me now Their forms arise, The spirit of sleep Before them flies, And so I keep my watch to-night. With the year that will die ere the morning light. The hours speed on; his end is near; Soon must we greet another year; Another year untried and new; What shall befall ere his reign is through.'^ What will he prove, A friend or foe? What will he bring. Delight or woe? Scenes of darkness and scenes of light Flit through my mind as I muse to-night. The clock strikes twelve! A friend has fled! A stranger is standing in his stead! For the parting breath no bell was rung, O'er the lone bier no dirge was sung, For the year gone I drop a tear; Then turn to meet The new one here: His voice is gentle, his smile is bright, I welcome the year that comes to-night. 23 HOMEWARD BOUND "Homeward bound! Homeward bound!" The waves give back the gladsome sound, The winds are whisthng it all the day As through the rattling cordage they play; The stars seem chanting it as they roll, In sweet accord with the hymn of the soul. "Homeward bound! Homeward bound!'* On every lip these words are found; To their music we fall asleep at night, They are sounding still at morning light; They form the theme of the sailor's song, They cheer him through the night-watch long. "Homeward bound! Homeward bound!" Not e'en by the noise of the tempest drowned; Still clear and sweet, above its roar These words are whispering ever more, "Fear not, though stormy winds may rave, There's a pleasant land beyond the wave." "Homeward bound! Homeward bound!" Visions of bliss in these words are found; Dreams of a dear familiar shore Rise at their bidding our eyes before; Hopes of an hour when friends will meet To greet us with words of welcome sweet. "Homeward bound! Homeward bound!" Phrase with a wondrous glory crowned; 'Neath its magic spell all eyes grow bright; It hath power to make e'en sad hearts light; The sweetest words that our hearts dream o'er Save these, alone, "At home once more!" 24 A CHANCE MEETING I met him on the crowded street. My garments brushed his very feet. My pulses leaped with sudden thrill. My heart throbbed wildly, — then was still. With upraised look his glance to meet, I turned at once, my friend to greet. He saw me not; with look intent, And purpose firm, straight on he went. But did he feel no prescient cheer? Did nothing tell him I was near? The hurrying throng between us stepped And forward with the crowd he swept. Lost in the length'ning space too soon, A shadow dimmed the afternoon. 25 INDECISION *'To be or not to be!" That was the question Which brooding Hamlet asked in days gone by; **To do or not to do!" This is the problem That we to solve must try. Whether to choose the task that lies in waiting, Or seek for one that sounds a clearer call; Whether to grasp the good that seems the nearer, Or wait what may befall. Perhaps the question is not one for conscience, Only that for the best we may decide; It is so hard to come to a conclusion When there seems naught to guide. We count the reasons for this course, or that one; We weigh the evidence on either side; We try to balance this and that advantage. But still the scales will slide. We come to ways that part with slight divergence. So slight indeed, scant cause for choice we see; And yet we know not whither they may lead us. Nor what the end may be. At times grown weary of such vain endeavor, Weakly irresolute and sorely tried, We envy the complacent ones, who never Can see the other side. Often in dire perplexity we covet An arbitrary code of right and wrong; Or wish we could believe in absolution; And save the struggle long. "To be or not to be!" That painful problem Was solved for Hamlet, in the days long past. "To do or not to do!" This haunting question, We must decide at last. WAITING FOR SPRING Haste, gentle Spring, we are waiting for thee, Waiting the gleam of thy garments to see; Waiting and watching to welcome thee here, Tarry no longer, thou gem of the year. Come crowned with garlands of leaves and of flowers; Send thy soft breath, through forest and bowers; Bring the dear singing birds back in thy train, Scatter sweet odors on hillside and plain. Quicken our frames with thy life giving clasp. Chilled into torpor, by Winter's cold grasp; Waken fond memories our spirits to thrill, Hopes that, though slumbering, have life in them still; Thoughts that shall grow 'neath the spell of thy power. Dreams like thy days, mingled sunshine and shower; Fancies which from thy soft odors have birth, Longings that seem to be scarcely of earth. Haste thee! O, haste thee! Why longer delay? Thou wilt be welcomed by grave and by gay; Hearts have grown weary in waiting for thee, But in thy loved presence, all sadness shall flee. 27 TWO PICTURES Softly glows the October sunlight Through a veil of golden haze; Lighting up the scarlet oak trees Till they look as if ablaze; Falling on the graceful maples, Many hued as sunset clouds; Gleaming over beech and alder Standing thick in golden crowds. Through the woods are maidens roving. On this quiet Autumn day; Hands are filled with leafy splendor, Heads are crowned with garlands gay. Yet each face a shadow weareth, From no passing cloud, down- thrown; Blending with the girlish laughter. Breathes a mournful undertone. Through the streets of a great city — Banners waving overhead, — Passes now, a band of soldiers. Marching slow, with even tread. Fired with youthful exaltation, Patriot zeal and courage high, For the honor of their country. Ready — if need be — to die. In the door-ways throng the gazers. Following comes an eager train; Cheers and sobs and parting blessings, Mingle with the martial strain. For the coming night shall bear them. Southward o'er the ocean dark; 28 Soon to stand in serried columns And to dare War's crimson mark. O, ye maidens, crowned with garlands In the bright autumnal woods, Now we know whence comes the sadness Blending with your gayer moods. In your hearts you find the picture. Veiled by distance, from your eyes. For, among those youthful heroes. Brothers, friends, before you rise. 29 RETURN OF 1 HE VOLUNTEERS O, ye wild waves, cease your turbulent play, Our loved ones are borne o'er the billows today. Blow gently ye winds, waft them steadily on Pause not to rest, till their haven is won. Bend over them skies with a loving embrace, Make bright with your sunshine the shadiest place. Rouse for their sake. Mother Earth, all your powers. Make the leaves greener,make brighter the flowers, Sing, little birds, in most jubilant strain. Let your notes echo from hillside and plain. Homes from whose circles they long have been torn, Wake, wake unto gladness; no need now to mourn. Welcome them, welcome them, neighbors and friend; While music and banners, their joyousness lend. Honor them, Country, by word and by deed; They sprang to your aid in the hour of your need. TO-NIGHT 0, Sun, hanging low in the crimsoning west, Soon, soon you will sink out of sight; But morn is less fair, than this gloaming will be, He Cometh, he cometh to-night. Long hath his absence been; weary the waiting, Through months that seemed years in their flight; Now it is over; he cometh — my lover — He cometh, he cometh, to-night. May has gone by, with her hawthorne, her lilacs. And June smiles, with roses bedight; 1, too, may smile, and wear roses for greeting, He cometh, he cometh — to-night. 31 DEATH OF SUMNER Bend lower, ye whirling wind-clouds, Let earth wear a pall today! In the chill of the wild March morning A hero is passing away. Bow down, O grief -stricken country! There has come no sadder dawn Since the bells for the "Patriot Martyr" Tolled through the April morn. And yet, 'mid the sound of thy mourning A song of thanksgiving should swell. For the son whose fair fame, brought renown to thy name. Who guarded thi|ne honor so well. His courage was tempered with mercy. For truth and for justice he wrought; A statesman of statesmen the rarest. He could neither be blinded nor bought. Crown him, O Nation, with bays! Weave, poets, your garlands of verse ! Weep, sable-hued children, for him Who helped remove slavery's curse! 32 DECORATION DAY Again we come with early flowers, Our soldiers' graves to strew; Again with gifts of speech and song, We honor them anew. The lessening ranks of comrades gray, Tell how the years have flown, Yet ever with each fleeting one This day has dearer grown. On hillsides worn by marching feet The grass has long been green; Where bullets ploughed and bayonets gleamed Now scarce a trace is seen. The torn and trampled battlefields Our brothers died to gain, By Nature's healing arts restored. Are bright with waving grain. The swift procession of the days, With touches calm and sure. Have soothed the first wild throes of pain, And taught us to endure. And yet beneath the softening veil Which Time, in mercy, lends, Still loyal Sorrow lifts a face. Where pride with suffering blends. Not less the mother mourns her son, Her bright-haired son today. Scepter and crown — life's hope and joy — With him have passed away. 33 Not less does memory summon back, The young, the strong, the brave. And hearts still ache, and tears still fall, O'er many a flower-decked grave. But over all our pleasant land, Sweet peace holds gentle sway. And plenty smiles; oh, not in vain They trod the martyr's way. Honor and fame and Union saved; A race from chains set free; To guard these gifts, by valor won, A sacred trust shall be. And so with mingled grief and pride We bring our flowers once more. Once more in speech and song we tell Their noble story o'er. WHITE ROSES O sweet white roses, flinging out your fragrance, Upon the soft June air, Do ye recall the tender memories folded, Within your bosoms fair? Do ye recall? It may be but a fancy, — And yet — it may be true — That the same flowers in each succeeding season, Come back to us anew. In one dear summer, with the past long numbered, Amid its wealth of flowers, Ye bore a charmed part, which holds you ever Linked with its golden hours. In an old garden, in the fresh June weather, Beside a rose tree tall, A youth and maiden met, and talked of roses. Of roses — that was all. They parted, — but to meet again — and often, — The woodland ways were free. And many an hour they spent in the old garden, Beside the white rose tree. They came together, in the early morning. He culled a rosebud fair. Birds sang, bees hummed, the blue sky bent above them. He twined it in her hair. How beautiful it was, the creamy blossom. With faintly flushing heart. As though a sunrise cloud had stooped to kiss it. Then hastened to depart. 35 They came, together, when the sun was setting, Its splendors wrapped them round; Roses he garlanded for her adorning, She stood before him, crowned. They came, together, when the evening darkened ; The moonlight's misty veil, Draped them in filmy folds as in a mantle; He plucked a white rose pale; One scarce could deem it was an earthly blossom, So pure, so fair it shone; He laid it gently on her lips a moment, Then pressed it to his own. O, sweet white roses, flinging out your fragrance. Upon the soft June air, Recall ye now, the tender memories folded, Within your bosom fair? 36 PARTED I saw a face, to-day. As I walked amid the throng; A face that I knew in days of yore. Ah, could I but live those sweet days o*er, Whether life be short or long. I touched a hand, to-day. A hand that once held my own; I found in its clasp both strength and peace. Alas, for the day of its release! Alas, for the bliss now flown! I heard a voice, to-day. It yet has power to thrill; A voice, that in the dear old days. Was wont to chide, to blame, to praise, In dreams I hear it still. But hand and face and voice. From my life have passed away; The look and the touch, another claims now, And the tender tone, — a marriage vow, Doth hold us apart, to-day. 37 AN OLD WOUND "Oh, how my old wound throbs tonight!'* Is it a soldier who cries? And on what battle field did he fight? It is but a woman who cries. And the wounds of a woman, are found. Only on Love's battle ground. Wherefore this throbbing today, After the quiet of years? Only a letter, chance threw in my way; After the quiet of years. This letter gleams forth from the past. And my heart's blood, in answer, flows fast. I must check it at once, — but with what? I will try woman's pride. Try it — that cure that fails not. I have tried woman's pride, But its texture is frail. What is it, at best, but a veil? There's duty! that remedy old; But the pain ceaseth not; There's reason, — but reason is cold. And the pain ceaseth not; Sweet "Angel of Patience," oh, fold it in night At least let it throb, out of sight. I thought it had healed long ago, That nothing remained but a scar. To tell of that terrible blow. That nothing remained but a scar? Such hurts are for life; yet one solace I know. Even pain, hath its ebb and its flow. 38 LIFE IS NOT ALL POETRY "Nay! Life is not all poetry r So said my friend, one day, And shook his head and sadly smiled. As half in earnest, half m p ay, I called him "raven," bade him croak no more," . For life was what one made it, ^ Poetry, or tedious prose told o er. Nav! "Life is not all poetry!" Dear friend, since that bright day. Year after year, into the silent past Has winged its unreturmng way; Life lies behind me now!— as then betore- And I have foimd or made it ^ Dreariest prose, told o'er and o er. 39 AN EASTER CONCERT Swift-winged the circling hours have sped And brought again our concert night; We gather here from many a home, Drawn by a spell of might. Again within these well-loved walls, Our songs of praise arise; Familiar voices greet our ears, Familiar forms our eyes. Yet, with each word of prayer or song. Strange thrills of sorrows blend; One voice is gone; we mourn to-night Our leader and our friend. His generous heart, his helping hand, His days of cheerful service given, Have they then vanished from the earth? Is every sweet tie riven .^^ Nay, but the rose's perfume lives, — The rose that blooms but for a day. Still from its faded petals sheds Faint odors round our way. Shall not the fragrance of a Life Outlast the sweet breath of a flower .f* Shall not good deeds and kindly words Outlive their special hour? Our friend still dwells within our hearts. Though here we see his face no more; The essence of a life dies not. When earthly days are o'er. 40 And therefore, mingling with our grief, A strain of Easter joy should swell, For him the joy, for us the prayer. That we may do our work as well. 41 BURIAL OF GARFIELD List to the clangor of bells, Voicing a nation's woe, And the solemn roll of music. And banners drooping low. Gone in the strength of his years, Gone in the flush of his fame; Gone, and the tears of a nation, Fall at the sound of his name. 42 A HARVEST FESTIVAL No favored soil we boast today, No tropic clime is ours, What have we but our sandy shore, The sunshine, and the showers. What have we? Willing hearts and hands. Of labor not afraid, The tireless zeal, the purpose strong, To win from all things aid. Courage and strength that will not yield, To any task or foe; The skill to plan, the grace to wait. For Nature's process slow. Behold the tokens of success On every hand wide spread; Behold the largess given to those, Who seek their daily bread. And blush of fruit and bloom of flower, Their grace and beauty lend; And woman's skill hath deftly wrought With manhood's work to blend. And so our Harvest Festival We well with pride may keep; For whoso sows with toil and care, In joy and peace shall reap. 43 O, QUAINT LITTLE TOWN I am thinking of thee, O, quaint little town. On the shore of the sounding sea; I know every rod of thy sandy ways, I could almost name each tree. Slight is the change from year to year, That creeps o'er thy hills and plains ; Slight seems the change on thy quiet streets Or in thy grassy lanes. But when I turn from the landscape fair, To the life which crowns it all; Sad is the change; alas, how fast The cherished landmarks fall ! The faces, the forms, which my childhood knew, Are passing like mist away; In memory keep them, O, home of their love ! They honored thee in their day. Break softly, blue waves, on the sandy shore, The sound of thine ebb and flow, Was their life-long music — no dirge more fit — Chant for them a requiem low. 44 ONE YEAR AGO One year ago to-day, There passed from earth away, A noble soul; A man, whose simple creed Was perfect truth in word and deed. A creed no power could break. Nor art nor influence shake. And more than all, He lived the life he taught. And by his creed his works were wrought. No life lapped soft in ease Was his, — on stormy seas. His years were spent. Until perchance he caught The ocean's freedom in his thought. Its freedom in his speech; If he could only reach And grasp the right. Alike seemed praise or blame. Alike to him seemed scorn or fame. Wherever duty lay, Forever in that way His feet were found: What though the path was rough, His faith and courage were enough. Though stern of mien he seemed, Sometimes severe was deemed. By alien eyes, If one but knew him well. The slight mask from him fell, 45 And opened to the view A tender heart and true, A nature large, Which could itself deny That it might others' wants supply. "With tears mine eyes are dim; If all men were like him,'* A neighbor said, "How easy would be life. How free from sin and care and strife." We, by his blood allied. We with a chastened pride. Exultant thrill. That we his name may bear. And in such heritage may share. For him, no dirge we sing. With solemn joy we ring Paeans of praise. For the old life well done, And for the new life nobly won. 46 ARBOR DAY "It seems to have come to stay, This Arbor Day; So let us make the most of it we may.** These words with wisdom fraught, Fell, all unsought, Upon my ear, and chained my wandering thought. *Mid April gleams and glooms And Mayflower blooms, It comes, this day, for which no cannon booms. Amid the rush and strife Of busy life. It comes, this day, with peaceful duties rife. It bids us, you and me. To plant a tree. Even though our eyes may not its glory see. It bids us train a vine. Whose leaves may twine. Round other homes, as well as yours and mine. It bids us tend a flower Through its brief hour. And learn its tender humanizing power. The day, thus set apart, We, with the heart. Will dedicate unto this gentle art. Its lesson we will heed. And bid it speed Till it shall be the universal creed. Indeed, it comes to stay. Sweet Arbor Day, Then let us make the most of it we may. 47 MAYFLOWERS AND VIOLETS Yes, bring the mayflowers beautiful From woodland nook and dell; And bring the sweet blue violets, For one who loved them well. Fresh firstlings of the springtime. Of April sun and air. Bring mayflowers and bring violets For her the young and fair. So brief their time of blossoming. They linger but a day, They wait not for the summer's prime Nor autumn's slow decay. Brief, too, her earthly mission. Like them she could not stay; That rare and gentle spirit. Seemed in haste to be away. Then bring the mayflowers beautiful From woodland nook and dell; And bring the sweet blue violets For one who loved them well. 48 WHITHER The flower-robed Summer is here again, Over the earth the warm skies brood. The tiniest weed, the stateUest tree, Thrills responsive to nature's mood; The air is astir with bird and bee, But my friend, O where is she? I climb the pine-crowned hill top, I watch the red sunset glow. The south wind fans me with odorous breath, The blue waves curl on the beach below; I climb the hill as often of yore. But my friend goes with me no more. I stand in her sunny garden, I watch her opening flowers. Lilies, geraniums, roses sweet. All the bright throng of the summer hours; The blossoms she loved smile up at me, But she is not there to see. I enter her open doorway, I sit in her unused chair. Still lingers the spell of her presence, The treasures she cherished are there; Others go in at her open door, But she goes in no more. The mind with its tireless zeal to know. The soul with its trusting content. The heart so burdened with other's woe. The hand ever ready to help. The welcoming smile and the word of cheer, Vain is the quest, to seek them here. 49 \VluT(' lIuMi .mikI 1u>w (loos lliis spirit fare? Docs it fiiui ill its onward way A wider scoi)c for Iho unworn [)o\vcrs, A finer i)art for [hv hand to play. Has (lie hoarl, since ils cares of earlli are o'er. Found rest with the loved ones gone beforeP Over the earth the warm skies brood. And we search those d(»plhs of blue. Hut there conies no word of the friend w^e loved So suddenly \anish(Ml from vi(*w: Slu» had no fear of what Death could show, We, too, must trust, when* we cannot know. 50 IIKNRY IU:R(ill WIhmi I he grcnl- sl.onn-cloiKl llinl ciiwnipiMMl (lie LHUmI uihI i()1Ioii<|jig<' led, Vnr Ur who l)or<' ii|)oii his hnirl Ihrir hiirdrtis, Lo! he WHS lying sse(i iuu\ sullVriiig, The helpless nnd the weuU; lie, who with voice uiid p<'ii was ev<'r speaking For those who could not spc^ak! No creature walked the earth, too poor, too lowly, For his strong arm to n'acli; Freely he olh'resccnded; 'J'Im' timely word ln' sai