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THE GOOD SHEPHERD, 
 
 - A CHURCH SERVICE IN SONG, 
 
 AND 
 
 . OTHER VERSES. 
 
 BY 
 
 THEODORE N. EATON, 
 
 PASTOR FIRST METHODIST EPISCOPAL CHURCH, 
 
 MCKEESPORT, PA. 
 
 1899 
 
 V-' 
 
rvv 1 
 
 Office of t h s» 
 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1899. 
 
 !n;r:rtact 
 
 CUiin. 
 
 1899: 
 
 Daily News Publishing Company, 
 
 McKeesport, Pa. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 1. The Good Shepherd, a Sermon in Song, - - v 
 
 2. Finding the Christ-Child, ----- xl 
 
 3. Doubt and Good Cheer, xlii 
 
 4. Storm and Sunshine, ------ xliii 
 
 5. Lilce a Vapor, - - - - - xliv 
 
 6. The Old Preacher, ------ xlv 
 
 7. The Last Word, ------- xlvii 
 
 8. Our Hope, - - - xlviii 
 
 9. My Heart Cdeth Out, ------ xlix 
 
 to. Sabbath Evening Hymn, ----- \\ 
 
 11. God's Acre, ---.--- jji; 
 
 12. To an Old Violin, ------ jy 
 
 13. Little Buds, -------- Mi 
 
 14. Today, Tomorrow, Someday, - - - - lix 
 
 15. Day Dreaming, ------- Ix 
 
 16. The Witnesses, Ixi 
 
 17. Tot's Prayer, Ixii 
 
 18. Rosebud, -------- jxiv 
 
 19. Decoration Day, -.----- ixvii 
 
 20. Finis, --------- ixviii 
 
PRAYER. 
 
 LMIGHTY and everlasting God, who, of thy tender 
 love towards mankind, hast sent thy Son, our Savior 
 Jesus Christ, to take upon him our flesh, and to suflfer 
 death upon the cross, that all mankind should follow the ex- 
 ample of his great humility; mercifully grant, that we may 
 both follow the example of his patience, and also be made 
 partakers of his resurrection; through Jesus Christ Our 
 Lord. :Jlmen. 
 
 Almighty God, who hast given thine only Son to be 
 unto us both a sacrifice for sin, and an example of Godly 
 life; give us grace that we may always most thankfully 
 receive that his inestimable benefit, and also daily endeavor 
 to follow the blessed steps of his most holy life; through 
 Jesus Christ our Lord. .'>imcn. 
 
 Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. 
 Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as 
 it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and 
 forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that tres- 
 pass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver 
 us from evil; for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and 
 the glory forever. Amen. 
 
PSALM. 
 
 Tsalm. 
 
 'HE Lord is my shepherd; 1 shall not want. 
 
 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: 
 he leadeth me beside the still waters. 
 He restoreth me my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of 
 righteousness for his name's sake. 
 
 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of 
 death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod 
 and thy staff they comfort me. 
 
 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine 
 enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth 
 over. 
 
 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days 
 of my life: and 1 will dwell in the house of the Lord 
 forever. 
 
 —Psalm XXIII. 
 
GLORIA PATRI. 
 
 (5T0rta ^atri. 
 
 LORY be to the Father, and to the Son, and 
 to the Holy Ghost ; as it was in the begin- 
 ning, is now, and ever shall be, world with- 
 out end. Amen. 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 VERILY, verily, 1 say unto you, He that entereth 
 not by the door into the sheepfold, but climbeth 
 up some other way, the same is a thief and 
 a robber. 
 
 But he that entereth in by the door is the shepherd of 
 the sheep. 
 
 To him the porter openeth; and the sheep hear his voice: 
 and he calleth his own sheep by name, and leadeth them 
 out. 
 
 And when he putteth forth his own sheep, he goeth be- 
 fore them, and the sheep follow him: for they know his 
 voice. 
 
 And a stranger will they not follow, but will tlee from 
 him; for they know not the voice of strangers. 
 
 I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am 
 known of mine. 
 
 As the Father knoweth me, even so know 1 the Father: 
 and I lay down my life for the sheep. 
 
 And other sheep 1 have, which are not of this fold: 
 them also must 1 bring, and they shall hear my voice; and 
 there shall be one fold, and one shepherd. 
 
 -St. John X: I-?, 14-16. 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 God of our fathers, thee we praise, 
 Into thy gracious presence come; 
 
 To thee great King, our hearts we raise. 
 As low we bend before thy throne: 
 O Lord, our God, thy Blessings send. 
 As low we bend, as low we bend. 
 
 Though human voices ne'er can sing 
 Such strains as set thy glory forth, 
 Nor prayers that men can ever bring 
 Declare the splendor of thy reign, 
 O Lord, our God, thy blessings send, 
 As low v/e bend, as low we bend. 
 
 No other incense can we burn. 
 
 Nor offering on thine altars lay, 
 Than hearts disposed from sin to turn 
 And trust in our redeeming Lord: 
 O Lord, our God, thy blessings send. 
 As low we bend, as low we be bend. 
 
 Thou dost invite; thy spirit cries, 
 "Let all the heavy-laden come! 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 Who on my word, my love relies 
 Shall never from my face be driven:" 
 O Lord, our God, thy blessings send, 
 As low we bend, as low we bend. 
 
 O let us ne'er forget thy love, 
 
 Nor yet thy gracious counsel shun ; 
 Send us thy Spirit from above. 
 And fix in us thine own abode, 
 That we may Abba, Father cry, 
 And ever on thy strength rely. Amen. 
 
 ♦Adapted to Dek'oven's Recessional music. 
 
xii THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 
 
 
 
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THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 Sermon* 
 
 THE orient shepherds built, with prudent care, 
 Their ample folds, well walled around, that there, 
 Not distant from abodes of men, each night. 
 From evening's hush till morning's mellow light. 
 With doors made fast, their flocks of gentle sheep 
 And tender lambs, secure, in peace might sleep. 
 
 His station at the door, or on the walls, 
 As faithful as the watch in princely halls, 
 A porter, who, with ear attent, would hear 
 And bravely guard, if any foe came near. 
 
 Here, gathered from the distant plain and hill, 
 From pastures green and from the waters still, 
 As night drew near, the gentle flocks, well fed. 
 And each one by its faithful shepherd led. 
 Were brought within the fold, that all might rest 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 Together as one flock, and then in quest, 
 Of frugal evening meal, each watcher sought 
 His humble peasant home and, with no thought 
 Of care, hunger appeased, at his behest 
 There came the angel Sleep to bring him lest. 
 
 When now the western firmament, that shone 
 With gold and crimson glories all her own, 
 Has lost the splendor of her evening hues, 
 And perfumed skies distilled and dropped their dews 
 Upon a slumbering earth ; when stars have kept 
 Their all-night vigils over men who slept; 
 Ere yet the sun his fiery form has pressed 
 Above earth's far off eastern edge and blessed 
 The world with fulness of another day ; 
 Before the mellow twilight spreads its grey 
 In such profusion as to light the way ; 
 The shepherd, waking from his dreamless stay 
 In peaceful slumber-land, once more is roused 
 To thought of those which yester' e'en he housed 
 Within the friendly shelter of the fold. 
 
 Because he loves the sheep, and not for gold. 
 His eyes no more to slumber bands he yields; 
 Intent to lead his flock to pasture fields, 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 From simple store of food his fast he breaks, 
 And hastens to the fold ere day awakes. 
 
 To him the porter opens wide the door; 
 He enters and with call oft heard before, 
 Not long, nor loud, but wonderfully sweet. 
 He stirs the slumbering flocks a friend to greet. 
 To some his voice no welcome accent brings ; 
 They know him not, nor know the notes he sings; 
 But ears there are which hear as if some strain 
 Of well known melody were sung again; 
 When called by name with eager haste they run — 
 For so the shepherd designates each one — 
 And follow him, whatever way he wends, 
 As men would follow tried and trusted friends. 
 
 He journeys with them toward the mountain side, 
 Where grows the grass in meadows green and wide: 
 But far away those pasture lands are found, 
 And many a rough, steep, pathway, winding round 
 In tortuous and uncertain course, they tread: 
 About them, dense and dark, the forests spread: 
 Because the mountain is with rocks begirt, 
 Full many a precipice they closely skirt; 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 They clamber over rocks o'ergrown with moss, 
 And dashing mountain streams they leap across 
 Before they reach the journey's end, and stand 
 In safety in the mountain meadow land. 
 
 OQOOnOofJOOQO 
 
 oOooOooOooOo 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 His (Cr0S3. 
 
 Our Lord, who knew 
 
 Of shepherds true, 
 
 Who led their sheep, 
 
 By pathways steep, 
 
 To pastures wide, 
 
 On mountain side. 
 Hath said, that, "When he putteth forth his own, 
 The sheep that hear his voice and know liis call. 
 He sends them not to try the way alone, 
 But goes before and knows and cares for all." 
 
 Thus may we know. 
 
 Who onward go, 
 
 O'er life's rough roads, 
 
 With heavy loads; 
 
 Whate'er the v/ay 
 
 We walk today. 
 
 Our feet shall not 
 
 Press any spot, 
 
 By Him untried; 
 
 Unsanctified 
 
 By footprints of 
 
 Him whom we love. 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 WEARY wanderer through the tields of time, 
 1 grope my way amid a dark world's grime; 
 hi dangerous and toilsome paths 1 tread, 
 Life filled with burden, soul oppressed with dread, 
 Until, sometimes, 1 almost ask release, 
 Release from burden and from fear surcease; 
 Then pause and try God's purposes to scan. 
 And feel, that once to understand his plan, 
 To know why in such ways my lot should fall, 
 'Twere easier, with brave heart, to meet it all; 
 To face the thousand ills which mar my life, 
 And calm and peaceful front all mundane strife. 
 
 Why might 1 not begin my life to train 
 In some fair world entirely free from stain? 
 Why should I ever stand with danger girt? 
 Why wearily contend with foes alert ? 
 Why must I, in a straight and narrow path. 
 With solemn dread of everlasting wrath. 
 My wayward life, with constant effort, press — 
 As many things to burden as to bless — 
 While, everywhere, broad paths of danger lie. 
 With beauty fringed, to tempt me from the sky? 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 Nor am 1 first in undertaking quest 
 For answer, which might bring" the troubled rest ; 
 Before the priestly oi^ke and the church, 
 As old as heartache, older still the search ; 
 As old as sin, distrust, despair and grief, 
 When sacred promise brought but slight relief. 
 These questions are. The thoughtful of all time, 
 The tempted, troubled, tried, of every clime. 
 Have asked, with throbbing heart and anxious mind, 
 Why God should choose for helpless human kind 
 A v/orld with evil filled as training place; 
 Why doom to pain and death a human race. 
 
 In all the passing years, no answer came; 
 Philosopher and sage could nothing frame 
 Of helpful words with power to bring content 
 To struggling ones, however well was meant 
 Their idle work of spinning theories. 
 Which make us see but men as walking trees; 
 And those, who, in their agony, have cried 
 To heaven as humble suppliants, have died 
 Before a message came to solve their doubt. 
 Drive gloom away, and put their fear to rout. 
 
 Down deep in nature's heart the causes lie: 
 
TME GOOD SHEFHl^RD. 
 
 We cannot fathom though with tears we tr}' 
 
 Her depths; but left to comfort us is trust 
 
 That God, the God of nature, still is just; 
 
 And, when, with earnest gaze, we search the sea 
 
 Of our own inner life, there can but be 
 
 Reflected back such picture as will tell 
 
 To all, who know to read the spirit well, 
 
 That God, who sends all worlds to whirl in space, 
 
 Who lixes fast their bounds, decrees their pace, 
 
 And makes them sing, in glorious strain, his praise, 
 
 In anthems such as morning stars can raise. 
 
 And settles all their destiny forever, 
 
 Though He be infinite in power, can never 
 
 To kinship with himself our spirits bring. 
 
 Or make it possible due praise to sing, 
 
 Until — our moral worth securely fixed 
 
 By choices free, where strangely mixed 
 
 The good and evil intertwined lie — 
 
 Our spirits dare to claim such kinship high. 
 
 We walk by faith ; we cannot walk by sight ; 
 Here will 1 rest, in darkness of this night. 
 Though not a single star can send its ray 
 Through cloudy skies, which overhang the way: 
 The soul of thino:s is ijood, and God above, 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHHKD. 
 
 Who made this world and fashioned us, is love. 
 He plans no evil thing, and this w^orld's strife 
 Must, somehow, issue in a better life. 
 
 It shall not give me fret that mountain peaks 
 Show broader, grander, views to him who seeks 
 Their summits, than the level plain can give 
 To men content forever there to live ; 
 Nor shall my soul be vexed that meadows lie. 
 Sometimes, on mountain slopes, while, parched and dry. 
 The plain below, unfruitful fields and bare. 
 Spreads out, where none may feed; nor shall 1 dare 
 Give place to plaint because within the wall, 
 Secure and strong, there is not food for all 
 The flocks which, mingling, rest in safety there. 
 Protected by a faithful porter's care. 
 
 1 try no more the mystery to solve; 
 Within my mind no more dark thoughts revolve, 
 Because 1 know the shepherd-spirit, kind. 
 Has put me forth in these rough ways to find 
 The pastures green; and 1, with strength conceived 
 And born of hope, as one who has believed 
 The glad report that all is done in love, 
 With eyes forever fixed on things above. 
 
THH GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 Will gladly toil; will every danger face; 
 And run with patient joy the weary race, 
 Because into the life the blessed know 
 No man without these things could ever grow; 
 For this the Shepherd puts me forth to try 
 The dangers and the toil of mountains high. 
 
 What seems but ill, 
 
 In all our storm and stress, 
 Comes after all to bless: 
 
 My soul be still. 
 
 The heart's best thrill 
 Of joy is felt, at last. 
 When pain endured is past: 
 
 Trust and be still. 
 
 It is God's will 
 
 That stress, and storm, and pain, 
 Should never come in vain: 
 
 Trust and be still. 
 
 Trust and be still ; 
 
 And let pain, stress and storm 
 Give thee each day the form 
 
 That suits his will. 
 
THB GOOD SHHPHERD. 
 
 S when the shepherd putteth forth his own, 
 And bids them walk in ways before unknown, 
 He goes before them, and they hear his voice 
 And follow him, so, 1 in this rejoice; 
 The Lord, our Shepherd, in the heavy lore 
 Of sorrow deeply learned is. The core 
 Of earth's most bitter fruit is to his taste 
 Familiar, and the trials which lay waste 
 Our lives were burdens which he bravely bore: 
 In all these ways, our shepherd goes before. 
 We do not journey any road untried 
 By him. A foe whom he has not dehed 
 We shall not meet. Whatever ills we bear 
 Have darkened old Judea's roadway where 
 The Master entered it and walked along. 
 We sing no minor strain of saddened song. 
 We strike no note of sorrow, that would not 
 Find melancholy chord in all his lot. 
 'Tis this of which the sacred penman writes. 
 When he for us the sacred words indites: 
 "For it became him for whom all things are. 
 In bringing many sons from earth afar, 
 Him by whom all things have their being here, 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 In bringing sons to glory, who are dear 
 
 To him, to make the Captain of the host, 
 
 Him in whose life and love and death they boast, 
 
 A perfect Prophet, Priest and King, 
 
 A perfect Savior, through his suiTering." 
 
 Cease thy lament, O, child of earth. 
 Compare thy lot with his, who had his birth 
 In Bethlehem; who taught in Gallilee, 
 Jerusalem, and on the stormy sea 
 Genesaret; and, in Judea, wrought, 
 In love, the wondrous cure of all who sought 
 His sovereign power in healing arts, 
 And spoke his word of peace to troubled hearts, 
 
 "Dost thou know what it is for bread to toil, 
 And, art thou sick at heart of this world's moil? 
 The Master's hand has pushed the plane, 
 And held the hammer and the nails, and stain 
 Of labor been upon his coarse, cheap dress. 
 While he, with humble, loyal faithfulness 
 To Joseph, took the place of tlrst born son, 
 And found in work disgrace, or burden, none. 
 
 Hast thou for home a very humble place? 
 Has fortune failed thee? in the wild, mad race 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 For earthly gain hast fallen far behind? 
 
 Thou still hast riches more, in every kind 
 
 Of present treasure, than our Lord, who said: 
 
 " The Son of man hath not whereon his head 
 
 May lie, while e'en the birds have nests. 
 
 And the wild fox the hole wherein he rests. " 
 
 At Bethany and in Capernaum 
 
 Love opened humble doors that he might come 
 
 Within, an honored friend, and, there, find rest 
 
 Among the lowly ones, who loved him best; 
 
 Or, there, awhile, precarious shelter take 
 
 From growing plots, which envious priests did make 
 
 Against him and his messianic throne; 
 
 But often he would spend the night alone 
 
 Upon some quite deserted mountain side; 
 
 Or, with the men he loved, at eventide, 
 
 Would wend his way across the Kedron vale, 
 
 Into the garden, where was heard his wail 
 
 Of bitter struggle with the powers of night, 
 
 And, sheltered by the trees, would wait the light. 
 
 Oh, Garden of the Olive Press, 
 
 Gethsemane, on Olivet, 
 Thy trees still stand but ne'er confess. 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 To waiting souls their words might bless, 
 The things they know so well. 
 
 There, underneath thy spreading shade. 
 
 Sweet, sad Gethsemane, 
 Upon thy sod, my Master laid 
 His weary form, or all night prayed, 
 
 As was his wont, to God. 
 
 What things he said, what joy he knew — 
 
 Sweet, glad Gethsemane — 
 What rest he found, what comfort true, 
 Might seem to us forever new, 
 
 If thou couldst tell us all. 
 
 O Son of God, thou Son of man, who world 
 On world, with God-like skill and power, hast hurled 
 Out into space, in regions far beyond 
 The sight of men, and fastened, with the bond 
 Of thine own word, the stars to shine above, 
 Abjectly poor didst thou become, in love 
 For us, that, through thy want and woe, all we. 
 Who love and trust thee in thy poverty. 
 Made rich, might see the wonders of thy grace 
 As manifested to a ruined race. 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 Hast thou in life known burden hard to bear? 
 Which of thy burdens now shall we compare 
 With the tremendous loads which Jesus bore, 
 Until, at last, the heart, which long was sore. 
 No longer able to endui'e its grief, 
 Did break, and thus in death he found relief. 
 
 Has every tiber of thy soul been i-ent 
 By trials and temptations Satan-sent? 
 E'en yet thou hast not sutfered more 
 In all thy years than Jesus did of yore, 
 When, in the forty days of varied test, 
 Satan besought him yield to his behest ; 
 Or, in Gethsemane, sore pressed, he prayed. 
 And like a devastating wave, unstayed 
 By rugged ocean shores, o'er him there came 
 The agony that swept and swayed his frame. 
 
 O, Garden of the Agony, 
 
 Gethsemane, on Olivet, 
 Such story thou couldst tell to me 
 Of anguish, as should make me see 
 
 What things my Lord endured. 
 
 There, underneath thy spreading trees, 
 Sad, sad Gethsemane, 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 He drank the cup down to the lees, 
 The cup of bitterness, beneath thy trees. 
 And said, "Thy will be done." 
 
 Hast thou been undervalued and unsought, 
 Maligned, insulted, spit upon, and brought 
 Into disgrace? Have brethren foes become. 
 Friends spoken slightingly, left thee alone? 
 Hast thou been butfeted with cruel hand? 
 As crown upon thy brow, a twisted band 
 Of thorns pressed down, until great drops of red 
 From currents of thine own life stained thy head; 
 And on thy shoulder has the cross been borne 
 Till, by the wayside, fainting and forlorn, 
 Thou stumbledst and fell down ; and, hast thou known 
 The awful hour, when God left thee alone; 
 When from thy lips was forced the plaintive cry, 
 "My God, why hast thou left me thus, alone, to try 
 My strength 'gainst those whose highest joy is strife, 
 Unaided by thy presence, which is life?" 
 In all, thou hast not suffered more than he. 
 Who bore thy sins upon the accursed tree. 
 
 But we could better bear the ills, which throng 
 Our way in life, than meet the Giant, strong, 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 Defiant, proud, of fearful mien, wliose glance 
 
 Hath power to wither all. Men name him Death, 
 
 And speak the name with awe and bated breath. 
 
 His dwelling place the grave, dark, loathsome, dread; 
 
 Its cavern floors with skeletons are spread. 
 
 He daily sallies forth and thousands fall ; 
 
 His presence doth the stoutest heart appall. 
 
 Thanks be to God, who ne'er deserts his own. 
 
 We need not meet this enemy alone: 
 
 The Master, to the tomb, as everywhere, 
 
 Has gone before us, and, in conflict there. 
 
 Has overcome: there, in its fearful shade. 
 
 Has waged a warfare which has laid 
 
 The Giant, Death, prostrate, defeated, low; 
 
 At touch divine, a fully conquered foe. 
 
 Look thou, O, man — thou who dost stand in dread. 
 Lest he, who bears the glass and scythe, with tread 
 Relentless come thy way, and cut thy stalk 
 Of unripe life, and o'er it rudely walk. 
 And none be found to run to thy relief; 
 This man of sorrows and acquaint with grief 
 Has walked the weary way of life throughout: 
 Now, at the end, in triumph hear him shout, 
 "O, Grave! where is thy victory; and where, 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 O, Death, thy sting?" From open sepulcher 
 He cries to us, "Henceforth the tomb, I leave, 
 Is not a prison-house, nor shall men weave 
 About it dreadful thoughts;" and all the place 
 He fills with glorious light, while, by his grace, 
 We write above its door, these words of cheer, 
 "Fear not ye mortals when ye enter here." 
 
 ^m 
 
 L^^ 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 Wwr (ilrass. 
 
 Thus was it written, 
 
 To calm the smitten; 
 
 Bitter to sweeten; 
 
 Dark days to brighten; 
 
 Burdens to Hghten; — 
 "The shepherd when he putteth forth his own, 
 The sheep that hear his voice, to him are known, 
 Goes on before." He sends them not alone. 
 
 And thus we know, 
 
 Our feet shall go. 
 
 In no rough way. 
 
 In our own day. 
 
 That was not trod, 
 
 O, Son of God, 
 
 By thee, alone, 
 
 When to atone 
 
 For guilty man, 
 
 And lift the ban, 
 
 Thou walked this way 
 
 In thine own dav. 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 'HE shepherd goes, not far away, before. 
 And lingers, waiting until all cross o'er 
 The streams. The bleating of the weary lamb 
 He hears, and quickly gathers it to calm 
 And safe repose within a generous fold 
 Of his own mantle. Weary ones, and old, 
 He makes the object of his special care. 
 He journeys slowly up the hills and where 
 The way is steep or rough; and, if a sheep. 
 By wandering far, be lost, he will not sleep, 
 But leave the ninety and the nine, to rest 
 Within the fold, and go, in patient quest. 
 To seek the one, on lonely mountain side, 
 And when he finds the wand'rer, far and wide 
 His joyous song resounds, and friends rejoice 
 When echoes back to them the shepherd's voice. 
 
 So may we feel assured that, in our hours 
 Of greatest need, our Shepherd's care is ours. 
 He goes not far before; he hears our cry; 
 Ready to meet our want is ever nigh. 
 
 When has the Master been so near to thee, 
 As when it was so dark thou couldst not see 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 To find thy way along life's path, and, in 
 Thy troubled dream, didst cry aloud to him, 
 "O, Master, help! or, 1, thy child, am lost." 
 
 He nearest is to those who, tempest tossed, 
 Most feel the need of help; to those who bear 
 The heavy burden most; to those who wear 
 The mourner's weeds, and those who are contrite. 
 The heart of man doth not grow mellow quite 
 Till God sends sorrow as the ripening frost ; 
 The highest things are purchased at such cost. 
 
 If challenged to the proof that thus our Lord 
 Is near to those who walk in sweet accord 
 With him, in hours of peril and distress. 
 When fortune fails and enemies oppress, 
 The story of ten thousand martyr lives. 
 Writ long ago in sanguinary lines. 
 Illuminated by divinest light, 
 Beyond a possible defeasance might 
 Establish all our claim. The prototype 
 Of all the holy martyr race, first ripe 
 Of all for Heaven, the victim of the hate 
 Of those who vengeance breathed and were irate 
 Against our Lord and all who honored him. 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 Held him not nearer, when, in distance dim, 
 
 The parted clouds and riven vault of blue 
 
 Yielded his steadfast gaze their vision true, 
 
 Than multitudes, in after years, who thought 
 
 Not life itself so dear it should be bought 
 
 At cost of cursing him who brought to light 
 
 That life which ends no more in death's dread night. 
 
 Could vv^e, who, spirits willing, yet to earth 
 Are fastened by our bodies from our birth 
 Until released by death — could we, made light 
 As angels are and giv'n angelic sight. 
 But soar o'er earth to scan its history, 
 Observing all, as angels do; then would we see. 
 In every chamber where the sick abide; 
 By ever3^ mother at a cradle side 
 When death comes near; in every busy mart 
 Where noble men have seen their wealth depart ; 
 In each unequal struggle where the good 
 Have met misfortune; one has stood — 
 Unseen by vulgar eyes, hid from the gaze 
 Of careless ones, with form of radiant grace 
 And beauty, crowned and clothed in light of heaven- 
 Stood to fulfill the ancient promise given — 
 Given to his own before he did ascend 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 To heaven, " Lo, I am with you to the end!" 
 
 Then should we know that, in all burdened years, 
 
 No man, with honest soul and bitter tears, 
 
 Has tried to hold the current of his life. 
 
 With firm hand, steady, where the fearful strife 
 
 Is made unequal by the might of foes; 
 
 Nor any soul, enduring trial throes. 
 
 Stood firm, despite his nature's wayward trend. 
 
 Against the wiles of Satan, who would bend 
 
 Our lives, red-heated in the furnace of 
 
 Temptation, to the ugly form and love 
 
 Of things which would destroy; nor any man 
 
 Of upward look and high and holy plan. 
 
 Between the nether millstone of desire 
 
 And upper stone of what God's laws require 
 
 Been ground; but that the eye of faith could see, 
 
 Quite near, that radiant presence — it was he 
 
 Who, in the furnace sevenfold hot, was seen 
 
 As fourth ; whose presence was the fireproof screen 
 
 Which saved the holy Hebrew three, when swathed 
 
 In flames, and brought them otf unscathed; 
 
 Nor has a Christian come to death's dark vale. 
 
 But it was turned by Him into a dale, 
 
 Cool, shadowy and peaceful, and the Son of God 
 
 Made the way easy by his staff and rod. 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 Shall we complain because we tread rough ways, 
 In climbing to the mountain top and blaze 
 Of splendor, which shall there surround and light, 
 With glory all ineffable and bright, 
 Our joyous lives, redeemed forever more? 
 Nay, but rejoice, because "He goes before." 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 W 
 
 ITH joy we entered, Lord, thy house. 
 That we might worship there; 
 In peace, now bid us all depart. 
 Under thy watchful care. 
 
 If thou shalt lead to pastures green, 
 
 Or by the waters still. 
 Help us, with thankful hearts, to go 
 
 Obedient to thy will. 
 
 But if thou lead by pathways rough, 
 
 O, may we nothing fear, 
 But trust the promise thou hast given. 
 
 Forever to be near. 
 
 In peace now bid us all depart. 
 As here with joy we came: 
 
 Teach us to rest in thy great love, 
 Forever more the same. 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 Now the God of peace that brought 
 again from the dead Our Lord Jesus, that 
 great Shepherd of the sheep, through the 
 blood of the everlasting covenant, make you 
 perfect in every good work to do his will, 
 working in you that which is well pleasing 
 in his sight; through Jesus Christ, to whom 
 be glory for ever and ever. Amen. 
 
xl FINDING THE CHRIST-CHILD. 
 
 Finding t\\t (Elrrist-OIiTittl. 
 
 I 
 
 heard the story of the Christ-child's birth, 
 And prayed, "Kind Shepherds, O show me 
 Where babe and Madonna may be, 
 
 For they say that the Christ-child came to earth. 
 
 Came to speak to me." 
 A sad voice replied, 
 "The shepherds have died, 
 
 And do not hear thee." 
 
 II 
 Much grieved that shepherds could not hear my prayer, 
 
 1 cried, "O Wise Men, happy band. 
 
 Who, coming from a far-off land, 
 The Christ-child found, O, show me where 
 
 Is the sacred spot." 
 
 Again the voice said, 
 
 "The Wise Men are dead. 
 And they hear thee not." 
 
FINDING THE CHRIST-CHILD. xli 
 
 111 
 
 Heart sick because no help could come from men; 
 "Angels, who sang the Christ-child's birth, 
 Come back once more, come back to earth," 
 
 I cried, "Sing me your song of peace again, 
 
 And show me the way." 
 Once more the voice spoke, 
 "Why angels invoke? 
 
 They come not today." 
 
 IV 
 My heart no more from breaking could 1 keep: 
 
 1 sat down beside another. 
 
 One who sought and found not, brother 
 To him in his grief, and turned aside to weep: 
 
 1 heard a low sound; 
 
 A voice sweet and mild, 
 
 "I am the Christ-child," 
 It said, "thou hast found." 
 
 Ill 
 
xlii DOUBT AND GOOD CHEER. 
 
 gauW and dtood Qlter. 
 
 'HE funeral dirge of faith 
 Sadly sang a maiden, 
 'Mid the wrack and wraith 
 Of her early Aiden, 
 In the autumn: — 
 
 "Away from their empty, dangling nests, 
 The birds are flown into fathomless air 
 
 As out of its old belief and rest 
 My soul has wandered — where?" 
 
 A song of abiding cheer. 
 Though the leaves were falling, 
 
 Sang one who sat near, 
 But heard glad voices calling 
 From the springtime: — 
 
 'Again to rebuild their dangling nests 
 
 Shall the birds come back in the springtime fair 
 So the soul, that once by faith M^as blest. 
 
 Never, forever, shall despair,' 
 
STORM AND SUNSHINE. xliii 
 
 A 
 
 Starm and SunslrttiB. 
 
 S rain and sunshine, wind and storm 
 All shape the growing tree, 
 And make its trunk and spreading form 
 The generous thing we see, 
 
 Under whose shade the weary rest 
 When fainting by the way ; 
 
 So storm and sunshine should give zest 
 To growing men, who may, 
 
 In after years, when stress has brought 
 To them that splendid form, 
 
 Which never can by ease be wrought, 
 But grows alone in storm, 
 
 Be like the tree which stands to say. 
 
 To every weary one, 
 "Beneath my branches here you may 
 
 Be sheltered from the sun." 
 
xliv LIKE A VAPOR. 
 
 yk^ n ^a;p;Gr. 
 
 IKE a morning vapor rising from the stream, 
 
 Misty, vague, uncertain; 
 
 Fleecy, silken curtain, 
 Hanging for a moment, fading like a dream, 
 Is the life of man. 
 
 But the breath of heaven, in earth's valleys chilled, 
 
 Winter-bound and lonely, 
 
 Here appearing only 
 Till the morning warms it, as our God hath willed; 
 Such the life of man. 
 
 See, the mist can tarry but a little time: 
 
 Silent, stealthy, certain, 
 
 Lifts the fleecy curtain; 
 In a moment pass we to another clime; 
 
 Pass the sons of men. 
 Say not thou tomorrow; morrow may not dawn; 
 
 Let today be brightened 
 
 By a life well rightened, 
 For if comes tomorrow, you may then be gone — 
 Gone beyond earth's ken. 
 
THE OLD PREACHER. xlv 
 
 Tlir mi l^rrcicher. 
 
 S the years crept on with a sure, steady pace, 
 
 The preacher, who had been a giant in strength, 
 'Had stooped, become grey, and grown pallid of face, 
 Until he had fallen, and lay there at length. 
 Prone on his couch, like some hero whose power 
 Had vanished, and left him robbed of his dower. 
 
 In time long gone by, with his heart stirred by love. 
 
 He felt himself called, as a herald of truth, 
 To bear news of salvation from heaven above; 
 Had given unstinted both manhood and youth; 
 Now old he lies dying; soon all will be o'er. 
 And he will have crossed to the other shore. 
 
 He lingers, and dreams of some scene in the past; 
 Of people assembled, and church lacking light; 
 Of himself as reluctant, but compelled at the last; 
 And murmurs: *"There will be no preaching tonight." 
 Ah! Tonight there will be no preaching 'tis true. 
 But heaven will dawn on the old preacher's view. 
 
 '■The last words of the Pev. Dr. D. L. Dcmpsey. 
 
xlvi 
 
 THE OLD PREACHER. 
 
 The lights are gone out, the doors are shut close, 
 The key has been turned in the rusty old lock; 
 The preacher, gone forth to the grave, finds repose; 
 New voices must plead, others point to the Rock 
 On which men shall stand, to the One who gives light; 
 By him there will no more be preaching tonight. 
 
THE LAST WORD. 
 
 Tfe tHst mjxvi: 
 
 LET it be recorded, shine forth as the hght, 
 Where'er sin has shrouded mortal man in night, 
 Jesus is a refuge, thither men may flee; 
 He can loose their fetters, he can set them free. 
 
 Let it be recorded, graven in the stone, 
 
 Where'er hearts are aching, where is heard a moan, 
 Jesus Christ can comfort all who are in tears; 
 
 He can bear their sorrows, he can calm their fears. 
 
 Let it be recorded, where'er doubt is rife, 
 
 Where'er men are longing for immortal life; 
 
 Tell them Christ has conquered, cast down death and hell- 
 Tell them they may join him angel ranks to swell. 
 
 Let it be recorded, graven well in stone. 
 
 Shout aloud the message, "Jesus died to atone:" 
 
 Preach, and sing, and tell he triumphed o'er the grave; 
 Nowhere is a sinner, Jesus cannot save. 
 
 *Tlie venerable Dr. Samuel Wakfield, who died in his ninety-sixth year, 
 said, as his last coherent utterance, "1 want to jiut it on record that there 
 is no sinner so low hut Jesus can save him." 
 
xlviii OUR HOPE. 
 
 ®wr Hnifit, 
 
 E live in a world by shadows o'er cast; 
 
 Where night follows day with all too great haste ; 
 Where winter chills summer with ruthless blast, 
 
 And makes of all nature wide spreading waste ; 
 
 Where childhood vanishes like morning dew; 
 
 Where youth with its buoyancy soon fades away; 
 While manhood bears burdens that ever are new, 
 
 And age with its weariness closes life's day; 
 
 Where death follows fast and in frigid embrace 
 Each mortal holds hard to his chilly breast ; 
 
 And thus hurries on each man of the race 
 To find in the grave his earliest rest: 
 
 But the hope of the Christian mounts up to the skies, 
 To a home where there comes neither winter nor night ; 
 
 Where no one grows old, and no one e'er dies, 
 And all is enduring, immortal and bright. 
 
MY HEART CRIETH OUT. xlix 
 
 HUv Hmvt OlrxKtlT 0ut. 
 
 'HE gates of life swung open wide, 
 One day, upon a new made land; 
 A living soul came in; and then, to hide 
 From mortal eyes, by God's command, 
 The regions back of life, the over-world. 
 
 The angel standing there to guard, 
 To duty's call responsive, quickly hurled 
 Them shut again, and then stood ward. 
 
 The brazen gates of death swung open soon 
 
 To let that soul slip out again, 
 When — by divine command, to keep the boon 
 
 Of knowledge from the sons of men, 
 To hide from sight the borders of the land 
 
 Where spirits dwell — the somber guard. 
 An angel who stands there with eager hand, 
 
 Quick shut the gate, and then stood v/ard. 
 
 And with a faithfulness divinely true, 
 
 Those wards have stood and guarded so 
 The gates of life and death, the ages through. 
 
MY HEART CRIETH OUT. 
 
 That when men come, and when men go, 
 No careless moment do they stand ajar 
 
 To show us either start or goal, 
 The mystic regions, shimmering lands afar, 
 
 The whence and whither of the soul. 
 
 But long ago there dawned a day so bright, 
 
 That one, who looked with eager care 
 into himself, and learned to read aright. 
 
 What had been always written there, 
 Could see, deep-chisled on the walls 
 
 Of inmost rooms, indellibly, 
 What, whosoever treads these inner halls, 
 
 Must read,— GOD,— IMMORTALITY. 
 
 
SABBATH EVENING HYMN. 
 
 ^aliiicitlT gwBning Hgmn. 
 
 Y soul, awake and sing: 
 Bring praises to our King 
 With gladsome sound: 
 His mercy and his grace, 
 Extended to our race. 
 With rolling years keep pace, 
 To us abound. 
 
 Another day of days, 
 
 A Sabbath filled with praise. 
 
 E'en now is past: 
 In home and temple fair. 
 Have mingled hymn and prayer. 
 While we, with joy, our care 
 
 On Him have cast. 
 
 As shadows gather 'round, 
 May love and peace abound 
 
 In every heart; 
 God give us sleep tonight ; 
 
Hi SABBATH EVENING HYMN. 
 
 Keep us till morning light; 
 And never from the right 
 Let us depart. 
 
 When Sabbath days are o'er, 
 And we on earth no more 
 
 May meet to pray; 
 In richer, happier lays, 
 With angels may we raise, 
 In heaven, our song of praise. 
 
 Through endless days. 
 
 DOXOLOGY. 
 
 We praise thee. Father, Son, 
 And Spirit, Three in One, 
 
 And thee alone; 
 While all before thee bend, 
 To us thy presence lend. 
 And let our song ascend 
 
 Up to thy throne. 
 
GOD'S ACRE. liii 
 
 (^ai's AcrB. 
 
 6 6 y^^OD's acre" they call the field 
 I 1 Where the bodies of men, asleep, 
 ^°^ Now lie waiting till earth shall yield 
 Her precious stores, and even the Deep — 
 Old Ocean — shall give up the dead 
 Who lie on hidden sea mosses, 
 Resting as sleepers in bed 
 When night hours are dreamlessly peaceful. 
 
 What ground shall bring forth 
 
 Fruit of such worth. 
 
 When trumpeter's call 
 
 The harvesters all, 
 To glean, in God's fields, for heaven's great store 
 Of spirits immortal and blest evermore. 
 
 As "God's acre?" 
 
 "God's acre" has grown until, 
 
 By thousands, now, we number 
 
 The broad acres of valley, hill, 
 
 And well shaded slope, where slumber 
 
liv GOD'S ACRE. 
 
 Somebody's dear friends and loved ones, 
 With no one sleeping so soundly 
 
 But all shall hear the summons 
 To rise and meet the king, in mid-air. 
 
 In these broad acres shall these reapers, 
 
 From seed thus sown, 
 
 All gather God's own, 
 And there shall be garnered a store of sheaves, 
 In number far greater than rich autumn's leaves. 
 
 From God's thousand acres. 
 
 HI 
 
TO AN OLD VIOLIN. 
 
 To An mi Violin. 
 
 COME tell me — speak slowly and lowly, in whispers, 
 old fiddle— 
 The secret thou holdest so long, come tell me thy 
 riddle. 
 
 Neck slender and shapely, thy amber shining" and golden. 
 Bouts well proportioned, delicate purfling, workmanship 
 olden, 
 
 Thou seemest but beech, spruce, and eb'ny, a thing of mere 
 
 wood 
 Deftly united, with gut strung, all easily understood; 
 
 And thou hast no heart that can feel a delicate passion, 
 Nor canst thou know suflfering after our we:ik human 
 fashion. 
 
 Come tell why, from under thy quivering belly and filling 
 Thy curving /-holes, should come such melody thrilling. 
 
 Whence the song of the woods; the music of water falling; 
 The note of the love-lorn songster, mate to mate calling; 
 
Ivi TO AN OLD VIOLIN. 
 
 The laughter of children at play; the sigh of a maiden; 
 The breathing of zephyrs with perfume of evening laden; 
 
 The story of loves that are human; the joy of the angels; 
 The word of great peace, as if sung by mercy's evangels? 
 
 Come tell why, from under thy quivering belly and welling 
 From curving /-holes, should come that melody telling 
 
 Of sadness, and gladness, of pain, and anger, and sorrow, 
 Of doubt for today, and darker despair for tomorrow; 
 
 The crying of pris'ners; the moan and the groan of lost 
 
 souls; 
 And sounds that might come from the banqueting table of 
 
 ghouls. 
 
 The heart of a pine, didst thou grow on some green 
 
 mountain side, 
 And didst fix in thy fiber all the melodious tide 
 
 Of the anthems of nature that float through the wood. 
 That magnificent temple, first house of our God.? 
 
 Didst thou hear the birds sing in the sunshine fair, 
 And the roar of the lion rushing forth from his lair.? 
 
 Did the thunder roll o'er thee its note of deep bass. 
 And the storm catch and sway thee in rugged embrace.? 
 
TO AN OLD VIOLIN. Ivii 
 
 Did the wild mountain stream, all limpid and clear, 
 Go dancing- beneath thee, thy rootlets to cheer? . 
 
 And, thus, the whole octave of nature's glad scale, 
 As well as her minor note's saddening wail. 
 
 Become part of thy being, the soul of thy soul? 
 Did thy fiber, entrapping, imprison the whole? 
 
 'Neath the blov/ of the axe did thy trunk sv/ay and fall? 
 Did they build thee in castle, or low cottage wall. 
 
 And, there, with the passage of joy laden years. 
 And days that were burdened with dropping of tears, 
 
 Didst thou hear every note of the human voice 
 Wherewith mortals lament and mortals rejoice? 
 
 The dirge and the cradle song, the gay wedding march- 
 Didst thou listen to all from some window arch? 
 
 The song of the chase; and the bugle's shrill call, 
 When warriors assembled — didst thou hear it all. 
 
 And, nov/, is thy soul with such music replete 
 That, to us, thou art able each note to repeat? 
 
 Or, did Stradivari, when he marked thee out, 
 Gave bound to neck, to /-hole, and to bout; 
 
Iviii LITTLE BUDS. 
 
 With fingers deft arranged each part; 
 Tell thee the story of the human heart ? 
 
 Did he compel thee, with some magic spell, 
 The story evermore, with art divine, to tell? 
 
 And needs it now alone to touch thy string 
 That story from thy inner soul to bring? 
 
 What? Speakest not? Thou wilt not tell thy riddle? 
 I've found thee out; I'll tell it all, old fiddle. 
 
 Mute thou must be, thou canst not spealc or sing; 
 A single note of melody thou canst not bring. 
 
 Except when soulful fingers drip with pearly notes of joy, 
 Or, saddened by our human woes, thy trembling strings 
 employ. 
 
 (§) 
 
 The flowers are plucked by human hands 
 
 To wither and decay; 
 
 But little ones, 
 
 To whom death comes. 
 
 Borne far — Oh, far away. 
 Bloom fair, for aye, in heavenly lands. 
 
TODAY, TOMORROW, SOMEDAY. lix 
 
 Tadcig, H'mujax'xxiwx, ^mntim. 
 
 T 
 
 ODAY is a helper 
 Who seldom will fail 
 
 Each task to make lighter; 
 O'er all to prevail. 
 
 Tomorrow is thy friend? 
 
 O then be thou taught 
 Not on him to depend: 
 
 He may, and may not. 
 
 But Someday 's a truant, 
 Whom no man has bound; 
 
 In promise, most fluent; 
 In practice, not found. 
 
 Only to fill out a page 
 
 Was I written and put in this place: 
 Men there are, in every age, 
 
 Like me in greatest plenty. 
 Who serve no better purpose than to grace 
 Some wasted corner, otherwise, in space. 
 
 And keep from being empty. 
 
DAY DREAMING. 
 
 Dreamer of dreams, I built castles in air 
 Surpassingly wonderful, wondrously fair. 
 
 I finished and furnished as only in dream; 
 We garnish our fancies with beauties that seem. 
 
 I dreamed, in my dreaming, as others have done, 
 That fame was but waiting for me to be won. 
 
 1 saw her near by, a most beautiful form. 
 And yielded my heart as if taken by storm. 
 
 1 felt that none other my life e'er could bless. 
 
 And pressed, then, my suit with most eager address. 
 
 She seemed a coy maiden, but only required 
 My pictured ideals in matter attired. 
 
 She asked for the castle I built in the air. 
 
 As dower of her wifehood, to dwell with me there. 
 
 "Thou surely art mine. Maid," I eagerly said, 
 "When wooing 's so easy, we'll certainly wed." 
 
 I fell, then, to work with might and with main, 
 Builded stone upon stone, wall, turret and vane. 
 
THE WITNESS. 
 
 My castle complete, 1 turned 'round to my bride, 
 Besought her to come take her place by my side. 
 
 She curled her sweet lip, turned to leave me alone; 
 My castles in air were but hovels in stone. 
 
 1 'roused from my day-dream, content with my lot; 
 I could not build castles, but could build a cot. 
 
 I built, and I found me a dear little bride; 
 
 Then dreamed that fame saw us and, envious, sighed. 
 
 Tire TUtttiBss. 
 
 SIX ushers in full dress, standing three on a side, 
 Two flower-girls, a page, and a maid, 
 A blushing young bridegroom with a beautiful bride. 
 And a clergyman sober and staid; 
 
 A best man to carry the ring in his pocket. 
 
 With people and music and flowers; 
 We tie the knot fast and carefully lock it. 
 
 Then subscribe ourselves 
 
 Lovingly yours. 
 
 *Written on a marriage certificate. 
 
Ixii TOT'S PRAYER. 
 
 Txit's frag^r. 
 
 ^^I^^AAIMA, Th'ressa 's bad — s'e scolded" — 
 I I Said my little Tot, who, folded 
 
 In my arms at evemng gloaming. 
 Tired from romp and all-day roaming, 
 
 Nestled, sleepy eyes uplifting, 
 Even then to Nod-land drifting, — 
 
 "Tots so s'eepy — mamma tiss her — 
 Put her down' — will mamma miss her, 
 
 When 'e 'ittle p'ayers all said 
 Mamma's Tot is put away in bed?" 
 
 Then she knelt with ringlet's dropping 
 Over shoulders white and sloping. 
 
 Knelt, with little "tootsies" peeping 
 From the dress she wore when sleeping, 
 
 And, in accents sweet and thrilling, 
 All the room with incense filling. 
 
TOT'S PRAYER. Ixiii 
 
 Of a pure child's fervent praying, 
 Pressed her dimpled hands while saying 
 
 Her, 'Now 1 'ay me down to s'eep, 
 1 p'ay 'e 'ord my soul to keep; 
 
 If I s'ould die afore I 'ake, 
 
 1 p'ay 'e 'ord my soul to take' — 
 
 Then began as I had taught her, 
 Precious, darling little daughter, 
 
 Never any friend forgetting. 
 Nor a single name omitting — 
 
 "Dod b'ess mamma, — an' my papa, 
 John, — an' Mawy, — Joe, — an' Ga'pa"— 
 
 There she paused, and as 1 listened. 
 Opened eyes where mischief glistened, 
 
 While she prattled on in praying. 
 Strangest things in child words saying, — 
 
 "But Dod 'emem'er, if 'oo p'ease, 
 When 'oo does tum to b'ess all 'ese, 
 
 'Mem'er, sure. Tot tells 'oo 'at again, 
 'At Theressa "isn't in it." 'Men." 
 
Ixiv 
 
 ROSEBUD. 
 
 
 ^l05£lllTri. 
 
 
 1 
 
 r 
 
 1 
 
 "X NE day, when at last 
 
 ( 
 
 J A winter had passed, 
 
 X^ 
 
 "^ And the sun, from the lap of the storms. 
 
 
 Was peeping at earth, 
 
 
 And promising birth 
 
 Of the manifold beautiful forms 
 
 
 Of Springtime; 
 
 
 On the meadow edge, 
 
 
 Just over a ledge 
 
 Of 
 
 rocks, out of which gurgled a spring. 
 
 
 There, where woodland trees 
 
 
 Bend tops to the breeze. 
 
 And the birds come their matins to sing, | 
 
 
 In Summerland; 
 
 
 'Twas there, in an angle 
 
 
 Of fence-row, and tangle 
 
 Of 
 
 rank briers and ferns, that 1 found 
 
 
 A wild, little bush. 
 
ROSEBUD. Ixv 
 
 Beginning to push 
 Its way, silently, out of the ground. 
 In springtime and Summerland. 
 
 II 
 
 "Thou art mine little bush; 
 
 I'll help thee to push 
 Out of darkness thy way into light; 
 
 Thy buds shall be mine, 
 
 Ev'n as they are thine; 
 Thou Shalt never be out of my sight. 
 In Summerland." 
 
 Ill 
 
 The Rosebush — my bride — 
 
 I sat by her side 
 On the edge of the meadowland green; 
 
 We sang but one song. 
 
 Through all the day long. 
 And none happier ever were seen 
 In Summerland; 
 
 We sang this one strain, 
 Again and again, 
 While the sun shed upon us his beams: 
 "Thou'rt mine, Rosebud sweet. 
 
ROSEBUD. 
 
 Our circle complete, 
 Let us spend the bright day as in dreams 
 Of springtime in Summerland. 
 
 IV 
 
 Into that bright land 
 
 There came a strange band, 
 Stealing silently over the lea; 
 
 Rosebud was taken 
 
 By angels to waken. 
 From our day dreams, my sweet bride and me, 
 In Summerland: 
 
 Now all the day long 
 
 We can sing no song. 
 And, at eventide, to us there floats. 
 
 On the rocky ledge, 
 
 At the meadow edge. 
 But the sound of the whip-poor-will's notes. 
 
 In the autumn of our Winterland. 
 
 X 
 
DECORATION DAY. Ixvii 
 
 ^l^txixutmn gag. 
 
 RING flowers; bring flowers; 
 
 Bring flowers that are red, 
 
 And strew them over the soldier's grave; 
 Heap high o'er the home of the dead; 
 Thick cover his low peaceful bed : 
 'Twas a crimson offering he gave. 
 
 Bring flowers; bring flowers; 
 
 Bring flowers that are white, 
 
 And strew them here, where the soldier lies; 
 
 Make snowy, make snowy and bright; 
 
 Deep cover with flakes pure and light: 
 
 Laud honor unsullied up to the skies. 
 
 Bring flowers ; bring flowers ; 
 
 Bring flowers that are blue, 
 
 And strew them over the grassy mound; 
 
 Thick bestrew with red, white and blue; 
 
 Fit colors to cover the true: 
 
 Let praise of heroes forever resound. 
 
FINIS. 
 
 Hnis. 
 
 THE tale of life will soon be told: 
 Both he who tells and he who hears, 
 Together, will lie outstretched, cold, 
 In death's embrace. O let not tears 
 Be shed because our life is bended 
 So sharply toward the grave, but heed 
 Lest life, when rounded out and ended. 
 Too little incense of good deed 
 Can show, toward heaven ascended. 
 
 HU 
 

 
 
 
 
 
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