PS 3545 
 . 133 J6 
 1909 
 Copy 1 
 
Class ZgS >3^45 
 
 Copyright W.iffo}. 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEW)SIT: 
 
BESSIE AND THE BABY. 
 
 See Page "!). 
 

 
 
 
 JOYS OF 
 EARTH 
 
 
 
 By 
 HENRY S. WILCOX 
 
 Author of Foibles of the Bench. 
 A Strange Flaw, etc. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 WILCOX BOOKS CONCERN 
 
 163 RANDOLPH ST. 
 1909 
 
 
 
 
 

 Copyright 
 
 1909. 
 
 HENRY S. WILCOX 
 
 Entered at Stationers Hall. 
 
 LIBRARY Of CONGRESS 
 Two Codies Received 
 
 APR 17 \m 
 
 Copyriknt tntry 
 XLASS 0_ ,Uc, No, 
 
 i 
 
i 
 
 Metrication 
 
 To my wife : 
 
 I fain would link this little book I write 
 
 With some strong stay which time cannot de- 
 stroy, 
 So, when it else might sink from human sight, 
 
 It would be kept afloat by this strong buoy. 
 I look about and see this love of thine, 
 
 How it abides in strength and fresh appears; 
 Through pain and worry and through shade and 
 shine 
 
 It still stands firmly after thirty years. 
 I know of naught more lasting on the Earth 
 
 That better doth defy the tooth of time, 
 Or aught that can excel such love in worth, 
 
 So dedicate to thee this book of mine. 
 
Contents; 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Joys of Earth o 
 
 The Old and the New Year 3 6 
 
 Retrospective 41 
 
 To a Friend 48 
 
 The Little Village Church Among the Trees 50 
 
 Des Moines 54 
 
 The Autumn Leaf 57 
 
 My Spirit Friends 58 
 
 Inspiration g^ 
 
 Fond Memories 62 
 
 To My Violin 71 
 
 Music 75 
 
 Bessie and the Baby 79 
 
 Spring 83 
 
 A Great Operation 86 
 
 Natural Justice 88 
 
 Honest Tom 9 -< 
 
 Fear of Ghosts 94 
 
 William the Silent 98 
 
 Mose Cohen's Insurance iO! 
 
 The Taxidermist 104 
 
 Retribution 107 
 
 The Typewriter Girl 110 
 
 Money Lending 114 
 
 Weary 117 
 
 A Mexican Bull Fight 12 
 
 Our Country 12 6 
 
 The King of Mardi Gras 130 
 
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 I 
 
 I have heard there's a land of the blest, 
 Where the glorified ever shall roam; 
 Where the poor and afflicted, and sorely oppressed, 
 And the worn and the weary shall ever find rest, 
 And the homeless shall find a sweet home. 
 
 And when at the coming of day 
 
 I have watched its fair glories unfurled, 
 I sometimes have fancied I saw the bright way 
 Where the feet of the blessed ones ever may stray 
 Who dwell in that beautiful world. 
 
 And often when daylight doth wane, 
 And the setting sun kisses the skies, 
 
 Through the half-parted curtains a rose-bordered 
 lane 
 
 Seems to lead to the bowers of that heavenly plain, 
 Where the songs of the blessed arise. 
 
 When night's sable mantle is spread, 
 
 And I gaze on the star begemmed dome, 
 The far lights that twinkle so brightly o'erhead 
 Seem beacons of love by the Father's hand fed, 
 To show me the way to that home. 
 
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 And when on the moon's glowing face 
 I gaze as she sails through the sky 
 On the soft-flying cloudlets of silver I trace 
 A hint of the beauty that shines in that place, 
 Prepared for the faithful on high ; 
 
 And I know the sweet joy that may come 
 
 To the sin-racked and sorrow-crushed heart, 
 When faith lifts the curtains so dismal and dun, 
 And it feels the warm rays of eternity's sun 
 And the bliss that its beauties impart; 
 
 And I would not deprive any soul 
 
 Of the comfort which comes from the thought; 
 For sleeping or waking, I feel its control, 
 And to reach that blessed haven is ever the goal 
 
 For which my best efforts are wrought. 
 
 While this Heaven of fancy I prize, 
 
 And fondly I hope to get there, 
 There are joys on this planet I do not despise ; 
 They are closer to us than this home in the skies, 
 
 And many exceedingly fair. 
 
 Could our swift moving intellects spring 
 
 From the earth to the furthermost star, 
 Could we give our fond fancy the wildest of wing, 
 And soar where the angels eternally sing, 
 And select all the best from afar, 
 
 PAGE 4 
 
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 On return to the earth we would find 
 
 That the joys we had seen in our flight 
 Abide on this planet, the best of their kind 
 And are fitted to satisfy body and mind, 
 If only we view them aright. 
 
 Of these I will mention a few 
 
 That many are prone to neglect, 
 Thus hoping a heaven to bring into view, 
 Where all may be happy if loving and true 
 
 And methods of wisdom select. 
 
 Then come gentle reader, with me 
 
 And wander awhile on the earth ; 
 Let us open our eyes its rare beauties to see, 
 And taste the delights that for you and for me 
 Are spread at its banquet of mirth. 
 
 II 
 
 Oh, where are the Elysian Fields 
 
 Of which the poets sung, 
 Where perfume laden zephyrs play 
 
 The blessed isles among; 
 Where fairest flowers forever bloom, 
 
 And gentlest breezes blow 
 On hills of green and vales between, 
 
 And purest waters go. 
 
 PAGE 5 
 
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 The land where milk and honey flow 
 
 By prophets oft foretold, 
 Where is that land of poesy 
 
 Let me its joy behold ! 
 'Tis not beyond the shining clouds, 
 
 Upon some distant star, 
 We might find there a place as fair 
 
 But need not go so far. 
 
 From Kennebec to Arkansas, 
 
 From Erie to the Sea, 
 The streams that flow wher'er we go 
 
 Have wondrous clarity; 
 And every breeze that fans the trees, 
 
 In meadow, vale and hill, 
 Is perfumed by a thousand flowers 
 
 That border every rill. 
 
 Forests and fields and meadow lands 
 
 Of great fertility, 
 Bring health and wealth to all who toil 
 
 With careful husbandry; 
 All forms of beauty here abide 
 
 Where'er we wish to go 
 And in this land, on every hand, 
 
 Both milk and honey flow. 
 
 PAGE 6 
 
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 The earth is quite as beautiful 
 
 As any distant star; 
 Our fairest gleams of heavenly dreams 
 
 Upon this planet are. 
 The spectrum finds the fires that blaze 
 
 Upon the fartherest sun 
 And those that warm the hearth at home 
 
 In substance are but one. 
 
 The force that moves the human eye 
 
 Moves all the rolling spheres, 
 It guides Niagara's waterfall 
 
 And guides our falling tears, 
 The same great principle has sway 
 
 Through all creation's plan 
 In fish and fowl, in plant and flower, 
 
 In insect, beast and man; 
 
 So when I sing the joys of Earth, 
 
 I sing of Heaven too, 
 And praise the bounteous hand that made 
 
 The pleasures we pursue. 
 I know how weak these words of mine, 
 
 And yet I gladly raise 
 The strongest voice at my command 
 
 To sing the Maker's praise. 
 
 PAGE 7 
 
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 My theme is pleasure; to explore 
 The lovely realm of pleasure o'er 
 
 And inventory all 
 Would make the list, I fear too long 
 To fit the limit of my song 
 
 So make the number small; 
 Hoping a few, tho' not the best, 
 May prove fair samples for the rest. 
 
 The numerous joys the ancients knew, 
 Compared with ours, were short and few 
 
 And these but few received. 
 Kind fortune now to poorest brings 
 Delights which not the richest kings 
 
 In former times conceived. 
 The wealth of Croesus could not pay 
 For that which we have every day. 
 
 Tho' great his wealth, he could not buy; 
 What none possessed none could supply ; 
 
 But we are richly blest; 
 The rarest fruit of ancient years, 
 And modern too, for us appears 
 
 In quality the best. 
 And we with steam and lightning play"; 
 And have their aid from day to day. 
 
 PAGE 8 
 
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 All flying high or swimming low, 
 All that in soil or sea doth grow 
 
 Is brought to us in haste; 
 By skillful methods is preserved 
 Until it's cooked, prepared and served, 
 
 To gratify our taste; 
 And on our tables, when we dine, 
 Are daintiest wares and linen fine. 
 
 The richest silks and choicest lace 
 And softest furs our women grace, 
 
 And also jewels rare ; 
 The brightest gems of every clime, 
 Are found and polished superfine, 
 
 To make the ladies fair. 
 Thus highest art the human face 
 Has beautified in form and face. 
 
 And artisans of greatest skill 
 Contrive our every want to fill 
 
 From every clime on earth — 
 At home, abroad, where'er we go— 
 A myriad forces work to sow 
 
 The seeds of joy and mirth, 
 And many arts are thus combined 
 To bring us bliss of every kind. 
 
 PAGE 9 
 
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 IV 
 
 'Tis joy to ride the swiftly flying train, 
 
 Borne on the wings of lightning or of steam; 
 To glide by forest, meadow, hill and plain, 
 
 And sunlit lake and gently flowing stream. 
 'Tis joy to visit old and storied lands, 
 
 Scenes made familiar to our childhood's ears, 
 'Tis joy to stroll and muse on famous strands, 
 
 Where valor fought for right in other years. 
 
 'Tis joy to see the rugged cedars grow 
 
 On lofty ledges close to caverns deep; 
 'Tis joy to view the hemlocks grown below 
 
 In mossy marshes where the waters sleep. 
 'Tis joy to stand upon the mountain's head 
 
 And watch the rain storm sweep across the vale 
 And when the rustling shower has fully sped 
 
 To see the freshened beauty of the dale. 
 
 'Tis sweet to eat wild berries from the bowers 
 
 That gleam in sunshine by the tangled way; 
 'Tis joy to cull the fragrant prairie flowers 
 
 That make the grassy hills and meadows gay. 
 'Tis joy to lie at length on desert sand, 
 
 After a hot and weary day has flown 
 When night has spread its curtain o'er the land — 
 
 And feel the cooling air come gently down. 
 
 PAGE 10 
 
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 'Tis joy to drink the clear and sparkling rill 
 
 That bubbles from the spring beside the way, 
 When after wandering over vale and hill 
 
 We feel the thirst that springs from summer's 
 ray. 
 'Tis sadly sweet to see the orb of day, 
 
 In orange beauty glide adown the West, 
 And think not all the powers of earth can stay 
 
 His going from the skies in beauty drest. 
 
 'Tis joy to see the glorious robe of night 
 
 Unfurl the beauty of its countless stars; 
 'Tis joy to watch the day's returning light, 
 
 When morning paints the East with crimson 
 bars. 
 Tis bliss to float at ease at eventide, 
 
 Adown the waters of some gentle stream, 
 While cherished friends are seated by our side, 
 
 And all is hallowed by the moon's soft beam. 
 
 'Tis joy to see the earliest grass of Spring 
 
 Give its bright color to the gray cold clod; 
 'Tis joy to watch the swelling buds that bring 
 
 A matchless beauty to the path we've trod. 
 'Tis joy to watch the lovely Summer come, 
 
 And see the golden harvest of the grain, 
 To lean against the shocks and hear the hum 
 
 Of happy insects on the yellow plain. 
 
 PAGE 11 
 
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 'Tis joy when Autumn turns the bushes brown, 
 
 And gilds with brightest hues the forest trees, 
 To sit where nuts and fruits are falling down 
 
 From branches waving in the gentle breeze. 
 'Tis joy, when Winter spreads its snowy sheets 
 
 On stubble fields and locks the rippling rill, 
 To sit about the hearth in converse sweet, 
 
 While winter winds without are whistling shrill. 
 
 'Tis joy to look upon the merry dance 
 
 And watch the graceful motions of the gay; 
 'Tis fun to see the proud and haughty prance; 
 
 'Tis sweet to hear the witching melody; 
 'Tis joy to see the pure, rich yellow cream 
 
 Blend with the ripened berries rosy red; 
 'Tis joy to banquet by a running stream, 
 
 With grass below and green leaves overhead. 
 
 'Tis joy to see a true soul take a stand 
 
 For right against the clamors of the throng, 
 And deal with falsehood with unfaltering hand, 
 
 And fight alone if need be 'gainst the wrong, 
 'Tis joy to see the light that wreathes his brow, 
 
 A heavenly lustre flashing from his eyes; 
 A strength divine, it seems, inspires him now; 
 
 His soul is vibrant with the upper skies. 
 
 PAGE 12 
 
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 I love the precious land that gave me birth; 
 
 I love the legends linked with her bright fame, 
 'Tis joy to think that through the spacious earth 
 
 She strives for justice in fair freedom's name. 
 'Tis joy to see her beauteous banner float 
 
 On other seas as proud as here at home. 
 'Tis joy to hear it praised by every throat 
 
 As freedom's flag wherever we may roam. 
 
 'Tis joy to see the face of faithful friend 
 
 Shine through the clouds which shroud mis- 
 fortune's day, 
 And sweetest music friendship's voice may lend 
 
 To cheer the soul in sharp adversity; 
 'Tis precious joy to feel a kindly hand 
 
 Clasp ours the closer as the shadows come ; 
 'Tis joy, when cast adrift from life's lone strand, 
 
 To feel the loving arm that guides us home. 
 
 How sweet it is to saunter by the sea, 
 
 And watch the crisp waves crash against the 
 shore ; 
 How sweet it is to lie beneath a tree, 
 
 On velvet moss, and hear the billows roar. 
 How sweet it is to feel the ocean's breeze, 
 
 In cooling dalliance on our heated brow, 
 While 'neath the flapping sails we sit at ease 
 
 And hear the wavelets lap the vessel's prow. 
 
 PAGE 13 
 
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 And sweet it is to hear soft music float 
 
 On gentle zephyrs o'er a placid sea 
 At twilight hour, when on some strolling boat 
 
 A happy crowd is singing merrily. 
 Tis sweet to watch the nimble fishes glide 
 
 Through crystal waters on a summer's day, 
 And see each creature show its shining side, 
 
 As wantonly they dart about and play. 
 
 'Tis sweet indeed when, after many days 
 
 We've spent in coming from a foreign strand, 
 We see the gleaming of the lighthouse rays 
 
 That flash to guide us to our native land. 
 I love the ocean in its wildest mien 
 
 When fiercest bolts of lightning rend the clouds, 
 And raging waves with lurid flashes gleam, 
 
 And furious winds are howling through the 
 shrouds. 
 
 To me the ocean is a mystery 
 
 Whose mighty deeps I gladly would explore; 
 Through all her curious caverns would I stray, 
 
 And see her hidden forms from shore to shore ; 
 And sometimes when I sit upon her beach, 
 
 And watch the daylight slowly disappear, 
 And gaze as far as mortal eye can reach, 
 
 And naught but rolling waves can see or hear, 
 
 PAGE 14 
 
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 I fondly fancy o'er her rolling tide, 
 
 A boat might bear me to a better land, 
 Where all the lost ones that I love abide, 
 
 And dwell in joy upon a blessed strand. 
 My heart then hears a call across the sea, 
 
 To pass from darkness to that brighter shore 
 Where love may last through all eternity 
 
 And pain and falsehood vex us never more. 
 
 To me the ocean seems a mighty sphere, 
 
 In which the master wheels of nature play ; 
 A force Divine seems clearly mirrored here, 
 
 Which moves its waves in wondrous majesty; 
 And as I look above the briny deep 
 
 Of rolling waters to the starry sky, 
 My bosom swells with thoughts I cannot speak 
 
 My spirit mounts aloft in ecstasy. 
 
 In every way we turn the sight 
 
 Who seeks shall surely find 
 A myriad scenes that much delight 
 
 A well directed mind. 
 
 Color and line are so combined 
 
 In perfect harmony 
 That their control may charm the soul 
 
 To highest ecstasy. 
 
 PAGE 15 
 
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 Above, the stars in beauty shine; 
 
 Below, the earth is fair; 
 Thus every view seems quite divine 
 
 In ocean, earth and air. 
 
 From shining cloud to tinted shell, 
 From insect wing to human face, 
 
 From mountain peak to lowly dell 
 We forms of beauty trace. 
 
 In growing leaf and ripened sheaf, 
 
 In brilliant stars and flakes of snow, 
 
 In Spring's delight and Winter's blight 
 Rare kinds of beauty glow. 
 
 Rise to the highest rocky steep, 
 And beauty there is found; 
 
 Sink to the lowest ocean's deep, 
 And beauties there abound. 
 
 The microscope and telescope 
 
 Now bring into our view 
 A myriad charms of lovely forms 
 
 The ancients never knew. 
 
 When from without we turn within 
 
 And give our fancy sway, 
 On walls more bright than earthly light 
 
 The rarest beauties play. 
 
 PAGE 16 
 
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 The artist's brush, the poet's pen 
 
 The highest skill engage, 
 To place the themes of fancy's dreams 
 
 On glowing wall and page. 
 
 And so adown the tide of time 
 A precious freight has come, 
 
 Of beauteous thoughts from every clime 
 And every race and tongue. 
 
 The unsealed eye may ever rest, 
 From morning's dawn till night, 
 
 On scenes the fairest and the best, 
 And thus find great delight. 
 
 Then let the windows of the soul 
 
 Be opened wide, that we 
 May yield to beauty's sweet control 
 
 Wherever we may be. 
 
 VI 
 
 Oh, who can fix a limit to the human mind, 
 Or set a boundary to its pleasant dreams? 
 
 It sweeps the universal space that it may find, 
 For happy thoughts, a multitude of themes. 
 
 PAGE 17 
 
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 And who can list the means we may employ 
 To find in objects sources of delight, 
 
 Or chart the mountain peaks of human joy, 
 
 That all may reach who guide their steps aright ? 
 
 Some do in scientific research find 
 
 Abundant pleasure for their leisure hours; 
 
 Some with historic facts do please the mind ; 
 Some dote on ruins, ancient halls and towers. 
 
 Some find delight in learning many tongues, 
 Some watch the insect life with zealous care ; 
 
 Some study muscles, nerves and heart and lungs ; 
 Some search for relics, bones and fossils rare; 
 
 And some through fields of learning take their 
 flight, 
 
 And skim like swallows in a summer sky, 
 Finding in all some sources of delight, 
 
 Are happy, every sweet on earth to try; 
 
 From serious comment to the play of wit, 
 
 From naked facts to strains of florid rhyme, 
 
 Like bees from flower to flower they joy to flit 
 And thus in pleasure pass the fleeting time. 
 
 PAGE 18 
 
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 Good books are fountains from which ever flow 
 Sweet streams of wisdom for the thirsty mind; 
 
 In solitude to them all hearts may go 
 
 And purest pleasures never fail to find. 
 
 The Public library, that great treasure field 
 
 With countless wealth of lore — is free to all ; 
 
 To those who seek, it richest joys will yield, 
 And none so poor but he may on it call. 
 
 Vast as the realm of universal space 
 
 Is that wide field the human mind may range, 
 
 And find fresh pleasures still in every place, 
 And great delight in never ceasing change. 
 
 A bounteous hand has spread a sumptuous feast, 
 Countless in kind, exhaustless in extent, 
 
 And all so pleasant that the very least 
 
 May fill the loving heart with sweet content. 
 
 Sometimes our vision takes so low a range, 
 There comes to us no light to pierce the pall ; 
 
 But if we to a higher point will change, 
 A brighter aspect then will cover all. 
 
 PAGE 19 
 
31op$ of 
 
 VII 
 
 Of all the joys the world contains, 
 Search for them where we may, 
 
 None are so sure to long endure 
 As work from day to day. 
 
 When thirsty we enjoy our drink; 
 
 When hungry, relish food; 
 Sometimes a play or holiday 
 
 Or ramble in the wood. 
 
 When weary we enjoy our rest, 
 
 But after all we find 
 Some labor still we need, to fill 
 
 The cravings of the mind. 
 
 The time of sports and plays is short 
 Until they cease to please; 
 
 And scenes of joy upon us cloy — 
 'Tis then we seek for ease. 
 
 Full soon we find a vacant time 
 That wants employment still, 
 
 And nothing short of useful work 
 This vacant space will fill. 
 
 PAGE 20 
 
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 No soul can feel quite satisfied J^. 
 
 That does not do its part; 
 Bears not the burdens of the race, 
 
 In mine or field or mart, 
 
 Or some department where mankind 
 
 Are striving to provide 
 The means to satisfy the wants 
 
 Which everywhere abide. 
 
 This useful work becomes a joy 
 
 To all well-ordered minds, 
 And causes peace and sweet content 
 
 The idler never finds. 
 
 The mother, when she sees the babe 
 
 That nestles on her breast, 
 And thinks she gave the infant life, 
 
 With joy is richly blest. 
 
 And such the thoughts the workers please, 
 
 Who realize their plans, 
 When they at last can view complete 
 
 The products of their hands. 
 
 Who toils to build will ever joy 
 
 His calling to pursue, 
 As day by day and piece by piece 
 
 He sees his dreams come true. 
 
 PAGE 21 
 
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 Who drives with skill the flying steeds, 
 Or swiftly running trains, 
 
 Feels rare delight as he proceeds 
 And when the goal he gains. 
 
 Who nurtures well a growing plant, 
 
 A bird, a beast or tree, 
 An invalid or little child, 
 
 Will feel much joy to see 
 
 The object of his tender care 
 
 With greater strength has grown, 
 
 And thus the law of justice feels 
 And reaps as he has sown. 
 
 So every kind of useful work 
 Brings blessings in its train — 
 
 Sweet peace by day and rest by night, 
 And balm for every pain. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Of all the bliss to mortals given 
 The joys of love are nearest heaven ; 
 
 Love is the vital air 
 That fills the plainest face with light 
 And makes the dullest objects bright 
 
 And all that's fair more fair. 
 
 PAGE 2 2 
 
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 Love is the sweet, perennial flower 
 That fairest blooms in darkest hour, 
 
 And sweetest seems in saddest day; 
 Amid the tropic's heat it grows, 
 It blossoms on the polar snows, 
 
 Distilling perfume by the way. 
 
 It grows as fair in prisons lone 
 As in the sunlight round a throne ; 
 
 And fills all hearts with joy; 
 If to a palace, or a cot, 
 This precious flower of love is brought, 
 
 There's bliss with least alloy. 
 
 'Tis warmth in Winter's coldest day, 
 It tempers Summer's fiercest ray, 
 
 And lights the darkest night; 
 It breaks the threatening clouds of gloom, 
 The dying soothes, and wreathes the tomb 
 
 With hopes serenely bright. 
 
 It nerves the patriot's arm to fight 
 His country's battles for the right, 
 
 Throughout the spacious earth; 
 It gives the mother strength to go, 
 Where death's dark waters often flow, 
 
 To give an infant birth. 
 
 PAGE 28 
 
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 It wipes the tears from sorrow's eyes, 
 It sees bright visions in the skies, 
 
 It hears sweet music in the air; 
 The writer's pen it oft inspires, 
 The artist's brush its aid requires, 
 
 To paint his dreams so fair. 
 
 From king enthroned to crouching slave, 
 It has the greatest power to save 
 
 The human soul from wretched plight ; 
 It wings to heaven, the strongest prayer, 
 It helps the stricken heart to bear 
 
 With sin or sorrow's blight. 
 
 In youth's gay hours it is most sweet; 
 When loving lads and lasses meet 
 
 They deem themselves divinely blest; 
 When old age comes with slanting ray, 
 True love can make the shortening day 
 
 A very heaven of rest. 
 
 And love for kindred hearts may weave 
 A tie so strong that naught can cleave 
 
 This bond of priceless worth; 
 United thus, they stand the test 
 Of every sorrow, and are blest 
 
 With greatest joy of earth. 
 
 PAGE 24 
 
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 And thus is given a greater power 
 To meet the tasks of every hour 
 
 And greater bliss to feel; 
 Each sense exalted by love's art, 
 All joys a sweeter bliss impart, 
 
 And wounds the sooner heal. 
 
 Blest is the one whose kindly face 
 Shows love for all the human race 
 
 Indwelling in his soul; 
 But happier he who feels a love 
 For all below and all above — 
 
 The universal whole. 
 
 The lowest insect seems his friend, 
 The fartherest star some ray will send, 
 
 To cheer his upward flight; 
 Farflung, the love he sends, returns 
 With countless blessings ; thus he learns 
 
 The kindest way is right. 
 
 So love becomes a central sun 
 Round which life's forces ever run, 
 
 And as we gaze above, 
 And see the mighty orbs that roll 
 In ceaseless splendor round the pole, 
 
 We feel our God is Love. 
 
 PAGE 25 
 
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 This faith unfaltering fills the heart 
 With strength to stand the keenest dart 
 
 That cruel fate may wing ; 
 Infinite Love, we know, some day 
 Will in its wisdom find a way 
 
 Infinite bliss to bring. 
 
 IX 
 
 Oh, who can tell the bliss of babyhood, 
 
 The joys the infant drains from mother's breast 
 
 When eagerly he quaffs the nectar food, 
 Till satisfied, he softly sinks to rest. 
 
 His lovely form is fresh from nature's mold, 
 Like harp Aeolian which the zephyrs play, 
 
 And by the gentlest touches is controlled 
 To vibrate notes of sweetest melody. 
 
 For who has ever watched a little child, 
 In merry prattle on his mother's knee, 
 
 And seen his baby dimples when he smiled, 
 
 And not believed his heart was filled with glee? 
 
 His bright eyes sparkle like the sunlit dew, 
 His laughter ripples like the gentle rill, 
 
 In tones as sweet as birds when spring is new, 
 And fresh-blown flowerets cover vale and hill. 
 
 PAGE 26 
 
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 Behold him watch his mother's loving eyes, 
 And see him note his father's smile of pride, 
 
 While folded close in loving arms he lies, 
 Or sits on downy cushion by their side. 
 
 No Autocrat upon the loftiest throne 
 Is so exalted in his subject's eyes; 
 
 Nor can this adulation be unknown — 
 To all this love the baby's heart replies. 
 
 His little craft floats 'neath a peaceful sky, 
 Upon a gently flowing sunlit tide; 
 
 The air is vibrant with a lullaby, 
 
 While soft caressing love sits by his side. 
 
 Then who shall count the joys of infancy? 
 Oh, happy days ; could they come back to me ! 
 
 X 
 
 From babyhood to childhood now we float ; 
 
 The bright sky widens, and a swifter stream 
 Bears on its rippling breast our dancing boat, 
 
 The flower-bespangled hills and vales between. 
 
 Here full of joyous hope and free from care, 
 
 How sweet the prospect looms before our view; 
 
 Each scene is fresh and gay, and everywhere 
 The moving current brings us objects new. 
 
 PAGE 2 7 
 
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 Nor do we care to linger by the way 
 
 And saunter idly on the flowery mead; 
 
 We wish to float as swiftly as we may, 
 
 And thus from day to day increase our speed. 
 
 The little craft in which we started out 
 
 Has now grown wider with the widening 
 stream ; 
 
 And many loving friends are now about, 
 
 To share the beauty of the changing scene. 
 
 How sweet the breeze of morning on the brow, 
 How sweetly bowers at noon protect from heat, 
 
 How sweet the shadows are at sunset's glow, 
 
 And when the night has come, our sleep how 
 sweet. 
 
 Oh, precious youth, so full of joy and glee, 
 Sweet time of happy dreams, come back to me. 
 
 XI 
 
 Now wider spreads the ever widening sky — 
 The gentle stream has to a river grown 
 
 The boat increases in capacity 
 
 And many with us now are drifting down. 
 
 PAGE 28 
 
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 And now the shores almost recede from sight; 
 
 And now they narrow to high jutting banks; 
 Now fiercely lowering clouds shut out the light 
 
 And now great rocks appear in serried ranks. 
 
 Sometimes a whirling tempest strikes our boat, 
 And fills the stream and sky with foam and spray 
 
 Our strength is taxed to keep our craft afloat, 
 And pass the rocks of danger in our way. 
 
 These threatening perils in our earlier years 
 Had caused us fright and driven joy away; 
 
 But now in manhood's prime we feel no fears, 
 We love the storm clouds and the lightning's 
 play. 
 
 To conquer perils gratifies our pride; 
 
 Let tempests roar and waters fiercely rave ; 
 With strength and steady nerve we joy to guide 
 
 Our boat to safety, and its crew to save. 
 
 We love the rapid changes in the scene; 
 
 We love to grapple with the dangerous tide; 
 We love to dodge the rocks that intervene 
 
 And threaten to destroy us as we ride. 
 
 We love to fight with nature's wildest moods ; 
 
 We love to see her grandeur when she fights; 
 V/e love adventure when the chance is good, 
 
 To conquer foes in battle for our rights. 
 
 PAGE 2 
 
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 We thus grow stronger, brave and confident, 
 And firm to meet the stroke of every foe, 
 
 And so are filled with joy and sweet content, 
 
 While years pass on and down the stream we go. 
 
 In manhood's prime so brave and strong are we 
 And full of joyous power, could it come back to me ! 
 
 XII 
 
 Now wider grows the river's flowing tide, 
 Still wider spreads the sky that covers all, 
 
 And fewer now are those who with us ride, 
 And greatly lessened is the speed and fall. 
 
 We long no more for conquests or for storms, 
 Nor do we crave great changes in the scene; 
 
 We wish no more to strain our weary arms, 
 And are content upon the helm to lean. 
 
 The sky is now quite tranquil, and the air 
 Contains a something that allures to peace; 
 
 For that once greatly prized, we little care — 
 We love to sit and drift and take our ease. 
 
 Thus on we drift until the shores are gone, 
 And we have come into a quiet sea ; 
 
 Thus on we drift, until we're left alone 
 To face the ocean of eternity. 
 
 PAGE 30 
 
3lopjs of 
 
 There sits the old man in his wave-worn boat, 
 
 And gazes on the fast declining Sun; 
 He knows not where to steer, so lets it float, 
 
 Till out of twilight comes a Shining One. 
 
 This is the angel Faith, who brings new light 
 To guide his feeble bark far out to sea; 
 
 Nor does he dread the coming of the night ; 
 For now he trusts this guide implicitly. 
 
 He trusts, whatever shore his boat may reach, 
 He will awake when morn again has come; 
 
 His keel will strike upon as fair a beach 
 As love can find : so calmly he floats on. 
 
 On that fair shore he hopes to find again 
 
 The glorious vigor of his manhood's prime, 
 
 And there perhaps forever may remain, 
 
 With those who loved him on the stream of time. 
 
 So with no other guardian now to ask, 
 
 No longer does he care a watch to keep ; 
 
 Faith takes the helm, and, weary with his task, 
 In peace the old man sweetly sinks to sleep. 
 
 O Faith Sublime, what joys do come with thee! 
 May old age bring this precious faith to me. 
 
 PAGE 31 
 
3fop0 of 
 OBartf) 
 
 XIII 
 
 The mists of doubts are rising, 
 
 The darkness disappears; 
 We're on a pleasant journey 
 That may take us many years. 
 
 All the world is going with us, 
 Bound to us by kindred ties, 
 
 As the children of our Leader 
 
 Who now guides us to the skies. 
 
 Long the way we leave behind us, 
 Stretching backward to the night; 
 
 Long the way which lies before us 
 Reaching forward to the light. 
 
 When our course is steep and rugged 
 And our progress would be slow, 
 
 Kindly hands above will help us 
 If we help the ones below. 
 
 While we rise the sky grows clearer, 
 And the light wind softer plays, 
 
 And more beauteous glows the earthland, 
 Spreading out before our gaze. 
 
 page: 8 2 
 
Jops of 
 (Battb 
 
 What below was once uncomely 
 Now above is wondrous fair; 
 
 What was discord now is music, 
 Borne upon the purer air. 
 
 Brighter glows the smiling heavens, 
 Sweeter blooms the flowerets nigh, 
 
 And we feel a loving Presence 
 Reaching to us from on High. 
 
 We are on a homeward journey ; 
 
 In the land to which we roam 
 There is spread a glorious banquet 
 
 Waiting for our coming home. 
 
 Soon before our raptured vision 
 Will appear the shining spires 
 
 Of that bright, celestial city, 
 
 Which the waiting heart desires. 
 
 Soon our souls will be transported 
 With a joy beyond compare, 
 
 As we hear the heavenly music 
 Wafted from that city fair. 
 
 Oh, what bliss will be our portion, 
 As that banquet we partake, 
 
 And we feel the rarest blessings 
 
 Which a boundless Love can make. 
 
 PAGE 3 3 
 
3lop$ of 
 (Eattf) 
 
 All the great shall sit down with us- 
 Saints and prophets of all time, 
 
 Angels and the great arch-angels 
 And our Leader most sublime. 
 
 Mighty ones of earth and heaven, 
 All in glory shall be there, 
 
 Shining in their fullest radiance, 
 Glad to grace that banquet fair. 
 
 We shall hear the songs of angels, 
 We shall hear the seraphs play, 
 
 We shall hear the wisest sages, 
 Pointing out the happier way; 
 
 We shall see supernal beauty 
 In its brightest glory glow, 
 
 We shall hear love's loftiest anthems 
 In their sweetest cadence flow; 
 
 But in all that holy concourse 
 
 Naught we find will please us more 
 
 Than to meet again the loved ones 
 That we lost in days of yore. 
 
 Sweeter than the songs of angels 
 Will a mother's voice appear, 
 
 As she says again "God bless you," 
 In the tones we love to hear. 
 
 PAGE 8 4 
 
31ogs of 
 <£artf) 
 
 Grander than the saints celestial 
 
 We shall view a father's form, 
 As he clasps us to his bosom 
 
 In his love forever warm. 
 
 Dearer than the wisest sages, 
 
 Friends and loved ones we shall greet, 
 And with bliss the most ecstatic 
 
 Join with them in converse sweet. 
 
 There the face that death made ashen 
 
 Shall again in radiance glow; 
 There the form disease had crippled 
 
 Shall a full perfection show. 
 
 There the mind deranged or weakened 
 
 By the cruel shafts of time, 
 Shall be brought into completeness 
 
 That excels its fullest prime. 
 
 All our wrongs will there be righted, 
 
 All our sorrows will be healed, 
 All estranged will be united, 
 
 And all truth will be revealed. 
 
 Let us then lift high our voices, 
 
 Singing gladly as we roam. 
 Hand and hand and happy hearted 
 
 Grace our glorious journey Home. 
 
 PAGE 3 5 
 
3fop0 of 
 <2£art& 
 
 <3rfje <®ltr anb tfce J^eto gear 
 
 Cold clouds of leaden hue obscure the sky, 
 
 I sit alone. 'Tis midnight black and drear. 
 Upon the grate the smouldering embers lie, 
 
 While tolls the knell of the departing year. 
 The faces of the dead look from the wall; 
 
 Old broken vows come staggering back again. 
 Out from the curtained night old voices call, 
 
 And speak to me of days whose hopes were vain. 
 This mortal life seems but a passing breath; 
 Its joys but ashes in the hands of death. 
 
 II 
 
 About me flits a ghost of vanished bliss, 
 
 The sprite of her whose love once made me blest ; 
 Her lips were ruddy as the parting kiss 
 
 Which sunset leaves upon the blushing West. 
 Where is that heart that throbbed with fond desire? 
 Those eyes like stars, once lit with languid 
 flame? 
 That voice, whose dulcet tones did once inspire 
 All hearts to feel, all tongues to praise her 
 name? 
 Grim death has snatched her mortal life away, 
 And all that earth retains is coffined clay. 
 
 TAGE 3G 
 
3top0 of 
 
 in 
 
 What splendid plans I've pushed with prospects 
 proud, 
 
 And fondly hoped that they would never fail, 
 Which proved to be but forms of shining cloud, 
 
 And vanished like a vapor in the gale. 
 What clinging friends have I in summer found, 
 
 Whose hearts beat high with love when fortune 
 smiled, 
 Yet, when the winter came, like frozen ground, 
 
 Grew hard and cold and all my trust beguiled! 
 Mere banks of snow or bars of shifting sand, 
 Appear the mightiest works that I have planned. 
 
 IV 
 
 Why do I hope, when hope doth hopeless seem? 
 
 Why do I vow, when vows are all so vain? 
 Why do I live, whe*n life is but a dream? 
 
 Why do I love when love must end in pain? 
 Across the brightest pictures life hath made 
 
 Death draws the shadow of the dreadful tomb; 
 The brightest hues are darkened by its shade ; 
 
 All joy is banished by its dreadful gloom. 
 Oh, what a worthless thing is human life, 
 
 If death must all destroy to end the strife. 
 
 PAGE 3 7 
 
3!op0 of 
 dBartft 
 
 Now in the jewelled east the dawn appears, 
 
 Fresh as the morn that first on Eden smiled ; 
 Its breath inspires new hopes, destroys old fears, 
 
 And all the doubts which have so long beguiled. 
 The glorious skies revive my wavering trust 
 
 In that great power that fills the heavens with 
 light. 
 Man's course I see is upward, death but dust 
 
 Dropped from the forms of spirits in their flight. 
 The way of death leads to immortal life, 
 And endless peace succeeds our mortal strife. 
 
 VI 
 
 Life is a plant not formed to blossom here; 
 
 Earth grows its roots and feeds its opening 
 leaves ; 
 Its bloom requires another atmosphere; 
 
 Its fruit more sunshine than the earth receives. 
 Here by the law of growth it doth unfold 
 
 And put its trembling tendrils out with care, 
 Time tears it up, its swelling buds withhold 
 
 Their choicest fragrance for celestial air. 
 What here is nourished, there shall fully bloom, 
 And pass to perfect fruitage through the tomb. 
 
 FAGE 38 
 
31op0 of 
 OBartf) 
 
 VII 
 
 Infinite wisdom works as much today 
 
 As at the time creation first began. 
 All things are changed to find a better way; 
 
 Such is the course and destiny of man. 
 From wide experience he must wisdom learn ; 
 
 Pain is the teacher who oft teaches best; 
 That is more valued which is hard to earn ; 
 
 That cheapest held, which easiest is possessed. 
 Thus all, by means of happiness and pain, 
 Are led and guided to a higher plane. 
 
 VIII 
 
 From new to old, and old to new again — 
 
 So must the course of nature circle round. 
 For all our follies we must feel some pain, 
 
 But time our anguish stops and heals the wound. 
 Fondly to scenes of joy our memories cling, 
 
 Our tears are dried, our sorrows soon depart ; 
 And thus the good becomes a lasting thing, 
 
 And evils quickly cease to sting the heart; 
 And all our pains to make us better tend, 
 And bring us greater pleasure in the end. 
 
 PAGE 3 9 
 
3!op0 of 
 dEartf) 
 
 IX 
 
 Then hail the coming of the glad New Year ; 
 
 Let every grief be buried with the past ; 
 No longer shed the unavailing tear 
 
 For that which never was designed to last. 
 Salute the blooming morn with songs of joy ; 
 
 Let faith inflexible sustain thy soul; 
 Find in it strength and bliss without alloy; 
 
 Press on and upward to thy glorious goal ; 
 Turn like the flower thy face from earth away 
 And feel the sunshine of Eternal Day. 
 
 PAGE 40 
 
3Jo?0 of 
 4Eart& 
 
 Cletruspecttbe 
 
 It was a soft and dreamy afternoon, 
 
 When summer's reign had reached its fairest 
 prime — 
 The sky was cloudless, and a drowsy tune 
 
 Came from the reapers, it was harvest time — 
 I saw her sitting where the maple trees 
 
 Sheltered her fair face from the scorching heat, 
 A book of poems open on her knees, 
 
 A rippling river flowing at her feet. 
 I thought to loiter but a moment there, 
 The coolness of that pleasant shade to share. 
 
 II 
 
 I'm talking now about the long ago, 
 
 When youth gave her its beauty and its grace; 
 Sad changes come to all, and well we know 
 
 Time takes the roses from the fairest face; 
 Now on her brow the wrinkles furrow deep; 
 
 Her raven curls are sprayed with tints of snow; 
 Those ruddy lips, where kisses seemed to sleep, 
 
 Lost all their tempting freshness long ago. 
 And yet, when last I saw her faded face, 
 Some of her youthful charms I still could trace. 
 
 PAGE 41 
 
Slops of 
 (ZBart!) 
 
 in 
 
 Oh! had you seen her when she sat with me, 
 
 Beneath the maples on the river's side, 
 Then would you know how happy I must be 
 
 When first I thought that she would be my 
 bride. 
 I too was young. Oh that our youth, so sweet, 
 
 Should like the flowers of summer fade so fast; 
 But age must come ; I know it is not meet 
 
 That we should grieve o'er that which cannot 
 last; 
 But thinking of the joys of former years 
 Does often turn the blood of age to tears. 
 
 IV 
 
 Yet deem not these to be the tears of grief ; 
 
 They come as much from joy as from my woe ; 
 'Tis thus the swelling bosom finds relief, 
 
 When living o'er the joys of long ago. 
 Sweet as the sadness in an angel's song, 
 
 Who sings of loved ones blest by death's em- 
 brace, 
 Come now the memories of the days long gone, 
 
 When first I learned to love her radiant face. 
 I know such thoughts may make the tear drops 
 
 start, 
 And yet I hug these memories to my heart. 
 
 PAGE 4 2 
 
3!op$ of 
 <£art!) 
 
 Mine has not been a life of peaceful ease. 
 
 Mid storms and whirlpools on the sea of strife 
 I've fought with death when terror rode the breeze, 
 
 And seen my blood drip from a foeman's knife. 
 Now through these dreadful years of toil and fight, 
 
 Piercing the baleful mists of blood and tears, 
 Fair as the radiance of celestial light, 
 
 Come these dear memories of my early years, 
 And gladly I would feel all former pain, 
 Could I but live those happy years again. 
 
 VI 
 
 We met by chance that summer afternoon ; 
 
 Though we had known each other long before, 
 Never till then, had we conversed alone; 
 
 She was my friend, I ne'er had hoped for more. 
 'Tis strange indeed, and hardly can I tell 
 
 How love was born and grew between us there ; 
 How it did charm us with its mystic spell, 
 
 And bathe us in a bliss beyond compare. 
 I know the heavens never seemed so bright 
 As when I kissed my love good-bye that night. 
 
 PAGE 43 
 
31000 of 
 
 VII 
 
 We gazed into the sky where not a cloud 
 
 Marred the bright ocean of unspotted blue; 
 We saw the river sparkle where it flowed, 
 
 And heard the light winds sighing as they flew; 
 We looked afar upon the gentle slopes, 
 
 And saw the reapers glean the golden grain; 
 We talked of Death the reaper, and the hopes 
 
 That loved ones have that they may meet again ; 
 We spoke of duty here and joy above, 
 Of friendship true, and constancy in love. 
 
 VIII 
 
 She told me meekly of her cherished hope, 
 
 That God might keep her from the paths of sin, 
 Guide her aright and give her strength to cope 
 
 With all life's trials, and his favor win ; 
 And when I told her of the fairy dreams 
 
 That I had formed for future wealth and fame, 
 She sighed, and wished that all my cherished 
 schemes 
 
 Might bring me joy and keep me free from stain. 
 Sweet as the accents of a seraph's song 
 Winged her kind prayer that I might keep from 
 wrong. 
 
 PAGE 44 
 
3[op0 of 
 
 IX 
 
 Like fresh blown roses moist with morning's mist, 
 
 Her crimson lips did bloom divinely fair; 
 So fit had nature framed them to be kissed 
 
 I felt that I could cling forever there. 
 I saw the lovelight languish in her eyes; 
 
 I saw the blissful color come and go; 
 I felt the ardor in my pulses rise; 
 
 Our voices then grew tremulous and low, 
 Then at her side one dimpled hand was thrown; 
 I caught and clasped it fondly in my own. 
 
 X 
 
 O Love! If I again could feel the deep 
 
 Ecstatic joy that then my bosom blest, 
 When strong desire did like a tempest sweep 
 
 Through my charmed soul, and draw me to her 
 breast. 
 Like thirsty pilgrim I did wildly drink 
 
 From her sweet mouth in many a rapturous 
 kiss; 
 Her soft lips trembled, yet she did not shrink, 
 
 But met my warm embrace with yielding bliss. 
 Moments like these do fix the fate of years; 
 Who knows their joy oft feels the weight of tears. 
 
 PAGE 4 5 
 
3lops of 
 <gart|) 
 
 XI 
 
 I loved and was beloved. And love, indeed, 
 
 Can light the darkest gloom of mortal woe, 
 Love guards the grave and hears the helpless plead , 
 
 It wipes the tears of sorrow when they flow. 
 But youthful love is of all love most sweet, 
 
 And when it comes with truth from beauty's 
 breast, 
 Then heaven descends, and in its joys complete 
 
 The dullest heart is made divinely blest. 
 But much we miss the flowers when falls the frost 
 And most we cherish love to us forever lost. 
 
 XII 
 
 Yet of the many joys that love can claim 
 
 The crowning moment of its greatest bliss 
 Is when the youthful hearts who feel its flame 
 
 First taste the rapture of its fervent kiss. 
 But could I feel again her sweet embrace. 
 
 Though time has taken much that youth ad- 
 mired, 
 Love would not miss the roses from her face, 
 
 Nor age forget the flame that youth inspired ; 
 For love hath life that time cannot destroy, 
 And were she mine I'd crave no greater joy. 
 
 PAGE 46 
 
3[<W of 
 OBattf) 
 
 XIII 
 
 A year ago I sought the hallowed place 
 
 That love holds sacred in my memory yet, 
 And there I vainly strove, but could not trace 
 
 One living thing that grew there when we met. 
 Where stood the maples, now the waters play, 
 
 The grass-grown bank has yielded to the tide; 
 The channel of the stream has moved that way, 
 
 And piled white sandbars on the other side. 
 A mist of years now saddens all the scene 
 That to my youthful fancy seemed so green. 
 
 PAGE 47 
 
Slops of 
 <£artl) 
 
 i 
 
 ^o a iFrtenb 
 
 I have asked as I strolled through the woodland 
 at night 
 And heard the sweet whip-poor-will's song; 
 And through quivering branches the moon's silver 
 light 
 Softly checkered my pathway along; 
 
 II 
 
 I have asked when the beams of the morning were 
 thrown 
 
 O'er the earth wet with heavenly tears, 
 And wondered at sunset, when musing alone, 
 
 If our friendship would lessen with years. 
 
 Ill 
 
 When I see the boughs green in the smile of the 
 spring, 
 
 By the frosts of the autumn made bare, 
 Then I ask will the roses of friendship still cling 
 
 Through the cold days of worry and care? 
 
 IV 
 
 If the sweet flowers of summer must soon fade 
 away, 
 
 And their brightness be wrecked by the blast, 
 Then how can we hope that our friendship will stay 
 
 When the winter of age has been passed? 
 
 PAGE 48 
 
31op$ of 
 
 Yet I cannot believe that so precious a gift 
 Can be made for a cheat and a snare; 
 
 I am sure 'twas intended our spirits to lift 
 To a plane that immortals may share. 
 
 VI 
 
 'Tis not like earth's flowers, a product of clay, 
 That must soon o'er its bosom be strewn, 
 
 But the flowers of the soul are immortal, and they 
 In the gardens celestial are grown. 
 
 VII 
 
 Then this gem of our friendship, so pure and so 
 fair, 
 
 I shall treasure as riches untold, 
 And close to my heart this jewel so rare 
 
 While I live I shall fondly enfold. 
 
 VIII 
 
 And when we shall pass to that glorified land, 
 And have left all that's false and impure, 
 
 May we find that our friendship triumphant shall 
 stand 
 And there shall forever endure. 
 
 PAGE 49 
 
3fops of 
 OBartf) 
 
 Clje Utttle tillage Cfmref) Hmong tfje ^rees 
 
 I 
 
 Of the many cherished pictures that in memory 
 brightly glow 
 There is one that brings me thoughts that ever 
 please. 
 'Tis a weather-beaten building where in youth I 
 loved to go; 
 'Tis the little village church among the trees. 
 
 II 
 There the friends I loved in boyhood oft assembled 
 Sabbath morn; 
 Sang the sacred songs and heard the preacher 
 preach ; 
 There on wings of true devotion were our spirits 
 upward borne, 
 And to heaven's shining portals seemed to reach. 
 
 Ill 
 
 At its altar pious parents did their children conse- 
 crate 
 To the love of God and righteousness for life; 
 There the happy bride and bridegroom did their 
 marriage celebrate, 
 Took the blessed vows that made them man and 
 wife. 
 
 PAGE 5 
 
3[<W of 
 
 IV 
 
 There the last sad rites of mourning were uttered 
 
 o'er the dead, 
 
 Ere we bore them to the tomb across the vale: 
 
 There the tender words of sympathy and love were 
 
 softly said 
 
 To the broken hearts that death left in its trail. 
 
 I have seen the pomp and glory that emblazon 
 marble halls, 
 Which with sacerdotal splendor proudly shine; 
 About whose magic altars a mysterious shadow 
 falls, 
 And beauty blooms in radiance quite divine ; 
 
 VI 
 
 But this little wooden building, and the oaks that 
 round it grow, 
 Bring to my soul a sweeter, holier peace, 
 And the grandest earthly temple which the wealth 
 of man can show 
 Equals not this little church among the trees. 
 
 PAGE 51 
 
3fop$ of 
 (Eartf) 
 
 VII 
 
 As I sit now in life's gloaming and look o'er the 
 stubble field, 
 And see the winding path on which I've trod; 
 How precious are the memories that these early vis- 
 ions yield 
 Of the friends who first directed me to God. 
 
 VIII 
 
 I would give all worldly grandeur could I sit again 
 and hear 
 That village preacher teach his little band, 
 And listen to the voices that in youth I loved so 
 dear, 
 As they sang the gospel songs at his command. 
 
 IX 
 
 And when earth life is closing and I lay me down 
 to die; 
 When wealth is dross, and fame's allurements 
 cease, 
 May my last thoughts be the first ones that to God 
 then brought me nigh, 
 In this little village church among the trees. 
 
 PAGE 52 
 
3lops of 
 <&mtb 
 
 I ask no mausoleum to enclose my mortal form ; 
 
 No splendid funeral cortege would I show, 
 Borne by the friends that loved me in the town 
 where I was born, 
 
 From this little church across the vale would go. 
 
 XI 
 
 And if, through God's great mercy, I the joys of 
 heaven see, 
 And from mortal sorrows find complete release, 
 I have faith the brightest spirits that will come to 
 welcome me 
 Will be from this village church among the 
 trees. 
 
 PAGE 53 
 
Slops of 
 OBartj) 
 
 ©ts jaoinrs 
 
 Fair City of forests where hillsides and vales 
 
 Are embraced by two rivers that gently unite; 
 
 Whose breezes are wholesome, whose soil never 
 fails, 
 Whose scenes of rare beauty enravish the sight. 
 
 No tall rugged mountains here vault icy peaks, 
 No wide dreary plains make a desert of waste, 
 
 No fierce foaming cataract wild rushing leaps 
 To chasms from cliffs with impetuous haste. 
 
 But nature appears in her gentlest of moods 
 And methods so moderate always employs 
 
 That hills, dales and streams and beauteous woods 
 Are fashioned to cause us the greatest of joys. 
 
 You should see her when summer embroiders her 
 streets, 
 With garlands as green as the earth ever grew; 
 You should sense in the Springtime the odorous 
 sweets 
 That are wafted from flowerets refreshed with 
 the dew. 
 
 PAGE 54 
 
3io£S of 
 <£artj) 
 
 You should stroll by her streams where the tall 
 grasses grow, 
 Where the song-birds of summer sing all the 
 glad day; 
 You should stand on her bridges when moonlight's 
 aglow 
 And watch her bright rivers meander away. 
 
 From her loftiest hill, lifts a dome that may vie 
 In the sheen of its gold with the glory of dawn ; 
 
 'Tis the Capitol Building that pierces the sky, 
 
 And no stone bears a taint of corruption or 
 wrong. 
 
 Here the State sends her statesmen to frame her 
 fair laws 
 That are her models for morals, the right to 
 maintain ; 
 Here sits her Great Court that never gave cause 
 To suspect its just motives or soil its fair name. 
 
 Here Progress a steady march safely maintains, 
 Moving forward as fast as the right will allow; 
 
 And the City her lead in the nation retains, 
 
 Puts the wise at the helm and the just at the 
 prow. 
 
 PAGE 55 
 
3Io?0 of 
 
 The wealth from her coal fields and wealth from 
 her soil 
 
 Form the basis for plenty in factory and mart 
 That learning and art and genius may toil 
 
 For refinement of soul and expansion of heart. 
 
 From her center, great railroads reach out through 
 the land 
 And convey to her lap, the choice products of 
 earth, 
 She fashions them fitly with most cunning hand, 
 Refines and returns them increased in their 
 worth. 
 
 Thus her people in joy and in riches expand, 
 Her area of conquest increases each day; 
 
 And splendid the mansions her people command 
 And great the proud structures where commerce 
 has sway. 
 
 She is now in her youth, in the dawn of her power, 
 
 Who shall speak of her prowess when zenith is 
 
 nigh; 
 
 Like the day-star her glory may shine in that hour 
 
 O'er the wide-spreading world from her throne 
 
 in the sky. 
 
 PAGE 56 
 
Slops of 
 OEartf) 
 
 Cfje Hutumn Heaf 
 I 
 
 Its life is now ended, its mission is done, 
 By the chill winds of Autumn its requiems sung. 
 The breezes of summer have kissed it in play, 
 The sunlight has laved it for many a day; 
 And bright were the colors it bore on the bough — 
 But frosted with death it is lovelier now. 
 
 And this is the lesson which nature here gave, 
 The brightest of glories encircles the grave. 
 
 II 
 
 Then why should we shrink at the thought of the 
 
 tomb 
 When the flower that we love shail eternally bloom? 
 Why sing we sad anthems when all should 
 
 rejoice 
 And make the earth glad with the sound of 
 the voice? 
 Let us catch up the song that nature has sung, 
 And chant its glad chimes as we journey along. 
 
 And when death's frost is falling, cast sor- 
 row away, 
 And don our bright robes for Eternity's day. 
 
 PAGE 57 
 
3lo?0 of 
 €art|) 
 
 Mv Spirit JFrtenb* 
 
 They come to me often, my spirit friends, 
 When burdens seem greater than I can bear; 
 
 I feel the touch of their gentle hands; 
 Their soft caresses are on my hair. 
 
 II 
 
 Their presence revives my flagging zeal, 
 
 When the cause I'm pleading I know to be 
 right; 
 They stand by my side and aid my appeal, 
 
 And my faith returns and my hopes grow 
 bright. 
 
 Ill 
 
 And often at mid-day, when long I've essayed 
 To unravel a knotty and troublesome skein, 
 
 A hand on my shoulder is lovingly laid, 
 
 And my mind is opened and all made plain. 
 
 IV 
 
 And when in the evening my labor is done, 
 And I sit and muse in the twilight gray, 
 
 These loving friends come to me one by one, 
 And softly touch me as well as they may. 
 
 PAGE 5 8 
 
3[ops of 
 dBatti) 
 
 My mother then places her hand on my cheek, 
 Or with strokes that are gentle lays back my 
 hair, 
 
 And others have methods by which they may speak 
 Of their loving presence and make me aware. 
 
 VI 
 
 As the years go by in their ceaseless flow 
 
 More loved ones pass to that happy strand; 
 
 When I bury their forms I grieve, but I know 
 They are added at length to my spirit band. 
 
 VII 
 
 And oft through the veil that hides them from view 
 Is extended toward me a fair, loving arm 
 
 To guard and to guide by a love that is true, 
 
 And keep me from falling and shield me from 
 harm. 
 
 VIII 
 
 The gray hairs are gathering now on my brow, 
 And the wrinkles of age in my face appear; 
 
 My youthful vigor seems vanishing now, 
 And my day of departure will soon be here. 
 
 PAGE 5'J 
 
3lop0 of 
 (Eartf) 
 
 IX 
 
 There's much I must leave which I hold most dear, 
 As I pass from this plane to the spirit land; 
 
 But Oh ! so sweet are the voices I hear, 
 
 That are wafted to me from that blessed strand. 
 
 X 
 
 The promise of heaven is felt in the play 
 
 Of the musical zephyrs which pass that gate; 
 
 Where Lillie and Violet, Hiram and May, 
 
 And my father and mother together will wait. 
 
 XI 
 
 There are others whose names I may never dis- 
 close, 
 Whom I love with a love that shall never de- 
 part; 
 They come to me often at daylight's close, 
 
 And their loving presence brings cheer to my 
 heart. 
 
 XII 
 
 So winters may come and summers may go, 
 And the beautiful roses of youth may decay, 
 
 My joy still is boundless, for always, I know, 
 
 I am nearing the shore where my loved ones 
 stay. 
 
 PAGE 60 
 
310^0 of 
 OBattb 
 
 aspiration 
 I 
 
 Sweet heart, dear heart, I live in thee; 
 
 And love for thee fills all my soul; 
 Where'er I go, whate'er I see, 
 
 Thou art my thought, thou art my goal, 
 Thy tender love hath made me blest, 
 Inspired my work and lulled my rest. 
 
 II 
 
 Sweet heart, dear heart, my life is song; 
 
 And all of thee and all to thee; 
 I hear no discord, fear no wrong, 
 
 Thy love hath made a world for me; 
 Thy perfect soul I seem to greet 
 In every lovely thing I meet. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Sweet heart, dear heart, what wealth is mine, 
 
 Whom love has brought such boundless bliss? 
 
 And thou, beloved, what power is thine, 
 That lifts me to a heaven like this? 
 
 I ask no more; I merely pray 
 
 That what I have may not decay. 
 
 PAGE 61 
 
3[o£g of 
 
 ipotrti Memories 
 
 When I sit beside my children, 
 
 And we watch the firelight's glow 
 
 Oft my mind delights to wander 
 To the scenes of long ago. 
 
 II 
 
 In a little country village, 
 
 Near a river where the trees 
 
 Hid a lake of witching beauty, 
 Gently rippling in the breeze, 
 
 III 
 
 Stood a plain, unpainted cottage, 
 With three little rooms below, 
 
 And a small unfinished attic, 
 Where to sleep I'd often go. 
 
 IV 
 
 In the rear a well and windlass, 
 In the front the village street , 
 
 And on either side a garden, 
 
 With a fence and barn complete. 
 
 PAGE 6 2 
 
3fops of 
 
 Here my father came with mother, 
 Shortly after they were wed; 
 
 Rich in love, but empty handed, 
 Hoping here to earn their bread. 
 
 VI 
 
 And he cleared about an acre, 
 Built a fence and reared this cot, 
 
 I was born here and brothers — 
 So I cherish much the spot; 
 
 VII 
 
 Now again the toil-stooped shoulders 
 Of my father's form I view; 
 
 See his hands so hard and calloused, 
 See his face so strong and true. 
 
 VIII 
 
 And again I see my mother, 
 
 Frail and weak, yet working there; 
 Broken down by toil and sickness, 
 
 And yet full of loving care; 
 
 PAGE 63 
 
3fop0 of 
 OBartf) 
 
 IX 
 
 See her shriveled hands, and tresses 
 
 Streaked with white and thin with years: 
 As the day when last we parted, 
 
 And she blest me through her tears. 
 
 X 
 
 'Twas a fierce and raging winter 
 
 At the time my mother died; 
 Soon my father followed after, 
 
 And I placed them side by side. 
 
 XI 
 
 And my heart is fondly yearning 
 
 For that vanished home to-night, 
 As I hear the night winds sighing 
 
 And the mantel is so bright. 
 
 XII 
 
 Many little homely dwellings 
 
 Nestled in that forest fair; 
 Most were warped and weather-beaten, 
 
 But dear friends resided there; 
 
3fop$ ot 
 
 XIII 
 
 And what now remains I treasure 
 With a love that cannot fail; 
 
 For the visions of my childhood 
 In my memory never pale. 
 
 XIV 
 
 Through the village ran a brooklet, 
 By its banks of shining sand ; 
 
 It was made from springs of crystal, 
 Rising in a meadow land; 
 
 XV 
 
 And at other points the waters, 
 
 Clear and cool, came from its bank; 
 
 Founts of nectar to the thirsty, 
 And from these I often drank. 
 
 XVI 
 
 Down this brooklet oft I've wandered, 
 In my merry boyhood hours, 
 
 Till I reached the gentle river, 
 Where a ridge of cedar towers. 
 
 PAGE 65 
 
Jfops of 
 
 XVII 
 
 On its sunlit hills in springtime 
 First the snowdrop did unfold, 
 
 Its fair cups of snowy whiteness, 
 
 Filled with glints of glittering gold; 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Then the violets came, and roses, 
 
 And the lillies followed too , 
 And a thousand sweet wild flowers 
 
 On these hills in beauty grew. 
 
 XIX 
 
 Fruits of every kind abounded; 
 
 Trees and plants and bushes gay 
 Teemed with fruitage most delicious, 
 
 Everywhere I chose to stray. 
 
 XX 
 
 When the Autumn came, the forests 
 
 Donned their robes of golden brown, 
 
 And from nut-trees fell the treasures 
 Which the breeze sent rustling down; 
 
 PAGE 66 
 
Slops of 
 OBattf) 
 
 XXI 
 
 And at last, when pinching winter 
 Brought its gales of drifting snow, 
 
 Happy hearts and smiling faces 
 Sat about the wood-fire's glow. 
 
 XXII 
 
 Thus by song and game and story 
 Winter days are passed in cheer; 
 
 And before its stay grows tedious 
 Springtime joys again appear. 
 
 XXIII 
 
 There's a road that passed the school house, 
 And wound eastward to the lake, 
 
 There when evening drew its curtains 
 Often I a stroll did take. 
 
 XXIV 
 
 And there sitting in the moonlight, 
 I have watched the waters gleam, 
 
 And built castles for the future 
 
 Which I find were but a dream; 
 
 PAGE 6 7 
 
3iop0 of 
 OBarti) 
 
 xxv 
 
 And there often in the sunlight 
 
 I have watched the wavelets play, 
 
 As they climbed the shore and kissed it, 
 And as softly sped away. 
 
 XXVI 
 
 There's a way of wondrous beauty, 
 By the graveyard to the mills; 
 
 Where a high bridge spans the mill-pond 
 And it nestles 'mid the hills ; 
 
 XXVII 
 
 There I've often in life's springtime 
 Watched the sunset's golden glow, 
 
 Saw it gild the distant hilltops, 
 And the waters blaze below. 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 And how often have I wandered 
 By this beauteous river's side, 
 
 Picking flowers, or from the ledges 
 Casting stones into the tide. 
 
 PAGE 6 8 
 
3lops of 
 (Earti) 
 
 XXIX 
 
 There were paths through tangled forests, 
 
 Where the bushes and the vines 
 So entwined I had to part them, 
 
 Where I've traveled many times, 
 
 XXX 
 
 Picking nuts or hunting berries, 
 
 Looking for a place to fish, 
 Or in youth's sweet idle freedom 
 
 Following up each boyish wish. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 There were paths across the prairies, 
 
 Where the phlox and daisies grew; 
 There were ways through sloughs and meadows, 
 
 Which I often did pursue. 
 
 XXXII 
 
 Oft I joyed to watch the wild bird, 
 
 As it sang its merry song, 
 And the butter-flies so gorgeous 
 
 As they gently flitted on. 
 
 PAGE 69 
 
3|o#0 of 
 <£art|) 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 Here my heart first learned the lesson 
 
 That it never can forget; 
 Now I see her in the firelight 
 
 And she's smiling to me yet; 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 And a host of precious secrets 
 Bind me firmly by their chain, 
 
 So that every thrill of pleasure 
 Brings a secret throb of pain. 
 
 XXXV 
 
 Yet when night has spread its mantle, 
 And the winter's air is chill, 
 
 And the drifting snow is flying, 
 
 And the gusts are whistling shrill, 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 And the grate is blazing brightly, 
 And my children gather near, 
 
 On these scenes I love to linger, 
 
 Though they bring the bitter tear. 
 
 PAGE 70 
 
%oy$ of 
 OBartt) 
 
 3To Mv Violin 
 
 O Violin, my Violin, 
 
 How sweet the voice that dwells within 
 
 Thy little magic shell! 
 No bird that floats on airy wings, 
 No prima donna when she sings, 
 
 Can ever sing as well. 
 
 O Violin, my Violin, 
 
 Could I command the power within 
 
 The compass of thy throat, 
 On wings of song I'd upward fly 
 And join the angels in the sky, 
 And sail a fairy boat. 
 
 O Violin, sweet Violin, 
 
 When early morning does begin, 
 
 I love to seize the bow, 
 And dance it on thy quivering strings, 
 And hear the merry voice that rings 
 
 In accents soft and low. 
 
 Violin, soft Violin, 
 
 When evening shadows have come in 
 I turn again to thee; 
 
 1 serenade the twilight pale 
 
 By drawing from thee thy sweet wail 
 In soothing melody. 
 
3fop$ of 
 OBartf) 
 
 O Violin, fair Violin, 
 
 When filled with sorrow, as I've been, 
 
 In thee I solace find; 
 The tender tunes of early years 
 When voiced by thee, seem wet with tears, 
 
 Yet soothe my feverish mind. 
 
 O Violin, kind Violin, 
 
 When plagued by pain, despair or sin, 
 
 And sympathy I seek — 
 When friends are false, I find thee fond 
 And ever ready to respond 
 
 With strength when I am weak. 
 
 Violin, gay Violin, 
 
 1 love to see the dance begin, 
 
 For then thou hast the sway; 
 Thy quick notes make the dullest prance, 
 And help the old rheumatic dance 
 
 And cast his age away. 
 
 O Violin, soft Violin, 
 
 Please play that blissful theme again, 
 
 While in the waltz I glide; 
 In Love's embrace I sleep, I dream, 
 I'm softly floating down the stream, 
 
 An angel by my side. 
 
 PAGE 7 2 
 
3!ops of 
 OBarti) 
 
 O Violin, proud Violin, 
 
 Your notes are filled with glory's din, 
 
 While now the march you play ; 
 The armed troops now tramp and shout, 
 And gorgeous banners are flung out 
 
 To grace the grand array. 
 
 O Violin, sad Violin, 
 
 A captive spirit wails within 
 
 Thy narrow prison cell, 
 While up and down the fingers glide 
 And nimbly leap from side to side; 
 
 Its tale of grief to tell. 
 
 O Violin, great Violin, 
 
 Age cannot take away thy vim; 
 
 The older thou dost grow, 
 The sweeter is the voice that sings 
 When swiftly o'er thy trembling strings 
 
 Cavorts the dainty bow. 
 
 O Violin, true Violin, 
 
 (For you my constant friend have been, 
 
 And so shall ever be), 
 Tho' age and poverty may come, 
 And I be left to play alone 
 
 Thy voice shall comfort me. 
 
 PAGE 73 
 
3fop0 of 
 €artf) 
 
 O Violin, dear Violin, 
 
 When light of life is burning dim, 
 
 And earth shores fade away; 
 Whether I sink or float or fly, 
 'Twould give me joy if only I 
 
 Could hear thee sweetly play. 
 
 O Violin, loved Violin, 
 
 Should Heaven's porter let me in, 
 
 As fondly I aspire, 
 For harp of gold I would not care; 
 I'd only wish to find thee there 
 
 To join the heavenly choir. 
 
 PAGE 74 
 
3iops of 
 <£arti) 
 
 jpugic 
 
 Music hath many charms; 
 
 To ears attuned she brings an inspiration 
 
 Of great power. To our merrier hours 
 
 She adds hilarity, and for our days of grief 
 
 She has a sympathetic voice. 
 
 All wishes and emotions find 
 
 In her a fit expression. She inspires 
 
 The gay to dance, the brave to fight, 
 
 And gives the lover wings to leave the earth, 
 
 And dream of bliss ineffable. 
 
 But she hath yet a charm more potent far than 
 these. 
 
 At her command, scenes of rare beauty 
 
 Flit before the enamored sense, and every instru- 
 ment 
 
 Can conjure visions suited to its voice. 
 
 Not long ago a symphony I heard, 
 
 Played with superior skill by many instruments. 
 
 All were in unison when the piece began ; 
 
 The forceful beats of drums and cymbals, 
 
 Over-crowing all, gave to the whole a martial tinge. 
 
 Methought I saw before me pass 
 
 A troop of soldiers marching in parade, 
 
 And as their serried columns moved 
 
 PAGE 7 5 
 
3[op$ of 
 OBarti) 
 
 And banners flaunted 'mid their sun-bright arms, 
 A mighty host in holiday attire shouted for joy; 
 And I was one whose pulse to every drum beat 
 danced. 
 
 But soon the scene was changed: 
 The silver bugles now the theme essayed. 
 I stood upon a sky-pierced mountain's top ; 
 The breeze of morning was upon my brow. 
 The gorgeous curtains of the bannered east 
 Disparted, and a choir of radiant angels then 
 Seemed calling me to bliss. The heavens 
 Were vibrant with sweet tones, and each 
 Contained a promise of celestial joy. 
 
 Again the scene was changed; 
 
 The violins now took the theme ; 
 
 Then I was sailing in a fairy boat, 
 
 With flowers bedecked, and she my best beloved 
 
 Was at my side. The welcome zephyrs 
 
 Of the afternoon played with our locks ; 
 
 And thus we glided down the shimmering stream; 
 
 But when the silver-throated flutes began, 
 
 The verdant forests garlanding the shores 
 
 Were filled with singing birds of sweetest notes, 
 
 And every zephyr brought a shower of pearls. 
 
 And so we floated in that dream of love, 
 
 And far adown the stream beheld 
 
 A sea of everlasting bliss. 
 
 PAGE 76 
 
3!og0 of 
 
 But now a change of greater scope came on; 
 
 The cello's sad sweet wail took up the theme. 
 
 T'was evening then, and from the trellised porch 
 
 I watched the waning daylight's glow. The west- 
 ern sky 
 
 Now bade the setting Sun good-night, 
 
 And twilight came in sober gray. 
 
 It was the hour of prayer, blest by that peace 
 
 Which follows closely on a day of toil — a sovereign 
 balm 
 
 For weary bodies and for care-worn souls. 
 
 But when the sweet-voiced clarionets chimed in 
 I thought 'twas day-break and I heard 
 The crowing chanticleers salute the morn, 
 With notes familiar to my boyhood days, 
 When by such sounds awakened I had oft 
 Rubbed my half opened eyes, 
 Looked at the clock, and felt that I would give 
 The greatest treasure that the world contained 
 To sleep another hour. 
 
 Then all the instruments conjoined their tones 
 And gave the theme a livelier change ; 
 Then sat I in a spacious hall, 
 Furnished and furbished in the gayest style; 
 And heard the merry laugh and saw the forms 
 Of jeweled women and white-fronted men, 
 
 PAGE 7 7 
 
3['o»* of 
 
 And some were whirling in the dance's maze, 
 
 And some were at the tables feasting; 
 
 And some in mutual converse were engaged; 
 
 And all one scene of social joy composed. 
 
 Of this I was a part, and felt the thrill 
 
 Which comes from blending in a happy throng. 
 
 The first part of this symphony 
 
 Had reached its end. Such were the scenes 
 
 It conjured up before my ravished sense. 
 
 PAGE 7 8 
 
3Iop0 of 
 OBattf) 
 
 A dainty dimpled baby I will introduce to you, 
 With rosebud mouth and lily skin and orbs of violet 
 
 hue, 
 And a young and fair-haired mother with eyes of 
 
 azure blue, 
 And myself the happy grandpa, for I own the 
 
 precious two; 
 They are my daughter Bessie and her baby. 
 
 His active baby fingers curve as tendrils on the vine 4 
 
 Like threads of finest silk the locks that on his fore- 
 head shine, 
 
 His face reflects his mother's both in color and in 
 line 
 
 And it's sweet to see the mother's love and baby's 
 love entwine, 
 As to her heart my Bessie folds her baby. 
 
 Could you hear his merry laughter and his gurgle 
 
 when he plays, 
 And see the sweet and sunny smile which ripples 
 
 on his face 
 And behold her hug and kiss him while he meets 
 
 her loving gaze, 
 You'd admit that no Madonna and her child excel 
 
 the grace 
 Of my charming daughter Bessie and her baby. 
 
 PAGE 79 
 
3(op0 of 
 OBartf) 
 
 When the shrill night winds of Winter filled the 
 
 street with drifted snow 
 With delight I've watched a picture by the mantel's 
 
 rosy glow, 
 And have felt a thrill of pleasure none but Grandpas 
 
 ever know, 
 As I saw her soft caresses, and could hear him coo 
 
 and crow, 
 When my Bessie spent the evening with her 
 
 baby. 
 
 "Oh, see him, papa; see him!" she exclaims with 
 eager joy, 
 
 And her clear eyes sparkle proudly as she views 
 her lovely boy, 
 
 And each sweet note he utters gives her bliss 
 without alloy, 
 
 And I wonder at the antics that this cherub can em- 
 ploy, 
 As I watch my happy daughter and her baby. 
 
 And my busy mind goes backward to an Autumn 
 
 long ago, 
 And I see a little cottage where the waving maples 
 
 grow, 
 And behold a little baby sweet and pink as this I 
 
 know, 
 
 PAGE 80 
 
3Iop0 of 
 OBactl) 
 
 And I watch as proud a mother as she hears her 
 baby crow; 
 
 It was then my daughter Bessie was the baby. 
 
 Then my roving thoughts go forward to a future 
 now unknown, 
 
 When this baby boy has builded for himself a happy 
 home, 
 
 And with some winsome daughter has a baby of his 
 
 own; 
 Shall I watch this baby prattle, or will a mossy 
 
 stone 
 Tell the tale of Grandpa, Bessie, or the Baby? 
 
 For thus the stream of human life flows on from 
 year to year; 
 
 Some days are sad and some are glad, and some are 
 
 filled with fear; 
 Some laugh for joy, some groan with grief, and 
 
 some are on the bier, 
 And none can state what fate may wait for those 
 
 we love most dear — 
 For either, Grandpa, Bessie or the Baby. 
 
 PAGE 81 
 
3Iops of 
 <£art|) 
 
 But whatso'er the fortune that for Grandpa may 
 
 remain, 
 May Heaven its choicest blessings shower upon this 
 
 lovely twain, 
 And shield them ever from disease, from poverty 
 
 and pain, 
 And loving spirits guard and guide and keep them 
 
 free from stain, 
 Is Grandpa's prayer for Bessie and her baby. 
 
 PAGE 82 
 
Sops of 
 OBarti) 
 
 Spring 
 
 The air is vibrant with the notes of Spring; 
 
 A choir of many birds sings joyously, 
 
 And through the mellow haze the morning sun 
 
 shines warm, 
 Drinking the dew that swathes the greensward 
 And the contents that the dainty cups of plants and 
 
 flowers 
 Have in the night collected. 
 
 The forms of beauty, which the frost fiend's touch 
 Once added to the Autumn's dead, 
 Again appear in pristine freshness, 
 And all the wrecks that wasteful winter made 
 Are now restored. 
 
 Now resurrection is the theme of nature's song; 
 No ear so dull as not to hear the tones of this sweet 
 
 hymn; 
 No heart so hard as not to bound with hope, and 
 
 feel the universal joy. 
 And yet there is a thought 
 
 That makes a discord in the chime of Spring: 
 Nowhere among the now reviving forms 
 Find I the loved ones, taken from my heart, 
 Ere Summer's reign had ended. 
 There seems no Spring for them; 
 There seems not in the universal space 
 
 PAGE 8 3 
 
3fop0 oi 
 OBattf) 
 
 A potency to bring my darlings back to me. 
 
 Nor can the new reviving force, 
 
 That clothes the barren trees with fresh new leaves, 
 
 And dons the brambles with a coat of green, 
 
 Bring back the lustre to my faded eyes, 
 
 Or put youth's color in my thinning hair. 
 
 On the procession moves, and I move with it, 
 
 And the gaping tomb awaits to cover all. 
 
 Our mortal bodies are as Autumn leaves 
 
 That gusts may scatter on the hungry earth, 
 
 To fertilize new forms now waiting for our places. 
 
 And yet, beyond the panorama of the Spring, 
 
 Work countless forces which we cannot see, 
 
 Save in their works. These are not sports of time; 
 
 They know no dissolution at the hand of death , 
 
 Are not congealed by frost, or burned by fire, 
 
 But ever wait a fitting time to prove their potency. 
 
 'Tis not its limbs or leaves which caused the tree; 
 
 Nor does the acorn in its fragile shell 
 
 Encompass the great oak. 
 
 All proof points to a force more real 
 
 Than that now visible to mortal eyes , 
 
 And such may be the force that guides my pen, 
 
 As well as holds in unity the rolling spheres, 
 
 Not one, but many forces acting all as one, 
 
 And governed by fixed rules, 
 
 And moving outward from within, through all 
 
 The interstices of the unseen world. 
 
 i 
 
 PAGE 84 
 
31ops of 
 OBartl) 
 
 And now methinks I see a Spring 
 
 Of which our mortal Spring is but the shadow: 
 
 A Spring extremely beautiful and of enduring date, 
 
 In which appear all creatures that have lived, 
 
 Who shine in all the glory of their fairest prime. 
 
 All wounds are healed, all injuries repaired, 
 
 All eyes unsealed, all fogs dissolved, 
 
 And all that once seemed evil proven good; 
 
 There loving and beloved together dwell, 
 
 And all, affined in perfect truth, 
 
 Find peace and joy in loving harmony. 
 
 PAGE 85 
 
3fops of 
 
 H <$reat Operation 
 
 A learned man was Doctor Bugg, 
 Who high had flown and deep had dug; 
 All streams of learning had he drained, 
 And highest skill he had attained. 
 He knew the nature of each pill, 
 And what would cure, and what would kill ; 
 He knew each muscle and each bone, 
 And what to cut, or let alone. 
 Miss Simple had the stomach-ache 
 And thought that she contained a snake; 
 She felt it worm and squirm and bite, 
 From early morn till late at night: 
 With vermifuge she vainly tried 
 To drive the snake from her inside. 
 On all the drugs she took within, 
 The snake grew fat, and she grew thin. 
 Twelve days and nights in pain she spent, 
 And then to Doctor Bugg she went. 
 He heard her painful story through, 
 But did not think that it was true. 
 He knew the motions which a snake 
 Outside or inside ought to make, 
 And so told her, but she was sure 
 It was a snake that made her poor. 
 He told her then he'd have to make 
 A deep incision for the snake. 
 
 PAGE 8 6 
 
3[op0 of 
 OEartJj 
 
 He set a day to operate; 
 
 For this she tremblingly did wait. 
 
 That day a little snake he bought, 
 
 And to her room in secret brought; 
 
 The cut he made and sewed and dressed; 
 
 When she awoke then he confessed 
 
 A little snake in her he'd found; 
 
 She saw the snake and felt the wound, 
 
 And soon got well and paid his bill. 
 
 The papers praised his wondrous skill, 
 
 And great and widespread was the fame 
 
 That from this operation came; 
 
 And men of science came to take 
 
 A picture of this wondrous snake, 
 
 And vainly to explain they tried, 
 
 How it had got in her inside, 
 
 And marveled how it stayed within, 
 
 And lived and thrived and kept its skin. 
 
 PAGE 87 
 
31ops of 
 
 Natural Justice 
 
 A greedy man was Nelson Payne. 
 
 His farm three forties did contain, 
 
 And yet for more he did aspire; 
 
 And for this purpose did acquire 
 
 A job to grade a railroad-bed, 
 
 Where by a bluff a river sped. 
 
 Among the help he did employ 
 
 One was a tall and slender boy, 
 
 Half-grown and awkward, yet who would 
 
 Do quite as much as grown men could; 
 
 But this young man was very poor 
 
 And had sought work from door to door 
 
 Until he got this chance to toil 
 
 With pick and shovel in the soil. 
 
 Here 'neath a sultry July sun 
 
 He worked from morn 'till day was done, 
 
 The gravel threw, with stones and sand, 
 
 Into a wagon near at hand, 
 
 And Payne for this agreed to pay 
 
 One dollar for the work per day. 
 
 But when he learned the boy was poor 
 
 And work had sought from door to door, 
 
 He thought he saw a splendid chance 
 
 To grind him down to fifty cents; 
 
 And so told him if he would stay, 
 
 PAGE 8 8 
 
Slops of 
 OBartl) 
 
 It must be for this smaller pay. 
 
 Harry Wilson, was his name, 
 
 And when this message to him came 
 
 It was to him a cruel blow. 
 
 His poverty then made him go 
 
 To Payne and beg most piteously 
 
 That he'd reverse this hard decree , 
 
 Urged his great need, and how he must 
 
 Refuse an offer so unjust. 
 
 But Payne was firm, and all his plea 
 
 Made Payne the firmer seem to be. 
 
 Payne's love of power and lust for pelf 
 
 Made him care only for himself; 
 
 This was his answer to the plea; 
 
 "What are your thoughts and needs to me?" 
 
 The lad quit work, the years rolled on, 
 
 And neither saw the other one. 
 
 Payne signed a note one evil day, 
 
 Which he did not expect to pay; 
 
 The man he signed for then he knew 
 
 Could pay the note if it were due, 
 
 But later lost his wealth, and so 
 
 The owner let the matter go 
 
 Not wishing to make Nelson Payne 
 
 So great a loss as this sustain. 
 
 Great changes come as years go by; 
 
 Some fall below and some rise high. 
 
 Now Harry Wilson went away, 
 
 PAGE 89 
 
3Iops of 
 OBartf) 
 
 And absent long, returned one day 
 And met the man who owned the claim 
 Upon this time-stained note of Payne. 
 In one year more the note he saw 
 Would have been cancelled by the law. 
 No interest on the note was paid, 
 Which added on, a large sum made. 
 He bought the note at trifling cost; 
 Brought suit in court, and Nelson lost. 
 He thus a judgment did obtain 
 And levied on the farm of Payne. 
 The day before the sale was set, 
 Payne went to Wilson with regret, 
 Begged him for time, and mercy too, 
 And to reduce the sum then due. 
 Then Wilson answered to his plea, 
 "What are your thoughts and needs to me?" 
 The selfsame words he did employ 
 That Payne had used to him, a boy. 
 And so Payne found the worm he'd spurned 
 In after years with vengeance turned. 
 He lost his farm to pay the debt, 
 And something learned he'll not forget. 
 
 PAGE 90 
 
3Iop0 of 
 
 #onetft Com 
 
 Tom Goody was an honest lad 
 
 Who many strong temptations had; 
 
 But never did he choose to stray 
 
 And leave the straight and narrow way; 
 
 And never once was made to yearn 
 
 For guilty gold he did not earn; 
 
 And ever faithful at his work, 
 
 At last became a hotel clerk. 
 
 Behind his desk a safe was kept; 
 
 He held the key while others slept; 
 
 The guests gave him their jewelry 
 
 And cash to keep from day to day; 
 
 He handled all their precious dust 
 
 And never faltered in his trust, 
 
 Returning promptly all he got 
 
 And gladly did the thing he ought. 
 
 One day a singer, of great fame, 
 
 To this hotel for lodging came; 
 
 She had a bag of jewels rare 
 
 But would not trust it to his care. 
 
 It chanced while Tom was working 'round, 
 
 This bag of precious gems he found ; 
 
 No thought of guile came to his mind; 
 
 Who owned the gems he sought to find; 
 
 Then gave to her the precious store; 
 
 Her face with smiles was covered o'er, 
 
 PAGE 9 1 
 
3fo?0 of 
 (Bant 
 
 She gave him then that he might go 
 
 A gallery ticket to her show. 
 
 His grateful heart received the card, 
 
 For virtue brings its own reward. 
 
 And so he toiled from day to day 
 
 And humbly walked the honest way, 
 
 Deeming his soul to be secure 
 
 From all temptations which allure. 
 
 But runners of the swiftest pace 
 
 Sometimes are beaten in the race; 
 
 The proudest towers may tumble down; 
 
 The strongest swimmers yet may drown; 
 
 The victor in a hundred fights, 
 
 May finally be put to flight; 
 
 And thus did honest Goody, too, 
 
 Meet one day with his Waterloo. 
 
 A stranger came from Kimberly 
 
 The diamond field of Africa; 
 
 To Tom a traveling bag he gave, 
 
 And told him this valise to save 
 
 From every hand except his own, 
 
 And let no person take it down ; 
 
 That he would hold him for the fault, 
 
 Should it be taken from the vault. 
 
 The stranger had a curious mien, 
 
 Like one who had much travel seen; 
 
 And wore that deep mysterious stare 
 
 PAGE 9 2 
 
3(op0 of 
 <£art& 
 
 That might denote a millionaire. 
 
 The care he took this bag to keep, 
 
 Caused Tom disturbance in his sleep; 
 
 He laid awake for hours and thought, 
 
 What with its contents could be bought; 
 
 Reflected on his lot so poor, 
 
 And how escape he could secure, 
 
 And from the wealth this bag contained, 
 
 What lofty heights there could be gained; 
 
 When age had settled on his brow, 
 
 He might a church or school endow, 
 
 And after years this little crime 
 
 All would condone who saw him climb. 
 
 So first in all his straight career, 
 
 To Tom temptation did appear 
 
 In force so strong that he grew weak, 
 
 And soon to steal the bag did seek. 
 
 When morning came the bag was gone, 
 
 For guilty Tom with it had flown. 
 
 The stranger did not seem distressed, 
 
 When first the Landlord to his guest 
 
 The theft of Tom with grief did state, 
 
 And of his flight the facts relate. 
 
 The stranger gave a sickly grin 
 
 And said they need not search for him ; 
 
 The reason he such care did take, 
 
 The bag contained a rattle snake. 
 
 PAGE 93 
 
3IO£0 Of 
 
 OBartf) 
 
 ifear of O&fjoate 
 
 A little country cottage stood 
 
 Close to the entrance of a wood; 
 
 And there we lived. Not far away 
 
 An old neglected graveyard lay; 
 
 Its stake-and-rider fence was down 
 
 And every space was overgrown 
 
 With weeds and briars and grasses tall; 
 
 There often must I go to call 
 
 Our cattle home when they would stray 
 
 Off from the hills and go that way. 
 
 "Do I believe in Ghosts? O, no, 
 
 He stated false who told you so. 
 
 Ghosts cannot hurt you; all they are 
 
 Is just a vision that may scare, 
 
 Brought to you by your foolish fears." 
 
 I was a lad of fourteen years 
 
 When this remark I proudly made, 
 
 Believing I was not afraid. 
 
 He was a modest, truthful man 
 
 Who heard me speak, and he began 
 
 With solemn voice and mien sedate 
 
 And told the tale I now relate. 
 
 "It was," said he, "A moonlight night; 
 
 The ground with snow was covered white, 
 
 But clouds were sailing in the sky 
 
 And gusts of wind went whistling by; 
 
 PAGE 94 
 
Sops of 
 eavtb 
 
 Sometimes the moon shone bright and clear 
 
 Then suddenly would disappear, 
 
 Causing that ghastly kind of glare 
 
 That straightens up a fellow's hair. 
 
 And then the wind hissed through the trees, 
 
 Like ghostly voices that might freeze 
 
 Your blood with fear, if you should see 
 
 A sheeted ghost behind a tree. 
 
 I rode a horse, and knew that I 
 
 Must go that night the graveyard by; 
 
 I felt secure and did not fear 
 
 That any harmful ghost was near. 
 
 So as I slowly rode along, 
 
 Whistling a quick and merry song, 
 
 Yet looking carefully aside; 
 
 The graveyard fence I then espied, 
 
 Bore something strange between the stakes. 
 
 This, thought I, is a weight that makes 
 
 The stakes stand firm ; when suddenly 
 
 A squatty devil leapt toward me, 
 
 Alighted squarely on my horse, 
 
 And from behind held me by force 
 
 With stubby claws of rattling bones; 
 
 I could not speak, but o'er the stones 
 
 My trembling horse ran wild with fear, 
 
 Until the stable yard was near. 
 
 Then from the horse this ogre jumped 
 
 And disappeared. My wild heart thumped, 
 
 PAGE 95 
 
3Iop0 of 
 <Z£art|) 
 
 As up the stairs I swiftly flew, 
 
 With thanks to God that I was through 
 
 That horrid ride, that awful night, 
 
 Embraced by such a devilish sprite. 
 
 We lived in rooms above a store — 
 
 My wife and little girl of four. 
 
 The child slept on a trundle bed, 
 
 There was a window near her head. 
 
 When all had gone to bed, I lay 
 
 In sleepless state, nor dared to say 
 
 One word of that which racked my mind, 
 
 When suddenly I heard a grind 
 
 Upon the window sash, and then 
 
 It slowly raised, and slipping in, 
 
 This frightful fiend came through the space 
 
 And leapt upon my daughter's face. 
 
 She woke and screamed, 'Go way! Go way!' 
 
 Then in a frightful fit she lay. 
 
 I lit a lamp, though much in fright, 
 
 And found the fiend was not in sight. 
 
 Still in the fit my daughter lay 
 
 And screamed in frightened tones 'Go way !' 
 
 I seized my dear one by the hand; 
 
 I raised her up, and made her stand ; 
 
 Then struck her hard, and said, with fear, 
 
 'In God's name, Fiend, get out of here!' 
 
 Then from her form this devil came, 
 
 And limped away like he was lame. 
 
 PAGE 96 
 
Slops of 
 <Eart& 
 
 I heard him scramble o'er the chairs 
 
 And drag his carcass down the stairs, 
 
 My daughter came out of the fit 
 
 And does not now remember it. 
 
 My wife saw all and well she may 
 
 Confirm the truth of what I say." 
 
 The last words scarcely had been told 
 
 When loud to me my father called: 
 
 "The cow is in the graveyard, go 
 
 And bring her home !" I'd said you know, 
 
 "I'm not afraid of ghosts/' but then, 
 
 The night was dark and windy when 
 
 This call I heard, and I must pass 
 
 Where gravestones stood, in weeds and grass 
 
 And trees bent low, and shadows deep 
 
 Were hovering where the dead now sleep ; 
 
 And while I wasn't afraid — somehow — 
 
 We passed that night without the cow. 
 
 PAGE 97 
 
3fop$ of 
 
 William t^e ^tlent 
 
 His name was William Evergreen; 
 
 Two little hills he lived between; 
 
 Quite awkward was he, tall and spare, 
 
 With whiskers long, and bushy hair. 
 
 He sat around while others walked, 
 
 And silent kept while others talked, 
 
 So many said 'twas their belief 
 
 His lack of sense would cause him grief. 
 
 One day he sold his timber land, 
 
 Received his pay in cash in hand. 
 
 Then many tried to get a share 
 
 Of all the cash he had to spare ; 
 
 But soon they found 'twas vain to try; 
 
 What they would sell, he would not buy ; 
 
 What they would hire, he would not lend ; 
 
 What they sent for, he would not send. 
 
 But soon there came into the place, 
 
 A stranger with a kindly face; 
 
 So fair it was to look upon, 
 
 It seemed a Song of Solomon 
 
 Made into flesh, that one might trace 
 
 Its lines upon the human face. 
 
 He was a preacher, so he said, 
 
 Who came that way to earn his bread. 
 
 Our Evergreen he called aside 
 
 PAGE 9 8 
 
3Jop0 of 
 <£artf) 
 
 One day a secret to confide; 
 He said, while Indians he had taught, 
 An aged one a brick had brought 
 That he had found, and had been told 
 The brick was made of solid gold, 
 Yet had no knowledge of the worth 
 Of such a lump of precious earth. 
 Had he the money he would try 
 How cheaply he this brick could buy. 
 He said this redskin, much in fear 
 Of being robbed, was hiding near, 
 And if together they would go, 
 To them the golden brick he'd show. 
 He told his tale while such a grace 
 Shone on his affidavit face 
 That William could but silent sit, 
 And tacitly agree to it. 
 They found the Indian in a wood, 
 Where with the brick he waiting stood. 
 Five hundred Dollars was his price — 
 Which surely was a sacrifice, 
 Of such a lump of gold, if pure; 
 And that of this they might be sure, 
 They clipped a corner from the brick, 
 And their return to town was quick. 
 A jeweler made a crucial test 
 And found it was of gold the best. 
 Then William gave a bill so bright 
 It filled the Indian with delight; 
 
 PAGE 99 
 
3IO£0 of 
 
 <£artb 
 
 He left the brick and slunk away; 
 
 The preacher disappeared that day. 
 
 The jeweler could not long restrain 
 
 His wish, to see that gold again, 
 
 He bored and weighed the brick and said: 
 
 "This lump of gold is gilded lead 
 
 And all its gold, I am afraid, 
 
 Is worth not half the price you paid." 
 
 The news through town soon scattered then 
 
 How Evergreen had swindled been 
 
 And many said it was a sin, 
 
 And some 'twas good enough for him. 
 
 Some said 'twas always their belief 
 
 His lack of sense would cause him grief. 
 
 So much was said that William broke 
 
 His silence, and thus calmly spoke : 
 
 "I guess I was not badly bit, 
 
 The bill I gave was counterfeit." 
 
 To him the trick was very plain, 
 
 He had prepared to win the game. 
 
 But where he got his bogus bill 
 
 To play the game is mystery still. 
 
 PAGE 100 
 
JOg0 Of 
 
 <£art& 
 
 Moit Cofjen'a 3lngurance 
 
 Mose Cohen was a traveling man, 
 
 With trunks of samples he began 
 
 In youth to go from place to place, 
 
 And offer merchants silk and lace; 
 
 Months were required to make these trips ; 
 
 He rode on railroads and on ships, 
 
 And knew that many dangers lurk, 
 
 For one engaged in such a work; 
 
 And so, when on a trip he went, 
 
 Insured himself 'gainst accident. 
 
 Sometimes the train ran from the track 
 
 And many killed; sometimes a hack 
 
 Its contents in the gutter threw; 
 
 Sometimes a steamboat broke in two; 
 
 Sometimes a hotel where he stayed 
 
 By whirling winds a wreck was made; 
 
 By all these means were many slain 
 
 But safe returned our Mose again, 
 
 And never got a single cent 
 
 For any kind of accident. 
 
 And many years things went that way 
 
 Until, upon a certain day, 
 
 When, wealthy grown, his wife and he 
 
 Had planned a trip across the sea. 
 
 Thus he resolved to take a rest 
 
 And visit scenes he thought the best; 
 
 PAGE 101 
 
3|op$ of 
 
 <£arti) 
 
 But just before he took the train 
 
 He sought an agent, that again 
 
 He might insure before he went 
 
 'Gainst every kind of accident. 
 
 He answered questions on a blank, 
 
 His name, his height, his age, his rank; 
 
 Then gave his check to pay again 
 
 And hurried swiftly to the train; 
 
 His wife he met, and quickly they 
 
 Rode to the shore where waiting lay 
 
 The boat to bear them o'er the sea. 
 
 When safe aboard, then she and he 
 
 Sat on the deck and watched the shore 
 
 Become a streak, then show no more. 
 
 While on the deck they careless sat, 
 
 His wayward eye espied a cat; 
 
 He tried this passing cat to catch, 
 
 And for his pains received a scratch ; 
 
 The scratch was long, and deep enough 
 
 To start the blood where skin was tough. 
 
 His wife said, "Moses, don't you see 
 
 You now can get indemnity." 
 
 He howled like he would wake the dead 
 
 Then quickly he retired to bed ; 
 
 And there she nursed him night and day, 
 
 And kept him bleeding all the way. 
 
 His appetite was very good, 
 
 And yet he did not take much food. 
 
 PAGE 102 
 
3fog0 of 
 OBartf) 
 
 He starved himself, in hopes that he 
 
 Might get a large indemnity. 
 
 And when the steamboat reached the land 
 
 He seemed so weak he could not stand; 
 
 They carried him to shore that day, 
 
 And there in bed confined he lay, 
 
 Until the boat that brought him in 
 
 Its homeward journey could begin. 
 
 Then Mose was carried back on board 
 
 And tenderly in bed was stored, 
 
 And fed on gruel all the way 
 
 Until the boat had reached the bay. 
 
 By ambulance he made the train 
 
 And soon was in his home again, 
 
 And there to bed he quickly went 
 
 And for the agent swiftly sent, 
 
 To show his wound, in hopes that he 
 
 Would get a large indemnity. 
 
 The agent came to him that day, 
 
 But said the claim he would not pay, 
 
 Because in haste to reach the station 
 
 Mose failed to sign his application. 
 
 Then up in bed Mose Cohen sate 
 
 And uttered oaths, I'll not relate; 
 
 He's taken many trips since then 
 
 But never has insured again. 
 
 PAGE 103 
 
3!<W of 
 (Eattf) 
 
 QZfyt 'Caxfoermfet 
 
 There abode 
 Once a toad 
 Near a road. 
 
 There he lay 
 All the day 
 By the way. 
 
 Not a fly 
 Did he spy 
 Buzzing by. 
 
 Not a word 
 Had he heard 
 From a bird. 
 
 Not a bee 
 Did he see 
 On the lea. 
 
 But a man,. 
 With a can, 
 To him ran, 
 
 With a grin 
 On his chin 
 Pushed him in. 
 
 PAGE 104 
 
Slops of 
 OBactf) 
 
 To his tent 
 Then he went 
 With content. 
 
 Then the toad 
 There he stowed 
 With a load 
 
 He had caught 
 And had brought 
 To that spot. 
 
 What he canned 
 He had planned 
 On a stand 
 
 In a small 
 Little hall 
 By the wall 
 
 He would kill 
 And would fill 
 From the mill. 
 
 Thus the toad 
 That abode 
 By the road 
 
 PAGE 105 
 
Sops of 
 4£art& 
 
 In a stall 
 Of this small 
 Little hall 
 
 He had planned, 
 Stuffed and tanned. 
 He would stand. 
 
 Such a fate 
 Did await, 
 As I state; 
 
 For this toad 
 That abode 
 By the road. 
 
 In the stall 
 Of this small 
 Little hall. 
 
 PAGE 106 
 
Jops of 
 OBarti) 
 
 Retribution 
 
 Sometimes I've seen a broad-browed, learned man 
 Become the hireling of a wealthy fool, 
 
 Willing by self-debasement where he can 
 To earn small wages as a truckling tool. 
 
 Sometimes a pious preacher I have seen 
 
 Hang to a worn-out, false and useless creed, 
 
 Pronounce it sacred truth and strive to screen 
 The facts that prove it false, solely for greed. 
 
 Sometimes a skilful lawyer takes a fee 
 
 To help a rascal win a bogus suit, 
 And all his skill to make a moving plea 
 
 For this vile cause does gladly prostitute. 
 
 Sometimes a venal doctor will contrive 
 To keep a patient ill to rob his purse, 
 
 And purposely into his body drive 
 
 The surgeon's knife to make his victim worse. 
 
 Sometimes a merchant flaunts a lying sign 
 
 To lure into his store the passer-by, 
 And has sham cost-marks forged with the design 
 
 To make the purchaser believe a lie. 
 
 Sometimes the cruel, purse-proud millionaire 
 
 Treats with contempt the humble working poor, 
 
 And on their just requests bestows no care, 
 Thinking his own position is secure. 
 
 PAGE 107 
 
3fop0 of 
 <Bmb 
 
 Sometimes I've seen a judge of great renown 
 
 State falsely law and facts to shield a friend, 
 
 And while the spurious judgment he set down, 
 His love for justice loudly did pretend. 
 
 Sometimes wise men put honor up at pawn, 
 To gain the bauble plaudits of the crowd; 
 
 Deceive and flatter, sneak and bend and fawn, 
 To hold a humble place among the proud. 
 
 Sometimes the love of woman has been made 
 A thing to sell to any who will buy; 
 
 Oft love and wealth are offered in a trade, 
 For graceless rank and imbecility. 
 
 Sometimes a mighty nation has been known 
 
 To draw the sword of war in Freedom's name, 
 
 Yet by its conduct it has plainly shown 
 
 That greed for conquest was its shameless aim. 
 
 Sometimes it seems as if the earth were lead, 
 
 The heavens brass and human hearts were steel ; 
 
 Sometimes it seems as if our God were dead, 
 When sway of cruel wrongs we see and feel. 
 
 But moving outward from the dim unseen, 
 To execute the task for ages planned, 
 
 Mute as the dew that mists the meadows green 
 We see the sweep of the Almighty hand. 
 
 PAGE 108 
 
3!op0 of 
 
 <£artf) 
 
 Then proudly gloating o'er its cruel power 
 Crime's strongest castles totter to their fall; 
 
 In vain its votaries in that dreadful hour 
 Strive to sustain them and are ruined all. 
 
 For drunken folly vainly strives to place 
 A solid structure on a rotten base. 
 
 PAGE 1(M> 
 
3fo?0 of 
 <Bmb 
 
 Olfa 'Cppetorte <$trl 
 
 There are many great forces that sway in our land, 
 Which working together bring riches and power. 
 We see them in action at every hand, 
 
 And we treasure "the numerous blessings they 
 shower. 
 
 II 
 
 Perhaps from the list of the greatest and best 
 It is proper to single out commerce as Queen, 
 
 For she spans the whole earth, and at her behest, 
 The people obey her as ruler supreme. 
 
 Ill 
 
 She musters her forces in one vast machine, 
 
 She has leaders and followers and workers ga- 
 lore, 
 
 And all work together to further her scheme, 
 Like the numerous persons employed in a store. 
 
 IV 
 
 Of this vast aggregation in commerce allied, 
 
 From its simplest acts to its liveliest whirl, 
 
 There's none more important or more sorely tried 
 Than the worker we call the "typewriter girl/' 
 
 PAGE 110 
 
3fop$ of 
 OBattf) 
 
 v 
 
 In maidenhood's morning she comes from the 
 school, 
 As modest and pure as the violets of May; 
 Through long weary hours she sits on her stool, 
 And from morning till evening her quick fingers 
 play. 
 
 VI 
 
 And she many swift trips o'er the keyboard must 
 make, 
 As letter by letter she prints on the sheet; 
 And her arms and her fingers and back often ache, 
 And her eyes burn with pain, ere her work is 
 complete. 
 
 VII 
 
 And often in shorthand dictation she takes, 
 
 And sometimes the matter is very abstruse, 
 Her young brain is racked with the effort she 
 makes 
 To translate the brief notes that stenographers 
 use. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Through long tedious days of monotonous toil 
 Her girlhood she patiently gives to her tasks; 
 
 She is courteous and kind and is faithful in all, 
 And little indeed are the wages she asks. 
 
 PAGE 111 
 
31op0 of 
 OBartf) 
 
 IX 
 
 Her shoulders grow stooped after years have been 
 passed ; 
 
 The color of youth often fades from her face ; 
 Her bright eyes grow dim; many ailments at last 
 
 A pale hectic flush on her features may trace; 
 
 Yet she faithfully works until death or disease, 
 Or possibly marriage may take her away; 
 
 Her heart's blood she coins into gold by degrees, 
 But the fruits of her labors with her never stay. 
 
 XI 
 
 As the years circle round, her employer grows rich, 
 And farther and wider his business expands. 
 
 But he seldom remembers that many a stitch 
 
 In his fabric of wealth is the work of her hands ; 
 
 XII 
 
 That the typewriter's tick is the musical charm 
 
 That has lured the fair goddess of plenty to him. 
 He forgets the worn hand and the toil-stiffened 
 arm, 
 The overworked brain and the bright eyes made 
 dim. 
 
 PAGE 112 
 
3[ops of 
 OEarti) 
 
 XIII 
 
 He bequeaths his great wealth to his kinsmen and 
 friends ; 
 Or perhaps he endows a large church or a 
 school ; 
 Though many his gifts, not one of them tends 
 To reward her who toiled on the typewriter 
 stool. 
 
 XIV 
 
 There's a hope I have cherished for many a year, 
 That somewhere and somehow the good shall 
 be blest ; 
 
 That a day of just judgment will sometime appear, 
 And all of the wrongs of the weak be redressed ; 
 
 XV 
 
 When those who have laid on the altar of right 
 A life of hard labor, so patient and true, 
 
 May receive in a manner to give most delight 
 A payment in full of what is their due. 
 
 XVI 
 
 And when at that judgment seat all of us stand, 
 And the typewriter girl takes her place with the 
 rest, 
 
 'Tis my hope that the judge, with a liberal hand, 
 Will see this true worker forever is blest. 
 
 PAGE 113 
 
3lop0 of 
 (Eartf) 
 
 Montp Henbing 
 
 How elastic the step of the one who would borrow ; 
 
 He's as prompt as the dawn and as bright as 
 the day. 
 If you lend him the money he'll pay you tomorrow ; 
 
 He has plenty of cash soon coming his way. 
 
 He has stocks and has bonds and has friends who 
 are wealthy ; 
 They soon will return to lend money to him. 
 His wife and his children are frugal and healthy; 
 He waits on your leisure and humors each 
 whim. 
 
 His smile is as gentle as widows in waiting; 
 
 His accents are soft as the zephyrs of May, 
 While the tale of his honor and truth he's relating, 
 
 And informs you how surely and promptly he'll 
 pay. 
 
 How fair is the front that the borrower flashes, 
 A brow like great Jove or a patriarch's beard, 
 
 And eyes like a lambkin with innocent lashes; 
 One glance at his face and suspicions are 
 cleared. 
 
 PAGE 114 
 
Slop* of 
 OBartf) 
 
 Sometimes he has manners a sovereign might 
 
 covet, 
 
 A grace and a poise that a god would adorn; 
 
 What he states you believe without asking to prove 
 
 it; 
 
 To question his credit you naturally scorn. 
 
 Sometimes 'tis a lady bewitching and tender, 
 
 With eyes like an angel's rolled upward in 
 prayer; 
 
 In a voice quite beseeching she begs you to lend her, 
 A few paltry dollars to drive off despair. 
 
 Her rent is now due and her mail has miscarried ; 
 
 In a few days her brother the money will bring ; 
 Her daughter tomorrow expects to be married 
 
 To the favorite son of a great money king. 
 
 You lend them the money , the time comes for pay- 
 ing; 
 
 You now all the walking and waiting must do; 
 In vain do you send to the place of their staying ; 
 
 In vain do you write them to come and see you. 
 
 If they come they regale you with wretched luck 
 stories, 
 
 Of sickness and losses from floods or from fires ; 
 And tell of their anguish and long nights of worries, 
 
 Of promises broken and good men turned liars. 
 
 PAGD 115 
 
3!op0 of 
 
 And many ingenious and plausible ruses 
 
 They employ to prevent you from getting your 
 due; 
 
 And numerous the flimsy and lying excuses 
 They invent to avoid the collector from you. 
 
 They have nervous prostration, so none may come 
 near; 
 
 They are called in great sorrow to sick beds 
 afar; 
 They are under the knife of a surgeon, you hear, 
 Or were injured severely while leaving a car. 
 
 No longer they prance like horses of mettle; 
 
 No longer employ gentle tones when you meet; 
 They sneak and they skulk when you seek them to 
 
 settle ; 
 And, as soon as they see you, cross over the street. 
 
 The one who lends money, with skill that's un- 
 failing, 
 Should probe for the naked truth down to the 
 bone; 
 Should be deaf to all pleas, and all weeping and 
 wailing ; 
 His will should be iron, his heart should be 
 stone. 
 
 PAGE 116 
 
3[O£0 Of 
 
 <£art& 
 Wtavp 
 
 Since infancy his weary feet have run 
 To suit the beck and nod of every one — 
 
 On sand or clod, 
 
 On stones or sod — 
 And now he needs a rest. 
 
 Since half-grown hands could hardly pull the hoe, 
 Or wield the ax or strike a feeble blow, 
 
 He's pulled and struck 
 
 On knots and muck; 
 And now he needs a rest. 
 
 Since first to think his youthful mind began 
 He's planned and schemed for many another man; 
 
 He'd sweat and fret 
 
 Through cold and wet, 
 
 And little get; 
 And now he needs a rest. 
 
 And there's his loving wife — he broils that she 
 May spend the heated summer by the sea; 
 
 There dine and wine, 
 
 In diamonds shine, 
 Where he can never be. 
 
 His darling daughter to the mountain goes, 
 And there her nectar sips amid the snows ; 
 While home he stays 
 
 PAGE 117 
 
3fO£0 Of 
 
 0£atti) 
 
 And bills he pays, 
 And has no holidays. 
 
 His other gentle birds enjoy the sky, 
 And use his wings whenever they would fly- 
 Close to the ground 
 By toil he's bound 
 In ceaseless round — 
 To soar he dare not try. 
 
 With many loving relatives he's blest; 
 They visit him and much enjoy their rest ; 
 
 He toils and moils, 
 
 Takes what each soils, 
 Or anything that anyone has left. 
 
 He's borne the rust while others wore the shine, 
 Has eaten scraps left after others dine; 
 
 He wants some pelf 
 
 Now for himself, 
 So he can take a rest. 
 
 He's drawn the bow and seen the others dance; 
 He's pulled the load and watched the others prance ; 
 
 And now he wants a chance 
 
 To take part in the dance, 
 Or else to take a rest. 
 
 PAGE 118 
 
Slops of 
 OBatti) 
 
 Through many years he's felt the constant grind; 
 His back is almost broken, but, his mind 
 
 And heart are tough, 
 
 He's had enough, 
 And now demands a rest. 
 
 He's often told that death will give him rest, 
 That by the joys of heaven he may be blest; 
 
 He does not seek the tomb; 
 
 What he demands is room — 
 That he must have, for he must have a rest. 
 
 PAGE 119 
 
3[o?0 of 
 <£arti) 
 
 a M^itm 2frull iftg&t 
 
 Much of the cruel past survives; 
 The good hath great vitality, and the bad, 
 Which gave delight to men when men were brutes, 
 Still gives some joy to brutish men. 
 I saw a bull-fight once, 
 Near where the Rio Grande 
 Its yellow waters empties in the gulf 
 And forms the boundary of two Christian lands — 
 Two great republics of the western main. 
 It was the Sabbath day, 
 Fair as the day that first on Eden shone; 
 The soft south wind came gently from the gulf, 
 Freighted with perfume from the odorous plants, 
 And forests blossom-ladened ; 
 The peaceful heavens bent so benignly, 
 And in such matchless beauty bloomed the earth 
 That many birds of fairy plumage 
 Chanted a gleeful chorus to the smiling skies. 
 All nature seemed attuned to sing of love. 
 It was indeed a precious Sabbath day, 
 Well fitted to recall the love of him 
 Who gave his life to teach the world to love, 
 And write the law of kindness on all hearts — 
 That law of universal love and tenderness 
 From man to fellow-man, and man to bird and 
 beast. 
 
 PAGE 120 
 
3!op* of 
 Cattfj 
 
 On this most hallowed day, 
 
 And in a city where a score of Christian altars 
 
 shine, 
 And where the squares and public streets 
 Bear names commemorating Jesus Christ, 
 And men have named their children with His name 
 And proudly bear His name themselves, 
 And where at frequent intervals by night and day 
 They kiss the crucifix and con the rosary; 
 Here after morning prayers were said 
 And loud Hosannas sung to praise His name, 
 Men, matrons, boys and girls and tender babes 
 Assembled in an ampitheatre 
 To watch the torture of some helpless bulls, 
 In that which oddly was miscalled a fight. 
 There half a dozen men in armored suits, 
 With swords and spears and weapons of defense, 
 Shielded by hiding places near at hand, 
 Conjointly strove to wear out and destroy 
 A frightened, helpless bull, who vainly tried, 
 With all these odds against him, to escape. 
 The actors in this cruel sport 
 Were dressed in colors of such gaudiness 
 The very sight of them the bull offended; 
 This to increase they flaunted in his face 
 Robes of like color fitted to enrage 
 Even a bull of decent taste. 
 
 PAGE 121 
 
Slops of 
 dBartb 
 
 While irritated thus, they pierced his beauteous 
 
 sides 
 With metal darts whose brads held to his flesh, 
 And as the blood gushed from the wounds thus 
 
 made, 
 This Sabbath crowd shrieked with a fiendish glee, 
 Compared to which the bellow of bull 
 Is heavenly music to a kindly ear. 
 What gave most relish to this game of blood 
 Was when the picadores came in, 
 Urging blindfolded horses in the ring; 
 Old nags they were, crippled with years of toil, 
 And deemed of value only for this sport. 
 Mounted on such they were spurred on, 
 To stem unshielded the excited bull, 
 Who tossed these brutes upon his horns, 
 And gored their throats and unprotected sides, 
 Until their life blood poured upon the ground, 
 And in the dust their mangled entrails dragged. 
 When this occurred the patrons of this scene 
 Were with such frenzied ecstasy o'ercome 
 Some threw their hats and garments in the ring 
 And raised so harsh and hoarse a howl, 
 It seemed as if the fiends of lowest hell 
 Had set this Sabbath for a holiday. 
 Attending on this game two judges sat in state, 
 With beards of patriarchal length and sober brows. 
 It was their lofty function to control this sport, 
 
 PAGE 122 
 
3log0 of 
 
 And fix the time to kill the tortured bull. 
 When worn with frenzied efforts to escape 
 And weak from many wounds and loss of blood, 
 He could but feebly stagger round the ring, 
 A matadore, with long, keen, slender sword, 
 Reached for his heart with calculating thrust; 
 And thus by many efforts did succeed 
 In drawing forth the current of his life. 
 Then he who once was monarch of his kind, 
 And formed by nature with most cunning skill, 
 To be the parent and protector of a herd, 
 Staggered and fell, writhing in fiercest pain, 
 Dropping his limbs distorted on the ground, 
 And by a span of horses was dragged out 
 To give another victim room. 
 Meanwhile the lovers of this cruel sport 
 Went wild in spasms of delight, 
 And rent the yielding skies with shouts and shrieks 
 That might have made a cruel devil blush 
 To see such joy at sight of agonizing death. 
 One bull showed greater skill for flight than temper 
 
 to resist, 
 And when his sorrel sides were filled with wounds 
 And covered thick with highly colored darts, 
 He, bleeding, was dismissed alive; the other five 
 
 were slain, 
 After half hours of torture such as I describe. 
 I have no heart to joy in cruelty, 
 
3fopg of 
 
 And often have I stepped aside 
 
 To miss a crawling worm along my path; 
 
 Nor do I harbor feelings of revenge 
 
 Or wish a fellow creature harm; 
 
 But I was so offended by this sight 
 
 Against my will I could not help but pray 
 
 Some power would give the bull supernal strength 
 
 To toss his armed tormentors from the ring 
 
 And drive pell-mell the audience from the place. 
 
 Since watching thus this loathsome scene, 
 
 My mind turns backward o'er the waste of years, 
 
 To days when Spain was Mistress of the sea, 
 
 And many lands and isles of ocean called her 
 
 Queen, 
 And seeking for protection turned to her; 
 In place of such she gave them cruelty, 
 Gilded her mansions with the spoils of states, 
 And gorged her coffers with their pilfered shrines. 
 'Twas then this wicked pastime came in vogue, 
 To please the bloody minions of most cruel Spain, 
 Then spectacles of gore became so common, 
 And heartless cruelty so much in fashion, 
 That even children laughed at scenes of woe 
 And found sweet music in the dying groans. 
 What are the fruits borne by this Upas tree? 
 Behold proud Spain now whipped from every land 
 And vexed with bloody discord in her own, 
 Dismantled of her isles, a ghost of power, 
 
 124 
 
Slop* of 
 OBart!) 
 
 A soulless relic of a bloody past. 
 
 And thus the many tortured bulls, bred on her An- 
 
 dalusian plains, 
 Have not died unavenged. 
 Then how can mighty Mexico permit 
 The public practice of so great a crime, 
 And teach her sons to deal in such dire acts 
 Even toward helples brutes, without at last 
 Feeling the sharpened steel in her strong sides? 
 In vain we call upon the name of God, 
 And beg forgiveness for the Savior's sake; 
 In vain our spires ascend and altars blaze, 
 With silver, gold and many precious gems; 
 In vain we pray the saints to mediate 
 And shrive us from the guilt of many sins, 
 And fall contritely in the face of heaven, 
 While we with sanction of our human law 
 Out of the Sabbath carve a holiday 
 And make a common banquet of rank cruelty. 
 These nimble sons of glorious Mexico 
 Should find employment worthy of their skill, 
 And suited to the welfare of their state. 
 These beauteous brutes should by the nation's care 
 Be kept to lead and ornament the herd. 
 These faithful horses for their years of toil 
 Should find asylum in her pleasant meads. 
 And young and old be ever taught to find 
 Their joy in kindness both to man and beast. 
 
 125 
 
Sops of 
 €att|) 
 
 <®ur Country 
 
 I 
 
 There's a land that I love where the Western sun 
 
 beams 
 On the greenest of hillsides and clearest of streams, 
 And the freshest of breezes blow balmy and 
 free; 
 Where lakes of rare beauty reflect the bright sky, 
 And near them great cities in majesty lie, 
 And fields wave in blossoms entrancing the eye, 
 And the great Mississippi rolls down to the sea. 
 
 II 
 
 On her towering mountains the cataract leaps, 
 From the cliff in the clouds to the cavernous deeps, 
 
 And flashes and dashes its spray high in air. 
 Her forests of corn wave their tassels of light, 
 Her meadows of cotton wear garments of white, 
 And fruits of all hues which the senses delight 
 
 There abundantly grow in her orchards so fair. 
 
 Ill 
 
 There the sheltering groves tell of mercy above, 
 And the musical birds sing of infinite love, 
 
 And the rippling streams hint of heavenly 
 mirth ; 
 
 126 
 
3!ops of 
 dBartf) 
 
 There the richest of soils speak of bounty divine, 
 The unfettered breeze symbols freedom sublime, 
 And all the delights of the senses combine, 
 
 To point the way upward to heaven from earth. 
 
 IV 
 
 While sweetly in southland her orange groves blow, 
 
 The fields of her northland are covered with snow, 
 
 But from northland to southland her great 
 
 rivers roll; 
 From the shores of her east to the shores of her 
 
 west, 
 There are seasons for toil, there are seasons for 
 
 rest, 
 And the means for enjoyment that all like the best, 
 And one beautiful banner floats over the whole. 
 
 Many races of men have united in one, 
 And deeds of great glory together have done, 
 
 When from foreign dominion this country was 
 freed. 
 On the broad base of justice they founded a state, 
 And made it secure as the pillars of fate 
 From the frenzy of mobs and the schemes of the 
 great — 
 A government suited to every need. 
 
 127 
 
3fop$ of 
 <2Bart& 
 
 VI 
 
 And thus they bequeathed a new flag to the skies, 
 The Star Spangled Banner of beautiful dyes, 
 
 The promise of freedom wherever unfurled ; 
 Its red stripes are symbols of blood that was shed 
 By patriots, the bravest that earth ever tread, 
 Its white, of the pure hearts for freedom that bled, 
 
 And its stars of their undying fame in the world. 
 
 VII 
 
 From Alaska's fair shores to the isles of the sea, 
 Where floats our bright banner, the people are free, 
 And the sight of our flag causes cheers of de- 
 light. 
 And well may our hearts beat with loftiest pride, 
 When we think of the thousands who willingly 
 
 died, 
 And all of war's perils and anguish defied, 
 
 To make this fair banner an emblem of right. 
 
 VIII 
 
 And such is our land that the banner it flies 
 Unshackles the earth and enriches the skies, 
 
 And raises the fallen wherever it goes ; 
 Then step to its music and cheer every note, 
 And declare that our banner forever shall float, 
 Let praise for our country inspire every throat, 
 
 And justice and kindness relieve us from foes. 
 
 128 
 
Slops of 
 <£art& 
 
 IX 
 
 Let the strong shield the weak, and the weak help 
 
 the strong, 
 And justice and freedom to each one belong; 
 
 Then our wide spreading empire will blossom 
 
 with joy. 
 The night of oppression was long and severe, 
 But the dawn streaks the heavens and morning is 
 
 here, 
 Clasp hands then my brothers, and be of good 
 
 cheer, 
 And the blessings of liberty wisely employ. 
 
 129 
 
3fog0 of 
 <£arti) 
 
 Cfje feing of j^aroi a&ras 
 
 On Pensacola's beauteous bay 
 The Southern breezes softly play ; 
 On Santa Rosa's sandy isle 
 The midday sunbeams sweetly smile; 
 In February's placid sky, 
 A myriad flags and streamers fly, 
 Their yellow, green and purple hue 
 Contrasted with its deepest blue. 
 About the wharf upon the bay 
 A hundred vessels waiting lay. 
 Tis two days now till lent begins 
 When sinners should atone for sins, 
 And ancient custom doth decree 
 These two be spent in revelry, 
 Feasting and song and gay parade 
 And merry pranks and masquerade; 
 Because two days thus gayly passed 
 Will much relieve the lenten fast. 
 To rule the days of feast and cheer 
 A foreign King will come, we hear; 
 And so the streets and wharf and boats, 
 And every kind of craft that floats, 
 From sparkling bay to shining shore 
 With merry throngs are covered o'er, 
 Each watching southward eagerly 
 
 130 
 
3Iog0 of 
 <£artf) 
 
 To see this King come from the sea. 
 The mayor and the council wait 
 To greet this King with hearts elate, 
 And offer him the city's key 
 With freedom for hilarity; 
 And many maids of bright attire 
 Surround a maiden all admire, 
 Whose graceful form and stately mien, 
 Proclaim her as the chosen queen. 
 Now mirth and glee fill every place, 
 And glow in every waiting face, 
 And all their cares have laid away 
 To spend this jolly holiday, 
 And each has early come that he 
 May be the first this King to see ; 
 And many thousand soldiers stay 
 About the wharf and near the bay, 
 Ready to march in his parade 
 Whene'er the King has landing made. 
 Now when the royal bark is seen 
 A hundred whistles loudly scream 
 And many thousand shouts arise 
 In concert to the yielding skies. 
 When welcomed by this grand salute, 
 The gracious monarch and his suite 
 Ride proudly in with armor bright 
 To where they safely may alight; 
 
Jops of 
 OBattjb 
 
 Each mounted there a prancing steed; 
 The monarch soon assumed the lead, 
 And forward moved the bright array, 
 Along the city's broadest way; 
 There eager crowds await to cheer 
 Where'er the monarch doth appear. 
 The King and all his suite are masked, 
 And who are they is often asked. 
 The royal face is hid from sight 
 Until the coronation night, 
 And curious thousands strive in vain 
 The secret of the King to gain. 
 This first parade begins the fete, 
 Whose revelry continues late. 
 Great numbers came for many miles 
 With faces wreathed in happy smiles. 
 From Monday noon till Tuesday night 
 With gay parades the streets are bright 
 And young and old are neatly dressed, 
 And southern beauty looks her best. 
 On Tuesday night the great parade 
 Which months of preparation made, 
 With royal car and floats of white, 
 Moved through the streets in rosy light; 
 And while this bright procession passed 
 The cheering crowd watched to the last. 
 Then on a stage the queen was crowned 
 
 132 
 
3fo»0 of 
 OEatti) 
 
 While waiting thousands sat around, 
 
 And after this all had a chance 
 
 To greet the king and queen and dance. 
 
 There grace and youth and beauty bright 
 
 Commingling danced with great delight. 
 
 The festive hours were quickly spent 
 
 Till midnight came, when it was lent. 
 
 Hail, Priscus, King of mirth and joy, 
 
 Delight of every girl and boy 
 
 Who casts confetti in your face 
 
 And smiles on you with saucy grace ! 
 
 Hail, Priscus, King of dance and play, 
 
 Who brings a double holiday, 
 
 When workmen lay aside their tools, 
 
 And learned teachers quit their schools, 
 
 And every class find great delight 
 
 From early morn till late at night! 
 
 Fair Pensacola, while thy bay, 
 
 Reflects the changing hues of day, 
 
 And in the clearness of the night 
 
 Gives back to heaven its gracious light; 
 
 May all the tides the ocean pours 
 
 Come gently to thy peaceful shores, 
 
 And ships of nations always find 
 
 Thy sheltered bay a harbor kind . 
 
 As year by year thy buildings rise 
 
 And touch with spires the Southern skies, 
 
Slops of 
 (Eartjb 
 
 May love and wisdom find a place 
 In thee to dwell with every race ; 
 And when a monarch rules in thee 
 May he be "King of Revelry," 
 By fancy framed unknown in law 
 A Monarch of the Mardi Gras. 
 
 134 
 
17 1909