;Xv<^S'- ,5--i ■ \ 6 T S *■ W 6>. W •¥: BY ^ 'f^ mm LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. "FSa^Al 6f;a{i.. iojtijrij^l Ija. Shelf..' M3. ^S"? UNITKD STATES OP AMERICA. ';ov,, >ryH n/ty r/^Uccnrn^%£. . i^oeiQS. IllSlil IHI y By JEflfJiE (niJCf1/T\0I^E. DES MOINES, IOWA. IOWA PRINTING COMPANY 1888. ,2? ,i^^ Entered according to an act of Congress, in the year 1888, by Jennie Muchmore, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. DEDICATION. To THE Old Soldiers OF THE Union, and to the Memory of ALL Those Who Fell in Battle, or Who Now Fill A Soldier's Grave; is This Book Respectfully Dedicated by Its Authoress. PREFACE. I have, one by one gathered these ''Violets" from the hille of imagination, and made of them this "Boquet," which I trust may give a few hours of pleasure to my friends; if so, the knowledge will add greatly to the joy I have had in gathering them, Jennie Muchmore. COiNTENTS To Teacher, .... . 9 God is The Maker, Christ is The King, 14 i\. Pockage of Old Letters, 16 Her Autograph Album 21 Mother, Home and Heaven, 23 Mother's Portrait, .... 27 Books, 30 On the Beach, .... 81 My Treasure Casket, 34 Childhood 41 Two Brides, . . . . . 42 Three Sisters, .... 45 She Loved Them Both, 48 The Best Book, .... 51 Secret Prayer, .... 53 Climbing the Mountain, 57 Dying Visions, .... 60 Beside the Rose-Bush, . 64 Two May Days, .... 67 To a Friend, 70 Galilee, Galilee, Sweet Galilee, . 74 Von Arden's Dream, 76 In the Moonlight, 82 Private and General, . 85 Life's Goblet, 89 Memory's Album, 92 Their Diamond Wedding, 95 A Heart Twice Conquered, 102 How Harry Won the Prize, 105 CONTENTS. Twilififht, Como to Me, Work, Only, . . . Orifjcin of the Ivy, Jewels, Precious Jewels, A Driinkartrs Vision, 'I'he VVin(!-Uup, Lite, ii Hook, Wliich Was Cliarity, . A Christnius Vision, Notliini;- in My Hand 1 Briii6 ir)8 1()4 166 169 171 173 177 180 184 186 188 191 194 196 197 199 201 208 205 207 210 211 214 216 221 T O T E A C H E R (my first poem.) "When the years have come and gone, And school days are passed and o'er, And bright and gay together, Onr "A" Class meet no more. ril thhik of my dear class mates When the fntiire is at liand, Yes, I'll think of all of them, As a dear and happy band. Fast in memory's chain, That is twined around my heart, Their names are linked together, And can never break apart. 10 TO TEACHEK. And you, my dearest teacher, I will always think of you, As a teacher, mild and <>-entle, As a dear friend, kind and true. In that memory's picture, I'll not forget sweet Belief Nor tall and stately Anna, Who does her work so well. Kor Lee, the pride of the school. With his gentle, manly grace; May he win the world's high honors, And hold the most honored place. Nor charming, dark-eyed Minnie, And Mary, her hosom friend; May they always love each other And be faithful to the end. TO TEACIIKR. 11 And Clara and fair Mittie — I could think of memory's chain As but an empty symbol, If it could not bear each name. Then comes merry Sidney, Who was always full of fun; May his life be grand and noble And all its work well done. And then comes friendly Angle, Our gentle, gay brunette, And Fannie and quiet Abner, That I never can forget. Aiid rougish, laughing Fred, Who never could be still. And gentle, blue-eyed Nellie, And noble, ujjright Will. 10 TO TEACIIEK. And jou, ray dearest teacher, I will always think of you, As a teacher, mild and "gentle, As a dear friend, kind and true. In that memory's picture, I'll not forget sweet Belief Nor tall and stately Anna, Who does her work so well. Kor Lee, the pride of the school, AVith his gentle, manly grace; May he win the world's high honors. And hold the most honored place. Kor charming, dark-eyed Minnie, And Mary, her bosom friend ; May they always love each other And be faithful to the end. TO TEACHER. H And Clara and fair Mittie— I could think of memory's chain As but an empty symbol, If it could not bear each name. Then comes merry Sidney. Who was always full of fun; May his life be grand and noble And all its work well done. And then comes friendly Angle, Our gentle, gay brunette. And Fannie and quiet Abner, That I never can forget. And rougish, laughing Fred, Who never could be still, And gentle, blue-eyed Wellie, And noble, upright Will. 12 TO TEACHEK. .xText comes Frank and George, Who, for drawing have a taste; May their lives be full of pleasure, Without one barren waste. And laughing, fair-haired Laura, And Mollie, bright and gay. And merry, dark-eyed Annie; May their lives be one long May. When your thoughts are free, dear teacher, From the world and all its fuss. May you gaze back with kind wishes, And often think of us. And when the years have fled. And the school of life is o'er. May you meet each happy pupil On the golden, iiappy shore. TO TEACHER. And they, as they pass the pearly gate, May each and every one Hear the good judgment, From the blessed lips, "Well done." GOD IS THE MAKER; CHEIST IS THE KIXG. All nature is tuned to one golden harp. And linked together in one golden chain, In soft, sweet music it reaches the heart, Chiming one glorious, one glad refrain. Over the mountains The glad anthems ring: God is the Maker; Christ is the King. The sweet song is luinimed By the soft April showers, And echoed and whispered By the sweet summer tlowers, Is heard in the notes Of the glad birds of spring: God is the Maker; Christ is the Kino^. GOD IS THE maker; CHKIST IS THE KING. 15 We read the same letter In the pale moon on high, And trace the same words In the soft evening sky; See them in the bright beauty, The autumn leaves fling: God is the Maker; Christ is the King. In the snow-covered vale, On the hill, o'er the plain, In the soft, sighing breeze, Is heard the sweet strain, To the sott, sighing dew-drop, The sweet words cling: God is the Maker; Christ is the King. "When we have passed over Jordan's cold wave, When through the Valley of Shadows have jiassed, When by His blood, we triumph o'er death, When through His love, we reach home at last, We will join the glad choir, And with angels will sing: God is the Maker; Christ is the King;. A PACKAGE OF OLD LETTERS. They lie in an old oaken chest, Tied with a ribbon blue, And when I long for a rest, I am wont to read them through, For they carry ray heart far away. Back to the time of its happier day. Go, bring the package to me; The letters I hold so dear, They will take back my memory. To a day that is far from here, And make me dream of a happy time, Of faces I loved and forms divine. A PACKAGE OF OLD LETTERS. 17 This one, so fnll ol love, Is traced in a girlish hand; She is dwelling now, above, She has reached the better land ; And yet, when I think of the young hand, slim, Which penned these line«, my eyes grow dinj. This letter, I read with joy, " And hold with a gentle caress; It was sent by my sailor boy, As he sailed o'er the ocean's breast; Full of his love and sweet good will; Darling boy, he is living still. Happy in peace, With friends by his side, Sailing with him O'er life's changeful tide. Rich and honored, the noblest of men, As humble and true as he was then. 18 A PACKAtiK OF OLD LETTERS. This one, as I read it over, Brings a sense of ])ain; For memories around it hover, Of a bloody battle plain, Where the best loved one of my early youth, Fought and died in the cause of truth. This one is full of pleasure, Happy, bright and gay, And can, with its joyous measure. Take my pain away, For it was penned by a cousin dear, On the happy eve of a glad New Year. When she was expecting her happiest day. Her youthful heart aglow. She wrote the words I read to-daj^ In the years of long ago: Ah, her happiness has ever proved. Complete and true in the one she loved. A PACKAGE 01 OLD LETTERS. 19 This one is written with care, But, in a childish, iinfirm hand, And I think of the little one, tair, As oft I have seen him stand, Trusting and truthful, by my side. In the blush and promise of childhoods pride. He is a youth more learned now, — I met him the other day, — With his handsome form and noble brow, He smiled in his old time way. And with his gay heart, free from every fetter. He jestingly spoke of his childish letter. Ah, this one, did you ask? It is dearer than any other. The token of one most loved. The lines of my angel mother, AVho is waiting now, on the golden shore. Waiting 'till we shall meet once more. 20 A PACKAGE OF OLD LETTERS. Sweet letters, they can cheer me When nothing else hath power, They take back my memory, To happy girlhood hours, When I received each missive fair, And read and cherished them with care. Daylight is fading fast, I see, You can take the tokens blest, And lay them in their place, my dear, In the drawer of the oaken chest. And sometimes in the sweet twilight, I'll read them again as I have to-night. HEE AUTOGRAPH ALBUM. What is it, Gracie? an album old, Bound in velvet, clasped in gold. Willi lines from a friend on each written page, Yellow now, and dim with age. And you would hear about them dear? Well, bring the book and sit you here. And I will tell, as I turn each page, Of a time when I was just your age. These first merry lines, were written by George, He was a gay, young, English lord. Who, in the days of youth time sweet, Laid title, gold and love at my feet. 22 UEK AUTOGRAPH ALBUM. But I scorned them, and sent liini away, And to-day he's a batchelor, bent and gray. Tliis sober verse, with a raourufal end, Was penned by Belle, ray bosom friend. Lovely Belle, she is a countess now, Before whose heauty, the wealthiest bow. On this page, the one sweet line, Was traced by the hand of a young divine. He is the gray-haired minister we heard to-day Preach in the chapel, old and gray. And this — but there's the tea bell, dear; We'll close the book and leave it iiere. You think me sad to-night? Oh, no, I have present joys, tho' the past must go. And yet, I would not for India's gold. Part with this album, yellow and old. MOTHER, HOME AND HEAVEN, Mother is the sweetest name, Ere' by a childs lips spoken, And when the mother has passed away, Earth's sweetest tie is broken. Motlier, who can pity us, And sootli our every sorrow, WJio watches o'er our dreams to-night, And guards our steps to-morrow. Mother is the truest Iriend, That dwells with us on earth. Mother weeps at all our care. And smiles at all our mirth. 2J: MOTHER, HOME AND HEAVEX. Mother hovers o'er us, Wlien sickness, pain and care Have touched our brow with fever. And left their dark prints the e. Mother, a dear home angel. Who bears each weary care, With meek and patient heart. And wafts our names in prayer. Ah, how we love and prize, Far more than any other, The loving household watch-word, The beautiful name of Mother. Home! what loving memories, Clusters around that name; It can soften the sinners heart. And make it throb with pain. MOTHER, HOME AND HEAVEN. 25 As he thinks of the many virtues, Of the joy and peace and love, That cUistered around that home, E'er he left it, alone to rove. Play but the tune of "Home," On a distant, foreign shore. And the wanderer, roving there, Will seek his home once more. Home! if in the raging battle That word is lightly spoken, The heart of the bearded soldier. Is crushed as a flower, and broken. Home! where fiather and mother Make the fireside blest; Home! where sisters and brothers, Find from care, a rest. (2) 26 MOTHER, HOME AND HEAVEN. Heaven ! that land of peace, Which all the weary seek; Where our bark of hope is drifting. O'er life's troubled deep. Heaven! where the tired soul. Is freed from weariness, And earth's sad ones, lind peace, In perfect love and rest. Heaven ! where the flowers of love, Once blighted by the tomb, Shall in the Garden of Eden, In radient beauty bloom. The sweetest joys of earth. To weary mortals given, Are sweet honie ties and Mother, And a hope of rest in Heaven. MOTHER'S PORTRAIT. I Jiave been looking to-day at a portrait, Which leans from the parlor wall, Tlie portrait of a lady. Slender, fair and tall. Long have I scanned it over, Noting each feature rare. Charmed by the hazel eyes, And weal'li of shining hair. I li'ave noted the costly robes, Of crimson silk and lace, Fitting the slender form, Becoming the girlish face. 28 mother's poetkait. And I remember, years ago, When I lingered by childhood's stream, Of seeing that beautiful face, As fair as an angel's dream. Bending over my pillow, And kissing my fevered brow, So, I turn from the gilded frame, To watch the sweet face now. Dim to-day are the soft, brown eyes. And faded the blooming face. Stooped and bent, the slender form, Marred is the witching grace. Yet, just as fair as the picture, Painted twenty years ago, AVhen her eyes had the diamond's Ulster, Her cheeks had the rose's glow. MOTHER S PORTRAIT. 29 To me, is the sweet-faced Mother, In the high-backed rocking chair; Whose cahn eyes tell the story, Of a heart in the Saviour's care. BOOKS. Judge not a book by its binding. For, as a beautiful form may hold A heart devoid of passion, A soul, as marble cold. So, beautiful books may contain Teachings that kill the soul, Tho' they are bound in the richest velvet. And clasped with the finest gold. ON THE BEACH. A stately man upon the beach, A slight girl form beside, Lightly leaning on his arm, Watching the ebbing tide. Thus I passed a conple by, On the shining sand, She, with her trusting, pure eyes, He with his smile so bland. Each honeyed word he uttered, Was treasured in her breast, While he — he only won her heart, To boast of its conquest. 32 ON THE BEACH. Thus I watched tliem, through the summer, Reading all her trustful heart, Seeing, how through vanity, He had played a heartless part. He, sighing softly, left her, When the summer days had flown, With no conscience, pang of pity, For her heart, so crually wrung. Once again, 1 passed her by. On the sandy beach. But the happy light had fled From her true eyes sweet. She was leaning on the arm Of one who called her wife; He was wealthy — years her senior, — Kingly in his love and pride. ON THE BEACH. 33 Oft I wondered, as I watched them, If he could her secret know, If he dreamed her heart was yearning For that other summer's glow. And he, her false first lover. Beyond the blue seas' roll. Just wonders if she is walking, Where so oft' they used to stroll. The proud world calls them happy. Envies her her wealthy lot. But I know her heart is breaking For the love that's un forgot. MY TIlEASUPtE CASKET. There is a shining rose-wood casket, 111 my chamber, hid away, And I unlocked its golden clasp, AVith trembling hands to-day. Opened it my box of rose-wood. To add to all its store Of precious, gathered treasures. One precious treasure more. Lying hidden in this casket. From the cold world's haughty stare, Is placed my dearest treasures. That I hoard with tender care. MY TREASURE CASKET. 35 Here lies, in flashing splendor, The costly garnet set, Which my soldier father gave me, On a night I'll ne'er forget. He came into my chaml)or, In the twilight's early fall; Where I in snow-white garments, Was arrayed for my "first ball." "Yon are like your mother, daughter, You have her many charms." And father clasped these jewels About my neck and arms. Here lies a faded letter, That sweet thoughts to me bring. And folded in its pages. Gleams my diamond wedding ring. 36 MY TREASURE CASKET. Here is a tiny golden locket, With my brother's pictured face; In the long ago, we parted. May God keep him with his grace. This is a note that Nannie "tossed me," Much against the teacher's rule, Who, unjustly, had forbidden Any "tossing notes" in school. Ah, my willful, little school-mate, Made a woman true and sweet, And unlike her later life. Seem the penciled lines I read. "Oh! Kate, father bought me Such a lovely, blue silk dress! I shall have it made like j'ours. Like your violet one, I guess." MY TREASURE CASKET. 37 Darling Nannie, pure souled Nannie, For her earnest, christian life, Has received, from Christ, the Savior, Long ago, a "dress" of white. Here is a tiny, ruby bracelet, That ray little daughter wore, To-day her arms are stretching To me from the other shore. Here lies the satin robes. And the snowy, misty veil, That I wore when vows were pliglited, Which completed love's sweet tale. Here is a lock of silvery hair, And one of golden hue; The silvery one belonged to mother, The golden one to sister Lue. 38 ]MY TREASURE CASKET. Here, liasliing forth in splendor, Its transparent rays of blue, Is a tiny cross of sapphires. And donor's heart was true. As I look upon its beauty, I can smile, in spite of sadness. As I think of him who gave it; With a thrill of grateful gladness. Handsome Frank, my boyish lover, Yowed to me, with kindling eye, That he'd never love another. Said none were as fair as I. And I smiled and said 'twas foil}', He was but a mere boy then, I, a woman years his senior, Knowiufj how his love would end. MY TREASURE CASKET. Years have passed and Frank is wedded. To a wife fair, good and true; Her locks are dark as midnight. Mine has the cliestnut's line. And he loves her with a passion, That no yonthful bosom M'arms, And he thinks her dusky beauty Fairer than my paler charms. I am glad "my boy" is married, Glad he sees his folly now, Yet I keep the costly trinket, In remembrance of his vow. Ah, my heart again is saddened. As fond memories stir within, And I'll close the treasure casket, E'er my eyes again grow dim. 39 iO MY TREASURE CASKET. For the friends, who gave these tokens, Made ray heart what it should be, Strong and true to bear the sadness, That has later, come to me. CHILDHOOD. Childhood, sweetest of life's hours, Spent in play- time's joj'ous bowers, Wreathed with free joys purest flowers. Childhood: free from every care. Guarded by a mother's prayer, Time unsoiled by sin or snare. Sweetest hoars of innocent plays, Beautiful childhood, are thy days. The childish heart is glad always. Enchanted childhood, soon, in truth, Too soon, you gi^^e away to youth, Youth, a fleeting dream, forsooth. Beautiful childhood, may you be, A star to light life's gloomy sea. And brighten its dreary voyage for me. (3) TWO BE IDES. Well, the dreaded ordeal is passed, And I can think it over at last. All alone in my silent room, In the shimmering rajs of the cold, white moon. How calm was the bride with her doll-like face, In trailing white and veil of lace. It seems like a dream, that I heard her say The words that bound them forever and aye. And the groom, so proud of his beautiful bride. Knows not the secret her false smile hides. She, like many another, herself has sold, For high position, rank and gold. She blushes to-night, 'neath my cold glance keen, Remembering well, the day, I ween, When she promised, just one year ago, To share my life, its joys and woe. TWO BRIDES. 43 Ah, well, her promise to me is a tale that's told, And to-day, the idle I thought of gold, And cherished as such for many a day, Fell at my feet in a heap of clay. * % * ii •»•«-** How lovely she was, to-day, by my side, Trusting and truthful, my dark-eyed bride. Like a dream, seems that other night, When my old love became a raillionair's wife. She, beautiful still, is a widow now. And before her shrine many lovers bow. Can it be that three oears ago I thought her blond face the fairest below The angels? Ah, yes: but to-day, I know A face that is fairer, a face with a glow. That comes from the depths of an earnest heart. A face unmarred by fashion's vile art. It matters not, though my false love will smile. And try, from my wife my heart to beguile. Iler soft, tender smiles are nothing to me, 44 TWO UKIDKS. CoiU}mn'»l to tlio (loo|>, caniost love tliut, I see Shinin<^ on nio from mv wife's tiMuloi" ojes, In whoso deep, dark depths (here ever lies, The calm relloctions of :i nohle soul. That prizes honor far above ^i>ld. And lookin^r, \o dav, ou mv old love fair. With lier violet eyes and her gulden hair, 1 thou,i>'ht liow our ideals rise with the years, And how they fall when they eause lis tears. Til KKK S I STK US Throe bountiful s'lBtcrs, robed in white, Started together in the niorniiiu;- ii^ht, To seek tlu^ (liuk hoiiiea or poor und oppressed, To ease the sick soul, To the weary, <^nve rest. One sou«j;ht tlu^ abode of a widow, lone, And sat with her by hercohl hearth stone, And bade her trnst (Jod in Ikm- sorrow's dark ni^ht. It was fair jjjentle Kailh in her I'obe of pure white. 46 THREE SISTERS. Another, went softl)^ where a weary man toiled, And clasped liis rough hand, hardened, soiled, And talked with liim gently, Of a day of pure rest, And beautiful Hope Made his hard labor blest. The other, the last of the sisters three, But the fairest of all, sweet Charity, With willing hands entered A low cottage door, And toiled with its inmates, Discouraged and ]ioor. Lightened their burdens of sorrow and pain, Till a smile hovered o'er the tired lips again, And each tired soul, looked Up with new courage and love. And oftered a prayer To the Saviour above. THREE SISTEliS. 4T 111 the still hours of twilight, in evening's sweet glow These three gentle sisters, in robes white as snow, Entered the house of Our Father of Light, And kneeled, with hands folded Around the throne white. And each, in their turn, gave account of the day, Of the souls they had helped or from sin turned And Faith, Hope and Charity, [away, In fullness, found rest, When Jesns, their brother. Called them his blessed. SHE LOVED THEM BOTH. Which do I love hest, Nellie, Is that the question you ask ? To answer it truly, my darling, To me is no difficult task. When the cry of war tilled the land, To which was m3^ heart most true, The men who donned the gray, Or the ones who donned the blue? Well, listen, Nellie darling, And I will tell you all, My heert is true to both. For at the war's fierce call. SHE I.OVKD THEM HOTIl. And brave men left their homes, The wild (iry to obey. My bonny sweetheart wore the blue, My brother wore the ^ray. Both noble, good men, Nellie, And loved me more than life, Each did what he thought his dnty, Each walked by his given light. One fell in the tire at Shiloli, My darling one in gray; Cold and still they found him, When the smoke had cleared away And the other, to-day is sleeping, Neath the southern, flowery sod. They buried him where he fell, With his blue coat for a shroud. 49 50 SHE LOVED THEM BOTH. So this is the reason, Nellie, I cannot teach my heart to say That either, to me is dearest, For I loved both, bine and gray. THE BEST BOOK A little child with sunny hair, Dainty, sweet as a lily fair, Phiyecl alone one sunny day, Plucking the fragrant l)uds of May, And sang, as she wove the roses red. Into a wreath for her dolly's head; Sang in a childish^ stammering wa}'. The song she would prize in a later day: "Holy Bible, book divine. Precious treasure, thou art mine." Years passed by and the golden hair Had changed to brown, and the maiden fair, Decks herself with loving ])ride In the snowy veil and robes of a bride. And with a tender light iti her eyes, She glances to where the bible lies. Then, when expecting her happiest day, She sang in the twilight soft and gray: "Holy Bible, book divine. Precious treasure, thou art mine." 52 THE BEST BOOK. At a vine-clad window the mother stands, Trainin^^ the vines with her skillfnl hands; Watching tlie children at their play, Prizing the merry words they say; Then tnrns from the window with a prayer, "God keep my darlings in your care," And hummed as she oi)ened the bible wide — The book that had ever been her guide: "Holy bible, book divine, Precious treasure, thou art mine." The grand-dame sits in her easy chair, The sunset's light on her soft, white hair, Her gentle eyes, with age quite dim. Still seek to read the words of Ilini, AVho had been her strength, her iiope and light. Through all the years ot her useful life. And sings again in the twilight dim, As long ago, the treasured hymn, "Holy bible, book divine, Precious treasure, thou art mine." SECRET PRAYER Oil, the wonderful power there clings To secret prayer, when its sacred wings Wafts our trials, our grief and woe, To the Father above, "Who doth all things know." Ah, what a privelige, 'tis to us, To depart from the world's alluring fuss, And in secret prayer our sorrows tell. To the One, "Who doeth all things well." Perhaps wc will never know all the worth Of secret prayer, 'till on this earth At death's door we lay our burdens down, And freed from tlie crosses, grasp the crown. In a gilded city, where grim sin sleeps, A youth is treading its lighted streets; 54: SECRET PRAYER. A bright- haired boy witli manly air. Seeking for pleasure anywhere. He paused one moment, where a chandelier Threw on the str.iet, its radiance clear, Little dreaming, that in that glittering saloon, Thousands had sank to Hell's dark doom: With an eager look on his young face, fair. He ponders a moment, will he enter there? JSTo; far from the city's clamerous din, A sweet-faced sister prayed for him, And a thought of her face in its youthful bloom, Drew him back from the gambling saloon; And wafted down from the great, white throne, On a secret prayer, an answer shone. A weary mourner, with grief burdened heart. Stood at the river where fond friends part. Stood on the banks of Death's chilling stream, Saw her loved one pass to the world unseen, And feeling her burden to great to bear, Fled to her closet, in secret prayer; SECRET PRAYER. 55 And there alone, in the silent night, Commnned with the Father "who rewardeth in li^ht." And "a still small voice," from the Father's throne, Came softly down to the heart so lone. Said to the waves of grief in her breast, "Peace be still," and her sonl found rest. Far away on the dark, blue deep, Where sea-iish dance and mermaid's weep, A gallant ship, with her seamen brave, Battled long, with the mountain-like waves. But in vain, seemed her elforts against the gale; The cheeks of the hardy crew grew pale, And each drew back with fear sick soul. From a watery grave 'neath the ocean's roll, And gave himself up, in despair, as lost, As the gallant ship, by the waves was tossed. But, ah, over the ocean stole a calm, As o'er Galilee, in the years agone. For a loving mother, in secret prayed, 56 SECRET PRAYEK. For her sailor boy, and tlie ship was saved. Oh! tlie power of sacred prayer; The guard from sin, the shield from care, The strongest link in faith's firm chain, That binds us to hope, in the hour of pain,- Seek it in heaven, you will find it there, Treasured above — secret prayer. CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN. We are climbing, ever climbing, The wearisome mountain of life, Soon, by patient endeavors. We will reach the summit bright. We are climbing up this mountain, With sad and weary souls, Through the ravine of tears. Where the river of sorrow rolls. Slowly, we are climbing, Over stones of care, The summit shining, In the sun-lit air. (*) 58 CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN. Climbing up the mountain, Slowly, daj by day, Sometimes finding friends And sweet flowers on our way. We are climbing up the mountain. Sometimes weary, ill; Still we keep ascending, Doing God's sweet will. We are climbing the mountain in hope, We are climbing the mountain in love. We are stretching our hands for aid To the ones who smile from above. Some are far below us. Just starting the hill to climb. Others are high above us, Far on the road of time. CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN. 69 Some are needing our help, As they sink under sin's grim blight, Some who are climbing the mountain. Without the Saviour's light. Oh ! throw light on their way, Help them the top to win. Throw God's light around them. And show them the rocks of sin. Oe'r which their feet are stumbling, As they tread the darkened way; Lend them a helping, a helping hand, Throw them the Gospel's ray. Climbing up the mountain, Soon our journey's o'er. Soon we'll reach the summit. And will climb the hill no more. DYING VISIONS When the fire-light glows and glistens, Making shadows through the gloom, Do I but to fancy listen, Or are there voices in the room. Yes, the sound comes clearer, deeper, And sweet notes of music ring — Now the strains grow nearer, sweeter — Can it be that angels sing? Can it be that I am dreaming, Or do I see those visions fair. Coming with their white robes gleaming; Flowers of victory in their hair. DYING VISIONS, 61 Is it but the flickering fire-light, Dancing on the parlor wall; Or do I see those fair forreis white? Can it be, I know them all? Yes, the first bright face I know; It, to me was early lost — For thirty years has lain below The summer flowers and winter's frost. And the next, my patient one. Who through tribulations went, Up to meet the Father, Son, Who such bitter crosses sent. I can trace no pain or woe. In the now bright face, It was marred by both below, ]N^ow 'tis bright with Heaven's grace. 62 DYING VISIONS. Ah! I see another face, Floating towards me through the air, I would know it any place, With its crown of silvered hair. He has been to me a father, Lov^ed me both as child and man, Sharing all ray cares and bother, He has made me what 1 am. There is another and another! Standing smiling, side by side, One is she, my sainted mother, One is she, my sainted bride. Ah, the throng is coming nearer — Standing all about my chair, Their sweet, tender words I hear, I can touch their floating hair. DYING VISIONS. 63 And there is a radiant vision, Standing in the midst of tliem, Praise God! for the sight Eljsian, 'Tis the Christ of bethlehem. Dead, they found the dreamer lying, In the gray dawn, bleak and.chill. With the joys that came while dying, Restine on his cold face still. And they wondered, through their sorrow, Why his face looked so divine, He had found a glad to-morrow. When he bade "good-night to time." BESIDE THE ROSE BUSH. Beside a cottage of home-like grace, A happy child, with a merry face. Planted a rose bush, slender and green, Close to the j^orch, 'neath the window screen. Her work, completed, she turned away, To join the others at their play, And soon forgot, in the innocent glee. The slender slip of the yonng rose tree. Years passed on, o'er the sunny head, And every year the rose bush shed, Its fragrance sweet, 'round the cottage door, Making it fairer than ever before. Beside the rose bush a maiden stands, A bunch of its flowers in her slender hands. BESIDE THE ROSE BUSH. 65 And a far-away look in her dreamy eyes, As she gazes back, where the dead past lies. And thinks of the time of long ago, AVhen she planted the bush with heart aglow. Ah, me, she sighed and turned away, There's naught as fair as childhood's day. Beside the rose bush, a woman dreams. Of childhood's days and girlhood's scenes. She had won honor, wealth and fame, The proud world smiled and praised her name. Iler winning face and cultured voice, Had made the critical world rejoice, Yet, she turned from all its laurels rain. With a feeling, almost akin to pain. And now, for peace, repose aud rest, She had sought again, the old home nest. 'Neath a coffin lid, in a dai'kened room. An aged woman lies in the ffloom. 66 BESIDE THE ROSE BUSH. In the icy hands on her quiet breast, Is a pure, white rose, the fairest and best. Plucked from the bush, which, when a child She had planted there in the spring-time mild. In a quiet nook in a church-yard lone, [moan, Where the soft winds sigh and the tall trees Stands a rose-bush, stately and tall. And lets its wealth of white leaves fall. Year by. year o'er the silent tomb Ot one, who in her childhood's bloom Had planted it close to the dear old home, Where harm was not, nor sin could come. Sweet emblem of her childhood's hours, It stands and blooms, the sweetest of flowers. TWO MAY DAYS. We gathered the beautiful flowers And choicest buds of May, To deck our houseliold darling, One year ago to-day. His eyes were blue as the violets, His hair like tine, spun gold; Our precious, sweet-faced baby, That day he was two years old. We wove tlie soft-eyed pansies In the waves of his golden hair, And hung a wreath of roses About his soft neck fair. 68 TWO MAY DAYS. We heaped his tiny apron, With the low, meek, violets blue, And the pale forget-me-nots, With rose ot crimson hue. We wished our laughing darling A happy christian life; We prayed he might bring laurels, From the envied hall of miglit. But to-day, with breaking hearts, x\nd voices hushed and low, We decked our pale, cold hahy In satin, white as snow. We have strewn with pure white roses, The sweetest flowers that grow. The tiny rose- wood casket, In the darkened room below. TWO MAY DAYS. 69 On its snowy, silken cushions, Rest our darling's lovely clay; The more lovely soul has flown Where flowers bloom alway. Oh, our darling sweet-faced treasure, Fairer than all earth's flowers, God's answered our prayers for you, But, in a different way from ours. TO A FRIEND Often, alone in the twilight, Dear friend, I think of thee, And I need not tell you. Myrtle, 'Tis a pleasant memory. For in childhood was a friendship, That we now renew again, When in the prime of girlhood. We link its broken chain. "Tis sweet now to remember. How we waded the brook, between Us and our playing ground; The hill-eide, darkly green. TO A FKIEND. 71 And a yearning wish steals o'er me, That we could, for one brief day, Put aside our graver fancies, On the liill-side, romp and play. But another brook is flowing, 'Twixt us and the green hill-side; Wider, deeper than the old one, 'Tis the brook of woman's pride. Tho' we cannot stem its current — Never play in childish glee — Yet the years hold many pleasures, Truer ones for you, for you and me May you find life's truest pleasure, All unmarred by doubting, care, Pleasures that are found by trusting, Taking all to God in prayer. TO A FRIEND. I will ever, hold jou, Myrtle, As among my friends most fair, And before I close this missive, Let me give my wish and prayer. 'Tis: — may the rose oi content, Ever bloom in your heart — There the lily of peace, Burst its white leaves apart. There the fair pearl of kindness. In its whiteness be found. And the bright gold of hope, In its richness abound. There may the ruby of faith Shed its soft radiance bright; And the diamond of love. Cover all with its light. TO A FRIEND. 73 And when you leave this earth, May you all these treasures find Awaiting you in Heaven, In a jeweled crown combined. (5) GALILEE, GALILEE, SWEET GALILEE. I love thee, I love thee, sweet Galilee, Why? because on thy watery breast My Christ, my redeemer, has often found rest, When, by the multitudes sorely pressed ; — Thus, thou art sacred, deep Galilee. Pure are thy waves, to me, Galilee, For they speak of a time. When the Saviour, divine, * Suffered on earth with all mankind; Fairest of seas, blue Galilee. Galilee, Galilee, Oh! Galilee, Were I to travel by sea and by land. To find for myself, the fairest strand, I would, by thy calm, blue waters stand, And know I had found the fairest in thee. GALILEE, GALILEE, SWEET GALILEE. 75 Galilee, sacred, beautiful sea. Had I granted, to-day, Only one wish — this would I pray — That, kept from thy waters, forever and aye, All that is false or untrue, should be. YON ARDEN'S DKEAM Von Arden stood at a window, Alone, one New Year's night, He saw himself an old man, With hair of snowy white. lie had passed many of the j'ears, Which lead to the silent grave, But no fruits had he from the journey. For he had been, to sin, a slave. He raised his eyes to Heaven, AVhere the stars gleamed pure and bright; Then cast them on the earth, Where all seemed ffloom and niirht. VON auden's dream. 77 Tliere he saw other beings, Whose remorse, like his, was vain, For having sown a lite of sin, Tiiey now, reaped its bitter grain. As he looked ni)()n them. His eyes grew dim with tears. As he thought of his early yonth, And all his mis-spent years. He thought of the solemn moment When his father with pious care. Showed him the two roads of life, And bade him, of one beware. One led into a fair, bright land. Where sunny harvests wave; The othel", into a cave. As dark as the silent ii'tave. 78 VON akden's dream. As he thought of the one he had chosen, His heart for peace did jearn; And he cried out, in grief and terror, Oh! days of my youth return. Oh, my father, come back to me, And point out tlie roads once more, That I may choose the one Which leads to the sunny sliore. But liis cries were only mockery, His tears were shed in vain ; For father and youth had gone, To never return again. He saw floating, gleaming lights, That vanished in darkness away; These were but the emblems Of each sinful, mis-spent day. von-arden's deeam. '^^ He saw a star gleam brightly, Then fall from the blue vault above, This was like himself, who Had fell from truth and love. He thought of the friends of his youth, Who had entered with him in life, Who walked the narrow way; Were happy this New Year's night. The clock tolled one, in the tower, Kecalling the vanished years. Recalling his father's prayers, And his mother's parting tears. As he thought of their early lessons. He bowed his head in shame. Dreading to look at the sky. Fearing to speak each name. 80 VON arden's dream. When he thought of tlie last dreaded hour, And what, then, his soul would lack, He cried out in a hopeless voice, * Oh, days of my youth, come back. And lo! his youth did return, With many a promise bright; For he had dreamed all this, On that happy New Year's night. He thanked God from his heart. That time was still his own; That all was but a dream. And his faults were real, alone. Thanked Him that far below him. Lay the gloomy cave And lying strait before him, Was the land where harvests wave. VON AKDRN S DKIOAM. 81 Now you, like Von Ardon, Stand by the roads of life, Doubting which one to take, To travel in toil and strife. Remember, in choosing the broad one, You go to the dissolute cave; Nothing to hoi)c for in future, But a dark, unhonorcd grave. And rcnieniber, when years have fled, Your heart, for \\o]}0, will yearn, And you will cry (Uit, but cry in vain; Oh! days of my youth return. IN THE MOONLIGtIT. I stood in the soft moonlight, In the garden's fragrant bower, In the solemn hush of midnight, That kisses the sleeping flower. I gaze at the moon in her splendor, As she throws her silvery beams To kiss the flowers tender, And the distant landsca]>e scenes. And somehow, I love to-night. Far dearer than ever before, The Summer's white moonlight, As it falls on hill and shore. IN rillO MOONI.UillT. S3 l<\)r 1 know it fiillrt on :i iicw-tiimlo grave, In <;ontlc arrowy of liglit, As it. llickors thn)ii<;li thu Innw thai, wave, And moan llin)ny hind, Jlas ree(>ived rewards for its merit, While with our earthly hand. 84 IN THE MOONLIGHT. Oh! moonlight, how it thrills me, With a joj I cannot tell, xVs it brings back the memory Of him I love so well. Oh! moonlight, sweet moonlight, Let your pale rays, dim, Go to his grave to-night, And carry m}- love to him. riUVATE AND GENERAL. That is a general over tliere, With crimson sash and sword's bright glare Flashing brio-ht in tlie sun-lit air. lie is a king of Liberty, The savior of our nation free, The one who severed slavery. Yes, that is a general; hut I ask of you: Who is that there in a blout^e of blue, With courage as great as your general too? Say, who is this here, with one arm gone? And a weary look on his face so worn, As he looks at you -neath his hat brim torn. 86 PRIVATE AND GENERAL. Who fonglit through battles dark and drear, Who left their homes, to them so dear, Say, who is this, now that is standing near. Oh! with a scornful smile, you haughtily say: That is only a soldier, who followed the way The gallant general took in the fray. Only a soldier — God forbid that you, Should say such a thing of one so true, Who was true to his country and manhood too. You say the general saved the nation, true, Then what did the men in the blouses blue; Say, what did the private soldier do? Did they idly stand through the fire and fight, And but cheer him on to do the riglit. Was it he alone, put the array to flight? PRIVATE AND GENERAL. 87 No, true it was tlie generals, wlio showed the way The gallant soldiers took in the fraj. But it was not the generals who won the day. Nor is it the generals, who, now war is o'er, Is driven cold and hungry from door to door; Weary and sick, worn and foot- so re. It is the general, whom you call great. Who dwells in a mansion on a grand estate, With nothing to do but light a fair fate. While the private soldier, weary and poor, Dwells in a cottage with low thatched door; You have no honor for him now the war is o'er. Well, you say from out your scornful lore, We did not send him from door to door. There are plenty of soldiers who are rich, not poor. 88 •KIVATK, ANDOKNICUAI.. ^ CM, pU'iily ol' soKiitMH I hill nrc rich to liav, l^iit they nro not tlio oiios whoso health gavo wav Ah thoy fought in I ho hallU) iVoiu day to «lay. Well. hoiu>r lh(^ ii(MioraI, loi* it in his {]\\o\ Vx'w'o hiui ^roal hotioi- aixl I.uiiols loo, Ihil honor iho sanio. iho l»o\s in bhio. (?' M^ J^ LI vvr^ (; or, LET Life is like n, goblet. From wliicli wc all luuHt di-iiik, We take the lirst sip in onr cradles, The last, on Jordan's brink. For Bonie, the goblet is Huiall, And only a tew 8ij)8 tak(Mi, When it is broken l)y God's hand, To be repaired in Heaven. I hit tor some, the goblet is long, And tilled to the very brim. With oidy a little pleasure, Amid its iri'iet' and sin. (8) 00 life's goblet. For some, it is fully filled With sorrow, woe and sliauie; For some, it is filled with honor; For others, filled with pain. Some till tliis cup with pleasure As sweet as the honey-comb, While others fill it up With the service of God, alone. For some, it is filled with knowledge, And virtue, pearly white; For some, it is filled with ignorance. And crime as dark as night. Yet, life is a glittering goblet Of which, each mortal sips, Yet, when drinking its drops of sorrow, We would dash it from our lips. LIFE S GOBLET. 91 Ob! stranglj enchanted cnp, He in Heaven blest, Will cboose atnong us all, Who has filled yon best. MEMOEY'S ALBUM Like an album filled with pictures, In the memory of long ago, As we turn its pages over, Sittine: in the firc-liirht's glow. Many a long forgotten picture, Glowing with a tender hue, Is presented to our vision, E'er we turn the album through. Many bright and lovely pictures. Painted, in childhood's early hours. Bring to us a sense of pleasure. Like the fragrance from the flowers. memory's album. 93 And yet, in memory's true album, Mixed with the pictures bright. Are some that are tinted with wrong, And far from the beautiful right. Some, which we gaze on in grief, And would take from the pages there. But tliey must rest forever, Among the good and lair. Faces of friends, wlio were dear, And from this earth have gone. Fill up sweet memory's album. That now we are alone. Faces of friends who were with us. But from our side have gone To sail o'er life's svvift billows. And conquer its waves and foam. 94: memory's album. But of all the beautiful pictures, On memory's pages pressed, We find the fairest scene, is The home of our childhood's rest. Faces of father and mother, Smile from those pages white; Forms of sisters and brothers. Give the leaves a holy light. Oh! given is memory's album, To cheer our saddest lot, By it we see past pleasures. With the cares of life forirot. TIIKIK DIAMOND WI'lDDINCi, Wo :iro fiittin^ uloiui, to-iii^lit vvil(5, Aloiui ill the, Huiiie old room, Wlioro I bmiiglit you, yciii-B a^o witb fii all of yotii' youthl'iil bloom. Now our liOiirtH arc not ho IVoc, wife; Our lu^urlH arc not so free; TliGu you were ci<^htcon, wito, An' I, juflt twouty throe. I havo boon thinking ol" the past, wiio; Of all tlioHo many years; Wo havo had many ploasurcB, Yot, not unmixed with t(!arH. 90 THEIR DIAMOND "WEDDING. I have been tlnnkiiig- of the time, wife; That time, so long ago, When, with me yon stood at the alter In bridal robes of snow. Of all the brides I have seen, wife, Yon was to ine most fair; With jonr shining, violet eyes And your floating, chestnnt hair. You thought me handsome, too, wife. In that time of long ago; Now I am bent and feeble, Kate, With hair turned white as snow. Time has not spared you, Kate, Your charms have faded too, But you are just as dear to me, wife. As when in youthful hue. TIIEIU DIAMOND WEDDING. 97 One by one the years went by, L{rin<^ing children to our home; One by one our children left us, And again we are alone. You think of stately George, I know; Our eldest joy and pride, Who went to seek his fortune, Upon the ocean's tide. Yon remember the sad day, wife, When the news came liome to us, That a grave he had found 'neath the ocean, Away from the world and its fuss. There, you must not weep, wife, That time lias long gone past, And we are nearing Jordan, Nearing its banks at last. 98 THEIR DIAMOND WEDDING. You remember our Alice, love; Our gentle, brown haired pet, With her sunny, winsome smile — I can almost see her yet. Slie wedded a good man, wife, With wealth and a stately lionie; And lived as grand and happy As a queen upon a throne. Then next there came to us, The -baby boy who died; And next, our tall, young Violet, Who slumbers by his side. And last, came our Edith, Kate, Witii a face and form like you; The same meek, gentle air. The same heart, warm and true. 'I'llIOIR nrAMONI) WIODDINO. 99 T seem to see lier ii<:^!UM, wife, As she stood by Iicr linsbaTKl's Hi(l(5 At the alter, in the dim-lit church, And whis])ered nj) into his n\other's face, As she huiij^ht him to say (ho words of i;i'uc(^ 11 1> thoni;-ht of the time when lu> wtMit, alone, ()ut in the world from his boyhood's honu'; Of the years ol" content, snceess and work, When he songht each dnty, hut noyor to shirk. lie saw again the scones of lii^ht 'i^hat thi-illed his lieart on his weddini;- nii;ht. lie saw tlu; cluii'ch and lh(> bridal veil, The white satin robes, (hi-oni;'h tli(> \ou^ aislo trail; A IHtllNKAICI* S VIHION. 125 lie 8cen»c(] to lujur tin; y liin Hide, Wliinper aj^iiiti tin; vowh of a Ijride. lie Buw u home in u lovc-hlcHt Hpof, [sought. Wlicrc IiIb f'rierulBliij) w;ih courted, liiH prcBcnce lie H!iw Ji^aiu, the gilded hall, ThiitcurHefl place whore the rightous fall. lie BUW that liine again, alaHl When he was tein])te(l to take one ghiHS. With a Binilc he drank to the health of a friend, Little dnjHining of thiH hitter end. Then, to i-CHiBt thciir wordH wmh all in vain, lie drank with his friendB again and again. No harm to Iend()r and beauty lair, 'l\»ok the out-east to her breast, And j>illowed the tired head there. Spoke of peace and rest To the huni^-ry, yearninr. With tlu> outcast of the town. 'I\> her own home, out of the street, Tenderly brought her in, Saved her briii'lit, youtii^ life From the blijj;htini;' branil of sin; And to-niii^ht; when the bands were l'''^y'"r? In hont)r of the tlamea, Who, in all the city chaities, llftvo enrolled their honored names, WlllOir WAS OirARITV. 185 T thou^"t-> 1 awoke with a start from my dream As the clock tolled the hour of ten; But my glad Iieart beat in rapture With thoughts of the glad time when Rich and poor shall greet him. The Christ of Bethlehem. (9) "NOTHING IN MY HAND, I BEING." One evening, as homeward I wandered Through tlie city's surging tide, I passed a row of dwellings Where laborers abide. And there, from tlie humblest cottage, Through the half-way opened door. Came the ^vords of an old hymn, Dear to Christians ever-more. The bitter sting of poverty, Tlie strife for right o'er wrong Had not the power to tarnish The sweet taith of the song, "Nothing in my hand, I bring. Simply to Thy cross I cling." "nothing in my hand, i bring." 139 I heard, one day, as I tread the hall Of an elegant mansion fair, From one of its upper chambers, The wails of grief and dispair. There knelt a beautiful, haughty dame In robes of silk and lace, A look of bitterest agony Deep-lined on her high-bred face. Ah, tlien, against its God, Her proud heart ceased to rebel, And from her quivering lips Humbly the sweet words fell, "Nothing in my hand, I bring. Simply to Thy cross I cling." So, 1 pray that the Father May give day by d&j, To me, the humanity To teach me to say The words 1 heard the laborer sing As he sat in his cottage, shabby and old; 140 "NOTlllNli IN MV HAND, 1 HKINO." Well 1 know, tlmt within his lubor-bcnt I'oi-in There beats a heart as true as gold, And if like '^iny lady" 1 Am bowed down witli grief, May Ho make uw more humble 'Till I shall ro])eat, "Nothing in my hand I bring, Simjdy to Thy cross I cling." ONE DAY NEARER. When the evening hour approaches And the sliadows darkly fall; When tlio sun has sank in the west And twilight is over all; Do you think, ere the lamps are lighted And you sit in the gloom alone, That you are one day nearer the grave — One day nearer your home? One day nearer the close Of this long and weary life; One day nearer the end Of its ceasless, endless strife. 142 ONE DAY NEARER. One day nearer the time When you see death's billows roll And hear the voice of Jesus, In the distance calling your soul. One day nearer the time When you kneel at the Saviour's feet And account for every action, Every thought and deed. One day nearer the hour When yon see the boatman's oar To waft you softly over To the brighter, better shore. One day nearer Heaven, One day nearer love. One day nearer the crown From the sacred hand above. A PIECE OF MARBLE AISD ITS WORK A ])iece of Marble as it lay In the mud and filth of the street, Chanced to, as he passed that way, The eye of a sculptor greet. He stooped and picked it up, All muddy and defiled, And as he bore it home, The sculptor knowingly smiled. With powerful acid and water, He snon restored again, Back to the marble, its whiteness Without a blot or stain. 144 A PIECE OF MARBLE AND ITS WORK. Then many a patient hour The carver worked and planned, And tlie chisels did their work, Beneath his ekillful hand. And lo! from the piece of marble, That coarse and defiled had seemed, In glittering, snow-white beauty. The form of an angel gleamed ; And as I looked upon it And saw the wonder that was wrought, I took to my heart a lesson. And this is what it taught — That in the vilest of mankind, Hid 'neath the cloak of vice. Is a soul of countless worth, A pearl of royal price. A PIECE OF MARBLE AND ITS WORK. 145 And tliat we, with the water of faith, And the powerful acid of prayer, Can take the vice away, And find the treasure there. And lie, who sends his love, The coldest heart to warm, Will take the coarsest clay, And mould an angel's form. NOTHING HERE, ALL IN HEAVEN. When weary, almost despairing, Battling with life and its fate; Giving gems of love, Receiving stones of hate; Yet, cease not to hope. Oh, heart By sorrow's dagger riven, Though hate be thy portion here, Love is thy portion in Heaven. Tired of the sham and the show; Tired of the base, the untrue; Tired of the gilded sin Which takes the place of virtue. Still, heart deceived, look up. Claim the promise given! So little here is true, All is truth in Heaven. NOTHING HEKE, ALL IN HEAVEN. 147 Oh! heart that is sadly beating, Burdened with pain and grief; Whose joys are fev^ and fiooting, Let this thought be your relief: That your heavy, bitter burden, By God's own will is given; If grief be thy portion here, Joy is thy portion in Heaven. Mourner, whose heart is breaking And sighing for those who are gone. Go to their grass-grown graves. And tune your heart to the song, That tho' gain is less than losses. And grief unto thee is given, Tho' fond friends liere must part, They shall meet in Heaven. MY HERO. When in boyhood's hours, T listened To tlie tales, in rapture told, Of some laureled, fabled hero. And his deeds of daring bold. # Did my young heart beat with envy, And my cheeks with pleasure flame, As 1 vowed when grown to manhood, I would tread the iialls of fame. Ah! then, in youthful ignorance. Of stern life and its ways, I thought the greatest pleasure Lay in the proud world's praise. MY IIKRO. ^^^ Then I fouiul luy ideal hero, In the hon;)rod, the renowned, Who, for daring deeds of valor, With the laurel wreaths were crowned. But now, when silvery hairs Are shinini^ through the brown, And iinnly on my forehead Eests niaidiood's sober crown, I find the vain world's praises, To a true heart, brings but scorn, And under the laurel wreath Ih hidden many a thorn. And now I find my hero. In the man, who, day by day. Wins the battles o'er temptation. Keeps the Evil One at bay; 150 MY HERO. Who seeks not to have his name Enrolled on History's pages, Bat thanks God it is ])enned In the Livine: Book of Ae:es, Who, in place of seeking pleasures In the fleeting things that die, Is seeking for the treasures Laid up and kept on high. AVho seeks no envied laurels, Given by the vain world cold; But is hoping for that treasure. The shining crown of gold. THE GIRLS WE USED TO KNOW Draw up your chair, old chum, Close to the ember's glow, And let us talk to-night Of the girls we used to know: 'Tis fifteen years since last we met, And yet, I'll wager you think of them yet. A very lily of a girl was Belle; Tall, and white and fair. With something like a lily's grace In her high-bred, stately air; To call her friend was a joy to me, For I knew how true her heart could be. 152 THE GIRLS WE USE TO KNOW. Jenny was merry, full of life, Loving pleasure and fuTi, And yet, she became a minister's wife. And, as I have heard, a model one; Quiet, settled and subdued now, [brow. Witli the li^-lit of content on her calm, white Grace was sweet as a violet, Thoughtful, timid and meek. With the beauty of the wild rose Glowing on lips and cheek; She has the wise world's praise attained. Dear little Grace is writer-famed. Saucy Kate was a beauty fair, Who had lovers by tiie score; Yet, vowed she would never marry, This side of England's shore; She, none but a titled peer would wed. If she died an "old maid" she gaily said. THE GIRLS WFi USED TO KNOW. 153 She wedded a <^rave, youijf^ doctor, And settled down in life, A happy, gay, contented And wholly loving wife, Who laughs to-day, in her matronly pride, At the empty title for which she sighed. Silver-voiced Rose, was a blonde. Of snow-white heauty rare; I lost m}' heart at eighteen. In the waves of her golden hair, But she laughed at my love, and called me a hoy. And played with my heart as she would a toy I saw her the other night In a crowded opera hall, She, the queen of singers; Her grand voice thrilled us all, And yet, as I watched her, cold, fair and tall, I wondered that I ever loved her at all. (10) 154 THE GIRLS AVE USED TO KNOW. Helen, grave, sweet Helen, Was as true as any steel, She showed me life was earnest And Heaven near and real; She is a christian, one that fills my ideal quite. And is a missionary in far Japan, to-night. But of all the girls we knew. Jack, In youth's bright, early day. The dearest one of all, to you. Was gentle Mollie Gray, With her fairy form and child-like face. Her stainless heart and womanly grace. And she was fond of you, Jack, And would have been your bride. But for her mother's tears. And her father's stubborn pride, Ah! the true, gentle heart that to you she gave, Lies broken, to-night, in her silent grave. THE GIKLS WE USED TO KNOW. 155 And I knew one among those girls, To me, dearer than a friend; You remember her I know, Jack, That sweet coquet, Blanche Brend; She jilted me to wed another, And to-day is a happy wife and mother, But there, cheer up old boy, And do not look so blue, Sweet dreams lie buried in the past — I don't mind telling you — And yet, why should it matter. Jack, Since you and I are wed. Though sweet Blanche Brend is married And Mollie Gray is dead. LET THE WOULD DO WHAT IT PLEASES. Let the world do what it pleases, I will ever trust in Jcsiis, Ho, who gave to me one day, A peace, which naught can take away, A peace, which grows more bright, more dear. With the dawning of each year; A calm, sweet peace in which I rest And know my life is fully blessed. Let the world go where it pleases, I will ever follow Jesus, For I know that narrow road Is the one the saints have trod, And I know that way so old Leads me to a liome of gold; Thus, I take the narrow road, Tho' tlic world may choose the broad. LET THE WORLD DO WHAT IT PLEASES. 157 Let the world have wliat it pleases, I would give my all for Jesus; Without Iliui, fame, friends aud gold Would be but symbols vain and cold. I care not who may honor gain, My honoris to praise His name; To know that in my feeble way, I may own Him day by day. Let the world sneer when it pleases, I will ever speak for Jesus, Till I reach death's chilling stream; See beyond the pastures green; Hear the Father's tender tone, Saying, "thou art welcome home," And say, as I feel death's billows roll, And I yield to Him my soul, Let the world say what it pleases, I have gained a home through Jesus. ^^"^^^^^ TO THE G. A. R Dear Grand Army Soldiers, With Frcedonrs flag bright, You meet in jour hall 'Neath the chandeliers light, Just the same as you met Many long years ago, On thegieen Southern hills 'Neath your tents white as snow. Just the same, did I say? Yes, but yet not the same, For it was then that you met In war's flery name. Now yuu meet in your halls In peace pure and bright, And you hear the sweet words From the true Book of Life. TO TirE O. A. B. 159 Then you met in your tents From your dear honies afar To conquer, or be conquered By long years of war; In ])lace of the words tluit Your Cliaphiin now reads, You heard the loud cannon And the train])ling of steeds; And the bugle's clear notes, The fifes and the drums; The bursting of shells And the firing of guns; The brave thrilling words Your Generals' command, "On boys and win the victory And save our nation grand!" O'er rolling hills and valleys, Through swamps of Tennessee, You obeyed each brave commander And fought for Liberty. In fancy, I see the vision Of the struggle at Bull Rim; Oh! Soldiers, the work you did there, Can never be undone. 160 TO THE G, A. R. You never thought of faltering, Yon never thought of rest In the raging fire of Shiloh, Nor the smoke of the "Wilderness," In the battle of Antietam, In "Sherman's March to the Sea,'' Your cry was for the Union, For love and loyalty. Three days at Gettysburg Has won you deathless fame, And the helpful siege of (Jorinth Does honor to your name. Ah Soldiers, many a comrade You saw on the bloody field When the long, fierce fight was over. Who could die but would not yeild. You saw their cold faces Pale with the shadow of death. And heard them call for some loved one With their last, feeble breath; Heard them call for the loved ones They would never more see In the fair peaceful North, In the home of the free; TO THE G. A. R. 161 Who were watching and waiting Witli sore aching heart, For the one to return, That war took apart. You saw your comrades Laid in trenches so dark. With no stone placed above them, Their low graves to mark; Yes, you saw all this, soldiers, Tiiis sorrow, this blast, Yet, you thought not of faltering But stood tirm to your task. Stood lirm to your task, 'Till the struggle was o'er. Then came back to your friends. And your dear homes once more; Came back to your friends In sad crippled bands. Yet, they welconied you glacHy And clasped your tired hands. They were proud of you. Soldiers, When you came marching home, A triumphant band, yet. Some hearts felt alone; 16J? TO THE a. A. R. Some hearts that were yearning With a cruel, bitter pain, To see the form of some loved one, That returned, not again. Some loved form, lowly sleeping Beneath the green sod, In an unknown grave Wliere the war-horse had trod; Some loved one, who fell In the fierce, burning fight, Who fought for his country And died for the right. Yet they hide, in their hearts, The memories so dear. Of the loved ones, who fell In the battles so drear. And say with a smile, Though with hearts full of pain, "With them I can part, They died not in vain." No, they died not in vain; O! say that never, They died for the Union And slavery to sever. TO THIO 0. A. K. 163 All, {■ioldiers, dour Soldiers, That has loiii;- passi'.d away, And, today with iori^iveiu'ss, The "Blue" meets the "Gray," And now each noble soldier, l^ravo martyr of the war. Is (j^uardin^ his well eiirned f^Iory In the ])ortts of (i. A. II. Dear (ii-and Army Soldiers, May you ever flight, 1m the battles of life, For the side tliat is riglit; And when life's war is over, May you meet in halls above With (jod for your commander. And for your flag, his love. And there around theTluzzlin^ throne, May "stack arms" and rest. And dwell in peace forever, Among the good and blessed; And when the linal roll is called By the gentle voice! of (Jod, May you and all those answer Who now sleep beneath the sod. T SHALL BL SATLSFIED. ("As for ine, I shall be satisfied when I awake in th}' likeness.") IIow sweet, when worn and weary . Of stern life and its ways; Its long nights restless, dreary. Its weary toilsoni days, Is the precious ])i"()inise given, That sorrow's fetters break, That I, like Thee, in Heaven, (), Christ shall soon awake. When I see the haughty faces Lined with seeming ])assion; The artifical graces, that Throng the world of fashion; Heart-sick, I turn away. Sighing for the worldlings'' sake, To dream of the dawn of that day. When I, in Thy likeness, shall wake. I SlfALL 1510 SATISFIED. 165 Soul-sick of tlie glittering world, Of the show of its ''Vanity's Fair;" When my soul, with its longings is whirled Close to the l)rink of despair; Still that promise, soft steals o'er me, Bidding me more courage take, Whispering, nothing can o'er throw thee, And yon, with His likeness, shall wake, Then, O Father, all the pain (rone from my heart forever; The light of thy love made plain. To darken for me never. Then Hell and the Devil defied, And I, the new life take; I shall then, be satisfied, When I in Thy likeness awake. IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. Faded aiui i2;ono in the bloom And beauty of i^irl-hood's prime The lovely form, to the tomb. The sonl too, a home divine. Gone, as the beautiful flowers. Gone, as a fleetint;: breath ; Yet, gone in a living faith, That triumphs over death. Gone from the father and mother And friends who held her dear. To join the friends and brother Bevond the vale of tears. IN MEMOKV OP A KKIKNI). 167 And thougli we weep for her, With hearts that are vacant and Jone, Lot 118 say, with true submission, "Thy will. Oh! God, be done." Father and rnotlier, struggling with The waves of" grief in your breast, Look to the One, who said, "Come unto me and rest." Think not of the lovely clay In repose 'neath the coffin-lid. Think not of the silent grave Where the joy of your home is hid ; But of her, as next you'il'see her, White- robed in Paradise, With a crown on her pure, white brow. And joy's light in her eyes. 168 IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. Think of the fair, sweet rose That grew in jour happy home, As a beautifnl, treasured flower, Blooming around God's throne. And there, by the grace of God, When your journey through life is run. May you meet your beautiful Rose, In the Christian's "Home, sweet Home. TO RE MEMBER -TO FORGET. The falseness of a friend In whom we put our trust, That showed us that our idol "Was made of common dust; The haughty, scornful glance Which, in bitterness we met, It is easy to reincmbur, It is better to forget. Tlie fond, sweet vows we made In "first love's" rosy gleam, Tliat we tliought was true reality. And since have found a dream; Those vows, now lying broken. Bring to us a vain regret; It is sadness to remember, It is better to foriret. (11) 170 TO BEMEMBEE — TO FOEGET. The sweet, bright hopes of joy, Which in early youth, were blasted; The fleeting liours of pleasure. That all too shortly lasted; The dead forms of our friends. With our burning tears made wet — It is heart-ache to remember. It is better to forget. THE HEATHEN Far beyond the rolling billows, Far beyond the dark, blue sea, Is a nation clad in darkness, From which we must set them free. Is a nation clad in darkness, And knows nothing of our Light; Nothing of the God we worship, Nothing of the Christian's right. All the gods they know or worship Are but made of wood and stone; And they daily bow before them As we bow before God's throne. 172 THE HEATHEN. And the mothers in their blindness Hoping to please their gods of stone; Throw their children in the rivers Heeding not their dying moan. Cliristians, is it not our duty Now to send to that dark land, Word about our loving Saviour, And his free salvation plan. Tell them gently, tell them plainly. Till they hate those gods of stone; And believe in Jesus only, Jesus on his great white throne. The time is coming. Christians When we'll see the work we have done, When we will hear His judgment, Your name of Christian, you have won. WOOD-LAND MEDITATIONS. How sweet it is to roam Tlirough the wood-land haunts, And there alone and in silence To meditate upon the life of Christ. To picture, in fancy, The places where he used to be: Jerusalem, glorious, ancient city; Blue Galilee, with its deep, calm Waters; The mount of Olives, rising In all its beaut}^, have all been Graced by His glorious. presence. How sweet! to think of Bethlehem, Where He lay, a helpless infant. 174 WOOD-LAND MEDITATIONS. In a manger, ineek, fair and lowly; Of Egypt, dark Egypt, where He Was ordered by the voice of The Father; of Nazareth, where His childhood was spent; of the Deep Jordan, where He was baptized ; Of Syria, where his name was Blessed by those whom He healed; Of the high mountain where He was Transfigured! all the glourious inward Man beautifying the outward, Until it glowed with a Heavenly beauty; Of Judea, where He blessed the Little ones; where He pointed out To the rich, young ruler, the Way to eternal life; Of historical Jericho, where He restored the glorious Gift of vision to the two beggars, Sitting neglected by the wayside. What a pleasant picture was WOOD LAND MKDITATIONS. 175 Tlu> tiiblc whon^ Ho <;;ivi^ \\\o bread And wine, symbols of His own Broken body und sj)illed l)lood, to His disciples. Bnt what a sad Picture was the garden of Gathsemane, Where He prayed with such bitter Tears; where the traitrous Judas Betrayed Hitn into the hands of The chief priests, His bitter enemies. How the true heart beats in anf^er, As wo picture Him as He stood Before Pontius Pilate, scorned and mocked, By those base men, His accusers, And how our hearts yearn, as We see, in fancy, this ij^lorious Being, nailed to the cross, on Calvery, fn the agonies of death, dying for His Enemies. ]>oautiful in His last hour. But how they thrill in triumph, Wiien three days later we see 176 \V00n-LAND MEDITATIONS. The victor}' at the sepulchre of The rich man, Josepi). The glorio.is Victory over death, Hell and the grave. How sweet are these thoughts Ami meditations to our souls. DUTY AND TALENT. Do we, always, do our duty? Do we always do our best? Can we say, when night approaches, I have earned a peaceful rest. You may say, "1 have no talent, I have no gift from Heaven, ilow am I to use a blessing Which to me was never given?" f True, you may not have the talent, Of an author, great and grand, And it may not be your duty To sing throughout the land. 178 DUTY AND TALENT. You may not have the talent, Of a speaker, to win renown, And it may not be your duty To rule, and wear a crown. No, it may not be your duty To sit in the halls of state, And you may not have the talent That marks a speaker great. It may only be your duty To speak in a gentle way. To some sad and lonely heart And soothe its grief away. Or, it may only be, to struggle Day by day, against life's fate, Or, but to feed the beggar Standing humbly at the gate. DUTY AND TALENT. 179 You may only have the talent To do the homely work of life, And learn the worth of patience, J3y long and constant strife. But if we use our talent And do the best we can. We will receive a vast reward From the ever willini^ Hand. For Oh! we have a talent. Be it either great or small, And we have to answer for it, Wlien the Master's voice doth call. Then let us use (»ur talent. However small it be. And say, as we give it to the Lord, "I have gained ten more for thee." THE MINISTER'S SERMON. Tlio evenint^ was caliu aiul iiloasant, 'IMie boll ra,!ii^ clear and swoot, (/alii Mi; each to house of prajor, Calling each to the Savior's t'eut, 'I'lic church was softly li>]^hted Aiul had a lu>ly, home-like air, Ah! 1 feel that the vilest sinner, (\)nld feel and be liappy there. The hymns were suny tlu)se in the eve of life; And S(Mne who wcrt* yoiinij; and careless, Min li^lit from the chandelier Fallin