LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Slielfvt..5.ZT 
 
 4-^B 
 
 UNITED STATES- 0F_ AMERICA. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/poems01denn 
 
s^ c:2i 
 
POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. ELLEN A. DENNIS. 
 
 AUBURN, MAINE: 
 Merrill & Webber, Publishers. 
 
 1893. 
 
 11 ISC: 
 
 35^0 "j 
 

 Copyright, 
 
 Mrs. Ellen A. Dennis, 
 
 1893. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Woods and Lakes of jNIaine .... 9 
 
 Whittier ........ 13 
 
 The Little Outcasts ...... 15 
 
 Summer ......... 20 
 
 Had I the Gift of Song ...... 22 
 
 The Water Lily . . . . ... 25 
 
 He Comes with Power to Save .... 28 
 
 Cast Thy Bread Upon the Waters . . . 31 
 
 Parted 37 
 
 My Childhood's Home ...... 41 
 
 June 44 
 
 The Web of Life ....... 46 
 
 The Pathway of Light . . ... . . 50 
 
 'Tis Hard to Speak the Parting Words . . 54 
 
 Mayflowers . . . . . . . . 56 
 
 Thbee Sabbaths ....... 59 
 
 The Old Home 63 
 
 Picnic on the Harkiman Shore, '91 . . . 66 
 
 The Knitting AVork ....... 71 
 
 A Morning in June ...... 75 
 
Chestnut Hill 
 
 She Shall Awake Again 
 
 Whosoever Will .... 
 
 Little Willie ...... 
 
 The Sister's Appeal . . . 
 Within the Fold . . . . . 
 
 Sunlight ...... 
 
 Sleeping ....... 
 
 Do Not Despair .... 
 
 Where the Blind Receive their Sight 
 
 Ada . . . 
 
 A Picture in Memory's Frame 
 
 The Little Wanderer 
 
 Could We but Draw Aside the Veil . 
 
 A Dream ...... 
 
 The Silent City . . . . . 
 
 Greeting, '93 ..... 
 
 He Giveth His Beloved Sleep 
 
 In Trust Will I Come 
 
 The Light of the World 
 
 Nearer Lord to Thee 
 
 'T is Sweet to be Remembered 
 
 The Beloved Statesman 
 
 page- 
 
 77 
 
 80 
 
 82 
 
 85 
 
 87 
 
 89 
 
 91 
 
 93 
 
 94 
 
 97 
 
 99 
 
 102 
 
 106 
 
 108 
 
 111 
 
 114 
 
 115 
 
 117 
 
 119 
 
 121 
 
 123 
 
 125 
 
 127 
 
hdicHiian. 
 
 To THE Memoey of Loved Ones whose Voices we hear no 
 more, and to the many friends who still cheer our 
 Pathway here, this Little Book is Affectionately 
 Dedicated by the Author. 
 
. PREFACE. 
 
 In hringing this little volume hefore the puhlic^ I 
 
 beg the kind indulgence of my readers^ and^ if within 
 
 these j)ages, may he found one word, one thought, that 
 
 shall find a response in some tried heart, and thus hind 
 
 it closer to the Giver of all good, my lahor has not 
 
 heen in vain. 
 
 The Author. 
 
THE WOODS AND LAKES OF MAINE. 
 
 They sing of the isles beyond the sea, 
 
 Where the palm and olive grow, 
 And they sing of the glorious mountain heights. 
 
 That are clad in their robes of snow. 
 
 They sing of the balmy skies of the West, 
 
 With her fields of golden grain ; 
 But we would sing of our own dear State, 
 
 Of the woods and lakes of Maine. 
 
 The glories of thy woods and lakes, 
 
 No poet yet has told. 
 Upon the printed page the words 
 
 Would lifeless seem, and cold. 
 
 No artist, though with skilful touch. 
 
 Could paint thy beauty deep, 
 The grandeur of thy wooded crest, 
 
 That to the waters sweep. 
 
10 POEMS BT MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 The setting sun shall bathe the lakes 
 
 In floods of liquid gold, 
 Ere sinks its radiant beams to rest, 
 
 ' Neath mountains gray and old. 
 
 And when the moon her radiance casts 
 
 O'er swaying tree and rill. 
 We feel the hush of sweet repose 
 
 Through all our senses thrill. 
 
 When autumn days shall gild the leaves 
 With crimson and with gold, 
 
 Then every tree and clustering vine 
 New beauty will unfold. 
 
 No picture old, by master's brush, 
 That's shrined in foreign land, 
 
 Can match the colors blended here 
 By Heaven's creative hand. 
 
 We call to thee from woods of Maine ; 
 
 Oh, hither come and rest ; 
 For ye who seek the wine of life 
 
 Shall find it in its breast. 
 
THE WOODS AND LAKES OF MAINE. 11 
 
 There's healing in the perfumed breeze, 
 
 And in the balsams tall; 
 There's healing in the Heaven-kissed pines, 
 
 That's towering over all. 
 
 The wild deer, startled from his rest. 
 
 Springs from his leafy bower. 
 And crushes, ' neath his flying feet, 
 
 The sturdy woodland flower, — 
 
 That here, in modest beauty, blends 
 
 Its fragrance on the air. 
 Oh, scene of peace and beauty sweet, 
 
 What other spot so fair? 
 
 Thy placid lakes shall mirror back 
 
 The forest's sheltering trees; 
 While sweet-toned songsters blend their notes 
 
 With Heaven's whispering breeze. 
 
 This is the music that enchants 
 
 The listener on thy shore, 
 And brings back memories, sweet and clear 
 
 Of voices heard no more. 
 
12 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 We sing thy praises, woods of Maine ; 
 
 Let others sing of thee, 
 Sweet storied land of Switzerland, 
 
 Or of haunts beside the sea. 
 
 Where sitting on the whitened sand, 
 
 With eager gaze, we may 
 Watch all day long the white -winged ships. 
 
 Far out upon the bay. 
 
 The dimpling waters at our feet 
 
 May break upon the shore, 
 And cast their shells upon the beach — 
 
 What could we ask for more? 
 
 But memory still, with fond regret, 
 
 And not untinged with pain, 
 Will ever sigh for the woods and lakes. 
 
 In the dear, old State of Maine. 
 
WHITTIEB. 13 
 
 WHITTIER. 
 
 Thou poet grand, whose gifted pen 
 Drew from the fount of truth ; 
 
 Who didst inspire with high resolves 
 The plastic minds of youth. 
 
 Thou battler for the truth and right, 
 
 Wlio ever scorned deceit; 
 We lay the homage of our hearts, 
 
 In gladness, at thy feet. 
 
 Thou didst enrich, with thy deep thought, 
 The common things of earth ; 
 
 Thou didst not pass the laborer by. 
 But paused beside his hearth. 
 
 And- o'er it all the halo threw 
 Of love that seeks no strife ; 
 
 How pure a picture thou hast drawn 
 Of humble, daily life. 
 
14 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 Witli chisel fine, and sculptor's art, 
 They write the conqueror's name 
 
 Upon the gleaming marble pile 
 That heralds forth his fame. 
 
 Thou need'st not the marble cold, 
 
 Nor yet the sculptor's art; 
 Thy name, in words and deeds most pure, 
 
 Is graven on the heart. 
 
 Thy words of wisdom and of truth, 
 New strength to us imparts ; 
 
 For thou, of all the poets grand. 
 Lie nearest to our hearts. 
 
 The poems that thy hand has traced 
 
 Shall sweet emotions stir ; 
 And dearest of all household names. 
 
 Is the name of " Whittier." 
 
THE LITTLE OUTCASTS. 15 
 
 THE LITTLE OUTCASTS. 
 
 From the slums of the restless city, 
 
 With its ever changing tide, 
 From the haunts of vice and darkness. 
 
 Where want and sin abide; 
 
 Into the wards of a hospital, 
 
 Where was heard the long - drawn sigh, 
 Two little boys were brought one day, 
 
 And one had come to die. 
 
 They were injured by a frightened horse. 
 They had no friends, no home, 
 
 So into a city hospital 
 
 Strange hands their forms had borne. 
 
 One patient on his low cot lay. 
 With face so pinched and white ; 
 
 From the pallid lips no murmur came, 
 As he watched the fading light. 
 
16 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 That through the parted curtains shone, 
 
 The last faint gleam of day, 
 And touched with gold the tangled hair 
 
 That on the pillow lay. 
 
 At length he said, with feeble voice, 
 
 "Jimmie, did ye mind what the doctor said? 
 
 That ere the morning breaks again, 
 Poor Tommie will be dead. 
 
 "Now, I fear to go, for the way seems dark, 
 
 And with you I long to stay ; 
 But I've heard of a beautiful place called Heaven, 
 
 Could I only find the way." 
 
 Then the answer came in a childish voice 
 
 From the cot where the other lay, 
 " When I was down to the mission school, do ye 
 mind the other day ? 
 They talked of one they called Jesus, that He 
 often passed that way. 
 
 " And they said — I am sure, for I listened — 
 That the streets are paved with gold; 
 
 And they said how you'll never hunger, 
 And, Tommie, you'll never be cold. 
 
THE LITTLE OUTCASTS. 
 
 Now you'll know him, if you see him. 
 For they call him shining light, 
 
 And you just ax him, Tommie, 
 If he'll take you home to-night." 
 
 " But I am so weary lying here, 
 And so dim has grown my sight 
 
 That I fear I may not see him 
 Should he enter here to-night. 
 
 " But they say he knows what's in yer mind. 
 
 For he lives in every land 
 And, I'm sure he'll understand ye. 
 
 If ye'll only raise yer hand. 
 
 So, in the gloom and silence. 
 
 Was raised the small pale hand; 
 
 That the Lord of glory entering, 
 Might see, and understand. 
 
 But only for a moment. 
 
 When it fell at his side again. 
 
 As the sick boy on his pillow turned 
 With a weary moan of jjain. 
 
18 POEMti BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 O'er the face of his little comrade 
 
 A look of sadness spread 
 As he touched with a hand caressing, 
 
 The others restless head. 
 
 Then, from beneath his own, the pillow drew. 
 
 Ah, touching was the , sight, 
 For he propped the hand of the dying boy. 
 
 And it rested there that night. 
 
 Think you, He did not heed them. 
 
 Who hears our inmost cry ? 
 From want and cold to the sheltering fold, 
 
 He did not pass them by. 
 
 For He sees, through the gloom and darkness, 
 E'en a soul that's enwrapped in sin, 
 
 He's quick to catch the meaning, 
 If a hand 's but raised to him. 
 
 So when the sun rose o'er gray mountains cold. 
 And shone on the city in bright gleams of gold. 
 It fell on the cot where the suffering boy lay ; 
 But Jesus of Nazareth had passed that way. 
 
THE LITTLE UTCA S TS. 1 9 
 
 And in the dim watch of the long, silent night 
 Had borne the freed spirit to l)right realm of 
 
 light ; 
 Away from the cold, and dark of the street, 
 Away from the snares that awaited his feet, 
 Away from cold charity, grudgingly given, 
 Earth's poverty changed for the free wealth of 
 
 Heaven. 
 
20 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 O, softly the south winds are blowing-, 
 
 Far up from the meadows away, 
 And the heart of the red rose is glowing 
 
 With beauty and fragrance today. 
 
 And countless sweet songsters are sending 
 Their pure notes to Heaven so clear, 
 
 While soft smiling skies are proclaiming 
 That summer, glad summer, is here. 
 
 How the trees in the slope of the orchard. 
 With pink and white blossoms abound; 
 
 From the branches they are drifting downward: 
 Like snowflakes they cover the ground. 
 
 Now the drowsy bee, sweet nectar sips 
 From the heart of the clover sweet ; 
 
 In clusters red the strawberries gleam 
 In the grass beneath our feet. 
 
SUMMEB. 21 
 
 When slowl}^ sinks the sun to rest, 
 
 Low in the western sky, 
 And fainter gleams the lines of gold 
 
 On yon blue mountains high. 
 
 Then loudly from the forest glade. 
 
 The whippoorwill may call. 
 O, soft the moon her silvery rays 
 
 On slumbering earth shall fall. 
 
 Yes, a sheen is on the landscape, 
 
 A glow is in the sky ; 
 On far-off hills and mountain crests. 
 
 The purple shadows lie. 
 
 The long, the languorous days have come. 
 
 To nature's votaries dear, 
 Sweet sounds, from summer's pulsing heart, 
 
 Fall softly on the ear. 
 
22 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 HAD I THE GIFT OF SONG. 
 
 Had I the glorious gift of song, 
 
 That's oft to mortals given, 
 To charm the soul with strains as sweet 
 
 As the angel notes of Heaven, 
 I would not sing for glittering gold, 
 
 For the dross that fades away; 
 But would sing to raise earth's sorrowing ones 
 
 To the heights of endless day. 
 
 I would sing of that land where the pale brow shall glow 
 
 Once more with the bright hue of health ; 
 Where earth's cankering cares and harrowing wants 
 
 Are exchanged for the Master's wealth ; 
 Where no more you shall watch 
 
 Through the long hours of night ; 
 Forgotten, the bleak path you trod, 
 
 When the light of immortal shall break on your sight. 
 In the beautiful City of God. 
 
HAD I THE GIFT OF SONG. 23 
 
 I would go to that home where sorrow and sin 
 
 Had entered the portals so drear, 
 And would sing of the Christ and his pardoning love, 
 
 If you lend but a listening ear. 
 I would sing of the Cross, if you but cotne to him, 
 
 There's freedom from sin, there is rest, 
 With the sweet balm of life that he offers so free 
 
 To you, who are weary, oppressed. 
 
 I would go to the home that death's angel has sought, 
 
 Where earth's tenderest ties are riven, 
 And would waft the pure soul on the incense of song 
 
 To the beautiful gates of heaven. 
 Ah, then would I sing, in notes soft and low. 
 
 To comfort the mourning hearts here ; 
 I would sing of that land where no parting e'er comes ; 
 
 Where the eye is ne'er dimmed by a tear. 
 
 I would sing of its pastures of living green ; 
 
 Of its streets that are paved with gold ; 
 Of the rapturous songs of the souls redeemed ; 
 
 Of its wonders all untold. 
 I would sing that earth's fetters shall drop away, 
 
 When the spirit seeks its own, 
 When we leave this dark and toilsome way 
 
 For the light of our Father's home. 
 
24: FOE MS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 I would sing that no care shall cloud thy brow, 
 
 In thy heart no throb of pain, 
 That the weary feet shall find perfect rest. 
 When they reach the shores of the regions blest 
 
 Where the loved are found again. 
 
 It is thus I would sing, but not to charm 
 
 The happy nor the gay. 
 But would seek to win some drifting soul 
 
 Back to the narrow way. 
 I would sing to the lost and erring ones, 
 
 By sorrow's tempest driven. 
 I would sing of Christ's matchless love for all, 
 
 Of the joy and peace of Heaven. 
 
THE WATEB LILY. 25 
 
 THE WATER LILY. 
 
 Up from the mire and the blackness, 
 
 That lies ' neath the water's bed, 
 As a star, that from night's somber shadows, 
 
 Its beautiful radiance shed. 
 So thou, on the breast of the river, 
 
 O, lily, so pure and so white, 
 Didst spring from the gloom and the silence, 
 
 Sweet emblem of Truth and of Light. 
 
 Thou tell'st us not of thy birthplace; 
 
 Where wast nourished in silence and gloom. 
 As thou liest in beauty before us, 
 
 O, flower, of brightness, and bloom. 
 Thou bear'st no trace of thy struggle. 
 
 When searching for freedom and light: 
 No stain on thy leaves' glossy surface; 
 
 No stain on thy petals of white. 
 
26 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 O, lily, SO pure and so fragrant, 
 
 Divinely was fashioned thy mould ; 
 Thou hast caught from the sunlight of heaven ; 
 
 For it gleams in thy chalace of gold. 
 And sweet as the incense of angels. 
 
 Comes the breath from thy petals of snow ; 
 Yet we know, O, thou marvel of whiteness. 
 
 Thou didst spring from the darkness below. 
 
 Far up from the dej)ths of the river. 
 
 Thou hast soared to the sunlight above ; 
 Where, kissed by the cool breeze of heaven, 
 
 Thou emblem of God's matchless love I 
 For ever, in leaf and in blossom. 
 
 He speaks of the bright heights to win. 
 When changed as the beautiful lily. 
 
 Pure souls may at last enter in. 
 
 So firmly upheld by the water, 
 
 So stainless, so fair in our sight ; 
 No power had the mire of thy birthplace 
 
 To hold thee in shackles of night ; 
 But patient through long days of waiting ; 
 
 Till the Being of Light and of Love, 
 From thy dark prison-cell drew thee upward, 
 
 To shine on the waters above. 
 
THE WATEB LILY. 27 
 
 Deep down in the heart of each being, 
 
 It may be now hidden from sight; 
 There liest the germ of a blossom, 
 
 That needs but the sunshine and light 
 To draw from the mire that enfolds it, 
 
 From the shackles of sin and of care. 
 Till it shines, as a star, ' mid life's waters, 
 
 As the lily, so pure and so fair. 
 
 Even so, from earth's gloom, and its shadows, 
 
 May a soul, though nurtured in sin. 
 Be drawn by the love that He bears us 
 
 To blossom in beauty for him. 
 Who would reach for the lost and erring. 
 
 Even out in the blackness of night. 
 And would mould them to dwell in his presence, 
 
 Like the lily, so pure and so white. 
 
 O, Love, that's so true and unfailing. 
 
 That guides our weak footsteps below; 
 When Thou all life's mystery unveiling, 
 
 We shall know as no mortal can know. 
 Then eyes that have peered through the darkness, 
 
 Through the densely dark shadows of night. 
 May awake in the brightness of Heaven, 
 
 And clothed, as the lily, in white. 
 
28 P0EM8 BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 HE COMES WITH POWER TO SAVE. 
 
 All hail ! the Prince of Peace has come 
 To light this dark world's night. 
 
 What gleams of wondrous radiance breaks 
 Upon our eager sight ! 
 
 Thou art the Lord of Heaven and Earth. 
 
 Thy glory we proclaim, 
 While Heaven's eternal arches ring 
 
 With Christ, the Saviour's name. 
 
 And didst Thou leave Thy home above, 
 
 Thy Heavenly mansion fair, 
 That we might enter in Thy rest, 
 
 And in Thy glory share ? 
 
 Thou, who art Lord, and over all, 
 
 Wast in a manger born ; 
 To Thee we raise our hearts in prayer. 
 
 Our voice in grateful song. 
 
HE COMES WITH PO WEB TO SAVE. 29 
 
 The angel hosts, o'er hills by night, 
 
 Proclaim a Saviour's birth ; 
 While Heaven's choirs the anthem rings. 
 
 Of "'Peace, good will on earth." 
 
 The Lord has come ! He breaks the bands 
 
 Of darkness and the grave. 
 He comes with healing in his hands. 
 
 He comes with power to save. 
 
 Well might the faithful shepherd's gaze, 
 
 In wonder, at the sight. 
 What means this music, sweet and strange, 
 
 That thrills the vaults of night? 
 
 The Heavenly notes, that brilliant star, 
 
 Proclaim Redemption's morn; 
 For unto thee, in Bethlehem, 
 
 This night a Saviour's born. 
 
 Oh, Blessed Babe of Bethlehem ! 
 
 Our Saviour, Lord and King, 
 What offering at Thy feet to-night. 
 
 Shall we in homage bring? 
 
30 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 While Christmas bells so sweetly chime 
 
 Their music on the air, 
 In love, we bow before Thy shrine, 
 
 And raise our hearts in prayer — 
 
 That Thou shouldst ever guide our steps 
 
 Unto the realms above, 
 Where we may see Thee as Thou art, 
 
 And dwell with Thee in Love. 
 
CAST THY BREAD UPON THE WATER H. 31 
 
 CAST THY BREAD UPON THE WATERS. 
 
 Come ye whom Heaven has richly eiidowered 
 
 With wealth at your command, 
 Stay not the impulse of your heart, 
 
 Nor the bounty of your hand ; 
 But give unto the suffering poor, 
 
 All freely, from your store. 
 Thus bring glad joy to fainting hearts, 
 
 And thou art richer than before. 
 
 Aye, richer, as the thirsty earth 
 
 Drinks in the Heavenly rain, 
 That clothes with beauty, fresh and green, 
 
 Her hillside and her plain. 
 And, watered thus, the murmuring rills 
 
 Flow onward to the river ; 
 So richly blessed they who receive, 
 
 More blessed is the giver. 
 
32 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 What thou dost give is richest gain 
 
 To thee, in heaven's sight ; 
 The peace of mind that thou mayst feel 
 
 Outweighs thy coffers bright. 
 Thou art the steward of this gold, 
 
 For trust, placed in thy hands. 
 Who gavest thee of lavish wealth, 
 
 Thy houses and thy lands? 
 
 Ye favored ones, with jeweled hands 
 
 That ne'er have known of toil. 
 Nay, shrink not from the poorly clad, 
 
 Lest they, thy garments, soil. 
 But listen to the nobler thoughts 
 
 That's stirred within thy soul, 
 Why they beneath grim want should sink, 
 
 And thou in splendor roll ^ 
 
 Go seek thy toiling sister's side. 
 
 With words of comfort, cheer. 
 Thou hast the means to lift her load, 
 
 To make her life less drear. 
 Then shall her prayers, like incense, rise. 
 
 That heaven's brightest ray 
 May shed its light around thy path 
 
 Until life's closing day. 
 
CAST THY BREAD UPON THE WATERS. 33 
 
 When sheltered from the wintry blast, 
 
 Within your warm retreat, 
 Comes there no thought of homeless ones. 
 
 Who wander in the street? 
 When cradled, in your loving arms. 
 
 Your child is wooed to rest, 
 Then breathe one prayer for friendless babes. 
 
 Whom no mothers' hands caress. 
 
 Ye who have children's minds to mould, 
 
 Bright jewels for the sky, 
 Oh, teach them not to shun distress, 
 
 Nor pass it coldly by; 
 But plant within their little hearts 
 
 Sweet charity and love. 
 'Twill guard them here from selfish aims, 
 
 And guide their steps above. 
 
 When thou shalt seek thy downy couch, 
 
 To rest in happy sleep, 
 Dost ever think of homes of want, 
 
 Where sorrow vigils keep? 
 They who awake when morning light 
 
 Shall pierce the narrow pane, 
 
34 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 And some, perchance, who for weary hours 
 Have on beds of suffering lain. 
 
 When sitting at your costly board, 
 
 Spread o'er with viands rare, 
 Ah, think you then of hungry ones 
 
 Who fain thy crumbs would share. 
 Then give with free and loving hand, 
 
 From out thy bounteous store ; 
 For "bread upon the waters cast. 
 
 Shall return to thee once more." 
 
 On a cheerless hearth, where the fire burns low. 
 
 By the glare of a feeble light, 
 A woman sits, and, with aching heart, 
 
 Sews on through the weary night. 
 She may not rest from from her ceaseless toil; 
 
 For her children, she bread must win; 
 And this work still shields from hunger's pangs, 
 
 Or a life of shame and sin. 
 
 Let charity, in heavenly guise. 
 
 Lead on thy willing way, 
 Through alleys dark, to chambers cold, 
 
 Where want and suffering stay. 
 
OAST THY BREAD UPON THE WATERS. 35 
 
 And as you give, in his dear name, 
 
 Proclaim his love divine. 
 For they who win one soul to Christ, 
 
 Brisfht, as the stars, shall shine. 
 
 I pray ye, listen to this plea. 
 
 Ye who have wealth untold. 
 Say not it is a worn-out theme; 
 
 That it's but a story old; 
 That thou canst not give to all who seek, 
 
 From out thy store of gold. 
 Dost think, within thy inmost soul. 
 
 That Heaven your path will bless, 
 If thou shalt turn in cold disdain 
 
 From sorrow and distress? 
 
 Thus seek to gild thy path to heaven. 
 
 With blessings from on high ; 
 Weave in thy life the widow's smile. 
 
 As the orphan's tears you dry. 
 Could aught on earth bring purer joy. 
 
 Or sweeter peace impart. 
 Than the thought that thou hadst brought relief 
 
 To a toiling: sister's heart. 
 
36 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 Then use thy wealth while here below, 
 
 In wisdom and in love. 
 So, blessings on thy path shall fall 
 
 Like dew from heaven above ; 
 And watering all the springs of life. 
 
 Shall verdure, green and bright. 
 Forever spring beneath thy feet. 
 
 And crown thy days with light. 
 
PAETED. 37 
 
 PARTED. 
 
 What means this heavy, heavy weight 
 • That's pressed upon my heart? 
 
 Rebellious thoughts, within me stirred. 
 That we must ever part. 
 
 I hold in mine the little hand 
 That 's grown so strangely cold ; 
 
 And must we part? O bitter thought, 
 'T was but the story old. 
 
 For she had all the world could give 
 
 Of wealth and ancient name, 
 While I, unaided and alone. 
 
 Aspired her hand to claim. 
 
 Full well I knew by tokens sweet, 
 
 That unto me was given. 
 That love for which my soul had longed ; 
 
 Must these blest ties be riven? 
 
38 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 For meekly, at her father's word, 
 
 And at her mother's sway, 
 Upon a crowded steamer's deck. 
 
 We breathed adieu for aye. 
 
 They said that soon she would forget. 
 
 In change of scene and clime ; 
 They recked not of the bitter pain 
 
 That filled this heart of mine. 
 
 Can we forget that which has grown 
 
 Into our lives, a part ; 
 Can storied lands heal wounded hearts? 
 
 Or costly works of art ? 
 
 While gazing on some beauteous scene. 
 
 Not thus, can we forget. 
 No, dearer thoughts shall fill our hearts, 
 
 And hold our memory yet. 
 
 I watched the fleet ship till its shadow'y mast 
 As a speck in the distance grew. 
 
 Till it faded away from my longing sight. 
 Far out in the ocean's blue. 
 
PARTED. 39 
 
 I strive in busy thoughts and deeds 
 
 To quiet all unrest, 
 But the memory of that parting look, 
 
 Forever fills my breast. 
 
 Still I struggle on with adverse tide, 
 
 My life grown bare and cold; 
 
 I seek to wrest from fickle fate, 
 
 Success, to match her father's gold. 
 * 
 
 Soon a message comes from o'er the sea. 
 
 That she, whom I held, so dear, 
 Was sinking 'neatli a dread disease ; 
 
 O, heart grown faint with fear. 
 
 In vain she gazed on smiling skies ; 
 
 On marble statues cold ; 
 No love could raise the drooping flower, 
 
 Nor all her father's gold. 
 
 She sleeps where murmuring waters flow ; 
 
 Beside the sparkling wave ; 
 And odors sweet, from sunny isles. 
 
 Float softly o'er her grave. 
 
40 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 Where tropic flowers in beauty bloom, 
 And bright plumed songsters sing; 
 
 But from the loved one resting there, 
 No look, no smile, can win. 
 
 I watch the lengthened shadows fall 
 
 On a life bereft of love ; 
 But patient wait, thrilled with the hope 
 
 That we may meet above. 
 
MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 41 
 
 MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 
 
 How dear are the haunts of my childhood ; 
 
 For green are its mossy dells, 
 And sweet is the breath of summer, 
 
 That o'er its lake's broad bosom swells ; 
 And o'er its glittering surface 
 
 Have the trees their shadows laid, 
 As we come from life's care and labor 
 
 To rest in thy cooling shade. 
 
 We have often sat upon this shore 
 
 In childhood's happy hours. 
 Or whiled the long days of summer, 
 
 As we played in thy leafy bowers. 
 The songs of thy birds are sweeter 
 
 Than ever heard before, 
 And the murmur of waters dearer, 
 
 As they break on the rocky shore. 
 
42 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 Aye, well I know each haunt 
 
 In this dear dim forest old, 
 Where the sunset's light is falling 
 
 Like streams of molten g'old, 
 And lighting up the treetops, 
 
 As the close of day draws near, 
 For the careless feet of childhood 
 
 Have often wandered here. 
 
 Oh, happy days forever gone. 
 
 When the young heart knew no care, 
 But wandering on the rocky shore 
 
 To search for pebbles there, 
 And throw them in the water, 
 
 To see their bubbles burst. 
 Or stooped down by the cooling stream 
 
 To quench our burning thirst. 
 
 How the forms that the grave long have shadow'd 
 
 Come stealing once more to my side. 
 While the sun on the fair heads is resting 
 
 That once was our joy and pride. 
 Could we dream, long ago, when so haj^py 
 
 We played all the day on this shore. 
 Full of mirth and sweet visions of fancy. 
 
 How soon the bright dream would be o'er ? 
 
MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 43 
 
 For the world, with its cares and its trials, 
 
 Has crushed the sweet blossoms of life. 
 And the heart has grown cold in the struggle. 
 
 And weary of all this vain strife; 
 For the years that come now bring no pleasures 
 
 Like those that forever have flown. 
 And backward the heart fondly lingers 
 
 Mid the scenes of childhood's sweet home. 
 
 Oh, wonder not, then, that I love thee. 
 
 As I think of da.ys of yore. 
 And, standing in thy shade again, 
 
 I seem a child once more. 
 Oh, that I could forget the days, 
 
 The weary hours between, 
 Go back to childhood's innocence. 
 
 All else be as a dream ! 
 
 Yes, sweet are thy hills and valleys. 
 
 And as dear to my heart are they still 
 As when we roamed all the day in thy meadows. 
 
 Or sat by thy rippling rill. 
 Sunshine and shade may pass o'er me, 
 
 Dreams I have cherished may fade. 
 Yet will fond memory e'er linger 
 
 Mid the scenes where in childhood we played. 
 
44 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 Sweet month of June, we welcome thee, 
 
 With fairest flowers entwined ; 
 The birds sing gaily all the day, 
 
 Upon thy leafy vine. 
 How bright the earth ! how soft the sky ! 
 
 They are meeting in one bloom ; 
 The fairest month in all the year 
 
 Is the sunny month of June. 
 
 We wander in thy shady walks, 
 
 And breathe the fragrant air ; 
 Our hearts ascend to Him who made 
 
 This earth so wondrous fair ; 
 Who made the birds so sweet to sing, 
 
 And caused the flowers to bloom ; 
 Who showered his gifts so bountifully 
 
 On the sunny month of June. 
 
JUNE. 45 
 
 We know that all this beauty 
 
 Soon must wither and decay; 
 It's only as our own short lives; 
 
 We, too, must pass away. 
 And when, perchance, we have passed through 
 
 The night of death and gloom, 
 We may awaken in as fair a clime 
 
 As the sunny month of June. 
 
46 POEMS BY MES. DENNIS. 
 
 THE WEB OF LIFE. 
 
 Forever we weave in the web of life, 
 Our prayers, our toils and strife. 
 
 Oil, who can measure the endless threads 
 That we weave in the web of life. 
 
 We weave the blessed days therein, 
 That speak life's budding morn ; 
 
 Again we weave in darker shades 
 As we bow beneath the storm — 
 
 That o'er our souls its mantle throws 
 
 Of joy and beauty rife ; 
 O. the tangled warp and the brittle threads 
 
 That we weave in the web of life. 
 
 There are hasty words that we wish unsaid. 
 That we weave in the fabric fair; 
 
 No cleansing power can their marks efface, 
 They are stamped forever there. 
 
THE WEB OF LIFE. - 47 
 
 Ah, the radiant days and the summer skies, 
 
 That we weave in the busy loom; 
 And fragrance rare of springtime flowers 
 
 That wither all too soon. 
 
 Into the warp with tender hands. 
 
 We bind the threads of love ; 
 That gift of Heaven's pure design 
 
 That is sanctioned from above. 
 
 There are bitter wrongs that we may not right, 
 
 That we weave in the tangled web. 
 And sorrowing tears for the loved and lost. 
 
 As time's measured beat we tread. 
 
 In the web of life are the days of toil, 
 
 And the sleepless nights of pain ; . 
 Would we call them from the silent past ? 
 
 Would we weave them o'er again? 
 
 There are threads of doubt that our souls assailed, 
 
 There are threads of doubt and sin 
 That we would not bind in the web of life. 
 
 Could we weave once more therein. 
 
48 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 And when the web shall be unrolled 
 
 Before the judgment day, 
 And we find therein what we have wove 
 
 Amid life's devious way, 
 
 T' will bring glad rapture to our hearts 
 
 If we find the colors clear, 
 Stamped with the seal of a faithful life. 
 
 That we wrought in patience here. 
 
 Still we hasten on, and with hopes renewed, 
 
 We take with thoughtful care. 
 The loosened threads of the tangled warp, 
 
 And bind with patience there. 
 
 And with hopes renewed, as the web 
 Is rolled in the cii'cle of the past. 
 
 While the shuttle, still with unerring aim, 
 Binds the colors true and fast. 
 
 Bright threads we may weave in the web of life, 
 
 As the shuttles onward fly ; 
 Yes, the beautiful threads of a tender love, 
 
 Of a hope that will never die. 
 
THE WEB OF LIFE. 49 
 
 We may weave in the swiftly moving loom, 
 
 A weft that will time outlast ; 
 And gleaming thi-eads of immortal bloom, 
 
 That shall hold forever fast. 
 
 Then may we weave in the web of life. 
 
 With thoughts of that glad day 
 When we shall meet him face to face, 
 
 Who is the life, the way. 
 
 When we before him then shall stand, 
 
 With the web of our toiling here, 
 Oh, may the threads of a deathless life 
 
 In its changing folds appear. 
 
50 POEMt^ BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 THE FA Til WAY OF LIGHT. 
 
 I fain would follow thee, O, Lord, 
 
 In paths of verdure green. 
 Nor enter in the dusty walks 
 
 Of life's swift moving- stream, 
 Where hands must labor all day long, 
 
 And tired feet must press 
 The pavements that are hard and worn 
 
 With care and toils unrest. 
 
 May I not serve thee well, dear Lord, 
 
 If with peaceful, folded hands 
 I await the voice that bids me come 
 
 To that fair, bright summer land. 
 Where thou hast said earth's faithful ones 
 
 Shall sweetly enter in. 
 Forever sheltered from life's storms, 
 
 And free from care and sin ? 
 
THE PATHWAY OF LIGHT. 51 
 
 I have tired grown of ceaseless toil. 
 
 Of sowing n'er to reap, 
 Of duties that make up each day ; 
 
 I fain would quiet seek, 
 And in some cool and sheltered nook, 
 
 From the busy walks of life, 
 I there would rest in peace content. 
 
 Nor sigh for its cares and strife. 
 
 The mountain pass to yonder height 
 
 Is rugged to my feet. 
 And in the noonday's heated glare. 
 
 To me, rest seemeth sweet. 
 I know across life's checkered path 
 
 Are gleams of sunshine bright; 
 But they vanquish ffom my eager gaze. 
 
 As dreams with morning light. 
 
 I would sit awhile in the cooling shade. 
 
 At the foot of the mountain high;: 
 
 I would rest in dreamy peace content, 
 
 As the busy throng goes by. 
 The path seems thorny oft, and drear, 
 
 Is there not some fairer way 
 That I may walk to reach the heights 
 
 Of thine own perfect day ? 
 
.52 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 But I hear a voice, it thrills my soul, 
 
 It speaks in words so plain, 
 " Thou canst not lay life's burden down, 
 
 Then ask it not again, 
 For I will that thou shouldst labor on, 
 
 Nor dream of earthly rest 
 Till thou hast reached the longed for heights. 
 
 And found the regions blest. 
 
 " Thou shalt toil on and never faint ; 
 
 Though weary grows the way. 
 And darkest shadows o'er thee fall 
 
 In life's uneven way. 
 Ah, soon will break the morning light 
 
 Upon thy vision clear. 
 When I shall roll the mists away. 
 
 Bright shall the path appear. 
 
 " As is tliy day so is thy strength. 
 
 They, also, serve who wait ; 
 And with patience walk the narrow way 
 
 That leads to Heaven's gate. 
 Then all life's meaning shall be plain 
 
 In the brightness of that morn, 
 When earthly darkness fades away 
 
 Before the supreme dawn. " 
 
THE PATHWAY OF LIGHT. 53 
 
 Dear Lord, I will obey thy voice 
 
 And strive with earnest care 
 That I may reach the heights above 
 
 And in thy welcome share. 
 For thou hast said earth's weary ones 
 
 May ever enter in, 
 To go not out ; O blessed thought I 
 
 May I that Heaven win. 
 
54 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 TIS HARD TO SPEAK THE PARTING 
 WORDS. 
 
 'Tis hard to speak the parting words, 
 
 That from our lives doth sever 
 The tender cords of human love 
 
 That binds us, here, together. 
 
 'Tis hard to know that here below, 
 Dear ones no more may meet us ; 
 
 That death, must still these throbbing hearts, 
 Ere they again shall greet us. 
 
 These yearning thoughts that fill our hearts ; 
 
 Must they be stilled forever ? 
 Can we, no more, meet face to face 
 
 Upon times shore? Ah never ! 
 
 Oh, mystery sweet but all untold, 
 
 That binds us to each other. 
 We meet to love, that shall abide, 
 Then parting tears our lives divide ; 
 
 But can it be for ever? 
 
' riS HABD TO SPEAK THE PARTING WOBDS. 55 
 
 Ah, thoughts that press upon my heart 
 
 With memory's magic wand, 
 Could I but look upon thy face once more, 
 
 Could I but clasp thy hand, 
 
 I, once again, life's tangled web, 
 
 Would weave with patient cai-e, 
 And, filled with tender love, and trust 
 
 Would wait, to greet thee there 
 
 Upon that shore where Heaven's light. 
 
 Shall roll the mists away. 
 Where parting tears, and sorrow's night 
 
 Gives place, to perfect day. 
 
56 POEMS BY MRS. DENNIS. 
 
 MAYFLOWERS. 
 
 In the glen, where the shadows deepen ; 
 
 Where the wild bird trills her song ; 
 Where through the dark vines netting 
 
 The sunshine lieth warm ; 
 
 There, through the arched and leaf strewn path, 
 
 With eager feet, we stray. 
 While dew - drops glisten on the trees ; 
 
 We gather flowers of May. 
 
 O rare delight, more pure, more sweet. 
 
 Could childhood ever know? 
 Than when stern winter yields her power, 
 
 And melts her robes of snow. 
 
 With gladsome hearts, we wander forth. 
 
 In springtime's balmy air. 
 To search 'mid forests and by brooks. 
 
 For Mayflowers ; sweet and rare. 
 
MAYFLOWEBS. 57 
 
 We hasten on with eager feet ; 
 
 We press through mossy delis. 
 For we know erst-while, in what sweet retreat 
 
 Are found the Mayflower bells. 
 
 And there half hidden from our sight, 
 
 'Neath damp leaves brown and sere, 
 With rose -tints caught from Heaven's light; 
 
 The Mayflower doth appear. 
 
 Full often, shall our thoughts return, 
 
 And dwell with fond regret, 
 Oh, blessed springtime of our lives 
 
 Thy memory, thrills us yet. 
 
 When we so innocent and gay ; 
 
 With spirits, light as air ; 
 With voices, that we hear no more. 
 
 And forms we deemed so fair, 
 
 Together we, in childhood's hour, 
 
 Undimmed by sorrow's day. 
 Didst gather flowers of fragrance rare 
 
 In the sunny month of May. 
 
58 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 O swift the years ! could they return, 
 Aye, could we turn once more, 
 
 And call the loved ones we so miss, 
 Back from the other shore. 
 
 We see again their faces bright ; 
 
 We hear their tones as gay 
 As when together, long ago. 
 
 We gathered flowers in May. 
 
 Pure flowers of innocence and bloom. 
 
 Thou ever hast the power. 
 To bring back, mid life's care and toil, 
 
 Sweet childhood's fleeting hour. 
 
 When all for us, the forest bloomed ; 
 
 For us, birds sung so gay, 
 When brightly flushed the skies at morn, 
 
 We gathered flowers of May. 
 
THBEE SABBATHS. 59 
 
 THREE SABBATHS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 A Sabbath morning's radiant glow 
 Breaks on the distant hills ; 
 
 And all the life, from nature's heart, 
 With mystic beauty thrills. 
 
 As pass the hours, no pealing bells 
 Call to the house of prayer ; 
 
 No voice that sings of power to save 
 Floats on the morning air. 
 
 Yet, in our midst no templed shrine 
 Where we may worship God, 
 
 But erring feet, through Sabbath days. 
 To seek for pleasure, trod. 
 
 The children here, in many a home. 
 No voice of prayer had heard ; 
 
 No father paused at close of day 
 To read from God's blessed word. 
 
60 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 A little band with earnest hearts ; 
 
 In His vineyard worked to lay 
 A structure, that through time might last, 
 
 And point to Heaven the way. 
 
 And, as they toiled mid sun and shade. 
 And the work it grew apace, 
 
 Christ's laborers in his vineyard came 
 Filled with his power and grace ; 
 
 Until at last one Sabbath morn; 
 
 'Neath skies so blue and clear, 
 We stood beside a sparkling stream, 
 
 A " church," had gathered here. 
 
 The man of God, with solemn brow, 
 
 And eyes upturned above ; 
 Did pray that on the waiting band, 
 
 Might shine the Saviour's love. 
 
 Then sweetly on the listening ear. 
 This hymn, sang soft and low. 
 
 " Oh wash me, in the blood He shed ; 
 Yes, whiter than the snow." 
 
THREE SABBATHS. 61 
 
 PART III. 
 The picture shifts, and toils, and tears, 
 
 Have marked time's changing flight ; 
 Again, there dawns upon the world. 
 
 Another Sabbath bright. 
 
 O'erhead the summer sky bends low, 
 
 Sweet stillness everywhere. 
 A benediction, as from God, we breathe 
 
 In his pure air. 
 
 When lo ! upon our listening ear 
 
 There breaks the chime of bells, 
 So sweet, so clear the blessed tones 
 
 To Heaven's blue arch swells ! 
 
 What beauteous sight is this I see, 
 
 That near my vision lies? 
 A little " church " whose pure white spire 
 
 Points upward to the skies! 
 
 The street is thronged with eager feet. 
 
 We enter softly there 
 With grateful hearts and low bowed heads ; 
 
 This is the house of prayer. 
 
62 POEMS nr MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 Each eye, is turned with earnest gaze 
 To where the preacher stands ; 
 
 A look of Heaven is in his face, 
 A Bible in his hands. 
 
 Then out upon the summer air, 
 
 " Let Angels postrate fall. 
 Bring- forth the Royal Diadem, 
 
 And crown Him Lord of all." 
 
 Again as evening' shades draw nigh. 
 
 Once more, we gather here. 
 Again is borne upon the breeze, the notes 
 
 Of music soft and clear. 
 
 Far out into the summer's night. 
 
 It floats in mellow waves ; 
 That sweetest hymn by angels sung, 
 
 " Jesus saves ! Jesus saves ! " 
 
THE OLD HOME. 63 
 
 THE OLD HOME. 
 
 Long years have flown o'er the auburn head, 
 Since her feet from her childhood's home 
 
 Passed out from its portals brown and bare, 
 In untried scenes to roam. 
 
 And she sits to-night in her city home 
 
 'Mid its pomp and splendor rare. 
 And the soft light falls on a thoughtful face, 
 
 On a brow that is lined with care. 
 
 For far away from this home of art 
 
 Has her soul in its longing gone, 
 To the farm house old, by the meadow brook, 
 
 Where she played in bright childhood's morn. 
 
 All vanished, the intervening years. 
 
 The empty pomp, and pride. 
 As she roves in fancy o'er daisied fields. 
 
 By her gentle sister's side. 
 
64 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 And they bathe their feet iii the murmuring brook, 
 That winds through the meadows sweet, 
 
 And they search for fragrant lilies fair. 
 That grow by the woodland creek. 
 
 She sees again the open door, 
 
 O'er hung- with the clambering vine, 
 
 Where 'mid its green and glossy leaves, 
 The morning-glories twine. 
 
 Then up from the meadow land is blown 
 
 The scent of new-mown hay. 
 And the hay makers come, for sweet rest and repose, 
 
 In the shade of the farm house gray. 
 
 She sees again the sunlight gleam. 
 
 As it shone through the open door 
 On the rafters bare and the much worn plank 
 
 Of the dear old farm house floor. 
 
 Once more, she looks on the garden old, 
 
 With its wealth of ancient riowers ; 
 Where she roamed with the birds and as free as they, 
 
 Through the long bright summer hours. 
 
THE OLD HOME. 65 
 
 Yes, o'er the shifting- scenes of years, 
 
 Her thoughts have backward flown ; 
 And she longs to - night for the joy, and peace, 
 
 That she found in her childhood's home. 
 
 And she sighs for her mother's gentle touch. 
 
 For her song with its sweet refrain, 
 That she heard ere the world had lured her on, 
 
 With its empty show and gain. 
 
 For she passed one day o'er the threshold worn. 
 
 To the city's noise and glare ; 
 A stranger claimed, from the woodland home, 
 
 The fairest flower there. 
 
 And out from her pure and hai)py home, 
 
 In the whirl of fashion's strife. 
 Too soon forgot, were the lessons learned 
 
 In her peaceful, sheltered life. 
 
 Now, back again o'er the waste of years, 
 
 Has her soul in its fancy strayed 
 To the daisied fields by the farm house gray, 
 
 Where in life's bright morn she played. 
 
66 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 PICNIC ON THE HARRIMAN SHORE, '91. 
 
 In the beautiful morn when the days were long, 
 
 Close packed by each others side, 
 We started away, with spirits so gay. 
 
 For the long talked of " Picnic ride. " 
 
 So on we rode, and heaven's clear breeze 
 
 And sunshine cheered our way. 
 While up from the daisied fields, anon, 
 
 Came the scent of new mown hay. 
 
 What sweeter spot than this meadow slope. 
 
 With its tall trees spreading wide ; 
 With song of birds from the boughs that are stirred 
 
 By the breeze from the river side? 
 
 Now the children small in the grasses tall, 
 
 From their elder's searching gaze, 
 Wove in and out, with laugh and shout. 
 
 In a most bewildering maze. 
 
PICNIC ON THE HARBIMAN SHORE. 67 
 
 Then we spread our lunch in the cooling shade 
 
 At the base of the tall tree wide, 
 And a hubbub grand, made that motley band, 
 
 On the ground at each others side. 
 
 O, that bill of fare I 'twould strike despair 
 
 To the heart of a caterer grim, 
 For all things eatable, under the sun. 
 
 To that lunch we had gathered in. 
 
 There was cake, and pie, and fish to fry, 
 
 And cucumbers, green and cool ; 
 And hearts beat high, as mirth and joy 
 
 The fleeting hours did rule. 
 
 There was yellow corn, and potatoes warm. 
 
 Yes, potatoes new and sweet, 
 That we ate from the pot that was steaming hot. 
 
 At our genial Pastor's feet. 
 
 On that Parson's face, not one look could we trace 
 
 Of his Sunday meeting mood, 
 As he sat in state by that kettle great. 
 
 And loudly called for food. 
 
S POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 Now, Jim was there with a jovial air, 
 
 His fortitude unshaken 
 By the many attitudes he struck that day, 
 
 To have his picture taken. 
 
 O, the "Camera man !" how he wildly ran 
 That day through brush and bramble, 
 
 Till he found the group, who firm earth forsook, 
 In a gnarled old tree to scramble. 
 
 There, peering down through its branches brown. 
 
 And leaves so green and tender. 
 Bright eyes we see full of mirth and glee ; 
 
 Eyes we shall long remember. 
 
 Ah, often in the years to come, 
 
 Amid life's changing flight. 
 Our thoughts shall turn at memory's touch. 
 
 And view this picture bright. 
 
 Yes, o'er the years that swiftly flow, 
 
 With faces seen no more, 
 A tribute from our hearts goes forth 
 
 To the "• Picnic " on the shore ; 
 
PICNIC ON THE HABRIMAN SHORE. 69 
 
 Where from the worn and dusty street, 
 
 From turmoil and from strife, 
 We passed bright hours that memory shrines 
 
 With joy and beauty rife. 
 
 At last we stand a merry band, 
 
 Just before we leave the shore. 
 While the " Camera man " with a smile so bland. 
 
 Strikes off the group once more. 
 
 In the rack stands Tom with whip in hand, 
 
 Like the " Sentinel of Fate," 
 While we range once more on the mellow soil 
 
 In groups, both small and great. 
 
 Yes, Willard 's there, with a fatherly air, 
 
 In his arms the baby small, 
 While at his feet — but the group 's complete ; 
 
 I cannot name them all. 
 
 Then with outward joy, but with inward fear. 
 
 We resume our former places, 
 For the load is heavy and the hill is long. 
 
 And slender are the traces. 
 
70 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 But the horses, they wink at each other, and blink, 
 Dear creatures, they know their places, 
 
 For they draw us safe to the brow of the hill. 
 With never a wrench in the traces. 
 
 So on we go, at a rate not slow. 
 
 O'er the hard worn road once more ; 
 
 And we waved farewell to the " Picnic ground, " 
 Where we lunched on the Harriman Shore. 
 
THE KNITTING WORK. 71 
 
 THE KNITTING WORK. 
 
 Wild whirled the snow round the farm house old, 
 
 High blew the wind, still higher, 
 As I drew my chair near the cheerful blaze 
 
 Of the good, old fashioned fire. 
 
 Now, near me there, in high backed chair, 
 
 Sat Sue demurely knitting; 
 And a sidelong glance from her eye she cast 
 
 To the place where I was sitting. 
 
 My heart beat hard 'gainst my Sunday vest, 
 
 And that is love's true token ; 
 But I steadily gazed at the glowing coals, 
 
 And never a word was spoken. 
 
 And Susan, she knit as if her life 
 
 Depended on that mitten, 
 While hopelessly tangled grew the ball of yarn 
 
 Tossed about by the maltese kitten. 
 
72 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 I edged my chair from the blaze away, 
 
 And to Susan's a little nearer ; 
 While redder, and redder grew my face, 
 
 And my heart beat a little queerer. 
 
 But Susan still knit, and the mitten grew 
 
 Beneath her nimble fingers ; 
 And a picture she made in the firelight's glow, 
 
 That yet in my memory lingers. 
 
 Now, I'd come to-night with a purpose right. 
 
 To ask sweet Sue if ever 
 She'd thought that we might jog along 
 
 O'er life's rough road together. 
 
 Then I tried to break the silence deep. 
 As I hitched up near the mitten, 
 
 And stooping down, grasped the ball of yarn 
 From the claws of the playful kitten. 
 
 Oh, Susan's face was a study then. 
 
 As I drew my chair so near, 
 And how my heart went pit, a pat : 
 
 In a way that was most queer. 
 
THE KNITTING WORK. 73 
 
 But I grasped the yarn, and slowly wound 
 
 That thread that lay in tangies ; 
 And of course that drew me near to Sue, 
 
 Till our chairs they stood at angles. 
 
 Now, lower drooped the maiden's head, 
 
 To hide her tell-tale blushing ; 
 While I — but my heart just bubbled o'er 
 
 With fond endearments gushing. 
 
 But still I wound on the tangled yarn. 
 
 And still that drew me nigher 
 To where the busy knitter sat, 
 
 Close by the cheerful fire. 
 
 But at last I'd wound that ball of yarn 
 
 Close up to the very mitten. 
 And that, you see, brought me very snug 
 
 To where sweet Sue was sitting. 
 
 I pulled the knitting from her hand ; 
 
 My voice had grown much bolder ; 
 And somehow — well I can't just explain, 
 
 But her head fell — on my shoulder. 
 
74 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 Now that is all you need to know, 
 For in the firelight sitting, 
 
 I won a promise from sweet Sue, 
 To ever do my knitting. 
 
A MOBNING IN JUNE. 75 
 
 A MORNING IN JUNE. 
 
 In the hush of this beautiful morning in June, 
 When the leaves are just stirred by the breeze, 
 
 When the bright plumed songsters flit through the boughs. 
 As they sing their sweet notes 'mid the trees, 
 
 O, the gladness and joy of this bright day in June, 
 When the sky it bends low to the earth ; 
 
 When the daisy gemmed fields and the incense of flowers, 
 All speak of the sweet summer's birth. 
 
 O, what is so rare as a bright morn in June, 
 
 Created by Heavenly love? O, the carpet of green, 
 
 That 's so soft 'neath our feet, 
 
 And bright shines the blue vault above ! 
 
 Oh, the anthems of joy that nature sends forth 
 From the keys of her clear sounding lyre. 
 
 While a thousand sweet echoes float on the breeze 
 From heaven's invisible choir. 
 
76 POEMS BY MRS. DENNIS. 
 
 Come, ye who are shut in the city's grim walls, 
 Who have tired of its swift ebb and flow, 
 
 When the longing heart pants for the pure breeze of 
 heaven, 
 For the fields where the wild flowers grow. 
 
 Oh hither, come now ! from its toils and its strife, 
 From the cares that but weary your brain ; 
 
 Come sit in the shade by this clear running brook, 
 'Twill charm away languor and pain. 
 
 For here you shall rest ; you may roam at your will 
 
 Untrammeled by fashion's decree ; 
 For the broad stretch of fields, and the rich wealth of flowers. 
 
 All waiteth in pleasure for thee. 
 
 In the sweet flush of morn, when the rose tinted sky 
 
 Sends forth her bright arrows of light, 
 Then sparkles like diamonds, each leaf, and each flowei-, 
 
 That gladdens our first wakened sight. 
 
 And as we go forth 'neath soft smiling skies, 
 
 'Mid flowers so blooming and sweet, 
 Our hearts shall ascend to the giver of all, 
 
 And our homage we lay at His feet. 
 
CHES TNUT HILL . 7 7 
 
 CHESTNUT HILL. 
 
 The summer's glory long had passed, 
 
 And autumn's leaves were brown, 
 While shrilly whistled the rude winds 
 
 That scattered them around ; 
 But through it all the mellow haze 
 
 That autumn days distill 
 Had settled on the landscape bare, 
 
 And o'er the Chestnut Hill. 
 
 Aye, long to be remembered was 
 
 That autumn day to me, 
 For it was the last I ever passed. 
 
 My %ister dear, with thee. 
 Amid the scenes of nature's wilds. 
 
 Where oft we roamed before, 
 And wished that time could take us back 
 
 To childhood's days once more. 
 
78 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 I see you now as long ago, 
 
 With bands of gold brown hair 
 That parted o'er your forehead's snow, 
 
 As you were sitting there. 
 And see you gazing far away, 
 
 With eyes that tears would fill ; 
 For I think you knew that we no more 
 
 Would wander o'er the hill. 
 
 A dreary silence filled the air, 
 
 The song of wild birds died, 
 And a loneliness was in my heart 
 
 As I drew close to your side ; 
 For you were going far away. 
 
 And I the weary hours might chide. 
 Ere the blooming springtime came again 
 
 That would bring you to my side. 
 
 But the season passed as others do, 
 
 With its days of joy and pain, 
 And the springtime of another year 
 
 Has dawned for us again. 
 The flowers still bloomed by the brooklet's side, 
 
 And on the Chestnut Hill ; 
 But all their beauty could not charm, 
 
 When she was cold and still. 
 
CHESTNUT HILL. 
 
 The early violets that grew 
 
 Upon the earth's damp breast. 
 We planted near the humble spot 
 
 Where she was laid to rest. 
 Though the days they are as bright as of old, 
 
 And the birds are singing still, 
 I know that she can come no more 
 
 With me upon the hill. 
 
80 POEMS BY MES. DENNIS. 
 
 SHE SHALL AWAKE AGALN. 
 
 She is dead, they said, come away, 
 Come and leave her, your idol's clay. 
 
 Dimmed is the light of her soul lit eyes. 
 She is living now beyond the skies. 
 
 No tears of ours, or anguish deep. 
 Can move her from her silent sleep. 
 
 She is done forever with pain and care, 
 She has gone where the blessed angels are. 
 
 With folded hands and marble brow. 
 The mystery of death she knoweth now. 
 
 Nay, check thy grief, why do you weep 
 As you leave her here in dreamless sleep ? 
 
 Not in the tomb her spirit lies. 
 
 She will wake again in glad surprise. 
 
SHE SHALL AWAKE AGAIN. 81 
 
 When far removed from earth's dark ways, 
 She singeth Heaven's song of praise. 
 
 And some sweet day when life is o'er, 
 
 You may meet her there on the other shore. 
 
 There, free from sorrow, care and pain, 
 Where the loved of earth are found again. 
 
82 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 WHOSOEVER WILL. 
 
 Whosoever will, and can it be — 
 Those words of pardon full and free, 
 That through the countless ages ring, 
 And life and love to all shall bring, 
 Who listen to the Saviour's plea 
 So freely offered, " Come to Me ? " 
 
 Whosoever will. Oh, blessed thought ! 
 With heaven's holiest meaning fraught. 
 No sweeter words could love conceive ; 
 'Tis only. Look to me, believe. 
 There 's peace and pardon full and free, 
 For all who will may come to me. 
 
 To you who labor in the dust 
 
 And turmoil of life's day. 
 Who struggle on with faltering steps, 
 
 Oft fainting by the way. 
 
WHOSOEVER WILL. 83 
 
 To you when hope's bright beacon star 
 
 Has faded from your view ; 
 He wills that you should come to him, 
 
 This message is for you. 
 
 But can it be for them who stand 
 
 With sin-stained souls and empty hands ? 
 
 Who never to the Master's shrine 
 
 Have brought one hallowed thought divine ; 
 
 Who on the verge of dark despair, 
 
 Can see no light, no glimmering star : 
 
 Is it to such that thou hast said, 
 
 " Come, only look to me, and live ? " 
 
 'Tis not alone for them whose souls 
 
 Are free from dross and sin ; 
 But unto all the message comes 
 
 To freely enter in ; 
 Christ is the door, no other name 
 
 In heaven or earth is given ; 
 Whosoever will may come 
 
 And freely be forgiven. 
 
84 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 Dear Lord, we come, and at thy feet 
 
 Would seek thy pardoning grace. 
 We long to know thee as thou art. 
 
 To see thy blessed face, 
 For thou canst make us pure and whole ; 
 
 Canst mould us to thy will. 
 And we thy message shall proclaim, 
 
 " Come, whosoever will. " 
 
LITTLE WILLIE. 85 
 
 LITTLE WILLIE. 
 
 Ere his brow had trace of sadness, 
 Ere the blue eyes learned to weep; 
 
 With a trusting heart of gladness, 
 Little Willie fell asleep. 
 
 Sleeping, never to awaken 
 
 In this world of woe and sin, 
 
 But where bloom the flowers of heaven, 
 Little Willie is within. 
 
 Fold his little hands so calmly 
 On the still and pulseless breast; 
 
 Sweet the smile that rests upon him; 
 Little Willie is at rest. 
 
 Flowers too fair for earth are gathered 
 To the Father's fold above, 
 
 Where there is no sin or sorrow — 
 Only joy, and peace, and love. 
 
86 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 Looking down from heaven's brightness, 
 
 Saw your little flower here ; 
 Angels bore him to his bosom, 
 
 Though they knew you held him dear. 
 
 And he is not gone forever ; 
 
 You will see him once again, 
 When thy heart has lost its sadness, 
 
 And thy brow that look of pain. 
 
 You will know that smile of welcome. 
 When life's trials are all o'er; 
 
 You will meet him in heaven, your darling 
 There, you never will part more. 
 
 For this world is but a shadow ; 
 
 Here are only paths of pain ; 
 But beyond life's stormy river 
 
 We shall meet our loved agrain. 
 
THE SISTEB'S APPEAL. 87 
 
 THE SISTER'S APPEAL. 
 
 Brother, where do you wander ? 
 
 Why do you leave us alone ? 
 Long have we list'd for thy footsteps. 
 
 Brother, return to thy home. 
 
 Ts your heart so dead to affection 
 That you yearn to behold no more, 
 
 The friends who so fondly loved thee 
 In the happy days of yore ? 
 
 Over our hearts, since you left us. 
 
 Dark shadows of grief have been thrown ; 
 
 We have stood by the grave of a loved one. 
 While you in a strange land did roam. 
 
 Long have the snows of winter 
 
 Covered the place where she is laid; 
 
 Long have the flowers of summer 
 In beauty bloomed over her grave. 
 
88 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 We have made this appeal so often ; 
 
 We have cried with a faltering breath 
 Shall our eyes never more behold thee, 
 
 Till closed with the seal of death? 
 
 Oh, what enchantment can hold thee 
 So far from thy land and thy own? 
 
 I think you would weary of roving ; 
 Brother, return to thy home. 
 
WITHIN THE FOLD. 89 
 
 WITHIN THE FOLD. 
 
 When o'er our hearts death's shadow comes, 
 
 And takes from out our home 
 The precious buds that God has given, 
 
 That we fondly deemed our own ; 
 
 It is hard in this our darkest night, 
 
 The Father's love to see ; 
 But still, he says, " forbid them not ; 
 
 But let them come to me. " 
 
 Oh! mother, thou canst look away 
 From the grave so dark and cold ; 
 
 Thy little lamb in Jesus' arms, 
 Is safe within the fold. 
 
 Why weepest thou, thy beauteous child 
 
 Can know no pain or care ; 
 No lines the hand of time can trace 
 
 Upon that brow so fair. 
 
90 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 His little feet shall never stray 
 In earth worn paths of sin, 
 
 For safe within the sheltering fold, 
 Thy child has entered in. 
 
 And when life's fitful dream is o'er, 
 Ah ! then will come the light ; 
 
 When heaven's immortal glory 's burst 
 On thy enraptured sight. 
 
 Thou, too, shalt enter in the fold, 
 
 And find thy child again. 
 When heaven's brightness from thy soul 
 
 Has banished care and pain. 
 
SUNLIGHT. 91 
 
 SUNLIGHT. 
 
 Beautiful sun, in your radiance bright, 
 Chasing away the gloom of night. 
 Shine on us now with thy beautiful ray ; 
 Shine on us still through life's weary day. 
 
 Through what strange scenes in life do you roam? 
 Over what misery thy light is thrown ; 
 Soft falls thy light o'er the grave of the dead. 
 Hallowing the place where rests the dear head. 
 
 Lingering now with your beautiful light, 
 To shine on the bride in her garments of white, 
 Adding new charms to her beauty and grace. 
 Kissing the smiles of her happy face. 
 
 Coming now with a softened tread 
 
 To stand by the side of the dying bed, 
 
 The dim eyes are turned, with their yearning sight, 
 
 To behold once again thy glorious light. 
 
92 POEMS BY MRS. DENNIS. 
 
 Ah, soon to drift on death's sealess shore, 
 She knows that for her life's sunshine is o'er. 
 When you come with the morn you will find her dead. 
 You may shine e'er so bright on the snowy bed — 
 
 You may linger long on the pale sweet face. 
 Clasped in the arms of death's embrace ; 
 Robed as the bride in her garments of white ; 
 She will never awake to earth's sunlight. 
 
SLEEPING. 93 
 
 SLEEPING. 
 
 Soft falls the light on the grave, where she is sleeping, 
 
 Calmly beneath the green sod ; 
 Hearts she has left are sad, eyes are weeping, 
 
 As we leave her alone with her God. 
 
 Far from the trials of earth He has removed her, 
 
 Weary the paths we still must tread ; 
 But naught of sorrow, grief or commotion, 
 
 Ever can come to the one who is dead. 
 
 Oft in our sleep do we dream we behold her. 
 With the sweet smile her face wore of yore. 
 
 Ere the angel of death in his arms did enfold her; 
 To brighten our lives she can never come more. 
 
 Softly, ye winds, breathe your low murmurs 
 
 Mid the green trees, o'er the place where she's laid. 
 
 Though flowers they bloom, and birds sing so sweetly, 
 They cannot move her from the still grave. 
 
94 POEMS BY MRS. DENNIS. 
 
 DO JSrOT DESPAIR. 
 
 Do not despair, the darkest night 
 
 But heralds forth the dawn, 
 Full brighter shall the rainbow shine 
 
 When born of clouds and storm ; 
 It coineth forth in colors bright, 
 
 Fair promise of the sky. 
 And whispers of immortal life 
 
 Within its radiance lie. 
 
 And if, while here, in vain we wait 
 
 To catch the glimmering morn. 
 When trackless wastes beneath our feet. 
 
 When the way it seemeth long, 
 Do not despair, for o'er it all still shines that love 
 
 divine, 
 That faileth not, though darkest night shall settle on thy^ 
 
 soul ; 
 For in the glow of heaven's light 
 
 Dark clouds must backward roll. 
 
DO NOT DESPAIR. 95 
 
 Do not despair, for light and love 
 
 Shall yet thy bosom thrill ; 
 He marks the falling of a tear, 
 
 Who whispered " Peace be still. " 
 And as the waters of thy soul 
 
 In troubled waves shall rise, 
 Do not despair, He knoweth all. 
 
 Though hid from mortal eyes. 
 
 When summer friends shall on thee smile, 
 
 And flatter for a day. 
 When thou shalt find when winter comes 
 
 False friends have flown away ; 
 Then hush the bitterness of heart. 
 
 As you learn the lesson old, 
 And remember him who betrayed his Lord 
 
 For a paltry sum of g*old. 
 
 When slanderous tongues assail thy name, 
 
 And envy points her sneer ; 
 When troubles fast around thy path 
 
 Obscure thy vision clear, 
 Do not despair, for bright and true 
 
 Is heaven's justice shining ; 
 No cloud so dense but light can pierce, 
 
 Behold ! the silver lining ! 
 
96 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 When wearied with the toils of life, 
 
 And faint the heart has grown, 
 When no rich harvest yields her fruit 
 
 From the seed that we have sown. 
 Do not despair, for the Father's hand 
 
 Shall measure thy success 
 In the field of life, and His reward 
 
 May give thee peace and rest. 
 
 Do not despair, for hopes of earth 
 
 No full fruition know ; 
 For scarce has autumn reaped her stores 
 
 Ere comes the winter's snow; 
 And flowers that lay in damp decay 
 
 Beneath her chilling glare. 
 They forth shall come in beauty clad. 
 
 In springtime's balmy air. 
 
 So shall we too, though struggling here 
 
 With sorrow and decay. 
 And doubt, and darkness that obstruct 
 
 The brightness of our way ; 
 But radiant over earth's decay 
 
 Shall dawn the star of Heaven, 
 When for the toils and cares of life, 
 
 May peace and joy be given. 
 
WHERE THE BLIND RECEIVE THEIR SIGHT. 97 
 
 WHERE THE BLIND RECEIVE THEIR 
 SIGHT. 
 
 While here so oft we blindly grope 
 
 Along a cloudy way, 
 What must it be to dwell with Thee 
 
 In light and endless day ! 
 
 There eyes that here see not the glow, 
 
 But struggle on their way 
 Without one gleam of God's pure light 
 
 To bless their darkest day — 
 
 They there shall see when thou hast called 
 
 To realms of light above ; 
 They there shall see, oh blessed thought 
 
 And dwell with thee in love. 
 
 For thou didst touch the sightless eyes, 
 Whilst here with mortals strayed ; 
 
 Before the eager, wondering gaze 
 Such beauteous visions laid. 
 
98 POEMS BY MRS. DEN'JSriS. 
 
 'T was but a type of what shall come 
 When we cross the bars of night, 
 
 iVnd wake beyond to perfect day, 
 Where the blind receive their sight. 
 
 Oh, there with Thee, where night's dark pall 
 
 Shall fall on us no more ; 
 Where never mists obscure our sight. 
 
 Nor threatening clouds can lower. 
 
 But where eternal sunshine gleams 
 
 Upon the verdant hills. 
 There, evermore, where light and love 
 
 The raptured bosom thrills. 
 
 The blind shall see ; those who, while here. 
 
 In patient longing wait 
 To catch the brightness of that dawn, 
 
 That for them must surely break ; 
 
 They there shall see; and earthly mists 
 That veiled their mortal sight 
 
 Will fade away, when they awake 
 With thee where all is light. 
 
ADA. 99 
 
 ADA, 
 
 With bitter tears, but not as those 
 
 Who mourn in deep despair, 
 We lay thee 'neath the flowers to rest. 
 
 Dear friend, so young and fair. 
 
 Sweet be thy sleep, as we leave thee here 
 
 Beneath the daisied sod. 
 For we know thy spirit pure, has gone 
 
 To dwell in peace with God. 
 
 Triumphant over death and pain. 
 Her faith shone bright and clear ; 
 
 He led thee down the heavenly road 
 Without a doubt or fear. 
 
 So calm, so sweet, as a tired child 
 
 Sinks on its mother's breast, 
 So thou didst lean on Jesus' arm, 
 
 He giveth thee sweet rest. 
 
100 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 No doubt, no fear, did her soul assail. 
 From her lips there came no sigh ; 
 
 "• He leads me on, " she sweetly said, 
 " I do not fear to die. 
 
 " The Lord, my tender shepherd is. 
 
 In him I cannot fear ; 
 He leadeth me through pastures green. 
 
 By crystal waters clear. 
 
 "For me to die is only gain ; 
 
 Dear friends, I long to go. 
 To he with Jesus evermore, 
 
 And wear the robes of snow. " 
 
 Oh, Death! thy sting was all removed ; 
 
 O'er earthly clouds and night 
 She saw the haven of sweet rest ; 
 
 She saw the gates of light. 
 
 She is not dead, though the marble form 
 Lies hidden from our sight ; 
 
 But the spirit pure, it lives beyond, 
 Where there 's no death, no night. 
 
ADA. 1 01 
 
 So may we, too, when life's brief day 
 
 Shall end in death's dark night. 
 In gladness meet our loved ones there 
 
 Beyond the gates of light. 
 
 Where never more earth's care or pain 
 
 Can ever cloud her brow, 
 For safely in the shepherd's fold, 
 
 Our Ada's restine- now. 
 
102 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 A PICTURE IN MEMORY'S FRAME. 
 
 A picture I hold in memory's frame, 
 
 A picture of long ago, 
 Ere time had come with relentless touch, 
 
 And sprinkled my hair with snow. 
 
 This picture is quaint, and many might smile, 
 
 But to me it is, oh, so dear. 
 And I view it now in the fading light, 
 
 O'er the lapse of many a year. 
 
 Sweet sisters, you come at my will to-night, 
 
 And I gather with you once more. 
 As we draw our chairs near the hearthstone wide 
 
 On the rough, old farmhouse floor. 
 
 The busy hum of the wheel is heard 
 
 From the mother's tireless hand. 
 And she hums a note from by-gone days, 
 
 As she draws on the flexile strand. 
 
A PIC TUBE IN ME MOBY'S FBAME. 103 
 
 The winter's snow is drifting fast, 
 
 But we, the children, gather 
 More closely 'round the blazing fire, 
 
 And thus, defy the weather. 
 
 I look again, the group is six, 
 
 One boy among the girls ; 
 He stands beside the fairest one, 
 
 Blue eyes and golden curls. 
 
 While his own, was dark as the ravon's wing, 
 
 And fearless was his eye ; 
 Oh, brother, dear, that such care for thee 
 
 On the mother's heart should lie. 
 
 The eldest one, with thoughtful face, 
 
 In her eyes a look that peers 
 From their misty depths o'er changing time, 
 
 Far in the coming years. 
 
 The youngest of that loving band. 
 
 With mischief bubbling o'er. 
 Ah ! merry child, with the boatman pale 
 
 You crossed to the other shore. 
 
104 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 Anotlaer's there, with dark brown hair, 
 And generous warmth of heart ; 
 
 You still are here, I hold you dear. 
 Though our lives lie oft apart. 
 
 The dark haired boy, we may not know 
 
 The place where he does rest. 
 And the mother's heart ne'er ceased to mourn 
 
 For her boy, she loved him best. 
 
 The thoughtful girl for many a year 
 Wrought on with an earnest heart : 
 
 She awaits us now on the other shore, 
 Where we'll meet, no more to part. 
 
 Sweet sister, baby of the flock. 
 
 She too has left our sight. 
 But we trust to see her face once more 
 
 Where there's no death, no night. 
 
 Oh, happy group ! I see you now, 
 Fond memory brings you near. 
 
 You left your trace on my sorrowing heart, 
 I hold you ever dear. 
 
A PICTURE IN MEMOBY'8 FBAME. 105 
 
 Yes, you come once more from the shadowy realms, 
 
 With faces warm and bright ; 
 I clasp you close in my loving arms 
 
 As you enter here to-night. 
 
106 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 THE LITTLE WANDERER. 
 
 Through a dusty path, o'er a rugged road, 
 
 Came a child on his weary way ; 
 He had wandered thus from early dawn 
 
 'Till the close of twilight gray. 
 
 Full oft had he paused in his toilsome march 
 
 To peer through the massive gate, 
 And watch the beautiful fountains play, 
 
 Near the homes of the rich and great. 
 
 He gazed on the beautiful fragrant flowers. 
 
 To him they seemed heavenly fair. 
 And he thought, could he pass through the garden gate 
 
 And rest in the cooling shade there. 
 
 And happy children played in the walks. 
 
 They gathered bright flowers at will ; 
 And sweetly their voices rang out on the breeze 
 
 Like a musical, murmuring rill. 
 
THE LITTLE WANDERER. 107 
 
 Then the outcast, so friendless, and lone in the street, 
 Turned back from the heavenly sight; 
 
 Once more to the dusty, and worn highway he turned ; 
 Away from all beauty and light. 
 
 'Till at last overcome with the heat of the day. 
 Repulsed where he asked but for bread, 
 
 'Neath the bright stars of Heaven, exhausted, he lay. 
 With the cool earth to pillow his head. 
 
 As thus he lay in trance of sleep, 
 
 An angel passed that way, 
 And on the heated, dusty brow 
 
 His gentle touch he lay. 
 
 He woke again, but not to earth, 
 
 To its chilling cares, its blight ; 
 He woke beyond to joy and love. 
 
 To regions fair and bright. 
 
108 POEMS BY MRS. DENMIS. 
 
 COULD WE BUT DRAW ASIDE THE VEIL. 
 
 Oh, whither goest thou, dear friend ? 
 
 We cannot follow thee 
 To the unknown world ; we vainly look ; 
 
 Thy flight we may not see. 
 
 But a few short hours, and thou wast here. 
 
 Endowed with life and breath ; 
 Now with curtained eyes and pulseless form 
 
 Thou liest here in the semblance we call death. 
 
 Far out beyond our mortal ken 
 
 Art winging now thy flight ? 
 Thou hast passed through the ways of earth. 
 
 And crossed the depths of night. 
 
 No light, nor shade, nor cares of earth 
 
 Shall ever cloud thy brow ; 
 Thou shalt no more life's burdens bear ; 
 
 Dear friend, where art thou now? 
 
COULD WE BUT DRAW ASIDE THE VEIL. 109 
 
 We call in vain, we seek some sign, 
 
 We fain would understand ; 
 But we cannot follow thee beyond, 
 
 To that far off spirit land — 
 
 Where thou hast gone beyond life's hopes, 
 
 Beyond its toils and fears, 
 Dost thoughts of earth e'er reach thee there. 
 
 No bitter sighs, no tears ? 
 
 Could we but draw aside the veil 
 
 That hides thee from our sight ; 
 Could we but look beyond the clouds. 
 
 The clouds of death and night ; 
 
 Could you, but send from that far land 
 
 Some strain, to catch our ear, 
 To sooth the anguish of our hearts. 
 
 And charm away our fear ; 
 
 With patient trust, and hopes renewed. 
 
 Life's burdens we would bear ; 
 Forever thrilled with that blessed hope, 
 
 That we may meet thee there. 
 
110 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 Where thou hast gone is thy home so bright 
 
 Thou hast no thought, no care 
 Of the loved ones here, who, with longing hearts 
 
 Must still life's burdens bear ? 
 
 In vain we stretch out empty hands 
 
 To heaven's azure sky, still no answer comes 
 
 From that far off shore 
 
 That beyond life's portals lie. 
 
 But hush, upon our waiting souls 
 
 There steals that inner voice 
 That bids us wait with patience here, 
 
 That bids us still rejoice. 
 
 O blessed hope that 's born of Heaven, 
 
 No pain nor death can mar ; 
 Bright, gleams the star of faith and love, 
 
 Bright, gleams the " Gates ajar. " 
 
A DBEAM. Ill 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 In my dreams last night I saw thee, 
 
 With flowing golden hair ; 
 But from your face had vanished 
 
 The look of pain and care ; 
 And in its place was shining 
 
 The light of hope and love. 
 Is it thus we see the angels 
 
 That dwell in heaven above ? 
 
 That summer's eve was beautiful, 
 
 The flowers bloomed sweetly there ; 
 And the dying rays of day's last beams 
 
 Shone o'er hier forehead fair. 
 As in my dreams I saw her, 
 
 She called me by my name ; 
 The lips that long were motionless 
 
 Smiled as of old again. 
 
112 * POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 I clasped her closer to my heart, 
 
 In mingled hope and fear ; 
 For something" seemed to tell me 
 
 I could not keep her here ; 
 For the look she wore was not of earth, 
 
 As she Dointed far above : 
 " It is there I dwell, in heaven," she said, 
 
 " The home of peace and love." 
 
 I gazed on her in wonder, 
 
 And cried, with eager voice, 
 "•Why do you come to earth again, 
 
 If heaven is your choice ? " 
 And then that look of sadness 
 
 O'erspread her face again. 
 " It is only for a while, " she said, 
 
 " I come to soothe your pain ; 
 
 " For my heavenly home is fairer. 
 
 And unto me more dear ; 
 But I saw that you were weeping, 
 
 And to your side drew near. 
 But unseen hands are beckoning ; 
 
 They are calling me away, 
 And I must leave thee, sister ; 
 
 I can no longer stay ; 
 
A DEE AM. 113 
 
 " But when life's path seems weary, 
 
 And your heart is full of pain, 
 I will not leave you comfortless, 
 
 But will come to you again. 
 Although you may not see me. 
 
 You will know that I am near, 
 For thus do guardian angels 
 
 Watch o'er their friends so dear. " 
 
 Ere I a word could answer 
 
 She had vanished from my sight, 
 And I alone was standing 
 
 Upon that summer's night. 
 Long will that sweet dream haunt me ; 
 
 I seem to see her now. 
 With the light of heaven's purity 
 
 Shining on her brow ; 
 
 And not as fancy's vision 
 
 It seemeth unto me. 
 Oh, gladly would I slumber, 
 
 And ever dream of thee. 
 
114 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 THE SILENT CITY. 
 
 A city lies within our sight, 
 Whose walls are gleaming pure and white 
 Whose streets we walk with softened tread ; 
 It is the citv of the dead. 
 
 We lay our loved ones here to sleep. 
 As o'er them bitter tears we weep, 
 And bring the flowers of summer fair 
 And twine them in bright garlands rare. 
 Affection here hath reared her shrine, 
 And crowned it with a love divine. 
 
 No noise or tumult is within, 
 It is free from sorrow, care and sin ; 
 The weai'y here find peace and rest : 
 It is the city of the blest. 
 
GREETING. 115 
 
 GREETING '93. 
 
 They come from every clime, and strand, 
 We welcome you to our fair land ; 
 
 The bright land of the free ! 
 And that great brotherhood of love. 
 Which He has nourished from above, 
 
 We now extend to thee. 
 
 May peace, and joy, your ways attend. 
 And as with us, your days you blend, 
 
 May all united be ; 
 For every nation 's welcome here 
 
 That comes from o'er the sea. 
 
 And safely may the good ship sail 
 That bears you from our shore ; 
 
 O softly blow, ye favoring breeze 
 That floats the ocean o'er, 
 
 And safe return to home and friends 
 That you would greet once more. 
 
116 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 And may our hearts to Him ascend, 
 Who ever didst our lives extend, 
 
 To witness this glad day. 
 When every nation, every land 
 Shall meet together in one band, 
 Upon our own, our much loved strand 
 
 The Home of Liberty. 
 
HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. 117 
 
 HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. 
 
 I know that words are useless 
 
 When hearts with grief are tjrii, 
 When hopes we've fondly cherished, 
 
 Forever more are gone ; 
 But gladly would I offer 
 
 Some woi'd your heart, to cheer, 
 As falls the tears of anguish 
 
 O'er her you held so dear. 
 
 I know the days of sorrow, 
 
 The sleepless nights of pain. 
 The longing for that much loved voice 
 
 You will not hear again 
 Till death shall close your eyes in sleep. 
 
 On earth to wake no more ; 
 Ah, then your meeting will be sweet 
 
 Upon the other shore. 
 
118 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 How many hearts are mourning 
 
 That she has left behind, 
 The friend, who, in our sorest need 
 
 Was ever true and kind. 
 Stilled is that heart, that never 
 
 From sorrow turned away ; 
 But strove with deeds of kindness 
 
 To smooth life's thorny way. 
 
 But now so calmly she 's resting 
 
 No sorrow nor grief can come. 
 Then think while sweetly she 's sleeping, 
 
 How happy the life began. 
 Where there 's no trace of sadness, 
 
 Where all tears are wiped away ; 
 She has joined in the song of gladness 
 
 To sing through an endless day. 
 
IN TBUST WILL I COME. Hi 
 
 IN TRUST WILL I COME. 
 
 From the depths of a heart, that has striven in vain, 
 
 To quiet its longing unrest ; 
 I will lay all my cares, dear Lord, at thy feet ; 
 
 I will lean in sweet trust on thy breast. 
 
 In trust will I come, and closer I press ; 
 
 In thy pardon so full, and so free, 
 I find a sweet balm that stills all unrest, 
 
 I find a sure refuge in thee. 
 
 No soul that is tossed on life's restless tide. 
 
 Drifting out o'er its deep, boundless sea. 
 But can grasp the firm anchor of Christ's pardoning love, 
 
 And enter the haven with thee. 
 
 As our sun, it goes down in the western sky. 
 
 And darkness shall cloud all our way. 
 We cling to the anchor, for in Him is no night. 
 
 But brightness, that shineth for aye. 
 
120 POEMS BY MRS. DENNIS. 
 
 Then closer we cling to the anchor of hope, 
 And our faith views the bright star of love ; 
 
 Still nearer we draw to the haven of rest, 
 To the portals of heaven above. 
 
 When the billows of sorrow roll dark at my feet, 
 
 And no light on the headland I see, 
 I catch a bright glimpse from the lamp of thy love, 
 
 And enter the haven with thee. 
 
 O, the anchor of hope ! O the blessed star of love ! 
 
 That gleams bright o'er life's murmuring sea ; 
 Then stretch forth thy hand, grasp the anchor of God, 
 
 He has promised a refuge to thee. 
 
THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD. 121 
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD. 
 
 All light, no darkness dwells in Thee, 
 
 No shade of brooding, night 
 Can linger near Thee, most divine, 
 
 Thou art this dark world's light. 
 
 No doubt can e'er our souls assail 
 When in thy light we stand, 
 
 That light that sends her heavenly ray 
 E'en to earth's darkest strand. 
 
 Where souls once locked in pagan thrall. 
 
 None listen to thy loving call. 
 
 O light divine, that sheds her ray 
 Midst sorrowing night and gladsome day ! 
 O Saviour dear, that for our sake 
 The human ills of man didst take. 
 Thou who didst bow thy sacred head, 
 For us, thy blood on calvary shed. 
 
122 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 What offering can we, for thy sake, 
 While waiting here, in gladness make ? 
 Can we not heed thy blest command 
 To work for Thee with heart and hand? 
 Can we not strive from day, to day, 
 That some tried soul may learn the way 
 That leads to Thee and endless day ? 
 
NEARER LORD TO TUBE. 123 
 
 NEARER LORD TO THEE. 
 
 Closer, closer would we walk, 
 
 Daily, Lord with thee. 
 In the shadow of thy cross 
 
 Would we follow thee. 
 
 Ever, ever would our thoughts 
 
 Rise to heights above. 
 Seek the richness of thy grace, 
 
 Seek thy pardoning love. 
 
 Earthly fetters bind us here 
 
 Fast in iron thrall, 
 Thou, alone, our prayer canst hear 
 
 When to Thee we call. 
 
 Closer, closer let us walk 
 
 Through life's changing tide ; 
 
 Fearing not the billows deep, 
 Ever by thy side. 
 
124 POEMS BY MBS. DENNIS. 
 
 Brighter shall the sunbeams glance 
 When thy smile we see ; 
 
 Deep the longing of our hearts, 
 Lord, to dwell with thee. 
 
 Vanished every doubt and fear, 
 From our mortal sight; 
 
 When we view the promised rest, 
 Crowned with heaven's lisht. 
 
 Nearer, nearer let us, then. 
 
 Ever cling to thee : 
 In the shadow of thy cross. 
 
 Would we follow thee. 
 
 Soon the journey will be done ; 
 
 Over death and pain 
 Shines the brightness of thy love. 
 
 Enter, heaven's gain. 
 
 Closer, closer, would we, Lord, 
 Closer walk with thee ; 
 
 In the shadow of thy cross. 
 Would we follow thee. 
 
'TIS SWEET TO BE REMEMBERED. 125 
 
 'TIS SWEET TO BE REMEMBERED. 
 
 'Tis sweet to be remembered, 
 E'en when life's sky is clear ; 
 
 When all that makes our pathway bright 
 We hold in fullness here. 
 
 W^hen in the opening flush of morn, 
 Ere changing time has flown, 
 
 'Tis sweet to be remembered then, 
 To know we are not alone. 
 
 When song of birds in springtime's hour, 
 
 Falls on the listening ear, 
 To us, their notes bring purer joy. 
 
 To know friends hold us dear. 
 
 'Tis sweet to be remembered 
 In fuller, riper years, when oft 
 
 Time's changes have been marked 
 By sorrow, and by tears. 
 
126 POEMS BY MRS. DENNIS. 
 
 When life's stern duties, and its cares, 
 
 Press heavy in their might, 
 'Tis sweet to know that some true heart 
 
 Still keeps our memory bright. 
 
 Yes, 'tis sweet to be remembered 
 
 By friends we hold so dear, 
 And thoughts of them through life's brief hour 
 
 Shall cheer our pathway here. 
 
 'Tis sweet to be remembered 
 
 In the hour that comes to all. 
 When the " angel reaper " beckons, , 
 
 And we answer to the call. 
 
 Yes, sweet to be remembered, then. 
 
 By earthly friends we love. 
 More sweet to be remembered 
 
 By that truer " Friend " above. 
 
THE BELOVED STATESMAN. 127 
 
 THE BELOVED STATESMAN. 
 
 This is but the lot of all ; 
 
 A step from fame's exalted heights 
 To silence and the pall ; 
 Yet hearts are sad today, 
 
 For he, who claimed a nation's pride and love, 
 From earth has passed away. 
 
 Has passed away far out beyond our reach. 
 
 Beyond our mortal sight ; 
 And darkness draws her heavy veil 
 
 'Twixt us and Heaven's light. 
 
 What shall we say, thou statesman grand, 
 
 Who wrought with tireless heart? 
 A nation's rights thou didst maintain 
 
 With ceaseless toil and matchless words of art. 
 
 Thy voice, that once through halls of state 
 Rang out with words of truth and power. 
 
 Is silent now. Let all be hushed 
 In this, a nation's sorrowing hour. 
 
128 POEMS BY MRS. DENNIS. 
 
 Oh, softly tread ! Ye bells ring low ! 
 
 Grief dwells in every breast, 
 For here our country's much loved son 
 
 Now lies in dreamless rest. 
 
 But not in vain the life lived here : 
 
 A nation's homage, deep, 
 - Will ever keep thy memory green. 
 
 While thou in peace shall sleep. 
 We cannot follow thee beyond, 
 
 But we know thy work of love 
 Wrought in thy country's service here, 
 
 Must surely win for thee 
 A bright reward in fairer realms above. 
 
 January 30, 1893. 
 
o:o;rs-ftfif^