IIM 
 
 iiS!!'.! 
 
 P P EMS 
 
 ... BY. , . 
 
 CHARLES D. PLATT 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 :rsrBi — — 
 
 Chap. Copyright No. 
 
 ShelfiL_S_Pr- 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
FIRST EDITION, February, 1901 
 
 5 Copies on Japanese Vellum 
 r^o Copies on Strathmore Deckle 
 
 This is Strathmore Deckle, V^o. 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 'BALLADS OF NEH/ JERSEY IN THE REVOLUTION' 
 
POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES D. PLATT 
 
 A. WESSELS COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 1901 
 
i^rmry of Congress 
 
 T\W) Copies Received 
 FEB 28 1901 
 
 I ^ Copyright wtry 
 
 SECOND COPY 
 
 TSsrs 
 r 7t 
 
 L 
 
 Copyright, rgor 
 
 by 
 Charles D. Piatt 
 
 /fol 
 
 i>arato0a ;§prinpB, B. 1.^. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Within the Covert of this Shady Glen . . 9 
 
 Present and Absent 10 
 
 He Maketh Intercession for Us . . . .11 
 
 The Chimes of Williamstown .... 12 
 
 Lilies of the Valley 14 
 
 October Song 16 
 
 Hepaticas 17 
 
 Sonnet • . 18 
 
 Sonnet 19 
 
 The Captive's Lament 20 
 
 The Voice in the Storm 21 
 
 A Romance from Real Life .... 22 
 
 Audubon 23 
 
 In a Nook 24 
 
 A Wayside Sketch 26 
 
 Ferns and Golden Rods 28 
 
 When Women Think 30 
 
 I am not Rich 31 
 
 A Vision 32 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 What Fact To-day ? 
 
 Must Friends be Faultless? 
 
 The Light of the Eye 
 
 My Valentine 
 
 On the Higher Education of W 
 
 The Closed Gentian 
 
 A Vase of Wild Flowers . 
 
 The Quiet Hour 
 
 Leave All for Love 
 
 My Love is Fair 
 
 Cupid, if thy Office Be 
 
 Extravagance .... 
 
 The Posy 
 
 At the Photographer's 
 A May Morning 
 Stars and Songs 
 
 Roses 
 
 My Love is Far Away 
 Within this Glen . 
 A Mountain Retreat 
 
 Quatrain 
 
 Ferns and Daisies 
 
 Delia 
 
 When Phyllis Plays 
 Odr to a Lemon Pie 
 
 33 
 34 
 35 
 36 
 38 
 40 
 42 
 44 
 46 
 47 
 48 
 50 
 51 
 52 
 54 
 55 
 56 
 58 
 59 
 60 
 61 
 62 
 63 
 64 
 65 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 5 
 
 Goin' fer the Milk 
 
 66 
 
 Life on a Farm 
 
 68 
 
 Fishing by Moonlight 
 
 . 70 
 
 Silvia 
 
 72 
 
 Human Infirmity 
 
 73 
 
 Celia's Dowry 
 
 74 
 
 The Retort 
 
 . 76 
 
 Strictly Confidential .... 
 
 78 
 
 Song: Celia 
 
 . 79 
 
 Beloved, Thou art as a Book 
 
 80 
 
 Morning Glories 
 
 81 
 
 Beside the Still Waters 
 
 82 
 
 On Wedlock 
 
 83 
 
 A Ditty for Lovers 
 
 84 
 
 A Greek Statue 
 
 . 85 
 
 Stand Back and View thy Work 
 
 86 
 
 The Portrait of a Lady .... 
 
 88 
 
 Nature's Variety 
 
 90 
 
 Phyllis of the Highlands .... 
 
 92 
 
 Phyllis of the Lowlands 
 
 94 
 
 What Shall it Be ? 
 
 . 96 
 
 In Honor of an Eightieth Birthday . 
 
 97 
 
 From Dawn to Day 
 
 98 
 
 Three Score and Ten .... 
 
 99 
 
 To My First Love 
 
 . 100 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Grandma's Valentine . 
 St. Valentine's Warning 
 A Valentine to Margaret 
 
 A Prayer 
 
 Inequality 
 
 Weddings 
 
 We're Gittin' Middle-Aged 
 The Jolly Old Dominie. 
 
 The Snow 
 
 The Clouds .... 
 
 The Voice of the Press 
 The Word .... 
 
 Rejoice, Ye Desert Places 
 
 Margaret 
 
 Loss and Gain . . . . 
 For Thanksgiving Day . 
 Hymn: Come When Thou Wllt 
 L' Envoi 
 
 101 
 102 
 103 
 104 
 105 
 106 
 108 
 112 
 114 
 116 
 118 
 120 
 122 
 123 
 124 
 126 
 127 
 128 
 
WITHIN THE COVERT OF THIS SHADY GLEN 
 
 WITHIN the covert of this shady glen 
 I think of thee and wish thee b}^ my side, 
 I seem to hear thy murmuring voice, but when 
 
 I turn to greet thee — lo ! the waters glide 
 And roll and tumble down their rocky bed. 
 But the sweet music of thy voice is fled. 
 
 I watch the dimples on the rippling stream, 
 The trembling light that leaps and sparkles there ; 
 
 I seem to catch at times a softer gleam, 
 A well-remembered smile more coy, more fair; 
 
 But when I look for thee, the shadows hide 
 
 That form I fondlj^ thought was by my side. 
 
 Ah, laughing streamlet, thou canst never learn 
 The music that my longing heart would hear; 
 
 For lovelier smiles than thou canst give, I yearn — 
 For one whose absent form seems ever near ; 
 
 Thy crystal pools might all unheeded lie 
 
 Could I but hear her footstep drawing nigh. 
 
PRESENT AND ABSENT 
 
 WHEN thou art near, my heart is all aglow 
 With silent, inexpressible delight, 
 As when the rising beams of morning throw^ 
 
 Their radiance o'er the gloomy face of night: 
 Such power is thine to make my heart's true day, 
 For in thy presence darkness melts away. 
 
 And when removed by barriers of space, 
 I think upon thy cherished memory, 
 
 And conjure up thy love-illumined face 
 
 And all thy sweet, unconscious witchery. 
 
 Then like a star thy love-lit candle burns 
 
 Until thy absent one to thee returns. 
 
HE AIAKETH INTERCESSION FOR US 
 
 WHEN the worn heart is bowed with secret grief, 
 And filled with bitter thoughts or trembling fears ; 
 When the vexed spirit clamors for relief 
 
 And all the soul is bathed in hidden tears, 
 Then like an infant let it raise the cry 
 That quickh^ brings the God of Comfort nigh. 
 
 'Tis silent sorrow overwhelms the soul. 
 
 *Tis the sharp pang no earthly friend can share, 
 But One there is who hastens to console 
 
 The heart that falters, tottering in despair; 
 The Comforter, our promised heavenly friend, 
 Has sovereign power the broken heart to mend. 
 
 For when we scarce can voice our deepest need, 
 Sunk 'neath our burden of unuttered prayer, 
 
 He stands before the throne to intercede, 
 Presenting all our woe and all our care; 
 
 With eloquence unutterable He cries, 
 
 And He that spared not His own Son replies. 
 
THE CHIMES OF WILLIAMSTOWN 
 
 THE chiming bells ring sweetly on the air 
 And toll a requiem for the passing hour; 
 The oft-recurring tones a message bear 
 Of penetrative, soul-subduing power. 
 While trembling echoes o'er the meadows float, 
 Stirred by the cadence of each dying note. 
 
 Yet with a tenderer, more impressive tone 
 Those lingering echoes fall upon the ear 
 
 When silently we stand beside a stone 
 
 That bears the name of one we still hold dear. 
 
 While summer breezes, whispering overhead. 
 
 Recall sweet memories of the silent dead. 
 
 Then, as we hear the sweet, familiar chime. 
 Breaking the hush of silence long and deep, 
 
 No grief is wakened by the lapse of time. 
 
 For soon we too shall be with those who sleep ; 
 
 The slow-paced hours that keep our souls apart 
 
 Lie, like a burden, on the eager heart. 
 
J3 
 
 Then softly chime, ye hope-inspiring bells, 
 Marking the footsteps of the weary years, 
 
 Till the slow strokes, like watchful sentinels, 
 Proclaim to each impatient heart that hears : 
 
 "Soon, soon, shall strike the last sad stroke of 
 time ! 
 
 Awake, awake !— the bells of heaven chime !" 
 
14 
 
 LILIES OF THE VALLEY 
 
 THERE is a chime of tiny bells 
 That strike the closing hours of Spring; 
 A train of worshipers they bring 
 
 Who love the summons that compels 
 Their presence at an ancient shrine 
 Where every year new glories shine. 
 
 Those daint3' bells are silent all, 
 Their notes are breaths of sweet perfume, 
 Their snow3^ white dispels the gloom 
 
 That lingers yet from Winter's pall ; 
 Go, mark the belfry where they swing, 
 How sweet the fragrant chimes they ring. 
 
 The worshipers who heed that call 
 Are robed in beauty fresh and fair ; 
 They bring a sense of joy where'er 
 
 Their gentle, gladsome footsteps fall : 
 Bright smiles light up each beaming face 
 That takes its heaven-appointed place. 
 
'5 
 
 And sweetly warbling choirs the while, 
 In joyful strains of heartfelt praise, 
 A hallelujah chorus raise 
 
 Re-echoing through each forest aisle, 
 Till, lost in harmony sublime, 
 The little lilies cease their chime. 
 
 But, sometimes, as I wander forth 
 Where little graves lie side by side, 
 While fades the light of even-tide, 
 
 And shines the pole-star in the North, 
 I seem to hear a sweeter chime, 
 A heavenlv music more sublime. 
 
t6 
 
 OCTOBER SONG 
 
 SEE the leaves come fluttering down, 
 Red and crimson, yellow and brown, 
 See the leaves come fluttering down ! 
 
 In royal robes the trees are clad, 
 
 Their hearts rejoice though ours be sad— 
 
 In royal robes the trees are clad. 
 
 To-day they wear no garb of grief 
 
 But beauty glows on each trembling leaf. 
 
 To-day they wear no garb of grief. 
 
 Theirs is the joy and ours the grief; 
 So, like the dying, glorious leaf. 
 The good depart— ours is the grief. 
 
 See the leaves come fluttering down. 
 Red and crimson, yellow and brown. 
 Silently falling all over the town. 
 Dropping, whirling, fluttering down. 
 
'7 
 
 HEPATICAS 
 
 WHITE hepaticas and blue 
 Mid the dead leaves 
 peeping through; 
 Chestnut leaves and leaves of oak 
 Smitten by the frosty stroke 
 Of old winter — here they lie, 
 Rustling as the wind goes bj' : 
 And among them, peeping through. 
 White hepaticas and blue. 
 
 White hepaticas and blue, 
 Delicate in form and hue : 
 White as snowflakes, or with pink 
 Tinted ; or they wink and blink. 
 Like my blue-eyed baby twins 
 When a frolic mood begins — 
 Delicate in form and hue. 
 White hepaticas and blue. 
 
 White hepaticas and blue. 
 Here a many, there a few ; 
 Here a bud and there a clump. 
 Nodding near a mossy stump, 
 Where the dead leaves rustling lie 
 And the wind comes blustering by : 
 Here a manv, there a few. 
 White hepaticas and blue. 
 
i8 
 
 SHUT in within four narrow walls, 
 Awhile from busy toil I rest 
 And draw the curtains closely, lest 
 
 The light should flood those shadowy halls 
 
 To which the hour of revery calls : 
 No more I seek with eager zest 
 The charms on earth and sky imprest, 
 
 For on my waiting spirit falls 
 The spell of human destinies. 
 Of lives whose daily orbits touch 
 
 My own; whence come they ? whither tend ? 
 O for the keen, sure glance that sees 
 The straight, true course; that sees 
 how much 
 
 We each on each, and all on One depend! 
 
'9 
 
 I LIE upon my couch, as if at rest 
 From all the labors of the busy day ; 
 Yet do sad, flitting ghosts through memory 
 stray 
 Of deeds then done, upon my soul imprest ; 
 And as men say of ghosts, "Some soul unblest 
 Is doomed to wander till the living pay 
 Neglected rites of burial or stay 
 Its troubled walk by hidden wrong confest," 
 So is it with the thoughts that do not cease 
 To haunt the quiet of my midnight hour ; 
 The consciousness of aught unworthy done 
 
 In the heat of action now doth mar my peace, 
 And mock with weakness all the restless 
 power 
 That filled the hours from rise to set of sun. 
 
THE CAPTIVE'S LAMENT 
 
 OTHOU whose eye this word of warning meets, 
 Wouldst hearken to a helpless captive's fate? 
 
 I am that man who erst at heaven's gate 
 Did knock, in haste to tread the golden streets, 
 Eager to taste and revel in the sweets 
 
 Of the seventh heaven, my soul to satiate 
 
 With joys unspeakable, nor deign to wait 
 While Time his slow, insipid round completes : 
 Behold me now, bound hand and foot with chains ; 
 
 Imprisoned in the keep of human love ; 
 
 Barred from those heavens, be they six or seven ; 
 Surrounded by strong guards, who mock my pains 
 
 With childish glee — their mother, hand in glove 
 
 With the 3'oung rogues, rules this first earthly 
 heaven. 
 
THE VOICE IN THE STORM 
 
 NOT alwaj'S under calm and sunny skies 
 The Lord doth meet us, tho' we seek Him there 
 Eager to hear him talk of lilies fair 
 And utter parables that make men wise ; 
 
 Nor do we find the One whose word we prize 
 Always at feasts, though He doth love to share 
 Our social joys, and when we feasts prepare 
 'Tis He w^ith better w^ine our want supplies ; 
 
 But sometimes on the wings of storm He comes, 
 In the black midnight of our deep despair, 
 'Mid raging waves and winds that never cease ; 
 
 When the helm fails us, and the cold benumbs 
 Our helpless hands— then, as we lift our praA'er 
 He speaks, and lo ! our hearts are filled with peace. 
 
A ROMANCE FROM REAL LIFE 
 
 YOU see that nest? 'Twas made a year ago ; 
 A pair of Phoebe birds ensconced it there ; 
 'Tis framed of twigs and lined with wool and hair, 
 The work of many a journey to and fro 
 From meadow, barn, and hedge to portico. 
 
 The little couple were a reckless pair: 
 
 He had no capital nor friends at court; 
 She had no wedding dower — and so, in short. 
 Here they began this castle in the air, 
 And sang — yes, sang; nor gave a thought to care. 
 
 They loved each other; what could heart wish more? 
 
 To work they went, contented with their lot; 
 
 Picked out this sheltered, unpretentious spot, 
 And, what with native wit and Nature's store 
 Of mud and moss, the}' settled, near my door. 
 
 Ere long the nest contained a thriving brood 
 Of little Phoebes; scarcely could they keep 
 
 Within its narrow bounds — pheree! cheep! cheep! 
 The father stirred about and gathered food. 
 But did not sing as loud as when he wooed. 
 
 The chicks grew up and learned to fly about: 
 
 They left the nest and oif they went— who knows 
 Where they are now! You see, it only shows 
 That when this careless, happy pair set out, 
 Their capital was Love — and Faith, no doubt. 
 
AUDUBON 
 
 TURNING the printed page this afternoon 
 I came upon the well-beloved name 
 Of one whose goodness doth surpass his fame, 
 And as I read my heart grew more in tune 
 With hope and faith in Providence; a boon 
 
 It was to touch his garment's hem: he came, 
 Stricken by fever, to these hills, that claim 
 New honor thence, and here recovering soon 
 
 Through watchful care (great issues oft depend 
 On lowly service) forth he went, made whole, 
 To meet the future with its joys and tears — 
 Genius and thrift at strife; till in the end 
 He gained, through fortunes wrecked, his being's 
 goal. 
 Cheered by unchanging love through all the changeful 
 years. 
 
IN A NOOK 
 
 FROM distant prospects with their sweep 
 Of mountains rising to the sky, 
 With shadowy vales and scenes that keep 
 
 The soul in thraldom to the eye — 
 From rolling clouds and landscapes wide 
 I love, at times, to turn aside 
 
 And by the margin of a wood, 
 In some sequestered nook to rest 
 
 Where wild flowers spring ; a gentle mood 
 Of sweet content here fills the breast. 
 
 And violets clustering here and there 
 
 Invite a visitor to share 
 
 The peace and quiet of a scene 
 
 That hath a beauty all its own. 
 Where woods and thickets make a screen 
 
 To hide the world, and hither blown 
 Come breathings of some milder clime, 
 Faint whisperings of the summer time. 
 
 A chirping sound from yonder copse, 
 
 A rustle in the dry leaves near. 
 Make known a comrade ; there he hops — 
 
 A bush will hide all he holds dear. 
 And o'er this spot there rests a spell 
 Whose meaning he alone can tell. 
 
No need has he of anxious thought, 
 No care to hoard his winter store, 
 
 Not from far lands his food is brought, 
 He finds it daily at his door, 
 
 And in a burst of thankful song 
 
 He ends the day, nor finds it long. 
 
 Here too would I invoke the power 
 Of that great Presence, felt, not seen, 
 
 Who watches o'er this secret bower — 
 Who drew me to this place, I ween, 
 
 That I might share yon w^arbler's peace 
 
 While bodings of the morrow cease. 
 
26 
 
 A WAYSIDE SKETCH 
 
 HER name was Rose — a dainty name 
 That fills the air with poesy ; 
 Nor did her deed belie the claim 
 If I have hit upon the key 
 Of her life's humble ministry — 
 Her deed ? 'twas nought, yet made me feel 
 
 The thrill of some deep harmony- 
 Rose put her shoulder to the wheel. 
 
 No Hercules, in sooth, was she 
 To lift on high the heavy wain 
 
 That stopped us, yet 'twas good to see 
 Whenas her goodman tugged in vain, 
 How she, named Rose, did not disdain 
 
 To lend a hand, and quickly they 
 Together cleared the narrow lane 
 
 And we rode on upon our way. 
 
 'Twas on the mountain top, remote 
 From haunts of men they lived alone, 
 
 Yet might the chance wayfarer note, 
 Though rude their life, not all unknown 
 Was life's best art ; that art was shown 
 
 In beds of bloom before their door; 
 In act, in look, in word, in tone, 
 
 It found expression o'er and o'er. 
 
27 
 
 And pleasant is the tliouglit, I own— 
 The thought of yonder gentle pair 
 
 Reigning upon their mountain throne ; 
 Though homely be their garb, their fare 
 Hard won, they have no scanty share 
 
 In life's true joys — he toils amain, 
 Her love doth lighten all his care, 
 
 And thus they do not live in vain. 
 
28 
 
 FERNS AND GOLDEN-RODS 
 
 YE ferns and golden-rods that sway 
 Your graceful forms where Delia's hand 
 In yonder vase has bid you stand, 
 I feel your silent power to-day 
 And bring the tribute of my lay 
 To you so sweetly mingled there ; 
 I do confess you both most fair, 
 But which the fairer who can say ? 
 
 Where cooling shadows quench the ray 
 Of noonday suns within their shade 
 The fern doth nestle, half afraid 
 
 To vie with flowers and blossoms gay ; 
 
 And where the frolic sunbeams play 
 Along the road, in meadows wide, 
 All up and down the country side. 
 
 Stand golden-rods in bright array. 
 
 The golden-rod doth chase away 
 The thought of sadness from my breast 
 And stir within my heart the zest 
 
 For joy, as mid the fields I stray; 
 
 And when among the ferns I stay 
 My muse her daintiest fancies weaves, 
 With tender thoughts her bosom heaves — 
 
 I fain would linger there for aye. 
 
Ye ferns and golden-rods that swaj- 
 Your graceful forms where Nature's hand 
 Has bid you grow throughout our land, 
 
 I do confess your charms to-day ; 
 
 Accept this song, nor ask, I pray. 
 Which of you twain I deem more fair ; 
 Nay, rather, mingle sweetly there, 
 
 Yes, mingle sweetly there for aye. 
 
30 
 
 WHEN WOMEN THINK 
 
 WHEN women think no more of dress, 
 When every gentle votaress 
 Of fashion gives the moments spent 
 On idle show to high intent 
 And clothes her mind with thoughtfulness, 
 
 What rare felicity will bless 
 Our favored race, what joys possess 
 Man's heart — the world how different 
 When w^omen think! 
 
 How different ! you say : ah yes ! 
 Dame Nature, too, must then confess 
 
 Her folly, scorn embellishment 
 
 And of her buttercups repent ; 
 Change ferns to hay, as you may guess. 
 When women think! 
 
3t 
 
 I AM NOT RICH 
 
 I AM not rich in hoarded gold 
 Nor have I, if the truth be told, 
 A house that I may call my own 
 From turret to foundation stone, 
 To shelter me when I grow old. 
 
 Alas, Dame Fortune turns a should- 
 er cold to me, 'tis growing cold- 
 er still, she heedeth not my moan— 
 "I am not rich." 
 
 I onl}^ have a wife — no scold — 
 And children live within my fold, 
 
 A friend-thank heaven, not one alone ! 
 
 Some hopes beyond when life is flown ; 
 I sigh, yet half the sigh withhold, 
 "I am not rich." 
 
52 
 
 A VISION 
 
 HOW fares the world as years roll by , good friend ? 
 Art thou of those who sadly shake the head, 
 Mistrust the future, cry "When we are dead, 
 Of all that's noble earth shall see an end !" 
 For me, I own, sad thoughts at times will blend 
 With fondest hopes; and yet when all is said, 
 To-day with firmer step the earth I tread. 
 Cheered by a vision bright that doth portend 
 Joy to the nations and increasing light; 
 The vision w^as substantial flesh and blood, 
 No airy phantom of a poet's dream — 
 A noble woman, blessed was the sight; 
 Her presence brought the sunshine in a flood 
 And made earth's long-sought heaven nearer seem. 
 
39 
 
 WHAT FACT TO-DAY ? 
 
 WHAT fadl to-day hath on ray inward eye 
 Impressed itself? What pleasant image meet 
 For second thought ? What vision pure and sweet, 
 Worthy to be recorded ? — Dark the sky 
 With thick, rain-dropping clouds, and with a sigh 
 I turned from Spenser's fair\'-land to greet 
 The real world — school-ward I turned my feet, 
 Whither, through rain or shine I daily hie : 
 There by the front I entered all alone, 
 And, doffing hat and coat, I quick surveyed 
 The empty rooms, my poor domain half scorning; 
 But when I had with haste wide open thrown 
 Another door, there met me, undismayed, 
 A laughing school-boy, with a glad "Good morning!' 
 
MUvST FRlENDvS BE FAULTLESvS? 
 
 MUST friends be faultless? then liath no man friends; 
 For all have faults, such is our low estate : 
 Men are not angels, though we venerate 
 Our "perfect men," to whom affedlion lends 
 Its hallowing light — no trivial flaw offends 
 The eye that looks in love and knows not hate. 
 Why are we friends ? 'Tis not that thou art great 
 Or I am faultless, though some greatness blends 
 Assuredly with love that still holds fast 
 To one who is so faultj- ; but the tie 
 That doth unite us is perchance the vision 
 Of what our souls aspire to be at last. 
 The godlike portion that can never die, 
 A hope that shall be ours in fields Eh'sian. 
 
35 
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE EYE 
 
 LOVE doth behold its objedl glorified ; 
 f Unfriendly eyes see flaws and turn away 
 Ere they have learned to let the true light play 
 Upon the soul's best traits ; but love doth bide 
 As one who would behold a landscape wide 
 In beauty clad w^aits for the king of day 
 To shine from heaven with bright, transforming ray 
 And shed a glow o'er vale and mountain side 
 Till earth once more a Paradise appears: 
 So doth the eye that is by love anointed 
 Behold its loved one in the light of heaven, 
 Build rainbows where life's clouds distil their tears. 
 Nor grieve should sometime hopes be disappointed 
 While joy unhoped such grief doth sweetly leaven. 
 
MY VALENTINE 
 
 I'M now too old and staid bj' far 
 To be a mark for Cupid's darts, 
 St. Valentine can neither mar 
 Nor make the bliss of time-worn hearts. 
 
 And so I do not haste to see 
 
 When post-boy rings, if he doth bring 
 A batch of billets-doux for me 
 
 With hearts and darts — I've had mj^ fli"R- 
 
 But how is this ? a piping voice 
 Salutes my ear and will not hush ; 
 
 It makes my time-worn heart rejoice, 
 I may confess, without a blush. 
 
 In his white envelope he lies 
 All snugly wrapped in fold on fold. 
 
 And where the stamp should be, two eyes 
 Peep out — they bear the stamp of old 
 
 Ancestral souls ; and deep within 
 
 A little heart is beating there 
 For whom life's race doth now begin ; 
 
 He bears love's message written fair 
 
37 
 
 Upon his tiny, helpless form ; 
 
 He is my latest valentine 
 From her near whom he nestles warm ; 
 
 And when she smiles this heart of mine 
 
 Still tingles from an old-time smart — 
 To hide it deep was my design ; 
 
 But who could dodge that latest dart ? 
 'Twas winged of heaven — my valentine ! 
 
38 
 
 ON THE HIGHER EDUCATION OF WOMEN 
 
 'BEING AN EPISTLE TO (MISTRESS 
 
 Respected Madam: 
 
 I HEAR thy tallest daughter hath a mind 
 To add unto her liberal stock of learning, 
 And nothing so deledtable can find, 
 
 So fit to satisfy her heart's deep yearning, 
 As musty lore men call Theology— 
 Let me suggest a course in Anthropology. 
 
 "The proper study of mankind is man," 
 
 And Pope may claim infallibihty 
 For this true word, dispute it ye who can ; 
 
 But now, with vagrant versatility, 
 Men — women too — pursue each "ology," 
 Yet still negle(5l the needful Anthropology. 
 
 Some turn to investigate their native dust 
 And gather store of rocks inanimate, 
 
 Discuss in learned phrase this planet's crust; 
 For all the world would not contaminate 
 
 Their hands with pie-crust— Mineralogy 
 
 Hardens their hearts to Anthropology. 
 
J9 
 
 Some give their hearts — if such a thing can be — 
 To foreign tongues and stupid didlionaries, 
 
 And grub for roots ; and yet 'tis plain to see, 
 With all their lore they are mere visionaries ; 
 
 Lost in the Babel of Philology, 
 
 They have not learn ' d the speech of Anthropology. 
 
 Ah! Madam, well, I ween, hast thou discharged 
 
 A mother's high responsibility. 
 Thrice hath thy house ere now its bounds enlarged, 
 
 Thrice hast thou owned with sweet docility 
 The higher claims of Anthropology 
 Above each other would-be "ology." 
 
 Then heed, in season, what thine elders say. 
 
 Relieve their minds of all anxiety ; 
 Let not thy tallest daughter go astray, 
 
 Nor tread the verge of impropriety 
 By solving mysteries of Theology, 
 But bid her take a course in Anthropology. 
 
THE CLOSED GENTIAN 
 
 I SPIED a flower beside the road, 
 'Mid taller bushes almost hid; 
 And near at hand there swiftly flowed 
 A mountain stream — methought it chid 
 
 The lowly blossom: quoth the stream, 
 "Pray who will see thee hiding there ? 
 
 Come forth, thou foolish thing, 'twould seem 
 Thou fear'st men will not deem thee fair." 
 
 The modest flower made no reply, 
 
 But onlj^ turned a deeper blue ; 
 And to my thought, I know not why. 
 
 It seemed more fair half hid from view. 
 
 "Thou stupid blossom!" cried the stream, 
 "Hast thou a tongue? then, prithee, speak; 
 
 This is no time for thee to dream ; 
 Glib tongues like mine are what men seek." 
 
 The gentle flower spoke not a word, 
 
 Its lips scarce parted in a sigh ; 
 Yet eloquent, though all imheard. 
 
 Were the soft glances of its eye. 
 
4t 
 
 Then said the stream, "Thou s,\\\y flower! 
 
 The world will never call thee great ; 
 Bestir thee, strive like me for power 
 
 And haste to win it ere too late." 
 
 Upon its slender, leafy stem 
 
 The flower inclined, then shook its head : 
 "Of thee I'll make a diadem 
 
 To crown my own true love," I said. 
 
 "For she is like thee, modest flower; 
 
 So gentle, unobtrusive, coy ; 
 "Without a word she wields a power 
 
 That fills my inmost heart with joy." 
 
A VASE OF WILD FLOWERS 
 
 UPON the table 3'onder stands 
 A vase with blossoms filled — they grew 
 Wild in the fields till gentle hands 
 
 Placed them where now they meet the view- 
 Some slender sprays of golden-rod 
 
 Offset by clustering asters blue, 
 And here and there among them nod 
 Some blossoms of a paler hue. 
 
 Had I the painter's magic art, 
 
 In glowing colors I would trace 
 Their mingled forms ; yet on my heart 
 
 Is fixed their sweet, unconscious grace : 
 A pi(5lure this not made with hands, 
 
 Just as they look in yonder vase 
 That on the parlor table stands 
 
 This morning : time cannot efface 
 
 That pleasing image deep within ; 
 
 The blossoms in the vase may fade, 
 But there is something that hath been 
 
 And cannot die— yes, here we laid, 
 In this same room, a golden-haired. 
 
 Beloved child ; a little maid 
 Whose infant life, while it was spared. 
 
 Was full of glee ; beside her played 
 
The world will never laud her art, 
 
 Perhaps 'twill never hear of mine ; 
 But if mj^ muse fulfils her part 
 
 As well as those deft hands of thine, 
 Good wife, the busy needle ply. 
 
 The world shall trace in many a line 
 Thine image sitting silent by 
 
 My side, while I "invoke the Nine." 
 
46 
 
 "LEAVE ALL FOR LOVE" 
 
 LEAVE all for love — no man has learned to love 
 ^ Whose heart is set upon the fair estate 
 Some woman brings as dowry ; far above 
 
 The love of lucre is that bond of fate 
 That joins two living souls — leave all for love. 
 
 Leave all for love — the work not w^rought in love, 
 Though w^inning gold uncounted, prospers not; 
 
 The hours tmhallowed by a zeal above 
 The slave's forced w^ill are w^illingly forgot ; 
 
 Thy heart shall choose thy work — leave all for love. 
 
 Leave all for love — no good is done where love 
 Springs not from heart to heart ; the simple cup 
 
 Of water given thus is prized above 
 A princely boon, its memory treasured up 
 
 In heaven : cease doing good — leave all for love. 
 
 Leave all for love— the undivided love 
 
 Of thy whole heart is asked ; no other gift 
 
 Can satisfy the One who from above 
 Calls thee to Him and would thy soul uplift 
 
 To be like Him : like Him, leave all for love. 
 
41 
 
 "MY LOVE IS FAIR" 
 
 MY love is fair, but I her beauty see 
 Transfigured by the radiance of her heart ; 
 'Tis not her skill in music pleaseth me, 
 Nor is she versed in science or in art. 
 And yet she hath a charm whose potent spell 
 Music and art may hint but never tell. 
 
 She's good, yet not what some would call a saint, 
 Nor given to frequent talk on sacred themes ; 
 
 She never speaks of patience, yet complaint 
 Is seldom on her lips, and so she seems 
 
 More gracious in her sweet simplicity 
 
 Than if she hourly spoke a homily. 
 
 She hath not brought me store of yellow gold 
 By right of dower, nor yet by management ; 
 
 And if in such a tilt I may make bold, 
 We'll say she is at times extravagant ; 
 
 But so am I— extravagantly fond : 
 
 All turns to gold beneath Love's magic wand. 
 
"CUPID, IF THY OFFICE BE" 
 
 CUPID, if thy office be 
 To inveigle foolish mortals, 
 Promising felicity 
 
 Through the rose entwined portals 
 Of fair Hymen's blissful bowers ; 
 If it be thy task to lure us 
 Up a path bestrewn with flowers ; 
 Ever smiling, to assure us 
 Honeymoons w^ill never wane ; 
 Treacherously then forsake us, 
 Leaving only tears and pain 
 And bitter grief to overtake us — 
 If such be thy heartless task, 
 Then no help of thine I ask. 
 
BUT if thou art he that keepeth 
 Charms with power to banish woe; 
 If thou art the god who reapeth 
 Heavenly fruits on earth below ; 
 If thy magic never faileth, 
 Deepening with the passing years ; 
 If no heart thy power bewaileth 
 On earth or in the heavenly spheres ; 
 If 'tis thine to anoint the eyes 
 That they may all beauty see, 
 While true lovers daily rise 
 To heights of new felicity ; 
 If thou cunningly dost lure them 
 To a bliss they else had missed ; 
 If thy art alone can cure them 
 Of woes that Reason's skill resist — 
 Cupid, if such be thy deeds, 
 Here is one for favor pleads. 
 
50 
 
 EXTRAVAGANCE 
 
 I'VE charged her with extravagance ; 
 Now let who w^ill investigate 
 That fatal charge — the evidence 
 
 Against defendant I will state. 
 And first, she frequently will buy 
 
 A useless toy for little Jim, 
 And purchase sugar-plums (that I 
 Devour — they are not good for him.) 
 
 She's always asking, too, for cash 
 
 To pay the household help, and when 
 She goes to town, what heaps of trash 
 
 She buys ! she soon runs through a ten 
 In getting hats and shoes and stuif 
 
 For Sall3^'s cloak and Kitty's dress; 
 They never seem to have enough — 
 
 My "cash on hand" grows less and less. 
 
 She spends all she can get ; and I — 
 
 Why, I expend what then remains ; 
 Or, can it be! now pray don't pry 
 
 Too closely into my domains ! 
 A man may surely spend his own, 
 
 And do therewith as he may list ; 
 But she, as I have clearly shown, 
 
 Spends all she gets— the court's dismissed. 
 
THE POSY 
 
 A POSY for 1113' own true love 
 I plucked upon the mountain top, 
 The first fair blooms that peeped above 
 The ground — what could I do but stop 
 And pluck a posy for my love, 
 
 A posy. 
 
 Posy in hand I homeward turned, 
 
 And on the way a sonnet conned 
 To match the flowers— methought they yearned 
 
 To indite some message, tender, fond. 
 Such as true lovers oft have learned 
 
 From a posy. 
 
 My heart was glad as I bent low 
 To catch the whispered word I sought. 
 
 And the sun, just up, was all aglow 
 As he read the message the posy brought — 
 
 What was it ? If j-ou'd like to know. 
 
 Ask the posy. 
 
52 
 
 AT THE PHOTOGRAPHER'S 
 
 "T"T"ERE are your proofs, sir; these are the boys; 
 
 Xl The baby took well, so did Dick ; 
 You see that look — I was making a noise 
 
 Just then and the baby looked up — quick 
 As a flash I pressed the ball — a snap — 
 And two round faces were caught in a trap. 
 
 "And here are the girls, the three little girls; 
 
 The oldest one with her flowing hair 
 And the next with hers done up in curls, 
 
 And, standing betw^een them on a chair, 
 The smallest one, like a fairy sprite, 
 A two-year old, dressed all in white. 
 
 "You'll have them put in the family book, 
 
 I suppose ; 'twas not so long ago 
 That I filled this page, and this one — look! 
 
 It's wonderful how these children grow ! 
 And a book like this show^s how they change 
 From babies to old folks — isn't it strange! 
 
55 
 
 STARS AND SONGS 
 
 THE twinkling stars that in the sky 
 So sweetly cheer the gloom of night 
 Make not unbroken lines of light, 
 But one by one they meet the eye. 
 
 Each pleases in itself, and yet 
 They form a still more glorious whole, 
 When, point by point, from pole to pole, 
 
 The heavens with sparkling gems are set. 
 
 And I've heard say, by one whose song 
 Doth gleam, star-like, across our skj-, 
 That thus songs come, nor would he try 
 
 To fill huge tomes with epics long. 
 
56 
 
 ROSES 
 
 I 
 
 THESE rose-buds from my hand accept 
 The full-blown roses shall be given 
 To yonder matron, who has stept 
 
 Long since within that earthly heaven, 
 Love's magic circle— to thee I give 
 
 These buds that augur hopes beyond, 
 And 'tis my prayer these buds may live 
 To bloom and speak their message fond. 
 
 II 
 
 Beside a bank where thickly bloomed 
 
 A bed of crimson roses fair 
 
 I stopped and gathered here and there 
 A bud, a cluster, and resumed 
 
 My onward way with prize in hand. 
 
 Quickly my thought the distance spanned 
 That kept my true love from mj- side; 
 That distance was by far too wide 
 
 To send a blooming rose — I planned 
 A w^ay love's message to conve\'. 
 
 'Twas this — I know no better waj^ — 
 A petal with its crimson glow, 
 As sign of fealty, to bestow 
 
 Without the thorn ; and hope she may 
 Be ever spared the cruel thorn. 
 
Ill 
 
 I take this rose with all its thorns, 
 I take it from my true-love's hand ; 
 
 What though I hear a voice that w^arns 
 Me of the thorn — the heart's demand 
 
 For love o'er every fear prevails ; 
 
 Love braves sharp thorns and piercing nails. 
 
 "Thorns!" say you? ah! that word shall be 
 The touch-stone of love's mighty power; 
 
 For thorns enough there are to see 
 Without the rose ; but in the bower 
 
 Where roses shed their sweet perfume 
 
 The thorn seems naught, so fair the bloom. 
 
S8 
 
 MY LOVE IS FAR AWAY 
 
 MY love is far away, yet not so far 
 But that one day may bring me to her side ; 
 No hidden root of bitterness doth mar 
 
 Our mutual joy, naught but the distance wide 
 That must be traversed ere my heart may know^ 
 The joy her very presence doth bestow. 
 
 And were that distance twice or thrice as great, 
 Then must my journey thither longer be ; 
 
 Longer the time her absent one must wait 
 In prospedl of regained felicity ; 
 
 For there is naught to part us but the days 
 
 That separate us with their long delays. 
 
 And should aught make that distance wider still, 
 Till long-drawn years, not days, should intervene; 
 
 Yet should bright hopes the time of waiting fill. 
 Until my absent love again were seen ; 
 
 For there is naught that keeps my love from me 
 
 Save davs and months and vears and land and sea. 
 
WITHIN THIS GLEN 
 
 WITHIN this glen I love to hear 
 The plash of waters, crystal clear, 
 That over moss-grown bowlders roll 
 
 And down their rocky channels glide ; 
 Then ripple o'er some pebbly shoal 
 Beneath o'erhanging banks to hide. 
 
 Beside those crystal waters cool. 
 Gathered in some deep-shaded pool, 
 I sit and look upon the stream 
 
 That hither flows and glides away ; 
 And as I gaze, a waking dream 
 
 Steals o'er me while the waters play. 
 
 No fairies from their coverts peer, 
 No sylvan deities draw near: 
 Yet 'mid this peaceful solitude 
 
 A gracious influence I feel 
 While o'er the gladsome stream I brood, 
 
 Nor can my song the half reveal. 
 
 Whate'er of love and joy of old 
 
 I've known or hoped doth here unfold ; 
 
 Becomes the spirit of this scene 
 
 And wakes to new-found loveliness : 
 Well may I love this place, I ween. 
 
 That hath such power my heart to bless. 
 
A MOUNTAIN RETREAT 
 
 A NEST among the hills, where ferns, 
 Upspringing, fringe the rocks with green 
 One distant roof the eye discerns 
 
 Amid the wide-spread A?voodland scene; 
 While at our feet a mountain lake 
 
 Lies open to the view, with coves 
 Begirt by trees ; its waters break 
 
 In rippling waves when o'er them roves 
 The breeze from yonder mountain crest : 
 
 What place more fit than this to stay 
 Our steps ? Here 'mid these ferns we'll rest 
 
 While summer breezes round us play. 
 
 Here one might live out all his days. 
 
 At peace with God, at peace with man ; 
 And, with a heart attuned to praise. 
 
 Be partner in the glorious plan 
 That formed this undisturbed retreat, 
 
 Which like an Eden doth appear ; 
 And he who hither turns his feet 
 
 Shall find, in this pure atmosphere, 
 The ferment and the fret of life 
 
 Grow less and less and fade away, 
 Wliile courage to renew the strife 
 
 For truth grows mightier day b_v day. 
 
I THINK of a friend and I fain would declare 
 The thoughts of my heart that his love planted 
 there ; 
 But when I would tell them — ah me ! well-a-day ! 
 Some few I may utter — the best hide awav. 
 
FERNS AND DAISIES 
 
 A BUNCH of daisies interspersed 
 With graceful ferns — a pleasing sight ! 
 Upon long stems now deep immersed 
 
 Within a vase they give delight, 
 And seem to win a fairer grace 
 Than when they grew, each in its place. 
 
 They grew where Nature Vjade them grow, 
 
 Rejoicing in the life she gave; 
 Each lovely in its place, but lo ! 
 
 When Delia, passing by, did crave 
 Their presence at her rural board 
 They came, nor once the change deplored. 
 
 For it were bliss as j'et unknown 
 
 To add one item to her joy ; 
 And, when the summer bloom is flown, 
 
 Become — what time can ne'er destroy — 
 A memory that cannot die, 
 Where wintry storms shall ne'er draw nigh. 
 
6? 
 
 DELIA 
 
 IN Delia's heart there is a place 
 For earnest thoughts ; there you may trace 
 The shadow-pla^'s that come and go, 
 As when the summer breezes blow, 
 And shade and sunshine mingling fall 
 On beds of fern ; but with it all 
 Her heart is full of gentle mirth, 
 And in her presence is no dearth 
 Of cheer and lightsome ga^-ety 
 Such as befits a fancy free, 
 Uncumbered b^- the cares that come 
 With overshadowing gloom to some. 
 For like a field with daisies bright 
 Her life blooms forth in pure delight; 
 And humblest duties, to her hands, 
 Bring hourly joys and high commands. 
 Heedless of self, she smooths the wa\^ 
 Where others tread, and makes the day 
 Yield up its hidden store of gold 
 From lowly deeds, kind thoughts untold: 
 What wonder if the mingled grace 
 Of fern and daisy you may trace 
 Within her heart and in her face ! 
 
64 
 
 WHEN PHYLLIS PLAYS 
 
 WHEN Phyllis plays the spinet 
 Her nimble fingers fly 
 From key to key melodioush' — 
 
 Time slips unheeded hy 
 When Phyllis plays the spinet. 
 
 When Phyllis sweetly carols, 
 
 Her voice is full and clear ; 
 Each swell and trill my heart doth thril 
 
 With trembling hope and fear, 
 When Phyllis sweetly carols. 
 
 When Phyllis groweth merry, 
 
 List to her silver\^ laugh ; 
 O the witchery of its rippling glee! 
 
 The sweetest sound by half 
 That parts her lips of cherry ! 
 
6f 
 
 ODE TO A LEMON PIE 
 
 MY heart is taken qtiite by storm, 
 No longer can the fadl be hid ; 
 Fond memories, like bees a-swarm, 
 Beset me 'round and come unbid— 
 That lemon pie ! that lemon pie ! 
 'Twas love at sight, it took mj- eye ! 
 Long since it vanished from my plate. 
 But still I love to meditate 
 Upon that dainty, flaky crust, 
 And all it safely held in trust. 
 
 Blest is the man whose loving wife 
 Can so enthrall his heart for hfe. 
 And cheer him as the years go by 
 With such delicious lemon pie! 
 
 Good matrons all, if you would make 
 Your husbands fond, pray learn to bake 
 Such pies as this, done to a turn, 
 What better lesson could you learn ? 
 
 Ye maidens of the dark brown eyes. 
 Or blue — to both this rule applies — 
 If you would know the secret art 
 To capture and command a heart, 
 Take my advice in time, be wise. 
 And learn to make such lemon pies ! 
 
66 
 
 GOIN' FER THE MILK 
 
 TIN pail in hand, I daily hie 
 To Farmer Johnson's house near by, 
 To fetch the needful quart or two 
 Of milk, an' other erran's do ; 
 At times a butter-pat I bring, 
 A lemon pie er some sech thing. 
 I find their hospitable door 
 With latch-string out, an' wot is more, 
 I'm alwa\'S asked to stay an' chat — 
 " Do hev a chair !" — " I'll take your hat !" 
 I take the hint an' fer a spell 
 We seem to git on purty well ; 
 But when I look at Aunt Kezi-er 
 It sets me off like a 'lectric wi-er. 
 She smiles, I smile, we both git smilin'. 
 An' purty soon the pot's a-bilin'. 
 To see the way she keeps a-eyin' 
 O' me, jes' fairly sets me cryin' ; 
 An' all the ladies, settin' 'round. 
 Contribute to the joyful sound. 
 Sometimes it's all about bokays 
 We've gathered in the woodlan' ways ; 
 Sometimes it's talk an' sometimes dancin' 
 You'd orter see us when we're prancin' ! 
 
6^ 
 
 It don't take long to hev a turn, 
 An' all the fun we git we earn, 
 " But I mils' go," sez I, an' then 
 I fetch my milk-pail back agen ; 
 An' as I travel through the wood, 
 Thinks I, "These neighbors air ez good 
 Ez they kin be — but m3^ desire 
 Is chiefly set on Aunt Kezi-er." 
 
68 
 
 50A^G— LIFE ON A FARM 
 
 OH, life upon a farm 
 Has a neyer-enditig charm, 
 As every one who knows will understand ! 
 'Tis a fount of glorious health. 
 Not to say a source of wealth, 
 'Tis, in truth, the occupation of the land ! 
 
 With a horse and cow and pig, 
 Where's the man would care a fig 
 
 For the superficial pleasures of the town ! 
 While the antics of the calf 
 Make the glummest mortal laugh 
 
 And chase away the shadow of a frown. 
 
 Here the chickens and the geese 
 
 Rear their families in peace 
 And the ducks go a-swimming in the pond, 
 
 And the gentle turtle-doves 
 
 Tell the story of their loves 
 In language most peculiarly fond. 
 
 So, 3''ou see, there is a charm 
 
 In our life upon the farm 
 That no other occupation seems to yield, 
 
 And many a summer daj' 
 
 Have I idly whiled away 
 Just growing, like the daisies of the field. 
 
69 
 
 Then rent your house in town, 
 
 And cease to fret and frown, 
 And buy a little cottage on a farm ! 
 
 And spend a summer day 
 
 Mid the clover and the haj-. 
 And you'll never, never weary of its charm ! 
 
^o 
 
 FISHING BY MOONLIGHT 
 
 WE went a-fishiiig t'other night, 
 Two of us in a boat ; 
 The air was cool, the moon shone bright, 
 In sooth, it was a lovely sight, 
 As we sat side by side, a-float, 
 Two of us in a boat. 
 
 We flung our lines and watched a-while. 
 
 But soon forgot to look 
 For fish, and the moon began to smile 
 To see us fishing in such style; 
 
 Said the moon, "They'll never hook 
 
 A fish, unless they look." 
 
 The waters rippled all around, 
 
 The fish came swimming by ; 
 They saw our lines together wound — 
 Said they, "What is that gentle sound ? 
 
 Is that a fishing-smack ? O fie !" 
 
 And they went swimming by. 
 
 We didn't catch a fish that night, 
 
 But over on Long Pond 
 They caught a-plenty by the light 
 Of the same moon that shone so bright 
 
 On us two happy lovers fond 
 
 Who fished upon Green Pond. 
 
And if you ask me to explain 
 
 Why, over on Long Pond, 
 They caught a-plenty, while in vain 
 We threw our lines, we lovers twain— 
 'Tis simply this, that down beyond 
 It's better fishing on Long Pond. 
 
72 
 
 SILVIA 
 
 DISTRACTED by life's carking care 
 And full of moodiness, I sought 
 The healing balm of mountain air 
 And lonely, meditative thought. 
 
 For sweet it is to draw apart 
 From haunts of men, and gather from 
 
 Wild elemental powers the art 
 To win the strife where beats no drum. 
 
 Even so it was my hope to find 
 In Nature's book some mystic page 
 
 Of virtue to renew the mind 
 And all my loftiest powers engage. 
 
 But Silvia came with jocund smile, 
 
 And sombre care retired apace ; 
 Beset with serried quip and wile, 
 
 I lost, I lost my sober face ! 
 
 She marshalled all her woodland train 
 Of mirth-makers, each part rehearsed ; 
 
 Then waved her wand — they charged amain ! 
 My heavy forces were dispersed. 
 
 Alas ! alack ! and wel-a-day ; 
 
 What shall a philosopher do ? 
 In sooth, in truth, in deed he may 
 
 Not cope with such a merry crew. 
 
HUMAN INFIRMITY 
 
 WHEN I would fix my earnest, eager gaze 
 Upon the glories of that life above, 
 And vicAv with ever-growing, rapt amaze 
 The nameless height and fulness of God's love, 
 I may not in such lofty exercise 
 Continue long and all things else forget. 
 For to my weak and failing vision rise 
 The cherished forms that memory clings to yet. 
 And claim and will not be denied a share 
 In the affection that on high is set : 
 And shall the heart beneath such frailties fret ? 
 Shall ardent aspiration then despair ? 
 Or may not this familiar love so nigh 
 A nearer token be of that on high ? 
 
74 
 
 CELIA'S DOWRY 
 
 WHEN I my Celia wooed and wed 
 No dowry with her hand I sought ; 
 But so happy the years that since have sped, 
 Great treasure, surely, she must have brought 
 For her dow^ry. 
 
 How then can I, so blest, forbid 
 
 My Muse to celebrate a part 
 Of the rich mine of treasures hid 
 
 Within my gentle Celia 's heart — 
 
 Her dowry. 
 
 A pearl is there of greatest price. 
 
 Well worthy to adorn a crown ; 
 Ye giddy jades, take my advice. 
 
 Possess it ere the sun goes down — 
 
 'Tis Discretion. 
 
 Rubies are there that charm the eye 
 
 With rich, deep lustre all aglow ; 
 Ye selfish maids, they signify 
 
 What w^ould transform your hearts, I trow — 
 Love's Devotion. 
 
 A sapphire blue to these I add, 
 
 A gem of unobtrusive hue ; 
 Proud beauties, if it can be had. 
 
 Secure this gem, I counsel you — 
 
 'Tis Modestv. 
 
75 
 
 A lucent diamond I find 
 
 That sparkles, turn it how you may ; 
 Ye dames to bitter words inclined, 
 
 Make haste to seek this gem, I pray — 
 
 'Tis Good Temper, 
 
 There is a golden coronet 
 
 Among these gems, to grace her brow ; 
 Ye peevish dames, so prone to fret, 
 
 Go win this prize, if you know how — 
 'Tis Patience. 
 
 A silver brooch comes not amiss, 
 Among these treasures be it named ; 
 
 Ye covetous, strive after this. 
 And, having it, be not ashamed — 
 
 'Tis Contentment. 
 
 Why should I tell of all the rest ? 
 
 Too much already have I told ; 
 But she that is of these possessed 
 
 Hath more than house and lands, I hold, 
 For her dowrv. 
 
76 
 
 THE RETORT 
 
 BUT if you cry—" Enough of this ! 
 Pert rhymer, let us hear you prove 
 What cause there be, if any is. 
 Why Celia should return your love ;" 
 
 I answer, " Modesty forbid 
 That I should tell how happy she 
 
 Was made by what she wisely did 
 The day when she accepted me. 
 
 Thus have I, modestly, I trust. 
 Made claim to Modesty ; and next 
 
 I shall proceed, if so I must, 
 To preach, with Patience for a text. 
 
 Who could more patient be than I ? 
 
 I w^ho am joined to such a wife ; 
 Her patience gives no chance to try 
 
 My patience by vexatious strife. 
 
 What next ? Good temper ? Who more free 
 From all that irritates the soul ? 
 For pure good temper look at me — 
 When in the mood for self-control ! 
 
 Of Love's Devotion why inquire ? 
 
 Surely a bard so prompt to pen 
 The praise of her he doth admire 
 
 Must be devoted, of all men ! 
 
77 
 
 Discretion, say you ? Ah, indeed ! 
 
 Discretion's my especial pride ; 
 If others charm me I proceed 
 
 To sing the praises of my bride. 
 
 But if, in truth, you wish to know 
 If I a model husband be, 
 
 Unto my gentle Celia go 
 And bid her write an ode on me. 
 
7* 
 
 STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL 
 
 I AM, in truth, a crabbed stick 
 By nature ; prone to snarl and growl ; 
 A misanthrope, of temper quick. 
 Stamped with the signet of a scowl. 
 
 The charms of nature I despised. 
 
 The w^oodland scene and babbling brook : 
 The bards were fools— so I surmised ; 
 
 Proud common-sense their measure took. 
 
 In days of old, when hermits dwelt 
 
 Aloof in caves, I think I might 
 Have fed on herbs and donned a pelt 
 
 And set up for an anchorite. 
 
 But in my horoscope was found 
 
 A star of such sweet influence 
 It dashed Sir Hermit to the ground 
 
 And over-ruled my common-sense. 
 
 And now the fates decree that I 
 
 Do penance for my cynic pride 
 And woo the gentler muse — tor why ? 
 
 To spread the faith I once denied. 
 
79 
 
 SONG: CELIA 
 
 I LOVE fair scenes that charm the sight 
 By mountain, meadow, wood, and lake; 
 And the radiant floods of morning light 
 
 That over the hills in glory break ; 
 But there's a light in Celia's eye 
 Doth shine undimmed, though dark the sky. 
 
 Bright flowers there are and gardens fair 
 
 That for a time delight the eye, 
 But gone is the bloom, and the earth is bare 
 
 When the nipping winter time draws nigh ; 
 Yet Celia none of her charm hath lost 
 Though Time hath touched her hair with frost. 
 
 Oh happy he who by his side 
 
 Hath one who smiles, though dark the day ; 
 And blest, thrice blest is he whose bride 
 
 Grows lovelier in his e\'es for aye ; 
 What though skies change, flowers wither soon 
 Let the heavens fall, if the heart's in tune. 
 
8o 
 
 BELOVED, THOU ART AS A BOOK 
 
 BELOVED, thou art as a book 
 Wherein I daily read, 
 Upon whose pages when I look 
 No solace else I need. 
 
 Each page that is familiar grown 
 
 Each day delights me more ; 
 And, lured by charms before unknown, 
 
 On each new page I pore. 
 
 Beloved, thou art as a book, 
 A book that one would choose 
 
 To read beside a murmuring brook 
 That some stray zephyr woos ; 
 
 When o'er the page the shadow falls 
 Of some wide-spreading tree, 
 
 While to his mate the bob-o'link calls 
 And fills the fields with glee. 
 
 Beloved, thou art as a book 
 
 Whereof one may not tire ; 
 That in some still, sequestered nook 
 
 Fulfils the heart's desire. 
 
MORNING GLORIEvS 
 
 PURPLE and pink and blue and white, 
 Overhanging the foliage green, 
 Opening in the morning light 
 
 And lingering where the thick leaves screen 
 Their tender bloom from the noon-day glare — 
 Who does not love these blossoms fair. 
 
 The morning glories? 
 
 In the shade of the vines the children play, 
 
 Laughing, prattling, full of glee ; 
 Fair as the flowers at dawn of daj'^ 
 
 They cluster about their mother's knee, 
 Their young hearts screened from the world's fierce 
 
 glare — 
 God's grace rest on these blossoms fair. 
 
 These morning glories ! 
 
52 
 
 BESIDE THE STILL WATERS 
 
 HER beauty is not all revealed 
 In laughing eye and rounded cheek ; 
 The palm to others she must yield 
 If 'tis for sparkling wit you seek ; 
 Nor is she, it may be confest, 
 More marvelously than others drest. 
 
 She hath no skill to attract the eye 
 
 Or shine conspicuous over all ; 
 The busy Mrorld goes hustling by, 
 
 And crowds her, shrinking, to the wall ; 
 It is not hers to charm the heart 
 Of multitudes — she dwells apart. 
 
 But to her own true love, 'tis true, 
 She hath a charm that never wanes ; 
 
 Each passing year she doth renew 
 That charm, which added sweetness gains 
 
 The heart that rests on her doth find 
 
 That priceless boon, a quiet mind. 
 
 The freshness of a childlike heart 
 
 Is hers — unjaded, pure, serene; 
 To her is given the subtle art 
 
 To avert care's poisoned arrows keen. 
 To instil a joy that doth endure, 
 For worldh^ cares this world's best cure. 
 
ON WEDLOCK 
 
 LET those who will decry 
 ^ The sacred, mystic tie 
 That doth two spirits bind 
 When they are of one mind. 
 
 To me this is a book 
 Wherein I love to look ; 
 Wherein God's holy will 
 Is manifested still. 
 
 Here Time, who flies so fast, 
 Hath graven all the past ; 
 In thee, beloved, I trow, 
 Live saints of long ago. 
 
 And prophecies are here 
 Of sweet fulfilment near ; 
 And runes that point away 
 To the far judgment day. 
 
 As page by page we scan 
 This word of God to man, 
 Purge thou, O Lord, our sight. 
 To read thy message right. 
 
84 
 
 A DITTY FOR LOVERS 
 
 LOVERS, tell me this, I pray, 
 ^ Who it is to whom you owe 
 Largest debt ? the which to pay 
 Doting lovers oft are slow. 
 
 Who bade Vetiiis and her crew 
 From his lips new mandates take ; 
 
 Die, or be baptized anew 
 And gain far more than the}^ forsake ? 
 
 Who taught Cupid, ruthless rogue ! 
 
 To essay a deeper craft, 
 Drop light arts sometime in vogue, 
 
 With truer aim to wing each shaft ? 
 
 Who has placed upon Love's brow 
 
 A glory that outshines the sun ? 
 Who, crowned with thorns, shows lovers how 
 
 Love's undying power is won ? 
 
A GREEK STATUE 
 
 STRENGTH, dignity, and grace are there, 
 And beauty irresistible 
 For loveliness— surpassing fair. 
 
 Replete with power! but who could tell, 
 In speech, the marvel subtly wrought, 
 Or show that form, in marble caught ! 
 
 Oh ! matchless mind of God to trust 
 That creature of the heavenly spheres 
 
 To this rude earth, where moth and rust 
 Corrupt, where beauty genders tears ! 
 
 Yet there, benignant, calm, she stands— 
 
 A woman, as from God's own hands! 
 
 O radiant being ! may each eye 
 That rests on thee be filled with tears ; 
 
 Tears for the sorrow that doth lie 
 Before thee in the troubled years : 
 
 Thy horoscope is dark with woe; 
 
 Thy cup of grief will oft o'erflow. 
 
 Yet not for dark eclipse was given 
 The glory throned upon thy brow ; 
 
 The clouds above thy pathway riven, 
 I see thee stand triumphant now ; 
 
 And Bethlehem's manger hath made known 
 
 The end here prophesied in stone. 
 
86 
 
 STAND BACK AND VIEW THY WORK 
 
 STAND back and view thy work— how much it lacks 
 Of a divine completeness ! Hastily 
 This part was wrought, and unrelated that 
 To the main purpose ; disproportioned here 
 And with no settled thought or aim— no trace 
 Of the high master-spirit that moulds great art ; 
 Unsympathetic here, untouched by the grace 
 Of human tenderness ; and here no spark 
 Of inspiration with its hallowed flame 
 Of heavenly fire— stand back and view thy work ! 
 
87 
 
 II 
 
 YES, all you say is true ; this much I add— 
 You look to the end and set a lofty mark ; 
 I started out without an end in view, 
 Did this, tried that, and followed Fancy's bent 
 Or hard necessity, nor thought to attain 
 A lofty purpose such as you imply. 
 What then ? You now demand it ; can it be 
 There's something in my work that points beyond 
 To better things ? If it be not all you ask, 
 It seems some hidden power is leading on 
 To what I meant not, never hoped to be: 
 Can God have use for these poor tools of mine ? 
 
THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY 
 
 HAD I the painter's art to trace 
 Upon the canvas all that goes 
 
 To make the record of a face — 
 The lineaments, the eye where glows 
 
 The very semblance of the soul- 
 Had I such skill I would portray 
 
 A lady's face : as to the pole 
 The needle turns, so should the swaj^ 
 
 Of that sweet face entrance the eye 
 
 Of every mortal that drew nigh. 
 
 A portrait it should be of one 
 
 Whose heart is full of gentleness ; 
 Who glads this earth as doth the sun, 
 
 With brightly shining beams that bless 
 Where'er they fall ; when she doth speak 
 
 Her voice is soft as is a lute. 
 And sweet as songs of birds when bleak 
 
 Old Winter's blustering storms grow mute; 
 So should rude speech be charmed away 
 Bv her meek converse, day by day. 
 
89 
 
 But how could mute, dead canvas show 
 
 All this and more that should be there ? 
 The tact that guides the eas\' flow 
 
 Of speech, the unobtrusive care 
 For others' happiness, the deeds 
 
 Wrought by her hands, the patient hope 
 That silent but expectant pleads 
 
 In the poised head, the generous scope 
 Of the heart's sympath}' to feel 
 And wiseh' meet life's deep appeal. 
 
 The picture ?— bare the canvas stands, 
 
 And these poor phrases ne'er can place 
 The image there ; but other hands 
 
 May show — have shown the nameless face; 
 Nay, seek and you shall find ere long 
 
 Some pictured dame of long ago, 
 The very subject of mj^ song — 
 
 *'The portrait of ," and name below 
 
 And some, without the painter's aid, 
 On living hearts have been portrayed. 
 
po 
 
 NATURE'S VARIETY 
 
 SOME fruits are sweet and some are tart 
 And some are bitter to the taste; 
 Some please the eye, their outward part 
 
 Such goodly promise gives we haste 
 To enjoy the wealth that lies within ; 
 
 Some yield them to the eager tooth, 
 That may at once their substance win ; 
 
 Yet have some sweets a shell uncouth, 
 A prickly burr that openeth 
 
 Only to Time's imperious knock. 
 When autumn's frosty, nipping breath 
 
 Their hidden treasures doth unlock. 
 
 If apples, olives, lemons, all 
 
 Were sweet as honey there would be 
 A surfeit of these sweets to pall 
 
 Upon the taste ; but now we see 
 A bounteous feast where all may find 
 
 Something to please, a varied round — 
 The melon with its tough, thick rind, 
 
 The tender peach, the grain that's ground 
 By crushing millstones ere it yields 
 
 Our daily bread, and in their time 
 Grow^ berries in the sunny fields 
 
 Which for a day are in their prime. 
 
Herein a parable we see 
 
 Which any simple wight may read, 
 How Nature's wide diversity 
 
 Doth satisfy man's varied need; 
 And this wise method she pursues 
 
 In all her works, no less in man 
 Than in the fruits whence he may choose 
 
 His daily food ; lier liberal plan 
 For the soul's need provides as well 
 
 Its sustenance, plain truths doth pack 
 In prickly burr or rough, hard shell 
 
 For shrewd experience to crack. 
 
 And for that women are the flower 
 
 Of Nature's works we ma3' inquire 
 If Nature here doth jorove her power 
 
 To match their charms to man's desire. 
 In truth, she makes no two the same, 
 
 What more could captious man demand ? 
 Including in the one brief name 
 
 Of "woman " stately sotils and grand, 
 And simple-hearted, lowly lives; 
 
 And some are sweet and some are tart, 
 In some each virtue open thrives. 
 
 While Vjitterest rind oft hides true heart. 
 
92 
 
 PHYLLIS OF THE HIGHLANDvS 
 
 WHEN Phyllis would be going 
 About her task each day, 
 'Tis " Bring my steed for I must speed !'' 
 
 And away she flies, away ! 
 When Phyllis would be going. 
 
 When Phyllis goes a-flying 
 
 The mountain road along, 
 The spruce trees stand on either hand. 
 
 Birds greet her with a song, 
 When Phyllis goes a-flying. 
 
 The bee is in the clover 
 
 And blooming is the rose. 
 And clumps of fern she may discern 
 
 As on her way she goes — 
 The bee is in the clover. 
 
 The brook along the wayside 
 
 Runs sparkling in the sun, 
 Then slips awa}^ to hide and play. 
 
 Its journey but begun — 
 The brook along the wayside. 
 
 Soon smiling children greet her, 
 The school-house is at hand, 
 
 Where she doth teach the parts of speech 
 And tell of sea and land — 
 
 Soon smiling children greet her. 
 
9J 
 
 She calls the class in spelling, 
 
 The bright-eyed boys and girls, 
 Barefooted tots in polka dots 
 
 And some with flaxen curls- 
 She calls the class in spelling. 
 
 When lessons all are over. 
 
 Then homeward Phyllis hies ; 
 'Tis '' Bring my steed for I must speed !" 
 
 And homeward Phyllis flies, 
 When lessons all are over. 
 
 When homeward hies fair Phyllis 
 
 The brook flows babbling by. 
 The sweet birds sing, the wild flowers spring, 
 
 The fir-trees softly sigh, 
 When homeward hies fair Phvllis. 
 
PHYLLIS OF THE LOWLANDS 
 
 WHEN Phyllis goes a-shopping 
 She takes the early train 
 And whisks along amid the throng 
 
 Who fill the marts with gain — 
 When Phyllis goes a-shopping. 
 
 She reads the morning paper 
 Where bargains tempt the eye, 
 
 And makes a list that doth consist 
 Of what she fain would buy — 
 
 She reads the morning paper. 
 
 She thinks of all the children 
 And all their endless needs — 
 
 Some shoes, a coat ; she makes a note, 
 "Those youngsters grow like weeds' 
 
 She thinks of all the children. 
 
 She takes a turn at Macy'vS, 
 
 And looks around awhile ; 
 She notes a hat and this and that; 
 
 Clerks greet her with a smile — 
 She takes a turn at Macy's. 
 
 She glances at the bargains 
 
 And buys a thing or two — 
 A reefer gay, a dainty spray 
 
 Of ragged sailors blue — 
 She glances at the bargains. 
 
She spends an hour at Altman's 
 
 And likewise at O'Neill's, 
 'Mid pots and pans, green corn in cans 
 
 Her purse much lighter feels — 
 She spends an hour at Altman's. 
 
 Her cash is soon expended, 
 
 A tireless shopper she ; 
 Another lot, I know not what, 
 
 Is ordered C. O. D.— 
 Her cash is soon expended. 
 
 When PhylHs homeward turneth 
 
 It is with longing eye ; 
 Great bargains stand on either hand, 
 
 She leaves them with a sigh — 
 When Phyllis homeward turneth. 
 
96 
 
 WHAT SHALL IT BE ? 
 
 A BIRTHDAY gift ! I cannot tell 
 What most of all would please you 
 A seal-skin would the cold repel 
 
 When wintr\' blizzards freeze you ; 
 A diamond might be good— to sell; 
 But no — I must not tease you. 
 
 Or if we speak of meaner things, 
 Perhaps you'd like some dishes, 
 
 Adorned with flowers and flitting wings, 
 And some with darting fishes. 
 
 And a tiny tea-kettle that sings 
 An echo of your wishes. 
 
 Or if not these, why not a hook ? 
 
 A novel entertaining. 
 Some tale wherein, In^ hook or crook. 
 
 The interest never waning, 
 The common fate at last o'ertook 
 
 Some heart, love's power disdaining. 
 
 True ! china dishes go to smash 
 
 And stories soon are ended ; 
 And jewels, though they gleam and flash 
 
 Are useless as they're splendid — 
 But how about a little cash ? 
 
 I hope you're not offended. 
 
IN HONOR OF AN LXXX BIRTHDAY 
 
 A FAIRY OUEEN 
 
 A FAIRY queen ! Where can she be ? 
 Pray tell me, did you ever see, 
 Beneath our democratic skies 
 Where royalty dismantled lies, 
 A lady of such hi^h degree ? 
 
 No titled queen of state have we, 
 Save one, the queen of Liberty, 
 And she to our fair land denies 
 A fairy queen. 
 
 But children, come, just follow me, 
 There! gather round Aunt Mary's knee; 
 0-ho ! my meaning you surmise, 
 I read it in your laughing eyes ; 
 We'll be the fairy crew, and she, 
 A fairy queen ! 
 
FROM DAWN TO DAY 
 
 AS we gaze on the sky while the dayspring is rising 
 And watch the grej' firmament blossom with dawn, 
 Each moment reveals what the night was disguising, 
 Rare beauties that bloom but to blush and be gone. 
 
 We may not detain them, we can but behold them. 
 The on-rushing day spurns each glory he brings ; 
 
 He heeds not the loss of the charms that enfold them. 
 But, brighter and higher, new glories he flings. 
 
 And if from our hearts fades the dawn with its sweetness 
 Or ever we knew that the sweetness was there, 
 
 May ours be the glow of a grander completeness 
 In place of youth's daybreak, so brief, ^--et so fair. 
 
THREE SCORE AND TEN 
 
 AN ode for three score years and ten ! 
 An ode ! a birthday greeting ! 
 A song for one who cheered us when 
 Our infant days were fleeting. 
 
 But oh ! we cannot match the songs 
 
 She sang so sweetly o'er us, 
 Nor render what of right belongs 
 
 To her, in one brief chorus. 
 
 Long years she bore us in her arms 
 And soothed our childish sorrows, 
 
 And held aloof the dread alarms 
 That darkened our to-morrows. 
 
 What loving deeds were hers ! What cares ! 
 
 What tender thoughts unspoken ! 
 Too large the debt— the Muse declares 
 
 The Bank of Odes is broken. 
 
 LtrfC. 
 
TO MY FIRST LOVE 
 
 A VALENTINE I now indite 
 To one who loved me at first sight : 
 I wooed her with my first shrill cry 
 And won her heart, she can't deny. 
 
 There is no language that expresses 
 The rapture of our first caresses, 
 My heart kept beating, " Pity me ! " 
 And hers replied, " I do, you see." 
 
 Our courtship days were full of joy. 
 Though I was young, still but a boy ; 
 We had a blissful honeymoon, 
 Alas ! it ended all too soon. 
 
 But while those first delights must wane 
 And scarce in memor\^'s power remain. 
 No breach of promise suit I bring, 
 " She loves mc still," I still mav sins:. 
 
GRANDMA'S VALENTINE 
 
 GRANDMA, here's a valentine 
 From one who cannot pen a line, 
 But Papa will write for me 
 And so your Valentine I'll be. 
 
 All I've got to say is this, 
 I send my love and throw a kiss ; 
 If you look hard everywhere 
 You may find it in the air. 
 
 I don't know what else to say, 
 Guess I'll stop awhile and play ; 
 But I'll be your Valentine, 
 Grandma dear, and you'll be mine. 
 
ST. VALENTINE'S WARNING 
 
 NAY, do not wear thj^ simple heart 
 So jaunty-careless on thy sleeve, 
 Lest Cupid aim a flying dart 
 Without so much as " By your leave." 
 
 For if thou have no armor on 
 
 When prankish Cupid is at play, 
 What though thy heart be whole at dawn, 
 'Twill bleed— 'twill bleed ere close of day ! 
 
I03 
 
 A VALENTINE TO MARGARET 
 
 THERE is no lady in the land 
 So winsome as my dearie ; 
 To her I pledge my heart and hand — 
 My Valentine, my dearie ! 
 
 She scowls and frowns and winks her eyes 
 
 And looks her daddy over, 
 To see if she has drawn a prize 
 
 With hopes to live in clover. 
 
 And then— far banished be annoy ! 
 
 She smiles and shows a dimple, 
 And fairly bubbles o'er with joy— 
 
 Her views of life so simple. 
 
 There is no lady in the land 
 
 So winsome as my dearie ; 
 To her I pledge my heart and hand— 
 
 Mv Valentine, mv dearie ! 
 
A PRAYER 
 
 OPEARLvS lie hid in the depths of the sea 
 And deep in the earth is gold ; 
 But I pray my God that He would unto me 
 His treasures of truth unfold. 
 
 And sunk in a pit of miry clay 
 
 The sparkling diamonds lie ; 
 But I pray my God He would point the way 
 
 To gems that shall shine on high. 
 
 O deep in the heart of the new-born day 
 
 Lie blessings jxt to be ; 
 Grant me, dear Lord, as the hours flee away, 
 
 To set those blessings free. 
 
 O deep, yea deep in mau}^ a soul 
 
 Love's treasures darkly hide ; 
 But through Thj^ grace may I reach that goal. 
 
 The goal of the Crucified. 
 
INEQUALITY 
 
 I DO not ask that thou wouldst fill 
 My cup and pass m^^ brother by; 
 Na3' rather, in my heart instil 
 The praj^er that he may thrive as I. 
 
 Or if it be thy will that he 
 Should far exceed what I attain, 
 
 May I, from envious grieving free, 
 Rejoice to count my loss his gain, 
 
 One thing I ask, denj^ it not. 
 Be my estate or high or low ; 
 
 Upon us both, w^hate'er our lot. 
 Thy Spirit graciously bestow ; 
 
 And let us walk through life as friends, 
 Unsevered by the more or less 
 
 Of fortune's gifts, while love amends 
 Our seeming failure or success. 
 
io6 
 
 WEDDINGS 
 
 THERE'S weddings and there's weddings! 
 Some have 'em in the church, 
 Where hosts of friends come flocking in 
 And the organ makes a merry din 
 And everybody stands to see 
 The bride, as grand as bride can be ; 
 And bridesmaids, following in her train. 
 Sweep through the throng of necks a-crane, 
 And the father gives the bride away, 
 And the church is decked for a gala-day— 
 O, there's weddings and there's weddings ! 
 
 Yes, there's weddings and there's weddings ! 
 
 Receptions, to be sure ! 
 And a room that's overflowing 
 With the generous bestowing 
 Of friends from far and near — 
 With silver and gold and crystal clear. 
 'Mid the hum of friendly voices 
 The bridegroom's heart rejoices, 
 And the bride is wreathed in smiles 
 As she greets her friends in files — 
 O, there's weddings and there's weddings ! 
 
/07 
 
 Yes, there's weddings and there's weddings ! 
 
 Some have 'em in the house, 
 And if the house be small, 
 Why, any house at all 
 Will hold a bride and groom 
 And give the parson room, 
 And a whispered word or two 
 Does the business — very true ! 
 And bride and groom may render 
 Each to each a love as tender — 
 0, there's weddings and there's weddings! 
 
 Yes, there's weddings and there's weddings! 
 
 But the main thing, after all. 
 Is not the number there. 
 Nor the train of bridesmaids fair. 
 Nor the flow^ers on every hand. 
 Nor the music sweet and grand. 
 Nor the gifts so fine to see. 
 Nor the merry-hearted glee 
 When the carriage rolls away 
 With the heroes of the day — 
 O, there's weddings and there's weddings! 
 
jo8 
 
 WE'RE GITTIN' MIDDLE-AGED 
 
 WE'RE gittin' middle-aged, my dear, 
 We're gittin' middle-aged, 
 There ain't no poetry fer us 
 
 Like when we wuz ingaged ; 
 Fer in the meetin' t'other day, 
 
 When I was dow^n to town 
 The parson said ez much — I 'low 
 It kinder took me down. 
 
 "Youth is the time fer poetry," 
 
 The parson sez. sez he, 
 "The time fer dreams an' visions like 
 
 An' all sech flummerie ; 
 Youth is the time when hearts is soft 
 
 An' tender — but, ghee- whizz! 
 There comes another time when we 
 
 Mus' settle down to biz. 
 
 "An' ez we struggle up the steep 
 
 Thet leads to middle-age 
 The dewy freshness of the dawn 
 
 Gits dry ez prairie sage ; 
 The bird that made the tree-tops ring 
 
 With w^oodland music sweet 
 Won't sing a note to cheer us 
 
 When the dust is on our feet. 
 
IVE'RE GfTTIN' MIDDLE-AGED 
 
 " The maiden thet moves fancy free 
 
 The verdant meads among, 
 Maj' hev a feelin' fer life's joy, 
 
 An' fill the fields with song. 
 But when it comes to keepin' house 
 
 An' bakin' pies an' things, 
 Her feelin 's take a different turn 
 
 An' now she never sings." 
 
 I'm only tellin' 3^ou, ni}^ dear, 
 
 Wot I heerd t'other daj^. 
 An' all the sad an' solemn things 
 
 I heerd the parson say ; 
 Fer we're gittin' middle-aged, my dear. 
 
 We're gittin' middle-aged. 
 There ain't no poetry fer us 
 
 Like when we v^uz ingaged. 
 
 "The head thet's crowned with silver. 
 
 Scarred by each passing year, 
 May, like enough, w^in vsilverj^ words 
 
 From poets fur an' near. 
 An' poetrj^ ma}^ plant her flowers 
 
 Along life's downward slope 
 To honor them thet's done their work. 
 
 To fill their hearts with hope. 
 
 "But "when a man comes home at night. 
 Worn out with fret an' care. 
 
 An' when his testy growls an' snarls 
 Make music in the air, 
 
WE'RE GITTIN' MfDDLE-AGED 
 
 Why then, you see, the halo 
 
 Thet glorified life's morn, 
 Hez sort o' vanished, an' his bride 
 
 Looks pensive an' forlorn." 
 
 I can't quite tell it all, my dear, 
 
 Jes in the parson's way, 
 It's all so strange an' new, you see— 
 
 Jes heerd it t'other day ; 
 But we're gittin' middle-aged, my dear, 
 
 We're gittin' middle-aged, 
 Ther ain't no poetry fer us 
 
 Like when we wuz ingaged. 
 
 There's Tom an' Kate an' little Jim, 
 
 A-growin' up so fast, 
 An' all chuck full o' poetry. 
 
 The kind thet's goin' to last ; 
 In watchin' of their youthful ways 
 
 One thing we clean forgot— 
 Thet we wuz gittin' middle-aged 
 
 An' prosy an' wot not. 
 
 The little chick thet's cuddlin' there 
 
 So cozy in yer arins 
 May dream of heaven an' angels bright, 
 
 Unscared by rude alarms ; 
 But we thet knows there's bills to pay 
 
 An' house-rent an' all that. 
 Why, if we saw an angel 
 
 We'd like ez not crv " scat !" 
 
WE'RE GITTIN' MIDDLE-AGED 
 
 Leastwise, that's wot the parson said 
 
 At meetin' in the town, 
 But when I come to tell 't to you 
 
 Somehow it don't go down ; 
 An' when I think on't, seems to me 
 
 There wuz another pint 
 In that discourse thet on us all 
 
 Was seriously injint — 
 
 Suthin' about life's duties 
 
 An' the joy of sacrifice, 
 It ain't the poetry thet's gone 
 
 But we thet need new eyes ; 
 But 'taint no use to whop around 
 
 An' manufacter cheer 
 When that idee hez got a start 
 
 A-dingin' in each ear — 
 
 We're gittin' middle-aged, my dear, 
 
 We're gittin' middle aged, 
 There aint no poetry' fer us 
 
 Like w^hen w^e w^uz ingaged ! 
 
THE JOLLY OLD DOMINIE 
 
 THERE'S a jolly old dominie over in Troy ! 
 Over in Troy ! 
 Though his years are fourscore he's a genuine boy, 
 
 A genuine boy ! 
 His eyes are all sparkles, so piercing and keen, 
 His smile is the cheeriest smile ever seen. 
 His handshake is hearty, a grip that takes hold. 
 His years are fourscore, but he doesn't seem old. 
 For his voice has a thunderous accent of joy. 
 This jolly old dominie over in Troy, 
 
 Over in Troy ! 
 
 Oh, this jolly old dominie over in Troy ! 
 
 Over in Troy ! 
 And what do you think is his blissful employ, 
 
 His bhssful employ ? 
 For fifty odd years there have come to his door 
 Fond couples who stopped for an hour — nothing 
 
 more — 
 And went away happy as happy could be ; 
 They number by this time a thousand times three. 
 Oh, where could you find a more blissful employ 
 Than that of the dominie over in Troy ? 
 
 Over in Trov ! 
 
"3 
 
 Sure, every one knows of him over in Trov, 
 
 Over in Troy ! 
 His hearty "God bless you!" is brimming with 
 
 joy, 
 
 Brimming with joy. 
 They like him because he is full to the brim 
 Of goodness and sunshine and gladness— that's 
 
 him! 
 And he makes it so easy to say why they came; 
 If thev're bashful— no matter— nobody's to blame; 
 No wonder they think him the dearest old boy, 
 This jolly old dominie over in Troy, 
 Over in Tro3^ •' 
 
 Oh, this jolly old dominie over in Troy, 
 
 Over in Troy ! 
 He believes in the venture that doubles man's joy. 
 
 Doubles man's joy. 
 It is not a mere matter of cash and expense. 
 As any one knows with the least grain of sense ; 
 'Tis the pathway to happiness all the world o'er, 
 If any man doubts it just show him the door! 
 With a health to all couples that double their joy. 
 And the same to the dominie over in Troy, 
 
 Over in Trov ! 
 
114 
 
 THE SNOW 
 
 O GENTLE snow descending 
 Upon the earth so still, 
 Transfiguring with thy whiteness 
 
 The street, the field, the hill ! 
 O gentle snow-flakes hov'ring 
 
 So lightly in the air, 
 And tenderly, softly, covVing 
 
 The wearied earth so bare ! 
 O robe of heavenly texture ! 
 
 O beauty from on high ! 
 Caught up from earth unspotted 
 
 And woven in the sky ! 
 
 The bustling, busy city, 
 
 When hushed in peaceful night, 
 Is clothed in softest raiment 
 
 Of pure, unsullied white : 
 On every roof it gathers. 
 
 On hovel and on hall. 
 Foul filth and squalor hiding, 
 
 And beautifying all. 
 
 Out in the open country, 
 
 When crops are gathered home, 
 A quilt of downy snow-flakes 
 
 Falls on the stiflening loam ; 
 The summer's work is ended. 
 
 The land refreshment seeks, 
 And, for a Sabbath season, 
 
 Waits through the winter weeks 
 
The desolate old mountains, 
 
 With solitude begirt, 
 Receive a priestly mantle 
 
 With flowing length of skirt : 
 Their snowy heads, at sun-down. 
 
 Are crowned with clearest light, 
 Telling to toil and trouble 
 
 Of glory infinite, 
 
 Thou'rt trampled in the city, 
 
 Art melted from the plain. 
 Only on peaks uplifted 
 
 To heaven thou dost remain ! 
 O fulness of Redemption ! 
 
 O fallen race of men ! 
 Sinners, one year forgiven. 
 
 Must be forgiven again. 
 
 O gentle snow descending 
 
 Upon the earth so still, 
 Transfiguring with thy whiteness 
 
 The street, the field, the hill ! 
 O glory everlasting, 
 
 More than this earth can show. 
 When sins of all the ages 
 
 Shall whiter be than snow ! 
 
THE CLOUDS 
 
 YE clouds that sail the heavens bright. 
 Shadowy forms from vapor sprung, 
 Glowing with refulgent light, 
 
 Or at night 
 Rolling dark the stars among, 
 Fain would I your glories sing 
 While I gaze unwearying, 
 Spell-bound by each transient phase 
 The scenery of the sky displays. 
 
 Poets oft your charms have sung, 
 
 All your various, changing show, 
 Now like fleecy curtains hung 
 
 Or grandly flung 
 From mountain summits capped with snow 
 Fairy-like, with soft festoon 
 Ye half conceal the smiling moon ; 
 In feathery flecks 3^e calmly rest 
 Upon the zenith's azure breast. 
 
 Endless is the shifting play 
 
 Of your drifted, rifted ranks, 
 Stern as battle's grim arrays 
 
 Or as gay 
 As nodding flowers on river banks : 
 With imagery that charms the eye 
 Your silent pageantrj- moves by, 
 Lit by many a passing hue 
 That tints the skv, then fades from view. 
 
Unsubstantial things ye seem, 
 Playthings of the zephyr's breath ; 
 Evanescent as a dream 
 
 That flings a gleam 
 Athwart the slumberer's seeming death 
 Elusive as the fitful fire 
 That moves the bard to tune his lyre ; 
 Ethereal as an infant's prayer, 
 Wafted on the evening air. 
 
 Poised on airy, tireless wings, 
 
 Phantoms of the sky, ye float, 
 Far above gross, earthly things 
 
 Or bird that springs 
 To greet the dawn with warbled note : 
 Gallantly before the gale 
 Your huge, majestic squadrons sail ; 
 Beneath your shadow, murky black, 
 The raging cyclone tears his track. 
 
 Lowly though your birthplace be. 
 
 Straight ye gain aerial hights ; 
 Misty offspring of the sea. 
 
 Ye wander free, 
 Unconfined as fancy's flights ; 
 Beckoning toward that higher sphere. 
 Far removed, unclouded, clear. 
 Where the unfathomed firmament 
 Roofs the stars with changeless tent. 
 
ii8 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE PRESS 
 
 Ode sung at the laying of the corner stone of the new 
 Building of the New YorkMAiL and Express, August 19, 1891. 
 
 Portuguese National Air 
 
 'iy yf'ID the city's deep roar and unceasing 
 J_V-L commotion, 
 Where surges the hoarse metropoHtan 
 tide, 
 Where beat the huge waves of humanity's 
 ocean, 
 And wide-rolling breakers dash high in 
 their pride, 
 Where the incoming tides of great cities are 
 flowing, 
 And man feels the strain of life's multi- 
 plied stress. 
 Where the keen winds of commerce are 
 constantly blowing, — 
 Far out, o'er it all, swells the voice of the 
 press. 
 
 When fogs gather thick around headland 
 and island. 
 When low-muttered threats of a tempest 
 are heard, 
 When o'er the wide plain and the far-dis- 
 tant highland 
 The hurricane sweeps till the mountains 
 are stirred ; 
 
up 
 
 When deep calls to deep, when the heavens 
 are riven, 
 When war clouds portend a great nation's 
 distress, 
 When the thundering war horse to battle 
 is driven, — 
 O'er all peals a tocsin, the patriot press. 
 
 The voice of the press,— 'mid the din and 
 the rattle 
 It rises above the sharp clatter of trade ; 
 It pierces the deep-booming thunder of 
 battle. 
 It mourns o'er the grave where the hero 
 is laid ; 
 It heralds the birth-hour of Freedom and 
 Glory ; 
 It welcomes the empire of Truth and of 
 Love; 
 It blazons the path of that marvelous 
 story 
 That rings through the ages and echoes 
 above. 
 
THE WORD 
 
 THE foolish worker who wields a thought! 
 There he toils ; nor spade nor sword 
 Strikes the foe or turns the sward : 
 Tell me, worker, what hast thou wrought ? 
 
 The word is mightier than the sword, 
 
 With this I lay the foeman low : 
 
 Error only I count my foe, 
 Truth victorious, my reward. 
 
 Error ? Tell me, what may that Ije ? 
 
 Pilate, is there a thing called Truth ? 
 
 Answers Pilate, I know to my ruth ; 
 A new god risen in Galilee. 
 
 Came a peasant, the priest of Thought, 
 Unveiled Truth to the common heart ; 
 Error muttered, " O Truth, depart; 
 
 Else my empire cometh to nought." 
 
 Empire wide as the widening world. 
 Empire built on resistless power. 
 Such was the Roman's princely dower ; 
 
 To earth the banner of Truth he hurled. 
 
Truth unsheathed her gHttering blade, 
 Sharper that than a two-edged sword : 
 Cleft asunder, destroyed, abhorred, 
 
 Error low in the dust is laid. 
 
 * -s- ■::- -?:• ^:- •» 
 
 With life and death his work is fraught : 
 Death to the scattering hordes of night, 
 Life to the souls that love the light ; 
 
 The mighty worker who wields a thought ! 
 
REJOICE, YE DESERT PLACES 
 
 REJOICE, ye desert places, 
 And blossom as the rose, 
 A light new-risen effaces 
 
 Yonr gloom, and sweetly glows; 
 In glory nobler, grander 
 
 Than earth hath ever seen. 
 Her well-approved Commander 
 Draws near with radiant mien. 
 
 Rejoice, ye desolations. 
 
 Where sorrow reigned of old ; 
 The Hope of all the nations 
 
 His banner doth unfold ; 
 O thou who wast forsaken, 
 
 Down-trodden and oppressed, 
 From griefs long night awaken 
 
 To anthems of the blest. 
 
 O come. Thou King of glory, 
 
 Come quickly to Thy throne, 
 Fulfil the ancient story, 
 
 We claim Thee for our own ; 
 Set free the hearts that languish 
 
 In dungeons dark and drear, 
 Ciive songs of joy for anguish. 
 
 Thou bringer of good cheer. 
 
I2J 
 
 MARGARET 
 
 MY Margaret, my Margaret, 
 Sweet baby Margaret ! 
 Thy laughing eyes where love-tides rise, 
 
 Are my heart's treasure yet ; 
 I see thee in thy mother's arms, 
 
 Lulled by her love to rest. 
 The light of heaven upon thy brow, 
 Thy cheek upon her breast. 
 
 My Margaret, my Margaret, 
 
 Sweet baby Margaret ! 
 Thy dimpled smiles and cunning wiles 
 
 How can I all forget ? 
 The gleam that lighted up thy face 
 
 With recognizing j 03^ — 
 To win that smile at peek-a-boo 
 
 Was bliss without alloy. 
 
 My Margaret, my Margaret, 
 
 Sweet baby Margaret ! 
 'Tis thou dost play at hide-awa\^ 
 
 Our eyes with tears are wet ; 
 O greet us in the days to come 
 
 With that same smile of love — 
 What sweeter welcome could there be 
 
 In God's own heaven above ! 
 
LOSS AND GAIN 
 
 OTHE dread and the fear and the anguish, 
 And the heart how it shrinks from the 
 pain, 
 From the thought of pain and the waiting, 
 
 And the loss of all it would fain 
 Achieve were the hours untrammeled 
 By the claims of a dawning soul — 
 O the dread and the fear and the anguish ! 
 Of welcome how scant the dole ! 
 
 O the hope and the bliss and the transport, 
 
 And the heart how it leaps for joy ! 
 the peace and the glad fruition, 
 
 Untroubled by grief's alloy ! 
 O the triumph that crowns the anguish, 
 
 The thrill of a life new-born — 
 Forgot are the long night watches 
 
 In the glow of the rising morn. 
 
 O the grief and the tears and the sorrow, 
 
 When the life that was nursed in love 
 Is claimed by the Heavenly Father 
 
 And recalled to his arms above ; 
 Forgot are the fears and the labors 
 
 And the cares of the years gone by. 
 And the heart cries out in its anguish, 
 
 " O whv must mv loved one die !'' 
 
I2S 
 
 O stars that shine in the darkness ! 
 O gleam of hope in despair ! 
 
 O gHmpse of the new-world glory ! 
 dream of an Eden fair ! 
 
 O light of a new day d awning- 
 Even now heaven's herald appears ; 
 
 O joy of the resurrection 
 When God wipes away all tears ! 
 
726 
 
 FOR THANKSGIVING DAY 
 
 OLord, Thou knowest all our wants, 
 Thou dost Thy creatures feed, 
 The conies in the riven rocks, 
 The sparrows when they need. 
 
 We w^ould to Thee our trusting hearts 
 
 Uplift in thankful lays, 
 And join with all created things 
 
 To sing aloud Thy praise. 
 
 Let not misgivings mar our peace, 
 
 Nor doubts nor fears annoy ; 
 Grant us not only daily bread, 
 
 But hope and trust and joy. 
 
/27 
 
 HYMN— COMB WHEN THOU WILT 
 
 COME, Thou who comest like the wafted air; 
 Unseen, yet making all I see more fair; 
 Unheard, yet filling all my heart wdth song; 
 Impalpable, Thy presence makes me strong. 
 
 Come when Thou wWt, O fetterless and free, 
 Man has no shackles that can fetter Thee ; 
 No slave art Thou in awe of his behest, 
 Thou dwellest where Thou art a welcome guest. 
 
 Come when Thou wilt, to fill my heart-felt need ; 
 For Thee I thirst, unto my thirst give heed ; 
 What though my heart may comprehend Thee not, 
 What though Thy w^ord too quickly is forgot. 
 
 Come when Thou wilt, even when my faith is weak, 
 
 Thou who dwellest with the lowly, meek ; 
 No wings have I to seek Thee in the air. 
 
 No means to find Thee save the voice of prayer. 
 
 1 need Thee still, however blest before. 
 
 My greatest need is still to know Thee more ; 
 Come, gracious Spirit, be not far to seek. 
 Abide with me, who else am poor and weak. 
 
 Shine where Thou wilt. Thou sunshine of the Lord, 
 Thou art my life, my hope, m}^ great reward ; 
 In Thy clear shining sin shall flee away, 
 And all mv darkness turn to glorious dav. 
 
FEB 23 1901 
 
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