LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ©]^np Gopirin^fa Shelf'.S.5"-fi-3 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. AFTER SUNSET POETICAL GEMS. / BY Miss JESSIE FREMONT STEWART. al to her Kejeetf^d Lover 9-16 Th<> Unconoious Maiden Hi The Lone Hour 17 Kiss Me Good Night 18 The Sweetest Gii-1 on Earth 19 Bitter-Sweet 19 The Drunkard's Hovel 20-22 Love Can't be Offended 23 To My Mother's Memory 23 The Lost Love ". 2-t Edward 25 Cape of Good Hope 25 Only to l>e a Mary 26 To my Father's Memoiy 26 The Dying Lover 27 Only for This 28 Justice as Plaintiff 29-32 The Stolen Retreat 33 The Moon's Storv to the Sun 34 My Favorite Vine 34 A Maiden's Prayer 3.i Tlie Soul's Inquiry 36 I'ig for Dinner 37 My Own Dear Nell 38 The Half Eaten Meal 39 VI CONTENTS. PA(iE. B<']vio, Her (^\vn Avonger -40-42 Little Edna 42 The Ungnitel'ul Daughter 43-4(5 My Fancy 47 None but an Auieriean Bom 48 The First Waterfall 49 Mothei- 50 After His Coining 50 D. W. Fountain f)! A Present r)2 The Geographical Elver of Life 52 The Unfortunate Born ' 5:J On that Night in June 54 The Darkey Lover 55 Another lliver to Cross ... 5() Ye Soft Sighing Winds r>7 The Aniversary of a Maiden's Grief 58-(i() A Maiden's Sorrow (U)-(il Our Mortgaged Home. ! 62-(>:; Wine Did it All G4-(>« The Drummer Boy Oil When You Did Me Betray 70-71 When We Sat in the Moonshine, Edward 71-72 J. W. Snodgrass 73 At the Sharps 74-70 Pardon Souglit 7() In Memoriam 77-7!S Addressed to My Mother , 78 County Antrim's Son 79-8(1 The Only Child 80 The Anxious Bride Elect 81 Ghded By 82 A Maiden's Address to her Lover 83 Christmas Eve 84-8() The Flower Taken 87 Fixing His Tent for the Night 88 Sraarty Had a Party 89 Till Death Us Part * 90 Hushed is the Voice of our Darling 91 The End of the Three 92-9:; Killed by the Midnight Train 93-95 Hail, Christmas Morn 95 Dying on the Old Camp C4round 9(5 The Death Angel's Visit 97-98 Dreaming of the Joys Once Known 98-9!> CONTEA'TS. Vll Page. Back at the Dear Home Again ' 100 Dear Little Ones 101 The Wayward Son 102-103 Faces Loved in Youth 103 What is My Life to Me 103 God Bless the Dear Old Eightieth 104 Got Her Own Words Baok 105-108 My Wish To-night 108 Death Unexpected 109 AVanted a Divorce 110-1 1 2 Heedless of the Coming Train 112-113 When Christ Comes 114-lltt The Picture Over the Way • 117 Friendship's Fancy , 118-120 I Beg Pardon 120 Good as Gold 121 A Walk in Sorrow 122 Don't Think I Meant to Slight Thee 123 Thou Blessed 124 Long Ago 125 Ere We, Dear Bert, Did Part r 126 Flag of the Eightieth 127-129 Advertised 129 Andersonville 130-131 AVhen Far Distant 132 My Departure 132 Few 132 A Fact Founded in Fancy 133 Autographs 133-134 Dear Christ 135 MY PRAYER. [2), LESSED Savior keep me ever thoughtful of Thy open side. From whence there flowed a crystal fountain ebbing witli a peaceful tide. Keep me ever, ever thoughtful of Tliy death on Cal- vary, Keep me thoughtful of Thy life-blood, which was drip- ping there for me. Blessed Savior keep me thoughtful of Thy dying agony, Of the groans which Thou didst utter on the cruel cross for me. Keep me ever, ever thoughtful of that agonizing sight, Where alone on yonder mountain Thou did'st pray at dead of night. All alone on yonder mountain breathing low a solemn • prayer, While asleep were Thy disciples, little thinking of Thy care. Little thinking of the trouble which enclosed Thy weary breast. Whereon I hope, in heavenly mansions, to find my sweetest rest. Blessed Savior help me ever to obey Thy holy will. That I may hear, when death assails me, Thy sweet whisper, "Peace, be still." AFTER SUNSET. CHRISTMAS IS COMING. IN MEMOKY 0¥ MY MOTHER AND ADDRESSED TO SISTER PHEBE. J/f^ HRISTMAS is coming again, sister, but little pleas- ^ ure it brings, For the one who made us a happy home, in heavenly mansions sings. She has crossed o'er death's cold river, passed through its shining foam. But her memory still we cherish in our lone and dreary home. Christmas is coming again, sister, its joys you and I could share If yonder grave had ne'er been made, had ne'er been needed there ; But the form which it incloses, sealed forever from our eyes, Till Ave, too, shall cross death's river and above its billows rise. Christmas is coming again, sister, and our ties are scattered wide. But the one that was dearest to us has crossed over Jordan's tide. She has crossed the river, sweetly wrapped in the Savior's love. Though helpless here on earth below, thank God, she walks above. Christmas is coming again, sister, and still through the on-coming years, We, two, shall be hapless orphans with no one to dry our tears. With no loving one ever ready our many wants to supply, For she is gone from earth forever, forever from you and I. AFTER SUNSET. HASTE, LOCOMOTIVE. LEVYING ST. LOUIS TO VISIT MY HOME. l/^^ HASTE, locomotive, flv on with the train, \\ vfr- F^^' I "1 lono'lng- to visit my okl home again ; ^^^^i The minutes seem hours as you stop on the way, So haste, locomotive, haste homeward, I pray; Though fifty odd miles lie between home and me, Where my poor heart is anxiously waiting to be, Yet the distance seems twice that, so quicken thy speed. That the heart of this prison-bound soul may be freed. O Jiaste, locomotive, yes, quicken thy speed, That my heart from its anguish may know itself freed ; For I'm longing to visit the home of my birth. Which home is to me the dearest on earth, For there did I play when naught but a child. Then what is the wonder that now I'm so wild To visit the home where my parents so dear. Once hushed all my sorrow and calmed every fear. haste, locomotive, why tarry along! You could surely go faster, because thou art strong; Methinks if I only thy strength could possess, 1 could cover the distance in an hour or less. So haste, locomotive, 'tis late, as you see,- But darkness can't stand between that haven and me; I'll reach it to-night, for no distance (tan lay Between home and me, though dark be the way. O haste, locomotive, for I'm longing to hear The brakeman call out the name of PeiTv so dear, 'Tis dear to my heart, because it's near to my home, Where so oft in my fond childish glee did I roam; At last have I reached thee, the home of my birth. Which home is to me the most sacred on earth, And I stand, as in awe, 'neath the moon's gentle gleam, To think that to me e'en the weeds sacred seem. AFTEK SUNSET. A DOUBLE SEARCH. .N a cottage near the forest Dwelt a maiden voung and fair. With blue eyes of the deepest hue. And a mass of golden hair. This fair and youthful maiden, In the summer often went To the woods to gather flowers. And many hours thej'e she spent. But one day not returning. When her mother thought she should, The mother put her bonnet on, And walked right to the wood. But O! her search was all in vain. And in her deep despair She missed her way, fell in a ditch. In a ditch, she knew not where. She saw an object coming near, She stood and held her side, For thought she it might be a witch. And in her grief she cried : Who's there, and for what are you out? In sobs which she could not smother. The answer came with an awful squall, I'm out in search of mothei*. AFTE« SUNSET. APRIL LETTER. UlJLI) J but ovvu Australia's mines, Lc And the British Empire too, I would deem my Avealth a mere trifle, If with 'it I had not you. Oh, if our hearts united were, * My life would be a cloudless sky, I'd ask no sweeter joy on earth, Than in thy arms to live and die. And in the future could I lean My head upon thy breast. Naught I'd care for the cold world's frowns, So sweet would be my rest. Then, when thy footsteps I would hear, I would meet you at the door, I'd smile my sweetest smile on you And ask for nothing more. I would crown your life with roses. Your pathway strew with ferns. And gladly give my heart and hand To my darling, Robert Burns. But should you to another give The love for which I pray. On a broken heart the sun would set. And rise on my cold clay. Why do you live a single life? A man so good, so brave, so true, When you a youthful bride could wed. Only a score of years have I passed through- So of life T very little know. But I deem it a sorrowful school. Yet one sweet pleasure in it I find. And that is to love you. April fool. AFTE1{ SUNSET. THE PENITENT CHILD. ' BRING to Thee my trouble all, ! As on my knees, dear Lord. I fall, * Beneath Thy rod I humbly bow To ask a blessing- of Thee now. I come to Thee, O blessed God, To bow beneath Thy chast'ning rod And ask, yes ask Thy pardon now, As to Thy will I humbly bow. At first Thy will did bitter seem, As Thy chast'nings sore did o'er me stream, Dear Lord, 'twas bitter then, but now 'Tis sweet, since to Thy will I bow. So help me Lord to be reconciled, Yes, hear and help Thy penitent child, That from this on I may be free From my will, which now I resign to thee. THE TEMPERANCE BAND. r ONDER, on life's golden harbor, V. Sails a little temperance band; Join it, father, join it, brother, Ere it gains the golden strand. See their glorious banner waving — "Touch not, taste not, handle not" Is the motto on their banner. There inscribed without a blot. Yes, the temperance banner 's waving O'er a band of gallant braves. Who have signed her golden pledges Not to fill drunkards' liTaves, AFTER SUNSET. Aid the temperance cause, dear brother, Hurl her royal standard hig-h; Chime with it the blest Hosanna, Then to you the victory 's nigh. Take the pledge, fallen brother, And, within thy palsied hand, Take the pen that freed the millions Held by tyranny in our land. Yes, the pen did ])roye the weapon Which abolished slavery, And, if used in faith in Jesus, 'Twill give freedom unto thee. I LOVED HIM. I.. LOVED him, but they said that he j Did love another more than me, -» And that did break my heart in twain, To think his love I could not gain And mine for him was all in vain. I loved him but he loved me not, And another to the altar brought. And pledged to her the love which I'd Have given all my life, 3'es died To have won, and been his chosen bride. I loved him, and I will alway. Yes, love him while on earth I stay. And, if upon that blissful shore We meet when this sad life is o'er, I'll love him still, yes more and more. « AFTER SUNSET. 'TWAS JESUS, BLESSED JESUS. '/IIO was it bore our load of sin, And from its weight did moan within. And left not in that bitter cup A dreg for you, or me to sup? 'Twas Jesus, blessed Jesus. Who was it died on Calvary's Mount, And from His side there flowed a fount There flowed a fountain full and fi-ee, There flowed a fount for you and me? 'Twas Jesus, blessed Jesus. Whose body on the cross was sent, While hours of agony there it spH>nt, That all the world might happy be, And cleansed from all iniquity? 'Twas Jesus, blessed Jesus. Who bore His cross, when well he knew That He'd be crucified for you, And to the world great love he showed, When fainting 'neath its heavy load? 'Twas Jesus, blessed Jesus. A WISH GRANTED. FT 1 wept, and in my sorrow Wished that I could find a friend, One to take the place of mother, One who would their sympathy lend. To my heart, which knew but sorrow. Since that horrid cruel night. That my idol wronged me sorely, Making dark the paths once bright.. And at last I found a person, Found a friend who gave me rest, For his presence was so sacred That it calmed mv wearv breast. AFTER SUNSET. 1> EbNA'S APPEAL TO HER REJE(^TEI) LOVER, OR, THK KETHOSPECr OK A SHI PV\ KECK. '[ir ON ELY sat she by the ocean, lookiug- o'er its |^> mif^-lity main, '^^"7^ Watching for the shijx to anchor, which would bring her love again. Sat she there in silence, waiting, where tiie ship would ne'er again Anchor, foi- she's lost her rudder, and her steerage is in vain. All unconscious of this trouble, which would soon be hers to know, Foi' on board that once grand vessel, every heart han felt its blow. And the steersman's cries still sounded o'er the ship. above, Vjelow: The vessel's lost her rudder, fate has dealt her cruel blow ! Then the captain wildly uttered : lost is every man on board ! And the crew on board that vessel knelt, while every voice was lowered, Knelt, because they saw the signal, given by the second-mate. Whose sweet and beaming ciounteuance calmed them e'en in such a state. Then, in tones of sweetest accents, rose his voice in solemn prayer, And though the horrid winds were sweeping, yet he- prayed in calmness there: 10 AFTER SUNSET. We, Thy inideservinji; creatures, who must pass beneath Thy rod, Come and humbly beg* tlie mercy, of Thee, Abnighty God. If it be Thy will, Father, that this crew can never now Reach the land, our homes, our mothers, to Thy will we humbly bow. But, God, the mate continued, there is one on yonder plain, If it be Thy will, O Father, let me see her face again. Thus, while praying, little thought he that the one for whom he prayed, Lonely sat upon the sea shore, where their loving- vows were made. And there waited for the coming of the ship, but wait was vain. For she hears its moaning whistle sounding o'er the sunny plain. It's a wreck, ray God! she uttered, save my Edward, he's my all, And again its moaning whistle stunned as would a cannon ball. Wildly beat her heart with terror, as she sobbed those words, God save! "Save, and by Thy help I'll rescue Edward from a watery grave. Still she sobbed in bitter anguish, uttering wildly with a groan, I will save the life of Edward, save his, though I lose my own. AFTER SUNSET. 11 Slie was tliiiikinii," how to save him, not a Hfe-boat near the shore, Save but one, all weather beaten, and which only had one oar. This she took and braved the dangers of the ocean's briny deep. Oared she o'er its angr^^ waters, while with terror they did sweep. And thono-h all was dark around her, and the winds like torrents swept. Yet she braved it to the ship-yard, where her rejected lover slept. At his door she wildly knocked. Who is there? he sternly cries ; It is Edna, Falsed, Edna, help me e'er my lover dies. Then in haste the door was opened, and the maiden thus began : Falsed, you have ships and you can steer them, go as quickly as yoa can. True, Eve ships, and I can steer them, but to go is such a task, But I'll go for your sake, Edna, if you'll paj^ the price I ask. Or, in other words I'll put it, so that you may ])lainly see, 'Tis not money that I'am asking, but a greater prize to me. Name your price, and I will give it, or the prize, whate'er it be. If it is in my possession, I will gladly give it to thee. 12 AFTKK SUNSET. Then 'tis settled, I'm the owner of the one wiiieh Ion**- I've sought, I no longer am unhappy, for at last the ]>rize I've ft'ot. At his feet she fell half fainting, 0, my God ! it can't be me ; All my wealth Til freely give you. but your wife I ne'er can be. Then your lover drowns, said Falsed : his will be a watery grave, For without thy hand in marriage, I'll not try his life to save. If I marry, 'twill be treachery, let him di'own, would murder be, Such were thoughts, which filled her boson) with the bitterest agony. Promise, though you do not mean it: ])romise, then your tears I'll dry. Thus he wound his web around her, as did the s])ider with the Hy. Then she turned in anguish from him, so her face he could not see. And slie faintly murmured: Falsed, go, and 1 will marry thee. Then his ship was soon seen sailing toward the wreck, her aid to lend, And with joy the crew beheld her, as she sailed around the bend. Still the second mate was j raying, blessed Lord, uv<\y it not be That a soul on this wrecked vessel will be wrecked in eternitv. AFTER SUNSET. 1-5 All then left the wreck save !ulw{ii,ono. Thus it seemed that none bnt Edward was to claim her for his bride, And the hearts that crushed each othei-, lay in their cold forms, side by side. THE rNCONSCrOlTS MAIDEN. f'' LOWLY the darkness was g'athering; around them, as S?^ they, in the twiiio-ht, were walkin<>' alone. /'"One was a doctor, fair as an angel, the other a maiden, whose heart he had won. The girl at his side was wild with enjoyment; she was 'side of the one who most she adored ; Bnt soon her enjoyment w-as turned to excitement at the doctor's base words as his voice sickly lowered. Methinks he was going against his own conscience, for at first his voice faltered, his tongue seemed to swell, As he said "I'm a doctor, and doctors tell nothing," but the rest which he uttered I dare not to tell. The maiden's heart swelled with bitter emotion, as the doctor still tried his advances to gain. And in trying he called her pet names, which just only caused the nmiden's heart an increase of pain. At last, seeing all his attentions were evil, she said, her ,yonng heart then bursting with pain, "Doctor, I love you more than anyone living," hoping that this would his sympathy gain. Hut alas! his sympathy was far from that vii'gin : to do the wretch justice, we'll say had none; For, surely, if he'd cared for the love of the maiden, he would not have attempted the wrong to have done. AK'l'KU SINSKT. 17 Till-: LONK iioru. N my loneliness I'm sittinj;", tliiiikinji,' of the long ago, When no shadows loomed ai-ound me, when mv bosom knew no throe. l»nt to-night is largely different from the time which long has passed, For to-night dense clouds hnng oVi- me, while my tears are falling fast. Tears of angnish, O 1 wonder why tliese bitter tears I shed : ut. dear Fathei', thou hast told us that you chasten those you love: <)! if 'tis but Thy chastisement, then I've ])ity from above. For I know now that you love me, else you would not chasten me; So, then, fi'om my cheeks so pallid, wipe the teai-s that bitter be. 15 AFTER SUNSET. KlfeS ME ({OOD NIGHT. '^.^J^ISS me good night, mother, for soon will I be ]|«^ Away from m}^ home, and away from thee; ^'r^ Let nn^ head lean on thy bosom awhile And lighten my heart with thy sunny smile. Kiss me good night, mother, my hand take in yours^ May they be clasped on the golden shores; May the}" be clasped, as they are to-night, Sweetly together in yon land of light. Kiss me good night, mother, that sweet be my rest, Let me again lean my head on thy breast, Kiss me and press ine again to thy heart. Mother, dear mother, before we must part. Kiss me good night, mother, my tears dry away, Just as you did in an earlier day. Lean your sweet face on mine, burning with pain, And 0! dry my tears which are falling like rain. Kiss me good night, mother, the time's diawing near That severs the ties which are bound so dear, The time will soon come, then how can I rest. When robbed of the joy of thy presence so blest. Kiss me good night, mother, again let me lay My head on thy breast, and then mother pray, Pray that we'll meet on a brighter day. On the sw^eet shores of heaven forever to stay. Kiss me good night, mother, the time has now come That I must leave thee, and my own dear home; Quiet the throbbings which encircle my heart, Mother, dear mother, before we must part. Kiss me good night, mother, once more 1 embrace The one that I love, and I kiss thy sweet face; God grant that we meet above yonder blue sky, Good bye, darling mother, good bye, 0! good bye. AFTER SUNSET. THE SWEETEST GlEL ON EARTH. HE'S the sweetest little girl that ever lived oil earth, The prettiest girl in all the town, and has been since her birth. She's the sweetest little girl, — I jnst wish yon could see, When she meets me in the garden and smiles so sweet on me. She's the sweetest little girl that e'er a fellow had ; It always makes me happy to see her when I'm sad. And 'tis true I wouldn't leave her not for all Great Britain's worth, For I ne'er could find her equal — she's the sweetest girl on earth. 19 BITTER-SWEET. MAIDEN fair, though bowed with grief. Once took a stroll to find relief, And chanced to walk near bitter-sweet. The vine then cheerfully seemed to say: Take this, and di-ive thy grief away — Take thee, of bitter-sweet. O no! she said, with eyes of mist, Which told a tale of needed bliss, My grief was caused from bitter-sweet, Because my love was all in vain, — My love, which flowed like summer rain, But proved naught else but bitter-sweet. She stood and gazed upon the vine. Whose tendrils 'round the bush did twine, And thought of bitter-sweet. So clings my wounded heart to thee, But wishes from thy tendrils free From thee, O bitter-sweet! 20 AFTER SUNSET. THE DRUNKARD'S HOVEL. lIpT was dark in the drunkard's hovel, j|; Not a gleam of light on the wall, ■^ When the angel of death at the hovel did knock, And the mother did answer the call. She clasped her six-year old darling To her bosom, so thin and bare, And asked God's blessing on it, Ere she left it motherless there. No one at her wake was sitting Save her child, Avho sat and wept, Till sleep caused the infant head to droop, And she slept on her mother's breast, Until waked in the morn by the halloo Of the man who came around To bear away her mother's corps. To place in the silent ground. She was buried in a pauper's coffin, Where the flowers grow rank and wild, And all the procession that followed her there, AVas her broken-hearted child. Who watched as they lowered the coffin? In the grave so dark and deep, Till the sexton began to shovel the dirt. And then she began to weep. O don't! she cried, as she '-aught his arm. Mamma's coffin I still must see; The only friend I have on earth, — Don't cover her up from me! AFTKK SUXSKT. 21 He was moved by her cries, but he shovels on Till the grave in a little heap stands, And when, with his shovel, he patted it down. She patted it, too. with hei- hands. The grave being finished, the two i-eturn To the homes from whence they had come — He to his plenty, she to her naught. The cause being hei- father's use of rum. She enters the lonely hovel, Where no earthly voice is known. Yet there is something that seems to whisper, Thou art not yet left alone. And it made her think of her mother. Ere death took her away. Telling her to trust in Jesus, And at this she began to pray : Dear Jesus, when mamma was dying. She said she'd leave me in your care ; That you'd riches untold up in heaven; That you'd plenty of bread "and to spare." She said you would always befriend me. When enemies around me would come; So now, blessed Jesus, I ask Thee To shield from the enemy rum. ^ly papa spends all of his earnings Inside of yon lattice dooi-; He spends it for rum, blessed Jesus, The cause of my being so poor. I^ast Sabbath I went to yon church there. And stood silently out by the door, l'\)r I was ashamed to enter, 1 was so dirty and ragged and ])oor. 22 AFTER SUNSET. But I heard, as I list at the key-hole. The preacher tell, solemn and sweet, That the ravens once fed Elijah — Brouo-ht him bread and flesh to eat. And I wished, as I stood there, so luingTy, That the ravens would come and feed me, And bring me, if only a piece of dry bread — Just a piece of dry bread was my plea. Thus she ])ra3's till she sees her father. As she runs to meet him she said: Please, papa, I am so hungry. Won't you give me some money for bread? But he heeds not his offspring's beggings As he enters the gilted bar-room. While she follows slowly after, Saying, I'll ask the keeper for some. She went to the bar-room keeper; As he poured out the wine she said : You have given my papa liquor, I'lease, sir, will you give me some bread? But the sweet, childish voice was unnoticed, That is, no answer was given ; But though only a child, her words were not lost, For the Master heard her in heaven. And he called Gabriel to blow the trumpet For the angel of death to come. With his sickle, to pluck yon flower. That it might bloom in his heavenly home. For I've seen all of that poor child's sufferings, And have heard all the cold answers given. So haste to the hovel and bring it to Me, "For of such is the kingdom of heaven." AFTER SUiN'SET. 23 LOVE CAN'T BE OFFENDED. OYE can't be offended, no. It will live while winds doth blow, It will live while shines the sun. It will live thon<>:h it you spurn. And while waters ebb and flow. Love can't be offended, no. Love can't be offended, no. It will live while gTasses grow, It will live while waters run. It will live while ag:es turn. Yes, while ages come and go. Love can't be offended, no. TO MY MOTHER'S MEMORY. I.T was nearing on to midnight, I In the moonlight's silent gleam, ■> When her feet were yjattering over Death's cold and chilling stream. And I knew that she was going To a fair and better land, But, my heart burst forth the murmur: Father stay, stay Thy hand! But alafe, my prayer unanswered, I w'as doomed to be alone. Then my lips seemed clinched together, And my heart a mass of stone. But, O God ! when life is ended, May I see her lovely face. And be watted o'er the river. In mv mother's sweet embrace. 24 AFTER SUNSET. THE LOST ]A)\E. SONG . ^f HAVE loved, my heart's still yearnino-, fl| For the love which once I son<>;ht, ^ But I found when left in ang-uish. That his love was dearly bought. Had I purchased, paid the value Of my life, perhaps my soul ! For my yearning- heart had thought him, Better far than heaven's goal. CHORUS. I may meet with better offers, But to me they'll all be vain. For I never, I can never, I can never love again. Once my heart was hght and happy. Till his words, I dare not tell, Housed me from a love-sick slumber, Causing every nerve to swell; Swell with only bitter anguish, While a coil around my heart. Of a. serpent sickly hissing, Striking then its poison dart. CHORUS. I may meet with better offers, etc. He my traitor, not my lover, As I'd thought him once to be. When he saw he'd crushed my sDirits, Spoke not soothingly to me; Still I love him, love him ever, Till my heart has ceased to beat. Then in»heaven Fll love and seek him,. For he's first 1 want to meet. CHORT^S TO LAST VERSE. I may meet with better offers. Which may be from better men. But I never, I can never, I can never love again. AFTIOIJ srxsKT. . 25 i-:d\vard. LOVED thee, Edward, even when You caused uiy heart that burninp,- pain, And when 1 heard thy name abused With all the horrid language used By man, to man, or beast, 1 loved thee still, yes loved thee more Than 1 had ever loved before. I loved thee, Edward, through it all. E'en while my heart you filled with gall When you, 3'our horrid words begun Beneath the gleams of yonder moon, That blushed such words to hear, And sighed to think that heart of mine Would cling to one so false as thine. But yet with all 1 love thee still, 1 love thee yet, and always will; E'en though my love you did betray, I love thee yet, and will alway, For as the bark clings to the tree, So clings mv wounded heart to thee. CAPE OF GOOD HOPE. ^VlW/ '' ^^^ sailing o'er the rough waves of life, [/[i' And climbing its rugged slope. Though we sail not by African seas and shores, Yet we round the Cape of Good Hope. The cape that we round is the Savior's love Reaching to us far out in the river, And the hope that we pass, is the hope that we have To reach heaven to dwell forever. 2(y AFTER SUNSET. ONLY TO BE A MARY. NLY' to be a Mary, To sit at the feet of my Lord, And hear the blessed teachings From Christ, the '"Liviiio- Word." Only to be a Mary, To entertain my Lord, And hear the words fall from the lips Of Christ, the Son of God. Only to be a Mary, To be honored by such a guest As the One who died on Calvary, To give all eternal rest. Only to be a Mary, To be met by the risen Lord, And hear my name so sweetly called Bv the crucified Son of God. TO MY FATHER'S MEMORY. LL were round his bed-side, crying. But I, a child of ten, Was watching my poor father die, But I didn't know it then. I saw his face was growing pale, And that he seemed to gasp, But never thought the gloom of death On that dear one was cast. I didn't know that it was death That caused his eyes to glare. Till I asked my mother, "Is he dead?" AVho still was weeping there. Slie answered, "Y'^es" — my heart then sank. My God! what had I done? I'd witnessed death without a tear — The death of that dear one. AFTER SUNSKT. 27 ]Mv cheeks were then no hiii<>:er dry, My heart seemed but to bi-eak, Since I had seen him sleep the sleep From which he never wake. And now I wish that sleep would soon His young-est child o'ertake, iVnd angels bear me to his arms, And let me there awake. THE DYING LOVER. 9rS it growing dark, dear Nellie, %(^ Or am I only losing sight? *' O 'tis death, I know, I feel. it- Nellie, I must die to-night. Don't be grieved about me, Nellie; Smile, and think that I'll be free From the bonds of my affliction — Smile, sweet Nell, once more for me. For I'm sure I'd ne'er be happy, Elven in my home above, If, when I this world am leaving, Should a gloom see on m^^ love. Lay your arms around me, Nellie; Hold my fevered hands more tight. For my grasp is growing; weaker — Nellie, I must die to-night. We have been good friends, dear Nellie — Friends through all those weary years We have shared each other's soi'rows, And have dried each other's tears. But now a few more moments, darling, And I'll be far, far from you; But I'll look with longings, Nellie. Till you come to heaven, too. 28 AFTKI{ STNSET ONLY FOR THIS. SONG. i^NLY to look in thy liandsoiiie eyes, Fairer to me than the azure skies; Dearer to me than a world of g'old ; Sweet to me as your pledge of old. CHORUS. Only for this, only for this, Only for this, darling, only for this; Only to look in thy handsome eyes — "Tis this only, darling, for which my heart sighs- Only for this, only for this. Only to look on thy handsome face, Which is charmed with only heaven's grace; Grief would then be unknown to me, My heart from its bondage would -then be free. Only to clasp thy hand in mine, And round thy neck ni}^ arms entwine, Just as I did in da3\s gone by — 'Tis this only, darling, for which 1 sigh Only to clasp thy form again. To relieve my heart of its burning pain; To lean my head on thy breast so dear; ' Twould calm each sorrow and dry each tear. Only to hear thy low, sweet voice, 'Twould make my aching heart rejoice; From grief 'twoukl be a sweet retreat, Only to hear thy voice so sweet. AFTER suxsi-yr. 29 i0 JUSTICE AS PLAINTIFF. YOFTH who'd been taking of the wine eiij:» brig:ht, Was nionntinjihis horse, whenit jumped as with fright, Then on the ground in a mangled heep The rider lay in a drunken sleep ; In a sleey> from which he "d never wake, l''or ])v his falling his neck did break. Then Justice, who weighs with an equal scale. 8ays I'll go to Judge Doright with this soriowful tale, And ask of him if King Alcohol And his neighbor, Li(]uors, one and all. Can be tried by the law foi- this fatal fall. The judge sat in his easy chair When enters Justice in despair At the horrid sight that his eyes had seen, The death of a youth who was just eighteen. He takes the chair that was offered to him. His sense of vision then growing dim, And in broken statements his story did tell. While his heart with anguish did seem to swell. The judge his law books laid aside. And gaz^nl on Justice with eyes open wide. It seemed to him that his reason had tied, As he looked o'er his glasses and slowly said: You hasten now to Squire Right And a warrant sw^ear out e'er comes the night, Then give the warrant to Constable True, For as I understand, he's a neighbor to you. 30 AFTEIl SUNSET. And be sure that he gets the hquors, all, Especially the tyrant King Alcohol, Then to-morrow, at nine, the doors open will be. And we'll have them arranged before the Court, as j^ou'll see. Then Justice goes to Squii-e Right, And finds him in front of his fire so bright. The warrant procures, then hastens for True, When he greets him with here, I've a warrant for 3'OU. True takes the paper and knows his doom, Then hastens he to the gilded bar-room. Where he finds the associates of King Alcohol, And makes the arrest of each and all. Then when dawns the morning, Sheriff Love, With de|)uty Meek, wlio's as meek as a dove, Marched into Court the liquors all, Even the much despised King Alcohol ; Where lo, there lay that all night view. The boy who'd been murdered by this fiendish crew. Then one by one, at the Court's command, The defendants go on the witness stand : Hard Cider, the first, though dull his e3^e. Is placed on the stand to testify. And cried, I'm guilty! yes, guilty, I plead. For I opened the way to this horrid deed ; I taught him first to take a little. Then he, ah, soon began to tipple. And soon I could not quench the thirst, That burned within his boyish breast. Then Wine, wdio with a sparkling eye. Was called on next to testifj^, And said as he looked just o'er the Avay, AFTER SUNSET. 31 Where the iiiang-led corpse of his victim lay: Poor boy, when first I saw thy face. Thy countenance wore a brig-hter grace. When first I, with my sparkling tint Enticed thee just to take a drink, 0! different would thy fate have been, If you that glass had never seen. Then Beer said, must I look upon The face from which all life is gone, is it really so that I now behold The face of him in death so cold, Tl\at I enticed with my foaming cup, To drink that his spirits might brighten up? But if those cold hands had never pressed The glass, whose contents filled thy breast With grief, as well as those bereft For thee, it had been better far. If you 'd never tippled at the bar. They all plead guilty, save Alcohol, The guiltiest demon of them all, For when the Attornej^ said, please relate The story of him in this sad state, If you know how it happend, please tell us now, xVnd at this King Alcohol's head did bow, As he said, with camphor-gum he did me use, Thus I, this boy did ne'er abuse. For as medicine only he did use me. So let me from his death be free. Attorney Temperance then arose, His spectacles placed upon his nose. And looking round he plainly said, His eyes then fixed upon the dead— This case seems very clear to me , That Judge and Jury must agree. 32 AFTER SUNSET. That this is murder in tlie first degree. You've heard the testimon^'^ all, And notice that of Alcohol, While othei's come and guilty plead, He tries to hide his bloody deed ; Kemember how his eyes grew dim AYheu you put the question unto him, Do you know aught of this young man? How vaguely did his eyes then scan : He scanned us each — yes, one and all — Thus did the ])urged Alcohol. Jntemperence rose then, blushed and said: Why parley thus about the dead? Remember those li(]uors have saved the lives Of many who've lived, and wlio still survive. He would have gone on and said much more. Rut was stopped by Temperance with — I have the floor! You want your toddy, 'tis plain to see, But. I'm proud to say, no toddy for me! Yes, I'm proud to say that I'll taste none, For the sooner it's banished the sooner crime will be done. The trial was ended, the verdict read; They were all found guilty, as some had plead, And when the 'morrow came, which was election day, The tem]ierance women turned out to pray ; And their fathers, husbands, lovers, and all, Voted against King Alcohol, And the news of the glorious victory flies O'er the town with a glad surprise. And the authoress, now, to all voters will say. That when comes again our election day, ''Go ve and do likewise." AFTKIt SUNSET. 33 THK STOLEN RETREAT. MAIDEN bowed with ft'rief, one day Stole secretly from home away. To thus relieve her weary heart, That gi-ief from her mi^ht then depart, Which g-rief was bitter-sweet. Her shin;(>;led head of jetted hair, Shone sweetly in the Autumn air, As o'er the fields she quickly ran, And in her haste she tried to plan A way to flee from bitter-sweet. She looked for orapes, and nuts of brown, And ran o'er hills both up and down, And thought, ah, cruel grief, thou art, That thou wilt not from me depart, < Thou cruel bitter-sweet. () cruel, cruel bitter-sweet. To tangle thus my weary feet, And feed upon my heart like rust, And crush it so I scai'ce can trust The Chi'ist, who once knew bitter-sweet. She found her trouble with her staid, And on her heart the burden swayed, Then asked the Christ, who once possessed This bitter-sweet within His breast, That He remove her bitter-sweet. Then childhood never seemed more sweet Than this, though stolen sweet retreat, When Christ made answer to her prayer. And took her bitter-sweet to bear, Yes, all her bitter-sweet. —3 34 AFTEU sunsp:t. THE MOON'S STORY TO THE SUN. ^jg^HE moon told the suii "^ pf Of a deed that was done, o Beneath her g^leamings one nio^ht. And the sun sig'hed and said, He was glad he was hid From the horrors of such a sight. Then the moon sighed and said, She must go, and she sped Quick as lightning across the blue skies, And the sun left alone, Then said with a groan, As sorrowfully^ he dried his eyes. I'm glad 'twas my lot That sight to see not. And so sweetly I was taking my rest, Till the moon told the tale With such a sad wale, That it planted a thorn in my breast. MY FAVORITE VINE. BITTER-SWEET. *®^HE vine is music unto me Vf And living voices seem to be \Mthin thy tendrils, bitter-sweet. O ! bitter-sweet, dear bitter-sweet, Y^ou know not how my pulses beat When 1 approach thee, bitter-sweet. I stand, and gaze thy beauty on Until it seems my sorrow 's gone, When near to thee, dear bitter-sweet. AFTEK SUNSET. 35 A MAIDEN'S PRAYER. fATHER spare, O spare tlie man That caused tlicse tears of mine to flow, Adown the cheeks that once did wear A rose tint, now a paler hue, Caused by bitterness and woe. God, I well remember when, At one time on mj bended knees 1 prayed, and 'twas for him; I prayed that Thou wouldst pass him bj^ And let me suffer in his stead; But this sad thought then came to me. That I, as helpless as I was, Would faint too soon beneath Thy;;blows, And then 'twould come his turn at last. But, Father, spare, spare the man That caused these tears of mine to^tiow, O, let him not in sorrow come Down to the grave for that rash>ct, Nor let his heart in anguish burn. As mine now burns for him. E'en though I know that Thou hast said "Vengeance is mine," but Father let, 0, let not Thy wrath burn on him, Except him, for if Thou wouldst revenge That man, 'twould cause my heart'more pain. So, Father grant, O, grant my^prayer, A poor, poor broken hearted girl, Who humbly begs, as on my knees I fall, That Thou wilt pardon him. And let me suffer his revenue. 3(; AFTER SUNSET. THE SOUL'S INQUIRY. HAT will my future be, A blest eternity, Or end in deep despair, Down where the sinners wend, To a hell which hath no end? may it not be there. What then will I do to be Saved through all eternity, And know my sins forgiven? I'll trust in Him who died for me, To cleanse me from iniquity, That I might go to heaven. Then what for others can I do? Only say Christ died for you, Believe and yours is peace: Peace from the Lamb above, Whose heart is only love. Which love will never cease. Then I'll be a missionary, Tell the heathens not to tarry From the throne above; I'll tell them where sweet waters flow Cleansing all from sin and woe. Who will seek His face. AFTKK SUNSET. pk; for dinner. I*0()R widow woman who was left with a child, And toiled early and late for her living-, •^ Could always find plenty, for others, to do, Rut little to her was their givino-. Thus early and late she toiled for her own, And every day seemed to grow thinner, And now the small pittance she had in her house Would not buy enough for their dinner. She fell on her knees and earnestly prayed : O God, I know I'm a sinner! But for the sake of my child send someting to eat, If it's only enough for our dinner. Just then an acquaintance chanced to be passing along, By trade the man was a tinner. And he said, come little girl and I'll give you some meat. See, here's a nice ham for your dinner. Then all of the neighbors who lived on the block Wished vengeance upon the poor tinner. Because of the oft repeated cries of the child : We're going to have pig for dinner. Her mother theu whipped her, and told her to hush. And said if she did'nt she skin her, But the harder she whipped her, the louder she squalled: We're going to have pia* for dinner. 'Tis now ten long years since the narrative told, Took place between the child and the tinner, And rumor now has it, they'll marry this fall, And I guess they'll have pig for dinner. 88 AFTER SUNSET. MY OWN DEAR NELL. ^OWN b3^ the river, Nell, Is where I love to dwell, If there I am with thee; There's where I mean to live. If thou thy heart will give To me, dear Nell. Down by the rocky wall, Where stands the poplars tall, Is where I saw thee first; There's where I mean to live, If thou thy heart will give To me, dear Nell. Down by the shad 3^ brook, Where winds with many a crook, Yon silver stream ; There's where my heart is free, If there I am with thee, My own dear Nell There I will make for thee A home most handsomely. Wreathed with vines and buds; And o'er the entrance there, I' 11 wreath with garlands fair These words, for my dear Nell. AFTER sunsi<:t. 39 THE HALF EATEN MEAL. t '6)7^ WAS very liti ^ M^ Yes, scarcely ^S-" While I iiot"i( WAS very little supper that Miss ate, ly a thing would she take on her plate, iced her nervous at ever3' sound, And I thoua'ht Mr. must be coniinff around. Yes, I remember he was, for he'd given me a note. And the love that was in it I neaver can quote. For I thought when he gave it, 'twas heavj^ to hold, While to me did the writer seem terribly bold. For before all his girls he gave it to me. His countenance then beaming, his heart full of glee. And bowing so manly, "give this to " he said. While I bowed, as in answer, then from him I tied. We went to the office and sat with her awhile. When I said: "I've a note," which created a smile, Or rather did broaden the smile on her face, While smile after smile, did each other then chase. Then we were showed through the foundry, I bearingthe note, A burden of love that I never can quote. When on passing the scales, we then were all weighed, Miss the first, then with me the scales swayed. She then of my weight did jokingly boast. When with bearing the note of course I'd weigh most, But to come back to my subject, the half eaten meal. Poor Miss I know she did terribly feel. But at last on the porch a step that she knew, When then to the door she hastily flew; "Good evening, Miss " the visitor said, "Good evening, Mr. " she said, as she led Her caller to where the most easy chair sat, Then quietly taking his coat and his hat, Then I was called in and the hero did scan — My subjects, did you ask? 'Twas a girl and a man. 40 ABn^b:U SUNSET. BELVIE, HER OWN AVENGER. Ifjf, HOA! and the Colonel alio;hts from his seat, f^l^ While Belvie hastens her lover to greet, When her waist is encircled in the strong- arms of him Who has come to beg off with a fanciful whim. He said, as he drew her form to him again. Dear Belvie, to wed thee to-day is in vain, For jour lover must yet face the enemy's gun, Which battle takes place ere sets yonder sun. The enemy's division have increased so their rank, That our brigade from its batteries shrank. When, on leaving the field the brave Gen. Land, Was shot through the head, and I placed in command. Then I saddled my war horse, and spurred, e'en though he fiew. That I the sad news might break gently to you; To talk of our union to-day is in vain. So you'll have to await my coming again. I'm sorry, ah, yes! 'tis sorrow you see To leave one so dear, O why should this be; But kiss me my darling, bid your lover adieu, I'll come, yes again love, and then I'll wed you; I'll wed thee the next time, let what like intervene,. I'll wed thee, and deem thee my own little queen. The beautiful girl who now stands by his side, Arrayed in her beaut^'', bedecked as a bride. Is leaning upon him with a sad look of pain. While the tears from her lashes are falling like rain. 0, Colonel At wood, that story is old, I've heard it before, yes, twice it 's been told ; And you said that at this time indeed you'd be true> And now you are wanting to bid me adieu. AFTKIJ SUNSET. 41 O, treacherous man who lias prov^eu untrue, To the heart that has ever beat warmly for you, To the heart that did trust thee, e'en against the dear will Of her who now sleeps in death's silence so still. Now Belvie, my dearest, I came, for I knew That did I not come I would sorrow for you ; For well I remember how pained you looked when 1 told you my counti'y had need of me tiien. It has need of me still, my story 's the same, To resij2;ii my commission to me would be shame, And to wed a fair bride and leave her behind, Is more than Colonel Atwood in his heart can now find. Then she reached, as he tiioui^ht, his form to embrace, When his g'littering^ sword she drew from its place And cried in wild anguish, I'll get even with thee; I'll avenge now myself, though too late it may be, But to disgrace should I come, I've now learned by you That man and his promise will never prove true. He looked on the girl as defiant she stood Like a tigress longing to prey on his blood, Like a miserly Monarch who battled his hoard, Now stand by your promise or die by the sword. Ah me, pretty maid remember my vow, I've promised to marry, but cannot just now. You've promised, ah yes! but your promise was vain, For you've broken your promise thrice over again. But remember, my dear, I'm a military man. And must hasten to battle as fast as I can. So here is my sheath, replace now my sword, Lest on entering the battle your lover be gored. Yet dauntless she stood in defiance of him, Her face wearing the aspect of death's vision so grim. There's a battle for you that's much nearer at hand, For you'll die by your sword in your own native land. 42 AFTER SUNSET. So sayiDg. she thrust the liiioht sword like a dart, While its gliterino; point found access to his heart; And strove as though wishing to drive to its hilt, While the blood of her victim at her feet was now spilt. She fell on her knees, and in his red gore She wrote with her finger her name o'er and o'er. Her last message to him in his blood wrote she, too. Your name and your promise now perish with you. LITTLE EDNA. ^^. LITTER, clatter, heai- the patter Of the tiny little feet, Mamma darling, hear the calling Of your little girl so sweet; She is coming, sweetly humming, As a little honey bee, Sweetest flower of the bower. Mamma kiss her once for me. But, ni}^ Edna, mamma, said she Was sometimes like naughty birds, For she'd chat and spat at mamma, Saying awful naughty words — But said one day that she'd obey Whatever mamma said. If she was dressed up in her best. And then was called Miss p]d. So soon the queen in silk was seen, And loaded down with roses, But when ma called, she only squalled. And answered : 0, dear Moses ! She was only six, but then she'd fix As fine as wealth could make her. And always said she'd never wed Till a chance would overtake her. .<>^r^ APTE1{ SUXSKT. 4^^ THE TTx\GRATP:FITI: DAUGHTPm. N aged man sat by the bed Where lay his sleepiiip," wife, Who, with a paralytic stroke Was an invalid for life. The ao-ed husband sat readinp,- there When his dauo-hter hastened in. With two small bundles in kerchiefs tied And thus she did be<>in : Ijook here, old man, John said for nie, Well 1 almost hate to say, But I do think when folks i^et old They're really in the way. So you can just now wake her up. And here's your duds, you see, And hurry, lest the cart should come And for you waiting be. I wrote a note to old Judge Brown, You know he 's the poormaster, too. And in reply he said he would Make room for both of you. The father wept and sobbed aloud, I can't tell wife this blow, When comes the haughty son-in-law With, now hurry you and go. The father, who was stooped with years And from failing strength was weak. Bent o'er the one he loved so well Not daring then to speak. 44 AFTER SUNSET. At last he said, dear wife, I have A message which 1 know Will crush thy heart, but they have said. Dear wife, that we must ^o. He stopped, his heart was then too full An utterance to make, Then took her withered hand and said When I this hand did take, I never dreamed that thy dear heart In poverty should break. And never dreamed the poor-house doors For us would open wide, When I took upon myself the vows To protect my charming bride. You know, dear wife, when I was young And strong, I toiled, and then Those dear old hands which once were young Did aid me, until when The hand of fate, O! cruel fate Which seemed against thee then, Benumbed the form so dear to me And then 0! bitter agony. For when the doctor said thou hadst A paralytic stroke. When from his lif s those words did fall I thought my heart had broke. Then wife, you know vou lay so long Ere you could speak to me, To soothe the heart on which there swayed A load of bitter agon v. AFTER SUNSET. 45 And when the doctor said we must Jie quick the bill to pny, We had to mortgage home so dear And fatal was the day. For the payments, wife, we could not meet So we wandered here and there, Till our daughter married a man of wealth And allowed us her home to share. But now, for reasons which I know not, She has turned against her own. For spake she so irrevently Of her parents so forlorn. Then I pondered o'er our toil for her Ere she 'd woti her haughty lord, And had she called me father, then Her words had seemed less hard. And had she honored you, my dear, By saying mother, then This old giay head and broken heart, Of three score years and ten. Would not have felt so sensitive, The words that crushed them then. I thought if 3' oil could only stay For thee 'twould better be. Than have thy dear, though aged form. To follow after me. Then he helped her down the mai'ble st«ps And set her in the cart. And bravely tiied to face the storm, Though faint, his ])Oor old heart. 46 AFTER SUNSET. He kissed her and then turned his head To hide his face, for he No longer could suppress the grief From which he wept so bitterly. The aged mother, bent with years And feebled with disease, Broke down in violent sobbings When her husband's tears she sees. Then waved her hand and said farewell To whom 1 've given birth, Then clasped her husband's hand and said Farewell dear one on earth. The undertaker now takes charge, The old man lingers near, And though she Alls a pauper's grave To him the grave is dear. The funeral o'er he then does go Where all the poor are fed, And as he scans the gloomy walls He cries, thank God, she's dead! And ne'er did know this wretchedness, And ne'er those walls did see. When this he said he gasped for breath For his breathing came not free, ! bury me beside m3'' wife, He said with his last breath, For the storms of life could ne'er us part So part us not in death. APTEIi SUNSET. 47 MY FANCY. TO MY MOTHER S MKMORY. ^^ OMETIMES when I'm loiielj sittino- ^^ I fancy at heaven's g'ate, ^^'^ A form bendiuo- over the railing Is beck'nino- me not to wait; Not to wait for my redem))tion Till the harvest ends in death, When the chords of life are severed And the victim gasps for breath. And if there be tears in heaven She is weeping at my delay, For I hear her sweet voice calling Daughter, come, O! come this way; Then methinks I see her standing Pointing at the bleeding hands. That were pierced on Calvary's Mountain And for my redemption stands. Mother! gone from eai-th forever, Here thy face no more I'll see, But by the grace of Christ oiir Savior ' Mother, dear, I'll come to thee; For thy precious name I cherish Though my heart to grief is driven, I fancy I'll name it last on earth And call it first in heaven. 48 • AFTEU SUNSET. NONE BUT AN AMERICAN BORN. L'LL sinjz; the sonp; to-nio;ht dear, I That so often I have sung, - 'Tis this, no man can win my heart Who speaks a foreign tongue. Let him be a Ruler, King or Count, It matters not if he Speaks any foreign tongue, be sure He'll tarry not with me. I would not if he woi-e a crown, And sat upon a throne; I would not wed a foreigner, If I had to live alone. I'd rather live an old, old maid, A state I deem forlorn, ^ Than wed a millionaire if he Were not an American born. Some girls might marry just for wealth, Which I deem very wrong, But I will plainly say, for me None but an American born. AFTER SUNSET. 49 THE FIRST WATERFALL. ^HE first waterfall on earth ever known '^P'" ^^ ^^'"^ ^^^^ Savior's love from the heavenly throne. o The Savior loved the Father first And only Him, until there wast A war beoun between mankind And Satan, who'd his armies lined Along the human shores. The Savior looked down from His Father's throne And saw that man stood all alone, Without a sino-le weapon to Annihilate the fiendish crew, Who soug'ht to destroy his soul. And His love then reached from His Father on Ingh Dow'n to mankind who was doomed to die, Before such an angry host, And in reaching down from His Father's throne, To the poor doomed creatures who stood alone. It flowed so plentifully and free to all That truly on earth 'twas the first waterfall. The first waterfall on earth ever known Was made by the Savior who left His throne. And came down on earth to die on the cross That we, through His death, might suffer no loss. And when on Him our sins were laid. And on Him only the burden swayed. It broke the heart of the Savior divine, But linked with love your heart and mine. With His on the golden shore above. And His broken heart reached far and wide To encircle the ones for whom He'd died. And reached from earth to heaven above, From whence had come this river of love. That flow'ed with such a peaceful tide From the wounded body of the Crucified. —4 =50 APn^ER SUNSET. MOTHKR. (^jp) OTHER, as I stand by thy grave to-night, '#1 if Gazing above at the star s silv'ry light, Qjl/J^ 'pj^g lining" of heaven, 'twixt you and me, Hiding the face that I fain would see. Mother, O why was I born to weep, Why did this storm o'er my young life sweep. Why did its bursting all fall upon me, Leaving me ever unhappy to be? Mother, dear mother, do 1 call in vain For one kind word from thy lips again. For one faint murmur of a mother's prayer To soothe this heart that is burdened with care! Mother, dear mother, my heart is so sad. Speak, darling mother, that thy child may be glad, For I have known naught, but to sorrow and weep. Ever since 'neath the sod you've been lying asleep. AFTER HIS COMING. /i^^FTER His coming, no sorrow I'll see, After His coming, fi*om such I'll be free, After His coming, this burden I'll lay At the foot of the cross 'till the great judgment day. After His coming, 0, the glorious sight. After His coming, 0, rapturous delight, After His coming, no more grief and pain. Then no more down my cheeks will my tears flow like rain. After His coming, O, would that we all, After His coming, be waiting His call. After His coming, God gi-ant that we may Be ready to meet Him on that glorious day. A1-nef to me, Then sighed and said, do I wateli in vain, When I caught a glimpse of my child again. His darling- head rose on the wave And then a stffling sob he gave. When once again the head of gokl Was covered "'neath the waters cold. And as the waves ran swiftly by I thought again I heaid him cry. I knelt, and for God's pardon pled, Pardon to me for the murdered dead. Then left the scene in anguish wild. The murderess of mv infant child. OX THAT NIGHT IN JUNE. I^NE night when the roses were blushing in June, if. And the dew drops had moistened their sealed up buds, ^ There sat on a log, a lover, not two, For the other was a traitor with a heai-t untrue. To the girl he sat by, on that night in June. On that beautiful night when the roses had drooped, And the dew di-ops had moistened their sealed up buds, It was then at that time, that the moon beams shone Upon a couple that were sitting alone. Together on a k)g, on that night in June. On that beautiful night when the roses were bathed With the silv'ry dew drops which glistened on them, It was then at that time that the traitor began, Down in his dark secret bosom to plan A way to betray, on that night in June. On that beautiful night when the roses had blushed, 'Neath the silv'ry dew drops which glistened on them, It was then at that time he sought out his plan, And betrayed the girl e'en while her cries ran Through his ears as he betrayed her. on that night in June. AFTEU SUNSKT. 55 THK T)arki^:y ix)vi:u. SONG. // (j^H ! my deah you'll lub me yet, JliSp ^ou may stop yo' snarliuo-, Fo' within a few mo' years You will call UK' dni-lino;; For remember de iiiaxini ole aud true, "It's a mighty long lane what has no turn," And soon you'll see, dat you'll lub me And den my lub will be far from dee. Ah! 'tis just a year dat now has passed Since my lub you did refuse. And now you say dat I'm dee man Ob all de world you choose. But remember de maxim ole and true "It's a might}' long lane what has no turn,'' Once I lubed dee and j^ou spurned me, And now you lub and I spurn dee. You say you're sorry, but I am not 'Case I lub another, I lub her better dan I do mysef, Yes, better dan my mudder. So remember de maxim ole and true "It's a mighty long lane what has no turn," For now you see that I am free From de petty lub dat I had fo dee. I'll gib you advice, though you ask it not. Which may prove a blessing to dee, When a fellow makes lub to you again Don't snarl like you did at me, But remember de maxim ole and true, "It's a mighty long lane what has no turn." So don't you scowls and at him growl, And hoot at him like an ole niffht owl. 56 AFTEK 8UNSET. ANOTHER RIVER TO CROSS. tNOTHER river we have to cross, A river both deep and wide, * A river where iDany souls have been. Lost on its surg-ing tide. They looked not to the boatman, They spurned His djnng love, They're perishing- now, but they might have gone To the "Great White Throne" above. Another river to cross, another river to cross, We'll look at the Lamb, then His bleeding palm When we come to the river to cross. Another river we have to cross. To its banks we're drawing near, A body of souls are marching to it And perhaps we're be^'ond the rear, But we need not fear to cross it. We can i-est on its troubled wave. If we only look to the boatman Who is ever ready to save. Another river to cross, another river to cross, We'll kneel at the cross and suffer no loss When we come to the river to cross. Another river we have to cross Which will end our every strife, The river of death we first pass thi-ough And then comes the river of life. We'll have no fear when we reach its tide, Our souls will then be at rest. Our cares being ended how sweet it will be- To be clasped to the Savior's breast. Another river to cross, another river to cross. We'll bridge it with love for the Savior above When we come to the river to cross. AFTKI? SUNSET. Di YK SOFT SlGHIN(i WINDS. SONG. J/^^ YE soft sig-hiiig- winds, bear this message far away vl^J/ '^^ ^^^ place in Pennsylvania, where my idol doth ^' stay, Tell him that although he wronged me, yet niy love is still aflame, And for him "twill ever, ever be the same. O, ye soft sighing winds, bear this message far away. To the place in Pennsylvania where my idol doth stay, To the place in Pennsylvania where my idol doth stay, O, ye soft sighing winds bear it there. Just the same as on the evening when he stole my heart away, When he took me by the arm, at the closing of the day, And we w'alked alone together, while the twilight faintly shone On our paths while we were walking all alone. O, the jo3's that filled my bosom, as 1 w^alked beside hin» then, 'Neath the silv'ry gleamings of the distant moon: Yes my heart was filled with gladness, O, so full I never dreamed, Of the grief which in my bosom would be soon. But at last he did persuade me, just to sit a moment down On a clum]) of logs and bushes which were scattered on the ground, And I sat me down beside him never thinking danger nigh, Never thinking that I'd rue it till I'd die. AFTEK SUNSET. THE ANIVERSARY OF A MAIDENS (JRIEF i 6)Tg^ IS just a 3'eai- ago, Edward. ^ If Just a year ac^o to-nig-lit. s-'"^ Since you and I Avere walking 'Neath the silv'ry moon beams bright, And the paths in which we entered, fceemed to me still brighter far Than the moon in all her glory. Or the brighest evening star. For I, too, was in my glory, And my life seemed l)rlght because Of the \vords which then you uttered, Words of love, O, Edward Gause; Can it be that you were treacherous, Treacherous with the heart that loved, With a love which naught could sever Or from you could e'er be moved. You may spurn me, yet "twill linger Cleave as to its God above, And I'll be as was the patriot, "Though you slay me" yet I'll love; You have wronged me, Edward, wronged me, But of such you've been forgiven, By the one who'll truly love you Last on earth and first in heaven. Just a year ago, ah ! Edward, Does it seem so long to you? Since those woi'ds of love were spoken Which has since proved so untrue: I have grown older, Edward, Older than 1 was last year. When my happiness you ruined Making all mv life so drear. AFTER Sl'NSET. That I scarcely care not whether Life or deatli the struo-o-le wins; For to me my life is nothing, Since yonr married life begins Witli another; ah! not Vesta, She who loved you even when You'd have robbed her of her virtue, Leaving in its stead a stain. None could drive the fevered anguish From my aching heart and brow. When T heard that you were married- God! my idol married now? Was it true, or only told me Just to make my bosom quake? Ah! too true, and such desertion Caused my very heart to break. Oft they tell me to dismiss you— Spurn the vei-y thoughts of you ; But, O, Edward; 1 can never Prove myself to you untrue. You may spurn, but I can never, You may scorn, but in its stead I will love, thee, Edward, love thee, 'Till I'm numbered with the dead. And when with the dead I'm numbered, When my body's turned to clay And my soul to God has risen, There to wait the Judgment Day ; Still, e'en then, I'll not forget you, At the portals there I'll wait Till I see you, Edward, coming, Coming to the golden gate. 59 60 AFTKi{ suNSpyr. Then Til run to meet you, Edward, Lean my head upon your breast, Where twelve months a««-o I leaned it, Hopino; that I mioht find rest; For, methinks, the joj-^s of Heaven Incomj)lete would be without Thy dear presence, Edward, darlinp:, And thy handsome form about. (), how sad you've made me, Edward, By pro vino- false, instead of true; But remember, "as you measure, It shall be measured unto you," And, "in your own coin," God will i)ay you. For that very wron^ you'll weep. For the Bible plainly tells us— "As you sow, so shall you reap." A MAIDEN'S SORROW. (B^'^^ATHER and mother, as I kneel at youi* heads, "^ And stretch my arms o'er your lowly beds. Listen, dear ))arents, while my story, I tell Of one that I loved, 1 loved so well. But the man that I loved ])roved a traitor to be, Yes, a traitor, dear parents, a traitor to me; For he was cruel, so cruel to thy youngest one, [.(eavino; her weepinji,' for the treachery done. Mothei', dear mother, you're a woman, I know. As is thy poor daughter, who is weeping below. But, with no disrespect to thee. I must say That woman is mv bitterest enemy to-dav. AFTKR SUNSET. 61 "Tis (rue tli;i1 "twMs man who fii-st ])lan1o(l the thorn, But wouKin its roots soon linricd them down 80 dee[) in my heart that tlio wound tlioy have riven Knoweth no balm on tliis side of lieaven. 0! father, if t)idy 'twere ])ossible for tliee To know how ernel he was unto me; If 'twere possible for thee to a<>:ain live on earth, 'Twer(^ better by far that he'd died at liis l)irth, Tlian to meet with the one in whom venueanee would be, Whose veno-eance would wreak on his victim for me. Whose heart's blood would curdle e'en at the si^ht Of him who had cast o'er my young- life a blight. But father and mothei-, this man yet 1 love, lO'en though he was cruel ; do you hear from above? I'll speak to thee louder, then please answer me, That my heart fi-om its anguish may know itself free. Ah! methinks that I hear thee, thous:!! the murmur is low. Is it thee, darling mother? if it is, then I'll go. But a moment, dear mother, for thy child is in tears; She is bitterly weeping, though few^ are her years; But, mother, please answei- this question for me. Will my tears always flow, oi* will his heart turn to nie? <), mother! will I always be sad as to-day, Will these gathering clouds alwa.ys darken my way, And these storm-clouds of sorrow now bursting o'erhead, Will they never be calmed, not at all till I'm dead? I'^or at times when I gi-ieve o'er this lost love of miM«\ I've a feeling of gladness, e'en though I repine. And it seems to me then, that the Saviour who died, (ii\('s pi'omise, my love shall be yet satisfied. 62 AFTER SUNSET. OUR MORTGAGED HOME. ADDRESSED TO SISTER PHEBE. \, UR home lias been mortgaged, 0! sister, dear AiJJ/-' The final foreclosure was made this j-ear; ^^^ The home where we've played in onr childish glee Has this year been taken from you and me. The orchard, the nieadow, where so oft we have played. Gathering wild flowers, then would rest 'neath the shade Of the trees which our parents had planted with care. Ne'er thinking that strangers their fruits would e'er share. I think of those plays with a sickened brain, To think they are gone, that never again We can visit those lov'd places with as little care As we did when we played in our chidhood there. To-night I am thinking of the meadows so green, Where so oft as young shepherdesses we have been seen Herding the sheep which our father did own Before to the grave his body was borne. 0! those past days of herding, my heart would reclaim, When we knew each sheep, and called each by name. "Tiger Mulvin" was one, "James Buchanan" was two; I must smile at their names through my tears thick as dew. But most of their names, hke our childhood fun, Have vanished forever, ne'er to leturn. You know father's grave marks a spot near by To the dear old meadow, where so oft you and T Have stripped the red-top of its precious grain, Then carelessly sowing the seed again. afti-:k sunsiot. (Hi And now, just beside hiui does our dear niother lay, There to sleep 'neatli the sod till that blest coming- day. The Judgment Day, Phebe, when we'll sorrow no more, But be with our loved ones on that peaceful shore. I feel like going to the graves where they rest, And telling to them of this grief in my breast. Methinks could I place my lips near their own, And whispei" my story, my grief would be gone. For I think there would come from a distant shore The echo of voices, saying, weep no more. But now, sister Phebe, I bitterly weep When such storm-clouds of sorrow do o'er us sweej), To think that of home once so dear we're bereft. Then what is the wonder tha: grief fills my breast? For this home, darling sister, is ours no more; We must seek for another, though through a strange door. While sti'angers will live in this home once our own, But where now we must be like the birds who have flown. For you know wdien the nest is torn up that they fly From the home taken from them, as must you and I; For the nest, as it were, from us ha,s been torn, Leaving us homeless, yes, sadly forlorn. Though strangers hp^ve robbed us of our home once so dear, Let our heartsnot be crushed, though we shed many a tear: For thanks be to God, we've a home in Heaven, Where strangers can't take, nor morto-aaes be g-iven. <)4 AFTER SUNSKT. WINE DID IT ALL. I^N a quaint, but hnudsome cottage, I Sat a lady old and frail, - Heeding not the church bell's Hngino-, As it told its dreadful tale. Ah! that old heart nevei' dreamino- That it tolled the funeral knell Of her son, whom she expected, Home that day with her to dwell. Dwell with her while life would last her; This he said when last he wrote, And with joy she read his letter, And his words she oft did quote. Sat she dreamily in her fancy, Thinking Edward will be soon Home from college to stay with mother, Yes, my son will come at noon. Then that dear old Mother Faunson, Rose, a dinner to prepare. For her darling who was coming, When she hears a noise near there. And she listens ! O, it's only Some one knocking at the dooi'. First I thought it was my Edward, But he wouldn't knock, I'm sure. Then she starts, the door she opens ; Come in, sonny, have a chair; I was working in the kitchen, When 1 heard you knocking, dear. On she talked with mother prattle, Seeing not within the hand Of the boy, a small envelope. Till he Invs it on the stand. AFTEIJ SrXSET. 65 With, Here's a message for you, madam; Saying-, as his head bent low, It's a telegram. I reckon, 'Cause they said I'd better go Just as quick as I could make it, That the news came with the dawn, But the operator, madam. Had forgotten it this morn. He was called into the country', To the bed of a sick friend, And 'twas this that caused him, madam, To forget the news to send. Then she grasps the sealed envelope. Opens. O, this can't be true! Edward Faunson died this morning, Funeral services at two. Then she hastens to the chapel. Where within its rustic walls. Lays the corpse of Edward Faunson, And beside the dead she falls. And the Chaplain, who was weeping, Weeping, though so brave and tall, Knelt him down beside the mourner. While he said, wine did it all. Then that horror-stricken mother Shrieked as though her heart would break. Shrieked as though she wished the sleeper From his slumber to awake. And she said, while tears of anguish Trickled down her tear-stained face, Which was traced with many a wrinkle, Yet in it was beautv's errace: 66 AFTER SUNSET. 0, my God! my son! my Edward! Curse the rum that caused this blow On the heart of thy ao;ed mother ! Who to her grave in grief must go. O, this bokl and cursed demon ! Killed my brothers every one, And my father, then my husband, And at last my only son. 0, my heart was filled with sorrow When I saw those loved ones fall. By the hand of this vile poison, But this 's the saddest death uf all. I had looked with pride upon me, Thinking that you'd be my stay, Through my few remaining moments, And would aside my burdens lay. Though I know thy form's like marble, And like ice those lips of thine, Yet I fain would clasp thee, Edward, To this feeble breast of mine. It was 1 who caused thy sorrow, I who gave the cup of rum, To thy son, who first refused it. But I tauntingly said come, Drink with me, and to my pleasure. Edward Faunson took the glass — Drank, then faintly murmured, ruined ; I'm a ruined man at last. For I've tasted this bold demon. This, the cursed fiend of hell. That has caused my dear old mother Sorrow that no tongue can tell. A FT 10 If SUXSKT. 67 Human heart cannot imao-ine, And no tongue can tell the tale. Of the o-rief which she has suffered, Caused by this unfriendly ale. But I humbly beg' your pardon. For I never thought of him Being injured by the li(|uor, 'Till I saw his eyes grow dim ; And his face so pale and ghastly, That it made my poor heart sink, When he told me at his bedside, I am dying from that drink. The speaker was a fair young lady, Promised bride of him who lay Sleeping in the rosewood coffin At her side on that sad day. But that poor, heart-broken mother. To the girl made no reply. Save in sobs of bitter anguish — Yes, bitter was that mother's cry. Then the chaplain from his posture Raises, and the silver taps unscrews, While his tears are thickly falling, Falling thick as morning dews. And the lid he gently raises. And aside the pall he lays; With his eyes to God uplifted. And in solemn tones he pi'ays: Blessed Lord, ! gracious Father, Thou who giveth and who takes; Heal the wound that Thou hast riven. Ere the cords of life do break. 68 AFTEIi SUNSIOT. Lend Thy tender hand of mercy, And the burden on her heart Help her bear, O ! Blessed Father, And to her Thy grace impart. We who 've mom*ned, as does our sister, For our loved ones past and gone. Join to-day our hearts in pity For the mother left alone. As we go to yonder graveyard, To yon silent grave to fill. Comfort Thou this aged mother, And her fears and sorrows still. Comfort her, O! blessed Savior, She who sorrows for her son ; Teach her that Thy will is justice. And to say, "Thy will be done." Then that poor old Mother Faunson Totters to the grave, where she Cries in tones of bitter anguish, Dead! O, Edward, can it be? And again she tells her story, ^ Same as in the chapel old; But her voice is growing fainter. And her limbs are growing cold. And the heart chat's borne the burdens Of the eighty yeai's gone by. Now grows calmer, as the angels Beckon to her from on high. And she sings this sweet old anthem, Which had been his lullaby, "He justly claims a song from me;" And ere the song was ended. His "loving kindness'' was so free. AFTER SUNSET. 69 THE DRFMMER BOY r,i ARK I What a noise in the distance 1 hear; If It brings to nie sad news of my Edward, I fear; Ag'ain, and aj^ain, the loud cannonade, Sends a blast over mountain, through valley and glade. 0! sentinel, hear me, take heed to my cry; Lead me, through the distance, to Edward, for I Must see and embrace by brave boy again ; Yes. lead me to Edward, e'en though he be slain. They took from my bosom my Edward, my brave. Thus making his mother to trouble a slave; So lead me to Edward, that T may again Clasp my son to my bosom, e'en though he be slain. Thus, while she was speaking, the sentinel grew sad, For he saw that the ambulance was bearing the lad ; The one who this mother was longing again To clasp to her bosom, in the battle was slain. When the ambulance passed by the heart-stricken one She cried, ! I wonder if that is my son ! And the sentinel answered, with tears in his eyes, Y'es, thy son, my dear madam, on the ambulance lies. Is he wounded? O, tell me! O, tell me! she said. Not wounded, dear madam, not wounded, but dead. Was answered by one who was bearing the boy; Yes, the dear little drummer, who was the company's joy. Not far from the breastworks was our dear little Ed, When an enemy's Ijall passed through his dear head, And took one from our number which by all will be missed, Thus saying, he stooped and the drummei- boy kissed. The mother then knelt by her darling son. And the horrifying shrieks of that heart-stricken one Was heard o'er the battlefield on that sad, sad day, That the little drummer boy on the ambulance lay. And what writer could pen that poor mother's grief, Or. who from her anguish could give her relief; There's no one save Jesus, that high, holy One, That could (^uiet her sobl)ings for her onl}' son. 70 AFTER SrXSET. WHEN YOU DID ME BETRAY. iH, me! if 1 could turn again The leaf which thy owu hands did stain, The leaf whose pages glistened bright, Till soiled by you upon that night, That you did me betray. Ah! could I turn its pages o'er, And tell, upon that blissful shore, That never such a stain was seen Upon its pages once so clean. But no! for my god did betray. I say my god, for truly thou Art all that m^^ heart worships now, And ever since I met with thee I've loved and worshiped none but thee. E'en though you did betray. O tell me! tell me, Edward Gause, Why you my heart this grief did cause, When you outraged the one who now Is weeping still with pallid brow, Because you did betray. Although her virtue is the same As 'twas before you — to your shame. Betrayed her, even though she cried In earnest pleading, at thy side. That you would not betray. Yet feels she, like her life once bright. Was blighted by you on that night. When she in anguish then did cry, "O, God, I'd rather, rather die!" But still vou did betrav. AFTEK SUNSET. 71 Ah, tell me darling, tell me why You made my life a clouded sky, A sky from which the bright sunbeams In shining threads of gold ne'er streams Across my rugged path. Ah no! the sunbeams never play Across my dark and dreary way, Across my path which was so bright, Till darkened made by you that night. That you did me betray. Ah! could I kneel beside the Throne, And be with Jesus there alone, I'd tell to Him my burdened care, And tell Him how you did ensnare The heart that you betrayed. I'd ask Hiui to remove the stain And tear the crimson leaf intwain, 80 that our God might never see The crimson stain you placed on me, AVhen you did me betra3\ AVHEN WE SAT IN THE MOONvSHINE, EDAVARD. 'HEN we sat in the moonshine, Edward, ' And the beautiful stars look down, Peeping through the bright sky above us, Giving beauty to all around, I thought in the moonshine, Edward, That the joys of heaven were few Compared to the joys of m^^ bosom— The joy of being with you. AFTER SUNSET. When we sat in the moonshine, Edward, And the moon's silveiy o-leam kissfed thy face,. Though I knew that its gleaming- was lovely, Yet it added not to thy grace; For I thought in the moonshine, Edward, That heaven was not half so fair. And its angels were not half so lovely As the one who sat with me there. When we sat in the moonshine, Edward, My life seemed a heaven to me, And my heart then knew not a sorrow, But was beating so happy and free. But at last in the moonshine, Edward, You acted so dreadfully strange That my heart then stopped its calm beating. And stood still at the dreadful change. When we sat in the moonshine, Edward. My life never seemed half so bright As it did when I sat by you, Edward, Before you proved traitor that night; And I thought in the moonshine, Edward, While around us the moon beams did glare, That my love was both strona; and tender For the one who sat with me there. When we sat in the moonshine, Edward, At the close of my last happy day. For the sunbeams of life last shone on me When you spoke that which was cruel to say; And I pray I may ne'er again suffer The anguish I suffered that night. When you, my heart's cherished idol. Made heavy the heart that was light. AFTI-:K SINSET. 7Ji J. X. SNODOKASS. In memory of my uncle, J. W. Snodgrass. who was a volunteer in Co. G. 80th Til. Inf. Regiment, in the late Kehellion, and who died in the hospital while in his country's service. *^W||i||/jf?ITHIN the liospitars gloomy walls '^Jr^lfrt'' ^^'^^ ^ soldier dyino; there, ^^^^^^ Without a loved one to smooth his couch Or breathe for him a prayer. AVithont a brother, or a sister Fi'om the dear old home he left, AVhere his absence seemed a shadow In that lonely- home l)ereft. And no sweet mother's hand was there His aching brow to smooth, For tell me, was there ever pain That mothei- coidd not soothe? Waiters smooth his dying pillow. Breathe for him a solemn prayer, Tell him that we'll ne'er forget him, That his home we hope to share. Tell him that onr hearts beat warmly, Though from him we're far away, But the distance cannot lessen Our love in any way. Bear his soul, ye angels, onward, Bear it to the golden gate, Where no storms will ever cross it In that blest eternal state. Where no more the noise of battle, And the canon's whistling monn. Can disturb the noble soldiei- Who in the hos])ital dies alone. 74 AFTEIf HIJXSET. AT THE SHARPS. ^^T the Sharp.s, the school now (•h)ses. And a train of buggies go >To the home of Nellie Caston, AVhere e'en the liquors seemed to grow; For upon her father's table There were wines all tints of i-ed, And around the students gathered Excepting one, the gallant Ed. And he said, my denrest Nellie, As he called her- to his side, I most humbly beg your pardon But, dear ]\liss, my father died From the effects of this vile poison, In a filthy old grog shop. And my ])oor, old darling mother Begged me ne'er to taste a dro]). And I knelt beside his coffin. And his bloated face did kiss. While 1 made a vow to mother That I'd never taste of this; But she held the glass before him While its contents s])arkled bright. Drink it to my health, dear Edward, Di'iidv it, ])lease, foi- me to-night. Then he looked with horror on her While his bosom heaved a sigh, And he said, no, dearest Nellie, I would rather, rather die; But she coaxed, enticed, bewitched him, And he drank, that noble son. Broke the i)ledge he'd made his mother Just to i)lease that foolish one. AFTER WUNSICT. ' "^ Then the demon did bewitcli liini. And he drank as did the rest, For the cravings of his father Seemed to bnrn within his breast ; And before the next day's (hiwning Had api)eared npon the Sharps, In a room where sat a mourner, Edward Allen lay a corpse. 'Twas his mother, need I tell yon. Sorrowing that her son had come To his death, by that bold demon, Yes, the accursed demon, rum; AVhich in his face had left its traces, Adding to his looks ten years. And at this the gray-haired mother Bathed her furrowed face in tears. And the shrieks of that poor mother Filled the gloomy mid-night air, Deaf'ning were her sobs of anguish. While she knelt beside him there: And her hands, so old and wrinkled. Smoothed the face so pallid now, While she, in her bitter anguish, Bathed in tears the marble bro\\-. Crying, mother, father, have I burried. Brothers five and sisters three, Then a husband and four daughters. And, O God! it seems to me, Just as though I am not wanted In their ha])py home up there, But was left to bear this burden Which I can no longer bear. 76 AFTE1{ SUNSET. Sn yiiig' this liei' voice then faltered, AVhile her face grew ashy pale, lettering, Q my lost! lost Edward, Which then proved her last sad wail But to give him all the credit That his once brave heart deserved, He was sick on that sad evening, TiOng before the wines were served. PARDON SOUGHT. \ SIMPLY ask this boon of thee That thou wilt listen unto me. -• Yes, listen please, and give me time To tell, e'en though I tell in rhyme, Why I the name of Edward choose, AVhy I this name forever nse. AVlien 1 was small in childhood's joy I loved an Edward, but a boy, Hnt 1 am wiser now than then, And |)roud to say I love not men, {excepting those who bear the name Of Henry, which wonld strike a flame. Of love e'en in a heart of stone, Then why not strike a flame my own. So this I simply beg of thee That thon, young man, wilt ])ardon me- For telling you what Eve confessed. That I the author loves thee best Of all the world, so now I pray That thou wilt pardon me. Good-day. AFTEK SINSET. 77 IN MEMORIAM. In meiiKiry ol' my little nephcnv who died in iiifiincy, uniiauied. WAS a dear little tiower that came to stay At oiir happy home, on an April clay. He was little and younut remember, dear ones, I remember it well. When on Calvary's Mountain on my knees I fell. And this same cup, which you're drinking now Caused Me "neath the chast'ning rod to bow. Though 1 prayed as you have, I.,ord remove the cup, But 1 found I must di-ink it, yes, drink it up. 78 AFTE1{ SUNSET And I drank, yes, in the Bible 3'ou'll find Where I to the Father M}^ will did resi2:u. So diy thy tears and weep no more, For 3'on'll not be lono- on this side the shore. Soon the Master, His harvest will garner in, Then^be sure, ah, sure, that you're free from sin, For if not, thy cup will be worse than now, When gazing: in sorrow on this marble brow. But adieu; I must welcome the babe that I gave My life from endless destruction to save. So "Honor Him to whom honor is due," Till I call you to the home prepared for you. ADDRESSED TO MY MOTHER. OTHER, life seems but a tempest Since you left this world below, And my heart 's still fainter growing From the pressure of that blow. Mothei', life's paths are hard to travel, They are steep, and rugged, too, And my feet grow weary quicker Than whtn pattering after you. Mother, life is nothing to me Since thy face I see no more, And 1 long for death to call me To thee on that peaceful shore. Mother, Fve no friends worth loving. This to some nmy seem untrue. But I mean there's none like mother. Though warm hearted, none like you. AFTER SUNSET. 70 COUNTY ANTRIM'S SON. TO MY father's MEMORY AS HE EMBARKED FOR AMERICA. 'O the ship he comes, he enters, But methinks his tlioughts did roam Where he'd left his widowed mother In her humble island home. Then perhaps, a sigh, a shudder, And the journey is begun, And aross the mighty ocean Sails County Antrim's fairest son. And, methinks, that anxious mother, Long before she fell asleep, Asked protection for her darling, Who was sailing o'er the deep. He has crossed the mighty ocean, And beyond its glittering foam Left he there his widowed mother, Left he there his island home. Passing by an humble cottage, O'er its quaint old fence he leans, Plucks a flower fiom its garden, Just then blushing in its teens. And that fair and youthful maiden, Blushing then a happy bride. For she knew she was the winner Of County Antrim's fairest pride. Then 3'^oung Jimraie, ever thoughtful Of his mother, that dear one- Put together his hard earnings, Thus did County Antrim's son. Sent it far across the ocean, Sent he there for loved ones, three. Brought them over to this country, That their hoires niight happy be. 80 AFTER SUNSET. "Twas his mother, and two sisters. That my father, that dear one, Sent for, far across the ocean ; Thus did County Antrim's son. Then, when sitting- by liis fireside, 'Round his knees his children came. He'd sing, "The coows liae gone to the silv'ry wood, And they're lang about coomin' harae." But now he's gone from earth forever, (lone to Christ, the crucified ; And his name we'll cherish ever, Pointing to his life with pride. THE ONLY CHILD. ^ EAR Ed, when I arose this morning And looked in the little bed, Where we'd watched o'er the form of our darling And thought of his being dead. I thought the burden would crush me, I wept like my heart would break. As I knelt me down by the bedside And prayed that he nnght awake. But it seemed that our loving Savior Took the burden from off my heart, And said, weep not for thy offspring. But ai'ise and do thy pai-t. And I rose and said. Lord 1 surrendei-. Thy will is certaiidy mine, Thou gave him to me and now in return I givo him to Thee to be Thine. And now, though oiii- home seemeth lonely. Yet the sunshine of Christ I enjoy. The sunshin(^ which death can't o'ershadow, E'en the death of onr dear little bov. AFTEIC SINHET. 81 THE ANXIOUS BRIDE ELECT. EIjL, May, Em ^oiiig to get inaiTied. When Nellie? Tomorrow my dear, J^Tit somehow my heart .seems so weary Eor my lover 's a druukard, I fear. Because, when he last came to see me He acted so dreadfully strange, And his face was so finslied and so feverish, dear, 'twas a dreadful change. Yes, a change from the first time I met him, Which was down at Middleton Hall, Where we two chanced to be in the set, May, And dancing to 'Lanigan's iiall." I remember the first time I saw him. When fii'st I caught his sweet glance, I had made a misstep to the music- Just at the close of the dance. And he smiled so sweetly upon me That my face turned a crimson hue, When he said, you seemed tangled to-niglit. Miss, But my heart 's just as tangled with you. What! May, did I hear you distinctly, Don't wed him, is that what you say? Discard now the one that I cherish. When to-morrow he has set foi* the day? Ah no ! I can ne'er disappoint him Though he to me may prove untrue. But I love him so well that I'll wed him. Yes wed him, e'en though I may rue. Eor I've loved him too well to now chide him, He's the joy of my life and 's my pride. And to-morrow at yonder sun's setting 1 will be Y'oung Esterson's bride. — () 82 AFTER SUNSET. GLIDED BY. ]M^ THE days that's glided by, A\]f/ Childhood's days that's glided by, '^^-^ Angels tell to iny faint heart Why those days have glided by. CHORUS. O, the days that's glided by, Glided by, glided by, My faint heart its all would give For the days that's glided by 0, the days that's glided by. Golden daj's that's glided b}^ Angels bear my heart away To the days that's glided by. O the days that's glided by, Blessed days that's glided by, Angels bring them back to me Happy days that's glided by. 0, the days that's glided by, Happy days that's glided by, Angels bring them back again. Bring the days that's glided by. AFTEU SUNSET. 83 A MAIDEN'S ADDRESS TO HER LOVER. (^ USTRALIA'S mines did I possess Jm/ I'd give could I thy form caress, ^ eTust as I did iu days since flown When I lived for thee and thee alone. Dear Fied, for thee my heart still yearns, For thee this passionate love still burns, For thee, and only thee, I live And to thee only my heart I'd give. Yes, lovingly I call thee dear, Who to my heart is ever near, Though you another seem to choose Because my love you do refuse. In not acceptina; the willing hand That is ever ready at thy command, To join thine own in wedded life. To forever be thy devoted w^ife. 84 AFTER SUNSi:T. CHRISTMAS EVE. ^^1^ LEASE, mister, will you give me a penny? I've had nothing since yesterday's morn, And to-morrow, they tell me, is Christmas, The day on which Jesus was born. The day on which all should be happy, So mamma did tell me before She went to hve with dear Jesus, In His home on the heavenly shore. And now I'm without even a penny. Because my poor mamma had none; But said she'd a rich Father in heaven, And that Jesus ('hrist was His son. And that Jesus would always befriend me. And care for me when she was dead, Then some da^^ He'd take me to heaven. Where I 'd never be hungry for bread. This same blessed Jesus, dear mister, Who was born years ago in a stall, And all the wise men, and the rulers, did go To see Him, who was Lord of them all. You ask why I've not gotten a penny, Which fills my poor heart e'en with gall; For I'm too little to earn my own living. And my poor papa's wages are small. But that isn't the worst of it, mister; He spends for drink all he can make, And that is the reason that mamma's Poor heart did in poverty break. Who is Jesus? Is that what 3'ou're asking? Why, He's the dear One who died on the cross That all, including you and me, niister, Through His death might suffer no loss. AFTfc:i{ yiNsioT. 85 Last Sabbath I went to yon church there; I was poor, but still I went in, And the rich all seemed to <2,aze at me, Just as though they thought it a sin To be dressed in their fine church as I was. Well, I was poorly clad, but within I was clad with the grare of my Savior, And was happy as though T had been Dressed in the finest of satins. Vnd when a hymn was pronounced, then I sang — I sang just as loudly as any; Yes, 1 tell you, my little voice rang. ,And I tell you it did me good, mister, To sing praise Lo dear Jesus, for He Loves little children; for He said while on eai'th "Suffer little children to come unto me." And I've come, and I'll stay, and I'll trust Him, Even though my lot seemeth hard ; But I'll toil on and not murmur at it, . Yes, toil till I reach my dear Lord. But a part of the sermon, dear mister, To which I'll refer to just now, Caused my heart for a moment to flutter, While a cloud o'ershadowed my brow. 'Twas this: The preacher said in his sermon, Which for a moment made my heart beat so"wild, That a drunkard could not enter heaven ; Then I thought, well, what of their child? Are their children, too, barred out of heaven, And cast in the lake below, That burns with fire and brimstone, Where they say all the poor drunkards go? Then I thought, well I am no drunkard. For I never have tasted of rum; But papa has — pooi- papa Is always drunk when he comes home.