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Rhymes from Time to Time 
 
RHYMES 
 
 FROM 
 
 TIME TO TIME 
 
 BY 
 
 WM. CROSWELL DOANE 
 
 
 ALBANY, N. Y. 
 RIGGS PRINTING & PUBLISHING CO. 
 1901 
 

 THE L1«RA«Y OF 
 
 0f,o«6ffES8, 
 Two Co«i» Heociveb 
 
 m. 30 1902 
 
 OUA«s f^ XXa No. 
 
 o opY a 
 
 Copyright, igoi, 
 
 BY 
 
 RIGGS PRINTING & PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 The Riggs Printing and Pub. Co., 
 
 Albany, N. Y. 
 
RHYMES from 
 TIME to TIME 
 
 HAVE, called these verses by their right 
 na fries. They do not pretend to he poetry. 
 I believe it to be true that a poet cannot 
 be made unless he is so born, but I am very sure 
 that there tnust be beside the birth, much labour 
 in the making ; and that a busy man, toiling 
 with the plain prose of routine and official duties, 
 has no time left for this *' labor limes'' 
 
 I am old enough to '■'■dream dreams'' and 
 young enough still to '■'■see visions," but 'the 
 dream or the vision of authorship, during which 
 the first rhyme published in this volume must 
 have been written, long ago faded and melted 
 away. Still, I put it now in the fore-front 
 
of this booky to whose publication I have yielded 
 
 under a long pressure, resistance to which any 
 
 longer would have seemed ungracious. 
 
 I am quite well aware that the book will 
 
 only appeal to those , and they are many, whose 
 
 lives have touched mine in some personal way. 
 
 And if the verses seem to such too intimate or 
 
 too intense for publication, I must plead the 
 
 fact that I have carefully culled out from a 
 
 multitude of verses those that seemed too strongly 
 
 personal for outside eyes. 
 
 W. C. D. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Salutatoria 7 
 
 Christmas, Bethlehem Ephratah 8 
 
 Christmas, December 9 
 
 Christmas, A. D. 1896 11 
 
 Christmas Song, Albany Hospital Bazaar 13 
 
 At the Manger 14 
 
 Merry Christmas, A. D. 1900 16 
 
 Candlemas, Purification B. V. M 18 
 
 Easter Even, A. D. 1901 20 
 
 Easter 21 
 
 Easter 22 
 
 Easter 24 
 
 Thanksgiving 25 
 
 All Saints' Day 27 
 
 Marriage Hymn 28 
 
 Marriage Hymn, E. G. D. G. April 28, A. D. 1881 30 
 
 For Those at Sea 32 
 
 Hospital Hymn, for the little children, in The Childs' Hos- 
 pital 34 
 
 Hymn, Bicentenary of the City of Albany 36 
 
 Hymn, sung at the Two Hundredth Anniversary of the 
 
 S. P. G. in London, June 16, 1900 37 
 
 O Deus Meus Amo Te (St. Francis Xavier) 39 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 My Baby's Face. In a photograph. A. D. 1862 43 
 
 " I Shall Kiss Both of Your Eyes, Papa." A. D. 1863, 
 
 E. G. D 44 
 
 Margaret Harrison Doane. Baptized by My Father, Who 
 
 Died May, A. D. 1859. The Angels' Day, A. D. 1859. . . 46 
 
PAGE 
 
 My Father's Fifty-third Birthday 4» 
 
 My Father's Memoir. In Pace 49 
 
 Riverside. October, A. D. 1859 50 
 
 My Mother. Who died in Florence , 52 
 
 The Pastor Croswell 55 
 
 M. D. G. With a copy of Tales of a Grandfather 56 
 
 In Kenilworth Camp. Dr. Trudeau's 58 
 
 F. Hopkinson Smith. Acknowledging a water colour sketch 
 
 of North East Harbour 59 
 
 J. P. M. October. A. D. 1895, the Standard Bearer 60 
 
 Thomas Nelson 61 
 
 To Harriet Langdon Pruyn. A tinkle of her Baptismal Bell, 
 
 1868 62 
 
 A. P. P. Annunciation Day 64 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 Life Sculpture 67 
 
 Light 68 
 
 Gray Cliff, Newport 69 
 
 Long Branch. August, A. D. 1859 71 
 
 Under the Catskills in July "](> 
 
 The Wind and the Water 'J^ 
 
 Fata Morgana 79 
 
 On a Sun-Dial. Horas non numero nisi serenas 80 
 
 To a Violet 81 
 
 Domine Aperi Labias Nostras 82 
 
 A Prayer 84 
 
 The Litany. " That it may please Thee to defend the 
 
 fatherless children; we beseech Thee to hear us.".... 85 
 A Child's Song. I cannot sing, for Heaven is gone away. 
 
 A little girl's saying 88 
 
 Oh Weary Earth 93 
 
 Tears 94 
 
 Shells 96 
 
 Rejected Address 98 
 
 Moonlight 99 
 
 V. M. R. Asleep January 31, 1885 100 
 
 October. E. G. D. G loi 
 
 Nihil Longe Deo 103 
 
PAGE 
 
 Yaddo. December 24 104 
 
 The First Soap Bubble. M. S. G 105 
 
 Shadows 107 
 
 Through the Curtain. M. S. G no 
 
 Through the Vail. M. H. D 4 no 
 
 Telephone 112 
 
 Goodnight and Goodbye 113 
 
 Mrs. Spencer Trask. K. N. T 114 
 
 In the Tower at Yaddo 114 
 
 New Old Friends 115 
 
 Felicissimo Natale. Christmas word to my children in 
 
 Italy 116 
 
 An Offering in Gold. For Cathedral Endowment Fund 
 
 from the Sisters of the Holy Child 117 
 
 The Golden Wedding at Edgewater. Mr. and Mrs. G. 
 
 Pomeroy Keese 118 
 
 Daniel Webster 119 
 
 Amasa J. Parker 120 
 
 Gladstone 121 
 
 To Dr. Furness. After hearing him read Henry V. and 
 
 Julius Csesar 122 
 
 Mr. Story's Monument to His Wife 123 
 
 Victoria 124 
 
 Greeting to the Dove 126 
 
 The First Midsummer Tree 129 
 
 The Midsummer Tree, A. D. 1891. A midsummer day's 
 
 dream 131 
 
 The Midsummer Tree, A. D. 1895 135 
 
 Terra Incognita, At North East Harbour 141 
 
 NUGAE ALBANIENSES 
 
 The Weather on Easter Day " Will be fine and clear." . . 145 
 
 Amphibious 146 
 
 Bill of Sale 148 
 
 A Lobster Salad 150 
 
 Muffins 152 
 
 Crullers 154 
 
s 
 
 Salutatoria 
 
 A. D. 1851-1901. 
 
 TRANGER, in whose attentive mind, 
 
 Our rhymes, nor home nor hearthstone find, 
 Bethink thee, many a minstrel waits 
 
 In silence, at the jewelled gates 
 
 That open on the Land of Song; 
 
 Till some chance wanderer pass along 
 
 Upon whose ears, one gentle tone 
 
 Recalls a strain of music gone. 
 
 Listening, he opes the massive gates, 
 
 Gives entrance to the bard that waits. 
 
 And these two souls together stray 
 
 Along their wild and wilful way 
 
 Heart joined to heart , and hand in hand. 
 
 Through all that wondrous, witching land. 
 
 O heart that owns one feeling moved. 
 One strain recalled, that thou hast loved, 
 One quickened pulse, one starting tear. 
 'Tis thine to wander with us here. 
 
 O heart, that claims no kindred lot 
 In all our rhymes ; rebuke them not ; 
 We sing to no reluctant ear. 
 No eye, need glance unwilling, here. 
 7 
 
Christmas 
 
 Bethlehem Ephratah 
 
 WE heard of it at Ephratah; 
 We found it in the wood, 
 Of the shameful manger cradle, 
 Which in the stable stood ; 
 Where ox and ass their Master knew, 
 
 And gave their crib to Him, 
 Whom shepherds learned to own as Lord, 
 From choir of cherubim. 
 
 We heard it in the prophecy, 
 
 Of Rachel's travail sore, 
 When just outside of Ephratah, 
 
 Her youngest child she bore. 
 Benoni, whom his mother 
 
 Her " Son of Sorrow " styled. 
 Is Benjamin " the Son of God's 
 
 Right hand," in Mary's Child. 
 
 We heard it in the meaning 
 
 Of both thy names so rare ; 
 Of Ephratah, " the fruitful, " 
 
 Where the Virgin pure did bear 
 The vine's true fruit; and Bethlehem, 
 
 " The House of Living Bread, " 
 Which, whosoever eateth. 
 
 Shall live, though he were dead. 
 
 O Bethlehem, O Ephratah ! 
 
 To-day came forth from thee, 
 The King whose first forth-coming 
 
 Was in eternity ! Amen. 
 
Christmas 
 
 December 
 I 
 
 O MONTH of sweetest cradle song, 
 That e'er was sung on earth. 
 O month of strangest child-bearing, 
 When Jesus came to birth! 
 Before all worlds begotten, 
 
 Yet in this world was born, 
 God's only Son, Maid Mary's Child, 
 On the first Christmas morn. 
 
 When angel hosts sing glory, 
 To God on high ; the earth 
 
 Must ring with the sweet story 
 Of Jesu's wondrous birth. 
 
 II 
 
 O month, whose name December, 
 Brings wondrous things to mind ! 
 
 O tenth month, we remember, 
 *That ancient reckoning shrined — 
 
 * In the " old style," March was the first month of the year. 
 Hence December got its name: "the tenth." And the old 
 English calendars made March 2Sth New Year's day. 
 
As each year had its inning, 
 
 On Christ's announcing day — 
 The truth that He, beginning 
 
 And ending is alway: 
 
 He Alpha, He Omega, 
 
 Began that day to give 
 Unending Hfe, unending love, 
 
 To all in Him who live. 
 
 Ill 
 
 O month, whose robe of white snow 
 
 Means Mary, Virgin pure ! 
 O month whose trees of evergreen 
 
 Mean God's love true and sure! 
 While mistletoe, like frozen tear, 
 
 Hangs weeping on the trees. 
 And holly boughs bear berries red 
 
 As blood, from sin that frees. 
 
 We learn from thee, how ever green, 
 
 The faithful love must grow 
 In hearts, His blood makes white and clean. 
 
 Till scarlet be as snow. 
 
Christmas 
 
 A. D. 1896. 
 
 FLING out, to greet the midnight air, 
 O Cross-crowned spires, your Christmas 
 
 chimes ; 
 Sing out, to meet the morning fair, 
 O children choirs, your Christmas rhymes. 
 
 Ye are the first to catch the strain, 
 
 For ye are nearest to the sky ; 
 The childlike heart, still pure from stain. 
 
 The spires that lift the Cross so high. 
 
 Catch the glad song, that sings of " peace " ; 
 
 Ring the refrain of men's " good will " ; 
 Earth never needed, more, its ease. 
 
 To right its wrongs, to heal its ill. 
 
 Sing out the carols, ring the chimes, 
 
 " The Christ of God " was born to-day, 
 
 Born for all lands, all men, all times. 
 And while ye sing, O think and pray ! 
 
 Not yet, while hosts, in arms arrayed, 
 
 Stand ready for the shock of war ; 
 Not yet, while cruel hands, unstayed, 
 
 Are red with blood in lands afar; 
 
Not yet, while want and sin and shame 
 Press close on plenty, pureness, pride ; 
 
 Not yet, while souls know not His Name, 
 For whom the Lord was born and died ; 
 
 Not yet, on earth, the " peace of God " ; 
 
 Because, not yet, in men " good will " ; 
 O Prince of Peace, stretch out Thy rod. 
 
 And bid men's wayward wills " be still. 
 
 12 
 
A Christmas Song 
 
 (Written for the Albany Hospital Bazaar.) 
 
 OME sing a song of Christmas-tide, 
 To tell of what it brings, 
 Of blessings scattered far and wide, 
 With which the welkin rings. 
 
 C 
 
 First, glory to our God on high, 
 
 For this great gift of grace, 
 When He who rules above the sky, 
 
 First showed on earth His face. 
 
 Then Peace ! the peace of sins forgiven, 
 
 Hearts healed and saved souls, 
 The earth redeemed, the opened heaven; 
 
 So, loud, the anthem rolls. 
 
 And then good will! that men should learn 
 
 To love and help each other, 
 With eager hearts that long and yearn 
 
 To own each man a brother. 
 
 To build not only homes of ease 
 
 And holy Homes of Prayer, 
 But " Hotels-Dieu, " God's hostelries, 
 
 For suffering men, to care. 
 
 So, God will own, as given to Him, 
 
 This Christmas gift we bring; 
 Our Hospital shall be the hymn. 
 
 Of praise to Christ we sing. 
 13 
 
At the Manger 
 
 O CHRISTMAS Child, 
 So roughly cradled here, 
 Born, undefiled. 
 
 Of Maiden-Mother dear; 
 None dreamed Thy true estate. 
 None deemed Thee to be; great, 
 There in Thy swaddling bands, 
 In far-off Eastern lands. 
 
 Save that wise Mother-heart, 
 To whom the Angel's word 
 Revealed Thee, as the Lord 
 
 And Saviour, that Thou art. 
 We praise Thee, Thee we bless, 
 And worship and confess, 
 As God and Lord on high. 
 Whom Angels, in the sky. 
 
 And men on earth adore; 
 But for this single day, 
 Our lingering hearts will stay 
 
 Within the stable door. 
 Where, as a Baby, laid. 
 Thy humanness has made 
 All human hearts Thine own : 
 There, where all helpless shown. 
 Thou madest manger, Throne; 
 14 
 
Blessing all cradles upon earth, 
 Blessing each child of human birth, 
 Giving new meaning to the mirth 
 Of motherhood, and so, 
 Filling all hearts, both high and low. 
 With a fresh sense of childhood's grace 
 Reflected from Thine infant face. 
 
 15 
 
T 
 
 Merry Christmas 
 
 A. D. 1900 
 
 HIS is the word of Christmas mirth, 
 " Look to me, and be ye saved " : 
 Me, God's Son, and Son of David, 
 " All the ends of the whole earth. " 
 
 It must be " Merry Christmas " ! many a sorrow 
 
 Lies o'er the world, and darkens hearths and homes, 
 But it was midnight, breaking to the morrow. 
 
 When the Peace Angel sang " The Saviour comes. " 
 His is " the peace that passeth understanding, " 
 
 " Not as the world gives, " giveth He His peace ; 
 O'erwhelming waves are stilled at His commanding, 
 
 And wildest winds, at His calm bidding, cease. 
 Them that are glad. His coming maketh gladder. 
 
 For happy childhood, lights the Christmas tree. 
 To childless homes, where empty hearts are sadder 
 
 For " the still voice, " He comes, their child to be ; 
 Wealth to the poor, and to the rich, the giver 
 
 Of a new grace to consecrated gold; 
 To thirsty souls, draughts from a crystal river, 
 
 Bread to the hungry, youngness to the old. 
 
 How shall we welcome Him? Once in a stable 
 
 Men housed Him, no room for Him in the inn; 
 All unwilling, all unable 
 
 16 
 
To receive Him, to believe Him, 
 
 Him, who came to save His people from their sin. 
 He was cradled in a manger, 
 Outcast to His own, and stranger : 
 
 But the ox his Master knew, 
 And his owner's crib, the ass. 
 
 And the angel earthward flew 
 To the shepherds, in the fields of wintry grass. 
 
 Now we know that angel's story. 
 
 Ages-old, yet ever new. 
 Which to God on high gave glory. 
 
 And to men, peace deep and true ; 
 We must make room to receive Him 
 
 In our hearts' most holy place; 
 We must own Him and believe Him 
 
 As the Saviour of our race. 
 And speed on the glorious message 
 
 To the world's remotest end, 
 To be preacher, to be presage, 
 
 Of the grace that He will send. 
 
 17 
 
Candlemas 
 
 Purification B, V. M. 
 
 THIS is the Feast of Candlemas ; for so they 
 named the day 
 A thousand years ago and more, when Saxon 
 kings held sway, 
 And Saxon monks, like Alcuin, kept fresh the Christian 
 
 lore, 
 They learned before Augustine's feet trod England's 
 blessed shore. 
 
 And thus they kept the festival ; with tapers in each 
 
 hand. 
 Alight, and borne aloft, where priests before the Altar 
 
 stand, 
 And in the long processions, through market place and 
 
 street, 
 As, two by two, they went their way, with " due " and 
 
 reverent " feet. " 
 
 And Bernard, Saint of Cluny, eight hundred years ago. 
 
 Tells us why Christians, in his time, the festival kept so : 
 
 First, to show forth the Master's words, that with lives 
 
 clean and bright 
 
 We should let shine, before all men, Faith's pure and 
 
 holy light ; 
 
 i8 
 
And then to tell how virgins wise (and Mary chief of 
 
 all) 
 Are ready, with lamps trimmed and oil, to hear the 
 
 Saviour's call ; 
 And glad, go forth to meet Him, their souls refreshed 
 
 with grace, 
 Their hearts aglow and eager to see the Bridegroom's 
 
 face. 
 
 The great processions now no more through town and 
 
 country go, 
 No more the myriad tapers before the Altars glow ; 
 But still the Master calls us, with holy lives and pure, 
 To walk as His light-bearers, in faith and love secure. 
 
 And still the lesson lies to learn, for all who would be 
 wise. 
 
 To seek the plenteous stores of grace, His faithful love 
 supplies. 
 
 And make our lives, like lamps well trimmed, burn al- 
 ways bright and clear. 
 
 Lived, as He lived His holy, human life, among us here. 
 
 19 
 
Easter Even 
 
 L 
 
 IKE the hiding of the leaven, 
 In the measures of the meal, 
 Lay Our Lord, on Easter Even 
 Under watch and stone and seal. 
 
 Sleeping, but His " heart was waking," 
 
 Resting after weary pain; 
 While in Paradise was breaking. 
 
 Light which soon the earth should gain. 
 
 Soon the night will break to morning, 
 
 Soon the Sun of Life arise. 
 Death's brief triumph calmly scorning. 
 
 Living; nevermore He dies. 
 
 20 
 
Easter 
 
 That He might be Lord of the dead and of the living. 
 
 — Romans xiv, 9, 
 
 LORD of the dead, who from the Tree 
 Didst reign in wondrous majesty, 
 Whom earth and sky their sovereign owned, 
 Thorn-crowned upon Thy cross enthroned ; 
 Thou only " free among the dead," 
 Lead on ; we follow, safely led ; 
 As Joseph, Israel's hosts before, 
 So Jesus leads death's deep sea o'er. 
 
 Lord of the living! Paradise 
 Still glows in sweet and strange surprise; 
 Since Thou proclaimedst liberty 
 To saints that waited long for Thee. 
 The King in all His beauty now 
 They patient see, and bending low 
 Beneath the altar, cry " how long " 
 Ere we Thy royal courts may throng? 
 
 Lord of the living! Higher far 
 The glories of Thy conquest are ; 
 " God of the living, " not " the dead, " 
 Since all men live in Thee, their Head. 
 God-Man, enthroned above the skies. 
 One day Thy buried saints shall rise. 
 In Thy glad service to abide. 
 And with Thy likeness satisfied. 
 21 
 
Easter 
 
 REJOICE, be glad for Easter; 
 For this is what it tells, 
 In the music of its carols, 
 In the ringing of its bells, 
 In the springing of its flowers. 
 
 In the singing of each bird. 
 In its lengthening, brightening hours. 
 In the earth, with new life stirred : 
 
 " Life has conquered, Death's but seeming 
 Rouse ye sleepers from your dreaming 
 Lift your voices, praises giving 
 'Mong the dead seek not the living ! " 
 
 Beneath the frozen river's crust 
 
 The hidden waters flow ; 
 And, come to sight again, they must, 
 
 When soft the Spring winds blow. 
 Behind each polished wall of shell, 
 
 There is a life that waits 
 The breaking of the prison cell, 
 
 The opening of the gates. 
 Within the hard enfolding 
 
 Of bud and seed and grain. 
 The life that they are holding, 
 
 Must soon burst forth again. 
 
 22 
 
And this is but the presage 
 
 Of God's revealed truth, 
 In the glad Easter message, 
 
 Of man's immortal youth. 
 When the gray dawn grew golden 
 
 Above that garden grave. 
 In which men thought Him holden 
 
 Who came from death to save ; 
 While soldiers watched and women wept, 
 The waking came to Him who slept. 
 The spices, for embalming meant, 
 Became Spring's sweet and fragrant scent, 
 Borne far and wide on wings of wind. 
 Of endless life for all mankind. 
 
 The seal of death is broken. 
 
 The stone is rolled away. 
 The words, by angels spoken. 
 
 Are true of all to-day, 
 Since Jesus Christ has risen. 
 
 Of all mankind the Head, 
 The grave no more is prison, 
 
 " The earth casts out her dead ". 
 
 23 
 
East 
 
 er 
 
 TELL the story of the Risen, 
 Joy of sorrow ; peace from pain ; 
 How the Master broke from prison, 
 Nevermore to die again. 
 
 Wakened is the Heavenly Sleeper, 
 Earth casts out her mighty dead; 
 
 Comforted each earthly zveeper, 
 Lifted every mourner's head. 
 
 Tell the story of the Living; 
 
 Life from death; from night, the day; 
 This the manner of God's giving; 
 
 So He deals with men, alway. 
 
 Tell the story of Passover, 
 
 Dry-shod through the deep, dark sea, 
 Christ, the Lord of all and Lover, 
 
 Leads His hosts to victory. 
 
 Tell the story of the Easter; 
 
 Raise your voices high and sing. 
 Weeper, sleeper, faster, feaster, 
 
 Sursum Corda, Christ is King. 
 
 Wakened is the Heavenly Sleeper, 
 Earth casts out her mighty dead; 
 
 Comforted each earthly weeper, 
 Lifted every mourner's head. 
 24 
 
Thanksgiving 
 
 ONCE more to thee, O God, we raise 
 Our grateful song of joy and praise, 
 For well stored barn and bursting bin, 
 For bounteous harvests gathered in. 
 For seasons making fruitful soil. 
 For blessing on the labourers' toil, 
 For harvest-home whose plenty cheers 
 The sower, in the springtime tears. 
 We praise and bless Thee, gracious Lord, 
 For all fulfilment of Thy word, 
 " Seedtime and harvest shall not fail. 
 Summer nor winter." Thee we hail. 
 Giver of all, whose blessing makes 
 The earth, so fruitful for our sakes. 
 
 And while with praise to Thee we turn. 
 The lesson from Thy works we learn ; 
 Since earth and sky and floods and sea 
 And sun and rain and wind, to Thee, 
 Chant always Benedicite: 
 And all the green things of the earth, 
 And beasts and birds, with sounds of mirth, 
 Do praise and bless Thee as their Lord. 
 Not service of the lip and word, 
 
 25 
 
Thou askest. Since by Thee they live, 
 That life, to Thee as Thine, they give. 
 So make Thou our thanksgiving true, 
 To render back to Thee Thy due; 
 And liken us, in this, to Thee, 
 That, of Thy gifts, we givers be. 
 
 26 
 
All Saints' Day 
 
 O HAPPY dead who, passed to rest, 
 Know neither tears nor sighing, 
 Who, lying on your Saviour's breast. 
 Have found the bhss of dying: 
 Tears wiped away and toil no more, 
 Ye rest, ye rest, forever. 
 
 Across your hfe by pain untorn, 
 
 Untouched by earthly passion, 
 There break the streaks of coming morn, 
 
 In strange yet tranquil fashion : 
 O happy dead, eternal day, 
 When night's dark shades have passed away, 
 Is yours, is yours, forever. 
 
 Meanwhile in Jesu's arms we leave 
 
 Your blessed souls reclining. 
 And though we stricken mourners grieve, 
 
 We grieve without repining. 
 Dear Lord, we give our dead to Thee, 
 Bring us at last where we would be, 
 With Thee, with Thee, forever. 
 
 Almighty God, dear One in Three, 
 
 Thou Lord of dead and living, 
 For these gone hence, we pray to Thee 
 
 Compassionate, forgiving : 
 Grant them O Lord, eternal rest, 
 Forever and forever. 
 
 27 
 
Marriage Hymn 
 
 O GRACIOUS God and Lord, 
 Most Holy Three in One, 
 By Thine own pure and primal Word, 
 The Marriage grace begun : 
 Still bless Thy Holy Rite, 
 
 Still speak Thy powerful Word, 
 Thy servants' lives, in one, unite, 
 Creator, God and Lord. 
 
 O God our Father, Lord, 
 
 'Tis Thine, this knot to tie, 
 'Tis Thine, this ring to bless ; Thy Word 
 
 Makes perfect unity: 
 Thou makest Man and Wife 
 
 One in Thy love, and " heirs 
 Together of that grace of Life, " 
 
 This Mystery declares. 
 
 O gracious Saviour, Lord, 
 
 Whose Name we now confess, 
 The Marriage Rite, at Cana's board, 
 
 Thou didst vouchsafe to bless : 
 The Church, Thy Holy Bride, 
 
 Her children blesses here. 
 Keep them forever at Thy side. 
 
 Make each to each, most dear. 
 28 
 
O God the Holy Ghost, 
 
 Life-giver from above, 
 As Thou didst come on Pentecost, 
 
 Come now, with gifts of love; 
 Love, casting out all fear, 
 
 Love, knitting hearts in one, 
 Love, gladdening smile and drying tear, 
 
 Till Life and Love are won. 
 
 29 
 
Marriage Hymn 
 
 E. G. D. G., April 28, A. D. 1881 
 
 TO Thee, O Father throned on high, 
 Our marriage hymn, we duly sing; 
 Knit Thou the sacred bond we tie, 
 And do Thou bless the wedding ring. 
 Thy love, at first, in Paradise, 
 
 It was that made one Flesh of twain ; 
 Work Thou, while here our prayers arise, 
 That sacred mystery, again. 
 
 To Thee, O Jesu, throned beside 
 
 Thy Father's right hand, here we cry ; 
 True Bridegroom of Thy spotless Bride, 
 
 With all Thy human love, draw nigh. 
 Our human nature. Thy Divine 
 
 Has wedded, and in Thee, dear Lord, 
 As Cana's water turned to wine. 
 
 Its lost godlikeness is restored. 
 
 O Holy Ghost the Paraclete, 
 
 Thee too we worship, God and Lord, 
 And honour Thee, with praises meet. 
 
 One with the Father and the Word. 
 Lord and Life-giver, hear our prayer, 
 
 Come, sanctify and bless and guide. 
 Strengthen, and shelter 'neath Thy care, 
 
 The life of Bridegroom and of Bride. 
 30 
 
O God Triune, Whom Heaven's host 
 
 Adores, with sweet and ceaseless song; 
 O Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
 
 To whom all worship doth belong ; 
 Hear, in these echoes faint and dim. 
 
 Of chant and prayer and holy psalm. 
 Their songs, the heavenly Feast who hymn. 
 
 The Marriage Supper of the Lamb. 
 
 31 
 
For Those at Sea 
 
 HELD in the hollow of Thy Hand, 
 Whose might is merciful to save, 
 Thy mighty Ocean's mountain wave 
 But bridges space from land to land. 
 
 'Twas Thy perpetual decree. 
 That set the barrier of the sand, 
 Where lapping waves caress Thy Hand, 
 And own allegiance thus to Thee ; 
 O Father, hear our earnest prayer 
 That gives our darlings to Thy care. 
 
 O Master, sleeping on the wave 
 That rose in wrath and threatening harm, 
 Then shrank to sleep beneath Thy charm, 
 When waked the power that loves to save ; 
 
 O Master walking on the sea 
 And keeping hearts that faint, from fear, 
 Outreaching hand to draw them near, 
 To walk the waters safe with Thee ; 
 O Jesus hear our earnest prayer. 
 That trusts our darlings to Thy care. 
 
 O Holy Ghost, Whose Breath of Life 
 Calmed that confused, chaotic deep, 
 From which creation came, to sleep 
 32 
 
And wake, with nature's beauty rife; 
 
 O Spirit, wedded to the wave 
 Which gives, to mortals on the earth, 
 The grace of an immortal birth 
 To life, that lasts beyond the grave; 
 Lord and Life-giver hear our prayer, 
 
 That puts our darlings in Thy care. 
 
 33 
 
A Hospital Hymn 
 
 (For the little children in the Child's Hospital.) 
 
 J 
 
 ESUS, Lord, enthroned high, 
 Once, on earth, a Httle child, 
 Hear Thy little children's cry, 
 Sinful, to the Undefiled. 
 
 Such as we are, mothers brought, 
 In their arms, for Thee to bless ; 
 
 Such as we are, came and sought 
 At Thy hands. Thy love's caress. 
 
 Such as we are, not beguiled 
 Yet, by cares and joys of earth. 
 
 Thou didst set—" a little child "— 
 
 'Mongst those men of wondrous worth. 
 
 And " of such ", Thou saidst — the King ! 
 
 "Is my heavenly kingdom ", bright; 
 Pure from evil thought or thing, 
 
 Guileless in Thy holy sight. 
 
 Such as we are, sick and lame. 
 
 Blind and poor and racked with pain, 
 
 To Thy touch, in suffering came, 
 And went, healed and well again. 
 34 
 
Holy Jesus, Healer, Friend, 
 
 Tender Lover of us all, 
 Of Thy g^ace, we pray Thee send 
 
 To Thy children when they call. 
 
 Make us patient in our pain ; 
 
 Make us, by it, live to Thee ; 
 Heal our souls of sin's sad stain, 
 
 From our sickness set us free. 
 
 Place us, each one, Lord, just where, 
 We, Thy servants true, may be, 
 
 Thy great Will, to do or bear, 
 As it seemeth best to Thee. 
 
 Bless the hands that soothe our cares, 
 Ministering, in us, to Thee ; 
 
 Let us see Thy face in their's. 
 Whom, at last, we hope to see. 
 
 And, when suffering days are past, 
 And earth's service all is done. 
 
 Bring us, Saviour, at the last 
 
 With the saved about Thy Throne. 
 
 35 
 
Hymn 
 
 (Written for the Bicentenary of the City of Albany.) 
 
 A 
 
 NCIENT of days, Who sittest, throned in glory ; 
 To Thee all knees are bent, all voices pray ; 
 Thy love has blest the wide world's wondrous 
 story. 
 With light and life since Eden's dawning day. 
 
 O Holy Father, Who hast led Thy children 
 In all the ages, with the Fire and Cloud, 
 
 Through seas, dry-shod; through weary wastes be- 
 wildering ; 
 To Thee, in reverent love, our hearts are bowed. 
 
 O Holy Jesus, Prince of Peace and Saviour, 
 To Thee we owe the peace that still prevails, 
 
 Stilling the rude wills of men's wild behaviour, 
 And calming passion's fierce and stormy gales. 
 
 O Holy Ghost, the Lord and the Life-giver, 
 
 Thine is the quickening power that gives increase ; 
 
 From Thee have flowed, as from a pleasant river, 
 Our plenty, wealth, prosperity, and peace. 
 
 O Triune God, with heart and voice adoring. 
 
 Praise we the goodness that doth crown our days ; 
 
 Pray we, that Thou wilt hear us, still imploring 
 Thy love and favour, kept to us always. 
 36 
 
Hymn 
 
 (Sung at the two hundredth anniversary of the S. P. G. in 
 London, June i6, 1900.) 
 
 O RISEN and Ascended Lord, 
 Whose vision widened, as from sight 
 The Cloud received Thee, through which 
 poured 
 Thy parting blessing ; give us Light, 
 To see what filled Thine eyes and heart 
 And in Thy work to know our part. 
 
 " Jerusalem, Judaea, then 
 
 Samaria " and earth's outmost parts ! 
 No little limit to Thy ken. 
 
 No narrowing nearness, to our hearts, 
 But " every creature, " nations all. 
 Bid us to bring within Thy call. 
 
 Send down Thy Holy Ghost in fire 
 
 To kindle, quicken, warm our wills. 
 Our tongues to loose, our souls inspire. 
 Till all the earth Thy knowledge fills, 
 And round the world from zone to zone 
 Thy Name, Thy saving grace are known. 
 37 
 
Claim the fulfilment of the word 
 
 Thy Father spoke, " Desire of me 
 And for Thine heritage, as Lord, 
 The nations I will give to Thee, 
 
 The utmost earth Thou shalt possess, " 
 And all mankind with mercy bless. 
 
 So, through Thy pleading, make our prayer 
 Prevail with power, where from on high 
 Thou holdest all within Thy Care; 
 
 While, from the earth and through the sky 
 Angels and men, one mighty host. 
 Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. 
 
 Amen. 
 
 38 
 
O Deus Meus Amo Te 
 
 (St. Francis XavierJ 
 
 M 
 
 Y God, I give my love to Thee 
 iSlot that Thou mayest, so, save me. 
 Nor because those who love not Thee 
 Must burn in fire eternally. 
 Thou, Thou, my Jesus, all of me, 
 Embracedst on the accursed Tree, 
 Didst bear the nails and spear for me; 
 For me, all shame and misery. 
 For me, innumerable woes 
 For me, the bloody sweat, and throes 
 Of painful death ; these all for me, 
 For me, in sin and misery. 
 How therefore shall I not love Thee 
 O Jesu, loving tenderly. 
 
 39 
 
PERSONAL 
 
 41 
 
My Baby's Face 
 
 (In a photograph.) 
 A. D. 1862. 
 
 SWEET little face, so full of earnest wonder, 
 Looking from so far off, at me, forlorn, 
 You try to look, as though you did the thunder 
 To the quick lightning flash that caught your form. 
 
 But there is mischief in that frown, sweet baby, 
 Peeping, like sunlight, through a scowling cloud, 
 
 Why don't you see me looking at you ; — may be 
 You'd smile away that anxious, angry mood. 
 
 Dear little face, in search of something loving. 
 Here, where you see it not, it looks at you. 
 
 So, God, unseen, is loving us ; so, moving 
 Near us, the loving dead, to love, are true. 
 
 Dear little baby, older eyes, in wonder 
 
 Look, through blind tears, into the empty night, 
 
 Doubtful and desolate, sad, as far asunder 
 
 From those, they only cannot look on, for the Light. 
 
 Look darling, alway, earnestly, while sunlight. 
 Brighter than ours, paints upon your heart. 
 
 In the dark clouds of sorrow, Jesu's image, 
 A cross, a crown, that cannot be apart. 
 43 
 
"I Shall Kiss Both Your Eyes, 
 Papa" 
 
 A. D. 1863, E. G. D. 
 
 KISS my two eyes, my precious child, 
 And wake me so, to love and prayer, 
 Prayer, that shall keep thee undefiled, 
 And love, to fold thee in its care. 
 
 Break so, Sleep's quiet heavy seal. 
 
 With the sweet moisture of your kiss, 
 Sweet darling, little can you feel, 
 
 The earnest lesson of all this. 
 
 The morning dew-drops kiss the earth, 
 
 And break its dark, inactive dream ; 
 And Winter wakes from death and dearth, 
 
 Kissed by the Spring-sun's gracious beam. 
 
 O sealed eyes, O sleeping heart. 
 
 No kiss of love, than death more strong. 
 
 Can stir that pulse, that light can start; 
 Thou sleepest well, and sleepest long. 
 
 Yet Love shall wake thee ; and a Kiss, 
 
 The Kiss of Life's eternal morn, 
 Of the great Easter-Spring of bliss ; 
 
 The Love, of Jesus, Virgin Born. 
 44 
 
Kiss my two eyes, my blessed child, 
 And wake me so, to love and prayer; 
 
 Prayer, that shall keep thee undefiled. 
 And Love, to fold thee in its care. 
 
 Unsleeping Love, unceasing prayer, 
 Reach down, about thee, darling child. 
 
 From him, who sleeps to us, but, there, 
 Finds Life and Death quite reconciled. 
 
 45 
 
Margaret Harrison Doane 
 
 M 
 
 (Baptized by my Father, who died in May, A. D., 1859.) 
 "The Angels* Day," A. D., 1859 
 
 Y baby, just a year ago, 
 
 The gracious stream was poured, 
 That floweth from the pierced side. 
 Of Jesus Christ our Lord; 
 To wash thy child-soul clean and white 
 
 From every stain of earth, 
 And bear thee, of the Spouse of Christ, 
 God's child in holy birth. 
 
 And of that countless company. 
 
 That just are not divine, 
 One angel from before God's Throne 
 
 Is marked, and known as thine. 
 And since that day, he stands for thee 
 
 Before thy Father's Face, 
 Or on some ministry of love 
 
 To earth he wings his race. 
 
 And he, who called that angel down, 
 
 And opened Heaven's door. 
 And poured the sacred, saving stream. 
 
 And blessed thee, o'er and o'er; 
 46 
 
Within that door has entered now, 
 
 That blessing hath attained, 
 With Heaven's innumerable host, 
 
 And saints, in robes unstained. 
 
 And thou art left, the closest link — 
 
 In pure, unsinning heart. 
 In guileless thoughts, and winning ways 
 
 Of Paradise, a part — 
 To bind us, to his blessedness, 
 
 And help us enter in, 
 With them, and him, and all the just, 
 
 In Christ's Blood, washed from sin. 
 
 His constant prayers ; that angel guard ; 
 
 About thy path, be, still ; 
 To shield thee, from all hurt or harm. 
 
 And mould thee to God's will ! 
 And, to that countless company. 
 
 My darling, may we come. 
 To share, what now we lose from earth, 
 
 The brightness of his home. 
 
 47 
 
My Father's 53d Birthday 
 
 A YEAR of stir, and storm and strife 
 Has mixed the snows of time, 
 With the sharp hail of wrinkling care, 
 Upon thy brow subHme, 
 
 But yet the firm, undaunted step, 
 
 The tread of conscious truth. 
 The eye undimmed, the fearless heart, 
 
 Are thine, as in thy youth. 
 
 And as the tree, that feels the gale 
 
 The fiercest and the first. 
 Glistens the soonest, in the sun 
 
 Through scattered storm-clouds burst. 
 
 So, when the false world's strife is done 
 
 And time has passed away 
 God's brightest beams of glorious light 
 
 Around thy head shall play. 
 
 48 
 
In My Father's Memoir 
 
 In Pace 
 
 NO study now, no wearying employment, 
 No creed, confession, Litany, to raise, 
 But all fulfilled, in the complete enjoyment, 
 Of knowledge, adoration, love, and praise. 
 
 Devotion now, a pleasure, not a duty. 
 
 No anxious hopes, no overmastering fears, 
 
 But the near vision of the King in beauty. 
 On eyes, whose seeing is not dimmed with tears. 
 
 This joy we know not, to more glory leadeth 
 There, hope, assured, in perfect patience waits. 
 
 And scarcely feels the only thing it needeth. 
 
 That God should open, Heaven's jewelled gates. 
 
 The white robed souls, the palms, palm branches bear- 
 ing, 
 
 The tongues, attuned to sing the Angel's song. 
 Reach out for crowns, which seem forever nearing, 
 
 And only cry, " how long," O Lord, " how long." 
 
 O home of peace, to our homes, drawing nearer, 
 
 As one by one, our darlings enter in. 
 How art thou, fairer, surer, better, dearer, 
 
 Than these abodes of sorrow and of sin. 
 
 Thy pastures green, thy river of God's pleasures, 
 Bid us, — stray sheep, and tired Iambs — to come. 
 
 Restored to all our human hopes and treasures, 
 And finding, first, our one continuing home. 
 49 
 
Riverside* 
 
 October, A. D., 1859. 
 
 HE quiet sorrow of the trees 
 Lies, bleeding, on the earth ; 
 And silence falls, in folds of crape, 
 About my Father's hearth. 
 
 T 
 
 Creeps up, the still September mist, 
 And veils the waking morn ; 
 
 And tears shall dim, with webs of haze, 
 The morrow, e'er 'tis born. 
 
 The river runs in ripples down, 
 
 And merges in the sea; 
 My life, in ebb and flow of tears 
 
 Rolls down and follows thee. 
 
 The empty house is silent all, 
 The home he held so dear; 
 
 Unlit the hearth, untrod the hall, 
 And gone, its ancient cheer. 
 
 A heavenly glory gilds the leaves ; 
 
 Death is their brightest day ; 
 O God, give glory so, to us 
 
 From out this dread decay. 
 
 * My Father's home in Burlington, N. J., which be- 
 came the residence of his successor in the Episcopate. 
 
 50 
 
Behind the still, September mist 
 
 Climbs up the glorious sun ; 
 When all Thy love, our tears, hath kissed, 
 
 Thy glory, they have won. 
 
 Back rolls the tide ; the ceaseless springs 
 
 Return what Ocean takes, 
 Thy ceaseless mercy heals and fills 
 
 The heart, that sorrow breaks. 
 
 For us, this empty house, so drear, 
 
 For him, the peopled home ; 
 " No lasting city, " have we here, 
 
 But seek, " the one to come " ; 
 
 That one, whose founding is secure ; 
 
 Its builder, God ; its shrine, 
 The place where angels praise, and saints; 
 
 My Father's home and mine. 
 
 SI 
 
My Mother 
 
 (Who died in Florence.) 
 
 THE Tuscan shore is far away, 
 And far away, the Tuscan sea, 
 Whose laughing waves, in sunshine play, 
 Their sweet and soothing melody; 
 And yet, I wander there to-day 
 And hear their rippling lullaby. 
 
 It lulls the Tuscan children's sleep, 
 It calms the wear of working men, 
 
 And as I wander there, and weep, 
 I wonder not, for all my pain, 
 
 That it can soothe, to sleep, so deep, 
 One, who will never wake again. 
 
 Was there no rest thy weary heart, 
 
 Could find, but that which sleeps, so sound, 
 So still, so dreamless, like a part 
 
 Of the unmoved and silent ground? 
 And must thou be, as now thou art. 
 
 Before that longed-for rest was found ? 
 
 But O, my Mother, three long years 
 
 Have gone away, since your last kiss ; 
 And, through the rain of parting tears, 
 
 52 
 
We never dreamed of grief like this, 
 Nor ever thought, mid parting fears, 
 In their return, thy face to miss. 
 
 O Mother, could no light come down. 
 Upon thy darkened soul ; till ours 
 
 Withered beneath this sorrow's frown. 
 And died down ; as the Autumn flowers, 
 
 Like tears, upon the earth are strewn 
 And will not bloom, for all the showers? 
 
 O Mother, could there be no peace 
 
 To soothe thy widowed heart, till ours 
 
 Were veiled in tears, that will not cease 
 To fall, in grief's incessant showers ? 
 
 'Tis our distress ; 'tis thy release : 
 On graves, are grown, our life's best flowers. 
 
 The Tuscan earth is full of bloom, 
 
 And sweetest flowers, incessant, spring 
 
 The year round, from her teem.ing womb. 
 But now it holds a fairer thing, 
 
 A flower, in what we call a tomb. 
 That waits for God's awakening. 
 
 The Tuscan flowers are fair to see. 
 
 Dear Mother, did they glad thine eyes ? 
 Then, what a welcome sight, to thee 
 
 The fadeless flowers of Paradise, 
 Blooming, beyond life's troubled sea. 
 
 That breaks in peace, against God's skies. 
 53 
 
There, Mother, will we look for thee, 
 Far off, yet nearer, somehow, there, 
 
 To me ; for there is no more sea 
 To part us; and there is no fear. 
 
 Of further parting: rather we 
 Draw nearer to thee, year by year. 
 
 Back to thy bosom, Mother earth, 
 
 Thy weary child, has turned for rest. 
 
 But we, her orphans, in our dearth 
 Can find no loving Mother's breast, 
 
 Till, from the womb of Life's full birth, 
 We come, of all Life's joys, possessed. 
 
 O God, reveal Thy Father's love 
 To our poor hearts, that long for his: 
 
 O Holy Church, a Mother prove 
 To us, a Mother's love, who miss : 
 
 Till Heaven be home ; and we, above 
 
 Shall share, their changeless, endless bliss. 
 
 54 
 
"The Pastor Croswell" 
 
 OH blessed title, thou hast won ; 
 Beyond all worldly fame, 
 Thou sainted, and departed one, 
 To join to thy dear name. 
 
 Pastor in all the gentlest care. 
 
 In watchful eye and heart, 
 In ministries of praise and prayer, 
 
 In every pastoral art. 
 
 Pastor, to feed the Saviour's lambs, 
 To lead the wandering home ; 
 
 The sick, to heal with gospel balms, 
 To lighten sorrow's gloom. 
 
 O Thou great Shepherd of all souls, 
 
 Be such my life, my aim 
 That in Thy Book of Life, with his, 
 
 Thou mayest enroll my name. 
 
 55 
 
M. D. G. 
 
 With a copy of " Tales of a Grandfather." 
 
 ? ^T^WAS a lucky little boy, in the famous land of 
 
 I Scott, 
 
 -■■ (Which they well might spell as Scott-land, 
 
 with a very double " t ") 
 And his name was John Hugh Lockhart, and he'll never 
 
 be forgot 
 As long as there are children that have eyes to read 
 
 and see. 
 
 And his grandfather, Sir Walter, loved him more than 
 can be told. 
 For he came, like dew on dryness, like the rain in 
 time of drought, 
 And like sunshine into darkness, when the Poet had 
 grown old ; 
 And a child's sweet, earnest freshness, into life again 
 he brought. 
 
 " Wizard, " well they called Sir Walter, who could 
 summon at his will, 
 All the shapes that ever peopled loch and plain and 
 heathy hill ; 
 But the witching, m.agic power, whose charm never, 
 never fails, 
 Was the childish want and wonder for the dear 
 Grandfather's Tales. 
 
 56 
 
So sweet child, in love, I bring you, not this story-book 
 
 alone. 
 But the story of the story-book, whose truth all ages 
 
 own; 
 How, as life goes on, and freshness fades from heart 
 
 and hand and eye, 
 Fades from meadow and from moonbeam, from earth 
 
 and sea and sky ; 
 
 Comes the sweetest, second fatherhood, like quickening 
 
 breath of Spring, 
 Comes this kind of second childhood, freshening, 
 
 brightening everything, 
 And repeoples life with voices, that so long had silent 
 
 been, 
 And with forms, the eye had strained to see, that long 
 
 had been unseen. 
 
 And the old heart leaps up laughing, with a resurrec- 
 tion joy, 
 
 And the woman grows a girl again, the man, once more, 
 a boy; 
 
 And the fountain of perpetual youth, springs real, with 
 fabled power, 
 
 In the sweet and close communion of the blessed " Chil- 
 dren's hour. " 
 
 57 
 
In Kenilworth Camp 
 
 Dr. Trudeau's 
 
 " The angel of the Lord encamps about them that fear him. 
 — Psalm xxx-4. 
 
 THE solemn stillness of the night 
 Draws its deep curtains round the world; 
 The peaceful lake ; the quiet light 
 Of sentry stars; the tent unfurled, 
 Like sheltering wings of brooding bird ; 
 And only nature's voices heard ; 
 These are the scenes all strange to me, 
 Familiar now, for years, to thee. 
 
 Here resting through thy thoughtful care, 
 I leave my blessing and this prayer : 
 O God, whose angel watches near 
 Those who have learned Thy name to fear, 
 Make good Thy promise, ever here ; 
 
 Encamp around Thy servant's tent, 
 Let only mercies here be sent ; 
 Attend his path ; about his bed, 
 Thy sheltering wings be ever spread ; 
 Let him and his forever share 
 The comfort of Thy watchful care. 
 
 For men rise up, and call him blest, 
 Who, seeking here for health and rest, 
 Has won the loved physician's name, 
 And, like St. Luke, earned double fame, 
 Evangelist and healer he, 
 Of men, whom he has led to Thee, 
 
 58 
 
I 
 
 F. Hopkinson Smith 
 
 (Acknowledging a water colour sketch of North East Harbour.) 
 
 SIT before my hearth at home, 
 Its winter fires are all ablaze : 
 And suddenly there greets my gaze 
 A scene transformed by sprite and gnome. 
 
 A silver sea in gray and pearl, 
 Lies still and stretches far away, 
 To kiss the passing clouds, that furl 
 Their sails, and float on, soft and gray. 
 
 The rocks, the trees, the yellow grass, 
 The islands folding in the sea. 
 The winding path ! Some magic glass, 
 Holds nature up to memory ; 
 
 Till Winter warms. Another fire 
 Another hearth, another home, 
 A shrine that holds my heart's desire, 
 To which my pilgrim thoughts may roam ; 
 
 And dear companionship of friends. 
 That charms the summer days so fair, 
 All these are with me ; Winter ends, 
 'Tis summer still and soft and rare. 
 
 O magic art and magic hand, 
 Compressing distance, bridging miles, 
 And making distant scenes to stand, 
 So near, one counts the ocean's smiles. 
 
 O gracious heart, O gracious hand, 
 That lavishes so much on me. 
 Welcome as frequent guest on land, 
 Or in my home beside the sea. 
 59 
 
J. p. M. 
 
 October, A. D., 1895 
 "The Standard Bearer." 
 
 HE holds the flag up, who, with brawny hands, 
 Carries the pole which lifts it toward the sky ; 
 Or he, who, in the battle steadfast stands, 
 Set, for its safety, there, to live or die. 
 
 No less a standard-bearer, brave and true. 
 
 Who braves the scorn of prating fools and knaves, 
 
 Maintaining credit, honour, faith, like you. 
 The man, the Nation's solvency, who saves. 
 
 60 
 
Thomas Nelson 
 
 O BRAVE and broken heart, so tried and tested, 
 In the fierce heat of bitter grief and pain, 
 I have a sense of joy, that you are rested, 
 
 Not as by sleep ; but waking up again. 
 Your loss made good, your gallant battle ended, 
 
 And all the mystery of your life made plain. 
 To our shut-in, short-sighted vision even. 
 
 There is one solving of the riddle, clear ; 
 That manhood's crown is won by grace from heaven, 
 
 In the still battle-field, alone, untended 
 But by the angels ; facing without fear 
 
 The certainty of death, to which " consenting ", 
 You " conquered agony " and shed no tear. 
 
 O hero heart, calm, steadfast, unlamenting, 
 Your victor crown, like saintly halo shining, 
 God made, with fire your manhood's stuff, refining. 
 
 6i 
 
To Harriet Langdon Pruyn 
 
 A Tinkle of Her Baptismal Bell 
 1868 
 
 SOFT and sweet is the chiming 
 Of the merry musical bells, 
 Ringing in waves, and rhyming 
 With a surge that ebbs and swells : 
 
 Set to all sorts of singing. 
 And suited alike to all. 
 The bridal and burial ringing 
 With tender and tuneful call. 
 
 Right well the caster knoweth 
 Whence comes the soft, sweet tone; 
 And while the metal gloweth, 
 Before the casting is done, 
 
 With generous hand he throweth 
 The precious silver in ; 
 And thence, as the legend goeth, 
 The silvery voices begin. 
 
 Now I take the loving message 
 Of your dear baptismal bell, 
 To be the promise and presage 
 Of your life, I fain would tell ; 
 62 
 
That silver, fined in the fire 
 Of sorrow — if need must be — 
 Of faith, upHfted higher, 
 As God is harder to see, 
 
 Shall teach all notes of sadness 
 An echo hope and peace, 
 And tone, all times of gladness 
 .With the joys that never cease. 
 
 63 
 
A. P. P. 
 
 Annunciation Day 
 
 DEAR friend, whom, years of testing time 
 Prove truer, dearer, as they go, 
 I would that in this simple rhyme. 
 Some power might make you feel and know, 
 
 How gracious to our loving eyes, 
 
 Your nature grows, from grace to grace ; 
 
 With all that womanhood must prize ; 
 With power to take the foremost place, 
 God gives to her, in whom the race 
 
 Of man finds, on this holy day, 
 
 Eve's fall restored in Mary's grace ; 
 
 With heart ingenious to devise 
 All liberal things with lavish hand ; 
 
 With the keen insight of the wise. 
 With courage, for the right to stand, 
 God bless the day that gave you birth. 
 Prolong and cheer your days on earth, 
 And from the Heavens, opening wide, 
 Shed light on your life's even-tide. 
 
 64 
 
MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 65 
 
Life-Sculpture 
 
 CHISEL in hand, stood a sculptor-boy 
 With his marble block, before him 
 And his face lit up, with a smile of joy, 
 As an angel dream passed o'er him. 
 He carved the dream, on that shapeless stone, 
 
 With many a sharp incision ; 
 With heaven's own light, the sculpture shone 
 He had caught that angel vision. 
 
 Sculptors of life are we, as we stand. 
 
 With our lives uncarved before us, 
 Waiting the time, when at God's command, 
 
 Our life-dream shall pass o'er us : 
 If we carve it then, on the yielding stone, 
 
 With many a sharp incision. 
 Its heavenly beauty shall be our own. 
 
 Our lives, that angel vision. 
 
 67 
 
Light 
 
 DARKNESS was brooding o'er the shapeless 
 earth, 
 Darkness, the twin of Chaos: from on high 
 No star shone out with sweet and smihng eye, 
 Dimpling the solemn deep, with twinkling mirth. 
 " Let there be light," the Almighty Father said, 
 And where in thick obscurity, the night 
 Had reigned, broke out a living stream of light 
 And bore away the darkness deep and dread. 
 So on man's heart, when the black night of sin 
 Shed desolation, darkness and despair, 
 " The light, to light the Gentiles," bursting in 
 
 Turned the mind's midnight into radiance fair, 
 " Let there be light." It was, when God had said. 
 " Let there be light." It is, for Christ has bled. 
 
 68 
 
Gray CliflF, Newport 
 
 WHAT striv'st thou for, oh, thou most mighty 
 Ocean, 
 RoHing in ceaseless, sweeping surfs ashore. 
 Canst thou not stay thy restless, wild commotion ; 
 
 Must thy low murmur echo evermore? 
 Yet, thou art better than our hearts, though yearning 
 
 Still for some unattained, unknown land. 
 Thou, still art constant, evermore returning 
 
 With each fresh wave, to kiss one waiting strand. 
 O heart, if restless, like the yearning Ocean, 
 Like it, be all thy waves, of one emotion. 
 
 Whither, with canvas wings, oh ship, art sailing 
 
 Homeward or outward bound, to shore or sea? 
 What thought, within thy strong sides, is prevailing, 
 
 Hope or despair, sorrow, or careless glee? 
 Thou, too, art like our hearts, which gayly seeming. 
 
 With hope-sails set to catch each fresh'ning breeze; 
 In truth, are sad, with tears and trials teeming, 
 
 Perhaps to sail no more on life's wild seas. 
 Oh, heart, while sailing like a ship, remember. 
 
 Thou, too, may'st founder, in a rough December. 
 
 Why, your white arms, ye windmills, are ye crossing 
 In sad succession, to the evening breeze, 
 
 As though within your gray old heads were tossing 
 Thoughts of fatigue, and longings after ease? 
 
But ye are better than our hearts, for grieving 
 Over your cares, ye work your destined way ; 
 
 i 
 
 While they, their solemn duties weakly leaving. 
 In helpless sorrow, weep their lives away. 
 
 Oh heart, if like those hoary giants mourning. 
 Why not be taught by their impressive warning ? 
 
 70 
 
Long Branch 
 
 August, A. D. 1859. 
 
 LAY thy long arms, upon the cold grey sand, 
 O thou salt sea, 
 What hast thou taken in thy soft white hand. 
 What hast thou left upon that waiting strand, 
 Hast thou given aught to her, or she to thee? 
 
 Is she thy bride reluctant still, still waiting, 
 
 Impatient sea, 
 Grown grey, from years of doubtful hesitating, 
 Long wooed, not won ; half liking and half hating 
 
 Thy still untired faith and constancy? 
 
 Dost thou still woo her, with those constant reaches 
 
 O patient sea. 
 That run so far up, on the sandy beaches?. 
 Is this the lesson, that thy motion teaches 
 
 Of undiscouraged, long fidelity? 
 
 Is that low murmur, love's old, oft told story 
 
 O loving sea, 
 Falling, in foam, from off thy lips so hoary 
 White with the rime of bearded age, and glory, 
 
 With love's most musical monotony, 
 71 
 
Nay not so well of thee, my heart believeth, 
 
 O thou salt sea, 
 Thy broad breast, not with such unselfish passion 
 
 heaveth, 
 Something she giveth thee and something she receiveth, 
 
 In sure and understood return from thee. 
 
 She gives thee wrecks to feed on ; for she reaches, 
 
 O treacherous sea, 
 Under thy hiding waves, her fatal beaches, 
 While thy low voice the midnight wind beseeches. 
 
 To join with thee and her, in foul conspiracy. 
 
 And those white crests, with their impatient pawing, 
 
 O greedy sea, 
 Are ravenous teeth, whose sure, resistless gnawing 
 Draws keel, and hull, and masts, thy greedy maw in, 
 
 And crushes all in thy voracity. 
 
 And that low voice, is but the sound, they utter, 
 
 O faithless sea, 
 Who in an undertone, the story mutter 
 In breathless midnight, when no leaf can flutter, 
 
 Of foul, night-seeking, dark conspiracy. 
 
 Thy every surge, 
 A funeral dirge; 
 Each curling wave, 
 A rounded grave; 
 72 
 
Thy sullen roar 
 Against the shore, 
 The passing bell, 
 The tolling knell. 
 
 When darkness lies 
 On sea and skies ; 
 And mists arise, 
 Born out of thee. 
 To vail from eyes, 
 Both sky and sea, 
 Then, hand in hand, 
 O sea and sand 
 You seek your prey ; 
 And when the day 
 Breaks on the wave. 
 No hand can save 
 It from thy grasp, 
 But that salt wave 
 Stills every gasp ; 
 And keel and mast 
 Are sinking fast. 
 No sex, no age 
 Escapes thy rage ; 
 And when their cry 
 Would reach the sky. 
 To call for aid, 
 From God on High, 
 Thy roar is made 
 73 
 
More loud and strong, 
 Upon the gale 
 That sweeps along, 
 While ship and sail 
 And hull and mast 
 Part, sink, are lost. 
 O cruel cost 
 For thy mere play 
 That ceaseless rolls 
 Through night and day. 
 God save the souls 
 That trust to thee, 
 O faithless sea. 
 
 Thy long arms lie, upon the old grey sand, 
 
 O treacherous sea, 
 Lingering so fondly on the waiting strand. 
 What hast thou left behind thee on the land 
 
 In full return, for what she gives to thee? 
 
 Crushed in thy cruel jaws, the splinters lie 
 
 O mighty sea, 
 Of the fair bark that filled the loving eye, 
 With hopes of joy, but destined here to lie 
 
 Broken and worthless, from thy cruelty. 
 
 And to thy fellow, in that cruel plot, 
 
 O faithful sea. 
 Thy madness gone, thy fury all forgot. 
 What hast thou given, that she fail thee not, 
 
 In thy next planned and foul conspiracy? 
 74 
 
The bones of men, white as thy curHng foam 
 
 O crested sea, 
 Jewels, and gold, and gems, to make their home 
 On that white sand, o'er which thy billows roam, 
 
 Proud, mighty, fearless, unrestrained and free. 
 
 This all, of thee, my dreaming heart believeth 
 
 O thou salt sea. 
 For this the sand thy curling kiss receiveth, 
 Such passion, thy broad, billowy breast upheaveth, 
 
 Insatiate, cruel, restless, endlessly. 
 
 75 
 
Under the Catskills in July 
 
 MORNING 
 
 F AST-fleeting, fleecy cloud, whose veil of mist 
 Floateth, where'er the wooing West winds list : 
 Thy soft, moist lips the Catskills' crest have 
 kissed 
 All the long morning ; until cloud and crest, 
 By the sweet breath of summer bound and blest. 
 Of two are one, its head on thy white breast : 
 'Till lifted up in bridal ecstasy, 
 The mountain melts and merges into sky. 
 
 AFTERNOON 
 
 coy, cool cloud, whose silver fringes sweep, 
 The sky's blue depth, and run with laughing leap 
 Down the green groves and gorges of the hill : 
 'Till settling down as weary of thy play. 
 
 Upon the mountain's breast, thou liest still, 
 
 A baby, in strong arms, to sleep away 
 
 Thy very self : and when thy lips have kissed 
 
 The breast that holds thee, die in wreaths of mist. 
 
 NIGHT 
 
 1 look again — the mountain stands alone. 
 In long, sharp outlines, separate and clear. 
 
 The night wind rose, and rolled the cloud away. 
 Rain fell. It was the sad cloud's parting tear. 
 It thundered. 'Twas the widowed mountain's groan. 
 And so there passed before me, in that day, 
 Bridal and birth and burial, the three 
 That round the circle of life's mystery. 
 
 76 
 
The Wind and the Water 
 
 YE are most kindred things, O wind and water ; 
 Mother, ye almost seem to be, and daughter; 
 One gathering up the clouds from every quarter, 
 From which the other's born : 
 Coying the one with leaves, the one with pebbles, 
 Whose faint resistance, only playing rebels. 
 Makes hills and valleys, waterfalls and levels, 
 Vocal, till night, from morn. 
 
 Or loud, or low, ye both are always singing 
 
 Some song of praise ; and whether winds are winging, 
 
 Or waves are whispering soft, or flinging 
 
 Its words into the sky. 
 I cannot tell; for sound of water rushing. 
 Is like the storm-wind in the trees ; and gushing 
 In gentle brook, it is the zephyr hushing 
 
 The leaves with lullaby. 
 
 So nature witnesses to revelation : 
 
 Deep, brooded o'er by Spirit, at creation. 
 
 Wind and the waters : and the generation 
 
 Of earth begun. 
 The morning stars sang then, the angels shouted. 
 Ye learned their m.essage undenied, undoubted. 
 Of ordered winds, ruled waves, and chaos routed ; 
 
 Ere God made man. 
 
 11 
 
Still holier truth is here : the Incarnation : 
 God's Son made man ; and men by new creation, 
 God's sons ; and lo, for this regeneration, 
 
 The Spirit and the deep, 
 Wind and the water, these are reunited ; 
 New life is given, where the old was blighted, 
 New light shines forth, upon the world benighted, 
 
 And Heaven is won, to keep. 
 
 78 
 
Fata Morgana 
 
 FROM Reggio's streets, when the traveller's eye 
 Turns to Messina's wave of glass, 
 The towers and trees, that behind him lie, 
 In loveliest colours, before him pass. 
 
 So from the heights of a green old age 
 When we turn to the past with its haze of tears, 
 
 We see, in its clear, recording page 
 The vanishing visions of life's young years. 
 
 79 
 
On a Sun-Dial 
 
 " Horas non numero nisi serenas." 
 
 THERE stands, in the garden of old St. Mark, 
 A sun-dial quaint and gray, 
 Taking no heed of the hours, that in dark, 
 Pass over it, day by day. 
 It has stood for ages, among the flowers 
 In that land of sky and song. 
 " I number none but the cloudless hours " 
 Its motto, the live day long. 
 
 So let my heart, in the garden of life. 
 
 Its calendar, cheerfully keep, 
 Taking no note, of the sorrow and strife. 
 
 That in shadow, across it sweep; 
 Content to dwell, in this world of ours, 
 
 In the hope, that is twin with love 
 And numbering " none but the cloudless hours," 
 
 Till the dayspring dawn from above. 
 
 80 
 
To a Violet 
 
 SKY-tinctured, skyward-gazing flower, 
 Growing more sky-like every hour ; 
 Emblem of unpretending worth, 
 Teach us, whose look is bent on earth. 
 To gaze with thee, upon the sky. 
 That our souls, drawn up, with our eyes, on high, 
 May pass away, like thy scent at even, 
 Calmly, from hoping, to rest in Heaven. 
 
 8i 
 
"Domine Aperi Labias Nostras" 
 
 "O 
 
 LORD, open Thou, our lips, " 
 The silence falls 
 Of some great grief; 
 The dark our heart appalls. 
 We seek relief, 
 
 Yet know not what to say 
 And know not how to pray 
 Till Thou, O Lord, shalt open our lips. 
 
 Say "Ephphatha," O Lord, 
 
 Our lips are dumb. 
 
 " Thy Kingdom come " 
 They can not say, 
 Nor be content, with every day, 
 To ask just " daily bread ", and pray 
 
 " Thy Will be done," 
 
 Save when Thy most benignant sun 
 Makes Thy will, theirs : 
 And all our prayers 
 Are wilful words, and anxious cares, 
 
 And wayward thoughts, till Thy Hand strips, 
 
 The thickness, from our stammering lips. 
 
 " O Lord, open Thou, our lips, " to-day 
 Touch them, if need be, with the shame 
 
 Of spittle ; let Thy chastening rod 
 
 Bend them, to press themselves against the clay 
 
 Of. even, death ; and teach us, so, the name 
 Of sorrow, that it is " the sent " of God. 
 82 
 
O Lord, open Thou, our lips, 
 
 To show Thy praise : 
 The tongue within, 
 
 Man's glory, wake with Thine arousing Voice; 
 And open these long-shut and rusted gates, 
 
 To let the words out, wherein they rejoice. 
 Who do no sin. 
 
 Through Heaven's eternal days. 
 
 " O Lord, open Thou, our lips, " 
 
 They are uncircumcised; 
 With sorrow's sharpest knife. 
 
 Wound their dumb silence, till surprised 
 With pain, and wakened so to life, 
 Cut loose from lust and words of shame, 
 Cut loose from idle words and vain, 
 They learn the lesson of all pain. 
 
 To pray ; 
 
 And when we weep, with tears to say 
 " Thy will be done ; " 
 
 Or if we long for those away 
 
 Whom Thou hast taken, learn to say 
 " Thy Kingdom come. " 
 
 83 
 
A Prayer 
 
 LORD, grant to me a charmed life, 
 Its spell, Thy Son's great Name, 
 To bear me through the world's hard strife^ 
 With pure and glorious aim. 
 
 That when the battle all is past, 
 
 The victory may be won. 
 And my soul stand complete at last, 
 
 Through Thine Eternal Son. 
 
The Litany 
 
 "That it may please Thee to defend the fatherless children; we 
 beseech Thee to hear us." 
 
 DEAR Mother Church, whose tender care 
 Provides for every want a prayer ; 
 Bringing thy children all to thee, 
 To kneel beside Thy bended knee, 
 In manhood, youth and infancy ; 
 What prayer of all Thy precious store 
 So runs with blessings o'er and o'er, 
 
 As the deep solemn Litany; 
 Whose voice of mingled tears and sighs 
 
 Bows every heart, to meet each knee ; 
 And melts all hearts in moistened eyes. 
 Gladly we seek its softening strain, 
 And dwell upon its sweet refrain, 
 When Lent, in penitential woe 
 Sets tears of sorrow, free to flow ; 
 Gladly when Advent's trumpet tone 
 Proclaims the coming Judgment-throne : 
 
 When Thy great heart is pierced through ; 
 In the world's grief ; in nations' fears ; 
 Or when, a single heart, in tears, 
 That to the world, unheeded flow, 
 Christ's pitying Heart, for comfort nears. 
 85 
 
Dear Mother Church; when-, born of thee 
 
 God called us, by the sacred name 
 Of child ; it was a guarantee 
 
 That, come what would, of sorrow, shame, 
 Or suffering; still a Father's care 
 Would shed upon the children's prayer. 
 He taught their childish lips to frame, 
 A Father's love, through all, the same. 
 
 O God, we thank Thee, for that word.. 
 It blunts the sharpness of the sword, 
 
 That made us children, fatherless. 
 We dwell upon its soothing sound. 
 It offers balm, to heal our wound. 
 " Our Father, " still our lips may say, 
 Child hearts may have their loving way. 
 
 And, longing for their old caress, 
 May lean on Thee, when the strong arm 
 Is gone, that shielded us from harm: 
 And look to Thee, when the calm eye, 
 That strengthened us, no more, is nigh, 
 But Thine looks on us, from the sky. 
 " Our Father," hear Thy children cry ; 
 For in that sorrow, deep and wild 
 Unsoothed, unchanging, unbeguiled. 
 That breaks our hearts ; the strongest man 
 
 Gladly becomes a little child, 
 And speaks, as well as sorrow can, 
 
 Or listens, while God's children send 
 86 
 
Their common prayer, to Jesu's ear, 
 
 " That it may please Thee to defend 
 Thy children fatherless, we pray Thee hear. 
 And then, comes back Thy promise old. 
 Which Holy Church hath often told, 
 That Thou hast promised oft, to bless 
 The widow and the fatherless ; 
 Dost call Thyself, of them, the God; 
 
 Their cause defendest, and wilt hear, 
 From Thy serene and high abode. 
 
 Their child-prayers; and dost mark the tear 
 Of their poor hearts ; and with the rod. 
 That smites the water from the rock 
 
 Of hardest hearts, dost draw them near 
 To Thee ; and biddest them loudly knock, 
 
 As children, at their Father's door, 
 Till Thou shall bid them enter in 
 And dwell with Thee, where sorrow, sin 
 
 And parting, come not, evermore. 
 
 O Father, only Father, now, 
 
 For us. Thy children, hear the prayer. 
 Which all Thy Church, doth offer here; 
 
 W^hile we, before Thy mercy bow. 
 
 " That it may please Thee still to bless 
 The widow and the fatherless." 
 
 87 
 
A Child's Song 
 
 "I cannot sing, for Heaven is gone away."— A little girl's 
 
 saying. 
 
 Y house is full of brightest cheer, 
 
 And rings with pleasant sound of song, 
 For there, a little child, so dear, 
 Makes music all the live day long. 
 
 M 
 
 I hear her in the garden now. 
 
 Mixing her voice with other birds, 
 Sweeter than theirs ; and fragrant too 
 
 As flowers, seem her broken words ; 
 Broken, to let their sweetness out. 
 
 As wayside flowers under foot. 
 And now the voice floats down the stairs 
 
 Lulling her dolls to quiet sleep, 
 Now creeps among my thoughts and cares 
 And even sets to rhyme, my prayers, 
 Stealing on tip-toe in the deep, 
 Still silence of my books and work; 
 Nor does such stillness ever lurk 
 In all my house, she will not fill. 
 Nor anxious care, she can not kill. 
 Nor painful doubt, she does not while 
 Away, with sunny song and smile. 
 
 88 
 
Why do these darlings sing all day? 
 
 What wind, across the fine-strung harp 
 Of their young souls, in constant play 
 
 Sweeps out the notes, so clear and sharp? 
 None, but God's wind. I sing sometimes, 
 
 A break for over-busy brain — 
 And find, in running into rhymes, 
 
 Relief, for closer thought again. 
 We sing for pleasure, sing for fame, 
 
 Sorrow sheds tears, sometimes, in song; 
 So measured, fall its drops of rain 
 Wrung out by very press of pain 
 
 But not to them such things belong: 
 
 Why do they sing? A little child 
 Who thought in music, half the time, 
 
 And others' cares and thoughts beguiled, 
 With constant singing, just as mine, 
 
 Had sung the sun up, from the gray 
 Of early morning; and, at noon 
 
 Sang still ; and sang till close of day. 
 Which drew the dark on, all too soon : 
 
 And then she stopped. Oft, to the stars 
 She had made music ; and the moon 
 That made the twilight bright, in June, 
 Had often heard her pretty tune ; 
 
 — A silver sight and silver sound — 
 But when the dark came, she was still, 
 
 Like bird shut in by cruel bars, 
 That looks in silence, round and round, 
 
 But for a song has no more will. 
 89 
 
And as she looked up at the sky 
 
 Still silent, and we asked her why, 
 " I can not sing," — the child would say — 
 
 " My song, for Heaven is gone away." 
 
 Therefore they sing; " for Heaven is near; " 
 
 And round their souls, that even weight, 
 — We feel not — of the atmosphere. 
 Presses the softness of its clear, 
 
 Deep, beauty, early, long and late. 
 The blue of heaven, the light of stars 
 The sunlight with its golden bars, 
 The scented air, the tinted sky. 
 The soft wind-whisper, blowing by. 
 The twilight grey, the silver moon, 
 Fresh morning and the panting noon, 
 And evening rest ; these touch their souls' 
 Most hidden springs, and secret keys, 
 And thence flow out the symphonies. 
 As ocean-wave melodious rolls — 
 In gushing song. And when the late. 
 Dark evening gathers ; then a hush 
 Falls on them, and restrains the gush. 
 
 " I can not sing," they say 
 
 In silence, " Heaven is away." 
 
 They sing by instinct ; but by effort, we : 
 And far-ofif Heaven hears their simple song; 
 
 But smiles not on our strained minstrelsy, 
 
 Harped upon instruments, that to earth belong. 
 90 
 
Dear child-heart, in the darkest hours, 
 Heaven goes not far away from thee ; 
 Thy very soul, an azure arch. 
 Thy thoughts, the stars that keep their march; 
 God's Love, the sun, reflecting light, 
 On the pale moon of our love. 
 Thyself, an impress from above, 
 
 Showing Heaven to our enraptured sight, 
 
 That lingers with its longest looks on thee ; 
 And counts thee, what the earth esteems its flowers 
 And Heaven, its stars. Sing, darling, all the hours. 
 
 Only, for us, the clouds of sin, 
 
 The dark of evil coming in. 
 
 The veil of sense upon our eyes, 
 Our blinding tears, the dust we raise 
 
 In hot pursuit of vanities ; 
 Only from us, such things as these 
 
 Shut Heaven out, but not from thee ; 
 Thy song may rise, whene'er it please. 
 
 Its way to Heaven is short and free. 
 
 Nor even from us, is Heaven gone: 
 The cloud that comes before the Throne 
 Is of earth-vapours ; and with God, 
 There is no near, there is no far; 
 But faith in lowly reverence bowed. 
 In every cloud can set its star. 
 91 
 
Sing, when the Heaven seems gone away, 
 
 O heart of child, oh heart of man, 
 In midnight dark, or twihght grey, 
 At dawn, or noon, or close of day ; 
 
 Sing all the while you can. 
 Sing, and the arrow of thy song. 
 
 From full-bent soul, with fervour drawn, 
 Shall find out God. And at that day, 
 When Heaven and earth shall pass away, 
 New melodies, the heart shall learn. 
 With new accord, our songs shall burn, 
 Not even, the Heaven, then, shall be. 
 
 Between thy Father, child, and thee. 
 
 92 
 
Oh Weary Earth 
 
 Thou sentest a gracious rain upon Thine inheritance, and 
 refreshedst it when it was weary.— Ps. Ixviii: 9. 
 
 OH weary, weary earth 
 Lying before the calm, deep eye 
 Of the all-Lover, 
 Baring thy utter dearth 
 And desolation, to the blue, soft sky 
 
 That hangeth over. 
 And praying with thy pleading speechlessness. 
 Of flower and blade, and leaf, and the dry grains of 
 dust. 
 So many thousand eyes that look to Heaven, 
 In the calm waiting of abiding trust, 
 
 All the soft morning through, and the hot noon, till 
 even; 
 Well art thou weary, by life's ploughing riven 
 
 In furrows deep, for the dead grain's safe keeping ; 
 Weary of death's still deeper furrows driven, 
 
 For longer seed-time, but for richer reaping. 
 Into thy patient breast, that holds for Heaven 
 
 The great and golden harvest of the sleeping ; 
 Still trust and look, for though thou art so weary, 
 
 God still is gracious and is over all, 
 After these scorching days, and nights so dreary, 
 His rain, on His inheritance, shall fall. 
 93 
 
Tears 
 
 THE tears of childhood likest are 
 To April's sunny rain ; 
 While falling fastest, falls a bar 
 Of sunlight, streaming from afar 
 
 Across the level plain. 
 While tears are falling, falls a bar 
 Of smile-light like a summer star, 
 And joy returns again. 
 
 And youth's hot tears come gushing down, 
 
 Like August's noisy shower, 
 'E'en in its midst 'tis past, and light 
 Plays revelling on earth's freshened sight, 
 
 As in a fairy bower ; 
 E'en in its midst youth's grief is gone, 
 And days, as bright as ever shone. 
 
 Succeed that darkling hour. 
 
 And manhood's tears fall, soft, in grief 
 
 Like sad October's rain; 
 Long dreary days, with no relief, 
 Only the sound of falling leaf. 
 
 And all is still again : 
 Long days, it weeps unceasing tears. 
 Deep sighs it heaves for by-gone years. 
 
 Then, silent, bears its pain. 
 94 
 
Old age weeps only frozen tears ; 
 
 As down a bare tree's side ; 
 December flakes fall few and fast, 
 And freezing as they fall, will last 
 
 Till comes the sweet Spring-tide ; 
 So down its furrowed cheeks tears fall, 
 Frozen and fast, nor melt, on earth, at all. 
 
 95 
 
Shells 
 
 FAR out at sea, a tiny boat* 
 Has set her tiny sail, 
 Swiftly we see it onward float, 
 As freshens still the gale. 
 A rainbow, in it, must have slept, 
 
 To give it tints so fair, 
 Or loveliest angel, in it, wept, 
 
 A pearl, in every tear. 
 Brighter, than pen of mine can tell. 
 Sailed on, that little fearless shell. 
 
 Deep, in the chambers of the sea. 
 
 Where Ocean's mermaids dwell, 
 A palace stood, it seemed to me, 
 
 Its every stone a shell. 
 And oh, what glorious hues, were they, 
 
 That flashed upon my eye, 
 Of blue and green, and gold and gray. 
 
 That, there, unnoticed, lie. 
 As violets sweet, in loneliest dells, 
 So blush unseen, those beauteous shells. 
 
 Thus on the sea, and in its caves. 
 
 These painted sea-gems lie. 
 As tombstones, o'er its many graves 
 
 Of low-born men and high : 
 
 * The Nautilus. 
 
 96 
 
And when they rest upon the shore, 
 
 In wealth's luxurious ease, 
 They sound to us, the solemn roar 
 
 They learned beneath the seas. 
 As exiles, though afar, they roam, 
 Still sing the songs they learned at home. 
 
 97 
 
Rejected Address* 
 
 Jenny Lind to America 
 
 HAIL to thee, home of the free and the fearless, 
 Gladly my spirit seeks shelter in thee, 
 Rising so fair, from the breast of the cheerless 
 And wearisome waste of the wave-dimpled sea ! 
 Shrine of true liberty, long has my spirit 
 Panted and pined for thy sunnier clime, 
 Longing, thy glories and grace, to inherit, 
 Brightest and best of the daughters of time. 
 
 Hope of the exile and home of the ranger, 
 
 Mighty in all that the world counteth fair, 
 Take to thy bosom, and cherish the stranger 
 
 Own her, thy daughter, thy hearth let her share. 
 Full in my breast, are the warm pulses swelling. 
 
 Warmer for welcoming thee as my home ; 
 Still will my lips of thy glories be telling, 
 
 Wide, through the world, as my footsteps may roam. 
 
 * Offered in competition, when Jenny Lind first visited 
 America ; but not accepted. 
 
 98 
 
Moonlight 
 
 ALL the spaces, in the still, 
 Deep silence of this midnight hour, 
 Which busy day would ever fill, 
 With hum of bee around a flower. 
 Or with the hazy, seething rise 
 
 Of earth-born vapours to the sun, 
 The moonlight filled ; and from the skies 
 
 To earth was silence ; and in one 
 Unbroken column rose the light, 
 In silvery softness, out of sight. 
 
 99 
 
 LoFC. 
 
V. M. R. 
 
 Asleep January 31, 1885 
 
 FOLDED hands and fettered feet; 
 Sealed eyes, in slumber sweet; 
 Closed mouth, undimpled chin; 
 Cheeks, so pale and cold and thin ; 
 No more beating of the heart, 
 No more breath, the lips to part ; 
 Not a word, and not a kiss ; 
 Has our love all come to this ? 
 
 For the Body, yes ; 'tis all ! 
 Like the seed, sown in the Fall, 
 Planted in the earth away. 
 Mingled with its kindred clay. 
 Waiting through the wintry snow, 
 Till the wind of Spring shall blow ; 
 Certain then to wake from sleep; 
 God, this planting, safe, will keep. 
 
 Meanwhile, with activities 
 Freer far, and clearer eyes. 
 Wakes her soul, and warms with love; 
 First for God, and things above; 
 Then with pity tender, true, 
 Loving, praying, turns to you ; 
 Draws your heart, her joys to see ; 
 Hearts, where treasures are, will be. 
 100 
 
October 
 
 E. G. D. G. 
 
 NOT sad nor gay, and not sober 
 Exactly, these autumn days, 
 Of the scarlet-and-gold October 
 Stand out, in their luminous haze ; 
 Dreamy and thoughtful and tender, 
 
 And rich with the sort of tint 
 That a poet-artist would render, 
 With colour that knows no stint. 
 
 Really, the beauty and glory 
 
 Is only the ripeness of leaf ; 
 Telling the Spring-time story, 
 
 And the Summer's heat, and the grief 
 Of the leaden rains of September, 
 
 And the first rough touch of frost; 
 Not one do they fail to remember, 
 
 Whatever has been its cost. 
 
 This is no gaudy beauty 
 
 Of a flower-bed lush in June ; 
 'Tis the glory of fulfilled duty. 
 
 The chord, resolved, of a tune : 
 And the red is the blood of martyrs. 
 
 And the yellow, their crown of gold; 
 He is childish, for youth, who barters 
 
 The greatness of growing old. 
 
 lOI 
 
One thing I note in this splendour, 
 
 That the rich dark green of pine 
 Makes the back-ground strong and tender, 
 
 Against which, glow and shine 
 The tints of the rainbow colours, 
 
 On the hillsides low and high ; 
 More bright, for one hue that is duller, 
 
 Against the sunlit sky. 
 
 And 1 gather, my darling, this lesson. 
 
 That lies on your precious life. 
 Of the real and infinite blessing, 
 
 Of ripeness won through strife ; 
 Through pain, and sorrow, and trouble. 
 
 And of richness, growing with years. 
 And of happiness, more than double. 
 
 By contrast with trials and tears. 
 
 102 
 
"Nihil Longe Deo" 
 
 NOTHING is far from Thee, no one, no where; 
 Teach us this lesson. Lord, and draw to Thee 
 Our poor and wandering hearts, each day more 
 near, 
 Where only they at rest and peace can be. 
 
 Yet some are nearer Thee, dear Lord, than we; 
 
 " They in the rest of Paradise who dwell, " 
 And, mirrored in the calm and crystal sea, 
 
 Gaze on that vision tongue can never tell. 
 
 So near they seem to Thee, who art not far 
 
 From us; that whereso'er we stray, 
 If only Thou be near, then they too are, 
 
 From our poor empty hearts, not far away. 
 
 Time, distance, parting, all the pains and fears 
 About our living loves ; these are not known 
 
 About our dead. Unseen for blinding tears, 
 Their nearness to us, is most like Thine own. 
 
 Far as they are from hands and eyes that strain 
 To see, to feel them, this at least we know. 
 
 We never leave them, and no added pain 
 Of parting hurts us, whereso'er we go. 
 103 
 
Yaddo, Dec. 24 
 
 WHY do ye linger so long at Yaddo, 
 Tinging, with gold, the pines' grave green, 
 Flushing, with crimson tint, the shadow 
 Cast, so clear, in the lake's smooth sheen ; 
 Dear autumn leaves, sky-mined of the metal 
 
 Which, from the earth, makes bronze and gold ; 
 Bringing back summer, when every petal, 
 Rainbow hues could, each day, unfold? 
 
 Dear leaves of autumn, what are you doing, 
 
 Lying here, yellow and red and brown. 
 Is it stuff, for a funeral pall, you are strewing, 
 
 With every breath, as you flutter down; 
 Burying little lost thoughts, that wandered 
 
 Out in the wood, like the " babes " that died ; 
 Is it for this that your wealth is squandered. 
 
 Lovingly, lavishly, far and wide? 
 
 And the leaves whispered, with fleck of shadow 
 
 And sunlight mingled, in tremulous play, 
 " We are waiting here for the Queen of Yaddo, 
 
 To wave her farewell when she goes away; 
 And then on the soft sweet breast of our Mother, 
 
 Who bore us and nursed us, to lay us down. 
 And give life back to her, so that another 
 
 Spring-birth of leaves may be Yaddo's crown. 
 104 
 
The First Soap Bubble 
 
 M. S. G. 
 
 OTHE beauty of the vision, when the bubble 
 upward flew, 
 With its wonder and its glory breaking on 
 her raptured view. 
 Floating, dancing, soaring, falling, gathering every 
 
 rainbow hue, 
 Like a larger dew-drop, glowing, while the sunset tints 
 are new. 
 
 O, the beauty of the vision; all that wealth of golden 
 hair 
 
 Making bright the noonday sunlight, that so likes to 
 linger there 
 
 And the blue-gray eyes wide open, in their wonder and 
 delight 
 
 And the hands reached out to catch the phantom pass- 
 ing out of sight. 
 
 Silence, suddenly outbreaking in a short bird-note of 
 
 joy, 
 
 And the little figure starting to pursue the newest toy, 
 And the flush, half hope, half sorrow, when it broke, 
 
 and empty air 
 Kept no trace of all the beauty, that had just been 
 
 floating there. 
 
 105 
 
my darling, while the bubble filled your eye and 
 
 heart with glee, 
 With its clearness and its colour, and its airy flight so 
 
 free, 
 Heart and eye of mine were fastened, on the sweetness 
 
 and the grace 
 Of your little fairy figure and your dear upturned face. 
 
 Till it seemed to me, the story of our lives was written 
 there ; 
 
 How we set our hearts on bubbles, that soon vanish 
 into air ; 
 
 How the beauty and the glory of the earth and of the 
 skies 
 
 Seem to gather and go out in them, before our blind- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 And I longed to catch the spirit, as I saw it in your 
 
 face; 
 And I prayed the Lord to give me such a measure of 
 
 His grace, 
 That with calm and clear uplifting of a still expectant 
 
 eye, 
 
 1 might see the fleeting beauty of this world go hurry- 
 
 ing by. 
 
 While I knew, for every little bubble bursting in the 
 
 air, 
 There would come another some time, just as bright 
 
 and just as fair, 
 And I knew, that life's true losses were not bubbles 
 
 passed away. 
 
 But God's jewels safely stored, dearer, nearer, every 
 
 day. 
 
 io6 
 
Shadows 
 
 IT is not reading, makes us wise; 
 But most we learn, by sitting still, 
 To hear the whispers of God's Will, 
 And watch His ways, with patient eyes. 
 
 Books are the teachers of man's wit; 
 
 The Heaven is God's eternal seat ; 
 
 All earth, a school; and at His Feet, 
 That reach the long way down, we sit, 
 
 Trying to spell out life's blurred page. 
 Whose deep, mysterious, loving truth, 
 We read not, until childhood, youth. 
 
 And manhood have grown gray, with age. 
 
 But word by word, the page we spell, 
 And learn some lesson every day, 
 To wait, to work, to watch, to pray. 
 
 And, last of all, to bear God's will. 
 
 This I have learned; that sorrows are 
 But shadows cast by God's great love, 
 As by the sunlight from above 
 
 That shmeth on us, from afar. 
 
 And lest our heart grow hard, with heat, 
 Beneath the loving sun of God, 
 It casts a shadow of His Rod 
 
 And shades our souls, that lie beneath. 
 107 
 
And, lest our hearts grow dry again, 
 He sheds the shadow of our fears, 
 And draws the misty veil of tears. 
 
 To make us patient and serene. 
 
 And deep and far, the shadows fall, 
 
 Deepest, when clouds of death have come, 
 Darkest about the empty home 
 
 Far-reaching, sometimes, over all. 
 
 But, in the death of good and great, 
 When all the earth lies in the shade. 
 The deepest shadow, still, is made, 
 
 On those, who cling about His feet. 
 
 Yet through the shadow, shines the sun ; 
 There is no sunlight without shade, 
 No sun, if shadows be not made; 
 
 And those, who leave us, are not gone. 
 
 It is not nearness, that we need, 
 
 To press our darlings, to our heart; 
 For, when they seem most far apart. 
 
 They, nearest are, to us, indeed. 
 
 It is not nearness, that we need 
 
 But only faith, flesh-clothed in love, 
 That bids, the parting mountain, move; 
 
 And God's dark writings, all can read. 
 
 Yet, with the shadow, shines the sun; 
 There is no sunlight without shade 
 No sun, if shadows be not made ; 
 
 And those that leave us, are not gone. 
 1 08 
 
And through the shadows, shines the sun; 
 
 God's love, triumphant over all, 
 
 Attests its presence by the fall 
 Of shadows gathering, one by one. 
 
 The shadows gather, one by one ; 
 
 The evening hastens ; then the night ; 
 
 And then the breaking dawn grows light, 
 And out bursts, God's eternal sun. 
 
 109 
 
M 
 
 Through the Curtain 
 
 M. S. G. 
 
 Y dearest Baby, playing in the room 
 
 Runs through a curtain — parting as she goes 
 And faUing to again — and on tip toes 
 She stands, looks back and says, " all gone " ; and night 
 And silence are, where there was speech and light. 
 And I stand, waiting, in the growing gloom, — 
 But, in a moment comes a little hand. 
 Puts back the curtain, and that sweetest face 
 Smile-wreathed, and with a look of glad surprise 
 Beaming and brimming in the dear blue eyes 
 Comes towards me, fast as running feet can race, 
 And, falling in my wide arms' fast embrace, 
 
 Says " O " ! as if she thought I would not stand 
 And wait for her, with patience, in my place. 
 
 THROUGH THE VAIL 
 M. H. D. 
 
 My dearest darling, whose sweet presence made 
 
 My work-time, play-time, and filled earth with light ; 
 I saw the vail lift, through which, out of sight 
 
 You passed, and as it fell, there fell the shade 
 Of sorrow, silence, solitude, and night. 
 
 " All sfone ? " I know God would not let that be ! 
 
I know that only to another room 
 Of the dear Father's House, Thy soul hath come. 
 I know, it but an instant seems to Thee, 
 Till, through the vail, uplifted then for me 
 Thy voice shall fill my ear ; thyself, my eyes. 
 Shall it there stir in Thee, love's sweet surprise 
 To know, that since you passed, in the same place 
 You left me, I have waited, for Thy face? 
 
 Ill 
 
Telephone 
 
 M 
 
 M. S. G. 
 Y sweetest Baby, playing in the room 
 Where she had seen me use the telephone, 
 Whose far-voiced string has power to take 
 the tone 
 Of the most distant speaker, asked to come 
 Into dear arms, one day, when I was gone; 
 And pressing her sweet lips against the cup, 
 Called me by the pet name that's all her own. 
 
 I was too far away to hear. But one took up 
 The word, and swifter than the rushing wind, 
 Sent it, on lightning wings, to cheer my heart. 
 And as I read the word, it soothed the smart 
 Of absence, seeming, somehow, power to find 
 To speak, with all the dearness of her voice, 
 And make my desert loneliness rejoice. 
 
 M. H. D. 
 
 O God, Who mak'st Thine angels to be winds. 
 Thy Ministers fire: I am farther still 
 From one more dear. O might it be Thy Will, 
 
 Taking the mystic cord, which surely binds 
 All hearts, however parted, into one 
 Communion, in the Body of Thy Son — 
 
 To let that dear voice speak one word to me, 
 Call me by name, and since I am not near 
 Enough, its sweet familiar tones, to hear, 
 
 Let her own Angel, who, from her new birth 
 
 Has vv^atched her, till he bore her soul from earth, 
 Leave her a moment — She is safe with Thee — 
 
 And speak, just as she spake, that I may dream 
 I hear once more the music of that voice. 
 Which, speaking, seemed to make the world rejoice, 
 
 And silent, makes the world, so silent, seem. 
 
 112 
 
Goodnight and Goodbye 
 
 THESE are life's two commendatory prayers, 
 " Goodnight, " 
 " Goodbye " ; not wishes only, for love's holy 
 rite 
 Of trusting worship waves the censer there, 
 Whose rising fragrance makes each wish, a prayer ; 
 And the same thought of God is in them both ; 
 Else love, to speak them, would be all too loth. 
 
 " Goodnight ! " we say ; and though the darkness fold 
 Soft wings of silence, which our darlings hold, 
 Unseen, unheard, away ; yet, in our dreams. 
 Which are the soul's continued life, there seems 
 No night, no silence, but they still are near, 
 And the heart rests content, and has no fear. 
 
 We dare not say " Goodnight," when the far deeper 
 Darkness falls, which we call death, and why ? 
 Because while we are in the dark, the sleeper 
 Wakes in the very Light of Life ; and so, " Goodbye " 
 We say, and the dear word comes back in sweet replv, 
 " God with us " both, and we with Him, who live, who 
 die. 
 
 And this is my Goodbye to you, dear friend, 
 Which crosses seas, and bridges shore to shore. 
 God has been with you, will be, to the end, 
 And with those sweetest souls passed on before. 
 And you, and they, and I, by power of this dear prayer, 
 Are one, in His unfailing love and ceaseless care. 
 
 113 
 
Mrs. Spencer Trask 
 
 K. N. T. 
 I 
 
 HELD in high honour through all England's story, 
 Three letters, added to a noble name. 
 Since ever Arthur ruled in royal glory, 
 A nature, gallant, pure and true, proclaim. 
 
 Not by mere chance, but this true story telling, 
 The knightly surname comes of right to thee ; 
 
 Pure heart, high thought, brave, gracious courtesy 
 dwelling 
 In the fair Ladye, yclept " K. N. T. " 
 
 II 
 
 IN THE TOWER AT YADDO 
 
 O lifted eye, o'erlooking earth, 
 O lifted heart that grasps the sky, 
 Thine is the gift of holiest birth, 
 Thine the fast hold of things on high. 
 To thee, the things of time unseen, 
 The eternal vision shines serene. 
 
 114 
 
Ill 
 
 NEW OLD FRIENDS 
 
 Words there are, whose friendship measures 
 Years or days, one knows not whether. 
 
 Old they seem, like heir-loom treasures, 
 New, like flowers in sweet spring weather. 
 
 Hearts no measure take of time, 
 
 Save the measure of the rhyme 
 
 Of the pulses, that, in tune. 
 
 Ebb and flow like tides to moon. 
 
 115 
 
Felicissimo Natale! 
 
 A Christmas word to my children in Italy 
 
 SOFT fall the accents of the Tuscan speech, 
 Like lapping waves against a sandy beach, 
 And sweet the sounds, that ripple from the 
 tongue 
 Of that fair land, which poets all have sung. 
 
 " Felice, felicissimo natale ! " Pray 
 My darlings, take this greeting for to-day. 
 We, in our harder, wholesome words, at home, 
 Say " Merry Christmas," and the wish will come, 
 
 That, either we were, where they call this day 
 Festa di natale ; or you, here, to say 
 " Christmas " and Merry Christmas, for 'twould be 
 Most merry, with you this side of the sea. 
 
 But thank God, darlings, whatsoe'er the speech, 
 In which we phrase it, 'tis the same to each, 
 English, Italian, or in any tongue. 
 In which the carol " peace on earth " is sung. 
 
 And so " felice " " merry " let us say, 
 
 As much as may be here, you all away ; 
 
 Or there, where children are; and Christmas cheer. 
 
 Where children are not, is a trifle drear. 
 
 Still "happy," "merry" for the blessed Gift, 
 To heaven our thankful hearts we all will lift. 
 And keep our Christmas, half across the sea, 
 Half here, as you do, darlings, thankfully. 
 
 ii6 
 
An Offering in Gold 
 
 (For the Cathedral Endowment Fund from the Sisters of the 
 Holy Child) 
 
 Y 
 
 OUR gift, dear Sisters, does to me unfold 
 What alchemists sought vainly for of old, 
 The magic mystery of making gold. 
 
 Light first the holy fire of sacrifice ; 
 Kindle with breath of love, till it arise 
 Like incense winged and wafted to the skies. 
 
 Then put in poverty, and stir, with prayer, 
 The smelting stuff of constant toil and care, 
 And the result is gold, pure, rich and rare. 
 
 "7 
 
The Golden Wedding at Edge- 
 water 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. G. Pomeroy Keese 
 
 TWO fresh sails set to catch the morning breeze, 
 Bearing one bark to sail on unknown seas ; 
 
 Roi et Reine, 
 Roy and his Queen; 
 These the two sails, and this the bark ; at ease 
 Floating and drifting, steering where they please. 
 
 Fair winds or adverse, clear or cloudy weather, 
 No matter which, while they go on together; 
 
 And one by one, 
 
 Daughter and son, 
 Make either crew or cargo, as you please, 
 Of the staunch craft that bears the name of Keese. 
 
 Till, to the softer winds of evening, sails still set, 
 Rich with the memories neither can forget, 
 
 At dear Edgewater 
 
 With each son and daughter, 
 In peaceful harbour lit with sunset gold. 
 Love is still young, though half a century old. 
 
 u8 
 
Daniel Webster 
 
 "The rock shall guard his rest, and the ocean sound his 
 dirge '' 
 
 ROLL up, old Ocean, thine eternal surge 
 And tune thy strong and everlasting voice, 
 To its most sad, most solemn, grandest dirge, 
 In such a requiem v^orthy of thy choice. 
 
 Stand firm, thou gray and bearded rock of strength, 
 God's tomb, to guard such consecrated dust ; 
 
 And watch, through time's unseen, mysterious length, 
 Thy sleeper ; proud in such a sacred trust. 
 
 His fame, old Ocean, like thy ceaseless flow. 
 
 Swells onward, upward, where thou art not known ; 
 
 His name, the rock, that ages still shall know 
 To stand the firmest thing, unreached, alone. 
 
 " Thy rod, thy staff ", oh gracious God, have stayed 
 
 The rod that stayed our nation from its fall ; 
 
 And in Thy Life, the man that Thou hast made, 
 
 " Still Hves ; " and is more living than we all. 
 
 IIQ 
 
Amasa J. Parker 
 
 An. Mt. lxxx 
 
 HOW shall we greet him, honoured among men, 
 Who has not only passed three score and ten, 
 But bears the weight of all these eighty years, 
 Unbent, unbroken, eye undimmed with tears, 
 And natural force, like Patriarch of old, 
 All unabated; and his age untold 
 But by his honours ! Let us write in gold 
 The glory of such age ; to which, unrolled 
 Like a long, pleasant pathway, all the past, 
 Filled with strong purposes from first to last, 
 Lies bathed and basking in the sunset rays 
 Of peace, content, renown and length of days. 
 We hail him victor in a fight well fought, 
 
 Crowned with the laurels plucked from many a field ; 
 Who learned by teaching, and while learning taught, 
 
 And made both life and books their wisdom yield. 
 Statesman and jurist, strong in earnest plea, 
 And wise in counsel, judging righteously: 
 Blest beyond men in all that sweetens life. 
 Home, children, children's children, truest wife : 
 Chief among equal citizens, he bears 
 
 Our City's name to honour high and fair : 
 With simple ease his well-won crown he wears : 
 
 " Serus in coelum redeat:" This our prayer. 
 
 120 
 
Gladstone 
 
 FOREMOST of English-speaking men in all the 
 lands 
 Ruled by our English speech, great Gladstone 
 stands. 
 Scholar and statesman, patriot and Premier 
 Of England: lordlier than the titled Peer 
 Who office holds, for just the passing hour, 
 But yields to him the premiership of power. 
 
 Versed in all knowledge, sacred and profane. 
 Our Holy Faith most valiant to maintain. 
 The friend of freedom, facing loss and scorn 
 To lift from dust the friendless and forlorn. 
 Lover of England's homes, and England's state, 
 With will to make her rather good than great. 
 
 Careful perhaps far more of rule at home, 
 Than of the glories which from empire come ; 
 Changing, 'tis said, as all things change that grow, 
 Changing to meet events that onward go. 
 Leading, yet following, the great people's will. 
 And bound the leader's mission to fulfill. 
 
 Glad-stone, well named, since he who maketh glad 
 
 The hearts of men, himself however sad, 
 
 Has highest gladness ; and a very stone 
 
 Of precious worth, a jewel in the throne 
 
 Of truest sovereignty, which rules and reigns, 
 
 In the high realm of thought whose wide domains 
 
 No one land limits, no one age contains : 
 
 His own beloved Homer's hero lives again 
 
 In him, whom I account a " King of men." 
 
To Dr. Furness 
 
 (After hearing him read Henry V., and Julius Caesar) 
 
 GOD findeth water in most various ways, 
 For thirsting souls in life's most desert days. 
 Some dig, or bore, or pump with might and 
 main; 
 To some, a mirage o'er a dry, flat plain. 
 To some, a green oasis in the sand. 
 Tells of the crystal moisture near at hand. 
 But the most wondrous gift is his, whose hand, 
 With the witch-hazel, in unmeant command, 
 Points where no eye had seen, nor search had found. 
 To some unmarked, unlikely piece of ground. 
 And strikes — as Moses' rod, the Rock — the place, 
 Where a fair Naiad hides her modest face. 
 
 This is thy art, my friend. Where ponderous pumps 
 Artesian bores, deep-diggers — critics called — 
 
 Have worried Shakspeare's wonder-world, with thumps 
 And throes of toil, thy magic wand, enthralled 
 
 With the sweet witchcraft of thy thought and voice, 
 Touches, now here, now there, spots bare and bald. 
 
 And a fresh spring of beauty makes our hearts rejoice. 
 
 122 
 
Mr. Story's Monument to his 
 Wife 
 
 HERE what is mortal rests, of two true hearts 
 Whose never broken oneness nothing parts. 
 Learn well the language of this marble speech ! 
 Love is immortal. So is Life. And each 
 Gives to the other its immortalness, 
 Since Love is everliving; and unless 
 Life loves, it dies. Here Love undying weeps 
 Its other life, which is not dead, but sleeps 
 Till the dear dream is over. Now, awake 
 In Paradise, all parting past, no ache 
 Of heart, no tear, no fear, but perfect peace, 
 In that fair world, where all our troublings cease ; 
 And the true heart, which carved the stone, became 
 More than before, endowed with deathless fame. 
 
 123 
 
Victoria 
 
 DUMB in amazement of unhoped-for joy, 
 The priest wrote down the words, " His name 
 is John ; " 
 And straight his tongue was loosened, and the boy 
 Bore that new name of grace, so strangely won. 
 
 Surely a priestly hand, with prophet eye, 
 
 Gave to the little child so long ago, 
 The name that she has lived, and lifted high 
 
 Its meaning, for the whole wide world to know. 
 
 Victoria! conquering not as men who win 
 The world's great battles in the fields of war, 
 
 With stain of blood, and strain of arms, and din 
 Of rolling drums and trumpets' brazen blare. 
 
 Not victor, but Victoria ; the maiden, first, 
 
 When her young girlhood mistressed all her fears, 
 
 Till then in childhood's ways and works immersed. 
 Took up the burden, for these long, long years, 
 
 Of sovereignty's hard service, and has been 
 Not England's ruler, India's Empress proud, 
 
 But, where the English speech is, just " the Queen," 
 Before whose throne all reverent hearts have bowed. 
 124 
 
Victoria, " ruling her own spirit," first, 
 Her heart, her home, as loyal wife and true. 
 
 Conquering her agony when the sorrow burst 
 
 That widowed her: while, through her grief, she 
 grew 
 
 More tender in her touch of others' pain ; 
 
 Till of her sorrows she had made a throne. 
 On which, as woman, farther still to reign 
 
 In hearts, her sovereign sympathy who own. 
 
 " Choice vessel ! " " silver, gold and precious stones," 
 Were wrought and set by God's own hand in thee ; 
 
 Silver, gold, diamond jubilee, each owns 
 Thy conquests won, thy gracious Majesty. 
 
 Outlived the century, young yet at your birth, 
 Still the " Victorian era " this shall be, 
 
 Bearing thy name, though Jubilee of mirth 
 Become a " miserere Domine." 
 
 For now, Victoria, gone aside to die 
 Alone, unconquered, victory still is thine, 
 
 Through the dear might of Him, on Whom thine eye 
 Is fixed, and fastened on His conquering sign. 
 
 Through life, in death, thy deathless name Victoria 
 Shall ever live. Sit Deo omnis gloria. 
 
 I2S 
 
(Instead of the Boar's Head on Twelfth Night at Yaddo,* a 
 white dove living and flutteringon the finger of his captor 
 is brought into the great hall, and the song is the inter- 
 pretation of the substitution of the bird for the old " caput 
 apri.") 
 
 Greeting to the Dove 
 
 AVE avis albior 
 Nive, et nitidior; 
 Nidus terra, coeli nauta, 
 Vitae, pacis, nuntia. 
 
 THE dove's message. 
 
 Not a rude relic, of those rougher days, 
 
 When roystering feasts and cruel sports prevailed; 
 
 When the fierce boar, by fiercer men assailed, 
 Sent in his head all garlanded with bays, 
 
 To mock this peaceful time, with scars of strife, 
 
 And give dead greetings to the Prince of Life: 
 
 I come to share the wassail of this Day, 
 And take my part in Yaddo's festal play, 
 Telling the spirit of this gracious place, 
 
 Where Lord and Ladye lend their courtly grace 
 To kindlier sports, and feasts, whose revelry 
 Fits the fair Feast of Christ's Epiphany. 
 
 * The home of Mr. and Mrs. Spencer Trask in Saratoga. 
 126 
 
THE DOVE S SONG. 
 
 Fair Yaddo's woods are green and still, 
 
 The pines shoot high above the snow, 
 Where free from fierce pursuit to kill, 
 
 The minstrel birds fly to and fro, 
 And sing their carols to the star, 
 Which led the wise men from afar. 
 
 My feathers, whiter than the snow. 
 
 Mean Mary, Virgin pure and true, 
 And Jesus, of all men below, 
 
 The only sinless-born, for you : 
 To maid and wife and man and child, 
 I tell of pureness undefiled. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Holy Jesu, Baby, born of blessed Mary, 
 Simple shepherds know Thee God, and sages own Thee 
 
 King, 
 Thee the world shall worship with love that cannot 
 vary. 
 Holy Lord and Saviour, men and angels sing. 
 
 Mine, too, the symbol of true love, 
 
 And life and peace, worth all beside ; 
 Gifts of the Holy Ghost, the Dove, 
 
 That broods o'er the baptismal tide, 
 Enkindling love, creating life. 
 And breathing peace, in sin's sore strife. 
 
 127 
 
So come I, where these graces four, 
 
 Peace, Purity and Life and Love 
 Make their abode ; and more and more, 
 
 The Blessed Spirit from above, 
 His heavenly gifts abundant sends, 
 On Yaddo's hosts and Yaddo's friends. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Holy Jesu, Baby, born of blessed Mary, 
 Simple shepherds own Thee God, and sages own Thee 
 
 King, 
 Thee the world shall worship with love that cannot 
 vary, 
 Holy Lord and Saviour, men and angels sing. 
 
 128 
 
The First Midsummer Tree 
 
 At our summer home in North-East Harbour for many 
 years, till the trees grew too tall and the children too old, we 
 kept the custom of an outdoor feast for children and friends, 
 which originated in the thought of my eldest grand-daughter 
 when she was three years old. Three of the yearly rhymes are 
 printed here for the sake of the children and the friends. 
 
 SING hey, sing ho, the Midsummer Tree, 
 With its branches spreading far and free, 
 Come, little Child, come here and see, 
 What sort of fruit it bears for thee. 
 
 THE CHILD 
 
 Balsam and cone and needle of pine. 
 These things grow on the neighbours of thine. 
 How comes it, then, dear Midsummer Tree, 
 That such strange fruits have grown on thee? 
 
 THE MIDSUMMER TREE 
 
 I was growing here in the scented wood. 
 Growing as fast as ever I could. 
 With dews from the earth and salt from the sea, 
 Hoping to grow to a Christmas Tree ; 
 
 But a dear little girl had a gracious thought. 
 And coming here in the wood, she sought 
 For a tree that would bear such fruits as these, 
 Her little neighbours and friends to please. 
 
 129 
 
For " Christmas, " she said, " is long away, 
 And we want a tree on a Midsummer day, 
 Where we can come and frolic there, 
 Out in the fresh and fragrant air." 
 
 So I bent my boughs to the kindly hands, 
 Ready to follow such sweet commands. 
 And soon there grew such fruits as these. 
 You may gather them now, as soon as you please. 
 
 For " the trees of the wood rejoice " alway, 
 To join with the children in merry play ; 
 And the same great Love, so rich and free. 
 Decks both the Midsummer and Christmas Tree. 
 
 130 
 
The Midsummer Tree 
 
 A, D. 1891 
 
 A MIDSUMMER DAY's DREAM 
 PUCK. 
 
 This is the ground enchanted, 
 Where elves and brownies roam; 
 
 This is the spot most haunted 
 By fairies. 'Tis their home. 
 
 TITANIA. 
 
 Hush, Puck, the little children, 
 
 That through this woodland go, 
 You must not be bewildering; 
 
 Speak softly, still and low ; 
 For all these sweet bewitchers, 
 
 Made out of common clay. 
 Like other little pitchers. 
 
 Have long ears, so they say. 
 
 PUCK. 
 
 No fear, fair Queen, 'tis night-time ; 
 
 The little children come 
 In sunny daylight's bright time ; 
 
 'Tis only we who roam. 
 When the fair moon's bright lantern 
 
 Hangs high up in the sky, 
 And makes the stars all twinkle. 
 
 As each one blinks its eye. 
 131 
 
TITANIA. 
 
 Yes, but my quick ear catches 
 
 A sound quite new and strange; 
 Send for the elf who watches 
 
 These pine-trees, for some change 
 Is creeping through and through them, 
 
 The branches bend so low; 
 Some charm is here to woo them. 
 
 The secret I would know. 
 
 And then Puck flew o'er land and sea, 
 
 And asked of every growing tree, 
 
 And the rocks and flowers questioned he. 
 
 And the soft waves lapping lazily 
 
 The Harbour-side, and the cliff-walk, where 
 
 Strollers and sketchers, maidens fair. 
 
 With fancy free, and many a pair 
 
 Of lovers saunter; and men sedate, 
 
 And matrons, through the welcoming gate, 
 
 Find winding ways for wandering feet. 
 
 And grateful shade and restful seat, 
 
 And this is the story he heard, they say, 
 
 Of the Dream of a dear Midsummer's Day. 
 
 Here, in this far ofT Island, 
 
 With its harbour sheltered and still, 
 
 With its valleys fair, and its high land 
 Moulded to many a hill ; 
 132 
 
With its green-clad sweeps of dry land, 
 
 Rolling to kiss the sea ; 
 With its spot that my darling called '' my land, " 
 
 The dearest of all to me ; 
 
 With its murmuring pines and larches, 
 
 And the silvery birch between ; 
 Whose blue sky overarches 
 
 A sea of a deeper sheen ; 
 
 With its subtle charm of vision, 
 
 Half veiled and half revealed. 
 And its atmosphere Elysian, 
 
 Bathing each flowery field ; 
 
 Here, as in Shakspeare's fancy, 
 
 I dream of a merry play, 
 That would say to the fairies, " Dance ye " 
 
 If fairies could dance by day; 
 
 That would wake Hippolyta's voice, in 
 
 A word of queenly praise. 
 That Titania would rejoice in. 
 
 As fair as her moonlight maze. 
 
 Here the children find in summer 
 
 A Christmas Tree in bloom, 
 With a gift for every comer. 
 
 And a welcome to all who come. 
 133 
 
Neighbours and friends all gather, 
 For the Master and Mistress, here, 
 
 Of dear " Ye Haven "* would rather 
 To all, give goodly cheer. 
 
 And the merry children's voices 
 
 Make music in the ear, 
 And the wood-thrush too rejoices, 
 
 To mingle his note so clear; 
 
 And the dear old Madame Peabody, 
 
 Repeats her name so loud, 
 She must be Grandma, the wee body, 
 
 To all the childish crowd. 
 
 And the woodland glows with colour, 
 Bright ribbands and golden curls ; 
 
 Its browns and blues are duller 
 
 Than the eyes of the boys and girls. 
 
 And this is the Children's reality. 
 
 Of a Child's Midsummer Day's dream; 
 
 For the fancies of sweet ideality 
 Are fairer, made real, than they seem. 
 
 * Mrs. James T. Gardiner's summer home. 
 
 134 
 
The Midsummer Tree 
 
 A. D. 1895 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 WHAT is the fairest thing we see, 
 Dear friends, who have come to the Mid- 
 summer Tree, 
 Earth, or air, or sky or sea ? 
 In this blessed, island, summer home, 
 To which, from year to year, we come, 
 From which our fond hearts never roam; 
 Earth, or air, or sea or sky. 
 Which of the four, to the seeing eye 
 Is fairest? That's what we want to try 
 To settle to-day. And you and I 
 Will hear what they have to say for themselves, 
 Speaking through each one's chosen elves, 
 One that swims and one that delves, 
 And two that fly. Which is most fair, 
 Earth or sea, or sky or air? 
 Listen, and then decide if you dare. 
 Mortals of merely human birth ! 
 Of charms in each there is no dearth, 
 Sky and air and sea and earth. 
 
 135 
 
THE ELVES 
 
 THE EARTH 
 
 Fairest of four I claim to be ; 
 I guard the roots of each stately tree ; 
 Busy am I with every hour, 
 To bear some sweeter, fresher flower. 
 From the tiny violet first to peep, 
 Waking from Winter's silent sleep: 
 The May-flower's pink lips whispering low, 
 Of the living warmth in the sun's bright glow, 
 To the brown leaves stripped of their sheet of snow ; 
 Twin-flower, bunch-berry, marguerite, 
 Hare-bells chiming their notes so sweet; 
 Wild roses, to crown the May Queen, meet; 
 And the grasses, carpets for passing feet ; 
 Till I rule, like a king, with my golden-rod, 
 Under whose sway the asters nod. 
 And when the flowers have bloomed and gone. 
 Lest the world seem weary and lost and lone, 
 I gild the hillsides, lower and higher. 
 With trees and bushes that burn with fire, 
 Like the Angel vision, to Moses' eye. 
 On the holy ground which he drew not nigh. 
 I give their pasture to herds and flocks 
 I gird the sea with my glorious rocks, 
 And mine is the gift, to man and maid, 
 Under blazing skies, of the grateful shade ; 
 And mine, the standpoint from which your eye 
 Sees beauty in air and sea and sky. 
 
 136 
 
THE SEA 
 
 O mother Earth, time was when you 
 
 Were hidden far from human view, 
 
 Under my deep, deep waves that rolled, 
 
 And ruled, alone, in the days of old. 
 
 Fairest of all am I, the sea; 
 
 Tossing my waves in gayest glee. 
 
 Breaking in crests of silvery spray. 
 
 With my countless smiles on a summer day, 
 
 Green as an emerald, sapphire blue. 
 
 Jewel-coloured with every hue, 
 
 When the sunset makes a mirror of me, 
 
 Its own rare, radiant tints to see. 
 
 On me swift winged sailers float, 
 
 I bear on my bosom the " Only "* boat ; 
 
 And the coolness that tempers the hottest days, 
 
 And the gray fog-drifts and the wind that plays. 
 
 Fragrant and fresh, with the smell of pine. 
 
 All these are the charms I claim as mine. 
 
 While under my surface, opal rings 
 
 Twirl in the tide, intangible things: 
 
 And the other fish, not made of jelly, 
 
 Some of them scaly, and some of them shelly. 
 
 Offer themselves for sport or gain, 
 
 Or food that manufactures brain. 
 
 Hence wise professors and presidents 
 
 And authors and parsons are residents. 
 
 All of them tempted here by me, 
 
 I am the fairest of all, the Sea. 
 
 The name of the family row-boat. 
 137 
 
THE SKY 
 
 Up, hearts and eyes, and gaze on me, 
 
 For I am fairer than all the three; 
 
 Roofing the earth and spanning the ocean, 
 
 Subhme and still, in the restless motion 
 
 Of tossing sea and the turning world; 
 
 I fling out banners of cloud unfurled, 
 
 I roll out the flaunting flags of mist, 
 
 By the shining sunlight coloured and kissed ; 
 
 I set the solemn march of the stars, 
 
 To " the music of spheres. " The golden bars 
 
 Of the sunbeams open my palace gate. 
 
 From dewy morn till the twilight late, 
 
 And close them again, till the queenly moon 
 
 Turns midnight into a silver noon ; 
 
 And never a colour on land or sea, 
 
 That is not borrowed or stolen from me, 
 
 And mine is the gift to your eyes of sight, 
 
 For the Sky is the giver to all, of Light ! 
 
 THE AIR 
 
 I am the Air 
 I claim the prize ; 
 I cannot tell you all the why's. 
 Of weather-wise and otherwise; 
 But all that is fair. 
 Earth, sea or skies, 
 You could not see 
 If it were not for me. 
 138 
 
Artists call me atmosphere, 
 
 Now isn't it clear 
 
 That I am the fairest, 
 
 Who make all fair? 
 
 Purest and rarest 
 
 And sweetest air ! 
 Breathe me, and smell me and look through me, 
 I'm health and fragrance and power to see. 
 
 BETTY LOQUITOR 
 
 I'm nobody's elf, 
 
 I'm not one of the four, 
 I'm simply myself, 
 
 And nothing more ; 
 I am just little Betty, 
 I think they're all pretty. 
 None more, none less 
 
 Earth, air, sky, sea; 
 And so, I guess. 
 
 You'll agree with me. 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 Dear friends, if you find yourselves hardly tasked. 
 To answer the question that we have asked, 
 Let me tell you what one of our wise men said, 
 Hitting the nail just on the head ; 
 You may call him an algebraic X, 
 Or guess at his title, our Baltimore " Prex. " 
 Years ago, in his gracious way. 
 He said of dear Northeast, one day, 
 139 
 
" When I remember my visit here 
 Three things will be to my memory dear, 
 And take them whichever way you will, 
 *Twill be an ascending climax still, 
 The air I breathed, and the views I saw, 
 And the friends I met." So by this law, 
 A wise conclusion our question ends ; 
 
 Amicus earth, amicus sea 
 
 And air and sky, both amici ! 
 Magis amici, our dear, dear friends 
 
 140 
 
Terra Incognita 
 
 At North East Harbour 
 
 DAILY, I launch my dear old boat, 
 And always from one strand, 
 And whether 1 row, or idly float 
 It is all the same to me ; 
 For I always go to an unknown land 
 And over an unknown sea. 
 
 One day the cliffs were yellow and red, 
 
 And another grey and brown ; 
 And the sparkling sea, o'er which I sped. 
 
 Was jewelled, one day, like a crown. 
 And the next, 'twas a mirror of glass, as still 
 
 As the shadow it took from every hill. 
 
 Out to the sunset skies, I row, 
 
 Over waves that are purple and green. 
 
 Or gold, in the softened twilight glow, 
 Or silver, in moonlight sheen ; 
 
 While the mountains are flecked with shadows fair, 
 Or melt into touch with the amber air. 
 
 And some days, comes the soft, still mist, 
 
 The fog from " the eastern way," 
 And the mountain tops by its wreaths are kissed, 
 
 And loom up weird and grey, 
 And play hide and seek with each other and me, 
 
 While the silken veil lies over the sea. 
 141 
 
And so I feel, with every day, 
 As the oar drops from my hand, 
 
 And I catch the glow of the sun's last ray. 
 On the rocks and the sea and the sand ; 
 
 That I've crossed, that day, an unknown sea, 
 And been to an unknown land. 
 
 142 
 
NUGAE ALBANIENSES 
 
 143 
 
"The Weather on Easter Day 
 Will be Fine and Clear" 
 
 An Albany Weather Prophecy 
 
 O SERGEANT SIMS! O, Sergeant Sims! 
 How could you so believe in 
 ' Wild April's wayward weather-whims 
 Which always are deceivin' ? 
 
 What milliner's or florist's gold 
 
 Bought up the weather bureau ? 
 Next year, when climate is foretold, 
 
 Pray don't be quite so sure, — O ! 
 
 For all the papers have to say 
 
 Of Easter, is a bonnet, 
 A gown, a shawl, or some display, 
 
 Spoiled, if the rain fall on it. 
 
 To these, your forecasts, when untrue, 
 
 Bring sorrow and disaster; 
 The rest don't care a fig for you. 
 
 For clouds spoil no real Easter. 
 
 145 
 
II 
 "Amphibious" 
 
 W. C. D. to J. W. 
 
 With respectful dedication, 
 To the Prince Bishop of the nation, 
 
 This most serious meditation, 
 On a coming visitation. 
 
 SOME one jokingly said, or is said to have said, 
 (As a joke it is not worth a stater) 
 That amphibious things are so very ill made, 
 That they never could live on the land, where they 
 stayed, 
 And were certain to die in the water. 
 Which is false, as I'm sure I can prove in a minute 
 For amphibs can leg it, or fly it, or fin it ; 
 
 And I think should be called tertio-h'ms ; 
 For a duck swims, and flies. 
 And walks round when he tries, 
 In a waddling way, cut quite bias. 
 
 I'm convinced in myself, without any impiety. 
 That the most complete instance of true amphi-biety. 
 Is the animal Man. And, if one wants to fish up 
 An instance in point, I suggest, that a Bishop 
 In or out of his see, my contention will prove, 
 Being set in a See, he must swim, if he move. 
 And he travels so fast that men say that he Hies, 
 (Being therefore called angel sometimes, in sur- 
 prise.) 
 
 146 
 
And his well-gaitered legs, when he starts off so 
 
 pious, 
 Make the walking, which proves him to be amphi- 
 bious. 
 
 But beside these mere physical facts, it is true, 
 That a Bishop lives two or three lives, as but few 
 Other men that I know. There's his home-life of 
 
 " letters," 
 " Humanissimae literae," writings most human, 
 To his vestries and parsons, his elders and betters. 
 And to every known kind, both of man and of woman. 
 And, with much overlooking, and some overseeing, 
 Some preaching, some practicing, some merely being 
 At home, with his books and with those he loves best, 
 He passes the time of his nominal rest. 
 
 Then, presto, the change ! No two nights in one bed ; 
 
 With preaching incessant, or talking instead ; 
 
 Careful to keep all politest proprieties. 
 
 Collated, " Received ", and incessantly fed 
 
 With chicken (cold), cakes and all manner of pie-ties. 
 
 Lemonade, tea and all such inebrieties ; 
 
 Locomotion in vehicles of all varieties, 
 
 Sent to convey the Right Rev. amphibieties, 
 
 Car or caboose, buggy, steamer or train ; 
 
 Up hill and down dale, over water and plain, 
 
 Only stopping at night, to begin it again ; 
 
 He's a fish in his see, he's a tramp on the land, 
 
 And in baggy lawn sleeves like a big bird, he'll stand. 
 
 As the type of a deutero-tertio-biety ; 
 
 And so ends my contention, to your full satiety. 
 
 147 
 
Ill 
 A Bill of Sale 
 
 Written, with the three that follow, in connection with the 
 sales of the Woman's Cathedral League in its early days. 
 
 H 
 
 ERE'S a receipt for a fine lobster salad, 
 Arranged in the form of an elegant ballad. 
 
 Here are fine etchings by Architect Gibson, 
 Which must have been done with pens having fine 
 nibs on. 
 
 Paintings by Palmer — (I think there's but one), 
 But besides this, are several done by the sun. 
 
 You may look far and wide and you'll not find to- 
 gether, 
 More beautiful specimens of work done in leather. 
 
 And as for embroideries, here you will find 
 Cloths rich with the glories of Ormus and Ind. 
 
 Look next at this table : the last thmgs in tin. 
 
 Tin for tin : tit for tat : if you'll buy them you'll win. 
 
 Plants cut and plants growing, a beautiful show 
 Shed a tropical fragrance in spite of the snow. 
 
 Plum puddings for Christmas, and cakes for to-day 
 Candies, candidly speaking, much sweetness display. 
 
 148 
 
And the babies and cradles and doll-clothes so fine 
 Make the eyes of the little girls twinkle and shine. 
 
 Books, and carols and hymns, and a picture of him 
 Who composed them, among his books, sitting up prim. 
 
 China and glass and each kind of a basket 
 
 If you don't see the price, you have only to ask it. 
 
 If you think you can find a collection that's better, or 
 Choicer, I beg you'll examine the " et cetera. " 
 
 149 
 
IV 
 
 A Lobster Salad 
 
 PRELIMINARY 
 
 WHERE waves break softly, on the wooded 
 rocks 
 Of Maine's indented, island-sheltered shore, 
 And cold and clear as ice the waters roar 
 And kiss the spruce trees and the fair hemlocks ; 
 There, for the sweetest of crustaceans, look, 
 Caught without line and captured without hook: 
 Dipped in the pot, he blushes from the sense 
 Of all men's praises of his excellence. 
 
 There, where rolls Arno's sunny tide along. 
 To the sweet rhythm of great Dante's song; 
 Where grow the trees, whose leaf is sign of peace, 
 Whose fruit, of holy gifts ; seek ; do not cease 
 Your search, till one-half cup of golden oil 
 Rewards your seeking, and the presser's toil. 
 
 Next homeward come, where, from some dairy clean, 
 And cool with running spring, milk from the queen 
 Of some choice herd, has clotted into cream, 
 Smooth, white, sweet, soft, like some midsummer 
 
 dream. 
 Skim one-half cup full, beat it into foam, 
 Like that which from full udders first did come. 
 
 Away again to tropic clime, and find 
 A fragrant lemon, with its spicy rind; 
 
 ISO 
 
Whose strained juice is needed, to complete 
 The added sugar — one-half teaspoon — , sweet 
 And powdered : and 'twill then not all be fixed, 
 Without a teaspoonful of mustard, vinegar-mixed. 
 
 A pinch of cayenne pepper sprinkle in, 
 
 A teaspoonful of salt, and then begin 
 
 Breaking two eggs, to beat their yolks to foam. 
 
 (Fresh as may be from neighbouring farmers' home) 
 
 Six tablespoons of vinegar must be 
 
 At hand, to pour in, as you soon shall see. 
 
 PREPARATORY 
 
 Now note the order, let there be no fault, 
 Mustard and pepper, sugar, eggs and salt. 
 In due proportion, must be mixed just right; 
 And the whole substance beaten, till 'tis light. 
 Then slowly, beating gently all the while. 
 Pour in the golden stream of olive oil. 
 
 And when the mixture is quite smooth and thick, 
 Whip in the lemon juice with motion quick; 
 And when five minutes have been spent in beating. 
 Stir in the vinegar: ('tis most fit for eating) 
 Now add the lobster-flesh, picked clean and small, 
 Mix well, and before serving, over all, 
 
 FINALE 
 
 Pour the whipped cream ; one-half at first ; and when 
 The dainty bowl with lettuce leaves is lined, 
 And filled with the cut lobster seasoned, then 
 Pour over all, the whipped cream left, and mind 
 My words, the greatest epicure of men 
 Eating with smacking lips, will say, " I've dined." 
 
 151 
 
Muffins 
 
 THERE surely is " nuffin " 
 More good than a muffin, 
 That has just " quant suff " 
 Of all the nice things ; 
 So light, that it's puffin ; 
 Quite tender, no tough in 
 The texture you stuff in 
 Those magical rings. 
 
 If aunt, sister, or cousin, 
 Would make just a dozen, 
 
 I'll tell you the way. 
 It's extremely expedient 
 To have each ingredient, 
 
 At hand, let me say: 
 Just a pint of finest flour, 
 Cream, just half as much, or milk. 
 
 Fresh from Jersey calf or cow, or 
 " Cushy " bribed with " gown of silk " : 
 
 Butter, sugar, each a table- 
 Spoonful ; then one egg new-laid ; 
 
 Baking powder, if you're able 
 To decide the best that's made — 
 
 152 
 
Just two teaspoons: and of salt 
 Half a teaspoon: let no fault 
 Spoil the just proportions given, 
 Which will make it light as leaven. 
 
 Mix the flour and baking powder, 
 Beat the egg and sugar well ; 
 
 Melt the butter; — You'll be prouder 
 Than the proudest city belle 
 With her muff-in hand, so swell — 
 
 Mix the sugared egg and butter; 
 ('Twill be very, very utter) 
 Beat the three for just a minute ; 
 Then the salt and milk put in it. 
 
 Then the baking-powdered flour 
 Must go in, quite quickly mixed; 
 And the whole be nicely fixed. 
 In the buttered rings for baking: 
 And the time that they'll be taking 
 To be done brown for the eater, 
 
 Will be not quite half an hour. 
 And the next time that you meet a 
 Muffin man in Maiden Lane, 
 
 This is what he'll want to say. 
 Taking up his sad refrain; 
 " Friend, I think it's rather rough in 
 You to make so good a muffin 
 
 That you steal my trade away." 
 153 
 
VI 
 
 Crullers 
 
 THE cruller with a C 
 Is the spelling in Yankee, 
 Of the kruller with a K, 
 Which the Dutchman loves, they say, 
 Fried in lard 
 Till it's hard ; 
 
 'Tis the thing, like which none such 
 Can be made — " It beats the Dutch : " 
 And the Yankee thinks it's beaten, 
 By no cakes, for breakfast eaten. 
 
 Than a Dutchman you'll be duller 
 If you fail to make a kruller, 
 By the process I rehearse. 
 In this culinary verse. 
 Like a Yankee, you'll be cute. 
 If you make it well, to suit 
 Sons of our old Holland stock, 
 Daughters sprung from Plymouth Rock. 
 
 The things to buy, or get by barter 
 Are eggs, soda, cream of tartar. 
 Sugar, nutmeg, flour, butter, 
 Lard, in which to make them splutter, 
 IS4 
 
When the mixing 
 
 And the fixing, 
 
 And the wise use of the cutter, 
 
 Have made shapely rings of dough, 
 
 Ready in the pan to go. 
 
 First of sugar, cupfuls two, 
 And of butter half a cup 
 Must be beaten till they seem 
 White and soft, like clotted cream. 
 Then three egg yolks beaten up 
 Must be added thereunto; 
 One teaspoon of soda, stirred 
 In one cup of milk, from " herd 
 Winding slowly o'er the lea ", 
 — This is quoted poetry — 
 Next is poured m the white 
 Of the eggs, to make it light. 
 
 All this add now to the flour, 
 Well mixed in with tartar-cream ; 
 
 Over all, a little shower 
 Of brown nutmeg put; nor deem 
 Yet your toil complete — though hard — 
 Till, dipped into boiling lard. 
 Each round ring, well browned, not greasy, 
 (And to help this is not easy) 
 Not too thin, and not too stout, 
 Like " linked sweetness ", is drawn out. 
 
 ISS 
 
Jan. 3 0, 
 
 |90S< 
 
JAN 30 1902 
 
 ^^.^^yt^pi , TOCAT.OIV. 
 
 ■^ 1902 
 
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