LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Cliap,,„...... Copyright No... 
 
 SliellJk4tf5 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
LtLlVi 
 
 JAN 33 1898 
 
PICTURES FROM 
 A PASTO R I U M 
 
 A COLLECTION OF VERSES WRITTEN 
 ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS, AND DE- 
 SIGNED MAINLY FOR RECITATION 
 
 Morton Bryan Wharton, D.D. 
 
 Pastor of the Freemason Street Baptist Church, 
 Norfolk, Virginia 
 
 Author of*' European Notes ; or, What I Saw in 
 the Old World," " Famous Women of the Old 
 Testament," *' Famous Women of the New 
 Testament," etc. 
 
 ^A -verse may find him luho a sermon files, 
 And turn delight into a sacrifice^'' 
 
 Herbert 
 
 PHILADELPHIA. PRINTED BY 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
 
 1898 
 
 

 Copyright, 1897, 
 
 BY 
 
 Morton Bryan Wharton. 
 
7^-5- 
 
 TO 
 
 L. BANKS HOLT, Esq., 
 
 OF GRAHAM, NORTH CAROLINA, 
 
 THE UPRIGHT CITIZEN, THE SUCCESSFUL 
 
 MANUFACTURER, THE EARNEST 
 
 CHRISTIAN, 
 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUME 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY 
 HIS FRIEND, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Pastorium - ii 
 
 Home 13 
 
 The Woman of Canaan 23 
 
 To Lily . 30 
 
 To a Dejected Friend 32 
 
 To my Crewel Wife 33 
 
 David and Jonathan 35 
 
 A Hundred Years to Come 35 
 
 On the Death of Hon. Eugenius A, Nisbet, of Macon, 
 
 Georgia 37 
 
 The Missionary Angel 39 
 
 A Night on the Danube 41 
 
 The City of Montgomery 43 
 
 To Hon. Jefferson Davis .... , 46 
 
 The Death of Jefferson Davis ......... 51 
 
 My Little Grandson 52 
 
 An Evening Glimpse of Bingen on the Rhine .... 55 
 
 Chng Close to the Rock 58 
 
 The Fate of Genius 62 
 
 The Whosoever Home and Farm 64 
 
 A Glimpse of Ocean View 66 
 
 White Robes 67 
 
 The Last Hope 68 
 
 To-Night 69 
 
 Shall We Meet Them? 70 
 
 The Feast of Belshazzar 71 
 
 Jacob's Dream 74 
 
 5 
 
Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Jack Frost 77 
 
 Ingersoll on Burns 79 
 
 John Turner's Exegesis 80 
 
 Little May Crichton 84 
 
 On the Death of United States Senator Joseph E. 
 
 Brown, of Georgia 85 
 
 Glen Alpen Falls 86 
 
 Elijah's Test of Fire 87 
 
 Columbus 92 
 
 A Birthday Dirge 96 
 
 On the Death of Tennyson 97 
 
 The Southern Dead 99 
 
 The Willow- Arched Brook loi 
 
 Jephthah's Vow 105 
 
 Acrostic Ill 
 
 Two Pictures 112 
 
 The City of Norfolk 113 
 
 Young People's Welcome 115 
 
 Communion with Christ 116 
 
 Thomas Moore and Norfolk 117 
 
 Thomas Holt Wharton 122 
 
 Moving Day 123 
 
 The Battle Song of Silver 125 
 
 Avarice 127 
 
 The Resurrection of Christ 128 
 
 An Invisible Picture , 129 
 
 Old Point Comfort 130 
 
 The Denominational Team 132 
 
 "What Shall I Do with Jesus?" 134 
 
 Virginia Beach 135 
 
 Acrostic 138 
 
 To May Belle 138 
 
 Lake Drummond , . . 139 
 
 Adam's Fall 140 
 
 Give us Jesus 141 
 
 Farewell 142 
 
 6 
 
PREFATORY 
 
 'T^HESE pictures, if they may be styled as such, 
 At various times received the author's touch. 
 Not to laborious task his pencil stirred, 
 But oftener far when by the moment spurred. 
 For critic's eyes they never were designed. 
 And friends among them may not hope to find. 
 Nay, conscious of the fate that such befalls. 
 They even shrank from places on the walls, 
 But lay concealed in unfrequented nooks, 
 With no ambition to appear in books. 
 They served their purpose, which was in the main 
 To give diversion to a preacher's brain 
 O'ertensioned in the sturdy realm of prose, 
 And seeking in some brighter field repose ; 
 To keep the blades of intellect from rust. 
 And honest tribute pay to themes discussed. 
 But as recited, they have summoned forth 
 Sometimes encomiums far beyond their worth, 
 And copies asked which love could not deny, 
 But found it inconvenient to supply. 
 The author yields to his too partial friends. 
 And this small volume with his greeting sends. 
 7 
 
Prefatory. 
 
 Though unpretentious and devoid of art 
 (A simple transcript of the writer's heart), 
 He sends it forth, and craves for it the power 
 To give some interest to a passing hour ; 
 To show the moods which in us all appear, 
 " From grave to gay, from lively to severe ;" 
 To cheer life' s pilgrims as they onward plod, 
 And point the path to glory and to God ! 
 
PICTURES FROM 
 A PASTORIUM 
 
 History of the word Pastorhmi. 
 
 I WAS asked some time ago to give a history of the new 
 word " pastorium," which has been adopted by so many 
 in lieu of parsonage, and has found its way into the " Stand- 
 ard Dictionary," the finest lexicon, many think, in the whole 
 world. 
 
 While I was pastor of the First Baptist Church in Mont- 
 gomery, Alabama, the members concluded to build a splendid 
 house for the pastor to live in. They already had an old 
 building, known as the " parsonage," in which no pastor had 
 lived for many years. While valuable, it was not modern, 
 and it was thought best to sell this, add to the amount, and 
 put up a fine building. The work had progressed and the 
 building was nearly completed, when I was asked what it ' 
 should be called. I was told that Dr. D. W. Gwin, one of 
 my predecessors, objected seriously to his house being called 
 a parsonage, and my opinion was asked. I agreed with Dr. 
 Gwin, remarking that parsonage had come down to us from 
 the Episcopalians, and meant originally the living of a par- 
 son, and afterwards the place where he lived, and that even 
 the Episcopalians had rejected the word and called their 
 minister's home " rectory" instead. I thought there was no 
 reason why Baptists, of all people, should wear the cast-off 
 garments of the Episcopalians. Presbyterians have shown 
 on all sides their preference for the word " manse," while 
 9 
 
The Pastorium. 
 
 B^iptists and Methodists were clinging on to the old word, 
 parsonage. I remarked to my questioner that I would think 
 «the matter over and let him know the next night, which was 
 prayer-meeting night. Somehow or other the word " pras- 
 torium" came into my mind, — " the home of a praetor," and 
 I thought if prsetorium was the home of the praetors, why 
 should not "pastorium" be the word for the home of the 
 pastors ? Then I found I had gotten into a regular family of 
 words with this termination, — "sanitarium," the home of 
 health and those seeking it; " auditorium," the place of the 
 audience ; " columbarium," the place of the doves, and so on. 
 I found several words that convinced me that "pastorium" 
 would be the very word to describe a pastor's home, — such 
 as" Herodium," the house of the Herods ; " Alexandrium," 
 the house of the Alexanders, etc. So I adopted this word 
 and announced it at the prayer-meeting next night, but with 
 no thought — not the remotest — that the word would ever be 
 used by any but our own people. I was not conceited enough 
 to think this, and supposed my announcement and the putting 
 up of the gilded sign on the transom over the door would 
 end the matter. 
 
 It so happened that a local reporter of the Daily Dispatch 
 was present, and wrote a notice telling what I had said, and 
 giving it as his opinion that the word would live elsewhere. 
 Dr. J. M. Frost saw this notice, and wrote me from Selma, 
 Alabama, endorsing the word. The Religious Herald said 
 it was " a good word." The Baptist Reflector ^w&ox^^&W, 
 and said it hked its classic flavor. The Baltimore Baptist 
 endorsed the word. I received letters from almost all parts 
 of the United States commending it. All at once a distin- 
 guished brother attacked it in the Baltimore Baptist, and 
 this called forth a scholarly article from Professor Carroll, 
 then of Johns Hopkins, now of Richmond, College, endorsing 
 the word and helping it greatly. 
 
 In the mean time many were using the word all over the 
 
The Pastorium. 
 
 country, who had no idea where it came from. I collected 
 some articles in which the word was used and sent them to 
 Funk & Wagnalls, who were engaged on their magnificent, 
 dictionary. They replied, saying the word, with the reasons 
 for it, had been sent to their lexicographers (about two hun- 
 dred in number, I think), and upon their decision would de- 
 pend its fate as to the new dictionary. That was the last 
 attention I gave to it until, on receiving my copy of the new 
 and magnificent work, I saw (page 1290), " Pastorium 
 (Southern), U. S. A parsonage; coined recently after the 
 analogy of auditorium." 
 
 THE PASTORIUM. 
 
 TN ancient Shunem once there dwelt 
 ^ A woman great and good withal, 
 Who for Elisha's comfort felt, 
 And built a chamber on the wall. 
 
 She furnished it with downy bed, 
 
 And stool where he might find repose, 
 
 And candlestick its light to shed 
 
 When darkness o'er the earth should close. 
 
 She bade the holy man of God 
 
 To take and use it at his will. 
 As he his weary way should plod, 
 
 His mighty mission to fulfil. 
 
 And hither oft he came for rest 
 
 In that small room above the stairs. 
 
 And soon she found her aged guest 
 Had proved an angel unawares. 
 
The Pastorium. 
 
 His prayer before the eternal throne 
 Had brought a son, their parents' joy : 
 
 When death had claimed him for its own, 
 His power restored the sleeping boy. 
 
 And such was the beginning small 
 Of kind provision made for those 
 
 Whom God should to his service call, 
 Until the ' ' Parsonage' ' arose. 
 
 But " Parsonage" has proved a word 
 Which even a churchman will refuse ; 
 
 His " Rectory" is far preferred. 
 
 And "Manse" the Scottish preachers use. 
 
 In free America the name, 
 
 Which savors of the church and state, 
 Has lingered till we gladly claim 
 
 A better word of recent date. 
 
 The place v/here congregations meet 
 
 We style an auditorium. 
 The place where pastors make their seat 
 
 Should, then, be called "Pastorium." 
 
 God speed the day when every fold 
 Shall cheerful raise the needed sum 
 
 And build their pastor, young or old, 
 A sweet and snug Pastorium ; 
 
 12 
 
Home. 
 
 A place to which he may retire, 
 
 Far from the world' s corroding care, 
 
 And, seated by his cosy fire. 
 His sacred homilies prepare ; 
 
 Where he may cherish thoughts sublime 
 Respond to Duty's ceaseless calls ; 
 
 May sketch the varying wing of time, 
 And hang his pictures on the walls. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 (Delivered before the Mu Sigma Rho Society of Richmond 
 College, Virginia, at its anniversary celebration in the First 
 Baptist Church, Richmond, Virginia, February 21, 1859.) 
 
 npHERE is a theme on which we love to dwell. 
 
 Whose very mention makes the bosom swell 
 With those emotions which can only start 
 When holy memories steal upon the heart ; 
 A theme with joy pronounced by every tongue. 
 In sweetest strains by every poet sung. 
 Which, oft repeated, yet can ne'er be heard 
 But to each heart to be the more endeared ; 
 That theme is home, and round it are entwined 
 The fondest tendrils of the human mind. 
 Who has not felt the magic of that name, 
 As o'er the soul its benediction came, 
 13 
 
Home. 
 
 When far away upon some foreign strand, 
 His thought reverted to his native land ? 
 And oh, how sweet, as backwardly we gaze 
 Upon the scenes of boyhood's happy days, 
 Each cherished sport and pastime to recall, — 
 The flying kite, the top, and rubber ball ! 
 And as we up to manhood nearer grew, 
 The nobler chase our preference to pursue ; 
 How oft we roamed without a single care. 
 Where Nature lavish laid her treasures bare ! 
 O'er smiling hill, through fields and forests green, 
 And by the streams that mirrored all the scene. 
 Where feathered minstrels poured their matin song. 
 And distant fox-dogs bayed the woods along. 
 There's not a tree beneath whose cooling shade 
 We then reposed or else in gladness played. 
 Or beaten path our feet so oft had paced. 
 Or grove where birds the envied nest had placed, 
 But comes again at Memory's kind behest. 
 And makes us deem those vanished days the best. 
 But sweet as these fond memories may appear 
 Of that lost Eden and its pleasures dear. 
 How dearer still the filial thoughts to share 
 That throng and linger round the loved ones there ! 
 ' Twas there we learned to lisp a father' s name. 
 Endeared by every high and sacred claim. 
 Ah ! how like birds the golden moments flew. 
 When, hand in hand, his flocks and fields to view, 
 We walked together over hill and plain. 
 And converse held in childhood's simple strain ! 
 14 
 
Home. 
 
 Oh, with what zeal our every good he sought, 
 How pure the lessons that his wisdom taught, 
 How strong and tender was his sleepless care 
 To shield our footsteps from the Tempter' s snare. 
 And all the ways of virtue so to scan 
 That his loved boy might prove an honest man ! 
 And oh, what tongue hath language to define 
 That holy love, so like to love divine. 
 Which was our childhood' s fond, unerring guide. 
 Which blessed us then and all our wants supplied, — 
 A mother's love, that purest, greatest, best 
 That e'er has glowed within a human breast ! 
 Mother ! Whene'er is named that sacred word, 
 How are the depths of holy feeling stirred ! 
 How turn our minds to that long vanished day 
 When peace and sunshine beamed upon our way ! 
 When, if a sorrow ever dimmed the eye, 
 Her gentle nature could the balm supply. 
 Well we remember with what anxious care 
 She taught us then to lisp our evening prayer. 
 Heaven seemed to come our willing souls to greet, 
 As calm we lingered at her sacred feet. 
 Our sisters partners of those halcyon hours. 
 The light and charm of home's secluded bowers 
 Now o'er the past like vestals rise to view. 
 Whose glorious work was ever to renew 
 The sacred fires that burned within our heart, 
 And bid us from each sinful course depart. 
 Our brothers, too, must claim a tribute here, — 
 In joy our friends, in trials ever near. 
 15 
 
Home. 
 
 Although our feet perchance no more shall stand 
 Within the borders of that holy land, 
 Our eyes no more the cherished homestead see 
 " Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ;" 
 Though other lands may claim our humble lot, 
 Our childhood' s home shall never be forgot. 
 But Memory, brooding with her fondest care. 
 Shall take us back to dwell like angels there ! 
 
 A College home ! Sure every student knows 
 
 This is a theme more suitable for prose. 
 
 But as perhaps some may the truth deny. 
 
 Abundant proof we furnish in reply. 
 
 Then come with me to yonder house of brick, 
 
 A fit asylum for the lunatic ; 
 
 And list the jingling of those dreadful bells, 
 
 With sounds as mournful as Plutonian knells ; 
 
 And as you visit each respective class, 
 
 I charge you all your judgment calm to pass. 
 
 We first behold the grave professor, sage, 
 
 With locks all silvered with the frosts of age. 
 
 Who, with a learned and benignant air, 
 
 Dispenses ethics from the Moral Chair. 
 
 We introduce him, as you might suppose, 
 
 With book in hand and specs upon his nose. 
 
 Whose brow is lifted to his locks so thin. 
 
 While his right hand is raised to stroke his 
 
 chin ; 
 He teaches, first, what students all should know, — 
 That when they enter they must shut the door ; 
 i6 
 
Home. 
 
 Be ever mindful first to clean their feet, 
 
 And then, uncovered, stand in awe complete. 
 
 'Tis here we learn, by Aristotle's plan, 
 
 To prove that Caesar was a mortal man. 
 
 Such logic may produce conviction strong. 
 
 But in this class he'd not been mortal long. 
 
 And now in vain the Muse's aid we seek 
 
 From him who fills the classic chair of Greek. 
 
 His graceful form perhaps would indicate 
 
 A wise Athenian in his robe of state. 
 
 Inspired perchance with some Hellenic vein. 
 
 Our humble ]\[use might try a nobler strain ; 
 
 But then his "themes" at once the attempt will 
 
 curb, 
 Always the root of some long-buried verb, 
 Or "synonymes," which, were his hfe assured, 
 He'd place in book form with all care bestowed. 
 His dreadful frown, ye students, all beware : 
 It shows the thunders that are lurking there ; 
 Accept his word, and lock your every jaw, 
 ' ' When Greek meets Greek then comes the tug of 
 
 war." 
 From Hesiod, Homer, gladly take we leave. 
 To see from Latin what we may receive. 
 In vain we seek a poem to compose, 
 From aught we find in Arnold's Latin Prose 
 No gems of thought, no pretty visions rise. 
 From the translation of an exercise. 
 When we descend to ancient Latin verse 
 We quickly find we go from bad to worse, 
 
 2 17 
 
Home. 
 
 '• For half-way poets" Horace wisely cries, 
 Gods, men, and bookstores ever will despise. 
 Who takes this class must bear a weary load. 
 And learn that learning has no royal road ; 
 Examinations are the chief concern 
 And pony riders fall at every turn. 
 The Modern Course needs but a passing glance 
 To prove that hopeless is the rhymer's chance ; 
 Whate'er the language by the teacher taught. 
 Our best endeavors surely come to naught. 
 Outlandish jargon holds the muse at bay, 
 Or chases all our sentiment away ; 
 Then glad we turn to scientific schools, 
 To Algebraic geometric rules. 
 'Tis said by some with calculating brain 
 That through this Course runs a poetic vein. 
 But to our minds not thus the story goes. 
 Its signs and figures are the worst of prose. 
 A lone exception to this rule we find 
 In one famed for his calculating mind ; 
 Though our professor generally seems 
 Not much annoyed with poetic dreams. 
 Though ever prosy, tedious, and dry, 
 " He lisps in numbers" no one will deny. 
 Of one more class we have alone to treat 
 (Which constitutes the faculty complete), 
 Except forsooth it be the Tutor's hall. 
 Where ears are pulled and "Academics" squall, 
 'Tis Chemistry, which though it is the last, 
 Is yet in dulness by no one surpassed. 
 i8 
 
Home. 
 
 It would indeed a strange reaction be 
 
 If this should ever blend with poesy. 
 
 Silly indeed the man who would desire 
 
 Old SiUiman his verses to inspire. 
 
 As no " solutions' ' on our efforts wait, 
 
 We take our leave with flight "precipitate ;" 
 
 Now add to these the thousand little ills, 
 
 So often styled the student's bitter pills, 
 
 As when perchance he plays the usual trick. 
 
 Gets caught when he has been reported sick ; 
 
 Or else imagine his severe chagrin 
 
 At getting zero when he hopes a ten ; 
 
 Or when he fails his piece in time to write. 
 
 Suspension blank forbids him to recite, 
 
 And we opine all will at once allow 
 
 Our College stands not on Parnassus' brow. 
 
 But doubt not that a compensation sweet 
 Awaits us in this classical retreat. 
 For mirth and pleasure often rule the day, 
 And ties are formed which never know decay ; 
 For honors of the old Mu Sigma Rho 
 We would the bays of Laureates forego, 
 And Philologians proudly, truly feel 
 That they are foemen worthy of our steel. 
 And freed from Campus, books, and daily toil, 
 Our long-taut spirits bounding in recoil, 
 We hie to Richmond, ever there to find 
 Diversion rare for the exhausted mind, 
 19 
 
Home. 
 
 In lovely streets, in heavenward-pointing domes, 
 In glittering marts, in polished private homes. 
 Ah, yes, 'tis here that pleasures are divine, 
 Where beauty smiles and eyes like diamonds shine, 
 " Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing," 
 And all must feel a College home's the thing ; 
 And e'en the College with its prison-like walls. 
 Its dusty volumes, and its gloomy halls. 
 We'll learn in time to cherish as a friend, 
 So much indeed does "long communion tend 
 To make us what we are," — the time shall be 
 When we shall weep to know that we are free ! 
 
 And then our Country, — here a home we see 
 Where dwell Columbia's gallant sons and free, — • 
 Our native land, — for whose continued weal 
 Our hands shall struggle and our hearts shall feel ! 
 Heaven bless our Country, may she ever stand. 
 The hope of nations, earth's most favored land. 
 Oh, may our banner never be disgraced, 
 No star obscured, no single stripe erased ! 
 Then by the spirits of the mighty dead. 
 Whose blood was in the Revolution shed. 
 Ay, by New England's gallant sons and tried. 
 Whose lives were tested by the deaths they died, 
 Whose pure devotion and whose spotless fame 
 Shine through the blackness of their children's 
 
 shame ; 
 By proud Virginia's great and noble sons. 
 Ay, by her Henrys and her Washingtons, 
 
Home. 
 
 Oh, let us pause and make the fervent prayer, 
 
 That God will e'er our glorious Union spare ! 
 
 But if the rights for which our fathers fought, 
 
 Those sacred rights are to destruction brought ; 
 
 If institutions guaranteed and just 
 
 Are by fanatics trampled in the dust ; 
 
 If sections injured no redress can gain. 
 
 But still must brook the all-disgraceful stain, 
 
 Though clouds shall rise and gloomy storms portend, 
 
 E'en to the last those rights we must defend ; 
 
 And if no effort can successful be 
 
 To still the waters of the troubled sea. 
 
 If naught can save the noble Ship of State, 
 
 If black disunion is our only fate, — 
 
 Then, gallant South, whatever may betide. 
 
 We'll cHng to thee and perish at thy side ! ^ 
 
 We pledge thee, too, thy soil shall never know 
 
 A vile invasion from a foreign foe ; 
 
 But we shall rally in thy sacred cause, 
 
 To save thy honor and defend thy laws. 
 
 * In the light of more recent events these lines possess a 
 pecuHar interest. They at least show the feelings of th6 
 young South at the lime they were written. I remember 
 when they were dehvered, and I had finished the couplet 
 " Then, gallant South, whatever may betide, 
 We'll chng to thee and perish at thy side !" 
 that there was an irrepressible round of applause, one young 
 man in the audience shouting aloud, exclaiming, " Those are 
 my sentiments 1" But Tempora 7mita?ttur et nos mutamur in 
 illis. 
 
 21 
 
Home. 
 
 And now to him some tribute we should pay 
 Whose birth to-morrow makes a Sabbath-day, 
 The honored leader of that patriot band 
 That proved the saviors of this mighty land. 
 Oh, who that saw the splendor of that day. 
 Which from yon statue tore the veil away. 
 And there exposed that masterpiece of art. 
 Amid the throbbings of the nation' s heart, 
 But felt the debt which Freedom e'er shall owe 
 To him who triumphed o'er her greatest foe ? 
 Who with his yeomen few and unequipped 
 The British hon of his glory stripped, 
 Taught him the lesson for the tyrant meet. 
 And laid him prostrate at the Eagle' s feet. 
 
 But earthly homes are destined to decay. 
 The scenes we love must quickly pass away ; 
 Our childhood's home with joys too sweet to last 
 E'en now is numbered with the buried past. 
 The sounds familiar of the College bell 
 Too soon will toll the student's parting knell, 
 When we from study shall be called away 
 To take our place in life's eventful fray ; 
 Our Country, too, the glories of whose page 
 Our love awaken and our thoughts engage, 
 We soon must leave as have our fathers done. 
 For other eyes to gaze with pride upon ; 
 Then may we ask, Is there no place of rest. 
 Where changes come not and no cares molest ? 
 
 22 
 
The Woman of Canaan. 
 
 Yes, far beyond this world's enchanted plains 
 There is a home where bliss eternal reigns, 
 Where falls no shadow, aches no anxious heart, 
 And those who meet, meet never more to part. 
 That home is Heaven, for those alone prepared 
 Whose hearts have in the blest Redemption shared. 
 Or long, or short, whate'er our earthly days, 
 Let them be spent to the Redeemer's praise ; 
 Then when our souls shall take their mystic flight, 
 We all shall dwell among- "the Saints in lio-ht." 
 
 THE WOMAN OF CANAAN. 
 
 (These lines were written during the war, and distributed 
 among the soldiers as far as possible in the form of a tract. 
 I had forgotten all about it, when twenty-five years after the 
 close of the great struggle I met Rev. J. M. Brittain, of 
 Georgia, who showed me a copy (perhaps the only one in 
 existence) which had been given him by a Confederate sol- 
 dier. I remembered that Professor Crawford H. Toy, LL.D., 
 who was a chaplain stationed at Bristol, Tennessee, told 
 me he had read the tract and said, " It is evangelical and 
 useful, and I hope you will write again." It is for this reason, 
 and because it is a souvenir of those days, that I insert it 
 here.) 
 
 A S Christ passed through the Tyrian coast 
 
 Long centuries ago, 
 A Gentile woman came to him 
 To tell her tale of woe. 
 23 
 
The Woman of Canaan. 
 
 In piteous strains she cried aloud, 
 
 " Have mercy on me, Lord, 
 My daughter's vexed ;" but, strange to say, 
 
 He answered not a word. 
 
 Although he did not notice her 
 
 When thus she humbly cried. 
 She lingered still ; her faith was strong 
 
 And would not be denied. 
 
 A few disciples standing near 
 
 In her behalf did say, 
 ' ' She crieth after us, O Lord ; 
 
 We pray send her away." 
 
 Ah ! selfish men, she troubled them. 
 And hence her claim was pressed ; 
 
 Oh, never yet did Christ complain 
 Of any one's request ! 
 
 But hark, for once it seems not so, 
 
 He will not heed her case ; 
 He says, " I'm sent alone to save 
 
 The lost of Israel's race." 
 
 To eyes of sense no hope is left, 
 
 For does he not declare 
 The reason why he cannot make 
 
 This woman's child his care ? 
 24 
 
The Woman of Canaan. 
 
 Not thus to eyes of faith, howe'er, 
 
 Not one repulse or two, 
 Can make the humble Christian doubt 
 
 God's promises are true. 
 
 Make way for her, false advocates ; 
 
 Again the woman calls, 
 " Lord, help me," is her humble prayer 
 
 As at his feet she falls. 
 
 "I'm helpless. Lord, and thou canst help ; 
 
 Oh, grant me my request !" 
 Was ever prayer more earnestly 
 
 To David's Son addressed ? 
 
 Behold, he speaks ! all ears attend. 
 
 His answer, oh, how dread ! 
 " It is not meet to cast to dogs 
 
 The honored children's bread." 
 
 Ah ! cruel words, unhke the Christ, 
 
 The needy creature's friend. 
 Sure thus abused her faith will fail, 
 
 Her prayers are at an end. 
 
 " Is this the one," she might have cried, 
 ' ' Of whom the prophets spake, 
 
 Who should our griefs and burdens bear. 
 Our many sorrows take ? 
 25 
 
The Woman of Canaan. 
 
 " Is this the helpless widow's friend, 
 
 The orphan's father, pray ? 
 Must I accursed be called a dog, 
 
 And go unblest away ?" ' 
 
 But no, her faith was strong in Christ, 
 
 Not thus did she repine ; 
 Though oft repulsed she trusted yet. 
 
 Nor would her hope resign. 
 
 Now mark the wisdom she displays 
 
 As once again she comes : 
 " Truth, Lord, dogs may not eat the bread, 
 
 But yet receive the crumbs. 
 
 "Thy miracles and ministry 
 
 Are for the Jews, I know ; 
 But wilt thou not the wasted crumbs 
 
 On Gentile dogs bestow ?' ' 
 
 Now is her faith victorious ! 
 
 Her triumph, oh, how grand ! 
 No longer can his melting heart 
 
 The mourner's cry withstand. 
 
 " O woman," says the Son of God, 
 
 " Great is thy faith indeed ; 
 Now be it unto thee in sooth 
 
 According to thy need." 
 26 
 
The Woman of Canaan. 
 
 True as his word thus was it done, 
 
 For from that very hour 
 Her daughter, long vexed grievously, 
 
 Rose from the Tempter's power. 
 
 Thus ends the story of her faith. 
 
 But take we not our leave 
 Till three brief lessons we have learned. 
 
 Important to receive. 
 
 First, we may learn the secret here. 
 
 The secret of success, 
 When we approach the mercy-seat 
 
 In moments of distress. 
 
 'Tis that we take the word of Christ, 
 
 And stand upon the ground 
 Where it doth place us, there alone 
 
 His mercy can be found. 
 
 Unworthy does he call us, vile, 
 And filled with guilt and shame ? 
 
 "Truth, Lord," should every pious heart 
 In penitence exclaim. 
 
 The woman called a dog assents. 
 And from this stand-point sues ; 
 
 Though oft her Lord had failed to bless. 
 He could not now refuse. 
 27 
 
The Woman of Canaan. 
 
 Next, parents should their children bring 
 
 To him that heareth prayer, 
 That he may heal their sin-sick souls 
 
 And bless them with his care. 
 
 Not her own case the woman urged, 
 
 But one she made her own : 
 So should we for our loved ones plead 
 
 Before our Father's throne. 
 
 Father, are you content to let 
 
 The child you so much love 
 Pass on unmindful of the gifts 
 
 That come from heaven above ? 
 
 Or rather, can you bear the thought 
 
 All unconcerned to go. 
 And let the darling of your heart 
 
 Descend to endless woe ? 
 
 Oh, mother, say, art thou prepared 
 
 To enter into rest, 
 While down to hell the loved one sinks 
 
 Who nestled on thy breast ? 
 
 Perhaps a lovely daughter, who. 
 Though trained in virtue's ways. 
 
 And purity's, has ne'er been taught 
 To lisp a Saviour's praise. 
 28 
 
The Woman of Canaan. 
 
 Ah ! could thy woman's heart consent 
 
 To let thee enter there, 
 Whilst she must perish, she for whom 
 
 Thou ne' er didst breathe a prayer ? 
 
 By all thou lovest here on earth. 
 
 Or hop'st of heaven above. 
 Ay ! by the sighs, and tears, and blood 
 
 Of Jesus' dying love, 
 
 Oh, go to him in fervent prayer. 
 
 Make " Mercy" all thy plea ; 
 Thou, too, may'st hear, " Even as thou wilt 
 
 So be it unto thee." 
 
 But the great lesson here revealed, 
 
 Which should impress us all. 
 Who in behalf of interests dear 
 
 Upon our Maker call 
 
 Is to press on, and importune, 
 
 And never once despair. 
 Though we at first cannot receive 
 
 An answer to our prayer. 
 
 God's promises are all "Amen," 
 
 And " Yea" in Jesus' blood. 
 He hears the ravens when they cry 
 
 And giveth them their food. 
 29 
 
To Lily. 
 
 And he will ne'er forsake his saints, 
 
 Howe'er with sorrows bent, 
 If up to him persistently 
 
 Their earnest cries are sent. 
 
 Although they stammer their complaints, 
 
 And only ask for crumbs. 
 The heavenly stores fling wide their doors, 
 
 And bread abundant comes. 
 
 TO LILY. 
 
 A COLLEGE EPISODE. 
 
 T THOUGHT you an angel and wooed you alone, 
 
 As the dearest of idols earth ever has known ; 
 Yes, you were my altar, and at the loved shrine 
 I've paid the pure homage of worship divine. 
 My soul has delighted your image to keep, 
 Your form has been near me awake and asleep, 
 Your eyes, Heaven bless them, so bright and so 
 
 blue, 
 Along my dark pathway have thrown their soft hue. 
 Emotions of rapture would rise in my breast 
 When your smile, so angelic, has cheered me and 
 
 blest. 
 With motives the purest my soul could command 
 I sought, I entreated, your coveted hand, 
 30 
 
To Lily. 
 
 For of all the dear treasures that mortals could 
 
 "know 
 You alone upon me could the richest bestow. 
 You told me you loved me, I thought you sincere, 
 My fears were then banished, my sky was then clear. 
 I did not, I would not, I could not believe 
 That my own darling Lily could ever deceive. 
 Yes, you told me in words which" I ne'er can forget 
 (Remembered, alas ! with the deepest regret) 
 That through life you with me would most willingly 
 
 share 
 Each pleasure, each sorrow, each blessing, and 
 
 care. 
 Oh, you said that whatever my lot might betide 
 You were mine, — soon to be my companion and 
 
 bride. 
 But now in the day of apparent success. 
 While all was propitious our union to bless. 
 While my pathway lay scattered with flowers so 
 
 rare, 
 And the Lily the richest of all that were there. 
 While my prayers were ascending to Father and 
 
 Son 
 To bless and preserve us forever as one. 
 You tell me in language, how coldly expressed ! 
 That you were " not in earnest but wholly in jest." 
 Oh, take those words back, though true they may be, 
 And have not the heart to confess them to me. 
 " I am just like my sex," have the candor to say, 
 " I am false, I am fickle, I'm treacherous as they." 
 31 
 
To a Dejected Friend. 
 
 But though, my loved girl, you have broken my heart, 
 
 And do not e'en ask of the ruin a part. 
 
 Yet know that you've shattered a spirit as true 
 
 As e'er was deceived by a lady like you ; 
 
 For never, no, never, beneath the blue sky. 
 
 Will you meet with a lover so faithful as I. 
 
 Oh, had I but honored my Saviour and Lord, 
 
 In fervent affection, in deed, or in word, 
 
 With half the devotion to you I have paid. 
 
 My hopes were not blighted, my love not betrayed. 
 
 Yet, yet, I forgive you, and leave you as free 
 
 As the bird that, uncaged, flies over the sea, 
 
 And in my sad bosom shall linger the prayer 
 
 That Heaven may grant you a pardon as fair. 
 
 TO A DEJECTED FRIEND. 
 
 "IT rHAT though thy way is often dark, 
 * ' And billows loudly round thee roar, 
 Be firm, droop not ; thy gallant bark 
 
 Unharmed shall reach the destined shore. 
 
 There's much in hfe that's left thee still : 
 The good outweighs the evil here ; 
 
 The less thou dwell' st upon the ill 
 The more will happiness appear, 
 
 Z2 
 
To My Crewel Wife. 
 
 For all there gleams a promise sure ; 
 
 Who thinks his lot in misery cast 
 Should patient wait, in faith endure, 
 
 The blessing rich will come at last. 
 
 And be not overmuch concerned 
 
 When passions wild thy peace annoy ; 
 
 I've long ago this lesson learned, 
 "No gold's without its base alloy." 
 
 Should Slander's voice around thee ring, 
 Pass on, stoop not to make reply ; 
 
 Thus pluck the venom from the sting. 
 And leave the crawling worm to die. 
 
 Thy virtues, like the rock-bound coast 
 
 That guards us from the treacherous main. 
 
 Will dash the waves by Envy tossed 
 Back on the powerless flood again. 
 
 TO MY CREW^EL WIFE. 
 
 (These lines were written when among ladies crocheting 
 was all the rage. It has been supplanted by silk embroidery, 
 in both of which my wife greatly excels.) 
 
 77" IND to my virtues you have been, 
 '*-^ And to my folHes blinded. 
 But though you' ve not a cruel heart, 
 Yet are you crewel-minded. 
 3 ZZ 
 
To My Crewel Wife. 
 
 For better or for worse, I said, 
 
 When for your charms I thirsted ; 
 
 The better part you've ever proved, 
 But still have I got worsted. 
 
 No crotchets in your heart exist ; 
 
 Excuse me, though, for saying. 
 That ne'er was woman's head more filled 
 
 With fanciful crocheting. 
 
 Your ears are deaf to all that's false, 
 You ne'er would truth embellish, 
 
 But others' yarns, howe'er retailed, 
 You welcome with a relish. 
 
 'Tis said the west wind can't be chained, 
 
 That on it blows forever ; 
 But well I know your fingers trained 
 
 Have caught and chained the zephyr. 
 
 A consolation 'tis to feel. 
 
 As down life's road we travel, 
 
 That all the tangled webs I weave 
 Your fingers can unravel. 
 
 The rainbow's splendid hues that glow 
 When o'er the heavens bended, 
 
 Can ne'er in radiant beauty match 
 The colors you have blended, — 
 34 
 
A Hundred Years to Come 
 
 Yes, blended in your eyes and hair, 
 And in your fair complexion. 
 
 Your teeth of pearl, your pure white soul, 
 That won my heart's affection. 
 
 DAVID AND JONATHAN. 
 
 T^EEP is the love by man to woman borne ; 
 
 Sad is his heart when she is from it torn ; 
 The world is dark unblessed with star or sun. 
 And all his hopes are shattered and undone. 
 But there is still a nobler, deeper love, 
 Akin to that which dwells in realms above ; 
 That love but once has warmed the breast of man, 
 'Twas borne by David for his Jonathan, — 
 " Passing the love of women," it is said ; 
 And when he died great David' s heart was dead ! 
 
 A HUNDRED YEARS TO COME. 
 
 (First two stanzas by unknown author.) 
 
 " IT^HO'LL press for gold the crowded street 
 
 A hundred years to come ? 
 Who'll crowd the church with willing feet 
 A hundred years to come ? 
 35 
 
A Hundred Years to Come 
 
 Pale, trembling age and fiery youth, 
 And childhood's simple brow of truth, 
 The rich and poor, by land and sea, 
 Where will these mighty millions be 
 A hundred years to come ? 
 
 " We all within our graves shall sleep 
 
 A hundred years to come ; 
 And not a soul for us shall weep 
 
 A hundred years to come. 
 But other men our streets shall fill. 
 And other hands our lands shall till, 
 And other birds shall sing as gay. 
 And bright the sunshine as to-day, 
 
 A hundred years to come." 
 
 Thou mayest indulge a nobler hope, 
 
 A hundred years to come, 
 Than in the darkness thus to grope, 
 
 A hundred years to come. 
 Oh, quickly to the Saviour fly ! 
 On his almighty grace rely ; 
 A destiny shall then be thine 
 Above the stars, in realms divine, 
 
 A hundred years to come. 
 
 We then shall walk the golden streets, 
 
 A hundred years to come ; 
 On radiant thrones will take our seats, 
 
 A hundred years to come. 
 -.6 
 
On the Death of Hon. Eugenius A. Nisbet. 
 
 Yes, clothed in robes of spotless white 
 We'll bask in the Redeemer's light, 
 Yes, we shall with the angels be, 
 Happy to all eternity, 
 
 A hundred years to come. 
 
 Our bodies in the grave shall sleep, 
 
 A hundred years to come. 
 And not a soul for us shall weep, 
 
 A hundred years to come. 
 But what care we, our souls shall rest 
 Upon our Saviour' s gentle breast, 
 And heaven with rapturous shouts shall ring. 
 And we shall with the angels sing, 
 
 A hundred years to come. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF HON. EUGENIUS A. 
 NISBET, OF MACON, GEORGIA. 
 
 (Formerly member of the Federal Congress, member of the 
 Confederate Congress, Judge of the Supreme Court, and a 
 devout elder in the Presbyterian Church. He was the uncle- 
 in-law of my wife, and it was my great privilege to spend 
 much time in his company.) 
 
 IVTO more on earth shall he be known. 
 
 The patriot, statesman, jurist, friend ; 
 His body to the dust has gone. 
 
 His soul to heights the good ascend. 
 
On the Death of Hon. Eugenius A. Nisbet. 
 
 No more with sage forensic lore 
 
 He pleads the cherished rights of men, 
 
 No more on Southern page will pour 
 The sweetness of his graceful pen. 
 
 He shone as some resplendent light 
 Sent to illume this lower ground, 
 
 And now as he retires from sight 
 A mortal darkness hovers round. 
 
 His bright career was calm, serene, 
 Ummarked by turbulence or strife ; 
 
 His gaze was fixed on things unseen, 
 His was a pure, believing life. 
 
 He sank to rest as sinks the sun, 
 That leaves a golden smile behind ; 
 
 His work of love and mercy done. 
 His memory tints the drooping mind. 
 
 With Berrien, Crawford, Lumpkin, Troup, 
 
 He sits on the celestial bench ; 
 Up there, as here, an illustrious group, 
 
 Whose Ught no death hath power to quench. 
 
 38 
 
The Missionary Angel. 
 
 THE MISSIONARY ANGEL. 
 
 (Recited at the Southern Baptist Convention, Atlanta, 
 Georgia, May, 1893.) 
 
 "And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, 
 having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell 
 on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, 
 and people." — Rev. xiv. 6. 
 
 T^HE angel is flying from heavenly portals, 
 
 He speeds on his mission of mercy and love ; 
 Glad tidings he bringeth to perishing mortals, 
 He sings of the rest that remaineth above. 
 A halo of glory encircles his head 
 As trills the sweet message of life for the dead. 
 
 The angel is crying, " Fear God and give glory. 
 For the hour of his judgment eternal is come ;" 
 
 All kindreds and peoples receive the glad story, 
 How Jesus can bring all the wanderers home. 
 
 Oh, calls he to millions by Satan enslaved 
 
 To bow to God's mandate, believe and be saved ! 
 
 The gospel is flying, behold the bright angel. 
 
 As sweeps he the heavens, the land, and the tide ; 
 
 All nations shall welcome the glorious evangel, 
 Which tells how a Saviour has suffered and died. 
 
 The kingdoms that blindly vain idols adored 
 
 Become the blest kingdoms of Jesus the Lord. 
 39 
 
The Missionary Angel. 
 
 The watchman who stands on the ramparts of Zion 
 And tearfully looks o' er the field of the night, 
 
 Views gleaming a sword like the sheen of Orion, 
 As it leaps from its star-bedecked scabbard of 
 light,— 
 
 The word-sword of Jesus by the angel waved high. 
 
 Now flashing its brightness athwart the dark sky. 
 
 The angel is flying, oh, quick he is heading 
 To regions far distant, forlorn and opprest ; 
 
 O'er China and Afric his white wings are spreading, 
 And the long-slumbering Isles of the Ocean are 
 blest. 
 
 He shouts a glad respite to souls that are bound, 
 
 Italia and Mexico leap at the sound. 
 
 And beautiful Cuba, the queen of Antilles, 
 No longer by minions of popery awed. 
 
 Comes, sweet as her roses and pure as her lilies. 
 To be crowned by her Saviour, Redeemer, and 
 Lord. 
 
 From scarlet adornments as venal as bright. 
 
 She turns to be clothed with the garments of light. 
 
 The poor opprest Indian on wild reservation 
 
 Hails the day of his down-trodden people's relief. 
 As from tribes widely scattered upsprings a new 
 nation, 
 With Jesus the Saviour, the Lord and the chief. 
 40 
 
A Night on the Danube. 
 
 The wigwam the banner of Calvary displays, 
 And the war-whoop is silenced by anthems of 
 praise. 
 
 Oh, privilege glorious to us it is given 
 
 To herald the angel's all-conquering flight. 
 
 To win the poor wanderers of earth back to heaven. 
 To scatter the seeds of redemption and light. 
 
 Till the day of probation forever is o'er, 
 
 And the angel returns to the echoless shore. 
 
 When paeans triumphant in the heavens are ringing, 
 When the world is delivered uphfted and free, 
 
 When the hills and the valleys break forth into 
 singing. 
 We will join, we will join in the glad Jubilee ! 
 
 In loudest hosannas will shout the refrain, 
 
 Jehovah, the Lord, doth omnipotent reign ! 
 
 A NIGHT ON THE DANUBE. 
 
 "TTrnO can tell the Danube's story. 
 
 Paint that scene of liquid glory ? 
 Go where rolls the mighty Ganges 
 By the Himalayan ranges. 
 Or amid its palms and roses 
 View the sacred stream of Moses ; 
 Paeans on the Rhine deliver, 
 Sing the praise of Guadalquiver, 
 41 
 
A Nieht on the Danube. 
 
 ■fc. 
 
 But for beauty, grace, and grandeur, 
 Classic hue, and regal splendor, 
 Seek throughout creation's quarters. 
 None can match this queen of waters. 
 Fondly, clearly, I remember, 
 'Twas a night in mild September, 
 When beneath its gemmed rotunda 
 Gazed I on this flowing wonder. 
 Bowers which seemed for fairies planted 
 Stood upon its banks enchanted, 
 Reproduced in glasses nether, 
 Like two Edens linked together ; 
 And the heavens shone brighter, clearer. 
 Pictured in that burnished mirror, 
 Every star a diamond seeming. 
 In the crown of Neptune gleaming ; 
 Argosies majestic plying 
 With their radiant banners flying, 
 Each a phantom vessel traiUng, 
 To its mystic harbor sailing, 
 Limned upon the tide a picture 
 Angels might behold with rapture. 
 Merry voices loudly ringing 
 Swelled from groups of peasants, singing. 
 Who in costumes gay advancing. 
 Sounded forth such notes entrancing 
 That the river ceased to gUsten, 
 That all nature stopped to listen, 
 And we thought in unseen chorus 
 Strauss' s soul was soaring o'er us. 
 42 
 
The City of Montgomery. 
 
 THE CITY OF MONTGOMERY. 
 
 T ET Birmingham her praises trill, 
 Her magic greatness claiming, 
 Let boom on boom the ether thrill. 
 And Fortune's eagles soar at will. 
 
 Their airy castles framing, 
 Yet high on Alabama' s tide, 
 
 'Mid landscapes bright and summery, 
 There stands in conscious strength and pride, 
 Commanding all the State beside, 
 
 The City of Montgomery. 
 
 The head of navigation deep, 
 
 The seat of legislation. 
 The favorite mart for all who reap. 
 Her lordly prestige she will keep. 
 
 And high exalt her station. 
 Her noble sons have come to stay, 
 
 While stranger bands are passing, 
 And prophets sight the coming day, 
 When millions drifting by the way. 
 
 Will share our city's blessing. 
 
 Let Iron lift her queenly head, 
 
 The youngest of trade's daughters. 
 
 In Birmingham she makes her bed ; 
 
 She wakes, and with majestic tread 
 Will work beside our waters. 
 43 
 
The City of Montgomery. 
 
 She comes our white-plumed king to meet 
 
 Upon the hills of Beulah, 
 Who, rising from his fleecy seat 
 His young and dusky bride to greet, 
 
 Will teach her he is ruler. 
 
 Here Culture lifts its classic eyes 
 
 O'er every field of learning, 
 Brave experts win the martial prize, 
 And Traffic its vocation plies 
 
 With foresight wise, discerning. 
 No robber hordes intrude by stealth. 
 
 No fell contagion lingers. 
 But Plutus smiles upon our wealth, 
 Hygeia paints the cheek of health 
 
 With rosy-tinted fingers. 
 
 Our waters pure as Horeb's stream. 
 
 Fresh from the granite mountain, 
 Leap high in air, in sunlight gleam. 
 As pretty as an angel's dream 
 
 Beside the heavenly fountain ; 
 And lights of pure electric ray 
 
 From lofty turrets pendent. 
 O'er scenes enchanting gleam and play, 
 And chasing darkness into day. 
 
 Shine glorious and resplendent. 
 
 But still our boast is social life. 
 The city's crown of beauty, 
 44 
 
The City of Montgomery. 
 
 Where radiant maiden, mother, wife, 
 Stand ever helpful in the strife 
 
 And urge us to our duty. 
 The horn of plenty yields its hoard 
 
 With free, unstinted measure. 
 And strangers welcome to the board. 
 That groans beneath its tempting load, 
 
 May all partake at pleasure. 
 
 When war belched forth its leaden hail, 
 
 Its thunders rattling loudly. 
 The noble Watts directed sail. 
 And peerless Yancey blew the gale 
 
 That wafted us so proudly. 
 Though God all wise at length decreed 
 
 The Union must not sever. 
 The spot where Davis took the lead, 
 The altar of his patriot deed. 
 
 Is Freedom's shrine forever. 
 
 The soldier's shaft shall kiss the skies, 
 
 Our Chief its summit brightening ; 
 While buried hope beneath him lies, 
 His, Liberty's, true form shall rise, 
 
 The darkened world enlightening. 
 Then let the booming guns resound. 
 
 And men for glory clamor. 
 When cities great bedeck the ground, 
 Montgomery fair will still be found. 
 
 The pride of Alabama ! 
 45 
 
To Hon. Jefferson Davis. 
 TO HON. JEFFERSON DAVIS. 
 
 IN ANSWER TO HIS LETTER. 
 
 (Beauvoir, Miss., January 2, 1887. 
 
 Rev. M. B. Wharton, D.D. : 
 
 My dear Sir, — Please accept the tender of my best 
 wishes for you and yours in this new year, and many more 
 which I hope you are in future to enjoy. 
 
 I cordially thank you for your kind expressions in your 
 letter of the 20th ult., and would be much gratified to re- 
 ceive you at my home by the sea-shore, where you would 
 find nothing of the activity and progress of your home, but 
 abundance of quiet and cordial welcome from me and 
 mine. 
 
 Respectfully and truly yours, 
 
 Jefferson Davis. 
 
 Your beautiful poem to the city of Montgomery, and the 
 memories of the struggle there initiated to defend the rights 
 our fathers left us, and to maintain constitutional liberty, 
 has been read with grateful admiration. 
 
 Yours, J. D.) 
 
 OUCH was the joy thy greeting gave, 
 ^ High leap'd my heart beyond control ; 
 Thy kindly wish, like ocean's wave 
 Singing amid the storms that rave, 
 
 Bright o'er my flood of years shall roll. 
 
 And waft sweet music to my soul. 
 
 Fair leaf from the majestic tree 
 
 From whence our Southland glory springs. 
 Thy letter e'er shall treasured be, — 
 Pressed in the book of memory, 
 46 
 
To Hon. Jefferson Davis. 
 
 And shrined among my sacred things, 
 More prized than autographs of kings. 
 
 He who the world's applause has won, 
 Whose fame shall gild remotest days. 
 
 Is thankful for my service done. 
 
 Oh, 'tis as if the lustrous sun, 
 
 That floods our fields with kindly rays, 
 
 Had thanked some plant that drank his rays ! 
 
 And to thy quiet sea-side home. 
 
 Where tall magnolias wave their crowns. 
 And skies cerulean lift their dome. 
 With generous quest thou bidst me come. 
 Oh, sweet to tread those flowery downs, 
 And catch the inspiring ocean sounds ! 
 
 But sweeter far to see again 
 
 The noble form that first I viewed 
 
 Careering to Manassa's plain, 
 
 'Mid wilder sounds than sweep the main, — 
 Where trees stood bare and bullet-hewed. 
 And skies wept o'er the battle-strewed. 
 
 I saw thee oft with rank and file. 
 Gazed on thee in thy chair of state. 
 
 Thy great Inaugural heard, the while, 
 
 Thou stood' St upon the sacred pile 
 Upreared to Washington the Great, 
 And deemed thee Hnked with him in Fate. 
 47 
 
To Hon. Jefferson Davis. 
 
 Shone, through the dark and bitter gale, 
 Thy martial form, thy eagle eye. 
 
 One hand sure guiding at the wheel 
 
 And one directed to the steel 
 
 That flashed above the battle's cry 
 And nerved thy hosts to do or die. 
 
 But Fate thy dauntless spirit mocks, 
 
 The hopes of millions quick are fled ; 
 Our ship succumbs to ruthless shocks 
 And sinks dismantled on the rocks, 
 
 While grim Monroe with menace dread 
 Frowns o'er our prisoned Chieftain's head. 
 
 Brave victors e'er must generous be 
 Unto a brave and fallen foe ; 
 
 The Hand that plucked the sword from Lee 
 
 Is raised to set the Captive free. 
 
 Who ne'er recoiled from martial blow 
 Nor triumph' d in a brother's woe. 
 
 Nor can the spangled Flag disdain 
 
 The star that flamed at Monterey ; 
 Its crimxson stripe must speak the vein 
 That streamed on Buena Vista's plain, — 
 Those memories bright can ne'er decay 
 While breezes round that banner play. 
 
 The world, full conscious of thy worth, 
 Rejoiced then at thy just release. 
 48 
 
To Hon. Jefferson Davis. 
 
 Untrammelled by a cruel oath, 
 Thou from thy cell didst wander forth, 
 To seek in quiet walks of peace 
 From patriot woes a calm surcease. 
 
 Majestic silence sat enthroned 
 
 Upon thy great and lofty brow. 
 And while the past was sore bemoaned. 
 The conquering Power was loyal owned ; 
 The bright peace Angel sealed the vow,- 
 Defeat grander than victory now ! 
 
 But stars are never long concealed ; 
 
 The darksome clouds that hang before, 
 Soon drifting from the nightly field, 
 Unwonted splendors are revealed. 
 Lo ! thus our days of darkness o'er, 
 Thou loom'st thy country's cynosure ! 
 
 Oh, who can paint the pageant bright 
 When (five-and-twenty years sped by) 
 
 Thou pressed again the historic site 
 
 On yonder Capitolian height. 
 
 Where Dixie's flag first leap'd on high. 
 Amid the new-born nation's cry ! 
 
 Sun never graced a scene more grand ! 
 
 Nor wilder shouts could mortals raise, 
 When Pettus stood with veteran band, 
 And scar-marked Gordon took the stand, 
 
 4 49 
 
To Hon. Jefferson Davis. 
 
 Flashing the hght of other days, — 
 Speaking the Southern leader's praise ! 
 
 And thus 'twill be till time shall end, — 
 
 The world shall with thy plaudits ring, 
 Great Hist'ry shall thy name defend, 
 Sculpture its guardian graces lend, 
 And future bards shall joy to sing 
 The glories of our uncrowned king. 
 
 ' ' Peace hath its victories great as war. ' ' 
 
 Oh, bright example here we find ! 
 While England boasts her Trafalgar, 
 We point with pleasure to Beauvoir, 
 Where stainless fionor sits enshrined 
 Within a true and constant mind. 
 
 Enjoy then, sire, thy cherished rest 
 
 From care and strife and sorrow free ; 
 And when thy sun shall seek the west, 
 Thy Mother take thee to her breast, 
 The music of the sounding sea 
 Shall thy perpetual requiem be ! 
 
 Till then bloom on, ye roses sweet, 
 Ye forests, waft your fragrant gales, 
 
 Sweet birds, your loveliest lays repeat. 
 
 Join in, O Sea, with chorus meet, — 
 Oh, Thou, whose mercy never fails. 
 Spare him who treads these smihng vales ! 
 50 
 
The Death of Jefferson Davis. 
 
 THE DEATH OF JEFFERSON DAVIS. 
 
 /^UR mighty Chieftain breathes no more, 
 ^^^ His noble form, now cold and still. 
 Has fallen at last, life's conflict o'er. 
 
 Obedient to his Maker's will. 
 As die the brave and true he dies, — 
 
 He rests upon a stainless shield. 
 The great Commander of the skies 
 
 Alone could call him from the field. 
 
 His noble spirit dwells on high. 
 
 Where slanders never vex the soul ; 
 And fitting 'tis his dust should He 
 
 Far, far removed from prowling ghoul. 
 Among his friends should be his tomb. 
 
 There on old Ocean's utmost verge, 
 Where snow-white flowers perennial bloom 
 
 And wild waves chant his funeral dirge. 
 
 And he will stand on History's page, 
 
 While cycling years shall onward move, 
 The victim once of senseless rage, 
 
 Now, idol of his people's love. 
 When hate is buried in the dust. 
 
 When party strife shall break its spear. 
 When truth is free and men are just. 
 
 Then will his epitaph appear. 
 51 
 
My Little Grandson. 
 
 The Parian quarry asks for time 
 
 In which the marble to mature, 
 Destined to speak his fame subHme, 
 
 Worthy to shrine a heart so pure ; 
 Till then unmarked we bid him lay, 
 
 With carping critics plead a truce, 
 But dear the spot which holds his clay 
 
 As that which holds the heart of Bruce. 
 
 MY LITTLE GRANDSON, 
 
 WHARTON A. MOORE. 
 
 A LONE within my room I sit, 
 ■^ But sweet companionship I find 
 In thoughts that to my darling flit ; 
 The chamber of my soul is lit. 
 
 And he the reigning guest enshrined. 
 
 No cherub born of Angelo, 
 
 Nor masterpiece of Raphael's art, 
 Can e'er the witching beauties know 
 That in his radiant picture glow, 
 Forever limned upon my heart. 
 
 Again his charms before me rise, 
 
 The rose-tints on his cheek I view, — 
 
 Twin stars from out the azure skies 
 
 Are mirrored in his lucid eyes, 
 
 And sparkle from their depths of blue. 
 52 
 
My Little Grandson. 
 
 Now sits he on my willing knee, 
 His head is pillowed on my breast, 
 
 But quick he springs with childish glee 
 
 To toy with all my trinkets free, 
 
 And take whate'er may please him best. 
 
 My despot for the time he reigns, 
 
 And fettered by his arms I lie. 
 Yet do I fondly hug my chains. 
 While he my every pocket drains, 
 
 His royal coffers to supply. 
 
 For him the artist I must play ; 
 
 Quick speeds my pencil to its mark, — 
 Fish, beasts, and birds, in crude array, 
 Suggestive of old Noah's day, 
 
 Fill my capacious paper ark. 
 
 Now starts he on his fun campaign, 
 His lackey I must with him go, — 
 
 "The dogs of war" yelp o'er the plain, 
 
 The pigs and poultry fly amain. 
 The dust is kissed by every foe. 
 
 His war-steeds plunge through gilded halls. 
 
 His bugle wakes its loudest strain, 
 He bravely " scales" the burnished walls, 
 Glass forts succumb to rubber balls. 
 The floor is covered with the slain. 
 53 
 
My Little Grandson. 
 
 Oh, you who rule the camp, the court. 
 With banners to the breeze unfurled, 
 A grander Power behind I note ! — 
 Wise the Athenian king who wrote, 
 "My baby 'tis who rules the world." 
 
 Now tired of play, he sinks to sleep. 
 
 Within my arms my darling lies ; 
 
 May angel bands around him creep, 
 
 And watch, as they their vigils keep 
 
 O'er sinless cherubs of the skies. 
 
 Oh, can it be, as years roll on, 
 
 This child, so innocent and pure. 
 Must meet the world's vindictive scorn, 
 Must feel the smart of envy's thorn. 
 And hatred's bitter pangs endure ? 
 
 Lurks there in paths that he may tread 
 The tempter's snare, the serpent's tooth ? 
 
 My curse on the seducer's head ! 
 
 O God, thy wings in mercy spread 
 Above my boy's unguarded youth ! 
 
 He wakes ; his prattling voice I hear ; 
 
 The stars are twinkling in his eyes : 
 *' Danpa !" rings out in accents clear ; 
 His hand extends caresses dear. 
 
 Then quick into my pocket flies. 
 54 
 
Evening Glimpse of Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
 Now Morpheus shuts my weary sight, — 
 Shuts he my darhng from my heart ? 
 Ah, no ! He'll come in visions bright, 
 Together we shall spend the night, 
 Although two hundred miles apart. 
 
 AN EVENING GLIMPSE OF BINGEN ON 
 THE RHINE. 
 
 JCROM Cologne's attractions parting. 
 
 And aboard the ' ' Kaiser' ' starting, 
 Up the Rhine I long had journeyed, 
 With companions gay and learned, 
 Versed in all the curious legends 
 Of those fair and classic regions ; 
 Passing many a ruined castle. 
 Seats of feudal pride and wassail ; 
 Halls once graced with knightly ermine, 
 Now the abodes of bats and vermin ; 
 Mountains in the distance looming, 
 Fields of corn and forests blooming ; 
 Cities, towns, in bright succession, 
 Picturesque beyond expression. 
 High upon the crags extending, 
 To the water's edge descending. 
 Each appearing, each receding. 
 As our boat her way was speeding, 
 55 
 
Evening Glimpse of Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
 Till we reached the Bingen landing, 
 Europe's loveliest view commanding. 
 Often had I read the story 
 Of the soldier faint and gory, 
 Who for beauteous Bingen sighing, 
 In a foreign land was dying. 
 Now I gaze upon the picture 
 (Proof to even a Raphael's stricture) 
 Which had won his young affection, 
 Glowed his fondest retrospection ; 
 For the orb of day declining, 
 Soft and pale the moon was shining. 
 As he viewed it merry-hearted 
 In the happy days departed ; 
 There in front, in verdure springing. 
 Stood the vine-clad hills of Bingen, 
 Through whose walks he oft had wandered, 
 And the paths of glory pondered. 
 By the river broad and swelling 
 Fancy pointed to the dwelling 
 Where, in social bonds united. 
 First the lamp of hope was lighted ; 
 Where a mother, sister, brother. 
 Nearer, dearer still, "another," 
 Threw their loving arms around him 
 And in silken fetters bound him. 
 There beneath a sire's tuition 
 Woke the fires of young ambition, 
 W^hich from these delights would sever, 
 Bear him from his home forever ! 
 56 
 
Evening Glimpse of Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
 Oh, Ambition ! bane of mortals, 
 Key to fame's illusive portals. 
 Curse of every patriot nation, 
 Tracked by blood and desolation, 
 Cormorant of all the ages, 
 Sin thy trade and death thy wages. 
 What has not thy greed attempted ? 
 Who is from thy clutch exempted ? 
 See great Caesar fall before thee, 
 Bonaparte in chains adore thee. 
 And the graves of millions slaughtered. 
 By the tears of widows watered, — 
 Orphans' wail the while ascending, 
 With the shouts of triumph blending ! 
 But no tragic deed or glory 
 Preaches like the touching story 
 Of the soldier of the legion 
 Lured from this bewitching region, — 
 Torn from all he loved to cherish 
 In a foreign war to perish ! 
 Can it be, I thought, while viewing 
 These enchantments so subduing. 
 That this lovely panorama 
 E'er was shocked by martial clamor ? 
 Ay, from age to age descended. 
 Men have on these banks contended. 
 Breezes freighted v/ith their sighing. 
 Blood these azure waters dyeing, — 
 Roman legions, tramping, thundering, 
 Goths and Vandals, spoiling, plundering ; 
 57 
 
Clinor Close to the Rock. 
 
 'i3 
 
 France her mighty captain leading, 
 Prayers and threats of States unheeding, 
 Here impressed her footsteps gory, 
 Won her highest claim to "glory." 
 But Germania, now victorious, 
 Symbolled in yon statue glorious. 
 Spears to pruning-hooks converted, 
 Toil in peaceful arts exerted. 
 On, the generous river ilowing, 
 Thrift and enterprise bestowing. 
 Make the scene again Elysian, 
 Fairest known to mortal vision. 
 
 CLING CLOSE TO THE ROCK. 
 
 npHERE were two little children, a sister and 
 ^ brother, 
 
 Who went for an evening's enjoyment together ; 
 They asked not permission from dearest mamma, 
 But said they'd be good and not wander too far. 
 They strolled through the mead with its grasses so 
 
 gray, 
 And played hide-and-seek in the shocks of new 
 
 hay. 
 Ah ! if " all flesh is grass, ' ' which for granted I take, 
 What tiny sweet haystacks these darlings would 
 
 make ! 
 
 58 
 
Cling Close to the Rock. 
 
 With hand joined in hand now their journey they 
 
 took, 
 And roamed by the side of the clear running brook, 
 Whose waters hke crystals attracted their gaze. 
 And whose music was sweeter than Orphean lays. 
 They toyed with the beauties which Nature supplies, 
 And were raptured in chasing the bright butterflies, 
 That fluttered and gleamed in the evening's soft 
 
 glare 
 Like flying camellias, or gems winged in air. 
 They ran and they laughed in their innocent glee. 
 As gay and as happy as children could be, 
 And of all happy beings the sun doth behold, 
 The happiest, I ween, are these lambs of the fold 
 That gambol and skip o'er the meadowy sod, — 
 The pets of the world and the favorites of God. 
 These joys may depart never more to return, 
 But their ashes will linger in memory's urn. 
 And exhale, wheresoever life's footsteps may stray, 
 The faint and sweet smell of that newly mown hay. 
 The girl now suggested, ere yet it was night. 
 It was time for her brother to fly his new kite : 
 So quickly attaching a very long tail. 
 He sent it in triumph to ride on the gale. 
 Like a bird from its cage it arose on its wing, 
 While the two, nothing daunted, held fast to the 
 
 string ; 
 Then aloft it ascended above the green trees, 
 Where it trembled and whirled in the stiffening 
 
 breeze ; 
 
 59 
 
Cling Close to the Rock. 
 
 Then darting away to the northward it flies, 
 
 Seeming bent on a journey far up in the skies ; 
 
 But suddenly jerking it loses its tail, 
 
 And floats like a skiff without rudder or sail ; 
 
 It sped o'er the top of the old negro hut, 
 
 And alighted, alas, in the railroad's deep cut. 
 
 Ah, thus do the schemes of both children and 
 
 men 
 Come to grief all for reasons beyond our ken ; 
 We frame them, caress them, and speed them on 
 
 high, 
 But they fall to the ground in sad ruin to he. 
 All heedless of danger, the girl and the boy 
 Quick ran down the track to recover their icy ; 
 But when they had reached it, oh, horror ! oh, pain ! 
 The whistle proclaimed the fast on-coming train ; 
 On, on, as if maddened, it frightfully rushed. 
 In an instant their dear little forms may be crushed ! 
 But no, the brave fellow a refuge descried 
 In a huge granite boulder that stood by his side. 
 So lifting his sister high up on the ledge, 
 And taking his station still nearer the edge. 
 With a blanch on his cheek and a tear in his eye. 
 He cried as the engine came thundering by. 
 With its rush and its crush and its terrible shock, 
 " Chng close to the rock, sister, close to the rock !" 
 They clung to the rock till the danger was passed, 
 Secured their lost treasure and home reached at last. 
 As their sad little story to mamma was told. 
 The parent so kind did not censure or scold, 
 60 
 
Clincf Close to the Rock. 
 
 •t> 
 
 But attentively listened to every word, 
 
 While her bosom with deepest emotion was stirred. 
 
 The little girl said, ' ' As the train hove in sight 
 
 I beheld in the sky a most beautiful kite ; 
 
 It looked like a baby with glittering wings. 
 
 I wonder who flew it and who held the strings ?' ' 
 
 The mother responded, "That vision, my dear. 
 
 Was an angel sent down from the heavenly sphere ; 
 
 Its mission, divine, was deliverance to bring. 
 
 God sent it in mercy, but Christ held the string. 
 
 It was sent to protect the stray lambs of my flock. 
 
 And teach them in danger to ' Cling to the Rock !' " 
 
 But a rock there is grander for all of us left, 
 
 Who in moments of trial will fly to its cleft, — 
 
 A rock that will shelter when tempests abound. 
 
 And in darkness and death a safe refuge be found ; 
 
 'Tis the great Rock of Ages from Calvary hewn, 
 
 The merciful Father's unspeakable boon ; 
 
 In the deep yawning cut which transgression has 
 
 made. 
 And where all of our once cherished hopes have 
 
 been laid. 
 It stands the dread monsters of Satan to mock, 
 If mortals imperilled but " Chng to the Rock." 
 
 6i 
 
The Fate of Genius. 
 
 THE FATE OF GENIUS. 
 
 n^HE bird that soars to loftiest height, 
 ''■ And spreads abroad its beauteous wing, 
 Does but the archer's shaft invite, 
 And falls to earth a helpless thing. 
 
 And he who climbs to mountain-tops, 
 
 In regions of eternal snow, 
 Oft from the tallest summit drops, 
 
 And finds a grave in caves below. 
 
 And thus I deem the fate of those 
 
 Whose genius soars to realms sublime ; 
 
 A target each for envious foes. 
 Or outcasts on the rocks of time. 
 
 The heroes of Titanic wars 
 
 Emblazoned on the skies their name, 
 But fell to earth like falling stars, 
 
 To perish in disgrace and shame. 
 
 The bard of Scio's rocky isle, 
 
 And Milton, epic' s grandest light, 
 
 With Godlike thoughts the world beguile. 
 Yet doomed to grope in rayless night. 
 
 When Shakespeare, peerless king of verse. 
 Stood on the highest peak of fame, 
 
 The ghouls his mighty name asperse, 
 And rob him of his sacred claim. 
 62 
 
The Fate of Genius. 
 
 And Byron, genius of the world, 
 Like the proud eagle struck amain, 
 
 Is from the heights of glory hurled, 
 And stretched on Missolonghi's plain. 
 
 Poor Burns they nearly starved to death 
 But when at last he sank to rest, 
 
 The startled nation held its breath. 
 And kings their bitter grief exprest. 
 
 They ranked him with the mighty dead, 
 And placed him on a marble throne. 
 
 He asked his countrymen for bread, 
 They gave him in response a stone. 
 
 And Otway, Shakespeare of his time, 
 In misery dwelt on Tower Hill, 
 
 His home among the sons of crime, 
 His bones a pauper's coffin fill. 
 
 But though their fate so sad appears, 
 One day among the stars, I ken, 
 
 Is better than a thousand years 
 Among the common herd of men. 
 
 And Genius, crushed beneath the sod. 
 
 Will rise in majesty divine. 
 She has the eternal years of God 
 
 In which to make her glories shine ! 
 63 
 
The Whosoever Home and Farm. 
 
 THE WHOSOEVER HOME AND FARM. 
 
 (This is the name of the orphanage of my brother, Rev. 
 H. M. Wharton, D.D., at Luray, Virginia. He wrote to me 
 asking for some hnes in its interest, and with the above re- 
 sult. The piece may be sung to the air of " Nellie Gray.") 
 
 ^T^ HERE'S a group of snowy dwellings on a green 
 Virginia hill, 
 Where the lovely Shenandoah sweeps along, 
 'Tis as fair a scene of beauty as could tempt a 
 painter's skill 
 Or awake a poet's raptured song, 
 'Tis a place where helpless children of their parents 
 dear bereft 
 May be sheltered far away from danger's harm, 
 Where the blessed Rock of Ages opens wide its 
 friendly cleft, 
 'Tis the Whosoever Home and Farm. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Oh, the Whosoever Farm is a beacon and a charm 
 
 For all the little waifs of want and pain ; 
 'Tis a refuge for the friendless which will every fear 
 disarm. 
 And give to them happiness again. 
 64 
 
The Whosoever Home and Farm. 
 
 Here the blue and foliaged mountains are the 
 temples of the Lord, 
 With their turrets ever pointing to the skies, 
 While the feathered choirs are singing in harmoni- 
 ous accord 
 At the morning and evening sacrifice. 
 But there is a sweet enclosure where the Word of 
 God is taught. 
 And the hearts of all are happy, bright, and 
 warm. 
 As they hear of the salvation which the blood of 
 Jesus bought, 
 'Tis the Whosoever Home and Farm. 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh, you who have abundance with your children at 
 your side. 
 Come and aid us with a free and ready mind, 
 And remember Christ has told us for the little ones 
 he died, 
 He who helps them helps the Saviour of man- 
 kind. 
 He will bless you at the judgment, when you'll 
 need his kindly aid. 
 He will calm your every trouble and alarm. 
 If your riches are invested where the best returns 
 are made, 
 In the Whosoever Home and Farm. 
 6s 
 
A Glimpse of Ocean View. 
 A GLIMPSE OF OCEAN VIEW. 
 
 TTAVE you been to Ocean View ? 
 Have you seen the waters blue, 
 As they sparkle in the noble Chesapeake ? 
 
 Have you seen their en^erald hue? 
 
 Have you seen the fisher crew 
 As the ocean's finny denizens they seek? 
 
 Have you seen the far-off ship, 
 
 ' ' With the crystal at her lip, ' ' 
 As she sylph-like o'er the waters seemed to skim? 
 
 Seen the merry children skip ? 
 
 Seen the jolly bathers dip 
 And disport themselves according to their whim ? 
 
 Have you seen the big hotels 
 
 Where the summer tourist dwells. 
 And the cottages that smile upon the beach ? 
 
 And the welcome they extend 
 
 To the hot and dusty friend, 
 So delighted such a breathing-place to reach ? 
 
 If you've seen this gay resort. 
 
 With its " Cony Island" sport, 
 And the crowd that thither daily ever goes, 
 
 You will say, like Rome of old, 
 
 That all Norfolk is controlled 
 By two things, — the love of bread and public shows.* 
 
 * " Such was their fondness for sports that it was said that 
 two things were necessary for the Roman people, — bread and 
 pubhc shows." — LiddeU's History of Rome. 
 66 
 
White Robes. 
 
 WHITE ROBES. 
 
 " They shall walk with me in white." — REV. iii. 4. 
 
 A S lilies fair the lake bestud, 
 
 Arising from its depths serene, 
 So sinners washed in Jesus' blood, 
 Emerging from the cleansing flood. 
 
 Are robed in garments white and clean. 
 
 As Alpine peaks the tempest face, 
 
 Yet gleam all radiant with the snow. 
 So those who reach the heights of grace, 
 'Mid clouds and storms that throng apace, 
 Shall with eternal whiteness glow. 
 
 And "they who overcome," Christ says, 
 
 " In battling for the truth and right, 
 I'll honor with immortal bays, 
 The loom of heaven its tribute pays. 
 And they shall walk with me in white." 
 
 Oh, Christian, would' st thou enter in. 
 
 Nor from the pearly gates be hurled ? 
 Thy heavenly walk must here begin. 
 Thy robes be cleansed from every sin, 
 And kept unspotted from the world. 
 67 
 
The Last Hope. 
 
 Lord, when the world has passed away, 
 
 When time has winged its ceaseless flight. 
 In realms of everlasting day, 
 'Mid scenes that never know decay, 
 Oh, may we walk with thee in white ! 
 
 THE LAST HOPE. 
 
 Air, " Last Rose of Summer." 
 
 "T^IS thy last hope, oh, sinner, 
 
 By Satan enslaved. 
 To accept the Redeemer, 
 
 Believe and be saved. 
 If this boon be rejected. 
 
 No refuge is nigh. 
 But thy spirit immortal 
 
 Must languish and die. 
 
 Oh, why wilt thou linger 
 
 Thy Lord to receive ; 
 Why longer continue 
 
 His Spirit to grieve ? 
 That Spirit resisted 
 
 Will take his sad flight, 
 And leave thee to suffer 
 
 Eternity's blight. 
 68 
 
To-Night. 
 
 Then come to the Saviour 
 
 Who lovingly calls, 
 Ere the hand of his justice 
 
 In punishment falls. 
 Accept his salvation, 
 
 Humbly bow at his shrine, 
 And a coronet fadeless 
 
 Thy brow shall entwine. 
 
 TO-NIGHT. 
 
 /^H, sinner, yield to Christ to-night, 
 ^-"^ The offered gift no longer spurn ; 
 The Spirit grieved may take his flight, 
 And leave thee never to return. 
 
 "My Spirit shall not always strive," 
 Canst thou those dreadful words forget ? 
 
 None can Jehovah's wrath survive 
 
 When once his glittering sword is whet. 
 
 He gave his Son, he gave his all 
 To save thee from thy lost estate ; 
 
 Then haste — attend to Mercy's call. 
 Ere Justice close the slighted gate. 
 69 
 
. Shall We Meet Them ? 
 
 The Saviour pleads with melting voice, 
 Oh, prostrate fall before his feet ! 
 
 The saints on earth will shout, Rejoice ! 
 And angel bands the song repeat. 
 
 SHALL WE MEET THEM? 
 
 OHALL we meet our vanished loved ones, 
 
 Whom we have not seen for years, 
 Who were laid away in silence, 
 
 While our eyes were drenched with tears ? 
 Shall we meet them ? Shall we meet them ? 
 
 In the far-off upper spheres ? 
 
 Yes, again we'll meet our loved ones 
 Who the mystic path have trod, 
 
 And enjoy a blest reunion 
 In the Paradise of God. 
 
 We shall meet them, we shall meet them. 
 On the green celestial sod. 
 
 We shall meet them, and shall greet them, 
 
 And their loving names repeat. 
 With the saints of all the ages 
 
 Gathered at our Saviour's feet. 
 We shall know them, we shall know them, 
 
 When our loved ones we shall meet. 
 70 
 
The Feast of Belshazzar. 
 
 Let us bide the separation 
 
 While on earth we sadly roam, 
 Glad will be the exultation 
 
 When we greet them in their home. 
 Hallelujahs ! Hallelujahs ! 
 
 Shall resound through heaven's high dome. 
 
 THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR. 
 
 "DELSHAZZAR is seated high up on his throne, 
 
 The emblems of greatness around him are 
 strewn ; 
 A thousand great lords who have answered his call, 
 With his wives and his concubines, fill the great 
 
 hall. 
 While the strains of soft music voluptuously rolled. 
 He drinks to the gods of brass, silver, and gold. 
 Defying Jehovah and maddened with wine, 
 He calls for the cups from Jerusalem's shrine, 
 Which his father had brought with the might of his 
 
 sword 
 From that sacred enclosure, the House of ihe Lord. 
 From these cups now the king, with his wives, lords, 
 
 and all, 
 Sacrilegiously drank as they danced through the 
 
 hall. 
 
 71 
 
The Feast of Belshazzar. 
 
 All at once forth there gleams from the wall over- 
 head 
 What appears a man's hand, and a writing most 
 
 dread. 
 He knew 'twas his doom, for he trembled and 
 
 shook. 
 While despair is depicted on movement and look ; 
 The voice of rejoicing is hushed at the sight, 
 And the crowd stand aghast in their pitiless fright. 
 He calls for astrologers, soothsayers, all. 
 To tell what was meant by the words on the 
 
 wall ; 
 Whoe'er can explain what is meant by the hand 
 Shall be made the third ruler throughout the great 
 
 land. 
 The queen now exclaims, while her pallid lips 
 
 quiver, 
 " O king, be not troubled, O king, hve forever ! 
 There's a man of renown, and most holy withal, 
 Who can tell of the writing that gleams from the 
 
 wall. 
 It is Daniel the prophet, out of Jewry he came. 
 And his wisdom has filled the whole world with his 
 
 fame. ' ' 
 He is called, — and the prophet now stands by the 
 
 king, 
 And he's told of the fortune his efforts shall 
 
 bring. 
 " Be thy gifts to thyself, or to others be given," 
 He says, ' ' yet I' 11 tell thee the language of Heaven. ' ' 
 72 
 
The Feast of Belshazzar. 
 
 First, ' Mene' declares God has numbered thy days, 
 And ' Tekel,' found wanting, thy soul nothing 
 
 weighs, 
 'Upharsin,' thy kingdom and glory are fled, 
 The Mede and the Persian shall reign in thy stead." 
 But hark ! now the sound of the bugle is heard, 
 The stillness of night with commotion is stirred. 
 The soldiers are yeUing. What now do I hear ? 
 The hand of avenging Jehovah is near. 
 The gates he has opened to Cyrus' vast host. 
 Great Babylon's taken, Belshazzar is lost ! 
 Oh, sinners who revel in Time's banquet-hall. 
 Beware as you ponder the hand on the wall. 
 Were the sins of Belshazzar the same as your own ? 
 Then his doom will be yours when his life's mo- 
 ments are gone. 
 Except you repent while there yet may be room. 
 Ere the hand is outstretched that pronounces your 
 
 doom. 
 Then come to the Saviour in Mercy's sweet day, 
 Ere the bolts of his justice around you shall play ; 
 Accept his salvation, in penitence fall. 
 And no terrors shall fright you that gleam from the 
 
 wall. 
 But instead, when is ended your trial and strife. 
 Your name shall be found in the Lamb's Book of 
 Life! 
 
 73 
 
Jacob's Dream. 
 
 JACOB'S DREAM. 
 
 "TVARK was the night, and bare the ground, 
 Where Jacob's wondrous rest was found 
 O'er many a weary mile he'd come, 
 An exile from his father's home. 
 And now his soul is filled with fright, 
 As o'er him arched the cheerless night ; 
 Each noise he fears is Esau's tread, 
 As on the stones he lays his head. 
 Repentant for the treachery done, 
 Whereby the birthright had been won. 
 And will the Lord his promise keep. 
 To give to his beloved sleep ? 
 Ah, yes ! and dreams that will bestow 
 Such bliss as only angels know ! 
 He sleeps, and lo, the skies are riven ; 
 He sees a ladder reared to heaven, 
 With angels on the shining stair, 
 Ascending and descending there. 
 Oh, wondrous dream ! what does it mean ? 
 Not Jacob half divines, I ween ; 
 The Son of man in accents clear 
 Must be that dream' s interpreter : 
 " The time shall come when ye shall see 
 Heaven open, its hosts thus thronging me." 
 Those shining ones had oft bestowed 
 Their ministry upon their Lord, 
 And they were destined still to prove 
 74 
 
Jacob's Dream. 
 
 The depth and sweetness of their love. 
 Bright harnessed at his lowly birth, 
 On joyous wing they came to earth ; 
 They struck their heavenly notes and sang, 
 While all the skies with paeans rang ; 
 They guarded well his infant days, 
 And succored him as low he lays. 
 Stretched out in dark Gethsemine ; 
 And then they hovered round the tree, 
 The last most wondrous sight to see ; 
 And could their hearts have known despair, 
 Those hearts had all been broken there. 
 They saw him from the grave arise. 
 And bore him to his native skies. 
 Where ever-living he shall stand 
 To intercede at God's right hand. 
 But was their work completed when 
 The Saviour left the haunts of men ? 
 Ah, no ! the ladder still is found, 
 Its foot still resting on the ground. 
 Its top extending up to God, 
 Its rounds by clinging angels trod ! 
 The angel of our prayers is there 
 Our feeblest utterances to bear ; 
 Our very sighs he understands 
 And takes them safe to Jesus' hands. 
 The angel of our troubles, too. 
 Careering through the ethereal blue, 
 Does to the source of strength repair, 
 And casts on him our every care. 
 75 
 
Jacob's Dream. 
 
 And now we sight high up the skies 
 The angel of our sacrifice ; 
 Our smallest acts, our humblest deeds, 
 Before Jehovah's throne he pleads ; 
 No merits in these offerings lurk, 
 Based on the Saviour's finished work. 
 Another form soars gladly up, 
 And bears aloft thanksgiving's cup ; 
 God's goodness fills it to the brim. 
 The angel bears it back to him. 
 And with it joins his own sweet song, 
 Which heavenly echoes shall prolong ! 
 But see we in that vision fair 
 No shining ones descending there ? 
 Ah, yes ! our blest protectors come, 
 To stand on guard around the home 
 Of those v/ho trust and fear the Lord, 
 And lean for safety on his word. 
 The ministers of help appear 
 To aid us in our struggle here ; 
 " Are they not" sent to succor all 
 Who on their dear Redeemer call ? 
 They teach us how to stand alone, 
 Nor dash our foot against a stone ; 
 When wars and pestilence are near, 
 They banish every foolish fear. 
 But who is this in white array 
 That faltering treads the mystic way ? 
 The angel form of Death descends 
 To bring rehef to Jesus' friends. 
 76 
 
Jack Frost. 
 
 He only comes to give the rod 
 Wherewith they dimb the heights of God ; 
 To wipe the tears of grief away 
 And ope the gates to endless day ! 
 Oh, God of Jacob, grant that we 
 May that resplendent ladder see. 
 Whene'er from duty's path we stray, 
 And darkness falls upon our way, 
 When pressed by sin and sorrow here, 
 Oh, let the glittering stair appear. 
 With beckoning angels on its rounds 
 To lift us from these stony grounds ! 
 We'll bless the hour the boon is given. 
 And hail the place "the gate of heaven !" 
 
 JACK FROST. 
 
 ("The only enemy that can successfully grapple with 
 Yellow Jack is Jack Frost." — A newspaper paragraph.) 
 
 T THOUGHT thee cruel once, Jack Frost ; 
 
 When I was young and small 
 
 You pinched my ears and bit my toes, 
 
 You painted red my cheeks and nose, 
 
 And thus I classed thee with the foes 
 
 That did my youth befall. 
 
 77 
 
Jack Frost 
 
 I thought thee cruel once again, 
 When up to manhood grown 
 I saw thee clothe the earth in white, 
 When all that' s fair and pure and bright 
 Was withered in one luckless night, 
 Where'er thy breath had blown. 
 
 You nipped my buds and spoiled my vines, 
 
 And filled me with dismay ; 
 An enemy I called you then, 
 A foe to garden, field, and glen. 
 And, never to return again, 
 
 I bade thee haste away. 
 
 But now. Jack Frost, I find at last 
 
 Thou wast a faithful friend ; 
 For one has come to take thy place, 
 With poisonous breath and saffron face, 
 Bent on destruction to our race 
 And sorrows without end. 
 
 Come back, Jack Frost, again come back, 
 Thrice welcome to each heart ; 
 
 Stretch forth thy white and frozen wand. 
 
 Let suffering flee at thy command ! 
 
 Come, wrest the sceptre from his hand 
 And bid the Ghoul depart ! 
 78 
 
IngersoU on Burns. 
 
 O great Physician from above, 
 Who lev' St to save the lost, 
 Thou who didst once for sinners bleed, 
 Come in this hour of direst need. 
 Come stay the Plague' s insatiate greed, 
 God send the white hoar-frost ! 
 
 INGERSOLL ON BURNS. 
 
 '■T^IS said that Robert IngersoU 
 
 A lecture gave on Robert Burns ; 
 A wag who heard his subject told 
 Said it might serve for better turns. 
 
 The time would come when " Bob" would vex 
 No more the sacred Church of God, 
 
 When he'd deliver up his checks, 
 And lie beneath the silent sod. 
 
 Above his form the shaft will rise, 
 And he's a fool who not discerns ; 
 
 His all-appropriate epitaph 
 
 Will then be written "Robert Burns." 
 
 79 
 
John Turner's Exegesis. 
 
 JOHN TURNER'S EXEGESIS. 
 
 JOHN TURNER was a preacher bold, 
 With oratory soaring ; 
 His voice like mighty thunder rolled 
 When summoned to defend his fold 
 For sprinkling or for pouring. 
 
 But one small word had plagued him sore, 
 Found in the Common Version. 
 
 Where "in" the stream, 'tis said of yore, 
 
 The Saviour his example bore, 
 And was it not immersion ? 
 
 A friendly commentator said 
 
 The fault was in translation ; 
 That " at," " about," it should be read. 
 Upon the bank the sacred Head 
 
 Received his baptization. 
 
 This served to light his troubled way 
 
 To pious labors given, 
 And every rain that bathed the clay 
 Seemed in its singing drops to say, 
 
 That sprinkling comes from heaven. 
 
 One morn the preacher woke to find 
 
 Upon his soul a burden ; 
 The Baptist man had spoke his mind. 
 Told how the Saviour of mankind 
 
 Was plunged into the Jordan. 
 80 
 
John Turner's Exegesis. 
 
 'Twas whispered some within his field 
 Grave doubts were entertaining ; 
 
 The fact no more could be concealed ; 
 
 But then he thought those doubts would yield 
 When once he rose explaining. 
 
 So quick he called his people out, 
 
 The mooted question stated, 
 Declared there was no room for doubt ; 
 Not "in," he said, " but at, about, 
 
 The Greek should be translated." 
 
 John Turner thought he'd turned the tide. 
 
 Had turned it in a minute ; 
 Let bigots on its bosom ride, 
 He'd proved to all the world beside 
 
 That there was nothing in it. 
 
 He then remarked he'd like to hear 
 
 A word from members present, 
 When one exclaimed, with accents clear, 
 " Your words have banished all my fear. 
 
 For true they are as pleasant. ' ' 
 
 And still another rose and said, 
 
 "I'm glad I'm here to-night, sir; 
 For all the world by scholars led 
 Must know where'er the page is read 
 
 Not 'in,' but 'at,' is right, sir." 
 6 Si 
 
John Turner's Exegesis. 
 
 A German stranger now appeared, 
 
 And said, " I peg permission 
 To say von vort ; tell how I've heardt 
 Until mine very soul ist stirred 
 Your learned exposition. 
 
 " Full many a yarn that's poor and stale 
 
 Your words have now unravelled. 
 I ne'er pelieved that Jonah tale. 
 How he went saihng in the whale. 
 When on his pack he travelled. 
 
 " They did not cast der three Hebrews 
 
 Into the blazing oven ; 
 Let fools pelieve it if they choose ; 
 The story of those gallant Jews 
 
 Your words have fully proven. 
 
 " Not ' in' the furnace red they went ; 
 
 Who says so is von liar. 
 Theirs was a pleasant punishment ; 
 How better could their time be spent 
 
 Than ' near' a cozy fire ? 
 
 " So mit old Daniel's case I ken ; 
 
 I ne'er could gulp that story. 
 Had he been cast ' into' the den, 
 It soon had been von slaughter-pen 
 
 Und Daniel's soul in glory. 
 82 
 
John Turner's Exegesis. 
 
 " But then he stood ' about' the door, 
 
 This chief of Jewish sages ; 
 He heard the hungry hons roar, 
 He saw their throats athirst for gore. 
 
 But they were locked in cages. 
 
 " And one more thing does please me well, 
 
 It meets a want that's higher ; 
 The Bible says that ' into' hell 
 The wicked soul is sent to dwell, 
 In everlasting fire. 
 
 " I see it's quite a different case ; 
 
 They go not ' in' perdition, 
 But, sheltered in some coolish place. 
 Shall watch the flames that dart apace 
 
 As a fireworks exhibition. 
 
 " But yet my soul is sore distrest 
 
 About the world supernal ; 
 'Tis said 'into' the land of rest 
 Shall enter all whom God has blest, 
 
 To hve the hfe eternal. 
 
 ' ' Pray does the rule apply to this ? 
 
 Must heaven be entered never, 
 But 'at,' 'about,' the gates of bliss, 
 We'll stand and see the joys we miss, 
 
 And then be lost forever ? 
 8.3 
 
Little May Crichton. 
 
 "Just tell me this, I'll you excuse, 
 
 I am the soul of candor, 
 The self-same vort the Scriptures use ; 
 You know what's sauce unto the goose 
 
 Must sauce be to the gander." 
 
 John Turner's face now turned as red 
 
 As Etna's flaming crater. 
 " I think I'll look again," he said ; 
 ' ' Perhaps the Greek some light will shed 
 
 So wait, I'll see you later." 
 
 LITTLE MAY CRICHTON. 
 
 q^HERE'S a baby in Atlanta, 
 
 And she's beautiful to see ; 
 She's as full of nectared sweetness 
 As a little honey bee. 
 
 She's a lovely thing to look on, 
 She's a lovely theme to write on, 
 
 She's a queen among the Babies, 
 She's an "Admirable Crichton." 
 
 Where does she get her sweetness ? 
 
 'Tis a paradox to say ; 
 Though she budded in September, 
 
 She's the sweetest bud of May. 
 84 
 
On the Death of U. S. Senator Brown. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF UNITED STATES SEN- 
 ATOR JOSEPH E. BROWN, OF GEORGIA. 
 
 (It was largely through the influence of Senator Brown 
 that I secured my appointment as United States Consul to 
 Germany. Sitting with him one day at his desk in the Senate- 
 chamber, I noticed a slip pasted to the top of the desk with 
 the simple inscription "Mr. Brown," as indicating his seat. 
 I said, "You have been known for many years as 'Judge' 
 and ' Governor,' but now that you have reached the acme of 
 your ambition, which was to be United States Senator, you 
 are only plain ' Mr. Brown. Yes," he replied, "we de- 
 sire nothing so much as to secure these titles, but when we 
 get them we care nothing for them.") 
 
 "PAREWELL, thou man of matchless might, 
 
 Who risest from the lowly plain 
 To stand upon the loftiest height 
 Of Fame's eternal mountain chain. 
 
 Thy name is now a household word 
 Where'er an honest yeoman dwells 
 
 The proud are by thy memory stirred, 
 The Senate thy true greatness tells. 
 
 And those who now thy virtues scan 
 This chaplet lay upon thy grave : 
 
 ' ' Thy country knew no worthier man, 
 A greater Georgia never gave. ' ' 
 85 
 
Glen Alpen Falls. 
 
 Thy kindness I can ne'er forget ; 
 
 How many claimed thee as their friend ! 
 Two miUion eyes with sorrow wet, 
 
 A milHon forms in anguish bend. 
 
 For fifty years thy history proved 
 The history of thy native State ; 
 
 By countless thousands thou wast loved, 
 The object oft of bitter hate, 
 
 A friend thou wast to rich and poor. 
 
 Thy "judgment" their mistakes repaired ; 
 
 Thy hand was open with its store, — 
 The church thy benefaction shared. 
 
 But now the people's hopes are vain, 
 The day of grand achievement past ; 
 
 We ne'er shall see thy like again. 
 
 The mould was broke when thou wast cast. 
 
 GLEN ALPEN FALLS, 
 
 Near New Castle, Virginia. 
 
 r^LEN ALPEN, can I e'er forget 
 
 The beauty that my vision met 
 When first thy form entranced my sight, 
 Drest in thy robes of snowy white ? 
 86 
 
Elijah's Test of Fire. 
 
 As if some Naiad fair had come 
 Within this glen to make her home ; 
 Now stretched upon her granite bed, 
 With hquid glories round her spread. 
 Receiving, as in smiles she lay, 
 Caresses from the god of day. 
 Who Hngers with resplendent sheen 
 And adds new glories to the scene. 
 Thy peerless modesty is seen. 
 In that thy form is hid between 
 A wreath of foliaged trees and high, 
 That screen thee from the vulgar eye, 
 While at thy feet a chasm doth yawn. 
 The grave of all who shght or scorn. 
 Long may thy waters plunge and sing, 
 Thy caverns with thy plaudits ring, 
 Thy rare and flashing jewels shine. 
 To prove thy nature is divine. 
 
 ELIJAH'S TEST OF FIRE. 
 
 ''T*IS morning, and on Carmel's brow 
 -'■ The erring hosts of Israel stand ; 
 The holy seer confronts them now. 
 Obedient to his God's command. 
 He points to Ahab's reign of blood, 
 God's altars levelled with the plain, 
 87 
 
Elijah's Test of Fire. 
 
 And all the priests who faithful stood 
 
 By Baal's wicked minions slain. 
 Gaunt famine stalks the land abroad. 
 
 In punishment for dreadful crime. 
 The question " Who indeed is Lord ?" 
 
 Becomes the question of the time. 
 The arching skies their drops refuse, 
 
 All parched and fruitless is the sod, 
 " Whom ye will serve ye now must choose, 
 
 Or Baal or the Eternal God." 
 Then let the fiery test be made ; 
 
 Two altars built with water soaked. 
 Two slaughtered beasts alternate laid, 
 
 And then the rival Gods invoked. 
 " The God who sends consuming fire 
 
 Ye shall the reigning God acclaim ; 
 Who fail shall from the scene retire, 
 
 O'erwhelmed in everlasting shame." 
 The saying pleased the camp and court, 
 
 "Well done" the trembhng hosts reply. 
 The stones, the wood, the steers, are brought, 
 
 The pagan fane is lifted high. 
 Oh, prophet, truly thou art doomed 
 
 If but thy prayer be unfulfilled. 
 Thy sacred form shall be consumed 
 
 Upon the altar thou shalt build ; 
 But God will ne'er forsake his own. 
 
 Sent to reclaim the 'chosen seed. 
 So true and brave he stands alone. 
 
 And bids the fiery test proceed. 
 
Elijah's Test of Fire. 
 
 *' He is thrice armed whose cause is just," 
 Dissemblers poorly locked in steel ; 
 
 Who makes the eternal God his trust, 
 Shall ne'er the sting of failure feel. 
 
 'Tis mid-day, and on Carmel's height 
 
 The priests of Baal quake' with fear ; 
 They've cried aloud from morning light, 
 
 But still their god declines to hear. 
 Now frantic leap they on the wood, 
 
 " O Baal, hear us !" rends the skies ; 
 They smite and gash their breasts, — their blood 
 
 Flows with the blood of sacrifice. 
 "Call louder !" stern Elijah cries. 
 
 The prophet keenly mocks his foes ; 
 " Perhaps your god in slumber lies. 
 
 Perchance he on a journey goes !" 
 And louder yet the wretches cry, 
 
 Their screams in awful chorus blent. 
 And but the echoing hills reply, — 
 
 No answer from the skies is sent. 
 
 'Tis evening, and on Carmel's crest 
 
 The golden sun is waning fast ; 
 The priests, despairing of their quest. 
 
 Have shrieked and howled and called their last. 
 All now to Israel's prophet turn, 
 
 Who, calm, majestic, stands apart. 
 Nor can an angel's eye discern 
 
 One quivering doubt within his heart. 
 89 
 
Elijah's Test of Fire. 
 
 " Come near !" a voice of thunder roars ; 
 
 The hostile host is gathered round ; 
 God's ruined altar he restores, — 
 
 Twelve stones symbolic gem the ground. 
 The wood is placed upon the heap, 
 
 The victim on the fagots laid, 
 A trench is excavated deep, 
 
 And his preparing hand is stayed ! 
 " Bring water now," he cries, "ye vile, 
 
 Who fain would some deception think !'* 
 Three times four barrels soak the pile 
 
 And fill the trenches to the brink. 
 Then down upon his bended knees 
 
 In deep humility he fell : 
 " O God," his cry swells on the breeze, 
 
 "Of Abram, Isaac, Israel, 
 Make bare thine arm, thou mighty One, 
 
 That all may know thou art the Lord, 
 And all the things that I have done 
 
 I've done but at thy holy word. 
 Oh, hear me ! and the truth proclaim, 
 
 That God omnipotent doth reign ; 
 Make known thy presence in the flame. 
 
 And turn thy people's hearts again." 
 
 He's done : a dreadful pause ensues 
 Such as precedes the thunder's crash. 
 
 'Tis God now Hghts the electric fuse 
 That soon adown the skies shall flash. 
 90 
 
Elijah's Test of Fire. 
 
 It comes, in eddying splendors whirled ; 
 
 Flesh, altar, pool are wrapped in flame, 
 While muttering thunders shake the world 
 
 And syllable Jehovah's name ! 
 The sceptic throng no long doubt, 
 
 But trembling view the ashy sod ; 
 The king, the hosts of Israel, shout, 
 
 "The Lord, the Lord, he is the God !" 
 That shout through all the land resounds, 
 
 The sea proclaims it to the shore. 
 From mountain summit it rebounds. 
 
 The valleys tell it o'er and o'er. 
 The whispering winds approving blow, 
 
 The trees responsive clap their hands, 
 The immortal Jordan tunes his flow, 
 
 And Horeb's Rock exultant stands ; 
 From West to East, from North to South, 
 
 From heavenly cloud to earthly clod. 
 All things exclaim, with reverent mouth, 
 
 "The Lord, the Lord, he is the God !" 
 Elijah gives his dread command. 
 
 The atheist prophets quick are slain ; 
 God smiles again upon the land. 
 
 And floods it with abundant rain. 
 
 91 
 
Columbus. 
 
 COLUMBUS. 
 
 Written on the occasion of the World's Fair at Chicago. 
 
 nPHE world for long ages had languished in sleep, 
 ''' The darkness still brooded the face of the 
 
 deep, 
 When the star of Columbus in splendor arose 
 The long-concealed gem of the earth to disclose. 
 Old monarchies trembled, and freedom was born, 
 When he gave a new world to Castile and Leon, 
 A continent vaster than Europe could boast, 
 And peopled alone by a wild savage host, 
 Fit companions for beasts wild and savage as they. 
 That were wont through the wide, trackless forest 
 
 to stray. 
 Destroying whatever was beauteous and fair, 
 ' Mid the yells of the spoiler that rang through the 
 
 air ; 
 With a soil but awaiting the husbandman's art 
 To teem with productions for earth' s every mart. 
 With rivers majestic that flowed in their pride, 
 And rich, fertile valleys that smiled at their side, 
 While mountains upreared their bright forms to the 
 
 sky, 
 All crested with beauties that bloomed but to die. 
 As their great throbbing bosoms with minerals 
 
 teemed, — 
 Such as never in Ormus or India gleamed, — 
 92 
 
Columbus. 
 
 Oh, the heart of America thrilled to its core 
 When the hardy Itahan first stepped on the shore ! 
 And it thrilled not in vain, for this land of the 
 
 West 
 Was decreed as the home of the poor and op- 
 pressed : 
 An asylum for those who from despots should 
 
 flee,— 
 "The land of the brave and the home of the 
 
 free ! 
 On whose ocean-washed borders the Goddess shall 
 
 stand 
 With Liberty's torch in her beckoning hand. 
 And the star-bedecked banner above her unfurled. 
 As she proudly illumines the States of the world ; 
 Yes, the land where the feet of religion should 
 
 tread, 
 With none to molest her or make her afraid, 
 In whose broad Constitution should shine the 
 
 decree 
 That the souls of her children should ever be free ! 
 Where Learning should hold her beneficent reign. 
 And Science its heights most exalted attain. 
 As when Fulton interprets the enthusiast's dream. 
 When he gives to earth's commerce the wonders of 
 
 steam. 
 Or the genius of Franklin ascends to the sky. 
 And fetters the lightnings our needs to supply, 
 Or Morse with the telegraph's electrical bands, 
 And Field's magic cable encircle all lands, 
 93 
 
Columbus. 
 
 While Edison, lordlier, diviner than each, 
 Bestows on their offspring the power, of speech ; 
 Agassiz the secrets of life will explain. 
 And Long's anaesthetic shall conquer all pain ; 
 When poets shall sing of the triumphs of Time, 
 Their soul shall be lifted to efforts sublime ; 
 The muse of a Longfellow hallow the past, 
 And Bryant the future's bright glory forecast. 
 Oh, the home of the patriot 'twas destined to be, 
 The home of a Washington, Hancock, and Lee. 
 The proud ship of state o'er the waters shall sail, 
 With Webster for pilot and Clay for the gale. 
 And, great Roger Williams with freedom elate 
 Shall achieve the divorce of the Church from the 
 
 State ; 
 Through myriad temples God's praises shall ring. 
 While Jesus alone must be crowned as the 
 
 King,— 
 Oh, America trembled with joy at the sound. 
 When the touch of Columbus first hallowed the 
 
 ground. 
 The story is quickly repeated abroad, 
 While millions attentively hang on his word, 
 How, far to the westward, a new country lay 
 Outstripping the glories of fabled Cathay ; 
 The few gathered trophies he laid at their feet 
 Make the world of discovery confirmed and com- 
 plete ; 
 The thousands who came to the coveted land, 
 The exile, the pilgrim, with Bible in hand, 
 94 
 
Columbus. 
 
 Beheld a bright vision that banished their woes 
 When they saw the great Queen in primeval repose ; 
 On the snows of the Arctic she pillowed her head, 
 And stretched her fair form on a vast iron bed, 
 While her limbs pointing Southward voluptuously lay, 
 With the Isles at her feet like huge babies at play. 
 From such a discovery we turn to the man 
 Whose genius contrived such a marvellous plan ; 
 We think of the trials and pains he endured, 
 Of the pitiful aid which at last he secured ; 
 We think of his terrors far out on the deep, 
 And the vigils the bold navigator must keep, — 
 The mutinous sailors, faint-hearted and vile. 
 The savages full of deception and guile ; 
 How he triumphed while kings and confessors op- 
 posed. 
 And this mighty and glorious Elysium disclosed ; 
 Till we view him in history sublime and unique, 
 In fame's mountain ranges the loftiest peak ! 
 Then gather, ye clans, from the furthermost shore. 
 While cannons resound with their echoing roar. 
 Collect ye together from field and from mart 
 The treasures of commerce, manufactures, and art ; 
 Let them tell at Chicago, while deftly displayed. 
 The progress that four peerless centuries have 
 
 made, 
 And that story replete shall the glory recall 
 Of the man whose achievement made possible all ! 
 This Republic may fail, now the boast of the world, 
 Its glories may vanish, its banners be furled, 
 95 
 
A Birthday Dirge. 
 
 Its Capitol gorgeous may crumble to dust, 
 The swords that defend it be smitten with rust, 
 The names that adorn it be dropped from the 
 
 scroll, 
 And the tide of oblivion quick over them roll, 
 But a name will still linger surviving the flood. 
 Which no art can destroy, which no time can cor- 
 rode. 
 So long as the Amazon swells o'er the lea. 
 And the great Mississippi sweeps on to the sea, 
 Or Pike's snowy summit looks down on the plain, 
 Shall the fame of Columbus all fadeless remain. 
 
 A BIRTHDAY DIRGE. 
 
 'T^WO years ago, two years ago to-day, 
 "*■ Our little darling, Emma Moore, was born ; 
 Seven months ago her spirit passed away, — 
 Her little form was wrapt in chilling clay. 
 And all our hearts left bleeding and forlorn. 
 
 Why was it, then, our aching hearts essayed. 
 
 That God should take so fair and sweet a child ? 
 And o'er the grave so dear and newly made 
 We knelt, and in unspeaking anguish prayed, 
 "Thy will be done, heal our distraction wild." 
 96 
 
On the Death of Tennyson. 
 
 Time, the great healer, brought us some reUef, 
 
 New scenes and duties brush full many a tear, 
 But that which taught submission to our grief 
 Was the blest tenet of the soul's behef, 
 
 That "Angels bore her to a happier sphere." 
 
 Seven months with angels has our darling dwelt, 
 
 Upon the bosom of her Lord reclined. 
 Seven months with hosts of little cherubs knelt, 
 And all the joys of heaven ecstatic felt, — 
 We mourn to think that we have e'er repined. 
 
 We miss our darling, but again, again, 
 
 We hope to press her to our doting heart 
 In that bright realm unmarked by sin or pain. 
 On that fair shore where rests no tempter's stain. 
 Where those who meet meet never more to part. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF TENNYSON. 
 
 (Read at the Tennyson memorial of the Young People's 
 Union of the Freemason Street Baptist Church, Norfolk, 
 Virginia.) 
 
 'T^HE world's greatest poet has gone to decay. 
 
 The sweetest of singers has sung his last lay ; 
 His heart is now cold, and silent his tongue. 
 And his harp on the willows forever is hung. 
 7 97 
 
On the Death of Tennyson. 
 
 The Ocean eternal now bears him afar, 
 His spirit triumphant has crossed o'er the bar, 
 But his work will live on like his own little brook, 
 And nations unborn on his pages will look ; 
 The learned and lovely shall come at his call 
 To share in the glories of old Locksley Hall, 
 While the children shall gather their homage to pay. 
 And the girls shall all wish to be Queens of the May. 
 The maiden rejecting the hearts that adore 
 Will whisper in tenderness, "Ask me no more," 
 While another more kindly her lover accepts, 
 And their spirits unite at the touch of their lips. 
 On, on, in life's pathway together they go. 
 White zephyrs are murmuring so sweet and so low. 
 The sailor who far on the ocean shall roam 
 Will think of poor Arden and hie to his home. 
 And wives shall be sure that their spouses are dead 
 Before they shall venture a new one to wed. 
 The proud shall forever awaken a sneer, 
 As they play the vain role of the Lady De Vere, 
 The soldier through blood and through slaughter 
 
 shall wade, 
 And be nerved by the charge of the bold Light 
 
 Brigade, 
 And when some mighty Arthur shall pass from the 
 
 earth, 
 A grand ' ' In Memoriam' ' shall tell of his worth ; 
 Yes, his fame shall live on with the masters sub- 
 lime. 
 Whose stanzas have echoed the voices of Time, 
 98 
 
The Southern Dead. 
 
 His memory be honored, and fragrant, and green, 
 Till the veil of eternity falls on the scene ! 
 His form in Westminster shall linger in state 
 In the corner reserved for the gifted and great. 
 While his spirit with angels in rapture shall sing 
 The Idylls of heaven's omnipotent King ! 
 Then, poet immortal, we bid thee adieu. 
 The laurel must yield to funereal yew ; 
 The world to God's mandate will reverently bow, 
 For a wreath far more glorious encircles thy brow, 
 A star-bedecked diadem all fadeless and pure 
 Will be thine while eternity's ages endure ! 
 
 THE SOUTHERN DEAD. 
 
 ^T 7" HERE are the men who at the call 
 ^* Of duty battled for the right. 
 Who to their country gave their all 
 
 And bore our banner in the fight ? 
 Ye winged winds that round them play, 
 Where are these noble men to-day ? 
 
 " Each one a soldier's coffin fills," 
 The answer comes in plaintive moan ; 
 
 "They rest upon a hundred hills 
 
 Unmarked, unhonored and unknown, 
 
 Or else their bones uncoflined lie 
 
 Beneath Virginia's weeping sky. 
 99 
 
The Southern Dead. 
 
 The flower of old Virginia's pride 
 With bounding heart sped to the foe, 
 
 And grappling bravely hand to hand, 
 For Southern honor struck the blow. 
 
 Resolved to free their homes opprest 
 
 Or on their broken shields to rest. 
 
 And there they fell, perchance 'twas meet 
 (They knew not then their country's fall), 
 
 The stars and bars their winding-sheet, 
 The blood-laved earth their funeral pall, 
 
 While trysting nature o'er their graves 
 
 In vernal beauty blooms and waves. 
 
 And shall they unremembered lie 
 
 Save by the flowers and grasses wild ? 
 
 What says the State ? Does she reply, 
 I care not for my soldier child ? 
 
 Avaunt the thought ! Oh, mother, turn, 
 
 And deck thy sons' neglected urn. 
 
 Who doubts that had our guardian star 
 Rained fortune on our struggling band. 
 
 That bright memorials of the war 
 
 Had crowned each hill-top in the land, 
 
 And angels waked from Parian bed 
 
 Their white wings o'er the sleepers spread ? 
 
 Yet not in old Westminster's aisle, 
 
 Where sculptured glory lifts its charms, 
 
 I GO 
 
The Willow-Arched Brook. 
 
 Can there be viewed a holier pile 
 
 Than that we build to Southern arms ? 
 Could heroes serve a cause more just, 
 Or crypts enshrine more sacred dust ? 
 
 We've waited long the shaft to rear ; 
 
 'Tis well our braves unconscious sleep, 
 Or eyes that cannot know a tear 
 
 O'er man's ingratitude would weep. 
 Ah ! but for woman brave and pure 
 How long would Southern fame endure ? 
 
 Then let our column pierce the sky, 
 Rise tall and graceful from the square, 
 
 And then should glorious Freedom die, 
 Her spirit still may linger there, 
 
 And sweet communion hold with those 
 
 Who never quailed before their foes. 
 
 THE WILLOW-ARCHED BROOK. 
 
 Recited on many occasions. 
 
 "\T fE each have a memory cherished and sweet 
 
 '^ ' Of some joy of a long passed day ; 
 The pleasure then tasted was sim.ple and fleet. 
 But memory still lingers that joy to repeat 
 When our heads are streaked with gray. 
 
 lOI 
 
The Willow-Arched Brook. 
 
 The mighty Napoleon returned from wars 
 
 Where a million soldiers fell, 
 But passing Brienne was forced to pause 
 By his boyhood's school and weep because 
 
 Of the tones of the cherished bell. 
 
 The soul of the poet with music swells 
 Which he heard in his youthful prime, 
 
 And "those evening bells, those evening bells, 
 
 How many a tale their music tells" 
 Of his home and " that sweet time" ! 
 
 And some will "the old oaken bucket" recall. 
 
 Or the form of an aged tree, 
 Or "grandfather's clock that stood in the hall,' 
 Or "the old arm-chair" with its tender thrall. 
 
 But there's something dearer for me. 
 
 Would you ask what it is that charms me best 
 
 As backward I turn my gaze ? 
 'Tis a sweet little brook, with snowy crest, 
 That streamed o'er my native Virginia's breast 
 
 In my happy childhood's days, — 
 
 The willow-arched brook on the homestead farm, 
 
 Where I roamed and played at will ; 
 Though vanished full many a boyish charm. 
 My eye grows bright and my heart grows warm 
 When I think of that httle rill. 
 
 102 
 
The Willow-Arched Brook. 
 
 I have strolled by the glorious Danube's flow, 
 Seen the Rhine's blue waters gleam, 
 
 Watched the streamlets leap from Alpine snow 
 
 And fall in Chamouni's vale below. 
 But they pale before this stream. 
 
 With a meteor's glory gleamed its sheen 
 
 As it sped to the Cedar Run, 
 And hiding behind its emerald screen 
 It painted an Eden on the scene. 
 
 And laughed at the glowing sun. 
 
 How often its fragrant banks I've pressed 
 
 With my footsteps light and gay. 
 Sweet flow' rets plucked from the meadow's crest. 
 And eggs purloined from the partridge nest 
 
 Concealed in the tangled hay ! 
 
 How often I've angled along its brink, 
 
 With my hook in the pearly tide, 
 And gazed on the herds that come to drink, 
 Or listened to the song of the bobolink. 
 
 That chirped from the other side ! 
 
 And I loved its pebbly walks to tread 
 
 With a maiden young and sweet ; 
 She shrank from the tide with girlish dread, 
 And her cheeks would glow with a blushing red 
 
 When the wavelets kissed her feet. 
 103 
 
The Willow-Arched Brook. 
 
 The feathered minstrels abashed withdrew 
 
 When they heard her laugh and sing ; 
 And who can picture the joys we knew, 
 As back and forth hke the birds we flew 
 In the dear old grapevine swing ? 
 
 'Twas lovely the willow bows to bind 
 
 When she held them in her lap, 
 While Cupid around our souls entwined 
 The flexible osiers of the mind. 
 
 Till he bound us in his trap. 
 
 In a soft embrace I held her close, 
 
 While I kissed her ruby lips, 
 And lingered there in sv/eet repose, 
 As the bee doth cling to the blushing rose, 
 
 And its envied honey sips. 
 
 And I thought that an angel from above 
 
 Might envy my blest estate, 
 And I pitied the lot of the lonely dove 
 That perched in the neighboring walnut grove 
 
 And cooed for its absent mate. 
 
 And I thought that the course of love would flow 
 
 As merrily as that brook. 
 Our skies be arched with a brighter bow ; 
 But, alas, how little do mortals know 
 
 Of the future's sealed book ! 
 104 
 
Jephthah's Vow. 
 
 Full many a year has passed away 
 
 Since the willowy brook I viewed, 
 But I hear its rippling sounds to-day, 
 I feel the touch of its silver spray 
 
 And the calm of its solitude. 
 
 Its memory beams as a smile from God, 
 
 And shall ever my path attend, 
 As the stream evoked by Moses' rod 
 Followed the desert path he trod 
 
 Till he reached his journey's end. 
 
 And when time shall fold his sheltering wing, 
 
 When I sleep my last long sleep, 
 Let me lie where the meadow violets spring, 
 Where the ripphng brook shall my requiem sing, 
 
 And its willows o'er me weep. 
 
 JEPHTHAH'S VOW. 
 
 (Read before the Young People's Union, Freemason 
 Street Church, Norfolk, Virginia.) 
 
 A MONG the Jewish men of note. 
 
 Who ruled the ancient camp and court 
 High up in Faith's eternal shrines, 
 The name of Jephthah lives and shines. 
 Like Ishmael, doomed to walk the earth, 
 A creature of ignoble birth ; 
 
Jephthah's Vow. 
 
 Like Esau, for his brother's hate 
 Driven forth to regions desolate, 
 He hved to put their boast to shame 
 And dimb the highest rounds of fame. 
 A bold marauder though he dwelt, 
 And all his foes his valor felt. 
 He loved his home, a calm abode. 
 From thence through Arab borders rode, 
 Returning, as the day would close. 
 To find in Mizpah his repose. 
 With one fair daughter at his side. 
 The idol of his love and pride. 
 Oh, Jephthah, fondle now thy child ! 
 Stroke once again those tresses wild ! 
 Look into those bright eyes and see 
 The hght that soon will fade from thee ! 
 Enfold her in thy loving arms, — 
 The fates are thirsting for her charms ! 
 Cling to those angel lips and share 
 The last fond kiss that lingers there ! 
 
 Since Jair, the reigning judge, had died, 
 Lo ! Israel had its God defied ; 
 Regardless of his mighty hand, 
 They served the idols of the land 
 Till, in rebuke for grievous sin, 
 God let the hosts of Ammon in. 
 They now repent and turn to God, 
 Acknowledge guilt and kiss the rod. 
 And swear, by all that's good and right, 
 1 06 
 
Jephthah's Vow. 
 
 Their proud and ruthless foes to smite, 
 
 To drive them from their sacred coast, 
 
 Or in one reddened grave be lost ! 
 
 But who will lead them in the fight ? 
 
 Who meet the boastful Ammonite ? 
 
 All hearts at once for Jephthah burn, 
 
 All eyes at once to Jephthah turn. 
 
 Thus Rome with Brennus at her gate, 
 
 In after-years the sport of Fate, 
 
 To brave exiled Camillus turned. 
 
 Who, when his country's wrongs were learned, 
 
 Back came, and with his mighty sword 
 
 Stretched on the plain the Gallic horde. 
 
 Old Tiber's bright and saffron flood 
 
 Was crimsoned with their hated blood, 
 
 Nor did a single Gaul remain 
 
 To tell the story of the slain ! 
 
 A deputation quick is sent 
 To Jephthah in his banishment. 
 They tell him of his country's needs. 
 How every heart with anguish bleeds, 
 How Israel mourns injustice done 
 To him, their great and banished son. 
 And if he will but help them now, 
 The judge's wreath shall bind his brow. 
 He yields and heads the hope forlorn ; 
 The lines of battle quick are drawn ; 
 But ere is felt the sabre's stroke 
 He must Jehovah's aid invoke. 
 107 
 
Jephthah's Vow. 
 
 A vow is on the instant made, 
 Which since has filled the world with dread, 
 " If thou shalt give within my hand 
 The base invaders of our land. 
 When from victorious war I come, 
 Whate'er shall greet me first at home, 
 What first approaches from my door 
 Shall be the Lord's for evermore, 
 Devoted to seclusion dire. 
 Or burnt in sacrificial fire. " 
 Then on he goes to do or die ; 
 His gleaming sword is lifted high. 
 The host obey his dread command, 
 The men are struggling hand to hand ; 
 The blood of thousands gurgling flows 
 As shouts of Jephthah's triumph rose, 
 Till twenty cities own defeat. 
 And Israel's victory is complete. 
 Now homeward comes the joyous chief, 
 But soon that joy is turned to grief ; 
 When he recalls his solemn vow 
 Dread apprehension clouds his brow. 
 "O God," he says, "suppose that she, 
 My only child, be first I see ! 
 Oh, then farewell to all I've known. 
 Or hoped, or loved, or called my own ! 
 Better a thousand times defeat, 
 Better a life in wild retreat, 
 An exile from my native land. 
 The leader of a roving band, 
 1 08 
 
Jephthah's Vow. 
 
 But with my daughter at my side, 
 
 My joy whatever ills betide ! 
 
 Better a home in haunts unknown 
 
 Than childless perched on Israel's throne ; 
 
 Better the dart, the blade, the bowl, 
 
 Than immolation of the soul !" 
 
 But'hark ! what strains are those he hears ? 
 He looks, and lo, the maid appears ; 
 With timbrels and with dance they come, 
 She and her train, to greet him home. 
 "All hail !" the beauteous maiden cries ; 
 The father pale and wan rephes, 
 "Alas, my daughter, you must know 
 That you have brought me very low, 
 For I have vowed unto the Lord, 
 And surely must uphold my word." 
 The maid rejoins, " I cheerful bow 
 To meet the mandate of thy vow ; 
 Since God has blessed our suffering land 
 And given the foe into thy hand, 
 'Tis meet that every vow be paid, 
 That every sacrifice be made ; 
 So to the altar I'll repair, 
 Not Hymen's (which I here forswear), 
 But that dread shrine before the throne 
 Where heaven makes all its wishes known, 
 Where God and holiest priests convene, 
 And the Shekinah lights the scene, 
 109 
 
Jephthah's Vow. 
 
 And life will there possess a charm, 
 To think I helped thy conquering arm. 
 But give to me two months I pray, 
 When I can o'er the mountains stray 
 To mourn for him my lover lost. 
 The noblest hero of thy host, 
 And pray that he the stroke may bear 
 Which shall our souls asunder tear ; 
 For love may sink by slow decay. 
 But cannot wither in a day." 
 Her father granting her request. 
 Two months she roams the mountain crest, 
 Lamenting sore the cruel fate 
 That tears her from her chosen mate. 
 "Farewell," she says, "my soul's delight, 
 I now a holier troth must plight ; 
 Farewell, ye treasured hopes of earth. 
 The dream of my Immanuel's birth ; 
 Above all w^omen blest be she 
 Who shall Messiah's mother be. 
 Let other maids the honor crave. 
 Be mine the veil, the gloom, the grave." 
 Her heart relieved, its sighs supprest. 
 Her Lord the sole remaining guest, 
 Down from the mount she homeward flies 
 To yield herself in sacrifice. 
 Not on the flaming pile to he, — 
 She goes the living death to die ; 
 Henceforth to stand for God alone. 
 Pure as an angel carved from stone, 
 no 
 
Acrostic. 
 
 And hovering o'er the sleeping dead, 
 To guard them from incautious tread, 
 Forever free from earth' s desires, 
 An " offering burnt" in vestal fires ! 
 And Jephthah stands in history now 
 On heights beyond Moriah's brow, 
 For Abram' s trembling hand was staid 
 While Jephthah' s wondrous vow was paid ! 
 
 ACROSTIC. 
 
 /^AN I forget, my precious child, 
 ^ Although far distant be the grave. 
 The happy hours with thee beguiled, 
 How sweet the pleasure that you gave ? 
 Ah, no ! while hfe is left to me 
 Remembrance shall thy charms enshrine 
 I'll think of innocence and thee, 
 Nor deem an angel more divine. 
 Earth has no loveher gem than thou, 
 Whate' er its beauty, worth, or style ; 
 How dark this world would be, I trow, 
 Apart from thy bewitching smile ! 
 Remember your "grandpapa" then. 
 Though in far distant lands he rove ; 
 Oh, may you often take your pen, 
 Nor fail to write him of your love ! 
 Ill 
 
Two Pictures. 
 
 TWO PICTURES. 
 
 (Recited at the close of a sermon. The latter part by an 
 unknown author.) 
 
 r^OME, O my soul, thy happy portion trace : 
 
 ^^ If thou accept the Saviour' s offered grace 
 
 A hfe exalted shall be ever thine ; 
 
 Sustained and comforted by love divine, 
 
 The radiant sun shall light thy onward way, 
 
 And gild thy footsteps with benignant ray ; 
 
 A richer blush the rose for thee shall wear, 
 
 A lovelier hue shall deck the lily fair, 
 
 All things shall work together for thy good, 
 
 Redeemed and cleansed in Jesus' precious blood ; 
 
 And when at last Death's messenger is sent 
 
 To call thee from thine earthly tenement, 
 
 Thou shalt arise and take thy heavenward flight, 
 
 To dwell forever with the saints in light. 
 
 Where joys celestial shall thy pulses thrill 
 
 And peace and comfort all thy being fill. 
 
 Where thou shalt greet thy loved ones gone before, 
 
 And fears of parting chill thee nevermore, 
 
 When thou shalt stand in happiness complete, 
 
 And cast thy crown at the Redeemer's feet. 
 
 " Come, O my soul, thy wretched ruin trace : 
 If thou shouldst spurn the Saviour's offered grace, 
 Infinite years in torments must thou spend, 
 Which never, never, never, have an end ; 
 
 112 
 
The City of Norfolk. 
 
 Yes, thou must dwell in torturing despair 
 As many years as atoms in the air ; 
 When these are past, as many thousand more 
 As grains of sand upon the ocean's shore ; 
 When these are past, as many yet behind 
 As forest leaves when shaken by the wind ; 
 When these are past, as many millions more 
 As millions in the myriads past before ; 
 When all these dreadful years of grief and pain, 
 And multiphed by myriads again 
 Till numbers drown the thought, couldst thou sup- 
 pose 
 That even then thy wretched life would have a close ? 
 It might afford a hope, but thou shouldst shiver 
 To think upon that dreadful word forever /' ' 
 Which wilt thou do ? O deathless soul, reply, 
 Accept and hve, or spurn and ever die ! 
 
 THE CITY OF NORFOLK. 
 
 Air, " Annie Laurie." 
 
 T LOVE to sing thy praises. 
 
 Thou City by the Sea, 
 And think upon the greatness 
 The Future holds for thee. 
 The Future holds for thee. 
 Within her radiant hand, 
 
 When our destined ocean monarch 
 Shall rule the sea and land. 
 
 8 113 
 
The City of Norfolk. 
 
 Thy turrets gleam in splendor, 
 
 Thy streets are ever gay, 
 Thy nights are filled with music. 
 While traffic rules the day, 
 While traffic rules the day, 
 With rich returns of wealth, 
 And Hygeia's rosy fingers 
 Attinge the cheek of health. 
 
 Thy daughters are the fairest 
 
 That ever man adored, 
 Thy soldiers proved the bravest 
 That ever buckled sword, 
 That ever buckled sword, 
 Or bore a patriot' s shield. 
 
 As they followed gallant Pickett 
 On Pennsylvania's field. 
 
 How like a dream of beauty 
 Thy tides majestic sweep ! 
 And birds of heavenly plumage 
 Their snowy pinions steep. 
 Their snowy pinions steep. 
 Or soar amid the gale. 
 
 As they chant the mystic anthems 
 That greet the coming sail. 
 
 The ships of every nation 
 
 O'er Hampton's waters glide, 
 114 
 
Young People's Welcome. 
 
 With Ocean's bluest crystals 
 
 Bright sparkling at their side, 
 Bright sparkling at their side, 
 'Neath pennants fair unfurled, 
 
 Which bespeak for Norfolk harbor 
 The commerce of the world. 
 
 YOUNG PEOPLE'S WELCOME.* 
 
 (Sung at the Baptist Young People's State Convention at 
 Norfolk, Virginia, October 6, 1897.) 
 
 ^OUNG people of our land, 
 Faith's consecrated band. 
 
 We welcome bring ; 
 Our gates are open flung. 
 Our harps with raptures strung, 
 And every heart and tongue 
 
 Your praises sing. 
 
 You come from mountain height. 
 From valleys green and bright, 
 
 For others' weal ; 
 You come in Jesus' name, 
 With high and holy aim, 
 May you our hearts inflame 
 
 With kindred zeal ! 
 
 * By substituting Good for "Young" in the first stanza, 
 and Zion for " Union" in the last, this hymn may be used at 
 the opening of any religious assembly. 
 115 
 
Communion with Christ. 
 
 Almighty Father, now 
 Before thy throne we bow, 
 
 Thine aid implore ; 
 Oh, send thy Spirit down, 
 On all dissension frown. 
 Let peace our Union crown 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 COMMUNION WITH CHRIST. 
 
 AyfY garden bloomed in beauty bright 
 ^^^ Throughout the summer' s day. 
 But, oh ! a storm came down that night 
 
 And swept its charm away ; 
 My treasures prostrate on the plain 
 
 In wild disorder lay. 
 Each bud defaced with cruel stain 
 
 Or pressed against the clay. 
 
 But when the sun, with healing powers, 
 
 Began his course to run. 
 He looked in pity on the flowers, — 
 
 The flowers looked on the sun ; 
 Then to his warm embrace they rushed, 
 
 All helpless, bruised, and sore. 
 When, lo ! the plants so lately crushed 
 
 Bloomed brighter than before. 
 ii6 
 
Thomas Moore and Norfolk. 
 
 Oh, thus, I said, when storms descend 
 
 The pious soul to try, 
 When to the raging blast we bend 
 
 Or low in ashes lie, 
 The Sun of Righteousness appears, 
 
 His heahng beams to shed, 
 To dry in pity sorrow's tears 
 
 And lift the drooping head. 
 
 Then, Christian, with thy woes opprest, 
 
 Oh, fly to his embrace. 
 The wonders of his love attest, 
 
 The riches of his grace ; 
 And like the plant by tempest riven, 
 
 That sweeter scents the air. 
 Thy soul's perfume will rise to heaven 
 
 And find a welcome there ! 
 
 THOMAS MOORE AND NORFOLK. 
 
 (Thomas Moore, the Irish poet, visited Norfolk in 1803. 
 He was on his way to Bermuda, where he had been ap- 
 pointed to a small ofifice. Of this he says, " As some of the 
 journalists have gravely asserted that I went to America to 
 speculate in lands, it may not be impertinent to state that 
 the object of this voyage across the Atlantic was my appoint- 
 ment to the office of registrar of the Vice-Admiralty Court 
 of Bermuda." While here he wrote a poem to Miss Moore, 
 117 
 
Thomas Moore and Norfolk. 
 
 his cousin, in Ireland, in which he satirizes America, and 
 Norfolk in particular. He hopes, however, that Norfolk 
 would prove only the stained vestibule of freedom's temple. 
 
 " But courage yet, my wavering heart ! 
 Blame not the temple's meanest part 
 Till thou hast trod the fabric o'er. 
 As yet we have beheld no more 
 Than just the porch to Freedom's fane ; 
 And though a sable spot may stain 
 The vestibule, 'tis wrong, 'tis sin, 
 To doubt the godhead reigns within." 
 
 In a. foot-note to these lines he says, " Norfolk, it must be 
 owned, presents an unfavorable specimen of America. The 
 characteristics of Virginia in general are not such as can de- 
 hght either the pohtician or the moralist, and at Norfolk they 
 are exhibited in their least attractive form. At the time when 
 we arrived the yellow fever had not yet disappeared, and 
 every odor that assailed us in the streets very strongly ac- 
 counted for its visitation," He speaks in terms of highest 
 compliment of the British consul, who entertained him during 
 his stay. " The consul himself. Colonel Hamilton, is one 
 among the very few instances of a man ardently loyal to his 
 king and yet beloved by Americans. His house is the very 
 temple of hospitality, and I sincerely pity the heart of that 
 stranger who, warm from the welcome of such a board, could 
 sit down to write a libel on his host." What, then, shall we 
 call his words as to the city which cordially received him on 
 that occasion ?) 
 
 n^HOUGH his words reflect upon us, 
 
 'Tis an easy task to show 
 How the bard abused his hcense 
 When he sketched us long ago. 
 ii8 
 
Thomas Moore and Norfolk. 
 
 With the famous Irish poet 
 We must beg to disagree ; 
 
 There were many things in Norfolk 
 That were worth his while to see. 
 
 There were beauties of our harbor, 
 
 With its broad, and crystal creeks. 
 Which no tourist' s eye could better, 
 
 Though Italian bays he seeks. 
 And our beaches were as lovely 
 
 As a poet's eye could scan, 
 From the pebbly shores of Hampton 
 
 To the slopes of Princess Anne. 
 
 There were gems of architecture 
 
 In this quaint Virginia town, 
 With its fine old homes and churches 
 
 Of Colonial renown. 
 And a noble strain of people 
 
 That adorned the social life, 
 Shall I name the cherished relics 
 
 Of the Revolution's strife? 
 
 True, the poet held an office 
 
 In the service of the State, 
 And was lavish in his praises 
 
 Of the British consulate. 
 While he scorned to write a libel 
 
 On his generous English host. 
 Did he treat the natives kindly 
 
 When a guest upon their coast ? 
 119 
 
Thomas Moore and Norfolk. 
 
 Did he scent the dreaded fever 
 
 As the ancient streets he strolled ? 
 Why, 'tis said his yellow fever 
 
 Was his raging thirst for gold ; 
 While his Odes and his Epistles, 
 
 Which he wrote this side the brine, 
 May have owed their inspiration 
 
 To his boasted thirst for wine. 
 
 One might think that Jamestown Island, 
 
 First to greet the pilgrim band. 
 And the land of Pocahontas, 
 
 Would a poet's praise command. 
 That at least the Indian maiden 
 
 Who had saved an English head. 
 Would have stirred his rhythmic genius 
 
 And to sweetest numbers led. 
 
 But no true and loyal Briton 
 
 Could in eighteen hundred three 
 Ever hope to find attractions 
 
 In this city by the sea. 
 'Twas too near to plucky Great Bridge, 
 
 Where we conquered first the foe. 
 To the famous plains of Yorktown, 
 
 Where we dealt the fatal blow. 
 
 If this gifted son of Erin 
 
 Could but visit us again. 
 He would send a different message 
 
 To his friends across the main. 
 
Thomas Moore and Norfolk. 
 
 Since he left, our peerless city 
 Has advanced with giant stride, 
 
 While old Queen stown has diminished, 
 Though her odors still abide. 
 
 And his country, wronged and plundered. 
 
 And dismayed with English fear. 
 Oft has sent her toiHng masses 
 
 To receive asylum here. 
 We have sent our vessels freighted 
 
 To reheve her starving poor, 
 We have helped her hungry millions, 
 
 And might help her ' ' thirsty' ' Moore. 
 
 But we'll think upon him kindly 
 
 For his poem of the Lake, 
 For his muse that slept in Norfolk 
 
 Seemed in Dismal Swamp to wake. 
 He now sleeps his dreamless slumber, 
 
 And we there will let him rest, 
 And a sprig of Drummond's cypress 
 
 We would lay upon his breast. 
 
 121 
 
Thomas Holt Wharton. 
 THOMAS HOLT WHARTON, 
 
 MY INFANT GRANDSON. 
 
 nPHERE'S not a gem in the Old North State, 
 ■*• Whose mountain peaks with diamonds 
 
 teem, 
 That can the sparkles duphcate 
 That in his eyes of azure gleam. 
 
 There's not a flower in all the land. 
 However rare the buds you seek. 
 
 That can the radiant hue withstand 
 That glows upon his velvet cheek. 
 
 There's not in all the fruitful South 
 
 A cherry, peach, or sugar-plum 
 That e'er can match his cherub mouth, 
 
 Of all nectareous sweets the sum. 
 
 In cherubs traced by Raphael 
 
 Such hands and feet I've never met ; 
 
 No words of mine can ever tell 
 The toiit-enseinble of my pet. 
 
 Oh, may those eyes in future gaze 
 
 On scenes of purity and truth, 
 Be closed to sin's destructive ways 
 
 And ope to shun the snares of youth ! 
 
Moving Day. 
 
 That cheek, oh, may it manly prove. 
 Nor blanch before a mortal foe ; 
 
 May kindly zephyrs o'er it move 
 And kisses of affection blow ! 
 
 Those hands, may they to deeds aspire ; 
 
 Those feet with purpose firm be shod ; 
 Those lips be touched with sacred fire ; 
 
 That mouth, oh, may it speak for God ! 
 
 MOVING DAY. 
 
 n^HIS is the toiler's sad new year. 
 The day when tenants move ; 
 The times are hard, the rent is dear, 
 They pack their all, and go with fear 
 Some new abode to prove. 
 
 Some must a better house engage, 
 
 A better show must make ; 
 The children have become of age. 
 The birds must have a finer cage. 
 
 The moving' s for their sake. 
 
 Some who have failed their rent to meet 
 
 Must find an humbler home. 
 While some are driv'n into the street. 
 To face the angry storms that beat, 
 And shelterless to roam. 
 123 
 
Moving Day. 
 
 The wagon stands anent the door 
 To bear their " things" away, 
 
 Some " natural tears" are dropt before,— 
 
 O God, how bitter to the poor 
 Is annual moving day ! 
 
 But are not all who dwell on earth, 
 
 Whate' er the place they fill. 
 The rich, the great, the sons of mirth, 
 But tenants from the day of birth. 
 
 And tenants, too, at will ? 
 
 The time will come when all must leave 
 
 This crumbling house of clay ! 
 There is no hold to which they cleave 
 That can the dread decree reheve,— 
 Death names man's moving day. 
 
 The banker with the pauper goes 
 
 With sure but silent tread ; 
 The hingeless portals o'er them close. 
 And friends commingling with their foes, 
 
 Sleep in a common bed. 
 
 God grant that when the landlord grim 
 
 His purpose fell makes known, 
 When hearts are cold and eyes are dim, 
 Oh, may our spirits dwell with him 
 Who dwells upon the throne ! 
 124 
 
The Battle Song of Silver. 
 
 For in those mansions of the blest 
 
 No rents are ever paid ; 
 In their own homes the poorest rest, 
 And on their Saviour's gentle breast 
 
 Their weary heads are laid. 
 
 Norfolk, Virginia, October i, 1897. 
 
 THE BATTLE SONG OF SILVER. 
 
 (Written during the Presidential campaign of 1896.) 
 
 T ET sons of Freedom now awake 
 And smite the money-changer, 
 The hopes of millions are at stake, 
 
 The nation is in danger. 
 They say the country must be sold. 
 
 That money kings must own it ; 
 The cross may be of standard gold, 
 
 We'll not be nailed upon it. 
 
 They shall not press the crown of thorn 
 
 Upon the brow of labor, 
 The ploughshare first to sword must turn, 
 
 The pruning-hook to sabre. 
 Let foreign tyrants fume and fret, 
 
 And rouse the British lion, 
 We'll meet them with the People's pet, 
 
 We'll rout them all with Bryan. 
 125 
 
The Battle Song of Silver. 
 
 The products of our favored land 
 
 Must flow to every nation ; 
 No tariff high, menacing stand, 
 
 To court retahation. 
 For revenue alone we plead. 
 
 All else is base betraying 
 To gratify a party's greed, — 
 
 Consumers do the paying. 
 
 The classes must support the State 
 
 With patriot devotion, 
 The incomes of the rich and great 
 
 Bearing their due proportion. 
 Courts must the party mandate shun, 
 
 Nor dare oppress the humble ; 
 'Tis meet that justice should be done 
 
 Although the heavens tumble. 
 
 The giant Trust no more shall thrust 
 
 On Freedom's neck his collars. 
 But firm in faith, " In God we Trust" 
 
 We'll stamp on Silver Dollars. 
 Silver and gold together run. 
 
 To part them is a blunder ; 
 What the Creator joins in one 
 
 Let no man put asunder. 
 
 No despot chief shall rule the land, 
 The rights of States invading. 
 
 In peace assuming war's command, 
 As Caesar masquerading. 
 126 
 
Avarice. 
 
 True to the Union we shall be, 
 
 And to the Constitution ; 
 And these sheet-anchors of the free 
 
 We'll guard from all pollution. 
 
 Our Chieftain speeds along the hnes, 
 
 His Silver tongue is calling ; 
 The Golden gods in Freedom's shrines 
 
 From seats usurped are falling. 
 High gleams his sword against the sky, 
 
 With splendors of Orion ; 
 We'll fight to conquer or to die 
 
 Beneath the flag of Bryan ! 
 
 AVARICE. 
 
 BLACK, insatiate avarice. 
 Child of the lowest hell. 
 Who can thy nature fathom ? 
 Who can thy vileness tell ? 
 Oft hast thou stripped the orphan, 
 
 Oft broke the widow' s heart, 
 Oft pierced the best and purest 
 
 With thy relentless dart ; 
 Oft men hast driven to madness, 
 Fair women driven to shame, 
 Oft filled the field with slaughter 
 And cities wrapt in flame ; 
 127 
 
The Resurrection of Christ. 
 
 Oft stained the robes of justice, 
 
 And human rights denied, 
 And round Rehgion's altar 
 
 Thy deadly traffic plied. 
 But oh, the blackest picture 
 
 In all the book of time, — 
 Thy price the bits of silver, 
 
 A God betrayed the crime ! 
 
 THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST, 
 
 A FRAGMENT, 
 
 TTE lives, and holy women 
 
 Wipe all their tears away 
 As they behold, rejoicing. 
 
 The place where Jesus lay. 
 (Sweet joy that best proclaimeth 
 
 Her love and tenderness, 
 Who first in the transgression, 
 
 Was first her race to bless, 
 Who for her primal frailty, 
 
 To make complete amend. 
 First bore the second Adam, 
 
 Then proved his gentlest friend, 
 First in his hour of suffering 
 
 To soothe his bitter woes. 
 And first to tell the story 
 
 When her Redeemer rose.) 
 128 
 
An Invisible Picture. 
 
 He lives, and hosts of darkness 
 
 Back to their caverns go, 
 And trembling, fear the vengeance 
 
 Of their Almighty foe, 
 And o'er the realm celestial 
 
 Angelic shouts prolong, 
 "The Lord indeed is risen" 
 
 The burden of their song ! 
 
 AN INVISIBLE PICTURE. 
 
 AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO MY DARLING 
 YOUNG GRANDDAUGHTER, BESSIE IRWIN MOORE. 
 
 TTAD I the genius to portray 
 
 The lovehest maid that treads the earth. 
 My ardent pen would never stay 
 Till it had pictured all thy worth. 
 
 While I am forced to be content 
 
 A simple tribute here to give. 
 My feelings thus deprived of vent 
 
 Intenser in the heart will live. 
 
 Thine image which is here denied 
 
 Shall linger in my spirit's lore. 
 Forever in my heart abide, 
 
 Forever limned upon its core. 
 9 129 , 
 
Old Point Comfort. 
 
 'Tis drawn in characters of love, 
 
 Which ruthless death cannot destroy ; 
 
 I'll bear it to the realms above 
 And deem it a celestial joy. 
 
 And there my rapture ne'er will cease, 
 For God, whose tints eternal shine, 
 
 Will own love's cherished masterpiece 
 And seal it with his touch divine. 
 
 OLD POINT COMFORT. 
 
 /^LD POINT, delightful, charming place, 
 ^-^ Where breezes play and breakers roar, 
 Whose waters gleam with witching grace 
 And amorous kiss the pebbly shore ; 
 
 Where glimpses of the bay are seen. 
 And stately vessels ride with ease. 
 
 Where grim Monroe with vision keen 
 Spies out intruders of the seas ; 
 
 Where stately inns enrich the view 
 With high and far-extending walls. 
 
 Where wealth and beauty rendezvous, 
 Hygeia reigns in banquet halls ; — 
 130 
 
Old Point Comfort. 
 
 Thou seem' St to my admiring eyes 
 The chief of all the Sea's retreats, 
 
 Fair haven amid the storms that rise, 
 Oasis for its weary fleets. 
 
 Long years agone the pilgrim band 
 Found comfort in this soothing spot, 
 
 And exiles from their native land 
 Here all their anxious fears forgot. 
 
 The eye of Smith thy beauties viewed, 
 And Rolfe and Pocahontas came, 
 
 Their vows of constancy renewed. 
 And nursed affection's holy flame. 
 
 Since then the flower of all the land 
 Have hither come thy sweets to sip. 
 
 Upon thy golden beach to stand, 
 And in thy healing waters dip. 
 
 Ah ! if we only knew the sighs 
 
 That here have blent with aqueous sound. 
 The tears that came to lovers' eyes 
 
 When no requited love was found ; 
 
 If we but knew the bliss enjoyed 
 When love reciprocal was shown, 
 
 The bliss ecstatic, unalloyed, 
 
 Which soon ascends to nuptial throne, 
 131 
 
The Denominational Team. 
 
 How we should pity those who lost, 
 Rejoice with all the hearts that won, 
 
 Deplore the wrecks that strew the coast, 
 Salute the ships fate smiled upon. 
 
 Oh, if there be on earth's broad face 
 A spot where Cupid reigns supreme, 
 
 If love has one pet trysting-place, 
 
 That place we Old Point Comfort deem ! 
 
 THE DENOMINATIONAL TEAM. 
 
 A RUSTIC teamster on the street 
 ■^ Of a Texas town appears ; 
 He brings the people to their feet, 
 They stand in wonderment complete, 
 For the names he called his steers. 
 
 ' ' Get up, get up there, Methodist ; 
 
 Whoa, Baptist !" loud he cries. 
 He gives his whip a lightning twist. 
 Old Presbyterian's barely missed. 
 
 To " Campbellite" it flies. 
 
 "Pray tell us what your names may mean ?" 
 
 Exclaimed a wag who passed ; 
 The man replied, " Each steer, I ween, 
 Does to some sect of Christians lean. 
 
 And so I've got them classed. 
 
 1^2 
 
The Denominational Team. 
 
 "Just look at Methodist," he said ; 
 
 " He goes at a rapid pace, 
 He bellows till he splits your head ; 
 But once neglected to be fed 
 
 He's sure to fall from grace. 
 
 " Episcopalian's kind and bright, 
 
 But gay and giddy ever. 
 While the reverse is Campbellite ; 
 He's always spoiling for a fight. 
 
 And lies down in the river. 
 
 " There's Presbyterian, strict new school, 
 
 Has hydrophobia sorter ; 
 He's true and faithful as a rule, 
 But w^hen he strikes a stream or pool 
 
 He leaps clean o'er the water. 
 
 " There's Baptist, good, but very queer, 
 
 On charity he' s off ; 
 He's willing and obedient e'er. 
 But won't permit another steer 
 
 To eat from out his trough. 
 
 ' ' That big fat ox is Catholic ; 
 
 He's of most ancient birth ; 
 He's up to many a crafty trick, 
 Against all other steers will kick, 
 
 And always wants the earth. 
 
'What Shall I Do with Jesus?" . 
 
 ' ' But though these steers are different quite, 
 
 At one great end they aim ; 
 'Tis true they sometimes sulk and fight, 
 But still they keep the goal in sight, 
 
 And get there all the same. ' ' 
 
 WHAT SHALL I DO WITH JESUS?' 
 
 " ry-HAT shall I do with Jesus ?" 
 The anxious ruler cried ; 
 They shout, "The thief release us. 
 
 Let him be crucified." 
 Thus was our Lord rejected 
 While innocent he stood. 
 And soon the cross erected 
 
 Was crimsoned with his blood. 
 
 "What shall I do with Jesus?" 
 
 The question none can fly. 
 The words persistent seize us, 
 
 And clamor for reply. 
 'Tis wisdom to receive him, 
 
 'Tis madness to neglect ; 
 Those who will not believe him, 
 
 Like Pilate Christ reject ! 
 134 
 
Virginia Beach. 
 
 " What shall I do with Jesus ?'* 
 
 Partake of Pilate's sin ? 
 Reject the hand that frees us ? 
 
 Ah, no ! I'll let him in, 
 Into my heart forever. 
 
 And this my prayer shall be, 
 That he will never, never. 
 
 Refuse his grace to me ! 
 
 VIRGINIA BEACH. 
 
 OF all the beaches on the coast 
 I prize " Virginia Beach" the most 
 No chilling winds here issue forth 
 Like those that pierce the frozen North ; 
 No miasmatic vapors found 
 Like those that farther south abound ; 
 No frightful undertow we meet, 
 Nor rocky floors to wound the feet ; 
 To hidden depths we plunge, and stand 
 Unharmed upon the velvet sand, 
 And feel the thrill those waters give. 
 That makes it ecstasy to live. 
 Let others boast of favorite spots. 
 Of mineral springs and mountain grots, 
 Ay, let them stand on Alpine height 
 And summer scenes in winter sight ; 
 135 
 
Virginia Beach. 
 
 Let poets tell of " mountain air 
 That bloated ease ne'er hopes to share," 
 But all they claim can never reach 
 The glories of Virginia Beach, 
 Where Ocean calms his fabled wrath 
 To give his weary children bath, 
 To take them to his heaving breast 
 And yield them happiness and rest. 
 And now as, turning to the shore, 
 We view the beauteous landscape o'er, 
 And mark its broad artistic plan. 
 The central group the " Princess Anne," 
 And then as far as eye can reach 
 The sunlit homes that line the beach. 
 While in the background woods of green 
 Smile on the lakes that gem the scene, 
 We see a picture, all exclaim, 
 Fit to be hung in heavenly frame. 
 Virginia Beach ! Virginia Beach ! 
 Oh, great and solemn is the speech 
 I hear when standing on thy shore 
 And listening to the ocean's roar. 
 It tells of many a tender scene, 
 Of loved ones sundered, seas between ; 
 Of battles lost, of victories won. 
 Of griefs "while peals the minute gun ;" 
 The bravery that declined to yield 
 When all about it shrank and reeled ; 
 That saw the vessel rise and dip, 
 And shouted, " Don't give up the ship !" 
 136 
 
Virginia Beach. 
 
 It tells of storms portentous, wild, 
 
 Of billows up to mountains piled. 
 
 And luckless thousands on the main 
 
 Who sank no more to rise again, 
 
 To deep uncoffined graves consigned, 
 
 Nor left one lingering trace behind ; 
 
 It tells of Ocean's brighter moods, 
 
 When meek-eyed peace above him broods. 
 
 When whitecaps sparse and few are seen. 
 
 Like scattered sheep in fields of green, 
 
 When ships majestic wake the tide. 
 
 And thousands safe and joyous ride 
 
 Until they reach the destined shore 
 
 And share the golden gifts in store. 
 
 But voices nobler, hoher still 
 
 My awed and reverent senses thrill. 
 
 They cry. This sea so vast, so grand. 
 
 The Maker holds within his hand ; 
 
 Guides all the currents on their way ; 
 
 He speaks, the angry waves obey. 
 
 Fall down in mild submission meet, 
 
 " Like purring kittens" at his feet ! 
 
 Oh, how these mystic voices preach ! 
 
 How mock the forms of human speech ! 
 
 How show the littleness of man 
 
 When measured by the Ocean's span ! 
 
 How bid us bend before his nod 
 
 And tread the path that leads to God ! 
 
 [37 
 
Acrostic — To May Belle. 
 
 ACROSTIC. 
 
 "DEYOND all gifts the mines disclose, 
 
 Enriched with charms that shame the rose, 
 Resplendent as some star we trace, 
 That peerless shines in realms of space. 
 Here is her name initialed clear, 
 A gem beyond expression dear ; 
 How sweet it is to think that she, 
 Made to adorn my family tree, 
 Outshines the flattered, jewelled things 
 Ordained to be the pets of kings ! 
 Reflected glory is not hers. 
 Each ray, each charm, her own appears. 
 
 TO MAY BELLE. . 
 
 T LOVE you for your beauty's worth, 
 I love you for the name you bear. 
 The dearest name to me of earth, — 
 I love you for your golden hair. 
 
 I love you for your graceful make, 
 I love you for your harmless glee ; 
 
 I love you for your mother's sake, 
 I love you for your love of me. 
 138 
 
Lake Drummond. 
 
 LAKE DRUMMOND. 
 
 "P\EEP in the solitary woods, 
 
 In a region wild and drear. 
 This little queen of inland floods, 
 
 With waters pure and clear. 
 Appears as pretty as a dream 
 
 To all who seek its face ; 
 Not Como's gleam nor a meteor's beam 
 
 Could boast diviner grace. 
 
 What though the cypress forest moans. 
 
 The distant jackals howl, 
 And oft in sad, funereal tones 
 
 Is heard the "moping owl," — 
 These lend enchantment to the sight. 
 
 The dark background supply 
 Of a picture bright as Aurora' s hght 
 
 When it gilds the lurid sky. 
 
 What though it lies in the Dismal Swamp, 
 
 And scarce can boast a shore, 
 These regions damp have received the stamp 
 
 Of the immortal Thomas Moore. 
 But a mightier stamp than his we see 
 
 On the woods, on the waters clear, — 
 He who trod the Sea of old Galilee 
 
 Has impressed his footsteps here ! 
 
 139 
 
Adam's Fall. 
 ADAM'S FALL. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 r\ WOMAN of the ages, 
 ^■^^ With angel charms arrayed, 
 Our queen through all life's stages, 
 See here thy sceptre swayed. 
 
 See man, the lord of nature. 
 
 Bend to thy fatal nod, 
 Obey the erring creature, — 
 
 For thee give up his God. 
 
 For thee give up the treasures 
 That gleam and throng above 
 
 To revel in thy pleasures. 
 To drink thy cup of love. 
 
 Be kind with thy caressing, 
 In paths of virtue tread, 
 
 And thou wilt light and blessing 
 Upon his pathway shed. 
 
 But dallying with temptation, 
 
 To folly stooping low. 
 Thou' It drag him from his station 
 
 To wretchedness and woe. 
 
 [40 
 
Give Us Jesus. 
 
 GIVE US JESUS. 
 
 Give me this water, that I thirst not." — Womafi of Samaria. 
 
 f^ IVE us Jesus, — hope deceives us 
 ^^ When to earthly founts we fly ; 
 Give us pure and living water, 
 
 Springs eternal let us try ! 
 False the wells of sinful pleasure ; 
 
 We but famish on their brink ! 
 Give the souls refreshing treasure. 
 
 Let us of his fulness drink. 
 
 Give us Jesus, — dread diseases 
 
 Rankle in our every vein ; 
 Jesus only can relieve us 
 
 Of the soul's distressing pain. 
 Sad, indeed, is our condition. 
 
 Helpless is the sin-sick soul. 
 Give, oh ! give the great Physician, 
 
 Who can make the sinner whole. 
 
 Give us Jesus, — demons tease us. 
 
 Tempt us to a fatal fall. 
 Give, oh ! give the mighty Conqueror, 
 
 Who has triumphed o'er them all. 
 Cruel snares and nets beset us. 
 
 Captives led at hell's control ; 
 Give us Christ to break the fetters 
 
 Sin has thrown around the soul. 
 141 
 
Farewell. 
 
 Give us Jesus, — terrors seize us 
 
 As we near the solemn grave. 
 Need we, oh ! a friend to help us, 
 
 Who can pity, who can save, 
 Who can break the tyrant's power, 
 
 Who can make the shadows fly. 
 Oh, against that awful hour 
 
 Give us Jesus Christ, we cry ! 
 
 Give us Jesus, — naught can please us, 
 
 Naught our souls can satisfy, 
 But the precious gift of Jesus, 
 
 Who can all our wants supply. 
 Keep all riches, pride, and station, 
 
 Keep the world's delusive store, 
 Give redemption, hfe, salvation, 
 
 Give us Jesus evermore ! 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 'T^HE time has come when I must say Farewell, 
 The saddest word that human lips can tell, 
 For oft it means in its affecting strain 
 That those who part shall never meet again. 
 'Tis sad to part with pictures we have loved. 
 To see them to some distant region moved, 
 142 
 
Farewell. 
 
 There to adorn a stranger' s storied halls, 
 While we are left to gaze on vacant walls, — 
 .To mourn the fate, and feel the bitter smart, 
 When forced to lose these favorites of art. 
 And if these pictures could themselves but speak, 
 As oft in truth they do in tones technique. 
 If they could feel as oft they seem to feel, 
 And their emotions sweet or sad reveal, 
 How they would tell us of the grief they find 
 When thus removed from eyes so good and kind ! 
 So would my humble pictures breathe a sigh, 
 As now they pass from the beholder's eye, 
 And trust that others who their face may see 
 May just as kind and charitable be. 
 'Tis sad to part from books that we have read. 
 To feel that all their characters are dead. 
 Their pages blanks, their thoughts to ashes turned, 
 Henceforth alone in pensive memory urned. 
 Happy the bard who so can touch the lyre 
 That " in their ashes live their wonted fire." 
 'Tis sad to part with homes where we have dwelt. 
 From temples at whose altars we have knelt. 
 From animals we've petted, owned, and loved. 
 The favorite dog, the horse that faithful proved ; 
 But sadd' st of all to part with cherished friends. 
 To reach the point where our communion ends. 
 And each must take his own, his different way, 
 Some blest, and some to frowning ills a prey. 
 Once on the wide and heaving sea I rode. 
 Our vessel buoyant with its precious load, 
 143 
 
Farewell. 
 
 Two hundred passengers the cabin filled, 
 One thousand pilgrims in the steerage billed ; 
 The old and young, the rich and poor were there, 
 The common dangers and delights to share. 
 We heard the winds their mystic revels keep. 
 Together viewed the wonders of the deep, 
 Beheld the day in golden splendors die. 
 The lightning's glare " paint hell upon the sky ;" 
 We talked, we played, we knelt at evening prayer, 
 We slept, we woke, to sniff the bracing air. 
 The days sped by, and soon we reached the shore, 
 We parted all to meet on earth no more ! 
 Some went the Alps and Apennines to climb, 
 To kiss the clouds and gaze on heights sublime, 
 And some in darksome valleys to abide, 
 In vain endeavor ruined lives to hide ; 
 A few with glowing heart and hope elate 
 To sit with rulers in their chairs of state. 
 And some were to those gloomy regions sent 
 Where hope is lost and criminals are pent ; 
 And thus I said in miniature we find 
 The destiny decreed for all mankind. 
 We sail together o'er the sea of life. 
 Anon with pleasures and with dangers rife, 
 Select our boon companions on the way, 
 And with them mingle, worship, love, and play. 
 At last we near the dim and frowning beach. 
 Where tears and farewells wait to welcome each ; 
 Some go the heights of glory to ascend, 
 Eternal days in happiness to spend, 
 144 
 
Farewell. 
 
 To tread with eager feet the chfTs of gold, 
 And all the splendors of the land behold, — 
 To take their stand on the celestial sod. 
 And reign forever kings and priests to God ; 
 And some must to the darkened world descend. 
 Where tears and sorrows never have an end, — 
 Pass through the gates where legends thick appear, 
 "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here !" 
 O Father, grant that when I reach the shore 
 Where tempests howl and angry breakers roar. 
 That my Redeemer may in waiting stand 
 To take his trembling servant by the hand, 
 Conduct him safely to thy radiant throne, 
 Where tears are dried and partings are unknown. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 t45 
 
'W-