ukkV 
 
 eamn^s 
 
 
 ^•^*»r?*iff?ir*rj"*p» 
 
 BME MAY eUA 
 
Class _f — %^^ r,^/ %u 
 Book„ 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
 
 /*''% 
 
 4«/ 
 
 ::^) Ci 
 
 Copyright 1^?. 
 
 ■S^ y 
 
 CQFmiGHT DEPOBJT. 
 
■ 
 
 ^^^BF 
 
 
 1 
 
 ^H^^^^^^^^^Mi 
 
 
 '^^BB 
 
 
 r 
 
 
 
 \ 
 
 1 :*: -i 
 
 ELLIE M. QUARLES 
 
Cifc'5 
 (Slcantngs 
 
 ■BY 
 
 ELLIE MAY QUARLES 
 
 r, L. ROWE, PUBLISHER 
 CINCINNATI, OHIO 
 
 ^-- 1920 — ^ 
 

 DEDICATION. 
 To S. H. Hall, Minister of the Gospel of 
 Jesus Christ, and C. H. Paine, this little 
 volume is dedicated; friends, tried and true. 
 
 Copyright, 1920, by Ellie May Quarles, 
 
PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION. 
 In sending forth this little volume, the 
 author trusts that it will find indulgent read- 
 ers. Doubtless there are imperfections, but 
 there is nothing in it that can influence any 
 one to wrong-doing. Each little poem rep- 
 resents a mood or a strong impression of 
 some event, or the observation of the ways 
 or manners of people at various viewpoints. 
 Each effort is the stirring and the prompting 
 of an eager, yearning heart, striving for a vent 
 in expression, but which always seems inad- 
 equate and unsatisfactory when the thoughts 
 were "planed and chiseled out'* into words, 
 phrases and sentences. Several years ago the 
 author first felt that she must write, but 
 having little time from family cares, her 
 efforts were only occasional. So those years 
 were sprinkled with poetic endeavors, each 
 as diverse from the other in complexion as 
 a chameleon s colors. Thus writing as best 
 she could as occasion demanded, the expe- 
 riences covering a long period of time, one 
 might aptly say in backwoods diction, "Her 
 book," or truly, "This is one woman's life, 
 or almost." "After the fitfulness of life's 
 fever" there has come a consolation and 
 peace that the world can never give. Out of 
 the darkness into the light, she hopes to run 
 her race in patience, trusting in the precious 
 promises of God to those who love and obey 
 
 — 3-- 
 
Him. It would be considered a blessing 
 indeed if any one reading this book could 
 take fresh courage against the power of evil 
 and lay hold on that Source of joy, peace 
 and eternal salvation, our Lord Jesus Christ. 
 
 E. M. Q. 
 
 PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION. 
 
 The favor the first edition of Sunshine 
 and Shadows of Human Life received, has 
 encouraged me to send out another, some- 
 what enlarged by additional poems and a 
 chapter of prose articles, written since the 
 publication of the first edition. I have de- 
 cided to give the book a new name, Life's 
 Gleanings. I hope there will be messages of 
 comfort to many a weary one as well as 
 smiles to the lips of the carefree and happy. 
 
 E. M. Q. 
 
 4-- 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 A Throw in Life 83 
 
 A Trip Out to * Ortega 85 
 
 A Friend Indeed 18 
 
 A Thorn in the Flesh 120 
 
 A Breaking Heart 103 
 
 A Vision 127 
 
 A Tribute '. 139 
 
 A Heart to Heart Talk with Mothers. 157 
 
 A Contemplation of Suicide 44 
 
 A Heart's Unrest 44 
 
 A Sours Unrest 122 
 
 Alone 102 
 
 An Unbridled Tongue 60 
 
 As Age Creeps On 71 
 
 "A Bird in the Hand" 21 
 
 Because Eve Ate the Apple 26 
 
 Birds of a Feather 18 
 
 Beautiful Hope 58 
 
 Beautiful Thought 70 
 
 Baby's Laugh 99 
 
 Billy on a Rampage 87 
 
 Betrayed and Betrayer 107 
 
 By Circumstances Bound 105 
 
 Creatures of Circumstances 42 
 
 Christmas, 1915 91 
 
 Christmas Comes 89 
 
 -5- 
 
Common People ; 69 
 
 Contentment 106 
 
 Called Home 147 
 
 Christians Only 123 
 
 Cast Down is My Soul. 46 
 
 Depressing Moods 63 
 
 Do Not Think It Strange 138 
 
 Delightful Books 96 
 
 Dedicated 150 
 
 Eve's Mistake 33 
 
 Fooling Wives 35 
 
 God Giveth His Beloved Sleep 151 
 
 Graceful Humor 82 
 
 Human Short Sigh ^68 
 
 How I Found I Could Write Poetry... 153 
 
 Hypocrisy of Women 65 
 
 Hope Deferred 40 
 
 Heartaches 43 
 
 I Can Not Understand 103 
 
 In Need of a Friend 40 
 
 In Sympathy 145 
 
 Job's Turkey 25 
 
 I^ook Before You Xeap 16 
 
 Life's Mistakes 41 
 
 Life Is What We Make It 101 
 
 Life's Different Viewpoints 77 
 
 Lost Opportunities '. 131 
 
 Leaning Hard On Christ 72 
 
 "Little Foxes Spoil the Vines" 23 
 
 — 6 — 
 
Looking Backward 45 
 
 Leave Other Men's Wives Alone 2n 
 
 Memory's Voice 95 
 
 Miss Jacksonville's Resources 92 
 
 Man's Promises 36 
 
 Man's Privileges , 39 
 
 Mother's Love dZ 
 
 ''Mamma Don't 'Dote' On Me" 51 
 
 Mill Life 52 
 
 "Not Lost, But Gone Before" 144 
 
 Neglecting Mother 48 
 
 "Old Maids" 35 
 
 Old Sayings Mixed 19 
 
 "Out of the Mouth of Babes". 74 
 
 "Playing the Fool" 13 
 
 "Pretty Is As Pretty Does" 22 
 
 Poverty's Children 106 
 
 "Paddle Your Own Canoe" 17 
 
 "Root, Hog or Die" 15 
 
 Redeeming the Time 133 
 
 Rest On the Promises 141 
 
 Sweet Sympathy 101 
 
 Such Is Life 64 
 
 Suffer and Be Strong 42 
 
 Sowing and Reaping 57 
 
 Suicide 40 
 
 Seeking the Light and Finding It 109 
 
 The Love of Life 67 
 
 The Weather 50 
 
 — 7 — 
 
The Future's Mystery 66 
 
 The Influence of Words 68 
 
 The Latest 28 
 
 The Dipping Spoon 155 
 
 The Hurried Prayer 75 
 
 The Battle of Make Believe 31 
 
 "The Turning of the Lane'' 9 
 
 The Bitter Cup 43 
 
 The Love of Christ 116 
 
 The Mystery of Mysteries 117 
 
 The Agnostic's Plaint 117 
 
 The Agnostic's Recourse. By P. D. 
 
 Davisson 112 
 
 The Agnostic's Prayer 114 
 
 The Church of Christ 128 
 
 The Epicurean's Question 137 
 
 To a Young Girl 98 
 
 To Nellie 43 
 
 To Those Who Mourn 136 
 
 To a Faithless Friend 108 
 
 Up To Date 59 
 
 Violent Wit 70 
 
 Women of Today 29 
 
 Woman's Dread of Age 30 
 
 Woman's Scorn of Woman 104 
 
 Ways of Life 47 
 
 What Love Brings 98 
 
 We, the Porch Dwellers 78 
 
 What Women Read 100 
 
utility of Old Sayings 
 
 THE TURNING OF THE LANE. 
 
 With mental eyes I see her now, 
 
 After all the weary years ; 
 Sweet blue eyes, un furrowed brow. 
 
 As the wave of memory nears. 
 
 She married young, her loving heart 
 Knows naught but meek devotion; 
 
 Love and obey, this is her part — 
 Good care should be her portion. 
 
 Her husband, full of virile force 
 And desirous to surmount — 
 
 Overcome all in onward course. 
 Ambitious, as riches count. 
 
 Three children of the union come. 
 Dear daughter and two dear sons, 
 
 To save his name and bless his home, 
 True wife and his little ones. 
 
 A change now comes o^er the scene, 
 Temptations about him gather; 
 
 Where peace and pure content had been, 
 Looms trouble in full feather. 
 
 — 9 — 
 
Love of drink and a woman's lure 
 Start him on his downward course; 
 
 Powers of Hell can't be more sure 
 When combined are these in force. 
 
 The young wife sees and feels the change 
 As the blight falls on her home; 
 
 His temper mounts to harsher rage, 
 Vile cursings sometimes come. 
 
 Her meekness so provokes his rage, 
 
 He descends to brutal blows ; 
 His life is blackened page by page, 
 
 While multiplied are her woes. 
 
 In his sober hours he's endeared 
 
 To his little children's hearts ; 
 Otherwise hard blows are feared, 
 
 Evinced by their nervous starts. 
 
 The look of dread in childish eyes 
 
 Is pitiful to behold; 
 The mother sees with woeful sighs 
 
 Her grief overgrown threefold. 
 
 Better nature itself asserts, 
 
 Many times the man resolves 
 To break away — the lure diverts, 
 
 Fallen his aim, in drink dissolves. 
 
 "It's a long lane that never turns," 
 Soft she speaks, with tear-wet eyes, 
 
 As with toil and pain she learns 
 All that patience meek, implies. 
 
 — 10 — 
 
This queer old saying seems to give 
 Her comfort to some degree ; 
 
 And hope will rise again, to live 
 For the solace yet to be. 
 
 The years speed on, the woman dies, 
 Whose lure his downfall caused ; 
 
 Thus right for wrong on death relies^ 
 Stern judgment has never paused. 
 
 This thought arises in her heart, 
 " 'Tis the turning of the lane," 
 
 But the momentum of the start 
 Gives never a poise again. 
 
 Heavily on the Savior's breast 
 She'd learned to lean long ago, 
 
 While willfully the husband press'd 
 To her lips the cup of woe. 
 
 The children are grown, one by one 
 The drink-shadowed home they leave; 
 
 First the daughter, now each dear son, 
 Does poor mother's heart bereave. 
 
 From the drink, whose subtle stinging 
 Now is wrecking mind and nerves, 
 
 All his sown wild oats is bringing 
 Forth the harvest he deserves. 
 
 Overwrought brain, paralyzed nerves, 
 His eyesight precious is gone ; 
 
 Heavy her load, never she swerves, 
 Nor will till her task is done. 
 
 — 11 — 
 
Affliction makes his heart as gall, 
 And with his tongue he lashes 
 
 Her on whom he depends for all 
 His darkened life's successes. 
 
 Her hope is gone for earthly peace, 
 And the "turning of the lane" 
 
 A long unlooked-for sweet release 
 From discord, weariness, pain. 
 
 From his dark way she keeps all harm; 
 
 She's a gentle, patient guide; 
 Also she works on the little farm. 
 
 Their simple needs to provide. 
 
 She fills the little worldly space 
 
 In doing the best she can; 
 Purely living in Christian grace. 
 
 Ministering to a man. 
 
 His need of her he's soon to know. 
 For long she has been his eyes ; 
 
 A heavy, unexpected blow — 
 She goes to her bed and dies. 
 
 "Betty! Betty!" he in anguish 
 Wildly gropes to touch her hand. 
 
 But the touch does hope extinguish. 
 Blind, alone, henceforth to stand I 
 
 For her, no "turning of the lane," 
 Rough with thorns her pathway lay; 
 
 She ever strove mid grief and pain 
 To straitly walk the narrow way. 
 
 — 12 — 
 
The husband does not long survive 
 The going of his good wife ; - 
 
 The neighbors with all kindness strive 
 To brighten his darkened life. 
 
 I know he must have suffered much. 
 And this I have heard them say, 
 
 That with Christ he was in touch. 
 For surely they heard him pray. 
 
 Mercy, Christ, for the broken heart 
 That on thee called in dire need! 
 
 I trust Thou didst not say depart. 
 Thou, so merciful indeed ! 
 
 O Savior ! save his soul, I pray, 
 I know she prayed that prayer; 
 
 Then I may hope that some sweet day 
 Each other we'll meet somewhere. 
 
 "PLAYING THE FOOV' 
 
 Of men and women there are few 
 Who can affirm in accents true 
 That theyVe not sat on that old stool 
 Experience claims and "played the fool." 
 
 An example we will make of man. 
 To bear the brunt I know he can; 
 Since he the "stronger vessel" is. 
 The burden of this theme is his. 
 
 — 13 — 
 
Yet while he's sitting on the stool, 
 He does not feel himself a fool; 
 Although a target for all eyes, 
 Opinion public he defies. 
 
 And not until the glamour fades 
 Which roundabout a fool pervades, 
 Will he for certain realize 
 That he's not wisest of the wise. 
 
 When sweet infatuation dies. 
 Then unveiled will his paradise 
 Prove to be but a wooden stool 
 On which he sat and "played the fool.*' 
 
 His vision keen, where once 'twas dim, 
 He sees himself as others see him. 
 And if he has a common wit. 
 On that old stool no more he'll sit. 
 
 He looks with retrospective eyes 
 Over the past, which now defies 
 All alteration in the plan 
 Mapped and acted out by man. 
 
 1 know these verses are not deep, 
 Nor piteous to make you weep ; 
 Nor funny to catch your liking. 
 Yet you'll admit they are striking. 
 
 I'm striking at no special him, 
 For nearly all are in the "swim"; 
 As we all have human natures. 
 Prone to err are mortal creatures. 
 
 14 
 
"ROOT, HOG, OR DIE.^ 
 
 Your attention I will call 
 
 To a saying homely; 
 And it would pay almost all 
 
 To heed, although uncomely. 
 
 Simply this, "Root, hog, or die," 
 A saying old and coarse; 
 
 Truly, no one can deny 
 That it is full of force. 
 
 Now, of course, to all it can't 
 
 Be very well applied; 
 For some have no need or want 
 
 That is not well supplied. 
 
 But for many it is meant, 
 "Root, hog, or you will die,'' 
 
 And they all should take a hint 
 And with good grace comply. 
 
 It is hard some to convince 
 
 Who follow in pursuit 
 Of some fond conceit immense 
 
 Till bad time makes them "root." 
 
 "The world owes me a living," 
 
 Many a one starts out ; 
 ril take what she is giving, 
 
 As I calmly look about. 
 
 — 15 — 
 
To his sorrow he will find 
 
 That she gives naught for naught; 
 To those who "root" she's most kind 
 
 Thus are her favors bought. 
 
 On himself perhaps he will 
 
 At length learn to rely; 
 Precious time no more he'll kill, 
 
 Knowing 'tis "root or die." 
 
 "LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP." 
 
 There is sense in the saying 
 Of "Look before you leap," 
 
 And we'd do well by laying 
 It among the laws we keep. 
 
 When we take a step in life 
 
 In good or ill to end. 
 Saying old with meaning rife, 
 
 We surely should attend. 
 
 Many disappointments sad 
 
 Might have been averted 
 If this good old saying had 
 
 Been to use converted. 
 
 Had we in the past, now dead 
 
 Looked before we leapt. 
 The bitter tears we have shed 
 
 Might yet have been unwept. 
 
 — 16 — 
 
When life's emergencies arise, 
 In mind this saying keep: 
 
 Whatever you do, use your eyes, 
 And "look before you leap." 
 
 "PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE/' 
 
 As you drift on life's ocean. 
 
 And seem on pleasure bent, 
 To quicken up your motion 
 
 I'll give to you a hint. 
 
 You have heard that saying old, 
 
 "Paddle your own canoe," 
 And its value is untold 
 
 If kept in constant view. 
 
 It is high time you should learn 
 
 To paddle your canoe; 
 All hope of assistance spurn, 
 
 And see what you can do. 
 
 An earnest man is intent 
 - On paddling his canoe; 
 Use the talent that is lent, 
 Same may be said of you. 
 
 Don't sit idle in your boat. 
 
 Depend upon yourself; 
 Just hang up your Sunday coat, 
 
 Lay kid gloves on the shelf. 
 
 — 17 — 
 
But in paddling your canoe 
 Do use care and caution; 
 
 Exercise a judgment, too, 
 Else upset in the ocean. 
 
 If in you there is any "go," 
 Just let it spring to light, 
 
 And if "gritty" you can do 
 Soon your paddling right. 
 
 A FRIEND INDEED. 
 
 "A friend in need, a friend indeed," 
 So this true old saying goes; 
 
 And to its truth you will concede 
 As your life's stream onward flows. 
 
 When fortune is on you smiling, 
 Many, many are your friends; 
 
 And this belief your heart beguiling 
 Is a myth prosperity sends. 
 
 When under adversity's frown 
 
 You are bewildered, lost. 
 Friendship that no reverse can drown 
 
 Will by you stand at any cost. 
 
 "BIRDS OF A FEATHER." 
 
 "Birds of a feather, flock together." 
 This saying we hear so often; 
 
 And from its words we well may gather 
 Truth, time cannot rust nor soften. 
 
 — 18 — 
 
And it is the way with human kind, 
 For those akin to congregate 
 
 And in affinity union find 
 
 For good or ill, an aggregate. 
 
 "Birds of a feather," we're reminded, 
 The purees attracted to the pure. 
 
 And otherwise we are not blinded 
 To evil's kinship, just as sure. 
 
 For the base and pure to mingle. 
 Not natural, nor moral law. 
 
 And to illustrate well, we single 
 Out, ancient and pithy, true "saw." 
 
 "Birds of a feather flock together/' 
 'Twill be apt to end of time, 
 
 Nor will hindrance, band or tether 
 Cripple its good reason and rhyme. 
 
 Jacksonville, Fla. 
 
 OLD SAYINGS MIXED. 
 
 "All is not gold that glitters," so 
 
 "You'll find as through this world you go ; 
 
 "Appearances are deceitful" too. 
 Judge not till facts are plain to you. 
 
 "Birds of a feather flock together," 
 
 In every clime, any^ weather, 
 This, a rule to folks applying. 
 
 They with birds you see are vieing. 
 
 — 19 — 
 
^'Always chickens come home to roost^** 
 From me this saying needs no "boost," 
 
 We send to others good or ill, 
 
 Sometime, somewhere return it will. 
 
 "Root hog or you will die/* again 
 I use this saying old and plain^ 
 
 AUo "Paddle your own canoe" 
 As "companion pieces" these will do, 
 
 "Life is what we make it" chances 
 To fit "creatures of circumstances" 
 
 'Tis well to "look before you leap," 
 For as we sow we'll surely reap. 
 
 In sayings old this one may lead 
 "A friend in need is a friend indeed," 
 
 And "precept on precept, line on line" 
 Keeps the fox from spoiling the vine. 
 
 " 'Tis a long lane that never turns" 
 A sorrow spent heart prays and yearns. 
 
 For the turning of the long lane. 
 Hoping against hope, hoping in vain. 
 
 In these old sayings, lots of sense, 
 Laying them up we'd make a fence 
 
 Against the evils cure to beset 
 Allure, torment and make us forget. 
 
 Jacksonville, Fla. 
 
 — 20 — 
 
"A BIRD IN THE HAND." 
 
 "A bird in the hand's worth two in the bush/* 
 So old, so true, and yet so quaintly lush. 
 
 A lesson worth learning, think of it well 
 And hold what you have, make slow haste 
 to sell. 
 
 Old Aesop tells of the dog in a fable. 
 Who'd stolen meat from some body's table. 
 
 He, in the ''get away" had to cross a stream, 
 In the water clear he saw his shadow gleam. 
 
 He thought he saw a dog with a chunk of 
 
 meat. 
 He grabbed at the meat and met a just 
 
 defeat. 
 
 That he had, he lost when it fell in the 
 
 stream, 
 (This goes to prove things are not what 
 
 they seem.) 
 
 Truth is fine; not always known by ring 
 
 or tone ; 
 If pith you find in what's been said "you're 
 
 In the winding, I've wander'd from my 
 
 theme. 
 Let's think, "Things are not always what 
 
 they seem?" 
 
 Oh ! now I know I'll call it out and hush, 
 "A bird in the hand's worth two in the 
 bush 1" 
 
 -.'21 — 
 
PRETTY IS, AS PRETTY DOES. 
 
 "Beauty is but skin deep, 
 
 Ugly's to the bone; 
 Beauty soon fades away. 
 
 Ugly holds its own." 
 
 — Unknown. 
 
 "Pretty is, as pretty does," 
 Long years ago 'twas spoken; 
 
 Pithy now, as then it was, 
 Its record is unbroken. 
 
 Lovely is the outward show. 
 Skin deep may be the beauty ; 
 
 Ugly's to the bone you know. 
 Apart from mind. or duty. 
 
 "Beauty fades away," goes on 
 
 This plain, familiar saying; 
 But old "ugly holds its own," 
 
 Against time's grim waylaying. 
 
 Beauty of person, although great. 
 Ne'er for deeds will measure. 
 
 For kind deeds without a rate 
 Is valued more than treasure. 
 
 "Pretty is, as pretty does," 
 "Under currents" we discern ; 
 
 "Lines between," "under the rose" 
 At first unseen, quick to learn. 
 
 — 22 — 
 
Much we'd learn from this saying, 
 
 If we'd only read aright; 
 Learn and do, thereby laying 
 
 Up for ref'rence, treasure bright. 
 
 Feb. 15, 1916. 
 Jacksonville, Fla. 
 
 'IJTTLE FOXES SPOIL THE VINES.' 
 Solomon's Song, 2:15. 
 
 Another saying old I'll tell 
 
 If readily your ear inclines; 
 A saying many know right well, 
 
 'Tis "little foxes spoil the vines." 
 
 To many I need not explain, 
 
 Solution clear my theme entwines ; 
 
 But for others will make quite plain 
 How 'little foxes spoil the vines." 
 
 Foxes destroy the tender grapes, 
 Also nibble and tear the vines; 
 
 Just so a habit bad unshapes 
 
 The mind of man as God designs. 
 
 Speaking of man, all human kind 
 In the summing up's included ; 
 
 All grades and classes too, I find 
 Are by "foxes" small denuded. 
 
 # 
 
 — 23 — 
 
As little faults and habits grow, 
 Moral strength they sap, and twine 
 
 And closely hold before you know 
 There are "foxes** at the vine. 
 
 I have noticed from time to time. 
 Persons of endowments high 
 
 Who really would reach mounts sublime 
 If "little foxes" they'd defy. 
 
 And fight and scare them from the vine 
 
 But not without armor on; 
 Thus in good form fall into line. 
 
 Kill the "foxes" one by one. 
 
 As a habit bad holds and claims 
 
 Our natural rights divine, 
 To sap the spring of higher aims 
 
 And a lower range assign; 
 
 Just so the "foxes spoil the vine" 
 That would to perfection grow. 
 
 If let alone to stand or twine, 
 Climb aloft or dangle low. 
 
 This logic's pith is not obscure, 
 
 I trust it clearly defines 
 Habit's kinship, mean and impure 
 
 To "foxes spoiling the vines." 
 
 Oct. 10, 1913. 
 
 — 24— 
 
JOB'S TURKEY. 
 
 I have not found in "Holy Writ" 
 One word about Job's turkey, 
 
 Yet he is famous quite a bit 
 And for all his thinness — pesky. 
 
 Tradition has it that he'd lean 
 'Gainst fence or tree to gobble 
 
 He'd weakly otherwise careen 
 On legs too frail to wobble. 
 
 "Poor as Job's turkey," that's the way 
 It's from dark ages sounding. 
 
 But at whose door is laid, I say. 
 Guilt of this proverb's founding? 
 
 Plain you'll see it where 'tis murkey, 
 "Poor" is a misnomer, sure. 
 
 Lack of food in Job's poor turkey 
 Made his footsteps insecure. 
 
 Without a doubt we all must know 
 That "poor's" in this time and day 
 
 Financial stress without a show; 
 Soon we learn, go as you pay. 
 
 You'll say all this is nonsense, sheer, 
 But as it has made you smile. 
 
 To me its mission is quite clear. 
 Others too it may beguile. 
 
 — 25 — 
 
"A little nonsense now~ and then, 
 (I think 'twas Pope who said it) 
 
 Is relished by the wisest men/' 
 (Anyway I know I read it.) 
 
 Nov. 30, 1917. 
 Atlanta, Ga. 
 
 "BECAUSE EVE ATE THE APPLE." 
 
 Because Eve the apple ate 
 
 When the world was young; 
 ''Second fiddle" been the fate 
 
 Of women, men among. 
 
 By those of primitive mind, 
 
 Set forth is this opinion; 
 Many men themselves, we find 
 
 Sure of man's dominion. 
 
 A woman of ideas few, 
 
 Clear, not gray nor dapple, 
 Man was master well she knew 
 
 "Because Eve ate the apple." 
 
 Her mind I tried to lift above 
 
 Plane of dull subjection, 
 She cited Scripture points to prove 
 
 Void was my objection. 
 
 — 26 — 
 
"Because Eve the apple ate'* 
 This humble soul recited ; 
 
 "Woman should accept her fate 
 And do as man's invited/' 
 
 Women of this time and day 
 Believe in rights that's equal, 
 
 Men ! To laurels look, I say. 
 Else behold the sequel ! 
 
 • 
 
 June 28, 1919. 
 Atlanta, Ga. 
 
 -27- 
 
Surface Gleanings 
 
 THE LATEST. 
 
 There's a little girl in our town 
 Who very fine has got it down; 
 She has a way, with many more, 
 Of turning names hind part before. 
 
 In early morning all must know 
 That Askew* will his whistle blow; 
 Little girl was at the table, 
 Eating breakfast palatable. 
 
 When the whistle the silence broke, 
 The five-year-old abruptly spoke — 
 Spoke without premeditation, 
 Adding to our admiration. 
 
 "There goes old Askew's mill," she meant. 
 But in thoughtless haste gave vent 
 To wit, the rarest, raciest kind. 
 As very shortly you will find. 
 
 The words came out topsy turvy, 
 Not to laugh would be too nervy; 
 Her hearers laughed, I laugh still: 
 "Oh, there goes old Skewases' bill!" 
 
 * Askew, owner of a flour mill and saw 
 mill near the home of the little girl. 
 
 — 28-r 
 
WOMEN OF TO-DAY. 
 
 At this time we hear so much 
 
 About the women's rights, 
 Their privileges, fads and such, 
 
 Their "new thoughts" and "new lights." 
 
 They expect to have the right 
 
 To lecture, preach and vote; 
 But these rights (oh, splendid sight) 
 
 Are more than they can "tote." 
 
 And women with minds of strength 
 
 Are sounding the bugle call 
 Throughout the world, breadth and length, 
 
 Tis "women's rights," they bawl. 
 
 If their designs should succeed, 
 
 The men will be — oh, where? 
 Not in politics they'll lead, 
 
 "Small fry" will they be there. 
 
 In this day of women "new" 
 
 Will the "old" ones vanish? 
 Will they mother's way eschew 
 
 For the customs mannish? 
 
 The woman "new," far behind 
 Is the "old" by many stitches; 
 
 But that fact she doesn't mind — 
 She's worth more than riches. 
 
 — 29 — 
 
She doesn't feel imposed upon, 
 
 Doing well her duty; 
 Now, Vm glad many a one 
 
 Thus fills lives with beauty. 
 
 Cheerful with her household cares, 
 Wielding well the switches; 
 
 Children love her while they fear — 
 She, mending husband's britches. 
 
 Here's health to the woman "old," 
 Oh, may her days be long. 
 
 For her charms are manifold; 
 Can any one say I'm wrong? 
 
 WOMAN'S DREAD OF AGE. 
 
 In every age, in every clime, 
 
 Has woman shown a dread 
 Of the relentless sweep of time 
 
 Till her beauty all has fled. 
 
 When in her teens she dreads the time 
 When twenty will be her years; 
 
 Youth is to her, romance and rhyme. 
 Age a "Gorgon's head" appears. 
 
 Thirty reluctant years she reaches, 
 For wrinkles she looks with care; 
 
 Cheeks have lost their bloom of peaches. 
 Age, she feels, is drawing near. 
 
She knows "Time's eflFacing fingers" 
 Are removing beauty's traces, 
 
 But long as a gleam still lingers, 
 Friendly art her visage graces. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF MAKE BELIEVE. 
 
 Two smart, rival editors 
 
 Would make the folks believe 
 
 That they with paper daggers 
 Desperate deeds achieve. 
 
 They make the valorous charge, 
 
 Flourish, clash and rattle. 
 In this wordy, make-believe. 
 
 Windy, bloodless battle. 
 
 Meanwhile eager multitudes, 
 
 In bated breath suspense, 
 Watch the skillful play and hit. 
 
 The thrusting and defense. 
 
 We find in human nature 
 
 This creed is not extinct; 
 "Survival of the fittest" 
 
 And it is closely linked. 
 
 With the records of the past, 
 
 And to the present day, 
 The victor in the battle 
 
 Is strongest in the fray. 
 
 — 31 — 
 
While many "holler" "Sick him," 
 A few will say "Be done" ; 
 
 Strongly drawn are all to see 
 The climax of the fun. 
 
 The old game of make believe, 
 Though tattered, will amuse; 
 
 For sensation-loving masses 
 Are willingly, obtuse. 
 
 Editors are very smart. 
 
 Yet we see through their game; 
 They send rousing "hot stuff" out 
 
 To keep from seeming tame. 
 
 This one condemns the methods 
 Of the other's "new concern," 
 
 While big I and little you 
 We think we can discern. 
 
 One, the other fails to roast, 
 The people then are vex't; 
 
 For they are on the lookout 
 For what is coming next. 
 
 Success to our editors; 
 
 Either is hard to "down" ; 
 When they get their mettle up. 
 
 They do each other "brown." 
 
 Here's my view, and Fve no doubt 
 'Tis that of many others; 
 
 Little, saucy thrusts are made 
 Kindly, as would brothers. 
 
 — 32-r 
 
This is the understanding 
 Of one who "reads and runs"; 
 
 Supply yourselves with wadding 
 And shoot your paper guns. 
 
 Three cheers for the editors 
 Of our two papers town; 
 
 Each one has many "backers," 
 And each should wear a crown. 
 
 EVE'S MISTAKE. 
 
 i 
 Blame at the door of Eve is laid 
 Because of the mistake she made; 
 Of fruit forbidden she did eat, 
 Then carried some to her "helpmeet." 
 
 She tempted Adam and he ate; 
 They were driven from Eden*s gate; 
 Since that great, disastrous act 
 Blame on woman has been packed. 
 
 Guilty Adam, when brought to face 
 The result, with a manly grace 
 Sneaked behind his trembling mate 
 And blamed her for his fallen state. 
 
 In very truth I here can say 
 That ever since that fateful day 
 Weak woman has been tempting man, 
 While he betrays her when he can. 
 
And in almost every case 
 We read about, there is a place 
 Filled by a woman who must bear 
 Of shame or blame the greater share. 
 
 Greater sinner be she or not, 
 To bear the brunt must be her lot; 
 For ''man is all creation's lord," 
 Agree they will with one accord. 
 
 Although a partner in her shame. 
 Well he can mount the steps to fame ; 
 His sin forgotten, he may shine 
 As a jewel from Golconda's mine. 
 
 'Tis thus he reasons in his pride, 
 She is not ftt to be my bride ; 
 Yet of the two, the worst is he. 
 So all will say who rightly see. 
 
 She, poor, lost creature, frail and fair, 
 The burden of his guilt must bear ; 
 No door for her stands open wide 
 Through which scathless she may glide. 
 
 Women are subject unto men. 
 As they are now, they've always been; 
 And this all goes without dispute 
 Because Eve ate forbidden fruit. 
 
 34- 
 
"FOOLING WIVES." 
 
 Some men think it very smart 
 If they can fool their wives, 
 
 And if once they make a start, 
 They'll do it all their lives. 
 
 They will meet and brag about 
 "The high old time" they had ; 
 
 Getting drunk, I have no doubt, 
 And "going to the bad." 
 
 They'll plot, plan and fables weave, 
 In such things they are versed; 
 
 The wives, will, perhaps, believe 
 In business they're immersed. 
 
 Loving dupes, 'tis best, no doubt, 
 You can believe their tales; 
 
 But Fm sure 'twill come out 
 When eyes let fall their scales. 
 
 Words accept, and traitor kiss. 
 No tears may dim your eyes; 
 
 "Better ignorance with bliss, 
 Than sorrow to be wise." 
 
 "OLD MAIDS." 
 
 There's several kinds of old maids. 
 Some are sour, some sweet, some sad; 
 
 But when appears life's evening shades, 
 All heartily wish to wed. 
 
The thought of being dubbed "old maid" 
 Thrills women's hearts with horror ; 
 
 But truly maiden troubles fade 
 Entering married sorrow. 
 
 An "old maid's" manner oft confesses 
 She longs for the married state; 
 
 A husband's love and his caresses, 
 This wish age does not abate. 
 
 Women fear the fate impending 
 
 Even at two and twenty; 
 Efforts all to marriage tending, 
 
 Though they have time in plenty. 
 
 Ere a woman has got married 
 She knows not man's "cussedness," 
 
 Else she would have longer tarried 
 In her "single blessedness." 
 
 Certainly, yes, in blessedness 
 She'd joyfully have remained, 
 
 Had she but known his pleasantness 
 To gain her love was feigned. 
 
 MAN'S PROMISES. 
 
 Trust not the promises of man. 
 He certainly will deceive; 
 
 He'll rob you of all he can, 
 Then leave you alone to grieve. 
 
He'll tell you he loves you truly, 
 Without you he can't exist, 
 
 And if you will trust him really. 
 Of joy will your life consist. 
 
 He'll value not the heart you yield, 
 Cast it ofif like an out-worn glove; 
 
 Seek again in an untried field, 
 Teach anew the lesson of love. 
 
 A man to man may truthful be, 
 
 But to a woman never ; 
 His honesty for men to see, 
 
 Deceiver to woman ever. 
 
 Oh, credulous, loving woman, 
 H you value future peace, 
 
 Trust not the promises of man. 
 Or regret will never cease. 
 
 LEAVE OTHER MEN'S WIVES 
 ALONE. 
 
 There is a lesson you should heed. 
 Leave other men's wives alone; 
 
 And well for you who run to read 
 Ere reaping as you have sown. 
 
 The Adam in human nature 
 
 Of craving forbidden fruit 
 Lies in every mortal creature 
 
 That is placed above the brute. 
 
 — 37 — 
 
Other's experience ought to teach 
 That you're on dangerous ground 
 
 When you try to willfully reach 
 That which to another is bound. 
 
 We read of bloodshed every day 
 On account of some man's wife, 
 
 To whom another man said his "say," 
 And the cost was his dear life. 
 
 That a woman's married is enough 
 
 To make a man stand aloof ; 
 For her husband is sure to "cut up rough" 
 
 If of treason he has proof. 
 
 For if a man has any "grit" 
 
 It will surely spring to life 
 If others have the little wit 
 
 To "fool 'round about" his wife. 
 
 However alluring she may be. 
 Give her what is rightly due; . 
 
 And that is true civility, 
 All that's required of you. 
 
 And if with reason you suspect 
 
 For you she has a preference, 
 Your energies you should direct 
 
 To show her indifference. 
 
 I'd teach the men, if they would learn. 
 To let other men's wives alone; 
 
 But good advice in scorn they spurn. 
 And my time's ill spent and gone. 
 
 — 38— >' 
 
MAN'S PRIVILEGES. 
 
 These privileges of man, 
 In large fields to rove he can ; 
 Privileged to take a dram, 
 Privileged to a hearty damn. 
 
 He'll visit the lowest den. 
 Then mix with the "upper ten" ; 
 This he can do, mighty man. 
 Nature made on a noble plan. 
 
 Privileged to take a spree, 
 Getting drunk as he can be; 
 That is overlooked, you know. 
 For ''man will his wild oats sow." 
 
 Sow his oats with a lavish hand, 
 Sure to yield a goodly stand; 
 When he reaps he feels no shame. 
 To the last he shows "true game." 
 
 Privileged to lie to woman. 
 That fact is very common; 
 He is strong and she is weak. 
 He overrules her with his cheek. 
 
 Man must be allowed his fun 
 Till his race is overrun; 
 For man always an excuse, 
 "Sauce for gander, none for goose." 
 
 — 39 — 
 
Depressed and Unhappy 
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 Oh, the pain, the strain, the anguish 
 
 Of living on hope deferred; 
 How sad hearts with longing languish. 
 
 Speech hath ne'er averred. 
 
 Such feverish expectation 
 
 Mingled with hope and fear, 
 A foe without affectation, 
 
 That brings life's end more near. 
 
 None but those who have undergone 
 The pangs of hope deferred 
 
 Can understand, and they alone. 
 The pain it hath conferred. 
 
 When hope's deferred, then comes despair. 
 
 And then all hope is dead; 
 While life, with all its wear and tear. 
 
 Through winding paths is led. 
 
 SUICIDE. 
 
 When a human being takes 
 His life, which is God-given, 
 
 On Eternity he breaks. 
 With ne'er a hope of Heaven. 
 — 40 — 
 
LIFE'S MISTAKES. 
 
 Many of the woes of life 
 Are caused by sad mistakes, 
 
 And with such the world is rife, 
 While each heart to grief awakes. 
 
 Oh, the vain and bitter tears 
 O'er past mistakes are shed! 
 
 Oh, dear hope, that now appears 
 Gray as ashes, cold and dead ! 
 
 Oh, the lives mistakes have spoiled. 
 That can never be renewed ! 
 
 Oh, the precious heart plans foiled, 
 With rich heart blood imbued 1 
 
 IN NEED OF A FRIEND. 
 
 I feel the need of a friend 
 In whom I can confide. 
 
 To sympathize, comprehend 
 All my thoughts, nor deride. 
 
 Who will point my errors out 
 With firm, yet kindly hand. 
 
 Warn in a way not roundabout 
 Of dangers that impend. 
 
 Cheer me when lonely and sad. 
 Comfort me when in grief ; 
 
 For a friend I would be glad. 
 Then would 1 find relief. 
 
 — 41 — 
 
SUFFER AND BE STRONG. 
 
 Oh, sensitive, yearning heart, 
 
 Suffer and be strong ; 
 Gather strength with Stoic art, 
 
 The struggle can't be long. 
 
 Rightly understood by none\ 
 
 Have you ever been ; 
 Yqur depth of love ever shone 
 
 Through a darkened sheen. 
 
 Poor heart ! When young and tender. 
 Friendship's truth believing. 
 
 You did devotion render, 
 
 With no thought of deceiving. 
 
 Many the darts you've received 
 From envy, malice, scorn ; 
 
 Wounded deep, yet unperceived 
 By any, your state forlorn. 
 
 Under blows you have sustained 
 Hearts have broken surely ; 
 
 You endured, though greatly pain'd. 
 By will assisted purely. 
 
 Fallen the hopes you cherished. 
 
 Like unto Dead Sea fruit 
 When touched, quickly perished ; 
 
 Oh heart ! be strong and mute. 
 
 Submit, endure to the end. 
 Not long you'll have to wait ; 
 
 Then will the Hereafter send 
 Sweet rest without abate. 
 
 — 42 — 
 
THE BITTER CUP. 
 
 Life holds for each and all 
 
 A bitter cup to drink; 
 And when we hear the call, 
 
 Our hearts within us shrink. 
 
 For some escape we seek 
 
 From dreaded, bitter draught. 
 
 But efforts are too weak, 
 And fate can not be bought. 
 
 Small for some the portion. 
 While others drain the cup ; 
 
 Howe'er the proportion, 
 Each one must drink it up. 
 
 Some *neath the draught will sink, 
 The strain they can not bear ; 
 
 Though hearts of others shrink, 
 Sweet smiles their faces wear. 
 
 HEARTACHES. 
 
 Many a sad and aching heart 
 Will to the world no sign impart; 
 Enduring like the "Spartan boy," 
 Lock in the depths that which annoy. 
 
 Faces bright to the world are shown« 
 No griefs corroding proud tongues own ; 
 Oh, heartaches and cankering cares, 
 Smothered sighs and secret tears I 
 
 — 43 — 
 
A CONTEMPLATION OF SUICIDE. 
 
 A wretched being, deep in thought, 
 
 Ne*er finding a surcease 
 From the phantom^s memory brought 
 
 Of wasted life, broken peace. 
 
 Thoughts like these worked in the mind 
 Of this poor human creature; 
 
 Oh, that death would be most kind 
 And give a thoughtless future. 
 
 In the dark and lingering night, 
 
 When memory and Vm alone. 
 Stern conscience comes with awful might, 
 
 And a refuge there is none. 
 
 I long for death, desire's intense, 
 Life for me has lost its charm; 
 
 But Eternity, so immense, 
 Fills my soul with dire alarm. 
 
 Oh, now that I could muster up 
 
 Courage for the effort. 
 For I have drained the bitter cup, 
 
 In naught can I find comfort. 
 
 A HEARTHS UNREST. 
 
 All the pain of a heart's unrest. 
 None but its victim can attest; 
 Its dreariness and weary ache — 
 How long, I wonder, ere it break? 
 
 -44 — 
 
Excitement for a while may still 
 Its consciousness, but soon it will 
 Assert itself with stronger force 
 Gathering volume in its course. 
 
 Search for a balm for the unrest 
 Of a heart is a fruitless quest; 
 No earthly hand can draw the dart 
 From the quivering, tortured heart. 
 
 LOOKING BACKWARD. 
 
 Very sad I feel to-night, 
 
 Back my thoughts are turning ; 
 
 Memory's waves, dark and bright, 
 Fill my soul with yearning. 
 
 Following on pain will come 
 
 For the loved and lost; 
 Some are dead, while others roam- 
 
 My heart still feels the cost. 
 
 Oh, to hear the voices sweet 
 
 I loved in the long ago. 
 Never more to gladly greet 
 
 Me in this world of woe. 
 
 Eyes that looked love to mine 
 Have lost their tender glow; 
 
 No more will the lovelight shine 
 To thrill my heart, I know. 
 
 — 45 — 
 
Sweet long ago, sad long ago, 
 Persistent phantoms rise, 
 
 Bringing up past joy and woe 
 Plain to my mental eyes. 
 
 I would banish thoughts like these,, 
 Forget them if I might. 
 
 But remembrance backward flees. 
 And the past rises on my sight. 
 
 ^^CAST DOWN IS MY SOUL." 
 
 ^'Cast down is my soul, O God!'* 
 
 And my company; is grief, 
 
 While hope, as beneath the sod 
 
 Lies after a life so brief. 
 
 All I have done, thou knoweth. 
 Every thought of sin, or act ; 
 
 As I have sown, well thou showeth 
 I must reap a woeful fact. 
 
 I was young, I am no longer, 
 O'er the years I backward look 
 
 With a sad and yearning hunger 
 
 Which this worn heart scarce can 
 brook. 
 
 Speaking figure, I may say 
 That my lips are in the dust; 
 
 Yet I will, I can but pray 
 For mercy, as Thou art just. 
 
 Jacksonville, Fla. 
 
 — 46 — 
 
Impressions and Reflections 
 Along the Way 
 
 WAYS OF LIFE. 
 
 Many are the ways of life, 
 And some ways are pleasantness; 
 
 Other ways are ways of strife, 
 With few gleams of loveliness. 
 
 Some ways are strewn with roses, 
 Stripped clean of every thorn; 
 
 Some ways thick gloom incloses. 
 With travelers weak and worn. 
 
 Rough and stony are some ways. 
 But afar is Hope's star shining, 
 
 Shedding forth its silver rays 
 To keep tired hearts from pining. 
 
 Oh, the many ways of life 
 Mortals are forced to tread ! 
 
 For some 'tis joy, free from strife. 
 And others by troubles led. 
 
 Of after life, may the ways 
 All be of lovelit beauty, 
 
 Atoning for woeful days 
 Spent in unshrinking duty. 
 
 — 47~ 
 
NEGLECTING MOTHER. 
 
 Addressed to a family of married sons 
 and daughters who sadly neglect their aged 
 mother. 
 
 Don't neglect your aged mother, 
 Love for her let nothing smother ; 
 You will not have her very long, 
 So do the dear old heart no wrong. 
 
 Don't let her feel that now she's old, 
 . Her children's love for her is cold ; 
 That her care no more you're needing, 
 ^ You'd give her a glad ''God speeding." 
 
 When you were young your father died, 
 To do her best she did decide; 
 She worked for your daily bread. 
 Supporting you in father's stead. 
 
 The midnight hour often found her 
 Toiling, while you slept around her; 
 Your welfare was her highest aim. 
 No thought had she of selfish fame. 
 
 Now you are strong and she is weak. 
 Her eyes are dim and wan her cheek ; 
 Her poor old back is almost double — 
 Soon she will be done with trouble. 
 
 Her sad face is creased with wrinkles. 
 Her white hair no dark besprinkles ; 
 Eighty winters have o'er her passed, 
 Death's shadows are about her cast. 
 
 48 
 
Yes, soon she'll mingle with the blest, 
 Never again to be oppressed ; 
 The joy God holds for her in store 
 Will compensate for evermore. 
 
 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCES. 
 
 By circumstances we are ruled, 
 And we are made the creatures 
 
 Of surroundings and are schooled 
 By our special teachers. 
 
 Circumstances have appointed 
 
 Each one to take a place; 
 And many are disappointed 
 
 And fill it with distaste. 
 
 For some, are circumstances bright, 
 With many golden chances ; 
 
 Out to the left, and on to the right. 
 With easy, quick advances. 
 
 Many are they who ne'er attain 
 The goal of their aspiring; 
 
 For bound by circumstances* chain 
 Vain are hope's desiring. 
 
 Fortune favors the brave, they say, 
 Aud such will take their chances ; 
 
 Opportunities watch each day 
 For changing circumstances. 
 
 — 49 — 
 
THE WEATHER. 
 
 When some people get together, 
 All the topics in the world 
 
 Seem to have slipped their tether, 
 Leaving fancy closely furl'd. 
 
 Then this most convenient theme, 
 Which all seasons seem to fit 
 
 When conversation fails, will gleam 
 With the glow of ready wit. 
 
 Brilliant idea joyfully grasp 'd. 
 The feeling of "high feather" 
 
 Makes the tongue by silence clasp'd 
 To eulogize the weather. 
 
 Or to complain of drought or flood, 
 Or unusual, sudden changes — 
 
 With such a theme it seems one could 
 Branch off on pleasant ranges. 
 
 The brightest minds scorn not to use 
 The weather's hackney'd phrases, 
 
 And it's unbecoming to abuse 
 Ground where "genius blazes." 
 
 And besides, 'tis a blessing sure, 
 Althought of small variety. 
 
 And timid ones may feel secure 
 To take it with propriety. 
 
 50 — 
 
^'MAMMA, DON'T 'DOTE' ON ME/* 
 
 My little Miller often asks : 
 "Mamma, do you love me?'' 
 
 In my reply he sweetly basks, 
 Satisfied as he can be. 
 
 "Certainly I do love you, dear/' 
 
 I nearly always say; 
 Thus to- allay his baby fear 
 I answer day by day. 
 
 He questions again this morning, 
 Then from pure love of fun 
 
 I answer without a warning: 
 "I 'dote' on you, my son." 
 
 I never can his look forget, 
 The "dote" to him was new; 
 
 Amazement on his face was set. 
 His brown eyes larger grew. 
 
 When at last his voice found he. 
 It was full of pleading; 
 " Oh, mamma, don't 'dote' on me," 
 And to me he came speeding. 
 
 In loving arms my boy was caught, 
 " Don't 'dote' on me," he cried ; 
 ' A proof of love was what he sought; 
 Soon his tears my kisses dried. 
 
 — 51 
 
MILL LIFE. 
 
 Down in a dell where alders grow, 
 With flowers and ferns combined; 
 
 A deep, cool shade the tall trees throw 
 With limbs interlaced and twined. 
 
 Sunlight flickers and glimmers through 
 Green leaves like glimpses of gold; 
 
 Moss and shrubs, and a brooklet, too, 
 While birds high carnival hold. 
 
 Here Nature holds her queenly sway 
 
 Undisputed, right and will. 
 We wander on the sylvan way 
 
 Till we reach at length a — mill. 
 
 You have no doubt in some book read 
 
 Of "an old romantic mill'-; 
 To one like that you are not led, 
 
 For that sort won't "fill the bill." 
 
 Now this mill grinds no wheat nor corn 
 
 To sustain the life of man. 
 But from the forest it has shorn 
 
 Noble trees that It^ng have been. 
 
 Now that my secret's out, I see 
 
 Interest its race has run; 
 Though tame my verse as it can be, 
 
 I'll say on, as I've begun. 
 
 This mill, from any town remote, 
 By laborers was "set down" ; 
 
 My pen, unequal, I'll devote 
 In giving it some renown. 
 
 — 52 — 
 
On a hill abruptly rising, 
 
 But a few yards from the mill, 
 
 Is a house of rude devising — 
 Its uses would a volume fill. 
 
 This house boasts of two small rooms, 
 One staple supplies to hold, 
 
 Which feed the "hands," and it assumes 
 A title that is quite bold. 
 
 'Tis "Commissary," startling name, 
 'Tis indeed a word of sound. 
 
 And this is its ambitious aim, 
 Let plenty of "grub" abound. 
 
 The other all-important room - 
 
 To worthy art^s devoted 
 By the male cook in verdant bloom. 
 
 From teamster's ranks promoted. 
 
 And every man who has not 
 
 Got a woman for himself. 
 Must "batch it" with a pan and pot 
 
 And some dishes on the shelf. 
 
 He, on the hearth of the fireplace, 
 Cooks his plain and simple "grub" ; 
 
 The meat is fried with manly grace. 
 And the bread — "there comes the rub." 
 
 He makes a fairly good success 
 
 In the fixing of his flour; 
 But, oh, he has a dreadful mess 
 
 In the course of half an hour. 
 
 — 53 — 
 
Right into the flour with both hands 
 He dives when all is ready ; 
 
 He really thinks he understands — 
 His nerves soon grow unsteady. 
 
 All on his hands and wrists the dough 
 
 Is sticking like a plaster ; 
 He rubs and scrubs with much ado ; 
 
 It only sticks the faster. 
 
 At last, poor man, nearly frantic, 
 The bulk of the dough he flops 
 
 Into the pan, then in a panic 
 He flies to the door and stops. 
 
 He stops and slings both left and right 
 From his hands the ropes of dough. 
 
 When another idea as bright 
 In his mind begins to grow. 
 
 The idea grown, he acts on it, 
 
 And the casing of the door 
 Gets here a dab and there a bit 
 
 That it did not have before. 
 
 This is only one example 
 
 That I have introduced. 
 But I believe it is a sample. 
 
 So the rest may be deduced. 
 
 N(»w I'll take up the "hands" who wear 
 
 The matrimonial noose ; 
 In this same memoir they must share, 
 
 So forgive my long-drawn muse. 
 
 — 54 — 
 
A half mile distant from the mill 
 
 Are all the shanties airy; 
 When winter comes the inmates will 
 
 Not long here want to tarry. 
 
 Diversions few these people have, 
 Afar from the world's mad rush, 
 
 Knowing naught of excitement's wave 
 In lolitics' zeal and push. 
 
 Their favorite recreation 
 
 Is now and then a singing, 
 And, indeed, 'tis elevation 
 
 When their voices high are winging. 
 
 But they have one dissipation. 
 
 And tobacco is enough ; 
 But I have no approbation 
 
 For the women dipping snuff. 
 
 Although 'tis summer, green and fair, 
 "Truck" of gardens they have none; 
 
 The evident fact is quite severe, 
 So they tell me, every one. 
 
 When the women get together, 
 As you know all women will. 
 
 To converse about the weather. 
 And the men about the mill. 
 
 In the midst of such topics sweet 
 Quite often this intervenes: 
 
 "I am so tired of bread and meat, 
 I do wish I had some greens." 
 
"Or some beans, or roasting ears, 
 Tomatoes or field snap peas;" 
 
 And really there sometimes appears 
 A woman with some of these. 
 
 A colored woman with an eye 
 
 For small gains and bargains keen, 
 
 For "mill hands' " wives will buy or die 
 When green "garden truck" is seen. 
 
 They gladly barter meat and flour 
 To this smart "darky" farmer; 
 
 She's welcome here at any hour, 
 S-he surely is a charmer. 
 
 I have, I think, now said enough. 
 And so I am sure will you; 
 
 What I have told I fear is rough. 
 Yet 'tis really mostly true. 
 
 Some people like the naked truth. 
 And some of this is naked; 
 
 And some I've clothed with tender ruth 
 For fear you'd think it wicked. 
 
 And I have always been opposed 
 
 To exposing ugly features. 
 And I have not in this proposed 
 
 Tq offend fellow creatures. 
 
 But sawmill life must have its charm. 
 Else people would not stay; 
 
 But as for me (I mean no harm), 
 I would rather be away. 
 
 — 56 — 
 
The distance an enchantment lends, 
 To be nearer I'll not sign; 
 
 Though Nature in all beauty blends, 
 I'd gaze with an absent eye. 
 
 SOWING AND REAPING. 
 
 On life's broad, fertile field 
 Good seed or bad we sow; 
 
 Seed that will surely yield 
 A crop of weal or woe. 
 
 We reap whate'er we sow, 
 To escape we needn't try; 
 
 If seed are bad, we know 
 We'll reap them by and by. 
 
 Short time wild oats to sow, 
 A long while for reaping; 
 
 Present joy, future woe. 
 Mirth changed to weeping. 
 
 Though careful we may be 
 Sins to hide from others; 
 
 So hurt is conscience, we 
 Her voice hardly smother. 
 
 We may sow in sadness. 
 Yet if the grain be sound. 
 
 We will reap in gladness. 
 While faith and joy abound. 
 
 57 
 
BEAUTIFUL HOPE. 
 
 How dull would this life appear 
 Without Hope our hearts to cheer, 
 Holding out in fine array 
 Pleasures of a future day. 
 
 In our youth how bright she seems, 
 Perfectly her beauty gleams ; 
 Young hearts untried by sorrow 
 Feed on hope of to-morrow. 
 
 Surely will life's troubles come. 
 Sadly pressing lessons home; 
 Hope sustained, we bravely bear 
 Earthly sorrow, pain and care. 
 
 When poverty pinches sore 
 And of wants we have a store, 
 While we have a glimpse of Hope, 
 'Gainst the odds we stoutly cope. 
 
 God help the Hope forsaken, 
 
 Woeful souls, sorrow shaken; 
 
 When Hope has fled, then comes Despair, 
 
 With her stony, sphinxlike stare. 
 
 Oh, precious, heavenly Hope ! 
 While thou stayest there is scope 
 For poor creatures worn with strife, 
 Toiling in the fields of life. 
 
 — 58 — 
 
Hope, stay with us to the end, 
 Be to us a faithful friend; 
 At the bottom of life's slope 
 Sustain, comfort us, dear Hope. 
 
 When we wade into Death's stream, 
 vShed thou a radiant gleam, 
 Across the water cold and deep. 
 Shrinking souls from fear to keep. 
 
 Lead us to the farther shore, 
 Through Heaven's gate go before; 
 Guide us to the Savior's feet, 
 Then thy task will be complete. 
 
 UP TO DATE. 
 This world has moved at a rapid rate 
 Through centuries past, up to date; 
 And you may be a true forecaster 
 Saying times will yet be faster. 
 
 We lay no claims to "slowly make haste," 
 But of energies fine make no waste; 
 While many inclined to vacillate. 
 To byways pass and vegetate. 
 
 The adage old of the bird and worm 
 Will demonstrate, anew affirm. 
 That a man with keen and watchful eyes 
 Will see his chance and grasp the prize. 
 
 And to make my simile quite complete, 
 "Lets no grass grow under his feet;" 
 Though burdened much and the way be 
 
 long. 
 Victory's for the swift and strong. 
 — 59 — 
 
AN UNBRIDLED TONGUE. 
 
 A hard lesson in life to learn 
 
 Is to curb the tongue unruly, 
 Which ever tries the leash to spurn, 
 
 And oft succeeds most truly. 
 
 Harm is wrought by a wayward tongue 
 
 In independent working, 
 When caution to the wind is flung 
 
 And there is malice lurking. 
 
 A spice of malice in the heart 
 
 Of the owner of the tongue 
 Cast abroad is the venom'd dart, 
 
 And the unsuspecting stung. 
 
 Of a fluent, persuasive speech 
 
 May a tongue unbridled be; 
 And many they within its reach 
 
 Might not quiet malice see. 
 
 Till feels the heart the poisoned dart. 
 
 No thought has the assailed 
 Of the sly, double-dealing part, 
 
 So closely is it veiled. 
 
 Another, who has no intent 
 
 To purpose a neighbor harm, 
 But would like to know what "things meant," 
 
 And to search it out, the charm. 
 
 60 
 
With. this and that together pieced, 
 How surely the fabric grows, 
 Till family secrets are released 
 To every wind that blows. 
 
 And when the ferret job's complete, 
 
 The author can not forego 
 In the pleasure of non-defeat 
 
 To declare: *1 told you so." 
 
 *Tis thus a reputation's made. 
 
 Quite suited to the wearer; 
 Nor soon will the titles fade, 
 
 'Tis "tattler" and "tale bearer." 
 
 There are tongues that are unbridled. 
 
 That are really not of this class ; 
 From the common ranks have "sidled," 
 
 Yet scathless they may not pass. 
 
 The owners of these tongues believe 
 Their judgment to be the best. 
 
 And Pharisee-like all deceive 
 Themselves as well as the rest. 
 
 Looked up to as "shining lights" 
 In the circles where they move. 
 
 As they discuss the wrongs and rights, 
 Freely commend or disapprove. 
 
 Not looking at the subject well. 
 The wherefore, when and the why, 
 
 With proof of "hearsay" and "they tell," 
 While the absent can't deny. 
 
 — 61 — 
 
Judged unheard, the victim goes 
 Unsuspecting on lifers way, 
 
 When all the doubts one could disclose 
 Might be explained away. 
 
 The tongue unbridled works with skill, 
 
 Here, as in distant lands; 
 Satan finds for the idle still 
 
 Mischief for tongue and hands. 
 
 Slander sown by an unchecked tongue 
 
 Gathers volume as it flees ; 
 And beyond recall, once 'tis flung, 
 
 As thistledown on the breeze. 
 
 To bridle the tongue, the sure way 
 
 Is to put God's armor on. 
 And be steadfast to watch and pray, 
 
 Thus are great victories won. 
 
 With the breastplate of righteousness, 
 And faith in God as a shield. 
 
 Girdle of truth and consciousness 
 Of the power it must wield. 
 
 With prayer, that ancient watchword, 
 - A safeguard now as ever. 
 No force for evil will be feared 
 To-day, to-morrow, forever. 
 
 DEPRESSING MOODS. 
 
 Away with the gloomy mood, 
 For it is so depressing; 
 
 'Gainst it swear a lasting feud, 
 Thus you may claim a blessing. 
 
Gloomy moods have been the bane 
 
 Of many a human life; 
 And the hope of peace is vain 
 
 Till we conquer in the strife. 
 
 \ye should ever bravely fight 
 Moods that on memory call, 
 
 Bringing up past grief to sight, 
 That should to oblivion fall. 
 
 Encourage the cheerful mood, 
 -Look on the dark side never ; 
 
 Allow not yourself to brood. 
 The past is gone forever. 
 
 MOTHER'S LOVE. 
 
 Who can fathom a mother^s love, 
 So near akin to God's above? 
 To heights aloft or depths below 
 'Twill constant be through weal or woe. 
 
 A mother's heart with love beats high 
 When first she hears her infant's cry, 
 Nor time can ever change or cloy; 
 In mother's love there's no alloy. ■ 
 
 Through poverty, sickness and distress, 
 A mother's love grows none the less; 
 O'er sin and shame triumphant rides 
 Through life and death, and hell besides. 
 
 — 63 — 
 
SUCH IS LIFE. 
 
 Mortal life hath much sorrow, 
 And few escape the blight ; 
 
 Joy is short, grief we borrow, 
 Although the prospect's bright. 
 
 We should in the present live. 
 For Christ himself did say- 
 No thought to the morrow give, 
 And He's the "Light" and "Way." 
 
 Ah ! too soon we see uprise 
 Some trouble like a cloud ; 
 
 No escape can we devise, 
 Reprieval is not allowed. 
 
 Earthly friendship brought to test 
 
 Oft is a mockery; 
 On its breast we fain would rest, 
 
 Frail it proves as crockery. 
 
 Love, sweet love, too often proves 
 
 A beauteous illusion ; 
 Nqw each human heart it moves. 
 
 So at the world's conclusion. 
 
 One life it hath much of pleasure. 
 
 Another's full of woe; 
 Why this unequal measure 
 
 Is not for us to know. 
 
 One must toil for daily bread, 
 
 Richly lives another; 
 Both will share the lowly bed 
 
 Of old Earth, their mother. 
 
 -64— 
 
One's life is a weary round 
 Of trouble, care and toil; 
 
 Time to rest can not be found 
 Till "loosed the mortal coil." 
 
 The Bible tells that Heaven 
 Holds neither pain nor strife ; 
 
 But rest and peace is given 
 With love and eternal life. 
 
 HYPOCRISY OF WOMEN. 
 
 Women are such hypocrites, 
 'Specially to each other ; 
 
 With success they use their wits 
 Sincerity to smother. 
 
 They can hate, yet seem to love 
 ^ With love that has no seeming; 
 But when tested they will prove 
 That friendship is but dreaming. 
 
 A lovely woman I have seen 
 
 Kiss her "dearest foe," 
 While I knew there lay between 
 
 Dislike they would not show. 
 
 With "I'm so glad to see you," 
 And "Do come again, my dear," 
 
 With other lies not a few, 
 Yet with a conscience clear. 
 
 — 65-^ 
 
When the separation came, 
 
 Then she turned to me straightway, 
 Of the absent one "made game" 
 
 With a ready wit and gay. 
 
 "Such an unbecoming dress ! 
 
 She is actually a fright; 
 With conceit you'd never guess 
 
 She is bound and blinded quite." 
 
 So she rattled on about 
 The other while I stayed; 
 
 On reflection I've no doubt 
 It was envy she displayed. 
 
 THE FUTURE'S MYSTERY. 
 
 In darkness the future lies, 
 The veil we may not lift; 
 
 Straight it hangs before our eyes. 
 No ray of light, nor rift. 
 
 It is not for us to know 
 
 Whence troubles come, nor why; 
 Hid alike the joy and woe 
 
 That is ours by and by. 
 
 Mingled is the. grief and joy 
 
 For all, along the way ; 
 Earthly bliss must have alloy, 
 
 No life is constant May. 
 
It is best we can not see 
 What's held for us in store; 
 
 But be it weal, or woe it be, 
 Be glad we know no more. 
 
 Future griefs and joys are hid 
 From our anxious eyes ; 
 
 But old Time will surely bid 
 Them one by one to rise. 
 
 Could we in the future look 
 On fated grief and pain, 
 
 Our fainting hearts could not brook 
 That sight and fears restrain. 
 
 THE LOVE OF LIFE. 
 
 Much I love this earthly life, 
 Though it hath much of pain; 
 
 While sorrow varied with strife 
 Oft tempts me to complain, 
 
 Well I know the common lot 
 Of the multitudes of earth; 
 
 From fate favors can^t be got, 
 Nor wealth has further worth. 
 
 With these awful facts to face, 
 
 Yet life I can enjoy; 
 Nor can affliction hope efface, 
 
 Nor love of life destroy. 
 
HUMAN SHORT SIGHT. 
 
 We into many troubles rush. 
 
 For we can't see afar ; 
 Some wish to gain, we crowd and push. 
 
 While life perhaps we mar. 
 
 Many a plan we think well laid 
 
 To build a structure fair; 
 When carried out we are dismayed 
 
 With the consequence severe. 
 
 We, acting on an impulse kind, 
 
 Maim ourselves or others; 
 For to effect or impress blind. 
 
 Intent, short sight smothers. 
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF WORDS. 
 
 Our words are full of import 
 For wounding or for comfort; 
 Lines of joy or woe they plow, 
 Good or ill, we see not now. 
 
 Tender feeling harsh words rend. 
 And to eyes the swift tears send; 
 But kind words, a friendly smile. 
 Lift a burden for a while. 
 
 Words have hurried men to vice 
 
 Who with pleasing looks entice; 
 
 Men to virtue words have bound, \ 
 
 And peace in her ways are found. '\ 
 
 .ifes . 
 
Kind words like sweet music thrill, 
 And a worn heart with joy fill; 
 With great meaning words are rife, 
 Working out a course in life. 
 
 Our words should be chiseled out. 
 Encompassed with truth about; 
 Words of truth are precious gems. 
 But a lie the soul begrims. 
 
 "COMMON PEOPLE." 
 
 "They are just common people," 
 These words are often spoken 
 
 In no complimentary tone. 
 And of small esteem a token. 
 
 Those they call "common people'* 
 Are the ones who have to toil. 
 
 Struggling for their daily bread, 
 Fearing not their hands to soil. 
 
 Very true, their hands are hard. 
 And their faces brown with tan ; 
 
 They fill the God-appointed way 
 In doing what they can. 
 
 Of sympathy for troubled ones 
 These people have a feeling; 
 
 Not looking on from afar. 
 But comforting and healing. 
 
 — 69 — 
 
God bless the common people, 
 For they are ever ready 
 
 To lend a hand where they can 
 Afflicted ones to steady. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT. 
 
 I can not be lonely when thought 
 From my mind so freely springs; 
 
 With sadness it is often fraught, 
 Again it floats on airy wings. 
 
 Sometimes, disheartened and sad 
 From cares, no outlet in view. 
 
 By thought Tm unconsciously led. 
 Till lost is life's somber hue. 
 
 Oh, a wide and varied range 
 Have I for beautiful thought, 
 
 Fanciful, real, weirdly strange. 
 With hues like the rainbow's caught ! 
 
 VIOLENT WIT. 
 
 rd not like to splutter and cough 
 In spasms of violent wit;_ 
 
 Neither to "burst my buttons off. 
 Nor fall down in a fit." 
 
 A medium, betwixt, between 
 Humor and violent wit ; 
 
 Fd surely to the former lean, 
 Did I in judgment sit. 
 
 — 70 — 
 
Humor is like a serpent wise, 
 
 But harmless as a dove, 
 Not harshly does she criticise ; 
 
 Her shafts are tip't with love. 
 
 In casting her darts ofttimes wit 
 
 Carelessly fails to see 
 The deep hurt of the one that's hit, 
 
 Pun determined, she. 
 
 So as ''each dog will have his day," 
 So each will have a place, 
 
 And if managed well, each one may 
 Fill it with equal grace. 
 
 Now in conclusion I will say, 
 
 (I s'pect you're glad Fll quit;) 
 Both are lovely in fair, square play 
 Humor mild, sparkling wit. 
 
 Oct. 21, 1918. 
 Atlanta, Ga. 
 
 AS AGE CREEPS ON. 
 
 Oh, life is hard in wear and tear ; 
 
 Surely age creeps on 
 With aches and pains and constant care; 
 
 Earth's dear hopes are gone. 
 
 Shattered nerves and unnamed fears 
 
 Torment and worry, 
 Depression and the certain tears — 
 
 Unreason's flurry. 
 
 April' 1919. 
 Atlanta, Ga. 
 
 — 71 — 
 
LEANING HARD ON CHRIST. 
 
 Shaken by shame and sorrow, 
 On Christ I am leaning hard; 
 
 Strength from His strength I borrow 
 For He is my guide and guard. 
 
 Trials and troubles I've known, 
 Often I thought them severe; 
 
 But since, so lightly theyVe shown 
 Seeming unworthy a tear. 
 
 Some things in life, now or then. 
 Cause a greater grief than death. 
 
 Death is sweet apart from sin. 
 Untainted by scandal's breath. 
 
 None but God can ever know 
 
 The desolating anguish 
 That in apathetic show 
 
 Doth make my soul to languish. 
 
 *Tis said, to the "lambs that are shorn,'* 
 The Lord doth temper the winds; 
 
 So with heartaching I'm worn— 
 A lull in the storm He sends. 
 
 I rest secure in His love 
 
 Gathering strength for the fray. 
 
 His strength, whatever behove. 
 Sufficient is for the day. 
 
 -72- 
 
Kindred love falling away, 
 Or thoughtlessly thrust aside, 
 
 Grieves me, but I wait the day 
 In patience the turning tide. 
 
 Then the love that tried and true 
 Will find an answering voice, 
 
 This heart will then sing songs anew 
 With a reason to rejoice. 
 
 ril pray, trust and grow in grace. 
 Supported by Christ, I'll stand. 
 
 Or steadied on my feet, I'll race 
 As He wills, at His command* 
 
 Time for me to act is past^ 
 
 Fruitless, appeal or command; 
 In prayer, I, loved ones cast 
 ' In the hollow of His hand. 
 
 I pray to be constant still. 
 Nor on Christ lose my hold; 
 
 In His time, I know He will 
 Add my dear ones to His fold. 
 
 Yes, hard on Christ I'm leaning, 
 Sore troubles may still befall; • 
 
 Yet I'll know the loving meaning 
 And my faith will not appal. 
 
 Jacksonville, Fla., Sept. 5, 1915. 
 
"OUT OF THE MOUTH OF BABES'^ 
 
 While in my mind the story*s complete 
 
 ril tell of wisdom so tenderly sweet, 
 From the mouth of ''babes" you all have 
 heard 
 This passage enlarged on in God's own 
 word. 
 
 A dear little fellow of four years old 
 Ran to his mother and fearfully told 
 
 What a boy said of an "ugly black man 
 Who cuts off the heads of all that he 
 can." 
 
 The mother listening, felt this as a sign 
 
 For "precept on precept, line upon 
 
 line." 
 
 That now was the ever sure time and 
 
 chance 
 
 In religious life to make an advance. 
 
 She kissed him lovingly, soothed his 
 alarm, 
 Convincing him soon he'd suffer no 
 harm ; 
 Then sweetly she taught him of Jesus* 
 love 
 Safely enfolding, sheltering, above. 
 
 In well chosen words she applied the 
 balm, 
 The boy took trust in his heart as a 
 charm. 
 Then the spirit of the Gospel of love 
 
 From his heart burst forth as a snowy . 
 dove. 
 
 — 74 — 
 
Wash my face, mother, and let me go 
 tell 
 My cousins how Jesus loves us so well 
 That trusting Him, we need not to 
 fear 
 With us He will stay, afar or right 
 here. 
 
 On his mission of love the little one 
 sped. 
 To scatter the fears of what the boy 
 said ; 
 Thus babes and sucklings have magni- 
 fied faith. 
 As such must we be, the Holy one 
 saith. 
 
 From the mouth of babes perfect is the 
 
 praise 
 
 While we unfaithful, mourning all our 
 
 days. 
 
 This little story's true, very near about 
 
 It his a moral, we may search it out. 
 
 Atlanta, Ga. 
 
 THE HURRIED PRAYER 
 
 The same quaint, darling, above little boy 
 Incites me again my pen to employ. 
 
 Mother had washed and dressed him for 
 bed ; 
 Not being sleepy, he capered instead. 
 
 — 75— - 
 
Of saying his prayer as a boy should 
 Who's taught and retaught that he 
 must be good. 
 Now father and mother wanted a chat 
 But fun-loving boy knew nothing of 
 that. 
 
 He frolicked about and made such a 
 noise; 
 •You'd hardly believe from his avoirdu- 
 pois. 
 Young man said his father "get in your 
 bed," 
 Then explained to mother things that 
 he'd said. 
 
 "Father's forgotten," the little one felt. 
 
 Then he saw father unbuckle his belt. 
 
 With fear did his sweet heart melt in 
 
 his breast. 
 
 But to show a brave front, did his own 
 
 best. 
 
 "Wait father," came the proposition fair, 
 
 "Please be still till I can say my 
 
 prayer." 
 
 "Be quick about it" came the stern reply, 
 
 But in his eyes a look that did words 
 
 belie. 
 
 -76- 
 
The little one had learned to ask at table 
 ••grace," 
 In this stress the difference failed to 
 trace. 
 He meant to say, "I lay me down to 
 sleep," 
 At what he said you'd laugh and almost 
 weep; 
 
 Never felt the blow, you may well be- 
 lieve, 
 "Lord make us thankful for all we re- 
 ceive I" 
 
 Atlanta, Ga. 
 
 LIFE'S DIFFERENT VIEWPOINTS 
 
 All along life's beaten track. 
 
 Youth looks forward, age looks back. 
 
 To youth a realm unexplored. 
 
 Through which fancy oft hath 
 soared. 
 
 Eager hearts in life's green spring. 
 High hopes on vanity's wing, 
 
 Looking for a glad tomorrow. 
 Thoughtless of wet-eyed sorrow. 
 
 Who in ambush waits for all. 
 Sure as fate to give the call; 
 
 Lips unwilling made to press 
 Bitter cup, some more, some less. 
 
 n 
 
As time runs to middle age^ 
 
 Life's viewpoints become more sage; 
 Youth's bright colors, rich and gay, 
 
 Fade to hues of dun and gray. 
 
 Now the "wild oats" sown in youth 
 A harvest jneld in real truth ; 
 
 Cod is not mocked, these words keep 
 What you sow, you'll surely reap. 
 
 Life's plans crumble into naught, 
 For which youth toiled and fought; 
 
 Age looks back with mental gaze, 
 At joyful scenes, parting ways. 
 
 Silently Age sits and broods 
 On life's phases, and its moods, 
 
 Sad blunders and the causes — 
 Falls asleep 'mid the pauses. 
 
 January 4, 1916, Jacksonville, Fla. 
 
 WE, THE PORCH DWELLERS 
 
 We, the porch dwellers. 
 Handicapped, patiently waiting the 
 day, 
 Hopefully dreaming how gladly we 
 may 
 Be true fortune tellers. 
 
 — 78 — 
 
The green trees we face, 
 
 Pines and oaks of varied foliage 
 tints ; 
 White paths leading — we know not 
 where the vents, 
 So deep the wood's embrace. 
 
 Day in, day out, we lie, 
 White beds upon, and at the land- 
 scape gaze ; 
 Birds voices trill, or warble throaty 
 lays 
 'Mid trees ; athwart the sky. 
 
 Our dear, familiar friend, 
 
 Woodpecker, redhead, snowy wings, 
 drumming 
 On telephone pole as a musician strum- 
 ming, 
 Or, as issues depend. 
 
 His mate, more retiring. 
 
 Leaves the forest greenness, seldom 
 for the light; 
 At insisten,t call, a flash of red and 
 white. 
 He's gone past admiring. 
 
 We, of the time burners. 
 At "Home of Rest"* on noted Battle 
 Hill, 
 We chat, complain, or sympathize at 
 will. 
 We, the patient learners. 
 
 *Battle Hill Sanitorium. 
 
 — 79 — 
 
A girl on bed next mine, 
 Lovely of face and form, of a man- 
 ner sweet, 
 Pathetic in her youth, and in hope's 
 defeat. 
 High effort to resign. 
 
 Oft she seems to ponder. 
 
 So wrapt her gaze on the woods be- 
 fore her, 
 She sees the redbird, blue jay, leaves 
 that stir; 
 What her thoughts, I wonder.^ 
 
 Now she reads the Book, 
 
 The comfort of many along the line. 
 Who've had to step out and the course 
 resign. 
 
 For a still, secluded nook. 
 
 As often as I pray, 
 
 I pray for her whose plans are laid 
 away, 
 I pray the hope that animates her may 
 
 Fruition find, some day. 
 
 Next, a woman rare. 
 
 Past youth, yet life is lovely, life is 
 
 sweet, 
 She is loth to lay it down incomplete. 
 And the world so fair. 
 
 — 80 — 
 
Naught of poverty's sting, 
 
 Stirred her peace; she looked for a 
 
 ripe old age, 
 She's resting in patience with wisdom 
 
 sage 
 Not counter to anything. 
 
 Such a pretty girl ! 
 
 And happy with a reason, getting well ! 
 Rounding arms, rosy cheeks the story 
 tell. 
 
 Yes, soon the lovely world! 
 
 On the bed last, but one, 
 A sweet faced woman with her ready 
 smile ; 
 Walk she can't, yet she's cheery alf the 
 while. 
 And this is what she's done. 
 
 We sometimes feel depressed; 
 
 Sure of sympathy, we tell her of our 
 ills. 
 She forgets her own, courage she in- 
 stills. 
 So kindly hope's expressed. 
 
 Another girl ! The last. 
 
 She's convalescing; she longs the day 
 to come 
 When with beloved ones she may be 
 at home 
 Life's promises are vast! 
 
 — 81 — 
 
As porch dwellers, we | 
 
 Have kind, sweet nurses and tender- 
 est care, 
 Pure air, white beds and a nutritious 
 fare, 
 And all without fee. 
 
 Howe'er it's brought about, 
 
 Blessings on those who have possible 
 made 
 This home, its comforts, its calm and 
 its shade 
 To we, who're ''down and out." 
 
 Atlanta, Ga, July 11, 1919. 
 
 GRACEFUL HUMOR 
 
 O spirited, graceful humor. 
 
 O'er the "blues" thou hast prevailed! 
 Thy glad tones in tale or rumor 
 
 Is so sweet though slightly veiled. 
 
 In thy intent of charm and cheer 
 So slightly veiled, we may see 
 
 Friendship's language, true and clear, 
 Pleasant, lovable as can be. 
 
 When the world seems gray and gloomy, 
 
 Everything is out of tune ; 
 Thou mayest come, balmy, bloomy, 
 
 Cheering as a morn in June. 
 
 — 82 — 
 
O humor, so sweetly graceful, 
 Light, swift, so like a fairy. 
 
 Champagne sparkling, and as tasteful, 
 Mirth provoking, cool and airy ! 
 
 Atlanta, Ga., October 16, 1918. 
 
 A THROW IN LIFE. 
 
 Now after all these years, I know 
 (For observation goes to show) 
 
 That all you living, human men 
 Must have a throw to lose or win. 
 
 Much like Joe Beal, "haint hed no show," 
 Till with free hand you get your throw, 
 
 Your very own alone will serve. 
 To throw aright will take some nerve. 
 
 Old saying says, "the die is cast" 
 The chance is gone, forever past 
 
 And the result for good or ill 
 True measure doubtless, time will fill. 
 
 Some women too, these trying days 
 Must have their throw by means or 
 ways 
 
 Before unheard, unthought, but now 
 Will have a chance, just any-how. 
 
 Household duties are on the wane ; 
 
 They've made no "stir," they've lived 
 in vain, 
 I would from such their souls to keep 
 
 For well I know the noting cheap. 
 
 — 83 — 
 
The afterglow, or aftermath 
 
 Perhaps will prove no primrose path; 
 Oh, women hear, before you speed. 
 
 Disaster else may be your meed ! 
 
 As others have, I've had my throw, 
 Without my will the workings grow; 
 
 Now helpless, I can only wait 
 And watch the dealing out of fat«. 
 
 I see how weakly well I strove, 
 How thin the fabric that I wove; 
 
 The things undone I should have done 
 With things I did, comes one by one. 
 
 To Heaven's hills I lift my eyes. 
 Though hid from view by vaulted skies, 
 
 God, I pray, so nearly reaching. 
 Listen to Thy child's beseeching! 
 
 Take and finish my life's work. 
 Afflictions cause my hands to shirk. 
 
 My burden dear, I lay on Thee, 
 Carry and save for me, for me ! 
 
 My Lord! I will not let Thee go! 
 
 Like Jacob I will wrestle so, 
 Till Thou in tender pity grant 
 
 My soul's desire, for which I pant. 
 
 All things are possible with God, 
 He wills, no need of beck or nod. 
 
 And no good thing will He withhold 
 From the dear faithful in His fold. 
 
 Atlanta, Ga., February 15, 1919. 
 — 84 — 
 
Souvenirs of Jacksonville, Florida 
 
 A TRIP OUT TO ORTEGA. 
 A Beautiful Suburb of Jacksonville, Fla. 
 
 Beauty's feast for hungry eyes, 
 
 The trip out to Ortega; 
 Clear portrayal it defies, 
 
 Expression is too meager. 
 
 At Main Street I caught a car 
 Whose signboard read Ortega; 
 
 No troublous thoughts came to mar 
 Anticipations eager. 
 
 Right to left, from side to side. 
 Scenes beauteous met my view; 
 
 Palace homes, surroundings wide. 
 And flowers of every hue. 
 
 Outside of our "flower land" 
 In this month, February, 
 
 Are sister States, frosty band. 
 Shivering, blue and dreary. 
 
 Here, flowers riotous seem. 
 Growing in rich profusion; 
 
 Winter's rigor is a dream. 
 Fated to stern exclusion. 
 
 -85- 
 
An ocean of pansies caught 
 My eyes as we outward sped; 
 
 Lovely faces skyward sought 
 Warmth and color, sunlight shed. 
 
 From the varied panorama 
 Clear the beds of pansies stand; 
 
 Tongues can but halt and stammer 
 O'er the phrase, ''perfectly grand." 
 
 Ere praise of Flora I resign, 
 To dim hereafter's shade, 
 
 I'll mention yellow pessamine 
 And the, picture that it made. 
 
 It ran on a low, dark fence, 
 One side the highway lining, 
 
 A reminder in a sense 
 
 Of "where the woodbine's twin- 
 
 ing 
 
 » 
 
 St. John's River all the way 
 Came into view by snatches ; 
 
 In such dimpled, waved array. 
 Seemed gray or black by flashes. 
 
 Cypress clothed in tender green, 
 With long moss veils floating; 
 
 Live oaks grand also were seen 
 In crisp, dark-green coating. 
 
 Magnolia, too. Southern queen. 
 Envied by Northern States, 
 
 Standing large in glossy green. 
 Fragrant, snowy bloom awaits. 
 
 -86 — 
 
Lack of space my pen disarms, 
 Else I might long beleaguer 
 
 Readers with noteworthy charms 
 Of the trip to Ortega. 
 
 • Short description falls, indeed. 
 Our language is too meager; 
 If "between the lines" you'd read, 
 A trip take to Ortega. 
 
 At Main Street catch a car. 
 With expectation eager ; 
 
 May no sad thought come to mar 
 Your trip to Ortega. 
 
 BILLY ON A RAMPAGE 
 
 Not long since an incident 
 Claimed my close attention, 
 
 And if it has a precedent, 
 I trust you will it mention. 
 
 I heard wild shrieks rend the air 
 And children's voices crying ; 
 
 I was in a dreadful scare 
 Lest one was hurt or dying. 
 
 I rushed out where I could see 
 This sight for my anxious eyes— 
 
 A goat, rampageous as could be. 
 Horny head and portly size. 
 
 §7 
 
Across lots he came tearing, 
 Right into my own back yard; 
 
 I thought while he is nearing, 
 Now I'll play my kindest card. 
 
 Boldly on the steps I came, 
 To make his manners stilly; 
 
 Winningly I call his name : 
 "Billy, Billy, Billy!" 
 
 With a sniff of scorn complete, 
 A shake of his whiskered head. 
 
 He rose rampant on his feet, 
 And I in a hurry fled. 
 
 Fleet he came in close pursuit. 
 But of victory he was shorn; 
 
 I had been so quick to "scoot" 
 As to leave him "all forlorn." 
 
 In his face the door was slammed, 
 His whiskers almost snipped; 
 
 With angry bleat he salaamed. 
 And off th^ porch he tripped. 
 
 A fat man ran with a rope. 
 His gait was too tranquilly; 
 
 Sure to catch an antelope 
 As this rampageous billy. 
 
 Lasso at a bound he spurned, 
 The fat man aimed so illy; 
 
 In conclusion he has learned 
 That he can't capture Billy. 
 
 -88 — 
 
To be serious, I say- 
 To any who have the charge 
 
 Of such vicious creatures, pray 
 Don't trust them about at large. 
 
 When v^e walk out on the street. 
 In our hands we take our luck, 
 
 For we know not when we'll meet 
 That billygoat all amuck. 
 
 In hope I make this appeal 
 That this nuisance be abated, 
 
 And for children's sake I feel 
 That it should not be defeated. 
 
 CHRISTMAS COMES. 1908. 
 
 "Christmas comes but once a year" 
 To revive our hearts and cheer 
 With its old, yet ever new, 
 Myth of customs, well as true. 
 
 "Christmas comes but once a year," 
 Farewell for a time to care; 
 Let your heart expand, then pause 
 To gaze on signs of Santa Claus. 
 
 Expectant, the children all, 
 From Santa Claus a speedy call ; 
 Sure are they, let's hope that none 
 Miss the call, nor Christmas fun. 
 
 Christmas-tide is in the air. 
 Though the air is soft, not rare ; 
 Weather cold is not at hand. 
 For we live in "flower land." 
 
 89 
 
In flower land all combine 
 To make us a Christmas fine ; 
 In colors rich, every hue 
 In sweet flowers wooing you. 
 
 ''Christmas comes but one a year," 
 Therefore let us try to cheer 
 Weary hearts, worn with strife 
 'Gainst the many odds of life. 
 
 Forget not "the poor ye have/' 
 'Twas a charge the Savior gave ; 
 Let us count our blessings o'er, 
 Give, though from a scanty store. 
 
 Let's lay troubles on the shelf, 
 Think of others, not of self, 
 While good will to all and cheer 
 Rampant runs once in the year. 
 
 ''Christmas comes but once a year," 
 Let us meet it^ with a cheer 
 That should sound from pole to pole. 
 Vibrating to every soul. 
 
 Peace, good will to all the earth, 
 Cause have we for Christmas mirth ; 
 Unto us is born a King, 
 Death for us has lost its sting. 
 
 Jacksonville, Fla., December 16, 1908. 
 — 90 — 
 
CHRISTMAS, 1915. 
 
 Once more I lovingly try to write 
 Of Christmas time in "Flowerland." 
 
 Six years ago with my small, light 
 Streak of poesy and — m}^ sand. 
 
 I wrote a little thing about — 
 I believe it was Christmas comes, 
 And The Metropolis sent it out 
 
 On a mission into many homes. 
 
 Oh, many are the changes since 
 Those good-will lines were written ! 
 
 Many a soul has journeyed hence. 
 And fond hearts sorely smitten ! 
 
 Yet we remain, hoping, striving 
 To attain the home of the blest, 
 
 Loving and serving, contriving 
 Of treasures to lay up the best. . 
 
 Laying up. treasure in Heaven 
 With loving and serving begins. 
 
 Sweet, divine council is given 
 Through John the Apostle, that wins. 
 
 "Take heed ye love one another" 
 As God loves us, for "God is love ;" 
 
 We love God, we love our brother; 
 God's our Father in Heaven above. 
 
 — 91 — 
 
In this enlightened age and clime 
 His Word for the reason and why 
 
 Of the Redemption's plan sublime 
 'Gainst His **man must surely die." 
 
 Now in this way, I've introduced 
 Or recalled to memory dear, 
 
 The little poem— a kind of "boost" 
 In regard of the subject, clear. 
 
 'Tis Christmas comes but one a year, 
 (From this saying a part we've stole) 
 
 "Now let us meet it with a cheer 
 That should resound from pole to 
 pole." 
 
 Jacksonville, Fla., December 14, 1915. 
 
 MISS JACKSONVILLE'S RESOURCES. 
 
 Miss Jacksonville has fairly grown 
 'Mong cities a beauteous pearl; 
 
 She sporting now that famous gown, 
 "Dolly Varden" to the world. 
 
 From pale to brilliant. Nature's dyes 
 
 Over all her robe's besprint; 
 It makes one think of paradise, 
 
 This rich, sweet flowery hint. 
 
 — 92 — 
 
"Spring poetry" you will dub these iines, 
 
 Lest I hasten to dissent; 
 My caption tells all my design 
 
 And my roundabout course's bent. 
 
 Miss Jacksonville! enchanting theme, 
 
 Her lovers are near and far; 
 Her beauty *mong plain sisters gleam 
 
 Her fame's "hitched to a star." 
 
 On the banks of the grand St. Johns 
 Like a queen she sits enthroned; 
 
 Away and near the faithful ones 
 Their allegiance true hath owned. 
 
 In earthly goods she's vastly rich, 
 
 Great her possibilities; 
 Her high aim and vigorous pitch 
 Make large probabilities. 
 
 On the banks of the grand St. Johns, 
 Like a queen enthroned, does she sit; 
 
 Away and near the faithful ones 
 Their allegiance true admit. 
 
 From country side, byways and lanes, 
 Down the river, o'er the seas. 
 
 Her subjects gather in their gains 
 Like the busy honey bees. 
 
 Open to all the world her port, 
 While great cargoes of her fruit 
 
 For delectation and support 
 Of climes afar show her repute. 
 
 — 93 — 
 
Back of "Miss Jacksonville^* there lies 
 
 A region rich in story; 
 A green and teeming State, that vies 
 
 With any in Nature's glory. 
 
 Ponce de Leon, vet'ran hoary, 
 Searcher for the ''spring of youth," 
 
 Quest a failure, goes the story, 
 Never knowing of the truth. 
 
 On this luring myth relying. 
 
 Staking all upon the hope 
 Of at last old age defying. 
 
 Quaffing youth's renewing "dope." 
 
 Though he failed in what he sought. 
 Others in a sense may find; 
 
 For Nature has refused in naught 
 To her darling to be kind. 
 
 Darling of Nature is this land. 
 Healing's in the balmy air; 
 
 Health seekers here on every hand 
 Her beneficence to share. 
 
 All Florida is I can not tell, 
 My pen's too weak to name 
 
 The « forces good that lie — oh, well, 
 They — it should be "writ in flame." 
 
 I'll finish now, my muse has fled. 
 No longer your time I'll burn; 
 
 Miss Jacksonville's in all I've said — 
 I'll quit, lest my muse return. 
 
Earlier Efforts 
 
 MEMORY'S VOICE. 
 
 Oh, Memory, forever lasting, 
 
 To a few thou art a joy, 
 Who for the past have no regret. 
 
 No conscience's stings to annoy. 
 
 To others the waves of memory 
 Bring hopes and wishes blighted, 
 
 Hasty words ne'er to be recalled, 
 And deeds of wrong unrighted. 
 
 * 
 But to those who're drenched in guilt 
 
 Memory is a fearful scourge. 
 And all the plans and plots of wrong 
 
 Rise unbidden, swell and surge. 
 
 Forgetfulness they can not find 
 From haunting thoughts and faces. 
 
 That ever rise in the mind, 
 Amid all scenes and places. 
 
 But to the good a soothing balm 
 Is the thought of kind deeds done ; 
 
 Burdens lifted, hearts made glad, 
 Forgetting self, peace is won. 
 
 95 
 
DELIGHTFUL BOOKS. 
 
 My life's best recreation 
 
 Is that of reading books j 
 Their lore and revelation - 
 
 For me wear pleasing looks. 
 
 Thus to me the great minds give 
 
 Deep, precious thoughts in trust- 
 Helpful thoughts, that long will live, 
 Though brains that wrought are dust. 
 
 Then may God be thanked for books, 
 
 My solace and my joy; 
 This vain world my soul overlooks 
 
 When time I thus employ. 
 
 No matter if I am obscure, 
 Nor wealth come in my door, 
 
 When minds, high, rich and pure. 
 Give freely of their store. 
 
 Worldly pleasures I resign 
 Thus to gain depth and scope; 
 
 Great ones pour their souls in mine, 
 Byron, Moore, Shelley, Pope. 
 
 Milton sings of paradise, 
 Shakespeare the human heart 
 
 Spreads before inquiring eyes 
 To be seen, nook and part. 
 
 — 96-^ 
 
Scott, in historic story, 
 
 Rich in verse and in prose, 
 Of valor tells and glory 
 
 Of Scotland's sons and foes. 
 
 Witty, faulty, human Burns, 
 
 To Nature's heart so dear. 
 Fancy alternates by turns, 
 
 'Tis sigh, smile, then a tear. 
 
 Ingelow, Hemans, Browning, 
 Gave the world great treasure; 
 
 Certainly their quaint gowning 
 Joy is without a measure. 
 
 Goldsmith's poetry and his prose 
 
 I do value greatly. 
 Along with Gray's, Holmes' and Poe's, 
 And Tennyson's so stately. 
 
 I can't be lonely with books 
 Speaking in cultured tones. 
 
 With kind, not haughty, looks 
 Granting generous loans. 
 
 Verse, history, fiction. 
 
 Various are my favored; 
 Many sorts of diction. 
 
 Purely, highly flavored. 
 
 But of all books, the great Book 
 
 I have so learned to love ; 
 Truly now to Christ I look, 
 
 And my hopes are fixed above, 
 
 — 97-. 
 
This great Book is in the reach 
 Of earnest ones to read, 
 
 And to such I pray it teach 
 Of life's most urgent need. 
 
 WHAT LOVE BRINGS. 
 
 Love brings much more pain than bliss, 
 Escape love, great pain you miss. 
 Love brings hope, unrest and doubt ; 
 Unrest and doubt puts hope to rout. 
 
 Love brings anxiety and tears. 
 Longing, regret, heartache and fears; 
 And from you love Mrill not depart 
 Until he nearly breaks your heart. 
 
 TO A YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 Dear young girl, life is before you, 
 Keep that life clear from stain; 
 
 Let not your lips speak words untrue. 
 And from slang with care refrain. 
 
 Good books you should certainly read, 
 Not novels weak and light; 
 
 Great books thoughts will assuredly lead 
 Your own through depth and height. 
 
 Novels that are light and trashy 
 
 Will enervate your mind; 
 And "realistic" and the flashy 
 
 Influence you as they wind. 
 
 ^98 — 
 
Influence that is not for good 
 
 Your future life may sway ; 
 For your pure mind use no such food, 
 
 Give heed to what I say. 
 
 Of real, good novels there are lots 
 
 From which you may choose ; 
 George Eliot's, Roe's Dickens', Scott's, 
 
 If these you miss, you'll lose. 
 
 Of deportment do be careful. 
 
 Use no affected gush; 
 Acts that you'll not be regretful. 
 
 Nor for words have cause to blush. 
 
 Dear, cultivate beautiful thought. 
 So your language will be pure; 
 
 Your mind with thoughts of loveliness 
 fraught. 
 Sweets of life you may secure. 
 
 Keep no secrets from your mother, 
 
 Take her your girlish cares; 
 Confide in her before another, 
 
 Heeding her, you'll miss the snares. 
 
 BABY'S LAUGH. 
 
 A baby's laugh, of all sounds 
 The sweetest sound on earth; 
 
 Other music it exceeds. 
 For heaven gave it birth. 
 
 I love to see dimples play 
 The rosy mouth about; 
 
 I excite the ready mirth. 
 And music ripples out. 
 — 99-- 
 
WHAT WOMEN READ. 
 
 Many girls, and women, too, 
 
 Persist in reading trash. 
 Abstaining from the good and true 
 
 As dull, with lack of dash. 
 
 They will candidly confess 
 That Dickens they "can't bear" ; 
 
 George Eliot they like still less. 
 And "abominate Shakespeare/' 
 
 On "The Duchess" many dote, 
 Others on Charlotte Braeme; 
 
 Precious hours they devote 
 Thus their minds to maim. 
 
 Though very light, I don't mean 
 That these books are vicious; 
 
 Good and ill a go-between — 
 They are termed "delicious." 
 
 Pure as snow these are compared 
 With others women read. 
 
 Which leave their mind ever seared. 
 And to ruin's depths may lead. 
 
 Zola, Ouida and George Sand, 
 
 With "realistic" latest, 
 Woman's libraries command, 
 
 For Hades are the fittest. 
 
 On the books young girls read 
 Depend their thinking purely, 
 
 For all bad books sow the seed, 
 Pure thought killing surely, 
 
 -.100- 
 
SWEET SYMPATHY. 
 
 When troubles come, sweet sympathy, 
 
 A comforter thou art; 
 Salve applied to painful wounds, 
 
 Balm to an aching heart. 
 
 > 
 
 When heavy grows the burden 
 
 And trials are severe, 
 A real word of sympathy 
 
 Brings the sad heart good cheer. 
 
 The heart by anguish riven 
 
 Revives like a flower. 
 Lifting its bent head in joy 
 
 After a cooling shower. 
 
 Sympathy, source in heaven, 
 
 Boon to fallen mortals; 
 We prize most sweet sympathy 
 
 Inside sorrow's portals. 
 
 LIFE IS WHAT WE MAKE IT. 
 
 Truly, life is what we make it, 
 And we often make a mess, 
 
 For we can't see ahead a bit. 
 So we have to go by guess. 
 
 Before us dark the future lies. 
 With hesitant feet we stand; 
 
 Opportunity swiftly flies. 
 And we fail to grasp her hand. 
 
 — 101 — 
 
Experience a hard school teaches, 
 But in it we have learned; 
 
 O'er the world her broad hand reaches- 
 Many have her lessons spurned. 
 
 From the sad errors of the past 
 
 We should profit really, 
 Considering the plans we cast, 
 
 Well acting, and sincerely. 
 
 ALONE. 
 
 Alone the bitter cup IVe drained. 
 
 Alone the pain Fve borne. 
 And from repining Tve refrained. 
 
 It availeth not to mourn. 
 
 Alone I've fought with doubt and fear, 
 
 No friend to counsel me. 
 No words to strengthen or to cheer 
 
 My heart or comfort me. 
 
 The valley of shadows I'll tread. 
 With none my fears to calm; 
 
 No radiance through the darkness shed. 
 For woeful soul no balm. 
 
 Alone in the grave I will lie. 
 
 And soon Til be forgot; 
 Not for long will the dear ones sigh; 
 
 Such is the common lot. 
 
 — 102 — 
 
A BREAKING HEART. 
 
 Much we hear of a breaking heart 
 
 Is false, I'm very sure ; 
 From heavy blows hearts keenly smart, 
 
 Yet not break ; there's a cure. 
 
 Some kind of work engage the mind, 
 
 'Tis the best of physic; 
 A duty trying to perform, 
 
 Soon is the pain pacific. 
 
 If only they'd not think of self ; 
 
 In work interest find, 
 All brooding laying on the shelf, 
 
 Thus heartbreak's left behind. 
 
 I CAN NOT UNDERSTAND. 
 
 The mysteries of life 
 
 I cannot understand. 
 Nor why pain, sin and strife 
 
 Must hold high command. 
 
 Young innocents I see 
 
 Suffering great pain; 
 No sin of theirs can be 
 
 Cause for such a bane. 
 
 Though sinless, they are born 
 To groan, pine and die; 
 
 With grief my heart is torn, 
 Must it be? I cry. 
 
 — 103 — 
 
Also poor creatures dumb, 
 Without souls, must bear 
 
 Disease and pain, that come 
 As man's curse they share. 
 
 On the reckoning day 
 
 I will understand 
 Things that caused dismay 
 
 Throughout all the land. 
 
 That I can't understand 
 I must leave alone, 
 
 Trusting God's guiding hand 
 Till all things are known. 
 
 WOMAN'S SCORN OF WOMAN. 
 
 Friend, have you never observed 
 How woman another can scorn, 
 
 Whose path is from hers diverged. 
 Whose life is differently worn? 
 
 Oft a sensitive woman's heart 
 
 Has been cruelly wounded 
 By a contemptuous, scornful dart 
 
 That by selfishness was grounded. 
 
 Many a woman, good but thoughtless, 
 A sister woman's feelings hurt, 
 
 Not meaning to, seeming heartless. 
 With cold looks and language curt. 
 
In her position she's secure 
 
 From worries, temptations and snares 
 That beset, torment and allure 
 
 The other, who porverty wears. 
 
 When she's doing the best she can, 
 Must you look on her in scorn? 
 Because she's to poverty born? 
 
 Shall she live under social ban 
 
 Each should try to fill the station . 
 
 That's surely appointed plainly, 
 A duty done in each relation, 
 
 Seeking in others naught ungainly. 
 
 BY CIRCUMSTANCES BOUND. 
 
 Many a high-aspiring soul 
 Ne'er attains its longed-for goal; 
 No space for eager wings are found, 
 For by circumstances they are bound. 
 
 Many a poet in all but name 
 Lived his life unknown to fame; 
 Surrounded by poverty's wall. 
 He answered not to Genius' call. 
 
 A few themselves will carve a way, 
 Naught their ambition can allay ; 
 Step by step the Herculean wills 
 Force a way and desire fulfills. 
 
 — 105 — 
 
CONTENTMENT. 
 
 Happy are they who contented live, 
 Not given to vain repining, 
 
 Are satisfied v^ith what they have. 
 Nor resisting God's designing. 
 
 The discontented find no peace. 
 Indulging in great aspiring, 
 
 Longing for that they can't attain, 
 Spending time in vain desiring. 
 
 In God's own way the plan of life 
 To the heedful ones is given. 
 
 And if with prayer 'tis acted. 
 
 Well trained are souls for heaven. 
 
 POVERTY'S CHILDREN. 
 
 One hard condition of life 
 
 Is an utter poverty. 
 And depressing is the strife 
 
 Against want and misery. 
 
 Too small the wage, though hard earn'd, 
 To meet our most pressing need ; 
 
 In poverty's ways we are learn'd. 
 Through stoniest paths they lead. 
 
 Of her children I am one, 
 That fact I've been made to feel 
 
 When one "well to do" made "fun"— 
 Wounds of scorn are slow to heal. 
 
 106 
 
With our might we have to toil 
 For fear our loved ones perish ; 
 
 Till we slip the "mortal coil," 
 One hope in life we cherish. 
 
 Hope of seeing better days, 
 Kind Plenty on us smiling, 
 
 Sweetens toil like heaven's rays. 
 Our weary hearts beguiling. 
 
 BETRAYED AND BETRAYER. 
 
 Indeed it's a pitiful story 
 Although 'tis a common one; 
 
 A loving woman's trust betrayed, 
 Her death in this life begun. 
 
 Once she was pure and innocent; 
 
 Then man as the tempter came, 
 Well she believed his vows of love — 
 
 Rashly yielded, fell to shame. 
 
 In loving much, believing much. 
 
 She was easily led astray — 
 If God's mercy's for such as he 
 
 None will be cast away. 
 
 And when she fell her friends withdrew, 
 None offered a helping hand ; 
 
 Deserted, friendless virtue gone. 
 Deep she sinks in sin's quicksand. 
 
 — 107 — 
 
Her torture she will not prolong, 
 Sinful life she cannot stand 
 
 With conscience's and remorse's sting, 
 All she ends with her own hand. 
 
 An awful deed without recall, 
 Her Maker she has gone to meet. 
 
 At his behest to rise or fall 
 
 How will He this sinner greet? 
 
 "Man in the case," by scorn unscathed. 
 Moves high in "good society,*' 
 
 Prudent matrons and pure young girls 
 Receive him with propriety. 
 
 When the day of reckoning comes, 
 And come it will soon or late, 
 
 God surely will mete out his doom — 
 Doom for all like him is fate. 
 
 (An earlier poem). 
 
 TO A FAITHLESS FRIEND. 
 
 Faithless friend, I love you yet. 
 
 Still I feel a keen regret 
 As mem'ry's waves stir my heart — 
 
 From my eyes the sad tears start. 
 
 Why you've changed, I cannot tell, 
 I believed you loved me well ; 
 
 Yet you've thrust me from your heart, 
 In your thoughts I have no part. 
 
 — 108 — 
 
Of all friends I thought I had, 
 You were dearest, and you said 
 
 *'Were I of a (friend in need) 
 You would be a friend indeed/" 
 
 Drifted as we have, apart, 
 Wounds me deeper than any dart 
 
 Shot by hand of bitter foe. 
 Bringing evil, working woe. 
 
 Faithless friend, I love you yet. 
 
 Plea of mine is to forget — 
 Lose the sense of bitter pain — 
 
 Loving still, when love is vain. 
 
 As you have willed, be it so, 
 Joy be yours where'er you go. 
 
 May thought of friend cast aside 
 
 Ne'er through your mind ghostlike glide. 
 
 (An earlier poem). 
 
 SEEKING THE LIGHT AND FIND- 
 ING IT. 
 
 An explanation of the three companion 
 poems, "The Agnostic's Plaint" ''The Ag- 
 nostic's Recourse" by P. D. Davisson and 
 "The Agnostic s Prayer" 
 
 Several years ago I wrote the little poem 
 entitled "The Agnostic's Plaint." At that 
 time I was despondent and actually on the 
 verge of Agnosticism. I had read books 
 and articles on free thought, not believing 
 
 — 109 — 
 
my pure faith could be endangered by con- 
 tact with such ideas. Fearful doubts bega^n 
 to obtrude on my certainty of a Heavenly 
 Father who cared for me. Qut of this 
 depth of blueness the poem was written. As 
 time sped on, troubles gathered about me, 
 and worst of all my little child died. The 
 terrible fear in my heart was that I'd never 
 be able to meet her again ; that there wasn't 
 any future life after death. In despair I 
 prayed to my neglected God to cure me of 
 my unbelief. This plea went up, "Oh God! 
 Help Thou my unbelief." My faith came 
 back to me and I have rejoiced ever since in 
 the love and care of my Heavenly Father. 
 
 Some time after that; about five years 
 ago, I was writing articles for the Jackson- 
 ville Florida Metropolis. Mr. Carter was 
 editor at that time. In looking over my 
 manuscripts I decided to send ''The Agnos- 
 tic's Plaint" It was published. In a week 
 or two an article appeared in the paper in 
 answer. The author condoled with me on 
 being an agnostic. 
 
 I was astonished and grieved at the result 
 of what I had done. 
 
 . I then wrote ''The Agnostic's Prayer" as 
 a reply and sent it to the editor. I do not 
 know that the man ever read it. I hope he 
 did. 1 am not acquainted with him nor of 
 his whereabouts. I want to use his poem 
 in connection with mine in my book. Wher- 
 ever he is, I hope he will have no objection. 
 
 E. M. Q. 
 
 — 110 — 
 
THE AGNOSTIC'S PLAINT. 
 
 For something on which to rest 
 
 I long and look in vain; 
 Certain death all things attest, 
 
 What comfort can I gain? 
 
 Creatures from the dust of earth, 
 Springing to form and life, 
 
 Are destined from their birth 
 For pain, for woe and strife. 
 
 All things a beginning had. 
 And they will have an end; 
 
 Life's short chapters soon are read. 
 What may the future send? 
 
 An unsafe, fearful feeling 
 
 From losses yet to come 
 O'er this sad heart is stealing. 
 
 That longs for rest and home. 
 
 If shrinking souls are given 
 Strength by the great Unseen, 
 
 When loved ones are riven. 
 Eternity between. 
 
 Oh, then, of that strength I crave 
 
 To fortify my soul 
 When afflictions, wave on wave, 
 
 Overwhelm me as they roll. 
 
 — Ill — 
 
When of more friends bereaved, 
 Mocked by changes swift, 
 
 More cherished hopes deceived, 
 As down life's stream I drift. 
 
 Then '111 to the grave be borne. 
 There soon Fll be forgot; 
 
 Not for long will dear ones mourn. 
 For such is the common lot. 
 
 THE AGNOSTICS RECOURSE. 
 
 "The Agnostic's Plaint" in your kick col- 
 umn 
 Appealed to me as somewhat solemn. 
 Most folks with lots of faith have caustics 
 Which they apply to the agnostics, . 
 
 And glory in how much they know, 
 
 And where they're going, and where we'll 
 
 go. 
 And one who doubts and is not a saint 
 Was touched by "The Agnostic's Plaint." 
 
 I wish I knew some place of rest 
 For such, and yet it may be best 
 That we should find no resting place 
 Thus forced to rise and soar in space 
 
 Though faint the heart and tired the wing 
 Our search for rest to us may bring 
 New strength, more truth and other spheres, 
 'Twill well reward us for our tears. 
 
 — 112 — 
 
To duty do, when in the sky 
 No star to cheer the dying eye 
 Does take some nerve, I must confess 
 And lots of moral courage, yes, 
 
 But that's the thing that proves the man 
 And shows his size as naught else can. 
 'Twill make him brave, unselfish, kind. 
 Faithful to duty; we may find 
 
 In duty done, the rest we crave. 
 What sweeter rest this side the grave? 
 If we could live the lives we ought 
 Why should we give the future thought? 
 
 Ah, teach me how to live, not die, 
 Then if there's a sweet by and by 
 'Twill fit right on where these lives close 
 And each will have just what he sows, 
 
 But what's it like? Who knows? Who 
 
 knows ? 
 Yet if all's silence past the grave, 
 'Twill be sweet sleep. The rest we crave. 
 No ! "Love will ne'er give up its dead " 
 
 As John G. Whittier hath said; 
 *%ove will dream and friendship trust 
 Since He who knows our needs is just 
 That somehow, somewhere, meet we must!" 
 
 When on the summit of the mount 
 We view the winding path we've trod 
 Then we may all life's hardships count 
 As blessings from the hand of God. 
 
 — 113 — 
 
The storms that lash, the seas that foam 
 May serve to drive us nearer home (?) 
 Ah, give me strength to do my best 
 Do rightly here ! I'll trust the rest. 
 
 Jacksonville, Fla. P. D. Davisson. 
 
 THE AGNOSTICS PRAYER. 
 
 Since the agnostic made the "plaint" 
 
 Against the vast unknown, 
 Whose rays of light, so very faint, 
 
 No pathway sure had shown. 
 
 The spirit of the dream is changed; 
 
 Where once 'twas gloom, 'tis light; 
 No longer is the soul estranged 
 
 From truth, and faith, and right. 
 
 And how the great change came about 
 That brought the sweet relief, 
 
 This plea went up from out the doubt: 
 "God help my unbelief !" 
 
 My soul is hungry for the truth. 
 
 Oh, lead me in the way; 
 I sorrow for the world's unruth. 
 
 Wilt thou my fear allay? 
 
 — 114 
 
The fear that my beloved and lost 
 
 I ne'er hiay meet again, 
 'Gainst dreadful doubt pale hope is tossed, 
 
 May I some comfort gain? 
 
 *Twas in thy Book I sought to learn 
 
 Truth of an after life; 
 Cold unbelief rose quick to spurn 
 
 Faith with a deadly knife. 
 
 Weary am I of Reason's torch, 
 
 With all its garish glare, 
 Which never fails weak faith to scorch 
 
 In this world everywhere. 
 
 For the unreasoning of faith 
 My sick heart melts in grief; 
 
 Oh, as the Scripture somewhere saith, 
 "Help thou my unbelief !" 
 
 Oh, grant me faifh, unshrinking faith. 
 
 Then will I kiss the rod ; 
 While reason floats away a wraith, 
 
 I'm feeling after God ! 
 
 Abide, O God! abide with me, 
 
 I need thee all the way; 
 Bring me yet closer unto thee, 
 
 Let me not fall, I pray. 
 
 Oh, I believe, I do believe 
 
 Thy message was to me. 
 As unto all the earth who grieve 
 
 And hunger after thee. 
 
 — 115 — 
 
^*I know that my Redeemer lives,** 
 Sang patient Job of old; 
 
 Assurance sweet the Spirit gives, 
 Doubts I no longer hold. 
 
 I go rejoicing on the way 
 The saints have gone; ah, then, 
 
 Live in Heaven with thee I may 
 For evermore. Amen. 
 
 THE LOVE OF CHRIST. 
 
 Though friends desert and foes assail, 
 Dark clouds above us lower, 
 
 The love of Christ will never fail. 
 Nor ever lose its power. 
 
 When burdens of life heavy grow 
 And all earthly love seems cold. 
 
 Dear hopes have lost their beauty glow 
 And gloom worn hearts enfold. 
 
 Then Christ, our ever-present Friend, 
 In sore need will by us stay; 
 
 To our sick souls will healing lend. 
 Comforted we go our way. 
 
 — 116 — 
 
THE MYSTERY OF MYSTERIES. 
 
 In every age it's been admitted 
 That dying eyes may be permitted 
 To pierce the veil that intervenes 
 'Twixt mortal gaze and heavenly scenes. 
 
 There are many who died and gave no sign 
 To the watchers on this side the line, 
 To comfort their hearts, so sad and fond. 
 Or cast a gleam on the dark beyond. 
 
 At Death's command no one may dally, 
 All must tread the shadowed valley; 
 And from that fated and mystic bourne 
 None ever return to those who mourn. 
 
 When the eyes of faith are open wide, 
 God's sweet assurance will betide; 
 And though this world's a vale of sorrow, 
 The end will be a glad to-morrow. 
 
 Closely clasped is the desperate hope. 
 For if skepticism is given scope, 
 'Twill obliterate "in God we trust," 
 Fbr "all in all we are but dust." 
 
 To my notice came a story true. 
 
 It was strange and sad, and lovely, too ; 
 
 A lady was fading day by day, 
 
 A captive to dread consumption's sway. 
 
 — 117 — 
 
She felt assured of peace with God, 
 While so downy light grim Death was shod; 
 His actual presence was unperceived 
 Till his mission was almost achieved. 
 
 While on her bed she lay and pondered 
 Of things unseen, and often wondered 
 If, when her certain summons came, 
 She would hold her view of death the same 
 
 As in life with a clouded vision, 
 Or open-eyed on a realm Elysian; 
 And she longed to leave to "kin and kith" 
 A sign that heaven is not a myth. 
 
 This hope to dear ones she confided, 
 In this wish they were not divided ; 
 And as they watched her panting breath, 
 They certainly knew how sad is death. 
 
 • 
 On her pallid brow an icy dew, 
 
 And her sands of life ran slow and few; 
 
 Heartbroken sobs reached not the ears 
 
 List'ning for music of other spheres. 
 
 Her spirit was ready for the flight, 
 All earthly things seemed lost to sight, 
 When opening wide her glazing eyes, 
 Some thought to gaze on paradise. 
 
 — 118 — 
 
She spoke, but her voice was very faint, 
 They stooped to hear the almost saint ; 
 Could those few sad words a comfort 
 
 bring ? 
 *'0h, I don't see — I can't see — anything." 
 
 Her soul on vast Eternity rushed, 
 Leaving all awestricken and hushed; 
 And still Death's secret is unsolved, 
 And will be till the world's dissolved. 
 
 Ah, too abstruse are the ways of God 
 For the minds of "kindred to the clod," 
 Who can not his limits vast conceive. 
 Nor his plans and purposes perceive. 
 
 A dreadful doubt will at times obtrude. 
 We crush it for fear of magnitude ; 
 And hasten to pray for faith and strength, 
 And that all things may be clear at length. 
 
 That yearning and hoping is not vain, 
 We may meet our loved and lost again; 
 That pain and grief for bereavements sore 
 Will vanish away for evermore. 
 
 Sweet assurance the Scripture giveth, 
 "I know that my Redeemer liveth," 
 And to weary ones struck with dismay, 
 '*Lo, I am with you all the way." . 
 
 — 119 — 
 
Yea, we'll pass through the valley of death, 
 "Arms Everlasting" around and beneath; 
 Sustained, upheld, no ill can betide, 
 Safe with the Savior, naught can divide. 
 
 « 
 Above the rustling of myriad wings. 
 The Lord's redeemed in unison sings. 
 Glory to Jesus, crucified Son! 
 Glory ! glory ! salvation is won 1 
 
 In waves the harmony surges and rolls, 
 God's greatness, theme of glorified souls; 
 Seraphim, elders and saints proclaim 
 God's love for his own, ever the same. 
 
 "A THORN IN THE FLESH. 
 
 In my flesh a thorn is set. 
 
 And long have I endured 
 Stinging pain with ceaseless fret, 
 
 And hoping to be cured. 
 
 Under torture have I prayed 
 The thorn might be removed ; 
 
 Now,- somewhow I feel afraid 
 My plea is not approved. 
 
 An inner voice seems to say, 
 "Be patient, submit, endure; 
 
 Waiting on the Lord, you may 
 In his kindness rest secure." 
 
 — 120 — 
 
"He knows what is best for you, 
 Pray no more foolish prayers ; 
 
 Trust his Word, be faithful, true, 
 Abide in him without fears." 
 
 "Say, thy will rather than mine, 
 Then rest on his promises sweet; 
 
 Question no more his design. 
 His purposes naught can defeat." 
 
 \ 
 Dear Lord, then strengthen my soul; 
 
 'Tis faith and patience I crave 
 To endure of pain, the dole 
 
 That's mine this side of the grave. 
 
 It is in no loud complaint 
 That I would vent my sorrow; 
 
 When my heart grows sick and faint, 
 *Tis of patience I would borrow. 
 
 Patience, when the cherished friends 
 I deem my best desert me; 
 
 Patience, when affliction sends 
 Gifts in my adversity. 
 
 I must be firm and endure, 
 
 Heeding the voice of conscience; 
 
 Dear Lord, make my heart grow pure, 
 And teach it all of patience. 
 
 — 121 — 
 
A SOUL'S UNREST. 
 
 A soul is smitten by unrest, 
 
 Finding no security; 
 Feeling that it is unblest, 
 
 Hopeless in futurity. 
 
 Filled it with yearning 
 For what it can't explain; 
 
 All earthly comfort spurning 
 And reveling in pain. 
 
 It shrinks from the woes of life, 
 With nothing to sustain; 
 
 Battling in unequal strife. 
 And hope of succor vain. 
 
 Wavering soul, lost and affrighted, 
 To Christ turn for relief ; 
 
 Savior of souls benighted, 
 Can you not give belief? 
 
 By relying on His strength 
 To save from dire alarm. 
 
 You joyfully go at length 
 To Heaven and its calm. 
 
 Within the calm of Heaven, 
 Dear soul, you will find rest. 
 
 While Christ's own peace is given 
 His redeemed and blest. 
 
 — 122 — 
 
CHRISTIANS ONLY. 
 
 Our doctrine came from Christ, who gave 
 His life to awful death to save 
 A sin-stained world from its deserts ; 
 His grace alone the doom averts. 
 
 As Christians only to be known, 
 We do all man-made creeds disown; 
 The Holy Scripture is our creed, 
 And all may learn who truly read. 
 
 Read with a praying, seeking heart, 
 Find for yourself the better part; 
 You'll lay all prejudice aside 
 When Scriptures rightly you divide. 
 
 Take nothing from, add nothing to 
 The Word of God, for if you do. 
 On Book of Life there'll be no room 
 For name of yours, but fearful doom 
 
 For you who willfully pervert 
 The meaning of or words insert. 
 To hinder truth or misdirect 
 A seeker of the way correct. 
 
 ''We follow Christ," so many claim; 
 Then if you do, bear his dear name; 
 God's children's new name was foretold 
 By an appointed seer of old. 
 
 — 123 — 
 
*Twas first at Antioch the name 
 The prophecy fulfilling came; 
 How in that name Christians gloried, 
 Life blood sealed, are many storied. 
 
 "Christians only," down the ages, 
 
 Since Pentecost, warfare wages 
 
 'Gainst man-made isms and man-made creeds 
 
 That to corruption sow the seeds. 
 
 To seekers of truth, a failure 
 Is Popish rites, Church regalia; 
 Unsatisfied the yearning hearts 
 Till comfort Christ himself imparts. 
 
 Now on the tablets of their hearts 
 His laws are writ, the dark departs; 
 The flag of truth's at last unfurled, . 
 And here's the Book to guide the world. 
 
 It shows the strait and narrow way, 
 From which God's children must not stray; 
 Furnishing all real Christians well 
 To teach, admonish and impel 
 
 The alien sinners, dear, to hurl 
 Their husks away to seek the pearl 
 Of precious price, eternal life, 
 Forever free from pain and strife. 
 
 Believing Jesus is God's Son, 
 
 That is a step up number one; 
 
 Repent of sin and be baptized 
 
 For sin's commission; all's comprised 
 
 -r-124 — 
 
In simple formula to win 
 Men's understanding, to begin 
 "Babes in Christ," sins forgiven, 
 Walk the way in grace to heaven. 
 
 By faith, by prayer and by work, 
 Bearing the Savior's yoke, nor shirk 
 The burdens that are to be borne 
 For weary ones, the sick and worn. 
 
 Many do not like to bother, 
 "Any creed's good as another;" 
 Take preacher's word for thus and so, 
 Anything of a sort will do. 
 
 Of money's worth are they careful, 
 And of counterfeits are fearful; 
 As no alloy they'll take for gold, 
 Souls they'll stake on "a tale that's told." 
 
 By word of mouth is told the tale, 
 Fallible man is known to fail; 
 Find in the Book a chance for all, 
 "Whosoever" may heed the call. 
 
 Repent, be sorry you have sinned, 
 Resolve to sin no more, depend 
 On Christ to save you when baptized, 
 No other way can be devised. 
 
 — 125 — 
 
To be baptized, to be immersed, 
 The word baptize has been coerced 
 And twisted into sprinkle, pour ; 
 No word was ever varied more. 
 
 You needn't come to Christ by inches, 
 You needn't go to "mourners' benches"; 
 He is willing, ready, waiting; 
 Won't you come without debating? 
 
 Come with your weary, sin-sick heart, 
 Christ will not ever say depart; 
 Lest you, like "foolish virgins,** wait. 
 And the door's shut, too late — too late. 
 
 Christ does not will you to be lost, 
 For souls he paid a fearful cost; 
 Dear, almost ready, hear again. 
 Shall sacrifice of Christ be vain? 
 
 Oh, precious souls, countless, untold. 
 World-weary ones, come to the fold! 
 Come in your youth, come in your prime, 
 Jesus is calling, now is the time! 
 
 The time is ripe for all to come, 
 Oh, great may be the "harvest home"; 
 To Church of Christ some sweet, near day, 
 Dear fellow Christians, let us pray. 
 
 126 
 
A VISION. 
 
 Written at Midnight, Whii.e Burning 
 WITH Fever. 
 
 Heretofore my fevered dreams 
 
 Have been peopled by frightful forms ; 
 
 Now a glorious vision gleams, 
 Celestial scenes my fancy charms. 
 
 I seem to feel God's love diffused 
 In translucent rays around me; 
 
 My mind is not at all confused, 
 But pleased with all I feel and see. 
 
 Just now I feel a holy calm 
 
 My wondering soul pervading. 
 Which floats in an enchanted realm 
 
 'Mid beauteous scenes unfading. 
 
 I see the depth, the breadth, the height 
 Of our Fathers love unchanging. 
 
 Which fills the earth with hallowed light 
 And about his children ranging. 
 
 Although my frame is racked with pain 
 And my brow be hot with fever, 
 
 Yet for such visions I would fain 
 Endure all life's ills forever. 
 
 Thoughts so beautiful throng my mind, 
 But they fly ere I can pen them; 
 
 Could I but grasp them, I would bind 
 Them in a glorious anthem. 
 
 — 127 — 
 
THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 
 
 The Church of Christ was organized 
 
 On that day of Pentecost 
 When apostles twelve were deputized 
 
 By gifts of the Holy Ghost. 
 
 They'd gathered in with one accord, 
 
 United were they in heart; 
 Looking by faith unto the Lord 
 
 To send the promised part. 
 
 That part was power from on high 
 To equip them for the fray 
 
 'Gainst Satan's kingdom, far and nigh, 
 And to show lost ones the "way." 
 
 A sound of rushing wind was heard, 
 And the whole house was shaken; 
 
 The signs the Holy Ghost conferred 
 Did on twelve heads awaken. 
 
 Visible cloven tongues of fire 
 
 Blazed on the head of each; 
 With power filled, their one desire 
 
 Christ to praise. His tove teach. 
 
 Some spake in tongues, some prophesied, 
 But hearers' minds were sunken. 
 
 What does it mean? Some one replied. 
 These men are surely drunken. 
 
 — 128-- 
 
Then Peter stood forth to explain 
 What the great commotion meant, 
 
 And told them Jesus, whom they'd slain, 
 Was the Christ whom God had sent. 
 
 Noised abroad these doings strange, 
 
 A multitude came to hear; 
 From Egypt's plain to mountain range, 
 
 To all, the call was loud and clear. 
 
 Words the apostles spake branched out, 
 
 And men of every nation 
 Heeded the call without a doubt, 
 
 Accepting Christ's salvation. 
 
 This is the way the call begins: 
 
 "Repent ye and be baptized 
 For the remission of your sins 
 
 In Jesus' name," be thou advised. 
 
 These are the only terms whereby 
 
 Humanity can be saved; 
 Repent and be baptized, thereby 
 
 From the past sins be relieved. 
 
 Obey the Gospel, now's the. time, 
 Our Lord stands willing, ready, 
 
 Inviting you with love sublime, 
 Dear sin-sick soul and needy. 
 
 Do not His gentle spirit grieve, " 
 
 Be done with doubt and strife; ' 
 
 Your's the promise, if you believe. 
 Lay hold on eternal life. 
 
 — 129-. 
 
Walk close to Jesus all the way, 
 
 No creed but His Holy Word ; 
 You grow in grace thus, day by day. 
 
 As your steps with His accord. 
 
 The way, dear seekers of the truth. 
 Which God through Christ has given. 
 
 Is the strait, narrow way, forsooth. 
 The one that leads to Heaven. 
 
 Denominations' strife in creeds 
 
 And man-made institution 
 The Church of Christ owns not, nor needs; 
 
 God's Word's the constitution. 
 
 As Christians only to be known. 
 Honoring Christ, the Founder; 
 
 Plainly has the Bible shown 
 No other name is sounder. 
 
 For unity our Savior prayed 
 
 'Mongst His disciples loving; 
 In the "one body" some have stayed, 
 
 While others went a-roving. 
 
 And they made new creeds, found new 
 names. 
 
 Surely their first love leaving; 
 Though sundered limbs the old stock maims. 
 
 Still to "the Rock" it's cleaving. 
 
 Foundod on the "Rock of Ages," 
 
 Not built on the shifting sand. 
 Though power of Hell long rages. 
 
 The Church of Christ will stand. 
 
 ^130 — 
 
LOST OPPORTUNITIES. 
 
 Many opportunities for doing good, are lost 
 
 Because we idly dally with that which 
 pleases most. 
 
 Too late we think of chances we cast aside 
 in scorn, 
 
 Chances of being kind to the weary and for- 
 lorn. 
 
 Trying to feel at ease and conscience pacify, 
 We resolve in future to pass no chances by. 
 Late we see the errors that now are past re- 
 
 . deeming. 
 With duties left undone while we were 
 calmly dreaming — 
 
 Dreaming of glorious deeds we would like 
 
 to do. 
 Castles without foundations sane people 
 
 should eschew. 
 In a flight to dizzy heights ambition wheels 
 
 and soars. 
 While the need of Christian deeds is waiting 
 
 at our doors. 
 
 We sigh for earthly honors and pine for 
 transient fame, 
 
 Knowing well a little time obliterates a 
 name. 
 
 The present chance of doing good may not 
 come again. 
 
 Life is ever changing, with its striving, toil- 
 ing pain. 
 
Within our reach, just at hand, if we could 
 only see, 
 
 "The little ones," Christ's own charge, given 
 to you and me. 
 
 "Offend not one of these." Shall His coun- 
 sel be in vain? 
 
 "As ye do to them ye do to me," Jesus spoke 
 again. 
 
 And to those who love Him other charges, 
 
 too. He gave: 
 "Feed my sheep, feed my lambs," and "the 
 
 poor ye always have." 
 Can we give but water cold, to Him 'twill be 
 
 the same 
 As the feast of another if given in His name. 
 
 Who hath not in self-communion felt re- 
 morse's sting, 
 
 In review of "might have beens" that to re- 
 membrance cling. 
 
 Those who have loved and lost think with 
 keen regret 
 
 Of the small unkindnesses "the dear de- 
 parted" met. 
 
 Impatient, fretful words were then "trifles 
 
 light as air," 
 While the loved recipient to forgive all was 
 
 near. 
 Oh, slighted opportunities, that may not 
 
 come again. 
 With regret and broken hopes attendants in 
 
 the train! 
 
Precious opportunities! Should they be ar- 
 rayed 
 
 As witnesses against us, our souls would be 
 dismayed. 
 
 No answers to defend us, excuses all forgot, 
 
 When that sad, stern voice would say, "De- 
 part, I know you not." 
 
 REDEEMING THE TIME; 
 Or, a Duty Cai,i, to Christians. 
 
 Are we, as children of God*s household, 
 Rightly the time redeeming, 
 
 While so many are out of the fold, 
 Beneath our dear esteeming? 
 
 To Christian duty let us awake 
 And the time strive to redeem, 
 
 For ease in Zion we can not take 
 And truly be what we seem. 
 
 The Gospel's light to be shed abroad, 
 We know the Bible teaches, 
 
 Till all humanity knows the Lord 
 O'er the world's wide reaches. 
 
 Be instant in and out of season, 
 On highways, byways, hedges; 
 
 Not waiting a convenient reason 
 For placing entering wedges. 
 
 133 
 
One Christian says, "My sphere is narrow 
 And my means are very small ; 
 
 I, in a manner, plow and harrow ; 
 Not for me is meant the call. 
 
 ''On my lone efforts dear weak ones lean, 
 'Gainst the odds I strive and work; 
 
 Grim wolf of hunger and them between. 
 This my place, I can not shirk. 
 
 ''Had I to spare, I would love to send 
 
 Money to evangelize 
 Heathens in every clime and land. 
 
 To bless and to Christianize. 
 
 "All this considered, what can I do 
 
 But attend my own affairs? 
 Harm none, live clean (I have hitherto), 
 
 Keeping clear of worldly snares." 
 
 Dear fellow Christian, something's lacking 
 
 If you thus redeem the time; 
 It's love and sacrifice that's backing 
 
 Claims that make the cause sublime. 
 
 The widow's mite with her love and faith 
 Have down the ages sounded; 
 
 She hath given more than all. He saith; 
 They, hearing, were astounded. 
 
 'Tis faith, and love, and sacrifice 
 
 Christ sees behind the action; 
 The self-denial and planned device 
 
 To show Him true affection. 
 
 — 134 — 
 
If we follow Christ we must obey 
 
 The Gospel's insistent chime, 
 Redeem the time while yet 'tis day, 
 
 While there's time, redeem the time. 
 
 The night is coming, when none may work. 
 Precious time therefore redeem; 
 
 As Christians rise, we must not shirk, 
 'Tis time to work, not to dream. 
 
 Behind we'll leave the pass-key, never, 
 That ancient watchword, prayer ; 
 
 'Gainst sin a safeguard now, as ever, 
 Privilege all Christian share. 
 
 To a vhazy, distant, heathen land 
 
 Aspiration quickly soars; 
 While many are they who Christless stand. 
 
 Yes, even about our doors. 
 
 We pray that many a precious soul 
 To the Church of Christ be added; 
 
 But none may reach the heavenly goal 
 On beds of ease, down padded. 
 
 We must set our light so it shine abroad, 
 
 Not under a bushel hid; 
 Good tidings never was meant to hoard. 
 
 As one with his talent did. 
 
 If Spirit of God within us dwell. 
 
 We're anxious to do His will ; 
 Force of faith and love our hearts impel 
 
 Large measures of good to fill. 
 
 — 135 — 
 
To Those Who Mourn 
 
 Gi^^ANE^D From "H01.Y Writ/' 
 
 To all who call in truth on Him, 
 
 The Lord is nigh; 
 Oh weeping ones with eyesight dim, 
 
 He hears your cry. 
 
 'Tis written, you now have sorrow. 
 
 You shall rejoice; 
 Surely on a glad tomorrow 
 
 You'll know His voice. 
 
 Weeping may for a night endure, 
 
 Joy, dawn will bring; 
 Blessed are they that weep, for sure 
 
 They'll sweetly sing. 
 
 They that sow in tears and sadness, 
 
 Shall reap in joy 
 Faithful, sowing seed, their gladness 
 
 None can destroy. 
 
 They shall come again rejoicing. 
 
 Bearing their sheaves; 
 While the idle ones are voicing 
 
 "Nothing but leaves." 
 
 March, 1919. 
 Atlanta, Ga. 
 
 — 136 — 
 
THE EPICUREAN'S QUESTION. 
 
 Long ago these words as thoughts, came 
 
 into a heart, 
 Acted like a poison, entered every part. 
 Why should we sigh to obtain 
 
 The great things of the earth? 
 Not for long can we remain. 
 Of the struggle is it worth? 
 
 Life is short, pleasure fleeting. 
 
 We're of the present sure; 
 Now while our hearts are beating, 
 
 Sweets of life we^ll secure. 
 
 Why should we not grasp Pleasure 
 By her bright wing of down. 
 
 Wooing her for good measure 
 Ere she's forever flown? 
 
 Of life, we'll take all we can, 
 
 Tomorrow we may die; 
 Short is the life of mortal man, 
 
 Nor it avails to sigh. 
 
 All this is vanity, declareth the preacher, 
 
 He learned from experience, therefore a 
 teacher. 
 
 Harbored these views by any, or many, in- 
 deed 
 
 Their end will be wretched, for such theories 
 lead 
 
 -137 
 
To Pagan ideals with the scriptures cut out 
 For free thought, free reason, revelation to 
 flout. 
 
 It's question, question, even in this day and 
 
 time. 
 By those who've ne'er sougur truth in, God's 
 
 own word sublime. 
 
 Jan. 7, 1916. 
 Jacksonville, Fla. 
 
 DO NOT THINK IT STRANGE. 
 
 Do not think it strange that you 
 
 Through trials pass ;'*' 
 You would not be His, solely true 
 
 Lest griefs oppress. 
 
 For you, for me, Christ suffered so, 
 
 Should we go free? 
 As we love Him, our bit we do, 
 
 So small to see. 
 
 To His great sacrifice, compared, 
 
 We are ashamed ; 
 Afflictions and complainings, bared. 
 
 Should not be named. 
 
 March, 1919. 
 Atlanta, Ga. 
 
 *1 Peter 4-12. 
 
 — 138 
 
In Memoriam 
 
 Not Lost, But Gone Before. 
 
 A TRIBUTE. 
 
 To the memory of Mrs. Lizzie Kelley, 
 wife of Rev. W. W. Kelley. She departed 
 this life October 13, 1895, at her home in 
 Whitesburg, Ga. 
 
 Gone from earth, in Heaven to dwell 
 With Jesus, whom she loved so well. 
 The loss fills many hearts with pain; 
 Our loss is her eternal gain; 
 
 Finished is her work on earth. 
 And desolated is the hearth 
 Whereat beamed her face benign. 
 Which of glad welcome was a sign. 
 
 A lovely woman, sweet and rare, 
 For others she would gladly spare 
 Thoughtful kindness, seeking never 
 Her own ease, but of others ever. 
 
 Under Affliction's hand severe 
 Then did her patience rare appear ; 
 Uncomplaining she meekly bore 
 The pain life held for her in store. 
 
 — 139 — 
 
When her daughter, in youthful bloom, 
 By Death was swept into the tomb, 
 She heavily leaned on Jesus' breast, 
 Believing that "He knoweth best." 
 
 Through her mind this thought would 
 
 hasten, 
 "Whom God loveth He will chasten;" 
 She asked not why was the behest. 
 But pray'd that she might stand the test. 
 
 She could well have filled a space 
 In social life with noble grace; 
 To her family she was so devoted, 
 Nor otherwise cared to be noted. 
 
 All day before she died, at night. 
 Her mind was very clear and bright ; 
 So calmly she talked of Heaven 
 And of the peace God had given. 
 
 Sweet peace of mind, free from all doubt. 
 While bodily pain she was without; 
 And when she met Death face to face, 
 She yielded with a Christian grace. 
 
 For she felt Christ's supporting arm. 
 At Death's approach knew no alarm; 
 Perchance she heard the angels sing: 
 "For those He loves, death has no sting." 
 
 Among the last words that she said 
 To the loved ones around her bed: 
 "In earthly wealth take no pleasure. 
 But in Heaven lay up treasure." 
 
 — 140 — 
 
REST ON THE PROMISES. 
 
 In sympathy the following lines are ad- 
 dressed to Mr. and Mrs. L. E. McCombs, of 
 Jacksonville, Fla., in the bereavement of 
 their dear, only child, Jean Velda, aged seven 
 years, nine months and. nine days. What is 
 said I trust will comfort in some degree 
 their mourning hearts. 
 
 Oh, bereaved and yearning hearts, 
 
 Can you not find relief 
 In the balm God's love imparts 
 
 To faithful ones in grief? 
 
 God's Spirit alone can heal 
 
 Bereavement's wounds and pain. 
 
 And to consciousness reveal 
 That hoping is not vain. 
 
 That those away we will meet 
 Where parting is no more; 
 
 Is not the assurance sweet, 
 Not lost, but gone before? 
 
 One who has not been bereaved 
 
 Of a cherished child 
 Gan know all the blow received, 
 
 Or feel for anguish wild. 
 
 Of fond hearts, as death in view 
 
 Sets on the child his sign, 
 'Round whom love twined and grew 
 
 In tendrils strong and fine. 
 
 — 141 — 
 
My own little darling girl 
 From my arms was taken, 
 
 To live beyond gates of pearl, 
 Leaving me forsaken. 
 
 Forsaken? No, Christ, my Friend, 
 
 In sorest need did stay; 
 To my heart did healing lend, 
 
 Reconciled I go my way. 
 
 Our Savior draws us to Him, 
 His plan we may not see; 
 
 From the surface we may skim. 
 Where the treasure, hearts will be. 
 
 Little, tender, snowflake hands. 
 
 Constantly they beckon 
 To higher life, fairer lands. 
 
 Beyond range to reckon. 
 
 Often babes are pioneers, 
 Blazing paths to Heaven ; 
 
 We strive, as our vision clears, 
 As we ne'er before have striven. 
 
 For the goal where sin is not. 
 For sorrow, pain and death; 
 
 Heaven the goal, Christian's lot, 
 Viewed by the eye of faith. 
 
 Lean on the promises sweet. 
 
 In His kindness given; 
 'Twill comfort hearts, steady feet. 
 
 In the march to Heaven. 
 
 — 142 — 
 
"He gathers lambs with His arm,' 
 
 Our darlings are secure 
 From sin, pain and death's alarm 
 
 With Christ, eternally pure. 
 
 For the day sufficient strength 
 For the troubles that come; 
 
 Trusting Him, may we at length 
 Rest with loved ones at home. 
 
 Where parting is never known, 
 
 Tears all wiped away, 
 And the mysteries are shown 
 
 That brought to us dismay. 
 
 TO NELLIE. 
 
 A tribute of love and remembrance to a dear, 
 departe(^ friend. 
 
 Nellie, thy memory is green, 
 To me a sister thou hast been; 
 Many long years have taken flight 
 Since of thy face IVe had a sight. 
 
 A lovely flower grim Death reaped, 
 O'er thy fair form the earth was heaped; 
 Floats thy soul in a world of bliss. 
 Do e'er thy thoughts, revert to this ? 
 
 Oh ! 'Midst what glories hast thou been — 
 Glories beyond my mortal ken? 
 All hidden till my spirit's flight, 
 And Heaven opens on my sight. 
 
 — 143 — 
 
Few summers had pass*d o*er thy head, 
 Sweet seventeen the numbers read; 
 Yet sorrow had thy heartstrings swept, 
 Bitterest tears thy blue eyes wept. 
 
 Thy mother thou hast gone to join, 
 Leaving fond hearts to vainly mourn; 
 Hearts that loved thee can ne*er forget, 
 Nor think of thee without regret. 
 
 Safe with our Savior, thou art blessM 
 Of precious boons that is the best; 
 To see His face and hear his voice 
 Would make an earth-worn heart rejoice. 
 
 When I have ended my probation, 
 I pray God will grant salvation; 
 Thoughts come to me like soothing balm. 
 After earth's storms is Heaven's calm. 
 
 NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE. 
 
 In memory of Leonard Wiley Engesser, 
 aged two months and twenty-three days. 
 Died August 8, 1893, at Carrollton, Ga. 
 
 Another soul, pure and white, 
 
 Caught away from earth. 
 To live always in Heaven's light. 
 
 Where pain can ne'er have birth. 
 
 Little, sinless, tender child. 
 
 For a while was given. 
 Then taken, and sorrow wild 
 
 Loving hearts have riven. 
 
 — 144 — 
 
Shut fast are the sweet blue eyes, 
 So lately wide with pain, 
 
 To open beyond the skies, 
 
 Where peace and gladness reign. 
 
 Little hands, like snowflakes, fold'd 
 Over the pulseless breast; 
 Little form in beauty mold'd, 
 In attitude of rest. 
 
 Pain can ne'er touch thee again, 
 Dear little snow-white soul ; 
 
 Thou came, then without a stain 
 Went to thy heavenly goal. 
 
 None of earth's tumults and cares 
 Can e'er assail thee there, 
 
 And none of its alluring snares 
 Need thou to ever fear. 
 
 In the blessed Savior's arms. 
 
 Thine is a lasting joy; 
 An eternity of charms. 
 
 And love without alloy. 
 
 IN SYMPATHY. 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. Frank Wilkinson, of 
 Newnan, Ga., in the bereavement of their 
 little son, Sanford, who died May 25, 1901. 
 His age was one year and five months. 
 
 Past finding out the ways of God 
 By us, the kindred to the clod; 
 And all planning and proposing 
 Are as naught by God's disposing. 
 
 — 145 — 
 
We vainly ask wherefore and why, 
 And imagine this, that deny; 
 But till we feel He knoweth best, 
 Our weary hearts will find no rest. 
 
 We need- a steady faith and trust, 
 For in bereavements sore we must 
 Take our own part, for soon or late 
 That bitter cup will all await. 
 
 Back from the draught we shrink, and 
 
 pray 
 That untasted it may pass away; 
 But our greatest victory's won 
 When we can say, "Thy will be done." 
 
 Bereaved of a child, does it mean much? 
 A parent only is in touch 
 With the pang and ache of the blow 
 That strikes the heart with utter woe. 
 
 The grieving ones we have in mind 
 Have fourfold ties in Heaven to bind 
 Their hearts to high and noble life. 
 Away from sorrow, pain and strife. 
 
 Four little graves placed side by side, 
 In Heaven four babes glorified; 
 Four treasures without flaw or stain, 
 Safe where peace and pleasure reign. 
 
 San ford, who lately passed beyond 
 The sight of friends and parents fond. 
 Won all hearts in unconscious grace. 
 With sweet blue eyes and winsome face. 
 
 — 146 — 
 
By tender love and care inclosed, 
 Inch by inch was Death opposed; 
 But holding on with tightening grasp, 
 No earthly force could break his clasp. 
 
 Oh! utter depth of human woe, 
 Thus concentrated in a blow; 
 And sadder dirge has ne'er been read 
 Than the mother's wail o'er her dead. 
 
 God's plans we may not comprehend, 
 But to the faithful He will send 
 Peace of mind, with assurance sweet 
 That eternal life will be complete. 
 
 • CALLED HOME. 
 
 To the memory of Lottie, daughter of 
 A. W. and EHie May Quarles; ^ied Decem- 
 ber 26, 1899, aged four years and seven 
 months. 
 
 The treasure that we deemed our own, 
 
 So lovely, sweet and pure, 
 Has only proved to be a loan 
 
 And to our hearts a lure. 
 
 Of tender care she had no stint. 
 Love like cords entwined her ; 
 
 But when the summons came she went, 
 Naught on earth could bind her. 
 
 Of' a delicate frame and frail, 
 
 She held on life a clasp 
 So feeble that she could but fail 
 
 In dread Pneumonia's grasp. 
 
 — 147 — 
 
In her tliroat an obstruction lay, 
 
 Her voice inarticulate, 
 Except one word that she would say, 
 
 Sweet beyond an estimate. 
 
 "Mamma." Oh, I will ne'er forget 
 
 That sad, peculiar tone 1 
 Oh, precious tongue, that could not let 
 
 Its greatest wish be known! 
 
 Yet spoke her sweet, dark, pleading eyes 
 
 A language all their own, 
 And by mute signs she did devise 
 
 To have their meaning shown. 
 
 Intelligent and gay withal. 
 
 At home she was a joy; 
 Baby laugh and musical call 
 
 Would sad, dark thoughts destroy. 
 
 Efforts vain to avert the blow 
 That struck our darling's life; 
 
 Disease's hand soon brought her low. 
 Ending unequal strife. 
 
 The day before she died, at night 
 
 Close to my heart she lay, 
 When now and then a smile so bright 
 
 Did o'er her features stray. 
 
 Memory will ever linger 
 
 On the sweet smile that played 
 
 O'er her face, as with a finger 
 Pointed as she surveyed. 
 
 — 148 — 
 
Her eyes, uplifted, saw afar 
 Fair scenes beyond our ken; 
 
 For angels ^twixt the gates ajar 
 Alone that smile could win. 
 
 And when Death came and set his seal, 
 
 Easing her labor'd breath, 
 My broken heart did grateful feel 
 
 Even to dreadful Death. 
 
 Ah, I felt a fainting illness, 
 The change came on so fast; 
 
 O'er us fell an awful stillness 
 While her gentle spirit pass'd. 
 
 Oh ! When I think of that last scene, 
 My eyes stream tears like rain; 
 
 Vast eternity lies between 
 My sad heart yearns in vain. 
 
 Dear Lord, increase our trust and love 
 With faith that Thou canst save; 
 
 Teach us to look beyond, above. 
 Our darling's little, cold grave. 
 
 And when our course on earth is run 
 
 May we be taken home, 
 Thy home and hers, beyond the sun, 
 
 Where sorrows never come. 
 
 149 — 
 
DEDICATED. 
 
 To the memory of Harold, son of Dr. and 
 Mrs. Knott. He was eleveJi months and thir- 
 teen days old. He died on the thirteenth day 
 of May, 1896, at Whitesburg, Ga. 
 
 They've laid the little form to rest, 
 So lately racked with pain; 
 
 The snow-white soul on Jesus* breast 
 Escapes all earthly stain. 
 
 In an atmosphere of kindred love 
 
 The baby lived and grew; 
 His beauty seemed of Heaven above, 
 
 In this world brought to view. 
 
 His loveliness could not detain 
 
 Death's messenger, disease ; 
 Whose violent grasp gave such a strain, 
 
 Death hastened to release. 
 
 Even in mercy hastened Death 
 
 To ease the little child. 
 With gentle hushing of the breath — 
 
 Oh, Death has been reviled! 
 
 Three little babes now in Heaven, 
 From one household flown ; 
 
 Precious favors they were given, 
 Then taken as God's own. 
 
 The cherub trio swell the throng 
 About the great white throne, 
 
 Joining in the old, y^t new, song 
 With sweet, according tone. 
 
 — 150 — 
 
GOD GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. 
 
 A tribute of love and remembrance to 
 Mrs. Olive T: Merrill, who died, after a 
 long and painful illness, at the home of her 
 daughter, Mrs. George Neely, of Newnan, 
 Ga., July 28, 1898. 
 
 To His beloved God giveth rest 
 
 After the days of pain. 
 Her patience putting to the test, 
 
 Found to be finest grain. 
 
 Believing that God knoweth best, 
 Her fortitude ne'er faltered; 
 
 She leaned in trust upon the breast 
 Of promises unaltered. 
 
 And when Death came with icy grasp 
 
 She felt no dire alarms. 
 For she was upheld by the clasp 
 
 Of ''Everlasting Arms." 
 
 From memories of my childhood 
 
 Her face and gentle mien 
 So like a halo bright hath stood, 
 
 Though long years intervene. 
 
 My ideal of perfect womanhood 
 
 Forever she hath been; 
 A lovely woman, pure and good 
 
 As the world hath ever seen. 
 
 -151- 
 
In my heart's depths she held a place 
 
 Second to one other, 
 Who also hath run well her race, 
 
 My own sainted mother. 
 
 By her sweet name my babe I call, 
 
 Olive, so soft and mild; 
 May her mantle of virtues fall 
 
 Upon her namesake child. 
 
 'Twas only a few short months ago 
 That her husband went away 
 
 From his pilgrimage here below 
 To realms of endless day. 
 
 Their union was a perfect one, 
 •No discord found a place; 
 
 Each office filled, each duty done. 
 By each in godly grace. 
 
 They reared their children in the way 
 The Scripture hath imparted. 
 
 And from its precepts I may say- 
 They never have departed. 
 
 Father and mother together are 
 In the home of the soul, 
 Never a grief their joy to mar 
 As years eternally roll. 
 
 — 152 
 
HOW I FOUND I COULD WRITE 
 POETRY. 
 
 About twenty-three years ago I lived at 
 Orange Spring, Fla. The place had once 
 been a popular health resort on account of 
 the large sulphur spring. Most of the 
 houses were old colonial structures slowly 
 going to decay. The surrounding country 
 was rich in orange, lemon, grape fruit, citron 
 and other fruits suited to that locality. The 
 nearest railroad station was Johnson Station, 
 seven miles away. The community was 
 made up of scions of aristocratic families of 
 ante-bellum days, and people of other states 
 attracted by beautiful scenery, the great 
 spring and the fertile orange groves. 
 
 The Oklawaha, Indian name for "winding 
 water," is only a mile and a half away. 
 
 Little steamboats built on purpose for this 
 narrow river, bore quaint, beautiful Indian 
 names, such as "Okehumkee" and Oceola." 
 The great trees and dense undergrowth along 
 the sidjes of this river is said to resemble the 
 jungles of Africa. But to my subject. There 
 was a young teacher of the public school, 
 Miss Lanier, with whom I loved to talk. 
 We*d discuss our favorite authors and lots 
 of subjects that interested us. 
 
 One day after I had been speaking of 
 something that was in my heart, she ex- 
 claimed, "you have poetry in your soul!'* 
 Her words kept recurring to me, so I began 
 to try to string thoughts to rhyme. 
 
 — 153 — 
 
The first theme I remember was, "It 
 might have been;" a very sentimental one. 
 It began this way : 
 
 It might have been, it might have been, 
 Keeps ringing in my ears, 
 Till from my eyes with hasty hand 
 I wipe the starting tears. 
 
 There were eight or nine stanzas. The 
 second attempt at poetry was about the 
 sweet sound of my baby boy's laughter and 
 of my provoking a repetition of it. The title 
 was Baby's Laugh. 
 
 Of all sounds, a baby's laugh 
 Is the sweetest sound on earth 
 All sweet music it exceeds 
 For heaven gave it birth. 
 
 I love to see the dimples play 
 The rosy mouth about, 
 Then I excite the ready mirth 
 And the music ripples out ! 
 
 Of course these efforts were crude but I 
 kept trying. Only Baby's Laugh has been 
 preserved. Time to devote to this fascin- 
 ating labor was limited to a little while now 
 and then, or to bedtime of the little ones. 
 Then I'd sit and try to piece together a 
 fabric of intelligent thought as well as 
 
 -154 — 
 
rhyme. I wrote one long poem (?) entitled 
 Whiskey Drinking. I worked at it several 
 days in my spare time. I read a few stanzas 
 of it to Mr. Livingston a young neighbor of 
 ours. "Oh, yes, that is very true, more 
 truth than poetry in that, as the saying 
 says.'' I felt it to be a doubtful compliment. 
 After that I strove harder to make rhyme 
 as well as reason. My greatest ambition is 
 to be able to write something that will be 
 worthy to live in the hearts of earnest, 
 thinking people ; and that it may encourage 
 and sustain many in the strenuous battle of 
 life. 
 
 ''THE DIPPIN' SPOON." 
 
 The stories my mother used to tell her 
 children of her girlhood days sank deep into 
 our hearts and while they bore no intrinsic 
 value as masterpieces of narration, the im- 
 pression lingers fresh in our minds as yes- 
 terday's happenings, while occurrences of a 
 much later date fade entirely away. 
 
 This little story was told to us about 
 forty-five years ago. We often begged her 
 to tell "about when she was a child." She 
 would have to ransack her memory to find 
 something new for our delectation. 
 
 155 — 
 
Her father, who was a farmer, had been 
 to town for a wagon load of supplies. On 
 his way home in passing the house of a man 
 named Dollar, he was the unintentional lis- 
 tener to the following family **jar." The 
 first he heard was Mrs. Dollar calling in a 
 loud authoritative voice "Mary Ann ! Mary 
 Ann! Where's the dippin' spoon?" Mary 
 Ann yelled back, "I hain't had the dippin' 
 spoon, Reuben iiad the dippin' spoon." Then 
 the mother hailed Reuben with a question of 
 the dipping spoon. Reuben with a great dis- 
 play of vocal organs, denied any knowledge 
 of the whereabouts of the much wanted dip- 
 ping spoon. Mr. Dollar from somewhere 
 in the house, added his big, bass voice: "If 
 the gals can't keep the dippin' spoon, don't 
 come to the boys for the dippin' spoon." 
 
 Of course this **free show" or free hear- 
 ing was very amusing to the passerby. At 
 the supper table he related the incident to 
 his family and they thought it funny. 
 
 Mother to entertain her little ones, told 
 of it, and we in our turn tell it to our chil- 
 dren. 
 
 So you see the story comes "sounding 
 down the ages" to the third generation to be 
 smiled at. I suspect the fourth generation 
 will get it too in all its ridiculous freshness. 
 
 — 156 — 
 
A HEART TO HEART TALK WITH 
 MOTHERS. 
 
 For some time I have felt drawn to a 
 heart to heart talk with mothers on the dear, 
 familiar subject, our children. I am only a 
 woman with many years experience of the 
 ups and downs of life and I have learned 
 hard lessons at a dear cost. 
 
 I am well acquainted with the cares, wor- 
 ries and griefs of motherhood, but oh, I 
 have enjoyed the softness of baby flesh, the 
 sweetness, the cooing, the prattle and laugh- 
 ter and — oh you smiles and dimples 1 A 
 baby^s smile makes me feel as a little son of 
 mine said he felt. He was trying to explain 
 to me how the sight of sweet scented and 
 beautiful flower affected him. "It makes me 
 feel like I don't know what to do." 
 
 I believe Wordsworth must have had that 
 indescribable sensation when he had "feel- 
 ings too deep for words" in the contempla- 
 tion of a flower. As my children grew older, 
 their dependence and confidence in mamma's 
 love and protection was sweet. Oh, it was 
 sweet, but I did not realize the responsibility 
 placed on me, nor did I appreciate the op- 
 portunity of moulding and shaping the ten- 
 der and plastic minds, lovingly but firmly^ 
 "line on line, precept on precept" in forming 
 their characters. 
 
 It is true I taught them to say their pray- 
 ers to the Heavenly Father and I insisted on 
 
 -157- 
 
truthfulness and honesty, even to forceful- 
 ness in carrying out my demands. I switched 
 my little children as early as they began to 
 tell falsehoods or "stories'* and for taking 
 little things that belonged to someone else. 
 These are the beginnings in forming char- 
 acter, 'Xine on line, precept on precept." 
 With all my household work, I did not find 
 time to study each child's natural individual- 
 ity or tendencies to one or another direction. 
 
 Sometimes I'd be so tired in mind and 
 body I would slacken in my firmness ; then 
 little faults not "nipped in the bud" like 
 "little foxes spoiling the vines" would gain 
 strength and make headway against my re- 
 newed vigilance. 
 
 I wanted to do great things but my re- 
 sources were limited and environment gave 
 no scope for ambitious climbing. 
 
 I'd get restless and out of heart, but the 
 strenuous exigencies of living and serving 
 would press home the crying need of action 
 and more action. 
 
 My first four children came so fast I was 
 never without "a babe in arms." I am the 
 mother of seven. The fifth child, a little 
 girl whom we named Lottie for my hus- 
 band's mother, was a lovely, frail, brown- 
 eyed darling. She lived to be only four years 
 and seven months old. She died of pneu- 
 monia after five days' illness. It was a ter- 
 rible blow to us. After her death I longed 
 to live in such a way as to be able to meet 
 
 ^158 — 
 
my darling in the "Beyond" or the "Here- 
 after," as the future existence is sometimes 
 called. Earnestly I began to try to be a 
 Christian and I am still striving in sweet 
 hope. 
 
 Where I failed in impressing or repressing 
 my children in each emergency where duty 
 was imperative on my part, I have reaped 
 the results. I look back with mental eyes 
 at scenes long ago acted out and I sigh for 
 the "might have beens." All my children ex- 
 cept one young son, have like birds flown 
 from the home nest and have dwelling 
 places apart from my loving care or influ- 
 ence. Ah, well, in game parlance, Tve had 
 my "throw" in character building. I can do 
 no more myself. I can only pray our 
 Heavenly Father to fill up, round out and 
 make perfect the characters I so feebly en- 
 deavored to shape and mold. He knows my 
 limitations and he will make allowances for 
 my shortcomings I am humbly confident. 
 
 With my full experience Fd like to help 
 young mothers with advice as how to build 
 characters in their beloved children. The 
 time to work is when their minds are young 
 and tender, easy to mold and as wax to im- 
 pression. The bringing up of children is an 
 awful responsibility, but few people regard 
 it as such. Little children ape their seniors 
 in many surprising ways. 
 
 We serve as examples often unconsciously 
 to these small imitators. Into hands of par- 
 
 — 159-r 
 
ents these living souls are intrusted. What 
 will the answers be when God demands a 
 reckoning of that trust? 
 
 Perhaps there is no lack of material wel- 
 fare to complain of, no lack of natural af- 
 fection, but what of the building of char- 
 acter to enable these precious ones to strive 
 with and overcome the temptations and pow- 
 ers of evil that is inevitable in the coming to 
 try their souls, and — oh many will be found 
 wanting because of the lack of "line on 
 line, precept on precept" in the art of char- 
 acter building on the part of loving but 
 short-sighted parents. 
 
 ELLA MAY QUARLES. 
 
 — 160 — 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 015 937 789 1 
 
 
 
 
 :, t,%- i:ci.-;>Xr.'■b?>u<':-