Class 
 
 Book ^ 
 
 Gopghtl^^. 
 
 \^ 13 
 
 COPVRIGHT DEPOSTT 
 
'ROUND ABOUT 
 
 BURLINGTON 
 
 VERSE 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES S. LORD. 
 

 COPYRIGHT 1913 
 
 BY 
 
 C. S. LORD 
 
 ©CLAaClSO? 
 
^i:. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF MOTHER 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 My Friends 1 
 
 The Common Lot 3 
 
 The Old Home Farm 4 
 
 The First Robin of Spring 8 
 
 A Summer Sail — On Lake Champlain 9 
 
 June 10 
 
 May 12 
 
 October 14 
 
 November 15 
 
 A Methodist . 16 
 
 The Deer Slayer 18 
 
 A Winter Night 18 
 
 Rock of Ages 19 
 
 Autumn 20 
 
 Lullaby 22 
 
 Canoe Song 23 
 
 Bartimeus 24 
 
 The Golden Rule 25 
 
 This Too Will Pass 26 
 
 The Shadows of Maydays 27 
 
 Buttercups and Daisies 29 
 
 Music 29 
 
 The W. C. T. U. and King Alcohol 33 
 
 Life 37 
 
 A Violin Solo 38 
 
 A Prayer at Evening 39 
 
 On Lake Champlain 40 
 
 Memorial Day 41 
 
 Willow Brook 42 
 
 A Name 44 
 
 Propect Hill 45 
 
Lil-I'-Nau 47 
 
 Two Pictures 51 
 
 True Happiness 53 
 
 The Angel of Peace 54 
 
 Snow 55 
 
 Kind Words 56 
 
 "Sometime" 57 
 
 Parmer Jones Spolie in Meeting of W. C. T. U 59 
 
 When T. R. was in Africa 65 
 
 Hats 67 
 
 Limericlcs 68 
 
 May 71 
 
 A Fourth of July Picnic 72 
 
 Our Theodore 73 
 
 The Bather 75 
 
 Peary and Cook 76 
 
 A Picnic Reminiscence 77 
 
 The Baby 79 
 
 Good Weather 80 
 
MY FRIENDS. 
 
 THAT which I am, came from a land uncharted, 
 Where feet of men have never travelled over ; 
 Or from far heig^hts, unsealed by man's aspiring-; 
 Or emerald depths that thought has never sounded ; 
 Or may be, from some dazzling- realms mysterious, 
 Where human mind and sense are barred from en- 
 trance ; 
 Yet near, as are the king-doms of the senses — 
 Unknown to us, because we lack perception. 
 
 So— dust, desire, and joy and pain compounded — 
 And thrilled with love, and mystified by reason — 
 I come into this conscious phase a moment ; 
 A name — a passing- gleam — a cry — a shadow. 
 O. friends of mine, I call to you, in passing. 
 To say good morn ; and tell you that I love you. 
 For life is love — else why the grief at parting, 
 And love is life — and love is joy eternal. 
 
 The flowers blossom, and distil their fragrance ; 
 But as we breathe it, it is wafted from us — 
 The sunshine charms, the summer soothes our sor- 
 rows — 
 But night draws near ; the winter hastens towards us. 
 So linger not, but let me know your presence. 
 Tell me your needs — the proof of love is service — 
 And let me taste the nectar of your friendship ; 
 And let me prove that life is given for loving. 
 Page One 
 
And should I fail to hear the call of duty ; 
 And if from weakness, or a bent to sinning, 
 I miss the chance to prove my right of being — 
 In the base turmoil of a selfish struggle, 
 I lose the meaning of life's greatest lesson — 
 Yet, you to whom my spirit ever reaches, 
 O let your spirits blend with mine to help me. 
 So, hearty clasp and friendly smiles revealing 
 Our mutual bonds of life and love and longing, 
 Let us be quick to recognize their meaning. 
 And be content that we have known each other. 
 
 For soon our dust with parent dust will mingle. 
 And that which came from out those realms mys- 
 terious, 
 Will circle on its long apportioned journey ; 
 Beyond the confines of the sky, it may be; 
 Or, under some new guise or mode of being. 
 Remain at home, unseen by those who love us — 
 Fulfilling still the will of Him who made us. 
 
 Feb. 9, 191 2. 
 
 Page Two 
 
THE COMMON LOT. 
 
 f will not strive to find some sheltered spot 
 
 ■*• To while Life's hours away — 
 
 Content that I have found the common lot — 
 
 A chance to work and pray. 
 A chance to fight, as men have always fought 
 
 For just their common needs 
 Of shelter, food and raiment ; dearly bought 
 
 By constant, strenuous deeds. 
 
 A chance to show my willingness to work 
 
 Among my fellow men ; 
 A chance to prove that I will never shirk 
 
 My share of toil or pain ; 
 My share of disappointment and of loss — 
 
 Of darkness and of gloom — 
 My turn to bear the common, heavy cross ; 
 
 Or weep beside a tomb. 
 
 So shall I find my Heaven appointed place — 
 
 My special burdens bear — 
 And with contentment, lift a smiling face 
 
 And breathe a grateful prayer. 
 A prayer that utters not a selfish cry 
 
 For gold, or joy, or ease, 
 Nor yet a wail because of sins gone by, 
 
 God's wrath to appease. 
 Page Three 
 
But fervent thankfulness for faith and love. 
 
 And friends who understand ; 
 For stars that twinkle in the skies above, 
 
 For flowers that grace the land ; 
 For evidences in my soul of God — 
 
 And so, I falter not ; 
 Tho' Fate rewards, or wields a chastening- rod — 
 
 / share tlic Common Lot. 
 
 January, 19 13. 
 
 THE OLD HOME FARM. 
 
 I would that with enchanted pen, 
 Or flow of inspiration, 
 I could recall those scenes again — 
 
 Oh, short were their duration — 
 When I, a happy boy at home, 
 Through its beloved fields did roam. 
 
 No mansion grand was my abode — 
 
 To me it seemed a palace — 
 The street was but a country road, 
 
 That wound o'er hills, through valleys, 
 Past scenes that in my memory rise 
 Like visions of a paradise. 
 
 Page Four 
 
Before the rambling- farmhouse old, 
 With numerous building's clustered, 
 
 Around it like a warrior bold, 
 With all his forces mustered. 
 
 Were trees, that in the summer bore. 
 
 Of luscious fruit, a goodly store. 
 
 Oft in their glorious springtime's dress, 
 
 The bee, a vagrant rover, 
 Rejoiced in greatest happiness, 
 
 As in the time of clover. 
 And all day long, with busy hum. 
 He sucked the honey from the bloom. 
 
 Beside the house, and towering o'er, 
 An ancient tree is growing; 
 
 That butternuts and turkeys bore. 
 How long there is no knowing; 
 
 Majestic as the prince of trees. 
 
 It scrapes the roof with every breeze. 
 
 A little stream the livelong- day. 
 Is sparkling, bright and merry, 
 
 And hurries down beside the way, 
 A while, at least, to tarry, 
 
 Within the moss grown farmyard trough, 
 
 Then ripples on with song and laugh. 
 
 Page Five 
 
An ancient orchard, rough and old, 
 
 Is in the lower meadow, 
 A spring bursts forth, both clear and cold. 
 
 Almost within its shadow ; 
 And oft I've hastened to its side, 
 To quench my thirst at eventide. 
 
 I used to lie, at heat of day, 
 
 Beneath the maples tall, 
 
 And watch the squirrels at their play, 
 
 * 
 Around the old stone wall ; 
 
 They knew how safe was their retreat 
 
 And ventured almost to my feet. 
 
 Sometimes, far up the hill, alone. 
 
 The twilight hour has found me, 
 
 And sitting on my favorite stone, 
 I long would gaze around me, 
 
 Upon the beauties of the scene ; 
 
 Of golden light and varied green. 
 
 Below there lay, so white and fair, 
 
 A peaceful village sleeping, 
 Where scarce a whisper breaks the air. 
 
 And constant vigil keeping; 
 The grand old mountains cluster 'round 
 And guard its mysteries profound. 
 
 Page Six 
 
I sat entranced upon the hill, 
 
 And watched the sunset glory, 
 
 And now I feel a sweet, wild thrill 
 As I relate the story, 
 
 And yet a joy so free from pain 
 
 Will nevermore be mine again. 
 
 And now, once more, that picture fair 
 
 I see in mental vision, 
 In summer's beauty, rich and rare. 
 
 As sweet as fields Elysian, 
 The waving sea of golden grain; 
 Below, the cattle in the lane. 
 
 The cornfields nodding in the breeze 
 Softly their tresses parting, 
 
 The house half hidden by the trees, 
 The swallows 'round it darting. 
 
 The giants of the sugar place ; 
 
 Beyond, old Mansfield's scowling face. 
 
 The picture fades ; and now again, 
 I cannot trace its beauty, 
 
 I lay aside my wandering pen, 
 And turn to care and duty. 
 
 But care and time can ne'er efface, 
 
 The memories of that dear old place. 
 
 Page Seven 
 
THE FIRST ROBIN OF SPRING. 
 
 1 heard a robin sing — 
 With morning slumbers mingled 
 Those glorious notes, appealing — 
 That through my dreams came stealing, 
 'Til my whole being tingled 
 With the awakening Spring. 
 
 I heard a robin sing — 
 
 Above the passing clatter — 
 
 The street cars' roar and rumble — 
 
 Above the ceaseless chatter — 
 
 Amid the noisy jumble, 
 
 I heard the voice of Spring. 
 
 I heard a robin sing, 
 Just as the day was breaking ; 
 My soul with rapture filled 
 At such a joyous waking, 
 And through my pulses thrilled 
 The buoyant life of Spring. 
 
 March 26, 191 1. 
 
 Page Eight 
 
A SUMAIER SAIL— ON LAKE CHAMPLAIN. 
 
 SO beautiful ! The lake, the shore, the clouds, the 
 sky! 
 So much I love, so much I lose, as they flit by ; 
 So much I cannot comprehend — Yet God is g-ood ; 
 His love adorns it all — not understood. 
 
 I look and listen as these summer moments fly ; 
 T feel the wondrous love ; the awful Presence nigh. 
 The sunlit mountain peaks, majestic, far away; 
 The shady nooks where campers dwell about the bay; 
 
 The island's mirrored foliage in a peaceful sea — 
 All fill my soul with love — my mind with mystery. 
 The storm clouds gather— fcreak — the raindrops sweep 
 
 the sky ; 
 The tremulous waters shudder as the storm howls by. 
 
 The mountains that so proudly raised their heads, sun- 
 kissed, 
 
 Now loom like giant spectres through the driving 
 mist — 
 
 The storm is past — the evening winds with cool moist 
 hands 
 
 Caress my brow ; my dimmed eyes turn to sunset lands. 
 
 Page Nine 
 
These present, evanescent, changing beauties tire ; 
 And less and less my soul absorbs, mine eyes admire ; 
 Like tired child I long- for rest — am going home ; 
 I turn to greet the lengthening shadows as they come. 
 
 Home, sleep and rest; to rise at morn refreshed, re- 
 newed. 
 
 And, understanding not, to k7tOTu that God is good ; 
 
 So life's short day ; the hours of joy and light and love, 
 
 Not understood; nor storms nor darkening clouds 
 above. 
 
 My soul is tired, I long for home and rest and sleep, 
 And trust at morn to rise refreshed ; to know the 
 
 deep, 
 The precious love; the hope fulfilled; our Father's 
 
 smile ; 
 The joy of meeting with those loved and lost awhile. 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 MORNING breaks in waves of music. 
 Evening melts in mellow haze ; 
 Nights are odorous with flowers, 
 Green and golden are the days. 
 
 Page Ten 
 
Time of buttercups and daisies — 
 
 Fields are full of Summer's story; 
 
 Blossoming- banks of wayside roses 
 Charm us with their fleeting g"lory. 
 
 Rich the forest's leafy mantle. 
 
 Cool its depths of moss and fern ; 
 
 Dainty wild flowers' modest faces 
 Shyly peep at every turn. 
 
 Hear the the robins' early chorus, 
 List the sparrows' liquid song; 
 
 Hearken as the silvery hermit 
 
 Chimes the forest aisles along. 
 
 June is here — that glorious dreamer — 
 Hearts oppressed, forget your woe ; 
 
 Turn from grief and care and duty, 
 Bid the haunting spectres go. 
 
 Bathe your souls in light and beauty — 
 Lark-like let your spirits rise; 
 
 Far above the strife and tumult 
 Join celestial harmonies. 
 
 Page Eleven 
 
MAY. 
 
 /'^OULD I, by foresight, know today 
 
 ^^^ That ne'er again mine eyes should see 
 
 The bounteous life of budding May — 
 
 The verdant mead — the blooming tree ; 
 
 It is enough that I have seen 
 
 The pink and white on apple bough ; 
 The dandelion on the green, 
 
 The cowslip in the meadow slough ; 
 
 That, mingling with my waking dreams, 
 
 The robin's song I've heard; and known 
 
 The grandeur of morn's early beams 
 Upon the distant moimtains thrown. 
 
 Have listened, as the darkness fell, 
 
 To twilight voices, sweet and clear; 
 
 Where distant marsh and woodland dell 
 
 Proclaimed the Spring time of the year. 
 
 Have felt the soft drops of the rain 
 
 Against my face, press cool and sweet ; 
 
 And heard, on roof and windowpane, 
 The patter of their hurrying feet. 
 
 Page Twelve 
 
Enough that in the bvids and flowers 
 
 I've watched the miracles of growth; 
 
 And, through these deep, unfathomed powers, 
 Caught ghmpses of eternal truth. 
 
 Enough that under midnight skies 
 
 I've seen the moon rise from the sea; 
 
 That with their myriad sparkling eyes 
 The twinkling stars have smiled on me. 
 
 Enough that in each quickened sense, 
 
 Each consciousness of power or grace — 
 
 I recognize Omnipotence — - 
 
 Unlimited by time or space. 
 
 Content I wait the dreamless sleep — 
 For wheresoe'er my spirit dwell ; 
 
 The Hand that made will surely keep — 
 That Hand that doeth all thinsrs well. 
 
 Page Thirteen 
 
OCTOBER. 
 
 r'ROSTY white each lawn and garden 
 •■■ In the tinghng- morning hours ; 
 
 Leaves are tinted red and yellow — 
 Scant and lonely are the flowers. 
 
 In the fields, like sentinels guarding, 
 Stand the rustling shocks of corn ; 
 
 Purple wild grapes by the roadside, 
 Vine-embowered walls adorn. 
 
 Hunters range the mountain forests. 
 
 Where the shrinking wild deer dwell ; 
 
 Where, upon his log, the partridge 
 Drums within some mossy dell. 
 
 Harvest time of joy and plenty — 
 
 Bounteous stores of golden grain ; 
 
 Seed, wide sown as on the waters. 
 Many fold comes back again. 
 
 But, in memory, springtime lingers. 
 And we miss the summer days ; 
 
 And we know that swirling blizzards 
 Lurk beyond October's haze. 
 
 Page Fourteen 
 
NOVEMBER. 
 
 XTOW the cold, gray clouds are drifting, and the 
 
 ^ ^ harsh wind whistles by, 
 
 And the restless trees are lifting piteous, bare arms 
 
 to the sky ; 
 And the random flakes are sifting where the leaves 
 
 ungathered lie. 
 
 Seamed with white, each frozen furrow — Summer 
 flowers have come to naught ; 
 
 Frost — relentless, cruel, thorough — treachous, blight- 
 ing work hath wrought ; 
 
 Only woodchuck in his burrow, slumbers on and 
 reckons not. 
 
 Raw the fields with ragged stubble — fern hills browned 
 
 with killing frost ; 
 Flags a-droop where streamlets bubble — cowslip's 
 
 yellow beauty lost ; 
 Sentinel crow proclaims his trouble, from fir eyrie 
 
 tempest-tossed. 
 
 Cattle, shivering to their stable, toss their horns and 
 
 wonder why 
 Summertime is so unstable — all too quickly passing by ; 
 Turkeys know not that the table, ill-portending them, 
 
 is nigh. 
 
 Page Fifteen 
 
Sometimes, crisp and cold and thrilling, frosty dawn 
 
 delights the eye ; 
 Gorgeous east, o'er dun clouds, spilling floods of gold 
 
 and crimson dye ; 
 Lofty, purple, mountains' chilling snow clad peaks in 
 
 crystal sky. 
 
 And at night the lamplight gleaming from the misty 
 
 window pane. 
 Warmth and friendly greeting beaming down the 
 
 shadowy, stormy lane ; 
 
 Lures to rest and peaceful dreaming, toiler battling 
 
 home again. 
 
 Nov. 19, 1905. 
 
 A METHODIST. 
 
 I'D have you to know I'm a Methodist, 
 A Methodist, a Methodist, 
 The happiest mortal on the list ; 
 My soul is filled with a precious joy — 
 A cheer that nothing can ever annoy, 
 And happiness all my being fills 
 Way up to the brim 'till it overspills, 
 And I shout aloud, and will not desist, 
 For I am a Methodist. 
 
 Page Sixteen 
 
I wish that yoii were a Methodist, 
 
 A Methodist, a Methodist, 
 Come join with me in this heavenly tryst; 
 Would you have the peace you never have known? 
 Would you feel your troubles away have flown? 
 Would you quit your meanness and rig"ht about face 
 Up the narrow path to that better place? 
 Get into the light and out of the mist, 
 
 And be a good Methodist. 
 
 And yet if you are not a Methodist, 
 
 A Methodist, a Methodist, 
 ]May be you're Episcopal, trim and whist, 
 Or a Congo that chooses to think for himself; 
 Or a Quaker who cares not for riches nor pelf, 
 Or a Baptist immersed in a babbling- brook. 
 Or a Catholic reading his prayers from a book ; 
 If your life by the sun of God's love has been kissed, 
 
 You're as good as a Methodist. 
 
 Page Seventeen 
 
THE DEER SLAYER. 
 
 A hunter went forth one Autumn day 
 In the rustling leafy wild ; 
 A deer across his track did stray, 
 Treading the mountain's lofty way 
 
 Where the glacier's rocks were piled. 
 
 The beautiful eyes were glad and free, 
 And proud was the antlered head ; 
 
 That night the hunter, with boastful glee, 
 
 Related a story of victory — 
 
 But the beautiful deer lay dead. 
 
 A WINTER NIGHT. 
 
 STRAY snowflakes brush my face 
 Like touch of fairy fingers; 
 Afar, in starry space 
 The Aurora flames and lingers ; 
 The night grows tense and still ; 
 In moonlight's misty shadows 
 The spruces guard the hill ; 
 The willows trace the meadows. 
 
 Page Eighteen 
 
ROCK OF AGES. 
 
 SUBLIME, storm beat, wind swept, strong; 
 Founded when the worlds were born. 
 Lasting through the ages long 
 'Till the last triumphant morn. 
 
 Refuge of the shipwrecked soul ; 
 
 Hope of sinking barques — storm-tossed — 
 When engulfing billows roll, 
 
 And the ship is all but lost. 
 
 Page Nineteen 
 
AUTUMN. 
 
 WHEN the crows are holding caucus 
 In the pine tops — loud and raucous — 
 And the squirrels snicker in the chestnut trees ; 
 When the vines with red are burning, 
 And the maple leaves are turning, 
 And the hollyhocks are nodding in the breeze. 
 
 When, through every marsh and river, 
 
 The wild duck echoes quiver; 
 
 When the boys get out the fishing rod and gun, 
 
 And the old hounds anxious baying. 
 
 Utters protest 'gainst delaying 
 
 Of the chase that makes the red fox run. 
 
 When the small boy's grin grows wider 
 
 As he fills up on sweet cider 
 
 And he loads his pocket from the apple bin; 
 
 When, alone, the sprightly aster 
 
 Has survived the frost's disaster, 
 
 And geraniums and bulbs are taken in. 
 
 When, at dewy morn, the camper 
 
 Finds the frosty grass is damper, 
 
 And deserts his summer cottage for the town; 
 
 When the county politician, 
 
 Following his pet ambition, 
 
 Drives his rubber tired buggy up and down. 
 
 Page Twenty 
 
When the husky cornstalks rustle, 
 
 And the farmer has to hustle 
 
 To get harvested his store of golden grain ; 
 
 When the golden rod has faded, 
 
 And belated chicks look jaded 
 
 As they haunt the currant bushes in the rain. 
 
 When the mothballs and the cedar, 
 
 By the hustling household leader. 
 
 Are shook out from robes and furs and winter clothes ; 
 
 When the mercury is falling, 
 
 And the iceman ceases calling, 
 
 And we harvest garden stuff before its froze. 
 
 When the brown is on the clover, 
 
 And vacation days are over. 
 
 And the coal man fills the cellar rooms with dust; 
 
 When straw hats are no more stunning, 
 
 And the tax man comes a-dunning, 
 
 And the school girls study evenings, 'cause they must. 
 
 When the muskmelons are mellow. 
 
 And the sight of pumpkins yellow 
 
 Makes us dream of pies that mother used to make ; 
 
 When the sunset colors deaden, 
 
 And the morning sky is leaden, 
 
 And the chilly mists hang low upon the lake. 
 
 Page Twenty-one 
 
Then we waken to discover 
 
 That the summer time is over, 
 
 With its golden days of beauty and of cheer ; 
 
 But we'll not be melancholy, 
 
 For Thanksgiving-time is jolly, 
 
 And the Christmas holidays will soon be here. 
 
 LULLABY. 
 
 17 ACE of the lily- 
 ^ Heart of the rose — 
 
 Little one — pretty one — sleep ; 
 What are you dreaming? 
 
 Nobody knows — 
 Fairy dreams — far away — deep. 
 
 Pure as the lily. 
 
 Sweet as the rose; 
 Clear of mind — true of heart — grow; 
 Facing life's battles. 
 
 Bearing life's woes ; 
 Steadfastly, lovingly, go. 
 
 Heart of the lily, 
 
 Heart of the rose. 
 All your days— all your ways, keep ; 
 
 Angels direct you where love ever glows, 
 When those who love you now, sleep. 
 
 Page Twenty-two 
 
CANOE SONG. 
 
 nnWIXT the mountains of Green and the mountains 
 •■• of blue, 
 
 My lady and I sailed our light canoe 
 O'er the bright sparkling waters of Lake Champlain ; 
 And the ripples played softly love's sweet refrain — 
 The music of Lake Champlain. 
 
 Oh ! my lady was young and my lady was fair ; 
 The waves kissed her fingers, the breezes her hair ; 
 The sunset's soft glow crowned the mountains so blue, 
 And a tender light shone from her eyes deep and true 
 That evening on Lake Champlain. 
 
 In sunshine and rain most bewitching Champlain 
 Thy charm and thy beauty shall ever remain; 
 And my love for the lady of Lake Champlain — 
 When our dancing canoe floats Oh! never again 
 O'er the water of Lake Champlain. 
 
 RE^FRAIN. 
 
 Beautiful Burlington 'round the bay. 
 And the marvel of sunset anew each day, 
 I see you in dreams when I'm far away 
 From Lake Champlain. 
 
 Page Twenty-three 
 
BARTIMEUS. 
 
 IN the darkness of the daylight, because of sightless 
 eyes, 
 Groped the blind man, Bartimeus, among the 
 waiting throng; 
 Lingered where the curious waited — the sorrowing and 
 and the wise — 
 For the coming of the One for whom the world 
 had waited long. 
 
 And some were unbelieving, and many did not care; 
 And some would hear who could not — the blind 
 man longed to see; 
 And when those who saw rushed forward, he cried 
 aloud a prayer — 
 "O Jesus, Master merciful — show mercy unto 
 me." 
 
 O soul in darkness waiting, and longing for the light, 
 This is a day supernal — The Master passeth by; 
 
 He can dispel thy darkness, He can unseal thy sight; 
 Then call while He is passing and He will hear 
 thy cry. 
 
 Page Twenty-four 
 
The Master in His beauty; the Christ, the Lord, the 
 King; 
 His Kingdom is the universe — His throne is in 
 the sky — 
 And yet he will restore thy sight and leave thee wor- 
 shipping, 
 If thou wall call upon him as he is passing by. 
 
 May 8, 19 lo. 
 
 THE GOLDEN RULE. 
 
 <<\Y/HATSOEVER ye would" of the rest of man- 
 W kind, 
 
 That's what to your neighbors you owe; 
 And the path of success you are seeking to find, 
 
 Is the way you should help men to go. 
 
 The blessings of friendship and merited praise. 
 
 Bestow, tho' you perish unknown ; 
 Let the light of your smile brighten others' dark days, 
 
 Tho' sunshine has fled from your own. 
 
 Tho' heavy the burdens that have to be borne, 
 As you toil up the steep narrow way, 
 
 Forget not the wayfarers, weary and worn, 
 That require your assistance each day. 
 
 Page Ttcenty-five 
 
"Whatsoever ye would that men do unto you," 
 Even so let us each to the other, 
 
 Give love and g^ood fellowship, loyal and true, 
 As brother should render to brother. 
 
 THIS TOO WILL PASS. 
 
 AFTER the cares of the daytime, 
 After the glooms of the night ; 
 After the freshness of maytime, 
 After the summer's delight ; 
 After the valleys of sorrow, 
 
 After the mountains of pain ; 
 In some eternal tomorrow 
 We may be happy again. 
 
 Care not for joys that are fleeting, 
 
 Turn not from storms of distress ; 
 Yield not to pleasure's entreating. 
 
 Stand through grief's terrible stress ; 
 "This too will pass" be the warning, 
 
 Bow to the chastening rod ; 
 After life's darkness — the morning. 
 
 After uncertainty — God, 
 
 Page Twenty-six 
 
THE SHADOWS OF MAYDAYS. 
 
 /^UT in the woods on the sandy plains 
 
 ^^ Where the wild flowers bloom in the early 
 
 Spring, 
 My love and I, in the days gone by — 
 In the happy days of the golden maze 
 Of seasons past, too fair to last — 
 Went out, 'neath the trees and sky, 
 To drink perfumes that the breezes bring 
 Through flowery paths and piney lanes. 
 
 Out in the woods, when a shadow dread, 
 
 Threat'ning over our future hung; 
 
 And she smiled at the flowers, in those sunny hours. 
 
 That I brought to her side from far and wide ; 
 
 But her step was slow and the wind sighed low, 
 
 Of a parting that, too soon, was ours ; 
 
 I smiled, tho' my heart was with anguish wrung, 
 
 And the pines moaned overhead. 
 
 Page Twenty-seven 
 
In the sad, sad spring, when first the green 
 Grew where my darling lay asleep ; 
 My footsteps turned toward the piney grove 
 To find a retreat 'mid the wildflowers sweet. 
 Where the ground had been hallowed by her feet- 
 But unsightly piles filled those sacred aisles. 
 And relentless waste marked the spot I love ; 
 And I turned from the scarred stumps to weep, 
 And I longed for a form and face unseen. 
 
 Bereft and alone, alas ! I sigh. 
 For the presence that is mine no more; 
 For my heart's delight who, one sad night, 
 While Autumn clouds flew hurrying by. 
 And the wind moaned low to my stifled cry, 
 In the waning light from me took flight ; 
 And I kiss the garments that she wore, 
 And wish that I might die. 
 
 May 4, i 
 
 Page Twenty-eight 
 
BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES. 
 
 D RIGHT little summer time faces, 
 '-^ Smiling in desolate places ; 
 Thanks for your beautiful graces — 
 
 Thanks for the joy you bestow ; 
 Footsore and lonely and weary, 
 Wandering a path rough and dreary, 
 I am blessed by your faces so cheery, 
 
 That enliven the wav I must go. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 ly'IND reader, have you ever felt the thrills, 
 •^^ That music sometimes wakes within the heart ; 
 And all your being with sweet rapture fills, 
 A joy that nothing else could e'er impart? 
 
 And listening to some soft, melodious song. 
 Been lifted upward by the gentle strain ; 
 
 Above all thoughts of hatred, strife and wrong, 
 Above the weary world of care and pain ? 
 
 Been lifted upward, as the swift winged flight 
 
 Of that rare bird, that e'er the morning-'s rays 
 
 Have chased away the gloomy shades of night. 
 
 Flies toward the heavens to sing its song of 
 praise ? 
 
 Page Twenty-nine 
 
Been lifted up above the gathered throng, 
 
 That with you sought to spend a pleasant hour ; 
 
 That, heeding not the cadence of the song, 
 
 Knew not the joy, nor felt its magic power? 
 
 You who have journeyed in life's varied way. 
 
 For many years, whose brows by care deep writ ; 
 
 And locks wherein the intermingling gray. 
 
 Proclaimed life's autumn ere you thought of it; 
 
 When you but listen to the harmonious sounds. 
 Of stirring songs or sad and mournful lays ; 
 
 Within your hearts the melody resounds. 
 
 And brings before you, scenes of other days. 
 
 Hushed are your voices now, while, soft and low. 
 The music thrills you with its subtle charm; 
 
 You view the scenes your childhood used to know — 
 The low roofed cottage on the old home farm. 
 
 The well house out beneath the maples tall, — 
 
 The old oak bucket with its sparkling draught ; 
 
 The orchard down below the garden wall 
 
 Beneath whose shades you often sang and 
 laughed. 
 
 Within, you see your father's favorite nook, 
 Where oft at eve he held you on his knee, 
 
 And read to you from out the sacred book. 
 Or told you tales of lands beyond the sea. 
 
 Page Thirty 
 
Soft and more tender seems the melting strain, 
 And teardrops gather like the morning- dew ; 
 
 Your mother's dear loved face you see again 
 
 Bright beaming with the love she had for you. 
 
 Well may you weep, and do not check the tears, 
 She was of all your earthly friends the best ; 
 
 Gently she soothed your childish griefs and fears. 
 And watched beside you while you were at rest. 
 
 The music changes and bright hours of bliss 
 
 Arise before you; words breathed soft and low, 
 
 And tender vows sealed by a lover's kiss, 
 
 Come to you from the distant long ago. 
 
 Bright were the eyes that smiled upon you then, 
 Of soft and melting- brown or heavenly blue ; 
 
 And now you seem to see them once again. 
 
 By these entrancing strains brought back to you. 
 
 Again the music changes and afar 
 
 You gaze upon a bloody battle plain ; 
 
 It is the harsh resounding notes of war 
 
 That sounds the strains of victory o'er the slain. 
 
 Fiercely the contest rages, and the roar 
 
 Of cannon, and the crashing ball 
 Seemingly says : "The battle 's on once more," 
 
 And quick your heart responds unto the call. 
 
 Page Thirty-one 
 
But now you hear some long forgotten strain 
 
 That takes you back to unremembered years ; 
 
 And all your pulses throb with sudden pain, 
 Again you strive to check the falling tears. 
 
 Perhaps when you last heard it, it was sung 
 By a dear voice that is forever hushed ; 
 
 Some friend you knew when life and hope were young, 
 By some great weary burden crushed. 
 
 And now the music swells with heavenly tone, 
 Enwrapt, you gaze upon a mighty throng, 
 
 That gathered round a bright and shining throne, 
 Forever sings the great redemption song. 
 
 Their faces glow with a celestial light, 
 
 xA-nd jeweled crowns upon their heads they wear; 
 Their garments are all spotless, pure and white. 
 
 And all around is beautiful and fair. 
 
 The music ceases, and life's present scenes 
 
 Claim your attention ; with one lingering sigh 
 
 You bid farewell to the strange waking dreams, 
 Brought to you by the changing melody. 
 
 There's blessings for us in the gentle notes. 
 
 That break life's din and bustle for an hour, 
 
 As through our souls the soothing music floats, 
 
 And thrills us with its strange mysterious power. 
 
 Page Thirty-two 
 
THE W. C. T. U. AND KING ALCOHOL. 
 
 f sat by my table the other night, 
 
 ■■• And though I had gone there intending to write, 
 
 I lingered and mused, as the swift moments flew, 
 
 Until I had pondered the whole evening through 
 
 On the ways of the world and the doings of men ; 
 
 And never a scratch of my indolent pen 
 
 Could I show for the hours that so quickly had fled. 
 
 That brought me dark pictures and thoughts that were 
 
 sad, 
 For I thought, as I sat, with my head on my hand, 
 Of the clouds that hang over our beautiful land — 
 Of the hearts that are breaking with sorrow and 
 
 shame, 
 Of the darkness that covers full many a name 
 That might have been white as the pure, driven snow ; 
 And I thought of the crime and the sin and the woe, 
 Where the poisonous rivers of vice overflow ; 
 And the want and the suffering that with them must 
 
 go; 
 I thought of the thousands lying low, 
 Bound by the chains of a terrible foe; 
 A merciless tyrant, the ally we know, 
 Of the prince of the sulphurous regions below ; 
 Now as my meditations were taking this turn, 
 I observed that my lamp was forgetting to burn ; 
 
 Page Thirty-three 
 
And a singular light commenced shining around, 
 And then on my table there came with a bound, 
 A queer little imp, who went skipping around ; 
 Then stopping before me, with bow most profound, he 
 said : 
 
 "Dearest sir, pray dispel your alarm. 
 For, though I look evil, I will do you no harm; 
 I live with the Prince of all evil below, 
 For I am his short-hand reporter you know, 
 And his majesty just made a speech to us all. 
 And since you appeared to have nothing to do, 
 I thought I would come and relate it to you ; 
 And so here it is, without more ado." 
 
 "Diabolical friends, I desire to extol. 
 
 The worthy endeavors of King Alcohol, 
 
 For excellent good he has rendered to me. 
 
 And the greatest of all my workers is he ; 
 
 His servants, well trained, are a million or more, 
 
 And captives he takes every day by the score ; 
 
 He tortures and binds them, and when he has done, 
 
 He sends them directly to me, every one ; 
 
 His foes, though but few, sometimes prove rather 
 
 bold. 
 But there's many good workers, his cause to uphold, 
 That are careful and crafty and cunning by nature ; 
 In Congress, in courts, in the State Legislature — 
 
 Page Thirty-four 
 
In positions of honor, in places of trust, 
 
 Wearing garments of kings and the robes of the just; 
 
 In the store, at the bar, in the editor's chair — 
 
 And e'en in the pulpit, sometimes they are there ; 
 
 In country and hamlet, and village and town, 
 
 In the haunts of the lowly and those of renown — 
 
 Full many a man of the best reputation 
 
 Assists him to foster his hold on the nation ; 
 
 To be brief, wherever mankind doth exist, 
 
 This business continues remarkably brisk ; 
 
 To be sure, there are drawbacks, there's none without 
 
 any, 
 But the ones which beset are not very many, 
 For the workers are few in the Temperance cause, 
 And though, they at times, stir up quite an ado, 
 With the aid of a temperance lecture or two, 
 And 'arrestings' and 'seizures' and 'rum raids' and 
 
 such. 
 Yet all they have done hasn't been very much. 
 And then in regard to their ironclad laws, 
 They have one in Vermont, were it put into motion, 
 That would raise in our midst a tremendous commo- 
 tion — 
 'Twould consign all our liquors and wines to the river 
 And keep people drinking cold water forever ; 
 And yet, were I asked, I would gladly indorse it. 
 For its makers themselves do not dare to enforce it." 
 
 Page Thirty-five 
 
An imp with a message now pressed through the 
 
 throng, 
 "Ah, this is of 'Temperance,' if I am not wrong; 
 And you shall all hear how our friends get along" ; 
 But the smile left his face as he looked down and read, 
 And a terrible frown could be seen there instead ; 
 "More temperance workers," he fiercely began, 
 "And those confounded women are at it again ; 
 How much do they know of the business of men ? 
 I was always fond of their dear, pleasant faces, 
 But I never could teach them to stay in their places" ; 
 "For you see," said this lively and talkative elf, 
 And he laughed till he shook all the lamps on the shelf, 
 "Of all things on earth His Highness most fears 
 A pure woman's influence, her prayers and her tears." 
 But when he had read farther down on the page. 
 His anger broke forth in a terrible rage, 
 And through all the regions of Hades he tore, 
 And cursing and swearing, with terrible roar. 
 E'en the witches were scared at the oaths that he 
 
 swore, 
 That never were known to be frightened before; 
 "O ! curse them" he shouted, "the villains, the fools, 
 They have taken their temperance into the schools." 
 
 Page Thirty-six 
 
"Will that hurt him greatly?" I eagerly cried — 
 Said the imp, "It will not affect him at once, 
 But by teaching- their temperance to scholar and dunce. 
 The coming young- men, with exceptions but few, 
 Will turn out a miserable, cold water crew ; 
 And so, when the last jolly toper has died, 
 Who now is his Majesty's subject and slave, 
 And the last merry tippler has gone to his grave, 
 The reign will be over for King Alcohol, 
 And I don't know what will become of us all ; 
 But I weary you, so I will bid you goodbye," 
 And he vanished from sight with a tear and a sigh. 
 
 October, 1882. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 nPHE moment passeth — just a little dreaming, 
 ■■• And then we dream no more; 
 
 Shall Earth's bright visions prove but idle seeming, 
 When this life is o'er? 
 
 How soon forgotten — when, at last we're sleeping. 
 
 The long, dreamless sleep ; 
 Yet He forgets not, Who is ever keeping 
 
 Watch o'er His sheep. 
 
 May 29, 19 10. 
 
 Page TMrty-seven 
 
A VIOLIN SOLO. 
 
 SONGS of the southwind, 
 Cries of the tempest ; 
 Chants of the violets, 
 Wild blossom choruses ; 
 Sorrows tongue cannot tell, 
 Wailing in minor chords; 
 Outbursts of heavenly 
 Exquisite harmonies ; 
 Passionate, sorrowing, 
 Loving and tender. 
 Peaceful and comforting; 
 Thrilling — inspiring — 
 Voice of the Infinite, 
 In liquid melody, 
 Poured from a wakened soul. 
 Through this frail instrument. 
 
 July 24, 1910. 
 
 Page Thirty-eight 
 
A PRAYER AT EVENING. 
 
 A S the twilight deepens ; and the sunset dies 
 *■ ^ And is finished all the record of the day ; 
 Lord, look on my transgressions with tender, pitying- 
 eyes — 
 Forgive, forgive my many sins I pray. 
 
 When upon my pillow vainly I seek for rest — 
 
 I am tortured by the thoughts of things undone ; 
 
 By vain regrets tormented — ^by memories oppressed 
 I turn to Thee for peace, Thou Mighty One. 
 
 When life's day is ending and the light shall fail 
 And Earth's familiar scenes shall fade away ; 
 
 Be with me as I enter the unknown shadowy vale, 
 And lead me to the lands of endless day. 
 
 May 29, 1910. 
 
 Page Thirty-nine 
 
ON LAKE CHAMPLAIN. 
 
 Oday serene and lovely! 
 > What thoughts thou bring'st to me! 
 Of other days as calm and clear, 
 And of the one who with us there, 
 Made e'en the landscape seem more fair, 
 The sunshine still more dear ! 
 O, joys no more to be 
 In days serene and lovely. 
 
 O, lake by green encircled ! 
 O, summer's charms so rare ! 
 And misty mountains beckon me, 
 And in the green — Love's realm I see 
 The blue — Death's awful mystery — 
 The joy, the pain of memory, 
 I find when sailing where 
 The lake's by green encircled. 
 
 We glide o'er rippling waters, 
 
 Their magic spell we feel ; 
 
 And waves, and shores, and clouds above. 
 
 All join in one caressing voice. 
 
 That bids our sorrowing hearts rejoice. 
 
 And in their songs of life and love, 
 
 Our wounded spirits heal 
 
 As we glide o'er rippling waters. 
 
 July 4, 1899. 
 
 Fage Forty 
 
MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 OUR Country ! Land of the brave and free ! 
 Who does not thrill with love and pride 
 To own its glorious liberty ? 
 
 To know its blessings, rich and wide. 
 
 Its blessings bought by patriots' blood, 
 
 Its freedom marked by patriots' graves ; 
 
 Oh ! May its cost be understood 
 
 Where'er the starry banner waves. 
 
 Where marble guards the patriot's tomb, 
 Or marks the unknown martyr's grave ; 
 
 Let pansies smile and tulips bloom, 
 
 Wreath flowers and let our banner wave. 
 
 'Neath southern sun and nothern snows, 
 
 Silent and still, our heroes lie; 
 Their graves are where the wild flower blows, 
 
 And where the multitudes rush by. 
 
 The seasons all unheeded pass, 
 
 The fleeting years are not for them ; 
 
 Nor drifting snows nor growing grass, 
 Nor earthly crown or diadem. 
 
 In flower of youth and manhood's prime 
 
 They died with life's work scarce begun; 
 For country fought with faith sublime, 
 And with their blood its victory won. 
 Page Forty-one 
 
These noble slain — forget them not — 
 Nor let their deeds forgotten be ; 
 
 Nor freedom's cause for which they fought, 
 On blood stained field and gory sea. 
 
 And if for honor and for right 
 
 Our country's call for us shall sound ; 
 Like them, may we haste to the fight. 
 
 And in the foremost ranks be found. 
 
 WILLOW BROOK. 
 
 1 would that my thoughts would as smoothly run, 
 As the placid waters of yonder stream; 
 I would that my weary tasks were done, 
 And by its side I could lie and dream. 
 
 Beneath the shade of some willow tree. 
 
 Where the mountains gaze in the waters deep ; 
 
 Where the birds sing soft and the lambs skip free 
 O'er the violet meadow and rugged steep. 
 
 Away from the hurry and bustle and din, 
 Away from scenes of woe and strife. 
 
 Away from vice and crime and sin; 
 
 Where naught but the pure has entered in. 
 And nature praises the Giver of Life. 
 
 Page Forty-two 
 
Where the flowers grow with a wreath of bloom 
 And Hft their heads to the passer by ; 
 
 Where the air is laden with rich perfume, 
 
 Where the waters murmur and breezes sigh. 
 
 For the mind is weary that hath not rest, 
 
 And the world knoweth not of rest or peace ; 
 
 It affords but sorrow and care at best, 
 
 And its weary strugglings never cease. 
 
 Here man with his fellow man contends, 
 And brotherly love is too oft forgot ; 
 
 And he, who victorious, gains his ends. 
 Sees the other fall and careth not. 
 
 And the nobler part of life is lost. 
 
 And the gentler nature within him dies; 
 
 But honors purchased at such a cost. 
 
 Prove but an empty and worthless prize. 
 
 I would I could walk by the riverside. 
 
 Far, far away from the haunts of men; 
 
 Where its waters calmly and sweetly glide. 
 Through shadowy valley and mossy glen. 
 
 And there where its waters whisper peace, 
 
 I could lift my thoughts to a higher plane; 
 
 Ah ! then would my troublings and doubtings cease, 
 Nevermore to come back asrain. 
 
 Page Forty-three 
 
A NAME. 
 
 A name, 'tis but a sound that shall be heard 
 A little while, not long, and soon no more 
 The breezes shall be stirred 
 By that peculiar sound ; the wave beat shore 
 That listens to the ever varying- tale 
 The wavelets whisper, with a sigh, a wail. 
 Now soft, now loud, unlike the sound before, 
 Relates as much of this as we may know 
 Of men who lived and perished long ago. 
 
 These silent hills around that have looked on 
 While, all too swift the ages have passed by ; 
 That, since the army first its march began. 
 Whose lot was but to suffer and to die, 
 Have echoed with the tread of hurrying feet — 
 Who have, at times, within their safe retreat 
 Received Earth's greatest ones — could they unfold 
 The wondrous tale which they, in silence hold. 
 So strange a story never has been told. 
 
 Page Forty-four 
 
Great is the army of the living- spread abroad, 
 
 In one immense encampment made by God, 
 
 And yet a host ten fold as great lies sleeping 'neatb 
 
 the sod, 
 A peaceful, dreamless sleep ; 
 So deep, profoundly deep, 
 
 That nevermore they'll rise to gird their armor on ; 
 Nevermore while starry orbs shall move in space 
 To make the seasons and the years, and time and place. 
 And all things earthly shall continue ; those long since 
 
 gone 
 
 Shall be remembered or by Earth be known, 
 
 Nor shall their names be heard until the last accounts 
 
 are shown. 
 
 1882. 
 
 PROSPECT HILL. 
 
 ONE summer's day when all the earth was fair, 
 I wandered to a hilltop near the town, 
 And there beheld a most entrancing scene, 
 
 And long I stood and looked in wonder down. 
 
 Toward the north were broad and well tilled farms, 
 And large, rich meadows filled with waving grain ; 
 
 And farther on where grew the poplar trees, 
 I saw a desolate and sandy plain. 
 
 Page Forty-five 
 
I turned me toward the west where sunset hues 
 Began to gather ; there in sparkHng- light, 
 
 Dotted with islands — here and there a sail — 
 
 The broad lake lay before me, rippling, bright. 
 
 Below, like a silver thread, the river ran. 
 
 Turning the whirring spindles of the mill ; 
 
 Great halls of healing and of education crown. 
 Beyond the stream, the city's hill. 
 
 But, Oh ! the east, the morn-illumined east, 
 
 Where lay the dear loved mountains of my home ! 
 
 So grand and beautiful against the sky, 
 
 Their peaks seemed ever beckoning me to come. 
 
 Oh fair the changing scene I looked upon. 
 
 That lay between me and their lovely blue ; 
 
 But fairer, sweeter still there lay beyond, 
 
 A lovelier landscape that I longed to view. 
 
 — June 1880. 
 
 Page Forty-six 
 
LIL-r-NAU. 
 
 AN INDIAN TRADITION. 
 
 A MONG many a story and quaint superstition, 
 ■*»• That the dreamy old Past tells the child of 
 
 Today, 
 Are a few scattered fragments of Indian tradition. 
 Of the Ottawa nation ; long sinced passed away. 
 
 Here is one : by the side of great Michigan's waters 
 Stood the lodge of the chief — there he dwelt with 
 his child — 
 
 Lil-i'-nau the fairest of Ottawa's daughters. 
 
 With eyes like the fawn and as graceful and wild. 
 
 Sixteen times had the Spring with her burden of 
 flowers, 
 Dropped the pink and white buds 'neath the mur- 
 muring trees ; 
 Sixteen times came the Summer to dwell in her 
 bowers, 
 'Midst the singing of birds and the humming of 
 bees. 
 
 Since she came, the wee stranger, fair flower of the 
 wildwood — 
 Now the light of the lodge and the Ottawas' pride ; 
 And the young braves that once were her playmates in 
 childhood. 
 Now came to her wigwam to sue for a bride. 
 Page Forty-seven 
 
There came noble warriors from other brave nations, 
 
 To woo with rich presents and promises rare ; 
 But she deigned not a smile to their ardent persua- 
 sions ; 
 And the brave, though deserving, possessed not 
 the fair. 
 
 Lil-i'-nau, Lil-i'-nau, the pine boughs are calling, 
 
 In whispering sighs they speak love to thine ear; 
 'Neath the glimmer of starlight with footsteps light 
 falling. 
 She walks 'mid the trees through the night, with- 
 out fear. 
 
 The rustle and snap of the twigs in the thicket — 
 The owl's mournful call to his far-away mate — 
 
 The whir of the bat and the chirp of the cricket ; 
 
 She hears them and heeds not — but why does she 
 wait ? 
 
 "Lil-i'-nau, Lil-i'-nau," the pine boughs are sighing, 
 "So lovely ! So cruel ! Coy maiden, beware ; 
 
 O list to the words of a love never dying. 
 
 Though I seem but a shadow, a creature of air." 
 
 "Beloved, thy face is my sunlight, my morning — 
 
 Thy smile is my day but thy frown is my night; 
 
 What grace and what beauty unite in adorning 
 The face and the form of my love, my delight." 
 
 Page Forty-eight 
 
"Lil-i'-nau, Lil-i'-naii, turn not away scorning', 
 The love I would offer, the troth I would plight," 
 
 O you pines, naughty pines, what is this you are vow- 
 ing, 
 We have heard your soft whispers and the story 
 they told ; 
 See ! See ! Those blue plumes that are waving- and 
 bowing. 
 That dim-outlined figure, majestic and bold. 
 
 'Tis a spectre, a whispering phantom — this lover, 
 Once a warrior, a chieftain, the pride of his race ; 
 
 Now he comes 'neath these murmuring pine trees to 
 hover, 
 And nightly soft whispers of love fill the place. 
 
 Lil-i'-nau, Lil-i-nau, O why art thou smiling. 
 
 Canst' thou feel these cold lips, that caress on thy 
 brow ; 
 Hush, list to that whisper the maiden beguiling, 
 
 "I am waiting beloved, wilt thou fly with me 
 now ?" 
 
 Page Forty-nine 
 
See ! See ! Those blue plumes are now waving and 
 bending, 
 They beckon, she follows — they vanish from 
 sight — 
 Spectre, lover and maiden ; and the pine trees are 
 sending 
 A sobbing farewell through the darkening night. 
 
 On the morn, when the sun shone far over the pine 
 trees. 
 Came the chief to the lodge, "Ho Lil-i'-nau, 
 arise ; 
 The birds are all singing — the soft blowing south 
 breeze 
 Brings tidings of lovers — haste open thine eyes." 
 
 "Ha! sayest thou nothing!" He tears back the curtain. 
 He enters and stands in the wigwam alone ; 
 
 He gropes vainly around in the light dim, uncertain. 
 But Lil-i'-nau, the pride of his people is gone. 
 
 Feb. 21, 1887. 
 
 Page Fifty 
 
TWO PICTURES. 
 
 A farm house old — the tints of gold 
 ^~*' Shine o'er the western hill ; 
 
 The setting" sun, his race has run, 
 Now all is dark and still. 
 
 A death like pall seems over all, 
 
 A chill is in the air; 
 Each flower with dread, hangs down its head, 
 
 And changed are all things fair. 
 
 The news of war has spread afar, 
 
 It tells of thousands slain ; 
 A sad defeat, a brave retreat, 
 
 A rally once again. 
 
 But all for naught, full well they fought, 
 
 And fighting, bravely fell ; 
 This is the tale that greets the vale. 
 
 Like a dull, funeral knell. 
 
 An aged pair sit silent there. 
 
 Within that farm house old; 
 The tear drops flow, 'neath lock of snow. 
 
 That long since changed from gold. 
 
 Page Fifty-one 
 
With voices hushed, hearts almost crushed, 
 
 All earthly hope is fled ; 
 Their darling- boy, their pride and joy, 
 
 Lies numbered with the dead. 
 
 And nevermore that farm house door 
 
 Shall open at his touch; 
 And ne'er again that aged twain, 
 
 Shall smile at his approach. 
 
 And yet again, my wandering pen 
 
 Another scene portrays; 
 An aged form in blinding storm 
 
 And dark and devious ways. 
 
 In search of one, an only son, 
 
 By the demon Drink laid low; 
 
 Goes forth to prove a mother's love 
 Through white, unpitying snow. 
 
 A snowy mound at last is found, 
 
 A form beneath does lie; 
 As with a dart the mother's heart 
 
 Is pierced with agony. 
 
 For, oh ! alas, the treacherous glass 
 
 Has done its work too well ; 
 With fearful power, its chains allure 
 
 And draw men down to hell. 
 
 Page Fifty-two 
 
Oh hallowed tears, oh sacred tears, 
 
 For fallen heroes shed ; 
 Their deeds are sung- by every tongue, 
 
 Our honored, martyred dead. 
 
 Oh scalding- tears, oh bitter tears, 
 Shed for that countless host ; 
 
 That slaves to drink, in shame did sink, 
 The army of the lost. 
 
 TRUE HAPPINESS. 
 
 IS it to dwell in palaces g-rand? 
 To be called great through all the land? 
 To hold a while the reigns of power? 
 To wed a princess and her dower? 
 Is it to reach the heights of fame? 
 To leave a record and a name? 
 Is it to have Pactolus' gold 
 Gathered like Croesus rich of old ? 
 Is it to conquer armies great ? 
 Or to decide a nation's fate? 
 Is it to gain a maiden's love 
 Though rare and beautiful it prove? 
 Though joy and health and peace may bless. 
 Earth hath not purest happiness ; 
 If thou would'st find it, look above. 
 To the Great Source of light and love, 
 And kneeling at that glorious throne, 
 True happiness shall be thine own. 
 Page Fifty-three 
 
THE ANGEL OF PEACE. 
 
 THAT PE;acE^ that PASSETH UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 SOMETIMES when the shadows of evening 
 Have fallen o'er all things below ; 
 I will sit by the firelight, half dreaming 
 And watching its soft, mellow glow. 
 
 Last evening my thoughts were as varied 
 As the shadows that danced on the wall ; 
 
 Though alone, I could feel some sweet presence, 
 And a calm on my spirit did fall. 
 
 All day through the long weary hours, 
 
 My heart had been weary and sore, 
 And I thought of the joys that had vanished, 
 " And I said "They will come nevermore." 
 
 And I strove with my heart, until evening 
 
 A little of rest, brought to me ; 
 For despair had claimed me a prisoner. 
 
 And I struggled and longed to be free. 
 
 But at last a sweet calm came upon me 
 And all of my troublings did cease. 
 
 And the presence that loosened my fetters. 
 Was the beautiful Angel of Peace. 
 
 Page Fifty-four 
 
SNOW. 
 
 WHETHER it be in bleak December, or in June's 
 fair sway, 
 
 There are lessons to remember, taught us every day. 
 
 In the endless book of nature, wonderful, sublime, 
 Beautiful is every feature, truth unchanged by time. 
 
 In the cold and wintry weather, over hill and town, 
 Comes each snowflake like a feather, gently falling 
 down. 
 
 And they come by Winter bidden, filling all the air, 
 And the rough old world is hidden by a mantle fair. 
 
 When, with winged steed, the morning o'er the hills 
 
 doth ride, 
 Then the snow, the Earth adorning like a white robed 
 
 bride, 
 
 Gives to us a precious emblem — when defects we see, 
 There's a mantle that will hide them, it is Charity. 
 
 And when all the fields are lying, spotless, pure and 
 
 white, 
 And the snows have ceased their flying, all the scene 
 
 is bright. 
 
 It appears whene'er we view it, very fair to see, 
 Let this thought as we construe it, teach us "Purity." 
 Page Tifty-five 
 
Still another thought we gather from the falling- snow, 
 It is given to cheer, or rather bless us, as we go. 
 
 That like gently falling snowflakes, wafted from 
 
 above, 
 God showers down his choicest blessings, messengers 
 
 of love. 
 
 From the snow around our dwelling learn we lessons 
 
 three, 
 Charity, all else excelling, Love and Purit)'-. 
 
 KIND WORDS. 
 
 ARE you seeking to brighten life's way, brother, 
 And desire the rare secret to know ; 
 Think well of each word that you say, brother 
 Whether spoken to friend or to foe. 
 
 If dark clouds above swiftly roll, brother, 
 
 Then list to some sufferer's moan ; 
 With kind words, unburden that soul, brother. 
 
 And that shall bring peace to thine own. 
 
 There's many a heart sore and bleeding, 
 That one loving sentence will heal ; 
 
 There's many a soul weak and wavering, 
 That a word would their destiny seal. 
 
 Page Fifty-six 
 
Some sentiment that you have uttered, 
 
 May echo and sing evermore ; 
 Some word of yours, lovingly spoken, 
 
 May reach the invisible shore. 
 
 Then think of the words that you say brother, 
 
 And speak them in kindness and love ; 
 
 And you shall receive your reward bye and bye, 
 
 In the beautiful mansions above. 
 
 1882. 
 
 "SOMETIME." 
 
 <<QOMETlME" he said with exultant joy, 
 
 *^ "1 will be a warrior great and bold" ; 
 'Twas the words of a beautiful, bright haired boy, 
 As he planned his life, and longed to grow old. 
 
 "I'll capture cities, I'll conquer kings," 
 And in my hands hold a nation's fate ; 
 
 And I will do such wonderful things, 
 
 That men shall be proud to call me great. 
 
 And so looked the world to you and I, 
 
 Before we had entered the battles of life; 
 
 But many must fight and many must die, 
 As the unknown heroes of the strife. 
 
 Page Fifty-seven 
 
"I'll be a statesman," the young- man said, 
 
 Many must serve, but I will reign ; 
 And proudly he carried his noble head 
 
 But he spoke from a heart that knew not pain. 
 
 But the world heeded not his hopes so high 
 And his life, alas, was but that of a slave ; 
 
 Disappointed at last, he lay down to die. 
 
 And the breezes sigh o'er his early grave. 
 
 ''Sometime I'll be rich for wealth is power," 
 Said the hard visaged man of middle age ; 
 
 The wealth he gained, but it fled in an hour, 
 And left his face as a written page. 
 
 "The world is heartless, the world is cold," 
 
 Said an aged man with silver hair ; 
 His purse was empty, his raiment old 
 
 And, homeless, he wandered here and there. 
 
 "But sometime, I know, I will rest above. 
 Where all the saints and the angels are; 
 
 My sorrows shall cease and love, sweet love, 
 Shall soothe my sad heart forever there." 
 
 And weary he sat by the lonely way, 
 
 And the storm beat fast and cold was the night; 
 And there they found him at break of day, 
 
 But upward his spirit had taken flight. 
 
 1881. 
 
 Page Fifty-eight 
 
FARMER JONES SPOKE IN MEETING OF 
 W. C. T. U. 
 
 I tell ye friends I am a temperance man, 
 An' alius try to say a cheerin' word, 
 Or do a bit to help ye when I can, 
 
 In this great cause. You have this evening heard 
 Them that can talk more eloquent than me; 
 
 And you will please excuse my awkward way 
 If with high soundin' words I am not free, 
 But use the ones I talk with every day. 
 
 I kinder like your plan, I think its good, 
 
 And though somewhat old fashioned I am still, 
 Yet I would have it plainly understood, 
 
 That you have my best wishes and good will ; 
 I can't say I approve of every pint, 
 
 The best of us in various ways do err. 
 But one thing seems to throw it out of jint 
 
 In some respects its carried most too fur. 
 
 Now good hard cider never hurt a fly, 
 
 / put in fourteen barrels every fall, 
 And alius keep a pitcher handy by. 
 
 Where it will be convenient for us all ; 
 My boys all drink it — / can't see the harm — 
 
 For though sometimes they are a leetle wild, 
 They still work good and steady on the farm, 
 
 And boys like them are not so easy spiled. 
 Page Fifty-nine 
 
And as for sperrits — in their proper place 
 
 They're quite a blessing"; now most every spring 
 A little drop of them just hits my case; 
 
 When I feel kinder blue, and everything 
 Seems wrong end to ; and then when dog days come, 
 
 And folks are gettin' sun struck, it ain't safe 
 For anyone to go away from home, 
 
 Without somethin' to brace 'em; I don't crave 
 The stuff, but take it as a medicine. 
 
 When coughs and colds are round ; 
 I think to use it isn't any sin, 
 
 It is the best protection I have found. 
 
 An' then in winter though I'm strong and tough, 
 
 The wind will somehow chill me through and 
 through, 
 And good warm clothes and victuals ain't enough, 
 
 To keep me feeling well; and if you knew 
 How dreadful good it is for rheumatiz — 
 
 It sorter warms the blood and drives away the 
 pain— 
 I think you'd see it more as it is ; 
 
 I ain't a findin' fault; 1 know it brings 
 Down heaps of talk when to this we refer, 
 
 And so I just remark, "I think these things 
 Are carried just a little bit too fur." 
 
 Page Sixty 
 
But I am a temperance man ; I had a friend, 
 
 Who was the likeliest fellow that I knew 
 When I was young-; and 'bout his end, 
 
 . If it won't take too much time, I'll tell to you ; 
 I hear that he is dead ; for forty years I've known him ; 
 'twon't be many tears 
 That I'll shed for him ; it's a good thing for his 
 neighborhood 
 That he is gone ; I don't believe its best 
 
 To talk about a man when he is dead — 
 We all have failin's — I say let 'em rest 
 
 When there's six feet of earth above his head. 
 
 It ain't no earthly use to go about 
 
 An' rake up all the facts about a man 
 Of wrong things done and good things he's left out ; 
 
 Now my plan is to tell what good I can 
 About a person, and what else I know 
 
 To lock in my own buzzum ; but now Jim 
 Had stuck to drinkin' 'till he got so low 
 
 That no one could find good to say of him, 
 An' yet as I was sayin', he was smart 
 
 An' quick to learn ; I used to hear folks say 
 "That feller,' if he gets a decent start 
 
 Is gong to make a splendid man some day" ; 
 We had great times, when he and I were boys, 
 
 He was my chum more'n forty years ago — 
 
 Page Sixty-one 
 
We shared together all our various joys, 
 
 And likewise helped to bear each other's woe ; 
 But one thing- ever marred the happiness 
 
 Our friendship brought us in those long gone 
 days, 
 But that was tough on me, I will confess, 
 
 (He never knew how much) but if it pays 
 To stifle all the feelings of the heart 
 
 For friendship's sake (all that I did) I've not yet 
 come onto the payin' part. 
 
 I'll tell it nozv, though I have kept it hid — 
 
 I used to know a very handsome maid — 
 The prettiest girl in all the country round ; 
 
 She come to meetin' at our place, arrayed 
 In black silk bonnet and in striped gown. 
 
 And when her sparklin' glances she displayed 
 A prettier picter never has been found ; 
 
 So sweet and modest and yet smart and neat; 
 I saw her every Sunday for a year, 
 
 She had full half the county at her feet ; 
 I kept my distance, yet felt awful queer 
 
 Whenever her sweet face I chanced to see; 
 And sometimes when she glanced so shyly up, 
 
 I thought her smile was meant for only me. 
 
 Page Sixty-two 
 
Well, well, we have to drink full many a cup 
 
 That ain't so very sweet, but when one day 
 Jim came to me (as ever) to confide 
 
 His plans — for once I didn't know what to say — 
 He said that he would claim her for his bride, 
 
 And he kept talkin' and I tried to hide 
 The lump that was a risin' in my throat, 
 
 And I was glad then that he didn't note 
 The way I felt ; so things went on 
 
 All fair and smooth and all seemed well with him 
 And though 'twas said he was a little wild 
 
 At times and drank too much, she only smiled 
 At all they said and thought the world of Jim ; 
 
 And they were married and Jim went to town 
 To start in business for himself, and so 
 
 We parted ; I kept on my way 
 As I had always done and didn't know 
 
 How he was gettin' on for many years, 
 Except that he was prosperin' in his store 
 
 An' gettin' rich, but arter while my fears 
 Were roused about him ; he was drinkin' more 
 
 Than was for his best good so people said ; 
 I heard no more, until the story came 
 
 That she was dead — the one I loved and lost ; 
 I cannot even now repeat her name, 
 
 I never told before how much it cost 
 To give her up, yet without cry or groan 
 
 I heard about her death, for then you know 
 I had a wife and children of mv own. 
 
 Page Sixty-three 
 
She died of broken heart, in want and woe, 
 That part, somehow, I never like to tell ; 
 
 He let her die by his neglect, and all for rum — 
 His nature withered by the blast of hell. 
 
 That through the doorways of the grog" shop come. 
 
 In poverty ancr wretchedness she died, 
 
 She was too young to fall so soon asleep ; 
 And now he too is resting by her side, 
 
 And o'er his g^rave no one has stopped to weep ; 
 Yes, now he is dead — that man who long has been 
 
 An outcast and a sot, a slave to sin, 
 Shunned by all men of good repute ; of all 
 
 The most degraded, who in drunken brawl. 
 Or midnight revel, wasted time and strength, 
 
 And means of livin' ; 'till at length. 
 He sank unto the level of a brute. 
 
 With all the finer promptin's of his nature mute. 
 
 Well, well, I've talked too long, and so will close 
 By simply sayin' that deep down within 
 
 My heart I'm f eelin' bad ; for though the sin 
 Of drinkin' and carousin' was his ozvn 
 
 I can't help thinkin' what he might a bin 
 If he had only let the stuff alone. 
 
 And that's why me and all saloons are foes. 
 
 Page Sixty-four 
 
And sometimes, meditatin', I have thought 
 That our tremendous Hquor laws will be 
 
 Upon our page of history a blot, 
 
 Because we had 'em and u'e used 'em not, 
 
 And went back on our principles you see ; 
 
 And when that book is opened that shall tell 
 
 The story of our lives, 'gin many a name 
 
 Of them who think that they have labored well 
 
 For others' good, these burning words of shame 
 Will written be — (oh, if they only knew it) — 
 "He might have saved his fellowman, but didn't 
 do it." 
 
 -1883. 
 
 WHEN T. R. WAS IN AFRICA. 
 
 QAID the King of the Jungle 
 ^ "It won't do to bungle, 
 
 For Teddy is here with a gun ; 
 We'll hide or he'll shoot us 
 And that will not suit us. 
 
 For he will have all of the fun." 
 
 Said the big hippopotamus : 
 "O, dear me, what a muss. 
 
 The case is decidedly grave; 
 I will strive to beguile 
 With my fetchinest smile, 
 
 And he'll think I am simply a cave." 
 Page Sixty-five 
 
The ostrich was cahner, 
 Teddy could not alarm her ; 
 
 For said she: "In this Sahara land 
 Where I am abiding 
 There is no lack of hiding, 
 
 And Teddy has plenty of sand." 
 
 Said the wily giraffe 
 With a sly little laugh: 
 
 "I think he will never get me ; 
 While he is scouting around 
 'Mongst the folks on the ground 
 
 I'll conveniently be up a tree." 
 
 Said the big chimpanzee, 
 "He will never get me, 
 
 It would be the biggest of jokes; 
 We're related, you see. 
 Through our ancestral tree, 
 
 And I consider him one of our folks." 
 
 Page Sixty-six 
 
o 
 
 HATS. 
 
 H ! The hats, hats, hats, hats, hats, hats, hats ; 
 We gaze in growing- wonder and can only say — 
 "Oh Rats !" 
 
 How they twist and turn and wiggle ! 
 'Nough to make an injun giggle; 
 How they tip and dip and flutter, 
 Shaping forms speech cannot utter. 
 
 All the colors, shades and mixtures^ 
 All the bows and bands and fixtures ; 
 Hats for blondes on brunette ladies, 
 (Combination worse than Hades). 
 
 Brunette's shades on auburn tresses. 
 Azure hats o'er pea green dresses ; 
 Ribbons — bowed and banked and twisted, 
 Flowers no florist ever listed. 
 
 Millinery awe inspiring, 
 (Held aloft by careful wiring) ; 
 Sea of hats kaleidoscopic — 
 Ladies most absorbing topic. 
 
 How they soar and flaunt and quiver, 
 Ribbon, feather, bird and flower ; 
 And the man with torpid liver 
 Pays the bills and grows more sour. 
 Page Sixty-seven October 27, 1907. 
 
LIMERICKS. 
 
 'T'HERE was a young lady in Gloucester, 
 ■■■ Her mother had heretofore boucester ; 
 
 But when she began 
 
 To berate her young man, 
 She wished that she never had croucester. 
 
 There was a young lady and Mr. 
 Enjoying the evening Vr. 
 
 Said she "Is the moon 
 
 A setting too soon" — 
 For an answer he jest up and Kr. 
 
 A man drank some fiery liquid — 
 Drank a big glass of whiskey, he duid, 
 
 And he cried "Fm undone, 
 
 But I had lots of fun," 
 As into the cooler he sluid. 
 
 A man used some LePage's glue, 
 And got stuck up before he was thrue, 
 
 Though a pious old sage, 
 
 He exclaimed in a rage, 
 "That's a darn pretty how due you due. 
 
 Page Sixty-eight 
 
LIMERICKS. 
 
 TO A YOUNG MAN. 
 
 AT a theatre known as the Bijou, 
 They do all they can to plijou; 
 But if after a song-, 
 Your applause is too long, 
 A policeman promptly will sijou. 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 If your fellow takes you to the Bijou, 
 It shows that he's anxious to plijou — 
 
 If he's honest and square. 
 
 You ought not to care, 
 If at parting he gently should squijou. 
 
 Page Sixty-nine 
 
LIMERICKS. 
 
 'T'WO girls of the Methodist choir, 
 ■*• To sing a duet did aspoir ; 
 
 But they could not agree, 
 
 To sing it in C, 
 For the alto desired to sing hoir. 
 
 A nice little Sunday school lad, 
 Remarked to his suffering Dad, 
 
 "If / got a whack. 
 
 When driving a tack, 
 / wouldn't say words that are bad." 
 
 There was a young lady who was a co-ed, 
 
 She studied when she should have been in bed; 
 
 Tho' she was not slow, 
 
 She had never a beaux. 
 For her hair and her nose and her eyes they were red. 
 
 Page Seventy 
 
s 
 
 MAY. 
 AY! 
 
 It's May! 
 
 Hip hooray ! ! 
 Robin tells us of it early every day ; 
 All the fields are greener, 
 And the world seems cleaner 
 When the apple blossoms smile beside the way. 
 
 Hear the frogs, 
 Where the bogs, 
 Grow the yellow cowslip 
 By the reedy pools ; 
 Nature's voices heard afar by drowsy schools ; 
 Scholars cease to reckon 
 When blue violets beckon — 
 After school the woods are full of bovs and dogs. 
 
 Page Seventy-one 
 
A FOURTH OF JULY PICNIC. 
 
 Ilove the lake, I love the shore, I love the beauteous 
 sky; 
 I love the folks who wave at us, as we go sailing by ; 
 I love the day we celebrate, that made our nation free; 
 I love the glorious land which lies, twixt sea and gulf 
 
 and sea; 
 I love the happy faces and the voices full of joy, 
 And all the sights and sounds which please, with noth- 
 ing to annoy. 
 
 I love the throbbing of the boat, the chattering of the 
 
 waves ; 
 I love the shores of rock and sand that Champlain 
 
 water laves ; 
 I love the sunshine and the mirth that this occasion 
 
 brings ; 
 I love the basket best of all, chock full of picnic things. 
 
 July 4, 1899. 
 
 Page Seventy-two 
 
OUR THEODORE. 
 
 WRITTEN WHEN T. R. CAME TO VERMONT. 
 
 ONCE more, once more, we've seen our Theodore — 
 He struck a strenuous gait through the old 
 Green Mountain State ; 
 From historic Bennington he made a century run — 
 And the air was full of noise, and the brave Green 
 
 Mountain boys 
 Early came and waited long; and some fellows sang 
 
 this song: 
 "We're ready for Teddy again, boys," with all their 
 might and main. 
 
 Once more, once more, we've heard our Theodore ! 
 
 And we know he's going to bust every blooming, 
 bloody trust ; 
 
 Every boss and politician will soon seek a new posi- 
 tion, 
 
 And the base, conspiring press will wake up in quite 
 a mess 
 
 When the Bull Moose comes along; when the folks 
 take up the song : 
 
 "We're ready for Teddy again boys," old Bill Taft 
 will have a pain. 
 
 Page Seventy-three 
 
Once more, once more, we cheer our Theodore, 
 While the cowering- party boss, like the wild rhinoceros, 
 Or the Hon and the bear — takes a sneak into his lair — 
 And Penrose and Archbold feel their feet are growing 
 
 cold; 
 And the man who told a lie, shivers when he passes 
 
 by; 
 And the great Progressive throng- join to sing the 
 
 victor's song: 
 ''We're ready for Teddy again, boys," from ev'ry hill 
 
 and plain. 
 
 Once more, once more — thus says our Theodore; 
 "There ain't a fair divide — come over to MY side ; 
 The Barons, Coal and Beef, will shortly come to grief, 
 And Morgan and old Rock will get a mighty shock. 
 They will take another tack, when I rip things up the 
 
 back ; 
 And you'll all be rich some day if you only go MY 
 
 way;" 
 Simply holler loud and long, everybody shout the song : 
 "We're ready for Teddy again, boys," the most popular 
 
 refrain. 
 
 Page Seventy-four 
 
Once more, once more, has gone our Theodore! 
 But Wilson and Bill Taft, with all their crews of graft 
 Are done for this time sure; we have found the only 
 
 cure — 
 We will vote for the Big Stick, and salvation 's coming 
 
 quick — 
 We will vote for Theodore and we wont work any 
 
 more — 
 Wealth for all in great supply will just rain down 
 
 from the sky ; 
 "We're ready for Teddy again, boys," — when we all 
 
 have gone insane. 
 
 THE BATHER. 
 
 A vision of loveliness, dainty and sweet, 
 From her tangling curls to her dear little 
 feet; 
 With cheeks like the roses and lashes like night, 
 Coquettishly veiling eyes, saucy and bright ; 
 Apparel bewitchingly planned to reveal, 
 The grace of a figure it cannot conceal ; 
 She sits on the beach by the blue Summer Sea, 
 And "trouble for someone" there's certain to be. 
 
 Page Seventy-five 
 
PEARY AND COOK. 
 
 THE North wind rushed over snowy steeps 
 And roared through the forest aisles ; 
 He came from the land where the glacier creeps 
 Down the winding- valley to chilly deeps, 
 Where the iceberg into the ocean leaps ; 
 He raced over many frigid miles 
 Where the storm king rides o'er his wide domain 
 Of snow capped mountain and icy plain 
 On the Blizzard's raging snowy steeds ; 
 He came from the haunts of the polar bear, 
 Where the seal disports and the walrus feeds, 
 Where luminous banners stream and flare — 
 In the land of the Midnight Sun ; 
 The scene of many stupendous deeds 
 Accomplished or yet to be done. 
 
 Tell us, O ! North Wind — grim and cold 
 
 As you swept the sledges winding track; 
 
 Did it circle that axis — sought of old 
 
 By many an Arctic voyager bold — 
 
 Who sailed but came not back — 
 
 Is the stars and stripes afloat from the pole ? 
 
 Page Seventy-six 
 
Did Commander Peary actually go 
 
 To that apex in the zone of snow? 
 
 Has Mr. Cook got himself in a hole 
 
 With his romances of the Pole? 
 
 A colored brother, two Esquimeaux 
 
 And you alone were allowed to go 
 
 To the very top of the world 
 
 And witness our flag unfurled ; 
 
 Now just what happened, tell us plain, 
 
 And thus relieve this terrible strain, 
 
 That we may feel like ourselves again. 
 
 Dec. 7, 1909. 
 
 A PICNIC REMINISCENCE. 
 
 THERE is a little island that seems floating in the 
 lake. 
 Not more than half a mile from off the shore; 
 And there, one day, we picknicked, on sandwiches, pie 
 and cake^ — 
 And we've never wished to go there any more. 
 
 For there the blithe mosquito attunes his joyful lay, 
 Awhile he stabs each unresisting hide ; 
 
 And there the ant, insidious, did slyly seek his prey. 
 As we reposed upon the hillock's side. 
 
 Page Seventy-seven 
 
We built a fire for coffee, as dinner time drew nigh, 
 Of fag"ots sopping- wet from summer showers; 
 
 Inadvertently I slipped and sat upon a custard pie, 
 Then cleaned my pantaloons through sunny hours. 
 
 A thunder shower swept swift across the erstwhile 
 sunny skies — 
 An ill protecting- tree sheltered but wrecks — 
 Our collars yielded up their starch, our neckties shed 
 their dyes ; 
 While raindrops drizzled, drozzled down our 
 necks. 
 
 There is a little island that seems floating in the lake, 
 Not more than half a mile from off the shore; 
 
 And distance lends enchantment (and that is no mis- 
 take). 
 And we'll never, never, go there any more. 
 
 Page Seventy-eight 
 
THE BABY. 
 
 OH such a commotion there is in the house, 
 And then only silence complete ; 
 Sometimes we creep about still as a mouse, 
 And then there's a clatter of feet. 
 
 "Oh hush and be still — make never a sound" — 
 Just then there's a howl and a squall, 
 
 So, early and late, the lights flutter around, 
 Through kitchen and cellar and hall. 
 
 One time in this household of order and peace. 
 Life flowed like a wide, gentle river. 
 But now from distraction there seems no release- 
 This turmoil will keep on forever. 
 
 The baby, yes, he is the innocent cause. 
 
 Of all of this change and commotion ; 
 And now we are governed by only those laws 
 That suit his imperial notion. 
 
 — November, 1912. 
 
 Page Seventy-nine 
 
GOOD WEATHER. 
 
 IT is always good weather ! 
 ■■• In sunshine or snow or rain ; 
 
 When the sky is warm, 
 
 Or the driving storm, 
 Rides fierce o'er the raging main ; 
 
 When friends are together, 
 
 It is always good weather. 
 
 It is always good weather ! 
 
 We are soothed by the gentle rain — 
 
 And the falling snow. 
 
 And the winds that blow. 
 Make the wan cheeks bloom again — 
 
 And with birds of a feather, 
 
 It is always good weather. 
 
 It is always good weather ! 
 
 When frost paints the window pane ; 
 
 When crisp is the snow, 
 
 And warm firesides glow ; 
 As we wade through the drifts in the lane, 
 
 For an evening together, 
 
 It is always good weather. 
 
 June 15, 191 1. 
 
 Page Eighty