I BY 
 
 NANNIE: 
 
 UILLARY 
 
 UARRiSON 
 
tCetae lEmbleme 
 tor l^ou 
 
 BY 
 
 NANNIE HILLARY HARRISON 
 

 N. H. Church Printing Co. 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 WACO, TEXAS 
 
 COPYRIGHT lfl14 
 NANNIE HIULARY HARRISON 
 
 NOV 16 1914 
 
 'aA38S747 
 
Zo fIDotber 
 
 This — and all that is best 
 
 in me — J dedicate to her, who in life gave me only 
 
 the best, and whose memory I cherish more 
 
 as the years between us grow shorter. 
 
 —The AuTHoa. 
 
3for IPou 
 
 I am sending you these lines today 
 
 Just to remind you 
 That whether near or far away. 
 
 My thoughts can find you, 
 And if some word, or rhyme or line. 
 
 My thoughts expressing, 
 Gain entrance to that heart of thine, 
 
 Mine thrice the blessing. 
 
XLeias lEmblems for |^ou 
 
 DOWN IN TEXAS 
 
 We're a mighty happy people, 
 
 Down in Texas. 
 Somehow we don't have to hunt up 
 Things to vex us. 
 It may be the atmosphere 
 Keeps us happy all the year. 
 Or just good old Texas cheer, 
 Down in Texas. 
 
 I can't tell you what It is, 
 
 Down in Texas. 
 Makes you feel a kind of bliss 
 That perplexes. 
 I don't think it's all in climate, 
 But it's something you can't rhyme it, 
 You can't measure it, nor time it, 
 Down in Texas. 
 
 Old Prosperity's a-bumming 
 
 'Round in Texas. 
 The whole Universe is humming, 
 
 "Go to Texas." 
 Let them come — there's world's of room 
 Down in Texas for a boom; 
 Hallelujah time has come, 
 Down in Texas. 
 
 SUMMER 
 
 Oh, Summer, thou wert gracious and pleasing to our view, 
 When many, many moons ago, we gladly welcomed you; 
 But far too ardent thou hast been, and with thy warm caress 
 And scorching breath, oh. Summertime, we've learned to 
 
 love thee less. 
 And now we prithee, please withdraw, with all thy 
 
 joyous train; 
 We'll welcome melancholy days and e'en grim winter's rain. 
 So, Summer, if thou would'st not lose thine erstwhile praise 
 
 and glory, 
 Please get thee hence, lest we no more arise to sing 
 
 thy story. 
 
 PAGE SEVBM 
 
MY FAITH 
 
 I know that in this world of hearts 
 
 One heart beats true to me. 
 I know that when all else proves false 
 
 I still can trust in thee. 
 I know, Dear Heart, that though we live 
 
 Perchance for aye apart, 
 And seldom meet on Life's lone way, 
 
 I still possess one heart. 
 
 I know this truth and in this faith 
 
 My heart finds sweetest peace, 
 A trust that will survive for aye 
 
 And spurn to seek release. 
 Robbed of this faith, there is no life — 
 
 A cheerless world 'twould be. 
 But life's so dear when thou art near, 
 
 I'll trust it all to thee. 
 
 MY MESSAGE 
 
 Let me paint out the studies God gives me. 
 Let me write out the message I hear; 
 
 Then I follow Divine inspiration — 
 My pathway of duty is clear. 
 
 For the studies He gives me tell to me 
 A language too lofty for speech. 
 
 And the message I hear is revealing 
 A beauty no language can reach. 
 
 The flowers, the emerald landscape. 
 
 Reflect a most real Divine — 
 They preach in their silence a sermon 
 
 Surpassing all language sublime. 
 
 They show me a life of all beauty. 
 With no evil thought to abhor; 
 
 They tell me of Heavenly graces. 
 No discordant voices to mar. 
 
 Can we look in the heart of the flowers 
 
 And breathe their sweet incense the while, 
 
 And harbor a thought that is evil 
 Or hearken to impulses vile? 
 
 Oh, nay! Let me paint out the studies 
 
 That God is designing for me. 
 And give unto others the message 
 
 They whisper in glad ecstacy. 
 
 Then I count my riches far greater 
 
 Than the riches that mere wealth can buy; 
 
 I can lavish my gifts upon others. 
 Nor ever exhaust my supply. 
 
 PAGE BIGHT 
 
ENTRE NOUS 
 
 Ah, my friend, I do so thank you! 
 
 So much more than I can tell, 
 The assurance of your friendship 
 
 Helps me bear life's fiercest ill. 
 For one friend who understands me, 
 
 Knows my faults and weaknesses. 
 Reads my book of human foibles, 
 
 Loves me none the less for these. 
 One who can forgive my errors — 
 
 Understands my wildest mood. 
 Thinks me not a hopeless heathen, 
 
 Tho' so oft misunderstood. 
 For this friend my soul's been yearning. 
 
 And I count myself most blest 
 And feel amply compensated 
 
 For the failures of the rest. 
 Just one friend who won't condemn me 
 
 In my ever changeful mood. 
 Who sees through this mask unreal 
 
 A kind heart — misunderstood! 
 
 SHIPS ADRIFT 
 
 (A response to Ella Wheeler Wilcox.) 
 
 Oh, ye with ships adrift at sea. 
 
 Why stand ye waiting silently. 
 
 Or sit contented on the strand, 
 
 Gazing afar o'er the shifting sand: 
 
 When far out on the restless sea 
 
 Are ships whose pilot thou shouldst be? 
 
 Oh, ye with ships adrift at sea. 
 
 Some precious cargo waits for thee; 
 
 Some luckless craft with compass gone 
 
 Is drifting there; e'er hope has flown. 
 
 Put bravely out across the sea 
 
 And man the boat that waits for thee. 
 
 Oh, ye with ships adrift at sea, 
 Think ye they'll e'er come back to thee. 
 If left to float upon the tide. 
 Without a steering hand to guide? 
 A mighty magnet wouldst thou be 
 To draw thy ships all home to thee. 
 
 Oh, ye with ships adrift at sea, 
 
 Thy ships will ne'er sail home to thee. 
 
 If out upon the rolling deep 
 
 Thy hand and heart no vigils keep. 
 
 If faith and work thine anchor be, 
 
 Thou wilt pilot home some ship at sea. 
 
 PAGE NINE 
 
A PANHANDLE BREEZE 
 
 Fve never been counted a bowling success — 
 "Too much of a dreamer," the home folks say. 
 
 But they'll change their opinion somewhat I guess. 
 When I write what I'm doing today. 
 
 I've embarked in the real estate business out west- 
 Now that sound's like business enough, 
 
 But I don't have to tell them all I know 
 About this real estate bluff! 
 
 I didn't go in for business at all — 
 
 The facts are just these, you see: 
 The real estate was the thing that embarked 
 
 And settled all over me. 
 
 rve real estate I'd sell below par — 
 
 In fact, I would give it away. 
 But my friends are all into it up to their eyes. 
 
 And there's the mischief to pay. 
 
 When I look away from earth towards Heaven, 
 
 Only real estate can I see; 
 Tm really o'erwhelmed to see how this thing 
 
 Has gotten a hold on me. 
 
 But there's one consolation about this, you know. 
 
 When this terrible warfare is o'er. 
 Getting buried, to me, won't be half so bad. 
 
 For I will have been there before. 
 
 JUST TO KNOW 
 
 Just to have the assurance that in life there is someone. 
 In this world of sorrow and sin and deceit. 
 
 Just someone who kindly interprets our life book. 
 And gives in return a kindly heart beat. 
 
 That someone, just someone with no selfish motive. 
 Can read your heart secret, and love you not less; 
 
 That someone would gladly divide their peace with you. 
 If by giving this blessing your life they could bless. 
 
 Just to feel that you are loved for yourself, and that 
 someone 
 
 Exalts the good in you, forgetting the bad, 
 Makes life a lot brighter, the burden much lighter; 
 
 E'en the heart that is breaking, can almost be glad. 
 
 And then just to know there's a Love that's Eternal, 
 A Love for the sorrowing heart, that's Divine; 
 
 A love so great, so wide, so supernal — 
 
 And that for the asking, this love could be thine. 
 
 PAGB TBN 
 
AFFINITY 
 
 Did you know today when I looked In your eyes 
 I read your story in strange surprise? 
 I saw in those depths a great, strong heart. 
 Struggling its impulse to impart. 
 
 I knew all you felt as you stood trembling there, 
 And my soul cried out to your soul: beware 
 I tried to speak lightly and look demure, 
 Lest my wild heart throbs should yours allure: 
 
 But it's all no use, e'en silence is vaJn, 
 When soul speaks to soul suppression is pain; 
 But after this eve it will live in the past, 
 And only the memory sweet will last. 
 
 THE PANHANDLE PRODUCT 
 
 How dear to the heart are the scenes of the childhood 
 
 Where never a woodpile was known to exist. 
 Where the rollicking youth never has to chop stovewood. 
 
 Nor fill the chip basket and splinter his fist; 
 Where at eve he can roam, undisturbed, in the twilight. 
 
 Which lasts until half of the nighttime is spent. 
 Then go home in the gloaming a while after midnight. 
 
 And creep into bed with childish content. 
 Aye, such is the life of the Panhandle youngster. 
 
 This Panhandle Product on happiness bent. 
 
 There is no corn to thin here, this lad doesn't know it. 
 
 Perhaps he, of all other lads, is most blest, 
 While his far-away cousin is chopping out cotton 
 
 In the June-time of Lfe he can sit down and rest. 
 He never will miss the good roasting-ear season, 
 
 Nor biting the good, juicy corn from the cob. 
 He never has seen one, you know, is the reason 
 
 He never will know what he's lost on this job, 
 This Panhandle lad, light-hearted and easy. 
 
 This Panhandle rascal is onto his job. 
 
 He never has lain 'neath the wide-spreading shade tree, 
 
 While watching the other boys fishing for bait; 
 He never can brag of his swimming pool diving. 
 
 But in busting wild bronchos he is going your gait; 
 He can stand in his stirrups and lasso the yearlings. 
 
 And "round up" the "dogies" at evening's decline, 
 Then quietly rest from his toil without having 
 
 The pesky mosquitoes to peck on his rind. 
 This Panhandle youth is unhampered and happy. 
 
 This Panhandle kid is the best of his kind. 
 
 PAGE SLBVBN 
 
THE EMPTY CORRAL 
 
 This great, boundless plain of this "Panhandle" land. 
 Was once but a long-winged conall, 
 
 Just the cowboy's domain 
 
 Was this vast rolling plain — 
 And controlled by the lone cowboy's yell. 
 
 On this wide stretch of plains, where the long grasses waved. 
 Roamed the untrammeled herds at their will; 
 
 The wild bison here, the fleet-footed deer. 
 With the coyote matching their skill. 
 
 Where once unmolested the bison and deer. 
 
 The coyote and "maverick" grazed. 
 Today here's a field with a bountiful yield. 
 
 Vegetation luxuriantly raised. 
 
 Along the "lone trail" the long-horn they sought. 
 
 Here the cowboy delighted to roam. 
 We find in corrals, school buildings, hotels. 
 
 Banks, churches and comfort of home. 
 
 The lone cowboy's whistle no longer is heard. 
 Nor the strains of the wild "round-up" yell; 
 
 For today the "staked plain" is a rich field of grain, 
 With "thoroughbreds" in the corral. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL CAMERON PARK 
 
 Cameron, beautiful Cameron, Elysian vale, 
 
 Thy myriad charms disclose an untold tale. 
 Surrounded by tall sentinels that proudly stand 
 
 Guarding thy rich gifts with silent hand. 
 Where endless fountains of immortal drink 
 
 Pour unto us from Heaven's boundless brink 
 Draughts, cooling draughts of crystal pure delight. 
 
 And zephyrs wafted from the mountain height 
 In soft caresses from fond Nature's breath; 
 
 We drink, and breathe and love thee unto death. 
 
 Cameron, beautiful Cameron, could pen portray 
 
 Thy sweet enchantments in serene array, — 
 Tell of thy cooling glades through summer heat; 
 
 Tell of thy warm caress through winter sleet; 
 Tell of thy mystic charms which haunt and soothe; 
 
 Tell of thy silent glories — tell half, in truth — 
 Nor pen, nor brush, nor any glorious art. 
 
 Can half thy sweet, sequestered charms impart. 
 No spot on earth out-rivals thee in glory; 
 
 No poesy, no art, can tell thy story. 
 
 PAGE TWELVE 
 
DON'T CARE 
 
 It's no use to care — I don't do it — 
 It's no use to grieve or complain. 
 
 Who cares though your heart may be breaking? 
 Who cares for your sorrow and pain? 
 
 It's no use to weep — I'm not weeping. 
 
 The tears that are falling today 
 Just come 'cause once I indulged them 
 
 When chasing the "blue devils" away. 
 
 This pain 'round my heart doesn't hurt me. 
 It, too, just comes like my tears; 
 
 And why should I care if it did hurt? 
 Why should I indulge foolish fears? 
 
 It's no use to be disappointed. 
 
 Nor to care when the friend you love best 
 Just hands you a hunch to remind you 
 
 That he, too, is as false as the rest. 
 
 But when you've just done your durndest, 
 Don't worry if things don't look fair; 
 
 Just keep on a-keeping on trying. 
 And if you'd be happy don't care. 
 
 YESTERDAY 
 
 Since yesterday how bright the world has been. 
 
 The song bird calls in sweeter melody. 
 And wakens in my heart eternal spring. 
 
 So joyous is the world since yesterday. 
 
 Ah, yesterday, we roamed the forest through, 
 
 Her hand in mine we culled the sweetest flowers, 
 
 The swan, the silvery brook, all nature knew 
 
 That love, the holy impulse of the soul, was ours. 
 
 Ah, yesterday, the fairest day we've known. 
 Unmindful we of earthly weal or care, 
 
 A perfect day, in perfect union spent. 
 
 This day alone should save us from despair. 
 
 Today I am bereft of thee, and still, 
 
 The spell that love hath cast will live for aye. 
 As anchor to my restless heart it seems; 
 
 I think of thee, am happy all the day. 
 
 Tomorrow, ah, dear heart, tell me, I pray. 
 Will the tomorrow bring thee back to me? 
 
 Ah, let me live each day as yesterday. 
 And never know tomorrow without thee! 
 
 PAGE THIRTBBN 
 
A QUERY 
 
 Did you miss today one fond caress, 
 Did you count with me life's blessings less, 
 Did you feel no loss — nothing amiss. 
 Did you yearn not a bit for a usual kiss? 
 
 Or is it true, Dear Heart, that with you 
 There is so much to love, so much to do. 
 That the rose that blooms sweetly for you today 
 Can tomorrow be crushed and thrown away? 
 
 Oh, will not its fragrance tenderly cling. 
 Entwined 'round the heart — and sometimes bring 
 A passing sigh for a love like this? 
 A love all expressed in one lingering kiss! 
 
 TO ONE ONLY 
 
 Oh! My dear one, how I love thee. 
 
 Love thee, love thee; none above thee; 
 How my heart with rapture wells. 
 
 And swells and yearns for thee; 
 How I long for thy caressing! 
 
 *Twere a blessing worth confessing 
 To have known thee — to have loved thee, 
 
 This were bliss eternally. 
 
 Could I ever live thus near thee. 
 
 Love thee, hear thee, ever cheer thee. 
 Be whatever thou wouldst have me, 
 
 Help thee rise to Honor's quest; 
 This were bliss to me, oh, dear one! 
 
 Just in love and honor fear none; 
 Just to see thy dear face gladdened. 
 
 No more saddened nor distressed. 
 
 Could I to thy arms go stealing, 
 
 With this feeling soul revealing; 
 Oh! the pathos in the gloaming 
 
 Of the love that reigns within. 
 Would you question why I do this? 
 
 Would I ever live to rue this? 
 Or would we, in raptured true bliss, 
 
 Find true happiness begin. 
 
 But to live and love one only. 
 
 Live and love and be so lonely. 
 When we want and need each other — 
 
 Want and need each other so — 
 Oh! The days must drag by sadly. 
 
 Dreaming, wondering, yearning madly. 
 For that hour we'll welcome gladly. 
 
 When we'll meet and all bestow. 
 
 PACB POURTBBN 
 
EYES OF BLUE 
 
 Somewhere, somewhere, I've met a pair 
 
 Of eyes the rarest blue — 
 Bewitching eyes, so strangely wise; 
 
 They say: "I'm reading you." 
 
 Oh, eyes of blue, I'm reading, too; 
 
 I feel your magic thrill; 
 I know you know, where'er I go. 
 
 Those blue eyes haunt me still. 
 
 And, eyes of blue, if this be true. 
 That heart to heart respond. 
 
 Nor time nor space can e'er erase 
 This sweet, mysterious bond. 
 
 THAT LAST NIGHT IN COLORADO 
 
 Do you remember that night, dear heart, 
 
 That last night in Colorado? 
 We drove down the canyon, you and I, 
 And I saw a tear glisten in your eye. 
 It was nearing the time to say "Good-bye" — 
 
 "Good-bye" to dear Colorado! 
 
 Do you remember the sunset's glow, 
 
 That last eve in Colorado? 
 How we drank in the fragrance of the flowers, 
 As we grudgingly clung to those fleeting hours 
 That were our last 'neath the drooping bowers 
 
 Of beautiful Colorado? 
 
 And do you remember the silvery moonlight, 
 
 That last eve in Colorado? 
 As the sunset died away in the west. 
 And left us the hour that we loved best; 
 That hour that lends charm to the dreamer's zest. 
 
 Oh! that hour in Colorado! 
 
 I recall it all tonight, dear heart, 
 
 That last niglit in Colorado! 
 How sweet memories enshrine the heart. 
 And how it seemed we never could part — 
 I to mingle again with the crowded mart. 
 
 And leave you in Colorado! 
 
 Ah! here are the flowers you wore that night. 
 
 That last night in Colorado. 
 These sweet, sweet peas, with fragrance fraught, 
 Were crushed to my heart as I eagerly caught 
 And caressed you one moment, caring for naught — 
 
 Naught but love, in Colorado. 
 
 PAGE FIFTBBN 
 
LONELY 
 
 Oh, heart, dear heart, I'm lonely 
 When thou are gone away; 
 
 My world's so dark and dismal, 
 Tho' bright and fair the day. 
 
 My hungry heart keeps aching 
 For a voice I long to hear, 
 
 A hand clasp and a fond caress, 
 A smile I count most desxr. 
 
 And all the while I'm finding. 
 Amid the passing throng, 
 
 Some form or face reminding 
 Of the one for whom I long. 
 
 So don't be long delaying. 
 But hasten home to me, 
 
 For I'm so lost and lonely 
 When thou art gone away. 
 
 THE BEAR 
 
 I know that I hate him — I'm sure he hates me. 
 
 And yet I stand by the window to see — 
 
 And stand here and watch just to see what I see. 
 
 As he goes slowly by. 
 He never looks up; he hates me, you know; 
 I don't look at him — I dare not — Oh, no! 
 I just look out and see someone go. 
 
 And, Oh my! I sigh. 
 
 Well, you know, I really don't care at all. 
 
 But my, how I'd laugh If he'd just trip and fall, 
 
 As he walks proudly by, just like a stone wall. 
 
 Then I guess he'd N. B. 
 Why he doesn't know how little I care. 
 If he wants to go on acting the bear; 
 In fact, he acts like I'm not anywhere. 
 
 When I am, don't you see. 
 
 Sometimes I wonder if it's sure enough hate. 
 That makes me stand at my window and wait, 
 And stand here and look 'till he passes the gate — 
 
 Why, 'course it is. 
 I wish I never had seen him, I do, 
 For I hate to hate someone I never knew. 
 For this kind of hate goes through and through — 
 
 Oh, goodness! Gee whiz! 
 
 PAGE SIXTBBN 
 
LOVE— THEN AND NOW 
 
 It was long ago I fell in love, 
 And I cooed around like a turtle dove, 
 Till e'en the stars that winked above 
 would twinkle at me and whisper "Love!" 
 
 I could sit and dream love by the hour, 
 
 I could feel the pathos of love's power; 
 
 The birds sang love from the shady bower, 
 
 And I breathed love fragrant from each flower. 
 
 Ah! Love then to me was everything; 
 In fact, said I, " 'tis the only thing 
 In life that is really worth a fling." 
 You know that was early in life's spring. 
 
 Long before the summer had waned, 
 
 I had seen ideal love profaned, 
 
 And her chilling tears through autumn rained, 
 
 'Til cruel winter froze what remained. 
 
 Then wretched was I to find love gone. 
 To worship no longer at her throne, 
 To find that human heart was stone. 
 And that human man was fles-h and bone. 
 
 IF I HAD KNOWN 
 
 If I had known the pitfalls that lay along the way 
 E'er I had trod, m^thinks I would have faltered much; 
 But looking much ahead the road seemed fair and even 
 
 bright betimes. 
 Aye, now as I look back adown the slope I've climbed. 
 And see just over there a rugged crag I missed. 
 Here a narrow path along the gorge, where but a misstep 
 
 I had gone below; 
 And there a quicksand marsh wherein I all but slipped. 
 There, just beside the way, I see the cruel briars that 
 
 bled my feet. 
 Till I returned to find I'd missed my way. 
 Looking backward, I see the roadway has been steep 
 
 and sometimes rough; 
 The valleys sometimes dark, the rivers deep. 
 And yet I onward came, onward and upward — 
 Aye, am I not fearless, even wellnigh brave, 
 
 in my transcendent flight? 
 Nay, Nay! I knew them not, the dangers of the way; 
 I trusted, and only knew great fears when I had missed 
 
 the Royal Way, 
 And though I see no face agleam and hear no guiding voice, 
 
 I feel I'm not alone. 
 
 PAGB SBVBNTBBN 
 
SOUL TO SOUL 
 
 Have you had a strange sensation 
 
 Creeping 'round your heart today, 
 JuBt a feeling kind o' joyful 
 
 Chasing old dull care away? 
 Have you felt a kind o* longing, 
 
 Something you can't quite explain. 
 Just a yearning for a something — 
 
 Or a someone, once again? 
 Does a feeling come a-stealing 
 
 When you're thinking other things. 
 That makes all the future gladder, 
 
 A sweet memory that clings? 
 Have you felt all this, I wonder, 
 
 Did you feel the strange surprise 
 That I felt when first I found you? 
 
 Did you read it in my eyes? 
 Then here's putting care behind us. 
 
 Soul to soul, we're truly blest; 
 Life's allurements ne'er can tempt us 
 
 From this harbinger of rest. 
 
 TWILIGHT 
 
 When I sit alone at eventide, 
 And look away to the West, 
 
 I lift on the wings of fancy, and rise 
 To the dreamland I love the best. 
 
 When the Orient tints of eventide 
 
 Illumine the illusive scene. 
 The shifting clouds reflect their gold 
 
 On the shadowy hills between. 
 
 As I watch the sun sink slowly down 
 
 Into billowy arms of night, 
 I'm lulled to rest by its last caress. 
 
 Ere its glory is lost to sight. 
 
 Then alluring dreams I dream and dream. 
 
 And cloud-land pictures see. 
 Too lofty for mortal mind to pen. 
 
 In their graceful symmetry. 
 
 Then wrapped in glory, I sit and watch 
 The day die away iu the west. 
 
 And I know of all Time's fleeting hours, 
 I love the twilight the best. 
 
 PAGE EIGHTBBN 
 
THE MODERN FAREWELL 
 
 Today, as in the years gone by, 
 
 We part to meet no more, 
 And if a mist bedims your eye, 
 
 Be glad the tears don't pour. 
 For of all the griefs that pierce the soul, 
 
 This grief of parting's worst. 
 I think each time the story's told. 
 
 My heart will surely burst. 
 But modern hearts are rubber-tired, 
 
 And can so much expand, 
 That when mine gets by love inspired, 
 
 I loosen up the band. 
 So dry your tears, for part we must, 
 
 Our souls be rent in twain; 
 God grant our chain of love won't rust 
 
 Until we meet again. 
 
 YOU AND I— A RESPONSE 
 
 Yes, Dear, our casual meeting was a blissful revelation 
 Of a friendship lying dormant 
 
 In each breast; 
 An impelled continuation 
 Of a strangely formed relation — 
 
 God's bequest. 
 
 As our hands touched hand in greeting: . 
 Heart to heart with rapture beating 
 
 You and I 
 Felt a kindred exultation, 
 A supreme assimilation, 
 
 Which doth imply 
 
 That God willed that we should meet, Dear; 
 Find in each an inspiration. 
 
 Sweet, divine. 
 And He lent us to each other, 
 We his work of love to further, 
 
 Truth enshrine. 
 
 And this blest promethean impulse 
 That has bound our hearts together, 
 
 Infinite love. 
 Will extend through coming ages; 
 Be the guiding star of sages; 
 
 Man's mission prove. 
 
 And though seldom reunited 
 Face to face along life's pathway. 
 
 Some time we'll meet 
 In a silent soul reunion, 
 Where we'll learn in sweet communion. 
 
 Love's law complete. 
 
 PAGE NINBTBEN 
 
THE BOYS WHO WORE THE GREY 
 
 I sat and watched our soldier boys 
 
 As they passed in grand review. 
 And thought to weav« a little ode 
 
 To the gallant lads in blue. 
 But as I sat there musing 
 
 On the changes of the times, 
 A-sitting idly musiing 
 
 And a-changing of my rhymes. 
 The band was softly playing 
 
 Greetings to the glad New Year; 
 And down my cheek went straying 
 
 Something like a tear, 
 For as I sat there watching 
 
 These boys of Nineteen Ten, 
 Somehow the picture changed to me 
 
 To a little band of men. 
 Their garments not so graceful. 
 
 Their spirits far less gay; 
 But there never was a braver band 
 
 Than the boys who wore the grey. 
 I seemed to wander back with them — 
 
 Back through the passing years — 
 When as young lads they marched away, 
 
 Defying vagrant fears. 
 They wore the humble homespun, 
 
 Woven by hands they loved; 
 Mothers, sisters, wives and sweethearts 
 
 Their faith and valor proved. 
 All honor to those heroes! 
 
 Deep scars they're wearing still 
 As trophies of this conflict — 
 
 Call them rebels if you will! 
 *Twas a sad, sad New Year's morning. 
 
 When, the awful warfare o'er, 
 They returned to pillaged homesteads 
 
 And bereaved ones by the score, 
 Still imbued by faith undaunted, 
 
 Ne'er despairing, they arose. 
 "Southland," sung in song and story. 
 
 Ne'er was harbinger of foes. 
 This blest heritage they gave us: 
 
 "Honor will survive for aye!" 
 Long, long live the blood-stained laurels 
 
 Of "The boys who wore the brey." 
 Time steals swiftly on, though gently. 
 
 Soon this scattered little band 
 One by one will hear his summons 
 
 And receive his last command. 
 But no time will end their glory, 
 
 No years witness the decay 
 Of the history immortal 
 
 Of "The boys who wore the grey." 
 What, then does this annual meeting 
 
 Mean to them? God grant but this: 
 
 PAGE TWENTY 
 
If it brings their last revielle, 
 
 May it bring eternal bliss. 
 Following their great Commander 
 
 On through death to victory — 
 Won't that be a grand reunion 
 
 For "The boys who wore the grey"? 
 When, this earthly warfare over. 
 
 In that land of cloudless day, 
 All wrongs righted — friends united — 
 
 Hand in hand, "The blue and grey." 
 
 SAN JACINTO 
 
 Ah! glorious dawn of a fair April morning, 
 The day bringing glory to Texas, brave band. 
 
 Weary of warfare, but eagerly yearning 
 
 To meet dreaded foe at Houston's command. 
 
 Weakened from hunger and painful night vigils. 
 Pierced by an anguish too deep to reveal. 
 
 Quickly they rose to the call of the bugle. 
 Bravely to win, or die on the field. 
 
 Outnumbered by far by the treacherous Spaniard, 
 Appalled, not discouraged by serried foe. 
 
 Marching undaunted, inspired by the outcry: 
 
 Brave comrades! "Remember the lost Alamo!" 
 
 Short was the fray in this glorious conflict. 
 
 Outwitted, in terror the enemy flee. 
 Divested of flags and of weapons of warfare — 
 
 One wild shriek of triumph, and Texas was free. 
 
 When twilight enveloped this grim field of battle, 
 
 Defeated foes fell to surrender or die. 
 All hope of escape was by strategy thwarted. 
 
 "To victory or death," was the wild battle cry. 
 
 All glory to Houston, our gallant commander, 
 To every brave hero that history holds dear, 
 
 And here's to the brave-hearted, unwritten private, 
 Breathe softly a requiem o'er his silent bier. 
 
 Not ours the glory of this brilliant triumph. 
 Not ours the laurels those heroes have won. 
 
 But ours, Oh, grant us, dear Lord, to remember 
 And keep the cause sacred so nobly begun. 
 
 Long years have passed and the victory is ours. 
 And ours the freedom of Texas domain; 
 
 And ours this tribute to bear to those heroes: 
 Your banner of triumph immortal shall reign. 
 
 Again the day dawns on the old San Jacinto, 
 
 And nature's rich tears bathe the blood-embalmed mound; 
 
 The sweet-scented violet in legion are blooming, 
 Wild birds sing a dirge o'er the old battle-ground. 
 
 PAGE TWBNTY-ONB 
 
REST 
 
 Like a mariner tossed on the restless tide. 
 
 With sails unfurled and bearings gone. 
 This restless heart in its fragile barque 
 
 Was drifting hither and thither alone, 
 When Thy hand, like a noble craftsman, grasped 
 
 This perishing barque in its warm embrace, 
 Steering it safely over the tide 
 
 To the Isle of Rest — Faith's trysting place; 
 And here it will drift in sweet content. 
 
 If only Thou wilt the pilot be. 
 The storm may still rage, no fear will I know 
 
 While Thy hand is guiding me over life's sea. 
 
 WHAT DO THE WILD WINDS SAY? 
 
 What do the wild winds say to me 
 
 As they skip along in gladsome glee. 
 
 And bound away o'er the laughing lea? 
 
 They whistle lustily to me: 
 
 "Oh, earth-bound heart, I'm free, I'm free!" 
 
 What do the wild winds say to me. 
 
 The moaning winds from the whispering sea? 
 
 They tell me of beautiful mystery. 
 
 And faces of loved ones I shall see. 
 
 When from this earthly vail I'm free. 
 
 What do the wild winds say to me 
 
 In the deep, dark night? Intrudingly 
 
 They beat at my casement and moan and plea. 
 
 And murmur weirdly — but to me 
 
 There's ecstacy in their cry — "I'm free!" 
 
 What do the wild winds say to me? 
 Do they bring a message of sorrow or glee? 
 To imprisoned hearts they rave tauntingly. 
 If human hearts, like the winds, were free, 
 There would be in life no misery. 
 
 Have the voices changed, or can it be 
 That the heart inside is changed and free? 
 That the wild winds no longer sadden me. 
 But somehow cheer and gladden me, 
 In their ceaseless wail: "I'm free, I'm free!" 
 
 Blow on, ye winds! Ye say to me: 
 "Oh, child of earth, your heart is free; 
 Go build for yourself sweet destiny, 
 Like the mystical winds, go joyfully. 
 Enriching a soul for eternity." 
 
 PAGE TWBNTY-TWO 
 
TO MRS. F. C. B. 
 
 Sometimes a spirit rarely poised 
 
 Lifts from the prosy path of life. 
 And with a majesty serene, 
 
 Lifts all about it from the strife. 
 Sometimes this dominates mere man 
 
 And sometimes woman has renowned. 
 This priceless boon of self-control, 
 
 These graces in thee I have found. 
 To thee, for this, I gladly yield 
 
 All love and praise; these lines I send 
 To speak for me the things I feel. 
 
 I ask no more — Your humble friend. 
 
 A MEMOIR— JAMES S. HOGG 
 
 "Can storied urn, or animated bust 
 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 
 
 Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust. 
 
 Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death? 
 
 Nay, death, an awful monarch, stands between, 
 And wields his cycle with a ceaseless stroke; 
 
 No hand can stay his subtle power serene. 
 
 No eloquence his mercy can evoke. 
 Today we grieve for one by all beloved. 
 
 In universal grief commingling tears; 
 The gifts he gave to life were truths sublime, 
 
 Immortal — they will stand through coming years. 
 
 He, great in heart, in mind, in noble deeds, 
 
 Feared not to pass across "The Great Divide" 
 
 That separates us from the vast unknown 
 Where each, at last, must evermore abide. 
 
 We grieve, we say, for him, but is it so? 
 
 We grieve our loss — with him we know "All's well." 
 
 His life was just, his death a tranquil sleep; 
 
 The choir invisible 'round him glad anthems swell. 
 Aye, if 'tis so that in that great beyond 
 
 The just of earth shall reap as they have sown. 
 Our patriot stands today midst golden golden sheaves. 
 
 Remembered by the good that he has done. 
 
 He asked that no cold stone his memory mark, 
 
 A living tree which symbolizes man 
 Shall stetch its arms above his silent form, 
 
 And live and bear and year by year expand. 
 Then sleep on, noble friend, loved countryman. 
 
 We glory in thy life of well-lived days; 
 God grant that we, like thee, so live. 
 
 And pass in peace "The Parting of the ways." 
 
 PAGE TWBNTY'THRBB 
 
ON THE PASSING OF WALLER S. BAKER 
 
 Ah, friends I ana can it, must it be 
 
 That here no more his kindly smile, 
 
 That voice in tender sympathy- 
 Will here no more our fears beguile? 
 
 That one whose friendship meant to us 
 All that this gracious word implies 
 
 Has passed beyond the gate, and left 
 To us a fame that never dies? 
 
 A fame not carved on marble walls, 
 Nor flaunted on broad thoroughfare. 
 
 But far more reaching is the fame 
 That lifts from human life a care. 
 
 The friend who served his fellowman. 
 Nor asked for laurels in return, 
 
 Enough for him to give his best; 
 Oh, that we, too, this lesson learn. 
 
 That we, his friends, might emulate 
 Examples that his life has taught, 
 
 Of charity so rarely found. 
 
 In meekness was his life work wrought. 
 
 Yes, he is gone; to life he gave 
 Immortal truth, which will live on 
 
 And cheer our hearts, though sadly we 
 Will miss the presence that is gone. 
 
 TO EVELYN 
 
 Evelyn! How softly we murmur thy name; 
 
 In sorrow's sweet silence we yearn for thy smile. 
 How we weep for the joy of thy presence again. 
 
 As we cling to the hope of the "Great After While!" 
 
 Sweet Evelyn! thou wert fair Hope's brightest star. 
 Too loved and too lovely to linger long here! 
 
 Thine absence bereaves us of earth's dearest joy. 
 But thy going, Dear Heart, maketh Heaven so near! 
 
 We love thee, dear girl, 'tis devotion divine. 
 
 To love such as thou wast and art, and to feel 
 
 The blest inspiration thy influence e'er gave, 
 The lofty ambitions thy life's work reveal. 
 
 How sadly we miss, dear, the wealth of thy love, 
 
 The strength of thy friendship that brightened each day, 
 
 But to know thy sweet spirit awaits us above 
 
 Makes the pathway grow bright along life's dreary way. 
 
 PAGB TWENTY-FOUR 
 
LOVE'S REVELATION 
 
 I took the flowers you gave, me, Dear, 
 And placed on the grave of your love, 
 
 And I wondered if the angels near 
 Were watching me from above. 
 
 I felt, somehow, that he would know, 
 And that, some way, you would feel 
 
 That the little act, so simply done, 
 Would simply love reveal. 
 
 For the flowers I laid on the silent grave 
 
 Will wilt and wither away, 
 But love — true love — is stronger than death, 
 
 And can never know decay. 
 
 I know that our loved ones gone before 
 From this troublesome world of ours 
 
 Would gladly fill our lives with love. 
 And strew our paths with flowers. 
 
 And though we can't see them face to face. 
 Perhaps they tread close beside, 
 
 And lead us and love us, and after awhile. 
 We'll know and be satisfied. 
 
 HOME AGAIN 
 
 Home, again, where the wild birds sing. 
 
 And the squirrels chase all day in the trees, 
 
 Where the green corn waves and the new-mown hay- 
 Spends its fragrance, sweet, on the balmy breezes. 
 
 Home again 'neath the drooping bowers 
 Of the live-oak grove on the shady hill. 
 
 Home again near to Nature's heart. 
 
 With nothing to do but ramble at will. 
 
 Home again, where the lazy herd 
 
 Graze all day in the grassy field. 
 Where the sound of the harvester's voice is heard 
 
 As he reaps the return of a bountiful yield. 
 
 Home far away from the world's weary din, 
 A country home where the katy-dids sing; 
 
 In one grand choir all nature is voiced. 
 Woodland and dale with music ring. 
 
 Home once again where the mother stays. 
 Who loves me same as in days of old; 
 
 Home, where loyalty, Love prevails. 
 
 And the old-time affection never grows cold. 
 
 PAGE TWBNTY-FIVB 
 
WHEN MAMMA'S GONE AWAY 
 
 When Mamma's gone away — sure 
 
 'Nough away to stay — 
 I think I'd rather not be here, 
 When she will come no more to cheer 
 
 My weary way. 
 
 When Mamma's gone away, just as 
 She went to-day. 
 Life takes on such a somber hue, 
 The very atmosphere seems blue, 
 When Mamma's gone away. 
 
 I don't love anyone to-day — but Mamma — 
 And she's gone away, 
 And left me just a-weeping here, 
 I love her so — don't speak of cheer — 
 When Mamma's gone away! 
 
 MOTHER'S SMILES 
 
 Kind fate has scattered many joys, 
 
 Life's weary hours to beguile; 
 But there's just one that never fails 
 
 To cheer the heart: 'Tis mother's smile. 
 
 *Twas this dear gift encouraged us 
 And gave us comfort when a child. 
 
 The greatest terror childhood knew 
 
 Was soon dispelled by mother's smile. 
 
 Oft in our dreams at dead of night 
 E'en yet strange visions will beguile. 
 
 As hastily again we seek 
 
 Protection in our mother's smile. 
 
 The passing years have brought their cares 
 (Grim Sorrow leaves no trackless mile), 
 
 But all along Life's weary way 
 
 Our sign-post has been mother's smile. 
 
 And as we tread with her today 
 Along Pain's lonely, narrow aisle. 
 
 The strength that bears us step by step 
 Is fostered by our mother's smile. 
 
 This heritage we'll treasure most; 
 
 'Twill serve to cheer the weary while 
 When she has passed to bright realms, 
 
 The memory of our mother's smile. 
 
 PAGE TWBNTY-SIX 
 
I MISS YOU SO 
 
 Oh, Mother Love, I miss you so! 
 No matter where on earth I go; 
 
 I miss your voice, I miss your smile; 
 
 I miss your presence all the while. 
 Oh, Mother Love, I miss you so! 
 No matter where on earth I go. 
 
 Oh, Mother Love, full well I know 
 
 That thou art near me, and e'en the 
 I feel your sacred presence near, 
 I miss your words of love and cheer. 
 
 And, Mother Love, where e'er I go, 
 
 I love you and I miss you so! 
 
 No other love doth thus endure; 
 
 No other love so sweet, so pure; 
 
 And in this world of care and woe, 
 As thru the lonely vale I go. 
 
 Oh, Mother Love, I only know 
 
 I love you and I miss you so! 
 
 A homeless wanderer, here I roam; 
 
 Since thou are gone, no place is home; 
 But sweet this thought, bye and bye 
 I'll reach that realm where you and I 
 
 Shall meet again, where home will be 
 
 As lasting as Eternity. 
 
 MOTHER 
 
 The dearest face on earth to me is mother's; 
 
 I watch those deep imprints of care 
 
 I see so plainly graven there; 
 
 Each furrowed line sweet graces wear, 
 In this sweet face of mother's. 
 
 The gentlest voice on earth to soothe is mother's; 
 I listen to its cadence sweet, 
 With fondest love she doth entreat, 
 Blest invocations oft repeat, 
 
 The gentle voice of mother's. 
 
 The dearest, most caressing hands are mother's. 
 Altho' with patient toil torn — 
 Thin, fragile hands, of fairness shorn, 
 For me so many burthens borne — 
 
 Those loving hands of mother's. 
 
 The kindest heart on earth I've known is mother's, 
 A wealth of sympathetic love, 
 Example of infinite love 
 That points us to that home above. 
 
 The trusting heart of mother. 
 
 PAGE TWBNTY-SBVEN 
 
TO MOTHER MINE 
 
 So gently falls ttie autumn rain, 
 
 As noiselessly the dead leaves fall; 
 
 The day is dark, the air is chill, 
 Deep silence settles over all. 
 
 Ah, welcome day of mystic gloom. 
 
 So hushed and low kind nature weeps; 
 
 As silently we sit and watch 
 
 The sainted mother as she sleeps. 
 
 Full many months thro' lingering pain 
 We've watched that patient, pallid face, 
 
 Tho furrowed deep with earthly pain. 
 Each line reveals a heavenly grace. 
 
 And ofttimes thro' the weary watch 
 We've felt the chill of grim despair, 
 
 So near, the parting of the ways 
 
 Seems but a step twixt here and there. 
 
 A little longer on this side, 
 
 A little longer here to bless, 
 A little longer here to love 
 
 And cheer us with her fond caress. 
 
 Then soon to pass, O sacred hour! 
 
 To sleep some morn to wake no more 
 To all these earthly scenes, but rise 
 
 To walk in peace that blissful shore. 
 
 Her autumn time of life has closed. 
 The frosts of winter coldly cling; 
 
 But soon 'twill pass, and thro' the veil 
 She'll enter Hope's eternal spring. 
 
 WHEN MOTHER'S GONE 
 
 Who'll come and soothe dull care away 
 With fond caresses, smiles and tears? 
 
 Who'll strive to make life's burthens less, 
 And quiet all our foolish fears — 
 When Mother's gone? 
 
 Who'll listen with abated breath 
 To every little word we say. 
 
 Kind admonitions to impart, 
 
 When we have followed error's way — 
 When Mother's gone? 
 
 PAGB TWBNTY-HIGHT 
 
Who'll give us smiles for every pain, 
 
 Speak gently when our hearts are torn, 
 
 Interpret every weary sigh, 
 
 As tho' each sorrow she had borne. 
 When Mother's gone? 
 
 Can others be as kind as she, 
 
 Forgiving, gentle, mild and pure? 
 
 Can others feel the same for me, 
 And help each trial to endure — 
 When Mother's gone? 
 
 And when to wander we are prone, 
 
 Sweet Mother, none can fill thy place; 
 
 When thou are gone, we'll stand alone, 
 Parishoner on God's own grace — 
 When Mother's gone! 
 
 When Mother's gone! It cannot be 
 That time will e'er so ruthless prove 
 
 To rob us of this influence sweet, 
 A wealth of purest, fondest love — 
 When Mother's gone! 
 
 MOTHER AND HOME 
 
 "'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam" — 
 
 *Twas an eve in December, and I far from home; 
 
 The "glad holidays" were coming again — 
 
 To the homeless the word seems but empty and vain, 
 
 When turning the street midst the glad throng to roam. 
 
 "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home/* 
 
 A voice sang in pathos; I heard the refrain: 
 "Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again." 
 I tearfully turned from the gay, crowded mart 
 And wandered alone, from their pastimes apart, 
 And mused as I wandered, forever to roam. 
 Homeless and homesick for mother and home. 
 
 "A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there" — 
 
 I caught the glad note on the wings of the air, 
 
 And, retracing my steps, I listened once more — 
 
 "Home, home, sweet home;" as never before 
 
 Those words seemed to echo from Heaven's great dome; 
 
 "Peace, peace, lonely heart, here is mother and home." 
 
 PAGB TWBNTY-NINB 
 
MY ANGEL MOTHER 
 
 'Twas just a year ago tonight — 
 
 Tonight, my Mother Love — 
 The moon looked down in beauty 
 
 From its canopy above. 
 
 And you and I, with arms entwined, 
 
 Sat long in the silvery light. 
 And talked of the past with its joy and tears. 
 
 And then of the future bright. 
 
 And, somehow, I can fee] it yet — 
 
 The fear I felt that night. 
 Like you were drifting away from me, 
 
 Out into the silent night. 
 
 And I drew your dear face nearer, 
 
 And kissed it often then. 
 And out of the silence I seemed to hear 
 
 Your life's great final "Amen." 
 
 For sitting there in the moonlight, 
 On the calm mid-summer night, 
 
 Somehow I fathomed the future. 
 
 And my heart grew chill with fright. 
 
 For the Angels sometimes whisper 
 
 To us of the great unseen. 
 And half uncertain, some mystery, 
 
 Too lofty for mortal's ken. 
 
 And, somehow, I felt that never again, 
 In the long and untried years. 
 
 We would sit together as then. 
 
 And talk of our hopes and fears. 
 
 The strange, sad vision ne'er left me; 
 
 Like a magnet all night I was drawn 
 Close, close to my mother's bedside. 
 
 Where I watched till early dawn. 
 
 And, true to my strange convictions, 
 
 And strangely and sadly true. 
 Dear mother would sit no more with me, 
 
 'Neath Heaven's fathomless blue. 
 
 Her portrait is all I have tonight; 
 
 It sits on my casement here. 
 And I weave the jassamine flower she loved, 
 
 And place on her forehead dear. 
 
 Oh, Mother! My heart yearns so for you. 
 
 I'm still just your spoiled child. 
 And I long so much just for one caress. 
 
 And your chiding, sweet and mild. 
 
 PAGB THIRTY 
 
But you have fathomed the great unknown, 
 With a faith that was ever bright; 
 
 While I smile to hide a broken heart, 
 Since one year ago tonight. 
 
 TIM'S KITTY 
 
 Just to see my little Kitty hunkered down upon the floor. 
 On a rug up in the corner, back behind the kitchen door; 
 She was gettin' old and grouchy — cried so much about 
 
 the house. 
 Couldn't hear good like she used to, but she still could 
 
 smell a mouse; 
 An* Ma said we wouldn't kill her, we'd just send her off 
 
 to stay, 
 And get us a bran new Kitty — "Tab" was old an' in 
 
 the way. 
 So Ma tied her in a bundle and I packed her off to town; 
 No one seemed to want a Kitty, an' I had to put her down 
 Out there in the street, to hustle for a place to make her 
 
 home — 
 Wisht I could forget it, Kitty — how I felt when you wuz 
 
 gone, 
 'Cause you looked so strange and skeered-like in the town 
 
 with all the noise; 
 Seemed to sorter make you dizzy, and you couldn't hear 
 
 my voice! 
 For I called and called you, Kitty, and I told you, "Let's 
 
 go home." 
 But you wouldn't pay no 'tention, an' I couldn't make you 
 
 come. 
 And then I took to thinkin' an' my throat it got so dry, 
 Like a lump got sticked fast in it — but I wasn't 'bout to 
 
 cry; 
 I was lookin' fur my Kitty an' a-wishin' she'd come back; 
 She was always a good Kitty — scratched me sometimes, 
 
 that'a fac', 
 But she's gettin' old, poor Kitty! — turned out in the world 
 
 to die! 
 'Cause she wasn't young and chipper — somethin* hurts my 
 
 nuther eye! 
 All last night I dreamed of Kitty, and at last, when mornin* 
 
 came, 
 I could hear her, sure 'nough, mewin', like she tried to 
 
 say my name. 
 Then I runned and called my Kitty, an' I felt so shamed 
 
 an' bad 
 When she purred so nice and peaceful, like she'd say: 
 
 "Tim, I'm not mad!" 
 Then I told her how I'd missed her, an* I hugged har up 
 
 so tight. 
 An' I say, "Who gets this Kitty now, will sure have me 
 
 to fight!" 
 
 PAGB THIRTY-ONB 
 
MY "SANTA" OF OLD 
 
 "Backward, turn backward, oh, Time, in your flight!" 
 And make me a kid again, just for tonight! 
 Oh, Father, come back from the echoless shore, 
 And be dear old "Santa Claus" just one time more! 
 Smoothe out these tresses of gold so like thine. 
 Let my head once again on thy bosom recline, 
 While you tell me the sweetest old story e'er told, 
 And rock me to sleep again, "Dad," as of old. 
 
 ril hang up my stocking again, long and slim, 
 Never doubting that it will be filled to the brim. 
 And have I been good, "Santa"? Nay, Santa, Nay! 
 I don't think I ever was good for a day! 
 But you always forgave me, and said you'd forget 
 The bad things I did — and will you not yet? 
 Then rock me to sleep, and sing to me. Dad, 
 And lay by me once more on the old trundle-bed. 
 
 Then I'll wake Christmas morning and peep up to see 
 That stocking, sure enough, stuffed as full as can be, 
 Ah, never was there such a morning of bliss — 
 And never was there such a stocking as this. 
 There's bon bons, and toys, and good things to eat, 
 A "Jack-in-the-box" and a "dolly" so sweet! 
 Don't tell me of presents of silver and gold, 
 I'd rather have Dad — my "Santa" of old. 
 
 The years have been long. Dad, since you went away; 
 Seems somehow or other I've missed you each day. 
 Santa Glaus, with other illusions, have flown. 
 In life's real warfare I weary have grown. 
 I yearn for those days of delusion again. 
 For the simple child-life free from folly so vain; 
 And I'd give all these hours of promise so bright 
 Just to watch in good faith for "Old Santa" tonight! 
 
 A KISS 
 
 Just one moment of rapturous greeting. 
 Just one ripple of unsurpassed bliss. 
 
 Just a touch of warm lips in caressing, 
 Culminating in one joyous kiss! 
 
 If it's just the right lips that are kissing, 
 Two hearts with a throb not amiss. 
 
 There's no joy the angels are keeping 
 Can surpass in delight such a kiss. 
 
 PAGE THIRTY-TWO 
 
"GUINNSES TWINSES" 
 
 There's a pair of pretty maidens, 
 Living down in old "San Tone" — 
 
 They are bright and cute and witty, 
 And by legions they are known 
 As "Guinnses Twinses." 
 
 They are full of fun and frolic. 
 Keep you laughing all the time; 
 
 They can play the pranky hoyden, 
 Then be equally sublime. 
 These "Guinnses Twinses.'* 
 
 They can ride a Texas Broncho, 
 Row a boat or drive a car — 
 
 Sing and dance like little fairies — 
 At such stunts as these they star, 
 "Guinnses Twinses." 
 
 They are modest, but bewitching. 
 
 You would love them — ^well, I guess! 
 
 But at first it might confuse you, 
 
 Which is "Mame" and which is "Bess," 
 Of "Guinnses Twinses." 
 
 But it really does not matter. 
 
 For at anything they're fine, 
 'Cept "doin' High Sassiety," 
 
 At this they draw the line — 
 These "Guinnses Twinses." 
 
 GLIMPSES OF HEAVEN 
 
 Into my life, o'ershadowed with grief. 
 
 Sometimes there are moments of peaceful relief. 
 
 And like a sweet vesper eternal revealing 
 
 There comes o'er my spirit so softly stealing 
 
 A joy so tranquil, a peace so sweet, 
 
 So unlike these earthly joys incomplete. 
 
 That I know its origin must be divine. 
 
 'Tis but a reflection of the joy to be mine 
 
 When I have finished my pilgrimage here. 
 
 And my heart is so joyous, so free from all fear. 
 
 These glimpses of heaven that enter the soul 
 
 Are far more precious than earthly goal. 
 
 And I praise the great King for even the sorrow 
 
 That blesses my life with a hope of the morrow, 
 
 Knowing full well if I'm faithful today. 
 
 Tomorrow I'll find the stone rolled away 
 
 From the grave of yesterday, and thus I press on, 
 
 Awaiting the triumph of eternal dawn. 
 
 PAGB THIRTY-THRBB 
 
'TWILL BE ENOUGH FOR ME 
 
 I do not ask a world's applause, 
 Nor crave vain words of praise; 
 
 I do not ask for Fame's renown, 
 Nor seek but eartMy gains; 
 
 But if some word of mine shall fall 
 Along life's weary way. 
 
 And help to cheer some fainting heart, 
 'Twill be enough for me. 
 
 I do not ask that life shall be 
 
 For me one tranquil dream. 
 Where I may stagnate in my ease 
 
 While others brave the stream. 
 I would not drift a worthless raft 
 
 Upon life's restless sea, 
 But pilot home some broken craft — 
 'Twill be enough for me. 
 
 But should I make this pilgrimage, 
 
 Nor strive to succor pain. 
 Nor fail to help one sinking bark 
 
 The harbor bar to gain, 
 I've forfeited my heritage 
 
 To all the joys to be — 
 If outer darkness be my lot, 
 
 'Twill be enough for me. 
 
 IS IT WORTH WHILE? 
 
 Is it really worth while, I'm wondering yet 
 If this strenuous warfare, this worry and fret. 
 This continuous effort to do, to obtain. 
 To get and to have, to lose and to gain, 
 To take on new burdens at every new mile; 
 I'm wondering yet if it's really worth while. 
 
 Is it really worth while, will it pay in the end? 
 This farce we are playing, this constant pretend. 
 This bother with Life, with its arts so complex; 
 This keeping abreast with the pastimes that vex? 
 When the simple life doth not mar or defile — 
 I'm wondering yet if it's really worth while. 
 
 Nay, verily, nay! There is nothing worth while 
 That robs life of peace and youth of its smile; 
 But if we can find our mission and give 
 The best that we have, we're beginning to live, 
 And we'll learn of a truth in the great afterwhile 
 That the life lived in giving is really worth while. 
 
 PAGB THIRTY-FOUR 
 
THE AWAKENING 
 
 The grief of the heart the world can not know- 
 The grief that is never spoken — 
 
 The grinds each day at the restless heart 
 Until the heart is broken. 
 
 A grief too deep for the world to see. 
 
 In the secret soul lies hidden: 
 An humbling grief to our erring soul, 
 
 A grief that comes unbidden. 
 
 A disappointment of life's best hopes. 
 
 The loss of life's ambition: 
 Lingering regrets that oppress the soul 
 
 And awaken deep contrition. 
 
 A grief like this seems harsh and stern, 
 
 A lasting grief and cruel, 
 But if nobly borne will raise the soul 
 
 To the heights of hope's renewal. 
 
 Painful, indeed, must be this grief. 
 Ere pride in her strength be shaken. 
 
 But out of the ruins of earthly hopes 
 Blest hopes eternal awaken. 
 
 EASTER MORN 
 
 *Twas night on Calvary, deep, dark and dismal night. 
 The world had lost its King of light and love; 
 
 The tomb, dark, cold and drear, closed o'er His mangled 
 form. 
 And left no hope His power divine to prove. 
 
 But when the awful night of grief was spent, 
 Glad morn awoke — the Eastern morn of life! 
 
 Behold, He is risen. All hail! Hope is not vain. 
 
 He's conquered Death; we're ransomed from the strife. 
 
 He drank the bitter dregs, He bore the shame, 
 
 The sacrificial suffering He bore for our release. 
 
 He won the victory. Eternal life He Gave — 
 
 The message that He brought the darkened world is 
 "Peace!" 
 
 "Why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?" He asked, 
 
 A comforter He from the grave arose. 
 And "peace be unto you," He kindly said, 
 
 "I've come again to bear your sin and woes; 
 
 Then go ye into all the world" — was his bequest, 
 "And tell them of the peace I bring today." 
 
 And this glad Easter morn His peace remains 
 To cheer each weary heart on life's lone way. 
 
 PAGE THIRTY-FIVB 
 
DE PROFUNDIS 
 
 I crept out silently this eye, 
 
 And pushed the gate of Time ajar. 
 
 And sauntered back along the sands 
 Where Hope had left full many a scar. 
 
 I thought to steal down noiselessly, 
 The path of unforgotten past, 
 
 And spend an hour secretly 
 
 With memories too loved to last. 
 
 And then as speedily return 
 
 To earthly scenes and earthly cares; 
 While drifting snow my tracks erased, 
 
 The wind was busy with its prayers. 
 
 Alas! I've lingered far too long, 
 To weep o'er one beloved bier; 
 
 The night's far spent, the snow is gone. 
 The leaden sky above is clear. 
 
 Deep footprints lie along the sands, 
 
 And tear-stained slabs my steps betray 
 
 To mark my lonely vigil here; 
 Let me be gone ere it is day. 
 
 Fair morning must not find me here. 
 Her light deep shadows to unroll. 
 
 I'll push the gate close to again, 
 
 And close this graveyard of the soul. 
 
 SPRING'S RETURN 
 
 I have strolled to-day in the woodland fair, 
 
 'Neath shady groves, on hillocks rare; 
 
 I've wandered far, enraptured more 
 
 With Nature's charms than ever before! 
 
 The song-birds in the trees near-by 
 
 Have sung all day their lullaby, 
 
 Until my soul no longer slept, 
 
 But seemed to rise to realms unwept. 
 
 To realms where travelers seldom come, 
 
 By many mortals never known. 
 
 Each flowerlet, each blade of grass. 
 
 Bespeaks God's love and graciousness; 
 
 But as I wander here alone 
 
 In shady groves by flowers o'ergrown. 
 
 Perchance it is the violet sweet 
 
 That nestles fondly at my feet, 
 
 Or else, mayhap, the red bird's song 
 
 As it flits from bower to bower along 
 
 PAGE THIRTY-SIX 
 
And soars away so high and free, 
 
 That turns my thoughts so oft to Thee. 
 
 Or is it but fair Spring's return? 
 
 With its memories sweet, that seem to burn 
 
 Their way to the heart entwined there 
 
 Can't be usurped, — Oh! who would dare 
 
 To rob a soul of its sweetest peace! 
 
 Take back the heart that spurns release! 
 
 And the future years will, perchance, reveal 
 
 The love I've labored long to conceal. 
 
 AUTUMN AT MT. SOPRIS, COLORADO 
 
 September comes again with its calm, serene noon-'day, 
 Its misty morns, when clouds lop down to kiss the moun- 
 tains grey, 
 Its sunsets rare with crimson skies, and summer's waste 
 
 of gold, 
 And scarlet nights made frosty bright by early Autumn 
 
 bold. 
 Along the Rockies' western slope, in a peaceful, quiet glen. 
 Away from the busy, bustling world and the weary haunts 
 
 of men, 
 Where the Crystal river winds along and weaves its 
 
 rjrmthic lays, 
 Where the lowing herd on the clover mead in countless 
 
 numbers graze. 
 Where the lazy sheep sleep peacefully all day 'neath the 
 
 willow shade. 
 And the wild deer comes to slake his thirst along the 
 
 glossy glade. 
 Where the harvester now hastes to -house his wealth of 
 
 golden grain, 
 And the herdsman tends his peaceful flock along the 
 
 verdant plain. 
 Like a proud sentinel Mt. Sopris stands to the East to 
 
 welcome morn; 
 From her snowy peak she smiles good will down on Mt. 
 
 Sopris Farm, 
 And life moves on along this vale like one continuous 
 
 dream 
 Of peace and plenty unsurpassed along this crystal stream, 
 And here, away from the noise and din of strenuous city 
 
 life. 
 Comes the weary man or maid to find that country air 
 
 Is rife, 
 And added to the Sage's smile old Nature lends her 
 
 charm — 
 The most restful place in all this world is this Mt. Sopris 
 
 Farm. 
 
 PAGB THIRTY-SBVEN 
 
CHRISTMAS GIVING 
 
 Don't you know it's really funny 
 Going shopping Christmas times? 
 
 If you haven't stacks of money, 
 
 Makes no difference — spend your dimes. 
 
 Do not worry 'bout the values, 
 
 Money is but common pelf; 
 Just keep smiling while you're giving, 
 
 For the best gift is yourself. 
 
 Just a great, kind heart a-throbbing. 
 
 With new impulse every day. 
 Try to help some fellow traveler 
 
 Climb life's weary, rugged way. 
 
 This makes life really worth the living. 
 Makes you glad it's Christmas times. 
 
 If you spend your heart as freely 
 
 As you spend your Christmas dimes. 
 
 THINK ON THESE THINGS 
 
 Long sought I for peace 'mid pleasures most vain, 
 Each fond treasured pastime had yielded but pain, 
 When casting about for new paths to pursue, 
 I heard a voice say, "Whatsoever is true, 
 "Think on these things." 
 
 "Think on these things." How those words seemed to roll 
 Like a great wave of joy o'erflooding my soul, 
 "Whatsoever is honest, whatsoever is just," 
 Aye, justice and honor, in thy strength will I trust! 
 As I "think on these things." 
 
 "Truth, Justice and Honor, all these must endure. 
 If peace ye would find; whatsoever is pure, 
 "Think on these things! Think on these things!" 
 Truth, Justice and Honor to purity clings. 
 "Think on these things!" 
 
 "Whatsoever is lovely." Can the lovely obtain. 
 Stripped of purity, justice and honor? 'Twere vain! 
 Vain! Vain is the life, tho' wealth may be thine! 
 Tho' the world's gilded fame thy glories enshrine. 
 "Think on these things.!" 
 
 "Whatsoever things," said the voice once again, 
 "Are of good report," was the sweet refrain 
 That sang thro' my soul from the Ancient of Days, 
 "If there be any virtue, if there be any praise. 
 Think on these things." 
 
 PAGB THIRTY-BIGHT 
 
DISAPPOINTMENT 
 
 Oh! the pain of disappointment 
 
 In the friend we thought most true; 
 Surely there's no grief so poignant, 
 
 None so painful to review. 
 Yet we welcome Disappointment, 
 
 Tho' thy hand is cold and hard. 
 If it teach us calm endurance 
 
 It is but a kind reward. 
 For if treachery lie hidden 
 
 In the heart we deemed so kind, 
 Better now to feel its treason, 
 
 While No closer fetters bind; 
 Better now accept this sorrow. 
 
 Make it of your life a part; 
 Nourish it until you're stronger, 
 
 Altho' it may break the heart. 
 Suffer on without complaining — 
 
 Evermore misunderstood, 
 And it may be undervalued — 
 
 By the friend that long hath wooed. 
 Ah, the' painful, strongly bear it — 
 
 'Tis an oft repeated tale — 
 Tho' your pride may suffer keenly 
 
 Wounds too deep to ever heal. 
 
 KEEP ON SMILING 
 
 If you smile with a smile that's really a smile. 
 Though your heart may be aching and breaking the while. 
 You're scattering sunshine for someone — maybe 
 Your'e making your own sorrow lighter, you see. 
 
 And you're really beguiling 
 
 The world into smiling. 
 
 If your smile is a smile of innocent mirth. 
 
 It is really the greatest asset upon earth, 
 
 For the world wants your smile, cares not for your pain; 
 
 So, giving the best that you have is your gain. 
 
 While you're really beguiling 
 
 The world into smiling. 
 
 Just keep on a-smiling, you're going to win; 
 The world's at your feet, if you'll just take it in. 
 And when at last old success comes your way, 
 You'll reckon with gladness the toils of the day 
 
 When you were beguiling 
 
 The world mto smiling. 
 
 PAGE THIRTY-NINE 
 
THE REGAL ROCKIES 
 
 Oh, ye Mountains, how I love you! 
 How my heart goes right out to you, 
 And I feel I ne'er can leave you, 
 Ne'er can leave you any more. 
 
 For I love you; oh, I love you! 
 And the skies that bend above you 
 And caress you, say I love you. 
 And your beauty I adore. 
 
 On that crest so high and hoary 
 I can read a silent story. 
 And I feel a wealth of glory 
 That I never felt before; 
 
 And it grieves me I must leave you. 
 And to know it cannot grieve you. 
 Love you, leave you, and not grieve you- 
 Ne'er was love like this before. 
 
 Yet in all yoUr mystic glory 
 I must needs tell you my story. 
 Though to you an ancient story^ 
 Hear me, hear me, I implore! 
 
 On that snow-crowned crest, immortal, 
 I have found Love's sacred portal, 
 Entered that Elysian portal — 
 And I ne'er can leave it more. 
 
 Oh, ye Mountains San Miguel, 
 You're so rocky, regal, real. 
 And your majesty I feel 
 As I never felt before; 
 
 Then I pray you, I implore you. 
 If I ever more adore you. 
 Will my soul, wrapt in that glory. 
 Still be lifting evermore? 
 
 MY CREED 
 
 My creed, if I know it, is Jesus; 
 
 My prayer is "Just pilot me," 
 And lead me, and love me, and make me 
 
 In some way to magnify Thee. 
 
 My creed is so broad and so simple. 
 It keeps me so happy alway; 
 
 'Tis something I share with my neighbor. 
 Growing richer and gladder each day. 
 
 PAGB FORTY 
 
My creed exalts and uplifts me, 
 
 And still makes me love and esteem 
 
 The lowliest of my King's subjects, 
 For He died their souls to redeem. 
 
 My creed, if I know it, is Jesus; 
 
 Have I more wisdom than He, 
 That I should demand more homage 
 
 Or tender less sympathy? 
 
 Ah, nay! My creed is all wisdom; 
 
 'Tis the human that mars the great plan. 
 Without the Divine to direct it, 
 
 Maketh man inhuman to man. 
 
 My creed! Oh, let me proclaim it: 
 *Twlll cheer you, oh, weary of heart; 
 
 Just believe that your Saviour is real. 
 Let Him form in your life-work a part. 
 
 My creed is just loving and giving, 
 For my happiness Jesus must reign; 
 
 If I can just live what my creed is. 
 Then truly I've not lived in vain. 
 
 WINTER 
 
 This morn when I awoke the winter rain, 
 In great tear-drops, clung to my window pane. 
 The air was chill and as it fanned my cheek. 
 Shivering, I cried, ah! truly life is bleak! 
 Bleak, cold and but a waste of withered leaves. 
 Dead hopes and chilling tears. The dripping eares 
 Bespeak the language of the silent soul, 
 As gust on gust the sighs of winter roll. 
 
 As swirls the white-winged torrent round my door. 
 Stripping meanwhile the vale and forest hoar 
 Of all their gorgeous mantling; leaving bare 
 Their wreaking limbs to meet the frosty air. 
 Ah, Winter! why so cruel, why disarm 
 And rob fair Nature of her sylvan charm? 
 List thou the moaning of the Forest King, 
 This Nature's travail ere the birth of Spring? 
 
 And then, methinks, a voice somewhere replies: 
 
 Is not this life? If thou would'st live, be wise. 
 
 Out from night's darkest gloom comes brightest mom; 
 
 Out from earths' dismal tomb fair spring is bom. 
 
 In Nature's triumph Winter, too, must share, 
 
 'Tis Winter's storm that makes life's morn more fair; 
 
 And tho' the blast is keen, it proves the worth, 
 
 For after Winter's tears comes Spring's glad birtJi. 
 
 PAGB FORTY'ONB 
 
MY VISION 
 
 Last night, Father came to me. 
 
 Father, from the spirit-land; 
 He had been so long away, 
 
 And I cannot understand 
 Why he came to me last night; 
 
 But he was the very same. 
 And I held his hand so tight. 
 
 As his lips pronounced my name. 
 And I felt the same glad thrill 
 
 That I felt long years ago, 
 A little one on Father's knee. 
 
 As he rocked me to and fro. 
 Oh! I was so happy then. 
 
 Father had come back to me. 
 Just a span across the years, 
 
 I again on Father's knee. 
 All the night the vision stayed, 
 
 And with morning took its flight. 
 But I am happier today, 
 
 For my princely guest, last night, 
 Brought me a peacefulness supreme — 
 
 Spirit-land almost in sight. 
 I entreated him to stay. 
 
 For I've always missed him so; 
 But he cheerfully replied: 
 
 "No, my dear one, I must go.** 
 Then, as he was passing out, 
 
 I implored: "Oh, tell me, pray! 
 Tell me how to find you. Dear, 
 
 When you stay so long away.** 
 But he answered as before: 
 
 "Live on, love on, do your best; 
 I'll return some day for you, 
 
 Then I'll take you to my rest.** 
 
 FOUND 
 
 Long ago I was heart-sick and weary, 
 
 A prey to unrest and disease; 
 I was bound to the earth and the earthy. 
 
 And could find no happy release; 
 
 My soul cried out in the silence, 
 
 A piteous panting for peace. 
 
 I, groping alone in the darkness. 
 At last found a touch of divine; 
 
 I heard in the distance a soul call 
 That awakened an echo in mine. 
 
 I cried aloud through the silence — 
 Oh, Love! Oh, Hope! I am thine! 
 
 PAGE FORTY-TWO 
 
Since then the darkness is broken; 
 
 I'm groping no longer alone. 
 I'm hearing the grandest of music, 
 
 Pealing out from sources unknown, 
 And I'm feeling the strength of Love's magic 
 
 As holy as angels have known. 
 
 And out from the earth and the earthy 
 
 My soul has riven above. 
 And out from the gloom comes a gladness — 
 
 Sweet anthems, the echoes of love — 
 And out among hearts that are earthbound 
 
 I am seeking His mission to prove. 
 
 RETROSPECTION 
 
 Sometimes, when I sit a-musing 
 
 On life's problems, old and new. 
 And am trying to unravel 
 
 The false weave from the true; 
 In my weakness oft I question 
 
 What the final outcome is, 
 For I find, by retrospection. 
 
 My life's work is so amiss; 
 One by one recount my foibles, 
 
 O'er my imperfections sigh, 
 And I wonder at God's goodness 
 
 To so poor a wretch as I. 
 But with all my selfish meanness. 
 
 There are some things I won't do; 
 Of a few things I'm not guilty. 
 
 Though the whole world prove untrue. 
 I have never played old Judas yet 
 
 To wound the innocent, 
 Nor wrapped about me righteous robes. 
 
 Devouring as I went. 
 I've never slandered womankind — 
 
 She is some way kin to me — 
 And when I slander her fair name, 
 
 I slander self, you see. 
 And there's one other virtue 
 
 Will my life's work defend; 
 Not once in all my sinful life 
 
 Have I betrayed a friend. 
 And sometimes sorrow I have met. 
 
 And mingled tear with tear; 
 And sometimes I have tried to add 
 
 To life a word of cheer. 
 And so, with all my sinning. 
 
 To Truth at least I'm true — 
 Saint Peter — keep your record straight — 
 
 There are some things I won't do. 
 
 PAGB PORTY-THRBB 
 
TO LOUIE 
 
 Dear Girl, when I come back home again, 
 
 To the dear old hillside home in the trees; 
 When I walk once more down the shady lawn, 
 
 And drink in the fragrance of Springtime breeze — 
 The wild rose trails on the same old wall, 
 
 The Blue Bonnets bloom as sweetly as then; 
 But I miss a smile and a cheering voice. 
 
 And home isn't just the same again. 
 
 Though I miss. Dear Heart, thy voice and thy smile, 
 
 I feel, somehow, a presence so dear, 
 And I think of thee never as so far away, 
 
 But living in spirit and happiness near. 
 And while we are treading the same old paths. 
 
 And toiling and living and loving through pain, 
 *Tis sweet. Dear, to think of the rest thou hast found; 
 
 'Twill cheer our lone hearts *til we see thee again. 
 
 MY VALENTINE 
 
 Somewhere amid my trophies rare 
 This treasure you may find — 
 
 Though old and worn, its pages torn — 
 My cherished Valentile. 
 
 As it unfolds, you see it holds 
 
 A curl of golden hair. 
 A Rosebud, too, all tied with blue. 
 
 And signed, "Your Lenox Dare." 
 
 A memory sweet of childhood days 
 
 Is this old Valentine. 
 Reminds me of how hard I loved 
 
 That first sweetheart of mine. 
 
 Somehow, tho' many years have passed. 
 
 And sweethearts not a few, 
 I can't erase that memory quite — 
 
 The first love dream I knew. 
 
 *Twas fate's decree that we should part. 
 
 The old romance was o'er. 
 Until one day there came a note. 
 
 Which this fond message bore: 
 
 "Long years have passed since this curl grew 
 
 Upon Miss Lenox's head, 
 I send it back today and ask 
 
 To claim her heart instead." 
 
 PAGB FORTY-FOUR 
 
And then I knew first love is true, 
 The old love's living yet; 
 
 Thus I enshrine this Valentine, 
 This troth we'll ne'er forget. 
 
 WHITE ROSES 
 
 'Tis only a bunch of roses — 
 
 White roses — fragrant and pure, 
 
 And a pink carnation, faded; 
 
 She gave them — my friend — ^none truer. 
 
 She gave them with tender caresses, 
 
 Nor dreaming the memories they brought 
 
 Gf days — other days — when he gave them. 
 White roses, with sweet incense fraught. 
 
 White roses, your influence still haunts me. 
 
 Like a page from the vanishing past. 
 You unfold your sweet fragrance 'round me. 
 
 Then perish, too fragile to last. 
 
 Fond memories entwined with white roses. 
 Fit emblems of innocence sweet; 
 
 Like a soul ere by sin's web entangled. 
 Ere it yields to the wiles of deceit. 
 
 DOROTHY DEA 
 
 'Twas the first day of the glad New Year, 
 
 But I wasn't glad — down my cheek rolled a tear, 
 
 When I heard a wee voice singing all out of tune, 
 
 "Halleluiah, wine ee glory," and a face bright as June 
 
 Came peeping at me through the half-open door. 
 
 "Halleluiah, wine ee glory, — don't ky any more,** 
 
 The little one, in sweet baby tones plead. 
 
 As she looked at my face all tear-stained and red. 
 
 "Halleluiah, wine ee glory;" Oh, Savior Divine! 
 
 Make me as one of the little ones Thine, 
 
 That I, like they, may be able each day 
 
 Of this glad New Year to be giving away 
 
 To the sorrowing ones some message of love 
 
 That will raise their hopes to the heights above. 
 
 "Halleluiah, wine ee glory," revive us again; 
 
 May the sweet baby voice still swell the refrain. 
 
 As on through the long and wearisome years. 
 
 She goes forth to comfort with smiles and with tears. 
 
 PAGE FORTY-PIVB 
 
HOW BEAUTIFUL 
 
 How beautiful is Morn, in its fragrance and fairness, 
 Effulgent with flowers overladen with dew, 
 
 As the sun gaily rises and warms up the valley. 
 With kisses of gladness the earth to imbue. 
 
 How beautiful is life in its radiant morning. 
 When hope buoys us on to the isle of content; 
 
 How beautiful to live in a world full of promise. 
 Ere the soul with misdeeds and error is rent. 
 
 How beautiful is Eve in the rich golden twilight, 
 
 Ere Night's deeper shadows exclude the sun's rays. 
 
 Like a sweet benediction, the halo falls 'round us, 
 Uplifting our souls in harmonious praise. 
 
 How beautiful is Death, when, like Eve's last caressing. 
 It tenderly touches the heart wracked with pain. 
 
 And quickly releases to silence the spirit. 
 As it struggles with life for freedom again. 
 
 IMMORTALITY 
 
 "Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who 
 Before us passed the door of Darkness through, 
 
 Not one returned to tell us of the road, 
 Which to discover we must travel, too." 
 
 Strange, is it not? that we, a hopeful race, 
 Speed ever onward toward that mystic place. 
 
 Knowing we cannot stop upon the brink. 
 But each in turn must the inevitable face. 
 
 Strange, is it not? the hope that lures us on. 
 That we await in eagerness each dawn, 
 
 And build as though eternity were here. 
 Nor weep not o'er the day misspent and gone. 
 
 Strange, is it not? if souls shall live no more. 
 That each heart tries this mystery to explore; 
 
 Yearning with pathos for Immortality, 
 Some souls approach in ecstacy the Darkened Door. 
 
 Strange it may be to one who has not felt 
 A peace unspeakable as he humbly knelt. 
 
 And trusted all to that immortal spark 
 Which lightens up the soul where darkness dwelt. 
 
 Strange it is not, nor strange it cannot be. 
 To one whose faith can span eternity, 
 
 And can with inborn spirit testify. 
 And reason why the soul from death is free. 
 
 PAGE FORTY-SIX 
 
SOME OTHER DAY 
 
 The blessed Lord one day came in to be my guest, 
 And did I ask bim in and give to Him the best? 
 Ah, nay; that day, alas, another guest was mine! 
 I had within my heart no room for the Divine, 
 But with indifference I greeted Him and cried: 
 "Some other day, dear Lord; today I'm satisfied." 
 At this my heavenly guest so sadly turned away, 
 And left me still repeating, "Oh, Lord, some other day;" 
 And when the day was over, with all its joy and strife, 
 I fell repentant on my knees, and cried: "Protect my life, 
 And lead me safely home. I love Thee much, dear Lord!" 
 But did the Lord accept the deed, or just the empty word? 
 At length again, one day, to my poor home He came, 
 And humbly sought admission; my answer was the same. 
 "Tomorrow canst thou have me?" Again with much regret 
 I pleaded, "Lord, forgive me; I can not have Thee yet." 
 "Tomorrow I am feasting with rich and honored friends. 
 And should I disappoint them I can not make amends. 
 I love Thee, Lord, in truth; let love suffice for this, 
 If I should stop to serve in deed, these festive joys I'd miss. 
 There's so much in the social world to keep me busy now, 
 But, truly, Lord, some other day to Thy blest will I'll bow." 
 Again the Lord departed and the joys I'd erstwhile sought 
 Somehow grew irksome to me; in truth I found them not 
 Enough to satisfy the deep craving of my heart; 
 And though I tried again to pray, I found I'd lost the art. 
 Thus day by day my soul cried out, for peace was mine 
 
 no more; 
 I tried in vain each pastime that I had loved before; 
 For though I sought and wept for peace, my soul with vain 
 
 regret 
 Was e'er recalling those sad words, "I can not have Thee 
 
 yet." 
 But one day as I knelt again and agonized in prayer. 
 My Saviour passed my threshhold and saw me kneeling 
 
 there. 
 And then in sweet compassion He listened as I plead: 
 "Oh, Lord, take all these fleeting joys and give me peace 
 
 instead!" 
 Then, glory to God in the highest, I heard His gentle voice. 
 In accents kind and tender, bid my poor heart rejoice. 
 "Ah, little one, I know thy cares," and when I bade Him 
 
 stay, 
 "My Master's work awaiteth me. I'll call come other day." 
 As I implored. He answered me with gentle tones and mild : 
 "The wheat is ripe unto the harvest; "Will you come with 
 
 me, my child?" 
 He showed me that duty is happiness, and if His peace 
 
 abide, 
 I must take some part in the conflict for which my Saviour 
 
 died. 
 And evermore I am hearing His tenderest tone since then 
 When I'm helping to gather the harvest, pealing forth in 
 
 a fervent "Amen!" 
 
 PAGB FORTY-SBVBN