S 3503 
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 3ni|« $ark Uroron 
 
PUIR SANDY 
 
 and Other Verse 
 
 Appendix to 
 
 Fox River Valley 
 
 and Other Verse 
 
 By 
 John Park Brown 
 
 1 lohn Par* Brow 
 
 Brethren Publishing House 
 
 Elgin, Illinois 
 
 1919 
 
Two 
 
 Puir Sandy 
 
 I fear sum day, ye'll los' yir sark, 
 Wha turtt a lassie efter dark, 
 Or did a warlock tak' th' randy? 
 If sae, yir better aff, puir Sandy. 
 
 Or did sh' set th' muir afire, 
 Tae raise a reek, as weel's yir ire? 
 If that's th' plan, sh's weel succeedit 
 Sin' Nick* er wallet brawly deedit. 
 
 Bit Sandy, fear na' for yirsel', 
 There is a place a daurna' tell; 
 Peet reek, nor muirs, nor a' th' gither, 
 Keep aff thae birds 'at's o' ae fether. 
 
 
 Envy No One 
 
 Ne'er do I envy the lot of one living — 
 
 Less need I envy one dead; 
 Little it seems that could count in my giving, 
 
 Yet in the Book it is said, 
 She gave the least of them all, who dropped in, 
 
 Yet gave she better than gold; 
 She gave her all, from a motive within — 
 
 Others with hearts that were cold. 
 
 While I am here there is chance I may brighten 
 
 Those who are weary and sad, 
 Just in my way; so their burden may lighten, 
 
 Leaving them thankful and glad. 
 For in the realm unto which I am going 
 
 All have been cleansed from their sin ; 
 No chance like here, so I'll ever keep sowing 
 
 Heart seed that blesses within. 
 
 SEP 22 (919 
 
 ■» • 
 
 CI.A529893 
 
Inexorable Time 
 
 Juno, of handsome figure, 
 
 Meet for Apollo rex, 
 Your looks of maiden vigor, 
 
 Make queen among your sex. 
 
 O Time ! Your wheels turn backward, 
 
 A score of years and ten, 
 " 'Twas done, kind sir, though awkward, 
 
 Just once in human ken."* 
 
 Since you'll not grant the favor, 
 
 For me, and me alone, 
 Then change life's taste and flavor, 
 
 Insensate as the stone. 
 
 Nor know your name : or number 
 Of years you've plucked the rose ; 
 
 May angels guard your slumber 
 Though time's impression grows. 
 
 Go on, thou fair unknowing, 
 Your course may wisdom guide ; 
 
 His lot has favor's showing 
 Who walks by Juno's side. 
 
 Thomas Moore 
 
 (Erin's Great Poet) 
 
 Erin is justly proud 
 Of melodies haunting sweet, 
 
 Echoing clear and loud, 
 Finished and so complete. 
 
 Fresh from a human heart, 
 
 Cherished in every clime, 
 Well have they done their part, 
 
 Lyre that will ring through time. 
 
 Joshua 10: 13. 
 
 Throe 
 
The Innocent Tabby 
 
 If you will but incline your ear, 
 
 Nor grudge the time to tell, 
 And scant occasion you may fear 
 
 What I remember well. 
 When young I to a party went — 
 
 It almost slipped my mind, 
 Aroma almost like a scent, 
 
 And hauntingly its kind, 
 Came in my face ; I changed my place, 
 
 Then this transpired, you'll find. 
 I ought to say she looked like May — 
 
 So lovely her complexion ; 
 A violet blue, her eyes so true, 
 
 If right in my reflection. 
 Not young was she, just matronly, 
 
 Her looks almost transfixed me; 
 This lady fair, with lovely hair. 
 
 Who gracefully sat next me. 
 She kindly beamed, with teeth that gleamed 
 
 Correct, and pearly white ; 
 Had she been young I think my tongue 
 
 Had need of rest by night. 
 We spoke a little, back and forth, 
 
 She leaned towards my chair, 
 Low whispered near, close to my ear, 
 
 "There's some one passing air." 
 The blood had fled, up to my head — 
 
 I'm sure my heart beat faster; 
 I tho't me quick, this is the trick 
 
 To save us from disaster. 
 "Come, pussy cat," as there she sat 
 
 As meek as any Moses, 
 "Where do you dwell, to bring such smell? 
 
 From rolling in the posies." 
 
 Four 
 
I spoke quite loud, it took the crowd, 
 And then we roared in laughter; 
 
 I'm not a prude, nor over good 
 But I've thought of it after. 
 
 It happened in Buchan, Scotland. 
 
 Genius' Frailty 
 
 Much more could genius do, 
 Restful through grace, 
 
 Much have you done, 'tis true, 
 For human race. 
 
 Stand we, aghast at you, 
 
 As we look on ; 
 There are so very few, 
 
 Such trophies won. 
 
 Think I, of Satan's wiles, 
 Wasting 3'our hours, 
 
 Means by which he beguiles 
 To wreck your powers. 
 
 Too oft he does succeed, 
 Through varied ways ; 
 
 Nor stop at any deed 
 Shortening your days. 
 
 Birth and Death 
 
 You come in tears, though those around are smiling,* 
 They are in tears that's near, though you go, smiling; 
 Favored are they whose span has finished so. 
 Though sorrowing are those who see you go. 
 
 The thought is from India. 
 
 Five 
 
The Divine Gift 
 
 As ray from heaven, is the gift of song, 
 That can lighten hearts, and our joy prolong; 
 Sing in the Spirit, of the joyful sound, 
 So minds resilient from their cares rebound. 
 
 Sing, too, some ballads that my mother sung, 
 Of them, some fragments in my ears have rung, 
 Plaintive and touching with a sweet love strain, 
 Since I can't hear her, sing them o'er again. 
 
 Close I my eyes so I'll sense it clear, 
 Care-free young days come so strangely near, 
 Blest happy mem'ry of the long ago, 
 Dross of my heart; leave, I ask thee, go. 
 
 Our Limitations 
 
 The workings of the human mind 
 
 Are far beyond the grasp of men ; 
 While on this sphere we'll ever find, 
 
 They're not made plain to mortal ken. 
 There is a place our faith doth know; 
 
 What long was hid, then plain to sight, 
 Though darkly yet, then clearly show, 
 
 Nor shadows hint impending night. 
 
 Joy of Letter-writing 
 
 Such privilege to write a letter 
 
 To some responsive soul, 
 Who doth aspire his life to better, 
 
 While pressing t'ward the goal; 
 And when the favor doth return, 
 
 Sometimes with joy expressed, 
 The sentiment makes heart to burn 
 
 In palpitating breast. 
 
 Six 
 
" Eyes Have They, but They See Not " 
 
 How favored man, though mortal, 
 Such thoughts our hearts inspire, 
 
 Through eye, the spirit's portal 
 So much we can admire. 
 
 Are any so insensate, 
 
 Nor will their Maker know, 
 To grope as in a blind state, 
 
 Nor give themselves a show? 
 
 They've lost the finer senses, 
 
 Or else have never known, 
 When using nature's lenses, 
 
 The wonders that are shown. 
 
 Samson 
 
 Samson, the man of strength — 
 Who of him has not heard? 
 
 Lost he his power at length ; 
 So tells the sacred word. 
 
 Sad was his mighty fall, 
 
 He who was so unique ; 
 He heard a siren call; 
 
 Through her he was made weak. 
 
 Men ! all of us have powers — 
 What use of them make we? 
 
 We say that time is ours, 
 What saith eternity? 
 
 Major-minded 
 
 A private am, but major-minded, 
 Both first and last, I'm like to be ; 
 
 Nor class me in with those thin-rinded, 
 And cheerful side of life I see. 
 
 Seven 
 
France's Tragic Queen 
 
 Rachel, Madame Rachel ! 
 
 A star in the tragic sky, 
 Stamped with mark of genius, 
 
 Crowds came to see you die. 
 Few in a generation 
 
 Show in the firmament; 
 Proud of you were your nation, 
 
 Genius whom heaven had sent. 
 Then as your flame was waning, 
 
 Sadly they let you go, 
 Rachel, pauvre Rachel, 
 
 When in the grave laid low. 
 
 A Triangle, or, Three Choice Things of 
 
 Earth 
 
 A perfect rose is beautiful, 
 
 Whose perfume scents the air; 
 
 A prattling child that's dutiful, 
 With lovely face and hair. 
 
 A person fully-grown doth know 
 
 The rose will swiftly wither; 
 The winsome child may be beguiled 
 
 To change, as does the weather. 
 
 But watch the look on matron's face, 
 
 Viewed life at varied angle, 
 That of the three, continued grace, 
 
 The best of the triangle. 
 
 Eight 
 
Differing Viewpoint 
 
 Madame ! where you live such a wondrous view, 
 
 Such bracing air up in these Scottish hills, 
 The heather stretches in their purplish hue, 
 
 Fragrance, and droning bees : — my being thrills. 
 Aye, says housewife, wi see th' cairts a mile 
 
 Afore thir here, noo jist yi turn aboot ; 
 On market days, th' cairts, sheep, stirks an' kye 
 
 For three lang crookit miles wi see, nae doot. 
 
 Hay-fever Victim 
 
 And now comes the season, 
 Beyond words, or reason, 
 
 We dread to hear mention ; 
 When all in relation 
 To nose's sensation 
 
 Pleads constant attention. 
 The victim, confessing, 
 Says 'tis most distressing, 
 
 The hay-fever feeling. 
 Rift in his cloudy sky 
 Seen by his bleary eye, 
 Courting its enemy — 
 
 For frost he's appealing. 
 
 Shut In with God 
 
 Shut in with God was patriarch when deluge came, 
 To wipe them off earth's face who lived in shame. 
 When dire affliction comes to mansion or to cot. 
 We are shut in with him if he doth rule our lot. 
 
 Nine 
 
Thomas Carlyle and His Wife's Heartache 
 
 Great mind in mighty channels wrought ; 
 Full rounded life by you e'er sought? 
 Lore's mantle more by far to thee 
 Than tinsel, lace, or filigree 
 
 Of woman's charms. 
 What woke from selfish reverie? 
 
 Your empty arms. 
 
 Deep things of man you could propound, 
 While thus enrapped, nor sight nor sound, 
 
 Dare you disturb ; 
 For little things had scanty use, 
 Chose mighty tomes, and things abstruse, 
 
 Did self e'er curb? 
 
 Her kindness took, as things of course, 
 Thought of yourself, as better horse 
 
 In wedded yoke ; 
 Not love's ebullient spring for thee, 
 Respect, esteem of high degree, 
 Should be enough for her and thee — 
 
 Too late you spoke. 
 
 Poor Solie 
 
 I sit by the fire alone, 
 
 Though the glow is nearing the embers, 
 And muse on what has been done, 
 
 That scant are now the numbers. 
 Does Solitude lack in beauty, 
 
 That many resist her charms? 
 Or is it the claims of duty, 
 
 That I'm here with empty arms? 
 
 Ten 
 
Possibilities of Enjoyment 
 
 Are heaven's joys much purer than 
 The joys that earth to mortals show? 
 
 Or is it so that mortals can 
 
 Bring heaven down while here below? 
 
 Some mortals you and I may know, 
 The gamut run of reason's joy; 
 
 Well-rounded lives to us they show, 
 And yet their Maker's praise employ. 
 
 So, "first the blade, and then the ear," 
 The ripened grain in time will show; 
 
 Their life's fulfillment makes us hear 
 The truth : — unfolding joys can know. 
 
 A blending in the powers of man, 
 Gives best results that truly show, 
 
 We then fulfil our Maker's plan 
 In joy, in strength, in all we know. 
 
 To use, but not abuse while here, 
 Is all, worth while to mortals given ; 
 
 Share joys while here, nor have a fear — 
 There's purer, lasting joy in heaven. 
 
 Jeremiad 
 
 Waes me, waes me, it vexes me, 
 Thae sinners I hae seen, 
 
 Nor can th' see, fat I can see 
 For striffins on thir een. 
 
 Eleven 
 
Thrust from Eden 
 
 What means this cavalcade? * 
 Are pilgrims passing here? 
 
 What cause can this have made? 
 From each, falls bitter tear. 
 
 Millions are passing by; 
 
 Pity, who would not show? 
 A tear in every eye, 
 
 As down life's vale they go. 
 
 How many will return ? 
 
 Facing the steep incline, 
 Hot tears my cheeks doth burn, 
 
 Will they? in Time. 
 
 The One in Seven 
 
 No talk of shop to me on Sabbath day, 
 
 I want you to understand, sir, what I say; 
 
 My mind enough six days with cares are riven ; 
 
 I grudge not change of thought one day in seven. 
 
 " Then, think you, should we act like monk in cowl, 
 Male chorals dirge, on earthly pleasures scowl, 
 Our flesh harass, on simplest fare subsist, 
 On conduct like to this you would insist? " 
 
 Unreasoning are you, friend, in rambling talk, 
 You're unaware as to my Sabbath walk, 
 God's claims are first, nor thoughts of man he'd crush, 
 All nature's hues speak his supernal brush, 
 Sometime the truth may say he's surely striven 
 To honour God, and day, the one in seven. 
 
 * Procession. 
 Twelve 
 
Life's Changing Current 
 
 O magic love ! whose halo bright, 
 Could mist dispel, though dark as night, 
 Your pristine power hath lost its hold, 
 When woman's heart grows hard and cold. 
 
 Not Sinai's law, or silver sound 
 Brings echo note, or hearts' rebound; 
 The click of coin gives some more joy 
 Than husband's face from day's employ. 
 
 Hope, steer my course to a clearer stream, 
 O'erhanging trees, filter Phoebus' beam, 
 Life's changing current, bear my barque along 
 Where sylvan hills echo back my song. 
 
 Naming the Ninth 
 
 Mother. Child of our later life, 
 
 Father. What shall we name? 
 
 M. Time about, no cause for strife, 
 
 F. You've won the game. 
 
 M. I wish the name of Bruce, 
 
 F. Scotch to the core; 
 
 M. Then we'll declare a truce, 
 
 F. You've won the score. 
 
 Singing for Shut-ins 
 
 So hauntingly your vibrant voice 
 
 Enthralls my listening ear, 
 My thankful spirit doth rejoice 
 
 That heaven can come so near. 
 
 Could I but hear you, o'er and o'er, 
 
 In tones exultant sing, 
 Though tried with pains, and troubles sore 
 
 Your voice could solace bring. 
 
 Thirteen 
 
The Hallowed Memory 
 
 There is a chamber in my secret heart, 
 So sacred is it: — seems a thing apart; 
 No unclean bird doth e'er hover there, 
 Sanctum sanctorum: it is entered rare. 
 
 There choicest pictures on memory's walls, 
 Scenes most endearing a glance recalls; 
 Nor lived again can they ever be, 
 Fused to all existence, by fate's decree. 
 
 Should pale-horsed courier to me be sent, 
 And responding soul, veil of flesh have rent, 
 The walls of secret recess will unfold, 
 And the scenes depicted will again be told. 
 
 Relative Greatness 
 
 " In this room great Carlyle was born/' 
 Mused maiden-tourist, travel-worn, 
 
 In Ecclef echan ; 
 For sights, nor was she lacking zeal, 
 Which made the Scotch dame kindly feel 
 
 Though heavy pechan,* 
 The maiden's mind seemed in a spell, 
 Scotch accent broke, " ae mornin' snellf 
 
 Oor Maggie here wis born." 
 
 A Weather Vane 
 
 "Look at him! No streak of yellow, 
 Well put-up, I'll bet he's sound," 
 
 Chest so full, a handsome fellow 
 Were his head but turned around. 
 
 * Labored breathing. 
 t Cold morning. 
 
 Fourteen 
 
Gifts, Not Grace 
 
 Poet, like meteor flash, not oftenwhile 
 In nations' sky: fell mark for Satan's wile, 
 To nullify his power o'er fellow-men, 
 Since gift of his is best expressed by pen. 
 
 How oft, when young, have barque of gifted folks, 
 By troubled waters swift, been wrecked on rocks, 
 While lands from which they sprung, in dazed surprise 
 Exclaim: "A constellation fell before our eyes!" 
 
 O Burns ! I doubt not oft when you were writing, 
 Angel and Satan near at hand were fighting, 
 Truth brightly gleamed through wayward child of man, 
 Whose shortened days were part of Satan's plan. 
 
 O Scotia! well thy greatest bard has sung, 
 World-circling echoes from his voice have rung; 
 Somnolent Scotland should have eased your lot, 
 When poet's mantle graced a lowly cot. 
 
 How favored some, besides the poet Burns, 
 So rich endowed: — my mind reflective turns 
 To weigh such wondrous gift by heavenly grace 
 That leads us on to reconciled face 
 Of Him, whose approbation on our lot 
 However lowly, marks a heavenly spot. 
 
 While heavenward bound, content to daily plod, 
 Sometimes we trip on pilgrim-traveled road ; 
 But forward-faced, we scramble to our feet, 
 Though humbled, nor let enemy defeat 
 God's worthy purpose for us ; well we know 
 Through cursing Peter chose his power to show. 
 
 Kit toon 
 
How rich my lot in what makes life worthwhile, 
 No wearied moments have I to beguile 
 By potion strong, or dope, or nicotine, 
 Enticing jaded sense, through loss of sheen 
 To life's unfolding page, for interest strong 
 As when but seventeen, to me belong. 
 
 Now riper judgment; weak my will was then, 
 When passions strong did surge, as oft in men, 
 So new to me, and none to whom could tell 
 The mysteries of life's recurrent swell. 
 Fine-sensed, my nature, quick, impulsive, kind, 
 Nor need to jog imaginative mind. 
 In reverence strong, although I knew not God, 
 Soon after called to choose the narrow road, 
 My life he marked by seal of sacred fire, 
 Which, spite of earth's enthrall, bred new desire. 
 Nor once have dared to hint why grace was given, 
 Luring me more from earth to more of heaven, 
 And help me own earth's things with easy hold, 
 And better things than wealth to me unfold. 
 
 Still sensitive to touch of others' loss : 
 
 Though often such alone can banish dross 
 
 That hinders progress in a Christian's life, 
 
 And shames the devil e'en through earthly strife. 
 
 So praise accrue to Him whose right it is; 
 
 Who faithful serve him here, share heavenly bliss. 
 
 Sixteen