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PS 3525 
 .P185 
 P3 
 1898 
 Copy 1 
 
 A PAMPHLET OF VERSE- 
 
f^^rc^0 3l888"*'' 
 
 ofC*^ 
 
 Copyright 1898 
 By E. W. McCutchen. 
 
A PEARL OF PRICE. 
 
 A thoughtful man to learning inclined, 
 ^ Once pondered a question with dubious mind ; 
 
 \ ^ < P^ ^^^ ^^ found no answer and was ill at ease, 
 
 t^'l^V '^ ^^^ And I'll tell you his story, so listen, please. 
 
 This is the question that puzzled him so, 
 
 \ ' :,.fT 
 
 n . ft^ ^ ^"^ ''"'^^ confide it to you as you do not know, 
 
 \ ^ ' And you may answer if e'er you can. 
 
 What is the best thing that is known to man ? 
 
 This is the question that he pondered o'er. 
 In all its phases from surface to core ; 
 But still being bothered, he concluded the way, 
 Was to hear what other men had to say. 
 
 To this end, then, he started out. 
 After some hesitation and some little doubt. 
 Thinking he'd search most callings through 
 For the answer, certainly, somebody knew. 
 
 IciS^V O v/K\rO ^ \ o -^ ^ 
 
A PEARL OF PRICE. 
 
 The first one he hailed was a very rich man, 
 Busily engaged in promoting a plan, 
 To increase his store of the golden pelf. 
 As dear to him as his other self. 
 
 The rich man paused a moment or two, 
 In considering the thing he was pushing through, 
 To answer the question that was put to him. 
 And answer he did with wonderful vim. 
 
 'It's money, sir, money, but what can it be 
 That possesses you to ask such a question of me. 
 Why, anyone can see that the answer is money. 
 So the question to me looks marvelous funny." 
 
 'Yes, money's no doubt the answer you seek, 
 The rich and the poor alike will bespeak 
 The truth of my answer, and you may depend 
 That societ}' must have it or come to an end." 
 
A PEARL OF PRICE. 
 
 The inquirer listened, then turned away, 
 Pleased with the candor, but could hardly say, 
 That the answer was such it would surely find 
 Unanimous echo in the public mind. 
 
 The next one he met was a remarkable scholar, 
 Who learning esteemed far more than the dollar; 
 Highly cultured was he, and learned in lore — 
 A social ornament — and the awe of the poor. 
 
 Here's a question that's puzzled me so, 
 
 To find the right answer that I've had to go, 
 
 To others about me in a sort of a plan 
 
 To find out the best thing that is known to man. 
 
 "The best thing that is known to man, let me see," 
 
 Said the scholar rather inadverdantly, 
 "Oh well, as I think of it, it is quite clear 
 
 That knowledge is the one thing man esteems dear. 
 
A PEARL OF PRICE. 
 
 'There's no other answer, no none, 'til this hour, 
 For knowledge has long been the key to all power, 
 In every advancement that man's ever made, 
 The full due to learning and knowledge is paid." 
 
 'This," said the scholar, with the nicest inflection, 
 'Is the sum and the total of learnings collection. 
 And no one ought differently to answer, than 
 That knowledge is the best thing that's known to man." 
 
 Then he of the inquiring turn went out, 
 Not wholly satisfied, but still in doubt, 
 Though knowing the answer was clear and good. 
 But to agree altogether he could not, nor would. 
 
 Next to a poet of a likely sort 
 
 Went the good man, thinking he ought 
 
 Of so likely a fellow to get the right thing. 
 
 And out of his storehouse the answer to bring. 
 
A PRARL OF PRICE. 
 
 The poet on hearing, was at loss to know, 
 How the question could ever have puzzled one so ; 
 There was nothing at all, in all he could see, 
 That was in any way comparable to poetry. 
 
 Said he, "from this standpoint of mine. 
 There is nothing that equals the art half divine ; 
 It's the garner of beauty, the fountain of yoiith, 
 The precursor of knowledge, the herald of truth." 
 
 'Ah, yes ! my good man," he said with a sigh. 
 
 To the attentive inquirer standing by, 
 'There's no answer but this, from Beer Sheba to Dan, 
 
 For poetry's the best thing that's known to man." 
 
 The seeker for truth was puzzled once more, 
 And departing, he turned it o'er and o'er, 
 And he almost despaired of the answer true. 
 From standpoint so various, and so biased, too. 
 
A PEARL OF PRICE. 
 
 To a scientist now he went for the truth, 
 
 An investigator he'd been from his early youth, 
 
 A man of weight, much after sought, 
 
 And of mighty renown in the world of thought. 
 
 'What is the best thing that is known to man ?" 
 Said the seeker in pursuance of his plan, 
 To this great man among men profound, 
 Whose attainments were known the world around. 
 
 'That's a great question," said the man of mind, 
 'However, I think that at last you'll find 
 That philosophy's good and boundless store 
 Is the best thing that man has forevermore." 
 
 'That's the only answer that I can see, 
 
 Just reflect a little, and perhaps you'll agree," 
 
 Said the great in a very judicial way. 
 
 As he bid the inquirer a hearty good day. 
 
A PEARL OF PRICE. 
 
 Again this man , who had taken the trouble 
 To search after truth, had o'ertaken a bubble, 
 For although the answer was something new, 
 He felt at once it would scarcely do. 
 
 At one time, the scientist, this one, the same. 
 And others before him had shared the ill fame, 
 Of trying to put God in a very small place, 
 But had dismally failed for the lack of space. 
 
 Now to a sage as a last resort. 
 Went the inquirer, and then he besought, 
 An answer to his question, fair and square, 
 As the last man he'd put it to, anywhere. 
 
 The sage looked up with benevolent face 
 
 A man he was of a goodly grace. 
 
 From his lips had many a wise saying come, 
 
 Rut now for a moment he appeared quite dumb. 
 
A PEARL OF PRICK. 
 
 "The best thing known to man ? I am sure," 
 And then he repeated it o'er and o'er, 
 Being not so sure as all of the others 
 Who perhaps might have passed as wisdom's brothers. 
 
 "Well now, my friend, my answer to hear, 
 You must for a moment, give me your ear, 
 This is my answer, my friend, to you. 
 And I firmly believe that the answer is true." 
 
 "My answer is liberty, liberty dear, 
 To the heart of all men, far and near, 
 Liberty, sweet, in all action of life 
 From the choice of a pebble to the choice of a wife." 
 
 "The question is answered, the question you gave, 
 In liberty that lifts man from the lot of a slave, 
 That places him free like the creation plan 
 Which willed this heritage to every man." 
 
A PEARL OF PRICE. 
 
 The inquirer left without more ado, 
 Considering the answer, but did not know, 
 That the wise man's answer was surely true, 
 But though it was good, would it surely do ? 
 
 Not wholly satisfied with any, was he. 
 Scarce any one would be, neither you, or me. 
 Though the truth each told, that is to say, 
 The truth, according to his narrow lay. 
 
 All this left him doubting, and he pondered more. 
 The thing had an answer, he knew, yes was sure ; 
 He'd ask a child as a last thing, too. 
 For a child might tell more than great men knew. 
 
 So he called them around (then called a child, 
 A wee fair maiden running wild,) 
 These grand, great men, from the worldly view. 
 To hear if a little one could better do. 
 
A rivARL OF PRICK. 
 The little one wondered in some affright, 
 At the circling array of talent and might ; 
 No reason at all she could see or spy, 
 Why they turned on her the inquiring eye. 
 
 But now the inquirer with fatherly grace, 
 Asked of her in the central place, 
 The thing that was his usual plan, 
 "Now what is the best thing that is known to man ?' 
 
 The notables listened with quickened ear. 
 
 The little maid's answer each fain would hear. 
 
 In the mind of all was a half surmise 
 
 She'd confound them, too, would reveal the prize. 
 
 The maiden looked up at the wise around. 
 And her confidence fell, then rose at a bound, 
 And the little one said as she gazed at them, 
 "I know it's Jesus, of Bethlehem." 
 
THK COMING ONE. 
 
 In the quiet of the morning 
 The coming Lord may call, 
 
 Up to Him His faithful remnant, 
 For the feast in Father's halls. 
 
 In the strife of busy noontide, 
 It may be that He'll come in, 
 
 Just to end the hard fought battle, 
 Bring the peace, and quench the sin. 
 
 In the restful time of evening. 
 He may come unto His own, 
 
 Gathering up His well beloved. 
 
 To the long sought heavenly home ; 
 
 Maybe, too, the night will bring Him 
 In the darknsss He'll descend, 
 
 Filled with all the God Head's glory. 
 And proclaim the vigil's end. 
 
THE MORNING LIGHT. 
 
 The morning light is breaking, 
 
 I see it o'er the hills, 
 Its wondrous glow is flowing 
 
 O'er woodland, dales and rills. 
 
 The morning light is breaking, 
 With gloried promise rare, 
 
 And it gives to all creation 
 Of light its kindly share. 
 
 The morning light is breaking. 
 
 Out into perfect day, 
 And all creation haileth 
 
 Its sublime and peaceful ray. 
 
 The morning light is breaking, 
 A dawn as ne'er so clear, 
 
 For it's resurrection morning 
 And the sons of God appear. 
 
THE HOLY CITY. 
 
 There is a peaceful city, o'er a quiet river's tide, 
 
 Where no evil ever mars the life around, 
 Where Christ shall reign forever, He who for the sinner died, 
 
 Who for lost and sinful man the ransom found. 
 
 It's a peaceful, quiet city, and it sparkles in the light, 
 
 Like the dew amid the grasses at the dawn ; 
 It's the hope of all the sorrowing, and weary in the fight, 
 
 To reach its gracious portals in the morn. 
 
 There's the light of glory o'er it, like the sunset in the west, 
 When it tips the fleecy clouds with amber light ; 
 
 It's the hope of all the sorrowing, and weary seeking rest, 
 To dwell beneath those hues so wondrous bright. 
 
 It's a peaceful, quiet city, there the Lord in glory reigns ; 
 
 And His dominion reaches out from shore to shore ; 
 There with Him all the faithful, in the light that never wanes, 
 
 Shall share the promised glory, evermore. 
 
THE ELIOT SHORE. 
 
 Here the sweet landscape, spreading wide, 
 Smiles to a fair consort on the other side. 
 The wide, deep river's majestic way, 
 Where other landscapes, pleasing, lay. 
 In this fair scene, this quiet pastoral place, 
 A man should linger o'er the rural grace, 
 To meditate, on things within his gaze. 
 Or reflectively to speculate on nature's ways. 
 
 The river's bank, attracts the passing eye, 
 On either side, 'tis verdure clothed and high ; 
 Its groves, its hollows, its upland rolling view, 
 Breathes of a handiwork, so sublime, so true ; 
 
 So grand it is, so peaceful in the sight. 
 Fancy well sees some lingering light, 
 Of creation's morning, of its stainless birth. 
 Ere man was sinful, or was vet of earth. 
 
THE ELIOT SHORE. 
 
 The river's breadth has, too, a resting place, 
 For the pleasuring eye in its sunny face ; 
 Here, too, the thoughtful mind may turn 
 To note some moral, or some lesson learn. 
 
 The pious soul may also here delight, 
 
 And see here reflected the Creator's might. 
 
 See eternity, in the river's changeless, even mood, 
 
 And in the passing boats a life's similitude, 
 
 And all, certainly, in this pleasant spot may find. 
 Something that's pleasing, some balm for the mind, 
 In the blue above, or the varying scene below, 
 Or perhaps, in the water's swift, ceaseless flow. 
 
 In this perspective, kindly circling all, 
 Where nature trooped at heaven's benignest call. 
 Within this dress, endeared to many a one, 
 A scattered hamlet lies beneath the sun. 
 
THE ELIOT SHORE. 
 
 Here the sun from the ocean, newly born, 
 Arises, calm with blessings, every peaceful morn, 
 Marks another lap of man's allotted day, 
 And declines o'er some celestial city, far away. 
 
 The inhabitants — a righteous or at least a goodly lot — 
 Of this happy, this pleasing, this natured favored spot, 
 Goodly, is it said ? Yes, pleasing in the main, 
 But some, perhaps, yes some, undoubtedly profane. 
 
 For even in this spot, so pastoral ly pure. 
 
 Where nature's admonition, is so certain, calm and sure 
 
 Even in this place, where virgin scenes abound. 
 
 The averaging humanity may doubtless still be found. 
 
 These scattered homes that skirt the quiet lanes 
 Are places, dear, where cheerful comfort reigns ; 
 These homes — the little sources stand — 
 Of outer things, that move the quiet land. 
 
THE ELIOT SHORE. 
 
 The village life moves on in even pace, 
 And quiet reigns, without and in the place. 
 Excepting that, where childish voices rule, 
 About the steps that front the village school. 
 
 Or saving that, a chance industrious hum 
 Is borne upon the breeze and tempered some ; 
 Or lusty plowman's oft-repeated shout, 
 Awakes the stillness, reigning round about. 
 
 This village scene, so peaceful to review, 
 No actor lacks, that's typical and true, 
 Of all the forms that move upon the stage. 
 Of village life within the present age. 
 
 All, at least, that ready fill the mind, 
 Within this pleasure house of nature you may find 
 The toddling child that seeks maternal arms, 
 The bashful maiden, conscious of her charms : 
 
THE ELIOT SHORE. 
 
 The lusty youth, with love's devotion filled, 
 (An ardor pleasing to all it ever thrilled ;) 
 And others yet, the peaceful scene endue, 
 With varied life, with life that's finely true. 
 
 The faithful sire, who marks the heedless heir ; 
 
 The worthy housewife, busy with her care ; 
 
 With others still, these occupy the spheres, 
 
 Between the care-free child and the man of rounded years. 
 
 The righteous preacher, known for godly grace. 
 His warning sounds, throughout the little place. 
 No doubtful note he sends upon the ear 
 Of saint or sinner, seeking pardon here. 
 
 The doctor, too, in passing we may praise, 
 A pleasing man, if he lacked profession's ways, 
 The kindly soul — he's seen the strongest quail — 
 Long may he flourish, may his business ever fail ! 
 
THE ELIOT SHORE. 
 
 The law3^er, too, perhaps may haunt the vale, 
 A lawyer, true, but mixed with petty tale, 
 If not, may be his form will not be missed. 
 And so, perhaps, his case is just dismissed. 
 
 The other walks, the little world includes. 
 At evening turn to hearths where nought intrudes, 
 Nought of all 'tis hoped, that mars the peaceful fate, 
 Of toilers, sturdy, grandest pillars of the state. 
 
 And here at evening, the natives seek the store. 
 To fill a want and hear a word before. 
 Or moments after upon a tale that's new, 
 Linger idly, ere passing in review. 
 
 Thus in part, appears the village view. 
 The characters, pleasing, except perhaps the few, 
 For outwardly, it seems, there is little to desire, 
 In all the range from youth to aged sire. 
 
THE ELIOT SHORE. 
 
 But chiefly these lines we here indite, 
 
 Are devoted to another matter, quite. 
 
 For with all these things, there's little we've to do. 
 
 With the river, or the village, or the all-surpassing view. 
 
 For this ample meditation has for its chiefest note. 
 
 The souls of whom bard or lyrist never w^rote. 
 
 Who, in other days, these earthly shores have trod. 
 
 And who one day, yes, eternally, will tread the halls of God. 
 
 For here the thoughtful vision sees around. 
 The aged headstones — the family burial grounds — 
 Of some, whose lives have ended here beneath the sky, 
 Who perennially will live in wider spheres on high. 
 
 Even in this quiet lot, sacred to common life, 
 
 These, even here, know the edge of earthly strife, 
 
 Knew as well the griefs, as the passing joyous hour. 
 
 Here lived the troubled span, here felt temptation's power. 
 
THK EUOT SHORE. 
 
 Some godly sire has here I know, 
 
 Perused the sacred vScriptures in the afterglow, 
 
 Gathered children round — sweet to him and dear — 
 
 And imparted goodly lessons on the heedless, youthful ear. 
 
 Its simple truth, he was often known to praise, 
 Accordingly, his young he taught truth's fruitful ways, 
 As provision 'gainst the blight of present evil power ; 
 And thus he met the duty devolving on the hour. 
 
 Not for him the blandishments of philosophic sort ; 
 Not for him a sophistry of evil nicely wrought ; 
 Nothing had a charm to move his steadfast way. 
 Nothing could attract from the hope of perfect day. 
 
 Truth's great message, sweet and grandly plain, 
 As all truth is, truth that's aught of gain ; 
 Truth, God given, he its simple meaning knew, 
 Unallured by any babble, reckoned not with other view. 
 
THE ELIOT SHORE. 
 
 Far beyond the vision, many a pleasing orb of ligbt, 
 Glows with royal lustre, dissipates the gloom of night ; 
 Far from crowded walk=^, many a life of pleasing grace. 
 Thrives alone and blossoms, smiling on some hidden place. 
 
 So here, where quiet broods around, 
 In other days, one now beneath the mound, 
 Lived godly, through the earthly weal and woe, 
 Blessed his generation, lighted up his lot below. 
 
 Companions with him, there were no doubt, 
 Sharing the common hope, scattering incense about, 
 Of prayerful lives, of goodly deeds well done, 
 Oft' pained at evil, blessing oft' some righteous one. 
 
 Together, oft', they met for worship where. 
 
 The Lord of heaven, still has a house of prayer. 
 
 Shut in from all, beneath paternal wings. 
 
 Quietly to worship, giving thanks for temporal things. 
 
THE ELIOT SHORE. 
 
 Often, there, in the quiet evening hour, 
 Prayer they offered, talked again of Father's power. 
 Cheered one another, swelled in the song of praise, 
 Blessed Hope's rosy vision, blessed Faith's certain ways. 
 
 Thus they worshipped, with varied thought, perhaps, 
 
 Perhaps confessed a failing, lamented some relapse. 
 
 Felt God's presence in the heart and air, 
 
 Dispersed, and lo ! his footsteps shown from earth and everywhere. 
 
 Unheeded, they, the critic's idle shaft, 
 Unmoved, I know, by satan's subtle craft, 
 Worlds to gain, where starlit glories lay, 
 Fixed the single eye, bid vanities away. 
 
 These, undrawn, by swollen ways of pride. 
 
 Even wealth untempted, from a Saviour's lowly side, 
 
 Prefering Him to all, to fable finely wrought, 
 
 Truth, God's truth, preferring to some stilted air of thought. 
 
THE ELIOT SHORE. 
 
 Pleasant souls, fair to God and men, 
 
 Thus lived and flourished, in this sweet and quiet ken, 
 
 Built high hope o'er the bitter primal curse, 
 
 Their memory dear delights, like similitude in verse. 
 
 Each Sabbath eve's sweetly restful hour, 
 Its parting took, but left its breath of power, 
 On these beneath, when week day's fretting wear, 
 Unbent its hurts and pressed its mortal care. 
 
 The mortal needs, so evident and plain. 
 Engrossed the thought, now filled the mind again, 
 Fresh questions rose and pleased or vexed the sight. 
 But settled, or unsettled, theirs to work but 'til the night. 
 
 The dail}^ ills, the trifling things that pain, 
 
 They found, alas ! to vex the soul again. 
 
 Life's many sweets had, too, for them a share. 
 
 For heaven often blessed and dispersed their earthly care. 
 
THE KLIOT SHORK. 
 
 Each Monday morn they met with trustful soul. 
 The future — veiled — so wisely on the whole, 
 Assured that God, the week-day journey through, 
 Would carefully provide, and reward the righteous, too. 
 
 Throughout their work they walked with sober grace, 
 
 •Mid things displeasing, yet kept a kindly face, 
 
 A kindly word, also, for some undeserving wig"it. 
 
 Who. in common toil, shared until the shades of night. 
 
 No genial fables they regaled to wile. 
 
 Some toilsome day in doubtful thoughtless style, 
 
 But other things, for them, beguiled laborious day, 
 
 Things enriched with moral lesson, often found in nature's way. 
 
 For here, when oft' they knew the share, 
 
 Of irksome toil — a thing known everywhere — 
 
 Then here around, perhaps, they drank of nature's calm, 
 
 Until her peaceful glories chased the evil into charm. 
 
THE ELIOT SHORE. 
 
 Hard is toil ; though not every day I know, 
 
 But if not always such, it is generally so ; 
 
 And yet in toil, a recompense is known and reckoned blest, 
 
 It's the aftermath of quiet, it's the toilers' given rest. 
 
 Honestly upon these shores, they daily walked, but then 
 The daily virtuous are not always marked of men ; 
 But singly, still, they the things of God pursued, 
 Something in the present reaping, and at last the quietude. 
 
 Around these lanes, they sometimes x^aused to see. 
 The ways divine, apparent in the flood and lea ; 
 Then charmed the eye, they turned to sterner fate, 
 Daily pressing on them as they sought the grander state. 
 
 Such daily sweet, these good men found about, 
 To cheer the fight, 'twas heaven-sent no doubt ; 
 And every day for this they blessed with holy hand. 
 The Author of the glory, shining o'er the flood and land. 
 
THE ELIOT SHORE. 
 
 Scenes primitivel}' sweet, thus blessed their weekly race, 
 
 Nature, reverently fair, added much to daily grace ; 
 
 No vainly boastful art, e'er blessed their righteous eye. 
 
 Like the speaking figures seen, where the Lord has thrown the die. 
 
 So, onward, ever, the}- each weekly journe}- ran. 
 
 Yes onward, ever onward, marking off the mortal span, 
 
 Content to know on each welcome Sat'day night, 
 
 That the weekly toil was over, and they'd earned a day's respite. 
 
 Their simple tale is faint reflected here. 
 Within these lines assigned to memory dear ; 
 But memory yet records their peaceful end, 
 Their lively hope, of life again with friend. 
 
 Silent at last ! the narrow deeps of earth. 
 Contain their forms, their virtues and their worth ; 
 Little is left of these that thrived around. 
 But memory's inscription in a sacred bit of ground, 
 
THE HLIOT vSIlORlC. 
 
 A pleasing retrospect is here, a pleasing future lies before : 
 The dead again shall live, for the promise standeth sure ; 
 Beyond the present time and these avenues of pain, 
 They'll live and move upon wider theaters again. 
 
 Hearts there are that hold their memory's flower, 
 Kindred breasts, at least, know their last sequestered bower ; 
 Kindred hearts that wait, somewhat sadly and forlorn. 
 Will wait but yet a little, 'til the resurrection morn. 
 
 These sturdy souls, in times of passing mirth. 
 
 Here showed the joyous humor, caught from off a sunny earth, 
 
 Relaxed accustomed care, 'neath the influence of light. 
 
 In pleasant meditation, ranged to hills beyond the sight. 
 
 P'or, spirits here no doubt, spirits strong and free. 
 Have roamed these fields in passing ecstacy. 
 Breathed the sweet air of the destiny above, . 
 Hastened on in spirit to those brighter realms of love. 
 
THE ELIOT SHORE. 
 
 Seers, too, perhaps, looked from this upon the fate, 
 Man's endured forever, subject to a fallen state. 
 Looked out, and on, to the stores of coming good, 
 Seeing there a reigning city, where a ruin long hath stood. 
 
 A royal line, in part, now is no more. 
 
 Obscure in life, they lingered to be sure ; 
 
 But yet again they'll live, in a grander company, 
 
 Than ever graced a banquet in a hall of minstrelsy. 
 
 Their story, seeks, this scarce embellished tale, 
 To mark their day if men or memory fail. 
 And here it ends, in truth we will suppose, 
 A parting word, will bring it to a close. 
 
 Peace to the dead, a thoughtful sere, farewell. 
 Sleep now in peace, undisturbed by worship's bell ; 
 Sleep on secure, where the Lord hath marked the sod. 
 Thou, some future morning, shall stand alone with God. 
 
THE ROSE OF SHARON. 
 
 It was a fair and graceful flower, 
 
 And its story I will tell, 
 'Twas the first among the beauties 
 
 On the heights or in the dell. 
 
 It grew alone forever, 
 
 Where the ground was poor and dry 
 But it grew and gathered beauty 
 
 Sweet as tints that deck the sky. 
 
 'Twas a sweet but modest blossom 
 From its lowly day of birth, 
 
 But the people hung upon it 
 
 For its fragrance filled the earth. 
 
 Not a blow^ could stand beside it 
 
 In the light of rivalry. 
 Nothing yet that ever blossomed. 
 
 That's the truth 'tween vou and nie. 
 
THE ROSE OF SHARON. 
 
 Many blossoms grew about it, 
 All such had a taint of weed, 
 
 But this sweetly fragrant flower 
 
 Sprang from naught but precious seed. 
 
 This one had a combination 
 
 Of the hues of all the rest, 
 For man's healing it was planted 
 
 Mankind should pronounce it — best. 
 
 What's the thing herein related, 
 
 What's the flower, don't you know ? 
 
 'Twas the Rose of Sharon blooming 
 As no other thing could blow. 
 
THE STAR OF JACOB. 
 
 There's a sweet and ancient story. 
 
 Barely hinted at the fall, 
 That the Lord of light and glory 
 
 Would come forth and ransom all. 
 
 So He came, the truth declaring, 
 Stooping down to abject man ; 
 
 Seen of heavenly princes bearing. 
 Down to us redemption's plan. 
 
 This the Star so long awaited. 
 Promised oft' to us of earth, 
 
 Late it rose, but true as stated. 
 Soon its light declared its worth. 
 
 Not a Star that garlands heaven, 
 Ever like this one can be. 
 
 It's the star among the seven 
 Making light for all, and me. 
 
THK STAR OF JACOB. 
 
 There's no peer in all the measure 
 Of the wastes of blue above, 
 
 Of this Star high in the azure, 
 Sending down its beams of love. 
 
 Oh, I cannot voice its meaning, 
 Nor its worth to man can teach, 
 
 Of this Star so kindly beaming. 
 For my soul has palsied speech ! 
 
 Jacob's Star is this that lightens, 
 This the prophet did fortell, 
 
 Now it gleams above and brightens, 
 See it there, o'er Israel. 
 
A FISHER OF MEN. 
 
 An idle group discussed one day, 
 
 The thing it's best to be, 
 Some held this, and some held that, 
 
 And they argued earnestly. 
 
 'I'd be a senator," said one, 
 "I'm sure that you must see 
 That a senator, it's far the best, 
 Of all good things to be." 
 
 'I'd be a judge," another said, 
 "It's the state that pleases me. 
 For the judge is known and honored more, 
 Than any I can see." 
 
 'My choice is wealth," the third one said, 
 "For rich it's best to be. 
 For the rich man lives a ro3'al life. 
 So with you I'll not agree." 
 
A FISHER OF MEN. 
 
 And others yet discussed the thing, 
 
 But still they did not find, 
 An answer out of all their talk 
 
 To fit the general mind. 
 
 An old man then they "left it to," 
 
 A man of many a year, 
 One old enough to know the worth 
 
 Of careful living here. 
 
 Promptly, then, they questioned him 
 
 And he promptly answered them. 
 And said, the "best thing, boys, that a man can be, 
 
 Is to be a fisher of men." 
 
PRAISE. 
 
 (rive me a song to praise the Lord, 
 A flood of melody sweet and clear, 
 
 Such as the angels with the harps of God 
 Make for the great Creator's ear. 
 
 Give me a strain of swelling praise, 
 To sound the praise I can't contain, 
 
 A psalmist's harp — an angel's voice — 
 To laud the great Creator's name. 
 
 Give me a song that ne'er was heard, 
 Something that fit for his glory is, 
 
 From earth, or heaven, or anywhere. 
 That's fit to sing such praise as his. 
 
THE FOX AND THE EAGIvE. 
 
 Watchful eyes and gallant breasts, 
 Guard our country while at rest, 
 And the Omnipotent hand also. 
 Grasps the helm as on we go. 
 
 But although our hearts are true 
 Both to state and progress, too, 
 Still within our father land 
 We see corruption's blighting hand. 
 
 Arise and cleanse, the guardian cries. 
 The fairest possession under the skies, 
 Of all foul things that shadow its day, 
 x\nd put them with careful hand away. 
 
 For corruption and darkness have fastened upon 
 The glorious land that our fathers won ; 
 And herewith is affixed a little tale 
 vSo plain that the moral cannot fail. 
 
THE FOX AND THE RAGLE. 
 
 A fox once started a dinner to find, 
 Possessed of the cunning of his thievish kind, 
 Prying and prowling, he sought everywhere 
 A toothsome morsel, uncommonly rare. 
 
 But vainly he roamed the widening plain. 
 His prowling was fruitless, his searching was vain 
 His usual meat he disdained altogether, 
 Because he was somewhat under the weather. 
 
 At length, sir fox, by strange desire 
 Was led to look a trifle higher, 
 Was led to climb a mountain high, 
 To sneak and prowl where eagles fly. 
 
 Slyly and slowly and eager for plunder, 
 He picked his way in the home of the thunder. 
 And being much pleased at his broad observation. 
 He remarked that "the fox is the lord of creation.' 
 
THE FOX AND THE EAGLE. 
 
 But a challenging speck soared far in the light, 
 Unmindful of foxes in its careless might, 
 And the speck was an eagle on broad pinions hung. 
 That cared not for foxes but defiance flung. 
 
 For a while sir fox forgot his greed 
 
 In watching the bird of the mightiest breed, 
 
 Watching at length he envious grew". 
 
 Of the eagle's flight, and its powers, too, 
 
 'Ho, ho !" said the fox as the proud eagle flew 
 'I've known many a bird far grander than you 
 To be humbled and spoiled for the want of discerning 
 The things that foxes are apt at learning." 
 
 'And I, myself, a trick could teach 
 If the chance was only within my reach, 
 That would show- that the fox is of a higher plane 
 Than the eagle, which is creation's bane." 
 
THE FOX AND THE EAGLE. 
 
 'The difference is such, that none can deny, 
 That the fox is greater, though he cannot fly, 
 An intellectual difference, it must appear, 
 So said the fox with a knowing leer." 
 
 'Now the eagle thinks he's wondrous grand, 
 As he soars- away far o'er the land. 
 And watches and waits above the plain 
 For I've heard position makes one vain." 
 
 'Great bird, your airs are most disgusting," 
 
 Pursued the fox with envy bursting ; 
 "But if you'd the worth of my royal race, 
 
 Your airs would seem but decent grace." 
 
 So spake the fox unmindful of hunger, 
 While the eagle soared in the home of the thunder, 
 ■And the old rogue longed for a scheme or a lie. 
 That would his base envy satisfy. 
 
THE FOX AND THE EAGLE. 
 
 Like all base creatures he wished to bring, 
 
 The higher to a baser thing, 
 
 For imps delight to spoil the best 
 
 That virtue bears upon her breast. 
 
 Old reynard knew no reason why, 
 That the eagle hid in yonder sky, 
 And he said it w^as a strange attraction 
 That lured him so high for satisfaction. 
 
 But he cunningly surmised that the reason why, 
 
 The eagle hid in yonder sky. 
 
 Was that he feared to fool with fate, 
 
 Where foxes walk in lordly state. 
 
 But one thing was certainly clear to see, 
 That so long as the eagle soared so free. 
 Nothing could mar or stay his flight. 
 Nothing at least that appeared in sight. 
 
THE FOX AND THE EAGLE. 
 
 A moment's pause, then a solitary sqawk, 
 Came from a nest in the clef ted rock, 
 And beneath old reynard's pointed nose. 
 An eaglet loomed in hungry pose. 
 
 "Ho, ho !" said the rogue in great surprise, 
 "What's this ? I hardly believe my eyes. 
 Some mishap has befallen the motherly wing, 
 So now is the time for a little fling." 
 
 "I'll humble that boaster out in the sky. 
 Who so confident is, that his treasures lie, 
 Hearty and safe where the mother can see. 
 And guard her young ones tenderly." 
 
 "O what a feast I find here for me !" 
 Exulted the thief in marvellous glee, 
 
 "In my enemy's house, I am lord of all, 
 And my enemy's house is about to fall." 
 
THE FOX AND THE EAGLE. 
 
 "I'll wade in the feathers and plunge in the gore, 
 Of these that are my enemy's store ; 
 And I'll watch and wait and his young ones keep, 
 While the old guardian is away and asleep." 
 
 "I'll watch you myself, so never fear," 
 Said the fox to the young while creeping near, 
 
 "For mother's away, there's none to defend ; 
 But be not afraid, I'm the family friend." 
 
 "I'll sing you a lullab}', myself, my dears ; 
 Oh yes, I will, it will quiet your fears ; 
 (And while I am singing I'll keep out of sight. 
 Lest the old one, hastily, challenge my right)." 
 
 "Fear not, fear not, I'll sing lullaby, 
 I'm a friend of young eagles unable to fly, 
 A friend I am, you must certainly see. 
 And doubtless your parents have left you with me. 
 
THE FOX AND THE EAGLE. 
 "I love you — so lonely — I dote on a bird, 
 So I love you to-day, I will give you my word, 
 No matter what others may say, I am true. 
 And very sincere in my love for you." 
 
 "Draw nearer now and hear me sing," 
 Said the knave, for it was a difficult thing 
 To reach the young in the rugged niche. 
 Though he perseveringly tried the trick. 
 
 Then a hungry bird upraised its head, 
 Eagerly, as in hours when often fed, 
 But the fledgling courted certain grief 
 In venturing toward the subtle thief. 
 
 For the sly fox snapped the heedless thing. 
 And he quickly stilled the flut'ring wing. 
 And this success, though much elating. 
 He left for yet the eagles waiting. 
 
THE FOX AND THE EAGLE. 
 
 The others, too, fell easy prey, 
 
 For all those fledglings died that day. 
 
 For no fearless eagle beat the air 
 
 To save the young ones sheltered there. 
 
 Then the fox arose and surveyed the scene. 
 And he chuckled and shook his sides so lean 
 To see the ruin and havoc he had created, 
 In the home of the bird he cordially hated. 
 
 'Such a dainty meal I never found, 
 In all the broad low country round," 
 Said the fox as with greedy appetite. 
 He appeased his hunger and eased his spite. 
 
 Greedily eating he began to feel 
 The pressure of a plenteous meal. 
 Then filled with meat and boastful fire. 
 He began to rail at the distant sire. 
 
THE FOX AND THE EAGLE. 
 
 'It's plain, old bird, you're known to fear, 
 I've found it out while picking here, 
 Or else you are liberal, grandly so, 
 In your indulgence of a foe." 
 
 'Ah, yes, you are liberal, it is true, 
 As becomes a king famed hitherto, 
 You suspect, it seems, no common guile. 
 This surely shows a pleasing style." 
 
 'And in this, great bird, I find you are grand, 
 But I see that the fox is still lord of the land, 
 And now I'll cover my tracks of to-day 
 Out of respect to your feelings, and then away. 
 
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