>J\_„„ 
 
I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I 
 
 
 ^?-^ 
 
 |opM^^t ]|o- - 
 
 I UNITED §;^^^F AMERICA f 
 
^^m~ 
 
ONE 
 
 SUMMER'S DREAM 
 
 AN IDYL OF THE VINEYARD, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 By E . Norman Gunnison. 
 
 %iu 
 
 YORK, PEjSNA. : 
 HIRAM YOUNO, PUBLISHEK. 
 
 1875. 
 
^5\n^'\ 
 
 n> 
 
 n ^ 
 
 ^Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by 
 
 E. NORMAN GUNNISON, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
'MoKiTURi Salutamus." — Thus writes upon his page 
 An honored poet of the present age : 
 What salutation shall the writer give, 
 Who trusts that he is just about to live ? 
 Shall he the watchful reading public greet, 
 And lay his first gift humbly at its feet : 
 Or shall he wait until his days grow long. 
 Hoping that he may pour the tide of song 
 In perfect numbers, ere he first essays 
 To gain his wish; the meed of public praise? 
 Not so, O, Bryant, Whittier, Lowell ; Kings 
 Of song. The smallest-sparrow sings, 
 And some one listens ; though the nightingale, 
 With his rich volume fills the neighboring vale: 
 And so I sing. This work-day v/orld of ours 
 Is not too full of m.usic and of flowers : 
 O, Brother Bards ! outreach the generous hand ; 
 Welcome the new born singer to your band. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 An Idyl of the Vineyard ...... 9 
 
 KA.TB Ardeen ....-...- 16 
 
 The Phantom Boat ....... 29 
 
 The Bake 36 
 
 Comb Back to the Vineyard ...... 40 
 
 A Song of Parting ........ 45 
 
 A Song of Nantucket ....... 56 
 
 At Last - - - - - - - - - - - 61 
 
 L 'Envoy 63 
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 
 
 The Mystery 66 
 
 The Two Frayerk ........ 71 
 
 Pass Away .......-- 74 
 
 Cur Craft is Small - - - - - - - .78 
 
 Why He Takes Them 80 
 
 Bethesda ....-...-- 83 
 
 The Two Angels .--.-.-- 8-> 
 
 The Sermon of the Chimes ...... 88 
 
 His Kest 91 
 
 St, ChrIkSTOFERO ...,..-.- 93 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 
 
 KUSTIC COURTSniP ..-.--. - OS 
 
 Could You .--.•----- 103 
 
 A Hidden Nest - - - - - - - ; - - 105 
 
 Tnou Wilt Nevkr Grow Old lOS 
 
 V'^HEN I AM Old ......--- 110 
 
 Golden .--..----- 112 
 
 After the Season ...-.--- ii6 
 
 To A Loved One in Heaven - - - - - - 119 
 
 Dead . 122 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The Susquehanna 126 
 
 The Eastern Monarch ------- 130 
 
 Wait ---------- 133 
 
 The Centennial - - - - - - - . 136 
 
 Nature's Worship -------- 140 
 
 Lost ^14 
 
 Found ---------- 148 
 
 God's Acre -.-.---.- 152 
 
 The GR-4.NGER3 ----- . - - - 157 
 
 The Ballet Girl - - • - - - . s " - . 163 
 
 The Tenting Season '- - - - - - - - 168 
 
 Hooker at Lookout .------ 173 
 
 Over and Over ... - I - - - - 175 
 
^<^^4/o 
 
A SUMMER'S DREAM. 
 
 A Summer's sun, a sea engirdled Is!e, 
 
 A maiden loitering on the shcll-stiewxi beach, 
 
 Her clear cut features bronzed by sun and wind, 
 
 A fisher's daughter, wealth cf daik brown hair 
 
 Tossed carelessly from off a broad white brow, — 
 
 A maiden of the Island, such an one 
 
 As you, while strolling down New England's coast, 
 
 Perchance in search of health, or seeking back 
 
 The bloom of youth, the city's ceaseless toil 
 
 Has robbed you of and made you old too soon, 
 
 Have met, at sunset on the pebbled shore ; 
 
 Have met, and passed, and still have had your thoughts 
 
 Like voyagers upon an unknown sea, 
 
 Go back to her, and wonder if her life; 
 
10 A SUMMER S DREAM. 
 
 Shut in and bounded by the horizon dim, 
 And Hmited by destiny to be 
 But mother to a host of boys and girls 
 Brown as herself without her grace of form, 
 May not be happier life than yours, whose path 
 Leads through the city's overcrowded ways. 
 And bounds your vision with the city's spires. 
 
 White specks of sails came up from out the sea, 
 Like broad winged gulls, and glistened in the light, 
 And dashed the foaming spray from off the prow, 
 While now and then, the merry yachtmen's song 
 Rang gaily o'er the waters. Wide sailed ships 
 Bearing their crews of home-sick whaling hands, 
 Home-sick before land faded from their sight, 
 On their far voyage to the Okhotsk sea, 
 With beating bow, still turning toward Gay Head,. 
 Rising and falling to the fresh'ning breeze; — 
 This was the picture, Esther waiting there, 
 
A SUMMER S DREAM. II 
 
 Making the background, and the foreground too, 
 For all the air was heavy with her fate. 
 Her destiny, although she knew it not, 
 Was on the way, and she awaited it. 
 
 Strolling along the sandy beach, in thought, 
 A man of thirty, or of thirty-five or forty years, 
 You scarcely might say which, or even care ; 
 For when the pensive face was raised to yours, 
 And o'er it broke a smile. 
 
 Like sunlight breaking through a passing cloud ; 
 You saw the light of genius in the eyes. 
 And on the forehead, peaceful, calm and high. 
 Though somewhat wrinkled by the steps of care. 
 You saw the King and Poet sit enthroned, 
 And knew the man could never more grow old ; 
 For, crown a man but with the Poet's crown. 
 And he is monarch over time and youth. 
 
12 A summer's dream. 
 
 A sudden turn, his eyes met Esther's eyes — • 
 
 His hat was in his hand — a gentleman, 
 
 Whether within the city drawing room, 
 
 Or out beside the restless, dashing wave : 
 
 <' Your pardon. Miss, but I have lost my way, 
 
 A sometime dweller at the Sea View House, 
 
 The Cottage City, rising at Oak Bluffs, 
 
 Has lost me for a time — or it is lost, 
 
 I scarce know which — and night is drawing near, 
 
 And I am weary ; could you tell me where. 
 
 Without returning, I may shelter find, 
 
 And rest, until the morning comes again ?" 
 
 And Esther, she albeit nature's child, 
 
 With little of the shyness, many girls 
 
 Put on to wear as mantles o'er their faults, 
 
 Offered him shelter at her father's house. 
 
 Warning him that they were but fisher folks, 
 
 And could not give him city luxuries. 
 
 And so the two walked slowly on their way, 
 
A SUMMERS DREAM. 1 3 
 
 The girl of but seventeen, the traveled man, 
 Whom fate had brought from distant orient lands 
 To weave his warp and woof of life with hers. 
 The fisherman received his stranger guest 
 With outstretched hands, and mother Jennifer, 
 A good old-fashioned, kind, New England soul, 
 Gave him New England w^elcome. 
 Esther stirred 
 The fire of w^ood, until the crackling flames 
 Went roaring up the chimney. 
 
 Putting on 
 The kettle, she soon made the fragrant tea, 
 While appetizing odors from the fish 
 Gave token that the supper hour was nigh. 
 They drew around the table ; reverent hands 
 Were clasped, and folded, and a blessing asked, 
 Such blessing as might well be asked by one 
 Who gathered from the sea his daily bread, 
 And gave the praise to God. 
 
14 A SUMMERS DREAM. 
 
 In cheerful converse passed the eve away, 
 
 And on the morrow ; when he would depart, 
 
 The fisher urged his staying yet awhile 
 
 To troll for blue-fish, and, from day to day 
 
 Found him some new excuse to linger there. 
 
 And he would wander by the surf-beat shore, 
 
 And listen to the tales its billows told 
 
 Of ship-wrecked mariners far on the main ; 
 
 Of freighted barks laden with golden fleece. 
 
 Bearing the wealth of Orient, and of Ind. 
 
 And when the storm which told the summer's death 
 
 Swept o'er its bosom, then he loved to hear 
 
 It's murmurs speak of whitening, dead men's bones 
 
 Down in its caverns, with the coral twined 
 
 Into fantastic shapes by submarine 
 
 Flora, that, hidden far from mortal sight, 
 
 Lit up the mystic garden of the Gods 
 
 In Ocean Grottoes, with a beauty rare. 
 
 A wonderous story-teller is the sea, 
 
A summer's dream. 15 
 
 And he who, listening, wanders by its side 
 In calm or tempest, hearkening to its voice 
 With an unquestioning faith, shall hear his God 
 Speak through its murmurs, and the Infinite 
 Shall grow within him, till his soul becomes 
 Broad as the sea, and troubled as its waves. 
 O, Mother Ocean ! take me to your breast ! 
 The land has played me false, and I, a man 
 In years, although a veiy child in thought, 
 Used to thy rocking — thou hast cradled me — • 
 Find that I am too weak to stand alone. 
 The hardships of the land have hardened me, 
 A rude step-mother is the Continent, 
 And, like a homesick child, I stretch my arms 
 And cry unto thee ; — Take me ! Take me back ! 
 
 At times, when days were drear, and from the cloud 
 The rain descended, making out-door life 
 Less pleasant than its wont, he loved to sit, 
 
1 6 KATE ARDEEN. 
 
 And tell some simple romance of far lanes 
 To simple listeners, Folk-lore of the north, 
 Or Scaldic legend, and, one day he told 
 A story of the Hudson's pleasant shores, 
 With words unpleasant for a coquette's ear. 
 
 KATE ARDEEN. 
 
 In the Hudson Highlands, at midnight time 
 Of the summer-night, a ghost is seen. 
 Wandering all night 
 In her garments white. 
 And the gossips say; " It is Kate Ardeen.'' 
 
 And this is the tale that the gossips tell ; 
 Whether 'tis true I little wist ; 
 But the maid was fair, 
 With golden hair, 
 And lips by the glancing moonbeams kis't. 
 
K/VTE ARDEEN. I^ 
 
 And this I know ; for one night of yore, 
 When I was younger, and Hfe was fair, 
 I met the maid 
 Where the moonbeams laid, 
 Twined and meshed, in her golden hair. 
 
 Red were her lips, and teeth of pearl 
 Out through their gates of ruby shone: 
 And her eyes were bright, 
 In the shaded light. 
 Wandering there by the stream alone. 
 
 But when my arms would have circled her- 
 For I was young, and she was fair — 
 I stood alone, 
 
 Where the moonbeams shone, 
 And folded only the empty air. 
 
I 8 KATE ARDEEN. 
 
 But there, in distance just out of reeich, 
 With mocking face, and eyes of hght, 
 
 She seemed to stand 
 
 With dimpled hand, 
 And beckon me through the summer-night. 
 
 And so I followed — I follow still, 
 
 Wherever a w^hite hand leads the way. 
 Though life is old. 
 And Winter's cold 
 Has chilled the heat of the Summer-day. 
 
 She led me over the brake and bush. 
 
 Over the meadow, and through the corn. 
 
 But when the day. 
 
 In its first dim gray. 
 Broke into beauty, she was gone. 
 
KATE ARDEEN. 1 9 
 
 And I knew the maid was a thing unreal, 
 A vision of night, a phantom seen : 
 But a gossip old, 
 When the story told, 
 Said : " 'Twas the ghost of Kate Ardeen !" 
 
 Kate Ardeen, so the gossip said. 
 
 Long was the belle of the Highland town, 
 And tangled there, 
 In her sheeny hair, 
 -In her hair's, rich golden brown 
 
 The heart of many a Highland youth. 
 
 And she had lovers, both old and young. 
 
 But she whistled them gaily down the wind, 
 Noble and simple, clerk and hind, 
 
 With a trick of her lively tongue. 
 
20 KATE ARDEEN. 
 
 Little she recked of their wild despair ; 
 She was a woman, a born coquette ; 
 
 One and another went to the bad, 
 Not a single feeling she had, 
 Not a pang of regret. 
 
 Thus she reasoned : " Life is a game ; 
 I am but called to play my part ; 
 
 What if the fools wont understand 
 I have nothing but a hand — • 
 Not a sign of a heart ! 
 
 Who can blame that with hearts I play ? 
 Why should I cease with men to flirt ? 
 
 Life is not all Summer's day ; 
 
 Who don't like it may keep away, 
 Then they will not get hurt," 
 
KATE ARDEEN. 2t 
 
 So her eyes would grow tender and true, 
 Like to the eyes of loving maids ; 
 Kindly into a lover's beam, 
 Strolling down by the Hudson's stream, 
 Down by the Palisades. 
 
 Giving nothing, but taking all, 
 
 Ah, poor moths ! how she scared their wings ! 
 When their love would find a voice. 
 Turning the subject to her choice, 
 Talking of other things. 
 
 Did you say you had seen that maid ? 
 
 That she is still alive, not dead ? 
 That you knew the girl 
 By her teeth of pearl, 
 
 And her rare, ripe lips of red ? 
 
22 KATE ARDEEN. 
 
 Knew by the false light in her eye, 
 
 Knew by the gleam of her golden hair, 
 Heard her call to the passers-by, 
 Saw her simper, and heard her sigh. 
 Seeking to slay and snare ? 
 
 That is another false coquette, 
 
 That is another ghost you've seen- 
 She lies dead 
 In the Hudson's bed ; 
 That is not Kate Ardeen. 
 
 There is one trouble in such a life, 
 One which is very hard to learn : 
 
 It is easy other hearts to blight. 
 But, in pushing others into the light. 
 We are apt ourselves to burn. 
 
KATE ARDEEN. 2^ 
 
 So it was also with Kate Ardcen ; 
 
 She had no heart, she said to lose. 
 
 Ah ! bilt she little knew that day, 
 
 When the right one should come that way, 
 
 It were too late to choose. 
 
 So when a poet, with poet's eyes. 
 
 Looked straight into her inmost soul, 
 
 •Kate Ardeen forgot to be wise. 
 
 Love is a thing of doubts and sighs. 
 And though she gave the whole 
 
 That she had kept from other men, 
 
 Still she carried the coquette's art ; 
 
 Flirted and danced as in days of yore, 
 Strolled just as long on the Hudson's shore. 
 
 Showed not a glimpse of heart. 
 
24 KATE ARDEEr4. 
 
 Some men pine when their love proves cold, 
 Some men linger like love-lorn maids ; 
 He was made of different stuff, 
 Wandering there by the Hudson's bluff, 
 Down by the Palisades. 
 
 So, when Kate gave a glance of scorn, 
 Hiding the fire within her breast. 
 
 He was careless, and calm, and cool; 
 He was nobody's love-lorn fool, 
 Flirted and danced with the rest ; 
 
 Looked for another, with poet's eyes, 
 Chose the best of the girlish band. 
 
 Sailed away with his new-made prize, 
 Whether it were or were not wise; 
 Married her out of handi 
 
KATE ARDEEN. 25 
 
 Whether her heart, within the snare, 
 
 Struggled and broke from her lover's scorn, 
 
 Whether she found it hard to bear ; 
 
 Certain it is, that sweet and rare 
 Katie Ardeen was gone. 
 
 Vainly they sought for her night and day, 
 Dragged the river and scanned the shore, 
 Down to the Tappan sea and bay, 
 Out past the stream where the vessels lay : 
 Katie was found no more. 
 
 Whether her body, bleeding and torn, 
 Sank at last in some quiet nook, 
 
 Whether by wind and water borne, 
 Floated she on the tide of morn 
 Out, past Sandy Hook, 
 
26 KATE ARDEEN. 
 
 Into the ocean, we may not know ; 
 
 But it is sure that her restless ghost 
 
 Haunts the river, and to and fro 
 Wanders at night, where lovers go, 
 
 Down by the river's coast. 
 
 This is the legend that haunts the place ; 
 Whether 'tis true, I little ween : 
 
 This I know : when the moonlight's trace 
 Flecks the rocks, you may see a face, 
 Beautiful Kate Ardeen : 
 
 See a face, with its starry eyes 
 Set in a frame of golden hair ; 
 
 See a form that flits to and fro, 
 Sometimes beckoning you to go ; 
 Form of a beauty rare. 
 
KATE ARDEEN. 2/ 
 
 Try to clasp it ; an empty space 
 
 Fills your arms with the viewless air : 
 
 Vanish the beautiful form and face : 
 Vanish, leaving no sign or trace, 
 
 But a gleam "of the golden hair. 
 
 Mocking laughter rings through the night. 
 Hollow tones of a vain regret. 
 
 Tones which carry a chilling blight, 
 Fiendish tones of a wild affright : 
 This is the dead coquette. 
 
 Sometimes down, by the river's bend. 
 Leaving the grass with unbent blades. 
 
 Trips she lightly ; her footsteps tend 
 Out by the rocky shores, and end, 
 Over the Palisades. 
 
28 A SUMMERS DREAM. 
 
 Follow her not ; there is danger there, 
 There is no end but a deep regret ; 
 
 " Heaven preserve," be your constant prayer, 
 " Keep me safely out of the snare 
 Of a living, or dead coquette." 
 
 Beckoning ever with dimpled hands, 
 Warning ever both men and maids. 
 
 There in the moonlight chill she stands. 
 There by the river's gleaming sands, 
 Down by the Palisades. 
 
 The ghostly legend brought to Esther's mind 
 A tale that fishermen, at her father's house, 
 Had told, while waiting for a change of wind ; 
 A weird, sad story ; the New England coast 
 
THE PHANTOM BOAT. 29 
 
 Abounds with such : from Gay Head to Mount 'Zert 
 
 Its fishing schooners, lost upon the banks 
 
 Or in Chaleur, and never heard from more, 
 
 Haunt every inlet, sheltered cove, and bay : 
 
 Their red lights gleam in the September night, 
 
 They set their staysails in the howling gale, 
 
 And stand to windward, dead against the storm, 
 
 Their topsails filled, their mainsheet slacked and free, 
 
 The specter sailors of the Atlantic coast. 
 
 And Allan listened while a girlish voice. 
 
 In soft tones, told this legend of Cape Ann. 
 
 THE PHANTOM BOAT, 
 
 The tide comes in, and the tide goes out, 
 And the rollers break on the harbor bar, 
 
 And up from the distance comes a sail, 
 Gleaming white, 'neath the morning star. 
 
30 THE PHANTOM BOAT. 
 
 Fishing tackle and boats on deck, 
 
 Running rigging, belayed and trim ; 
 Raking spars — 't'is no battered wreck 
 
 Sailing out in the distance dim. 
 
 It draws not near, though the wind is fair, 
 The sheets are free, but it comes not nigh, 
 
 But hangs, a point on the morning air, 
 A pictured sail 'twixt the sea and sky. 
 
 '* Fisherman, tell me why yonder boat 
 Sails, and no nearer comes to shore ; 
 
 Nor in the distance grows remote, 
 Nor a ripple her bow breaks o'er." 
 
 *' Stranger, I reckon you aren't here long : 
 
 Many a year her pennant flew. 
 Old is the story ; a wor.i out song, 
 
 But her deck is trod by no mortal crew. 
 
THE PHANTOM BOAT. 3 1 
 
 *' Look a moment, and see the flame 
 
 Gleaming white over mast and spar, 
 Here, take my glass ; you can read the name 
 
 Under her starn ; 'tis the Alice Alarr, 
 
 '' Alice Marr was a fair young girl. 
 
 Long ago in Glos'ter town ; 
 Rippling tresses and sunny curl, 
 
 Rare red lips, and a cheek of brown. 
 
 " That was Alice, the fisher's pride. 
 
 Lovers sought her from near and far ; 
 She was John Ackman's promised bride ; 
 
 He named his vessel the Alice Marr. 
 
 " Thar's nothing sartin. Stranger, in life ; 
 
 We're gone to-morrow, though here to-day. 
 Another v'yage she would be his wife. 
 
 At least so I've hearn the gossips say. 
 
32 THE PHANTOM BOAT. 
 
 " Pork, potatoes, and hard-tack stowed, 
 Water in barrels, and water in tanks. 
 
 Nicely fixed for a three months' cruise. 
 He sailed away for the fishing banks. 
 
 ** For men must work, and women must weep, 
 ]\Ien must work for their daily bread. 
 
 One month out — all well on board ! 
 Spoke by the Dart of Marblehead. 
 
 '* Months rolled on, and never a word ; 
 
 Six months, twelve months : on the day 
 That finished the year was a rumor heard 
 
 Of the A/ice Marr in the outer bay. 
 
 " Boats put out, but they drew not near. 
 
 Slowly, silently, on she steered ; 
 ' Skipper Ackman ! ho ! what cheer !' 
 
 She had vanished, had disappeared. 
 
THE PHANTOM BOAT. J 3 
 
 " Ever, as rolls the year around 
 
 Bringing again her sailing day, 
 Rises her hull from the depths profound. 
 
 And slowly cruises the outer bay. 
 
 " Not a word of her master's fate ; 
 
 Only a glimmer of sail and spar ; 
 Not a word of her crew or mate— 
 
 This is the ghost of the A/ice Mari\ 
 
 " Still slic watched down the peaceful bay, 
 Still licr eye scanned each gathering cloud : 
 
 Years receded and, worn and gray. 
 
 Her wedding dress was her funeral shroud." 
 
 This is no myth of the poet's pen, 
 
 This is no mirage upon the blast, 
 The boat is there, just the same as when 
 
 Mine owai eyes saw, in the summer past. 
 
34 A summer's dream. 
 
 Only the eye of faith can see : 
 
 Eyes are bhnded, and — this in brief — 
 
 What is holden from you, or me, 
 Is seen by others, who have behef. 
 
 Still in the morning, cold and gray, 
 
 Gazing afar, the sea to scan, 
 Looking out from the sheltered bay. 
 
 See the Phantom which haunts Cape Ann. 
 
 So Allan lingered through the summer hours. 
 It could not, could not be that Esther's eyes 
 Caused him to stay, and yet he loved to sit 
 And gaze into them, telling her of lands 
 Far off, of islands gemmed in tropic seas, 
 Of dusky maidens 'neath the cocoa palms, 
 Their mid-night hair entwined with lotus leaves. 
 Floating adown the mazes of the dance 
 
A SUMMERS DREAM. 35 
 
 In graceful dalliance. Gazing in her eyes 
 So long, at last her heart a mirror grew, 
 Whose sole reflection was his face alone. 
 And he ? Well ! He in the romantic spots 
 Of Martha's Vineyard, wandering far and near, 
 With her for a companion, learned to love 
 The gentle maiden, whose sole lore was love. 
 Who trusted him, as christians trust their God. 
 And yet no word was spoken ; the full heart 
 Will over-brim, and through the tell-tale eyes 
 Reveal its secret, without need of words. 
 In merry making passed the fleeting hours, 
 Now riding on the beach, now walking there, 
 Now fishing from the boat, and then again 
 Passing the evening in the tent of prayer, 
 Where, at Oak Bluffs, the pious Methodists 
 Each season pitched their tabernacle, 
 
 And where, 
 Within the circle, laboring for lost souls, 
 
36 THE BAKE. 
 
 They sought anew to save the wandering sheep 
 
 And lead them to His pastures : then, at times, 
 
 Again to cool Katama's surf beat shore 
 
 They took their way, and when the bake was done, 
 
 Joined in the merry pleasures of the dance. 
 
 The bake was done, I said, — New England's bake ! 
 
 A clam-bake this, and to the manor born, 
 
 And you have never seen or tasted it ? 
 
 Well ! I will break my story and describe, 
 
 That, through my senses thrilling yet to one. 
 
 Your own may thrill ; as ships from tropic lands 
 
 Bring to your nostrils scent of balm and spice. 
 
 THE BAKE. 
 
 Take a party of friends and go to the beach, — - 
 
 Not too many, and not too few, — 
 
 Pick a spot where the clams are in easy reach, 
 
THE BAKE. 3/ 
 
 And detail part of your noisy crew, 
 With shovels, and picks, and perhaps a spade, 
 To dig the clams from their oozy bed. 
 See a pile of wood and sea-weed laid, 
 And over it all the clams well spread. 
 Fowls it is well if you have brought, 
 Picked, and cleaned, and nicely dressed. 
 For you have fair ones, who may be taught 
 To pick the meat from a chicken's breast. 
 Take again a layer of clams, 
 With another layer of wet sea-weed ; 
 Light your fire, let it steam for hours. 
 And mine be the fault, if you don't succeed 
 In drawing from under the steaming pile 
 A dish you might set before the king. 
 And some of the crowd will surely smile, 
 And some, like the Black Birds, begin to sing : 
 After you've eaten all you can eat. 
 Let a fiddle be somewhere found, 
 
38 A summer's dream. 
 
 Strike " Money Musk," and let happy feet ■ 
 Dance the wet fi'om the sandy ground. 
 Balance your partners ! left and right ! 
 Swing to your partners ! farewell take ! 
 Bid to the rest of the crowd " Good-Niciht !" 
 And you have had a New England Bake. 
 
 The summer faded, summer hours will flee, 
 
 And Esther's face grew anxious : farewell w^ords 
 
 Must soon be spoken ; time's receding wave 
 
 Would bear her dearest one from off the Isle, 
 
 And leave her desolate. All summer long. 
 
 Since the first hour she gazed on Allan's face, 
 
 Her heart had been a temple ; birds of song 
 
 Had made their home there, whispering to her soul. 
 
 Inspite of ignorance, of different age, social position. 
 
 He would speak his love. 
 
 And bear her with him when he took his flight. 
 
 O woman ! thus it is you give us all, 
 
A summer's dream. 39 
 
 And count the giving but as we count gain, 
 Not knowing that your ignorance is bhss, 
 Compared with knowledge such as we obtain, 
 The bitter fruit of the forbidden tree. 
 And Esther, giving him her girhsh heart. 
 With all its purity and wealth of love, 
 Was giving more than Allan, with his wealth 
 Of diamonds, brought from distant Indian mines. 
 Of heaped up gold, torn from the mountain's heart. 
 Smelted, and coined, by labor-hardened hands. 
 Of Knowledge, Intellect, could make return. 
 It was the eve of parting, Esther sat, 
 Weaiy and lone, within her lowly porch, 
 And, to the music of some sweet sad strain. 
 Which smote like tears upon the list'ner's heart, 
 In solitude she warbled forth her song. 
 
40 COME BACK TO THE VINEYARD. 
 
 •COME BACK TO THE VINEYARD. 
 
 *' Come back to the Vineyard ! O dear ones, return ; 
 The home fires, for you, shall full lovingly burn ; 
 For here are no strangers, but hearts tried and true 
 Through the gloom of the winter are waiting for you. 
 Are waiting, and watching the bright summer long, 
 With laughter and music, with ripple of song, 
 We've lightened your way on life's desolate track : 
 Come back to the Vineyard ! O dear ones, come back!" 
 
 ^' Come back to the Vineyard ! its joy, and its mirth, 
 
 Its life giving breezes, its white foaming surf. 
 
 The Island of pleasure, of love, and of song, 
 
 Is waiting your coming, O tariy not long ! 
 
 Its hearts, like its sea air, are loving and pure. 
 
 Its trusts, and its friendships abide and are sure, 
 
 And the eyes of its daughters, those bright flashing 
 
 eyes, 
 Shall welcome your coming, wdth happy surprise." 
 
COME BACK TO THE VINEYARq. 4 1 
 
 '' Come back to the Vineyard ! no velvet clad girls 
 Here watch to entrap you with glitter of pearls, 
 But its pure, loving daughters, if once you enfold, 
 You will find far more precious than silver and gold, 
 Its hearts know no treason, but lovingly twine 
 'Round the friends of their choice, like the sweet, 
 
 clinging vine, 
 And the lips that to yours may, in fondness, be pressed, 
 Are the purest, the sweetest, love ever caressed." 
 
 •' Come back to the Vineyard ! for hearts that are sad, 
 Await your returning, and joyous and glad 
 Are the hands, and the arms, that in summer shall reach 
 To hold you, and fold you, once more on the beach : 
 For the hearts that entwine you shall lovingly cling 
 Through the cold of the winter, the bloom of the spring, 
 When the sun of the summer shall brighten your track 
 Come back to the Vineyard ! O dear ones, come back !'' 
 
42 A SUMMER S DREAM. 
 
 " Come back to the Vineyard ! the days will seem long, 
 
 Ere we welcome your coming with music and song, 
 
 And the hearts that await you, impatiently beat 
 
 For the fall on the beach of your echoing feet : 
 
 For here are no strangers, but warm hearts and true, 
 
 To joy in your coming and welcome you too; 
 
 So, turn in your path from the worlds thorny track. 
 
 Come back to the Vineyard ! O dear ones, come back !" 
 
 A sudden pause — the sound died down the shore — 
 And echo answered her, " Come back ! Comeback!" 
 And Allan stood before her : bending down. 
 The sweet face prisoned in his keeping hands. 
 And kissed her lips, her brow, her drooping lids. 
 And this was their betrothal : life grew new. 
 Was born again, as Adam's life was born 
 When, after sleep, he w^oke to find his Eve. 
 
A summer's dream. 43 
 
 Ah ! to how many hearts this new birth comes, 
 
 Perchance worn down in battle on hfe's field, 
 
 Weary of strife before 'tis well begun, 
 
 Tired of the conflict, willing to lay down 
 
 The armor ere the virgin sword is fleshed. 
 
 When, in an instant, flashes on the sight 
 
 The face of one ordained to be a part 
 
 Of our life's life, to feel with us the thorns. 
 
 Or walk beside us in the paths of peace. 
 
 The heavens themselves take a new glory on, 
 
 And we are part of a new Paradise. 
 
 And so he drew her closely to his side. 
 
 Her head fell on his shoulder. How they talked 
 
 And laid their plans for life : a shyness new 
 
 Came over her, the coyness of the girl 
 
 Who knows herself beloved, and loves again. 
 
 The years between them were no barrier, 
 
 These twain were born of God to be one flesh. 
 
44 A SUMMERS DREAM. 
 
 And what should part them ? even death, that strikes 
 
 Ahke the blossom and the full blown flower, 
 
 And bears it hence that it is known no more. 
 
 Cannot divide two hearts that loving once 
 
 Are joined together for eternity. 
 
 And Adam, driven by the flaming sword 
 
 Which turned each way, guarding against return. 
 
 While Eve was with him, had his Paradise, 
 
 And left the Angel but a waste to guard. 
 
 But oh ! in parting there is bitterness ; 
 
 Whether we part with those who go in ships 
 
 On the long journey o'er the trackless deep. 
 
 Or with the loved one, on whose ripe, red, lips 
 
 The seal of our affection scarce has cooled 
 
 And made them sacred but to one alone : 
 
 And on the morrow must the parting be : 
 
 And Allan said good-night ! and then returned 
 
 And said good-night again, and lingered still : 
 
A SONG OF PARTING. 45 
 
 And midnight passed, and still the lovers stood 
 
 As sad to part, as if no other day 
 
 Might ever dawn, as if no other hearts 
 
 Had ever loved, and said good-night ! and slept. 
 
 The morrow dawned, another day grew bright ; 
 
 And Esther, on the Monohansctt's deck. 
 
 Saw him await the slow revolving wheels 
 
 Which still seemed loth to bear him from her sight ; 
 
 And months must pass ere he would come again, 
 
 Months which are short perchance to you or me, 
 
 But long, how long, to those who love and part ! 
 
 And Esther watched the boat toward Buzzard's Bay, 
 
 Grow dim in distance, sink at last, and fade ; 
 
 And blessed it that her lover trod its deck. 
 
 A SONG OF PARTING. 
 
 The wild waves break on the Vineyard shore, 
 And the sea gulls scream from the sandy reach, 
 
46 A SONG OF PARTING. 
 
 And the breakers dash, and the breakers roar, 
 
 From the Vineyard Sound, to the Vineyard beach: 
 
 And the summer throngs, and the summer heart, 
 Are leaving the Island drear and lone, 
 
 And the summer lovers, and friends, must part. 
 
 And the sea birds screech, and the breakers moan 
 
 Moan and groan on the dreary shore. 
 
 Moan over each deserted place. 
 Moan for the friends that come no more. 
 
 Moan for the feet that leave no trace. 
 And the breakers, wringing their white, white hands, 
 
 Break into spray ! and in blinding tears 
 Dash away for the distant lands 
 
 Whose beach will welcome their fleeting years. 
 
 But the fisher's daughter standing still. 
 Standing alone, as one bereft, 
 
A summer's dream. 47 
 
 Gazing out from the Vineyard hill, — 
 
 (" One is taken, the other left.") 
 What does she see with her waiting eyes ? 
 
 You and I, see the shore, the sand, 
 But her face is lit with a glad surprise, 
 
 And she views a home on the distant land. 
 
 She sees liis children upon her knee. 
 
 She feels her head on his bosom rest, 
 She folds her lover beyond the sea, 
 
 And life is happy, her heart is blest. 
 O vision of beauty ! O perfect trust ! 
 
 There is no parting — it may not be — 
 For all earth's idols will turn to dust. 
 
 Where heaven abides, there is no more sea. 
 
 How slowly pass the hours, to one who stays 
 Amid familiar scenes while one departs. 
 
48 A SUMMERS DREAM. 
 
 The earth is still the same, the heavens the same, 
 
 The sameness sits oppressive on the soul ; 
 
 But life is changed ; the old familiar ways 
 
 Are trodden with a heart-sick sense of loss, 
 
 The clouds hang lower down, the firmament 
 
 Has lost its brightness, and a.nother world 
 
 Has cast its shadows o'er the waiting heart : 
 
 So Esther, waiting through the winter hours. 
 
 Hours which are gloomy in her Island home, 
 
 Missed all life's bri^^htness, but, in missing, strove 
 
 To grow more worthy Allan. Day by day 
 
 She gave her mind to music, and to lore 
 
 Of modern, and of dead, departed days, 
 
 Making her brain a store house for quaint thoughts 
 
 And curious fancies ; reading now of him 
 
 Who swam the Hellespont, and then again 
 
 Of Helen, the beleaguered one of Troy ; 
 
 Perusing ancient Greek Mythology, 
 
A SUMMMERS DREAM. 49 
 
 Devouring Gibbon, Hume, Macaulay's lays, 
 And making a strange jumble of the food 
 She sought, to nourish her awakening mind. 
 So it has been since the primeval morn 
 Broke on the chaos which involved the world ; 
 The mind has reached its tendrils blindly out 
 For something hidden whereunto to cling, 
 And finding a support, unsatisfied. 
 Has still stretched outward, bent on broken reeds 
 Which leant on, fall, and leave an aching void ; 
 Despising ethics, thesis, casuistry. 
 And dumbly reaching helpless hands to heaven, 
 
 Its struggles meshing it more deeply still. 
 
 Till tangled in the net of unbelief. 
 
 It cries in its despair — more light ! more light ! 
 
 And heaven is opened, and the light comes down, 
 
 For when the soul gropes darkly in the gloom, 
 
 In its blind ignorance still reaching out, 
 
50 A summer's dream. 
 
 It sometimes, in its utter helplessness, 
 
 Seeking through darkness, touches God's right hand, 
 
 And through the mouths o<f sucklings and of babes, 
 
 Wisdom is given, and perfected praise. 
 
 The winter's gloom was broken ; now and then 
 
 A white winged messenger came from the main, 
 
 With peace and love folded beiieith its wings, 
 
 And sweet affection written on each page ; 
 
 And then, her heart seemed closer drawn to him ; 
 
 A longing took possession of her soul, 
 
 A longing for the time of birds and flowers, 
 
 Of unchained streams, and June's warm ambient air, 
 
 And, more than all, of Allan's swift return : 
 
 So winter passed, and April came again, 
 
 And May, and then the summer solstice 
 
 Broke blandly on the sweet, warm breath of June ; 
 
 The land took on new beauty, and the sea 
 
 Sparkled and dimpled ; rippling wavelets ran 
 
A summer's dream. 51 
 
 And kissed the shore, and with their white feet, walked 
 
 Daintily o'er the borders of the land : 
 
 The wild rose and the scarlet pimpernel. 
 
 The butter cup and sweet forget-me-not, 
 
 The morning glories, blossoming in a night. 
 
 And opening petals blue, and white, and red. 
 
 And variegated with the rainbow's hues. 
 
 Clustered, and clambered round the cottage door, 
 
 And filled the Island with their perfumed breath. 
 
 The Robin twittered from the orchard tree. 
 
 The Bobolink talked gaily to his mate. 
 
 The brown clad Sparrow, humblest of them all. 
 
 Yet most exalted, being marked by Christ 
 
 As evidence of God's own watchful care ; 
 
 — Though two of them are for a farthing sold, 
 
 Not one of these can fall unto the ground 
 
 But what He sees, and heeds, and marks the fall, 
 
 And keeps their being sacred in His hand, — 
 
52 A summer's dream. 
 
 Hopped gaily from the fences to the ground, 
 And being far too happy there to rest, 
 Hopped to and fro, and to, and back again. 
 All nature hymned its gladness, happy skies, 
 And happy Earth, and happier air and sea, 
 And all created being, seemed to join 
 In the harmonious music of the spheres. 
 And summer visitors began to fill 
 The old familiar places ; music rang 
 Across the waters ; joyous voices woke 
 The echoes that had slumbered far too long : 
 And still lie came not. O this hope deferred ! 
 It saps the deep foundation of our lives ; 
 It withers up the opening buds of trust ; 
 It stands a skeleton at every door. 
 And threats the joys that linger on their way. 
 But, after all, anticipation makes 
 The good we longed for, realized at last. 
 Seem better, that we longed, and waited it: 
 
A summer's dream. 53 
 
 And ere the month was merged in hot July, 
 
 He came, and brought her Paradise regained. 
 
 If separation gives the heart a pang, 
 
 And parting, is another word for grief, 
 
 Who can express the joy when lovers meet ? 
 
 Her downcast eyes, his face with rapture ht, 
 
 Her maiden coyness, and the manthng blood. 
 
 Telling the tale they strive in vain to hide, 
 
 To the on lookers ; innocent deceit, deceiving no one. 
 
 So they go their way ; one says to his companion at 
 
 his side, 
 "A pair of lovers," and she answers him, 
 "As we were, dear, when life and love were new." 
 With Allan's coming, came the summer life. 
 The picnics, and the parties by the sea. 
 The rides, the rambles, sweet delicious strolls. 
 The steam excursions on the Vineyard sound, 
 Landing on dear, old, quaint Nantucket's shore : 
 
54 A SUMMERS DREAM. 
 
 Nantucket, mistress of the whaling craft, 
 
 Whose sails once flecked the waters of the globe, 
 
 Whose sailors bore the flag to every sea 
 
 And in the red foam slew Leviathan : 
 
 Now fishing in the offing for their food. 
 
 Or haunting, ghost-like, the deserted wharves, 
 
 Othellos, with their occupation gone. 
 
 And yet a beauty lingers 'round her shores. 
 
 And Byron had not sung " The Isles of Greece," 
 
 Could he have seen the glory of the Isles 
 
 Set, gem like, down the whole New England coast. 
 
 I've seen the sun rise on the Bernese Alps, 
 
 And glitter on the glaciers centuries old. 
 
 Till the whole mountain range was glorified ; 
 
 Its peaks, the billows of a sea of glass ; 
 
 Transfiguration's mountain to my eyes ; 
 
 With every object changed to beauty rare. 
 
 I've seen the sun set slowly in Japan, 
 
A SONG OF NANTUCKET. 55 
 
 Tingeing its Idol mountains with the Hght, 
 Which never shone on sea or land, for one 
 Who dwelt not in the Mansion Beautiful, 
 Or saw God's glory darkly through a glass : 
 Yet still these eyes of mine have never viewed — 
 Though I have been a wanderer far and near, — 
 More beauty, than at sunrise, or its set. 
 Breaks o'er the waters from Nantucket seen, 
 Aud holds the gazer tranced in its embrace, 
 A willing bondm'an to his sense of sight. 
 
56 A SONG OF NANTUCKET. 
 
 A SONG OF NANTUCKET. 
 
 The land breaks out, like a gleam of hope, 
 
 Over the Ocean foam. 
 But its daughters, no longer are pulling the rope, 
 
 That's bringing her sailors home.* 
 
 Her whalers lie rotting, and lone and drear, 
 
 Far in some foreign port : 
 They have laid there rusting for many a year, 
 
 Of water and wind the sport. 
 
 The decks are piled with the winter snows. 
 
 The men are scattered — Ah me ! 
 No mast head echoes to " there she blows," 
 
 Far out in the Okhotsk Sea. 
 
 *In the old whaling days, when a ship was homeward bound with a fair wind, it 
 was a common saying among the men, that the girls of Nantucket were pulling the 
 rope to draw them hom§< 
 
A SONG OF NANTUCKET. « 57 
 
 But her hearts are as tried, and her men as true, 
 
 As, when trimming the distant sail, 
 They passed their hves on the waters bkie. 
 
 In hunting the Bow Head Whale. 
 
 Her daughters are pure, and sweet, and fair, 
 
 And cheerful, and kind, and good. 
 And sparkling water and sparkling ^.ir 
 
 Shine out In their changeful mood. 
 
 There's not a mate or a harponeer 
 
 More skillful than maid or wife. 
 If you visit their land, you'll stay, I fear, 
 
 With a harpoon through your Life. 
 
 But find a Nantucketer where you can 
 
 He never will duty skulk, 
 You may find him a rough and a ready man. 
 
 But never a worthless hulk. 
 
58 . A summer's dream. 
 
 O fleeting hours ! too bright to be but brief, 
 
 Bright in their briefness. Hope, with summer flowers 
 
 Twined in her tresses, sailed with them the sea 
 
 And waited on their footsteps as they passed ; 
 
 Such hope as, budding, seldom blossoms to 
 
 Its full fruition on this earth of ours, 
 
 Her innocent young graces held his soul 
 
 Emmeshed and thralled, and, in sweet tenderness. 
 
 And drinking from her eyes the wine of life, 
 
 He grew, with loving, half intoxicate, 
 
 And drained his cup unto the very lees. 
 
 His manhood, to her nature, was a tower 
 
 Of strength, on which she leant and was secure ; 
 
 The true security of trustful souls. 
 
 Which grows with their growth. 
 
 Strengthens with their strength. 
 
 Lives with their being, dies but with their death. 
 
 And to the trusting, makes a heaven of earth.. 
 
 Nothing is perfect in this world of ours, ■ 
 
A summer's dream. 59 
 
 Their lives seemed perfect, but a strange unrest 
 Would sometimes bind them in its unseen bonds, 
 And, with a yearning, half unsatisfied, 
 Esther would gaze on him, and, by her eyes 
 Attracted, though his own eyes did not see, 
 Allan would turn, and say, Avhile clasping her ; 
 <' When you are all my own, our souls will rest." 
 O restlessness ! was ever human soul 
 Filled to satiety, and satisfied. 
 Its longing answered, and its yearning stayed ? 
 There is no rest, no peace ; from childhood's hour 
 The soul is launched upon a shoreless sea. 
 And grows but emptier the more it feeds, 
 And grasps, and clutches at the empty air. 
 And seeking some fair object to attain. 
 In the attainment finds its nothingness 
 And drops the toy, and searches the beyond. 
 And, finding emptinesss, till gropes and cries, 
 And worries for the unattainable, 
 
6o A summer's dream. 
 
 Till, ending search with ending earthly strife, 
 
 It finds in life to come the object sought, 
 
 And glad fruition, in Eternal Love. 
 
 The story hastens to its closing page. 
 
 For death or marriage closes eveiy tale. 
 
 And all the crowded avenues of love 
 
 Have these two outlets ; and we close the book : 
 
 The fell destroyer takes the heroine, 
 
 Or wafts the hero to the silent halls ; 
 
 Or else the Parson binds the two in one. 
 
 Being averse to meddle in affairs 
 
 Pertaining to the family alone. 
 
 We hide the page, and leave them to themselves : 
 
 And we must leave these two ; 
 
 The writer's pen still lingers with them. 
 
 Sad indeed to close, although his closing brings them 
 
 happiness ; 
 Such happiness, as we who in the flesh. 
 Linger, and, lingering, live on borrowed time. 
 
A summer's dream. 6 1 
 
 May never know until the final hour, 
 
 When He, who giveth his beloved rest, 
 
 Shall fold us in the solemn arms of night. 
 
 And take us hence, to that unclouded land 
 
 Where souls that linger here unsatisfied. 
 
 Filled with His brightness, never hunger more. 
 
 And, having vv^aited our appointed time. 
 
 Our hearts may hear the Master's words — "Well Done." 
 
 But one day more, and O, happy bells ! 
 
 Your peals shall ring in old Edgartown, 
 With music that rises, and falls, and swells. 
 
 Over the villiage and past the down. 
 Music that tells of two lives made one. 
 
 Past Katama and Roaring-Brook, 
 Out by Gay Head, where, at set of sun. 
 
 The light house gleams over hill and nook. 
 
62 A summer's dream. 
 
 And, now for one last sail on the sea, 
 
 Another morn they will take their way 
 To his city home : they must say good-bye 
 
 In a pleasant sail from the peaceful bay : 
 They near the boat and they spread the sail. 
 
 And merrily laugh in their careless glee. 
 Though the wind is blowing half a gale. 
 
 For an old, old friend is the boimdins: sea. 
 
 Beyond the point where no shelter lies. 
 
 The wild weaves break in a blinding spray. 
 And the dark squall gathers in angry skies. 
 
 And roars, and w^histles across their way : 
 Down with your helm ! let go the sheet ! 
 
 Too late ! too late ! for the boat goes o'er, 
 And lies on the water a wreck complete. 
 
 And miles away is the nearest shore. 
 
A summer's dream. 63 
 
 L ' ENVOY. 
 
 A clouded sky and a drifting boat, 
 
 Two forms close locked in a last embrace, 
 
 Quietly resting on the beach, 
 
 In the spot where they first met face to face. 
 
 Up on the bluff, where the sea birds wheel. 
 
 They made them a grave, that the breakers' roar 
 
 Might lull their rest, and a sky of steel, 
 
 In calm and tempest, bend softly o'er 
 
 " Allan and Esther." The grave-stone bears 
 
 The joint inscription, the sad stars gleam 
 
 Over the spot, and I turn away; — 
 
 This is the end of a Summer's Dream. 
 
imCi^IE fDE 
 
66 THE MYSTERY. 
 
 THE MYSTERY. 
 
 Our souls zvill question of Thy \vays, 
 And, groping for Thee blindly, 
 
 Will ask, if with our human days 
 Thy hand deals well and kindly ? 
 
 Will sometimes ask w^hy Adam's fall 
 Should cloud our unborn being, 
 
 And why the curse should brood o'er all, 
 Beneath the eyes All-Seeing ? 
 
 And, mystery, saddest, deepest hid. 
 
 The plan of our salvation. 
 Sealed close beneath the shrouding lid, 
 
 Thy mystic Incarnation. 
 
THE MYSTERY. 6/ 
 
 O, darkest, blindest pathway trod ; 
 
 Strange plan of intercession, 
 Why was it that the Lamb of God 
 
 Must die for our transgression ? 
 
 Thy hand had power to raise and save 
 
 The seed of Adam's sinning ; 
 To seal the portals of the grave. 
 
 E'en from the world's beginning. 
 
 And yet, O God ! we only know 
 
 That, held within Thy keeping, 
 Our path has been a path of woe, 
 
 Our eyes are dim with weeping. 
 
 My God ! could not the cries and tears, 
 
 The prayers and intercession. 
 Throughout the sacrificial years. 
 
 Cleanse from this first transgression ? 
 
68 THE MYSTERY. 
 
 Why suffers thus the incarnate God? 
 
 Why rocks the world with thunder ? 
 Why is it, that the peaceful sod 
 
 Of earth is rent asunder ? 
 
 Not ours to lift the mystic veil, 
 
 The agony revealing ; 
 For in the task, the lips are pale, 
 
 The face is white with feeling. 
 
 It is enough ; the agonized, 
 The crucified and bleeding, 
 
 Upon the cross for us has died; 
 Each wound is interceding. 
 
 O Savior ! if a love like thine 
 Could give, and die in giving, 
 
 Pour in each human heart the wine 
 Of love toward all the livincr. 
 
THE MYSTERY. 69^ 
 
 And make each human soul the fount 
 
 Of hidden tendernesses : 
 Not vain the sacrificial mount, 
 
 If Calvary thus blesses. 
 
 For, in each heart-beat, v/e shall feel 
 
 That love toward one another 
 Which Thou hast suffered, to reveal, 
 
 O Christ ! our Elder Brother. 
 
 So shall these lives of ou;s below, 
 
 Touched by Thy mystic sweetness, 
 Touched by Thy agony. Thy woe, 
 
 Round into full completeness. 
 
 The mystic bread, the mystic wine. 
 
 Be, to our 'lightened seeing, 
 Partaken of a love divine 
 
 To give to every being. 
 
70 THE MYSTERY. 
 
 The bonds of sect, the bonds of creed, 
 
 Drop from each soul behevlng ; 
 And human want and human need 
 
 Suffice for all receiving. 
 
 So shall we lift with Thee the Cross, 
 The sign of mercy bearing, 
 
 Nor suffer with Thee only loss, 
 Thy resurrection sharing. 
 
 Content to serve the Master thus, 
 Until, Thy hand unsealing, 
 
 This which is mystery to us, 
 Stands plain, in Thy revealing. 
 
THE TWO PRAYERS. ^t 
 
 THE TWO PRAYERS. 
 
 Up through the air of morning, 
 
 Past nave and groined roof, there 
 Ascended from the pulpit 
 
 A long and learned prayer. 
 For the President and nation, 
 
 The lost in foreign lands, 
 For men in every station, 
 
 The preacher raised his hands. 
 
 In verbose words and learned 
 
 He told the Lord each sin. 
 And sought with flowery language 
 
 The wandering souls to win ! 
 Methought, in pity smiling. 
 
 This o/ie day out of seven. 
 He heard who said : *' Our Father, 
 
 Father who art in heaven." 
 
72 THE TWO PRAYERS. 
 
 Within a lowly cottage, 
 
 Another prayer was raised ; 
 An upturned face, and holy, 
 
 On which the angels gazed — ■ 
 With thin lips, old and withered, 
 
 And eyes vvith sorrow dim, 
 Offer'd a poor, and faltering 
 
 And humble prayer to Him. 
 
 She prayed not for the na.tions 
 
 Unshriven and unblest ; 
 Her heartfelt prayer was offered 
 
 For those she loved the best ; 
 For Want had been her teacher. 
 
 And this the prayer she said : 
 '' O Thou, our heavenly Shepherd, 
 
 Give us our daily bread !" 
 
THE TWO PRAYERS. 73 
 
 Angels took up the whisper, 
 
 And bore it on to Him 
 Around whose Throne of Glory 
 
 Stand saint and cherubim ; 
 Echoed her words of meekness 
 
 Beyond the morning sun : 
 " Still not my will, O Father ! 
 
 Father, thy will be done !" 
 
 The preacher ceased his praying, 
 
 The widow ceased her prayer ; 
 The voice of benediction 
 
 Fell softly on the air ; 
 The organ note and chorus 
 
 Into sweet silence died : 
 The widow, not the preacher, 
 
 Was heard and justified. 
 
PASS AWAY. 
 
 PASS AWAY 
 
 When in cUirkness and despair, 
 Bo.vs the heart in wordless prayer; 
 In the agony of grief, 
 V.nnly seeking for reh'ef; 
 Doubting, hoping, fear oppressed, 
 D/if:in.g from the port of rest ; 
 Through the darkness of the night 
 C itching not one gleam of light ; 
 Be this thought your help and stay ; 
 This shall also pass away. 
 
 When in sorrow's darkest hour, 
 Shadowed by its awful power ; 
 Vainly groping through life's blast, 
 Vainly longing f ^r the past, 
 Teiding forward, glancing back, 
 
PASS AWAY. 75 
 
 Faltering in the onward track, 
 Sorrowing, fearing, tempest toss't, 
 Hope, and life, and love seem lost ; 
 This your comfort — dark the day, 
 But this, too, shall pass away. 
 
 When beside the open tomb, 
 Shadowed by its deepest gloom ; 
 In the earth's dark, dreary breast 
 You have laid your loved to rest ; 
 'Whelmed by sorrow's wildest waves, 
 Earth appears a place of graves ; 
 Let this thought your being calm, 
 On your spirit pour its balm, 
 Sorrow cannot always stay, 
 "This shall also pass away." 
 
 Joy and woe, and grief, and mirth. 
 Every hope and fear of earth, 
 
7^ PASS AWAY. 
 
 Pride and passion, pleasure, pain, 
 Busy hand and busier brain, 
 Heart of love and heart of hate, 
 Heart with well crowned end elate ; 
 High and haughty, low and poor, 
 Vile in life, and life's most pure ; 
 All shall vanish like the spray, 
 For — " this, too, shall pass away." 
 
 Pass away ! and is this all ? 
 Can no better fate befall ? 
 Is the christian's hope indeed 
 Bounded by this world's poor need ? 
 If so ends life's ebbing tide, 
 What avails it that He died ? 
 No ! the light from Bethlehem's Star 
 Still beameth on us from afar ; 
 And the brilliance of its ray 
 Never more shall pass away. 
 
PASS AWAY. 77 
 
 Pass away ! but still remains 
 Something worthy of Hfe's pains, 
 Poet's lore and statesman's thought, 
 All shall fade and come to naught ; 
 Peasant's cot and noble's hall 
 
 In the general ruin fall 
 
 Still is something to us given, 
 
 Mansions of God's rest in heaven ; 
 And, though earthly things decay, 
 These shall never pass away. 
 
 Pass away ! while still remains 
 
 He who walked Judea's plains, 
 
 And, on stormy Galilee, 
 
 Lulled to rest the troubled sea. 
 
 By His agony of prayer ! 
 
 By His brow, thorn-pierced and bare ! 
 
 By His anguish in the hour ! 
 
yS OUR CRAFT IS SMALL. 
 
 By His victory ! by His power ! ! 
 This we know ; in endless day, 
 Heaven shall never pass away. 
 
 OUR CRAFT IS SMALL. 
 
 When the hardy Norwegian puts out to sea, 
 
 With his sails well trimmed, and the rocks a lee, 
 
 Ere, upon his sight, the land grows dim, 
 
 He chants for protection this well worn hymn, 
 
 " God help us all, whatever befall. 
 
 For Thy ocean is vast, and our craft is small." 
 
 So ever, as dashes the ocean's wave, 
 
 With a tried, true soul and a heart as brave, 
 
 He looks aloft, through the rack of the storm, 
 
OUR CRAFT IS SMALL. 79 
 
 And pierces the void for a formless form; 
 For he knows and feels, whatever befall, 
 That God is large, though his craft is small, 
 
 Take courage, toiler, whoe'er thou art. 
 
 From this humble soul, and this dauntless heart ! 
 
 When thy life grows drear, and thy hope grows dim, 
 
 Lift thine eyes above ; put thy trust in Him ; 
 
 And feel, and know, whatever may be, 
 
 'Tis a Father's arm that encircles thee, 
 
 And thou, too, O Christian ; a heavy cross 
 May bear thee down, and the worthless dross 
 Of this world encumber thy upward way ; 
 Still, let this thought be thy hope and stay, 
 Through each earthly snare, a Father's care 
 His trusting child shall in safety bear. 
 
80 WHY HE TAKES THEM. 
 
 God help us all in this voyage of life ! 
 God keep us pure from its stain and strife, 
 And whenever, may dash the angry wave, 
 Teach us to say, with a spirit brave, 
 God help us all, whatever befall, 
 For Thou art so vast, and we so small. 
 
 WHY HE TAKES THEM. 
 
 The flock stood waiting by the rapid river 
 
 And would not cross. 
 Although the shepherd kindly called them thither ; 
 
 And banks of moss. 
 
 And fields of green, and verdant hills surrounded 
 
 The further shore : 
 The danger all their narrow vision bounded , 
 
 Of crossing o'er. 
 
WHY HE TAKES THEM. ^1 
 
 He stretched his kindly arms, and gently called them ; 
 
 They would not heed ; 
 The deep, broad river's rapid stream appalled them, 
 
 Though pleasant mead 
 
 And mountain fair, beyond the darkling river, 
 
 Rose to their view. 
 And in the distance, bright, unfading ever. 
 
 Were pastures new. 
 
 The shepherd took a lamb, and safely bore it 
 
 Within his arms 
 To where the pastures brightly gleamed before it ; 
 
 And all alarms 
 
 Were hushed. The mother heard its voice of pleading, 
 
 And, crossing o'er, 
 The flock behind her followed in her leading, 
 
 Unto the shore. 
 
82 WHY HE TAKES THEM. 
 
 O, stricken hearts, all torn with grief, and bleeding, 
 
 A Saviour's voice 
 Ye would not hear, nor follow in His leading, 
 
 Of your own choice. 
 
 And so He takes your lambs unto His keeping, 
 
 That eyes all dim 
 And dark with sorrow's clouds, and sad with weeping, 
 
 May look to Him, 
 
 And see beyond the darkly rolling river 
 
 Those gone before. 
 And to the fields, with verdure green forever, 
 
 Cross safely o'er. 
 
bethesdA. 
 BETHESDA. 
 
 Close to thy pool, Bethesda, 
 The helpless sick were laid, 
 Waiting the troubled waters, 
 In the long colonnade. 
 For, at the " House of Mercy," 
 At times, an angel's wing 
 Changed to a stream of healing, 
 Bethesda's limpid spring. 
 
 Ah ! little deemed the watchers, 
 By pain and sorrow stirred. 
 That one there walked among them, 
 Who was the Living Word ; 
 Within whose touch was healing. 
 Who bore their griefs for them. 
 And Hope, and Mercy nestled 
 Within His garment's hem. 
 
§4 bethesdA; 
 
 And one was there, a cripple 
 For eight-and-thlrty-years, 
 Bowed down by his affliction, 
 Weighted with grief and tears ; 
 And when the angel troubled 
 The waters clear and cool. 
 No friendly hand was lifted 
 To bear him to the pool. 
 
 Life's lustre had departed 
 From out his face and eye. 
 He had no one to help him ; 
 The people passed him by. 
 The troubled wave that quickened, 
 Healed not that troubled soul ; 
 He could not reach the waters 
 In time to be made whole. 
 
BETHESDA. S$ 
 
 He had grown old and feeble, 
 Through suffering long endured, 
 It seemed scarce worth his seeking 
 Bethesda, to be cured, 
 On him the quiet stranger 
 Looks with a pitying eye ; 
 It is the Christ of Nazareth ! 
 'Tis Jesus, passing by. 
 
 No sooner thought than uttered. 
 Comes the creative word, 
 "Take up thy bed !" The mandate 
 Is by the sick man heard ; 
 No fear, no doubt, no question ; 
 The mandate is obeyed ; 
 And he, the helpless sufferer. 
 Through mercy, whole is made 
 
86 THE TWO ANGELS 
 
 O lives diseased and hopeless ; 
 O hearts in wild unrest ; 
 What angel hands may trouble 
 The waters of the breast ? 
 Turn to the passing stranger, 
 O wearied, sin-sick soul, 
 Tis Jesus Christ of Nazareth 
 Alone can make you whole. 
 
 THE TWO ANGELS. 
 
 AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO L. A. GOTWALD, D. D. 
 
 There are two angels, sitting 
 With every one each day ; 
 One keeps the book of evil, 
 One points the better way. 
 The angel on the left hand 
 Writes down each wrong deed done, 
 And seals it, when the midnight 
 Its final hour hath run. 
 
THE TWO ANGELS. 8/ 
 
 The angel on the right hand 
 
 Watches with love sincere, 
 And every wrong repented, 
 Erases with a tear ; 
 And if we call ; " O Allah !" 
 Before the midnight time, 
 He blotteth from the tablets 
 The record of each crime. 
 
 He writeth down each good deed 
 And seals the record pure. 
 For every such one finished, 
 Forever shall endure. 
 He softly lays his fingers 
 Upon the brow of care, 
 And veils the troubled eyelids, 
 In answer to the prayer. 
 
8S THE SERMON OF THE CHIMES. 
 
 But oh ! when, unrepentant, 
 The man Hes down to rest, 
 And darkness, finds the evil 
 Still sheltered in his breast ; 
 Alas ! that better angel, 
 When earth is locked in sleep. 
 And midnight's hour is striking. 
 Turns him aside to weep. 
 
 THE SERMON OF THE CHIMES. 
 
 In the solemn Sabbath twilight. 
 
 In the house where His blessings dwell, 
 I heard the voice of the preacher, 
 
 As it softly rose and fell. 
 He told the Creator's gloiy ; 
 
 He told of the Creature's crimes ; 
 When, full on the olden story, 
 
 Broke the low, sweet voice of chimeg, 
 
THE SERMON OF THE CHIMES. 89 
 
 And, first, came a note of sweetness 
 
 Which fell from the air above : 
 It told of the full completeness 
 
 That dwells in a Saviour's love ; 
 And, next, was a note of sadness, 
 
 A pitying note, and sweet ; 
 It fell like the precious ointment 
 
 Poured at the Saviour's feet. 
 
 Then a beautiful note and holy, 
 
 And another of joy and peace 
 Dropped softly adown the ether. 
 
 To the harmony's grand increase ; 
 And a softened note, and swelling, 
 
 Came from the air above, 
 Till it seemed they had run the gamut, 
 
 In the scale of His deathless love. 
 
90 THE SERMON OF THE CHIMES. 
 
 Then a final note of triumph, 
 
 And all of the twilight air 
 Was suddenly filled with angels, 
 
 Who had answered the chiming prayer. 
 They had preached me a nobler sermon 
 
 Than falls from a mortal tongue, 
 For the voice of their loving music 
 
 Was a song by the angels sung. 
 
 But this I had strangely noticed. 
 
 And my heart to its depths was stirred, 
 They had sung of His love and mercy, 
 
 But not of His hate a word. 
 O notes ! in the days now coming, 
 
 I shall think of the bygone times. 
 And my heart will long for the beauty, 
 
 In the Sermon of the Chime.s. 
 
HIS REST. 91 
 
 HIS REST. 
 
 There are no sorrowing hearts but heaven enfolds them, 
 
 And Christ can give them rest; 
 He takes our souls, all torn with grief, and holds them 
 
 Close to his loving breast. 
 
 O weary heart, press on ! there yet remaineth 
 
 This rest for thee ; 
 O weary soul, toil on ! His love restraineth 
 
 And blesseth me. 
 
 He blesseth all things wandering and erring, 
 
 And far astray. 
 A voice still comes, life's darkened pathways cheering — • 
 
 <* I am the Way !" 
 
92 HIS REST. 
 
 *' I am the Truth, the Life, the Resurrection ;" 
 
 Though dead in sin, 
 Flee but to Me, thy only sure protection, 
 
 And enter in. 
 
 In, past the gates which guard the land immortal, 
 
 The rest above. 
 No stern-browed warder keeps the golden portal, 
 
 Its God is love. 
 
 Earth's vessels may be shattered, broken, riven. 
 
 And life a loss ; 
 There yet remains f/ii's rest, the rest of heaven ; 
 
 Lay down thy cross. 
 
ST. CHRISTOFERO. 93 
 
 ST. CHRISTOFERO. 
 
 'Tis told in ancient story — 
 
 And beautiful the tale — 
 Of one who found his glory 
 
 In strength that might not f^il ; 
 Who, strong, would serve the strongest, 
 
 And battled for a king 
 Until he found that Satan 
 
 Was mightier in the ring. 
 
 And so OiTero, turning, 
 
 Wrought well in Satan's field, 
 Until, in God's time, learning 
 
 Of One, to whom must yield 
 The Prince of powers infernal : 
 
 And then, with all his might 
 He sought to serve the Master, 
 
 Beneath the better light. 
 
94 ST. CHRISTOFERO. 
 
 But, for the hermit's telHng, 
 
 He would not fast or pray, 
 But sought, where waves were swelHng 
 
 Across the traveller's way, 
 To help and save the sinking, 
 
 The weary, weak, and small, 
 And bore them on his shoulders 
 
 To where no harm could fall. 
 
 At last, within his keeping, 
 
 He took a little child. 
 And sank beneath his burden ; 
 
 The stream seemed wide and wild ; 
 Exhausted with his labor. 
 
 He reached the other shore. 
 And said, " I feel my shoulders 
 
 With a world's weir^ht are sore." 
 
ST. cHristofero. 95 
 
 And then the hermit told him 
 
 That he h?cd borne the Lord ; 
 A world's weight resting on him, 
 
 A child, and yet a God. 
 And, no more named Offero, 
 
 The ancient legends tell, 
 How good Saint Christofero, 
 
 Served still the Master well. 
 
 The stoiy, quaint and olden, 
 
 Handed from sire to son. 
 Will teach a lesson golden 
 
 Until life's days are done. 
 Ye do not unavailing 
 
 Serve faithfully your God, 
 For when your strength is failing, 
 
 You find you bear the Lord. 
 
98 RUSTIC COURTSHIP, 
 
 RUSTIC COURTSHIP. 
 
 The night was dark when Sam set out 
 
 To court old Jones's daughter ; 
 He kinder felt as if he must, 
 
 And kinder, hadn't oughter, 
 His heart against his waistcut throbbed 
 
 His feelings had a tussle 
 Which nearly conquered him, with his 
 
 Six feet of bone and muscle. 
 
RUSTIC COURTSHIP. 99 
 
 The candle in the window shone 
 
 With a most doleful glimmer, 
 And Sam, he felt his courage ooze, 
 
 And through his fingers simmer. 
 Says he — '' Now Sam, don't be a fool !, 
 
 Take courage, shaking doubter, 
 Go on and pop the question right. 
 
 For you can't live without her !" 
 
 But still, as he drew near the house, 
 
 His knees got all a-tremble ; 
 The beating of his heart near beat 
 
 His efforts to dissemble. 
 Says he — " Now, Sam, don't be a goose. 
 
 To let the female wimmen 
 Knock all your thoughts a-skelter so, 
 
 And set your head a-swimmen.'' 
 
100 RUSTIC COURTSHIP. 
 
 So Sam, he kinder raised the latch, 
 
 His courage also raising, 
 And, in a moment, sat inside, 
 
 Old Jones's crops a'praising. 
 He tried a while to talk the farm. 
 
 In words half dull, half witty. 
 Not dreaming that old Jones well knew 
 
 His only thought was — Kitty. 
 
 At last the old folks went to bed. 
 
 The Jones's were but human, 
 Old Jones was something of a man, 
 
 And Mrs. Jones — a woman ; 
 And Kitty, she the pitcher took, 
 
 And started for the cellar ; 
 It was'nt often, that she had 
 
 So promising a feller. 
 
RUSTIC COURTSHIP. 10 1 
 
 And, somehow, when she came upstairs 
 
 And Sam had drank his cider. 
 There seemed a difference in the chairs, 
 
 And Sam's was close beside her. 
 His stahvart arm dropped round her waist. 
 
 Her head dropped on his shoulder. 
 And Sam — well he had changed his tone, 
 
 And grown a trifle bolder. 
 
 Her red, ripe lips were turned to his. 
 
 His head drooped slowly over : 
 What happened then ? go ask the bee 
 
 If honey dwells in clover ? 
 The tale is always new, but old. 
 
 And always sweet and tender, 
 And Sam I guess can fight his way. 
 
 And Kit — I shan't defend her. 
 
I02 RUSTIC COURTSHIP. 
 
 But this, if you live long enough, 
 
 You surely will discover, 
 There's nothing in this world of ours. 
 
 Except the loved and lover. 
 The morning light was growing gray, 
 
 As Sam the farm was leaving ; 
 His face was surely not the face 
 
 Of one half grieved, or grieving. 
 
 And Kitty, she walked slowly back. 
 
 With blushing face and lowly ; 
 There's something in the humblest love 
 
 Which makes it pure and holy. 
 And did he marry her, you ask ? 
 
 She stands there with the ladle, 
 A skimming off the morning's milk ; 
 
 That's Sam, who rocks the cradle. 
 
COULD YOU. 103 
 
 COULD YOU. 
 
 Could you lay your hand in mine, love? 
 
 As you laid it, long ago, 
 When the air was frosted wine, love. 
 
 And the earth was sparkling snow. 
 Could you kiss me as you kissed me, 
 
 And our lips meet as they met ? 
 Ah ! there never was a joy, love, 
 
 But was answered with regret. 
 
 Is it ages that have passed, love ? 
 
 Is it centuries ? is it days ? 
 Has the winter and the blast, love. 
 
 Blotted out the olden ways ? 
 Other arms have fondly pressed thee, 
 
 Other lips caressed than mine, 
 Other love, perchance, has blest thee, 
 
 Since the days of " Auld Lang Syne." 
 
04 COULD YOU. 
 
 Could you meet me, could you greet me, 
 
 As we met when life was sweet ; 
 When the chiming bells beat music 
 
 To the rhyme of dancing feet. 
 When our hearts beat wild with pleasure, 
 
 Earth was joyous, life was new. 
 When our love was all our treasure, 
 
 I was happy, you were true ! 
 
 Could I clasp you, could I hold you. 
 
 Could my kisses rain in showers, 
 Could my arms once more enfold you — 
 
 Autumn, leaves bring summer flowers ?- 
 Could the rhyming and the chiming 
 
 Of the bells, bring back once more 
 All the sweetness and completeness 
 
 Of the vanished days of yore — 
 
A HIDDEN NEST. lOj 
 
 Vainly would these arms surround thee ; 
 
 Vainly would this heart enfold. 
 Woman's love — a sea to drown thee ! 
 
 Woman's warmth — a winter's cold ! 
 Yet the ringing and the singing 
 
 Of the bells, bring back to me 
 Other days, when thou wert mine, love, 
 
 And thy heart was all to me. 
 
 A HIDDEN NEST. 
 
 Down in the grass, by a running brook. 
 Twitters a sparrow the whole day long ; 
 
 Brakes bend over the hidden nook. 
 
 And the sparrow sings a matron's song. 
 
I06 A HIDDEN NEST. 
 
 Four little eggs with speckled sides, 
 One brown breast bent over them low ; 
 
 The male-bird, down in the sedge-weed, hides. 
 Pausing to list to the water's flow. 
 
 Chee ! chee ! chee ! from the hidden nest ; 
 
 Chee ! chee ! chee ! from the brake where swings 
 Father Sparrow, so blithe and blest, 
 
 Watching his mate with folded wings. 
 
 By and by comes a chipping sound ; 
 
 Four little beaks peep through the shell; 
 Mother bird hops from nest to ground, 
 
 Feeding nestlings she brooded well. 
 
 Father Sparrow is blithe and gay, 
 
 Working, flitting the whole day long ; 
 
 Mother Sparrow counts work but play, 
 Toiling for birds of light and song. 
 
A HIDDEN NEST. 10/ 
 
 Soon will the fledglings leave the nest, 
 
 Leave the roof-tree amid the grass ; 
 Flying away from dear home rest, 
 
 Fluttering wings too soon v/ill pass. 
 
 Happy birds ! And if He so cares, 
 
 Watching even the sparrow's fall, 
 Hovv' may we trust our own aff .irs 
 
 To Him that keepeth watch o'er all ! 
 
 I have some nestlings in my nest — • 
 
 Birds of Paradise, sweet and rare ; 
 Fold them, O Father ! to thy breast. 
 
 Guard their lives v.nth Thy boundless care. 
 
 So shall I see, when wild winds blow. 
 
 And over earth the tempest springs. 
 Thy loving care flit to and fro ; 
 
 And angels watching with folded wings. 
 
I08 THOU WILT NEVER GROW OLD, LOVE. 
 
 THOU WILT NEVER GROW OLD, LOVE. 
 
 Thou wilt never grow old. Love — never grow old ! 
 
 The stars from their brightness shall fade and decay, 
 The sun shall grow cheerless, and, darkened and cold. 
 
 Like a tale that is told, shall this earth pass away. 
 The loved ones we fondled, our truest and best, 
 
 May sink to their rest 'neath life's mildew and blight ; 
 And the hearts that we folded, close, close to our breast. 
 
 May be shrouded in darkness, and hidden from sight. 
 The stars may grow dim, and the sun may grow cold ; 
 
 Thou wilt never grow old. Love — never grow old ! 
 
 Thou wilt never grow old, Love — to ashes and dust 
 Have the dear ones returned, who once brightened 
 our way. 
 
 The forms that we cherished, the friends of our trust, 
 Have vanished and faded, forever and aye ; 
 
THOU WILT NEVER GROW OLD, LOVE. IO9 
 
 The homes that they brightened, the hearts they made 
 light, 
 
 Are saddened and shrouded in sorrow and gloom ; 
 The morn of their being is buried in night, 
 
 The rays of their gladness are quenched in the tomb ; 
 The tale of their living is ended and told — 
 
 Thou wilt never grow old. Love, never grow old ! 
 
 Thou wilt never grow old. Love — cherished and sweet 
 
 Is thy memory kept from the touch of decay. 
 I hush me, and list for the fall of thy feet. 
 
 And catch but the echo of passing away. 
 Thy hair is still golden ; no finger of Time 
 
 Has touched thee and blighted ; no thread has turned 
 gray; 
 No spirit of evil, no shadow of crime ; 
 
 Since, robed in thy beauty, we laid thee away ; 
 For, garnered and gathered, and safe in His fold, 
 
 TJiou wilt never grow old, Love— never grow old ! 
 
no WHEN I AM OLD. 
 
 WHEN I AM OLD, 
 
 When I am old, the bells that run 
 
 In life's blight morn with chiming tongue, 
 Shall change, and, like a knell^ be tolled ; 
 When I am old, when I am old. 
 
 When I am old, the joys that greet 
 The pathway of my youthful feet, 
 The day that dawns so clear and bright, 
 Shall darken with the shade of night. 
 
 The hopes, the doubts, the joys, the fears. 
 Sharp styptics of my early years ; 
 The woe, the pain, the care, the bliss, 
 The sneer of scorn, the loving kiss— 
 
WHEN I AM OLD. Ill 
 
 The hate, the love, the rest, the strife, 
 The all that makes this earthly life, 
 Shall vanish as a tale that's told. 
 When I am old, when I am old. 
 
 How strange it seems ! this pulse of fire, 
 This heart that beats with wild desire. 
 Shall, like the fabric of a dream, 
 Dissolve : we are not what we seem. 
 
 When I am old — ah ! life grows gray 
 Too fast. Its morning sinks away : 
 Its clock, that strikes the hour of noon. 
 Rings on the startled air too soon. 
 
 When I am old, the bells of night 
 May usher in a morn more bright. 
 Oh, soft and low those bells be tolled, 
 When I am old, when I am old ! 
 
1 1 2 GOLDEN, 
 
 GOLDEN. 
 
 Oh, young and fair ! 
 Oh, sweet and rare ! 
 The sun went past the hedges, 
 And rested on the horizon dim, 
 And touched with gold its edges. 
 
 Through purple bars. 
 The light of stars 
 Came down — the sunset over — 
 And softened, with their mellow rays, 
 The fields of new mown clover. 
 
GOLDEN. 
 
 On, toward the lane, 
 The loaded wain 
 Came creaking through the meadow ; 
 Now touched with light — and then again, 
 One-half concealed by shadow. 
 
 Along the hill, 
 The night-bird's trill 
 
 Came, laden down with sweetness 
 The tints of gray across the sky 
 
 Made up the scene's completeness. 
 
 Just by the hedge, 
 Across whose edge 
 
 Her hair hung, burnished golden, 
 A maiden listened to her swain 
 
 Repeat the story olden. 
 
114 GOLDEN. 
 
 The old, old tale, 
 The serpent's trail 
 
 Can never, never cover : 
 Since Mother Eve came on this earth, 
 
 Each maid has had her lover. 
 
 And so they stood, 
 
 WWle, over wood 
 And vale, the night-shades darkened 
 And, as the midnight grew apace. 
 The angels paused and hearkened. 
 
 Oh, heart of youth ! 
 
 Oh, heart of truth ! 
 Taking love's all — and giving : 
 With your imtaught philosophy 
 Pointing the truth of living. 
 
GOLDEN. I 1 
 
 In coming days. 
 When life's strange m:izc 
 Your feet may tread together ; 
 Ye may not find its pathways trend 
 Thro'jf^h fields of bloominc^ heather. 
 
 The warp and woof 
 
 Of life, forsooth, 
 Some dark threads twine in weaving ; 
 The hand that guides the shuttle's course 
 May test your soul's believing. 
 
 But when life's page 
 Marks for you — age, 
 
 And silver threads with golden 
 Still other lives beside the hedge 
 
 Shall tell the story olden. 
 
Il6 AFTER THE SEASON. 
 
 AFTER THE SEASON. 
 
 The summer is over, the harvest past, 
 
 The season done, and its gay flirtations 
 Have ceased, for the end has come at last. 
 
 And the crowd moves on in its fresh gyrations. 
 Maud and AHce, bright-eyed Belle. 
 
 Darlings of fortune, curled and smiling, 
 What has the summer brought you ? tell ; 
 
 Just for the passing hours' beguiling. 
 
After the season. 117 
 
 Maud looked up, with her trusting eyes — 
 
 Eyes as blue as a cloudless heaven : 
 " Strolls on the beach 'neath summer skies, 
 
 And the German danced with a friend at eleven." 
 Ah ! my Maud, it is plain to see, 
 
 The summer leaves you as it found you ; 
 Heart as whole, and a fancy free. 
 
 And only the friends to love around you. 
 
 What has it brought you, Alice, dear ? 
 
 Girl half shy, with a new expression, 
 Look in my face with the glance sincere, 
 
 And, while I shrive you, make confession. 
 Ah ! do the lips refuse to speak, 
 
 While the tell-tale blush, the cheeks adorning, 
 Plays with the dimples hide and seek ? 
 
 This is your answer ? Well, good morning. 
 
I I 8 AFTER THE SEASON'. 
 
 And Belle shall finish the half-told tale, 
 
 That ends where the birds begin their pairing : 
 " 'Twas a moonlight night and a glancing sail, 
 
 And — yes — it luas his, this ring I'm \\caring." 
 Maud and Alice and Belle have gone ; 
 
 I am alone and yet not lonely ! 
 Shimmers the moon on the croquet lawn, 
 
 While I confess to my own heart only. 
 
 He that I loved is false — not dead ; 
 
 And the breakers dash on the long, lone reaches. 
 Where, in the days with summer fled. 
 
 We, too, have paced the moonlit beaches. 
 Well, let it pass ; it is better so ; 
 
 To the summer heart there's but summer sorrovv, 
 And a smile may ripple o'er a v/oe. 
 
 And — yes, I shall dance at Le Mare's to-morrow. 
 
TO A LOVED ONE I N HEAVEN. I 1 9 
 
 TO A LOVED ONE IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Do you hear us, up in Heaven, O, loved one, early taken ? 
 Do you think of all our sorrow, in the happy 
 mansions there ? 
 There is naught of sin or sorrow, and to-day is as 
 to-morrow ; 
 And you weep not, though you see us in this world 
 of sin and care. 
 
 We can think what you are doing, how your life is one 
 of pleasure, 
 How your blue eyes dim or sparkle, how there is no 
 woe or pain ; 
 But for us, for us in v/aiting, who are waiting for our 
 treasure ; 
 Do the happy features dimple, do the bright eyes 
 gleam again ? 
 
I JO TO A LOVED ONE IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Is thy spirit filled with lightness, have thine eyes grown 
 dim with brightness, 
 From the shining of His glory — before the Great 
 White Throne ? 
 Ah ! the veil that hid thy seeing, dropt from off thee 
 with thy being, 
 And there rose before thee wonders which no human 
 eye hath know^n. 
 
 We are weary with our watching till the shadows, down 
 the gloaming, 
 Shall cease to sink and quiver in the silence of the 
 West ; 
 We are weary with our waiting, we are weary with our 
 roaming ; 
 And the winds that sigh and quiver, fill us only with 
 unrest. 
 
TO A LOVED ONE IN HEAVEN. I2l 
 
 So we sit beneath the shadow, In the twiHght dim and 
 dreary, 
 As we oft have sat together at the closing of the 
 day, 
 But the hour that then was brightness, now is dark, 
 and sad, and weary. 
 And we're watching — only watching for the clouds 
 to flee away. 
 
 We shall hear the angel-footsteps, falling lightly by 
 
 our hearth-stone, 
 On some day within the future, when life's grain is 
 
 garnered in ! 
 We shall clasp thee, we shall hold thee, and our happy 
 
 arms enfold thee; 
 When our life drops off its garment and our soul drops 
 
 off its sin ! 
 
123 DEAD. 
 
 DEAD. 
 
 Past all earthly care or strife ; 
 
 Past all pain, or woe, or fear ; 
 Past all time, with trouble rife ; 
 
 Thou art gone forever, dear. 
 Gone, my darling ; nevermore 
 
 Shall thy footsteps' glad refrain, 
 Sounding past the open door, 
 
 Echo in my heart again. 
 
DEAD. 123 
 
 Sunlight lingers just the same ; 
 
 Shadows fall as darkly still ; 
 Sunset, with its dying flame, 
 
 Sets ablaze the western hill : 
 Summer bird and opening flower, 
 
 Welcome in the day's sweet dawn ; 
 Music fills the passing hour. 
 
 Only thou, art dead and gone. 
 
 Dead, my darling ! just as bright 
 
 Falls the sunshine on the lea ; 
 Morning dawns with equal light ; 
 
 Dawns for others, not for thee. 
 Past all earthly care, or fear ; 
 
 Past all earthly stain or strife ; 
 Dead ? 'Tis we are dead, my dear, 
 
 Thou hast entered into life. 
 
Ecraiiiefi fmm 
 
126 THE SUSQUEHANNA. 
 
 THE SUSQEHANNA. 
 
 The Susquehanna ! whose ripphng banner 
 Spreads through and past village and town ; 
 
 With murmurous cooing, the wild wind wooing ; 
 Like a ribbon, blueing the distant down. 
 
 In days departed, when, younger hearted, 
 
 I wandered o'er the distant sea. 
 By foreign rivers, where sunlight shivers 
 
 And moonlight quivers, I've thought of thee. 
 
THE SUSQUEHANNA 12/ 
 
 Thy Sparkling waters and lovely daughters 
 Beckoned me back with outstretched hands ; 
 
 Thy low, sweet gliding, a gentle chiding 
 For my abiding in distant lands. 
 
 I heard thy voicing, and turned rejoicing 
 Back to my home and thee once more ; 
 
 With fond emotion and deep devotion, 
 Across the ocean to seek thy shore. 
 
 I've seen the glory, renowned in story, 
 
 Of Arnoa's dark, romantic gleam. 
 My feet in straying, my heart betraying, 
 
 Have passed the praying by Ganges' stream. 
 
 When, home returning, with bright hopes burning, 
 
 I lingered on thy banks of green, 
 With fields grain laden, and bright-eyed maiden ; 
 
 An earthly Aiden has been each scene. 
 
128 THE SUSQEHANNA. 
 
 With violets blooming, and sweets perfuming 
 Thy path through meads, with foliage rank ; 
 
 With raftsmen singing, their riches bringing, 
 And cities springing on either bank. 
 
 And when the summer's melodious hummer 
 It's drowsy song sends through the air ; 
 
 The fisher drifting, his eyes uplifting, 
 Beholds the shifting of landscapes rare. 
 
 When autumn, fading, drops down its lading 
 Of withered leaves on thy quiet tide ; 
 
 And days grow searer, and nights grow clearer. 
 Thy stream is dearer and more my pride. 
 
 And w^hen the frondage gives way to bondage ; 
 
 And winter's fingers enclose thee fast ; 
 The skaters cheering upon our hearing. 
 
 Breaks through each clearing, and hurries past. 
 
THE SUSQUEHANNA 129 
 
 Whilst, calmly under, thy muffled thunder 
 
 Waits for the spring to loose its band, 
 And scatter treasure, and joy and pleasure, 
 
 With stintless measure o'er all the land. 
 * 
 Wifh friends now vanished and hopes now banished, 
 
 I've walked by thee, in days of yore ; 
 Gone ! like the river whose waters shiver, 
 
 And murmur never, forevermore. 
 
 Bright skies above me, and hearts to love me. 
 
 Have led me on from zone to zone ; 
 Yet, stream the dearest, though distant, nearest; 
 
 My love sincerest has been thy own. 
 
 And still I love thee, nor prize above thee 
 
 The classic Po or Guadalquivir ; 
 My heart grows. fonder whene'er I ponder, 
 
 And think with wonder of thee, bright river. 
 
130 THE EASTERN MONARCH. 
 
 THE EASTERN MONARCH 
 
 An Eastern monarch — I forget his name, 
 
 Nor does it matter much his time or place — 
 
 Held this belief : Some woman is to blame 
 For every evil which befalls our race. 
 
 In fact, he put it thus : No ill betides, 
 
 But what you'll find a woman in the case. 
 
 Who was she ? The first question of this King, 
 
 Whenever any evil might occur : 
 As sure as he could be of anything. 
 
 That, at the bottom, he should find a " her ;" 
 For he was very sure, indeed that madam 
 Had made all trouble since the days of Adam, 
 
THE EASTERN MONARCH. I3I 
 
 It chanced one day that, by the palace door, 
 A band of workingmen an injured brother 
 
 In silent pity towards the doctor's bore. 
 
 "Who was she?" cries the King ^ — ''there goes 
 another !" 
 
 " Who was she?" quoth a satrap — " 'twas a fall ; 
 
 There wasn't any s/ie in this at all." 
 
 " I'll wager," said the King, " ten pounds in gold — 
 And back it up with more, if you are willing — 
 
 Knowing that, when the truth of it is told, 
 
 My purse will take from yours its golden filling. 
 
 Fm sure as I can be, and still be human. 
 
 That at the bottom you will find a woman." 
 
 " Done !" said the satrap. Thus the bet was laid ; 
 
 And straight the monarch sent to all the neighbors 
 To find what 'twas, the accident had made; 
 
13^ THE EASTERN MONARCH, 
 
 And got tJds answer to repay his labors : 
 '^ The feUow was a painter ; on a wall 
 Was working, when he chanced to get a fall." 
 
 " And thus it was, while looking through a shutter, 
 Watching a w^oman making up her toilet, 
 
 All in a trice his heart began to flutter ; 
 
 His grasp gave w^ay, for something seemed to spoil it, 
 
 And then, to make it harder still, and sadder. 
 
 He lost his hold and tumbled off the ladder." 
 
 Despite of fate, the satrap surely lost; 
 
 The monarch put the money in his pocket, 
 And, as the courtier o'er the threshold crossed. 
 
 Looked out to safely close the door and lock it ; 
 Because, as he remarked with humor grim, 
 Some woman might recover it from him. 
 
WAIT. 133 
 
 Alas ! a thousand years have passed since then — 
 A thousand years if 'tis a single minute — 
 
 And yet, whate'er befalls the best of men, 
 You're sure to find there was a woman in it. 
 
 In fact, so long as all mankind are human, 
 
 Some fool will cry : " Who was she? 'Twas a woman." 
 
 WAIT. 
 
 Hardest of lessons taught by fate 
 
 Is the lesson which comes to each lifetime, Wait. 
 
 Action is easy, in the strife 
 
 Which is born with the birth of every life : 
 
 But perfect stillness will daunt the man 
 Who could bravely lead in the battle's van. 
 
1 34 WAIT. 
 
 And he is not always, truly brave 
 
 Who would storm the gates, though they closed his 
 
 Not in the tempest's darkest hour 
 
 Does the soul stand forth in its highest power ; 
 
 Nor does the grandeur of life appear 
 
 When the heart through adverse storms must steer ; 
 
 But noble, and tried, and truly great, 
 
 Is the soul that, in silence and calm, can wait, 
 
 And bear reproaching, and smile at scorn, 
 Knowing the truth at last must dawn ; 
 
 Feeling the hand that holds the spheres 
 Will compass the bounds of the coming years, 
 
WAIT. 135 
 
 And guide the heart to an end elate, 
 
 That, in hope and trust, can watch and wait, 
 
 And feel, and know, as He works His will, 
 That He is God, and it 7imst be still. 
 
 *' Silence is golden — though silver, speech ;" 
 Waiting is jeweled — though action reach 
 
 Out to the common needs of man. 
 And hold his wants in its mighty span. 
 
 P2asy enough it is to sail. 
 
 With the canvas spread to a favoring gale, 
 
 With the prospect fair to the upturned eye, 
 And the smile of God in the summer sky ; 
 
 But when the billows of sorrow roll 
 Deeply and darkly over the soul, 
 
136 THE CENTENNIAL. 
 
 And human deeds, and human thought, 
 
 Are as broken reeds, and as things of naught. 
 
 Blest indeed is that soul's estate, 
 
 That has learned to trust, and to '^ stand and wait." 
 
 THE CENTENNIAL. 
 
 A century since, war's thunder broke 
 Where now the city's spires 
 
 Gleam brightly in June's ambient air, 
 And lit by British fires 
 
 The peaceful homes at Bunker's Hill 
 Went down in dust and flame 
 
 And, marching up the embattled slope. 
 The British soldiers came, 
 
THE CENTENNIAL. I 37 
 
 A hundred years have passed since then ; 
 
 Peace holds the hill to-day ; 
 No batteries, from the Mystic's tide 
 
 Upon the breastworks play. 
 
 The sun of June shines over us 
 
 Warmly on hill and dell, 
 And gilds with light the stone that marks 
 
 <' The spot where Warren fell." 
 
 O tideless sea ! that flows between 
 
 The present and the past ! 
 Bearing us echoes from that shore. 
 
 Where all life's wrecks are cast. 
 
 We hear, above thy murmuring waves, 
 
 The tramp of marching men, 
 And Putnam, with his farmer boys. 
 
 Crosses the Neck again. 
 
138 THE CENTENNIAL. 
 
 And Prescott, with his hoary hair, 
 
 Upon the bank appears ; 
 The echo of his mandate — " Fire !" 
 
 Rings down a hundred years. 
 
 To-day, peace broods upon the hill, 
 
 And on the river wide, 
 Although the tramp of marching men 
 
 Echoes along its side. 
 
 From out the South, the East, the West, 
 
 The land's invaders conae. 
 To blare of trumpet, and of horn. 
 
 And tap of warlike drum. 
 
 Here at our land's Thermopylae, 
 With us they reverent stand, 
 
 Descendants of the men who formed 
 The line of "Maryland. 
 
THE CENTENNIAL. 139 
 
 Sons of the men who, in the South, 
 
 Followed where Sumter led ! 
 We meet as brothers, round the graves 
 
 Of our Centennial dead. 
 
 No North, no South, no East, no West ; 
 
 One land, one people here, 
 The guardians of- our freedom, born 
 
 On this Centennial year. 
 
 The nation's voice in glad acclaim 
 
 Rises without surcease ; 
 The land burns with a loyal flame, — 
 
 This is thy victory ; Peace ! 
 
 O, Boston bells ! O, Freedom's bells ! 
 
 Strike up with one accord, 
 The wide world's grand Centennial hymn, 
 
 '' All nations praise the Lord !" 
 
140 N-i TURKS WORSHIP. 
 
 NATURE'S WORSHIP. 
 
 Come forth with me to where the sea 
 Kneels whitely on its sands : 
 
 The Lord-Christ dwelleth not alone 
 In temples made with hands. 
 
 In every breeze which, through the trees, 
 Sweeps down the forest arch, 
 
 We hear the echo of His step, 
 The music of his march. 
 
 His footsteps, still, are on each hill. 
 
 In nature's heart remains 
 The song, which first the angels sung, 
 
 Above Judea's plains. 
 
nature's worship. I4I 
 
 " Peace on the earth ;" a Savior's birth 
 
 Giveth '' good will to men ;" 
 And earth and sea, and flower and tree, 
 
 Echo the loud Amen ! 
 
 The heart of nature grandly kneels. 
 
 In meekness, on the sod ; 
 And, to the list'ning soul, reveals 
 
 The Fatherhood of God. 
 
 In every breeze that sweeps the plain. 
 
 Each motion of the air. 
 Is heard anew the grand refrain, 
 
 The echo of a prayer. 
 
 And rocks and rills their worship raise ; 
 
 The murmur of the pines. 
 Bears still aloft the voice of praise, 
 
 Adown the waiting lines. 
 
IA2 NATURES WORSHIP. 
 
 Their voices wrap the wide world round, 
 
 While, dumbly, at His gate. 
 With shoes put off, on holy ground, 
 
 The generations wait. 
 
 The groves are sentient, and rejoice 
 With heart-beat high and warm. 
 
 To hear the thunder's awful voice, 
 The chorus of the storm. 
 
 The mists that fold the depths profound, 
 The winds that v/aves upbear. 
 
 Stir the white curtains wrapt around 
 The altar tents of prayer. 
 
 Not blindly is their worship given 
 
 To one who dwells apart ; 
 They offer to the King of Heaven 
 
 The incense of the heart. 
 
NATURES WORSHIP 1 43 
 
 From evening shades, from morning air, 
 
 One common voice distills ; 
 The echo of a deathless prayer. 
 
 The offering of the hills. 
 
 So, nature sends its worship through 
 
 The flower, or tree, or sod ; 
 And every heart-beat, pulsates to 
 
 The heart-beat of its God. 
 
 And earth, in every solemn hall. 
 
 Takes up the prayer again. 
 And man ; the Acolyte of all 
 
 Repeats the loud Amen ! 
 
144 LOST. 
 
 LOST. 
 
 Lost ! lost ! A soul is lost ! 
 Winds of the winter, tempest tossed, 
 Mean and groan in your wailing pain ! 
 For the soul may never be found again. 
 Tempted, and tried, and turned, it fell 
 From the heaven of purity, down to hell ; 
 Turned from home to the dreary street ; 
 No rest, no peace, for the wandering feet ; 
 For when the Rubicon once was crossed, 
 Angels shrieked over her : *' Lost ! lost ! lost !" 
 
LOST. 145 
 
 Out in the street stands the Magdalene, 
 
 With her face averted — " Unclean ! unclean !" 
 
 And her gay-clad sisters go sweeping by, 
 
 Under the arch of the winter sky, 
 
 Sisters ? No ! she has stumbled, fell. 
 
 Theirs is the heaven, hers the hell. 
 
 Do you think they would soil one trailing skirt 
 
 To lift up this fallen one from the dirt ? 
 
 No ! for the head is scornfully tossed. 
 
 And they whisper each other : " Lost ! lost ! lost !" 
 
 Only a woman more or less, 
 To curse the land she was born to bless ; 
 Only a woman sunk in shame, 
 Cursing her life and her Maker's name. 
 Only a woman— God above ! 
 
146 LOST. 
 
 Is there room for such in thy boundless love ? 
 
 Sold to a life of deathless pain, 
 
 For the greed of lust, or the greed of gain ? 
 
 Treading a path with anguish crossed, 
 
 Is this soul forever lost, lost, lost ? 
 
 Lost ! Lost ! No soul is lost ! 
 
 Though the chasm be wide, it is bridged across. 
 
 And spanned by His infinite love and care 
 
 Who heeds the uttered or silent prayer ; 
 
 And the very skirts of this Magdalene, 
 
 O scornful sister ! may be more clean 
 
 In the eyes All-seeing — although you deride — . 
 
 Than yours, so stained with unchristian pride. 
 
 Her draggled soul is a pearl of cost. 
 
 Well worth your finding, though lost ! lost ! lost ! 
 
LOST. 147 
 
 Lost ! lost ! O Christ ! who died 
 
 That the darkest soul might be purified ! 
 
 Dost thou see, from thy beautiful home on high, 
 
 This wandering one 'neath the winter sky ? 
 
 Didst thou see the passion, the pain, the fall ? 
 
 O God, thou see'st and know'st all. 
 
 No erring woman, no sinful man, 
 
 Can mar the work of Thy righteous plan. 
 
 No soul ever cried from the depths where tossed. 
 
 To hear Thee answer : ^' Lost ! lost! lost!" 
 
148 FOUND, 
 
 FOUND. 
 
 I open my door on the Wint'iy mom — 
 
 The air is piercing, and crisp, and cold ; 
 Nothing astir but a man forlorn. 
 
 Ragged and tattered, and poor, and old. 
 Up and down, over dim Broadway, 
 
 I elance — there's no other man or maid 
 I turn to re-enter my house — but stay ! 
 
 What is this, in tlie doorway laid ? 
 
FOUND. 149 
 
 Only a bundle by some one dropped, 
 
 By somebody picked from the street and placed 
 Where the owner's feet may perchance be stopped, 
 
 As he finds his loss to my doorway traced. 
 Stay— here's a note to the bundle tied ; 
 
 Let me read it : 'tis dim and blurred. 
 Heavens ! 'tis a child ! and it might have died ; 
 
 Still, my heart ! be no pity stirred. 
 
 " This is the child of sin and shame ; 
 
 I, its mother, in \vriting this, 
 Connot give it even a name. 
 
 I sear its brow with my parting kiss ; 
 'Tis the fruit of my sin, and fall ; 
 
 And what you would call a man's mistake ! 
 The river runs cold, and — Vv^ell, that's all : 
 
 Only keep it, for Jesus' sake !" 
 
150 FOUxND. 
 
 Pshaw ! it is only the old, old tale — • 
 
 A woman fallen, a man to blame ; 
 I look abroad in the morning pale ; 
 
 What care I for lier sin, or shame ? 
 Why should / take the foundling in ? 
 
 I have myself, enough to keep ; 
 This wide, wide city is full of sin : 
 
 If the mother sows, .why, the child viust reap. 
 
 Here, Policeman, and take the child ! 
 
 There's an asylum for such as she. 
 The blue eyes looked in my own and smiled ; 
 
 And— " No, Policeman !" "Well?" "Let it be!" 
 I look again up and down Broadway — 
 
 What can it be that dims my sight ? 
 The sky is no longer cold and gray, 
 
 And lo ! the morning is filled with light, 
 
FOUND. 151 
 
 Tears unbidden within my eyes ? 
 
 Hark ! 'tis a voice — no ! it cannot be ; 
 As I listen in glad surprise : 
 
 " Let the little ones come to me." 
 Pressing the bundle closer still, 
 
 Back to my room I turn me 'round ; 
 Morn is no longer drear and chill, 
 
 Self is lost and a soul is found. 
 
152 GODS ACRE. 
 
 GOD'S ACRE. 
 
 To Frank Queen, Esq., a man whose kindlj^ tenderness of heart and quiet, 
 unostentatious charity, are known to none better than to the author ; these lines are 
 inscribed by his friend. 
 
 Down in the dusty city, 
 
 Close to its restless heart, 
 Lietli a place of burial. 
 
 Yet from its strife apart. 
 There rest a father and mother, 
 
 Never to v.-ake, or weep, 
 Guarded and kept, by affection, 
 
 Even in death's long sleep. 
 
god's acre. 153 
 
 Close to the place of burial, 
 
 Part of the city's strife, 
 Labors a quiet worker, 
 
 One whom they loved in life. 
 Sometimes his face is lifted. 
 
 Sometimes his thoughts, at best, 
 Turn to the dreamless sleepers. 
 
 There in their last long rest. 
 
 His is a peaceful^manhood, 
 
 For he has fought, and won ; 
 Conquered his way in life's battle. 
 
 Bravely, and cheerfully done. 
 Yet he has moments of sadness. 
 
 Yet he has moments of care. 
 Stirring the laughter of others, 
 
 He has some troubles to bear. 
 
154 GODS ACRE. 
 
 For the AU-pItying Father 
 
 Knoweth that trouble and strife, 
 Touching, and softening, and helping , 
 
 Enter into each life. 
 And when the waves of sorrow 
 
 Enter into his breast. 
 Looks he out from his study, 
 
 There, to the place of rest : — 
 
 Saying : ^' Take courage toiler ! 
 
 Whatever woes befall 
 There is a rest remaining ; 
 
 This is the rest for all." 
 Half by the world unheeded, 
 
 Generous heart, and true. 
 In my own hour of trial, 
 
 Oft' have I thought of you ;— 
 
GODS ACRE. 155 
 
 Thought of your quiet labor, 
 
 Thought of your wiUing hand, 
 Making no boast, but giving 
 
 Freely across the land : 
 Paying the brain of others, 
 
 Sending your wit and jest 
 Out to the world in laughter ; 
 
 Truest of wit and best. 
 
 Still in my thought I see you 
 
 Standing as last we stood. 
 There by the place of burial. 
 
 Half in a thoughtful mood. 
 Tenderest soul, and loving ; 
 
 There as we stood, apart. 
 Caught I a glimpse for a moment. 
 
 Into the depths of your heart. 
 
156 god's acre. 
 
 Some day, the little study, 
 
 Some day, the garden lawn, 
 Will quietly rest in shadow ; 
 
 You will be there, yet gone. 
 Then may the hearts that love you. 
 
 Unto each other tell, 
 '' After life's fitful fever." 
 
 Calmly he sleeps, and well. 
 
THE GRANGERS. I 5/ 
 
 THE GRANGERS. 
 
 Read at the Tri-State Grangers' pic-nic, Williams' Grove, Pa., August 28th, 187 = 
 
 God bless the hardened, honest hand ! 
 
 The hand that reaps and sows, 
 That scatters plenty o'er the land, 
 
 And cradles, plows, and mows ; 
 That digs and delves, and tills the soil. 
 
 On vale, or upland range ; 
 The free and upright sons of toil, 
 
 The Brethren of the Grange. 
 
1^8 THE granger's. 
 
 Their brows are wet with honest sweat ; 
 
 Their hands are clean from wrong : 
 Life's daily work, and daily fret 
 
 But makes them true and strong : 
 Afar from cities, pass their lives, 
 
 They gather here to-day, 
 Husbands and Fathers, Children, Wives, 
 
 To wiiile the hours away ; 
 
 To learn to know each other well. 
 
 To press the friendly hand, 
 To talk of mutual joys, and tell 
 
 Of cattle, crops, and land ; 
 In common interests to share. 
 
 Though strangers, none are strange : 
 They feel for each a friendly care. 
 
 These brethren of the Grange. 
 
THE granger's. I 59 
 
 Their crops are in, their harvest done, 
 
 The Summer well nigh past ; 
 Beneath the fading, August sun 
 
 They gather here at last : 
 For honest work needs honest play ; 
 
 And when the work is o'er, 
 The passing of a cheerful day 
 
 Makes cheerful w^ork once more. 
 
 O blessed bond, that binds each heart. 
 
 And kindles every eye, 
 And gives to each, in each, a part. 
 
 The Grangers kindly tie ! 
 That opens not to man alone, 
 
 And holds no narrow span ; 
 But in its sphere, is woman know^n 
 
 The help-mate of the man. 
 
l60 THE granger's. 
 
 And Ceres binds the burdened sheaves, 
 
 The Husbandman may reap : 
 Pomona shakes her fruity leaves, 
 
 The Gatekeeper may keep 
 His friendly watch for Flora, gay ; 
 
 The maiden of the flowers, 
 The Overseer, and Master, stay 
 
 The footsteps of the hours. 
 
 Tis well at Pic Nic, and at Hall, 
 
 The granger band should meet, 
 There's music in the very fall 
 
 And patter, of the feet. 
 When friends are gathered for the right, 
 
 To council and advise. 
 And means against the wrongful might 
 
 Of enemies, devise. 
 
THE granger's. i6i 
 
 By noble men the stone was placed, 
 
 The Grange foundation stone, 
 Saunders and Kelley, uneffaced, 
 
 Their record shall be shown. 
 Monopoly, beneath their blows, 
 
 Went down into the dust ; 
 Co-operation grandly rose. 
 
 The Farmer's hope, and trust. 
 
 Not theirs alone the honored name, 
 
 For others truly great, 
 Maugher and Thomas share their fame 
 
 Within the Keystone State 
 So Pennsylvania, to-day, 
 
 Stands with an outstretched hand 
 To welcome West Virginia 
 
 And smiling Maiyland. 
 
I 62 THE granger's. 
 
 And now, to-day, you ask for naught 
 
 Save what to you belongs; 
 And while tl\e battle may be fought, 
 
 You will not suffer wrongs : 
 An easy mart, no heavy freight. 
 
 No second hands for you ; 
 A chance for all who work and wait, 
 
 To find their i^ghteous due. 
 
 The ladies join with heart and mind, 
 
 To do their very best. 
 And with the laborers they bind 
 
 With honest zeal and zest. 
 God bless them ! Mother, Maid, or Wife ! 
 
 And naught from them estrange, 
 From now until the close of life, 
 
 The Brethren of the Grange. 
 
THE BALLET GIRL. 1 63 
 
 THE BALLET GIRL. 
 
 Twas night ; and the sparkle and flash of gem 
 
 Rivaled the sparkle and flash of eyes, 
 As, beneath her tinseled diadem, 
 
 a 
 
 Maggie awaited the curtain's rise. 
 Pure were her thoughts as the lily's bell, 
 
 That modestly hid its dainty pearl. 
 Pulsing up to the River's swell, 
 
 Where Maggie had wandered, a careless girl 
 
64 THE B-^LLET GIRL. 
 
 Tinkled the bell ; and, before the crowd 
 
 That waited her coming, she floated out. 
 She heard not the sound of the welcome loud 
 
 That greeted her steps in the merry rout, 
 For the River sparkled before her there. 
 
 Instead of the music's rapid beat, 
 She heard the words of her mother's prayer. 
 
 Through the rhythmic murmur of dancing feet. 
 
 Her heart went back to the happy days. 
 
 To the childish, careless days of yore ; 
 And she trod again in the olden w^ays 
 
 That led her steps to the River's shore. 
 She caught the gleam of the village spire, 
 
 Flashing out in the sunset bright. 
 Like a passing glance of tinted fir e, 
 
 Lit by a spark of the dying light. 
 
THE BALLET GIRL. l6$ 
 
 Once more the passionate music's peal 
 
 Claimed her a moment, the foot-lights' glare 
 Lit her steps in a Highland-reel, 
 
 As she poised and posed, like a thing of air ; 
 Crash of cymbal and blare of horn, 
 
 Wreathing and glancing, her white arms twine, 
 And her footsteps gleam, like the steps of morn 
 
 Lighting the air with a ray divine. 
 
 But Maggie again is a village girl, 
 
 And her heart has gone to the village green. 
 And she heeds not the ballet's rapid whirl 
 
 With the sudden change of the shifting scene. 
 And she kneels at eve by her little bed, 
 
 Pure as a saint, and as undefiled. 
 And a mother's blessing falls on her head, 
 
 For Maggie again is a little child. 
 
1 65 THE BALLET GIRL. 
 
 A mother's blessing ! O heart of love ! 
 
 Taken too soon from your trust below, 
 Bending down from your home above, 
 
 How have you guarded her feet from woe- 
 Guarded her way, and kept her true 
 
 Up to womanhood, chaste and sweet ! 
 If she died to-night she would come to you, 
 
 Pure as she walked in the village street. 
 
 A burst of music, more passionate still, 
 
 Patters her feet to the rise and swell ; 
 She trips once more up the village hill. 
 
 In happy girlhood, and all is well. 
 All is well, for, at that last strain, 
 
 Maggie has paused, and the vital flood 
 Pours through her lips from a ri'ptured vein. 
 
 And the stage is wet with her crimson blood. 
 
THE BALLET GIRL. 16/ 
 
 They said that she loved too well her art, 
 
 But the River had come with its olden tide ; 
 It had found her girlish and softened heart, 
 
 And borne it away on its bosom wide — 
 Borne it away, past the dash and roar, 
 
 Borne it away, past the breaking foam ; 
 For Maggie had gone to the farther shore. 
 
 Folded safe in her mother's home. 
 
1 68 THE TENTING SEASON. 
 
 THE TENTING SEASON. 
 
 The icy chill of Winter dies in the Spring's warm glow, 
 And buttercup and^crocus peep brightly through the 
 
 snow. 
 Across the wooded valley there comes the robin's trill, 
 And, bright with dawning Summer, gleams forth the 
 
 verdant hill. 
 The brook has burst its bondage, the river hurries past, 
 Through banks of emerald frondage, to reach the sea 
 
 at last. 
 
THE TENTING SEASON. 1 69 
 
 Up ! brethren of the spangles ! The wind through oak 
 
 and pine 
 Calls you, with myriad voices, to form in marching line. 
 With chariots and with horses, with bands in full array, 
 An army of amusement, we take the field to-day. 
 No legion of destruction, though bannered, we advance : 
 The warm bright rays of sunshine gleam not on spear 
 
 or lance. 
 
 The ghost of gay Grimaldi stalks onward by our side, 
 And, out from Astley's sawdust, a host of shadows ride. 
 They pour from every hamlet, from every shaded lane. 
 The wraiths of the departed, to join our new campaign. 
 Of clown and bareback rider, some old, and some in 
 
 prime. 
 Cut down by the stern lashing of the ring-master Time, 
 
I/O THE TENTING SEASON. 
 
 Who dealeth with the wise man as with the wiser fool, 
 And calleth both together, to pass from out Hfe's school 
 Into that higher circle, where clown and pri;ice and king 
 May find an equal level in the Eternal Ring. 
 But not with wraiths and goblins we ride alone to-day. 
 And slowly creak our wagons along the weary way 
 
 Our tinsel and our glitter, at best, is but outside, - 
 And sometimes holy memories go with us as we ride ; 
 Memories of the departed, who, in the seasons past, 
 Rode with us in the sunshine or in the chilling blast : 
 At times with drooping spirits, at times with spirits 
 
 bright, 
 They played to crowded houses, or shrank from houses 
 
 light. 
 
THE TENTING SEASON. I/I 
 
 Their graves are by the wayside or in the quiet dell. 
 The player, like the warrior, is buried where he fell : 
 We knew them as no other but players e'er can know ; 
 How, hidden by the laughter, true feeling lay below. 
 'Tis strange how few remember, as on the wagons roll; 
 How^ many a " Knight of Sawdust " bears still a 
 
 knightly soul. 
 The true, the loyal-hearted — what thoughts within us 
 
 surge ! 
 
 O band ! not " Mollie, Darling 1" Instead, a mournful 
 dirge. 
 
 But see, the village opens, and crowds of rustics stare, 
 In wide-mouthed wonder on us, sans soiici, free from 
 
 care ; 
 Bring up the Gilded Chariot, the Grand Procession 
 
 form ! 
 
172 THE TENTING SEASON. 
 
 Where are the mounted Arabs ? We'll take the town 
 
 by storm ! 
 With camels and with Bedouins, v.ith elephant and 
 
 With wonders from the side-show, the gaping crowd 
 
 Crack goes the whip ! The horses prick up their ears 
 
 again : 
 No dust is on the harness, the crowd draws in amain ; 
 The silk and spangles glitter, the horns and trumpets 
 
 blare ; 
 The voice of shouting rustics is heard upon the air. 
 Through dust-clad throngs of gazers, triumphantly v/e 
 
 ride, 
 The people gather to us from all the country side. 
 
HOOKER AT LOOKOUT. 1/3 
 
 They only hear the music, they only see the show ; 
 The true life of the players they little care to know. 
 The throng flows slowly onward, we follow in the way ; 
 The skies are bright cibove us, propitious for the play. 
 With banners gayly flying, we reach the tented plain ; 
 The house is paclied, and croAvded,and — ''Here we are 
 
 HOOKER AT LOOKOUT. 
 
 Up through the dim mists cold and gray, 
 
 General Joe Hooker leads on the way. 
 
 While the wind sighs sadly though larch and pine. 
 
 His word of command rings down the line — '^ Charge !' 
 
 And forward they go, on the bristling foe, 
 
 While the tents of our armies gleam white below. 
 
1/4 HOOKER AT LOOKOUT. 
 
 White-haired veteran and fair-haired child, 
 
 Rank on rank with the slain lay piled. 
 
 And still, on the battle's foremost marge, 
 
 Rang forth the voice of the leader — " Charge ! ! ' 
 
 'Till our troops on high, between earth and sky, 
 
 Planted the flag for which one might die. 
 
 Carnage and slaughter, and fire of hell, 
 
 Nobly and bravely they fought and fell : 
 
 While the cannon's roar, and the musket's clang 
 
 Along the side of the mountain rang. 
 
 Death and destruction, around, above ! 
 
 Ah ! 'tis sweet to die for the land w^e love. 
 
 And there came a pause, a halt ! and then, 
 
 Stood forth the Master — a king among men ! 
 
 And, with reverent mien, and forehead bare. 
 
 Saluted the flag in mid-sky air. 
 
 And said, as he gazed o'er a land made free, 
 
 Thank God ! who giveth the victory. 
 
 Strew flowers o'er every patriot's way 
 
OVER AND OVER. 175 
 
 Who has borne the brunt of our war's long day, 
 Nor, while peace abides in hall and cot, 
 Shall gallant Joe Hooker be forgot. 
 When a grateful people statues raise. 
 To record their hero's might and praise ; 
 Forth from the list, shall in glory stand 
 With the flag of stars unfurled in hand. 
 Keeping its folds undimmed and bright, 
 Gallant Joe Hooker, on Lookout's height. 
 
 OVER AND OVER. 
 
 Over and over, and over again, 
 
 No matter what we may purpose to finish- 
 Work of the fingers or work of the brain — • 
 
 All that we do cannot end or diminish, 
 Wield w^e the hammer or plant we the grain^ 
 Over and over, and over again. 
 
176 OVER AND OVER. 
 
 So, with His purpose, God works in the hours, 
 
 Tarrying not in the cycles that pass ; 
 Sends us His sunshine, and gives us His showers ; 
 
 First the green meadow and then the brown grass. 
 Cometh the reaper, but God clothes the plain, 
 Over and over, and over again. 
 
 Courage, faint heart ! though the labor of years 
 Fade from thy way like a vision of night ; 
 
 Take up thy burden, though watered by tears ; 
 Doubt not the ending shall be in the light. 
 
 Do what He purposes — never complain-- 
 
 Over and over, and over again.