Glass^S/? 15) BookJ ■C^f^Jij Copyright^ /?#7 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. _. j^ni'iiiif _5' MISS LULA BELLE CORPIER. DREAMS AND REALITIES BY LULA BELLE CORPIER SECOND EDITION Nashville, Tenn. : Dallas, Tex. Publishing House of the M. E. Church, South Smith & Lamar, Agents 1909 PS 4-4 a • 11*1 Copyrighted, 1897, by Lula Belle Cobpier. COPYRIGHTED, 1909, BY MARY FlTZPATRICK PRESTON. LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two Covips, Received 'class /4 DEDICATION. TO MY DARLING MOTHER THIS FIRST LITTLE VOLUME OF MY POEMS IS MOST LOVINGLY DEDICA TED, Not for their worth or grandeur, but because of all the world of critics none will judge so tenderly these, my heart children. To you, who have always encouraged and fanned the spark of my ambition; to you, to whom each little manuscript has been taken before send- ing it out into the world; to you, of whose love and sympathy I am always confi- dent—I tenderly inscribe these, my dear- est treasures. LULA BELLE CORPIER. PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION. The preparation of these poems for this little volume was begun about six months ago. They have been written from time to time during the last two years. Even when I began selecting from my poems for this volume, 'the idea of having them in book form was only a sweet "dream," but by perseverance it has become a "reality." In pre- senting them to 'the world I feel, as a fond parent might about a dearly loved child, anxious as to their reception. But if they carry one ray of hope to some troubled heart, one gleam of sunshine to some shadowed life, I shall not have worked in vain. Asking the tender Father of frail humanity to will it so that good may grow out of this small seed, I place them lovingly before the public. „ „ onP? Lula Belle Cokpier. December, 1897. PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION. I think it selfish in me, the mother of the author of these dear little poems, if I do not send them out into the world to cheer some lonely heart and point others to a purer and higher life. My darling is with the angels in heaven. Lula Belle died October 15, 1898. She had begun writing for publication another volume of poems; but leaving her work unfinished, I feel it my duty to have these poems published. I would not call her back to this sin-stained earth, if I could, though sad my heart is without her. I have lived to know that "length of breath is not the sweetest gift God sends to man, but, like the fragile lily, you tear the close-shut leaves apart to find the calyx of gold." So with our lives: the golden thread is twined within. Mattie Grant Corpier. January, 1909. CONTENTS. PAGE Air-Castles 13 If We Could Live Life Over 16 May 18 The Dear Old Violin 19 A Tangled Skein 21 Her Little Hand 23 All in a Year 25 Thine Eyes 26 An Album Verse 27 King Winter . 29 The Picture 30 Longing 33 My White Lily 34 Our Little Schoolgirl in Her Bonnet of Blue 36 Wrecked 38 The Power of Love 40 A Boat Ride 43 Little Miss Vanity 45 " Auld Lang Syne" 47 A Silver Song 48 When My Dreams Come True 49 If We Knew 51 "Forever and a Day" 52 An Autumn Day 55 Work and Wait 57 The Days of Long Ago 58 10 DREAMS AND REALITIES. PAGE- At Twilight 60 Beyond the Hills 61 A Fragment 64 To My Mother 65 "The Science of Forgetting" 67 By and By 69 "A Midsummer Night's Dream" 71 Good Night 72. The Shadows 73 The Enchanted Valley 74 October 76 Two Daisies 77 Nobody Ever Knows 79 Where? 82 The House Across the Street 85 I'm Longing for the Hills 87 Questioning 89 The Dawn of Christmas 91 The Death of the Year 95 The Recompense 98 The Old Apple Tree 101 The Land of By and By 103 Alone, yet Not Alone 105 Alien Lilies 106 He Speaks to Me 108 Autumn Leaves Ill Hands 113 A Dream of Heaven 115 My Darling 116 Just Another Sorrow 118 A Love That Will Not Die 120 Sunrise ..121 An Hour in Eden 123: CONTENTS. 11 PAGE Wishing 126 In a Spanish Prison 127 Drifting I 29 Come Back to Me 130 The Shattered Idol 131 For You 133 Moonlight and Lilies 134 Just a Smile 136 To a Friend 137 For Your Dear Sake 139 The Palace of Silence 140 The Days of Long Ago 143 My Broken Lily 146 As the Years Have Willed 148 Mine— To-Night 149 If You Could Know 151 Trusting, After All 153 Somehow It Will All Come Right 154 Love's Borderland 156 The Last Quadrille 158 Little Sweetheart 162 To a Late Chrysanthemum 163 Adrift I 64 Love Will Find a Way 167 The Things I Love 168 Too Late 171 "The White City" 173 The Shadow of a Dream 176 'Tis Better So 178 The Prodigal Son 180 Contentment 185 He's All the World to Me 188 My First Love 189 12 DREAMS AND REALITIES. PAGE A Sketch 195 Wait 196 Rest 197 My Message 199 Sometime 201 My Hero 202 The Fallen Leaves 205 To 207 Relics 208 The Rainstorm 211 When I Began to Love You 213 To a Flirt 214 The Old Meadow 217 Lost 220 Past, Present, and Future 222 What Is Heaven? 224 A Year Ago To-Night 225 My Ship 229 I Love You 230 After Many Days 232 Since Then 234 Just Longing 236 Silence 238 To a Photograph 240 A Song 242 Somehow It Will All Come Right 243 After 245 DRCAMS AND REALITIES. I AIR-CASTLES. BUILDED a beautiful structure Up to the blue dome of the sky, As I lived in a golden existence, While the long summer days floated by ; On the topmost golden turret Of the castle I carved my name, And the only road to this palace Is the rose-twined ladder of fame. And from all the beautiful windows Streamed a rosy perfumed light, And the world in my glorious vision Had no dark or gloomy night, And I lived in the beautiful summer, Nor dreamed that a chilling blast Would shatter the walls of my castle, And wither its roses at last. 14 DREAMS AND REALITIES. But the winter came, with its chilling wind: As winter always will ; And the fairy vision faded When the babbling brooks were still ; And the hand of disappointment Filled my heart with dull despair, And shattered my wonderful vision, My castle in the air. But I builded again in the springtime A castle of purest gold; And the beauties of its splendors Can never in words be told, For its walls were decked with jewels Fair as the stars above ; It was but a paradise on earth, Built for the god of love. But again the springtime passed away ; The stars faded one by one ; The chilling voice of a cruel fate Said : "Thy beautiful dream is done ; No more to ambition, no more to love, Build thou these visions fair, For every time they must crumble, Your castles in the air." AIR-CASTLES. 15 So I put away the fancy, And turned to the duties of life, Determined to win its battles, And conquer in every strife ; But the summer dreams would come to me, And their spells around me cast, And I builded once more a castle From the ashes of the past. And the walls of this poorer palace Were silvered by hope's pale gleam, And I moved expecting pitfalls, I lived in a waking dream. Once more my castle crumbled, And my heart makes bitter moan, Once more in the winter of sorrow I am left mid the ruins alone. My last bright dream has faded, And shadows, dark and vast, Have arisen out of the sunlight, And their gloom about me cast ; But I wonder if time should heal the wound, And life once more were fair, If I would build another Fair castle in the air. IF WE GOULD LIVE LIFE OYER\. IF we could live life over, the changes we would make ! We would heal the broken-hearted, Nor cause bleeding hearts to break.. But, alas ! the years, they vanish Till the summers all are dead, And at last we find, with sorrow, That our chances all are fled. If we could live life over, the good we all might do ! In the busy whirl of living There is yet a work for you ; There are lives that we might brighten With no effort — just a breath — But we never think about it Till they sleep the sleep of death. If we could live life over, We'd take back the cruel word That broke some heart that loved us, When its mocking scorn was heard,. IF WE COULD LIVE LIFE OVER. 17 We would plead for full forgiveness, We would save long years of pain, We would make some heart much lighter Could we live our lives again. If we could live life over, Ah, the years are on the wing ! And through storm and change and heartache Time ne'er gives us back our spring. Days once gone are gone forever, Life does not in seasons roll, And the summer days and sunshine Come but once to any soul. If we could live life over, the changes we would make ! Down the years this cry is ringing From ten thousand hearts that break. Of your deeds be very careful, Guard with care the words you say, You will wish to live life over, You will want them back some day. 2 MAY. (~X OD sent a little drop of dew ^X Down from its home in the far-off blue, A message of love to the sleeping flowers, Of sunn}' days and cooling showers ; A whisper it gave to the budding trees, As it passed in the arms of the evening breeze, And said : "Awake, once more be gay, For it is May, sweet, sunny May/' The flowers awoke and lifted up Each shining bell and fragrant cup, The bird-choir sang in the apple trees A welcome song to the flowers and bees, The daisies came in gowns of white And crowded the clovers left and right ; The tulips came in hats so gay That every grass blade knew 'twas May. The bee bent over the rose and said Something that made her blush quite red ; The violet lifted her eyes of blue To catch the trembling drops of dew, The bluebird whistled to his mate, "Let's build our nest by the orchard gate f And every breeze-voice seemed to say, iC Be happy again, for it is May." THE DEAR OLD VIOLIN. BEING forth the dear old violin, And softly draw the bow, And let me see if I can feel The joys of long ago. Perhaps the storm of sorrow And the weight of care and pain Would vanish could I listen To its melody again. Bring forth the dear old violin, And play that old, sweet strain, And perhaps the old-time happiness Will flood my soul again. So well do I remember One night, now long ago, When your eyes brought me a message As you softly drew the bow. Outside the clouds were gathering That heralded the storm ; Inside, that gloomy winter's night, At least two hearts were warm, For on the throbbing music There seemed to rise and flow A message from your heart to mine, With the drawing of the bow. 20 DREAMS AND REALITIES. So bring your dear old violin, I long to hear to-night The music that has power to thrill My soul with such delight, And somehow o'er me steals the joy I used to know when Your eyes looked messages to mine Across the violin. A TANGLED SKEIN. ®UE lives are like a tangled skein That we try to untangle in vain, in vain. God gave us our lives in a straight bright thread To weave for heaven a golden web ; And though we have toiled by day and night, The threads are tangled, they are not right. If the past, with its wrongs, we could undo, And begin the weaving all anew, Perhaps we should know how to keep in sight Of the beautiful pattern, and weave aright, And feel to-day no bitter pain That our lives are only a tangled skein. By past mistakes we might learn to guide The threads of gold from side to side, And in the light of the after years The cloth would show no stain of tears, If we could all the knots undo, And begin to weave our lives anew. What is past is past, and the wish is vain To ever untangle the tangled skein ; 22 DREAMS AND REALITIES. Cloth once woven into the web Can never go back and again be thread; So lives where mistakes and successes blend Must bear the stain when the weavings end. But we may strive in the coming years, Though we view our work through falling tears, To keep our threads all straight and bright, And weave the rest of the web aright ; And though the first many knots may hold, Let the last of the web be a cloth of gold. And then when the weaving all is done, And we from the loom of life are gone, Jesus will take the tangled skein And make the threads all straight again. HER LITTLE HAND. ®NE night I held close clasped within my own Her little hand, And silver moonlight through the window shone Like fairyland. Her little hand was fair as the white flower Upon her breast, And warm with life, and full of magic power, As mine it pressed. The room was full of shadows, save the path The moonlight made ; By chance, or some design of fate, we sat Within the shade. A thrill my soul could not resist, Nor understand, Came o'er me, and I bent and kissed Her little hand. The years have fled, with many, many a change, Since then, And life has taught me all the lessons strange That fall to men. 24 DREAMS AND REALITIES. The little hand that lay within my own, With love and trust, Hath lain for years beneath a graven stone, In crumbled dust. But here to-night, when silvery moonlight shone Like fairyland, I seemed to feel again within my own Her little hand. ALL IN A YEAR. AYE AR is short ; the seasons come and go In swift succession, and the winter snow, In silence, soon will shroud through many hours The fields where bloom to-day a thousand flowers. A year is short ; the world that smiles to-day In vernal beauty will be brown and sere, And yet I met you, loved you, lost you — all, All in a year. THINE EYES. THINE eyes first made me love thee, they alone First won my heart and made me all thine own. My heart, too tender to be overwise, Went from me on the love beams of thine eyes, Thine eyes like azure water, willow grown. Thine eyes still make me love thee, they alone, Although our hearts and hands have strangers grown ; All the sweet bliss the tyrant Fate denies I see within thy tender, smiling eyes, Thine eyes like woodland bluebells widely blown. AN ALBUM VERSE. •'"P'HEY touched this page, those slender, boy- L ish fingers, They wrote these words one long-past summer day, And like the echo, faint and sweet, that lingers When the last quivering note has died away, So there comes stealing o'er my heart to-night An echo from the olden days' delight. How well I know the writing, plain and bold ! A thousand memories cluster round each line ; I see your dear face, as in days of old, Your smiling eyes look tenderly into mine. It seems to draw you nearer, very near, When I reread the lines you wrote, dear. To memory's banqueting to-night there came Ghosts of the past that never really slept, Roused by these words : "May my name In fond remembrance evermore be kept." Ah me, within my heart's most tender spot Your name is twined with blue forget-me-not But memory's feast is yet so bitter-sweet, We find so many dregs within the wine, 28 DREAMS AND REALITIES. That we will shrink, and our poor feet Will falter when we enter there to dine ; And yet who would not give up life and all To live again some day beyond recall? I close the book, my eyes are dim with weeping ; Depart, ye ghosts of the dead past who came ; Leave me once more in silence, keeping "In fond remembrance" that one loved name. They haunt me still — old scenes, old joys, old grief, Eecalled by the lines upon this leaf. KING WINTER. WHAT means this wild commotion Of the spirits of the night? And why does Mother Nature wear Her bridal robes of white ? And why is every dark tree dressed In gems a prince might own, Of glittering ice ? It is because King Winter's on the throne. So all the wind went forth to-night, With carpets for each nook, And robes for every hill and dale, And ice coats for the brook, And frost lace spun from cobwebs, And moonbeams intersown, To deck each fence and shrub because King Winter's on the throne. And then the stars will come to light His coronation scene, And every wind-minstrel shall play Soft melodies between; And all the court, arrayed in white, With frost-cold tresses blown, Will bow in humble greeting to King Winter on his throne. THE PICTURE. YES, the face is just the same — Eyes of azure and golden hair — It smiles at me from the quaint old frame That stands on the table there. I can see her just as she was that day, Sweet as a rosebud dipped in dew, Young and happy, merry and gay, Clad in a dress of blue. Under the apple trees, down by the brook, I told her the story so old, yet new, And read my fate at a single look Into her eyes of blue; Read that she loved me, but we must wait ; I was too young to claim her then, So I kissed her and dreamed of a happier fate Than a lonely life and a bachelor's den. Well I remember the little elf ; She was sixteen the very day That she brought me that picture, her dar- ling self, And kissed me and ran away. THE PICTURE. 31 No one could look on that fair young face, And into those eyes of heavenly blue, And dream that her heart could give a place To a thought that was untrue. But even yet I will not blame The idol of my boyhood years, For the pain that to my fond heart came, And the storm of doubts and fears ; For she was caught in the busy whirl Of the world, like a bubble upon a stream ; And it bore away my little girl, Away from the old, sweet dream. She found position and rank and wealth, Her home a palace — a banker's wife — I, robbed of my darling by cruel stealth, Am left to a bachelor's lonely life. But my darling's picture is just the same; Eyes of azure and golden hair; And it smiles at me from the quaint old frame That stands on the table there. And I love her yet, though it may seem That she was false as she was fair ; 32 DREAMS AND REALITIES. For all I have of that old, sweet dream Is her picture standing there. But to me that picture is all in all, For it carries me back to life's dead spring, To days forever beyond recall; And I hear the bluebirds sing, And smell again the sweet perfume Of flowers that faded long ago, # And through the stillness and the gloom Eings the laughter I loved so. I never think of her growing old, With brow that is furrowed and marked by care; To me her tresses are always gold, She is always young and fair. For my darling's picture is just the same, Eyes of azure and golden hair, As it smiles at me from its quaint old frame That stands on the table there. LONGING. LOW in the western sky the sun is sinking, A mass of pink and gold ; And looking toward the west, I'm thinking, thinking, And longing as of old. From out across the fields, in mellow sweetness, The sounds of evening float, But in the music of my life's completeness There is a silent note. From 'mong the hills to where the sunset lingers The first pale shadows creep, And something in my heart the twilight's fingers Have roused from sleep. And though the day was full of peaceful pleas- ure, There comes the old-time pain And longing for a tenderer, sweeter measure, Both sad and vain. Low down the west the last faint tints are dying On beds of blue, And in my heart there is a longing, sighing For love and you. 3 MY WHITE LILY. ^T^HE garden beds are gay with, flowers, «J- The lily buds are white, And from their pearly cups of bloom A delicate and rare perfume Steals out across the night. These lilies, like some pearly keys, Unlock the halls of memory vast ; Like some sweet strain of music fled, Like breath of flowers that are dead, Are the days that now are past. I see again that glorious night, That radiant silver moon ; A fragrance floats upon the breeze That softly stirs the cherry trees, Sweet with the kiss of June. You said : "The first sweet lily bud That blooms I'll bring to you." Now all the summer winds that blow Kiss the lilies' cups of snow, But the promise proved untrue. You said : "Before the lilies bloom, One lily I may bring." MY WHITE LILY. 35 And in the garden of my heart Of all the fair, sweet flowers thou art The fairest and the king. The night wind wafts the sweet perfume Of lilies to me now ; And though they are my favorite flower, These angels of a bright, brief hour Are not so fair as thou. OUR LITTLE SCHOOLGIRL IN HER BONNET OF BLUE. T HEBE'S a dear little lassie about eight years old, With eyes like the bluebells and hair bright as gold, With face like a lily and heart good and true — She's our little schoolgirl in her bonnet of blue. 'Bout eight in the morning, when school bells ring, You see her get ready, the sweet little thing ; And she pins on a flower, still wet with the dew, And ties just above it her bonnet of blue. Then away trips our lassie ; she don't want to wait, For the prompt little darling don't want to be late. She's as sweet little maiden as ever I knew, And looks like a flower in her bonnet of blue. And we turn to go in with her kiss on our lips, And another blown back from her pink finger tips, And we say : "May God bless her, and troubles be few For our little schoolgirl in her bonnet of blue !" We all are school children in life's great school, And often before us there lies some hard rule, OUR LITTLE SCHOOLGIRL. 37 And sorrows surround us and joys are few, From these guard our lassie in her bonnet of blue. Smooth out the rough places before her dear feet, And make all life's school days both happy and sweet, And keep her as pure, as good, and as true As she is to-day in her bonnet of blue. WRECKED. A FLASH of lightning in a midnight sky, An ocean with wild waves that lash and roar, A poor ship, with no help or succor nigh, Struggling amid the breakers, far from shore, With frantic beings roused from midnight sleep To find a grave within the briny deep. The hours pass by, the hurricane is o'er, A few pale stars peep frightened from the sky, The blackened wreck drifts helplessly toward shore ; But 'neath the gurgling waves the sailors lie. The storm was brief ; it was a cruel fate ; The calm came soon, but came, alas ! too late. Ah me ! a life on time's great ocean once set sail, As fair as ever left the Father's care, A life that dreamed of no such word as "fail," Followed and guarded by a mother's prayer. But winds of hate o'ertook the fragile bark, And storms of fate have made its pathway dark. And now, although the cruel storms have passed, And the wild waves have ceased to lash and roar, WRECKED. 39 And the long-prayed-for calm has come at last, It drifts, a helpless wreck, far out from shore, Wrecked, soul and body, by its cruel fate, For peace and calm have come at last — too late. THE POWER OF LOVE. THE master workman made a beauteous harp — A harp of pearl, with strings of pure gold. He studded it with jewels, bright as stars, Yet when he swept the strings the notes were cold. Where was the melody for which he longed ? He burst into a flood of bitter tears ; Something seemed lacking, though the notes were sweet ; Lost was the work of weary, weary years. A wild despair swept o'er the workman's soul ; The harp lay silent like a cold, dead thing ; And he had dreamed the world would pause to hear The melody when once he touched the string. He laid the harp aside ; he stood alone Amid the ruins of his dreams so fair ; Alas ! ambition, when thy fires burn low, So swiftly follows then the dark despair. Years passed. The workman wandered far, In distant lands, and there he learned to love. THE POWER OF LOVE. 41 Earth suddenly became a paradise, He dreamed of bliss like angels know above. But ah, the golden dream was all too brief. He woke to find that he had loved in vain, And in the gloaming of a beauteous day, The broken-hearted wandered home again. And then he thought of that bright dream of fame, And brought forth to the light the harp again. He stood beneath the stars and breathed her name, Then touched the strings ; they quivered as with pain. He thought of her, of her sweet face and smile, And all the while he softly swept the strings ; A melody responded strangely sweet And sad, like songs a wanderer sings. The birds all hushed their songs to hear ; The busy world paused, and the hurrying throng Listened in wonder while the breaking heart Gave vent to its wild sorrow in sweet song. They followed him, like Orpheus of old, The music was so sad, so strangely sweet, 42 DREAMS AND REALITIES. Each note seemed throbbing with a tender love, They clustered, wondering, at the workman's feet. Some heart seemed breaking in each tender chord, Each note seemed glittering with sorrow's tears ; Yet love was in it all — a love so strong, It seemed to be eternal, not of years. And then the workman said : "At last I know The secret which the angels know above, Without it life would be a barren waste, The power that moves the universe is love." A BOAT RIDE. THE moon's asleep, mid shadows deep, In the dusky Southern sky ; And we gently float in our swaying boat, Together — you and I. Now sweet and low, the waters flow, And the spell I would not break ; All the world forgot, in this quiet spot On the bosom of the lake. Row gently, gondolier, Over the rippling stream ; Row gently, gondolier, Fm living in a dream. Float, float, fairy boat, Over the waters wide ; Dream ! dream ! on life's deep stream ; We're drifting with the tide. Now faint, yet clear, there comes, my dear, Sweet music from the shore, And our gondolier, now there, now here, Keeps time with his faithful oar. 44 DREAMS AND REALITIES. The night winds blow as on we go, And with you by my side I halfway long, like the quaint old song. That life were a long boat ride. Row gently, gondolier, Over the rippling stream ; Row gently, gondolier, I'm living in a dream. Float, float, fairy boat, Over the waters wide ; Drift on then forever Over life's changing tide. LITTLE MISS VANITY. LITTLE Miss Vanity looks in the glass Ten times a day, her friends declare, To see if the summer winds that pass Have made her dimpled face more fair. Little Miss Vanity's eyes are bine, Blue as the sky on a summer night, Blue as the violets bathed in dew, Clear as the winter stars and bright. Little Miss Vanity's curls are gold, Gold as threads from the sunbeams spun, They cling with a rippling, shimmering fold To the head they rest upon. Little Miss Vanity's lips are red, Red as the dainty cypress flower, Red as the rose in the garden bed, Sweet with the sun and shower. Little Miss Vanity's voice is clear, Clear and sweet as the bird's in June ; Hark ! how the sound of it charms my ear, Singing that old love tune. 46 DEEAM8 AND REALITIES. Little Miss Vanity, don't you know That to be vain is very wrong ? Little Miss Vanity trills "0 no !" To the tune of the old love song. Little Miss Vanity, don't you know Beauty will fade, like the flowers die ? That time will come when the tress of snow On your beautiful brow will lie ? There are treasures that God has given Into your keeping, fair little one; And they will live in the courts of heaven, When beauty and life are done. They are the wonderful mind, the soul; Better are they than gifts that pass ; They will live while the ages roll ; Turn away from your looking-glass. "AULD LANG SYNE: 1 THEY wonder why I love it — The old step at the door — And why I like to linger there When twilight floateth o'er. 'Tis for the tender memories That round the old step twine ; 'Tis for the sake of some one, and "The days of auld lang syne." The world seems drifting from me, When I sit out there and dream, And sweet fancies, half forgotten, From the past, like starlight, gleam. Olden hopes, and love and longings, Round my heart their fingers twine, And my pulse beats to the music of "The days of auld lang syne." There the air is fraught with memories On a starry summer night, When the leaves are all a-whisper And a-flutter with delight. Ah, some dreams are very real, But when morning sunbeams shine Once more I leave behind me "The days of auld lang syne." A SILVER SONG. SWEETHEAKT, the spring has come again, The hills and dales are dressed in green, The flowers nod to the passing breeze, The birds sing in the budding trees. But one song sings my happy heart : " 'Tis paradise where'er thou art." Blow, blow, south winds, blow ! summer, don't be long ! For every morn with its golden haze Brings nearer and nearer thy sunny days, And life is a silver song. The robin swings in the lilac tree, And sings to his mate, "Come, love, with me;" The bee tells to the blushing clover The sweet old story, over and over. And I wonder, love, where'er thou art, If it is summer in thy heart. Blow, blow, south winds, blow ! Waft my boat along. For every kiss of the silver sea Brings nearer and nearer my love to me, And life is a silver song. WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE. WHEN my dreams come true, when my dreams come true, My heart's best love I may offer you, For I shall have wealth at my command, And ships at sea, and fertile land, And pile upon pile of golden store, And jewels — a kingdom's worth and more. But, best of all, I shall have you, When the sweetest dream of my life comes true. When my dreams come true, when my dreams come true, What is there then that I cannot do ? For I shall have a wondrous fame, And the world shall pause when it breathes my name. I shall count my friends by the hundred score. (With the fortune-favored, 'tis always so) ; But best of all, it will bring me you, When my dreams come true, when my dreams come true. When my dreams come true, when my dreams come true, My sweetest dream I'll tell to you, 4 50 DREAMS AND REALITIES. It is that, without the world's vain charms, You will drift some day to my waiting arms, And I shall be loved for myself alone, Though riches and fame are both unknown. With these or without them, that I may have you Is the sweetest dream that could e'er come true. IF WE KNEW. IF we knew at the beginning All the woes we have to bear ; If we knew for years before them All our heartaches and our care — Would not many of us falter? Would we not shed bitter tears If we could read on before us All the story of the years ? Would not many bruised feet stumble, As we press life's thorny way, With no sweet hope to sustain us, Of a coming, brighter day ? Could we struggle on with courage If we knew what storms await ? Would we not give up the journey Ere we pass life's morning gate ? So I think it is the wisdom Of the Father's tender love, That has made the mystic future All unknown and yet to prove. So 'tis best that we accept it As our Father's loving plan ; Leaving to him all the future, Live, to-day, the best we can. "FOREVER AND A DAT." SAID I, "Priscilla, darling, how long will you be true? Can you love a sailor laddie far away upon the blue?" The sky was fair above us, and across the sapphire sea The sunset threw a path of gold. Near by a lazy bee, Rocked in a wild rose cradle, and the murmur of the waves Sent a kind of drowsy echo to that quiet place of graves. The golden head was lifted, and the sweet eyes sought my face. Said she: "Yon moss-grown gravestone marks a woman's resting place. It gives her name and age, and then 'She was a faithful wife Through all the joys, cares, and pains of forty years of life.' Now she was faithful forty years; I will be true, dear one, As long as she, whoe'er she be, who sleeps beneath this stone," 53 We pulled the clinging vines away, and, eager, looked between. Upon the gray stone were the words: "Priscilla, aged nineteen." My darling raised her eyes to mine; I saw a tear- drop fall. "She was Priscilla, too," she said; "but she was not true at all." That night we sat upon the steps of the house be- side the sea, Priscilla's aunt within the door, my darling close to me. And she said : "Tell me, auntie dear, the story, if you will, Who was 'Priscilla, aged nineteen/ who sleeps upon the hill?" "She was a kinswoman of yours, dear child," her aunt replied, "Who lived and loved and suffered long years ago, and died; She loved a sailor laddie, and would have been his wife, But his ship went down at sea one day, and she soon left this life." My darling's hand crept into mine, her voice was full of tears: 54 DREAMS AND REALITIES. "I was wrong ; her love was stronger than the love of forty years. Her love was one that took her life when he had gone away; She did not love for weeks and years, but 'forever and a day/ " And then I said : "You promised to be true as she was true." She answered softly : "So I will ; I'll love forever, too." AN AUTUMN DAY. LIKE some fair, blushing maid In bright attire dressed, The old world is arrayed Now — in her best. In crimson, green, and gold, Like Joseph's gorgeous coat, The trees their flags unfold, And wave and float. The hills, in purple mist, To greet the sun are dressed ; All sparkling and dew-kissed, He leans upon their breast. And as he climbs the blue, Below a glad bee hums, Because he's found a bed Of gold chrysanthemums. i And in the maple tree A gleeful, feathered throng Is trying to select Their "good-by" song. 56 DREAMS AND REALITIES. And summer seems to pause On hill and field and sky, And lingers yet, because She soon must fly. Adown the western sky, Like limpid, amber wines, In cups of crimson dye, The sunset shines. And from the east, pearl-pale, The stars come, one by one, Then night, swift on their trail, And day is done. WORK AND WAIT. THOUGH 'tis night above, abound you, Light will dawn, though it come late ; Keep up heart while in the darkness, Work and wait. Though your dreams seem all beyond you, We can sometimes change our fate ; Perseverance worketh wonders, Work and wait. Give not up your pet ambition, Struggle on, and, soon or late, Fair success will crown your efforts, Work and wait. THE DAYS OF LONG AGO. ©YEAES that have come, years that have gone, Pause a moment as yon go, Turn backward the pages in life's great book, And make me a child once more. 0, I sigh for the days of long ago, When my heart was as light as air, When childhood sorrows, like April snow, Melted beneath sunshine fair ! give me back the violet's blue, By the meadow brooks' silvery gleam, And the sweet wild flowers that always grew Where the willows kiss the stream ! And my childhood playmates, where are they ? Have they found life full of woe ; Or have they found it the golden dream That we thought it long ago ? The day is cold with wintry chill, And dark with the falling rain, And my heart is weary and clamors still For the dreams that it dreamed in vain. The childhood days were made so sweet By freedom from thought of care, THE DAYS OP LONG AGO. 59 And those wonderful visions I had e'en then, The castles in the air. give me back the childhood joys, And the loves that I knew then, And the childish faith and the simple trust That I had in my fellow-men ! 0, 1 long to-day for the sweet old days When hearts were fondly true, And I trod the sun-clad, flower-decked ways That my happy childhood knew. They are gone, all gone, the joys of old, The home and its sunny nooks, The hours of play the livelong day, The flowers and rippling brooks. They are gone, all gone, the childish loves, And the comrades I played with then, And the simple trust and the pure faith That I had in my fellow-men. For the rainbow dreams of childhood years Have faded, as all dreams must ; And the castles of air, though wondrous fair, Have crumbled in the dust. And the day is cold with wintry chill, And dull with a mist of rain, And my heart is weary and clamors still For the dreams that it dreamed in vain. AT TWILIGHT. ■HP* HE day may bring to me its fleeting pleasures, «JL Or cares and sorrow, as my lot may be. They sink to rest when purple shadows lengthen — At twilight, dear, there comes a thought of thee. The day dies out in clouds of ruby splendor, The noisy crows fly homeward o'er the lea, A hazy veil rests on the distant woodland — The twilight hour has come with thoughts of thee. And o'er my soul there comes a longing sadness, That I too, like the crows, might homeward fly, And be with one I love when twilight shadows Float like pale mist across the evening sky. BEYOND THE HILLS. THE silver twilight rests upon the meadows, And in the fields of heaven blooms forth a star, And from the hilltops, with their purple shadows, Strange voices seem to call me from afar, Saying that rest from all life's cares and ills Is waiting for me there, beyond the hills. hills, what are you always hiding, hiding? My restless, longing heart cries with despair. The want that, with me, ever is abiding Would vanish, could I reach that genial air. My heart with sudden, rapturous wonder thrills, When I think of the world beyond the hills. Beyond the hills the great world's heart is beating, Its massive wheels are always moving on, And tides of human life are parting, meeting, Till world and time and busy life are gone. Somewhere there is a place, fate for me wills, In that great world beyond the purple hills. I stretch my arms in pleading prayer at even To those majestic hills that bar the way, 62 DREAMS AND REALITIES. And while the countless stars smile down from heaven I whisper, "They will come another day" — The joy and peace from all life's little ills, That wait somewhere beyond the silent hills. And when my heart is wrung by pain and sorrow That I can tell to none for sympathy, I think that with the dawning of the morrow The love for which I long may come to me, And all my heart with answering love fills, For some one out beyond those distant hills. And when the morning comes with cloud-rifts breaking, And sunshine kisses all the world with glee, I try to think, although my heart is aching, That with the evening it may come to me — The love that every heartache soothes and stills, That must be somewhere out beyond the hills. But still the purple hills are hiding, hiding My treasure from my longing, waiting sight, And with me still the old pain is abiding, And once again the daylight dies in night; And I cry out, with pain that never stills : "When will it come ?"— the peace beyond the hills. BEYOND THE HILLS. 63 So day by day the wheels of life are turning; In the old ruts they're turning day by day, And with me lingers yet that ceaseless yearning That by its grinding wears my life away. Sometimes I cry that from these pains and ills There is no rest beyond the silent hills. And then a voice whispers : "Wait still longer ; For every care and sorrow there's an end." And my poor fainting heart grows strangely stronger : Beyond the hills I have, at least, one Friend ; So I can wait His coming till He wills — For heaven lies beyond those silent hills. A FRAGMENT. THERE'S a chill in thy breezes, Summer ! There's a gloom in thy sun's brightest ray, There's a blight on the buds and the blossoms, Since somebody's gone away. There's a note of despair in the bird's song, There's a cloud in the heart of the day, There's a feeling of loneliness all the day long, Since somebody's gone away. There's a throb of regret in the morning, There's a loss in the night shadows gray, There is longing and love for somebody, Since somebody's gone away. TO MY MOTHER. YOU are not here, sweet mother dear, And yet I feel, despite the gloom, Yonr precious presence in my room, And I know yonr heart is here. Just yesterday you went away; But every hour seems an age When one loved face, on memory's page, Holdeth such constant sway. And when the sun his course has run, To-morrow you'll be here, And I shall clasp you, mother dear, And loneliness be done. What would I do, dear, if I knew That you would come no more, That all my waiting never would be o'er ? Ah me, what could I do? The sweet daylight would turn to night, And from the shadow of thy tomb Would spread an everlasting gloom That life could ne'er make bright. 5 66 DREAMS AND REALITIES. And yet I know that one of us must some- time go Across death's cold and narrow sea, From time unto eternity, And leave the other here below. If it be you, heart most true ! I would not, could not tarry long, Till from life's discord to the land of song My soul should follow you. If it be I that first am called upon to die, Close by the portal of the golden gate My soul should stand and watch for thee and wait, Though centuries passed by. We do not know, and it's better so, Which one shall face the vast eternity, And leave the other here alone to see Days of unending woe. But this I know : I love thee so That even out beyond death's sea, Beyond life, to eternity, My love shall reach and go. "THE SCIENCE OF FORGETTING." ©MOTHER NATURE, well I know That thou art rich in treasure ; That thou hast jewels all aglow, And beauties without measure. Thou hast the mountain heights sublime, The glowworm's burning ember ; Thou hast the flowers of bonny May, The snows of bleak December. Thou hast the sun-kissed rivulet, Thou hast the storm-tossed ocean, And all thy throbbing heart is full Of life and glow and motion. Thou hast the sunset's golden gleam, Like gem in azure setting, But hast thou any, anywhere The science of forgetting ? wisest sages that have lived Since man began life's story, ye who over musty books Have bent till ye are hoary, Have ye e'er found a word that said A soul may cease its fretting ? In any volume, did you learn The science of forgetting ? 68 DREAMS AND REALITIES. traveler from beyond the sea, Thou hast crossed hill and river, tell me, didst thou find a spot Where heartaches die forever ? Where olden memories haunt us not, Our daily lives besetting; Is there a land where man can learn The science of forgetting ? wise astronomers who read Upon the page of heaven The history of other worlds The golden stars have given, Do you not learn from those bright guides, When other lore you're getting, The lesson all mankind would know, The science of forgetting ? Is there a time in human life When past woes sleep forever? 1 throw the question out in space, And Time makes answer, "Never." Perhaps when many years have fled, Time's magic, soothing finger May smooth griefs jagged edge away, But memory still will linger. BY AND BY. HOW little all these things will seem, By and by ! These clouds that shut out the sunlight's gleam Will vanish away like a midnight dream, Or a bubble lost on the rushing stream, By and by. These cares in the light of the after years, By and by; These things o'er which we grieve with tears, How soon the weight of them disappears When the sun shines forth and the tempest clears, By and by ! That trouble that almost breaks your heart, By and by; That thing which seemed of your life a part, That the loss of left such a cruel smart, You will grieve less over, after Time's art, By and by. We will smile some day at the woes we've had, By and by; We will laugh at things we once thought bad, At things o'er which we were grieved and sad, And feel that our lives are happy and glad, By and by. 70 DKEAMS AND REALITIES. the changes that Time can make, By and by ; The eyes that weep and hearts that ache In the light of the future some day'll awake To find that hearts are hard to break, By and by. Of course there are things we never forget, By and by; But the little worries o'er which we fret, That little unkindness that stings you yet Will pass away without regret, By and by. Look up and wait for a brighter day By and by; When all these clouds shall have rolled away, And we can look back o'er our lives and say, "There were some threads golden as well as gray/ By and by. "A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM." THE moon hangs low in the western sky, And the world is all asleep, Save where the breeze goes whispering by, A watch with the stars to keep. The flowers lean with a weight of dew On their beds of velvet green ; And a ghostly light in the dew-damp night, The glowworm burns between. And the fairies come from the world of dreams To dance 'neath the moonlit trees, To the music of the mock-bird's song That floats on the summer breeze. And they stoop and kiss the sleeping flowers, But never a bud they wake ; Then away they float in a seashell boat Over the silver lake. And I call to you across the night, And the miles that lie between; "The world is sweet and the moon's soft light Falls fair on the dewy green," And I long for the touch of your hand in mine In the hush of the summer night, And your eyes' soft beam, though but a dream, Would fill me with delight. GOOD NIGHT. eOOD night, sweetheart. Across the sunset bars There comes a glimmer of the evening stars; And o'er the glorious sea of amber light I send you, as of old, a fond good night. Good night, sweetheart. The darkness dawns apace; But if it holds but one glimpse of your face, No night could e'er be darkness, love, to me, In which your darling face I once could see. Good night, sweetheart. Life's day is fading fast. Its storms and sorrows soon will all be past, But in the shadow of the coming night I send you, as of old, a fond good night. THE SHADOWS. I WAS painting a picture of roses, Dainty and pink and sweet; And I thought as I worked: " 'Tis the shadows That make the picture complete." Each one of our lives is a picture ; We are painting it day by day ; And if at last it is perfection, It must have the tints of gray. So the Master, the great Art Teacher, Sends us pains that are hard to bear, And heartaches — because in our picture A shadow is needed there. For the pains and the heartaches are shad- ows, That dull rosy pleasure's bright tone ; And we grumble, not knowing our picture To a higher perfection has grown. So when to us cometh a heartache, And the loss of things we held sweet, Remember, 'tis only the shadows That make the picture complete. THE ENCHANTED VALLEY. [This poem was suggested by a beautiful sermon preached by a minister friend.] HAST thou heard of the valley enchanted, Where the birds have forgotten to sing, And amid the soft bine of the heavens Have pansed upon motionless wing ; Where no breeze ever stirs the green forest, No leaf ever falls from a tree, No flower ever answers with blushes The love song of bird or of bee ? Where no sound of the ripple of waters Ever breaks on the cold, silver sand; Where no burst of triumph or tumult Ever reaches this wonderful land ? 'Tis the valley of waiting and silence ; And though His so perfect and fair, There is danger in breathing the perfume That rests in the motionless air. For, like some strange balm of a wizard, It lulls heart and soul into sleep, And we rest all contented, not knowing We are held by a power so deep. And we sit with our idle hands folded, While the sirens are weaving the chain That is mighty, though made just of roses, To bind us again and again. THE ENCHANTED VALLEY. 75 And they feed our hearts with illusions, Vain hopes that are tempting and fair, And we drink deep the cup that they offer, Not knowing its dregs are despair. Are you wandering, friend, in this valley ? Are you captive, yet think yourself free? Let me warn you to throw off the fetters That bind you so firmly, and flee. You think that the cords are of roses, You can break them whenever you will ; But like the iron chains of the captive, Though you break them, the scar is there still; " And if to-day you are wearing A chain, howe'er fragile it be, That binds some sin closer about you, While you can, throw it off and be free. You think that some day you will do it, And know not that with every hour That passes away in inaction Your captor is gaining in power. Begin now ; be deeply in earnest, And slowly but surely you'll win, If you try with the Lord for your helper To throw off the slave chains of sin. OCTOBER. WHEN the sun is bright and golden, And the sky is soft and blue, When the leaves at early morning Bear no weight of shining dew, When upon the distant hilltops Seems to rest a smoky cloud, Veiling stately forest monarchs In a shifting, shimmering shroud — Then it is the glad, sweet autumn, Fairest time of all the year, And the beauty all around us Seems to say: "October's here." When upon the ground beneath us Is a carpet red and gold, When each lowly wayside flower Twice its sweetness doth unfold, When from every hedge and woodland Nods the feathery golden-rod, And the birds among the branches Praises sing to nature's God — Then it is the glad, sweet autumn, Fairest time of all the year, And the beauty all around us Seems to say : "October's here." TWO DAISIES. SOFTLY the birds in the meadows are singing, Flitting mid boughs that are laden with dew, Slowly a butterfly onward is winging, Seeking forever something that" s new ; Down by the fence, in the leafy trees' shadow, The first sweet daisy looks up to the light, Gold is its heart, and its long starry petals Are pure as winter snow, drifted and white. Stooping, I pluck it, this first pure daisy ; In my heart thrills a memory of old ; Scenes that are vanished drift now before me, Out from the daisy's bright heart of gold ; Gone are the hills and the birds' silvery singing ; Gone is the meadow brook's ripple and gleam ; Up, like an echo of strains that are silent, Floats once again that old, happy dream. Out from the midst of those starry white petals Eises a vision of days that are fled, And I am living again for a moment One sweet May day whose daisies are dead. In a book, with some poor, withered flowers, I have a daisy whose sweetness is gone, Just a relic I keep in memory Of that May day now so long flown. 78 DEEAMS AND EEALITIES. Just a rare little bright-eyed daisy, Just a sweet wild flower somebody wore ; Only a dream of a dream that is faded, Faded and gone from my life evermore. Stooping, I kiss its long pure petals, Kiss for the sake of that daisy of old, And to this daisy a secret Fll whisper That to nobody ever was told. NOBODY EVER KNOWS. '"HP* IS not the mighty troubles J- That keep the soul oppressed ; 'Tis the little cares and heartaches, And that feeling of unrest; 'Tis that nameless, ceaseless longing That through human hearts still flows ; 'Tis the hopes that fade and wither That nobody ever knows. There are dreams like glorious sunsets, Eich in tints of red and gold ; For a while they blaze before us With a glory never told ; Then we find a tiny shadow Like the thorn upon the rose, And the golden dream is shattered, But nobody ever knows. We must crush away the heartache, On our faces wear a smile, Make believe that we are happy, Though our hearts ache all the while. This old world receiveth gladly One who smiles where'er he goes ; Hence so many smiling faces Hide a sorrow no one knows. 80 DREAMS AND REALITIES. the lofty aspirations That are crushed and put away, While the heart with sinking courage Struggles with its cross to-day ! Painter's brush and song of poet Tell the beauty of a rose, But no words can tell the glory Of those dreams that no one knows. the wild, the nameless yearning That is throbbing through my soul ! Thoughts are there like unset jewels, But they cannot outward roll, Words are lacking, words are feeble ; And a rippling music flows Through and through my inmost being, That nobody ever knows. Had I wings more strong than eagle's, I might sail through seas of space, And upon some far-off planet, In some distant secret place, Find the power to set to music That sweet song that through me flows- Thrill the world to its deep center With a joy that no one knows. Have I said that no one knew them — All our heartaches and our cares, NOBODY EVER KNOWS. 81 All our lofty aspirations, And our faintest whispered prayers ? There is One who low is bending, And He heeds our slightest woes, Sees the tears that fall in secret ; Every care we have He knows. He will share our every sorrow, He is promised for our Guide, And at last He'll safely lead us Out upon the other side. Take to Him your doubts and longings, He will hold you by the hand, Every heartache that you tell Him He will know and understand. WHEREt WHERE are the flowers gone to — The blossoms we used to know ? Where are the birds that used to sing In the summers of long ago ? Where are the golden peaches, And the red-cheeked apples too ? Where are the amber-colored pears, And the grapes of dusky hue ? Where are the sweet, white daisies That kissed the wandering feet ? Where are the fair June roses That made the world so sweet ? Where are the strains of music Whose echoes e'en are dead? Where are the smiles and glances, And the words that once were said ? Are they lost ? Over Time's river There is a mystic land, And in the boat of memory We may sail to its golden strand. We may catch the wash of the waters As they kiss the shell-strewn sand ; In the beautiful land of the "used-to-be" My castle towers stand. WHERE ? 83 The grass is soft to the weary feet, Not a single thorn in view, The way is sweet with flowers Of every kind and hue. The birds sing in the branches That sang in the days gone by, And the lilies tall, by the castle wall, Smile up to the azure sky. Knee-deep in the perfumed clover We stand with a sense of rest, While the crescent moon, like a silver thread, Hangs low in the glowing west. And I hear the sweet, low music That I heard in the days of old, And the voices of old friends whisper That love that once was told. 0, a wonderful land is the "used-to-be," Where friends are ne'er forgot; Where hearts are true and sorrows few — 'Tis a blest and lovely spot. When you weary of life around you, Step into the light canoe, And there with memory for your guide Sail over the waters blue. And beyond the rippling river Step out on the shining strand, 84 DREAMS AND REALITIES. And wander at will, and drink your fill Of the joys of that fair land. You will find all you used to cherish, All life's faded flowers you'll see ; So sail away — you know the way — To the land of the "used-to-be." fl THE HOUSE ACROSS THE STREET. THERE'S a hush in the house across the street, And a kind of chill in the summer air ; And I hear the muffled tread of feet Come slowly down the winding stair. And I see white ribbon and snowy crape Float out on the breeze from the closed door ; And I know that a baby's dimpling smile Will brighten the gloom of that house no more. And in the dusk of the summer eve I see the mourners with faltering tread Come silently back to the darkened house, Whose light and life is dead. And I know that a mother weeps alone, And longs for the touch of those fingers sweet, That hold in their frozen, silent clasp The joy of the house across the street. There's another house across the street, I can see from the other side of mine ; From it comes the sound of dancing feet, And the lamps all glow and shine. 86 DREAMS AND REALITIES. I can hear the wail of the violin, And the voice of the fiddler's "prompt and call," And I know that all is joy within, For to-night is a young girl's debut ball. And I think of them in their merry glee With the lights and music and flowers sweet ; How little they care, it seems to me, For the heartache across the street ! How little we care for our neighbor's woe, While pleasant still is the cup we take ! How little we care for the tears that flow, And the suffering hearts that ache ! We should sorrow more with our fellow-men, For the tears of sympathy are sweet. We should feel a touch of pity and love For those in the house across the street. For the blessed Master, long ago, When he wept for Lazarus, showed how sweet It is our pity to bestow On the house across the street. I I'M LONGING FOR THE HILLS. 'M longing for the hills, the* dear old verdant hills, Within whose shadow I was wont to roam; Whose quiet, restful calm Would soothe me like a psalm; 0, I'm longing for the dear old hills of home ! I'm longing for the hills, the grand, majestic hills, That always seem to whisper "Peace" to pain; Whose wondrous, patient strength Could ease my heart at length ; 0, I'm longing for sight of them again ! I'm longing for the hills, the towering, silent hills, Upon whose brow the white clouds seemed to rest; They stand so firm and sure, In calm or storm secure ; 0, I long to lay my head upon their breast ! I'm longing for the hills, the purple, mist-crowned hills, Across which oft the summer birds have flown; Where I've gathered daisies white, In the hour of gloaming light ; 0, I'm longing for the dear old hills of home ! I'm longing for the hills, the rugged, rock-ribbed hills: 88 DREAMS AND REALITIES. They were my friends in golden days long fled. I have sought their silence sweet, When life seemed nigh complete ; I have sought them when the summer dreams were dead. I'm longing for the hills, the dear old towering hills, Whose snow-clad heights have seen my happiest hours, Where I wandered oft to dream By some purling, crystal stream, And found along its banks sweet autumn flow- ers. I'm longing for the hills, the glorious, dew-kissed hills, That have echoed to my songs and sighs and prayer; 0, the world is wide and bright, But no spot can so delight, No other place will ever seem so fair. I'm longing for the hills, the sheltering, restful hills, As I've seen them wrapped in silvery moonlight ; Though I am so far from home, I long to backward roam, And rest in peace among those hills to-night. QUESTIONING. ©FATHER, tell me, is it always so, That when hath faded all the sunshine fair The place a darker, denser gloom doth know Than if the glory never had been there? A little dream of joy, like a thread Of gold, amid a somber web of gray, Lived once adown a life, and now is dead, And e'en its glory shadow passed away. And o'er that life crept shadows strangely back. And silence followed discord — after song — Until adown its chilled and darkened track, A gloomy waste, it barren stretched along. Is it the memory of that far-off day That makes it darker than it would have been ? Like lips that once have known and loved to pray Seem deeper scarred when they are steeped in sin. tell me, will the darkness ever lift? Will time come when to think will not be pain? 90 DREAMS AND REALITIES. Adown life's current will the frail bark drift Back to the sunshine glory once again ? Or if not that, from out the web of night, Will silver threads be spun instead of gold ? Will something come to make its pathway bright And warm the heart that hath so long been cold? Methinks 'tis so. A stronger, truer love Than man can give is guiding yet our lot ; His tender eye is watching from above, And "peace" will come, for He forsakes us not. THE DAWN OF CHRISTMAS. NIGHT in a far Eastern village, Where the palms and olives grow, Had come with its usual splendor, Once in the long ago ; And out on the hills, in silence, The faithful shepherds kept Their watch o'er the flocks, safe folded, While all the village slept. When, lo ! from the azure heavens Streamed a glorious light afar, Like the glory of the noonday — 'Twas a new and wondrous star, And the gates of heaven were opened, And a sweet, clear, angel voice Began to tell a message That has made the world rejoice. The sweetest, tenderest message That ever the world has known Was told to the lowly shepherds On the hills of Judea lone. "To you, in the city of David, A Saviour is born this day" — These were the joyful tidings, That took their fear away. 92 DREAMS AND REALITIES. And then the angel choir Began a glad new song, And the trembling stars reechoed The praise as it rolled along. "Glory to God in the highest," The shining thousands sang: "On earth peace, good will toward men," From heaven's arches rang. And the shepherds sought the Saviour, Who in a manger lay — The world's blessed Redeemer, Who taketh all sin away. And from the East the wise men Had journeyed from afar O'er seas and arid deserts, Led on by the wondrous star — To find at last in a manger The newborn King they sought ; And they worshiped him and gave him Rich treasure that they had brought. So there, in a lowly stable, With the cattle by his side, Was born the world's Redeemer, The King of the Christmastide. And down through the mist of ages That have passed o'er this sin-stained earth THE DAWN OF CHRISTMAS. 93 Have been hearts that delighted to honor The day of the Saviour's birth, And give to the poor and lowly, And to those whom Fate has blessed, Good gifts. But, friends, remember That God's own Gift is best. For he gave heaven's fairest Jewel, On that first Christmas morn, When in a lowly stable The Prince of Peace was born. God gave his Gift to the shepherds, As well as the great wise men; Christ came to all the nations, As well as to Bethlehem. So light the moss-grown Yule log, And scatter your Christmas cheer, For the gladdest, happiest season Of all the year is here; Give gifts to friend and neighbor, And help the children sing, And make some poor heart lighter, While Christmas bells shall ring. Speak words that are kind and loving, Let none in anger fall, For the Prince of the Christmas season Was gentle and kind to all; 94 DREAMS AND REALITIES. And while we honor his birthday Let us strive to be more like him Who came to the high and lowly To bless and to save from sin. Let us strive to follow the pathway That his pure feet once trod, Which, though strewn with pains and crosses, Leads up to the throne of God, • Where, with the ransomed thousands, His praises forever we'll sing: "Glory to God in the highest, And glory to Christ, our King P THE DEATH OF THE YEAR. WILD is the night and inky black the sky, In fitful gusts the wind goes sweeping by ; A struggling moonbeam, piercing through a cloud, Hides back, affrighted, at earth's cold, white shroud ; The naked trees bend at the north wind's breath That comes to-night, a messenger from death. The year lies dying. All the lights are low, And in the hollow darkness he must go. Out from their graves the years all dead and gone Come like pale ghosts, borne by the storm, And cluster at the dying hero's side, To bear him o'er the ocean dark and wide. He gasps for breath, and struggles, all in vain ; That which is old can ne'er be young again ; Then, miserlike, he seeks to rise once more, That he may revel in his hoarded store. Great wealth has he, this robber of the heart, Treasures he tore away that left a smart. Smiles torn from lips that ne'er will smile again, Tears, pure as pearls, wrung from some heart in pain, 96 DREAMS AND REALITIES. And vows of love that were some heart's delight Lie with the dying miser's hoard to-night ; And roses that once bloomed on beauty's cheek, And strength that left the loser, so weak ! Were yon not rich enough, heartless year, To leave me those few things I held most dear ? Or did you take a pleasure in my pain ? My simple treasures were not much to gain, And yet, old dying year, I prized them so, It wrings my heart, I cannot let them go. They were the gifts you gave me when a child, Sweet glances from bright eyes, and lips that smiled. And — my bright wealth is gone. I need not tell Of what you robbed me, that I loved so well ; 0, give me back my treasure ere you go To your last sleep beneath the frozen snow. I thought you were my friend when first you came, And ever and again I blessed your name. You gave me something that became so dear I scarce can let it go, old dying year ; And then you took your gift away from me, And I am tossed upon an unknown sea. give me back, I pray, the nights of June, The fragrant flowers heavy with perfume ; THE DEATH OF THE YEAH. 97 And one March day, so laden with delight — Give them, give them back to me to-night ! And sweet September — must they all, all go, And leave me in a wilderness of woe? The night grows wilder and the winds more lond, The frightened moon creeps underneath a cloud. The golden sands of life are nearly run ; A few more moments, then his life is done ; From his cold hands his stolen jewels fall, He struggles now no more, but waits the call. He lifts his cold, wan face for one more breath, And feels about him close the arms of death ; The winds go sweeping through the boughs o'er- head, Bearing this message : " '95 is dead/' 'Tis done ! The ghosts of years that are no more Have borne another comrade to their shore. And I am sitting here alone — alone ! With dying embers on the cold hearthstone, Like hopes and golden dreams that could not last; I'm sitting mid the ashes of the past, Bereft of treasures that made life so bright, Buried in the old year's grave to-night. 7 THE RECOMPENSE. THE mountain peak that lifts its storm- scarred face Close to the frowning clouds and thunder's roar Stands patient, waiting in its troubled place Till clouds are past and boisfrous storms are o'er. For well it knows that when the day is done, On peace-crowned nights, when azure skies are clear, Than valleys, that receive the kiss of sun, To the great golden stars, it is more near. So we who on life's way the storms may meet, And find our skies with gloomy clouds o'ercast, May cheer ourselves with this assurance sweet : We shall be near the stars of peace at last. The life that it attuned to heights of bliss Will ever vibrate to the strokes of woe ; And souls that feel a perfect calm in this, In fairer life no greater joy will know. Like wondrous instrument, to voice song The heart must first be not unknown to sighs ; THE RECOMPENSE. 99 A richer joy is that which we so long Have viewed as out of reach through tear- stained eyes. The river that is rushing to the sea, O'er jagged rocks down many a rugged hill, Is happier than the pool can ever be, That standeth in the valley calm and still. For it will reach the ocean by and by, And leave behind the rough and broken land ; While, though the endless years shall onward fly, Within the valley still the pool will stand. So we, who long to stop and step aside, And dwell where ceaseless calms unbroken reign — 0, know we not that, if it could be tried, Wje give up all the joys with the pain? We rise alone, by climbing in this life; 'Tis not a question of who can, but will ; The heights are waiting, past the storms and strife, They never will be reached by standing still. We know not always how to breast the tide, But past mistakes may serve as stepping- stones, 100 DREAMS AND REALITIES. And with a steadfast purpose as our guide Our trembling feet may rest at last on thrones. And those who suffer most are best prepared For perfect bliss when perfect bliss shall come. Hath not a loving Father, One who cared, Arranged it all, and waits to lead us home ? So why should we sit down with idle tears, And fret and mourn at every petty loss ? We know not why, but 'tis the rule of years That every crown hides under it a cross. And they who long the golden crown to wear Must bravely lift the cross that must be borne ; And courage will be sent to help them bear The cross, until the crown at last is worn. So cast aside your misery and woe, hearts that in the darkness blindly grope ; A glorious recompense you yet shall know If you will only struggle, wait, and hope. THE OLD APPLE TREE. ®D0 you remember the old apple tree, Where we played in the days gone by, The song of the birds and the hum of the bees And the blue of the soft Southern sky ? How we swung on its limbs in the bright days of spring, When its branches with blossoms were gay, And were oft covered o'er with its pink and white snow? 0, I long for its beauty to-day ! do you remember the old apple tree, With its apples so tempting and red ? How we scratched feet and fingers as upward we climbed To the prize that awaited overhead ? How we'd sit on the limbs when we reached them at last, As proud as a king on his throne, Care-free and as happy as any wild bird? Alas that those days should have flown ! have you forgotten the old apple tree? To-day in my still, darkened room, 102 DREAMS AND REALITIES. Like a dead chord of music ghost fingers have stirred, Floats round me its dainty perfume ; And I wonder if you, little playmate of old, Wherever to-day you may be, Have lost in life's shadow our youth's sunny gold, And forgotten the old apple tree ? THE LAND OF BY AND BY. THEEE is a wondrous country, Where the skies are always clear, Where the birds are always singing In the springtime of the year; Where the fruits are ripe and luscious, And the flowers never die, And our hearts at last are happy — 'Tis the land of by and by. Round this country's sunny border Flows a beauteous sapphire sea, On whose calm and sunlit waters All life's treasure ships sail free — Free, with not a wind to wreck them ; All life's clouds and storms are past, And they reach the magic heaven When our dreams come true at last. In this happy fairy country Are the joys we've craved so long, And its perfumed air has power To change every sigh to song. Every wrong at last is righted, Love is ruler of the land, And his subjects are united, Heart with heart, as hand with hand. 104 DBEAMS AND REALITIES. Gone life's heartaches and its sorrows, Left behind its cares and tears, Glorious land of bliss unending ! Land that we have loved for years ! how often we look forward, Often through a tear-dimmed eye, To some cherished hope's fulfillment In the land of by and by ! Even when life's storms are thickest, And our dreams in ruins lie, Hope points out a golden finger Toward the land of by and by. And the whole world, strong and feeble, Eich and poor, and great and small, E'en against our wiser judgment Follow onward at her call. Follow on where Hope is leading, Like a will-o'-wisp's bright spark, Keeping ever just beyond us, While around us all is dark. "Onward !" though our hearts are heavy, Thus we hearken to her cry, All will be made right forever In the land of by and by. ALONE, YET NOT ALONE. "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world." SOMETIMES my cross seems very hard to bear, Sometimes I falter 'neath my weight of care, And sorrows press too heavy to be borne, And in the darkness I feel all alone ; Then to me come the words of that dear Friend That He'll be with me, even to the end. When hearts grow cold and friends forsake, When cruel wrong makes my poor heart to ache, Like stars that shine from out the darkest night, Those words return and make my pathway bright ; For though my life of grief may have full share, No way can be all gloom if He is there. When storms of sorrow shake my inmost soul, And pains, like ocean billows, o'er me roll, And when I feel most lonely in my grief, I cry to him for comfort and relief ; For though defenseless, Jesus will defend, And walk beside me even to the end. ALIEN LILIES. THEY came, those fragrant treasures, Flowers both gay and bright; But the ones I prized the highest Were the lilies, pure and white. There were queenly, full-blown blossoms, Heavy with rare perfume, And buds whose waxen petals Had hardly dreamed of bloom. Two buds whose captive sweetness, From prisons pure and white, At the Master's silent bidding, Were only freed to-night. Two lilies dwarfed in blooming So far from the parent stem, But wondrous sweet and perfect, And a lesson I learned from them : That though our lives are severed From what once made them sweet, By silent, patient growing They yet may be complete. ALIEN LILIES. 107 Not with the glorious beauty That once they might have known, But with a sweet perfection That the angels make their own. Though a breath of sadness mingles With their perfume, faint and rare, Though they are dwarfed in blooming, They are none less sweet and fair. So though our lives are severed From the dreams and hopes of old, Like these sweet alien lilies, Our best may yet unfold. And though a hint of sorrow, From the tears that we have known, Will mingle with life's perfume, We've a sweetness all our own. HE SPEAKS TO ME. WHO says God's voice is silent? That to us he speaks no word ? List, then, thou unbeliever, When the leafless trees are stirred By the voice of the north wind, Bidding nature sleep once more, Sweet emblem of the dreamless rest For troubled hearts in store. He speaks to me in springtime, When the first bluebird's trill Calls to the buried flowers Beside the frozen rill. In the flower's resurrection My Father speaks to me, Saying, "Behold, another life Is also waiting thee." He speaks to me at evening hour, When adown the western sky Gleam colors more resplendent Than any earthly dye. Then I catch, it seems, an echo From beyond the pearly gates, And he says : "Behold, my daughter, Wondrous splendor for thee waits." HE SPEAKS TO ME. 109 Again, when countless jewels Shine upon the brow of night, I read my Father's message In trembling worlds of light, And he seems to say: "Be patient With your earthly ills and care. Past the stars sweet peace is waiting, And a robe and crown are there." And in the inky darkness, Like a lost soul's black despair, I see the red-tongued lightning, And I know that He is there. He who holds the raging tempest In the hollow of His hand Speaks to me with wild winds' voices Of a happy, stormless land. He speaks to me! joy Unspeakable, complete! Though heartless worlds forsake me, I hear His voice so sweet; And though His pitying message Through the lips of death may be, I will not cease to trust Him, For I know He speaks to me. Speaks to me, though poor and lowly ; Speaks to me in accents mild; 110 DREAMS AND REALITIES. Speaks of peace and love and comfort ; Speaks, and calls e'en me his child. Wondrous joy! Strangest story, That such happiness can be, That, despite my human weakness, God from heaven speaks to me ! AUTUMN LEAVES. THEY are falling, softly falling, Fluttering down on golden wing ; And to me they are calling — calling Of the far-off days of spring : April with her shine and showers, When they budded fresh and fair ; Gladsome May, whose sunny hours Nurtured beauty everywhere. They are floating — turning — floating, Filling hollows brown and old, Till, like misers, they are gloating O'er their wealth of gleaming gold. Down the air the leaves are drifting, Like a homeless bird awing, Through the barren branches sifting, And a song they seem to sing. Golden summer days are ended, Silvery summer nights are past ; Shine and shadow now are blended In the web of autumn vast. Golden dreams, like summer glory, In the dusk of autumn eves Drift away — the old, old story — Wither like the autumn leaves. 112 DREAMS AND REALITIES. The} r are driting — earthward drifting- Autumn leaves of red and gold; But to heaven the trees are lifting Empty arms all bare and cold. So we stand when gloom is folding Golden dreams that did not last, And our empty arms we're holding — Holding ever toward the past. HANDS. LITTLE hands so soft and fair, Dimpled hands that catch at air, Eose-leaf palms and fingers small, Tiny hands that hearts enthrall — Baby hands. Little hands so smooth and fair, Little hands that jewels wear ; Hidden half in lacy fold, More than one true heart they hold — Girlish hands. Trembling hands so frail and white, Orange blossoms hold to-night, Clasping fingers firm and strong, Vowed to guard her, her life long — Wedded hands. Tender hands with reverent touch, Throbbing heart that loves so much, Soothing pain with sweet caress, Made to comfort and to bless — Mother hands. Patient hands so rough and worn From the crosses they have borne, 8 114 DREAMS AND REALITIES. Void of symmetry or grace, Years of toil on them we trace — Tired hands. Little hands so white and cold, Marble hands that lilies hold, Weary hands that lie so still, Frozen heart no love can thrill — Lifeless hands. Lovely hands no longer worn From the toils that they have borne, Pure hands that clasp and hold Tenderly a harp of gold — Angel hands. A DREAM OF HEAVEN. T DEEAMED of the heavenly city, 1 In the gloom and chill of the night, And a weary earth-stained spirit Stood afraid— at the portals of light; For the beauty and glory of heaven Shone out through the pearly gate, And the harps of the angels were ringing With anthems that never abate. And the soul cried aloud to the angel That stood at the heavenly gate : "Can it be that such joys and splendor, Can it be that for me they await ?" And softly the angel guard answered, In tones that were tender and low : "He hath said, though your sins be as scarlet, He would cleanse you and make you like snow." And the soul passed in through the portal, While the low voice tenderly spoke ; And amid the swell of the glad anthem, From that beautiful dream I awoke. And though the dream came in the darkness And in the night faded away, Yet there clings round my soul, like sweet perfume, An echo of peace all the day. MY DARLING. IN the morning when the light Calls me from my dream of night. My darling; Then my first thought is of thee, That thou art so dear to me, That I long your face to see, My darling. When the evening shadows creep O'er the world and bid us sleep, My darling; Then the bright stars in the blue Seem to whisper, love, of you, Seem to say your heart is true, My darling. Every bird upon the wing Seems of you a song to sing, My darling; All the summer winds that blow Seem your praises sweet to know, Seem to say I love you so, My darling. MY DARLING. 117 And when moonlight's silver beams Wrap the earth like shadowy dreams, My darling; Then I waft a prayer on high Through the star-be jeweled sky That no harm may thee come nigh, My darling. JUST ANOTHER SORROW. THESE' S a mansion by the river Where the water lilies quiver, Where the golden summer sun falls o'er the floor ; There a little maid doth wait For a form to pass the gate That will come to cheer and love her nevermore. There's a name she never speaks, There are tears upon her cheeks, There are days that were so happy that are dead beyond recall; There are harsh words that were spoken — They have given back each token ; And there's just another sorrow in this old world — that is all. Oftentimes she sees his face In some crowded public place, And to her eyes the bitter tear drops start; For she was not to blame For the bitterness that came, And she carries with her now a broken heart. So the heedless world moves on, And the summer soon is gone; JUST ANOTHER SORROW. 119 They have no time for pausing, though a fellow- comrade fall; And once more she takes her place, With a smile upon her face, And there's just another sorrow in this old world — that is all. A LOVE THAT WILL NOT DIE. THEY tell me skies are leaden, And winds are keen and cold; For me the roses redden, And the world is bright with gold. A thousand dancing sunbeams Make glory in the sky, For I know somebody loves me With a love that will not die. Then away with foolish fancies That came with childish years, Like will-o'-wisp that dances From laughter into tears; Give me this sweet assurance That need not reason why — I know somebody loves me With a love that will not die. So all the world is spring to me, Though winter's in the air; My life is sweet tranquillity, And everything is fair. No sorrow glooms above my way To make my joys fly by, For I know somebody loves me With a love that will not die SUNRISE. 'T*- HE god of day came to this world of ours, L And in the sky clouds blossomed forth like flowers. Fond day made ready for the coming king By touching into beauty — everything. Soft cushions for her lover's feet she rolled Of rosy-tinted vapor, flecked with gold; And called on morning, fairest of her maids, To wake the sleeping flowers in the glades. The winds came forth, and shadowy curtains hung About the merry god, who, laughing, flung Them off again, and threw the rippling stream A kiss, that made the waters dance and gleam. A thousand wild flowers lifted in the glade Their faces to the smiling, rosy maid; And every cup and bell with diamonds hung, That sparkled in the rays the day-god flung. Morning passed on, and speaking but a word Awoke the sleeping trees and every bird; And soon upon the breeze rose, higher and higher, An anthem by the merry feathered choir. And Day looked on her work, and smiling stood A white-robed maiden in the fragrant wood, 122 DREAMS AND REALITIES. A crown of dewy flowers on her hair, That twined like threads of gold her face most fair. Her light feet stepped on hill and dale and stream, And where her foot had been remained a gleam. Upward she climbed by steps of perfumed air To her king's conch to rest and nestle there ; And when her skyward journey was complete She laid her treasures at her charmer's feet; And smiling Nature seemed to softly say : "The night has fled — once more 'tis perfect day." AN HOUR IN EDEN. t-ry-vjg sa j^ ^at every being on this earth