PS 3545 
 .1327 
 "1 
 
 1922 
 *opy 1 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 C 
 
 Copyright 792T 
 Zttete Cole Wi'lcoX 
 
Press of the 
 
 DES M( >INES CHIL,] >REN'S H< >M E 
 
 Wm. Tjaden, Foreman 
 
^ 
 
 
 TO THE LADIES' CO-OPERATIVE SOCIETY 
 
 of Bellingham, Washington, 
 Whose kind appreciation of my work has given me 
 courage to offer my thoughts to the public, this little 
 volume is lovingly inscribed. 
 
 By the Author. 
 
 ©CI.AG77652 
 JUL 2S 1922 
 
 "V\& 
 
 / 
 
>r//C^w*^2^^^ *■ 
 
INDEX 
 
 PATRIOTIC AND PATHETIC 
 
 a v » r Pago 
 
 An Army Nurse 30 
 
 At Rest .........[[. 36 
 
 Benjamin F. Butler ..._.... 18 
 
 Boys Are Coming- Home, The *. ..." 28 
 
 Christmas Eve On the Potomac is 
 
 Flag - Service 26 
 
 Flowers For All ...."......... 24 
 
 Gone Before 35 
 
 Good Night 24 
 
 Good Night, Sister I........"......./...... 33 
 
 Heart Of Lincoln __ 32 
 
 In Memoriam 37 
 
 Khaki Or Blue ""_"] 40 
 
 Memorial Day 27 
 
 On The Death of Gen. Grant 19 
 
 Our Banner and Our Songs 10 
 
 Our Country's Defenders 15 
 
 Our Honored Dead 24 
 
 Our Sailors 26 
 
 Rest, Comrade, Rest 25 
 
 Soldiers' Reunion, The _ 17 
 
 To An Ex-Army Nurse 22 
 
 To Inez 34 
 
 To Mother 35 
 
 To Robert Chamblet Adams 37 
 
 Under the Flag .; 29 
 
 Women of the War 20 
 
 HUMOROUS 
 
 A Just Judge 48 
 
 Aunt Serepta's Ills 59 
 
 Camp meeting at Gaines 63 
 
 Happy Eve 65 
 
 How the Scandal Started 53 
 
 Kicking 62 
 
 Maud Muller Revised 5 4 
 
 Misfit Names 52 
 
 My Epic Poem 43 
 
 M. Y. O. B. Club, The 42 
 
 Serepta Jinks' Picnic 55 
 
 Trials of Youth, The G7 
 
 Waiting 47 
 
 Widows' Wail, The 6S 
 
MISCEL.L. ANEO L ft 
 
 Acrostic 107 
 
 A Friend 106 
 
 A Household Pet 103 
 
 Annie of Breezy Heights 122 
 
 A Shady Glen 109 
 
 A Wish 107 
 
 A Woodland Fairy 130 
 
 Baby Grace 102 
 
 Beauty 93 
 
 Beauty In Common Things 95 
 
 Birthday Greetings 89 
 
 Breaking Up the Home 77 
 
 Boyhood's Pleasures 127 
 
 Cora, Dear 137 
 
 Dude, The 116 
 
 Even So 108 
 
 First Love - 129 
 
 From My Window 107 
 
 Giant Evil, The :... 112 
 
 Goodby 119 
 
 Grand Olympic Mountains, The 120 
 
 Hand That Rules, The 116 
 
 How the Aristocrat Sees It 70 
 
 How the Working Woman Sees It 73 
 
 Tn A Friend's Album 109 
 
 Inquiry, The Ill 
 
 June Roses 92 
 
 Lights of Bremerton 8:) 
 
 Little Red School House, The 9:1 
 
 Message of the Golden Rod 132 
 
 Mist and Sunlight 87 
 
 My Baby Mother 94 
 
 M.v Birth Place 91 
 
 My Home "Over There" 131 
 
 October 8 ! 
 
 One Summer Day 99 
 
Our Victory 13 » 
 
 Port Townsend 90 
 
 Rainbow, The 120 
 
 Response To October 86 
 
 Sweet Memories !00 
 
 To A Flirt 12 ^ 
 
 To Ella 133 
 
 To lone 88 
 
 To A Meadow Lark 122 
 
 To the Boltons and Their Kindred 105 
 
 To the Ladies' Co-operative Society 110 
 
 To the L. C. S 130 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. R. C. Ackley 118 
 
 To Our Little Army Nurse 103 
 
 Twilight Fancies 128 
 
 Thy Natal Day 122 
 
 Violets I 25 
 
 Who Is My Brother II 7 
 
 Why We Love October 124 
 
 Woodland Fairy, The 136 
 
 Woman's Burden, The I 34 
 
PATRIOTIC 
 
OUR BANNER AND OUR SONGS 
 
 Born amid the din of battle, 
 
 While the cannons loudly roar; 
 'Mid the groans of dying warriors 
 
 See our glorious banner soar. 
 
 Born to help us gain our freedom; 
 
 Born to cheer our patriots on; 
 To give them courage for resistance 
 
 Till the last armed foe was gone. 
 
 Long they fought the proud usurper, 
 Driving back the hireling throng, 
 
 Waving high the flag of freedom, 
 Chanting loud the Nation's song — 
 
 "Oh. say can you see by the dawn's early light, 
 What so proudly we hailed, at the twilight's last 
 g learning? 
 Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the 
 perilous fight, 
 O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly 
 streaming; 
 And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in 
 air, 
 Gave proof through the night that our flag was 
 still there — 
 
 Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave 
 O'er the land of the free and the home of the 
 brave?" 
 
 10 
 
Peace at last, our cause victorious; 
 
 Calmly furled our banner bright, 
 Years of quiet, homely pleasures 
 
 Filled with love and joy and light. 
 
 Then, again the screaming eagle, 
 Emblem of our nation grand, 
 
 Gave the war-cry and our banner 
 Floated wide o'er southern land. 
 
 Fierce Mexico, with bitter rancor 
 Fought against the stripes and stars; 
 
 But yankee boys, with colors flying, 
 Sang the old, familiar bars — 
 
 "Oh, Columba, the gem of the ocean, the home of 
 the brave and the free; 
 
 The shrine of each patriot's devotion, the world of- 
 fers homage to thee. 
 
 Thy mandates makes heroes assemble, when Lib- 
 erty's form stands in view, 
 
 Thy banners make Tyranny tremble, when borne bv 
 the Red, White and Blue." 
 
 Again peace rested on our emblem, 
 
 Folded were the eagle's wings, 
 While statesmen sought to give our country 
 
 All the joys that freedom brings. 
 
 But, alas, the God of battles 
 
 Marked our land for fearful strife; 
 
 Brothers warring with each other, 
 Wrecking homes, destroying life. 
 
 11 
 
In the fair, bright land of Dixie 
 Madmen dared our flag to scorn; 
 
 Trampled was our starry banner 
 In the dust, and soiled and torn. 
 
 Sadly trailing, as in sorrow 
 At the sight of blood and woe, 
 As a thing of life it trembles, 
 Seeming all our grief to know. 
 
 But, hark, a strain of martial music 
 Floats upon the southern breeze, 
 
 Echoing from hills and mountains, 
 Rocky glens and forest trees — 
 
 "We'll rally 'round the flag, boys, we'll rally once 
 again; 
 Shouting the battle-cry of "Freedom," 
 We'll rally from the hill-side, we'll gather from the 
 plain, 
 Shoutng the battle-cry of "Freedom." 
 
 The union forever, Hurrah, boys, hurrah, 
 Down with the traitor and up with the star! 
 While we rally 'round the flag, boys, rally once 
 again, 
 Shoutnig the battle-cry of 'Freedom.' " 
 
 Then, uprising, proudly waving, 
 On, it leads the conquering band. 
 
 On — to victory and glory; 
 
 Freedom reigns throughout the land. 
 
 Strike your tents and fold your blankets. 
 Boys in blue, your work is o'er; 
 
 12 
 
The dear old union is cemented 
 In bonds of peace, forevermore. 
 
 Sing triumphant songs of victory, 
 Sing of home and love and joy; 
 
 Faithful friends and peaceful firesides 
 Welcome back the soldier-boy — 
 
 '"Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam. 
 Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. 
 A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, 
 Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with 
 elsewhere. 
 
 Home, home, sweet, sweet home, 
 
 There's no place like home, 
 
 Oh, there's no place like home." 
 
 Yet, again the war cloud lowers 
 And the hand of haughty Spain 
 
 Is upraised against our banner. 
 In the sinking of the Maine. 
 
 When the call "To Arms" was shouted, 
 
 North and South united stand: 
 The blue and gray, together blended 
 
 Form an army, true and grand. 
 
 No more strife between the brothers; 
 
 Firm they stand as yankees true. 
 The foreign foe is quickly routed 
 
 By our loyal boys in blue. 
 
 13 
 
And now, united 'neath our standard, 
 
 May we thus forever dwell. 
 While our hosts of noble freemen 
 
 Make the mighty chorus swell — 
 
 Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the 
 
 Lord; 
 He is tramping out the vintage where the grapes of 
 
 wrath are stored; 
 He has loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible, 
 
 swift sword — 
 
 His truth is marching on. 
 Glory, Glory, Hallelujah; Glory, Glory, Hallilujah; 
 
 Glory, Glory, Hallelujah; 
 His truth is marching on. 
 
 But, hark; from o'er the broad Atlantic 
 Comes the loud and urgent cry— 
 
 "Come; oh, come to our assistance; 
 Help, oh, help us or we die. 
 
 Long we sought to evade the issue. 
 
 Hoping peace might be restored — 
 Until the noble Lusitania 
 
 Could no longer be ignored. 
 
 Then at the call for brave young soldiers 
 Thousands rushed across the sea — 
 
 The crrel Hun was soon defeated 
 By our Allies brave and free. 
 
 Peace restored, our boys came marching 
 Home again with songs of joy, 
 
 Gladly to assume the duties 
 Waiting for the soldier-boy. 
 
 14 
 
And again we hear the music 
 
 Of a glorious refrain — 
 "My country 'tis of thee'' they're singing 
 
 In a glad, triumphant strain. 
 
 My country, tis of thee, 
 Sweet Land of Liberty! 
 Land where my fathers died, 
 Land of the pilgrims' pride, 
 From every mountain side, 
 Let freedom ring. 
 
 OUR COUNTRY'S DEFENDERS 
 
 (For Memorial Day.) 
 
 When Treason, with its frightful mien 
 
 Walked boldly through our pleasant land 
 And hurled defiance at our flag, 
 
 Our heroes met the hostile band. 
 Husbands and fathers, brothers, sons, 
 
 Rushed forth to meet one common foe 
 And 'mid the battle's crash and roar, 
 
 'Mid scenes of death and pain and woe 
 
 They bravely fought for freedom's sake 
 And won, as right must ever do; 
 
 For none shall fail who falter not 
 And to the right prove ever true. 
 
 But, Ah, the boon was dearly bought; 
 
 15 
 
For many noble herGes fell 
 And yielded up their precious lives 
 To save the homes they loved so well. 
 
 And many hearts throughout the land, 
 
 Still sadly mourn the loved and lost; 
 And many vacant chairs today 
 
 Remind us what our freedom cost. 
 Then, let the graves of those we loved 
 
 Be yearly decked with fairest flowers 
 And may we consecrate this day 
 
 To memory of those trying hours. 
 
 But, while we mourn our honored dead, 
 
 One truth we still should not forget — 
 That many who as bravely fought 
 
 As those vvho fell, are with us yet. 
 The weary march, the battle's din, 
 
 The crash of bullet, shot and shell 
 They bravely bore, that those they loved 
 
 Unharmed, at home, in peace might dwell. 
 
 And, nobly at their country's shrine 
 
 They offered up both health and youth; 
 Broken and maimed, they pass through life 
 
 A living sacrifice for truth. 
 Then honor to all the brave and true 
 
 Who answered to their country's call; 
 Living, or dead, their valor still 
 
 Should homage claim from one and all. 
 
 16 
 
THE SOLDIERS' REUNION 
 
 Oh, those little white tents on the hill-side, 
 
 And the sound of the beating of drums! 
 What memories they bring of my childhood, 
 
 When war first invaded our homes! 
 1 look back to the time, when our nation 
 
 Appealed to the true and the brave; 
 When our loved ones, regardless of station, 
 
 Rushed forth, our country to save. 
 
 I see them again, proudly marching 
 
 To the music of drum and of fife; 
 Each soldier was ready for action, 
 
 For his country to yield up his life. 
 And thousands who left us are sleeping 
 
 On the field where so nobly they fell; 
 Where they gave up their lives and their dear ones 
 
 In peace and in safety might dwell. 
 
 And of those who returned to us living, 
 
 How many have since passed away 
 To the land where no war-drums are beating, 
 
 To the rest of that "Perfect Day." 
 And the few who remain, let us honor 
 
 As heroes most noble and brave; 
 Here's a cheer for the battle-scarred veterans, 
 
 Who fought our loved union to save. 
 
 17 
 
BENJAMIN F. BUTLER 
 
 (Prize Poem.) 
 
 All ha'A to the hero so noble and grand; 
 
 All hail to the warrior so brave, 
 Who left all the joys of a calm, peaceful home 
 
 And fought his loved country to save. 
 
 May his name be revered by the children of men, 
 As the friend of the poor and oppressed, 
 
 For he labors for right in peace or in war, 
 For the cause that is noblest and best. 
 
 Though slandered by many, yet calm and serene, 
 
 Trusting all to his motives so pure, 
 He has passed undismayed, through the furnace of 
 fire, 
 
 And no life could be nobler, or truer. 
 
 No thought of revenge, no craving for gain, 
 
 No wish for the laurels he wears, 
 Could cause him to swerve from the pathway of 
 right, 
 
 Or tarnish the proud name he bears. 
 
 But, seeking the wrongs of the poor to redress, 
 
 To punish the wicked, and vile, 
 His hand is outstretched to the needy of earth 
 
 And he changes the tear to a smile. 
 
 Then, hail to the veteran, so noble and true, 
 
 And sacred be ever his fame; 
 The glory-crowned hero, humanity's friend, 
 
 All hail to his dear, honored name. 
 
 18 
 
ON THE DEATH OF GEN. U. S. GRANT 
 
 Tread softly, speak gently, the nation is mourning 
 The death of a hero, most noble and grand; 
 
 Closed doors and draped flags give a token of sor- 
 row 
 For the bravest and best of Columbia's fair land. 
 
 When death claims a victim from the cottage so 
 lowly, 
 Or enters the home of the wealthy and proud, 
 We stand with bowed heads, speaking only in 
 whispers, 
 While gazing with awe on the coffin and shroud. 
 
 But now, the dread King has knocked at the portal 
 Of every home in this nation so wide; 
 
 By one stern decree he has caused every true heart 
 To mourn for the loss of our country's pride. 
 
 A hero has fallen, a warrior is vanquished, 
 
 X T ever conquered before was this soldier so brave; 
 
 But, even defeat has brought him a victory, 
 A triumph supreme, over death and the grave. 
 
 Forever embalmed in fond memory's casket, 
 
 His virtues shall live in the hearts he has blessed 
 
 By his courage and wisdom in saving the nation 
 And breaking the chains of the poor and oppressed. 
 
 On the pages of history, in song and in story 
 In legends of valor shall live his proud name, 
 
 Covered ever with glory, revered by all nations 
 And second to none in the annals of fame. 
 
 19 
 
In the future is glory, but today brings the sorrow; 
 
 Our grief is too recent, our hearts are too sore. 
 We must look to the future for healing and comfort; 
 
 Tread softly, our nation has crape on the door. 
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE WAR 
 
 (For Memorial Day.) 
 
 Up from the fields, where the red hand of war 
 Scattered death and disaster, came the wail of 
 the dying, 
 The moans of the wounded stricken down in the 
 fight, 
 Side by side with the dead, so placidly lying. 
 
 There brave, loyal women, with hearts filled with 
 pity, 
 
 Came 'mid the dread scenes of war's fearful strife. 
 To aid and to comfort the hearts of the warriors 
 
 With the kind, loving care of the mother or wife. 
 
 In camp or hospital, where'er they were needed, 
 Those brave army nurses were sure to be there, 
 
 With comforting words and hands ever ready 
 To labor with unceasing kindness and care. 
 
 As scouts, too, and spies, in places of danger, 
 Those women were ready to do and to dare; 
 
 To promptly respond to the call of stern duty, 
 To suffer and die for this union so fair. 
 
 20 
 
And in the sad homes, amid woe and affliction, 
 Our women still struggled with want and despair; 
 
 Working ever to care for the dear ones dependent. 
 Suppressing their grief with a fervent heart prayer. 
 
 Then while we weave garlands of beautiful flowers 
 And reverently place them where honor is due, 
 
 Forget not to bring affection's sweet offering 
 To the memory of all who were loyal and true. 
 
 Then strew these fair emblems of love and devotion 
 O'er the graves of both hero and heroine true; 
 
 May the lessons they taught be remembered forever 
 By all who owe homage to the Red, White and 
 Blue. 
 
 21 
 
TO AN EX-ARMY NURSE 
 
 (Dedicaited to Eunice J. Godfrey.) 
 
 On the wings of love, to the sunny south, 
 
 She flew at the call of her own — 
 To nurse and to comfort the lad of her heart 
 
 Who was calling for her alone. 
 Leaving her precious little ones, 
 
 Though her heart was rent in twain, 
 She hastened away to the fever-swamps 
 
 Where her dear one lay in pain. 
 
 With tenderest care she drew him back, 
 
 E'en from the brink of the grave — 
 Once more to fight for the flag he loved 
 
 And help our dear union to save. 
 Then her pity went out to the suffering ones — 
 
 His comrades-in-arms, laid low 
 By the touch of the poisonous fever's breath, 
 
 In the land of our bitter foe. 
 
 She gave of her strength and her sunny smiles', 
 
 She cared for their every need — 
 Forgetful of self, her service gave 
 
 In loving and tender deed. 
 A ministering angel, in truth she seemed, 
 
 As she soothed each aching head, 
 And, shrinking not from death-bed scenes, 
 
 She closed the eyes of the dead. 
 
 Then, when peace reigned o'er our rescued land. 
 As mother and wife and friend, 
 
 22 
 
Her life was filled with kindly deeds 
 
 Even unto the end 
 With cheery word and gentle hand 
 
 She ministered to the need 
 Of all who claimed her tender care, 
 
 Regardless of sect or creed. 
 
 With breadth of mind too great for these, 
 
 She lived her life of love — 
 In sacrifice she proved her faith 
 
 All petty creeds above. 
 And now, in peaceful sleep she lies 
 
 In beautiful Laurel Grove, 
 Where flowers bloom with fragrance rare 
 
 And birds in freedom rove. 
 
 Yet still she lives in the hearts of those 
 
 Who knew and loved her here; 
 A shining light along life's path, 
 
 To give us hope and cheer. 
 Rest, Sister; rest 'neath the sunny skies 
 
 And 'neath the flower strewn sod, 
 While your happy spirit soars aloft, 
 
 Forever with its God. 
 
 Flowers, sweet flowers, we'll strew o'er the grave 
 Where our loved one is sleeping with the true and 
 
 the brave. 
 Although she has left us, we honor her yet 
 And all through the future we'll never forget. 
 Then scatter sweet flowers, a token of love, 
 And pray we may meet her in heaven above. 
 
 23 
 
OUR HONORED DEAD 
 
 (Flowers for All) 
 
 When Treason reared its frightful head 
 And threatened to destroy our land, 
 
 Our "Boys in Blue" with hearts aflame, 
 Rushed forth to join the patriot band. 
 
 Amid the crash of shot and shell 
 
 They braved the cannon's deadly roar 
 
 And offered up their precious lives 
 That our dear flag aloft might soar. 
 
 The weary march, the scanty fare, 
 
 The cold, damp ground their place of rest, 
 
 The rain, the snow, the biting winds, 
 All these they bore with smile and jest. 
 
 Their valor won our nation fair, 
 And now, as one by one they go 
 
 To join their comrades "over there'' 
 May we who linger here below 
 
 While showing honor to our dead, 
 
 Be ever mindful of their worth 
 And scatter flowers along the way 
 
 Of those who yet remain on earth. 
 
 (Good Night) 
 
 Comrade, good night; your sun of life has set, 
 
 Your stormy voyage is past, earth's trials o'er; 
 Sweet sleep attend you through the night of death 
 
 24 
 
And morning sunlight greet you on the other 
 shore. 
 
 Good night; may watchful angels guard your rest 
 And when the bugle-call shall sound the warning — 
 
 The reveille which wakes the dead to life, 
 
 In yon' bright world above, we'll say "Good morn- 
 ing." 
 
 (Rest, Comrade, Rest) 
 
 Rest, comrade, rest; your work on earth is done; 
 Your battles fought, your final victory won. 
 The Great Commander calls you up above 
 Where all is peace and joy and light and love. 
 
 Sleep calmly then, beloved, by patriots here 
 
 Who know your worth and hold your memory dear; 
 
 And when the reveille shall sound the call to meet 
 
 you, 
 On God's great camping ground with joy we'll greet 
 
 you. 
 
 (Flower Service) 
 
 The weary march of life is o'er 
 
 The camp is reached at last; 
 The tired feet shall roam no more, 
 
 All pain and sorrow past. 
 Under the flag he fought to save 
 
 We lay him down to rest. 
 With Nature's fairest pledge of love, 
 
 Sweet flowers upon his breast. 
 
 25 
 
(Flag Service) 
 
 No more the fife and drum are heard; 
 
 No more the call "TO ARMS"; 
 No more to 'rouse at dead of night 
 
 To answer war's alarms. 
 
 In peaceful slumber now he lies. 
 From all life's toils at rest, 
 
 With folded hands and brow serene, 
 The flag above his breast. 
 
 Upon his brave and loyal deeds 
 Our memories fondly dwell, 
 
 While to his earthly form we bid 
 A tender, sad "Farewell." 
 
 (Our Sailors) 
 
 The long, long voyage of life is o'er, 
 
 The port is reached at last; 
 The anchor dropped within the bay. 
 
 All storms and shipwrecks past. 
 With steady hand the helm he held, 
 
 Veered not to left or right; 
 True to her course he held life's craft. 
 
 Nor wavered day or night. 
 
 With piercing eye fixed on the sun, 
 
 Or on the guiding star, 
 He steered the life-boat safely home. 
 
 Within the harbor bar. 
 
 26 
 
Now, 'neath the flag he fought to save, 
 
 We la}- him down to rest, 
 With Nature's fairest pledge of love, 
 
 Sweet flowers, upon his breast. 
 
 The starry sky, his "Union Jack" 
 
 Bends o'er his lonely grave 
 Where, floating free upon the breeze, 
 
 "Old Glory" e'er shall wave. 
 We knew his worth; we mourn our loss; 
 
 With reverence and love 
 We sadly breathe a soft "Farewell," 
 
 Until we meet above. 
 
 (Memorial Day) 
 
 Oh, honored dead! the flag that floats above you 
 Proclaims to all the world why patriots love you. 
 If faults you had, they all lie buried here", 
 Your virtues only, held in memory dear; 
 Your poor, maimed bodies rest beneath the sod, 
 Your spirits rise triumphant to your God, 
 While we who linger on this earthly shore 
 Proclaim allegiance to our flag once moe. 
 
 27 
 
THE BOYS ARE COMING HOME 
 
 Fathers and mothers, let your hearts 
 
 Sing out the gladsome song; 
 Your boys are coming home again — 
 
 Their stay seemed very long. 
 
 When you so bravely sent them forth 
 
 To fight for truth and right, 
 Wth pride your fond heart swelled at thought 
 
 Of how those boys would fight. 
 
 You knew the training given them, 
 
 The lessons you had taught — 
 You knew no cowardice they'd show, 
 
 Your teaching set at naught. 
 
 You scanned the pages of reports 
 
 Of battles bravely fought 
 Upon the bloody fields of France, 
 
 With heavy losses fraught. 
 
 Your hearts with patriot zeal beat high 
 And swelled with pride and joy, 
 
 When over seas the message came 
 Praising your soldier-boy. 
 
 And now, with honors bravely won. 
 
 With flags on every dome; 
 With martial tread and heads held high 
 
 Your boys are marching home. 
 
 28 
 
With tears of joy you'll welcome them 
 
 To more afar to roam; 
 And thank the God who guarded them 
 
 And brought them safely home. 
 
 Meanwhile, you weep with those who mourn 
 
 The loss of loved ones dear, 
 And speak the words of love and hope, 
 
 Their breaking hearts to cheer. 
 
 But over all this goodly land. 
 
 And 'cross the ocean's foam 
 The glad song rings from joyful hearts — 
 
 "Our boys are coming home." 
 
 o 
 
 UNDER THE FLAG 
 
 t'nder the flag, the glorious flag. 
 
 He fought for justice and right; 
 For freedom for all in our dear native land 
 
 l T e bravely entered the fight. 
 With courage undaunted he marched to the front 
 
 And camped on the cold, frozen ground — 
 Privations and hardships he cheerfully bore; 
 
 In duty his recompense found, 
 Under the flag. 
 
 Under the flag, the victorious flag, 
 
 Gaily from war he returned — 
 Gladly assumed the duties of home 
 
 And the lessons of peace he learned. 
 
 29 
 
And now he is sleeping in Death's cold embrace, 
 
 From earth's cares and trials at rest. 
 We will leave him in peace 'neath the blue arching 
 skies, 
 In the land that he loved the best, 
 Under the flag. 
 
 o 
 
 AN ARMY NURSE 
 
 (Written for the Memorial Service of the National 
 Association of Army Nurses, at National Con- 
 vention, Portland, Oregon, August, 1918.) 
 
 An Army Nurse; those magic words, 
 
 What memories they bring 
 Of those dread days of war and strife 
 
 That 'round our hearts still cling. 
 As we recall the fearful wounds, 
 
 The hot and fevered brain, 
 The restless tossing to and fro 
 
 Upon the couch of pain, 
 
 We feel again the gentle touch 
 
 Of hands so cool and soft; 
 We hear again the voice of prayer 
 
 Bearing our souls aloft. 
 The low, sweet voice of sympathy, 
 
 The cheery word and smile 
 That give such courage, faith and hope, 
 
 And pain and care beguile. 
 
 30 
 
Again we look with longing eyes, 
 
 With thoughts of home so dear, 
 And see again the patient nurse 
 
 With tender words of cheer, 
 Who sits beside our lowly cot 
 
 And writes to friends afar, 
 To tell them how their soldier-boy 
 
 Has fared in righteous war. 
 
 She seems an Angel in our eyes — 
 
 An Angel fair and bright 
 Who watches o'er us faithfully 
 
 Through all the dreary night. 
 Those were the days that tried the souls 
 
 Of men and women brave, 
 And now, we honor all who strove 
 
 Our Nation fair to save. 
 
 But deeper far within our hearts 
 
 Than love for comrades true, 
 We hold the faithful Army Nurse 
 
 Of those who wore the blue. 
 May God's best blessings rest upon 
 
 And evermore abide 
 With every loyal Army Nurse — 
 
 Our joy and our pride. 
 
 o 
 
 THE HE^RT OF LINCOLN 
 
 They tell of the brain of Lincoln; 
 
 Of his marvelous thinking power; 
 
 Of his boyhood of study and labor, 
 
 31 
 
Wjth seldom a leisure hour. 
 How he easily mastered each lesson 
 
 And solved every problem at sight — 
 For no science could long evade him, 
 
 With his brain of wonderful might. 
 
 They speak of his strength and vigor; 
 
 Of his powerful arm and hand; 
 How he used to split rails for a living 
 
 In that primitive southern land. 
 They tell of his youthful prowess 
 
 In wrestling and throwing weights; 
 Of his running in boyish races 
 
 And leaping the farmyard gates. 
 
 They tell of his sense of humor; 
 
 Of his witty stories and jokes; 
 Of his comic impersonations 
 
 Of those quaint old southern folks. 
 They tell of his piercing vision; 
 
 Of his eye so keen and bright — 
 How nothing transpiring around him 
 
 Ever escaped his sight. 
 
 And all these stories are true ones; 
 
 No doubt beclouds his fame, 
 The nations of earth revers him 
 
 And glory in his name. 
 And all these wonderful virtues 
 
 Our memories love to recall, 
 But the loving heart of Lincoln 
 
 Is greater far than all. 
 
 For he loved the poor and lowly, 
 The sad and the oppressed; 
 
 32 
 
The wrongs of others pained him 
 And on his great heart pressed. . 
 
 He sought to soothe all sorrow 
 To heal each aching heart; 
 
 To smoothe Life's thorny pathway 
 With the "Good Samaritan's'' part. 
 
 So, while we pay our tribute 
 
 To his wonderful power of thought, 
 And admire the fruits of his labor. 
 
 The work his strong hand wrought- 
 Yet our hearts grow big within us 
 
 And tears from our eyes will start, 
 When we think of his loving service 
 
 And his tender, loyal heart. 
 o 
 
 GOOD NIGHT 
 
 Dear sister, we bid you a fond "Good night," 
 
 As we lay you down to your rest, 
 Where the blue arching sky bends over your bed, 
 
 And sweet flowers bloom over your breast. 
 
 We shall miss you on earth, for your beautiful life 
 
 Was filled with the labors of love ; 
 And the rest that remaineth for the people of God 
 
 Awaits you in Heaven above. 
 
 Your memory will live in the hearts you have loved 
 
 Till life's fitful fever is o'er 
 And your glad smile will greet us with joy "over 
 there" 
 
 On the beautiful "Evergreen Shore.'' 
 
 33 
 
Good night and goodby, till Eternity's dawn 
 Shall brighten the world in its gloom; 
 
 When the sun shall burst forth in Eternity's day 
 And banish the night of the tomb. 
 
 o 
 
 TO INEZ 
 
 You are near me, Inez, darling; 
 
 I can feel your presence here; 
 I can almost see the gladsome smile 
 
 Light up your face, so dear. 
 I can almost hear you whisper, 
 
 As you lightly touch my hair — 
 "Cheer up, my precious mother, 
 
 I am with you everywhere." 
 
 Oh, the sweetness of the comfort 
 
 That your presence gives today; 
 It makes my life seem brighter 
 
 And cheers me on my way. 
 When life seems a heavy burden 
 
 And the way seems long and drear, 
 I can feel your spirit, darling, 
 
 Bringing love and peace and cheer. 
 
 And your fond and tender promise 
 
 That you would always stay 
 With the "Mother-chum" you loved so well 
 
 Until her dying day. 
 Makes the sun to shine more brightly 
 
 And the hours glide swift away, 
 As I watch and listen for you 
 
 In the silence, day by day. 
 
 34 
 
TO MOTHER 
 
 Dear mother, thou hast left us and gone from earth 
 
 away, 
 To dwell in God's hright heaven, through an Eternal 
 
 Day. 
 The tired hands are folded, the weary feet at rest ; 
 No more earth's cares and sorrows disturb thy peaceful 
 
 breast 
 And though our hearts are lonely and we miss thee 
 
 every day c 
 
 We would not call thee back again, to tread earth's 
 
 weary way. 
 But oft at summer sunset, with flowers sweet and fair, 
 We'll seek the "Silent City" and sadly linger there. 
 We'll plant sweet flowers on thy grave, as tokens of 
 
 our love 
 And pray that we may meet again in yon bright home 
 
 above. 
 
 o 
 
 GONE BEFORE 
 
 Gone before, but not forgotten. 
 
 Mother, sister, friend of all; 
 Gone to rest, no more to labor; 
 
 Answered to the Master's call. 
 Gone before; yet here we miss thee, 
 
 Long to touch thy friendly hand, 
 To hear thy voice in loving counsel 
 
 Never heard in harsh command. 
 
 35 
 
Gone before: thy weary journey 
 
 Hath been long and full of care ; 
 Yet how glad will be the meeting 
 
 With the loved ones over there. 
 Gone before : we soon shall follow ; 
 
 May we meet on yon bright shore 
 And with Angels sing God's praises 
 
 In his kingdom evermore. 
 
 AT REST 
 
 "The rest that remaineth," how peaceful the sound : 
 "The life everlasting," our dear friend has found. 
 Earth's journey is ended and she is at rest 
 In the heavenly mansions, prepared for the blest. 
 
 Through nearly a century of toil and care 
 Which wrinMed her forehead and whitened her hair, 
 Uncomplaining, she labored for those she held dear, 
 To make their lives brighter, their spirits to cheer. 
 
 But now she has left us. we shall see her no more, 
 She has joined other loved ones on "Eden's fair shore;'' 
 She has bowed to the Master — "passed under the rod" 
 To the "Rest that remaineth" for the children of God. 
 
 36 
 
IN MEMDRIAM 
 
 (To Mary Bird-Bell) 
 
 Gone in the dawn of life's fair morning-, 
 
 Ere yet the soft and rosy light 
 Has faded from the eastern hill-tops, 
 
 Giving place to noon-day bright. 
 
 No more; the fatal words are spoken; 
 
 Gone forever from our view ; 
 Death claims another of earth's treasures — 
 
 The young, the beautiful, the true. 
 
 Her glad, sweet smile no more shall greet us 
 With loving words and kindly deed. 
 
 Though weeping friends are broken hearted. 
 Their tears, their sobs she cannot heed. 
 
 Her calm, fair brow no pain shall darken. 
 
 Serene her lips of pallid hue ; 
 In pence she sleeps, no more to waken. 
 
 The young, the beautiful, the true. 
 (To Robert Chamblet Adams) 
 
 Dead? Ah, no: thou surely livest 
 In the hearts of all who knew thee ; 
 In the memory of the faithful. 
 All who honor truth and justice. 
 All who reverence love and kindness. 
 In the thoughts of those who reason. 
 Who reject dark superstition. 
 Seeing good in Pagan Hindoo, 
 
 37 
 
Heathen savage, untaught Indian ; 
 
 Recognizing evolution, 
 
 The unchanging law of Nature. 
 
 Livest thou in words of wisdom 
 That shall live through all the ages, 
 Bringing comfort to the sad ones, 
 Giving courage to the fearful, 
 Teaching charity for weakness, 
 Human brotherhood extolling. 
 
 Living, throbbing heart of kindness. 
 Surely death can never touch thee. 
 Thou shalt live, revered forever, 
 In the glory of the future, 
 In the onward march of progress 
 To the goal for which we struggle. 
 Rest in peace, thy labor ended. 
 In thv works thou livest ever. 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE ON THE POTOMAC 
 
 On the banks of the Potomac, 
 
 With its gentle, rippling flow, 
 A brave and loyal soldier 
 
 Walked sadly to and fro. 
 With eyes alert and watchful 
 
 Where'er his thoughts might roam, 
 His heart was fondly yearning 
 
 For his far-off northern home. 
 
 38 
 
Tomorrow would be Christmas 
 
 And 'round the glowing fire, 
 In fancy he could see them — 
 
 His loved and honored sire ; 
 His darling, gentle mother, 
 
 His sister young and fair; 
 His sturdy little brother 
 
 With the waving golden hair. 
 
 Back to his early childhood 
 
 His memory quickly led, 
 To the joyous Christmas frolics 
 
 On which his fancy fed ; 
 To the hanging of the stockings 
 
 Where St. Nick was sure to stop 
 And to fill with choicest treasures 
 
 Each stocking to the top. 
 
 And a teardrop wet his lashes 
 
 As his fancy led him on 
 To the days of budding manhood ; 
 
 Those days now past and gone — 
 To the maiden, young and tender 
 
 Enshrined within his heart 
 Whose witching eyes enthralled him — 
 Pierced his soul with Cupid's dart. 
 
 Ah! that happy golden springtime, 
 When that maid became his wife 
 
 And, with loyal, true devotion 
 She crowned his early life. 
 
 Then the children came to bless them 
 With their sweet and cunning: wavs, 
 
 39 
 
And love dwelt in their cottage 
 And brightened all their days. 
 
 How they used to laugh and chatter 
 
 When they saw the Christmas tree 
 And they gaily danced around it, 
 
 Seeking every side to see ; 
 Oh! to be with them this evening; 
 
 But a soldier must not greive — 
 Yet, Oh, God! it is so lonesome 
 
 On picket Christmas eve. 
 o 
 
 KHAKI OR BLUE 
 
 How can I choose 'twixt the khaki and blue, 
 
 When both mean so much to me? 
 When both have been worn by our own yankee boys 
 
 In defense of the "Flag of the Free?" 
 
 When traitors within, or foemen without 
 
 Were fighting our land to subdue, 
 Our brave-hearted soldiers, with courage supreme, 
 
 Proved ever most loyal and true. 
 
 In khaki, our laddies, in far distant France, 
 
 The terrible Hun put to flight — 
 With honor they carried our banner aloft 
 
 While fighting for Justice and Right. 
 
 40 
 
And in the fair South-land our fathers of old 
 Waved aloft this same emblem so true. 
 
 They saved our dear Union from death and decay, 
 But they wore the old army blue. 
 
 Now. while we twine garlands of roses for them 
 And reverence their uniforms blue, 
 
 For our soldiers in khaki bright poppies we'll bring. 
 To place o'er their hearts brave and true. 
 
 And I'll wear o'er my heart the poppy and rose 
 
 For my heroes so noble and true — 
 For my brave boy in khaki, my pride and my joy, 
 
 And my dear, loyal father in blue. 
 
 - The End - 
 
 41 
 
HUMOROUS 
 
 
THE M. Y. O. B. CLUB 
 
 In a beautiful town in a sunny vale, 
 On the banks of a peaceful stream, 
 
 All nature smiled with air serene 
 And life seemed a summer dream. 
 
 To the traveler, passing along its streets 
 
 It seemed an ideal spot, 
 With its shady lanes and its gardens fair, 
 
 By each rose-embowered cot. 
 
 But the trail of the serpent was over all, 
 For dissentions reigned supreme, 
 
 And slanderous tongues made havoc sad, 
 Disturbing the sweetest dream. 
 
 For none could evade the venomed sting, 
 Or escape the poisoned dart — 
 
 With ruthless aim it took its flight, 
 Though it pierced the truest heart. 
 
 So sad it seemed that a place so fair, 
 
 By nature truly blest 
 With all most beautiful in life, 
 
 A place of peace and rest. 
 
 Should be transformed by venomed spite 
 
 Into a scene of hate, 
 Where evil, passions reigned supreme, 
 
 Defying time and fate. 
 
 42 
 
At length one came in modest guise, 
 With bright and happy face — 
 
 She won her way into all hearts 
 With kindly, winning grace. 
 
 She organized a social club 
 
 Of men and women, too, 
 Wrote out the rules to govern it 
 
 And told them what to do. 
 
 One rule she gave the precedence, 
 
 The most important part — 
 "No unkind word, or scornful look 
 
 Should grieve the weakest heart." 
 
 On the first transgression of this law 
 
 A heavy fine was laid. 
 Doubled at each succeeding one, 
 
 With suspension until paid. 
 
 All fines should be devoted to 
 
 The building of a school 
 Wherein the chief thing to be taught 
 
 Should be the Golden Rule. 
 
 This club was called M. Y. O. B. 
 
 And gained a widespread fame; 
 But none could guess the meaning of 
 
 This odd and mystic name. 
 
 Hut all agreed that ne'er before 
 In the memory of man, 
 
 43 
 
Had all things run so peacefully 
 Since first the world began. 
 
 'Tis true, transgressions oft occurred. 
 
 But fines were promptly paid; 
 For, to admit they could not keep 
 
 The pledge, they were afraid. 
 
 Lest, by expulsion they should own 
 
 Their degradation deep — 
 Though, when they parted from their cash 
 
 It made them wail and weep. 
 
 Built by the fines these people paid, 
 
 Upon the village green, 
 In time a noble college stood, 
 
 As fair as ever was seen? 
 
 And teachers came from near and far 
 
 To teach the "Rule of Love," 
 Till soon this little town became 
 
 Almost like realms above. 
 
 For all who cared to learn the truth 
 
 Began to see the right 
 And live up to the "Golden Rule" 
 
 Which gave them peace and light. 
 
 And now this sunny little spot 
 
 Seems of the earth the hub — 
 And all its joys were brought about 
 
 By this "Mind Your Own Business Club. 
 
 44 
 
MY EPIC POEM 
 
 Within my heart I feel a thrill — an inspiration 
 
 grand; 
 I will be famous and revered throughout my native 
 
 land. 
 Yes, and in foreign countries too, the clarion blast 
 
 of fame 
 Shall echo down the walls of time and immortalize 
 
 my name. 
 
 I'll write a poem that shall stir the hearts of all man- 
 kind — 
 
 Awaken thought, inspire the soul and elevate the 
 mind. 
 
 Now, let me think how to begin — Ah! yes, I'll try 
 this way — 
 
 "Upon the shore a maiden stands, 'tis near the close 
 of day. 
 
 Her eyes are deep as woodland pools; her softly 
 waving hair 
 
 Is like the sunshine warm and bright; her brow is 
 pure and fair. 
 
 She stands beneath a branching tree and closely 
 clasps her hands, 
 
 As, gazing seaward o'er the deep, beyond the shin- 
 ing sands — " 
 
 "Mamma! Oh, dear! Oh, Mamma, see! my finger's 
 cutted bad; 
 
 \nd Oh! it bleaded so, Mamma"; so cries my little 
 lad. 
 
 45 
 
Pen and pad are laid aside, the finger gently bound; 
 With loving kiss the tears are dried and harmless 
 toys are found. 
 
 "Where was I? Oh, the shining sands'' — her thoughts 
 
 are far away — 
 "My dear, the morning mail is in, come, help me 
 
 now I pray." 
 "This letter must have prompt reply and really, I 
 
 must go; 
 I'm due at the office in half an hour and time is 
 
 money, you know. 
 
 My husband's business must not wait, so I sigh and 
 
 lay down my pen — 
 Attend to the letter with promptness and then return 
 
 to my poem again, 
 "The blue rolling waves dash up to the shore and 
 
 break into foam at her feet, 
 While the soft zephyrs play with her bright waving 
 
 hair, laden with perfumes sweet." 
 
 Here* Biddy, the housemaid, appears on the scene, 
 
 saying, "Sure Ma'am the washing's arriv — 
 And a tablecloth's missing and baby's new gown is 
 
 ruined as sure as you live." 
 "Oh, dear me!" I sigh, as I lay down my pen and 
 
 repair to the kitchen at once 
 And I think as I count all the garments at hand. 
 
 "I might just as well be a dunce." 
 
 But again I will seat myself at my desk and endeavor 
 
 my thoughts to compose, 
 For the vision of fame allures me still and the future 
 
 looks fair as a rose. 
 
 46 
 
I take up my pen and hastily write — "The sea-gulls 
 
 are floating in air — " 
 When "Ting-a-ling" goes the iceman's bell and 1 
 
 throw down my pen in despair. 
 
 It is no use to try for Fate is unkind, my duties too 
 
 many and small, 
 1 know I could write if I had half a chance, for I 
 
 feel the poetic call. 
 But Fate is against me, ambition must wait; like a 
 
 common-place slave I must plod. 
 Must suppress every fancy that clamors for speech 
 
 and pass through the world like a clod. 
 
 No poem I'll write and the joys of fame shall be to 
 
 my heart unknown; 
 1 shall delve at the common-place things of life with 
 
 my heart as heavy as stone. 
 And the future is robbed of that beautiful gem; my 
 
 name to the world is unknown — 
 My epic unfinished — that maiden still stands by the 
 
 wave washed shore alone. 
 
 WAITING 
 
 (.Inscribed to M. L. M.) 
 
 1 sit by the window and patiently wait 
 As the hours drag slowly by — 
 
 And my heart is weary with hope deferred, 
 As I watch with tear-dimmed eye. 
 
 47 
 
"Oh; why does he linger?" my sad heart cries; 
 "Oh; why does he tarry so late? 
 He knows I am anxiously watching for him; 
 He knows how I faithfully wait." 
 
 "Does he care? No, alas! He's indifferent grown, 
 
 His heartlessness grieves me sore; 
 No more does he hasten with beaming smile 
 
 To gladden my heart as of yore. 
 
 Pride bids me assume a careless air; 
 
 To stifle the bitter wail; 
 To gaze on him coldly and give scorn for scorn — 
 
 But — you see — he carries the mail. 
 
 A JUST JUDGE 
 
 Response to Peter at the Gate 
 
 
 Up to the gates St. Peter guards 
 
 With grave and pious zeal — 
 Watching lest some unworthy wight 
 
 Within those gates should steal, 
 Came, one day, an aged pair 
 
 With many a weary sigh 
 And asked to be admitted 
 
 To the realms of bliss on high. 
 
 St. Peter eyed them carefully, 
 
 Then to the man he said, 
 "What right have you to enter here? 
 
 What claim to heavenly bread? 
 What have you done to pave your way 
 
 48 
 
 
To this celestial place? 
 What good deeds have you done on earth 
 To purchase saving grace?" 
 
 With pompous pride the man replied: 
 
 "I've been an upright man; 
 I've never cheated, lied nor swore 
 
 Since first my life began. 
 I've kept the faith and fought the fight; 
 
 I've shunned the way of sin. 
 I, and my house have served the Lord, 
 
 In hope hgh heaven to win." 
 
 "A family altar in my home 
 
 I raised in early life — 
 In fact, as soon as ever I 
 
 Took to myself a wife, 
 Twice every Sunday, rain or shine, 
 
 To church we always went. 
 No lazy sabbath in my home. 
 
 By any one was spent." 
 
 "I always entertained, as guests 
 
 Most honored and revered, 
 All clergymen, of my own creed 
 
 Who in our town appeared. 
 I always rose before the dawn 
 
 And hastened to my work; 
 No member of my family, sir, 
 
 Was ever called a shirk. 
 
 "I know some people called me hard 
 
 And said I had no heart, 
 But, truly, sir, I always gave 
 
 49 
 
Unto the church a part 
 Of all my vast possessions there; 
 
 And to the mission band 
 I always gave a golden coin 
 
 For use in heathen land." 
 
 "True, to the poor of my own town 
 
 I seldom gave a dime; 
 For to encourage idleness 
 
 Is certainly a crime. 
 You know, the lazy, vicious poor 
 
 Their tasks will always shirk, 
 And, if we give them all they ask 
 
 For us they will not work."' 
 
 "And Satan finds some mischief still. 
 
 For idle hands, you know; 
 So, it is best for them to work 
 
 That they in grace may grow. 
 For charity is bad for them— 
 
 (When you come to reflect) 
 Encourages their idle ways 
 
 And lowers their self-respect." 
 
 "My neighbors, sir, were oft unkind 
 
 And sometimes, sneered at me, 
 Because my wfe was not decked out 
 
 In raiment fair to see. 
 But, sir, such vanity I hate! 
 
 And then, you know, St. Paul 
 Said women should dress modestly, 
 
 With gewgaws, not at all. ' 
 
 Thus, good St. Peter, you must see 
 That I have done my best 
 
 50 
 
To live according to the law, 
 
 And earn eternal rest. 
 So, let us in among the saints 
 
 Where joy and peace abound 
 And where our loved ones, gone before, 
 
 May certainly be found." 
 
 St. Peter sat and mused a while 
 
 And turned the matter o'er. 
 He thought — "Here is, indeed, a case 
 
 Quite common on this shore. 
 This erring man in earnest seems 
 
 And really believes 
 That he has lived the better life 
 
 Upon the plane he leaves. 
 
 "And yet — Oh, what a sad mistake 
 
 To think the Lord of Life 
 Created man to murder joy 
 
 While carrying on the strife 
 Which all must know who live on earth 
 
 Amid conditions hard — 
 Who struggle on amid the sins 
 
 Against which all must guard! 
 
 "Ah, well! I'll have to let him in— 
 
 Perhaps in time he'll learn 
 That happiness is not a sin, 
 
 Nor joy a thing to spurn." 
 Then Peter turned unto the wife 
 
 Who stood so meekly by, 
 And said — "What claim have you, I pray, 
 
 To realms of bliss on high?" 
 
 51 
 
The woman sadly bowed her head 
 
 And, trembling with her fears, 
 Said, "Sir, I have been that man's wife 
 
 For more than thirty years!" 
 "Enough! Enough!" St. Peter cried— 
 
 "I pray you enter in — 
 For, thirty years with that good man 
 
 Atones for any sin!" 
 
 o 
 
 MISFIT NAMES 
 
 Mrs. Tall is short and stout, while Mrs. Short is tall; 
 And Mrs. Biggar's not so large as stately Mrs. Small. 
 And Mr. Long is five feet-two, while Mr. Little's 
 
 tall 
 And weighs at least two hundred pounds, and solid 
 
 as a wall. 
 Miss Holiday is overworked and little Mrs. Gay 
 Is always sad and tearful, like, and so is Mrs. Ray, 
 Miss Sweet is cross as cross can be and Mr. Blue is 
 
 gay, 
 While Mrs. Black is very fair and Mrs. Green is 
 
 gray. 
 Now Mr. Flint is soft as mush, and Mr. Hard also, 
 While Mrs. Burns is cold, unlike warm-hearted Mrs. 
 
 Snow. 
 And Mr. Joy is very grave and Mr. Graves is jolly 
 While Mr. Merryman is glum and frowns on mirth 
 
 and folly. 
 And thus it goes, along the line, as through the 
 
 world we wander; 
 "What's in a name?" says Juliet, and on that thought 
 
 we ponder. 
 
 52 
 
HOW THE SCANDAL STARTED 
 
 Oh, say, girls, have you heard — Oh, my; I shouldn't 
 tell; 
 
 But you never must repeat it, if I tell you all — 
 Ah, well — 
 
 It is such an awful scandal, I should never have be- 
 lieved 
 
 Anyone could be so vicious; I am really quite 
 grieved. 
 
 It is strange that certain women can't behave them- 
 selves aright, 
 
 But must give such cause for gossip — it really is a 
 fright. 
 
 And I never should have thought it, if it hadn't come 
 
 so straight; 
 But I fear we must believe it, so the story I'll relate. 
 But promise, if you tell it, that you'll never mention 
 
 me, 
 For you know I never tattle, on that you must agree. 
 Well, I'll tell you all about it. though it makes me 
 
 very sad — 
 If it gets back to her mother, it will surely make her 
 
 mad. 
 
 Well — Mrs. Blank told me that Mrs. Dash told 
 her that Mr. Dash had heard in Seattle that it was 
 a common report there that Mrs. Tattletalk had said 
 that she heard a lady from Tacoma say that Mr. 
 Grundy had told her that Mrs. Grundy positively 
 knew that Mrs. Shylock, the banker's wife, said that 
 she did not believe that Mrs. Dimity's daughter, 
 Mattie was any better than she shauld be. 
 
 But, don't tell anyone that I told you! 
 
 53 
 
MAUD MULLER REVISED (Aadpted) 
 
 Maud Muller, on a summer's day 
 
 Set a hen in a bran new way; 
 
 Maud, you see, was a city girl, 
 
 With pencilled brow and golden curl — 
 
 Knew nothing whatever about a hen, 
 
 But could sing and dance and flirt with men. 
 
 But an old great aunt had willed her a farm 
 
 And Maud, being brave felt no alarm — 
 
 Was sure that she could do quite well 
 
 If she had some chickens and eggs to sell. 
 
 So she covered a box with tinsel gay, 
 
 Lined it smoothly with new-mown hay — 
 
 Filled it carefully with eggs and then 
 
 Started to find a likely hen. 
 
 Out of the flock she selected one 
 
 And then she thought her work was done. 
 
 And it would have been, but the stubborn brute 
 
 Stood up and cackled "Ka-doot — Ka-doot"! 
 
 A nd then Maud came with pained surprise, 
 
 Gazed coldly into the creature's eyes — 
 
 Compressed her lips and, with a spring, 
 
 She grabbed the hen by its outstretched wing. 
 
 And tied its legs to the box. "You bet" 
 
 She said, "I know how to make you set." 
 
 But the hen still stood and, worse and worse, 
 Shrieked forth its wrongs to the universe — 
 Upset the box and broke the eggs, 
 T n a desperate struggle to free its legs. 
 Then smeared with eggs and tinsel gay, 
 
 54 
 
It rose arid triumphantly flapped away, 
 Lit on the fence and loudly crowed, 
 Then stalked away to its own abode. 
 
 Then a naughty boy, on the barn-yard fence. 
 Tee-heed, "Say, Maud, there's a difference 
 Between hens you know, and it is that, 
 One says 'Ka-doot', and one 'Ka-dat.' " 
 Then Maud recalled that the stubborn brute, 
 She had tried to set had said "Ka-doot." 
 The naughty boy, with laughter, then 
 Gave Maud some lessons about the hen. 
 But, ever since that historic day 
 She's blushed in an embarrassed way 
 At thought of the hubbub she raised once when 
 She tried to set a Gentleman hen. 
 o 
 
 SEREPTA JINKS' PICNIC 
 
 How dew ye dew, Samanthy? I declare you're 
 
 lookin well; 
 Thank ye, no, I can't stay long; I jest run over tew 
 
 tell 
 About the picnic party given by Deacon Brown, 
 In the maple grove, yew recollect, jest t'other side 
 
 o' town. 
 
 Wal, Jonathan said we'd better go, 'twould kind o' 
 
 renew our youth 
 Tew see the young folks flirtin' and I guess he told 
 
 the truth. 
 
 55 
 
So we hitched up old Dobbin and started airly like, 
 And druv at a moderate rate, along down the old 
 turnpike. 
 
 Fd baked a lot o' cookies and cakes and punkin pies, 
 An astonishin' lot o' doughnuts that orter a'tuk a 
 
 prize, 
 For they wus light and spongy, though of course I 
 
 shouldn't' boast 
 About my skill in cookin', but it's knowed along the 
 
 coast. 
 
 That I turn my back tew no one, a'cookin' common 
 
 stuff, 
 But them air new-fangled dishes, they floor me, 
 
 sure enough. 
 Wal, we got tew the grove at ten o'clock and sot our 
 
 basket down 
 And looked around tew see the folks and chat with 
 
 Deacon Brown? 
 
 The Deacon's darter, Sally Jane and her dandy city 
 
 beau 
 Wus flirtin' jest tew beat the Dutch — it really wus a 
 
 show; 
 If that air gal wus mine, I'd draw a tighter rein; 
 I never seen a country gal so silly or so vain. 
 
 And there wus Betsy Baker, a rale purty lookin' 
 
 gal, 
 But la, she knows it jest as well as any one can 
 
 tell; 
 She giggled and she flirted and tried tew be so 
 
 smart, 
 A sayin' witty sayin's, so sassy and so part. 
 
 56 
 
She wore the thinest kind o' lace, tew kiver neck and 
 
 arm, 
 Then tried tew look so innocent, as if it wus no 
 
 harm ; 
 But, trewly 'twus immodest and made me feel 
 
 ashamed, 
 I really think her mother is greatly tew be blamed. 
 
 But then, yew know her mother never had no bring- 
 in' up; 
 
 She was one of them air Janeses that lived at Killi- 
 cup — 
 
 A low down sort o' family, but la; tew see her now 
 
 Yew'd think she wus a queen, or a dutchess, any- 
 how. 
 
 Wal, we finally got tew work, a settin' out the food 
 And gettin' dinner ready and 'twould 'a' done yew 
 
 good 
 Tew see the sort o' cookin' that some folks had tew 
 
 show; 
 I never would 'a' brung sech lookin' stuff, I know. 
 
 Melindy Hankeses' chicken pie was burnt across the 
 
 top, 
 Besides, the crust wus heavy, the inside all a sop. 
 And then, Jerushy Jenkins had brung a loaf o' bread 
 As black as poorest rye and as heavy tew, as lead. 
 
 I never et sech lookin' stuff and didn't taste o' her'n; 
 The looks wus quite enough for me, but as near as 
 
 I can learn 
 It's jest as good as any she gives her folks tew eat; 
 They wouldn't know the taste o' bread, if it wus 
 
 light and sweet. 
 
 57 
 
And Hanner Dingy's doughnuts would 'a' done for 
 
 cannon ball, 
 If she'd only made 'em bigger, and her cakes and 
 
 pies and all 
 Wus smashed and jammed together, till it made an 
 
 awful mess, 
 Not fit tew feed the pigs; and then, tew see her 
 
 dress; 
 
 She wore that same old bumbazine, she got when 
 
 Amos died, 
 All trimmed with rusty crape and tucked up one one 
 
 side. 
 The overskirt wus much tew short, the sleeves wus 
 
 much tew long, 
 The collar cut a'slantin' and the skirt wus all cut 
 
 wron. 
 
 Wal, when we got the table sot, there wusn't room 
 
 for all, 
 So we sot aside a portion tew wait the second call, 
 And Sally Jane's fine city beau, with an eye-glass in 
 
 his eye, 
 Jest stumbled over and sot down, right in my punkin 
 
 pie. 
 
 I nearly died a laughin' tew see his funny plight, 
 Tew see the pie a-stickin' tew his broadcloth clothes 
 
 so tight; 
 His face wus jest the color ot a blood beet when 
 
 it's biled; 
 He sputtered and he raved, as though his blood wus 
 
 riled. 
 
 58 
 
Sally Jane wus mad as a hornet, 'cause everybody 
 smiled; 
 
 She said it showed their bringin' up, but that broad- 
 cloth suit was spiled; 
 
 'Twould never dew tew cut a swell, all dressed in 
 punkin pie, 
 
 So he and Sally Jane went hum, without biddin' us 
 goodby. 
 
 Now don't say I said a word, where it ever will git 
 
 out, 
 For you know I never gossip, nor carry news about, 
 But I really think a picnic is jest the nicest place 
 Tew study human nature and see it face tew face. 
 
 But I really must be goin', my bread sponge will be 
 
 light; 
 Come down and set this evenin', or else tomorrow 
 
 night, 
 And I'll tell yew more about it, for I've got lots more 
 
 tew say 
 About the funny things I seen at the picnic t'other 
 
 day. 
 
 o 
 
 AUNT SEREPTA'S ILLS 
 
 Oh, dear, I'm the wretchedest creeter, I am, 
 
 That ever was seen. I know; 
 I'm sufferin' with aches and miseries 
 
 Clean from my head to my toe. 
 
 59 
 
I've got the newralijy in my face, 
 
 Though why they should call it new 
 
 Is suthin' I never could understand, 
 For I'm sartin' it isn't true. 
 
 Nobody'd think o' callin' me new; 
 
 Yet that air disease, I declare, 
 Is older than I ever want to be, 
 
 With this rackin' pain in my ear. 
 
 I've tried all the remedies I could find, 
 But none on 'em cured wuth a cent ; 
 
 I used a hull bottle of anarchy, 
 
 Then back to the drug store I went. 
 
 The drug-man, he give me newmony to try 
 And told me to use it quite strong; 
 
 But the fust dose I took, it strangled me so 
 That I knew that suthin' was wrong. 
 
 Oh, dear me, that horrible pain in my back, 
 
 I know it's plumbago, for sure; 
 The doctor jest laughed when I told him so, 
 
 But he couldn't give me no cure. 
 
 And there's that sky-atticky pain, all the while 
 
 A runnin' and shootin' like mad; 
 Oh, dear me! if ever I do git rid 
 
 Of that terrible thing I'll be glad. 
 
 And that awful sore throat — the petrified kind, 
 I had that when I was quite young, 
 
 And it left a great ulster, as big as a dime, 
 Just at the roots o' my tongue. 
 
 60 
 
And it aches, and it aches, most all o' the time, 
 And my brown-tropical tubes as well; 
 
 And my diagram, too, is awful inflamed — 
 I'm afraid it's beginnin' to swell. 
 
 But the doctor says there is nothing to take 
 
 To ease up the pain I've endured 
 And unless I will have my utensils removed 
 
 He is sure I'll never be cured. 
 
 I've got a loose cartridge, two on 'em I guess, 
 
 That slips all around in my wrist. 
 And then, it gits lame and hurts awful bad, 
 
 And swells up as big as my fist. 
 
 And then, there's a flutterin' pain 'round my heart 
 That smothers me 'most every night — 
 
 I took dig-it-alice, I think it was called, 
 But it never helped it a mite. 
 
 And then, the rumaticks, they torture me so 
 That I quite often wish I was dead; 
 
 And I'm really afraid I'll go loony yet. 
 With this rumblin' noise in my head. 
 
 I have headache and toothache and corns — 
 
 What I suffer no mortal can tell; 
 But I'm gon' to Soap Lake, the first of next week 
 
 And I hope I shall soon come back well. 
 
 61 
 
KICKING 
 
 There's a singular sort of mania that affects our 
 
 quiet town 
 And causes many citizens to wear a sullen frown; 
 1 know not what to call it in language quite polite, 
 But the slangists call it "kicking" and I think they've 
 
 named it right. 
 
 It is peculiar in its workings and oft takes you by 
 
 surprise, 
 For it makes your friends act foolish when you 
 
 thought them wondrous wise; 
 For, every thing you undertake they're certain to 
 
 oppose, 
 And this senseless opposition often changes friends 
 
 to foes. 
 
 If you plan a brilliant project, which you think is 
 
 sure to please 
 And with some small assistance can be carried out 
 
 with ease, 
 Up starts some chronic grumbler, with a movement 
 
 sure and quick 
 And he spoils your brilliant project with a vigorous 
 
 backward kick. 
 
 You turn away disheartened and in your angry pain, 
 You think to please such people you'll never try 
 
 again; 
 But Time — the great physician — soon heals your 
 
 wounded pride 
 And you form another plan, you think the kicker 
 
 can't deride. 
 
 62 
 
You are sure to feel elated and oft show it is your 
 look, 
 
 As you think this surely must succeed, in spite of 
 "crank" or "crook." 
 
 But, down falls your airy castle and your pride 
 comes down as quick, 
 
 For your plans are all demolished by a little side- 
 wise kick. 
 
 Thus it is with all our pleasures, while this mania 
 
 rules the town; 
 Our bright anticipations are forever tumbling down. 
 But we'll hope this chronic kicker, whom no one 
 
 cares to save, 
 May very soon turn 'round and kick himself into the 
 
 grave. 
 
 — o 
 
 CAMP MEETING AT GAINES 
 
 Dear Editor, did you go to Gaines 
 On one of Sunday's excursion trains? 
 If not, you have missed a genuine treat, 
 The like of which you will seldom meet. 
 
 Of all the shows, in east or west, 
 
 This motly crowd was sure the best; 
 
 There were dudes with derbies and dudes with canes, 
 
 Who went to camp meeting that day at Gaines. 
 
 There were ''mashers" and flirts who talked of love. 
 But who went not to worship the God above; 
 
 63 
 
They went to flirt and to "make a mash," 
 Or, in other words, "to cut a dash.'' 
 
 And loud they talked and loud they laughed, 
 (For some the inebriates' bowl had quaffed.) 
 And they laughed and sung in drunken glee 
 And swore they were bound the fun to see. 
 
 The coaches were filled with the howling throng 
 And still as the train moved slowly along, 
 They came from every hamlet and town, 
 Till every car was loaded down. 
 
 But, genial and smiling stood F. M. B. 
 
 Though quite perplexed, as all could see; 
 
 For his air, as he viewed them, great and small. 
 
 Said, "Where in the world shall I put them all?" 
 
 But the coaches, flat and baggage cars 
 He loaded with people, dudes and cigars; 
 And, while babies cried and boys drank rum, 
 The girls were industrially chewing gum; 
 
 Arrved at Gaines, what a sight to behold; 
 As through mud and rain marched young and old. 
 While the woods resounded with prayer and curse 
 And Pandemonium could not be worse. 
 
 Now see, my friend, what you have missed, 
 For the boys got hugged and the girls got kissed: 
 And the "cake" that is made with the greatest pains 
 Will fall to the "whiskey show" at Gaines. 
 
 64 
 
HAPPY EVE 
 
 I never envied any wife 
 
 But good old Eve, the First; 
 For, though she had her troubles, too, 
 
 They were not quite the worst. 
 'Tis true her lot was sometimes hard, 
 
 Some thorns amid her roses hid — 
 She had an appetite for fruit 
 
 And would not do as she was bid. 
 
 And then, her taste was not the best, 
 
 Or she had never flirted so 
 With that old serpent who beguiled 
 
 Her into depths of sin and woe. 
 Her wardrobe, too, was rather scant 
 
 And in these days would cause a smile, 
 But her costume, though of fig-leaves made, 
 
 Was in the very latest style. 
 
 Of course she had no high heeled shoes; 
 Nor was her hair puffed with a rat; 
 
 And she never strolled along the street 
 In "just the sweetest little hat." 
 
 Poor girl, she had no jewelry- 
 No sparkling brooch, nor diamond rings; 
 
 No arm-length gloves and elbow sleeves, 
 Nor bonnets trimmed with pheasant's wings. 
 
 She never saw a matinee, 
 
 Nor yet, a bargain-counter scrap; 
 
 Nor swung a golf-club on the links, 
 With plaided cape and jaunty cap. 
 
 65 
 
She never saw a picture show, 
 
 Nor two-stepped with a partner tall — 
 
 I fear she never even waltzed; 
 Nor shone as belle of any ball. 
 
 She never had an auto-ride; 
 
 She never saw a Ferris-wheel; 
 Nor on a roller-coaster whirled; 
 
 Nor heard a phonographic squeal; 
 On roller skates she never skimmed 
 
 Around a gaily lighted hall— 
 Nor flirted at a masquerade, 
 
 Nor played a game of basket-ball. 
 
 Alas, alas! poor Mother Eve! 
 
 How many joys she was denied. 
 She had no happy child-hood days, 
 
 For her first day saw her a bride. 
 We read of no engagement ring; 
 
 No maidens to attend the bride; 
 No wedding bells nor costly gifts 
 
 But only Adam, by her side. 
 
 We know not how the rituals gave 
 
 The marriage service of that day— 
 But, we know the church had not had time 
 
 To eliminate the word "obey." 
 Yet Oh: my heart with envy burns— 
 
 For, according to the "good old book, 
 Her husband had no chance to tell. 
 
 Her how his mother used to cook. 
 
 66 
 
THE TRIALS OF YOUTH 
 
 V'ou may talk of the joys of happy school-days; 
 
 You may sing of the pleasures of youth; 
 May enlarge on the freedom of childhood from care, 
 
 And your words have a measure of truth. 
 
 'Tis true we are free from the burden of care 
 
 That on parents so heavily press; 
 That our minds are not worried with having to plan 
 
 How to gain our food, shelter and dress. 
 
 But our elders must own that one trial they're spared 
 (And a burden that by no means is light) 
 
 For, no matter what else they're required to do, 
 They are never compelled to recite. 
 
 Select reading is pleasant, and even essays 
 Do not fill my poor soul with affright 
 
 But a long recitation, which I'm sure to forget 
 Unnerves and disables me quite. 
 
 Dialogues are "real jolly," so easy to learn; 
 
 A drama's a source of delight; 
 But my heart's in a flutter, my head's in a whirl 
 
 When I stand up alone to recite. 
 
 "Stand erect," we are told, and I pull myself up 
 Like a broom, or a stove-pipe, or stick; 
 
 "Not so stiff/' comes the order and then I collapse 
 And my spirits go down like a brick. 
 
 What to do with my hands is a problem to me, 
 
 67 
 
To fold them up primly is not grace; 
 So I drop them, as limp as a rag by my side, 
 While hot blushes steal over my face. 
 
 In posing my body I forget what to say 
 And stammer and pause in affright, 
 
 And wish that the floor of the rostrum would part 
 And swallow me in, out of sight. 
 
 You will see now, my friends, that the trials of youth 
 Render childhood not always inviting, 
 
 And I'm sure you'd excuse me, if only you knew 
 How awkward I feel when reciting. 
 o 
 
 THE WIDOW'S WAIL 
 
 Gone is the light from the Veterans' Home- 
 Gone to a sunnier land; 
 
 To bask in the smiles of fairer dames, 
 Forgetting this desolate band. 
 
 No more shall we meet his gladsome smile, 
 
 Or list to his cheery call; 
 No more shall our hearts go pit-a-pat 
 
 At the sound of his step in the hall. 
 
 The days go by on leaden wings, 
 
 The sun seems not to shine, 
 F or M L has gone and left us here 
 
 To sigh and weep and pine. 
 
 68 
 
In vain we listen and watch and wait 
 
 For the glance of his merry eye 
 Through the curtained window where oft we eat 
 
 To watch as he passed by. 
 
 But saddest of all is the deadly fear 
 
 That in those southern bowers, 
 Some other widows enjoy the smiles 
 
 That in the past were ours. 
 
 (Signed — The Disconsolates.) 
 
 The End - 
 
 69 
 
MISCELLANEOUS 
 
HOW THE ARISTOCRAT SEES IT 
 
 A woman young and beautiful. 
 
 With soft and dainty hands ; 
 Possessed of health and airy grace, 
 
 Of stocks, and bonds, and lands ; 
 Came, trailing all her silken skirts 
 
 Up the dark and dirty stair. 
 To address a group of striking men, 
 
 In pretest gathered there. 
 
 Her heart was swelling in her breast. 
 
 Her mind with trouble tossed ; 
 Her soul was filled with doubt and dread, 
 
 And fear her pathway crossed. 
 For danger lurked on every side. 
 
 And with affrighted cries, 
 She begged to be allowed to speak, 
 
 While tears gushed from her eyes. 
 
 "Oh, men!" she cried, "what would you do? 
 
 What can you hope to gain? 
 By overturning all our laws 
 
 And causing grief and pain ? 
 If your mad project should succeed. 
 
 What would become of me, 
 And thousands of my sisters fair? 
 
 You would our ruin be. 
 
 "You cannot think that WE would WORK, 
 
 Just like a common clod ! 
 Do you not know the powers that be 
 
 Were first ordained of God? 
 
 70 
 
Where would I get my silken gowns? 
 
 My jewels bright and rare, 
 If you refused to grant to me 
 
 Of wealth, the larger share? 
 
 'Tis true, YOUR wives in shabby dress 
 
 Go clad from day to day ; 
 But then, you know, they're used to that 
 
 And know no other way. 
 This dainty gown of silk and lace, 
 
 So graceful, rich and bright, 
 Would not become a household drudge ; 
 
 'Twould make her look a fright. 
 
 "These sparkling jewels on my hand, 
 
 So slender, soft and white, 
 But draw attention to the hand ; 
 
 Its beauties keep in sight. 
 But, on the coarse, toil-hardened hands 
 
 Of YOUR wives, don't you see, 
 They would be sadly out of place 
 
 As anything could be. 
 
 "Of course, the same God made us all, 
 
 There is no question there — 
 And that proves nothing in the case, 
 
 So let us reason fair. 
 The same MI XT coins the little dime 
 
 And the golden eagle, too; 
 That does not prove equality! 
 
 That must be plain to you. 
 
 "What do you want of wealth and ease? 
 Do you not understand 
 
 71 
 
That great temptations oft assail 
 
 The wealthy of the land? 
 But, in your sheltered, humble homes, 
 
 If you would be content, 
 You might be safe from Satan's wiles, 
 
 With blessings heaven-sent. 
 
 "Accustomed to your shabby huts 
 
 And to your humble fare, 
 What would you do in mansions grand, 
 
 With pictures rich and rare? 
 With fine and costly furnishings 
 
 Of velvet, silk and gold, 
 With draperies of Indian weaves 
 
 And yellow laces old? 
 
 "YOU would not know the worth of these, 
 
 But, to the manor born, 
 I must possess such luxuries, 
 
 Or be, indeed, forlorn. 
 Then, let me plead again with you 
 
 To let the matter rest — 
 These Socialists are crazy fools 
 
 And know not what is best. 
 
 "Pray, do not heed their traitorous talk ; 
 
 Let well enough alone — 
 Be satisfied with what you have ; 
 
 Don't WISH the earth to own! 
 It is not right for such as YOU 
 
 To ask for ALL you earn, 
 And how you DARE to be so bold, 
 
 I really can't discern. 
 
 72 
 
"These agitators stir you up — 
 
 If they would let you be 
 You would not show such discontent 
 
 And clamor to be free. 
 And whr* would freedom mean to you? 
 
 What do you think you'd do 
 If you were free from toil and care? 
 
 Hard work is good for YOU. 
 
 "With your uncultivated tastes 
 
 You would not be content 
 Amid the splendors of the rich 
 
 On naught but pleasure bent. 
 But I am cast in finer mould, 
 
 So, list to: what I say — 
 DON'T be misled by Socialists 
 
 To vote my rights away !" 
 
 HOW THE WORKING WOMAN SEES IT 
 
 Meanly clad and bent with toil, 
 
 A striker's wife stood forth to speak ; 
 Her work-worn hands were tightly clenched 
 
 Although her step was slow and weak. 
 With fearless mien and flashing eye 
 
 She faced the proud aristocrat. 
 Regardless that her gown was torn 
 
 And on her head she wore no hat. 
 
 73 
 
"Madame," she cried, "what right have you 
 
 To wealth which you have never earned? 
 What right to hold yourself above 
 
 The class that you have ever spurned? 
 You look upon the laboring man 
 
 As so much dirt beneath your feet, 
 And draw away your dainty skirts 
 
 From contact with him on the street. 
 
 "And, when you meet a working girl 
 
 You pass her by with cold disdain, 
 Unheeding that your coldness brings 
 
 To her sad heart an added pain. 
 How can you know that working girl 
 
 For whom your breast holds naught but scorn, 
 Is not your equal — aye, and more, 
 
 And also to the manor born? 
 
 "Many there be who work and toil, 
 
 Who once were rich as you are now ; 
 Reverses often come and then 
 
 To sad misfortune they must bow. 
 And thousands who were always poor 
 
 Possess a nature fine and pure ; 
 They would enjoy the luxuries 
 
 Their hands produce, you may be sure. 
 
 "But, under competition's sway, 
 
 These luxuries they cannot hold, 
 Unless, like you, they will consent 
 
 To sell their very souls for gold. 
 Too honest they, to condescend 
 
 To all the lies and tricks of trade ; 
 
 74 
 
To 'business methods 1 as 'tis called, 
 
 Of which YOUR class seems not afraid. 
 
 "You prate about your finer tastes 
 
 And boldly say you will not work — 
 But, to my mind, 'tis baser far 
 
 To be a parasitic shirk. 
 Could we possess what we produce. 
 
 We, too, could cultivate the arts: 
 For Nature formed us of one clay. 
 
 The same blood warms our throbbing heart: 
 
 "We are not clods because we work. 
 
 Because we labor with a will — 
 The part we play is nobler far 
 
 Than any you may hope to fill. 
 We i\o net wish to change with you 
 
 And be a useless parasite; 
 j'ar better that we struggle on 
 
 And labor for the cause of right. 
 
 "This system under which we live 
 
 T hold responsible for all — 
 It you were trained to be of use 
 
 You would respond to duty's call. 
 Rut competition fosters greed 
 
 It is the hotbed of all sin. 
 Breeds hate and envy in the heart ; 
 
 Xo room for Love to enter in. 
 
 "Long years has labor been enslaved 
 
 Enchained in dungeons dark as night; 
 Rut the dawn is breaking in the sky, 
 
 75 
 
We see the glimmering of light. 
 Far in the east the God of Day 
 
 Brings promise of a better time, 
 When peace and plenty shall prevail. 
 
 Eliminating vice and crime. 
 
 "When competition yields its way 
 
 And Socialism reigns supreme, 
 All will rejoice in freedom then 
 
 And life be like a pleasant dream. 
 Then speed the day when Truth and Righ( 
 
 Shall triumph over Vice and Greed ! 
 When Labor's hand shall hold its own 
 
 And none shall ever be in need. 
 
 "When that day comes, then all shall see 
 
 That Love is better far than Strife; 
 And in the light that knowledge brings 
 
 You'll scorn to lead a useless life. 
 Then all, in harmony shall dwell 
 
 And no one will his fellow wrong; 
 All hearts will then unite to sing 
 
 In joyous numbers, Love's sweet song." 
 
 76 
 
BREAKING UP THE HOME 
 
 In a hovel, near a lumber-mill 
 
 A woman, meanly clad 
 Was bending o'er the weekly wash 
 
 With visage sour and sad. 
 Three ragged children played about 
 
 The wet and dirty floor — 
 Their playthings only sticks and strings 
 
 With mud bespattered o'er. 
 
 A stranger stepped up to the door, 
 
 Politely bared his head — 
 "Pray, Madame, is your husband in?" 
 
 He to the woman said. 
 "Ah, no," said she, "my husband, sir. 
 
 Is looking for a job; 
 He's had no work in many weeks," 
 
 She then began to sob. 
 
 "'Tis cruel, sir, the masters are; 
 
 They do not care a cent 
 If we go cold and hungry, too, 
 
 If we only pay the rent. 
 Our little children have not clothes 
 
 To keep them warmly clad, 
 And often they have scarce a crust 
 
 To make their stomachs glad." 
 
 "Ah, me! ah, me! 'tis very hard 
 
 To make a living now, 
 And if we fail to pay our debts 
 
 77 
 
There'll surely be a row. 
 So, what can any poor man do 
 
 But just go on the road 
 To hunt for work from day to day, 
 
 Though 'tis a weary load?" 
 
 Then spoke the stranger at the door 
 
 "I beg your pardon, ma'am. 
 But I can show a better way 
 
 In which there is no sham. 
 Co-operation is the word 
 
 To make the poor man smile- 
 To ease his burden, cheer his heart 
 
 And all his cares beguile." 
 
 "And what is that?" the woman said. 
 
 "I do not understand. 
 How can a poor man get along 
 
 Who does not own the land:" 
 "Well, madam, I have net the time 
 
 This great plan to explain, 
 But, if you'll read this magazine. 
 
 This knowledge you will gain." 
 
 He handed her a magazine — 
 
 She glanced along the page, 
 Then threw it at the stranger B feet 
 
 And burst into a rage. 
 Her face was flushed an angiy red. 
 
 Her pallid lips afoam — 
 "We want no SOCIALISM i.jre, 
 
 It will break up the home!* 
 
 78 
 
Sadly the stranger turned awu/ 
 
 And soon he reached the null 
 Where men were drudging day by day 
 
 To fill their master's till. 
 He spoke to one, both old and bent, 
 
 Who paused to make reply — 
 "I must not talk in working hours, 
 
 So come back by and by." 
 
 At luncheon time he sought h»m out 
 
 And sat down for a chat 
 Beside the man in ragged co*.t 
 
 And torn and battered hai. 
 "My friend," said he, "why aie you here? 
 
 It really is too bad 
 That one so old must toil so hard ! 
 
 It makes me feel quite sad.' 
 
 The man looked up with te«. -dimmed eyes 
 
 And said, "It is, indeed, 
 Too bad that one so old and ill 
 
 Should ever be in need. 
 We had a home, my wife and I, 
 
 Not many years ago, 
 But, sickness came and doctors' bills 
 
 Soon laid our savings low. 
 
 "We lost our place, and now, you see, 
 
 T cannot earn enough 
 To pay the rent and buy our food 
 
 And clothes and other stuff. 
 So, wife has gone to live with Jaclv, 
 
 Our eldest son, you know, 
 And I just "bach" in yonder shed ; 
 
 It was my only show." 
 
 79 
 
The stranger's heart was sorely touched, 
 
 His eyes were dim with tears — 
 He said, "My friend, 'tis very sad 
 
 This tale one often hears. 
 But, if you working men will read 
 
 This paper in my hand, 
 It will point out a remedy 
 
 That is both sure and grand. 
 
 The laborer read a line, or two, 
 
 Then laid the paper down 
 And eyed the man distrustfully 
 
 And with a hea\y frown, 
 "No, no. young man ! that will not do," 
 
 He sadly shook his head — 
 "You would destroy our sacred homes, 
 
 Misguided man !" he said. 
 
 The stranger sadly plodded on 
 
 And left the town behind — 
 And. as he walked, this question still 
 
 He pondered in his mind. 
 "How can I reach the working-class 
 
 And make them see the light? 
 
 How make them feel class-consciousness 
 
 And learn to vote aright?" 
 
 Out on the prairie, broad and fair, 
 
 He traveled many hours, 
 Where Nature smiled and all was gay 
 
 With brightly blooming flowers. 
 At length he reached a lonely ranch — 
 
 A low sod-shanty mean, 
 
 80 
 
And by the door a woman sat 
 Forlorn and lank and lean. 
 
 The stranger bowed, asked for a drink 
 
 And begged to rest a while 
 For he was foot-sore from his tramp 
 
 O'er many a weary mile. 
 He led the woman on to talk 
 
 About her mode of life — 
 She told him she was left alone. 
 
 A poor, deserted wife. 
 
 Her husband once was well-to-do 
 
 And owned a little store — 
 "Away back East," she said it was. 
 
 But then came troubles sore. 
 The panic came and all his funds 
 
 Were lost at one fell stroke 
 And he was forced to close his store 
 
 And then his sad heart broke. 
 
 His courage failed, his health gave way 
 
 He seemed to lose all hope — 
 He could not work, he could not sleep — 
 
 Did naught but brood and mope. 
 At length, he tried to brighten up 
 
 And started for the west — 
 Took np a claim and moved thereon. 
 
 Which then seemed for the best. 
 
 But, lack of money hampered him, 
 
 He could not keep afloat; 
 And soon the wolf of poverty 
 
 81 
 
Had clutched him by the throat. 
 And then, again his courage failed 
 
 His mind, at last gave way- 
 He wandered aimlessly about; 
 
 At home, he would not stay. 
 
 So, now the wife must struggle on 
 
 And do the best she can 
 Amid the hardships and the toil 
 ; Without the help of man. 
 Her voice was listless and her eyes 
 ' Were oft suffused with tears 
 As memory cast a backward glance 
 
 O'er all the dreary years. 
 
 The stranger tried to comfort her 
 
 By pointing out the way 
 Whereby all labor shall receive 
 
 The very highest pay. 
 But, when he spoke the magic word 
 
 Her eyes with anger blazed — 
 She rose in 1 all her righteous wrath 
 
 And coldly at him gazed. 
 
 "Young man!" said she, "I am surprised! 
 
 How can you talk such trash ? 
 If you could carry out such schemes 
 • You would, indeed, be rash, 
 "No. take your socialism hence 
 
 I do not care to hear 
 Just HOW you would break up our homes, 
 • That are to us so dear!" 
 
 82 
 
The stranger turned and walked away. 
 
 With sadly puzzled mind; 
 It seemed so strange that all he met 
 
 Were of a similar kind. 
 "If homes like these are held so dear,'' 
 
 He thought, "what would it be 
 If socialism's dreams came true 
 
 With labor really free?" 
 
 "With certainty of every good 
 That human hearts hold dear ; 
 
 With peace and plenty all around 
 And pleasant words of cheer. 
 
 Our homes might then be worth. our while- 
 No 'breaking up' we'd fear, 
 
 For any home that's worth the name 
 Would be a heaven here." 
 
 THE LIGHTS OF BREMERTON 
 
 Like twinkling stars in summer eve 
 
 You shine across the bay, 
 Where dimpling waves reflect the gleam 
 
 In queer, fantastic way. 
 
 Afar upon the distant hills, 
 
 Is broken lines of light, 
 Your gleaming splendor brightens all 
 
 The darkness of the night. 
 
 S3 
 
Along the graceful, curving shore 
 
 Like gems of brightest hue, 
 Your serried ranks show where our ships 
 
 Lie, manned by "Boys in Blue." 
 
 And we who know those faithful hearts 
 
 Will ever guard our rest 
 Sleep calmly here, without a fear, 
 
 With peace and safety blest. 
 
 Shine on, ye lights of Bremerton — 
 
 Shine on with steady light, 
 Until the sun's bright glory 
 
 Dispels the gloom of night. 
 o 
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 (To my foster-sister, Elizabeth Talmage Conklin.) 
 
 In the bright October weather, 
 
 In the days of long ago, 
 We two, merry-hearted maidens 
 
 With laughing eyes and cheeks aglow, 
 Ran and shouted in the sunshine ; 
 
 Breathing in the balmy air, 
 Singing loudly to the echoes 
 
 From the wooded hillside fair. 
 
 Just emerging from our childhood, 
 "Standing with reluctant feet," 
 
 84 
 
Eager, yet afraid to venture 
 
 "Where the brook and river meet." 
 
 Looking forward to the future, 
 Wondering what will be our fate 
 
 When we reach the fairy portals, 
 Entering womanhood's estate. 
 
 Anon, we threw aside the burden, 
 Letting childhood reign supreme. 
 
 Dancing like two woodland fairies 
 Under hemlocks, dark and green. 
 
 Marching o'er the brilliant carpet, 
 With a firm and rhythmic beat. 
 
 While the red and geld of autumn 
 
 • Rustles 'neath our restless feet. 
 
 Pausing oft to call attention 
 
 - To some veined and tinted leaf. 
 With its gorgeous, colors blending 
 
 - With the darker shades beneath. 
 Gazing with enraptured vision 
 
 - Where the sunbeams brightly gleam 
 Through the branches of the maples 
 
 - On the flashing, sparkling stream. 
 
 Oh, those happy days of childhood ; 
 
 r How my memory lingers 'round 
 
 All the scenes through which we wandered 
 
 All the beauties that we found ; 
 And I wonder if the future, 
 • When we pass the "Gates of Gold." 
 Will hold brighter, fairer pictures 
 
 • Than the ones our memories hold. 
 
 85 
 
RESPONSE TO "OCTOBER" 
 
 (By Elizabeth Talmage Conklin.) 
 
 Do I remember? Surely, darling. 
 
 Those bright days when first we met 
 Will be the last of "Memory's pictures" 
 
 That I ever shall forget. 
 And your true and faithful friendship, 
 
 'Mong the treasures of my life, 
 Is surpassed by only that 
 
 Of him who long has called me "Wife' 
 
 Oh, that hillside! I can see it, 
 
 As I close my weary eyes, 
 With its tints so richly glowing 
 
 'Neath the clear October skies. 
 And your face, so swe'et and tender. 
 
 With its laughing, happy eyes, 
 is the fairest of my memories — 
 
 The picture I most dearly prize. 
 
 Those sweet pictures, time defying, 
 
 Fill up every inch of space 
 Of the years so swiftly flying, 
 
 Leaving on my life their trace. 
 And today my heart beats lightly, 
 
 As it did in times of old, 
 As I tread the path of crimson 
 
 Intermixed with brown and gold. 
 
 But my feet seem strangely heavy 
 And my footsteps are more slow, 
 
 86 
 
Than in those bright days of childhood, 
 
 Many long, long years ago. 
 Though the chain of love and friendship. 
 
 Twined in childhood's happy hours. 
 Through life's fears and joys and sorrows 
 
 Still has strewed my path with flowers. 
 
 In that hereafter soon to meet us, 
 
 I can think of naught more blest, 
 Than two happy children playing, 
 
 With no grief nor care oppressed. 
 And when we shall pass that portal, 
 
 May we in that future share, 
 As we did in happy childhood 
 
 In the fair land "Over there." 
 o 
 
 MIST AND SUNLIGHT 
 
 I climbed the lofty mountain 
 In a mist of fog, like night ; 
 
 Hoping, when I reached the summit 
 To behold the morning light. 
 
 The air was dense and heavy 
 As, with sigh and labored breath 
 
 I plodded onward through the gloom 
 As dark and drear as death. 
 
 I could not see my pathway 
 And oft wandered from the right, 
 
 87 
 
Stumbling over unseen boulders 
 Tn the darkness, as of night. 
 
 But my faith was firm and steadfast , 
 Striving ever for the height, 
 
 T climbed through fog and darkness 
 To the summit, clear and bright. 
 
 As above the clouds I struggled, 
 Lo ! the sunshine warm and sweet, 
 
 Bathed my head in golden glory, 
 Though the mists obscured my feet. 
 
 And I thank the God of Nature 
 
 For the comfort of the ch ought 
 That, although the mists surround me 
 ' And my life with care is fraught, 
 
 Yet the golden rays above me 
 Bring gladness to my sight, 
 
 Though mv feet are still enshrouded 
 Tn the dark nnd misty night. 
 o 
 
 TO IONE 
 
 (Our Little Mascot, lone Guinness.) 
 
 Dainty maid, with eyes so bright, 
 Sparkling like the morning light ; 
 With loving smiles and tender ways 
 
That lighten all the darkest days ; 
 May angels guard your precious life 
 And keep you safe from care and strife 
 May all your years be filled with love 
 Until you reach the Home above, 
 Where all the faithful shall be blest 
 With love and light and joy and rest. 
 o 
 
 BIRTHDAY GREETING 
 
 Another milestone on life's journey; 
 
 Another year has come and gone. 
 We count the days and months in passing 
 
 As the years go one by one. 
 We reckon up the joys and sorrows 
 
 As we review the year just past ; 
 What has it brought to us of comfort, 
 
 Of pleasure that is sure to last? 
 
 Of pleaseure that is sweet and wholesome. 
 
 Unmixed with evil, undefiled? 
 Of joys that memory may treasure, 
 
 In retrospect, with rapture mild ? 
 How have we borne the cares and troubles 
 
 So sure to vex us every day? 
 Have we resolved to make them serve us 
 
 As stepping-stones along the way? 
 
 Each trial that is met with courage 
 
 But gives us strength to struggle on — 
 Developes all our latent forces 
 
 89 
 
And thus insures a victory won. 
 As life is filled with mixed emotions, 
 
 With incidents both gay and sad, 
 True wisdom bids us utilize them, 
 
 To make the best of good and bad. 
 
 And may the future find us ever 
 
 Striving for the good and true; 
 With naught to bring remorse or sorrow 
 
 As our lives pass in review. 
 May we all meet with joy and gladness 
 
 On many future festive days ; 
 Our rants unthinned. our courage strengthenec 
 
 To tread with joy life's devious ways. 
 o 
 
 PORT TOWNSEND 
 
 Port Townsend; "Bright gem of the Inland Sea!" 
 
 Your hills so fresh and green 
 Gleam clear and bright in the summer air, 
 
 As fair as ever were seen." 
 Your sunny streets, so fair and wide. 
 
 Your homes so bright and gay, 
 A welcome give to cheer the hearts 
 
 Of all who come your way. 
 
 And, Oh, the tender hearts therein : 
 Your kind and loving ways 
 Endear you to the stranger's heart 
 And brighten all her davs. 
 
 90 
 
As memory dwells on that dear spot, 
 My heart with bliss expands — 
 
 I long to see you all again 
 And clasp your friendly hands. 
 o 
 
 MY BIRTH PLACE 
 
 The dearest spot on earth, to me, 
 
 Is the place where I was born. 
 I love the very mountain tops 
 
 Aglow with rosy morn. 
 Though rough and rugged are the peaks 
 
 That tower on every side, 
 'Tis dearer far than fairer lands 
 
 With smiling valleys wide. 
 
 The craggy peaks gleam cold and bright 
 
 Beneath the wintry sun, 
 And dark and gloomy are the clefts 
 
 Where tiny brooklets run. 
 Though fierce and cold the wintry blast 
 
 That sweeps the mountain side. 
 Yet 'neath the snow and ice I know 
 
 That sweetest flowerets hide. 
 
 And when the balmy air of spring 
 
 Shall banish ice and snow, 
 With thankful heart I'll seek the spot 
 
 Where modest violets grow. 
 T would not change my mountain home, 
 
 Made bright with flower and vine, 
 For nil the splendors, wealth and ease 
 
 Of India's sunny clime. 
 
 91 
 
JUNE ROSES 
 
 (To Nina Wampler) 
 
 "How old. are yon, my little dear?" 
 
 I asked a winsome lass, 
 With rosy cheeks and laughing eyes, 
 
 Disporting on the grass. 
 She paused amid her gleeful play, 
 
 Cut short her merry tune 
 And answered me with earnest gaze — 
 
 "I'm eight years old in June,'' 
 
 "My birthday comes when roses bloom 
 
 When sunny is the sky, 
 And birds are singing in the trees — 
 
 My mamma's rose am I." 
 Ah! little maid, 'tis fitting, quite, 
 
 That with your winning ways, 
 Your birthday comes amid the bloom 
 
 Of June's bright sunny days. 
 
 The sparkling streams, the happy birds. 
 
 The sky of deepest blue. 
 The waving fields of tender green 
 
 With flowers of every hue ; 
 The charming innocence of youth, 
 
 The fragrance of the rose, 
 Give pleasure to the wayworn heart 
 
 And bring a sweet repose. 
 
 92 
 
BEAUTY 
 
 There's beauty in the rippling waves 
 
 That sparkle in the light ; 
 And in the deeper shades of blue 
 
 That shroud the sea at night 
 There's beauty in the waving fields 
 
 Of ripe and golden grain, 
 And in the gently swaying trees 
 
 And in the summer rain. 
 
 There's beauty on the sunny plain, 
 And in the shady dell, 
 
 Where winding stream and mossy bank 
 
 Their tales of beauty tell. 
 There's beauty in the glowing clouds 
 
 That deck the sunset sky — 
 And beauty in the snowy crest 
 
 Of mountain towering high. 
 
 There's beauty in the laughing eyes 
 
 Of childhood fair and sweet. 
 And in the graceful curving shore 
 
 Where sea and brooklet meet. 
 There's beauty in the golden beams 
 
 Of sunlight bright and fair — 
 And in the eye that seeks for it 
 
 There's beautv evervwhere. 
 
 93 
 
MY BABY-MOTHER 
 
 (Inscribed to S. W. B. S.) 
 
 [ know a dear lady of eighty years 
 
 Whose face is seamed with smiles and tears ; 
 
 To me, she is like no other. 
 Her hands are soft, her eyes are blue 
 Like the eyes of a baby, earnest and true, 
 As they look on a world that is strange and new- 
 
 And I call her ray Baby-Mother. 
 
 For, although, as a babe she is gentle and sweet, 
 As a mother, all sorrow and pain she will meet 
 
 With a pity surpassed by no other. 
 Her great heart is ever most tender and kind — 
 She is feet for the lame and eyes for the blind, 
 No better nor tenderer mother you'll find 
 
 Than my little Baby-Mother. 
 
 Then here's to her health and long may she live 
 Her kind, loving service to others to give; 
 
 For her place can be filled by no other. 
 And the hearts she has blest 
 That by care were oppressed 
 Still love her the best — 
 
 Mv dear little Babv-Mother. 
 
 94 
 
THE LITTLE RED SCHOOL HOUSE 
 
 (Written for Mrs. S. W. B. Sisson to accompany the 
 
 presentation of a flag to "The Little 
 
 Red School House.") 
 
 Back to the home of my childhood days, 
 
 My memory turns tonight, 
 To the playmates and friends of that far-off time- 
 
 And memory's chain is bright. 
 But brightest of all is the golden link 
 
 That shines through years of gloom 
 And pictures the little red school-house, dear. 
 
 With its one big, sunny room. 
 
 The benches and desks of native wood, 
 
 Wrought by the sturdy hands 
 Of the brave and loyal pioneers ; 
 
 Descendants of many lands. 
 I see them yet, when I close my eyes 
 
 And I fancy I hear the bell 
 That called from the playground the merry group 
 
 Of playmates I loved so well. 
 
 And though I have traveled in foreign lands 
 
 And crossed the deep blue sea, 
 No other land seems half so fair, 
 
 Or half so dear to me. 
 In the civil war amid shot and shell 
 
 I served as an army nurse 
 And helped to free my native land 
 
 From slavery's deadly curse. 
 
 95 
 
A prisoner once, in a rebel camp 
 
 I thought to lose my life ; 
 For I had been caught within their lines 
 
 Where reigned the deadly strife. 
 But the badge of an order of brotherhood 
 
 Proved powerful enough to save 
 And I was escorted back to our lines ; 
 
 To our army so true and brave. 
 
 On Spotsylvania's bloody field ■■ 
 
 A rebel bullet sped 
 And pierced my flesh and laid me low 
 
 Arrong the dying and dead. 
 But God had a work for me still to do — 
 
 And, soon as my wound was healed 
 I hastened back to care for our boys, 
 
 In hospital or field. .; 
 
 And honors were mine and the praise of men 
 
 For the deeds my hands had wrought — 
 But dearer to me than wealth or fame 
 
 Is the kindly, loving thought 
 Of the many friends of that far-off time 
 
 And the little red school-house dear 
 Which memory brings to my lonely heart 
 
 And gives me a thought of cheer. 
 
 And the bright Housatonic, so placid and clear 
 
 A softly flowing stream ; 
 As it glides along to the distant sea — 
 
 I see it still in my dream. 
 And a feeling of sadness steals over my soul 
 
 For the brother so sturdy and brave, 
 
 96 
 
Who shared all my joys and my sorrows, too, 
 And who found there a watery grave. 
 
 But the little red school-house of other days, 
 
 So dear to this heart of mine. 
 Is now replaced by a building fair 
 
 With modern improvements fine. 
 And the children who gather there day by day 
 
 My name have never heard ; 
 And of the joys of that far-off time 
 
 They never hear a word. 
 
 But next to my love for my native land 
 
 And her emblem of love and power — 
 Next to my loyalty to God, 
 
 My refuge in sorrow's hour, 
 Is the memory dear of those days so bright 
 
 And those friends so loving and true — 
 So here's to the little red school-house dear 
 
 And our glorious Red, White and Blue. 
 o 
 
 BEAUTY IN COMMON THINGS 
 
 God help the impoverished dullard 
 Who sees no beauty at hand. 
 
 Unless there are rare exotics 
 From far-away foreign land. 
 
 The green of the fresh-growing grasses 
 The swelling of budding leaves; 
 
 97 
 
The gracefully swaying branches — 
 The golden grain in the sheaves. 
 
 All these have their own quiet beauty 
 Appealing to eye and heart, 
 
 As perfect as rarest flowers — 
 Of Nature all a part. 
 
 The delicate leaf of the maple, 
 The trailing vine by the way, 
 
 The nodding head of the daisy 
 And the dandelion a:av. 
 
 &".» 
 
 And even the dainty chickweed, 
 So fresh in its glowing sheen, 
 
 With its delicate snowy blossoms 
 Peeping from out the green 
 
 As it borders the dusty pathway 
 Like a cover of fairy lace, 
 
 Appeals to the lover of beauty 
 With its coy and winsome grace. 
 
 Oh ; the world is full of beauty, 
 Tf only the heart is right ; 
 
 Tf we search for the good in Nature, 
 For the joy of love and light. 
 
 98 
 
ONE SUMMER DAY 
 
 We wandered idly on the shore, 
 
 My friend and I — 
 We gathered shells and pebbles bright, 
 
 'Neath sunny sky. 
 The day was fair, the breezes soft, 
 
 All Nature smiled — 
 The gulls flew lazily aloft, 
 
 Of care beguiled. 
 
 We spoke of aspiratior.s high; 
 
 Of sacred things, 
 And all our thoughts seemed borne to us 
 
 On angel's wings. 
 We sat to rest on fallen tree 
 
 Cast on the sand 
 By stormy waves of other days, 
 
 From far-off land. 
 
 In sweet communion, soul to soul, 
 
 Our hearts beat true; 
 As o'er the rippling, dancing waves 
 
 So deeply blue. 
 The tiny boats, with spreading sails 
 
 And banners bright, 
 Sailed gently by on quiet sea, 
 
 Reflecting light. 
 
 And o'er the distant, shimmering hills 
 
 Of deepest green 
 The sunlight lay so soft and warm, 
 
 With glint and sheen. 
 
 99 
 
From Memory's page will never fade 
 
 That day so rare — 
 No other day seems quite the same, 
 
 And none more fair. 
 
 o 
 
 SWEET MEMORIES 
 
 (To J. B. Steadman, W. R. C, June, 1907.) 
 Bounding merrily over the waves 
 
 With jest and song we glide 
 Over the beautiful "Opal Sea," 
 
 Favored by wind and tide. 
 With sparkle and foam the billows roll ; 
 
 The crested waves leap high ; 
 Like a mammoth cradle our boat is locked, 
 
 While the wind sings a lullaby. 
 
 Safely anchored in Elliott Bay, 
 
 To Ballard we next repair, 
 Where warm, true hearts and smiling lips 
 
 Give us a welcome rare. 
 Oh ; Ballard, bright gem of the Inland Sea ; 
 
 Your hills so fresh and green 
 Gleam pure and bright in the summer air, 
 
 As fair as ever were seen. 
 
 And proudly o'er your loyal homes 
 
 "Old Glory" in majesty waves, 
 Telling of patriots brave and true, 
 
 Too noble to yield as slaves. 
 
 100 
 
Our beautiful flag: our Red, White and Blue; 
 
 With rapture our hearts you inspire — 
 Again to our country our pledge we renew 
 
 And our eyes glow with patriot fire. 
 
 But the long summer days are all too short ; 
 
 Too soon we must hasten away 
 And sail o'er the waves, past the little green isles. 
 
 To Bremerton's beautiful bay. 
 There music greets us with martial strain 
 
 And gaily the banners wave ; 
 While kindly words and ready smiles 
 
 Welcome our veterans brave. 
 
 Again o'er the waves we swiftly glide 
 
 To fair Port Orchard's strand. 
 Where Nature smiles in sunny mood 
 
 A welcome to our band. 
 Under the green and leafy shade 
 
 Frolics our merry crew, 
 While waving flags and streamers gay 
 
 Bear aloft our colors true. 
 
 But, time and tide will wait for none ; 
 
 The day glides swiftly by — 
 And again en route to Elliott Bay 
 
 A merry group we hie ; 
 And soon again we're homeward bound. 
 
 While memories tender and kind 
 Dwell fondly around the lovely scenes 
 
 And the true hearts left behind. 
 
 Over the gleaming, dancing waves, 
 Threading the maze of the isles, 
 
 101 
 
Winding around the headlands bold, 
 We float, while Nature smiles — 
 
 Till beautiful Bellingham, by the bay, 
 With our flag on each lofty dome, 
 
 Welcomes us back to its peaceful shore — 
 
 To the joys of "Home, Sweet Home." 
 
 o 
 
 BABY GRACE 
 
 Baby Grace, with eyes like pansies 
 Dimpled cheeks like roses sweet ; 
 
 Smiling lips so full and pouting, 
 Hands so dainty, small and neat. 
 
 Baby Grace, with golden ringlets 
 Floating over shoulders white 
 
 And restless feet that patter, patter, 
 From early morning until night. 
 
 Baby Grace, with ceaseless prattle, 
 Asking questions all the day; 
 
 Many droll and funny queries 
 
 That would puzzle heads grown gray 
 
 Babv Grace, my precious darling, 
 May your heart be ever gay ; 
 
 May you never know a sorrow, 
 Angels guard you on your way. 
 
 102 
 
A HOUSEHOLD PET 
 
 A bright little girl of only six summers, 
 
 With eyes just the color of the blue sky above; 
 
 With cheeks like the roses and lips red as cherries ; 
 With head full of mischief and heart full of love. 
 
 ."wo fat, chubby hands that never are idle, 
 One plump little body to get in the way, 
 
 Two dear little feet that restlessly patter 
 
 Through all the bright hours of the long summer day. 
 
 An active young brain, seeking ever the reason 
 
 Why this should be thus, or why that should be so, 
 
 And asking more questions than wise men can answer, 
 While cheek flushes crimson and eager eyes glow. 
 
 Warm hearted, impusive, yet many times willful, 
 Repentant, forgiving and loving likewise — 
 
 'Tis a sketch true to nature, pray how do you like it? 
 This picture of Inez, the light of our eyes. 
 o 
 
 TO OUR LITTLE ARMY NURSE 
 
 (Inscribed to Sarah W. B. McGraw) 
 
 Dear Friend, in fancy I see you, in the pride of your 
 
 blooming youth, 
 Going forth to the help of the nation in its battle for 
 
 Justice and Truth. 
 
 103 
 
With your heart brimming over with pity; with your 
 
 hands so gentle and deft, 
 I can see you tenderly nursing the wrecks those battles 
 
 had left. 
 
 1 can hear your sweet voice as you murmured yen - 
 comforting words in each ear 
 
 And your prayers to the Father in Heaven, their path 
 ways to brighten and cheer. 
 
 I can see you bend over the dying, in camp, or in hos- 
 pital bed — 
 
 1 can see your tears softly falling as you closed the 
 eyes of the dead. 
 
 Oh! those letter to home and loved ones, you were 
 
 often requested to write 
 In the name of the mortally wounded who bravely 
 
 fell in the fight; 
 1 can almost feel the dread bullet, as it pierced your 
 
 soft, tender flesh; 
 And at thought of your brave sacrifices, with pity my 
 
 heart bleeds afresh. 
 
 And all through the years since the war-time your life 
 
 has been helpful and true, 
 You have given your loving service to your comrades 
 
 who wore the blue. 
 And, loyal to home and the nation, you have given the 
 
 best of your life 
 To uphold the dear flag of our union, preserved through 
 
 that terrible strife. 
 
 And now we would give you the honors due to the 
 service you gave — 
 
 104 
 
And the love of a grateful nation your courage has 
 helped to save. 
 
 May the years that are left you be peaceful and bright- 
 ened with tenderest love, 
 
 And when we are called from this earth life, may we 
 meet you in Heaven above. 
 
 o 
 
 TO THE BOLTONS AND THEIR KINDRED 
 
 (A Family Re-Union) 
 
 Here's a greeting to my kindred, many, many miles 
 
 away, 
 Gathered in the dear old home-land, on this fair 
 
 October day. 
 As I sit alone and ponder on the happy days gone 
 
 by 
 I am lost to my surroundings, as I watch the 
 
 moments fly. 
 I recall the dear loved faces that I knew in former 
 
 years — 
 T can see them in my fancy, though my eyes are 
 
 filled with tears. 
 T can hear their voices ringing as in that far-off 
 
 happy past — 
 And I almost turn to greet them and my heart beats 
 
 loud and fast. 
 
 Rut. alas! the lovely vision fades slowly from my 
 
 sight, 
 And no voices echo 'round me. all is quiet as I 
 
 write, 
 
 105 
 
But in the bright hereafter, when we reach the 
 
 "Other Shore", 
 There we'll meet and love each other as in the days 
 
 of yore. 
 There we'll have a glad reunion and will never say 
 
 "Farewell," 
 For there is no pain or parting in that land where 
 
 angels dwell. 
 Then be merry all ye dear ones, on this happy festal 
 
 day, 
 And send a loving thought-wave to this lone one 
 
 far away. 
 
 A FRIEND 
 
 A friend is one who cares for you 
 
 E'en though the world may frown; 
 Who hides your faults and cheers you up 
 
 And helps you when you're down. 
 A friend will never listen to 
 
 The slanders of your foes; 
 But will defend you everywhere 
 
 And share your grievous woes. 
 
 A friend is one who never fails 
 
 To reach a helping hand 
 To lift yo'u over life's rough ways 
 
 And o'er the shifting sand. 
 A friend! Ah! where can one be found. 
 
 In all this world so fair? 
 T ask the question earnestly 
 
 /\nd Echo answers "Where?" 
 
 06 
 
A WISH 
 
 May your little boat glide smoothly o'er 
 The wild, rough waves of life; 
 
 Your heart be filled with peace and joy 
 With naught of care or strife. 
 o 
 
 ACROSTIC 
 
 Every cloud has a silvery lining — 
 
 Light must follow the darkest night. 
 So the clouds of pain and strife 
 In what we deem the brightest life 
 Ever mingle with the light. 
 o 
 
 FROM MY WINDOW 
 
 Across the dancing, rippling waves 
 
 The sunlight brightly gleams, 
 Where shimmering grass and swaying trees 
 
 Reflect the brilliant beams. 
 
 The cosy homes, the gardens fair, 
 
 The ships upon the bay 
 A picture form of beauty rare, 
 
 With colors bright and gay. 
 
 Above the towering, snowy crowns 
 
 Of distant mountain chain 
 The shifting clouds suggest the fall 
 
 107 
 
Of gentle summer rain. 
 
 The misty fogs at mountain base, 
 
 Drift over hill and lea — 
 Outlining, with their graceful curves, 
 
 The lovely inland sea. 
 
 A beautiful, a charming scene, 
 
 By Nature truly blest; 
 Where, in communion with itself 
 
 The weary heart may rest. 
 o 
 
 EVEN SO 
 
 (Acrostic.) 
 
 In the bright and blooming spring 
 Little birds are on the wing; 
 Over all the meadows gay 
 Velvet grasses strew the way. 
 Every brooklet sparkles bright; 
 Yet, as shadows chase the light 
 Over hill and fairy dale, 
 Under trees within the vale, 
 So, in all the walks of life 
 We encounter joy and strife. 
 Ever in the human heart, 
 Ever in the busy mart, 
 There we find both grief and joy, 
 Have no gold without alloy. 
 Even friendship is not sure, 
 And love, itself, may not endure. 
 Rest and peace are rarely found 
 Till we rest beneath the ground. 
 
 108 
 
IN A FRIEND'S ALBUM 
 
 Like ships at sea, we come and go — 
 
 A word, a smile, a clasp of hand, 
 Then part, perchance to meet no more 
 
 Until we join the angel-band. 
 But what care we how Fate decrees? 
 
 We know the great, eternal truth. 
 That sometime we shall meet again 
 
 In regions of eternal youth. 
 o 
 
 A SHADY GLEN 
 
 I know a spot in the w r ildwood deep, 
 
 Where modest violets grow 
 And "Wake-Robins" bloom in the early spring, 
 
 As pure as the virgin snow. 
 
 The tall firs tower above the brook 
 
 And graceful cedars stand 
 Like sentinels to guard the way 
 
 Through this shady summer-land. 
 
 The tangled vines, the creeping plants, 
 
 The brambles stiff and proud, 
 Bedeck the banks of the rippling stream, 
 
 Far from the noisy crowd. 
 
 The rustic bridge, the woodland path, 
 
 With many a curve and turn, 
 Lead up to the "City of the dead" 
 Through bowers of leaf and fern, 
 
 109 
 
Where sleep the good, the brave, the true, 
 
 The honored ones of earth, 
 Who fought the fight, the victory won 
 
 And gloried in Freedom's birth. 
 
 The mosses cling to the gnarled old trees 
 
 And cushion the shady nook 
 Where I love to sit and muse and dream, 
 
 As I list to the babbling brook. 
 
 And my soul grows calm, my heart is soothed — 
 
 I forget the cares of life; 
 Forget that evil and hate exist 
 In a world of pain and strife. 
 
 All sordid things seem far away 
 
 From this little fairy glen 
 And my soul responds to the angel's songs 
 
 And Nature's soft "Amen." 
 
 o 
 
 TO THE LADIES' CO-OPERATIVE SOCIETY, 
 BELLINGHAM, WASH. 
 
 (Acknowledging the gift of a beautiful fountain pen.) 
 
 Dear Sisters — 
 
 This pen, the gift of love from you, 
 
 An inspiration brings, 
 To send a little vagrant thought 
 
 Where loving memory clings. 
 I sit and muse on many themes 
 
 110 
 
That life presents to view; 
 But ever comes the picture fair 
 Of friends so tried and true. 
 
 Though parted oft by many miles, 
 
 In heart we still are one — 
 And may we ever prove the same 
 
 Till the sands of life are run. 
 God's choicest blessings rest on all, 
 
 On sea, or on the land — 
 And may we meet "beyond the vale," 
 
 An undivided band. 
 
 o 
 
 THE INQUIRY 
 
 (With apologies to Mackay. ) 
 
 Tell me, ye roving winds, that whistle, 'round my 
 
 face, 
 Do you not know some spot where scandal has no 
 
 place? 
 Some lonely mountain top, some island in the sea, 
 Where weary ones may rest and be from slander 
 free? 
 The wild winds sighed and whispered low — 
 But firmly answered, "No, Oh! No." 
 
 Tell me, ye little birds that flit from shore to shore, 
 Do you not know some spot where tattling is no 
 
 more? 
 You go from north to south, from east to west you 
 
 rove. 
 
 111 
 
Do you not find some land where all is peace and 
 love? 
 The sweet birds twittered from the nest — 
 "There's no such place where you may rest." 
 
 Tell me, ye bright sunbeams that shine on every 
 
 clime, 
 And in your beauty bright are dancing all the time; 
 Do you not know some land, though far beyond the 
 
 sea, 
 Where from the slanderous tongue, poor mortals 
 may be free? 
 The sunbeams, dancing in their mirth, 
 Just paused to whisper, "Not on earth." 
 
 Tell me, my weary soul, Oh! tell me, Angels fair, 
 In all this universe, in all the realms of air, 
 Is there no quiet nook, where perfect peace abides? 
 Where friends are always true and venom never 
 hides? 
 Angels of light, Faith, Hope and Love, 
 Tenderly whisper, "Yes, above." 
 o 
 
 THE GIANT EVIL 
 
 Can you measure the evil that is caused by rum? 
 Csn you add all the sorrows in one vast sunn? 
 Can you count all the heart-aches, the troubles and cares, 
 And weigh the great burden humanity bears? 
 
 As well may you measure yon cloudless sky 
 
 112 
 
And count every star that gleams on high. 
 As well may you measure the briny sea, 
 Or number the leaves on each forest tree. 
 
 As well may you count every blade of grass 
 In the meadows wide through which you pass. 
 As to try to measure the depths of woe, 
 Or the tears which rum has caused to flow. 
 
 There are widows and orphans throughout the land, 
 There are mothers too, in the sorrowing band, 
 There are sisters who mourn a brother's fall. 
 As they sadly murmur "Rum caused it all." 
 
 Cau you number the sighs, the moans, the cries, 
 Or the tears that fall from their weeping eyes, 
 As they view the ruin of lives made brief 
 By this mocking friend who laughs at grief? 
 
 Ah ! life is too short to count the cost, 
 Or to reckon the worth of humanity lost. 
 No scholar, however learned, or great, 
 This giant evil can estimate. 
 
 Then, let us awake when duty calls 
 And break the chain which a world enthralls : 
 For it can be done, if the true and brave 
 Will unite in the struggle to help and save. 
 
 But this war calls for heroes, brave and strong, 
 Who have courage to chant the battle song 
 As they mingle in scenes of death and woe 
 And, if need be, to die, with face to the foe. 
 
 113 
 
No place in this army for cowards to lurk, 
 
 But. every soldier must fight and work. 
 
 "In union is strength" let our watchword be. 
 
 And the world from the tyrant, rum, shall be free. 
 
 No backward glance may we ever turn, 
 But, every snare of the enemy spurn ; 
 Nor pause till, at last, the victory won, 
 Earth's millions, redeemed, shall cry "Well done!" 
 o 
 
 THE WOMAN'S BURDEN 
 
 (With apologies to Kipling.) 
 
 Pile on the woman's burden ; 
 
 Yes, pile it to the sky. 
 Heap up, till running over, 
 
 And do not heed her cry. 
 Of course, she'll kick and struggle 
 
 And bitterly lament — 
 But then, you know she needs it ; 
 
 These loads are heaven-sent. 
 
 Just let her mind her kitchen. 
 She's fit for nothing more. 
 
 Except to be the mother 
 Of girls and boys galore. 
 
 Teach her, in weak subjection, 
 To train the little boy 
 
 114 
 
To be a loyal soldier, 
 
 And to count it only joy. 
 
 To march to battle bravely, 
 
 To kill his fellow-men, 
 And when his master prays for gold 
 
 To shout a loud "Amen." 
 Teach her to train her daughter 
 
 To simply be a wife ; 
 No other aspiration 
 
 Must e'er disturb her life. 
 
 To be an individual 
 
 She never must aspire — 
 But to be some man's appendage 
 
 And ask for nothing higher. 
 Then keep her in the kitchen 
 
 And never let her rest ; 
 Nor heed her loud repining, 
 
 You know it's for the best. 
 
 'Tis true, co-operation 
 
 Would ease the ceaseless grind, 
 And give her time to study 
 
 And elevate her mind. 
 But then she'd grow uneasy 
 
 And cease to be a slave ; 
 So pile the burden higher, 
 
 Though it drives her to the grave. 
 
 115 
 
THE HAND THAT RULES 
 
 There's an adage, old and silly, 
 
 Which o'er the earth is whirled — 
 
 That, "the hand that rocks the cradle 
 Is the hand that rules the world." 
 
 The parsons, good and pious, 
 Bedizzened and becurled, 
 Say the hand that holds the Bible 
 Is the hand that rules the world. 
 
 Some patriotic citizens 
 
 Shout, when our flag's unfurled — 
 "Oh, the land that holds the Yankee 
 
 Is the land that rules the world." 
 
 But the honest, candid thinker, 
 Though your scorn be at him hurled, 
 
 Knows Ihe hand that holds the dollar 
 Is the hand that rules the world. 
 
 Speed the day when, in all nations 
 Every wai flag shall be furled ; 
 
 And when Truth and Love and Justice 
 Shall forever rule the world. 
 
 ._ o 
 
 THE DUDE 
 
 I le wears a lack and, shining coat, 
 
 A vest of snowy white ; 
 His movements are the soul of grace, 
 
 116 
 
His step is soft and light. 
 His hands are cased in snowy gloves. 
 
 And white his slippers low ; 
 His eyes are yellow, which is odd: 
 
 But brilliant is their glow. 
 
 He. in the middle parts his hair. 
 
 Just like the model dude. 
 And sits up stiffly on a chair 
 
 And stares in manner rude. 
 
 But yet. he never sports a cane 
 
 Like other dudes we know : 
 Xor wears an eye-glass in his eye. 
 
 Xor watch-chain just for show. 
 
 But woe betide the timid mouse 
 
 Or larger, braver rat. 
 Who ventures near when Dude's at homc- 
 
 Our Dude, the family cat. 
 o 
 
 WHO IS MY BROTHER? 
 
 My brother? It is he who toils: 
 
 Whose hands are hard and brown : 
 Whose brow is furrowed o"er with care 
 
 Beneath misfortune's frown. 
 Whose step is heavy with the load 
 
 Upon his shoulders laid : 
 Who feels oppression's unjust hand 
 
 And vet is undismaved. 
 
 117 
 
My brother? It is he who hopes 
 Amid amid the darkest hours; 
 
 But hopes not for himself alone 
 To gather Fortune's flowers ; 
 
 Whose sympathy with human woe 
 Is ever broad, and deep ; 
 
 Whose aim is to uplift the race 
 
 And comfort those who weep. 
 
 My brother! What though seas divide 
 
 And oceans roll between? 
 What though his name I've never heard, 
 
 His face I've never seen? 
 This bond of sympathy and love 
 
 His soul and mine unite. 
 He is my brother, well beloved. 
 
 Who labors for the right. 
 o 
 
 TO MR. AND MRS. R. C. ACKLEY 
 
 Don Cupid is surely a mischievous rogue; 
 
 No respector of persons is he — 
 He plays his wild pranks on the young and the old. 
 
 Of high, cr of low degree. 
 When he aimed at your hearts, in the autumn of life. 
 
 His arrow flew straight as a dart, 
 And he laughed out in glee, as he saw it strike home 
 
 And bury itself in each heart. 
 
 And now, may the future be as bright as today, 
 And your latest years be your best ; 
 
 118 
 
With just enough clouds to temper the glare 
 
 Of the sun as it sinks in the west. 
 May your words and your deeds bring you true, 
 loving friends 
 
 Who will brighten your swift passing hours ; 
 May you ever be happy in living for right, 
 
 And your pathway be strewn with sweet flower-. 
 
 — — o 
 
 GOOD BY 
 
 The golden glow of a bright spring day 
 
 Rests over the verdant hills, 
 And the sunlight falls with a mellow ray 
 
 On fields and laughing rills. 
 Hut ere its last beam fades away 
 
 Beyond the mountain high. 
 Our lips must bravely, sadly say 
 
 The parting words "Good-by." 
 
 Good -by ; it shall not be farewell — 
 
 We hope, again to meet ; 
 But happy hours are ever short 
 
 And the days of life are fleet. 
 There's much to k\ m, there's much to do; 
 
 Oh! may our aim be high 
 And ever lead to that bright land 
 
 Where none shall say "Good-bv."' 
 
 119 
 
TWILIGHT FANCIES 
 
 When sunset tints are deepening 
 In the soft and glowing west 
 Like banners gaily waving 
 Low sinks the sun to rest. 
 In the stillness of the gloaming 
 As the dusky shadows fall 
 'Mid the scenes of early childhood 
 Each loved face I recall. 
 Down the vista of the seasons 
 Gaily troops a merry throng 
 And I listen for their voices 
 Ringing out some olden song. 
 Merry laughter, in my fancy, 
 And the shouts so wild and free 
 Raise the echoes from the hillsides 
 Till the air is filled with glee. 
 I awake from pleasant dreaming; 
 Night has fallen over me. 
 o 
 
 THE RAINBOW 
 
 Alone and sad I sit and muse ; the day is dark and 
 
 drear ; 
 The clouds are heavy overhead, and rain is falling 
 
 here. 
 The birds are silent in the trees ; no sound of inject 
 
 life 
 Disturbs my dreams of loneliness, or hints of worldly 
 
 strife. 
 
 120 
 
My spirit broods o'er cares and wrongs ; life seems a 
 
 heavy load — 
 No gleam of sunlight falls upon my rough and flinty 
 
 road. 
 The way seems long, the prospect drear ; I sigh and 
 
 turn away, 
 When all at once the sun bursts forth with bright and 
 
 cheering ray. 
 
 The raindrops sparkle as they fall, like gems of bright- 
 est hue ; 
 
 The clouds break up, the sky beams forth, a heavenly 
 field of blue. 
 
 Across the eastern sky appears, in brilliant rays of 
 light, 
 
 With gorgeous tints of colors gay, a rainow, clear and 
 bright. 
 
 Blest bow of promise! bringing joy to aching, doubt- 
 ing breast ; 
 
 Your beauteous arch assurance gives of earthly peace 
 and rest. 
 
 So may the sad and doubting heart receive the promise 
 given, 
 
 That all who struggle faithfully shall see the joys of 
 heaven. 
 
 And though the way be rough and hard and clouds 
 
 obscure the sky. 
 May faith and hope sustain the soul and point to 
 
 realms on high 
 Where God's bright sunshine ever cheers and heavenly 
 
 rainbows glow — 
 Fulfilling every promise given to mortals here below. 
 
 121 
 
ANNIE OF PREEZY HEIGHTS 
 
 You may sing about your ladies fair ; may rave about 
 
 their beauty — 
 Give me the one with silvered hair whose aim is love 
 
 and duty. 
 Her fair, sweet face and sunny smiles, her touch so 
 
 soft, caressing. 
 The fevered brow of pain beguiles and leaves, instead, 
 
 a blessing. 
 Her merry laugh, her loving words, bring to the soul 
 
 delights 
 As cheering as the song of birds— Dear Annie of the 
 
 Heights. 
 
 o 
 
 THE NATAL DAY 
 
 (To a friend.) 
 
 Joyously breaks the most glorious light, 
 Over mountain and streamlet and vale — 
 Heavenly messengers scatter the night ; 
 No cloud casts a shade o'er the dale. 
 
 With soft, rosy fingers the spirit of dawn. 
 
 O'er the earth throws its mantle of light. 
 
 On each blade of grass on the shimmering lawn. 
 
 Down the dew- spangled valley so bright. 
 
 Far away speeds the night, to the westward it flees. 
 
 O'er Pacific's broad waves, over island and sea; 
 
 122 
 
Resistance is vain when the sun-god decr< - 
 
 Day shall reign o'er the land of the free. 
 
 How beauteous the morn! how fair is the day! 
 Ever smiling so joyous and free. 
 Rare flowers are blooming in colors so gay. 
 Fn token of welcome to thee. 
 
 Thy birthday, my friend, should ever be bright : 
 All nature should smile and look gay; 
 Gentle breezes should blow, and softly the light 
 Ever fall in bright beams on thy way. 
 o 
 
 TO A MEADOW LARK 
 
 With coat of modest quaker-gray; 
 
 With yellow vest so bright and u 
 
 Thou cheery bird; thy message bring. 
 
 Foretelling soft and balmy spring. 
 
 Not thine the crowded thoroughfare. 
 
 The city's vitiated air: 
 
 Xor yet the gloom of forest dark. 
 
 Thy song shall hear, sweet meadow lark. 
 
 But sunny meadows, green and bright 
 And orchards blooming snowy white ; 
 Anon resound with mellow notes 
 From tuneful, happy, feathered thr< I 
 In country homes, to lonely hearts 
 Thy gladsome song new hope impa. 
 And though life's clouds be thick and dark, 
 1 bringest joy. sweet meadow lark. 
 
 123 
 
WHY WE LOVE OCTOBER 
 
 (To E. T. C.) 
 
 Oh! the golden days of autumn 
 
 When the fields are turning brown, 
 And the leaves of gold and crimson 
 
 Are so softly falling down: 
 When the sunlight shimmers brightly 
 
 Through the stately forest trees, 
 As they wave their graceful branches 
 
 In the gentle autumn breeze. 
 
 How we love to ramble slowly 
 
 Through the rustling woodland glades — 
 Through the dim old forest pathways 
 
 With their changing lights and shades. 
 And we wander, idly musing, 
 
 Listening to the wild-bird's call 
 And the chatter of the squirrels 
 
 In the tree-tops grim and tall. 
 
 Oh! the days are all too fleeting 
 
 For the measure of our joy, 
 For the autumn brings us pleasure 
 
 Pure as gold without alloy. 
 And the air is soft and balmy, 
 
 While the sunny skies are blue, 
 And we love the bright October, 
 
 For October gave us YOU. 
 
 124 
 
TO A FLIRT 
 
 You think to enslave me again. 
 
 To bend me once more to your feet; 
 You'll not find it easy to do, 
 
 For I know you to be but a cheat. 
 You smile and look bland when we meet 
 
 And use all your flattering arts, 
 But you never can charm me again, 
 
 Although, 't is your right to break hearts. 
 
 My heart was caught in the rebound 
 
 By a sweet little darling so true — 
 So, instead of feeling angry or hurt, 
 
 I really am grateful to you. 
 I owe you my thanks for the part 
 
 You played in our drama of life, 
 And hope that some other may find 
 
 In you a most lovable wife. 
 o 
 
 VIOLETS 
 
 (Inscribed to Miss Annie A. See.) 
 
 Little bunch of violets, so dainty, sweet and fair; 
 Your coy and modest beauty, your fragrance rich 
 
 and rare 
 Bring comfort to the sad heart and breathe of peace 
 
 and rest. 
 With promise of a future by loyal friendship blest. 
 
 125 
 
Little bunch of violets, by kindly hands bestowed; 
 You help the weary pilgrim to tread life's thorny 
 
 road- — 
 Give courage to the fainting and strength unto the 
 
 weak, 
 As in your silent language of love and hope you 
 
 speak. 
 
 Little bunch of violets; your beauty soon will fade- 
 But the memories you foster are on an altar laid — 
 Where gratitude will ever recall the deed of love 
 And blessings on the giver will ask of Heaven above. 
 o 
 
 THE GRAND OLYMPIC MOUNTAINS 
 
 I sit by the window and idly muse 
 
 As the sun sinks into the west; 
 I gaze on the far-off Olympic range 
 
 With the glow on each snowy crest. 
 
 And my thoughts turn back to the by-gone days, 
 
 In fancy I seem to rove 
 O'er the snowy peaks and valleys fair — 
 
 Over prairie and glen and grove. 
 
 The rippling stream with its banks of green 
 
 Dashes over its rocky bed 
 And the wild birds sing in the leafy dells. 
 
 With the blue sky overhead. 
 
 The Indian youth with arrow and bow- 
 Chases the fleet wild doe 
 Ov»er the mountains bleak and wild 
 
 126 
 
With the crowns of glistening snow. 
 
 His foot is as fleet as the running deer, 
 
 His form erect and strong; 
 His eyes alight with the joy of life 
 
 And his heart aglow with song. 
 
 He sings of a maiden young and tall, 
 Who sits 'neath the sunny skies; 
 
 As in fancy she follows him over the trails 
 With a smile in her dusky eyes. 
 
 He longs to secure the hunter's prize 
 
 To lay at her shapely feet 
 And claim the reward of a lover brave 
 
 From the lips of a maiden sweet. 
 
 For Love is king the whole world 'round 
 
 And hearts beat ever the same. 
 In every walk ,or grade of life, 
 
 Love is a magic name. 
 
 But now the sun has sunk to rest — 
 
 The mountains but dimly show; 
 J awake from my dream as the curtain of night 
 
 Shuts out the last faint glow. 
 o 
 
 BOYHOOD'S PLEASURES 
 
 (Inscribed to R. E. G.) 
 
 Oh! those happy days of childhood, 
 When disdaining slate and book, 
 
 127 
 
We rambled through the flowery meadow, 
 Close beside the babbling brook: 
 
 Wading in the rippling waters 
 Flashing in the morning light; 
 
 Shouting when we found a pebble, 
 Brilliant red or snowy w T hite. 
 
 When we cut the slender alder 
 
 Or the willow by the stream, 
 Tying fast the precious fishline, 
 
 Life became a pleasant dream. 
 How we dug the squirming earthworm; 
 
 Carefully we baited hook; 
 Creeping slyly to the "Deep Hole" 
 
 By the rock beside the brook. 
 
 Scarcely breathing, stepping lightly 
 
 With our feet so brown and bare, 
 We gently cast, within the waters 
 
 The baited hook, then watch with care 
 To see the cork, so lightly floating, 
 
 Bobbing with the current slow — 
 Watching eagerly and waiting 
 
 For a bite, from down below. 
 
 Ah! a nibble; see, I've got him; 
 
 No; Oh, dear; he got away; 
 What a shame; and such a big one"; 
 
 Then amid the laughter gay 
 We quickly draw the line toward us, 
 
 Bait again the gleaming hook 
 And cast again with hopeful patience, 
 
 The line within the sparkling brook. 
 
 128 
 
And when success has crowned our efforts, 
 
 How we proudly march away, 
 Home to mother with our trophies 
 
 Happy as the summer day. 
 Oh! there's naught can bring such memories 
 
 As, when with our line and hook 
 We wandered all the sunny morning 
 
 Fishing in the meadow brook. 
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 You may prate and may rave till you go to the 
 grave, 
 
 About first love being so pure; 
 But I tell you, my friend, I will ever contend 
 
 That of first love one cannot be sure. 
 
 'T is a beautiful dream — 'tis a bright, fleeting gleam 
 With the hues of the rainbow combined. 
 
 'T is a vision of light that may fade in a night 
 And the dream be effaced from the mind. 
 
 More enduring and pure, more substantial and sure 
 
 Is the love of maturer years. 
 When the heart is at rest and in love we are blest 
 
 Though our joy may be mingled with tears. 
 
 129 
 
TO THE L. C. S. 
 
 (Feb. 22, 1918.) 
 
 Dear sisters, my thoughts are with you today, 
 
 Though in body I am far away, 
 Across the blue waves of fair Puget Sound, 
 
 On the shore of a beautiful bay. 
 As I gaze on the peaks of yon distant range 
 
 And view the fair valley between. 
 My heart swells with joy at the beautiful sight, 
 
 As fair as ever was seen. 
 
 The misty clouds roll in the bright western sky 
 
 And the sunlight streams brilliant and gay; 
 While the evergreen trees wave their long, fragrant 
 boughs 
 
 In the breeze of this fair winter day. 
 Rut my thoughts ever turn to fair Bellingham Bay 
 
 With its shores of Emerald hue, 
 Backed by mountains that tower in majesty grand 
 
 And are mirrored in waters of blue. 
 
 And the dear loving friends are gathered today 
 
 To honor the pride of our land — 
 Our own Washington for whom we were named; 
 Our hero most noble and grand. 
 In fancy I see you with needle and hook 
 
 And your fingers so deftly fly 
 As with laughter and chat the gaiety reigns 
 
 And the hours fly swiftly by. 
 
 130 
 
Then the tinkle of china sounds faint in my ear; 
 
 I can smell the dainty "Good Eats" 
 And I wish I were with you to share in it all 
 
 With some great gastronomic feats. 
 But I know that you think of the ones far way, 
 
 Whose hearts beat fondly and true; 
 So, here's to the bunch! may it never grow less; 
 
 Three cheers for our George and for YOU. 
 
 MY HOME OVER THERE 
 
 I do not aspire to a mansion fair. 
 
 When I pass to the Spirit Land 
 And leave all the cares of an earthly life 
 
 As I join with the Angel-band. 
 For our houses are built of the thoughts we send 
 
 To the builders of homes in the air, 
 And the deeds we have wrought on this earthly plane 
 
 Will determine our standing there. 
 
 And 1 know that my life has been faulty here; 
 
 That my feet have frequently strayed 
 From the pathway of right on life's thorny road 
 
 And that many mistakes I have made. 
 But I know that the Angels will welcome me there 
 
 And give me the home I have earned, 
 And help me go forward with courage and hope 
 
 And profit by what I have learned. 
 
 So I ask not for mansions prepared for the great 
 W r hose deeds have been noble and grand — 
 
 131 
 
I ask not for grandeur, position nor rank, 
 
 In that beautiful, heavenly land. 
 But give me a vine-wreathed cot in the vale, 
 
 Where peace and contentment abide; 
 And the dear ones I love to dwell with me there 
 
 And nauaht will I ask for beside. 
 
 THE MESSAGE OF THE GOLDEN ROD 
 
 Queen Golden-rod, nodding her graceful head 
 
 And waving her fairy plumes, 
 Seemed breathing a message soft and low, 
 
 As I walked 'mid her brilliant blooms. 
 
 I, kneeling beside her stately form, 
 
 In homage most sincere. 
 Begged that a message from Flower-Land 
 
 She would whisper in my ear. 
 
 With queenly grace she bowed her head 
 
 And lightly kissed my cheek — 
 "Daughter of Earth" she whispered low, 
 
 "What message do you seek?" 
 
 "Oh, tell me", I cried, "in thy fairy home 
 Is there trouble and envious strife? 
 
 Do greed and oppression lurk in thy bowers 
 Disturbing the joys of life? 
 
 "Are the flowers as happy in Flower-Land 
 As they always seem to be? 
 
 132 
 
Are they never weary and never sad, 
 But always joyous and free?" 
 
 Queen Golden-rod sighed, caressed me again, 
 Then with pitying smile she replied — 
 
 "No restless passions disturb us here, 
 No envy, nor hatred, nor pride. 
 
 'T is but in the human heart that strife 
 
 And selfishness reign supreme; 
 Where war and oppression darken the soul 
 
 And shut out the sun's bright gleam. 
 
 "Learn a lesson from us, dear Daughter of Earth, 
 
 To thy higher self be true. 
 And live in harmony with thy kind, 
 
 In peace, as the flowers do." 
 
 Then I thanked Her Majesty, gratefully, 
 
 For her counsel wise and grand, 
 But my heart was sad, for I felt the truth 
 
 Of this message from Flower-Land. 
 o 
 
 TO ELLA 
 
 (To Ella Dale — Two--and-one-half years old.) 
 
 How we miss the lively patter 
 
 Of the little baby feet; 
 And in vain we wait and listen 
 
 For the voice so clear and sweet. 
 
 133 
 
No more need to watch the flowers 
 
 Lest the dainty little maid 
 Should destroy the budding blossoms; 
 
 Now they bud and bloom and fade. 
 
 The old cat rests in peaceful slumber, 
 
 No more does Ella pull his fur. 
 He sleeps through all the day and evening; 
 
 Nothing now to fear from her. 
 No more we hear the baby accents — 
 
 "P'ay to-an-o, G'ace, do p'ay. 
 Ella pay to-an-o, mamma, 
 
 Turn away; turn away." 
 
 Oh! to hear the ringing laughter 
 
 Would be music sweeter far. 
 To the hearts that fondly love her 
 
 Than piano or guitar. 
 In the far-off "windy city" 
 
 Near the broad and lovely lake. 
 Ella's voice is making music 
 
 Sweeter than the robins make. 
 
 Here we wait and often wonder — 
 
 "Shall we ever meet again? 
 Ever kiss the rosy darling?" 
 
 And the doubt bring grief and pain. 
 But we'll fondly hope the future 
 
 Will be kind and bring her home, 
 Never more from those who love her 
 
 O'er the "Wide, wide world" to roam. 
 
 134 
 
OUR VICTORY 
 
 (Dedicated to Port Orchard W. C. T. U.) 
 
 We thank Thee, Heavenly Hosts, 
 
 For the triumph of the right; 
 For the victory we have gained 
 And the glimmering of light 
 That marks our onward way 
 To the fair and perfect day. 
 
 In the darkness of the past 
 
 We have met the mighty foe; 
 We have fought to save the race 
 From wretchedness and woe. 
 We have struggled souls to win 
 From the depths of crime and sin. 
 
 May we ever seek to serve 
 
 Where the greatest need appears, 
 
 Where with tenderness and love 
 
 We can check the falling tears. 
 
 Where love divine shall lead 
 
 To the wise and kindly deed. 
 
 Aided by thy mighty power 
 
 We are daily gaining ground, 
 May we never lose our courage, 
 But in the ranks be found. 
 Pressing forward in the fight 
 For Temperance and Right. 
 
 135 
 
THE WOODLAND FAIRY 
 
 I rambled one day through the woodland paths. 
 
 Searching in vain for flowers; 
 But the chill winds of March gave promise of none, 
 
 Though the sunshine brightened the bowers. 
 A fern here and there suggested the spring 
 
 And a robin sang gaily above, 
 Calling his mate in the tall waving trees 
 
 In accents of joy and love. 
 
 All at once, at my feet, a fungus I spied, 
 
 Like the throne of a fairy queen; 
 Its soft tints of brown mixed with delicate gray, 
 
 Held glints of purple and green. 
 And in fancy I saw a fairy-like form 
 
 With movements of rhythm and grace; 
 With long golden ringlets and laughing blue eyes 
 
 And a piquant and sparkling face. 
 
 Like the clouds of the morn, when the Sun-god 
 appears, 
 
 Her garments shone rosy and bright — 
 Dainty pink, palest gold and the blue of the sky, 
 
 They shimmered and gleamed in the light. 
 In silence I gazed on this sweet, tiny maid, 
 
 So fair in her green shady bowers; 
 And I wished she could tell me about her fair home 
 
 In the land of the ferns and the flowers. 
 
 With swift, earnest gestures and bright beaming face, 
 
 She seemed to be speaking to me — 
 But her language was strange to my uncultured ears, 
 
 136 
 
And conveyed not her meaning to me. 
 And I said to myself — ''You're too worldly and crude 
 
 To converse with so airy a sprite — " 
 But to know they inhabit this cold, cruel world 
 
 Makes the sunbeams more golden and bright. 
 
 CORA, DEAR 
 
 (For Grace, to Cora) 
 
 Cora, dear do you remember 
 
 All those bright and gladsome hours. 
 When we played beneath the maples. 
 
 As we gathered blooming flowers? 
 And the grove beside the brooklet, 
 
 Where the white May-blossoms grew, 
 Where we played in happy childhood, 
 
 With our schoolmates, good and true? 
 
 Chorus: 
 
 Dear old friend, do you remember — 
 Does your heart to mine respond? 
 
 Do you ever think with longing, 
 Of your playmate, true and fond? 
 
 Cora, dear, do you remember 
 How we laughed in joyous mirth. 
 When the snow so white and gleaming. 
 Coated o'er the brown old earth? 
 
 137 
 
How we climbed the long steep hillside, 
 On our coasting trips so gay, 
 
 With our boyish beaux beside us, 
 Eager for the bracing play? 
 
 Chorus: 
 
 Ah! those happy days of childhood, 
 
 Ere began the cares of life; 
 How we roamed the fields and forests, 
 
 Caring naught for worldly strife; 
 How my heart still throbs with rapture, 
 
 As I muse upon the past, 
 With its joys so bright and fleeting, 
 
 Joys, alas! too bright to last. 
 
 - The End 
 
 138