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 Dedicated to 
 K. M, T, 
 
INDEX 
 
 Pg. No. 
 
 Forevord 6 
 
 Two Views of Christmas 7 
 
 The Old Year's Revery 8 
 
 The Day of Resolution — (Jan. first) 9 
 
 His Reward of Merit 10 
 
 Wisdom of the Widow 11 
 
 Mount of Ambition 12 
 
 Here's to Man 13 
 
 Because of Her 13 
 
 The One Who Understands 14 
 
 The Old Piano . 15 
 
 A Man's Mistake 17 
 
 A Woman's Wish IS 
 
 Twilight Tea 10 
 
 Before and After the Ball 20 
 
 Why He Sends the Roses 21 
 
 Woman's Armor 22 
 
 Reminded 23 
 
 Comforted 24 
 
 Hint of the Autumn Tint 23 
 
 Why She Was Crowned 2(5 
 
 Force of Contrast 27 
 
 The Face of Phillips Brooks 28 
 
 Whenever Pa Is Sick 29 
 
 Easter Proof 30 
 
 Legend of the Lilies 31 
 
 The Reward of Zaccheus 32 
 
 A Lost Thought .13 
 
 His Inspiration 34 
 
 Genesis of the Rose-Jar 3(i 
 
 An Autograph Album 37 
 
 Money Burned 39 
 
 Akin to Joseph's Coat 40 
 
 Equal Rights 41 
 
 Here's to Jim Riley 42 
 
 Love's Detractor 43 
 
 The Birth of the Blush Rose 4.", 
 
 Some One Says 4<j 
 
 She Forgot 47 
 
 As One of These-__ 50 
 
 Comparisons Are Odorous _, 52 
 
 A Revised Edition r»3 
 
INDEX 
 
 The Picture's Prophecy S4 
 
 The Editor's Recipe 8fi 
 
 A Thankful Heart 56 
 
 Transient Bliss 58 
 
 The Gift of Gethsemane 59 
 
 An Echo From Judea 60 
 
 Made by Hand 62 
 
 The Central Truth 64 
 
 Character 67 
 
 Mark the Fourteenth 66 
 
 The Passing of Lieutenant Harris 68 
 
 A Result of Faith 69 
 
 The Country Party 70 
 
 Bitter Sweet, Etc 71 
 
 The Masquerade 72 
 
 A Doubting Thomas 73 
 
 Credit— A Pair of Shoes 74 
 
 A Mode of Comfort 75 
 
 Song of the Shirt Button 76 
 
 Meditation 77 
 
 A Sequence 78 
 
 Those Comic Valentines 79 
 
 Ehity Overcome 81 
 
 A Maker of Home 82 
 
 On Reading the Man With the Hoe 83 
 
 Conviction 84 
 
 Personal Prayer 86 
 
 Bon Voyage to Japan 86 
 
 The Lottery of Marriage 87 
 
 Steady EHet 88 
 
 Verbal Sweets 89 
 
 Good Old Common Sense 90 
 
 A Singer 91 
 
 Key to Success 92 
 
 Misapplied -^^ 93 
 
 A Belle's Confession 94 
 
 Who Isn't? 95 
 
 Motive - 96 
 
 Consistency — Masculine 97 
 
 The Test. Etc — 98 
 
 A Modem Martyr , ~.— 99 
 
 We. Too M» 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 This book of verse can scarcely hope 
 
 To special purpose serve, 
 And yet some one may chance to say ; 
 
 "It surely has its nerveJ'* 
 
 Since nerve is kin to courage 
 
 Which is of splendid use, 
 That single mite of merit 
 
 May stand as some excuse. 
 
TWO VIEWS OF CHRISTMAS. 
 
 IN the rush of the world and its greed for gold. 
 They say that Sentiment's growing cold. 
 That even Christmas isn't the same, 
 The spirit is gone, and only in name 
 Is the sacred season observed today 
 And not in the sweet old-fashioned way 
 Of "Peace on Earth, good will to men." 
 'Tis now but a time of weariness when 
 The giving is but the paying of debt, 
 As the fetters of obligation fret. 
 No touch of tenderness leaves its trace 
 In the whirl of Mammon's market place. 
 
 This pitiful pessimistic view 
 May be the state of a sordid few. 
 But the spirit of Christ is just as strong 
 In the heart of the busy hustling throng — 
 And millions of splendid deeds are done 
 For the sake of Bethlehem's gentle son. 
 The wanderer homeward wends his way 
 Drawn by the magnet of Christmas day, 
 While severed friendships feel the glow 
 Of reflected gleams from the Long Ago, 
 And Conscience gives a memory smile 
 To the good intentions of After-while ; 
 For the Star of the East still shines as bright 
 As it did on that distant glorious night. 
 And Wise men now and forever-more 
 Will the Prince of Love and Peace adore. 
 
THE OLD YEAR'S REVERY. 
 
 O, here's a kiss, a New Year's gift 
 
 From childish lips so sweet, 
 A silver'd head low boweth down 
 
 The warm caress to meet. 
 
 O, here's a blush neath drooping eyes, 
 
 A glad "yes" whispered low ; 
 A maiden fair, a suitor bold, 
 
 The world with love aglow. 
 
 And here's a hope that's just fulfilled. 
 And there's another crushed; 
 
 And here's a voice that singeth still 
 While truer tones are hushed. 
 
 A dimpled baby cooing bliss 
 
 Into a mother's heart, 
 A little grave beneath the snow 
 
 A sadder woman's part. 
 
 And Wrong is clothed in regal garb 
 
 And yields a mighty sway, 
 While Right is wrapped in slumber robes 
 
 And hideth by the way. 
 
 The roses and forget-me-nots 
 Have left the garden bed, — 
 
 But shyly vagrant violets 
 Are blooming there instead. 
 
 And Joy is smiling close beside 
 
 The deepest wail of woe. 
 While hearts are cold that beat so warm 
 
 A little while ago. 
 
 Such things and many more as strange 
 
 Across my threshold lie, 
 O, New Year, just the same t'will be 
 
 When comes thy time to die. 
 
 To every life I've something brought 
 
 On each brow left a trace. 
 That thou with all thy smiles or tears 
 
 Canst never quite eflFace. 
 
THE DAY OF RESOLUTION. 
 
 (January First) 
 
 Vohimes of good resolutions are rustling their leaves today 
 
 Disturbed by the breeze of regret for promises gone astray; 
 
 For every year on the first we feel a thrill of delight 
 
 That opportunity comes to start some fresh intentions right. 
 
 And memory softly sleeps as we usually duplicate 
 
 Determinations often made upon the annual date. 
 
 It really matters not so much that some resolves fall through 
 
 So long as we never quite forget the good we intended to do. 
 
HIS REWARD OF MERIT. 
 
 They had the merriest Christmas time 
 
 Enjoyed for many a year, 
 
 Plenty of holly and mistletoe 
 
 Plenty of fun and cheer. 
 
 The chimney stockings overflowed, 
 
 The pantry shelf was great, 
 
 With loads of luscious things to eat 
 
 Arrayed in tempting state. 
 
 Such charming entertaining, too. 
 
 Luncheons, teas and dances, 
 
 With cozy corner matinees 
 
 That promised rich romances. 
 
 Each member gave the other what 
 
 A timely hint expressed; 
 
 It really seemed that Santa Clau« 
 
 Had feathered the family nest. 
 
 And presents went to relatives 
 
 And friends in rich supply 
 
 While father who furnished the cash for it all 
 
 Received for his neck a tie. 
 
WISDOM OF THE WIDOW. 
 
 "What shall I do for Christmas, what shall I give away? 
 I've scarcely any money to spend this holiday; 
 And yet I must remember friends and relatives dear 
 And also the little children, in token of Christmas cheer." 
 
 She went her way rejoicing to the five and ten-cent store, 
 And when she left its portal, carried bundles by the score. 
 
 A very rare assortment of every kind of toy 
 And many other modest ambassadors of joy. 
 
 A wagon, train and rattle, balls and games and blocks, 
 Ribbons, caps and aprons and several shades of socks. 
 
 Calendars, cards and candy, mirrors, mittens and mats. 
 Jumping Jacks and marbles, a couple of calico cats. 
 
 Cologne and horns and baskets, dolls and dominoes, 
 Checkers and letter paper and crocheted baby hose. 
 
 A splendid little soldier, a grizzly Teddy-bear, 
 
 Horns and drums and whistles and dolly's rocking-chair. 
 
 Scarfs, and ties and runners, knitted shopping bags 
 A scrap-book and a picture, a bunch of holly tags. 
 
 Her arms were overflowing with stacks of good intents 
 That cost her altogether three dollars and fifty cents. 
 
 In every single article selected with special care 
 
 The sweeOT^&sence of Christmas, the spirit of giving was there. 
 
 And that merry little widow in generous delight 
 
 Enjoyed a treat in spending her money with all her might. 
 
 11 
 
MOUNT OF AMBITION. 
 
 (Pike's Peak.) 
 
 Did great Ambition give thee birth, thou Wonder of the west. 
 Art thou a strange and mighty growth of soaring wild unrest? 
 Or was thy aim to climb until thou touched high Heaven's wall, 
 And waiting there be first to hear the Master's final call? 
 
 Rare gifts thou gathered in thy flights as did the Wise of Old, 
 Sweet flowers on thy rugged breast above a heart of gold. 
 Thy jeweled veins fast holding priceless treasures for thy King, 
 To shame perchance the wealth of trophies human hands may 
 bring. 
 
 So lonely dost thou seem and sad, that tender clouds droop 
 
 down. 
 To wreath about thy royal head a more than regal crown. 
 The laughing sun grows brighter, too, to welcome thee at dawn. 
 While moon and stars in silver light seem nearer to thee drawn. 
 
 And yet not even thou couldst reach the goal thou wouldst 
 
 attain, 
 And so thy tears in crystal streams flow back to earth again. 
 The Hand Divine was firmly pressed to thine aspiring brow, 
 And bade thee go no further up than where thou standest now. 
 
 The humblest blossom at thy feet may hear the summons first, 
 And yet methinks the Father will allay thy lofty thirst, 
 For noble aspirations checked on earth and seeming lost, 
 Will some way find the recompense well worth the struggle's 
 cost. 
 
 ^% 
 
HERE'S TO MAN. 
 
 He's fickle and false, 
 
 Constant and true, 
 It all depends 
 
 On the sample in view. 
 
 He's good and wicked, 
 
 Stupid and wise, 
 The greatest Conundrum 
 
 Under the skies. 
 
 We won't give him up 
 
 Though fallen from grace, 
 
 For there's nothing so good 
 To put in his place. 
 
 BECAUSE OF HER. 
 
 Because of her a man became 
 A leading light in halls of fame. 
 And equally in quiet ways 
 Lived nobly all his earthly days. 
 
 Yet that sweet woman never knew, 
 But softly sighed sometimes to rue 
 That she no greatness could attain, 
 And seemingly had lived in vain. 
 
 13 
 
THE ONE WHO UNDERSTANDS. 
 
 My friend's little army of children 
 
 Came running in from play. 
 
 With clothes and hands and faces 
 
 All smeared and soiled with clay ; 
 
 But mother-love saw the beauty 
 
 No dirt could ever subdue, 
 
 As she smiled upon each of the youngsters 
 
 And hugged and kissed them, too. 
 
 I could but think when we answer 
 The summons that comes to us all, 
 And appear before our Father 
 Responsive to His call; 
 Though our lives be soiled in the living 
 Where weeds of the world have grown, 
 He'll take us in and love us 
 Because we are His own. 
 And, O, how sweet the solace 
 To find He understood, 
 Through all our sins and trials 
 The wish of the soul was good. 
 
 t*» 
 
THE OLD PIANO. 
 
 The old piano's voice is cracked 
 
 Its melody has flown, 
 No tuning ever can restore 
 
 Its once delightful tone. 
 
 You wish Grandfather would exchange 
 
 Or buy a Parlor Grand, 
 Yet this one stirs the spirit chords 
 
 Untouched by mortal hand. 
 
 I gave it to the dearest girl. 
 
 When she became my wife, 
 And when she played its keys of pearl 
 
 It surely sweetened life. 
 
 We gathered round it every night 
 
 And sang the good old lays, 
 We raised "Old Hundred" full and free — 
 
 To voice our hearts of praise. 
 
 We dearly loved The Mocking Bird, 
 
 Juanita, and Old Dog Tray, 
 Home Sweet Home, and Rosin the Beau, 
 
 And Darling Nellie Gray. 
 
 In time she sang a slumber song 
 
 A soothing little tune. 
 That ripples through my memory still 
 
 With the same persuasive croon. 
 
 Of course it sounds discordant now 
 
 'Twas built for airs refined. 
 And will not lend its tones to sound 
 
 The new suggestive kind. 
 
 15 
 
THE OLD PIANO 
 
 It's something like we old-time folks 
 
 Who praise the peaceful past, 
 And think the present pace of things 
 
 Is over-loud and fast. 
 
 Why yes, I'll get a Parlor Grand — 
 
 But the old piano must stay, 
 'Twould seem like hurting the heart of a friend 
 
 If I should send it away. 
 
 It seems a sacred thing to me 
 
 Deserving special grace, 
 So have it moved to my own room 
 
 You'll find there's plenty of space. 
 
 And sometimes, darling, just about 
 
 The hour of day's decline, 
 Be sure to come and sing for me 
 
 The songs of Auld Lang Syne. 
 
 i* 
 
A MAN'S MISTAKE. 
 
 Her Letter. 
 
 Dear Husband of mine. I'm happy to say 
 My health is improving every day ; 
 There's a magic sjiell in the summer sea 
 That proves a perfect balm for me: 
 Congenial company, too, I find 
 To tone and stimulate the mind. 
 There's but one cloud across my sky — 
 The fact that you are nowhere nigh ; 
 It's awful to think of you there alone 
 With nought for my absence to atone ; 
 Unless each day you let me know 
 You're well and happy, I'll homeward go : 
 But if I knew you were satisfied 
 Throughout the season I'd here abide. 
 
 His Answer. 
 
 My dear little wife, so tender and true, 
 Don't let a thought of me trouble you ; 
 I'm having quite the bulliest time. 
 Naught disturbing this frame of mine : 
 Business is slow, so I slip away 
 From the office early every day, 
 And gather a bunch of congenial boys 
 To motor along and seek the joys 
 The Club affords for the man bereft 
 Of wife or sweetheart lately left. 
 We tennis, golf, and smoke and tliink, 
 Take now and then the mildest drink, 
 Then drop in on some summer shows, 
 And so the jolly seasons goes. 
 Don't think of coming back, my dear, 
 You really are not needed here. 
 
 The Sequel 
 
 That innocent man now wonders in vain 
 
 Why his wife came home on the very next train. 
 
A WOMAN'S WISH. 
 
 Be reconciled when loved ones die 
 Remember safe from sin they lie, 
 And sorrow, too, can touch them not 
 All wrong and pain is now forgot, — 
 So leave the dead and let the living know 
 The joy that life can still bestow. 
 
 Thus does the world full oft advise 
 And many deem the counsel wise. 
 
 The feeling may be wrong, Sweetheart, 
 
 And yet when comes our time to part 
 
 I can not wish it should be so; 
 
 If I must be the first to go, 
 
 I shall not say : "Be reconciled," 
 
 But — "Let sweet memories be piled 
 
 Around thy heart so very near 
 
 Thou never canst forget me dear." 
 
 "Be reconciled," I shall not say. 
 
 But — "Miss me more and more each day." 
 
 18 
 
TWILIGHT TEA. 
 
 "Oh, won't you come to Twilight Tea 
 And have a cozy chat with me? 
 'Twill be the simplest little spread." 
 That's what the charming maiden said. 
 Of course no man with fancy loose 
 Could form a suitable excuse. 
 I went ! and how that Twilight Tea 
 Played havoc unf orseen with me ! 
 I held the smallest painted cup 
 Took now and then a nervous sup, 
 And every time I felt a quake 
 Because my clumsy hand would shake. 
 How could I mind that awful tea 
 When she was smiling so at me? 
 I lost my grip and with a crash 
 That cup and saucer went to smash ! 
 I rose and said with sudden start: 
 "It's broken up just like my heart." 
 She calmly answered: "Never mind, 
 I have some glue, a special kind, 
 'Twill mend, I'll use it just for show 
 The break no one will ever know." 
 "But what about my heart ?" I cried ; 
 "I want a remedy applied." 
 She said, with most beguiling grace ; 
 "Why, put another in its place." 
 'Twas then I used advantage fine 
 And captured hers for smashing mine. 
 That's why above all treats to me 
 There's nothing equals Twilight Tea. 
 
 10 
 
BEFORE AND AFTER THE BALL. 
 
 His Note. 
 
 To grace the debut ball tonight 
 I'm sending you some roses bright ; 
 As fair as they may your future be, 
 And yet this date is the doom of me, 
 Because I shan't have the ghost of a chance 
 Beside the fellows you'll meet at the dance ; 
 And so I'm saying, "Good-bye, little girl, 
 You'll be a star in the social whirl." 
 
 Heu Answer. 
 
 Thanks for the roses ; they were dear, 
 Although your note was very queer ; 
 'Twas most unkind to write so blue 
 When a girl was needing courage, too. 
 Perhaps you've forgotten the maxim old 
 Conceived in days when knights were bold 
 That: "None but the brave deserve the fair," 
 So enter the ranks — if you really care. 
 Come! give the others a splendid shove 
 Since competition's the spice of love 
 (My heart hasn't changed position at all 
 And yet it's the morning after the ball). 
 
 20 
 
WHY HE SENDS THE ROSES. 
 
 In dreamful wise a maiden's eyes 
 
 Reviewed her dancing list, 
 
 She softly smiled to realize 
 
 No single one was missed. 
 
 The ball had been her fairy dream 
 
 Of youthful bliss come true, 
 
 Its joy would form a brilliant gleam 
 
 To gild the future through. 
 
 She closely scanned each partner's name 
 
 And felt somewhat amused, 
 
 And also just a little shame 
 
 To find herself confused, 
 
 In thinking "who" was "who," but still, — 
 
 When things were in a whirl 
 
 To place all personalities 
 
 Would puzzle any girl. 
 
 "It matters not," she whispered low, 
 
 "There's one I'll ne'er forget 
 
 He sent the roses that I wore 
 
 And they are fragrant yet." 
 
 ('Tis so, somehow the flight of years 
 
 This subtle fact discloses, 
 
 A woman's heart will closest cling 
 
 To him who sends the roses. 
 
 Perhaps because their coming makes 
 
 A tender truth occur. 
 
 That something beautiful and sweet 
 
 Has made him think of her.) 
 
 21 
 
WOMAN'S ARMOR 
 
 She heard her baby singing 
 
 Softly singing while at play, 
 And it seemed no sweeter music 
 
 Ever brightened any day. 
 Her soul she felt was shielded 
 
 With a child to guide it here, 
 And another, making Heaven 
 
 Seem so A^ery real and near. 
 
 Then her spirit found the soothing 
 
 That an anchored faith had brought, 
 And her mood of meditation 
 
 Led her to this vein of thought : 
 One can understand how woman 
 
 May be tempted by the wrong, 
 How her gentle trusting nature 
 
 May be conquered by the strong: 
 But if her heart has ever known 
 
 The grace of motherhood, 
 And she be bound by deed of birth 
 
 To lead a soul to good, 
 She should wear an inward armor 
 
 Formed with principles of might. 
 That neither force nor circumstance 
 
 Can swerve from paths of right. 
 
 «g 
 
REMINDED. 
 
 yes ! I knew that death must come to all, 
 My tears had fallen oft for others' woe ; 
 On faces fair Fd seen the shadow fall, 
 
 And wondered hearts could beat and suffer so. 
 But still the flowers bloomed as; fresh and pure, 
 The sun shone bright and many lives were gay ; 
 My own was rich in joy and love so sure, 
 
 1 quite forgot that grief could find the way 
 Across my threshold's guard of rare content : 
 But ah ! one day two sweetest eyes did sleep 
 Beneath such frozen lids I could not rent 
 Them open e'en to glimpse the love so deep 
 
 I knew was hiding there. A gentle face 
 That bravely smiled through any loss or gain 
 Now held a peace serene, a happy trace 
 Of something strange beyond the realm of pain. 
 
 'Tis true this life still pours its blessings out 
 For me, and yet a veil of sadness shades 
 The brightest hour and ever wraps about 
 My heart a sense of loss that never fades. 
 
 33 
 
COMFORTED. 
 
 A message from James Whitcomb RUey's poem "Bereaved.* 
 
 To me the joy of life was all undone, 
 For death had placed my only little one 
 Away from reach beneath the tender flowers, 
 And gloom had draped the hours. 
 
 At first I thought the awful stillness meant 
 A sleep that sobs could break, and so I rent 
 The air with cries that life his form would thrill. 
 But he is sleeping still. 
 
 A leaden weight of grief my spirit crushed ; 
 All nature seemed in saddest sorrow hushed. 
 They said: "You will feel better bye and bye 
 If you will only cry." 
 
 I strove to lose my own in others thought 
 And read so many lines with wisdom fraught, 
 But yet they brought my wound no healing balm, 
 Nor broke the bitter calm. 
 
 But ah ! one day as o'er a page I glanced, 
 A title held my eye, and so I chanced 
 To read those sweetest verses called "Bereaved" 
 And wept and was relieved. 
 
 And now I thank the Love Divine that would 
 So crown me with the bliss of motherhood. 
 Though soon the little arms did loose their hold, 
 And baby's life was told. 
 
 Aye, told on earth, but somewhere else I know. 
 Its promise doth to rich fulfillment grow, 
 And something of my own, through sacrifice. 
 Has entered Paradise. 
 
 For through the aftermath of peace I see 
 While death is hard indeed, yet still to be 
 Denied the gift of child to human heart. 
 Is far the sadder part. 
 
 24 
 
HINT OF THE AUTUMN TINT. 
 
 A woman failed to realize 
 
 How cruel time forever flies 
 
 And steals away so much that's fair — 
 
 The things for which we women care: 
 
 So unobserving that forsooth 
 
 She wore the color shades of youth 
 
 When passing years had left their trace 
 
 Upon the freshness of her face. 
 
 Her friends awoke her to the fact 
 
 By quite a novel bit of tact. 
 
 Upon her birthday presents came, 
 
 In varied forms, but tints the same, 
 
 A shoulder scarf, a motor veil, 
 
 A breakfast robe with trimmings pale. 
 
 Some kerchiefs worked in fetching style. 
 
 And incidentals by the pile. 
 
 A volume filled with "Gems of Hope" 
 
 All done in dainty heliotrope. 
 
 Candied violets, purple hose, 
 
 A bunch of shaded ribbon bows. 
 
 The woman gave a little sigh 
 And said : "Tis very plain that I 
 Have reached the autumn of my days. 
 The time for mellow color's haze, 
 Since purple's many varied tone 
 In every single gift is shown. 
 I'll take the timely hint of truth — 
 Farewell the pinks and blues of youth ! 
 And yet my heart is in its prime 
 Without a touch of autumn time." 
 
 25 
 
WHY SHE WAS CROWnED. 
 
 Soon after the dawn of a perfect day 
 
 The flowers carae out in fresh array, 
 
 Each one wearing its bxightest and best, 
 
 As if by the angels freshly drest. 
 
 The Rose was pink as a maiden's blush, 
 
 Popp3' attired in crimson plush; 
 
 Lily came out in her bridal robes, 
 
 And Buttercup in golden globes ; 
 
 Hyacintli wore a purple shade, 
 
 Dalilia seemed from the rainbow made. 
 
 Pansy came as a beautiful thought, 
 
 In many tinted fancies caught. 
 
 Forget-Me-Not in the softest blue. 
 
 Heliotrope in her special hue. 
 
 This fairest crowd that ever was seen 
 
 Assembled to choose for themselves a queen. 
 
 The Judge to decide was big Sunflower, 
 
 And blossoms were there from every bower. 
 
 The breezes round them far and nigh, 
 
 Like breath of cherubs from the sky ; 
 
 When each one bent its lovely head 
 
 To listen to what the Sunflower said, 
 
 Daisy peeped up with the cutest nod 
 
 That tickled the heart of the Goldenrod, 
 
 "Because of her sweetness all year round 
 
 I think Violet ought to be crowned; 
 
 She's never quit blooming since her birth, 
 
 But is always trying to brighten earth; 
 
 If winds and rain lay her low on the sod 
 
 She trusts that behind is a smile of God ; 
 
 She just grows on in her modest way. 
 
 So I make her Queen of us all today.'* 
 
 They shook their leaves like a whispering voice 
 
 And quite agreed with the Judge's choice; 
 
 'lliey sank to sleep when the sun went dorwn, 
 
 And Violet quite forgot her crown. 
 
FORCE OF CONTRAST. 
 
 She sobbed: "My sorrow is greater, 
 F»r greater tlian I can bear, 
 I'm sure there was never another 
 So burdened with such a care." 
 
 She sighted by accident onl}^ 
 The weight of a neighbor's woo, 
 It shattered her sobs into silence 
 And all her rebellion laid low. 
 
 She said : "That cross is sufficient 
 The strength of a soul to destroy, 
 Beside it the depth of my sorrow 
 Assumes a resemblance to joy." 
 
 27 
 
THE FACE OF PHILLIPS BROOKS. 
 
 They told me Truth was dead, 
 That Honor's heart was bleeding, 
 That Charity's drooping head 
 No human cry was heeding. 
 That Pity's tears were dry. 
 And Faith was lost in Creed, 
 That God was much too high 
 For earthly calls of need. 
 That love and trust and goodness 
 Are found not any more, 
 Except within the volumes 
 Of long forgotten lore. 
 My spirit drooped in sorrow 
 For loss of man's best friends, 
 I cried : "What use tomorrow, 
 Why struggle for such ends ?" 
 
 I've seen a face today — 
 It's pictured silence speaks 
 For courage, truth and might ; 
 Of purpose firm that seeks 
 To conquer Wrong by Right. 
 And such a soul is purely 
 A link from earth to God, 
 That proves the hope securely 
 Of life beyond the sod. 
 They told me false I ween ; 
 There's greatness out of books, — 
 Hope smiles, for I have seen 
 The face of Phillips Brooks. 
 
 ^a,. 
 
WHENEVER PA IS SICK. 
 
 Somethin's doin' and doin' quick 
 
 Whenever Pa is sick. 
 Oh, my ! there's such an awful muss 
 And such a splendid sight of fuss 
 
 Whenever Pa is sick. 
 
 Bridget fills the water-bag, 
 Sister hunts a linen rag 
 Sarah makes a mustard plaster 
 While Pa is yelling : "Hurry faster !" 
 Baby sits and sucks her thumb — 
 The only one that's still and dumb. 
 But Ma just does most everything 
 Until she hears the doctor's ring. 
 Then she talks a bit with him 
 And takes him to the sick-room dim; 
 And when at last he goes away 
 We tip-toe round the livelong day. 
 And scarcely dare to breathe right quick 
 Whenever Pa is sick. 
 
 When Ma is sick we never know, 
 Except she moves a little slow. 
 And looks so tired round the eyes. 
 As though she'd had some quiet cries ; 
 Sometimes she rests a little while 
 And gives the sweetest sort of smile 
 When I slip up and softly say: 
 "Ain't you feeling well today?" 
 Somehow I wish when she is sick 
 She'd make us hustle round as quick 
 As Pa does — so that we could know 
 And help her when she suffers so. 
 
 29 
 
^JTHE EASTER PROOF. 
 
 O lilies lend your perfumed breath 
 
 To sii'ceten Easter dawn, 
 O birds trill out your gladdest songs 
 
 To make melodious morn. 
 O poets pen some perfect gems — 
 
 For inspiration praj', 
 With fitting words to speak the truth 
 
 That Death is dead today. 
 
 O hearts bereft now cease to mourn 
 
 O weary laden souls, 
 Lay all your heavy bui'dens down 
 
 This hour your comfort holds. 
 As gloom departs and glory tends 
 
 The joy-illumined way — 
 Far Christ hvmself is living proof 
 
 That Death is dead today. 
 
A LEGEND OF THE HUES. 
 
 The Savior's mother sad and lone 
 Kept watch beside the grave of stone. 
 
 No sleep had soothed her saddest eyes 
 Since she had seen the sacrifice. 
 
 Against the door that barred the dead 
 She laid her weary aching head ; 
 
 When in the gloaming's mellow light 
 She saw a blossom gleaming bright. 
 
 Some loving hand with tender care 
 Had placed a spotless lily there. 
 
 The mother's heart its presence blest 
 She gently clasped it to her breast. 
 
 Its subtle sweetness like a balm 
 Stole o'er her senses, bringing calm ; 
 
 Then peace into her bosom crept — 
 She closed her eyes and softly slept. 
 
 The weariness of flesh Avithdrawn 
 She woke at resurrection mom. 
 
 Then o'er the fading flower she bent 
 And to its heart this message sent: 
 
 "O lily, sacred be thy bloom 
 For bringing comfort to the tomb. 
 
 AVhere'er on earth His mem'ry goes, 
 Be thou the fairest flower that grows." 
 
 So proudly pure on Easter day 
 The lily bells of perfume sway. 
 
 31 
 
THE REWARD OF ZACCHEUS. 
 
 The Gospel tells of one who craved 
 
 To see the Savior's face, 
 And followed all the crushing crowds 
 
 With never wearying pace : 
 But being very small in size 
 
 He could not get a glance, 
 'Til looking up one day he saw 
 
 An unexpected chance. 
 
 He hurried on ahead of all 
 
 And climbed a stately tree, 
 And from that height his view was clear 
 
 The passing form to see. 
 Then Jesus, noting his desire 
 
 And confidence complete. 
 Bestowed upon his eager heart 
 
 A blessing rare and sweet. 
 
 The special season for the soul 
 
 The fast of Lenten-tide, 
 Is rich in spirit gain to those 
 
 Who put the world aside ; 
 And climb the splendid heights of faith 
 
 To view with vision clear. 
 The realm where perfect peace abides 
 
 And Jesus draweth near. 
 
A LOST THOUGHT. 
 
 A lovely thought to a poet came 
 And nestled near his heart: 
 
 "Thou'lt bring to me immortal fame 
 When thou and I shalt part. 
 
 I'll clothe thee first in Art's array 
 
 In poesy sublime, 
 So thou may'st find a shining way 
 
 Adown the aisles of time." 
 
 A wondrous piece of verse he wrought 
 
 In rarest rhythmic rhyme, 
 With 'broidered rhet'ric finely fraught, 
 
 The words did sweetly chime. 
 Of love and fate and life and death 
 
 He made a touching theme. 
 Of moonbeams soft and flowers breath 
 
 He wove a happy dream. 
 
 The music of the rippling brook 
 The warm sun's golden glow ; 
 
 And subtle secrets of the soul 
 His skill essayed to show. 
 
 He paused at last his work to probe, 
 When tears his vision crost. 
 
 To find that in the verse's robe 
 His lovely thought was lost. 
 33 
 
HIS INSPIRATION. 
 
 I want an original valentine 
 An offering rich and rare and fine ; 
 O, Poet, pen me something sweet 
 In lover's rhapsodies complete. 
 
 Make mention of my lady's eyes, 
 Comparing them to fairest skies; 
 Her mouth is neither large nor small 
 *Tis simply perfect, — that is all. 
 
 Her voice is like the rhythmic flow 
 Of mellow music, soft and low ; 
 The whitest lily in the land 
 I<ooks commonplace beside her hand. 
 
 She has a darling dimple where 
 It seems the most beguiling snare, — 
 Just say it plays upon her cheek 
 Among the blushes hide and seek. 
 
 A charming feature is her nose, 
 A graceful "outline in repose," 
 All witchery seems hid within 
 The dainty moulding of her chin. 
 
 Some singer wrote about Jeannette, 
 Whose hair was like a silken net, 
 Enmeshing hearts in days of old 
 When knights were ovei*-gay and bold. 
 
HIS INSPIRATION 
 
 My lady's tresses would have fired 
 His fancy to such flights inspired. 
 That bells of praise in halls of fame 
 Would still be ringing with his name. 
 
 O, Poet, all your art I seek ; 
 I want this messenger to speak, 
 In language such that she may see 
 She owns the very heart of me. 
 
 Somehow I fear you won't enthuse 
 And so your service I'll excuse, 
 Just lay your pen upon the shelf — 
 I'll write that valentine myself. 
 
 FLATTERING. 
 
 "I cannot be your wife," she said, 
 
 Unto his sweet petition ; 
 I cannot pledge myself, for I 
 
 Am full of great ambition. 
 
 The^' met again in after years 
 She said with deep contrition; 
 
 "I'll be your wife, aye, gladly now, 
 For I've no more ambition." 
 
 35 
 
GENESIS OF THE ROSE JAR. 
 
 A maiden fair wore roses rare, 
 And both were blushing sweet, 
 
 Her happy eyes were all aglow 
 A lover brave to greet. 
 
 "My roses — aren't they perfect, dear.'*" 
 She said, and glanced above. 
 
 *'They are indeed but pale beside 
 Thy face, my dearest love. 
 
 The blooms will quickly fade and fall 
 
 But you will fairer grow, 
 And dearer be with every year 
 
 Because I love you so." 
 
 When he had gone the maid recalled 
 
 The tender words he said. 
 Then caught a breath of faint perfume 
 
 That proved her roses dead. 
 
 She took them off to toss away 
 But paused with pensive sigh; 
 
 "Ah, roses, you are sweet in death 
 And shall I cast you by ? 
 
 You lent an added charm to me 
 
 To glad my lover's eyes. 
 And oft, I know, as roses do, 
 
 A woman's beauty dies. 
 
 So heart and soul must sweetness keep 
 
 As do the leaves of roses, 
 That she may hold a nameless grace 
 
 When youth in age reposes." 
 
 Her flowers she dropped within a vase 
 
 A kiss to each she gave. 
 And so in jars throughout the land 
 
 The sweet leaves find a grave. 
 
 «I6 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH ALBUM. 
 
 She found an old autograph album 
 
 That dated in sixty-two, 
 
 And she lived again in her girlhood 
 
 While looking its pages through. 
 
 The writing was awkward and varied 
 
 The sentiment flippant and deep, 
 
 The signatures wakened old friendships 
 
 At rest in memory's keep. 
 
 Its beginning she well remembered — 
 
 'Twas during the time of school, 
 
 A few of those early attachments 
 
 Had never yet grown cool. 
 
 Some rarest selections were classic 
 
 From Shakespeare, Shelly and such, 
 
 And others original strictly 
 
 With all of the amateur's touch. 
 
 "Be true to thyself," was given 
 
 By Mary, her mate at desk, — 
 
 A bit of Byronic effusion 
 
 In mis-quotation grotesque. 
 
 The boys wrote rhapsodies ranging 
 
 From "Grass around the stump," 
 
 To "Roses red and violets blue," 
 
 And "Sweet as a sugar lump." 
 
 Ah, here was a poem of beauty 
 
 By one who had loved her well, 
 
 37 
 
A.N AUTOGRAPH ALBUM 
 
 The name at its close was not needed 
 
 For plainly her heart could tell, 
 
 Just who had penned his devotion 
 
 In such a masterful style 
 
 With meaning in homage so knightly 
 
 Beguiling a hope the while. 
 
 Her sad tears fell on the album 
 
 Because of her youth's first beau, 
 
 For time had but mellowed the music 
 
 Of, "Darling, I love you so !" 
 
 She'd read in a recent listing 
 
 Of men in the battle slain 
 
 His name — and it brought her a quiver 
 
 Of deep mysterious pain. 
 
 And that was the reason she hunted 
 
 The library through and through. 
 
 To find that old autograph albiun 
 
 That dated in sixty-two. 
 
 .38 
 
MONEY BURNED. 
 
 He thought about it long and well 
 Before he asked a reigning belle, 
 If she would kindly let him call 
 And be her escort to the ball. 
 When she consented he was glad 
 And also just a little sad — 
 To find the carriage, flowers and such 
 Would surely cost him overmuch. 
 
 He phoned to ask her color scheme — 
 
 What roses would becoming seem. 
 
 It made him slightly nervous feel . 
 
 When she replied: "The Marechel Neil." 
 
 So scarce they were they cost him so 
 
 His bank account dropped very low; 
 
 And yet his pride was great that night 
 
 When he beheld the lovely sight, 
 
 Of that fair maid of many charms 
 
 Who clasped his roses in her arms. 
 
 She held them through the opening dance. 
 
 Then by intent — or merely chance, — 
 
 She laid them down with seeming care 
 
 Upon the radiator, where, 
 
 The heat consumed their beauty quick 
 
 And how the odor made him sick ! 
 
 So when he went his homeward wa}'' 
 
 He to himself did softly say : 
 
 "I'll know myself a senseless pup 
 
 When I again burn money up." 
 
 39 
 
AKIN TO JOSEPH'S COAT. 
 
 She bought herself a cream white silk to wear at social 
 functions, 
 
 Her friends all fjiid her pocket-book would suffer grave com- 
 punctions. 
 
 Because the goods was rich and rare, a recent importation, 
 
 The price was most extravagant for one of modest station. 
 
 The maiden wisely went her way and wore it through the season 
 She knew 'twould fine investment prove and time would show 
 
 the reason. 
 She had it cleaned the second year and used a different 
 
 trimming. 
 But soon from frequent use she saw its lustre slowly dimming. 
 
 She had it dyed a lemon hue that really proved entrancing, — 
 Becoming soiled around the train, she cut it short for dancing. 
 Another time the tint was changed to pink of blushing roses 
 When it became a dream of taste adorned in lilac posies. 
 
 She changed it next to softest blue like that of summer's 
 
 shading. 
 Then sadly saw,itsk)wjy sjiow a subtle hint of fading. 
 She luul- ii dyea^nonxea it up to wear for church and calling, 
 'Twas kept in style and freshened up by frequent overhauling. 
 In after years a friend reviewing hours of youthful pleasure. 
 Inquiring of that cream white silk so often found a treasure, 
 Could scarcely believe the evidence that every doubt refuted; 
 Into a black silk petticoat that dress had involuted. 
 
EQUAL RIGHTS. 
 
 In days of old when man would give 
 His wrathful feelings vent, 
 
 He always had his say, and then 
 Got up and — went! 
 
 While woman stayed at home 
 Throughout the weary day, 
 
 And wished that he could hear 
 The things she^d like to say ! 
 
 But now ! the modern woman 
 Concealeth not her woes, 
 
 She also has her say! she too 
 Gets up and goes! 
 
 41 
 
HERE'S TO JIM RILEY. 
 
 Talk about the glory 
 In sending of your name 
 A- shining down the ages 
 Upon the top of fame. 
 I'd rather be Jim Riley 
 And make a singing lay 
 Awaking tender feelings 
 And love that's here today. 
 
 For Riley grapples nature — 
 
 And teaching comes right through 
 
 The blushes of the roses, 
 
 The glitter of the dew. 
 
 Hearing all the music 
 
 The bird notes ever sound 
 
 Seeing all the glory 
 
 The sun is pouring round ; 
 
 Finding lots of beauty 
 
 In any simple thing 
 
 Dressing up his verses 
 
 From thoughts the daisies bring. 
 
 Speaking sweet of women. 
 With reverence of God — 
 Believing Heaven's waiting 
 The other side the sod. 
 So here's to Jim Riley 
 Who has the rarest art. 
 Of dropping little blessings 
 Right into ever}!- heart. 
 
 42 
 
LOVE'S DETRACTOR. 
 
 O songster singing with such smoothness 
 All thy strains are bitter-sweet, 
 
 So like a gulf of passion surging 
 Round pure hopes a winding sheet. 
 
 Full many rare and dazzling pictures 
 Hast thy fancy finely wrought, 
 
 But where in all their rhythmic rhyming 
 Is an elevating thought? 
 
 With dagger sheathed in broidered rhetoric 
 Thou hast thrust at noblest things. 
 
 Perchance some anchors have been loosened 
 By thy keenly polished stings. 
 
 And yet thou shouldst at least have spared 
 The grandest gift of God to earth, 
 
 Because thou hast not met pure love 
 Does that disprove its royal birth? 
 
 It lives in might today and he who doth 
 
 Beneath its scepter bow. 
 Doth serve the best, and proves himself 
 
 A truer poefc far, than thou. 
 
 43 
 
LOVE'S DETRACTOR 
 
 For shame to couple its fair name 
 With deeds from vilest cause begun, 
 
 When all the tender, brave and great 
 At its command to life has sprung. 
 
 'Tis not the glimmering mist of golden hair 
 
 Nor lips as red as wine, 
 The soul that deathless shines from sweet blue eyes 
 
 Is worthy lover's shrine. 
 
 O singer, go untune thy chord and blend 
 
 With what outlives the grave, 
 Enough of minor tones of loss, — go thou 
 
 And find the notes that save. 
 
 Yea, mortal man is man but he can rise 
 
 O'er passion's brutal sway. 
 With eyes so clear he sees beyond the doubt 
 
 That you would teach today. 
 
 1* 
 
tTHE BIRTH OF THE BLUSH ROSE. 
 
 The stars were bright, the moon was late, 
 
 Two lovers stood beside the gate, 
 
 A rose of white was blooming near 
 
 And slyly lent a listening ear. 
 
 "I love you, Dear, I love you. Sweet, 
 
 I pray you make my life complete. 
 
 My waking thoughts, my dreams are thine 
 
 let me claim your heart for mine." 
 The maiden sighed and shook her head 
 And something most surprising said. 
 The wooer left with suit refused 
 
 But as he went he wisely mused: 
 
 "Her lips said, 'Nay;' her eyes said 'Yea,' 
 
 Perhaps it's just a woman's way; 
 
 My hope is not entirely slain. 
 
 Tomorrow eve I'll try again." 
 
 The maid (when he had vanished quite) 
 
 Said: "Blessings brighten in their flight, 
 
 'Tis strange he could not plainly see 
 
 1 wanted to prolong his plea, 
 
 For love of him my heart does glow 
 And how I wish I'd told him so ! 
 The white rose turned the softest pink 
 It made her blush to simply think, 
 How maids will play with love and fate 
 While Cupid hovers by the gate. 
 
 45 
 
SOME ONE SAYS. 
 
 'Tis better to have loved and lost 
 Than never to have loved at all, 
 
 If only for the memories 
 Thus made for sweet recall. 
 
 The love that's real is firm as fact 
 
 But fleeting fancies fly, 
 As lightly as the thistledown 
 
 To pretty passers-by. 
 
 The spark Divine is never dead 
 
 It holds immortal claim 
 And souls that win or lose its charm 
 
 Are never more the same. 
 
 % 
 
SHE FORGOT. 
 
 As Bessie stood before the mirror 
 
 Arrayed in festive style, 
 The charm of her reflected beauty 
 
 Provoked a happy smile. 
 
 She turned to Grandmother sitting near 
 And said : "Now honor bright, 
 
 What think you of me, Granny Mine 
 On this my debut night?" 
 
 "Come nearer that my failing eyes 
 
 May better see you, Sweet! 
 And let me feel the dainty dress 
 
 That makes you so complete. 
 Soft white silk, and at your belt, 
 
 Such wonderful roses rare, — 
 They blush with pride at being worn 
 
 By one so sweet and fair. 
 
 But child! your shoulders! they are out! 
 
 Why where's the body part? 
 The sleeves are missing, too ! Such fashion 
 
 Surely shocks my heart ! 
 When I was young our party dresses 
 
 Covered the throat quite high. 
 The sleeves were very long, or else 
 
 Just passed the elbow by." 
 
 "Well, Granny mine, if say you so 
 
 I'll dress this way no more;" 
 But Bessie's eye a twinkle held 
 
 As she tripped out the door. 
 
 Next day to her mother's treasure trunk 
 
 In the attic Bessie went, 
 Gayly humming a lively tune 
 
 As over the tray she bent. 
 
 47 
 
SHE FORGOT 
 
 Whatever could it be in there 
 
 To make her blue eji-es glow? 
 A charming old daguerotype 
 
 Of many years ago. 
 
 She quickly burst into Grandma's room 
 
 Like a flash of morning light, 
 With both hands clasped behind her back 
 
 Enfolding her secret tight. 
 
 "You want to see something pretty and sweet.'' 
 Well, shut your eyes quick and guess." 
 
 Then up behind the big arm chair 
 Slipped happy mischievous Bess. 
 
 Put both arms round Grandmother's neck 
 
 Hugged close as close could be. 
 Cried, "One-two-three ! I'm ready now, 
 
 Just open your eyes and see." 
 
 Grandmother looked and could scarce believe 
 
 The sight of her wondering eye 
 That met the picture of herself 
 
 Taken fifty years gone by ! 
 
 Those eyes were like forget-me-nots, 
 
 That hair of burnished gold, 
 The shy young face held all the grace 
 
 Of a tender love untold. 
 
 So swiftly her thoughts went flying down 
 
 The vista of the years. 
 She had to take her glasses off^ 
 
 To wipe away the tears. 
 
 "Why that is the very dress I wore 
 
 To the famous Governor's ball, 
 "He led the opening dance with me 
 
 And made me belle of all. 
 
 48 
 
SHE FORGOT 
 
 Then Bessie said : " 'Tis a beauty gown — 
 But look at your shoulders there, 
 
 It shocks my sense of pride to find 
 They ever were so bare. 
 
 There's only a very little band 
 At the top of each dimpled arm, 
 
 Indeed you were a regal maid 
 In all your wealth of charm! 
 
 But Grandmother surely you didn't dare 
 
 Attend the Governor's ball, 
 In a waist as scant as this one is 
 
 For they weren't allowed at all! 
 
 Grandmother heartily laughed and said, 
 
 "O girlie, you are cute, 
 Wear what you please, forever-more 
 
 I promise to be mute. 
 
 But hug me tight and kiss me, too. 
 
 And promise to tell it not, 
 It's been so long since I was young. 
 
 You see, I quite forgot! 
 
 49 
 
AS ONE OF THESE. 
 
 He grew to man's estate with still 
 
 His mother's faith in God, 
 Her firm belief had kept him good 
 
 And lightened every rod. 
 In falling leaf or blooming bud 
 
 He saw the Power Supreme, 
 Believing death a moment's dark 
 
 At dawn of Heaven's gleam. 
 
 But pride of learning woke one day 
 
 And whispered him a doubt; 
 "Are you a child to just believe 
 
 What others portion out? 
 So rich you are in knowledge — probe 
 
 The secrets God would hide, 
 Go find why sorrow sin and tears 
 
 Do human life betide. 
 
 From whence we came — and whither go 
 
 And why we're here at all, 
 Why Scripture seems so many times 
 
 Its meaning to recall." 
 With anchor loose he drifted far 
 
 Beyond the realm of Peace, 
 Resolved to pierce life's mystery — 
 
 Its key to man's release. 
 
 One evening near the hour when dusk 
 The sun's full glory shields, 
 
 He wandered far to ponder 'mid 
 The blossom scented fields ; 
 
 When suddenly to meet him came 
 
 A child with eager pace. 
 "O sir, I'se glad you've come to take 
 
 Me from this lonely place." 
 
 m 
 
AS ONE OF THESE 
 
 The red lips smiling spoke the while 
 
 The bright eyes danced with joy 
 "I speck my mama's sorry she can't 
 
 Find her little boy." 
 "What, lost my little man; why, aren't 
 
 You very much afraid?" 
 "Me scared? 6 no, I know that God 
 
 Is watching me," he said. 
 
 "Ah, child, you thinh he's watching but 
 
 However can you know?" 
 The wondering one replied: "I know 
 
 Cause mother told me so." 
 He clasped the trusting hand and led 
 
 The wanderer safely home. 
 And then again he pondered 'neath 
 
 The drooping starlit dome. 
 
 His heart was filled with longing for 
 
 The olden peace of prayer 
 His soul this cry sent sobbing through 
 
 The silent steeps of air : 
 "Oh, lost belief, I've weary grown 
 
 Of science, doubt and thought. 
 Dear God, I pray Thee give me back 
 
 The faith my mother taught." 
 
 61 
 
''C03IPARIS0NS ARE ODOROUS." 
 
 I thought the blush of the blooming rose 
 Was just the loveliest sight, 
 
 But that was before I saw the glow 
 Upon your cheek so bright. 
 
 The violet seemed to be so sweet 
 That nothing could compare, 
 
 But that was before I found your lips 
 And the luscious nectar there. 
 
 The pansy's witching pensive face 
 So like some rare surprise — 
 
 It subtly brings to mind the charm 
 That slumbers in your eyes. 
 
 To me you seem a wonder bloom 
 
 Where all the flowers gay. 
 Have tried to lend their very best 
 
 To make a live bouquet. 
 
 4^ 
 
A REVISED EDITION. 
 
 There was once a maid of progress full of culture most refined, 
 And the aim of her ambition was to elevate her kind. 
 She bemoaned her narrow sisters of the straight domestic cut, 
 For allowing love to drive them in the matrimonial rut. 
 
 "Singing slumber songs for babies ! what a shameful waste !" 
 
 she said; 
 "When they ought to raise their voices for their modern rights 
 ^ instead ! 
 
 What an awful lot of talent thrown away in darning socks. 
 What a vast amount of genius sewed in seams of useless frocks." 
 
 "They should scorn the drudging trifles that absorb so much 
 
 of life; 
 Keep the heart and spirit far above the range of kitchen strife ! 
 Grasp the higher education, win an independent claim. 
 Cleanse the laws, and aid the nation, should be every woman's 
 
 I" 
 
 aim; 
 
 But — this charming maiden married, and it was a great sur- 
 prise 
 How the cream of her ambition was absorbed in making pies ! 
 And the voice that rang for Progress, Liberty and Right ! 
 Hummed a pleading tune to baby in the middle of the night. 
 
 While the brain that was so busy building castles in the air. 
 Scanned the butcher's and the baker's bills with close attentive 
 
 care. 
 And the feet that trod the lecture stage in dainty slippers clad, 
 Ran the treadle of a new machine that stitched for lass and lad ! 
 
 Yet — the strangest point presented in that charming woman's 
 
 case. 
 Was the fitness and content with which she slipped into her 
 
 place. 
 And she changed her text to preaching that a woman's proper 
 
 sphere. 
 Is in doing daily duties well and filling home with cheer. 
 
 53 
 
THE PICTURE'S PROPHECY. 
 
 In youth so very gay was she 
 
 Her face expressed such perfect glee, 
 
 An artist begged that he might paint 
 Her picture in position quaint, 
 
 As type of undiluted Joy 
 Without a trace of grief's alloy. 
 
 He copied every feature fair 
 
 The lovely mouth and wealth of hair; 
 
 But to his own and her surprise 
 He could not duplicate the eyes. 
 
 In spite of him the brush would draw 
 The saddest look he ever saw. 
 
 Until in sheer despair he cried: 
 "I'm forced to lay the work aside." 
 
 They met again in after years 
 And through a mutual mist of tears 
 
 They viewed the pictured face once more 
 And understood the look of yore. 
 
THE EDITOR'S RECIPE. 
 
 Your manuscript, Sir Author, I will pause to criticise, 
 Departing from my custom for the reason I surmise, 
 If you will look intently into what I have to say 
 You may write a noveletto that will surely take the day. 
 
 You own descriptive powers of a lustre quaint and bright, 
 Your fancy soars away unto a most convenient height. 
 You robe your conversation in a garb of skillful grace. 
 And truly as an artist you can paint a lovely face. 
 
 Considered as a whole your work is really more than good, 
 And I should like to publish it, and candidly I would — 
 Did I not know the story would but yield a barren waste 
 Because it's far too proper for the "Fin de Siecle" taste. 
 
 So spice it up with kisses where the kissing's slightly wrong. 
 And pepper with embraces that will last a little long — 
 Then salt it down with phrases that will paralyze the ear, 
 And saturate the mixture with some situations queer. 
 
 Then dress it off with mingled motives no one ever had 
 
 And make it mighty hard to tell the good folks from the bad. 
 
 Be sure to have the ending a conundrum dark and dense, 
 
 To leave the reader mentally upon the anxious fence. 
 
 Or serve a sad solution altogether black and blue, 
 
 Then forward — and I'm sure the thing will quite exactly do. 
 
 55 
 
A THANKFUL HEART. 
 
 She was feeble, old and poor, 
 Wealth and friends had left her door. 
 
 Her loved had reached the Better-land, 
 Her goods were in another's hand. 
 
 Thanksgiving morn alone she thought 
 Of all that life to her had brought. 
 
 Its clouds and sun, and smiles and tears. 
 The common gifts of earthly years. 
 
 Her girlhood, bright and gay and fair — 
 Its sheltered days debarring care; 
 
 Her wifehood rich in glad content 
 Its every task a blessing sent. 
 
 Then mother-love so deep and strong 
 Its faith and hope, and slumber song, 
 
 Her widow'd home so sad and lone 
 
 Where quenchless lights of memory shown. 
 
 All had come and all had past. 
 She was left to mourn the last. 
 
 She looked around her humble cot 
 Filled with thoughts of what was not ; 
 
 Then kneeling down began to pray; 
 "For what shall I give thanks today.!"' 
 
 "Dear God, accept my humble part — 
 I'm thankful for a thankful heart; 
 
 56 
 
A THANKFUL HEART 
 
 'Tis all the years have left to me 
 I long to rest it, Lord, with thee." 
 
 Her weary form rose not again — 
 
 Its spirit soared beyond earth's pain; 
 
 Her cry had touched the Father's will- 
 The thanlcful heart was cold and still. 
 
 The while the light of Heaven's grace 
 Was resting on the sweet old face. 
 
 57 
 
TRANSIENT BLISS. 
 
 What would I be if given choice? 
 
 You ask in sweetest voice ; 
 I'd like to be a rose, you know, 
 
 Since you love roses so. 
 
 I'd grow so fast and get so tall — 
 
 I'd climb the garden wall. 
 And slyly watch you come and go. 
 
 Until you caught the glow 
 
 Of crimson leaves among the green 
 
 Between the sunlit sheen. 
 Of other roses growing there 
 
 A-sweeting all the air. 
 
 You'd pluck me with your dainty hand 
 You'd praise my beauty grand, 
 
 You'd bend to catch my breath apart 
 Your lips might touch my heart ! 
 
 You'd wear me o'er your bosom white 
 
 If only for a night, 
 And though such bliss so swiftly goes 
 
 'Twould satisfy a rose ! 
 
 58 
 
THE GIFT OF GETHSEMANE. 
 
 Putting earthly things aside 
 Pausing now at Lenten-tide, 
 'Neath the shade of sorrow where 
 Christ and souls communion share, — 
 What, O Life, has come to thee 
 Out of sad Gethsemane? 
 
 Care is hiding half her face 
 Joy is wearing softer grace, 
 Hearts are holding deeper love 
 Nearer draws the realm above. 
 Something sweet has come to thee 
 Out of sad Gethsemane. 
 
 Faith is lulling grief to sleep 
 Thought is probing Conscience deep. 
 Even Sin has chosen rest, 
 Patience fills the human breast — 
 Charity has come to thee 
 Out of sad Gethsemane. 
 
 Waits the radiant Easter morn 
 Full of glory yet unborn. 
 Spirits gently trace the light 
 Gain'st the gloom of passing night. 
 Over heights of Calvary. 
 Fades the sad Gethsemane. 
 
 Ring the anthems soft and slow 
 Heaven's mercy bendeth low. 
 Blending faintest human cry 
 Into melody on high; 
 This, O life, has come to thee 
 Out of sad Gethsemane 
 
 The gift of Immortality! 
 
 59 
 
AN ECHO FROM JUDEA. 
 
 From out the East in days of old 
 The wise men came their gifts of gold 
 
 To offer; 
 The rich and rare from native lands 
 To empty into baby hands 
 
 Their coffer. 
 
 The lowly shepherds followed, too. 
 The star of gold in sky of blue 
 
 That glistened; 
 While angels sang a glad refrain 
 That fell to earth in sweetest strain, 
 
 They listened. 
 
 So led alike by equal hopes 
 
 They met where life immortal opes, 
 
 United : 
 Before the infant King Divine 
 Their lives to serve Him humble shrine 
 
 They plighted. 
 
 From North and South, and East and West, 
 They're coming still in search of rest. 
 
 Eternal ; 
 When storms of grief their souls alarm 
 His tender love doth yield a balm, 
 
 Supernal. 
 
 And true belief with service mete. 
 Full many gladly at His feet 
 
 Are laying; 
 While He for every moment's care 
 With hours of peace beyond compare 
 
 Is paying. 
 
 60 
 
AN ECHO FROM JUDEA 
 
 O'er pulseless forms His promise gleams, 
 While broken hearts and shattered dreams 
 
 He's mending; 
 The weak and sinful led astray 
 To wander from the better way 
 
 He's tending. 
 
 From Afric's gloom to India's strands, 
 The darkest nook of farthest lands. 
 
 He's lighting; 
 This world so often bathed in tears. 
 With all its wrong and woe and fears. 
 
 He's righting. 
 
 The star that shone o'er Judea bright 
 In yonder sky for us tonight, 
 
 Is gleaming; 
 The cross that rose on Calv'ry's hill 
 Is human souls from Satan still 
 
 Redeeming. 
 
 61 
 
MADE BY HAND. 
 
 "Ohj Grandma, see my valentine! 
 
 In wonder I am lost, 
 A-thinking how much money this 
 
 Artistic thing did cost! 
 Observe a dainty Cupid here 
 
 Suspended in the air 
 Above a splendid golden heart 
 
 That holds an arrow there. 
 This regal bunch of roses red, 
 
 These languid lilies white. 
 Daisies and forget-me-nots 
 
 And pansies, too, so bright. 
 The poem very plainly shows 
 
 The perfect poet's touch 
 Methinks it altogether cost 
 
 The sender over-much." 
 
 "Why, Grandma, are you crying? 
 
 Here's a tear drop on the rhyme. 
 Does memory make you sad today, 
 
 With thoughts of othertime.?" 
 
 "Ah, child, old hearts are tender, too, 
 
 And long for vanished youth, 
 For loving words and pretty things 
 
 And sweetheart days in truth. 
 A valentine I once received 
 
 From such a dashing beau, 
 I never can forget because 
 
 It was my first you know. 
 You run upstairs and bring to me 
 
 That little box and keys, 
 I'll show you that same valentine, — 
 
 You'll promise not to tease?" 
 
 So tickled Kitty was to glimpse 
 
 A really true romance, 
 She hurried back to Grandma 
 
 Plumming bits of song and dance. 
 Out came a bunch of letters 
 
 Of a dingy brownish hue, 
 
MADE BY HAND 
 
 All neatly tied together with 
 A faded ribbon blue. 
 
 The Valentine was last of all 
 
 And softly fluttered out — 
 'Twas just a sheet of letter paper 
 
 Time had fringed about. 
 **You read it to me, Kitty, dear ;" 
 
 Said Grandma, with a sigh, 
 Her dear old heart a-tremble 
 
 And a twinkle in her eye — 
 
 "I love a little maiden 
 She's sweet as she can be, 
 Just look into the mirror 
 That maiden for to see." 
 
 With merry laugh, said Kitty : "Oh, 
 
 In wonder I am lost. 
 To think how very much of thought 
 
 That valentine did cost. 
 Who sent it to you. Grandma, dear? 
 
 You must have loved him well. 
 To cherish this effusion so — 
 
 Now, really, won't you tell?" 
 
 "Indeed, I've loved him fond and true, 
 
 Full many a happy year. 
 For he who wrote that verse so rare 
 
 Is your own Grandpa, dear." 
 
 "And proud am I that I am he," 
 
 Said Grandpa, at the door, 
 "And she has been my valentine 
 
 These forty years and more. 
 Oh, Kitty, child, your valentine 
 
 Displays the costly art. 
 Now, just you wait 'till you get one 
 
 That's written from the heart. 
 These modern, rare artistic things 
 
 With highly polished rhyme. 
 Don't carry love to last, dear 
 
 Like those of olden time." 
 63 
 
THE CENTRAL TRUTH. 
 
 How can we banish self and find 
 
 The Christ that in us lies, 
 Unless by faith His spirit gives 
 
 The image strength to rise? 
 
 Not through the tortures of a Christ 
 
 Are human souls redeemed, 
 But through the love such suffering proved 
 
 Eternal hope has gleamed. 
 
 Salvation is not begged or bought, 
 
 But Jesus is the leaven, 
 That makes our weakest cry for help 
 
 Ascend to highest Heaven. 
 
 The frame of earth-made creed is worn 
 
 And totters from its throne, 
 Yet God's true temple stands entire 
 
 With Love the central stone. 
 
 As man oft times is hedged about 
 
 By modes of vice and sin. 
 While still in spite of all survives 
 
 The Deity within. 
 
 Some natures are so strong they stand 
 
 Erect by reason's light, 
 And ask no help or faith beside 
 
 An innate sense of right. 
 
 But others need abiding trust 
 
 In God's own tender care, 
 And could not brave the storms of life 
 
 Without the aid of prayer. 
 
 64 
 
THE CENTRAL TRUTH 
 
 Yea, strip the dogmas dead and false 
 
 From off Religion's tree, 
 And twine about it broader views 
 
 But leave Redemption free ! 
 
 For by its light poor captive lives 
 
 From sinful fetters break, 
 That would not dare for pardon plead 
 
 Except for His dear sake. 
 
 As souls approach the lonely hour 
 
 Of death's Gethsemane, 
 Their spirits may more clearly view 
 
 The Cross of Calvary. 
 
 A fact Supreme it stands against 
 The surging waves of Thought, 
 
 And ev'ry selfish motive dies 
 
 When 'neath its shadow brought. 
 
 65 
 
MARK THE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 It seems the saddest sentence 
 
 Ever spoken or read, 
 Is this — in the second Gospel : 
 
 "They all forsook Him and fled." 
 
 It sounds the depths of pathos, 
 
 'Tis loneliness supreme, 
 Within His sphere of sorrows 
 
 It forms the central beam. 
 
 He felt in time of parting 
 
 Whatever the world might do. 
 
 In loyalty unshaken 
 
 Would stand the faithful few. 
 
 But at the crucial moment. 
 
 With wrench and break of heart, 
 
 (And yet, with benediction) 
 He saw each one depart. 
 
 To me, the saddest sentence 
 I've ever in Scripture read. 
 
 Is this — in the second Gospel: 
 
 "They all forsook Him and fled." 
 
 66% 
 
CHARACTER. 
 
 "She is a butterfly," they said, "fast sipping 
 The freshest, surface sweets of girlish life. 
 With ne'er a solemn moment's thought of dipping 
 Below the crust of joy to find the strife 
 The dark deceit and woe that shows not through; 
 How could she bear a cross — what would she do 
 Should sorrow come? 
 
 For many years all things that tend to sadness 
 In kindness cast their shade another way, 
 To let her smile and bask in grateful gladness 
 And dream this earth but Paradise astray. 
 Yet suddenly foul wrong discharged its dart 
 To strike the center of her peerless heart. 
 And sorrow came. 
 
 But for an instant only did she bend 
 To take the burden up, then stood erect 
 With courage that should inspiration lend 
 To all who deem themselves grief's own elect. 
 Unto the grandest heights of womanhood 
 She rose, and evermore undaunted stood 
 When sorrow came. 
 
 67 
 
PASSING OF LIEUTENANT FRANK MOORE HARRIS 
 
 OF THE UNITED STATES BATTLESHIP 
 
 DELAWARE. 
 
 A man he was in whom there dwelt a firm resolve of soul, 
 
 To write his name with noble deeds on Fame's immortal scroll, 
 
 He put aside the life of leisure fortune offered youth, 
 
 And chose the path of Effort on the broad highway of Truth. 
 
 When Opportunity opened doors on vistas fair to see, 
 He entered where the portal read: "My country 'tis for thee." 
 When the crucial hour of trial came in facing shot and shell. 
 His dauntless deeds of daring are his comrades' pride to tell. 
 
 After many years of service, when near Attainment's height 
 The pausing of his noble pulse delayed the splendid flight; 
 As a masterpiece unfinished, made of purpose most intense, 
 To surely reach completion in the realm of recompense. 
 
 While over seas on his gallant ship 'twas duty's call to roam 
 His heart was always anchored safe in the port of Mother 
 
 and Home. 
 He lives in hearts he left behind — with all his friendship claimed 
 In memory's fadeless immortelles his presence will be framed. 
 
 "I question not the ways of God, but accept what His wisdom 
 
 sends, 
 Believing all things work together for His desired ends." 
 Such was the faith his lips expressed, and this should comfort 
 
 bring. 
 Though Reason stands appalled at Death's most unexpected 
 
 sting. 
 
 When such men die 'tis a nation's loss and each man feels it so, 
 For courage, loyalty and love are peerless traits to show. 
 "Look after the others first," were the last words he expressed. 
 And there indeed was character's illuminating test. 
 
 Many hearts are overflowing with the tributes they would bring. 
 And from the soul the soothing strains of sympathy would sing. 
 No nobler epitaph than this can inspiration make; 
 "Earth is happier having known thee, and Heaven is sweeter 
 for thy sake." 
 
 68 
 
A RESULT OF FAITH. 
 
 Her face was faultlessly sweet and fair 
 
 With never a line or look of care, 
 
 And strangers thought the brightest days 
 
 Had dawned upon her life always ; 
 
 While those who knew could scarce believe 
 
 A heart with so much cause to grieve 
 
 Could fail to break or grow so sad 
 
 'Twould lose the power of being glad, — 
 
 But she possessed the priceless gift 
 
 Of faith that never knew a rift. 
 
 Whose inner light had left its trace 
 
 Of perfect peace upon her face. 
 
 Against the gloom of earthly grief 
 
 Her character in strong relief 
 
 Shone clearly as a cameo wears 
 
 The image its dark bosom bears — 
 
 Of such an one the poet said: 
 
 "If any artist drew her head 
 His brush would paint quite unaware 
 A heavenly halo round her hair." 
 
 69 
 
THE COUNTRY PARTY. 
 
 Don*! talk about the grandeur of your city parties fine, 
 The jolly fun and frolic of the country party's mine. 
 No short cut through the telephone to ask your girl to go, 
 But send a card "with compliments" and beg to be her beau. 
 
 The two mule wagon goes around and gathers in the crowd, 
 We wake the night up singing out with voices free and loud. 
 And O, the games with kisses in 'em, hush, my partner, hush. 
 They put your fancy lancers and your two-step to the blush. 
 
 *'King William was King James' Son" upon the royal race. 
 Ne'er shines a brow that's fairer than my rural sweetheart's 
 
 face. 
 We'll form a ring and drop the kerchief — Hurry up its found ! 
 Run in and out and back again, and 'swing Jennie Rinktura 
 
 round. 
 
 Hold fast the thimble — Hide the slipper — raise the gates so 
 
 high, 
 To let the lads and lassies on their way to supper by ! 
 In summertime it's water melon, lemonade and cake ; 
 In winter, pop the corn and nuts and make the cider shake. 
 
 Old Sister Phoebe's merry, too, let's take a promenade, 
 We won't go home 'til mornin' when the golden starlights fade. 
 And then at time of parting we so long to wait a while, 
 And do a little courtin' leanin' lightly on the stile. 
 
 70 
 
BITTER, SWEET. 
 
 Love they call the sweetest part 
 Of earth or Heaven above, — 
 
 But what can heal the bitter wounds 
 That Love doth give to Love? 
 
 TWO SIDES. 
 
 Good memory many mortals hold 
 The greatest blessing yet, 
 
 But oft of worth outranking gold 
 Is power to forget. 
 
 ETERNAL FITNESS. 
 
 If strength of human hearts could bar the gates 
 Of death and keep the soul of mortal here. . 
 
 Without the thought that parting somewhere waits 
 Would even Love be always dear? 
 
 71 
 
THE MASQUERADE. 
 
 The "bal enmasque" was a dazzling scene 
 Glitter of gold and silver sheen, 
 Subtle strains of sweetest song — 
 Rhythmical music swayed the throng. 
 
 Out of the past from pages old 
 Came lovely ladies and heroes bold, 
 Charming folks from bright romance 
 Merrily moved in the witching dance. 
 
 Bashful John and Priscilla met 
 Romeo flirted with Juliet, 
 Maud Muller found the Judge was late 
 And he again berated Fate. 
 
 Robin Hood and Little Bo-Peep — 
 Looking still for the missing sheep, 
 Napoleon waltzed with Josephine, 
 And barn-danced with an English queen. 
 
 Oh! such a medley from Everywhere! 
 But fairest of all the fair ones there. 
 Was a stunning girl from the time of Now; 
 Before whom a suitor made his bow. 
 
 "O, give me your love, sweet maid," he cried; 
 
 "Put from your heart the veil aside, 
 
 I know you even behind a mask 
 
 But knowing your heart is a harder task." 
 
 She laughingly answered: "That's your guess 
 
 So long as you love me more or less ; 
 
 A man will always think about 
 
 Whatever keeps his mind in doubt, 
 
 And so my heart's not on parade 
 
 But most of the time in masquerade." 
 
 72 
 
A DOUBTING THOMAS. 
 
 Little Willie worshiped heroes and dreamed by night and 
 
 day, 
 Of some day seeing some one who had faced a fearful fray. 
 A man who'd met the enemy and heard the cannon boom, 
 Who'd fought and bled, and trembled not before the darkest 
 
 doom. 
 So when the great Reunion date was very close at hand 
 And all the splendid soldiers of his native Southern land 
 Were coming — really coming — where his vision might behold 
 The remnant of an army made of fighters brave and bold; 
 Full great was his elation when he heard his father say. 
 That they themselves would have as guest a gallant man in 
 
 Gray! 
 'Twas then his pride inflated, overflowed to such extent, 
 He told the news to all the boys, just everywhere he went. 
 So when the noted guest arrived, although the hour was late, 
 A bunch of kids upon the curb awaited him in state. 
 Their bursting admiration could not long withstand the spell. 
 They set up such hurrahing as surpassed the rebel yell. 
 But little Willie eyed him in the deepest sort of woe, 
 And in a high-toned monologue he let his feelings flow ; 
 "That Vet is just a bluffer — ^he ain't never helt a gun. 
 I'll watch when he ain't lookin' and I'll up and paste him one. 
 He's got his arms, he's got his legs, he's even got his eyes ; 
 There ain't no sort of scar nowhere — them hero tales was lies. 
 I bet when shots was flyin' round, he just got up and lit. 
 I wouldn't be a soldier man no bullet never hit." 
 
 73 
 
CREDIT— A PAIR OF SHOES. 
 
 His heart was heavy laden 
 
 With an awful case of blues, 
 He said the world was all a sham 
 
 And never paid its dues. 
 But swiftly his opinion cleared 
 
 To bright and happy views — 
 He owed the transformation to 
 
 A simple change of shoes. 
 For mortal flesh asserts its claim 
 
 No matter what your lot 
 It's hard to be an optimist 
 
 When your sole is cramped and hot. 
 
 74 
 
A MODE OF COMFORT. 
 
 They really thought to lift her load of grief 
 Comparing with another's weight of woe ; 
 'Tis true, the count of tears did overflow, 
 But weeping brings to some sad hearts relief, 
 And makes the hours of bitter sorrow brief. 
 Her nature suffered more in one fell blow 
 Than many in repeated strokes could know, 
 For depth of soul doth make the martyr chief. 
 And so 'tis vain to ever gauge a loss 
 Or try to judge the weight of any cross, 
 For One alone can fathom to the core 
 Divining where the healing balm to pour ; 
 And 'tis no help when anguished spirits toss 
 To ever know that some one suffers more. 
 
SONG OF THE SHIJIT BUTTON. 
 
 High up in the ranks of the 
 
 world's esteem, by right of 
 worth he stood, 
 His intimate friends declared 
 that he was unusually 
 just and good. 
 But they didn't know, like 
 a sailor he swore, and 
 
 his gentle wife's heart hurt, 
 Whenever by chance he happened 
 to find a button 
 off his shirt ! 
 
 He fought in battle, a leader 
 brave, his men would 
 his worth extol 
 And the principal point they 
 dwelt upon was his 
 
 wonderful self-control ! 
 But his face flushed hot and 
 his pulse beat quick, 
 
 and his family moved alert! 
 When he painted things the 
 shade of red 'bout 
 
 a button off his shirt ! 
 
 When death drew near he was not 
 afraid to meet the 
 caller grim, 
 And many a sorrowful tear 
 was shed in 
 
 memory of him. 
 But his heart could not have 
 found repose — his pride 
 had been so hurt. 
 Had he but knoj^j^ was 
 laid away with 
 
 a button off his shirt ! 
 
 76 
 
MEDITATION. 
 
 Don't talk to me about freedom cause there ain't no such a 
 
 thing! 
 It makes me feel so tired when I hear 'em shout and sing, 
 About America for which some heroes fought and bled, 
 I wish they hadn't done it but had give it up instead — 
 
 'Cause then I might have landed on another softer spot 
 Where boys is some considered an' laws don't make it hot. 
 For every every single time I start to have a little fun 
 Some guy is sure to holler: "It's agin the law, my son!" 
 
 Somebody's always fussin' when I try to take my ease, 
 So what's the use of freedom if you can't do what you please? 
 My Dad declares this part of earth for which his fathers fit 
 Is full of greatest plenty for the folks that up and "git." 
 
 Well, I've been gittin' all I could an' ain't got nothin' yet, 
 'Ceptin chance to eat and sleep and play and work and sweat! 
 I've also got some freckles an' am some bow-legged, too. 
 An' such a lazy feelin' when there's anything to do. 
 
 An' even on July the Fourth when fireworks make a noise 
 The grown folks go to yellin : "Be mighty careful, boys !" 
 So what's the use of braggin' when a bloomin' kid like me, 
 Ain't got a single blessin' that's big enough to see? 
 
 n 
 
A SEQUENCE. 
 
 Tliorc cauiL' to her inliicl a beautifitl thought 
 That haunted her night and day, 
 
 She ga\'e no heed to its cry for speech 
 And it gradually died away. 
 
 There came for her heart a wonderful love 
 
 With tenderest sweetness rife, 
 She put it by with a careless word 
 
 And it passed to another life. 
 
 Then friendship offered its gracious hand — 
 
 She reckoned it onl}'^ dross; 
 But went along her heedless way 
 
 And noted not its loss. 
 
 There came a time when her soul grew sad 
 
 Regretting the awful waste 
 She had made of the finest gifts in life 
 
 In the midst of her youthful haste. 
 
 Yet she gave no sign, but hid the pain 
 
 And said : "I shall not berate 
 The world and its ways because I reap 
 
 The seeds of a self-sown fate." 
 
 78Nl» 
 
THOSE COMIC VALENTINES. 
 
 Said Mrs. Smith unto herself: 
 
 "From the airs of Mrs. Brown 
 I'm .sure she thinks herself in style 
 
 The leader of the town. 
 She enters Church with peacock stride 
 
 Arrayed in feathers new 
 And thanks the Lord the eyes of all 
 
 Are turned upon her pew, 
 I've often thought her plumage 
 
 Needed drooping quite a bit 
 I'll send a comic valentine 
 
 To give a timely hit." 
 
 Said Mrs. Brown unto herself: 
 
 "Mrs. Smith believes her voice 
 Is quite the sweetest one on earth 
 
 And everybody's choice, 
 But when she soars to Pisgah's height 
 
 I long for worlds unknown, 
 And what she needs the most I'm sure 
 
 Is meekness in her tone, 
 I'll send a comic valentine 
 
 . That she herself may see, 
 And then perhaps on Sunday next 
 
 She'll sing in a minor key." 
 
 79 
 
THOSE COMIC VALENTINES. 
 
 When Mrs. Smith dined Mrs. Brown 
 They spoke of olden times, 
 
 When they were young and valentines 
 Were made of polished rhymes. 
 
 They talked of modern comic things 
 
 That Envy sends about 
 With each a trembling secret fear 
 
 Her sin would find her out. 
 
 But Mrs. Brown dressed finer 
 
 Mrs. Smith sang higher. 
 Mrs. Brown still leads the style, 
 
 And Mrs. Smith the choir. 
 
 80 
 
DUTY OVERDONE. 
 
 "Here lies the mortal part of one 
 Who died of duty overdone." 
 So said an epitaph I found 
 In an old forsaken burial ground; 
 A weary mortal rested there, 
 Freed from fetters of earthly care. 
 
 I thought how many I had known 
 To whom the words upon that stone 
 Might be applied with truth indeed, 
 Since "Duty, Duty," had been their creed. 
 Splendid souls in slender frames 
 Bowed beneath incessant claims 
 Failing only the fact to view 
 That some their part may over-do. 
 
 Submission may prove a greater sin 
 Than rebellion is — the giving in — 
 Allowing others to garner more 
 Than is their due — to keep the score 
 Of life's great game in part unfair 
 When each should have an equal share. 
 
 For every soul a duty owes 
 To self — to help its gifts unclose 
 And fewer martyrs there will be 
 When eyes now duty bound shall see 
 That shielding others is not always 
 A thing deserving special praise 
 And yet just where to draw the line 
 Requires the lead of light Divine. 
 
 81 
 
A MAKER OF HOME. 
 
 Thinking of her I clearly recall 
 
 She wasn't a brag housekeeper at all, 
 
 But O she had the sweetest way 
 
 Of making you want to stop and stay, 
 
 And never very far to roam 
 
 From any spot that was her home. 
 
 Wherever she dwelt she made the place 
 
 Become a Mecca of special grace. 
 
 When near her something seemed to steal 
 Across your senses and make you feel, 
 That overmuch care of many things 
 A weariness of spirit brings, 
 And often harnesses thought and aims 
 Too tight to materiality's claims. 
 
 Her presence meant pervasive peace 
 That made discordant motives cease. 
 The windows of her soul were clean, 
 Through which her vision saw serene 
 Across earth's dire vicissitudes 
 To Heaven's perfect interludes. 
 
 mi. 
 
 88 
 
ON READING "THE MAN WITH THE HOE/ 
 
 A moment list me, Poet, with thy heart 
 
 "Blood tinctured of a veined humanity:" 
 
 Can any soul be shackled unto death, 
 
 Can ages weight of tyranny destroy 
 
 In one bent form the living spark divine? 
 
 Because God knew hard fetters would be forged, 
 
 He sowed the seeds of immortality. 
 
 A consequence that evils reconcile. 
 
 For soon or late or here or other-where 
 
 The wings of aspiration will uplift. 
 
 Yet if thy vibrant voice now sounds the note 
 
 That wakes a present thought for future help. 
 
 Thou art indeed an instrument of grace 
 
 Thy song an offertory unto God. 
 
 83 
 
CONVICTION. 
 
 To spend the precious privilege of life 
 Pursuing paths of personal pleasure alone, 
 Is a pitiful waste of earth's unlimited ways 
 In which to prove our heritage Divine. 
 
 For hearts enlarge by serving noble ends 
 And gain by drawing on their source supreme. 
 Spirits soar when seeking strength to raise 
 Another's aim to clear ennobling heights. 
 
 The pure in purpose find a peace secure 
 From every shock of varying circumstance. 
 Not all the horded wealth of the visible world 
 Has feather weight against one perfect seed 
 Of faith that safely shields the soul against 
 Intrusion of the smallest grain of doubt. 
 
 84 
 
PERSONAL PRAYER. 
 
 Hold fast to Faith, dear one, hold fast I say 
 To faith in personal prayer firmly cling. 
 No matter what the scoffers claim 
 No matter what earth's happenings be. 
 Without it life seems naught indeed except 
 A contradiction grim and strangely sad. 
 
 From practice of personal prayer comes perfect peace, 
 
 A strength of spirit strangely calm and sweet. 
 
 A soul assurance that a will beyond ourselves 
 
 Is guiding our affairs. Though strong desires 
 
 May strive to serve as sails to float our mortal bark 
 
 Along the stream of life, we know if skies 
 
 Be dark or fair, with faith we'll anchor safe. 
 
 Take everything in trustful prayer to God 
 
 For nothing that affects the children of His love 
 
 Is trivial to the Father's understanding heart. 
 
 85 
 
BON VOYAGE TO JAPAN. 
 
 We*II woo the breath of the balmiest breeze 
 To waft you safely over the seas ; 
 But when you're sipping tempting teas 
 So quaintly served by the Japanese, 
 May thoughts of odorous coffee here 
 Draw home refreshment very near; 
 When the dainty cherry blossom blows 
 Recall the American Beauty rose; 
 When big chrysanthemums welcome nod 
 Remember the glow of the golden rod; 
 When the wooden rest disturbs your head 
 Then dream of your feather pollowed bed; 
 Should smiling skies your eyes ensnare 
 Remember ours are just as fair. 
 But if they serve strange stuff to eat 
 (Unless your faith is quite complete), 
 Just fold your tent and steal this way, 
 To meet warm welcome any day: 
 For friendship's cable strong and true 
 Will span the space from us to you, 
 And we prove our sense of "Noblesse Oblige* 
 When we lend of our best to the Japanese. 
 
 86 
 
THE LOTTERY OF MARRIAGK 
 
 He said he'd never marry any maiden city bred. 
 
 With foolish tlioughts of fashion running riot through her 
 
 head. 
 No devotee of modern modes should ever share his life. 
 No woman wise in worldly ways would he select for wife. 
 He hied him to the country for a certain season's span, 
 And wooed and won a daughter reared by Mother Nature's 
 
 plan. 
 O hollowness of human hopes ; how mortals will deceive ! 
 He found he'd drawn a perfect chip of charming Mother Eve. 
 Right speedily she wanted what she'd never had before, 
 And furled the matrimonial sails to reach the social shore! 
 She breakfasts gave at 10 a.m. and dinings at high noon, 
 Then teas so light at 4 o'clock, and lawnings 'neath the moon. 
 She joined the clubs, both large and small, and learned to 
 
 elocute, 
 And rashly led the way in every stirring new dispute. 
 Oh, how she flirted, how she dressed, and how she loved to 
 
 dance ! 
 To sample all frivolities she never missed a chance ! 
 When on the very ragged edge of deepest dark dispair 
 The humble knight did sadly plead before his lady fair. 
 She cried: "In waves of mammon I must quench my natural 
 
 thirst, 
 And after marriage get a taste of what you relished first." 
 
 87 
 
STEADY DIET. 
 
 Take the world as you find it, dear, 
 
 With its wealth of wonderful charm. 
 And though it chances to hurt your heart, 
 
 It really means no harm. 
 The core of the whole is sound and sweet, 
 
 Though hard sometimes to believe. 
 When you get a shock of sore defeat 
 
 Through the devious ways to deceive. 
 Just battle along with a smile and a song, 
 
 Concealing the smart or the sting; 
 God's at the helm to right the wrong 
 
 And perfect adjustment bring. 
 So do the right thing regardless 
 
 Of either glory or pelf. 
 And reap the sweet satisfaction 
 
 'Twill bring to the soul of yourself. 
 
 J8 
 
VERBAL SWEETS. 
 
 She valued every pleasant word that gracious people said, 
 And trusted them 'till someone told her she should be afraid 
 Of dulcet tones of praise and always hold a cautious doubt 
 Of motive springs whenever verbal sweets were passed about. 
 
 She grieved at first, but soon this bit of wisdom cheered her 
 
 heart ; 
 "When people speak me fair why should I think they play 
 
 a part?" 
 As light as thistledown some pretty speeches often are. 
 And others yield a virile force to carry comfort far. 
 
 The sauce that seasons and refines the polished social sphere 
 
 May show at times a verbal coat of very thin veneer. 
 
 No mortal ever can divine the meaning anyway, 
 
 'Tis God alone can truly judge the worth of words we say. 
 
 His wisdom only measures out the hidden real intent. 
 So I shall leave the doubt, and hope the happy phrases meant, 
 For words of appreciation are jewels in memory's mart 
 And make an illumination of joy around the heart. 
 
 A marvelous magical power in humanity's language lies, 
 And the word that is fitly spoken is more than we realize. 
 "Say something sweet to somebody" every single day. 
 Would be a splendid motto to hang on the world's highway. 
 
 89 
 
GOOD OLD COMMON SENSE. 
 
 He paid a man five dollars to phrenologize his head, and lis- 
 tened quite delighted unto all the fellow said. "I find a bump of 
 genius lying undeveloped here; through this bump upon the 
 brain I read your title clear. Just any role of liigh degree 
 on which you set your will, nature has endowed you with abil- 
 ity to fill." He was propelled immediately by grim ambi- 
 tion's thirst, and finally decided that he'd go to congress first. 
 
 Full he was of great elation, with no thought of foul de- 
 feat, but somehow for some reason he did fail to take a seat. 
 For governorship, for mayorship, for sheriff, too, he tried, but 
 politics in every branch success to him denied. He grappled 
 law and medicine, and editor became, and made a tour of lec- 
 turing until his theme grew tame; then he felt poetic fires run 
 coursing through his veins, but Pegasus wouldn't harness to 
 his heavy set of brains. At last he trod the tragic stage in 
 high and mighty roles, but couldn't draw the people so's to 
 harrow up their souls. Growing rather seedy, he bethought 
 him of a farm, and reached this wise conclusion 'neath the 
 grace of nature's charm: "I guess I'll throw my genius all 
 away in self defense, and try instead to raise a crop of good 
 old common sense." 
 
 9b 
 
A SINGER. 
 
 The mate but lovely flowers 
 
 Render tribute to the hours 
 
 Made melodious by your voice; 
 
 For when its tones you raise 
 
 In symphonies of praise. 
 
 Like human hearts they listen and rejoice. 
 
 LITERATURE. 
 
 Literature! Preserver of thought! 
 
 The brain's warehouse, where treasures brou^^t 
 
 By brightest minds from every race 
 
 Desire an honored resting place. 
 
 91 
 
A KEY TO SUCCESS. 
 
 The reader said to the writer: 
 
 "You rhyme with a master hand, 
 
 But the thoughts your words are clothing 
 
 I fail to understand." 
 
 The poet heard the verdict 
 And smiled at happy fate, 
 "With meaning safely hidden 
 My verse is truly great." 
 
 'Tis Brownesque and modern, 
 'Twill sell and bring me fame, 
 And make the harbor easy 
 For works that bear my name." 
 
 «? 
 
MISAPPLIED. 
 
 God smiled upon her days 
 Through many happy years, 
 
 She knew not sorrow's ways, 
 Nor felt a trace of tears. 
 
 But suddenly a woe 
 
 Fell deep into her heart, 
 
 Her memory let go 
 
 Its former gladsome part. 
 
 And that one anguish brief 
 Threw all her life amiss — 
 
 Instead of moulding grief 
 To steps of higher bliss. 
 
 93 
 
A BELLE'S CONFESSION. 
 
 Which shall it be, which shall it be? 
 
 The charming maiden sighed, 
 So many suitors come wooing me, 
 
 And still they are all denied. 
 They say I'm fickle as well as fair. 
 My heart won*t anchor anywhere. 
 
 But drifts on sentiment's tide. 
 
 There's IHck, who's handsome and debonair, 
 
 But then he's a trifle tall ; 
 And Jim is graceful, gay and rich, 
 
 But just a little too small., 
 Harry's an "all round" sort of man. 
 Attractive in every wise; 
 I marvel how I ever withstand 
 The love in his splendid eyes. 
 Reuben is gallant, tender and true 
 
 (The kind that but once adores), 
 And Sam the solemn, silent sort, 
 
 Before me his love outpours. 
 
 They call me fortunate all the while, 
 
 And yet they never can know 
 How often I envj' the lucky maid 
 
 Who counts but a single beau. 
 For the man — the only man for me 
 
 Wlio sets my heart awhirl, 
 The one I could worship eternally, 
 
 Is in love with another girl. 
 
 94 
 
WHO ISN'T? 
 
 She often said slie'd never expose 
 Her ankle in order to show her hose, 
 
 But— she did! 
 Nor ever a waist would Avear so low 
 That nearly all of her chest would show, 
 
 But— she did! 
 She vowed she'd not in corsets lace, 
 Nor paint nor powder her natural face, 
 
 But— she did! 
 She held that scandal is a crime, 
 But often spread it overtime; 
 
 She really did. 
 If fortune smiled she'd not grow proud, 
 Nor think herself above the crowd, 
 
 But— she did! 
 And should she marry she'd surely stay 
 At home and walk in duty's way, 
 
 But — she didn't. 
 Whatever she said she wouldn't do 
 She almost always did — it's true; 
 
 She did. 
 And she wasn't crazy — not a bit, 
 Just inconsistent — that was it — 
 Who isn't.? 
 
 95 
 
MOTIVE. 
 
 If in death my heart doth lie all cold and still 
 Will it matter if they speak me fair or ill? 
 If in brighter worlds I rise to bliss divine 
 Will it matter if they quite forget this name of mine? 
 Not for fame of earth would I be reckoned great, 
 Not for golden dower, nor yet for high estate. 
 But if gift or power within me sleeping lies 
 Lord, I pray that Thou wilt give it strength to rise. 
 Just to glad two tender hearts that hold me dear. 
 Hedging life about with love through all the year. 
 Yea, for purpose truly great I would be mete ; 
 So they who gave me birth may say with hopes complete: 
 **This is our child." 
 
 .96 
 
CONSISTENCY. 
 
 (Masculine.) 
 
 He'd flirted all the summer long 
 
 By word and glance and subtle song; 
 
 He'd sworn to eyes of varied hue, 
 
 To those of gray and brown and blue. 
 
 Beneath the light of Luna's glow 
 
 He'd oft repeat : "I love you so !" 
 
 A twitch of conscience now and then 
 
 But proved him not the worst of men. 
 
 Perhaps he'd said more than he should, 
 
 And yet supposed they understood. 
 
 Through memory's mist he viewed them all. 
 
 Then put them by beyond recall. 
 
 For soon he'd wed the only one 
 
 To whom his real affection clung. 
 
 He loved her wisely, loved her well. 
 
 Far more than merely words could tell. 
 
 He made his heart a genial place 
 
 To hold the rapture of her face. 
 
 What's this? A letter? Yes, from her: 
 
 (How fitly some events occur.) 
 
 She sent the missive just to say 
 
 He needn't come the stated day; 
 
 Her promise that she'd marry him 
 
 Was but a summer's passing whim; 
 
 Perhaps she'd said more than she should, 
 
 But felt quite sure he understood. 
 
 He read it o'er and o'er again 
 
 Until his soul grew sick with pain. 
 
 Then by the gods he firmly swore 
 
 To trust a woman nevermore ! 
 
 97 
 
THE TEST. 
 
 In sorrow's crucial momenta 
 Some friendships fall asleep, 
 
 Yet finer souls when grief prerails 
 Their vigils closer keep. 
 
 WHAT THEN? 
 
 Better to smile than cry, 
 
 Better to sing than sigh, 
 But what of sorrow stacked so high 
 
 That happiness can't get nigh? 
 
 A TREASURE. 
 
 In all the first creation's plan 
 When God his wonders wrought, 
 
 The greatest gift to mortal man 
 Was faculty of thought. 
 
 98 
 
A MODERN MARTYR. 
 
 A woman knelt at close of day, 
 Yet for no special gift to pray, 
 But just for strength to hide the pain 
 That hurt her heart and made it vain, 
 For hope to whisper happy hours 
 Might still return as folded flowers; 
 For well she knew no future year, 
 However fair or full of cheer. 
 Could wipe from memory the woe 
 Her soul had strangely learned to know. 
 She wished alone her cross to bear, 
 Nor cast sad shadows anywhere; 
 Yet stinging tongues of slander spoke 
 And subtle accusations woke. 
 They called her frivolous and vain, 
 Too light to feel the force of pain, 
 And gradually suggested sin 
 As having lurked her past within. 
 When all her life was free from scar, 
 As spotless robes of angels are. 
 
 99 
 
WE, TOO. 
 
 Old people seem to love to say 
 Their time of youth so far away 
 Was most superior to this; 
 In fact, so much is now amiss — 
 
 They tremble. 
 Distance lends enchantment, so 
 They see through memory's mystic glow — 
 They simply just can't understand 
 The pace this fast, progressive land 
 
 Is going. 
 It really causes them distress 
 To see the present style of dress ; 
 The dancing takes away their breath, 
 It mortifies them most to death — 
 
 So suggestive! 
 And, Oh, the way the young folks talk, 
 They way they sit, and stand and walk; 
 The way they paint and powder, too — 
 In fact, most everything they do 
 
 Is shocking. 
 When we get old we'll talk the same. 
 To our descendants make the claim 
 That what we said and what we sang 
 Was quite devoid of silly slang; 
 
 We'll forget. 
 We'll brag about our social code. 
 How sweet discretion was the mode; 
 That never bold, flirtatious eye 
 Was cast by maid to passerby — 
 
 Oh, no. 
 Yes, when our days of youth are gone, 
 And we are merely lookers-on. 
 We'll softly sigh and sadly say: 
 "Folks didn't use to do that way." 
 
 Indeed we will. 
 
 100 
 

 
 
 
 

 
 
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