LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/versatileversesOOwils 
 
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<QEOBGE ALBERT WILSON 
 
 VERSATILE f\ 
 
 " For all men, indeed, 
 
 Who in some choice edition may graciously read, 
 With fair illustration, and erudite note, 
 The song which the poet in bitterness wrote, 
 Beat the poet, and notably beat him, in this — 
 The joy of the genius is theirs, whilst they miss 
 The grief of the man." 
 
 — Oweji Meredith. 
 
 r 
 
 NYACK-ON- HUDSON 
 PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 %yM 
 
 1894 
 
 

 Copyright by 
 GEORGE ALBERT WILSON., 
 
 'journal" press, nyack-on hudson. 
 Bound at the Oxford Bindery. 
 
To M. I B. 
 
 This little book I dedicate to thee, 
 With love as deep as e'er was sounding sea. 
 'T is not a paltry gift I Yjueath, and yet 
 It leaves unpaid the whole of Friendship's 
 
 debt! 
 To thee this scrip of stumbling verse, the 
 
 whole 
 I dedicate, and on my heart's flesh-scroll 
 These words I write : " Behold the marv'lous 
 
 pow'r 
 Of Friendship, gift of God — His priceless 
 
 dow'r ! " 
 
Salutatory. 
 
 So many minds of great, undoubted worth 
 Have trod the path that leads to heav'n 
 from earth, 
 I fain my hand would hold : 
 So many men of genius, rich and rare, 
 Have reached Olympia — seen the glories 
 there — 
 To emulate were bold. 
 
 So many think the gift the gods bestow — 
 A patch of sunshine in dark meads below — 
 
 Is theirs — illusion vain! — 
 That those to whom ambrosial joys are 
 
 known 
 Communion with the gods are loth to own, 
 
 Lest they the guild profane. 
 
 So halting is my verse, and inchoate 
 The talent I devote to mission, great, 
 I blush to own my Muse: 
 
So slender seems the thread that to me 
 
 binds 
 Its words of passion, modesty reminds 
 Me I may but abuse. 
 
 So meagre is my ken of poets' ways — 
 Their strained effects that meet a wond'ring 
 praise, 
 
 Their strict exclusiveness — 
 I fear my plebeian pen may shame reflect 
 On noble gods' and Nature's own elect 
 
 With its effusiveness. 
 
 My stilted style, at times, may mirth evoke 
 From those who lighter things invoke 
 
 To satiate their minds ; 
 And sentiments I write in meek duress 
 To thoughts that banish happiness 
 
 Had better woo the winds. 
 
 Some verses, penned ere youth's enthrall 
 was o'er, 
 
May pity for my Muse inspire — no more : 
 
 Yet such I 'd not disclaim ! 
 Who walks erect ere gone are creep -taught 
 
 days : 
 Who lubricates the ear of king with praise — 
 
 Except thro' falls and shame ? 
 
 And if, perchance, too oft my thoughts 
 
 recur 
 To subjects other than those men prefer — 
 
 To gloomy things, and sad — 
 The pardon of the reader I implore : 
 Far from me be it thus to probe the sore 
 
 Of years, or sorrow add. 
 
 If, then, with trembling heart, 'twixt hope 
 
 and fear. 
 From haven, mine, to critic wastes, and 
 
 drear, 
 This little tome I send, 
 
Condone the anxious fear — forgive the hope 
 That may my eye, of single purpose, ope 
 To truth: firm foe — fast friend! 
 
 The Author. 
 Nyack-on-Hudson , 
 October i, 1894. 
 
 Born Pennington, N. J., 1874. 
 
Tabic of Contents. 
 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Author .... 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 
 To M. I. B. 
 
 vii 
 
 Salutatory - - - - 
 
 ix 
 
 Poems of Patriotism. 
 
 
 Decoration Day 
 
 19 
 
 Memorial Blossoms - 
 
 20 
 
 A Memorial Aftermath - 
 
 24 
 
 Heroes Yet .... 
 
 27 
 
 Independence Day 
 
 31 
 
 Shall We Give Up the Flags ? - 
 
 36 
 
 My Country 
 
 38 
 
 Cardiac Concepts. 
 
 
 Dreamland .... 
 
 43 
 
 Thanksgiving- Violets 
 
 45 
 
 I " Saw " My Loved One Home 
 
 47 
 
 Her Photograph 
 
 49 
 
 Largesse and Dying Embers 
 
 50 
 
 I Dreamed My Love Was Dead 
 
 5i 
 
 Unrequited Love 
 
 53 
 
 A Valentine 
 
 57 
 
 Birthday Greeting— To M. I. B. 
 
 58 
 
 In Golden Fetters 
 
 60 
 
 Heart's Content 
 
 62 
 
 No Future But Thee - 
 
 - 64 
 
 Just Sixteen Years Ago To-Day 
 
 66 
 
 Forget-Me-Not 
 
 68 
 
 A Valentine— To A. L. D. 
 
 69 
 
 The Old Love's Claim - 
 
 71 
 
 My Love and I 
 
 73 
 
Brighter Than the Stars - - - 75 
 
 Four Years Ago .... 76 
 
 I Cannot Sin . .... 78 
 
 Just As Thou Art ! - 79 
 
 Enchanted Ground .... 80 
 
 A Letter ..... 82 
 
 My Queen ..... 84 
 
 Spiritual Selections. 
 
 During a Snow-Storm ... 91 
 
 The Quiet Hour - - - - 92 
 
 Retribution ..... 95 
 
 New Year Resolutions .... 97 
 
 A Negative Thanksgiving ... 99 
 
 A Prodigal's Return - - - - 101 
 
 My Evening Prayer .... 102 
 
 Easter ...... 105 
 
 " A Little Child Shall Lead Them " - 107 
 
 A Soliloquy - - - . no 
 
 An Easter Anthem - - - - 112 
 
 Memorial and Personal. 
 
 Mrs. Harrison - - - -. - 117 
 
 James Gillespie Blaine -, - - 119 
 
 Gen. John A. Logan .... 121 
 
 Lord Alfred Tennyson - - - 123 
 
 Edward Everett Hale - - - 124 
 
 Ella Wheeler Wilcox ... 125 
 
 Miscellaneous. 
 
 A Pneumatological Query - - - 129 
 
 Christmas ..... 131 
 
 " '92 and '93 " 133 
 
 The Poet's Make-up - - 134 
 
 Destiny - - - . . 135 
 
Unreality - - - - - 136 
 
 Waiting - - - - . - 137 
 
 Thought - - - 139 
 
 To a Little Child - - - - 141 
 
 Beyond the Tears .... 142 
 
 Thrice Happy He .... 144 
 
 A Query .... - 145 
 
 While on the Hook Mountain - - 146 
 
 Thanksgiving- ----- 14S 
 
 A Hallowe'en Recipe ... - 150 
 
 Spring Apostrophizes - - - 152 
 The Drum ------ 154 
 
 The Judge's Decision - - - 156 
 
 That Quizzing Blizzard - - 158 
 
 Ineffectual Genius .... 160 
 
 The Press ------ 162 
 
 Despair ------ 164 
 
 The Italian Match Boy - - -166 
 
 Quatrains - - - ... 168 
 
 Athens' Detection - - . - - 169 
 
 A Retrospect - - - - - 171 
 
 Romping Rhyme - - - - - 172 
 
 Summer Days Are On the Wane - 175 
 
 When Old Age Comes On - - 17S 
 
 " E'en Tho' It Be a Cross " - - 180 
 L'Envoi ------ 183 
 
Poems of Patriotism 
 
Decoration Dag. 
 
 The day has come when hearts must bend 
 
 In grim, yet glorious, grief: 
 When to Death's city, white, we send 
 
 Our tributes. On a leaf 
 Of Time's volum'nous scroll we grave, 
 
 In letters blurred with tears, 
 The names of those — the gallant brave — 
 
 Who knew no puling fears. 
 We deck with Nature's treasures mounds 
 
 'Neath which our soldiers sleep : 
 No reveille for them resounds 
 
 Again. 
 
 The shadows creep 
 Athwart the sky. The day is past : 
 
 Those dreaming 'neath the sod 
 Ne'ermore shall war in blue cuirassed — 
 
 Our heroes live with God ! 
 
 19 
 
JVIemorial Blossoms. 
 
 Read at the exercises of ■ Waldron Post, 82, G. A. R. r 
 Nyack-on-Hudson, Memorial Day, 1892, by Miss Fannie 
 Blauvelt. 
 
 What mem'ries cluster 'round the day, 
 
 To loyal hearts, and true. 
 That tells of Blue against the Gray, 
 
 And|Gray against the Blue. 
 It speaks of fields of carnage where 
 
 The battle-smoke hung low : 
 And shrieks of anguish rent the air 
 
 From many a sick'ning blow ; 
 When foemen, won from brotherhood 
 
 By insurrection's cry, 
 Stood firm, or fell in welt'red blood, 
 
 Heroic deaths to die ; 
 When came the clash of arms, and war 
 
 Seemed all that then remained: 
 But when the storm-cloud had passed o'er 
 
 The Union was sustained ! 
 Sustained ! but at a fearful cost 
 
Of bloodshed and of life : 
 The Union, dark and tempest-'os't, 
 
 Had felt fell treason's knife ! 
 Sad memories the day recalls 
 
 Of comrades borne away 
 On stretchers from hospital walls — 
 
 To rest till that great day 
 When come from out the moss-grown tomb 
 
 The great and good of years, 
 To shake off scenes of darkened gloom — 
 
 Exchange for smiles their tears. 
 And many comrades gathered 'round 
 
 The campfire's lurid glow. 
 And, seated on the parent ground, 
 
 Sang songs in voices, low. 
 Their theme was u Home," of loved ones 
 there 
 
 Who watched till they returned; 
 And many prayed for sweethearts, fair. 
 
 For whom their whole souls yearned ; 
 And ; Tramp, Tramp, Tramp," made 
 
many a heart 
 
 With martial fire to leap, 
 While u Annie Laurie" played its part, 
 
 Tiil nil were wrapped in sleep. 
 But many a father waited long 
 
 Ere came his soldier boy, 
 And many a mother's heart, so strong, 
 
 Was rilled with Spartan joy. 
 Now, Decoration Day is come 
 
 To keep the past in mind, 
 And, 'mid the roll of muffled drum, 
 
 Sweet buds on graves we bind. 
 But, as we lay these fragrant flowers 
 
 On many a warrior's mound, 
 We bear in mind not only ours 
 
 Are those beneath the ground — 
 The Nation for whose flag they fought 
 
 And bled, till stern death came, 
 Has, by that act, a title bought : 
 
 A higher, nobler claim ! 
 Ad is now past : all is forgiv'n r. 
 
And in the grave of years 
 We bury hearts once torn and riv'n. 
 
 And cover all with tears. 
 And, as the broken columns move, 
 
 Anon, with falt'ring tread, 
 We'll show a Nation's heartfelt love 
 
 For its heroic dead. 
 To-day the Blue salutes the Gray, 
 
 And arm in arm they twine : 
 Blossoms on Decoration Day 
 
 Are laid at Freedom's shrine. 
 
 23 
 
A JVlemorial Aftermath. 
 
 Winding among the mounds of earth. 
 
 Each with its tale to tell, 
 March men, and children hush their mirth, 
 
 While, deep-bass, tolls the bell. 
 
 And then the band strikes up a dirge, 
 And hearts, that ne'er knew fear, 
 
 Swell up, with an impetuous surge, 
 While falls the silent tear. 
 
 And then. — But hark : " Right shoulder 
 arms ! " 
 
 Rings out upon the air ; 
 And vet'rans, feeling long-dead charms, 
 
 Obey, and onward bear. 
 
 The sun sends down his piercing rays, 
 
 Bathing in warmth the ground, 
 Just as he did in those dark days 
 
 When roared the cannon's sound. 
 
 24 
 
But, of the men who marched ahead, 
 
 In spite of shot and shell, 
 Many are camping 'mong the dead — 
 
 Buried right where they fell. 
 
 A woman bends beside the tomb 
 
 Of one once dear to her : 
 Who tramped away, in youthful bloom, 
 
 A dashing officer. 
 
 Then came the news : a rebel shot 
 
 Struck Charlie to the ground ! 
 That moment's shock she ne'er forgot — 
 
 Unhealing was its wound. 
 
 They bore him home and laid his form 
 
 Beneath the sighing trees ; 
 There now he lies, in rain and storm, 
 
 And in the autumn breeze. 
 
 The guns may roar, the cannons crack, 
 Beneath the heavens, starr'd : 
 
 25 
 
He 's in the last grand bivouac, 
 Inside the old church-yard. 
 
 Yes, oft she comes to see her dead, 
 
 The love of by-gone years : 
 O'er his dear grave sweet flowers to spread, 
 
 Bedewing all with tears. 
 
 There leave her with her long-dead boy, 
 
 Sleeping beneath the sod : 
 She buried ev'ry earthly joy 
 
 When he went home to God. 
 
 And, as the slow procession twines 
 
 Away 'mid gath'ring gloom, 
 She sinks among the tendril vines — 
 
 Tear- wedded to the tomb. 
 
 26 
 
]-leroes Yet. 
 
 Read at the exercises of Waldron Post, 82, G. A. R., 
 Nyack-on-Hudson, at Oak Hill Cemetery, Memorial Day, 
 1894, by Miss Fannie Blauvelt. 
 
 Heroes they were in '61, 
 
 And now, in '94, 
 A Nation's: u Comrades, thou 'st well done, 
 
 And turned the hand of war — 
 With blood a-reek, and broken hearts 
 
 Plethoric in its wake!'' — 
 A sense of gratitude imparts 
 
 That naught can ever shake. 
 The debt we owe our honored dead 
 
 Can never be repaid : 
 Priceless the blood of heroes shed 
 
 Who never sheathed the blade ! 
 How puerile seems our sentiment, 
 
 Compared with that desire 
 Nurtured by men, on valor bent, 
 
 Who charged through blood and fire, 
 
 And stormed the hosts that wore the gray, 
 
 27 
 
Nor stopped to think of fear, 
 But carried on the Flag of Day — 
 
 The Stars and Stripes — so dear 
 To ev'ry heart attuned to love 
 
 Of home, God, native land. 
 No love of ours can e'er remove 
 
 Our obligation, grand ! 
 Full many a field in glist'ning stars 
 
 Beheld bright prototypes : 
 For one host waved the rebel Bars — 
 
 The other streamed the Stripes. 
 The angels paused their sweeping swell 
 
 Of harmony divine, 
 And dwelt upon the raging hell 
 
 Of warriors, 'rayed in line. 
 Then God — the God alike of peace 
 
 And unrelenting war — 
 Looked down : bade sullen strife surcease, 
 
 And stopped the leaden pour. 
 Shall we a Nation's love withhold 
 
 From those who fought as these ? 
 
 28 
 
Far rather let their fame be told 
 
 In ev'ry passing breeze ! 
 Let ev'ry bird that sings to-day, 
 
 As men pass in review, 
 Chirp joyfully, because the Gray 
 
 Is merged into the Blue. 
 We garland graves with many a bud 
 
 That Nature deigns to yield 
 In love for those who gave their blood 
 
 When Liberty appealed. 
 The Nation's emblem vigil keeps 
 
 Over the hero's grave : 
 The Nation's heart stands still and weeps — 
 
 For it he died to save ! 
 Far back, along the centuries' wake, 
 
 One died that all might live 
 Who would but on them gladly take 
 
 His yoke — obedience give, 
 We have, to-day, exemplars, grand, 
 
 Of that Oblation, true, 
 The men who died for flag and land — 
 
 2q 
 
Who wore the Union blue. 
 We weep, and yet our eyes are dry : 
 
 We mourn, bat make no sound : 
 The brave who sleep can never die, 
 
 E'en tho' the dampened ground 
 Their forms may, in firm embrace, hold : 
 
 A white stone o'er the head : 
 They tramp, tramp, tramp the streets of 
 gold— 
 
 The brave are never dead ! 
 As comes again Memorial Dav 9 
 
 And flags and flowers are due, 
 IV e weep for the misguided Gray, 
 
 And for our Boys m Blue. 
 
 30 
 
Independence Day. 
 
 Read at the celebration at Nyack-on-Hudson, 1S94, 
 by the Rev. J. B. Taylor. 
 
 " Old Glory " waves its tri-hued folds 
 Over the land that ever molds 
 
 The good, the brave, the true : 
 How dear each thread that Freedom wove 
 Into the woof and warp of love 
 
 For red, and white, and blue ! 
 
 But long before the dreamer dreamed 
 Of Stars and Stripes o'er brave men 
 streamed, 
 
 Its spirit, brave, had life : 
 For Freedom's heart was ever warm — 
 Its pulse beats ever uniform — 
 
 Its soul with unrest rife. 
 
 Our fathers' fathers chafed beneath 
 
 The yoke of Britain, and the wreath 
 
 Of vict'ry, laurel-crown'd, 
 
Was hung upon the stripe-cros't staff- 
 Liberty's air was theirs to quaff — 
 Their right as men they found ! 
 
 Found? Yes — and more than that — they 
 
 gained 
 Their right, and many a field, blood-stained 
 
 To it sad witness bears ! 
 With patriotic blood ran red 
 Dark streams, beside which lay their dead. 
 
 A noble fight was theirs ! 
 
 As runs the course of human love 
 The way of roughness not above — 
 
 So with our love for land : 
 From first inception, struggling seemed 
 The legacy the gods best deemed 
 
 Our portion to command ! 
 
 The echoes, deep, of Bunker Hill 
 
 A lodgment find in brave hearts still — 
 
 Their roll can never cease ! 
 32 
 
And many a Jasper now would leap 
 Into the fire of hell to keep 
 
 From shame the flag of peace ! 
 
 We love the uniform they wore : 
 We love the brave for love they bore 
 
 Our country, first and last ! 
 We love the spirit born among 
 Dales where ^Eolus' harp was strung, 
 
 And measured to the blast. 
 
 We love the thought that love was theirs — 
 A love for liberty that dares 
 
 To scorn a compromise ! 
 We love the brave because thev trod 
 The soil o'er which proud Freedom's God 
 
 Stretches His bluest skies ! 
 
 With that republic-twin's,* on whom 
 So late has fallen hand of gloom, 
 
 *France. The obsequies of M. Marie Sadi Carnot, 
 President of the Republic, had just taken place. 
 
 33 
 
America's tears blend : 
 We know full well affliction's woe, 
 When Union's lamp has flicker'd low, 
 
 And hearts of men unbend. 
 
 And tho' full oft in splendor spread, 
 Our flag has dip'd its regal head 
 
 Betore t h e face of Mors : 
 Who mourned not when good Lincoln died, 
 When Garfield crossed the Lethan tide 
 
 Where man knows not the shores ? 
 
 We little know what bloodshed means 
 And far less of its carnage scenes — 
 
 Its horror and its woe : 
 But we have those who bore the brunt 
 Of bitter warfare at the front 
 
 To thank that it is so ! 
 
 .No more the battle cloud hangs dun : 
 No more obscured is glare of sun : 
 No more the cannon's sound : 
 
 34 
 
Peace, lily-beautified, prevails : 
 Peace, in whose sight e'en fierce Mars 
 quails : 
 Peace — powerful, profound I 
 
 ss 
 
Shall We Give Up the Flags ? 
 
 Dedicated to (then) Governor J. B. Foraker of Ohio, 
 veteran-statesman, whose position against the order of the 
 Executive— that all stands of colors taken from belligerent 
 Confederates, during the " late unpleasantness," be re- 
 turned to the States represented by the ensigns at the 
 time of bellicose relations — aroused the latent indignation 
 of the citizens— especially the veterans — of the North, and 
 resulted in the ill-timed, unprecedented order being re- 
 scinded. 
 
 Shall we give up flags so dearly — hardily r 
 as were these, — bought : 
 
 Taken from the hands of traitors who to 
 knife the Union sought ? 
 
 Shall we give — reward to treason — trophies 
 of its shame and fall, 
 
 Won on fields of knightly valor by the 
 brave who knew the call 
 
 Of their country, sore distressed, and an- 
 swered as all patriots would 
 
 With their banner, proud, insulted by a fel- 
 low-brotherhood ? 
 
 36 
 
By an act of legislation, all this would be 
 done away ! 
 
 And the traitors stand as arrogantly as be- 
 fore that day 
 
 When the flag that shadowed Sumter in its 
 folds of heav'nly hue 
 
 Was assailed by guns full-shotted — God ! 
 our red ! our white ! our blue ! 
 
 Shall the State, in puerile meekness, then 
 forget, though it forgive, 
 
 And insult the men who fought and, 'spite 
 the rebel onslaught, live ? 
 Washington, D. C, 1886. 
 
 37 
 
]V[y Couptry! 
 
 My country — beautiful, supreme,, 
 As ever blessed Utopian dream — 
 
 My country, loved, revered ! 
 May aught that seeks to overthrow 
 My country happiness ne'er know, 
 
 And withered be, and sered ! 
 
 My country ! ev'ry fierce pulse-beat 
 That throbs, with Vulcan's hottest heat r 
 
 Through these, our bodies, free, 
 Leaps high at mention of thy name, 
 And glories in thy peerless fame — 
 
 Our first love is with thee ! 
 
 " My country! right or wrong," the same I 
 My country! naught shall ever shame 
 
 Thy shield, while brave men live I 
 We pride in all that speaks of thee — 
 One land, one flag, from sea to sea — 
 
 What glory dost thou give ! 
 
My country! poet, tune thy song 
 To metes that to its love belong — 
 
 My country ! sacred land! 
 My country ! ev'ry foe disarmed ! 
 My country ! by each rift unharmed ! 
 
 My country — mount and strand! 
 
 39 
 
darcliac Concepts 
 
Dreamland. 
 
 Ecstatic gladness fills me, 
 A joyful tremor thrills me, 
 When, worn with toil, I hasten to its love- 
 embowered domain ; 
 Sweet calm steals o'er my spirit 
 Whene'er I venture near it — 
 The land of dreams of days gone by, where 
 life is young again. 
 
 Forgot is all repining : 
 I've found the silver lining 
 That ev'ry cloud of sorrow has, although so 
 black it seems ; 
 With long-dead friends communing, 
 While Mem'ry's lyre is tuning — 
 What happiness to wander in the vista-land 
 of dreams. 
 
 Old loves to new life waking, 
 The long years' silence breaking, 
 
 43 
 
And recollections stirring that I hoped, ere 
 this, were dead : 
 Yet, were it mine — the choosing 
 Of keeping or of losing — 
 The dream-god oft would visit me and 
 . heav'nward lift my bed. 
 
 44 
 
Thapksgiving Violets. 
 
 Some azure guests from summer-land, 
 
 Preserved through wintry blasts, 
 Came to me in the mail to-day. 
 
 They show that feeling lasts. 
 Though she who sent them from afar 
 
 My features cannot see ; 
 To glad my sight she cared so much 
 
 I know she thought of me. 
 
 May others choose the golden rod, 
 
 Gay monarch of the fall ; 
 While some may hold the blushing rose 
 
 The queen is of them all. 
 Let each one name the flower the heart 
 
 Warms toward — all else forget — 
 And welcome to it ! for my part 
 
 I love the violet. 
 
 Blessed with the pearly tints of heav'n, 
 Tho' deeper be the tint, 
 
 45 
 
It seems that God to them has giv'n 
 
 His favors, without stint. 
 Unspeaking, they exemplify 
 
 The good, the pure, the true ; 
 Their simple splendors please the eye- 
 
 These friends of mine in blue. 
 
 When I was but a little lad, 
 
 And ''said my A B C's," 
 A little cup was given me, 
 
 My unformed tastes to please. 
 And "Love the Giver" was inscribed 
 
 On it in deepest blue : 
 Now, while I love the violet, 
 
 I love the giver, too. 
 
 4 6 
 
I " Saw " My Liovcd One f-lome. 
 
 I've wandered from the church at home. 
 
 Into the world's broad fields, 
 Yet, at the dawn or in the gloam, 
 
 A recollection shields 
 Me from the snares that, eager, wait 
 
 To trap me as I roam — 
 Of when I waited at its gate 
 
 To " see " my loved one home. 
 
 The days now come, the days now pass, 
 
 Thick-crowded with events. 
 Yet oft I think of that sweet lass 
 
 Who met me at the fence. 
 A talisman, my fears to charm, 
 
 If tos't on ocean's foam — 
 The thought of when I took her arm 
 
 And " saw " my loved one home. 
 
 I ride o'er mountain, hill and plain : 
 
 Beside swift-rolling streams, 
 And mem'ry brings back, o'er again, 
 
 47 
 
Those restful, soothing dreams. 
 But, as the ev'ning shadows fall, 
 
 And day sinks into gloam, 
 I hear the old-time's glad recall — 
 
 I " saw " my loved one home ! 
 The future all uncertain lies : 
 
 I would not know her ways — 
 I fain would learn, as a surprise, 
 
 Events now thick 'neath haze. 
 Yet, tho' I rise, or tho' I fall, 
 
 The thought will ever come 
 Of when, from that vine-trellised wall, 
 
 I "saw" my loved one home. 
 I know not if I'll see again 
 
 This distant love of mine ; 
 Nor yet the happy moment when 
 
 Our fortunes we'll combine. 
 But sure am I, when next we meet, 
 
 Beneath high heaven's dome, 
 My aspirations I'll repeat — 
 
 And " see " her to my home ! 
 4 8 
 
Jler Photograph. 
 
 'T is but a little photograph : 
 Yet, tho' all El Dorado's gold 
 
 Were scattered 'fore me like the chaff, 
 I would not yield it to be sold. 
 
 In it true beauty sits enshrined r 
 Before which I devoutly bow * 
 
 While tresses, fretting in the wind r 
 Expose her intellectual brow. 
 
 The sweeping eyebrows, slightly raised, 
 Reveal her twin-star laughing eyes 
 
 Into whose depths I ne'er have gazed 
 But to repress my soul's sad sighs. 
 
 Well might proud Venus bend the knee 
 Before this northern beauty's throne — 
 
 Yea, that, and more, do L to thee, 
 And thank high Heaven for its loan. 
 
 49 
 
bargesse and Dying En?bers. 
 
 They come to me — yes, once again. 
 
 Over the chasm of Time — 
 Those hours of joy and sunshine when 
 
 Existence was sublime. 
 And, in the largesse of my love, 
 
 All else below fell far : 
 Each tone knew naught of joy above, 
 
 Nor discord there to mar. 
 
 But, as to ashes burns the fire, 
 When past is fiercest heat, 
 
 So did her love for me expire : 
 Absinthine was my sweet. 
 
 And straitway on a journey went 
 This burnt-out frame of mine ; 
 
 Heart's pliant gold was shapeless bent- 
 Naught else can it refine. 
 
 so 
 
1 Dreamed ]V[y bove Was Dead 
 
 I dreamed my love was dead, and dead 
 
 Was all the joy I 'd sought ; 
 I heard the last sweet words she said, 
 
 And noted down the thought. 
 Then fell her form back on the bed: 
 
 A wan, sweet smile I caught, 
 Just as her trusting spirit fled 
 
 To realms which God has wrought 
 
 A final sigh escapes her lips, 
 
 Her bosom heaves once more ; 
 And fast her hold on life, this, slips — 
 
 Drifting upon that shore 
 In one of those God-guided ships, 
 
 With Faith's flag at the fore : 
 Then firm this jewel grim Death grips — 
 
 And life's pained days are o'er. 
 
 Her corse I followed to the grave, 
 My heart bowed down with grief ; 
 
I tried to bear up and be brave,, 
 But Death, the Silent Thief, 
 
 Had ta'en my love to that conclave 
 Of which none knows the Chief, 
 
 And, to my blighted hopes a slave,. 
 I sought nor found relief. 
 
 Her very presence filled the air : 
 
 Her virtues were my theme ; 
 Where'er I looked, her image, there, 
 
 Shone, as a fair sunbeam. 
 By darkest night, in noon-day's glare,, 
 
 Her death-pall was supreme : 
 But I awoke, in deep despair — 
 
 And found it all a dream. 
 
 5* 
 
Unrequited Ltove- 
 
 I wonder why that all around 
 Drink life's joy to their fill : 
 My life is gloom — 
 The breathless tomb 
 With song is not more still. 
 
 Ah, Love, why didst thou seek my heart 
 And fill with thy joy? 
 My hopes are dead, 
 And now, instead, 
 My gold is all alloy. 
 
 Why did I seek for rest in thee, 
 My idol and my love? 
 You love me not — 
 'T were best forgot 
 And risen far above. 
 
 Forgot ? Nay, never, while there be 
 A heaven and God above ! 
 
 .53 
 
I'll not forget 
 When first we met, 
 And thee I learned to love. 
 
 Learned ? No, that is not the word r 
 Love came as birds in Spring — 
 
 Unbidden by 
 
 A look, a sigh: 
 Withal, a welcome thing. 
 
 I threw my heart's door open wide, 
 To let the new face in ; 
 
 When I said : " Go ! " 
 
 She answered : " No — 
 Your heart I strove to win ! " 
 
 "But, leave !" I cried, " My love loves not : 
 The granite is less cold ! " 
 She would not leave ; 
 I 'm doomed to grieve — 
 O'er what was once fine gold. 
 
 Others may at Diana's throne 
 54 
 
Pay tribute at her shrine : 
 
 But I must wait 
 
 Till opes the gate 
 Where glad death shall be mine. 
 
 Aye, welcome Guest, come ! take me where 
 I hear no love song's trill : 
 
 But, even there, 
 
 A thought I'll bear — 
 I love my idol still ! 
 
 u To ev'ry lad his lassie-love," 
 A poet sang of old : 
 
 The love I crave 
 
 No rest e'er gave — 
 Methinks all hearts are cold. 
 
 My earthly sun sank in the west, 
 Ne'ermore to rise again, 
 
 When Love withdrew — 
 Bade me adieu — 
 Most miserable of men. 
 
 55 
 
But if there be a Heav'n beyond, 
 Where all shall find release 
 From strife and pain, 
 Will once again 
 I meet my dream of peace ? 
 
 And will she know and love me there, 
 And understand it all — 
 The broken heart. 
 The tears that start, 
 The dead hopes and their pall? 
 
 I loved her with a priceless love, 
 To which all else gave place : 
 
 But hope is dead, 
 
 And now, instead, 
 Oblivion I embrace. 
 
 56 
 
A Valentine. 
 
 A valentine : 't is yours — 't was mine : 
 
 " Like unto like," it greets — 
 Valentine to my Valentine : 
 
 Sweet maids receive the sweets. 
 It shall not be of verses made 
 
 By other minds than mine : 
 I 'm jealous e'en that far — afraid 
 
 To vex my Valentine. 
 It shall not be a tinseled thing, 
 
 Enduring but a day, 
 Of nut-brown Cupids on the wing, 
 
 Like humming-birds in May. 
 Nor shall it be a comic one, 
 
 With vulgar words galore, 
 That shows thee blinking at the sun 
 
 In March, on Coney's shore. 
 No! that which I shall offer thee, 
 
 'Round whom my heart-strings twine, 
 Is love, as boundless as the sea, 
 
 All for my Valentine. 
 
 57 
 
Birthday Greeting— To ]VL I. B. 
 
 Some birthday verses ? Well, I '11 try 
 
 To write some words to please the eye 
 
 And hold the mind of some one near 
 
 Who may, perchance, the verses hear. 
 
 A birthday is a sacred thing 
 
 To me, and old-time mem'ries bring 
 
 To mind the blithesome days when I, 
 
 A little laddie, oft would try 
 
 To count up to the very day 
 
 When, drawn to full height, I could say : 
 
 ife I' m 'most a man ! — Yes, sir, I 'm ten ! " 
 
 Ah, me ! how glad did life seem then ! 
 
 Then added years brought added cares, 
 
 And, as each load a person bears 
 
 Prepares him for a greater test. 
 
 So each year gave me added zest 
 
 For life's great fight 'tween wrong and right, 
 
 And days of dark gave days of light. 
 
 You 'd have me prophesy for you 
 
 53 
 
A birthday wish. Grant it be true ! 
 May each succeeding year bestow 
 Fresh beauty — add to that pure glow 
 That from your clear, true eyes is sent : 
 God's message through His innocent. 
 
 59 
 
In Golden Fetters. 
 
 Love captive leads a willing slave, 
 
 Who would, and yet would not, be free, 
 For, with that freedom he would crave, 
 
 Would come a loss, which, ah ! dear me ! 
 I can 't explain. And yet 't is sweet, 
 
 And bitter then, to place one's neck 
 Into Love's halter, to compete 
 
 With Destiny, that may but wreck 
 The hopes that should, and should not, be. 
 
 'T is hard to fight thus 'gainst one's heart : 
 To long, yet dread, to e'er be free. 
 
 This state is caused by Love's barbed dart, 
 The shaft, once bedded in the breast, 
 
 The barb removal will prevent : 
 And from thence on there is no rest, 
 
 But days and nights in torment spent. 
 When the fair captor favor shows, 
 
 And smiles upon the pleaded suit, 
 
 He writhes in torture — well he knows 
 
 60 
 
Impatient frowns may be its fruit. 
 So must man yield to what, it seems, 
 Is but an unrelenting Fate 
 
 Of darkened days and bright sunbeams — 
 Ne'er knowing when is reached the gate 
 
 That opens up a vista free 
 
 From whimsic, changeful tempers there, 
 
 And shows the border-land to me 
 Where sated Love bids Fear beware. 
 
 61 
 
J-leart's Content. 
 
 I know a place called Heart's Content — 
 Not in Newfoundland, either — 
 
 There by my love and me are spent 
 Our happiest hours together. 
 
 In Heart's Content is care forgot, 
 And Hope displaces sighing : 
 
 It's flow'r is the forget-me-not, 
 The bud that 's dead to dying. 
 
 In Heart's Content the breezes blow 
 With joyous sweets plethoric, 
 
 And naught but peace have we to know 
 Who feel their grand rhetoric. 
 
 There heartsease grows in ev'ry dell, 
 Nor e'er knows extirpation ; 
 
 And birds their raptures seek to tell 
 To many a carmed carnation. 
 
 62 : 
 
Sweet tones, sweet airs 5 incense and prayers 
 Rise from her shades of gladness : 
 
 Fair scenes, fair faces — each declares 
 Antipathy for sadness. 
 
 Dear Heart's Content! Fair Heart's Con- 
 tent ! 
 
 May I dwell in thy borders. 
 Where ever linger airs, God-sent, 
 
 That cure mv heart's disorders. 
 
]^o Future But Thee. 
 
 I have no future where thou art not queen ; 
 
 I see no skies, inviting, calm, serene, 
 
 In which thine own sweet features have no 
 
 part ; 
 I know no one with power o'er my heart 
 
 So great as is thine own ! 
 I feel no pulsing sense of heav'nly hope 
 But that thy soul, to fill my own, did ope ; 
 I think no thought of love that doth not turn 
 To thee, with scope unknown, as fierce fires 
 
 burn — 
 To thee, my love, alone ! 
 
 I reach no place in bold Ambition's flight 
 That doth not bear thee to that self-same 
 
 height ; 
 I dream no dream so full of dreamland's 
 
 haze 
 But morning-light selects thee from the 
 
 maze 
 
Of other faces, fair ! 
 I joy in naught that doth not thee include : 
 Aye, e'en in slumber's God-sent interlude ! 
 I pray to Heaven never but I feel 
 That thou and I are joined in the appeal — 
 
 In life, in love, in prayer ! 
 
 6c 
 
Just Sixteer? Years Ago To-Day. 
 
 Just sixteen years ago to-day 
 My sweetheart came to earth, 
 
 And, at her feet, to homage pay, 
 I testify her worth. 
 
 No sweeter seraph Raphael saw; 
 
 No fairer Portia pleaded law ; . 
 
 No daintier darling art could draw. 
 Than she who then knew birth. 
 
 When I would sing her beauties, rare, 
 
 My pen is stultified : 
 I love her ! now, what more is there 
 
 In language can abide ? 
 I Ve told her often how I feel — 
 In fact, my love I can 't conceal — 
 For love — its own best, strong appeal- 
 To this end long has tried. 
 
 Each time I see my soul's ideal 
 She 's fairer than the last — 
 
 66 
 
When thought I love could but appeal 
 
 To beauty unsurpassed. 
 Castalides, O lend your aid 
 Until, all homage duly paid, 
 My queen I crown — the darling maid ! 
 
 My heart at her feet cast ! 
 
 Euphrosyne, at Venus' feet. 
 Her mistress thought was fair, 
 
 But had she seen my own heart-sweet 
 Would there have been compare? 
 
 I cannot see why, when I woo, 
 
 She listens — queen to subject, too ! 
 
 Who e'er can doubt that I '11 be true 
 To that love which I swear! 
 
 67 
 
Forget— JVTe-fl'of, 
 
 A delicate forget-me-not 
 Was plucked in a secluded spot, 
 And on my lapel placed. The flow'r 
 Was dead and sere in but an hour. 
 
 I wonder will the one who gave 
 The token, and whose love I crave,, 
 Forget me — withered be her love — 
 Will she as fickle Nature prove? 
 
 6S 
 
?L Valentine—To R. U. D.. 
 
 A fresh bud on the New Year vine, 
 ''Round which faint mem'ries fondly twine, 
 The day of old St. Valentine 
 
 Comes, cheering souls that ache. 
 From youthful mind and sunny heart 
 The messages of love depart ; 
 Noble and plebeian play their part — 
 
 The part all true hearts take. 
 
 And if there be a wounded soul 
 
 Who this day loses self-control. 
 
 And of his love pours out the whole — 
 
 Who dares to say him nay ? 
 For such as he the day was born, 
 Though all the other days he mourn: 
 For Love, at once a rose and thorn, 
 
 Provides this gala day. 
 
 Long use has sanction'd verbiage, ripe 
 In form, for rhymesters' notes to pipe ; 
 
 69 
 
I '11 deviate from this archetype 
 
 And call thee friend — dear friend ! 
 Love may be real and true, devout, 
 But Love and I have long been " out." 
 One thing there is I '11 never doubt — 
 Thou art my friend till th' end L 
 
 P 
 
The Old Iiove's Claim. 
 
 When the Old Love we bid begone 
 
 Has left the portals of the heart, 
 
 And other loves our torn souls don, 
 
 We think the Old Love has no part 
 Now in our lives. But we awake, 
 After the lapse of joyless years, 
 To find Time's pillow wet with tears 
 We fain would hide for New Love's sake. 
 
 Our waking thoughts may e'er be true 
 
 To the New Love we learned to wean 
 From old affections — but there grew 
 
 Upon the Old Grave myrtle green. 
 We would deny the Old Love's claim — 
 
 With fervor deify the New — 
 But life has never been the same 
 
 Since the Old Love in tears withdrew ! 
 
 The lucubrations of the heart 
 Will oft by mem'ries, old, be led 
 
Into a train whose way had start 
 
 Back m the crypt of that Love, dead. 
 And tho' we struggle to retain 
 
 In honesty the last-sought guest, 
 A psychic tremor chills the breast 
 And, leaving, 'queaths a shaft of pain. 
 
 The thought that now seems apropos, 
 
 Suggested by New Love and Old, 
 Is, Can the heart of man e'er know 
 
 The power its pulses' trends to mold? 
 We think we banish from our sky 
 
 Its day-star, tho' the whole it blight — 
 But sad years cry : ik Love cannot die ! 
 
 Thy youth -love all thy life will light ! " 
 
 72 
 
]VIy lioue apd I. 
 
 My love and I one day did walk 
 
 Thro' fields where soon the rip'ning corn 
 Will pendant hang from each brown stalk. 
 
 And catch the first kiss of the morn. 
 We picked the May-bells from yon hill, 
 
 That tow'rs, majestically high, 
 And listened as the mount-born rill 
 
 Told us its tale — my love and I. 
 
 It sang a song so clear and low 
 
 That, as we bent to carch the sound. 
 We almost touched its icy flow, 
 
 As knelt we on the mossy ground. 
 " Past woodland, green, and verdant waste 
 
 I speed along, and ne'er run dry!" 
 We could not list to moie, for haste 
 
 Impelled us on — my love and I. 
 
 The sun oft hid behind a cloud. 
 
 And left us for a moment's space, 
 Emerging, then, from its light shroud 
 
 73 
 
To glad with bright Miss Nature's face. 
 It looked as if a s orm might come — 
 
 The dark clouds scurried o'er the sky 
 And warned us we should start for home — 
 
 Yet kept we on — my love and I. 
 
 Then the great drops began to fall : 
 
 We saw that it was then too late : 
 'T were better in some nook to crawl 
 
 Until the tempest should abate. 
 I knew a spot where flowers grew, 
 
 And purling waters rippled nigh : 
 We 'd wait there till the storm o'er blew, 
 
 And then go home — my love and I. 
 
 We reached our goal, and with a bound 
 
 Leaped lightly o'er the laughing brook. 
 I spread my coat upon the ground 
 
 To rest on in our sheltered nook. 
 'T was there I offered her the heart 
 
 She won in days now long gone by ; 
 And there we plighted — ne'er to part — 
 
 That love which bound my love and I. 
 
 74 
 
Brighter Than the Stars. 
 
 Bright stars there are in skies above — 
 
 The earth and heav'ns between — 
 But none so bright as is the love 
 
 I bear my heart's true queen. 
 Their brilliance sinks to feeble flame 
 
 With love beyond compare 
 Which easily their glow can shame 
 
 Before its radiance, rare. 
 
 To what shall liken I the heat 
 
 Of love's pure, changeless flow? 
 Methinks there's naught so full, complete, 
 
 In Heav'n nor earth below ! 
 I thank the gods who did endow 
 
 My love with gifts so fair, 
 That, filled with happiness, I bow 
 
 Before her — Heav'n is there ! 
 
 75 
 
pour Years Ago. 
 
 'T was just four years ago, my love, 
 
 'T was just four years ago, 
 That love of you made sad clouds move, 
 As wintry winds the snow, 
 And gold beams cast 
 O'er me, and past 
 Was force of Sorrow's blow. 
 
 'T was just four years ago, my love, 
 
 Years teeming with events ; 
 
 We little knew the woe, my love, 
 
 We 'd look on four years hence : 
 
 The thoughtless word, 
 
 The page, tear-blurr'd, 
 
 Give, each, sad evidence. 
 
 'T was just four years ago, my love, 
 
 That in my life was shed 
 
 The radiance true heans know, my love, 
 
 Before youth-love is dead : 
 76 
 
It merges clear 
 With life's each year, 
 As brooks to ocean led. 
 
 'T was just four years ago, my love r 
 
 Four years of light and shade — 
 For life's full records show, my love T 
 That love of both is made — 
 That o'er my soul 
 You took control, 
 And gave me yours " in trade ! " 
 
 'T was just four years ago, my love, 
 
 And well I ween the day, 
 When I became your beau, my love,- 
 You stole my heart away ! 
 Devoted yet, 
 I do n't regret 
 The love these lines convey. 
 
 77 
 
I Cannot Sin. 
 
 I cannot sin : my sweetheart said her heart 
 
 was in my breast. 
 I cannot sin for what she said — 't would 
 
 shame the sainted guest. 
 I cannot sin : so sweet the thought that she 
 
 is mine for aye ! 
 I cannot sin : for if I did her heart would 
 
 droop and die ! 
 
 I cannot sin : can weakness be where Love's 
 white lilies dwell ? 
 
 I cannot sin : can Heav'n contain the crim- 
 son reek of Hell? 
 
 I cannot sin : I said: " My heart no longer 
 is my own ! " .. 
 
 I cannot sin : she answer made : " Pray, 
 keep mine as Love's loan ! " 
 
 78. 
 
dust As Thou Art ! 
 
 Just as thou art ! I ask no other boon 
 
 Than thee to clasp in these strong arms 
 of mine 
 
 And feel thine own in love around me 
 twine — 
 'T were not to end so soon ! 
 
 Thou canst not cold remain fore'er 
 
 And I undying love declare 
 While gleams yon silv'ry moon ! 
 
 My love is not so thus to die : 
 No ! Constant I '11 remain, 
 
 Tho' days may come and days may go, 
 
 And Time may have a ceaseless flow, 
 And pale moons rise and wane : 
 „ I thee will love, and hold most dear 
 
 The days when to me thou wert near — 
 Say, love, will e'er they come again ? 
 
 79 
 
Enchanted Ground. 
 
 The dream god came to me last night, 
 When folded fast in Morpheus' arms. 
 A maid enslaved me by her charms — 
 
 Too fulsome, they, for mortal sight. 
 
 How shall I sing her beauty's fame, 
 Beside which vaunted Venus' pales ? 
 Inadequate, my language fails 
 
 To do the justice she would claim. 
 
 And, wondrous paradox ! the maid 
 As I to her, to me was drawn — 
 Doubt you I felt then Joy's day-dawn ? 
 
 So, for my love, her own she paid. 
 
 Had I but then recalled the bound 
 
 Past which I stepped in dreamland's play 
 I had not been so sad to-day : 
 
 For I was on enchanted ground. 
 
 So 
 
But I, like other men, love-daft, 
 Forgot that it was but a dream 
 From which, on waking, but the theme 
 
 Would then remain — a cruel shaft ! 
 
 We two, in Somnus' fair domains, 
 
 Were wed — I know not how, by whom- 
 Dispelled was all my earth-born gloom : 
 
 Yet, of that bliss now naught remains! 
 
 And we were happy in the ken 
 
 That I loved her and she loved me : 
 Existence — ceaseless ecstasy — 
 
 A dream not oft bestowed on men. 
 
 The brightest phantasies must end — 
 Mine did not an exception prove : 
 Recalled to earth, I left the love 
 
 Who did with me in dreamland blend. 
 
 81 
 
R better. 
 
 With what glad anticipation — 
 Sense of hope's realization — 
 Do we burst th' envelope open, when the 
 postman makes his round : 
 And our hearts take on new lightness 
 As we tear apart the whiteness 
 Separating from our visions all the goodies 
 in it found. 
 Is it from a u flame " of youthful 
 Days, when life seemed all so truthful? 
 Break the spotless bonds that bind it, mind- 
 ing not the old heart-ache ! 
 For the days that gave fruition 
 But in sadness had their mission, 
 And the love that sobbed its life out for ex- 
 perience way did make ! 
 Is it from a friend, whose tidings — 
 Interlined with copious chidings 
 
 That your letters, few and far between, are 
 
 82 
 
colder growing — bring 
 Bitter pangs of days forgotten, 
 Joys, companionship-begotten ? 
 Delve into its depths and, answ'ring, Sor 
 row's requiem 't will sing ! 
 Is it from your home-rid mother, 
 Whom you left to join another ? 
 Rend the seal with rev'rence real and read 
 her heart-blood in each line ! 
 Distance, great, may intervene — 
 Love will memory keep green — 
 And that mother-love will ever 'round your 
 inmost being twine ! 
 
 83 
 
]Vly Queen. 
 
 A TRITE TALE OF COURTSHIP AND MAN-TRAP. 
 
 I know a charming maid — my queen — 
 
 Of winsome grace and thoughtful mien ; 
 
 Her voice — the sweetest ever heard — 
 
 My heart's still depths has strangely stirr'd I 
 
 Naught but cold looks I sometimes meet: 
 
 'T is then fain would I, at her feet, 
 
 The story of my love repeat. — 
 
 Was ever wish than this more sweet ? 
 
 But naught of this e'er comes about — 
 
 If e'er it will, I 've many a doubt. 
 
 She '11 laugh or smile at what I say, 
 
 The same, to-morrow, as to-day, 
 
 And yet her heait will lie beyond 
 
 Ambitions, dear, and hopes, most f ond ! 
 
 How can I pierce this wall of ice, 
 
 And, twain in one, our two hearts splice? 
 
 84 
 
1 have it ! When all else shall fail 
 
 I 11 ask her out to take a sail. 
 
 I '11 row, and she the craft shall steer, 
 
 ( And she can do it, never fear ! ) 
 
 As we adown the waters float, 
 
 Together, in our little boat, 
 
 I '11 whisper love-tales in her ear, 
 
 And breathe the hopes I hold most dear. 
 
 Eut will she listen ? — " There's the rub ! " 
 
 I guess I 'd better send a " sub. ! " — 
 
 Eut, no ! that plan would never do — 
 
 For he might love my fair queen, too, 
 
 And, thus, by u speaking for himself," 
 
 Lay all my hopes upon the shelf. 
 
 I think / V better do the u job,'' 
 
 And hear, with many a strong heart-throb : 
 
 " Yes, dearest one, I will be thine ! " 
 
 Then 'round her neck these arms will twine! 
 
 Ah, rapture ! I will ask her now ! — 
 
 But, hold! I first must find a scow ! 
 
 And then I ? 11 lead her down the bank, 
 
 S5 
 
Nor give her chance my pains to thank. 
 
 Ah, without her e'en time is drear ! 
 
 But I shall row, and she shall steer. 
 * - * * * 
 
 'T is o'er. I have engaged the boat — 
 The price would shame a table d'hote ! 
 I fear my dream of love 't will sour : 
 It costs me fifty cents an hour! 
 Should she make answer : " Wait awhile ! '" 
 I '11 ne'er again be known to smile : 
 But pull for shore, on some pretense — 
 The truth is, I Ve but forty cents ! 
 
 % * * * 
 
 I led her down the slipp'ry bank, 
 
 As proud as knight of titled rank. 
 
 The brown thrush sang its happiest note r 
 
 As merrily on went the boat. 
 
 Our hearts were strangely light and gay,. 
 
 As full of sunshine as the day. 
 
 The weather was her op'ning theme, 
 
 As swift we glided down the stream- - 
 
But I was thinking of some way 
 
 To make off when 't came time to pay ! 
 
 Soon my restraint I cast aside — 
 
 In tones of tend'rest passion cried : 
 
 " O, dearest one. my soul's love dream 
 
 To you but stultified may seem : 
 
 But, answer — May we, side by side, 
 
 Stem life's deep waters and their tide ? " 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Now, reader, I suppose you think 
 
 My mind was poised on reason's brink. 
 
 And that, my ardor, fierce, to cool 
 
 She told me not to be a fool ? 
 
 She answered nothing of the kind — 
 
 A diff rent thought was in her mind : 
 
 " I 'm with you, love, for life — fore'er — 
 
 And you can row — but / shall steer ! " 
 
 * * * * 
 
 I waited not to hear aught more, 
 But quickly headed for the shore, 
 And, landing her upon the quay, 
 
 87 
 
I kissed her hands in ecstasy. 
 
 'T was done! 'T was won! My fairie flow'r ! 
 
 And won in but a short half hour ! 
 
 Was fair maid e'er won in shorter? 
 
 As it was, I owed a quarter ! 
 
 These ten long years, as man and wife, 
 
 We 've battled with the storms of life : 
 
 And children came to bless our home, 
 
 As sunbeams out of darkness come. 
 
 But oft in fancy do I roam 
 
 To that day when, in early gloam, 
 
 I asked my queen to be my wife, 
 
 Where wind met waves in noisy strife. 
 * * * * 
 
 Often in smiles, seldom in tears, 
 I 'm at the oars, and she still steers. 
 
 Sault de Ste. Marie, Mich., 1890. 
 
Spiritual Selections. 
 
During a Snow-Storm. 
 
 The snow in white flakelets is falling to-day, 
 So let us be merry, while merry we may ! 
 To-morrow, old earth may return to her 
 
 gloom — 
 These tired, world-lorn bodies repose in the 
 
 tomb : 
 The spirit to the spirit-world take its flight — 
 Blest realm, where no sorrow or trouble 
 
 brings night ! 
 The snow is most beautiful : but there 's a 
 
 place 
 Eternal, forever existing in space : 
 With which the snow we love — yet shrink 
 
 from its touch — 
 Cannot compare : for there is none other 
 
 such ! 
 
 91 
 
Tl?e Quiet flour. 
 
 How restful is the quiet hour : 
 
 How soothing 't is, and sweet, 
 When, freed from all the tempter's power, 
 
 I rest at Jesus' feet. 
 Rest from the trials that oppress, 
 
 And make life dead to me : 
 I muse on Jesus' tenderness, 
 
 And bathe me in its sea. 
 
 How pleasant from the world to keep : 
 
 The world of noise and care ! 
 What sweet joy comes to walk and weep 
 
 With Jesus, over there ! — 
 Not over there, but at my side 
 
 He 's walking, day by day : 
 How can I wander with that Guide 
 
 To keep me in the way ? 
 
 I cannot see the reason why 
 
 I am bv care oppres't, 
 92 
 
When He will hear my ev'ry cry, 
 
 And take me to His breast ! 
 0, Soul, why shouldst thou fear, or doubt 
 
 His mercy and His care, 
 When He has driven Satan out, 
 
 And placed His sunshine there? 
 
 0, Heart, why weary grow, and faint, 
 
 When presses sore the foe, 
 When thou canst break from its restraint^ 
 
 And to thy Captain go ? 
 Why shouldst thou struggle on alone, 
 
 Trusting in thine own might — 
 Trying, in vain, to hold thine own 
 
 In the unequal fight ? 
 
 How pleasant 't is to lose myself 
 
 In Jesus' loving arms — 
 Forgetting worldly pomp and pelf: 
 
 The thing that snares and charms. 
 I rise, refreshed : my languor gone : 
 
 95 
 
Trials have flown away : 
 And, like the bird at early dawn, 
 Push once more into day. 
 
 Calais, Me., 1891. 
 
 94 
 
{^etributioi?. 
 
 The angels weep to-morrow : 
 
 To-day, man weakly falls : 
 The angels weep for sorrow 
 
 In lightsome heav'nly halls. 
 
 The sons of men, disdainful. 
 
 Scorn's finger, cruel, point : 
 And Sin's heart-wound, tho' painful, 
 
 With virus they anoint. 
 
 His quondam friends, hard-hearted, 
 
 Repudiate his name : 
 From each dear tie he 's parted. 
 
 By reason of ill-fame. 
 
 Could he have viewed the ending 
 
 That Sin's path had in store, 
 Would he, with will quick-bending, 
 
 Have fallen, as before ? 
 
 95 
 
A good name — precious treasure !- 
 Once lost, man can't regain : 
 
 And Sin doles out its measure 
 Of woe in man's disdain. 
 
 The angels weep to-morrow : 
 To-day, man weakly falls : 
 
 The angels weep for sorrow 
 In lightsome heav'nly halls. 
 
 9 6 
 
J^ew Year l^esolutiops. 
 
 u New Year " — what possibilities 
 In thee the wearied sinner sees : 
 
 What chance for better-doing! 
 What hope to right the wrong of years : 
 To reap in joy seed sown in tears, 
 
 Despite others' construing. 
 
 The struggling son of Adam — born. 
 It oft-times seems, to live to mourn 
 
 Too ready acquiescence 
 When flesh and spirit warfare waged r 
 Power's balance leaving, weak, engaged 
 
 Against his own soul's prescience — 
 
 Takes firmer hold on sweeter life — 
 Sweeter because of beck'nings, rife, 
 
 To walk in higher places ! 
 Far in the future's horoscope 
 But one star gleams — the Star of Hope — 
 
 And 'round it group the graces 
 
 97 
 
He fain would woo, in intent, strong, 
 Tho' bitter be the strife, and long, 
 
 And rough the way up-leading. 
 Help with your prayers, ye strong in faith, 
 Those hope to whom is but a wraith, 
 
 Advancing and receding. 
 
 9 s 
 
IK f4egative Thanksgiving.. 
 
 Habakkuk iii, 17-19. 
 
 Tho' the fig tree shall not blossom, 
 
 Neither fruit be in the vine ; 
 ^Labour of the olive faileth, 
 
 Lean and wretched be the kine ; 
 And, no wheat the green fields yielding, 
 
 Want stands out in profile, bold, — 
 *Give your thanks! for One is shielding 
 
 Ev'ry soul who owns His fold. 
 
 Once the fields, with flocks plethoric, 
 
 Promise gave of plenteous store : 
 Emptied, now, in ev'ry corner, 
 
 And their place knows them no more. 
 Herds that in the stalls were lowing, 
 
 Nearby to the garner'd grain, 
 Faint and fall, to earth, bestowing 
 
 That which shall not live again. 
 
 99 
 
He Who walks in highest places, 
 
 Bidding earth-worn souls to come r 
 Freely gives to all His graces 
 
 Who regard his home, sweet home. 
 Lift your hearts, in God rejoicing! 
 
 Thank Him you, unworthy, live — 
 Thus, your soul and mind loud voicing 
 
 A Thanksgiving negative ! 
 
R Prodigal's f^eturrx 
 
 Thro' dark'ning mists of shame-wrought 
 
 tears : 
 Thro' low'ring mists of fruitless years : 
 Full, shining bright, a star appears — 
 
 God's love, so long untasted ! 
 Tho' I rebelled — threw off the yoke 
 Of Him Who pardon to me spoke — 
 No joyful sprite could I invoke : 
 
 My life was barren, wasted. 
 
 Tn worldly joys I sought to dim 
 Rememb'rance of the thought of Him 
 Who braved, for me, the cross-bent limb — 
 
 Endured the agony ! 
 But joy I knew not, nor her face. 
 Until implored I Jesus' grace : 
 He gave a welcome to the place 
 
 Unfilled — reserved for me ! 
 
fyfly Evening Prayer; 
 
 On, stealthily, the shadows creep,. 
 
 And 'round about me fall : 
 And soon the restful monarch, Sleep,, 
 
 Will hold me in his thrall. 
 I bend the knee beside my bed, 
 
 And tell all that day's cares 
 To One Who, in His Word, has said 
 
 He 'd hear my feeble prayers. 
 
 I tell of vict'ries in His name, 
 
 When were temptations rife : 
 And, boldly, His sweet promise claim 
 
 For vict'ries all through life. 
 I pour my troubles and my woes 
 
 Into His waiting ear : 
 And calm peace comes to know He knows 
 
 About them, and is near. 
 
 The shades of night creep on apace,. 
 But with them comes no fear :. 
 
For I have sought and found the face 
 
 Of my Redeemer, dear. 
 He 's heard the story of the day — 
 
 He knew it ere 't was told — 
 And, tho' the skies are cold and gray, 
 
 I 'm safe within His fold. 
 
 My prayer is said : the answer, sure : 
 
 And yet I linger there : 
 For to my ear, with passion pure, 
 
 There comes another prayer — 
 One ? Yes, and more : e'en numberless 
 
 The nightly prayers that rise 
 From God's beloved in distress, 
 
 Who wait for sweet replies ! 
 
 I hear a Voice : u Son, not alone 
 
 Ascends thy helpless call 
 To Him Who, from His mighty throne, 
 
 Notes ev'ry sparrow's fall : 
 For many millions, at this hour, 
 
 103 
 
Are low bowed at His feet, 
 
 Imploring for the Spirit's pow'r, 
 
 The day to make complete. " 
 
 I fear no evil nigh my head : 
 
 Omnipotent the care 
 Of Him Whose angels, o'er my bed, 
 
 Anticipate each prayer. 
 And, tho' the world misjudge my ways, 
 
 I shall not fear or weep : 
 But live a life of ceaseless praise, 
 
 And enter in His sleep. 
 
 Calais, Me., 1891. 
 
 104 
 
Easter. 
 
 To-day, the Easter lilies bloom, 
 
 When came from out the grewsome tomb 
 
 The Lord of tide and time. 
 To-day, we loud hosannas sing : 
 Hosannas to our risen King, 
 Who came to earth His peace to bring — 
 
 Was love e'er more sublime? 
 
 No more dominion now has Death : 
 These are the words the Good Book saith : 
 
 For dieth He no more ! 
 To-day, we raise our glad acclaim 
 To glorify our Lord's dear name : 
 Past, present, future, e'er the same — 
 
 This Christ Whom we adore ! 
 
 For, as in Adam dieth all, 
 In Christ is ta'en away Death's thrall, 
 And Azrael's bitter sting. 
 
 105 
 
Rejoice, ye sons of men, rejoice ! 
 Let ev'ry heart and ev'ry voice 
 With songs of joy laud Heaven's Choice- 
 The Glorified, the King ! 
 
 Ye who are risen with the Lord, 
 Raise psalms of joy with one accord : 
 
 And seek those things above, 
 Where sitteth, e'er, at God's right hand 
 The Lord of life, of sea, of land — 
 The Fairest of the fair that stand 
 
 In th' heav'n of purest love ! 
 
 To-day, the Easter lilies bloom : 
 To-day, dispell'd is all earth's gloom — - 
 
 The risen Christ is Lord ! 
 In beauty, brighter than the light 
 Of moon and stars in skies at night,. 
 He reigns, in spotless ermine-white — 
 
 By earth and heav'n adored I 
 
 1 06 
 
"R Liittle Child Shall Dead Them/ 
 
 The surpliced choir an anthem sang : 
 
 The notes were all correct : 
 From the mosaic'd chancel rang 
 
 The songs of God's elect. 
 Each part was represented there, 
 
 And perfect was the time — 
 For each was paid the part to bear 
 
 In melody sublime. 
 
 But that day music seemed to lack 
 
 Its pow'r to fill the soul : 
 And echo sent the sweet sounds back, 
 
 With long and measur'd roll. 
 The preacher prayed and sermonized : 
 
 A goodly man was he : 
 And told of that Life sacrificed 
 
 On the remorseless tree. 
 
 The sermon o'er : " Now, rise and sing," 
 
 107 
 
The parson slowly said. 
 " O, Death, where is thy vaunted sting?" 
 
 The parson slowly read. 
 Full out upon the sacred air 
 
 A childish treble soared : 
 " Ye men of Israel, prepare 
 
 The way of Christ, the Lord ! " 
 
 All through the hymn the sweet child-tone 
 
 Prevail'd, in accents, clear : 
 And men and women, harden'd grown, 
 
 Brushed back th' unbidden tear. 
 The days of childhood — mem'ries old — 
 
 Seemed fresh as yestermorn : 
 And men who lived now but for gold 
 
 Felt higher impulse born. 
 
 And hypocrites — sepulchres, white ! — 
 Whose hearts no man could read, 
 
 Felt in their souls God's richest light — 
 Thus did the child-song plead. 
 
 108 
 
Dark brows, that care had furrow' d deep, 
 
 Grew smoother, even calm : 
 Souls dormant woke from sin's death-sleep 
 
 At sound of that sweet psalm. 
 
 And when the song had died away, 
 
 The minister knelt down : 
 u Brothers and sisters, let us pray!" 
 
 He said, and smoothed his gown. 
 But never mind about his prayer — 
 
 The child-voice stirr'd each heart : 
 And ev'ry man and woman there 
 
 For holier ways made start. 
 
 109 
 
A Soliloquy. 
 
 Far out upon the sunlit stream, 
 The oarsman sweeps the blade : 
 
 See how it glitters with the gleam 
 By heav'nly sunlight made ! 
 
 And now they 're feathered by the hand 
 Deep-skilled with life-long use : 
 
 And, as he nears the pebbly strand, 
 He casts each long oar loose. 
 
 Too soon, my brother, strong the tide 
 
 Sweeps in around thy boat, 
 Just as, with selfish, greedy pride 
 
 The miser learns to gloat. 
 
 Too soon thoust cast thine oar aside — 
 Trusting thy barque to fate : 
 
 And unrelentlessly the tide 
 Sweeps toward its ocean gate. 
 
 How true it is that many a soul 
 Too soon throws down the oar : 
 
Thinking that it has reached the goal, 
 When intervenes much more. 
 
 In triumph's flush, the pleasure's flame 
 Quick casts each barrier down : 
 
 We ask for naught but fleeting fame, 
 And sigh for laurel'd crown. 
 
 Full many a soul abandons Cross, 
 
 Because of Crown assured : 
 But to all such 't will be but loss 
 
 Who have not long endured. 
 
 We trust too much to what our strength 
 
 Accomplished in the past, 
 But we awaken when, at length, 
 
 Our barque bends to the blast. 
 
 Then let us not forego the oar. 
 
 Because of rest we miss: 
 Repose we have not till we soar 
 
 To realms of changeless bliss. 
 
An Easter Anthem. 
 
 Ye hosts of Heaven bow the head — 
 
 For Christ, the Lord, is risen ! 
 He left the dark place of the dead — 
 
 The Saviour, Christ, is risen ! 
 The spotless Son of God, Who came 
 Lost, fallen man to save — reclaim 
 Him by the fall born to its blame — 
 Yea, Christ, the Lord, is risen ! 
 
 The first-fruits of the souls that slept 
 
 Became 'He Who is risen ! 
 And Mary's tears, in anguish wept, 
 
 Availed, for Christ is risen ! 
 Let sounds of sorrow change to joy: 
 Let ev'ry heart its all employ : 
 For One Whom death could not destroy- 
 E'en Christ, the Lord, is risen ! 
 
 Triumphant over death and sin, 
 Jesus, the Lord, is risen ! 
 
In Thee, alone, can life begin, 
 
 My Saviour, now arisen ! 
 My soul Thy name doth magnify, 
 Dear Lord, for Whom 't was not to die ! 
 Now rings the chorus, loud, on high, 
 
 For Christ, the Lord, is risen ! 
 
 i»3 
 
jKJemorial ana* Personal 
 
JVIrs. Jlarrison. 
 
 Columbia bows her head, and sobs 
 
 The grief she cannot speak, 
 For in her arteries there throbs 
 
 Sorrow, that Death should seek 
 The fireside of her honored chief, 
 
 And steal away his love : 
 Thus 't is our hearts are bowed with grief — 
 
 We can but look above 
 To where, secure from earthly pain, 
 
 Safe in the Hav'n of Rest, 
 Her spirit waits till, once again, 
 
 It joins him she loved best. 
 Her deeds of love and charity 
 
 Live after, and are writ 
 On hearts of all humanity 
 
 Who reaped her benefit. 
 No more let weeping now be heard : 
 
 Caroline Harrison 
 
 n.7 
 
Has lived to hear the Master's word : 
 " My faithful child, well done 1 ' ' 
 
 October 26, 1892. 
 
 ri.S 
 
dan?es Gillespie Blaipe. 
 
 " ' The Plumed Knight ' we loved is dead ! " 
 
 So ran the word 
 
 Where'er is heard 
 The sound of speech, or print is read. 
 
 Azrael triumphed o'er the will 
 
 Of iron strength, 
 
 And, then, at length, 
 Mors' accents spoke, and all was still. 
 
 In life, respect was his : and love 
 
 For service done, 
 
 Fresh laurels won 
 From those who did his course approve. 
 
 His life was one of peace : his end — 
 
 So long foreseen — 
 
 Calm and serene : 
 So did the Pine to Boreas bend ! 
 
 119 
 
Forgot|be all the dark that gave 
 
 But blighted hope : 
 
 His horoscope 
 Could but foretell his end : the grave. 
 Washington, D. C, Jan. 28, 1893. 
 
Gen. dohn A. bogan. 
 
 Let poets sing of conquests done : 
 Of battles fought, and vict'ries won : 
 But Logan — than whom stronger mind 
 And braver heart in clay confined 
 Had never life — knew need of none 
 His praise to sing. Where shines the sun 
 On nation blessed with human light 
 
 But Logan's name 
 
 And Lo'gan's fame 
 Forestalled its glories ere the night? 
 
 Each rain drop, falling when he died, 
 Drip'd Heaven's tears at that bed-side ! 
 And ev'ry tree that sigh'd in wood 
 Bemoaned his death — the noble, good ! 
 His countrymen knelt by that crypt, 
 Where lay his mold, of life-beat strip't : 
 And no one paused beside the bier 
 
Of warrior — seer, 
 But left a tear 
 To tell the angels he was dear. 
 
 Washington, D. C, Jan. io, 1887, 
 
liord Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 Unstring his lyre, and lay it by 
 
 Britain's dead poet's side : 
 The fount of feeling is not dry 
 
 Tho' Tennyson has died! 
 He lived while we were yet unborn : 
 
 He sang ere we could speak: 
 His life, as pure as nascent morn, 
 
 Tho' wild winds blew, and bleak. 
 We mourn him. Aye, the man who led 
 
 Our minds to depths most deep 
 Shall have our love, tho' life has fled, 
 
 And we are left to weep. 
 
 October 8, 1892. 
 
 123 
 
Edward Everett J-lale. 
 
 His word -simplicity frown'd pomp to shame, 
 
 And homely thoughts yield, 'neath his 
 pen, pure gold : 
 He sought not, yet it found him out, glow'd 
 fame : 
 
 And truth of spirit marked each tale he 
 told. 
 His was the story-teller's art : and plain 
 
 The inspiration that controll'd his mind : 
 His was the glory that can know no wane: 
 
 And his the satisfaction good men find. 
 He wrote in words that shone with honesty: 
 
 He breathed his love for God in ev'ry line : 
 He taught us love of country as best he 
 
 Was able — his love bordered the divine ! 
 
 124 
 
Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
 
 Her practis'd hand struck chords of pas- 
 sion'd wealth : 
 Her repertoire — the gamut of the soul — 
 Was swept with grand effect. The forced 
 stealth 
 Of thought play'd 'round her lyre, and to 
 control. 
 She sang her heart-songs, sweet, to airs 
 that all 
 Who know that pow'r within themselves, 
 may feel : 
 She sounded to the dormant clay the call 
 Of passion, strung to notes of purpose, 
 real. 
 To her the thanks of reawaken'd hearts 
 Are due. Her lays of faultless-molded 
 fashion 
 Will live in future days, and play their parts 
 When dust remains of the Poet of Pas- 
 sion. 
 
 125 
 
(Miscellaneous 
 
A Prpeumatological Query. 
 
 Oh, tell me, ye spirits who rove at the bid 
 
 Of a Spirit in majesty 'rayed, 
 In a world from the sight of earth-lorn men 
 hid, 
 
 Where One, Prajapati, is obeyed : 
 Do ye efforts note Veda's light to increase 
 
 Of truth-seekers here on earth below ? 
 We abjure our souls their vain struggles 
 surcease : 
 
 But yet but unrest have we to know. 
 
 Oh, tell me, ye souls who from earth-scenes 
 have fled 
 To lands where conception Sruti knew : 
 Will the hopes, prized immortal, fore'er be 
 dead — 
 The hopes that did with joy life imbue ? 
 We mortals, short-sighted, see with finite 
 eyes : 
 
 129 
 
Reason, likewise dwarfed, pierces no 
 more : 
 Will Immortality's star, acronic, rise 
 
 At Death upon a golden-sheen'd shore ? 
 
 130 
 
Christmas.. 
 
 'T is Christmas time ! 
 
 The joy-bells chime ! 
 And merry voices, singing. 
 
 Recall to earth 
 
 The Saviour's birth — 
 New life to mortals bringing. 
 
 Each glad yule-tide 
 
 The whole world, wide, 
 Wi.h laughter sets to ringing! 
 
 While in the skies, 
 
 We may surmise, 
 Angelic choirs are singing. 
 
 The icy flow 
 
 The brook-elves know 
 Is stopped, and, o'er it flinging 
 
 A mantle, white, 
 
 Com^s in the night 
 Old Kris, with bells a -jingling. 
 
 13a 
 
The cold wind, blown 
 O'er graves, moss-grown, 
 
 Makes music 'mongst the dead : 
 Among the boughs 
 Bad sprites carouse 
 
 Noisily overhead. 
 
 O, joyous day, 
 
 For once portray 
 To these weak hearts of our& 
 
 That day of days 
 
 When Him we praise 
 Came, in the land of flowers I 
 
 And shepherds, wild, 
 
 The infant Child 
 Beheld, with reverent love v. 
 
 While Cherubim 
 
 And Seraphim 
 Sent blessings from above*. 
 
 132 
 
" ''92 apd '93. M 
 
 Slowly across the mount of Time 
 
 Two trav'lers wend their way: 
 Carefully, painf'ly, up they climb, 
 
 For one is old and grey. 
 The other, a fair, bright-eyed youth, 
 
 With merry, dancing eye, 
 Minds not the wearv climb — forsooth, 
 
 The Old One soon must die. 
 They sight a mile-stone far ahead : 
 
 The Grey Beard sees his end : 
 A few more rods of road they tread, 
 
 And then is reached the bend. 
 On one side of the stone, they knew, 
 
 Altho' they could not see, 
 Were cut the figures, u '92 '' — 
 
 On th' other, u '93. "■ 
 A parting shake : a far-reach'd sigh : 
 
 They part — each to his own — 
 The elder's day has come to die : 
 
 The youth's to walk alone ! 
 
 133 
 
The Poet's ]V[ake-up. 
 
 r T is not the faculty to rhyme, 
 
 Tho' quaint may be the though t r 
 That makes the poet of our time, 
 
 By whom great things are wrought.. 
 'T is not the gift to tell a tale 
 
 In measured, flowing verse — 
 To write in words that never fail, 
 
 For better or for worse. 
 
 It is the pow'r to sympathize 
 
 With Nature in her moods : 
 To read the thought in violet eyes, 
 
 And in the cloud that broods 
 With features, low' ring, sullen, black,. 
 
 O'er landscape, beast and man, — 
 To linger in the tempest's track, 
 
 And therein find God's plan.. 
 
 ^34 
 
Destiny. 
 
 NOW. 
 
 When present scenes are ripe with gloom 
 And sadness, 
 
 We think the future years have room 
 For gladness : 
 
 Nor thought of youth's departed bloom- 
 Gay madness ! 
 
 THEN. 
 
 We retrospect the flight of years 
 
 And paining, 
 And see, as now, the self-same fears 
 
 Restraining 
 Our hopes and joys : but with sad tears 
 
 Complaining. 
 
 *35 
 
Unreality. 
 
 These beauteous things we often touch, 
 
 And handle with delight — 
 Are they all real? We love them much 
 
 Yet oft they fade from sight. 
 A loved one's kiss may be bestowed : 
 
 As one the hearts respond ; 
 IndifFrence comes : takes its abode, 
 
 And withers Love's gold frond. 
 
 136 
 
Waiting. 
 
 I wait, and wait, and wait — for what ? 
 
 For favored Fortune's smile ? 
 Or for the passing of some spot 
 
 From off my life's sun-dial ? 
 Yes, that is it : my light is hid 
 
 Beneath a bushel's gloom : 
 I hither go at Fancy's bid — 
 
 Devoid of Hope's bright bloom. 
 
 A melancholy person — I, 
 
 Who joy personified 
 In those bright days, now long gone by, 
 
 And live now self to chide ? 
 But I am waiting. As I wait 
 
 To hear my joy-bells ring, 
 I fancy that a pard'ning Fate 
 
 May take back ev'rything. 
 
 Why can I never have heartsease 
 Growing about my nest ? 
 
 137 
 
But God's ways do not always please r 
 E'en if they turn out best. 
 
 The darken'd cloud may yet reveal 
 A silver lining's sheen : 
 
 Now o'er my mem'ry voices steal — 
 Her fields are ever green. 
 
 138 
 
Thought. 
 
 The day in long, gray shadows merges into 
 
 early night, 
 And, nestward bound, on leaden wing, the 
 
 weary birds take flight ; 
 Dark shadows fall athwart the sky : the sun 
 
 has ta'en his leave : 
 And moon and stars the firmament with 
 
 suVry glimm'rings cleave. 
 The laborer, his day's work done — a happy, 
 
 sensual clod ! — 
 Is home, with wife and little ones. Yes, 
 
 let him thank his God 
 That golden dreams of wealth and fame do 
 
 not beset his heart ! 
 Content, he eats his crust and drinks that 
 
 for him set apart. 
 Would that I might escape an hour from 
 
 thought of what has been : 
 And, in oblivion, forget all — forget all, e'en 
 
 my sin ! 
 
 '39 
 
Forget that e 1 er I loved and wooed — but 
 
 loved and wooed in vain — 
 Forget that happiness is gone : forget e'en 
 
 to complain ! 
 'T is twilight hour, and I 'm alone — alone : 
 
 yes — but for Thought ! — 
 Would that my guest would now depart, 
 
 with all the train he brought ! 
 I fear too oft I sought his face when first 
 
 he came : his stay 
 Bids fair to be a lengthy one — forever and 
 
 a day. 
 
 i 4 o 
 
To a Iiittle Cr;ild. 
 
 Kind Heaven sends a sunbeam, now and 
 then, 
 Dispersing clouds of sorrow, joy-defying, 
 Dispelling tears and mundane sounds of 
 sighing, 
 And gladdening the souls of sin-starved 
 men. 
 
 Fill'd with the freshening vigor of the morn, 
 With smiles for those who seldom know 
 
 but tears : 
 Unconscious of the coming troublous 
 years — 
 Exuberant, and free from cares, unborn. 
 
 i 4 i 
 
Beyond the Tears. 
 
 There are times when the light seems to die 
 in our lives, 
 And we turn, for relief, to the grave : 
 And we write in the tome of our tear- 
 blurr'd archives 
 These few words : " Soul, look up, and be 
 brave ! " 
 And we see naught ahead but the sad grind 
 of years, 
 With their tale of distress and defeat : 
 But we smile, tho' the hope-light is wet 
 with our tears, 
 When we think that in Heav'n is rest", 
 sweet. 
 
 T^ere are times when our hearts to no joy- 
 songs respond : 
 When life's whole deaden'd is, blank and 
 
 sere : 
 142 
 
But we see, thro' the lift of the veil, that 
 beyond 
 Which our sorrows but make us to near. 
 Oh, how glad is the thought, tho\ at times, 
 't is forgot, 
 That our hearts we must leave here below : 
 For the sin they contain would but sad all 
 our lot 
 Should we bear them above when we go. 
 
 H3 
 
Thrice Happy \ie. 
 
 Thrice happy he whose soul responds 
 
 To songs of minor key ! 
 Who never knew Ambition's bonds : 
 
 Again, thrice happy he ! 
 A master, unrelenting, stern, 
 Whose fires are never quenched, but burn 
 Forever, in that crucial urn, 
 
 The heart ot man, once free. 
 
 Thrice happy he who, in content, 
 
 Laughs loud at carping Care ! 
 With soul on present pleasure bent, 
 
 And sadden 'd moments, rare, 
 He feels no longings after Fame, 
 Nor wish to make for him a name: 
 His heart ne'er knew the gods 1 hot flame,. 
 
 Nor depth of soul-despair. 
 
 i 44 
 
A Query. 
 
 When this corporeal frame of mine. 
 
 Now full of life as nectar'd wine, 
 
 Is from man's vision laid away 
 
 Till earth shall claim the God-lent clay — 
 
 Will any one pause at my bier 
 
 To say : " A friend I loved lies here ! " 
 
 And will my virtues be recalled 
 
 By those whom Friendship's ties enthrall'd ? 
 
 Will any one my sleep regret ? — 
 
 'T is but the payment of life's debt 
 
 Contracted ere I knew birth's fact, 
 
 Or subscribed to the fatal pact ! 
 
 Will any human call me friend 
 
 When mundane things shall have an end? 
 
 And will the love I bear for one 
 
 Make soft that heart when life is done ? 
 
 H5 
 
While on the H°°k fountain. 
 
 I wandered to the mountain-side, 
 
 To seek out mind-repose, 
 And looked down on the Hudson's tide, 
 
 Just as it ebbs and flows. 
 I scaled the beetling precipice, 
 
 And from that lofty seat 
 I looked far down the deep abyss, 
 
 Where wind and waters meet. 
 
 I went on, where the gnarled oak 
 
 Stood, in gaunt majesty, 
 And listened as the waters spoke, 
 
 And told strange tales to me. 
 I heard the tree-tops sigh and creak, 
 
 As in the wind they swayed : 
 I gazed far up the topmost peak, 
 
 And then down shaded glade. 
 
 I picked the May-bells as they grew 
 
 Among the rocks and moss, 
 146 
 
And violets, of azure hue, 
 
 Made heavier my cross. 
 I spied a rock shaped like a chair, 
 
 And there sat as I wrote, 
 While bending, from my seat, mid-air, 
 
 O'er many a passing boat. 
 
 I dreamed and dozed and dozed and 
 dreamed, 
 
 As Nature urged to rest — 
 And yet she never fairer seemed 
 
 Than from my eyrie nest. 
 The hawk and eagle spread their wings, 
 
 And far beneath me flew : 
 Yet — tho' above terrestrial things — 
 
 I was above them, too. 
 
 147 
 
Thanksgiving. 
 
 So many blessings crowd our path, 
 
 So rich with full fruition, 
 We scarce feel their sweet aftermath r 
 
 Appreciate their mission. 
 With joys familiar we become, 
 
 Nor see in them God's working: 
 In duties, tho' they be hum-drum, 
 
 We find but means for shirking : 
 We see the sunshine all the earth 
 
 With cheery hues adorning : 
 And oft our hearts, when dead to mirth,. 
 
 Respond to naught but mourning. 
 And Nature's beauties crown the lot 
 
 Wherein God willed our living, 
 And yet His mercies are forgot — 
 
 Our hearts are unforgiving 
 Toward some one of human-kind 
 
 Who may, perchance, have wronged us. 
 
 Why cherish hatred in the mind 
 
 i. 4 s 
 
When God with love has thronged us ? 
 We fail to see, behind some cloud 
 
 Of woe, to us appearing, 
 Souhstrength or beauty, God-endow'd, 
 Which, by that cross, we 're nearing. 
 God's purposes we cannot pierce 
 
 With finite understanding, 
 And oft behind a tempest, fierce, 
 
 Lies safety, notwithstanding, 
 We see but blackness in our way : 
 
 In sorrow seems our ending : 
 But God will send a hope- fraught ray — 
 
 His love, from Heaven bending. 
 With malice toward no fellow man, 
 
 Freely all wrongs forgiving, 
 Render to God the most you can — 
 
 A love- laden Thanksgiving. 
 
 »49 
 
A Jlallowe'ei? Recipe. 
 
 Hurrah for to-night ! All Hallowe'en 
 
 Is thrown upon the gay world's screen. 
 
 For choice, red apples let us "bob," 
 
 While damsels gaze, with anxious throb, 
 
 Into the mirror for a sight 
 
 Of males with whom their vows they '11 plight. 
 
 On tip-toe let us stand, and try 
 
 To bite that apple, stringing high. 
 
 To giddy girls : water and salt 
 
 Swelled in your peachy cheeks will halt 
 
 The apparition of your spouse. 
 
 Leered pumpkins, hung from quiv'ring; 
 
 boughs 
 Of yonder fecund chestnut tree, 
 Cause elves to dance in ghoulish glee. 
 Then gather 'round the cheery fire, 
 And, as the flames mount higher, higher,. 
 Ghost stories tell, till faint ones fear 
 1150 
 
A spectre may, e'en now, be near. 
 When to your bed you make your way, 
 And, kneeling, for each loved one pray, 
 Do not, because 't is over, grieve, 
 But wait till next comes " Holler Eve." 
 
 151 
 
Spring Apostrophizes. 
 
 I 'm Gentle Spring, the hated bane 
 
 Of editors, who seek, in vain, 
 
 To kill off poets, who declare — 
 
 Those chaps, you know, with jungle hair- 
 
 That sunshine never seemed more bright 
 
 Than since I sprang from Winter's night. 
 
 I 'm Gentle Spring — you know me well — 
 For me agonic raptures swell : 
 I 'm shunned by poets of fair fame, 
 But yet I " get there, just the same.'' 
 Queen Summer springs from out my lap : 
 But Summer is n't " on the map ! " 
 
 I 'm Gentle Spring : the printer swears 
 Whene'er my name in " copy ' : stares 
 Him in the face. Perhaps the thought 
 Of iced cream that must soon be bought, 
 With other sweet commodities, 
 Compels his marrow, lean, to freeze ! 
 152 
 
I 'm Gentle Spring— what 's that : " a truce ? " 
 You all consign me to u the deuce " — 
 Tell me to " get to blazes out ! " 
 In tones a long way from devout ? 
 All right: just wait until next year, 
 And you the self-same song shall hear ! 
 
 153 
 
Thg Dram. 
 
 Great orchestras, with swelling chords ; 
 
 Crude savages, with noise of gourds ; 
 
 Brass bands, each piece of sounding kev 
 
 Bass viols, fusing ecstasy ; 
 
 Tom-toms, with noisy, dull-toned beat ; 
 
 Guitars, with musing sonance sweet ; 
 
 Shrill fifes, that pierce the list'ning ear ; 
 
 The tuba-horn, to blow which beer 
 
 Is needed to enforce the wind ; 
 
 Reverb'rant reeds of eastern Ind: 
 
 Piano-forte, arpeggios-fraught ; 
 
 ^Eolian trills, by Amphion taught ; 
 
 And melting sweeps of zither, soft 
 
 As by Euterpe borne aloft ; 
 
 The rattling ring of banjo thrum ; 
 
 The sound-majestic roll of drum — - 
 The drum ! The drum S 
 From whose depths come 
 
 Those martial tones to which succumb 
 
 '54 
 
The cav'ling fears faint manhood knows, 
 And send, to battle 'whelming foes, 
 Brave hosts, 'gainst which naught can op- 
 pose. 
 The faintest hearts at once become 
 The bravest at the sound of drum ! 
 
 >55 
 
Tr^e Judge's Decision. 
 
 A local daily did me the honor to submit the verses 
 received in an inter-State Christmas poetry contest,, for my 
 decision thereon, which is here appended : 
 
 Dear Mr. Editor: You ask 
 
 Of me a most brain-racking task. 
 
 When I next on your kind impose 
 
 With stilted verse, may these eyes close! 
 
 I once thought my villanelles brought 
 
 Joy in the sanctum — wonders wrought 
 
 Among those who, by cruel Fate, 
 
 Must therein for subscribers wait. 
 
 But, since you 've asked me to partake 
 
 Of sufferings yours: Fame's hot thirst slake: 
 
 Essaying to do that which you, 
 
 From time lost track of, have gone thro' — 
 
 Methinks I '11 ne'ermore versify. 
 
 Nor cause more editors to die. 
 
 Alas ! alack ! what breasts were beat 
 
 In many a sanctum's dark retreat ! 
 
 What cries of anguish rent the air ! 
 
 ('T was verily good I was not there ! ) 
 •56 
 
What curdling curses on my head ! 
 
 What loving things of me were said — 
 
 And all because my vagrant Muse 
 
 Their souls did not, as mine, enthuse! 
 
 The task assigned is delicate — 
 
 So many on my answer wait — 
 
 And criticisms will ensue 
 
 Soon as the victor 's brought to view. 
 
 Of merit there 's a modicum 
 
 In each verse, howe'er cumbersome 
 
 With useless anapaestic sounds : 
 
 Verse erstwhile played at hare and hounds : 
 
 Again, poor rhythm, scant'ly yoked 
 
 With thoughts by no means poor, invoked 
 
 My pity that the writer had 
 
 Not yet discerned 'tween good and bad. 
 
 First honors reach " A Christmas Star," 
 
 While " Santa Claus," the children's Czar, 
 
 Passes, for "place," beneath the "wire: " 
 
 All others vainly tuned the lyre. 
 
 '57 
 
That Quizzing Blizzard. 
 
 Ye bards who scale Parnassian heights, 
 Who know Olympia's fierce delights : 
 Ye hacks who woo the Muse o' nights : 
 
 Thrice palsied be the wing 
 Of flame poetic — Fate-fraught shaft ! 
 That stamps you stultified and daft : 
 The fetid inspiration quaff't 
 
 Of gentle, beauteous Spring! 
 
 Quaint Farmer Dunn, in jean attire, 
 Poured out the vials of his ire : 
 Discordant is the Spring-tuned lyre, 
 
 While falls the snow — ker-flump ! 
 Breathes there a man so lost to shame, 
 So careless of his own fair fame, 
 As 't write of Spring, in words of flame ? 
 
 That man 's a soulless chump ! 
 
 Just think ? — that storm of yesterday 
 
 158 
 
Has ta'en our trusting faith away 
 
 In Granger Dunn, of New York Bay, 
 
 Who made a bad u miscue." 
 A zephyr, fresh from Peary's fleet, 
 An Af ric simoon chanced to meet : 
 They places changed : the joke 's complex : 
 
 Let Spring begin anew. 
 April 12, 1894. 
 
 159 
 
Ineffectual Genius. 
 
 "The ineffectual genius of the nineteenth century, I 
 fancy, which betrays itself by strange incongruities and 
 contrasts of a violent kind, but is otherwise unproductive,"* 
 Mrs. Orton Beg whispered to Mr. Frayling, incautiously, 
 — The Heaveiily Twins. 
 
 Genius — and ineffectual ? 
 
 Can such as that exist 
 When God the intellectual 
 
 With glowing fire has kis't ? 
 Barren and fruitless gifts bestowed 
 
 When birth brought life's clear view : 
 Is this the fin de siecle mode 
 
 Of plenishing with new 
 The worn, a-wearied action-line 
 
 That Genius' nation knows — 
 Of marking out the arts' decline 
 
 To emphasize their close ? 
 
 Shall Muses speak to inchoate 
 And far unworthy minds, 
 
 Or shall they seek the old estate, 
 
 1 60 
 
Where lofty souls one finds ? 
 Shall thrill Euterpe's strains of might r 
 
 When none can feel their charms : 
 Or e'en the stars the blue bedight 
 
 When earth seeks Somnus' arms ? 
 Genius, whose flame can never flare, 
 
 Tho' oft thou art invoked. 
 Thy fire-tip'd shaft is ever bare — 
 
 Thy soul to genius yoked ! 
 
 161 
 
The Press. 
 
 From out the chaos of a world unknown 
 
 In parts to other parts ; 
 From out the noisy Babel, where alone 
 
 Prevails the din of marts : 
 From need that sprang from mind, un- 
 satisfied 
 
 By herald's meagreness : 
 Behold, a pow'r appears : nor yet belied 
 
 By name — behold, the Press ! 
 
 Its power ? To Niagara's foam-tip'd fall, 
 
 Add all earth's water-force — 
 The mighty Press, unfettered, is to all 
 
 As is old Ocean's course! 
 Ten million eyes this Argus hath, and 
 naught 
 
 Of worth, or small or great, 
 Eludes his observation, but is caught 
 
 For men's minds, news-belate. 
 
Men's wrongs, like sins unpunished, cry 
 aloud 
 For succor and redress : 
 And, championing the right, from Wrath's 
 dun cloud, — 
 Behold, the Press ! 
 Advancement, Progress, Light and Life, in 
 bold, 
 Bright caption its shield dress : 
 Might, Right are ever, truly thine — behold, 
 The Press ! 
 
 163 
 
Despair.. 
 
 Grim are thy shadows, O, Despair I 
 Grim are thy shadows — grim and bare I 
 Dark is the w T ay that leads to thee ! 
 Dark is the mind that pleads to thee ! 
 Black are the clouds that o'er thee dwell — 
 Black as the clouds that shadow hell ! 
 Deep the abyss that meeteth thee ! 
 Deep the heart-burn that greeteth thee 1 
 Dun is the pall that hides thy face ! 
 Dun is the fall from human grace ! 
 Dreary the path that knows no end ! 
 Dreary the souls who on it wend 
 Ways to the crypt of black Despair : 
 Ways to the shadows, grim and bare ! 
 
 Steeped in the mists of human hate ! 
 Steeped in the grists of 'pending Fate ! 
 Might lends to rage its doubl'd pow'r ! 
 Might rends the guage of troubl'd dow'r I 
 
Mighty the waves of fierce, foul scorn ! 
 Mighty the staves of curses born ! 
 Tragic the wild thoughts then that roll ! 
 Tragic the requiem of the soul ! 
 Damn'd, thrice, the heart that knows thy 
 
 blight ! 
 Daran'd, thrice, the man who knows thy 
 
 might ! 
 Grim are thy shadows, O, Despair! 
 Grim are thy shadows — grim and bare ! 
 
 165 
 
The Italian ]VIatcl? Boy. 
 
 " Please, buy some matches, lady, 
 
 No carry so much then ; 
 The road is long and dusty, 
 
 And nothing for me when 
 The day is done but to lay down 
 
 To sleep, beneath some tree : 
 Please, buy some matches, lady, 
 
 Buy matches, ma'am, from me ? 
 
 u A cruel man is my padrone — 
 
 He beats me till I 'm sore, 
 Because nobody buys a box — 
 
 Because I can't sell more. 
 Just see how clear the matches snap : 
 
 Take 'em — ten cents for three? 
 Please, buy some matches, lady, 
 
 Buy matches, ma'am, from me?" 
 
 Jjc * * *: 
 
 ki You be rich lady, madam, 
 
 v66 
 
Some day, for what you Ve done ! 
 Oh, thank you ! thank you, lady ! 
 
 And may your little son, 
 Who 's smiling in the window, 
 
 Never come down where he 
 Will have to peddle matches, 
 
 And tramp around, like me ! " 
 
 He kissed the woman's hand, and turned 
 
 To go out thro' the gate, 
 And, picking up his heavy load, 
 
 Altho 1 the hour was late, 
 He dragged himself along the road — 
 
 This creature, wan and wee — 
 And asked, at ev'ry door he stopped: 
 
 Buy matches, please, from me ? " 
 
 167 
 
Quatrains. 
 
 On Hist'ry's pages may be found 
 The life-blood of a Nation, dried : 
 
 Each tome, with heroism bound, 
 Shows love and valor close allied. 
 
 True manhood copies womanhood 
 In noble qualities of mind ; 
 
 The light of hist'ry shows the good 
 Not to the sterner sex confined. 
 
 The thirsty earth — her prayer to HeaVn 
 
 regarded — 
 Is glad, with voiceful gladness, not retarded 
 By aught of what has been : enhanced 
 
 thereby, 
 Her joy-pores ope : deliverance is nigh. 
 
 1 68 
 
Athens' Defection. 
 
 South Nyack, the intellectual, bon ton residence portion 
 of Nyack-on Hudson, voted, in 1894, through negligence, 
 against the annual appropriation requisite to its citizens en - 
 joying the privileges of the free library of the four Nyacks, 
 out, subsequently, made up the necessary amount by pri- 
 vate subscriptions. 
 
 South Nyack : 
 
 Paradigm of intellectual excellence — 
 
 Quad-Nyack's Hellenic purlieus — 
 
 Who repudiated the spirits of 
 
 Sainte Beuve, Shakespeare, Servetus, Shelley, 
 
 Eulwer, Bacon, Balzac, Bancroft, 
 
 Disraeli, Dana, Darwin, Demosthenes, 
 
 Pope, Plutarch, Poe, Paine, 
 
 Hoke Smith, Pod Dismuke, Dink Botts, 
 
 Jadam Bede, Muley Hassan, Larry Godkin, 
 
 And Col. Abe. Slupsky — 
 
 Sorra the day ! 
 
 Has the buffalo returned to his wallow, 
 
 Or the maudlin owl to her wisdom — 
 
 Which ? 
 
 Were the Library in her bourne, 
 
 169 
 
The very cobbles of South Nyack 
 
 Would cry out for the " free graft ! " 
 
 Such is blindness ! A cry 
 
 From Macedonian South Nyack : 
 
 '* Come and help us ! v 
 
 But we do n't help — 
 
 N'ary bit ! 
 
 Put up the "squidulum," ye cerebro-fatuous T 
 
 Who voted for light,* to guide 
 
 The blear eyed Bacchanalian home, 
 
 But not to lumine the abject psychic density 
 
 Of non-appreciative souls, 
 
 And in thy grasp the prize is. 
 
 Shades of Marcus Antoninus Aurelius I 
 
 Shall South Nyack claim eminence 
 
 As a foster-mother of teinturiers, 
 
 And list not to the wail for free books ? 
 
 Hardly, Sophelia ! 
 
 Put up the price, O, ye of many stamps, 
 
 And help Nyack to carry the banner ! 
 
 The electric light a ; propriation passed. 
 170 
 
R Retrospect. 
 
 I never see a little child 
 
 But I recall when I was young : 
 When childish romp my hours beguiled, 
 And Nature's God upon me smiled : 
 Before the reign of passions, wild, 
 
 Before Delilah's song was sung. 
 
 Be brave, dear one, before you feel 
 
 The fury of Sin's venom hurled 
 At thy pure breast, with intent, real, 
 And hatred for thy spotless weal : 
 Be strong, ere years of pain reveal 
 
 The wretched, wicked, woful world ! 
 
 .71 
 
Romping l^hyn?e. 
 
 Oh, the bouncing and the jouncing 
 Of the rhyme, of the rhyme ; 
 
 Oh, the rouncing and the flouncing 
 Of the rhyme, of the rhyme ! 
 
 There 's a mate for ev'ry word 
 
 In the brain of man that 's stirr'd — 
 
 Oft he rues it afterward. 
 
 When the editor calls " time ! " 
 
 Oh, the rolling and the bowling 
 Of the rhyme, of the rhyme ; 
 Oh, the souling and cajoling 
 
 Of the rhyme, of the rhyme! 
 
 How the poet oft must eke 
 
 Out a line with ancient Greek — 
 
 Wear his hair long, like a freak — 
 
 'T is sublime ! 't is sublime ! 
 
 Oh, the cooing and the wooing 
 
 Of the rhyme, of the rhyme ; 
 
 172 
 
Oh, the suing, black-and-bluing, 
 Of the rhyme, of the rhyme ! 
 How, with many a repetition, 
 Rolls the rhythm on its mission — 
 Doling out its sad fruition, 
 All the time ! all the time ! . 
 
 Oh, the soulful and the doleful 
 Of the rhyme, of the rhyme ; 
 
 Oh, the bowlful of "be-joyful" 
 Oft behind the flight of rhyme ! 
 
 Wild, erratic Allen Poe 
 
 Drew on Amontillado, 
 
 And he reaped a toper's woe, 
 Thro' all time ! thro' all time ! 
 
 Oh, the swishing of and fishing 
 For the rhyme, for the rhyme ; 
 
 Oh, the wishing and the squishing 
 Of the rhyme, of the rhyme ! 
 
When the poet's thoughts relax, 
 Spectral, stalks the Income Tax — 
 And he flees from its cold facts 
 
 T' another clime ! t' another clime ! 
 
 <74 
 
Surnrner Days fire On tf?e Wane. 
 
 There are signs we can no longer pass in- 
 differently by — 
 Signs of autumn, fast approaching, shadow- 
 ing Summer's last, long sigh. 
 Even now, to grace the table of Thanksgiv- 
 ing, gourmands gloat 
 At the thought that in the barn-yard fatt'n- 
 
 ing is the poly shote. 
 A precursor, sure, of fall-time is the 
 
 phcebe's mournful *' tweet ! " 
 As he reckons soon of Summer days will be 
 
 but mem'ries, sweet. 
 And the fields of bristling stubble, once 
 
 rolled high with lordly grain, 
 All emphasize that Summer 
 Days 
 
 Are 
 
 On 
 
 The 
 
 Wane. 
 
 i75 
 
Crickets soon their tireless grace-notes will 
 surcease, ere comes the fall : 
 
 And the "jug-o'-rums," in boggy morass,, 
 choke their glummy call. 
 
 E'en the " dog-days," low'ring sullen, frown 
 glad Summer's smiles to tears : 
 
 And the heated moderation tells that au- 
 tumn's column nears. 
 
 Back to haunts that through the Summer 
 knew them not, a sun-burned crowd 
 
 Troops from mountain, lake and valley y 
 and where Ocean murmurs loud : 
 
 For the days are shorter growing, and the 
 shadows on the pane, 
 
 All emphasize that Summer 
 Days 
 
 Are 
 
 On 
 
 The 
 
 Wane. 
 
 76 
 
With a sigh of depth, deep — mournful — 
 
 and a flow of lachrymge, 
 Summer girls give o'er their conquests by 
 
 the swelling, tearful sea ; 
 And, discarded belt and " bloomers," with 
 
 disgust, true, real, sincere, 
 Ribbon -counters hide the shins of beaux of 
 
 Narragansett Pier. 
 Soon the leaves, tergiversating color to the 
 
 season's tune, 
 Will return to earth the verdure spring-tide 
 
 begged of natal June. 
 Thoughts of next Spring's batch of verses, 
 
 driving rhymesters 'most insane, 
 All emphasize that Summer 
 
 Days 
 
 Are 
 
 On 
 
 The 
 
 Wane, 
 
 j 77 
 
When Old Age Comes On. 
 
 When your life is young, and promise makes 
 
 each thought a glad delight, 
 And the world seems pure and joyous : all 
 
 unknown is sin-hued blight ; 
 Ev'ry waking hour is gladness, ev'ry breath 
 
 is fraught with song, 
 And we cannot see why sorrow makes the 
 
 lives of some all wrong; 
 All your youthful days are given up to mirth 
 
 and romp and glee, 
 And you mind not premonitions of the 
 
 things that are to be : 
 But you waken at the moment when your 
 
 past life you must con — 
 Prepare for what is coming 
 
 When 
 
 Old 
 
 Age 
 
 Comes 
 
 On. 
 
 178 
 
Life may seem so full of smiles that tears 
 are better when unknown : 
 
 And the thing that time beguiles best cal- 
 culated to condone 
 
 For the day when sorrow's pinions cleaved 
 the air around your head, 
 
 And the peace of mind of yestermorn that 
 morning's sun found dead. 
 
 And you seek relief in worldly things — your 
 heart fill with their joy : 
 
 Fast forgetting not a golden moment but 
 has its alloy : 
 
 But you turn your eyes to Heaven, with its 
 glories your soul don — 
 
 Prepare for what will happen — 
 When 
 
 Old 
 
 Age 
 
 Comes 
 
 On. 
 
 179 
 
E'en Tho' It Be a Cross." 
 
 The stone church fronted on the street, 
 
 In architecture, grand ; 
 And many passed, with busy feet, 
 
 To meet life's great demand 
 For biead and wine : nor stopped to pray 
 
 In its inviting calm ; 
 No time to look to Heav'n had they. 
 
 Nor wish for its sweet balm. 
 The golden-glinting cross a-top 
 
 The buttresses of gray, 
 Rose high oVr fact'ry, hill and shop — 
 
 Its lesson to convey 
 To souls of men, whose lust for gold 
 
 Shut out all love for God. 
 The church pile heaped its ouilines, bold, 
 
 Aloft, on sacred sod. 
 
 Without the door a hydrant stood, 
 With tin cup hanging near, 
 
 1 80 
 
And many of the brotherhood 
 
 Of mankind halted here 
 To quench the thirst, by heat begot, 
 
 Or midnight's drunken crave, 
 Then dropped the cup and quick forgot 
 
 The benefit it gave. 
 A " tramp," in rags and tatters clothed, 
 
 By chance betook him there, 
 And drank the cup he often loathed. 
 
 For want of better fare. 
 The clear, cold liquor satisfied 
 
 The burning flame within : 
 It cleared his head and quelled the tide 
 
 Of thoughts, black, dark with sin. 
 
 And, as he turned his eyes above, 
 
 A gleam from off the cross 
 Brought back to mem'ry mother-love — 
 
 The old life, and its loss. 
 The prayer his mother murmur' d low, 
 
 When bowed he at her knee : 
 
 1S1 
 
" As 't is in Heav n, even so 
 
 Be it to mine and me ! " 
 Came to his mind, thro' mists of tears, 
 
 That blinded, as they fell : 
 How fruitless, since, the sadd'ned years. 
 
 The " tramp," alone, could tell. 
 O'ercome, he bowed his head and cried : 
 
 " Oh, God ! that, ere I broke 
 My mother's heart, I, too, had died ! " 
 
 Then sang he, as he spoke: 
 
 " Nearer, my God, to Thee, 
 
 Nearer to Thee ; 
 E'en tho' it be a cross 
 
 That raiseth me ! " 
 
 182 
 
Ii'Envoi. 
 
 Dear reader — comrade in distress ! — relief 
 
 Is thine and mine : for here 
 The finis is. I add this extra sheaf 
 
 That parting be less drear. 
 
 If I, perchance, have struck responding 
 chord 
 
 To that which knows thy breast, 
 And, in the unity of that concord, 
 
 Pleased thee, these lines are bles't ! 
 
 If aught of interest has marked my work : 
 If heart-response 't has stirr'd : 
 
 If joy, sincere, perusing, lay a-lurk 
 For thee, I bless each word ! 
 
 183