Monday ReVeries 
 
 ..and.. 
 
 Recollections. 
 
 By Ja.me» H. 6kll«s. 
 
Mondai; *RjsVeries 
 
 ..and.. 
 
 Recollections, 
 
 By Jamks H. Skiles, 
 
 Pastor of the Congregational Church, Farragut, lowi 
 
 .^ PKINTED FOR THK WOMAN'S GUILD. 
 
 30 
 
 Published by the 
 
 Author. 
 
 Farragut, Iowa, 
 
 1903. 
 
THI. LIBRARY OF 
 CONGRESS, 
 
 Tvvo Cepig* RecciyMl 
 
 MM 19 1903 
 
 I Copyright Entry 
 
 ffLASS (^ XXc. Na 
 
 COPY B. 
 
 Entered according to act of Congress, 
 year 1903, by James H. Skiles, in the office 
 Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 the 
 the 
 
Index. 
 
 Angels but folks.' Not, 
 
 •28, 
 
 An outing- with my boy. 
 
 o3. 
 
 At Cana, 
 
 2:1. 
 
 At Santiago, 
 
 57. 
 
 At the winriow. 
 
 42, 
 
 Baby, My, 
 
 49. 
 
 Beat'nst plan, The 
 
 30, 
 
 Bells of my childhocd, The 
 
 44. 
 
 Birds, A lesson from Llie, 
 
 54. 
 
 Boy, An outing with my. 
 
 53. 
 
 Brotherhood, 
 
 35, 
 
 By the Kiver, 
 
 50. 
 
 Castles of youth, 
 
 46. 
 
 Cathay, Our gift to old. 
 
 31. 
 
 Childhood, The bells of my, 
 
 44. 
 
 Child's appeal, A, 
 
 2o, 
 
 Christ came to church. When. 
 
 17. 
 
 Church, Our, 
 
 15. 
 
 Circus came to town, When the. 
 
 55. 
 
 Companionship, Spiritual. 
 
 27. 
 
 Deacon, The wise, 
 
 •>•) 
 
 Dedication. 
 
 9. 
 
 Dream, A preacher's, 
 
 21. 
 
 Entering the harbor, 
 
 41. 
 
 'Every cloud has a silver lining." 
 
 3(3. 
 
 Farmer, The retired, 
 
 39. 
 
 Giftto old Cathay, Our. 
 
 31. 
 
 Home, A journey. 
 
 37. 
 
 Houses and homes. 
 
 37. 
 
 Ideals, 
 
 34. 
 
 Ideal, The real and the, 
 
 3(5. 
 
 'I love each gift the seasons bring,' 
 
 (54. 
 
 Immortality, 
 
 26. 
 
 Influence, 
 
 35. 
 
 'In the day when thou art weary,' 
 
 41. 
 
 In the garden. 
 
 43. 
 
 Journey home. A, 
 
 37. 
 
 'Keep pegging away,' 
 
 59. 
 
 Lament, A, 
 
 56. 
 
 Laughter, 
 
 5L 
 
Index. 
 
 Maiden of '82, The, 
 
 47. 
 
 Mary and Martha, 
 
 24. 
 
 Ministering women. 
 
 11. 
 
 Monday rest. Summer, 
 
 14. 
 
 Monday rest. Winter, 
 
 13. 
 
 Monologue, The parson's, 
 
 ()1. 
 
 My baby, 
 
 49. 
 
 My boy, An outing with. 
 
 53. 
 
 My wild-wood friends, 
 
 m. 
 
 ]S^ot angels but folks. 
 
 28. 
 
 Orthodoxy of today. The. 
 
 32. 
 
 Our church. 
 
 15. 
 
 'Oiir lives, dear Lord and Master,' 
 
 3(3. 
 
 Outing with my boy. An, 
 
 53- 
 
 Parson's monologue. The. 
 
 HI. 
 
 Pictures of a saint. Two. 
 
 42. 
 
 Pleasure, The quest of. 
 
 3". 
 
 Prayer, 
 
 IS. 
 
 Preacher, A scholarly. 
 
 11). 
 
 Preacher's dream. A, 
 
 21. 
 
 Quest of pleasure. The, 
 
 37. 
 
 Real and the ideal. The, 
 
 30. 
 
 Retired farmer, The, 
 
 ,39. 
 
 Sabbath evening reverie. A, 
 
 Hi- 
 
 Saint, Two pictures of a. 
 
 42. 
 
 Santiago, At, 
 
 57. 
 
 Songs of the night. 
 
 52. 
 
 Spiritual companionship. 
 
 o" 
 
 Sunshine, 
 
 51. 
 
 'Sunshine' again. 
 
 (53. 
 
 Tangle, A, 
 
 ^b. 
 
 Two pictures of a saint. 
 
 42. 
 
 Vacation days, 
 
 ()4. 
 
 When Christ came to church. 
 
 17. 
 
 When the circus came to town, 
 
 55. 
 
 Wild-wood friends, My, 
 
 (iO. 
 
 Wise deacon. The, 
 
 22. 
 
 Women, Ministering, 
 
 11. 
 
 Youth, The castles of. 
 
 46. 
 
Dedication 
 
 I would each poem were a pearl, dear. 
 And pure beyond compare, 
 
 That. I might bind them lovingly 
 About your tresses fair. 
 
 1 would each poem were a gem. dear, 
 
 A jewel rich and rare. 
 That I might cast them at your feet 
 
 And tluis my love declare. 
 
 But take the little gift I bring, dear. 
 Although it be but slight: 
 
 My words but half express my thought. 
 Yet you will read aright. 
 
Ministering Women 
 
 Mark !5:40-4! 
 
 When of old the Master journeyed 
 
 On the hihs of (lahlee, 
 Or beside the coast of Jordan, 
 
 Or beside the inland sea. 
 
 Oft he grew both faint and weary 
 
 Midst the apostolic band, 
 For he had no houseliold comforts 
 
 Tlie dear gift of woman's hand. 
 
 Then a group of godly women. 
 
 Coming out of Galilee, 
 Followed him in lowly service 
 
 Till he hung upon the tree. 
 
 Skillful fingers wrought to please him. 
 Loving hearts did sympathize. 
 
 And his busy life knew comforts 
 Only women could devise. 
 
 Ah, their fame will live forever. 
 
 And where'er liis name is known 
 
 There'll be praise for those who cheered him 
 When he had no crown or throne. 
 
 As of old with tlie disciples. 
 
 So within the church today, 
 
 There are those wlio serve the Master 
 As a woman can and may. 
 
 Ever is her touch most gentle 
 
 And her spirit strong and bright. 
 
 While she helps us bear our burdens 
 And in helping finds delight. 
 
12 
 
 Here, today, we crown you. sisters. 
 
 With a crown of lieartfelt praise: 
 
 As of old you served the Master. 
 
 So you serve in modern ways. 
 
 Wlien tlie treasury is empty 
 
 And the men are sorely vexed, 
 
 Then you pray and plan and prosper 
 And refuse to be perplexed. 
 
 When your pastor needs assistance 
 
 In the work the church should do, 
 
 Then you heed his call for service. 
 For such calls appeal to you. 
 
 When some brother, bowed by sorrow, 
 Looks on life throug-h bitter tears, 
 
 Then to 3^ou he turns for comfort. 
 
 For the lielp that soothes and cheers. 
 
 Winter's cold chills not your ardor: 
 You ignore the summer's heat: 
 
 In the service of the Master 
 
 Faith like yours knows no retreat. 
 
 Your best deeds are oft forgotten 
 
 And your worth is little known. 
 
 But you'll find when life is over 
 
 That the Lord still loves his own. 
 
!3 
 
 Mondat; Rest 
 
 Winter 
 
 (live me a book, 
 A cosy nook. 
 And a "Sleepy Hollow'* chair: 
 Tlien let me read 
 Tliat I may speed 
 To a country far and fair, 
 Wliere fancy holds the mind in thrall 
 
 With charms tliat never fail, 
 While v^^e, with Cooper, once more trace 
 
 The Red man's hidden trail; 
 Or, with the Wizard of the North 
 
 Tread some far highland vale: 
 Ah, there a score of friends will come 
 And each to tell some tale: 
 So, free from care. 
 Away I'll fare 
 To rest me there. 
 
 Still on ni speed 
 The while I read 
 In my "Sleepy Hollow" chair. 
 Still borne along 
 On wings of song 
 To a country far and fair, 
 Where poets of Columbia 
 
 Their richest treasures bring; 
 Where England's sweetest voice repeats 
 
 The Idylls of the King; 
 Where Scotland's bard, by all beloved. 
 
 His choicest songs will sing: 
 
 Where melody is full and free 
 
 As bird songs in the spring: 
 
 So, free from care. 
 
 Away I'll fare 
 
 To rest me there. 
 
14 
 
 JMondat; H^est 
 
 Summer 
 
 • In a shady nook 
 I lie and look 
 At the shadows so cool and deep— 
 At the shadows under the trees 
 Where the indolent stimmer breeze 
 Is languidly falling asleep: 
 
 I look where a beauteous band 
 Live afar from the world's unrest, 
 Where, near me, in lovliness dressed, 
 
 The dearest of wild-flowers stand: 
 
 For the violet yonder grows, 
 And the bonny blue-bell is near: 
 There the buttercup blinks, and here. 
 
 On this hill, blooms many a rose. 
 
 In this shady nook 
 I lie and look 
 At the timorous wild-wood folk: 
 Catch a glimpse of a thrush 
 Darting out of the brush, 
 While some blackbirds rest on an oak: 
 
 Here the meadow-lark comes ofttimes 
 And the quail builds her nest anear: 
 Here the robin calls out, "Good cheer I" 
 
 And the bobolink sings his rhymes: 
 
 From the brook leaps upward the trout: 
 The squirrels look down from the trees. 
 While, nearer than any of these, 
 
 The rabbits are running about. 
 
()\:\i iio.Miv 
 
15 
 
 In this shady nook 
 I lie and look 
 Far up where the summer breeze, 
 With a softly murmuring- sound, 
 Whicli whispers and floats around, 
 Is waving the tops of the trees; 
 
 I look up to the deep blue sky 
 Where each moment a vision brings 
 Of some bird which, on tireless wings, 
 
 Passes swiftly, silently by; 
 
 I look up where a cloud, afloat— 
 A beauteous cloud of white mist 
 With center of dark amethyst- 
 Sails by, an etheral boat. 
 
 i^^^^i 
 
 Our Church 
 
 Though every place be hallowed ground. 
 
 Where good men are expressing 
 Their faith and love, yet we have found 
 
 This church of God a blessing; 
 For oft we tarry here for rest 
 
 A¥hen we are worn and weary 
 Till, free from care, we onward fare, 
 
 Nor find the world still dreary. 
 
 Oft here our trembling faith grows strong. 
 
 While truth all doubt is slaying; 
 Oft here our hopes burst into song— 
 
 The blest result of praying: 
 So still we'll seek within these walls 
 
 Our God, and bow before him, 
 Since it is sweet for friends to meet 
 
 Together to adore him. 
 
16 
 
 Ji Sabbath Evening ReVerie 
 
 1891-1901. 
 
 Within the church at close of day 
 
 (My Sabbatli toil is ended.) 
 In solitude I muse and pray, 
 
 By memory attended. 
 
 This sacred spot my fancy moves: 
 
 (The silence is impressive.) 
 The past, recalled, all fear reproves. 
 
 All care that is excessive. 
 
 A quiet hour I'll linger here, 
 (The daylight is departing.) 
 
 For well I know what will appear, 
 From out the darkness starting. 
 
 Soft voices seem to come and go: 
 (The wind moans in the steeple.) 
 
 I hear an echo, faint and low. 
 As of a host of people. 
 
 And still more clearly I discern 
 (The weary world is sleeping.) 
 
 The forms of those for whom I yearn 
 Who've long been in God's keeping. 
 
 A congregation now I see 
 (Blest gift of retrospection.) 
 
 Who, in the past, have given me 
 Their trust and true affection. 
 
 Thus while I muse on scenes long past 
 
 I gain new inspiration 
 To till the days, now fleeing fast. 
 
 With Christlike ministration. 
 
 The church of God is marching on: 
 I'll welcome each new duty; 
 
 And, e'er like others, I am gone 
 I'll clothe my soul in beauty. 
 
17 
 
 When Christ Came to Church, 
 
 Once on a time, 
 
 Long, long- ago. 
 Sweet bells did chime 
 
 And priests did go 
 Up to their church one Sunday. 
 
 And loud they prayed, 
 
 And loud they sang, ' 
 And then one made 
 
 A long harangue 
 Within that church on Sunday. 
 
 Across the wold, 
 
 A stranger lame 
 And weak and old, 
 At twilight came 
 Into that church that Sunday. 
 
 With lowly mien. 
 
 He begged for bread: 
 The priests, serene, 
 The old man fed 
 Within their church on Sunday. 
 
 And then, at that — 
 
 O wondrous sight! 
 From where he sat. 
 Celestial light 
 Transformed their church that Sunday 
 
 The priests bowed low 
 
 In glad surprise, 
 For all did know, 
 
 Though strange the guise. 
 Whom they had fed that Sunday. , 
 
 They cried, "O Lord, 
 
 We do entreat. 
 With one accord, 
 
 That thou wilt meet 
 With us in church each Sunday. 
 
All legends say— 
 
 And none protests— 
 
 That, from that day, 
 A g'lor rests 
 Upon that church each Sunday. 
 
 This story old 
 
 To me doth say, 
 "When love grows cold 
 
 Do not delay 
 To meet with Christ on Sunday 
 
 In modern life. 
 
 Full oft we bear 
 Some marks of strife 
 
 Or marks of care 
 Into our church on Sunday. 
 
 Thy glory, Lord, 
 
 No longer hide: 
 And this accord: 
 
 Whate'er betide, 
 Still meet with us on Sunday. 
 
 Prayer, 
 
 What is prayer, my brother, tell meV 
 What is prayerV 
 
 '"Tis the trustful heart's expression 
 
 Of its hopes and fears: 
 'Tis the story of transgression, 
 
 Told with shame and tears: 
 'Tis a plea for God to guide us 
 
 All along our way. 
 And for grace to still provide us 
 
 Help from day to day." 
 
 Is then all we seek in prayer. 
 
 Pardon and release from careV 
 
>9 
 
 "Nay. 'Tis oft the heart's outpouring- 
 
 Of its wealth of love, 
 While, by faith, the spirit, soaring-. 
 
 Dwells with God above; 
 'Tis all trouble's transmutation 
 
 Into perfect peace; 
 Tis a God ward aspiration; 
 
 'Tis the soul's release." 
 
 ^^i$S:ir-i 
 
 Ji Scholarly Preacher, 
 
 (With all necessary apologies to Tennyson's Owl.) 
 
 The men are busy in the town 
 
 With sweat of brow and toil of brain 
 They all work hard for earthly gain, 
 
 Though some may smile and some may frown; 
 
 But,— 
 
 Alone and nursing his five wits 
 The preacher in his study sits. 
 
 The mothers of the selfsame town 
 
 Are seldom free from household care: 
 Though some few heavy burdens bear, 
 
 And some deserve a martyr's crown: 
 
 Yet,— 
 
 Alorie and nursing his five wits 
 The preacher in his study sits. 
 
 The children of the busy town 
 
 Oft need to hear the voice of friend 
 Rebuke, encourage, or commend, 
 
 Lest some temptation drag them down; 
 
 Still,— 
 
 Alone and nursing his five wits 
 The preacher in his study sits. 
 
20 
 
 He dwells within the busy town 
 
 But, like a monk, he dwells apart: 
 Ere from his books he must depru-t 
 
 He hopes to win a fair renown: 
 
 And so,— 
 
 Alone and nursing- his tive wits 
 The preacher in his study sits. 
 
 \11 day he hides among his books. 
 
 ■ Communing with the good and great: 
 From where he lives in peaceful state 
 On toiling men he seldom looks: 
 
 For.— 
 
 Alone and nursing his five wits 
 The preacher in his study sits. 
 
 He shrinks from tales of human joy, 
 
 Much more for tales of bitter tears; 
 He cares not for the plans and fears 
 
 Which common hands and hearts employ: 
 
 For still,— 
 
 Alone and nursing his tive wits 
 The preacher in his study sits. 
 
 Ah. preacher of the word of God, 
 
 Flee not the tumult and the strife: 
 The lowly walks of common life 
 
 Thy Lord himself has often trod: 
 
 For.— 
 
 He never in his heaven sits, 
 Alone and nursing all his wits. 
 
 Ui> 
 
2t 
 
 ji Treacher's Dream, 
 
 A preacher sat in his study; 
 
 He was weary and ill at ease; 
 His sermon long had detained him, 
 
 Yet he feared that it would not please. 
 
 He knew that the people were cultured; 
 
 Some were wiser by far than he, 
 For there were teachers and lawyers 
 
 And some others of high degree. 
 
 He thought of standing before them 
 With a message they might disdain; 
 
 For, Oh! the truth was so wondrous, 
 And his sermon so crude and plain. 
 
 And while he sat there, thus thinking, 
 On his eyes broke a vision bright; 
 
 He saw, within it, unfolding, 
 A rich glory of wondrous light. 
 
 And still it grew and unfolded— 
 
 That strange glory both deep and broad- 
 While, to and fro, in liis vision 
 Swept the sound of the praise of God. 
 
 And loud and louder the music 
 In rich harmony rose and fell. 
 
 While bright and brighter the glory 
 Wove around him its mystic spell; 
 
 Till, from that vision supernal. 
 Came the voice of the Lord to say, 
 
 "Arise, and go as my servant; 
 1 will teach thee to preach and pray." 
 
 And, lo, the voice of the Master, 
 
 Who abides in celestial light. 
 So thrilled that preacher with rapture 
 • That it put all his fears to flight. 
 
22 
 
 And then the vision receded: 
 It grew faint in both tint and tone: 
 
 The dreamer woke from liis dreaming- 
 In his study he sat alone. 
 
 Yet oft he thinks of tliat vision — 
 Of tliat glory both deep and broad — 
 
 And feels he serves as have others. 
 In the very presence of God. 
 
 Today the learned all praise him. 
 
 For he speaketh the word they need: 
 The poor and lowly all love him. 
 
 For he helpeth in every deed. 
 
 $^5€$^^ 
 
 The Wise Deacon. 
 
 The gloomy wintry day was o'er 
 
 And stormy was the night, 
 But in the house across the way 
 
 The fire glowed warm and bright. 
 And there the de con sat alone 
 
 With his beloved gramophone. 
 
 Within the spell of that machine 
 
 All troubles were forgotten, 
 For mystic powers, as of old. 
 
 Of music were begotten. 
 The good man's brain had ceased to throb. 
 
 His bones had ceased their aching: 
 He was like one who sleeps and dreams 
 
 And not like one who's waking. 
 O, happy deacon I there alone 
 
 With yoiu" beloved gramophone. 
 
 i 
 
Z3 
 
 The cares of life would come again 
 
 When slowly dawned the morrow, 
 For none can ever quite escape 
 
 Life's common toil and sorrow; 
 But wise is he who has the knack 
 
 Of casting- off all care 
 And speeding- far to peaceful scenes- 
 
 His palace car a chair. 
 'Twas thus the deacon sat alone 
 
 With his beloved g-ramophone. 
 
 ^■5S€$-$ 
 
 At Carta, 
 
 Recall the tale 
 How the wine did fail 
 
 At Cana, at the marriag-e-feast; 
 How the Lord that day, 
 In his own kind way. 
 
 The scanty store of wine increased. 
 
 Ah, wonderous power! 
 
 Without fruit or flower. 
 The limpid water changed to wine: 
 
 And the wine so made 
 
 Without nature's aid 
 Excelled the product of the vine. 
 
 For what occurred? 
 
 How reads the Word? 
 "Behold!" the ruler, smiling, cried, 
 
 ''This last-drawn wine, 
 
 I do opine, 
 Is best of all thou dost provide." 
 
24 
 
 - In j^outh's glad day, 
 
 So brig-ht and gay. 
 Life is a bountiful repast: 
 
 And yet, I say, 
 
 'Tis God's good way 
 To keep the best until the last. 
 
 Then let the years 
 
 Bring smiles and tears, 
 Bring days of peace and days of strife. 
 
 Away with fears I 
 
 For heaven nears 
 And richer grows the wine of life! 
 
 4^-5es^$ 
 
 Mary and Martha. 
 
 By the side of the Lord >tood Martha of old, 
 And she brought him the best of her store: 
 
 Thus for years she had served the dear Lord who 
 deserved 
 All her wealth, all her service, and more. 
 
 At the feet of the Lord sat ;Mary of old 
 
 And her spirit, though loving, was still, 
 
 For some wonderful word, which he spake and she 
 heard, 
 Through the depths of her being did thrill. 
 
 Very dear to the Lord was the gift of the hands 
 
 But yet dearer the gift of the heart 
 And, though Martha served well, yet did Mary excel, 
 
 For He said that she chose ''the good part." 
 
25 
 
 Ji Child's Appeal 
 
 My little lad, you seem perplexed: 
 Your merry heart, I fear, is vexed; 
 Shall I not help you with your taskV 
 With sparl<:ling eyes he turned to ask, 
 "O, will you be my 'friend-mate'?' " 
 
 Your "friend-mate," dear? Indeed I will: 
 For you I'll use my utmost skill: 
 And yet the task's not hard to do 
 Exeept for little lads, like you: 
 
 And I will be your friend-mate. 
 
 Dear Lord, before thy face I bow, 
 A child, and oft perplexed; but Thou 
 Are not confused by human strife, 
 Nor wearied by the cares of life: 
 
 Wilt Thou not be my friend-mate? 
 
 The task, so great, so hard, for me. 
 Is neither hard nor great for thee: 
 O elder brother, more than man, 
 I'll do my task— I only can— 
 
 If Thou wilt be my friend-mate. 
 
 "Peace, peace," saith Christ, "Whyshoulds't 
 
 thou fear? 
 I've called thee friend, and I am near." 
 Life's pathway shines before me bright; 
 I'll serve my God and do the right 
 
 Since Christ is e'er my friend-mate. 
 
 
26 
 
 Imtnortaiity. 
 
 "That solemn hour in which, for tliose who have gone be 
 fore and for us who are to follow, the eye of sense behoUls 
 naught save the ending of the world, the enterance upon a 
 black and silent eternity, the eye of faith declares to be the 
 supreme moment of a new birth for the disenthralled soul, 
 the introduction to a new era of life compared with which 
 the present one is not worthy of the name." 
 
 John Fisk in "Life Everlasting." 
 
 Since death is but a second birth. 
 From immortality on eartli 
 
 The Lord dehvered us. 
 Tliougli age is near and youth is far, 
 We murmer not, for now we are 
 
 Content to have it tlius. 
 
 We greet tlie years as tliey fiy fast 
 To mingle with the mighty past — 
 
 We greet them with a smile. 
 Our years are few and soon we'll be 
 Rejoicing in eternity. 
 
 So we can wait awhile. 
 
 Amid our earthly toil and care, 
 Some heavy burdens we must bear 
 
 We cannot understand; 
 But, as we slowly onward plod. 
 We rest upon the arm of God, 
 
 Who's always near at hand. 
 
 In dreams, a feast their hopes provide 
 For travelers o'er deserts wide 
 
 Beneath the starry dome; 
 And so our faith now makes us rich 
 While, night by night, our tents we pitch 
 
 A day's march nearer home. 
 
'n 
 
 We know our God and will not fear 
 Though one hy one should disappear 
 
 The friends who make life sweet: 
 To greet them not, 'tis sadly strange— 
 But, in that land where comes no change. 
 
 We all, once more, will meet. 
 
 Spiritual Companionship. 
 
 Alone we seem to walk through life, 
 Yet are the angels near us; 
 
 And, in the hour of pain or strife, 
 All lovingly they cheer us. 
 
 If day or night we are afraid. 
 We know they are beside us: 
 
 For they are sent to lend us aid 
 Whatever may betide us. 
 
 Amid the world's confusing din 
 
 They silently direct us: 
 And when we falter, fighting sin, 
 
 They mightily protect us. 
 
 They come unseen our steps to guide. 
 E'en from our life's beginning; 
 
 From day to day they still abide 
 To save us all from sinning. 
 
 From year to year they persevere 
 
 In seeking our salvation. 
 Till we, by grace, before God's face, 
 
 Become a new creation. 
 
 Shall angels thus abide with us 
 
 From evil to preserve us, 
 While friends from earth of human birth 
 
 Forbidden are to serve us? 
 
y,8 
 
 They are not seen and yet, 1 ween. 
 
 No power iTOiri tliem can cleave us: 
 With weh-known skUl, from some sore ill, 
 
 O oft they do relieve us. 
 
 We cannot hear their words of cheer 
 Yet well we know their message. 
 
 For oft we feel an impulse steal 
 Upon us. like a presage. 
 
 They are not dead! They have not fled! 
 
 They tarry to uphold us: 
 With thoughtful eyes and whispers wise 
 
 Their arms in love enfold us! 
 
 "Not Angels, "But Folks." 
 
 We are told that when "Father Taylor,'" the celebrated 
 sailor missionary, of Boston, lay dying a friend reminded 
 him that angels were present and that he soon would see 
 them. The dying man aroused himself and replied, "I don't 
 want angels, I want folks!'' 
 
 John Fiske, in "Life Everlasting," says, "We are all agreed 
 that life beyond the gi-ave would be a delusion and a cruel 
 mockery without the continuance of the tender household 
 affections which alone make the present life worth living." 
 
 You tell me when 1 come to die the angels will draw 
 
 near 
 To bear my spirit home to God, and thus you seek to 
 
 cheer; 
 You tell me they are bright and fair, and mighty to 
 
 protect 
 Through changes strange and journeys far, the souls 
 
 of God's elect; 
 You tell me they are waiting near to bear my spirit 
 
 home 
 
29 
 
 To that far land of life which lies beyond the starry 
 dome; 
 
 You tell me that forever there with angels I'll 
 abide. 
 
 And never more will sorrow come nor any death be- 
 tide; 
 
 But, oh! my spirit longs to know, as nears the part- 
 ing hour, 
 
 If death will break the bonds of earth and rob our 
 love of power. 
 
 The mystic stream is wrapped in mist; I cannot see 
 across; 
 
 If there my friends are mine no more, how can I 
 bear the lossV 
 
 So tell me not of angels fair in this my hour of fear, 
 
 Although they've come at God's command and now 
 are waiting near; 
 
 But tell me of the friends I love; all other speech 
 forbear; 
 
 Oh tell me of the friends 1 love I Will they not meet 
 me there 
 
 Within that land where death comes not and part- 
 ings are no moreV 
 
 Shall we together live for aye upon the further 
 shore? 
 
 Shall we together praise and serve the God whom 
 here we love? 
 
 He gave us to each other here— will he do so above? 
 
 I soon must speak my last farewell— is it forever- 
 more? 
 
 Or shall we meet and greet again upon that further 
 shore? 
 
 Sad spirit, bid your fears depart nor fear to trust 
 your God: 
 
 Recall how Jesus loved his friends while here on earth 
 he trod. 
 
 He loved His friends as you love y^ours; He loved them 
 to the end; 
 
 He understands your cry of fear; you shall not lose 
 one friend. 
 
30 
 
 For He created hiinum love which binds us heart to 
 
 heart 
 And, though He may let sorrow come, will ne'er i<;eep 
 
 us apart. 
 True love is an immortal thing, it will not, can not 
 
 die; 
 So rest in peace and trust your God: all will be w^ell 
 
 on high. 
 
 ''The Beatnst Plan/' 
 
 A few years ago, a plan popularly known as the "Beaton'" 
 plan for the relief of our home missionary treasury, was 
 widely discussed. This plan proposed that each small coun- 
 try church should purchase a few acres of land, adjoining 
 the parsonage, for the use of its pastor. It was argued that 
 by cultivating this land he could lessen his expenses and in- 
 crease his income and thus bring the greatly longed-for re- 
 lief to the home missionary treasury. 
 
 This plan will beat the preacher. 
 Whatever he may do; 
 
 'Twill beat him in the pulpit 
 And in the market too. 
 
 'Twill beat him in the study; 
 
 'Twill beat him in thefleld; 
 For neither brains nor acres 
 
 Will give a lialf a yield. 
 
 The corn will beat the sermon, 
 The sermon beat the corn. 
 
 And both will beat the preacher 
 The preacher all forlorn. 
 
 But "how can man die better 
 Than facing fearful odds." 
 
 As lowly farmer-preacher, 
 Apostle of the clods? 
 
Ah, yes, 'twill beat the preacher— 
 Those acres half a score— 
 
 And all for want of money 
 
 From wealth's abounding store. 
 
 O, men with gold and silver, 
 
 Your brother needs your aid. 
 It is a waste of manhood 
 To change the pen for spade; 
 
 It is a waste of manhood 
 To hoard today your gold, 
 
 When fields are white to harvest 
 And victories foretold. 
 
 God gives to each his talents; 
 
 To every man his work: 
 The preacher will not falter; 
 
 Beware you do not shirk. 
 
 Our Gift to Old Cathay. 
 
 The last farewells were spoken 
 And then they sailed away 
 
 Far out upon the ocean 
 
 Toward the shores of old Cathay. 
 
 O bright the sun above them. 
 
 And bright the sparkling spray, 
 
 For, after years of study. 
 
 They'd soon be in Cathay. 
 
 Some found the ocean voyage 
 
 A dreary, weary way; 
 They smiled and said to others, 
 
 "How near seems old Cathay." 
 
32 
 
 Full soon their journey ended 
 And there, one gladsome day. 
 
 Began, with hearts o'erflowlng. 
 Their work for old Cathay. 
 
 The years brought toil and burdens- 
 And happier still grew they, 
 
 For 3^ears of service deepened 
 Their love for old Cathay. 
 
 But now our heai'ts are heavy 
 
 For there one dark, dark day. 
 They fell before the heathen — 
 
 Our gift to old Cathay. 
 
 Ah, sorely, sorely, miss we 
 The two who sailed away: 
 
 So gladly, blithely, left us 
 
 For tlie sake of old Cathay. 
 
 The Orthodoxy of Todat;, 
 
 Some theologians of the past — 
 
 Or so we read in history — 
 Such hosts of proof-texts had amassed. 
 
 They bowed before no mystery. 
 
 Some dogmas of the early days 
 
 Were far beyond all reason. 
 While serving God in untried ways 
 
 Was little less than treason. 
 
 Some mighty conflicts once were fought — 
 
 By men of high ambition— 
 To prove by whom God 'sword was taught 
 
 According to tradition. 
 
33 
 
 Once men accepted as the truth 
 Whate'er old age did hahow, 
 
 For foUy stih abode with youth 
 
 And ah new views were shallow. 
 
 By its decrees and creeds, the church 
 Ail fields of truth had covered; 
 
 Then who but fools would fondly search 
 For what liad been discovered? 
 
 Once Godly men were oft contemned 
 For liopes we all now cherish, 
 
 Vv^hile heretics were oft condemned 
 For strange beliefs to perish. 
 
 Once all men found witiiin their creeds 
 
 Their making or undoing, 
 While courts recked not of Christlike deeds 
 
 Or mercy's gentle wooing. 
 
 Today we humbly own that truth 
 Is often clothed in mystery, 
 
 And comes at times in garb uncouth— 
 Or so we read in history. 
 
 No scorn have we for those who doubt: 
 
 No hate for men mistaken; 
 If but their spirit be devout, 
 
 And evil ways forsaken. 
 
 We still believe that since God spake 
 Through men whom be inspired, 
 
 The "way of life" none can mistake 
 If that's what is desired. 
 
 In modern phrase, some write their creeds, 
 And some express theirs quaintly: 
 
 In either case we ask for deeds 
 To prove that men are saintly. 
 
34 
 
 For theologians are but men 
 
 And oft have been mistaken; 
 
 So heretics we call them when 
 The Godly life's forsaken. 
 
 The orthodoxy of the heart, 
 
 With richest blessings pregnant, 
 
 In church, and home, and busy world 
 Today is plainly regnant. 
 
 1 
 
 Ideals. 
 
 His greatest vision no man can paint. 
 
 For, while hands grow weak and spirit faint, 
 
 His conceptions mock his skill; 
 Though long he work and with keen desire, 
 Though fame may beckon and love inspire, 
 
 Yet his dream eludes him still. 
 
 His grandest sermon no man can preach, 
 For it's far beyond the power of speech 
 
 To interpret mind and heart; 
 Since words are weak and the tongue is slow, 
 Of both his thought and his spirit's glow 
 
 But a hint can he impart. 
 
 His sweetest carol no man can sing. 
 Though he pray for skill to make it spring 
 
 Like a lark upon the air; 
 As a bird that fears it may be caught, 
 It hides in the thickets of his thought 
 
 Where he hears its voice so rare. 
 
 A true man strives but he often fails. 
 And, though neither toil nor prayer avails 
 
 To attain his heart's desire, 
 Yet will he not, though he may bow low. 
 His highest, holiest, hope forego 
 
 While his heart bids him aspire. 
 
35 
 
 Influence, 
 
 A pebble 1 give to the ocean wide; 
 
 As it sinks from my sight, 
 
 How I wish that I might 
 Now journey afar witli its wavelets as they 
 To the coasts of all countries go circling away. 
 
 1 speak a kind word to a friendless man; 
 
 Ah, the gift is but small, — 
 
 "But a breath," is that allV 
 No word can be lost in the gulf of the past; 
 The results it achieves will forevermore last. 
 
 1 utter a prayer for a child in pain; 
 
 Soon the prayer dies away,— 
 
 "But a wish," shall I sayV 
 No prayer can be lost mid earth's turmoil and 
 
 strife, 
 For all prayer is endowed with perennial life. 
 
 My service I give to the world today; 
 
 Though the gift may be small. 
 
 Yet I gladly give all. 
 For that which we fully and freely now give 
 Tn the hearts of our fellows forever will live. 
 
 'Brotherhood. 
 
 I sit in a quiet corner 
 And watch the crowd go by 
 With a whirl and a rush, 
 With a push and a crush; 
 And would 1 be in it? 
 Not I! 
 
36 
 
 And still from 1113^ quiet corner 
 
 I watch the crowd go by 
 With a cry and a groan, 
 With a wail and a moan: 
 
 And who brings it comfort? 
 Shall IV 
 
 No more from a quiet corner 
 I'll watch the crowd go by. 
 For I'm off in the rush, 
 In the midst of the crush. 
 To live for my brothers: 
 Good bye. 
 
 The B^eal and the Ideal. 
 
 Ask me not to pause or wander, 
 
 Ye who love the real. 
 While up to the hill top yonder, 
 
 Beckons my ideal: 
 
 For I seek— will you receive it? 
 
 As you do, the real: 
 Though, by faith, I now perceive it 
 
 As my fair ideal. 
 
 Oiu' lives, dear Lord and Master, 
 Thine evermore shall be: 
 
 To work, or fight, or suffer. 
 As seemeth good to thee. 
 
 Every cloud has a silver lining. { 
 
 If w^e could only see it: | 
 
 Every life has a high ideal, 1 
 
 If we would only be it. f 
 

 OUR CHURCH. 
 
37 
 
 Houses and Homes. 
 
 The walls of a house may be builded of wood, 
 Its foundation of brick or of stone: 
 
 But a genuine home is an exquisite thing-, 
 For it's builded of heart-throbs alone. 
 
 The price of a house may be reckoned at once, 
 And be paid with a handful of gold; 
 
 But the price of a home very few can compute, 
 And that price they have never yet told. 
 
 The rooms of a house may be stately and grand. 
 Their adornment a triumph of art; 
 
 But all beauty of home is the final result 
 Of the toil of an unselfish heart. 
 
 A house may be burned, may be sold or exchanged, 
 IS'or the loss with one's peace interfere; 
 
 But the loss of a home— how it crushes the heart! 
 For our homes we all love and revere. 
 
 Of houses, a man may possess many scores. 
 
 Yet his poverty lead to dispair; 
 While an honorable man, in a home of his own, 
 
 Must be counted a true millionaire. 
 
 A Journet; Home, 
 
 or 
 
 The Huest of Pleasure. 
 
 For years I had searched for pleasure 
 And had never ceased to roam, 
 
 But my heart at length convinced me 
 That my quest should lead me home. 
 
38 
 
 So, one clear cold day in winter, 
 
 To strange scenes I bade good-bye 
 
 And sought the home of my childhood 
 Which lay 'neath a southern sky. 
 
 Full many a day I journeyed 
 
 O'er fields deep-covered with snow 
 
 And o'er the plains where the cactus 
 And the lowly sage-bush grow, 
 
 Till I came upon a valley 
 
 Where all was forlorn and dead, 
 Tho' far in the west lay cities 
 
 Built of purple, gold and red. 
 
 While far to the south were highlands 
 With peaks of mountainous height, 
 
 Whose crests, snow-capped by the winter. 
 Were resplendent in the light. 
 
 And still, as I journeyed southward 
 
 Across that valley forlorn. 
 In the sky was rarest beauty 
 
 Though the earth had scarce a thorn. 
 
 And when in the west the glory 
 Grew dim in the ev'ning sky 
 
 Like a thousand thousand candles 
 All the stars came out on high. 
 
 Said one, "We hSve crossed the valley 
 And the hills are near at hand," 
 
 Then I thought, "Not far beyond them 
 Breaks the waves upon the strand; 
 
 And there, where the ocean's murmur 
 Is an anthem sweet and low, 
 
 'Mid a sea of orange-blossoms, 
 
 Stands the home I long for so." 
 
39 
 
 The earth grew darker about me, 
 The stars shone brighter above, 
 
 And I fell asleep, while thinking, 
 And dreamed of the home I love. 
 
 When they called me in the morning 
 We had crossed the mountains o'er. 
 
 And the freshness of the springtime 
 Was the garb the whole earth wore. 
 
 O sweet was the air with fragrance, 
 
 For flowers were everywhere: 
 My heart was light as the heart of 
 
 A child, for my home was there. 
 
 Ah, blessed was that home-coming 
 
 At the dawning of the day, 
 And sweet was my true love's greeting, 
 
 "You have now come home to stay." 
 
 Then my heart was filled with pleasure. 
 
 Though my lips, through joy, were dumb; 
 
 For, there, in the early morning, 
 T he end of my quest had come. 
 
 The JK.etired Farmer. 
 
 An old man sat in his easy-chair; 
 And happy was he 
 As happy could be, 
 
 For his heart was light 
 And his spirit bright. 
 And he did not have a care. 
 
 At peace he sat in his easy-chair; 
 While near at his side, 
 The crown of his pride. 
 
40 
 
 Sat the woman who, 
 All his long life through, 
 Had e'er helped him to do and dare. 
 
 "My son, "quoth he,"here, beneath the trees, 
 I've oft told 3^ou how, 
 By sweat of your brow, 
 
 You must till the soil 
 Till, by patient toil, 
 You have earned your hour of ease." 
 
 "But, son, "quoth he, "e'er the daylight flees, 
 Seek wealth that endures 
 And hope that matures 
 
 When the daylight fails, 
 And no help avails 
 To prolong your hour of ease.'" 
 
 And still he sat in the cool fresh air, 
 Till, sinking low, 
 The sun did throw 
 
 On the western sky 
 Its daily good-bye: — 
 Then he slept in his easy-chair. 
 
 And there he sleeps underneath the trees. 
 E'er night had begun 
 His day's work was done. 
 O, his faults were few, 
 And his heart beat true, 
 For a nobler manhood one seldom sees. 
 
 And oft I think of him sitting there 
 And greeting the night 
 With spirit so bright. 
 
 When he fell asleep, 
 In repose so deep, 
 I scarcely could weep- 
 When he died within that chair. 
 
41 
 
 Entering The Harbor. 
 
 O deep is the blue of tlie evening sliv 
 Where a liglit fleecy cloud floateth slowly by. 
 And the world is as still in this hour of rest 
 As a babe fast asleep on its mother's breast, 
 For the wind went down with the sun. 
 
 At dawn came a tempest from out the east, 
 And its force and its fury each liour increased; 
 But the tempest passed by and the world had rest 
 When the sun sank from sight in the glowing west, 
 For the wind went down with the sun. 
 
 Tonight I am watching beside a friend 
 While the day of his life draweth near its end. 
 For long years he was driven and tempest-tossed 
 Like a ship in a gale which is almost lost — 
 But the wind went down with the sun. 
 
 Tonight, for my friend, there is peace at last, 
 For his moments are numbered and flying fast. 
 In the harbor the waves sing about each prow, 
 And he's just at the mouth of the harbor now 
 When the wind goes down with the sun. 
 
 In the day when thou art weary, 
 
 Burdened with life's toil and care; 
 
 When thy path is lone and dreary. 
 And no sunshine shineth there; 
 Then to Jesus turn and pray 
 And he'll cheer thee on thy way. 
 
42 
 
 Two Pictures of a Saint. 
 
 At tKe Wirvdow. ■ 
 
 J 
 
 Our grandma was knitting— ! 
 
 Sitting and knitting— \ 
 
 When tlie spirit of dreaming came o'er her, ' 
 
 And tlie scenes of lier youth came before her. ' j 
 
 Now are idle her fingers, ] 
 
 While with pleasure she lingers \ 
 
 Amid scenes of a far distant day, , 
 
 And with friends who are far, far away. j 
 
 Today it is snowing— j 
 
 Blowing and snowing— | 
 
 And the short wintry day is so dreary, : 
 
 And the world of the cold is so weary, i 
 
 That I long for the coming \ 
 
 Of the days of the humming ; 
 
 Of the bees, and the scent of the rose, i 
 
 And the calm summer evening's repose. ] 
 
 But grandma is dreaming— ! 
 
 Seeming, while dreaming. 
 
 To be far from this wintry day's storming; ' 
 While the pictures her fancy is forming. 
 
 By each welcome presentment, ' 
 
 Bring an added contentment j 
 
 To the heart which still bears its full share J 
 
 Of life's wearisome labor and care. | 
 
 All day she's been knitting— I 
 
 Sitting and knitting— \ 
 
 And the smile and the words which endear lier | 
 To her children and all who come near her, 
 
 Have allayed all repining; 
 
 While her spirit, entwining 
 Round our hearts with a loving constraint, 
 Has revealed her once more as our saint. 
 
1 '"" 
 
 / 
 
 1' -s. 
 
 9 
 
 f > 
 
 \ 
 
 i / 
 
 \ 
 
I 
 
43 
 
 In TKe Ga^rderv. 
 
 Beside an odd, old-fashioned garden, 
 Lives a friend wliom I call a saint: 
 
 Although, like the flowers you see there, 
 S:i3 miy seem very queer and quaint. 
 
 But there is peace within that gaiden, 
 With its pinks and its marigolds, 
 
 For, hark! how the birds are all singing, 
 And not even the blue- jay scolds. 
 
 Sometimes we walk that path together— 
 
 That path by the tall hollyhocks- 
 Till my lieart is as free from worry 
 As that lily the breeze now rocks. 
 
 Ah, how I love that odd old garden. 
 And that peaceful, trustful, old saint, 
 
 Who so often talks of (xOd's goodness 
 And yet never makes a complaint. 
 
 Her tranquil faith in God is constant 
 As the stars which shine up above; 
 
 And, after a talk in her garden. 
 Then I too can rest in his love. 
 
 I know her flowers are old-fashioned 
 And her manners queer and quaint: 
 
 But I'm glad that when cares annoy me 
 I can walk and talk with a saint. 
 
 ^^9«^tfr 
 
44 
 
 The "Bells of My Childhood. 
 
 The bells of my childhood,— 
 
 I hear them still ringing 
 When memory wakens 
 
 And backward is winging 
 Its flight to the days 
 Where the summer delays: 
 Once more, while I mxiise, 
 
 Half-awake, and yet dreaming, 
 The scenes of the past 
 
 Before me come streaming. 
 O memory's sweet bells! O childhood's sweet bellsl 
 Ye come like an angel who trouble dispels. 
 
 The bell on the school house,— 
 
 I hear it now ringing, 
 While youth o'er the landscape 
 A glory is flinging, 
 
 And fancy runs fast 
 Far into the past: 
 O loudly tonight. 
 
 With hearts that are swelling. 
 We hark to the tales 
 
 Its clamor is telling. 
 O memory's sweet bells! O childhood's sweet bells! 
 How loudly tonight your melody swells! 
 
 A harsh bell is clanging 
 
 And breaks on my dreaming: 
 Its clamor and banging, 
 
 Though only in seeming. 
 Recalls a great fire. 
 Rising higher and higher: 
 Once more I'm a boy. 
 
 And, dignity spurning. 
 
45 
 
 I rush to the place 
 
 Where buildings are burning. 
 O memory's sweet bells! O childhood's sweet bells! 
 The tumult of life your echo now quells, 
 
 The sleigh-bells of winter,— 
 
 I hear their gay jingling. 
 
 While fair cheeks are glowing 
 
 And fingers are tingling: 
 
 But, though the winds blow. 
 We rejoice in the snow: 
 Tonight each bright eye 
 Is merrily shining. 
 While hope round each heart 
 Is lovingly twining. 
 O memory's sweet bells! O childhood's sweet bells! 
 All fear from my heart your jingling expels. 
 
 The bells of the steeples,— 
 
 Once more they are swinging 
 And over the valley 
 
 Their melody, ringing. 
 
 Recalls the dear ways 
 Of the old Sabbath days: 
 How sweetly each bell. 
 
 From out its own steeple. 
 Re-echoes God's grace 
 
 And love for his people. 
 O memory's sweet bells! O childhood's sweet bells! 
 What stories of joy your harmony tells! 
 
 The bell in one steeple 
 
 Is now slowly tolling. 
 And over the valley 
 
 The sad tidings rolling 
 
 Of hearts bowing low 
 With a burden of woe: 
 
46 
 
 Look up, stricken ones, 
 
 And cease from your weeping: 
 Christ rose from the dead, 
 
 And we're in his keeping. 
 O memory's sweet bells! O childhood's sweet bells! 
 Release from all troubles your music foretells. 
 
 The Castles of Youth. 
 
 Oft I've seen in my travels 
 Many buildings uncouth, 
 
 But today I've been thinking 
 Of the castles of youth. 
 
 In the sky I've seen cities— 
 Which no longer exist— 
 
 Which were built at the dawning 
 Out of sunshine and mist. 
 
 So the glow of life's morning 
 O'er the world the light flings 
 
 And, behold, a gi"eat castle 
 From the earth quickly springs. 
 
 But it fades from the vision 
 E'er the day is far spent, 
 
 And we turn to our dwellings 
 In prosaic content. 
 
 Ah, our hopes were once glowing 
 And our future was bright 
 
 When we dwelt in those castles 
 With their beauty bedight. 
 
 Where our feasts were so dainty 
 And our pleasures so rare 
 
 And each loving companion 
 Was so witty and fair. 
 
47 
 
 That the moments flew past us 
 Like a bird in swift flight 
 
 Till our castles all perished 
 Like a dream of the night. 
 
 Added years bring new lessons 
 From the world's treasured lore, 
 
 But the loss of youth's castles 
 We will always deplore. 
 
 And tonight I've been longing 
 For my lost youth again 
 
 That my fancy might lead me, 
 As it often did then, 
 
 Far away from all burdens — 
 To a dreamland, forsooth — 
 
 Where I'd rest and refresh me 
 In the castles of youth. 
 
 The Maiden of '82. 
 
 She's only a little maiden 
 
 Of the class of '82, 
 But dainty and sweet, and graceful and neat, 
 
 To the tip of her tiny shoe. 
 
 This morning I failed in each lesson 
 
 But what, oh, what, can I do? 
 Whatever I read, I can only heed 
 
 That maiden of '82. 
 
 The teacher may scowl and continually growl, 
 
 But I see no help. Do you? 
 Unless they remove, which I could not approve. 
 
 That maiden of '82. 
 
48 
 
 Some day I'll propose for she's sweet as a rose, 
 
 And her heart, I'm sure, is true; 
 And white as the snow is the soul, I know, 
 
 Of that maiden of '82. 
 
 Her eyes are bright as the stars of night, 
 And they're deep as its deepest blue; 
 
 They twinkle with fun, and then I'm undone 
 By that maiden of '82. 
 
 Her eyes elude every glance that's rude, 
 But I've found them loving and true; 
 As bright as a dream, their depth is extreme. 
 Their beauty supreme, wlien love is our theme- 
 Dear maiden of '82. 
 
 L'cnvoy. 
 ('20 Years Later.) 
 
 And now for life she is my wife, 
 For she let me win as well as woo; 
 
 And I still admire my boyhood's desire, 
 The maiden of '82. 
 
MY BABY 
 
49 
 
 My Baby. 
 
 In his love so deep and tender 
 
 God makes good things to abound, 
 
 But a sweeter little blessing 
 
 Than my baby I've not found. 
 
 When we're gathered round the hearth-stone 
 And the lamp is burning bright, 
 
 Then to have a romp with papa 
 Fills him with supreme delight. 
 
 Tliere's a magic in his manners 
 
 Makes my old heart young and gay, 
 
 While he chatters like a magpie 
 In a most enchanting way. 
 
 When his bed time hour approaches 
 And his eyes are heavy grown, 
 
 He will whisper, "Now some 'tories," 
 In a low and sleepy tone. 
 
 Then within my arms he'd cuddle 
 In contentment most profound. 
 
 And a sweeter little blessing 
 
 Then my baby I've not found. 
 
 When I hear sharp voices striving, 
 In the mart and on the street, 
 
 How I wish all men had voices 
 Like my baby's low and sweet. 
 
 O, the jar and fret of commerce! 
 
 O, the noises, loud and shrill! 
 What relief comes in the twilight 
 
 When you all are hushed and still! 
 
50 
 
 Then this world's once more an Eden, 
 And my home its brightest spot 
 
 When I hear my baby talking- 
 Rarer music earth knows not. 
 
 Yes, I've known many pleasures, 
 And today they still abound; 
 
 But a sweeter little blessing 
 
 Than my baby I've not found. 
 
 'By the RWer. 
 
 We sat beside the river 
 
 One peaceful summer day, 
 And casting leaves on the water 
 
 We watched them float away. 
 
 The current, onward flowing, 
 Soon swept them out of sight; 
 
 We smiled, and said, "What an emblem 
 Of time's unceasing flight!" 
 
 But our hearts were light and throbbing 
 With love and hope and youth: 
 
 And, though we talked of the emblem, 
 We did not feel its truth. 
 
 So hand in hand we sat there 
 
 That peaceful summer day, 
 Nor knew that our happiest moments 
 
 Were slipping fast away. 
 
 Today I sit here gazing 
 Upon some floating leaves 
 
 While sorrow, round and about me. 
 Its spell of fancy weaves. 
 
51 
 
 The emblem — leaves and river- 
 Too well I long- have known; 
 
 For oft I muse by the waters 
 In silence and — alone. 
 
 Laughter. 
 
 J laughed with the woman today 
 To whom I have given my love: 
 And, behold! below and above, 
 The heavens grew light, 
 And the earth grew bright, 
 E'er the sound of our mirth died away, 
 When I laughed with the woman today 
 To whom I have given my love. 
 
 I laughed at the woman today 
 To whom I had given my love; 
 But, alas! as swift as a dove. 
 Which flies in great fear 
 When it sees danger near, 
 So my love, at the sound, fled away 
 When I laughed at the woman today 
 To whom I had given my love. 
 
 Sunshine. 
 
 I see from out my window, 
 A dozen times a day, 
 
 A merry little maiden 
 
 Beneath the trees at play. 
 
 Her hair is like the sunshine— 
 So yellow and so bright — 
 
 It glows within the shadows, 
 And glistens in the light. 
 
52 
 
 Her eyes are full of laughter, 
 
 Her lips are rosy red, 
 And in each childish motion 
 
 Sweet grace and beauty wed. 
 
 Her sister calls her "Dolly;" 
 
 Her mother, "Daughter mine;" 
 
 While I, her father, whisper, 
 
 "God bless my sweet 'Sunshine!' " 
 
 Songs of the Night. 
 
 In the gloom of the long sleepless night, 
 
 When the light 
 Of the stars is enwrapped in a shroud 
 Of black cloud. 
 Then I say to my heart, 
 
 "Do not start 
 In affright; do not fear; 
 God is here." 
 
 In the night when by sorrow oppressed 
 
 And distressed, 
 Oft I sing some sweet song of the night. 
 Though no light 
 In the heavens doth glow, 
 
 For I know 
 That the Lord doth abide 
 At mv side. 
 
 4 
 
MY BOY. 
 
53 
 
 An Outing With My'Bot;. 
 
 When work becomes a burden 
 Anfl little things annoy, 
 
 There's notliing quite so restful 
 As an outing- witli my boy. 
 
 We leave the world behind us 
 
 And wander far away 
 From all that would remind us 
 
 Of anything but play; 
 
 We talk of birds and tishes, 
 Of flowers and of trees; 
 
 We go where fancy wishes 
 As free as any breeze; 
 
 We seek tlie flowing river, 
 For all boys like to wade; 
 
 We watch the sunbeams quiver 
 In nooks of light and shade; 
 
 We hear the squirrels chatter 
 
 Away up in the trees, 
 While birds about us scatter 
 
 Their chirps and songs of ease; 
 
 But when the sun is sinking 
 
 We cease at length to roam, 
 For then we both are thinking 
 There's no place quite like home. 
 
 Yet when again come burdens 
 And little things annoy, 
 
 I'm sure to find refreshment 
 In an outing with my boy. 
 
54 
 
 Ji Lesson From The Birds. 
 
 The birds which fly up in the sky 
 
 And many miles away i 
 
 Where'er they roam yet find a home "| 
 
 When fades the light of day. j 
 
 When once again, for birds and men, : 
 
 The darksome night is done ; 
 
 With gay dispute and glad salute 
 
 They greet the morning sun. j 
 
 In shady lane, or sunny plain, 
 
 They are a merry throng j 
 
 Who, free from care, still fill the air i 
 
 With music all day long. 
 
 Whene'er I see, up in a tree, j 
 
 These merry little birds, 4 
 
 Awakens thought, too deep, I wot, ] 
 
 For shallow, idle words, ] 
 
 And then I sigh, I scarce know why, j 
 
 For something I know not, ^ 
 
 For joy more sweet than 1 can meet \ 
 
 In all that men have taught. j 
 
 If man would learn and could discern 
 
 The lesson nature teaches, ■ 
 
 All highest bliss he could not miss : 
 
 For not a bird but preaches. 
 
 But foolish man, do all they can, j 
 
 The birds cannot make wise i 
 
 Nor make him see this world may be j 
 
 A heaven of smaller size. \ 
 
55 
 
 When the Circus Came to ToWn, 
 
 Said neighbor Smith to neighbor Brown, 
 
 "I'd ruthr like to know 
 Ef all the people in the town 
 
 Air goin' to the show. " 
 
 "Said Deacon B, says he to me, 
 'The children begged me so 
 
 Jest onct to take them there to see— 
 I'm goin to the show.' " 
 
 "Said Mrs. C, 'I do not care 
 
 Fur circuses, but, oh. 
 To see the beasts! I do di^clare 
 
 I'm going to the show.' " 
 
 "Said Elder E, says he to me, 
 
 'I, too, must surely go. 
 To watch my strayin' flock, you see, 
 
 I'm goin' to the show.' '' 
 
 The children said," With all respect, 
 We'd like to have you know 
 
 To circuses we don't object; 
 We like to see a show." 
 
 Ji Tangle. 
 
 My young neighbor has a sister 
 And she lieard that I had kissed her 
 
 In the gloaming. 
 "By the stars that shine above her, 
 Will your fancies, now you love her, 
 
 Cease their roaming?" 
 
56 
 
 Then I rose and swore by heaven— 
 By the first and by all seven— 
 
 I adored her; 
 And to help me win her sister- 
 Here I stooped and gently kissed her- 
 
 I implored her. 
 
 Then my thoughts began a wrangle, 
 Weaving heartstrings in a tangle 
 
 Round each sister, 
 For I loved them both so dearly! 
 Ah, I saw it all too clearly 
 
 When I kissed her. 
 
 A Lament, 
 
 Ah, listen, friends, my tale is sad 
 
 My troubles your's surpass 
 For now, I see, to the end I'h be 
 
 The baby of the class. 
 
 In vain I strive to speak and move 
 
 As does no little lass. 
 Then comes the sting— the cruel fling— 
 
 "Dear baby of the class." 
 
 One day I was as dignified 
 
 As priests should be at mass 
 
 And then, in glee, they cried, "O see 
 The baby of the class!" 
 
 What though my teachers smile and say, 
 •'My dear, you always pass"? 
 
 Whate'er the gains the fact remains— 
 The baby of the class. 
 
57 
 
 They pat my head and cah me '"bright," 
 
 "A prodigy'' Alas! 
 
 As well be dead as hear it said,— 
 
 "The baby of the class " 
 
 Ah, well I know, my days of youth 
 
 In joy would quickly pass 
 If I were not — O piteous lot! 
 
 The baby of the class. 
 
 Our school boasts many a likely lad 
 
 And each one has his lass 
 But all, you see, jnst ignore me, 
 
 The baby of the class. 
 
 Today, forget, for once forget 
 The baby of the class, 
 
 And grant my plea that I may be- 
 Just a common school girl! 
 
 At Santiago. 
 
 We long had chased the vessels 
 
 Of the haughty Spaniard's fleet, 
 For they did not dare to tight us 
 And they beat us in retreat. 
 
 We built our ships for battle; 
 
 We were eager for the fray; 
 But like phantom ships they vanished: 
 
 They were built to run away. 
 
 At length within the harbor — 
 In behind Soroco's guns- 
 Rushed, in utter consternation, 
 All their ships of many tons. 
 
58 
 
 We waited on the ocean, 
 
 And they skulked within the bay; \ 
 
 We had come, you see, to meet them . | 
 
 And were sorry for delay. j 
 
 We kept our guns in order 
 
 And our fires burning- bright, 
 And we watched throughout the daytime 
 
 And we watched throughout the night . 
 
 We talked of Cuba's martyrs 
 
 And our friends upon the Maine, 
 And we vowed that we'd avenge them 
 
 On the sailor boys of Spain. 
 
 We heard, across the waters. 
 
 Faint and far, the Cuban's cry 
 In the restless ocean's murmur 
 
 And the night-wind's moan and sigh. 
 
 1 
 What if the war were ended— 
 
 And this our only fear — 
 E'er the foe we long had sought for 
 
 Could be tempted to appear? 
 
 This morning came the battle- 
 No! their flight and our pursuit — 
 
 When the guns all spoke in thunder. 
 Clear and loud and resolute. 
 
 The flash and roar of battle! 
 
 Oh, it was an awful sight 
 When the ships of Spain all perished 
 
 In the midst of headlong flight! 
 
 Tonight the staunchest vessels 
 
 Of the haughty Spaniard's fleet, 
 On the coast, lie dead and silent. 
 
 With a fog for winding sheet. 
 
59 
 
 Those wrecks along the coast line 
 Are all black and still and grim, 
 
 And the cup old Spain is drinking- 
 Has been tilled up to the brim! 
 
 The Lord who rules the nations 
 Holds that cup for her today; 
 
 It is he who bids her drink it 
 To her terror and disinay. 
 
 'Keep Pegging ylWay/' 
 
 Sometimes when tlie thought oi the 
 work still before us 
 
 Is a spectre by night ami a burden by 
 day 
 
 The words of "Old Abe" would quite 
 quickly restore us 
 
 If we'd honestly Jieed his, "Keep peg- 
 ging away." 
 
 Tlie care of a day — we will surely live 
 
 through it 
 If we'll trust in the right, as we 
 
 ought, as we may; 
 The task of a day — we can easily do 
 
 it 
 If we'll work with a will and keep 
 
 pegging away. 
 
 The tasks of a lifetime— each think- 
 ing man knows it- 
 Will not all come upon us in any one 
 
 day; 
 The cares of a lifetime the past 
 
 clearly shows it — 
 We'll endure if we'll only keep peg- 
 ging away. 
 
60 
 
 My Wild-Wood Friends. 
 
 I'm oft in a world of marvels 
 Since I've taught mine eyes to see, 
 
 And oft I hear in the wild-wood 
 Tales as strange as strange can be. 
 
 O I love, alone, to wander 
 And with eyes and ears to pry 
 
 Deep down into the mysteries 
 To be found beneath the sky. 
 
 Each flower and bird and squirrel 
 Has hopes and fears as have we 
 
 And each, for the love I bear him 
 Has told all his tale to me. 
 
 The flowers talk of the sunshine, 
 The dew, the breeze, and the storm 
 
 And then show for my inspection 
 Some rich color or rare form. 
 
 The birds are garrulous neighbors 
 Oft singing an hour through 
 
 Of nests, of fruits, and of berries, 
 And of what a bird can do. 
 
 The squirrels are fond of chatting 
 Of nuts, of trees, and of seeds 
 
 And of how 'tis well in autumn 
 To provide for winter's needs. 
 
 And then one dear little fellow— 
 And no doubt he thinks he's wise — 
 
 Will hold up a nut and crack it 
 To secure the hidden prize. 
 
Tlie birds oft g-ive me a lesson — 
 Tlie little venturesome things— 
 
 Of how the earth can not hold one 
 Who's blessed with a pair of wings. 
 
 The flowers, arrayed in buauty. 
 
 But without a hint of pride. 
 Still tell, as of old, the lowly 
 
 To trust the Lord to provide. 
 
 Ah, yes, 'tis a world of marvels 
 For those wh'« can see and hear, 
 
 And the sights and sounds of nature 
 Are lessons of trust and cheer. 
 
 The companionship she brings us 
 Has a charm that never ends. 
 
 If we'll meet our wild-wood neighbors 
 As a true man meets his friends. 
 
 The Parson's Monologue. 
 
 Dear wife, my heart is full tonight 
 Of g-ratitude and praise: 
 
 '•The Lord is good to all mankind. 
 And wondrous are his ways." 
 
 I did not thinli our people cared 
 Flow hard we toiled and prayed; 
 
 The years were flying fast, dear wife, 
 Ah, me— T was afraid, — 
 
 Afraid to work and wait and trust 
 The God we long had served. 
 
 The many blessings of this day 
 Are more than I deserved. 
 
62 
 
 'Twas surely for your sake, true wife- 
 No, let me have my say- 
 When doubts increased and fears oppressed, 
 You taught me how to pray. 
 
 Today your faith is proven true— 
 
 O wondrous is God's grace 1 
 "Behind a frowning providence 
 
 He hides a smiling face." 
 
 Yes, sing that good old hymn tonight 
 With voice, serene and strong. 
 
 The Lord is good, is kind and good, 
 And I have done him wrong. 
 
 How I've misjudged our people too. 
 
 Misunderstood their way: 
 But should I live to three-score ten 
 
 I'll not forget this day. 
 
 Now John can go to college, wife— 
 
 praise the Lord for tliat! 
 He'll walk the old familiar halls 
 
 And sit where I once sat: 
 
 He'll hear the old melodious bell 
 Which marks the passing hours; 
 
 He'll dream his dream, and poverty 
 Will not restrict his powers. 
 
 And you, dear wife, look young tonight, 
 
 As in your girlhood days. 
 When I rejoiced in your strong faith 
 
 And all your helpful ways. 
 
 I bless the Lord for friends tonight— 
 
 1 know I'm thankful too— 
 
 But most of all,— yes, come, dear one,— 
 I bless the Lord for you. 
 
63 
 
 **Sunshine" jigain, 
 
 Dorothy singeth, 
 Dorothy swingeth, 
 'Neath my window this calm siiiiimer day 
 And the gay 
 Roundelay 
 Which she singeth, 
 While she swingeth, 
 Is so full of the gladness of youth. 
 The joy of life's morning, forsooth. 
 That it tilleth my heart with delight 
 And putteth forebodings to flight. 
 
 Still she singeth, 
 
 Still she swingeth. 
 And 1 say, with a smile, "Little miss, 
 Tell me this, 
 Do you mivSs, 
 
 In your playing, 
 
 Tlie delaying 
 Of the joys other seasons will bring— 
 The winter, the autumn, the spring? 
 Do you dwell with regret on past sorrow, 
 Or fear the heartaches of tomorrow?" 
 
 So 1 perplex her— 
 Questioning, vex her— 
 Till the hint of a frown's on her brow. 
 "Tell me now, 
 Tell me how,^ 
 With your singing, 
 And your swinging, 
 You can chase every cloud from the sky- 
 Never grumble nor growl, as do IV" 
 Then she said— and her face was demure— 
 "Today we can play. I am sure." 
 
64 
 
 Wise little teacher, 
 Dear little preacher, 
 ^Neath my window now singing again: 
 All we men. 
 In the ken 
 Of our learning. 
 And the yearning 
 Of our hearts for life's joys, never yet 
 With wiser instruction have met, — 
 -'Do not dwell with regret on past sorrow- 
 Nor fear the heartaches of tomorrow 
 When the place and the day 
 Bid you play." 
 
 Vacation Daps, 
 
 On the cloudless days when the sun shines bright 
 And the earth is bathed in a flood of light, 
 Then the meadows call— and the woods call too- 
 "Leave your work and eome! Come to us! O. dol 
 
 On the stormy days when the skies are gray 
 From my home afar I no longer stray, 
 But I rest and muse and my fancy free 
 Brings the joys of meadows and woods to me. 
 
 1 love each gift the seasons bring: 
 
 The winter's storm and cold, 
 The freshness of the balmy spring, 
 
 The autumn's red and gold, 
 The summer's glow when heat is king 
 
 And growth is manifold; 
 With changes fair the year is rife— 
 
 "Variety's the spice of life." 
 
65 
 
 Postscript. 
 
 As one who lays aside his pen 
 Yet turns and tal^es it once again 
 
 And adds a postscript to a letter, 
 
 Expressing thus a wisli forgot 
 
 Or writing once again some thought 
 
 He thinks he can express still better, 
 
 So, tliough I'd written all the rhymes, 
 The jingling sounds and solemn chimes, 
 
 Which in my mind had jarred and blended, 
 My little book I'd still hold back 
 And in a single word I'd pack 
 
 A thousand thoughts e'er all was ended. 
 
 A world above, without, within, 
 
 With all its melody and din. 
 Is seeking still complete expression; 
 
 While hope and faith and love are strong, 
 
 And fain would make in some new song 
 A full and free and glad confession. 
 
 My little book of life can be 
 
 From all time's limitations free 
 And I can write the last word— never! 
 
 Eternity doth onward roll; 
 
 Eternity is in my soul; 
 I'll live and learn and love forever! 
 
 (M 
 
m 19 TiS03