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 " tmA PIK^PONT SIVITER 
 
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The Sculptor 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER VERSES 
 
 Anna Pierpont Siviter 
 
 FOR PRIVATE DISTRIBUTION 
 
 PITTSBURGH 
 
 PRESS OF PIERPONT, SiVITER & CO.. LTD. 
 
 190 3 
 

 ^1 
 
 Willi two exceptions these verses have ap- 
 pearetl before in print and are reprinted through 
 the courtesy of Messrs. Harper 6c Bros., Puck 
 Publishing Co., Christian Kndeavor World, W. A. 
 Wilde Co., Our Children, The Tiuide, Methodist Re- 
 cord ar and The Criterion, 
 
 * Author 
 (PersM) 
 
 ( 
 
Let me but loose one song- bird that shall sing, 
 
 What heavenly thoughts to human hearts may eome; 
 
 Lo, oft in life an angel's lightsome wing 
 Brushes us by, and still our lips are dumb. 
 
 Would that my bird might, soaring toward the skies. 
 
 Voice Heaven's own music as it upward flies. 
 
The Sculptor. 
 
 
 1 
 
 
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 i 
 
 
 1 
 
 ND shall the dead arise?" 1 cried; "it can not be; nay, nay: 
 
 The dead are dead, and long ere now mv loved ones are but clay!" 
 
 "They are but ela^'?" the sculptor said; and, stoopinii- down, he took 
 Within his hands a lump of clay — high and serene his look. 
 With swift and subtle fingers then, led by an artist's brain, 
 He turned himself to moulding it. I shut ray eyes in pain; 
 For my heart was throbbing, calling, was longing for that face 
 That now the hillside grasses hid forever from its place. 
 
 Then ^he sculptor worked in silence, and in silence I sat there; 
 
 For my thoughts were very bitter, though my head was bent in prayer. 
 
 "Had he hopef the se'.ulptor ([uestioned; and I answered, "Hope he had. 
 And a soul high-born and fearless; trust in heav'n had made him glad!" 
 "Hope I've given," said the sculptor, "hope and love and high-bom grace; 
 Tell me you who once so loved him, is this clay or his own face?" 
 
 And I looked. O heart, cease throbbing! What a miracle was here! 
 In his old-time strength and beauty, with his eyes serene and clear; 
 With his white hair clustering round it, shining as an angel's might, 
 Lo, the face I dreamed but clay, stood resurrected in my sight. 
 Speechless now from very rapture, first I gazed, and then I cried, 
 " 'Tis a miracle! O sculptor, dust has turned to life!" He sighed: 
 "Naught but clay 1 here have fashioned, yet for ages it shall stay, 
 For its beauty shrined in marble lives when we have passed away. 
 Mine are merely himian fingers; life they may not bring, nor soul, 
 I can only give the body, part for part and whole for whole. 
 But the Master, when He made him, gave him life and gave him breath,— 
 Whispered he should be immortal. Shall the Lord be robbed by death? 
 Nay I The clay on yonder hillside, moulded by our God's own hands. 
 Shall be dowered with life eternal when His saint before Him stands." 
 
Lead Both of Us. 
 
 N that first night when she went home, 
 And I knelt down to pray. 
 The dear old words sprang to my lips ; 
 I knew not what to say. 
 
 kSilent and sick at heart I knelt; 
 
 Silent, and then I said: 
 "Dear Lord, I can not leave her out; 
 
 To me she is not dead. 
 
 "Somewhere in shining, star-lit space. 
 She's passed beyond my care, 
 
 But though I may not know the place, 
 I'll follow her with prayer. 
 
 "Thou art her God where'er she is; 
 
 Dear Lord, my God thou art — 
 On both I beg thy blessing, Lord, 
 
 What time we are apart. 
 
 "If in thy courts she walks a queen. 
 
 While I toil here below, 
 Lead both of us, dear Lord, lead on. 
 
 The path that we must go." 
 
The Messenger, 
 
 0^^' close we held him, clinging close and closer still. 
 And locked and double-locked the door. 
 
 And listened to each passing step, lest one should come 
 That had not come and paused before. 
 
 "Nay, nay," we said, and yet we held our breath ; 
 
 "We have no fear' Thou wilt not enter, Death!" 
 
 And one by one we saw were laid aside 
 The treasures life had brought to him; 
 We tried to place them in his trembling hands. 
 
 Although with tears our eyes grew dim. 
 "These trophies thou hast Avon in many a fight ; 
 To cast them now aside, dear, seems not right." 
 
 And when he laid him down as if to rest. 
 
 We strove to rouse him. "Wake," we said; 
 "Again thy country calls : hast thou no word 
 
 To cheer the living, praise the dead?" 
 But agony had clutched us, and great fear; 
 Silent we listened, and a step drew near. 
 
 How gentle was the knock! How soft and low. 
 
 And how reluctantly our feet 
 Dragged on the way we knew that we must go. 
 
 To ope' the door, the stranger greet* 
 But when at last the bolts and bars were drawn 
 A glorious angel stood our threshold on. 
 
 Then sweetly, softly, came the angel in. 
 
 And bent above him as he lay. 
 And touched with tender hand his brow of pain. 
 
 And every trace was gone away. 
 And in our dear one's eyes how radiant grew 
 The look of love and life so well we knew. 
 
 And like a child who's wandered far from home, 
 
 But when the shades of evening come. 
 Turns to his mother, and within her arms. 
 
 With sweet content rests and grows dumb. 
 So leaned our dear one on the angel's breast. 
 Content with love, content to be at rest; 
 
 While we who had been weeping, weak with fear. 
 
 With joy once more felt our hearts leap. 
 "O, Angel, thou hast brought him life and peace; 
 
 He gives to His beloved sleep." 
 In ecstasy we gazed, until one saith : 
 "God's messenger of Life, do men call Death." 
 
Telling Ages. 
 
 F a tree's age you would know. 
 Count the rings that in it grow; 
 Every year gives it a ring, 
 For a birthday offering. 
 
 Some trees are Sto very old. 
 If the rings were made of gold. 
 Each would have a fortune stored, 
 liike a greedy miser's hoard. 
 
 But to find it, this is true. 
 You must cut that tree in two. 
 Well, I'm thankful, I must say, 
 My age isn't told that way. 
 

 
 
 
 f 
 
 
 
 
 
 The Cannon* 
 
 ARE and bleak and rusty and brown, 
 The fierce old cannon faced the town, 
 And when the night winds murmured low. 
 The cannon muttered stern and slow: 
 
 "Ho for the field where bullets crash! 
 When fire-balls fall, and fierce swords flash! 
 Ho, for the smoke and the powder's breath! 
 War, war is life, and peace is death !" 
 
 Two southern birde but that week wed. 
 The cannon saw. "Why, see,'" one said, 
 "Here is the place to build our nest; 
 This one of all we've seen is best." 
 
 Within the cannon ",oon there grew 
 The dearest little home for two; 
 And then three eggs within it lay. 
 And then three birdlings came that way. 
 
 And bird-calls sounded sweet and clear. 
 And wee birds nestled without fear 
 Against the iron heart of him 
 Who once had been so fierce and grim. 
 
 .A.nd o'er and o'er as night winds blow, 
 The cannon murmurs soft and slow: 
 "Oh, sweet is home, and love's pure breath ! 
 Peace, peace is life, and war is death!" 
 
L_>__>^__ 
 
 A Word With the Wind, 
 
 y once to the sehoolhouse sweet Dorothy went, 
 Along came the Scuith Wind on mischief intent. 
 "Do tell me, dear Dorothy, what have you there? 
 A book or a leaflet I'm sure you could spare." 
 
 "I pray you, kind Wind," then sweet Dorothy said, 
 "My books and my leaflets are hard to be read; 
 But if you will wait till fall days come around. 
 Some leaflets the trees will drop down on the ground. 
 
 "They'll teach you some things, sir, that you ought to know — 
 When South Winds should flee and when North Winds should blow; 
 So I bid you a kind and a friendly good-day." 
 The wind and sweet Dorothy went on their wav. 
 
 Lydia^s Song, from *' Nehe.*^ 
 
 I now am my beloved's; he whom I love is mine — 
 The chief among ten thousand, his love to me is wine. 
 His eyes, like to a dove's eyes, look love into my heart. 
 And waters can not quench it, nor floods keep us apart. 
 
The Palm Tree. 
 
 OFT cradled in the ground, a seed, 
 
 Throiigh long slow weeks lay sleeping. 
 Till Nature, fearing it had died. 
 Awakened it by weeping. 
 
 It turned its face up to the light. 
 The south -ndnd gently kissed it; 
 
 The sun shone on it with delight. 
 The dew drops never missed it. 
 
 So Nature crowned it with her love. 
 
 The birds trilled softly to it; 
 The flowers trooped smiling to its feet ; 
 
 They knew all sweets were due it. 
 
 And as in beauty grew the palm, 
 Men questioned, but none guessed. 
 
 Why birds and breezes, sun and sky. 
 Were bringing it their best. 
 
 Ah, happy day when heaven's I^^ing 
 
 Comes riding lowly by! 
 The people glad h.osannas sing. 
 
 And seek a banner nigh. 
 
 The palm tree bowed its plumes of green. 
 
 As stately warriors bold 
 Salute their king: the sun shone down, 
 
 And showered the tree with gold. 
 
 The people saw the banners float. 
 
 Each perfect in its grace; 
 Then tore them from the willing tree 
 
 To wave before His face. 
 
Not Yet. 
 
 1 
 
 
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 1 
 
 *M 
 
 1 
 
 
 0\ \''. gen\.\\\ 1 jiray y«iu. my baby is sleepiug-; 
 ( would not awake her, lest «he may be weepin,y. 
 The day holds its joy, but the nii»ht brings its sorrow; 
 Then sleep, littje baby, sleep on till the rnoiTow. 
 
 >» . t( > p aoi l f't^ , I pray you, the maid's heart is sleeping ; 
 tih, [.ove, do not wake it, lest she may be weeping. 
 HnkiKjwing your joy and your grief still 'tis nesting, 
 Safe here in my breast, where so softly she's resting. 
 Move gently, T pray yoxi, the maid's heart is sleeping: 
 Oh. T-cve, do not wake her. lest she may be weeping. 
 
 Proverbs for the Young. 
 
 Come, listen, my dears, while 1 sing you a sonnet; 
 A bird in the bush is worth two in your bonnett; 
 And the candy you give away, this I have tried, 
 N^ever makes a bad pain in your little inside. 
 
An Appeal to the Editors. 
 
 EAR Mister Editors, I pray. 
 Do let up on our feelin's. 
 An' with a happier set of folks. 
 Please cultivate some dealings. 
 
 The heroes an' the heroines 
 'At wunst used to delight us, 
 
 I 'clar' to goodness, now air naught 
 But bugaboos to fright us. 
 
 Ye drown 'em, freeze 'em, burn 'em up, 
 
 Ye separate an' blight 'em. 
 Till it does fairly make me mad. 
 
 There's nobody to right 'em. 
 
 It's come to readin' magazines 
 
 Is sort of sinful folly; 
 If a body 'scapes the 'sylum, why, 
 
 J 'hey catch the melancholy. 
 
 What have we done that we should thus 
 Each month be "et to weepin' ? 
 
 Sure, many a bit o' happiness 
 From life's real page is peepin'. 
 
 So, Mister Editors, I say. 
 
 Do let up on our feelin's. 
 An' with a happier set of folks 
 
 Please cultivate some dealin's. 
 
i 
 
 A Lost Dinner. 
 
 OOK, look! said Ohickie Briffht Eye. 
 "See, see!" said Chickie Spry. 
 'Hush, hush!" said Woenty-Teenty, 
 "Our dinner's coming' nigh; 
 It's nigh. 
 Oh, ray! 
 Our dinner's coming nigh." 
 
 "I think," said Mr. Spider, 
 "There's danger down below. 
 1 think," said Mr. Spider, 
 "That way I will not go. 
 Oh, no, 
 Not so ! 
 That way I will not go." 
 
 And Mr. Spider swiftly 
 
 Climbed back into his tree. 
 And all the ehickie-biddies 
 Cried bitterly, "Oh, me! 
 Wee-wee. 
 Oh, me! 
 Our dinner's climbed back up the tree." 
 
When Father Was a Boy. 
 
 HEN my dear father was a boy. 
 
 He greatly hated noise; 
 I know it, 'cause he thinks it most 
 
 Obnoxious is in boys. 
 He never teased to swimming go. 
 He never fussed to hunt and row. 
 His sisters' friends he'd always beau — 
 
 PTe would, my dear papa. 
 
 V/hen my dear father was a boy. 
 
 The children of the town 
 Swarmed o'er him in a merry crowd. 
 
 Whenever he sat down. 
 No harsh word would he ever say. 
 Though base ball called him "Come away," 
 A.nd all the boys had gone to play — 
 
 So kind was dear papa. 
 
 When my dear father was a boy. 
 
 To church he always went, 
 A.nd through the longest sermon, there 
 
 He sat in sweet content. 
 When he was sent how he would run, 
 When he was called he thought 'twas fun 
 To drop a game, though just begun — 
 
 He did, my dear papa. 
 
 When ray dear father was a boy. 
 
 He went to bed by day. 
 And got up long before 'twas light, 
 
 I've often heard him say: 
 And O, how he did love to work. 
 No lesson he would ever shirk. 
 But studied like a very Turk — 
 
 Just so, my dear papa. 
 
 When my dear father was a boy. 
 
 It often makes me grin. 
 To think if he could have seen me. 
 
 How awful shocked he'd been. 
 But when I tell grandma of this, 
 She only answers with a kiss, 
 And sighs : "'^I'he truth I fear you miss, 
 
 \bout your dear papa." 
 
Good-By ! 
 
 OOD-BY, Sweetheart! When you sailed away, 
 My lips grew silent, my heart made moan; 
 Over that dark and that cold, cold sea. 
 Last night did you fare you forth alone? 
 
 When Death came, loos'ning our clinging hands. 
 And led you down to the sullen tide. 
 
 Did He who had promised, meet you there, 
 To guide your bark to the other side ? 
 
 Alas, dear heart, this I may not know — 
 
 And yet the look on your steadfast face. 
 When back you glanced for our last good-by. 
 
 Declared, the Pilot was in His place. 
 
 The Cat Upon the Pillar. 
 
 Once a cat upon a pillar met a catei-pillar crawling; 
 Cried the cat upon the pillar to the caterpillar, bawling: 
 "Could you find no other pillar, O you caterpillar vile. 
 On which to do your crawling in your caterpillary style ?" 
 Wailed the cat upon the pillar, then the caterpillar mauling ; 
 "On this pillar, caterpillar, I shall do some caterwauling," 
 
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