\ 
 
< 
 
 A TIEY/ BOOK OF ?OEM^ BY GAIxIilE L^EARLEY- 
 
 0opyright,1909 — By Qeorge GoEarley, 
 
 

 LiSnARY of CONGRESS 
 
 Two Gooies Received 
 
 MAh 23 W^ 
 
 Oopvn^fit Entry 
 CLASS CU XXc. !M0. 
 
 COPY a. 
 
m 
 
 \ 
 
 1 " 
 
 CARRIE L. EARLEY 
 1880- 1 go "J 
 
INTRODUCTORY 
 
 This little volume is printed that the 
 verses may be preserved by those to ivhom 
 they may be helpful. They indicate the deep 
 thoughtfulness of the writer and the serious- 
 ness with which she grasped every question 
 coming to her. 
 
 So far as known these verses were not 
 writte7i with the thotight that they would be 
 published. ^ome of them were written in 
 her early girlhood. ^^ The Way and The 
 Guide^^ was written but a few months before 
 the end^ it being her last effort. 
 
 No 07ie who Jznew the author and felt the 
 uplift of her pure character^ and 7io one who 
 reads this book and receives a nobler impulse 
 thereby., will ad^nit that her sphere of use- 
 fulness was circumscribed by her few short 
 years. The i7ifluence of her life will 7iot be 
 measured until the final reckoning^ and in 
 that day He zvho makes the record will write 
 opposite her na^ne ''''Success.^'' 
 
 The last two numbers printed were writ- 
 ten by a brother and sister^ both of whom, 
 passed away some years ago. 
 
poems 
 
 Xlbc TKHais ant) XTbe ©utDc 
 
 I walked through a valley of shadows and fears, 
 I was lonely and sad, my eyes blinded with tears. 
 
 The way was so long and my feet were so weary, 
 The night was so dark and the path was so dreary. 
 
 Then I said in my heart, "Had I only a guide. 
 
 Had I someone to shield me, to walk by my side. 
 
 Perhaps he might show me a pleasanter way 
 Leading out of this gloom to the glad light of day." 
 
 Then I heard a sweet voice, very close to my side, 
 "My child, I am with thee, and I am thy Guide, 
 
 Just hold thou my hand, I will show thee the way 
 That leads from this gloom to the glad light of day." 
 
 Then I knew 'twas the Christ, and I gave Him my hand. 
 And we passed from that gloom to a bright, happy land. 
 
 And I sing as I journey, my tears are all dried. 
 
 For I walk in green pastures with Love by my side. 
 
 B TKHoman's Dceire 
 
 Oh! To be a maiden and beside my true love stand. 
 With his strong, right arm around me, and clasping hand in hand. 
 
 Oh! to feel the rapture of his tender, loving kiss, 
 With our bright dreams of the future added to the present bliss. 
 
 Just to be a maiden and beside my true love stand. 
 
 Looking forward to the future while we plan it, hand in hand. 
 
 « 
 
 Oh! To be a good wife with a husband's love and care. 
 With his true heart beating for me, every joy with him to share. 
 
 Just to lay my life before him in full surrender sweet. 
 
 And to feel that he would trust me, would be happiness complete. 
 
 Oh! to be a good wife with a husband's love and care. 
 
 Walking through the world beside him, and its bliss or woe to share. 
 
POEMS 
 
 Oh! To be a mother, with my children in my arms, 
 
 And to feel that I could shield them from the world and its alarms. 
 Just to plan with him who loved me for the future of our dears, 
 
 Just to fold them and caress them and to soothe their baby fears. 
 Oh! To be a mother with my children in my arms, 
 
 Guiding them with love to teach me — shielding them from all alarms. 
 
 Oh! To be a woman, could you find a nobler crown 
 
 Than to be a loving woman if you sought the world around? 
 
 But alas! To be a woman, with this woman's heart in me, 
 And to know the joys I covet may never, never be. 
 
 Oh! 'Tis sad to be a woman, and never wear Ipve's crown, 
 That grandest gift to woman in all the world around. 
 
 B Stiff "Clpper Xip 
 
 There are times when the heart's well nigh broken, 
 
 There are days when all hope seems to flee. 
 When we feel that grief's floodgates are open — 
 
 Not a single bright ray can we see. 
 But 'tis then that we need to remember 
 
 There's a gleam in the gloomiest sky, 
 Keep a stiff upper lip — though it tremble — 
 
 And a spirit that never says die. 
 
 Have you seen your bright dreams of the future 
 
 Come to naught like a child's house of blocks? 
 Did they die a slow death, as of torture. 
 
 Like a vessel that's wrecked on the rocks? 
 Build again on a firmer foundation. 
 
 Smother down every heartbroken cry, 
 Keep a stiff upper lip — this is patience — 
 
 'Tis the spirit that never says die. 
 
 This old world is so filled with the sorrow 
 
 Of a brother, or sister, or friend, 
 Do not worry o'er trials of tomorrow, 
 
 There'll be trouble enough in the end. 
 Turn a brave, sunny face to your neighbor, 
 
 You can do it all right if you try, 
 Keep a stiff upper lip, sing and labor, 
 
 Have a spirit that never says die. 
 
POEMS 
 
 Do you feel in your heart you're a failure 
 
 Just because you've done naught to win fame? 
 But in Heaven perchance some wear halos 
 
 Whom the world knew not even by name. 
 Up and onward! Let others seek glory, 
 
 They never own failure who try, 
 Keep a stiff upper lip, read life's story 
 
 With a spirit that never says die. 
 
 •ffowa, ifaireet on Bartb 
 (A Song). 
 
 You may sing of the glorious mountains 
 And their snow-capped peaks so high; 
 
 I can sing of a sight that is fairer. 
 That delights while it rests the eye; 
 
 'Tis the beautiful rolling prairie 
 Where the green hills meet the blue sky. 
 
 Cho. — There's a land that is fairer and dearer 
 Than any strange country on earth, 
 
 Where the breezes sweep over the prairie. 
 In the beautiful land of my birth. 
 
 And the sunlight kisses the green fields 
 Of old Iowa — fairest on earth. 
 
 You may sing of the grand old ocean 
 When the white sails its breast adorn; 
 
 I am sure there is a sight that is grander, 
 In the dear land where I was born — 
 
 When the warm wind ruffles the green waves 
 In a field of old Iowa's corn. 
 
 You may sing of magnificent mansions. 
 
 Of the castles on the Rhine; 
 They can never bring rest to the homesick. 
 
 For their splendor I do not pine. 
 But I long for the little old farm house 
 
 On that dear childhood home of mine. 
 
TO POEMS 
 
 Zbc Moman's ipart 
 
 Oh, love, could I look once more in your eyes 
 
 Or feel the clasp of your hand, 
 The clouds would all go from the cold, gray skies 
 
 And sadness would flee from the land. 
 If I only could hear the rich tones of your voice 
 
 As you tenderly spoke my name, 
 Its deep music would cause my heart to rejoice — 
 
 My heart that is ever the same. 
 
 Oh love, could I know you are thinking of me. 
 
 It would ease the ache and the smart 
 That must ever return when I think of thee 
 
 To wound my loving heart. 
 If I knew that you loved me, though far away 
 
 I could sing aloud in glee. 
 If my love which follows you day by day 
 
 Need not return void unto me. 
 
 Oh love, if only the silence could speak, 
 
 And could tell you the love I bear. 
 Would you think me — I wonder — a woman weak, 
 
 That I wished you that love to share? 
 But because I'm a woman my love must hide 
 
 In my suffering woman's heart 
 And wait until asked for, or silent abide. 
 
 For this is the woman's part. 
 
 jpatber, IbolD IV^^ IbanO 
 
 A sweet little child at the eventide 
 
 Had wandered far from home. 
 And in childish fear the baby cried, 
 
 Alone in the dusk and gloom — 
 "Oh! If my papa were only here 
 
 And would only hold my hand, 
 'Though the night be dark I'd never fear, 
 
 If papa would hold my hand." 
 
POBMS II 
 
 And the anxious father who sought the babe 
 
 Heard the plaintive, little cry; 
 In his loving arms she was folded safe 
 
 And she said with a sleepy sigh — 
 "Oh! Papa dear, I'm so glad you're here, 
 
 Let me keep tight hold of your hand, 
 'Though the night is dark, I will not fear, 
 
 If papa will hold my hand." 
 
 So, Father above, I come to Thee; 
 
 I was lost in gloom and despair, 
 But Thou hast found me and brought me to Thee 
 
 And Thou wilt hear my prayer — 
 "Oh, Father dear, wilt Thou be near, 
 
 So near I can hold Thy hand? 
 Though the night be dark I'll never fear. 
 
 If Thou wilt hold my hand." 
 
 B ILetter ffxom U^ome 
 
 Far away from the dear ones and the homestead 
 
 I was forced by sickness to roam, 
 And my heart was so lonely and heavy 
 
 When there came a sweet letter from home. 
 
 It was not that the style was so glowing. 
 Though each line brimmed over with love — 
 
 That best gift from a Father in Heaven, 
 Dropped into earth's homes from above. 
 
 It told me how much they had missed me, 
 Those words made the warm teardrops start. 
 
 And a feeling at once glad and joyous 
 Sprang up into birth in my heart. 
 
 It told of the old home so happy 
 
 Where as children we once loved to play. 
 
 And the years, long and sad, since my childhood. 
 Rolled back like a brief, happy day. 
 
 Back again to that childhood I wandered, 
 The dear old farm home came in view, 
 
 Hand in hand with my sisters and brothers 
 I played as I oft used to do. 
 
12 POEMS 
 
 With my fair, golden-haired "baby sister" TW 
 
 I roamed through the meadows at play, 
 And we plucked the wild flowers by the roadside 
 
 Through all the long, glad summer's day. 
 
 I could hear her sweet voice raised in singing, 
 
 With the rest of us, songs clear and bright, j 
 
 I could smell the sweet brier by the window I 
 
 In the pure, golden, soft summer night. 1 
 
 I could see the fond face of my mother ! 
 
 So pure and so sweet in its love. \ 
 I am sure there's none sweeter in Heaven 
 
 'Mid all the bright angels above. | 
 
 I could feel the kind hand of my father. 
 
 As he laid it again on my brow, [ 
 
 But my tears as they fell, dimmed the vision J 
 
 And brought me once more to the NOW. 
 
 I was still far from home and my dear ones. ( 
 
 Those bright days can ne'er come again, ? 
 
 But their mem'ry will live through the long years, 
 
 Bringing pleasure and banishing pain. j 
 
 That circle of brothers and sisters ! 
 
 Will ne'er be the same as before. 
 
 For the voice of our dear "baby sister" j 
 
 Now sings on a happier shore. j 
 
 But though far away from those dear ones, ! 
 
 Love follows, wherever I roam. 
 And though broken, our circle seemed perfect. 
 
 When there came that sweet letter from home. 
 
 Zbc mttle /Hbotber ot tbe XLown 
 
 (In memory of Kittie M. Mulhern.) 
 
 She was only a frail little woman, 
 
 Fragile and gentle and sweet. 
 And her lifetime was spent in teaching 
 
 The children who sat at her feet. 
 
POEMS 13 
 
 She had only one law to guide her, 
 
 Her Savior's own law of love, 
 But she followed it well, and as wisely 
 
 As one of His angels above. 
 
 Her days were all given to service, 
 
 Tireless, loving and true, 
 And the little ones — how much they loved her, 
 
 And Oh! how she loved them, too. 
 She owned neither land nor jewels 
 
 As she toiled to support her own. 
 But her sweet life was richer and better 
 
 Than any good queen's on a throne. 
 
 And each day she walked through our city 
 
 So quiet and smiling and sweet. 
 That nobody noticed how weary 
 
 AVere growing her poor tired feet. 
 But the Savior she loved so dearly 
 
 As she modestly did her best, 
 He called her away from the children 
 
 To a glad and triumphant rest. 
 
 So there passed from our little city 
 
 The dear little children's friend, 
 And the grown people wept with the children. 
 
 For tliey thought they had seen the end. 
 But no! In the future the children 
 
 Will lovingly breathe her name. 
 And in manhood's and womanhood's battles 
 
 Her law of love will reign. 
 
 We called her "Our little teacher," 
 
 A name very worthy, I ween, 
 'Tis a happier, more blessed mission 
 
 Than can come to any queen. 
 But I would bring her a token 
 
 More grand than a laurel crovn; 
 Though she bore no children, I hail her 
 
 "Little Mother of the Town." 
 
14 POEMS 
 
 ^be ITnstinct ot Mar 
 
 "All animals fight and will continue to, I think. The better the 
 limal, the fiercer and more fatal the instinct." — Joseph Wheeler. 
 
 And can we boast of this, 
 
 Have we naught else to praise, 
 
 This instinct of the brute. 
 This crime of other days? 
 
 Has man no nobler trait 
 
 Than this cruel thirst for gore. 
 Had peace no laurel wreath 
 
 In all the days of yore? 
 
 Because the eagle rends 
 The helpless birds of song. 
 
 Does this make war more grand, 
 Or right the awful wrong? 
 
 Because the lion bold 
 
 On weaker beasts doth prey, 
 Must that trait govern man 
 
 To rule the self-same way? 
 
 Because our fathers bled 
 
 And earth was bathed in tears. 
 Must we keep the custom still 
 
 Through all the coming years? 
 
 Is life of such mean worth 
 Man may shoot his brother man. 
 
 Does it pay to spend in strife 
 The days of life's short span? 
 
 Are not our Master's words 
 To plain to be misconstrued? 
 
 "Love thy neighbor as thyself," 
 And "Unto the least do good." 
 
POEMS 
 
 B June Me^C^ine 
 
 15 
 
 3M'-'S- 
 
 The sky and earth they v/ere wedded 
 
 One balmy, bright morning in June, 
 While the sun streamed her blessings upon them 
 
 And each bird sang a soft love tune. 
 Oh! Fair was the earth on that morning 
 
 As o'er her the bridegroom did wrap 
 A fleecy lace veil of white cloudlets 
 
 And poured diamonds of dew in her lap. 
 
 She blushed with the tint of pink roses 
 
 As he beamed on her, smiling and true, 
 She decked her fair self in bride's roses, 
 
 He robed him in mantle of blue. 
 The fair face of earth gathered beauty 
 
 From the wealth of her fruits and her flowers, 
 She wore a rich robe of green velvet. 
 
 Fresh and new from the recent spring showers. 
 
 High climbed the sun, ever streaming 
 
 His blessings of light on the pair, 
 And bluer the blue sky was beaming, 
 
 Brightly smiling upon his bride fair. 
 All the zephyrs, the guests at the marriage, 
 
 Bore gifts of the fragrance of flowers, 
 While the south wind sang soft in the tree tops , 
 
 And swiftly sped past the glad hours. 
 
 Down deep in the west sank the red sun, 
 
 The birds hushed their songs for the night. 
 But sweetly and soft played the breezes 
 
 As faint and more faint grew the light. 
 Earth hushed all her voices in rapture 
 
 As high in the east climbed the moon. 
 The millions of stars in their twinkling 
 
 Were tokens of love from her groom. 
 
i6 POEMS 
 
 Oh! Meet it is then that the maiden 
 
 Should wed her true lover in June, 
 That month of bright clouds and sweet roses, 
 
 Fair mornings and glorious noons. 
 'Tis then that the sky is the bluest, 
 
 'Tis then that the earth's at her best, 
 'Twas in June that the sky and earth wedded, 
 
 So June weddings are e'er by them blest. 
 
 /iBotbcr's %ovc 
 
 One evening I sat by the window 
 
 And looked at the cold, gray sky 
 Across which the dull clouds were flitting. 
 
 Bringing no light nor joy to the eye. 
 
 But e'en as I looked the clouds parted 
 And showed one clear spot of bright blue 
 
 Flecked o'er with bright patches of silver, 
 Like a gleam of fair v.eather shown through. 
 
 And it filled me with joy but to see it, 
 And it brought this sweet thought to my heart: 
 
 'Twas the blue made the rift in the dark cloud 
 And gleamed through, its hope to impart. 
 
 So it's been with my life, when vexations 
 " Have shrouded my heart with their gloom, 
 Or when pain with a strong hand has held me 
 To endure her grim thrall in my room. 
 
 Then thy love. Oh! my mother, hath found me 
 And hath pierced through the clouds of distress. 
 
 Till it made me forget all the darkness. 
 And conquered pain like a caress. 
 
 So 'twill ever be here, as in childhood. 
 Thy smile and thy touch heal all ill, 
 
 None can comfort in pain or in sorrow 
 Like thee, and the heart with peace fill. 
 
POEMS 
 
 Mother says, "All is well, do not worry," 
 Mother loves, though all else turn aside. 
 
 Other loves may pass by like the sky's clouds 
 But her love, like its blue, will abide. 
 
 And though sorrow or pam may enfold me 
 Or e'en death with his gloom may enshroud. 
 
 Mother's love will still shine, cheering ever, 
 As shone that blue patch in the cloud. 
 
 Zbc mvet 2)a^ of Scbool 
 
 'Tis in the mild September, 
 The sun is warm and bright, 
 
 The air is cool and pulsing 
 With golden, mellow light. 
 
 Today my school has opened 
 With all its joy and care 
 
 And noisy, laughing children 
 Unto the school house fare. 
 
 Within the white walled school room 
 Comes buzzing, busy noise, 
 
 The signal of the advent 
 Of happy girls and boys. 
 
 The lessons are not perfect, 
 
 'Tis hard to quiet down, 
 After that long vacation. 
 
 And mirth in school books drown. 
 
 "But Satan finds some mischief 
 
 For idle hands to do," 
 I say, and bid be careful 
 
 And to each task be true. 
 
 My frown I soften for them 
 With warmest, gayest smiles. 
 
 And stories that I tell them 
 Their interest beguiles. 
 
 17 
 
i8 POEMS 
 
 If I a gift might proffer 
 To linger with the years, 
 
 To smooth all rocky pathways 
 And soothe their youthful fears- 
 
 'Twould be that to these students, 
 As they leave school and me, 
 
 To study in Life's schoolroom 
 Till death shall set them free — 
 
 I'd give them on their entrance 
 In Life's great school so stern 
 
 The courage of their childhood. 
 That they its tasks might learn. 
 
 For burdens will grow lighter, 
 Life's trials they'll overrule, 
 
 If met by such gay courage 
 Of the first day of school. 
 
 a melon of Selt 
 
 I dreamed I stood upon a lofty mount 
 
 And peered into a depth which had no end, 
 Above my head the thunders crashed and groaned 
 
 While lightnings seemed the gloomy clouds to rend. 
 No one stood near me, I was all alone, 
 
 And of my loneliness no tongue can tell. 
 Yet I Vv^as unafraid, naught could me harm. 
 
 Though well I knew that endless pit was hell. 
 
 The lightnings ceased at length, then I could see 
 
 For its fierce light had blinded with its glow. 
 Then I leaned o'er a strong o'erhanging rock 
 
 And looked into that pit which yawned below. 
 "This is not hell!" methought in glad surprise. 
 
 As on my gaze there dawned a pleasant sight — 
 Fair maids, and men of noble face and mien, 
 
 With matchless forms like angels robed in white. 
 
POEMS 
 
 And they were in a theater so grand 
 
 Not the most gorgeous hall of earth could vie 
 With it in beauty, and each face was gay 
 
 And a bright hope was in each laughing eye. 
 "And is this hell, this beauteous hall of mirth? 
 
 If so where is its woe and dark despair?" 
 But then I paused, for slow the curtain raised; 
 
 I glanced that way to see what scene was there. 
 
 "How wonderful!" methought for there I saw 
 
 Fair men and maids in forms like unto those 
 Who filled the seats, and yet not like to them. 
 
 For on each face I viewed unnumbered woes. 
 "We are your evil passions," so they sang, 
 
 "We left you novv^ and filled your hearts with hope. 
 But you, when freed from us, must view yourselves 
 
 As to the world you have been. You may grope 
 And strive to free yourselves from our dark spell, 
 
 There is no freedom for those doomed of hell." 
 
 And then began the play — Ah me! such scenes. 
 
 E'en I, though on the rock, drew back alarmed 
 And shudder after shudder rent my frame, 
 
 Although I knew that I'd escape unharmed. 
 For not the saddest deathbed scene of earth. 
 
 Not e'en the hard fought bloody battlefield. 
 Not the last parting of two life long friends 
 
 E'er caused within my heart such woe to steal. 
 
 It was all this and more. Not such deep shame 
 As sinful human heart feels here below 
 
 Was e'er enacted on the stage of life. 
 
 These actors played the secret sins that glow 
 
 Within the human heart, where passion's spell 
 Has driven all the virtue from the soul 
 
 And vice is left, his flattering tales to tell. 
 
 Oh! Dark and bloody deeds were acted there, 
 Such deeds are done on earth at night unknown, 
 
 And far, far darker deeds than ever man 
 
 In e'en his vilest moods has e'er been prone. 
 
 19 
 
ao POEMS 
 
 And all the passions of mankind when wild 
 With hate and malice and unholy lust. 
 
 They took fair human forms, and yet seemed like 
 The foulest reptiles crav.ling in the dust. 
 
 My eyes were chained upon the horrid scene 
 
 Forgetful of those lost souls there below, 
 But by a chance methought to look at them 
 
 To see how they endured this draught of woe. 
 Ah me! The sight of them my heart did rend 
 
 With a far greater pain than felt before. 
 The woe of those pale faces was more dread 
 
 Than that scene on the stage of horrid gore. 
 
 "Are these the angel forms that I beheld 
 
 Just now so full of light and joy and love. 
 From whom all evil thoughts and deeds had fled 
 
 Making them like to those that dwell above?" 
 Ah yes! They were the same, and yet what woe 
 
 And dark despair they felt no tongue could tell. 
 For 'twas their better nature made them grieve 
 
 And their best self saw their vile self in hell. 
 
 "Oh! Drop the curtain, close the scene," they cried, 
 
 "You are ourselves, our darker selves we see. 
 We lived for self, and now self tortures us, 
 
 If we had lived for others we'd be free." 
 Their voices ceased, the thunders pealed again. 
 
 The lightnings flashed and blinded were my eyes. 
 And then again I heard their voices clear 
 
 Speak from that pit to reach the darkened skies. 
 
 "Self is a tyrant, she hath ruled us long. 
 
 We sold our souls to her for her bright pelf. 
 We cared for none on earth, we strove to gain 
 
 No light, no joy, no freedom but for self." 
 I woke — above, the sky was blue and clear, 
 
 The sun bathed earth with his bright golden wealth, 
 I felt earth would be heaven if I could learn 
 
 To live for others and deny myself. 
 
POEMS 21 
 
 Zbc Ibt^^en JScautis 
 
 One day an artist painted 
 
 A picture wondrous fair; 
 The colors were most gorgeous. 
 
 The scene of beauty rare. 
 The people praised the picture, 
 
 And wept, and smiled to see 
 The beauty that his skill had wrought, 
 
 But not content was he. 
 
 For in his mind was imaged 
 
 A scene so grand it made 
 The one he painted seem less bright. 
 
 And all its beauty fade. 
 And he was sad because the world 
 
 Could not that picture see. 
 But its beauty pure and colors warm 
 
 Kept his mind from evil free. 
 
 A singer sang a strain so sweet 
 
 It seemed to reach the skies. 
 It brought a smile upon men's lips 
 
 And tears into their eyes. 
 And yet the singer did not sing 
 
 The half her full heart felt. 
 She sighed because the strains she heard 
 
 Could not all hard hearts melt. 
 
 For, to her ear, some anthem clear 
 
 From heaven seemed to descend, 
 And the rapture of those heavenly strains 
 
 With earth's minor chords did blend. 
 The song her lips sang touched all hearts 
 
 And stirred them through and through, 
 The song she heard inspired her own 
 
 And kept it pure and true. 
 
 If thou seest a beautiful picture 
 
 Or hear a touching song 
 That soothes thee in thy sorrows 
 
 Or gladdens thee all day long, 
 
POEMS 
 
 If some kind word that's uttered 
 
 Can comfort some sad heart, 
 'Tis because the thing you see or hear 
 
 Is of some true life a part. 
 
 And would you do a glorious deed, 
 
 Or sing some stirring song, 
 Or paint a picture to make glad 
 
 The heart of the passing throng? 
 Then know thy heart is a treasure store 
 
 Which thou with beauty must fill, 
 But thy greatest effort can scarce suffice 
 
 Just one drop of that beauty to spill. 
 
 Qm Bver {present Sorrow 
 
 Into the heart and soul and life 
 
 Of man, the child of earth, 
 There enters much of care and woe 
 
 Which Cometh with his birth. 
 But unto every human heart 
 
 That throbs with pain's dark thrall, 
 Which binds, and chafes without relief 
 
 Comes Death, and ends them all. 
 
 Then in our weakness, and our lack 
 
 Of light and knowledge clear. 
 Our puny strength resists Death's might 
 
 And calls him foeman drear. 
 Yet in the thickest of our strife 
 
 'Gainst shame, or grief, or sin. 
 We'd fain surrender self to Death 
 
 And bid him enter in. 
 
 And so Death comes and takes away 
 
 The fairest of the flock. 
 And taking wand'ring feet, plants them 
 
 On everlasting rock. 
 The weary, heavy-laden find 
 
 In him a perfect rest, 
 And tender lambs from out the fold 
 
 Find shelter on his breast. 
 
POEMS 23 
 
 Our tearful eyes which see in death 
 
 An ever present sorrow, 
 Would light with joy if they could pierce 
 
 Into the deathless morrow, 
 Where earth and all its load of sin, 
 
 Are barred by Death's broad wing. 
 Where our sad souls some day may rest 
 
 When Death shall let us in. 
 
 Bprirs ©coDb^c 
 Balmy air, with fragrance laden. 
 
 Bare trees, taking on their green. 
 O'er the hills a velvet carpet 
 
 Spreading its fresh, dew-wet sheen. 
 
 In the blue sky 'mid the cloudlets 
 Smiles the sun through long bright hours, 
 
 But ere long, those clouds grown heavy, 
 Bathe earth's green with April showers. 
 
 Nature hides her face in weeping. 
 
 Sighs for April's passing day. 
 But through tears out gleams the rainbow 
 
 Ushering in the birth of May. 
 
 IPasBinc; ClouOs 
 For days the sun had hid his face 
 
 Beneath the black forbidding clouds of gloom. 
 The earth seemed shrinking in disgrace 
 
 And I was looking forth from darkened room. 
 Stern nature, mother of a multitude, 
 
 Feigned anger with her favorite child, our earth. 
 As if she'd doomed her to a solitude 
 
 Perpetual, gloomy, tearful, lack of mirth. 
 
 But now the sun hath cleared away the clouds. 
 
 The sky hath taken tint of purest blue. 
 The earth is smiling forth to greet the sun 
 
 And hope within my breast is born anew. 
 All earth, and air, and light, and sun doth prove 
 
 The goodness of the power that reigns above. 
 And from my soul, like rays of that bright sun, 
 
 There flashes back reflections of His love. 
 
24 POEMS 
 
 B /Barcb Da^ 
 
 Through the gray clouds that chase across the sky 
 
 At morn, the sun had tried to pierce 
 But weakly failed; a boistrous wind 
 
 Is blowing loud and fierce. 
 One scarce would care to walk abroad 
 
 For pleasure, in this furious breeze. 
 The earth with snow is spotted, white on brown, 
 
 O'erhead we view the naked, sighing trees, 
 This gloomy day in March. 
 
 In that cold sky the gray has changed to silver 
 
 Ere noon, with azure wedged between. 
 And the bright sun begins to shed his beams. 
 
 To fleck with golden sheen. 
 In pools where snow has melted 'neath our feet, 
 
 We view that sky again, 
 And sighing branches overhead 
 
 Have a sweet minor strain, 
 This sunny day in March. 
 
 December 
 
 There is snow upon the hillside. 
 
 There's a chillness in the air. 
 There are diamonds in the snow bank 
 
 When the sun is shining there. 
 
 There is wailing in the chimney 
 
 Where the wind comes sweeping 'round. 
 There is jingling of the sleigh bells 
 
 As the steeds flee o'er the ground. 
 
 Such a charm is in December, 
 
 The last month of all the year, 
 That we e'en regret its passing 
 
 And would have it tarry here. 
 
 For the old year in his passing ^ 
 
 Brings a blessed day to earth, • 
 
 'Tis because this old December 
 Celebrates a Savior's birth. 
 
POEMS 25 
 
 And now in the cold December 
 All our hearts are touched again, 
 
 At the thought that He here suffered 
 Just to bring peace to all men. 
 
 And our hearts are in us sinking 
 And with shame our lives we'd hide, 
 
 When we see how far off peace seems 
 And that love for which He died. 
 
 Oh! May He who came and suffered 
 That He might one pure life give, 
 
 Cause all hearts to cease their hatred 
 And just strive in love to live. 
 
 Then the snow of cold December 
 A white robe of peace would seem, 
 
 And our earth be crowned with triumph 
 When the glittering sunbeams gleam. 
 
 (To my sister Maude.) 
 
 There is a link which binds our hearts 
 
 And minds and souls together, 
 'Tis stronger far than kinship's bond 
 
 Or any human tether. 
 It is the bond of fellowship, 
 
 That kinship sent of God. 
 'Tis firmer than the bond of blood 
 
 That bindeth me to Maude. 
 
 When human souls are thus entwined 
 
 No parting e'er can sever, 
 Blood ties bind only in this life. 
 
 But this tie binds forever. 
 When souls are bound in fellowship 
 
 Their hopes and aims are one. 
 And though this earth may hold few friends, 
 
 Such lives are ne'er alone. 
 
26 POBMS 
 
 Oh! May that God who bound our lives 
 
 With this and kinship's bond 
 Long let them work in sympathy 
 
 Until His rest is found. 
 And may He, on thy natal day, 
 
 In this and after years. 
 Preserve our tie of fellowship 
 
 Through all life's hopes and fears. 
 
 ^be /IRessage of Silence 
 
 As I sit in my quiet school room 
 
 Whence just now the children have gone, 
 
 I feel silence doth speak to my tired brain 
 For 'tis good to be weary — alone. 
 
 There are times in this life with its conflicts, 
 'Mid its din and the turmoil of strife 
 
 When the heart of mankind longs for silence, 
 Thus to muse on the workings of life. 
 
 When the heart of the toiler is sickened, 
 When his labors have seemed all in vain, 
 
 When the body and mind are aweary 
 With a dullness far sharper than pain. 
 
 When thy faith in thyself is but wavering, 
 And thy faith in thy God almost gone, 
 
 When humanity seems not to need thee. 
 When thy heart it seems turning to stone. 
 
 Get thee gone to thyself, to be lonely, 
 
 Let the still small voice of peace speak to thee 
 Then thou'lt hear in the silence a message 
 Like to Christ's message, "Come unto Me." 
 
 Let thy mind wander back o'er thy lifetime. 
 Call the hopes of thy youth back to thee. 
 
 Its ideals and its high aspirations, 
 Its dreams, and its strife to be free. 
 
POEMS 
 
 Let thy cold heart grow melting and tender, 
 Let thy faith in mankind take new birth. 
 
 Let thy love, broad again spread its pinions 
 To encircle each creature of earth. 
 
 Build in that hour new ideals of living. 
 Reach still up for the best to be lived. 
 
 And resolve that in future thy striving 
 
 Shall be higher than e'er you have strived. 
 
 Thus the silence will speak to your tired heart 
 And inspire it with courage anew. 
 
 And thy life in the day that shall follow 
 Seem brighter and better to you. 
 
 IRovember 
 
 The year is dying. 
 
 The winds are sighing, 
 
 All earth looks sad 
 And the clouds are dreary. 
 
 Brave heart, be glad 
 Though the days are weary, 
 
 Let joy and light 
 
 Make thy whole life bright. 
 
 The leaves are falling, 
 The birds are calling. 
 
 They are flying afar 
 Where the sun is shining. 
 
 Let hope's bright star 
 Drive away repining, 
 
 Our summer is gone 
 
 But joy is not flown. 
 
 The gold is glinting 
 
 The gray clouds besprinting, 
 
 E'en November skies 
 Are not always gloomy. 
 
 Let thy thanks arise 
 O'er all sadness looming. 
 
 For the year's good cheer 
 
 Has left blessings here. 
 
 27 
 
28 POEMS 
 
 B Sunni^ Dag 
 
 'Tis a day when God's blessing seems streaming 
 In the sunlight so j^ellow and bright, 
 
 As day wanes and its last light in gleaming 
 Pours o'er earth its last treasures of light. 
 
 'Tis a day of an exquisite beauty, 
 
 When all earth has been glowing with light 
 And when life has seemed more than a duty. 
 
 And when love has been kept within sight. 
 
 Zbtcc Sottas 
 
 Three songs the soul of man singeth. 
 
 When his dreams are the noblest and best. 
 When his thoughts are purest and highest 
 
 And his heart is akin to the blest. 
 The power of these songs mankind reacheth. 
 
 For their themes are sent from above. 
 Their music all mankind uplifteth, 
 
 Their themes are faith, hope and love. 
 
 FAITH. 
 
 Hast thou faith in thy friend or thy neighbor? 
 
 Then he seemeth a brother to be, 
 And his good worketh too, for thy welfare 
 
 And his joy will bring joy unto thee. 
 Hast thou faith in mankind and their striving? 
 
 Then with them wilt thou strive and wilt see 
 That when good has come to thy brother 
 
 Then only can good come to thee. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 Hast thou hope for this world and its creatures? 
 
 Then for them a bright future thou'lt see. 
 And for them thou wilt work to advance it. 
 
 And with them thou wilt yearn to be free. 
 Hast thou hope that some day all earth's children 
 
 At the feet of their Father may kneel? 
 Then the good of the least thou'lt be seeking 
 
 And his woe or his weal thou wilt feel. 
 
POEMS 29 
 
 Xove 
 
 What giveth thee faith in thy brother. 
 
 What giveth thee hope for all men? 
 'Tis because in thine own heart thou'rt needing 
 
 The communion vrljich comes from a friend. 
 What filleth thy soul with these yearnings 
 
 Which maketh thee unlike the clod? 
 They come from that best of all blessings. 
 
 From that love which cometh from God. 
 
 September 
 
 There is sighing in the breeze 
 
 As it plays about the trees. 
 There are blessings in the light 
 
 As it streams so warm and bright. 
 There is cooling in the air. 
 
 There is beauty everywhere, 
 Autumn now is drawing near 
 
 For September is here. 
 
 There is pleasure's gay misrule 
 
 'Mong the children loosed from school, 
 For the even time has come 
 
 And each child may seek his home. 
 There is rest for everyone 
 
 At the setting of the sun, 
 And the eve is cool and clear, 
 
 For September is here. 
 
 There's a bright moon in the sky 
 
 'Mong the myriad stars on high. 
 All the beauties of its light 
 
 Soothe my tired soul tonight, 
 As the babe on mother's breast 
 
 Sinks into a peaceful rest. 
 The rest season of the year — 
 
 Mild September is here. 
 
30 POEMS 
 
 ©ne patcb ot ©olD 
 
 It was a gloomy day, methought, 
 
 But glancing at the sky 
 My seeking eye a gleaming caught— 
 
 One patch of gold on high. 
 
 The sky looked chill and dreary, 
 But that bright spot I saw 
 
 Cheered my eyes which were aweary, 
 And seemed the cold to thaw. 
 
 And then I saw the splendor 
 
 Of that dull autumn sky, 
 Which lighted up in granduer 
 
 And glory to my eye. 
 
 The skies teach many a lesson, 
 And none more sweet and clear 
 
 Than those which show the blessing 
 Of a life of beauty here. 
 
 And now this bright thought enters, 
 
 "If in paths of duty drear 
 A ray of pure love centers, 
 
 'Twill all this hard life cheer." 
 
 "For love can light the darkest road 
 
 In this tired, busy life, 
 Just as that gold caused the dull cloud 
 
 To shine with beauty rife," 
 
 ®ne picture 
 
 Oh! That I were an artist. One picture I'd paint! 
 
 Just one picture, of beauty so rare 
 It M'ould cheer all the hearts that are ready to faint. 
 
 And would show them that life is still fair. 
 
 I would paint a rich valley in garment of green 
 Dotted o'er with great trees towering there. 
 
 Beneath which graze the cattle and sheep which would glean 
 Livelihood from the grass growing fair. 
 
POEMS 31 
 
 On each side of the valley are mountains which tower 
 
 Far up toward the blue of the sky, 
 And ne'er o'er them should storms from their threatenings lower, 
 
 Whose terrors the souls of men try. 
 
 I would paint a blue sky such as never before 
 
 Had e'er gladdened the heart or the eye, 
 I would paint pure white clouds, v;ith sunlight streaming o'er, 
 
 That would increase their beauteous dye. 
 
 Then I'd paint a fair dwelling with vines growing near, 
 
 With bright flowers of varying hue. 
 And gay children there playing that blest home to cheer, 
 
 And young faces all smiling at you. 
 
 I would paint such a picture 'twould make your heart long 
 
 To abide in that spot for all time, 
 I would paint such a one that would make you feel strong, 
 
 That a life in such place is sublime. 
 
 ©ctober 
 
 Glorious golden month — October, 
 
 All earth seems subdued and sober. 
 Summer's scorching days are flown, 
 
 Beauty's left, but heat has gone. 
 
 Sky of gold and blue is o'er our head, 
 Golden brown the grass is now spread, 
 
 Cobwebs glisten in the air. 
 In the sunlight streaming fair. 
 
 All the leaves are robed in glowing 
 Dress, that red and gold is showing. 
 
 Solemn month of dying year, 
 Long we'd have thee tarry here. 
 
 And thy message, sweet October, 
 
 Makes my heart subdued and sober; 
 Brightly beams our summer here, 
 
 Soon will come fall of the year. 
 
32 POEMS 
 
 Like the leaves, we'll glow, then wither, 
 But like them, not die forever, 
 
 As the breeze their gold will fling 
 They'll give promise of the spring. 
 
 Catch the lesson, Oh! My heart, 
 That this golden month imparts; 
 
 Clothe thy life in beauty here. 
 
 Then winter's coming thou'lt not fear. 
 
 iLooft TUp! xm inp! 
 
 And wilt thou ne'er be satisfied. 
 
 Oh longing, striving will? 
 Thou hast that which but yesterday 
 
 Thou strivest for, but still 
 Thou'rt longing yet and will not be 
 
 Content, for now ye seek 
 For that which then ye'd only dreamed 
 
 And had not dared to speak. 
 
 And why art thou unsatisfied. 
 
 My struggling, yearning soul? 
 Is it because thou plain can see 
 
 Thou'rt still far from thy goal? 
 And dost thou find on nearing it 
 
 That it is far away. 
 And does is still seem higher up 
 
 Than it was yesterday? 
 
 And shall we e'er be satisfied. 
 
 And would we, if we could? 
 If we had naught to yearn for, would 
 
 This life hold much of good? 
 And when our hearts are hoping. 
 
 Are we not happy then? 
 Will life here e'er seem perfect 
 
 For us, or for all men? 
 
 No sky has e'er been fair enough 
 That has not shown a cloud. 
 
 No day has been so happy, that 
 No care did in it crowd. 
 
POEMS 33 
 
 No scene has been so beautiful 
 But that some blot did soil, 
 
 No plan has been so perfect 
 But our own acts could spoil. 
 
 And always we are longing 
 
 For something which we lack, 
 And great deeds we are viewing 
 
 Lie in the upward track. 
 And why are we still striving 
 
 And never satisfied? 
 We know there are still greater tasks 
 
 Than any we have tried. 
 
 God wants us to be longing 
 
 For all that's high and true, 
 'Tis He that plants a yearning 
 
 In the heart of me and you. 
 And if we're like Him living 
 
 We're gaining every day, 
 Yet still for good we're striving 
 
 That once seemed far away. 
 
 But Oh! In all our yearning 
 
 May we only seek to do 
 Some good to all His children 
 
 And teach them to be true. 
 May we ever still be looking 
 
 Up to a noble life. 
 And may lifting up of others 
 
 Forever be our strife. 
 
 Oh! Great God of the friendless, who cry unto Thee 
 
 In times of distress or despair, 
 In this time of my need, draw Thou nigh unto me 
 
 And grant me my most urgent prayer. 
 
 I have erred. Oh! My Father, have mercy on me, 
 
 I have failed in my efforts at good, 
 But Thou, God, not thy sons, will have pity on me, 
 
 Thou dost know what they've not understood. 
 
34 POEMS 
 
 Oh! My Father in Heaven, I've wandered from The3 
 
 When prosperity on me has smiled, 
 But now in my need I draw nigh unto Thee, 
 
 Repentant, remorseful — Thy child. 
 
 Thou knowest, dear Father, to do right I tried, 
 
 But my striving it all seemed in vain. 
 For mankind see not clear with a merciful eye 
 
 How often they cause others pain. 
 
 Oh! Dear God of the friendless, I need Thee, a friend; 
 
 Earth friends may judge harshly, but Thou 
 Art ever the same, a wise, merciful friend, 
 
 Thou wilt pity me now, even now. 
 
 We are proud of our strength in the days that are bright. 
 
 We would walk all too boldly, alone, 
 But our strength is so puny, while great is Thy might. 
 
 And we reach for the help that seems gone. 
 
 But we cry unto Thee in our days of despair, 
 
 "Oh! Thou Father look down from above. 
 Shed Thy mercy upon me. Oh! Hear Thou my prayer, 
 
 Shelter me from this storm by Thy love." 
 
 So Father, I come in this time of my need 
 When men's faces are all turned in distrust, 
 
 In the time of my sorrow, my cry Thou wilt heed, 
 "Give me help. Oh! Thou God, Who art just." 
 
 3BirO Xove 
 
 Summer, lazy summer days. 
 Earth is hot, the sun's ablaze. 
 Sky is blue, with silver clouds, 
 Scarlet flowers, drooping nod. 
 Birds in branches overhead 
 Have forsook their downy bed. 
 Twitter love songs all the day, 
 Language all of love have they. 
 
POEMS 35 
 
 Dreaming, I sit 'neath the tree, 
 Longing to be like them — free, 
 
 Wondering what such lovers say 
 
 Singing all the summer day. 
 What a life for summer time! 
 Peaceful, happy birdlings' chime. 
 
 Oh! That one a bird might be — 
 
 Singing, loving, joyous, free! 
 
 World, what are you and what am I? 
 Put here awhile to live and die? 
 
 To feel, enjoy, to mourn and love; — 
 
 Ah! This is life; but what's above? 
 
 We only live on this drear shore 
 
 A few short years, then we're no more. 
 
 For what's this life? Just a few fears — 
 
 Then loving smiles or many tears. 
 
 And this is life, someone may speak — 
 
 "A few are strong, but many weak. 
 We live this life, we often feel 
 We're wounding where we ought to heal." 
 
 Our life is just what we make it, 
 Our work is that for which we're fit; 
 
 Then let us do our very best, 
 
 By labor thus we may gain rest. 
 
 (There is scarcely any merit (if any) in these lines. I cannot call 
 them a poem. I copy them because they are my first attempt. C. L. E.) 
 
 Butumn %cavc6 
 
 The autumn leaves are falling now 
 
 So bright, so beautiful and dear, 
 They cover Mother Earth's fair brow. 
 
 They say that Autumn now is here. 
 
 The golden tint we love so well. 
 
 The scarlet also, just as dear, 
 On hilltop and within the dell 
 
 They now proclaim King Winter's near. 
 
36 POEMS 
 
 Oh! Autumn, thou art beautiful, 
 Thy face is cheerful, ever bright, 
 
 Thy beauties they are bountiful 
 
 But Autumn leaves are dearest, quite. 
 
 The bright red sun sets o'er us now, 
 We watch the leaves resplendent glow, 
 
 We sit and watch and wonder hov/ 
 
 They get that bright and beauteous hue. 
 
 But the Autumn leaves are very sad, 
 They tell us plain their own death poem. 
 
 For though their colors are so glad 
 We know the end is soon to come. 
 
 (This, too, I had not the heart to destroy. C. L. E.) 
 B CbtlD'9 pica 
 
 Father, be Thou ever near me. 
 Keep me closely from all harm, 
 
 Let me ever follow near Thee, 
 Shield me safely from alarm. 
 
 Be Thou ever my dear helper, 
 
 Though the way be full of thorns, 
 
 I'll not fear when Thou art with me, 
 Thou'rt a calm for ev'ry storm. 
 
 Oh! dear Father, much I need Thee, 
 Need Thee more than tongue can tell; 
 
 Need Thee more than mind can think of. 
 And I know Thou'lt lead me well. 
 
 Help me still to do my mission, 
 Fill me with Thy blessed love. 
 
 Much I need Thy gracious blessing — 
 Thy rich blessing from above. 
 
 Now, my Father, take me, use me, 
 Use me in Thy service here. 
 
 Let me know Thou art beside me, 
 Safely casting out all fear. 
 
POEMS 37 
 
 21 IRew Sone 
 
 There's a strain of beautiful music 
 That sings in my soul at times 
 
 Like a song of the white-souled angels 
 Far sweeter than all earth's chimes. 
 
 It comes like the low-toned murmur 
 
 Of a mother's sweet lullaby; 
 It comes like a grand, swelling chorus 
 
 Pealing upward to reach the sky. 
 
 Sometimes 'tis a joyful melody, 
 Sometimes 'tis a song of praise. 
 
 Sometimes 'tis a mournful cadence 
 Like sad mem'ries of long gone days. 
 
 It comes when my soul is calmest 
 
 Yet stirred by emotions sad; 
 It comes when my heart is purest 
 
 And cleansed from all that's bad. 
 
 Oh! I would I could catch the music, 
 Sing the song for mortal ears, 
 
 But 'tis gone, and the thoughts it leaves me 
 Are swimming my eyes in tears. 
 
 1bome jfor Zbc "man^cvct 
 
 Earth weary wanderer, far from thy home. 
 
 Oft do you dream of the dear days gone by, 
 Cottage so small and low, sloping brown roof, 
 
 Bending o'er all the blue sky. 
 Balmiest sunshine and breezes so soft 
 
 Make home on earth a safe refuge from strife, 
 Mother and friends so true, loved faces all, 
 
 Their love the refuge from stern cares of life. 
 
 Poor, weary wanderer, there's for you a home. 
 
 Do you not long for the dear Father's love? 
 His love so beautiful, pattern for thee. 
 
 Tenderly shown from above. 
 True, noble life you may live here below 
 
 If you but strive to do all you can. 
 Live like the One who is pattern for thee. 
 
 Teacher for all of us, meek Son of Man. 
 
38 POEMS 
 
 Dig TIClai2war& Once 
 
 Oh! Thou of an infinite wisdom 
 
 In Thy home in the faraway skies, 
 Dost Thou mourn o'er the woes of Thy children 
 
 Having pity for tears in our eyes? 
 
 And the cries of the weak ones and helpless, 
 By the strong and the cruel oppressed, 
 
 Oh! Thou God, in Thy own gracious justice 
 
 Wilt Thou judge for these poor hearts distressed? 
 
 Oh! Thou of an infinite kindness, 
 
 Dost Thou watch o'er the wandering ones here? 
 Dost Thou yearn for Thy wandering children 
 
 As a mother for a wayward child dear? 
 
 Oh! Thou of an infinite goodness 
 
 In that home where Thy mercy holds sway, 
 
 Thou art yearning to draw Thine own to Thee, 
 'Tis our waywardness keeps us away. 
 
 Oh! Teach us to be as the children 
 
 Whom the love of the mother hath drawn 
 
 To her side once again at the night tide 
 Where her tenderness shelters till dawn. 
 
 So Thou, in Thy infinite mercy, 
 
 Would draw all the wand'rers to Thee, 
 
 And their hearts, so sin sick and so weary, 
 Safe sheltered and rested would be. 
 
 DcsponDcncs 
 
 A sinking heart, a tortured brain, 
 A woe apart from grief or pain. 
 An aching void, a longing prayer, 
 Of failing cloyed nigh to despair. 
 
 Oh! God above. 
 
 In Thy great love 
 
 Set our hearts free 
 
 From drear Despondency. 
 
POEMS 39 
 
 A weary soul, a throbbing breast, 
 A hopeless soul of peace or rest, 
 A dreary waste, a pathless field. 
 Thither we haste, no hand to shield. 
 
 Oh! Father dear. 
 
 To sad hearts near, 
 
 Give our souls rest 
 
 Upon thy loving breast. 
 
 Iknow ^b^eclt 
 
 Think soul — and dost thou truly know thyself. 
 
 And couldst thou surely tell 
 With clever v.isdoui well 
 
 The mystery of that strange, strange one — thy- 
 self? 
 
 Ah! soul, thou art a stranger to thyself, 
 
 Thou dost not understand 
 The keeping in thy hand 
 
 Of that untroubled one that is thyself. 
 
 My soul, thou seest the sins of other hearts, 
 
 And judge them when they err, — 
 Their hearts are full of care, 
 
 And thou art cruel, knowing not their hearts. 
 
 My soul, I bid thee look unto thyself, 
 
 And judge thine own heart well. 
 There's One whom thou mayst tell 
 
 Thy fears. He knows thee better than thyself. 
 
 He cares for all His children, e'en thyself, 
 
 And He can teach thee all. 
 He'll hear thine ev'ry call, 
 
 He'll heed thy cry and comfort it Himself. 
 
 EventiDe 
 
 I stood beside the doorway 
 
 Just as the evening fell. 
 And watched the changing cloud forms 
 
 That coming rain foretell. 
 
40 POEMS 
 
 Tliey were large and dark and heavy 
 Yet of wondrous beauty full, 
 
 And a strange, untalked of feeling 
 Did at my heartstrings pull. 
 
 I love to watch their shifting 
 
 As each a scene would show, 
 It seemed that they kept hidden 
 
 Some secret I might know, 
 And though I could not read it, 
 
 Nor analyze it well, 
 Yet they gave to me a message 
 
 Of which I could not tell. 
 
 And shining up above them 
 
 Arose the evening star, 
 With its clear and speechless beauty 
 
 And light that came afar. 
 It spoke to me a message 
 
 Vv^ith silent wisdom filled. 
 And grieved would I be ever 
 
 If aught of it were spilled. 
 
 I love this quiet night tide 
 
 Just as the evening falls, 
 It seems that then the children 
 
 Can heai- the Father's calls; 
 For I know that He will lead us. 
 
 Be it night time, be it day, 
 And I feel that He will keep us 
 
 Nor let us go astray. 
 
 !io the clouds have told their message. 
 
 If I could not understand. 
 And I feel that it v/as written 
 
 V/ith our dear Father's hand. 
 So life to all His children 
 
 Seme message sv, eet can hold 
 Of the depth and strength and wideness 
 
 Of His wondrous love untold. 
 
POEMS 41 
 
 And we can learn its lessons 
 
 And strive to serve Him well, 
 And feel His love us enter — 
 
 I did when evening fell, 
 And I thank Him very humbly 
 
 For His speech with me tonight; 
 He'll speak to all His children 
 
 And lead us in the right. 
 
 And though the night has fallen. 
 
 And it is time for rest, 
 Some of the glorious calmness 
 
 Has centered in my breast. 
 And I feel that this message 
 
 With me shall always stay, — 
 He loves me, He will keep me, 
 
 I cannot from Him stray. 
 
 aBroftcn Cbotde 
 
 A poet once dreamed a sweet dream 
 
 Of Vv'ondrous beauty bright. 
 He said, "I'll give it to the world, 
 
 The dream I've had tonight." 
 The poet tried in words of men 
 
 To show the vision fair. 
 But people cried "This man but dreams. 
 
 There's naught of beauty there." 
 
 A singer once heard beauteous strains 
 
 E'en such as angels sing. 
 He said, "I'll sing and every heart 
 
 Will then forget its sting." 
 The singer sang in notes of earth 
 
 And fitted them to words; 
 But people said, "He singeth not, 
 
 Those are but broken chords." 
 
 A woman lived a life of love 
 
 Like that her Master taught. 
 
 She thought "Though weak, still I may show 
 His way with beauty fraught." 
 
42 POEMS 
 
 She lived a life of purest love 
 
 For weak who needed care; 
 
 The people loved but gold and said 
 "She would not do or dare." 
 
 The poet's dream, the singer's song, 
 
 The life so filled with love, 
 Though counted naught by those of earth 
 
 Were seen and heard above. 
 Man sees not as his God doth see, 
 
 He calls pure gold the dross, 
 Man treasures up the dross for gold 
 
 And does not know his loss. 
 
 Though man loved not the poet's dream 
 
 And counted it but words, 
 And though compared the singer's strains 
 
 To naught but broken chords. 
 And saw naught in the life so pure 
 
 And full of love sublime; 
 They all were ranked high as the stars 
 
 By the great Power Divine. 
 
 Oh! Thou who in the rush of years 
 
 Are striving to be great 
 In things of earth where many fail, 
 
 Crushed by the hand of Fate; 
 Pause, Oh! Wilt tnou not pause and think? 
 
 The strangeness of that word — 
 God may find greatness in what those 
 
 Called naught but broken chords. 
 
 XLbc JBrave of ®ut OLanO 
 
 (June 26, 1898.) 
 Down in the land of Suwannee River, 
 
 Far, far away, 
 There's where our thoughts are roving ever. 
 
 There's where the brave boys stay. 
 Our pride is in our brave young soldiers 
 
 Who're camping there. 
 They know not at what hour they're wanted 
 
 To fight for Cuba fair. 
 
POEMS 43 
 
 Chorus — 
 
 All their hopes in these words are centered, 
 
 "Cuban liberty," 
 'Tis in a noble cause they're marshalled, 
 
 Fighting to make men free. 
 
 Our nation heard a cry for justice, 
 
 A suffering wail. 
 Brave men to aid the weak have offered, 
 
 Such men can never fail. 
 They're camping in the sunny southland 
 
 Waiting the call. 
 Blue — grey, are hand in hand united. 
 
 Can they with one cause fall? 
 
 We love our land of glorious promise, 
 
 Long may she stand, 
 And may the cause of truth still prosper 
 
 Throughout our noble land. 
 God bless our brave men who have offered 
 
 Their lives for right, 
 America still stands undaunted 
 
 For freedom, truta and light. 
 
 Zbc CbllD Xttc 
 
 Are you wearied, sick of living 
 
 In the noisy, dreary ways? 
 Are you tired of the striving 
 
 Coming with the hurried days? 
 Does this seem a life of longing 
 
 That is all unsatisfied? 
 Are you heartsick, full of mourning. 
 
 Tired of each new pleasure tried? 
 
 List to me, for there is healing 
 For the heartsick of this life, 
 
 Who've had every tend'rest feeling 
 Wounded in the ceaseless strife 
 
 That is called by most tongues, — living- 
 Such a word is mockery. 
 
 That is not th6 highest living, 
 
 Life should be more full and free. 
 
44 
 
 POEMS 
 
 Let me show a picture to thee; 
 
 'Tis but of a cottage low, — 
 All the sky is blue above me, 
 
 It is in the sunny glow 
 Of a glorious summer even 
 
 Just before the great sun sinks 
 To sleep in the western heaven 
 
 And the dew the flowers drink. 
 
 In the blue, blue sky above me 
 
 The tops of the great, tall trees 
 Seem to touch that sky above me 
 
 As they rustle in the breeze. 
 I am but a child and heed it not 
 
 All the beauteous things above. 
 But my heart within, it burns hot 
 
 With the stirrings of that love. 
 
 Picture to tuyself a meadow; 
 
 All the grass is growing green. 
 Sunlight here, and there a shadow. 
 
 Now the gleaming flowerets sheen; 
 And beyond, there is a woodland 
 
 Clean and vast, and cool and dark; 
 Nature used a bounteous gift-hand. 
 
 When our path with trees she marked. 
 
 Home is in that little cottage 
 
 By that meadow and that wood, 
 Lessons learned in that wee cottage 
 
 Years gone by are still held good. 
 Mother's face is in the doorway 
 
 Patient, tired, yet how sweet; 
 She made smooth all the rough pathway 
 
 That might wound our little feet. 
 
 For our life, e'en in that bright day 
 Was not free from every trial. 
 
 But our trials they yielded straightway 
 To the magic of her smile. 
 
POEMS 45 
 
 Oh! How long, and bright and merry 
 
 Were those days so long ago! 
 Now they're long, and dark and dreary. 
 
 Why is it that this is so? 
 
 In that picture I am seeing 
 
 Is a schoolhouse on a hill. 
 All our ignorance is fleeing 
 
 'Neath the magic and the skill 
 Of our patient, loving teacher. 
 
 Who's to help us on the road 
 Of the royal path to learning, 
 
 And along that road we strode. 
 
 Oh! How much tnat teacher taught me! 
 
 Count it — I could not this day. 
 But thou hadst those same things taught thee 
 
 In those days so far away. 
 'Twas not all the lore of school books. 
 
 That's forgotten years ago. 
 But her smile, her life, her sweet looks 
 
 Ne'er will we forget below. 
 
 Oh! Those happy days of childhood. 
 
 In the brigbt days long since gone; 
 Never in the life of manhood 
 
 Shall we hear a world's "Well done;" 
 That will fill us full of living 
 
 With the true iife, pure and free. 
 There's naught in a life of striving 
 
 Like the childlife, once with thee. 
 
 Do you catch my simple lesson? 
 
 It v/ill not be much to tell 
 But in this life is a blessing 
 
 For the one who lives it well. 
 And the best life, and the greatest 
 
 Is a life that's full of good. 
 Such a life will be the nearest 
 
 To that dear life, our childhood. 
 
46 POEMS 
 
 Zbc Sptcit of l^edt 
 
 A long, a wearied troubled day, 
 
 All v.ork seemed but to be a drag; 
 My body was so tired that day, 
 
 So tired, my very steps did lag, 
 And Vv'hen the body's out of tune 
 
 The mind makes discord in its time, 
 And all the chords, once in attune. 
 
 Will lose their happy, charming chime. 
 
 I sat me down, heartsick at best, — 
 
 All things go wrong, what use to strive? 
 The heart seemed sinking in my breast, 
 
 'Twere scarcely worth the while to live. 
 And yet across my troubled heart 
 
 There rose a spirit in my breast, 
 A spirit that's at once apart. 
 
 At once the same as rest. 
 
 It was a longing for a new, 
 
 A wider, truer, nobler life, 
 A life that's only lived by few. 
 
 And yet may be each lot in life. 
 A nameless something I would have 
 
 Within me, to subdue all woe, 
 A something that would make me brave 
 
 To do, far better than I know. 
 
 Oh! Spirit sweet, of truth a part, 
 
 I'd bid thee welcome to my breast 
 And thou wouldst soothe my troubled heart, 
 
 And cause its waves of strife to rest; 
 I'd have thee enter even now. 
 
 Thou sweet and blessed peace called rest. 
 Thou art unchanged and thy fair brow 
 
 Shows whom thou enterest is blest. 
 
 Thou blessed spirit, enter me; 
 
 Ah! Now I welcome thee, I know 
 If I am hand in hand with thee 
 
 I'll go wherever thou wilt go. 
 
POEMS 47 
 
 Thou leadest far my mind astray 
 From mine own petty care and woe. 
 
 Let me help others, this I pray, 
 I must, if I go where thou go. 
 
 "If thou wouldst thine own cares forget. 
 
 If thou wouldst rested be, 
 Thou must for others strive, and let 
 
 Their cry for aid appeal to thee. 
 Forget thyself, of others think. 
 
 Love others better than thyself; 
 Each loving deed will form a link 
 
 In chains of love, which are heart wealth. 
 
 Thus spoke unto my troubled soul 
 
 The soothing spirit I called blest; 
 I tried to heed those accents low, 
 
 And found my heart had sweetest rest. 
 And then my vision it was clear. 
 
 My heart throbbed gladly in my breast. 
 These accents fell upon my ear, — 
 
 "Unselfishness — that is God's rest." 
 
 Success 
 
 There is a magic word that thrills 
 
 Its hearers' hearts where e'er 'tis spoke. 
 For each soul works or prays or wills 
 
 That it may gain this prize it hopes. 
 'Tis but a little word and yet 
 
 It means much toil and strife and pain. 
 And hearts that grieve and souls that fret 
 
 If only they such praise may gain. 
 
 To each it bears a thought distinct. 
 
 To each a different portent holds; 
 Renown defines this word, some think, 
 
 To many minds success means gold. 
 It is achieving all you hope 
 
 Or work for. That would seem too blest. 
 Oh! That some magic door would ope 
 
 To show to us what means success. 
 
48 POEMS 
 
 If thou hast striven after place 
 
 In this world, caring not at all 
 How it came that thou didst v/in the race, 
 
 Or ho\v thou didst cause others fall, 
 If thou hast builded up thyself 
 
 On others failure, crushing others down, 
 Thou mayst gain fame, thou hast not gained 
 
 Success. Thou hast gained false renown. 
 
 If thou hast striven to make clean 
 
 Thyself, and build a life of good 
 To others, while thyself shall glean 
 
 From wheat or tares a sheaf of good, — 
 If thou hast given thy best life blood 
 
 To gain the cause thou didst think best. 
 If every day thou didst an act of good. 
 
 Then thou hast truly gained Success. 
 
 Mbat moulO 5e6us Do? 
 
 What would Christ do? 
 If He were hemmed about with petty care. 
 
 If every day life seemed a ceaseless drag, 
 Clogged with monotony like to despair 
 
 And every hour with misery did lag. 
 For 'tis the "constant dropping" that wears stone, 
 
 'Tis harder far to quietly endure 
 The grind and ceaseless, dreary monotone 
 
 Of weariness, than to sharp agony endure. 
 
 What would He do? 
 If day by day He saw His strife for good 
 
 To come to failure, most ignoble, weak — 
 And all His strivings high, misunderstood 
 
 By those whose lives not one high aim 'did seek. 
 'Tis easy when the blood is fired by zeal 
 
 To accomplish grand results and fame achieve, 
 But when alone, unaided in the field, 
 
 'Tis bitter hard, to fall and lonely grieve. 
 
POEMS 49 
 
 What would He do? 
 If all about Him, every day, He saw 
 
 Some evil happen which He could not check, 
 If powerless, He felt His heartstrings draw 
 
 With agony, when Might did Virtue wreck; 
 For of all disappointments keen. 
 
 The knowledge of our uselessness doth strike 
 Most deep, to feel our lives of little use and mean, 
 
 When we would have it pulse with goodness rife. 
 
 What would Christ do? 
 Oh! Weary heart that strives to follow Him, 
 
 Groping along the dark and dreary road 
 Of ignominious living dull and dim. 
 
 And every moment tottering 'neath the load 
 Of hated burdens thou canst not cast down, 
 
 Alone, unfriended, thou art seeking yet 
 A higher life than that which is thine own 
 
 And almost in despair dost ask thyself — 
 
 What would Christ do? 
 Oh! Weary, heart-sick follower, see His life; 
 
 Observe how low He stooped, anon to rise 
 And tower high o'er all of worldly strife, 
 
 And e'en His life was failure in men's eyes. 
 Take courage, thou whose life seems most obscure, 
 
 And meekly be content, but still unsatisfied 
 With aught that's in thy life not high nor pure. 
 
 Enough, to every thought and act in Him confide. 
 
 What would He do? 
 What did He do, who once did sojourn here? 
 
 Not lofty deeds, blazed high on scrools of fame; 
 Christ, even He, did pour forth many a tear 
 
 And lived a lonely, humble life of bitter shame. 
 Take heart, thou lonely one, and seek to do 
 
 His will, and fear no scornful frowns of men. 
 What Christ doth think, that only concerns you, 
 
 Dread only that thou be condemned of Him. 
 
50 POEMS 
 
 What would Christ do? 
 Speak hopeful v;ords to some poor hopeless one, 
 
 Condemning vice in all its winning wiles, 
 But gladly welcoming back a penitent son, 
 
 And stooping oft to woo a little child. 
 Thou canst do these things, simple though they seem; 
 
 Do not disdain the little things to do, 
 Then, though thou sorrowest o'er unaccomplished dreams, 
 
 Comfort thyself — "Thus would my Master do." 
 
 *'3for flone ot "ds Xiv>etb Tflnto Ibimself" 
 
 Think how barren the heart and how lonely the soul 
 
 That here seeketh to live but for self. 
 Thou art one, but thou'rt only a part of the whole, 
 
 It is useless to keep to thyself. 
 God hath placed in the heart 
 
 Of each child here on earth 
 A spirit, which seeks 
 
 For its freedom from birth. 
 
 Seeks for freedom, Ah! true, but 'twere bondage as well 
 
 If no earth friend may share it with thee. 
 For how bitter the heart is no language can tell 
 
 When thou feelest none shareth its burdens with thee. 
 For that one is but selfish 
 
 Who would live all alone. 
 And would feel not the throb 
 
 Of all hearts next his own. 
 
 We have freedom in Christ, He hath said it Himself, 
 
 But He bids us for others to live, 
 For a liberty's false that's confined to a few 
 
 And for freedom for all does not strive. 
 And our life is a curse, 
 
 If no strong hand we give 
 To spread freedom for all 
 
 And for all hearts to live. 
 
 Oh! This world is full of sad hearts that would turn 
 
 With great joy to meet hearts full of love. 
 And can we not give it, cause some heart to burn 
 
 With a bountiful share of God's love? T 
 
POEMS 
 
 Let us give our best treasures 
 
 Not from base Mammon's mart. 
 Give faitli, liope and love — 
 
 The rich gifts from the heart. 
 
 Zo /Bbs Ststcr /BSamie 
 
 'Twas nineteen years ago, Mamie, 
 
 Can you recall the day? 
 Your second birthday, sister mine, 
 
 I'd lived one week that day. 
 Were you philosopher enough 
 
 To in the future peer. 
 And wonder where we two would be 
 
 As year succeeded year? 
 
 And did your heart go out in love 
 To that Vv'ee, helpless babe 
 
 Who, after years was sister — friend 
 
 To you, that elder babe? 
 
 I, who was then the infant young, 
 Had recognized you not, 
 
 My mind had not begun to pry 
 Or ponder on our lot. 
 
 And as we grew together, dear, 
 
 And played our childish plays, 
 You held yourself responsible 
 
 To the guiding of my ways. 
 For I was e'er a restless child, 
 
 My feet would wandering go, 
 Straight paths seemed easy for your feet, 
 
 And mild your young life's flow. 
 
 Then as the years above our heads 
 
 Had added knowledge there, 
 They stole from us our childish ways 
 
 And planted girlish care. 
 Our lives were not all sunshine. 
 
 Though wise and loving friends 
 Watched over us with tender care 
 
 From day's dawn till its end. 
 
52 POEMS 
 
 A sun'oeam here, a shadow there, 
 
 A fleeting childh.ve grief, 
 Which dropped from out our rosy youth, 
 
 As falls a withered leaf 
 From off a teauteous summer rose 
 
 And leaves scarcely a trace 
 Tbat in the rose has been a blight 
 
 To mar its fragrant grace. 
 
 So passed our days of childhood, and 
 
 We fain would call them back; 
 V/e almost shrink from heavier cares 
 
 We view in woman's track. 
 Yet still there's in our hearts a trace 
 
 Of many a childish trait; 
 I vender still and chafe to see 
 
 What in cur pathways wait. 
 
 And as our birthdays come this year 
 
 I almost long to see 
 Into the future, for its stores 
 In wait for you and me. . 
 
 And yet, whate'er thy life may be, i 
 
 I pray that I may share 
 In part, at least, its woes and joys 
 
 As we shared childhood's cares. 
 
 ZmUQbt 
 
 'Twixt the brightness of the daylight and the darkness of the night, 
 Comes a time of rest and quiet never felt in morning's light; 
 
 'Tis a time when hearts that weary with the burdens of the day 
 Feel the magic of the evening o'er their restless bosoms stray. 
 
 'Tis a time when souls that struggled with the weary cares of life 
 Turn to brighter, purer visions of a world with goodness rife. 
 
 Where we'll realize our longings for all the good and true, 
 
 That will soothe this homesick feeling in the heart of me and you. 
 
 As the shadows of the twilight steal about our bodies tired, 
 We can feel our inmost being with a nobler purpose fired. 
 
 As the mem'ries of our childhood and the ideals of our youth 
 
 Make us seek again with eager hearts those beauteous dreams of 
 truth. 
 
POEMS 
 
 53 
 
 Dreams that set our heartstrings quivering with a glorious melody 
 Which comes only when they're thoughtful and from taints of malice 
 free. 
 
 Then how sad and sweet and touching is the music that we hear 
 That, inciting us to duty, takes away all selfish fear. 
 
 We regret that mid the day's work we some tender heart did wound, 
 That good shafts we should have speeded all unnoticed reached the 
 ground, 
 
 But we see the wondrous promise for the future bright and fair 
 When the seeds of good we'll nourish and fill life with blossoms rare. 
 
 Oh! Such mem'ries sweet and olden that along our visions steal! 
 
 Making days bygone seem nearer and the present days more real. 
 Oh! Such bright dreams for the future when along an upward track 
 
 We shall climb, and scarce a longing look will we pause to cast back. 
 
 In the morn those golden mem'ries with the daylight fly away. 
 And the bright dreams for the future we may cast from us astray; 
 
 But they'll come again at twilight at the closing of the day 
 And we fain would pray them ever in our full, fond hearts to stay. 
 
 So this day has left a message, as from out our heart it steals, 
 'Tis a sense of peace and beauty e'en the lowest creature feels. 
 
 And our day would not be perfect if from dawn till deepest night 
 Were no time for thoughtful musing, which comes best with the 
 twilight. 
 
 Zbc Sftg TReHecteD 
 
 'Twas but a pool of water, 
 
 I passed one evening by, 
 'Twas dark and rank and muddy, 
 
 Unpleasant to the eye; 
 Yet in its depth was mirrored 
 
 The clouds of the sky, 
 
 I passed, absorbed in musings, 
 
 Unpleasant musings, too; 
 My mind was filled with dreams 
 
 Like that water, dark in hue, 
 But my eyes saw there in beauty 
 
 That glimpse of Heaven's blue. 
 
54 POEMS 
 
 I paused a trice beside it. 
 
 Those bright clouds mirrored there, 
 I thought how strange it was to see 
 
 In that place beauty rare, 
 For the clouds in that dark water 
 
 Were as those on high — most fair. 
 
 Then I said unto my sad heart, 
 " "Tis just the same with thee. 
 
 Although thou'rt full of troublings 
 There are rays of hope for thee; 
 
 There are dear ones, true hearts loving, 
 Enough to comfort thee." 
 
 'Twas true, blest human kindness 
 
 Spoke to my troubled soul. 
 Which by love renewed its love-warmth 
 
 As that low, stagnant pool 
 Reflected back the glories 
 
 Which the evening skies enroll. 
 
 Just as that pool of water 
 
 Shovved the beauteous even sky, 
 
 'Tis so our Aveak hearts mirror 
 That matchless love on high, 
 
 'Tis the source of all that's blessed 
 That comes to you and I. 
 
 And as the sun in power. 
 
 While setting in the sky, 
 Had lighted up with glory 
 
 Those brilliant clouds on high. 
 And their beauty was reflected 
 
 Is the dark pool I passed by. 
 
 Just so God's love can shine forth 
 
 His children's breasts into. 
 And the warm rays therein kindled 
 
 May stir some sad heart through, 
 Which can mirror forth a beauty 
 
 To rival Heaven's blue. 
 
POEMS 
 
 Zh^ JBrotber's JBurDen 
 
 Heap high thy brother's burden 
 
 Ye strong, crush down the weak, 
 '•Christianize" e'en if by cannon. 
 
 Such men should be cowardly, meek; 
 "Protect" with Columbia's freemen 
 
 The ones ye have bought with your gold. 
 Send forth our American soldiers 
 
 To grip v/ith oppression's dread hold. 
 
 What if they do strive for their freedom, 
 
 What right have such slaves thus to strive? 
 They are only half-tamed Filipinos 
 
 And fit, like the cattle, to drive. 
 Make our country of freemen "imperial," 
 
 Bow thyself at strong Mammon's base shrine. 
 But bev/are! For the right is undying 
 
 And "vengeance," the Lord sayeth, "is mine." 
 
 Curse the Spaniard for "rule of oppression," 
 
 Wrest from brave hands the cause they have 
 fought 
 Long and nobly, and drive out oppressors 
 
 Thyself to oppress those thus bought. 
 Ye v/ho fought neath tue emblem of freedom, 
 
 The flag bought in liberty's cause, 
 Make that banner the sign of the tyrant 
 
 And defy, neath its folds, God's just laws. 
 
 Thy brother's an hungered, now feed him. 
 
 Aye, feed him the bread of the slave. 
 He's athirst, make him drink gall and wormwood 
 
 More bitter to him than the grave. 
 He is naked, let thy power clothe him 
 
 With the strong, hated fetters ye wrought. 
 He is sick with long struggle with tyrants. 
 
 Visit him with a gift he ne'er sought. 
 
 He's in prison, the prison of darkness. 
 Go to him, and shut out Heaven's light. 
 
 He's a stranger, a weak, suff'ring stranger. 
 He has groped many years for the right. 
 
 55 
 
56 POEMS 
 
 Take him in, force freedom upon him, 
 
 Kill or frec^ him, for thou hast the might. 
 What l.mow such half-wild men of justice? 
 Their V, eck minds can not judge the right. 
 
 Our country is hacked by its millions, 
 
 That wealth must he used to cru:-ih truth. 
 O'uT land is ■. eli stocked with brave soldiers, 
 
 The i^trcngest, most fair of its youth. 
 T.^ke that gold, make it buy ye a people 
 
 One o bought V ith a God-man's pure life. 
 l'r',I-e those youths, make them sacrifice justice 
 
 To crush down those daring its strife. 
 
 Stain the fair life of our beloved nation 
 
 With the blot of a conqueror's might. 
 Crush out all remembrance of times when 
 
 Our fathers shed blood for the right. 
 These people are children of weakness, 
 
 No pov/er to self govern have they, 
 They never have asked thy protection 
 
 Yet ye steal their freedom away. 
 
 Oh! My country, and is this thy burden? 
 
 To crush down the weak ones, though brave; 
 Can this be our fair land of freedom 
 
 Which v*ould stoop to a nation enslave? 
 Let all true hearts take up the burden 
 
 Of truth, mercy, justice and right. 
 Then ye'll dread not to hear in that reck'ning 
 
 'Depait, ye accursed, from my sight." 
 
 IfnDepenDcncc 2)as 
 
 We are dwelling in a country 
 
 Which was once by patriots freed 
 From the cruel clutch of tyrants 
 
 Who upon men's freedom feed. 
 And we love our glorious nation 
 
 AVhich v/as once named "Home of the free" 
 And we long to keep it ever 
 
 The blest "Land of Liberty." 
 
 Lo! It cometh, the day draws near 
 W^hen was bought our freedom dear. 
 
POEMS 
 
 Lons ago our fathers, fighting 
 
 In a just and holy cause, 
 Wrote that g^crioiis declaration 
 
 Which seemed part of Heaven's lav/s, — 
 "God created all men equal," 
 
 'Tis Plis will that all L'e free, 
 Shall His sons forget, endeavor 
 
 To crush others' liberty? 
 
 Lo! It Cometh, the day draws near 
 When was bought our freedom dear. 
 
 H DeaD jpiUpino Soldier 
 
 'Tis only a tiny picture 
 
 Of a little brown man who lies 
 Appealing to the Father 
 
 With his face upturned to the skies. 
 From those eyes, once bright with courage, 
 
 The light of life has gone. 
 To the brave heart seeking freedom 
 
 The sting of death has flown. 
 
 That bro'.vn hand which never faltered 
 
 While resisting oppression's might 
 Is helpless now, and ne'er again 
 
 Will be raised in the strife for right. 
 Those lips which for the last time 
 
 Have ansv/ered their leader's call. 
 Will ne'er be oped till on that great day 
 
 He answers the Judge of us all. 
 
 But that brov/n face upturned to Heaven 
 
 Seems thus upraised to plead 
 For the cause which, living, he fought for 
 
 And, dying, his brave heart did bleed. 
 And thc^e pale lips which, locked together, 
 
 Have conquered the pangs of death. 
 Seem to mutely accuse the pow'r he defied 
 
 As long as earth spared him breath. 
 
 57 
 
58 
 
 POEMS 
 
 21 Dream ot Xove 
 
 One day I sat a-dreaming 
 
 And this is what I saw: 
 I saw the heavens gleaming 
 
 With the light of a perfect law; 
 I saw the sun a-shining 
 
 And all the sky was blue, 
 I saw the bright cherubs twining 
 
 Crowns, which were for the true. 
 
 I saw the sunlight beaming 
 
 On every child of earth, 
 I saw its blessings streaming, 
 
 I saw the children's mirth. 
 I saw that all were smiling 
 
 And each one's heart seemed gay, 
 With joy the hours beguiling 
 
 All that glorious summer's day. 
 
 I saw each mother watching 
 With love the children's play, 
 
 It seemed their hearts were catching 
 Mirth, from their children gay. 
 
 I saw each father blessing 
 His wife and children fair; 
 
 I knew I was but guessing 
 Half of the pleasure there. 
 
 I saw all people living 
 
 In peace, each other near; 
 They seemed to stop' their striving 
 
 And hold each other dear. 
 I saw no ragged people. 
 
 Each one was gaily clad, 
 I saw no faces evil 
 
 And not one face looked sad. 
 
 I saw that none seemed weary. 
 They helped each one along; 
 
 I saw no toiling dreary 
 But all worked with a song. 
 
POEMS 
 
 I saw no strong one trying 
 
 To crush a brother weak, 
 For everyone seemed vying 
 
 Each others good to seek. 
 
 And every one was turning 
 
 Toward One who seemed to lead, 
 And every heart seemed burning 
 
 With His great heart to plead. 
 I saw that He was folding 
 
 The weakest on His breast, 
 And the baby He was holding 
 
 Seemed to find a perfect rest. 
 
 And with one hand uplifted 
 
 He pointed to the sky, 
 Where the golden light had shifted 
 
 'Mid those gorgeous hues on high, 
 And each voice uprose in singing 
 
 As each glad face looked above, 
 And the song set my heart a-springing 
 For the theme of their song was "Love." 
 
 And mcthought I joined the singing 
 And my voice seemed out of tune. 
 
 And sad thoughts my heart were stinging 
 For the song ceased all too soon. 
 And I awoke, so sadly weeping 
 That my dream could not be true, 
 
 Yet I knew 'twould be out of keeping 
 With the heart of me or you. 
 
 For 'tis only v/hen we're loving 
 
 And serving day by day. 
 The truth of Christ's teaching proving, 
 
 That He'll live with us alway. 
 Oh! That we could but see it. 
 
 That we, "In His steps" must prove, 
 And then perhaps we may live it — 
 
 That beautiful life of Love. 
 
 59 
 
6o POEMS 
 
 TTbe Small anO Zbe ©teat 
 
 I watched the drops as on they came 
 A-coursing down my window pane, 
 Those crystal drops of April rain. 
 
 They came by twos and threes and fives, 
 
 Like human beings who contrive 
 
 In groups to v/alk throughout their lives. 
 
 While here and there a lonely drop 
 Came rushing down, and did not stop 
 Till it o'ertook those other drops. 
 
 Then ev'ry drop within the group 
 Was merged in one, which on did troop 
 Like to some great bird's downward swoop. 
 
 And at the bottom of the pane 
 
 Was nothing but a sheet of rain 
 
 In which all drops were merged again. 
 
 How like, methought, unto that sea 
 Which we have called humanity 
 That flows on to eternity. 
 
 Where few can do without a mate 
 Or kindred soul to share his fate, 
 Except the One soul, truly great. 
 
 He passed through this life alone. 
 No life of these can touch His own, 
 Yet His life touches every one. 
 
 And they who follow in the race 
 
 Upon that stream's smooth, glassy face, 
 
 Find His life only leaves a trace. 
 
 Where He lead, rushing to the sea 
 Upon whose breast all they, and He, 
 Were wafted to eternity. 
 
POEMS 6i 
 
 n;be Gbo(ce ot Zbc /Rower 
 
 A Mower went forth with His sickle 
 
 Among the ripe, golden grain, — 
 "I need not this wheat in my storehouse, 
 
 I'll return through this pathv/ay again." 
 
 He passed through the green, waving cornfields, 
 Whose tassels waved soft in the breeze, — 
 
 "You must bear food for man ere I cut thee, 
 I need not such treasures as these." 
 
 And then he came into a garden 
 Vvliere the roses and lilies in bloom 
 
 Flung forth to tne sunlight their beauty, 
 Wafted out on the air their perfume. 
 
 And He paused by a tall, snow white lily. 
 And He cut it from off its long stem; — 
 
 "It shall lie in my bosom," He whispered, 
 "And shall glow like a beautiful gem." 
 
 "For I've need of such flowers in my kingdom. 
 
 Their beauty so pure and white 
 An emblem shall be of the sinless 
 
 Who dwell in that land of delight." 
 
 But the gardener y^ept the next morning; — 
 "Had He taken my wheat or my corn 
 
 So nigh as they are to the harvest 
 No need had my sad heart to mourn." 
 
 "Ah! but that fair, white flower, though so 
 perfect. 
 
 Would be crushed by the cold winter snows, 
 So 'twere best that He cut it so early, 
 
 Though I loved it far better than those." 
 
 "But perhaps if I'm faithful in tending 
 And neglect not the care of the rest, 
 
 Some day in a land Vviiere no storms come 
 He v/ill place that white flower on my breast." 
 
62 POEMS 
 
 B Cbrlgtmaa Xettet 
 
 Dear toys and girls of Number Four, 
 
 I've thought about you o'er and o'er; 
 The kindly notes you wrote to me 
 
 So long ago, but then you see 
 You must excuse me — I've been sick 
 
 Or rd have surely answered quick. 
 It did me good to hear from you 
 
 And know that I had friends so true. 
 
 And now it's almost Christmas time. 
 
 For I can hear the sleighbells chime. 
 And I suppose you all enjoy 
 
 The snow. I hope each girl and boy 
 Will have such fun as ne'er before 
 
 You've had when winter breezes roar. 
 You won't have long to skate and slide, 
 
 So swift the seasons from us glide. 
 
 A merry Christmas to you all; 
 
 May Santa down your chimneys crawl 
 And fill each stocking to the toe; 
 
 He will, if you are good, I know. 
 I send you all my love, and pray 
 
 That you'll be happy Christmas day. 
 Let not one child be sad or surly, 
 
 And now goodbye. Your friend. Miss Earley. 
 
 XTbc Ibeart of a (31rl 
 
 Little girl, with the light in your eyes 
 And your frolicsome, gay, girlish fun. 
 
 And your chatter of school and of dolls, 
 Oh! dear me, how a girl's tongue can run. 
 
 In your games you're a witch, for you can 
 Change yourself into whate'er you choose; 
 
 Be a lady with jewels and silks, 
 Or a beggar without any shoes. 
 
POEMS 
 
 To play house is your greatest delight, 
 You can bake, you can sew, and to hear 
 
 You a guest entertain, would surprise 
 All your friends, 'tis so like mamma dear. 
 
 Playing school is a game that's well liked; 
 
 In this game it's the teacher you'd be. 
 And the way that her wisdom you ape 
 
 Is a sight that's amusing to see. 
 
 Some say that j^ou're noisy and rude, 
 But it's noise that's like music to me. 
 For I once was a girl, and I love 
 Your sweet ways and glad frolic to see. 
 
 So stay young just as long as you can. 
 Woman's crown will weigh lighter and press 
 
 Like the breath of the spring on your brow 
 If you keep that girl heart in your breast. 
 
 B ^farewell 
 
 (Epworth League to Rev. John C. Wiilits and Wife.) 
 
 "Look up" and "Lift up" is our motto 
 
 And it fits very well our goodbyes; 
 As we clasp the kind hand of our leader 
 
 The teardrops well up in our eyes. 
 But we're proud to look up to an elder 
 
 Who deigned to reside with us here. 
 And whose life among us as our pastor 
 
 Made the meaning of those words more clear. 
 
 "Lift up" — those two words on our banner 
 
 Gained a meaning they caught from the life 
 Of our pastor, for we felt the uplift 
 
 Of him and his brave little wife. 
 And the influence left by their good deeds 
 
 Was as leaven that's hid in the meal. 
 For its grown and reached lives that forever 
 
 The touch of that uplift will feeL 
 
 63 
 
64 POEMS 
 
 'Tis selfish we know to lament it, 
 
 Your passing away from our home, 
 But our love and our prayers shall go with you 
 
 As out from our circle you roam. 
 So farewell to you, kind friends, we'll miss you. 
 
 Your presence in cur league we'll lack, 
 But a place in our hearts v/e will keep you, 
 
 'T., ill Le there should you chance to come back. 
 
 Zbc /Rbessase ot a Sena 
 
 "Jesus, Savior, pilot me," 
 
 Softly did that precious song 
 Vv''aft its sweetness on mine ear, 
 
 And it seemed an angel throng 
 From their dwelling in the skies 
 
 Had come down to sing to me. 
 Bidding all the waves he still 
 
 Of my life's "Tempestuous sea." 
 
 For my heart was very sad. 
 
 All life's waters seemed so cold. 
 And my spirit was afraid 
 
 Of their storms as on they rolled. 
 When that soft and melting strain 
 
 Bade my spirit trust that Guide 
 Who will "Chart and compass" he 
 
 Through each fearsome, swelling tide. 
 
 And though still upon life's sea 
 
 I could hear the breakers roar. 
 All my thoughts turned to that rest 
 
 Which shall come upon the shore. 
 So, Vvhen died the notes away, 
 
 Of that throng which sang to me. 
 In my heart this message lived — 
 
 "Fear not, I will pilot thee." 
 
POEMS 65 
 
 B flRarcb mail 
 
 Oh! Rude March wind, thou'rt blowing 
 
 O'er the grave of one I love, 
 But e'en not all thy moaning 
 
 Will call her from above. 
 Ah! I could join thy wailing 
 
 And echo every moan, 
 If back 'tv. ould call the dear one 
 
 Who left our hearts so lone. 
 
 But, no, though winds are blowing, 
 
 The sun shines bright and warm, 
 And brings hope — that bright rainbow 
 
 Which follows every storm. 
 For she, for whom we're mourning, 
 
 In the land that's always day, 
 Still points me to the sunshine 
 
 And says "This is the way." 
 
 Then blow, March wind, blow softly, 
 
 Or blow more shrill and wild; 
 I'll e'en accept that lesson 
 
 With the meek heart of a child. 
 For though within our sad hearts 
 
 The winds of grief may blow. 
 Above all shines the sunbeams 
 
 Of God's warm love, I know. 
 
 ZTbe XaD U %ovc :Be6t 
 
 His ways are very winning — 
 
 This lad I love the best. 
 Though I'm not sure he loves me 
 
 A whit more than the rest. 
 He smiles on all sweet maidens 
 
 Who chance his way to rove, 
 And yet I must forgive him. 
 
 For he is my first love. 
 Oh! He's a handsome laddie! 
 
 His brow is smooth and fair, 
 
66 POEMS 
 
 His eyes are dark and sunny 
 
 And black his silken hair. 
 He does not knov/ what toil is, 
 
 His hands are soft and v.hite, 
 And willing slaves his bidding 
 
 Obey with keen delight. 
 
 Some think he is a tyrant; 
 
 If so his chains I'll wear 
 And be a happy victim 
 
 If I his smiles may share. 
 To Y, alt upon his lordship 
 
 Would be itself a joy, 
 For my heart's in his keeping. 
 
 My neighbor's baby boy. 
 
 To Harpe Smith, age five months. 
 
 XanD ct Sunefcine 
 
 Beyond earth's bitter, agonizing tears, 
 
 Beyond the gloom and sorrow of the years, 
 
 Beyond all doubts and fears that us assail, 
 There is a land where love shall e'er prevail. 
 
 Refrain: — 
 
 Dear land of sunshine, where no weeping is, 
 Bright home of gladness — land of endless bliss. 
 
 Home of our Savior, blessed land of flowers; 
 Toil on, ye faithful — all its joys are yours. 
 
 There dwell those souls that lived here undefiled, 
 There dwell those hearts, pure as a little child. 
 
 There rest all those who fought the noble fight, 
 There rest the weary in that land of light. 
 
 Faint not, dear soul, although the way be drear 
 And great the cross that thou dost carry here. 
 
 Thy Savior knows that thou hast need of rest, 
 To that dear home He'll bear thee on His breast. 
 
POEMS 
 
 Cbree Jawbawftcrs 
 
 Three little Kansas Jayhawkers are they, 
 
 Russell and Justy and Fred, 
 Riding stick horses this warm summer day. 
 
 Frisking like colts in the pasture at play, 
 Heels just as nimble and hearts just as gay, 
 
 Russell and Justy and Fred. 
 
 Galloping swiftly on sunburned bare feet 
 
 Russell and Justy and Fred, 
 Never were three small stick horses so. fleet. 
 
 Ne'er such loud laughter our list'ning ears greet, 
 Floating out glad on the soft breezes sweet, 
 
 Russell and Justy and Fred. 
 
 Rollicking fun on each young face so brown, 
 
 Russell and Justy and Fred, 
 Could one believe that those faces e'er frown. 
 
 Or think that tears would those merry eyes drown? 
 Two pairs of blue eyes and one pair of brown, 
 
 Russell and Justy and Fred. 
 
 Gaily they frolic beneath the warm sun, 
 
 Russell and Justy and Fred; 
 Sadly I think that these jays are soon flown. 
 
 For them life's labors will soon be begun. 
 God grant they'll labor to earn his "Well done," 
 
 Russell and Justy and Fred. 
 
 DandiUons 
 
 From my window I look on a meadow 
 Where, 'neath the warm rays of the sun. 
 
 The cattle and horses are feeding 
 And the long silken cobwebs are spun. 
 
 On the pure, vivid green of the meadow. 
 Still wet from the recent spring showers, 
 
 Are the dandelion globes, white and fluffy, 
 The wraiths of the bright yellow flowers. 
 
POEMS 
 
 And the sight takes me back to my childhood 
 When gaily we tripped o'er the grass, 
 
 And vainly we snatched at the cobwebs 
 To catch them as they floated past. 
 
 Or we plucked the pale ghosts of the flowers, 
 
 Admiring the light, fleecy down. 
 But one breath from our lips and the white wings 
 
 Were spread on the soft air and flown. 
 
 So now, as I sit idly dreaming, 
 
 Like cobwebs my dreams float away, 
 
 And like the pale ghosts of the flowers 
 Are vanished my young hopes so gay. 
 
 ©ur Xoss 
 
 'Twas in the bright bloom of her girlhood 
 She left us — ^that dear one of ours, 
 
 With one sigh left this earth and its winter 
 To enter a region of flowers. 
 
 We would call her not back here to suffer, 
 To weep, and know sorrow and sin. 
 
 For we know there v as sunshine in heaven 
 When her pure, sweet soul entered in. 
 
 We mourn. Oh! so sad and so lonely. 
 Though it's only our loss we lament. 
 
 For ve feel that her life is completer 
 In that bright land v. hither she went. 
 
 For earth, vvith its storms and its trials, 
 
 Its burden of sin and despair, 
 W^as far too unhappy a country 
 
 For one whose own life was so fair; 
 
 Whose mind was so free from earth's tarnish 
 Whose heart was so tender and true, 
 
 Yvliose love was f::o pure and so childlike. 
 Whose soul not one sinful thought knew. 
 
 So we joy in our sorrow and mourning. 
 We smile tlirough our hot tears of pain. 
 
 And we feel that our loss, though so heavy. 
 Is to her and to heaven a gain. 
 
POEMS 69 
 
 B "Wcw gear's Consecration 
 
 (For Epworth League Consecration Meeting.) 
 
 As we "Look up" to our Father 
 
 At the dying of the year, 
 And we thank Him for the favors 
 
 Ke has ever shown us here, 
 Let each prayer be for the New Year — 
 
 "May Christ's spirit come to me 
 That I may 'Lift up' the fallen, 
 
 Doing it as unto Thee." 
 
 Zbc passing of /BbclkinlcB 
 
 Columbia, bow thy head, 
 Don all txxy weeds of woe. 
 
 Salute thine honored dead 
 By traitrous hand laid low. 
 
 V/eep, ail ye sons of war, 
 One of thy heroes dies; 
 He's heard that call afar — 
 
 The reveille of the skies. 
 
 Ye martyrs gone before. 
 
 He comes to meet you there; 
 
 His work on earth is o'er. 
 Thy rich reward he'll share. 
 
 Child of America, 
 
 Ye have sore cause to weep. 
 You've lost a friend beloved — 
 
 Thy nation's lost its chief. 
 
 XLbc TRcal :f8os0 
 
 Their ways are not the most polished, 
 
 Their faces not alvvays clean. 
 Their hair and their hands and their linen 
 
 Not the neatest that ever were seen. 
 
 They often forget to say "Thank you," 
 'Tis seldom they think to say "Please," 
 
 But how can a boy who is busy 
 
 Take time for such trifles as these? 
 
70 POEMS 
 
 They'd like very much to be Indians 
 
 At war on a far western plain, 
 Or e]:-.e they would be the brave soldiers 
 To rout and dereat them again. 
 
 Their hearts are as wild as those Indians 
 Yet tender and steadfast and true, 
 
 They never desert a companion — 
 Rejoice if they're friendly to you. 
 
 So here's to their bright, happy faces, 
 Tiieir games and their barbarous joys, 
 
 For home would be dark and school dreary 
 Without them — our true, merry boys. 
 
 XLo 3':b6\c*b J8ab^ Girl 
 
 Her papa's name is Golden, 
 
 Her mamma was a Wing — 
 'Twas in the days of olden 
 
 Ere her life found its king. 
 
 Since then a little cherub 
 To their fond hearts doth cling; 
 
 She seems to them a seraph 
 Or Cupid on the wing. 
 
 And now their love is perfect 
 And proudly their hearts sing. 
 
 Since Jcsie Catharina 
 
 Flevv in on "Golden- Wing." 
 
 ®ur ipromiseD Hand 
 
 Have peace, sad heart; thou canst not right that wrong. 
 
 Though thine each throb may cause thee blood to weep 
 ^t sight of children whom the Master loved 
 
 And bade His brave disciple "Feed my sheep." 
 Ah! They are sore neglected, sore abused, 
 
 Their sweet young longings held of no avail; 
 Though their great wrongs may cause thee bitter pain, 
 
 To right them by thy tears thou canst but fail. 
 
POEMS 71 
 
 Be brave, weak heart, though all of life look dark. 
 
 Though strong o'er weak doth rule with iron rod, 
 Though man makes man an equal of the brute. 
 
 That man was made in likeness of our God. 
 Be brave, weak heart, pause not although thou faint 
 
 And falter by the wayside but to die; 
 Thou art but one in many, do not hoiie 
 
 To right all wrongs, be brave till bye and bye. 
 
 Rejoice, sad heart, thou needst not always weep 
 
 At sight of his neglected little ones. 
 They will be cared for in His ovvU good time, 
 
 He'll wipe away their tears and right their vv'iongs. 
 Be brave, weak heart, for He vvill give thee strength; 
 
 His love all force of man defies, 
 He'll lead thee out of thralldcm to that land 
 
 Where love and freedom, as He promised, lies. 
 
 ®10 ^folks' E)as 
 
 Why do we call it the "Old Folks' Day?" 
 Hearts don't grow old if the heads are gray; 
 
 Hearts only grov/ softer and warmer and mild 
 And more like the heart of an innocent child. 
 
 Every year that they beat they grow more like the ones 
 In that kingdom where Jesus shall speak His "Well done.' 
 
 Why do we call it the "Old Folks' Day?" 
 
 "Their eyes have grown dim," do I hear someone say? 
 Ah! Yes. But just think what those dim eyes have seen 
 
 Of that beautiful land where the pastures are green, 
 They've had visions — I'm sure — of those streets of pure gold 
 
 In that city whose glory can never be told. 
 
 Why do we call it the "Old Folks' Day?" 
 
 While our eyes sadly linger on hair that is gray — 
 
 That snow on the heads of these grandparents dear 
 Is a symbol that unto my eyesight is clear — 
 
 For white is the crown He gives here to the old 
 Whose crown in that country will be of pure gold. 
 
72 POKMS 
 
 Wliy do we call it the "Old Folks' Day?" 
 
 Their voices are feeble, their songs are not gay; 
 
 Ah! Well. Though they may not the glad anthems raise 
 They can sing very sweetly the old hymns of praise 
 
 That bring peace to the heart and tears to the eyes, 
 
 And I've not the least doubt they'll be heard in the skies. 
 
 Why do we call it the "Old Folks' Day?" 
 
 Their steps, do they falter along on the way? 
 
 Ah! Yes, but they've traveled so long on the road 
 
 And they've tottered so long 'neath a burdensome load. 
 
 They have earned for themselves the blessing of peace. 
 They've a right now to rest and from toil find release. 
 
 Why do we call it the "Old Folks' Day?" 
 
 Because 'tis a word that we young like to say. 
 
 It brings to our minds a sweet picture of those 
 Who have fought life's stern battles, Vvho now near the close; 
 
 As they sojourn among us, Vve'd like to be told 
 
 That we may be like them, some day when we're old. 
 
 B 6. B. 1R, Song 
 
 Down in the land of cane and cotton. 
 
 Long years ago. 
 Ne'er will those dark days be forgotten 
 
 While we are here below. 
 We then vvere young and strong and sturdy, 
 
 Our youth we gave 
 To keep the stars and stripes untarnished 
 
 And our fair land to save. 
 
 Chorus — 
 All the days were dark and dreary 
 
 For the boys in blue 
 But, though our hearts were sad and weary. 
 
 We to that flag were true. 
 
 From farm and shop o'er all the northland 
 
 We heard the cry 
 And answered "We are coming, coming 
 
 To fight, to win or die." 
 
POEMS 73 
 
 We fought to save our flag — "Old Glory," 
 
 We heard the call, 
 And many times on those fields gory 
 
 We saw our comrades fall. 
 
 Chorus — 
 
 Soon with them we will be united, 
 
 Our ranks are small, 
 And every year there's more responding 
 
 To our great Captain's call. 
 But centuries will hear the story 
 
 And praises tell 
 Of those who fought beneath "Old Glory.' 
 
 'Mid fire and shot and shell. 
 
 Brawin' l|)cuv ipicture 
 
 Two eyes brimming over with mischief has he. 
 As he sits on a box and he smiles back at me; 
 "I'm drawin' your picture," he chuckles with glee. 
 And he uses his crayon quite boldly and free. 
 If the portrait don't flatter, those eyes flatter me; 
 He's the kind of a boy it's delightful to see. 
 
 There's a three cornered hole in the crown of his hat — 
 
 Though it's foolish to mention a trifle like that — 
 
 And his hair's sticking through it, it will not lie flat 
 
 Without lots of brushing and many a pat. 
 
 And a boy when he's playing has no time for that. 
 
 Was his face clean? Well, really from just where he sat 
 
 It only looked sunburned and tanned — what of that? 
 
 And the button that's lost at the neck, vvhere below 
 The brown chest shows through seems just meant to show 
 How "Old Sol" loves to kiss with his kindliest glow 
 Those who love his caresses, from whence light doth flow, 
 And He's painted that boy brown, with sunbeams to show 
 That nowhere is found on the round earth below 
 Such sunshine as you'll find in a boy's heart, you know. 
 
74 POEMS 
 
 There are great gaping holes in the toes of his shoes. 
 
 And a patch on each knee — you can see if you choose, 
 
 Placed there by his mother, no other can use 
 
 To such an advantage her needle. Don't lose 
 
 Sight of that smile — it's a cure for the blues. 
 
 Those red lips are enough to an artist enthuse 
 
 And his teeth are like pearls — Oh, well, that's no news. 
 
 "I'm drawin' your picture," he tells me once more. 
 
 With that light in his eyes that I've seen there before; 
 
 So what do I care if the picture is poor? 
 
 On my heart is a picture that pleases me more. 
 
 'Tis his face, and those eyes with delight running o'er. 
 
 And that innocent smile — "Oh! God, I implore, 
 
 Let its purity shine on that face evermore." 
 
 ^^ Sweetbeart in ©IC) Santa 3fe 
 
 There's a quaint and ancient city 
 
 Down in New Mexico, 
 Where lives a maiden pretty, 
 
 And Oh! I love her so. 
 Her smile is gay and witty, 
 
 Ref. — Down in the land of manana, 
 
 In quaint old Santa Fe, 
 Lives this bright little Mexicana 
 
 Who with my heart doth play. 
 'Twas there that I wooed and won her 
 
 One glorious summer day. 
 And she whispered softly "8i, senor," 
 
 My sweetheart in old Santa Fe. 
 
 I'm going ba,ck soon to see her 
 
 And claim her promise true. 
 Through the old fashioned streets we'll wander 
 
 Under the sky so blue, 
 Or up on Fort Marcy we'll clamber 
 
 And there our fond vows renew. 
 
POEMS 
 
 I know that she's waiting for me 
 
 In her little adobe home, 
 I know that a welcome awaits me 
 
 Vvhen back to her side I roam, 
 For then we are going to marry — 
 
 Oh! Haste, happy day, to come. 
 
 Zbc Mnc JGirD (A Song) 
 
 Like a bit of blue from April skies 
 
 V/hen the sun is shining. 
 Like the soft untroubled hue of baby's eyes, 
 
 All our hearts enshrining, 
 Like the petals dark of violets shy 
 'Mid the grasses twining, — 
 Is this bird of springtime, 
 
 April's tears and smiles. 
 Oh! Sweet bird of springtime. 
 Tarry still awhile. 
 
 On the trees the buds begin to break 
 
 While songbirds are singing, 
 And the breeze the boughs begin to shake. 
 
 Oriole nests a swinging, 
 And we know that spring is wide av.ake 
 For the blue bird's winging. 
 'Tis the bird of springtime. 
 
 Her mild reign is near. 
 
 Soon will come the Maytime 
 
 For the blue bird's here. 
 
 lbeart'0 Base 
 
 Oh! Heart of mine, you should not fret, 
 What though the sky looks gray? 
 
 The sun behind the clouds shines yet, 
 'Twill rise another day. 
 
 Oh! Heart of mine, you should not sigh. 
 What though hope folds her wings? 
 
 She'll stretch them upward bye and bye, 
 Until then, why not sing? 
 
 75 
 
76 POKMS 
 
 Oh! Heart of mine, do not complain, 
 V/hat though you oft times fail? 
 
 Just laugh and say "I'll try again 
 And this time I'll prevail." 
 
 Oh! Heart of mine, you need not ache, 
 Yvliat though life's burdens weary? 
 
 Just fall asleep and you'll awake 
 And all the world he merry. 
 
 Oh! Heart of mine, be not afraid 
 
 Nor act the coward's part, 
 The world is sad, it needs your aid 
 
 So be a brave, glad heart. 
 
 appreciation 
 
 Once when a child with joyous eyes 
 
 I spied a sweet wild rose. 
 And I reached out my hand to clasp the prize. 
 
 That fairest flower that grows. 
 But a cruel thorn pierced my eager 'hand 
 
 Till I cried aloud in pain. 
 And the sweet rose, unheeded, fell from my hand. 
 So its beauty was in vain. 
 
 Oh, 'twas not so much for the pain I cried, 
 
 Although it was sudden and sharp, 
 But because at my feet the rose faded and died. 
 And the loss grieved my childish heart. 
 
 Once in the days when woman's crown 
 
 First rested upon my head, 
 I had a dear friend whose slightest frown 
 
 Could fill my heart with dread;; 
 Once in my joy I revealed to her sight 
 
 My greatest earthly prize. 
 But she said not a word of friendly delight. 
 Cold envy looked from her eyes. 
 
 But 'twas not so much that she envied me, 
 
 Though the thought made the hot tears fall. 
 But because I had wished her to share my glee 
 And she would not share it at all. 
 
POEMS 77 
 
 Oft in the days that since have fled 
 
 I have sought some good to embrace, 
 By a kindly deed, or a gentle word said 
 
 To bring joy to some sad face. 
 But although oft times I have sadly failed, 
 
 It has softened the sting and smart, 
 Just to know that my efforts have sometimes availed 
 To bring joy to some sad heart. 
 
 For we mind not the pain if we clasp the flower 
 
 Or touch the heart of a friend, 
 We forget the sting of our bitterest hour 
 In the heart felt "Well done" at the end. 
 
 ^be Sbarp morD 
 
 Dear friend, in the time when my heart was vexed 
 
 Did my harsh words cause j'ou pain? 
 Ah! Had I the power hovv^ gladly would I 
 
 Recall them to me again. 
 For each harsh word I spoke, I'd a kind one say 
 
 To soothe where the sharp one did sting. 
 But God Himself, who is wise and good, 
 
 Cannot help me recall a thing. 
 
 So I'll tell you I'm sorry, again and again. 
 
 And you will believe I speak true 
 When I say 'twas because my heart was so sad 
 
 That I was so cruel to you. 
 And because you seemed strong and I v/as so frail 
 
 I forgot you had burdens to bear, 
 I forgot that your burden too heavy would be 
 
 If I forced you to carry my share. 
 
 And because your heart was so true and kind 
 
 It would feel those harsh words the more, 
 For I think that my selfishness made me forget 
 
 The fact that your heart could be sore. 
 But though God will not let me recall those words, 
 
 He'll forgive, and you'll forgive, too, 
 For you know that I loved you although I was vexed 
 
 And spoke words so cruel to you. 
 
78 POEMS 
 
 IKS^ Desire 
 
 Like a bold bird that soars far above in the exquisite ether, 
 
 Like the voice of a lark when he sings in the sunshiny weather. 
 
 Like the zephyrs that bring the sweet scent of the rose in the June 
 time 
 Is the longing that thrills day and night in this soul of mine. 
 
 Like the voice of the mother who sings to her babe at the even, 
 
 Like the calm moon that smiles serene on them both from in 
 heaven, 
 
 Like the innocent laugh of that babe on the breast of its mother 
 Is this gift that I long for and seek, that is like to no other. 
 
 Like the bold bird I'd soar far away from all cares and vexations, 
 And the glad song I'd sing would thrill all of the listening nations, 
 
 Like the soft summer breeze I'd speak only of joy and of beauty, 
 I'd have people forget that old earth is a place of stern duty. 
 
 To the mother who sings her sweet song to the babe on her bosom. 
 To that child sheltered safely from all of life's cares ^nd confusion, 
 
 To all hearts that beat hot with the thrill of a passion or sorrow, 
 I'd give balm for the present and courage to face the tomorrow. 
 
 Oh! Father of Peace, looking down on Thy children so weary. 
 
 Only grant me this prayer — let me make some sad life less dreary; 
 
 Lord, let me sow seed in some rich soil, perhaps all unknowing — 
 That will bloom and bear flowers which shall gladden men's lives in 
 their blowing. 
 
 Malt Bwblle 
 
 I prayed that God would give me 
 
 A place in the world of strife, 
 A place to work wuere all might feel 
 
 An uplift from my life. 
 But He took my hand and lead me 
 
 To a quiet place apart. 
 And He left me there, and gave me 
 
 This message to my heart: 
 "Thy work is to wait awhile." 
 
POEMS 
 
 Then I prayed that He might give me 
 
 A strength that I might do 
 Kind deeds to those about me 
 
 E'en though they were but few. 
 But He only said "Be patient, 
 
 For thou art frail and weak," 
 And He bade me rest, and this message 
 
 Again I heard Him speak: 
 
 "Thou must rest, and wait awhile." 
 
 I prayed for a friend and brother, 
 
 And wept with many a tear. 
 That I might go to his rescue. 
 
 But God said: "Nay, tarry here; 
 Thy work is to wait and suffer. 
 
 Thou must love and patient be, 
 To rescue the weak and erring 
 
 Is not what I have for thee. 
 Thou must love, and wait awhile." 
 
 So I'm bidding my soul be patient. 
 
 It was never meant for me 
 To do the great work I covet 
 
 Of leading souls to Thee. 
 I am willing to wait and suffer, 
 To trust in Thy strength alone, 
 And in Tuine own time Thou wilt lead him. 
 My friend and brother, home. 
 I will trust and wait avv^hile. 
 
 79 
 
8o POEMS 
 
 Zbc Ibavcn ot IRcst 
 
 (By Maude E. Earley.) 
 
 I stood at my window, that bleak, rainy day, 
 And watched the dark clouds rolling by; 
 
 But ere I looked long, in rain and wind strong, 
 A lost bird was seen in the sky. 
 
 His wings they were weary, his heart it was sad. 
 
 He drew nearer and nearer my pane. 
 He was seeking a shelter and haven of rest 
 
 But he sought for that haven in vain. 
 
 He flew to my window; he flew to the eaves, 
 
 And wounded his poor weary breast. 
 But he found him no shelter, there seemed to be none 
 
 For a bird that was longing for rest. 
 
 Then I opened my window and stretched forth my hands 
 And cried to the bird, "Here is rest." 
 My hands they were willing to heal all the wounds 
 It had made in its vain search for rest. 
 
 But he paid no heed when I called to him, 
 
 He hearkened not unto my cry, 
 But he dashed forth again through the wind and the rain 
 
 And was lost from my sight in the sky. 
 
 How many poor children in paths of despair 
 
 Are seeking a haven in vain! 
 For they pass by the best of all havens — His breast, 
 
 Just like the poor bird in the rain. 
 
POEMS 8l 
 
 (By Wilber L. Earley.) 
 
 We meet, as ripples on the stream of life, 
 
 Awhile we journey side by side. 
 But soon, Ah! soon we're torn apart 
 
 And buried in the busy tide. 
 
 Perhaps some memory clings around 
 
 Those happy moments spent together, 
 And gladdens the weary march of life 
 
 As sunbeams gladden stormy weather. 
 
 Then not in vain we two have met 
 
 Amid this clomorous, worldly strife. 
 For pleasant memories of the past 
 
 Are beacon lights to .Jgher life. 
 
 A face, a smile, a kind word spoken, 
 
 A friendship that will never die, 
 These are the fruits of kindred spirits meeting, 
 
 And now, dear friend, good bye. 
 
INDEX 
 
 A Woman's Desire 7 
 
 A Stiff Upper Lip 8 
 
 A Letter From Home ii 
 
 A June Wedding 15 
 
 A Vision of Self 18 
 
 April's Goodbye 23 
 
 A March Day 24 
 
 A Sunny Day 28 
 
 A Prayer 33 
 
 A Query 35 
 
 Autumn Leaves 35 
 
 A Child's Plea 36 
 
 A New Song- 37 
 
 A Dead Filipino Soldier 57 
 
 A Dream of Love 58 
 
 A Cliristmas Letter 62 
 
 A Farewell 63 
 
 A March Wail 65 
 
 A New Year's Consecration 69 
 
 A G. A. R. Song /2 
 
 Appreciation 76 
 
 Bird Love 34 
 
 Broken Chords 41 
 
 December 24 
 
 Despondency 38 
 
 Dandelions 67 
 
 Drawin' Your Picture 73 
 
 Eventide 39 
 
 Father, Hold My Hand 10 
 
 Fellowship 25 
 
 "For None of Us Liveth Unto Himself" 50 
 
 Home for The Wanderer 37 
 
 His Wayward Ones 38 
 
 H.'.irr's tase 75 
 
 Iowa, Fairest on Earth 9 
 
 Independence Day 56 
 
 Know Thyself 39 
 
 Look Up! Lift Up! 32 
 
 Land of Sunshine 66 
 
 Mother's Love 16 
 
 My Sweetheart in Old Santa Fe 74 
 
 My Desire 78 
 
 November 27 
 
 Our Ever Present Sorrow 22 
 
 One Patch of Gold 30 
 
 One Picture 30 
 
 October 31 
 
 Our Loss 68 
 
 Our Promised Land 70 
 
 Old Folk's Day 71 
 
 Passing Clouds 23 
 
 September 29 
 
 Success 47 
 
 The Way and The Guide 7 
 
 The Woman's Part 10 
 
 The Little Mother of the Town 12 
 
 The Instinct of War 14 
 
 The First Day of School 17 
 
 The Hidden Beauty 21 
 
 The Message of Silence 26 
 
 Three Songs 28 
 
 The Brave of Our Land 42 
 
 The Child Life 43 
 
 The Spirit of Rest 46 
 
 To My Sister Mamie 51 
 
 Twilight 52 
 
 The Sky Reflected 53 
 
 Tny Brother's Burden 55 
 
 The Small and The Great 60 
 
 The Choice of The Mower 61 
 
 The Heart of a Girl 62 
 
 The Message of a Song 64 
 
 The Lad I Love Best 65 
 
 Three Jawhawkers 67 
 
 The Passing of McKinley 69 
 
 The Real Boys 69 
 
 To Jessie's Baby Girl 70 
 
 The Blue Bird 75 
 
 The Sharp Word 77 
 
 The Haven of Rest 80 
 
 To a Friend ^1 
 
 What Would Jesus Do? 48 
 
 Wait Awhile - 78 
 
iii: