^wi^ Li ^^^ SUBLIME BEAUTIFUL I LOVE I Passion Poems A Short Comedy Walter Smith Griffith r ..^ THt LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, Two Copies Received m 21 1903 Copyright Entry CLASS C^ XXc. No. COPY /^ ^-. -— .1? W^ ^ ^ Copyright { 1902 ) by Walter Smith Griffith. All rights reserved. Press of cc jce, c F.rajigis,i;..yVilliams. * t ' e c e t c /'P^^t^iA^r^^^ ,^t-<^!^^^X Celestial Ch-imes When trodden by a secret woe, I chanced to break the spell — The tinkling note of Nature's bell Broke in upon my musing, The sorrow drear confusing — The golden notes pealed forth. I seemed to hear the babl^ling brook, The nightingale's soft note. From woodland's golden throat, And o'er the muse came stealing The ring of choirs appealing Their strains from saintly hosts. I dreamed of rapture in the spell Of tones so rarely sweet, Where years too quickly meet, And to my soul came longing To hear again the thronging Of thoughts the bell brought forth. To fancy that I roamed afar Where peace and plenty throve, Within a sylvan grove ; To hear the golden ringing. And brown eyes softly gleaming With beams of purest love. And when the chimes enhance the charms Of lovely form and face, Bespeaking Nature's grace. Then tripping to the measure I find the heart's rare treasure Awaking hidden hymns. Look:! Look ! ye Christians, see the sign Flaming forth, a blazing tine — Christ is coming. From the Throne the Word is sent, For vile sin is nearly spent — Haste, ye knowing. Soon the dark will roll away, Glory in the Prince of Day ; God is mighty. Tear the bricks apart for bread. Dry the tears that many shed ; He was lowly. Flowing o'er is God's rich wealth, Hide ye not the cup with stealth — Give the blessing. As ye sow so shall ye reap, Gather not of leaves a heap — Curse'd treasure. Gabriel, blow your trumpet loud. Tear away this mortal shroud — Sound the finish. Dear Heart Pure must be my dearest heart Sure to be my better part, Bound to save from thoughtless smart Which can come from woman's dart — A rasping tongue. One I'll love all her sweet days — Down in depths of Life's wild maze, High o'er pelf that is man's craze, Sweet her worth, in age's haze, By poets sung. She who'll train our girls and boys For a life replete with joys, Caring naught for worldly cloys Making mortals weakest toys Of mocking taunts. Her I'll seek with courage rare, Knowing not how well I'll fare, Though my course no trumpets blare, Though the world may rudely stare From chosen haunts. An Easter Lily The angel hosts sing sweetest praise, Meek Christ, the Lord, is risen, And through His Blood from earth shall raise A ransomed host, rare given. And so the Christian should invite, Upon this Easter soaring, A lily fair and purely white To help his soul's adoring. For now, with thee, thou flow'ret fair. With heart so rarely golden, I'll wend my way through balmy air To where the feast is holden. May I and thee be ever true Unto the blessed Savior, Thou rarest flower beneath the blue, Thou love of sweet behavior. To My Lily. May you awake the sweet refrain Within the heart of loyal swain And grace his hearth. Thy brains were given thee to solve The secrets that the clay involve In every crisis. A ChLristma.s Wish. So live a life of purity And innocence That when the Master scans The page whereon the plans Of your life's story's written, The Savior's loving surety Will blot away all sin And for your spirit win Rare recompense. Destiny A crown of thorns Is every fate, No wisdom scorns Its given rate, But dares the test. Nly Heart I wish my heart to be of gold, To live alway within the fold Of God, the Good, the Wise, the Just, To raise above this mortal dust By mercy of the Savior. I wish my heart to be of gold, To save God's poor from heat and cold, To love the meek, to nurse the sick. To shield the weak from world's harsh kick Of lovelv, sweet behavior. I wish my heart to be of gold, Be alway sweet and never bold, The wonderment of all mankind, Of lofty aim and purest mind — The marvel of the women. I wish my heart to be of gold, To have the best that's ever sold. And yet to have so kind a heart That she will wish to share her part With all of God's relation. I wish my heart to be of gold, To ne'er to me seem cross or cold, To love her duty far too well To even listen to a spell Of worldly greed and slander. I wish my heart to be of gold. Be alway green and never old, Be alway full of gentle love. And be her husband's loving dove — The cherished of his bosom. I wish my heart to be of gold. To cherish all that's truly told. And throw away the jealous spite That brings the black of Satan's night; My heart must be a treasure. I wish my heart to be of gold, A woman fair, of noble mold, A loving wife, a truthful friend, A mother dear, whose noble end Is all for children's virtue. I know that mortal flesh is weak. But mercy's free to them who seek To earn a place within the way That marks the dawn of Virtue's day; My heart, so full of mercy. Then why should I, the weaker far Of all who walk this earthly star, Endeavor to direct the way Of all who walk within my day Into the Royal Kingdom? I love the just, the meek, the fair, The souls of those who wisely dare The shadows of the wily son, The one who found the weighty ton Of sin and sad perversion. I love the cause, I love the task, I love the souls of those who ask A road into the Kingdom Fair, Afar above the earthly air — A path into the Kingdom. I wish my heart to be of gold, To be a mother, fair as told Of all the souls of ancient lore. Of mothers dear, who nobly bore The trials of their offspring. A Hymn of Praise When God shall call for me to come Across the trackless blue, Should I bemoan the world's gay hum, Or friends, however true? The Savior's gentle voice doth plead For Virtue's golden way, He bore our sins, and our great need Is cleansing of our clay. Though you and I may fight along A narrow, sordid path. Our days and nights to him belong. Or else will come the wrath. The Truth is bound to win the fight. To win the Heavenly goal, It is the Word, our Father's might, The beauty of the soul. So I will choose the rocky right — The battle for the Gate Of Him, the only glorious Light Into the future state. Be good and wise and brave and just. That is the only Flag, Surmount the weakness of the dust, Give praise and never lag. May you, dear ones, outlive the strife Away from mortal sin. May you escape the dangers rife And Satan's direful din. IVIy Sweetest Love Two shyest eyes of sparkling brown Enthuse my Rosebud's face, Their love I asii for my rare crown, My life 'twill alway grace. Two rosy lips are petals rare In Cupid's precious prize, The glory of her crowning hair Enchants my love-lit eyes. Her winsome ways and loving smile I hope are all for me, And all ray time I'd fain beguile In her sweet company. I'd love to kiss her cherry lips When first her eyes awake, And kiss the drooping lids asleep When shadows us o'ertake. From early morn till day is done She is my loving thought, She is the star for all I've won, The good that I have wrought. Then why to me should you be coy, You are my better part, You are my hope, my pride, my joy. My own sweet Rosebud heart. Just whisper low, '' I love," sweet one, 'Twill fill my soul with bliss. Then let us meet w^here none can come To break our nuptial kiss. I^ i 1 ^ .^ CHAPTER I. One bright June morning in 1854, two stalwart O'Tooles, eighteen, orphan twins, stretched their legs in Battery Park, New York City, after a long and stormy voyage from the City of Belfast. John, who was of a studious disposition, possessed an excel- lent education and readily found employment in a large notion house. His sauvity and agreeable personality brought him speedy recognition, and he rapidly advanced to a partnership in the firm, which, in the course of a few years after his admission to its coun- cils, in 1 861, became one of the most influential in the metropolis. Too close application to business sapped his vitality, and, in 1S85, a stroke of paralysis caused his death. His widow and children were unacquainted with business details, and strangers bought out their interest. Terry remained in the city, making a comfortable sum by manual labor, until he saw John comfortably settled. City life did not suit his temperament. Books had always been a bore to him. A jug of whisky, a clay pipe and a pretty girl to blarney suited him better. He had that ambition so dear to many of his country- men — a " bit " of land. He said good-bye and turned roving farm help. Wages were good, Jerry knew the value of a dollar and his savings grew rapidly. Working from place to place, he gradually drifted westward, always keeping a sharp lookout for a desirable spot in which to settle. Finally he drifted into Venango County, Pennsylvania. Land was cheap and the wild scenery exactly matched his ideal. A bargain was made, a shanty erected and Jerr}^ a landowner. Soon prospectors were interested in the region, and Jerry found profitableemployment as guide and general utility. Jerry learned their errand, and when they wished to buy his land refused to sell. They succeeded in purchasing other sites, however, and the wild days of oil-well shooting followed. The heaviest spouters were on Jerry's land. He became the leader of the wild, adventurous spirits that flocked to the region, and his cabin nightl3' resounded with the boisterous merriment incidental to camp life. Nor did he lose sight of the main chance. He was frugul and became a million- aire. No taint of aristocracy flowed through Jerry's veins. The humblest teamster was as welcome to his hospitality as the richest oil magnate. An old slouch hat, blue nainicl shirt, overalls and stout boots were made to answer for all occasions. The jug of potheen was always fvill, and the "byes" were welcome every evening to pass away the time at " fort3^-fives " or in listening to the musically inclined. CHAPTER II. In the dining-room of a cosy flat in the most aristocratic neighborhood of upper New York, a dainty morsel of femininity — large, lustrous brown eyes and golden hair, petite figure and aristo- cratic mold of countenance — glanced up from her position amid the sofa cushions at a tall, athletic man, whose blue eyes snapped as he excitedly strode to and fro. Her eyes were red with weeping, but the pouting lips gave evidence of indisposition to yield to the wishes to which he was giving vehement expression. Tight in her arms she lovingly held a pug of hideous mien. Ever}' article in the room bespoke taste of the highest cul- ture, with abundant riches to gratify the ambitions. They had finished their morning meal. The clock was chiming the hour of ten. It was a domestic jar of serious aspect between John O'Toole, Jr., eldest son of the deceased merchant prince, and his fashionable wife. The cause of the quarrel was the pug, which the lady insisted on treating the same as she would a child. John had viewed all this with displeasure, but made no decided objection until he was forced to eat his meals with the pug in a high chair at his side. This was more than he could stand. "May, I won't have that ugly pug of yours seated at the table with me," he said, angrily. "It's bad enough seeing you waste all your affection on the ugly beast, without being compelled to eat my food with it. I'm. the laughing stock of all the fellows at the club now, who are always asking, ' How's ma's bab}', John ? ' " " If I'd knov,'n you were such a brute I wouldn't have mar- ried you ! I'll — I'll go home — home " — and a storm of tears flowed. John dearly loved his wife, and her tears went to his heart, softening his anger into solicitous tenderness. Taking her in his arms, he soothingly kissed the tears av/ay. "Just have your own sweet wa}', lovey. Don't cry any more. I won't say anotlier word about the dog, if it grieves you, dear. There, now, kiss me, deary, as I must go downtown.'' After considerable billing and cooing (incidental, always, to reconciliations after domestic jars), John strolled away to his club and May and Lil went shopping. John was a briglit, brainy fellow, and a popular member (though non-active) of the New York Bar. Had his ftither lived, John would have undoubtedly before then been high in his pro- fession. The elder O'Toole had always been most severe in his denunciation of idlers. A fashionable wife and a snug income gave the ycu';g man ever}^ incentive to keep away from the vortex of moneymaking. As he entered the billiard room of the club someone shouted : '•Jack, old man, 'tis a rare treat to see you," and turned around to receive a warm handclasp from his college chum. Jack Ashland. " Why, Ash., wliere did you drop from ? I haven't seen or heard from you since graduation. You promised to write. Where have you been? Give an account, sir." "Just came in from the oil regions," answered Ashland. " Had wonderful luck down there. Bought a piece of land all the other fellows had overlooked. The soil was literally soaked with oil. Made a snug little pile, got tired of the hardships, sold out and here I am, looking for a more easy way to increase my bank account, and maybe get a share of the honors— sensational cases and politics, you know. So busy, couldn't write. Take a cue and we'll roll one or two," and he rambled along v>'ith stories of the oil region and its inhabitants. When Jack Ashland was around he generally monopolized the major share of the conversation. But his host of friends made no objection, for he was bright, cheery and witty, therefore a splendid entertainer. After awhile they wandered downstairs to the reading room. " Say, Jack, I ran across a queer old cuss down there," said Ashland, suddenly jumping from college reminiscences back to oil campaigning. "Same name as yourself, too, come to tliink of it. Wonder could he be a relative of 3'ours ? " " There is only one relative of ours in America that I know of — father's brother, my Uncle Jerry "— " The very party," broke in Ashland, excitedly. "That's his name, Jerry O'Toole. You want to cultivate his acquaintance right away ; he's worth millions." " It might not be the right party," said John, " and, if it is, I don't know whether he will want to acknowledge the relation- ship. Father never heard fnnn him after lie v/ent awa}- from New York. Besides," proudly, " I don't exactly like the idea of intrud- ing upon him just because he is ricli. I've money enough of my own. If he were poor, I might help him along. Rich or poor, I would not care to introduce him to my friends if he is queer." " Tut ! Tut ! old man. Don't get mad," laughingly replied Ashland. "Bet a dolhir to a cookv he's vour long-lost uncle. Never can have enough money. It isn't human. He can't write, and so you must excuse his not communicating on that ground. Besides, old man," placing his hand affectionately on John's shoulder, " no one thinks any more of you than I do, and I have been away tw^o years without sending yon a word. The conditions there are different. It's all work an.d hustle amid the wildest excitement." " I am not mad. Ash.," laughed John, somewhat mollified. "Tell me what he is like,'' " There isn't much to tell. His wells are the finest and he is very rich. He spends practically nothing, so why shouldn't he be. But he's the queerest old codger ^-ou ever saw, begging your pardon." " Don't apologize. Go on with the description.'' " There isn't much more. He dresses like a laboring man on all occasions, and says exactly what he thinks, no matter who it hurts, in the richest brogue you ever heard.'' CHAPTER III. While John and May were leisurely eating their breakfast the following morning they discussed the news of Uncle Jerry. John wished to let the matter remain as it was. May didn't much fancy exhibiting Uncle Jerry's queer ways to her circle, but — well, money covers many shortcomings. " What do you w-ant to have Uncle Jerry come here for?" demanded John, impatiently, when she made the suggestion. '' We don't need his money. We have plenty and to spare." " Yes, dear, but think what a swell we could cut with Uncle Jerry's millions — and ma's baby could have a gold collar," squeez- ing the pug lovingh'. John muttered something under his breath that sounded very much like " d ma's baby ! " "You mean thing! Swearing at my innocent darling. I know Uncle Jerry won't be so mean. I (sob) — I (sob) " — and a shower of tears, which were only stopped by his promise to let her have her own Avay. John betook himself to his favorite pastime — lounging in the club rooms — while May placed Lil on the sofa in front of her and penned the following effusive epi.stle to Uncle Jerry : New York, March 15, 1888. Darling Uncle Jehrt: John received information of your whereabouts from a college chum, and, as he is very bu33', asked me to write and beseech you to come and spend a vacation with us. John's father, your brother, died last year vei'y suddenly, but we will j^'ive you a most affectionate welcome, you dear old uncle, and I know we shall love you very much. I know you wiil just dote on ma's babj', Lil, though her pa is so cross with her. Come as soon as you can, as we are very anxious to see you. We all send love. From your affectionate niece, Mat Otole. Directions were inserted, the envelope sealed and the letter posted. CHAPTER IV. At the head of a rough pine table in his cabin on the north bluffs of Oil City, surrounded by a dozen jovial comrades, sat Jerry O' Toole'. It was a cloudy night, threatening a storm, but inside the structure all was jollity. The potheen jug was circling, and dense clouds of smoke from the pipes formed fantastic shapes. It was a typical camp scene — the flickering lights, greasy- clothed men and hearty good will displayed. Just as Jerr}' was roaring out " Kathleen Mavourneen " there came a thunderous rap on the door, silencing the singer, and in came a rollicking young Irishman, who tossed a dainty note to Jerry. It was the first letter he had ever received that was perfumed. " Phat's this ? " he inquired, handling the missive as though it were a hot potato, at which there was a roar of laughter. " Someone's sent you a love letter," suggested his lawyer. When the merriment called forth by this sally had somewhat subsided, he added, " Let me read it for you. " They all crowded round and attentively listened. " Wirra, wnrra," said Jerry, dolefully. "John is did," and the tears streamed down his rugged cheeks. After a few minutes of sad silent reflection he recovered himself and asked to have the letter read over again. " Do yez know th' place where they bees livin', Jim ? " lie asked, turning sharply upon his legal adviser. "Very well," was the answer. "My sister lives only a short distance from them. It is a high-toned neighborhood." " There's sassiety fer yez, byes," cried Jerry, smiting the table with his fist. " A fayther cross wid his own gossoon. Th' sinful cr'atur'. 01' Jerry's th' bye '11 stan' by th' young un. " Hev yez a bit o' paper?" to the lawyer. "Yis? Well, draw up me will, I'avin' th' whole uv me coin to Lil O'Toole, mc niece, an' God bliss her." The will was executed and many brimming glasses drained while celebrating the event. But Jerry worried over the matter. He pondered deepl)- upon the future welfare of his abused heiress, and finally decided to go to New York and give his undutiful nephew a "bit o" his moind." CHAPTER V Three weeks had passed without a reply from Oil City. It was a balmy evening in April, and they had decided to pass it away at the opera. May was talking baby talk to the pug, sitting in a high chair at the table, a napkin tucked under her silver collar, and snapping up the dainty tidbits which were placed on the plate before her. John had lit a cigar and was quietly smoking. "By the way, dear," he suddenly exclaimed, "have you received an answer to your letter to Uncle Jerry? " As if in reply to his question, in marched Uncle Jerry. " Where's me niece? " demanded Jerry. " Guv her intil me arrums ! A foine fayther yez be ! Shure, her Uncle Jerry '11 stan' by her. Me wliol' fortun' to her hev Oi med me mark to." John's look of surprise and May's consternation were fit subjects for an artist. But self-possession rarely deserts a society woman for any length of time. Uncle Jerry continued to berate John as fast as he could pour forth the words, despite May's efforts to soothe his temper. Finally the excited Celt was induced to sit down. " Order dinner for uncle, dear," sheiSaid. " Oi've hed me dinner ; Oi'll hev me sooper," "I don't understand," began John, somewhat nettled at what he considered an uncalled for tongue lashing — "Now. John, uncle is hungry. Please order him some food," and she coaxingly led him to the door and playfully pushed him out. Lil coolly eyed the visitor. Jerry had never seen a pug before, and viewed the snub- nosed creature with displeasure. He was eager for an objective j)oint for ridicule and directed his shafts at the pug. " Phat's th' dorg doin' there ? " he asked. " Oi 'spose yez hez th' baste to amoose me darlint. Phat an ugly mug," and he roared with laughter. Just then the waitress entered with his dinner. Jerry wanted to see his niece, and it took considerable coax- ing to get him to accept the explanation that she was away with her grandmother. Then he consented to eat. But he nearly drove May distracted with his questions as to the baby's age, appearance, size and weight. After pushing the last morsel on the table into his mouth with his knife, he demanded : *' Now, take ol' Jerry to th' gossoon." " Have a cigar first, uncle, and a glass of wine." " No, no," said Jerry, testily, rejecting the cigars and wine, " Oi want none o' yer woine an' fancy ciggarrus. Hev yez a sup o' th' rale Oirish jooce, Oi w'u'dn't nioind a thimbleful," and he lit his pipe and drank several glasses of the whisky that was pro- cured for him. John walked around the block and cogitated over the occur- rence. He shrewdly concluded that it was more trouble because of " ma's baby," and was rather cross when he came in. May gave him a pleading look and asked him to don evening dress and take Uncle Jerry to the theatre. Meanwhile Jerry was wandering around the apartment, sarcastically commenting on the rich furnishings, leaving a dense volume of smoke in his wake, solely interested in what he considered a needless waste of money. John frowningly hesitated. But he had learned that morn- ing of a sad financial calamity, which made it easier for him to play agreeable. After John had gone to prepare himself for the ordeal, she mentioned the proposed plan for his amusement to Uncle Jerry. Yes, he would like to go to the theatre, but preferred seeing his darling. Upon receiving the solemn assurance that it would be impossible that evening, he consented to go to the theatre. As John and Uncle Jerry were of nearly the same build, she next proposed that the oil magnate wear one of John's dress suitr.. He emphatically refused. " Me ol' cluz hez bin foine fixin's fer me these many years, an' Oi want no sicli togs. Shure, Oi'd fale loike Oi hed a dinny- moite catridge in me pocket. A swallytoil, indade ! " But May finally coaxed him to agree. John concluded that variety was what would please his uncle the most. Jerry was immensely taken with the varied performance and entered into the enjoyment with his whole heart. The middle of the program was reached with no other mis- hap than loud exclamations of approval from the Oil Cityite. Then a large, magnificently proportioned actress danced to the footlights and sang a popular comical song. The gallery gods became wildly enthusiastic, joining heartily in the chorus. Jerry caught the infection. Every time the chorus came he leaped to his feet with a whoop, swinging his arms wildly and roaring out the refrain in a tone which rose high above all the rest. Then John had his hands full. The gallery " gods " turned their atten- tion from the actress to Jerry. John succeeded in getting his uncle to the street after con- siderable trouble, heartily sick of his task, and with inclination to go home, but the storm of bankruptcy threatening to engulf his fortune forced him to renewed effort. So he started again on his mission as entertainer. They went the round of New York's Ten- derloin resorts. Under the mellowing influence of Irish potheen, Jerry was persuaded to try champagne, and John finally dragged him home in a condition of howling, fighting inebriety. Meantime, May had relieved her anxiety with tears. Then she banished Lil to the kitchen and set her woman's wit to the accomplishment of a solution. But the more she thought the more perplexed became the outlook. She also feared John's anger when she was compelled to explain how the mistake originated. After John succeeded in getting Uncle Jerry to bed, he came into his own apartment and cast himself dejectedly into a chair. "There, May," he said, with a nervous laugh, " now see what a scrape your pug has got us into. l^ncle Jerry has left his whole fortune to Lil. Just think of it ! The worst of it is that it looks very much as though we will lose all we have and be com- pelled to struggle for our bread. Uncle will be furious when he learns the truth and refuse to help us." " Be paupers ?" asked May, in a horrified whisper. "Has the railroad company failed? " " Got into a reconstruction muddle." Brave hearts beat strong in many dainty breasts, and she soothed him with words of cheer and promi.ses of helpful devotion. The blessed Angel of Sleep smiled lovingly down on two hearts drawn closer by grim adversity. The following morning Jerry was importunate in his demands to see his niece — his heiress. The task of explaining was taken out of their hands by the elder Mrs. Otole, who burst into the dining-room in a hysterical frenzy. She had learned the sad news of financial disaster. "There, now, I guess you'll sell your darling baby, Lil!" exclaimed the excited woman. " No more fancy silver collars now ! Oh, dear, good gracious me, to think I should come to this in my old age. It is a judgment sent on us ! The good Lord didn't mean for a beast to be treated like a blessed baby. It was a sorry day when you came into the family, bringing misfortune on us all with your molly-coddling of a dirty-faced pug ! " Upon Jerry dawned how he had been led astray, and he was furious with rage, excitedly giving expression to a flow of not very choice language. The elder woman shrieked, sobbed and moaned, May softly cried and John bit his lips. After Jerry had relieved himself of his indignation, he delib- erately kicked the yelping pug into the street. Then he came back, "Hould yer whist!" he roared. "Guv attintion to me. Phat's wrong besoide decavin' ol' Jerry intil I'avin' me fortune to th' ugly-mugged baste? " " Well, uncle," said John, grimly, "the railroad in which all our money was invested has gone into the hands of a receiver. You know what that means — we are practically penniless." " Phat be yer goin' to do?" with a shrewd glance from under the shaggy eyebrow's. " I am going into partnership with my old college chum, Jack Ashland, in the practice of law. We have secured several clients and are promised more. I told May about it last night and was going to break the news to mother this morning. We will not starve. So dry your eyes, my dear mother and deary," kissing them affectionately, " I will take good care of you." " Bully fer ye, me bye. Yer Uncle Jerry won't be hard on yez." * * -:r * * -x- * -x- When ITncle Jerry made another visit to New Y^ork, two years later, he had the pleasure of dancing his pretty little nephew, John Otole, Jr , on his knee. Jerry took great delight in singing " Kathleen Mavourneen " to the baby and telling him what a rich young man he would be. l^ove ^ Love is a realm of pure and devoted bliss, Clinging and swa3^ing souls in a throbbing kiss, Changing to soulful woman the thoughtless miss, Bower of flowers hiding no devil's hiss, No selfish thought. Child of the hidden e3'e of devotion rare, Born in this w^orld of want and dull toiling care, Pearl of the skies, how rich upon poorest fare, Swept by the fires of hellishly keenest tear By satan wrought. Life of a woman's soul when she harks to muse Borne to her being sweet, without satan' s ruse. Guide of the tiny babe upon Life's harsh cruise, Kindling and purging life with its rare enthuse, Its flashing rays. Hope of the manly brawn and the noble heart. Earthly desire and lust cannot hold thy mart, Spur to the drooping spirit, and smiting dart, Thrown, like a lightning's flash, upon sin's dread part. The dastard ways. Father and mother dear of transcendant flame, Spaik of the spirit world, beyond mortal claim. Endless and boundless theme of eternal fame. Theme of all lands wherein is admired thy name, Thy pureness sought. Code of the hidden world, by the Father blest. Light of the Throne of Grace, and sweet Mercy's crest, Balm of the dead who sleep in the Christian rest, Plan of the end, eternally God's behest, Bv Christ then tau2:ht. Rosebud To my Sweetheart : M> blooming, fragrant Rosebud fair, With sweetest face and brownest hair, And sparkling eyes, like melting dew, That shine w'ith soul, so tender, true. A kiss from thee were bliss indeed ; Sweet woman, thou art all I need To make my life a dream of love. With thou my fondest turtle dove. With th}^ dear face within my heart, I'll play, with ease, a giant's part ; Your love shall be my guiding star And keep away the faults that mar. With thee to bless my humble hearth, I'll be the monarch of the earth, And hand in hand, at God's command, We'll live and die on Freedom's strand. M eirriage Marriage is a state of bliss, Binding closely with its kiss. When the man and woman feel God has placed on them the seal ; Then the wedded pair have found Common cause on holy ground. Master Bub A song of roly poly vsing, A baby in the tub, O'er poly rol}^ suds now fling, A toddler loves a rub. The day is o'er, the time has come When eyes must clOvSe in sleep, Put by the toys and noisy drum And under covers creep. But first from off the satin skin Must come the ugly clay ; He ends the day of toil and din In tumbling in the spra3^ He splashes round, with merry shout, And throws the water high, Then wants to still keep up the rout. For rest he does not cry. i^^^=^^^^^(;^^^^=^^3ai^^^=^'^S^S^^(i^^!^S^.:,^^^ Home *^ ^ My worn and weary feet At nightfall turn to where my wife. My treasure rarely sweet, With lovely tots— the salt of life- Await the father's coming, With voices gladly humming A welcome home to father dear, And bid his soul be of good cheer, For thev are fond and true. Precious Sweetness Whom do I love with all my heart And sadly mourn when we're apart, Whose sweetest face will ever grace ]\Iy inmost soul with fervent trace? My Rosebud. Into whose ear my tales of love For her, my fairest turtle dove, Would I the live-long day soft breathe And round her heart my love-chains wreathe? INIy Rosebud. Around whose waist would I fain place My arm in tenderest embrace, Whose lips would I in love then press And thrill her soul with sweet caress? My Rosebud's. Whose tired head would I oft rest Upon this shielding manly breast, And kiss the drooping eyelids there, Enframed within the curling hair? jNIy Rosebud's. Those lips that form a Cupid's bow Are all that I will care to know. The inspiration that I'll find Will closer wind your chains that bind, Sweet Rosebud. And you shall be my fairy queen. Your heart from care I'll alway screen. And love shall reign the live-long day, With you to keep the days all jMay, Sweet Rosebud. iVly Love My love is all in all to me Of all this world's sweet company, She loves the Father I have sought, Through mercy of the Savior, She loves the good that I have wrought, And longs to make for me a home From which Fll never want to roam — Sweet love. She is my hope, my love, my pride, And soon I hope to greet my bride At altar where the world doth stare Because they know no reason, And take my wife, my fondest care, To where the robins sing the birth Of just another humble hearth — Dear love. She dares the fight for honest ends. She knows the scorn that satan sends Through daring of the worldly tribe Of rash and heady mortals ; She knows no thought of sordid bribe To take away her sweetest charm That heals my wounds, her gracious balm Of love. And so I trust through dreary day, 'Mid winter snow and dreamy May ; I love to dream of her sweet worth When dreary clouds breathe torture For God doth love the humble hearth And sends his blessings straight to win Our mortal souls from deadly sin — My love. I love your eyes, so full of love, With deepest brown, my darling dove, You are my treasure, true and rare, Where spirit shows the pleasure ; Thou art the one for whom I dare The stormy world and business care To seek the means for your rare fare — My dove. Then keep for me your inner heart, Where I shall dwell, afar, apart From those who seek but worldly good- The dross and gilt of "splendor," And vapid show and empty rood — They know no love but earthly cloys, No lovely girls, no sturdy boys — My wife. ]V[y ^?Vlfe Thou lovely treasure of my heart, Thou heart of violet. Thou mortal kiss of heavenly part. Thou rose of goodness set Within my crown. Thou mother dear of daughters rare And martial sons of strength, Thou guardian of home, and fair Delight, whose praise at length I oft will sing. 'Tis thy loved face within my frame That makes my life so sweet, 'Tis thy dear voice that makes my fame Though hours be passing fleet With great renown. Thou woman dear who shares my lot, Thou fairest prize of Cupid, Thou golden lily in the plot Of life's Immortal King, Your praises ring. Across the strand away from night 1 aim to guide your way, I want you in the Heavenly light, An angel in the day Of purest love. Thankisgiving Our Father, kindly grant, we pray, Our prayers a gracious place Within the Throne of Grace ; We gather round the Throne to-day With hearts overflowing praise, Our hymns to Thee we raise. From North to South, from Fast to West, Across the ocean wide Our Flag doth grace the tide ; A land of plenty. Thou has blest Our hands with heaping stores, Our love to Thee outpours. Give us, we pray, rare grace of heart To use the gifts aright, 7^0 save the poor from blight; Give us, we pray, a soulful part In your grand plan of life, In Freedom's manful strife. And grant to us the mercy Thou Dost show the fallen one, The weak and erring son ; Teach us to humbly, bravely bow The head to Thy wise laws. For we are full of flaws. Grant peace and plenty. Father wise, To us this coming year. Preserve our land from fear ; We look to Thee with prayerful eyes, Our thanks, we ask, please take For Thv dear Son's sweet sake. Chiristmas Peal out, ye bells, with joyous ring, The manger held a child ; Ye choirs, chant, yea, sweetly sing, The Christ, with justice mild. Was born to cleanse away the stain That man had wrought for sordid gain. Give praise, ye people, to our God, Who gave the purest love Unto the sinful, wicked sod In sending down the dove Of Heavenly Love and Truth and Worth To purify the fallen earth. Amazed were e'en the wisest men To hear the wondrous words, He taught the way of things above. Of mansions in the sky, He showed how brothers should agree To reap the fruit of Life's good tree. Not only was he preacher true, But kept each wise command That God had given to prophets few Beneath His Royal Hand ; The Savior acted out the Word His worth He showed to all who heard. And on the cross — a frightful fate For one Who naught had done — He shed His Blood, nor could berate, He fought the fight and won ; " Forgive the deed,'' 'twas nobly said ; He cried aloud, His spirit fled. Now bring the children to your side And tell the tale anew, How Jesus walked upon the tide, Of His disciples few, And how was fed the mighty throng, And how to Him their prayers belong. Ttie Lifegi-iard's Home From purling brook to surging tide, From narrow stream to ocean wide, Is but a strip of mashy land, A dank and reeking bed of sand. Where stands the lifeguard's cabin home, The tie that him binds to the loam. Therein is found his loving wife, His helpmate through the stormy strife Of elements and drinking den To gain his clay and lucre when The storm is fierce upon the deep Or drinkers seek to make her weep. But from boon comrades he doth flee When to his thoughts come scenes of glee Where prattling lips greet father's ears And sweeter far the gladsome tears And loving arms and clinging kiss That tell how she her king would miss. Ivieuttenant Victor Blu^e It makes the blood flow free and fast Through human veins in torrid blast To hear the hero tell the tale Of gallant charge o'er hill, through dale, But braver far the man who goes To spy upon his country's foes, And faces hangman's noose. He puts away all selfish thought Of battlefields so dearly bought, Of honor, glory, fair renown And Freedom's grand acclaim and crown Unto the brave and daring soul Who leads the charge that wins the goal. And dares no hangman's noose. Too many greet with haughty scorn. Or gash the soul with wordy thorn. When told of spy who guided right Before the hot and winning fight ; To help his country win the day, He trod the silent, thorny ^vay, And braved the hangman's noose. Tis brave to fight through battle's thrall And suffer wounds from shell and ball, 'Tis grand to show your courage where The bugles call with cheery blare — But who will brave his fate to win The plans that lead to conflict's din. And face the hangman's noose .^ A IVIother's Woe Dedicated to the Memory of Mj- Dear Friend Thomas Bolitho. "Tis mother's hand that guides the feet Ot tiny babe along the street That leads to man's upright estate Or woman's grandly lovely fate In happy home. The mother works from sun to sun, She knows the race that they must run To reach the shining heavenly goal, Afar from rock and deadly shoal In sinful world. She works and stints for their dear sake, She joys when they good progress make, And often when in peace they sleep Her mind is full of troubles deep In their affairs. Her loving touch and gentle grace Makes home a precious, soothing place, No matter how the world doth race, 'Tis there we find dear mother's face And rare relief And when cold Death hath laid at rest The form she gathered at her breast, And her poor heart is torn with grief, No one but God can give relief Unto her w^oe. Each little toy and garment brings A gaping wound that sorely stings, Each thought of cunning ways and speech Renews again the awful breach That rends her heart. An aching void is in her heart When from her baby she must part, But bitter woe attends the shroud That wraps the form in clammy cloud In riper }-ears. And when the earth in heaping mound Hath shut away all earthly sound, Then back unto the daily grind With heart so sore, though friends be kind And dearly true. The world moves on, new duties fill Each passing hour, and nerves must thrill With pulsing life to meet the trend Of daily toil unto the end Of our life's span. I've seen the Reaper quickly slay The best of those within my day, The ones I loved and dearly prized, Whose loss hath stung until I cried In every thought. The way is long and dark and drear, The end is far. or maybe near. I strive along each weary day. And pray for mercy on my way — Thy will be done. Tine Poet I stir the strings of Fancy's harp With gentle touch, And with the sighing breeze A tinkling note of music rare Enchants my sense. J sway the tones of organ grand With master hand, And through the altar's aisles The grandest tones of earthly choirs Soothe me to rest. I strike the chords of feeling sharp And strong, and such A peal rings through the trees That bugles rouse to warlike cares And cost immense. I wake the tempest to command The trusted band To crush the serpent's wiles. And though 1 die amid the fires — 'Tis His behest. And e'en I dare old satan's ken At Duty's must, Until, with fearful cries, They flee away from mortal hand — A snarling mess. I bid the lightning, with my pen. To strike the dust Aw-ay from mortal eyes; I brave the sword, at His demand, For righteousness. A Kriend Give me the man with a noble heart, A brother to us all; Show me the one with a Christian part, Who says, " 111 ne'er throw a cruel dart To make a struggler to sorel}' smart, Or g-enius cause to pall.*' Indeed is he, among men. a man The Father views with love: However wrong be the human ken, His tongue and pen will most sweetly then Uplift the wretch from the deadly den And grasp of legal glove. He is the oak of old Mother Earth, A loving, soothing tree; He visits poor at their humble hearth. He shows the light of the Savior's birth, And life has lost its delicious mirth When God bids him be free. The JVIothier of a Hero The Father's aid she earnestly had sought 'Mid pain and struggles she so nobly fought, Till mother love a rich reward had brought — Her boy was first within the people's thought. Her woes are now^ repaid a hundred fold, Adown the years his worth will oft be told, And children fair will love the tale so bold, The deed won by the mother's heart of gold. To My Sweetheart Each sacrifice is sure to bring A blessing, sweet, to you, And love for Him, our Holy King, Makes duty shine anew. May all your struggles end in joy, May Jesus smile on thee, And happiness, without alloy, Your portion ever be. JMiss Buib Dancing lightly as a feather In the house or on the street, Tripping blithely o'er the heather, Dainty feet so slight and neat. In she peeps to see what father Doeth with his flying quill, Though she knows she must not bother, Yet her lively tongue's ne'er still. In her dreams she speaks of phases In the doings of the day, Then we hear the queerest phrases From the scenes of children's play. To My "Valentine: The roses of your peachy cheeks, Your eyes of velvet brown, Your golden hair and ruby lips Will win for me a crown — And hearts entwine. Your sprightly form and winsome ways And lovely graces, dear, Are precious themes to me, my love; I wish you always near, Mv Valentine. Temperance A loving wife, a happy home, From which no man will ever roam, Where singing childish prattle calls The father home whene'er night falls, That is a home, indeed. Old satan finds it hard to sow Discord within the firelight glow Where man and woman love the Lord And humbly seek His just reward By kindly word and deed. A vixen's tongue and slothful ways Will often drive to rum's vile craze, Though many fools need but a taunt To waste that which would keep from want Their trusting, needy seed. spring And soon the snow will vanish far Into the soil; then naught will mar The waking life of flow'rets bloom To chase away the winter gloom. The sun will spread its welcome beams Until all life with gladness seems To sing, and from the winter sleep The earth begins to quickly creep. In pealing strains the golden throats Of songsters greet, with tinkling notes, The glories of the springtime morn. When earth seems free from all her thorns. A Remembrance A little flower grew in the plot. It was a sweet forget-me-not. A mother's hand had placed it there, 'Mid falling tears, with tend"rest care — Her boy lay cold beneath. He was the last, her little man. Who came to her in life's bright span. When love was bright the live-long day. And sunbeams made it seem all May, And hosts of friends were round. ^ S-ffV%ti-^^ ^ wm ^^^m,^«?^*i -'#^#- "■nil ^ 'iiWiM^ '^ ^ ..^' LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 905 664 8 'Z^aSfc^ II v/^^m^