LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 ©J;ap:£5;&pjr5g^ :^> 
 
 Shelf 
 
 Mllf 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
^^- ^ 
 
 iij^^gt 
 
 ^ 
 
 / 
 
 J^tA^0, I^QyruLi4^. 
 
The Vacant Chair 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 / 
 
 HENRY STEVENSON WASHBURN. 
 
 /<1 OF CQ^^J^ 
 
 OCT 19 189® 
 
 
 SILVER, BURDETT AND COMPANY, 
 New York . . . BOSTON . . . Chicago. 
 
 1895. 
 
 S^ 
 
."PS 3\57 
 
 .W, 
 
 Copyright, 1895, 
 By Henry Stevenson Washburn, 
 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 
 
These Verses^ written in the leisure moments 
 of a life devoted to business pursuits mid matters 
 of public cojicern, are published at the request of 
 many friends^ to who7?i they are affectioJiately dedi- 
 cated by the author^ as the shadows of fourscore 
 years gather about his pathway. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 patriotic. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Vacant Chair 13 
 
 Three Hundred and Ten 19 
 
 Ready for the War 21 
 
 The Deserted Camp of the Massachusetts Fifty-First 23 
 
 They are coming back daily, one by one .... 25 
 
 Keep green their Memories 27 
 
 God speed the Right 29 
 
 Massachusetts to South Carolina 30 
 
 Contrasts . . 32 
 
 The Good Time coming 35 
 
 Fourth of July in Switzerland 38 
 
 John Bright at Seventy 40 
 
 A Day in June 42 
 
 The Bells of Vevay 44 
 
 The Rose 46 
 
 Sunset on Lake Winnipesaukee 47 
 
 The Marriage upon the Sidewalk 49 
 
 The Song and the Singer 53 
 
 The Boy Bathers . . . . , 56 
 
Viii CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The East Wind 59 
 
 April 60 
 
 The hungry Students 61 
 
 Sunset on Lake Leman (>•] 
 
 Morning in the Isle of Wight 70 
 
 The Brook of my Boyhood 72 
 
 Among the Hills 75 
 
 Laura May 76 
 
 To the first Robin 78 
 
 The Lesson of the Morning 80 
 
 The Poet's Corner 82 
 
 To J. T. F 85 
 
 A Sabbath in the Isle of Wight 86 
 
 Clerical Vestments 89 
 
 The Secret 93 
 
 Remembered Music 95 
 
 To a Forest Bird at Sunset 97 
 
 Kansas 98 
 
 Boston to Chicago 100 
 
 Burning of Chicago 102 
 
 Saturday Night 104 
 
 Only Waiting 106 
 
 The Pilgrim Fathers 109 
 
 Twilight Ill 
 
 Boston Light in November 113 
 
 Upon the Sea 115 
 
 The last Robin 117 
 
 Song of the Harvest 119 
 
 The Week before Christmas 121 
 
 December 123 
 
 The Wayside Rest 124 
 
 Another Year 125 
 
 The Portrait Painter 126 
 
 To Samuel Francis Smith 127 
 
 Ode 129 
 
CONTENTS. IX 
 
 Page 
 
 Let every Heart rejoice and sing 131 
 
 Tremont Temple 133 
 
 domestic* 
 
 Home 137 
 
 Eden 139 
 
 Boy and Maiden 142 
 
 The Cottage Bonnet 144 
 
 Early and Later Love 146 
 
 Our Old Homestead 148 
 
 Starting in Life 150 
 
 Thanksgiving Eve 152 
 
 The School-Boy's Vacation 154 
 
 The Trouble of the House 156 
 
 To N. at Thirty-two 159 
 
 Maria . . . f 161 
 
 Our Child 163 
 
 Our Household Pet 164 
 
 To A. at Twenty-one 166 
 
 A Sunbeam . 168 
 
 Thy Name 170 
 
 Song of the Chip-bird 171 
 
 An Epistle from the Rhine 173 
 
 Our Cottage Home. No. I 175 
 
 Our Cottage Home. No. 2 178 
 
 Meta 181 
 
 Mary 184 
 
 Shine and Shadow 186 
 
 Christ-like 189 
 
 One .0 190 
 
 The Glad Assurance 193 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Grave of the Dairyman's Daughter 194 
 
 She hath done what she could 197 
 
 The Still Small Voice 198 
 
 Storm on the Sabbath 199 
 
 Easter 201 
 
 In the Sanctuary 202 
 
 Winter Evening Hymn 204 
 
 The Village Church 205 
 
 Close of the Week 207 
 
 "Jesus Christ Himself " 209 
 
 "Trust in me" 211 
 
 The Pastor's Reception 212 
 
 Our Sanctuaries 214 
 
 The Rock of Ages 215 
 
 Zion 217 
 
 Dedicatory Hymn 219 
 
 Near to Port 221 
 
 JHemorial. 
 
 The Great Mystery 225 
 
 The Smitten President 226 
 
 The Last Man at his Guns 228 
 
 Burial of Mrs. Judson 232 
 
 Henry Morton Dexter 234 
 
 The Harvest of Death 236 
 
 Samuel Lunt Caldwell 239 
 
 The Missionary's Bride .,.,.• 243 
 
PATRIOTIC. 
 
THE VACANT CHAIR. 
 
 E shall meet, but we shall miss him, 
 There will be one vacant chair : 
 We shall linger to caress him, 
 
 When we breathe our evening prayer. 
 
 When a year ago we gathered, 
 Joy was in his mild blue eye ; 
 
 But a golden cord is severed. 
 And our hopes in ruin lie. 
 
 At our fireside, sad and lonely, 
 
 Often will the bosom swell 
 At remembrance of the story, — 
 
 How our noble Willie fell ; 
 
 How he strove to bear our banner 
 Through the thickest of the fight, 
 
 And upheld our country's honor 
 
 With the strength of manhood's might. 
 13 
 
14 
 
 PATRIOTIC. 
 
 True, they tell us, wreaths of glory 
 Evermore will deck his brow ; 
 
 But this soothes the anguish, only, 
 Sweeping o'er our heart-strings now. 
 
 Sleep to-day, O early fallen ! 
 
 In thy green and narrow bed : 
 Dirges from the pine and cypress 
 
 Mingle with the tears we shed. 
 
 We shall meet, but we shall miss him, 
 There will be one vacant chair • 
 
 We shall linger to caress him. 
 
 When we breathe our evening prayer. 
 
 Worcester, Nov. i6, 1861. 
 
 -^^//AWV^"^^ 
 
THE VACANT CHAIR. 
 
 15 
 
 Lieutenant John Wil- 
 liam Grout, the subject of 
 '• The Vacant Chair," was 
 the only son of Jonathan and 
 Mary Jane Grout, and was 
 born in Worcester, Massa- 
 chusetts, July 25th, 1843. His 
 father was a successful busi- 
 ness man, and the son en- 
 joyed the excellent educa- 
 tional advantages given to 
 the young in that enterpris- 
 ing city. He was a bright 
 boy, and a favorite of his 
 playmates, by whom he was 
 familiarly known as WiUie 
 Grout. It soon was evident 
 that he was by nature en- 
 dowed with rare g^'fts, physi- 
 cally and mentally. 
 
 "Of medium stature and 
 symmetrical proportions, erect 
 carriage and remarkably fine 
 and manly features, and with 
 elastic vigor and the glow of / 
 health, he might have been U^ 
 selected as a model by an /I 
 artist." ^ 
 
 ''' Sraf^t 
 
1 6 PATRIOTIC. 
 
 The photograph herewith given, which was taken 
 just before his departure for the war, is an excellent 
 likeness of his personal presence. He was a diligent 
 student, and mastered easily subjects to which his 
 attention was given ; but he turned with special 
 interest to history, in its relation to nations, and 
 their conflicts one with another. He seemed to 
 have been born for a military life ; and inherited 
 undoubtedly a love for the camp from his ancestors. 
 " He was of the sixth generation from John of Sud- 
 bury, who was a grandson of an English Knight, 
 and who distinguished himself for his heroism in 
 leading his townsmen triumphantly against the as- 
 saults of the Indians in 1676, — for which he was 
 rewarded with a Captaincy, then a substitute for 
 Knighthood in England." 
 
 It was early a question what profession in life 
 he should follow, — a matter which was not settled 
 till he entered the Highland School in his native city, 
 where in the Military Department his wishes were 
 gratified. He joined the company of Cadets, and 
 soon became its commander. Hardly had his ambi- 
 bition been thus gratified, when the Civil War became 
 the all-absorbing matter of interest to the people. 
 
 No one was quicker than he to see that his hour 
 had come, and he desired at once to enter the army ; 
 but his parents withheld their consent for a while, 
 chiefly on account of his youth, for he had barely 
 attained the age when his country could legally 
 claim his services. When however, they yielded to 
 his importunity, his joy knew no bounds ; and with 
 
THE VACANT CHAIR. 1 7 
 
 all the ardor of his nature he began preparations 
 for the service before him, such as sleeping on the 
 floor to inure himself to the hardships of life in 
 camp. 
 
 When the Massachusetts 15th Regiment was 
 organized, he received the commission of second 
 lieutenant of Company D, — an honor rarely be- 
 stowed upon so young a person. He was very 
 popular in the regiment. His knowledge of mili- 
 tary tactics was such that his services as a drill- 
 master were in constant demand. 
 
 "He assured his frieads, not with buoyant rash- 
 ness, but with serious candor, that he had girded on 
 his armor for all the emergencies of war, and for 
 victory or death. He seemed to feel the solemnities 
 as well as the responsibilites of his position, but 
 never faltered in his purpose, or in the duties he 
 was subsquently called to discharge. 
 
 "It was the fortune of the Massachusetts 15th 
 Regiment to do the greatest execution, and suffer 
 the greatest loss, in that disastrous conflict at 
 Ball's Bluff, October 21, 1861." 
 
 The coolness, self-possession, and courage of 
 Lieutenant Grout were noticed by his comrades 
 with astonishment, and greatly stimulated the cour- 
 age of others. When the day was lost, and they 
 were forced to retreat to the river, he seemed to be 
 utterly regardless of himself in his desire to have 
 the wounded conveyed to the opposite shore. To 
 his honor let it ever be remembered that he crossed 
 the stream with a boat-load of the sufferers, and 
 2 
 
1 8 PATRIOTIC. 
 
 seeing them safely landed, returned to render like 
 assistance to others ; and continued so to do till he 
 was obliged to plunge into the stream to save his 
 own life. He had reached the middle of the river 
 when he exclaimed to a comrade at his side, '• Tell 
 Company D I could have reached the shore, but 1 
 am shot, and must sink ; " and as the waters closed 
 over him, his spirit took its flight from the throes 
 and conflicts of earth. 
 
 When his death was announced, Col. Devens with 
 deep emotion said, " Dear little fellow ; he came to 
 me at the close of the battle and said, ' Colonel, can 
 I do anything more for you ? ' and I replied, ' Nothing 
 but take care of yourself. ' " 
 
 For several weeks the Potomac held his body in 
 its embrace, to be finally surrendered to loving hands, 
 from whence it was tenderly borne to his native city 
 for burial. 
 
 The heart of the old Commonwealth had never 
 known a sadder day than when his remains, under 
 the escort of the Highland Cadets, attended by the 
 mayor and both branches of the city government, 
 Col. Devens, and a large concourse of sympathizing 
 citizens, were taken to the cemetery for interment. 
 
 Many tears were mingled with the volleys fired 
 over the grave of the hero, who, at the early age of 
 eighteen, fell a voluntary sacrifice upon the altar of 
 his country. 
 
THREE HUNDRED AND TEN! 
 
 When the battle at Ball's Bluff was announced, the mayor of 
 Worcester despatched a messenger to the scene of action, with 
 instructions to offer the Massachusetts Fifteenth Regiment, in 
 behalf of the city, any assistance or succor they might require. 
 He returned with this message : " Tell our friends at home that we 
 want immediately three hundred and ten men, to fill the places 
 of those killed and missing, and a blanket and pair of mittens for 
 each of us. This is all we ask of them for the present." 
 
 |ISTEN ! wanted to-day, three hundred 
 
 and ten 
 
 Of the strong and the brave of New 
 
 England men : 
 
 They 're wanted to fill a dread chasm that 's made 
 
 In the gallant Fifteenth by the ball and the 
 
 blade. 
 From the heart of the Commonwealth, steady 
 
 and true. 
 The call To the Rescue ! is sounded anew : 
 Ho ! men of the anvil, ho ! men of the plow. 
 Gird the armor on quickly ; nay, tarry not now : 
 Ho ! merchant and banker, ho ! statesman and 
 
 priest, 
 Ho ! lawyer and client, ho ! men at the feast, 
 19 
 
20 PATRIOTIC. 
 
 To-day there are wanted three hundred and ten 
 Of the strong and the brave of New England 
 
 men; 
 They are wanted to fill a dread chasm that 's 
 
 made 
 In the gallant Fifteenth by the ball and the blade. 
 
 We 've a noble Republic to lose or to save, — 
 The boon that the blood of our ancestors gave ; 
 A land that was flowing with honey and wine, 
 Till the cry of disunion polluted its shrine. 
 From the Heart of the Commonwealth, steady 
 
 and true, 
 The call To the Rescue ! is sounded anew : 
 By the love that we bear for our Puritan sires, 
 By our altars and temples, our bright winter 
 
 fires, — 
 Our country, dear land of the free and the brave. 
 With the blessing of God, we are summoned to 
 
 save. 
 Then on to the Rescue ! Three hundred and ten 
 Of the strong and the brave of New England men, 
 You 're wanted to fill the dread chasm that 's 
 
 made 
 In the gallant Fifteenth by the ball and the 
 
 blade. 
 
READY FOR THE WAR, 
 
 " I am going home to kiss my motlier, and then I 'm off for 
 
 the War." 
 
 (Remark of a Volunteer.) 
 
 E stood beneath an autumn sky, 
 A youth of proud and manly mien ; 
 The blast of war went waiUng by, 
 And grief in many eyes was seen ; 
 And pausing but a moment more, 
 
 He ran to take one fond embrace, 
 Then sprang at duty's trumpet-call, 
 To meet the foeman face to face. 
 
 And as he flew on eagle wing. 
 
 His country's honor to defend, 
 I heard from lips all-quivering, 
 
 His mother's prayer to Heaven ascend, — 
 " God shield, wherever duty leads, 
 
 The darling of my heart to-night ! 
 Upon Thy arm let him rely. 
 
 The brave defender of the Right ! " 
 
22 PATRIOTIC. 
 
 Then from her conch bedewed with tears, 
 
 Columbia, daughter of the skies, 
 Heard shouts transcending human fears, 
 
 From hearts unawed, — " Arise, arise ! " 
 '* No hand shall pluck a single star 
 
 From that fair coronet of thine ; 
 The form his ruthless touch would mar 
 
 Shall still in regal beauty shine ! " 
 
 The watchword leaped from out the waves 
 
 That broke upon our rock-bound shores ; 
 It rang from Berkshire's granite caves, 
 
 Where the proud bird of Freedom soars ; 
 From lake and stream, from hill and dell, 
 
 One answering echo made reply, 
 " The Bay State knows her duty well, — 
 
 Her sons will triumph — or will die ! " 
 
 And I am sure — since such as thine. 
 
 Land of my Pilgrim sires and pride, 
 Their life-blood offer on thy shrine. 
 
 And sternly battle side by side — 
 Our dear old flag will higher still. 
 
 Wave proudly over land and sea ; 
 For those strong Saxon words, '' We will," 
 
 Bear on to Victory the Free ! 
 
THE DESERTED CAMP OF THE 
 MASSACHUSETTS FIFTY-FIRST. 
 
 O sentinel paces his weary round, 
 
 Silent and lone is their camping- 
 ground ; 
 
 No roll-call at sunset, no drum-beat at morn. 
 No blast of the bugle, no peal of the horn ! 
 They came when the harvest- moon, mellow and 
 
 mild. 
 Shone over the pathways of mother and child. 
 And the hunters' moon witnessed her tears as 
 
 they fell. 
 When her soldier boy whispered his last farewell. 
 
 I passed by the camp this brief dark day ; 
 The snows of December upon it lay ; 
 The murky skies like a leaden pall 
 Settled down drearily over all ; 
 A silence oppressive pervaded the air, 
 And I tarried only a moment there, — 
 Only a moment, for the joy and the light 
 Of our homes and our altars have passed from 
 our sight. 
 
 23 
 
24 PATRIOTIC. 
 
 Our noble boys of our brave Fifty- First, 
 
 Whom our hearts have cherished and hands have 
 
 nurst, 
 They of the quick eye and fine manly brow, — 
 Tell us, O South Wind ! where are they now? 
 And the South Wind answers, and this the reply : 
 "They're bearing the Stars and Stripes proudly 
 
 on high ; 
 Under the pines they are marching to-day, 
 Farther away — and still farther away ! " 
 
 Father all-merciful, mighty and just, 
 Tenderly shelter our Fifty-First ; 
 Nerve them for conflict with valor and might. 
 While they 're defending the Truth and the 
 
 Right ; 
 Evermore shield them by night and by day. 
 Whilst marching away — and still farther away ! 
 
 December 22, 1S62. 
 
THEY ARE COMING BACK DAILY, 
 ONE BY ONE. 
 
 I HEY are coming back daily, one by one ; 
 Their warfare is finished, their labor 
 done : 
 'Mid the scenes of his childhood make room for 
 
 the brave, 
 And give to our country's defender a grave ! 
 With the signet of death on his fine manly brow, 
 Bear tenderly onward the young hero now ; 
 Let the drum beat a dirge while we lay him to 
 
 rest. 
 And mingle our tears with the turf on his breast. 
 They are coming back daily, one by one ; 
 Their warfare is finished, their labor done. 
 
 They are coming back daily, but the quick eye is 
 
 dim. 
 And motionless now the once vigorous limb. 
 The heart which beat only for country and fame 
 Is still, while we wreathe with fresh laurels his 
 
 name. 
 
 25 
 
26 PATRIOTIC. 
 
 We shall miss his glad shout when we welcome the 
 
 dawn, 
 When the shadows of evening stretch over the 
 
 lawn, 
 Oh, how we shall miss him, as year after year, 
 We come with our garlands to twine round his 
 
 bier ! 
 With the signet of death on his fine manly brow, 
 Bear tenderly onward the young hero now ; 
 Let the drum beat a dirge while we lay him to 
 
 rest. 
 And mingle our tears with the turf on his breast. 
 They are coming back daily, one by one ; 
 Their warfare is finished, their labor done ! 
 
KEEP GREEN THEIR MEMORIES. 
 
 MEMORIAL HYMN. 
 
 EEP green their memories, day by day. 
 These pleasant paths with us they trod, 
 While prayer and praise beguiled the way 
 To this dear temple of our God. 
 
 We knew not that the foeman's hand 
 Was raised to strike the deadly blow ; 
 
 That over all our happy land. 
 
 So soon would break the wail of woe. 
 
 The heavens grew darker in that hour. 
 When they, the noble and the brave, 
 
 Went forth in manhood's pride and power, 
 And passed through victory to the grave. 
 
 Such lives can never know decay ; 
 
 New lustre gilds the martyr's name, 
 And greener, as time wears away. 
 
 Is his immortal wreath of fame. 
 
 27 
 
28 PATRIOTIC. 
 
 Then let our consecrated shrines 
 Keep record of the early dead, 
 
 And treasure in undying lines 
 
 The paths of glory they have led ; 
 
 That lisping youth, and hoary age, 
 
 While tears shall start and bosoms swell. 
 
 May read upon the marble page 
 
 How Freedom's heroes fought and fell. 
 
GOD SPEED THE RIGHT! 
 
 HE sun which rose through storm 
 and strife 
 
 Sets on a Land at peace ; 
 
 For over all the bugle call 
 
 Bids war and tumult cease ; 
 And men who yesterday were seen 
 
 Contending with their might, 
 With one accord let go the past, 
 
 And shout, " God speed the Right ! " 
 
 God speed the right ! be this our prayer, 
 
 Our earnest watch- word still, 
 As onward fair Columbia 
 
 Her mission doth fulfil : 
 God speed the Right ! O loyal heart. 
 
 Trust now and evermore ; 
 The bow of promise spans our land, 
 
 From East to Western shore. 
 
 29 
 
MASSACHUSETTS TO SOUTH 
 CAROLINA. 
 
 On the sailing of the first steamer from Boston to Charleston 
 at the close of the war. 
 
 RAY tell us, brave pilot, what meaneth 
 the signal 
 
 The good ship unfurls as she leaps to 
 the sea? 
 Where lieth the haven to which she is bearing 
 The stars and the stripes, with the hopes of the 
 Free? 
 
 " That flag to the world is a pledge of reunion. 
 Of ties rudely sundered, reunited once more ; 
 
 Massachusetts to South Carolina sends greeting, 
 As warmly and truly as ever before. 
 
 " Knew ye not, when the peal of the last gun of 
 battle 
 Died away from our valleys and hills, then arose 
 The Day-star of Peace, which o'er our broad acres. 
 Its light on the nation benignantly throws? 
 30 
 
MASSACHUSETTS TO SOUTH CAROLINA, 31 
 
 " That star is our guide as to-day o'er the billows 
 The North to the South sends good wishes 
 anew ; 
 With her prayer that our Union may be as endur- 
 ing 
 As the pledge she now proffers is unstinted and 
 true." 
 
CONTRASTS. 
 
 E oft have seen when swept the tempest 
 
 The smUing rainbow in the weeping 
 sky : 
 
 And we have seen when ocean's storms were o'er, 
 The placid ripple on the wave-washed shore. 
 
 32 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
If, O cherished friend of mine, 
 You shall trace in any Hne 
 Aught herein which will impart 
 Strength and courage to your heart. 
 Something making life more dear 
 As your footsteps linger here, — 
 Then not all in vain is flung 
 To the breeze the verse I 've sung ; 
 Doing better than I knew, 
 When I sang a strain for you. 
 
THE GOOD TIME COMING. 
 
 There 's a good time coming, boys, 
 
 A good time coming : 
 We may not live to see the day, 
 But earth shall glisten in the ray 
 Of the good time coming ; 
 Wait a little longer. 
 
 Charles Mackay, 
 
 HUS a bard of Britain prophesied ; 
 And his numbers, all aglow, 
 Passed o'er us like the breath of morn, 
 
 Full many years ago. 
 And visions of the good time 
 
 Came trooping into view, 
 And clothed the bright hereafter 
 
 In tints of rainbow hue. 
 
 We dreamed of peace and plenty. 
 
 Of the ohve and the vine, 
 Of the reapers and the gleaners. 
 
 Of the full corn and the wine ; 
 We dreamed of shackles fallen, 
 
 Of man erect and free, 
 Of golden cords of brotherhood, 
 
 And anthems of the sea, 
 35 
 
36 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 But while we waited, grimly, 
 
 With iron heel and hand, 
 I'he War-God stalked triumphantly 
 
 Through all our pleasant land ; 
 And sobs and lamentations 
 
 Went up from hill and plain, 
 For the manly hearts that quailed not, 
 
 Upon our altars slain. 
 
 The years have come and vanished, 
 
 But bitterness and strife 
 Still cast their baneful shadows 
 
 O'er all that 's dear in life. 
 Even now contention rageth. 
 
 For borne on every breeze 
 Come tidings of the conflicts 
 
 In lands beyond the seas. 
 
 The bard and prophet liveth. 
 
 But what for human ken ? 
 The good time 's coming, is it ? 
 
 O weary watcher, when ? 
 And countless heroes answer. 
 
 Along the world's highways, 
 " O faint of heart, take courage ! 
 
 These are the better days. 
 
THE GOOD TIME COMING. 37 
 
 " Hast thou not marked the progress 
 
 Of knowledge among men? — 
 How mercy tempers justice, 
 
 And th' sword yields to the pen? 
 How right o'er might prevaileth, 
 
 How Peace her balm distils, 
 Whilst Ceres, smiling goddess. 
 
 Her horn of plenty fills? 
 And fairer is the brightness, 
 
 As Time his chart unrolls, 
 Of the light which comes to gladden 
 
 All weary waiting souls. 
 
 '' Yet never, yearning brother. 
 
 Wilt thou perfection find ; 
 Some grain will be unwinnowed, 
 
 Some gold be unrefined — 
 Some hearts will pine in sorrow, 
 
 Some giope through doubt and fear; 
 Oh, never canst thou realize 
 
 The full fruition here. 
 
 " Still, over all forever. 
 
 The star of hope will shine ; 
 After the frail and human 
 
 Will come the life divine !" 
 
FOURTH OF JULY IN SWITZER- 
 LAND. 
 
 STRANGER wandering through thy 
 
 vales, 
 Land of the mountains wild and free ! 
 Steps lighter as this July morn 
 
 Breaks on his home beyond the sea ; 
 
 For whilst thy solitudes sublime 
 
 Still lure him in his onward way, 
 His heart turns fondly back to where 
 
 His country hails her natal day. 
 
 How like the whispers in a dream 
 Come voices on the passing breeze ; 
 
 Dear messages of love and hope, 
 From under the Atlantic seas. 
 
 And all day long as glide the hours. 
 Those mystic cords of brotherhood. 
 
 Which link the old world with the new, 
 Will thrill with greetings understood. 
 
 38 
 
FO UR TH OF JUL Y IN SWI TZERLAND. 39 
 
 Brave land ! our aims and hopes are one ; 
 
 The seed our fathers sowed we reap ; 
 Upon thine everlasting hills, 
 
 Doth Freedom bright her watch-fires keep. 
 
 Freedom ! this is thy Jubilee ! 
 
 O mountain fastnesses which long 
 Have held the jewel in embrace, 
 
 Join in the jubilate song. 
 
 And let the pasan onward roll, 
 
 Till wars shall end and tumult cease ; 
 
 And over every land, unfurled, 
 
 Shall float thy banner. Prince of Peacd ! 
 
JOHN BRIGHT AT SEVENTY. 
 
 jE send him greetings o'er the sea ! 
 ^j Columbia's tried and steadfast 
 ^^1 friend ; 
 
 Alost steadfast when her foes combined 
 The laurels from her brow to rend. 
 
 His earnest eloquence is like 
 
 The sturdy speech of Chatham's time, 
 When England's more than monarch hailed 
 
 The glory of this Western clime, — 
 
 This goodly heritage of ours, 
 
 Purged from th' oppressor's rod and sin, 
 Her ample gates wide open flung, 
 
 For earth's worn millions to come in. 
 
 We have our mission, thou hast thine — 
 O fatherland, to truth be true ! 
 
 With the dead past we leave the old, 
 And stretch our hands to clasp the new. 
 
 And we are glad so brave a heart, 
 Reared at thine altars, sees the morn 
 
 Of liberty for all mankind. 
 
 From out our night of suff'ring born. 
 40 
 
JOHN BRIGHT AT SEVENTY. 
 
 His hand we hold in ours to-day, 
 With blessings on his honored name, 
 
 While patriot hearts round all the world, 
 Exult in his unsullied fame. 
 
 41 
 
 
A DAY IN JUNE. 
 
 FIELDS in June's fair verdure drest, 
 And vocal now with birds and bees ! 
 A toiler from the world's highways 
 I turn, with willing feet, to these, 
 Inhalinsf here the mornins: breeze. 
 
 o 
 
 The air is moist with last night's rain, 
 Through op'ning clouds the sun appears. 
 
 The robin, earliest of the train 
 
 The plough-boy at his window hears. 
 Repeats the song of other years. 
 
 I tread with lighter steps anew 
 
 The pathways of my boyhood's morn ; 
 
 The sky o'erhead is just as blue. 
 
 And just as green the springing corn, 
 And sweet the scent of thyme and thorn. 
 
 No care then rankled in my breast; 
 
 No sorrow on my spirit fell ; 
 The cool green sward my bare feet prest, 
 
 The lowing herds they knew me well, 
 
 And I, the daisy in the dell. 
 42 
 
A DAY IN JUNE. 43 
 
 The squirrel had his hiding place, 
 And I had mine beside the brook; 
 
 He gathered nuts from day to day, 
 Whilst I a constant lesson took 
 From him, and nature's wondrous book. 
 
 O fair green fields and summer skies ! 
 
 visions of long time ago ! 
 
 O well- remembered haunts, and chimes 
 Which from perennial fountains flow ! 
 Glad voices from the vales below. 
 
 Here let me bathe my weary brow 
 In this delicious air of day ; 
 
 All laden as it cometh now 
 
 With fragrance from the new- mown hay. 
 The blackbird's and the robin's lay. 
 
 The busy world will not intrude. 
 Nor Mammon his proud altar rear ; 
 
 Alone, within this breezy wood. 
 Where the Almighty doth appear, 
 
 1 '11 pay my heart's deep homage here ! 
 
THE BELLS OF VEVAY. 
 
 HE music of thy deep-toned bells, 
 Fair Vevay, in my memory dwells ; 
 Cathedral-like, when morning breaks 
 
 In beauty o'er thy crystal lakes ; 
 Yet, liquid as a poet's rhymes, 
 The cadence of thy vesper chimes. 
 When sunset throws its crimson glow 
 On Dent-du-Midi's brow of snow, 
 When ail released from toil and care, 
 They call the worshipper to prayer. 
 
 In old St. Martin's hallowed groves, 
 In fancy oft my spirit roves ; 
 I pause beneath the chestnut trees, 
 And greet the cool, delicious breeze ; 
 I gaze, till all my being thrills, 
 Upon the grand Savoyan hills ; 
 And glimpses catch where Leman lies, 
 Serene beneath the summer skies — 
 
 When, lo ! from out the old church-tower, 
 The bells proclaim the noon tide hour; 
 44 
 
THE BELLS OF VEVAY. 45 
 
 To all the echoing heights around 
 Goes up the ever-gladsome sound ; 
 The peasant, pausing 'mid his vines, 
 A while in welcome rest reclines, 
 And bird and bee, in bush and brake, 
 Seem to their hour of rest to take. 
 
 O Vevay bells ! In joy and woe. 
 Thy message comes to high and low ; 
 Thou hast a blessing for the bride 
 When standing by her lover's side ; 
 A paean for the true and brave ; 
 A wail of sorrow for the grave ; 
 A balm to soothe the troubled breast 
 When whispering to the weary rest ; 
 For all, where joy or sorrow dwells, 
 Thou hast a message, Vevay bells ! 
 
THE ROSE. 
 
 HEN Adam first in Eden trod, 
 
 Fresh from the forming hand of God, 
 A rose, in vernal beauty drest. 
 
 Blushed sweetly on the earth's green breast ; 
 
 Whilst Adam, filled with strange delight, 
 
 In wonder gazed upon the sight. 
 
 When lo ! a form of virgin grace 
 Sprang forth to meet his warm embrace ; 
 He plucked the rose so wond'rous fair, 
 And twined it in her golden hair. 
 Then stood enraptured by her side. 
 His blooming rose, and blushing bride. 
 
 With loving hands we still entwine. 
 
 The rose round woman's brow divine ; 
 
 An emblem of that guileless hour 
 
 Ere sin had touched with blight the flower, — 
 
 An emblem, eloquent and pure. 
 
 Which shall the wrecks of Time endure. 
 
 46 
 
SUNSET ON LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE. 
 
 ERE, when the long midsummer day 
 decHnes, 
 And low winds murmur through the 
 murmuring pines, 
 At that calm hour before may fall the dew. 
 When thought is busy and our words are few, 
 We climb the hills to see the setting sun 
 Proclaim afar another day is done. 
 
 Before us fair Winnipesaukee lies, 
 
 Reflecting Belknap towering in the skies ; 
 
 Whilst Ossipee, twin brother of Red Hill, 
 
 The northern outlines of our vision fill : 
 
 Still nearer where the waning sun goes down, 
 
 The Domes of Sandwich all the landscape crown • 
 
 And Moosilauk, the titan of the van, 
 
 A good-night's blessing sends to Cardigan. 
 
 High above all with wonder we behold 
 The sunset clouds their rainbow tints unfold ; 
 Dissolving views, all blending into light, 
 A crown of glory on the brow of night ; 
 47 
 
48 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 The closing day another cycle fills, 
 
 As evening shadows glide among the hills. 
 
 Adown the lanes, still browsing, slowly go 
 The cows returning to the barns below, 
 Leaving perchance one wanderer in the field. 
 While they the nectar of the clover yield. 
 The cow-bell will her whereabouts disclose, 
 As after her th' impatient urchin goes ; 
 Through bush and brake with temper unrestrained, 
 He drives her homeward ; and, the barnyard 
 
 gained. 
 He eats his supper with unquestioned zest, 
 Then falls away to boyhood's dreamless rest. 
 
 As shadows deepen, with his head erect, 
 Lingers awhile brave robin-red-breast yet ; 
 The first to break the silence of the dawn, 
 And hail the coming of the rosy morn, 
 He well may be the last to say " Good-night," 
 \Vith heart as cheery as his song is bright. 
 
 Good-night, good-night ! O sufferer in the town, 
 I would the hills might send their blessing down ; 
 That the pure tonic of this mountain air. 
 Might healing mingle with thy evening prayer : 
 Gheer up, poor heart ! whilst stars their vigils keep, 
 God ever giveth his beloved sleep. 
 
-^j 
 
 '«^, 
 
 ^ 
 
 THE MARRIAGE UPON THE 
 SIDEWALK. 
 
 An incident of Boston in the olden time. 
 
 HE wind had changed ; on Beacon Hill 
 The crescent moon was shining still ; 
 The clock tolled out the hour of ten, 
 Just as the parson breathed " xA.men," 
 And with his hands crossed on his breast, 
 Welcomed another night of rest. 
 4 49 
 
5 O M ISC ELLA NE O US. 
 
 Soon underneath his window stood, 
 A gentle form of maidenhood, 
 Leaning upon liis arm whose vow 
 Of love should be recorded now. 
 
 A rousing rap the parson woke, 
 
 And thus he from the window spoke : 
 
 "Who may you be, and why this call? " 
 
 " Doctor, the rain has ceased to fall. 
 
 The wind has changed, the moon shines bright, 
 
 I must be off to sea to-night ; 
 
 Now let the deed be quickly done 
 
 Which shall proclaim that we are one." 
 
 The Doctor knew the captain's voice. 
 
 He knew the maiden of his choice. 
 
 Three times their banns were published well ; 
 
 And as his words upon him fell. 
 
 He answered with his usual grace, 
 
 ''Stand where you are, 't is just the place; 
 
 Now join together your right hands. 
 
 And you may start for foreign lands." 
 
 Then calmly on the midnight air, 
 He breathed for them a fervent prayer. 
 That God would their protector be 
 Whilst they were voyaging o'er the sea. 
 
MARRIAGE UPON THE SIDEWALK. 5 1 
 
 And bless, through all their coming life, 
 The twain who now were man and wife. 
 
 This done he to his blankets crept, 
 And as a worthy parson slept ; 
 Whilst, standing in his manhood's pride, 
 The captain kissed his blushing bride ; 
 And ere the morn broke o'er the bay. 
 His barque sped like a bird away. 
 
 A sweeter woman never graced 
 The path it o'er the ocean traced ; 
 And whether winds blew high or low, 
 A gentle form passed to and fro, 
 A loving presence Heaven had sent. 
 To bless the ship where'er it went. 
 
 The voyage all o'er, how proudly now 
 The good ship tosses from her prow 
 The waters of their native bay ! 
 Still beautiful before them lay 
 The port for which the spreading sail 
 Had wooed full long the passing gale ; 
 Far they had wandered o'er the sea, — 
 Where two went out, there came back three ; 
 And as the captain looked with joy 
 Upon the face of his bright boy. 
 
52 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 He thought of something left undone, 
 When he and Mary were made one, 
 And quickly to the Doctor sped, 
 And standing with uncovered head. 
 Placed in his hands a marriage fee, 
 Due from that hour he went to sea — 
 How large a sailor's heart can be ! 
 That time, when on the midnight air. 
 He breathed for them a fervent prayer, 
 When God gave him so good a wife. 
 To gladden all his coming life. 
 
 The moral to my tale is this, — 
 To hearts pledged for connubial bliss : 
 Start when the wind blows fair, nor wait 
 For morn to break before thy gate : 
 Life is a voyage, so spread thy sail 
 At once to catch the fav'ring gale ; 
 From street or church, from hut or hall, 
 Respond to Cupid's magic call ; 
 And howsoe'er thy lot may be. 
 Don't fail to pay the marriage fee. 
 
THE SONG AND THE SINGER. 
 
 N a quiet retreat near by the sea, 
 In a dwelling humble and low, 
 A little girl stood by her mother's knee 
 
 And sweetly repeated a song for me, 
 As rivulets sparkle and flow. 
 
 There was much to love in this little maid — 
 
 Her heart was brimful of glee ; 
 A delicate blush o'er her fair face strayed, 
 And sweet was the music her red lips made, 
 
 As she sang this song for me. 
 
 I cannot tell you the words of the song 
 
 She sang with her heart all aglow ; 
 They were something about the shining throng, 
 Who wander the beautiful vales along, 
 And th' bliss of Paradise know. 
 
 I thought as I listened unto her lay 
 
 Such spirits to us are given. 
 To lure our feet whenever we stray, 
 Back into the straiglit and narrow way, 
 
 The way that leadeth to Heaven. 
 53 
 
54 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 A year passed on and I stood again 
 In that dwelling humble and low ; 
 
 'T was a July day, and the sturdy swain 
 
 Was busy cutting the ripened grain, 
 And laying it row on row. 
 
 The crow of the cock and hum of the bee, 
 
 And bobolink's magical tune, 
 And the distant chimes of the murm'ring sea, 
 Were just the same as they came to me, 
 
 The summer before in June. 
 
 But that mother moved with a chastened air. 
 
 And reverently bowed her head ; 
 On her face were traces of recent care. 
 For a harp was silent which warbled there. 
 
 And the light of her home had fled. 
 
 ''And where is the child," I asked with surprise, 
 '' Whose heart was brimful of glee?" 
 
 And tenderly uttered were her replies : 
 
 " My darling in the graveyard lies. 
 She '11 never come back to me." 
 
 Yet not a murmur escaped her lips, — 
 
 " God giveth and taketh away ; 
 The lamb which down in the meadow skips. 
 The bee which its fill of nectar sips, 
 
 Have promise for only a day. 
 
THE SONG AND THE SINGER. 55 
 
 " But my dear one liveth forever more, 
 
 My tears will not always flow ; 
 I shall meet her again on the shining shore ; 
 When this wearisome journey of life is o'er, 
 
 I shall see her there, I know." 
 
 O mother bereaved ! in thy faith I would share. 
 
 As thy day, so is strength to thee given ; 
 The Good Shepherd for her will tenderly care, 
 Thou wilt see thy lost darling glorified there. 
 For of such is the Kingdom of Heaven. 
 
THE BOY BATHERS. 
 
 In the summer of 1S65 a number of boys, for the violation of 
 an ordinance of the city of Boston prohibiting out-of-door bathing 
 within its Hmits, were arrested and fined each two dollars. Being 
 unable to pay the fine, they were imprisoned over night, when 
 friends came to their relief and they were released. The event 
 evoked sharp comment from the press, which led to the present 
 system of free bathing-houses now so great a blessing, especially 
 to the destitute classes. 
 
 WELVE boys, one sultry summer day, 
 Had fun and frolic with the spray 
 Out in the waters of South Bay, 
 
 Upon our southern margin, where 
 The people breathe a purer air 
 Than the hot city has to spare. 
 
 The small waves played a merry chime, 
 While the boys had a jolly time. 
 And knew not that it was a crime. 
 
 And handsome brows which bore a stain 
 Grew fairer in the briny mnin, 
 And they all came out clean again. 
 
 56 
 
THE BOY BATHERS. 57 
 
 That night those boys in prison lay 
 For this glad frolic with the spray 
 Upon this sultry summer day. 
 
 And the grim law imposed a fine 
 On those who made their faces shine 
 By plunging in the cleansing brine ! 
 
 Oh, tell it not, my friends, in Gath, 
 That here poor boys can't take a bath, 
 But they incur the law's stern wrath ; 
 
 That the great sea which laves our shores, 
 And health through every artery pours. 
 Keeping the plague-spot from our doors, 
 
 May not its healing powers dispense 
 For him who has less pounds than pence, 
 Lest thereby some should take offence. 
 
 Proud domes and palaces arise. 
 And towering spires salute the skies, 
 Filling the great world with surprise ; 
 
 But nowhere has sweet Charity 
 Reared a fair temple by the sea, 
 Inscribing on its portals^ Free, 
 
58 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 For all who will to come and go, 
 
 And here the pure waves welcome, ho ! 
 
 The luxury of bliss below. 
 
 O brothers, freely God hath given 
 Pure water and the air of heaven, 
 To flow and blow from morn till even. 
 
 His hand, alike for great and small. 
 
 In ocean and the waterfall, 
 
 Hath stores enough for each and all ; 
 
 And let not metes nor bounds restrain 
 These blessings from the needy train 
 Who Httle have of this world's gain. 
 
 And let no act of ours oppress 
 
 The outcast and the fatherless, — 
 
 Those little ones whom Christ would bless ; 
 
 But choose we, rather, day by day. 
 Some load to lighten by the way. 
 Some heart to gladden while we may. 
 
 September i, 1865. 
 
THE EAST WIND. 
 
 HE east wind is coming, all moist with 
 the spray, 
 And the odor of brine from the billows 
 at play ; 
 The hot day is ending, and this puff from the 
 
 sea 
 Is like a fond kiss of my mother for me ; 
 
 day of midsummer ! how gratefully now 
 
 This breeze from the ocean steals over my brow ! 
 
 1 remember that only two brief moons ago, 
 
 The east wind seemed coming from icebergs and 
 
 snow, 
 So chill was its breath, and so frigid its mien, 
 While May flaunted gayly her banners of green. 
 But lo ! with the smile of our beautiful June, 
 Came its wooing embrace with the bobolink's 
 
 tune ; 
 A herald of gladness passing graciously by, 
 To temper the heat of our fervid July. 
 59 
 
6o MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 O much abused east wind ! I will not again, 
 Methinks, of thy coming or presence complain ; 
 For lingering yet as a boon from the skies, 
 Thou 'rt blessing the couch where a sufferer lies ; 
 Giving strength to endure, and courage to bear. 
 His burden of pain, uncomplainingly, there ; 
 A respite from anguish, whilst soothingly now 
 Thy breath from the ocean is fanning his brow. 
 
 APRIL. 
 
 The crocus rears its purple crest, 
 Beside the wasting banks of snow ; 
 
 Whilst merrily the wayside rills 
 
 Unfettered through the meadows flow. 
 
 Come forth with me ! the winsome smile 
 
 Of this capricious April day 
 Will wake to fairy life the buds, 
 
 To blossom on the brow of May. 
 
THE HUNGRY STUDENTS. 
 
 The following incident occurred when Boston was a small city, 
 and there was no communication between it and its suburbs, ex- 
 cept by omnibus or stage once or twice a day. 
 
 Lunch or eating houses were unknown ; and delegates to re- 
 ligious gatherings were entertained at private residences, to which 
 on this occasion tlie parties here introduced were unintentionally 
 not invited. 
 
 Ex^R where the shaft on Bunker Hill 
 Points upward to the sky, 
 The hosts of Zion gathered once, 
 To praise the Lord most High. 
 
 They came from hall and hamlet round, 
 
 And cast their off' rings down, 
 And hallowed was the scene that day. 
 
 In that historic town. 
 
 Two manly men, young Levites they. 
 
 From Newton joined the throng. 
 And bowed with older prophets there^ 
 
 In prayer and sacred song. 
 6i 
 
6 2 MISCELLANE O US. 
 
 But little to sustain the flesh 
 They 'd eaten through the day, 
 
 When with the setting of the sun 
 They homeward took their way. 
 
 From many unassuming homes 
 The evening fire-lights gleamed, 
 
 And happy groups round supper-boards, 
 To them in Eden seemed. 
 
 And musing as they passed along 
 Where Harvard's shadows fell, 
 
 They fancied that her many sons 
 Could some good stories tell, — 
 
 Of hungry students feasting long 
 O'er well-picked chicken-bones, 
 
 While humor made the old halls ring, 
 In no unmeasured tones. 
 
 There little was in this long walk 
 
 Their spirits to beguile, 
 With hunger gnawing at their breasts. 
 
 And every rod a mile. 
 
 Yet on they went till all the stars 
 
 Of night began to shine, 
 And Watertown at last was reached. 
 
 As bells rang out for nine. 
 
THE HUNGRY STUDENTS. 63 
 
 Then with unbounded joy they hailed 
 
 The ever- open door 
 Of Deacon Coolidge, who had been 
 
 Their steadfast friend before. 
 
 The Deacon heard the pleasant tale 
 
 Of all they saw that day, 
 How blessings fell upon the men 
 
 Who met to praise and pray : 
 
 Presuming that their mortal part 
 
 Had been as richly fed, 
 He took a candle quietly. 
 
 And led them off to bed. 
 
 Too modest they to give a hint, 
 
 Though sore by hunger prest. 
 And supperless, these stalwart men 
 
 Lay down that night to rest. 
 
 But ere that sleep, dear balmy sleep, 
 
 Shut out from human ken 
 All knowledge of themselves, they thought 
 
 Of other hungry men — 
 
64 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 How it were well the flesh at times 
 
 To crucify and slay, 
 That saints and sages fasted long 
 
 When they retired to pray ; 
 
 And though the cup were bitter, still 
 It would be for the best ; 
 
 It were enough the Master gave 
 To His beloved rest. 
 
 Then praying that the Lord till morn 
 Would them in safety keep, 
 
 These famished students gradually 
 Fell off in troubled sleep. 
 
 Not long had they been slumbering, 
 When dreams stole o'er the brain 
 
 Of Brother Neale, and lo ! he dreamed 
 That he was once again 
 
 Beside a table spread with all 
 
 A hungry man could eat ; 
 And blessing he was asked to crave. 
 
 Upon the bread and meat. 
 
THE HUNGRY STUDENTS. 65 
 
 So dreaming on, with hands upraised, 
 
 Unconsciously he said, 
 " Dear Father, bless this bounty now 
 
 Before Thy servants spread." 
 
 His voice awoke his Brother Svvaim, 
 
 Who, starting as if hit. 
 Sprang up exclaiming, " Brother Neale, 
 
 Good gracious ! where is it? " 
 
 Alas, alas ! *t was all a dream. 
 
 No feast before them lay ; 
 And wearily dragged on the hours 
 
 Until the break of day. 
 
 And not before the tardy sun 
 
 Had risen o'er the hill, 
 Did they at the good Deacon's board, 
 
 Their hungry stomachs fill. 
 
 Then Newton, school for prophets still, 
 
 They reached with easy pace, 
 Where students still have appetites. 
 
 In keeping with the place. 
 
66 MISCELLANE O US. 
 
 Thenceforward as Time rolled along, 
 And visions came and went, 
 
 These prophets of the Lord recalled 
 That night of hunger spent ; 
 
 And thought it was like much they oft 
 Had seen along their way ; 
 
 How life had passed just like a dream. 
 While they were growing gray ; 
 
 That often, when the day w^as dark, 
 And they had prayed for bread. 
 
 The light appeared, and Heavenly Love 
 A feast before them spread. 
 
SUNSET ON LAKE LEMAN. 
 
 EMAN ! famed in song and story, 
 
 Let me float upon thy breast, 
 
 Like a bird with folded pinions. 
 
 At this sunset hour of rest ; 
 And between the lapsing pauses 
 
 Of the half-suspended oar. 
 Let me listen to the music 
 
 Wafted from the vine-clad shore : 
 
 67 
 
68 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Softer still, O sturdy boatman ! 
 
 Lighter dip the yielding oar ; 
 While I listen, listen, listen, 
 
 To the music from the shore ! 
 
 Through the purple mists of evening, 
 
 Grandly rise the mighty hills. 
 From whose hidden depths and fountaii 
 
 Freely gush the crystal rills ; 
 Even now I fancy, mingling 
 
 With the music from the shore, 
 I can hear the laughing waters 
 When the boatman rests his oar : 
 Softer still, O sturdy boatman ! 
 Lighter dip the yielding oar ; 
 While I listen, listen, listen. 
 To the music from the shore ! 
 
 All too brief, O shrine of beauty ! 
 
 Are these golden hours for me ; 
 All too soon will leagues of distance 
 
 Stretch between my home and thee ; 
 Yet my spirit here will linger. 
 
 And my little boat will glide. 
 Often at the hour of sunset, 
 
 O'er thy blue unruffled tide : 
 
SUNSET ON LAKE LEMAN. 
 
 Softer still, O sturdy boatman ! 
 
 Lighter dip the yielding oar, 
 While I listen, listen, listen. 
 
 To the music from the shore ! 
 
 Vevay, Switzerland, 
 
 69 
 
MORNING IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 
 
 OW fair, dear Annie, is the smile 
 Of morning, on this sea-girt isle ! 
 ^ Come, leave thy books and cares to- 
 day. 
 And hie thee to the downs away, — 
 The breezy downs, where, in the dells, 
 The heather swings its purple bells ; 
 The gray old downs, which rise and frown. 
 Like sentinels above the town ; 
 These be our chosen haunts to-day, 
 As pass the summer hours away. 
 
 How grandly o'er the curling tide 
 The ships of every nation glide ! 
 Through England's mighty channel bent. 
 With cargoes from the Continent ; 
 With wealth from India and Peru, 
 Stores of the old world and the new ; 
 Their white wings coyii^g with the breeze, — 
 Were ever fairer seas than these ? 
 70 
 
MORNING IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT. Jl 
 
 Did ever skies of deeper blue 
 Exhale the drops of crystal dew? 
 Did ever skylark sweeter sing, 
 Borne upward on exultant wing? 
 Say, Annie, in the wide world round, 
 Where can you find more fairy ground, — 
 Where morning's dawn and evening's close 
 Bring to the weary more repose? 
 What spot on all the earth more bright 
 Than England's famous Isle of Wight? 
 
 Ventor, Isle of Wight. 
 
THE BROOK OF MY BOYHOOD 
 
 HERE is a brook, a merry brook, 
 
 Whose waters glide away, 
 And creep into each tiny nook. 
 Like a httle child at play. 
 
 It runneth by my grandsire's door 
 
 The same as when a child 
 'T was my delight to hear it pour, 
 
 Its music on the wild. 
 
 The passing stranger may not heed 
 
 This modest little rill. 
 Which wanders through the verdant mead 
 
 Its pleasant journey still : 
 
 But unto me, O stream ! a voice 
 
 Hast thou of bygone years ; 
 I cannot see thee but rejoice, 
 
 I cannot but with tears. 
 72 
 
THE BROOK OF MY BOYHOOD. 73 
 
 'T is not because the hills and vales 
 Through which thy pathway lies 
 
 Are fairer than the hills and dales 
 Beneath a thousand skies, — 
 
 Nor yet because thy waters leap, 
 
 So joyously and free ; 
 No, not alone for these I keep 
 
 This early love for thee. 
 
 'T is for the past that thou canst stir 
 
 Fond memories at thy will, 
 For halcyon days that I prefer 
 
 Thy sparkling waters still. 
 
 Still mirrored on thy breast I trace 
 
 Bright visions flitting by ; 
 I see a boy with sun-browned face, 
 
 And laughter in his eye, 
 
 Who cares not, in his fair young prime, 
 
 With spirits all aglow, 
 That there may be a coming time, 
 
 When tears, alas ! will flow. 
 
 Oh memory ! priceless boon to all ! 
 
 When of thee we 're denied. 
 How hard the struggle to recall, 
 
 Who lived, who loved, who died. 
 
74 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Then thanks to thee, thou Httle stream, 
 For the record thou dost bear 
 
 Of scenes which hnger Hke a dream 
 In my remembrance there. 
 
 A toiler from a world of strife, 
 
 I fondly turn to thee ; 
 Full soon must end this checkered life, 
 
 Bear record then of me. 
 
AMONG THE HILLS. 
 
 HEN Mom the gates of Day unlocks, 
 We hear the crowing of the cocks ; 
 And from the maple groves below, 
 
 The cawing of the hungry crow ; 
 
 And later, from the clover dells, 
 
 The tinkling of the cattle bells ; 
 
 And later still, the hum of bees ; 
 
 And whisp'rings in the forest trees ; 
 
 With now and then from field and fold. 
 
 Glad voices as the day grows old. 
 
 Among the hills ! away from care. 
 The tonic of this mountain air 
 Comes as a benediction now ; 
 O restless heart and throbbing brow ! 
 How kindly Nature sheds her balm, 
 Amid this universal calm ! 
 How soothingly, upon her breast. 
 She gives her weary children i-est ! 
 75 
 
LAURA MAY. 
 
 ESIDE a pleasant waterfall, 
 111 an unfrequented way, 
 A merry little maiden lives, 
 Whose name is Laura May. 
 Her father is a farmer, 
 
 And toils hard and long. 
 But ever with a happy heart 
 And a bosom light with song. 
 
 But little of this busy world 
 
 This fairy child hath seen ; 
 Her playmates in the village live, 
 
 Her sports are on the green ; 
 And fragrant as the wild flowers 
 
 That bloom along the way, 
 Are the unobtrusive virtues 
 
 Of little Laura May. 
 
 When first I saw her sitting 
 
 Beside her father's door, 
 I thought so much of innocence 
 
 I had not seen before ; 
 76 
 
LAURA MAY, 
 
 Upon her neck of snowy white 
 Her auburn tresses lay — 
 
 Oh very fair and beautiful, 
 Is little Laura May ! 
 
 And thus in quiet places 
 
 By waterfall and glen, 
 In paths but seldom trodden 
 
 By the restless feet of men, 
 The fairest flowers blossom. 
 
 The coolest fountains play. 
 And all unseen, unnoticed, lives 
 
 Some charming Laura May. 
 
 Go thou whose heart is weary 
 
 With the burdens and the strife, 
 With the longings and the cravings, 
 
 The jealousies of life — 
 Go take thy staff and travel 
 
 Upon the world's highway, 
 And thou shalt find in many a cot, 
 
 The soul of Laura May ! 
 
 77 
 
TO THE FIRST ROBIN. 
 
 WELCOME warm awaits thee, 
 Bright herald of the spring ; 
 Thy voice of winning sweetness 
 Has still its merry ring. 
 The winter days are over, 
 And buttercups and clover 
 Will gladden all the way 
 In which thy feet may stray, 
 
 Whilst thou singest, singest 
 Thy old familiar song. 
 As the seasons roll along, 
 Robin, Robin ! 
 
 Thou hast tarried long and late, 
 A questioner of fate. 
 Feeling cautiously thy way. 
 In thy coming day by day. 
 Now take a crumb or two, 
 And cheer thee up anew ; 
 The pastures, bleak and sere, 
 In beauty will appear ; 
 
 78 
 
TO THE FIRST ROBIN. 79 
 
 And the roaring northern blast, 
 Be a memory of the past, 
 
 Whilst thou singest, singest 
 Thy old familiar song, 
 As the seasons roll along, 
 Robin, Robin ! 
 
 Oh, thou 'It be surpassing sweet. 
 With thy nimble little feet 
 Tripping lightly o'er the lawn 
 At the breaking of the dawn. 
 
 And "Good-morning, summer 's coming." 
 Not a harbinger of spring, 
 However sweetly he may sing, 
 
 Can sing as thou singest, singest 
 Thy old familiar song, 
 As the seasons roll along, 
 Robin, Robin ! 
 
THE LESSON OF THE MORNING. 
 
 Y hand is on my garden gate, 
 
 The dew-drops tremble on the thorn, 
 The forest birds are all elate, 
 And carol to the rosy morn ; 
 Ho ! forest bird and rising sun ! 
 
 As roll the mists of night away, 
 For me, who long the race liath run, 
 
 What message have you brought to-day? 
 
 I slept, for darkness deepened round ; 
 
 I woke, for light illum'd my room ; 
 And silence, which had reigned profound. 
 
 Passed with the darkness and the gloom. 
 The miracle of life again 
 
 My op'ning eyes with joy behold, 
 As voices now of earnest men 
 
 Are coming up from field and fold. 
 Ho ! forest bird and rising sun ! 
 
 What message have you brought for me? 
 I, who so long the race hath run, 
 
 Would fain the goal before me see. 
 80 
 
THE LESSON OF THE MORNING. 8 1 
 ANSWER. 
 
 " There comes a night, how dark and long 
 
 Is not revealed to mortal men ; 
 Yet pilgrim, let thy heart be strong. 
 
 The day %vill follow night again. 
 So take thy staff and travel on, 
 
 Through what of joy or woe betide ; 
 Thou wilt a priceless boon have won, 
 
 If Faith go with thee side by side." 
 
THE POET'S CORNER. 
 
 '^cmN an old-fashioned building, 
 On a very busy street, 
 A poet ^ hale and hearty 
 Has a coveted retreat, 
 Where behind a green baize curtain 
 
 He finds relief from care, 
 And has for many callers 
 A cordial welcome there. 
 
 1 James T. Fields. His business life was passed in the 
 Old Corner Bookstore, and his " coveted retreat" was on 
 the School Street side of the building. 
 82 
 
THE POET'S CORNER. 83 
 
 Around this corner gather . 
 
 The toilers of the pen, — 
 The foremost and the bravest 
 
 Of our wise and witty men ; 
 For much they love the poet, 
 
 And they like his cosy seat ; 
 'T is a fountain in the desert, 
 
 Where congenial spirits meet. 
 
 I sometimes draw the curtain, 
 
 But step at once aside. 
 For Emerson and Longfellow 
 
 The morning hour divide ; 
 Or Whittier, the beloved, 
 
 As brave as he is true, 
 With Lowell, Holmes, and Hawthorne 
 
 Old fellowships renew. 
 
 Then with books and friends I linger. 
 
 And loiter till my turn, 
 And fumble over volumes 
 
 That with words of beauty burn, 
 Till these master-minds have entered. 
 
 And passed along their way, 
 When we have a talk together, 
 
 In the quiet of the day. 
 
84 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 I think that time is deahng 
 
 Very gently with my friend ; 
 Not a wrinkle with the crimson 
 
 Has yet begun to blend ; 
 Not a gray lock with the auburn 
 
 Upon his forehead plays, 
 And his step is still as certain 
 
 As in our younger days. 
 
 Heaven save that ancient building 
 
 From the innovator's hand ! 
 As a landmark of our fathers 
 
 Let this corner bookstore stand ; 
 For cherished memories lure us 
 
 As we wander down the street, 
 To the poet in his corner, 
 
 To this scholar's calm retreat. 
 
 1855 
 
TO J. T. F. 
 
 ^CCEPT, I pray, this wayside flower, 
 It blossomed by a mountain riU ; 
 I plucked it at that early hour 
 When birds the brakes with music fill. 
 
 I thought it only bloomed for me ; 
 
 It answered, " Nay, for thee, for thee ; " 
 And so I 've brought it all the way. 
 
 To cheer thy heart, friend Fields, to-day. 
 
 8s 
 

 A SABBATH IN THE ISLE OF 
 WIGHT. 
 
 To Mrs. A. M. 
 
 EAR friend, and will it be so soon 
 As after one more summer moon, 
 Your busy feet will roam no more, 
 
 The hills and vales of England o'er ? 
 
 That scenes which charm the eye and ear, 
 
 Will fade away and disappear, 
 
 And many leagues of raging sea, 
 
 Will roll between these shores and thee? 
 
 Well, distance never may efface 
 The memories of the paths we trace ; 
 And often in your northern home. 
 When the November days shall come, — 
 When seated at your open fire, 
 As the last beams of day retire, — 
 You will recall this Sabbath bright, 
 You spent upon the Isle of Wight, — 
 86 
 
SABBATH IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 8/ 
 
 This day of more than regal bloom, 
 Unsullied by a tinge of gloom ; 
 Pure type, to weary mortals given, 
 Of the sabbatic rest of heaven. 
 
 Yes, these fair fields, this sky so blue, 
 These wayside flowers of every hue, 
 This mighty sweep of sea and shore, 
 The cliffs the breakers thunder o'er — 
 Yon dear Bon Church, close nestled there, 
 'Mid ivy bowers, sweet place for prayer — 
 
 The dead who in its shadows sleep. 
 Lulled by the voices of the deep, — 
 These, at your call will come and go, 
 When at your casement beats the snow. 
 
8 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 And loved ones oft will listen well, 
 To the fine story you can tell, 
 How, when your locks were turning gray. 
 You travelled far from home away. 
 And lingered long by castle walls. 
 And music heard in waterfalls. 
 And realized in mount and streams, 
 The visions of your early dreams. 
 
 Ventor, August, 1877. 
 
CLERICAL VESTMENTS. 
 
 An incident in tlie lives of Drs. Thomas Baldwin and Daniel 
 Sharp, clergymen, eminent in Boston between the years 1790 
 and 1853, for thirty-five, and forty-one years respectively. 
 
 T the old church in Baldwin Place, 
 Where long good-will abounded, 
 A trifling matter one fair morn 
 
 Was seriously propounded. 
 
 'Twas when before its altar bowed 
 That man whose name is graven, 
 
 On many hearts as he who lured 
 The weary soul to heaven. 
 
 He moved serene in gown and bands 
 His flock the shepherd leading ; 
 
 And tenderly for high or low, 
 Ahke their wishes heeding. 
 
 It chanced an English preacher once 
 A youth of modest bearing, 
 
 A Sabbath passed with Dr. R., 
 His pulpit labor sharing. 
 89 
 
90 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 The elder in the morning traced 
 
 The narrow way to glory, 
 The young man in the afternoon, 
 
 Repeated Calvary's story. 
 
 Next day they passed a quiet hour 
 
 In social conversation, 
 And talked of men whose lives were marked 
 
 By earnest consecration, — 
 
 How prophets and apostles preached, 
 How eyes with rapture glistened 
 
 When Jesus spake the words of life, 
 To multitudes who listened. 
 
 *' And do you think in gown and bands 
 The preacher then appeared? " 
 
 Asked Mr. Sharp, who never had 
 The gown and bands revered. 
 
 " I liked your sermon very much," 
 
 Continued Mr. S. 
 " But had you preached without that robe, 
 
 I had not liked it less." 
 
 " I 'm sorry that my old silk gown," 
 
 Retorted Doctor B., 
 " Was yesterday a stumbling-block, 
 
 Between my Lord and thee ; 
 
CLERICAL VESTMENTS. 9 1 
 
 " But, Brother Sharp, last evening, when 
 
 The Sabbath feasts were ending, 
 Old Sister Lee came up beneath 
 
 Her fourscore winters bending, 
 
 "And in her simple way declared. 
 How much she liked your sermon, 
 
 That to her thirsty soul your words, 
 Were as the dews of Hermon : 
 
 " And yet she said, ' / hate a fop,^ 
 
 As if some pain beset her, 
 ' But for his ruffled-bosom shirt, 
 
 I should have liked him better.' " 
 
 The young man smiled, he saw the point. 
 
 Too plain for doubt or guessing ; 
 And bowed before his senior there, 
 
 And knew he had his blessing. 
 
 'T was just before he passed away, 
 
 Ere yet was loosed the cable. 
 That Doctor Sharp this story told, 
 
 One evening at my table. 
 
 As mellow as an autumn sky. 
 
 As ripe as golden grain. 
 He seemed that night to me and mine, 
 
 As he rehearsed again — 
 
92 MISCELLANE US. 
 
 That record of a nobler life, 
 Its failures and successes, 
 
 His faith in that sweet charity 
 Which purifies and blesses — 
 
 Which scorns to cross and criticise 
 What is the merest trifle. 
 
 Well knowing that the nobler part, 
 We thereby mar and stifle. 
 
 And so I muse — if we could " see 
 Ourselves as others see us," 
 
 The beam which often dims our eyes 
 Would not so oft mislead us. 
 
THE SECRET. 
 
 LITTLE brook went singing on 
 Where M. and I were straying 
 It held a secret in its breast, 
 Yet evermore was saying, 
 " Some day." 
 
 The days sped on, and still the brook, 
 Through all our smiles and sighing, 
 
 The secret kept, whilst merrily 
 The selfsame words replymg, 
 " Some day." 
 
 Somehow a robin chanced to guess 
 The secret we were keeping. 
 
 And told it to his gentle mate. 
 The very words repeating, 
 " Some day." 
 
 But brook and bird, whilst seemingly 
 
 Our earnest wishes heeding, 
 Could not refrain from whispering 
 Each rosy morn succeeding, 
 " Some dsiy.'' 
 93 
 
94 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Dear little stream, there came a time 
 
 Of very sweet revealing, 
 When we no longer wished nor cared 
 
 For any more concealing, 
 0}ie day. 
 
 We rank it with the golden hours 
 
 Which blessed our life's young morning ; 
 
 And see fulfilled at eventide, 
 The promise of its dawning, 
 77^^/ day ! 
 
REMEMBERED MUSIC. 
 
 jHE preacher had his sermon preached, 
 And prayer befitting marked its close, 
 When, hng'ring yet where prayer was 
 made. 
 The preacher and the people rose. 
 The choir sang sweetly an old hymn. 
 
 Which most before had never known ; 
 But there were some whose eyes were dim, 
 
 To whom it spake of years long flown. 
 When with a low and reverent air. 
 
 They trod the hallowed aisles of prayer. 
 
 The young were moved and wondered why 
 
 They had not heard those strains before ; 
 The old man wept and seemed again 
 
 To live his very childhood o'er, 
 As quickly, from the treasured past, 
 
 Came visions of the olden time, 
 When his dear father worshipped God, 
 
 Whilst swaying to the music's chime, 
 95 
 
96 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 And by his side they sat who shared 
 The sunshine of his early days ; 
 
 What other could he do than weep, 
 
 To hear once more these good old lays ? 
 
 Oh, art may charm, and newer strains 
 
 May better please the youthful breast. 
 But unto him whose locks are gray, 
 
 The oldest music is the best. 
 And so I felt, as died away 
 
 Those strains within that place of prayer. 
 That heaven to some will sweeter be 
 
 If " Dundee " is remembered there. 
 
TO A FOREST BIRD AT SUNSET. 
 
 T is night on the mountains — yet, beau 
 tiful bird, 
 Thou art singing a song which the 
 forest has stirred ; 
 The mild mellow evening bends down from above, 
 As its dim aisles re-echo thy ditties of love, — 
 Deliciously sweet, and as lute-like and clear 
 As if borne to the earth from some holier sphere ! 
 
 I listen and wait, as still one more refrain 
 Passes by on the breath of the evening again, — 
 Now rising, now falling, now dying away, 
 Like the chimes of the ocean, or breezes at play ; 
 A good-night for all, ere thou fallest asleep. 
 And stars o'er the hamlets their lone vigils keep. 
 
 I have left the thronged marts and turmoil of men. 
 For the quiet which reigns in this wild-wood and 
 
 glen ; 
 And I fain would believe thy song is for me, 
 Thou magical ranger o'er forest and lea. 
 The scenes of this twilight may vanish away. 
 But never, no, never, the charm of thy lay. 
 7 97 
 
KANSAS. 
 
 UNE breathed her benedictions when 1 
 stood 
 Where thy green summits, Lawrence, 
 overlook 
 City and hamlet, vale and winding stream, 
 And prairie vast, as fair and beautiful, 
 In all their virgin freshness, as a bride 
 Decked for her nuptials. It was even-tide. 
 The sun, breaking through clouds which just be- 
 fore 
 Had dropped their rain, whilst sharp the light- 
 nings flashed 
 And the dread thunder rolled, serenely now 
 Upon a bed of crimson sank to rest. 
 Oh, never fairer visions blessed mine eyes ! 
 Far in the distance waved the rip'ning wheat. 
 And the young corn, covering broad acres, 
 Tossed its green blades exultingly. Near by. 
 In garden bowers, the clustering grape 
 And golden nectarine sure promise gave 
 Of autumn fruitage and of harvest-cheer. 
 98 
 
KANSAS. 
 
 99 
 
 The cattle, sleek and noble, half concealed 
 Amid the blooming clover, flecked the glades ; 
 Whilst merrily the birds their roundelay 
 Poured forth, and every tree, and wayside hedge 
 Sparkled with rain-drops in the setting sun. 
 
 And as I mused at this sweet evening time, 
 I seemed to hear that voice which Adam heard 
 At the cool hour of day, saying : ^'Be still, 
 And know that I am God I But yesterday, 
 From this fair summit thou hadst seen ruin 
 And death ; on every side war's dread alarm ; 
 The torch of treason, and a town in flames ! 
 Yet, as the tempest which an hour ago 
 Swept o'er the sky, scattering its thunderbolts, 
 And pouring out the vials of its wrath. 
 Now flies apace, its awful blackness spanned 
 By the glad bow of promise, leaving earth 
 More beautiful than ever, — so Kansas, 
 Green garden of the continent, comes forth 
 From the fierce furnace of her sufferings. 
 In purer vestments clad, since clouds that hung 
 Over her fair domain have passed away, 
 And peace and plenty gladden all the land." 
 
BOSTON TO CHICAGO. 
 
 GREETING and blessing, Chicago ! 
 A right hearty shake of the hand ; 
 You are sending us many car-loads 
 Of the needful things of the land ; 
 And we in turn are remitting 
 
 Our thousands of silver and gold ; 
 Let the bond of our friendship forever 
 Be strong as our Union is old. 
 
 We 're piercing the sides of the mountains, 
 
 We are sweeping o'er valley and plain, 
 To tap the springs at their fountains 
 
 And gather the golden grain ; 
 And our New England pluck, remember. 
 
 Now our hand has hold of the plough. 
 Will not suffer its grasp to surrender 
 
 Till we 're nearer together than now. 
 
 We have given you something, Chicago, 
 More precious than silver or gold ; 
 
 Treasures dearer than gems of the mountains 
 Your loving embraces enfold : 
 
 lOO 
 
BOSTON TO CHICAGO. lOI 
 
 You Ve won to your shrines and your altars, 
 At Friendship's and Fortune's behest, 
 
 Our sons, and our beautiful daughters, 
 O magical Queen of the West ! 
 
 God give thee good speed in thy mission, 
 
 To thy giant young energies play ; 
 The wealth of the valleys compressing 
 
 In the garners you 're filHng to-day. 
 The hungry of earth will require it. 
 
 The Great Father's bountiful store ; 
 Oh, scatter it widely, and send it 
 
 To the dwellers on every shore. 
 
 And the song of praise and thanksgiving 
 
 From milUons far over the sea. 
 Will swell to an anthem of gladness 
 
 As its echoes come backward to thee. 
 And so long as the earth buds and blossoms, 
 
 And the reaper still gathers the grain. 
 And our banner of stars floats unsullied. 
 
 May this bond of our Union remain. 
 
 [867. 
 
BURNING OF CHICAGO. 
 
 WALKED among thy palaces, 
 A few brief moons ago ; 
 The prairie blossomed as the rose, 
 The lake lay calm below ; 
 Of all the land thou seemed most blessed, 
 
 fair Queen City of the West ! 
 
 1 could not know so great a woe 
 
 For thee was kept in store, — 
 That I should look with pride upon 
 
 Thy matchless form no more ; 
 That the fire-demon, sweeping past, 
 Would hurl on thee his dreadful blast. 
 
 Great city of unvanquished souls ! 
 
 Our hearts will turn to thee ; 
 Thy sorrow chastens all our joy. 
 
 It leaps from sea to sea ; 
 From hut and hall I hear one prayer, 
 ^''God let us in thy suffering share." 
 
 I02 
 
BURNING OF CHICAGO. 103 
 
 Oh, mighty cord of brotherhood ! 
 
 Amid earth's wrongs and strife, 
 How grandly breaks upon our view 
 
 This golden side of life ; 
 The nations read in thy great light, 
 Chicago ! glorious truths to-night ! 
 
 Then take our blessing and our love, 
 
 The dear old love of yore ; 
 We know that thou wilt rise again, 
 
 As stately as before ; 
 Where now thy ruined columns stand, 
 We '11 clasp again thy strong right hand. 
 
 1872. 
 
SATURDAY NIGHT. 
 
 O, brothers on life's length'ning way; 
 To-night, as in the golden West 
 The sun goes down, I hear a voice 
 To our tired spirits whispering, " Rest ! " 
 
 Shut off the water from the wheel, 
 
 And let the busy mill be still ; 
 Leave Care and Traffic with their scores 
 
 Of gain and loss, in good and ill. 
 
 Poor pilgrims, longing evermore, 
 
 We've bowed at many a tempting shrine : 
 
 Too far astray, our hearts to-night 
 Cry out for something more divine. 
 
 What were our life, if all between 
 Its crowded days of joy and grief, 
 
 The Sabbath did not intervene 
 
 With its sweet breathings of relief? 
 104 
 
SATURDAY NIGHT. 
 
 Then hail, O weary heart, with me, 
 This hour of rest from labor given ; 
 
 The antepast of Peace which reigns 
 Within the op'ning gates of heaven. 
 
 From the celestial heights we gain 
 In this surcease of care and strife. 
 
 How breaks upon our view that Land 
 Whose boundaries are Eternal Life ! 
 
 105 
 
ONLY WAITING. 
 
 CSIDE a river where forest and field, 
 
 Slope gracefully down to the shore, 
 A man and his wife have quietly lived 
 For fifty years and more. 
 
 From the house, which was built before their day. 
 They can follow the winding stream 
 
 Through meadows as fair as ever beguiled 
 A poet in his dream. 
 
 They can hear the hum of the waterfall 
 
 And voices from over the lea, 
 i\nd the distant stroke of the woodman's axe, 
 
 And murmurings of the sea. 
 
 'T is seldom within this quiet retreat 
 
 The face of the stranger is seen ; 
 A stillness, like that of the Sabbath, rests 
 
 Upon its fields of green. 
 
 The house, as we enter its time-worn door. 
 
 Has an air of unruffled "repose. 
 Like the hush of a dreamy autumn day 
 
 When nearing to its close. 
 1 06 
 
ONLY WAITING. 
 
 07 
 
 It speaks of a harvest of gathered sheaves, 
 
 Of reapers with toiling all o'er, 
 Of hand in hand for a little while yet. 
 
 Till Cometh the nevermore. 
 
 We feel we are treading on hallowed ground, 
 
 And reverently bow the head, 
 As we count the years of wedded life 
 
 They have together led. 
 
I08 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 They only wait for a few more morns, 
 
 For a few more smiles and tears, 
 When the hands of the clock will cease to move 
 
 In numbering their years. 
 
 It is said the house in their early days 
 Was known for its music and mirth, 
 
 When laughter and song kept time with the roar 
 Of fires upon their hearth. 
 
 But tears would start should we venture to speak 
 
 Of those who have passed away, 
 And we deal with these old folks tenderly 
 
 In all \ve have to say ; 
 
 For long as the years of their life shall last. 
 
 And memory holdeth its throne. 
 They will muse on scenes of the buried past 
 
 While living here alone ; 
 
 And fain would know, as through faith the bliss 
 
 Of the heavenly land appears. 
 If they '11 love each other so fondly there 
 
 As here, for endless years. 
 
 We may wander some day along the banks 
 
 Of this river quiet and fair, 
 And knock at the door, but find no more 
 
 These old folks waiting there. 
 
THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 
 
 OME of my boyhood, vvheresoe'er I stray, 
 A toiler long upon the world's highway. 
 My heart turns fondly, honored shrine, to 
 thee, 
 In that quaint dwelling near the restless sea, — 
 Where one bleak winter eve the brave Mayflower, 
 Sport of the wild waves, subject to their power. 
 Dropped her small anchor at the set of sun, 
 Her voyage for truth and conscience-sake well 
 done. 
 
 Oft, when a boy, upon the hill I 've stood. 
 Where the old homestead leaned against the 
 
 wood, 
 And looked across the intervening vale 
 Where prouder barques to-day in triumph sail. 
 And fancied through what straits the Pilgrims trod 
 Those desert pathways where they walked with 
 
 God. 
 
 109 
 
no MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Plain, earnest men ! an unbelieving world 
 Hailed not the banner which they there unfurled ; 
 As they went forth but little could they know 
 That streams of blessing from their lives would 
 
 flow; 
 That from the hut which unpretending raised 
 Its lowly roof with " Here let God be praised," 
 A light would break whose radiance afar 
 Would be to millions as a morning star ; 
 That laws more righteous than the world had 
 
 known 
 Would be the product of the seed there sown ; 
 And commonwealths would rise and bless the 
 
 name. 
 Of saint and sage then all unknown to fame. 
 
TWILIGHT. 
 
 LOSE not for awhile the shutters ; 
 Speed not thus departing day : 
 It will breathe its choicest blessings 
 As it glides from time away. 
 
 These are hours I prize the highest, 
 
 Moments of the soul's release 
 From its constant round of duty, 
 
 To that blissful haven. Peace. 
 
 As the gath'ring darkness deepens, 
 
 Twilight, ling' ring in the west, 
 Bringeth with its benedictions, 
 
 To the heavy-laden, rest. 
 
 Ere the vision shall elude us, 
 
 Softer speak the whispered word ; 
 
 All the fountains of our being 
 
 In this hallowed hour are stirred. 
 Ill 
 
112 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 While the fire-hghts flame and flicker, 
 Memory, busy, now recalls 
 
 Gentle forms who round us hngered. 
 Like the shadows on the walls. 
 
 As upon the dusty highway. 
 
 Now and then, some cool retreat 
 
 For a moment lures us thither, 
 There to rest our weary feet, — 
 
 So the twilight, 'mid the bustle 
 
 Of our busy Hfe imparts 
 Strength for new and brave endeavor. 
 
 To our weak and fainting hearts. 
 
 Wait not, then, but close the shutters ; 
 
 Duty beckons to us still ; 
 But the hour has brought us courage 
 
 For our task through good and ill. 
 
BOSTON LIGHT IN NOVEMBER. 
 
 LOOK from my window over the bay ; 
 The cold east wind has a sorrowful 
 tone ; 
 The hght of this dreary November day 
 
 Departs, and I 'm left with my thoughts alone. 
 
 No star will be seen in the murky skies ; 
 
 The sullen clouds hang heavy and low ; 
 Beyond where the shadowy fortress lies, 
 
 The belated sea-gulls wearily go. 
 
 The heart has no words in which to express 
 Its secret emotions of grief and pain ; 
 
 The hidden depths of its loneliness, — 
 Its longings for something it cannot attain. 
 
 But lo ! through the gathering mist and gloom. 
 The light of a far-away lighthouse gleams ; 
 
 It enters, a welcome guest, my room. 
 
 With courage emblazoned upon its beams. 
 8 ^^3 
 
114 MISCELLANEO US. 
 
 And to other hearts afar down the bay, 
 Out on the troubled and stormy sea, 
 
 To the homeward bound, it has brave words to 
 say, 
 Even more gladsome than unto me. 
 
 Ho, beacon-hght on this rock-bound strand ! 
 
 I hail thee ever as lover and friend ; 
 Thou dost take the desolate one by the hand, 
 
 And benisons over the billows send. 
 
 No matter how lonely and dark the night, 
 
 Or wildly the tempest-tossed barque may stray, 
 
 The ruddy gleams of thy sentinel light, 
 Like angels of mercy, glide over the bay. 
 
UPON THE SEA. 
 
 0-NIGHT, O God, upon the sea, 
 The sufferer turns his eyes to Thee ; 
 Through the dark day the howhuj 
 blast 
 Has swept with fearful fury past ; 
 And many hearts in wild despair 
 Have bowed in agony of prayer ; 
 For, tempest tossed, on half a wreck. 
 The sailor treads the quivering deck : 
 He prayed that one faint ray of light 
 Might break the clouds ere came the night ; 
 But now the night is overspread 
 Upon his poor defenceless head. 
 And whither can the sailor flee, 
 Oh, whither, Father, but to Thee ! 
 
 Just now I dreamed that by my side 
 He stood in all his manly pride ; 
 I looked upon his earnest face. 
 Still radiant in its boyhood's grace ; 
 115 
 
1 6 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 I pressed him to my heart, but lo ! 
 Against the casement beats the snow ; 
 And through my strugghng tears I see 
 Him dinging to a wreck at sea. 
 
 Speak Thou ! and whisper, " Peace be still," 
 
 O Thou ! the waves obey Thy will ; 
 
 And succor to the needy send, 
 
 O Thou ! who art the sufferer's friend ; 
 
 And spare to-night upon the sea 
 
 The soul that turns, O Lord, to thee ! 
 
THE LAST ROBIN. 
 
 ET a little longer, 
 
 Robin red-breast, stay 
 All thy gay companions 
 
 Long since flew away : 
 While the groves were vocal 
 
 With their merry chime, 
 Quickly on the dial 
 
 Moved the hands of Time. 
 
 O'er the hazy landscape 
 
 Stand the stacks of grain ; 
 Autumn's golden sentinels 
 
 Marshalled on the plain ; 
 And the shouts of reapers. 
 
 Gathering their sheaves. 
 Mingle with the rustling 
 
 Of the falling leaves. 
 
 Memories tinged with sadness 
 Weigh upon the heart. 
 
 As with cherished objects 
 Tenderly we part ; 
 117 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 For the cricket, singing 
 
 At the open door, 
 Tells us we may never 
 
 Look upon them more. 
 
 Then a little longer 
 
 Lingering by the way, 
 Herald of the spring-time, 
 
 Robin red-breast, stay ; 
 While the shadows lengthen. 
 
 And the earth, grown sere. 
 Wraps her frosty mantle 
 
 Round the closing year. 
 
SONG OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 HE glad harvest greets us, brave toiler 
 for bread, 
 Good cheer ! the prospect is brighter 
 ahead ; 
 Like magic, the plentiful sunshine and rain 
 Have ripened our millions of acres of grain ; 
 And the poorest the wolf may keep from his 
 
 door, — 
 There '11 be bread and to spare another year more. 
 So sing merrily, merrily, 
 
 As we gather it in ; 
 We will store it away gladly. 
 In garner and bin. 
 
 We hailed with delight, yet tempered with fear. 
 The corn as it grew from the blade to the ear ; 
 Lest haply, though large is the surplus in store, 
 That bread might be dearer for twelve months or 
 more ; 
 
 119 
 
I20 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 But the sunshine and rain, how they ripened the 
 
 grain 
 That waited the sickle over hillside and plain ! 
 So sing merrily, merrily, 
 
 As we gather it in ; 
 We will store it away gladly, 
 In garner and bin. 
 
 Oh, ne'er let us question the Wisdom which guides 
 Our feet in green pastures, and for us provides ; 
 Who now, as aforetime, His glory displays. 
 In the bounty that crowns our autumnal days : 
 Let the glad tidings echo the continent o'er. 
 There '// be bread and to spare another year more ! 
 
 So sing merrily, merrily. 
 As we gather it in ; 
 
 We will store it away gladly, 
 In garner and bin. 
 
THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS. 
 
 ROM break of dawn till set of sun, 
 My house is kept brimful of fun : 
 Mysterious whisperings are heard ; 
 In drawers and closets things are stirred ; 
 I 'm stoutly charged to keep away 
 From this and that by night and day ; 
 And if, perchance, I happen in, 
 My ears are greeted with the din 
 Of feet, a hurrying to and fro. 
 Concealing things they dare not show. 
 And when amid the whirl and clatter 
 I ask, " Do tell me what 's the matter? " 
 The answer I am sure to get 
 Is, " Pray don't be in such a fret ! 
 For only once a year, you know, 
 Hides Cupid in the mistletoe ; 
 And by and by, yes, by and by, 
 You '11 know the merry reason why." 
 
 Ah, blithesome torments ! who would miss 
 These moments of unclouded bliss? 
 
1 2 2 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Or lose this rapture of a child 
 To be by fairy-sprites beguiled? 
 Or care to know thy secrets, till 
 The shout is heard o'er vale and hill, 
 On earth be peace, good will to men, 
 The star, the star of Bethlehem ! 
 
DECEMBER. 
 
 HAT though northern blasts are sweeping 
 Over now the frost-bound lea? 
 The returning sun is bringing 
 
 Hope and cheer for you and me. 
 
 We have oft repined while passing 
 Through these drear December days ; 
 
 Now the curtain, slowly rising, 
 Turns complaining into praise. 
 
 Drifting on — how small our knowledge 
 Of the Hand which guards and guides 
 
 Our frail barques amid the currents, 
 Of life's ever shifting tides ! 
 
 Sooner than our fancy pictures, 
 Robin red-breast, some fine day, 
 
 Will be blithely saying to us, 
 
 " Snow and ice have passed away." 
 123 
 
24 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 So it is, in shine and shadow 
 We are hearing words of cheer ; 
 
 Never more than when the darkness 
 Deepens round the closing year. 
 
 How will clouds that still may vex us 
 Speed their flight if we remember, 
 
 Though some days are dark and dreary, 
 'T will not always be December. 
 
 THE WAYSIDE REST. 
 
 This wayside rest, beneath the spreading tree. 
 Was meant, O weary traveller, for thee ; 
 Here take thine ease, and bless the kindly hand 
 That for thy comfort this good seat hath planned. 
 
ANOTHER YEAR. 
 
 NOTHER year? and shall we then 
 Be found among the marts of men ? 
 Upon life's page will there be still 
 Some little space for us to fill ? 
 Or will the day of life be o'er, 
 And we be known as here no more? 
 
 Not now may we discern the goal ; 
 So up and on, O earnest soul ! 
 There yet is work for you and me ; 
 The cross before the crown must be ; 
 The Master whom we serve knows best 
 When, worn and weary, we may rest. 
 
 And, brother, as along the race 
 Of Hfe you reach a higher place. 
 Enough for me, beneath the hill, 
 To tread the quiet valley still ! 
 Enough if I may sing a lay. 
 To charm a passing hour away. 
 125 
 
1 26 MISCELLANE O US. 
 
 Then let us, with a manly heart, 
 Each in his way perform his part ; 
 And lift some load, as on we go. 
 From shoulders bending weak and low ; 
 And leave behind us more than fame — 
 The record of an honored name. 
 
 THE PORTRAIT PAINTER. 
 
 He had the skill the lineaments to trace. 
 And on the canvas paint the human face ; 
 To one bright goal his eyes were ever turned, 
 To win that prize the fires within him burned ; 
 His work the critics censured more than praised, 
 Though oft they had his expectations raised ; 
 In unremitting toil he did his best. 
 Then penniless passed on to his eternal rest. 
 
TO SAMUEL FRANCIS SMITH. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "AMERICA." 
 
 I 808-1 888. 
 
 EAR friend of well-remembered years, 
 When youth was on thy brow, and mine, 
 Thy smoothly flowing numbers seemed 
 A well-spring from a source Divine. 
 
 With undiminished affluence still, 
 
 From the same fountain calm and clear, 
 
 Flow melodies as musical 
 
 As dropped upon my boyhood's ear. 
 
 Ay, holier are their undertones. 
 
 And richer with the lore of age ; 
 The op'ning vista down the vale 
 
 Grows broader to the saint and sage. 
 
 As friends beloved reach one by one 
 Life's limit, threescore years and ten, 
 
 Thy fingers touch the old-time chords, 
 Responsive with their svveet Amens. 
 127 
 
128 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 For never fairer is the vine 
 
 Than when its purpHng grapes hang low 
 And hfe's divinest hour is when 
 
 'T is radiant in its sunset glow. 
 
 And thou dost stay the fleeting hours, 
 To paint the blush ere it depart ; 
 
 And weave thy benedictions round 
 The holiest tendrils of the heart. 
 
 Oh, heavenly gift of poesy ! 
 
 And beautiful, when it doth bless 
 As thine hath done thy fellow- man. 
 
 In its embracing tenderness. 
 
 As oft a harp will murmur on 
 
 When the sweet song we sang is o'er, 
 
 And charm us with its memories when 
 The hand that swept it is no more, — 
 
 So will remembrance of thy life. 
 
 Its fourscore years of song and cheer. 
 
 Like music linger when we miss 
 
 Thy presence from our pathways here. 
 
ODE. 
 
 Celebration of the City of Boston, July 4, 1870. 
 
 HILE hill and valley, stream and shore, 
 Break forth in songs of joy once more, 
 We come, the children of the Free, 
 
 And bring our tribute, Lord, to thee. 
 
 How fair the heritage we claim, 
 Jehovah, ransomed in Thy name ; 
 Fresh verdure springs along the way 
 In which Thy people walk to-day. 
 
 A sweeter fragrance lingers round 
 The shrines we hail as holy ground ; 
 And dearer grow the paths we tread, 
 Above the consecrated dead. 
 
 O land of promise ! native land ! 
 Serene before the nations stand ; 
 By God inspired to bless the throng 
 Which press the world's highways along. 
 9 129 
 
1 30 M ISC ELLA NEOUS. 
 
 From foes reclaimed, by Truth made free, 
 Thy form shall ever fairer be, 
 As under His benign control, 
 The gathering ages onward roll. 
 
LET EVERY HEART REJOICE AND 
 SING. 
 
 Sung by children of the Sabbath Schools of Boston in Faneuil 
 Hall, July 4, 1842. 
 
 ET every heart rejoice and sing, 
 
 Let the swelHng chorus rise ; 
 Ye reverend men and children, bring 
 
 To God your sacrifice : 
 Whilst the breath of the morning floateth 
 
 Along our valleys fair, 
 And the song of gladness riseth. 
 
 Upon the dewy air, — 
 
 While the rocks and the rills. 
 While the vales and the hills, 
 A glorious anthem raise, — 
 
 Let each piolong 
 
 The grateful song. 
 And the God of our fathers praise ! 
 
 Where first the voice of freedom 
 
 Was heard in days of yore. 
 Now let the children's children 
 
 Repeat that song once more ; 
 131 
 
3 2 MISCELLANEO US. 
 
 While our Country's banner o'er us 
 
 Still waveth proudly free, 
 Oh, let the exulting chorus 
 
 Ascend, great God, to thee : 
 While the rocks and the rills, 
 While the vales and the hills, 
 A glorious anthem raise ; 
 
 Let each prolong 
 
 The grateful song, 
 And the God of our flithers praise. 
 
 w4 
 
 ^ 
 
TREMONT TEMPLE. 
 
 ESTORED once more from out the 
 flames, 
 As Time rolls on, through good and ill, 
 
 Fair Temple ! to all noble aims, 
 We come to consecrate thee still : 
 
 To Speech, unfettered as the wind, 
 To Liberty, restrained by law, 
 
 To Charity, for all mankind. 
 
 To Visions, such as prophets saw. 
 
 For all who seek the lost to find, 
 
 And draw them from the paths of sin. 
 
 Lift high thy Temple gates, and let 
 The heralds of Salvation in. 
 
 When Science, Learning, Art, and Song 
 Combine, the throngs to lure and bless. 
 
 As glide the favored hours along. 
 They will not love thine altars less. 
 ^33 
 
134 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 O grandly reconstructed walls ! 
 
 May our glad work and mission be, — 
 To make more fair, as duty calls, 
 
 This much loved city by the sea. 
 
 Great Author of the rolling years ! 
 
 Unchanged, through Time and Space the same, 
 In every shrine which Goodness rears, 
 
 Forever honored is thy name. 
 
 October, 1880. 
 
DOMESTIC. 
 
There is no spot in all this wide-spread earth, 
 He hails more gladly than the quiet hearth, 
 Who sought for honor, struggled hard for fame, 
 And grasps the shadow of a fleeting name. 
 
HOME. 
 
 Domestic happiness, thou only bliss 
 Of Paradise that has survived the fall ! 
 Thou art the nurse of Virtue. In thine arms 
 She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is, 
 Heaven-born and destined to the skies again ! 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 O speaks the world — where hearts in 
 union beat, 
 On the thronged highway or the lonely 
 street, 
 In the proud palace or the poor man's cot. 
 Love makes the home, and sanctifies the spot. 
 
 The thoughtless youth its quiet charms may 
 
 spurn, 
 To other scenes his wayward fancy turn, 
 And man for pleasure, honor, power, may stray 
 Far from the landmarks of his boyhood's day — 
 137 
 
138 DOMESTIC. 
 
 Yet will his heart, responsive to the past, 
 Weary with life, oft backward glances cast 
 Adown the vistas of remembered years, 
 Illumed by smiles, but oftener dimmed with tears. 
 And anchor fondly where it spread its sail 
 To the delusions of the passing gale. 
 
EDEN. 
 
 From a poem delivered before the Literary Fraternity of Water- 
 ville College, now Colby University, August, 1841. 
 
 AIR was the earth ! in vernal beauty 
 drest, 
 The bright creation of His high be- 
 hest 
 
 Whose power unseen from chaos order made, 
 The frowning mountain, and the smiling glade. 
 When man, last formed, yet first beneath the skies, 
 Devoutly hailed the bliss of Paradise. 
 
 The flowers blushed sweetly as each rival hue 
 Revealed its beauties first to Adim's view ; 
 And softly strayed the cool, delicious air 
 Among the branches of the cedars there. 
 The lake that mirrored on its breast that night 
 The stars of heaven with new-created light. 
 More glorious still reflected morning's ray, 
 Which child -like daflied with its virgin spray; 
 And music woke, far over hill and plain, — 
 Sounds so melodious may not breathe again. 
 139 
 
I40 DOMESTIC. 
 
 How blessed amid those Eden bowers to walk, 
 
 And free with Nature and her Maker talk ! 
 
 Still iindefiled by spot or stain of sin, 
 
 To mar the image of the God within. 
 
 Yet not complete ; though Eden bloomed around, 
 
 One yearning void in man's lone breast was 
 
 found ; 
 And power Divine spake woman into life, 
 And Adam clasped in Eve his young, enchanting 
 
 wife. 
 
 Now hill and vale in wilder beauty grew. 
 As hand in hand they hailed the enrapturing view ; 
 And sweeter flowers still fairer festoons made, 
 More grateful was the palm-trees' cooling shade. 
 The murmuring zephyrs breathed a gladder tone. 
 For Heaven decreed, "Man should not live alone." 
 
 Thus came the gift ! and where, O muse, wilt thou 
 For garlands wander to bedeck thy brow? 
 Where, in thy flight from whence the vision 
 
 broke, 
 When woman smiled and man to bliss awoke. 
 Where wilt thou pause to gather gems that glow. 
 The pledge that love yet lingers here below? 
 
EDEN. 141 
 
 As the mild graces of this favored hour, 
 Steal o'er the senses with bewitching power, 
 Charmed with the scene, the adventurous muse 
 
 awakes, 
 And the long silence of her slumber breaks, 
 While Home, — Sweet Home! the burden of 
 
 her lay, 
 Breathes from her harp as glide the hours away. 
 
BOY AND MAIDEN. 
 
 ROM the ever deep'ning distance 
 Of the past, I oft recall 
 One whose smile upon my pathway 
 As a sunbeam seemed to fall ; 
 Who, when dropped the apple blossoms, 
 
 Loved adown the lanes to stray. 
 
 Plucking here and there a wild flower, 
 
 Fragrant with the breath of May. 
 
 Day by day some fancy lured us 
 
 Where the village pathways met, 
 I a boy with boundless longings, 
 
 She an artless school-girl yet, — 
 And this fair and winsome maiden. 
 
 Tripping lightly o'er the lea. 
 Hidden in her basket often, 
 
 Had a chosen flower for me. 
 
 Not a word was ever spoken, 
 
 Very strange to me it seems, — 
 Not a whisper passed between us. 
 
 Of the burden of our dreams ; 
 142 
 
BOY AND MA /DEN. 
 
 143 
 
 Not as lovers' were our meetings, 
 Nor as lovers' our good-byes ; 
 
 Only boy and maiden were we, 
 Handsome in each other's eyes. 
 
 Many years have come and vanished, 
 
 And our locks are thin and gray ; 
 Still she plucks for me the wild flowers, 
 
 Fragrant wnth the breath of May : 
 More than maiden I behold her, 
 
 With the sunset on her brow. 
 For as one of God's good angels. 
 
 She is walking with me now. 
 
 *^*%- 
 
 ' T IS sitiishiny rvcather. 
 Because we h-e together. 
 
THE COTTAGE BONNET. 
 
 A SIMPLE cottage bonnet 
 she wore, 
 
 Of braided straw, in the 
 days of yore ; 
 ^»;V , "^, ^ It had a Quakerish look, 
 
 With its plain trimmings 
 of white and blue • 
 But whene'er she thrust her veil aside, 
 And stood in the bloom of maiden pride, 
 You could not ask for a face more fair 
 Than beamed from beneath that bonnet there. 
 
 It took the eye of one who now 
 Looks fondly on that same fair brow ; 
 And often as returns that day, 
 The last sweet Sabbath morn in May, 
 He hears again the robin sing, 
 And sees the lark upon the wing ; 
 The apple-trees are white with bloom. 
 The air is fragrant with perfume. 
 144 
 
THE COTTAGE BONNET. 145 
 
 A simple cottage bonnet still 
 Doth all his waning pulses thrill, 
 And wakens the remembered lays 
 That sanctified those early days. 
 
 And when upon the crowded streets 
 The matron and the maid he meets 
 With shapeless hats and tangled curls, 
 He oft recalls the modest girls 
 Who tripped along at even-tide, 
 Unvexed by fashion's pomp and pride ; 
 And her who was his virgin bride, 
 Who, walking with him down the hill, 
 Could wear a cottage bonnet still, 
 And be as fair and sweet to-day 
 As on that rosy morn in May. 
 
EARLY AND LATER LOVE. 
 
 COULD not know, as swift the years, 
 My dear, their ceaseless cycles run, 
 And smiles are often changed to tears, 
 
 As visions vanish one by one, 
 
 That now my heart would cling to thine 
 As never in life's early morn ; 
 
 For though that love seemed all divine, 
 'T was not of this deep fulness born. 
 
 Our early love was as the blush 
 
 Of the young morning bright and gay ; 
 Our later love is as the hush, 
 
 When sunset shadows glide away. 
 
 The peace of life's calm eventide 
 Befits the furrowed brow of age ; 
 
 And love, by memories sanctified, 
 Ts an abiding heritage. 
 146 
 
EARLY AND LATER LOVE. 147 
 
 Ad own the vale the nearer view 
 
 Of heaven dispels the lingering fear, 
 
 As hand in hand we still pursue 
 The onward path of duty here. 
 
 Oh, it were well, when conflicts cease, 
 And toil and turmoil vex no more, 
 
 Beside life's gathered sheaves in peace. 
 To live its checkered journey o'er. 
 
 Though adverse winds awhile may blow, 
 And clouds their shadows o'er us cast. 
 
 There 's something tells me that the bow 
 Of Hope will span our sky at last. 
 
 Oh, early love and later love ! 
 
 One, through the years which God hath given, 
 A glimpse and foretaste from above 
 
 Of the perfected love of heaven. 
 
OUR OLD HOMESTEAD. 
 
 S a landmark quaint and hoary, 
 Still to me the old house stands, 
 Half concealed by trees around it, 
 From the fragrant meadow lands. 
 
 There my sires for generations 
 Hailed the coming of the sun — 
 
 There they rested from their labors. 
 When their daily task was done. 
 
 Few and simple were their longings, 
 
 Frugal was their honest fare. 
 And that gentle maid, Contentment, 
 
 Was a constant presence there. 
 
 From a brook which never failed them 
 
 They drew water day by day, 
 While its music gladdened ever 
 
 All the banks along its way. 
 148 
 
OUR OLD HOMESTEAD. 149 
 
 There the lilacs blossomed early, 
 There the corn its tassels waved, 
 
 There the barn was filled with plenty, 
 When the storms of winter raved. 
 
 All its pathways in my boyhood 
 Led to pastures fair and sweet ; 
 
 Oh, how oft have they been trodden 
 By my bare and restless feet. 
 
 Stranger, you may find this homestead 
 Near the spot the Pilgrims prest. 
 
 When the Mayflower bore her burden 
 Where the weary might find rest. 
 
 Should you scan its plain surroundings, 
 
 And inquire the reason why 
 I have lured you for a moment 
 
 From your way while passing by — 
 
 'T is to show you, O my brother, 
 Wandering the wide world round, 
 
 That in such retreats the truest 
 Source of earthly bliss is found. 
 
STARTING IN LIFE. 
 
 OFT recall that well-remembered day, 
 Which brightly dawned upon my boy 
 hood's way, 
 
 When leaving home I crossed the village green, 
 Just as the sun above the hills was seen. 
 
 My simple pack, my treasured all, was there. 
 Laden with tokens of a mother's care, 
 With gifts affection's loving hands had brought, 
 Some dear memento that a sister wrought. 
 Some modest gem the giver prayed might be 
 Bound to my heart for " Aye remember me." 
 
 " God keep thy spirit pure and undefiled ; 
 God's blessing rest upon thy path, my child," 
 Was her adieu who evermore would hold 
 In her embrace the first son of her fold. 
 And as I lingered at the open door 
 For one last kiss, for one fond good-by more, 
 The little birds their sweetest farewell sang. 
 The dim old woods with farewell echoes rang, 
 150 
 
STARTING IN LIFE. 151 
 
 The sparkling rills sent up a farewell sigh, 
 The drooping willows softly breathed, "Good-by," 
 And brier, and fern, and dewy scented flower 
 Joined in the farewells of that parting hour. 
 
 I wandered slowly through the crowded street. 
 
 But caught no smile from all I chanced to meet ; 
 
 A homesick boy on life's uncertain way, 
 
 To win esteem or go, alas ! astray. 
 
 The city's din, its scenes so strange and new. 
 
 Passed like a dream before my wondering view, 
 
 And silver lays from fairy harps were sung. 
 
 And Pleasure wooed me with her flattering tongue. 
 
 'T was then I felt that some restraining power 
 Seemed to be near me in the trying hour ; 
 When for the Right I wished unmoved to stand, 
 I felt the pressure of a helping hand ; 
 When to my lips was brought the cup of bliss, 
 Upon my cheek I felt my mother's kiss ; 
 And strength sufficient for the day was given, — 
 Oh, still they lure my erring feet to heaven. 
 
THANKSGIVING EVE. 
 
 Y boyhood's home before me lies, 
 
 Just as it looked when life was young, 
 Ere I had spread my tiny sail, 
 Or to the breeze my pennons flung ; 
 The blue smoke climbs the hill beside, 
 
 The brook goes singing on its way, 
 And voices near and far proclaim, 
 The coming of Thanksgiving Day. 
 
 A thousand welcomes, as of old. 
 
 Ring out upon the frosty air. 
 While through the orchard boughs I see 
 
 The village lights reflected there ; 
 To-morrow will be festal time. 
 
 And city halls and hamlets low 
 Will echo to the merry chimes, 
 
 And memories of long ago. 
 152 
 
THANKSGIVING EVE. I53 
 
 We all are young v/ho gather here, — 
 
 The sire of three-score years and ten 
 Trips lightly with his sweet grandchild, 
 
 The gayest of our youngest men ; 
 For who cares aught for wrinkles now. 
 
 Or sighs because his locks are gray? 
 His heart beats light who hails with me 
 
 The feasts of our Thanksgiving Day. 
 
 Now let me slumber once again 
 
 In that old chamber in the Ell, 
 And wake up from my dreams, and hear 
 
 The night-winds through the casement swell ; 
 No monarch has a grander couch, 
 
 Or softer down on which to rest. 
 Than mine will be, for oh, my friends, 
 
 I 'm once more in my boyhood's nest ! 
 
THE SCHOOL-BOY'S VACATION. 
 
 [IS trunk was packed for days before ; 
 The blood coursed quickly through his 
 veins ; 
 
 The hours he counted o'er and o'er, 
 As counts the captive in his chains : 
 His task was finished — why delay 
 The eagle in his upward way? 
 
 He rose ere morn illumed the skies ; 
 
 The clock had only rung out three ; 
 It was an early hour to rise, 
 But not an early hour for thee, 
 
 O boy ! for in thy dreams all night, 
 How loomed the promised land in sight ! 
 
 Thou wert away among the hills ; 
 
 Where mountains rear their lofty heads ; 
 Where sweetly sing the crystal rills. 
 And green banks fringe the river beds ; 
 
 Where flocks, and herds, and bird, and bee 
 A thousand welcomes gave to thee. 
 154 
 
THE SCHOOL-BOY'S VACATION. 1 55 
 
 O boy ! I would that, free as thou, 
 
 I, too, might sweep o'er hill and plain ; — 
 Without a wrinkle on my brow, 
 
 Live over life's young morn again ; 
 And pack my trunk, and rise at three. 
 And start at eight, along with thee. 
 
THE TROUBLE OF THE HOUSE. 
 
 HEY name her " Trouble of the House," 
 My merry httle one, 
 And tell large stories of the deeds 
 Her busy hands have done ; 
 
 That every room has its own tale 
 
 Of mischief to declare, 
 Of eyes which peer exceeding bright 
 
 Through locks of golden hair. 
 
 I don't believe one-half they say; 
 
 And if I did, what then ? 
 Why, simply that her little life 
 
 Was bubbling up again ; 
 
 That one more ray of sunlight streamed 
 
 Through this fair world of ours ; 
 That one more bud was blossoming, 
 
 Within our garden bowers. 
 
 156 
 
THE TROUBLE OF THE HOUSE. 1 57 
 
 True, wrecks of many a toy and gem 
 
 Lie scattered on the floor : 
 And little feet come pattering 
 
 Through every open door ; 
 
 And tireless as the bee which culls 
 
 Its honey from the flower, 
 Her mind, with curious wonderings filled, 
 
 Is busy every hour. 
 
 But we as soon the streams may turn 
 
 Which to the ocean roll, 
 As quench this spark that glows and burns 
 
 In an immortal soul. 
 
 The wish to know the why and when, 
 
 The mystery to explore, 
 The will to dare the path to tread 
 
 We have not trod before — 
 
 Rules both alike the man and child, 
 
 The simple and the wise ; 
 Both chase the bubble as it flits 
 
 Before their eager eyes ; 
 
 Both sport with trifles, — bat and ball 
 
 Are in our hands alway ; 
 And longings never satisfied 
 
 Attend us day by day. 
 
58 DOMESTIC. 
 
 Then chide her not, but rather let 
 Her glad heart soar and sing ; 
 
 The dew is fresh upon her brow, 
 Be freedom on her wing. 
 
 We hail the promise of to-day ; 
 
 For, if the ruddy glow 
 Of morning breaks upon us such, 
 
 What may the evening show ! 
 
TO N. AT THIRTY-TWO. 
 
 HOU still art dear, as day by day 
 I press along life's lengthening way, 
 As dear as when thy infant smile 
 
 Could all my weary hours beguile. 
 Or when thy foot, in girlhood's glee, 
 Tripped lightly over hill and lea. 
 
 I cannot but esteem thee more 
 
 As I review the journey o'er, 
 
 And see how that sweet life of thine 
 
 Has cheered and blessed the half of mine. 
 
 I would the sea did not divide 
 Thy gentle presence from my side ; 
 That I might know this morn the bliss. 
 Of leaving on thy brow a kiss. 
 
 And yet these leagues of raging sea 
 Which roll between thyself and me, 
 159 
 
l60 DOMESTIC. 
 
 Shall bear the prayer that God will bless 
 Thy coming years as mine grow less, 
 And ever make thy life as true 
 As now, dear child, at thirty-two ! 
 
 Ventnor, Isle of Wight. 
 
MARIA. 
 
 HILD of the fair and open brow, 
 My heart cHngs closely up to thine, 
 As in thy eyes enthroned I see, 
 The tokens of a love divine. 
 No voice of bird or summer bee 
 
 Is sweeter than thy guileless speech ; 
 No op'ning blossom of the Spring, 
 Doth purer lines of goodness teach. 
 
 From morn till eve thy quiet ways, 
 
 Have the same artless tale to tell ; 
 Within thy ever loving breast, 
 
 The sweetest thoughts of goodness dwell : 
 And when I mark thy winning smile, 
 
 The tears will oft unbidden start. 
 As clinging closer, still I press 
 
 Thine angel presence to my heart. 
 
 Child of my love ! this changing world 
 Oft throws its shadows o'er my way ; 
 And turning weary from its scenes, 
 
 I long to reach some quiet bay ; — 
 
 II i6i 
 
1 62 DOMESTIC. 
 
 Some haven, where the strife of earth 
 Will not oppress my spirit so ; 
 
 Where kindred hearts speak words of cheer, 
 As on to duty still we go. 
 
 That haven is the glad hearthstone. 
 
 At which thy foot in childhood's glee 
 Doth bound, to greet my coming home, 
 
 As shadows lengthen o'er the lea. ' 
 Here ever, as a vesper star, 
 
 A loving light of beauty shed, 
 As evening shades around me close. 
 
 The angel of the path I tread. 
 
OUR CHILD. 
 
 GIFT from Heaven, — our joy and stay 
 She grew in beauty day by day, 
 And oft we sought with all things fair 
 Her gentle presence to compare, 
 And loved her more as Time revealed 
 The worth her modesty concealed ; 
 So thoughtful, true, and undefiled, — 
 From maid to matron, still our child, 
 
 So like the passing of a dream 
 Was her sweet life, she '11 ever seem 
 Unchanged, — a child upon my knee, 
 With loving arms embracing me ; 
 A morning star, whose lingering ray 
 Made beautiful the dawn of day, 
 Then melted into light away. 
 
 163 
 
OUR HOUSEHOLD PET. 
 
 EAR pet of our household, sober and gray, 
 Strawberry Finch, thou art passing 
 away ; 
 
 Thirteen long years from thy Indian nest, — 
 Beautiful bird ! it is time thou shouldst rest. 
 
 Scarce to the perch can thy crippled feet cling. 
 Fainter the song thou art striving to sing, 
 The half-opened seed drops out from thy bill, 
 And yet thou art ling'ring here with us still. 
 
 She who so loved thee has passed from our eyes, 
 Under the hillocks her gentle form lies ; 
 Nevermore here will she list to thy strain, — 
 Why should we wish thee with us to remain? 
 
 Bear to her, bird of the plumage so fair, 
 Bear to her love Time cannot impair ; 
 Tell her we long for her loving embrace. 
 And the smile which played over her angelic face. 
 164 
 
OUR HOUSEHOLD PET. 
 
 165 
 
 Nay, nay, tiny songster, we '11 not let thee go, 
 There is joy in thy presence, a balm for our woe ; 
 With each quivering note of thy half-uttered lay. 
 Comes the voice of our darling, O birdie, to-day ! 
 
TO A. AT TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 OU ask of me, my child, a lay, 
 Befitting this your natal day, — 
 A simple song, warm from the heart, 
 As you with girlhood's morning part, 
 And venture forth through storm, and strife. 
 Upon the untried voyage of life. 
 
 I 'm sitting here beside the sea, 
 The winds of May blow over me ; 
 And many a ship with spreading sail 
 Greets gladly now the fav'ring gale : 
 The sailor casts one fond look more, 
 As fast recedes his native shore, 
 And breathes a blessing, warm and free, 
 For those he never more may see. 
 
 So, I behold you starting now. 
 With youth still lingering on your brow, 
 With sails all set and pennons free, 
 Just out upon the open sea ; 
 i66 
 
TO A. AT TWENTY-ONE. 1 6/ 
 
 And fancy that your heart turns o'er 
 Its leaves of memory, as the shore 
 Recedes from sight, as day by day, 
 Your barque speeds on its destined way. 
 
 Dear child ! may ever some good guide. 
 Be present with you side by side, — 
 Some pilot, till, all wand'ring o'er. 
 Your feet have gained the farther shore ; 
 Some loving hand to lead the way, 
 Through the bright realms of perfect day. 
 
 Eastbourne, English Channel. 
 
A SUNBEAM. 
 
 AVE you ever met her skipping, 
 Bounding off in play, 
 The jolHest of all creatures, 
 The gayest of the gay ? 
 No bird has lighter pinions, 
 
 Or heart more glad and free ; 
 She 's never still a minute, 
 But she 's very dear to me. 
 
 Her black eyes sparkle brightly, 
 
 Her cheeks are rosy red, 
 Her hat sits very queerly 
 
 'Mong the curls upon her head ; 
 Her frock bears certain witness 
 
 That somebody will sigh. 
 When they see the rents and tatters 
 
 And that twinkle in her eye. 
 
 Dear, busy little body. 
 
 With sunshine in thy heart, 
 Full of mischief and of goodness, 
 
 A paradox thou art ; 
 i68 
 
A SUNBEAM. 169 
 
 I could fill a volume counting 
 
 Thy many failings o'er, 
 And yet it is my weakness 
 
 To love thee more and more. 
 
 This world is full of sorrow, 
 
 But none beclouds thy way ; 
 There is weeping with the smiling 
 
 In all our homes to-day ; 
 But what canst thou of sorrow, 
 
 My darling, know or care, 
 With the sunlight on thy pinions. 
 
 And thy spirit free as air ? 
 
THY NAME. 
 
 To R. P. 
 
 HE world may say thy Scripture name 
 Doth not befit thy merry youth ; 
 But 't is a wreath of fiUal fame, 
 Inwoven with thy tresses, Ruth. 
 
 It has a fragrance all its own. 
 
 And we will fondly hope, forsooth, 
 
 'T will honor thee when older grown, 
 As once the Hebrew maiden, Ruth. 
 
 For even now thy speaking eyes 
 
 And nut-brown cheeks reveal the truth 
 
 That much of hidden beauty lies 
 Within thy loving bosom, Ruth. 
 
 God shield thee with His tender care 
 Through all the perils of thy youth ; 
 
 And make thy eve of life as fair 
 As is its cloudless morning, Ruth. 
 170 
 
SONG OF THE CHIP-BIRD. 
 
 HEN the early flowers were blooming 
 All around my cottage door, 
 Came a little chip-bird, singing 
 
 To his gentle mate once more ; 
 And his song was full of meaning 
 
 And of gladness unto me, 
 " Let us build our nest, my darling, 
 
 In this arbor-vitae tree." 
 
 It seemed strange that they had chosen 
 
 Near our door to make their nest ; 
 But they sought not for our guidance 
 
 In this matter of their quest. 
 So his song for days that followed 
 
 Had a grr.cious charm for me, 
 " Let us build our nest, my darling, 
 
 In this arbor-vitae tree." 
 
 When June came with smiles and roses. 
 
 Sat the chip-bird on her nest ; 
 And a brood of birdlings nestled 
 
 Closely to her downy breast ; 
 171 
 
1/2 DOMESTIC. 
 
 There, with love that knew no changing, 
 They were nourished day by day, 
 
 Till, their tiny wings unfolding. 
 To the fields they flew away. 
 
 Now the summer sun is waning. 
 
 Drowsy is the cricket's tune, 
 Still my heart is with the chip-birds, 
 
 And the rosy month of June : 
 For they came like rays of sunlight, 
 
 Singing round my cottage door; 
 And my heart the blessing pondereth, 
 
 For its good forevermore. 
 
AN EPISTLE FROM THE RHINE. 
 
 To M. 
 
 E are here, but not with thee, 
 Thou, who art beyond the sea ; 
 Whose delight it was to trace 
 
 Scenes of beauty and of grace, 
 
 In the river rushing by ; 
 
 In the rainbow-tinted sky ; 
 
 In the soft wind's lullaby ; 
 
 Thou, who never canst forget. 
 
 How the bright sun rose and set. 
 
 On that day when like a dream, 
 
 We passed swiftly down the stream. 
 
 By full many a storied shrine, 
 
 Of the castellated Rhine ; 
 
 When the grand Cathedral towers 
 
 Cast their shadows over ours ; 
 
 Those were halcyon days, my child, 
 
 All serene and undefiled. 
 173 
 
174 DOMESTIC. 
 
 But a fleeting hour ago, 
 When the sun was waning low, 
 In the dreamy town of Bonn, 
 Quietly we looked upon 
 Those fair heights, the seven hills, 
 Which the stranger's bosom thrills, 
 Sailing up the fairy Rhine, 
 River worshipped as divine. 
 
 Grandly through the purple haze. 
 Of these sweet autumnal days. 
 Rise their summits, evermore 
 Guarding there the mystic shore. 
 Was it fancy, as farewell 
 From our lips reluctant fell. 
 That beneath the evening sky, 
 They too waved to us, "■ Good-by ! 
 
 Cologne, 1878. 
 
%^^ 
 
 )l^& 
 
 A ^^i^'"- 
 
 ^■ 
 
 '^0 <^> 
 
 -^" 
 
 OUR COTTAGE HOME. No. i. 
 
 It was a cherished desire of mine during a prolonged absence in 
 Europe in the years 1877-8-9, to have on my return home a 
 rural residence, where my family and friends could come and 
 enjoy, with us, the pleasures of domestic life. 
 
 HOPE, whenever I return, 
 Dear native land to thee ! 
 To have a cot where I may dwell, 
 By riverside or lea ; 
 Whose charm should be its home-like look, 
 
 And unpretending air, 
 Yet something which might grow to be 
 A thing of beauty there. 
 175 
 
I J 6 DOMESTIC. 
 
 With other comforts, it sliould have 
 
 An open fire of wood ; 
 A daily paper, some choice books, 
 
 And simple country food : 
 I 'd have a dog, perhaps a poll. 
 
 And just enough of ground 
 For flowers to blossom at their will. 
 
 With ivy climbing round. 
 In this retreat I would not care 
 
 For what the world might say, 
 If my small cot should only lure. 
 
 Some loving hearts that way. 
 
 Our poet sages long ago 
 
 These simple truths proclaimed : 
 Man's life is but a fleeting show, 
 
 Howe'er it may be named ; 
 And more of health and happiness 
 
 Is found in hut than hall ; 
 And our dear Father sendeth down 
 
 His rain aUke on all. 
 
 The cottage that my fancy paints, 
 Though small indeed it be. 
 
 Will be enough, if large enough 
 For M. C. L. and me : 
 
OUR COTTAGE HOME. NO. i. 1 77 
 
 There let it blow, or high or low, 
 
 Let sunshine come or rain, 
 We '11 comfort take whilst humming oft 
 
 Some old familiar strain. 
 With thankful hearts, unvexed by care, 
 
 We '11 pass life's evening days, 
 Unnoticed by the throngs which press 
 
 Along the world's highways. 
 
 Should the dear children of our love, 
 
 Come here with us to dine, 
 There '11 be a slice, I 'm sure, for each, 
 
 But more of Veaii than wine ; 
 And our small cot will stretch enough 
 
 To hold the whole of mine. 
 
 Dresden, 1878. 
 
OUR COTTAGE HOME. No. 2. 
 
 HP]N the trailing sweet arbutus, 
 Peeps from underneath the snow, 
 And the rills by frosts unfettered, 
 
 Onward to the rivers flow, — 
 
 Then, O builder of our cottage, 
 Set its corner-stone with care, 
 
 And begin that thing of beauty. 
 Which my foncy pictures there. 
 
 Let the summer sun, advancing, 
 See the progress that it makes ; 
 
 Rounding into full completeness 
 When the peach its crimson takes. 
 
 Now begin thy gentle mission, 
 Daughter with the speaking eyes 
 
 Deck its halls and chambers deftly. 
 From thy storehouse of supplies ; 
 
 178 
 
OUR COTTAGE HOME. NO. 2. 179 
 
 Bring your garlands and mementos, 
 
 Gathered on a foreign shore ; 
 They '11 remind us of the by-ways 
 
 That our feet have travelled o'er : 
 
 Ivy, from old castle ruins, 
 
 Alpine flowers from Switzerland, 
 
 Views of crystal lakes and mountains, 
 Pebbles from the ocean strand ; 
 
 Place them all about the dwelling, 
 
 In and out of cosey nooks ; 
 They will teach us better lessons 
 
 Than we ever learn from books. 
 
 Busy thus, thy comely sister, 
 Sharer of thy griefs and joys. 
 
 Will the cottage set in order 
 For the coming of the boys. 
 
 Gather now, O loved and loving, 
 Children of life's early morn ! 
 
 Ye who to a golden future 
 
 In our dreams of life were born 
 
l80 DOMESTIC. 
 
 Gather once more at our fireside, 
 Let the old-time laugh ring out, 
 
 Whilst relating to each other 
 
 What your hands have been about : 
 
 Bring with you your buds and blossoms, 
 Bring the firstlings of your flock, 
 
 Bring the keys which softly, gently, 
 All the treasured past unlock, — 
 
 And whilst heart with heart communeth, 
 Should a struggling tear-drop fall. 
 
 It will be that we remember 
 
 How the Lord hath blessed us all. 
 
 Thus my fancy paints our cottage ; 
 
 Thus to me it seems to stand 
 'Mid the green lanes of my boyhood, 
 
 In our own, my native land ; 
 
 Sanctifying all the landscape, 
 Cosey as a song-bird's nest, — 
 
 When, O builder will you build it ? 
 For my spirit longs for rest. 
 
 London, February, 1879, 
 
META. 
 
 ETA, gentle Meta, 
 
 When the day was done, 
 Sat upon the doorsteps, 
 Singhig, one by one, 
 Simple cradle lullabies, 
 Tinkling like the rill, 
 While the sun was sinking 
 Underneath the hill. 
 
 Happy little Meta 
 
 Knew not that so soon, 
 Over the cedar groves. 
 
 Up would rise the moon ; 
 That the stars would twinkle 
 
 Merrily and bright. 
 While her lips were murmuring, 
 
 Lovingly, " Good-night." 
 
 So our merry Meta, 
 
 When the sun had set, 
 And the clover meadows 
 
 With the dews were wet, 
 i8i 
 
1 82 DOMESTIC, 
 
 On her couch lay sleeping 
 
 As the lilies sleep, 
 When, above the valleys, 
 
 Stars their vigils keep. 
 
 Ah, dear little Meta ! 
 
 Who that evening knew, 
 As the Night her mantle 
 
 Round the wide world drew. 
 That a deeper shadow 
 
 On our hearts would lie, 
 When the stars of morning 
 
 Faded from the sky? 
 
 Who, of all that loved thee. 
 
 Knew one vacant chair 
 Now would wait thy presence 
 
 At the hour of prayer ; 
 That our feet would linger 
 
 Round the open door. 
 Waiting for thy coming, 
 
 Coming, nevermore? 
 
 Meta, angel Meta ! 
 
 Waiting still we stand. 
 Weary, — oh, how weary ! 
 
 On the ocean strand. 
 
META. 183 
 
 Catching, 'mid the pauses 
 
 Of the billow's roar, 
 Echoes from the voices 
 
 On the farther shore ; 
 Waiting, longing, yearning. 
 
 For thy smile once more, 
 Waiting, for that greeting, darling, 
 
 On the farther shore ! 
 
MARY. 
 
 I knelt to take a brother's farewell kiss, 
 And knew that we had parted. 
 
 LINK is broken in the chain, 
 A soul hath passed away, 
 A lute that breathed so sweet a strain 
 For us hath hushed its lay : 
 A seat is vacant at our board, 
 A place beside our hearth, 
 And grief, that ne'er before was stirred. 
 Has dimmed the joys of earth. 
 
 O Mary : can my shattered lyre 
 
 A requiem sing for thee ? 
 Can I whose cherished hopes expire 
 
 Attune its chords for thee ? 
 Thy presence I can still recall. 
 
 Thy smile — I see it now. 
 And softly doth the sunlight fall 
 
 Upon thy gentle brow ; 
 184 
 
MARY. 185 
 
 Thy step is lightest in the ring, 
 
 Thy laugh is wild and free, 
 But more, I may not, cannot sing, — 
 
 How can I sing of thee ? 
 O thou, so early absent here. 
 
 So quickly passed to heaven. 
 What better than the silent tear 
 
 Can to thy praise be given? 
 
 Around the spot where thou art laid 
 
 The wild flowers bud and bloom ; 
 The robin sings his morning lay 
 
 Beside thy lowly tomb ; 
 And whispering winds, and winds that sweep 
 
 From off the raging sea. 
 Blow softer when we come to weep, 
 
 Who oft have wept with thee. 
 
 Here, Mary, rest, as come and go 
 
 The seasons in their flight, 
 i\s far removed from mortal woe 
 
 As darkness from the light ; 
 As far removed — but not so far 
 
 But faith, with trusting eyes. 
 Beholds thee, O thou rising star, 
 
 Ascending in the skies ! 
 
SHINE AND SHADOW. 
 
 HE bky by clouds is overcast, 
 
 And sadness rests on vale and hill ; 
 Yet comes there in the ling'ring blast 
 Of Autumn pleasant music still. 
 
 Not this a time to roam where smiles 
 The landscape clad in vernal bloom ; 
 
 A lovelier scene the hour beguiles, 
 
 And sheds its sunlight through the gloom. 
 
 Away with sorrow ! let no thought 
 Of coming care becloud the brow ; 
 
 Affection hath her chaplet wrought. 
 
 And breathes her holiest blessings now. 
 
 Who heeds the fury of the blast, 
 
 Or deems November sad and drear. 
 
 That shares the bliss of a repast 
 
 Such as love spreads before us here? 
 
 Roll on, old year ! there 's good and ill 
 
 In every cup we drink below ; 
 
 Some smile will bless our pathway still. 
 
 As shine and shadow come and go. 
 i86 
 
DEVOTIONAL. 
 
Keep thy heart right and thou wilt be 
 Ready ever on land or sea, 
 To follow the Christ of Galilee. 
 
 O who would such a blessing miss? 
 Or fail to know the untold bliss 
 Which cometh with His hallowed kiss ! 
 
CHRIST-LIKE. 
 
 E doth well whose life is daily 
 Sanctified by some good deed, 
 Of unselfish love or valor, — 
 Something, in the hour of need. 
 
 Want and woe are near us ever, — 
 Whereso'er our feet may tread, 
 
 There a burden may be lifted 
 
 From some weak and fainting head, 
 
 For His sake, if we are willing 
 By the Master to be led. 
 
 189 
 
ONE. 
 
 That they all may be one. — John xvii. 
 
 N that hour by all forsaken, 
 
 Mingling with ''Thy will be done," 
 Was the Saviour's supplication 
 
 That His people might be one — 
 
 One, in all the Christian graces 
 Which make life divinely sweet ; 
 
 One, when as His well-beloved, 
 They should for His service meet. 
 
 If that love so all-embracing. 
 
 As he passed through Kedron's vale. 
 Moved to-day the hosts of Zion, 
 
 How would peace o'er strife prevail ! 
 190 
 
ONE. 19] 
 
 Metes aDcl bounds are parting ever 
 Hearts that would in union blend ; 
 
 In the name of Truth entailing 
 Pain and conflict without end. 
 
 With contention in her borders, 
 Over formulas and creeds, 
 
 Zion oft is shorn of beauty. 
 
 When for righteousness she pleads ! 
 
 Still, amid conflicting dogmas, 
 More and more I seem to hear 
 
 God in Christ revealed, — a message 
 Welcome to the list'ning ear : 
 
 Saying to discordant factions, 
 
 AU of questionings aside, 
 " Here upon this Rock of Ages, 
 
 In fraternal peace abide." 
 
 For this unity of spirit 
 
 May I evermore be strong ; 
 
 Whilst the all-abounding goodness 
 Of Jehovah is my song. 
 
192 DEVOTIONAL. 
 
 Let me haste to lift the burden 
 From my neighbor faint and sore, 
 
 Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, 
 From my more abundant store, — 
 
 And the way my feet should travel 
 Must be ever plain to me ; 
 
 I can never err, dear Master, 
 When I follow none but Thee. 
 
THE GLAD ASSURANCE. 
 
 FV in hours of pain and conflict 
 Come these gracious words to me, 
 Full of tenderness and pity, — 
 As thy day thy strength shall he. 
 
 Not a sparrow ever falleth. 
 
 Nor a lamb bewildered stray, 
 But His loving arms infold them. 
 
 As they shelter me to-day. 
 
 Ere the bruised reed is broken 
 He will deign to hear my prayer, 
 
 That no trial shall befall me 
 
 Greater than the heart can bear. 
 
 In what way relief I plead for 
 
 Is to come, I may not see ; 
 'T is enough. Divine Compassion 
 
 Will the burden lift from me. 
 
 Oh, the peace this promise bringeth ! 
 
 All of doubt and fear aside, 
 That my trusting heart may ever 
 
 In His boundless love confide. 
 
 13 193 
 
THE GRAVE OF THE DAIRYMAN'S 
 DAUGHTER. 
 
 EAR maiden, in my western home, 
 Beyond the ever restless sea. 
 In life's young morn I read the tale 
 The village rector told of thee. 
 
 That story of thy lowly life 
 
 So greatly charmed the Christian world 
 That it became, in every land, 
 
 A banner of the cross mifurled. 
 
 And musing on these hallowed scenes, 
 Which still the stranger's feet beguile, 
 
 I oft have longed to tread, as now, 
 The green lanes of this sea-girt isle. 
 
 So tenderly were they portrayed. 
 In lines the pastor's pencil drew, 
 
 Its way-side flowers for thy dear sake, 
 Methought, in wilder beauty grew. 
 T94 
 
THE DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER. 1 95 
 
 A sanctifying Presence reigned 
 
 In all its groves — on hill and lea ; 
 
 I even seemed to walk with Him 
 Who trod the shores of GaHlee. 
 
 Oh, simple tale of trusting love ! 
 
 Meek record of redeeming grace ! 
 What beauty lingers round that spot 
 
 Where Christ hath made a dwelling-place ! 
 
 And so I come, — not with the blush 
 
 Of morning still upon my brow, 
 But weary with life's length'ning march, 
 
 I kneel beside thy green grave now. 
 
 Yet, with an inner, clearer light, 
 To me at this calm moment given, 
 
 I see again the narrow way 
 
 By which thy spirit passed to heaven. 
 
 And pausing here beyond the din 
 And turmoil of the world's highways, 
 
 I catch the spirit of these scenes, 
 
 Which filled the preacher's heart with praise 
 
196 DEVOTIONAL. 
 
 That faithful teacher, who thy hand, 
 Held in his own, as down the vale 
 
 Thy gentle spirit leaned upon 
 
 Those promises which never fail, — 
 
 With him I tread these breezy downs ; 
 
 I trace the Hnes of shore and sea ; 
 The quiet beauty of these vales. 
 
 All, all, is now revealed to me ! 
 
 Henceforth, as shadows thicker fall. 
 And evening gathers round my way. 
 
 With firmer faith my soul will cling 
 To Him who was thy staff and stay. 
 
 In that dear sacrifice I hail 
 
 Enough for all, enough for me ! 
 
 Rock of eternal ages Thou ! 
 O Lamb of God, on Calvary ! 
 
 Isle of Wight, August, 1877. 
 
SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE 
 COULD. 
 
 [Mark xiv. 8.] 
 
 TILL beautiful along the line 
 
 Of deeds well done, this record lives 
 
 And with an energy divine, 
 
 New strength to modest labor gives. 
 
 She did not know her Lord would place 
 
 So fair a crown upon her brow ; 
 That in this sentence we should trace 
 
 So much of simple beauty now. 
 
 'T was love that moved her hands to pour 
 On His dear head the perfumed oil ; 
 
 And love for Him hath o'er and o'er 
 Inspired his servants for new toil. 
 
 " Done what she could," — O trusting heart, 
 No monumental shaft or shrine 
 
 Bears witness to a nobler part, 
 A fairer heritage, than thine ! 
 197 
 
igS DEVOTIONAL. 
 
 Be such my unobtrusive aim — 
 Life's golden moments to redeem ; 
 
 The smile of God is more than fame, 
 However fair that prize may seem. 
 
 THE STILL SMALL VOICE. 
 
 There is a voice to which the heart must listen, 
 Where'er in life our erring feet may go ; 
 
 A still small voice, whose whisperings we may 
 never 
 Tell to another, and alone can know. 
 
 And so there comes the doubting and the chiding 
 Of souls who fain would aid us on our way ; 
 
 They cannot hear that hidden, silent mandate. 
 We oft may question, but still must obey. 
 
STORM ON THE SABBATH. 
 
 OT many to thy sacred feasts, 
 O Zion of our God ! to-day 
 Will upward haste with willing leet 
 Their early sacrifice to pay. 
 A few — the strong in manhood's might, 
 And woman — venturesome for prayer. 
 And youth — as buoyant as the light, 
 May mingle in devotion there. 
 
 Sabbath, to my soul most blest ! 
 Though clothed in sadness and in storm ; 
 
 Thou bringest to the weary, rest, 
 As if thou cam' St in milder form — 
 
 1 hailed thee when thy mellow light 
 
 Bathed spire and tree, and vale anrl hill. 
 When every scene that charmed the sight, 
 In quiet whispered, " Peace, be still." 
 199 
 
200 DEVOTIONAL. 
 
 And now as howls the angry blast, 
 
 And thickly falls the drenching rain, 
 Faith sees the bow of promise cast 
 
 Athwart the brow of heaven again ; 
 And something in this hour of strife. 
 
 Through all the paths our feet have trod. 
 Proclaims, amid destruction, life ! 
 
 Amid the frowns, the smile of God ! 
 
EASTER. 
 
 VER all the hills of God, 
 
 Long by sage and prophet trod, 
 One triumphant paean swells 
 In the peals of Easter bells. 
 
 Breathe, O breath of Love Divine ! 
 On this waiting soul of mine ; 
 Let all fear be rolled away 
 From my burdened heart to-day. 
 
 Paschal Lamb for sinners slain, 
 Here without a rival reign ; 
 Dearer than all else beside. 
 With me evermore abide. 
 
 As life's devious paths I tread, 
 By Thy constant Presence led, 
 I shall more than conqueror be, 
 O my risen Lord ! through Thee, 
 2or 
 
IN THE SANCTUARY. 
 
 " The peace of God which passeth all understanding." 
 
 AM longing for the blessing of the peace 
 of God to-day, 
 O master at the organ, as thy fingers 
 softly stray 
 O'er its keys, for they are whispering, " Here 's a 
 
 refuge from the strife. 
 From the trouble and the turmoil of this constant 
 
 round of life ; 
 Take the blessing freely offered as before His 
 
 throne you kneel, 
 Who would now His gracious presence to thy 
 waiting soul reveal." 
 
 I Ve come a suppliant weary from a world of toil 
 
 and care, 
 Seeking respite from its bondage in this hallowed 
 
 hour of prayer, 
 
 202 
 
IN THE SANCTUARY. 203 
 
 For release from sordid passions, for grace the 
 
 goal to win, 
 As my feet are pressing forward through this 
 
 wilderness of sin ; 
 And whilst silently the tear-drops from their 
 
 hidden fountains start, 
 Touch the chords that surest vibrate with the 
 
 yearnings of my heart. 
 
 No care have I to listen to the paeans of the 
 
 choir. 
 Airs that breathe of sins forgiven better answer 
 
 my desire ; 
 I have naught to plead of merit, my unworthi- 
 
 ness I see, — 
 Let the peace my spirit craveth, O my Father, 
 
 rest on me. 
 
WINTER EVENING HYMN. 
 
 VER my hearth and home to-night, 
 Peace spreads her fair and gentle wing, 
 And hearts as buoyant as the Hght 
 
 Their gifts of love and kindness bring. 
 
 No pinching want my eyes behold, 
 No haggard look, no sunken eye. 
 
 No mourner here, whose griefs untold 
 Deep in the stricken bosom lie. 
 
 I hear the blasts of Winter sweep 
 
 Along the icy-sheeted plain, 
 Whose wail is sad to them who keep 
 
 Lone watch where Want and Sorrow reign. 
 
 But unto me 't is music all. 
 
 The lamp of love burns brightly here, 
 And softly now as snowflakes, fall 
 
 Kind words upon the list'ning ear. 
 
 And yet, O God ! this very day. 
 
 My heart has sighed for something more, 
 
 Nor knew, beneath such gentle sway. 
 Its cup of bliss was running o'er. 
 204 
 
THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 
 
 T stands where it stood in the olden time, 
 When my step was Hght in my boy- 
 hood's prime, 
 And I hear, on the breath of the morning swell, 
 Again the peal of that old church bell. 
 
 It stands where it stood on the brow of the hill. 
 And strangers to me tread its dim aisles still. 
 While I look around and inquire where 
 Are the good old folks who once vorshipped there ? 
 
 And they point to the graveyard close by the way. 
 And tell me they 've been there for many a day ; 
 That the manly heart and the blushing maid 
 Were long ago in that churchyard laid. 
 
 There was one I remember, whose mild blue eye 
 Met tenderly mine as he breathed, ^' Good-by," 
 And the clasp of his hand was warm and true, — 
 But he wasted away like the morning dew. 
 205 
 
206 
 
 DEVOTIONAL. 
 
 Oh, my heart is sad, old church, as I gaze 
 Around for the friends of my early days. 
 And my tears fall fast as the April rain, 
 For I seek the departed here in vain. 
 
CLOSE OF THE WEEK. 
 
 AUSE, my soul ! a week hath ended, — 
 One the less for thee below ; 
 In this week there have been blended, 
 Hope and fear, and joy and woe ; 
 Weary heart, thou canst not murmur. 
 
 O'er thy sky a bow is cast ; 
 One week to thy haven nearer, 
 Courage gather from the past. 
 
 Pause, my soul ! a week hath ended, 
 
 What its record borne for thee ? 
 Whom oppressed hast thou befriended? 
 
 Who the happier been for thee ? 
 Hast thou love for hate requited? 
 
 To thy neighbor wert thou true ? 
 What, my soul, hast thou neglected 
 
 What performed thou shouldst not do? 
 207 
 
208 DEVOTIONAL. 
 
 Pause, my soul ! a week hath ended, 
 
 Time is bearing thee away ; 
 Only for awhile extended, 
 
 Is the hfe we live to-day. 
 What may be upon the morrow, 
 
 God in mercy hides from thee ; 
 But so live, come joy or sorrow. 
 
 As thy day thy strength shall be. 
 
 ^y^c^ 
 
*' JESUS CHRIST HIMSELF. 
 
 [Ephesians ii. 20.] 
 
 HAT, pastor and guide, is thy message 
 to-day? 
 Through the mazes of sin I have wan- 
 dered astray ; 
 Now, weary and worn, I am seeking to find 
 In this Sabbath repose some rest for the mind. 
 
 No speech, howe'er finished its logic or lore. 
 Can meet my heart's longings — I 'm yearning 
 
 for more ; 
 For something unsullied by contact with sin. 
 The joy of forgiveness, the witness within. 
 
 There is an old story, yet evermore new ; 
 On my prodigal heart it distils as the dew ; 
 It tells of redemption for sinners undone, 
 Through the sacrifice made by the crucified One. 
 14 209 
 
210 DEVOTIONAL. 
 
 You cannot exhaust it, no plummet nor line 
 Hath sounded the depths of this ocean divine ; 
 It rolls round the world, it laves every shore, 
 And will, through the ages, till time is no more. 
 
 Then lead us, O teacher, where the infant Christ 
 
 lay; 
 In the paths that He trod let us travel to-day ; 
 And my heart will rejoice as enthroned I see 
 My Saviour, Redeemer, still pleading for me ! 
 
** TRUST IN ME." 
 
 H, think not thou art all unblest, 
 
 Though waves of sorrow o'er thee roll 
 The saddest heart by grief opprest 
 Is under the Divine control. 
 
 He who doth mark the sparrow's fall, 
 
 In tender mercy bends to thee : 
 He throws His shield around us all, 
 
 And sweetly whispers, " Trust in me." 
 
 Thou hast no pain unknown to Him, 
 
 Nor canst thou from His presence stray ; 
 
 And ere the cup o'erflows its brim. 
 He '11 gently wipe thy tears away. 
 
 Then in His hands submissive lie. 
 
 Whose smile can soothe the keenest sorrow ; 
 The rainbow spans the darkest sky. 
 
 And Hope points brightly to the morrow. 
 
 211 
 
THE PASTOR'S RECEPTION. 
 
 E gladly gather here to-night, 
 
 Pastor and guide, as children come, 
 When the long summer day is o'er, 
 To the endearing rest of home. 
 
 Our restless feet have wandered far, 
 
 And, weary with life's dizzy play, 
 We hear thy voice as sunset throws 
 
 Its length' ning shadows o'er our way. 
 
 A pilgrim band with sandals worn. 
 And dust upon our crest and shield. 
 
 Thy hallowed message lures us w^iere 
 The pastures heavenly verdure yield. 
 
 And so we come, and sire and child 
 
 Their offerings and their garlands bring, 
 
 And wreathe the winter frost-work with 
 I'he opening blossoms of the spring. 
 
 212 
 
THE PASTOR'S RECEPTION. 213 
 
 And youth and age, inspired by love, 
 Shall tread the path of duty still ; 
 
 And fill life's yet unwritten page 
 With deeds of mercy and good-will. 
 
 And thou anew wilt gather strength, 
 
 Through Him who hath the wine-press trod, 
 
 To lead us erring children up 
 To the dear City of our God. 
 
 So shall the hour be blest, and we, 
 Girding our loins for sterner strife, 
 
 Will wrestle for that prize which crowns 
 His head who wins eternal life ! 
 
 ^^^^^f^ik^ 
 
OUR SANCTUARIES. 
 
 Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem." — 
 Ps. cxxii, 2. 
 
 H, brothers, toiling weak and worn, 
 By sin beset, how oft our eyes 
 Turn from these earthly temples, to 
 
 The fairer temple in the skies. 
 
 We call ours beautiful ; but when 
 Compared with that by angels trod, 
 
 How all unworthy seem the shrines 
 We fain would consecrate to God. 
 
 Yet He doth deign to meet us here, 
 And so refresh us by His grace, 
 
 That His abounding love in all 
 
 The changing scenes of life we trace. 
 
 What hath been, evermore shall be ; 
 
 A golden heritage awaits 
 The man who walks before the Lord, 
 
 Jerusalem, within thy gates. 
 
 214 
 
ROCK OF AGES. 
 
 N the service of the Sabbath, 
 
 Borne upon seraphic wings, 
 To my over-burdened spirit 
 Comes the song the church choir sings : 
 " Rock of Ages, cleft for me. 
 Let me hide myself in Thee." 
 
 Yes, my heart responsive answers, 
 
 As I join the hallowed strain. 
 And behold the Man of Sorrows, 
 On the cross for sinners slain, — 
 " Let the water and the blood. 
 From Thy riven side that flowed. 
 Be of sin the double cure, 
 Cleanse me from its guilt and power.' 
 
 Yes, my heart again respondeth, 
 Let the work be wholly Thii 3 ; 
 
 I can plead Thy merits only, 
 Thou Incarnate Love Divine ; 
 215 
 
2l6 DEVOTIONAL, 
 
 " Could my tears forever flow, 
 Could my zeal no languor know, 
 All for sin could not atone. 
 Thou must save, and Thou alone." 
 
 Oh, the joy of this assurance, 
 
 God and sinners reconciled ; 
 Free forgiveness through the merits 
 Of the Sinless Crucified : 
 
 " In my hand no price I bring, 
 Simply to Thy cross I cling." 
 
 Evermore be Christ my glory. 
 
 As I tread the narrow way ; - 
 Pressing on through doubt and danger 
 To the bright and perfect Day : 
 " Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
 Let me hide myself in Thee." 
 
ZION. 
 
 *' By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, 
 when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the 
 willows in the midst thereof." — Ps. cxxxvii. 
 
 SORROWING souls, who loved so well 
 The Zion of our God below ; 
 Thy harps, when on the willows hung. 
 As their sad music ceased to flow, 
 Breathed but the prelude to the strains 
 In dire distress, her tribes have sung, 
 Whilst with undying love they stil! 
 To her dishonored altars clung. 
 
 One day, her bulwarks firm and strong, 
 
 Defiance to the foe has hurled ; 
 The next has seen that foe advance 
 
 Before her tattered banners furled : 
 No, never furled, nor stricken down, 
 
 But over length'ning vale and hill 
 The watchman's echoing shout was heard — 
 
 ''The Lord of hosts shall triumph still." 
 217 
 
2l8 DEVOTIONAL. 
 
 Dear heritage, my soul adores, 
 
 Jerusalem, so fair and free ! 
 What clearer light in coming time 
 
 Is yet to be revealed to me? 
 What greater victories of the cross, 
 
 What powers of darkness overthrown. 
 Ere the redeemed of every cHme 
 
 Shall Jesus, King, Immanuel, own? 
 
DEDICATORY HYMN. 
 
 REAT King in Zion ! when of old 
 Thy people came to worship Thee, 
 And prophets to the world foretold 
 Thy name should spread from sea to sea, — 
 
 How glowed Thine altars, King of Kings, 
 With precious stones and burnished gold ! 
 
 What incense rose, while cherub wings 
 Swept over the anointed fold ! 
 
 What awful majesty unveiled 
 
 Itself before Thy people there ! 
 What praises rang when Israel hailed 
 
 Those consecrated shrines of prayer ! 
 
 But when the veil was rent in twain, 
 
 A costlier gift than Israel knew 
 Was on her smoking altars slain. 
 
 As priest and prophet thence withdrew. 
 219 
 
2 20 DE VO TIONAL. 
 
 Lord, who are we that we should dare 
 To build a house for Thee to-day, 
 
 If the Atonement offered there 
 We might not on its altars lay? 
 
 We veil our faces as we bow, 
 
 And feel Thy sacred presence near ; 
 
 Accept our humble offering now. 
 And dwell, Jehovah, with us here. 
 
NEAR TO PORT, 
 
 A venerable man who had been a mariner in his early life, and 
 in old age had experienced much domestic bereavement, on bemg 
 borne from the sanctuary, a smitten paralytic, whispered, " Near 
 TO Port," and died. 
 
 N aged man by sorrow bowed, 
 Looked on a sky without a cloud, 
 And hailed, as from his bed he rose, 
 
 Another day of pure repose. 
 
 The echoes of the Sabbath bell 
 
 Upon his chastened spirit fell. 
 
 He trod with reverential air 
 
 The consecrated aisles of prayer, 
 
 And felt a presence from above. 
 
 Descending as the Heavenly Dove. 
 
 No place to him could be more sweet 
 
 Than sitting at his Master's feet ; 
 
 For foretastes wonderful were given 
 
 Of the sabbatic rest of heaven, 
 
 And his heart cried, '' Dear Lord, how long 
 
 Ere I may sing the conqueror's song? " 
 
222 DEVOTIONAL. 
 
 The prayer had but escaped his breast, 
 
 When visions of his longed-for rest 
 
 Came to him with o'erpowering might, 
 
 And thrilled him with excess of light. 
 
 He felt the mortal man give way, 
 
 The spirit loosened from its clay. 
 
 And cried again, ^' Dear Lord, is this 
 
 The dawning of immortal bliss? " 
 
 And, as the pearly gates swung wide, 
 
 " Near to the Port," he breathed, and died. 
 
 Near to the Port ! O mariner, 
 Thy message does my spirit stir. 
 As pressing on through doubts and fears, 
 I fain would know what round of years 
 Before me lies, ere toil shall cease, 
 And conflict end in perfect peace, — 
 Ere my worn feet shall surely press 
 The temples of His Holiness, — 
 Ere, treacherous seas and perils past, 
 I anchor safe in Port at last. 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
Memories of the past 
 Come like the shadows o'er the landscape cast : 
 Vet why, O faithless heart, shouldst thou repine? 
 There could not be a shadow, did not the sun 
 still shine. 
 
THE GREAT MYSTERY. 
 
 THE mystery of mysteries ! 
 So far and yet so near, 
 Is the land of the Immortals, 
 
 To our earthly dwelling here ! 
 So wide, and yet so narrow, 
 
 Is the stream which flows between 
 The present and the future. 
 
 The seen and the unseen ! 
 
 '5 
 
 225 
 
THE SMITTEN PRESIDENT.^ 
 
 ^O ! sea-breeze on the Jersey shore, 
 Borne fresh the wild Atlantic o'er ! 
 A hero waiteth on the strand, 
 The prostrate chieftain of our land. 
 His chariot on the swift winds flew. 
 So much he longed to be with you. 
 More than two summer moons ago 
 The assassin's bullet laid him low ; 
 And, through long days and nights of pain, 
 He sought the mastery to gain 
 O'er Death, whose sternly upraised dart 
 Well-nigh had pierced his manly heart. 
 
 'T is life or death : all human aid 
 To stay the foe has been arrayed ; 
 But earnest hearts that never quail. 
 That scarce dare hope yet would not fail, 
 
 1 James A. Garfield. 
 226 
 
THE SMITTEN PRESIDENT 22/ 
 
 Prop up the wasting victim still, — 
 
 O master of the mighty will ! 
 
 Good cheer to-day ! Brave heart, good cheer ! 
 
 Hope dawns upon thy pathway here. 
 
 Fan him to sleep, O ocean breeze ! 
 Sing to him lullabies, whispering trees ! 
 Temper thy rays, O fervid sun ! 
 For th' race his feet have yet to run ; 
 Light up his pathway, harvest moon ! 
 Grant him, O health ! the longed-for boon ; 
 Nurse him, kind hearts on the Jersey shore. 
 Till his dread conflict with death is o'er ! 
 
 September lo, 1881. 
 
THE LAST MAN AT HIS GUNS. 
 
 ELL done ! and more thou couldst not do, 
 Brave scion of the Pilgrim stock ! 
 When death's defiant missiles flew, 
 
 And warriors quailed before the shock, 
 And Gettysburg ran red with blood, 
 
 And fiercer frowned the angry sky, 
 Unawed thy spirit met its doom. 
 
 Daring to conquer and to die. 
 
 What though thy comrades fell in heaps, 
 
 As the great wave of battle rolled ? 
 And strong men trembled as the foe 
 
 Swept on with fury uncontrolled? 
 Had not thy heart its fealty sworn 
 
 To the old flag whate'er the cost? 
 And from that foe thou wouldst not turn. 
 
 Though all but thy dear hfe were lost. 
 228 
 
THE LAST MAN AT HIS GUNS. 229 
 
 Oh, when Columbia gathers up 
 
 Her jewels from that dreadful strife, 
 And weaves her fairest garlands round 
 
 The forms once radiant with life, — 
 In her long line of honored dead 
 
 High on the roll thy name will stand. 
 The hero who sublimely died. 
 
 For Freedom and his native land. 
 
 Alonzo H. Gushing, Captain of Company A, 
 4th Regiment of U. S. Artillery, killed at the battle 
 of Gettysburg, was literally the last man at his guns. 
 He was born in Wisconsin, January 19, 1 841, and was 
 descended on both sides from the Puritans of Massa- 
 chusetts. At the age of sixteen he entered the U. S. 
 Military Academy at West Point, and graduated with 
 honor in June, i86r. He was commissioned soon 
 after as First Lieutenant of Artillery. 
 
 When General McClellan took command of the 
 Army of the Potomac, Lieutenant Gushing accepted 
 the position of Chief of Ordnance, with the rank of 
 Captain, on General Sumner's staff. He was recom- 
 mended for two brevets for his gallantry during the 
 Peninsula campaign. 
 
 February, 1863, he assumed command of Com- 
 pany A, 4th Regiment of U. S. Artiller)-. The battery 
 took a highly creditable part in the battle of Chancel- 
 lorsville, but it remained for the terrible struggle of 
 Gettysburg to call out the heroism of his nature, and 
 
230 MEMORIAL. 
 
 stamp him, in the language of General Hancock, 
 " the bravest man I ever saw." 
 
 His battery was posted on the left slope of Ceme- 
 tery Hill, and was in continuous action for two days. 
 The Commander of the Artillery advised him to fall 
 back, fearing his guns would be lost. He answered, 
 " Let the battery go; we '11 go with it." 
 
 He was twice wounded, and was implored to leave 
 the field, but refused to desert his post, and continued 
 by the side of his last gun., hurling the advancing foe 
 back with a final discharge as they reached the very 
 muzzle of his piece, thereby enabling the infantry to 
 crown the repulse with decisive victory. At this mo- 
 ment a musket-ball struck him, wounding him mor- 
 tally. He sank to the ground, but refused to be 
 removed from the field, signifying his desire to remain 
 and die with his battery. 
 
 At the time of his death. Captain Cushing was 
 twenty-two years of age. In person he was fully six 
 feet high, handsomely and powerfully built, with 
 prominent, clear blue eyes and light brown hair. 
 
 His remains were interred, with military honors, 
 at West Point, on Sunday, the 12th day of July, 1863. 
 
 The services rendered by the Cushing brothers 
 in conflicts with the Indians and in the Civil War 
 have not been surpassed by any family in the United 
 States. 
 
 Milton B. Cushing, 
 
 Paymaster in U. S. Navy, died 1887. 
 Howard Cushing, Lieut. 3RD U. S. Cavalry, 
 Killed by Indians in Arizona. 
 
THE LAST MAN AT HIS GUNS. 23 I 
 
 Alonzo H. Gushing, 
 
 Killed at Gettysburg, July 3rd, 1863. 
 William B. Gushing, Lieutenant, 
 
 Gommander U. S. Navy, and hero of the Albemarle, 
 
 died 1874. 
 
 Their mother, Mary B. Smith Gushing, was 
 descended from Samuel Bass, who married Ruth 
 Alden, daughter of John and Priscilla Alden, of 
 Pilgrim memory. She was a lady of rare force and 
 beauty of character, and died, much respected, in 1891, 
 aged eighty-three years ; having survived her sons, 
 who so honored her in the service they rendered 
 their country in times of trial and adversity. 
 
BURIAL OF MRS. JUDSON. 
 
 Sarah Boardman Juuson was the second wife of Adoni- 
 ram Jiidson, the distinguished missionary to India. She was 
 returning home after an absence of twenty years, when she died 
 near the Island of St. Helena, where she was buried September 
 15, 1845. 
 
 ^;OURN FULLY, tenderly, 
 Bear onward the dead ; 
 Where the warrior has lain, 
 Let the Christian be laid ; 
 No place more befitting, 
 
 O Rock of the sea ! 
 Never such treasure 
 Was hidden in thee ! 
 
 Mournfully, tenderly. 
 
 Solemn and slow ; 
 Tears are bedewing 
 
 The path as ye go — 
 Kindred and strangers 
 
 Are mourners to-day, 
 Gently, so gently. 
 
 Oh, bear her away ! 
 232 
 
BURIAL OF MRS. JUDSON. 233 
 
 Mournfully, tenderly, 
 
 Gaze on that brow, 
 Beautiful is it, 
 
 In quietude now ; 
 One look, and then settle 
 
 The loved to her rest, 
 The ocean beneath her. 
 
 The turf on her breast. 
 
 So ye have buried her, — 
 
 Up and depart 
 To life and to duty, 
 
 With undismayed heart ; 
 Fear not, for the love 
 
 Of the stranger will keep 
 The casket that lies 
 
 In the Rock of the deep. 
 
 Peace ! peace to thy bosom, 
 
 Thou servant of God ! 
 The vale thou art treading 
 
 Thou hast before trod ; 
 Precious dust thou hast laid 
 
 By the Hopia tree, 
 And treasure as precious 
 
 In the Rock of the sea ! 
 
HENRY MORTON DEXTER. 
 
 COULD not know when last we met 
 His sun of life so soon would set ; 
 Yet he appeared to me as one 
 Who felt his earthly race was run ; 
 A reaper gathering his sheaves 
 As fell the brown October leaves ; 
 A traveller at the close of day, 
 With shadows length'ning on his way, 
 Waiting a few to-morrows more. 
 Till Time and trial all were o'er. 
 
 What though the once elastic limb 
 And strong right arm were failing him ? 
 I thought he never fairer seemed ; 
 His mild eyes never kindher beamed; 
 It was that charm which comes with age, 
 The beauty of the saint and sage ; 
 The spirit, loosened from its clay, 
 E'en then was on its upward way ; 
 
 234 
 
HENRY MORTON DEXTER. 235 
 
 I followed him with love more strong, 
 As quietly he moved along, 
 And could not fonder glances cast 
 Had I been sure they were the last. 
 
 And now, as cometh day by day, 
 I linger on this well-worn way ; 
 Amid the tread of busy feet 
 We nevermore as old friends meet ; 
 And yet, and yet, he 's with me still, 
 A bearer ever of good will ; 
 All that in life made him most dear 
 Remains a benediction here : 
 I feel the pressure of his hand, 
 That touch the heart can understand, 
 And fain would lift, O mystery, 
 The veil between himself and me ! 
 
THE HARVEST OF DEATH. 
 
 EATH has been busy through the wan- 
 ing year. 
 What time that Spring awoke, and 
 jocund shook 
 Her virgin tresses in the sun, and June, 
 Fragrant with roses, benedictions breathed. 
 The Messenger that all men fear came not 
 As now he hovereth round our pathway. 
 'Twas when the branches drooped, and on the 
 
 vines 
 The purpling grapes hung low, and from the fields 
 The reapers shouted to the harvest-home. 
 Thy fearful triumphs multiplied, O Death ! 
 Not faster ran the sands of the old year 
 Than fell in heaps on every side the slain. 
 They who had walked as heroes on the earth ; 
 He 1 of the noble mien, whose princely gifts. 
 Soft as the dews on Hermon, blessed alike 
 The Old World and the New ; the weak and strong, 
 
 1 George Peabody. 
 236 
 
THE HARVEST OF DEATH. 237 
 
 All in their turn, were gathered as his trophies. 
 
 Yet was his task unfinished. Lo, one more,^ 
 
 A peerless man, lofty in place and power. 
 
 In wisdom great, in action strong and bold, 
 
 A statesman honored, pure, and undefiled. 
 
 His temples girded with the fresh-formed wreath 
 
 A grateful nation placed upon his brow — 
 
 In manhood's prime, bowed down his head and 
 
 died ! 
 And then in bitterness we cried, " Enough ! 
 Sheathe now thy sword, thou Slayer of the world ! " 
 
 Then through the land the merry Christmas 
 
 chimes, 
 " Peace and good-will to men," rang out, as erst, 
 To weary, heavy-laden spirits, came 
 Tidings of joy upon Judean plains ; 
 Yet, while through opening clouds the sun shone 
 
 forth, 
 One arrow mure sped from the Archer's bow. 
 And pierced thy heart,^ guide of my early days. 
 My pastor, friend ; and, 'mid our blinding tears. 
 We laid thee, oh, how weary ! down to rest. 
 
 So we pass on. To-morrow's sun will bring 
 The dawning of another year, and men 
 
 1 Edwin M. Stanton. - Baron Stow. 
 
238 MEMORIAL. 
 
 Will warmly greet their fellows with a smile, 
 And wish them many blessings on their way ; 
 And robust youth, strong for the race of life, 
 Will castles build in air, and earnest men 
 Will plan great enterprises, knowing not 
 That death is on their track, and fall they must. 
 As they have fallen whom we mourn to-day. 
 
 How greatly wise are they who gather up. 
 From the sure Word of the Almighty, strength 
 To meet that hour which cometh unto all ! 
 
 December 31, 1869. 
 
SAMUEL LUNT CALDWELL. 
 
 ORE than I knew passed on with thee, 
 Thou who hast crossed the unknown sea ! 
 And daily greater grows our loss, 
 
 Thou honored servant of the Cross. 
 
 Thy manly presence, quiet air, 
 
 That ever spoke of culture rare. 
 
 Thy catholicity and truth. 
 
 As beautiful in age as youth. 
 
 All leave a void which naught can fill, 
 
 As, lonelier adown the hill 
 
 I wait, and watch the sun's decline, 
 
 Foreshadowing in its setting mine. 
 
 Brave, generous soul ! My early friend, 
 
 This surely cannot be the end 
 
 Of friendship steadfast to the last, — 
 
 'T is but th' expanding of its past 
 
 To larger fellowship and love. 
 
 In the perfected life above. 
 
 239 
 
240 MEMORIAL. 
 
 Dear brother ! resting on thy sheaves, 
 As fall the brown autumnal leaves, 
 It was a fitting time to die, 
 With withered leaf and flower to He, 
 When promise came o'er vale and hill, 
 " The earth shall bud and blossom still,' 
 And Hope breathed her assuring strain, 
 <'The dead in Christ shall live again." 
 
THE MISSIONARY'S BRIDE. 
 
 l6 
 
We may not, all alone and unbefriended, 
 The mission given us to do fulfil ; 
 
 The heart yearns ever, till its task be ended. 
 For loving words of courage and good-will. 
 
THE MISSIONARY'S BRIDE. 
 
 AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF THE REV. 
 ADONIRAM JUDSON. 
 
 Dr. Judson was three times married. His first wife was Ann 
 Hazeltine, one of that band of pioneer missionaries who left this 
 country for India in 1812. She was a woman of wonderful 
 energy and fortitude, and sustained, as few could have done, the 
 hands of her husband the first twelve years of his eventful life. 
 His second wife was Sarah Boardman, the widow of George Dana 
 Boardman, his associate in the mission work. She was distin- 
 guished for great purity and sweetness of character, and walked 
 b}^ his side eleven years, ministering tenderly to his necessities 
 through much trial and adversity. She died at sea, and was 
 buried at St. Helena, when returning with her husband to their 
 native land in 1845. ^^^ third wife was Emily Chubbuck, many 
 years his junior, and somewhat celebrated in literary circles, as a 
 writer under the nom de plume of Fanny Forrester. The dis- 
 parity in their ages, and the fact that she was but little known in 
 the religious world, caused the engagement to be sharply criticised. 
 The wisdom of his choice, however, was soon apparent, and to-day 
 her memory is embalmed in the affections of thousands as one of 
 that illustrious trio of women who shared in the labors and suf- 
 ferings of this eminent servant of Christ. An incident which 
 occurred in his courtship with this last-named wife forms the 
 subject of this poem. 
 
 YOUNG man in the Pagan world 
 The banner of the cross unfurled ; 
 Where Christian foot had seldom trod, 
 He bore aloft the ark of God, 
 
 243" 
 
244 ^'-^^ MISSIONARY'S BRIDE. 
 
 And published, through contempt and shame, 
 The Gospel m Jehovah's name. 
 
 To his commission so sublime, 
 He gave the wealth of manhood's prime ; 
 The added strength of later years. 
 When faith had triumphed over fears ; 
 The seed he scattered fruitage bore, 
 Which nerved him for new trials more ; 
 Through grace he overcame his foes. 
 The desert blossomed as the rose ; 
 When, weary with his staff in hand, 
 He turned toward his native land. 
 He left beneath the hopia tree 
 The bride he bore across the sea. 
 And laid within an ocean grave 
 Another just as true and brave ; 
 Then trod, his weary wanderings o'er. 
 An aged man, his native shore. 
 
 Oh, never round the hero's brow 
 Were greener laurels wreathed than now ; 
 Old age embraced, the young man prest 
 ^Vith welcomes warm the honored guest ; 
 His courtly bearing, quiet air. 
 Bespoke the man of culture rare ; 
 
THE MISSIONARY'S BRIDE. 245 
 
 And crowds, charmed by his broken tongue, 
 Upon his speech dehghted hung, 
 While Zion clasped him to her breast, 
 And bade her weary servant rest. 
 
 But Time a wondrous change had wrought ; 
 
 And few remained of all he sought ; 
 
 And tarrying for a while, anew 
 
 He longed his mission to pursue ; 
 
 Yet not alone, — he still must share 
 
 The love of gentle woman there ; 
 
 Some hand must hold till set of sun. 
 
 Till his great work of life was done. 
 
 So, artless as a child at play. 
 
 He wandered up and down the way, 
 
 And caught at last a pleasant smile 
 
 From one who could his hours beguile. 
 
 And acted o'er the lover's part. 
 
 And offered to the maid his heart. 
 
 Then rumor in an old man's ear 
 Whispered a tale of doubt and fear ; 
 An Elder, earnest, honest, wise. 
 The story filled him with surprise ! 
 A pupil of the olden school, 
 He made the law of Christ his rule ; 
 
246 THE MISSIONARY'S BRIDE. 
 
 All plans and projects he abhorred, 
 Which had not a "Thus saith the Lord." 
 Should his dear brother, growing gray, 
 To Cupid's arrows fall a prey? 
 Should one without a call from God 
 Tread by his side the paths he trod ? 
 Should gossip sport with Judson's name, 
 With scandal tarnish his pure fame? 
 Would the thrice uttered vow, if given, 
 Meet the approving smile of Heaven? 
 
 His duty seemed as clear as day, 
 And conscience counselled no delay ; 
 So, courage gathering as he went, 
 With solemn mien and look intent, 
 He to the village damsel spoke, 
 And thus to her the matter broke. 
 
 '^ A rumor, child, has come to me 
 That you will Mrs. Judson be ; 
 Pray tell me, ere that Dr. J., 
 Loved of the Lord, passed on this way. 
 Were you impressed it was God's will 
 That you should such a station fill, — 
 That you should to the heathen go. 
 And lift them from their shame and woe, 
 
THE MISSIONARY'S BRIDE. 247 
 
 And, as His herald, should declare 
 The tidings of salvation there ? 
 Had you conceived of such a life 
 Till Judson sought you for his wife? " 
 
 " Now, father Peck," the maiden said, 
 As modestly she bowed her head, 
 " I trust the Lord is guiding me 
 To do His will on land or sea ; 
 You say the Spirit should decide 
 The question, ' Shall I be his bride ? ' 
 I do not know how this may be. 
 But one thing was revealed to me : 
 When I was asked for yes or no, 
 A voice spoke very plainly, ' Go,' — 
 So plain, my trusting heart spoke out 
 That simple yes, without a doubt ; 
 And now I hope that you and all 
 Will see I 've had a special call." 
 
 The aged father naught could say 
 To her reply, but, " Let us pray; " 
 And, bowing with the maiden there. 
 He wrestled with his God in prayer. 
 He prayed for Zion, that her light 
 Might pierce the dreadful shades of night ; 
 
!48 THE MISSIONARY'S BRIDE. 
 
 That the poor Pagan yet might see 
 The sacrifice on Calvary ; 
 That God would stay his brother's hands, 
 When toiling in those far-off lands ; 
 That she, his chosen one, might bless 
 With woman's tenderest caress 
 The evening of so grand a life, 
 And be the good man's loving wife. 
 
 And so they mated, — you have seen, 
 When summer dressed the hills in green, 
 The giant oak, pride of the land, 
 Alone in simple grandeur stand ; 
 And you have seen the graceful vine 
 Round the old trunk itself entwine,^ 
 And lend to age a charm and grace 
 The painter's pencil loves to trace. 
 So she, fair daughter, gentle, true. 
 Sweet child of genius, fairer grew. 
 As day by day she fondly flung 
 Her arms around his neck, and clung 
 To him, his all, whate'er betide, 
 The missionary's angel bride. 
 
 Morn broke in beauty o'er the bay, 
 The islands of the harbor lay 
 
THE MISSIONARY'S BRIDE. 
 
 Like gems upon a sea of blue ; 
 From out the west a fair wind blew ; 
 A bark, with all her sails unfurled, 
 Is starting for the Eastern world. 
 Upon the clear, still morning air 
 Comes up the voice of praise and prayer; 
 And tears, how free and fast they fall. 
 As '' Loose the cable," is the call; 
 
 549 
 
 :iA 
 
 While they, the loved, the young bride fair, 
 And he, with thin and frosty hair, 
 Wave to us one long, last adieu, — 
 O memory, how comes back that view ! 
 
250 THE MISSIONARY'S BRIDE. 
 
 I see them standing on the deck, 
 As the brave ship becomes a speck, 
 Till coast and headland, native shore, 
 Return their farewell glance no more. 
 
 And so I mttse ; there is some heart 
 Ready to hear mith us a part 
 Of hiirdeiis that are on us cast, 
 Some one to love us to the last; 
 Some hand to smooth life's rugged way. 
 Some smile to cheer us day hy day ; 
 Some angel, with a radiant hrow, 
 Is walking with us even now !