LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ^ 
 
 Cliai). _ Copyright No. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 

NOV 
 
 38 \S0^ 
 
 DUTY AND OTHER POEMS 
 
PRESS OF 
 
 J. W. F. BOWI^ES 
 
 BROOKI^YN 
 
DUTY 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 REV. ARCHIBALD ROSS 
 
 WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL SKEJTCH 
 
 BY 
 
 John D. Ross, LL. D. 
 
 Author of "Scottish Poets in America," "The Burns Almanac," etc. 
 
 THE RAKBURN BOOK CO. 
 
 New York City 
 
 1901 
 
81801 
 
 Library of Conqress 
 
 Two Copies Receiv^id 
 NOV 28 1900 
 
 Copyright entry 
 
 SECOND COPY 
 
 Oe(iv»r«d to 
 
 ORDER DIVISION 
 
 NOV 30 1900 
 
 .O74U8 
 Hoi 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY ARCHIBALD ROSS 
 
DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY 
 OF 
 
 MY DEAR WIFE, 
 
 COMPANION OF MY JOYS AND SORROWS FOR FORTY-FOUR YEARS, 
 
 A FRIEND IN ADVERSITY, A COUNSELLOR IN DIFFICULTY, 
 
 A PEARL OF GREAT PRICE. 
 
 *' SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD." 
 
 She came a flower of hope in winter time 
 When rocks and quagmires loomed, and skies grew black, 
 And hopes seemed dried and withered; but she loved. 
 And it was part of Wisdom's hidden plan 
 That love should conquer; for the compassing years— 
 When cares fell heaviest in the lap of life- 
 Found her a high-priest at the post of duty. 
 What tangles in life's web she would unravel ! 
 What cares she brushed away that rest might come 
 In harvest season ! What sweetest confidence 
 In Him who sent her ! And her closing hours 
 Threw out refulgence as she bade farewell, 
 Leaving strong sense of peace upon our hearts 
 That she still lives in God. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Biographical and Critical Sketch, - - ix 
 
 Proem, - . . . xxiv 
 
 Duty, - - - - - 26 
 
 True Labor, - - - - 31 
 
 Cygnus,- - - - - 32 
 
 Gathering of the Scottish Clans, - 41 
 
 Robert Burns, - - - - 44 
 
 Winter on the St. Lawrence, - - 48 
 
 The Scotch-Irish Family, - - - 49 
 
 Fifty-Four, - - - - 52 
 
 Beauty of the Lord, - - - 62 
 
 The Poet, - - - - 64 
 
 Relation of Genius to Manhood, - - 67 
 
 Our City Poor, - - - 69 
 
 A Reflection, - - - - 70 
 
 Searching for Friends, - - 72 
 
 The Illustrious Dutchman, - - - 74 
 
 Tercentenary, . - _ 78 
 
 The Prophecy, - - - - 81 
 
 Introspection, - - - 86 
 
 The Two Brothers, - - - 89 
 
 This World is a Heaven, - - 93 
 
 Sleep, - - - - - 96 
 
 Ego, - - - - 98 
 
 Patience, - - - - 100 
 
 Honesty and Cheerfulness, - - 102 
 
 Evening, ... - 103 
 
 Looking, . . - - 104 
 
 The Response, _ - - - 106 
 
 Israel, - . _ - log 
 
 The Years, - - - - 109 
 
 William the Silent, - . - no 
 
 Phoebe's Song, - - - - 113 
 
 Lines Written at Home of Mr. Blieu, - 114 
 Living, ----- 115 
 
 The Song of Civilization, - - 117 
 
Strength with Age, - - 121 
 
 Being. - - - ^^3 
 
 To John D. Ross, - - - - 127 
 
 Common Sense Philosophy, - - 128 
 
 To Mrs. Ella Wheeler Wilcox, - - 131 
 
 Literary Dipsomaniacs, - - 132 
 
 Oliver Cromwell, - - - i34 
 
 Martin Luther. - - - 138 
 
 John Knox, - - - - i39 
 
 The Heavens, - - - 141 
 
 Good Nature the Essence of Life, - - i43 
 
 The Teacher's Office, - - - i45 
 
 Epimetheus, - - " - 147 
 
 Milton, - - - - '^8 
 
 Dryden, - - - - 150 
 
 COWPER, - - - ■ ^53 
 
 Rev. Dr. Diller, - - - - i54 
 
 Gaza, - - - - i55 
 
 Arthur Chester, - - - - 158 
 
 Genius, - - - - ^59 
 
 Mind, - - - - - 160 
 
 Ecce Vita, - - - - 161 
 
 Songs of Bonnie Scotland, - - - 162 
 
 Idea, ... - 164 
 
 The Question, - - - - 165 
 
 Divine Demands of Genius, - - 166 
 
 Freedom, - - - - 167 
 
 The Workshop, - - - 169 
 
 Freedom's Gift to the World, - - 171 
 
 My Gift, - ^ - - - ^73 
 
 The Compositor, - - - - i75 
 
 My Wife, - - - - ^77 
 
 On My Dear Wife, - - - - 182 
 
 Resignation, - - - - ^83 
 
 To John Patterson, - - - 184 
 
 Woman's Tribute to Christianity, - 187 
 
 Light, - - - - - I94 
 
 Galveston, - - - - 203 
 
 To A Human Flower, - - - 205 
 
 By the Brook Cherith, - - 206 
 
Biographical and Critical Sketch, 
 by john d. ross, ll. d. 
 
 It is seldom that theologians come prominently 
 before the literary world as writers of poetry. 
 While many of them are endowed with poetic gifts 
 of a high order, and while they undoubtedly exer- 
 cise those gifts more or less during their leisure 
 moments, it is only on certain occasions, or for spec- 
 ial reasons that their musings are ever allowed to 
 pass beyond, or even become known outside of the 
 family circle. Why this should be the rule instead 
 of the exception, we are at a loss to determine or 
 explain. We confess ourselves confident that many 
 of them would ultimately attain a high rank among 
 the poets of their country were they to place their 
 productions within easy reach of such readers as 
 delight in, and acknowledge themselves interested 
 in this particular branch of literature. The Rev. 
 Archibald Ross of Brooklyn, N. Y., is a fair example 
 of the kind of poet preacher that we have refer- 
 ence to. While he has been for many years a 
 successful laborer in the Master's vineyard, he has 
 
X. BIOGRAPHICAL AND 
 
 not neglected to cultivate and make use of the 
 poetical talents that he has been blessed with, and 
 his numerous poems are not only intelligent and 
 readable productions, but are in every respect well 
 worthy of preservation. There is indeed something 
 to cherish and admire in all that he has written. 
 His muse is refined but vigorous, his language clas- 
 sical and terse, his rhythm musical, and his descript- 
 ive and argumentative powers keen and active. 
 In no instance is the spirit of frivolity visible. 
 We perceive at a glance that each of his poems 
 has been studiously brooded over and carefully 
 worked out, while an independent and earnest yet 
 encouraging tone is conspicuous, and makes itself 
 felt in almost every line. He rarely introduces or 
 pictures the darker side of life to us; but for the 
 shams and idle pretensions of the world he certainly 
 has no mercy, and he holds them up to ridicule 
 and scorn in words of reproach and condemnation 
 that continue to echo through our memory long 
 after they have been listened to or read. On the 
 other hand, however, and as may readily be sur- 
 mised, his veneration for all that is noble and pure 
 and sincere in life is equally intense, and asserts 
 itself at all times. That he loves his fellowman. 
 
CRITICAL SKETCH. XI. 
 
 no one can doubt after once reading his writings; 
 but for the honest, Uberal, broad-minded Christian 
 man he has an especial regard, and he extends the 
 hand of fellowship and good wiQ to him on every 
 possible occasion. He looks upon the poet's office 
 as high and noble, even godlike; and the reader 
 cannot fail to be pleased with his noble tribute to 
 this high priest of nature, in "The Poet," where 
 the imagination is luxuriant, the diction clear and 
 expressive, and the thought magnificent yet chaste 
 and delicate. 
 
 Mr. Boss has been a pretty keen observer in so- 
 ciety, and our readers may rest assured that Henry 
 Ward Beecher gave him great theme for contempla- 
 tion. When this extraordinary genius passed away» 
 the strange stagnation and adverse currents of opinion 
 that followed in his wake were ably reflected in a 
 most brilliant poem by the author. The ire of the 
 narrow theologians was aroused; the commendation 
 of the Broad Christian Church was noble and out- 
 spoken; and in the lull — 
 
 While some grow vengeful, waiting for a chance 
 To kiss Pelagius, and kick Augustine, 
 Others, conversely, chose more beaten paths. 
 That lead, they swear, from Paul's theology. 
 And so religious valor is at ebb. 
 
XII. BIOGRAPHICAL AND 
 
 And thought is squeamish from the want of fire, 
 And Zeal is purblind from the lack of faith, 
 And vile Suspicion gnaws one to the bone; 
 And teachers, prisoned in the iron bands 
 Of narrow dogma, lie down in the mire. 
 Nor will they shake themselves till once they hear 
 A shout from Plymouth, that will make them turn 
 Their lazy selves — may it come speedily. 
 
 Both in Canada and the United States, Mr. Ross 
 has been an extensive traveler, and he could not 
 fail to be interested in the question of ventilation 
 as a sanitary precaution in our dwelling-houses and 
 workshops. In the pulpit and the press he has 
 spoken on this theme to good advantage. In the 
 striking and picturesque poem "Gaza" (well styled 
 from Samson's prison house), the reader can see the 
 workmen, notice the filth in every direction, and 
 hear the outbursts of infamy that accompany them. 
 And this of a workshop in New York. Thank 
 Heaven, things are mending by degrees, and God's 
 pure air is more and more allowed to permeate our 
 dwellings and shops every year. 
 
 "Life" is a most exquisite piece of reading. It 
 is a poem of over a thousand lines in long iambics, 
 and exhibits a thousand beauties. Here we find a 
 large pasture ground, forcing upon our attention. 
 
CRITICAL SKETCH. XHI. 
 
 from the monad to the stellar spheres, theme upon 
 
 theme for illustration. "The Heavens," "Sleep," 
 
 "The Rain," "The Snow," "Flowers," etc., are 
 
 crystallized throughout in the highest flights of 
 
 sacred and impassioned language. Morals, beauty, 
 
 character, are here. Is this not beautiful ? 
 
 Here, veiled in innocence, comes one, 
 Eesplendent, radiant, like the sun. 
 Go where we may, do what we will. 
 Her sweetness shines upon us still. 
 Hope still holds queenship in the soul, 
 Still wields her sceptre of control — 
 A remnant of the happy time 
 Our parents passed in Eden's prime. 
 
 In the writer's opinion, "Theodemia, a glimpse 
 of the Divine Academy," is his masterpiece. This 
 is a remarkable poem in many respects ; strong, im- 
 pulsive and fuU of genuine poetic power. It is ex- 
 ceedingly rich in valuable and beautifully expressed 
 thoughts and similes ; the tone is highly moral and 
 elevating, and there is an abundance of what, at 
 first, seems peculiar, but which proves to be good 
 and sound philosophical argument. The author 
 states that "the object of the poem is to pay grate- 
 ful homage to useful minds, and to point out various 
 avenues where we may be led to improve more 
 
XIV. BIOGRAPHICAL AND 
 
 rapidly in the midst of so many advantages in this 
 school of the world." It is impossible to properly 
 analyze or even to give a synopsis of the poem here, 
 so numerous and profound are the themes which 
 it embraces and discourses on, but we quote a few 
 extracts from which the reader no doubt will be en- 
 abled to form a general idea of its meritorious char- 
 acter : 
 
 To maintain 
 That we can make no progress in the line 
 Of spiritual knowledge would be libellous 
 Upon ourselves as minds ; our ethics stand 
 On footing where all innate truths agree 
 With revelation, as with nature also. 
 These innate springs exist — a wondrous proof 
 That power, subjective, personal, apart 
 From matter, acts infusing energy. 
 Here Hume and Locke — philosophers diverse 
 On Christian planes — are staggered, and declare 
 That knowledge must first pass the ordinary senses 
 Ere the will show its bias and demeanor ; 
 That these are warders of the human mind, 
 Or keys to all our world of acquisition — 
 A fallacy that keener knowledge pushed 
 Right to the wall as worthless and unsound. 
 
 Nor hesitate to study well the plans 
 Of teachers, pure, illustrious in their lives, 
 As Pestalozzi or as Arnold — men 
 Who swept the depths of nature to enrich 
 
CRITICAL SKETCH. XV. 
 
 The dawning genius of the younger mind. 
 
 But for inquiring men who must be answered, 
 
 Pierce everywhere for knowledge — nor be checked, 
 
 And make earth's friction your Bucephalus. 
 
 Grandest of records of the eloquent past 
 
 Is the great book of Job — this read and think. 
 
 Whether in fact or symbol, here is truth. 
 
 Here is the richest living without surfeit ; 
 
 Here is abundance and a bracing harvest ; 
 
 Here Providence, freewill, necessity, 
 
 Speak for a hearing ; here the mark of law 
 
 Is shown as in the whisperings of the wind. 
 
 Here the demoniac wrong, the god-like truth 
 
 Face without friction ; here the blackest night 
 
 The brightest day look to one sovereignty. 
 
 Poet and prophet, sage and seer combined, 
 
 Job stands within a hallowed vestibule 
 
 Betwixt the earth and heaven — and sees them both ; 
 
 But in the garniture of primal truths 
 
 He will see things — nor thoughtlessly lets slip 
 
 One word for human nature — how he showed it : 
 
 ''I will complain in the bitterness of my soul." 
 
 But rising to a loftier cadence sings, 
 
 "God tries us that we may come forth as gold." 
 
 Take the following picture from the same poem: 
 Jealousy is a low, insatiate fiend, 
 And an infernal one. We have watched men, 
 Spotted by this vile wretch at every turn, 
 And the more Jealousy spattered them with sin, 
 The readier grew they to be men of honor. 
 O reader, there are simpletons who say 
 God makes no use of evil. We have seen 
 The lusty blacksmith working at his forge ; 
 
XVI. BIOGRAPHICAL AND 
 
 The cooper at his bench ; the printer, too, 
 Setting the type as if to save his soul — 
 Stop suddenly as if some thundering voice 
 Claimed their attention, and would have it too. 
 And as they listened, and by slow degrees 
 Felt the prophetic import that lay there, 
 They set themselves as students to their work — 
 Then suddenly swooped upon them foul-mouthed 
 
 Slander, 
 Envy and inuendo hedged them round. 
 While Falsehood and the whole ubiquitous crowd 
 Of hell-born villainies pelted them with stones, 
 To quiet them forever ; and the more 
 The enemy forced the battle the better for them. 
 And so with other evils — they are here. 
 It is not manly, therefore, for the crowd 
 To censure Providence for placing man 
 In midst of such a fire— the curse remains. 
 And man must shun it as a withering curse, 
 Yet that does not necessitate its fall 
 To pure negation — it is used as a rod 
 To spur men to their duty — aye, to lash 
 Till the very blood, and sweat, and scalding tears 
 Perfect the soul for heaven. It is God's plan. 
 It always was His plan as far as we know. 
 Age after age — the Jew, Egyptian, Greek, 
 The bond, the free, all peoples of the earth, 
 Meet brotherhood here. 
 
 On Chastity: 
 
 There is no language in the heart of man 
 O Chastity, that may thy grace express. 
 Or picture the repose that stamps thy brow ; 
 For thou look'st heavenward always, and thy mien 
 
CRITICAL SKETCH. XVII. 
 
 Radiant with beauty and with sacredness, 
 Showers rich effulgence on the favored few 
 Who near thy portals. 
 
 In the higher fields of metaphysical speculation, 
 our author stands on the threshold of the temple, 
 yet peers far within. He does not hesitate to say 
 that in our generalizations we are apt to lose sight of 
 the innate, and materialism is constantly on the in- 
 crease. We must go back to first principles, and 
 rest on indubitable faith. The mighty crowds around 
 us are endowed with the divine attribute of hope; 
 but the lack of unity in our metaphysical systems un- 
 fits the leaders to be of great service in the higher 
 work of civilization, and many reading minds are 
 wandering about without compass or rudder. 
 
 "The Life Victorious, " in double rhyme quatrains 
 (which the author says rather handicapped him), ex- 
 tends over two thousand lines, and embraces the large 
 field of being, purpose, duty, etc. The sages of history 
 are called upon in illustration. Our intuitions, he 
 says, are but celestial fires hidden in the mind, but 
 which manifest an occasional super-radiance through 
 environment and education. Here his thought is 
 occasionally transcendental, but always sententious 
 and interesting. He has a message, and delivers it 
 briefly and to the point. 
 
XVni. BIOGRAPHICAL AND 
 
 "Cygnus" is a fine concise piece of reasoning on 
 the stability of the universe, and immortality of the 
 soul. The author states that the reading of Bryant's 
 ' ' Thanatopsis" urged him to the undertaking. Order 
 and purpose in the universe he lays down as basal 
 grounds. This poem with "Duty" we take to be 
 some of his best work. " Duty" indeed is a master- 
 piece, and will bear extensive and close reading. We 
 are called to answer the question, why we are here. 
 The tone is cheerful as he proceeds, and we feel as we 
 go onward that we are nearing sacred ground. 
 
 "The Illustrious Dutchman" is a poem of much 
 merit, and well entitled to the appellation of an epic. 
 In a brief space Mr. Ross has not failed to specify 
 where William, Prince of Orange, has thrown much 
 weight on the side of a sound, broad world civilization. 
 We speak of the golden age of Queen Anne ; but the 
 British people mapped out the path for such pros- 
 perity in the reign of her predecessor. Few of us 
 to-day are aware of the Herculean labors that lay in 
 the route of this hero, the pennants of whose vessels 
 on leaving the Hague bore in embryo, not the oft 
 quoted saying, but "The Christian religion and the 
 liberties of the world." The "Tercentenary" also 
 possesses a charm, breathing the pure air of liberty 
 throughout. 
 
CRITICAL SKETCH. XIX. 
 
 Neither in the field of keen satire and grim humor 
 is Mr. Ross defective. He has shown this in "A 
 Planetary Visit," — over a thousand lines in trochaic 
 verse. This piece of pleasantry is constantly bubbling 
 over with caprices of a weird and versatile genius. 
 Arcturus, a stranger from some stellar domain, pays 
 a visit to earth, and what with his flights from city 
 to city, his visit to the churches, to the brokers, pol- 
 iticians, the nondescript Tammany, and what not, 
 the reader's enthusiasm is kept up to the highest 
 pitch. 
 
 Among Mr. Ross's poems which we have read 
 with sincere pleasure are "The Prophecy," " Strength 
 with Age," "John Knox," "Martin Luther," "Free- 
 dom's Gift to the World," " The Scotch-Irish Family," 
 "The Coming World Struggle," "Robert Burns," 
 etc. His patriotic music is firm and vigorous, his 
 love of freedom is intense; as witness his " Freedom," 
 to the tune of "Scots wha hae," "America's Re- 
 demption," which has a large sale in the United 
 States, and which forms a characteristic feature of 
 his writings. 
 
 Let us go with our author into the inner temple, 
 and learn something of the sacredness of his life. 
 Failing health a few years ago urged him to travel. 
 He says : 
 
XX. BIOGRAPHICAL AND 
 
 Earth gave to me its share of bliss and bale, 
 But when I analyzed this thing called Sin, 
 And its dire progeny, I cried for shame, 
 And left the lap of woe for joy's embrace. 
 
 He seeks in a healthy altruism, and in the path- 
 way of Christian heroism, gentleness and resigna- 
 tion an antidote for every ill. How well he touches 
 upon this in the lines ' ' Ecce Vita, " ' ' Ego, " ' ' Patience, " 
 and "God," one of the best sonnets of its kind: 
 
 GOD. 
 
 God and his Record — truths enough for me 
 
 To ponder faithfully while dwelling here. 
 
 Some fence themselves with creeds, and live in fear, 
 Like children out upon an angry sea. 
 Who speaks within and opens there a feast 
 
 Of daintiest things— He is my Lord and Guest. 
 Let Him be great, and let me be the least. 
 
 He made me of the dust, but, with a zest 
 Supremely wise. He breathed upon the clay, 
 
 And lo, I live ! And thus whene'er His hand 
 Knocks at the palace door my heart is gay, 
 
 Robed in a splendor earth cannot command. 
 For all His words are galaxies of grace, 
 And Christ, enthroned within, makes glad the holy 
 place. 
 
 The Rev. Archibald Ross is a well known laborer 
 
 in the Methodist Church organization, and will long 
 
 be honored for his labors in the renovation of the 
 
 Middle Village, L. I., M. E. Church. (It may be 
 
CRITICAL SKETCH. XXI. 
 
 said here, that Francis Asbury started the first Long 
 Island M. E. Society in this place.) He has also been 
 an extensive contributor to the Canadian and United 
 States press. In 1888 his "History of the Brooklyn 
 Sunday Schools" appeared in the Standard-Union^ 
 and was read with much interest. His "Sketches of 
 a Life," in 1890, came out in the Newtown, L. I., 
 Register, and won much attention from the some- 
 what unique personality represented in the series. 
 These were followed shortly after in the same paper 
 by a racy group of chapters, ' ' Walks and Talks with 
 the People," which caused, from the author's readily 
 falling into repartee, not a little laughter, and re- 
 flected well the witty side of a minister's life. 
 
 Perhaps no living man has greater faith in the 
 recuperative powers of walking as the best physical 
 exercise. His efforts in this line, eleven years ago, 
 after a severe illness, were in direct antagonism to 
 the advice of his physician, yet he came out a great 
 victor. In his '' Walks and Talks" he details this ex- 
 perience with a vivacity that puzzles yet delights 
 the reader. The poems ' ' Fifty-four, " ' ' Strength with 
 Age," "Introspection," "This World is a Heaven," 
 and various others, touch so strongly on the capacities 
 of energy and will, that they are sure to captivate 
 the reader. 
 
XXII. BIOGRAPHICAL AND 
 
 His system of ethics is progressive. He is optimistic 
 throughout. He admits that growth is a fundamental 
 principle of mind — that we are fashioned by Divine 
 hand as free agents ; and when we realize this in its 
 highest perfection, we arrive at the acme of life. We 
 must from the very nature of our being, advance. 
 This advance is based on deep spiritual insight, 
 quickened and awakened by observation. He insists 
 on thorough education. The grandest amphitheatre, 
 he maintains, for the growth of man, is our great 
 public school system. Science, art and genius pos- 
 sess a divine religious essence which in healthy chan- 
 nels will kill superstition, and shame people into 
 honest methods of action. The opening century will 
 afford the highest proof of this, when the gloss and 
 fraud of spiritualism will be removed, and man will 
 find himself engineering his forces in the air, as he 
 now does on the earth and seas. 
 
 Mr. Eoss was born at Charlottetown, Prince Edward 
 Island, in 1835, and was the ninth child of a family 
 of eleven children. "I came," he says, "of a hardy 
 Scotch stock. On my father's side, his people were 
 farmers, and lived in Eoss-shire, Scotland. I know 
 but little of my mother's lineage : she was a MacGregor 
 
CRITICAL SKETCH. XXIII. 
 
 of Argyle, who always reverenced the pine as an 
 emblem of her fealty, and carried about a large share 
 of family pride in consequence. One of her grand- 
 uncles fell at Prestonpans fighting for the Scottish 
 Pretender, and another with Wolfe at the conquest 
 of Quebec." After receiving a common school edu- 
 cation, Mr. Ross was apprenticed in his thirteenth 
 year to a printer in Montreal, but some years later he 
 took a course of theology in Queen's College, Kingston, 
 Canada, and labored successfully both in the pulpit 
 and the press prior to his arrival in Brooklyn in 
 1876. He was married in 1856 to Miss E. A. Tempany 
 of London, England, a lady of pleasing address and 
 much intelligence (see dedication). Three children 
 are all that remain out of seven. Jessie Elizabeth, 
 the eldest, well fitted from excellent balance of tem- 
 perament to do well in the line she has chosen, con- 
 ducts a private school in Brooklyn. Archibald is en- 
 gaged with prospects of good success in various lines 
 of music ; while Frederick Edward, the youngest, full 
 of promise and possessed of some insight as to the 
 arcana of poetic philosophy, is now carrying on, in 
 St. Cloud, Minnesota, successful work in the Metho- 
 dist ministry. 
 
PROEM. 
 
 That wondrous sunshine of the soul 
 
 That speaks of God in man, — 
 How can we best this truth unroll, 
 
 And view the precious plan ? 
 Is it not true that at the door 
 
 Stands Duty, clothed with joy? 
 With such abundance in her store 
 
 That time can ne'er destroy. 
 
 No sweeter face adorns life's page 
 
 Than Duty, clear and plain. 
 Yet myriads through their pilgrimage 
 
 Would rather flirt with pain. 
 Howe'er it be, the verdict stands 
 
 That Love is Duty's nurse, 
 And Love speeds forth from God's own hands 
 
 Gifts for the universe. 
 
 The richest hearts that throng our streets 
 
 Are those where honor dwells. 
 Their noblest life-blood daily beats 
 
 From truth's unfathomed wells. 
 Nor circumstance nor place shall harm 
 
 Whene'er they do the right. 
 Though oft the conflict may be warm. 
 
 And long and sore the night. 
 
 Look well within — deep in thj^ heart 
 
 God's sacred purpose shines. 
 Let not thy cares obscure the chart 
 
 Marked out by His designs. 
 
PROEM. 
 
 Seek with an honest eye for truth, 
 
 For honesty brings rest. 
 Years then will never wither youth, 
 
 But keep us strong and blest. 
 
 O fellow traveler on the road. 
 
 Stand fast for life's defense ! 
 Endowered with gifts for thine abode, 
 
 Live thou by common sense. 
 Thy mighty will-power is a mine 
 
 Richer than man may tell, 
 And thou canst make it heaven — divine, 
 
 Or make it veriest hell. 
 
 And why? Because the noblest gift 
 
 God ever gave to man, 
 He gave to thee in powers that lift 
 
 The soul for Duty's plan. 
 Imagination, love and hope. 
 
 Faith, patience, reason, skill, — 
 All blend in one kaleidoscope 
 
 The marvels of the will. 
 
 Then aiha at once for Duty's call. 
 
 Nor fret about the rest. 
 She daily gives thee festival. 
 
 And gives thee of the best. 
 She tunes the keynote of the soul 
 
 To make man fit his day. 
 And while her presence we extol, 
 
 Thrice blessed be her stay ! 
 
 25 
 
POEMS. 
 
 DUTY. 
 
 Hast thou a mission, or a word for man, 
 To cheer him in his noble, arduous task ? 
 Then speak it in its fullness : do not stand 
 And harass by thy languor. As a seed, 
 Truth finds a full fruition, when the winds 
 And waters of a sovereign will play round, 
 And give it body like a running stream. 
 Think well and manly, therefore — but to speak 
 Be sometimes reticent : months may roll on, 
 Or years, before thy thoughts burst into flame, 
 To rouse endeavor — stir the sluggish throng 
 To glowing fervor, or revive the weak. 
 How many chase death who have listened long 
 And wearily for one brief antiphon 
 To pass thy lips, and brighten up their way ! 
 Life seeks a parentage, and human minds 
 Should have the vista opened, that the sight 
 May peer with clearness to the fountain head, 
 And, through reality and recompense. 
 Best on the basis of eternal rule. 
 
POEMS. 27 
 
 To speak of truth in justice, we must speak 
 Of realms of feeling and intelligence, 
 Respectful of the reason of the thing, 
 With deference to surroundings, from a cast 
 Not general in its aspect, but yet seen 
 And plainly known by esoteric laws. 
 Deep themes require deep thinkers, like large seas 
 Where only seamen of great skill may plow 
 The waves with pleasure as with triumph also. 
 For eager crowds are waiting at the door. 
 Art thou a teacher ? Answer if thou canst 
 Their questionings. Our bilious age needs men — 
 Not pulish folk, tickling the ear with straws, 
 Nor those from cushions of opinion, soft 
 As silk ; nor those so feeble, they forget 
 They wield a purpose ; nor the virile throng 
 Who always furbish up, to batter down, 
 If it be possible, the rugged walls 
 That keep men in the realm of character. 
 
 For look at man — those crowds that brush us by 
 In city life, like some strange tournament ; 
 Look at those pensive eyes — that iron brow — 
 That brazen furrow — that intensive seal 
 Upon the lips — that endless stream of tears 
 Speaking a language : there is appetite ; 
 
28 POEMS. 
 
 There rages thirst, like some leviathan's, 
 Out of his element. What want they all ? 
 What are those sighs and yearnings, but a thirst 
 For God and rest — for beauty, heaven and home ? 
 All men have some like qualities ; they speak 
 A single language though in varied frame. 
 And they all show allegiance to some king, 
 To God or antigod. They know their stay 
 Terrestrial binds them to a throne, and then 
 They walk as if within their cunning hand 
 They carry years and wisdom. What they need 
 Is will, and consciousness of rectitude 
 That prompts volition — purpose to declare 
 And act a life of duty — vehemence 
 To push the positive right to the goal. 
 
 So go and view the crowd, remembering 
 Thy path is upward. Were not Socrates, 
 Spinoza and Lord Bacon men thrice armed 
 For wide advance in knowledge ? So to them 
 Pay thou obeisance — but aim farther, higher. 
 Seek not their level — there is consonance 
 In word and mission with the gifted past. 
 Life has its stairs, with giant steps afore 
 Like towering Andes ; view the apex then. 
 Nor halt tiU thou stand'st on it. Most take aim 
 
POEMS. 29 
 
 So low, that children, slim in precedent. 
 
 Grow weak, exhausted, ere the day grows warm, 
 
 And fall like feeble wax dolls near the fire. 
 
 Not he who writes or speaks, or flourishes 
 Tropes and enigmas, then, but he who thinks, 
 And makes men think — he is the noblest man 
 To nourish men. But where may such be schooled ? 
 Some men embrace the sore and torturing thought 
 That life is not worth living — that the hue 
 And make of our existence has no aim 
 But that of blind fatuity — and, worse 
 Than all, that man is but a wreck whose thought 
 Can not be trusted for the place he fills. 
 So life runs daily on. Some dig for gold. 
 Eat it, and die ; some potter after fame. 
 And lie like devils to secure it ; some 
 Court sharp duplicity, to find a pot 
 Of manna hidden there — O bitter food ! 
 All pursuivants of fortune, on the march — 
 All waiting revelations — not in vain. 
 
 But aim thou for sincerity of soul, 
 And preach no doctrine but what duty prompts. 
 Why shouldst thou ? why be shamed by the fond dog 
 That instinct, if thou wilt, j^et sound good sense 
 Determines in the lessening of thy cares ? 
 
30 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 There is a sacred brotherhood on earth, 
 Known and acknowledged by the noble few — 
 The poet, the philosopher, the saint — 
 These are the seers of Nature : they can hear 
 Swelling in holiest anthem songs of praise, 
 And view the texture of created life. 
 And thou art called to hold high place with them. 
 Then in thy Master's service be at home — 
 Thyself — none else : here in thy robe of flesh. 
 This is thy temple surely— this grand frame, 
 Plastic and mobile with elastic powers, 
 So girdled with the bands of will, so warm 
 And glowing with resplendence, so enshrined 
 In curves of beauty, and the lines of grace, 
 A house for angels fit : keep it then clean. 
 Well swept and garnished : let no foul desire, 
 No craving lust, no sordid appetite. 
 Besiege the walls, nor enter through the streets 
 And avenues, nor in the myriad paths 
 Or hidden chambers, where the Mysteries meet. 
 And send their coursers throbbing to the brain. 
 
 O wondrous tabernacle of the soul ! 
 Fashioned by Wisdom, moulded on a germ 
 That, starting, stainless, from celestial hand, 
 Touched soil on earth, and grew a human flower 
 
POEMS. 31 
 
 For God's own garden. Aim then to be pure. 
 Exalted spirit thou that dwell'st therein. 
 Look up, look inward, at the opening dawn, 
 Where boundless landscapes meet unfathomed deeps, 
 Where awe and beauty sweep the eternal sphere — 
 Related all to thee through Infinite skill — 
 And mark the grandeur of thy destiny 
 In holding converse with thy parent — God. 
 
 TRUE LABOR. 
 
 Let us labor while 'tis day. 
 Honest labor 's sure to pay. 
 Sweeping streets or mending shoes, 
 Writing pamphlets, if you choose. 
 Selling papers, setting type. 
 Gathering in the good and ripe. 
 Look around you on the way. 
 Honest labor 's sure to pay. 
 
 Ever where you find a man 
 Working at some thorough plan, 
 There you also find the spring 
 
32 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 That gives balance to his wing. 
 Temperance, discretion, zeal 
 Form his moral commonweal, 
 And the mysteries of life 
 Never vex him in the strife. 
 Such a man adorns his day. 
 Honest labor 's sure to pay. 
 
 CYGNUS. 
 
 As prelude to a matter which concerns 
 Earth's anxious children, I have often gazed, 
 As sojourner within a foreign land. 
 With something of a sacred reverence. 
 Upon the Cross, a zone of light, not far 
 From brilliant Lyra in the northern sky. 
 And I have loved it, as it wove a charm 
 Within my memory with a riper joy, 
 That throws a sovereign lustre o'er the earth. 
 Oft as I look, the calm and chastened thought 
 Will fill my vision : these may be the homes — 
 Some of the mansions of the Master's house, 
 As He with His disciples walked, and taught 
 Of heaven and home in dear Jerusalem. 
 
POEMS. 33 
 
 As autumn steals apace, there from a sea 
 Of spangled pearls, looks down the hallow'd Cross, 
 And I associate, in my simple way. 
 The cross of glory and that path of stars, 
 And question whether we could better act 
 Than turn a leaf from Nature's book just here, 
 And speak about our future and its joy. 
 
 At times, as travelers far away from home. 
 We find ourselves so isolate, that thoughts 
 Of stately grandeur love to steal within — 
 A kind of glamor hovers in the air, 
 A sense of coming rest, but better still. 
 Of resurrection to a higher life, 
 And to a nobler name. 'T would be unwise 
 Not to look, therefore, in the galleries 
 Of infinite variety and change, 
 Seeking elysian scenes, where we may think 
 With fuller manhood of the destiny 
 Of this strange life in essence, and become 
 More expert in the lessons that the wise 
 Love for the sake of wisdom, — who oft speak 
 In symbolisms that conceal grand truths, 
 As thought is yet but in its alphabet, 
 As law takes color from environment, 
 And ordinary sense is circumscribed 
 
34 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 To rest well satisfied with things revealed 
 In physical aspect ; while the doubting world 
 Has fostered for two hundred years or more 
 A vague material without a Mind — 
 That even doctors of the church, inured 
 To such a contemplation, lose the vein 
 Of honest thinking, and are slow to trace 
 Things in their properties and sequences. 
 For I have no regard for venal minds. 
 Those automaths of evil, hatching sin. 
 Like lewd, debasing demagogues, whose eyes 
 Are ever after vileness — looking low, 
 And crowding on us with their trumpery. 
 To kill or make obscure the sweetest light 
 That ever fell to cheer us on our way — 
 Immortal life — no truth more full of fact, 
 Of bright realization — none more clear; 
 None more expressive in suggestion ; none 
 More weighted round with bristling arguments. 
 Philosophy, deep culture and research 
 Must surely penetrate within the veil 
 Of this relation on its human side — 
 And so they do. What, with the gifts of sense. 
 And consciousness arising in the soul, 
 Like beacon in the desert — what the grasp 
 
POEMS. 35 
 
 Of intuition — what the principles 
 
 Of moral judgment? Are they not the keys 
 
 That open doors to grander, higher things, 
 
 That lead to the Eternal? The strong mind 
 
 May surely realize it, more than babes 
 
 Can their paternal safety, from the fact 
 
 That reason is no fiction : while the wings 
 
 Of fancy hover round the child to charm 
 
 The sense, the wise and rational mind, 
 
 In corresponding ratio with research 
 
 And years, knows more a thousand times 
 
 Than infancy, and therefore is more safe 
 
 In heeding the suggestions that arise 
 
 Thro' sure and earnest questioning. Deep minds 
 
 Can safely peer through labyrinths, and step 
 
 From premise to conclusion in the light 
 
 That genius yields and faith accompanies. 
 
 And thus man, if he will, may go well armed 
 
 To fight for highest truths that never die ; 
 
 That show themselves, if we be not blind fools. 
 
 In infinite surroundings — truths that would, 
 
 If rightly comprehended, fill all lands 
 
 With choicest Christian blessings in a year. 
 
 And to be honest, plain affinity 
 Dwells with things most incongruous ; for the plan 
 
36 POEMS. 
 
 And technic of all sciences to-day 
 Reveal complexities in nature, such 
 As would have vapored Aristotle's brain, 
 And made even Leibnitz stagger. And to meet 
 This feverish pressure, seers and thoughtful ones 
 Are seeking some solution that may step 
 In concert with advancement, as a guide 
 And counselor ; in other words, to act 
 In harmony with Nature's plan throughout. 
 We argue thus, and fairly, that the course 
 Of things inherently contains some proofs 
 Of clear progression, that the upward line 
 Finds fitness from the cultus of our thought, 
 The cast of our existence. Some will snarl 
 And cavil at such utterance : but the light 
 Rewarding years of slow and patient toil 
 Falls in eclipse on such presumptuous souls, 
 Who trick and counterfeit, and underlaugh 
 At their dissembling : nor do they discern 
 That such stark folly overturns itself. 
 
 Is there relation therefore binding us 
 With dist'nt spheres ? what say the scholiasts here 
 Will all their points of logic now avail ? 
 Look at this beauteous earth while with her peers 
 And parent sun she grandly treads the skies ; 
 
POEMS. 
 
 See nicest order, all we could desire. 
 Such order points perfection ; this in turn 
 Shows permanence and safety; these show law, 
 A law which argues love and providence. 
 'Tis well then to remember that we live 
 Within a widening circle. See our halls 
 Of learning : what their object, aim, 
 Without respect for those first principles 
 Which, deeply planted in the inner life, 
 Speak clearly immortality in man ? 
 
 But who may tread this sacred road, or speak 
 On such a theme ? Can Reason ever rise 
 To God ? Can we find more than twilight glow. 
 Or even that, regarding future life ? 
 Here all our ethics centre ; here our hope 
 Finds its fulfilment, and the mystery 
 Of pain grows lustral in the joyous ray. 
 At best but children in a school, our themes 
 And theses, budding ever new cenceits, 
 Keep us so fretful that we cannot grasp 
 At things invisible ; superior laws 
 Of thought have place in nature's wide domain, 
 And sweep our human prescience out of sight, 
 And so we watch and parley, weep and pray. 
 And yet here, while our sense courts neighborhood 
 
 37 
 
38 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 To our advantage, it were best to bow 
 Respectfully to nature, as her lines 
 Meet correlation with diviner things. 
 Strange intuitions also haunt the soul, 
 Apart from human sense — a welcome breath 
 Of resurrection, where the prudent life 
 And joy and beauty ring out new refrains. 
 
 The great and golden argument is this, 
 That life is universal, that its laws 
 Are not dependent on material state, 
 Which is but one condition of its growth. 
 And this development meets fitness now 
 In sacredness and virtue, self-denial, 
 Where good prepond 'rates and gains new ground 
 And where Love's incarnation sees the plan 
 In full progression. Truths self-evident 
 Are best proofs of existence ; and the keen 
 And shrewd acumen of the noblest schools 
 Bows to such data. Take thou then this fact 
 That intuition bids thee to believe 
 That thou wilt live forever, and the beam 
 Of hope that rises in the pleasing thought 
 Is Grod's own witness for its truthfulness. 
 Go to the Record— read, and read again, 
 And, bubbling like a fountain from the rock 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Of many waters, thou wilt daily find 
 Such cumulative stores of evidence 
 Of man's immortal prestige, as will make 
 Thy mission more rejoicing and more blest. 
 
 Of resurrection — represented well 
 In all phenomena, what is there known ? 
 We preach it and proclaim it, yet evade 
 Abundant evidence of a proximate kind, 
 In insect, seed and flower, in sign and growth 
 Of character, in change of season. Death 
 Clings fast to vice, but resurrection blooms 
 In virtue's efforts to adorn the soul — 
 So representative of nature s modes, 
 But yet so hidden in its lofty truths, 
 That selfish civilizations, prone to view 
 Things in objective aspect, rarely rise 
 To the essential grace and symmetry 
 Of truth, in which the ancient watchful seers 
 Oft shame us in their apt expenditure. 
 
 The child of faith stands cloth'd in righteo'sness 
 On firm foundation, and his footing there 
 Gives safety while his telescope he plies 
 In all directions o'er his Father's house. 
 But thou, poor sciolist, what dost thou know 
 Without this safety for thy standing ground? 
 
 39 
 
40 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Ah, Eeason, as a heaven-born instinct, none 
 
 Can bar thee out, nor snatch thee from the throne 
 
 Thou rightfully possessest : but be wise, 
 
 And take Faith with thee as a counselor, 
 
 For she speaks with her Maker, and bows down, 
 
 Leaning upon the Saviour, who still walks 
 
 The area of His kingdom, and now speaks 
 
 As when He showed His love on Calvary. 
 
 And He gave evidence of widest scope 
 
 For this rejuvenesence, while He stayed, 
 
 And talked with man. Was not that wondrous speech 
 
 From Olivet — be pure in heart, be just, 
 
 Be merciful — the very quickening seed 
 
 Of higher resurrection ? — telling us 
 
 That to love virtue is to fit the soul 
 
 For better mansions in a higher life. 
 
 And so in passing o'er this spot of earth, 
 I would not have thee feel disconsolate, 
 Or pained about the future. This charmed life 
 Is not a dream to perish in the mould. 
 But a gradation to a higher plane 
 Than we can fathom now, and where the chain 
 Links antecedents on the base of law, 
 And the advantage gained is not dissolved 
 In crooked fears, but where the aftermath 
 
POEMS. 
 
 From our brief sojourning meets no alloy, 
 But yields a sweetening aftershine of peace. 
 Vice shows her visor here without a shame, 
 And ferrets out, in byways and retreats, 
 New victims, but she dies ; while holy Truth 
 And sacred Virtue roam the universe. 
 There course unending. And the years that pass 
 Bear on their visage grandest evidence, 
 Through suns and constellations, and the wealth 
 Of things invisible — that honored man 
 Is but a step from other busy worlds. 
 Where he with better grace may act his part, 
 With knowledge of his transfer and his lot. 
 
 41 
 
 GATHERING OF THE SCOTTISH 
 CLANS. 
 
 To my esteemed friend, John D. Ross, LL. D. 
 
 Fair Scotland, thou land of the brave ! 
 
 Thou hast given thy best trophies to Time, 
 And blazoned them forth where their prestige might 
 save 
 
 Newborn nations from bondage and crime. 
 
42 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Come, Scotsmen, rejoice then to-day ! 
 
 Come, ye clansmen, of vigor and brain ! 
 Come, Highlander, Lowlander, all in array ! 
 
 We have honor and peace to maintain. 
 
 Chorus. 
 In gladness and triumph we gather to-day, 
 
 Our ties of regard shall not sever. 
 We have wandered afar, yet one is our way, 
 
 And our song shall be Scotland forever. 
 
 Famed Scotland of Wallace and Bruce ! 
 
 Heroes swift for thy freedom and right. 
 When Leslie, Buchanan and Malcolm sang truce, 
 
 Then thy genius shone well in the light. 
 Come, Campbell and Cameron, come ! 
 
 Welcome, Murray, MacDonald, MacLeod! 
 Sing, Sutherland, Gordon and Graham, of the home 
 
 That your valor has nobly endowed. 
 
 MacKenzie, MacDuff and Munro, 
 
 With the Douglas, rejoice in our prime, 
 Fraser, Macintosh, Ogilvie, Drummond, still glow 
 
 With the blessings of peace in each clime. 
 Rose, Forbes, Ross, MacPherson and Grant, 
 
 You have wrought for the good of our race. 
 What Ferguson, Brodie, MacNeil adamant. 
 
 What MacKay, MacPhail, Davidson grace ! 
 
POEMS. ^2 
 
 Hail, Erskine, opposer of wrong! 
 
 Brave MacDougall, MacGregor, MacLean! 
 Scott, Logan, MacAulay, whose letters and song 
 
 Are still coursing o'er mountain and main. 
 MacFarlane,MacNaughton, unite 
 
 With stern Stewart, MacAlpine and Kerr. 
 MacLeay, Chisholm, Robertson, stand for the right 
 
 In dethroning the demons of war. 
 
 Ho! Johnston, Dundas and Colquhoun! 
 
 Stout MacGillivray, Gunn, Maclntail. 
 Maclnnes, MacKinlay and Sinclair keep tune 
 
 With the Lindsays of mount and of vale. 
 Bold Cumin, MacMillan, MacQueen, 
 
 Lamond, Mathewson, Menzies appear ! 
 MacNab and MacArthur, MacAllister, Skene, 
 
 Raise the old Caledonian cheer! 
 
 Still Elliott and Urquhart aspire 
 
 With MacKinnon, MacLachlan, MacRae; 
 Still Farquharson, Maxwell and brave Maclntyre, 
 
 With MacBean and MacBeth, cheer our way. 
 Awake, O ye Scotsmen, awake ! 
 
 Sound your pibroch— be valiant and strong. 
 Rejoice in the light, and for liberty's sake 
 
 Open wide the rich portals of song! 
 
44 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 CENTENNIAI.. 
 
 This centenary year — with song 
 
 And sunshine for the human heart — 
 
 Tells how the multitude grow strong 
 By marrying music, mirth and art. 
 
 We love the name of Robert Burns, 
 Because the songs he sang to men 
 
 Awake the soul to higher earns, 
 And give the eye a larger ken. 
 
 True to his art, as true as steel, 
 He placed his gift in plastic form. 
 
 He touched the chord that makes man feel, 
 And took the hurrying world by storm. 
 
 Within his ardent, short-lived prime 
 
 No riches opened to his view, 
 Yet love gave out a wealth sublime 
 
 More famed than warrior ever knew. 
 
 In Bums we learn the truth that life 
 Has that within which never dies. 
 
 His joy some muse calls men from strife 
 To hear the strains of paradise. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 The simple words of "Auld Lang Syne " 
 Have led men near the Nazarene, 
 
 Have opened chambers deep, divine, 
 Where life dwells sacred, chaste, serene. 
 
 And if in "Holy Willie's Prayer " 
 Burns scourged the wily pharisee, 
 
 In "Tarn o' Shanter " ail may share 
 His wit and genial gaiety. 
 
 His grace, his touch, soft as the rose, 
 Like "Highland Mary," long remam. 
 
 "A man's a man for a' that " shows 
 His compass, genius, grit and brain. 
 
 Life is the grandest gift to man. 
 Clothed with rich faculties of sense. 
 
 And Burns peered far within to scan 
 This acme of God's eloquence. 
 
 He well attuned the Scottish heart 
 With " Aberfeldy's " classic fire; 
 
 And in the mellowness of art 
 
 Played "Afton Water" on his lyre. 
 
 There's "Halloween," "A Winter Night," 
 "The Mountain Daisy," "Duncan Gray," 
 
 "The Twa Dogs " reasoning — all are bright, 
 With " Unco Guid " — good in their way. 
 
 45 
 
46 POEMS. 
 
 'Tis not in wisdom to condemn 
 What nature has so wisely given. 
 
 Burns knew that joy — life's diadem — 
 Was oft denied the child of Heaven. 
 
 He knew that wealth in evil hands 
 
 Was set to base, ignoble use. 
 He knew the ingrate sought command 
 
 To wield the sceptre of abuse. 
 
 He knew that labor felt the rod, 
 
 That " Man was Made to Mourn" by Wrong; 
 And saw the day was near when God 
 
 Would with our labor give us song. 
 
 No, let no living man repel 
 
 The scope that Nature gave her child. 
 
 Go hear his cry in ' ' Handsome Nell " 
 For beauty, love, sweet, undefiled. 
 
 Go, hear him speak the sacred theme — 
 The "Cottar's Night" of joy and praise, 
 
 Where weary Labor hails the gleam 
 Of honest faith to cheer his days. 
 
 Statues and temples point the power 
 His songs hold o'er the human mind. 
 
 The patriot gladly hails the hour 
 When "Scots wha hae" soars on the wind. 
 
POEMS. 47 
 
 All o'er the earth in titled halls, 
 
 And humble homes, men speak his fame. 
 
 All o'er the earth the songster calls 
 To swell the triumphs of his name. 
 
 The church, the forum and the school, 
 Diverse in method, purpose, plan, 
 
 Pay compliment for what of rule 
 They find within this gifted man. 
 
 All touch the mantle of the seer, 
 
 And in his genius find relief. 
 The world at length grows less austere, 
 
 As wit and wisdom turn the leaf. 
 
 While Nature seeks to charm the heart, 
 And calls on mirth and song for cheer, 
 
 His verse shall claim ennobling part. 
 And keep his memory ever dear. 
 
48 POEMS. 
 
 WINTER ON THE ST. LAWRENCE. 
 
 Proud Winter, beauteous is the glow 
 Of grandeur in thy realm of snow ! 
 Oft have we gazed in v»^onder wild 
 On broad St. Lawrence as he smiled, 
 Wrapped in his robe of summer grace ; 
 But O, the terror of his face 
 When clothed in tempests ! and the skies 
 Of polar frost would dare surprise 
 And threaten to confine his form, 
 He grasped as playthings in the storm 
 Mountains of ice upon his breast, 
 That, sailing seaward, soon addressed 
 Their passion in those vengeful blows 
 That, Titan-like, would reel his foes 
 And drive them back upon the land. 
 Then raging Boreas swept the strand ; 
 Nor' and nor'-easter all aglow 
 Would bring their bannerets of snow 
 And lay them down with stubborn care, 
 And the wild waters, conquered there 
 Yielded to Arctos, and the frost 
 In ever- varying shapes engrossed 
 
POEMS. 
 
 High on his bosom gelid halls, 
 And marvellous pinnacles and walls, 
 That kept good fortress winter long. 
 Then vanished like a summer song. 
 
 49 
 
 THE SCOTCH-IRISH FAMILY. 
 
 They came from Antrim's rugged heights, 
 
 The fields of fair Tyrone ; 
 Where famed Armagh of plenty writes, 
 
 And Down still holds her own ; 
 From Enniskillen, whose rich soil 
 
 Eeared men without a fear, 
 And Londonderry and Lough Foyle, 
 
 Where victory points the year. 
 
 From Donegal, far to the main. 
 
 Where Ca van's bounties flow ; 
 From Monaghan, whose men of brain 
 
 Make labor's budget glow. 
 Resolved, with help of heart and hand 
 
 To save their homes from wrong, 
 Their story gladdens every land, '* 
 
 And wakes the soul to song. 
 
50 POEMS. 
 
 Fair Pennsylvania's wide domain 
 
 Gave room for them to toil. 
 Uprose the factory, school and fane, 
 
 What laughter swept the soil ! 
 Deep in the bosom of the earth 
 
 The treasures of the sun 
 For them blazed into second birth, 
 
 And a new world was won. 
 
 Ohio welcomed their advance 
 
 As men of iron mold ; 
 They steeled the homes of Alamance* 
 
 With patriot hearts of gold. 
 Kentucky writes with fervent pride 
 
 Their heroes on her page ; 
 And bright New England has allied 
 
 Their glory with her age. 
 
 Iowa quickened into worth 
 
 Through their intrinsic dower ; 
 When Georgia sought a stalwart birth 
 
 Atlanta rang the hour. 
 Proud Alabama cheers their name, 
 
 Refrained by Tennessee ; 
 While California courts their fame 
 
 Around her golden sea. 
 
 *A County in North Carolina. 
 
POEMS. 51 
 
 Virginia in her greatest needs 
 
 Reaped glory in their train ; 
 New Jersey holds their Princeton deeds 
 
 As guerdon for our gain. 
 Ontario feels their magic thrill 
 
 To broad Saskatchewan, 
 And Manitoba shouts with will, 
 
 God save the Ulsterman ! 
 
 In far Austraha's mighty realm, 
 
 On India's burning sand ; 
 Where arctic frosts assert the helm, 
 
 Scotch Ulster shows her hand. 
 New Zealand welcomes her embrace, 
 
 The neighboring isles applaud ; 
 While plague-swept China lifts her face, 
 
 And longs to hear of God. 
 
 On Afric's dark, malarial soil, 
 
 On sacred Palestine, 
 She consecrates the name of toil, 
 
 And stamps it as divine. 
 And thus she bears to every land 
 
 The impress of a wiU 
 That molds the age, firm to command, 
 
 Yet loves her Derry still. 
 
52 POEMS. 
 
 O Scotland, mother of a race 
 
 That bears thy genius down 
 Through Ulster's name, thine be the grace 
 
 To welcome their renown ! 
 For He who stamps their mission great 
 
 While up the years they climb, 
 Deals them the wealth of their estate 
 
 For conquest over time. 
 
 FIFTY-FOUR. 
 
 (SOME OF MY OWN EXPERIENCES.) 
 
 " He maketh my feet like hind's feet." 
 
 The laws of motion hold a place 
 In every human form and face ; 
 But, greater far, their mighty tide 
 Gives grandeur to the soul beside. 
 And as we strive to know their worth, 
 The part they play upon the earth. 
 So will their radiance give us health — 
 The best, the brightest boon of wealth. 
 
 Those feeble, dull, phlegmatic folk, 
 So used to cavil and to croak, — 
 
POEMS. 53 
 
 Their blood is slow, condensed and chill, 
 And detrimental to the will. 
 Their modus operandi strides, 
 Stilted and hampered on all sides. 
 That life — if it be life to them — 
 Lacks the first lustre of the gem. 
 
 A weak and sickly child, I knew 
 Few joys to bear my childhood through ; 
 Fever and asthma and decline 
 Year after year would draw their line 
 With deadlier grip — that twenty-one 
 Left me a shadow in the sun, 
 Hemmed by physicians and their pills, 
 Their blisters, bergamots and bills. 
 Once at death's door — '' He'll die to-night." 
 The doctor's undertone gave fright, 
 And, quickly girding on my coat, 
 I sallied forth, my thoughts remote 
 From such a thing; like panting deer 
 I ran and ran — strange thoughts will veer 
 In human minds : at length I thought, 
 ' ' I may die, yes, and I may not ; 
 But I must have God's air, and will 
 Hold out till He be pleased to kill ; 
 And not those men who often act 
 As if they had their senses cracked." 
 
54 POEMS. 
 
 Sore lungs, deep pain, and gasping breath 
 Could not prevent my race from death. 
 And six miles saw me worn, distressed, 
 When sleep came on — sleep ever-blessed. 
 I slept, I waked a happy man, 
 And found revealed within my plan 
 An antidote for many an ill 
 That chases life — the favored pill 
 I take throughout my busy tour, 
 Now I am entering fifty-four. 
 
 To doctors then I bade farewell. 
 And acting on the principle 
 Of seeking temperance in my food 
 And drink — much exercise is good 
 Within the purest air — I spent 
 My life in joyous tournament ; 
 Determined, whether cross or crown 
 Lay near me, not to be cast down ; 
 Make Cheerfulness a constant guest, 
 And strive, in having wrongs redressed, 
 To step right in my neighbor's place. 
 To grasp the fitness of the case. 
 You know our Saviour bade us look 
 Tliis maxim in the sacred Book, 
 ''To every human creature do 
 As you would have them do to you." 
 
POEMS. 55 
 
 Strange is the history I narrate : 
 Day-dawn and day-fall — early, late. 
 My prophylactic served me well : 
 Stern exercise proved such a spell 
 Of pure, invigorating fire, 
 I felt that I could never tire. 
 When chill or asthma came in sight, 
 And threatened to renew the fight, 
 Deep breathing in the cold, clear air 
 And vigorous travel soon would stare 
 Them out of countenance in a time 
 Far speedier than this sullen rhyme. 
 
 Once worn out with my office work 
 In midst of scenes where there would lurk 
 Disease with poison in her wing, 
 Liquor, profanity, the sting 
 Of low debauchery, the air 
 Noxious, the windows closed, to spare 
 The foolish folk from fear God's breath 
 Might prove the messenger of death : 
 Where oft one hundred men would toil, 
 Nor know one blessing in the moil. 
 But so it was. I went to bed. 
 'T was nine at night ; "I must be fed 
 With medicine ; and, my little wife. 
 Haste for the doctor, for my life 
 
56 POEMS. 
 
 Seems at its last — 
 
 Hold, Bessie, dear! 
 Take off your hat; my brain is clear. 
 All that I want is God's fresh air." 
 So, springing up, pleased, debonair, 
 I donned my wraps from foot to crown, 
 The glass ten minus — running down. 
 With club in hand, I walked, I ran, 
 No one on earth so pleased a man. 
 
 cold, exhilarating draught! 
 Inspiring deeply as I quaffed, 
 Life, energy, reserved and strong. 
 Quickened my pace and gave me song. 
 O'er twenty miles, free as the roe, 
 
 1 frolicked o'er the roads of snow. 
 At home at two a. m. — " Well, wife, 
 I ne'er felt better in my life." 
 Sleep came delicious, and the light 
 Saw me at work, rejoicing, bright. 
 For I had wrought a thing or two 
 That heroism dares to do. 
 
 Would'st thou be healthy? — do not shun 
 Extremes of climate : thy brief sun 
 Is bound up in these knots of change. 
 Then when the northern blasts arrange 
 
POEMS. 
 
 With tenfold fury to disarm 
 The fetid damps that yield alarm, 
 Go thou and welcome without stealth 
 Those swift- winged messengers of health, 
 Breathe deeply their ozonic sweets, 
 All fragrant of celestial meats. 
 Another instance I may cite, 
 Where my experience proved a light. 
 A plutocrat found a rich mine 
 In our late war, then built a shrine, 
 With upper tiers for offices 
 Where he might fatten on the fees ; 
 The underground apartments made 
 To suit the men of lustier grade. 
 Where they might toil and waste their life 
 In this Calcutta hole — more rife 
 Of fell disease than ever spreads 
 W^here heaven's pure azure bathes our heads. 
 And there, in March, malodorous things 
 Suffused the air with deadly stings, 
 And pinned me sure. I met the light, 
 Swollen, dropsical and ashy white. 
 The doctor then I saw at once, 
 Intruding on his orisons : 
 " Good sir, your health is far from good; 
 The heart is weak from little blood. 
 
 57 
 
58 POEMS. 
 
 The ventricles are clogged — your tongue? 
 
 My heavens ! your time may not be long. 
 
 Your breath is fitful — death may come 
 
 In half an hour — how far from home ?" 
 
 '' A mile." ''Don't go, sir; this March air 
 
 Will kill you on the thoroughfare. 
 
 My carriage, sir, 's at your command ; 
 
 James, brace the horse" — I touched his hand. 
 
 '' No thank you, sir; I'm not a fool. 
 
 You 're not acquainted with my rule 
 
 Of healing." Then I paid my fee — 
 
 Too much to throw into the sea. 
 
 But it was worth some thousands more 
 
 To follow Nature, for she bore 
 
 Me splendid service. So I took 
 
 The recipe like a vile book 
 
 And tore it to a thousand shreds ; 
 
 And as the March gusts gave them beds 
 
 In the high ether — in hot haste 
 
 I hurried home to whet my taste 
 
 On some good dishes — all serene. 
 
 Then for a moment viewed the scene ; 
 
 Bade long adieu to Dives' den, 
 
 And walked that day till I swept ten, 
 
 And twelve, and eighteen miles. / dead ! 
 
 No, but I laughed till I grew red 
 
POEMS. 
 
 59 
 
 At the presumption of those schools 
 Who think they 're wise while we are fools. 
 Off went my ailment, and kind Sleep 
 Arcadian-like would gently keep 
 Her eye on me for good eight hours. 
 Dear Nature, blessed be thy bowers ! 
 Thank Heaven I Ve nurs'd some conunon sense ! 
 That savors much of providence. 
 Though some may yet deride this act : 
 My parsonage was once attacked 
 By social church folk, some four score, 
 Laden with stores and gold galore ; 
 Who, when the dinner feast was through. 
 Broached this announcement entre nous: 
 ' ' A horse and carriage we propose 
 Presenting you — the public knows 
 Your route is large ; we know your skill 
 In pastoral labors over hill, 
 Meadow and dale, and these will give 
 Some varied comforts while you live." 
 With candid thanks I made reply : 
 ' ' Dear friends, I thank you for this high 
 Mark of regard, but I love health. 
 And must enjoy it ; 'tis my wealth. 
 To make exchange I soon would grow 
 Lazy and sickly, and the glow 
 
6o POEMS. 
 
 Of life would fade : the exercise 
 
 I have adopted it is wise 
 
 To follow for my constitution, 
 
 And one that breeds just retribution." 
 
 My words pained many an honest friend, 
 
 But I came gainer in the end. 
 
 This pliant, soft, elastic frame 
 Needs fresh activities to tame 
 And cleanse the textures that impart 
 Grace to the temple of the heart. 
 Give then the framework exercise, 
 And ne'er forget that rich supplies 
 Of richest blood spring from the air. 
 Seek for the best, the amplest fare — 
 Those deep reserves of oxygen 
 That build an agile race of men. 
 In six and thirty years my range 
 Embraced aii orchestra of change 
 Where, equalling six walks round the earth 
 In morn and eve, the middle girth 
 Embraced the fields of toil and ease. 
 Riches of place, and symphonies 
 Of music ; where benevolence 
 And blessing waited on the sense 
 Of suifering — and the interludes 
 Of beauty, where vast multitudes 
 
POEMS. 6 1 
 
 In peaceful panorama move, 
 And tread the corridors of love. 
 
 If love, and joy's sweet exercise. 
 And faith and prayer be our emprise ; 
 If, when we seek the power Divine, 
 We feel some presence, calm, benign, 
 O'ershadowing us, it were not just 
 To take these as an idle trust. 
 Such honors call us to be wise. 
 And find earth still a paradise. 
 And I for one am not ashamed 
 To mention here, though I be blamed : 
 The pains and ills of earth are sore, 
 But joy excels a thousand more. 
 And so, whene'er my call shall come, 
 And I must meet another home, 
 Let these words as an anthem roU : 
 Here dwelt a glad and joyous soul. 
 In every darkness he saw light ; 
 Night brought no terrors of the night; 
 For bound, in spite of vagrant sin, 
 To find the peace that lives within 
 Love's incarnation, there he stood. 
 And found that life was doubly good. 
 
 At the risk of being considered erratic, I write the above lines as a 
 testimony to the worth of the will power, in breaking the unhealthy 
 trammels of caste which widely tend to a degrading pessimism— and 
 opening up the grandeur and dignity of life. 
 
62 POEMS. 
 
 BEAUTY OF THE LORD. 
 
 Ps. 27: 4. 
 
 There's a phrase I've often heard, 
 
 'Tis " the beauty of the Lord." 
 
 And I wondered when a child 
 
 At the glory undefiled 
 
 Hidden in the magic words, 
 
 Sweeter than the song of birds. 
 
 But the years crept on apace, 
 
 Lighting up my anxious face 
 
 With the precious thought made plain, 
 
 That God's beauty is my gain. 
 
 Do the very best you can. 
 Honor duty in the man. 
 And you'll find right at your door 
 Showers of blessing, yea, and more. 
 Let each day see you engage 
 In some good work on the stage. 
 In your great unselfish aim 
 You will cheer the sick and lame, 
 You will scatter thoughts abroad 
 That will lift some soul to God. 
 Then when you lie down at night 
 God's own beauty draws the light. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Rocks you on His infinite breast, 
 Giving you the grace of rest. 
 
 Thus each day life's wondrous field 
 Sweeter grows with truth revealed — 
 Love, discretion, charity, 
 Introspection's noble plea, 
 Purity in thought and deed, 
 Temperance in sowing seed. 
 Fortitude to march along. 
 Courage to awaken song, 
 Modesty and grace to steer 
 When the hours look sad and drear. 
 Energy to work with will, 
 Cheerfulness the heart to fill. 
 Here 's the beauty of the Lord, 
 And the fragrance of His Word. 
 
 Truly man can live and say, 
 I have lived in God to-day. 
 Now His beauty gives me rest. 
 And in Him my life is blest. 
 
 63 
 
64 POEMS. 
 
 THE POET. 
 
 He walks with men, and yet he is a king — 
 A right and royal one, and on his brow 
 Is stamped the impress of God's coronal. 
 He bears the aspect of a messenger, 
 And enters on his work with dignity. 
 He parleys not, nor wavers, for he knows 
 The Graces are around him to delight. 
 While soaring through his field, the universe. 
 Thus, conscious of his ancient title deeds, 
 And rich inheritance, he vindicates 
 Justice and order wisely, nor will swerve 
 A hairbreadth from the will within his hands. 
 To him all form and substance play a part 
 In perfect unison. The azure bound. 
 Alive with him, rejoices ; the bleak earth, 
 So cold and bare to millions, he transforms 
 To labyrinths of grandeur, where the walks 
 Of opal, garnet, and a thousand gems, 
 Blaze in the lustre of cerulean fires. 
 The vaporous clouds in his alembic eye 
 Like huge leviathans plough the serene. 
 Bearing the fleecy waters, from whose breasts 
 Drop welcome fatness, while the smiling earth 
 
POEMS. 65 
 
 And jubilant heaven meet and assert their loves 
 With passion awful in its majesty. 
 To him the chaste, clear evening sky unfolds 
 A spangled vesture fit for deity. 
 He rides earth like a charioteer, observes 
 Her graceful sailing round the galaxies 
 Unharmed and undisturbed. He knoweth well 
 Disease is but derangement — maladies 
 But atoms in disorder, where the line 
 Is broken, and the air is full of death. 
 He is a priest of nature, wandering through 
 The alcoves of his garden, and avers 
 That as a poet he must teach, arouse, 
 And open out the beauties of his house. 
 Though the world laugh, his work goes bravely on. 
 He watches undercurrents, and while men 
 May think him nerveless, vapid and inane, 
 He pierces through their being like the spear. 
 Armed and accoutred at the fountain head, 
 He comes to earth prepared to speak to men. 
 The circumambient air, the marvelous light, 
 The subterranean fires : all hidden things 
 Declare his active presence ; fruits and flowers, 
 As well as noxious vapors, and the warmth 
 Of sunshine, or the gloomy depths of night. 
 
66 POEMS. 
 
 The adamantine rocks unloose their bands 
 Within his presence, while Bootes waits, 
 With Hercules and all the host of heaven. 
 To bid him welcome to their distant zones. 
 He mounts the tempest, flying etherward, 
 Or, silently, steals in the heart of man ; 
 For he knows human nature ; he can play 
 With infants, or hold converse with the peer 
 Of schools ; he meets with nature's commonest pets, 
 Buds, leaves and blossoms ; the huge oak and elm 
 To him are distant brothers, carrying on 
 Some holy ministration. When he sleeps, 
 His favorite monitor pours in his ear 
 Rare chords of melody known but to few. 
 He wakes : the tiniest grasses in the plain 
 Give solemn lessons for his lecture hour, 
 While insect matins and the song of birds 
 Reveal the glories of his paradise. 
 
 Who knoweth but the suns of other realms, 
 Whose beauties sparkle on the breast of Night, 
 May speak his parentage ; for this we see, 
 His ways are singular, his habits strange. 
 His soul subdued and pensive, or lit up 
 With eddies of delight that grave their lines 
 More deeply than in faces of the crowd, 
 
POEMS. 67 
 
 Pleading as if he knew that our life here 
 Were but a school, while his intensive speech 
 And mode of utterance savor of abodes 
 Mayhap contiguous, if not of this world. 
 
 Welcome, thou visitant from other spheres! 
 Stay with us, teaching us that to be wise 
 Is our great privilege, our brightest joy. 
 The earth cries out from villainy and wrong, 
 And in thy sacred mission souls will rise, 
 And learn to love their great Original. 
 
 RELATION OF GENIUS TO MAN 
 HOOD. 
 
 Some, finding Genius knocking at their door, 
 Ask nothing better than the feeblest gear 
 Of canzonet and ditty, which she keeps 
 But as the selvage of her holiest work, 
 And edging of the loom. And when a man, 
 A God-made genius, snaps it from the web, 
 And as a new creation fashions it 
 Grander than any palace of the earth, 
 O how the soldier on the battlefield 
 Oft drinks its inspiration. Then 'tis well. 
 
68 POEMS. 
 
 Yea, one man in ten million may yield service 
 
 In rags and tatters of obsequious tongues, 
 
 Yet ninety in a hundred crow the loudest. 
 
 As though they were the Shakspeares of the age. 
 
 Man wants, and groans and cries, and ever wants 
 
 The gross allied to flesh, and shuns the clear 
 
 Allied to spirit. Some will nobly fight 
 
 Nor give an inch to sin ; but greater far 
 
 In glory stand they than Napoleon stood, 
 
 Bathed in the sunlight of his Austerlitz, 
 
 Or famed Marengo. Such beloved John, 
 
 And Kempis, and the illustrious hosts of heaven. 
 
 Whose names, forever aureoled in love. 
 
 Still light the nations from their hallowed fires. 
 
 Such brave Antisthenes, who, conquered, stood. 
 
 Pleased by the cynic's bold persistency ; 
 
 Such Napier, when his heart vow to the child 
 
 He would not forfeit e'en to dine with kings; 
 
 Such Marvell, as he threw the golden bribe 
 
 Back to the giver, choosing honesty 
 
 As fortune greater far — God's nobleman. 
 
POEMS. 69 
 
 OUR CITY POOR. 
 
 Look at the poor in this academy. 
 
 God help this embassage of want and toil 
 
 That lives within our cities— starved, despised, 
 
 Crushed down to lowest wage, prone to endure. 
 
 And why? Oft from respect for rectitude. 
 
 Their clothes are plain, their manners robust, rude. 
 
 Their habits reticent— only their love 
 
 Keeps them in action, making social caste 
 
 The nobler for their Uving. Men may sneer. 
 
 But all their sneering cannot waive the truth 
 
 That these are largely Nature's simple folk 
 
 Who eat the bread of soothing honesty, 
 
 And they are nearer heaven by many a step 
 
 Than those lugubrious pharisees of toll 
 
 Who pitter-patter regularly to church 
 
 To hide their knavery— who pull the wool 
 
 So cunningly over another's eyes. 
 
 Yet are so addlepated that they think 
 
 They will escape detection. For God's sake, 
 
 Dear, thoughtful reader, be not one of these. 
 
 God loves a cheerful giver, and the poor. 
 
 When thou art pinched, often go sorely bare 
 
 That thou shouldst have some pleasant wherewithal, 
 
 Man cannot serve two masters, saith the Word. 
 
70 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Earth looks for men of honor, of clean tongue, 
 Not palsied by the bribe that bought the fool ; 
 Not cowardly from the promise basely broken, 
 Not slippery from the practice of deceit, 
 Nor varnished with the gloss of flattery. 
 We long to grasp the hand, gaze in the eye. 
 And compass moral grandeur in our midst — 
 A wealth that makes earth's poorest children rich. 
 That clothes the hospitable home with smiles. 
 Where cheerful spirits reign unnerved by fears. 
 With bursts of song to make the welkin ring. 
 They are the rich, and they make others rich, 
 And from their standing place cast influence 
 To curb the angry billows of lewd sin. 
 
 A REFLECTION. 
 
 To-day I stand — while six and thirty years 
 
 Pass like a vapor — where I roamed and played 
 
 With genial natures full of heart's content, 
 
 And think of the old faces I have seen 
 
 In church and school and playground — here we walked, 
 
 But most have passed before. Nor will I fret 
 
 And throw myself in Melancholy's arms. 
 
POEMS. 71 
 
 Change is the life of nature : it is best. 
 
 I too must go ere long. The gentle hand 
 
 That led me here still lovingly holds mine, 
 
 And in its warmth and sunshine I will go 
 
 Just where it leads me. Why should I repine ? 
 
 What billows have swept o'er me ! I have walked 
 
 In deeps of dread affliction : and to-day 
 
 Look up and know that God is very good. 
 
 He gives me friends, then takes them to Himself ; 
 
 He gives a trial, and then compensates 
 
 With dainty blessings of a varied kind ; 
 
 He comes in storm and earthquake filled with love 
 
 As when in summer's calm. How greatly blest 
 
 Is he who holds communion with his God ! 
 
 Who daily seeks Him as a welcome Guest. 
 
 What grace and cheerfulness should mark his steps ! 
 
 What sympathies may pierce the surging air 
 
 And seize the human soul whene'er he speaks ! 
 
 Great is the power of love— sublimely great! 
 
 And man with his prerogative is crowned 
 
 A monarch if he rightly use his office. 
 
 Gowanus, Sept. i. 1890. 
 
72 POEMS. 
 
 SEARCHING FOR FRIENDS. 
 
 I HAVE a word for my friends who rejoice in the smile 
 
 of the morning ; 
 Who, although they must labor and plod, are not 
 
 weary and footsore; 
 Who, whether it be early or late, carry deep in their 
 
 bosom 
 Blessing, compassion and peace: and when glowing 
 
 Affection 
 Scatters her casket of wares, and some like the waters 
 
 of ocean, 
 Surge round in abundance, so bold and inspiring their 
 
 aspect. 
 Here comes the love of my song, who filagrees all 
 
 into beauty. 
 O when I arise from my couch, and the sweet voice 
 
 of Nature 
 Stirs up my soul to behold her in all her perfection, 
 Then let the opening of morn, like the flush of its 
 
 advent, 
 Witness the laugh, and the joy, and the holy devotion 
 That fall on us both as we roam the still meadows 
 
 together — 
 Nature and I ; her tread is soft and elastic ; 
 Her person comely and sweet, her eye like the sunrise; 
 Her arm, majestic in strength, as she lifts me to 
 
 heaven, 
 
POEMS. 73 
 
 Or hides me, the nursling of love, in the depths of 
 her bosom. 
 Let me tell thee, dear reader, the reason why we 
 were united 
 
 In bonds of the holiest marriage, nevermore to be 
 broken. 
 
 Society offered her charms, and I looked for my 
 portion ; 
 
 There, firm in my heart, lay God's mandate awaiting 
 my action. 
 
 Go, be joyful with man, for man is thy brother im- 
 mortal ; 
 
 So in youth's eager glory I sought, and in anguish 
 I sorrowed. 
 I sought for the joy that was constant, the beauty, 
 the grace 
 
 That thrive in the garden where Patience and Mercy 
 are seen 
 
 Hand in hand in their orbits of duty and peans of song. 
 
 O reader, question me not of the soul's strange be- 
 longings. 
 
 We know not — cannot tell — how the evil, the sorrow 
 of Eden 
 
 Has blighted our race in the babe, the adult, and the 
 veteran. 
 
74 POEMS. 
 
 THE ILLUSTRIOUS DUTCHMAN. 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY, PRINCE OF ORANGE. 
 
 Look well upon this face — here Providence 
 Eeflects His seal upon the human sense. 
 Behold! beneath the firm unsullied brow 
 The man that molded nations in his vow — 
 One man, one mind, to make his work complete, 
 Till Tyranny lay dead beneath his feet. 
 
 In that sad hour when slavery's baleful chain 
 Sank on the human heart with foulest stain, 
 And Britain, racked and mangled by the rod. 
 Lay helpless in the mire, and looked to God — 
 On Holland's fertile soil and sea-girt plains, 
 Where Heaven's proud waters play and man re- 
 strains. 
 There called Jehovah, and the early womb 
 Gave forth His child to lighten up the gloom : 
 A second Joshua entered Britain's clime 
 To trace God's triumphs on the front of Time ; 
 Nor did he cease to work this honored grace 
 Till smiles and plenty gladdened every face, 
 Till nations wept for joy that they were free, 
 And Orange proved the word for liberty. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 75 
 
 He came to earth, a man of mien austere, 
 Whose presence nations felt with reverent fear ; 
 Whose eagle eye pierced through the subtle arts 
 That tyrants use to craven human hearts ; 
 Whose pensive manners spoke of fires within 
 That quickened his resolve to scorch the sin. 
 No man dare stand between him and his God, 
 No tyrant in his path usurp the rod. 
 No empire plume a prostituted guise 
 To cheat our noblest nature of its prize. 
 
 Through him God's blessed Book, free as the wind, 
 In one grand inspiration thrilled the mind. 
 
 Through him swift Commerce soared o'er every 
 clime, 
 And art and genius flourished in their prime. 
 The halls of learning gave him loud acclaim, 
 The poets won the muses to his fame. 
 And sculptors vied to cast the plastic form 
 Of Nature's paragon who quelled the storm. 
 
 He placed the lamp of knowledge at our doors. 
 And sweet contentment added to our stores ; 
 He gave to men the pen and bade them write. 
 And spread their dawning glories in the light : 
 Fair Science oped the treasures at her hand, 
 And homes of industry rose o'er the land. 
 
76 POEMS. 
 
 The artisan sang welcome that he came, 
 
 The ploughman whistled cheerily his fame, 
 
 The sailor grew hilarious in his praise, 
 
 The soldier greeted him with roundelays ; 
 
 The merchant cheered him as he shipped his corn. 
 
 The mother told his fame to her new-born ; 
 
 And while the preacher plumed the victories 
 
 wrought, 
 The merry playwright wove them in his plot. 
 Sore Labor found at length he had a voice, 
 And struck a chord that made the world rejoice; 
 The brotherhood of man stood forth revealed. 
 Kind Nature opened up a richer yield. 
 And showed that all true subjects of her realm 
 Had gifts that called them to their country's helm. 
 Then breadth of mind grew wider with the hour. 
 Keen introspection opened out her dower; 
 Philosophy gave voice that all could hear, 
 And called her favorite students from the rear. 
 Electric fires revealed their native shrine, 
 A simple alphabet of the Divine, 
 That now, a volume widening with the skies, 
 Points out to man reopening Paradise. 
 And as the world awakens to the sight, 
 The nations one by one shake off the night, 
 
POEMS. 77 
 
 And thank Almighty God that now is given 
 Some chance to think, some room to work for 
 heaven. 
 
 Shame on that recreant mind that dares deny 
 The glories wrought beneath our Orange sky — 
 When Scotia hastened on her wedding hour, 
 And gave to Britain panoply and power; 
 When France stood curbed in her blood-empire 
 
 scheme, 
 And Spain, dishonored, left the world — a dream. 
 When Londonderry fought the hosts of wrong, 
 And robed her hero with the wreaths of song. 
 And now Columbia's opening realm appears 
 Robed in the lustre of those Orange years. 
 The Bible ever open by her side, 
 And Christ her one Redeemer and her guide. 
 
 Rich from the splendors sown in Britain's land. 
 The nations stand to-day with lifted hand, 
 And pledge that arbitration's righteous plan 
 Shall mark the laurels of the God-made man ; 
 That progress shall advance with lightsome grace. 
 And growth and goodness bless the human race ; 
 That for our youth approaching soon to rule 
 The surest safeguard is the public school, 
 
78 POEMS. 
 
 Where true nobility exalts the mind, 
 And man may grasp the wealth that Heaven de- 
 signed. 
 
 With God-like majesty we hold this trust, 
 
 Nor can earth's tyrants lower it in the dust — 
 
 Kings, popes, or presidents, whoe'er they be. 
 
 God's Word is teacher, our defence, our plea. 
 
 His Holy Writ our hope, a sacred leaven. 
 
 Who reads it well makes conquest here for heaven. 
 
 TERCENTENARY. 
 
 ON THE DEFEAT OF THE SPANISH ARMADA, JULY, 1588. 
 
 Three hundred years — a simple phrase, and yet 
 Thank God we live to speak it, for it points 
 To an event that changed whole dynasties, 
 And hastened truth's fruition. The bright sun 
 Looks down upon a world whose myriad goods 
 O'erbalance far the ills that sweep us by. 
 We stand and ponder: a strange Providence 
 Wraps up our lives in danger, and the air 
 Reverberates incessantly in psalm — 
 Right triumphs, and God doeth all things well. 
 
POEMS. 79 
 
 Britain, look back to that abhorrent hour 
 When Philip with his cohorts led the van 
 Of haughty empire and infernal hate ; 
 When thou, a virgin, rising in thy prime 
 Amid the nations, girdedst on thy sword, 
 To meet the embattled hosts his vengeance poured 
 Around thee, o'er the seas, close to thy gates. 
 And threatened thee with baleful slavery. 
 Then thou didst cry to Him who holds the reins. 
 And, in response he gave thee strength to know 
 The bliss of freedom, and the price it bears. 
 And on this vantage ground each mother's son, 
 And daughter, too, calm, resolute and firm. 
 Took valiantly a stand that kept at bay 
 The tyrant's minions— Nature weaving storm 
 To aid thy weakness— giving thee a name 
 That, through the running ages, wakes the song 
 Of justice and of mercy— where free will 
 Is known and honored; where life is secure; 
 Where knowledge daily widens out her reahn; 
 Where home is blest in father, mother, child; 
 Where all may worship God in varied phase- 
 Noblest communion. These our gifts to-day, 
 That sprang from firmness for the good and true. 
 Beauteous in blessing, therefore, be this year, 
 
8o POEMS. 
 
 The grand tercentenary of thy hope ! 
 Victoria, noblest of a noble line, 
 Receive the benedictions of the world, 
 This day of splendor! Round thy jubilee 
 The Past and Present gather, and proclaim 
 That in thine advent justice, joy, and love 
 Have met the sanction of the Prince of Peace. 
 While nations wake to hear the voice of God, 
 The world will honor thee with something more 
 Than vain applause or clamor. Be thy name, 
 Our mother Britain, in our song and prayer 
 Allied for blessing ! While the coming years 
 Reap rich abundance, may they call to mind 
 The close relation peoples hold to thee 
 In honest search for freedom. For thyself. 
 Schooled well in joy and sorrow, we would pray 
 That God may keep thee watchful for the right, 
 And patient, too — that He will send thee wealth 
 Of counsel — kings and queens of soul — 
 To cheer thy progress, holding in their hands 
 The Book of Life, and point the world to God. 
 Thy daughter — one with thee in hope and aim, 
 America — drinks of thy life-blood's best, 
 And looks to cheer thee bravely in thine age. 
 With thee she bears the sceptre of the world. 
 
POEMS. 8l 
 
 Together, then, for Christ work might and main. 
 Tribes, nations look and wonder, and admire 
 Eesults that followed the Armada's boast. 
 Watch, Britain, watch ! O be thy bulwarks strong! 
 The dogs of hate are watching, and their guise. 
 Insidious, lulls the foolish world to sleep. 
 
 Brooklyn, July, t8 
 
 THE PROPHECY. 
 
 What am I but a child? what wisest men 
 
 Who scatter seeds of genius o'er the tract 
 
 Of time, that coming generations may be blessed, 
 
 And know life truly — what it really is ? 
 
 Children at best, who study Nature's moods, 
 
 Her eccentricities, her kith and kin — 
 
 And in her ruggedness, her night and storm. 
 
 Her soft effulgence, her coquettish ways. 
 
 And soothing, patient spirit — grow as men 
 
 And women, noble in the majesty 
 
 Of godlike living, where ignoble streams 
 
 Sweep by, but cannot change their sacred course. 
 
 So think I still, as first in life the thought 
 Possessed me strangely : it was study time. 
 
82 POEMS. 
 
 For I was trained by Silence, and the theme 
 
 That grew refulgent in the quiet hours, 
 
 And glowed with radiance from a fount divine, 
 
 Shunned proud dictation at the bid of lords 
 
 Of church or college ; Nature, mother-like. 
 
 At such times ever drawing the veil between 
 
 Myself and umpires : long the gathering years 
 
 Witnessed her amours — that I did but laugh 
 
 And lovingly embrace her — till one day 
 
 She bade me follow her to higher courts, 
 
 And see her daughter Patience, queenliest one 
 
 Of all the Graces ; when a mellowed light 
 
 Dawned on me, full of blessing, and I knew. 
 
 What sage or prophet never told before, — 
 
 That our loved mother blends with deeds of birth 
 
 Environment and circumstance, to throw 
 
 Belief and safety, where the briny waves 
 
 Of bitter Acheron cannot debar 
 
 Man's noblest portion in the allotted task. 
 
 Once I met sore defeat, and hastened home, 
 And for a moment on a couch reclined, 
 Brooding disaster — when immediately 
 Strange living forms rose on my opened sight. 
 And pale Oblivion's seal shut out the past. 
 I dwelt within a city, where a mass 
 Of men and women stood transfixed with awe. 
 
POEMS. 83 
 
 O God ! what agony of soul was there ! 
 
 The faces blanched with woe, the glassy eye, 
 
 And rigid mouth, as if Medusa's glance 
 
 Froze them to marble. Fathers, mothers, sons, 
 
 And soft-eyed daughters, whose celestial brows 
 
 Spoke tenderest beauty — all alike the prey 
 
 Of blank despair and torture. Years have passed, 
 
 Yet still that mighty throng of human hearts 
 
 Lives in the picture. Homes, deserted, dead, 
 
 And all surrounding scenes chilled in the rime. 
 
 Men dared not speak, but looked askance, and feared 
 
 Their own lips' motion ; while the balmy air, 
 
 That scatters life-blood in its buoyant breeze. 
 
 Slept in the torpor of the stagnant scene. 
 
 I looked, and, close beside, a serpent form. 
 Some eighty fathoms long, whose lissom frame 
 Showed ceaseless undulation, swept the earth. 
 His head, roughened with thorns, gnarled like the oak 
 Of centuries; mouth bloody, with forked sting 
 Fiercely protruding ; eyes of emerald green 
 That cast a sickly lustre o'er the ground. 
 Long time the monster lay, his massive folds 
 Iq wild gyration, like the cycling sands 
 That sweep Sahara — weird and terrible — 
 Raging like Ocean's bosom in the storm ; 
 
84 POEMS. 
 
 His throat belching forth thunder, poison, blast, 
 His thrice-ribbed armor dazzling, — his whole frame, 
 Proud and vainglorious, looked as if he scorned 
 The puny efforts of surrounding hosts. 
 
 Nor anxious I, nor awe-struck ; nor a sense 
 Of strength supernal seized me, as I pressed 
 My left hand gently on the serpent's head, 
 While with my right I grasped a sharpened blade 
 That lay athwart my vision ; to and fro 
 Deeply, with cunning hand, I thrust the knife, 
 The cleavage widening as I wrought — when, lo ! 
 Like some huge rock the gory, giant head. 
 Disjointed, breathless, rolled to the ground. Suddenly 
 Jubilations rent the air : the myriad hosts 
 Applauding; smiles enwreathed the face of Fear, 
 And all around arose the song of praise. 
 
 The vision faded softly in the air. 
 When up I sprang, questioning my senses' power. 
 No, I was not asleep, nor duped, nor drugged 
 With venom from the cesspools of the world. 
 Reader, seest thou the moral ? Our strange life 
 Waits candid, clear opinion from the true, 
 From honest children out of every clime, 
 Of every fortune. Thick as forest leaves 
 Minds act and have their mission, yet the world 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Listens with eagerness to catch the strain 
 That speaks of conquering faith and endless life. 
 The sequel runs, that they who learn and wait, 
 Find compensation in the motherhood 
 Of Nature, and her store of fitting joys. 
 For only in her teaching can they escape 
 Foul avarice, the filthy brood of lusts. 
 Or stains of envy. Wa.tch Truth well; she loves 
 Her cheerful pupils ; deigning constantly 
 In richest panoramas to unfold 
 Her choicest lessons in the school of life. 
 The vision stands a living prophecy — 
 That those who study Truth through Nature's aids, 
 And seek her embrace, see the Paradise 
 That Adam lost, that Love and Mercy found. 
 Where Meekness dwells with heavenly Chastity ; 
 Where Beauty wields her sceptre, and, with peace 
 And awful Justice, walks the eternal round. 
 
 85 
 
86 POEMS. 
 
 INTROSPECTION. 
 
 O CHILD of duty, look thou well within. 
 The wide environment takes all its grace 
 From introspection. We may read ten tongues 
 With their inflections where the crowd reads one. 
 When sacred Justice calls upon the soul 
 To open up her realm, we find the key 
 That solves the doubt in every difficulty. 
 
 'Tis not enough in humble deference 
 To pay obeisance at the fount of virtue. 
 We must have fortitude to act our mission. 
 For here stands Truth close veiled from vulgar minds, 
 As Isis, in famed Sais, lone and dumb. 
 Still cries the oracle as in olden time : 
 " Who lifts the veil shall see the face of truth" — 
 And near her wait the indomitable band 
 Whom nor the fears nor frowns of earth affect, 
 In godlike grandeur, — noblest of the earth. 
 These reverently disrobe the sacred face, 
 Nor die, for the divinity within 
 Assures existence, yea, and larger hope. 
 
 Then what is truth ? for not a day need pass 
 Without unlocking doors not oped before ; — 
 Without new views in our kaleidoscope, 
 
POEMS. 87 
 
 Distancing — in the garniture of hues 
 
 And the embroidery of circumstance 
 
 The best we ever knew. What if the schools 
 
 Should chain us to their dicta if they dare ! 
 
 What if the peers of proud philosophy 
 
 Drive stakes to bind the limits of the will, 
 
 That the unthinking crowd may stand and halt, 
 
 And there forever halt right to their shame ! — 
 
 This were no argument for prescient minds. 
 
 Or Nature's well-beloved. Like the hart 
 
 Bounding the mountain gorge, they overleap 
 
 The wall that weak ambition rears to rule ; 
 
 They grasp their right like the fierce northern wind 
 
 Welds water into ice, and know no law 
 
 But rigid Duty. These are Nature's minds — 
 
 Giants of soul, whose deep, unfathomed eyes 
 
 Speak volumes for the rights of God and man. 
 
 Making sweet reverence and honesty 
 
 Their house and wardrobe — yea, the welcome bed 
 
 On which they rest in sleep and blessed dreams. 
 
 Truth like a mother has a thousand charms. 
 Look deep within thy heart, there thou wilt find 
 The treasures of the All. E'en the serene 
 Of heaven in its rich tracery of blue 
 Has fed for ages ardent souls on earth ; 
 
88 POEMS. 
 
 So running streams, and hurricanes and frosts, 
 Season and temperature and wayward change, 
 Form, essence, beauty — Nature's awful round 
 All uni versed with suns lighting the maze ; 
 And comets roaming o'er the infinite sea. 
 Bearing some awful message of their Sire — 
 These form some studies of the patient scholar. 
 Here lies his heritage in the vast domain, 
 To live a royal life close to his kin, 
 Where wild vicissitudes cannot annoy. 
 
 Nature yields room for spiritual advancement. 
 Of all truths one the truest. Feeble minds 
 Of narrow biased schools pin their ideals 
 On walls reared on the fields of human fears, 
 While Nature ever points to higher standards. 
 We dare not bar the mind more than the sea 
 Its tidal flow ; its being bears an essence 
 Divine, eternal, which at fitting times. 
 Oft at long intervals, throws out new buds 
 That blossom into fruit to meet the ages. 
 Therefore forget not this, O great truth-seeker ! 
 Thou carriest in thy wardrobe wondrous stores 
 Of heavenly gifts, which, nor material things, 
 Nor sense, nor station can make thee forget. 
 Think wisely, well — ^the truth will be revealed. 
 
POEMS. 89 
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Two BROTHERS, lustrous in their birth, and lovely in 
 
 their prime, 
 Grew up beneath their parents' care, the marvels of 
 
 the time, 
 The gifts of nature, and the grace and joy of home 
 
 were theirs, 
 They met their father's fondest wish, their mother's 
 
 holiest prayers. 
 Such love, such unity and bliss but few may ever 
 
 know. 
 And so these happy children lived, nor knew the touch 
 
 of woe. 
 
 One day a radiance filled the place as with supernal 
 
 light, 
 And orchestras and heavenly choirs burst out upon 
 
 the sight ; 
 Soft undertones and angel notes rang out in sweet 
 
 refrain, 
 And nature gladdened at her best at the celestial 
 
 strain. 
 While in the dread magnificence all being felt the 
 
 thrm 
 From universe to universe of the Eternal Will. 
 
90 POEMS. 
 
 Then, in the midst of melody, gifts fell to every soul, 
 And faces glowed, and eyes grew bright amid the 
 
 thunder roll ; 
 And these two brothers, hand in hand, adown the 
 
 mountain ran, 
 Nor knew that in their hearts they bore the horoscope 
 
 of man. 
 Love still her sweetest anthems sang within their 
 
 calm retreat, 
 And Beauty daily gathered stores to scatter at their 
 
 feet. 
 
 Nor could the mother's wistful eye as yet perceive a 
 
 change. 
 Nor mark the current that began to manifest its 
 
 range, 
 Save that some childish fancy rose, and ripened day 
 
 by day. 
 And tendency grew to a power that conquered in its 
 
 sway. 
 Footfalls of Nature led them on, with many a care 
 
 beset, 
 And sweet Affection healed the wounds wherever they 
 
 were met. 
 
 The years rolled on, those golden years, grand wit- 
 nesses for man. 
 
 While these two sons unconsciously kept pressing to 
 the van. 
 
POEMS. gl 
 
 And as the mighty streams enlarge far from their 
 nether springs, 
 
 So widened out their influence as by unearthly wings. 
 
 Each with intensive feeling wrought to keep his pur- 
 pose strong, 
 
 The one apparelled for the right, the other for the 
 wrong. 
 
 Ah, little think the mighty crowds of what the will 
 may do. 
 
 And Providence, for some wise end, withholds the 
 larger view ; 
 
 Self triumphed each succeeding day with such resist- 
 less force, 
 
 That outside agencies rushed in and strengthened the 
 resource : 
 
 A thousand spirits wheeled in line and urged the 
 giddy throng 
 
 To battle for the son whose will lay on the side of 
 wrong. 
 
 Then Rage and Ruin filled the streets with streams of 
 
 human gore. 
 And cities flamed while Vice lashed on the demons 
 
 that she bore. 
 What perfidy sprang up in halls where Truth was 
 
 wont to dwell ! 
 And midnight orgies spread around the atmosphere of 
 
 heU: 
 
92 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 And bribe, profanity and lust, and lying were the food 
 Of millions gorging at the feast, polluted in their 
 blood. 
 
 But he whose will lay to the right — when once he 
 
 heard the voice, 
 Some burning consciousness within bade him at once 
 
 rejoice. 
 He read the message o'er and o'er, and nursed it in his 
 
 breast. 
 And lo, the more he weighed its worth, it proved a 
 
 greater zest. 
 And with his growth so grew the flock where'er his 
 
 spirit trod ; 
 And people loved him wondrously — his presence spoke 
 
 of God. 
 
 Like lambent fires that deck the morn, and usher in 
 
 the day. 
 Suffusing radiance o'er the hearts of millions in their 
 
 way. 
 So the grand birthright of a will in wisdom's armor 
 
 dressed 
 Rolled o'er the earth successive waves of life for the 
 
 And Art and Genius fanned their flames that nations 
 
 might arise 
 From the lewd holocausts of sin to nobler sacrifice. 
 
POEMS. 93 
 
 Go, chUdren, eloquent in thought, the gift of the 
 
 Supreme, 
 Eise to some insight of the power that gives you such 
 
 a gleam. 
 Gk), mount the rostrum, voice the press, and teach 
 
 within the school : 
 You bear some sacred light within, some attribute of 
 
 rule — 
 The seal of God graven on your heart— then do the 
 
 best you can. 
 He noblest does his work for Heaven who loves his 
 brother man. 
 
 THIS WORLD IS A HEAVEN, 
 
 Of life as it is let us sing. 
 
 For there's beauty and joy in it all, 
 Though Evil's around with its sting. 
 
 Overhanging the earth like a pall. 
 But, reader, let virtue excel. 
 
 To you and to me it is given 
 To drive back the spectre of hell. 
 
 And make earth a palace of heaven. 
 
94 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 That truth lives, we dare not deny 
 
 From the God -given nature of mind. 
 Though the rake and the casuist he, 
 
 Dear Honesty favors her kind. 
 'Tis well 'tis the nature of truth 
 
 To weld ties that cannot be riven. 
 Our years cry for beauty and youth. 
 
 Believe it — this world is a heaven. 
 
 Each day, as we take up the news, 
 
 God help us, what riot and shame ! 
 What suicide, murder and stews 
 
 Are staining humanity's name ! 
 E'en our bosom friends, touched with the fell 
 
 Malaria of death round us driven. 
 Are helping to make earth a hell, 
 
 But believe it, this world is a heaven. 
 
 Adulterants poison our food, 
 
 Law-protected while stealing our cash. 
 Our edibles, tainted with blood. 
 
 Must meet the competitive dash — 
 While inspectors keep ringing their bell 
 
 To hide every stain in the leaven, — 
 All striving to make earth a hell, 
 
 But believe it, this world is a heaven. 
 
POEMS. 95 
 
 There's that old pauper Dives in church, 
 
 With Monopoly, Title and Trust; 
 There's the ten million toilers in search 
 
 Of an honest endowment and crust. 
 But we reckon his worship would sell 
 
 Their souls for a sou or a seven. 
 He does what he can to make hell 
 
 Of a world God has made as a heaven. 
 
 Such grunting and growling all day. 
 
 From the prelate low down to the thief. 
 Such struggling for eating and pay. 
 
 And whiskey to get some relief ! 
 Divorce wraps the millionaire's shell, 
 
 While our law courts with bribery are shriven. 
 All thirsting to make earth a hell, 
 
 But believe it, this world is a heaven. 
 
 So, brethren, what then can we do. 
 
 When through fear men will sanction a wrong? 
 Why, search all our faculties through. 
 
 And deal out the rich cordials of song. 
 Let us each say, "I'll drink at the well 
 
 Mother Nature so freely has given. 
 Let fools, if they will, make earth hell, 
 
 To me this dear world is a heaven." 
 
96 POEMS. 
 
 Sing out, and be joyous like men, 
 
 Magnetize other minds with your joy. 
 March upward with heart, tongue and pen, 
 
 And your empire will have no annoy. 
 Go visit your neighbors, and tell 
 
 Of lives noble, blessed, and forgiven. 
 And show them that earth is not hell. 
 
 But a gateway and palace of heaven. 
 
 SLEEP. 
 
 (FROM "LIFE. 
 
 Hail, darling mother, dainty Sleep ! 
 No diamond from the vasty deep, 
 No pearl that ever graced the sight 
 Can vie with her, the queen of Night — 
 Not the eclipse of Nature's ball, 
 But the soul windows in the tall 
 Grand temple of the human frame — 
 There plays she, there she sets her game, 
 There shows her fortune, and takes down 
 Recurrently the cross and crown. 
 And sets the owners in her lap. 
 Feeding them with ambrosial pap. 
 
POEMS. 97 
 
 For what are we but babes at best, 
 
 Who hang on Nature's mother breast ? 
 
 Nor need we be ashamed to say it. 
 
 She fills the bill, and means to pay it. 
 Thou pet of Nature ! None can know 
 
 Thy wealth, thy beauty, what we owe 
 
 Thee for thy kindness and thy dress 
 
 To hide us in our nakedness, 
 
 And keep us quiet while we eat, 
 
 The heavenly manna at thy feet ; 
 
 Then, resurrected to new birth. 
 
 Still find a paradise on earth, 
 
 And walk as sovereigns the abode 
 
 Where dwelleth peace, and heaven, and God. 
 
 O nurse, O mother of our joy ! 
 Thou hast a secret which nor boy. 
 Nor girl, nor parent can disclose — 
 A type far lovelier than the rose, 
 Or than the modest violets, 
 Or any of the garden pets — 
 Thou hast a treasure of the spring 
 Eternal in thy luminous wing. 
 Telling us all to be of cheer; 
 That in thy visits there are clear 
 Types of the antitypes above. 
 Where life is an eternal love ; 
 
98 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 That as we spring from thine embrace 
 On each returning morn, a grace 
 Of other times and other spheres, 
 Kising in holy grandeur, veers 
 In our perspective, and a glow 
 Seraphic charms us as we go 
 To urgent Duty. Be thou then 
 The friend and almoner of men, 
 And as we daily leave thy breast 
 May we be wiser from our rest. 
 
 EGO. 
 
 How wonderful it is to be ! 
 
 To know that this is truth. 
 To feel thy pulse, eternity, 
 
 A never-ending youth. 
 
 While on my visit to the earth 
 Clothed as a human tree, 
 
 I read the splendors of my birth 
 That tell me I am free. 
 
 My spirit nowhere is confined ; 
 
 It spans the maze between. 
 Deep in the ocean of the mind 
 
 The infinite is seen. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 What grandeur marks the palace fair 
 That Providence designed ! 
 
 And pre-estabhshed with such care 
 As wardrobe for the mind. 
 
 How gently gravitation holds 
 
 This fabric while I stay ! 
 A few hours hence the flower unfolds, 
 
 And then I fly away. 
 
 What fields of glory I may tread 
 Far in the vast unknown ! 
 
 One lesson I have ever read, 
 I never am alone. 
 
 Within this garden of my God 
 There is no room for strife. 
 
 The day, the night, the suns abroad 
 Speak of eternal life. 
 
 The little floweret in the vase 
 
 That speaks a language pleasant — 
 
 E'en there I gladly see some phase 
 Of Thee Thou ever Present. 
 
 And midst such symbols of Thy power, 
 Meek, tender, true and clear, 
 
 I lengthen out this little hour. 
 And never know a fear. 
 
 1 ^ • »« 
 
 99 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Some voice keeps ringing in nay heart 
 That in my near translation 
 
 I may behold the sacred chart 
 That opens up creation. 
 
 PATIENCE. 
 
 Thou beautiful ! fair as the sun, 
 
 And richer than all human wealth. 
 
 Dear love, the race that I have run 
 
 Is tinctured with thy hues of health. 
 
 How sad my lot, morose, unkind, 
 
 Till thy sweet presence fell on mine ! 
 
 Then opened out the the strength of mind, 
 Then glowed my path with light divine. 
 
 Then cheerfulness sang her refrain. 
 
 What active virtues roused my heart ! 
 Far fled the agonies of pain, 
 
 And joys came in to share their part. 
 
 Thou child of God — where'er I go. 
 
 In all my visits to my kind, 
 I ask my Father to bestow 
 
 The radiance of thy heavenly mind. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 O then what sunshine fills the home ! 
 
 For faith and love are there to greet. 
 Dear Patience, glad that thou art come. 
 
 I lay this tribute at thy feet. 
 
 lOI 
 
 We keep a little ilower within our portal, 
 A sweet and winsome thing, and always handy. 
 For who has Patience has a double fortune. 
 She never tires of carrying out her purpose. 
 Give her full play, and let her noon be radiant. 
 Then Magnanimity will pay us visit ; 
 For but few know her, and of those who do. 
 They never fail to treat her as an angel. 
 These breed a noble generosity, 
 Large-heartedness in coin and provender. 
 While generous in their estimate of men 
 In gathering knowledge, building character, 
 They sow a seed to benefit our kin. 
 
 How may we welcome then this heavenly boon? 
 For many homes are crushed without its bhss. 
 What wrangling there and sore perversity ! 
 Because there is no thought of God or heaven. 
 There is no time for joy to cheer the soul; 
 The cry is all for gold. 
 
J02 POEMS. 
 
 HONESTY AND CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 What is 't to live — to lift the key 
 
 And ope life's chambers wide ? 
 To peer within the mystery 
 
 Of life's undying side ? 
 Fools crowd us round and force their way 
 
 To pulpit, press and law. 
 While sheepskin and diploma play 
 
 To make their man of straw. 
 
 The man that lives — the happiest man 
 
 Goes singing through the day. 
 A wife and weans but weld his plan, 
 
 And bind his roundelay. 
 And why ? He knows that honesty 
 
 Is sweet as life itself, 
 And while he bears that sacred fee 
 
 He scorns the thought of pelf. 
 
 You speak of wealth, and pomp, and place, 
 
 But what are they to me ? 
 Here comes my friend with smiling face, 
 
 His joys set others free. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Though small his wage, his family great, 
 His heart is filled with glee. 
 
 These are our true-born men of state, 
 That make our family -tree. 
 
 103 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 O WHAT is there so sweet 
 As — when the shades of even steal around — 
 To hear of darling voices the dear sound, 
 
 The tread of infant feet ? 
 
 Faces of earnest love. 
 Tired with the toils of absence thro' long hours, 
 Rush forth within our embrace, all joy's powers 
 
 Each striving best to move. 
 
 The gush of gathering sighs, 
 And fond endearment's soothing, mellow tone, 
 The anxious ear, the ardent grasp of one. 
 
 The lustre of the eyes. 
 
 All these are but the sign 
 Of God's deep impress on the human heart. 
 Pleased we await His hand in joy or smart. 
 
 And view it as divine. 
 
104 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 O ye who seek employ 
 In courts where faith and patience ne'er are seen, 
 Nor fortitude nor gentleness serene 
 
 Sheds forth one ray of joy — 
 
 You may this treasure claim : 
 'Tis this — that faith in Him who gives us light 
 Bespeaks a blessing beautiful as bright, 
 
 And an eternal name. 
 
 Montreal, 1864. 
 
 LOOKING. 
 
 Where dwellest Thou in glory, God of life ? 
 
 For men would seek Thee. All is dark and chill 
 Without some consciousness that Thou art by — 
 
 That Thou lov'st Thy creation— that Thy will 
 Has in it entities that cannot die. 
 
 O for that knowledge — then the stress and strife 
 Are doubly welcome, since they daily bring 
 
 Credentials of Thy kinship to our race. 
 Grant us this blessing, that our lives may ring 
 
 The sunshine of Thy face. 
 
POEMS. 105 
 
 For Thou hast molded us with plastic form 
 
 And godlike symmetry, granting a soul 
 Befitting Thy conception — while the earth, 
 
 With ever- varying beauty as her dole, 
 Reflects her highest homage on our birth. 
 
 We live because thou livest — Thou the norm 
 Beauteous, eternal. Manifest Thy power 
 
 In ways that men may know Thee and rejoice. 
 Awake some welcome symbol of Thy dower — 
 
 Let all men hear Thy voice. 
 
 We love Thee, feel Thy presence, and to us 
 
 Thou art our house of comfort — our delight. 
 For, taking Nature's hand, at Thy request — 
 
 Glad is our day, and holy is our night : 
 Well satisfied Thou knowest what is best, 
 
 And so wilt do. But sin, lewd, ravenous, 
 Debauched with envy, covets every wrong, 
 
 And thrusts her horrid front near every good. 
 Declare, O God, Thy presence; Thou art strong. 
 
 Make known Thy fatherhood. 
 
I06 POEMS. 
 
 THE RESPONSE. 
 
 O CHILD of feebleness, how prone to speak 
 Thine own opinion ! Yet not vain the thought 
 That rises in thy bosom, for it proves 
 Some deeper utterance thou canst never gauge 
 With present faculty. Therefore 't is well 
 To learn and question — seed of life well sown. 
 For Nature, manifold with varied phase, 
 Seeks consonance with what of good thou hast 
 In thy dominion. Girded, then, with sense 
 To suit thy present station, and with mind 
 To range discursively o'er pleasant paths. 
 E'en to the bounds of the unseen, where thou 
 Canst view some lustre of a higher life. 
 Thou doest well to ponder, and to ask 
 The wondrous question, for thine anxious soul 
 Finds here a foretaste of a nobler birth. 
 
 The day already dawns when from this school 
 Thou shalt pass on to different scenes, and find 
 Some new revealing. Studious, then, and wise, 
 Seize cheerfully thy portion — yours to enjoy. 
 And though men arrogate the right to know 
 Time, space and substance in the infinite deeps 
 
POEMS. 107 
 
 Of their essentials — this their pasture ground 
 
 Gives scope sufficient for their highest thought, 
 
 And evidence of holier life to come. 
 
 More thou wilt know when I remove the bands 
 
 That isolate thee here, and bar the tread 
 
 Of the strange soul that on thy natal day 
 
 I breathed within thy temple. Like the breeze 
 
 Tempered by sweetest fragrance, and the charm 
 
 Of holiest silence — through the roseate hours 
 
 Rising and ebbing at the beck of law, 
 
 Thus gently to my offspring I reveal 
 
 A Father's feeling. Yours the joy to know 
 
 That Life — transcendent and in mode diverse — 
 
 Associates every good, nor shuns the low, 
 
 But walks with Love o'er the eternal space. 
 
 And though the brand of sin has touched some part 
 
 Of my creation — fools are they who dare 
 
 To foul the sense of weaker minds with vague 
 
 And profane mutterings of my secret will. 
 
 My servants bear my imprint ; for their lives 
 
 Bespeak a testimony and a pledge 
 
 That scatter blessings like the tidal sea. 
 
 Am I not Father ? I will claim my own. 
 
 The poor, rich, learned, the ignorant will find 
 
 Some throbbing in their being for the law 
 
Io8 POEMS. 
 
 I there have planted. Mine the power to do 
 
 Or undo — Mine the right to work my will 
 
 In messages of mercy, probing sore 
 
 The heart that seeks me — trying well my jewels. 
 
 And have not I a Father's heart, and feel 
 
 For my creation ? If to thee I show 
 
 Myself as Christ thy Saviour — (I who make 
 
 The dust, rich with intrinsic grandeur — suns 
 
 To nurse my own begetting) — wiU my love 
 
 Stop short of anything that love can do ? 
 
 Rest then on Him. For here thou canst not hope 
 
 A nearer vision. Speak my love to men 
 
 In the Redeemer. Faith thus keeps the soul 
 
 Active in virtue, with a consciousness 
 
 Strong in the life-blood of His righteousness. 
 
 Rest then on Him. Feeling thine every grief, 
 
 He breaks the bread of mercy, and His love 
 
 Surrounds thee as an ocean without bounds. 
 
POEMS. 109 
 
 ISRAEL. 
 
 Thou patient Jew, go hold the place 
 
 That thou hast earned by stubborn care. 
 
 While keen-eyed Justice leads our race, 
 No bigot hoof shall trample there. 
 
 No narrow church dare force our laws 
 To rob thee of thine honest right, 
 
 No racial spirit raise its crest 
 To brand thee with a nation's spite. 
 
 Ye men of industry and peace 
 
 Come to our arms — our land is wide. 
 
 The world owes Israel a debt 
 That cannot longer be denied. 
 
 Though silly fools have taken stock 
 Through centuries long to cut thee down, 
 
 Now Justice vows, with oath and sword, 
 That man shall pay thee due renown. 
 
 THE YEARS. 
 
 BLESSED years, how sweet to me ! 
 Your presence fills my heart with glee. 
 What hosts of friends have passed away. 
 Yet Time salutes me, well-a-day ! 
 
POEMS. 
 
 And years go out, and years come in 
 To crown the conquest over sin. 
 
 Say, life, what art thou in thy prime? 
 A ray of holiness divine? 
 An aura from the heavenly face? 
 A vestment from the secret place? 
 A spark of that diviner breath 
 That proves the victory over death? 
 
 life, how beautiful thou art ! 
 A paradise within the heart. 
 Where the Creator as a guest 
 Day after day, at our behest. 
 Comes in, and bids us all rejoice 
 Beneath the music of His voice. 
 
 WILLIAM THE SILENT. 
 
 Sung at a meeting in Newton, Mass., '95. 
 
 We bless thee. Father, for this hour. 
 To sing Thy hallowed praise, 
 
 That points to memories of Thy power 
 And love in other days, 
 
POEMS. 
 
 When, in the black and lurid night, 
 This child of Freedom came. 
 
 His standard pointing to the light, 
 And pleading for Thy name. 
 
 We thank Thee for Thy Book of Truth, 
 
 He placed in reach of all : 
 And as its cheer for age and youth 
 
 Eang through the hut and hall. 
 He fenced its rights with ribs of steel 
 
 And hearts of faith and prayer. 
 That following ages might reveal 
 
 The wealth embosomed there. 
 
 Whatever spot on earth we tread. 
 
 We speak his name with joy; 
 He came, and Freedom reared her head, 
 
 And gave her sons employ. 
 Now human minds in every clime 
 
 Rejoice beneath her reign ; 
 Things circumstantial grow sublime, 
 
 And virtue reaps her gain. 
 
 Now industry assumes her task. 
 
 And science plies her hand ; 
 Our fertile fields yield what we ask, 
 
 And plenty crowns the land. 
 
112 POEMS. 
 
 Broad, healthy learning fills the state, 
 Born of the public school, 
 
 And prelates well may hesitate 
 E'er they discard the rule. 
 
 Swift roll the years, and in their flow 
 
 The hearts of men are free ; 
 Love, wisdom, gladness, beauty show 
 
 Thy boon of Liberty. 
 We thank Thee, Thou beloved One, 
 
 The Bible still is ours ; 
 We thank Thee for its victories won. 
 
 The riches it endowers. 
 
 We thank Thee for its Christmas time, 
 
 That makes us friends again ; 
 Its thought of Christ in every clime 
 
 Awakens love in men. 
 And so we pledge this hallowed day 
 
 This treasure to defend. 
 O God ! our Saviour and our stay. 
 
 Be this our aim and end. 
 
POEMS. 113 
 
 PHOEBE'S SONG. 
 
 FROM *'ALBYNLAND," A RELIGIOUS DRAMA. 
 
 A SIMPLE maid, I love to sing, 
 
 And while the hours away ; 
 For time and I are on the wing. 
 
 And I must be merry to-day. 
 Hail, happy morn ! when daylight comes, 
 
 It wakes this sweet refrain — 
 Sing when you can, love when you may. 
 
 Life was not given in vain. 
 
 I roam the valleys when I will. 
 
 Or walk the crowded streets. 
 Nor can I keep a moment still. 
 
 Life is so full of sweets. 
 I cannot think the Saviour meant 
 
 That we should fret and pine ; 
 And where I go, the laughing face 
 
 Meets sympathy in mine. 
 
 The tears that start fall not in vain, 
 
 While I love the Giver of all : 
 The hand that sprinkles the welcome rain. 
 
 Lifts me gently when I fall ; 
 
114 POEMS. 
 
 And my heart is light, and my hopes are bright, 
 
 For I Ve nothing else to know, 
 Than to scatter abroad the love of God, 
 
 And comfort the house of woe. 
 
 Come, let us unite when life is ours. 
 
 Singing out right merrily. 
 And show our loves like the summer flowers. 
 
 In a joy that is fair and free. 
 For the sunlight is but the house of God, 
 
 And we are worshippers there ; 
 Our life is a temple to His praise, 
 
 A tribute of His care. 
 
 Lines written at the home of Mr. Angus Blieu, Milford, Conn. 
 Oct. 19, '98, where I sought shelter from the raging storm. 
 
 Dear Lord, how wonderful thy hand ! 
 
 How fair and gentle too ! 
 Thou sendest tempests o'er the land 
 
 To keep it sweet and new. 
 
 Thou openest clefts within the rock 
 
 For all thy children dear, 
 And mirrored in the autumn's blast 
 
 Thy beauties bright appear. 
 
POEMS. IT5 
 
 Thou wondrous Being, Life Divine, 
 
 Eich with refreshing grace. 
 Make us to-day rejoice with love 
 
 That now we see Thy face. 
 
 Then let us strive in Christ Thy Son 
 
 To spread thy light abroad, 
 And ever bear the hallowed truth 
 
 That we are born of God. 
 
 LIVING. 
 
 Living well and knowing why — 
 Such are they that never die. 
 Cares may like a mountain press. 
 But the mind is given to bless. 
 Light and beauty ever shine 
 In this thought of the Divine. 
 
 Aye, 'tis true, mind never dies. 
 Only Duty wins the prize. 
 They that dare degrade mankind. 
 And are to the virtues blind, 
 Pass adown oblivion's shade 
 Where a justice debt is paid. 
 
ri6 POEMS. 
 
 Look and question — 't is our right. 
 Some response will break the night. 
 Clothed with faculties divine, 
 Let us keep them well in line, 
 Temperance and love and truth 
 Ever bear the grace of youth. 
 
 Hope, sincerity and joy, 
 With the seraphs they employ, 
 Point out every fleeting day 
 Mind shall never pass away. 
 When our robe falls to the ground. 
 Still a nobler one is found. 
 
 No, dear reader, God-given mind 
 Never was for death designed. 
 Pain, disorder, vice assail, 
 Christ is helmsman in the gale. 
 Look within, around, above. 
 Death can never conquer love. 
 
POEMS. 117 
 
 THE SONG OF CIVILIZATION. 
 
 To my most excellent friend, Peter Ross, LL. D., whose 
 writings have charmed me many an hour. 
 
 I FLY o'er the earth with my messengers swift, 
 
 And awaken the world with my song. 
 And the sages and heroes of old I uplift 
 
 On my wings as I journey along. 
 The children of Duty I press to my heart 
 
 For the grace they bestow on my train, 
 For their bands of affection and genius impart 
 
 A repose like the sweet summer rain. 
 There is mirth, there is music wherever I go, 
 
 With a hatred of violence and wrong. 
 From the lands of the sun to the lands of the snow 
 
 I bear healing that minds may be strong. 
 
 I gladden the world with a rapture divine 
 
 For the grasp of our faculties here ; 
 And the guardians of bounty I place all in line 
 
 That the future may love and revere. 
 I am whispering each day in the course that I take 
 
 Of the grandeur of life in the race, 
 And the dense walls of ignorance quickly I break, 
 
 And endow every realm with my grace. 
 
Ii8 POEMS. 
 
 I am hastening the hour when the spear shall be 
 turned 
 To the pruning hook spoken by God ; 
 I am hastening the day when the sword shall be 
 burned, 
 And made useful in turning the sod. 
 
 Wickliffe, Huss and Spinoza stand well in the right, 
 
 Knox, Savonarola and More. 
 With Luther, these worthies declare for the light, 
 
 That the nations may learn of their store. 
 When Philip's armada sought fury and blood, 
 
 I welcomed the wind o'er the sea. 
 Old Britain was brave, and her soldiers were good. 
 
 But the wild waves won trophies for me. 
 When the dread ' 'No Surrender"of Derry was heard, 
 
 And Orange spoke peace unto man ; 
 When Cromwell's and Washington's pulses were 
 stirred. 
 
 Then my conquests in earnest began. 
 
 With Milton and Shakespeare unfolding the truth, 
 And weird Spenser scattering her flowers, 
 
 Scott, Tennyson, Keats, in the vigor of youth 
 Bless the nations with plentiful showers. 
 
POEMS. 119 
 
 With Handel and Mozart, with Brougham and Peel, 
 
 Ramsay, Burns singing loud at the board ; 
 With Goethe, Gray, Harvey, Browne, Addison, Steele, 
 
 AH partaking of Gutenberg's hoard — 
 Kant, Leibnitz, Descartes, Bacon firm as a rock ; 
 
 Hunter, Hamilton, Nelson, Carlyle, 
 Learned Hale, Newton, Swedenborg, Kepler and 
 Locke — 
 
 All shower forth their gifts on my Nile. 
 
 Stanley, Humboldt, Park, Livingstone open a path 
 
 Where stout progress may ride round the world ; 
 While Wallace and Bruce, and keen Wellington's 
 wrath 
 
 Has the dear flag of freedom unfurled. 
 Here Longfellow, Bryant, Holmes throw out their 
 arms, 
 
 And invite the whole world to their cheer, 
 Where Lincoln and Grant quelled the despots' 
 alarms. 
 
 And banished the demons of fear. 
 Morse, Arkwright, MacAdam, MacCormack and Watt, 
 
 With Edison lighting the spheres — 
 Daguerre and Jacobi — how noble the lot 
 
 Of my children who honor the years ! 
 
120 POEMS. 
 
 Cudworth, Barrow, MacCosh, and the eloquent Pitt, 
 
 Abelard, Bossuet, Lamartine, 
 Sully, D'Israeli, Bismarck and Gladstone remit 
 
 Inspiration to make life serene. 
 Hobbes, Cowley, and Jenner hold but one repast, 
 
 With Dante and droll Macchiavel — 
 While Beecher, Brooks, Spurgeon preached up to 
 the last 
 
 Earth is heaven though fools make it hell. 
 With Gibbon and Dryden, and Priestley and Pope 
 
 This old world is better to-day. 
 With Angelo, Hogarth and Turner's proud hope, 
 
 And Montaigne wit and Ruskin assay. 
 
 Lo, the names that I bear on my standard of war ! 
 
 Calvin, Diderot, Hume, St. Pierre. 
 Wesley, Warburton, Paley, and Butler's bright star, 
 
 Montesquieu, Cham Johnson the Bear. 
 Sterne, Rabelais, Hugo, Swift laughed out of place 
 
 The dark age malaria of shame, 
 While Cowper, Watts, Marvell, and Berkeley's soft 
 grace 
 
 Opened up a new pathway to fame. 
 Hail, Cranmer and Latimer, Baxter and Coke, 
 
 Boerhaave, Grotius, Defoe, Moliere! 
 The words that Hood, Greeley, and Emerson spoke 
 
 Still enhance the world's rich bill of fare. 
 
POEMS. 121 
 
 Come, then, to my breast all ye children of art, 
 
 Of song, faith, and heavenly cheer. 
 Deal forth with thanksgiving the wealth of the heart, 
 
 Nor be swayed by the demons of fear. 
 No more shall vile demagogues dare to intrude 
 
 Where the sponsors of genius hold sway, 
 No more shall the nations seek war's interlude 
 
 To wash all their sorrows away. 
 Near and nearer we sail to the temple of truth, 
 
 Near and nearer to God and His throne, 
 Where man seeks his glory, his beauty, his youth. 
 
 And his freedom and joy are his own. 
 
 STRENGTH WITH AGE. 
 
 Welcome years ! we hear your voice 
 Gather strength with age ! 
 
 Feeble minds cannot rejoice 
 In their pilgrimage. 
 
 Yet we will, so help us God, 
 
 Triumph though we feel the rod. 
 
 Therefore we must go well shod. 
 Seeking strength with age. 
 
122 POEMS. 
 
 Appetite pulls giants down, 
 
 Down to low degree. 
 Virtue, will, must guard our crown. 
 
 Iron though it be. 
 Life is not a libel — no ! 
 Though our path be flecked with woe. 
 Watch, my brother, wiser grow 
 
 If you would be free. 
 
 O what slaves on earth we meet ! 
 
 Men without a mind. 
 With God-armor all complete, 
 
 Grovelling like the hind. 
 Never standing for their own, 
 Till they find some putrid bone, 
 Which they kiss with sigh and moan. 
 
 Such is human kind. 
 
 O'er the earth we daily go. 
 
 Following Duty's plan. 
 Wondering what can Nature show 
 
 To her creature man, 
 Faithful to her God Most High. 
 Though beside, with demon eye, 
 Perjury, hate and cruelty 
 
 Daily strut the span. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Mammon striking right and left 
 
 With her lecher claws, 
 Dogma eating out a cleft 
 
 For abnormal laws. 
 While the many-millioned throng 
 Hearkening to the siren song, 
 Sink within the maelstrom wrong, 
 
 'Mid the fools' applause. 
 
 Aye, good Nature's ways are pure. 
 
 And our God is wise. 
 Man may live, and may secure 
 
 Honesty's emprise. 
 Freedom, chastity— what wealth ! 
 All is riches here and health. 
 Though the mass court strife and stealth. 
 
 Here is paradise. 
 
 123 
 
 BEING. 
 
 Some trace or phasis then of life 
 Epitomized is ever rife 
 In everything — the ocean sand 
 Betrays it — the firm mountain band 
 
124 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Of granite — balmy airs that blow, 
 Rain, sunshine, crystals of the snow ; 
 Huge fossils sleeping in the mine, 
 The rhododendron and the pine, 
 Hues, odors, flowers of every form 
 Show life up to a certain norm. 
 Nor can the mind's perplexing thought 
 Touch on a theme where life is not. 
 Generically true, a power 
 Or principle of life gives dower 
 To all creation in detail — 
 Thus law and harmony prevail. 
 And nature all along the line 
 Proclaims with mind a source divine. 
 
 Some, from the want of sense, express 
 Both in the pulpit and the press. 
 The thought that nature is unkind. 
 Now what is nature but the mind 
 Of the Creator in the mode 
 Of action on the thing bestowed ? 
 Life covers all. We merely trace 
 The simplest fraction of its face. 
 Organic — inorganic things — 
 All hint to us life's whisperings, 
 All bear the fiat of a birth 
 Superior to, not of the earth. 
 
POEMS. 125 
 
 And, like a babe upon the breast, 
 
 We gaze with wonder at our rest, 
 
 Right in the centre of a sea, 
 
 Above, below, eternity. 
 
 What is this wondrous life we hold ? 
 
 Its nature ? whence its primal fold ? 
 
 Its margin in the wealth we see, 
 
 Its beauty, purpose, purity? 
 
 Its music, fragrance, or the bloom 
 
 It daily weaves in Nature's loom? 
 
 Perplexing theme, whose dual force 
 Forever holds in its resource 
 Worlds upon worlds, revolving all 
 In countless orbits great and small. 
 From galaxies to grains of sand, 
 Where Order ever speaks command, 
 Translucent all to some great power 
 Ruling the universal hour. 
 
 Some from the windows of the soul 
 See their estate ; while some unroll 
 A hidden sense, no mortal eye 
 Deciphers, and with that espy 
 The wondrous garniture of mind ; 
 Some their perceptions have designed 
 To gather truth in such a vein 
 The world counts shallow and inane ; 
 
126 POEMS. 
 
 Some, strange, incongruous in their form, 
 
 Like battered hulks amid the storm. 
 
 Bear witness of a throne within 
 
 Where senates meet without a sin. 
 
 In childhood some blaze in the flame 
 
 Of genius, then go as they came. 
 
 While others walk through lengthened years 
 
 In dullness, when their light appears. 
 
 A few, deprived of outer sense, 
 
 The Bridgmans, find their competence 
 
 In hidden gifts whose weight and worth 
 
 Throw grand refulgence o'er the earth. 
 
 How much or little may be said. 
 
 Life's riddle never can be read. 
 
 Right in our midst, each passing hour 
 
 Discloses in our frames its power. 
 
 New beings burst upon the scene, 
 
 And yet those powers that intervene 
 
 To bring creations to the light 
 
 Lie hidden in the blackest night. 
 
POEMS. 127 
 
 TO JOHN D. ROSS, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " SCOTTISH POETS IN AIVIERICA," ETC., 
 ON HIS FORTIETH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Life is to me a heritage of good, 
 
 That blossoms ever into summer flowers, 
 And thus I walk the sacred neighborhood 
 
 Of minds congenial with the rolling hours, 
 Who ring auspicious birthdays for the soul. 
 
 So have I thought of thee, and I would fain 
 Ask blessings on the path that points thy goal— 
 That joys and years may sing thee long refrain. 
 For thou art here with us, an honest man. 
 
 One of the rarest of the human kind. 
 Looking for sweets within the poet's plan. 
 
 Clothed with the highest embassy of mind— 
 And thoughts all roseate with angelic grace, 
 The opening buds of genius, meet our eye; 
 This be thy great vocation here — to trace 
 
 The beauty and the love that cannot die. 
 Gentle reminders of immortal life, 
 Which nor black perfidy, nor hate, nor strife 
 
 Can blur the beauteous picture thou hast given. 
 On this October morn, thy natal day. 
 Unnumbered graces cheer thee on thy way. 
 As thou art cheering us with gathered hues of 
 heaven. 
 
128 POEMS. 
 
 COMMON SENSE PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Some years on earth I love to cast 
 My vision o'er the vivid past, 
 And in the shimmering mists behold 
 What sage or prophet never told — 
 That pure undying love is found 
 All over man's inmiortal ground. 
 'Tis grandly sweet to live and grow, 
 And each day something nobler know : 
 Our faculties and inner sense 
 Are fitted for such competence. 
 
 Now my concept of life is odd — 
 And certainly my faith in God 
 Is strong — yet this I know right well 
 Were 't not for fight earth would be hell. 
 And Nature giving me good leaven, 
 Thinks I, I '11 find this world a heaven. 
 And so I have, though fools will prate 
 When I am gone — "Poor man, too late! 
 He might have done well had he tried. 
 He slept too long, he waked and died." 
 So critics howl, from mind inane, 
 In spatterdashes of the brain. 
 
POEMS. 129 
 
 Of all philosophies, the best 
 Is that wherein man finds his rest 
 Grows easier as the days go by, 
 No matter how the years may fly. 
 If men go courting Bacchus' shrine, 
 And let mad Passion wield the line 
 Through all their years, why, let them go, 
 And die and be forgot. Not so 
 The man that triumphs over time, 
 And makes this little life sublime. 
 If he but utter one sure thought 
 Through all his years, God bless his lot ! 
 For such conception will outgrow 
 The whole anabasis of woe, 
 In influence and stretch of power, 
 Nature's own guarantee of dower. 
 
 In this great tempest fleld of care 
 I tell you I have had my share. 
 And yet I should be knave indeed 
 Were I to let it run to seed 
 As many do ; and hence the wrongs 
 That goad the earth with sores and thongs. 
 Materialism builds her shrine 
 Within the heart, and there men dine, 
 And seldom waken to the fact 
 Life must be spiritual in act. 
 
30 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Their eye just rises to the sense, 
 
 And cannot soar to Providence. 
 
 Living on pottage all their days, 
 
 Kneeling like puppets at the plays. 
 
 Their little life is cold as stone 
 
 Right near the glow of God's own throne. 
 
 Nor is it wise to look on life 
 As but a vehicle of strife. 
 Intemperance befathers that. 
 Let alcohol then be the rat — 
 But set your trap well if you can, 
 For alcohol 's a friend of man. 
 This is the plea of common sense, 
 And all our boasted eloquence 
 Will ne'er disparge this great truth 
 That life is an eternal youth. 
 The negative, the sour, the sweet 
 In marshalled order stand complete 
 In general law, but danger springs 
 From resting on but partial things. 
 
 Man may be happy if he will. 
 Let governments this truth instil — 
 Who gave us life gave us the rein. 
 Through mind, sensation, nerve and brain, 
 To honor life while dwelling here. 
 To know the worth of hope and fear, 
 
POEMS. 131 
 
 These sentinels kind Heaven assigned 
 To act as gateways of the mind. 
 
 So live and do the best you can, 
 For Duty makes a god of man. 
 We know right well what Duty means. 
 She never hides behind the scenes. 
 To man the noblest blessing given. 
 Watch well her face, you 're sure of heaven. 
 
 TO 
 MRS. ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. 
 Dear lady, I should greet your name, 
 For Nature gave you store so great, 
 You wisely set it up in state. 
 
 And pay your honest meed to fame. 
 
 And hearts are gladdened as you look 
 Deep in the archives of the soul, 
 And daily some new thought unroll 
 
 To help us from your Nature book. 
 
 This feverish age of joys and jars 
 Withal has some good store of sense. 
 For young and old find recompense 
 
 In your credenda of our wars. 
 
132 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 You find great good in life, 'Tis well. 
 Some thousands live, nor find it blest. 
 You teach that honesty is best, 
 
 And thus save many souls from hell. 
 
 A few stout genuine hearts like thine 
 Would lift up peoples from the sod, 
 And minds would learn to think of God, 
 
 And make this little life divine. 
 
 LITERARY DIPSOMANIACS. 
 
 What a filthy piece of work 
 Is this living like the Turk ! 
 In the market, mill or church 
 We may find it without search. 
 And I often wonder why 
 Thousands will not rather die 
 Than to have their night life bring 
 Virus, infamy and sting. 
 
 All this purse-proud class of men 
 Dancing in the Devil's den. 
 Think, because their air is grand. 
 They have Caliban in hand. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 And to mold him as they please, 
 They will trick him by degrees, 
 Start the lie and bribe to win, 
 Then to church to hide the sin. 
 
 O how little, base and mean 
 When one gets behind the scene ! 
 Where these pharisees, so bland, 
 Lose all sense of self-command. 
 Though as leaders the next day 
 They will preach or even pray, 
 Telling mortals to be good, 
 Pointing to God's fatherhood. 
 
 Most men, weary of the shame 
 Thrust upon the Christian name 
 By these monsters of the slime. 
 Have but little faith to climb. 
 Thus the Christian work goes slow, 
 Hemmed on every side by woe. 
 Yet God's truth will be revealed. 
 All are safe beneath His shield. 
 
 133 
 
134 POEMS. 
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 Why does stem History always force your name 
 
 On our attention ? Equity pleads here ; 
 
 But equity insists on sovereign rights, 
 
 And bids us claim them. Some would angels be, 
 
 And love an easy freedom, where no fight 
 
 Would ever mar their heartstrings or their door. 
 
 And to this end they will play puppetry, 
 
 And sink their sense of honor. Here's the rub. 
 
 Truth will not have it so. 'Tis, do or die. 
 
 Ah, there's the secret then in full revealed. 
 
 An easy love of freedom will not pay ; 
 
 It never has. For indolence creeps in, 
 
 And over-confidence with dupery. 
 
 Where soft Deceit is daily dined and wined, 
 
 Where godlike Truth is left to sit in rags, 
 
 Then man forgets the all that makes a man. 
 
 War, rabid war, is better far than life 
 
 All gangrened with the leprosy of lust 
 
 And foul damnation — than those moral plagues 
 
 That eat as cancers in a nation's soul. 
 
 Let us be fair. Of those that speak your name 
 Some turn aghast and tremble, and thus shirk 
 The only manhood that will keep us men ; 
 
POEMS. 135 
 
 The other class, who think, observe and read. 
 Point to your noblest triumphs with esteem, 
 Nor hesitate to say such faithful work 
 Strengthens the bulwark of our liberties ; 
 And also with the years gives godlier hint 
 That truth and light must govern— that no laws 
 Dare longer play the Constance game, nor pull 
 The stepping stones away that God and truth 
 Reveal while giving us some glimpse of heaven. 
 For if they dare, not only one, but ten 
 Inexorable Cromwells will pour in, 
 And, like the Lisbon earthquake in its rage, 
 Will slay their thousands as the penalty. 
 Why is it superstition's mildewed air 
 So wraps the world in shadow, that frail folk, 
 As numbers are, will kiss the prelate's hand 
 Eather than think the honest thoughts of man? 
 They gather palls and mitres, stoles of gold, 
 Gewgaws of plated ware to catch the eye, 
 Symbols in multitude to wake the sense, 
 And will not, with their consciousness divine, 
 Look onward farther than their finger point. 
 
 O vengeful Cromwell !— just as Joshua came 
 To do God's bidding, with a sword unsheathed, 
 And tears and blood and ruin swept the land 
 
136 POEMS. 
 
 For disobedience, for that hellish love 
 
 Of things infernal — when our Maker's gifts, 
 
 In marvelous fulness, bade us look to Him — 
 
 Thou great enigma of the modern age. 
 
 Thou standest as a warning to the world. 
 
 Here man, uneducated to true life, 
 
 Walks with his senses closed, and giddy shame 
 
 And bigotry run riot to their doom, 
 
 As 't was with Europe when thy sceptred arm 
 
 Struck sore and deep and sharp — when once for all 
 
 State prelacy, the centuries' last disgrace, 
 
 Had to fall back and eat its gangrened food ; 
 
 When thou didst plume the torch of liberty, 
 
 And warn the crafty nations not to dare 
 
 Tear down this talisman or blood should flow. 
 
 Old Britain, love the name that gave thee life, 
 And young America, list with keen ears — 
 Nor let ecclesiast nor charlatan 
 Presume to drag him down whose honored name 
 Is yet a virgin tower of strength for those 
 Who wish to spread God's gospel o'er the world. 
 The jobbernowls are gathering in the courts. 
 And strive to keep thee hidden out of sight ; 
 But truth shall conquer. Honored be Carlyle, 
 Who laid thy life in full before the crowds, 
 Teaching deliverance when the hour is ripe. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 137 
 
 Teaching that truth and justice ne'er will die. 
 No sham religious stock in trade was thine, 
 No hypocritic leer, no lying tongue, 
 As foes will dare maintain — no maudlin airs, 
 But a keen sense of justice, stern and true ; 
 Sharp as the needle, cutting as the sword. 
 
 O Cromwell, there be with us crooked men, 
 Compound of pharisee and pessimist, 
 With oily tongue to blabber rapidly 
 And hide their ignorance — who jump to power 
 And keep the Jupiter stride thro' kneeling crowds, 
 Breeding quick fever for their own destruction. 
 No patriot zeal allures them on their way — 
 But rather how much money can they make, 
 Or how best tide the prurient side of things 
 To guile men's fancy, throwing nets around, 
 With swinish leer, oft from the Bacchus stall 
 And perjured shrine — that the poor fools who read, 
 But will not think, may proffer them their vote, 
 Put them in place, then curse themselves for shame. 
 
 Yes, History speaks with sacredness and awe 
 Of Cromwell's mission. And the Almighty One 
 Who sent thee here, gave lesson for all time 
 That when Diabolism grinds us sore 
 Through church or state, and the long weary crowd 
 Of Heaven's own children are crushed down like slaves, 
 God will speak vengeance through a man like thee. 
 
138 POEMS. 
 
 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 Loved and illustrious name that time endears ! 
 A world gives welcome, born of joys and tears. 
 Beloved of God, endowered to do His will. 
 Beloved of man, his cup of joy to fill. 
 Guardian of peace upon the world's highway, 
 Awakening nations to a brighter day. 
 Thy torch bade medieval night retire. 
 Thy thought awakened being's best desire. 
 For Freedom threw her laurels at thy feet. 
 And earth's oppressed found there a mercy-seat, 
 Seeking the Book of Life, that all might read, 
 And gather in some fruitage from the seed. 
 
 Bathed in the sunshine that thy work has wrought, 
 The right of private judgment crowns our thought, 
 And thus, ennobling, sways the world for good, 
 And lauds our plea for human brotherhood. 
 Thus, till a brighter day dawns on the world, 
 And Christ's one flag be everywhere unfurled, 
 O Titans of the earth, protect the seed ! 
 Thank God for freedom, though the purse may bleed ! 
 
POEMS. 139 
 
 JOHN KNOX. 
 
 Scotland, behold him well who knew thy worth. 
 And made thee great and loved o'er all the earth, 
 Who pulled the medieval barriers down, 
 And gave an open Bible for thy crown; 
 Who made thy name a passport o'er all lands 
 Where Scotsmen tread with willing hearts and hands. 
 Illustrious name ! o'er all the world enshrined 
 In hearts that know the grandeur of the mind. 
 When superstition paled before thy sight, 
 And Scotia looked to thee for living light, 
 When thou to her wast all — O in that hour 
 What radiance filled the nations from thy power ! 
 For Peace soon followed thee with angel grace, 
 At Wisdom's call, to take her destined place. 
 And we to-day look on the mellowed light, 
 And thank our God it is no longer night. 
 
 What strength and sturdiness, brave Knox, are found 
 In hearts that plough thy rich and classic ground ! 
 For, as a name superne that never dies. 
 Thy victories stimulate us to emprise. 
 Where in the onset ignorance goes down. 
 And freedom, life and light possess the crown. 
 
140 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 No sense of hazard daunted thy career, 
 Thy thought, resistless, flashed without a fear, 
 And sank within the furrows of the mind, 
 To blossom in new Edens for our kind — 
 That when our children, fainting by the way, 
 Seek rest and strength from conflict thro' the day, 
 Go to the Book, and know that it is free. 
 Their highest converse oft will turn to thee. 
 
 O Liberty, wrapped in thy robe of light ! 
 Blest are the hearts that know thee in thy might. 
 Within the sunshine that thy work has wrought 
 The wide expanse is opened to our thought, 
 And Scotland points to Knox as one bright name 
 That called thee forth to spread the sacred flame — 
 Freedom to read the precious Word of God, 
 Freedom to speak the truth on every sod, 
 To open up the ample wealth of mind. 
 To break the fetters of all human kind ; 
 Bid faith, intelligence and reason reign. 
 And thus lift man to his appointed plane. 
 So wrought John Knox, and as the years unfold 
 They write the story on a cloth of gold. 
 That all may look and learn, and wiser grow, 
 Where Peace and Liberty their wealth bestow. 
 
POEMS. 141 
 
 THE HEAVENS. 
 
 What avenues of joy are found 
 
 Within the astronomic round 
 
 Of Nature, chastened with the stars 
 
 Traveling the spaces, like the cars 
 
 Of the Creator, all arrayed 
 
 In lustre He Himself hath made, 
 
 The concave glistening in the dress 
 
 Like a sweet robe of righteousness. 
 
 How grandly beautiful the sun 
 
 That, bridegroom like, sets out to run 
 
 His race, and in the gorgeous east 
 
 Throws flakes of gold impearled and drest 
 
 In circling waves of ruby light, 
 
 And shows his advent o'er the night ! 
 
 Ah, little know the unthinking crowd 
 The beauty, loveliness endowed 
 Within the heavens when holy Night 
 Draws forth her mantle, and the bright 
 Effulgence of a throne divine, 
 Piercing the azure as a mine 
 Of richest gold, falls on the soul, 
 And hints of some celestial goal. 
 
142 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 To cultivate a pleasing grace, 
 And pleasing manners, turn your face 
 Betimes to quiet country scenes. 
 And grasp the wealth that intervenes 
 In rustic arts, but far above — 
 O symbol of divinest love ! 
 Through the pellucid air the zones 
 Flame out with rapture in their tones. 
 Still Lyra fills the heavens with sound, 
 While Hydra trails the nether ground. 
 Still Ophiuchus grasps the Snake, 
 And plants his foot on Scorpio's neck. 
 See poor Andromeda in chains. 
 While Perseus, lover-like, still deigns 
 To give deliverance : still his sons 
 Arcturus leads ; Orion runs 
 His race ; and thus the galaxies 
 Forever sail the eternal seas. 
 
 Kesplendent heavens ! what grand acclaina 
 Rings at the mention of your name ! 
 Assyria, Egypt, Palestine, 
 Arabia, and the shores that line 
 Old Medius Terra. Still we see, 
 Dear Greece, thy noblest progeny, 
 Beyond the amethystine sea, 
 
POEMS. 143 
 
 Proof that in pristine years thy great, 
 Translated to celestial state, 
 Left trophies for our modern seers, 
 That ring the anthems of the years. 
 Kome called us homo from the ground. 
 But anthropos made thee renowned. 
 And grave philosophers assign 
 Thy grandeur verged on the divine. 
 
 GOOD NATURE THE ESSENCE 
 OF LIFE. 
 
 Good nature is the sauce of life. 
 And gives to every man and wife 
 A tonic with their daily bread, 
 An honest truth too little said. 
 While with a tincture of good sense 
 It proves a fortress of defence. 
 With these two marvels may be done, 
 They throw a radiance like the sun, 
 And fortunate the man who steers 
 His vessel where their light appears. 
 Such men are never out of sorts, 
 Their storehouse fits them their retorts. 
 
r44 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 They bear their daily repartee, 
 
 Just suited to the day's degree. 
 
 And when they mount the rostrum — well, 
 
 What votive crowds around them swell ! 
 
 And give them plaudits for their thought. 
 
 E'en though they blunder — though a spot 
 
 May jar the argument. Men like 
 
 A fluent preacher apt to strike. 
 
 Those moral saddlebags who climb 
 
 The platform, who pause for a time — 
 
 Then stop and stop, as if some log 
 
 Bumped sorely on their theologue — 
 
 Arrest our pity more than those 
 
 Whose college diet is a dose 
 
 Of little Latin and less Greek, 
 
 But grandly earnest when they seek 
 
 In crowded houses to explore 
 
 Their theme, and roll it o'er and o'er : 
 
 And where the rhetoric rises strong, 
 
 And sends a dread within the throng. 
 
 From fear the speaker cannot hold 
 
 The climax gracefully, behold 
 
 He clinches some abortive thing 
 
 In undertone, then gives a ring — 
 
 Amen ! and loud amens resound. 
 
 The speaker smiles, and holds his ground. 
 
POEMS. 145 
 
 So have we seen, nor should condemn 
 The plots men lay to comfort them 
 In straits like these — not ne'er so bad 
 As Wall street brokers, margin mad. 
 Who hold their place at church and school 
 While they can keep their coffers full. 
 
 O life, thou art a checkered thing ! 
 We take the honey, take the sting ; 
 We love the candid Christian, true, 
 And though we do not care a cue 
 For driveling Dives in his lust, 
 We flatter till he downs the dust. 
 Then if he likes to go in peace, 
 He's lucky if all scandals cease. 
 
 THE TEACHER'S OFFICE. 
 
 Teachers are sadly wanted in our midst — 
 Men, women, gifted with the powers of knowing, 
 Who gauge the riches of a pure humility ; 
 Who speak with eyes and ears as well as tongue, 
 Who in their every movement preach a sermon— 
 Whose actions, graceful as the running brooks, 
 Still breathe a consciousness of sweet devotion. 
 The world needs teachers like good St. Pierre, 
 
[46 POEMS. 
 
 Large in philanthropy, in peace secure, 
 
 A friend in poverty to make men rise, 
 
 A guide in affluence to keep men watchful. 
 
 He passed from earth as one going on a journey. 
 
 Good teachers never fail in gifts of prescience. 
 An insight grounded on nice observation. 
 The envied gift of statesmen and of courts. 
 Those slippery speakers pranking on the hustings, 
 Or those obstreperous charlatans in the pulpit — 
 Or sycophants who flush you into favor 
 In most unheard of paths — resort to cozenage 
 As insects court the sun — they fatten on it. 
 The question prompts, is this their place in nature ? 
 
 There is a little plant within the valley 
 That eaten speedily takes out the poison, 
 And the brute, strengthened, goes again to battle. 
 So Nature deals with each one of her children. 
 She helps them over stiles and difficulties. 
 That with experience they may hold their vantage. 
 A few make headway, and eliminate 
 The unsexual element in all their labors. 
 And on the generalization build foundation, 
 Nor will the fall of dynasties unhinge them. 
 These, poor or rich, are far-seeing kings and loyal. 
 And peacefully tide many a nation onward 
 By wisdom, art, and precious literature. 
 
POEMS. 147 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 I CAME a spirit from another sphere, 
 
 To view the earth, as law of my estate 
 
 Entitled me, and, as I touched its zone. 
 
 Passed through new life, and grew as does the flower. 
 
 Yet in a richer mold and nobler frame. 
 
 Here walk I reaUy in a spiritual world. 
 
 With eyes half spiritual, as all men's are. 
 
 To sweep the compass suited to my being. 
 
 These planets, training schools of the Divine, 
 
 For His immortal children, are ensphered 
 
 In the eternal embrace of His love. 
 
 Thus as the seasons roll, and years creep round 
 
 My intuitions ripen, and I find 
 
 I soon must change this scene for other worlds. 
 
 Earth gave to me its share of bliss and bale. 
 
 But when I analyzed this thing called sin 
 
 And its dire progeny, I cried for shame, 
 
 And left the lap of woe for joy's embrace. 
 
 Large hosts here covet woe, and call earth hell. 
 
 And speak God infamous whose name is love. 
 They wassail in a thousand goblin fears. 
 That murder, lust and venom have their way. 
 
148 POEMS. 
 
 Earth is a paradise to me, though poor 
 
 In earthly phrase ; they surely are not rich 
 
 Who fence with perfidy while eating gold. 
 
 I cannot violate my charter deed, 
 
 For Nature scorns it ; and, thus, isolate, 
 
 I see my children sailing round the sands 
 
 Where avarice and intrigue ply their nets, 
 
 And pray that Heaven may watch them as they steer 
 
 Their vessel onward. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 In early life, ere Fancy led my steps, 
 
 Or Wisdom looked with her abstersive eye, 
 
 I wondered at a presence near my side — 
 
 'Twas but a picture, rude and strangely lined, 
 
 Like seraph standing at the eternal gate, 
 
 And peering inward for some revelation. 
 
 Day after day I ran with reverent haste 
 
 To the large volume that adorned the shelves — 
 
 Opening the book with awed and chaste delight, 
 
 And kissed those eyes that seemed to look in mine. 
 
 Then, closing guardedly the page, I thought 
 
 That some day I might see the antitype. 
 
 And read the secret of those spiritual fires. 
 
POEMS. 149 
 
 The welcome years rolled on, and I would steal 
 Eich moments now and then — the stress of life 
 Would not yield more — to watch thy master hand, 
 Majestic Milton, now at length revealed. 
 Portray in awful grandeur fearful scenes — 
 Wondering intensely how thy finite mind 
 Could speak of Satan and the fiery hosts 
 As some spectator, view the venomous ire 
 Of Moloch and of Belial that pulsed hell 
 From centre to its bound, and still come back 
 And reason with thy fellows. Then the grace 
 That marked thy plain description of our sires 
 In Paradise — how charmed, how beautiful ! 
 The calm and honest virtue of thy soul 
 To speak of scenes like these, like one inspired : 
 As if, a welcome guest, thou didst partake 
 Of all their joys, feel their remorse for sin, 
 And suffer somewhat of the penalty. 
 
 Great archpriest of the poets, thy renown 
 Circles the earth like some rich argosy 
 Scattering elysian gifts in every clime. 
 Showing the largesses of thy right hand. 
 That peoples stand aloof, and in the light 
 Of thy rapt glory wonder and admire, 
 Yet trench not on thine awful solitude. 
 
ISO 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 O Milton, seers have spoken out at last, 
 And point to such as thee as God's high priests 
 In Nature's temple, who go out and in 
 With incense, and the accompaniment of airs 
 Celestial, and the olive branch of peace. 
 And through the flowing years the jubilant throngs 
 Of Wisdom's noblest children still acclaim 
 Thee honor for thy grace of purity. 
 The glory of thy darling Paradise — 
 And thy regard for that supernal Spirit 
 Who gave thee double vision for the loss 
 Of earthly sight — of whom it may be said 
 That thou didst speak with Him as with a friend. 
 
 DRYDEN. 
 
 To trace the genius of a charming plot 
 Oft needs some portion of the author's thought — 
 For, Dryden, most who search a mind like thine 
 Seem but as pigmies wandering near the shrine. 
 Yet all thy frailties (which thou didst confess ) 
 Cannot gainsay the character and dress 
 
POEMS. 151 
 
 Which marked thy fame in classic learning's halls, 
 And gave our language fortresses and walls. 
 
 Well may the critics, when they take the pen 
 And write the records of earth's nohle men — 
 Tracing the currents of the soaring mind 
 In all their aspect, errantry and kind- 
 View and admire the grand and stately pace 
 Thy mellowed diction holds throughout the race : 
 The ease and grace and majesty sublime 
 Re-echoing sweetly in the robust rhyme, 
 And leaving such a pleasure on the sense 
 That all acknowledge the vast competence. 
 
 Nor is it fit that he who writes these lines 
 Should throw one word of censure, like the whines 
 Of musk-fed moralists, who drink, then jeer 
 At the rank odor of the atmosphere. 
 Enough to say that thou didst nobly give 
 Our language room and liberty to live. 
 And show the nations marching in the light 
 That Anglo-Saxon had peculiar light, 
 From the prehensile forces at her call, 
 To hold prevailing dominance o'er all. 
 
 Entering in early life the temple gate 
 That points a passage to the truly great, 
 Strange was the circumstance that bade me steer 
 My thoughts within the orbit of your sphere. 
 
152 POEMS. 
 
 How oft when loneliness oppressed me sore 
 
 I turned your genial pages o'er and o'er, 
 
 And to the sweet "Veni Creator" turned, 
 
 When, lo ! new fire within my bosom burned. 
 
 As ripened years brought reason's realm to view, 
 
 The "Country Parson's" character I knew. 
 
 The "Hind and Panther" caught me in the throng, 
 
 And gave me pleasure like an even song. 
 
 Your fables, satires, dramas, formed a key 
 
 That oped the world to many a mystery. 
 
 To you blind Milton held the noblest pen 
 
 As poet, far above all other men. 
 
 And at a time when morals were so weak, 
 
 None but a hero would thus dare to speak. 
 
 Tame and prosaic all, we stand aloof. 
 And cannot see you in your native proof; 
 Nor need the world throw stones — for greater bliss 
 God never set on nations than on this. 
 And so accustomed are we to the boon 
 Of liberty, that right and wrong too soon 
 Are woven in one garment, and the threads 
 Are fraying strangely in their silver beds. 
 It may be, Dryden, Charles the Second's time 
 Could hardly match our tournament of crime. 
 But seers and sages — thinking men — abound 
 Whose earnest and endeavor is to found 
 
POEMS. 153 
 
 Sound government in every human soul, 
 And give wise Anglo-Saxons the control. 
 
 Brooklyn, 1895. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 Who loves not Cowper, poet of the heart ! 
 
 He writes as if he sits beside us now. 
 
 We hear him speak, we see his mother's picture. 
 
 And he is looking at it full of tears. 
 
 Now he is preaching on the rights of man, 
 
 Both white and black. Behold his earnestness 
 
 As he dilates on Freedom. See him touch 
 
 The minister, the judge, the profligate. 
 
 As in a painting. See the gentle home 
 
 Smiling in rapture from the poet's pencil. 
 
 Yes, Cowper is a poet of fine mold, 
 
 Simple and tender as a teacher should be. 
 
 His thought is practical for honest men, 
 
 His sympathies are broad for all his fellows. 
 
 His manner winning for the multitude. 
 
 A genuine child of Nature, here he came. 
 
 And played his part so well that fleeting Time 
 
 Still pays him spousal. 
 
154 POEMS. 
 
 ON REV. DR. DILLER 
 
 WHO PERISHED FROM BURNS RECEIVED IN DESTRUCTION 
 OP STEAMER "SEAWANHAKA." 
 
 Beloved friend, how dreadful was thy death 
 To human eye ! And yet not so to thee ; 
 
 For He who sent thee knew thine every breath, 
 And what the purpose of thy life should be. 
 
 The raging flame embraced thee, and its seal 
 Forever crowns thy name in God's own commonweal. 
 
 Because thy heart was large, we miss thee more : 
 Rare honesty and effort marked thy way. 
 
 O how Distress would wander to thy door. 
 And tears and night be changed to smiles and day. 
 
 The young and old who looked upon thy face 
 
 Had nought but happiest word for such refreshing 
 grace. 
 
 For both thy face and speech told this to man 
 In words so plain they might not be gainsay ed. 
 
 That thou didst walk with God, that thou didst plan 
 Under His wings wherewith to heal and aid 
 
 Thy fallen fellows on life's battle field. 
 God kept thee for Himself under His mighty shield. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 155 
 
 Thus — like the sainted seer of olden time 
 
 Who in the flaming chariot stepped for heaven — 
 
 So did thy Father call thee in thy prime : 
 The lustre of thy life to us is given. 
 
 And in its sunshine we can live and learn 
 
 Ten thousand precious things for which wise spirits 
 yearn. 
 
 O Storm, dread visitant, yet not in vain ! 
 
 Thou carriest smiles, though compassed oft with 
 tears. 
 Thine eye has rapture — but we shrink with pain 
 
 At thy too near approach upon our years. 
 Lord, give us faith, in all these transient moods, 
 
 To love Thee as Thou art with all Thy store of goods. 
 
 GAZA. 
 
 A truth of one of our large workshops in New York, 
 
 Twelve days did I grind hard at Gaza prison, 
 Where the proud Philistines set up their tools 
 And implements of war, and the rooms reeked 
 With feculent odors, and the slimy floors 
 And purulent atmosphere smelt of grim Death. 
 There stood the martyrs in the nauseous pens — 
 Where the hours rolled like an eternity — 
 
156 POEMS. 
 
 So unaccustomed to the air of heaven, 
 
 That, when God sent the light- winged zephyrs forth, 
 
 The windows shut to rapidly as if Hell 
 
 Were on the rampage ; and the hacking cough, 
 
 And pale and sombre visage, and dry tears, 
 
 With flakes of sputa floating in the gloom, 
 
 Midst ghastly laugh and noxious gases — all 
 
 Told of a race of white slaves yet on earth. 
 
 Cursed by King Mammon to disease and shame. 
 
 The cruel Philistines looked in and laughed 
 
 At the poor helots gasping for their breath, 
 
 And conjured how a further ten per cent. 
 
 Might be adroitly fleeced without suspicion. 
 
 There were young Jezebels attired in paint. 
 
 Hot in their maledictions, whose sly oaths 
 
 Like scimetars would pierce the putrid air; 
 
 And men who erst showed on their pensive brows 
 
 Beauty and genius, now depraved and base 
 
 As Sodom in its fall. 
 
 I cried out sore with pain, and my limbs dull'd. 
 And my knees smote together — that I paced 
 Like restless lion watching for my life. 
 And oped the windows wide that heaven's sweet air 
 Might bathe my temples ; but the sickly horde 
 Cried out in horror as the wheeze and hiss 
 
POEMS. 157 
 
 Of strangulation rattled in their throats ; 
 While some sought alcohol to feed their thirst, 
 Some used the opiate for to still the sense, 
 And, rushing by me, cursed the blessed breeze, 
 Shutting out all its fragrance in their ire. 
 Mine eye grew livid, and my heart-beat failed. 
 Just like a dying victim's, that I rushed — 
 Maddened with weight of torture and resolve — 
 Out to the outer world — when Nature came 
 With richest festival of odorous winds ; 
 And from the swelling cloud the laughing rain 
 Fell on me like a sea in its weird joy. 
 Apollo lent me his celestial wings. 
 And the medicaments of heaven infused 
 Their juices in my system, and exhaled 
 The deadly poison. 
 
 Shame, Civilization ! shame, that human lives 
 Are forfeited to suit thy golden talons! — 
 That God's delicious air is kept from man, 
 And hateful vice creeps in to fill the void 
 In our large mints of labor, and the buds 
 Of pestilence throw off their million shoots, 
 And weakness plants her heritage of pain. 
 Shame that Cupidity still rules the world 
 With a great whip of iron, and beats down 
 
158 POEMS. 
 
 The simple sons and daughters of our race ! 
 The day of reckoning hastes, and not too soon. 
 
 ARTHUR CHESTER. 
 
 He came unknown, an earnest man, 
 
 To open out an earnest quest. 
 In silent method o'er his plan 
 
 He moved — an uninvited guest. 
 
 Few wrought so nobly — wrought so well ; 
 
 No failures could his courage shake ; 
 Nor can the human heart e'er tell 
 
 His sufferings for his Master's sake. 
 
 What were his hopes, his doubts, his fears? 
 
 Men little knew, or understood. 
 And yet the wisdom of his years 
 
 Proved that he knew the power of good. 
 
 His rights, his wrongs he left with God, 
 While hurrying millions passed him by ; 
 
 Then fell beneath disaster's rod. 
 And, like a hero, dared to die 
 
POEMS. I5g 
 
 He nursed no trophy of his fame, 
 Though from the grave he snatched a soul ; 
 
 And that young heart will love his name, 
 And place it high on Memory's roll. 
 
 This be his record then — nor earth 
 
 Can give a nobler one to day ; 
 He solved one mystery of his birth, 
 
 And in its radiance passed away. 
 
 The Rev. Arthur Chester, founder of the Bushwick Avenue 
 Congregfational Church, Brooklyn, fell manfully at his post, November 
 i2th, 1889, in the forty-third year of his age. 
 
 GENIUS. 
 
 If Genius be dead, then am I grieved, 
 
 For she bears noblest imprint of a sphere 
 
 Superior to the woes and wants of man. 
 
 This flash of Genius is the flash of God, 
 
 Robed in His wreath of holiness — a breath 
 
 That not the reasoning of a thousand schools 
 
 Demonstrates else than that she came from Heaven. 
 
 But as Prometheus stole the sacred fire, 
 
 So Genius sometimes grovels on a plane 
 
 Quite foreign to her soil, and minds grow black 
 
 And hideous with the leprosy of death. 
 
l6o POEMS. 
 
 Such have I known, and care not to embrace, 
 Or pick the jewels shining in the mire. 
 When Genius marries Lust she forfeits Love, 
 And little itching minds go gathering weeds 
 To shield their infamy and save their name. 
 Exalted Genius, this then be thine aim 
 To give new eyes to man, that he may see 
 The grandeur of his being, and resolve 
 To build his fellows in the love of God. 
 
 Phila., '9a- 
 
 MIND. 
 
 In the pantheon of mind 
 
 What a wealth is there enshrined ! 
 
 What an empire in its power ! 
 
 In its appanage and dower, 
 
 In its sovereignty of will, 
 
 Its invention and its skill. 
 
 What a prescience marks the whole ! 
 
 Stamping Godhood on the soul. 
 
 What a telescopic ken 
 
 Piercing in the hearts of men ! 
 
 Down in intuition's well, 
 
 Deeper than the tongue may tell. 
 
POEMS. i6l 
 
 What a force to conquer time ! 
 What a universe to climb ! 
 Wondrous mind, unmeasured, free ! 
 Emblem of Eternity. 
 
 ECCE VITA. 
 
 Let no man tell me this is death or woe 
 
 When once my mantle drops within the ground. 
 
 Love, nature, wisdom shame us at the sound. 
 
 There is eternity within the flow 
 
 Of my gradation in my upward climb, 
 
 Where years are never numbered, nor the rhyme 
 
 Of suns and cycles weary as I go. 
 
 An inner anthem whispers of my life. 
 
 This is my heritage, that hierophants — 
 
 Who lack the wisdom even of the ants— 
 
 Dare to condemn beneath their load of strife. 
 
 While thus I live, upbuilding all the way, 
 
 And soar the galleries of my Father's house 
 
 With tread celestial, myriads like the mouse 
 
 Go creeping in dark holes, and live their day. 
 
 Be this their embassy, it is not mine. 
 
 I give my heaven- born faculties full play. 
 
 There is no dissonance in their divine. 
 
1 62 POEMS. 
 
 They bear the impress of the Master hand 
 
 That framed the earth 'mid music, whose grand thrill 
 
 Flashed into being man with God crowned will, 
 
 The coronet of the Divine command. 
 
 This, then, is life, yet man, how strange to tell, 
 
 Strives night and day to make this heaven a hell. 
 
 SONGS OF BONNIE SCOTLAND. 
 
 Come, gather the harvest of song — do it well, 
 
 To enliven the hurrying throng. 
 There are thousands around us who find earth a hell 
 
 For the want of some sunshine and song. 
 The hard-working man at the close of the day. 
 
 Homeward bound from his big labor pen, 
 Looks up with delight as he hears on his way 
 
 " 'Tis the March of the Cameron men." 
 
 The songs of the soul are the zephyrs of God. 
 
 Give them room then to blossom within. 
 How often has ' 'Auld Lang Syne" lifted the rod. 
 
 And scattered the virus of sin ! 
 How often has "Robin Adair" lit the face! 
 
 Or the " Blue Bells" and " Bonnie Dundee." 
 
POEMS. 163 
 
 There's the famed, happy " Huntingtower, " brimful 
 of grace, 
 And e'en " Duncan Gray " has his glee. 
 
 Why, songs such as this ever charm human kind, 
 
 *' I lo'e nae a laddie but ane." 
 * 'Annie Laurie," "The Campbells are comin'," we find 
 
 Form some pathways that drive away pain. 
 "Lass o' Gowrie," or "Land o' the Leal," "Kelvin 
 Grove," 
 
 " TuUochgorum, " so manly and free. 
 "The Bridge at Loch Lomond," that lyric of love. 
 
 Or that sweet winning fay "Bide a Wee." 
 
 An ounce of good song scatters many a frown, 
 
 O preacher of grace give it room ! 
 The child of true labor is worthy his crown, 
 
 Let him know the full wealth of his loom. 
 We have each a reserve for the day of unrest. 
 
 Bring it forth then and tell of its worth. 
 That man is a hero who gives of his best 
 
 To make brighter some homestead on earth. 
 
1 64 POEMS. 
 
 IDEA. 
 
 Give me an idea — I will frame the rest. 
 
 I can raise a palace on the ocean's crest. 
 
 I can clothe the desert in the sweetest green, 
 
 Making flowers immortal blossom on the scene. 
 
 With the rift of letters running on the street 
 
 There shall rise a glory exquisite and neat. 
 
 But it naught avails me such an idle theme. 
 thou soul immortal this were but a dream. 
 Eise and view thy bounty boundless as the skies, 
 Other worlds await thee in thy Paradise. 
 Other doors are open in the starry realm, 
 Duty bids thee enter — God is at the helm. 
 
 Go, thou child of glory, view thy grand abode. 
 Earth is but a chamber in the house of God. 
 Myriad worlds await thee eloquent with song. 
 Life's eternal river bears thy bark along. 
 Clothed with Godlike freedom, hold, O man, thy place. 
 And in the Saviour's beauty behold the Father's face. 
 
POEMS. ,65 
 
 THE QUESTION. 
 
 Men beseech me, as I wander up and down the 
 
 thoroughfares, 
 Why is all this pain of living ? why are we hemmed 
 
 in by cares ? 
 And my answer, like a vision rising from my inmost 
 
 soul, 
 Tells them never to be daunted — God will open up 
 
 the roll. 
 Let them do their best, I tell them; everything is 
 
 bright and clear. 
 Live for truth, and love, and duty, and God's plan 
 
 will then appear. 
 
 There is nothing grander, nobler in the field of life 
 
 than this — 
 Let man live up to his being — ^he will rarely go 
 
 amiss. 
 What the thorns and ills he meets with, but the rod 
 
 to keep in place ! 
 What the dangers that surround him, but a gauntlet 
 
 for the race ! 
 look deep within, my brother ; He who made you 
 
 meets you there, 
 And as He unfolds His teaching, you will know the 
 
 worth of care. 
 
1 66 POEMS. 
 
 DIVINE DEMANDS OF GENIUS. 
 
 Thou art a monarch laden well with gifts, 
 That pale all gold and silver in their worth. 
 'Tis vain to say that iron circumstance 
 Has hedged and crushed thee like a paving stone. 
 Tis vain to say affliction blurred the light, 
 Or appetite and passion clogged thy steps. 
 'Tis mean to say some master in thy trade 
 Has fouled thee of thy birthright. Look within. 
 Revolve it all — perhaps thou then mayst see 
 That in his place thou wouldst do much the same. 
 O what a narrow reasoner is man ! 
 Falling a victim to a weak will power, 
 And cursing all the world for his misdeeds. 
 Give birth to some grand thought whose mellowed 
 truth 
 Shall bless the nations, and in briefest time 
 A host of vultures fly around your head, 
 And call you robber, liar and silly knave. 
 The weak-kneed thinker quickly holds his peace, 
 And shuts the valve of genius ; but the wise, 
 Conscious of right in Nature's motherhood, 
 Go onward bravely through the incessant rain 
 Of defamation and the bolts of hate, 
 
POEMS. 167 
 
 And know their mission grandly— truth or death. 
 
 No halting in opinion as their life, 
 
 Plain and severe, stands out in rugggd lines. 
 
 And so the battle year and year goes on, 
 
 For God has tempered Justice with a blade 
 
 To do His bidding in the thousand lines 
 
 Where He calls man to live and be a man. 
 
 FREEDOM. 
 
 Freedom, freedom, blessed word ! 
 Sweetest music ever heard ! 
 How the hearts of men are stirred 
 
 At the joyous sound ! 
 King the anthem round the year ! 
 Shout it loud that all may hearl 
 Give God's message fitting cheer 
 
 All the world around. 
 
 Up, ye freedom loving race ! 
 Give old honest truth a place. 
 Let no tyranny deface 
 
 God's best gift to you. 
 Up for justice and for light, 
 Guard the public school aright, 
 That no medieval night 
 
 May again ensue. 
 
[68 POEMS. 
 
 Let the precious light prevail. 
 Never was it known to fail. 
 Superstition's face grew pale 
 
 'Neath its vivid ray. 
 Nelson at Trafalgar view, 
 Wellington at Waterloo, 
 Dewey's famous victory, too, 
 
 At Manila Bay. 
 
 Man has rights he must maintain. 
 Rights of being — nerve and brain, 
 Rights that grow as grows the grain 
 
 In the bracing wind. 
 Shall we let our light decline ? 
 No, but make it brighter shine. 
 There is wealth that is divine 
 
 In the human mind. 
 
 No more slavery for man. 
 Let him labor, think and plan, 
 Let him round life's little span 
 
 With his noblest power. 
 Onward, upward, if he dare ! 
 Give him room for work and prayer. 
 Tell him he need not despair 
 
 With his God-given dower. 
 
POEMS. 169 
 
 Hark, ye weary, care -engrossed ! 
 Liberty is worth the cost. 
 Craven heart speaks freedom lost. 
 
 Let it not be yours. 
 Strike the hated monster down 
 That would dare destroy our crown ! 
 Freedom is our sole renown, 
 
 Freedom still endures. 
 
 Wave, ye banners of the free ! 
 Bearing life and liberty 
 Over every land and sea ; 
 
 And beneath your fold 
 Pledged we stand to do the right, 
 Looking to our God for sight. 
 That, with freedom's hallowed light, 
 
 We shall ne'er be sold. 
 
 THE WORKSHOP. 
 
 Go to our workshops if you would be wise, 
 For there you study man in multitude 
 In briefest time — the price he has to pay 
 That he may breathe existence— God-given life- 
 The pain he suffers for simplicity, 
 
[70 POEMS. 
 
 The scorn of men who walked the same arena, 
 
 But, from sad memories, draw an iron veil 
 
 To hide their past existence, so unlike 
 
 The gentle Nazarene, who walked the road 
 
 To cheer his weaker brother, and to point 
 
 The eternal truth, that though the physical frame 
 
 Fall in the conflict, the brave heart need not. 
 
 Thus crowning man with godlike majesty. 
 
 O for far seeing teachers, doubly trained 
 To sweep the skirts of office, and probe well 
 The house of labor where the toilers dwell — 
 How oft like slaughter houses, dingy dens, 
 No ventilation, no beloved light 
 Of the beloved sun to clear the air ; — 
 Where in its absence Defamation rolls 
 Its filthy tongue sodden in drunkeness 
 And low debauchery, — where oath obscene 
 Revels in constant thunder. 
 
 An honest teacher must go oft with men 
 Of all shades and conditions, while his worth 
 Must hold its station — for it is but truth 
 That wisdom gathers pearls in every clime. 
 So man must hoard, and sift, and wiser grow. 
 The harder circumstance will force the fight, 
 The better for him. 
 
POEMS. 171 
 
 FREEDOM'S GIFT TO THE 
 WORLD. 
 
 A TRIBUTE TO THE PUBLIC SCHOOL. 
 
 To Mr. Robt. Waters, author of "Intellectual Pursuits," etc., 
 after a close friendship of over fifty years. 
 
 Hail, glorious gospel of the age 
 
 That speaks of peace to man ! 
 That opens o'er his pilgrimage 
 
 The wealth of Nature's plan, 
 Where love and mercy throw their light 
 
 To make us wiser grow, 
 And men as brothers may unite 
 
 For Ruin's overthrow. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Kind Freedom's gift, the Public School, 
 
 Long may her banner wave ! 
 The youth that best respects her rule 
 
 Will never be a slave. 
 
 O'er this broad earth, in honor's name, 
 
 Our fathers, crushed by wrong. 
 Rang out the interlude of shame. 
 
 And filled the world with song. 
 
172 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 And through their zeal we march to day 
 
 In Nature's grand domain, 
 We scatter knowledge on our way, 
 
 The conquest over pain. 
 
 Ye valiant sons of valiant sires 
 
 Be firm and strong to-day ! 
 For you fair Freedom lights her fires. 
 
 For you she deigns to stay. 
 A thousand peoples wait the hour 
 
 That calls you to their shore ; 
 You hold the talisman of power, 
 
 With rich reserves in store. 
 
 No more shall weakness rule our kind 
 
 To incarnate a creed. 
 No more shall shame and fury blind 
 
 Our hearts to those that bleed. 
 We hold our conscience to the light, 
 
 Where all may see its worth ; 
 Then pledge ourselves to do the right 
 
 In face of all the earth. 
 
 Rouse, freemen, with the light of years, 
 Let truth and wisdom shine ; 
 
 Go, quench the tide of blood and tears, 
 And work for the divine. 
 
POEMS. 173 
 
 Keep bright the patriot's holy flame, 
 
 That all hearts may rejoice, 
 And, while they lisp God's hallowed name, 
 
 May learn to know His voice. 
 
 MY GIFT. 
 
 One autumn night, when the angry wind 
 
 Brought savage sheets of rain, 
 A joy of a soft and human kind 
 
 Came from heaven, the bliss of pain. 
 In the wild delight of that tempest night, 
 
 With its sob and sough of the sea. 
 Our home was filled with a chastened light 
 
 In the gift that God gave me. 
 
 A zephyr lighted near my side, 
 
 A tender little thing, 
 Who, when she saw our planet, cried, 
 
 Nor could be made to sing. 
 We clothed the little angel form 
 
 In robes of purest white. 
 Then blessed our Maker in the storm 
 
 For the joy He brought that night. 
 
t74 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 A darling babe, a beauteous flower, 
 
 Was mine to bless and love ; 
 A paragon from Beauty's bower. 
 
 She was our turtle-dove. 
 Kind nature decked her winsome face 
 
 With Hebe's roseate ray, 
 And so we daily loved the grace 
 
 That, Heaven-born, came to stay. 
 
 Her seraph form, her dark, deep eyes — 
 
 Unfathomed crystal wells — 
 Would daily bring me rich emprise, 
 
 And ring life's happy bells. 
 The sapphire day, the sombre night. 
 
 Vale, forest, fount and fell — 
 All blessed the little household light 
 
 That God had made so well. 
 
 O'er savage rocks and silver brooks 
 
 We traveled oft together ; 
 Cares and caresses were the books 
 
 We read all kinds of weather; 
 I fondled her in smiles and tears, 
 
 O life, how fair and free ! 
 And she laughed aloud, for there were no fears 
 
 In the gift that God gave me. 
 
POEMS. 175 
 
 I looked in the future, I longed, I prayed, 
 
 I was jealous of time's great speed; 
 For her life was a garden, whose darkest shade 
 
 Served to succor poor hearts that bleed. 
 While her step carried sweetness and grace to all, 
 
 And her air was so winning and wise, 
 That I knew right well no evil thrall 
 
 Ever darkened her paradise. 
 
 And still she lives, and I hold her hand, 
 
 And kiss her again and again, 
 For the years creep on, and the widening land 
 
 May shadow her joys, and then— 
 Ah, stay, foolish, heart! for the self -same Power 
 
 That reigns o'er the land and sea, 
 Looks tenderly after my beautiful flower, 
 
 The gift of His love to me. 
 
 THE COMPOSITOR. 
 
 Jacques was a man who lived a life of toil 
 
 In dark, unhealthy office, and yet loved 
 
 The life God gave him— a plain, honest man. 
 
 He married young, and Time seemed doubly swift 
 
 In his reminders of the marriage vow. 
 
176 POEMS. 
 
 For children flocked to bless the little home 
 With happy laughter, and their winning ways 
 Stole round him like a march of merry music. 
 A rounded soul was his — for trial pruned 
 All rough excrescences of moral kind, 
 And left him sympathy to help his friends — 
 For all were such, whether in hue or kind. 
 
 One day — one of the happiest in the year — 
 Jacques whistled joyfully as click, click, click 
 The types fell in his stick — when suddenly 
 The door flew back, revealing such a face 
 As poets sometimes picture, of a soul 
 All but deserted both by God and man. 
 There stood Lucille, the printer's fondest child, 
 Who whispered in his ear, then on the floor 
 Fell forward in a faint. We brought her to. 
 Oh, God, that such should be ! O cruel fate ! 
 The father looked upon his child, and died. 
 I lifted up his head, and kissed his cheek, 
 And pressed the tender blossom of his heart 
 Close to my own — then to the mother's arms 
 Placed the frail treasure — limpid, cold in death. 
 
 Long years have flown since then, and I have paced 
 The avenues of earth, seeking her joys. 
 And in the retrospect here comes poor Jacques, 
 
POEMS. 177 
 
 For I wrought long time with him, and look back 
 With sweetest recollection to those hours 
 When we set types together, and long played. 
 While waiting for our copy, till our eyes 
 Far in the night sank on the arm of Sleep. 
 And though my office calls me now to preach 
 The love of God to man, I love to meet 
 The patient printer, and to cheer him on; 
 And scorn those dotards that will dare deny 
 Such noble craft, as some poor weaklings do. 
 Thank God I was a printer !— that I learned 
 In my vocation how to set up men 
 As knights upon the chessboard, and to gaze 
 Upon them as they paced their daily round. 
 Acting their character as sure as life, 
 That all their genuflexions could not dare 
 To cheat me of a proper estimate. 
 
 MY WIFE. 
 
 Buffalo, August 13th, 1888. 
 
 My wife, my little English wife. 
 
 The sweet and solace of my life. 
 
 Afar from home, with cares beset, 
 
 To day I weave a coronet 
 
 For thee, and place it on thy head, 
 
 A wreath for years that long have fled — 
 
178 POEMS. 
 
 Of roseate years, that showed the prime 
 
 Of life's best essence, when my rhyme 
 
 Ran like the brook, and spoke thy praise 
 
 In madrigals and marriage lays. 
 
 Within this simple coronet 
 
 I place what still is sweeter yet — 
 
 The years of trial thou hast borne 
 
 Since first Love blew his bugle-horn, — 
 
 Life opening sweetness to thy sight, 
 
 While dancing Joy and darksome Night 
 
 Would rob dame Nature of her claim 
 
 Without a conscious word of blame. 
 
 Those years have passed, yet vain the thought 
 
 That Life has loomed his brightest lot. 
 
 The swelling tide of seasons roll, 
 
 And bears new joys for every soul. 
 
 Succeeding Time yields fresh increase 
 
 Of soothing hope and sacred peace. 
 
 And thou mayst gather at his shrine 
 
 Joys more exalted, more divine. 
 
 My wife, my little winsome wife. 
 The load of care allied with life 
 That harasses the lot of all 
 Gave gentle portion in its fall 
 Since first we met ; yet fool were I 
 To disagree with, or deny 
 
POEMS. 179 
 
 The right of nature to her own. 
 It may be that the seed thus sown 
 Swept off the wantonness and waste 
 That threatened us — demure and chaste, 
 Shut out the vampires of the soul, 
 That stifle in their hideous roll 
 A myriad throng — but Providence 
 Knew well the childhood of our sense, 
 And chased us with the charm and chain 
 Of praise and passion to our gain. 
 
 It must be so, I weU believe — 
 Our intuitions can't deceive — 
 The school of suffering has a charm 
 That weaves affection, sweet and warm; 
 And it was meet that we should tread 
 Her courts awhile, then, onward led 
 By nobler knowlege, fill a sphere 
 Our Maker garnished for us here, 
 Where Chastity assumes the rein, 
 Nor ever finds her counsels vain. 
 
 You speak of changes I may meet 
 When homeward I shall turn my feet, 
 That set me thinking o'er my lot, 
 When, in the spectrum of my thought, 
 Arose a flower of loveliest birth. 
 That speaks of purer joys than earth, 
 
l8o POEMS. 
 
 Who dwells with you, and I can hear 
 Love whispering anthems in her ear. 
 I know 'tis mother Nature's voice ; 
 She, too, has bade me long rejoice. 
 Nor will I challenge her demand 
 That I should give my darling's hand 
 To some brave, true and loyal heart. 
 No : He who blessed her in her part 
 Of faithful daughter, bids her rise 
 To tread the realms of other skies. 
 Where new loves, trooping all around, 
 Shall gladden her with halcyon sound. 
 God bless her, pure and happy child ! 
 I know that to be reconciled 
 Is just and noble. Heaven will bless. 
 And guide her through the wilderness. 
 My sons: how may I speak of them? 
 Where can I find a diadem 
 Fit for my eldest boy, who bore 
 With firmness clouds that hovered o'er 
 The little homestead in the night, 
 And filled each bosom with affright? 
 Who carefully attuned his lyre 
 With something of celestial fire, 
 And saw thine every want supplied, 
 And his own heart made glad beside. 
 
POEMS. I8i 
 
 God tested him, and at a time 
 That ever makes the act sublime. 
 
 And for my youngest son, there meets. 
 In all the thronged and hurrying streets, 
 No face so bright, no eye so clear. 
 Severe in manner, yet a peer 
 In arts of grace, destined to please. 
 And meet all shades of life with ease. 
 His aim is high, and he will find 
 Within the empire of the mind 
 Realms like Atlantics, deep and broad, 
 That speak the mighty power of G-od. 
 There may he ever delve and soar 
 In search of a diviner shore, 
 And show to men the claim they bear 
 As children of a Father's care. 
 
 And so, this Sabbath afternoon, 
 When gladsome Nature is in tune 
 With rapture pulsing all her strings, 
 I send upon the roseate wings 
 Of Joy and Peace my meed of love, 
 With prayer that God may not remove 
 It from thy heart : He hears our cry, 
 Nor will He stint us, nor deny. 
 In Him we live, and on His breast 
 There is the righteousness of rest. 
 
1 82 POEMS. 
 
 ON MY DEAR WIFE. 
 
 (Nov, 26. 1899.) 
 
 My bosom mate is going home, 
 My mate for over forty years ; 
 
 And looking upward from the scene, 
 I look submissive through my tears. 
 
 I know that all is well with her ; 
 
 For, when life's storms began to beat, 
 God wisely placed her in my way. 
 
 And we two found a mercy-seat. 
 
 Just at the time when Nature saw 
 My strength was frail, and weak my will, 
 
 We met ; but then no thought of love 
 I felt would e'er my bosom fill. 
 
 Nature knew best, and we were wed; 
 
 And as the years crept on apace 
 What conflicts struggled in my breast 
 
 To keep me active in the race ! 
 
 No, God be thanked ! — no other name 
 Could fill the page that He had made. 
 
 From mock-heroics I was won. 
 And life grew brighter from the shade. 
 
POEMS. 183 
 
 Strong to defend, firm to demand 
 Her rights when justice seemed asleep, — 
 
 Her record to her children reads : 
 "Be true, be vigilant, look deep." 
 
 Dear wife, how gently does she rest ! 
 
 The very calmness of the skies 
 Is wrapped about her, and I know 
 
 The Hand that gives it never dies. 
 
 How kind of God to give her peace ! 
 
 To soothe with His serener light. 
 Safe in His keeping she shall live, 
 
 And in His mercy all is bright. 
 
 She fell gently in sleep, after three years' illness, 
 December 5, 1899. 
 
 RESIGNATION. 
 
 The blessed One, who though unseen 
 
 By mortal eye, we often meet, 
 Declares no foes shall intervene 
 
 When we approach the mercy -seat. 
 
 Within His ear we pour our plaint; 
 
 He listens, fills our hearts with song. 
 And girds us that we may not faint 
 
 While passing through the floods of wrong. 
 
1 84 POEMS. 
 
 How sweet to watch the wondrous hand 
 That tends us with a constant care, — 
 
 To cast our vision o'er the land 
 That He has made so bright and fair. 
 
 Should evils like a deluge roll, 
 
 They dare not touch us where we stand : 
 There is a joy within our soul, 
 
 A guerdon from our Father's hand. 
 
 Beloved One, Thy word is peace, 
 And holy as the perfect day ; 
 
 And it shall give, without surcease. 
 All things to comfort on the way. 
 
 TO MY OLD POETICAL FRIEND, 
 
 JOHN PATTERSON, N.Y. 
 
 Dear Patterson, since Fifty-two, 
 
 When we had typo's work to do, 
 
 And you and I worked with a will 
 
 To reap a nice and handsome bill, 
 
 How times have changed, and typos fled 
 
 To join the escort of the dead ! 
 
 Yet some remain, thank Heaven, to show 
 
 That man may live and wiser grow, 
 
POEMS. 185 
 
 To be of service to the race. 
 And so I compliment the Case. 
 
 I never can forswear the debt 
 I owe the Montreal Gazette. 
 Where, swaddled in the Calvin stripe, 
 I started on my virgin type, 
 With small cap. sidehead, Coleridge's House 
 AT Keswick — while a playful mouse 
 Ran o'er the case time and again, 
 And kept me happy in my den. 
 Some four years after, when we met. 
 How New York's Babel made me fret ! 
 But not for long — the printers made 
 Each day some jest or pasquinade 
 That set us wild — you may recall 
 How soap, tobacco, type and ball 
 Whizzed by our heads, swept through the air. 
 When lo, Mac comes ! — all still as prayer. 
 
 How kindly Time has flown since then ! 
 How mother-like the regimen 
 She mapped for us, that we might fare 
 Well at her table, and prepare 
 Some thought and work to cheer mankind. 
 Uphold the birthright of the mind — 
 The noblest, holiest work e'er given 
 To questioning man this side of Heaven. 
 
:86 POEMS. 
 
 Two of our workmates still remain 
 To bless the world, and prove its gain. 
 John Swinton — I recall the man, 
 Studious and thoughtful, with a span 
 Of brow, and wizard depth of eye 
 That gauged much of life's mystery. 
 His work has been an arduous one 
 Through press and platform. Many a son 
 Of Labor will laud Swinton's name. 
 And find that life is worth the game. 
 And this is godlike. Our next friend 
 Is Eobert Waters — (and I bend 
 In reverence to dear Nature's face. 
 Who smiled upon us at the case 
 Just fifty- two long years ago) — 
 God bless him ! May his labors glow 
 With world-wide comfort! — for his thought 
 As teacher and as author wrought 
 To lift us to a higher realm, 
 And keep a firm hand at the helm. 
 
 And so, dear John, we need not fear. 
 Years bring a lustre not austere. 
 But calm and sweet, and this is best. 
 God knows His children look for rest. 
 
POEMS. 187 
 
 WOMAN'S TRIBUTE TO 
 CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 From address at Buffalo, N. Y., Sept. 5, 1888. 
 
 Is it fitting to-day that we herald her glory ? 
 
 Is it time the war trumpet should hang in the hall ? 
 Dare we challenge the truth of the marvellous story 
 
 That Christ has called woman to rise from the fall ? 
 
 As she walks in the light see a tinge of the glamor 
 The ages stamped on her, still marking her brow. 
 
 Go, witness that record, that needs no disclaimer, 
 Transformed to a trophy of victory now. 
 
 She has brought to our notice Gethsemane's passion. 
 And the price that was paid in that terrible hour, 
 
 More expressive than man, whom the mandates of 
 fashion 
 Have placed in the front as sole symbol of power. 
 
 She has rung in our ears the alarms of the reason. 
 When stilted by cunning, and duped by its sense ; 
 
 She has combated levity out of its season. 
 That we might have substance instead of pretence. 
 
i88 POEMS. 
 
 She has walked through the alleys and lanes of our 
 cities, 
 
 And held up a mantle to cover our sin — 
 Unwearied in vigils, unnerved by false pities. 
 
 Her thought but to save us, to succor and win. 
 
 She has ransacked the jails, dens of vice, and the 
 benches 
 
 Of court rooms to hide us from malice's blast, 
 And raised up around us the strongest of trenches 
 
 To ward off the pestilence near as it passed. 
 
 She has gone in retirement, and there with her Saviour 
 She prayed for our life as we never could pray, 
 
 And arose from her knees, knowing well that the favor 
 Was granted — to such He could never say nay. 
 
 She has placed on her frame the bethrothal of madness, 
 And worn the insignia of folly and death, 
 
 That we might arise to the sunlight of gladness, 
 And breathe a diviner and holier breath. 
 
 She has gone from the palace to dens of dishonor, 
 To lift up the sister whom we have laid low. 
 
 She has loved her, and cleansed her, and, as she 
 looked on her, 
 Forgiven us the wrongs of that household of woe. 
 
POEMS. 189 
 
 Sh« has faced wildest elements, fiercest revenges 
 That nature sends sweeping o'er land or on sea, 
 
 And has fallen in death in the midst of exchanges 
 That spoke of her triumph in making us free. 
 
 As the friend of humanity, deep degradation 
 Through centuries met her with gibe and with scorn, 
 
 For the knight-errant gave but a poor demonstration 
 Of love for the outcast, the weak and forlorn. 
 
 When the leeches of passion threw out their attainder, 
 And threatened to slay, from our weakness of will. 
 
 She came with keen instincts, and gave us remainder 
 Of purpose to gather new triumphs of skill. 
 
 When the vices of habit disfigured our seeing. 
 
 And respect fled away from the scene of disgrace, 
 Her love, like the angels, encircled our being 
 
 And gave us new impulse to enter the race. 
 
 She has mounted the rostrum to gain us protection. 
 She has filled in the ledger, and led in the school. 
 
 Or ascended the throne of a people's affection. 
 Like Victoria, God bless her! — well fitted for rule. 
 
 Yet we harbored the selfish conceit that her wifehood 
 Had mainly to do with a physical cast. 
 
 Seldom rising to know that her life as a priesthood 
 Was shed as a blessing wherever it passed. 
 
190 POEMS. 
 
 The slave of the home, and the butt of suspicion, 
 She suffered in silence the bitterest pang ; 
 
 And now, that her courage has changed her condition, 
 Let her sing to the Lord loud as Miriam sang. 
 
 We have planted the sign of debauch at the corners, 
 Where the weak and the weary might stumble and 
 fall- 
 Coquetted with bribe-takers, liars and suborners. 
 While our sisters' wise counsel was slighted by all. 
 
 We have entered the pulpit, God's message beside us, 
 And counseled our sister to fly from disgrace : 
 
 But, alas ! she too often had cause to deride us. 
 And throw back the taunt in our pharisee face. 
 
 She ascends to the garrets, goes deep in the cellars, 
 And bends o'er the work that our sanction has 
 wrought — 
 
 Knows the hungry and naked, those isolate dwellers, 
 And the dread retribution that covers their lot. 
 
 It is well fitting now, when the marvels of science 
 Are pointing to dwellers the beauties of earth. 
 
 That our sister unite in the sacred alliance, 
 
 And thus claim the prestige that springs from her 
 birth. 
 
POEMS. igi 
 
 The one who with nature holds constant rejoicing, 
 And in this prerogative warrants her claim, 
 
 Gives proof that invisible forces are voicing 
 Some healthier doctrine, some holier name. 
 
 She beseeches that those who profess an adherence 
 To Christ as the Saviour and friend of the race, 
 
 Will sweep as a besom the sign or appearance 
 Of evils that deaden, defile or debase. 
 
 Like Mary, anointing the feet of her Master, 
 She seeks for His sympathy, grows in His love, 
 
 Nor will she believe that an earthly disaster 
 Can ever this godlike affection remove. 
 
 Like Phoebe, she succors and strengthens the failing, 
 Thus serving the church in the name of the Lord — 
 
 Proving largely her mission of love, and unveiling 
 The wealth that springs up in the field of His word. 
 
 Ah, men, little think you the worth of that glory 
 That crowns you to-day in your hamlets of peace ; 
 
 You have read many books, but the wonderful story 
 Of woman's affection will never decrease. 
 
 Aware of the genius that struggled within her, 
 But baffled by forces that pinioned her will. 
 
 Through the long dreary ages she stood the breadwinner 
 For heaven, by turning the wheel at the mill. 
 
192 POEMS. 
 
 Reserve her the right, like the spring or the morning, 
 To gather the symbols of gladness and peace ; 
 
 Respect her for counsel — in danger for warning, 
 And bless her that virtue is on the increase. 
 
 Respect the devotion she feels for her Saviour, 
 For the household is blessed ; let the tones of her 
 voice 
 
 Ring aloud ; let her sympathy fall as a savour 
 To raise the downhearted, and make them rejoice. 
 
 Restore her the vestments of prudence and patience 
 Long hid in the deserts of human conceit. 
 
 Let them shine in our midst as the two incarnations 
 That glorify woman, and make her complete. 
 
 Make way for her entrance to office and station 
 That man has disgraced with the bribe and the 
 sword. 
 
 Give her place for distinction and hearty ovation, 
 Let the gifts of the noble around her be stored. 
 
 Make way for her method, her manner of teaching, 
 
 Her calm attestation of truth for the soul ; 
 Give her bread for the breaking, the pulpit for 
 
 preaching, 
 Nor challenge large measure of wise self-control. 
 
POEMS. 193 
 
 Bring near her the tribute reaction discloses 
 All wet with the sorrows and pangs of the night ; 
 
 Ring out the bridal with incense and roses, 
 And shower on her garlands of virginal white. 
 
 Take away from her hearing, from out of her presence 
 The sounds and the colors that spoke of her doom; 
 
 Lay out on her pathway the unopened lessons 
 Concealed through the ages, yet wrought in her loom. 
 
 Let Genius come forth with her wreath of affection, 
 And lay it down gracefully where it belongs ; 
 
 Every heart, every home has some sweet recollection 
 Of womanly succor and sisterly songs. 
 
 Let her name on the door-knobs, the bells of the horses 
 Declare to the world her achievements for man ; 
 
 Let her symbols of friendship, like wide water-courses, 
 Invigorate, beautify, strengthen and span. 
 
 Bring the roses of Cashmere, the lilies of Sharon, 
 The spices Arabia breathes o'er the earth ; 
 
 Let the fleeces of Thibet and Mexico bear on 
 Their riches a lustre to gladden her birth. 
 
 Go forth, then, ye sisters, preach Christ to the nations, 
 Take your stand in the pulpit, the press and the 
 school. 
 
 The signs of the seasons ring out with vibrations 
 That tell us our sisters are training for rule. 
 
194 POEMS. 
 
 LIGHT. 
 
 FROM " FALL OF THE GREAT SUPERSTITION." 
 
 From my watchtower in the large mistion field I have undertaken, 
 where the tide of Passion daily sweeps by with its endless variations of 
 Protestantism, Jesuitism, Eddyism, Zionism, bacchanalianism, etc., I 
 have come to the conclusion that what the earth needs to-day is not the 
 adulterated formulae of clerical quacks and cunning politicians, but that 
 very first recipe the Almighty was pleased to give in His Divine Phar- 
 macopoeia, Let there be Light. 
 
 Light, the minister of beauty, 
 
 Light, the robe of the Divine, 
 Grandest thought of the Creator, 
 
 Making it His countersign. 
 Light, the aura of existence, 
 
 Wealth so great, unknown its worth. 
 Falling on the brow of infant 
 
 As of wisest of the earth. 
 Symbolizing in its message 
 
 Life, intelligence for all. 
 Freer than the rain from heaven 
 
 In its pure and crystal fall. 
 Light, blest mandate from the Father, 
 
 Blest because He bade it be. 
 Blest because it forms our bulwark, 
 
 Teaching us that mind is free. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Stamped on every fact of nature 
 As endowment of its right, 
 
 Clothing every human spirit — 
 the wonders of the light ! 
 
 In the wealth of this fruition 
 
 What a little we can see ! 
 But we know from its relation 
 
 That the human heart is free — 
 That no power on earth dare rivet 
 
 Bars and bolts to keep us blind ; 
 That no dogma dare inform us 
 
 Light is not for human kind. 
 Sweetest of all earthly blessings, 
 
 Boon of day, and bliss of night, 
 Is this birthright of our Father 
 
 To his loving children — light ! 
 
 As we stand upon the threshold 
 
 Of the life we fain would know. 
 Peering far within the temple. 
 
 Radiant with celestial glow ; 
 While in deep, unending whispers 
 
 Of the Infinite we move. 
 And around us, ever rising. 
 
 Peals the orchestra of love, 
 
 195 
 
196 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Hear the heavenly diapason : 
 "I have made man for delight. 
 
 Life is yours for growth and freedom. 
 Walk, my children, in the light!" 
 
 Sift the names of poets, sages, 
 
 All the galaxies of worth, 
 Look within the realm of being, 
 
 See the dawning of the birth. 
 Reason if you will from fitness. 
 
 Watch the tracings of design, 
 And one vast illumination 
 
 Points the hand of the Divine. 
 No negation mars the purpose 
 
 Of an omnipresent will. 
 Order pressed her seal upon it. 
 
 And it bears the impress still. 
 See those eyes of mother Nature 
 
 Infinite with God's delight. 
 Ever sparkling with His sunshine, 
 
 Ever drinking in His light. 
 
 Peoples, nations, look around you, 
 There is room for thought to-day. 
 
 Burning truths demand a hearing, 
 Light is marching on its way. 
 
POEMS. 197 
 
 Man is bounding from the grave-clothes 
 
 That have ever kept him poor. 
 Superstition is retreating, 
 
 While light enters at the door. 
 There is room at length for blessing, 
 
 Minds are waking into song. 
 Everywhere are signs impending 
 
 Of the overthrow of wrong. 
 Yes, a thousand million voices 
 
 Ring their chorus with a might — 
 Man was made to love His Maker, 
 
 Man was made to love the light. 
 
 Long the darkness of the ages. 
 
 And the weakness of our kind, 
 Raised a film around our vision, 
 
 Keeping us dethroned and blind. 
 Long we wallowed in the trenches. 
 
 While the iron prelates' tread 
 Swept on grinding us as ingrates. 
 
 Ever dying, yet not dead — 
 Never knowing that within us 
 
 God placed armaments of power; 
 Never knowing of the riches 
 
 He has given us as dower. 
 
1 98 POEMS. 
 
 Read addenda of the struggle 
 
 Of the human soul for light, 
 Trace it everywhere in nations 
 
 With a keen impartial sight; 
 Search the histories of labor, 
 
 Scan all genius, science, art. 
 And you rise ashamed and angry 
 
 At the slavery of heart. 
 Bleeding, bleeding, ever bleeding, 
 
 Man sinks lower than the brute : 
 ' ' Kill him, burn him, execrate him, 
 
 Every fibre, nerve and root. 
 Never let him think nor reason, 
 
 He is nothing but a slave. 
 Keep his faculties well stunted, 
 
 He will soon drop in the grave." 
 Christian unity, how blessed 
 
 In the early Christian age ! 
 No prelatic jurisdiction 
 
 Marred its godly pilgrimage. 
 When the church of Christ united — 
 
 Though unlike in churchly ties — 
 To respect one common Scripture, 
 
 Making love its chief emprise ; 
 Joined in settling controversy, 
 
 Placing schism, checking wrong. 
 
POEMS. 199 
 
 Each with each in church communion, 
 While their faith in God was strong. 
 
 O had but this simple Christ life 
 Leavened with the growing years ! 
 
 Love and peace to-day were masters, 
 Where, instead, are blood and tears. 
 
 Prelacy, once plain and humble, 
 
 Wrought a noble work for God, 
 But threw off her sacred vestments 
 
 And usurped the tyrant's rod. 
 Living like an abject mistress, 
 
 Seldom rising from the mode, 
 Worshipping the cup and platter. 
 
 As our Saviour clearly showed ; 
 Ever piling up the symbol 
 
 As the only way to grace, 
 With an endless line of torture 
 
 Aimed for those that doubt her case ; 
 Ever carrying to the sunlight 
 
 Sensuous custom as sublime. 
 As said Cyprian and Eusebius 
 
 Of the mummeries of their time. 
 Read Lactantius, read St. Austin, 
 
 Read Ignatius, if you please ; 
 
POEMS. 
 
 List to Athanasius' wailings 
 
 Ringing through his homihes. 
 Read them well, and you will wonder. 
 
 There you see, with painful force, 
 The old robe of Demiurgos 
 
 Stolen from a pagan source. 
 Let the ego of our being 
 
 Stand out free and disenthralled, 
 Man was made the child of freedom. 
 
 By his Maker's hand installed. 
 This his glory — let his manhood 
 
 Meet the issue clear and bright — 
 Man, the monarch of creation, 
 
 Bears a passport for the light. 
 Take our faculties all harnessed 
 
 Worthy of the mind of man — 
 There we find the seed of progress 
 
 Quickening daily in its span, 
 Spreading out and all-embracing 
 
 In its grasp to seize the whole — 
 Never resting dumb, quiescent, 
 
 Never narrowing the soul. 
 Where love, honor, truth and wisdom 
 
 Are emblazoned in its fold. 
 Where the genius of the people 
 
 Is esteemed above all gold. 
 
POEMS. 201 
 
 Where the right to think and labor 
 
 Is acknowledged as man's right, 
 And emancipation's radiance 
 
 Ever lifts him to the light. 
 * * * * 
 
 Words can never give full justice 
 
 To the open public school ; 
 To some reading of God's Record, 
 
 Making subjects fit to rule. 
 Where the faculties, all harnessed 
 
 For the battlefield of life. 
 Will be trained to reap wise harvest, 
 
 And avoid inhuman strife ; 
 Where the gifts of the Creator 
 
 Can be seen and understood, 
 And the world at length awaken 
 
 To the fact that God is good; 
 Where a prospect grand and joyous 
 
 Opens for the human race, 
 And the people note their progress 
 
 As they step to higher place. 
 Up then, reader, search with vigor. 
 
 Energy must keep its youth. 
 Discipline is man's best measure 
 In the vestibule of truth. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Yes, ye prophets of the ages, 
 
 Time at length unfolds the seal ; 
 Wisdom, justice meet fulfilment. 
 
 Life cannot reverse the wheel. 
 Evolution seeks advancement, 
 
 Opes a pathway for the mind, 
 As the ghoul of Superstition 
 
 Dies, nor leaves a trace behind. 
 Not a subterfuge avails her. 
 
 Men come from the vaults of fear ; 
 Minds are coursing o'er our planet, 
 
 Making all the vista clear, 
 Pulling down those cunning fictions 
 
 That ecclesiasts have piled 
 Round the aureole of manhood, 
 
 And the godhead of the Child. 
 Life and light demand dominion. 
 
 Theirs by sacredness of birth. 
 And the power that dares deny them 
 
 Will be hustled off the earth. 
 All the world at length uniting 
 
 For this common bond of right : 
 He who gave us eyes for seeing, 
 
 Gave us minds to search for Light. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 203 
 
 GALVESTON. 
 
 God is on the water as on the land, 
 
 And whether on mountain top or in the vale 
 
 Let us look up and know He acts in justice. 
 
 In that great siege of waters He was there, 
 
 And there is nothing lost from His great ken. 
 
 Though pitiful the way the innocents died. 
 
 Carried like straws on the water to their doom. 
 
 Old mother Nature hinted of catastrophe, 
 
 And sent out History as a monitor, 
 
 But some said, ' ' Well, we can make piles of money — 
 
 We have no time to think of others now. 
 
 We better build a city by the sea." 
 
 And so, with hurricane and earthquake near her, 
 
 Commercialism built with cunning hand 
 
 A city a few steps above the waves. 
 
 Saying in evidence. We are masters here, 
 
 Waves dare not crush us now ! When, like the man, 
 
 Who, taunted as a coward, up in rage 
 
 And threw his fellow. Aye, and God was back 
 
 Of mother Ocean, when she threw her arms 
 
 And gathered thousands to her briny bosom. 
 
 Then lamentation covered all the land, 
 
204 POEMS. 
 
 And wakening from the horror, millions pledged 
 
 Their millions that survivors might be cheered. 
 
 We need not censure. God is here as there. 
 
 And one day will come and test the affection 
 
 Of those who love to play the game of Babel 
 
 The second time, and mount our altars, shouting 
 
 "The monkey is our sire and ancestor." 
 
 For He that stirreth the wind and pulleth down 
 
 The rocks from off their bases, can He not throw 
 
 Your thirty story buildings to destruction? 
 
 Your science is your death warrant ; for your boast 
 
 Is measured beyond your stature. Here 
 
 God places His children, and we know right well 
 
 Whatever way we seek Him, He's a Sovereign. 
 
 But we care not, and in our gorgeous structures, 
 
 Temples, trolleys — and the gambling pool-room 
 
 We cry out " No, we want Thee not; we'll slaughter 
 
 Whom we please" — then gathering young and old 
 
 In every section of our wealthy streets. 
 
 We drop the bodies down beneath the wheels 
 
 To grease our juggernauts of blood for money ; 
 
 And corporations look and laugh, and sneer, 
 
 And eat the bait of blood and life for money. 
 
 When, for expense of a few million dollars, 
 
 Some tunnelling would save our lives and honor. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 205 
 
 Look at our war with Spain, when patriot fires 
 Urged our best men to fight on Cuba's soil, 
 And how we fed them — bidding them eat of meats 
 Tainted as from the garbage heap ; and there 
 From fever and contagion thousands perished, 
 While corporations laughed and laughed again 
 To know their putrid stores brought hoards of money, 
 No matter if our country should be lost. 
 When God laughs, therefore, as He tells us plainly, 
 The nations oft will feel the terrible judgment 
 Of ruin wrought by the demoniac few. 
 God save our land from vampires such as these ! 
 
 TO THE FIVE YEAR OLD HUMAN FLOWER, 
 
 IDA LOUISE ROSS. 
 
 I LOVE you. Nature's darling. 
 
 And I will tell you why. 
 The pretty house you live in 
 
 Is graceful to mine eye. 
 And though I cannot see you, 
 
 I see your windows fair. 
 The tower and handsome buttresses. 
 
 So rich beyond compare. 
 
206 POEMS. 
 
 How good is God to us, child, 
 
 To guard us all so well ! 
 He builds us each a temple 
 
 Where the dear heart may dwell. 
 And when we meet, dear Ida, 
 
 How strange to you and me — 
 We cannot see each other, 
 
 And yet we both can see. 
 
 Well, here it is, dear Ida — 
 
 When God made us of clay 
 He breathed upon us, and in love 
 
 His spirit came to stay. 
 In Him, then, little sunflower. 
 
 You see with your bright eyes. 
 So live in Him rejoicing, 
 
 For such love never dies. 
 
 BY THE BROOK CHERITH, 
 
 How quick the Infinite hand 
 In guarding well his own ! 
 
 How tenderly He takes command, 
 And keeps us near His throne ! 
 
POEMS. 207 
 
 Where'er we wish to move, 
 
 On earth, or sea, or air, 
 There is the canopy of love, 
 
 But He is also there. 
 
 The rocks and shoals we meet 
 
 Form part of Nature's plan 
 To prick the bubbles of conceit 
 
 That dwarf and injure man. 
 
 Our conduct forms our life. 
 
 How dead and dumb without ! 
 But what if God were in the strife 
 
 To bring his plans about ? 
 
 Behold God's beauty, then! 
 
 And never be afraid, 
 In spite of all the bulls of men. 
 
 To view the world He made. 
 
 Fear not; some sovereign state 
 
 Adjusts the lot you feel. 
 Unfathomed circumstance puts weight 
 
 Upon the balance wheel. 
 
 For better far this thing 
 
 With all its sweet anointing, 
 
2o8 POEMS. 
 
 Than that earth's loud applause should ring, 
 Without the Lord's appointing. 
 
 How many come and go ! 
 
 They gaze and pass away. 
 How many tread the path of woe, 
 
 And never wish to stay ! 
 
 Some wrong has fenced them round, 
 Since light first kissed their lips, 
 
 And crushed those faculties profound 
 That never meant eclipse. 
 
 Why? Reason questions why. 
 
 Who mapped out this design? 
 What fools are men who dare apply 
 
 This work to the Divine ! 
 
 God ! Beauty, love and joy 
 
 He pictures every hour. 
 Whence came the monster to destroy 
 
 And rob man of his dower ? 
 
 This be our work for man, 
 
 To point him to his God ; 
 Assist him through life's devious plan, 
 
 Relieve him with his load. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Not force him to our thought, 
 
 Nor fright him with vague fears. 
 
 But bid him see in his tried lot 
 The sign of better years. 
 
 Light fires to make his way 
 
 Bright, honest, true and strong; 
 
 And, when he falters by the way. 
 To cheer his soul with song. 
 
 The birds that sing at morn 
 Beneath our window gate, 
 
 Ne'er whisper of a hope forlorn, 
 But brighten our estate. 
 
 209 
 
 O blessed Honesty ! 
 
 A fortress and a wall. 
 O sweet and chaste Humility ! 
 
 The noblest grace of all. 
 
BOOKS 
 
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CELEBEATED SONGS OF SCOTLAND. Edited by 
 John D. Ross. From King James V. to Henry Scott 
 Eiddell. With Memoirs and Notes. One Vol., 8 vo, 
 400 pages, cloth, gilt top. $2.00. 
 
 This book is a great bargain. Order at once, as 
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 SCOTLAND AND THE SCOTS. By Peter Ross. 
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 ROBERT BURNS. An Ode on the Centenary of his 
 Death. 1796-1896. By Hunter MacCulloch. 32 pp. 
 Illustrated. 8vo., Flexible cloth. 20 cents. 
 
 ' ' Of the poems which the occasion has already 
 produced, none can well be more enthusiastic or 
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 "His flight is steady and sustained, never descend- 
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 serene heights where the skylark sings. "—^roofcZi/w 
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THE NATIONAL LEAGUE AND COVENANT OP 
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 and two or three hundred burghers of different 
 parts of Scotland. 
 
 In appearance and size the facsimile now offered 
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 pendence, and a copy should be on the walls of 
 every Scottish Society throughout the world. 
 
 FROM GRANT'S TOMB TO MOUNT McGREGOR. 
 By Wallace Bruce. 50 cents. 
 Patriotic Poems on a Patriotic Subject. 
 
 SCOTTISH POETS IN AMERICA. By John D.Ross. 
 With Biographical and Critical Notices. One vol., 
 8vo., cloth, 225 pp. $1.50. 
 
 Contains sketches with poems of: Thomas C 
 Latto, Duncan MacGregor Crerar, Prof. James C. 
 Moffat, Hew AinsUe, Hon. William Cant Sturoc, 
 William Lyle, James Kennedy, WiUiam Wilson, 
 
Andrew McLean, D. M. Henderson, Dr. John M. 
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 ALL ABOUT TAM O' SHANTER, with Brief Papers 
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 The editor has gathered in one volume all the 
 articles which have been published from time to 
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 A valuable addition to any collection of Burnsiana. 
 
 THE BURNS ALMANAC. A Record of Dates, 
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 Ross, LL. D.. 12mo., cl. Portrait. $1.50. 
 
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 also particulars of the family of Robert and William 
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 life. List of subscribers to first edition of his 
 works, list of Burns clubs, statues and busts, story 
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 and Poems relating to the wife of Robert Burns, by 
 
John D. Ross, LL. D. Portrait. 12mo., cloth. 
 $1.50. 
 
 Ahnost every event in Jean Armour's life has 
 been chronicled, and every phase of her char- 
 acter has been considered, by the writers whose 
 contributions make up this book. She exerted a 
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 Highland Mary and all the others. 
 
 A CLUSTER OF POETS; SCOTTISH AND AMER- 
 ICAN, with Biographical and Critical Notices, by 
 John D. Ross, LL. D. 12mo., cloth. Portraits. 
 $1.50. 
 
 Life Sketches with selections of the best works of 
 recent Scotch poets. Most of the poems were pub- 
 lished in magazines and newspapers, and have 
 never before been printed in book form. Among 
 those included are Duncan and William Anderson, 
 Wallace Bruce, Charles H. CoUins, Imrie, Law, 
 Arthur and Burton Lockhart, Hector and Patrick 
 McPherson, Archibald and Peter Ross, and many 
 others. 
 
 THE SCOT IN AMERICA. By Peter Ross, LL. D., 
 author of "Scotland and the Scots," Editor of 
 "Songs of Scotland," etc. 12mo., cloth. 446 pp. 
 $2.00. 
 
 Some chapter headings: The Pioneers, Early 
 Colonial Governors, Revolutionary Heroes, Min- 
 isters, Artists and Architects, Scientists and In- 
 ventors, Merchants, Educators, Statesmen and 
 
Politicians, Men of Letters, Poets, Scottish-Amer- 
 ican Societies, etc. A full index. 
 
 KINGCRAFT in Scotland and other Essays and 
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 and the Scots," "The Scot in America," etc. 12mo., 
 cl. 243 pp. $2.00. 
 
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 Dale and His Grandsons (Robert Dale Owen and 
 David Dale Owen), Scottish Freemasonry in America, 
 Edgar A. Poe, American Songs and Song Writers, 
 etc. 
 
 EARLY CRITICAL REVIEWS ON ROBERT 
 BURNS. Edited by John D. Ross, LL. D. Large 
 8vo. 313 pp. $2.00. 
 
 An intelligently edited compilation of early critical 
 Reviews, many of which, excellent as they are, are 
 now difficult to find. — New York Sun. 
 
 The Reviews are by Henry MacKenzie, Dr. Currie, 
 Dr. Irving, Lord Jeffrey, Sir Walter Scott, Prof. 
 John Wilson, Thomas Carlyle, etc.