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 A New Book of Poems 
 
 BY 
 
 REV. A. H. CAUGHEY. Ph. D. 
 
 'I 
 
 ERIE, PENNSYLVANIA 
 
 TRESS OF 
 
 UISPATCU PRINTING AND ENGRAVING CO. 
 
 ERIE. PA. 
 

 COPYRIGHT 1915 
 BY REV. A. H. CAUGHEY. Ph. D. 
 
 ©Ci,A401374 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Recognition of Friends in the Future Life 7 
 
 Poem of the Nativity 23 
 
 A Tale for the Christmas Time 26 
 
 What is Poetry 29 
 
 The Court of Death 35 
 
 The Daughters of the Year 38 
 
 Winter's Parting Song 41 
 
 A Railroad Disaster 42 
 
 Lift the Glorious Banner 45 
 
 The Choral Song of the Stars 46 
 
 To the Memory of the Soldiers of that Famous 
 
 Contest 49 
 
 The Prince of Wales at the Tomb of Washington ... 50 
 
 The Ambitious Student's Longings 51 
 
 Peace and War 53 
 
 Peace and War: The False and the True 61 
 
 Peace Anticipated 63 
 
 Bardolph the Hermit 65 
 
 The Old Bachelor 75 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 This new book of poetry has been growing for 
 many years. The Author began to write in a poetical 
 way when about 13 years old. The first poem of 
 some length that came from his hand, was about that 
 beautiful body of fresh water called Lake Erie, that 
 lies between our Country of Liberty and Law and 
 Patriotism, and the British Colony of Canada op- 
 posite. The poem was put in print by an Erie news- 
 paper. It was taken up a few years later and pub- 
 lished in a book edited by a young gentleman, Mr. 
 Judson, of Waterford, Penna. Afterwards the poeti- 
 cal impulse came upon the present author when a 
 student in College, in 1847. That production ap- 
 peared in print in a newspaper of the college town. 
 The editor expressed his approval by saying that he 
 would gladly accept for the columns of his paper any 
 further contributions from "the diamond pen" of 
 the same writer. 
 
 A number of other poetical pieces were written 
 by the author of the present book, and printed 
 in newspapers. But in 1862, the author had a 
 volume published by Carleton, of New York City, 
 bearing the title of "Home and Other Poems". The 
 first intention was to have "Home" republished in 
 the new book that is soon to appear. That idea has 
 been put aside, but a dozen or more of the additional 
 poems in the volume with "Home" will appear in 
 the new book. 
 
The Poems entitled 'Teace and War" and 
 "Bardolph the Hermit" were printed in the school 
 paper called "The Academy", (both of considerable 
 length), will appear in the new volume. A new poem 
 that has never been in print, entitled: "Recognition 
 of Friends in the Future Life" will also appear. 
 
 The Author is having this new Book printed, 
 not to sell, but just to gather together all his poetical 
 productions; but to have them to give to his friends 
 who are worthy, or who he thinks may care for them; 
 and to a newspaper here and there. He may put 
 a dozen or two of the Book on sale in a bookstore, 
 for any persons who may wish to buy. 
 
RECOGNITION OF FRIENDS 
 IN THE FUTURE LIFE. 
 
 The struggle is o'er, her pain has ceased at last. 
 
 The loosened spirit lifts on easy wing, 
 
 From out the circle of her weeping friends, 
 
 Who cling to her frail form, now still in death; 
 
 Sobbing their grief that swells from broken hearts. 
 
 For a brief space she hovers near, as one 
 
 Just risen from his bed, where painful dreams 
 
 Had troubled him, rejoicing in release 
 
 From the night's load. So she remains in doubt 
 
 If sudden health may not have flushed her veins. 
 
 And sent new life through all her wasted frame. 
 
 Turning, she looks upon her couch, where long 
 She lay in pain and weakness, and beholds 
 Herself as she had been in outward form; 
 And for a moment wonders what it means, 
 For she is conscious of herself, — is free 
 To move without restraint of fleshly parts; 
 And feels the joy of freedom from all pain. 
 
 But soon, as poised in easy posture, she 
 Is wondering what she is and where her place. 
 She finds herself encircled by a throng 
 Of gentle beings, who soothe her troubled thoughts, 
 And proffer aid and guidance in the sphere 
 So new to her and strange and beautiful. 
 Expanding wide before her spirit's vision. 
 
 7 
 
The old scenes, dark with earthly mists, evanish, 
 And friends and loved ones of the former days 
 Depart; but still are held in memory; 
 Which holds in most tenacious grasp the things 
 That in the earthly life gave most delight. 
 
 Among the loving beings who around her press, 
 She looks in vain for some familiar face. 
 For spirits bear to spirits the form and visage 
 That in the mortal life on earth they wore. 
 None of the friends she once had loved, and who 
 Had passed before her to the upper sphere. 
 Does she discern. 
 
 She turns with anxious face 
 To those sweet spirits who have been to her 
 So kind and gracious in her new estate; 
 And with beseeching look she seems to inquire 
 How she shall know or come in contact with 
 Her friends and comrades of the earthly life, 
 Who through death's gate had passed to Paradise. 
 
 Her anxious thought is answered by one filled 
 
 Above the rest with tenderness and love; 
 
 And who, with sweetness most ineffable, smiles 
 
 On her, the new-arrived, and comforts her 
 
 With soothing words. For thought spontaneous flows 
 
 From soul to soul, in the celestial sphere. 
 
 It is not voice, as we on earth perceive it, 
 
 The medium using of the pulsing air; 
 
 But to the spirit sense it seems like spoken words. 
 
 "Sweet spirit, I was once like thee" — began 
 With pleasing speech the gentle guide; "and felt 
 
 8 
 
Myself a stranger 'mid the beauteous scenes 
 Of this deHghtful place; and needed, as thou 
 Dost now, some one to instruct and guide 
 Along the pleasant paths of Paradise. 
 
 "Now by the gracious will of Him who rules 
 
 This most delicious land, our Sovereign Lord, 
 
 Who by His death redeemed us from the sin 
 
 And vile pollutions of the lower world, 
 
 I come to lead and comfort thee, and tell 
 
 Of things that still to thee seem very strange. 
 
 "And that we may with greater ease hold converse 
 One with the other, may I know the name 
 By which thy kindred called thee in the world 
 From which thou art escaped?" Thus kindly spake 
 The gentle guide. 
 
 To her the new-arrived 
 Made answer: "Lissa was my name, in that 
 Old world of clouds and sunshine, happiness 
 And sorrow intermingled. Love was there — 
 The sweetest thing in all that blighted region — 
 A touch of Paradise and God's own life. 
 And love would coin fond names for its dear objects. 
 For this 'twas I am Lissa — pet and darling 
 Of those who gave me back their love for mine. 
 
 "But may I ask, kind friend and guide, how long 
 Since thou arrived in Paradise? And what 
 Thy name on that far ball, that seems in space 
 So distant, yet so near in thought, and time 
 Of journeying hither? 
 
 9 
 
"I an infant was," 
 She sweetly answered back, ''When God's good angels 
 Upbore me to the region of the Blessed. 
 The name my mother gave me, and the man 
 Of God repeated at the holy font. 
 As fell the drops baptismal on my brow, 
 In name of Father, Son and Holy Ghost, 
 I knew not. But, as' passed the gliding hours — 
 If hours they may be called where no sun is 
 To circle through the heavens, and mark the lapse 
 Of day and night; — and my young spirit grew 
 In strength of thought and apprehension; then 
 Some portion of my earthly life was told 
 To me, — my parentage, and how 
 It came to pass that I was to this world 
 Of light and beauty lifted up, before 
 That sin had flecked with its contamination 
 My tender spirit. For the inhabitants 
 Of Paradise receive such knowledge of 
 The earthly state, as may seem meet and best 
 For their more perfect service here of Him 
 Who is their Lord and Savior. For Angels go 
 And come from Heaven to earth, and earth to Heaven, 
 Charged to keep faithful watch and ward about 
 The homes of God's dear children. 
 
 "So at length 
 Much was revealed to me about my birth. 
 And my short life on earth, and all the grief 
 My mother suffered when her first born child 
 Was taken from her and borne up to Heaven. 
 And I was told the name, the Christian name. 
 Bestowed on me in baptism, in His name 
 Who had redeemed me from the power and curse 
 Of sin and death and brought me to Himself." 
 
 10 
 
She ceased. But Lissa still intently stood 
 In attitude to listen. For the voice 
 Was sweet, and seemed to charm her very soul, 
 And bring an echo of the distant past, — 
 When she had heard an infant's tender tones 
 Lisp mamma, mamma, to her mother heart; 
 And felt its little hand caress her cheek 
 And bosom. Then Lissa softly spoke: 
 
 "But, sweetest Guide, the name that thou didst men- 
 tion, 
 Bestowed on thee in Holy Baptism, in His name 
 Who saved us all; canst thou not tell it me? 
 For something in me seems to prompt the wish 
 To know thy name, and know thyself more fully." 
 To whom the Heaven-taught child of earth 
 Replied: ''The name I bear in Paradise, 
 But spoken first by my dear Mother's lips 
 On earth, and sanctified by Holy Rite 
 In Christ's name, is Romaine." "My child! My child !'^ 
 
 Cried Lissa, " 'tis thyself. I am thy mother. 
 At last by God's good hand restored 
 And thou to me; through all the perils and pains 
 Of that long life on earth. My own Romaine! 
 Sweet child of many hopes and longings; 
 How oft my thoughts have pictured thee among 
 The Blessed, in this bright world, and wondered when 
 I should be borne if ever unto this happy place, 
 And find and know thee as my darling child, — 
 My lost Romaine! The Lord be praised for all 
 His infinite love and mercy for us both!" 
 Awhile they gazed in rapture each on each. 
 Then clasped in long embrace of perfect love. 
 
 11 
 
Chapter II. 
 
 Time is duration, without metes, or mark 
 
 Of progress in the world of spirit life. 
 
 The light there such as constant flows 
 
 From God's ineffable glory, of beauty full, 
 
 And full of life. No night is there. 
 
 No morn arises and no evening fades, — 
 
 Nor moon walks forth in softened light 
 
 With silent steps upon her nightly track; 
 
 Nor stars peep out. 
 
 No thought is taken of the lapse of time. 
 
 There is but sense of a continuous now. 
 
 Lissa and her beloved child, in bliss 
 
 Of sweet communion still remained. 
 
 For what on earth would many hours seem, 
 
 Talking of all the past in either world. 
 
 And praising God for His abounding goodness. 
 
 The blessed spirits, passing on their rounds 
 
 Of duty or of pleasure, soon perceived 
 
 How happy was the child they called Romaine, 
 
 With that most gentle spirit latest come 
 
 To Paradise. A child she was to them 
 
 In form and beauty. For the mind expands of 
 
 Those who reach the Heavenly state of bliss 
 
 As infants; while they bear the state 
 
 Of childish nature, beautiful and pure. 
 
 With souls that show^ no stain of sin; and from 
 
 The tendency to evil thought or deed 
 
 Made strong and sure through power of Him who gave 
 
 His life for the redemption of mankind. 
 
 The evil taint, transmitted from the great 
 First Father of the race, rests in the soul 
 
 12 
 
Of each one human born. The blood of Christ 
 Cleanses the taint from every infant dying 
 Ere capabiUty of Faith is in the soul. 
 
 Most happy Lissa was in her Romaine, 
 
 And near her held her place as if in fear 
 
 Lest turning from her she should lose the vision 
 
 Of this her precious child, Heaven-bred, 
 
 Wished for so long; or some untoward chance 
 
 Should sunder them. 
 
 In happy converse still they stand, or move 
 
 Among the many Holy ones who flit 
 
 From place to place on errands of love or duty. 
 
 And still they talked of all that had occurred 
 
 Since that sad day, — sad truly to the Mother, 
 
 O'er fond of this her beautiful first born, 
 
 When helpless she must stand and see her babe 
 
 Endure the pangs of death, and fade away 
 
 From out her sight, or reach of earthly sense. 
 
 The tale was long that Lissa had to relate 
 Of earthly happiness, and all the joys 
 Of home, mingled with cares and pains and griefs, 
 Love lightening all the toil and anxious thought 
 For those who made the home, and for the friends 
 Or suffering ones who needed help and succor. 
 She told how sweet it was to bear even pain 
 And heavy toil, if only loved ones might 
 Be comforted, and home protected from 
 The approach of evil ; while trust in God and hope 
 In His abounding grace and goodness were 
 A never failing source of rest and peace. 
 
 13 
 
"But darling child of mine, did you not know? 
 Did nothing come to you in all those years 
 Since you to this blessed region were upborne, 
 No tidings of those who loved you best on earth, 
 And grieved that you were gone? Were you not told 
 By spirits loosed as I have been from shackles 
 Of flesh, and clogging things of earthly sense, 
 And carried hither, of those thro' whom God gave 
 You being, and watched you tenderly, 
 And o'er your cradle bent v/ith ceaseless love?" 
 
 "I was not kept in utter ignorance," 
 
 The sweet and loving daughter made reply, 
 
 "Of what transpired in that old home on earth, 
 
 And how they fared who watched my infancy ; 
 
 I knew that they among the living still 
 
 Were found in that far world, and that the light 
 
 Of God was on their path; and that ere long 
 
 To this delightful Paradise I knew 
 
 They would transported be, and I should see 
 
 And know them as my dearest friends on earth. 
 
 **But what they did and suffered; how life sped 
 Amid the cares and joys, the loves and hopes. 
 That were their lot, was not to me made known. 
 For God in wisdom deems it best that those. 
 Translated in their tenderest years to Heaven, 
 Should little know of what the saints redeemed 
 Call grief and pain, or sin and death. 
 Endured while on the earth. From these they are 
 In mercy rescued, and conveyed to this 
 Bright world of love and peace and holiness. 
 
 14 
 
"Angelic beings, messengers of our King, 
 
 Go often to and fro on errands of love — 
 
 Ministering spirits sent forth to minister 
 
 To those who heirs of His Salvation are. 
 
 But we young spirits, earth-born, learning still 
 
 The ways and duties of the heavenly state, 
 
 Are not commissioned to such lofty service. 
 
 We join in songs of joyful praise; and when 
 
 The hallelujahs rise to Him who loved 
 
 And gave Himself for us, we lift our voices. 
 
 And joy to swell the melody that rolls 
 
 Through all the arches of the heavenly temple. 
 
 We listen to the story told of those 
 
 Who thro' great tribulation came, and who 
 
 Had washed their robes and made them white in blood 
 
 Of Him who died that they might live and gain 
 
 A welcome to His homx of peace and rest. 
 
 "The ways of God are taught to us, and all 
 The scheme of His creation is made known. 
 And mysteries revealed of how God deals 
 With sinful men. And thus in knowledge we 
 Advance, and grow in power of apprehension 
 Of whate'er truth our Lord would have us know. 
 And as our power of thought expands, we pass 
 To higher degrees of happiness and life; 
 And love still more and more pervades our being — 
 The love of Him who formed us, and His Son 
 Sent forth to conquer death and sin, and all 
 The might of Satan, and bring us to Himself, 
 Redeemed and purified and made immortal. 
 At length we too shall rise to such degree 
 Of knowledge and of spiritual strength and wisdom, 
 
 16 
 
That we may serve our King, and do His bidding. 
 
 The highest joy of love is service done 
 
 For those we love. We now but stand and wait, 
 
 Rejoicing in the fullness of the bliss 
 
 Our Lord has graciously on us bestowed." 
 
 Entranced the mother, Lissa, listening stood, 
 While her immortal child, so far advanced 
 Beyond her in such heavenly lore, discoursed; 
 And wished that she would still talk on incessant. 
 Silent they lingered, clasped once more in fond 
 Embrace; then moved with joyful step and light 
 Among the happy throngs of Paradise. 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 "Thirty and six the tale of years, my darling," 
 In speech began thus Lissa, * 'since unseen 
 The angels came and bore thee from my arms. 
 And I was left o'erwhelmed in helpless grief. 
 And yet in all those years, as time on earth 
 Is reckoned, hast thou seen no one, among 
 The thronging spirits in this happy place, 
 Who chanced to know thee as a child of mine?" 
 
 "I now do call to mind," Romaine made answer, 
 
 "That many years ago, as thou might'st say. 
 
 Dear mother, in language of thine earthly life. 
 
 My loving teacher spake of one, a man. 
 
 Of gentle mien, and earnest, thoughtful face* 
 
 Who lately had arrived in Paradise; 
 
 Who, passing near me, as with my companions, 
 
 I strolled among the groves and o'er the lawns 
 
 *Moorhead 
 16 
 
Of this delightful region, stopped and stood, 
 With startled look, when some one spoke my name; 
 And to him beckoning my guide, he said: 
 "Just now I heard a name pronounced, as slow 
 I paced along — a name that years ago 
 Dear friends of mine bestowed upon a child 
 God gave them, and then early called away. 
 
 "I well remember how the parents mourned 
 
 Her loss, and would not be consoled, because 
 
 She was not. Then in converse further he 
 
 Became convinced that I was that dear child 
 
 For whom the parents mourned so bitterly. 
 
 "This noble spirit came and talked with me, 
 
 And told how frail thou wast, my mother; 
 
 That soon, he doubted not, the heavenly ones 
 
 Would bear thee also to this happy place. 
 
 Thy mother, too, he spoke of, lingering, 
 
 In patience, in the midst of pain and weakness, 
 
 Upon the border of this Paradise, 
 
 And filled with hope that soon release would come. 
 
 ''He also told of one, a precious boy,* 
 
 Snatched suddenly from life — one near to me in blood. 
 
 As earthly ties are reckoned — whom he chanced 
 
 To meet, astray on the celestial plain, 
 
 With many comrades of a kindred age, 
 
 Cared for and led by angels hovering near. 
 
 This youth, my new friend told me, spoke to him 
 
 Of thee, and of his parents and dear friends, 
 
 Heart-broken by his sudden death. 'But would 
 
 That I could tell them,' said the happy boy, 
 
 'The joys of this new sphere of life' 'and how 
 
 I long to greet them all in this bright world 
 
 Of Paradise. *Archie Hilton 
 
 17 
 
"My friend who talked v/ith me told not his name, 
 Perhaps thou canst divine it, my dear mother. 
 Ere long he left me, not without a smile 
 And gracious parting words, and hope expressed 
 That we should meet again. But 'tis long since; 
 And in the wide expanse of this large realm 
 Of Paradise, — stretching on all sides boundless. 
 For God no limits sets to space; no wall 
 High reaching has he reared to circumscribe 
 The wanderings of this happy world of beings; 
 They go and come, and far as farthest orbs 
 Excursions make, but still are held and drawn 
 By the attraction of His love and power. 
 His energy prevades the universe, 
 And all who wander come again to Him. 
 
 "And thus my new acquaintance, passing on, 
 Alone or companied by others, has not chanced 
 To come again where walk the gentle ones 
 Who bear me company, or meet us where 
 We go in our swift flights of service to Him 
 In whom we live and move and find our joy." 
 Thus with her mother did the child — the babe 
 On earth, but now advanced to so great heights 
 Of knowledge, love and thought in this new world 
 Of being, hold discourse, while she who gave 
 Her earthly life, listened in rapt delight. 
 
 Then, after pause and quiet rest of thought, 
 Spake Lissa to the Heaven-taught child in words 
 Of kind and gentle tone; for she still wore 
 In Paradise the manner of her life 
 On earth — her voice the same, her bearing full 
 Of grace and gentle dignity: "There must 
 
 18 
 
Be many in this happy world," she said, 
 
 ''Who passed before me from the scenes I knew, 
 
 Who rest beneath these bowers of refreshment. 
 
 Or stroll along these paths, or join in songs 
 
 Of praise and hallelujahs to our King. 
 
 'Tis but brief space of what is earthly time 
 
 Since she, of whom your new acquaintance spake, 
 
 As waiting on the border of Paradise, 
 
 Passed over, and I doubt not rests in peace 
 
 Within this happy home of the redeemed. 
 
 Long did she wait, and long endure the pain 
 
 That w^as her lot — in patience for release. 
 
 Still hoping, biding God's good time. And since 
 
 I too within this happy world have gained 
 
 An entrance, much my thoughts have turned to her. 
 
 My mother; and my hope is strong that soon, 
 
 As we among these scenes of pleasure stroll, 
 
 'Twill be my happy lot to meet and greet her. 
 
 On earth she had grown frail, and marks of age 
 
 Were on her cheek and brow; but when the robe 
 
 Of shriveled flesh that clothed her spirit dropped, 
 
 As she to Paradise ascended, dressed 
 
 In pristine youth she surely would appear, 
 
 And bear the image of the heavenly. 
 
 When in such beauteous disguise, how should 
 
 I recognize her, though we face to face 
 
 Should meet, — unless some holy messenger, 
 
 Charged with the care of those from earth redeemed, 
 
 Knowing our thoughts and longings, should make 
 
 known 
 The near relation that on earth we held." 
 
 19 
 
She ceased to speak; when an Angel near, 
 The words of Lissa and her troubled looks 
 Observing, near her drew and asked her quest, 
 Or what the care that rested in her heart. 
 Though cares in earthly sense, there cannot be 
 In Paradise, but only longings for 
 Some higher good, or some out-reach of love. 
 She modestly made answer that she sought 
 To know if somewhere in this realm of bliss 
 Her mother rested from the toils of earth, 
 And if the spot might be made known to her. 
 
 Scarce had she spoken when the Holy one 
 With sudden movement quickly sped away. 
 Romaine and Lissa stood in silent wonder. 
 Awaiting his return. The time seemed long, 
 Even in this state of rest and happiness. 
 Where discontent comes not, nor wishes are 
 Immoderate or wrong. Hope is delight. 
 And wishing only striving after good. 
 Which God will surely give in His good time. 
 
 But soon the messenger, who sped away 
 On swiftest wing, returns, now gently moving; 
 And with him one sedate in her demeanor. 
 And grave in looks — wearing no show of care, 
 But filled with heavenly calmness and content. 
 With all the eagerness of filial love, 
 Lissa upon her gazes; for she sees 
 It is her mother — changed, but still the same; 
 And with a kiss of loving recognition 
 Each other they embrace; while sweet Romaine, 
 The child they both had deeply loved on earth, 
 Is fondly folded in the arms of both. 
 
 20 
 
Chapter IV. 
 
 A while the comrades of the Heaven-taught child 
 Withdrew, and left her to the comradship 
 Of those who once on earth had mourned her loss 
 So deeply; but whom in Paradise, with joy 
 Unspeakable, they find at last restored 
 In wondrous beauty clothed and heavenly grace. 
 No mortal heart the pleasure can conceive 
 That thrilled the being of the elder twain, 
 But recently from earth's sad scenes delivered, 
 As here in the "safe harbor of God's saints" 
 They feel secure — restored, no more to part, 
 And joined with her, the long lost little one. 
 So much their senior in the heavenly state. 
 
 Events that to the earthly life pertained, 
 
 Which pleasure gave, Lissa, 
 
 Rehearsed in order in her mother's ears: 
 
 But things that were of painful character, 
 
 These she refrained to speak of, lest they should, 
 
 Even in this happy place, give sense of sorrow. 
 
 But for herself, amid these happy seats. 
 
 And far removed from storms of earthly life, 
 
 Which pleasure gave, Lissa 
 
 Rehearsed in order in her mother's ears; 
 
 But what would give her pain and grieve her heart, 
 
 These she refrained to speak of, lest they should, 
 
 Even in this happy place, give sense of sorrow. 
 
 But for herself, amid these Heavenly seats. 
 And far removed from storms of earthly life, — 
 The griefs and painful crosses she had borne. 
 Seen in the light of God's good providence, 
 
 21 
 
And by His holy will controlled and guided, 
 She knows were wise and helpful — working out, 
 For her who patiently obeyed His will, 
 A weight of glory far exceeding all 
 The suffering and care she had endured. 
 
 "The pain of body which I bore" said Lissa, 
 
 "For many months, seemed hard; and tedious were 
 
 The days and nights when helpless on my bed 
 
 I lay, and hoped and prayed that God would raise 
 
 Me up and give me strength to bear; and say 
 
 Thy will be done.' And glancing backward I 
 
 Could see His hand in all that I endured 
 
 Throughout my mortal life; and in 
 
 The many blessings He vouchsafed to grant. 
 
 That I then knew as blessings. He was kind 
 
 In ways innumerable. And even when. 
 
 With my short sight, I thought the discipline hard — 
 
 Yet now I see and know full well the end 
 
 Of all my sufferings. And here I have as 
 
 Comrade, my child immortal. My mother, too. 
 
 Patient and faithful throughout her lengthened life. 
 
 And former friends are here, and others soon will be, 
 
 Within this home of happiness and peace. 
 
 I find them all as happy spirits; 
 
 Rejoicing in deliverance from earth's cares. 
 
 And toils and pains of earthly life endured. 
 
 And triumphing over sin and death; through faith 
 
 In Him, the Almighty Lord and Savior of mankind. 
 
 And now to the Triune God, the Father, 
 
 The Son and the Holy Spirit, be praise, 
 
 Honor, and Glory everlasting. Am.en!" 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 22 
 
POEM OF THE NATIVITY. 
 
 *Tis midnight o'er Judea's plains and mountains; 
 
 The silent stars of heaven in peace look down. 
 'Tis midnight o'er Jerusalem's towers and fountains, — 
 
 The temple lamp displays its flaming crown. 
 Northward and southward through the chosen land 
 Men sleep, and labor rests his weary hand. 
 
 Far o'er the land of Moab's dark-hued daughters, 
 The sky bends down, untinged with Orient light. 
 
 The great sea westward pours its restless waters. 
 Lashing its unseen shores beneath the night. 
 
 The world's at rest,- — except where far Cathay, 
 
 And lands more distant, feel the bright sun's rays. 
 
 'Tis midnight! Shepherds hold their watchful station 
 'Twixt Holy Salem and King David's town, 
 
 Guarding their flocks. They see, in rapt elation, 
 A wondrous company from heaven come down. 
 
 A bursting light flames earth and heaven in glory, 
 
 As thus the angel tells his brief, glad story: 
 
 "Tidings of joy I bring to every nation: — 
 A Savior, Christ the Lord is born to-day." 
 
 The heavenly host in answering jubilation. 
 Pour forth in rapture, their exultant lay: 
 
 "Glory to God on high! on earth be peace; 
 
 Good will to men shall evermore increase." 
 
 23 
 
Entranced, the shepherds heard the song immortal; — 
 
 No sweeter ever fell on human ears! 
 They watch the angelic choir to heaven's portal, 
 
 And strive, amid their almost mastering fears 
 To catch once more, the echo of that strain 
 Of love and peace! Salvation's glad refrain. 
 
 Ere yet 'tis dawn, the shepherds, full of wonder; 
 
 Their ears still tingling with the heavenly sound ; 
 Forgetful that the thief their fold may plunder, 
 
 Or prowling wolves o'erleap the enclosure's bound, 
 Make haste the tidings glad to bear with joy 
 To Bethlehem's gate, and see the Heavenly Boy. 
 
 On far off Eastern plains, Chaldean sages 
 
 Witness the light. A brilliant star it seems; 
 
 Foreseen by prophets of the ancient ages, 
 Lifting o'er Jacob's land its peaceful beams. 
 
 Upon the sky it hangs, and moving not, 
 
 Marks with its undimmed ray the sacred spot. 
 
 Led by the immortal King's imperial token, • 
 The wise men plod their way, a weary band. 
 
 O'er deserts wide, — press on with faith unbroken, 
 Laden with kingly gifts to Israel's land. 
 
 Unbalked by cruel Herod's wiles they bring 
 
 Their offerings rich before the infant King. ^ 
 
 The light, the song, the star — these signs from Heaven, 
 Amid earth's darkness and the night of sin, 
 
 Were tokens of the coming glory given, — 
 Of the Messiah's kingdom ushered in. 
 
 Still spreads the light celestial, — ever still 
 
 Is heard the song of peace, — to men good will. 
 
 24 
 
And as when Christ was born, the Empyrean 
 Was flooded over with a heavenly blaze; 
 
 And men were charmed with the angelic paean 
 Of joy and gladsome song, and highest praise; 
 
 We still, at Christmas tide, should tell the story 
 
 Of Jesus' birth, and give to God the glory; — 
 
 Praying that, while abundant peace and pleasure 
 Embrace the lives that God in goodness gave, 
 
 Our hearts may all receive in fullest measure 
 The love of Him who came our souls to save. 
 
 The bliss He gives can never end in gloom. 
 
 But fresher grow with an immortal bloom. 
 
 Of peace and kindness spake the herald angel; 
 
 For all mankind the blessings that He named. 
 Shall we not help fulfill the sweet evangel, 
 
 And strive to make the Eden be proclaimed? 
 Let stinging tongues be silent, passions cease. 
 And all the year become a Christmas time of peace. 
 
 25 
 
A TALE FOR THE CHRISTMAS TIME. 
 
 "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least 
 of these my brethren, ye have done it unto iWe." 
 
 A little girl lay on her couch of pain ; 
 
 The night was dark and the fierce storm beat 
 With fury and might thro' street and lane, 
 
 Slashing with wings of snow and sleet 
 The tenement frail where the sufferer lay, 
 And tossed, and m.oaned, and longed for the day. 
 
 "O sister darling." — for not alone 
 
 Little Mabel lay in that cheerless room, 
 
 With its one dull lamp, that dimly shone. 
 Revealing the grimed walls thro' the gloom: 
 
 "Did you say that to-morrow was Christmas Day— 
 
 That day once joyous with song and play? 
 
 "Come, sister, take my hand in yours; 
 
 Sit here on my bed; — so cold, I shiver! 
 This dreadful storm! how it beats and roars. 
 
 Till it makes our hovel rock and quiver! 
 Let us talk of the happy days that are past, 
 And forget the cold and the wintry blast. 
 
 "Our papa was always good and kind; 
 
 And then, when the Christmas time came round, 
 He'd tell us that Santa Claus kept us in mind; 
 
 And we'd lie waking to hear the sound 
 Of the tinkling bells and the pattering feet 
 Of his reindeer team as they sped so fleet. 
 
 26 
 
" *Twas our dear father and mother, we know, 
 Who gave us the pretty things Christmas morn. 
 
 But nobody cares for us, sister, now, 
 When hungry, desolate and forlorn. 
 
 Dear mamma whispered us when she died: 
 
 ''Have courage, my children; the Lord will provide." 
 
 "Has God forgotten us, Jennie dear? 
 
 And must we shiver, and starve and die 
 On Christ's own day, with Christians near 
 
 Who are singing carols to Him on high — 
 Praising Him for His boundless love, 
 And seeking His blessing from above? 
 
 "I thought that Christians loved each other, 
 
 And if trouble fell to another's lot 
 Each bore the part of sister or brother; 
 
 Thus our dear mother read and taught. 
 'Whatever ye do to Mine in need. 
 Ye do to Me,' the Good Lord said! 
 
 "O I'm so tired and sick and cold. 
 
 Will never the night and storm be past? 
 No coal you say, nor fagot, nor mold. 
 
 To keep us from freezing to death at last? 
 The lamp is flickering, death is nigh: 
 Lie close, dear sister, and let us die." 
 
 Hail, Christmas morning! the storm is gone; 
 
 In cloudless beauty the sun bursts forth. 
 In drifts of whiteness, on street and lawn, 
 
 The snows lie, swept from the frozen North. 
 'Gainst Mabel's cottage the storm force wild. 
 Over windows and door, the snow had piled. 
 
 27 
 
A good Samaritan passed that way. 
 
 "What's this?" he queried. "The last night's storm 
 Has buried the cabin from light of day, 
 
 But kept the inmates safe and warm." 
 He tunneled his way to the door, when lo! 
 As he entered, two little girls under the snow! 
 
 God's mercy, indeed, their lives to save, 
 Had made the winds to obey His will; 
 
 A coverlet soft and warm they gave 
 Of the snows insifted slow and still. 
 
 And Christmas joy once more is come 
 
 To the dear little girls, in the good man's home. 
 
 Let the Christmas time be a time of cheer, 
 And love and kindness and joy abound; 
 
 Be it still remembered that far and near 
 Are many in poverty hardly bound. 
 
 And while we rejoice in Jesus' birth, 
 
 Let us strive with Him to bring "peace on earth.' 
 
 28 
 
WHAT IS POETRY? 
 
 Perhaps we may find a satisfactory definition of 
 poetry among the poets themselves. Samuel Taylor 
 Coleridge says: "Poetry is the blossom and fragrance 
 of all human thought, human passions, emotions, 
 language." Edmund C. Stedman quotes Wordsworth 
 as saying that "Poetry is the spontaneous outflow of 
 powerful feelings." And Macaulay, in his "Essay on 
 Milton," says : "By Poetry we mean the art of employ- 
 ing words in such a manner as to produce an illusion of 
 the imagination." 
 
 "A solemn murmur in the soul 
 
 Tells of the world to be; 
 As travelers hear the billows roll 
 
 Before they reach the sea." 
 
 Or this oft-quoted passage from Wordsworth: 
 
 "The good die first; 
 And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, 
 Burn to the socket." 
 
 Or this from the same poet's "Ode on Intimations 
 of Immortality": 
 
 "Hence in a season of calm weather; 
 Tho' inland far we be. 
 
 Our souls have sight of the immortal sea 
 Which brought us hither; — 
 Can in a moment travel thither, 
 
 And see the children sport upon the shore, 
 
 And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore." 
 29 
 
In a poem by Henry Vaughan, one of the elder 
 English poets, in which he speaks of those who are 
 struggling to make some approach toward the friends 
 taken from them by death, this striking stanza occurs: 
 
 'They to the verge have followed whet they love, 
 And on the insuperable threshold stand ; 
 
 With cherished names its speechless calm reprove. 
 And stretch in the abyss an ungrasped hand." 
 
 The same poet speaks thus of our Lord's hallowing 
 the tomb by resting in it, and blessing it when He rose: 
 
 ''He only with returning footsteps broke 
 
 The eternal calm wherewith the tomb is bound; 
 
 Among the sleeping dead alone He woke, 
 
 And blest with outstretched hands the host 
 around." 
 
 One more delicious thing I am tempted to quote, 
 which I have carried as a little printed slip in my 
 pocket-book for thirty years or more. It is on "Life," 
 by Mrs. Barbauld. The poet Rogers liked it greatly; 
 And Madam D'Arblay, it is said, was accustomed to 
 repeat it to herself every night before she went to 
 sleep. And Wordsworth, Crabbe Robinson tells us, 
 was heard, as he paced his room one day, muttering to 
 himself these words, — referring to Mrs. Barbauld's 
 lines: "I am not in the habit of grudging other people 
 their good things; but I wish I had written those 
 lines," — The lines are these: 
 
 "Life, we've been long together. 
 Thro' pleasant and thro' cloudy weather. 
 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear; 
 Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear. 
 30 
 
Then steal away, — give little warning, 
 
 Say not good night, but in some fairer clime 
 
 Bid me good morning!" 
 
 Ten thousand such perfect gems in perfect setting 
 lie scattered through the great rnass of our poetic liter- 
 ature, — many of them in the obscure pages of half- 
 forgotten authors; or in corners of old newspapers 
 with only initials, or anon, attached. 
 
 Can we tell why we are peculiarly moved or de- 
 lighted with them? A brief examination, I think, 
 would show that it is the thought itself, very simply 
 and naturally expressed, but, of course, almost always 
 rich in metaphor, and in words that appeal to the 
 heart. Throw that sweet little thing of Mrs. Bar- 
 bauld's into something like the majestic diction that 
 Alexander Pope made so popular in his day, and which 
 has not yet gone quite out of fashion, and we should 
 see how greatly weakened would be the effect upon us. 
 
 We might be moved as by some grand pageant, 
 or as if by the sound of the bugle, or the tramp of 
 armed hosts, — an effect that Pope generally produces. 
 As an example of his grand style, take the following 
 brief passage from his version of the Illiad: 
 
 "Great Hector saw, and raging at the view, 
 Pours on the Greeks, — the Trojan troops pursue. 
 He fires his host with animating cries. 
 And brings along the furies of the skies. 
 Mars, stern destroyer, and Bellona dread. 
 Flame in the front and thunder at their head." 
 
 Nearly one-half of all which is not found in the 
 simple but grand story of Homer at all. A single 
 
 31 
 
term, in the original Greek of the poem, "loud-shout- 
 ing," Pope has expanded into the two lines: 
 
 "He fires his host with animating cries, 
 And brings along the furies of the skies." 
 
 Some semblance of the Pope style of diction may- 
 be discovered if we throw Mrs. Barbauld's apostrophe 
 to Life, that has just been read, into the English Epic 
 (or ten syllable) measure. Thus: 
 
 "Fast friends, sweet life, we long have been together* 
 Through nights of storm, arid days of sunny weather. 
 The heart-strings strain, and starts the bitter tear, 
 When they are sundered who have long been dear. 
 Give little warning, take thee quick away; 
 And welcome bid where dawns the eternal day." 
 
 There are more words, and possibly a more stately 
 movement; but the poetic and moving effect is cer- 
 tainly weakened. 
 
 The common words of home and daily life are 
 generally the best vehicles of poetic thought. Some 
 of the finest passages in Gray's famous Elegy, that so 
 linger and sound through our memory like strains of 
 beautiful music, are expressed in the simplest language. 
 What vivid pictures we have in every line and word 
 of this first stanza: 
 
 "The curfew tolls the knell of parting day; 
 
 The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea; 
 The plowman homeward plods his weary way. 
 
 And leaves the world to darkness and to me." 
 
 Or this, the very next stanza, is quite as finely 
 descriptive of the objects of nature: 
 
 32 
 
"Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
 Or drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds." 
 
 Poetry has done much of its best and greatest 
 service in creating the hymns of the Christian Church. 
 Charles Wesley, it may almost be said, has done as 
 much for the church, since his day, through his sublime 
 and tender, his stirring, heart-searching and worship- 
 ful hymns, as half the preachers thro' their sermons. 
 And nearly or quite as much may be said of Isaac 
 Watts and William Cowper. 
 
 And these hymns of theirs are, for the most part, 
 expressed in words so simple, and in a style so clear, 
 that even little children can understand them, and 
 unite in singing them "with the spirit and the under- 
 standing also." 
 
 And in times of trouble and affliction, how often 
 have the words of some poet, who could feel intensely, 
 and who had the power to interpret, in simple language 
 the feelings, longings and aspirations of the heart, 
 served to bring both consolation and strength to 
 suffering and heavy-laden souls. 
 
 At a time of deep sorrow that fell upon me a 
 few years ago, — I must ask pardon for this personal 
 reference, — a friend sent me a little volume of poems, 
 written by one surely a true poet, who had herself 
 suffered a great affliction . Some of the verses seemed 
 to be simply transcripts of the deep feelings of her 
 own heart, — longings, and anticipations, and pictur- 
 ings of the delights of Paradise, in which her faith 
 enabled her to see her friend who was gone as resting. 
 
 33 
 
I am tempted to give a brief extract from one of the 
 poems entitled "Recompense." Referring to God, 
 she says: 
 
 "We know He does not mean 
 To break the strands reaching between 
 
 The here and there. 
 He does not mean, tho' Heaven be fair, — 
 To change the spirits entering there, 
 
 That they forget 
 
 The eyes upraised and wet; 
 
 The lips too still for prayer, — 
 
 The mute despair. 
 
 I do believe that just the same sweet face, 
 
 But glorified, is waiting in the place 
 
 Where we shall meet, if only I 
 
 Am counted worthy in that by and by. 
 
 I do believe that God will give a sweet surprise 
 
 To tear-stained, saddened eyes; 
 
 And that this heaven will be 
 Most glad, most tided thro' with joy for you 
 and me. 
 
 As we have suffered most." 
 
 34 
 
THE COURT OF DEATH. 
 
 Within a cavern vast, where sluggish flows 
 Oblivion's stream, and dripping rocks enclose 
 A dismal m.ist, the king of mortal fate, 
 Enthroned in might, and robed in gloomy state. 
 Holds his mysterious Court. Upon his face. 
 Solemn and calm, the keenest eye can trace 
 No marks of malice; nor of pity there 
 Does one soft, yielding lineament appear. 
 Beneath his feet a youthful form lies low, 
 Once proud in strength, and flushed with life's full flow. 
 His supple ministers around him wait, 
 Or at his bidding fly, with wills elate 
 For deeds of woe. 
 
 On this side ruthless War, 
 With visage stern and vengeful, hies afar. 
 Pushing his slaughering way, with crushing tread, 
 'Mid throngs of maddened men made heaps of dead; 
 While 'neath the cruel trampings of the strife 
 Lies crouched the wondering babe and pleading wife. 
 Before him, Conflagation, high in air 
 Heaving her flaming torches, flings their glare, 
 Lurid and fitful, on his deathful path. 
 And rushes fiercely onward, red with wrath. 
 Behind him, Pestilence and Famine stalk, 
 Close-pressing on his heels, and making mock. 
 With their most hideous faces, grim and gaunt, 
 Of all the grandeur which he makes his vaunt. 
 His victim, stricken, bleeding, ghastly lies. 
 Nor heeds nor hears th' exulting victor's cries. 
 
 35 
 
But not by cruel deeds and carnage dire, 
 By Famine, Plague, and swift-devouring Fire, 
 Does Death his fatal power exert alone. 
 And still the pulse, and force th' expiring groan. 
 These, eager, ready, fly at his command. 
 And pour destruction o'er the doomed land. 
 But other shapes, less fierce, yet strong to kill. 
 Obsequious stand, and wait to do his will. 
 Here Pleasure, luring goddess, plump and fair, 
 With witching face, and neck and bosom bare. 
 Proffers her cup, with love and beauty graced. 
 And sweetly importunes her guests to taste. 
 They drink; but as the draught their soul enchants. 
 The giddy, zoneless girl, Intemperance, 
 With hair unbound, flushed cheeks, and leering eyes, 
 Impregns with drugs the chalice; and then plies 
 The half -crazed votary's brain with thoughts of woe. 
 That drive him to the death he would forego. 
 Remorse, by horror scourged, cries out — "Too late!" 
 Covers his face and rushes on his fate. 
 By fiends pursued, Delirium Tremens calls 
 For help in vain, and shuddering, writhing falls 
 In hopeless agony; while at his side. 
 Maddened with shame, the coward Suicide 
 Plucks from his riven heart his gory blade. 
 Staggers and dies, and flees a frighted shade. 
 But Pleasure still, with sweet, seductive lips, 
 The sparkling chalice filling, gaily sips; 
 And Drunkenness, her goblet lifting high, 
 Exults to see her victims reel and die. 
 
 But not with War and all his murderous band, 
 Nor yet with reveling Pleasure, hand in hand 
 Close leagued with mad Intemperance, mighty waves 
 Of ruin spreading, and thick sowing graves 
 
 36 
 
O'er Earth, in all her isles and continents wide, 
 
 Is Death, the mighty conqueror, satisfied. 
 
 Silent, unmoved he sits — unpitying still 
 
 Issues his changeless mandate, "slay and kill," 
 
 To other agents, who but wait to know 
 
 Their Sovereign's will, then haste on deeds of woe. 
 
 Consumption, soft approaching, with her breath 
 Sighs gently on her victim sealed for Death. 
 He loves the vermeil flush that paints her cheek. 
 Nor dreams that 'tis her presence makes him weak. 
 Listless he lies; sweet languors o'er him shed, 
 And dreams of life amuse, till life has fled. 
 Beside him Fever droops, with anguished brow, 
 And frame relaxed, and head reclining low. 
 The parted lips, flushed face and anxious stare 
 The monarch's fatal power and work declare. 
 Here wretched Hypochondria sprawling lies. 
 With half-averted face and straining eyes, 
 Frightened by phantasies, a horrid crew, 
 That still the self-tormented wretch pursue; 
 While there, the halting prey of Gout appears. 
 And wan Despair, with grief too deep for tears. 
 Far happier he whom Apoplexy dread 
 By one fell blow hurls sudden to the dead. 
 No pangs he feels, not even deaths' last throes — 
 While they drag out long years of lingering woes. 
 
 Such be the courtiers that surround the throne 
 Of Death, the monarch, and his mastery own. 
 Each vies with each to inflict the tyrant's doom. 
 And make the earth a pest-house and a tomb. 
 
 But who is this, of calm and reverent mien. 
 Bent down with years, but with a brow serene. 
 Who comes before Death's presence stern and cold, 
 And craves the boon of dying — who so bold? 
 
 37 
 
It is the aged Christian, whom sweet Faith 
 Cheers and delivers from the fear of death. 
 Safe in her Heavenly arms she bears him up, 
 While joyfully he quaffs the bitter cup. 
 
 THE DAUGHTERS OF THE YEAR. 
 
 I'm the father of motherless daughters — 
 
 (Thus sings the gray-beard year) — 
 I'm the father of brotherless daughters twelve, 
 
 And my lofty palace they cheer. 
 For I live in a palace of splendor; 
 
 Its walls are azure and gold; 
 Its floors the broad earth and the sea; 
 
 It swings in the ether cold. 
 
 My daughters are fair and filial — 
 
 They serve in their turn to me; 
 They garnish my home with crystal gifts, 
 
 And with products of land and sea. 
 They feed my myriad retainers, 
 
 Reward them for all their toil; 
 They give them to lie 'neath the starry dome 
 
 Of my grand and magnificent hall. 
 
 My eldest is stern and pallid. 
 
 Her mien is stately and bold; 
 But she loves my people, and laughs to see 
 
 Them merry when she is cold. 
 I call her my January — 
 
 38 
 
For she opens my palace door; 
 She walks like a vestal in peaceful white — 
 And carpets with snow my floor. 
 
 My second is like her sister — 
 
 Her air more rough and free; 
 I gave her an unpoetical name, 
 
 As rugged and harsh as she. 
 Her reign was short; and another — 
 
 My March, with a gentle mien — 
 Assumed the throne of my royal hall, 
 
 And ruled with a sway serene. 
 
 In smiles and tears came April, 
 
 And with her delicate hand 
 She stripped my floors of their carpet cold, 
 
 And invited the breezes bland. 
 She had scarce withdrawn to her chamber, 
 
 When May, through the southern gate, 
 Tripped in, clad gayly in green and flowers. 
 
 Like a maid to her bridal elate. 
 But June is the Queen of my daughters — 
 
 A peerless beauty is she; 
 She scattered to all her brilliant gifts. 
 
 And smiled on each devotee. 
 She decked my palace with roses — 
 
 Flung verdure and gold from her train: — 
 With sunny smiles and tears of joy 
 
 She cherished the growing grain. 
 
 July is languid and lovely, 
 
 Warm-passioned — with pouting mouth; 
 She lazily lounged on her tapestried couch, 
 
 And sighed for the gale of the South. 
 39 
 
With the perfume of flowers, and warblings 
 Of birds, she soothed her repose; — 
 
 She suffered the reapers to ravage my halls, 
 And smiled as she sank in a doze. 
 
 She slept — and her sister Augusta, 
 
 A haughty, voluptuous maid, 
 Became the queen of my court and realm, 
 
 And a sceptre of majesty swayed. 
 Her breath was hot as the simoom — 
 
 Her blood beat strong in her veins; — 
 She painted the palace with gorgeous hues, 
 
 And heaped it with golden grains. 
 
 A buxom lass is September, 
 
 Her cheek is dimpled with health; 
 She romped with the zephyr and sighed with the south, 
 
 She smiled at her garnered wealth. 
 She laughed when she looked at the flowers — 
 
 The garlands her sisters had twined; 
 She filled their places with luscious grapes 
 
 And apples of brilliant rind. 
 
 October, November, December — 
 
 This trio has last made me glad; 
 October was sometimes sunny and bright, 
 
 And sometimes gloomy and sad. 
 A fickle child was November, 
 
 And tempest with sunshine would twine; 
 But cold as her eldest sister had been, 
 
 Was December — the last of my line. 
 40 
 
And now with my motherless daughters — 
 
 Queens regent of earth and of air— 
 With my troop of brotherless sisters twelve, 
 
 I am quitting my palace fair. 
 We have ruled in the fear of Heaven; 
 
 We have measured a cycle of time; — 
 And at last, to our home in eternity's realm, 
 
 We pass from our natal clime. 
 
 WINTER'S PARTING SONG. 
 
 Away, away to my frigid home, 
 
 Where the glittering icebergs tower, 
 No more the fields of the South I'll roam, 
 
 Nor scathe its lawns in my power. 
 I long to fly where the Northern blasts 
 
 Flap wings of feathery frost; 
 Where Night her cloak o'er the white earth casts, 
 
 With streaks of the morning crossed. 
 
 O'er the dark, cold waves of my Northern sea, 
 
 That dash on an ice-bound shore, 
 I long to skip in my uncurbed glee. 
 
 And dance to their music's roar. 
 'Mid sunny homes have I wandered long, 
 
 And scattered my crystal treasurers; 
 I've marshalled the host of my tempest throng, 
 
 And the winds have served my pleasures. 
 41 
 
I flung my robe over meadow and hill, 
 
 My white, unsullied mantle; 
 I spread its skirts round forest and mill, 
 
 And lapped them soft and gentle. 
 But the bold-faced sun has opened his eye 
 
 On my gifts so white and tender; 
 I'll gather them up, and away I'll hie 
 
 To my palace of crystal splendor. 
 
 I sealed the lake with my icy seal. 
 
 And locked the stream from its flowing; 
 I laid my hand on the miller's wheel. 
 
 And I stopped the boatman's rowing. 
 But I'll break my seals and loose my bands, 
 
 And free the slaves of my power. 
 I'll hasten back to my frozen lands. 
 
 Where the glittering icebergs tower. 
 
 A RAILROAD DISASTER. 
 
 [''The bridge gave way, and the whole train was precipi- 
 tated into the gulf, a distance of fifty feet. Sixty 
 dead bodies have been taken from the wreck.'' — ] 
 
 W. W. R. 
 
 The hour of four approaches. Groups of men, 
 Upon the platform standing here and there, 
 Hold idle converse on the current news — 
 The hundred themes of passing interest that 
 The minds engage of thoughtless, or, perchance, 
 Of thoughtful mortals. Here, some sit apart. 
 Communing silent with their souls; or dreaming 
 
Some lovely dream of home; or building castles 
 Of future happiness, or wealth, or fame. 
 With step impatient others walk from point 
 To point, anxious to hear the signal sharp 
 That shall announce the moment of departure — 
 Departure whither? Ah, they know it not! 
 There sits, with much of patience in her look 
 And mien, a calm-browed mother. In her lap 
 An infant sprawls, and chirrups in its glee, 
 Or, tired and restless, whimpers out its plaint. 
 
 And yonder stands the huge and ponderous engine. 
 As quiet as an Arab's conquered steed — 
 But strung with might, and with a heart that strains 
 To burst its pent-up fury forth. The hot 
 Steam hisses spiteful through its nostrils; while 
 The engineer, with look of confidence, 
 Assured that all is safe, leans carelessly 
 Against the mighty giant's brow, or lays 
 His arm caressingly upon his back. 
 
 But see! The monster moves. He seems to live! 
 With strong but gentle impulse back he pushes 
 The train of passive cars. And now they stand 
 Beside the platform. Fiercely shrill the whistle 
 Sends forth the startling signal of departure. 
 The people press with selfish haste within 
 The cars and drop upon their seats, as though 
 Each feared there were not room enough for him 
 And all the rest. Again that piercing shriek 
 Resounds. A belch of steam and smoke, a quick 
 Jerk, and a running clanking from end to end — 
 And slowly the lengthened train moves on its course. 
 
 Each moment gives increase of speed, till like 
 A storm, with rush and roar, 'mid clouds of dust 
 It flies along with grand and terrible power. 
 
 43 
 
Now suddenly it stops, as though the spirit 
 
 That gave such fearful strength and motion were 
 
 At once withdrawn. Again it starts — again 
 
 It flies, and fiercely flaps its iron wings 
 
 Till all the earth doth tremble. On it speeds 
 
 As if ten thousand demons gave it chase. 
 
 Resolved to drive it down some dreadful gorge, 
 
 With all its precious load of life, and love, 
 
 And worth, and wealth, and dash and crush them in 
 
 Promiscuous ruin. But hark! that steam-shriek sounds 
 
 A fearful note! Another, more terrific, 
 
 And fiercer! See! an awful chasm yawns! 
 
 Madly the engine plunges down the gulf, 
 
 Writhing and broken; and the train, with all 
 
 Its helpless freight of terrified men and women. 
 
 Leaps after. Dov/n they dash an endless depth, 
 
 And in a moment sink beneath the waters — 
 
 And all is still. 
 
 The ruin w^as complete 
 As fearful. Three-score souls but heard the shriek 
 That was their death-knell — heard and knew no more 
 Until they woke to consciousness among 
 The habitants that throng the eternal spheres. 
 A few, who passed through all of death except 
 The waking beyond the bourne of the unknown. 
 Were rescued. These rejoice, and thank the God 
 Of Heaven that they were saved from death. 
 
 Who knows 
 But that the dead rejoice that they were not? 
 
 44 
 
The following poem was written before the breaking 
 out of the ''Civil War.'' 
 
 LIFT THE GLORIOUS BANNER. 
 
 Ye sons of sires who bravely dared 
 
 In Freedom's name to fling 
 The gauntlet down, and meet the hosts 
 
 Of Britain's haughty king — 
 Arouse your strength! shake off your sloth! 
 
 And prove your birthright true! 
 By the Constitution and Union stand, 
 
 And the flag of red, white and blue! 
 
 Then lift our glorious Banner high! 
 Shout, shout as its folds sweep against the 
 
 sky! 
 Seize sword and rifle, and swear you'll be 
 True Sons of the Heroes of Liberty! 
 
 When foreign foes our land assail. 
 
 Or traitors treason plot; — 
 If prosperous days bring wealth and ease, 
 
 And even Virtue's bought; 
 Forget not, but remember still 
 
 The price for Freedom paid — 
 The blood, the treasure, sufferings, tears, 
 
 On your country's altar laid. 
 
 Then lift our glorious Banner, &c. 
 
 United let our country be — 
 
 No strifes of State with State ; 
 Let North with South and East with West 
 
 45 
 
Hold friendship strong as fate. 
 Oh! crush with mighty hand the fiend 
 
 Whose tempting words would lure 
 One State to break the sacred band 
 
 That keeps our Union sure. 
 
 Then lift our glorious Banner, &c. 
 
 Almighty Ruler, God of Truth! 
 
 Still guide us by thy grace, 
 And make this broad and goodly land 
 
 A heritage of peace. 
 Allay all malice, quell all strife. 
 
 Exalt the good and true! 
 Oh God, may not one star be torn 
 
 From our flag of red, white and blue! 
 
 Then lift our glorious Banner, &c. 
 
 THE CHORAL SONG OF THE STARS. 
 
 'Twas New Year Eve, the stars were glistening, 
 And 'neath their gaze a poet was listening. 
 He thought to hear the song they sing 
 As through the universe they ring 
 The story of the closing year. 
 And all the thoughts and hopes that cheer, 
 Depress or pain, exalt or thrill, 
 The thousand million souls that fill 
 Earth's mighty continents. He heard, 
 Or seemed to hear, as 'twere had stirred 
 A spirit's breath among the chords 
 Of some sweet instrument; and words 
 Came softly floating and touched his ear 
 In melodies sweet as the angels hear. 
 
 46 
 
His soul mounts up on celestial wing 
 
 And lists to the song that the stars do sing: 
 
 Arise, thou beautiful, gladsome Earth! 
 
 We chant thee a New Year song; 
 The delicate chords of a million rays 
 
 We strike in a countless throng. 
 'Tis many a hundred ages since 
 
 We looked on thy primal light, 
 And "sang together" in praise of Him 
 
 Who stationed thee in our night. 
 
 All hail! thou world of the azure sky; 
 
 Of the moonlight's quiet gleam; 
 Of hill and meadow, and forest and vale. 
 
 Of the lake and rippling stream; 
 Of the winter's floor of marble ice. 
 
 And his carpet of downy snows; 
 Of the anthem grand that the tempest sings 
 
 When abroad in his might he goes! 
 
 But not for these do we chant thy praise, 
 
 Thou star of Heaven's delight; 
 Though all these beautiful things and forms 
 
 Still hallow thee in our sight. 
 Because thou art the abode of man, 
 
 In the image of God create, 
 Do we strike the harp of the Universe, 
 
 And sing of thy high estate. 
 
 A mansion of love to him thou art, 
 
 A home of delight and joy, 
 Where simple Content may fold her wing, 
 
 And Virtue have sweet employ; — 
 
 47 
 
A look-out point o'er the realms of space, 
 
 Whence rational man may scan 
 The wonders of God's omnipotent power, 
 
 And learn his magnificent plan. 
 And not the meanest of man's delights 
 
 Are oft his griefs and sorrows; 
 They are rosy clouds in an evening sky — 
 
 The shadows of brilliant morrows. 
 And death — it is but the gloomy gate, 
 
 Through which earth's myriads pass 
 To people the empty worlds that lie 
 
 Through the realms of infinite space. 
 
 Roll on, bright world, in thy grand career! 
 
 A million stars look on 
 From afar, and wonder, and watch thy course, 
 
 As they did through ages gone. 
 Though small thy lamp in the vast concave 
 
 Of night's unnumbered hosts, 
 Thou'rt great in His sight whose eye takes in 
 
 Creation's uttermost coasts. 
 
 And now as again thou'st filled thy round 
 
 Of a billion miles, O Earth, 
 We take our place in the waltz of worlds 
 
 And joyously sing thy birth. 
 Welcome, thrice welcome again art thou! 
 
 To join our heavenly choir. 
 And mingle thy note of the lost and saved 
 
 With the tones of the universe' lyre. 
 
 48 
 
["The Daughters of the Revolution.'''' — This distinguish- 
 ed Order of Patriotic American women, directly 
 descended from parents who bore an active part in 
 the American Revolution, have in this manner 
 united to show filial honor and respect.] 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF THE SOLDIERS OF 
 THAT FAMOUS CONTEST. 
 
 Ye last of all the hero band 
 
 Who with our Washington did stand, 
 
 And stayed his arm of strong command 
 
 In Freedom's holy strife! 
 We greet you, venerable sires! 
 To loftiest notes we strike our lyres; 
 Our hearts, ablaze with patriot fires, 
 
 Thank Heaven that gave you life. 
 
 When battle- thunders shook the ground, 
 And stern hearts trembled at the sound ; 
 When death on gory fields was found — 
 
 Steadfast ye kept your posts. 
 Ye fought like men at Bunker Hill, 
 And felt the patriot ardor thrill 
 Your inmost soul, and nerve you still 
 
 To meet the oppressor's hosts. 
 
 On Monmouth's bloody plain ye stood; 
 Ye crossed the Delaware's wintry flood; 
 At Yorktown proved your courage good;- 
 
 Unwavering filled your place 
 On every well-fought battle-field, 
 
 49 
 
Where comrades* blood their valor sealed 
 To deadliest onset ne'er did yield, 
 Nor ever turned your face. 
 
 Hail! honored braves! once more receive 
 The homage that your sons would give; 
 And O, a patriot's blessing leave 
 
 Before you pass away! 
 Your number dwindles year by year; 
 Your steps to Heaven draw ever near; 
 Your glory grows more bright and clear, 
 
 As dawns th' eternal day. 
 
 THE PRINCE OF WALES 
 
 AT THE 
 TOMB OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 Above the strand where, soft and slow. 
 
 The waters of Potomac flow, — 
 
 Upon a gentle lift of land, 
 
 Where solemn trees majestic stand. 
 
 Sole sentinels to guard the spot 
 
 Most sacred in a patriot's thought — 
 
 A royal cortege silent pass 
 
 Along the walks, and through the grass. 
 
 They stop, — the heir of England's throne 
 
 Bows at the tomb of Washington. 
 
 Scarce four-score years since, from that spot, 
 Might have been heard, as brother fought 
 With brother, the dread cannon's roar 
 That echoed up from Yorktown's shore. 
 
 50 
 
Now he who fought that final fight, 
 And won the victory for the right, 
 Lies here in simple, grand repose — 
 His tomb a shrine for friends and foes; 
 While he whose royal ancestor 
 Sent forth his myriad troops to war 
 'Gainst filial and fraternal foes, 
 Who dared resist unrighteous laws, 
 Stands reverent, with uncovered head, 
 In presence of the mighty dead ; 
 Paying, though late, the homage won 
 From England's throne by Washington. 
 And when, as monarch on that throne. 
 Past whose deep-rooted base have flown 
 The tides and storms of a thousand years, 
 The crown of British might he wears. 
 In memory may he hold the hour 
 When, 'neath that still, sepulchral bower, 
 He knelt before the mighty name 
 Of him with more than kingly fame; — 
 And may the act a hostage prove 
 Of lasting harmony and love. 
 
 THE AMBITIOUS STUDENT'S LONGINGS. 
 
 Can Fame be mine? Cannot arise 
 To me the hues of gorgeous ray, 
 
 That glow before the piercing sight 
 Of those whose memories ne'er decay? 
 
 Why feels my soul these struggling thoughts, 
 If they, unborn, must melt away? 
 51 
 
From childhood's playful, nestling hour 
 My spirit's arms have seemed to wear 
 
 A might which yet my soul would lift 
 Far up the cliffs of fame and bear 
 
 It proudly to the haloed top 
 Of great renown, and leave it there. 
 
 No feeling this mere moment-bred, 
 
 Which storm, or calm, or moon, or star 
 Can stir or light to life. It has 
 
 A home within me, though from far 
 Has flown the spark that lit its birth. 
 
 'Twill live while God and nature are. 
 Say you 'tis all a dream? A dream 
 
 Then let it be. And yet 'tis sore 
 To feel a burning, crisping thirst. 
 
 When at the very spirit's door 
 There seems a gem-walled well, whence dews 
 
 Fresh dropped from Heaven unceasing pour. 
 
 Fill my embrace, whate'er thou art! 
 
 Sea-froth — a bubble — empty air! 
 Though thou shouldst prove all vain — not worth 
 
 My spirit's lowest, meanest care — 
 Fame! I would know thy emptiness — 
 
 Thy lightest vanity would share! 
 
 52 
 
PEACE AND WAR. 
 
 The morning gleams across the waves that pour 
 Their ceaseless t^de on rough New England's shore; 
 The winds are lulled, and through the calm profound 
 No note is heard, except the murmuring sound 
 From the ten thousand voices of the sea, 
 Which rise and blend in grandest harmony. 
 Like white-robed children, trooping down the coast. 
 Wave chases wave, an endless, countless host; — 
 Each as it runs lifts up its hands with glee, 
 And laughs to see the dawn peep o'er the sea. 
 Thus, from Penobscot's shoals, and Casco Bay, 
 Where the tall pine its tapering limbs display, 
 Past Hudson's flood, and Delaw^are's broader stream. 
 Through sound, and creek, and cove, they onward teem. 
 Laughing and leaping, till at length they reach 
 The furtherest cape of Florida's sandy beach — 
 Light-footed couriers of the coming sun. 
 Spreading to South and Westward as they run. 
 The glorious news, that o'er this Western world 
 Light, like a banner, soon will be unfurled. 
 Then, as the morning brightens into day. 
 Chasing the gloom and mists of night away, 
 Life wakes again, and soon is heard the roar 
 Of busy industry along the shore. 
 The wharves and ships are thronged, and from each 
 
 mast 
 Floats out the flag of freedom on the blast. 
 The mighty town, erst quiet as the tomb. 
 Resounds with engine, hammer, car and loom. 
 And all the implements of work and art 
 That to the nation wealth and power impart. 
 
 53 
 
And down the coast, from North to Southern strand, 
 
 Of great America's unequalled land, 
 
 City and rural dwellers all arise 
 
 To active life, as gently o'er their eyes 
 
 The day-god waves his talismanic wand. 
 
 That startles sleep, and breaks his silken band. 
 
 And now far inland spreads the wave of light, 
 
 Sweeping still back the invading coast of night. 
 
 Motion and labor rise upon its crest 
 
 As on it rolls triumphant towards the West. 
 
 It leaps the Alleghenies' barrier height, 
 
 Then presses on resistless in its might. 
 
 At length the Mississippi's noble stream. 
 
 That takes its spring where pure snow-waters teem 
 
 From Northern hills, and empties, far away, 
 
 Its swollen flood in Mexico's tepid bay. 
 
 It reaches and reveals, from end to end. 
 
 The vast array of products that descend 
 
 This grandest artery of the nation's might, 
 
 Filling each vein of trade with precious freight. 
 
 Then flashing on o'er river, wood and plain. 
 
 It stops not till it lights Pacific's main. 
 
 And thus from Eastern unto Western shore 
 
 Of this vast empire, floods of sunlight pour. 
 
 Revealing broadly, 'neath the brilliant blaze, 
 
 The nation's wealth and grandeur to the gaze. 
 
 How blest this great Republic of the West! 
 Of countries first — of commonwealths the best. 
 Peace, unity and virtue all unite 
 With industry and thrift to give it might. 
 Proud in its independence, forth it flings 
 Its flag of freedom in the face of kings, 
 And by that glorious token, broad unfurled. 
 Gives hope to all oppressed throughout the world. 
 
 54 
 
G Liberty! how happy is thy reign! 
 And Peace! what blessings follow in thy train! 
 No monarch, wise and most beneficent, 
 Could give his realm such quiet and content. 
 
 But what is this? What do we see and hear? 
 Why do men tremble and turn pale with fear? 
 Why do our streets re-echo with the tread 
 Of armed men? and whence these pallid dead? 
 For what the drum's loud beat, the cannon's roar, 
 And all the unwonted notes of dreadful war? 
 The morn still dawns upon our Eastern coast — 
 The waves still run, a merry, hurrying host, 
 To announce the coming day; but where's the life 
 That woke in every port to peaceful strife? 
 And what those sullen ships that rocking lie. 
 With anchors cast, and bare masts on the sky, 
 Watching yon silent port with frowning eyes, 
 Where erst the hum of trade was wont to rise — 
 What do they there in such a hostile guise? 
 And see, as bursts the sun o'er yonder plain, 
 Waving but yesterday with ripening grain, 
 Two hostile hosts in fearful conflict meet. 
 And fierce, with bloody death each other greet. 
 Who are they? Bears not one our Union's flag? 
 But who are they who madly strive to drag 
 That glorious ensign down, which never yet 
 On fair-fought battle-field defeat has met? 
 Look closer. As the conflict deadlier grows, 
 Do they not fight like well-matched, equal foes? 
 Are all Americans — the Sons of Sires 
 Who fought together — round the same camp-fires 
 Kept watch in that dark time of strife and blood, 
 When, strong in right, and confident in God, 
 
 55 
 
The nation, led by matchless Washington, 
 Hurled back defiance to the British throne? 
 O can it be, while one of that brave race 
 Still walks the earth, his venerable face 
 All seamed with battle-scars, a traitor heart 
 Would dare to act a parricidal part — 
 Let passion grow to hatred — hate to strife — 
 Then lift his hand against his country's life? 
 
 And yet 'tis done! War rages through the land: 
 A host of traitors take their desperate stand 
 To o'er throw the government our fathers made, 
 And rear their unholy fabric in its stead. 
 
 And now, for songs of peace, are sounds of war. 
 To arms! to arms! re-echoes near and far. 
 A million patriots hear the thrilling cry. 
 And to their country's rescue nobly fly, — 
 Resolved to save it, by the help of God, 
 Or consecrate its ruin with their blood. 
 From quiet village, and from college green; 
 From crowded streets amid the city's din; 
 From roaring mills — from many a peaceful home. 
 With ardent hearts the willing warriors come. 
 Along each road the burnished bayonets gleam; 
 They bristle on the banks of every stream; 
 And thickly thronging every rushing car, 
 Are men who bear the implements of war. 
 Through all the land, from East to Western coast, 
 From Northern Lakes to where the traitorous host 
 Against the Union have unsheathed the blade, 
 The sons of Freedom haste to bring their aid. 
 Then comes the moment of the battle-shock. 
 When death and carnage o'er the red field stalk, 
 And gather in the harvest of the slain, 
 As reapers horde the sheaves of yellow grain. 
 
 56 
 
Thousands are fallen, and a piercing wail 
 From stricken hearts is wafted on the gale. 
 A thousand homes are desolate and gloom 
 Gathers around them from the open tomb. 
 
 Hard by the winding Tennessee's clear flood 
 Behold a fearful carnival of blood. 
 The embattled hosts rush to the conflict dire, 
 Impelled by traitor hate, or patriot fire. 
 The hardy, fearless, free sons of the West, 
 Brave as the bravest, earnest as the best, 
 Confront the exultant legions of the foe. 
 And hurl them back with many a valiant blow. 
 Anon the battle turns — onward once more. 
 The recreant, perjured hosts of treason pour. 
 The belching guns with thundering peals resound, 
 And crashing storms of iron sweep the ground. 
 The ranks are thinned, the ranks close up again. 
 And death's wide gaps are filled with living men. 
 O'er all the field, where rolled the battle's flood. 
 Thousands lie dead, or welter in their blood. 
 The conflict ceases — for the day is done, 
 And still the victory's neither lost nor won. 
 
 But see, in the dim twilight issuing forth, 
 A bannered host comes sweeping from the North; 
 The Union's glorious ensign 'tis they bear. 
 To aid their brethren in the faltering war. 
 With bugle blast and sound of fife and drum, 
 And shouts and loud huzzas, they onward come. 
 Th' augmented host attack the unwary foe. 
 And sweep his stunned battalions as they go. 
 Unflinching, on they press, these noble men, 
 And drive the traitor's to their swamps again. 
 
 And yonder, 'mid Virginian brakes and fells. 
 The surging tide of battle ebbs and swells. 
 
 57 
 
Gathering from far and near, they fiercely roll 
 
 Their concentrated mass to reach the goal 
 
 Of victory, and crush the noble band. 
 
 Who for the Union hold there their fearless stand. 
 
 With fierce and desperate energy they pour forth 
 
 To break the Union, and o'errun the North. 
 
 Again a host of willing patriots stand, 
 
 And breast the wave of death to save the land. 
 
 Thousands of precious lives are freely given. 
 
 And homes and hopes are gloomed, and fond hearts 
 
 riven. 
 But treason's tide is stemmed, and back once more. 
 Discomforted and balked its legions pour. 
 
 But still the conflict rolled its bloody waves, 
 And swept our loved ones into ready graves. 
 Bravely the people bore the dreadful fate, 
 Resolved, come life, come death, to save the state. 
 A hundred battle-fields attest the worth. 
 At which they prized the Union and a Freeman's birth 
 
 Behold the picture! Let us take our stand 
 Like Israel's chief of old, and view the land. 
 A panorama, glorious to behold. 
 And varied as 'tis fair, begins t' unfold. 
 From East to West, a thousand leagues or more, 
 From North to South along each Ocean's shore, 
 Through every clime, where every product grows, 
 To torrid heats from Minnesotian snows, 
 The ample boundaries of this chosen land, 
 Hope of the millions long oppressed, expand. 
 Ten thousand homes the pleasant valleys fill, 
 Dot the broad plain, or hang upon the hill, — 
 A centre each of plenty and content — 
 Redundant with the blessings Heaven has sent. 
 Nestling among these homes, the school house see, 
 
 58 
 
That beacon-light and fortress of the free — 
 Rearing defence 'gainst ignorance, worst of foes; 
 Diffusing truth, the light that always glows. 
 'Mid marts of trade, or on the village green, 
 In quiet country nook the church is seen. 
 With open door and Heavenward-pointing spire, 
 That tell of duty here — of rest up higher. 
 Behold, afar and near, the panting train. 
 Leaping each stream, and coursing every plain, 
 Bearing from point to point, o'er all the land, 
 The products Art and taste and life demand; 
 While every river swarms with busy life, 
 And Commerce urges on its bloodless strife. 
 No element of strength and vast increase 
 Seems wanting to this vast empire of peace. 
 Abundance reigns from, cold to burning zone. 
 And every man can call some spot his own. 
 No fear comes nigh his door, no tyrant's power 
 Compels him to rebel, or meanly cower. 
 The people, their own masters, know no laws 
 That flow not from their wills, the primal cause. 
 A kindly government controls the State: 
 They know its blessings, yet feel not its weight. 
 Exactions are unknown; no tithes they pay 
 T' uphold a faith their hearts cannot obey. 
 Or even in that dark hour of anguish deep — 
 An hour that often brings the desperate leap — 
 When honorable ambition's cup was dashed 
 From worthy lips — think you that then there flashed 
 Through his pure soul — the noblest of them all — 
 One thought of yielding to the tempter's call. 
 And dragging down his country to her fall? 
 No, No! He loved his country all too well 
 To barter her for power, or vengeance fell. 
 
 59 
 
To leave her heaven to rule in treason's hell! 
 His failing powers and latest breath he gave 
 To save her from a suicidal grave. 
 
 But not alone the giants of the past 
 Opposed the hosts of treason to the last. 
 See Johnson, Brownlow, nobly take their stand, 
 And hundreds more, a brave, heroic band, 
 Who suffered all things, every wrong withstood 
 And made resistance even unto blood. 
 Each loved the noble State that gave him birth. 
 And thought his home the lovliest place on earth. 
 Possessions, habits, friendships bound them fast 
 To the sweet spot in which their lot was cast. 
 But they were patriots, and loved the name 
 Their country bore, and gloried in her fame. 
 They loved her Freedom, loved her equal rights, 
 And prized the Constitution that unites 
 Her many States in one, and guaranties 
 To all protection and their liberties. 
 For her they could risk all, even home and life, 
 And stand untrembling in the deadly strife — 
 Meet treason in its fiercest mood, and cry 
 "Long float the flag of Freedom on the sky!" 
 
 Richer our country far with such men's graves, 
 Than in the labor of ten million slaves! 
 
 60 
 
PEACE AND WAR. 
 
 THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 
 
 Were there not thousands, even in times of peace, 
 Whose faithless hearts gave treason welcome place — 
 And who, through anxious years, did patient wait, 
 And plot and plan the ruin of the State? 
 Did they not hate this government of the free, 
 And hate the very name of liberty? 
 Could it be Slavery that did all this? 
 Or made not traitors Slavery what it is, 
 And used it to maintain their wonted power. 
 Or break the Union at the appointed hour? 
 Did not the leading rebel of them all. 
 When strong-willed Jackson let his great fist fall 
 Upon their petty treasonable plot 
 And scarce could keep its grip from off their throat, — 
 Did not the prince of traitors, forced to yield. 
 And draw his faithful minions from the field. 
 Declare, that, though an odious law did fail 
 To breed rebellion, a cause that would avail 
 Was just at hand — the cause of servile right: 
 On this his followers could renew the fight. 
 Not that for Slavery's self they cared a straw; 
 For it was safe, beyond the reach of law. 
 But they must have a base whereon to build 
 Their treasonable schemes, and this would yield 
 The very ground they wished for, and with meet 
 Manipulation, treason make complete. 
 
 The burning lava pouring down amain, 
 Spreads devastation o'er the subject plain; 
 But from the deep volcano's seething maw 
 The fiery floods their fierce destruction draw. 
 
 61 
 
All nature shudders at the thunder shock; 
 But 'tis the lightning deals the deadly stroke. 
 So slavery may seem to be the cause 
 Of this foul treason, and contempt of laws: 
 But 'tis because free government they hate 
 That traitors strive to overturn the State. 
 The tree is rotten, and depraved the root; 
 And slavery is but the evil fruit. 
 
 But in the midst of traitors stood a few 
 Who to the Union bore allegiance true. 
 An ardent love of country warmed their hearts, 
 A love that reached not one but all the parts. 
 Behold a Clay, a Jackson, Taylor, Scott — 
 Think you that e'er a treasonable thought 
 Their souls polluted, as they nobly stood. 
 And pled or battled for their country's good? 
 In senate chamber, or on bloody field — 
 In chair of State or when, admiring, kneeled 
 Legions of friends to offer power and place — 
 The well known end of a political race. 
 Though no nerve quivers, and no faces blanch, 
 Valor cannot withstand the avalanche. 
 Firmly they meet the shock; but, forced to yield 
 To overwhelming numbers, quit the field: 
 With banners flying, faces toward the foe, 
 And hearts undaunted, battling still, they go. 
 On Malvern Hill they stand; — ^vith all their power 
 A storm they hurl that makes the traitors cower. 
 Broken and foiled, their legions quit the fight. 
 And seek their stronghold shorn of half their might. 
 
 62 
 
PEACE ANTICIPATED. 
 
 When all the sounds of cruel strife are o'er, 
 And tidings of the carnage come no more; 
 When onward, from the battle cloud and rack, 
 We see the light of peace illume our track, 
 While still above us floats our flag of glory. 
 That waved o'er many a field, all torn and gory — 
 Now bright in full refulgence, not one star 
 Dashed from its heaven of blue, its folds to mar, 
 O let us not forget the fearful cost 
 At which was gained the Union we had lost; 
 And swear, by all the blood so freely given — 
 By the ten thousand hearts so sorely riven — 
 In Justice, Truth, and Honor to maintain 
 This Government of Freedom, won again! 
 
 Behold afar the glory of that day 
 When war, with all its ills, is swept away; 
 When, as the evil, so the cause is gone, 
 And Peace and Freedom rest on Right alone. 
 Then all the land, from East to Western shore. 
 From Northern hills that hear Atlantic's roar 
 To where the Rio Grande's water's pour. 
 Shall own one generous sway of equal laws, 
 The weak to shelter, aid the poor man's cause. 
 Deliver the oppressed, the lowly raise — 
 Make "equal rights" more than a sounding phrase. 
 Then will democracy — the People s power — 
 Bought by our father's blood, a noble dower — 
 Gain full development, and be no more 
 Merely a thing for Knaves to squabb.e o'er. 
 Then public virtue will return again. 
 And posts of trust be filled by honest men. 
 
 63 
 
Prosperity once more will bless the land 
 With all that use and luxury demand. 
 From each rich drop of blood by patriot shed; 
 From every spot where lie the patriot dead — 
 Bright-blooming blessings will luxuriant grow, 
 Bathed with the sweetest dews Heaven can bestow. 
 The nation, steeped in tears, and sore with grief. 
 Looking to Heaven for counsel and relief — 
 Made pure and patient by the fires of war — 
 Enured in youth a cruel yoke to wear; 
 Redeemed from avarice and presumtuous pride. 
 And filled with love of country unalloyed — 
 Will start a new career of grand renown. 
 Which nobler deeds and brighter hopes will crown. 
 The old-world leaven of privilege and class 
 Eliminated closer from the mass; 
 The power of serfdom broken or destroyed; 
 The very name of slave made null and void; 
 Freedom of speech and press made sure to all, 
 While mobs and threats of death no more appall; 
 The ballot free, and laws both sure and strong — 
 Impregnable defences against wrong — 
 All these deliverances, of holiest worth, 
 Will bless the nation at its second birth. 
 And then the strides, the giant leaps of trade. 
 Striving to gain the race so long delayed; 
 Science and skill and labor all united 
 To build again the glories war had blighted; 
 The forests felled, converted every rood 
 To peaceful homes, and all the land subdued; — 
 But why go on! — the States increase, expand 
 Westward and South and North o'er all the land, 
 Owning no limit save the salt-sea strand. 
 Millions on millions told the prairies fill, 
 
 64 
 
Throng every valley, cover every hill — 
 
 Swarm all the rivers, girt the lakes and main, 
 
 And make one mighty nation free and grand again. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 BARDOLPH THE HERMIT. 
 
 Part I. 
 
 "How strange is this! Can it be still the earth 
 I tread? or one of those celestial spheres. 
 Which, seen from earth, once glimmered on the blue 
 Of heaven's overspreading tent? But yonder shines 
 The sun — his orb the same — his ray as fierce 
 And dazzling. Yonder, too, just risen, mounts 
 The moon, a film of mottled paleness on 
 The sky, — a half -formed circlet, scarcely seen 
 Amid the burning glories of her lord. 
 And there! the brook that, when a boy, I played 
 Beside! The meadow, too, through which it wound. 
 The very pebbly shallows where it crossed 
 The lane, where, wading, my feet I bathed 
 In its delicious coolness. 
 
 "What can be 
 Yon far blue belt that seems to hem this sphere 
 To Heaven? 'Tis the sea, the glorious sea; 
 The beautiful, unchanging sea — God's own 
 Eternal mirror! — This must be the earth. 
 And yet how wonderfully changed is all around. 
 Sun, moon, mead, brook and sea, indeed, are all 
 
 65 
 
Just as when last I saw them on the eve 
 
 I shut myself within my secret cave 
 
 And that strange slumber fell upon my senses — 
 
 So strange and sweet and wonderful — and short, 
 
 It surely must have been. But yesternight 
 
 It was I fell asleep, it seems to me; 
 
 And yet the sleeper takes no note of time. 
 
 A minute and an age to him are one. 
 
 The earth about me seems so strange and new 
 
 So like a garden; not a spot of roughness; 
 
 No stones or briers seen; but in their stead 
 
 Are flowers and fruits, and seas of grass and grain. 
 
 Can it then be my sleep has been no night's 
 
 Or minute's length, but for an age of years? 
 
 "I'll go to yonder city (though 'twas surely 
 No city, but a straggling village when 
 I fell asleep last night — last year — an age 
 ago — or when was 't? How my poor brain reels!) 
 — I'll straightway go to where yon mighty forest 
 Of turrets and pinnacles sweeps against the heavens, 
 And ask how this came to pass and when, 
 — If really 'tis not all a fantasy. 
 But now that I've withdrawn from out my wild, 
 Secluded cave of rocks, which seems alone 
 To have remained untouched, I fear to go 
 Upon the crowded road. I'll skirt these fields, 
 And shun the gaze of curious people who 
 Might be amazed to see me in this much 
 Dilapidated garb — with hair so long 
 It reaches to my knees! and white! Had I 
 White hair? My nails, too, like the eagles claws!" 
 
 Thus, in soliloquy, Bardolph the hermit 
 Ga.ve utterance to his much-bewildered thoughts 
 And new-waked feelings. His emotions were 
 
 66 
 
Such as we may imagine those of a soul 
 Just past th' impalpable boundary that divides 
 Earth from the spirit land. He seemed to live 
 The same, and think and feel just as before; 
 But all that he beheld put on so new 
 An aspect, that he almost doubted his own 
 Identity, and wondered at himself. 
 Reaching a pool, he gazed upon the image 
 Which there he saw reflected, scarce believing 
 The haggard, hirsute face his own; then washing, 
 And with his fingers combed his beard and hair. 
 In sorry plight, and hurrying fast, with face 
 Downcast, at hobbling gait, he came at length 
 Among the habitations where the country 
 Is transformed to city. Each of these 
 To him appeared a palace of delight. 
 
 On all sides gardens, lawns and groves spread out, 
 Traversed by winding walks, bedewed and cooled 
 By ever-showering fountains. People stared 
 Upon him as he passed, or fled as from 
 A fiendish apparition. On he went, 
 Gazing, with furtive glance, on scenes unique 
 And beautiful, that crowded still upon 
 His vision, till within the teeming city 
 His trembling feet had borne him. Scarce a spot 
 Familiar to his former eyes he saw. 
 Vast structures towered, in adamantine strength, 
 On every side, of architecture grand 
 Yet simple — beautiful like mountain piles. 
 No long extending lines of uniform. 
 Unsightly walls, hiding the light of heaven, 
 And streaking the earth with narrow prison alleys, 
 In which men walk, and dream that they are free, 
 
 67 
 
Marked out the lanes through which with effort he 
 
 Might press his way, amid a jostling throng; 
 
 But wide and spacious avenues before 
 
 Him stretched, bordered on either side with trees 
 
 Luxuriant, in richest verdure dressed, 
 
 Embowering peaceful mansions, or o'ershading 
 
 The lofty homes where industry abode, 
 
 Or trade and traffic held their busy court. 
 
 Each structure stood alone, and crowded not 
 
 Upon its neighbor. And but for the flood, 
 
 The constant human stream that poured along 
 
 The streets, passing on foot, or swiftly borne 
 
 In vehicles of curious shape that seemed 
 
 To move spontaneous without jar or noise, 
 
 Or visible propulsion, Bardolph would 
 
 Have thought that he had not yet reached the city. 
 
 But wandered still in some rich rural place, 
 
 Where plenty dwelt, and wealth had set its home. 
 
 Or by the pity which my face bespeaks, 
 
 Obtain admission, and receive the help 
 
 And shelter that I need. For hunger makes 
 
 Me faint, and this day's long and weary walk 
 
 Has given me need of rest." 
 
 The place where stood 
 This ancient building, was retired and quite 
 Upon the border of the city. There 
 A sombre relic of the past it was 
 Whose gloom and dread associations gave 
 Repulse to every venturous attempt 
 To plant a cheerful home, or found some work 
 Of industry beneath its sunless frown. 
 The teeming crowd was far away, its roar 
 Subdued to a faint murmur; and but few 
 Passed by to see the aged, tottering man 
 
 68 
 
As he stood gazing on this only sight 
 
 That through the tedious day had brought him joy. 
 
 BARDOLPH THE HERMIT; 
 
 (Or a Hundred Years Hence.) 
 Part IL 
 
 The man's strange garb and mien, and gait 
 Shuffling and scared, astonished for a moment 
 Those who beheld him. But it was as when 
 One looks upon a shooting star. He turns 
 To call a friend's attention, and 'tis gone. 
 So Bardolph was but seen by one and then 
 Another in the throng — just seen, giving 
 Surprise and wonder, and was lost to view. 
 Onward he pressed, alone amid the crowd. 
 And, as a child, that, straying from its home 
 To chase the bright-winged butterfly around 
 The corner, still keeps tripping on in glee. 
 Until the light, deceptive, fluttering thing 
 Has flown from sight, begins at length to turn 
 And weep, and feel that it is lost; so he. 
 Long struggling on — in quest of what he knew not- 
 Began to feel deserted and forlorn. 
 Though twice ten thousand ears, were he in need, 
 Could hear his call. For many an hour he urged 
 His lonely way, of all the thousand faces 
 On which he dared to gaze, finding not one 
 Whose lineaments brought to mind a single friend 
 Of all the comrades whom he knew so well — 
 
But yesterday, it seemed. 
 
 At length the sun 
 Began to roll his car adown the slope 
 Of heaven, to where the ridge of earth invades 
 The sky; and backward threw his milder beam, 
 Laden with benedictions soft of heat 
 And brilliance, spreading a downy whiteness on 
 The bending blue, and painting monstrous lengths 
 Of shade upon his earthy canvass broad. 
 Bardolph beheld the signs of coming eve; 
 And first bethought him to retrace hs steps, 
 And seek again his cave. But whither go? 
 And how trace back the labyrinthine clue 
 That led to his abode? He stood a moment 
 In deep bewilderment; nor dared advance; 
 Nor yet to turn his face; when looking toward 
 The shadowed side of the avenue, he saw 
 A huge and thick-walled granite pile, embrowned 
 And mossy, bearing evident marks of all 
 The storms that centuries had poured upon 
 Its unmoved bulk. Like some old oak, rough-limbed 
 And dead at top, that like a patriarch stands 
 Among ten thousand trees of younger growth. 
 Fresh, vigorous, and crowned with leafy tufts: 
 So reared this pile its dark and massive walls, 
 And braved its crumbling towers and battlements 
 Against the heavens — a structure lone and solemn. 
 And grand with unread records of the past. 
 Upon it gazed the hermit, while memory, slow 
 And hesitating, led him back, pushing 
 Her way among a myriad mingled scenes 
 That crowded on her path; till suddenly 
 His mind, as at a bound, reached the conviction 
 That he had seen this building when a boy, 
 
 70 
 
And it was called a prison — a strong-hold 
 
 Where men who had committed crime were kept, 
 
 And close restrained in gloomy cells. 
 
 He shuddered at its awful aspect dread; 
 
 And yet was joyed to find at last even one 
 
 Familiar object, gloomy though it were, 
 
 Within this city of magnificence. 
 
 Where he so long had wandered, knowing nought, 
 
 And still unknown. "If it be yet a prison," 
 
 He thought, or said to himself in whispered voice, 
 
 "Perhaps I may, by plea of vagrancy, 
 
 Find refuge within its walls. 
 
 BARDOLPH THE HERMIT 
 
 {Or a Hundred Years Hence.) 
 Part III. 
 
 As Bardolph stood before the massive pile, 
 And gazed intent, behold a light appeared 
 Within a grated window; for the night 
 Was closing fast around him. He essayed 
 To gain admittance. Long his efforts were 
 In vain. The solid iron door gave back 
 But a dull answer to his thumpings hard, 
 And he was turning in despair away 
 To seek a lodging in the street, when lo! 
 As if by chance — for he had not been heard — 
 The door was opened! The recluse, who lived 
 Alone within the melancholy place. 
 Compelled by nature's needs, was issuing forth 
 In quest of food. Surprised he saw a wild 
 
 71 
 
And haggard figure at his door, more lean 
 And hungry-looking even than himself. 
 
 Bardolph essayed to speak, and crave admittance; 
 The sounds he uttered were not real words. 
 They wore the semblance of articulate speech, 
 And, he thought, bore the meaning he designed 
 To express; but, like the prattlings of a child, 
 They failed to tell the thoughts his mind conceived. 
 And when the other spoke, and asked what need 
 Had brought the wanderer there, his tones fell strange 
 On Bardolph's ear. It seemed a foreign tongue. 
 With only now and then a sound of what 
 To him appeared his native speech. But moved 
 By most intense desire to tell his wants, 
 And gain admission; in a moment he felt 
 The clearing up of that bright tablet, long 
 Unused, where memory, many years agone, 
 Had plainly writ the thrice ten thousands words 
 And meanings of his mother tongue. At once. 
 As when the lightning's vivid, burning flame 
 Lights up the myriad objects o'er a plain 
 Outstretched, but just now steeped in thickest night, 
 Flinging them out in a most startling brilliance; 
 The garnered treasures of his verbal stores. 
 So long unthought of and unused, now touched 
 By a flash of the immortal soul, beamed forth. 
 And lay out free and open to his tongue. 
 
 "Kind friend," Bardolph in humble tone began 
 — 'Tf one in such a mien and garb may call 
 Thee friend — I stand a helpless suppliant at 
 Thy door. Through this vast city I have wandered 
 Since early morn, the gaze of curious 
 
 72 
 
Ten thousand eyes. No friendly face among 
 
 The vast and constant-streaming multitude 
 
 I've seen, and to no stranger have I dared 
 
 To speak, and ask for sustenance and succor. 
 
 And now the night is on me; hunger gnaws; 
 
 And weariness hangs on me like a load. 
 
 A shelter and a morsel is all I crave." 
 
 *' 'Tis rare," the man replied — a figure scarce 
 
 Less wild and outre than Bardolph's he wore — 
 
 "For any to approach this door, or seek 
 
 For entrance. Outcast from mankind, I keep 
 
 A solitary lodgment here, by sufferance. 
 
 Few know a mortal lives within these walls; 
 
 And these, though much inclined to do me good, 
 
 At my most earnest wish molest me not. 
 
 The pile is called a monument of ages 
 
 Wicked and dark; for this allowed to stand, 
 
 A link with that dread past. And I myself 
 
 Am but a relic also of that past. 
 
 The sole survivor of an age and race 
 
 As different from this as Tartarus 
 
 From Eden. But come in. Such as I have 
 
 I'll freely give thee of." 
 
 The hermit stood 
 A moment silent, struck with a strange dread 
 At thought of entering this awful place, 
 So dark and still and solemn, like the tomb. 
 But nature's needs were pressing; in he passed, 
 The ghostly keeper leading on before. 
 Through damp and musty passages they go, 
 The solid walls resounding to their tread 
 With a dull, lifeless echo. But at last 
 They reach a narrow chamber, once a cell, 
 Where hopeless prisoners had pined, and waited 
 
 73 
 
The doom of the slow-moving law. The walls 
 
 Were scored with many names, and cut with words 
 
 Of hope or of despair. The chamber lay 
 
 Far distant from the street, and to it no noise 
 
 Of passing car, or sound of human voices 
 
 Could penetrate. One window lone looked forth 
 
 Upon a darkened court, where no bright ray 
 
 Of sunshine ever fell. The room was scant 
 
 Of furniture; — a bed, a bench, a chair, 
 
 A few old books, a slowly ticking clock. 
 
 Supplied the needs of him who here had lived 
 
 For many a year. The wanderer entered, glad 
 
 To find retreat so quiet, glad to escape 
 
 The din and bustle of the busy streets, 
 
 That like a roaring storm had round him whirled 
 
 Through all the day. The keeper of the place, 
 
 With ready will, set forth his scanty store 
 
 Of food; and while Bardolph, with relish keen. 
 
 His appetite appeased, his friend went forth 
 
 The errand to complete he had essayed 
 
 When Bardolph met him. Quickly he returned. 
 
 And in due time, without reserve or fear. 
 
 They fell to friendly converse on the past. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 74 
 
THE OLD BACHELOR. 
 
 On the shadiest side of a dingy street, 
 In a house that wasn't remarkably neat, 
 
 A bachelor kept his hall. 
 When a younger man, he once had bought 
 A cottage embowered in vines, and thought 
 That haply at length 'twould fall to his lot 
 
 A wife to his home to call. 
 
 But that was many a year agone, 
 Before he had dreamed a wig to don, 
 
 Or live in a hall so small. 
 For his present abode is not very big — 
 Too small for a horse, too large for a pig; 
 He was neither of these, for he wore a wig, 
 
 And had neither a trough nor stall. 
 
 This bachelor lived in a bachelor way — 
 
 A way neither festive nor gay, I may say — 
 
 Up stairs on the second floor. 
 If you saw this floor upstairs, you would stare. 
 And wonder if an^^thing human lived there. 
 Humanely hoping it might be a bear, 
 
 As soon as you opened the door. 
 
 A carpet once covered the floor, it would seem, 
 But the seams were ripped, and you'd scarcely dream 
 
 'Twas so wholly covered with holes, 
 That even a bachelor ever would think. 
 Though of bachelors he were the very pink, 
 Or of men and apes the connecting link. 
 
 That a carpet was under his soles. 
 75 
 
A bench the bachelor had for his bed, 
 
 A pillow of hen's feathers propped his head, 
 
 A wooden one served his feet. 
 A chair there was and an eight-day clock 
 He'd bought at the sale of a bankrupt's stock 
 Some years before, while a butcher's block 
 
 Was the table from which he ate. 
 
 He kept a parrot, and senseless Poll 
 Could gabble some gibberish — that was all 
 
 The talk he enjoyed in his home. 
 A cat — a kind of a Maltese thing. 
 To which his affections seemed to cling — 
 In a feline way would sing for this sing- 
 
 Gular man, nor from him roam. 
 
 On a swinging shelf were a few old books. 
 As musty and brown as himself in looks, — 
 
 For the man had a turn intellectual. 
 Stories of love he would never read, 
 But swallow divorce trials down with greed; 
 And prove that of woman there was no need, 
 
 By argum.ents most effectual. 
 
 But at length this bachelor man fell sick, 
 And pangs came upon him fast and thick. 
 
 And he could but moan and grieve. 
 A bachelor doctor came to look; 
 He felt of his pulse, and his head he shook; 
 'Tw^as a bitter dose that the poor man took — 
 
 And the doctor took his leave. 
 76 
 
The kind old mother came to his hall — 
 For the man had a mother, as almost all 
 
 Men have some time or other; — 
 And with her came a sweet-faced girl, 
 Modest and lovely, a very pearl 
 Of beauty and grace. To the suffering churl 
 
 She passed as niece of his mother. 
 
 At first the bachelor turned his head, 
 
 And groaned and muttered, "he'd rather be dead 
 
 Than the scandalous sight endure." 
 But love is mighty; — his mother's gaze. 
 Her kindly words and gentle ways. 
 Recalled to his thoughts the happy days 
 
 When his heart was young and pure. 
 
 By gentle degrees the bachelor's hall 
 Was deftly changed, and carpet and all 
 
 Gave place to handsomer things. 
 He silently yielded up control 
 While female influence softly stole 
 Upon his spirit, and charmed his soul 
 
 Till he thought he heard angels' wings. 
 
 'Twas only the sound of the rustling dress 
 Of the gentle maid, in her loveliness. 
 
 As she flitted about the room. 
 The man got well. He resolved to furl 
 His banner of hatred to woman and girl; 
 To leave his den, and take this pearl 
 
 Of beauty and grace to his home. 
 77 
 
Thus ends the tale of the bachelor man 
 Who tried the un- Adam-like, singular plan 
 
 Of living an Eve-less life. 
 He proved to himself that it is not good 
 For a man to yield to a selfish mood 
 And spend his days in bachelorhood, 
 
 But take Heaven's gift — a wife. 
 
 C 32 89 ^ 
 
 78 
 
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