t v , ,^ \V ' ■ ■■■■H .. UbE&W \ Hi . .. • - *4^tXlDa^ * ^ - >£w - ' I <* .■*N »*3I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, ShelfJYL$*2. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. r-& * \ H^W##5^WP^^*p^^*1w *iw Ife 'M^^M^^^0h^^0h w ^^h m ^^h^ ^.T^dWi;A- ,^^D ^CO^O >f^CO^ ' ^^i 1 >-^nS ■. r ^w^ •' Y : -* ■» i. v/j:'- ^W*^ J #■ =3^ ?« i^y^ • "- ^_ ,*^ A collection of poems well worth reading. The poems are all marked by refined thought and purity of spirit.— Boston Evening Traveller. THE LEGEND OF DELAWARE YALLEY, AND OTHER POEMS. By Thomas J. Macmurray, LL.B. This is a dainty gift volume. It is printed on heavy, toned paper, and bound in decorated, extra English cloth. The frontispiece is a beautiful engraving illustrative of the titular poem. 12mo, $1.00. Mr. Macmurray's merits as a writer of verse are not unknown to fame. The Legend of Delaware Valley is an Indian tradition, told in verse of considerable merit. Many of the minor poems show deep human sympathy and genuine feeling. Their simplicity and directness will make them effective where more ambitious productions fail to make an impression. Mr. Macmurray is a writer of acknowledged ability and is a cultivated man.— Milwaukee Sentinel. The collection contains quite a number of poems covering a wide range of subjects. All express cultivated sentiment and feeling, and are marked by simplicity and ease of style. The poems are always interesting and agreeable, and have the right influence.— Boston Globe. A dainty little volume. Tn the titular poem the author tells the story of a young warrior who sought the hand of an Indian princess whose father required of the lover that he shall shoot a white deer before receiving the princess' hand. A sorcerer — who has been re, jected by the princess — enables him to perform the otherwise impos- sible feat; but the result is woe and death to lover, princess and chief- It is a mournful legend poetically and feelingly narrated.— Detroit. Free Press. A book of choice poems. Mr. Macmurray writes with taste and feeling. Many of these pieces evince true lyrical melody, to which none but the born poet can attain. A high moral and religious tone pervades the whole collection, as well as a peculiar love of the beauti- ful in the worlds of mind and matter.— The Christian Guardian, Toronto. A handsome little volume. Mr. Macmurray's verses have the true poetic flavor. The conceit is generally quaint, original and gracefully clothed, and the metre excellent. He is just now attracting considerable attention as a versifier.— Wisconsin State Journal,. A fine production and worthy a place in every library.— Lynn. Mass., Daily Bee. The story, The Legend of Delaware Valley, is an intensely inter- esting one, and is beautifully told by this brilliant author. Mr. Macmurray has written both prose and poetry extensively, and his productions find a ready market in the best of our publications. The book cannot fail to please all who read it. It is a good, pure, elevating book, and there cannot be too many such books. There are some very fine war poems, and all breathe the spirit of innocence and virtue.— Milwaukee Telegraph. His verses are simple, melodious, usually correct in form, and always true in sentiment. The spirit which prompts them is one of gentleness and sincerity.— Boston Journal. A voluminous writer, and his work varies widely in quality, but the tone of his poems is moral and their influence uplifting, and they will undoubtedly please many readers.— Evening Wisconsin. His volume is made up of pieces upon a large variety of subjects, which evince considerable poetic feeling and a fair gift of expression. — Boston Transcript. A book of very pretty poems. His poetical writings are attract- ing much attention. His poem, Retrospection, is one of the sweetest things the pen could outline.— Madison, Wis., Daily Democrat. This is a pleasing collection of poems, and will add to the reputa- tion Mr. Macmurray has already achieved as an author, both of prose and verse. The opening poem tells an Indian legend in a graceful manner . Tt will make a welcome addition to one's library.— The Eve- ning Standard, New Bedford, Mass. We are pleased with his lines on Mother's Vacant Chair, and think them quite as good as Eliza Cook's on the same theme.— Mon. treal Herald. Sent, postpaid, to any address, on receipt of price, by WILLIAM BKIGGS, Publisher, 78 and 80 King Street East, Toronto. THOMAS J. MACMURRAY. AFTER-HOURS. A COLLECTION OF BALLADS, LYRICS AND SONNETS. THOMAS J* MACMURRAY, LL.B. Author of .. In Danger and Out of It," .. The Legend of Delaware Valley, and Other Poems," Etc. 3 \ 892 CHICAGO: American Publishers' Association. - / 1892. ?>QDG^f X | - COPYRIGHTED, 18 92, BY THOMAS J. MACMURRAY. TO TOE DISTINGUISHED AND VENERABLE POET, JOHN GEEENLEAF WHITTIER, WnO WAS ONE OF THE FIRST TO WELCOME MY EARLI- EST BOOK OF FOEMS, I RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBE THIS VOLUME, AS AN EXPRESSION OF MY CORDIAL GRATITUDE AND PROFOUND ADJURATION. The following autograph letter from the poet Whittier to Mr. Macmurray, is a high indorsement : fac-simile. PKOEM. Old-time ballads, how ye waken Mem'ries sweet and dear In the heart that is forsaken And bereft of cheer! When the way is dark and dreary, Ye dispel our grief- When these hearts of ours grow weary, Ye impart relief. After hours of pain and riot — After wild unrest, Soothe me with the lays that quiet Tumult in the breast. Lynn, Mass., July, 1888. CONTENTS. Ars Longa, Vita Brevis ----- 33 A Hymn - - - - - - - 61 A Sheaf ------- 81 A Song of Youth ... 45 At Evening- Time - - - - - 42 Beside the Sea - - - - - - - 51 Ever Onward ------ 26 Faithfulness - - - - - - - 32 Gather the Children .... 57 Genius - - - - - - ■ -68 Heart in Your Work ----- 53 Heavenward - - - - - - -23 Hymn ------- 29 Hie Jacet - ------ 64 Home -------- 72 June ------- 31 John Greenleaf Whittier - - - - - 46 Love's Old Sweet Song . ... - 76 Man -------- 15 My Native Land ------ 16 May Hopes ------- 24 Our Work ------- 40 October - - - - - - - - 48 Only a Rose ------- 65 Poverty - - - - - - - 35 Protect the Home ------ 80 Resignation - - - - - - - 20 Robert Burns ------ 21 Relief -------- 38 Resting Time ------ 77 11 CONTENTS. Sonnet to March - - - - - - 50 Sympathy ------- 59 Take Pleasure To-Day - - - - - - 30 The Outcast's Lament ----- 36 The Song that Charmed me Most - - - - 39 The Smile of a Child ..... 43 The Self-Conceited Critic - - - - 60 The Farewell ------ 62 The Silent Harp - - - - - - 66 To the Memory of M. F. M. - - - - - 69 The Poet's Winter Song - - - - 70 The Christmas Time ..... 74 The World's Choice 13 The Hero ------- 49 The Drink Demon's Boast - - - - -27 To a Wounded Song Bird ----- 11 Unknown to Fame - - - - - - 18 Unappreciated ...... 44 Voices of Children at Play - - - - - 56 Weariness -------55 Worthiness ....... 38 AFTER-HOURS. TO A WOUNDED SONG-BIRD. Poor sufFrer 'neath that drooping forest bough ! A cruel shot has hurled you to the ground Just when your morning notes rang out, and now You sing not in the merry, merry round. How could the sportsman choose you for his prey? You were but doing the kind Father's will, And you began your work when early gray Brought in the morn so peaceful and so still. I see the beating of your frightened heart ; In vain you try to cleave the air again j Ah, no ! in all the world there is no art Can heal that shattered wing which gives you pain. Would that you trusted me as your true friend j Then should I care for you in this dark hour ; 12 AFTER-HOURS. My tender sympathy I should extend While doing for you all within my power. Shame on the heartless wretch who stopped your strain And left you bleeding in the clover bloom ! 'Twas by his cruelty that you were slain And made to pine in loneliness and gloom. No more you'll soar toward the azure sky, Your lyre attuned to the Creator's praise ; No more your notes will cheer the passer by, Soothing his sorrow through the weary days. Forsaken by your mates, you'll seek some spot — Some shelt'ring nook where comes no rude alarm ; There, you will die, but not to be forgot; For I'll recall your song that oft did charm. AFTER-HOURS. THE WORLD'S CHOICE. The world likes happy people ; It courts their sunny smiles; For glad looks win, and laughter The dullest care beguiles. The world wants mirth and music To cheer its toil-worn heart ; But they who simply murmur Can little joy impart. Their path lies through a desert, Barren and lone and drear; No flowers are ever blooming In their dull atmosphere. Not so with the light hearted, Who laugh, though tempests beat, And who press on undaunted, Though cowards may retreat. The bright, the gay, the jovial, Dispel this sad world's pain, 13 14 AFTEE-HOURS. And change life's minor music Into a major strain. They prompt to strong endeavor In each momentous strife, And aid men in securing Grand victories in life. Away, then, with repining ! What is there in a sigli To help the heavy hearted, Around whom shadows lie? The world loves merry people ■ But sad hearts it will spurn- It makes no room for anguish I For tears it keeps no urn. AFTER-HOURS. 15 MAN. O man ! the greatest of God's wondrous works, And yet the weakest of all creatures known ; In thought thou soarest to the highest heavens, Scanning with more than eagle's eye the vast Productions lying in the depths of space, The while thy brow, on which sits majesty, Glows with the thoughts that heaven itself inspires. But though thou art so lofty, strong and grand- Though thousands listen spell-bound to thy voice, Till hearts are touched, till prejudices fade And deep conviction strikes through every breast • Though thou dost seem like one from heaven sent, Yet startling contradictions spring from thee, For in thy bosom dwell both love and hate, Virtue and vice, belief and darkest doubt. Seraph and fiend alternate influence thee, The one inciting thee to noblest deeds, The other dragging thee from heights sublime, Till, like an eagle wounded in its flight, Thou fallest on the sun-illumined crags, A piteous wreck, thy manhood's, splendor marred, Thy highest powers debased to foulest use. 16 AFTER-HOURS. MY NATIVE LAND. Scotland, fair country of my birth, I dream of thee; There is no land in all the earth So dear to me. I took a last look at thy shore Long years ago ; Yet I shall love thee evermore, Come joy or woe. I love the spot where first my eyes Beheld the light Or saw with wonderment the skies Bedecked at night. Scotland, I long to view again Thy mountains wild, Whose grandeur thrilled my being when I was a child. Thy poets are revered and read In ev'ry clime; AFTER-HOURS. 17 Their songs an influence still shed That is sublime. No nation has a prouder name; No land has won More homage or a greater fame For grand deeds done. Thy lovely hills' and glens and streams Are unsurpassed, Rivalling those we see in dreams Of brightest cast. Dear native land, although the sea Keeps us apart, I shall not cease to turn tow'rd thee With fondest heart. 18 AFTER-HOURS. UNKNOWN TO FAME. There are many lonely workers In the humbler spheres of life, Who receive no public guerdon For their valor in the strife. These, like flowers that shed their fragrance In a lone, deserted spot, Modestly perform their mission, Though the great world sees them not. But the Father sees these toilers, Knows their trials, counts their tears; And He blesses their endeavors And befriends them through the years. For such labors, though unnoticed, Are important in their way j And from them abundant fruitage Will result some future day. At the fireside of the lowly ; In the hovels of the poor, AFTER-HOURS. 19 These brave toilers are erecting Monuments that shall endure. In obscurity they labor, Seeking neither wealth nor fame ; But the good that they accomplish Will outlast the proudest name. Patience, sympathy and courage Are evinced in all they do • Undismayed, they still press onward And a lofty course pursue. Not in song, nor e'en in story Will their loving deeds be told • But God keeps a truthful record Of their virtues manifold. And some day these willing workers, To the outside world unknown, Will receive a royal welcome When God comes to claim His own. 20 AFTEK-HOURS. RESIGNATION. When clouds of darkness hover over me And disappointments fill my heart with pain, Help me to trust implicitly in Thee, Who sendeth both the sunshine and the rain, And to look forward with expectant gaze, To brighter days. 'Tis hard to bear the constant woes of life* 'Tis hard to sow and never garner grain • For oftentimes this long and stormy strife Brings only cruel loss instead of gain • But, Father, if Thou wilt Thine aid impart, 'Twill cheer my heart. This anxious waiting through the weary years For some anticipated good to come- This painful watching through my blinding tears, While lips that once spoke words of cheer are dumb, All make me long to lean upon God's breast, And there take rest. Oh, Saviour, leave me not to walk alone Amid those difficulties that appall ! But grant me strength to say, "Thy will be done," E'en though the shadows all around me fall * Nor need I fear to go where perils lie, If Thou art nigh. AFTER-HOURS. 21 ROBERT BURNS. Head at the celebration held by Clan McLean No. 36, O. S. C, in Lynn, Massachusetts, January 25, 1888, on the occasion of the 129th anni- versary of the birth of the Scottish poet. Divinely gifted bard ! No heart E'er held more love or pity • No man lived nearer to his race, And few have been more witty. How often he was sorely tossed By passion aud reverses ! Hope and despair, love, smiles and tears Characterize his verses. The modest daisy met his glance And drew his admiration • The wee field mouse was none to small To give him inspiration. He sang the sorrows of mankind In strains sublime and tender: To needy, burdened souls he gave Such aid as he could render. For in the poet's breast there dwelt True sympathy for others • 22 AFTER-HOURS. And, scorning pride, lie honored men And treated them as brothers. The honest face and noble heart Of e'en the humblest peasant Brought from the gifted Ayrshire bard A greeting that was pleasant. To him an honest man was great, Despite dark fate's mischances; He looked within • he saw the man, And not his circumstances. To-day the millions join to praise: With earnest, fond endeavor, The name of Scotia's honored son, Whose fame increases ever. The young and old, the rich and poor, His name and mem'ry cherish • His gems of thought in lyric dress Shall never, never perish. Then here's to Scotland's worthy bard ! Here's to our friend and brother! The world has had one Robert Burns • Nor will there be another. AFTER-HOUKS. 23 HEAVENWAKD. How sweet to worship in Thy courts, O God of boundless love ! And meditate on themes that call Our thoughts to things above. Blest, hallowed day, when weary hearts, Burdened with earth-born care, May leave perplexities behind And soar on wings of prayer. The Sabbath dawn brings peaceful rest To those who love to raise Their grateful anthems here below In the Creator's praise. And while their voices swell in songs Of rapturous melody, Each sound-wave bears their tuneful hearts To higher ecstasy. Portentous clouds then pass away, Earth fades, while heav'n appears, Nor longer is the worshipper Disturbed by doubts or fears. 24 AFTER-HOURS. O, sacred hour ! 'Tis then we catch A glimpse of fairer skies, And long to lay these burdens down And rest in Paradise. Father, giv° me a steadfast faith In Thee and in Thy Word, That each day I may take a step Higher and heavenward. MAY HOPES. Wake up, despondent heart, rejoice ! The May is here, She brings good cheer; List to the song-bird's trilling voice. Come from thy sombrous shade and sing Of fragrant flowers, Of gentle showers, And of the happy, radiant spring. Throw care aside, nor longer bear Thy load of grief ; AFTER-HOUKS. 25 May gives relief To those who will but welcome her. See at thy feet the blossoms gay That smile on thee Bewitchingly, To gladden thee upon life's way. A new world greets thy tear-dimmed eyes — All things are new Beneath the bine Of May's resplendent, clearer skies. From death comes life, from withered leaves Come bud and bloom When warm winds come. And earth the spring-time rain receives. So may thy hopes be new and strong At spring's return ; Why shouldst thou mourn When woods are echoing with song! 26 AFTER-HOUKS. EVER ONWARD. The hero does not cease to struggle on Despite his heavy cross or sad mistakes ; But, shouldering life's load again, he takes Fresh courage and awaits the golden dawn Of brighter days. And thus should we oursue The honorable course, keeping in view The noble end for which we daily toil, Nor ever from our fiercest foes recoil. If we have deviated from the right, We must not think of giving up the fight For principles on which true manhood rests. Therefore, press onward still though care infests Each weary day. The promised prize, when won, Shall more than compensate for labor done. AFTER-HOURS. 27 THE DRINK DEMON'S BOAST. I am a King ! Three thousand years My sceptre has been over all ; To weary eyes I've brought hot tears; I've hurled to death both great and small. I wield an influence most strong; Your politicians bow to me; Have they not legalized a wrong In granting me full liberty? While churches slept, I rode in might, Conq'ring on every battle-field, Till Wrong prevails instead of Right, And none can ever make me yield. Ha! ha! I'm King! Behold my power; What anguish to mankind I've brought; Pray, view from this my lofty tower The devastation I have wrought. My steppings make the nations quake ; I wreck, I poison heart and brain ; 28 AFTER-HOURS. But what care I for hearts that break ! Why should I mourn for victims slain. I am a King! Three thousand years I've ruled on earth with iron hand ; I scoff at this world's woes and tears And draw my sword in every land. Strong men are weak when in my grasp ; The most gigantic I o'erthrow; That boy a mother's arms now clasp I can, with one fell stroke, lay low. For I am King, and my high throne Rests on the bones of those I slew; I glory in the work I've done ; Now the world is mine and so are you. AFTER-HOURS. 29 HYMN. Come, mourner, to the cross ! Christ will relieve you, He will forgiveness grant, if you will pray ; Though you have grieved Him oft, He will receive you; Jesus is willing to save you to-day. Christ has true sympathy for those in sadness ; Infinite tenderness dwells in His breast; To every troubled heart He can bring gladness, And to the weary he giveth sweet rest. Accept the pard'ning love He is revealing; Then joy will come to your desolate soul; If you are sick and sore, He'll give you healing — Healing that will surely make the sick whole. Look to the Comforter. His grace assuages The griefs His children experience here; Little it matters how fierce the storm rages, When there's a harbor of Refuge so near. 30 AFTER-HOURS. TAKE PLEASURE TO-DAY. 'Tis folly to wait till to-morrow For pleasures to chase care away ; The future may bring grinding sorrow, Then wisely take comfort to-day. Why always be cast down and fretting Because there is so much to do? O, worry and constant regretting Will make you less useful and true. Enjoy as you go, and cease sighing For days that shall bring you more cheer On each path some sunbeams are lying, Some roses are blossoming near. Prize highly each God-given blessing ; Help those who must suffer alone ; And labors that once seemed distressing Will be far more easily done. Be glad while the sun is yet shining-, Take heart ; rise above every woe ; 'Tis useless to keep on repining, When all may enjoy as they go. AFTER-HOURS. 31 JUNE. Sweet June zephyrs, warm and bland, Blow to-day o'er all the land, WhispYing of the flowers that grow ; Of the evening's golden glow ; Of the tall, wide-spreading trees Swaying in the gentle breeze; Of the birds, with plumage gay, That sing sweetly all the day; Of the meadows, green and fair, And the lambkins playing there ; Of the sky of richest blue, And the hills of purple hue. Summer winds, to us ye bring New fond hopes worth cherishing; And the past, with all its tears — All its bitterness and fears — Is forgotten as we rove In the shade of vernal grove, Joining happy bird and bee In their glorious revelry. Eadiant, lovely, blithesome June, You can never come too soon. 32 AFTER-HOURS. FAITHFULNESS. Whatever be thy mission here, Fulfil it faithfully ; Shrink not from work assigned, nor fear Responsibility. Dishonor rests on those who throw Their sacred tasks aside, When duty urges them to go Onward, though sorely tried. Once in the ranks, keep thou in line, And hold the ba.mer high; Trust in the arm that is divine ; Resolve to do or die ! The guerdon from applauding throngs Is given to those who win. Strive on , do right. Reward belongs To those who conquer sin. Nor be faint-hearted, but pursue Thy course with cheerfulness; AFTER-nOURS. 8i> The work allotted thee to do Will bring thee happiness, Be faithful e'en in little things* And when thy race is run, In accents sweet the King of kings Will say to thee, "Well done." ARS LONGA, YITA BREVIS. Art is long, and life is transient; Wisely toil while shines the sun, Looking not for sweet composure Till the work of life is done. Harbor neither >^ain ambition Nor a motive born of sin; But so live that precious fruitage May at last be gathered in. Valueless are stores of learning, If they yield no lasting good; And the world is not made better By man's base ingratitude. M AFTEK-nOURS. Our exalted aspirations Cannot always be fulfilled; Cherished hopes are often blasted And with pain our hearts are thrilled. Weariness and disappointment Come to all who strive for fame; But the one who lives for others, Shall obtain the grandest name. Fleeting is all worldly splendor; Riches oftentimes take wings; Then lay up superior treasures; — Choose those higher, holier things. Bravely face the untried future With a purpose high and strong; Unremitting labor conquers, Right will some day vanquish wrong. Though life's burdens may be heavy, In the end will come relief ; So, be patient and remember,— Art is long, but life is brief. AFTER-HOURS. 35 POVERTY. Oh, penury ! thy victims testify Of thy insatiate thirst for human gore, Thy wanton cruelty, thy savage eye, Thy heartless treatment of the suff 'ring poor. Thou art a monster, tyrant, fiend, whose wrath Prompts thee to crush all found within thy path. Hovels and dingy garrets, hour by hour, Contain the victims of thy direful power. Sternly thou dost behold thy work of death; Thou hearest, all unmoved, the parting breath Of him whom thou hast murderously slain; Thou seest those who feel the racking pain Of abject indigence ; but from thine eyes No tears do fall responsive to their cries ; And so they die of hunger and distress, Without a friend to show them tenderness Or bring into the dark and naked room A bit of sunshine to dispel the gloom. 36 AFTER-HOURS. THE OUTCAST'S LAMENT. I am so tired to-night — so tired! Yet none will pity me; Once I was honored and admired In halls of gayety. Now laughing throngs press on their way Nor heed my tears or sighs ; I'm but a woman gone astray, Frowned on by scornful eyes. A lonely wand'rer in distress, I long for home once more, And for that sinless happiness I felt in days of yore. My blissful dreams have vanished quite ; I wander here alone; Never a cheering ray of light Across my path is thrown. Will not the Past give back again The true hearts I once knew 1 AFTER-HOURS. 37 Will not some old song's soothing strain Ring out to-night anew? Society condoned his crime ; Though he my ruin wrought, His name is praised from time to time; His company is sought. I — only I — must bear the shame — I only must repine; There is but one dishonored name Not his, indeed ; but — mine ! But soon I'll reach my journey's end ; It matters little now Whether or not I have a friend To stroke mj fevered brow. It matters not if friendly door Opes not to let me in ; The world has no forgiveness for A wretched woman's sin. But lo ! One comes with looks of love : . It is the Christ so mild ; He speaks : "Thou hast a home above; I pardon thee, my child." 38 AFTER-HOURS. BELIEF. My burden used to crush me night and day, While I neglected those who wept alone ; But when I gave to others sympathy, I found relief, and lo ! my load was gone. So if thou would st forget thy grief and care, Go forth and hear the world's heart-rending sigh, The sorrows of thy burdened neighbor share And wipe away those tears that dim the eye. WORTHINESS. Some men imagine that to own a creed And to be able to recite it well, Are ample to supply the soul's great need And to preserve it from the pangs of hell; When mere observance of such outward things Amounts to naught while the false heart still clings To sin, nor is in full and sweet accord With earnest spirits soaring heavenward. The creed is not the measure of a man ; But he who does the very best he can, Who loves mankind and God with all his heart, Is a true christian, worthy of the name, Though he may never reach the heights of fame By skill acquired in science or in art. AFTER-HOURS. 39 THE SONG THAT CHAKMED ME MOST. Sing me to-night a soulful song- I weary of the stormy strife; Music can make the weak heart strong And throw new meaning into life. I long to hear some helpful strain, Now that my soul is tempest-tossed ; Then sing, O sing to me again The song that charmed me most. I have not heard that song in years, And yet I recollect it well ; I know it filled my eyes with tears And wakened thoughts I dare not tell. Now that life's burdens press me sore, And I must mourn for loved ones lost, Just let me hear that song once more — The song that charmed me most. 40 AFTEK-HOURS. OUK WORK. Life is for arduous labor, Not for enjoyment or ease ; The world is not a mere dreamland Where we may do as we please. Life is for gathering wisdom From the experience of years; Nor should we give up disheartened, Amid our losses and tears. In this arena of conflict Against the forces of sin, We must be watchful and valiant If we are ever to win. God has assigned us this duty : To lift humanity up ; To comfort and help the weary Who drink from life's bitter cup. We cannot, by self-indulgence, Perform our mission in life ; AFTEK-HOUKS. 41 Our hearts must go out in pity For vanquished ones in the strife. So swiftly the years are passing, That we must hasten to-day ; The light that shines on our pathway Will speedily pass away. Let us press onward and upward, Nor fear the enemy's frown ; He who is faithful and conquers Will be awarded a crown. O man ! wouldst thou learn the secret Of highest happiness here? Then live for the good of others, Whatever thy lot or sphere. 42 AFTER-HOURS. AT EVENING TIME. What solemn 'thoughts come to me when night's shadows fall ! For in the ghostly gathering gloom I see Loved faces that have left the world and me — Faces that come when darkness gathers over all. Each shadow in my room seems like a human form Gliding in mockery before my eyes; And I grow lonelier as daylight dies And rising night-winds warn me of a coming storm. At evening time I wander back o'er vanished years • I think of how I've toiled alone, in pain, Through weary days, seeing at last no gain After the strife — naught but a heritage of tears. I think of all the sore mistakes that I have made, And of the golden opportunities I failed, in early life, to boldly seize, And oh, remembrance of them makes me half afraid ! If I could only know my life had been sublime, That 1 had ne'er committed slightest sin ; If death had never robbed me of my kin, I should not dread, but gladly welcome evening time. AFTER-HOURS. 43 THE SMILE OF A CHILD. I was weary of life and duty, And grief made my brain almost wild, When a child's face, glowing with beauty, Met my glance, and then sweetly smiled. It made me forget all my sorrow, And it gave me a new delight, And I feared not the coming morrow, For my skies had been made so bright. It left in my heart a rare treasure — A memory sweet, that I prize ; And I'm thrilled with infinite pleasure Each time I recall those dear eyes. For though many years have departed Since I saw that innocent face And those eyes, from which lustre darted,— They are with me in every place. That child's witching smile haunts me ever, And cheers me by night and by day. O God, guard the children forever ! They smile all our troubles away. 44 AFTER-HOUKS. UNAPPRECIATED. This world is an Eden to people who look Within the bright covers of Nature's great book ; But O, there are mortals whom nothing can move ; Too stupid are they to show ardor or love ; They pause not to gaze on the fields and the herds; Nor are they entranced with the chorus of birds, Or sounds of the sea when, with thundering roar, It breaks in wild grandeur upon the bleak shore. The blue summer skies and the flower-scented breeze ; The uplands, luxuriant with wide-spreading trees; The glorious sunset ; the eve's purple glow ; The ferns and soft grasses; the flowerets that grow In woodland and meadow, to gladden the sight; — These never impart to such dull souls delight; And the exquisite scenes that Nature has spread, Alas ! are unnoticed by senses so dead. O, little there would be to cheer me in life, Amid all the losses sustained in the strife, If I could not relinquish my tasks awhile And repair to those haunts that charm and beguile — Those sylvan recesses wherein I can rest, Secure from vexations that trouble the breast, And where my whole soul can rejoice and expand, Inspired by the works of the Deity's hand. AFTER-HOUKS. 45 A SONG OF YOUTH. Speak not of the glories encircling old age, Though grand are its sunsets and lessons of truth; The period most praised by the poet or sage, Is the brief but resplendent period of youth. Its radiant morning, its sunshine and song, Are better than evening when long shadows fall; And life is more charming when pulse-beats are strong And the first dreams of love so sweetly enthrall. O, gladsome and bright is the springtime of life, When hopes are so ardent and prospects seem fair, And pleasure is never once marred by fierce strife That darkens our skies and loads us with care ! Fain would I be back in youth's realm of delight, Inhaling the fragrance of morn's early flowers; But, then, if my heart can be kept young and light, 'Twill matter but little how fleeting the hours. 46 AFTER-HOURS. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIEK. Suggested bj- the celebration of the Quaker poet's eighty-first birth- day, December 17, 1888. Thou gifted bard,— whose undimmed fame Has long ere this spread far and wide, — All classes eulogize thy name And to thy virtues point with pride. Though thou hast reached full four-score years, Thy brilliant mental powers are strong Nor time's assaults, nor clouds, nor tears Make less melodious thy song. Thy latest verse, with old-time ring, Imparts to burdened souls relief; And through the years thy songs shall bring New strength to those bowed down with grief. The nation thou hast helped to free, Extols thy honored name to day ; Ruler and peasant speak of thee, And to thy worth high tribute pay. O bard of noble heart and mind, Thou hast well earned these honors rare — AFTER-HOUKS. 47 These sweet expressions from mankind, That float like incense on the air. Nor has thy country yet forgot Thy valiant efforts to erase Foul slavery's accursed blot And liberate a sufF'ring race. With book and pen, with heart of love, Thou didst toil on from year to year; But He who wisely rules above Rewarded all thy labors here. An era has been ushered in, That shames the dark, disgraceful past ; The cycle, stained by blood and sin, Has rolled away at last— at last. Justice now rules with gentle sway From North to South, from sea to sea; Peace and good-will prevail to-day Among the millions of the free. O honored bard, take comfort, then, In glancing at results so good ; The grand achievements of thy pen Draw out a nation's gratitude. 48 AFTER-HOURS. OCTOBER O gayest month of all the year! Thou art a queen in gorgeous dress- Thy smile is that of tenderness; Thy voice wafts mnsic to the ear. Th' autumnal banners, fringed with gold, Are flaunting now in praise of thee, While all thy subjects gratefully Recall thy virtues manifold. A coronet of jewels rare Sparkles upon thy regal head ; A sumptuous feast thy realm has spread For thee, October, queen most fair. We hail thy advent with delight, And only wish that thou couldst stay As guest with us for many a day, To cheer us with thy smiles so bright. AFTER-HOURS. 49 THE HEKO. The soldier needs courage in battle, The swimmer, in breasting the wave ; But those who contend with life's trials Need hearts that are even more brave ; For every-day struggles are greatest; They test us more rigidly, too ; And he is the mightiest hero Who fights his way manfully through. Highest glory lies not in winning A battle that lasts for a day, But in keeping up constant courage, No matter how tedious the fray; It lies in most patience endurance Through long years of losses and pain — In valiant and noble endeavor To take a step forward again. To him who, though often defeated, Persistently strives to the last, His bravery rising with danger, As a kite soars high 'gainst the blast — To him let the brightest of laurels And the richest rewards be given ; His valor commands the world's praises And merits the plaudits of Heaven. 50 AFTEE-HOUKS. SONNET TO MAKCH. O month of fitful winds that rave and moan ! What heart could ever fondly welcome thee? What ear could catch e'en one melodious tone In thy wild notes that breathe no harmony? And yet thou art a prophet, great and skilled, Whose prophecies concerning azure skies, Spring flowers and warm south winds, are always wise, For none dare say they have not been fulfilled. Above the howling gale a robin's song May now be heard* in meadows, where so long The snow has lain, will shoot soft grasses soon • And in the woods sweet wild-flowers will be strewn Ere long by the Creator's loving hand, And spring shall reign as queen of all the land. AFTER HOURS. 51 BESIDE THE SEA. AN AFTER-THOUGHT. When last I wandered by thy side, O sea! I was a hopeful child ; nor felt a care; My youthful spirits were as light as air, And life was like a summer dream to me. Thy curling billows as they kissed the sand, Did not then fill my inmost soul with pain ; Above their plash I heard no minor strain Kinging in sadness over sea and land. That time was many, many years ago ! To-day I stand beside the sea once more, But not with thoughts I had in days of yore, For changes mark the years that come and go. The ocean ebbs and flows just as of old ; But time has written wrinkles on my brow That erstwhile glowed with ardent hope, and now My life is clouded with regret untold. No more with buoyant heart I wander here, Where oft I sported in bright hours long past. 52 AFTEK-HOURS. Alas! the dream of childhood could not last; And when the sunshine fled, then came the tear. To-day my thoughts revert to years agone : I see loved faces that looked into mine Ere preying care had caused me to repine Or nights of pain had made my cheek so wan. O sea! thy sad intoning starts my tears, Kecalling to me voices low and sweet, And songs that, coming from their calm retreat, Are echoes of the half-forgotten years. Thus solemn memories come thronging near To make me lonelier and sadder still ; Thus does the sounding sea wake thoughts that till My soul with restless longing and with fear. But when my barque is cast upon the shore, And when the sun has sunk within the sea, 'Twill all be o'er ; from pain I shall be free, And I shall sweetly rest forevermore. In Heaven's quiet harbor of the blest I shall find shelter from the fierce typhoon. AFTER-HOURS. 53 Nor shall I dread the night. Eternal noon Excludes night's shadows from that land of rest. Be strong, sad heart, and bide the morn sublime, When gloom shall into glad effulgence turn, And when the spirit shall no longer mourn Over the cruel wrecks of tide and time. HEART IN YOUR WORK. Put your heart in your work, whatever you do ; 'Twill lighten the burdens of life; Exhibit grand courage, be earnest and true, And you shall achieve in the strife. If you write, use your pen in humanity's cause , Throw sympathy into each page ; Deal strong blows at tyrants, assail unjust laws And all social wrongs of the age. Your mission, it may be, is only to sing; Then your soul should soar with the song, And to some weary life your ballad will bring Sweet hopes that shall make the heart strong. 54 AFTER-HOURS. When you give in response to the cries of the ooor, Contribute through motives of love • The results of such deeds will always endure, For they are recorded above. If into the humblest spheres you should go, To comfort, admonish or pray, Or to lift the fallen from dark depths of woe,— Put heart in your work every day. The man without tenderness does little good In this world of anguish and need • His heart is unmoved though the hungry crave food And suff Vers for sympathy plead. Show heart, then, in all that you say or perform ; Take pains to relieve the oppressed • Cheer the voyagers, who, fatigued by the storm, Would fain seek some harbor of rest. How potent for good is a generous deed ! What blessings do kind words impart ! We oft measure men by their standing or creed j But a man must be judged by his heart. AFTEK-HOURS. 55 WEARINESS. Is there an end to weariness in life ? — To all this ceaseless and tumultuous strife That, from the very cradle to the grave? Appals the hearts of e'en the strong and brave? Is there an end to this anxiety That haunts us hour by hour and will not flee ? Or are we made to mourn through day and night?— To walk in shade and never in the light? Is there an end to losses and to pain ? And will there come a time when naught but gain Will follow all our unremitting toil, And when no foe shall force us to recoil? Is there an end to this dull, dreary mode Of life? Or must our feet still press the road Leading through places dangerous and dark, Where scarce an eye discerns one shining mark. Nay, do not look for perfect peace and rest ! A life of noble conflict is the best; And chivalry will win a brighter crown Than we could gain by casting burdens down. 56 AFTEK-HOTTRS. VOICES OF CHILDREN AT PLAY. How sweet are the voices of children at play ! They echo from childhood's fair shore, Where the winds are hushed and Life's golden day Throws open its radiant door. innocent voices! your music I hear; Your rapturous tones bring delight ; 1 eagerly list to the the laughter so clear That bursts forth like songs in the night. I long to be free from life's burdens again And to roam through forests and flowers, With never a feeling of loss or of pain To make less delightful the hours. But how idle the wish ! The stern winds of Time Have driven my barque very far clime, From the flower-haunted shore of that wonderful The land where the dear children are. Far out on life's ocean, where danger abounds, My frail boat is riding the wave; AFTEK-HOUKS. 57 But e'en through the storm I can hear sweetest sounds That make me both hopeful and brave: 'Tis the sounds that are wafted over the sea And through the mists grewsome and gray, From the loved land of childhood they float to me — The voices of children at play. GATHER THE CHILDREN. Gather the children around your knee, And show them the road that leads to joy • Tell them the way to be grand and free- How to have pleasure without alloy ; Keep them secure from the tempter's power; Encircle them with your arms of love ; They'll need your words in some evil hour ; They'll need the help that comes from above. Gather the children and tell them how The demon of drink enslaves and blights — How it leaves its curse on heart and brow And drags the genius from lofty heights. 58 AFTER-HOURS. They should know these things before they go Out into the world of sin and shame; Then tell them how to escape the woe That surely follows a ruined name. Gather the children close to your side ; They stand in need of your loving care, For the world is bad, and far and wide Flash out the lights that so oft ensnare. Don't let them become the rum-fiend's prey ; But keep them anchored to God and truth, Where they'll be out of the demon's way Whenever it seeks to harm the youth. Gather the children around your chair Before they wander from childhood's land; Some day the silver will streak their hair; Then tenderly lead them by the hand. The world is brighter with them in sight; We can bear defeat if they are near To throw on our path the sunbeams bright, And whisper their sweet words in our ear. AFTER-HOURS. 59 SYMPATHY. As several instruments of music in a room Vibrate with sweet accord when only one is played Upon, so are kind, sympathetic natures made To feel the touch of any sorrow that may come To man; and their warm hearts in fellow-feeling beat For him who meets with cruel loss or sore defeat. Would that all hearts evinced an active tenderness Toward the victims of misfortune and distress. Then would those lives that now are dark and full of care, Be blest and lifted from the depths of dread despair Hopes and ambitions that are dead would rise again And happiness would take the place of lurking pain Within the arid waste would spring bright flowers of peace, While much of the distrust 'twixt man and man would cease. 60 AFTER-HOURS. THE SELF-CONCEITED CRITIC. Thou hast presumption to decry The noblest works of gifted men, And to imagine that thy pen Can shake the very earth and sky; Yet none have heard of thy renown. The favored few who know thy name Aver that thou art seeking fame By basely trying to pull down The lofty men of thought sublime, But over whom thou canst not climb Alas ! thy ipse dixit goes To prove but this:— That one man knows More than all geniuses combined — That one thyself, so frail and blind ! Thy mission is to carp and score, Show self-conceit and fiercely gore, And to proclaim with spleen and might That nothing has been done aright. 'Tis easier far to criticise Than to correct mistakes, likewise. Thy task, then, is an easy one ; The hard work is by others done. AFTER-HOURS. 61 A HYMN. Cast thy burden upon the Lord. — Psalm iv: 32. Sweet this invitation given To the weary here ! 'Tis a voice that comes from Heaven, Imparting cheer. u Cast thy burden on the Lord." List ! thou soul oppressed • God has promised in His Word To give thee rest. Look to Him in simple trust For His healing power He is gracious- he is just, Each day and hour. Mourners have no truer friend Anywhere than He; For He loves them to the end, With constancy. Cast on Him thy heavy load, Weary one, to-day Then the shadows on thy road Shall flee away. 62 AFTER-HOURS. THE FAREWELL. Dear boy, and are you going Into the world so wide? Then list to kindly counsel Before you leave my side : The best will have rough sailing On life's tempestuous sea; Few barques escape the breakers •■ I know they surged o'er me. But ne'er give up pursuing, Though weary be your feet ; Be brave and keep on trying, In spite of each defeat. All who have ever conquered On life's contested field, Have won by their fixed purpose Never to tamely yield. Let nothing turn your footsteps From paths of rectitude ; Fast living leads to ruin A countless multitude. AFTER-HOURS. 63 •Tis only fools who squander The precious hours away, And ne'er discern the value Of the chances of to-day. The time will come when vict'ry Shall crown your earnest work, If you will never falter Nor daily duties shirk. An earnestness of purpose, Combined with truth and right, Will clear your way to fortune And honor's blazing height. Now write, my boy,— write often j No matter where you roam Our deepest love will follow The lad away from home • And when w r e kneel at evening And look to God in prayer, We'll not forget to ask Him To keep you in His care. 64 AFTER-HOURS. HIC JACET. I saw him die — the gray old year"; I watched him close his faded eyes; List'ning, I heard his long-drawn sighs, Just as the solemn end drew near. Then, as I stood beside his bed And viewed the features calm and cold, From which all life and love had fled, The bells in distant steeples tolled A midnight, melancholy knell — A mournful and a fond farewell. I left the bier, but not until My hands had placed upon that breast, So cold, inanimate and still, A love-wreath as my last bequest. AFTER-HOUKS. 66 ONLY A ROSE. Dejected 1 stood in a parlor grand, Nor heeded the music that tilled the air, When one drew near with a rose in her hand And bade me accept the blossom so fair. 'Twas only a rose but its secret power Awoke in my being a new delight • It gave me fresh hope in a lonely hour And banished the gloom of that April night. And thus does each kind deed graciously shed A fragrance benign as that of the rose, Whose perfume lingers e'en after 'tis dead, To sweeten life's toil and soothe human woes. O, blest be the heart that in sympathy beats For those whose spirits are often depressed \ And peace to that one who tenderly greets The weary who sigh for moments of rest. 66 AFTER-HOURS. THE SILENT HARP. 'Twas midnight, and cold blew December's blast Through the city's deserted street, While the blinding snowflakes fell thick and fast Adown at my weary feet. In the drifted snow, near a mansion high, Lay a tender Italian boy, With death on his brow and death in the eye That once flashed with innocent joy. His sweet harp lay mute by his frozen side ; 'Twas the end of its minstrelsy; The harpist's life had passed out with the tide That rolls to eternity's sea. How oft he enchanted the passer-by With the strains of his magic art ! And yet he was left there alone to die, With the weight of woe on his heart. Luxury reigned in that mansion close by ; The rich and the proud reveled there; AFTER-HOURS. 67 But they spurned that one who came with a sigh, And poured out his grief in a prayer. "Alone in this city I die,'' he said • "Oh, list to my pitiful plea! Cold, cold is the wind for my aching head. Just this once, give shelter to me." Still the crowd laughed on. Then the harpest dreamed Of a home far over the sea; But in the youth's sight bright angels now gleamed, And the fettered soul was set free. 68 AFTER-HOURS. GENIUS. 'Tis said a genius is a man Who does the very best he can — Who labors hard while others play Or idly dream the years away. If genius comes from labor, then It could adorn and bless all men, Regardless of the dullest brains j And all who would but take the pains Might reach the heights of fame and power Simply by struggling hour by hour. Absurd assumption — most absurd! Though diligence brings its reward, It cannot to dull souls impart Rare qualities of brain and heart — Those innate powers, supremely great, That years with books will not create; The wretched void no toil can fill, And "pygmies are mere pygmies still But the true genius, like a star, Whose lucid beams are seen afar, Shines as a separate beacon-light Far up upon the lofty height ; And there he works with book and pen, Evolving thoughts unknown to men. AFTER-HOUKS. 69 TO THE MEMORY OF M. F. M. Brave, tender heart that felt another's woe So keenly, and didst willingly bestow Its wealth of tenderness upon the sad And lonely here, anxious to make them glad And to illume their dreary, darkened way And turn their night into resplendent day, — Mankind admire, while highest heav'n holds dear, The life that moved not in one little sphere, But shed a helpful influence everywhere, As flowers exhale their fragrance on the air. In thee were found, harmoniously combined, Those higher qualities of heart and mind, Which raised thy thoughts above the common sod And linked them to humanity and God. I AFTER-HODES. THE POET'S WINTER SONG. How dreary and dark is the weather ! And how dismal the sound of the rain ! The hills, in their wintry apparel, Fail to waken my lyrical strain. If only the robins were singing, Or if only the meadows were green ; If only the trailing arbutus Now among the soft grasses was seen,— I'd then have a theme for my fancy — Yea, a theme that would truly inspire; For O, I would sing of the springtide, Till my innermost soul was on fire ! But though Nature's glories are hidden And this earth seems a barren, cold place, I turn from its weird desolation To be charmed with thy beautiful face. If birds warble not in the woodland, To enchant me and make me rejoice, AFTEE-HOUKS. 71 It matters but little, if only I can list to thy soul-stirring voice. If roses bloom not in my pathway And I wander not 'neath sunny skies, Thou art fairer to me than the roses, And I crave but the light of thine eyes. Then away with the grandest ballads That the most gifted poets may write ! For thou art a far sweeter poem Than the poet could ever indite. 72 AFTER-HOURS. HOME. Faces both young and handsome Smile on us as we roam, But none are half so charming As the faces seen at home; Nor do we get a welcome So pleasing or sincere As that our loved ones give us At the old home we revere. It is an unfeigned greeting, And not bestowed for show; But in the halls of fashion 'Tis different, you know ; For people there dissemble — All is but mockery; Society's gay circles Show no sincerity. Beyond the heart's enclosure We fail to find such rest As that found at the fireside With those we love the best. AFTER-HOURS. 73 The softest voices whisper, The sweetest ballads ring Where beams the face of mother And children laugh and sing. Majestic anthems swelling Beneath cathedral dome Are not more grand or sacred Than the old songs heard at home. Their echoes sweetly linger, Nor ever die away j They wake fond recollections Of childhood's happy day. After each fierce encounter That brings us loss and pain, We fly within home's shelter, And peace is ours again. O harbor for the storm-tossed I O hope for the distressed ! Thou art indeed a fitting Symbol of heavenly rest. 74 AFTER-HOURS. THE CHRISTMAS TIME. Hail to the joyous Christmas-tide! Best time of all the year, When gifts are scattered far and wide And hearts are filled with cheer. Glad was the song that filled the air Above Judea's plain • To-day we chant that song in prayer And sound the sweet refrain : "Peace be on earth, good will to men!" We chant it o'er and o'er, And praise the Savior's name again — That Name we all adore. Season of love, and smiles, and joy, We gladly welcome thee I Thou bringest peace without alloy, And blessings large and free. Ring out, old songs of olden days ! Begone, corroding care ! We'll call up cherished memories Of scenes and faces fair. -AFTKR-HOUKS. 75 We'll make the little children glad • The helpless we will aid; We'll cheer the weary and the sad, Who oft fall back dismayed. Around the old fireside we meet, To laugh, and chat, and sing : The dear ones all we love to greet, After our wandering. Now may our hearts beat high with pride And old-time ecstasy • And may this blessed Christmas-tide Illume our future way. May every selfish thought depart, At such a time as this • And may there come to every heart True and abiding bliss • Then, on this peaceful Christmas day, Let our good-will be shown In aiding, by true sympathy, Those who must weep alone. 76 AFTER-HOURS. LOVE'S OLD SWEET SONG. He wandered alone in a distant land j He saw bright faces and scenes that were fair; He listened to songs that were wild and grand ; But cold was the heart of the wanderer there. For the songs, though grand, were soulless and dead ; They fell on his ear, but were soon forgot ; And his life was dark and his soul unfed, While he sadly mused on his wretched lot. At length, when night's shadows had cast a gloom Over the traveler's desolate way, A song floated out from a humble room, And the wand'rer heard that soul-thrilling lay. The simple ballad was love's old sweet song; He knew it by its familiar refrain j And the heart that had been indifferent long, Was touched at last with the magical strain. Then the tears rolled down the wanderer's cheek ; He blest the singer in an earnest breath ; AFTER-HOURS. 77 And thoughts came o'er him that he could uot speak And the song stayed with him until his death. Love's old sweet song — how it calls up the past! Awakening memVies sacred and dear, Bringing us joy when our sky is o'ercast, Giving us hope when we falter and fear. RESTING TIME. As a tired child, soothed by a mother's song, Sleeps on her breast ; So may I, in my Father's arms so strong, At last find rest. Like the glad wanderer who draws near home And cherished friends, Would I cease journeying — no more to roam — When earth-life ends. How sweet are songs that float at evening time O'er waters still ! And at life's close I fain would hear some chime From Heaven's hill, 78 AFTER-HOURS. Or song whose mystic music, floating free From yonder shore, Should quiet all my pain and give to me Peace evermore. Ay, when that solemn scene shall come at last, I hope to hear The voices that I heard in years long past, As death draws near; And to behold the loved in robes of light Waiting to greet Me in that land — too fair for mortal sight — Where dear ones meet. The seed I scattered over barren field Was sown in vain, Although I prayed and toiled for plenteous yield, Of golden grain. Others have harvested bright, precious sheaves And fruitage sweet ; While only worthless straw and withered leaves Lie at my feet. AFTER-HOURS. 79 [ see but ruined hopes along life's way So rough and hard • But in that realm where shineth endless day, Joy is not marred. Why should I weep and always seem cast down? Cheer up, my heart ! The crosses surely come before the crown • Then, do they part. 'Tis labor now, but rest comes by and by; Here, cares infest; Yonder, nor pain, nor disappointment's sigh Disturbs sweet rest. 80 AFTEE-HOUKS. PROTECT THE HOME. What was it wrecked that once delightful home And caused a wail of woe to linger there? What filled those rooms with a forbidding gloom, Dispelled the sunshine and let in despair ? 'Twas Rum that quenched the lambent flame of song And cast a gloom where once, 'mid cheerful light, The bosom heaved with mirth the whole day long And music's strain shed joy around at night. Against the inroads of intemperance, then, Protect the homes throughout our rum-cursed land • O, let brave women and fearless men Now rally and for home and freedom stand ! AFTER-HOURS. 81 A SHEAF. Scorn not to do the smallest service here; For each kind deed has weight; and every tear We dry helps to impart needful relief To some poor heart oppressed with care and grief. We are seldom attracted by tears; Sad looks do not often beguile ; But we prize, through the long, weary years, The face that's adorned with a smile. Discord, thou art a child of evil • 'Twere no great crime to call thee, Devil ! A life undecked by noble deeds Is the saddest life of all* Then aim to scatter precious seeds And minister to others' needs, Deeming no kind act too small. 82 AFTER-HOURS. The most important of the classic arts Is literature : It toucheth all the springs in human hearts And must endure. Like children, we impatient grow, And oft complain when things we crave Come not to us at once. We fret From day to day, when we should know That God does not our needs forget, But only wants us to be brave And to be patient and resigned. He knows that we are weak and blind* For often when we make request, We know not what is for the best. Be pleasant at home; nor wound with sharp words The hearts that are loving and true. From home's sacred harp the sweetest of chords Should vibrate at all times for you. AFTEK-HOURS. 83 The man whose aims are sordid cheats himself— For while the end of all his life is pelf, His intellect and soul can ne'er expand, And he is but a pygmy in the land, Compared with sympathetic men who find The highest joy in toiling for mankind. I would not judge thee by thy looks, Nor by thy knowledge gleaned from books • But I should know that love divine Fully possessed that heart of thine, If thou didst have what Heav'n can give — The disposition to forgive. Sweet flowers, I ot'ttimes study Your faces as ye grow In forest or in meadow, And fancy ye must know Something of love and duty; For in your soulful looks Are thoughts as high and holy As those I read in books. 84 AFTER-HOUKS. As the lark when soaring sings, Fearing not to trust its wings While its beats the upper air-, So may I, on wings of prayer, Soar above the woes of life — Rise above the stormy strife, Till my song of gratitude Shall proclaim that God is good. W^£ ' ^ f : £$fe"^ T$CMfe ^^Sfe/^ ^'£WV/^ ^aBH"^ ^aC^I f £^fe/^ ?^£^fe>^ fV5fe# ^^PGK"^ ^'A^/Jr" '^'fvX#-' /M ■^ ^/CiCH'ilfe ^f^Dx^ ^'^Q&xM~ ^ an 1^ i .^f^in^-^.^^nn^^ f'Xlfei^ ?' flF y^.C-y u ^_3 -^F_w. (—^13 -tfjF \^> £, * * ^r^Tlfo,^ ^r^lf^-.-^ ^'^X^li i*£ < % T-tSOs^ T&^hik- Ts&Mfe f'&h^ T&£hi¥ fAjl f.£ TlFjyte & v ;^« *. 1 -^ ^fffii-i; ^rCJDr-^ ^r^lf^,-^ ^ ^ td ^ If_wJ * *^ ^ ^'£§0^"^ ^'a^vII? T^Mk f&h^ f&h^ TS$2>% §^a^#sIa%#,i^ W ^c^nf^,-^ ^rSfif^-^ ^rSfif^-^ #,£ifc, ,v » 'on-v, v^'^irL.^' LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 01 1 856 384