PS 3545 
 .E915 
 P6 
 1898 
 Copy 1 
 
 
 ^ 
 
. 1 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. Copyright No. 
 
 ShelL.£.3i-5'r' b 
 
 4«"^? 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
POEMS AND ADDRESSES 
 
POEMS AND ADDRESSES 
 
POEMS AND ADDRESSES 
 
 OF 
 
 EMILY GREENE WETHERBEE 
 
 ^ Memorial Fcilume 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTION 
 
 By JOHN FRANCIS GILDEA 
 
 EDITOR "history OF LAWRENCE AND VICINITY' 
 
 LAWRENCE, MASS. 
 THE LAWRENCE PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 MDCCCXCVIII 
 
 1 
 
T53Sfr 
 
 25942 ^ ,?f? 
 
 Copyright, 1898 
 By Mrs. S. A. Metcalf 
 
 15 23189^: 
 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 
 
 
Introduction 
 
 ^ I ^HE publication of this little book of Poems 
 and Addresses was contemplated by the 
 author before her death. The gathering of 
 Emily Greene Wetherbee's writings in the form 
 of a memorial volume was suggested by friends 
 who remembered the beautiful and inspiring 
 verses bearing her name that appeared from 
 time to time in the newspapers and magazines. 
 Miss Wetherbee's first contribution to the press 
 was in 1878; and for nineteen years, in addition 
 to her duties as teacher in the Lawrence High 
 School, she was a frequent contributor of poetry 
 and prose to the Boston Journal, Boston Tran- 
 script, Lawrence American, Lawrence Daily 
 Eagle, the New England Magazine, and other 
 publications. Several of the poems herein 
 printed have been extensively quoted, while 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 some of the verses are published for the first 
 time. 
 
 The author was born in Milford, N. H., 
 January 6, 1839. She was the daughter of 
 Isaac and Sophia (Greene) Wetherbee, and 
 a descendant of Gen. Nathaniel Greene of 
 Revolutionary fame. Her parents removed to 
 Charlestown, Mass., where Miss Wetherbee 
 passed her childhood days in the neighborhood 
 of Bunker Hill. At the age of twelve years 
 she came with her family to Lawrence, entering 
 the public schools, graduating from the High 
 School in 1856. After teaching in the Oak 
 Street School, she accepted a position in the 
 Bowdoin Grammar School in Boston, and re- 
 mained there for seven years, returning, in 1870, 
 to teach in the Lawrence High School. For 
 more than a quarter of a century she remained 
 a teacher in the institution from which she had 
 graduated with honors, and during that period 
 she left the impress of her character upon hun- 
 dreds of pupils, by whom she will always be 
 
 affectionately remembered, 
 vi 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Miss Wetherbee was intimately connected 
 with the Hterary and social life of Lawrence. 
 Her poetical writings won her a New England 
 reputation. She wrote more or less humorous 
 prose over the nom de plume of '' Maria Green," 
 and also gave valuable contributions on literary 
 and educational subjects before clubs, societies, 
 and teachers' conventions. She addressed the 
 American Institute of Instruction at Bar Harbor, 
 in 1885, on "The Study of English Literature." 
 Her eloquent Memorial Day oration before 
 Needham Grand Army Post, her patriotic ad- 
 dress before the Daughters of the Revolution in 
 Boston, and her scholarly rendition from memory 
 of Shakespeare's '' Midsummer Night's Dream," 
 under the auspices of the Chadwick Club, are 
 all well remembered. Contrary to the well- 
 known quotation, Miss Wetherbee had always 
 been the recipient of honors from her own city, 
 where her varied talents were known and appre- 
 ciated. She had been for many years President 
 of the Old Residents' Association, and also of 
 the Lawrence Woman's Club from its inception. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Her active and useful life terminated, after a 
 short period of broken health, on August 28, 
 1897. The Wetherbee Grammar School has 
 since been named in honor of one whose mem- 
 ory will ever be revered in the city she loved so 
 
 well. 
 
 J. F. G. 
 
 Lawrence, Mass., 
 
 March, 1898. 
 
Contents 
 
 Page 
 
 Mv Mother's Hymns i 
 
 Vacation 4 
 
 The Old Garden Gate 6 
 
 Old Charlestown 8 
 
 The Mayflower ii 
 
 Verses 13 
 
 The Old Garden 14 
 
 The Old Bowdoin Schoolhouse 16 
 
 At Rest — U. S. Grant 18 
 
 Graduation Day 20 
 
 The Bridal 23 
 
 The Teacher's Summer 26 
 
 Lawrence High School 28 
 
 May Breakfast Rhymes 32 
 
 The May Breakfast 36 
 
 The Old Residents 38 
 
 The Old Residents 40 
 
 The Old Elm (Illustrated) 44 
 
 Our Departed Heroes 47 
 
 The Working-Girls 53 
 
 Our Gentlemen Guests 59 
 
 The Old Home , . . . 63 
 
 The School Bell ...,..,... 66 
 ix 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 Our Schoolroom 67 
 
 Forty Years Wedded 69 
 
 Semi-Centennial Anniversary Poem ... 74 
 
 The Bells of Lawrence 84 
 
 Lights of Lawrence 87 
 
 To the Soldiers of Needham Post ... 90 
 
 Our Soldiers' Monument 95 
 
 In Memoriam — John K. Tarbox 98 
 
 Ethel loi 
 
 In Memoriam 103 
 
 Her Portrait 106 
 
 A Life's Shadow 108 
 
 My Picture , no 
 
 Memorial Day 112 
 
 Ocean to Earth 114 
 
 The Trailing Arbutus 115 
 
 Sonnet — To Columbus 116 
 
 Sonnet — To Isabella of Spain 117 
 
 Longing 118 
 
 Easter 120 
 
 My Childhood's Home 121 
 
 The Old Piano 123 
 
 The Moon (from the German) 126 
 
 ADDRESSES 
 
 Memorial Day Oration 131 
 
 Patriotism 152 
 
POEMS 
 
 My Mother's Hymns 
 
 HUSHED are those lips, their earthly song is 
 ended ; 
 The singer sleeps at last ; 
 While I sit gazing at her arm-chair vacant, 
 And think of days long past. 
 
 The room still echoes with the old-time music, 
 
 As, singing, soft and low. 
 Those grand, sweet hymns, the Christian's consolation, 
 
 She rocks her to and fro. 
 
 Some that can stir the heart like shouts of triumph. 
 
 Or loud-toned trumpet's call. 
 Bidding the people prostrate fall before Him, 
 
 " And crown Him — Lord of all." 
 I I 
 
MY MOTHER'S HYMNS 
 
 And tender notes, filled with melodious rapture, 
 
 That leaned upon His word. 
 Rose in those strains of solemn, deep affection, 
 
 " I love Thy Kingdom, Lord." 
 
 Safe hidden in the wondrous " Rock of Ages," 
 
 She bade farewell to fear ; 
 Sure that her Lord would always gently lead her, 
 
 She read her title clear. 
 
 Joyful she saw " from Greenland's icy mountain " 
 
 The Gospel flag unfurled ; 
 And knew by faith " the morning light was breaking " 
 
 Over a sinful world. 
 
 "There is a fountain," how the tones triumphant 
 
 Rose in victorious strains, 
 " Filled with that precious blood, for all the ransomed. 
 
 Drawn from Immanuel's veins." 
 
 In minor tones she sang of God's great judgments ; 
 
 Broad was the sinner's road, 
 Where thousands walked, forgetful of His mercy, 
 
 To death's dark, dread abode. 
 
 Then, changing to a mood more sweet and tender, 
 
 The notes would softer be, 
 Speaking with joy of his great loving kindness. 
 
 Unchanging, sure, and free. 
 
MY MOTHER'S HYMNS 
 
 Sometimes, when hope was faint and storm-clouds 
 gathered, 
 
 And darkened seemed the day. 
 Rose like a dirge, " I would not live here always, 
 
 I ask Thee not to stay." 
 
 Then, filled with faith's diviner inspiration, 
 
 "Oh, rise, my soul," she cries, 
 " Stretch out thy wings and trace thy better portion. 
 
 Press onward to the prize." 
 
 Dear saint, in heavenly mansions long since folded, 
 
 Safe in God's fostering love, 
 She joins with rapture in the blissful chorus 
 
 Of those bright choirs above. 
 
 There, where no tears are known, no pain nor sorrow. 
 
 Safe beyond Jordan's roll. 
 She lives forever with her blessed Jesus, 
 
 The lover of her soul. 
 
VACATION 
 
 Vacation 
 
 THE merry summer months with leaves and 
 blossoms 
 Have come to deck the land, 
 And all the earth to beauty fresh awakened 
 By breezes sweet is fanned. 
 
 They whisper in the city's crowded schoolrooms 
 
 To little children there, 
 Bending their tired heads o'er weary pages, 
 
 And they forget their care. 
 
 They tell them where the meadows fair are waiting, 
 
 In green and gold arrayed ; 
 And speak of silent hills and peaceful waters 
 
 And grateful forest shade. 
 
 They see the nodding buttercups and daisies 
 
 That star the velvet grass ; 
 And from the walls the fleet and bright-eyed squirrels 
 
 Look on them as they pass. 
 4 
 
VACATION 
 
 The turning of the leaves of tiresome volumes 
 
 No longer greets their ear ; 
 But rustling elms in softest music blowing 
 
 And sighing pines they hear. 
 
 Hushed are the humming voices of the schoolroom ; 
 
 They list the song of bird ; 
 Instead of classroom lessons conned with labor, 
 
 The buzz of bee is heard. 
 
 Till, thinking of the murmuring woods and meadows. 
 
 The softly gliding streams, 
 The tired head falls on the tedious pages 
 
 In glad vacation dreams. 
 
 Take courage, weary ones, with faint heart waiting 
 
 For birds and flowers and play. 
 Soon in the dales and meadows you '11 be roaming 
 
 Through all the summer day. 
 
 The merry sunshine kissing your pale faces 
 
 Will make them like the rose ; 
 And beaming health will come and youthful vigor 
 
 With every wind that blows. 
 
 A little longer con the needed lessons. 
 
 The toils and burdens bear ; 
 Soon you can say, with hearts aglow with rapture, 
 
 " The glad vacation 's here ! " 
 5 
 
THE OLD GARDEN GATE 
 
 The Old Garden Gate 
 
 SWEET lilacs blossomed near, syringas bent above it, 
 The snow- ball tree beside it stood in state, 
 While modest little pinks sent up their spicy odors 
 Around the dear, familiar garden gate. 
 
 Outside it, by the road, stood ranks of nodding daisies ; 
 
 The clover made the distant meadows gay ; 
 And slender buttercups held up their golden chalice, 
 
 As if to catch the splendor of the day. 
 
 Hid in the drooping elms, which o'er it cast their 
 shadows. 
 The robins held their jubilee of song ; 
 And, free as summer winds, from village school re- 
 turning, 
 A group of merry, noisy children throng. 
 
 I look back with dim eyes across the years' dark mazes, 
 
 And hear it on its noisy hinges swing ; 
 A fair-haired, laughing girl comes tripping down the 
 door-steps, 
 Light-hearted as a bird upon the wing. 
 6 
 
THE OLD GARDEN GATE 
 
 I see them once again, the well-remembered places, 
 
 And list to voices, silent long ago, 
 That, like some sweet old rhyme, still float through 
 mem'ry's chambers. 
 
 And haunt me with their cadence soft and low. 
 
 O fair and sunny spot, the playground of my child- 
 hood, 
 
 The world, with all its wondrous pomp and state, 
 Has nothing to bestow, amid its boasted glories. 
 
 Like those around the dear old garden gate. 
 
OLD CHARLESTOWN 
 
 Old Charlestown 
 
 DEAR childhood's home, though many years have 
 vanished 
 Since I your care have known, 
 Yet Mem'ry often paints upon her canvas 
 Scenes that are all your own. 
 
 I see again your streets, your squares, your bridges, 
 
 Your modest homes of worth. 
 Before the wand of progress waved above you, 
 
 Or changes had their birth. 
 
 The quaint canal that flowed within your borders. 
 
 The locks, those wondrous things. 
 Which filled our childish hearts with all the wonder 
 
 That mystery e'er brings. 
 
 The frowning prison, with its walls so sombre, 
 
 That made us hold our breath, 
 And hurry past in strange and frightened silence. 
 
 As from the gates of death. 
 8 
 
OLD CHARLESTOWN 
 
 But, better than all pictures of my childhood 
 
 Whose mem'ry haunts me still, 
 Do I remember now with deep affection 
 
 Your grand old Bunker Hill. 
 
 How blest it was to dwell beneath its shadow, 
 
 To see, at close of day. 
 The sunbeams linger on that sacred pillar 
 
 And gild it with their ray. 
 
 And then, the day of all the year the grandest, 
 
 Which never came too soon. 
 Your holy day of patriotic fervor. 
 
 The glorious mom of June, 
 
 When all your children came to do you honor, 
 
 Again your deeds to tell ; 
 And lay their laurels on the ground so hallowed 
 
 Where gallant Warren fell. 
 
 Happy the place which has as inspiration 
 
 For childhood's careless hour, 
 A shrine where Freedom speaks with holy accents, 
 
 And pours a priceless dower. 
 
 And so, old town, I send to-day a greeting, 
 
 A message fond and true. 
 Back to my early love, the ever faithful. 
 
 Dear Charlestown, back to you. 
 9 
 
OLD CHARLESTOWN 
 
 Sit ever, by your peaceful flowing river, 
 Pointing, with pride and love, 
 
 To that great column, liberty's high altar, 
 Which towers your home above. 
 
THE MAYFLOWER 
 
 The Mayflower 
 
 SWEET thoughts and happy mem'ries 
 Come thronging with the May, 
 Of careless days of childhood, 
 On youth's unclouded day, 
 
 When, in the shady forest 
 
 Or in secluded dell, 
 We sought the fragrant Mayflower, 
 
 The blossom loved so well. 
 
 When, from the green leaves peeping, 
 
 We saw its pink and white, 
 What childish glee and triumph. 
 
 What shouts of pure delight ! 
 
 Oft, 'neath the snow half buried. 
 Though winter's reign was done, 
 
 We found the modest floweret 
 There, hiding from the sun, 
 II 
 
THE MAYFLOWER 
 
 And on the chill air shedding 
 
 Its beautiful perfume, 
 It raised its dainty petals 
 
 Amid earth's wintry gloom. 
 
 Sweet harbingers of springtime, 
 We welcome them to-day ; 
 
 With them we scent the summer 
 The roses and the hay. 
 
 The violet soon will purple 
 The banks so brown and bare ; 
 
 The daisies Hne the roadside. 
 The lilies bloom so fair. 
 
 Out in the sunny meadows, 
 
 Where grass-fringed rivers flow, 
 
 The buttercups, so golden, 
 The clover sweet will blow. 
 
 Yet none of all the flowers 
 That strew fair summer's way 
 
 Can equal this pure blossom. 
 This floweret of the May. 
 
 12 
 
VERSES 
 
 Verses 
 
 I SEE a maiden, pure and fair, 
 As are these flowers of beauty rare, 
 She sends to fill my lonely room 
 With spring's own loveliness and bloom. 
 
 The years are gone, and in her place 
 She sits in school with gentle grace ; 
 The same soft eyes, the tresses brown, 
 The face that never wore a frown. 
 
 Old Time speeds on, the years have flown. 
 The maid to womanhood has grown ; 
 And now, a wife, love's fragrant bloom 
 Fills all her home with sweet perfume. 
 
 13 
 
THE OLD GARDEN 
 
 The Old Garden 
 
 I SHALL ne'er forget the spot, the dear old country 
 garden ; 
 The arbor which the grape-vines covered o'er : 
 The morning glories climbed o'er the old stone wall 
 before it, 
 The honeysuckle twined around the door. 
 
 The fragrance of the pinks floated through the open 
 doorway, 
 Like sparks around the tulips flew the bees ; 
 The hollyhocks, like sentries, looked down, in rows 
 so stately, 
 On daffodillies swaying in the breeze. 
 
 The larkspur nodded gay in the warm, bright summer 
 sunshine ; 
 The marigolds were radiant in their pride ; 
 While flaunting poppies scorned, in their brilliant robes 
 of scarlet. 
 The meek and humble lily by their side. 
 14 
 
THE OLD GARDEN 
 
 The rosebush strewed the ground with its fragrant, 
 snowy petals ; 
 
 Ah, never were there roses half so fair ! 
 When sister Anna stood, in her bridal dress, all blushes, 
 
 A bud half opened glistened in her hair. 
 
 And when our mother lay, with her hands so meekly 
 folded, 
 From earthly labors evermore at rest. 
 We smoothed the soft gray hair, kissed the face so 
 cold and silent, 
 And placed one wet with dew upon her breast. 
 
 Far sweeter than the fragrance of Araby's famed 
 perfumes, 
 And grander than the laurel or the palm. 
 Were the homely flowers loved in youth's bright 
 happy morning, 
 Whose mem'ry to the weary soul brings balm. 
 
 Oh, dear old childhood's home, you are lost to me 
 forever. 
 And strangers see your summer roses blow ; 
 I would that on my heart I could feel the sunshine 
 falling. 
 As it fell upon your glories long ago. 
 
 15 
 
THE OLD BOWDOIN SCHOOLHOUSE 
 
 The Old Bowdoin Schoolhouse 
 
 HIGH on the hillside, storm and tempest braving, 
 For years it has looked down, 
 A pleasant landmark and a friendly beacon, 
 Upon this busy town. 
 
 But to a grander and statelier temple 
 
 It soon must yield its place ; 
 As, in life's course, the old and feeble-hearted 
 
 Are banished from the race. 
 
 Had these walls language, what a tale they 'd utter 
 
 Of happy girlhood fair ; 
 Of merry feet that entered at these portals. 
 
 And climbed the winding stair. 
 
 In this old schoolhouse, many years a teacher, 
 
 I learned to love the place. 
 Rich with the sunshine of youth's golden promise 
 
 From many a radiant face. 
 16 
 
THE OLD BOWDOIN SCHOOLHOUSE 
 
 happy days of loving ministration, 
 
 And pleasant duty's crown, 
 Under the sway of him, the ever-faithfiil, 
 Beloved Master Brown. 
 
 Dear girls now grown to womanhood's fair station. 
 
 Filling life's larger sphere. 
 Do mem'ries of the dim and far-off school life 
 
 E'er come to your hearts to cheer? 
 
 The lessons learned, the earnest true endeavor, 
 
 Have all these helped you bear 
 The cruel failures of the world's hard conflict, 
 
 The crosses and the care? 
 
 1 greet you all with loving, fond remembrance. 
 
 Where'er your lot is cast ; 
 Deep in my heart of hearts I cherish ever 
 Sweet pictures of the past. 
 
 We '11 ne'er forget the dear old-fashioned schoolhouse, 
 
 Dismantled though it be ; 
 And pledge our love, as in our youth's fair promise, 
 
 Old Bowdoin, now to thee. 
 
 n 
 
AT REST 
 
 At Rest 
 
 Lines Written on the Death of Gen. U. S. Grant. 
 
 HE lies at rest, the soldier ; 
 No sound can reach his ear ; 
 No noise of trampling armies 
 Disturbs his quiet bier. 
 
 Wrapped in his country's banner, 
 
 His earthly work is done ; 
 He knows not friend or foeman. 
 
 His battles all are won. 
 
 He lies at rest, the statesman, 
 Who ruled his country well ; 
 
 His Hfe of simple grandeur 
 The ages yet shall tell, — 
 
 How, when our land by faction 
 And discord foul was rent. 
 
 He calmed the angry waters. 
 Our country's President. 
 i8 
 
AT REST 
 
 He lies at rest, the chieftain ; 
 
 Dear comrades guard his sleep, 
 While muffled drums are beating 
 
 Their funeral marches deep. 
 
 Speak of his acts of glory, 
 His deeds of deathless fame, 
 
 And venerate forever 
 
 The dead commander's namCc 
 
 He needs no shaft of marble 
 To rear its stately head ; 
 
 A tearful nation watches 
 Above the hero's bed. 
 
 19 
 
GRADUATION DAY 
 
 Graduation Day 
 
 A BRILLIANT scene, made fair with summer 
 sunshine, 
 And roses' sweet perfume. 
 Which rises, as from incense-breathing altars, 
 Through all the crowded room. 
 
 But brighter than the tints of all the flowers. 
 
 Or sunshine's golden hue. 
 The pleasant sight of youthful grace and beauty 
 
 That meets the raptured view, — 
 
 Fair girls, whose faces, radiant as the morning, 
 
 Reflect the light of truth ; 
 And earnest boys, eager for life's stern conflict. 
 
 Brave with the hopes of youth. 
 
 And now in song their fresh and happy voices 
 
 The sweetest music ring ; 
 It seems like memories of woodland freshness, 
 
 A meadow breath of spring. 
 20 
 
GRADUATION DAY 
 
 But why, amid the music and the fragrance, 
 
 And youth's fair rosy bloom, 
 Come thoughts to dim the scene of grace and beauty 
 
 With sorrow's darkening gloom? 
 
 I look in vain for one as bright and joyous 
 
 As any gathered there ; 
 But see, alas, before my tear-dimmed vision. 
 
 Only her vacant chair. 
 
 Upon it rests a wreath of snow-white daisies. 
 Plucked 'neath the summer skies ; 
 
 Pure as the spirit of the sweet young scholar 
 Who 'neath them sleeping lies. 
 
 I see her standing with her young companions, 
 
 A little month ago ; 
 I hear her ringing voice, her merry laughter. 
 
 Like rippling music flow. 
 
 A month ago, what hopes, what loves, far reaching 
 
 Through many parts of life ; 
 What high resolves, what strong and brave endeavor. 
 
 What noble, generous strife ! 
 
 And now, upon the wall, a silent picture 
 
 Is that bright, happy face ; 
 And but the memory of that joyous spirit 
 
 Once filling all the place. 
 
 21 
 
GRADUATION DAY 
 
 They laid her 'neath the gently waving grasses, 
 
 The summer blossoms gay ; 
 Clad in the snowy robe, so pure and spotless, 
 
 She would have worn to-day. 
 
 Upon her grave the golden sunshine lingers, 
 
 The dews of evening fall ; 
 And glittering stars look down in pitying silence, 
 
 When night is over all. 
 
 But our fair maiden, in her robes of glory. 
 
 Forever 'mid the blest. 
 Looks with clear vision on the sight celestial, 
 
 The throne of changeless rest. 
 
 And there she waits in pure, angelic beauty. 
 
 Free from all earthly pain ; 
 O selfish hearts, that to this world of sorrow 
 
 Would call her back again. 
 
 And when for us life's school, at length, is over, 
 
 And all its duties past. 
 May we, with her, beside the blessed Teacher, 
 
 Dear scholars, meet at last. 
 
 June, 1889. 
 
 22 
 
THE BRIDAL 
 
 The Bridal 
 
 THE soft, blue skies of May are o'er us bending 
 Sweet perfumes fill the air 
 From folded buds now opening into blossoms, 
 And joy is everywhere. 
 
 The buried brooklets all have burst their fetters, 
 
 I hear them dance along ; 
 While happy birds, their nests in treetops weaving. 
 
 Sing loud their merry song. 
 
 Yet this not all the picture bright and glowing 
 
 Upon my canvas gay, 
 A fair young girl now comes and stands before m-^ 
 
 On this, her wedding day. 
 
 And can it be that Grace, our Uttle maiden, 
 
 To womanhood has grown? 
 Where are the years we think so slow in passing? 
 
 Old Time on wings has flown. 
 23 
 
THE BRIDAL 
 
 Yes, it is she, clad in her bridal garments ; 
 
 I hear the old, sweet tone ; 
 The merry laugh, and words of gentle greeting, 
 
 I know are all her own. 
 
 And by her side stands one so true and tender. 
 
 He '11 shield her evermore 
 From all life's woes, its troubles and its sorrows, 
 
 Till earthly cares are o'er. 
 
 How blest this fair young bride and manly bridegroom. 
 With love's own priceless dower ; 
 
 So full of hope to-day upon Hfe's threshold. 
 In this triumphant hour. 
 
 'T is fitting that the skies above are brighter. 
 
 That fragrance fills the air, 
 That merry birds their notes of love should warble 
 
 On this spring day so fair. 
 
 May every sunbeam bring them days of gladness. 
 
 Each flower a blessing sweet ; 
 And song of happy bird an added glory 
 
 For each day's joy complete. 
 
 May coming years bring with them naught of shadow. 
 
 But show a pleasant way. 
 Till, as a crown of hope and love, appeareth 
 
 Their *' golden wedding " day. 
 24 
 
THE BRIDAL 
 
 And when, at last, the evening calm approaches, 
 
 May life's illumined west. 
 Flushed with the glorious hope of heavenly dawning, 
 
 Give promise sweet of rest. 
 
 25 
 
THE TEACHER'S SUMMER 
 
 The Teacher's Summer 
 
 THE books are closed, the children all have 
 vanished ; 
 The city seems far off, unreal, and dim. 
 As in this dear old town, all trouble banished, 
 Sweet Nature sings her low, perpetual hymn. 
 
 The clover blooms, the roadside lined with daisies 
 Sends up its sweetest fragrance as I pass ; ^ 
 
 While barefoot boys now thread the woodland's 
 mazes. 
 Or chase the butterflies through tangled grass. 
 
 The shining scythe swings blithely in the meadow, 
 Brown little maidens gather berries sweet ; 
 
 The cattle seek the elms for cooling shadow. 
 Or in the river stand with grateful feet. 
 
 The little brooks down from the hills come flashing 
 
 Like threads of silver in the sunlight fair; 
 They dance and sing, through forest woods now 
 dashing. 
 Breathing soft music on the summer air. 
 26 
 
THE TEACHER'S SUMMER 
 
 From mountains tall the purple haze is lifting, 
 
 The church spire throws its shadow on the green ; 
 
 Through heavens of blue the fleecy clouds are 
 drifting, 
 And all is decked in summer's brightest sheen. 
 
 I know these scenes of peace will soon be over. 
 But they '11 bring strength for duties yet to come. 
 
 When from the sea and fields of scented clover 
 The ruddy children all come trooping home ; 
 
 When leaves long closed- are turned by listless fingers, 
 And restless eyes look on the printed book, 
 
 While in the heart the memory still lingers 
 Of bees and birds, the squirrel-haunted nook. 
 
 Dear boys and girls, we must not be a-weary, 
 And turn away and sigh for pleasure sweet, 
 
 And think the world is all so dark and dreary, 
 Because vacations pass with flying feet. 
 
 We '11 put into these same dull, tiresome pages 
 The music of the woods, the sea, the air ; 
 
 And on these musty records of past ages 
 
 We '11 throw the brightness of the sunshine fair. 
 
 And when we sigh for scenes of rustic beauty. 
 And with impatient spirit chafe at rule. 
 
 Try cheerfully to tread the path of duty. 
 
 And in our own hearts we will first " keep school." 
 27 
 
LAWRENCE HIGH SCHOOL 
 
 Lawrence High School 
 
 OFTEN at twilight when the shades are falHng, 
 As backward through the years my glance is 
 cast, 
 Fond memory listens to sweet voices calling, 
 Voices, alas ! forever with the past. 
 
 Far back into the days of youth transported, 
 
 Those halycon days with joy's bright circlet bound, 
 
 When not a wish or hope had e'er been thwarted, 
 When not a brow with sorrow had been crowned. 
 
 Sweet visions come to me of an old schoolroom — 
 What though its walls are blank and bare and poor ! 
 
 'Tis flooded with youth's sunshine and its rose-bloom 
 From the gray ceiling to the well-worn floor. 
 
 Oh, memory, Heaven's best gift, thou fair magician. 
 If but for once thou 'It wave thy magic wand. 
 
 Those walls shall seem to me like fields Elysian, 
 Filled with a happy, bright, and careless band. 
 28 • 
 
LAWRENCE HIGH SCHOOL 
 
 Here groups of girls with thoughtful brows are 
 straying, 
 
 Eager at learning's fount to drink their fill ; 
 Hark ! I can almost hear what they are saying, 
 
 How their sweet voices make the pulses thrill. 
 
 There in that corner merry elves are laughing 
 At some mischievous sprite within their ring ; 
 
 They are not anxious, plainly, to be quaffing 
 Draughts long and deep at the Pierian spring. 
 
 There at his desk, with manly form and feature. 
 In the great chair which he becomes so well. 
 
 Sits our dear mentor and beloved teacher ; 
 And as he rings his well-known, warning bell. 
 
 The merry voices hush themselves to quiet, 
 I look into their eyes and scan each face, 
 
 As calm and serious from the recess riot 
 
 My dear old schoolmates take their usual place. 
 
 girls with hair of gold and raven tresses. 
 Deep in my heart your memories remain ; 
 
 1 seem to feel again your warm caresses, 
 
 The years are gone and I am young again. 
 
 Black-eyed Rebecca, and graceful Anna, 
 Sweet Lucy with Madonna eyes and mien ; 
 
 Their very glances, looks, and voice, and manner, 
 And Mary " walks in beauty " like a queen. 
 29 
 
LAWRENCE HIGH SCHOOL 
 
 There little fair-haired Lizzie, roguish Fanny, 
 
 Bend o'er their books in their accustomed place ; 
 
 But how shall I select from all the many 
 
 Each well-remembered form and youthful face? 
 
 Ah, life with some has peaceful been, while others 
 Pale grief has claimed with unrelenting hand ; 
 
 Some live and love as happy wives and mothers, 
 Surrounded by their little household band. 
 
 But one whose life was one glad blissful morning. 
 Whose happy gaze no sorrow yet had seen. 
 
 Whose sun went down so soon after the dawning. 
 The grasses on her grave have long been green. 
 
 Dear girls, wherever in this world you 're dwelling. 
 East, West, or South, or on some foreign shore, 
 
 I know sweet memory will be ever telling 
 The joys and pleasures of those days of yore. 
 
 How shall I speak of him, our dear old teacher. 
 Who sat so long in that familiar place ? 
 
 We saw even then th' angelic in each feature, 
 A halo then around that saintly face. 
 
 Patient, unswerving, loving, true, and tender, 
 
 He led through learning's paths so steep and hard ; 
 
 And with a poet's sweetness did he render 
 The glorious lines of the great Mantuan bard. 
 30 
 
LAWRENCE HIGH SCHOOL 
 
 O'er learning's heights if our weak feet did stumble, 
 If we through tangled ways with pain did move. 
 
 He took us by the hand, and meek and humble 
 Led us at last to Academus' grove. 
 
 Oh scenes of yore, our dear beloved master. 
 If we could only call him back to say 
 
 That all his precepts, as of some dear pastor. 
 Have helped us onward here from day to day. 
 
 But the Great Master called him to those portals 
 Whose wardens are the angels bright and fair ; 
 
 And — heavenly hope divinely given to mortals — 
 We pray that we may sometime meet him there. 
 
 31 
 
MAY BREAKFAST RHYMES 
 
 May Breakfast Rhymes 
 
 " TT THY is the forum crowded? 
 
 ^ ^ What means this stir in Rome ? " 
 Why, on May morn, in Lawrence, 
 
 Is no one found at home ? 
 
 Why are the people thronging 
 Where Conscript Fathers meet? 
 
 Because in that brick building 
 There 's something good to eat. 
 
 Here all our fair young daughters, 
 
 And all our matrons, too. 
 Have spread a royal banquet 
 
 To please your friends and you. 
 
 Veal, turkey, ham, and chicken, 
 
 Corned beef and also roast. 
 With eggs, hard boiled, or scrambled, 
 
 And likewise dropped on toast. 
 32 
 
MAY BREAKFAST RHYMES 
 
 And real New England relish, 
 
 Of brown bread and baked beans, 
 
 Fit for a duchess' table, 
 
 Or Europe's richest queens ; 
 
 Coffee in urns of silver, 
 And tea in cups and mugs, 
 
 With chocolate's rich aroma. 
 And fresh, new milk in jugs. 
 
 Hot rolls and toothsome doughnuts, 
 Ice-cream they also make ; 
 
 And any one who wishes 
 
 Can, likewise, '^ take the cake." 
 
 Here 's pie in luscious wedges, 
 Apple and mince and squash, 
 
 And all for just a trifle, — 
 Twenty-five cents in cash. 
 
 Flowers are sold in bunches, 
 
 By damsels trim and neat, 
 Illustrating the proverb 
 
 That " sweets are for the sweet.' ' 
 
 And here the fancy tables, 
 
 'Neath countless treasures bend ; 
 
 Of things both fine and useful 
 There really is no end, — 
 33 
 
MAY BREAKFAST RHYMES 
 
 Bedquilts and bags and cushions, 
 Tidies and fans and mats, 
 
 Sachets and screens and aprons. 
 Penwiper dogs and cats. 
 
 And as, of old, the Romans, 
 To please the listening ear. 
 
 Dined to the sound of music, 
 They have that fashion here ; 
 
 For high upon the rostrum. 
 With fiddle-bows in hand. 
 
 Are ranged the trim musicians. 
 Our well-known Lawrence band. 
 
 Here sound the merry greetings 
 Of friends and neighbors all. 
 
 Who never miss the breakfast 
 Given yearly in this hall. 
 
 Here Methodist and Baptist, 
 
 And likewise Orthodox, 
 School-teachers with their pupils, 
 
 And pastors with their flocks. 
 
 Lawyers and clerks and doctors, 
 And those of every creed. 
 
 Meet on one plane together 
 For charity's great need, 
 34 
 
MAY BREAKFAST RHYMES 
 
 To help the zealous women, 
 And answer to their call, 
 
 Who 've labored long and earnest 
 For Home and Hospital. 
 
 Thanks to the generous people 
 Who 've such donations made. 
 
 And helped so long and gladly 
 The struggling " Ladies' Aid." 
 
 Praise to the noble women 
 
 Who 've won such great success ! 
 
 Long live their glorious order. 
 The grand '^ L. U. C. S." ! 
 
 35 
 
THE MAY BREAKFAST 
 
 The May Breakfast 
 
 THIS is the armory, whose massive towers 
 And battlemented walls 
 Cast o'er the outer scene a sombre beauty, 
 As their dark shadow falls. 
 
 Within, are stores for war's dread desolation. 
 
 Whose rows of burnished steel 
 Gleam all around in cruel exultation. 
 
 And scenes of death reveal. 
 
 We almost hear the shout and shock of battle, 
 
 The beating of the drum ; 
 And listen to the crash and roar of cannon. 
 
 As on the armies come. 
 
 But here, to-day, rises a better feeling 
 
 Than hostile war's alarms, 
 And o'er our hearts the dove of peace sits brooding, 
 
 Whose presence hatred calms. 
 
 36 
 
THE MAY BREAKFAST 
 
 A joyous army surges through these portals ; 
 
 They march with happy feet, 
 Bearing aloft the bright and glorious banner 
 
 Of charity so sweet. 
 
 Crowding around these tempting, well-filled tables, 
 
 What kindly greetings sound ; 
 Neighbor with neighbor breaks the bread of friendship. 
 
 The loving-cup goes round. 
 
 Happy communion, where self is forgotten. 
 
 So holy and so blest ; 
 When hearts go out in love to suffering brothers 
 
 By pain and want oppressed. 
 
 We catch the spirit of the joyous springtime, 
 
 Forget chill winter's day ; 
 The birds pour forth their song, all nature blossoms, 
 
 And in our hearts 't is May. 
 
 Glorious the victory that can make war's stronghold 
 
 A temple meet for peace. 
 Bringing still nearer that longed-for perfection 
 
 When war and hate shall cease. 
 
 37 
 
THE OLD RESIDENTS 
 
 The Old Residents 
 
 T T 7HILE on this evening we meet here together, 
 
 ^ ^ Our old, true friends to greet, 
 
 How quickly pass the short and happy hours, 
 With swiftly flying feet ! 
 
 We speak of old times past, when we were younger. 
 
 And life seemed fair and bright. 
 When all the earth was full of golden sunshine. 
 
 And youth's own rosy light. 
 
 And as we now exchange the pleasant greeting, 
 
 And clasp the friendly hand. 
 There crowd about us many forms now vanished 
 
 And by our side they stand. 
 
 We see them all, the old familiar faces, 
 
 They mingle with the throng ; 
 We almost hear their well-remembered voice 
 
 Silent and hushed so long. 
 
 38 
 
THE OLD RESIDENTS 
 
 We will not mourn for those who have departed, 
 
 From earth's scenes called away ; 
 They dwell where Heaven's sun shall shine forever, 
 
 And it is perfect day. 
 
 And as with time still smaller grows the circle 
 
 Of friends so tried and true, 
 We '11 closer stand, with hearts more firm united, 
 
 And pledge ourselves anew. 
 
 So, old friends, as to-night we fondly linger, 
 
 I bring this verse of mine, 
 A token of the past, its pleasant mem'ries. 
 
 And days of " Auld Lang Syne." 
 
 39 
 
THE OLD RESIDENTS 
 
 The Old Residents 
 
 AS here to-night we gather 
 To clasp the friendly hand, 
 To crowd around these tables, 
 A strong, united band, 
 
 Let memory, that sweet siren, 
 
 The misty curtain raise 
 That shrouds with time's dark shadow 
 
 Those happy, early days. 
 
 The scene, a rippling river, 
 
 Far on its winding way, 
 'Mid trees and banks of verdure 
 
 And nodding blossoms gay. 
 
 Broad fields and shady forests 
 
 Are seen on every side ; 
 While, here and there, a farmhouse 
 
 Adorns the green hillside. 
 40 
 
THE OLD RESIDENTS 
 
 A pretty rural picture 
 
 Of country sights and scenes, 
 O'er which a sky of azure 
 
 In kind protection leans. 
 
 But what a change comes o'er it 
 
 Before our eager gaze ! 
 The landscape fair has vanished, 
 
 The pleasant country ways 
 
 Turn to a busy section, 
 
 The broad and handsome street ; 
 And massive buildings tower 
 
 Where field and river meet. 
 
 Here is the place of traffic. 
 And there the busy loom ; 
 
 While night, on every hillside. 
 Reveals the lights of home. 
 
 The church spire points to heaven, 
 
 A pencil on the sky ; 
 And everywhere the schoolhouse 
 
 Lifts its proud head on high. 
 
 Tall chimneys tell the story 
 Of industry's great mart ; 
 
 And loud we hear resounding 
 The factory's beating heart. 
 41 
 
THE OLD RESIDENTS 
 
 The bells make sweetest music 
 High in their lofty towers, 
 
 And call to honest labor, 
 Or sweetly chime the hours. 
 
 While, over all, is brooding 
 The blessed light of peace. 
 
 Type of that time of glory 
 
 When war and hate shall cease. 
 
 Thus man has proved his power. 
 And harnessed to command 
 
 The wondrous force of nature 
 Beneath his skilful hand. 
 
 Affection loves to hnger, 
 With long and earnest gaze, 
 
 Upon the brilliant canvas, 
 Aglow with memory's rays, 
 
 Whereon we see depicted 
 The distant, golden past. 
 
 When life was young and earnest. 
 And naught was e'er too vast 
 
 For all our proud endeavor. 
 Our strong and vigorous hands, 
 
 When hearts were so united 
 In friendship's golden bands. 
 42 
 
THE OLD RESIDENTS 
 
 Ne'er let those ties be broken, 
 Companions tried and true ; 
 
 Strength comes of closest union. 
 To-night let us renew 
 
 Those vows of friendship plighted 
 
 In days of long ago, 
 When youth's bright skies were o'er us, 
 
 With beauty all aglow. 
 
 We pledge our fine old order, 
 
 A blessing to us sent ; 
 Write deep, in hearts forever young, 
 
 The name " Old Resident." 
 
 43 
 
THE OLD ELM 
 
 The Old Elm 
 
 STRETCHING to heaven its brown and leafless 
 branches, 
 It stands here grand and strong ; 
 A silent watchman in this busy city 
 It has o'erlooked so long. 
 
 A hundred winters in its quiet grandeur 
 
 It has defied the blast, 
 And stood unmoved through all the devious changes 
 
 Of the long buried past. 
 
 Living for years beneath its grateful shadow, 
 
 I 've learned to love it well ; 
 And oft imagined, if its leaves had language, 
 
 The tales that they could tell 
 
 Of dwellers 'neath the roof of this old mansion, 
 
 In all the years now gone ; 
 Fair lives, that hoped and loved and toiled and 
 sorrowed, 
 Their summer long since done. 
 44 
 
THE OLD ELM AND HOMESTEAD. 
 (east HAVERHILL STREET, LAWRENCE, MASS.) 
 
 For many years the home of Emily Greene Wetherbee, 
 
THE OLD ELM 
 
 Its broad green branches oft have waved in gladness 
 
 O'er childhood's lovely grace, 
 - And drooped as if to touch with fond caresses 
 Some happy bride's sweet face. 
 
 Sometimes 'neath stormy winds and tempests bending. 
 
 It seems to moan and weep 
 For those who have been borne from out these portals, 
 
 To rest in death's cold sleep. 
 
 I look to-day up through its arching branches 
 
 And see the sapphire sky ; 
 While all around in cold and Parian whiteness 
 
 The dazzHng snow-fields lie. 
 
 And yet I know that soon in freshened splendor 
 
 'Twill spring's fair tresses show, 
 And that the sweet and fragrant breath of summer 
 
 Is warm beneath the snow. 
 
 The buried brooklets soon will burst their fetters, 
 
 The dainty violet bloom. 
 And truant bluebirds on the winds come flocking 
 
 To build in it their home. 
 
 How good and true the lesson that it teaches 
 
 Of faith and hope and love ; 
 That nature's heart, in its eternal goodness. 
 
 Is tuned to that above ; 
 45 
 
THE OLD ELM 
 
 And that the One who sends the storm and tempest, 
 
 And all our sorrow knows, 
 Will make the dreary desert of our sadness 
 
 To blossom as the rose. 
 
 46 
 
OUR DEPARTED HEROES 
 
 A 
 
 Our Departed Heroes 
 
 S all these well-known faces rise before me 
 
 Old memories crowd thronging at my heart ; 
 Thoughts of the vanished years come steaHng o'er me. 
 And from their depths unbidden tear-drops start. 
 
 The stories of brave deeds my soul are thrilling, 
 As the past haunts me with its magic spell, 
 
 And fife and drum and bugle note are filling 
 The air that vibrates to the music's swell. 
 
 I seem to hear again the cannon's rattle 
 
 Borne from the bloody fields of strife and war. 
 
 Through all the land hurtles the noise of battle. 
 The tramp of men resounds from near and far. 
 
 In happy homes is heard the voice of weeping, 
 For dear ones that they nevermore may meet ; 
 
 And many a sad -eyed wife her watch is keeping 
 For one whose steps she nevermore shall greet. 
 47 
 
OUR DEPARTED HEROES 
 
 Now noble women with each other vying, 
 In hospital and tent, with hearts of love. 
 
 Bend o'er the wounded soldier and the dying. 
 Like pitying angels stooping from above. 
 
 Our dear old flag, its spotless folds are riven, 
 Foul hatred's shadow dims its lustrous stars ; 
 
 Hot-headed faction not in vain has striven, 
 
 From treason's heights stream out secession's bars. 
 
 Old Massachusetts, ever stanch and loyal. 
 Ready in freedom's cause her sword to draw. 
 
 Be it 'gainst traitors foul or tyrants royal. 
 Rallies once more for liberty and law. 
 
 The solid tramp of men now fills her borders. 
 Her streets resound with tread of armed bands ; 
 
 Her heroes come, fair Liberty's brave wardens. 
 Her patriot men, with valiant hearts and hands ; 
 
 And her adopted sons their valor lending 
 
 Insulted freedom's altar to uphold, 
 Fair Erin's flag with our tricolor blending. 
 
 O'er mustering hosts floats out the green and gold . 
 
 And our young city, honor her forever. 
 
 Comes now to answer a great nation's call ; 
 
 The proudest place in Fame's proud temple give her. 
 Who heard her country's mandate first of all. 
 48 
 
OUR DEPARTED HEROES 
 
 Well I remember that sad April morning, 
 
 When sweet spring-tide its bridal beauty wore, 
 
 Our soldier boys set forth at early dawning, — 
 
 The glorious " Sixth " that marched through Balti- 
 more. 
 
 With music sweet and banners proudly gleaming, 
 Gayly they left us on that April morn ; 
 
 Their souls with valor fired, each soldier dreaming 
 Of battles to be fought and victories won. 
 
 How shall I speak of him, the true and daring. 
 Brave Needham, once a comrade by your side ; 
 
 In life's fair morning, all your danger sharing. 
 The first who fell and for his country died. 
 
 Ah, sad the day we followed him with weeping 
 To yonder hillside, breathing our farewell ; 
 
 There sleeps he where the stars their watch are keeping, 
 Wrapped in the flag for which he nobly fell. 
 
 Brave heroes of those battlefields so gory. 
 
 Who heard the shout, the shock, the crash of steel. 
 
 More fitting that you tell to me the story 
 
 Of all you bore for our dear country's weal, — 
 
 The bloody fields you 've fought, the marches dreary. 
 When weak and spent the toilsome way you trod. 
 
 You could have laid you down, so faint and weary. 
 Like tired children, on the dusty road ; 
 4 49 
 
OUR DEPARTED HEROES 
 
 Of nights when camped beneath the cold moon 
 beaming, 
 
 You thought of home and all the loved ones there ; 
 And some dear boys so peacefully were dreaming 
 
 Of joys and sweets they nevermore might share. 
 
 In cruel prison cells when doomed to languish, 
 You often prayed for death's all-healing balm, 
 
 You could not see, in your deep pain and anguish. 
 The North triumphant with the victor's palm. 
 
 Those years are passed, thank Heaven, they 're gone 
 forever, 
 
 War's gloomy spectre 's banished from our land ; 
 May discord's bloody hand ne'er come to sever 
 
 The North and South, now joined by loyal band. 
 
 To-day, with loving hands our garlands wreathing. 
 We 've crowned our heroes where they proudly 
 lie ; 
 
 Over their sacred dust our blessings breathing 
 Who dared for freedom's cause to nobly die. 
 
 A fragrant rain of spring-time's sweetest flowers 
 We 've brought to deck the dwellings of our 
 dead. 
 Watered by tears that fall in copious showers 
 Upon the turf that marks the hero's bed. 
 50 
 
OUR DEPARTED HEROES 
 
 And when sweet May returns our souls to gladden, 
 When spring's bright glory fills the balmy air, 
 
 Our hearts with love, our hands with blossoms laden, 
 To freedom's shrine we will again repair. 
 
 Dear brothers, who have won for us our glory, 
 Who can be generous, too, as you are brave, 
 
 Spare of your flowers sweet, your tear-drops holy. 
 Some tender tribute for the Southron's grave. 
 
 In Southern homes sit many widowed mothers 
 
 Whose sons are sleeping 'neath the palm-tree's shade ; 
 
 Foes for a time, but evermore our brothers. 
 
 The ground is hallowed, too, where they are laid. 
 
 Forgiveness, godlike virtue, is of heaven ; 
 
 Pity a lustre new to valor lends ; 
 Let charity to all our foes be given, 
 
 And common sorrow make us stronger friends. 
 
 Brave hearts who 've fought the fight so grand and 
 glorious, 
 
 On you a grateful nation's blessing falls ; 
 Through you she stands before the world victorious. 
 
 With stronger ramparts and securer walls. 
 
 Soon granite shaft and marble will be telling 
 The world anew of all your wondrous fame ; 
 
 And orator and poet with music's swelling. 
 
 Will speak with burning words the martyr's name. 
 51 
 
OUR DEPARTED HEROES 
 
 Oh, not alone in bronze and marble lauding, 
 We keep the memory of our heroes green ; 
 
 Deep in our hearts their patriot deeds recording, 
 Their names shall glow with ever brightening sheen. 
 
 Dear boys, the moments pass, the years are going. 
 And often now some comrade lays him down 
 
 Where death's dark river ceaselessly is flowing, 
 To take the angel robe and starry crown. 
 
 And when at last you 're under marching orders. 
 When death's stern roll-call summons you to come? 
 
 On heavenly camping-grounds, beyond time's borders, 
 They '11 meet you, brothers, in that blessed home. 
 
 52 
 
THE WORKING-GIRLS 
 
 The Working-Girls 
 
 A CROWD of smiling faces, 
 A pleasant, airy room, 
 Music and light and singing, 
 All greet us as we come. 
 
 What means this preparation, 
 
 This festival array. 
 As if all those here present 
 
 Were keeping holiday? 
 
 Listen, and I will tell you, 
 If you will grant the time, 
 
 A simple little story 
 
 In words of homely rhyme. 
 
 Down by a rippling river 
 That sparkles in the sun, 
 
 And to the mighty ocean 
 Its rapid course does run, 
 53 
 
THE WORKING-GIRLS 
 
 There stands a busy city, 
 
 I need not give its name ; 
 'T is young and enterprising, 
 
 And not unknown to fame. 
 
 Its bridges span the river ; 
 
 Its chimneys tall look down, 
 Through wreaths of smoke up-curling, 
 
 Upon the bustling town. 
 
 And towering far above it, 
 
 Towards the sunny sky. 
 Are splendid mills and factories. 
 
 Massive and grand and high. 
 
 And here from morn to even, 
 
 At many a noisy loom, 
 Stand patient, toiling maidens 
 
 Who 've found with us a home. 
 
 Some come from England's meadows. 
 And some from Scotland's shores. 
 
 And many from fair Erin, 
 Its verdant fields and bowers. 
 
 Here light-haired Swedish lassies. 
 
 And German girls so fair. 
 With pretty, curling tresses 
 
 Or softly braided hair, 
 
 54 
 
THE WORKING-GIRLS 
 
 Industrious and thrifty, 
 
 An honest living win, 
 Unlike their many sisters 
 
 Who neither weave nor spin. 
 
 For, while more favored maidens 
 At school and happy home, 
 
 Who 've time for every pleasure, 
 Can gayly go and come. 
 
 This band of brave young workers. 
 Who long so much to learn. 
 
 That they may be enabled 
 A livelihood to earn, 
 
 Toil till the bells of evening 
 Release them from their care, 
 
 And to their modest dwellings 
 At last they can repair. 
 
 And to this temple nightly. 
 So pleasant, fair, and bright, 
 
 They come where generous teachers 
 Give pleasure and delight. 
 
 I see them all so eager. 
 
 In classes and in bands, 
 Bend o'er their evening labors 
 
 With wondrous skilful hands. 
 55 
 
THE WORKING-GIRLS 
 
 Here they are busy learning, 
 With earnest mind and heart, 
 
 In all its many branches, 
 The dressmaker's nice art. 
 
 Plaiting and gore and bias, 
 Ruffle and endless seam ; 
 
 Cutting and fitting garments, 
 Their flying scissors gleam. 
 
 Come to another workroom, — 
 Bonnets and hats are here : 
 
 Flowers and lace and ribbon. 
 For every season's wear. 
 
 How soon these busy fingers 
 Transform the ugly frame 
 
 Into a thing of beauty. 
 Fit for a royal dame ; 
 
 And hats that looked so hideous, 
 Shapeless and crude and bare. 
 
 By wondrous transformation 
 Become a halo rare. 
 
 And here 's the school of cooking. 
 With teachers at the head, 
 
 Where twelve bright girls are busy 
 Making dehcious bread. 
 
 56 
 
THE WORKING-GIRLS 
 
 Then there 's the kitchen garden, 
 
 The table-setting school, 
 Where neatness reigns triumphant, 
 
 And beds are made by rule. 
 
 Better than style or fashion. 
 
 Or knowledge gained from book, 
 
 For usefulness and profit. 
 
 They 've learned to sew and cook. 
 
 And now, from far recesses 
 
 Of quiet reading-room. 
 Comes forth the sound of laughter, 
 
 Piercing the street's dark gloom, 
 
 I hear the mingling voices. 
 And some one loud proclaims. 
 
 With mirth and shout and frolic, 
 The winner in the games. 
 
 And in this hall, so festal, 
 They come, a happy throng, 
 
 To listen to sweet music 
 And hear the voice of song. 
 
 And oft, as on this evening, 
 Some kindly reader comes 
 
 To tell them pleasant stories 
 Of human hearts and homes. 
 57 
 
THE WORKING-GIRLS 
 
 Long may the gentle lady 
 
 Who 's worked so long and well 
 Here in this loving mission, 
 
 Whose praises all may tell, 
 
 Live to enjoy her triumph, 
 Her labor here of love ; 
 
 Rewards for such devotion 
 Are sent from One above. 
 
 Long may these earnest maidens 
 Their helpful presence lend, 
 
 And each prove to the other 
 A true and " mutual friend." 
 
 And you, O favored sisters. 
 
 Who live a life of ease. 
 Lilies which toil and spin not, 
 
 A lesson learn from these. 
 
 Take on yourselves a mission 
 In this world's sisterhood, 
 
 Remembering that true pleasure 
 Is earned by doing good. 
 
 58 
 
OUR GENTLEMEN GUESTS 
 
 Our Gentlemen Guests 
 
 WHEN Eve, our kindly mother, 
 So Milton tells the tale, — 
 Received the angel Raphael 
 In Eden's lovely vale, 
 
 Spreading a tempting banquet 
 Which modern feasts outshone, 
 
 Welcoming to her table 
 The heavenly, shining one. 
 
 She taught her sex a secret 
 
 Of value yet to be, — 
 The sweet and sacred lesson 
 
 Of hospitality. 
 
 Were Eve to-day a dweller 
 
 Upon this earthly scene, 
 She 'd be an ideal hostess, 
 
 Of women's clubs the queen. 
 59 
 
OUR GENTLEMEN GUESTS 
 
 For high she 'd heap the tables 
 For every honored guest ; 
 
 Great-hearted and free-handed, 
 She 'd give them of her best. 
 
 To-night, as Eve's own daughters, 
 On these same thoughts intent. 
 
 Our hearty invitations 
 
 To our male friends we 've sent, 
 
 To join our feast of reason 
 And interchange of soul. 
 
 Where nothing is omitted 
 Except the " flowing bowl." 
 
 We trust our guests will notice 
 
 The simile so grand. 
 Where they 're compared to angels, 
 
 A beatific band. 
 
 For why should poets and painters 
 
 Restrict to womankind 
 The right to wings and halos. 
 
 And leave poor man behind? 
 
 Give him a chance of rising 
 To heights unknown before. 
 
 And let seraphic honors 
 
 Wipe out the slanderous score — 
 60 
 
OUR GENTLEMEN GUESTS 
 
 Of that most cruel libel, 
 So long on history's file, 
 
 That " every prospect pleases. 
 And only man is vile." 
 
 We realize our condition, 
 Blissful beyond compare, 
 
 That we 're not entertaining 
 Our angels unaware. 
 
 They sit to-night before us, — 
 What joy their presence brings ! 
 
 We bend our heads to hear it, 
 The rustle of their wings. 
 
 Dear brothers, husbands, fathers. 
 Let 's clasp the friendly hand ; 
 
 Ours shall be known no longer 
 As dreary " No Man's Land." 
 
 Excluded from our councils 
 And from our inner shrines. 
 
 To-night the doors are open. 
 Effaced the boundary lines. 
 
 Enter the charmed circle. 
 Step o'er with joyous feet. 
 
 And by your manly presence 
 Render the chain complete. 
 6i 
 
OUR GENTLEMEN GUESTS 
 
 We know the old-time figure, 
 Our dearest poet said so : 
 
 " Without its cord companion 
 How useless is the bow ! " 
 
 We 've heard the doleful proverb. 
 Uttered in times now gone : 
 
 " How sad the situation 
 For man to be alone ! " 
 
 So tarry there no longer 
 
 Outside the long closed door, 
 
 Take the right hand of welcome 
 And cross the threshold o'er. 
 
 Sit with us at our table, 
 We '11 enter hand in hand 
 
 Our literary temple, 
 
 Reared by no mortal hand. 
 
 For, spite of modern critics. 
 There is no change of plan ; 
 
 What is the brand-new woman 
 Without the old, old man ! 
 
 62 
 
THE OLD HOME 
 
 The Old Home 
 
 JUST o'er the bright, blue river, 
 Which, through our pleasant town, 
 With many a merry sparkle. 
 To sea goes winding down, 
 
 There lies an open country, 
 
 With vistas far and wide 
 Of fields and flowery meadows. 
 
 Our sister, the " South Side," ~ 
 
 A pleasant name, suggestive 
 
 Of light and warmth and flowers ; 
 
 A place from cold winds shielded, 
 A land of sunny bowers j 
 
 And so to-day, when opening. 
 
 With mem'ry's magic key, 
 The past's old haunted chambers, 
 
 In truth, it seems to me. 
 
 For here were childhood's revels. 
 And youth's bright scenes of mirth, 
 
 63 
 
THE OLD HOME 
 
 When all the joys of heaven 
 Seemed with us here on earth ; 
 
 When hearts danced hke the river. 
 With faith and hope aglow, 
 
 Just as its joyful waters 
 Reflect the heaven below. 
 
 No fields have since seemed greener, 
 
 No flowers half so rare 
 As those we children gathered 
 
 Amid those meadows fair. 
 
 No friends have e'er been truer 
 Than those we loved so well. 
 
 When youth's bright hopes of promise 
 Beckoned with magic spell. 
 
 And true the thought, oft proven. 
 That wheresoe'er we roam. 
 
 In spite of years and changes, 
 
 Wliere childhood dwelt, 't is home. 
 
 64 
 
THE SCHOOL BELL 
 
 The School Bell 
 
 ABOVE the city's din I hear it ringing, 
 That old familiar bell ; 
 Ah, many a tale of sweet and happy childhood 
 Its iron tongue can tell. 
 
 High in its eyrie, like some faithful watchman 
 
 On battlemented tower. 
 It ever stands, unshrinking and unresting, 
 
 And loudly chimes the hour ; 
 
 Hastening the footsteps of the romping children, 
 
 Declaring play is o'er, 
 And almost pointing with a warning finger 
 
 To many a schoolhouse door. 
 
 Old bell, up in your tower, you 've set me thinking 
 
 Of days 'neath learning's rule, 
 When I, a child, your loud commands obeying, 
 
 Tripped merrily to school. 
 
 5 65 
 
THE SCHOOL BELL 
 
 And dear and cherished friends then walked beside 
 me 
 
 Through common paths so green ; 
 No vales of fairy land had e'er such beauty, 
 
 No sun so bright a sheen. 
 
 They cannot hear to-day your rhythmic music 
 
 Above the city's street ; 
 For many a year they 've slept upon the hillside ; 
 
 Still are the merry feet 
 
 That danced along so happy in life's springtime, 
 
 They scarce bent down the grass. 
 Urged by the " quarter bell's " stern admonition 
 
 To schoolroom and to class. 
 
 And so your busy tongue is ever telling, 
 
 In measured accents slow, 
 Of other children, fair and happy-hearted, 
 
 In days of long ago. 
 
 Ring on, old bell, proclaim each day your mission, 
 
 Calling to learning's shrine ; 
 Your voice with memory's enchanting music 
 
 Thrills deep this heart of mine. 
 
 66 
 
OUR SCHOOLROOM 
 
 Our Schoolroom 
 
 A PLEASANT spot, within whose ample space 
 The morning sunshine falls, 
 Gilding with floods of light, warmth, and radiance 
 The old familiar walls. 
 
 But brighter than the rosy flush of dawning 
 
 Shines out, so fresh and fair, 
 The light of ruddy health and youthful beauty 
 
 From happy faces there. 
 
 Fair, graceful girls, to womanhood advancing, 
 
 And boys with earnest eyes. 
 Eager to enter on life's field of action 
 
 And claim the wished-for prize. 
 
 O happy hearts, so full of joy and gladness, 
 
 The world to you is fair ; 
 For radiant hope and trust can give no warning 
 
 Of sorrow or of care ! 
 
 67 
 
OUR SCHOOLROOM 
 
 What pleasant years, with quiet duties laden, 
 
 Have passed within this place. 
 So filled with youth's bright fancies, hopes, and 
 longings. 
 
 Its loveliness and grace. 
 
 Whene'er in song 1 hear their fresh young voices 
 
 In sweetest music ring, 
 It seems like melody from nature's woodlands, 
 
 A meadow breeze of spring. 
 
 Ofttimes, amid the groups that pass before me. 
 
 Move other forms as fair, 
 Pressing, like these, with eager footsteps onward. 
 
 As bright and free from care, — 
 
 Pure souls, that early heard the heavenly summons 
 
 To higher schools in bliss. 
 On whom so sweetly fell the Master's blessing, 
 
 " Of such my kingdom is." 
 
 Dear boys and girls, to-day around me thronging 
 
 With joyous hopes of youth. 
 Bear with you ever through the world's broad conflict 
 
 Your loving trust and truth ; 
 
 That when life's school on earth at last is ended, 
 
 You, too, may hear Him say 
 The same sweet words of peace and joy and welcome 
 
 On graduation day. 
 
 68 
 
FORTY YEARS WEDDED 
 
 Forty Years Wedded 
 
 NO song of summer, with its varied splendor, 
 As if some magic hand 
 Had touched the forests with a golden glory, 
 Brought fresh from fairy land ; 
 
 Nor yet of autumn, when bright blushes crimson 
 
 The wood and vale and hill, 
 When heaven bends o'er the earth in benediction, 
 
 So holy, calm, and still; 
 
 Nor winter, with its fields of dazzHng brightness, 
 
 Its crystal lakes and streams. 
 Its sapphire sky, its spotless robes of ermine. 
 
 Lit by the morning beams ; 
 
 But March, with rushing winds and skies so changing, 
 
 The herald of the spring. 
 When brooks begin to break their icy fetters, 
 
 And timid birds to sing. 
 
 69 
 
FORTY YEARS WEDDED 
 
 And yet the earth was filled with sweetest music, 
 
 That day so long ago, 
 For then two loving souls at Hymen's altar 
 
 Made heaven here below. 
 
 I see the bride so fair, the manly bridegroom, 
 
 The hand-clasp, firm and true ; 
 The wedding ring, now worn so thin and slender, 
 
 Was then so bright and new. 
 
 I hear the promise there so sweetly spoken ; 
 
 And heaven and earth are still, 
 As if to listen to the words then uttered, 
 
 The deep, low-voiced " I will." 
 
 Ah, many years have flown, with joys and sorrows. 
 
 Since that fair bridal day ; 
 And time and care have dimmed the eyes' bright 
 gladness. 
 
 And turned brown hair to gray. 
 
 But, blessed thought, the hearts are strong and loving. 
 
 As when, so long ago, 
 They pledged their promise true to one another 
 
 In youth's bright morning glow. 
 
 And though around them many storms have gathered. 
 
 They cling together still. 
 Like oak and vine, beneath the tempest bending, 
 
 Unparted through all ill. 
 70 
 
FORTY YEARS WEDDED 
 
 For lapse of time true love the more enricheth, 
 
 Making those lives divine 
 That share each other's griefs as well as blessings, 
 
 And still together twine. 
 
 How many links now bind these souls together ! 
 
 The voices that are here 
 Of friends and neighbors, gathered round the fireside, 
 
 Bringing their loving cheer. 
 
 And youths and maidens come with merry fancies, 
 
 Strewing with flowers the way ; 
 Making the path to blossom as with roses, 
 
 And every grief allay. 
 
 We rarely keep our loving band unbroken, 
 
 In vain is all our care ; 
 And every home on earth must, soon or later, 
 
 Weep o'er a vacant chair. 
 
 And so, dear friends, when on this wedding evening 
 
 You meet together here. 
 Sweet memories come of one now long departed. 
 
 You wipe the falling tear. 
 
 For pure the life that left these earthly dwellings 
 
 In youth's bright, rosy morn. 
 To walk with angels in celestial mansions. 
 
 Where night gives place to dawn. 
 71 
 
FORTY YEARS WEDDED 
 
 'T is sweet to think the maiden fair and lovely, 
 
 Called from among you here, 
 Looks down to-night from those bright, heavenly portals, 
 
 On those she loved so dear. 
 
 And lays on you a daughter's benediction, 
 
 In words of love so sweet ; 
 The seen and unseen in this earthly sojourn 
 
 Oft close together meet. 
 
 And now, dear friends, amid the pleasant wishes 
 
 Of hearts to-day that come. 
 Accept this token true of deep affection 
 
 In this your happy home ; 
 
 A little flower, whose fragrance may remind you 
 
 Of scenes that now are past. 
 And pleasant memories, that will ever linger 
 
 As long as time shall last. 
 
 We say " God bless you ! " to this gray-haired bride- 
 groom. 
 
 May peace and joy betide ; 
 We greet, with all the warmth of old affection. 
 
 One forty years a bride. 
 
 May these fond hearts still lean on one another. 
 
 As in the days of old ; 
 Never to part throughout this earthly journey, 
 
 Their love grow never cold. 
 
 72 
 
FORTY YEARS WEDDED 
 
 May added years bring to them only gladness, 
 
 May hope and faith sublime 
 Help them to look, as with a heavenly vision, 
 
 Through all the clouds of time, 
 
 To that fair land where always it is morning, 
 
 Where shadows never come 
 To dim with earthly cares the spirit's glory. 
 
 Our bright, immortal home. 
 
 73 
 
ANNIVERSARY POEM 
 
 Semi-Centennial Anniversary Poem 
 
 FAIR are the skies above us this glad September 
 day, 
 And all things don to greet us their festival array ; 
 The hills fling out their banners upon their outer 
 
 walls, 
 While over all the valleys the autumn splendor falls. 
 
 The branches seem to whisper a salutation sweet. 
 As underneath their arches the tread of eager feet 
 Speaks of old friends and neighbors, united once 
 
 again. 
 After long years of absence, parting, and of pain. 
 
 Ring out, sweet bells of Lawrence, a greeting loud 
 
 and long ; 
 Ring out your grandest music, fill all the air with song, — 
 A song of love and welcome to wanderers returned. 
 Within whose hearts the home love for many years has 
 
 burned. 
 
 74 
 
ANNIVERSARY POEM 
 
 Laugh out, O rippling river, between your banks so 
 green, 
 
 As, dancing gayly seaward, your waves reflect the 
 scene ; 
 
 And let your rushing waters to this grand concourse 
 say, 
 
 " Fair Merrimack's queen city counts fifty years to- 
 day ! " 
 
 Let martial pomp and splendor an added beauty lend, 
 And pageants most imposing the triumph fair attend ; 
 Let lips of happy children the story grand proclaim. 
 And sing, in glowing numbers, our proud young city's 
 fame. 
 
 How throbs the heart with gladness, yet how the tears 
 will come. 
 
 As at the century's closing our thoughts will back- 
 ward roam 
 
 To other scenes and pictures in the far long ago. 
 
 So different from these colors that on the canvas glow ; 
 
 When on these river borders Nature alone held sway, 
 With here and there a farmhouse to mark the lonely 
 
 way; 
 When on broad field and forest the summer sun 
 
 looked down, 
 And autumn moons beheld no trace of this our busy 
 
 town. 
 
 75 
 
ANNIVERSARY POEM 
 
 Sweet to our ears, fair Lawrence, sounds your beloved 
 
 name ; 
 We prize you for your courage, your wide industrial fame, 
 Your fostering care, your beauty, your vigor, and your 
 
 thrift, 
 But more we love your memories, the heart's best, 
 
 richest gift. 
 
 We think of those among us in youth's bright, golden 
 
 time. 
 Who passed from earth ere they beheld your grandeur 
 
 in its prime ; 
 And turn aside with sorrow, there silently to weep 
 Where on the flowery hillside they rest in dreamless 
 
 sleep. 
 
 We '11 ne'er forget the brave ones who came so long ago. 
 Who nobly bore the burden and struck the earnest blow ; 
 All honor to the pioneers, the men, and women too. 
 Who made the tangled forest to bloom with roseate hue. 
 
 Their acts are graven on our hearts in characters of 
 
 flame, 
 That brighter glow, as passing years make dearer yet 
 
 their name. 
 Remembrance fain would linger, and proud recall the 
 
 deeds 
 Of those who broke the stubborn ground and sowed the 
 
 precious seeds, — 
 
 76 
 
ANNIVERSARY POEM 
 
 Lawrence, of purest charity, full measure of man, 
 With hand for generous doing and wisest head to plan ; 
 And Storrow, gracious gentleman, last of the pioneers, 
 Whom age with kindly footsteps has crowned with 
 eighty years ; 
 
 Saunders, intrepid spirit, whose keen, prophetic gaze 
 Could see the city beautiful rise from a tangled 
 
 maze ; 
 And Oliver, great-hearted, self-poised, in manhood 
 
 strong. 
 With mind attuned to beauty, and soul attuned to 
 
 song; 
 
 Packard, beloved pastor, type of that elder race 
 Which, steadfast in the strength of God, talked with 
 
 him face to face ; 
 Walton, who taught our youthful feet up Learning's 
 
 hill to climb, 
 And Harrington, the preacher, of simple faith sublime ; 
 
 O'Donnell, idol of his flock, broad-minded and high- 
 
 souled, 
 And generous White, whose monument our grateful 
 
 eyes behold ; 
 And missionary Wilson, whose swift, unwearied feet 
 Followed the path his Master trod, with deeds of 
 
 kindness meet. 
 
 77 
 
ANNIVERSARY POEM 
 
 On strong and firm foundations, built by these earnest 
 
 hands, 
 A structure grand and beautiful our proud young city 
 
 stands ; 
 They toiled with grand self-sacrifice, and we the 
 
 harvest reap ; 
 'T is meet that in our grateful hearts their memories 
 
 we keep. 
 
 And when, in days of '6i, the trumpet blast of war 
 To our young peaceful city was wafted from afar, 
 How grandly then did Lawrence give answer to the call. 
 And send the flower of her youth on Southern fields to 
 fall! 
 
 Then pressed our brave young soldiers their blood for 
 
 right to pour. 
 And Needham, martyr spirit, fell dead in Baltimore ; 
 And Tarbox brave, and Rollins, with noble thoughts 
 
 aflame, 
 Upon their country's altar offered their youth and fame. 
 
 Forgive me if with retrospect from present things 
 
 I 've turned, 
 To speak of those whose memories within my heart 
 
 have burned ; 
 They need no tears who died so well, after a noble life. 
 And we may gain new courage from the story of their 
 
 strife. 
 
 78 
 
ANNIVERSARY POEM 
 
 Shall we not heed the lesson taught by these, our sires 
 
 of old, 
 Who, undismayed by dangers, with courage grand were 
 
 bold? 
 How fair they built the future, and nobly earned the 
 
 crown, 
 And entered on their well-earned rest, when they their 
 
 lives laid down. 
 
 They cannot hear the paeans from our proud hearts 
 
 that rise, 
 Nor see our waving banners that float beneath the skies ; 
 They do not wake at sound of drum, or music of sweet 
 
 bell, 
 Resting in peace from labor near scenes they loved so 
 
 well. 
 
 But, though for them forever this earthly sun has set, 
 Theirs will be dear remembrance, unmixed with vain 
 
 regret ; 
 And till earth's happy sunlight fades from old ocean 
 
 deep. 
 No moss of years the brightness of their mem'ries 
 
 shall o'ercreep. 
 
 But now I hear, in spirit, your many voices speak, — 
 " Turn from the past, thou dreamer, the happy 
 present seek, 
 
 79 
 
ANNIVERSARY POEM 
 
 Tell of the many blessings that show our Father's 
 
 care, 
 And thank the glorious Giver who made all this so 
 
 fair." 
 
 Amazing is the picture that greets our wondering 
 
 eyes; 
 A desert is a garden where stately structures rise ; 
 The power of Nature 's harnessed and tamed to man's 
 
 command, 
 The eternal step of progress is heard on every hand. 
 
 The church spire points to heaven, and tells of things 
 
 divine ; 
 To Learning's potent spirit there rises many a shrine ; 
 Here is the noise of traffic, proud Industry's great 
 
 mart, — 
 The looms and flying spindles are beatings of its 
 
 heart. 
 
 Great bridges span the river, tall chimneys pierce the 
 
 sky. 
 And Labor's massive buildings here proudly tower on 
 
 high; 
 Man's clever hand to ocean for us has found a way ; 
 Science uplifts her magic wand, and lo, night shames 
 
 the day. 
 
 So 
 
ANNIVERSARY POEM 
 
 And, reared within our borders, the oases of earth, 
 Stand homes of stately grandeur and those of modest 
 
 worth ; 
 Yet in the noble mansion and in the cottage small 
 There broods the heart's own sweet repose, a blessing 
 
 over all. 
 
 The Home ! we speak the word with reverence and 
 
 with love, 
 For 't is a true reflection of heaven's own courts 
 
 above ; 
 Angels alone know of a bliss greater than doth abide 
 Where love and truth within the home dwell ever 
 
 side by side. 
 
 O poor and small beginnings, now beautiful and 
 
 strong, 
 The wildest dreams could not foretell in fiction or in 
 
 song 
 Such victories and triumphs as we this day may see. 
 When our fair city numbers her first half-century. 
 
 Her loyal sons and daughters, within her sheltering 
 
 arms, 
 Rise now to do her honor and wide proclaim her 
 
 charms ; 
 And, hastening from regions far with eager, loving feet. 
 Her absent children come to-day their mother fair to 
 
 greet. 
 
 6 8i 
 
ANNIVERSARY POEM 
 
 O tender nurse and mother, we throng about you 
 
 now, 
 And place a birthday diadem upon your peerless 
 
 brow; 
 With longing hearts we Ve waited, and now the day 
 
 appears, 
 When, laurelled and rejoicing, you number fifty years. 
 
 'T is deeds, not years, that tell aright the meed of 
 
 earthly fame. 
 And not the vaunted youngest, nor those that earliest 
 
 came, 
 Can claim reward for valor and courage in the past. 
 But those who kept the banner unstruck from roof 
 
 and mast. 
 
 God of the passing ages, to thee we owe this hour ; 
 The gladness of its triumph, the magic of its power. 
 We praise thee for the era past, we trust in that to be ; 
 Make this the dwelling of thy love, a home most 
 meet for thee. 
 
 Round our beloved city thy holy safeguards draw ; 
 
 Let Truth, thy free -winged angel, proclaim thy right- 
 eous law ; 
 
 Be this a place where Freedom and Justice are 
 revered. 
 
 Where right prevails, where Man is loved, and God 
 is ever feared. 
 
 82 
 
ANNIVERSARY POEM 
 
 Then shall a grace still fairer adorn her queenly brow, 
 And love of all her children more brightly burn than 
 
 now; 
 The coming years shall nobler gifts bring for her 
 
 glory meet, 
 And centuries, incense-laden, drop riches at her feet. 
 
 83 
 
THE BELLS OF LAWRENCE 
 
 The Bells of Lawrence 
 
 [Written on the homeward voyage across the Atlantic from 
 Europe in September, 1890.] 
 
 FAIR city by the river, 
 Dear home across the sea, 
 Li the gray autumn twihght 
 
 Sweet thoughts you bring to me. 
 
 I see your sunny hillsides, 
 I tread your thronging street, 
 
 I hear the rippling river 
 That dances at your feet. 
 
 But fairer than all pictures 
 
 That weave their magic spells, 
 
 I hear in mem'ry's echoes 
 
 The sound of Lawrence bells ; 
 
 Those bells attuned to music. 
 High up in dizzy tower. 
 
 That call to duties varied. 
 Or softly chime the hour. 
 84 
 
THE BELLS OF LAWRENCE 
 
 They tell of store and factory, 
 
 Of merchants' busy mart, 
 The church, the school, the workshop, 
 
 The railroad's throbbing heart. 
 
 They 've rung in joy and sorrow, 
 
 And many a story tell 
 Of pleasant, happy greetings, 
 
 Of parting and farewell. 
 
 They speak of living friendships, 
 Of comrades young and old ; 
 
 They ne'er will be forgotten, 
 The tales that they have told. 
 
 They sound far o'er the river. 
 
 Above the quiet hill, 
 Where sleep our friends and kindred 
 
 Resting so calm and still. 
 
 Sweeter than all the music 
 I 've heard in foreign climes, 
 
 Comes crowding on my spirit 
 The mem'ry of their chimes. 
 
 Never from lonely minster. 
 
 Or old cathedral gray. 
 Pealed forth such glorious music 
 
 As comes to me to-day 
 
 85 
 
THE BELLS OF LAWRENCE 
 
 From far-away New England, 
 
 The fairest land I know, 
 The haunts of happy childhood, 
 
 The home of long ago. 
 
 Fly swiftly on your mission. 
 Good ship, across the sea, 
 
 That I may hear the greeting 
 These bells will bring to me. 
 
 I almost hear them saying. 
 Far o'er the ocean foam, 
 
 " Welcome, O weary wanderer. 
 Welcome to home, sweet home ! " 
 
 86 
 
LIGHTS OF LAWRENCE 
 
 Lights of Lawrence 
 
 [Strangers approaching Lawrence on evening trains are 
 always greatly impressed by the sight of the large and brill- 
 iantly lighted factories, which extend for a mile along the 
 banks of the Merrimack. The following poem depicts such a 
 scene from the train.] 
 
 NIGHT with her sable mantle 
 Had folded earth and sky, 
 As through the wintry darkness 
 The train went thundering by. 
 
 Tired travellers slept unconscious 
 
 Of noise or whistle shrill, 
 Of cold New England's snow-drifts. 
 
 Its blasts so sharp and chill. 
 
 Some with a pleasant story 
 
 Beguiled the tedious day, 
 Or with friends chatted gayly 
 
 To while the hours away. 
 
 87 
 
LIGHTS OF LAWRENCE 
 
 Why drop the book and paper 
 Quick from the Hstless hand, 
 
 And why, erect and spellbound, 
 Do men in wonder stand? 
 
 They see a glorious vision ; 
 
 In one long, dazzling line, 
 There, from a thousand windows, 
 
 The lights of Lawrence shine. 
 
 Each tall and stately factory 
 
 A fairy palace seems, 
 As o'er the snow and darkness 
 
 The wondrous radiance streams. 
 
 Out on the murmuring river 
 It sends its sparkling light, 
 
 Until the conscious waters 
 Seem dancing with delight. 
 
 The soft, white fields of ermine. 
 That stretch on either hand 
 
 In cold and spotless beauty, 
 Look like enchanted land ; 
 
 While groups of mighty chimneys 
 Stand out against the sky, 
 
 Above the weird scene watching, 
 As if with giant's eye. 
 88 
 
LIGHTS OF LAWRENCE 
 
 " Some magic wand has done it ! " 
 Exclaimed the stranger then, 
 
 " For such a matchless picture 
 Seems not like works of men. 
 
 " In many lands I 've wandered, 
 Trod many a foreign shore. 
 
 But such a spell of beauty 
 Was never wrought before ! " 
 
 He praised our busy city, 
 Proud industry's great mart ; 
 
 Its looms and flying spindles, 
 The pulsings of its heart. 
 
 Burn bright, O lamps of labor, 
 
 Our comfort, strength, and health ; 
 
 A heritage diviner 
 
 Than all the spoils of wealth. 
 
 Shine on, O Hghts of Lawrence, 
 That, when her children turn 
 
 Back from their many wanderings 
 To where your beacons burn. 
 
 They '11 see your loving welcome, 
 As homeward they shall come, 
 
 And say, with proud affection, 
 "These are the lights of home ! " 
 
TO THE SOLDIERS OF NEEDHAM POST 
 
 To the Soldiers of Needham Post 
 
 DEAR brothers of old, ofttimes 't is well, 
 In the world's wild, ceaseless motion, 
 To turn to the past, with its magic spell 
 And its deeds of rare devotion. 
 
 We '11 lift together the sombre pall 
 That hides the days that are over. 
 
 And view the pictures on mem'ry's wall, 
 Which the mists of time now cover. 
 
 'T is a day in spring, when soft winds sigh, 
 And the streams from sleep are waking ; 
 
 When nature thrills 'neath the whispering sky, 
 And the birds their homes are making. 
 
 Who are these men in the crowded street, 
 'Neath the rain like tear-drops falling? 
 
 They march with firm, intrepid feet. 
 As to a commander calling. 
 90 
 
TO THE SOLDIERS OF NEEDHAM POST 
 
 These boys in blue, they 're a bonny sight, 
 
 The terrors of battle braving, 
 While above their heads, its colors bright, 
 
 Our starry banner is waving. 
 
 Ah, youthful soldiers, your hopes are high, 
 Your eyes with courage are flashing ; 
 
 Too soon you '11 list to the trumpet's cry. 
 And the cruel steel's dread crashing. 
 
 You 've left your homes, and the dear ones there, 
 
 For war's grim desolation ; 
 Yet in your hearts sweet memories bear 
 
 Of their tender ministration. 
 
 For love of mother and wife and maid 
 
 Will be like a thought of heaven. 
 When sounds the roar of the cannonade. 
 
 And the ranks by death are riven. 
 
 It nerves for the fight the soldier's hand. 
 
 When he for battle is starting ; 
 It guides him into the silent land. 
 
 And eases the spirit's parting. 
 
 O love of country, and love of home. 
 With the stains of earth oft blending. 
 
 From heaven's bright throne above you come. 
 Sweet glimpses of Eden lending. 
 91 
 
TO THE SOLDIERS OF NEEDHAM POST 
 
 We blessed our boys, as they left us there, 
 
 On that balmy April morning, 
 When the earth was full of promise rare 
 
 And the spring was in its dawning. 
 
 We knew that He, who his chosen led 
 
 By the pillar brightly burning, 
 Would watch with love o'er the soldier's bed. 
 
 His heart in his dreams home turning ; 
 
 Would guard him beneath the fiery shot. 
 
 And in the hospital shadows. 
 When, wounded, he lay on his weary cot. 
 
 And thought of cool Northern meadows. 
 
 How hope and fear through the long days met. 
 When the wife's sad heart seemed breaking, 
 
 And the mother's watchful eye was wet 
 Through the weary nights of waking ; 
 
 When each breeze that swept New England's vales. 
 From the far-off Southland blowing. 
 
 Bore the sound of conflict and dying wails 
 Of brothers whose blood was flowing. 
 
 The sun shines bright on the Southern field, 
 
 Where the cool, green grass is creeping. 
 
 And the wounded breast of earth has healed, 
 
 The sword in its sheath is sleeping. 
 92 
 
TO THE SOLDIERS OF NEEDHAM POST 
 
 'T is many long years since forth you went 
 
 In the lov^ely springtime weather, 
 And through ail the time since those days were spent 
 
 Have you still kept step together. 
 
 Your comrades fall by life's dusty road, 
 
 But you keep the campfires burning ; 
 You close your ranks, and take up your load, 
 
 Your hearts o'er the lost ones yearning. 
 
 But your ranks are thin, your locks are gray, 
 
 And your tread has lost its lightness ; 
 And the world's rough cares and toilsome way 
 
 Have made dim your eyes' glad brightness. 
 
 But to us who bade you " Godspeed " that day, 
 
 With pitying heart-throbs tender. 
 You 're the same loved " boys " who marched away 
 
 In the pride of manhood's splendor. 
 
 Gone from our flag is the fold of gloom, 
 
 Unstained its resplendent glory ; 
 In a nation's heart your deeds shall bloom, 
 
 Which saved it in a battle gory. 
 
 A grateful country on mem'ry's scroll 
 
 Will honor your grand endeavor ; 
 On the shining page of Fame's proud roll 
 
 She will keep your names forever. 
 93 
 
TO THE SOLDIERS OF NEEDHAM POST 
 
 And we '11 scatter flowers with loving pride, 
 
 Our tenderest vigils keeping, 
 Where, in narrow tents, on the green hillside, 
 
 Our Grand Army boys are sleeping. 
 
 94 
 
OUR SOLDIERS' MONUMENT 
 
 Our Soldiers' Monument 
 
 BEHOLD this column fair to heaven ascending, 
 Gleaming through autumn branches bare and 
 brown, 
 To pleasant scenes a deeper influence lending, 
 Our loved city calmly looking down. 
 
 Whose are the names this pillar is recording? 
 
 Why stands that wreath-crowned figure high in air? 
 The deeds of some renowned warrior lauding, 
 
 Are they engraven on the granite there ? 
 
 Ah, sad indeed the memories 't is bringing, 
 
 Of days when war's dread tumult filled our land ; 
 
 When all the air with Discord's voice was ringing, 
 And dark the shade of Treason's bloody hand. 
 
 And yet sweet thoughts with sad tears are contending 
 Of those who loved their fatherland so well ; 
 
 No thought of self with duty basely blending, 
 They for the flag above us nobly fell. 
 95 
 
OUR SOLDIERS' MONUMENT 
 
 Approach this shaft and you shall read their story 
 
 Engraven on this stately column fair ; 
 Their deathless names, their immortal deeds of glory, 
 
 Who upon sea and land did nobly dare. 
 
 Tell not of marbles which, the world enchanting, 
 Show the great wonders of the sculptor's art ; 
 
 The holiest offerings at these shrines are wanting, 
 The sigh, the tear, the tribute of the heart. 
 
 This simple granite pile, the turf adorning, 
 The statue fair of Memnon shall outshine ; 
 
 Sending forth music night and noon and morning. 
 The sweetest notes from freedom's sacred shrine. 
 
 'T will tell of noble deeds, of courage daring. 
 Of love of country, man's most sacred trust ; 
 
 From age to age the glorious record bearing. 
 When we shall mingle all in common dust. 
 
 And little children, from school homeward turning, 
 Shall to their playmates the grand story tell, 
 
 Of those with valor fired, for country burning, 
 Who died to save the land they loved so well. 
 
 Brave hearts, long since at rest, you 've nobly striven. 
 You gave your lives, and won immortal fame ; 
 
 And ever, while a tongue to us is given, 
 
 We '11 speak with burning words the martyr's name. 
 96 
 
OUR SOLDIERS' MONUMENT 
 
 God grant that we your solemn trust may cherish, 
 And keep it sacred, pure, forevermore ; 
 
 To love our country, that she e'er may flourish, 
 And one dear flag float o'er us evermore. 
 
 97 
 
IN MEMORIAM 
 
 In Memoriam 
 
 John Kemble Tarbox, died May 28, 1887. 
 
 " f^ ONE to his rest ! " we say with trembling voices 
 
 V_X Above the sable pall, 
 And sigh for this bright life that now is ended, 
 While tears like rain- drops fall. 
 
 " Gone to his rest ! " All toil and struggle over, 
 
 The weary journey done ; 
 And he, in all his manhood's pride and glory, 
 
 Heaven's blessed peace hath won. 
 
 What need of tears for him who from earth's sorrow 
 
 Wakes in immortal bloom ? 
 Or mourning words, when from the weary spirit 
 
 Is purged away all gloom? 
 
 And yet 't is ever nature's tender prompting 
 
 To drop the friendly tear 
 Upon the marble form, so cold and silent, 
 
 That lies upon the bier. 
 
 98 
 
IN MEMORIAM 
 
 What says the life of this dear friend departed ? 
 
 What have its years to tell? 
 Of early boyhood, and full, rounded manhood, 
 
 They whisper, "It is well." 
 
 They speak of duty done, and earnest labor, 
 
 Of well-earned, honest fame ; 
 And of that crown, beyond all others precious, 
 
 A pure and honored name. 
 
 His was a soul serenely true and patient. 
 
 Unswerving, firm, and strong ; 
 A gracious nature, in its simple trusting, 
 
 A hater of the wrong. 
 
 A friend sincere, unbought by gifts or power. 
 
 So kindly among men. 
 That we could almost think earth's golden knighthood 
 
 Walked with us once again. 
 
 A poet's soul, attuned by lofty music. 
 
 Rich in the storied page ; 
 A potent voice, to sway the listening numbers. 
 
 And something of the sage. 
 
 A soldier brave, he fought for home and country. 
 
 Treading the Southern plain ; 
 And lingering long, through days of weary waiting. 
 
 In hospitals of pain. 
 
 99 
 
IN MEMORIAM 
 
 'T is meet that to the home so dear in childhood 
 
 Our friend and brother come, 
 To sleep beside the ones who knew and loved him 
 
 In this, his boyhood's home. 
 
 Lay him to rest upon the verdant hillside, 
 
 Whose sunny slope looks down 
 Upon the river, rippling with its music. 
 
 And on this pleasant town. 
 
 Whose streets so oft have echoed with his footsteps. 
 
 Whose halls his voice have heard. 
 When he, with soul on fire for some great action. 
 
 The people's hearts has stirred. 
 
 There, in the spring, will come his soldier comrades, 
 
 Breathing a prayer for him ; 
 And on his breast lay violets fair and lilie 
 
 Their eyes with tear-drops dim. 
 
 Dear friend, farewell ! beyond earth's wrecks and 
 tempests. 
 
 How pleasant 't is to sleep 
 Where sorrow never comes, and where the blessed 
 
 Shall never wake to weep ! 
 
ETHEL 
 
 Ethel 
 
 WITH lips that cannot speak, 
 And white hands folded meek, 
 Over the quiet breast 
 So hushed in silent rest, 
 
 She sleeps, our little maid ; 
 We need not be afraid 
 Of step upon the floor, 
 She '11 never waken more. 
 
 Her eyes of violet hue, 
 Clear as the heaven's blue. 
 They ne'er will ope again. 
 Though kisses fall like rain. 
 
 The fair hair braided now. 
 Above the peaceful brow, 
 No more will need your care, 
 Pale mother, bending there. 
 
 lOI 
 
ETHEL 
 
 Those active, restless feet, 
 That danced along the street, 
 And scarcely touched the ground 
 With youth's own joyous bound, - 
 
 Dear feet, how still they keep 
 In this mysterious sleep, 
 That they no more will move 
 E'en at the voice of love. 
 
 Dust back to dust must come ; 
 But look not for her home 
 In the cold churchyard dim : 
 Christ's children live with him. 
 
 In heaven our darling dwells ; 
 And God's own promise tells 
 That we must not despair, 
 For we shall meet her there. 
 
 102 
 
IN MEMORIAM 
 
 In Memoriam 
 
 IN days gone by, a golden- hearted lily 
 Made this earth bright with bloom, 
 Thrilling our hearts with love's entrancing music, 
 Its sweetness and perfume. 
 
 Ethel, fit name for little winsome maiden. 
 
 With Saxon eyes so blue ; 
 A wealth of hair that fell like braided sunshine, 
 
 A heart so warm and true. 
 
 I see her still among her young companions. 
 
 The gayest of them all. 
 As down the street she goes, with flying footsteps, 
 
 In answer to their call. 
 
 And in her home her form is ever flitting 
 
 Around her vacant chair. 
 Or sits with book or o'er her music bending; 
 
 I 'm sure that she is there. 
 103 
 
IN MEMORIAM 
 
 In school, when all the children are gathered, 
 
 I see her bright young face, 
 As through the doorway, with a noiseless footfall, 
 
 She comes and takes her place. 
 
 And yet I know that eight long years have vanished 
 
 Since drooped our lily fair. 
 And the great Gardener, in his love and pity. 
 
 Received her to his care. 
 
 What does she in those bright, celestial gardens. 
 
 The loveliest of his flowers? 
 And thinks she ever of the fond hearts yearning 
 
 In this sad world of ours, — 
 
 Of father, mother, friends, of all who loved her, 
 
 While on this earth she strayed. 
 Ere yet she wearied of its cares and sorrows. 
 
 Our blue-eyed little maid ? 
 
 Perhaps, though wearing now the crown of glory, 
 
 She keeps the mem'ry dear 
 Of those fond hearts from whom she has been parted 
 
 For many a lonely year. 
 
 We will believe she thinks of us, and sees us. 
 
 And loves us as of old ; 
 'T would not be heaven in those starry mansions, 
 
 If love could there grow cold. 
 104 
 
IN MEMORIAM 
 
 And as this stormy April day, so dreary, 
 
 Will soon have passed away, 
 And the bright sunshine of the blessed springtime 
 
 Make nature glad and gay. 
 
 So let our faith look up through cloud and darkness. 
 
 And thank the One who gave, 
 Although to-day our bitter tears are falling 
 
 Upon her snow-wreathed grave. 
 
 105 
 
HER PORTRAIT 
 
 Her Portrait 
 
 TN pure white garments dressed, 
 -■- With daisies on her breast, 
 
 She stands here fair and sweet, 
 The grasses at her feet. 
 
 And fills the lonely room 
 With youth's own rosy bloom. 
 
 What fresh and childlike grace 
 Upon the lovely face, 
 
 While all the sunshine fair 
 Seems tangled in her hair ; 
 
 And from her eyes so blue 
 The spirit clear looks through. 
 
 As if she now had come 
 Down from her heavenly home, 
 io6 
 
HER PORTRAIT 
 
 And if we called her name, 
 Would step from out the frame 
 
 And tell us not to weep, 
 For death is but a sleep. 
 
 And heaven for her is near 
 Those on earth so dear. 
 
 How blest the painter's art 
 That thus can soothe the heart, 
 
 Bringing before us here 
 Our little maid so fair, 
 
 While our eyes with tear-drops wet 
 The cold dark grave forget, 
 
 And upward look to where 
 Our blessed angels are. 
 
 107 
 
A LIFE'S SHADOW 
 
 A Life's Shadow 
 
 I SIT in the quiet churchyard, 
 Where the summer grasses creep, 
 Spreading soft their verdant mantle 
 O'er the graves of them that sleep. 
 
 The glow of the fading sunset 
 Still flushes in the distant west, 
 
 While the birds sing mournful dirges 
 Over those who lie at rest. 
 
 I muse on the mound beside me, 
 Where the summer roses blow 
 
 And scatter their fragrant blossoms 
 On the youth who sleeps below. 
 
 And I think, as o'er his ashes 
 The bright-tinted rose-leaves fall, 
 
 While the darkly creeping shadows 
 Spread over him like a pall, 
 1 08 
 
A LIFE'S SHADOW 
 
 How life heaped upon him blessings, 
 Wealth, learning, a love divine ; 
 
 But a shadow chilled its beauty, — 
 The curse of the demon, wine. 
 
 109 
 
MY PICTURE 
 
 My Picture 
 
 WHO is this girl with eyes so blue, 
 The sweet, glad spirit looking through, 
 And on her cheeks the tender flush 
 Of roses, with their softened blush ? 
 
 The parted lips with smiles are gay. 
 Reflecting back the eyes' bright ray ; 
 And o'er her shoulders, floating down, 
 A wealth of hair, so soft and brown. 
 
 As yet, upon this forehead fair 
 Old Time has set no seal of care ; 
 No shadows in the eyes so clear, 
 They scarcely yet have known a tear. 
 
 And can it be that I myself 
 E'er looked like this bright, merry elf. 
 Who seems to say with saucy mien, 
 " You 're forty now, and not fourteen ! " 
 no 
 
MY PICTURE 
 
 Where shall I look to find a trace 
 Of this bright, happy, girlish grace ? 
 The faded cheek, and hair of gray, 
 They little tell of youth's bright day. 
 
 I scarcely dare the hope to own, 
 That, when this earthly work is done, 
 I may again, in worlds more fair, 
 Look like this girl without a care. 
 
 Ill 
 
MEMORIAL DAY 
 
 Memorial Day 
 
 AGAIN bright May, her perfumed blossoms bring- 
 ing, 
 Scatters her fragrance on the balmy air ; 
 While happy birds on spray and branch are swinging, 
 And spring's soft shadows hover everywhere. 
 
 In woodlands dim we seek the violet, tinted 
 
 With heaven's own beauty, mirrored in her breast ; 
 
 And lilies fair we '11 bring with hand unstinted 
 To mark the place where our dead soldiers rest. 
 
 Their graves are pilgrim shrines, those green mounds 
 lowly 
 
 We '11 cover with a flowery mantle rare ; 
 And tears shall fall upon that turf so holy. 
 
 Like gentle rain upon the sleepers there. 
 
 'T is meet that as life's thoroughfare we 're crowding. 
 
 We turn aside to vale and shady dell. 
 And bend o'er those whose forms the flag is shrouding, 
 
 That flag for which they fought and nobly fell. 
 
MEMORIAL DAY 
 
 What need of marble shaft to tell their story, 
 Their valor true and deeds without a stain? 
 
 In grateful hearts the memory of their glory, 
 Engraven deep, forever shall remain. 
 
 113 
 
OCEAN TO EARTH 
 
 Ocean to Earth 
 
 O MOTHER Earth, when in thy summer beauty, 
 Thou gavest me from out thy fruitful store, 
 Fanned me with breezes sweet from out thy gardens, 
 And fed me from thy streams so fresh and pure. 
 
 Now, when the chill of winter age is on thee, 
 And frosty fetters hold thee in their chain, 
 
 I will protect and shield thee from the tempest. 
 And give thee all thy treasures back again. 
 
 I '11 breathe o'er thee my filial benediction. 
 
 And winds that strive to curse thee with their blast 
 
 Shall make it fall in feathery- footed blessings, 
 An ermine mantle on thy faithful breast. 
 
 Then in the springtime of thy resurrection. 
 When thou shalt feel anew thy pulses beat. 
 
 Thou 'It send it back to me in richest baptism. 
 And lay thy loving offering at my feet. 
 
 114 
 
THE TRAILING ARBUTUS 
 
 The Trailing Arbutus 
 
 OFT by the side of snowdrifts cold, upspringing 
 The little May flowers grow, 
 Seeking beneath their broad green leaves protection 
 From chilling winds that blow. 
 
 But when, from out their hiding-places peeping, 
 
 They meet the sun's warm rays, 
 Their pure, pale cheeks, with modest blushes burning, 
 
 Turn crimson 'neath his gaze. 
 
 115 
 
SONNETS 
 
 Sonnets 
 
 I 
 
 To Columbus 
 
 O DARING heart, stanch soul, that through a 
 cloud 
 Of foulest slander and of clamor rude, 
 Led on by hope and noble fortitude. 
 Through trackless fields of dreaded ocean ploughed. 
 In thy small craft, when autumn winds roared loud, 
 And faith alone as helmsman bravely stood, 
 Our country, in its tender gratitude, 
 Looks back across the years, with grandeur proud. 
 And grasps thy patient hand outraged by chains, — 
 Alas, what pity that a prince's name 
 Should bear so foul a blot on its fair fame ! — 
 To tell thee of its sorrow for thy pains. 
 And thank thee, sailor, for thy deed sublime, 
 Which gave to us this fairest land and clime. 
 
 ii6 
 
SONNETS 
 
 II 
 
 To Isabella of Spain 
 
 GREAT queen, whose name with love in all 
 hearts rings, 
 We see thee not on thy Castilian throne, 
 With golden sceptre, while thy people moan, 
 Surrounded by the brilliant pomp of kings. 
 But, wafted soft like plume from angel wings. 
 Floats down the ages thy great triumph won. 
 Exalting thee to wondrous heights alone. 
 To thee to-day the world its homage brings ; 
 No jewels glisten in thy diadem, 
 Or, flashing starlight, sparkle on thy breast ; 
 For galleys stanch, to sail the unknown west, 
 With women's faith, thou freely gavest them. 
 That from the waste of waters Spain might wrest 
 Columbia, of all the world the gem. 
 
 117 
 
LONGING 
 
 Longing 
 
 THE trees are white with snow, their branches 
 quiver 
 'Neath feathery crystals, on the Sabbath morn ; 
 While winds of March around me moan and shiver, 
 No sunshine comes to light the earth forlorn. 
 
 The Easter days with warmth and light and gladness, 
 Slowly they come our weary eyes to greet ; 
 
 How long will Nature wear her robes of sadness ? 
 When will the flowers spring beneath our feet? 
 
 My soul bows like the trees 'mid storm- winds dreary. 
 Its blossoms freeze 'neath sorrow's wintry blast. 
 
 And death 's the end of all — how blest the weary 
 Who lay them down and sweetly sleep at last ! 
 
 Oh, selfish heart, in this great world of ours. 
 
 That can do naught but sit you down and weep, 
 
 And sigh for Easter glories and its flowers, 
 And basely long for death's ignoble sleep, 
 ii8 
 
LONGING 
 
 Are there no wayward feet, too prone to stumble, 
 No suffering ones whose woes you can remove? 
 
 Go, take them by the hand, the meek and humble. 
 Lead them at last to the great Father's love. 
 
 In deeds like these, to others gladness bringing. 
 Self will grow dim, a happier day will dawn ; 
 
 With Easter blossoms in the heart upspringing, 
 Each day will be a resurrection morn. 
 
 119 
 
EASTER 
 
 Easter 
 
 THE night was dark and chill, all Nature weeping 
 For Him, the sinless one, the crucified ; 
 And sad the hearts that silently were keeping 
 Their sacred vigils that lone tomb beside. 
 
 But when they saw the glorious Easter dawning. 
 They sang with hearts upraised and tearless eyes, 
 
 " Sorrow must flee, for joy comes with the morning ; 
 He is not here, but reigns in Paradise." 
 
 120 
 
MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME 
 
 My Childhood's Home 
 
 TO my dear old childhood's home fond mem'ry 's 
 ever turning ; 
 I see it, just as in the days of yore ; 
 For the house upon the hill my heart is always 
 yearning, 
 . Where purple lilacs blossomed by the door. 
 
 The summer breezes blew, and the sunshine flecked 
 the meadows, 
 As through the fields with happy hearts we strayed ; 
 When we roamed with bee and bird, as free from 
 care's dark shadow, 
 Or round the old stone doorstep happy played. 
 
 1 see my mother's face, as she bends with smiles 
 above me, 
 I feel her cooling touch upon my brow ; 
 Who is there in the world hke a mother left to love 
 me, 
 Or wipe away the faUing tear-drops now? 
 
 121 
 
MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME 
 
 No voice so sweet as hers as she sings me to my 
 slumbers 
 
 And clasps me with fond kisses to her breast ; 
 No poet's earthly music will e'er be like the numbers 
 
 Of her sweet lullaby, so full of rest. 
 
 Ah, happy days of childhood, now lost to me forever, 
 I ne'er shall know your peaceful joys again ; 
 
 For the sorrow, care, and pain of weary years will 
 sever 
 The fairest links in love's bright golden chain. 
 
 When earthly scenes are fading, and life is near its 
 even, 
 May I hear once again, so soft and low, 
 Those sweet and peaceful words, like blessed strains 
 from heaven. 
 My angel mother sang so long ago. 
 
 122 
 
THE OLD PIANO 
 
 The Old Piano 
 
 IT stands 'neath the dusky rafters, 
 Where the Hngering shadows creep, 
 And round it lie many treasures 
 Which their silent mem'ries keep. 
 
 Let me open wide the shutters, 
 And let the warm sunlight fall 
 
 On the dusty old piano, 
 The dearest to me of all. 
 
 Its keys they are stained and yellow, 
 And its wires so rusty grown 
 
 That they yield no sweet responses. 
 For their melody is gone. 
 
 Yet dear to me is its discord. 
 
 And the tinkle of its strings. 
 For many the tender mem'ries 
 
 That to my sad heart it brings. 
 123 
 
THE OLD PIANO 
 
 I think of a blue-eyed maiden, 
 Whose hair was like braided gold, 
 
 And she sat here in her beauty, 
 In the far-off days of old. 
 
 And I watch her skilful fingers. 
 
 As they sweetest music play 
 On keys of a snowy whiteness 
 
 As the hands that o'er them stray. 
 
 Many long, long years have vanished. 
 
 But I never can forget 
 Those strains of silvery music ; 
 
 In my heart they linger yet. 
 
 She sleeps on the quiet hillside, 
 In her bridal garments dressed, 
 
 And the snows of many winters 
 Have drifted across her breast. 
 
 There spring has oft weaved its garlands, 
 And the summer's golden crown 
 
 Changed to autumn's rich mosaics 
 Of crimson and gold and brown. 
 
 It seemed when her youth and beauty 
 We laid in the cold, dark tomb, 
 
 That the head so bright and golden 
 Must make sunshine in the gloom. 
 124 
 
THE OLD PIANO 
 
 Oh, not now in dust and darkness 
 Do we seek our lost one more, 
 
 But with hearts by faith uplifted, 
 
 'Mid the light of heaven's fair shore ; 
 
 Where, for the imperfect music 
 She waked on the shores of time, 
 
 She hears the celestial chorus 
 Of the Angel tones sublime. 
 
 There lovelier far than living. 
 With no touch of woe or pain, 
 
 Clothed in bright eternal beauty. 
 We shall see her once again. 
 
 125 
 
THE MOON 
 
 The Moon 
 
 (From the German) 
 
 SERENE and lovely in her radiance tender, 
 The queen of night ascends her azure throne ; 
 'Mid all the starry garland of God's splendor, 
 In that bright throng we see but her alone. 
 
 With modest mien 'mong fleecy clouds now drifting, 
 She hides her lovely face from mortal eyes ; 
 
 But soon the breeze the silvery veil uplifting 
 Reveals the glorious empress of the skies. 
 
 Broad fields are flooded with the dazzling brightness, 
 Her radiance fills the leafy forest halls, 
 
 The placid brooks reflect the glistening whiteness. 
 On rock and hill the sheeny splendor falls. 
 
 Her pure fresh breath, in coolness o'er us stealing. 
 Brings to the tired soul the sweetest rest ; 
 
 And sick hearts now receive the blessed feeling 
 She pours like balm into the wounded breast. 
 126 
 
THE MOON 
 
 The cares of day now drop from tired mortals, 
 As her sweet influence is around them shed ; 
 
 'Neath this calm eye watching at heaven's portals 
 Softly and gently droops the weary head. 
 
 What know'st thou, watcher at the gates of glory, 
 Of those we miss from this fair earthly shore ? 
 
 Does thy calm eye, undimmed by ages hoary. 
 Behold them walking on that star-paved floor? 
 
 'Mid crowns and flowers and harps of heavenly 
 sweetness, 
 
 As round the throne the blessed angels throng. 
 Surrounded by God's greatness and completeness. 
 
 Do thoughts of earth e'er mingle with their song? 
 
 We know that there beyond death's gloomy portal. 
 Though none return our longing eyes to greet. 
 
 On that bright shore where love becomes immortal 
 Earth's children shall again their loved ones greet. 
 
 Then in that land where fields are ever vernal. 
 Whose glory streams from azure sky afar, 
 
 Forever 'mid the holy light eternal, 
 
 We '11 need no brightness of sun, moon, or star. 
 
 127 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 129 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 Memorial Day Oration 
 
 SOLDIERS of Needham Post, of the Grand Army 
 of the Republic : It is with feelings of peculiar 
 emotion, and weighed down with a sense of my own 
 unworthiness, that I stand here to-day to address you ; 
 for, as I look round on these well-remembered faces, 
 old memories crowd thronging at my heart, the past 
 comes to remembrance like a great sobbing and moan- 
 ing tide of the ocean, voices long since silent are 
 sounding in my ears, and old faces throng about me, 
 as I saw them in those times of pain and agony which 
 mark that era in our country's history known as the 
 days of '6i. 
 
 Youth, in its freedom from care and sorrow, has 
 been called life's time of May ; and the morning of 
 life is, indeed, fair to look upon. The bloom is on 
 the fruit, the dew is on the flower, and the delights of 
 life call to the young with a voice of fascinating power. 
 There are the joys of perfect health, the pleasure of 
 study, the charms of friendship, love's bright glow 
 131 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 illumining all things with its rosy light, and the busy 
 preparations and plans for the future, that undiscov- 
 ered country whose beauties they are impatient to 
 explore ; and what is not possible in that future, with 
 youth at the prow, and pleasure at the helm? But 
 the youth of the days of which I speak, and of which 
 I was a part, suffered a rude awakening from dreams 
 of love and pleasure. 
 
 They woke to life's conflict with the din of battle 
 sounding in the air, the groans of dying men smote 
 upon their ears, when the dreadful tidings came from 
 Sumter on that April day of '6i that our beloved 
 national ensign had been insulted and trampled in the 
 dust ; when men leaped up with sublime courage at 
 the call to arms, and when women with Spartan-like 
 bravery saw their husbands, fathers, brothers, and 
 sons march away to the fearful chances of the battle- 
 field ; and when, saddest of all sights, it was from the 
 hands of her own children that our beloved fatherland 
 received the cruel thrust of bullet and bayonet. 
 
 It was, indeed, " a strange disposed time," when 
 the President's call for seventy-five thousand troops 
 was issued. Our little city, whose only excitement 
 since its birth had been the yearly Fourth of July 
 parades and celebrations, was everywhere alive ; for 
 although so young, we are proud to say that Law- 
 rence was in the foremost ranks of enthusiasm and 
 patriotism. 
 
 132 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 New sights and sounds, that seemed strange and 
 unreal, like those of some foreign land, arrested our 
 attention. Recruiting-offices opened wide their doors, 
 and men were constantly enlisting. Military drills 
 were going on at all hours ; the sound of the drum and 
 fife and the strains of martial music rang out on the 
 air; men in uniform paraded the streets, and over 
 all, from every coign of vantage, floated the grand 
 old banner, which every true Northern heart had sworn 
 to defend, and which never before had seemed so 
 dear to us as at that moment. 
 
 How well I remember that sad day in April when 
 those boys of the gallant Sixth, whose tramp awoke 
 young men everywhere to deeds of bravery, started 
 on their glorious mission of saving their country from 
 dishonor and disgrace ! 
 
 The light showers that fell in the morning seemed 
 like tears from heaven shed upon our loved ones as 
 they marched away with their glistening arms and 
 proudly floating banners. And how the heart swelled 
 to look upon that array ! For there, side by side, 
 were those of all creeds, trades, professions, and orders 
 of society. They had come from the loom and the 
 farm, the workshop and the counter and the law- 
 office, all united in heart and soul on their great 
 mission, and actuated by one heroic purpose, the sub- 
 lime spirit of patriotism. Truly, love of country is 
 the one touch of nature that makes the whole world 
 ^33 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 kin. What mingled feelings swept through the mind, 
 and what a baptism of new emotions thrilled one's 
 being, on looking upon that blue-coated throng in 
 whose ranks were our friends and brothers ! The 
 streets were filled with people, handkerchiefs waved 
 from the windows, men cheered and cried, " God bless 
 you," as you marched by on your noble mission, and 
 our brave boys carried our hearts away with them 
 when the last good-byes were uttered, and the reced- 
 ing train bore them from our sight out of the station. 
 
 Yours was no courage born of bravado or the desire 
 for wreaking vengeance on your enemies, but a calm 
 determination, born of love for the old flag and for 
 the right ; a righteous indignation, a conscientious pur- 
 pose to prevent wrong from triumphing, and show to 
 the world that a republic planted on the glorious 
 tenets of that Declaration which proclaimed that all 
 men were born free and equal should endure. 
 
 The monarchies of the Old World, ever the foes of 
 liberty, looked on with cruel glee to see the banner 
 which waved at Bunker Hill, terrified at Saratoga and 
 triumphed at Yorktown, trodden under foot and go- 
 ing down through the treachery of its own children. 
 Sister republics and the enslaved countries across the 
 sea and the great Mexico gulf, that had once dreamed 
 of liberty like ours, wept to see that flag which had 
 so long been the symbol of freedom throughout the 
 world dragged in the dust. 
 134 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 They felt that the light of the universe was about 
 to be extinguished, and that the beacon that for nearly 
 one hundred years had burned so brightly upon the 
 heights, as a splendid lesson of equal rights and 
 democracy, was to go out in blood and darkness. 
 
 But our cause, like that which precipitated the 
 glorious revolution of the century before, raised up 
 armies and created navies. 
 
 Where, throughout the history of the Old World in 
 the past, was there ever anything like that great 
 uprising of the loyal North, and the celerity with 
 which crude material was transformed into a well- 
 trained army? 
 
 All the hosts mustered by Persia, Greece, and Rome 
 far back in the past were levied for unjust conquest 
 and extension of territory. Their wars were wars of 
 extermination, and these armies were from their youth 
 trained to military service. Xerxes, Alexander, and 
 Caesar, and later Cromwell and Napoleon, conquered 
 by the aid of the best fighting blood in the world, 
 perfectly disciplined in every detail which goes to 
 make up a thorough soldier. 
 
 The standing army of our country numbered 
 scarcely twenty-five thousand men in April, 1861. 
 
 No country ever presented such a spectacle as was 
 seen on the receipt of the news of the fall of Sumter 
 and the fight in Baltimore. 
 
 But there were giants in those days, and armed 
 ^35 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 men sprang up as quickly as from the sowing of the 
 dragon's teeth of old, were furnished with mihtary 
 equipments, and manipulated into well-trained soldiers. 
 Those who thought the North composed of men whose 
 souls never rose above traffic and money-getting, saw 
 a mighty host spring up, the flower of the country, as 
 if by magic, destined to become invincible. 
 
 But oh ! the horrors of intestine war, when a haze 
 of civil blood rises from the battlefields, obscuring 
 the light and almost blotting out the stars of heaven ; 
 when the sacred ties which unite families are broken 
 asunder ; when the horrors of violence and rapine put 
 to shame all the kindlier human sentiments; when 
 business is prostrated and commerce destroyed ; and 
 when the dread of the sectional bitterness of after 
 years is added to the attendant horrors of a strife 
 which reddens the earth with fratricidal blood, and 
 displays all the malignant attributes of the human 
 heart unsoftened by any dram of mercy. 
 
 After the excitement attendant upon the depar- 
 ture of our troops had in a measure passed away, 
 came the period of intense anxiety at home for 
 you, our loved ones, who had marched away so 
 gloriously, — those dark days when the news of disaster 
 came and our hearts were oppressed by the gloom of 
 defeat on hearing of such fields as Bull Run, Fred- 
 ericksburg, and Chancellorsville. 
 
 Then would come the days when our souls were in 
 136 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 the robings of glory, and were lifted to a height of 
 exaltation when the telegraph flashed over its wires 
 such glorious victories as those of Farragut at New 
 Orleans, Hooker among the clouds on Lookout 
 Mountain, Sheridan at Winchester, Sherman on his 
 march to the sea, the Monitor's triumph over the 
 Merrimac, and of Grant, the great commander at 
 Vicksburg and Appomattox. 
 
 These days of despair were rendered somewhat 
 more endurable by throwing ourselves heart and soul 
 into work for our dear boys at the front. We not 
 only thought of you and prayed for you, but with a 
 purpose born of the same spirit that actuated you, 
 love for the old flag, we also were eager to do and 
 suffer in its defence. 
 
 Gigantic labors in the shape of sanitary and Chris- 
 tian fairs, planned by noble women at home, helped 
 fill our coflers for your relief; and in those days labor 
 was love, that we too might give ourselves heart and 
 soul in the service of our beloved country. 
 
 Is it too much praising of my sex to speak here of 
 our part in these dreadful years? 
 
 Although it was not the province of woman to bear 
 the musket and knapsack to far-ofi" battlefields, yet she 
 did not shrink from heavy burdens for the brave sol- 
 diers who were fighting for her, and confronted the 
 terrible aspects of the war with true heroism. 
 
 I never look into the Council Chamber below that 
 137 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 I do not see that band of noble women, who never 
 flagged in their devotion to the sick and wounded 
 soldiers, hard at work day after day, preparing cloth- 
 ing, lint, bandages, and havelocks, planning and man- 
 aging sanitary fairs to raise money, true to themselves 
 and to you in those days of trial and sorrow. 
 
 That was no time for the pursuit of selfish plans or 
 pleasure. Deaf to all calls but those of love and duty, 
 thus did the loyal women of the North labor early and 
 late in that righteous cause. 
 
 Our devotion to the soldiers was a kind of worship, 
 the homage which our sex naturally pays to manly 
 daring and heroism ; for if it is the province of wo- 
 man to be loving and faithful till death, God has also 
 implanted in her soul a deep reverence for courage 
 and brilliant achievements sublime as yours ; and often 
 the same delicate hands that were wrung with anguish 
 at the departure of loved ones, endued with strength 
 from on high, performed many offices much against 
 their gentle nature. They bound up the bleeding limb 
 or supported the head of some dying soldier whose 
 last breath was a farewell to the dear ones at home 
 mingled with blessing for his kind and gentle nurse. 
 Many of you still treasure the memory of some tender 
 woman in a far-off hospital who was a ministering 
 angel in your time of distress and agony. 
 
 Perhaps it would be more modest for me to quote 
 on this subject the words of our noble President him- 
 
 138 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 self, one of the greatest martyrs in this war, Abraham 
 Lincoln. 
 
 " In this extraordinary war," said he, *' extraor- 
 dinary developments have manifested themselves, such 
 as we have not seen in former wars ; and among these 
 manifestations nothing has been more remarkable 
 than the great fairs gotten up for the reHef of the suf- 
 fering soldiers and their families, and the chief agents 
 in these fairs are the women of America. I am not 
 accustomed to the use of language or eulogy ; I have 
 never studied the art of paying compliments to wo- 
 men ; but I must say that if all that has been said by 
 orators and poets since the creation of the world in 
 the praise of women were applied to the women of 
 America, it would not do them justice for their con- 
 duct in this war. I will close by saying, ' God bless 
 the women of America!'" 
 
 But their work did not end with the war of the 
 Rebellion. You behold around you now their labors 
 of sisterly love and sympathy, and the race of heroines 
 still lives in our country. They are with us to-day, 
 the noble and devoted women of the relief corps, who 
 never weary in the labors they have taken upon them- 
 selves, — that of devotion, heart and soul, to the Grand 
 Army of our Republic. 
 
 But although work is a great panacea for troubled 
 minds, you were ever present in our thoughts. We 
 saw you in the camp, in its dull and tedious round of 
 139 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 duties, so far removed from domestic influences, un- 
 softened by the refining and civilizing presence of 
 woman, with its alternate exaltations and depressions 
 of excitement and dulness, the latter broken at inter- 
 vals by a letter from the dear ones at home, full of 
 courage and hope, telling you, while the tears of the 
 writer fell thick and fast, almost blotting out the words 
 of hope and encouragement, to stay to the end and 
 fight for home and country. 
 
 We followed you in the long and tedious marches, 
 through heat and cold, mud and dust, under drench- 
 ing rains, a prey to the agonies of hunger and thirst ; 
 resting on the hard ground with no covering but the 
 sky above ; on picket guard in storm and darkness ; 
 on the sentinel's lonely beat ; amid the insidious 
 malaria, which, like a slow poison, sapped the springs 
 of life and claimed its victims by thousands ; in the 
 awful prison-house, wasting away so that reason was 
 almost destroyed and the light of the soul nearly ex- 
 tinguished ; on the decks of ships amid a rain of fiery 
 shot and shell; under the terrible smoke cloud of 
 battle ; at the cannon's mouth ; face to face with 
 bayonet and bullet ; meeting the king of terrors with 
 a courage unshrinking, manly, and sublime, and after 
 the battle gathering together the mangled remains of 
 the dead and dying ; never knowing dismay or fear, 
 striking the shackles from four million slaves, saving the 
 flag from ruin, and then, after the joyful bells had rung 
 140 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 out the glorious news of peace, quietly laying down 
 the musket no longer needed, returning home with no 
 undue pride or arrogance for the noble deeds achieved, 
 and resuming the peaceful avocations so rudely inter- 
 rupted by the country's call to arms. 
 
 And now " stern visaged War has smoothed his 
 wrinkled front," the blessed light of Peace has come. 
 For nearly thirty years has she brooded over our be- 
 loved country ; mild-eyed and lovely, she is enthroned 
 in our midst ; the sound of industry is heard through- 
 out the land ; no longer do we hear wives and mothers 
 weeping to see their loved ones go forth to battle ; 
 no more do we live through the terrible agony of 
 awaiting tidings from the field of carnage ; we see no 
 young women wearing widow's weeds for the noble 
 husband lying far off in a Southern grave, no little 
 children orphaned by the cruelties of war ; no more 
 are our hearts torn with anguish at the news of dire 
 defeat, or startled to hear the dread announcement 
 that the President has called for more defenders of 
 the old flag. And to whom do we owe this immunity 
 from heartache and w^oe? To you, soldiers of the 
 Grand Army, to you, our old friends and neighbors, 
 and to such as you, do we avow the debt of gratitude 
 which we can never repay. It is you who have lifted 
 up our glorious banner and planted it firmly on the 
 heights as a proof of the triumph of right. It is you 
 who have illustrated the glorious words of Lincoln 
 141 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 that " a government of the people, for the people, 
 and by the people should not perish from the 
 earth." 
 
 Yet 5^ou are not all here. Who can think without 
 emotion of that grand army of the dead, scattered 
 over our now happy and united country? Lying low 
 in their narrow tents, no battle cry wakens them to 
 conflict, they cannot see our tears of joy, they cannot 
 hear our words of gratitude and thanksgiving over a 
 restored country. 
 
 What can our trembling voices say of those who 
 died during the nation's hour of trial, some on 
 the battlefield, some in the hospitals of pain, some 
 in the lonely prison cell ? The remembrance is heart- 
 breaking ; but how glorious the thought that, in the 
 solemn time to come, when the celestial bugler 
 shall sound out the last reveille, the grand army of 
 the dead shall march with gallant tread to their 
 heavenly station, and that there you will meet the 
 brave comrade who fell beside you at the cannon's 
 mouth, breathed out his life on a hospital cot, or 
 famished in a dreary prison. 
 
 Occupying this position upon this platform to-day, 
 I feel almost as if I stood on consecrated ground, for 
 is it not a hallowed spot where thirty-two years ago 
 rested the body of the first martyr of the Rebellion ? 
 
 Never shall I forget the solemnity and pathos of 
 that day, — the burden of sadness that weighed down 
 142 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 our whole city, when, in obedience to the beautiful 
 orders of our great war governor, Andrew, the bodies 
 of the nation's dead were tenderly brought back to 
 their New England homes, from which, a few days 
 before, they had started out with all the ardor and 
 enthusiasm of youth ; the scene in this edifice where 
 we are now convened; the dim light which came 
 through the heavily draped windows, as of some great 
 cathedral ; the solitary sentinels pacing back and forth 
 before the bier; the solemn stillness; the hushed 
 tread of thousands ; the sobs of women ; and the 
 manly form of him, the first martyr, covered with the 
 folds of the old flag he had died to save. 
 
 What a lesson in patriotism was impressed upon the 
 minds of the young who witnessed the scene ! Those 
 wounds spoke with a clarion voice, bidding them 
 take up the same duty in the discharge of which 
 Needham nobly died. 
 
 That was the most impressive procession that ever 
 moved with mournful tread through our city's streets, 
 as they bore the remains of the hero to their last 
 resting-place, while bared heads and emblems of 
 mourning along the route spoke of hearts bowed 
 down with woe and sorrow. It was the sight of an 
 entire community suspending its business and giving 
 itself up to mourning and tears. 
 
 But, year by year, these manly ranks grow smaller ; 
 time, as well as the sword, has thinned the ranks of 
 143 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 the grand old army. Many that marched beside you 
 in battle, charged up the heights with you to meet 
 the foe, and kept step with yours in this beautiful me- 
 morial of decorating the graves of comrades, are now 
 silent. Beloved voices that have cheered you on are 
 hushed in death, and many a manly form which has 
 often sat by your side at these exercises has laid him 
 down in the last sleep. The dear old comrades, how 
 gladly would you have kept them with you for the sake 
 of the old days which knit you together like brothers ! 
 
 Shall I speak of one gentle friend, the scholar, the 
 soldier, and the Christian gentleman, who a year ago 
 came to take his place in these beloved ranks as he 
 had done for many Memorial days in the past? 
 Holding many positions of trust in our city, and at one 
 time occupying the chair of chief magistrate, a guar- 
 dian and promoter of everything tending to our 
 progress, in all these positions which he filled so well, 
 never did he appear more proudly to our hearts than 
 as the grand young soldier when on that day in '6i he 
 left home, family, friends, and position, and nobly gave 
 up all for country. 
 
 The summons of the great Commander came to 
 our beloved Captain Rollins, as it must come to all, 
 and found him ready ; for we hold close to the beauti- 
 ful promise, "The pure in heart shall see God." 
 Another brave comrade, the echo of whose well-known 
 voice has hardly died away within these walls, has 
 144 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 passed from your ranks, and to-day his seat is vacant, 
 his earthly march is over, his duty is done, and his 
 name is transferred to the heavenly bead-roll. 
 
 When, a year ago, you gathered, he stood here in 
 all the pride and nobility of manhood, the friend of 
 the soldier, who had himself fought so bravely in his 
 youth for home and fatherland, one whom you de- 
 lighted to honor, your beloved Commander Phillips, 
 of Needham Post of Lawrence. 
 
 Very recently, in our sister city of Lowell, one of 
 your greatest generals has been mustered out, and has 
 joined the silent army that is ever adding to its ranks ; 
 one of the first to show fidelity and loyalty to the old 
 flag, and who, in the furnace heat of our country's 
 peril, helped so nobly to guide the ship of state to a 
 safe and quiet haven. A son of Massachusetts, let 
 us be thankful that he has been spared to us through 
 so many years of peace to wear his nobly earned 
 laurels, and let us weave a wreath of bright immor- 
 telles for the brave old hero, who sleeps at last in the 
 soil of the old Bay State he loved and served so well. 
 Our country will always perpetuate upon the honored 
 pages of its history the memory of him who, whether 
 on battlefield or in the halls of state in peaceful 
 council, was ever loyal to the cause of liberty and 
 equality, Benjamin F. Butler, one of the great sons of 
 our republic. 
 
 How strangely subtle is the irony of this same his- 
 10 145 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 tory, or perhaps it ought to be called the irony of 
 Providence, and how truly it proves that those whom 
 the gods wish to destroy they first make mad ! The 
 assassins' daggers find the heart of Caesar, just as he 
 is placing Rome's imperial crown upon his brow. 
 No shadow of lonely St. Helena rests upon Napoleon 
 when his mighty conquests have almost placed the fair 
 continent of Europe within his grasp ; and Jefferson 
 Davis, the President of the Southern Confederacy, 
 chooses a capital for his seceded States, and selects a 
 " white house " as the abode of his power, when the 
 vaunted " stars and bars " had already begun to pale 
 before the ineffable brilliancy of the all-conquering 
 banner of the North. And now the news of the re- 
 moval of his remains from their resting-place at New 
 Orleans to his former capital, Richmond, where they 
 are to lie in state in that same " white house " selected 
 with all the arrogance of assured victory, creates 
 scarcely a ripple of excitement at the North, and, with 
 a momentary feeling of regret for our misguided 
 Southern brothers and a sigh for the "ill-weaved 
 ambition," now so shrunken, we compare this strange 
 mixture of funeral journey and shadowy remembrance 
 of military activity with the spontaneous outpouring of 
 grief and affection seen at the grave of Butler, and the 
 unparalleled grandeur of woe which marked the funeral 
 rites of our sainted Lincoln, when States and cities 
 rose to do honor to the second Washington of America. 
 146 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 We have no monumental piles, like Westminster 
 Abbey and the Pantheon, where we bring our noble 
 dead to rest after "life's fitful fever;" but what more 
 fitting resting-place than the beautiful home upon the 
 hillside, where you are to carry to-day your fragrant 
 offerings? The city of the dead overlooks the city 
 of the living. The sound of our labor and our in- 
 dustry seems to reach their ears as they lie asleep so 
 peacefully in their pleasant home, and the same morn- 
 ing sunbeam gilds with its light the stately monument 
 on our beautiful Common and the resting-place of 
 the heroes whose names are written upon its immortal 
 scroll. Happy thought that they are so near us, and 
 that, perhaps, their spirits hover over us to-day in 
 silent benediction ! They need no " storied urn " or 
 sculptured shaft ; their monument may be seen in a 
 reunited country and a preserved republic. 
 
 Well may we set apart this beautiful day of our 
 year, " the bridal of the earth and sky," to think of 
 our blessed dead, to bring lilies and violets and weave 
 a richly colored mantle for their resting-place on the 
 lap of earth with heaven's bright canopy above them. 
 
 It is well for you, old soldiers, to bring these offer- 
 ings, for they were your comrades. They went forth 
 with you to the field. You have sat around the same 
 camp-fire. You were all brothers of the same great 
 family, actuated by the same feelings and purposes 
 which spring from love of country. 
 147 . 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 It is well for us as a nation to hallow this day, to 
 set it apart from the world, to give up our daily labor 
 and business to gather here and let the past come 
 back to us with its haunting spell, its bitter remem- 
 brances, and its sacred memories, and let our 
 thoughts and prayers rise with the perfume of our 
 flowers toward that heaven where the spirits of heroes 
 dwell. 
 
 All nations have delighted to honor their sons who 
 fell in battle, and it is a pleasant thought that through- 
 out our land the people are hallowing this day by this 
 beautiful service, and that in all the various resting- 
 places of our soldier dead they bring their offerings, 
 pure as the memory of the patriots they delight to 
 honor, who laid down their lives that we might have 
 life and freedom. 
 
 Let us cherish the principles for which they fought, 
 let us try to perpetuate them, and let us transmit 
 them to those who take our places by reciting the 
 deeds they did. 
 
 Let the Sons of Veterans hand them down to the 
 remotest ages, and let these dear boys and girls of 
 the High School who have sung so sweetly those thrill- 
 ing war-songs of the past, be among those who will 
 never tire in the future of referring to the memory 
 of this day, and of recounting the deeds of the brave 
 soldiers of '6i, that our country to its latest day may 
 never forget those who saved our fatherland in its 
 148 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 hour of peril, and who risked their lives in defending 
 the honor of the flag. 
 
 Our country can never become unmindful of its 
 obligations to these its defenders, any more than it 
 can forget the deeds of Washington and that glorious 
 company of the Revolution, those other heroes who 
 bought our liberty with their hearts' blood. 
 
 The Grand Army of the nineteenth century and 
 that of the eighteenth belong to the same immortal 
 page of our country's history, although separated by 
 nearly one hundred years. 
 
 The remembrance of your achievements has not 
 only spurred the youth of our own country on to 
 deeds of honor, but in every country in the world 
 where the light of freedom has gleamed forth, they 
 have caused the nation's heart to beat in unison with 
 yours, and to-day we see nation after nation sweep- 
 ing into the line of progress. The old and corrupt 
 governments of Europe and Asia have felt their power, 
 and many have come out into the marvellous light of 
 liberty. The thrones of tyrants are tottering to their 
 base, old crowns tremble in the balance, and this great 
 tide of republicanism for which you fought and tri- 
 umphed shall continue to sweep on in its course until 
 the shackles shall fall from every limb, and the doc- 
 trine that all men have an equal right to life, liberty, 
 and the pursuit of happiness, shall be acknowledged 
 from sea to sea and from pole to pole. 
 149 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 And now, go forth, with step as proudly marching, 
 
 Old soldiers, brave and true. 
 As when you left us on that morn in April, 
 
 Wearing your coats of blue. 
 
 Go forth with music's sound, a people's blessing. 
 
 For this fair land of ours ; 
 Bearing with loving hands for fallen comrades 
 
 Your offering of flowers. 
 
 The starry banner which they died to honor 
 Floats o'er them while they sleep. 
 
 As when they nobly pressed to bloody conflict, 
 That flag from wrong to keep. 
 
 It almost seems as if they knew the coming 
 
 Of this sweet time of May, 
 And Hstened there for your beloved footsteps. 
 
 On each Memorial day. 
 
 In reverent love lay on their graves your garlands. 
 With hushed and solemn tread. 
 
 Walking amid those homes, so low and silent. 
 That bivouac of the dead. 
 
 A country's grandeur is not great possessions. 
 
 Riches are not its needs ; 
 A nobler power makes truly great a nation. 
 
 Its sum of splendid deeds. 
 
 150 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 To-day one country, from its farthest borders, 
 
 Making the oceans meet, 
 Brings her oblations of the palm and laurel 
 
 And lays them at your feet. 
 
 Long live our country, greater now and stronger 
 
 For your grand sacrifice ; 
 No shackles bind a land which has for watchword, 
 
 " Freedom at any price." 
 
 God bless our boys of this the grandest army 
 
 That ever met the foe ; 
 In loving pride we speed you on your mission, 
 
 We greet you as you go. 
 
 God bless our flag ! — no glorious star is missing, — 
 
 The flag of Washington ! 
 And bind us closer in unending union. 
 
 The many in the one. 
 
 Lawrence, May 30, 1893. 
 
 151 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 Address on Patriotism 
 
 STANDING here to address these ladies bearing 
 the honored name of " Daughters of the Revo- 
 lution," what a baptism of strange emotions sweeps 
 through the mind, and what thrilling pictures stand 
 out in the memory, as we look across the long stretch 
 of years to that memorable day of 1775 which may 
 be called the hinge of the eighteenth century as well 
 as the starting-point in our country's history, — that 
 day which settled forever the theory of self-govern- 
 ment, a theory that has developed into the tangible 
 fact of the great and honored republic in which our 
 lot is cast. 
 
 What a series of noble, historic paintings, more 
 brilHant than those of Vernet on the walls of Ver- 
 sailles commemorating the deeds of the great Napo- 
 leon, do we see stretching out in a long panorama 
 through the intervening century ! 
 
 We seem to hear " the shout, the shock, the crash 
 of steel," and see that noble army of untrained militia 
 meeting the experienced troops, which represented 
 152 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 the best fighting blood of Europe, with a courage 
 that challenged the admiration of the world and 
 caused other nations to seethe with ideas of popular 
 liberty. 
 
 There is Putnam, who has left his cattle yoked in 
 the field; Pomeroy, Buttrick, and Robinson, fresh 
 from the fight at Concord, all there in arms, and the 
 brave minute-m&n under the gallant Prescott are 
 throwing up the redoubt that is to meet the sur- 
 prised eyes of the regulars in the morning. Then 
 the '^ splendid sacrifice " comes sailing o'er the bay, 
 now dotted everywhere with the white sails of 
 peace. Beacon Hill is a pyramid of living faces 
 that watch with beating hearts the all-absorbing 
 scene. 
 
 We feel the awful stillness which has settled over 
 Charlestown, soon to be broken by the smoke and 
 crackling flames rising like incense to "the mailed 
 Mars that on his altar sits, up to the ears in blood." 
 Hundreds of men have fallen, the minute-men retreat 
 in good order over the long stretch of Charlestown 
 Neck, the first great battle of the Revolution has 
 been fought, and the troops of King George are left 
 to mourn over their victory. 
 
 Years pass, and there is thrown upon the historic 
 canvas another picture of which our fathers and 
 mothers were living witnesses. 
 
 Fifty years after the great battle comes again to 
 153 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 our shores the noble general who risked his life in 
 defence of a foreign land, and who bared his noble 
 bosom in the cause of strangers, — Lafayette, one of 
 the great benefactors of humanity. 
 
 The corner-stone is laid of that shaft which was to 
 " meet the sun in its coming," and which for so many 
 years has marked the dearest spot in New England to 
 the soul of the patriot. 
 
 How the heart swells to think of that scene when 
 America's greatest orator and the cherished friend of 
 Washington stood side by side on that hallowed spot 
 where fell the brave Warren, on whose grave you have 
 to-day laid your touching tribute of the laurel wreath. 
 There is a kinship between souls who are ready to 
 devote their lives to the cause of liberty, and a love 
 of freedom leads us to venerate the heroes of all 
 lands who have offered up their all upon the shrine of 
 their country. 
 
 The burning words of Louis Kossuth, which, as a 
 child, I heard from the historic eminence of Bunker 
 Hill, that patriot whose lips seemed to have been 
 touched with the very fire from the altar of liberty, 
 will ring forever in my memory. What wonder that 
 the great Hungarian, who seems destined never to 
 see the promised land of freedom for his country- 
 men, should be inspired to loftier sentiments standing 
 upon the spot from which has blazed a beacon light 
 to all nations struggling for liberty. 
 154 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 I remember, many years ago, in my childhood, 
 when a soldier's grave was a rare sight to see, straying 
 into the old cemetery in the rear of Main Street, in 
 Charlestown, where was a tomb before which many 
 stopped to do reverence. 
 
 It was no splendid monument of sculptured marble 
 that arrested the eye, only a lowly stone, on which 
 were inscribed these words, so full of pathos, " He 
 fought in the Revolution ; " and summer after summer 
 few passed that way without entering the sacred en- 
 closure to do honor to the unknown hero who had 
 girded on his sword in his country's time of peril to 
 win for her deliverance ; and thus the world loves to 
 honor that glorious spirit of patriotism which, perhaps, 
 above all others, in its divine usefulness, tends to 
 strengthen the ties of human brotherhood and " make 
 the world kin." 
 
 Who can estimate the controlling influence of early 
 culture and youthful surroundings? Born and reared 
 under the shadow of that eminence where the great 
 battle which we are now commemorating was fought, 
 the approach of this honored anniversary always fills 
 me with a desire to throw aside all ordinary cares and 
 join the enthusiastic throng that surges around that 
 noble monument, which, as it ascends to heaven, 
 brings to mind lessons of patriotism, of loyalty to 
 duty, and inspires a feeling of love and veneration for 
 the names of those who "lived to tread on kings," 
 155 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 and who have made immortal the pages of our coun- 
 try's history. 
 
 We women of America ought especially to hallow 
 the memory of this day which has made it possible 
 for our lives to be cast in such pleasant places, under 
 a government which is at once the glory and admira- 
 tion of the world. 
 
 America may well be called the paradise of woman, 
 for in all the great movements of our large-hearted 
 republic none of her children have gained more than 
 we by her progress, and it is the crowning glory of 
 our Christian civilization that it has unfolded the in- 
 tellect of woman, elevated her to new dignity, and 
 added a new element to the motive power of our 
 progress. 
 
 To such a country we owe our most ardent love 
 and fervent patriotism. 
 
 Let the mothers and teachers who are surrounded 
 by the purity and sanctity of childhood perpetuate 
 these great principles for which Washington fought 
 and Warren fell. Tell them often of those heroes 
 who left the plough and workshop to die or to be 
 free. Do not fear that the stories of Hancock and 
 Adams, of Patrick Henry and Paul Revere, will be- 
 come stale or hackneyed. 
 
 Speak to them of love of country, that mysterious 
 and indefinable motive which thrills the heart and 
 nerves the hand to give up all that is held most dear, 
 
 156 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 even life itself; that feeling which makes the sight of 
 one's flag, that symbol of nationality, thrill the heart 
 with emotion, and which lifts us up from all sordid 
 and selfish motives into the brotherhood of common 
 interests and hopes. 
 
 Let not the grandeur of success or the flush of vic- 
 tory dull our enthusiasm for " the land of the free 
 and the home " — still we beheve of women as de- 
 voted as those of the Revolution and men as brave as 
 those who fought one hundred and eighteen years 
 ago on the sacred height of Bunker Hifl. 
 
 The years are gone, and through the misty cloud- 
 land, 
 
 That stretches far between. 
 Comes to our gaze the most inspiring picture 
 
 The world has ever seen. 
 
 Old Charlestown's heights with armed men are 
 swarming. 
 
 The summer air is still ; 
 And many a heart with courage high is beating. 
 
 This night on Bunker Hill. 
 
 Now, with calm trust and childlike faith adoring. 
 
 They kneel upon the sod. 
 And call to aid the arbiter of battles, 
 
 Their Father and their God. 
 157 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 And will they dare, those young and untried soldiers, 
 
 With freedom's flame aglow, 
 Meet face to face, in that uncertain conflict, 
 
 So trained and skilled a foe? 
 
 Look on the record of our country's story, 
 
 And read the wondrous tale. 
 How that small army of New England heroes 
 
 Made veteran thousands quail. 
 
 Learn there with tears of this most precious ransom 
 
 They paid for you and me, 
 That this fair Western land of hope and promise 
 
 Might evermore be free. 
 
 Daughters of sires like these, whose deeds immortal 
 
 We celebrate to-day, 
 Keep in your heart of hearts this great example, 
 
 To guide you on your way. 
 
 Tell to your children of those sainted heroes, 
 
 Martyrs to want and woe. 
 Marking their course, through cruel blasts of winter, 
 
 By blood tracks on the snow. 
 
 We greet you, as at freedom's call you gather 
 
 Within these famous walls. 
 That oft have echoed to deep words of wisdom 
 
 And duty's sacred calls. 
 
 158 
 
ADDRESSES 
 
 Historic Boston, throned upon her hill-tops, 
 
 Like Rome, the queen of old, 
 Bids these fair " Daughters of the Revolution " 
 
 Welcome one hundred fold ! 
 
 May God, who gave this day of blessed memory. 
 
 Be with our nation still. 
 As when it nobly stood for home and country 
 
 On sacred Bunker Hill. 
 
 159 
 
Emily Greene Wetherbee 
 
 From a Memorial Adopted by the Lawrence School 
 Committee, 1897. 
 
 MISS WETHERBEE was naturally endowed for 
 leadership. To encourage honest thought, to 
 inspire noble effort, to champion the right, to ennoble 
 manhood and exalt womanhood, to purify and beau- 
 tify society, and pre-eminently to knit the hearts of 
 men together in bonds of fraternity and brotherhood, 
 — this was her holy mission. And to the fulfilment 
 of this mission she consecrated unreservedly and un- 
 ceasingly her wondrously priceless gifts and powers 
 and talents, — her poetry, her oratory, her wit, her 
 humor, her optimism, her sunniness, her gentleness, 
 her loveliness, — her life itself. She became a social 
 blessing. She graced every civic occasion, always a 
 trusty leader of the people. She loved her neighbor, 
 and she dwelt in the neighborhood of humanity. 
 She loved her friend, but all the time mankind was 
 near her heart. Her mind could not be shackled to 
 the narrowness of conceit or prejudice; she recog- 
 nized distinctions neither of class nor race nor creed. 
 II 161 
 
EMILY GREENE WETHERBEE 
 
 She dwelt above us all in the spiritual realms of uni- 
 versal love, and there she remains transfigured. 
 
 For twenty-seven years this noble, dignified, un- 
 assuming, womanly woman was associated with the 
 youth of our city in the public High School, their 
 counsellor, their guide, their friend, almost a mother. 
 It is here we delight in picturing her, as the princess 
 of teachers, the incarnation of inspiration, awaken- 
 ing ambitions, distributing encouragement and cheer, 
 pointing out the paths that lead to duty, rectitude, 
 and honor, herself unconsciously all the while an 
 exemplar of all that is virtuous and best. She led 
 the way toward the higher moral, intellectual, and 
 spiritual life. May all those who loved her and all 
 who were of her beloved, reverently and patiently 
 follow in her footsteps. 
 
 162 
 
Lines 
 
 In Memory of E. G. W. 
 
 HERS was a nature rich and rare ; 
 She moved with inborn power and grace, — 
 Truth, loyalty, and right her guides, — 
 A kindly love shone in her face ; 
 She ne'er denied a pleading soul, 
 Or spurned a just and righteous cause. 
 We bless her memory, and rejoice 
 That she in life was what she was. 
 We would not add, change, or amend ; 
 We would have kept her if we could. 
 She led and taught in loyal faith ; 
 Her words, her thoughts, her acts were good. 
 
 R. H. T. 
 
 163 
 
FEB 23 1899