•ABOOKOF'VERSES 
 
 WXON -WATERMAN 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. J:.'^.„.T;opy right No. 
 
 Shelf. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
\ 
 
 X 
 
A BOOK OF VERSES 
 
'ABO OK OF 
 VERSES 
 
 NIXON WATERMAN 
 
 FORBES 6 COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON (t CHICAGO 
 
 -Mrt r c r r 
 
"Ip^^-^b^b Copyright, 1900, by 
 
 Nixon Waterman 
 
 ,-\rs/a COPIES FtECElVEO, 
 
 \ LJt^rairy of Coisgrt«% 
 
 OfHie of tli8 
 
 eiegUtar of Cop^rfsfaf% 
 
 ...l>-iLtioO 
 
 TITLEPAGE AND COVER DE- 
 SIGN BY HOWARD BOWEN 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Bachelor's Reverie 56 
 
 A Day- Dream . . . .' 195 
 
 A Dream at the Desk . 79 
 
 A Fo'cas'le Ballad 114 
 
 A Happy Family 198 
 
 A Love Song 68 
 
 A Middle-Aged Love Story . 48 
 
 A Mining-Camp Incident c . 158 
 
 An Autumnal Reverie 169 
 
 An Idol of Clay 58 
 
 An Old-Fashioned Picture ....... 108 
 
 An Old Man's Love . ro3 
 
 An Open Letter to the Pessimist . . . , . 120 
 
 A Robin's Song at Daybreak 36 
 
 A Rose to the Living 9 
 
 A Thrush's Song 96 
 
 Aunt Lucinda's Cookies 173 
 
 A Walk through the Woods 37 
 
 A Winter Reverie 87 
 
 Bitter-Sweet 71 
 
 Broken Dolls 226 
 
 iii 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Could We but ICnow 74 
 
 Deacon Skinner's Idee 146 
 
 "Don't!" 212 
 
 Easyville 144 
 
 Environment 52 
 
 Far from the Madding Crowd 66 
 
 Field Flowers 65 
 
 Following the Band 178 
 
 For her Dear Sake 27 
 
 Friends 93 
 
 God only Knows 94 
 
 Graduation-Day Essay 128 
 
 Grandfather's Reverie 141 
 
 Hank Haines's Philosophy 156 
 
 Her and Me .... 98 
 
 House and Home 113 
 
 "How be Ye, Jim?" 133 
 
 I Got to Go to School 221 
 
 In the Firelight loi 
 
 I Wish and I Will 201 
 
 June 49 
 
 Just Common Folks 20 
 
 Life's Springtime 77 
 
 Life's Ways 18 
 
 Linden Street 25 
 
 Love and Reason 24 
 
 Me an' 'Liza Jane 166 
 
 iv 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Memories 45 
 
 Mother's Apron-Strings 184 
 
 My Castle in Spain 38 
 
 My Castle of Gold 13 
 
 My Lady's Heart 44 
 
 My Old Hobby-Horse 205 
 
 My Uncle Charley 215 
 
 Nature's Promise 100 
 
 Now and Waitawhile 192 
 
 Once in a While 11 
 
 Our Dark-Day Friends no 
 
 Peace on Earth 64 
 
 Recompense in 
 
 Regarding Santa Claus 218 
 
 Serenade 76 
 
 Since Papa does n't Drink 210 
 
 Take it Easy 164 
 
 Thanksgiving 10 
 
 That Little Back Room, Top Floor 69 
 
 The Angelic Husband 123 
 
 The Battle along the Shore 29 
 
 The Child and the Butterfly 214 
 
 The Children of Earth 81 
 
 The Dream-Song 15 
 
 The Empire Ship 42 
 
 The Every-Day Poet 135 
 
 The Garden of Genius 85 
 
 V 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Girl who Loved Him SO 125 
 
 The Golden Age 177 
 
 The Joy-Bringer 207 
 
 The " Jumpin'-off Place " 162 
 
 The Land of Dreams 83 
 
 The Life School 200 
 
 The Man in the Cab 116 
 
 The Moonbeam's Message 91 
 
 The Mother's Dream 180 
 
 The Old Bell- Cow i75 
 
 The Old, Old Story 54 
 
 The Old Wife 34 
 
 The Perfect Day 112 
 
 The Playhouse 50 
 
 The Prairie-Fire 31 
 
 The Procrastinationist 154 
 
 The Red Rose 106 
 
 The Rose and the Lily 17 
 
 The Second Table 223 
 
 The Secret of Success . 190 
 
 The Song the Kettle Sings 59 
 
 The Unwritten Letter 186 
 
 The Village Genius 130 
 
 The Way to Sleepytown 203 
 
 The Whistling Boy 18S 
 
 The Wine of Life 23 
 
 The World's Victors 182 
 
 vi 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Worshippers 132 
 
 The Year's DeHghts 47 
 
 To the End 75 
 
 Toward Sunset 72 
 
 Uncle Nathan's Notion 148 
 
 When Grandma Shuts her Eyes 62 
 
 When Shakespeare Wrote 122 
 
 When She was Near 40 
 
 When the Summer Boarders Come 150 
 
 When the Train Comes in 137 
 
 When to be Happy 118 
 
 Which Road? 22 
 
 "Whither?" 171 
 
 Yellow Butterflies 89 
 
 vii 
 
A BOOK OF VERSES 
 
 A ROSE TO THE LIVING 
 
 A ROSE to the living is more 
 
 Than sumptuous wreaths to the dead ; 
 In filling love's infinite store, 
 A rose to the living is more, 
 If graciously given before 
 
 The hungering spirit is fled, — 
 A rose to the living is more 
 
 Than sumptuous wreaths to the dead. 
 
THANKSGIVING 
 
 T T 7ERE there no God, I still would thank The 
 
 * ^ Source, though all unknown, 
 
 Wherein are born the joys of men, the gifts I call 
 
 my own. 
 The heart impels the tongue to speak since to 
 
 my lot belong 
 A woman's love, a sheaf of grain, a lily and a 
 
 song. 
 
 The savage beast, the poison vine, the evil of the 
 
 earth, — 
 I know not if the good and bad were only one at 
 
 birth ; 
 But all the world seems gracious when I set 
 
 against the wrong 
 A woman's love, a sheaf of grain, a lily and a 
 
 song. 
 
 lO 
 
ONCE IN A WHILE 
 
 |NCE in a while the sun shines out, 
 
 And the arching skies are a perfect blue ; 
 Once in a while mid clouds of doubt 
 
 Hope's brightest stars come peeping through. 
 Our paths lead down by the meadows fair, 
 
 Where the sweetest blossoms nod and smile. 
 And we lay aside our cross of care 
 Once in a while. 
 
 Once in a while within our own 
 
 We clasp the hand of a steadfast friend ; 
 
 Once in a while we hear a tone 
 
 Of love with the heart's own voice to blend; 
 
 And the dearest of all our dreams come true, 
 And on life's way is a golden mile ; 
 
 Each thirsting flower is kissed with dew 
 Once in a while. 
 
 Once in a while in the desert sand 
 We find a spot of the fairest green ; 
 
 Once in a while from where we stand 
 The hills of Paradise are seen ; 
 II 
 
Once in a While 
 
 And a perfect joy in our hearts we hold, 
 
 A joy that the world cannot defile ; 
 We trade earth's dross for the purest gold 
 Once in a while. 
 
 12 
 
*5R 
 
 MY CASTLE OF GOLD 
 
 IF the fairies should build me a castle of gold 
 And wreathe it with flower and vine, 
 And set it with jewels of value untold, 
 
 And fill it with music and wine ; 
 'T would still be a sorrowful prison of gloom. 
 
 My spirit would long to be free, j 
 
 And Love would lie weeping his grief in the 
 tomb, / 
 
 Were you ne'er to share it with me. Y 
 
 Should the Fates, in the sorriest hut, say I must 
 
 Forever abide, to their law 
 I would happily bow; I would live on a crust, 
 
 I would lie on a pallet of straw, 
 I would crown me with thorns, I would fervently 
 pray 
 
 My joy-time might never be o'er, 
 If you, O my love ! could pass by every day 
 
 And, smiling, look in at the door. 
 13 
 
My Castle of Gold 
 
 For you are my marvelous castle of gold, 
 
 And you are my flower and vine, 
 And you are my jewels of value untold, 
 
 And you are my music and wine. 
 Alone, and a famine stalks close at my side. 
 
 The joys of the living have ceased ; 
 With you, and the world is as fair as a bride. 
 
 And filled with a fount and a feast. 
 
 14 
 
THE DREAM-SONG 
 
 /^ H, the drip, drip, drip of the rain, the rain, 
 ^^ The drip, drip, drip of the rain ; 
 The sweet, sad song the whole night long 
 
 Is sung in my drowsy brain. 
 In a dream I rest in the old home nest, 
 
 And my mother comes again 
 As came she oft with a step as soft 
 
 As the drip, drip, drip of the rain. 
 The rain. 
 
 The drip, drip, drip of the rain. 
 
 Oh, the drip, drip, drip of the rain, the rain, 
 
 The drip, drip, drip of the rain ; 
 As it weaves the woof of the song on the roof 
 
 With the warp of the sound at the pane. 
 And my dream-ship sails with the happy gales 
 
 That ripple the broad, blue main. 
 While the waves, soft-tossed, in my dreams are lost 
 
 Mid the drip, drip, drip of the rain, 
 The rain. 
 
 The drip, drip, drip of the rain. 
 IS 
 
The Dream-Song 
 
 Oh, the drip, drip, drip of the rain, the rain, 
 
 The drip, drip, drip of the rain ; 
 Like the drowsy croon of bees in June 
 
 Is the song and the soft refrain. 
 And I drift away through a golden bay 
 
 By the shores of my castled Spain, 
 While my soul grows young in the dream-song sung 
 
 Mid the drip, drip, drip of the rain, 
 The rain, 
 
 The drip, drip, drip of the rain. 
 
 i6 
 
THE ROSE AND THE LILY 
 
 A RED rose in the garden sighed 
 
 To be the south wind's happy bride, 
 And when the rover wooing came 
 Her heart with love was all aflame. 
 With honeyed word and soft caress 
 He won his bride of loveliness, 
 And all her leaves so warm and fair 
 He scattered, ah ! I know not where. 
 
 A stately lily, standing near, 
 From every wooer turned her ear 
 With dignity that nearly froze. 
 As though to chide the foolish rose. 
 Nor came there lover with the art 
 To charm her cold, unfeeling heart; 
 She glanced disdainfully at them 
 Until she withered on her stem. 
 
 Oh, mingled joys that blight and bless ! 
 Which knew the truer happiness, — 
 The lily pure with heart of frost. 
 Or warm, red rose that loved and lost? 
 17 
 
LIFE'S WAYS 
 
 THE ways are long I walk alone, — 
 The fields are dull and dreary ; 
 The paths are set with thorn and stone, • 
 
 My heart is worn and weary. 
 But skies are all a tender blue, 
 
 And filled with sunny weather, 
 When in the paths of joy we two 
 Walk, hand in hand, together. 
 
 I hear the happy thrushes tune 
 
 Their song in bush and bower; 
 I hear the bees their story croon 
 
 From honeyed flower to flower. 
 The music stirs me with distress, — 
 
 I cannot kindly bear it. 
 For, oh, there is no joy unless 
 
 Your heart with mine may share it. 
 
 Oh, come with me and glad the way 
 With eyes of beauty smiling ; 
 
 December seems as glad as May 
 In your divine beguiling. 
 i8 
 
Life's Ways 
 
 For, though we stray through gardens fair, 
 
 Or weary wastes of heather, 
 The paths are good and golden where 
 
 We two may walk together. 
 
 19 
 
JUST COMMON FOLKS 
 
 A HUNDRED humble songsters trill 
 ^ ^ The notes that to their lays belong, 
 Where just one nightingale might fill 
 
 The place with its transcendent song. 
 Fame comes to men, and with its smile 
 
 Some favored soul with greatness cloaks. 
 And leaves a thousand else the while 
 
 To be for aye just common folks. 
 
 If only sweetest bells were rung, 
 
 How we should miss the minor chimes ! 
 If only grandest poets sung, 
 
 There 'd be no simple, little rhymes. 
 The modest, clinging vines add grace 
 
 To all the forest's giant oaks, 
 And mid earth's mighty is a place 
 
 To people with just common folks. 
 
 Not they the warriors who shall win 
 
 Upon the battlefield a name 
 To sound above the awful din ; 
 
 Not theirs the painter's deathless fame ; 
 20 
 
Just Common Folks 
 
 Nor theirs the poet's muse that brings 
 The rhythmic gift his soul invokes : 
 
 Theirs but to do the simple things 
 That duty gives just common folks. 
 
 They are the multitudes of earth 
 
 And mingle ever with the crowd, 
 Elbowing those of equal birth, 
 
 Where none because of caste is proud. 
 Bound by a strange, capricious fate, 
 
 That ofttimes its decree revokes, 
 Between the lowly and the great 
 
 Are millions of just common folks. 
 
 Fate has not lifted them above 
 
 The level of the human plane ; 
 They share with men a fellow-love, 
 
 In touch with pleasure and with pain. 
 One great, far-reaching brotherhood, 
 
 With common burdens, common yokes, 
 And common wrongs and common good — 
 
 God's army of just common folks. 
 
 21 
 
WHICH ROAD? 
 
 TF you could go back to the forks of the road, 
 
 Back the long miles you have carried the load ; 
 Back to the place where you had to decide 
 By this way or that through your life to abide ; 
 Back of the grieving and back of the care, 
 Back to the place where the future was fair, — 
 If you were this day that decision to make, 
 O brother in sorrow ! which road would you take ? 
 
 Then suppose that again to the forks you went 
 
 back, 
 After you 'd trodden the other long track ; 
 After you 'd found that its promises fair 
 Were all a delusion that led to a snare, — 
 That the road you first travelled with sighs and 
 
 unrest, 
 Though dreary and rough, was most graciously 
 
 blest, 
 With balm for each bruise and a charm for each 
 
 ache, — 
 O brother in sorrow ! which road would you take ? 
 
THE WINE OF LIFE 
 
 "^'OU 'd call her plain-faced, did you pass 
 her by 
 
 In an unthinking mood, nor hear her speak, 
 Nor catch the soul-light burning in her eye. 
 
 Its flame close-hidden by her modest cheek. 
 But love is everything. Who stops to think 
 
 Upon the pattern of the flagon when 
 He knows 't is filled with the divinest drink 
 
 The gods have profl"ered to the lips of men ! 
 
 23 
 
LOVE AND REASON 
 
 ' I ''HE lily's lips are pure and v/hite without a 
 
 touch of fire ; 
 The rose's heart is warm and red and sweetened 
 
 with desire. 
 In earth's broad fields of deathless bloom the 
 
 gladdest lives are those 
 Whose thoughts are as the lily and whose love is 
 
 like the rose. 
 
 24 
 
LINDEN STREET 
 
 QNUG Linden Street is good and fair, 
 ^ With modest homes all in a row, 
 And many a little garden where 
 
 The quaint, old-fashioned roses grow. 
 And when at eve the happy birds 
 
 Nest where the whisp'ring tree-tops meet. 
 Fond lovers, with their honeyed words, 
 
 Walk, hand in hand, through Linden Street. 
 
 It is not grand, it is not wide, — 
 
 This little street I love so well, — 
 Yet in its quiet grace abide 
 
 The joys my tongue can never tell. 
 When from its happy scenes I stray 
 
 And lose the charm so strange and sweet. 
 My dreams by night, my thoughts by day 
 
 In rapture turn to Linden Street. 
 
 How often, when a child, I felt 
 
 This dear, old earth must seem forlorn 
 
 To sorry hearts that never dwelt 
 Within the street where I was born ! 
 
 25 
 
Linden Street 
 
 And even now I dare to think 
 
 The charm of life is more complete 
 
 To those whose favored eyes may drink 
 The joy that dwells in Linden Street. 
 
 Yet Grief has sprinkled with her tears 
 
 This street where happy children play, 
 And sun and shadow, through the years, 
 
 Have blended as they blend to-day. 
 But mid the ever-changing scene, 
 
 Of lagging cares and pleasures fleet, 
 Through Winter's gray and Summer's green 
 
 Has shone the grace of Linden Street. 
 
 I look upon the map and see 
 
 The far-spread lands that make the earth. 
 Yet all are but a map to me 
 
 Beyond the land that gave me birth. 
 And here I seek my sacred shrine, — 
 
 Love's blissful world with joys replete. 
 That God has given me and mine, — 
 
 Our little home in Linden Street. 
 
 26 
 
FOR HER DEAR SAKE 
 
 T70R her dear sake I 'd have her skies 
 
 As bright as are her own bright eyes, 
 And all her day-dreams warm and fair 
 As is the sunshine in her hair. 
 The Fates to her should be as kind 
 As are the thoughts in her pure mind ; 
 And every bird I 'd have awake 
 Its gladdest song for her dear sake. 
 
 For her dear sake I 'd have each dart 
 Grief fashions for her tender heart 
 Aimed at my own thrice happy breast, 
 That hers might have unbroken rest. 
 She feel life's sunshine, I its rain ; 
 She steal my pleasure, I her pain ; 
 Her path of roses I would make. 
 And mine of thorns, for her dear sake. 
 
 If she should fall asleep and lie 
 So still, so very still, that I 
 Would know her soul had slipped away 
 From her divinely moulded clay, 
 27 
 
For her Dear Sake 
 
 Then, looking in her fair, white face, 
 I 'd pray to God : ** In thy good grace, 
 O Father ! let me sleep, nor wake 
 Again on earth, for her dear sake." 
 
 28 
 
THE BATTLE ALONG THE SHORE 
 
 ^nr^HE Seven Seas are leagued as one 
 
 In war against the Earth ; 
 They are joined in awful strife begun 
 
 When the great God gave them birth. 
 By day and night they force the fight 
 
 And curse in a sullen roar, 
 As with clenched hands they beat the sands 
 
 la the battle along the shore. 
 
 But ever the Earth hurls back their shock 
 
 From thick-walled forts he rears 
 On cape and headland, hewn of rock, 
 
 To stand ten thousand years. 
 The mad waves sweep and lash and leap, 
 
 And pound at gate and door. 
 But the old Earth laughs, as their foam he 
 quaffs, 
 
 In the battle along the shore. 
 29 
 
The Battle along the Shore 
 
 The wars of men shall come and go, 
 And the maps shall all be changed ; 
 
 The passing things that mortals know 
 Shall all be disarranged. 
 
 But till the last long day is passed 
 And time shall be no more, 
 
 The Earth and Sea at war shall be 
 In the battle along the shore. 
 
 30 
 
THE PRAIRIE-FIRE 
 
 \'T7'AKE, good Muse ! My pen inspire, 
 Let me sketch the prairie-fire ; 
 Let me draw it as I saw it in the olden, golden 
 days, 
 In the Indian summer weather, 
 When, with wind and sun together. 
 Grew the grasses ripe and ready for the coming 
 of the blaze. 
 
 Like a vast Sahara — sombered, 
 Frost-browned — stretched the miles unnum- 
 bered, — 
 Waving wastes that dipped and dappled to the 
 wide world's distant rim ; 
 And my father's cabin nesting 
 In the vasty reach seemed resting 
 Like a shrine of shade and shelter for the joy of 
 his and him. 
 
 31 
 
The Prairie-Fire 
 
 Shone the sun a drowsy dullard, 
 Bronzed his brows or copper-colored, 
 All his brightness shrouded, clouded, all his 
 glances toned and tame; 
 While in silken shreds came sifting 
 Ashen ghosts of grasses drifting 
 On the breath of breezes stealing from the far-off 
 feasts of flame. 
 
 On the sky-line, wide, upwelling, 
 Graver grew the smoke-wreaths, swelling 
 Till the heavens, dimmed and darkened, met and 
 mingled with the night. 
 When, upon the gale, swift-sweeping. 
 Fierce-flung fronts of flame came leaping, 
 Tossing skyward all their torches till the clouds 
 burned brassy bright. 
 
 'Twixt its fire-guards, many-furrowed, 
 Safe our little cabin burrowed ; 
 Meek and mute defiance bidding to the foes that 
 would destroy: 
 Oh, that roar like distant thunder! 
 Oh, that night of weirdest wonder! 
 Oh, that picture plainly pencilled in the brain- 
 book of a boy ! 
 
 32 
 
The Prairie-Fire 
 
 Came the morning sun, upspringing, 
 All his golden gleams far flinging ; 
 But the fenceless fields of prairie held the ebon 
 hue of night, 
 Till, in dreams of shine and shower, 
 Velvet plain and spring's fair flower, 
 Lay they wrapped in softest slumber under win- 
 ter's robe of white. 
 
 33 
 
THE OLD WIFE 
 
 1% /TAKE the old wife young again, 
 •^^'*- Twine the roses in her hair ; 
 Tell her, as you told her then, 
 
 " You are wonderfully fair ! " 
 Look into her eyes and say, — 
 
 Smile and say it through your tears, 
 " You are dearer every day. 
 
 Nearer, dearer with the years ! " 
 
 Hold her hand in kindly grasp, — 
 
 Once you pressed it to your lips, 
 While its tender, velvet clasp 
 
 Thrilled you to your finger-tips. 
 Kiss her faded cheek and brow 
 
 With a love so warm and true 
 They shall glow with crimson, now, 
 
 Blushing as they used to do. 
 
 To the sunset of your lives, 
 Lead, oh, lead her gently on. 
 
 Love until the end survives 
 With the freshness of the dawn. 
 34 
 
The Old Wife 
 
 Drift amid its golden gleams 
 Out across the sunlit seas, 
 
 On a pillow made of dreams, 
 And a couch of memories. 
 
 35 
 
A ROBIN'S SONG AT DAYBREAK 
 
 T T ALF-WAY between the dark and dawn, 
 Ere day had come or night had gone ; 
 Somewhere between the bliss of dreams and 
 dread of waking wearily, 
 Still half unconscious that I heard. 
 There came the far, faint voice of bird, 
 The welcome daybreak greeting of a robin 
 singing cheerily. 
 
 The song seemed like a ribbon slight 
 Drawn 'tween the realms of day and night, 
 And as I listened to the notes my heart went 
 beating merrily; 
 Would that the world on waking from 
 Its dreams to toil might ever come, 
 Joyed by the daybreak welcome of a robin 
 singing cheerily. 
 
 36 
 
A WALK THROUGH THE WOODS 
 
 A WALK through the woods in September 
 Is bliss I can never define ; 
 The red leaves that glow like an ember 
 Make gorgeous the tree and the vine. 
 With earth and the sky for my teacher 
 
 I worship with sun and with sod, 
 
 Forgetting the priest and the preacher, 
 
 For now I am walking with God. 
 
 The hills are as hymns of high pleasure, 
 
 The valleys as rosaried rhyme, 
 And, set to the loftiest measure, 
 
 The forest an anthem sublime. 
 No more on man's teaching dependent. 
 
 From cant and from creed I am free; 
 And Beauty and Truth are transcendent, 
 
 For God is now walking with me. 
 
 37 
 
MY CASTLE IN SPAIN 
 
 "]\ yr Y castle in Spain is a place of delight, 
 
 J- ▼J- Where I joyfully wander at morning and 
 
 night ; 
 Of all life's high pleasure the happiest hours 
 Are those I devote to its fountains and flowers. 
 Whenever my mind in a reverie swings, 
 Hope bears me away on her jubilant wings, 
 To leave me, forgetful of care and of pain, 
 A fortunate prince at my castle in Spain. 
 
 My castle in Spain, oh, its caskets of gold, 
 Of rubies and pearls, are a joy to behold ; 
 And riches for which I must ever despair 
 In this workaday world, are awaiting me there. 
 Fond favors of fortune, that brighten and bless. 
 Drop down in my hands with the softest caress, 
 And I wish, with a sigh, I might ever remain 
 At my marvelous, far-away castle in Spain. 
 38 
 
My Castle in Spain 
 
 My castle in Spain is as light as the air, 
 For its walls are a dream and its roof is a prayer; 
 Its courts and its halls of such wonderful scope 
 I have gorgeously gemmed with the treasures of 
 
 hope. 
 Its domes and its tapering spires are wrought 
 Of the mystical beauty that hides in a thought; 
 And to view them sweet fancy steals into my 
 
 brain, 
 Where it sees, through a vision, my castle in 
 
 Spain. 
 
 39 
 
WHEN SHE WAS NEAR 
 
 T\ /fY mother's heart was honey, 
 "*■■*" And her kiss was sweetest balm, 
 And, though the world was full of storm, 
 
 Her lap was full of calm. 
 Her arms and breast were filled with rest, 
 
 Her smile was full of joy. 
 And life was dear when she was near 
 
 And I a little boy. 
 
 The world is full of golden gifts, 
 
 And yet my spirit sighs 
 Between the gracious long agoes 
 
 And happy by and byes. 
 I am aweary of the cares 
 
 That fill the lives of men ; 
 I would I were a little child 
 
 Within those arms again. 
 
 For my mother's heart was honey. 
 And her kiss was sweetest balm, 
 
 And, though the world was full of storm, 
 Her lap was full of calm. 
 40 
 
When She was Near 
 
 Her arms and breast were filled with rest, 
 
 Her smile was full of joy, 
 And life was dear when she was near 
 
 And I a little boy. 
 
 41 
 
THE EMPIRE SHIP 
 
 T HAVE sung my songs to the stately ships 
 
 that are saiHng the Seven Seas, 
 But to-day I sing of a cruder craft that laughed 
 
 at the lulling breeze, — 
 Of the " Prairie Schooner," quaint and slow, with 
 
 its dim and dusky sails, 
 A phantom ship from the long-ago, adrift in 
 the grass-grown trails. 
 Westward, ho ! Westward, ho ! 
 Out where the winds are sweet and low 
 And the grassy cradles swing and sway. 
 The star of empire takes its way, 
 Westward, ho ! 
 
 Ere the bellowing steed of steel and steam had 
 
 startled the timid deer, 
 When the curlew whistled its plaintive call to the 
 
 gray grouse nesting near, 
 42 
 
The Empire Ship 
 
 Through the fair, fresh prairies, hushed and hid, 
 
 where the wild wolf made her den. 
 There came this land-launched schooner manned 
 by bronzed and brawny men. 
 Westward, ho ! Westward, ho ! 
 Out where the bold, brisk breezes blow. 
 And a young world walks in the fields of 
 
 May, 
 The star of empire takes its way, 
 Westward, ho ! 
 
 And in that marvelous ship that sailed to the 
 
 shores of the wondrous West, 
 Was a mother who carolled a song of joy to the 
 
 babe at her happy breast; 
 And stowed away in the good ship's hold were 
 
 a book and plough and pen. 
 And a sickle and seeds — yea ! all God needs 
 for the making of matchless men. 
 Westward, ho ! Westward, ho ! 
 Out where the golden harvests glow 
 And the builders are building day by day, 
 The star of empire takes its way. 
 Westward, ho ! 
 
 43 
 
MY LADY'S HEART 
 
 TT HEALTH, with his golden keys a score, 
 ^ ^ And all his gilded art, 
 Tried vainly to unlock the door 
 That held My Lady's heart. 
 
 Love came and through the keyhole sighed, 
 " I 've neither bonds nor stocks," 
 
 When, lo ! My Lady rose, a bride, 
 And pushed back all the locks. 
 
 44 
 
I 
 
 MEMORIES 
 
 F you Ve ever been a rover 
 Through the fields of fragrant clover, 
 Where life is all a simple round of bliss, 
 When at eve the sun is sinking 
 Or the stars are faintly blinking, 
 You can call to mind a picture such as this : 
 Hark ! the cows are homeward roaming 
 Through the pasture's dewy gloaming, 
 I can hear them gently lowing through the dells, 
 While from out the bosky dingle 
 . Come the softly tangled jingle 
 And the oft-repeated echo of the bells. 
 
 Strange how Memory will fling her 
 Arms about some scenes we bring her, 
 And the fleeting years but make them fonder 
 grow ; 
 Though I wander far and sadly 
 From that dear old home, how gladly 
 I recall the cherished scenes of long ago. 
 45 
 
Memories 
 
 Hark ! the cows are homeward roaming 
 
 Through the pasture's dewy gloaming, 
 I can hear them gently lowing through the dells, 
 
 While from out the bosky dingle 
 
 Come the softly tangled jingle 
 And the oft-repeated echo of the bells. 
 
 46 
 
, THE YEAR'S DELIGHTS 
 
 "I X T'HEN the days are chill and the winds are 
 ^^ shrill 
 
 And the snow-wreaths crown the earth, 
 Then the kind fates lend a book and a friend 
 
 And a seat by the glowing hearth. 
 And the hoarse, deep shout of the storm without, 
 
 And the Frost's breath keen and thin, 
 Add cheer and grace to the firelit face 
 
 Of the friend and the book within. 
 
 When the wild-bird calls, then away with walls 
 
 For the fields and the open sky ! 
 For the land and sea are a home for me. 
 
 And the big world, broad and high. 
 Then I find my books in the running brooks. 
 
 And my friends by the wave-washed shores, 
 Where we glean and grow in the glint and glow 
 
 Of the boundless out-of-doors. 
 
 47 
 
A MIDDLE-AGED LOVE STORY 
 
 "1 T riTH every tick of the clock, my dear, 
 ^ ' The days go singing by. 
 And the skies are blue and our hearts are true, 
 
 And there 's love in your laughing eye. 
 And neveir you care if the silver hair 
 
 Steals into each golden lock. 
 For your heart must know you dearer grow 
 
 With every tick of the clock. 
 
 With every tick of the clock, my dear. 
 
 We drift from the shores of youth. 
 And we swifter glide on the broader tide 
 
 Of the grander sea of truth. 
 The flight of time but smoothes to rhyme 
 
 Life's every grief and shock. 
 And we nearer grow in love's glad glow 
 
 With every tick of the clock. 
 
 48 
 
JUNE 
 
 TUNE, and the skies brimming over 
 ^ With seas of the tenderest blue ; 
 June, and the bloom of the clover, 
 
 Heavy with honey and dew ; 
 June, and the reeds and the rushes, 
 
 Slender and lithesome and long ; 
 June, and the larks and the thrushes 
 
 Singing their happiest song. 
 
 June, and the rose in her beauty 
 
 Making an Eden again ; 
 June, and desire is duty 
 
 Crowning the wishes of men ; 
 June, in her leaves and her laces 
 
 Gladding the earth with a smile ; 
 June, and the gods and the Graces 
 
 Dwelling with mortals awhile. 
 
 49 
 
THE PLAYHOUSE 
 
 T was n't a house at all, you see, 
 But only a big, flat stone ; 
 Yet they called it a house, did the sisters three, 
 As they tarried there and sipped their tea ; 
 And each was as glad as a queen might be, — 
 
 A queen on a golden throne. 
 
 And one was like a lily rare, 
 
 And one was like a rose; 
 And one had stolen a happy share 
 Of blended grace from her sisters fair; 
 And all were lovely beyond compare, — 
 
 My queens of the long agoes. 
 
 The house was close by the garden gate, 
 
 And under the apple-trees, 
 In whose broad branches, early and late, 
 The robin sang to his joyous mate 
 As a lithe limb, feeling his happy weight, 
 
 Swung low in the summer breeze. 
 50 
 
The Playhouse 
 
 And many a golden afternoon 
 
 The sisters chatted there, 
 With hearts as glad as the skies of June, 
 With hearts as soft as a mother's croon. 
 With hearts that withered and all too soon 
 
 With a grief they could not bear. 
 
 I wandered far in the paths of men, 
 
 I lingered long and late 
 To win the golden prize, and then 
 I set my heart for the " home" again, 
 But the world seemed changed and cheerless when 
 
 I stood by that garden gate. 
 
 In woe I sat me down to weep, 
 
 For my heart was sad and lone, 
 And my gold seemed all so poor and cheap, — 
 There was little left I cared to keep. 
 And I wished I were wrapped in a dreamless sleep 
 
 And under that big, flat stone. 
 
 51 
 
ENVIRONMENT 
 
 QHINE or shadow, flame or frost, 
 ^ Zephyr-kissed or tempest-tossed. 
 Night or day, or dusk or dawn, 
 We are strangely lived upon. 
 
 Mystic builders in the brain — 
 Mirth and sorrow, joy and pain. 
 Grief and gladness, gloom and light — 
 Build, oh, build my heart aright ! 
 
 O ye friends, with pleasant smiles. 
 Help me build my precious whiles ; 
 Bring me blocks of gold to make 
 Strength that wrong shall never shake. 
 
 Day by day I gather from 
 All you give me. I become 
 Yet a part of all I meet 
 In the fields and in the street. 
 52 
 
Environment 
 
 Bring me songs of hope and youth, 
 Bring me bands of steel and truth ; 
 Bring me love wherein to find 
 Charity for all mankind. 
 
 Place within my hands the tools 
 And the Master Builder's rules, 
 That the walls we fashion may 
 Stand forever and a day. 
 
 Help me build a palace where 
 All is wonderfully fair — 
 Built of truth, the while, above, 
 Shines the pinnacle of love. 
 
 S3 
 
THE OLD, OLD STORY 
 
 "IT THERE the fields are strewn with the wealth 
 " of June 
 
 And the sunshine glads the day, 
 Where the boys and girls in the swaths and swirls 
 
 Are raking the new-mown hay. 
 There are tender sighs, there are melting eyes 
 
 And a thrill at the touch of hands, 
 For doves will coo and youth will woo 
 
 As lonsr as the old earth stands. 
 
 Where the loom's dull song the whole day long 
 
 Through the factory ward is whirred. 
 Whose slaves ne'er see fields glad and free. 
 
 Nor list to the voice of bird. 
 There are tender sighs, there are melting eyes 
 
 And a thrill at the touch of hands, 
 For doves will coo and youth will woo 
 
 As long as the old earth stands. 
 54 
 
The Old, Old Story 
 
 And slave or free, on land or sea, 
 
 It counts not where nor when; 
 And weal or woe, this truth we know, — 
 
 Where'er there are maids and men, 
 There are tender sighs, there are melting eyes 
 
 And a thrill at the touch of hands, 
 For doves will coo and youth will woo 
 
 As long as the old earth stands. 
 
 S5 
 
A BACHELOR'S REVERIE 
 
 /^H, a home is a terrible handicap 
 ^^^ To a soul that would fain be free ; 
 It has captured many a prisoned chap, 
 
 But it never shall shackle me. 
 Instead of the cares I would have to face, 
 
 In the same old rounds each day, 
 Oh, give me a room in a lodging-place 
 
 And a lunch at a chance caf(6. 
 
 I never need hurry to catch my car, 
 
 For I have n't a place to go, 
 And early or late no meal I mar. 
 
 For I 'm dining alone, you know. 
 The hands of the clock I never chase. 
 
 For I drift in an easy way, 
 Since I sleep in a transient lodging-place 
 
 And lunch at a chance caf6. 
 
 A brother of mine — I loved him well ! — 
 
 Went wrong in his early years, 
 For he married and found him a place to dwell, 
 
 (Oh, the thought of it brings me tears ! ) 
 56 
 
A Bachelor's Reverie 
 
 And there he has lived — what a pitiful case ! • 
 
 And there he will, likely, stay, 
 While I still sleep in a lodging-place 
 
 And lunch at a chance caf6. 
 
 I sometimes think of his wife and child 
 
 And the vine at his cottage door. 
 While I dream of the perfect lips that smiled - 
 
 But they smile for me no more. 
 And I muse, " If the saint with the angel face 
 
 Had answered me * yes ' that day. 
 Would I sleep in a transient lodging-place 
 
 Or lunch at a chance cafe? " 
 
 57 
 
AN IDOL OF CLAY 
 
 'f T /"HAT did she give for her wedding-ring? 
 
 All that a woman may ! 
 What did the gifts to the giver bring? 
 
 Only an idol of clay. 
 All the sweet dreams of her girlhood years, 
 
 All that a heart could hold ; 
 All of her hopes and all of her fears, 
 All of her smiles and all of her tears. 
 
 For one little circle of gold. 
 
 Told she the world of the bitter cheat? 
 
 Ah, no ! With a smiling face 
 She clothed her idol from head to feet 
 
 With the garments of her grace. 
 And no one knew of the tears she wept; 
 
 Her griefs they were never guessed, 
 For hid in her heart of hearts she kept 
 Her thorns of woe. And so she slept 
 
 With her hands across her breast. 
 
 58 
 
THE SONG THE KETTLE SINGS 
 
 QWEET are the songs by lovers sung 
 *^ As they the old, old story tell, 
 And sweet the croon of bees among 
 
 The clover-blooms and asphodel ; 
 And glad the notes the skylarks trill 
 
 At dawn upon their buoyant wings ; 
 But dearer, softer, better still 
 
 The low, sweet song the kettle sings. 
 
 How strangely come to us again 
 
 The pleasant scenes of other days, 
 The happy, golden moments when 
 
 We went our simple, childish ways ; 
 When all life's journey lay before 
 
 And gaily beckoned us with smiles, 
 Ere we had left our father's door 
 
 To go the many, weary miles. 
 
 There by the broad, deep fireplace sit 
 The aged ones with silvered hair ; i 
 
 Across each face the flashes flit. 
 
 And faded cheeks grow flushed and fair ; 
 59 
 
The Song the Kettle Sings 
 
 And strangely mingle smile and tear 
 
 As memory in fondness brings 
 The old, old days, the while they hear 
 
 The low, sweet song the kettle sings. 
 
 The embers throw their ruddy gleam 
 
 On childish figures glad and free 
 That watch the changing glow and dream 
 
 Of wondrous things that are to be. 
 The future one sweet chime of bells — 
 
 Of golden bells, Hope ever rings ; 
 And through their music softly wells 
 
 The low, sweet song the kettle sings. 
 
 Oh, all the joys my heart has known, 
 
 And all the hopes of those to be 
 Within the kettle's gentle tone 
 
 On gracious wings are borne to me. 
 And gladness which my care beguiles 
 
 Comes bubbling up from youthful springs ; 
 And whispers from the Peaceful Isles 
 
 Are in the song the kettle sings. 
 
 Would you become a youth again, 
 
 Back in that dear old home once more — 
 60 
 
The Song the Kettle Sings 
 
 Trade all the wisdom sorry men 
 
 May have for childhood's happy lore ? 
 
 Oh, would you feel the morning dew 
 Of rest upon life's tired wings? 
 
 Then dream with me and listen to 
 The low, sweet song the kettle sings. 
 
 61 
 
WHEN GRANDMA SHUTS HER EYES 
 
 ■^T JITHIN the chimney-corner snug, 
 
 ^ ^ Dear grandma gently rocks, 
 And knits her daughter's baby boy 
 
 A tiny pair of socks. 
 But sometimes grandma shuts her eyes 
 And sings the softest lullabies. 
 
 Across her face the happy smiles 
 
 All play at hide and seek. 
 And kiss the faint and faded rose 
 
 That lingers on her cheek, 
 While thoughts too sweet for words arise 
 When dear old grandma shuts her eyes. 
 
 Yet, sometimes, pictures in her face 
 
 Have just a shade of pain, 
 As golden April sunshine when 
 
 It mingles with the rain ; 
 And then, perchance, she softly sighs. 
 Does grandma, when she shuts her eyes. 
 62 
 
When Grandma Shuts her Eyes 
 
 She 's growing younger every day, 
 
 She 's quite a child again ; 
 And those she knew in girlhood's years 
 
 She speaks of now and then ; 
 And sweet old love-songs feebly tries, 
 Does grandma, when she shuts her eyes. 
 
 I used to 'wonder why her eyes 
 She closed, but not in sleep, 
 
 The while the smiles would all about 
 Her wrinkled visage creep ; 
 
 But I have guessed the truth at last: 
 
 She shuts her eyes to view the past. 
 
 63 
 
PEACE ON EARTH 
 
 /^ SOLDIER! must you longer stay? 
 ^^ Have not the centuries sufficed 
 To teach mankind the better way — 
 Have you not heard of Christ? 
 
 Forget the battle-cry ; instead 
 
 Sing joyous songs of peace and trust. 
 
 Let swords that once with blood were red 
 Grow redder still with rust. 
 
 Turn from the eagles ; woo the dove, 
 For it will glad the angels more 
 
 If you will train a vine above 
 A lowly cottage door. 
 
 And give your bayonet so bright — 
 
 If you would serve the greatest good — 
 
 To make a pen wherewith to write 
 A song of brotherhood. 
 64 
 
FIELD FLOWERS 
 
 ' I ''HE simple, little wayside rose 
 
 To me is sweeter far, 
 And more begirt with grace, than those 
 
 From sheltered gardens are ; 
 And vagrant shreds of homeless song 
 
 May keener pleasures hold 
 Than to the grander bards belong, 
 
 Though bound in silk and gold. 
 
 65 
 
FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD 
 
 TT seems to me I *d like to go 
 
 Where bells don't ring nor whistles blow, 
 Nor clocks don't strike nor gongs don't sound, 
 But where there 's stillness all around. 
 
 Not real still stillness ; just the trees' 
 Low whisperings or the croon of bees ; 
 The drowsy tinklings of the rill, 
 Or twilight song of whippoorwill. 
 
 'T would be a joy could I behold * 
 The dappled fields of green and gold, 
 Or in the cool, sweet clover lie 
 And watch the cloud-ships drifting by. 
 
 I 'd like to find some quaint old boat, 
 
 And fold its oars, and with it float 
 
 Along the lazy, limpid stream 
 
 Where water-lilies drowse and dream. 
 66 
 
Far from the Madding Crowd 
 
 Sometimes it seems to me I must 
 Just quit the city's din and dust, 
 For fields of green and skies of blue ; 
 And, say ! how does it seem to you? 
 
 67 
 
A LOVE SONG 
 
 TT 's a dull, dark day when you *re away, 
 
 A bright one when you 're near. 
 For gladdest skies are in your eyes, 
 
 Your smile is shine and cheer. 
 Your face is like a garden fair 
 
 Where radiant roses bloom 
 And all the flowers rich and rare 
 
 Have spilled their sweet perfume. 
 
 I know not if our dream most fond 
 
 The last long sleep survives ; 
 I know not what may lie beyond 
 
 The story of our lives ; 
 But all the human joys that thrill 
 
 In ecstasy divine 
 Would be but sorry grief until 
 
 I held your hand in mine. 
 
 68 
 
THAT LITTLE BACK ROOM, TOP 
 FLOOR 
 
 /^UR dream came true, and we own — we 
 ^^ two — 
 
 The wonderful home we planned 
 In the old, glad times of the sweetest rhymes, 
 
 When I sought your fair, white hand, — 
 When my heart's request was to build a nest, 
 
 " Next thing to heaven ! " I swore ; 
 And it was, for, oh, Love dwelt, you know, 
 
 In that little back room, top floor. 
 
 It seemeth well we here should dwell, 
 
 And settle us down and sup. 
 And sing our lays to the good old days 
 
 When we could not settle up. 
 " With thanks " came back my rhymes, alack ! 
 
 And our hearts were sometimes sore 
 When the landlord sent for his past due rent 
 
 Of that little back room, top floor. 
 69 
 
That Little Back Room, Top Floor 
 
 Like a fleeting year it seems, my dear, 
 
 But I know it was long ago, 
 For your tresses rare are now more fair 
 
 Than they were at the time — you know — 
 (The months my brain in a wild, deep pain. 
 
 Refused to serve us more) — 
 They were sold to stay the wolf away 
 
 From that little back room, top floor. 
 
 The gods have brought the gifts we sought, 
 
 For we own our vine and roof; 
 But my heart still strays to the strange, sweet 
 days 
 
 When the Muses held aloof. 
 And my thought's fleet ship makes many a trip 
 
 To a far-off", golden shore. 
 While I steal the themes for all my dreams 
 
 From that little back room, top floor. 
 
 70 
 
BITTER-SWEET 
 
 JUST a few tears sprinkled in with our laughter, 
 *^ Just a few clouds in the blue of the sky; 
 Showers make brighter the shine that comes after, 
 Smiles are the sweeter that follow a sigh. 
 
 Just a few griefs in the midst of our gladness. 
 Only for toil there could never be rest. 
 
 Songs we love most hold a shadow of sadness, 
 Joys that are touched with a sorrow are best. 
 
 Just a few graves in a land of the living, 
 Just a few moans in the midst of our mirth. 
 
 Just a few wrongs and the bliss of forgiving 
 Bring the heart glimpses of heaven on earth. 
 
 71 
 
TOWARD SUNSET 
 
 /^ H, come, my love, and walk with me 
 ^^ Through the orchard's leafy ways, 
 And hear the song of bird and bee 
 
 We heard in other days. 
 When all the world was good and kind, 
 
 When hearts were warm and true. 
 And the narrowest path our feet could find 
 
 Was wide enough for two. 
 
 Once more we '11 keep a loving tryst 
 
 Beneath the bending boughs, 
 Where first your trembling lips were kissed. 
 
 And first we breathed our vows. 
 There where with beating heart you came 
 
 To greet me at the bars. 
 And, waiting, I would speak your name, 
 
 And spell it in the stars. 
 
 Time sprinkles frost upon our heads, 
 
 But love's eternal youth 
 Dwells in each happy breast and sheds 
 
 The beauty born of truth. 
 72 
 
Toward. Sunset 
 
 And heart to heart and lip to lip 
 We '11 breathe our vows divine, 
 
 Till in the last long sleep you slip 
 Your loving hand in mine. 
 
 73 
 
COULD WE BUT KNOW 
 
 ' I ''HE brooklet's babble weaves the tones 
 That come from all its hidden stones. 
 The river's tide reflects its source 
 And all that joins it on its course. 
 Life's causes lie so deep and far, 
 And men are only what they are. 
 Oh, could we read the hearts of those 
 About us, know their hidden woes, — 
 The secret sources of despair. 
 The birth and burden of their prayer ; 
 See thrown about their lives the mesh 
 Of pain from thorns within the flesh, 
 Our charity would lend the grace 
 Of goodliness to every face. 
 
 74 
 
TO THE END 
 
 "TT^OR old sake's sake" Love sings his song 
 
 amid the ruins where 
 The garden bloomed in beauty when the world 
 
 was young and fair; 
 And on the broken statue's brow a rosied wreath 
 
 he binds : 
 " Love is not love which alters when it alteration 
 
 finds." 
 
 75 
 
SERENADE 
 
 QLEEP, my loved one, sleep and dream, 
 
 Sleep and dream of me ; 
 While the fair moon's mellow beam, 
 Mingled with the stars' soft gleam, 
 Falls on wood and lea. 
 
 Lambs within the happy fold 
 
 Dream of meadows new, 
 Where the buttercups of gold 
 In a perfumed chalice hold 
 
 Honeyed drops of dew. 
 
 Zephyrs rock the robin's nest 
 
 In the tall elm-tree 
 Peacefully as stirs thy breast : 
 Angels guard thy perfect rest, — 
 
 Sleep and dream of me. 
 
 76 
 
LIFE'S SPRINGTIME 
 
 T FELL to thinking the world was old, 
 
 And joy had flown away; 
 That the precious idols I dreamed were gold 
 
 Were, after all, but clay : 
 For it seemed so far to the happy times 
 
 When we met at the orchard bars, 
 And breathed our vows in the old, sweet 
 rhymes, — 
 We two, and the happy stars. 
 
 Last night as I came through the leafy dell. 
 
 Where long ago we strayed, 
 I hearkt to a happy lover tell 
 
 His vows to a fair young maid. 
 I heard the song of the whippoorwill 
 
 And the twilight coo of dove. 
 And lip met lip with a blissful thrill 
 
 In the first, sweet kiss of love. 
 77 
 
Life's Springtime 
 
 I heard my daughter's daughter's voice, — 
 
 A voice from the days gone by, — 
 And it made my yearning soul rejoice 
 
 And my heart beat warm and high. 
 For I know while youth and beauty meet, 
 
 And men and maidens woo. 
 Life's wine will still be good and sweet, 
 
 And the old world glad and new. 
 
 78 
 
A DREAM AT THE DESK 
 
 f^ H AINED to a desk, a slave, I dream 
 ^"^ Of the good old days of yore, 
 And I see the boundless glow and gleam 
 
 Of the broad, blue skies, once more. 
 And the rare perfume of the clover-bloom 
 
 And the scent of the new-mown hay 
 Seem faintly caught in the sweet dream brought 
 
 From the years of the far-away. 
 
 The roar of the busy, babbling town 
 
 Which long my soul has heard, 
 For just one fleeting breath I drown 
 
 In the song of brook and bird. 
 My ledgers fade to glen and glade, 
 
 And fields of corn and rye. 
 As I catch the joy of a careless boy 
 
 From a dream of the years gone by. 
 
 I shall sometime flee from my prison cell 
 
 And its narrow walls of gloom ; 
 I shall quit the noisy town and dwell 
 
 Where the sweet wild-roses bloom. 
 79 
 
A Dream at the Desk 
 
 And I '11 trade my care for the meadows ^ir 
 
 And the drowsy croon of bee, 
 While I hold as mine the bliss divine 
 
 A dream has brought to me. 
 
 80 
 
THE CHILDREN OF EARTH 
 
 I A OWN by the sea on a summer day 
 ■^'^ I doze and dream while the children play, 
 Gleefully heaping their hills of sand, 
 Calling them palaces high and grand ; 
 A clam-shell serves for the great front door. 
 And the walk is a bit of a broken oar ; 
 While plate and platter and bowl and cup 
 Are polished pebbles the sea brings up. 
 
 And king and queen in their royal state 
 Pass in and out through a sea-weed gate ; 
 And lord and lady ride to and fro, 
 Till a far voice calls, " It is time to go." 
 To gems and jewels and palace rare 
 They bid farewell and they leave them there ; 
 While the tide comes laughingly up the bay. 
 And the sand-made palace is washed away. 
 
 Deep in the city I see the men 
 Playing at childish games again ; 
 Building a palace of brick and stone, 
 And playfully calling it all their own. 
 6 8i 
 
The Children of Earth 
 
 The walls are laid with the cares of wealth, 
 And the roof is patched with their broken health ; 
 And plate and platter and bowl and cup 
 Are polished trinkets their toil brings up. 
 
 And king and queen in their royal state 
 
 Pass in and out through a golden gate; 
 
 And lord and lady ride to and fro 
 
 Till a far voice calls, " It is time to go." 
 
 From gems and jewels and palace rare 
 
 They turn away and they leave them there, 
 
 While Time looks down through a thousand years, 
 
 And the man-made palace, — it disappears. 
 
 82 
 
THE LAND OF DREAMS 
 
 /^F all the nations, east or west, 
 ^^ Imagination is the best. 
 Its boundless realms are richer, far, 
 Than all earth's other countries are. 
 Its azure skies are more serene, 
 Its verdant fields a fairer green, 
 And brooks sing softer music to 
 An ocean of diviner blue. 
 
 Its laughing, blossom-bordered rills 
 Dance down from Hope's triumphant hills, 
 Or pause in pools within the dale 
 Enchanted by the nightingale. 
 Spring blooms eternal and the rose 
 Makes fragrant every breeze that blows, 
 And fruits, with rounded cheeks of wine, 
 Hang purpling on the tree and vine. 
 
 This country is not pencilled on 
 The little maps that men have drawn. 
 It is too broad, too high, too great 
 For mind of man to calculate. 
 83 
 
The Land of Dreams 
 
 And yet it is not far away, 
 But here and now, where mortals may, 
 With gods and graces, wander through 
 This land where all our dreams come true. 
 
 84 
 
THE GARDEN OF GENIUS 
 
 T KNEW a dingy attic where 
 
 A poor, wan child in sorrow lay. 
 Hid in a narrow window, there, 
 
 A rosebush struggled toward the day ; 
 And tears, like dew, at night and morn. 
 
 Sank down to warm the root entombed, 
 And from that prisoned plant was born 
 
 The sweetest rose that ever bloomed. 
 
 O garden of the soul! I knew — 
 
 Ah me ! — I knew a little " den " 
 Where hungry, high-born Genius grew 
 
 The children of her brush and pen : 
 Amid the gloom there burned a gleam. 
 
 And patient hand was taught to draw, 
 And patient soul was taught to dream 
 
 The fairest lines I ever saw. 
 
 The fortune-favored fields may bring, 
 To those who toil, their meed of grain ; 
 
 But Genius still her wealth will fling 
 Amid the thorny wastes of pain. 
 85 
 
The Garden of Genius 
 
 The rose that blossomed through the tears, 
 And that high Soul of Art, these two, 
 
 Have brought to me, through all the years, 
 The dearest hope I ever knew. 
 
 86 
 
A WINTER REVERIE 
 
 "IXZHEN June comes laughing back again 
 with roses tangled in her hair 
 
 That in a silken mesh falls down to hide her 
 shoulders full and fair, 
 
 Then will she woo this drear old earth, and, brush- 
 ing back his locks of gray, 
 
 Within her soft arms rock him till she charms his 
 wintry scars away. 
 
 All day the honey-seeking bee will revel in the 
 clover-bloom. 
 
 All night the fireflies swing their lamps amid the 
 thicket's dotted gloom, 
 
 And song-birds, silent while the skies are dusty 
 with the sprinkled spheres, 
 
 Will, waking with the morning, drink the weep- 
 ing willow's dewy tears. 
 
 The prison-weary pauper in the frosty fastness of 
 
 the north. 
 When south-winds breathe away the bars, a purple 
 
 prince will wander forth ; 
 87 
 
A Winter Reverie 
 
 And Folly, wanton sprite, will spice the happy 
 
 hearts of maids and men 
 With moon-born dreams of Paradise when June 
 
 comes lausbincr back asrain. 
 
 88 
 
YELLOW BUTTERFLIES 
 
 1P\0 you remember, sister dear, the golden 
 
 summers long ago, 
 When you and I through happy fields so gladly 
 
 wandered to and fro? 
 Do you recall the dewy morns we loitered on our 
 
 way to school 
 To watch the butterflies that danced about the 
 
 margin of the pool? 
 
 We lov'ed the green of hill and vale, we loved the 
 
 blue that bent above ; 
 The brooks, the birds, the whispering woods, yet 
 
 more than these we seemed to love — 
 More than the pale wild-rose, half hid beneath 
 
 the hedges dark and cool — 
 The yellow butterflies that danced about the 
 
 margin of the pool. 
 
 Oh, long the paths of life and long the tender, 
 
 clinging dreams of youth. 
 But truth leads up to beauty still, and beauty 
 
 still leads up to truth. 
 
Yellow Butterflies 
 
 And in our memories we hold, through all of 
 
 life's dull book and rule, 
 The yellow butterflies that danced about the 
 
 margin of the pool. 
 
 90 
 
THE MOONBEAM'S MESSAGE 
 
 /^ MOON, that looks in at my window to- 
 
 ^^ night, 
 
 Hast thou added her smile to thy mellowing 
 
 light; 
 Hast thou stolen the languorous beauty that lies 
 Half-drowned in the fathomless depths of her 
 
 eyes? 
 
 Hast thou hung at her lattice, and peeping 
 
 between 
 The loosely drawn curtains within, hast thou seen 
 The grace of a form of such wonderful mould 
 Its charm were too great for the eye to behold ? 
 
 Did she whisper a name? Did a sigh of unrest. 
 As a breeze stirs the forest, well up through her 
 
 breast? 
 And lips that were formed for the spelling of 
 
 bliss. 
 The ring that I gave, did they glad with a kiss ? 
 91 
 
The Moonbeam's Message 
 
 Did she look in thy face? Did she give thee one 
 
 glance 
 From eyes whose soft beauty must ever entrance? 
 If so, I would raise this petition to thee, 
 O moon ! let that glance be reflected on me. 
 
 92 
 
FRIENDS 
 
 "\7'0U are my friend, for you have smiled with 
 me, 
 
 My help and hope in fair and stormy weather ; 
 I like you for the joys you 've whiled with me, 
 
 I love you for the griefs we 've wept together., 
 
 I 've held your hand when life was gold to me, 
 
 And shared with you its every gracious greeting ; 
 You 've brought good cheer when earth was cold 
 to me, 
 And made me feel your warm heart fondly 
 beating. 
 
 Though all the world were deaf and dark to me. 
 And long the night, and bleak the winds and 
 biting, 
 I know full well that you would hark to me. 
 And set my path with lamps of Love's glad 
 lighting. 
 
 You are my friend, for you have smiled with me, 
 My help and hope in fair and stormy weather ; 
 
 I like you for the joys you 've whiled with me, 
 I love you for the griefs we 've wept together. 
 93 
 
GOD ONLY KNOWS 
 
 "IT THITHER are going with hurrying feet 
 ' ^ Forms that are passing to-night on the 
 street? 
 Faces all sunny and faces all sad, 
 Hearts that are weary and hearts that are glad ; 
 Eyes that are heavy with sorrow and strife, 
 Eyes that are gleaming with beauty and life ; 
 Pictures of pleasure and crosses of care, 
 Going — all going — God only knows where ! 
 
 Hands that have earnestly striven for bread, 
 Hands that are soiled with dishonor instead ; 
 Hearts that are tuned to a purpose sublime. 
 Hearts all discordant and jangled with crime ; 
 Souls that are pure and as white as the snow, 
 Souls that are black as the midnight of woe ; 
 Gay in their gladness or sad in despair. 
 Going — all going — God only knows where ! 
 
 Some to the feast where the richest red wine 
 And rarest of jewels will sparkle and shine; 
 94 
 
God only Knows 
 
 Some in their hunger will wander, and some 
 Will sleep nor awaken when morning shall come. 
 The robed and the ragged, the foe and the friend, 
 All of them hurrying on to the end, 
 Nearing the grave, with a curse or a prayer. 
 Going — all going — God only knows where. 
 
 95 
 
A THRUSH'S SONG 
 
 TT was just before the battle, 
 
 In the rosy dawn of day, — 
 Ere the hosts, like maddened cattle, 
 Met amid the roar and rattle 
 Of the fierce and bloody fray. 
 
 And a picket-man, on duty. 
 
 Heard a thrush above him sing, — 
 Heard the liquid notes of beauty 
 From the wondrous, witching lute he 
 
 Hid beneath his happy wing. 
 
 And the music sent him dreaming 
 
 To the home-nest, far away; 
 And he saw her fond eyes beaming 
 On the baby's face a-gleaming 
 In his careless, cradle play. 
 
 Then there woke the awful thunder 
 Of the Death-King in his might ; 
 Stately oaks were torn asunder 
 96 
 
A Thrush's Song 
 
 While the heavens watched in wonder, 
 Till the darkness lulled the fight. 
 
 Where a wounded thrush was lying 
 
 Close beside a shattered nest, 
 There the night-wind wandered sighing 
 For the soldier who was dying 
 With a bullet in his breast. 
 
 97 
 
HER AND ME 
 
 1% TUST have been the angels planned it, 
 "*• Could not be it happened so, — 
 
 Yet I did not understand it 
 
 When we met, so long ago. 
 Now, in looking back and viewing 
 
 All the happy years, I see 
 What the good Lord has been doing 
 
 For the joy of her and me. 
 
 Seems as though, if I had missed her, 
 
 Way back yonder where we met, — 
 Never held her hand nor kissed her, — 
 
 I 'd be waiting for her yet. 
 Waiting for her smile so sunny. 
 
 Filling all the world with cheer, — 
 For her words, as sweet as honey, 
 
 Breathing music in my ear. 
 
 Been a world of joy and sorrow 
 
 Since we vowed, " Till death do part," — 
 Bright to-day and dark to-morrow, — 
 
 But we 've met it, heart and heart. 
 98 
 
Her and Me 
 
 Comes there calm or comes there billow, 
 True as steel our love shall be, 
 
 Till our cheeks shall press the pillow 
 Death will smooth for her and me. 
 
 99 
 L, tf C. 
 
NATURE'S PROMISE 
 
 QNOW in the valley and snow on the mountain, 
 
 And sparkles of frost on the roof and the 
 
 spire ; 
 
 The cold moonbeams fall on the ice-prisoned 
 
 fountain 
 
 The sun cannot free with his faint touch of fire. 
 
 But the song of the south-wind will waken the 
 clover, 
 The ring-dove will coo to his mate in the 
 bower; 
 The frost-fashioned flake, when the winter is over, 
 A dewdrop will shine in the heart of a flower. 
 
IN THE FIRELIGHT 
 
 ^ I '*HE smouldering backlog is nearly in two, 
 And the forestick is burned to the core ; 
 The embers are blushing a tremulous hue, 
 While the wind in the chimney goes " woo-oo-oo ! " 
 
 And, sadly, at window and door, 
 
 Is sighing that summer is o'er. 
 An'l a faint, little whispering, eery and queer, 
 
 Brings news I am waiting to know, — 
 The forces of Winter are marshalling near, — 
 It says in that strange little language we hear 
 
 When the fire is talking of snow. 
 
 My babies are blissfully dreaming in bed. 
 
 Close-wrapped is each innocent form ; 
 With tender caress their " Good Nights " have 
 
 been said, 
 And with blankets soft-tucked round each dear 
 little head, 
 And cuddled so cozy and warm, 
 They fear not the breath of the storm. 
 
 lOI 
 
In the Firelight 
 
 In front of the fireplace, beaming and bright, 
 
 Are their little shoes, all in a row, 
 Whose travel-worn soles seem to shiver with fright 
 When the wind hoarsely laughs in the chimney 
 at night 
 
 And the fire is talking of snow. 
 
 On the shadowy mantel the garrulous clock 
 
 Is sifting the seconds away 
 And solemnly telling me — " Tock, tick, tock " — 
 It is time I was joining my slumbering flock 
 
 Where the drowsy-eyed poppy holds sway ; 
 
 But I linger to prayerfully say, 
 " Good angels be near to those treasures of mine 
 
 When the tempest shall bitingly blow ; 
 Through all their sweet dreaming bright blossoms 
 
 entwine ; 
 Bring roses and lilies and summer and shine, 
 
 While the fire is talking of snow." 
 
 102 
 
AN OLD MAN'S LOVE 
 
 T T T'HEN she comes back she '11 never know 
 
 * " That I have really missed her so. 
 I s'pose she 'd laugh if she but knew 
 One half the boyish things I do. 
 An old man deep in love 's as big 
 A goose as is a lovelorn sprig, 
 And I just smile at times to see 
 What simple thoughts come over me. 
 
 I used to fear long years of life 
 Would dim the love of man and wife, 
 But now I find that every mile 
 The flame grows brighter all the while ; 
 And ever since she 's been away 
 I 've counted every hour and day, 
 And wished the time would hurry when 
 I '11 look into her eyes again. 
 
 At evening when I sit and rock. 
 And hear the ticking of the clock, — 
 'T was given us the day we wed. 
 He heard it, too, the boy that's dead, — 
 103 
 
An Old Man's Love 
 
 Then with the stillness all around 
 I think of years when first I wound 
 That dear old clock, and thoughts arise 
 That bring a mist before my eyes. 
 
 But they are sort of pleasant tears, 
 
 The ones you call through years and years 
 
 Of pleasure sprinkled through with pain 
 
 Like April sunshine dashed with rain. 
 
 Some skies were dark and some were fair, 
 
 And joys came tangled up with care, 
 
 But after all the thorns and stings 
 
 The way was blessed with gracious things. 
 
 You could n't make her believe that I 
 
 Would on our old piano try 
 
 To pick out some sweet courting-tune 
 
 We used to sing in love's glad June. 
 
 'T would trouble her if she should know 
 
 While she 's away I 'm worried so, 
 
 For while she 's round the house, you see, 
 
 I 'm dignified as I can be. 
 
 And then to-day, I had to laugh — 
 I hunted up her photograph ; 
 104 
 
An Old Man's Love 
 
 It seemed so queer. I don't know when 
 I 've looked at it before, and then 
 I thought about the Sunday she 
 First gave that picture rare to me, 
 And how I kissed it then and how 
 I kiss it just as fondly now. 
 
 I wonder if two hearts in tune 
 Are n't always in their honeymoon ; 
 And I 'd just like to know if she 's 
 A-thinking any thoughts like these. 
 My love I '11 hardly dare confess. 
 But somehow I believe she '11 guess 
 Its depth within the tender smack 
 Her cheek will feel when she comes back. 
 
 105 
 
THE RED ROSE 
 
 ^"^IVE me a rose, a rare, red rose, 
 
 ^^ To wear upon my breast ; 
 
 Of all good things the summer brings 
 
 The red rose seemeth best. 
 I know not why she glads my eye 
 
 And makes my heart to stir. 
 But at the shrine of gifts divine 
 
 I kneel to worship her. 
 
 She is not born among the joys 
 
 The smiles of April bring, 
 Nor in the May, for such as they 
 
 Are children of the spring. 
 But when the noon of golden June 
 
 Is rounded full and sweet. 
 She brings the grace in form and face 
 
 Of womanhood complete. 
 
 The lily's lips are pure as snow 
 
 That Cometh from above, 
 But oh ! the heart would be a part 
 
 Of joys that blend with love. 
 1 06 
 
The Red Rose 
 
 Give me a rose, a rare, red rose, 
 
 To wear upon my breast; 
 Of all good things the summer brings 
 
 The red rose seemeth best. 
 
 107 
 
AN OLD-FASHIONED PICTURE 
 
 A N old-fashioned picture steals into my dream- 
 
 ^ "^ ing, a picture so soothingly sweet ; 
 
 A little, low cottage with roses half hiding the 
 window that looks on the street. 
 
 And a woman, within, has a smile for my coming 
 (oh, none were so happy as we !) 
 
 While the baby she holds in her arms at the win- 
 dow is waving his kisses to me. 
 
 All day at the forge and the anvil I whistled the 
 
 song she had taught me to sing, 
 And the words she had sweetened and softened 
 
 in speaking were timed to my hammer's loud 
 
 ring. 
 And on my way home how my heart leaped when 
 
 reaching a bend in the street I could see 
 The baby she held in her arms at the window 
 
 a-waving his kisses to me. 
 io8 
 
An Old-Fashioned Picture 
 
 Not gone, but asleep in the churchyard, together, 
 where old-fashioned roses entwine 
 
 A wreath for the mossy old stone, they are wait- 
 ing, those God-given treasures of mine ; 
 
 And though far away from their rest I have wan- 
 dered, that old-fashioned picture I see. 
 
 And the baby she holds in her arms at the win- 
 dow is waving his kisses to me. 
 
 109 
 
OUR DARK-DAY FRIENDS 
 
 /^UR dark-day friends ! Ah, how we prize 
 ^^ The steadfast hearts who, when our skies 
 Take on a dull and leaden hue. 
 Like glints of sun come smiling through 
 With summer in their words and eyes ! 
 
 Sweet is adversity that tries 
 The strength on which the heart relies 
 And brings to us the faithful few, — 
 Our dark-day friends. 
 
 When skies are all a perfect blue 
 
 And wealth and happiness pursue, 
 Ah, one must be extremely wise 
 Who can detect the world's disguise ! 
 
 The storm, alone, can bring to view 
 Our dark-day friends. 
 
 no 
 
RECOMPENSE 
 
 'T^HE gifts that to our breasts we fold 
 
 •^ Are brightened by our losses. 
 The sweetest joys a heart can hold 
 
 Grow up between its crosses. 
 And on life's pathway many a mile 
 
 Is made more glad and cheery, 
 Because, for just a little while, 
 
 The way seemed dark and dreary. 
 
 Ill 
 
THE PERFECT DAY 
 
 'T^HE dawn an amethyst ; the noon a pearl set 
 
 "^ round with gold ; 
 
 The eve an opal changing to a ruby warm and 
 
 bold; 
 The night with diamonds in her hair and on her 
 
 brows and breast, 
 Her moon-ringed finger made a wand to charm a 
 
 world to rest. 
 
 Oh, gracious morn ! Oh, golden noon ! Oh, 
 
 matchless eve ! Oh, night 
 Whose stars from a diviner sky gave a diviner 
 
 light! 
 O day of days, within my heart of hearts I still 
 
 enshrine ! 
 That morn, that noon, that eve, that night. Love 
 
 wreathed his dreams with mine. 
 
 112 
 
HOUSE AND HOME 
 
 A HOUSE is built of bricks and stones, of 
 sills and posts and piers, 
 But a home is built of loving deeds that stand a 
 
 thousand years. 
 A house, though but an humble cot, within its 
 
 walls may hold 
 A home of priceless beauty, rich in Love's eternal 
 gold. 
 
 The men of earth build houses — halls and 
 
 chambers, roofs and domes, — 
 But the women of the earth — God knows ! — 
 
 the women build the homes. 
 Eve could not stray from Paradise, for, oh, no 
 
 matter where 
 Her gracious presence lit the way, lo ! Paradise 
 
 was there. 
 
 "3 
 
A FO'CAS'LE BALLAD 
 
 T 'VE sailed as far as the winds dare blow, 
 ■^ And I 've bunked a while in many a port ; 
 The ships may come and the ships may go, 
 
 I 've always found the time to court. 
 And I 've learned one thing, and I swear it 's true, 
 
 That, old or young, or black or white, 
 If you 're good to her she 's good to you, -^ 
 For a woman 's square if you treat her right. 
 T/ten ho ! yo-ho ! for the boundless blue ! 
 And ho ! yo-ho ! for the harbor light I 
 If you We good to her she 's good to you, — 
 For a woman 's square if you treat her right. 
 
 I 've not been half what a sailor should ; 
 
 But the lads are a careless lot of men. 
 For the gales they blow us away from good, 
 
 And seldom they blow us back again. 
 Yet never I 've met with a sailor lad 
 
 Who was true to his lassie day and night 
 114 
 
A Fo'cas'le Ballad 
 
 But he found her waiting, good and glad, — 
 For a woman's square if you treat her right. 
 Then ho ! yo-ho ! for the boundless blue ! 
 And ho ! yo-ho ! for the harbor light ! 
 If you 're good to her she 's good to you, — 
 For a woman 's square if you treat her right. 
 
 When the winds are low and the watch is long, 
 
 And our ship 's asleep in a lazy sea, 
 I weave me many an idle song 
 
 For those who were better than I could be. 
 And I sing the words I swear are true, 
 
 That, old or young, or black or white, 
 If you're good to her she's good to you, — 
 For a woman's square if you treat her right. 
 Then ho I yo-ho ! for the boundless blue / 
 And ho ! yo-ho I for the harbor light ! 
 If you 're good to her she 's good to you, — 
 For a woman 's square if you treat her right. 
 
 "5 
 
THE MAN IN THE CAB 
 
 QAFE and snug in the sleeping-car 
 
 Are father and mother and dreaming child. 
 The night outside shows never a star, 
 
 For the storm is thick and the wind is wild. 
 The frenzied train in its all-night race 
 
 Holds many a soul in its fragile walls, 
 While up in his cab, with a smoke-stained face, 
 
 Is the man in the greasy overalls. 
 
 Through the fire-box door the heat glows 
 
 white. 
 
 The whistle speaks with a shriek that shocks, 
 
 The pistons dance and the drive-wheels smite 
 
 The trembling rails till the whole earth rocks. 
 
 But never a searching eye could trace — 
 
 Though the night is black and the speed 
 
 appals — 
 
 A line of fear in the smoke-stained face 
 
 Of the man in the greasy overalls. 
 ii6 
 
The Man in the Cab 
 
 No halting, wavering coward he, 
 
 As he lashes his engine round the curve, 
 But a peace-encompassed Grant or Lee, 
 
 With a heart of oak and an iron nerve. 
 And so I ask that you make a place 
 
 In the Temple of Heroes' sacred halls 
 Where I may hang the smoke-stained face 
 
 Of the man in the greasy overalls. 
 
 117 
 
WHEN TO BE HAPPY 
 
 TT THY do we cling to the skirts of sorrow, 
 ^ ^ Why do we cloud with care the brow? 
 Why do we wait for a glad to-morrow, — 
 
 Why not gladden the precious Now? 
 Eden is yours ! Would you dwell within it? 
 
 Change men's grief to a gracious smile. 
 And thus have heaven here this minute 
 
 And not far-off in the afterwhile. 
 
 Life, at most, is a fleeting bubble, 
 
 Gone with the puff of an angel's breath. 
 Why should the dim hereafter trouble 
 
 Souls this side of the gates of death? 
 The crown is yours ! Would you care to win it? 
 
 Plant a song in the hearts that sigh, 
 And thus have heaven here this minute 
 
 And not far-off in the by-and-by. 
 
 Find the soul's high place of beauty. 
 
 Not in a man-made book of creeds, 
 
 But where desire ennobles duty 
 
 And life is full of your kindly deeds. 
 ii8 
 
When to be Happy 
 
 The bliss is yours ! Would you fain begin it? 
 
 Pave with love each golden mile, 
 And thus have heaven here this minute 
 
 And not far-off in the afterwhile. 
 
 119 
 
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE PESSIMIST 
 
 "DROTHER — you with growl and frown — 
 "^ Why don't you move from Grumbletown, 
 Where everything is tumbled down 
 
 And skies are dark and dreary? 
 Move over into Gladville, where 
 Your face will don a happy air ; 
 And lay aside that look of care 
 
 For smiles all bright and cheery. 
 
 In Grumbletown there 's not a joy 
 But has a shadow of alloy 
 That must its happiness destroy 
 
 And make you to regret it. 
 In Gladville they have not a care 
 But what it looks inviting there 
 And has about it something fair 
 
 That makes you glad to get it. 
 
 'T is strange how different these towns 
 Of ours are ! Good cheer abounds 
 In one, and gruesome growls and frowns 
 Are always in the other. 
 
 120 
 
An Open Letter to the Pessimist 
 
 If you your skies of ashen gray 
 Would change for sunny smiles of May, 
 From Grumbletown, oh ! haste away ; 
 Move into Gladville, brother. 
 
 121 
 
WHEN SHAKESPEARE WROTE 
 
 TT JHEN Shakespeare wrote, the world was 
 ' ^ new : 
 
 He did not follow others who 
 
 Had grabbed up everything in sight 
 And written all there was to write, 
 
 And in a clever manner, too. 
 
 No, all an author had to do 
 Was just to loaf around and view 
 
 A field with themes all fresh and bright, 
 When Shakespeare wrote. 
 
 Folks did not keep him in a stew 
 
 And say he 'd plagiarized his Jew 
 
 And Hamlet. Ah, 'twas easy, quite, 
 For Shakespeare had not rendered trite 
 
 Each thought that could one's muse imbue 
 When Shakespeare wrote. 
 
 122 
 
THE ANGELIC HUSBAND 
 
 '"P^HERE are husbands who are pretty, 
 There are husbands who are witty, 
 There are husbands who in public are as smiling 
 as the morn ; 
 There are husbands brave and healthy, 
 There are famous ones and wealthy, 
 But the real angelic husband, he has never yet 
 been born. 
 
 Some for strength of love are noted, 
 Who are really so devoted 
 That whene'er from home they wander they are 
 lonesome and forlorn ; 
 And while now and then you '11 find one 
 Who 's a very good and kind one. 
 Yet the real angelic husband, he has never yet 
 been born. 
 
 So the woman who is mated 
 
 To a man who may be rated 
 123 
 
The Angelic Husband 
 
 As " pretty fair," should cherish him forever and 
 a day, 
 For the real angelic creature, 
 Perfect, quite, in every feature, 
 He has never been discovered, and he won't be, 
 so they say. 
 
 124 
 
THE GIRL WHO LOVED HIM SO 
 
 " T_TA, ha ! " said Chappie Fizzlewig, and he 
 
 laughed in boyish glee, 
 " I 'm making love to a dozen girls, but none 
 
 shall marry me ; 
 I sigh to them and I lie to them and I fall upon 
 
 my knees, 
 As I twist their trusting hearts about precisely as 
 I please." 
 And the parlor clock 
 Ticked on, " tick-tock," 
 And the gaslight flickered low 
 As he waiting sat for a chance to chat with the 
 girl who loved him so. 
 
 And when she had frizzled her old-gold hair 
 and painted her faded face, 
 
 She came, a vision fresh and fair, with comely 
 childlike grace. 
 
 " Poor, unsuspecting soul ! " thought he, " she 
 little dreams that I 
 
 Fht on from bud to bud as does the careless but- 
 terfly." 
 
 125 
 
The Girl who Loved Him so 
 
 And the parlor clock 
 Ticked on, " tick-tock," 
 And the gaslight flickered low 
 As he slyly planned to hold the hand of the girl 
 who loved him so. 
 
 There was no one near to overhear, so he told 
 
 her of his love. 
 As true and pure and constant as the stars that 
 
 shone above ; 
 And when the proper time arrived he fell upon 
 
 his knees, 
 And words he wished to emphasize he 'd give her 
 hand a squeeze. 
 And the parlor clock 
 Ticked on, " tick-tock," 
 And the gaslight flickered low 
 As with subtle art he won the heart of the girl 
 who loved him so. 
 
 And the tender, trustful maiden, she — she 
 
 laughed a gentle laugh, 
 For she knew each word he spoke was caught by 
 
 her sofa-phonograph; 
 126 
 
The Girl who Loved Him so 
 
 And when he knelt to win her she a button gently 
 
 pressed, 
 And the corner what-not camera in silence did 
 the rest. 
 And the parlor clock 
 Ticked on, ** tick-tock," 
 And the gaslight flickered low 
 As she sweetly smiled, did the guileless child, the 
 girl who loved him so. 
 
 The world went round, and by and by he tired of 
 
 her love ; 
 'Twas then that she reminded him the stars still 
 
 shone above ; 
 And into court the phonograph and photographs 
 
 were brought, 
 When the young man learned a lot of things of 
 which he'd never thought. 
 And the parlor clock 
 Ticked on, " tick-tock," 
 And the gaslight shed its glow, 
 And the guests all came and he gave his name to 
 the girl who loved him so. 
 
 127 
 
GRADUATION-DAY ESSAY 
 
 A SPRYNG IDYLLE 
 
 ^^H, the gentle grass is growing in the vale 
 
 ^"^ and on the hill ; 
 
 We cannot hear it growing, still 'tis growing 
 
 very still ; 
 And in the Spring it springs to life with gladness 
 
 and delight ; 
 I see it growing day by day — it also grows by 
 
 night. 
 
 And now once more as mowers whisk the 
 whiskers from the lawn, 
 
 They '11 rouse us from our slumbers at the dawn- 
 ing of the dawn; 
 
 It saddens my poor heart to think what we 
 should do for hay, 
 
 If grass instead of growing up should grow the 
 other way. 
 
 128 
 
Graduation-Day Essay 
 
 Its present rate of growing makes it safe to say- 
 that soon 
 
 'Twill cover all the hills at morn and in the 
 afternoon ; 
 
 For often I have noticed as I 've watched it o'er 
 and o'er, 
 
 It grows and grows and grows a while, and then it 
 grows some more. 
 
 If it keeps growing right along, it shortly will 
 
 be tall ; 
 It humps itself through strikes and legal holidays 
 
 and all. 
 'Tis growing up down all the streets and clear 
 
 around the square ; 
 One end is growing in the ground — the other 
 
 in the air. 
 
 If earth possessed no grass, methinks its beauty 
 
 would be dead ; 
 We 'd have to make the best of it and use baled 
 
 hay instead. 
 I love to sing its praises in a way none can surpass, 
 And poets everywhere are warned to *' Please 
 
 keep off the grass." 
 
 9 129 
 
THE VILLAGE GENIUS 
 
 T3 ILL JONES was a " genius," so every one said, 
 "^ A statement none cared to refute. 
 He had more brilliant thoughts stowed away in 
 his head 
 
 Than figures could ever compute. 
 He knew all the things of the earth and the sky, 
 
 In wisdom he seemed to excel, 
 But when it came down to a hustle for pie 
 
 Bill never got on very well. 
 
 He used to write music and knew how to draw. 
 
 Could teach any science or art ; 
 Was clever in medicine, understood law, 
 
 And had all the isms by heart. 
 To hear him conversing one speedily guessed 
 
 That Bill was as sharp as a tack, 
 Yet somehow or other he never possessed 
 
 A whole suit of clothes to his back. 
 
 Bill's genius was known and respected by all 
 In the town where he used to reside. 
 130 
 
The Village Genius 
 
 For the rich and the poor, for the great and the 
 small, 
 He served as their counsel and guide. 
 He was prophet and preacher to kith and to kin, 
 
 To friend and to neighbor, until 
 Death called him away, when the whole town 
 chipped in 
 And bought a nice coffin for Bill. 
 
 131 
 
THE WORSHIPPERS 
 
 ^TT^HE poet looked at the kingly oak 
 
 And his soul was lifted high, 
 As he saw its widespread arms invoke 
 
 A blessing from the sky. 
 It filled his breast with a new-found cheer, 
 
 And his heart seemed all elate. 
 As he spoke to the yeoman, standing near, 
 
 And worshipfully sighed, " It 's great ! " 
 
 And the yeoman — one of Nature's lords - 
 
 Quite willing to agree. 
 Said, " Yes, I reckon they 's twenty cords 
 
 O' wood in that thair tree." 
 
 132 
 
"HOW BE YE, JIM?" 
 
 " T TOW be ye, Jim ?" That sunny voice 
 
 Comes back through the misty years, 
 And I see the grace of an old man's face 
 
 Smile up through his happy tears. 
 Long time he strays down the quiet ways 
 
 Where the path is strange and dim, 
 But I keep the cheer of his love and hear 
 
 His words, " How be ye, Jim? " 
 
 There came to me, as comes to all. 
 
 The voice of Purpose when 
 I lost the joy of a careless boy 
 
 For the broad, bold world of men ; 
 And the skies were glad or dark or sad. 
 
 My thoughts ran back to him 
 Till we met once more at the old home door, 
 
 And he said, " How be ye, Jim? " 
 
 Sometime in the far-off by-and-by. 
 When the years are old and gray, 
 
 I shall wander down from the busy town. 
 Through that sweet and quiet way. 
 ^33 
 
"Howbe Ye, Jim?" 
 
 I shall find the rills from the rose-crowned hills, 
 And drink from their blissful brim ; 
 
 And, the best of all, I shall hear him call 
 And say, " How be ye, Jim? " 
 
 134 
 
THE EVERY-DAY POET 
 
 T AIN'T very much of a poet ; 
 
 I can't soar so awfully high : 
 I 'm kind o' low-geared an' I know it, 
 
 And have to keep out o' the sky. 
 An' so while my star-gazin' brother 
 
 Kin tickle the gods with his pen, 
 I josh along somehow er other 
 
 And jes keep a-writin' fer men. 
 
 I know 'at he 's blissfully dwellin* 
 
 With gods an' emperian springs, 
 While I 'm down here simply a-tellin' 
 
 O' plain human bein's an' things. 
 Yit while he 's up yender inditin' 
 
 His loftier songs, I have found 
 I do what I call my best writin' 
 
 With both o' my feet on the ground. 
 
 I never have tackled a sonnet ; 
 
 I could n't write one ef I tried. 
 An' put all the folderols on it 
 
 Without gittin' somepin' inside. 
 135 
 
The Every-Day Poet 
 
 Fer I understand ef you fix it 
 
 To sell to a big magazine, 
 You 've got to so fuzzle an' mix it 
 
 'At no one kin tell what you mean. 
 
 My mind ain't ferever a-strayin' 
 
 Through sorrowful caverns o' fog; 
 I 've got a good place an' I 'm stay in' 
 
 Right there like a bump on a log. 
 I know I 'm too cheerful to " strike it; " 
 
 I ain't got no "study " ner " den; " 
 I live with my folks an' I like it, 
 
 An' jes keep a-writin' fer men. 
 
 136 
 
WHEN THE TRAIN COMES IN 
 
 TX T'ELL, yes, I calkerlate it is a little quiet 
 ^^ here 
 
 Fer one who 's b'en about the world an' travelled 
 
 fur an' near ; 
 But, maybe 'cause I never lived no other place, 
 
 to me 
 The town seems 'bout as lively as a good town 
 
 ort to be. 
 We go about our bizness in a quiet sort o' way, 
 Ner thinkin' o' the outside world, exceptin' wunst 
 
 a day 
 We gather at the depot, where we laff an' talk 
 
 an' spin 
 Our yarns an' watch the people when the train 
 
 comes in. 
 
 Si Jenkins, he 's the jestice o' the peace, he allers 
 
 spends 
 His money fer a paper which he glances through 
 
 an' lends 
 
 137 
 
When the Train Comes in 
 
 To some the other fellers, an' we all take turns 
 
 an' chat, 
 An' each one tells what he 'u'd do ef he was this 
 
 er that ; 
 An' in a quiet sort o' way, afore a hour 's gone. 
 We git a purty good idee o' what's a-goin' on, 
 An' gives us lots to think about until we meet agin 
 The follerin' to-morrer when the train comes in. 
 
 When I git lonesome-like I set aroun' the barber- 
 shop 
 Er corner groc'ry, where I talk about the growin' 
 
 crop 
 With fellers from the country ; an* if the sun ain't 
 
 out too hot, 
 We go to pitchin' hoss-shoes in Jed Thompson's 
 
 vacant lot 
 Behin' the livery stable ; an' afore the game is 
 
 done 
 As like as not some feller '11 say his nag kin clean 
 
 outrun 
 The other feller's, an' they take 'em out an' have 
 
 a spin ; 
 But all git back in town afore the train comes in. 
 138 
 
When the Train Comes in 
 
 I see it in the papers 'at some folks, when sum- 
 mer 's here, 
 Pack up their trunks an' journey to the seashore 
 
 every year 
 To keep from gittin' sunstruck; I've a better 
 
 way 'an that, 
 Fer when it 's hot I put a cabbage-leaf inside my 
 
 hat 
 An' go about my bizness jes as though it was n't 
 
 warm — 
 Fact is I ain't a-doin' much sence I moved off 
 
 my farm; 
 An' folks 'at loves the outside world, if they 've 
 
 a mind to, kin 
 See all they ort to of it when the train comes in. 
 
 An' yit I like excitement, an' they 's nothin' suits 
 
 me more 
 'An to git three other fellers, so 's to make a even 
 
 four, 
 'At knows the game jes to a T, an' spend a half 
 
 a day 
 In some good place a-fightin' out a battle at 
 
 croquet. 
 
 139 
 
When the Train Comes in 
 
 There 's Tubbs who tends the post-office, an' old 
 
 Doc Smith an' me 
 An' Uncle Perry Louden — it 'u'd do you good 
 
 to see 
 Us fellers maul them balls aroun' ; we meet time 
 
 an' agin 
 An' play an' play an' play until the train comes 
 
 in. 
 
 An' take it all in all I bet you 'd have to look 
 
 aroun' 
 A good, long while afore you 'd find a nicer little 
 
 town 
 'An this 'n' is. The people live a quiet sort o' 
 
 life, 
 Ner carin' much about the world with all its woe 
 
 an' strife. 
 An' here I mean to spend my days, an' when I 
 
 reach the end 
 I '11 say, " God bless ye ! " an' " Good-bye," to 
 
 every faithful friend ; 
 An' when they foller me to where they ain't no 
 
 care ner sin, 
 I '11 meet 'em at the depot when the train comes 
 
 in. 
 
 140 
 
GRANDFATHER'S REVERIE 
 
 ^nr^HERE 's nothin' nicer 'n music when it hap- 
 ■*• pens fer to be 
 
 Some good, old-fashioned tune we used to 
 know; 
 But all these modern airs we hear, er so it seems 
 to me, 
 Can't match the dear old songs o' long ago. 
 The new-style oppry-music which my grandchild 
 plays is fine 
 An' classical, er so I hear 'em say, 
 But while them blessed mellerdies fill this old 
 heart o' mine, 
 I jes can't like the music of to-day. 
 An' when my grandchild's thrummin', oh, I've 
 wished it o'er an' o'er, — 
 An' felt the tears a-wellin' in my eyes, — 
 Her grandma was a-settin' there to play fer me 
 once more 
 " The mockin'-bird is singin' where she lies." 
 141 
 
Grandfather's Reverie 
 
 It don't seem more 'an yesterday when first I 
 heard her play 
 The happy notes my heart has held so long ; 
 But every mile I travel on life's strangely vvindin' 
 way 
 Is brightened by the beauty of her song. 
 I turned the music fer her an' she seemed so 
 sweet an' fair, 
 So like a blessed angel from above, 
 I 'm wishin', wishin' all the while I might be 
 standin' there 
 To tell her o' my everlastin' love. 
 I 'd like to whisper all the words I dared not tell 
 her then, 
 An' lookin' in the beauty of her eyes, 
 I 'd dwell in blissful rapture while I heard her 
 voice again — 
 " The mockin'-bird is singin' where she lies." 
 
 Oh, life was good an' golden when we journeyed 
 side by side, 
 An' the cottage with the roses roun' the door 
 Seemed like a dream o' beauty with my lovin* 
 little bride 
 
 X42 
 
Grandfather's Reverie 
 
 A-waitin' fer me when the day was o'er. 
 We heard the birds a-callin* from the honey- 
 locust trees, 
 To mates within the nest, their fond good-night, 
 While perfume o' the clover came like incense 
 on the breeze 
 As we watched the sunset fadin' from our sight. 
 An' as the golden glory in the calm and peace- 
 ful west 
 Is softened to the twilight o' the skies, 
 So in the June she fell asleep, her head upon my 
 breast, 
 " An' the mockin'-bird is singin' where she lies." 
 
 143 
 
EASYVILLE 
 
 r? ASYVILLE 's a little place 
 ^~^ Full o' quiet country grace, — 
 Fruits an' flowers, birds an' trees, 
 An' the clover-scented breeze 
 Ain't on any railroad, so 
 Don't have noisy trains, you know, 
 Fer to keep a soul distressed 
 'At 's a-tryin' fer to rest. 
 
 In the cities, so they say. 
 Some poor soul, 'bout every day. 
 Weary o' the grind an' toil, 
 Shuffles off this mortal coil. 
 I 'm a prayin' Christian an' 
 Hope to see the Promised Lan' ; 
 Yet, if all is willin', I '11 
 Stay roun' here fer quite a while. 
 
 Wish 'at I could have a chat 
 With each tired mortal 'at 
 Thinks his life 's so big a load 
 *T ain't worth carryin' down the road. 
 144 
 
Easyville 
 
 Like to cheer him up an' say, 
 " Come up home with me an' stay. 
 Don't you quit a-Hvin' till 
 You 've inspected Easyville." 
 
 10 145 
 
DEACON SKINNER'S IDEE 
 
 ^ I ''HEY tell me there's persumin* men revisin 
 
 -*■ o' the Bible ! 
 
 Some folks is so all-fired smart, er think they be, 
 
 they 're li'ble 
 To have the stars all painted green, an' nen, some 
 
 future day, 
 They '11 all conclude to make the sun go roun' 
 
 the other way. 
 
 They'd like to keep on with their everlastin' 
 
 tinkerin' till 
 They bu'st up everything an' make the rivers run 
 
 up-hill. 
 An' if we give 'em time enough, I hain't a bit o' 
 
 doubt, 
 They natchelly '11 turn the hull creation inside out. 
 
 Now, jes as if the prophets an' the 'postles an' 
 
 the rest 
 O' them 'at writ the Bible, were n't the ones to 
 
 know the best 
 
 146 
 
Deacon Skinner's Idee 
 
 What ort to be put in it ! An' a man who takes 
 
 away 
 Er adds to it '11 ketch it on the final jedgment day. 
 
 You can't raise crops by settin' roun' and simply 
 
 writin' " corn," 
 An' folks as tries it '11 come out the little end the 
 
 horn. 
 It ain't no trick to make a book 'at says we all 
 
 kin go 
 A-glidin' into heaven ; but that don't make it so. 
 
 They '11 learn the way 's as narrer an' as difficult 
 to climb 
 
 An' as thorny as it used to be in our gran'fathers' 
 time; 
 
 An' find too late the other place as easy of ad- 
 mission, 
 
 An' jes as hot as 't was afore they writ their new 
 edition. 
 
 147 
 
UNCLE NATHAN'S NOTION 
 
 T 'VE b'en down to the meetin'-house and heerd 
 
 our new divine ; 
 I s'pose I ort to like him, fer they say he 's mighty 
 
 fine, 
 But I 've growed sort o' fogy-like and so I '11 have 
 
 to state 
 Ef he 's the new-style orthodox I ain't jes up to 
 
 date. 
 
 I 'm willin' to admit I like the pleasin' way he paints 
 The future o' the race an' makes the meanest 
 
 mortals saints ; 
 But ef a feller never has to answer fer his sin, 
 St. Peter better quit his job an' let the crowd 
 
 march in. 
 
 I may be kind o* stupid-like, but I hain't never 
 
 learnt 
 How we kin handle fire an' not git all our fingers 
 
 burnt. 
 
 148 
 
Uncle Nathan's Notion 
 
 I don't see how a feller who 's a-doin' wicked 
 
 things 
 Kin ever git his soul in shape to make it fit his 
 
 wings. 
 
 In heaven would you care to be with men who, 
 
 all their lives, 
 Was ornery to their neighbors an' their children 
 
 an' their wives ? 
 Is rascals goin' to fare the same as good folks? 
 
 No, sirree ! 
 An' ef there ain't no hell, by jing ! I think there 
 
 ort to be. 
 
 149 
 
WHEN THE SUMMER BOARDERS COME 
 
 "VT'ES, June is here an' now, byjing! it won't 
 
 be long until 
 Our good, old-fashioned neighborhood 'at seems 
 
 so kind o' still 
 An' solemn-like at times, as though the world had 
 
 shut us in, 
 'LI sort o' waken from her dream an' stir herself 
 
 agin. 
 The medder 's full o' daisies an' the trees is full o' 
 
 bloom, 
 An' after dark the fireflies is sparkin' in the 
 
 gloom ; 
 The birds is busy buildin' nests, the hives is full 
 
 o' hum ; 
 It's jes about the season when the summer 
 
 boarders come. 
 
 Peculiar lot o' people is the ones 'at come from 
 
 town, 
 They're full o' funny notions, but they plank the 
 
 money down. 
 
 150 
 
When the Summer Boarders Come 
 
 It don't much matter what they git ner what they 
 
 have to pay, — 
 Jes give 'em lots o' buttermilk an' let 'em have 
 
 their way. 
 Tears 's if they yearn fer scenery an' never git 
 
 enough 
 O* sunsets an' o' moonlight nights, an' highty- 
 
 tighty stuff; 
 But sence they pay me fer it, why, I 'm keepin' 
 
 mighty mum ; 
 You '11 find me diplermatic when the summer 
 
 boarders come. 
 
 One year I thought I'd please 'em, so I spent a 
 good, big pile 
 
 A-buyin' tony fixin's an* a-slingin' on the style. 
 
 I painted up the house an' barn an' built a picket 
 fence, 
 
 " All moderrun conveniences " I planned at big 
 expense. 
 
 I got some patent foldin'-beds an' a planner, 
 too, 
 
 An' tried to make the place appear like city man- 
 sions do, 
 
 151 
 
When the Summer Boarders Come 
 
 But when the folks come — jiminy! — they 
 
 would n't stop a day ; 
 Such " comforts " made 'em tired, so they 'd up 
 
 an' go away. 
 
 So then I scraped the paint all off the fence an' 
 
 barn an' house, 
 An' cast aside my nice store clothes fer overalls 
 
 an' blouse. 
 In place o' every door-knob I contrived a wooden 
 
 latch, 
 I ripped the shingles off the roof an' made a leaky 
 
 thatch. 
 The patent pump I traded fer a windlass an' a rope, 
 The bath-room is a horse-trough an' a hunk o' 
 
 home-made soap. 
 The foldin'-beds an' likewise the planner's cheer- 
 ful thrum — 
 Oh, we hide 'em in the attic when the summer 
 
 boarders come. 
 
 An' sence I reconstructed things the house has 
 
 overflowed 
 With summer boarders every year — 'pears like 
 
 the whole world knowed 
 
When the Summer Boarders Come 
 
 'At here's the place to find the joys 'at's near to 
 
 Nature's heart, 
 The extry, duplex, simon-pure, without a touch 
 
 o' art. 
 Folks like my homely dialect an' ask me fer to 
 
 spin 
 Some simple yarn an' by an' by they '11 ask fer 
 
 it agin ; 
 So I 've jes got to jolly 'em; but say, it's tough, 
 
 by gum ! 
 Fer me who 's been through Harvard, when the 
 
 summer boarders come. 
 
 153 
 
THE PROCRASTINATIONIST 
 
 THERE used to be a feller who 
 'U'd sit an' tell what he 'u'd do. 
 He 'd show 'em how to make a hit 
 When wunst he got aroun' to it. 
 An' he was smart. No one 'u'd doubt 
 He knowed what he was talkin' 'bout; 
 It seemed jes 's if he 'd clearly planned 
 Success, ner missed a " if" er "and." 
 
 He said he 'd write a book in which 
 'T was certain he 'u'd strike it rich. 
 He 'd outlined lots o' plays 'at he 
 'U'd bet 'at folks 'u'd flock to see. 
 He had a lectur' on the string 
 He knowed 'u'd draw like everything ; 
 An' lots o' schemes to bring him gold, 
 More 'an a circus tent 'u'd hold. 
 
 I 've heerd that feller sit an' spin 
 His plans fer scoopin' up the tin 
 Until down in my bones I felt 
 He 'd surely die a Vanderbilt. 
 154 
 
The Procrastinationist 
 
 When wunst he got right down to biz,, 
 I knowed the earth 'u'd soon be his, 
 An' when he asked me, now an' nen, 
 I let him have a " five " er " ten." 
 
 The years went on, as years '11 do, 
 
 An' he kep' on a-talkin', too, 
 
 Till in the potter's field one day 
 
 They laid this man o' words away, 
 
 An' writ upon a slab above 
 
 That soul 'at allers seemed to love 
 
 To chin an' chin an' chin an' chin, 
 
 " Here lies a man who might 'a' been." 
 
 I5S 
 
HANK HAINES'S PHILOSOPHY 
 
 TTOU 've all heerd tell o' Haines, I s'pose? — 
 
 ■*■ Hank Haines — well, anyway, by jing ! 
 Now, there *s a man '11 quit his meals to argify 
 
 'bout anything. 
 It's joy fer him to git some fact concernin' 
 
 which they ain't a doubt 
 In anybody's mind, an' nen jes turn the hull 
 
 thing inside out. 
 Why, all the wise men o' the past, Hank takes 
 
 'em up an', one by one. 
 He proves they was n't any good, an' shows you 
 
 what they might 'a' done. 
 An' all the great philosophers an' all the sages 
 
 did n't know 
 One half the facts 'at Hank kin tell, ef what he 
 
 says is so is so. 
 
 The other afternoon when Hank was down at 
 
 Slocum's groc'ry store, 
 Where he's most allers sure to be with 'bout a 
 
 half a dozen more, 
 
 156 
 
Hank Haines's Philosophy 
 
 An' Hank was tellin' how ef he was king the 
 
 earth would be as nice 
 An' kind an' lovin'-hke an' sweet as what it is in 
 
 Paradise, — 
 Hank's wife slipped in an' said, " Hank Haines, 
 
 you know you ort to be at work, 
 You keep me slavin' day an' night while you jes 
 
 loaf, you lazy shirk ! 
 You 're roun' fer meals three times a day but 
 
 never earn a single cent ! 
 You trot yourself right home," said she, *' an' cut 
 
 some wood ! " An' Hank, he went. 
 
 IS7 
 
A MINING-CAMP INCIDENT 
 
 TWAS lively 'bout our minin'-tovvn ; 
 The men a-hustlin' up an' down, 
 An' busy diggin', night an' day, 
 A-huntin' claims where dirt 'u'd pay. 
 We 'd barely time to eat er sleep. 
 An', weather good er bad, we 'd keep 
 A-workin' on with drill an' pick. 
 An' no one dreamed o' gettin' sick. 
 
 With heaps o' gold there to be got, 
 
 'T ain't strange we humped ourselves a lot, 
 
 An' toted dirt an' lifted rocks. 
 
 Each man as strong as any ox. 
 
 'T was lively workin' there, you bet, 
 
 Where every feller tried to get 
 
 His hands on all the dust he could, 
 
 An' jes laid low a-sawin' wood. 
 
 We 'd scores o' miners, rough an' brown, 
 But not a woman in the town, — 
 Not one in the hull calabash ! 
 We made our coffee, cooked our hash, 
 158 
 
A Mining- Camp Incident 
 
 An' done the sevvin', what was done, 
 An' baked our bread, an' every one 
 Seemed quite content to do without 
 " The fairer sex " you read about. 
 
 'T was sech a high an' healthy place 
 
 We'd never had a single case 
 
 O' sickness sence the camp begun. 
 
 An' it astonished every one 
 
 When word was passed about one day, 
 
 " A doctor 's comin' here to stay ! " 
 
 An' everybody joked an' said 
 
 The doctor 'u'd be the first one dead. 
 
 But, sufiferin' fish-hooks ! was n't we 
 
 A flabbergasted crowd to see 
 
 A woman come to camp one day 
 
 An' hang her shingle out? Why, say! 
 
 'T was sech a howlin' big surprise 
 
 We hardly dast believe our eyes ; 
 
 An' all the fellers stood about 
 
 As though it jes clean knocked 'em out. 
 
 " Kate Smith, M.D.," her shingle read, 
 An', sirs, she meant jes what she said. 
 159 
 
A Mining-Camp Incident 
 
 She proved a lady through an' through, 
 
 But 't was n't but a day er two 
 
 Till men who 'd been so strong an* well 
 
 All had the blamedest, sickest spell, 
 
 An' not a man in all the camp 
 
 But what he had a pain er cramp. 
 
 You never see so many ills ! 
 
 It kep' her busy sellin' pills 
 
 An' powders ; she was makin' more 
 
 Than any doctor made afore. 
 
 Them who had boasted bein' strong 
 
 All fell to ailin' right along; 
 
 But every man 'at sought her art 
 
 We knowed had trouble with his heart. 
 
 It 's hard to tell what we 'd 'a' done, 
 All gettin' sicker, every one ; 
 Our claims a-goin' all to smash, 
 The doctor gettin' all our cash ; 
 But, finally, Jed Watkins, who 
 Had saved o' gold a ton er two, 
 He wed the doctor one fine day 
 An' took her to the East to stay. 
 i6o 
 
A Mining-Camp Incident 
 
 'T was curious ; as soon as she 
 
 Was wed an' left the camp, why, we 
 
 All went about our work again. 
 
 You never see a lot o' men 
 
 Who 'd all perfessed to be so sick 
 
 Get over anything so quick. 
 
 But this we learned — gals, when they please, 
 
 Kin cause er cure the heart-disease. 
 
 " i6i 
 
THE "JUMPIN'-OFF PLACE" 
 
 "^T^HEN we reach the jumpin'-ofif place, why, 
 
 I 'd jes like to know 
 Which way a feller ort to jump, an' where he 's 
 
 goin' to go. 
 An' ain't there some delightful way in which it 
 
 may be planned 
 So as a mortal can pervide a nice, soft place to 
 
 land? 
 
 To fill our pockets full o' gold, it somehow seems 
 
 to me, 
 Would not prove, as the feller says, the very 
 
 best idee; 
 Per gold an' all sech earthly things, ef what I 
 
 think is right, 
 'LI only help to make the jolt the harder when 
 
 we light. 
 
 I have a notion if we try all through our livin' 
 
 years 
 
 To fill the world with sun an' shine, an' charm 
 
 away the tears, 
 
 162 
 
The " Jumpin'-oif Place " 
 
 An' speak the kind an' lovin' words, and do the 
 
 lovin' deeds 
 'At all the while an' everywhere 'most everybody 
 
 needs, 
 
 'At we '11 become so kind o' used to angel ways 
 
 an' things 
 'At in our hearts we '11 sort o' grow a pair o' 
 
 purty wings, 
 So when we come to leave the world we '11 jes 
 
 jump off an' fly 
 An' not go tumblin' everywhere, but soar up in 
 
 the sky. 
 
 163 
 
TAKE IT EASY 
 
 D 
 
 ^ON'T you worry, 
 Don't you hurry ; 
 Take it easy when you can. 
 Allers choppin' 
 Without stoppin' 
 To grind your ax 's a fooHsh plan. 
 
 Don't keep mussin' 
 
 Roun' an' fussin' 
 Over somepin'. Some I know 
 
 'S so all-fired 
 
 Worn an' tired, 
 Make the folks about 'em so. 
 
 Don't keep fightin' 
 
 Without sightin' ; 
 Take your time an' git your aim. 
 
 Don't ferever 
 
 Shoot an' never 
 Bag your proper share o' game. 
 164 
 
Take it Easy 
 
 Don't you borrow 
 
 Care an' sorrow; 
 Make more progress, so I find, 
 
 Sometimes settin' 
 
 Roun' a-lettin' 
 Things go 'bout as they 've a mind. 
 
 Like a feller 
 
 'At 's kind o' meller 
 An' easy -like — no time to see 
 
 Some infernal 
 
 Thing eternal- 
 Ly distressin' him an' me. 
 
 165 
 
ME AN' 'LIZA JANE 
 
 TT 's fifty year an' more ago sence me an' 'Liza 
 
 •^ Jane, 
 
 A-walkin' home from meetin', through a sweet 
 an' shady lane, 
 
 Agreed it was the best fer us to join our hands 
 fer Hfe : 
 
 An' hain't I allers blessed the day she said she 'd 
 be my wife ! 
 
 We 've had our little fallin's-out, the same as all 
 the rest. 
 
 But all the while I 've knowed 'at she 's the kind- 
 est an* the best, 
 
 The truest an' fergivin'est, fer I begin to see 
 
 She 's had to be an angel fer to git along with me. 
 
 Fer sence I 'm gittin' on in years I sort o' set 
 
 around 
 An' kind o' specellate about the things 'at 's more 
 
 perfound ; 
 
 166 
 
Me an' 'Liza Jane 
 
 An' as my mind goes strayin' back, along the 
 
 path o' life, 
 I jes begin to see how much I owe that good, 
 
 old wife. 
 You would n't think her handsome, 'cause your 
 
 eyes '11 never see 
 The many lovin' deeds she 's done to make her 
 
 dear to me. 
 But, say ! the things 'at she 's gone through, fer 
 
 love o' me an' mine. 
 Is 'nuff to make a feller think her beauty most 
 
 divine ! 
 
 I s'pose I done the best I could to make her 
 
 burdens light, 
 Yit, lookin' back, I seem to see so much 'at 
 
 wasn't right — 
 So much 'at brought her sorrow — yit, through 
 
 all the changin' years, 
 I 've seen her keep her faith in me, a-smilin' 
 
 through her tears. 
 An' now we're old together, but to me she's 
 
 young an' fair 
 As when the rose was in her cheek, the sunshine 
 
 in her hair ; 
 
 167 
 
Me an' 'Liza Jane 
 
 An' while I hold her hand in mine an* journey 
 
 down the hill, 
 I'll make life's sunset good an' sweet — God 
 
 helpin' me, I will ! 
 
 i68 
 
AN AUTUMNAL REVERIE 
 
 TUST an humble, plain-faced woman, 
 
 Middle-aged an' somewhat gray; 
 True an' wholesome-like an' human, — 
 
 Kind o' grave an' kind o' gay. 
 Makes me think o' early autumn, 
 Grapes a-purplin' on the vine, 
 Where the first faint frost has caught 'em, 
 Caught an' kissed 'em into wine. 
 
 Deep-voiced boys now call her " mother,"- 
 
 Baby boys that 's grown to be, 
 By some magic trick er other, 
 
 In a year as tall as she : 
 Girls that yesterday were clingin' 
 
 To her skirts, I 've seen o' late 
 With the neighbor boys a-swingin' 
 
 At the rose-wreathed garden gate. 
 
 While across her brow Time's finger 
 Writes the plainer tales o' truth, 
 
 In her heart there still must linger 
 All the flowery dreams o' youth. 
 169 
 
An Autumnal Reverie 
 
 Fields are sweet with bloomy clover, 
 Life is crowned with blissful joys ; 
 
 Love's pure gold she 's coinin' over 
 In her happy girls an' boys. 
 
 Seems as though the cup Fate brings us 
 
 Is a sort o' bitter-sweet, 
 Kind o' soothes an' kind o' stings us, — 
 
 Mirth an' melancholy meet. 
 Grief comes hushin' all our laughter, 
 
 Fairest skies are clouded o'er, 
 But the sunshine follows after. 
 
 Always brighter than before. 
 
 Spring may fade an' Summer vanish, 
 
 Autumn yield to Winter's sway, 
 Yet the years can never banish 
 
 Beauty Love has crowned with May. 
 In the chimney-corner, cozy, 
 
 Dreamin' in the firelight's glow, 
 I shall see her cheeks blush, rosy. 
 
 As I saw them long ago. 
 
 170 
 
"WHITHER?" 
 
 TT's a long, long time sence mother went away, 
 Sence she went away an' took the sunshine 
 with her; 
 But I'm thinkin' an' a-thinkin' about her every 
 day, 
 An' all the while a-askin' " Whither, whither? " 
 Ail the while a-askin' " Whither? " 
 
 The children all imagine 'at I 'm tolerably 
 content, 
 An' it 's well they never guess how much I 'd 
 ruther — 
 Though all o' them have done their best to please 
 me sence she went — 
 Be where 'at I could spend my days with 
 mother ; 
 Yes, sir ! I 'd like to be with mother. 
 
 It 'pears like she can't be so very, very fur, 
 
 Fer every now an' nen she seems so near me, 
 Ef no one else is listenin', I sort o' talk with her ; 
 An' somehow I believe 'at she can hear me ; 
 I really b'lieve 'at she can hear me. 
 171 
 
« Whither ? " 
 
 An' take it in the night, when I 'm sort o' half 
 asleep 
 An' I think o' somepin' 'at I want to tell her, 
 An' fin' my arm is empty where she allers used 
 to keep 
 Her head, 'at 's mighty tryin' on a feller ; 
 You bet ! 'at 's tryin' on a feller. 
 
 It 's a long, long time sence mother went away, 
 Sence she went away an' took the sunshine with 
 her; 
 But I 'm thinkin' an' a-thinkin' about her every 
 day. 
 An' all the while a-askin' " Whither, whither? " 
 All the while a-askin' " Whither? " 
 
 172 
 
AUNT LUCINDA'S COOKIES 
 
 /^ BAKER, you have n't, in all your shop, 
 
 ^^ A cookie fit to be tried, 
 
 For the art of making them came to a stop 
 
 When my Aunt Lucinda died. 
 I can see her yet, with her sleeves uproUed, 
 
 As I watch her mix and knead 
 The flour and eggs, with their yolks of gold, 
 The butter and sugar, just all they '11 hold, 
 
 And spice them with caraway seed. 
 
 Oh, that caraway seed ! I see the nook 
 
 Where it grew by the garden-wall ; 
 And just below is the little brook 
 
 With the laughing waterfall. 
 Beyond are the meadows, sweet and fair, 
 
 And flecked with the sun and shade ; 
 And all the beauties of earth and air 
 Were in those cookies, so rich and rare. 
 
 My Aunt Lucinda made. 
 173 
 
Aunt Lucinda's Cookies 
 
 So, add one more to the world's lost arts, 
 
 For the cookies you make are sad, 
 And they have n't the power to stir our hearts 
 
 That Aunt Lucinda's had; 
 For I see her yet, with sleeves uprolled, 
 
 And I watch her mix and knead 
 The flour and eggs, with their yolks of gold, 
 The butter and sugar, just all they '11 hold, 
 
 And spice them with caraway seed. 
 
 174 
 
THE OLD BELL-COW 
 
 'I X /"HEN I was but a boy, I loved so happily 
 
 to roam 
 Through every nook and corner of the dear old 
 
 country home ; 
 At dewy morn to pasture I would drive the cows, 
 
 and when 
 The shades of eventide drew on, I drove them 
 
 home again. 
 And one among their number I remember very 
 
 well, — 
 It seems but yesterday I saw the cow that wore 
 
 the bell ; 
 She was not fairer than the rest, nor any finer 
 
 breed. 
 Yet all the others followed her, wherever she 
 
 might lead ; 
 And in my youthful mind I used to wonder why 
 
 and how 
 It was that all the cattle tagged the old bell-cow. 
 175 
 
The Old Bell-Cow 
 
 Strange years of shadow and of shine have 
 
 passed away since then, 
 And now I mingle daily with the hosts of busy 
 
 men. 
 And still I muse more earnestly than what I 
 
 used to do, 
 For men, I find, are likewise quite peculiar 
 
 creatures, too. 
 And some have natures made of gold, without a 
 
 speck or flaw, 
 While some are only gilded forms, all padded 
 
 out with straw ; 
 And while the modest, worthy man the world is 
 
 slow to heed. 
 The counterfeit, who loudly brags, steps in and 
 
 takes the lead. 
 The one who makes the noise is sure to catch the 
 
 crowd ; and now 
 I know why all the cattle tagged the old bell- 
 cow. 
 
 176 
 
o 
 
 THE GOLDEN AGE 
 
 |H, the olden, golden days, 
 Oh, the pebbled path that strays 
 Where the yellow willow quivers by the river's 
 winding ways ; 
 Oh, the lazy, hazy stream 
 Where the lilies drowse and dream, 
 Their sunny hearts of honey in their burnished 
 bowls of cream. 
 
 Oh, the youthful, truthful times, 
 When the world was wrapped in rhymes. 
 And hills and dells were silver bells that rang 
 their rarest chimes ; 
 Oh, still they thrill me when 
 I thwart the thoughts of men, 
 And, just a boy, amid the joy of living, live 
 again. 
 
 177 
 
FOLLOWING THE BAND 
 
 T IFE was a joy when I was a boy, 
 "^^ In the days of long ago, 
 When eye and ear could see and hear 
 
 The things it was good to know. 
 But the kind old earth once glad with mirth 
 
 And pleasures high and grand, 
 Seems stale and tame since I became 
 
 Too big to follow the band. 
 
 Yet I dare say earth holds to-day 
 
 About as much or more 
 Of joy and cheer, right now and here, 
 
 Than ever it held before. 
 But by our pride we 're now denied 
 
 Good gifts on every hand ; 
 We 've grown too proud to follow the crowd, 
 
 Too big to follow the band. 
 
 I 'd like to stray in a careless way 
 
 Through the broad, green fields of youth, 
 
 And wander back along life's track 
 To the blissful springs of truth. 
 178 
 
Following the Band 
 
 I 'd like to trade my woes, self-made, 
 And the cares that come to men, 
 
 For the keen delight of a boy's glad right 
 To follow the band again. 
 
 179 
 
THE MOTHER'S DREAM 
 
 OY, your mother 's dreaming ; there 's a pic- 
 ture pure and bright 
 That gladdens all her homely tasks at morning, 
 
 noon, and night; 
 A picture where is blended all the beauty born 
 
 of hope, 
 A view that takes the whole of life within its 
 loving scope. 
 
 She 's dreaming, fondly dreaming of the happy 
 
 future when 
 Her boy shall stand the equal of his grandest 
 
 fellow-men. 
 Her boy, whose heart with goodness she has 
 
 labored to imbue. 
 Shall be in her declining years her lover proud 
 and true. 
 
 She 's growing old ; her cheeks have lost the 
 
 blush and bloom of spring, 
 But oh ! her heart is proud because her son shall 
 
 be a king ; 
 
 1 80 
 
The Mother's Dream 
 
 Shall be a king of noble deeds, with goodness 
 
 crowned, and own 
 The hearts of all his fellow-men, and she shall 
 
 share his throne. 
 
 Boy, your mother 's dreaming; there 's a picture 
 
 pure and bright 
 That gladdens all her homely tasks at morning, 
 
 noon, and night ; 
 A view that takes the whole of life within its 
 
 loving scope ; 
 O boy, beware ! you must not mar that mother's 
 
 dream and hope. 
 
 i8i 
 
THE WORLD'S VICTORS 
 
 TTURRAH for the beacon-lights of earth, — 
 
 The brave, triumphant boys ! 
 Hurrah for their joyous shouts of mirth, 
 
 And their blood-bestirring noise ! 
 The bliss of being shall never die, 
 
 Nor the old world seem depressed 
 While a boy's stout heart is beating high, 
 
 Like a glad drum in his breast. 
 
 Ye wise professors of bookish things, 
 
 That burden the souls of men, 
 Go trade your lore for a boy's glad wings, 
 
 And fly to the stars again. 
 Nor grope through a shrunken, shrivelled world 
 
 That the years have made uncouth, 
 But march 'neath the flaunting flags unfurled 
 
 By the valiant hands of youth. 
 
 Oh, never the lamp of age burns low 
 
 In its cold and empty cup, 
 But Youth comes by with his face aglow. 
 
 And a beacon-light leaps up. 
 
The World's Victors 
 
 The gloomiest skies grow bright and gay, 
 And the whispered clouds of doubt 
 
 Are swept from the brows of the world away 
 By a boy's triumphant shout." 
 
 183 
 
MOTHER'S APRON-STRINGS 
 
 T T /"HEN I was but a verdant youth 
 
 I thought the truly great 
 Were those who had attained, in truth, 
 
 To man's mature estate. 
 And none my soul so sadly tried 
 
 Or spoke such bitter things 
 As he who said that I was tied 
 
 To mother's apron-strings. 
 
 I loved my mother, yet it seemed 
 
 That I must break away 
 And find the broader world I dreamed 
 
 Beyond her presence lay. 
 But I have sighed and I have cried 
 
 O'er all the cruel stings 
 I would have missed had I been tied 
 
 To mother's apron-strings. 
 
 O happy, trustful girls and boys ! 
 
 The mother's way is best. 
 She leads you mid the fairest joys, 
 
 Through paths of peace and rest. 
 184 
 
Mother's Apron-Strings 
 
 If you would have the safest guide, 
 And drink from sweetest springs, 
 
 Oh, keep your hearts forever tied 
 To mother's apron-strings. 
 
 ,185 
 
T 
 
 THE UNWRITTEN LETTER 
 
 HE streets of the city seemed filled with 
 delight 
 
 And glad with the babble of joy; 
 Gay voices of pleasure made merry the night 
 
 And dwelt in the thoughts of a boy. 
 The reefs of distress in that ocean of strife 
 
 Were hid in its sparkle and foam, 
 And youth found no time in the laughter of life 
 To write to the loved ones at home. 
 
 He loved them, ah yes ! for he knew they were 
 true 
 And would serve him in sickness or health, 
 No task but their hands would most joyfully do 
 
 To aid him in want or in wealth. 
 At morning and evening they whispered his 
 name, 
 Though far from their paths he would roam. 
 Yet found he no time in his pleasures — for 
 shame ! — 
 To write to the loved ones at home. 
 i86 
 
The Unwritten Letter 
 
 A message, — "Your mother is dead, and she 
 died 
 
 With the name of her boy on her tongue." 
 And oh, for the letter her heart was denied, — 
 
 The song that can never be sung ! 
 And all through the years he was angry at Fate, 
 
 Quite after the manner of men, 
 But oh, 'twas forever and ever too late 
 
 To write to that mother again ! 
 
 187 
 
THE WHISTLING BOY 
 
 "IT /"HEN the curtains of night, 'tween the 
 
 ^ ^ dark and the light, 
 
 Drop down at the set of the sun. 
 And the toilers who roam, to the loved ones 
 come home, 
 
 As they pass by my window is one 
 Whose coming I mark, for the song of the lark 
 
 As it joyously soars in the sky 
 Is no dearer to me than the notes, glad and free, 
 
 Of the boy who goes whistling by. 
 
 If a sense of unrest settles over my breast 
 
 And my spirit is clouded with care, 
 It all flies away if he happens to stray 
 
 Past my window a-whistling an air. 
 And I never shall know how much gladness I 
 owe 
 
 To this joy of the ear and the eye. 
 But I 'm sure I 'm in debt for much pleasure I 
 get 
 
 To the boy who goes whistling by. 
 
The Whistling Boy 
 
 And this music of his, how much better it is 
 
 Than to burden his life with a frown, 
 For the toiler who sings to his purposes brings 
 
 A hope his endeavor to crown. 
 And whenever I hear his glad notes, full and 
 clear, 
 
 I say to myself I will try 
 To make all of life with a joy to be rife, 
 
 Like the boy who goes whistling by. 
 
 189 
 
THE SECRET OF SUCCESS 
 
 /^NE day, in huckleberry-time, when little 
 
 ^^ Johnny Flails 
 
 And half-a-dozen other boys were starting with 
 
 their pails 
 To gather berries, Johnny's pa, in talking with 
 
 him, said 
 That he could tell him how to pick so he 'd come 
 
 out ahead. 
 " First find your bush," said Johnny's pa, " and 
 
 then stick to it till 
 You 've picked it clean. Let those go chasing 
 
 all about who will 
 In search of better bushes ; but it 's picking tells, 
 
 my son — 
 To look at fifty bushes does n't count like pick- 
 ing one." 
 
 And Johnny did as he was told ; and, sure enough, 
 
 he found. 
 By sticking to his bush while all the others chased 
 
 around 
 
 190 
 
The Secret of Success 
 
 In search of better picking, 't was as his father 
 
 said; 
 For, while the others looked, he worked, and thus 
 
 came out ahead. 
 And Johnny recollected this when he became a 
 
 man. 
 And first of all he laid him out a well-determined 
 
 plan; 
 So, while the brilliant triflers failed with all their 
 
 brains and push, 
 Wise, steady-going Johnny won by *' sticking to 
 
 his bush." 
 
 191 
 
NOW AND WAITAWHILE 
 
 T ITTLE Jimmie Waitawhile and little Johnnie 
 ^ Now 
 
 Grew up in homes just side by side ; and that, 
 
 you see, is how 
 I came to know them both so well, for almost 
 
 every day 
 I used to watch them in their work and also in 
 
 their play. 
 
 Little Jimmie Waitawhile was bright and steady, 
 
 too, 
 But never ready to perform what he was asked 
 
 to do; 
 ** Wait just a minute," he would say, " I '11 do it 
 
 pretty soon," 
 And things he should have done at morn were 
 
 never done at noon. 
 
 He put off studying until his boyhood days were 
 
 gone; 
 He put off getting him a home till age came 
 
 stealing on ; 
 
 192 
 
Now and Waitawhile 
 He put off everything, and so his life was not a 
 
 joy. 
 
 And all because he waited "just a minute " while 
 a boy. 
 
 But little Johnnie Now would say, when he had 
 
 work to do, 
 " There 's no time like the present time," and 
 
 gaily put it through. 
 And when his time for play arrived he so enjoyed 
 
 the fun; 
 His mind was not distressed with thoughts of 
 
 duties left undone. 
 
 In boyhood he was studious and laid him out a 
 
 plan 
 Of action to be followed when he grew to be a 
 
 man; 
 And life was as he willed it, all because he 'd not 
 
 allow 
 His tasks to be neglected, but would always do 
 
 them " now." 
 
 13 193 
 
Now and Waitawhile 
 
 And so in every neighborhood are scores of little 
 boys 
 
 Who by and by must work with tools when they 
 have done with toys. 
 
 And you know one of them, I guess, because I 
 see you smile ; 
 
 And is he little Johnnie Now or Jimmie Wait- 
 awhile? 
 
 194 
 
A DAY-DREAM 
 
 JOHN HENRY sat on a hard, oak bench in the 
 ^ Big Grove district school; 
 
 He was tired of being shut indoors ; he was tired 
 of rote and rule ; 
 He was tired of everything dull and slow, 
 And he sighed to get outdoors and grow. 
 
 The old, school clock ticked on, " tick-tock," but 
 
 so lazily, alas ! 
 That the poor boy sighed to himself and thought 
 the day would never pass ; 
 And he said, with a tinge of deep disgust, 
 " I wish that blamed old clock 'u'd bu'st ! " 
 
 And by and by on the slanting desk he laid his 
 
 weary head, 
 And looked outdoors where the apple-trees were 
 blooming white and red ; 
 Out through the window where it seemed 
 About like Paradise, and dreamed. 
 195 
 
A Day- Dream 
 
 He dreamed of the meadows fresh and fair, and 
 
 he dreamed of the butterflies, 
 The happy birds, the busy bees, the lovely, deep- 
 blue skies, 
 And the drowsy songs of babbling brooks ; 
 He dreamed of everything — but books. 
 
 He knew that down in the sunny vales the cow- 
 slips were in bloom, 
 And he fancied he could almost smell the blue- 
 bells' faint perfume ; 
 And he dreamed he wandered gaily through 
 The woods where the sweet May-apples grew. 
 
 And by and by a robin came and perched upon 
 
 a tree 
 Close by the schoolhouse window, where the 
 dreaming boy could see ; 
 And he said, " I '11 pretend I 've got a gun," 
 As boys will often do in fun. 
 
 And quite forgetting he sat in school, he aimed 
 his finger straight 
 
 At the happy bird that swung outside, not think- 
 ing of its fate, 
 
 196 
 
A Day-Dream 
 
 Till the boy whose aim was fixed, cried, 
 
 "Bang!" 
 And the loud report through the schoolroom 
 
 rang. 
 
 The scholars were greatly scared, of course, but 
 
 the robin flew away, 
 And the boy who had wandered in a dream got 
 no recess that day ; 
 And the teacher then laid down the rule : 
 " Bird-shooting not allowed in school." 
 
 197 
 
A HAPPY FAMILY 
 
 T KNOW a happy family of cunning boys and 
 
 girls, 
 Who have such round and rosy cheeks and pretty, 
 
 golden curls. 
 In all that they may have to do they pleasantly 
 
 agree, 
 And every one of them is kind and good as good 
 
 can be. 
 
 They never call each other names, nor pull each 
 
 other's hair, 
 Nor find the slightest bit of fault with what they 
 
 have to wear. 
 They never cry at night because they have to go 
 
 to bed. 
 Nor ever frown at any one, no matter what is 
 
 said. 
 
 Not one of them was ever known to try to tease 
 
 the cat, 
 Or even have a wish to do a naughty deed like 
 
 that. 
 
 198 
 
A Happy Family 
 
 When they are asked to do a thing, they never 
 
 say " I sha'n't ! " 
 Because they 're dolls, these boys and girls, and 
 
 so, you see, they can't. 
 
 199 
 
THE LIFE SCHOOL 
 
 "]%^Y little boy came from his school to-day 
 -»■»-■• With his heart in a flurry of glee: 
 " O papa ! they 've taken our pencils away, 
 
 And I 'm writing with ink ! " said he. 
 And his breast is filled with a manly pride, 
 
 For it joys him much to think 
 He has laid his pencil and slate aside, 
 
 And is writing his words in ink. 
 
 O innocent child ! Could you guess the truth 
 
 You would ask of the years to stay 
 Mid the slate and pencil cares of youth 
 
 That a tear will wash away ; 
 For out in the great, wide world of men 
 
 The wrongs we may do or think 
 Can never be blotted out again, 
 
 For we write them all in ink. 
 
 200 
 
I WISH AND I WILL 
 
 T WISH and I Will, so my grandmother says, 
 
 "*■ Were two little boys in the long-ago, 
 
 And I Wish used to sigh while I Will used to 
 
 try 
 For the things he desired, at least that's what my 
 Grandma tells me, and she ought to know. 
 
 I Wish was so weak, so my grandmother says. 
 That he longed to have some one to help him 
 about, 
 And while he 'd stand still and look up at the hill 
 And sigh to be there to go coasting, I Will 
 Would glide past him with many a shout. 
 
 They grew to be men, so my grandmother says. 
 And all that I Wish ever did was to dream, — 
 To dream and to sigh that life's hill was so high. 
 While I Will went to work and soon learned, if 
 we try. 
 Hills are never so steep as they seem. 
 
 201 
 
I Wish and I Will 
 
 I Wish lived in want, so my grandmother says, 
 
 But I Will had enough and a portion to spare ; 
 Whatever he thought was worth winning he 
 
 sought 
 With an earnest and patient endeavor that 
 brought 
 Of blessings a bountiful share. 
 
 And whenever my grandma hears any one "wish," 
 A method she seeks in his mind to instill 
 
 For increasing his joys, and she straightway 
 employs 
 
 The lesson she learned from the two little boys 
 Whose names were I Wish and I Will. 
 
 202 
 
THE WAY TO SLEEPYTOWN 
 
 TT^HICH is the way to Sleepytown? 
 
 Look in the bhnking eyes of brown ; 
 Or you may find the misty track 
 Hid in the half-closed eyes of black. 
 Winding about and in and through 
 The slumberous eyes of dreamy blue, 
 Or stealing across the eyes of gray, 
 Oh, there you may find the drowsy way. 
 
 Follow along the crooked street, 
 Twisting about two tired feet — = 
 Feet that the whole day through have trod 
 Paths that led to the Land of Nod ; 
 Keep on going until you come 
 To weary fingers and weary thumb. 
 Or the lips within whose gates of pearl 
 Is the languid tongue of a boy or girl. 
 
 The path you seek will lead, mayhap, 
 Into the peace of a downy lap. 
 Where angels have sprinkled the dews of rest 
 In a gracious cradle of arms and breast. 
 203 
 
The Way to Sleepytown 
 
 Farther on and the way has led 
 To the calm of a prayer-encircled bed, 
 Where mother is kissing the eyelids down, 
 And that is the way to Sleepytown. 
 
 204 
 
MY OLD HOBBY-HORSE 
 
 TT is only a well-worn hobby-horse, 
 
 And you never would guess, to see 
 This battered toy of a careless boy. 
 
 It could seem so much to me. 
 For never a steed of the highest breed 
 
 Was ever one half so fine, 
 Or half so fair as is this rare 
 
 Old hobby-horse of mine. 
 
 But the little boy who rode this steed 
 
 Has finished his happy play, 
 And, smiling, gone through the gates of dawn. 
 
 To the land of the Far- Away. 
 And the horse seems sad that once was glad, 
 
 As he rocked o'er hill and lea. 
 And crossed the streams in the land of dreams 
 
 To the world that was to be. 
 
 And I often muse as he waiting stands 
 For the rider who does not come, 
 
 Would his heart rejoice could he hear a voice 
 And the sound of a noisy drum? 
 205 
 
My Old Hobby-Horse 
 
 And my soul, some day, shall steal away, 
 And we '11 ride to the Hills of Joy, 
 
 Where I '11 place the rein in the hands again 
 Of the little, laughing boy. 
 
 206 
 
THE JOY-BRINGER 
 
 "pLEASE don't wake the baby!" His 
 
 mamma repeats it 
 A great many times, but he carelessly greets it, 
 For how can a boy who is happy and healthy 
 Go creeping about in a way that is stealthy? 
 And so in the midst of the calm and the quiet 
 He comes through the house with the din of a 
 
 riot. 
 And warningly shouts, mid his wonderful drum- 
 ming, 
 " Det out of ze way, for ze army 's a-tumming ! " 
 
 The " army " is ^promptly suppressed. The up- 
 rising 
 Though earnestly brought is not really surprising; 
 But all are aware it is but a deflection 
 And sure to break out in some other direction. 
 And so in a moment we rudely awaken, — 
 The house to its very foundation is shaken, — 
 207 
 
The Joy-Bringer 
 
 " Look out for ze fire ! " exclaims the fierce 
 
 rover, — 
 " Ze engine 's a-tumming, you '11 det runded 
 
 over ! " 
 
 The fire is put out, and sweet silence comes 
 
 stealing 
 Among all the bruises of sound with its healing. 
 The baby half dozes in innocent slumber, 
 When lo ! there are heard awful sounds without 
 
 number: 
 Bass, alto and tenor, drum, fife and triangle, 
 All tortured and crushed in one terrible tangle, 
 As the drum-major cries, mid the horns' awful 
 
 braying, 
 " Everybody teep still, for ze band is a-playing ! " 
 
 All those who have dwelt with a boy, and those 
 
 only 
 Who now are without him, can tell us how lonely 
 A home may become, how distressed and how 
 
 darkened, 
 When stilled is the music to which we have 
 
 hearkened. 
 
 208 
 
The Joy-Bringer 
 
 And so in the night, with the lamplight low 
 beaming, 
 
 Across the snug cot where my babies are dream- 
 ing, 
 
 I thank the good Lord that still safe in His 
 keeping 
 
 My army and engine and brass band is sleeping. 
 
 ^4 209 
 
SINCE PAPA DOESN'T DRINK 
 
 11 TY papa's awful happy now, and mamma's 
 
 -^ "^ happy, too. 
 
 Because my papa drinks no more the way he 
 
 used to do. 
 And everything's so jolly now — 't ain't like it 
 
 used to be 
 When papa never stayed at home with poor 
 
 mamma and me. 
 
 It made me feel so very bad to see my mamma 
 
 cry, 
 And though she 'd smile I 'd spy the tears a- 
 
 hiding in her eye. 
 But now she laughs just like we girls — it sounds 
 
 so cute, I think — 
 And sings such pretty little songs — since papa 
 
 does n't drink. 
 
 You ought to see my Sunday dress — it's every 
 
 bit all new, — 
 It ain't made out of mamma's dress, the way she 
 
 used to do. 
 
 2IO 
 
Since Papa-does n't Drink 
 
 And mamma's got a pretty cloak all trimmed 
 
 with funny fur, 
 And papa 's got some nice, new clothes and goes 
 
 to church with her. 
 
 My papa says that Christmas-time will pretty 
 
 soon be here, 
 And maybe good old Santa Claus will find our 
 
 house this year. 
 I hope he '11 bring some candy and a dolly that 
 
 can wink; 
 He '11 know where our home is, I 'm sure — since 
 
 papa does n't drink. 
 
 211 
 
" DON'T ! " 
 
 T MIGHT have just the mostest fun 
 
 If 't was n't for a word, 
 I think the very worstest one 
 
 'At ever I have heard. 
 I wish 'at it 'u'd go away, 
 
 But I 'm afraid it won't ; 
 I s'pose 'at it '11 always stay — 
 
 That awful word of " don't." 
 
 It's "Don't you make a bit of noise; " 
 
 And " Don't go out-of-door; " 
 And " Don't you spread your stock of toys 
 
 About the parlor floor ; " 
 And " Don't you dare play in the dust; " 
 
 And " Don't you tease the cat; " 
 And " Don't you get your clothing mussed ; " 
 
 And " Don't " do this and that. 
 
 It seems to me I 've never found 
 
 A thing I 'd like to do 
 But what there 's some one else around 
 
 'At 's got a " don't " or two. 
 
 212 
 
« Don't ! " 
 
 And Sunday — 'at 's the day 'at " don't " 
 
 Is worst of all the seven. 
 Oh, goodness ! but I hope there won't 
 
 Be any ** don'ts " in heaven ! 
 
 213 
 
THE CHILD AND THE BUTTERFLY 
 
 " O BUTTERFLY, how do you, pray, 
 
 ^^ Your wings so prettily array? 
 Where do you find the paints from which 
 To mix your colors warm and rich? " 
 
 The butterfly, in answer, said : 
 " The roses lend me pink and red. 
 The violets their deepest blue. 
 And every flower its chosen hue. 
 
 " My palette is a rose-leaf fair, 
 My brush is formed of maiden-hair, 
 And dewdrops shining in the grass 
 Serve nicely for my looking-glass." 
 
 214 
 
MY UNCLE CHARLEY 
 
 11 >rY Uncle Charley he ain't got no children of 
 
 his own, 
 Nor any wife nor parentses, but just lives all 
 
 alone ! 
 It must seem awful quiet 'cause he says he likes 
 
 the noise 
 'At makes so many growed-up folks find fault 
 
 with little boys. 
 He says they ought to run an' play an' holler all 
 
 they will ; 
 A boy won't grow a mite, he says, 'at has to keep 
 
 so still. 
 An' Chris'mus-time he buys us horns an' squawky 
 
 things an' drums, 
 An' ma she lets us have 'em, too, when Uncle 
 
 Charley comes. 
 
 He says sweet things won't hurt your teeth as 
 
 much as parents say. 
 An' s'pose they do, boys has to lose their first 
 
 ones anyway. 
 
 215 
 
My Uncle Charley 
 
 He says that 's why we ought to eat just all 'at 
 
 we can get 
 Of sugar-candy things before we grow our second 
 
 set. 
 So every time he visits us my Uncle Charley 
 
 brings 
 His pockets running over, 'most, with just the 
 
 nicest things ! 
 They's candy-mice an' candy-men, an' lots of 
 
 sugar-plums ; 
 It's 'most as good as Santy Claus when Uncle 
 
 Charley comes. 
 
 He don't think little boys an' girls should go to 
 
 bed so soon. 
 But says they ought to stay up late an' sleep till 
 
 nearly noon, 
 So when he comes to our house, ma, she lets us 
 
 have our way 
 An' us an' Uncle Charley, we all play an' play an' 
 
 play. 
 He barks just like a dog an' makes our old cat 
 
 growl an' spit ! 
 He knows the mostest funny tricks ! An' when 
 
 the lamp is lit 
 
 216 
 
My Uncle Charley 
 
 He makes us shadow-pictures with his fingers an* 
 
 his thumbs ; 
 It 's good as going to a show when Uncle 
 
 Charley comes. 
 
 But sometimes ma, she says she bets if Uncle 
 
 Charley had 
 A half-a-dozen boys an' girls all carrying on like 
 
 mad, 
 An' turning things all upside down an' crisscross, 
 
 every day. 
 He 'd want to pack his trunk right off an' hurry 
 
 far away. 
 But one time when our neighbor's boy was awful 
 
 sick an' died. 
 Ma hugged an' kissed us, every one, an' cried an' 
 
 cried an' cried, 
 Nor said a word when we was bad an' scattered 
 
 cookie crumbs. 
 But cuddled us just like she does when Uncle 
 
 Charley comes. 
 
 217 
 
REGARDING SANTA GLAUS 
 
 OB JONES who lives across the street says 
 there ain't no such thing 
 As Santa Glaus ; he says that it 's your pa and 
 
 ma that bring 
 The gifts you get at Ghris'mus-time, but our girl, 
 
 Mary Ann, 
 Says Bob '11 know a whole lot more when he 's a 
 
 growed-up man. 
 She says that Santa Glaus comes down the chim- 
 ney in the night 
 And goes about the house the same as though 
 
 he had a light. 
 And oh, so still you could n't hear no matter how 
 
 you hark ; 
 I '11 bet our cat knows when he comes, 'cause cats 
 
 see in the dark. 
 
 She says he don't make no mistakes in giving 
 
 out his toys. 
 And never heeds the stockings hung by naughty 
 
 girls and boys ; 
 
 2l8 
 
Regarding Santa Claus 
 
 And them that's bad 'most all the while till 
 
 Chris'mus-time is near, 
 They don't get such nice things as them that 's 
 
 proper all the year. 
 I wish I'd been a better boy, and never teased 
 
 the cat, 
 Nor stolen jell and cookies, and a lot of things 
 
 like that, 
 But every day till Chris'mus comes good Santa 
 
 Claus '11 see 
 The kind of boy that all next year I 'm going to 
 
 try to be. 
 
 I 'm going to hang my stocking close to where 
 
 * 
 my sister Kate 
 
 Hangs hers, for she's so good and kind that 
 
 Santa Claus '11 hate 
 To give her all that she deserves of presents nice 
 
 and fine, 
 And then pass by and never put a single one in 
 
 mine. 
 I kind of hope Bob Jones is right, for if it 's ma 
 
 that brings 
 My gifts, instead of Santa Claus, I 'm sure I '11 
 
 get the things 
 
 219 
 
Regarding Santa Claus 
 
 She 's heard me wishing for ; for ma 's so good 
 
 and kind and dear 
 She '11 never think I 've been so bad when 
 
 Chris'mus-time is here. 
 
I GOT TO GO TO SCHOOL 
 
 T 'D like to hunt the Injuns 'at roam the bound- 
 
 less plain ! 
 I 'd like to be a pirate an' plough the ragin' main ! 
 An' capture some big island, in lordly pomp to 
 
 rule, 
 But I just can't be nothin' 'cause I got to go to 
 
 school. 
 
 'Most all great men, so I have read, has been the 
 ones 'at got 
 
 The least amount o' learnin' by a flickerin' pitch- 
 pine knot; 
 
 An' many a darin' boy like me grows up to be a 
 fool. 
 
 An' never 'mounts to nothin' 'cause he 's got to 
 go to school. 
 
 I 'd like to be a cowboy an' rope the Texas steer ! 
 I 'd like to be a sleuth-houn' er a bloody 
 
 buccaneer ! 
 An' leave the foe to welter where their blood had 
 
 made a pool. 
 But how kin I git famous ? 'cause I got to go to 
 
 school. 
 
I Got to Go to School 
 
 I don't see how my parents kin make the big 
 
 mistake 
 O' keepin' down a boy hke me 'at 's got a name 
 
 to make. 
 It ain't no wonder boys is bad an' balky as a mule ; 
 Life ain't worth livin' if you 've got to waste your 
 
 time in school. 
 
 I 'd like to be regarded as " The Terror of the 
 
 Plains ! " 
 I 'd like to hear my victims shriek an' clank their 
 
 prison-chains ! 
 I 'd like to face the enemy with gaze serene an' 
 
 cool, 
 An' wipe 'em off the earth ! but, pshaw ! I got to 
 
 go to school. 
 
 What good is 'rithmatic an' things exceptin' just 
 
 fer girls 
 Er them there Fauntleroys 'at wears their hair 
 
 in twisted curls? 
 An' if my name is never seen on hist'ry's page, 
 
 why, you '11 
 Remember 'at it 's all just 'cause I got to go to 
 
 school. 
 
 222 
 
THE SECOND TABLE 
 
 QOME boys are mad when comp'ny comes to 
 
 stay for meals. They hate 
 To have the other people eat while boys must 
 
 wait and wait. 
 But I Ve about made up my mind I 'm different 
 
 from the rest, 
 For, as for me, I b'lieve I like the second table 
 
 best. 
 
 To eat along with comp'ny is so trying, for it 's 
 
 tough 
 To sit and watch the victuals when you dassent 
 
 touch the stuff. 
 You see your father serving out the dark meat 
 
 and the light 
 Until a boy is sure he '11 starve before he gets a 
 
 bite. 
 
 And when he asks you what you '11 have, — 
 
 you 've heard it all before, — 
 You know you '11 get just what you get and won't 
 
 get nothing more; 
 
 223 
 
The Second Table 
 
 For when you want another piece your mother 
 
 winks her eye, 
 And so you say, " I 've plenty, thanks," and tell 
 
 a whopping lie. 
 
 When comp'ny is a-watching you, you Ve got to 
 
 be polite. 
 And eat your victuals with a fork and take a little 
 
 bite. 
 You can't have nothing till you're asked and, 
 
 'cause a boy is small. 
 Folks think he isn't hungry, and he's never 
 
 asked at all. 
 
 Since I can first remember I 've been told that 
 
 when the cake 
 Is passed around, the proper thing is for a boy to 
 
 take 
 The piece that 's nearest to him, and so all I ever 
 
 got, 
 When comp'ny 's been to our house, was the 
 
 smallest in the lot. 
 
 224 
 
The Second Table 
 
 It worries boys like everything to have the comp'ny 
 
 stay 
 A-setting round the table like they could n't get 
 
 away. 
 But when they've gone and left the whole big 
 
 shooting-match to me, 
 Say ! ain't it fun to just wade in and help myself? 
 
 Oh, gee ! 
 
 With no one round to notice what you 're doing 
 
 — bet your life ! — 
 Boys don't use forks to eat with when they'd 
 
 rather use a knife, 
 Nor take such little bites as when they 're eating 
 
 with the rest. 
 And so, for lots of things, I like the second table 
 
 best. 
 
 IS 225 
 
BROKEN DOLLS 
 
 "j\ /TY baby's dolls are broken, — there 's a miss- 
 
 ing leg or arm, 
 And one, indeed, has lost her head, but none has 
 
 lost its charm ; 
 For be they old, or be they new, or be they large 
 
 or small. 
 Within her heart so warm and true she keeps and 
 
 loves them all. 
 
 How like a mother's perfect love, for though her 
 
 children mar 
 And bruise their precious hands and hearts with 
 
 many a stain and scar. 
 In Hope's deserted playhouse, filled with shattered 
 
 lives of men, 
 She gathers all her broken dolls and kisses them 
 
 again. 
 
 226 
 
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 IN CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS, FOR 
 FORBES AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 
 BOSTON AND CHICAGO, M D CCCC 
 
IIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 018 395 503 2