-4 42- 
 
 Lost Jewels. 
 
 A Volume of Poems. 
 
 By CHARLES C. HUNTING 
 
 CoPYKiGUT 1879, Charles C. Huntin(i. 
 
 SIOUX CITY, IOWA, 
 
 .K^URNAL STEAM PBINTLNG HOUSE. 
 
 1880. 
 
Lost Jewels, 
 
 A Volume of Poems, 
 
 By CHARLES C, HUNTING. 
 
 Copyright 1879, Charles C. Hunting. 
 
 SZSsK'- 
 
 SIOUX CITY, IOWA, 
 
 JOURNAIi STEAM PRINTING HOUSE. 
 1880. 
 
.-..s*- 
 
 
r- DEDICATION. 
 
 REV. WM. HAMILTON, 
 
 A MISSION AI?Y AMONG THE INDIANS 
 AND A FAITHFUL MINISTER OF 
 
 THE CROSS OF CHRIST; 
 
 THE TRUE AND ABIDING LUSTRE OF 
 
 WHOSE NAME CANNOT SHINE IN THE PAGE IT ADORNS-, 
 
 THE AUTHOR ESTEEMS IT A PRIVILEGE 
 
 TO BE ENABLED TO 
 
 DEDICATE 
 
 THIS VOLUME, THROUGH LOVE AND ESTEEM. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 tHE motive that prompts the author to tax the recog- 
 nition of a pubhc with the following volume of poems, 
 is much the same that prompts every individual to put 
 himself forth in that sphere in which he views the plain- 
 est path to usefulness, or prosperity, whatever degree of 
 excellence he may exhibit in that sphere — to turn a few 
 honest, or stand in the estimation of the world. 
 
 What talent these may express remains to be com- 
 mented upon, as all such things should be by those 
 gifted in a proper degree, that the things which are 
 more excellent may appear, and the baser condemned, 
 as is proper they should be, that the things lovely, and 
 of good report, may be thought upon. 
 
 The possessor of this particular gift of poetry, which 
 many have possessed in such an eminent degree, and 
 which has declaj-ed for itself such a reputation as to 
 gather for itself common aspirants inumerable, is hap- 
 pily described by that poet all must revere, the "gentle 
 Cowper," as the one 
 
 '•Who feels a gentle ting'ling come, 
 Down from his shoulders to his thumb." 
 This sensation, so commonly spoken of as an inspira- 
 tion, can, by no means be that inspiration spoken of in 
 the holy men of old, who spake as they were moved by 
 the Holy Ghost, but only a faculty, or collection of 
 faculties, which occur rarely, and seem, undeniably, a 
 special endowment of the Creator, a principle long 
 held, and formulated by one of their own class, that 
 poets are born, and not made ; though another of no 
 
low understanding has put on record a truth of some 
 force, that "'Many are the poets born, without the ac- 
 comphshments of verse." 
 
 That the author of these effusions, if they deserve no 
 higher name, could turn his attention to other pursuits, 
 is, perhaps, a safe presupposition, but his mind is to cul- 
 tivate and urge his inclination, willing for the conclu- 
 sion to meet with its due rewards. In this particular 
 sphere, few are the monuments that remain amongst 
 the clouds of witnessess of other intellects ; but these 
 are as the mountain top that rears it head firmly in the 
 sky, unmindful of the drifting clouds around. Be this 
 mountain a figure condensed : at its summit Milton 
 calmly sits, Homer and Virgil beneath, and the rest in 
 order. Not far descended, and worthy a place in this 
 mount, I would name the Pilgrim's Progress. But there 
 is a volume unincludedin such formation, which maybe 
 said to be a pillar in itself reaching to Heaven, and 
 whose divine transmissions we, by our faith, strength- 
 ened by the cloud of witnesses that surround them, 
 trustingly and unerringly rely upon as the only truth. 
 When a David, an Isaiah, a Jeremiah are studied as 
 poets they shine above the brightest, but when studied 
 as prophets of God as well, they are full of eloquence. 
 
 Master strokes of poetry are there whatever the theme 
 touched upon, but, while discoursing to, and lauding 
 an all-glorious Being, dwelhng in light inaccessible 
 and full of glory ; clothing himself with light as with a 
 garment, and ruling in the heavens ; they rise, not to 
 His supreme height, it is true, but above every human 
 conception, and they humbly, but powerfullv, describe 
 what is almost wholly incomprehensible to our minds. 
 
6 
 
 only as they render it comprensible. Here is the foun- 
 tain of all true Ufe, of clear light, as well, and spring of 
 true conception, with excellence of diction. The true 
 poet acknowledges it, and pays his homage here. Oth- 
 ers they may feel to rise superior to, but this never; yea, 
 it is their pattern, and one gratefully received by all 
 those in their right mind. 
 
 Many of the following poems were composed under 
 the influence of youthful passion, and are such as the 
 author would not now himself approve, lacking in that 
 sound wisdom they should display.. 
 
 Our admirable poet Horace says : 
 
 ''Aut prodesse volant, aut clelectare poetae." 
 Poets wish either lobe useful or to please. 
 
 Now if these poems should please, without producing 
 higher results, he has not, at all, accomplished what 
 would be his desire ; but if by any means they may be 
 brought to answer both ends, and give pleasure and 
 profit, it will be his satisfaction . And he now gives 
 them to the public with but few fears, asking the bless- 
 ing of Him who is able to let his blessing rest upon 
 seed sown by the side of all waters . 
 
9 
 
 INQUIETUS. 
 
 I saw within those changing eyes, 
 
 That some disturbance filled thy breast, 
 
 And though thy mirth flow^ed treeh% sighs, 
 Methought, had given thy bos'm more rest. 
 
 I asked why meet here such extremes, 
 
 So seeming gay, yet surely sad: 
 Is all thy mirth delirious dreams, 
 
 Thy grief that flimsy mirth unclad? 
 
 Mirth without being in the heart, 
 A false invention meant to blind 
 
 The true stream's course by subtile art, 
 A false stream flowing from the mind. 
 
 Say; hath, as by an earthquake shock. 
 Been shook the very fountain bowl. 
 
 Whose waters as the hillside rock. 
 From side to side all wildly roll. 
 
 And back returning, meeting, clash; 
 
 And in chaotic tumult seem. 
 Reflecting, now with blinding flash, 
 
 The sun, and now with broken gleam. 
 
 Yea, turbulent the waters are, 
 
 And must that turbulence appear: 
 
 Now useless roll the tides afar, 
 And now in lost confusion near: 
 
10 
 
 Then feebly o'er the surface dance, 
 
 And now composed they seem to sleep: 
 
 Then starting o'er the breakers glance, 
 And onward bear, with growing sweep. 
 
 Th'distractions of the mind and soul, 
 B}^ senseless passions driv'n or led. 
 
 Without a clear, defined goal, 
 Till ev'n the soul within is dead! 
 
 But he who saw the Son revealed. 
 Bespeaks a mark for which to strive, 
 
 Whence, by a holier spirit sealed. 
 The being moves to God. alive. 
 
 Let each emotion of the soul, 
 
 Then, cluster round this prize-fraught mark. 
 As trembles to the magnetic pole. 
 
 The point that guides \he sea tossed bark. 
 
 THE CROSS. 
 
 Frail mortal walk beneath the cross, 
 Nor think the burd&n is too great: 
 
 Though stuff of purest gold, not dross. 
 The dwarf would scarcely feel its weight. 
 
 Frail mortal, walk beneath the cross. 
 Nor let the burden grow too light: 
 
 A Sampson might find strength at loss. 
 To bear its ponderous form upright. 
 
11 
 
 Full shadowed forth of death it seems. 
 But reared toward the fields of life; 
 
 And the extent o'er which 't expands, 
 Affords assent above this strife. 
 
 And all the passions of the soul, 
 Its form may hold in silence, but 
 
 Let one, impatient, brook control. 
 
 And swell the Presence' power forgot; 
 
 Would start those darkling depths that slept. 
 In billows gath'ring as they flee; 
 
 And as around they wildly swept, 
 Be overwhelmed not it but thee. 
 
 Full shadowed forth of death, I ween, 
 
 But in its aspect much divines 
 Like branches far and darkly spread. 
 
 Through which the fairest azure shines. 
 
 Then howsoever dark a tint 
 
 Within its outlines may be found, 
 
 Be not dismayed there's virtue in 't 
 To make it heaven all around. 
 
12 
 
 THE IMMACULATE AND MYSTICAL. 
 
 "Walk in the spirit and ye shall not fulfill the lusts of the flesh.'" 
 
 Walk in the spirit, 0, mystical way! 
 
 Faint illumed as the heav'ns 'twixt darkness and 
 
 day, 
 Unto those but beholding the path from afar, 
 And they grope without even the light of a star: 
 While the faint dawn appearing tormenteth the 
 
 soul. 
 As it marks out the ever accessible goal; 
 But the chilluess felt at first streaking of dawn. 
 Chills the soul till its last weak desire is gone. 
 Which as ever upon its best comfort concerned, 
 Wraps up snugly in self, e'er it ever had turned, 
 To seek the sweet vale so resplendently illumed. 
 When, the fresh breeze already its pinions hath 
 
 plumed; 
 But the one who has made the first dsy spring his 
 
 own, 
 Beholds now such a clime as before was unknown. 
 All is freshness, and fairness, and gladness around, 
 As earth in its spring time, apparreled and 
 
 crowned: 
 The grass with profusion of flowers is strown, 
 And perfumed every breath o'er their face which 
 
 has blown. 
 No variety lacks, of what name we may call. 
 But the Lily of the Valley, is the fairest of all! 
 
13 
 
 And o'erhead do the leaves of rich foliaged trees, 
 Glimmer bright in the sunshine and float on the 
 
 breeze, 
 But of all there is none that hath more power to 
 
 please, 
 Than the far spreading olive the emblem of peace. 
 By each side and spread over the pathway they 
 
 stand, 
 Which seeks ever the most pleasant place in the 
 
 land; 
 Winding gently through groves amongst spices' 
 
 perfume, 
 Where the cypress and laurel is ever in bloom; 
 On the green sloping banks of melifluous streams, 
 Where each spot with the masters of melody 
 
 teems. 
 None are absent of all the gay songsters that sing. 
 And the groves with the notes of sweet melody 
 
 ring! 
 But each beauty and songster in rev'rence makes 
 
 room 
 For the advent of one of more glorious plume, 
 Whose bright splendor can dazzle, whose glitter- 
 ing down. 
 Is delight to the eye, and is beauty's chief crown: 
 'Tis the white Dove of Heaven, most musical bird. 
 Of all thy gay songsters whose notes may be heard, 
 For the sight of itself strikes a note in the heart, 
 And the joy of its advent is melody's part. 
 
12 
 
 And the one who would covet to bask m its light 
 Must be led at all times in the course of its flight: 
 While its course lies the length of this valley of 
 
 song, 
 It is not its own cliaie bat it leadeth along. 
 
 But the shades are at hand on each side they ap- 
 pear 
 In the thick mist of darkness, and shadows of 
 
 fear. 
 Where th' wild beasts seek no lair, for there dawn- 
 
 eth no day. 
 And the insatiable lion is roaring for prey, 
 Lo! a trav'ler is wav'ring confused in his way, 
 Like the floods 'ueath the whirlwind beginning to 
 
 sway : 
 Abid the thickets, and briars, and snares of deceit 
 Are opposing his way, and entangling his feet. 
 Till the spirit beyond all endurance is vexed, 
 Sore beset, and unknowing what may befall next. 
 By the river of waters the white Dove is cooing, 
 Its deep plaintive note the receding one wooing; 
 On each blast of the gale bears down sadly the 
 
 note. 
 And each time writhes more wildly the spirit it 
 
 smote. 
 But each time there succeeds a wild thrill of de- 
 light, 
 'Tis the demons preparing their legions to fight: 
 
15 
 
 Th' spirit sinks 'neath th(i force, nay, lifts up 
 
 'neatii th' spell, 
 E'en to stand against Heav'n, hoping shelter in 
 
 Hell. 
 And thus driven he goes, carried hopelessly away, 
 Into regions of gloom, unanointed by day, 
 In a dry, thirsty land, wher«^ are springing no 
 
 fountains, 
 Within the bleak desert, or on the dark moun- 
 tains. 
 Where all is confusion and evil unknown. 
 Peace sunk in oblivion, and happiness flown, 
 'Till he sees, which same sight makes his being to 
 
 wilt. 
 Swift descending the svvord dipped in blood to its 
 
 hilt. 
 And e'en Mercy grown stern toward the victim of 
 
 sfuilt. 
 
 DOLOROSA. 
 
 He weeps not now, he wept not then! 
 
 He smiles not hence, he scarce can smile, 
 He joys not in the haunts of men, 
 
 Or of the virtuous, or the vile. 
 
 This much disclosed why more discern: 
 
 What boots to discover more? 
 Yet if thou still woald'st further learn, 
 
 Go ask of Ocean's hollow roar, 
 
16 
 
 As 't beats against the rocky wall 
 Of islanrl barren, bleak, and lone; 
 
 Or througli the cavern's sounding hall 
 Rolls heaving with sepulchral groan. 
 
 Or list the murmur of the shell 
 Where in the tones alone are less, 
 
 But rolls the mimic roaring well, 
 From out its very emptiness: 
 
 Why melancholy thus enshrouds 
 A being in its folds accursed; 
 
 Why all his gloom is rainless clouds, 
 That darkly hang, but never burst. 
 
 A pitchy blackness void of light. 
 Save now and then a lurid gleam, 
 
 Pain to the eye that hails the sight, 
 The labored mock of Mercy's beam. 
 
 A single word the tale will tell, 
 The tongue's unwilling to confess, 
 
 The soul lies withered in its shell 
 EVn at the thought of nothingless. 
 
 Feeling half gone from out his breast, 
 A breast as j^et by conscience riven, 
 
 Weary of life, despaired of rest, 
 
 Abhoring Hell scarce painting Heav'n. 
 
17 
 
 The tree wliere only clings the bark, 
 Withered and dried past bearing fruit, 
 
 Despised of men, th' Righteous' mark, 
 The fig tree withered to its root. 
 
 TYMON. 
 
 The wastes and the wilds are around me. 
 The wastes and the wilds are within: 
 
 Woe to the dawn of the morning that found me 
 In this thirsty desert of sin ! 
 
 No shrub is there springing to greet me. 
 
 No fountain to well but of tears 
 That is dried, and each blast that shall meet me 
 
 May scorch o'er this soul till it sears. 
 
 Scarce a drop could arise to relieve me, 
 Though the spirit were ready to burst. 
 
 Yea, the fires of hell might receive me 
 Without one, ev'n, to slacken my thirst. 
 
 No friend within whom I would trust me, 
 Or that I, or that they should betray, 
 
 Betrayals there have been and must be, 
 Divisions still greater there may. 
 
 Then better were now separation. 
 
 Far, final — unyielding complete. 
 Torn thus from mine own generation. 
 
 Yield thus ev'n the bitterest sweet ! 
 
18 
 
 Yet would there were one could bear with me. 
 
 In my madness and frenzied despair, 
 I ask not that one should share with me 
 
 The burden of ^rief that I bear. 
 
 For I would not mar joy where it springeth, 
 To me it has not been unknown, 
 
 Even for the relief pity bringeth, 
 I can traverse the trackless alone. 
 
 EFFERVESCENCE. 
 
 Away, away! vain world from me, 
 
 Your strategem I'll not endure. 
 Your ways far from me ever be, 
 
 For well I know they're all but pure. 
 Your arts of flatter}^ I observe, 
 
 I will not stumble at your wiles, 
 My fondest wish is to deserve 
 
 The look of love and virtue's smiles. 
 
 Where shall I seek these, whither go? 
 
 Not, surely, in this lower world, 
 There, there, for me the depths of wo. 
 
 Fair virtue from her seat is hurled ! 
 There, pangs ol jealousy arise, 
 
 I am not proof from cupid's darts; 
 The wo of man in woman lies, 
 
 The tool she works with is his heart. 
 
19 
 
 But we of this may not complaiu, 
 
 I mean, at least, of the result, 
 For while we follow iu her train, 
 
 Avoiding this is difficult. 
 Ah, false one I will stand aloft. 
 
 And stand amused, while you disport 
 Your beauty, grace, and charms so soft. 
 
 Those shells you cast to take the fort. 
 
 But here comes one ot beauty's maids. 
 
 Resplendent as a winter's night. 
 When frosty flake the clear air lades, 
 
 And flashes high the northern light. 
 Dark-waving tresses, pensive brow. 
 
 Cheeks fairer than the smile of morn, 
 Pearls seen 'twixt lips just parting now, 
 
 Whilst modest pride all these adorn. 
 
 Ah. how my heart begins to melt, 
 
 The barricades have fallen down. 
 The welcome arrows 'round me pelt, 
 
 I fear lest I provoke her frown. 
 Fain would I blot one former verse. 
 
 But will employ no subtile art, 
 'Twill make the matter none the worse. 
 
 For she at ouce shall know this heart! 
 
20 
 
 REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 I remember the days that are gone ! 
 
 Aye, and when shall I wish to forget, 
 E'en though each ray of mem'ry that dawn 
 
 On this soul, be an added regret. 
 
 I remember the joys that are fled, 
 Gone I know to return never more, 
 
 Ne'er to be resurrected though dead, 
 And their grave is this paining heart's core. 
 
 They're the fountains where fondly I quaffed 
 Before lost upon life's scorching plain: 
 
 They now rise but refuse me a draught, 
 The mirage which is followed in vain. 
 
 Yet their memory still is a balm, 
 Like the dews on those cool autumn eves, 
 
 Although weeping, the grief is yet calm, 
 And when spent it refreshes, relif^ves. 
 
 Yea! the oases offer a shade. 
 
 Rich, luxuriant and temptingly fair. 
 
 But they loom for a moment then fade, 
 Though my soul longs to fling itself there. 
 
 If the well-spring of happiness fail. 
 
 If the fountain of misery well. 
 It shall be when repiniugs regale 
 
 Them in haunts where the heart loves to dwell. 
 
21 
 
 FORGETFULNESS. 
 
 could I, forgetting the past, 
 The future remember no more, 
 
 Not then should my joy be o'ercast 
 By sorrow as ever before. 
 
 Then should I be happy again, 
 
 Then should I have freedom from care: 
 
 Oblivion silences pain, 
 
 And foils the gaunt monster Despair. 
 
 I'd be light as the merriest bird. 
 That carelessly flits in the bush: 
 
 Reply to each note that I heard. 
 To pleasure and rioting rush. 
 
 In beauty's soft beams I would bask. 
 In love's sparkling fountain would dip 
 
 Like the honey bee blessed in his task, 
 Sip dew from my Flora's red lip. 
 
 Then, Flora! what joys should be mine; 
 
 And, 0, say not that thine could be less : 
 Be those transports as equally thine, 
 
 And be love an all blest blessedness! 
 
 Love, where hast thou flown on thy pinions so 
 
 light. 
 And left me alone in the midst of this blight ? 
 
22 
 Would now that the worm gnawing tnrough this 
 heart's core, 
 Could take wings and with thee as a butterfly 
 soar, 
 Then, methinks I could welcome your flight. 
 
 OCCASIONAL STANZAS. 
 
 I may not bid the flow'ry muse's flight, 
 
 To shape the course of this obscure lay. 
 
 One moment from that far sequestered height, 
 
 Whence she with her band has ta'en her way, 
 
 A sphere beyond the range of solar ray. 
 
 Such as ne'er was, perhaps ne'er will be seen, 
 
 Excepting by imagination's da}^ 
 
 That strong illumination which has been 
 
 The cause of much delusion, sorrow and much sin. 
 
 Painting in glowing colors so much joy. 
 And thoughts of joy begetting so much hope; 
 False hopes but leading onward to destroy. 
 Till th' light is extinguished and we grope, 
 O'er darkling portals which but seem to ope, 
 On greater darkness and our forms receive, 
 Led by a malignant power, whose whole scope. 
 Of purpose is to flatter or deceive. 
 And render void of hope or lost all who believe. 
 
 Imagination is the chief of woes, 
 
 When loosed and nurtured in its wantonness; 
 
23 
 
 The more luxuriant grown, the more it grows, 
 And, strangely grovving, strangely waxeth less: 
 For scenes ot fancy seld are i.nown to bless, 
 And yield the mind but little present sooth: 
 Too closely thoughts upon the future press, 
 Rending the present with disorder's tooth, 
 Pervertirg half right reason and bewild'ring truth. 
 
 And such as have been led by it, were fated, 
 And have enquired wherefore they were born. 
 To taste those things upon which never sated 
 Till have of being, and of reason shorn: 
 Left with two half requited hopes forlorn, 
 To speak the future of a safer path, 
 And from the precincts of their own to warn. 
 Bear, though they must, through life, the fiery 
 
 scath, 
 Nor yet escape the judgment of eternal wrath! 
 
 Wild, erring genius, proud and yet abased, 
 By pride's own self, self withering in its course; 
 Son of the morning! mortal here misplaced, 
 "A charming devil,'' better and yet worse: 
 0, what hast thou to suffer if the curse, 
 Passed on transgressors, shall be passed on thee. 
 Though every lovely passion thou did'st nurse, 
 They proA^ed not half so pure as they should be, 
 Corrupting all thy works, and half corrupting me. 
 
24 
 
 Then to peruse was my most pleasant lot, 
 
 And reading wanton with thy spirit free, 
 
 Till wearied with a mind and soul o'erwrought, 
 
 And sik'ning o'er each lovely phantasy; 
 
 Yet labored, for 'twas labor, till in me, 
 
 Was formed that deity thou mad'st a god, 
 
 A talent, thus enthroned, for poesy: 
 
 But I rejoice the higher Power's rod 
 
 Was laid upon me till I spurned th' unlawful God! 
 
 There are more things in heaven and in earth. 
 
 Than most of busy mortals e'er have dreamed. 
 
 For who can stop to question of his birth ? 
 
 Though of eternity a few have deemed, 
 
 Upon no eye its fullness e'er hath beamed — 
 
 Though some did brood upon th' invisible brink, 
 
 Until they felt they were not what they seemed. 
 
 And is earth's heaven-uniting chain formed link 
 on link 
 
 By those unfortunates whose fate it is to think? 
 
 But there are some have not linked heav'n with 
 
 earth. 
 Whose thoughts, and words, and deeds, men well 
 
 might fear: 
 Ev'n Milton, terrible, a Hell's sad dearth 
 Drew depths profound beyond our earthly sphere ; 
 But those of whom I speak quite wrought it here! 
 The mind can make a hell ev'n out of heav'n. 
 Hath said this muse's favor'd lofty peer: 
 
25 
 
 Man's contemplative mind, by kind heav'n giv'n, 
 Confuses nature's course, by witless passion driven. 
 
 5iS * * * 4i * * 
 
 Scott drew his inspiration from the wild 
 
 Of highland mountain, lake, and wood, and 
 
 height, 
 Where mused the lonely childhood of the child. 
 And tried the pinions of its fancy's flight; 
 And gathered on the soul, from raptured sight. 
 Thousand hues of summer's changing day, 
 From the first streak of fairly bursting dawn. 
 Till o'er the hills the sun resumed its sway. 
 And cast a golden flood o'er lake and dimpling 
 
 bay. 
 
 Sweet music hath its power o'er the soul, 
 
 A rich, soft power, a melodious spell; 
 
 Half that of those who madden o'er the bowl. 
 
 And half, of those whose thoughts on sorrow 
 
 dwell: 
 Removed from either, but our passions swell. 
 Most strangely, sweetly 'neath its influence. 
 And may speak fancy of some wattered dell. 
 And heav'nly, with sweet shade, where happ'ness 
 
 scents 
 The tempered air, and all is sweetest joy intense. 
 
26 
 
 MERCY'S LENGTH, 
 
 Bright suns are illuming futurity's sky, 
 And the present flits past, scarce evoking a sigh; 
 Till we see them decline, then a tremor of fear, 
 Passes over the soul to see darkness so near. 
 
 And as sun after sun is eclipsed from our view, 
 Hopes vanish to naught which immensity grew: 
 Yet, the suns that remain seem sufficiently bright, 
 When the last one is gone, will the stars give 
 their light ? 
 
 If the storm cloud then lower, the sky be o'ercast' 
 To plunge us in darkness the cloud is soon past. 
 There are shadows that pass us and times that we 
 
 mourn, 
 But the storm clouds will vanish and griefs may 
 
 be borne! 
 
 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 Go we hence with scarce a warning, 
 
 Death's arrival there are none may know: 
 
 Half who see life's dawn of morning 
 
 Do not view its sunset's deepening glow. 
 
 If our sun, though short its centre, 
 
 Roll eclipsed in blackness of the night: 
 
 May the last fate then relent her. 
 
 And transfer to realms of endless light. 
 
27y 
 
 Over death we have the victory: 
 
 Jesus Christ, the risen, has power to save. 
 None that life shall interdict me, 
 
 Death where is sting, thy victor^', grave? 
 
 I MAN'S MORTALITY. 
 
 Though loveliest objects here on earth we view. 
 One ever present thought we fail to liy, 
 
 'Tis this: all men are mortal, I'm a man. 
 And, therefore, I must die. 
 
 And thus, the chain begun, were led along, 
 Link after link, the next in which is this; 
 
 I know not if my life will soon be gone. 
 And has it gone amiss? 
 
 For there's a restless voice cries from our hearts, 
 
 Whatever the tenet upon which we dwell, 
 Man when thy spirit from this clay departs, 
 ^<j 'Tis either heavii or hell. 
 
 P Clear, then, all ling'ring doubts, ^they may be 
 
 < cleared. 
 
 As clears the fog before the morning sun. 
 Believe, believe on him whose wrath is feared, 
 Trust in the holy One. 
 
28 
 
 DEATH REIGNS. 
 
 The pomp of life, the pall of death, 
 Are interchangeable on earth; 
 
 We live, and yet the parting breath, 
 Comes just beyond the first at birth. 
 
 The morn, the noon, the eve, of life 
 
 Contribute freely to the bier, 
 Scarce is the air with joyance ripe 
 
 Till maurning bursts upon the ear. 
 
 The flowers bloom to fade and die. 
 Remaining but a few short hours; 
 
 The tender breast well heaves the sigh. 
 For what is their fate will be ours. 
 
 The mitred heads, the sceptered hands 
 Are sinking 'neath the lethal wave, 
 
 Nor papal power, nor king's commands, 
 In that dread hour avail to save. 
 
 The foe appears, we know his name. 
 
 His coming we may see afar, 
 The past, the present times proclaim, 
 
 ''Death reigns!" and we his subjects are. 
 
29 
 
 ADIEU. 
 
 THOUGHTS OK THE HOUR OF DEATH. 
 
 Adieu, ye future scenes, adieu I 
 I cannot linger here for 3^ou, 
 A brighter field bursts on my view, 
 So now, adieu! 
 
 A picture — but I say ; adieu ! 
 Thy pictures prove so oft untrue. 
 We paint but 'tis in rain we woo, 
 Fond hopes, adieu! 
 
 Adieu, fair sunshine, long adieu, 
 Ther'll be no need in heav'n of j^ou. 
 Nor will I there your absence rue, 
 Bright sun, adieu! 
 
 Adieu, ye sylvan scenes, adieu! 
 Adieu, for aye, night's starry crew. 
 Adieu, yon arched expanse of blue. 
 Earth's scenes, adieu! 
 
 Adieu, my friends, a short adieu! 
 May paths with blessings strew. 
 For ye've been loving, ye've been true! 
 Kind friends, adieu! 
 
 Adieu, adieu, a quick adieu, 
 The stream is reached, I'm passing through, 
 My Savior passes with me too. 
 Adieu ! 
 
30 
 
 THE PASSION, 
 
 Those lips which spake as ne'er before, 
 Had mortal lips been known to speak, 
 
 Their fruitful service all but o'er, 
 With unavailing groans are weak. 
 
 The ruthless piercings of his hands, 
 Has thrilled the soul itself with pain; 
 
 Death now has seized indeed with bands, 
 And nature's powers begin to wane. 
 
 The drooping lids, the sinking head, 
 Such scarce were known to rise again; 
 
 But one is numbered with the dead. 
 Like, yet unlike the sons of men. 
 
 A soul eclipsed has left that frame. 
 Not to be left in the grave's Hell; 
 
 But gone where that long absent name. 
 In sweet and sacred anthems, swell. 
 
 Out upon the shores of time: 
 Joy modulates its ripling waves, 
 
 Let envy sink with leer malign, 
 While fervent love our spirits lave. 
 
 And hope infuse th' constant soul, 
 Unwearied in its upward flight. 
 
 Towards a bright and heavenly goal, 
 To rise above all earthly might. 
 
31 
 
 Let wrecks beneath overspread th' surge, 
 They tbunderecl on the shoals of life, 
 
 But our course still implead, yea, urge! 
 Above the elemental strife. 
 
 With careful, meet, solicitude, 
 Thus pitch the tenor of our way: 
 
 Nor with (lark Melancholy brood, 
 But hi pe in intellectual day. 
 
 IN TEMPORA. 
 
 Out upon the shores of Time 
 
 Joy modulates its trembling wave, 
 
 Let envy sink with leer malign^ 
 ^hile fervent love our spirits lave. 
 
 And hope infuse the sinking soul 
 Still rising upward in its flight, 
 
 Toward its bright and heav'nly goal, 
 But most above this earthly night. 
 
 Let wrecks around overspread the surge, 
 They foundered on the shoals of life 
 
 But our course still implead, yea urge, 
 Above the elemental strife. 
 
 Yet oft in meek compassion bend 
 To lift one struggling from below. 
 
 And by kind counsel courage lend 
 To see if Shiloh softer flow, 
 
32 
 
 Whose waters softly flowed of old, 
 " Fast by th(; oracle of God," 
 
 And in a figure now may hold 
 
 Its course above earth's growing sod. 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 Fast fades the' evening twilight. 
 
 Far spent the light of day. 
 Till o'er the landscape, far and near, 
 
 Dread darkness holds its sway. 
 
 Hushed are the busy scenes of earth, 
 
 With slumber closed the eye ; 
 Hushed, saving that through j'Onder oak 
 
 The night winds gently sigh. 
 
 Now look, far o'er the eastern hill 
 
 There gleams a lurid light. 
 And soon the full orbed moon appears 
 
 Reigning sole queen of night. 
 
 Ah ! how her rays pierce through the gloom 
 
 And lend a charm to earth 
 Which, it doth seem, in ages past. 
 
 Might marked its hour of birth. 
 
 But suddenly tliere comes a change ; 
 
 Away in the silent west 
 A cloud appears above the hills 
 
 In murky blackness dressed. 
 
33 
 
 And now the sky is overcast, 
 Now darkness reigns supreme ; 
 
 0, when shall joys forever last, 
 No more an idle dream? 
 
 THE LAMB OF GOD- 
 
 Behold the Lamb of God ! 
 
 The Lamb for sinners slain ; 
 The Lamb that suffered on the cross 
 
 The crucifixion's pain. 
 
 Before his shearers dumb, 
 
 He answered not a word 
 When Pilate asked, " Art thou the King?" 
 
 "Thou sayst," alone was heard. 
 
 The pure, the spotless Lamb, 
 
 Whose blood our ransom bought ; 
 
 Whose quick'ning spirit in our souls 
 A resurrection wrought. 
 
 The Lamb, whose took of life 
 
 Contains the names of those 
 Who from the earth through martyrdom 
 
 And tribulation rose. 
 
 Is there no balm in Gilead, 
 
 And no physician there, 
 To roll the burden from the heart, 
 
 And from the brow the care? 
 
34 
 
 Is there no balm in Gilead ; 
 
 No one to calm our fears ; 
 To wipe the stain from off the heart, 
 
 And from the eves the tears ? 
 
 Is there no balm in Gilead 
 To comfort the oppressed ; 
 
 Is there no one in Gilead 
 To give the weary rest? 
 
 Is there no balm in Gilead 
 To sooth the pains of death ; 
 
 No one in whom to place our trust 
 When ends this fleetin.^ breath? 
 
 Yes, there's a balm in Gilead, 
 
 And a physician there; 
 He bids us come to him for aid, 
 
 His consolation share. 
 
 PONDER, MY SAVIOR, ON THEE, 
 
 Fm sorrowful, weary, and sad, 
 
 Earth's pleasure is losing its charm. 
 
 The scenes that would once make me glad. 
 Now fill me with greatest alarm ; 
 
 Around me is gloom, I'm awaiting the tomb. 
 But T trust an Omnipotent arm. 
 
35 
 
 I look for my joy beyond earth, 
 I hope for full happiness there. 
 
 There only is genuine worth, 
 
 There only is freedom from care, 
 
 A mansion for me, ere long shall I see, 
 For the years to eternity bear. 
 
 Though darkly as though through a ghiss 
 My Deliverer's form I now see, 
 
 I then shall behold, face to face. 
 
 And know him as he has known me. 
 
 great revelation I in rapt adoration 
 Thy presence, my Savior, I see. 
 
 1 see him sufficiently plain 
 
 My dark dismal prospects to cheer, 
 I count all but loss, so to gain 
 
 Him, of all other things the most dear. 
 To die is but gain ; 'tis Christ to remain. 
 
 And love — love will cast out all fear. 
 February 18, 1878. 
 
 LINES 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY UPON HER UNITING WITH THE 
 CHURCH. 
 
 Dear friend, bid now the years roll on. 
 How SAvift, why should'st thou care? 
 
 Who disapproves the step you take? 
 Disdain the one who dare. 
 
36 
 
 Let others say what pleases them, 
 Thoust chosen that good part 
 
 Which none shall ever take away 
 Whil'st cherished in your heart. 
 
 The Master calleth thee, and thou 
 Hast answered to the call, 
 
 Now willingly yield up to Him 
 Your heart, your life, your all. 
 
 Nor let your heart be troubled, for 
 On God thou did'st believe, 
 
 Believing now on Christ, his son. 
 No more the Spirit grieve. 
 
 The season 'opes, the flowers come 
 
 And go again in turn ; 
 So thou, with each succeeding year 
 
 May pleasant duties learn. 
 
 Nor yearn thou for a single joy, 
 For all on eartli are yours ; 
 
 And joys eternal wait thee 
 When above thy spirit soars. 
 
 Those dear to thee, who entered first 
 
 The Master's service here. 
 Shall they not welcome you with joy, 
 
 And counsel you with fear? 
 
37 
 
 May all your hearts united be 
 In love, divinely sweet, 
 
 And all, a corps of earnest souls. 
 For Jesus' use made meet. 
 
 PROSPECT. 
 
 Watchman, Zion's hill surmounting, 
 Cometh yet the break of day ? 
 
 On the mists of moral darkness 
 Falls there not a glimmering ray? 
 
 If there's not, watchman faithful, 
 Watch and pray. 
 
 Yes, I see the glorious sunlight 
 Breaking through the rifted cloud; 
 
 Here and there, it shines in beauty. 
 Other parts the darkness shrouds. 
 
 These dark spots before my vision 
 Ever crowd. 
 
 Look, look on India's thousands, 
 China's millions more now scan. 
 
 Has as yet the day star risen ? 
 Tell me, watchman, if you can. 
 
 If't has not, watchman faithful, 
 Keep your stand. 
 
 Yes, e'en there its rays are beaming, 
 Thousands basking in the light, 
 
m 
 
 But, questioner, tens of thousands 
 
 Grrope their way through darkest night. 
 Send the Gospel, it may save them 
 By God's might. 
 
 But to Afric, patient watchman, 
 Now direct your piercing gaze. 
 
 Find you there the light of Heaven? 
 Clears, as yet. the death-like haze ? 
 
 If you do not, watchman, faint not. 
 Trust God's ways. 
 
 Yes, I see it faintly glimmer, — 
 
 Heaven born, celestial light ; 
 Many see I thence repairing 
 
 To engage for truth and right, 
 Freeing those benighted people 
 From the blight. 
 
 Watchman, now to Turkish domain. 
 Doth there aught betoken peace; 
 
 Shall not there Satanic power 
 End, and wars forever cease ? 
 
 Shall the truth, from sin, the people 
 E'er release? 
 
 Yes, e'en there shall Christ soon triumph 
 
 Over sin and Satan's power; 
 Every day draws nigh the crisis 
 
 Time is counted by the hour; 
 Soon o'er earth shall Christ triumphant 
 Reign with power.