"5507 
 
 MM 
 
 ^^i^n 
 
 
POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 "O. H." 
 
 (S. O'H. DICKSON.) 
 
 ^ 
 
 RICHMOND, VA. : 
 
 Whittet & Shepperson, Printers. 
 1900. 
 
TS3507 
 
 In Eschangs 
 Univ. of North OaroHna 
 SEP 2 7 1933 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 M. G. E. 
 
 J' 
 
 dl in ttauz fiand tjoii fiofd a fzacjiant toic, 
 
 9/o!< itiC(, — wllo Cove tlk mcancit /-hwct ifiat iJfowi, 
 
 S'fm iuupfc aift, 9'm iutc, wotifd m'&z tcfinc, 
 0f pamtj, ot foicjcf-ma-not, not (on, 
 ^e /cMe^ pCnaiute tlhij niiylit ^ivc; — and io 
 d Szina to yoii niij Soofi of vita, and fmow 
 'ifou'Cf not ih modest tvoitfi deifhi, 
 cTltouqll it 6e, fittfc in tfk ciitia' &ijei ! 
 
 O. H. 
 
I 
 
 1 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 A Greeting to Grandfather Mountain, " 
 
 Song and Wings, ^3 
 
 A Sunset Thought, ^5 
 
 Somebody's Wee Wife, ^^ 
 
 On the Yonahlossee Road, ^7 
 
 A Message from the "Wonderland," i9 
 
 A Day Dream in May, ^i 
 
 From My Window at Midnight, 23 
 
 "Farewells-to-Summer," 25 
 
 A Prayer, ^7 
 
 5 
 
Page. 
 
 At Fairview, 28 
 
 Azalias, 29 
 
 Palm Leaves, 31 
 
 A Bunch of Violets, 32 
 
 Good Morning! 34 
 
 Good Night ! 35 
 
 To Beech Mountain, 36 
 
 Moonlight, 38 
 
 Heroes, ^o 
 
 Do We Forget? 42 
 
 March, 44 
 
 In April, 4^ 
 
 November 48 
 
 To an English Sparrow, 50 
 
 Sonnet, 51 
 
 6 
 
Page. 
 
 Missed, 52 
 
 To the Flying Year, 53 
 
 Till Death Doth Part, 54 
 
 A Lost Thought, 57 
 
 Suppose? 58 
 
 O Prince of Peace, 6° 
 
Souvenirs of North Carolina Mountains 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
B Greeting to erandfatber mountain. 
 
 O PATRIARCH of the liills, thou sleepest well, 
 
 Wrapt in thy regal robes of deepest blue, 
 
 With sunset clouds for canopy ! The spell 
 
 Of thy majestic silence rests once more 
 
 Upon my spirit, and I gladly yield 
 
 The homage of a loyal, loving heart. 
 
 Oh ! I have seen old Pisgah, crowned with clouds, 
 
 "Stand up and take the morning"; I have watched 
 
 The rosy dawn blush into beauty rare 
 
 From the famed summit of the mighty Roan ; 
 
 Have stood on Mitchell's tow'ring heights and seen 
 
 A hundred mountains break in billows blue 
 
Against his awful foot ; but still I turn 
 
 And yield to thee the palm ! Thou art my king ! 
 
 For something sure there is of kingly power, 
 
 Of a mysterious majesty, that dwells 
 
 With thee. It calms and soothes th' unquiet heart. 
 
 And whispers, "Thou art safe !" For as about 
 
 Jerusalem the mountains are, so God 
 
 Is with His people evermore." 
 
 Ah ! know 
 There is a subtle power that needs not words, — 
 An eloquence more deep than human speech ; 
 Beneath its sway the soul grows strong in faith 
 And in serener trust. It feels afresh 
 Th' eternal safety of that happy man 
 Who puts his trust in the eternal God ! 
 
O PRETTY bird, fast flying" 
 
 Over the hills away, 
 Dost know how my heart is sighing 
 
 For thy song and thy wings to-day ? 
 
 For thy song, in gladness ringing, 
 
 With never a note of fear ; 
 For thy wings, with freedom soaring 
 
 In the azure depths of air. 
 
 If I had thy wings, O birdling. 
 Dost know where I would fly ? 
 
 Swift to the rock they call "Fairview," 
 In the "Wonderland" so high ! 
 13 
 
A nest would I build me, birdling, 
 In the cleft of that rock so high, 
 
 And with song would fill the evening 
 While glory filled the sky ! 
 
B Sunset CboudDt. 
 
 Great Artist ! thou who hast with master hand 
 
 Stretched thy broad canvas 'cross the evening sky,- 
 And there, in tints with which ours cannot vie, 
 
 Hast painted all thy lavish love hath planned 
 
 Of beauty ! Ah ! we may not understand 
 
 Thy wondrous touch, nor all those tints which lie 
 Like dreams of color on the clouds, and die 
 
 In beauteous amethyst upon the land ; 
 
 But this we know : the blue and gold, grey-green 
 
 And topaz pale came not by accident, 
 But glow in all their loveliness, I ween, 
 
 As thou didst think them there ! We are content 
 
 To wonder and adore. The work is thine, — 
 
 We do not doubt the Artist is Divine ! 
 
 15 
 
Somebody's Ulec mu. 
 
 Eyes like sunlit lakes so blue, 
 Cheeks that wear the May-flower's hue, 
 Mouth "with curve of Cupid's bow, 
 Dimpled chin and brow of snow — 
 Who is it ? — You fain would know ? — 
 Somebody's wee wife. 
 
 In her heart a fountain dwells 
 Whence all loving kindness wells, 
 And I think that, just above her, 
 With a blessing, angels hover — 
 Do you wonder that we love her ? — 
 Somebody's wee wife. 
 i6 
 
On m Vonablosscc Road. 
 
 A Picture. 
 
 Soft through the myriad leaves that clothe the mountain sides, 
 Glinting o'er rock and fell, the summer sunlight glides. 
 The laughing streamlet makes its busy way 
 Adown the cool, dark depths where rhododendrotis sway 
 In the fresh breeze — those depths where timid creatures hide 
 From the rude gaze of man through the long summertide, 
 The Indian pinks peer out from beds of fragrant fern, 
 And wave their crimson signals to us as we turn. 
 Except the Cascade's joyous song, no sound v^^e hear ; 
 Repose and dreamy loveliness are everywhere, — 
 While stretching to the West, behold, there lies 
 
 17 
 
A very sea of billowy mountains, under skies 
 Where summer's golden sunlight reigns supreme, 
 And one forgets his cares and sorrows, and can dream 
 The golden dreams that fill the happy heart of youth, 
 And banish, for at least a day, life's sterner truth. 
 Linger, O dying sunlight ! I would fain delay 
 The passing of so pure and fair a summer day, — 
 Or if thou mayst not linger, stamp the picture fair 
 On Memory's walls, to dwell forever there ! 
 
B message front tbe monaerland. 
 
 VISION of the Wonderland, 
 That greets mine eyes to-day ! 
 
 1 see thee in a beauty decked 
 
 Thou wearest not in May. 
 
 No restful blue of myriad tints, 
 No cloud-dressed summer skies, 
 
 No fleck of pink or golden hue 
 On thy green glory lies. 
 
 But far and near there meets my gaze, 
 A wondrous sheet of white, 
 
 Upon whose page, in letters fair, 
 God doth a message write : 
 19 
 
'Tis this : IVhen bitter winds blozv cold. 
 
 And thou supine dost lie, 
 See that thy soul doth shine as zvhite 
 
 Beneath thy Maker s eye! 
 
B Dav Dream in may. 
 
 To-day with closed eyes a vision fair 
 
 Doth to my loving, longing heart appear, 
 
 Tis this : far in the west a very sea 
 
 Of pale blue mountains, breaking free 
 
 In waves of beauty 'gainst the sunset sky ; 
 
 And then a gleam of golden green near by 
 
 Amid the dark of pines ; while just below, 
 
 Where break the hills to give it room, I know 
 
 A winding valley decked in tender green 
 
 Of verdant fields, like some pale ribbon seen 
 
 Through depths of shimmering sunlight. Everywhere 
 
 There is a promise of the summer near. 
 
 The stream goes singing down the mountain side, 
 
And calls to sleeping flowers that abide 
 Upon its mossy banks : "Lo ! Spring is here, 
 And Summer's coming soon. Awake, nor fear." 
 The willing birds take up the sweet refrain 
 And sing it gladly o'er and o'er again 
 From many a budding bough, that soon will break 
 In myriad tints of living green, that make 
 The glory of both hills and vales. The wind, 
 Kissed by the sunlight into warmth, grows kind, 
 And yields its voice unto the chorus sweet 
 In accents all melodious, as is meet. 
 "Summer is coming! Coming soon," they say, 
 As on they pass upon their gladsome way ; 
 And while they sing my heart doth echoing cry : 
 "Yes, coming!" adding, softly, "So am I !" 
 Fair view, Blowing Rock, N. C. 
 
 22 
 
Trom my mmaow at midnidbt 
 
 'Tis midnight. Under solemn, star-lit skies, 
 A wondrous landscape wrapped in mystery lies. — 
 Where, in the daylight, winds a valley e-reen, 
 A ghostly river, all of mist, is seen. 
 
 That river, though I do not see its motion, 
 
 Seems ever flowing to a ghostly ocean, — 
 
 A misty ocean that o'erflows at night. 
 
 And hides the beauteous mountains from my sight. 
 
 And yet, — not all ! for when I westward turn, 
 To where at eve I watched the sunset burn. 
 Behold ! "Grandfather's" stately form I see. 
 High above ghostly waves, from shadows free ! 
 
 23 
 
And in the morning, when the sun doth rise, 
 Lo ! a new mystery will greet our eyes, — 
 River and ocean both shall melt away. 
 Leaving the hills the glory of the day ! 
 
 'Tis ever thus, methinks, with holy faith ! 
 Above the shadows and the ghostly wraith 
 Of misty ocean, hiding from our sight 
 Familiar truths, it dwells in heaven's light ! 
 
 And when the Sun of Righteousness doth rise. 
 Doubt's ocean vanishes before our eyes ; 
 Eternal truths remain as they will be, 
 Unchanged, undying, through eternity ! 
 
 24 
 
**TarcweIIs-fo-$ttmmer,'* 
 
 [The name given by the mountaineers to the wild aster.] 
 
 Bright dashes of crimson are gleaming below ; 
 The skies overhead are with splendor aglow ; 
 While the crispness of autumn is in the air, 
 And "Farewells-to-Summer" are everywhere ! 
 
 In purple and lilac, in yellow and white, 
 They wave us adieu as we pass out of sight ; 
 Ah, waking dear memories softly, they tell, — 
 Their farewells to summer, — farewell ! farewell ! 
 
 The rose loves the soft summer sunshine and air. 
 But these patiently wait till autumn is here, 
 
 25 
 
Then scatter their loveHiiess where'er they dwell, 
 As their farewell to summer. Farewell ! farewell ! 
 
 The message they give as they nod us good-bye 
 Is one they have learned looking up to the sky : 
 Ah ! the heart of the hopeful fears not to tell 
 Its farewells to summer. Farewell ! farewell ! 
 
 26 
 
See how the splendor of the sunset sky doth glow 
 In the small windows of the village church below ! 
 Grant, Lord, that in the windows of our souls may shine 
 Such reflex beauty from thy life of love divine ! 
 
 27 
 
Farewell, O gentle moon, since thou must go ! 
 Go glass thyself in myriad dew drops bright, 
 That sparkle in a hundred fields below. 
 Go shine for others. Kiss with silvery light 
 The crested waves at sea, until they glow 
 With glory worthy of the summer night, — 
 And then? Then come again, fair moon, and wrap 
 Thy wondrous beauty, like a garment white. 
 About the mountains ! Come and fill the lap 
 Of Mother Nature with thy wealth of peace, 
 That we once more may find of care surcease. 
 Beneath the soothing influence of the spell 
 Of moonlight beauty that we love so well. 
 August, i8g^. 
 
 28 
 
jffzalias. 
 
 Imagination lays her slender finger tip 
 
 Upon my eyes, and lo ! upon a thousand hills 
 
 I see the splendor of June's lovely orient glow, 
 
 The veil of morning mists rolled back, and, far and wide, 
 
 The sunlight falling soft on myriad flowers 
 
 Bathed in dew, and fragrance full as sweet as those 
 
 Which wild bees drank in the famed gardens of Hesperides. 
 
 Orange and yellow in those tender tints that tell 
 
 Of the young glory of the summer dawn e'er yet 
 
 The sun puts forth his power ; and virgin white besides. 
 
 That seem to wear the beauty and the purity 
 
 Of heaven. 
 
 29 
 
These, with their background of rich green, 
 Make the rare loveliness spread as a daily feast 
 In that fair wonderland that seems so near the sky. 
 And if, while I recall it with the old time thrill 
 Of gladness, — if through dimming mists of tears I see 
 Another land where tropic splendor lavishes 
 Its gifts in regal plenty, — hearts will forgive me, 
 While their heads condemn ! 
 
 God, spare our lovely mountain sides 
 From war's wild ruthless tread ! May no dark stain of blood 
 E'er mar their flowery splendor ! — no lone grave wait there 
 The bugle call of Resurrection Morn ! 
 
 30 
 
Palm Ceavcs. 
 
 [" Palm leaves lined the trench, and were heaped in profusion o'er the dead heroes."— Assactaifci 
 Press Dispatch^ June 25, 1898.] 
 
 Sleep well, O ye who lie beneath the palms 
 
 On La Qtiasina's bloody field. Ye fell 
 With faces to the foe, and love embalms 
 
 The memory of your gallant deeds. 
 Sleep well beneath the palms. Sleep well ! 
 
 And if some eyes may read through blinding tears 
 The story of the gallant stand you made. 
 
 May He whose power alone can quell our fears 
 And comfort us in sorrow send them aid ! 
 
 O heroes of Quasina, sleep ye well ! 
 31 
 
B Buncb of Uiokfs. 
 
 Their fragrant petals to my lips I pressed, 
 The purple darlings, plucked from Winter's breast 
 I love them for the pure delight they bring, 
 And for their fragrant promises of Spring. 
 Time may steal from me many precious things, 
 And youth, alas ! like riches, will take wings, 
 But naught can rob me of the joy I feel 
 When in the morning at their bed I kneel. 
 To find their dainty faces lifted there, 
 As if upturned to heaven in reverent prayer. 
 These are the flowers of hope ! the harbingers 
 Of brighter days, — the heavenly messengers, 
 32 
 
That, through the gateway of sweet odors, bear 
 God's messages to hearts that bend to hear ; 
 And if to-night, perchance, they withered lie, 
 I'll lay them tenderly away to die 
 Between the pages of some book I prize, 
 From whence a poet's purest fancies rise. 
 
 33 
 
Gooamorniitd! 
 
 'Good morning" !" says the snn, and on a thousand hills 
 He leaves his morning kiss, and light and gladness fills 
 The waking world. Birds sing for very joy, and then 
 At his command the breezes roll the mists away, 
 The flowers fling their fragrant incense to the day, 
 And Nature's silent worship finds its way to God ! 
 
 34 
 
The long light slants adown the sapphire tinted hills, 
 
 And leaves a tender parting kiss of glory there. 
 
 It is the sun's good night unto a tired world. 
 
 "Good night !" the sleepy valleys answer, and then draw 
 
 Their coverlets of mist about them, and are still. 
 
 35 
 
Co Beecb mouittaiit. 
 
 O TELL US, guardian of this lovely vale, 
 The mystery of the half-cut cameo 
 Thou wearest ever on thy fir-clad breast ! 
 Whose rugged face is it ? What mighty hand 
 Began such master work ? And did he fail 
 For want of power to finish it ? And why ? 
 Thou mayest not tell, and so the secret lies 
 Forever hidden from all human ken. 
 Yet, in the hush of summer noontide, came 
 This whispered answer, and perchance 'tis true ! 
 Know thou, 'twas done in those primeval days 
 When mighty agencies divine worked out 
 
 36 
 
God's wondrous plans to beautify our world. 
 
 Great thoughts filled mighty minds, and mighty hands 
 
 Developed them. And 'twas no lack of power 
 
 That made the Artist leave his work half done. 
 
 He glanced adown the ages, and foresaw 
 
 How eyes and brains, aweary, would delight 
 
 To ponder o'er his work, and wonder who. 
 
 And when, and why ? The while the setting sun 
 
 Sends shafts of golden glory slanting soft 
 
 To light the rugged outlines, and the clouds 
 
 Above float safely, and the purple haze 
 
 Of twilight wraps thee like a garment rare. 
 
 'Tis thus, like many another mystery, 
 
 Thine proves a blessing in disguise. 
 
 37 
 
moonligbt. 
 
 Like a dim, distant sea, the mountains lie 
 
 Beneath the silence of the midnight sky, 
 
 While, like a benediction from God's hand. 
 
 The moonlight falls upon the dewy land. 
 
 Grant that the holy peace which it suggests 
 
 May rest henceforth upon the unquiet breasts 
 
 That break with yearnings for their loved ones gone, 
 
 And teach their hearts to say, ''Thy will be done !" 
 
 38 
 
There was a man the world adored, 
 Who won his glory with his sword ; 
 Men counted him a hero true, 
 And gladly paid the honor due 
 To those who for their country yield 
 Their lives upon the battle field. 
 
 And there was one who risked his life 
 To quell the restlessness and strife 
 Of narrow lives ; to ope the door 
 Of hope and comfort to the poor ; 
 "Friend of the friendless" was the name 
 He won, along with love and fame. 
 39 
 
And still another died to save 
 A stranger from a watery grave ; 
 The medal that his courage won 
 Hangs with his picture, where his son 
 Has writ these words, "Gold cannot buy 
 This proof how father dared to die." 
 
 And each was hero in his way, 
 
 And lives in memory to-day ; 
 
 Each served his kind, nor would we scant 
 
 The praise they've earned, nor would we plant 
 
 The seed of doubt within one heart 
 
 That they have nobly played their part. 
 
 But still another man I knew. 
 Hero, the truest of the true ! 
 40 
 
He struggled hard with poverty, 
 Yet murmured not at God's decree, 
 But with a calm, uplifted face 
 Ran always patiently his race. 
 
 God's hero this, — who found no time 
 To pity self, — nor cared to climb 
 Where riches, fame and honor dwell ; 
 Content was he, instead, to swell 
 The cheerful ranks to which belong 
 The men who suffer and are strong ! 
 
 41 
 
Do lUc Torget ? 
 
 Do we forget when winter snows lie deep 
 Above the beds where our beloved sleep, 
 And we no longer wildly weep, — 
 Do we forget? 
 
 Because, when comes the holy Christmas tide, 
 And love and joy are scattered far and wide, 
 We check our sighs, and strive our tears to hide- 
 Do we forget? 
 
 Do we forget, because, with mute lips pressed. 
 To fading pictures, all our love, unguessed. 
 Lies locked secure within our patient breast — 
 Do we forget? 
 42 
 
Because, across the widening gulf of years, 
 There comes no loving word to quell our fears, 
 No watchful hand to brush away our tears, — 
 Do we forget? 
 
 Do we forget ? Nay, in each heart there lies 
 A secret place, where, hid from mortal eyes. 
 Dwells, strong and true, a love that never dies. 
 Nor can forget ! 
 
 43 
 
march. 
 
 With a loving touch doth the March wind sweep 
 
 O'er the garden beds to-day, 
 And a thousand flowers stir in their sleep, 
 
 While they sweetly dream of May. 
 
 The pansies cunningly lift their heads 
 
 And nod as he passes by ; 
 The good news grows, and the gladness spreads 
 
 As the sunny moments fly. 
 
 The hyacinths ring their perfumed bells. 
 And the tulips, peeping out, 
 44 
 
Catch the herald's kiss as he gladly tells 
 What the stir is all about. 
 
 "Awake ! awake !" he calls as he hies 
 
 Over garden, hill and mead, 
 And even the leafless forest trees 
 
 To the stirring words take heed. 
 
 There's a tinge of green where willows grow, 
 And the buds of the elm are red, 
 
 The gnarled oaks too begin to show 
 They have heeded what he said. 
 
 And oh ! heart mine, a message, too, 
 Does he bring for thee to-day ; 
 45 
 
Awake ! awake ! and with purpose true 
 The March wind's call obey. 
 
 There are seeds of thought that sleep in thee- 
 
 God planted them long ago ; — 
 Let them grow and blossom and fragrant be, 
 
 And thy love and loyalty show. 
 
 46 
 
Tn Jlpril. 
 
 Out in the garden beds I see 
 A thousand tiny tips of green, 
 
 That hint of beauty yet to be, — 
 The Alphabet of spring, I ween ! 
 
 And in the hollow where the winds 
 So long have tossed the willow boughs, 
 
 Is the pale promise that one finds 
 
 When Nature would renew her vows. 
 
 Seeing it all, I patient wait. 
 
 Expecting brighter days once more 
 
 In God's own time. Or soon or late 
 His promises are ever sure. 
 47 
 
O WIDOWED daughter of the dying year, 
 Walking o'er meadows that are brown and sere, 
 We know thou art not wholly sad to-day, 
 For sunlight lingers softly on thy way, 
 And odorous violets crown thy head. 
 While, green and yellow, brown and red, 
 On every side are tributes of the trees 
 Laid at thy feet by every passing breeze. 
 Weep not the roses that will never more 
 Delicious perfume on the air outpour, 
 Nor yet regret a thousand other flowers 
 That glorified the summer's sunny hours ; 
 Their day is o'er, but was not lived in vain, — 
 48 
 
The memories of their lovehness remain ; 
 They Hnger on, — these memories of the past,- 
 And just a tinge of melancholy cast 
 About the beauty of the autumn days, 
 As some sweet minor in a hymn of praise. 
 
 49 
 
Co an €ndii$b Sparrow. 
 
 O BUSY birdling, though despised thou be, 
 Thou art a thought of God. His eye doth mark 
 Thy fall, and through the hours long and dark 
 'Twixt sunset and the morning's dawn, 'tis He 
 Whose night winds rock thy nest, and bring to thee 
 A rest as perfect as thou wert the lark 
 Whose note, with gladness all aflame, a spark 
 Of heavenly fire seems. Thou hast for me 
 A lesson full of cheer : What though my song 
 
 Be but a sparrow's chirp beside the notes 
 That lark-like soar to heaven, and belong 
 
 To earth's great singers ? Still, to me there floats 
 This thought : God sends us such ; He bends His ear 
 Alike to sparrozv's chirp and lark-song clear! 
 
 50 
 
Sonnet. 
 
 White on the house-top lies the moonhght cold ; 
 
 The city seems asleep, save that the hour 
 
 Rings clear from out the distant tower ; 
 And while the solemn stillness doth enfold 
 My tired heart, I see with vision bold 
 
 Another sleeping city, rich with dower 
 
 Of silvery moonlight. 'Neath the power 
 Of Memory's magic wand, my heart doth hold 
 Communion with the past, that lies asleep. 
 
 I touch her, and she wakes and sings to me 
 The sweet old melodies ; nor do I weep 
 
 That minor tones of sorrow seem to be 
 Commingled there. One may not hope to reap 
 
 All joy until he bursts earth's fetters, and is free! 
 51 
 
missed. 
 
 When unto long familiar haunts once more 
 We come, to find the best beloved gone, 
 Although the heart with no wild grief be torn, 
 
 It still may ache with many longings sore. 
 
 And though there be no wish to ope the door 
 
 Through which they passed unto the blessed bourne, 
 Yet oft in sleepless hours the heart will mourn 
 
 And yearn for those Time never can restore. 
 
 But who can see the invisible line 
 
 That separates the spirit land from ours, 
 
 Or who its wondrous boundary define ? 
 
 When hunger for the missed our heart devours. 
 
 And through our tears we seem to see them near, 
 
 IVho, ivho may dare to say they are not here? 
 52 
 
Co m flying Vear. 
 
 If thou must rob me, O fast flying Year, 
 As thou dost haste to end thy brief career, 
 Take back the httle gift men call success. 
 Though I have prized it somewhat, I confess ; 
 And if relentlessly thou claimest more, 
 I'll yield what's left of youth, prized too of yore. 
 Oh ! take them all. Old Year, but leave, I pray, 
 Faith in my friends ; — not measured in the way 
 That some have measured faith : You give to me 
 So much of love, and I'll give loyalty; — 
 But that free gift of faith that asks for naught, 
 And feeds, like love, upon itself, untaught 
 Of selfishness. Leave this, O robber Year, 
 And I shall watch thee go without a tear ! 
 53 
 
**Cill Dwtb Dotft Part." 
 
 "Till death doth part," — what does that mean, dear heart ? 
 I cannot think Death's narrow stream can part 
 Two hearts Hke ours. 
 
 Thou wilt be here some day, I know — I, there, 
 But still, I cannot bring my heart to fear 
 That "little while," 
 
 Nor yet to think at last, when thou shalt come 
 To dwell forever in the Other Home, 
 Thou'll not be mine, — 
 
 54 
 
Aye, mine in a diviner, truer way, 
 Tlian ever fleeting earthly love can say : 
 "Thou'rt mine, — I thine." 
 
 I, in all perfect comprehension, thine, 
 Thou, with all high and heavenly feeling, mine, 
 Forevermore ! 
 
 Here, though we've loyal been through all the years. 
 Sometimes we've known love's shadows, and its fears- 
 As thou dost know ! 
 
 Something too deep within thy spirit lies 
 Too deep for e'en my watchful, willing eyes 
 
 To read aright. 
 
 55 
 
And in my heart, perchance, a love too strong 
 For human speech, — a glad yet silent song 
 Thou couldst not hear ; 
 
 But when, beneath the touch of Love Divine, 
 Life's slight horizon shall no more confine 
 Our spirits' view, 
 
 And, bursting earth's drear fetters, we shall bound 
 Into eternal life, love will be found 
 Eternal too ! 
 
 56 
 
n Cost Cbougbf. 
 
 There came to me, all suddenly, a lovely thought — 
 
 One of God's messengers, swift flying through my brain ; 
 A white-winged dove I'm sure it was that sought 
 
 A resting place within my soul, but all in vain ! 
 Busied with pleasures and with cares, alas ! 
 
 I let it go. O you, dear friends, who watch and wait 
 Some message you to other lonely hearts may pass, — 
 
 Hold fast each thought of truth and beauty, lest, too late, 
 You mourn, as I have mourned, with many a sigh, 
 A vanished thought God sent you from on high ! 
 
 57 
 
Suppose? 
 
 Suppose that timid violets blooming, 
 Hid by hedge or shrub from view, 
 
 Should withdraw their sweet perfuming, 
 What would we that love them do ? 
 
 Or the faintly fragrant iris. 
 
 Its sweet petals softly close, 
 Saying : "Why should I be blooming, 
 
 For, alas ! I'm not the rose ?" 
 
 And suppose, too, that the robins 
 Hushed their whistle in the spring, 
 
 58 
 
Saying : "We are not canaries, 
 Therefore we'll not try to sing." 
 
 Ah, how many hearts there would be 
 That would sigh and wish them back, 
 
 For the perfume and the music 
 Roses and canaries lack ! 
 
 59 
 
Prince of Peace. 
 
 O Prince of Peace ! descend and bring the nations rest ! 
 The world's great weary heart gives up the quest, 
 Rest from the hist of power and all its cruel gains, 
 Rest from the bitterness of sin, and all its stains, — 
 This rest they need. What but thy sovereign will 
 Can bid the raging tempest of unrest be still ? 
 
 O Prince of Peace ! a glorious vision we behold ! 
 Beneath thy gentle sway we see the nations bold 
 Go forth to win a bloodless victory, and lo ! 
 Where War and Death were holding carnival and woe, 
 
 60 
 
And Famine followed in their horrid train, Thy hand 
 Hath, with the sceptre Love, brought rest to every land ! 
 
 On busy marts, and on ten thousand fertile fields. 
 
 At last Thy loyal subjects shall find work that yields 
 
 Them rest, — rest from the bitter agony of fear, 
 
 Rest from the hauntings of a dread despair. 
 
 Rest that is born of patient love and loving deeds, — 
 
 O Prince of Peace, this rest, this love, the great world needs ! 
 
 Rest everywhere ! on land, on sea, — a rest as true 
 As the soft mists that lie upon the mountains blue 
 At evening time. Aye, rest within the aching hearts 
 That long have drunk strife's bitter cup, and felt the smarts 
 Of Misery's poisonous stings. No more Despair 
 Shall cast its baneful shadows, for Thy love reigns there ! 
 
 6i 
 
O Prince of Peace ! this is the vision we behold : 
 
 When, sick with human faihire,' human hope grows cold, 
 
 Come thou, who only can the dream materialize, 
 
 Soothe the world's weariness. Oh ! quickly rend the skies. 
 
 And come ! Then shall the weary nations surely learn 
 
 That thou alone canst give the peace for which they yearn. 
 
 62 
 
■iiiilli 
 
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