ya5 18&8 ' 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap.3?S'3it^^oi)yriglit No, 
 
 ^^ 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
BUDD WILKINS AT THE SHOW/' 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER VERSES. 
 
 # €^ 
 
 A COLLECTION OF POEMS FOR READERS 
 BOTH PUBLIC AND PRIVATE, 
 
 SAMUEL ELLSWORTH KISER. 
 
 # m # 
 
 THE HELMAN-TAYLOR COMPANY, 
 
 CLEVELAND, O. 
 
 1898. 
 

 Copyright by 
 
 The Helman-Jaylor CoMPANVr 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 iiCi,L'v^s:u^ 
 
 fe^u^l^^ 
 
INTRODUCTION.... 
 
 Somebody has said that a book of 
 
 poems should never be published without 
 
 a good excuse. The present author 
 
 thinks he has one. Many of the rhymes 
 
 contained in this little volume have been 
 
 printed and reprinted in the American 
 
 newspapers, and many inquiries have 
 
 come to the author from people who 
 
 were good enough to express desires for 
 
 his verses *'in book form.'' Hence 
 
 another tender foundling is placed upon 
 
 the world's doorstep. 
 
 S. E. K. 
 
 Cleveland, Nov. 9th, J 898. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Character Sketches. 
 
 Budd Wilkins at the Show, 
 
 Visiting Laura Belle, 
 
 Little Kate, 
 
 When Dad Got Religion, . 
 
 An Easy Man, 
 
 Deacon White's Confession, 
 
 Grandma's Lament, 
 
 To-morrow, 
 
 Uncle Henry's Downfall, 
 
 The Missing One, 
 
 "They've Named Him After Me 
 
 Only a Woman, 
 
 Uncle Rufus in the City, 
 
 Beneath Old Glory, . 
 
 An Every-Day Wonder, 
 
 Uncle Henry On Theology, 
 
 Nellie's Feller, . 
 
 The Man Who Only Smiled, 
 
 Ma's Boy, Art, . 
 
 The Hired Man's Confession, 
 
 The Other Man's Boy, . 
 
 When the Riffle Is Made, . 
 
 The Birth of the Rose, . 
 
 Day and Night, 
 
 Queer Old Nature, 
 
 Apple Blossoms, 
 
 Love's Calendar, 
 
 Fellowship, 
 
 The Wind in the Evergreens, 
 
 Blossoms and Fruit, 
 
 The Cricket, 
 
 , 
 
 J. 
 5 
 
 . 
 
 9 
 
 . 
 
 II 
 
 • 
 
 H 
 
 
 i6 
 
 . 
 
 20 
 
 . 
 
 22 
 
 
 24 
 
 , 
 
 26 
 
 e," ■ . 
 
 28 
 
 
 31 
 
 
 34 
 
 . 
 
 36 
 
 . 
 
 38 
 
 . 
 
 40 
 
 
 42 
 
 , 
 
 47 
 
 . 
 
 51 
 
 . 
 
 55 
 
 . 
 
 59 
 
 . 
 
 61 
 
 Moods. 
 
 
 
 . 65 
 
 , 
 
 66 
 
 . 
 
 . 68 
 
 . 
 
 69 
 
 
 . 70 
 
 . 
 
 71 
 
 . 
 
 • 72 
 
 . 
 
 74 
 
 . 
 
 • 75 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Painted Leaves, 
 October Days, 
 Nature's Funeral Day, 
 The Wind and the Leaves, 
 The Dying Year, 
 
 Miscellaneous Verses 
 
 The Things That Are Denied, . 
 
 85 
 
 The Old Grind, .... 
 
 86 
 
 A Happy Man, .... 
 
 . 87 
 
 The Ways, 
 
 88 
 
 A Transformation, 
 
 90 
 
 The Man Who Failed, 
 
 91 
 
 The Meeting, .... 
 
 92 
 
 The Answer, .... 
 
 93 
 
 Innocence, .... 
 
 95 
 
 Tears and Smiles, .... 
 
 96 
 
 The One Below, .... 
 
 . 98 
 
 The Sweet Old Way, 
 
 100 
 
 The Man Who Is Not Needed, 
 
 . 102 
 
 The Banished Vision, 
 
 104 
 
 The Infidel 
 
 105 
 
 Her Tears, ..... 
 
 107 
 
 Words in the Sand, 
 
 108 
 
 His New Suit, .... 
 
 109 
 
 Visions of the Past, 
 
 III 
 
 Where She Is, . . . . 
 
 113 
 
 Going With the Crowd, 
 
 114 
 
 The Course of Love, 
 
 116 
 
 If, 
 
 119 
 
 Miss ** I-Don't-Care," 
 
 121 
 
 Happiness, .... 
 
 123 
 
 The Man of Faith, .... 
 
 124 
 
 Living It Over, .... 
 
 126 
 
 The Quarrel, ..... 
 
 128 
 
 The Man Who Didn't Rise, 
 
 129 
 
 Love's Mirror, .... 
 
 130 
 131 
 
 Contentment, . . . . . 
 
 Lines to a Cobbler, .... 
 
 133 
 
 Lost Candor, . . . . . 
 
 134 
 
 76 
 
 78 
 
 79 
 
 80 
 81 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Little Old Church Down Town, 
 
 Since She's Away, 
 
 On Life's Ladder, 
 
 A Wish, .... 
 
 Passing of a Good Samaritan, 
 
 " When the Devil Was Sick," 
 
 The Man Who Was Forgotten, 
 
 A Song for the Selfish, . 
 
 Waiting for Something to Happen, 
 
 When Doctors Disagree, 
 
 A Resurrection, 
 
 Faith, 
 
 The Search for Gold, 
 
 The Man Who Hadn't Time, . 
 
 The Qviarrel in the Cornfield, 
 
 Love Asleep, 
 
 This Queer Old World, 
 
 The Recompense, 
 
 135 
 137 
 138 
 139 
 140 
 142 
 144 
 146 
 147 
 148 
 ISO 
 151 
 152 
 153 
 154 
 156 
 157 
 159 
 
 A Few Boys. 
 
 Song for the First Born, 
 There is a Santa Claus, . 
 The Boy Whose Pa Has Spells, 
 Confessions of Little Willie, 
 When Sorrows Come, 
 Getting To Be a Man, . 
 Meditations of Johnny, 
 A Boy's King, 
 She Never Was a Boy, 
 Riding the Old Gray Horse, 
 The First Christmas Tree, 
 The Good Night Kiss, . 
 A Boy's Complaint, . 
 
 163 
 164 
 166 
 169 
 171 
 172 
 
 173 
 174 
 176 
 177 
 178 
 179 
 181 
 
CHARACTER SKETCHES. 
 
BUDD WILKINS AT THE SHOW. 
 
 Since I've got used to city ways and don't 
 
 scare at the cars, 
 It makes me smile to set and think of 
 
 years ago. — My stars! 
 KovvT green I was, and how green all them 
 
 country people be — 
 Sometimes it seems almost as if this hardly 
 
 could be me. 
 
 "Well, I was goin' to tell you 'bout Budd 
 
 Wilkins: I declare 
 He was the durndest, greenest chap that 
 
 ever breathed the air — 
 The biggest town on earth, he thought, 
 
 was our old county seat, 
 With its one two-story brick hotel and 
 
 dusty bizness street. 
 
 We'd fairs in fall and now and then a 
 
 dance or huskin' bee, 
 Which was the most excitin' things Budd 
 
 Wilkins ever see. 
 Until, one winter, Skigginsville was all 
 
 turned upside down 
 By a troupe of real play actors a-comin' 
 
 mto town. 
 
 The court house it was turned into a the- 
 ater, that night. 
 
BUDD WILKINS AT THE SHOW. 
 
 And I don't s'pose I'll live to see another 
 
 sich a sight : 
 I guess that every person who was able fer 
 
 to go 
 Jest natchelly cut loose fer oncet, and 
 
 went to see the show. 
 
 Me and Budd we stood around there all 
 
 day in the snow, 
 But gosh! it paid us, fer we got seats 
 
 right in the second row ! 
 Well, the brass band played a tune er two, 
 
 and then the play begun. 
 And 'twa'n't long 'fore the villain had 
 
 the hero on the run. 
 
 Say, talk about your purty girls v/ith 
 
 sweet, confidin' ways — 
 I never see the equal yit, in all o' my 
 
 born days, 
 Of that there brave young heroine, so 
 
 clingin' and so mild, 
 And jest as innocent as if she'd been a 
 
 little child. 
 
 I most forgot to say that Budd stood six 
 
 feet in his socks. 
 As brave as any lion, too, and stronger 
 
 than an ox! 
 But there never was a man, I'll bet, that 
 
 had a softer heart. 
 And he was always sure to take the 
 
 weaker person's part. 
 
BUDD WILKINS AT THE SHOW. 
 
 Budd, he fell dead in love right off with 
 
 that there purty girl, 
 And I suppose the feller's brain was in a 
 
 fearful whirl, 
 Fer there he set and gazed at her, and 
 
 when she sighed he sighed, 
 And when she hid her face and sobbed, he 
 
 actually cried. 
 
 He clinched his fists and ground his teeth 
 
 when the villain laid his plot 
 And said out loud he'd like to kill the 
 
 rogue right on the spot. 
 And when the hero helped the girl, Budd 
 
 up and yelled "Hooray!" 
 He'd clean fergot the whole blame thing 
 
 was nothin' but a play. 
 
 At last the villain trapped the girl, that 
 
 sweet confidin' child. 
 And when she cried fer help, why I'll 
 
 admit that I was riled ; 
 The hero couldn't do a thing, but roll and 
 
 writhe around 
 And tug and groan because they'd got the 
 
 poor chap gagged and bound. 
 
 The maiden cried: "Unhand me nov/, 
 
 or, v/eak girl that I am — " 
 And then Budd Wilkins he jumped up 
 
 and give his hat a slam. 
 And, quicker'n I can tell it he was up 
 
 there raisin' Ned, 
 A-rescuin' the maiden and a-punchin' the 
 
 rogue's head. 
 
 3 
 
BUDD WILKINS AT THE SHOW. 
 
 I can't, somehow, perticklerize concernin* 
 
 that there row : 
 The whole thing seems a sort of blur as I 
 
 recall it now — 
 But I can still remember that there was a 
 
 fearful thud, 
 With the air chock full of arms and legs 
 
 and the villain under Budd. 
 
 I never see a chap so bruised and battered 
 
 up before 
 As that there villain was when he was 
 
 picked up from the floor ! — 
 The show? Oh, it was busted, and they 
 
 put poor Budd in jail. 
 And kept him there all night, because I 
 
 couldn't go his bail. 
 
 Next mornin' what d'you think we heard? 
 
 Most s'prised in all my life! 
 That sweet confidin' maiden was the cruel 
 
 villain's wife! 
 Budd wilted when he heard it, and he 
 
 groaned, and then, says he : 
 ^'Well, I'll be dummed! Bill, that's the 
 
 last play actin' show fer me!" 
 
VISITING LAURA BELLE. 
 
 I've just been up to tov/n to see my 
 
 daughter Laura Belle — 
 She married Henry Lee, you know — 
 
 they're doin' mighty well! 
 Live right in style, I tell you, in a house 
 
 that's big enough 
 For half a dozen fam'lies most, and oh 
 
 the piles of stuff 
 That they've got scattered through it, 
 
 sich as bricky-brack 'nd books, 
 And they're keepin' "first" and "second" 
 
 girls 'nd chambermaids 'nd cooks, 
 And kerridges 'nd all sich like, *nd she 
 
 wears diamond rings — 
 I vow, it must make Henry hump to pay 
 
 fer all them things! 
 
 And they are in society, clean over head 
 
 'nd all- 
 Card parties 'nd receptions, 'nd now and 
 
 then a ball. 
 And operies 'nd dinners at the club — gosh ! 
 
 I dunno 
 How folks can do much work 'nd be for- 
 ever on the go ; 
 And I told Henry plain that this here 
 bein' out at night 
 
VISITING LA URA BELLE. 
 
 And sleepin' late next mornin' wasn't 
 
 altogether right. 
 But he paid no attention 'cept to sort of 
 
 draw up straight 
 And say in kind of sneerin* tones, "Some 
 
 folks was out of date." 
 
 Now, that makes me remember what I 
 
 started out to say : 
 I didn't notice it at first, but seemed, 
 
 from day to day, 
 As if they had a notion that I wa'n't the 
 
 proper style, 
 Because when comp'ny come they kept 
 
 me busy all the while 
 A tendin' to the children, in the nursery, 
 
 upstairs, 
 And they never took me out to no society 
 
 affairs. 
 And in a lot of ways I seen that they 
 
 appeared to be — 
 Well, what's the use to hold it back? 
 
 They was ashamed of me! 
 
 Excuse me — I've ketched cold, I guess — I 
 
 wonder what I done 
 With that there henkerchief of mine — 
 
 gosh, how my nose doos run! 
 I can't help thinkin' of the time when 
 
 Laura Belle and me 
 Was just like two old cronies! She would 
 
 set upon my knee, 
 And I would teach her pieces, 'nd hug 
 
 her to my heart, 
 
VISITING LA URA BELLE, 
 
 And tell her that some day I s'posed 
 some man 'ud make us part, 
 
 And then she'd always kiss me 'nd look 
 up at me 'nd say 
 
 That I was all the beau for her, *nd she'd 
 never go away. 
 
 And when her mother died I mind how 
 
 she held up so brave, 
 And kept me from a breakin' down right 
 
 there beside the grave, 
 And when we got back home agin, where 
 
 all appeared so bare 
 And empty like 'nd lonesome, just 'cause 
 
 mother wasn't there, 
 She come 'nd put her arms around my 
 
 neck^ 'nd then we cried 
 Together there right on the spot, almost, 
 
 where mother died ! 
 Oh Lord, I don't know why it was — but I 
 
 could plainly see. 
 When I was there, that Laura Belle was 
 
 sort of 'shamed of me! 
 
 I s'pose I am old-fashioned, 'nd Henry 
 
 may be right 
 About my bein' out of date, 'nd mebby 
 
 I'm a sight — 
 But I ain't never robbed no 
 
 cheated no one yit, 
 And I have never took a thing I couldn't 
 
 fairly git. 
 But in the city things like them don't seem 
 
 to count fer much — 
 
VISITING LA URA BELLE. 
 
 They honor people fer their bonds 'nd 
 
 railroad stocks 'nd such, 
 And for the servants they can keep, 'nd 
 
 the costly clo's they v/ear — 
 They haven't any kind of use fer such as 
 
 me, up there! 
 
 I'm glad to be at home agin — back here 
 
 upon the place 
 Where I was born, 'nd where I'm not 
 
 afraid to show my face — 
 Here where I'm just as good as any one 
 
 that I may meet. 
 And where I do not have to walk behind 
 
 folks in the street ! 
 I wish that I'd not went up there at all, 
 
 'nd that I had 
 My little Laura Belle agin, to love 'nd pet 
 
 her dad, 
 As long ago she used to — but no! that 
 
 cannot be — 
 Oh Lord, it breaks my heart to think that 
 
 she's ashamed of me! 
 
LITTLE KATE. 
 
 *'Well, daughter, you, of course, should 
 
 know the best about your name ; 
 If Kathryn's what will suit you best, why 
 
 then adopt the same; 
 You've been away to college, and I s'pose 
 
 you've learned a lot, 
 And you ought to have as fine a name as 
 
 any girl has got. 
 
 "No, I don't say you mustn't change to 
 
 Kathryn — not at all, 
 The difference, as far as I can see, is very 
 
 small — 
 But, lawsy me! I can't, somehow, keep 
 
 back the tears to-day — 
 I guess it's cause you look so much like 
 
 her that's gone away. 
 
 ''And, speakin' of your mother, dear, it 
 
 seems as if I jest 
 Could see her lyin' there again, with you 
 
 upon her breast — 
 Ah, what a glad look filled her eyes when 
 
 I bent down and said 
 I'd call our baby after her — jest 'fore her 
 
 spirit fled 
 
 *'I s'pose that I'm old fogyish — that I'm 
 'way out of date, 
 
LITTLE KATE, 
 
 And that it's foolishness for me to want 
 
 to call you Kate ; 
 But that's the name that she went by — a 
 
 name that's dear to me, 
 And when I call you by it I keep fresh her 
 
 memory. 
 
 *'Yes, daughter, change to Kathryn, if 
 
 that name will suit you best. 
 But we called you Kate the day you lay 
 
 asleep upon her breast — 
 There, there, my dear, don't cry no more 
 
 — you ain't a bit to blame — 
 I knew your heart was true to her and 
 
 that you'd keep her name. " 
 
 10 
 
WHEN DAD GOT RELIGION. 
 
 I ain't no hand to argy; never could 
 
 remember dates, 
 And that's a fatal failin' for a feller that 
 
 debates ; 
 I don't, jist now, remember whether 
 
 Moses up and smote 
 The rock before or after Noah sailed off 
 
 in his boat ; 
 I know that little David knocked the giant 
 
 feller out, 
 But I've gone and clean forgotten what 
 
 the trouble was about ! 
 The Bible's full of chapters that I never 
 
 understood, 
 But there's one thing I am sure of: that 
 
 religion's mighty good! 
 
 My step-dad used to be a man that every- 
 body feared; 
 
 The very old horned devil had got in him, 
 it appeared; 
 
 He used to knock poor mother down and 
 drag her by the hair. 
 
 And if I bared my back to-day, you'd see 
 his trade marks there! 
 
 I couldn't help but trimble if he'd even 
 look my way, 
 
WHEN .DAD GOT RELIGION. 
 
 And that'd make him angry, and, great 
 
 grief! the things he'd say! 
 On many a night when he was out and I 
 
 had went to bed, 
 My mother'd kneel beside me and we'd 
 
 wish that we was dead ! 
 
 One winter they got up a big revival 
 
 meetin' there — 
 Church was packed — it seemed that we'd 
 
 religion in the air! 
 Mourner's bench was crowded every night 
 
 for many a week; 
 I tell you it'd raise your hair to hear that 
 
 preacher speak! 
 He'd make you think that Satan was right 
 
 there behind your back. 
 To git you if you didn't take the straight 
 
 and narrow track! 
 Night after night I laid awake, afraid to 
 
 close my eyes, 
 For fear I might get took because I'd 
 
 been a-tellin' lies. 
 
 Seemed as if dad looked jist like the 
 
 preacher pictured out 
 The old boy, in them sermons — but I 
 
 'magined it, no doubt; 
 And, one night, when he come and stood 
 
 beside the trundle-bed, 
 I thought he micant to beat me, and I 
 
 covered up my head ; 
 And then I laid and trimbled! I could 
 
 seem to feel his blows, 
 
WHEN DAD GOT RELIGION. 
 
 But purty soon I felt him gently pullin' at 
 
 the clo's, 
 And when I bared my face agin and 
 
 looked tip at him, he 
 Stood there awhile and cried, and then 
 
 knelt down and prayed fer me. 
 
 He never whipped me after that, nor 
 
 scolded me no more, 
 And I never knowed that life was half as 
 
 beautiful before; 
 All the world seemed brighter; it appeared 
 
 as if the sun 
 Had got to shinin' fairer and a new world 
 
 had begun! 
 I'm not no smart theologist that's got the 
 
 facts all pat 
 Concernin' sects and creeds and forms and 
 
 all sich things as that , 
 The Bible's full of passages I never under- 
 stood, 
 But there's one thing I am sure of: 
 
 that religion's mighty good! 
 
 13 
 
AN EASY MAN. 
 
 Never seen an easier rnan in all my livin' 
 
 days 
 Than my old neighbor, Lisha Green, nor 
 
 sich slow-goin' ways! 
 Knowed him from his boyhood up — always 
 
 jist the same, 
 Never seemed to care a cent — took things 
 
 as they came ; 
 In the spring when other folks would git 
 
 to breakin' ground, 
 Lisha' d wait fer fairer days, and jist keep 
 
 settin' round. 
 
 Farm his father left him was the finest 
 
 thereabout, 
 But fences soon got shaky and the vreeds 
 
 begin to sprout ; 
 Buildin's got to leakin' and the crops they 
 
 wouldn't grov/ — 
 Plastered on a mor'gage — then the cattle 
 
 had to go! — 
 Still he didn't mind it, and no one ever 
 
 found 
 Lisha doin' anything but merely settin' 
 
 'round. 
 
 Sort of dried up — Lisha did — -and one day 
 blowed away, 
 
AN EAST MAN. 
 
 Leavin' nothin' back of him but lots of 
 
 debts to pay. 
 Guess he's up in heaven now — hope he is, 
 
 at least — 
 Know he never purposely done harm to 
 
 man or beast ! — 
 Mebby he's got golden wings — mebby he 
 
 is crowned — 
 Bet his wings are folded though and that 
 
 he's settin' round. 
 
DEACON WHITE'S CONFESSION. 
 
 I've always been a Christian man and 
 
 tried to live upright, 
 But Satan laid a hidjeous plan fer me the 
 
 other night: 
 I went up to the wicked town to see my 
 
 nephew Dick, 
 And there became the victim of a low- 
 down, wicked trick! 
 And here I stand in meetin' to confess the 
 
 whole affair — 
 I've got to ease my conscience fer a 
 
 weight is restin' there — 
 And I'll tell it as it happened, of the 
 
 dancin' girl and all, 
 And I hope that you'll forgive me, fer the 
 
 best of us may fall. 
 
 You know when Dick was but a child, his 
 
 folks they died, and so 
 I had to take and raise 'im till a little 
 
 while ago ; 
 And since he's been up there he's rose 
 
 uncommon fast, they say, 
 But I'm afraid he's started out upon an 
 
 evil way. 
 I used to think that Dick was just as good 
 
 as he could be, 
 
 i6 
 
DEACON WHITE'S CONFESSION, 
 
 And how I loved to feel that he was like a 
 son to me ! 
 
 But I'm afraid 'twas all put on, fer other- 
 wise he'd not 
 
 Have put his uncle into such a fix as I 
 have got. 
 
 Him and a friend of his they said they had 
 
 a treat in store, 
 "The likes of which dear Uncle Ned had 
 
 never seen before!" 
 Well, they v/as right concernin' that! It 
 
 was oncommon new — 
 I hardly knowed where I was at, before 
 
 the thing was through. 
 A gaudy place it was, and we set up there 
 
 where the folks 
 Upon the stage could look at me and use 
 
 me fer their jokes — 
 They talked about my whiskers and they 
 
 called me "Rube" and "Josh," 
 And kept repeatin', all the time, 
 
 "B'golly!" and "B'gosh!" 
 
 At last a girl come out to sing — as purty 
 
 as could be — 
 But she didn't hardly wear a thing, as fur 
 
 as I could see. 
 Immejitiy she turned to us and then let 
 
 loose a kick 
 That made my senses teeter jus' as if I 
 
 had been sick! 
 And then she romped and danced and 
 
 sung and tore around awhile— 
 
 17 
 
DEACON WHITE'S CONFESSION. 
 
 But I set stiff and solemn like and never 
 
 cracked a smile — 
 And so she kept agoin' on the worst I 
 
 ever saw, 
 Till, finally, she says to me: "You ain't 
 
 mad, are you, paw?" 
 
 Then everybody laughed, and Dick he 
 
 punched me in the side 
 And him and that there friend of his 
 
 howled till they nearly died. 
 And 'fore I knowed jus' what was up, the 
 
 girl was there with me 
 A-pullin' of my whiskers as familiar as 
 
 could be! 
 She called me "paw" and "baby," and 
 
 she chucked me on the chin — 
 And me a-knowin' all the time it was a 
 
 wicked sin — 
 But what, I ask you, bretherun — I ask 
 
 it face to face — 
 Could anyone of you have done had you 
 
 been in my place? 
 
 They ordered up the wine, them two; I 
 
 heard the glasses chink. 
 And not another thing would do but I 
 
 must take a drink! 
 The stuff it burned like poison! Her 
 
 breath was on my cheek — 
 But deep, deep down inside of me, I heard 
 
 a small voice speak! 
 And, jumpin' up, I hollered that I'd got 
 
 enough of that, 
 
 i8 
 
DEACON WHITE'S CONFESSION. 
 
 And so I simply bolted, without either 
 
 coat or hat, 
 And I run as if Old Nick himself was 
 
 comin' on behind — 
 With a weight upon my conscience and a 
 
 blur upon my mind ! 
 
 And here I stand a penitent before you all 
 
 to-day — 
 I know I oughtn't to have went to see no 
 
 kind of play — 
 But I have prayed and I have wept! I'll 
 
 go to town no more, 
 And, in my heart, I'm jus' as free from 
 
 evil as before. * * 
 Ah, thank you for your gracious words! 
 
 They lift me from the dust! 
 I raise my head again and take my stand 
 
 among the just! 
 I've told it to you truly, of the dancin* 
 
 girl and all — 
 I knowed that you'd forgive me, fer the 
 
 best of us may fall f 
 
 19 
 
GRANDMA'S LAMENT. 
 
 "When we lived on the farm, pa used to get 
 
 up with the sun, 
 And prophesyin' weather was the first 
 
 thing that he done ! 
 He'd straighten up and stretch hisself 
 
 and yawn awhile and blink, 
 A.nd then he'd say! "It'll rain to-day, " 
 
 or "Clearin' up, I think!" 
 He had a hundred signs, or more, by* 
 
 which he always told 
 If it was goin' to shine or pour, or turn 
 
 Qut hot or cold. 
 
 But others come to live upon the old place 
 
 long ago. 
 (Dear, how I'd like to be there now, to 
 
 see the peach trees blow!) 
 And pa he's lost his knack of tellin' what 
 
 it's goin' to do 
 Since we've got settled here in town,, 
 
 where everything's so new; 
 When he gets up o' mornin's now first 
 
 thing he's sure to say 
 Is: *' Mother, where's the paper? What's 
 
 the weather fer to-day?" 
 
 Land sakes! I don't know what this 
 world is surely comin' to! 
 
 20 
 
GRANDMA'S LAMENT. 
 
 They don't appear to be a thing 'lectricity 
 
 won't do! 
 It'll tell the weather days ahead; it's took 
 
 the horse's place, 
 And everybody knows just how it's wiped 
 
 out time and space ! 
 They's scasely any day goes by but some 
 
 inventor finds 
 Some new and startUn' thing to do to 
 
 upset people's minds. 
 
 But human nature ain't improved, as fur 
 
 as I can see, 
 And folks are even colder now than what 
 
 they used to be ; 
 Each man jest tries, with ail his might, to 
 
 git some other downed, 
 It's got to be a general fight among 'em 
 
 all around! 
 The rich are richer than they were ; the 
 
 poor are poorer, too — 
 And if you want to shine in church, 
 
 you've got to rent a pew. 
 
 I'm tired of it and I wish that I could 
 
 wake, my dears. 
 Some day and find that things had all 
 
 rolled back 'bout thirty years; 
 That all this rush had been a dream — that 
 
 we was still out there. 
 With the cows a-windin' down the lane 
 
 and sweet smells in the air. 
 And pa a-stretchin' hisself again in that 
 
 old honest way, 
 And sayin' lovin'-like to me: "Yes, it'll 
 
 be fair, to-day!" 
 
TO-MORROW. 
 
 *'Come, Betsy, let's be cheerful, 'taint no 
 
 use to set 'nd fret; 
 I know the crops look ragged, but they 
 
 may turn out well yet; 
 Your rheumatis' is hurtin', 'nd my back 
 
 is stiff 'nd sore. 
 But let's hope it's somethin' better that 
 
 to-morrow has in store — 
 You know that when the light comes, it is 
 
 darkest just before. 
 
 **0f course, I'm not pretendin' that the 
 cares what we have had 
 
 Was as deep as this one is, but some of 
 them was purty bad, 
 
 'Nd to-morrow — there's no tellin' — we 
 may hear from John by then, 
 
 'Nd find that he's recovered 'nd gone 
 back to work again." 
 
 The weeping mother murmured some- 
 thing like a low "Amen!" 
 
 The morrow came, and with it came a 
 
 letter — not the one 
 That they longed for and had prayed for, 
 
 yet it told them of their son. 
 The father wiped his glasses and read, 
 
 and then reread — 
 
TO-MORROW. 
 
 It seemed as if some weighty thing had 
 
 struck him on the head — 
 For the words were staring at him, and 
 
 they told him John was dead ! 
 
 **Well, mother, he is comin'," thus the old 
 
 man spake at last; 
 "The sickness that was on 'im's gone, the 
 
 danger point is past, 
 'Nd he's comin' home to-morrow — 
 
 comin' back here fer to stay" — 
 She hurried to the kitchen, and old Jasper 
 
 heard her say: — 
 "Kill a chicken, he'll be hungry after 
 
 travelin' all day." 
 
 23 
 
UNCLE HENRY'S DOWNFALL. 
 
 It takes all kinds of people to make up the 
 
 world, they say, 
 And I've met a mighty lot of different 
 
 species, in my day — 
 All with their various hobbies and their 
 
 politics and creeds, 
 The things that poison one may be just 
 
 what some other needs ; 
 One man'll claim you can't be saved unless 
 
 you've been immersed, 
 While the next one says of all the foolish 
 
 doctrines, that's the worst — 
 What one man likes another scorns, that 
 
 seems to be the rule, 
 And the chap that tries to please 'em all 
 
 is just a common fool. 
 
 Some folks can't stand the climate here 
 
 and want to move away, 
 While others think it's lovely — or, at 
 
 least, that's what they say; 
 One man'll read a story and he'll split his 
 
 sides and roar, 
 While the next one mebby'll say he never 
 
 see such rot before ; 
 Some people go to meetin' every Sunday, 
 
 rain or clear. 
 
 24 
 
UNCLE HENR7^'S DOWNFALL. 
 
 While other fellers hardly hear a sermon 
 
 once a year — 
 What one man likes his neighbor has no 
 
 use for, as a rule, 
 And the man that tries to please 'em all 
 
 is just a common fool. 
 
 When you think the weather's pleasant 
 
 the first fellow that you meet, 
 As like as not'll grumble at the cold or 
 
 else the heat; 
 They made me school director here about 
 
 a year ago. 
 And I started out intendin' to give every 
 
 one a show; 
 I tried to keep from takin' sides — I done 
 
 the best I could — 
 Last week they kicked me out and said I 
 
 wasn't any good! 
 I guess that every other man is cranky, 
 
 as a rule, 
 And the chap that tries to please 'em all's 
 
 an ordinary fool ! 
 
THE MISSING ONE. 
 
 I don't think I'll go in to town to see the 
 
 boys come back ; 
 My bein' there would do no good in all 
 
 that jam and pack ; 
 There'll be enough to welcome them — to 
 
 cheer them, when they come 
 A-marchin' bravely to the time that's beat 
 
 upon the drum; 
 They'll never miss me in the crowd — not 
 
 one of 'em will care 
 If, when the cheers are ringin' loud, I'm 
 
 not among them there. 
 
 I went to see them march away, I hollered 
 
 with the rest, 
 And didn't they look fine that day 
 
 a-marchin' four abreast. 
 With my boy James up near the front, as 
 
 handsome as could be, 
 And wavin' back a fond farev/ell to 
 
 mother and to me! 
 I vow my old knees trimbled so when they 
 
 had all got by, 
 I had to jist set down upon the curbstone 
 
 there and cry. 
 
 And now they're comin' home agen! The 
 record that they won 
 
 26 
 
THE MISSING ONE. 
 
 Was sich as shows we still have men when 
 
 men's work's to be done! 
 There wasn't one of 'em that flinched — • 
 
 each feller stood the test — 
 Wherever they were sent they sailed right 
 
 in and done their best! 
 They didn't go away to play; they 
 
 knowed what was in store ; 
 But there's a grave somewhere, to-day, 
 
 down on the Cuban shore! 
 
 I guess that I'll not go to town to see the 
 
 boys come in; 
 I don't jist feel like mixin' up in all that 
 
 crush and din ! 
 There'll be enough to welcome them — to 
 
 cheer them when they come 
 A-marchin' bravely to the time that's beat 
 
 upon the drum. 
 And the boys'U never notice — not a one 
 
 of 'em will care, 
 For the soldier that would miss me ain't 
 
 a-goin' to be there! 
 
 27 
 
"THEY'VE NAMED HIM 
 AFTER ME." 
 
 I never liked that Amos Gray, 
 
 Somehow he seemed to be 
 A sort of schemer in his way 
 And so it bothered me 
 X/ike sixty when he started home from 
 
 church, one Sunday night, 
 With our Alice, and they sot, without a 
 spark o' light, 
 A-talkin' and a-laughin* till 
 
 Away past one o'clock, 
 With ma a-frettin' fit to kill, 
 And me as mad's a hawk! 
 
 You see I've got the finest place 
 
 In this hull township, and 
 The way I figgered out the case 
 Young Gray had simply planned 
 To marry in the fambly and take hold and 
 
 run affairs, 
 And so I told him plainly that we seen his 
 cunnin' snares! 
 If him and Alice had to go 
 
 And marry, well and good. 
 But I took care to let him know 
 How matters reely stood ! 
 
 28 
 
<^ THEY'VE NAMED HIM AFTER ME:' 
 
 'Course Alice praised him up and cried 
 
 And got her mother won, 
 And then they both pitched in and tried 
 To git me on the run, 
 But I had took my stand and there I 
 
 vowed that I would stay, 
 And so, one day the words was said and 
 the young folks went away! 
 My grief ! how lonesome it did seem 
 
 When Alice wa'n't about; 
 Sometimes I wanted jist to scream 
 To chase the silence out. 
 
 Well, that was 'bout a year ago, 
 
 And last night Amos he 
 Come tearin' down to let us know 
 They'd named him after me — 
 I mean the little boy they've got — I've 
 
 jist been up with wife, 
 And I never seen as fine a child as him in 
 all my life! 
 And smart ! By George, when I stood 
 there. 
 As quiet as could be, 
 He v/oke and smiled — he did — I 
 
 swear 
 
 And they've named him after me 
 
 They say he's got my chin and nose. 
 
 His eyes are like mine, too ; 
 From his curly head clear to his toes, 
 He's like me through and through! 
 I'm goin' up to town to-day, to deed the 
 farm away, 
 
 29 
 
THET' VE .NAMED HIM AFTER ME.'' 
 
 'm tired workin' and I give the place to 
 Amos Gray; 
 We'll all live here and part no more, 
 
 I've got 'em to agree — 
 Say, did I mention it before? 
 They've named him after me! 
 
 30 
 
ONLY A WOMAN. 
 
 He used to treat her shameful! I have 
 heard the neighbors say 
 
 That they wouldn't think of usin' a com- 
 mon cur that way! 
 
 Let her slave until her back ached and 
 her fingers fairly bled, 
 
 And once he throwed a hatchet that jist 
 barely missed her head! 
 
 She would do a hard day's sewin', and 
 then he'd come home at night 
 
 And abuse her if the supper didn't happen 
 to be right. 
 
 She might of married better, for she used 
 
 to be as sweet 
 And as fair a little maiden as a feller'd 
 
 care to meet ; 
 Her cheeks was round and rosy, and her 
 
 eyes'd set you wild. 
 And the world seemed mighty pleasant 
 
 when she looked at you and smiled ! 
 Had an ankle that was lovely, and her 
 
 form was plump and trim — 
 And everybody wondered when she went 
 
 and married him, 
 
 I s'pose she thought, like other foolish 
 girls have thought before, 
 
 31 
 
ONL r A WOMA N, 
 
 That she'd make him quit his drinkin', 
 
 but he only drunk the more — 
 Went from bad to worse the minute that 
 
 she'd given him her hand, 
 And the way she'd stick up for him I 
 
 could never understand — 
 Law, she'd flare up like a wildcat when 
 
 her folks' d interfere — 
 But, alas, her girlish beauty soon begun 
 
 to disappear! 
 
 One night, they say, he choked her — Gol, 
 
 I wish that I'd been there! — 
 Knocked her down and beat and dragged 
 
 her round the kitchen by the hair ! 
 And so, with tears a-streamin' down her 
 
 face, she went away 
 To the home in which she hadn't set a 
 
 foot for many a day — 
 Went and laid her achin' head upon her 
 
 weepin' mother's breast — 
 Meekly went and sobbed and snuggled in 
 
 the old home nest. 
 
 After while we seen the roses bloom.in' on 
 
 her cheeks agin, 
 And she hadn't lost the purty little dimple 
 
 from her chin, 
 And in spite of all the sorrow and the 
 
 troubles she'd been through 
 She was jist as sweet as ever — and a little 
 
 sv/eeter, too! — 
 And the folks begin to gossip, as you 
 
 know, folks always will, 
 
 32 
 
ONLT A WOMAN. 
 
 And wonder why she didn't hurry up and 
 get a bill. 
 
 Ke kept on, when she had left him, in his 
 
 old disgraceful way; 
 No one knew jist how he managed — but 
 
 it leaked out yisterday 
 That he'd got some sort of fever, and in 
 
 order to git through, 
 He'd have to have a doctor and some 
 
 tender nursin', too! — 
 O she smiled at me, one mornin', and the 
 
 whole world seemed to swim! 
 She is lovelier than ever — but she's goin* 
 
 back to him ! 
 
 33 
 
UNCLE RUFUS IN THE CITY. 
 
 Been a-livin' in town with my boy James, 
 
 now goin' on 'leven years, 
 But I ain't got used to it yit, by gum! 
 
 This city life appears 
 To jest knock all your energy out, 
 
 'N' leave you sort of dead! 
 I'm too blame tired to git about, 
 
 'N' I've a buzzin' in my head! 
 I guess it's the noise of the cars 'n' things 
 
 that rings in my ears all day, 
 'N', oh but I wish I could eat 'n' sleep in 
 
 the good, old-fashioned way ! 
 
 I'd like to be back on the farm agin, 
 
 where the buds is sproutin' now, 
 'N', Lord, how I'd like to rise with the 
 
 sun 'n' git out behind the plow! 
 Turnin' the mellow furrow along 
 
 Up over the slopin' hill, 
 'N' hearin' some farm hand's happy song 
 Mixed up with his "Haw, there. Bill!" 
 Seein' the crows a-circlin' round, way up 
 
 in the clear blue sky, 
 'N' hearin' mother blowin' the horn fer 
 
 breakfast, by 'n' by. 
 
 I'd like to stop at the end of the field 'n' 
 feel the country breeze, 
 
 34 
 
UNCLE RUFUS IN THE CIT7\ 
 
 As it comes through the orchard on the 
 
 hill with the scent of the bloomin' 
 
 trees; 
 *N' I'd Hke to smell the sweet wood smoke 
 
 That comes from the burnin' brush, 
 'N' instead of the sparrow's tiresome 
 
 croak 
 I'd hear the song of the thrush! 
 'N', then, to wash in the old tin pail 
 
 with mother standin' there — 
 What's this? Tears tricklin' down my 
 
 face? AVell, I'm cryin', I declare! 
 
 I've lost my appetite, somehow, since I 
 
 ain't got nothin' to do, 
 
 'N' the days jest seem to come because 
 
 they've got to be worried through! 
 
 Out yonder the trees are in blossom now, 
 
 As they blossomed when I was there ; 
 
 But some one else is guidin' the plow 
 
 'N' breathin' the scented air, 
 'N' mother's asleep on the grassy hill 
 
 beneath the poplar tree — 
 'N' I wish the leaves it's puttin' forth was 
 also to shelter me ! 
 
 35 
 
BENEATH OLD GLORY. 
 
 I was down to the postoffice 'tother day, 
 Settin' there and whittlin' away 
 
 While Hammond sorted the letters, 
 When all of a sudden it come to me 
 How happy a feller ought to be 
 That's born in this glorious land of the 
 free, 
 
 Where no one kneels to his betters. 
 
 There was the flag above my head, 
 With the stars and the blue and the white 
 and the red, 
 
 And I watched it float and flutter; 
 And it made me proud to know that I 
 Was as good as any man under the sky 
 And wasn't compelled to help supply 
 
 Some prince's bread and butter. 
 
 But presently Silas Gifford he 
 
 Come stroUin' along and set down by me. 
 
 And then he begin to grumble: 
 Nothin' seemed to be goin' right, 
 Potatoes were poor and corn was a sight — 
 Wheat had been injured by the blight. 
 
 And rye had taken a tumble. 
 
 I whittled away and listened awhile, 
 And then says I: "Look here now, Sile,, 
 What's the use of your frettin'? 
 
 36 
 
BENEATH OLD GLORT. 
 
 Look at the starry flag up there ; 
 Look at them stripes wave in the air — 
 Man, think what it is to be settm' where 
 You're lucky enough to be settin' !" 
 
 He set and looked and I heard him sigh, 
 And I saw his face flush, by and by — 
 
 He'd forgotten his doleful story ; 
 And then he stood up and he says to me: 
 "Lord, ain't it great," he says, "to be 
 
 free — 
 To be an American" — says he — 
 
 "And stand beneath Old Glory!" 
 
 37 
 
AN EVERY-DAY WONDER. 
 
 I've lived in this here world of ours, now, 
 
 sixty years and more, 
 And things don't seem to strike me just 
 
 as they have heretofore; 
 I've been a-thinkin' hard about a lot of 
 
 things of late, 
 And folks I once despised I sort of look 
 
 upon as great. 
 
 For instance, there is old De Gull, who's 
 
 owin' every one; 
 I used to hold him up as an example for 
 
 to shun. 
 But though he's deep down in the hole, 
 
 just see the way he lives, 
 And think of all the parties and the 
 
 charity he gives! 
 
 I work for what I have, and don't owe 
 
 any man a dime. 
 While he rides 'round in carriages, and 
 
 has a gorgeous time ; 
 He goes in high society and lives 'most 
 
 like a king. 
 While folks don't think that I amount ta 
 
 scarcely anything. 
 
 Now, what I wanted to get at was some- 
 thing like this here : 
 
 38 
 
AN EVERT-DAT WONDER. 
 
 It takes a genius to be a fraud, and yet 
 
 appear 
 As if he was the greatest man a person 
 
 ever saw, 
 Who makes the folks he owes stand off 
 
 and gaze at him in awe. 
 
 39 
 
UNCLE HENRY ON THEOLOGY. 
 
 They say that story 'bout the whale and 
 
 Jonah isn't true. 
 And now they've gone — the preachers 
 
 have — and tackled David, too; 
 They say he didn't write the Psalms, at 
 
 least, not nearly all — 
 I wonder what'll be the next good old 
 
 beUef to fall? 
 
 They've even thrown suspicion on the 
 
 birth of Moses, and 
 The princess who discovered him down 
 
 there in Egypt land — , 
 They say there ain't no fiery lake, no 
 
 devil, therefore no 
 Such place as that which used to make 
 
 the sinners tremble so. 
 
 They've said that Noah's ark is just a 
 
 piece of fiction, too, 
 And that the tale of Daniel in the lion's 
 
 den ain't true; 
 They've said that Adam's just a myth, 
 
 they've said the same of Eve — 
 I wonder if there's anything they'll leave 
 
 us to believe? 
 
 They ridicule old Joshua for pointin' at 
 the sun, 
 
 40 
 
UNCLE HENRT ON THEOLOGT. 
 
 And tellin' it to stop — they say the thing 
 was never done; 
 
 They've taken up the patriarchs and ques- 
 tioned all their acts; 
 
 They say the Bible's quite a book, but 
 rather shy of facts. 
 
 Well, let 'em preach and let 'em lay the 
 
 whole great structure low ! 
 I s'pose they have to talk that way 'cause 
 
 people want it so; 
 The good book doesn't suit some folks at 
 
 all, but as for me — 
 I'm satisfied to keep the faith I got at 
 
 mother's knee. 
 
 41 
 
NELLIE'S FELLER. 
 
 You know there's always someone in each 
 
 neighborhood that stands 
 Above the other people, for his fam'ly or 
 
 his lands, 
 Or because he's reely smart enough to jist 
 
 go right ahead 
 And take the lead in ev'rything that's 
 
 ever done or said, 
 For folks, in that respect, are like the 
 
 quackin' geese that fly 
 Behind some knowin' gander as they trail 
 
 across the sky — 
 From the army to the hay field it's the 
 
 same the whole way through, 
 There must always be a leader if there's 
 
 anything to do. 
 
 Well, the man who sort of run things 
 
 down in our neighborhood 
 Was a feller by the name of — let's see — 
 
 s'pose we call 'im Wood; 
 He owned three of the finest farms within 
 
 a dozen miles, 
 And the common supposition was that he 
 
 had wealth in piles. 
 And in addition to them things, he 
 
 measured six foot one, 
 
 42 
 
NELLIE'S FELLER, 
 
 And had a reputation for the fightin' he 
 had done — 
 
 Moreover, he'd a daughter, jist as hand- 
 some as a rose, 
 
 Who, at the age of twenty-one, had forty- 
 'leven beaux. 
 
 One day there come along a chap from 
 
 York State who began 
 To work for Henry Holman — sort of 
 
 quiet, slender man 
 Along somewhere about the age of 
 
 twenty-three or four, 
 And Nellie Wood soon tired of the beaux 
 
 she'd had before; 
 But jist about the time that her and this 
 
 young man agreed 
 That they had ought to marry, her old 
 
 dad decided he'd 
 Step in and take a hand! Ordered John 
 
 to vanish, nor never come agen — 
 Said his girl could have her pick of fifty 
 
 better men. 
 
 But they kept on a-lovin' and a-meetin' 
 
 here and there, 
 And, of course, the busy-bodies had to 
 
 follow the affair. 
 Until one evenin' John was at the 
 
 Corners, in the store. 
 When suddenly there was a hush, for 
 
 loomin' in the door 
 Was Nellie's dad about as mad as any 
 
 man could get, 
 
 43 
 
NELLIE'S FELLER. 
 
 And he went for that young feller like a 
 
 hurricane, you bet! 
 He didn't stop to argue, nor to throw his 
 
 coat aside. 
 But, without a word of warnin' started in 
 
 to tan his hide. 
 
 They say that kegs and boxes was sent 
 
 whirlin' ev'rywhere. 
 And that legs and arms and coat tails was 
 
 a-spinnin' in the air; 
 They was rippin', they was tearin', they 
 
 was whiskers floatin' round. 
 They sent the show-case flyin', and spilled 
 
 groceries by the pound ; 
 They tumbled over barrels and they ham- 
 mered, till, at last 
 John got the old man under where he 
 
 held him hard and fast — 
 Held him there and choked him — then, 
 
 without a word to say 
 Got up and brushed his clothin' and 
 
 serenely walked away. 
 
 Of course you know what happened then — 
 
 John took the girl and went, 
 But they didn't, like so many do, come 
 
 back home penitent; 
 He got a job in town and 'twa'n't so very 
 
 long before 
 We heard the feller'd went and bought an 
 
 interest in a store. 
 But Nellie's dad, he, somehow, had the 
 
 hardest kind of luck. 
 
 44 
 
NELLIE'S FELLER. 
 
 From that time on, that any man in this 
 
 world ever struck — 
 Everything he touched jist seemed to go 
 
 to pieces, and 
 'Twa'n't long before they took away the 
 
 last rod of his land. 
 
 Let's see — it's 'leven years since I come 
 
 in to town to stay — 
 My cracky ! how the months and years do 
 
 seem to slip away! 
 I guess the time has passed so fast because 
 
 I've never had 
 Sich happiness as this since she was here 
 
 to make me glad — 
 I mean my daughter's mother, who had 
 
 died long, long before 
 The episode I mentioned which occurred 
 
 there in the store. 
 And the little grassy mound upon the 
 
 hillside where she lies 
 Is the only thing that makes me like to 
 
 keep up the old ties. * * * 
 
 Yes, the names that I've referred to was 
 
 to throw you off the track ; 
 It was me that got the lickin' and was all 
 
 tore up the back. 
 And my son-in-law's the smartest little 
 
 man in this here town, 
 With something like a half a million dollars 
 
 salted down! 
 And him and Nellie's jist like two young 
 
 spoonin' lovers yet, 
 
 4S 
 
NELLIE'S FELLER. 
 
 Enjoyin' all the comforts that good 
 
 money's made to get. 
 With their little ones around them, all 
 
 as happy as can be, 
 And makin' this old world a reg'lar 
 
 Paradise f er me ! 
 
 4*5 
 
THE MAN WHO ONLY SMILED. 
 
 I never saw a man as free from what is 
 
 known as care 
 As Ira Hamlin used to be — it seemed to 
 
 me, I swear, 
 Sometimes, as if the feller must jist laugh 
 
 the whole day through 
 And keep his smilin* up at night, while 
 
 he was sleepin', too; 
 Never used to meet him but he'd have a 
 
 word to say 
 To kind of cheer a feller up and drive the 
 
 blues away. 
 
 I mind the time his horse was killed — the 
 
 best one that he had — 
 He never gave a sign to show that he was 
 
 feelin' bad; 
 Jist kept a smilin' countenance and 
 
 worked away the same 
 As if he'd lost a nickel in a friendly little 
 
 game; 
 Nothin' seemed to break him down; 
 
 always crackin' jokes — 
 Makin' light of things that would have 
 
 worried other folks. 
 
 One fall his boy was taken sick — none of 
 the doctors knew 
 
 47 
 
THE MAN WHO ONLT SMILED. 
 
 Jist what the trouble was, and so he lay 
 
 all winter through 
 A-hoverin' 'twixt life and death — still Ira 
 
 smiled away — 
 Always had his joke, or else a hopeful 
 
 word to say. — 
 Bat when the trees began to bud and the 
 
 birds began to mate 
 They laid his little boy away, up by the 
 
 graveyard gate. 
 
 We watched 'im, as he stood beside the 
 
 little grave up there. 
 But no one saw 'im shed a tear — he 
 
 didn't seem to care — 
 And when the last words had been said, 
 
 he simply turned away. 
 And went about his work again, with not 
 
 a word to say — 
 A-smilin' as he always had, and, in a day 
 
 or so, 
 A-jokin' as if sorrow was a thing he didn't 
 
 know. 
 
 Vv^ell, I jist couldn't stand it! He was 
 
 plowin' on the hill: 
 At first I says: "No, what's the use?" 
 
 and then says I : "I will!" — 
 So I went up, and we set down, upon the 
 
 old wood sled, 
 And he began to crack his jokes, and then 
 
 I up and said 
 I couldn't, fer the life of me, see how 
 
 'twas any one 
 
THE MAN WHO ONLT SMILED. 
 
 Could throw his burdens off and go ahead, 
 as he had done. 
 
 *'I don't believe," says I, "that you are 
 
 built like other folks: 
 I've never seen you feelin* bJue — you're 
 
 always crackin' jokes; 
 Don't sorrow never git into your breast 
 
 and rankle there? 
 Or has the Good Lord made you so you 
 
 never have a care? — 
 But Ira'd put his face into his hands and 
 
 bent his head. 
 And I'd a given all the world to take back 
 
 what I said. 
 
 I never heard such sobs before ! We set 
 
 there half a day, 
 And never said a single word, for he jist 
 
 wept away; 
 Seemed as if the sorrow he'd escaped in 
 
 former years 
 Had all come on 'im in a flood, and same 
 
 way with his tears; 
 But when, at last he'd wiped his eyes, 
 
 he turned around to me, 
 And then between his sobs, in sort of 
 
 chokin' words, says he: 
 
 "I've tried to keep a cheerful face„ 
 
 because I didn't care 
 To burden other folks with woes that God 
 
 gave me to bear ; 
 
 49 
 
THE MAN WHO ONLT SMILED. 
 
 They've troubles of their own; I thought 
 
 that smilin' was the best, 
 Yet often when I've laughed 'twas jist to 
 
 ease my achin' breast — 
 But now, it seems, you want a man to 
 
 mope and moan and groan, 
 Instead of keepin' back his tears till he 
 
 can be alone — 
 
 I'd nothin' more to say, and so that night 
 
 when all was still 
 I hunted out the little grave up yonder on 
 
 the hill, 
 And there I stopped beside the gate and 
 
 leaned against the bars, 
 And saw him kneelin' by the mound and 
 
 lookin' toward the stars. 
 
 50 
 
MA'S BOY, ART. 
 
 Have you ever seen it stormin' when it 
 
 seemed that every tree 
 Would be ripped up by the roots, and all 
 
 the furies were set free? 
 When the earth jist fairly trimbled under 
 
 angry Nature's wrath, 
 And destruction seemed in store for every 
 
 object in 'er path? 
 When the rain come down so hard the 
 
 drops appeared to have been sent 
 Like rattlin' shot hurled out of some 
 
 destructive instrument? — 
 Well, that's about the sort of mood that 
 
 dad was in the day 
 That him and Arthur quarreled, and the 
 
 latter went away. 
 
 "Don't never dare to set your foot inside 
 
 my door again!" 
 Them 'were the words dad shouted, and 
 
 his face was livid then. 
 And Art was full of foolish pride — he 
 
 grabbed his hat and went — 
 He scorned the bill dad offered him— he 
 
 wouldn't take a cent! 
 He wouldn't be beholdin' for a thing to 
 
 dad, he swore — 
 
 51 
 
MA'S BOr, ART. 
 
 It seems to me I see him now, a-standin' 
 
 in the door, 
 With mother hangin' on his neck — and, 
 
 oh, her piercin' crjM 
 For full a month I don't beh'eve her eyes 
 
 were ever dry ! 
 
 We plowed and planted and we hoed — the 
 
 summier wore away. 
 And every night when bedtime come, and 
 
 mother knelt to pray, 
 I'd hear her ask the Lord to send his 
 
 richest blessin' down 
 Upon her boy, away alone, up in the 
 
 wicked town! 
 And often she would look at dad, with 
 
 pleadin' eyes that said 
 The words she didn't dare to speak; but 
 
 he would shake his head. 
 And close his lips, and clinch his fists, and 
 
 then she'd hide 'er face. 
 And a sort of lonesome sadness seemed to 
 
 hang around the place. 
 
 Such crops as seemed worth harvestin' we 
 
 put away, some how ; 
 We hadn't more than hay enough to half 
 
 fill up a mow — 
 But we raised a flock of turkeys that was 
 
 far the best around ! — 
 We'd a gobbler dad declared would tip the 
 
 scale at forty pound: 
 *'I'll try to sell the others off Thanksgivin' 
 
 week," he said, 
 
 52 
 
MA'S BOTy ART. 
 
 *'But I'm goin' to keep that gobbler, and 
 
 we won't chop off his head! 
 Somehow, I kind of Hke the way he lords 
 
 it with the rest, 
 For a heart is good, but still I like a 
 
 haughty spirit best!" 
 
 The day before Thanksgivin' come, and 
 
 dad drove down the lane; 
 The wind was raw, and sleety drops come 
 
 rattlin' on the pane, 
 And mother set there thinkin' — then she 
 
 give a frightened start — 
 The door was softly opened, and I looked, 
 
 and there was Art, 
 So white and thin and haggard that, at 
 
 first it seemed almost 
 As if it couldn't be himself, but just his 
 
 hungry ghost — 
 And mother ! Oh, her voice is still these 
 
 many, many years. 
 But the cry she give rings just as plain as 
 
 ever in my ears! 
 
 That afternoon, when dad come home, 
 
 Art hid away, up stairs. 
 And mother bustled 'round and tried to 
 
 not expose affairs. 
 But dad was hardly in the house before he 
 
 stopped and said : 
 ' What's goin' on? I want the truth! 
 
 I'm not a punkin' head!" 
 Then mother, trimblin' like a leaf, ketched 
 
 hold of Arthur's hand, 
 
 53 
 
MA'S BOr, ART. 
 
 And led him slowly to the spot v/here dad 
 
 had took his stand — 
 And Art stood there and looked at dad, 
 
 and dad looked back at Art, 
 And mother prayed in whispers for the 
 
 Lord to touch his heart. 
 
 It seemed an hour that they stood — then 
 
 mother she give way : 
 "He's starved and sick," she cried to 
 
 dad, "please say that he can stay!" 
 At last, dad turned, without a word, and 
 
 left the room, and then 
 We set and wondered till, at last, we 
 
 heard his step again. 
 He'd gone and killed the gobbler — he 
 
 brought him in and said: 
 "He had a splendid spirit, and he held a 
 
 haughty head — 
 But his head is low, at present, and he's 
 
 lost his spirit, too — 
 How about Thanksgivin', mother? I'll 
 
 jist leave it all to you." 
 
 54 
 
THE HIRED MAN'S CONFESSION. 
 
 I got to thinkin' t'other day, about this 
 
 world's affairs; 
 How some folks have it easy, and how 
 
 some are bent with cares ; 
 How some must work from mornin' tiJl 
 
 the sun sinks in the West, 
 And other people only do the things that 
 
 suit 'em best — 
 I set there while the horses switched the 
 
 buzzin' flies away, 
 And I thought how I had got to keep 
 
 a-slavin' every day. 
 While them wealthy summer boarders 
 
 that had come to us from town, 
 Spent the money that their dads, no 
 
 doubt, had earned and salted down. 
 
 And, referrin' to them boarders, there is 
 
 one among 'em who 
 Is the beautifullest maiden any mortal 
 
 ever knew; 
 Oh, her voice is just like music and she's 
 
 got an angel's face, 
 And since she come she's sort of made a 
 
 heaven of the place. 
 And I've often set and watched her and 
 
 then wished that I could be 
 
 55 
 
THE HIRED MAN'S CONFESSION. 
 
 Rich and handsome like them others, so 
 that she would notice me — 
 
 But, of course, I'm just a farmer, with 
 big, bony, calloused hands, 
 
 Only fit to love in secret every spot on 
 which she stands. 
 
 And while I set there, thinkin', she come 
 
 poppin' in my mind. 
 And then I got to dreamin' and my cares 
 
 were left behind — 
 Got to thinkin' of myself as rich and 
 
 handsome and forgot 
 All about the tired horses standin' out 
 
 there in the lot! 
 But that couldn't last forever, there was 
 
 work I had to do, 
 And I dropped down out of Cloudland, 
 
 wishin' all of it was true. 
 And I rose up where I'd rested, in the 
 
 corner by the tree, 
 And my heart stood still, for she was 
 
 standin' there in front of me! 
 
 I don't know how it happened, but we 
 
 stood there in the shade. 
 And I said a lot of things that sounded 
 
 foolish, I'm afraid — 
 At least, I know I told her how I'd got to 
 
 slave away, 
 And how I'd planned to go and get a job 
 
 in town some day — 
 How I'd like to have white hands and dress 
 
 in stylish clothin', too, 
 
 56 
 
THE HIRED MAN'S CONFESSION, 
 
 How I'd like to go and mingle with the 
 
 people that she knew ! 
 And how my face was burnin', and my 
 
 heart, oh, how it beat! 
 And all the while she stood there, gazin' 
 
 straight down at her feet. 
 
 After while she looked up at me, and I 
 
 never shall forget 
 How sad and sweet her smile was and 
 
 I hear her talkin' yet! 
 "You must work, it is your fortune, and 
 
 your hands are big and bruised. 
 But to work is only manly — " them's the 
 
 very words she used — 
 "And the man whose hands are softest 
 
 and whose clothing is the best 
 Doesn't always have the bravest, purest 
 
 heart within his breast ; 
 You must work, while over yonder men 
 
 put in their time at play, 
 But to me you're worth a dozen of those 
 
 others, any day." 
 
 Then she shook my hand and left me, and 
 
 I took the reins agen, 
 And workin', somehow, seemed to be all 
 
 fired easy then ! 
 Of course, I know she only said them 
 
 words to ease my mind, 
 Said 'em only, heaven bless 'er, 'cause she 
 
 wanted to be kind. 
 But although I know I never could expect 
 
 that such as she 
 
 57 
 
THE HIRED MAN'S CONFESSION. 
 
 Would forsake the world she lives in, or 
 
 could love the likes of me, 
 Far down into my bosom I have hid her 
 
 words away — 
 Words she never meant, I reckon — but 
 
 which cheer me on, to-day. 
 
 58 
 
THE OTHER MAN'S BOY. 
 
 "If that there boy belonged to me," said 
 
 Deacon Holliday, 
 *'I'd hate to tell you what I'd do to make 
 
 'im change his way. 
 I'd thrash 'im till he couldn't see; I'd 
 
 chase 'im from the place! 
 There ain't no use of bein' mild or kind 
 
 in such a case. 
 His father surely ought to know that he 
 
 is doin' wrong 
 To spare the rod and let 'im go his own 
 
 way right along — 
 Laws! If that boy was mine, I'll bet I'd 
 
 make 'im change his way; 
 I'd lick 'im till he couldn't set!" said 
 
 Deacon Holliday. 
 
 The Deacon had a little son who grew, as 
 
 boys will grow. 
 And every boy must have his fun, or he's 
 
 no boy, you know ! 
 The outraged neighbors wondered why 
 
 the Deacon was so mild, 
 They marveled that the father spared the 
 
 rod and spoiled the child. 
 In every plot, however dark, that bad boy 
 
 had a share ; 
 
 59 
 
THE OTHER MAN'S EOT, 
 
 And on two brows he left his mark in 
 
 many a whitened hair ! 
 Ah, the Deacon had a Httle son, who grew 
 
 as boys will grow, 
 And the Deacon, when all's said and done, 
 
 was just a man, you know! 
 
 60 
 
WHEN THE RIFFLE IS MADE. 
 
 I s'pose I should feel like a man to-day fer 
 
 the first time in my life, 
 Although I come purty nigh feelin' that 
 
 way when Mollie was made my wife; 
 And that night when our little Albert was 
 
 born, gol, didn't I sort of rise 
 Right up in my boots and feel as if I'd 
 
 got about growed full size! 
 Still, they was somethin' I needed yit, 
 
 and oh, it was far away ! 
 But I buckled down and I worked fer it — 
 
 and the farm is mine to-day ! 
 
 When Mollie and me commenced, I guess 
 
 I'd a hunderd dollars or so, 
 And she pitched in and she helped me 
 
 save, but Moses! wasn't it slow! 
 Many and many a time I've gone and got 
 
 blue and wanted to quit, 
 But Mollie'd say: "Keep a-goin', John, 
 
 we'll make the riffle yit!" 
 That was afore little Albert come — when 
 
 the Lord sent him, why then 
 'Course, no sich thought as givin' it up 
 
 ever entered my head agen. 
 
 I've jist been up to the county seat — the 
 last red cent is paid: 
 
 6i 
 
WHEN THE RIFFLE IS MADE. 
 
 The farm belongs to me complete — the 
 
 riffle at last is made, 
 And, oh, what a feelin' it is to know that 
 
 the roof above your head 
 Belongs to you and has got to go to them 
 
 you love, when you're dead! 
 No man has ever been quite a man who 
 
 couldn't set down somewhere. 
 And say to himself: "This ground is 
 
 mine and I've earned it fair and 
 
 square. ' ' 
 
 Still, I ain't as happy by far, to-day, as 
 
 I've often been before; 
 The last incumbrance is cleared away — 
 
 but MoUie ain't here no more! 
 I promised I'd deed it over to her, but 
 
 that can't never be. 
 For the Lord saw fit to take her away from 
 
 little Albert and me, 
 And I'd give up all if she'd leave her 
 
 grave, with her smiles and her patient 
 
 ways. 
 To help me earn and to help me save, as 
 
 in the old, happy days. 
 
 62 
 
NATURE AND HER MOODS, 
 
THE BIRTH OF THE ROSE. 
 
 A thistle once grew near a lily, 
 
 A stately lily and fair, 
 And the wind swayed the one to the 
 other, 
 
 And the spirit of love was there. 
 
 And unto the lily and thistle 
 A sweet little flower was born. 
 
 And the lily bent down to caress it, 
 
 And her finger was pricked by a thorn. 
 
 The blood that the pale, pure lily, 
 In the joy of her motherhood shed, 
 
 Gave the sweet little stranger its color. 
 Gave the rose its beautiful red. 
 
 The rose that unto the lily 
 
 And unto the thistle was born, 
 
 By the lily was given its beauty, 
 By the thistle was given its thorn. 
 
 65 
 
DAY AND NIGHT. 
 
 When it is day, and traffic roars about me 
 
 in the street, 
 I need no guidance to elude the snares 
 
 about my feet; 
 When ii is day I go my way among the 
 
 haunts of men, 
 Nor care who holds the stars in space, nor 
 
 doubt nor question then ; 
 I take the world for granted, and so toil 
 
 and scheme away, 
 I hear the passing hour struck nor pray 
 
 the hands might stay. 
 When it is day. 
 
 When it is night, and I, alone, walk down 
 
 the quiet lane 
 I hear the rustling blades of grass make 
 
 God's high purpose plain; 
 When it is night the gleaming stars that 
 
 through the distance roll 
 Send by the zephyrs messages to whisper 
 
 to my soul, 
 I hear the chimes exult because of Time's 
 
 unceasing flight 
 And feel my littleness, with all the 
 
 Universe in sight. 
 When it is nisfht. 
 
 66 
 
DAT AND NIGHT. 
 
 Life is day; the grave is night! Oh, 
 when the pall is spread 
 
 Will there be constellations then still 
 gleaming overhead? 
 
 When, after all the dreams and schemes 
 that quicken men are gone, 
 
 When, after all the rush and roar the 
 silent night comes on. 
 
 Will there be empty darkness and a pulse- 
 less lump of clay. 
 
 Or will the Sun have just sent forth the 
 first refulgent ray 
 
 That wakes the day? 
 
 67 
 
QUEER OLD NATURE. 
 
 "Why is it," asked a wondering child 
 
 (Sweet, simple little thing), 
 '*That the foolish tree puts on its clothes 
 When the sun shines, in the spring. 
 And then, when chilly autumn comes 
 
 And the winds of winter blow. 
 Why does it stand out there, all bare, 
 In the frost and sleet and snow?" 
 
 "Wise Nature has arranged it thus," 
 
 I told the little one, 
 "The rustling leaves can only live 
 Beneath a smiling sun ; 
 The tree that, in the summer time. 
 
 Makes shady bowers for you 
 Must have its rest, therefore it stands 
 Asleep the winter through." 
 
 She sat in silence for a while 
 
 And gazed far into space, 
 And lines of thought and trouble came 
 
 To mar her childish face ; 
 And so, at last, she turned and said : 
 "I'm sorry for the tree, 
 And glad that Nature wasn't left 
 
 To fix things up for me!" 
 
 68 
 
APPLE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 The rose that blooms in the hot house 
 
 Is rare and fair to see, 
 But still the fragrant blossoms 
 
 Of the dear old apple tree 
 That stands in the edge of the orchard 
 
 Somehow appeal to me ! 
 
 I remember how she loved them 
 And wore them on her breast; 
 
 Of all the flowers that bloomed, she liked 
 The apple blossoms best, 
 
 And when we laid her away a bunch 
 Of them in her hands was pressed ! 
 
 The rose that blows in the hot-house 
 
 Is rare and fair to see. 
 But the fragrance of the blossoms 
 
 Of the dear, old apple tree 
 Somehow remains far sweeter 
 
 And lovelier to me ! 
 
 69 
 
LOVE'S CALENDAR 
 
 Or when 'tis joyous summer time 
 Or when the wintry blast howls by — 
 
 Whate'er the land, whate'er the clime, 
 'Tis all the same to me, for I 
 
 Find that the longest, dreariesi day 
 
 When thou, my dear, art far away ! 
 
 Or when the ground is white with snow 
 
 And swallows to the South have flown, 
 Or when the rose and lily blow, 
 
 Or fruit trees 'neath their burdens 
 groan, 
 That day is shortest, sweetest, dear, 
 When thou, with thy glad smiles, art 
 near! 
 
 70 
 
FELLOWSHIP. 
 
 I sat upon the hillside yesterday 
 
 And saw the fellowship that moved the 
 herd; 
 I listened to a bell that, far away, 
 
 Called striving men to hear the Savior's 
 word, 
 And every bud there bursting whispered 
 
 hope 
 To every blade upon the verdant slope. 
 
 I journeyed back into the noisy town, 
 And mingled with the throng that 
 choked the way ; 
 I saw men push their weaker fellows 
 down, 
 And each man's watchword there was: 
 "Will it pay?" 
 The bell of peace that I had heard before 
 Was silent in the turmoil and the roar. 
 
 71 
 
THE WIND IN THE EVERGREENS. 
 
 When the drifted snow has hidden 
 
 Roads and fences from the sight, 
 And the moon floats through the heavens 
 
 Like a frozen thing, at night, 
 Flooding all the frigid stretches with a 
 
 ghostly, bluish light, 
 I like to lie and conjure 
 
 Up old half forgotten scenes. 
 As the savage wind goes howling 
 
 Through the sighing evergreens. 
 
 There's a cottage I remember. 
 
 With an orchard in the rear ; 
 There's a winding pathway leading 
 
 To a spring that bubbles near — 
 Ah, the dipper that I drank from bears 
 
 the rust of many a year! — 
 There's a peach tree near the window 
 
 Of the room where oft I lay 
 In the long ago, and listened 
 
 To the wild wind howl away. 
 
 When a range of snowy mountains 
 Stretch along the winding lane ; 
 
 AVhen the gently sloping meadow 
 Has become an icy plain, 
 
 What a joy it is to snuggle under quilts 
 and counterpane, 
 
 72 
 
THE WIND IN THE EVERGREENS. 
 
 And hear the peach tree creaking, 
 
 At the corner where it leans, 
 While the wind goes madly shrieking 
 
 Through the mourning evergreens. 
 
 When the ruminating cattle 
 
 Stand in bedding to their knees; 
 When the sheep are warmly sheltered, 
 
 When the horses are at ease, 
 And the kittens in the kitchen are as 
 
 happy as you please — 
 When father's work is ended, 
 
 And mother sits and sews, 
 There's a wondrous mystic music 
 
 In the angry wind that blows. 
 
 Ah, the rambling little sheepfold's 
 
 Weatherbeaten, so they say; 
 The horses are no longer 
 
 Munching at the fragrant hay — 
 Beneath the old-style kitchen stove no 
 
 happy kittens play * * * 
 And, out behind the village church, 
 
 A mossy gravestone leans 
 Above two mounds o'er which the wind 
 
 Sighs through the evergreens. 
 
 73 
 
BLOSSOMS AND FRUIT. 
 
 The bloom of the tree in the spring 
 Is a fragrant and beautiful thing, 
 
 But, after all, 
 Is it half as sweet or as rare 
 As the fruit that is found hanging there 
 
 In the fall? 
 
 A maiden's a beautiful thing — 
 A sweet, fresh blossom of spring — 
 
 Careless and wild! 
 But rarest and fairest of all 
 Is she whose happy tears fall 
 
 On her first-born child! 
 
 74 
 
THE CRICKET. 
 
 I hear the cricket grinding out his oft 
 
 repeated lay, 
 And know the time for leaves to fall is not 
 
 so far away; 
 It is a plaintive song he sings and always 
 
 just the same, 
 But Nature fixed it so for him, and he is 
 
 not to blame. 
 
 Ah, what a wondrous set of lungs it is 
 
 that he employs! 
 There's such a little bit of him and such a 
 
 lot of noise. 
 Wherefore this insect brings to mind some 
 
 men who seem to take 
 The view that men are measured by the 
 
 noise that they can make. 
 
 75 
 
THE PAINTED LEAVES. 
 
 CHILD. 
 
 All the trees are gold and crimson and 
 
 they look like pictures now ; 
 Did the one who spread the colors do it 
 
 with a brush, or how? 
 All the big Outdoors is painted, there is 
 
 color everywhere, 
 But I didn't see the artist when he came 
 
 and put it there. 
 
 ANSWER. 
 
 There's an ancient faithful painter, and a 
 
 magic brush he wields; 
 'Tis his work you see when looking at the 
 
 woods across the fields; 
 Oh, he uses splendid colors, and he shows 
 
 unequaled skill. 
 But no child has ever seen him, and no 
 
 maiden ever will. 
 
 CHILD. 
 
 Does he bring his pretty colors in the 
 
 up so 
 
 night when I'm in bed? 
 Tell me how he paints the treetops, 
 high above his head? 
 
 76 
 
THE PAINTED LEAVES. 
 
 Does he climb a long, long ladder that 
 
 goes half-way to the sky — 
 What if he should ever tumble when he's 
 
 working up so high ! 
 
 ANSWER. 
 
 Yes, when you are sweetly dreaming this 
 
 old artist works away, 
 And while you, awake, are playing, he 
 
 keeps toiling on all day ; 
 But he needs no lengthy ladder, so put off 
 
 your idle fear, 
 He will never fall or fail us in his autumn 
 
 painting, dear. 
 
 CHILD. 
 
 All the leaves are gold and crimson ; what 
 
 an artist he must be! 
 And how swiftly he must labor to get 
 
 over every tree! 
 But I wish he came in springtime; it's a 
 
 pity, after all, 
 That he makes the leaves so pretty just 
 
 before they have to fall! 
 
 77 
 
OCTOBER DAYS. 
 
 The squirrels are barking in the trees 
 And the leaves unto crimson are 
 turning. 
 And the smell of wood smoke floats along 
 on the breeze 
 From the brush heaps the farmer is 
 burning. 
 
 The song-birds are singing their plaintive 
 farewells 
 To the brooks that are silently flowing, 
 And over the hills comes the tinkling of 
 bells 
 And the echoes of nutters halloing. 
 
 A sigh for the days that are lost in the 
 past, 
 When a bare-footed boy did his dream- 
 ing, 
 
 When the world spread around him, com- 
 placent and vast, 
 
 And his heart never ached after profitless 
 scheming. 
 
 78 
 
NATURE'S FUNERAL DAY. 
 
 O, Indian summer days, 
 When the hills are blue with haze, 
 And the sounds of tinkling cow-bells come 
 afar across the lea, 
 What a sense of rest there lies 
 In the azure of the skies. 
 And what peace there is reflected from 
 the bosom of the sea. 
 
 In a holy calm the year 
 Is about to disappear, 
 Merely merging with the past in solemn, 
 sweet solemnity ! 
 And I, too, would linger till 
 The blue haze is on the hill — 
 Serene in Indian summer, when the sum- 
 mons comes to me. 
 
THE WIND AND THE LEAVES. 
 
 The wind is fate, 
 
 The leaves are men — 
 They are blown along for a little space, 
 
 And then 
 A few emerge and tumble ahead. 
 
 Over and over and over again, 
 In a maddening race, 
 
 And here and there 
 One lodges and clings in a lonesome place. 
 Until, at last, but a single leaf 
 
 Whirls onward into the far Somewhere. 
 
 And the many leaf-men that are left 
 behind 
 
 Gather in clusters here and there 
 And are whirled about by the wilful wind. 
 
 And, at last, when the great white quilt 
 is spread, 
 And all is over and done 
 
 They silently lie and slowly rot. 
 
 Each on the barren little spot 
 Where its troubles were begun. 
 
 80 
 
THE DYING YEAR. 
 
 I have no tear for the dying year, 
 
 No wreath of vain regret 
 To place with those upon the bier 
 
 That the world will soon forget — 
 Let hopeless others turn and gaze 
 
 Back on the fading past, 
 And sigh again for blissful days 
 
 That were too sweet to last — 
 I have no tear for the dying year 
 
 That the world will soon forget. 
 
 I have no tear for the dying year. 
 
 No sigh for yesterday ; 
 The spreading future stretches clear. 
 
 And Hope still points the way ! 
 Let him for whom the sun has set 
 
 Bemoan the fading past; 
 To him a wreath of vain regret 
 
 For days too sweet to last — 
 I have no tear for the dying year. 
 
 Since Hope still points the way. 
 
 8i 
 
MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. 
 
THE THINGS THAT ARE DENIED. 
 
 Why must I ever tell him "No" — 
 
 My pleading baby boy? 
 The things he craves 'twould please me so 
 
 To witness him enjoy. 
 Poor child, he leaves me with a sigh 
 
 And doubting in his mind, 
 Because he does not know that I 
 
 Am "'cruel to be kind." 
 
 I long for things I cannot get ; 
 
 In vain I toil away; 
 And oft I doubt and grieve and fret 
 
 As he has done to-day. 
 Why am I thus denied? Why do 
 
 I seek and fail to find? 
 Mayhap my loving Father, too, 
 
 Is "cruel to be kind." 
 
 8k 
 
THE OLD GRIND. 
 
 Sometimes I look upon the rich 
 
 With envy in my breast, 
 And think how pleasant it would be 
 
 To just "saw off" and rest — 
 To smoke cigars and loaf around, 
 
 While others worked away — 
 With plenty "salted down," of course, 
 
 For the future rainy day. 
 
 Oh what a joy 'twould be to tell 
 
 The man who bosses me 
 That I was tired of his style — 
 
 To brace up and be free ! 
 And, in the lazy mornings, how 
 
 I'd like to lie abed, 
 And what a pleasure to get out 
 
 And be a thoroughbred ! 
 
 Such thoughts I have sometimes, but 
 when 
 
 I'm ill and have to stay 
 Indoors a day or two, ah, then 
 
 My envy fades away ! 
 I think of all the boys at work, 
 
 And know no peace of mind, 
 Until they let me out and I 
 
 Resume the good old grind ! 
 
 86 
 
A HAPPY MAN. 
 
 I have no lofty station, 
 
 Nor riches nor renown — 
 An atom in creation, 
 
 I travel up and down — 
 I come and go unheeded, 
 
 I toil as millions do, 
 But O, I still am needed, 
 
 And gladness claims me, too! 
 The sky is blue above me. 
 
 And Hope points out the way — 
 You tell me that you love me, 
 
 And you are three to-day. 
 
 I envy not my neighbor 
 
 Whose name is known to men; 
 He may not need to labor 
 
 With scythe or pick or pen, 
 But yet, despite his riches. 
 
 He still is poor, for he 
 Has not the sweet care which is 
 
 Confided unto me ! 
 Blue, blue the sky above me 
 
 While Hope points out the way 
 And you are here to love me. 
 
 You who are three to-day! 
 
 87 
 
THE WAYS. 
 
 Do you traverse a way 
 
 That is likely to end 
 At Something, some day, 
 
 My friend? 
 
 Or, do you belong 
 
 To the great plodding throng 
 
 On the broad, level way 
 That leads to Nowhere — 
 
 That will end, some day. 
 In Nothing, out there? 
 
 There are paths leading out 
 
 From this broad, level way — 
 You have seen them, no doubt, 
 
 For you pass them each day— 
 That lead to Somewhere, 
 
 That glorious place, 
 So distant, so fair — 
 
 Like a mirage in space! 
 
 But these pathways, you say, 
 Are so stony and steep ! 
 
 And the broad, level way 
 Is so easy to keep I 
 
 You have heard of Somewhere, 
 
 And you'd like to go there 
 If a way could be found 
 
THE WATS. 
 
 That was easy, and wound 
 In a smooth, broad course that led on 
 around 
 And up the height, 
 
 Where the city stands, a glorious sight. 
 Peopled by only immortals, and where 
 There is honor for each that, at last, gets 
 there ! 
 
 Ah, there is no way that is level and broad 
 Leading up to this glorious place, Some- 
 where, 
 And no man yet who has only trod 
 A way that is easy and smooth and broad 
 Has ever succeeded in getting there ! 
 
A TRANSFOP.MATION. 
 
 Ere you went to live upon "The Avenue" 
 You were sweet and fair and jovial 
 with me; 
 But a sudden change has taken place in 
 
 you, 
 Since you've gone to live upon "The 
 Avenue," 
 And my maid, so fair and free. 
 Where, oh haughty one, is she, 
 Since you've gone to live upon "The 
 Avenue?" 
 
 Since you've gone to live upon "The 
 Avenue" 
 You are distant, you are stiff, and you 
 are cold ; 
 You have donned the ugly false and put 
 
 oif the lovely true, 
 Since you've gone to live upon "The 
 Avenue," 
 And my jolly maid of old 
 Kneels before a calf of gold, 
 Since you've gone to live upon "The 
 Avenue." 
 
 90 
 
THE MAN WHO FAILED. 
 
 With you," he cried, '*to cheer me on 
 
 I'll brush all obstacles away, 
 And scale the heights whereon is fame, 
 And all the world shall praise thy name 
 And envy you, some day." 
 
 Ah, that was many a year ago! 
 
 He hasn't scaled the height. 
 But if — oh heaven ! — if he were 
 Not sorely handicapped by her, 
 
 He often thinks he might. 
 
 91 
 
THE MEETING 
 
 One day, in Paradise, 
 
 Two angels, beaming, strolled 
 Along the amber walk that lies 
 
 Beside the street of gold. 
 
 At last they met and gazed 
 
 Into each other's eyes. 
 Then dropped their harps, amazed, 
 
 And stood in mute surprise. 
 
 And other angels came. 
 
 And, as they lingered near, 
 Heard both at once exclaim; 
 "Say, how did you get here?" 
 
 92 
 
i( 
 
 THE ANSWER. 
 
 The great man knelt in prayer: 
 "O, Lord of Hosts," he said, 
 Permit thy blessing now to rest 
 
 Upon thy servant's head ! — 
 Men gnash their teeth and scowl at me, 
 O, give them eyes, that they may see! 
 
 "My wordly store is great, O, Lord; 
 
 My power increases day by day; 
 Here I bestow, as Thou dost know, 
 
 If there I take away — 
 Yet men cry out, reviling me. 
 Lord, give them eyes, that they may see! 
 
 "Upon thy footstool, Lord, behold 
 
 A hundred spires rise ! 
 Through them thy servant points the way 
 
 To glories in the skies — 
 Still, men stand here reviling me, 
 O, give them eyes, that they may see!" 
 
 Unto the great man kneeling there 
 A Thunderous Voice replied : 
 "Thy worldly store indeed is great, 
 Thy power vast and wide — 
 
 But who, thou worm, has given to thee 
 
 Authority to act for Me? 
 
 93 
 
•THE ANSWER. 
 
 I see the traces of thy hand! 
 
 A starving child is there, 
 Deep in the shadow of the spire 
 
 That thou hast reared in air! — 
 Speak out, thou worm ! Who vested thee 
 With power to rearrange for Me? 
 
 Here thou hast taken ten away, 
 There thou hast given one — 
 
 Who fixed the toll to be retained 
 For this that thou hast done? 
 
 Speak out ! Speak out ! Who vested thee 
 
 With rights to give and take for Me?" 
 
 94 
 
INNOCENCE. 
 
 She took a fragile flower from a bunch 
 against her breast — 
 
 Sweet little maiden that she was! 
 Its petals for a moment at her honeyed 
 lips were pressed — 
 
 Dainty little maiden that she was! 
 Then she bade me sweet "Good day," 
 Threw the scented bud away — 
 And I watched it where it lay — 
 
 Pretty little maiden that she was! 
 
 I knelt beside the flower where it fell upon 
 the floor — 
 
 Tender little maiden that she was ! 
 I fondly pressed it to my lips, as she had 
 done before — 
 
 Darling little maiden that she was! 
 And then, turning suddenly, 
 At the corner I could see 
 Her slyly watching me — 
 
 Cunning little maiden that she was! 
 
 95 
 
TEARS AND SMILES. 
 
 The skies cannot always be clear, 
 
 My dear; 
 The merriest eye must still have its tear, 
 
 My dear; 
 The clouds that are frowning above us 
 
 to-day 
 Will presently break and go floating away, 
 And the skies will be blue that are sullen 
 and gray, 
 
 My dear! 
 
 We can't have just happiness here, 
 
 My dear; 
 You would never be glad if you ne'er shed 
 a tear, 
 
 My dear; 
 The sorrow that lurks in your bosom 
 
 to-day, 
 Like the clouds, when you've wept, will 
 
 go floating away. 
 And the skies will be blue that are sullen 
 and gray. 
 
 My dear! 
 
 If it's going to rain, it will rain. 
 
 My dear; 
 No matter how bitterly we may complain. 
 
 My dear; 
 
 96 
 
TEARS AND SMILES. 
 
 There are sorrows that every good woman 
 
 must bear; 
 There are griefs in which every good man 
 
 has a share ; 
 It is only the fool who has never a care, 
 My dear! 
 
 The skies cannot always be clear, 
 
 My dear; 
 Sweets wouldn't be sweet were no bitter- 
 ness here, 
 
 My dear; 
 There could never be joy if there never 
 
 was sorrow, 
 The sobs of to-day are the smiles of 
 
 to-morrow, 
 And there's gladness as well as vain 
 trouble to borrow. 
 My dear! 
 
 97 
 
THE ONE BELOW. 
 
 I gazed on piles of marble — 
 
 Saw servants come and go, 
 And my breast was filled with envy, 
 
 And my soul was steeped in woe. 
 * * * 
 
 It was a tired cripple who stopped me at 
 
 the gate. 
 And Hope, I saw, was his, although his 
 
 burden was so great; 
 And, as I bought his pencils, I saw his 
 
 thankful smile, 
 And envy turned to pity, and I bade him 
 
 stay awhile. 
 
 *'And do you, brother, never," I said, 
 "bewail your lot? 
 And do you never envy men who have 
 
 what you have not? 
 Is life still worth the effort, and can you, 
 
 brother, too, 
 Still thank your God for favors that he 
 has bestowed on you?" 
 
 He smiled, and then he answered: 
 
 "There stands in yonder square 
 A blind man who is begging of the people 
 passing there : 
 
 98 
 
THE ONE BELOW. 
 
 He cannot see their faces ; but there, day 
 
 after day, 
 He, pleading, stands, with outstretched 
 
 hands, to those that pass his way. 
 
 "I see the bhie of Heaven; I see the 
 
 glorious sun ; 
 I see the world, and marvel at the things 
 
 that God has done ; 
 And when the day is ended I leave the 
 
 market place, 
 And hold my baby in my arms and look 
 
 upon her face ! 
 
 "Sometimes I feel the burden and bend 
 beneath its weight ; 
 
 Sometimes I cry aloud against the cruel- 
 ties of Fate — 
 
 But there he stands, with outstretched 
 hands, before his fellow-men; 
 
 I gaze into his sightless eyes, and I am 
 glad again!" 
 
 Ht % H: 
 
 He hobbled on. I watched him 
 With painful steps depart; 
 
 He took my pennies with him, 
 And left a buoyant heart. 
 
 99 
 
THE SWEET OLD WAY. 
 
 We live, alas, in an age of greed, 
 
 Greed of power and greed of gain — 
 Gold begins and ends our creed. 
 
 We weigh the purse instead of the 
 brain ! 
 Chivalr3.''s buried, never again 
 
 To be resurrected, so they say — 
 But, in spite of the struggle for riches, men 
 
 Still fall in love in the sweet old way. 
 
 The days when honor was all are dead ; 
 
 We have little time for rhyme or art; 
 The world of to-day obeys the head, 
 
 We have turned in rebellion against the 
 heart; 
 But through the rush and the strife and 
 the roar, 
 
 Still come the sounds of gentle sighs, 
 And men are thrilled as they were of yore 
 
 By the looks of love in women's eyes! 
 
 Fame is no longer for him alone 
 
 That wins in the field or charms with 
 his pen ; 
 By the lengths of their bank accounts are 
 known 
 The grades of our modern gentlemen; 
 
THE SWEET OLD WAT. 
 
 Few of us even have time to pray- 
 To the God that is still enthroned 
 above — 
 But women still charm in the sweet, old 
 way, 
 And money-mad men still fall in love. 
 
THE MAN WHO IS NOT NEEDED. 
 
 I'm sixty years of age to-day. 
 
 And I have worked and slaved, 
 And someone else shall presently 
 Get all that I have saved! 
 But it is not 
 The simple thought 
 Of going that I deplore; 
 'Tisthis: When I 
 In the cold earth lie. 
 They'll think of me no more! 
 
 I've labored on from day to day 
 
 With one hope in my mind, 
 'Twas that when I was laid away 
 I'd leave a void behind — 
 Something, you know, 
 To ahvays show 
 That I had lived and wrought; 
 But now, at last, 
 That dream is past — 
 I've got to share the common lot. 
 
 I've thrown a fever off to-day 
 
 And risen from my bed ; 
 For months I've been but helpless clay, 
 With wild thoughts in my head. 
 I'd fondly thought 
 The mill would not 
 
 I02 
 
THE MAN WHO IS NOT NEEDED. 
 
 Run if I were not there to see — 
 
 But it kept right on 
 
 While I was gone, 
 And that's the thing that saddens me. 
 
 103 
 
THE BANISHED VISION. 
 
 I saw a splendid castle whose towers cleft 
 
 the air, 
 And troops of hurrying servants spoke in 
 
 frightened whispers there ; 
 Beside a bed all richly spread the kneeling 
 
 master wept, 
 And, pressed against its mother's breast, 
 
 a fragile infant slept. 
 
 Outside the castle gates I saw a ghostly 
 
 rider sit 
 Upon a pale, impatient steed that madly 
 
 champed its bit, 
 And, as I looked, the gates were swung to 
 
 let the rider through. 
 And then a baby's laughter swept the 
 
 castle from my view. 
 
 I turned and kissed a rosy cheek and 
 
 stroked a curly head. 
 And pitied him who knelt beside that 
 
 richly-covered bed; 
 I heard a happy mother's song, and, 
 
 hearing, was aware 
 That gladness may be far away from 
 
 towers that cleave the air. 
 
 104 
 
THE INFIDEL. 
 
 O man of eloquent speech, 
 
 O man of massive brain. 
 What is this thing you preach, 
 
 And what do your followers gain? 
 You have seen the stars in the sky, 
 
 You have watched the billows roll, 
 You have heard the infant cry, 
 You have heard the mother sigh, 
 And still you have flowery words to deny 
 
 The existence of the soul ! 
 
 You have searched the Bible through, 
 
 O man of wonderful brain, 
 And you hold its fallacies up to view, 
 
 But what do your followers gain? 
 You have garnered a wealth of lore. 
 
 And you splendidly deal it out. 
 From your lips the flowery sentences pour, 
 And men who had simple faith before 
 
 Depart with sickening doubt. 
 
 But I have knelt at a knee, 
 
 O man of wonderful scope. 
 And one with a soul has given to me 
 
 The trust that fosters hope ! 
 And the simple faith she had to give 
 
 Will live a thousand years for each 
 
 los 
 
THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Brief year, O man, that you may live, 
 
 To charm with your flowery speech. 
 O, man of words that burn, 
 
 O man of words that sway. 
 What do you offer in return 
 
 For the faith you would take away? 
 The trust she gave was free, 
 
 O man of wonderful brain — 
 You would destroy for pelf, but she 
 
 Taught not for selfish gain! 
 You have garnered a wealth of lore, 
 
 She was moved by a Mind above; 
 You pile up a wordly store — 
 
 She gave from the fountain of love ! 
 
 You have searched the Good Book through, 
 
 O man of massive brain. 
 You hold its fallacies up to view — 
 
 You garner gold and you scatter pain ! 
 But I have knelt at a knee, 
 
 And I have listened to you. 
 And her prayers come back, and I know 
 that she 
 
 Who loved me and taught me knew — 
 That the word she gave to me 
 
 Is the wonderful word that is true. 
 
 1 06 
 
HER TEARS. 
 
 Let others bask in her smiles! 
 
 I know 
 That her yearning heart is mine, 
 Although 
 She pretends to be gay 
 With another, to-day — 
 Last night I caused her tears to flow ! 
 
 She is making a fool of him! 
 
 I know 
 'Tis not his love sets her cheeks 
 Aglow ! 
 Let him bask in her smiles, 
 And be fooled by her wiles — 
 Last night I caused her tears to flow ! 
 
 Oh, dearer than all her smiles 
 
 May be 
 Is the glorious charm of knowing 
 That she 
 Who pretends to be gay 
 With another, to-day, 
 Wept, last night, when she quarreled with 
 me! 
 
 107 
 
WORDS IN THE SAND. 
 
 They strolled together on the shore 
 
 He held her little hand, 
 And where the waves had dashed before 
 
 They wrote words in the sand. 
 
 They wrote the words that lovers say, 
 They joined their names together, 
 
 And merry-hearted took away 
 No thoughts of stormy weather. 
 
 The waves of Time have broken o'er 
 
 Her heart and his since then, 
 As the waves have washed the sandy shore 
 
 And left it bare again. 
 
 And the words they fashioned in the sand 
 
 Are gone and gone forever, 
 For the heart is but a shifting strand. 
 
 Wave-washed — and constant never. 
 
 io8 
 
HIS NEW SUIT. 
 
 I remember well the way- 
 She looked up at me that day 
 When I first put on the gray, 
 
 And said good-bye, back there in '63. 
 She and I were sweethearts then, 
 And I hear her voice again. 
 
 As she nestled up to me, 
 Saying in her gentle way: 
 'Ah, how brave you look in gray, 
 And how tall and handsome, too, 
 Gray's the color, dear, for you!" 
 
 There's a ragged suit of gray 
 She has long had laid away — 
 
 There are memories that cling around 
 it, too; 
 But the years have come and gone. 
 And at present I have on 
 
 A suit of Uncle Sam's beloved blue. 
 
 When she saw me yesterday 
 
 She wiped a tear away 
 
 For the memory of the gray — 
 
 That dear, old, ragged suit of '63, 
 And she sweetly spoke again — 
 Spoke more fervently than then 
 
 As she nestled up to me, 
 
 109 
 
HIS NEW SUIT, 
 
 Saying, in her gentle way : 
 'Ah, how brave you looked in gray! 
 But you're braver still in blue, 
 Blue's the color, dear, for you!" 
 
 no 
 
VISIONS OF THE PAST. 
 
 THE WEARY ONE, 
 
 The good old days — the good old days — 
 
 ah! life was sweeter then 
 Than it is since I must share the cares 
 
 that weigh on toiling men. 
 The fruit that grew on the bending trees 
 
 when I was young and free 
 Seemed sweeter far and juicier than fruit 
 
 now seems to me. 
 Oh, for another happy day back there in 
 
 the long ago, 
 Perched in the dear old cherry tree, and 
 
 swinging to and fro! 
 And oh for the big red cherries that I ate 
 
 with a relish then, 
 For the cherries are all wormy since I 
 
 share the cares of men ! 
 
 THE SAGE. 
 
 Ah! the good old days would cease to 
 charm if, with your present tastes, 
 
 You were back again on the lonesome 
 farm, with its briers and stony wastes. 
 
 And you didn't enjoy the good old days 
 when you had them to enjoy, 
 
VISIONS OF THE PAST. 
 
 And you wouldn't now if you might again 
 
 be a freckle-featured boy ! 
 You think that the fruit was juicier then 
 
 and sweeter than 'tis to-day; 
 But fruit still grows upon the trees in the 
 
 same old-fashioned way. 
 And you found no worms in your cherries 
 
 then, but 'tis certain that they were 
 
 there ; 
 You weren't looking for worms when you 
 
 were a boy, and didn't care! 
 
 112 
 
WHERE SHE IS. 
 
 I do not mind the rabble in the street, 
 The never-ceasing conflict and the whir; 
 
 Around me clatter many tired feet, 
 But dreamily I listen unto her. 
 
 She hums a little song and I can hear 
 Cool brooklets flowing gently to the sea; 
 
 She smiles, and blossom-laden trees appear 
 In fancy's dreamy vistas unto me. 
 
 What matter, if the town be hot and dry? 
 
 "Where she is, fragrant flowers ever 
 blow; 
 The noise and conflict still go on, but I 
 
 Forget and dream of moments long ago, 
 And gleaming sails, that drifted slowly by. 
 
 "3 
 
GOING WITH THE CROWD. 
 
 Like a ship without a rudder 
 
 That goes drifting here and there, 
 Idly tossing, weather beaten, 
 
 Never getting anywhere — 
 Veering with the daily changes of the tide, 
 On the wave or in the trough, upon her 
 
 side — 
 Is the man who merely shuffles 
 
 With the crowd along the way, 
 Bringing up to-morrow evening 
 
 Where he started yesterday. 
 
 Better far a wooden dory 
 
 With a purpose that is plain 
 Than a stately liner tossing 
 
 Rudderless upon the main! 
 Better far to toil obscurely for a time 
 On some rocky path no other dares to 
 
 climb 
 Than carelessly to shuffle 
 
 With the crowd along the way, 
 Bringing up to-morrow evening 
 
 Where you started yesterday. 
 
 I greet the man who bravely 
 
 Takes a course and fares along — 
 
 Turns his steps into some rugged 
 Path untrodden by the throng ; 
 
 114 
 
GOING WITH THE CROWD. 
 
 Fame is deftly interlacing laurels now 
 To be wreathed upon the lonely toiler's 
 
 ::; brow- 
 
 Leaves that never come through drifting 
 With the crowd along the way, 
 
 Bringing up to-morrow evening 
 Where you started yesterday ! 
 
 "5 
 
THE COURSE OF LOVE. 
 
 'Twas midnight, and the silvery moon 
 
 Beamed down upon the scene 
 Where Harold planned to carry off 
 
 The lovely Geraldine. 
 He was a brave and handsome lad, 
 
 She was as sweet as fair, 
 But, oh, her heavy-fisted dad 
 
 Opposed the loving pair. 
 
 He came out from behind a tree — 
 
 He gave the cuckoo's call. 
 And waited for the lovely maid 
 
 Who held his heart in thrall. 
 Eftsoons she softly raised the sash, 
 
 And whispered: "I am here"; 
 He ceased to gnaw his young mustache, 
 
 And cried: "Hist! Hist! my dear!' 
 
 She "histed" once; she "histed" twice, 
 
 Her father snored awa}^ ; 
 The lover dragged his ladder up. 
 
 And brought it into play; 
 He stood upon the lowest round. 
 
 While she leaned out above — 
 The moon was happy to have found 
 This blissful scene of love. 
 
 'And are you sure," the maiden cried, 
 "That you will ever be 
 
 ;i6 
 
THE COURSE OF LOVE. 
 
 As brave and true as you are now, 
 
 And always cherish me?" 
 'As long," the lover made reply, 
 "As yonder moon doth shine 
 And take her course across the sky, 
 
 I'll love you, my divine!" 
 
 He took another upward step, 
 
 Her heart began to quake; 
 Oh, what," she thought, "would happen 
 now 
 
 If father should awake?" 
 Up, up, the happy lover crept 
 
 Till she could feel his breath, 
 And still the cruel father slept. 
 
 And all was still as death. 
 
 Another step, another round, 
 
 And then their lips would meet — 
 Alas! the ladder broke, and he 
 
 Fell twenty-seven feet! 
 The clatter would have raised the dead, 
 
 It raised her sleeping sire. 
 Who quickly bounded out of bed, 
 
 Nor sought to curb his ire. 
 
 They found the lover lying low, 
 
 His clothes were badly torn; 
 He'd fallen in a bramble-bush, 
 
 And met with many a thorn. 
 At last they brought him round again. 
 
 Her father bade him go. 
 He didn't stop to argue then. 
 
 And it was better so ! 
 
 117 
 
THE C O URSE OF LO VE. 
 
 Ah, that was many years ago, 
 
 They're married, he and she, 
 But each unto another, and 
 
 As happy as can be. 
 She has a son that she's afraid 
 
 May throw himself away — 
 And he's the father of a maid 
 
 He watches well, to-day! 
 
 ii8 
 
IF. 
 
 When all is over, 
 
 And the dear one lies 
 Under the cover 
 Of blossoms and clover — 
 
 When the kind, weary eyes 
 Are sightless forever — 
 How thick and how vast do the ugly 
 "if's" rise! 
 "If I had been kinder— if I had obeyed, 
 The hand of the reaper, mayhap, had 
 been staved ! 
 O, if I had thought, O, if I had cared, 
 What heart-breakmg sorrows might she 
 have been spared!" 
 
 O, happy the lover, 
 
 Thrice happy the son, 
 If, when all is over 
 
 And the dear, patient one 
 Lies under the cover 
 Of blossoms and clover. 
 No "ifs" come trooping to taunt and 
 torment ! 
 O happy his lot 
 Who can say: "I would not 
 Undo or change aught — " 
 Who requited her love ere she went! 
 
 119 
 
IF. 
 
 When all is over 
 
 And the dear one lies 
 Under the cover 
 Of blossoms and clover. 
 
 When the kind, weary eyes 
 Are sightless forever, 
 O would that there never 
 
 Were "ifs" to arise! 
 
 1 20 
 
MISS "I-DON'T-CARE." 
 
 She is sweet, petite, and witty, 
 
 But, alas, she's heartless, too! 
 If you know her, oh, I pity — 
 
 From my soul I pity you! 
 Half a hundred hearts are breaking 
 
 For this maid, so sweet, so fair — 
 She with merriment is shaking, 
 
 And exclaiming, "I don't care!" 
 
 "Maiden," cried I once, "I love you; 
 Let me claim your heart as mine; 
 Every star that is above you 
 
 But for you would cease to shine!' 
 "Ah, you foolish, foolish fellow. 
 Why bore me with this affair?" 
 She repUed, in accents mellow, 
 "Let the stars fall, I don't care!" 
 
 "But my heart is fiercely burning! 
 I must win your love!" I cried; 
 Smiling cruelly, and turning 
 Half away, the maid replied: 
 "Ah, your breast is all on fire! 
 That is awful, I declare! 
 Still, if you will build a pyre 
 In your bosom I don't care!" 
 
 Fifty times I've knelt before her 
 And in many ways I've sought 
 
 121 
 
M/SS ♦'/ DON'T-CARE:'' 
 
 To invoke a love spell o'er her, 
 But it all has come to naught! 
 
 Yesterday I swore I'd die if 
 
 She my fortune would not share — 
 
 'Die then," said she, with a sigh, "if 
 That will help you — I don't care!" 
 
 122 
 
HAPPINESS. 
 
 'I would be happy," Greed's slave cries, 
 
 "Could I but learn some way 
 To win the great, elusive prize 
 That ever flees from me — 
 I would be happy could I be 
 A millionaire to-day." 
 
 'I would be happy," Youth cries out 
 
 "If Fate would grant me fame! 
 O, that I might hear people shout 
 My praises as I passed along — 
 O, that in story and in song 
 I might embalm my name!" 
 
 Behold where happiness is found : 
 
 Beneath yon spreading tree 
 A fool, half stretched upon the ground, 
 Holds in his teeth a bit of clay 
 And blows white rings of smoke 
 
 away — 
 From sad ambition free. 
 
 23 
 
THE MAN OF FAITH. 
 
 He is the bravest man 
 
 Who has the faith to feel 
 That God's above to guide 
 
 Him on through woe or weal — 
 To him who has no doubt 
 
 How can there come a fear? 
 He plunges in or rushes out, 
 
 Believing God is near, 
 And, though by dangers hedged about 
 
 Pursueth his career. 
 For where there lurketh doubt, 
 
 There, only, can be fear. 
 
 He is the strongest man 
 
 Who has the faith sublime 
 To feel that he is kept 
 
 In God's view all the time; 
 He calmly goes his way. 
 
 When once that way is plain, 
 And keeps ascending day by day 
 
 The height he is to gain ; 
 The part that God gave him to play 
 
 He plays with might and main. 
 And never wanders from the way, 
 
 Since God has made it plain. 
 
 O, for the faith that lifts 
 Men over earth's affairs — 
 
 124 
 
THE MAN OF FAITH. 
 
 The faith that strengthens hearts 
 
 And blots out human cares! 
 To him who has no doubt 
 
 How can there come a fear? 
 He plunges in or rushes out, 
 
 Believing God is near. 
 And, though by dangers hedged about, 
 
 Pursueth his career, 
 For where there lurketh doubt, 
 
 There, only, can be fear. 
 
 125 
 
LIVING IT OVER. 
 
 If I had my life to live over, 
 
 And could know what I know to-day; 
 If I could go back 
 O'er the uneven track, 
 I would travel a different way. 
 The prospect beyond me is gloomy, 
 My pathway is rocky and steep: 
 I must toil, though I know 
 That the crops which I sow 
 Are only for others to reap! 
 Alas for the years that I've squandered, 
 
 And the chances I've frittered away! 
 Would that I might live it all over, 
 Knowing life as I know it to-day!" 
 
 'And if it were all to live over, 
 
 If you knew all you know to-day. 
 If you could go back 
 O'er the uneven track, 
 You would still sing your pitiful lay, 
 For the man who sits idle, regretting 
 The chances that lie in the past 
 Is never the one 
 Whose work is well done, 
 However his fortunes are cast ! 
 There's a use for the years that are 
 squandered 
 
 126 
 
LIVING IT OVER. 
 
 And the chances men fritter away; 
 The man who succeeds is the man who 
 can build 
 On the failures of yesterday." 
 
 127 
 
THE QUARREL. 
 
 "There are quite as good fish 
 In the sea --^ 
 
 As anyone ever has caught," 
 said he. 
 
 "But few of the fish- 
 In the sea 
 Will bite at such bait as you've got," 
 Said she. 
 
 To-day he is gray and his line's put away, 
 But he often looks back with regret ; 
 
 She's still "in the sea," and how happy 
 she'd be 
 If he were a fisherman yet! 
 
 128 
 
THE MAN WHO DIDN'T RISE. 
 
 He worked away 
 From day to day 
 Year in, year out, he came and went; 
 And others passed him in the race 
 And lines began to mark his face, 
 And in his breast was discontent. 
 
 "I wonder why," 
 He moaned, "that I 
 Am stranded here, as on a rock? 
 
 While others rise I'm doomed to stay!' 
 And, ever as he worked away. 
 He kept one eye upon the clock. 
 
 129 
 
LOVE'S MIRROR. 
 I. 
 
 The sky was draped with somber clouds, 
 
 A chill was in the air; 
 My love was cold and gloominess 
 
 Extended everywhere. 
 
 I mingled with the busy throng, 
 
 And scanned the faces there ; 
 Each seemed a living mirror of 
 
 Bereavement or despair. 
 
 II. 
 
 My loved one smiled upon me and 
 
 The world was bright again ; 
 E'en though the wind blew from the north 
 
 It did not chill me then. 
 
 Again I mingled with the throng, 
 
 And sav/ but gladness when 
 I peered into the faces of 
 
 Those erst unhappy men. 
 
 130 
 
CONTENTMENT. 
 
 The man who grinds me down and thrives 
 
 upon my daily toil 
 Owns acres by the thousand, while I've 
 
 not a foot of soil ; 
 And in his vaults 'tis said that he has 
 
 millions stored away, 
 While I must labor for the things I need 
 
 from day to day, 
 Yet I would not change places with this 
 
 multi-millionaire, 
 For I have peace of mind, while he is 
 
 weighted down with care ! 
 
 I have a wife and little ones, who fill my 
 
 foolish heart, 
 While he, in crusty loneliness, is doomed 
 
 to live apart ! 
 He never felt two little arms around his 
 
 wrinkled neck; 
 He is not loved, although his gold is 
 
 measured by the peck; 
 He cannot go to bed at night and slumber 
 
 as I can — 
 No, no! I would not, if I could, change 
 
 places with this man ! 
 
 And when the labor of the day is done 
 and I repair 
 
 131 
 
CONTENTMENT. 
 
 Unto my humble home, to eat the dinner 
 
 steaming there, 
 Ah, what a joy awaits me then! What 
 
 prince's appetite 
 Could ever be compared to that which I 
 
 have every night? 
 But, as for him — the millionaire — he 
 
 lunches on a crust. 
 Because dyspepsia mocks at him, and tells 
 
 him that he must! 
 
 Oh, let this sallow, wrinkled man grind on 
 
 and save and save, 
 And I will be content to keep on toiling 
 
 as a slave ; 
 Oh, let him have his sleepless nights, while 
 
 happy dreams are mine; 
 Oh, let him be the upas tree that holds no 
 
 clinging vine ! 
 Though he has wealth that lifts him high 
 
 in thoughtless people's sight, 
 I'll never envy him while I can soundly 
 
 sleep at night. 
 
 132 
 
LINES TO A COBBLER. 
 
 Men look upon him with disdain, 
 
 And scout his humble trade ; 
 Poor soul, he has no teeming brain. 
 
 No learning to parade! 
 He only sits, from day to day. 
 
 And plies his awl and thread ; 
 No tender fancies ever play 
 
 'Round that dull, grizzled head. 
 
 Still, be not hasty to despise 
 
 This man of humble parts, 
 For, though he has not drawn a prize. 
 
 In choosing of the arts, 
 His awl obeys a master's hand, 
 
 And, oh, to be supreme 
 In any honest thing is grand 
 
 Beyond the poet's dream! 
 
 133 
 
LOST CANDOR. 
 
 I used to hold her on my knees, 
 
 And softly stroke her sunny curls; 
 I used to pat her dimpled cheeks. 
 
 And call her loveliest of girls ; 
 She used to look into my eyes, 
 
 And smile and nestle down, serene — 
 But that was when the maid was four, 
 
 And I had just turned seventeen. 
 
 I met her yesterday again, 
 
 She placed a little hand in mine; 
 She looked into my eyes and then 
 
 I saw a blush that was divine ! 
 I thought of those old days when we 
 
 Had romped around upon the green- 
 When she was four and frank and free, 
 
 And I had just turned seventeen. 
 
 Ah, would that I might speak to her 
 
 As freely as I did of yore ; 
 Would that she w^ere as frank with me 
 
 As when she was a child of four ! 
 But words that I would say to-day 
 
 Unto this graceful little queen 
 Forsake me, since I'm thirty-one 
 
 And she is stately and eighteen. 
 
 134 
 
THE LITTLE OLD CHURCH 
 DOWN TOWN. 
 
 Down in the smoke, where the roar and 
 the rush 
 
 Of traffic is heard all day ; 
 Where the cars and the trucks and the 
 carriages crush 
 
 The cripple that gets in the way ; 
 Surrounded by buildings that tower above 
 
 And flanked by a bright bit of sod — 
 An oasis left there in the desert of trade — 
 
 Is a spot that belongs to God. 
 
 I steal through the half-open door and sit 
 down 
 In an old-fashioned pew to dream — 
 To forget the roar of the money-mad 
 town — 
 And through a memorial window a 
 beam 
 Of God's sweet sunlight forces itself, 
 And illumines the dark old place ; 
 And a smile of sweet welcome seems to 
 spread 
 O'er the pictured Saviour's face. 
 
 And so for a while my mind is free 
 From the world and its mad affairs. 
 
 135 
 
THE LITTLE OLD CHURCH 
 DOWN TOWN. 
 
 Again my mother sits next to me, 
 And I hear her whispered prayers! 
 
 O, bhssf ul hour ! O, sacred spot, 
 
 What sweet old memories do ye bring! 
 
 O, cramped and crowded house of God, 
 What glories still around thee cling ! 
 
 Again I can hear the sweet old chimes, 
 
 As I slowly move away. 
 And I'm better for thinking of those old 
 times — 
 I've communed with Him to-day! 
 Surrounded by buildings that tower 
 above, 
 And flanked by a bit of sod, 
 There is rest, there is hope, there is happi- 
 ness 
 On this spot that belongs to God. 
 
 136 
 
SINCE SHE'S AWAY. 
 
 She's gone away — 
 
 The sky is blue, 
 But it was bluer yesterday ; 
 
 The breeze, I trow, was sweeter, too, 
 Before she went away. 
 
 She's gone away — 
 
 There seems to be 
 A lack of something here, to-day ; 
 
 The town is dead and drear to me 
 Since she has gone away. 
 
 She's gone away — 
 
 I never knew, 
 Until she started, yesterday, 
 
 How fair she was, how helpful, too — 
 And she is far — so far away ! 
 
 She's gone away — 
 
 I would that she 
 Were coming back again, to-day. 
 
 For it has just occurred to me 
 How dear she is, since she's awav! 
 
 137 
 
ON LIFE'S LADDER. 
 I. 
 
 For him who seeks to rise few hands reach 
 
 down to claim his grip, 
 Few warning words are heard above to 
 
 save him from a sHp; 
 Each upward step he takes must be 
 
 through efforts of his own, 
 For everyone that's gained the top would 
 
 like to be alone ! 
 
 IL 
 
 For him who stumbles on the way a 
 
 thousand hands reach out 
 To grasp and pull him down into the 
 
 misery-haunted rout ! 
 There's scanty welcome at the top for him 
 
 that wins, but oh 
 What joyous greetings does he get who 
 
 joins the ranks below ! 
 
 138 
 
A WISH. 
 
 If some good fairy were to come 
 
 To me to-day and say : 
 One wish I have to grant to thee — 
 One wish, come say, what shall it be? 
 
 And have it while you may," 
 
 Dost think that I would ask for wealth, 
 
 Or for unbounded fame? 
 Nay, riches would not charm me then. 
 Nor power to wield a glorious pen 
 
 Would be the boon I'd claim. 
 
 But I would make this simple wish : 
 
 That I might once more stand 
 Back in the happy days of old, 
 With faith in the rainbow's pot of gold 
 And glad behef in fairy land! 
 
 139 
 
PASSING OF A GOOD SAMARITAN. 
 
 Lay him away, 
 
 It matters not where ; 
 Dig a hole in the ground, 
 
 And deposit him there ; 
 'Twill be useless to raise 
 
 A shaft o'er his head, 
 For Heaven's aware 
 
 Of the fact that he's dead! 
 
 Lowly his lot, 
 
 And humble his sphere ; 
 The world — the big, busy world knew not 
 That he ever was sent to minister here ; 
 He gathered no millions, he built up no 
 trusts, — 
 He cornered no markets, robbed no one 
 of bread ; 
 His raiment was ragged, he lived upon 
 crusts — 
 But Heaven's aware of the fact that 
 he's dead! 
 
 Did he worship in church 
 
 In the orthodox way? 
 Did the rafters ring when 
 
 It was his turn to pray? 
 Alas, I know not — 
 
 But let it be said 
 
 140 
 
I'ASS/JVG OF A GOOD SAMARITAN. 
 
 That Heaven's aware 
 
 Of the fact that he's dead! 
 
 The orphan he fanned 
 
 Through feverish days 
 May live or may not 
 
 To cherish his praise; 
 The sick that he nourished when stricken 
 himself, 
 The starving- that, when he was hungry, 
 he fed 
 May pray for him now, or may not, as 
 they list — 
 But Heaven's aware of the fact that 
 he's dead! 
 
 Lay him away. 
 
 It matters not where ; 
 Dig a hole in the earth. 
 
 And deposit him there ; 
 When the last trumpet sounds 
 
 He will hear, he will hear 
 As well as the man 
 
 O'er whose head people rear 
 The highest of columns — 
 
 Aye, put him to bed ! 
 If there is a God He will not forget 
 
 That this lowly man lived — and is dead ! 
 
 141 
 
"WHEN THE DEVIL WAS SICK." 
 
 A man who had delved in the lore of the 
 ages 
 And could tell you the weight of the 
 stars, 
 Who had added wise words unto Science's 
 pages 
 And written an essay on Mars, 
 Arrived at the startling conclusion, one 
 
 day, 
 That lawyers who plead and preachers 
 who pray, 
 And doctors who claim to subdue peo- 
 ple's ills 
 With scalpels and nostrums and poison- 
 ous pills 
 Were nothing but swindlers, each in his 
 way. 
 
 But the man who had delved in the lore 
 
 of the ages 
 And studied the far-away stars, 
 Who had earned the proud right to be 
 
 classed with the sages, 
 One day got in front of the cars ! 
 They picked him up tenderly ; put him to 
 
 bed, 
 And, as he lay groaning and moaning, 
 
 half-dead. 
 
 142 
 
''WHEN THE DEVIL WAS SICK.'' 
 
 A preacher came in and knelt down at 
 
 his side 
 And called on the God that the sage 
 
 had denied, 
 And he heartily joined in the prayers that 
 
 were said. 
 
 Yet the man who had delved in the lore of 
 the ages, 
 And could name all the stars in the sky, 
 Who had added wise words unto Science's 
 pages, 
 Was not quite ready to die ! 
 He summoned a surgeon and patiently lay 
 While the "brute of a butcher" was saw- 
 ing away: 
 He took all the poisons they gave him 
 
 to take. 
 Forgetting that "doctoring's only a 
 fake" — 
 And arose and hobbled away, one day. 
 
 Now the man who has delved in the lore 
 of the ages 
 And can tell you the names of the stars. 
 Who has earned the proud right to be 
 classed with the sages 
 And was knocked galley west by the 
 cars — 
 Who prayed when he thought he was go- 
 ing to die, 
 Who, ill, sent for him of whom, well, he 
 fought shy. 
 Has hired a lawyer to take up his case — 
 To sue for the damages done to his face 
 And the leg that he lost when the train 
 went by. 
 
 143 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS FORGOTTEN. 
 
 "Set him there, where he may see me; 
 
 Let me hold his little hand ; 
 Keep my memory before him 
 
 So that he may understand. 
 Let him look upon my visage 
 
 As I draw my latest breath ; 
 Let him close my eyes, when, sightless, 
 
 They shall stare at him, in death. 
 
 "Let him look; he may remember! 
 In the years to come, perchance 
 He may still recall his father, 
 
 Back across the dim expanse. 
 God, thou hast been kind — I thank 
 Thee! 
 Thou hast given me to see 
 Him whose flesh is mine — I pray Thee 
 Let my son remember me." 
 
 The wondering child bent over, 
 
 And he kissed his father's brow; 
 They that listened heard the grating 
 
 Of the sable boatman's prow; 
 There were tears and sobs and sighing, 
 
 But the father only smiled, 
 And, in death, still gazed up fondly 
 
 At the prattling little child. 
 
 144 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS FORGOTTEN. 
 
 Envoy. 
 
 There's a gravestone that is mossy, and a 
 
 name is carved thereon; 
 There's a wife that once was widowed, 
 
 but the years have come and gone ; 
 There's a son to whom a father's tender 
 
 love is all unknown, 
 And the name he bears is not the name 
 
 that's carved upon the stone! 
 
 145 
 
A SONG FOR THE SELFISH. 
 
 When you and I were young, my dear, 
 Ere lines had marked your brow, 
 
 Ere God had sent the loved ones here 
 That cling about us now^ 
 
 When you and I were free from care, 
 
 We thought the world was very fair — 
 When you and I were young, my dear. 
 
 But we are older now, my dear, 
 
 And worried by the cares 
 Of those who cling around us here 
 
 And have their love affairs — 
 Ere you were grieved by others' woes 
 You were as radiant as a rose, 
 
 But now your brow has furrows, dear. 
 
 When you and I were young, my dear, 
 We thought the Lord was good. 
 
 But that was ere we had to bear 
 The weight of parenthood! — 
 
 The cares of those we love, sweetheart, 
 
 A spice to human joys impart, 
 
 And feed the hungry soul, my dear. 
 
 When you and I were young, my dear, 
 
 And neither knew a care, 
 I trod a pathway that was clear, 
 
 And led you, trembling, there — 
 But the happiness of careless days 
 Has broadened in a hundred ways 
 
 Since others cling about us, dear ! 
 
 146 
 
WAITING FOR SOMETHING TO 
 HAPPEN. 
 
 He grubbed away on a patch of ground, 
 "Waiting for something to happen;" 
 Year after year the same old round, 
 "Waiting for something to happen;" 
 The moments he had to spare he spent 
 
 In ' ' waiting for something to happen ;" 
 His hair grew gray, his shoulders bent, 
 But he grubbed and he loafed, and was 
 content 
 To "wait for something to happen." 
 
 His tools wore out, and his ground grew 
 
 poor, 
 "Waiting for something to happen," 
 But he grubbed and he loafed and he 
 still was sure 
 That "something would some day 
 happen," 
 And many a chance he let go past, 
 "Waiting for something to happen," 
 Until there came a day at last 
 When clods above his head were cast — 
 Something had finally happened ! 
 
 147 
 
WHEN DOCTORS DISAGREE. 
 
 He looked at my tongue and he shook his 
 head — 
 This was Doctor Smart — 
 He thumped on my chest, and then he 
 said: 
 "Ah, there it is! Your heart! 
 You mustn't run — you mustn't 
 
 hurry 1 
 You mustn't work — you mustn't 
 worry ! 
 Just sit down and take it cool ; 
 
 You may live for years, I cannot say ; 
 But, in the meantime, make it a rule 
 To take this medicine twice a day!" 
 
 He looked at my tongue, and he shook 
 his head — 
 This was Dr. Wise — 
 'Your liver's a total wreck," he said, 
 "You must take more exercise! 
 You mustn't eat sweets, 
 You mustn't eat meats. 
 You must walk and leap, you must also run ; 
 You mustn't sit down in the dull old 
 way; 
 Get out with the boys and have some 
 fun — 
 And take three doses of this a day!" 
 
 148 
 
WHEN DOCTORS DISAGREE. 
 
 He looked at my tongue, and he shook 
 his head — 
 This was Dr. Bright— 
 "I'm afraid your lungs are gone," he said, 
 "And your kidney isn't right. 
 A change of scene is what you need, 
 Your case is desperate, indeed. 
 And bread is a thing you mustn't eat — 
 
 Too much starch — but, by the way. 
 You must henceforth live on only meat — 
 And take six doses of this a day!" 
 
 Perhaps they were right, and perhaps 
 they knew, 
 It isn't for me to say; 
 Mayhap I erred when I madly threw 
 Their bitter stuff away ; 
 
 But I'm living yet and I'm on my 
 
 feet, 
 And grass isn't all I dare to eat. 
 And I walk and I run and I worry, too. 
 
 But, to save my life, I cannot see 
 What some of the able doctors would do 
 If there were no fools like you and me. 
 
 149 
 
A RESURRECTION. 
 
 "Ah, Love is dead," 
 
 She said ; 
 "Flown through the open door! 
 
 Never more 
 While the sad winds blow 
 And the sad brooks flow 
 
 Shall there be 
 
 For me 
 The old, sweet, happy thrill — 
 
 Joy has fled. 
 And the world is dark and still, 
 
 For Love is dead!" 
 
 She heard a sigh. 
 Sweet and low! 
 Her heart beat high, 
 She forgot her woe, 
 And the glad wind blew, 
 And the sun burst through 
 The clouds o'erhead — 
 The darkness fled, 
 
 And then 
 She looked with joy 
 On the laughing boy — 
 For Love was alive again! 
 
 150 
 
FAITH. 
 
 When the sky is blue and friends are true, 
 
 And Fortune, fickle dame, 
 Bestows her winning smile on you, 
 
 With faith you are aflame. 
 Then you can easily believe 
 
 The words the preacher says, 
 And for your erring brother grieve, 
 
 And join in songs of praise. 
 
 But, when the somber clouds descend 
 
 And fortune wears a frown. 
 When you in vain approach your friend — 
 
 In fact, when you are "down" — 
 Ah ! then can you your faith retain, 
 
 Your voice in pleading raise, 
 And say God's purposes are plain, 
 
 And join in songs of praise? 
 
 151 
 
THE SEARCH FOR GOLD. 
 
 The gray Vv^olf scratches upon the door, 
 While the fierce wind shrieks away, 
 
 And a woman lies prone on her cabin floor 
 And a little child shouts at play. 
 
 The pine trees moan on a mountain side, 
 Where a man lies stiff and cold, 
 
 And stares at the far-away stars, dull-eyed, 
 And grasps a nugget of gold. 
 
 Let the gray wolf howl, let the mother 
 weep. 
 
 Let the little one shriek at the blast — 
 Ah, what cares he who is lying asleep, 
 
 Has he not found wealth, at last? 
 
 152 
 
THE MAN WHO HADN'T TIME. 
 
 He never had time to play, 
 
 He never had time to rest, 
 But he worked away and thought of a day 
 
 When what he had done would attest 
 The usefulness of his life, 
 
 His worth as a man among men ; 
 Then he would quit the strife — 
 
 He would rest on his laurels then. 
 
 As a bondman chained he slaved, 
 
 Ever looking ahead ; 
 As a miser he hoarded and saved, 
 
 Grudging his daily bread ! 
 Beyond was a happy day — 
 
 Nearer and nearer it drew — 
 When his work should be put away 
 
 And care should be banished, too ! 
 
 At last, upon a day. 
 
 When the sun was low in the West, 
 He put his work away. 
 
 And sat him down to rest. 
 But where was the dreamed-of bliss? 
 
 And why was it now denied? 
 Things seemed to be going amiss — 
 
 So he brooded awhile and died. 
 
 153 
 
THE QUARREL IN THE 
 CORNFIELD. 
 
 Up on the hill where the sweet breeze is 
 
 blowing, 
 I see the long rows of the ripening corn ; 
 There by the fence where the tall grass is 
 
 growing, 
 Is the jug of sweet cider, beneath the 
 
 white thorn. 
 And the swish of the cutters that cleave 
 
 through the stalks, 
 And the song of the wind, as it blows 
 
 through the shocks. 
 Come as plainly again as they did on the 
 
 day 
 That I threw down the cutter and strutted 
 
 away. 
 
 I see the big, yellow, ribbed pumpkins 
 
 that cover 
 The ground where the corn has been 
 
 taken away — 
 Ah, there is a flock of wild geese flying 
 
 over. 
 Bound for some far-distant Southern 
 
 bay, 
 And I hear the stern tones of my father 
 
 again, 
 
 154 
 
THE QUARREL IN THE CORNFIELD. 
 
 Bidding me go, as he coldly did then, 
 And again in my throat I can feel the 
 
 lump rise. 
 And again the hot tears tumble out of my 
 
 eyes! 
 
 O, for the hill where the sweet breeze is 
 
 blowing. 
 As in the fair autumn it ever blows 
 
 there ! 
 O, for a taste of the sweet cider flowing 
 
 Out of the jug tilted high in the air! 
 O, for a rest from the roar and the rush. 
 From the pushing, the crowding, the 
 
 carnage, the crush ! 
 O, for the swish of the blades through the 
 
 stalks, 
 And the song of the wind, as it blows 
 
 through the shocks ! 
 
 But the hill's far away, and the years 
 
 have been speeding 
 Some other is cutting the corn that 
 
 waves there. 
 And the wind sings away through the 
 
 shocks, all unheeding 
 The pain that grew out of a foolish 
 
 affair! — 
 O, for a sight of the corn on the hill, 
 O, for the sound of a voice that is still. 
 And O, for the years that have sped since 
 
 the day 
 That I threw down the cutter and strutted 
 
 away. 
 
 155 
 
LOVE ASLEEP. 
 
 They builded air castles together, 
 
 They wished by the stars in the skies, 
 
 They played in the fields in fair weather. 
 And the love light crept into her eyes; 
 
 She sighed, but he laughed, and his 
 laughter 
 
 Came back in sad echoes years after — 
 The love light shone out of her eyes. 
 
 The maiden bound up her long tresses, 
 And men praised her form and her face; 
 
 No more did she romp in short dresses, 
 A woman had taken her place ; 
 
 But he saw not what Love had completed. 
 
 As the boy treats the maiden he treated 
 The woman who stood in her place. 
 
 One day the doves cooed in May weather, 
 And a stranger looked into her eyes; 
 
 One day they departed together. 
 
 And a boy fell to earth from the skies — 
 
 A boy with a heart that was breaking 
 
 And a love that, at last, was awaking. 
 Fell headlong to earth from the skies. 
 
 156 
 
THIS QUEER OLD WORLD. 
 
 It is queer how things go by contraries 
 here, 
 'Tis always too cold or too hot, 
 And the prizes we miss, you know, always 
 appear 
 To be better than those that we've got; 
 It is always too wet, or too dusty and dry. 
 
 And the land is too rough or too flat. 
 There's nothing that's perfect beneath the 
 blue sky 
 
 — But— 
 It's a pretty good world, for all that. 
 
 Some people are born but to dig in the 
 soil. 
 And sweat for the bread that they eat. 
 While some never learn the hard meaning 
 of toil 
 And live on the things that are sweet ; 
 A few are too rich and a lot are too poor, 
 
 And some are too lean or too fat — 
 Ah, the hardships are many that men 
 must endure, 
 
 — But— 
 It's a pretty good world for all that. 
 
 The man who must think envies them 
 that must be 
 
 157 
 
THIS ^UEER OLD WORLD. 
 
 Ever pounding and digging for men, 
 And the man with the pick would be 
 happy if he 
 Might play with the brush or the pen! 
 All things go by contraries here upon 
 earth, 
 Life is empty and sterile and flat ; 
 Man begins to complain on the day of his 
 birth, 
 
 — But— 
 It's a pretty good world for all that ! 
 
 :58 
 
THE RECOMPENSE, 
 
 Sometimes I wonder if the man 
 
 Who wins renown on earth 
 Finds that the plaudits of the crowd 
 
 Are of exalted worth. 
 I wonder if, when in the tomb 
 
 His wasted clay is laid, 
 The labor and the loneliness 
 
 He knew have been repaid. 
 
 I wonder if the common man. 
 
 Who drifts along through life, 
 Content with love and praises from 
 
 His children and his wife, 
 Has not less cause to murmur at 
 
 The firm decrees of fate 
 Than he that frets for future men 
 
 To find that he was great? 
 
 159 
 
A FEW BOYS. 
 
SONG FOR THE FIRST BORN. 
 
 Two twinkling stars of wonderful size 
 Disappeared from the sky one night, 
 And these are my dear little romancer's 
 eyes, 
 And, oh, he must close them tight ! 
 Sweet little wanderer, go to sleep; 
 Dear little curly head, mustn't peep — 
 Two sleepy eyes of wonderful size. 
 And a sweet little kiss, good night! 
 
 A little white cloud had a wonderful fall 
 
 From out of the sky, one night, 
 And tnis is his bed and his pillow and all. 
 So white and so soft and so light! 
 Sweet little wanderer, go to sleep: 
 Dear little curly-head, mustn't peep ! — 
 The cloud is his bed and his pillow and all, 
 So a sweet little kiss, good night ! 
 
 The wind sang a song to the fairies that 
 lay 
 Asleep in the flowers, one night, 
 And this is the song that is dying away, 
 As fancy is winging its flight! 
 
 Sweet little wanderer doesn't peep; 
 Dear little curly-head's gone to 
 sleep! — 
 And this is the song that is dying away . 
 In the dreams of my darling, to-night! 
 
 163 
 
THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 I'm jist as glad as I can be, 
 
 And I won't lie no more, 
 Nor make my mamma cry for me 
 
 The way I have before ; 
 I'll never, never run away, 
 
 Nor swear again, because — 
 I don't care what bad people say — 
 
 They is a Santa Glaus! 
 
 Some bigger boys 'an me, at school, 
 
 Said Santa was a hoax. 
 Somebody started once, to fool 
 
 The little bits of folks; 
 They told me that my teacher knew 
 
 And grandpa understood — 
 That your parents told you stories to 
 
 Jist git you to be good. 
 
 Nen I went and runned away, 
 
 And I was awful bad ; 
 I swored a lot of times that day, 
 
 Because I was so mad ! 
 I'd been as good as I could be 
 
 Since way back in the fall^ 
 And they was no Santa Claus to see 
 
 Or know it, after all ! 
 
 But when I'd got all tucked in bed 
 I heard pa say, that night, 
 
 164 
 
THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 Old Santa Claus had got a sled 
 And skates fer me, all right — 
 
 He didn't know I heard him, though, 
 Nen I cried, because 
 
 I'd been so bad all day, and oh. 
 They was a Santa Claus! 
 
 So I got out of bed, at last, 
 
 And climbed up on his knee. 
 And when he stroked my head I ast 
 
 If Santa'd pardon me; 
 I told him all about how I'd 
 
 Runned off and swored that day. 
 And mamma she set there and cried, 
 
 And pa he looked away! 
 
 But purty soon he petted me, 
 
 And after while he said: 
 'Well, never mind, jist wait and see — 
 
 You'll git the skates and sled ! 
 Those bad boys don't know what they 
 say — 
 Go back to sleep — for laws ! 
 'Thout him we'd have no Christmas 
 day — 
 'Course they's a Santa Claus!" 
 
 165 
 
THE BOY WHOSE PA HAS 
 SPELLS. 
 
 I've jist been down with Tommy Brown 
 
 And helpin' him to fly 
 A kite what his pa made for him, 
 
 Way up into the sky. 
 His pa he lets him play all day 
 
 And have the mostest fun ! 
 He's got a goat he drives around, 
 
 And a nawful nice air gun, 
 And his pa often plays with him, 
 
 And every circus day 
 They go to see the show, and oh 
 
 Wisht my pa treated me that way ! 
 
 My pa he stays away some nights 
 
 Till awful, awful late, 
 And so my ma she has to set 
 
 Up all alone and wait, 
 And then, next morning, my, but he 
 
 Does tear around and jaw, 
 And if I speak he strikes at me 
 
 And does the same to ma, 
 And when he's gone ma has to cry 
 
 Hard as she ever can — 
 Some day I'll take her part when I 
 
 Grow up to be a man ! 
 
 1 66 
 
THE BOr WHOSE PA HAS SPELLS. 
 
 I guess 'at my pa never was 
 
 No little boy at all, 
 For he don't never want to fly 
 
 No kites nor bat the ball — 
 But wunst he stood and looked at me 
 
 A long, long time, and I 
 Was 'fraid he'd whip me, so I had 
 
 To jist give up and cry, 
 And then he come and stroked my head 
 
 And didn't never speak, 
 But jist bent down and hugged me 
 
 And kissed me on the cheek, 
 And then I cried more harder 
 
 Than I ever cried before. 
 And, oh, I wisht that some time he 
 
 Would love me so some more ! 
 
 Most other boyses pas they play 
 
 With them sometimes, but my 
 Pa he don't never play with me, 
 
 Nor make no kites to fly, 
 And I can't go to circuses 
 
 Like all the other boys. 
 And they are always tellin' me 
 
 How their pas buy them toys. 
 And their pas never punish them 
 
 Unless they're awful bad — 
 If my pa was that kind to me. 
 
 Oh, wouldn't I be glad! 
 
 Sometimes when he comes home at night 
 And I've been sleepin' sound. 
 
 He wakes me up and then I lay 
 And hear him stompin' round, 
 
 167 
 
THE BOr WHOSE PA HAS SPELLS. 
 
 And then, next mornin', ma she cries 
 
 And says he wasn't well — 
 When I ast her what the trouble was — 
 
 He's had another spell ! — 
 I'm awful sorry for the boys 
 
 Whose pas has spells, for, oh, 
 When his spells come he gits so mad, 
 
 And ma she takes it so ! 
 
 But if, some day, he'll only stand 
 
 And look at me again 
 The way he did that first time, and 
 
 Be just like he was then — 
 Oh, then, I won't care if he don't 
 
 Make kites for me to fly. 
 And, oh, I'll be so happy if 
 
 He'll only make me cry, 
 By bein' good to me, because 
 
 Most fun I ever had 
 Was when I felt so awful bad 
 
 Because I was so glad ! 
 
 1 68 
 
CONFESSIONS OF LITTLE WILLIE. 
 
 Pa says they ain't no spooks at all, Ni 
 
 s'pose he ought to know, 
 'Cause he knows nearly everything worth 
 
 knowin' here below; 
 He says 'at only fraidy calfs believes 
 
 they's ghosts around, 
 For people can't git back on earth when 
 
 you put 'em under ground. 
 
 I don't believe in spirits when the sun is 
 
 shinin' bright, 
 And I can hear folks talk, or they's a 
 
 livin' thing in sight, 
 If they is jist a cat or dog around me I'm 
 
 prepared 
 For anythinsf 'at comes along, and ain't 
 
 a bit a-scared. 
 
 But sometimes I come home from school 
 
 when ma's away, and then 
 I go a-sneakin' up the stairs, and then 
 
 sneak down again, 
 And think I'll find the doughnuts or the 
 
 raisins or the jam — 
 And then I hear somebody step — or a 
 
 door shuts with a slam. 
 
 I know as well as I'm alive they ain't 
 nobody there. 
 
 169 
 
COJVFBSSIOJVS OF LITTLE WILLIE. 
 
 But shivers creep along my back, and I 
 
 can feel my hair 
 Raise right straight up and stand as stiff 
 
 as bristles on my head — 
 And I believe in ghosts in spite of all pa 
 
 ever said. 
 
 I dassent turn around and look, for I'm 
 
 afraid I'll see 
 Some big white thing without no head 
 
 a-standin' back of me — 
 But after while I whistle or else I sing, 
 
 and then 
 Go out and run around the yard and git 
 
 braced up again. 
 
 And when it's dark at night, and I wake 
 
 up and lay in bed, 
 I can't keep ugly thoughts of ghosts from 
 
 gittin' in my head. 
 And then I hear pa snorin', and my 
 
 blood gits froze, almost. 
 For every snore sounds like the groan of 
 
 some poor sinner's ghost. 
 
 Pa says they ain't no ghosts, and I talk 
 
 big, sometimes, and laugh 
 At Eddie Gray, 'cause he believes, and 
 
 call him fraidy calf. 
 But when I do bad things and then am 
 
 all alone, by Jinks, 
 I know they's ghosts a-snoopin' round, in 
 
 spite of what pa thinks ! 
 
 170 
 
WHEN SORROWS COME. 
 Oh, come to me, dear little baby boy, 
 
 come 
 
 Let me snuggle you close to my heart; 
 Oh, come, let me kiss the poor, hurt little 
 thumb, 
 And so take away all the smart ! 
 There, there, little one. 
 You see it is gone. 
 Now, dry up your tears and away. 
 
 For the sun is scarce up ere the night is 
 begun. 
 So don't miss a moment of play ! 
 
 Oh, come to me, dear little baby boy, 
 come ! 
 When childhood has faded behind. 
 With the smart in your heart instead of 
 your thumb. 
 And troubles beclouding your mind — 
 Oh, come to me then, 
 Let me cheer you again. 
 As I cheer you, my darling, to-day ! 
 
 Don't sorrow alone o'er the coldness of 
 
 men — 
 And don't miss a moment of play ! 
 
 171 
 
GETTING TO BE A MAN. 
 
 I'm glad my hair ain't yallow, 
 
 And all curled up and long; 
 I'm glad my cheeks ain't dimpled, 
 
 And that I'm gittin' strong, 
 I wisht my voice was hoarser, 
 
 To talk like Uncle Dan, 
 Because I want to hurry 
 
 And git to be a man ! 
 
 I'm glad the women never 
 
 Come up to me and say : 
 "Oh, what a purty little boy!" 
 
 In that soft kind of way. 
 I wear big shoes, and always 
 
 Make all the noise I can, 
 Because I want to hurry 
 
 And git to be a man ! 
 
 I've got on pa's suspenders — 
 
 Wisht I had whiskers, too. 
 And that my feet was bigger, 
 
 And schoolin' was all through. 
 Wisht Edison or some one 
 
 Would come out with some plan 
 To help a boy to hurry 
 
 And git to be a man ! 
 
MEDITATIONS OF JOHNNY. 
 
 I wisht 'at I was bigger, so when I go out 
 
 to play 
 With older boys they wouldn't try to 
 
 order me away, 
 An* nen they wouldn't always make me 
 
 set up on the fence, 
 When they are playin' circus, an' be the 
 
 audy-ence. 
 
 I'd like to git into the ring, an' play I was 
 
 the clown. 
 Or else the bareback rider, who goes 
 
 jumpin' up and down. 
 Or I'd like to be ringmaster — wouldn't 
 
 that be just immense ! 
 But ev'ry time they make me play' at I'm 
 
 the audy-ence. 
 
 When I git bigger, someday I'm agoin' to 
 
 have a ring 
 An' be the lofty tumbler, an' clown, an' 
 
 ev'rything, 
 An' then the littler boys'll have to set up 
 
 on the fence 
 An' clap their hands when I perform — an' 
 
 be the audy-ence. 
 
 173 
 
A BOY'S KING. 
 
 My papa he's the bestest man 
 
 Whatever lived, I bet, 
 And I ain't never seen no one 
 
 As smart as he is yet. 
 Why, he knows everything, almost, 
 
 But mamma says that he 
 Ain't never been the President, 
 
 And that surprises me. 
 
 And often papa talks about 
 
 How he must work away — 
 He's got to toil for other folks 
 
 And do what others say ; 
 And that's a thing that bothers me — 
 
 When he's so good and great. 
 He ought, I think, at least to be 
 
 The ruler of the State ! 
 
 He knows the names of lots of stars. 
 
 And he knows all the trees. 
 And he can tell the different kinds 
 
 Of all the birds he sees, 
 And he can multiply and add 
 
 And figure in his head — 
 They might have been some smarter 
 men, 
 
 But I bet you they are dead. 
 
 174 
 
A BOT'S KING. 
 
 Once when he thought I wasn't near 
 
 He talked to mamma then 
 And told her how he hates to be 
 
 The slave of other men, 
 And how he wished that he was rich 
 
 For her and me — and I 
 Don't know what made me do it, but 
 
 I had to go and cry ! 
 
 And so when I sat on his knee 
 
 I ast him: — "Is it true 
 That you're a slave and have to toil 
 
 When others tell you to? 
 You are so big and good and wise, 
 
 You surely ought to be 
 The President, instead of just 
 
 A slave, it seems to me." 
 
 And then the tears come in his eyes, 
 
 And he hugged me tight and said :- 
 "Why, no, my dear, I'm not a slave — 
 
 What put that in your head? 
 I am a king — the happiest king 
 
 That ever yet held sway, 
 And only God can take my throne 
 
 And my little realm away!" 
 
 175 
 
SHE NEVER WAS A BOY. 
 
 When I come home, the other night, 
 
 With an ugly lookin' eye 
 That I had got into a fight, 
 
 Poor ma commenced to cry; 
 But when I told pa how it was. 
 
 He clapped his hands for joy, 
 And told me I done bully, 'cause 
 
 Once he had been a boy. 
 
 'Boys will be boys," I heard him say, 
 "They won't be otherv/ise, 
 And the one that learns to fight his way 
 
 Is the one that wins the prize; 
 When I was his age fightin' was 
 
 My greatest earthly joy — " 
 But ma she kept on cryin', 'cause 
 
 She never was a boy. 
 
 My golly, but I'd hate to be 
 
 A girl with braided hair. 
 And always prim as A, B, C, 
 
 With clothes too clean to wear ! 
 When ma was small I s'pose she was 
 
 Red-cheeked and sweet and coy — 
 But, oh, the fun she missed because 
 
 She never was a boy ! 
 
 176 
 
RIDING THE OLD GRAY HORSE. 
 
 The old gray horse jogs down a way 
 
 That leads through a pleasant land, 
 Where never a wrong is suffered to stray, 
 
 And never a plot is planned ! 
 And the breeze that blows revives and 
 cheers 
 
 And happiness fills the air. 
 And sweet are the sounds that greet my 
 ears, 
 
 While the horse is jogging there ! 
 
 Ride on, upon the patient steed, 
 
 As another rode long ago, 
 Down past the old enchanted mead. 
 
 Where the flowers of memory blow — 
 Through the beautiful town of Used-to-Be, 
 
 Which lies in the pleasant way, 
 And cling, as I clung to my father's knee. 
 
 And urged the good old gray ! 
 
 The old gray horse jogs down a lane 
 
 That leads from the town of Care, 
 Past running brooks and waving grain, 
 
 And meadows wide and fair, 
 To the glorious city of Heart's Content, 
 
 Which stands on the hills of Joy, 
 And where the head of the government 
 
 Is a shouting little boy ! 
 
 177 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 
 Oh, dance around it, m}^ little man ! 
 
 Oh, clap your hands and shout! 
 Be merry, my darling, while you can. 
 For the candles will soon burn out — 
 There is care ahead. 
 There are tears to shed. 
 And there will be trouble and doubt. 
 
 Oh, dance around it, to-day, my love ! 
 
 Sweet faith has been given to thee — 
 Faith in the Glorious Child above — 
 The faith that was given to me! 
 But scoffers will rise, 
 To "open your eyes," 
 And set you adrift on the sea. 
 
 Oh, dance around it, my dear, to-day ! 
 
 You are going to mingle with men. 
 And the faith that you have will be taken 
 away, 
 And gloom will encompass you then ! — 
 Till your own little one 
 Sends care on the run, 
 And brings the old faith back again. 
 
THE GOOD NIGHT KISS. 
 
 I saw a sweet young mother place 
 A hand upon her darling's head; 
 A blush of shame o'erspread his face, 
 As lovingly, she said : 
 "Come, dear, 'tis late, 
 You mustn't wait. 
 So say good night, and go to bed." 
 
 He looked at me with sheepish eyes, 
 
 And softly tried to steal away ; 
 I thought of one in Paradise, 
 Who taught me how to pray : 
 "And must I miss 
 My darling's kiss?" 
 I heard the fond young mother say. 
 
 Her cheeks were round and soft and fair, 
 
 As were another's long ago; 
 I saw a child with sunny hair. 
 O'er whom a mother bended low, 
 I heard her say, 
 As he fled away : 
 "And pray for the orphan, too, you 
 know." 
 
 I sigh for the clasp of a tender hand. 
 And the kiss that a shamefaced boy 
 forsook ! 
 
 179 
 
THR GOOD NIGHT KISS. 
 
 I sigh for the love he could understand 
 At last, when they bade him "come and 
 look!" 
 
 But a boy never knows 
 Till the fond eyes close, 
 And the Lord, in his wisdom, shuts the 
 book. 
 
 i8o 
 
A BOY'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 Almost the last words father said 
 
 To me before he fell asleep 
 Were: "William, keep this in your 
 head: 
 
 The crop you sow you'll have to reap! 
 Don't envy others what they've got, 
 
 But you just do the best you can 
 For all the world, and you cannot 
 
 But grow to be a worthy man." 
 
 I've had to work since father died — 
 
 I've learned a lot I never knew 
 Before he went; but still I've tried 
 
 To do the things he told me to. 
 I've never cheated anyone, 
 
 I've always tried to shun the wrong; 
 If he can see, he knows I've done 
 
 My level best to help along. 
 
 But every day or two I meet 
 
 Someone that father used to know, 
 Who says: "My gracious! It does beat 
 
 Creation how these boys do grow!" 
 And so he stops and looks at me. 
 
 And I could knife him then, because 
 He's sure to say I'll never be 
 
 Quite such a man as father was. 
 
 i8i 
 
A SOT'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 A week ago my Uncle John 
 
 Came on a visit from the West; 
 'Gosh, how you've grown since I've been 
 gone ! ' ' 
 He said — and then I guessed the rest. 
 He grabbed me by the muscle — gee ! 
 
 What an awful grip he had ! — 
 But o' course," said he, "you'll never be 
 Quite such a feller as your dad !" 
 
 Still, mother tells me not to care 
 What such unthinking people say ; 
 
 She says she knows I'll make them stare, 
 If God but lets me live, some day; 
 
 'For even Washington," says she, 
 "No doubt was often sad because 
 
 Folks told him he would never be 
 The man his humble father was." 
 
 182