>0' 
 
 i^ "-^^ / /Jite'v %,^* ::4^ik\ '% / :% 
 
LIFE THOUGHTS 
 
 A Book of Poems on Religion, Love, Temperance, Kind- 
 ness toward the Lower Animals, Then, Now, (or Past and 
 Present), Eternal Youth, The Brighter Side of Death, Hid- 
 den Worth, and various other subjects. It also contains 
 Eulogistic Poems on 
 
 ''LOVELY CHARLEVOlXr 
 
 AND 
 
 ' ' BE A UTIFUL PETORKE Y. '' 
 
 ^^-^-;-v. BY 
 
 MRS. ALDIN fcHAMBERLlN. 
 
 Full well I know that poetry in even waves should roll- ■ 
 The rhythm tiow in symmetry from the poetic soul. 
 
 But sometimes I have had to bend this rule so delicate, 
 While trying to make sense to blend with measure obstinate. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR, 
 
 CHARLEVOIX, MICH. 
 
 1893. 
 
C 2-1 -7 
 
 €0PTK{QnT BT" '"^ 
 
 HES. ALDm CflAMBERLIN, 
 
 1893. 
 All Sights' Beserred. 
 
PRE F AGE. 
 
 -0 — o- 
 
 The first motive of tlie autiior in writing these poems has 
 been the desire to make some use of tlie one talent graciously 
 bestowed upon her by the Giver of all good and perfect gifts. 
 And with this in mind, her aim has been to write something 
 to interest her readers in religion, love, temperance, and kind- 
 ness, not only to mankind, but also to God's lower creatures. 
 She has also tried to penetrate what seems to be the dark 
 shadow of death, and to comfort f^ad hearts by bringing to 
 view the silvery lining of that and all other dark clouds. 
 
 She does not imagine that her work as a poet is above criti- 
 cism. But if the critics could know the difficult and even 
 painful circumstances under which many of these poems have 
 been composed;— together with her many educational and 
 other disadvantages of the pioneer life of " T/ien ,- "— they 
 would no doubt be less severe. She hopes that all readers will 
 kindly excuse whatever the poems may lack of coming up to 
 their expectations. The writer's experiences may have enabled 
 her to sympathi7.e more fully with the many who labor and 
 suffer. And if G<mI will bless this book to the pleasure and 
 profit of some feilow-mortals, and thus to His own glory, it 
 wili answer the sincere desire and prayer of the 
 
 —Author, 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page. 
 
 A Demon in the Land 165 
 
 A Dream 10 
 
 Advice First 7 
 
 Advice Second 9 
 
 A Hymn 56 
 
 A ITymn 125 
 
 Alone in a Crowd 71 
 
 Am I My Brother's Keeper? 2 
 
 A Pen Picture 40 
 
 A Prayer 1 
 
 A Prayer for Our Nation 148 
 
 A Present 252 
 
 Autumn Flowers 140 
 
 Autumn Leaves 131 
 
 Blood or Life 152 
 
 Chicago, Queen of the World 231 
 
 Christ's Greatest Miracle 284 
 
 Contentment 263 
 
 Contrast 191 
 
 Cruelty to Animals 222 
 
 Death's Bride 187 
 
 Divorce 309 
 
 Easter INIorn 292 
 
 Eternity 238 
 

 Page. 
 
 Every Day, Every Day 
 
 127 
 
 Farewell 
 
 318 
 
 Farewell Mother 
 
 192 
 
 Fear Not 
 
 151 
 
 Fiddles in the Church 
 
 82 
 
 Fire 
 
 238 
 
 Fifteen Years Old Today 
 
 164 
 
 Free From Pain, 
 
 
 (To the Memory of Mrs. Warren Thompson.) 
 
 194 
 
 Friends of My Youth 
 
 236 
 
 Gone But Not Forgotten, 
 
 
 ( To the Memory of Mrs. Thebe Dixon.) 
 
 52 
 
 Goodbye Old House 
 
 H3 
 
 Good Friday 
 
 291 
 
 Gossip 
 
 256 
 
 Hidden Worth 
 
 167 
 
 Holidays 
 
 249 
 
 Home 
 
 253 
 
 Indecision 
 
 255 
 
 In Memory of Mrs. Hugh Miller 
 
 250 
 
 I Want no Needless Expense . 
 
 74 
 
 Jesus and His Young Church 
 
 267 
 
 Jesus Wept 
 
 289 
 
 Keep Your Word 
 
 154 
 
 Lines to My Dear Husband 
 
 220 
 
 Lines to my Father's and Mother's Pictures 
 
 139 
 
 Lost Treasures 
 
 185 
 
 Love 
 
 77 
 
 Love to the Last 
 
 221 
 
Pacje. 
 
 ]N[oniiments of Faith and Kindi^css 150 
 
 My First My Bridal Home 219 
 
 My Forest Home 247 
 
 My Mother's Hood, ( Written to My Mother ) 244 
 
 My Mother's Reply, ( Composed by Herself) 246 
 
 My Native Land 135 
 
 Myself 54 
 
 Mystery ,, 199 
 
 No Time 260 
 
 Now 102 
 
 Now We Want to Vote 46 
 
 Oh, Carry Me Back! 133 
 
 Old Age 132 
 
 On the Death of an Infant 54 
 
 Our Lovely Charlevoix 21 
 
 Our Young Charlevoix 1^ 
 
 Palm Sunday 290 
 
 Petoskey, the Beautiful Town 158 
 
 Pins 142 
 
 Plenty 155 
 
 Poetry 315 
 
 Prevailing Good 17 
 
 Pure Wedded Love 124 
 
 Sin 75 
 
 The Battle of Life 61 
 
 " Beauties of a Cold Winter Morning 226 
 
 " Dandelion 160 
 
 " Dark River 66 
 
 " Dark Tidal Wave 305 
 
 " Dying Husband 38 
 
The Dying Saint 
 
 " Dying Soldiers 
 
 " Figtree 
 
 « Flower Girl 
 
 " Fly 
 
 " Great Commotion 
 
 " Little Angel 
 
 " Little Rosebud 
 
 " Lovely World 
 
 " Lowest Step 
 
 " Mirage 
 
 " Mother's Anguish 
 
 " Old Dishcloth 
 
 " Old Horse's Lament 
 
 " Old Log House's Lament 
 
 « Ox 
 
 " Past 
 
 " Poor Old Mule 
 
 " Railroad 
 
 " Seasons 
 
 " Seeds Within the Heart 
 
 " Silver Crib vs. the Manger 
 
 " Snow 
 
 " Thankful Old Pauper 
 
 " Thorny Crown 
 
 " Three Links 
 
 « Two Brides 
 
 " White Slave 
 
 " Widow's Story 
 
 Then 
 
 Three Little Angels 
 
 Three Lovers 
 
 Three Other Lovers 
 
 Page. 
 
 108 
 128 
 189 
 5 
 110 
 
 53 
 162 
 
 72 
 262 
 234 
 294 
 228 
 
 80 
 113 
 225 
 137 
 223 
 
 20 
 126 
 196 
 
 69 
 253 
 29*7 
 238 
 312 
 299 
 30V 
 251 
 
 89 
 194 
 210 
 215 
 
Page. 
 
 Three Sisters 207 
 
 Three Other Sisters 212 
 
 To My Brother in England (By Mother.) 293 
 
 Too Late 236 
 
 To the Memory of Mr. Araos Fox 313 
 
 Trinity 58 
 
 True Politeness 265 
 
 Two Kinds of Selfishness 143 
 
 Walls of (Veed lliB 
 
 Water 240 
 
 We See Thee Still 137 
 
 Whit Shall the Wakening Be? VI 
 
 Whiskey Did It 146 
 
 Why Wish to Know? 205 
 
 Woman's Influence 51 
 
 Woman's True Sphere 1 5 
 
PEEVAILIXG GOOD. 1" 
 
 In these few words, her sphere we\e learned, 
 
 'Tis she was made to love, 
 And have her purest love returned, 
 
 Till she is called above. 
 These form the sphere for which she's made. 
 
 As friend, wife, mother too; 
 Her duty plain and straight is laid. 
 
 And to her God is due. 
 
 PREVAILING GOOD. 
 
 '^ Dear sister Mary, tell me why 
 There's so much to make us sigh. 
 Everywhere that we can go. 
 So much sin and so much woe ! " 
 '' 'Tis because our eyes are blind 
 To the joys that's hid behind 
 Every cloud, which seems a pall. 
 But is waiting to bless all. 
 'Tis the dark side meets our sight. 
 And not the lining, silvery bright." 
 ''Why do the winds disturb us so? 
 Whence do they come, and whither go? 
 We hear their sound upon the earth. 
 But theirs is like the spirit's birth." 
 ''To ignorance I have to own, 
 Their birth-place is to me unknown." 
 " Oh ! tell me why we live on earth." 
 
 2 
 
18 PBEVAILING GOOD. 
 
 "To wait our spirits' heavenly birth.'' 
 "Why do the pines so sadly sigh?" 
 "To tell us gentle spring is nigh." 
 "Why do the lovely flowers fade?" 
 "So that in newness all arrayed, 
 They may again in beauty bloom, 
 To cheer our pathway to the tomb." 
 ' ' Why do the twinkling stars grow dim, 
 And seem in hazy mist to swim ?" 
 ' ' Because the sun will soon come forth, 
 With greater light to bless the earth. 
 But twinkling stars again will rise. 
 To light our spirits to the skies. 
 And so you see 'tis not all woe. 
 Everywhere, where'er we go. 
 There's much of good and some of bad, 
 And oft our hearts are very sad, 
 Because with this our mortal sight, 
 We see so much that seems not right. 
 But when immortal sight is ours. 
 And we can see immortal powers 
 E'er working for the good of all. 
 The bad will then to us seem small; 
 Because the Spirit's fruit we'll see, — 
 Faith, Hope and patient Charity, — 
 And lovely spiritual flowers that bloom. 
 To draw us from all earthly gloom. 
 And all the beauties that arise, 
 To win us up to paradise. 
 
OUJi rOVKG CHARLEVOIX. 19 
 
 Ah, yes! we'll see that good prevails, 
 When spirit-birth our sight un vails, 
 To show us in the home above. 
 That all is light, and life and love. 
 For goodness everywhere's a flood, 
 For omnipresent God is good. 
 
 OUR YOUNG CHARLEVOIX. 
 
 (WRITTEN f-ORTlIK SENTINEL JUST AFTER THE TOWN WAS NAMED.) 
 
 Like an infant on its feet, 
 Decked in newness all complete. 
 Peeping from the hills so near, 
 And beside the waters clear, 
 
 Stands our young Charlevoix. 
 
 Trembling in its first essay. 
 Reaching for some one to stay 
 It awhile upon its feet. 
 Till it's made a start complete. 
 Stands our young Charlevoix. 
 
 Soon we hope to see it strong, 
 Moving steadily along. 
 From the feebleness of youth, 
 Loving temperance, virtue, truth. 
 May such be Charlevoix. 
 
 May religion's holy flame. 
 
 Mingle with our favorite's name, — 
 
20 7'HE BAILBOAD. 
 
 Not the empty tinkling sound, 
 Bnt the holy truth profound, — 
 To keep our Charlevoix. 
 
 THE RAILROAD. 
 
 We feel there's something in the air. 
 
 This fall of ninety -one; 
 And that the prospect now is fair, 
 
 For it to come along. 
 Yes, it's coming, it is coming! 
 
 The bell we almost hear; 
 And in spite of croakers grumbling, 
 
 It is drawing very near. 
 
 It is long that we've been waiting, 
 
 To know that it was true. 
 What some folks have been relating. 
 
 That it was coming through. 
 
 We have listened with attention. 
 
 To what we've heard them say. 
 But we've hardly dared to mention, 
 
 That it would come this way. 
 
 Some things we heard would make us think 
 
 The prospect was quite cheery; 
 And then again our hopes would sink 
 
 To prospect quite as dreary. 
 
O UR LO \ EL Y ClIAliLE \ VIX. 21 
 
 WeVe tried so patiently to wait, 
 
 For many anxious years, 
 But now we feel our hope is great 
 
 Enough to end our fears. 
 
 For it's coming, yes, it's coming! 
 
 As sure and fast as fate 
 Can make the wheels go humming 
 
 The oldtime downward rate. 
 
 So we soon will hear the rumbling, 
 
 Then see the fiery steed; 
 And in spite of croakers grumbling, 
 
 We'll ride with railroad speed. 
 
 And when we know that it is here, — 
 
 Has surely come at last, — 
 We'll give a joyous, hearty cheer, 
 
 And forget the dreary past. 
 
 OUR LOVELY CHARLEVOIX. 
 
 Standing firmly on its feet. 
 Decked in beauty all complete. 
 With the green-crowned hills so near, 
 And the water sparkling clear. 
 Is our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 It has passed its first essay, 
 Planted here where it will stay 
 A long time upon its feet, 
 
22 O UU LO VEL Y CHARLi: VOIX. 
 
 Now it's made a start complete, 
 Is our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 We have lived to see it strong, 
 Moving mightily along, 
 From the feebleness of youth. 
 But do temperance, virtue, truth, 
 Reign in lovely Charlevoix ? 
 
 Does religion's holy flame 
 Mingle with our hero's name? 
 Not the empty tinkling sound, 
 But the holy truth profound, — 
 To keep our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 * -K- vr * -x- ^^ •J^ -jf •= 
 
 We have known it from the start. 
 And with others did our part, 
 To clear the logs and brush away, 
 And bring unto the light of day. 
 Our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 The white men then about this place 
 Were scarcer than the Indian race. 
 Lo! the poor Indian did not know, 
 How fast the pale faces would grow, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 'Twas at that time the Indian law. 
 Was hard upon the poor old squaw; 
 She had to paddle the canoe. 
 And carry all the burdens to 
 Our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
OVIi LO VEL Y CHABLE \ OIX. 23 
 
 So we have watched it all along, 
 With a rather motley throng; 
 Have seen the intellect awaken, 
 And the stately steps that's taken, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 Small stores, and houses, and hotel, 
 First began the ranks to swell ; 
 A post office at Mr. Beers', 
 Brought letters that caused smiles or tears 
 To our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 But the times were far between. 
 When the carrier was seen, 
 With his precious store of mail. 
 Guided by the blazing trail. 
 To our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 But it was not very long 
 Till it was drawn by horses strong, — 
 The driver dressed in army blue, — 
 And once a week it then came through, 
 To our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 And next 'twas twice a week that we 
 Had chance the autograph to see 
 Of loved ones who then lived "outside," 
 And wondered how we did reside 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 And so the mail progressed that way, 
 Until at present thrice a day, 
 
24 OVB LO VEL Y rilAULEVOlX. 
 
 We have a chance to hear from those 
 Who read so much that each one knows 
 About our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 A news-paper soon got a start, 
 And sought for news to fill its heart ; 
 But news was scarce about that time, 
 And so we thought we'd make a rhyme. 
 
 About our "Our Young Charlevoix.'' 
 And then, again, when years had gone, — 
 This time 'twas not a little song ; 
 'Twas but a notice to insert. 
 And which a paper could not hurt. 
 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 For some cause that was rejected — 
 Or it might have been neglected ; 
 We took the slight so plainly hinted. 
 Though taking papers four, all printed 
 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 The editor may chance to look 
 Within the lids of this small book. 
 And see our memory has retained 
 The knowledge of him that we gained, 
 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 We will now begin to taper 
 Off about the one news-paper. 
 Which was then the only scroll 
 That held the news in full control, 
 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
UVR LOVELY CHARLEVOIX. 
 
 For now by this time, we presume, 
 The readers think we might resume 
 The story that we first began, 
 Which tells of the progressive plan 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 The bridge that first was made across 
 The lower river, only w^as 
 The width of two boards side by side ; 
 But then the river was not wide. 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 The next one made a better show. 
 But when there came a heavy blow. 
 It broke to pieces. Then 'twas how 
 To get across ; we used a skow. 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 And then w^e had to build one more. 
 Twas better than those heretofore. 
 But, after all, we had to learn 
 We must have one that we could turn, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix, 
 
 Full soon a school house did arise, 
 In which to make the children wise. 
 The first one was of lumber made, 
 And for some years, we think, it staid, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 The next one built on the school site, 
 Was made of boards, but painted white 
 
OUR LOVELY CHARLEVOIX. 
 
 And so from poor, to better, best, 
 Until a grand brick one finds rest, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 Great trees were easy to be found. 
 For in the woods they did abound. 
 To saw them into lumber dear, 
 A sawmill soon was planted here, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 That mill now, like the first hotel, 
 Has grown so much 'tis hard to tell 
 Which was the first beginning part, 
 That gave the business here a start, 
 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 The upper river, p'r'aps, was next 
 That made the pioneers some vexed ; 
 It was not wide, 'twas crooked too, 
 So for a passage would not do. 
 
 In our lovely Charlevoix, 
 To let large boats pass up and down, 
 To upper lake, and then to town ; 
 So at Pine Lake's low, gentle foot. 
 They made a deep and wider cut, 
 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 We think that was a foolish thing. 
 For little towns began to spring. 
 Along the shores of the Pine Lake, 
 Which made us sorry, for the sake 
 
 Of our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
OUR LOVELY CHARLEVOIX. 
 
 For things cannot amount to much 
 With here and there a little touch ; 
 So if those towns had settled here, 
 Success to all had been more clear. 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 The harbor question came on soon. 
 The government's appropriate boon 
 Paid for a dredge both big and stout 
 To <".lean the lower river out, 
 
 To help our lovely <Lliarlevoix, 
 
 So the work kept right on steady. 
 When the harbor was quite ready. 
 Then the boats came thi(^k and last, 
 With puffing steam, or sail and mast 
 To our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 The whistling boats, in early spring, 
 Would always make the welkin ring ; 
 And oft we've seen a fleet of spars 
 All pointing up to the bright stars. 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 And government again was kind, 
 And built a light-house to our mind. 
 That storm-tossed boats may safely come 
 Into the quiet harbor-home 
 Of our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 Then, as old Time went jogging on, 
 Progression still kept right along, 
 
28 O UU LO \ 'EL Y VHAULE VOIX. 
 
 And made improvements on the way, 
 That brought to us hope's brighter ray, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 The telegraph, at first alone, 
 Was soon joined by the telephone; 
 That saved us many a weary walk, 
 Because on business we could talk. 
 
 In our lov-ely Charlevoix. 
 The little Silsby seems a pet; 
 She never pays her way as yet; 
 For when a chimney gets on fire, 
 Men and team we have to hire, 
 
 In our lovely Charlevoix, 
 To take her there, and bring from thence, 
 And that, of course, makes some expense. 
 But then, upon each holiday, 
 8he makes a gay and bright display. 
 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 The roller-mill that grinds our wheat. 
 And makes the flour fit to eat. 
 Is what we needed long before. 
 When we had flour that was poor, 
 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 Two printing-presses now here can 
 Supply news-papers to each man; 
 The Sentinel and Democrat 
 Bring news like doves of Ararat, 
 
 To our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
OVB LOVELY CJIATtLEVOLX, 29 
 
 But what we all have wished for most, — 
 What seemed so long but a mere ghost, — 
 Was the railroad and swift express. 
 To make the distance seem much less, 
 To our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 And now no more a ghost it seems, 
 For we have realized our dreams. 
 The road is here, the cars will come, 
 And soon we'll hear their merry hum. 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 And then how swiftly we can go 
 Unto the place we called "below,'' 
 When in the first few early years, 
 We all were called the pioneers. 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 We feel that now the iron bars, — 
 And soon will the swift running cars, — 
 Bring places of our recollection 
 In more warm and close connection 
 With our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 Now, in this May of ninety-two. 
 We think we have got nicely through 
 With all the waiting and the fret 
 About the first railroad we get 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 Since May has gone and June has come, 
 We soon shall hear the busy hum 
 
30 OUR LOVELY CTTAELEVOIX. 
 
 Of the oar wheels^ as swift they go 
 Unto the pictnresque depot 
 Of our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 Now June has grone ; this is July; 
 The cars are swiftly flying by, 
 Past the lakes and in the woods, 
 Bringing folks and taking goods. 
 
 To and from lovely Charlevoix^ 
 One Sunday, June the twenty-sixth. 
 The railroad men that day had fixed. 
 The passenger train to bring through^ 
 In eighteen hundred and ninety-two, 
 
 To our lovely Charlevoix. 
 And, sure enough, it frame along, 
 And was well met by a great throng. 
 There would have been a loud hooray 
 If it had been some other day, 
 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 Progress is ready to impart 
 Help to some things that's made a start, 
 As water- works, that's now in tow; 
 And e'en electric lights may glow, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 But wliy should water- works come here. 
 Where we have water that's so clear, 
 And nature's generous supply 
 Is such that we Can ne'er go dry, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix ? 
 
OUR LOYET.Y rHARLEVOIX. 31 
 
 We have a race-course now, they say, 
 Also a fair-ground's on the way, 
 And that it's in the future near. 
 And it is to be stationed here, 
 Not far from Charlevoix. 
 
 And Mount McSabby shows up well,— 
 Not far from where the Indians dwell,— 
 And when we climb its tower high, 
 We see a place of beauty nigh; 
 It is our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 We know not what may be in store. 
 But hope there is a great deal more 
 Than we at present plainly see. 
 That will for good conducive be 
 To our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 Now while we're writing of the things 
 That memory to our pencil brings, 
 We think it would in keeping be 
 To mention more things that we see 
 Now in lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 The building that looks noble, grand, 
 Has near the center took its stand ; 
 But we have mentioned it before, 
 So we will pass on to some more. 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 Two factories of some renown 
 Find places in our lovely town. 
 
32 am Lo VEh y cha ulevoix. 
 
 We've opera houses, stores, and banks. 
 Some made of bricks and some of planks. 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 There is- the nsefnl city hall, 
 W^ith its high tower and gay brick wall, 
 And ohnrches three with steeples high, 
 Tliat point to wonders in the sky. 
 Above our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 Those cburches with the brilliant stains 
 Upon their various window-panes, — 
 Those windows, when the light shines 
 
 tlirough, 
 Tell us there's beauty we may view. 
 Not in our lovely Charlevoix, 
 
 But in a city lovelier still. 
 Where beauty shall with homage thrill 
 The souls that bow at beauty's shrine, 
 Met in the home of the Divine, 
 Instead of lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 And when the lamp-light's shining through. 
 It gently hints another view. 
 Where loveliness will far excel 
 E'en all we'll see w^liile here we dwell, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. - 
 
 A cemetery that's kept so neat. 
 
 With flowers or stone at head and feet 
 
 Of our dear friends we've laid away 
 
OCR LOVELY CHAULEVOlX. 33 
 
 To wait the resurrection day, 
 
 Is near our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 The first hotel has had to grow 
 Until it's hard for us to know 
 Which was the small and humble part 
 That gave to it an early start, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 The resort cottages so gay, 
 Set off our town with great display. 
 The C'lub-house and the Belvidere 
 Attract so many strangers here, 
 To our lovely Charlevoix, 
 
 Where they can rest from city care. 
 And breathe the health-restoring air : — 
 Enjoy the cool and restful nights, 
 Also the days' delightful sights. 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 Near the Club-house we sometimes stand, 
 And view the water and the land ; 
 The picture seems almost too much 
 For painter's art or brush to touch. 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 And as to buildings, there are more, — 
 We need not mention them all o'er. 
 While some are old, yet some are new, 
 And help to make a splendid view, 
 Of our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
34 OUH LOVEL Y <HA ULE VOIX. 
 
 Our streets are wide, and smooth, and clean, 
 All bordered with the grass so green, 
 Fringed with the glorious maple trees 
 That flutter in the stirring breeze 
 Of our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 In the tender ])ordering green, 
 The dandelion is early seen. 
 With its cheerful and bright display, 
 Saying winter has passed away. 
 From our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 And many flowers, wild and tame. 
 That show the kindness, all the same, 
 Of the Creator's tender care, 
 Of which we have so large a share. 
 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 And so just here we will mention 
 A spot well worthy of attention ; 
 It is a Paradise of flowers, 
 Owned in this lovely town of ours ; 
 
 ' Tis worthy of our Charlevoix. 
 When past that spot we take a walk, 
 It seems the flowers nearly talk, 
 As to the breeze they gently nod ; 
 The perfume seems the breath of God, 
 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 And some are high and some are low ; 
 All to their natural stature grow. 
 Back of their colors rich and gay, 
 
OUR LOVELY (HABLEVOIX. 35 
 
 A glorious power is holding sway, 
 111 our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 The sparkling lake a jewel is, 
 All nestled round with terraces. 
 And one above another laid. 
 As if on purpose they were made 
 To hold that lake in Charlevoix, 
 
 A shelter for the boats that come 
 To find within our harbor-home 
 A place wliere they can safely rest, 
 Upon that harbor's gentle breast. 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 And when into the Park we go, 
 And see the beauties there that grow, 
 Upon the hills and down the vales. 
 And on the water see the sails 
 Coming to our Charlevoix ; — 
 
 While in the wild-wood Park we stray, 
 And viewing Nature's grand display, 
 And listening to the bird's sweet song, 
 That flits the evergreens among. 
 In our lovely Charlevoix; — 
 
 The rapture is almost complete 
 Enough to stay our wandering feet, 
 And cause our knees to bend in prayer 
 Unto the God of Nature there, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
30 or/? LOVELY CHAULEVOLK. 
 
 When to the pebbly beach we stray, 
 Seeking for agates by the way, 
 And listening to the murmur low 
 Of sparkling waves that gently flow 
 To our lovely Charlevoix; — 
 
 We think the waves that often roar. 
 Destroying lives and seeking more. 
 Have heard the Saviour's word of ' ' Peace, 
 Be still," and let your anger cease, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 The beauties that are all around, — 
 In art and nature that abound, — 
 By man and nature have been spread, 
 But nature's very far ahead, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 For works of man are more or less 
 Marred by the stain of wickedness. 
 If sin were cleansed from earth away. 
 We'd have a Paradise today. 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 In wickedness that men have wrought, 
 There are some places that are fraught 
 With evil business, that will seek 
 To tempt the wavering and the weak. 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 Why should such loveliness be marred, 
 The way to goodness made more hard, 
 
OUR LOVELY CHARLEVOIX. 37 
 
 And weak ones tempted to be soty, 
 By the power of such dark spots, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix? 
 
 What is man that he should dare 
 To mar God's world so good and fair? — 
 Filled with beauty that's so ample, 
 Till we know there's but a sample, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix? 
 
 Oh! lovely Charlevoix, 
 The dark plague-spots that in thee dwell, 
 Leading down, down, to death and hell! ! 
 Thy natural beauties cannot mar, 
 For they are from man's hand too far, 
 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 Gods of nature and of beauty 
 Have in thee well done their duty. 
 Hearts that bow at beauty's shrine, 
 Admire the Artist's touch divine, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 Still there's croaking and there's grumbling 
 But the chariot wheels are rumbling. 
 And we can hear the distant sound. 
 Of some reforms that's coming round, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
 So we'll wait as heretofore. 
 But this time for something more. 
 For a reform is coming through. 
 When the appointed time is due, 
 In our lovely Charlevoix. 
 
38 THE DYING llV^UAyD. 
 
 THE DYING HUSBAND. 
 
 (by request.) 
 
 ' TwAs on a bright December day, / 
 
 Not many years ago, 
 A mother to her girl did say, 
 
 "There isn't now much snow; 
 
 And so I think we'd better try 
 
 To get some wood ahead. 
 For there may be so very nigh, 
 
 A storm that we will dread." 
 
 And so with thoughtful, loving care, 
 
 She built a fire warm, 
 Then placed some wood upon a chair, 
 
 Close to her husband's arm. 
 
 And then unto the woods they went, 
 Their skill and strength to try. 
 
 And when their strength was well-nigh 
 They had a small supply. [spent, 
 
 And when unto the house they go, 
 
 They find the father where 
 They left him a short time ago, 
 
 Upon his cushioned chair. 
 
 Some words his poor wife heard him speak 
 Made her sad heart beat quick ; 
 
 He said, "This hand is now so weak. 
 It scarce can lift a stick." 
 
THE DYING HUi^BAyi). 39 
 
 But still she did not think that he 
 
 So soon would take his flight, 
 Or that a widow she would be 
 
 Before another night. 
 
 Next early morn he called her name, 
 
 And she sprang out of bed ; 
 Then to his side she quickly came, 
 
 And raised his dying head. 
 When, lo ! the blood began to flow, 
 
 Which told the hour had come. 
 When she no more his love would know^ 
 
 In her sad, lonely home. 
 In her fond arms she held him now. 
 
 Until his breath was spent ; 
 She saw the death-damp on his brow. 
 
 Then to her sorrow bent. 
 Oh ! who can tell the pangs that tore 
 
 Each lonely sorrowing one 
 Within that humble sheltering door, 
 
 Now the beloved was gone? 
 The storm of sighs and tears within, 
 
 The storm of snow without, 
 Made it seem hard now to begin, 
 
 A life of fear and doubt. 
 For she a lonely widow was ! 
 
 Six children fatherless ! 
 And hard 'twould be, she knew, alas ! 
 
 Unless her God would bless. 
 
40 A PEN PK'TUliE. 
 
 But ill her Bible she could read, 
 These words of comfort sweet, 
 
 '^ril be thy help in every need,'' 
 And bowed at Jesus' feet. 
 
 Then on she went with honest toil, 
 Beneath the chastening rod; 
 
 Cared for her children, tilled the soil, 
 And trusted in her God. 
 
 A PEN PICTURE. 
 
 Married was my school-mate dear, 
 And so, within another year. 
 She had a little baby boy, — 
 His father's pride and mother's joy. 
 
 When he a year of life had seen. 
 His mother thought that she would wean 
 Him from the drink so freely given. 
 Sent as a comfort down from heaven. 
 
 But still his drink came down in love, 
 A blessing from kind heaven above, 
 In form of milk so sweet and white. 
 Or water sparkling pure and bright. 
 
 And when I saw that baby bright, 
 A pleasing vision met my sight, 
 
.1 PEN VlVTlIiE. 41 
 
 Of love and purity m fair. 
 
 The impress of God's likeness there. 
 
 His sparkling eyes like heaven's blue. 
 Told of a heart that might be true;— 
 A heart that anyone might trust, 
 And feel his dealings would be just 
 
 And when I saw that boy again, 
 His years had numbered nearly ten. 
 He was as handsome as before. 
 Endearing traits were even more,— 
 For on his noble brow I saw, 
 The impress of Uod's holy law. 
 And so I stopped to wish, and think. 
 May milk and water be his drink. 
 May he not taste of beverage strong, 
 That leads young men in paths of wrong; — 
 That does not from kind heaven flow, 
 But comes from reeking vats of woe; — 
 That stamps the devil's impress where 
 The mark of heaven shone so clear: — 
 That blurs the once bright sparkling eyes, 
 And fills the mind with dread surprise. 
 I prayed that he might never know 
 The depths of sin and waves of woe 
 That come to him, and his, who drinks 
 The poison from the devil's sinks. 
 The poison is sometimes but slow, 
 But then 'tis sure to lead to woe! 
 
4Z A PEN PICTUUE. 
 
 Then why will men and women drink? 
 Have they not minds to stop and think? 
 
 But, I must let my wandering end, 
 And write about my dear young friend. 
 When next I saw his handsome face, 
 His form and manner full of grace, ' 
 It seemed the heavenly impress spread 
 From sole of foot to crown of head. 
 
 When from the room he stepped outside, 
 
 I saw his mother's look of pride. 
 
 But when again I sought her face, 
 
 A tear had left its tell-tale trace. 
 
 And soon I heard a long-drawn sigh, 
 
 Then tried to catch her down-cast eye. 
 
 I said, ''Dear friend, what can it be, 
 
 This trouble in your face I see?" 
 
 My out-stretched hand she gently pressed, 
 
 Saying, ''The sorrow you have guessed, 
 
 Concerns my precious only son, 
 
 And the fair maiden he has w^on. 
 
 My boy has learned to taste the drink. 
 
 That makes my hopes in sorrow sink. 
 
 His young heart's choice seems not to see, 
 
 It leads to sin and misery; 
 
 For she is happy, though his breath 
 
 Smells of the beverage of death. 
 
 If she her influence would lend. 
 
 And for pure abstinence contend, 
 
.1 PEN PKJTVRE. \\\ 
 
 ' T would strengthen to a great extent, 
 My hopes that he might yet repent ; 
 For she's his young heart's dearest choice. 
 And he might list to her sweet voice, 
 If she would plead in tones of love. 
 To draw him up to things above 
 The things that make a man so low, 
 When in the drunkard's path hell go. 
 
 Oh ! will she help me in the strife ? 
 Or will she be a drunkard's wife, 
 Without an effort to induce 
 Her lover to give up the use 
 Of what will ruin him for life, 
 And make of her a drunkard's wife ? 
 
 Oh! that which now but taints his breath, 
 May end in something worse than death. 
 Yes, rather would I lay my boy, — 
 His father's pride and mother's joy, — 
 Down in the cold and silent tomb, 
 Than have him meet a drunkard's doom ! " 
 
 I listened to her words of woe, 
 And wished I comfort could bestow ; 
 Hoped that past joys of my dear friend 
 Would not have such a bitter end. 
 Oh ! beauteous maidens of this land, 
 Will you not lend a helping hand, 
 To crush the serpents in disguise 
 Which in your brothers' paths arise I 
 
44 .1 I'EX PICTVHE. ~' 
 
 Will you not tell your lovers too, 
 When they shall seek your hearts to woo, 
 It is your sure and firm decree, 
 You will not keep their company, 
 Unless they are good temperance men, 
 And from strong liquor will refrain? 
 
 Though you have known and loved them 
 
 Be in your resolutions strong. [long, 
 
 Tell them in gentle tones of love. 
 
 Your lovers must be far above 
 
 The drunkard's ways, and paths so low, 
 
 That lead his wife a life of woe; — 
 
 Make for himself a living hell. 
 
 In which he and his own must dwell. 
 
 When you have won, or kept him right, 
 And feel you're precious in his sight, 
 Then if you e'er would be his wife. 
 Keep up your influence through life. 
 I left my poor, dear friend in pain. 
 Fearing her son would not refrain 
 From that which often proves too much, 
 After the first enticing touch. 
 I saw him once more in his pride; 
 His lovely wife was by his side. 
 They seemed so happy and so bless VI, 
 A ray of hope inspired my breast 
 That she her influence had tried. 
 And that by it ha would abide,— 
 
A PEX PTPTUHE. 4o 
 
 Would henceforth be a man of worth, 
 An honor to this rum-cursed earth. 
 
 But, ah! my hopes were all in vain. 
 
 For when I saw him once again, 
 
 A dismal vision met my sight, ~ 
 
 As brightest day turned into night. 
 
 The love and purity were gone, 
 
 The devil's image now sat on 
 
 Where once so easy we could trace 
 
 God's likeness on the lovely face. 
 
 No more the eye that was so blue 
 
 Told of a heart that might be true; 
 
 But red and blurred by drinks so hot 
 
 That make of man a foolish sot. 
 
 No more of heaven could I trace 
 
 Upon that once bright happy face. 
 
 But on that on^e high noble brow. 
 
 Despair had left his impress now, 
 
 I saw him only once again; 
 
 The vision left my heart in pain, 
 
 For in his wild and frenzied race. 
 
 The devil's law writ on his face, [swore! 
 
 He screeched and foamed, he raved and 
 
 And then on earth he breathed no more. 
 
 They laid him in a drunkard's grave. 
 
 And on our hearts rolled sorrow's wave. 
 
 Why try to tell of the dark life. 
 
 Led by his children and his wife? 
 
4G .voir yvE WAXT ro vote. 
 
 'Twas more than any one uan think, 
 Ov even write with pen and ink. 
 
 Oh! scorching rnm, what ha&t thou done? 
 Ruined many a mother's son, 
 You burn their throat and taint their breath. 
 Then rush them down the road to death! 
 
 But you'll not always spoil the lives 
 Of fathers, children, husbands, wives; 
 Not always make poor mothers mourn. 
 For 'tis a long path that doesn't turn. 
 
 The time is coming on apace, 
 
 When you'll have ceased your blasting race. 
 
 The time cannot be very long. 
 
 When right must triumph over wrong. 
 
 NOW WE WANT TO VOTE. 
 
 CoMKuow, women, give attention. 
 
 And listen unto me. 
 For I have some things to mention, 
 
 In which we should agree. 
 
 For the men who boast of freedom. 
 
 In this land of the free, 
 They think that we should all he dumb, 
 
 On many points we see. 
 
 And one thing is if we should dare 
 To go unto the polls. 
 
yOW WE WAXT TO VOTE. 47 
 
 We hear they foolishly declare 
 We'd spoil our gentle sonls. 
 
 They seem to think we cannot vote, 
 And still command respect, ^ 
 
 But that we will become of note, \ 
 
 And our dear homes neglect 
 
 If ever we shall get the chance, \ 
 
 We'll let them plainly see, ^ 
 
 (If they will only take a glance,^ 
 
 That notoriety 
 Is not what we are seeking for. 
 
 But to remove a state 
 Of things that may ^oon end in war. 
 
 If a reform's too late. 
 
 We have waited many a year, 
 
 For men to get a sight 
 Of the great wrong that we so fear 
 
 They never will make right ; 
 Because their good and common sense 
 
 Is buried in the dross 
 Of the old party prejudice, 
 
 And 'tis to them a cross 
 The old dead parties to forsake, 
 
 Because they will not see 
 That they have made a great mistake. 
 
 And the dead should buried be. 
 
 But they've been kept unburied long. 
 Until they've raised a stench. 
 
4f< XOW WE WAN7' TO VOTE, 1 
 
 By licensing a mifglity wrong 
 
 We wish to cast far hence. 
 If men the moral conrage lack 
 
 To vote in the right way, 
 We'd like to lead them in the track I 
 
 This mighty wrong to stay. 
 We know that conrage animal 
 
 Belongs to men of might, 
 But we hope that conrage moral 
 
 Will help ns to act right. 
 We've tried with tears the canse to win. 
 
 We've wished, and begged, and wrote : 
 Eut futile have onr efforts been. 
 
 So nofr we want to vote, 
 And help a party get a start 
 
 That tries to do the best 
 For the land that's nearest to onr heart, 
 
 God, and the dear home-nest. 
 There's one thing I wonld like to know, — 
 
 Why do the men so fear 
 That we should have a chance to show 
 
 We wish the good to cheer ? 
 'Tis true, there might be some th«at would 
 
 Show silly imprudence, 
 And bring a slur on womanhood, 
 
 To hurt our influence. 
 The spurious must always be, 
 
 So that the good may shine. 
 
yOW WE WAST TO VOTE. 4& 
 
 And help the wavering to see 
 
 There is a Hand Divine, 
 That leads in great reforms, when we 
 
 Will help to fight the cause 
 Tliat brings such wretched misery, 
 
 And such ungodly laws. 
 
 Drunkards and bummers now can vote. 
 
 While all good women must 
 By such men have their rights revoked ;— 
 
 Think ye such ways are just ? 
 
 ' Tis true, there are some noble men 
 Working with all their might ; 
 
 They hope full soon the cause to win, 
 To set these wrongs aright. 
 
 But they, like Adam first of old, 
 
 Find 'tis not good to be 
 Alone, when votes are being polled; 
 
 So they would set us free. 
 That we might all our rights assume, 
 
 And show that we have sense 
 To vote, and duty then resume, 
 
 And our own work commence. 
 
 But one thing let us all avoid, 
 
 When we are voters free. 
 Don't let us have our prayers djfestroyed 
 
 By such hypocrisy . 
 
 As men are guilty of today. 
 
50 XOH' [VE UANT TO VOTE: 
 
 Who talk reform so much, 
 And whine, and preach, and even pray. 
 
 The things not fit to touch 
 May all be wiped from earth away; 
 
 And then they vote for laws 
 Licensing the worst thing to stay, 
 
 Which is the greatest cause 
 Of sin, that roams o'er this fair earth. 
 
 Its peace and love to mar, — 
 That gives to crime and misery birth, 
 
 And teems with family war. 
 
 The time is coming when we can 
 
 Be helpmeets to the men 
 Who work upon this glorious plan; 
 
 And we will show them then, 
 Our prayers and votes shall be the same, 
 
 And shall together count, 
 And we will work for good, not fame, 
 
 That's so much talked about. 
 
 We never will bribe anyone, 
 
 And never bribed will be; 
 We'll make that resolution strong. 
 
 As they will plainly see. 
 
 In body we are weak, 'tis true. 
 When we're compared with man; 
 
 But it took Satan to undo 
 In woman God's great plan; 
 
WOMAX'S INFLUENCE. 51 
 
 But all that was required to make 
 
 Strong manhood yield to sin, 
 Was women and the word she spake, 
 
 His willing heart to win. 
 
 We'll show them that our principle 
 And mental powers are strong, 
 
 Though tried in the hot crucible 
 Which driv^es weak men to wrong. 
 
 Though we their weaker half may be, 
 
 In body, not in mind, 
 AVe'U show them that consistency 
 
 And truth in us they'll find. 
 
 (.Consistency's a jewel bright, 
 
 And must be worn with care, 
 If we enjoy the sparkling light^ 
 
 From such a gem so rare. 
 
 WOMAN'S INFLUENCE. 
 
 (WRITTEN FOR THE CHARLEVOIX DEBATING CLUB, MARCH 12, 1874.) 
 
 Wives, and sisters, daughters, mothers, 
 Heard ye not the sound gone forth, 
 
 That our fathers, husbands, brothers. 
 Cannot estimate our worth? 
 
 They declare our influence stronger 
 Than the links of golden ore; 
 
(iONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN. 
 
 They would value gold no longer, 
 If we women were no more. 
 
 For we can lead, they do confess, 
 In the path to wrong or right. 
 
 If such power we possess, 
 Let it be to them a light, 
 
 Shining on the path to glory. 
 
 Winning unto holy truth 
 Loving husbands, fathers hoary. 
 
 Also wild but trusting youth. 
 
 May we feel we have a duty. 
 In this world of sin, to do, 
 
 And may virtue, more than beauty. 
 Prove our hearts are fond and true. 
 
 GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN. 
 
 (to the memory of MRS. PHEBE DIXON.) 
 
 Gone is the friend that loved us; 
 
 Gone from labor and care; 
 Gone to the realms above us, 
 
 To join her loved ones there. 
 
 How we miss our friend so dear, 
 From her earthly home so fair. 
 
 Where she left her marks so clear, 
 Those marks of loving care. 
 
THE LITTLE AMiEL. 
 
 They linger in house and flower, 
 In garden, field, and fruit; 
 
 We feel their magic power, 
 Though their language is so mute. 
 
 And we never can forget, 
 
 Her self-denying love; 
 But we all remember yet, 
 
 Our friend that's gone above. 
 
 When we leave our home on earth, 
 May we meet her in the skies; 
 
 Then we'll know her grander worth. 
 In her home in Paradise. 
 
 THE LITTLE ANGEL. 
 
 A LITTLE rose-bud born today. 
 With angel's wings we could not see; 
 
 A little lamb we hoped would stay. 
 To nestle fondly on our knee. 
 
 It crept within a heart of love, 
 
 For one short space of mortal time. 
 
 Then took its flight to realms above. 
 Where love immortal reigns sublime. 
 
 So gentle mother do not sorrow, 
 As the hopeless ones must do; 
 
 For beyond the last tomorrow, 
 The little angel waits for you* 
 
54 ON THE DkATU OF AS INFANT. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 
 
 Death has taken your darling baby, 
 Snatched him from your fond embrace, 
 
 And no more on earth it can be 
 That you'll see his angel face. 
 
 He has gone to realms of glory, 
 Joined the angels round the throne; 
 
 Gone to learn the wondrous story 
 Which on earth he had not known. 
 
 May that old but wondrous story 
 Draw you to the Saviour's feet. 
 
 That when done with earth, in glory 
 You your darling babe may meet. 
 
 (> — 0-- 
 
 MYSELF. 
 
 What's kept my head from cold and wet, 
 And decked it round with curls of jet. 
 When otherwise it would be bare, 
 And though now gray, 'tis useful yet^ 
 My hair. 
 
 What lets me see the light of day, 
 The flowers that blossom on my way. 
 The stars that twinkle in the skies, 
 And other beauties bright and gay? 
 
 My eyes. 
 What lets me have a chance to smell 
 Of the perfume I love so well, 
 
MnsELF. >•> 
 
 Of lily, violet and rot>e, 
 
 And flowers more than I can tell^ 
 
 My nose. 
 What makes me hear soft music sweet, 
 And pleasant words when friends I greet. 
 Which soothes my sorrows, calms my fears, 
 And almost makes life's joys complete? 
 
 My ears. 
 What tastes for me the things so good, 
 The cooling drink and luscious food, 
 And says for me things right or wrong, 
 When I am in each various mood ? 
 
 My tongue. 
 What is it that obey my will, 
 If hot or cold, or even ill ? 
 No difference what are my commands, 
 They always silently fulfill. 
 
 My hands. 
 What is it that when tired or hot. 
 Wet or cold, it matters not, 
 On kitchen floor or village street, 
 Bear my body on a trot^ 
 
 My feet. 
 What is it that these many years, 
 Has clothed me in this vale of tears, 
 And been to me a house and home, 
 In which I'll stay till death shall come ? 
 
 My body. 
 
56 A HVMy. 
 
 Who is it that has blessed iny whole, 
 And died to save my precious soul, 
 That when I leave this home below, 
 I may with joy to heaven go? 
 My Saviour. 
 
 Who is it that when I am gone, 
 And my poor body's left alone, 
 Will for its kindness unto me, 
 See that it neatly buried be? 
 My friends. 
 
 When I am dead preach not to me. 
 Nor tell of deeds that I have done; 
 But tell poor sinners that I'm free, 
 Through Jesus' precious blood alone; 
 For I unprofitable am, 
 Not worthy of a servant's place, 
 But through the all-atoning Lamb, 
 I glory in sufficient grace. 
 
 -o — ()- 
 
 A HYMN. 
 
 Jesus reigns! let earth rejoice ; 
 Jesus reigns ! we hear a voice. 
 Sounding from the courts above, 
 Jesus reigns to judge in love. 
 
 He will judge his people right. 
 For he knows they have to fight 
 
.1 HVMX. ZA 
 
 All the evils here below, — 
 For himself was tempted so. 
 
 Jesus knows our tempters all. 
 And he knows our strength is small,— 
 Small to meet such mighty foes; [knows. 
 Their number and their strength he 
 
 And he'll .ludge according to 
 All the trials we pass through, 
 And the measure of our faith. 
 For his holy word thus saith : — 
 
 According to thy faith shall be 
 All the good that comes to thee ; 
 And that faith from God's a gift, 
 Sent our struggling souls to lift 
 
 Out of darkness, and of doubt; 
 To the joys we read about; 
 Therefore though our faith is small, 
 Jesus knows and sees it all. 
 
 He'll let none of it be lost, 
 For he knows what it has cost. 
 May the hand of faith then lead us. 
 To the judgment seat of Jesus, 
 
 That the gentle wings of love 
 May bear us to the house above, 
 Where the ''many mansions" are, 
 That Jesus went on to prepare. 
 
For our Saviour then went on, 
 In advance of the great throng. 
 To prepare a place for us, 
 In the mansions of the just. 
 
 Now he's come us to receive, 
 And this truth we do believe, 
 That where he lives we may go;— 
 Tliis he promised here below. 
 
 And his promise will not fail. 
 For o'er all he will prevail; 
 For his holy word hath said, 
 All the living and the dead: — 
 
 '' All the creatures that there be, 
 Unto him shall bow the knee;" 
 And to him they shall confess, 
 That he is their righteousness. 
 
 TRINITY. 
 
 It is the yelk, the white, the shell, 
 
 That do compose the egg we see. 
 And in that egg the germ doth dwell, 
 A living thing to be. 
 
 Another kind of egg is laid, 
 
 We wait, and soon a worm we spy, 
 And from that crawling worm is made, 
 A lovely butterfly. 
 
TRlNITr. o^ 
 
 We see a nut, the shuck is rough, 
 
 And then the shell is haixi, we see; 
 The meat within is good enough, 
 To raise a mighty tree. 
 
 And from a seed the blade doth spring. 
 
 And then the ear is soon brought forth. 
 The full corn next, the ear doth bring, 
 And that's the greatest worth. 
 These out of many, many, threes. 
 
 Are but like drops to ocean's flow, 
 Compared to things of trinities; 
 
 So many do we know. 
 We think that man's a trinity, 
 
 For he's body, soul, and spirit, 
 He's three in one, and one in three; 
 
 This he doth inherit, _ 
 
 For is he not the child of (jod. 
 
 And God's the one great Trinity; 
 And truth, — we never think it odd 
 That child like parent be. 
 Man's body's his identity. 
 
 And it is useful here below, 
 To hold the soul we cannot see. 
 
 But think we're taught to know, 
 That it contains the germ divine. 
 
 The essence of Divinity, 
 That which in glory is to shine, 
 To all eternity. 
 
rto. TUINITW 
 
 That spiritual body we can't see. 
 
 In natural body it is hid; 
 But in due time it will be free, 
 
 When death shall lift the lid. 
 
 Then it will be of use above, 
 
 To hold the innermost of man, — 
 The part by which we're taught to love, — 
 
 Best part of all the plan. 
 And so from the great Trinity, 
 Are radiations all around, — 
 The threes in one, and ones in three. 
 Which in this world abound. 
 The egg-shell is no more of worth. 
 
 And so the chrysalis the same; 
 They were of use till second birth 
 To their indwellers came. 
 The shuck and shell of nut so brown. 
 
 Also the little seed that died. 
 Tell us there's nothing of renown, 
 
 That will not aye abide. 
 But things of beauty and of worth, 
 
 That fled and left these things behind, 
 Grive us a hint there will come forth, 
 
 Something that is refined, 
 From these our bodies, when they die, 
 
 And when they shall the real man yield; 
 And when released, we then will fly, 
 To roam in freedom's field. 
 
THE BATTLE OP LIFE, 61 
 
 When God created man on earth, 
 
 And when he in his nostrils breathed, 
 That was his first and earthly birth, 
 And earthly life bequeathed. 
 
 But when that life or living soul, 
 
 Is born into the happy land, 
 Where spirit bea uties have control. 
 The transit must be grand. 
 
 Oh, death of body! birth of soul! 
 
 We from thy gloomy side would flee, 
 O'er fears of thee hold strong control. 
 Till we thy bright side see. 
 
 For thou art, after all, a friend, 
 
 To take us from the battle-field. 
 When this short life shall have an end. 
 And we unto thee yield. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF LIFE, 
 
 Hark! the battle cry is sounding, 
 
 Upon life's battle-field, 
 A young soldier has enlisted, 
 
 And will not tamely yield 
 
 To the foes he thinks surround him. 
 
 But squirms and tries to twist 
 Himself in fighting attitude, 
 
 And doubles up his fist. 
 
62 THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 
 
 The first that seems to make him mad. 
 
 Is the cold and chilly air, 
 That strikes upon his naked form. 
 
 In spite of nurse'^s care. 
 
 The next he undertakes to fight,. 
 
 Is soap and water warm; 
 It gets into his month and eyes, 
 
 And does his castle storm, 
 80 when the soapy battle's through^ 
 
 And he has time to think. 
 He hunger has and thirst to fight, 
 
 And so must have a drink. 
 The next that meet our hero brave. 
 
 Are colic pains severe; 
 He puts them down with catnip tea. 
 
 And many a scalding tear. 
 And thus he fights from day to day. 
 
 For weeks and months, or more. 
 Until he learns to sit alone. 
 
 And then he fights the floor. 
 For oft his balance he will lose. 
 
 And over heels go back. 
 And then his head and floor do meet. 
 
 With a resounding crack. 
 With tiny hands he tries to grasp 
 
 All that his eyes can see. 
 And puts them in his open mouth, 
 
 In spite of war's decree. 
 
THE BAITLE OF IJFE, ^ 
 
 The next he undertakes to stay 
 
 Is clumsiness of tongue; 
 And when he tries to say things right, 
 
 He mostly says them wrong. 
 
 About this time he tries to walk, 
 
 And oft he stubs his toes; 
 And then he meets with things to fight. 
 
 That often skin his nose. 
 And so his first young life is mixed, 
 
 With skirmishes of war. 
 That seem unto his tender mind. 
 
 Too strong for him by far. 
 When he begins to go to school, 
 
 His strength is somewhat more; 
 The battles there are fiercer still. 
 
 Than e'er they were before. 
 The warfare now is two to one, 
 
 It is both in and out; 
 For oft he has to fight the boys. 
 
 Who do his friendship doubt 
 The fiercer battle is within, 
 
 To learn his lessons well. 
 So that he them can understand. 
 
 And their true meaning tell. 
 For years he fights dull ignorance. 
 
 And oft subdues the foe. 
 Until he sees the more he learns, 
 
 The more there is to know. 
 
(y4 THE BATPLE OF LIFE. 
 
 And when lie has to leave the school. 
 
 And into business go, 
 He finds new battles wait him there. 
 
 And many a giant foe. 
 
 Dishonesty throws out his bait. 
 
 Of glittering gold so bright, 
 (Challenging honesty so hard, 
 
 There has to be a fight. 
 Tobacco tries to make him yield 
 
 To his delusive sway; 
 No coin he'll waste in spit or smoke. 
 
 So firmly tells him. Nay. 
 Intemprance meets and tries to drown 
 
 Him in his li€iuor strong; 
 He conquers him with one fierce blow. 
 
 And then he marches on. 
 And as he goes, new foes assail 
 
 Him all the way along, 
 Sometimes in form of giants great. 
 
 Sometimes in siren tongue. 
 And tempted by the smiles that flit 
 
 Across a woman^s face. 
 He struggles with this foe of youth. 
 
 And conquers^ it through grace. 
 Tlius far life's battles he has fought. 
 
 And seemed alone to fight; 
 But now he takes himself a wife, 
 
 To help him in the right. 
 
THE BA TTLE OF LIFE. (r> 
 
 But still he finds the fight goes on, 
 
 And still he inust defend 
 His honor and his rights as well, 
 
 Till death the fight shall end. 
 
 He and his own must ever watch, 
 
 For they have much to do. 
 While struggling with life's battling host, 
 
 If they are brought safe through. 
 
 But on he goes with conquering strength, 
 
 His unseen foes to fight. 
 And often wonders how it is. 
 
 He puts them all to flight. 
 
 Thus all along life's battle-field, 
 'Tis watch, and fight, and pray. 
 
 With here and there a resting spot, 
 Found in the narrow way. 
 
 When the last foe he has to meet, 
 
 The last fierce charge to fight. 
 He finds the source of his great strength, 
 
 For Jesus is in sight. 
 
 He sees no more the mighty foe. 
 
 But his own Saviour dear; 
 He fears no more the struggle now, 
 
 Almighty help is near. 
 
 Reflection from the Saviour's face 
 Transforms the foe to friend. 
 
00 THE DAliK lilVER. 
 
 Who bears him to the land of peace. 
 Life's battle here doth end. 
 
 THE DARK RIVER. 
 
 Some are blessed with knowledge bright. 
 
 Guiding others by their light, 
 
 Into wisdom's narrow way, 
 
 Leading to eternal day. 
 
 Will their knowledge then be lost, 
 
 When the dark river they have crossed? 
 
 8ome are blessed with patience meek, 
 Waiting for the good to come; 
 Though sometimes their faith is weak, 
 Still they hope they may get home. 
 Will their patience then be lost? 
 When the dark river they have crossed? 
 
 The gift of faith and hope in some, 
 Makes future blessings nearly come 
 To the present hour of need. 
 And their souls with courage feed. 
 Will their faith and hope be lost. 
 When the dark river they have crossed? 
 
 But the inspiring gift of joy 
 Often helps some hearts to raise, 
 Without sadness to destroy, 
 Their bright cheerful song of praise. 
 
THE DARK EIVEB. i 
 
 Will their gift of joy be lost, 
 
 When the dark river they have crossed^ 
 
 Some with sound appreciation, 
 
 Have the sense of admiration 
 
 For the beauties that surround them. 
 
 From simplest form to sparkling gem. 
 
 Will that sense to them be lost, 
 
 When the dark river they have crossed? 
 
 Some have the gift of charity, 
 
 And, filled with self-denial, 
 
 Seek that others happy be, 
 
 Through their own wish and trial. 
 
 Will that gift to them be lost. 
 
 When the dark river they have crossed? 
 
 Some are blessed with beauty rare. 
 
 Face and form so wondrous fair, 
 
 Voice that charms the dullest ear, 
 
 With its notes so sweet and clear. 
 
 Is the voice and beauty lost, 
 
 When the dark river they have crossed? 
 
 Some have a poetic strain 
 
 Running through their heart's deep core, 
 
 And drawing by a sweet refrain, 
 
 On toward the heavenly shore. 
 
 Will that strain to them be lost. 
 
 When the dark river they have crossed? 
 
 And godly peace is in the hearts, 
 
 Of God's own children dear, 
 
08 THE DARK Un^ EH. 
 
 Which in this world of strife imparts 
 A peaceful influence here. 
 Will that peaceful gift be lost, 
 When the dark river they have crossed? 
 
 But the best gift is Love Divine, 
 
 Made eternally to shine, 
 
 Gushing from a source that's endless, 
 
 Flowing in our hearts to bless us. 
 
 Will that gift of Love be lost. 
 
 When the dark river we have crossed? 
 
 Faith, patience, selfdenial, hope, 
 
 May all be laid away, 
 
 When we no more with sin shall cope. 
 
 Or even need to pray. 
 
 For need of them will then be lost, 
 
 When the dark river we have crossed. 
 
 But bright knowledge, beauty, joy, 
 
 Sweet dove-winged peace without alloy. 
 
 And perfect Love, best gift of all. 
 
 We think will to each spirit fall; 
 
 And that no needed gift is lost, 
 
 When the dark river we have crossed. 
 
 Appreciation of each gift 
 
 Will admiration draw, to lift 
 
 Our souls to heaven's highest dome. 
 
 When we have reached that glorious heme, 
 
 To find our best gifts are not lost, 
 
 When the dark river we have crossed. 
 
THE tilLVEH ClUB cs. THE MANGEli. (51) 
 
 THE SILVER CRIB VS. THE MANGER. 
 
 (This poem was written after reading so mnch in the news- 
 papers about the Cleveland baby. One instance was, a lady 
 made her a present of a silver crib; another lady gave her 
 golden safety pins.) 
 
 Little Miss Cleveland we know is very sweet, 
 From the crown of her head to her dear little 
 
 feet; 
 For she belongs, from her illustrious birth, 
 To this great, this grand, and this beautiful 
 
 earth. 
 
 She is worthy the crib so silvery bright. 
 And the golden pins to keep all right 
 The beautiful robes, of rich satin and lace, 
 That bedeck her dear form, and her sweet 
 baby face. 
 
 Of all those beautiful things she is worthy, 
 But they, like herself, are of the earth, earthy; 
 May she live to know there are things to be 
 
 sought, 
 That's too grand and noble by money to be 
 
 bought. 
 
 May she learn of a beautiful, worthy babe 
 That never was in a bright silver crib laid ; 
 And perhaps ne'er had a pin of any poor kind. 
 His coarse swaddling bands about him to bind. 
 
70 THE .SILVER CHIB vs. THE MANGEH. 
 
 Though borii in a manger and cradled on straw, 
 His dear little body held gospel and law, 
 So worthy of something more noble and grand, 
 Than bright silver or gold, rich houses or land. 
 
 A few in the East who had seen a bright star. 
 Came asking about him, from a country so far ; 
 Gold, frankincense, and myrrh, they brought 
 
 in their hand, 
 And sought for the baby in Judah's fair land. 
 
 When they found that sweet babe, he was 
 worthy of more 
 
 Than aught that can come from the rich gold- 
 en ore, 
 
 Or from the sweet forest, or the deep mount- 
 ain cave, [wave. 
 
 Or gems that are washed by the ocean's bright 
 
 For, as they are of earth, and he was of heaven, 
 Far dearer to him the love that was given 
 From the hearts that bowed down to worship 
 him there, [care. 
 
 Where in a low manger, he was tended with 
 
 While little Miss Cleveland is lovely and dear. 
 And worthy the love, and all the good mortals 
 
 get here. 
 We dare not to ivorship the dear little stranger. 
 For that is reserved for the babe in the manger. 
 
WHAT SHALL THE WAKESiyQ HE. 71 
 
 WHAT SHALL THE WAKENING BE? 
 
 •• Wo shall sleep and we shall waken. 
 Ijut what will the wakening be ? " 
 
 Now we sleep, and now we waken ; 
 
 Sometimes the wakening makes us glad ; 
 But often when by sleep forsaken. 
 
 The memory comes of things that's sad. 
 
 Then we'll sleep, and then we'll waken; 
 
 Oh! will that wakening make us glad? 
 Or when by that long sleep forsaken, 
 
 Shall we eternally be sad? 
 
 How often we had rather sleep, 
 Than waken to the things we know; 
 
 But, Lord forbid that we should weep, 
 When the eternal morn shall glow. 
 
 O — () 
 
 ALONE IN A CROWD. 
 
 In the crowded city he wanders there along. 
 Listening to the voices proceeding from the 
 
 throng; 
 In the passing faces many a look bestows. 
 To see if there are traces of anyone he knows. 
 
 Though in a crowded city he feels he's all alone, 
 Though many do pass by him there's none that 
 
 he has known. [Friend, 
 
 So in his lonely heartache he turns to the one 
 Whose omnipresence always with loneliness 
 
 will blend. 
 
THE LOVELY WOULD. 
 
 THE LOVELY WORLD. 
 
 Oh ! what a lovely world is this, 
 
 In which we sinners dwell; 
 It fills our hearts with silent bliss, 
 
 That makes our bosoms swell. 
 
 We read, God cursed the ground for man, 
 
 Because he disobeyed, 
 And spoiled his first original plan, 
 
 That he for man had laid. 
 
 But on the briers and brambles is 
 
 FqU many a blessing hung, 
 In shape of fruit that we would miss. 
 
 Since we've its use begun. 
 
 While picking berries black and red, 
 
 Then oft to me occurs 
 What we have in Scripture read, I 
 
 About the first great curse. 
 
 Not only lasciou^ things to eat. 
 
 But lovely things for sight, 
 Come from the ground beneath our feet, 
 
 Drawn by the sun's warm light; 
 
 The tender grass blade peeping through. 
 
 The early spring to see, 
 And many flowers of varied hue. 
 
 Breathing perfumery. 
 And, Oh! so many beauties spring 
 
 From plowed land and from sod; 
 
THE LOVELY WOULD. : 
 
 It seems the smiling face they bring, 
 And perfumed breath of God. 
 
 And from the unturned ground also, 
 
 Beneath the forest trees, 
 Are honey-laden flowers that grow. 
 
 Found by the honey bees. 
 
 And birds and beasts, and fish that swim. 
 
 All for man's pleasure are; 
 Or else for profit unto him, 
 
 With other things at par. 
 
 And cattle on a thousand hills, 
 
 That in green pastures li<^: 
 Rivers, brooks, and little rills, 
 
 Their thirsty need supply. 
 
 How can we mention all the fruit 
 
 Upon the trees that grow^ 
 Or all the many blessings mute 
 
 God doth on man bestow? 
 
 'Tis true the weeds and briers grow, 
 
 And insects too are born; 
 So man his labor must bestow, 
 
 To raise his fruit and corn. 
 
 But he it was that brought the curse 
 
 Upon God's world so fair. 
 And thankful he should be that worse 
 
 Is not on him to bear. 
 
1 WANT XO NEEDLE.SS EXPENSE. 
 
 The lovely rose has its sharp thorn, 
 
 To pierce the sinner's hand, 
 To bring unto his mind the scorn 
 
 Shown to the Lord's command. 
 
 ^If blessings like a 'whelming flood 
 
 For sinners here are spread, 
 What must it be where dwells the good, — 
 Where there's no curse to dread ? 
 
 The part of the original curse, 
 Which said that man should die, 
 
 Ought not to be considered worse 
 Than going home on high. 
 
 For Christ with sin and death did cope 
 
 Upon the cursed tree; 
 And through his work and death we hope 
 
 To gain the victory. 
 
 I WANT NO NEEDLESS EXPENSE. 
 
 Pray bury my body most neatly. 
 But I want no needless expense. 
 
 Because I can sleep just as sweetly. 
 Without modern extravagance. 
 
 But if flowers are at hand and profuse. 
 Why, of course, I do not object 
 
 To their sweet and most beautiful use. 
 To show unto me some respect. 
 
8iy. 75 
 
 But, remember, I want no poor one 
 
 To think, when their dear ones should die. 
 
 They would not be able to put on 
 The style then in which I would lie. 
 
 But, Oh, let me be dead, dead, sure! 
 
 Oh, do not bury me alive! 
 For that would be awful to endure;— 
 
 The thought I can scarcely survive. 
 
 The darkest word to mortals known, 
 
 The word that holds the curse of earth, 
 That causes every sigh and moan, 
 
 And gives to hate and envy birth ; 
 That did with human race begin, 
 
 And follows on with bated breath, — 
 It is the little word called Sin ; 
 
 Its wages is the sinner's death. 
 
 We sin against our bodies oft, 
 
 And then we have to suffer pain. 
 Our friends' advice we may have scoffed, 
 
 And for the scorn are hurt again. 
 We sin against our conscience more, 
 
 And then we lose our rest and sleep ; 
 For guilt will make the heart so sore 
 
 ' Tis hard the secret sin to keep. 
 
.SIX. 
 
 We sill against our neighbors too, 
 
 And wisli them harm, and do them wrong; 
 And oft before the strife is through, 
 
 We suffer for our clattering tongue. 
 This little word, witli its false charms, 
 
 Doth often into ruin draw. 
 And folds within its poisoning arms. 
 
 Those who despise God's holy law. 
 
 Its charms are varied in display, — 
 
 8ome in the wine cup, red and bright, 
 Some at the gambler's table play, 
 
 Till gain and loss make fools to fight. 
 Then murderous knives are used to slay 
 
 The victims of sin's luring charms. 
 And pain and death they get for pay ; 
 
 That's one of many ways sin harms. 
 
 Other charms are hid in smiles 
 
 That flit across a woman's face, 
 And often, with their sinful wiles, 
 
 Lead men to shame and deep disgrace. 
 And then, the flattering lies that men 
 
 May tell unto the weak and fair. 
 To lead them into sin, and then 
 
 Leave them to mourn in sad despair. 
 
 Too numerous are the ways of sin 
 For us to count, or tell about ; 
 
 ' Tis useless for us to begin 
 To try to find its blackness out. 
 
LV VE. 
 
 But this we know from sacred word, 
 That every sin which we commit. 
 
 They are against our blessed Lord, 
 And make us for his home unfit. 
 
 But sin is not to fill this land, 
 
 And rule this earth from pole to pole. 
 For heavenly Love's strong, mighty hand 
 
 The waves of sin can backward roll. 
 And love that's scattered here and there. 
 
 Like salt preserves from ruin quite. 
 Poor victims of sin and despair, 
 
 That would be lost in endless night. 
 
 Had not such mighty Love stepped in 
 
 His heavenly passion to display. 
 And show the sneaking tyrant. Sin, 
 
 He shall not have his own dark way. 
 For in due time, so we are told, 
 
 Th<e devil, 8in, his wages, death. 
 Shall in the burning lake be rolled. 
 
 To try the fiery brimstone bieatli. 
 
 The sweetest word to^mortals known. 
 In peasant's hut or kingly throne. 
 The word that is of all most dear, 
 To human heart or human ear. 
 
In eartli l>eneatli. or lieaveii above. 
 ■ Is tlie enclianting word of Love. 
 
 Poets sing of tb^ word motlier, 
 
 That above it there's no other: 
 
 Hut love gives that dear word its oharinHV 
 
 And folds us in he^r loving arms. 
 
 Again of home tlie poet siBgs, 
 
 And tells ns of the .joys it brings. 
 
 Yesv bonne's a word that's very dear. 
 
 It* love isliovering always near. 
 
 But what is life, home, or mother^ 
 
 If we love not one another? 
 
 The joys of love cannot be told, 
 
 Nor bought with shining links of gold : 
 
 As when two lovers meet in bliss. 
 
 To seal their 'trothal with a kiss ; 
 
 But what to them, in after life, 
 
 When they walk forth as husband, wife. 
 
 Would be this road of toil and pain, 
 
 Did not true love in triumph reign 'i 
 
 From north to south, from w est to east. 
 
 Tills love is felt by man and beast ; 
 
 It is the binding link of earth, 
 
 Tliat makes this life of any worth. 
 
 But, ah ! on earth it's mixed with dross. 
 
 And though it's pure, it suffers loss ; 
 
 For it a little flame may be, 
 
 Struggling with sin and misery. 
 
LOVE. "TQ 
 
 And when it's tried its very best 
 To warm some cold, nngratefnl breast, 
 The labor oft has proved in vain, 
 And love has felt a piercing pain. 
 
 As when on earth the k^aviour walked. 
 
 And with poor sinners moved and talked, 
 
 His linman natnre felt distress, 
 
 His heavenly power then won Id l)less. 
 
 It mattered not if fritMid or foe; 
 
 He loved to lighten hnman woe. 
 
 The blackest sinners heVl not shnn, 
 Bnt oft their hearts to goodness won. 
 'Twas heavenly love, unmixed with dross, — 
 He proved it thus upon the cross. 
 But earthly love is sometimes low. 
 When buried 'neath some earthly woe: 
 Or crusted o'er, with hardened sin, 
 'Tis hard to know it lives within. 
 But when it's mixed with sin and woe. 
 Is it contaminated ( No. 
 Where'er we find it, it is pure. 
 And, Oh ! we wish it might mature. 
 From steamlets into ocean's wave, 
 Where all would drink, and in it lave 
 Then none would feel above the other ; 
 We all would love and trust each other. 
 If sin should make some weak ones fall, 
 The tide of love would catch t^iem all. 
 
80 Tim OLf) NOTiSE'S LAMENT. 
 
 ItB gentle waves would bear them on. 
 Until their stains of sin were gone, 
 And it had found a place to rest, 
 Within their cleansed and grateful breast 
 
 When universal love is here. 
 We then will have no servile fear. 
 The souls beneath, and souls above. 
 Will mingle in a sea of love. 
 
 The heavenly wave of love will roll, 
 And fill this earth, from pole to pole. 
 We'll know it comes from heaven above^ 
 For love is God, and God is love. 
 
 < > — ( > ^ 
 
 THK OLD HORSE'8 LAMENT. 
 
 Oh ! do not strike such cruel blows, 
 
 Fm doing all I can ; 
 Have pity on a horse's woes, 
 
 For he's a friend to man. 
 
 Once I was handsome, young and spry. 
 
 My master's joy and pride, 
 And none could suit so well as I, 
 
 When he went out to ride. 
 
 I know 'twas many years ago. 
 
 Before my legs were lame ; 
 Then I could trot through mud or snow. 
 
 To me 'twas all the same. 
 
TJfE OLD HOU.SE'S LA ME AT. Kl 
 
 Oh ! do not strike my poor old bones, 
 
 They are so near the hide ; 
 I'll try to hobble o'er these stones, 
 
 If you'll with patience ride. 
 
 I cannot draw a heavy load, 
 
 My strength is almost spent, 
 And this is such a long, long road; 
 
 My legs are tired and bent. 
 
 Oh I do not strike me when you know 
 
 That I've had naught to eat. 
 'Tis liard to make this wagon go 
 
 Upon the muddy street. 
 
 I tried to eat the tall dry grass 
 
 Along the fence that grew ; 
 My teeth were over long, alas I 
 
 And that I could not chew. 
 
 I wish you'd send me off to France, 
 Where they eat fat horse meat, — 
 
 For then I'd have a little chance 
 To get all I could eat. 
 
 'T would be so pleasant once again, 
 
 To have all I could eat ; 
 Fd try to toss my poor thin mane. 
 
 As when I was so fleet. 
 
 Twould make me think of days that's gone, 
 When I was young and gay, 
 
 G 
 
FIDDLES IN THE CHUIICIL 
 
 Before my teeth had grown too long 
 To eat the new-mown hay. 
 
 Oh ! if you're bound to strike me so, 
 
 Pray hit me on the head, 
 For 'tis no further I can go. 
 
 'Tis time that I was dead. 
 
 -o — o- 
 
 FIDDLES IN THE CHURCH. 
 
 (by request.) 
 I WENT to church one Sabbatli night, 
 And there I saw a curious sight, — 
 A sight I never thought to see 
 In places of divinity. 
 
 Two things I never would allow 
 A place within my house, I vow ; 
 So how, I wonder, did they dare 
 To have them in the house of prayer ? 
 
 With a long stick on each they sawed, 
 Until all music was outlawed. 
 The large one stood upon the floor ; — 
 At every scrape it gave a roar 
 Which made my senses nearly reel. 
 And then the smaller one would squeal. 
 
 At last they thought they had them right, 
 So pitched in sawing with their might. 
 And out there rolled a noise too queer 
 To be within a church, I fear. 
 
THE GBEAT COMMOTION. 83 
 
 I need a double store of grace, 
 To know which was in the wrong place — 
 Those fiddles in the house of prayer, 
 Or I to be in with them there. 
 
 For if they keep on at this rate, 
 I may find out when it's too late, 
 They've given every one a chance 
 To get upon the floor and dance. 
 
 Oh ! for the days now passed away, 
 When Methodists knew how to pray. 
 And preach, and speak, and even sing, 
 Without an instrumental thing 
 To groan and squeal with all its might, 
 As if in church it had a right. 
 Until it drowns out every word 
 We try to sing unto the Lord. 
 
 Tve been to church for many a year, 
 And used to sing without a fear 
 That I would be too fast or slow, 
 But now it's hard for me to know ; 
 For I can't hear a thing they say, 
 Because such plaguey things they play. 
 
 THE GREAT COMMOTION. 
 
 What can be this great commotion, 
 That's spreading through the land ? 
 
^■^ THE GREAT ('OMMOTIOX. 
 
 Seems a battle is in motion, 
 In every clime and strand. 
 
 Can it be that Gog and Magog 
 Their battle have begun ? 
 
 For it seems we're in a fog, 
 All over 'neath the sun. 
 
 Does the evil genius feel 
 The time is drawing nigh, 
 
 When his mighty power will reel. 
 And he will have to fly i 
 
 And is he doing all he can 
 
 To show his cruel hate 
 For every struggling soul of man, 
 
 Before it is too late 'i 
 
 Has he the power to cause the flood, 
 And make the cyclone blow? 
 
 Is he the one that draws the blood 
 Which does so often flow 
 
 From victims of the murderer's knife, 
 From accident and storm ? 
 
 Is he the coward that takes the life, 
 From such weak crawling worms ? 
 
 Has he the cruel source of pain ?— 
 The power to chill then burn ? 
 
 Can he cause loss and prevent gain ? 
 To those who work to earn ? 
 
THE GREA T ( VJIMOTJOX. 85 
 
 And does he enter in the hearts 
 
 Of some he may select, 
 And work upon their better parts, 
 
 Till evil takes effect ? 
 
 And instruments they then become, 
 
 In his black, cruel hand. 
 That deals to men the cursed rum, 
 
 Which curses all the land? 
 
 And while poor fools the poison quaff, 
 
 From his foul fiendish claw. 
 Does he then in derision laugh 
 
 About his license law ? 
 
 Are capital and work alike 
 
 Both under his control ? 
 Is he the father of the strike. 
 
 To stop the wheels that roll ? 
 
 He's father of all lies we know, 
 
 So must be of all shame. 
 And of all forms of mortal woe, 
 
 Too numerous to name. 
 
 But is he monarch of all things ? 
 
 Do all to him belong? 
 No, thank the Lord ! his fall begins 
 
 Because his work is wrong. 
 
 As God did bound the ocean bold. 
 And staid its waves so proud, 
 
86 THE iiUEAT COMMOTLOK. 
 
 Within the place he made to hold 
 Its waters roaring loud ; — 
 
 So evil genius He can hold 
 
 With one Almighty Hand ; 
 Yov in the Bible we are told 
 
 He Satan did. command 
 
 That he should spare Job's life from death 
 
 O'er that he'd no control, 
 For that was God's own living breath, 
 
 And formed Job's living soul. 
 
 So only by permission can 
 
 Bold Satan lay his hand 
 Upon the precious life of man, 
 
 While roaming through the land. 
 
 Then spiritual life, that's dearer far 
 
 To God and his dear Son, 
 The evil genius dare not mar, 
 
 For that and God are one. 
 
 But we believe the day is near. 
 When we shall see the Lord ; 
 
 We feel his presence now is here, 
 According to his word. 
 
 For are there not so many things 
 That do his presence prove ? — 
 
 As from kind Charity there springs 
 So much that is of love. 
 
THE GREAT VOMMOTIoy. I 
 
 Sisters of mercy spend their lives, 
 
 In caring for the weak, 
 Instead of hoping to be wives. 
 
 And worldly pleasure seek. 
 
 There's homes and hospitals, wide gates 
 For those that need good care ; 
 
 Asylums where unfortunates 
 Some sympathy may share. 
 
 How are the sick ones healed by prayer, 
 
 If Jesus is not here 
 To show the suffering ones they share, 
 
 His presence now so near? — 
 And that it is his garment's hem 
 
 That gives the magic touch 
 That sends the stream of health to them, 
 
 Which they have needed much. 
 And how much consolation's sent 
 
 To "shut ins," we can't see ; 
 There's time and money for them spent, 
 
 Through heavenly sympathy. 
 The world is growing kinder now ; — 
 
 The day is drawing near, 
 When every knee to Christ shall bow. 
 
 And we shall see him here. 
 For, Oh ! so many things of worth 
 
 Seem working for reform ; 
 It seems that Jesus is on earth. 
 
 His people's hearts to warm. 
 
88 TJIE G HE A T ( VMMO TIO K 
 
 And knowledge too makes^ a great sweep, 
 
 To cover all the earth, 
 As waters cover the great deep, 
 
 From south unto the north. 
 
 The power of steam has wonders done, 
 
 But electricity 
 Is working wonders 'neath the sun, 
 
 That we ne'er thought to see. 
 
 Why try to mention wonders great, 
 All spreading through the land. 
 
 Now knowledge opens the flood-gate. 
 And marches on so grand? 
 
 Why try to mention all the good 
 
 That's spreading through the world ? 
 
 That too shall soon become a flood ; 
 Then evil shall be hurled 
 
 Away to sink where it belongs, — 
 
 Into oblivion ; 
 Then the released will raise their songs, 
 
 And bid their fears begone. 
 
 The roaring lion dieth hard. 
 
 While seeking to devour ; 
 He knows his way will soon be barred. 
 
 And he will lose his power. 
 
 He knows the day is drawing nigh 
 When he shall wear his chain ; 
 
tiie:s\ ^ 
 
 And so all good he doth defy. 
 That he his end may gain. 
 
 So he is fighting with his might. 
 
 And evil doth increase : 
 But Christ will put his foes to flight 
 
 And bid his warfare cease. 
 
 Christ^s leaven is amongst us now, 
 
 And working in the meal ; 
 And soon to him each knee shall bow, « 
 
 And all his pre^nce feel. 
 
 So wrong must all go down at last, j 
 
 For right shall conquer all, ^ 
 
 When the archangel's trumpet blast 
 Bids Babylon to fall. 
 
 We lived in houses made of logs, 
 And listened to the croaking frogs. 
 And the mosquito's sing-song squeal, 
 Until his stinging bite weM feel ; 
 And then we'd give an angry slap, 
 When he our quivering flesh would tap. 
 
 One room did often answer all 
 The purposes, both great and small, 
 Of kitchen, dining-room, and shed, 
 Also a place to go to bed. 
 
IM) THEN. 
 
 A great deep fire-place made of stone, 
 In which long wood by armfuls thrown, 
 Made flickering blazes low or tall. 
 Drawing dark pictures on the wall. 
 Andirons looking very bold. 
 Standing there the wood to hold. 
 The swinging crane and the pot-hook 
 Held o'er the fire the things to cook. 
 
 And on a sweltering summer day, 
 A quilt was hung in front, to stay 
 The heat from spreading to the bed, 
 Where some one sick might be near dead. 
 Chimneys were built of mud and sticks, 
 Instead of lime and bright red bricks. 
 
 Our summer fire we'd mostly keep, 
 
 By burying down in ashes deep ; 
 
 But when that fire we chanced to lose, 
 
 The flint and steel we'd have to use, 
 
 With tinder-box and home-made match, 
 
 A spark of fire try to catch. 
 
 And when the wintry winds would blow, 
 
 Whirling round the sifting snow. 
 
 The back-logs then were brought in play. 
 
 To keep the fire both night and day. 
 
 The furniture was plain and scant, 
 
 But it was all we then could want. 
 
 And suited well the style, the room. 
 
 And floor well swept by the splint broom. 
 
TME^\ m 
 
 The cross-legged table :8tood quite near 
 The one small window that would cheer 
 Us when w^'d have to shut the door, 
 'Cause winds would howl, and storms 
 
 would ixDar, 
 To hold it shut against th-e storm^ 
 And try to keep the house more warm. 
 We'd use a peg, or latch and string ; 
 In either case a wooden thing. 
 
 The bedstead with its posts so high, 
 With rope for springs on which to lie. 
 The trundle-bed which was so low. 
 Under that would have to go, 
 
 A patch- work quilt with colors gay. 
 Made in such homes a great display, 
 A little shelf quite near the bed, 
 Curtained round with something red, 
 Sufficed to hold the looking-glass. 
 And little trinkets made of brass. 
 
 The mantle-shelf, above the hearth. 
 Held candlesticks of little wortli. 
 The cupboard in one corner stood, 
 8ome of the dishes made of wood. 
 But those that reared upon the shelf, 
 Were the old common blue-edged delf. 
 
 And in the other corner, there's 
 A ladder in the place of stairs. 
 
\y2 THEN. 
 
 The Btools and chairs stood here and there 
 
 With perhaps a low rocking-chair, 
 
 To rock the babe when it would weep, 
 
 Until it closed its eyes in sleep. 
 
 A pine board cradle that stood near, 
 
 Then held the little one so dear. 
 
 And when the babe ''abroad" would go, 
 Its dress was made of calico. 
 It might be pink, or blue, or buff, 
 Most any hue was good enough. 
 
 Sometimes we'd get new tins so bright, 
 That we would hang them up in sight. 
 And these, with things on mantle-shelf, 
 With cups and saucers, blue-edged delf, 
 A few poor pictures, looking-glass. 
 And little trinkets made of brass, 
 ComiX)sed the ornaments that cheered 
 Most of the homes that then appeared. 
 Our Johnnie-cake we then baked in 
 An oven that was made of tin. 
 In kettle made of iron strong, 
 We baked our rye and ''Injun ''' long, 
 That it might be both moist and sweet, 
 8uch as the boys then loved to eat. 
 The tallow-dip was all the light 
 We had to use when it was night ; 
 And if we didn't (-lip the wick. 
 The light grew dim so very quick. 
 
In spring the maple tree? tlieyVl tap; 
 The big boys then would gather pap ; 
 The mothers boil it down and sew, 
 No matter how the wind would blow. 
 And when they sugared-off 'twas seen. 
 The children scraped the kettle clean. 
 
 The pretty maidens oft would sing, 
 As they walketl back and forth to spin. 
 And fluffy wool rolls, white and long. 
 They measured with their merry song. 
 Their instrument the bu/zing wlnn^l. 
 Accompanied by the home-made re*.d. 
 
 A jewB-harp, that's so simply made, 
 
 Was the first music that we played. 
 
 A mouth organ was something moxe. 
 
 And made our hearts almost adore 
 
 The god of music, that had sent 
 
 Such a lovely instrument 
 
 When from our friends we wished to luar. 
 
 It seemefl to take almost a year. 
 
 There was no way a word to get, 
 
 But write a letter, wait and fret, 
 
 Until an answer perhaps might come 
 
 Unto our distant woodland home. 
 
 A few who had a little more 
 
 Of this world's goods laid up in store. 
 
 Could add unto their house a room. 
 
 And purchase for themselves a loom. 
 
W TfTEN. 
 
 Then in that other room weVl hear 
 The treadles aird the bang so clear, 
 As home-made cloth was being wove, 
 The best that's fonnd where'er we rove, 
 Bnt Ave would have to hold our nose, 
 When they the blue dye would expose. 
 
 When girls went out to work a "spell," 
 
 They thought that they were doing well 
 
 Seventy-five cents a week to get ; 
 
 And at such wages they'd not fret ; 
 
 Although their wages would be less, 
 
 If they should have to mend their dress/ 
 
 But if good nursing they (*ould do, — 
 
 Could care for babe and mother too, — 
 
 Do all the work at every turn, — 
 
 Then they a "quarter" more could earn. 
 
 In either case they had to knit. 
 
 Or sew, or something, when they'd sit. 
 
 At night and morning help to do 
 
 The chores, until they all were through. 
 
 Old tins they scoured to make them shine. 
 
 For lark of ornaments more fine. 
 
 Ashes or sand was all the stuff 
 
 They had to use, and so they'd puff, 
 
 And sweat, and work, with a^I their might, 
 
 To make the old tin things look bright. 
 
 The leach set up, the lye run off. 
 That boiled with grease was good enough 
 
TlfEX. ^n 
 
 To eat the hands that washed the clothes, 
 As all who used it very well knows. 
 
 They had no need of dnmb-bells then. 
 To exercise the girls or men. 
 Were they discouraged ? No, not they. 
 They had to work, but loved to play. 
 80 had their sorrows and their joys, 
 Like present girls and present boys, 
 
 Small children then were easy pleased, 
 And for expensive toys ne'er teased. 
 As for such things, they never saw, 
 And scarce would know what they were for 
 For things now known as children's toys 
 Were scarcer than the girls and l^oys. 
 A rag doll. Or one made of wood. 
 Was loved and petted as if good 
 Enough for any princess fine. 
 Nor did they for a l)etter pine. 
 
 The bicycle of the small boy 
 
 A broom-stick was, to give him joy. 
 
 If Santa Clans came round at all, 
 
 Perhaps he'd bring a small yarn ball. 
 
 Covered o'er with bits of leathers, 
 
 Or a dough toy trinnned with feathers ; 
 
 Possibly a penny jews-harp, 
 
 With its tongue so long and sharp. 
 
 These with a meal of extra fare, 
 
 Would make a merry Christmas there. 
 
(^ THEX. 
 
 The boys caiid girls to school would go 
 A bout three months a year, or so, 
 To study DaybalFs ^' Vithmetic,'' 
 Until it nearly made them sick. 
 The spelling-book their reader was, 
 That told about the milk -maid's loss, 
 When she the chicks began to eount^ 
 Before from eggs they were hatched out. 
 Thoughts of her dress, and lover too, 
 Made her forget what milk would do. 
 She gave her head a sudden bend, 
 That brought her fortune to an end. 
 They'd read, spell, write, and do their sums. 
 And wear their teoks out with their thumbs. 
 
 The boys would sometimes try to boss 
 Their teachers, when they were too cross,. 
 And try to ''spark " the pretty girls. 
 That wore their hair in braids or curls, 
 So little chance had they to learn, 
 For they must work and help to earn 
 Something to help to get along. 
 When they had grown quite big and strong. 
 
 But while too small hard work to do, 
 'J'hey went to school the six months through. 
 And as some had quite far to go, 
 Sometimes in mud, sometimes in snow. 
 Their dinner in their pail they'd take. 
 Sometimes 'twas meat and Johnnie-c^ke. 
 
TBEX. 07 
 
 But when in summer-time they'd go, 
 With then- bare feet and dress-necks low, 
 They VI hurry on their pantalett, 
 Take to their heels, and there they'd get,— 
 Perhaps the gathers in a bunch, 
 (And in their pail the humble lunch,) 
 For drawers were scarcely known of then, 
 For girls, or women, boys, or men. 
 
 When the last day of school had come, 
 With joy tliey left their humble home : 
 For then they lioped to get a card, 
 To show they merited reward. 
 The words upon those cards were brief, 
 And in one corner perhaps a leaf. 
 'Twas little worth, but filled with joy 
 The heart of every girl and boy. 
 
 The boys with dogs would sometimes stroll, 
 Seeking for the woodchuck's hole, 
 Or in the woods would climb the trees, 
 To find tlie nuts, themselves to please. 
 And in the night the coon they'd catch, 
 Which for their dogs were most a match. 
 
 One home-made brace was thought enough 
 To hold the trousers that were rough, 
 But that were mostly rolled up high, 
 80 mud and rain they could <lefy. 
 
08 THEX. 
 
 For pastime, girls would sometimes go 
 Into the woods a mile, or so, 
 Seeking flowers and wild berries, 
 Crabs, thorn-apples, and wild cherries ; 
 Shaking from the wild plum tree, 
 Any plums there chanced to be; 
 Gathering grapes from the wild vine, 
 But never turning them to wine. 
 
 The husking-bee and spelling-school 
 Exposed the lover and the fool. 
 We'd "snap and catch'em'' parties too, 
 Where anything not wrong we'd do, — 
 A merry kiss to give and take, 
 For loving Cupid's gentle sake. 
 
 When farms had brought forth apple trees, 
 Then followed on the paring bees ; 
 And lovers then could have a chance 
 At needle's eye, or country dance. 
 
 When man and w^omanhood they reached, 
 No matter how the old folks preached 
 About the married troubles ample. 
 They would follow their example, — 
 Fall in love and then get married. 
 Proving that their point they'd carried. 
 
 Sometimes a man would come and pray, 
 And tell us of the narrow way ; 
 And then to "meetin' " we would go, 
 Dressed up so fine in calico. 
 
THEX. ' 99 
 
 They lived up to the Scripture then, 
 
 That saith unto the sons of men, 
 
 " Ho, every one that thirsts, come ye, 
 
 Gret water, milk, and wine soiree." 
 
 So no collection did they take. 
 
 To make the poor God's cause forsake. 
 
 When tlie weather was fair and warm, 
 They VI preach and pray in some log barn ; 
 Or perhaps among the forest trees, 
 Whert^ they couhl feel the summer breeze. 
 But when the weather wasn't fit, 
 Twas in a log school house they'd sit; 
 The men and boys sit on one side, 
 The girls and women try to hide 
 Their blushes, as the men would stare 
 At them while sitting opposite there. 
 
 And if it chanced to be at night, 
 Some tallow-dip.,A they'd take for light. 
 And when they'd start to sing old York, 
 The leader then would strike his fork. 
 There was no instrumental thing, 
 So we could hear each other sing. 
 
 Each one who remembers, knoweth 
 Then we had the glorious fourth. 
 We'd go to town some miles away, 
 And spend the livelong summer day. 
 There were no races to be won. 
 We'd meet our friends and have some fun. 
 
100 THEN. 
 
 Then hurry home and wonder why 
 We had observed the fourth of July. 
 
 The forest trees were oft cut down, 
 To clear the farms or build a town ; 
 The logs and brush all being burned. 
 And forests into plow-land turned. 
 The men would get some jerks and jumps, 
 While plowing 'mong the'solid stumps. 
 Such rough work was so hard to bear, 
 I fear it often made them swear. 
 
 In haying and in harvesting, 
 
 The women to the field would bring 
 
 8ome drink and lunch unto the men. 
 
 And they would rest, then work again 
 
 In the hot sun, until the sweat 
 
 Would make their clothes all wringing wet. 
 
 The women oft would stay awhile, 
 
 And help the men the sheaves to pile ; 
 
 Or raking after loads of hay. 
 
 As long as they had time to stay. 
 
 These and so many other things 
 Oft to our mind the past so brings, 
 We seem almost to pass again 
 Through joys and sorrows we had then. 
 The hollow button- wood smoke-house, 
 The corn-crib made to cheat the mouse, 
 The well, with oaken bucket bound 
 With iron hoops around and round, 
 
THEN. 101 
 
 Or else the well-hook and a pail, 
 To draw from source that didn't fail, 
 And bring up to the well-curb's brink, 
 The cool refreshing temperance drink. 
 
 And then there was a ' ' posy bed, '' 
 With posies that were pink and red, 
 French Marigolds and Bouncing Bet, — 
 We almost smell their fragrance yet ; 
 Sweet Williams, Bachelor Buttons too, 
 And they were mixed, red, white, and blue; 
 With many more we could report. 
 All were, of course, the common sort ; 
 But humming-birds and bees would come, 
 And sing to them their merry hum. 
 Gay butterflies would round them play, 
 In all the livelong summer day. 
 
 Sometimes a family went "abroad ; " 
 The oxen then were backed and hawed. 
 Hitched to a cart so they could ride ; 
 Two chairs for seats, not side by side. 
 But one in front and one behind, 
 So mother could the children mind ; 
 The father halloing "Haw, whoa, gee," 
 And off they'd go their friends to see. 
 
 And often in the evening shade. 
 With the mosquitoes they were plagued; 
 And when they would the torments smoke, 
 Big tears would run and they would choke ; 
 
But of two evils chose tlie least. 
 
 And let not "skeeters" have their feast 
 
 At the first peep of early light, 
 
 Sweet gentle sleep would take its flight ; 
 
 For flies would buzz on nose and eyes, 
 
 And so we then would have to rise, 
 
 Or cover up our head and feet, 
 
 And almost smother in the sheet. 
 
 When at the table we would sit, 
 
 It bothered us to get a bit 
 
 Of anything to eat, for they 
 
 About our mouths and hands would play. 
 
 They'd fill the house, or thereabout. 
 
 For we'd no way to keep them out. 
 
 Now these are samples of the ways 
 That things were done in early days. 
 I might run on a long string more, 
 But think I'd better now give o'er. 
 Sometime I may come back again. 
 And write about what happened ''Then,'' 
 But for this time I say. Amen, 
 
 We live in houses that are good, 
 Some made of brick, and some of wood, 
 And painted up in colors gay. 
 They differ from those passed away. 
 
TOM'. 1()3 
 
 For some of tliem have towers high, 
 
 Standing up towards the sky; 
 
 And roofs with humps on here and there, 
 
 To cover cupolas they rear 
 
 Upon the tops of houses now, — 
 
 For the old style they scarce allow. 
 
 Bay windows, porches, brackets, all 
 These are upon the outside wall ; 
 Other great windows by the score, 
 Nob, knocker, or bell for the outside door. 
 And other things of recent fame. 
 Many we scarce know how to name. 
 The style of houses plain has gone 
 With other things now passed along ; 
 For they are now both gay and grand. 
 As they are scattered through the land. 
 Both in the town and all around. 
 Where once the forest did abound. 
 
 The style inside is different too ; 
 
 With lack of rooms they have got through; 
 
 The single room, perhaps one more, 
 
 Has multiplied to near a score ; 
 
 And furnished up with such great cost, — 
 
 The old things in the garret tossed. 
 
 Tables that can be short or long, 
 
 And covered with a varied throng 
 
 Of silver, costly delf, and rings 
 
 For napkins, and so many things 
 
104 N0}}\ 
 
 Not being for the appetite, 
 They seem to old folks hardly right ; 
 For oriiauients and dishes far 
 More plentiful than viands are. 
 
 The bedsteads low, with head-boards high, 
 And springs on which the folks can lie ; 
 They've cushioned chairs, and couches too, 
 With springs that will for rockers do. 
 And for the babe, which still is dear, 
 A cushioned cab is standing near. 
 And when they take it in the sun. 
 Both silk and lace o'er it are hung. 
 
 In pioneer days of long ago, 
 
 The babes were dressed in calico. 
 
 Next mothers dressed their babes in white, 
 
 But now they think it is not right ; 
 
 For fashion says to them it's best 
 
 That they should all in black be drest. 
 
 This leads to think of one thing more 
 We'll mention, then the theme give o'er: 
 'Tis that the dead once wore white shrouds, 
 When they were laid beneath the mounds ; 
 But now it is in black they're drest, 
 When they are laid away to rest. 
 An organ or piano grand 
 In the best parlor takes its stand. 
 Brussells carpets on the floors, 
 Rich tapestry for parlor doors, 
 
xow. m 
 
 And mirrors that aire wide and tall^ 
 With lovely pictures, deck the wall. 
 In every place and corner round, 
 Fine ornaments are to be found. 
 So then it useless is to try 
 All the lovely things to spy. 
 
 There's screens for doors and windows too, 
 80 that the flies cannot get through 
 To plague folks when they eat or sleep, 
 For flies must at a distance keep ; 
 But, truth, there is one now and then. 
 That makes a dive and does get im 
 
 The carpet sweeper takes the place 
 
 Of the splint broom of the past race. 
 
 No more is seen the long well-sweep, \ 
 
 That drew the water then so deep, 
 
 Up to the well-curb^s wooden brink, 
 
 80 we could have a cooling drink. 
 
 But pumps or water- works supply 
 
 The tepid water when we're dry. 
 
 And so we call for ice, to cool 
 
 The water that comes from the pool, 
 
 ''Tis now a costly range must bake, 
 
 The bread, the pie, and the sweet cake, 
 
 Or of the baker-man they buy 
 
 Their bread, their sweet cake and their pie. 
 
 The pictures now are seen no more. 
 Upon the walL as heretofore. 
 
For ill the place of the bright blaze, 
 The house is warmed in other ways; 
 Perhaps by the parlor stove so bright, 
 Or else the furnace out of sight. 
 And now they needn't fret about 
 The fire, if it should go out, 
 For matches, that ignite at touch, 
 Are plenty, and they don't cost much. 
 
 Now there is little scouring done, 
 And what there is is more like fun. 
 For other things with scouring brick. 
 Make the brightness come so quick. 
 No more the lye and grease is used. 
 To make the soap that once abused 
 The hands of those that used the stuff, 
 That was considered good enough; 
 For other soap is now well known, 
 That washes clothes almost alone. 
 
 Light has progressed with other things 
 That's sailed upon progression's wings. 
 From tallow-dip with its dull light, 
 To fluid, gas, and kerosene bright. 
 But these are giving place, we see, 
 To that of electricity. 
 
 There's lovely things we see outside ; 
 They do not all within abide. 
 In door-yards, parks, and law^ns are seen 
 The shapely beds, bordered with green, 
 
Filled with costly shniby and flo\Yerts 
 Vines that climb th^ ^nmmer bowers. 
 Statues, monuments, and fountains, 
 Flowery globes, and flowery mountains; 
 Things we know not how to mention^ 
 Far too lovely for description. 
 Made of flowers, and things that grow, 
 Of darkest hue, or white as siiow. 
 They flutter in the gentle breeze, 
 Where once the giant forest trees 
 Were made to roar by tempest loud, 
 When to the mging winds they bowed. 
 
 But now the wind is la<len strong 
 With sweet perfume it bears along. 
 Now pretty maids tlieir musir play, 
 Or on the Uiwn they try croquet, 
 < )r do fancy work bewitching, 
 While mamma is in the kitchen ; 
 For since girls' wages now are high. 
 Some people have so hard to try 
 To do their work, and keep up style. 
 It keeps them planning all the while. 
 
 The boys and girlt* go to high scIkjoI, 
 And study by the writing rule. 
 And when they graduate from it. 
 For college then they think tliey're flt. 
 And that is where some of them go, 
 To learn there's far more yet to know. 
 
108 A'OJr. 
 
 And that the more they learn, the more 
 There is to learn, till life is o'er. 
 
 The young folks now would look with scorn 
 Upon the home-made cloth once worn. 
 But are they happier ? No, not they ; 
 For pleasure's found not in display; 
 - For when we dress fine as we will. 
 Some one will be dressed finer still. 
 
 Dumbbells are what the girl now tries, 
 When seeking health and exercise. 
 For pastime boys and girls now find. 
 So many ways to please their mind, 
 To name them all I need not try, 
 So let them mostly all pass by. 
 Except the whirling wheels that go, 
 Flying here and there, to and fro. 
 They do not have to eat at all, 
 So ready at a moment's call 
 To take their riders far or near, 
 They feel no tire, and have no fear. 
 
 The glorious fourth has passed away, 
 For it is now a racing day. 
 There's money for that purpose raised. 
 One horse run down, another praised. 
 And then, of course, some men will bet 
 That this or that the prize will get. 
 And all day long they're racing round, 
 Upon the water or the ground. 
 
But then within those latter dayf^. 
 The nation's running in such ways, — 
 Men vote to have their party win. 
 No matter if 'tis full of sin ; 
 And bet on that at any cost, 
 And when they find their bet is lost, 
 8ome of them take a hurried slide 
 On the toboggan, suicide. 
 
 There's one old custom still the same. 
 It is that girls will change their name ; 
 For they will marry, if they can 
 Find, to their mind, a nice young man 
 Who can get a suite of parlors 
 Somewhat better than their mother's ; 
 For scarcely will the girls allovt^ 
 Love in a hut or cottage now. 
 
 To curious dances now they go, 
 The ladies' dress-necks very low, 
 With sleeves so short and skirts so long. 
 And dragging as they move along, 
 In danger of their partner's feet, 
 Though trimmed and ruffled up so neat 
 But as they drag most all behind. 
 They face each other, arms entwined. 
 And round the room they dance and whirl: 
 'Tis hard to tell a wife from girl. 
 Perhaps that's why the law's in force 
 That giveis a chance for a divorce. 
 
III sucli extra viigaut times as tliese. 
 "Tis hard the siiiaHer chihl to ph^a^e. 
 For now \\w. ohiklreuV costly toys 
 More nuinerons are than ^rls and l)oys\ 
 And when old Santa Clans comes now, 
 It seems lie scarcely can tell liow 
 1\) make tlie children satisfied. 
 For they have now so much supplied. 
 
 'IMiey've pictures, books, and toys complete. 
 
 Pine things to wear, and much to eat, 
 
 Christmas is but a little touch 
 
 Ot* variations, with the much 
 
 Of everything? that they have now, 
 
 So to be pleased tliey scarce know liow: 
 
 For desire anticipated 
 
 Oft is unto scorn related, 
 
 And in childhood it may be 
 
 Seen, at least in some degree. 
 
 Folks do not now to '' meetin' '' go, 
 Hut to ''church/' I supp(^)se you know ; 
 Dressed in velvet, silks, and laces, 
 Little vails to hide their faces. 
 They sit in churches that are grand. 
 Bid oft in debt these churches stand ; 
 With l>eU and belfry, steeple tall, 
 The ceiling high above the wall 
 Makes echoes all aiound our head. 
 Till it is hard to hear whaFs said. 
 
XOW. Ill 
 
 And now an instrumental thing 
 The singers have to help them sing. 
 And when that instrument they play, 
 And sing in their new-fangled way, 
 It seems there must be something wrong, 
 Or that they use an unknown tongue. 
 
 Sometime before they get all through, 
 
 A certain man, or maybe two, 
 
 Goes round to gather in the mites. 
 
 To pay for keeping up the lights, 
 
 Which do the tallow-dip outshine. 
 
 Within the liouse of the Divine, 
 
 Now when a family takes a ride, 
 
 A covered rig they must provide. 
 
 And horses that are quick to go. 
 
 In these fast times, if aught were slow, 
 
 It is so far from modern style, 
 
 The sought-for pleasure it would spoil 
 
 And when five hundred miles or so. 
 They wish or really have to go, 
 They get on board the railway train, 
 And soon their wish or want obtain. 
 
 And if a message they would send 
 
 To a relation, or a friend. 
 
 The telegraph is now close by, 
 
 And it will make the message fly. 
 
 The telephone is also here, 
 
 To talk to those that are not near. 
 
And if you want to talk or langli 
 
 When yon ar^ dead, the plioiiograpb 
 
 Will help yoo to that wonder do 
 
 If yon will let yonr voice pass through. 
 t 
 The fanner rides to plow, drag, drill, 
 
 For that's the way the land they tilL 
 
 And when the harvest work comes on. 
 
 They ride and sing a Bierry song. 
 
 For the loarhlnery it will do. 
 
 What men so often, sweltered through, 
 
 ^ as to> farn^ing in this day. 
 
 Much tiref^onie work is done away ; 
 
 For horse or team, with the machine,. 
 
 Boon licks the hay and grain fields clean 
 
 It seeniks that these will pass away, 
 
 And electricity gain the day. 
 
 Now .•\]vpnmB'& help no more is sought, 
 
 That's passed into the land of naught. 
 
 But it is useless in these days, 
 
 To try to find out all the ways 
 
 And wonders of this great tinie, Noii\ 
 
 Which does the possible allow. 
 
 So I no more the task will try, 
 
 lint stop right here, and say, Goodby, 
 
GOOD-BYE OLD HOUSE. V13 
 
 GOOD-BYE OLD HOUSE. 
 
 Good-bye old house, for we must part, 
 And though you have no beauty^ 
 
 It makes our memory feel a smart, 
 For well you've done your duty. 
 
 And if, perhaps, as now appears, 
 
 We like our new abode. 
 We thank you for the many years, 
 
 Of shelter you bestowed. 
 
 THE OLD LOG HOUSE'S LAMENT. 
 
 TheyVe left me here to waste and fall, 
 Those that were once my friends. 
 
 They live in that proud mansion tall, 
 And thus my comfort ends. 
 
 They built me many years ago, 
 A shelter from the storm. » 
 
 And from the chilly winds that blow, 
 I kept their household warm. 
 
 And when the blizzard raged outside, 
 
 And made the forest roar. 
 They almost felt a wave of pride, 
 
 Within my sheltering door. 
 
 Beneath my humble roof was spread 
 Their table day by day, 
 
114 THE OLD UMi HOJSES LAMENT. 
 
 On which they ate their daily bread, 
 With naught we call display. 
 
 Their children laughed, and talked and 
 Upon my broad board floor, [played, 
 
 And many a little toy was made, 
 And Avent out of my door. 
 
 The years rolled by, time flew apace, 
 
 And so the children grew ; 
 They "grew in stature and in grace," 
 
 And each their duty knew. 
 
 The boys would help their. father chop, 
 
 And log the fallen trees; 
 The girls would help their mother mop. 
 
 And shell the garden peas. 
 
 The mother and the girls could see 
 
 My w^all of logs so rough; 
 With paper then they covered me, 
 
 And thought me good enough. 
 
 Well, one spring day there came a lad. 
 
 From many miles away. 
 And if my heart could have been sad. 
 
 It would have been that day. 
 
 For he spied her, I mean the oiie 
 
 That moved about me nights. 
 When all the rest to bed had gone, 
 
 To put all things to rights. 
 
THE OLD LOG HOUSE'S LAMENT. 11.' 
 
 And when a lew more months had gone, 
 
 The lad cume back again, 
 And took away the gentle one, 
 
 And left our hearts in pain. 
 
 So thus was broken the family chain. 
 That binds to home's sweet pleasures, 
 
 Then others came, once and again, 
 And took away our treasures. 
 
 Beneath my lowly roof have stood 
 'J'hree grooms with each a bride, 
 
 And then the table groaned with food, 
 To make all satisfied. 
 
 The children all at last were gone, 
 To homes they called their own ; 
 
 Without a daughter, or a son. 
 The old folks lived alone. 
 
 And then they built yon mansion high. 
 
 Upon a good stone wall; 
 And if I could, I'd often sigh, 
 
 To think that I must fall, 
 
 And then be rolled into a' heap, 
 
 Be burned to ashes fine. 
 If this the harvest I must reap,* 
 
 What wonder 1 repine. 
 
 But, spare me, let m^ turn to earth. 
 That there may spring from me 
 
Uii THE FLY. 
 
 Something to show my second birth, -^ 
 Sweet flower, or noble tree. 
 
 Enough complaints ! I'll say no more ; 
 
 I know you'll do what's best. 
 So, then, I'll give my murmurings o'er, 
 
 And on your judgment rest. 
 
 THE FLY. 
 
 'Tis strange how stupid some folks are ! 
 
 Why can't they have more sense ? 
 "Why will they hold the screen ajar, 
 
 To talk, when they go hence. 
 
 Do they not know they can be heard, 
 Right through a wire screen, 
 
 And that we need not miss a word, 
 Of anything they mean ? 
 
 Oh, see ! My goodness ! there's a fly ! 
 
 I thought he'd get in here ! 
 He's on the window, way up high ! 
 
 There, now he comes quite near ! 
 
 Oh ! get a cloth, and kill him quick. 
 
 For he is bound to fly ; 
 The eight of him most makes me sick ; 
 
 I long to see him die. 
 
 Oh, dear ! he's got upon that cake, i 
 And if I strike him there, 
 
THE FLY. n: 
 
 I will the pretty frosting break, 
 And spoil it for the fair. 
 
 Again he's flying round the room, 
 
 To tantalize us so. 
 Perhaps I'd kill him with the broom, 
 
 If I could out there go. 
 
 But if I open the screen door. 
 
 And try the broom to get, 
 Why, then, I might let in one more, 
 
 To make more bother yet, 
 
 Oh, there ! IVe knocked him on the floor; 
 
 I wonder if he's dead. 
 Oh, no ! he spreads his wings to soar, 
 
 But I will on him tread. 
 
 Well, now you've killed him, and I think 
 
 That you are very brave; 
 You never let your courage shrink, 
 
 Till he was in the grave. 
 
 I think you're brave enough to fight 
 
 A terror-stricken mouse, 
 If ever one should come in sight. 
 
 Of this fly-haunted house. 
 
 But you are tired almost to death, 
 
 A tearing round the room ; 
 So now sit down and take your breath, 
 
 While I your courage boom. 
 
HJ^ WALL.S OF CliEEl), 
 
 But liere's a mouse ! Oh, hear her shriek ! 
 
 She climbs into a chair, 
 Holds her skirts tight around her feet, 
 
 And thinks she's safe np there. 
 
 The cat then came to her relief, 
 
 And did her life defend. 
 The struggle was so very brief, 
 
 My fun came to an end. 
 
 WALLS OF CREED. 
 
 Five churches in one little town 
 
 Seems foolishness to me ; 
 It seems that they are for renown, 
 
 More than for piety. 
 
 For they should on one level be, 
 
 Upon one precious stone ; 
 And they should join in unity, 
 
 And not each stand alone. 
 
 Each of them claims one Fatherhood, 
 
 And by his hand supplied ; 
 And each should claim the brotherhood, 
 
 That never should divide. 
 
 They all agree in every thing, 
 
 That of vital import seems. 
 From which all saving power does spring. 
 
 And hope of heaven gleams. 
 
WALL.S OF ChEEV. 119 
 
 They must believe God loved the world, 
 
 And gave his only Son, 
 To have the powers of darkness hurled, 
 
 And the great victory won ; — 
 And that if they to heaven should get, 
 
 Upon that golden sea, 
 Surrounded by the walls all set 
 
 With precious jewelry ; — 
 That they will have to mingle there, 
 
 And come in close contact. 
 Then why afraid to mingle where 
 
 The Saviour should attract i 
 
 Why build such high and flimsy walls 
 
 Oi little cobble-stone, 
 Or shut within the churches' halls. 
 
 Treasures they all should ow^n 
 Together as one family, 
 
 Upon Grod's great footstool, 
 That they might all instructed be. 
 
 As in one common school 'i 
 
 These walls of dogma, and of creed, 
 
 Are all a stumbling-block 
 To others that have such great need, 
 
 To stand upon the Rock 
 Of ages, that foundation stone 
 
 That^s laid 'neath all the earth, 
 So every one a part can own 
 
 OUite eternal worth. 
 
120 WALL^ OF riiEJ^h. 
 
 But thanks to God, the mighty One 
 
 That's working for all good ! 
 He'll bid these tottering walls begone ; 
 
 Then righteousness shall flood 
 The places where they towered high, 
 
 In insignificance ; 
 And creeds and dogmas then will fly, 
 
 And hide in obscurance, — 
 Their natural and proper place. 
 
 Where they should aye abide, 
 And not, like vail on the bright face 
 
 Of Moses, always hide 
 The glories that are stored within 
 
 God's own true church below, 
 Until the ones outside begin 
 
 To wonder if 'tis so. 
 
 When righteousness shall undermine 
 
 And bid these walls begone, 
 The gospel then, that's love divine, 
 
 Will make all churches one. 
 And then shall cease the anxious strain, 
 
 That comes so often now, 
 T, The various churches to maintain, 
 
 By those who take their vow. 
 
 Then one large church, for comfort made, 
 
 And not for worldly show. 
 Would make the great expenses fade, 
 
 Now crowding people so. 
 
wall:s of creed. 121 
 
 And often in the open air. 
 
 As Jesus did on earth, 
 They'd preach, and sing, and offer prayer, 
 
 United by love's birth. 
 
 No need then of so many men, 
 
 To preach Grod's holy word, 
 For more can hear each preacher tlien, 
 
 Who tells men of the Lord. 
 
 For there will be no walls of creed. 
 And fewer church walls made. 
 
 To stop the words that would proceed 
 From those who preached and prayed. 
 
 And minds of those who speak and hear 
 
 Will be relieved from care 
 Of things that make church matters dear, 
 
 And hard for them to bear. 
 
 ^. More of God's poor will then be found 
 *- To listen to his word, 
 
 For no one then will go around 
 Collecting for the Lord. 
 
 For he has said, "Ho, come, come all 
 
 Ye thirsty, unto me ; 
 Oh ! come, obey my gracious call. 
 
 To living waters free. 
 
 And all ye hungry, also, come ; 
 For^ without money, I 
 
ri'l HALLS OF (REEV. 
 
 Will give to all the hviiigry Bome 
 Good bread to satisfy." 
 
 The rich, also, his word hath got : — 
 "Why spend your money in 
 
 All that which satisfieth not 
 Your longing hearts within ? '' 
 
 The ceremonial age is past, 
 And the cold age of creeds 
 
 And dogmas will not always last, 
 To sow its withering seeds. 
 
 No, praise the Lord ! there soon will be 
 
 A spiritual age of light. 
 Then love will set the sinner free, 
 
 And creeds no more will blight. 
 
 We think the dawning has begun ; 
 
 We feel the presence near ; 
 And soon the gates will wide be flung, 
 
 And Jesus will appear. 
 
 The signs show churches Protestant 
 Have now b^gun to blend ; 
 
 And soon may Catholics obstinate 
 Theii* views begin to bend. 
 
 Jesus will say, as once before, 
 
 Ye need no churches now. 
 Or any set place to adore, 
 
 Or pay to God your vow. 
 
KA LLS OF ( HEED. 1 23 
 
 For God is Spirit, and yon must 
 
 In spirit worship him. 
 For truth and love your Saviour trut^t. 
 
 Nor let your light grow dim. 
 
 Your Father oiiini present is, 
 
 In every place the same, 
 80 that his children may not miss 
 
 The glory of his najne. 
 
 The age is past in which God sai^l ^— 
 
 "' A house unto me build ; " 
 When Solomon the wisdom had 
 
 That liouse to build, and gild. 
 So that it was a type of what 
 
 God's temple ought to be. 
 Within the hearts of those wlio've got 
 
 His Spirit that makes free. 
 IVCore preachers then will work for flock, 
 
 Instead of woolly fleece, 
 And feel that they are on the Rock 
 
 That brings to Zion peace. 
 And for such preachers there is found 
 
 This Scripture promise sw^eet, — 
 And many others that abound, — 
 
 " How beautiful the feet 
 That bring glad news to Zion's gates.'' 
 
 Their need shall be supplied ; 
 God's blessing for such men awaits. 
 
 Because they hate vain pride. 
 
124 rVBi: WEDDED LOVE. 
 
 Goodwill to men, and peace on earth, 
 The heavenly Uost once sang, 
 
 To hail the infant Saviour's birth, 
 When gospel age began. 
 
 The song to hail the glorious age 
 That puts an end to creed,— 
 
 It should be sung from every page, 
 If it that age would speed. 
 
 And then of peace and unity 
 The heavenly host would sing ; 
 
 And tell us that eternally, 
 The glorious song will ring. 
 
 PURE WEDDED LOVE. 
 
 Pure wedded love, how sweet thou art, 
 
 From youth unto old age : 
 It seems of heaven thou art a part, 
 
 Deigned to this mortal stage. 
 
 Sometimes we feel thou'rt 'neath a load 
 
 Of labor and of care, 
 While traveling life's perplexing road, 
 
 But still, we know thou'rt there. 
 
 Thy reign produces confidence, 
 
 In husband and in wife, 
 The brightest gem, and influence. 
 
 Of pure and married life. 
 
A HYMN 125 
 
 How sweet will be continuance 
 
 Of thee, pure wedded love, 
 Away from earth's endurance, 
 
 When we shall live above, 
 
 ^Twas truly by the Saviour said, 
 None will in marriage be given^ 
 
 And none shall ever there be we<l. 
 When they arrive in heaven. 
 
 But that does not forbid pure love 
 
 Of every kind to reign, 
 When raised from earth to heaven above, 
 
 Far from all earthly stain, 
 
 < » — o — — 
 
 ■^m-% 
 
 A HYMN, 
 
 Father of life and light divine. 
 Give me one little spark to shine. 
 Through my remaining time below, 
 So I thy guiding hand may know. 
 
 Then if surroundings* should be dark, 
 I'll follow on by the bright spark; 
 Though obstacles around me are, 
 That guiding light shall be my star 
 
 Of hope, arising in my soul, 
 To keep my doubts in full control, 
 And save me from the haunting fears. 
 Which have distressed me many years. 
 
/I'lr IHFJ SHASOXS.^ 
 
 Oil, FatJier! hear my pleading crieh% 
 And let the little spark ariose ; 
 Then in the dark no more Fll roam, 
 For it will srnide U\e wanderer home. 
 
 (► — o — -— — - 
 
 THE SEASONS. 
 
 Spkix(t with its tender loveliness, 
 The ])irthday of the flowers. 
 
 Snimner with hnrning eagerness, 
 To show its mighty powers. 
 
 Calm Antnmn with its haziness. 
 
 And its abnndant store, 
 Qnite ready all mankind to bless, - 
 
 The wealthy and the poor. 
 
 And Winter with its hoary frost, 
 
 Its icy jewels bright, 
 Its old white locks, so often tossed 
 
 l^y sporting winds at night. 
 
 These seasons all resemble man, 
 From youtli nnto old age, 
 
 And there is beanty in the plan. 
 And in each various stage. 
 
E VEh Y DA Y. E VEEY DA Y. 127 
 
 EVERY DAY, EVERY DAY. 
 
 OjfCE J^sus said, and we believe, 
 'Ti^ not so blessed to receive, 
 As 'tis to give to those who need. 
 And help the hungry ones to feed. 
 And he has told us how we can 
 Do something for our fellow-man, 
 Every day, every day. 
 
 The millionaire his gold can give, 
 I'o help the starving ones to live. 
 The wealthy give their silver bright, 
 To help to make some burdens light. 
 Both these can give of their great store, 
 Homething to help God's w^orthy poor, 
 Every day, every day. 
 
 The laborer that is well and strong, 
 Can pennies give to help along 
 The aged, and the very poor, 
 Who have to beg from door to door. 
 And God will recognize the mite 
 That's given from a motive right. 
 Every day, every day. 
 
 And those who find it hard to live, 
 A cup of water cold can give. 
 And those too lame to get around 
 Where the ccld water can be found, 
 Can speak one pleasant word or more, 
 
Ji'S THE DYING SOLDIERS. 
 
 To hearts that trouble has made sore. 
 Every day, every day. 
 
 E'en those deprived of speech can smilet,.'^ 
 And some lone heart from gloom beguile. 
 A word, a smile, a friendly glance, 
 Is easy given to enhance 
 The little comfort some may know. 
 While traveling in a path of woe, 
 Every day, every day. 
 
 While journeying through life's weary land, 
 A friendly clasp of laboring hand 
 Oft some discouraged heart has cheered, 
 And drove away the phantom feared. 
 If in right motive they are given, 
 The birth-place of these mites is heaven. 
 Every day, every day. 
 
 < > — () — 
 
 THE DYING SOLDIERS. 
 
 Two soldiers, mortally wounded. 
 
 Lay on the battle-field. 
 Where loud cannon had resounded, 
 
 iVnd dying men had reeled. 
 
 One with his dark and handsome face. 
 
 Lay in his coat so blue, 
 His tall and manly form of grace, 
 
 Held the brave heart so true. 
 
Tift: DYLX.} SOLDIERS. IfV) 
 
 The other with his fair young face, 
 
 Asking for sympathy, 
 Seemed nearly to have run his race, 
 
 Of mortal agony. 
 
 Turning their heads as there they lay, 
 
 One saw the coat of blue ; 
 The other saw the coat of gray, 
 
 And so by that they knew 
 They had been enemies in war. 
 
 Then from the dark eyes sprang, 
 A glance, as from a blazing star ; 
 
 The other felt a pang. 
 And for a moment, in return, 
 
 The eyes of heavenly blue 
 Seemed with a blazing light to burn. 
 
 For he was brave and true. 
 
 But only for a moment did 
 
 The enmity have place ; 
 For they the thought of hate forbid, 
 
 Then peace spread o'er each face. 
 
 The dark brown eyes so tender grew. 
 The blue ones seemed to smile. 
 
 As the brave soldier dressed in blue, 
 Said, *' In a little while. 
 
 We'll be where there will be no war ; 
 No enmity we'll know ; 
 
 9 
 
lao TH?J DYlNd SOLDI EttS. 
 
 No roaring (-annon there will jar, 
 And make the blood to flow. 
 
 Twas war that made ns enemies, 
 
 But now we brothers are ; 
 Death is the one that remedies 
 
 The trouble that makes war. 
 
 So, brother, let me clasp your hand, 
 
 While we are on this shore; 
 For now, on Jordan's bank we stand; 
 
 Together w^e'll pass o'er.'' 
 
 The light of love shone in the eyes, 
 
 And on the smiling mouth. 
 As in the sunshine of the skies, 
 
 Found in the sunny south, 
 They clasped their hands, the fair one said, 
 
 '' Dear brother, fare-you-well." 
 The dark one raised his dying head, 
 
 Then in death's arms it fell. 
 
 The listener crawled out from a bush, 
 
 Witli his poor broken limb. 
 And saw the hands clasped in the hush 
 
 Of death, so dark and grim. 
 
 But peace was resting on each face ; 
 
 The agony was gone ; 
 As though a wave of Grod's free grace 
 
 Had borne their spirits home. 
 
A VTJ^MN LEA VES. 131 
 
 Oh, death ! thy equalizing power 
 
 No difference will allow ; 
 The friend and foe of life's short hour, 
 
 And all to thee nnist bow. 
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES. 
 
 The glorious autumn leaves so bright, 
 That seem to fill the world with light, 
 How they reflect the sun's bright ray, 
 l\\ every sunny autumn day. 
 And when the brilliant rays of sun 
 Are hid the lowering clouds among, 
 Bright autumn leaves can cheer us then, 
 Until the sun appears again. 
 
 How ]:)eautiful the colors seen, 
 That blend and mingle with the green. 
 The dark fir trees, so nearly black, 
 In places are a contrast, back 
 Of other trees, that seem to rest 
 ( )n them, in gold and silver drest. 
 The orange and the scarlet seen 
 As mingling with the lighter green, 
 All have a glorious hymn to sing, 
 To God, the universal King. 
 
 Their mission was to bless the earth ; 
 
 80 when the young Spring gave them birth, 
 
132 OLD AGE. 
 
 The gentle tint then proved to be 
 A pleasure for the eye to see. 
 The Summer sun the color drew, 
 Till it became a darker hue ; 
 But now the third shade and the last 
 A glory on the world doth cast. 
 Next they will fall unto the ground, 
 And soon on earth no more be found. 
 
 They've blessed the earth in their own way; 
 
 In spring they sang a tender lay; 
 
 In summer-time their leaves then made 
 
 A cooling and refreshing shade. 
 
 And ere they reach death and decay, 
 
 They give to earth another lay, — 
 
 They sing of heaven and its light ; — 
 
 For glorious are their colors bright. 
 
 So that which has a life as brief 
 
 As what we call a little leaf. 
 
 Can be to man known as a friend, 
 
 To show him how his life should end. 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 The hoary head's a glorious crown, 
 If worn with smiles instead of frown. 
 Lord, if old age shall be my lot. 
 Until my youth is all forgot. 
 Oh ! keep me from becoming cross. 
 And from the ways they call morose. 
 
OH CA RR Y ME BA CK. 1 33 
 
 If I should not have the best oare, 
 Oh ! help me patiently to bear 
 The lack of what my age might need. 
 Until I shall from wants be freed. 
 
 But if consistent with thy will, 
 I would retain my senses still, 
 Until I reach that land so fair, 
 Where I will need no mortal care, — 
 So I may have the power to show 
 Thanks unto those that may bestow 
 Some acts of kindness upon me, 
 When in my life's extremity. 
 
 But if thy will be otherwise. 
 
 And I should lose the sight of eyes. 
 
 My ears grow dull, my tongue be dumb, 
 
 And outwardly I should become 
 
 A wreck unto all mortal sight. 
 
 Still may my inmost soul be bright. 
 
 As natural life and senses fail. 
 May spiritual life and sense prevail, 
 Till from the chrysalis I rise 
 To endless youth beyond the skies. 
 
 — — — o — o 
 
 OH CARRY ME BACK! 
 Oh, carry me back ! oh, carry me back ! 
 
 To youth's bright happy shore ; 
 Oh, let me see ! oh, let me see ! 
 
 Life's brightest side once more. 
 
OJJ CAUHY ME JLUK. 
 
 I long once more for a little share 
 
 Of life's sweet morn, so free from care ; 
 So carry me back, so carry me back, 
 
 To youth's bright happy shore; 
 Where I can feel, where I can feel, 
 
 My toils and trials are o'er. 
 
 Oh, carry me back ! oh, carry me back ! 
 
 To youth's bright happy shore ; 
 Oh, take me there ! oh, take me there ! 
 
 Where I was known of yore. 
 
 I'm tired of the burden of life I bear ; 
 
 I long for the days of youth that were fair. 
 So carry me back, so carry me back, 
 
 To youth's bright happy shore, 
 Oh, let me have ! oh, let me have ! 
 
 The joys I knew before 
 
 They carried me from, they carried me from, 
 My youth's bright happy shore. 
 
 To where my heart, to where my heart, 
 Has grown quite old and sore. 
 I've drifted into the chilly years 
 Of anxious cares, of hopes, and fears. 
 
 But I cannot go, but I cannot go. 
 To youth again on earth. 
 
 I'll have to wait, I'll have to wait, 
 Until my second birth, 
 
 Before I find, before I find. 
 The long-lost youthful shore, 
 
MY XATIVE LA^'1). 135 
 
 Fm longing for, I'm longing for, 
 
 With feelings that adore. 
 
 "Fis then I'll joyfully find again 
 
 My youth, this time to eternally reign, 
 When death shall take, when death shall 
 
 Me to that youthful shore, [take, 
 
 Where none grow old, where none grow old. 
 
 And fear cold death no more. 
 
 For there's no pain, and there no tears, 
 
 To cause old age to come ; 
 They all are young, they all are young, 
 
 Within that glorious home. 
 
 Sweet fields and hills in living green. 
 
 And fadeless flowers there are seen, 
 In that bright land, in that bright land, 
 
 Where youth forever reigns, 
 And where the joy, and where the joy, 
 
 Of life for aye remains. 
 
 < ) — o 
 
 MY NATIVE LAI^D. 
 
 'Tis many times that I have wished 
 
 My native land to see. 
 Since I a little child was kissed. 
 
 Upon my mother's knee. 
 
 In fancy, I have often seen 
 The place where I was born, 
 
13f) MY NATIVE LAX.P. 
 
 The primrose in the meadows green, 
 The edge of flowery thorn. 
 
 I've often heard my mother tell 
 
 Of many beauties rare, 
 Of things I know I'd love so well. 
 
 If I were only there. 
 
 Breath of sweet flowers so fragrant, 
 
 That did on zephyrs float, 
 Of lovely birds that music sent. 
 
 So joyous from their throat. 
 
 Sometimes a memory will arise. 
 
 Like half-forgotten dreams. 
 Of things that met my childish eyes, 
 
 Far in that land, it seems. 
 
 So when I saw some pictures sent. 
 
 From England, far away. 
 My wandering thoughts to England went, 
 
 Where once I used to play. 
 
 And even yet, though long ago, 
 
 I can remember still, 
 How my young heart with joy would glow, 
 
 To walk up Bacon Hill. 
 
 Or by my loving mother's side, 
 
 To skip on grass so green. 
 To where my grandma did reside, 
 
 And kept in her tureen 
 
THE PAST. \rt 
 
 The rice pudding I loved so well, 
 
 Which she had kept for nie, 
 And other things I scarce can telL 
 
 For they are dim to see. 
 
 If disembodied spirits hover, 
 
 O'er this green earth abroad, 
 I may my native land discover, 
 
 Before I go to Grod, 
 
 THE PAST. 
 
 Roll back again, oh! wheels of time. 
 
 And let me once more see 
 The place v/here I was wont to cliudx 
 
 Upon my mother's knee. 
 
 Oh ! memory, spread thy wings and fly 
 
 To scenes almost forgot, 
 And bring them to my vision nigh,— 
 
 Those scenes of childhood's lot. 
 
 WE SEE THEE STILL. 
 
 Mother dear, we see thee still ; 
 ThouTt not within the cold grave hid. 
 The dust beneath the coffin lid 
 Was but the perfect molded shell, 
 In which thy spirit used to dwell. 
 We see thee still. 
 
13S WE SEE THEE STILL. 
 
 Mother dear, we see thee still : 
 Thy pleasant face we ne'er forget. 
 Thy gentle touch, we feel it yet. 
 We almost hear thy voice in prayer, 
 Pleading that we God's love may share. 
 We see thee still. 
 
 Mother dear, we see thee still, 
 Away back in the dreamy past, 
 Before our lot from thee was cast. 
 We see thee toiling for our good. 
 To keep us warm, and give us food. 
 We see thee still. 
 
 Mother dear, we see thee still, 
 And though later now in life, 
 Yet, mingling with the busy strife. 
 And anxious still care to impart, 
 With tender hand and loving heart, 
 We see thee still. 
 
 Mother dear, we see thee still; 
 But, ah! we fain would look away 
 From that sad sight, on that sad day. 
 When death, with sable wing out-spread. 
 Hovered o'er thy dying bed. 
 
 Ah! thus we would not see thee still. 
 
 But, mother dear, we see thee still, 
 Beyond this age of sin and pain. 
 Our lo^o i:-; thy eternal gain. 
 
FATHElf:S ANB MOTHERS PlVTVliES. 13\) 
 
 Thy soul has passed its second birth, 
 And met the loved ones gone from earth. 
 We see thee stilL 
 
 Mother dear, we see thee stilJ. 
 And when weVe passed onr second birth, 
 Beyond the stars, above this earth, 
 We hope to meet and know and love 
 Thee in tliat better home above. 
 Where all sad partings will be o'er, 
 And we shall see thee evermore. 
 We see thee stilL 
 
 LINES TO MY FATHER S AND MOTH- 
 ER'S PICTURES. 
 
 Dear shadows of much dearer forms, 
 
 When I upon you gaze, 
 The memory of past kindness warms 
 
 My heart with love's bright rays. 
 
 Those eyes that seem to look at me, 
 
 And follow where I go, 
 Are so much like the eyes I see, 
 
 Far in the long ago. 
 
 The words that once in love did flow 
 Seem trembling on your lips. 
 
 But I no more their sound will know, — 
 Death doth that sound eclipse. 
 
1 40 A I nTMN FLO WEBS. 
 
 Oh ! why did death, with sable wing, 
 Remove those forms so dear. 
 
 And leave me but the shades that bring 
 So oft the falling tear ? 
 
 Is there no hope that I once more, 
 May clasp those hands in love? 
 
 That when this trial life is o'er, 
 We'll meet and live above ? 
 
 Where spirit bodies will excel 
 The substance and the shade 
 
 Of earthly bodies, here that dwell. 
 From which such shades are made. 
 
 Oh, yes ! a whisper in my heart, 
 From faith and hope combined, 
 
 Tells me we'll meet and never part. 
 And then in truth we'll find 
 
 That from a God of heavenly love, 
 No earthly love would flow, 
 
 Unless he meant in heaven above, 
 An endless love should glow. 
 
 o — o 
 
 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 
 
 The autumn flowers that are sent 
 To lengthen summer scene, 
 
 Seem by our heavenly Father meant 
 To cheer us on between 
 
AVTVMX FLOWEBS. 141 
 
 The burning heat of summer sun 
 
 And winter's piercing cold, 
 So that it may not seem so long, 
 
 We'll have to be enrolled 
 
 Within the icy arms, so bare 
 
 Of summer flowers gay, 
 While winter's snowy robe so fair 
 
 Hides all such flowers away. 
 
 But after they have lost their bloom. 
 
 The fluffy furs remain. 
 To hold the snowy wreath, so gloom 
 
 May not in winter reign. 
 
 But things possessed of colors bright. 
 When blending with the snow. 
 
 Look lovely in the robe of white 
 C'Old winter doth bestow. 
 
 The sweet-brier berries' scarlet blusli 
 Shines through the snowy vail, 
 
 That gently falls at midnight hush. 
 When darkness doth prevail. 
 
 The evergreens that bend beneath 
 
 A load of blossoms white, 
 Which winter's snowy hands bequeath, 
 
 And scatter in her flight. 
 
 But wintry beauties, most divine. 
 In icy prisms are 
 
^42 FIXS. 
 
 Like those that in the rcainbow shine. 
 
 Or like a glittering- star. 
 The frost upon the window-pane, 
 
 That's traced so delicate, 
 In form of bnd, of flower, of grain. 
 
 All seems to indicate 
 
 The air is pregnant with the forms 
 
 That will retnrn so gay, 
 When Slimmer snn the cold earth warma 
 
 And drives the frost away. 
 
 So winter's not so innch to dread 
 As some won Id make it seem ; 
 
 'Tis like the state of the cold dead. 
 All laid away to dream, — 
 
 And then are to renew their lives, 
 Through the bright glorious 8nn 
 
 Of Righteousness, who life revives. 
 And bids cold death begone. 
 
 o — o 
 
 PINS. 
 
 Why I what becomes of all the pins ? 
 Tii3y do not soar away on w'n'^s. 
 A few of them are lost, then found, 
 But finally they reach the ground. 
 For all material things, we know, 
 Come from the ground and thither go. 
 
Tivo jcryos of selfishness. h: 
 
 While many things that pass away 
 Soon lose themselves in quick decay, 
 The pins must lie and slowly rust, 
 Before they turn again to dust. 
 
 By thousands, Iiundred, and by scores. 
 Lost in the street, and swept from floors, 
 'Tis wonderful more are not found 
 Upon tlie surface of the ground, 
 'Tis wonderful we do not feel 
 More of their little points of steel. 
 
 It seems there is a place below. 
 To whicli they all in silence go. 
 Like many other things of wortli, 
 That stay awhile to bless the eartli. 
 They do their mission here, before 
 They go away to come no more. 
 
 -<>—() 
 
 TWO KINDS OF SELFISHNESS, 
 
 There is a selfishness that's crude. 
 Whose nature's mean, and low, and rude, 
 For it's not been cultivated 
 In the things to good related. 
 
 It careth not for other's woes, 
 Nor self-denying gifts bestows. 
 No matter what may be the cav'^e, 
 Or how it may itself disgrace. 
 
n-t TWO KIXDS OF SELFLSHXESS, 
 
 No farther than itself it sees. 
 And only self it tries to please. 
 It has not learned to know it wonld 
 Be pleasanter to do some good. 
 
 Self is its own dear little world, 
 Whose heart has never yet unfurled 
 Itself, so that it could expand 
 To anything- that's good or grand. 
 
 But there's a selfishness refined, 
 And it is of another kind. 
 It has been taught in wisdom's school^ 
 And cultivated by the rule 
 
 Of seeing first another's woe, 
 Tlien searching in itself to know 
 If it the sympathy has got, 
 To help another one or not. 
 
 And oh! the yearning that it finds. 
 And drawing with the cord that binds 
 Oloser than the miser's self 
 Binds to him his hoarded pelf. 
 
 Now the heart is pained and grieved. 
 Until it Ijas that one relieved, 
 And so it must do something kind, 
 That will relieve its suffering mind. 
 
 . Then selfishness refined has found 
 The pleasure does to her abound. 
 
TWO KIXDS OF SELFLSHXUSS. ^r. 
 
 So still it's selfishness the same, — 
 Different in nature, not in name. 
 
 Its native place is heaven above. 
 Its parentage, God's perfect love, 
 'J'liat manifests itself in grace, 
 Shown to our sinfnl mortal race. 
 
 So it is very plainly seen, 
 The nature of the crude is mean, 
 While that of the refined we see. 
 From all such meanness is quite free. 
 
 Now in the people all aronnd, 
 Both kinds of selfishness are found; 
 But then in some we often find 
 I'he crude out-balanced by the kind 
 
 That brought the Lord of life and love 
 Down from the shining courts above, 
 To sympathize and then to die, 
 And draw unto himself on high, 
 All those whom Adam has brought in 
 The penalty for his first sin. 
 
 Oh! may the selfishness refined, 
 O'er-balance all the cruder kind. 
 So we may follow the God-man, 
 As far as poor weak mortals can. 
 
14() WHISKEY DID /?'. 
 
 WHISKEY DID IT. 
 
 Whiskey which flows through this fair land, 
 Caused that lame boy in rags to stand,— 
 Caused his young voice to tremble so, 
 And tears upon his cheek to flow, 
 As he was standing at my door, 
 And saying, '' Sir, we're very poor/' 
 
 I listened to his woful wail ; 
 
 He said, " My father's in yon jail. 
 
 Tomorrow he is to be hung, 
 
 For murdering mother, who has gone 
 
 From the abuse she had to bear. 
 
 But will you see my father there. 
 
 And talk with hini and with him pray ? 
 
 For this is his last gracious day. 
 
 He was good, but whiskey did it, 
 
 Killed his goodness, or else hid it."* 
 
 In pity I went to the jail, 
 And listened to the murderer's tale. 
 He said he thouglit it was made plain, 
 That he his faithful wife had slain ; 
 But he was crazed with drink, he knew, 
 'Twas whiskey did it, that was true. 
 
 The man the penalty could brave, 
 But grief rolled on him like a wave; 
 It seems that his poor heart must break, 
 While crying for his children's sake. 
 
]VHISKKY DID IT. UT 
 
 I read and prayed, then left him there, 
 Whiskey's sins and crimes to bear ; 
 Found his lame son, and daughters three, 
 As beautiful as they could be, 
 Although they did not have the care, 
 Tliat would (M)nduce to make them fair. 
 
 The man was hung, his body laid 
 In a rough ])ox, of pine boards made. 
 Two men brought home law's licensed prize. 
 And hastened from the children's cries. 
 With sobs and tears, they did admit, 
 ''Papa was good,— whiskey did it." 
 
 The lame but manly boy then said, 
 
 ''C'ome, sisters, kiss papa that's dead." 
 
 They kissed that face before 'twas cold : 
 
 Their cup of grief no more could hold. 
 
 I cried, '' Oh, God ! and, is it so i 
 
 I fought to save this land from woe. 
 
 And now another woe is here, 
 
 As black, as cruel, and severe. 
 
 All this cursed traffic's revenue 
 
 Can't pay one jot or tittle. due 
 
 To scenes like this, that numerous be 
 
 Like drops of water in the sea. 
 
 Oh ! fathers, husbands, brothers, friend, 
 
 Mark you, this curse must have an end. 
 
 'Tis coming to a crisis fast : 
 
 God will not let it always last. 
 
148 A PTiAYER FOB OUR NATION. 
 
 He's waiting, as he did before, 
 To let the people hear to Noah. 
 The temperance ark is being built. 
 To save the blood from being spilt. 
 
 So wield your ballots now, before 
 
 You have to drown in flowing gore. 
 
 You must stand for the cause that's right, 
 
 Or for the nation you must fight; 
 
 For change its course it must, or die. 
 
 For God's pure law is not a lie. 
 
 The fiendish trafiic soon will thrust 
 Its hydra head low in the dust. 
 Or else be strangled in the blood 
 Of fools, who in its cause have stood. 
 For die it will, and die it must. 
 For in God's righteousness we trust." 
 
 A PRAYER FOR OUR NATION. 
 
 Father of mercies, look this way ; 
 Oh ! God of nations, hear us pray. 
 Make bare thy mighty arm once more, 
 And help, as thou hast heretofore. 
 
 The viper and the canker worm 
 Are eating out the vitals warm, 
 Of this our nation in distress ! 
 Without thy aid, we do confess 
 
A r RAVER FOR OUR XATIOX. U9 
 
 We cannot stem the mighty tide 
 That's spreading o'er this land so wide. 
 
 In olden times thou dealt with kings. 
 Lord, at our root the blight begins, 
 That blasts the blossom and the bud 
 Of what should be our strong manhood. 
 
 Lord, once thou helped us to set free 
 The blacks, from cruel slavery; 
 Oh ! help us now, great God, to free 
 The whites, from rum's cursed slavery. 
 Inspire and help our Davids kill 
 The giants of the liquor-still. 
 
 Oh ! tear the vail of ignorance ; 
 Shake dry bones of indifference. 
 Oh ! blast the foundations of sin, 
 And let light and wisdom flow in. 
 
 God of nations, we beg and plead. 
 Let the right man now take the lead, 
 That the white slaves may be set free, 
 From cruel rum's hard tyranny. 
 
 For, Lord, unless thou lay the plan, 
 
 Vain is the effort of weak man. 
 
 So when this monster is no more, 
 
 'Tis thou wilt be the Conqueror ; 
 
 For directly or indirectly. 
 
 Our light and help must come from thee. 
 
150 MONUMENTS OF FAITH AND jaNJJNFSS. 
 
 MONUMENTS OF FAITH AND 
 KINDNESS, 
 
 If Christ should visit earth once more, 
 
 In form of man, as heretofore, 
 
 Would he find faith to the degree, 
 
 That would a comfort to him be 't 
 
 And to his expectations felt, 
 
 As in Gethsemane he knelt, 
 
 Would he a glimpse of kindness get, 
 
 Like the example that he set, 
 
 While traveling round from place to place, 
 
 And caring for the human race ? 
 
 Or would he find such at a loss, 
 
 For which he died upon the cross i 
 
 If he should travel to the place 
 Where first the world beheld his face, 
 Should see once more the very tomb 
 From which he drove away the gloom; — 
 See it devoid of ornaments, 
 Then look around on monuments 
 Raised to corruption 'neath the ground, 
 Or to a few thoughts much renowned. 
 It seems he'd think that mankind had 
 Forgot the living for the dead. 
 
 'Tis not that he wants earthly show, 
 To honor give to him; — ah, no! 
 Victim of the degrading cross, 
 In humbleness he buried was. 
 
FEAR XOT. 151 
 
 Though ill a rich niaii'f^ toinb he lay, 
 None unto him respect did pay. 
 Except a few poor women, who, 
 With men that numbered only two, 
 Did lay away his body dead. 
 With napkin wrapped about his head. 
 
 And so by these low humble steps, 
 He reached unto the lowly depths. 
 Where human nature feels a pang. 
 And tlien into new life he sprang. 
 Born in a manger, thus we see 
 His birth, his life, in poverty; 
 Died on the cross sinners to save. 
 Then rose victorious o'er the grave. 
 
 The monuments he'd have us raise 
 Unto his honor and his praise. 
 Are faith in his all-glorious name; 
 That does his saving power proclaim; 
 Also unto the living show 
 The kindness that we can bestow; 
 And let (as here on earth he said). 
 The dead go bury their own dead. 
 
 o — o 
 
 FEAR NOT. 
 
 Afraid of Jesus, that dear Friend 
 On whom my hopes of heaven depend! 
 He died to save my soul from hell ; 
 Does that not shaw he loves me well ? 
 
152 liLOOV Oli LIFE. 
 
 Why should I, then, my Saviour fear, 
 Who holds my precious soul so dear i 
 1 would not be afraid of hiiu 
 Who takes the sting from death so grim ;— 
 AVho lay within the silent tomb, 
 And chased away its dreaded gloom ; 
 Then rose again, my heart to cheer, 
 And let me know I need not fear. 
 For he, my Friend, will conquer all 
 My enemies, both great and small ; — 
 The grave, and death, and even hell ; — 
 Old Satan, too, the Lord will quell. 
 He trembled when he saw Christ rise, 
 Victor of hell, and earth, and skies. 
 But though so strong and mighty he, 
 "The bruised reed " (and that is me), 
 "He will not" by his power "break;" 
 Then why should I, his loved one, quake? 
 If him I fear, my fears go hence ; — 
 " The smoking flax he will not quench." 
 This tells me he's a friend indeed. 
 And that's the kind of friend I need. 
 
 o — o 
 
 BLOOD OR LIFE. 
 
 The trickling blood of bull or goat 
 Ne'er washed one sin away ; 
 
 But 'twas a type, and did denote, 
 That in some future day 
 
BLOOD OR LIFE. :i:>n 
 
 Blood that way far more pieciotiy ytilL 
 Would be drawn from the veins 
 
 Of One who would Good's law fulfill. 
 And now in heaven reigny. 
 
 And now, that precious blood's a type 
 
 Of spiritual blood that flows. 
 Then spiritual blood's the antitype. 
 
 The quickening power to those 
 Living upon the spiritual plan. 
 
 And made alive in God. 
 It answers to the life of man, 
 
 Or life of flesh, the blood. 
 
 The bull, the goat, the tender lamlx 
 
 Devoid of aught not good, 
 Or anything that was a sham, 
 
 Gave up their life, their blood. 
 The Lamb of God, his only Son, 
 
 Devoid of all but good, 
 Next gave his life for everyone;— 
 
 That life was his own blood. 
 
 It was a type of quickening power. 
 
 That makes dead souls alive, — ^ 
 
 That does the seeds of death devour. 
 
 And makes dry bones revive. 
 And so from poor, to better, best, i 
 
 Each in its own degree 
 Has done, is doing, its very best 
 
 And forms a trinity, , 
 
154 KEEP YOUli MORD. 
 
 KEEP YOUK WOKD. 
 
 If you make a promise, keep it, 
 Tliat your word may be of worth; 
 
 And in time you'll see the profit, 
 Even in the things of earth. 
 
 If you give your note, then pay it ; 
 
 If you can't just when 'tis due, 
 Go unto your friend and say it, 
 
 That he may confide in you. 
 
 If he wants security, give it. 
 Till the money you can earn. 
 
 Do not have your word a pivot 
 That is always on a turn. 
 
 Understand, your word's an index, 
 Indicating what's adored. 
 
 Bringing to a rounded convex 
 The abundance that is stored 
 
 In the heart, and makes a rhythm. 
 
 Burning through your life, to show 
 What may be the final outcome 
 
 Of your journey here below. 
 So now, tell me if you can, 
 
 By any means that you may try, 
 What's the worth of any man, 
 
 If his word is but a lie ? 
 For in God's image man was made, 
 
 To be a truthful creature ; 
 
PLENTY. 
 
 If in that image he had Btaid, 
 He wouldn't need a preacher. 
 
 PLENTY. 
 
 Oi R real wants are very few^ 
 
 And easily supplied. 
 If every one with that would do, 
 
 And all be satisfied, 
 
 8weet comfort then would take the plai-e 
 
 Of pride and want of bread. 
 Misery would leave the poor man's face, 
 
 And smiles would come instead. 
 
 No hungry wolf would then look in 
 
 At any open door, 
 To see if he could make a si)i"ing 
 
 Upon the wretched poor. 
 
 For none would then be in that state ; 
 
 They all would be supplied, 
 From the abundance that's so great, 
 
 Spread o'er the world so wide. 
 
 Those that are anxious to become 
 
 Rich in the things of earth. 
 Would be contented with a home. 
 
 And things of lesser worth. 
 
 And those who have great wealth in store. 
 From avarice would be freed : 
 
156 PLENTY. 
 
 They'd feel they wanted nothing more 
 Than what would fill each need. 
 
 Instead of having a desire 
 
 To gather more of earth, 
 Their minds would soar to things much 
 
 Things that are of more worth, [higher, 
 
 There would not be the great contrast 
 
 In city or in town, 
 Where poverty its blight has cast, 
 
 And wealth has given renown. 
 
 Then hungry childhood, pinched like age, 
 
 And shivering in its rags, 
 With naked feet upon life's stage, 
 
 No more would walk the flags. 
 
 No tottering age would walk the street, 
 
 To beg a crust of bread. 
 Benumbed with piercing cold and sleet, 
 
 Until they're almost dead. 
 
 Then woman's noble soul would not 
 
 Be bartered to supply 
 The things their body hadn't got, 
 
 And then in ruin lie. 
 
 With clothing they would be content 
 Tliat would plain comfort give, 
 
 And this they'd have for ornament, — 
 A sweet pure life to live. 
 
PLENTY. 157 
 
 And those who incline to abuse 
 
 The temple of the soul, 
 No plea of hunger then could use, 
 
 To screen their lost control. 
 
 There'd be no pampered girl or boy, ^ 
 
 To turn away in scorn, 
 From things procured to give them joy, 
 
 E'er since they had been born. 
 
 The old would have less fear and care, 
 
 Of being burdensome. 
 For they would have an equal share, 
 
 Of all the good to come. 
 
 Oh! what a change there'd be on earth, 
 
 If things were equalized, 
 'T would seem this life would be of worth. 
 
 That's oft so little prized. 
 
 There'd be no debts to bother then, 
 
 To make folks want to hide 
 From those they owe, until some men 
 
 Will steal, then suicide. 
 
 Oh! that God's bounty might be spread 
 
 Like manna all around. 
 So that there could no more a dread, 
 
 Of want be ever found. 
 
 Then, on one side, we would not see 
 Such glittering splendor glow, 
 
tr>H PETOSKEY THE nEAT'TIFlL JXnVA 
 
 And, on the ether, poverty, 
 That fills the heart with woe. 
 
 PETOSKEY THE BEAUTIFUL TOWN. 
 
 Petoskev, Petoskey, the beautiful town, 
 
 Itn natural beauties all give it renown. 
 
 I'he arts and the architecit too have all helped; 
 
 And so througli these sources there has now 
 
 develpd 
 A town that is seen on a slight eminence. 
 That gives us a view of such great elegance. 
 
 When seen from the water it rises to view. 
 And seems to ascend to the sky that's so blue. 
 When seen from the west when the day is near 
 
 done, [sun. 
 
 Its bright sparkling windows do vie with the 
 As they come to the view of the traveler's eye. 
 Like clouds of bright sapphire ascending the 
 
 sky. 
 
 For surroundings it lias the lu'ight water that 
 flows, [that grows. 
 
 The liills and the trees blessed with beauty 
 They give it a fi'ame-work, a setting so grand, 
 That none can excel it through all this fair land. 
 
 And beautiful groves can l)e seen here and there. 
 With their paths, and their seats, the queer 
 rustic chair, 
 
PETOSKEY THE BEAVTIFFL TOWN. ir,9 
 
 The hammocks, where lovers so cosily swing, 
 And list to tlie birds, as they merrily sing. 
 
 Then its streets are so broad, so smooth, and 
 so clean : [green ; 
 
 Its parks are made lovely with grass that's so 
 
 Broad paths, and sweet flowers, with colors so 
 gay, Iplay. 
 
 And qneer rustic bowers where children can 
 
 Its electric lights that within it doth glow. 
 Its mineral waters that copiously How, 
 Its lawns and its terraces in the front yards, 
 Show it has people who its interest regards. 
 Those yards and houses to the admiring eye, 
 Look lovely and cosy to those that pass by. 
 
 But why should I try to enumerate all 
 Its beauties I see, the great and the small ? 
 For I couldn't begin to count them, I know. 
 For there are so many Petoskey can show. 
 
 He and his fair bride, the lovely ( 'harlevoix, 
 Had their beauty and health to make them a joy. 
 E'en while they were courting; but now they 
 are bound |be found 
 
 By the bands of strong wedlock, more joy can 
 In their united beauty, brought closer to view, 
 By the bands of iron, so strong and so true. 
 
Aiul we liope that thos^^ bands of wedlock will 
 
 Itold 
 Longer, and stronger, tlian some made of gol(L 
 
 III our tbouglits, PetoskeyV a lall brunette 
 
 l)eanty, 
 Able and willing to perform every diity 
 To the sick ones, and sad ones, seeking foy 
 
 bealtli, [wealth. 
 
 Whether poor tht\y may be, or ]>e loaded with 
 
 Ajid then his fair mate, the lovely Cyharlevoix, 
 Stands ready to give them both beaiity and joy. 
 So c )ine on, poor sick ones, no longer delay, 
 life's l)i^aiity and health to drive sickness away. 
 So come on, poor sad ones, here's beanty and joy^ 
 \) make yon all happy and sadness destroy. 
 
 Vi'. hail this fair bride and the beantifnl groom; 
 1i«'ir futnre we liope is a gl or ions boom, 
 '') iniiig the good citizen, botlMvoman and man, 
 \) these ])eautiful towns of I'.irth Mi(higan. 
 
 THK DANDELION. 
 
 I>r.[(;rrr dandelion, bright dandelion. 
 Low in the soft greeii giass they shine^ 
 Heminding ns of stars on high, 
 That sparkle in the soft bine sky. 
 
 When stars from sky begin to peep,- 
 They close their yellow eyes in sleep, 
 
THE DANDELION. 161 
 
 When nightly watchers fade away, 
 Then they awake to watch the day. 
 
 Like children innocent and sweet, 
 Whose mission deith oft makes so fleet. 
 And hides them from onr sight away, 
 To wait the resurrection day; — 
 
 Their short sweet mission soon is o'er^ 
 And then they wake on earth no more. 
 Until again the bright young Spring 
 Does resurrect each lovely thing. 
 
 They are among the first to bloom, 
 To cheer us after winter's gloom, 
 And though they are of lowly birth; 
 They are a blessing to the earth. 
 
 And when their yellow bloom is gone. 
 They linger still the grass among, » 
 And with their balls of fluffy white^ 
 They yet are pleasing to our sight. 
 
 Thus from the first unto the last, 
 While their brief lot with us is cast, 
 They tell us in mute language plain^ 
 That there is nothing made in vain. 
 
 31 
 
162 THE LITTLE HOSE BUI). 
 
 THE LETTLE ROSEBUD. 
 
 (June 29, 1890.) 
 
 Just thirteen years ago today, 
 A little rosebud came to stay 
 Within our childless home awhile, 
 Our hearts from life's cares to beguile. 
 
 At first she scarce on us could look ; 
 In peaceful sleep she comfort took, 
 While in her dreams of angels near. 
 Sweet smiles would light her face so dear. 
 
 But soon she learned to keep awake, , 
 And of us then some notice take. 
 Her infant smile was very sweet, 
 As we kissed her hands and baby fe6t. 
 
 Our little one to us had come, 
 When many roses were in bloom, 
 But she was dearer than the rest, 
 The little rosebud on our breast. 
 
 And when a year had quickly flown, 
 The little one could walk alone; 
 Her pattering ff^et we then could hear, 
 When by our side so often near. 
 
 And often in the woody dell 
 We searched for fruit she loved so well ; 
 And when she saw the berries red, 
 She'd shake her darling little head. 
 
THE LITTLE BOSEBl£>. ^^^ 
 
 Her hands would flutter in the breeze, 
 Like birdies^ wings among the trees ; 
 Her open mouth like birdies' bill, 
 With berries then we oft would fill. 
 
 We loved her cunning little ways, 
 Her baby talk and baby plays, 
 And when to one year time gave more. 
 We loved her then as heretofore. 
 
 For then her little hands had learned 
 To do vrhat showed our love returned. 
 And so the time has quickly flown. 
 Our darling child is nearly grown. 
 
 E'lch year comes quick, as quickly goes; 
 
 The opening bud will be a rose. 
 
 If spared a little longer here, 
 
 To those that hold her still so dear. 
 
 May angels of her infant dreams. 
 Warn her of sin that pleasant seems. 
 Lead her in ways of virtue, truth, 
 And guard her in her coming youth. 
 
 May blessings follow her through life, 
 And if she should become a wife. 
 May past love never be forgot, 
 Though wedded love be then her lot. 
 
 May she be spared the hardest strife, 
 That comes to mortals in this life ; 
 
164 FIFTEEN YEAHS OLD TODAY. 
 
 But with true courage may she face, 
 The common trials of the race. 
 
 Along life's path may many dots 
 Of love and joy make resting spots, 
 That she her courage may renew, 
 To do each duty when 'tis due. 
 
 And when she's called to pass away, 
 In earthly love no more to stay, 
 May angels meet her, from above, 
 And bear her to eternal love. 
 
 FIFTEEN YEARS OLD TODAY. 
 
 (June 29, 1892.) 
 
 A LITTLE maiden bright and fair. 
 With sparkling eyes and sunny hair, 
 Must now give up her childish play. 
 For she's fifteen years old today. 
 
 She's been a busy little child, 
 Though never careless, rude, or wild. 
 But now a little maiden gay. 
 For she's fifteen years old today. 
 
 Though young, she's learned to do her 
 And oft she helps to lighten care, [share. 
 That comes along her mother's way. 
 For she's fifteen years old today. 
 
A DEMON IX THE LAXJJ. 365 
 
 And still may happy birthdays come, 
 While she is in her childhood home ; 
 But, ah ! we never more can say, 
 That she's fifteen years old today. 
 
 God bless her in the coming years, 
 May joy be hers, instead of tears, 
 And when she's called to leave the earth. 
 Born into life by Spirit birth, 
 For this we hope, for this we pray, 
 That she may have a bright birthday. 
 
 <) — o 
 
 A DEMON IN THE LAND. 
 
 Protection I don't understand, 
 And tariff just the same ; 
 
 But there's an evil in this land, 
 Deserves a demon's name. 
 
 It gives its patrons for reward, 
 
 A life of sin and woe ; 
 I do not have to study hard 
 
 This evil thing to know. 
 
 Old Satan is its hydra head. 
 
 And evil in the hearts 
 Of those to goodness nearly dead ;- 
 
 He needed aid imparts. 
 
 This evil workfe through agencies 
 Of sin in every form, 
 
160 A UEMON IX THE LAND. 
 
 And therefore it most monstrous is 
 To let its work go on. 
 
 This evil and so many more 
 Seem clamoring now for war ; 
 
 We fear it won't be long before 
 We'll feel the cannon jar. 
 
 Already we the mutterings hear 
 
 Of trouble that may fill 
 This glorious land we hold so dear. 
 
 And precious blood may spill. 
 
 The God of Jacob does his work 
 
 By instruments his own ; 
 Then let us rouse and never shirk, 
 
 Till evils are overthrown. 
 
 We'll call upon our own will-power. 
 
 And let our Master see 
 That we are ready for the hour, 
 
 Whatever it may be. 
 
 We'll call upon the Mighty One, 
 The source of strength divine. 
 
 To keep our will-power great and strong, 
 Our courage from decline. 
 
 And when old Satan sees we draw 
 Our strength from that great source, 
 
 He'll trust no more to license law. 
 That gives some evils force. 
 
HID VEX WOBTH. w: 
 
 He'll fear and tremble at the rod, 
 
 Though legion be his name ; 
 For well he knows the Son of God 
 
 Can turn his boasts to shame. 
 
 Oh, God of Jacob ! Christ of saints ! 
 
 Now by thy majesty, 
 Inspire the hope that never faints, 
 
 Because direct from thee. 
 
 HIDDEN WORTH. 
 
 A POOR man left with children three. 
 And one a babe upon his knee, 
 
 He knew not where to turn, 
 Or how to take the mother's share. 
 As baby needed tender care, 
 
 And he had bread to earn. 
 
 One day he left the eldest one 
 
 To watch the rest while he was gone, 
 
 To see if he could find 
 Some work that he could do at home, 
 So that he ne'er would have to roam, 
 
 But could his children mind. 
 
 A lady, riding by in state, 
 
 Said to her coachman. You may wait, 
 
 While in this house I go. 
 For I can hear a baby cry, 
 
11)8 HIDDEN WO urn. 
 
 Which makes me for my darling sigh, 
 That's ill the grave so low. 
 
 And when she went up to the door, 
 She saw that they were very poor, 
 
 And in the house alone ; 
 So when she saw that baby face, 
 It found within her heart a place, 
 
 For it was like her own. 
 
 She took it from its lowly bed, 
 And to herself she softly said, 
 
 It's like my own sweet child. 
 She laid it on her lonely breast, 
 And then it seemed to be at rest, 
 
 And, looking up, it smiled. 
 
 She felt maternal love grow strong, 
 And wished to take it right along, 
 
 To satisfy that love. 
 Just then the father stepped within. 
 His care and labor to begin, 
 
 Trusting in God above. 
 
 The lady spoke. Poor friend, said she, 
 Will you give this dear babe to me. 
 
 And on my word rely ? 
 I'll take it to my lonely heart. 
 And act to it a mother's part ; — 
 
 Pray don't my wish deny. 
 
JilDDEX WORTIL u^ 
 
 He said, Fair lady, you are good; 
 ^Tis hard to care and fiirnisk food. 
 
 For all my children three. 
 My baby has with lue poor fai^. 
 And much she needs a mother'^ care; 
 
 I'll give her unto thee. 
 
 Oh ! many thanks to you, kind friend, 
 And on my word you may depend, 
 
 That I will teach her right. 
 She drew her 'neath her furs so wariru 
 To keep her from the winter storm, 
 
 And bade them all goodnight. 
 
 The lady's heart wa« very glad ; 
 The father'^s heart was very sad, 
 
 To think he was too poor 
 To keep his own sweet babe so dear. 
 And know it would be many a year 
 
 Before he'd see her more. 
 
 For she was taken far away. 
 
 And for some years was bound to stay 
 
 Within a foreign land. 
 Meanwhile, she grew in loveliness. 
 Her foster mother's heart to bless, 
 
 In her new home so grand. 
 
 When eighteen years had passed away^ 
 The poor man heard one autumn day. 
 That lord Lamore was home. 
 
17(1 HIDDEN WOUTH. 
 
 And then he thought, My child is near 
 But in his heart there lurked a fear 
 That she would never come 
 
 To see her father in her pride. 
 For he so lowly did reside, 
 
 And she, so rich and grand, 
 Might never have been taught to know 
 Her own poor father loved her so, 
 
 Or lived within this land. 
 
 The more he tried to be resigned, 
 
 The more his heart with longing pined, 
 
 Until in misery. 
 He thought he could no longer wait, 
 So went up to the lordly gate, 
 
 His darling child to see. 
 
 The servant looked on him with scorn. 
 As though himself were highly born. - 
 
 Heeding not the scornful mien. 
 He said, I hope to find in here, 
 A person to my heart most dear. 
 
 Pray, will you let me in? 
 
 Reluctantly he ope'd the gate. 
 The father stepped within, to wait 
 
 Until he could be told 
 Which was the one to him so dear ; 
 But in his heart he felt a fear 
 
 He would be thoTight too bold. 
 
HIDVEN WORTIL 57! 
 
 For on that lovely lawn, so bright, 
 There met his earnest gaze a sight 
 
 Of beauty rich and rare, 
 With music sweet, and fountain spiay^ 
 And many flowers rich and gay, 
 
 Whose perfume filled the ^lir. 
 
 Amid this scene a paiiy gay, 
 
 Had met on Miss Lamore's birthday, 
 
 Which he had not forgot. 
 And manly youth there sought with rare. 
 To please the maidens coy and fair, 
 
 And charming wa,s their lot. 
 
 His heart beat loud, with thi-obbings wild. 
 As with his eyes he sought his child. 
 
 By trying there to trace 
 The image of Ms wife^ long dead. 
 In manner^ t<)i'in, or curly h^ad. 
 
 Or any maiden's face. 
 
 But all contused he had t/o turn. 
 
 And ask the man, Avho sought to spurn 
 
 Him from his master's gate, 
 Pray tell me which is Miss Lamore, 
 The man replied, She's near yon door, 
 
 And seeming there to wait 
 
 He looked, and, lo ! a maiden sweet. 
 And from the door, there came to greet 
 Her not unwilling hand, 
 
172 HIDDEN WOliTH. 
 
 A youth, who clasped that hand with joy, 
 And youthful love without alloy 
 Shone in their smiles so bland. 
 
 This did the father's fears renew; 
 He thought, Will my low state undo 
 
 This golden link of love ? 
 If so, I'd better go away, 
 And from my child forever stay, 
 
 Until we meet above. 
 
 And now he thought he would return, 
 But, oh ! parental love did burn. 
 
 Within his lonely heart. 
 For of the other two bereft, 
 She was the only one now left; 
 
 How could he from her part^ 
 
 He fought the battle standing there, 
 And asked the Lord, in silent prayer, 
 
 His duty to make known. 
 He saw the party meet the pair ; 
 Congratulations filled the air, 
 
 Which to his heart made known, 
 
 That their engagement was complete. 
 And that if they with him should meet, 
 
 And should the truth find out, 
 He might in selfishness destroy, 
 For life, two young hearts' peace and joy ; 
 
 So still he ^tood in doubt. 
 
niDDEX wonrn. na 
 
 When, lo ! the lovely maid drew near, 
 With these kind words his heart to cheer: 
 
 Pray take a seat, she said, 
 And rest you on this cushioned chair. 
 While I will for your comfort c^re. 
 
 And see that you are fed. 
 
 Fair lady, you don't understand, 
 
 For you've not lived long in this land : 
 
 And perhaps you never knew 
 About a poor man living here, 
 Who lost his wife that was so dear^ 
 
 So loving and so true. 
 
 Then his three children were not gone. 
 But now, alas ! he has but one; 
 
 And one cold winter night, 
 A lady took her for to keep, 
 In place of one in death's cold sleep, 
 
 And said she VI teach it right 
 That father oft has longed to see 
 That babe he loved so tenderly^ 
 
 But could not keep in sight. 
 
 He was too poor a nurse to pay^ 
 
 And could not with his children stay. 
 
 For he had bread to earn 
 For his own self, and children three^ 
 80, lady, you can plainly see, 
 
 He knew not where to turn. 
 
80. then, lie tliongbt he'd better w^yt 
 Let selfish love keep back the lot 
 
 Of care for her in store. 
 With fond regret, and aching heart. 
 He gave couseat from her to part, 
 
 And tl>en she left his door. 
 
 And soon tliey took her far away, 
 And many years slie had to stay, 
 
 Bnt her he'd neVr forget. 
 So when be heard that she had com^ 
 Quite near her father's humble hoiae^ 
 
 He knew lie loved her yet. 
 
 3h I tell n^e now, young Miss Laraore^ 
 Have you this tale e'er heard before^ 
 
 Or is it to yo>i new? 
 The tale I've often heard before^ 
 As told me by Mama La more. 
 
 And well I know 'tis true. 
 
 P\>r T the maiden that you see, 
 AV^as once that motherless baby^ 
 
 Left with the other two. 
 Eiit God to me was very kind, 
 For me a mother thus to find. 
 
 Pray tell me, Who are you? 
 
 I am that father thus bereft, 
 For you are all that I have left^ 
 Beneath yon azure sky. 
 
Our God he took them one by one, 
 My wife, my daughter, and my son, 
 To dwell with him on high. 
 
 Well, oh ! my father, say no more. 
 But come and talk with lord La more, 
 
 And to my friends so gay ; 
 And I will introduce you there. 
 And to them all. my love declare 
 
 For you this very day. 
 
 Oh, no, my child ! it will not do, 
 
 Your friends might all look down on you, 
 
 If they should know the truth. 
 I would do naught to spoil your fate, 
 Or make you lose your chosen mate, 
 
 Yon noble looking youth. 
 
 You see my child, I'm not well drest. 
 Well, father, that shall be the test. 
 
 By which I'll try my friend. 
 And if, because your clothes are old, 
 His love for me shall become cold. 
 
 Our 'trothal then shall end. 
 
 For, father, I've been taught to know 
 The gem of goodness lies below 
 
 The dark and rough external. 
 Your clothes are old, but neat and clean, 
 Which shows the body is not mean, 
 
 That holds the germ eternal. 
 
I7(> HIDDEN WORTR. 
 
 So, father^ do no longer wait,. 
 But let mse to* my friends relate^ 
 
 On this my brigbt birthday, 
 That I hsiive found a father dear, 
 Hnait's^ watched and waited many a y^ar, 
 
 For ine to €omt> this way. 
 
 She leaned upon his loving arm, 
 
 And softly whispered, There's no harm : 
 
 I think my friends are true. 
 They met the party in the grove, 
 She said^ Heme's one I know I love, 
 
 Ent one you nevei knew. 
 
 He is ill J father,, good and kind. 
 And, oil ! how glad I am to find 
 
 Him on my bright Mrthday. 
 Though he was poor,, he stood up grand, 
 Aud took with grace each proffered hand. 
 
 And then they walked away. 
 
 So, seeking for a cushioned seat, 
 Witliin a shady cool retreat. 
 
 She said. Now will you rest^ 
 While 1 unto my lover tell 
 What has to me this day befell. 
 
 And how I have been blest? 
 
 She found her lover standing near,. 
 And said to him, I have no fear 
 To tell you my good news. 
 
niDDEX WORTH. 17 
 
 He said, Your news unto me tell ; 
 If they please you, they'll please me Avell, 
 For what's your choice, I choose. 
 
 She said, My father I Iiave found, 
 And he is now upon this ground, 
 
 And waitino; you to see. 
 You know I told you once before. 
 My own true father was too poor 
 
 To keep his children three. 
 
 And of the other two bereft, 
 I am the only one that's left, 
 
 To love him now he's aged. 
 80 will you come and speak with him? 
 Or does this make your love grow dim, 
 
 And wish we weren't engaged? 
 
 Oh, no ! I love you just the same. 
 Oh ! do not think my love's a flame 
 
 80 easy to put out. 
 I love you for the good within 
 A heart so little marred by sin; 
 
 Please don't my true love doubt. 
 
 We will not keep him waiting there, 
 So come, and let your lover share 
 
 The pleasure you have found. 
 She took his arm in pleased surprise, 
 Joy sparkling in her lovely eyes. 
 
 For this her best wish crowned. 
 
 12 
 
ns HlDhEX WOBTH. 
 
 They sought the feather in the shade, 
 And then the sweet and gentle maid 
 
 Said, Father, here's the one 
 That's sought my hand and heart for life; 
 I am engaged to be his wife, 
 
 For he his suit has won. 
 
 The father rose the youth to greet, 
 And said, Dear sir, I hope 'tis meet 
 
 That you my child should wed. 
 In wealth and fame we're far apart, 
 But still, we may be near in heart, 
 
 As she, my daughter, said. 
 
 External things have little worth, 
 They savor strongly of the earth, 
 
 Replied the noble youth. 
 True goodness is a thing of worth, 
 For it is of a heavenly birth, 
 
 Sent by the God of truth. 
 
 I see, dear sir, you understand 
 True riches are not gold or land. 
 
 But treasures of the mind. 
 God grant that both of you may live, 
 So to each other comfort give, 
 
 In love and truth combined. 
 
 Now, if I'd not too much intrude. 
 The lady think me not to rude, 
 If I her face should see. 
 
HIDDEX WOUTir. 170 
 
 I would be pleased to let her know 
 That I am glad I did bestow 
 The gift she asked of me. 
 
 They sought and fonnd lier all alone. 
 The daughter thus to her made known 
 
 The stranger by her side: — 
 Dear mother, oft you told to me 
 A story of ^ome children, three, 
 
 Wliose mother then had died. 
 
 Their father Avas so poor, but good, 
 And had to earn his children food: 
 
 'Twas hard for him to see 
 How he (-ould his poor children feed, 
 And do for them all that they'd need; 
 
 The babe, you said, Avas me. 
 
 The stranger here, that's dressed so plain, 
 Has told it to me oVr again, 
 
 And so I think I've found ^ 
 
 1'he one that gave me unto you. 
 Pray tell me, mother, if 'tis true, 
 
 Before he leaves the ground. 
 
 Oh, yes, my child ! it is quite true, 
 You've found the one that gave me you ; 
 
 Your fatlier you have found. 
 She said. Kind friend, we've met at last ; 
 The meeting brings up things that's past ; 
 
 How has it been with you ? 
 
8i) mnOEX WORTH. 
 
 Fair lady, I have sorrow seen, 
 
 My children's 'neath the sod so green,— 
 
 I mean their bodies are ; 
 Their spirits are with God on high, 
 Born into life to never die, 
 
 From sin and sorrow far. 
 
 And now I wish to thank you for 
 The love you have bestowed on her 
 
 Who was my babe so dear. 
 I see she has been taught aright, 
 To seek for goodness out of sight, 
 
 Nor pride of mortals fear. 
 
 So now, kind lady, fare-you-well. 
 
 My heart with thankfulness doth swell, 
 
 To God above, and you. 
 She said, The babe my heart did bless, 
 And made me feel my loss much less. 
 
 So thanks to you are due. 
 
 While she has filled my baby's place, 
 Tve tried to fill a mother's place, 
 
 And teach her that above 
 The fleeting treasures of this earth, 
 There is a thing of grander worth, — 
 
 Its first best name is Love. 
 
 Her proffered hand he took with grace, 
 And e'er he left the lovely place, 
 Said, What you've taught is true, 
 
IIIDDEX WORTir. 181 
 
 And your instruction^ not forgot ; 
 God will reward you, I cannot ; 
 And bade her, then, adieu. 
 
 He saw his daughter standing near, 
 And said, My child, I'm glad to hear 
 
 You have been taught to know 
 There is a principle above 
 E'en faith, and hope, 'tis heaven-born love, 
 
 And does in kindness flow. 
 
 My anxious thoughts are much subdued ; 
 I will no longer now intrude 
 
 Upon your party gay. 
 She said, Dear father, I will come 
 And see you in your lonely home, 
 
 So drive dull care away. 
 
 When to the gate they drew quite near, 
 He said. My daughter, you are dear ; 
 
 I'm glad your face I've seen. 
 So, now, good-bye to you I'll say, 
 Go, join the party in their play. 
 
 Upon this lovely green. 
 
 He went away with tear-dimmed eye, 
 She found her lover waiting nigh, 
 
 And then they joined the rest. 
 The party did the lovers greet. 
 The day was spent in pleasure sweet, 
 
 For joy was in each bTe^i^. 
 
IS2 JllDDEX WiJUril. 
 
 Not many day;^ had i)ass<^d before 
 Tlie maiden, known a« Miss Lamore, 
 
 Sought out the lonely home. 
 She found the poor man in his bed, 
 And thus in gentle voice she said, 
 
 Dear father, I have come. 
 
 yes, I see you near me are ; 
 
 1 liope it won't your pleasure mar, 
 To be in this poor place. 
 
 My father, dear, I did not know 
 You were ho very sick and low. 
 Or I'd have come in haste. 
 
 My child, 'tis long since I was well, 
 But I was very loth to tell, 
 
 And make your young heart sad. 
 Fve tried to wait so patiently. 
 Hoping my daughter 1 would see. 
 
 To make my .poor heart glad. 
 
 I've longed, I've wished, I've hoped, and 
 
 prayed, 
 That death's cold fingers might be stayed, 
 
 Until to me she'd come. 
 And since I've seen on earth your face. 
 And know you seek a better place. 
 
 With joy I can go home. 
 
 But still he lingered here below ; 
 Death did not haste to strike the blow, 
 The earthly tit) to part; 
 
HIDDEN WOJiTJL 183 
 
 And oft «he watched beside his bed, 
 And many words of comfort said, 
 AVhich filled with joy his heart. 
 
 Her lover, too, sometimes was there, 
 And in her watching took a share, 
 
 And he could plainly see 
 The many weeks that passed away. 
 Had brought them closer every day, 
 
 In loving sympathy, 
 
 Because within their trusting hearts. 
 Was hid the treasure that imparts 
 
 The kindness that we see. 
 The tender loving anxious care. 
 As noticed by her lover there. 
 
 Filled him with pleased surprise. 
 
 It seemed the wings were all that ^he 
 Lacked, in this lower world to be 
 
 An angel in disguise. 
 But death at last brought rest from pain, 
 Keleased a happy soul, to reign 
 
 In love beyond the skies. 
 
 The daughter said to me, Tis plain 
 My loss is his eternal gain; 
 
 But tears were in her eyes. 
 Her lover led her from the bed. 
 And thus to her these words he said, 
 
 My darling, do not grieve: 
 
S4 HTDDEX W:)HT1J. 
 
 You've acted well a daughter's part, 
 Witli tender hands and loving heart; 
 The rest to God we'll leave. 
 
 < ) yes, she said, I know 'tis best; 
 The w^orn out body is at rest, 
 
 The spirit is with God. 
 He needs no more my anxious care; 
 I'll try in silent grief to bear 
 
 The needed chastening rod. 
 
 But now, my friend, I wish to know. 
 Before we leave this scene of woe, 
 
 If you still love me w^ell ; 
 Or if the knowledge of my birth 
 Has lessened in your sight my w^orth; 
 
 If so, 'tis here Til dwell. 
 
 I do not love you as of yore; 
 If possible, I love you more. 
 
 Then I saw your lovely face, 
 Then admired and loved your beauty, 
 Now I've seen your tender duty, 
 
 Performed with an angel grace. 
 
 And then I thought you good and kind, 
 But now I know a pure mind 
 
 Dwells in the casket rare. 
 She said, I'm glad we do not part; 
 He drew her to his loving heart, 
 
 And kissed her face so fair. 
 
Then, as he led her "'neath the treei^, 
 To feel the young Spring':^ balmy breeze. 
 
 Said, I may clami you now. 
 Then she replied, I will deliglit 
 To make your home and life as brigkt 
 
 As faithful lo^e knows how, 
 
 I trust there is within our hearts 
 The spark of goodness that imparts 
 
 Both faithful love and truth. 
 And thus she left the deatli-be<l t<ide. 
 80 soon to be tlie lovely bride 
 
 Of that delighted youth. 
 
 The hidden laoble things of wurtli. 
 We see they ar^ of heavenly birth-; 
 
 Their first best name is Love. 
 And from that loving source there s|)ring.^ 
 A multitude of heavenly things, 
 
 That lead to heaven above. 
 
 LOST TREASURES, 
 
 (by request,) 
 
 Years of care, and toil, and t^trife, 
 Have been my lot through earthly life: 
 The joys I've grasped and tried to hold. 
 Have turned to brass instead of gold. 
 
180 LOST THEASVRES. 
 
 The one 1 gathered in my youth, 
 And thought was mine in love and truth, - 
 Thought it would last from youth to age. 
 Unless 'twas blotted from life's page, 
 Ah ! it is wormwood, and 'tis gall. 
 The bitterest portion of them all. 
 
 Death could not make the heart so sore, 
 That once that treasure did adore. 
 I hid within that heart the storm, 
 And tried my duty to perform, 
 And in that way I tried to live, 
 And to the sick attention give. 
 My children, too, had need of care, 
 And with the sick they had their share. 
 
 Time hastened on, my hair turned gray; 
 It seemed that I might pass away. 
 Before another joy would come, 
 To bind me to my earthly home. 
 
 At last, a bright spot did appear, 
 My lonely troubled life to cheer; 
 It drew my heart to things above, 
 80 thankful for the boon to love. 
 
 With joy I clasped it to my breast, 
 And felt again that I was blest; — 
 Blest with a little one, to be 
 A comfort o'er life's troubled sea; 
 Hoped she'd remain with me always, 
 A treasure to uiy latest days. 
 
But, all ! I wislitjd and iioped in vain: 
 My darling child conM not remain. 
 And when I saw that she must go. 
 It nearly was my own death-blow, 
 
 <Tod gave and took my darling one. 
 And since out of my life she's gone, 
 I try unto his will to bow, 
 But seems I've naught to live for now. 
 
 But, when life's troubled sea I've crossed, 
 I hope to find my treasures lost. 
 And clasp them to my heart with joy, 
 Where sin and death can ne'er destixiy. 
 
 When the angelic throng 1 meet, 
 Then I my angel child will gi'eet. 
 And hear her sweet cherubic song. 
 The holy angel bands among. 
 
 DEATH'S BRIDE. 
 
 Dear Mother, it was hard, I know. 
 To let your eldest daughter go. 
 When Jesus calls, we must obey ; 
 I could not for your coming stay. 
 
 Death claimed my body for his bride. 
 And life cannot with death abide ; 
 So I, a spark of life divine. 
 Was born within this home to shine. 
 
iss I)EATH\S BRIDE. 
 
 Ill lovely bridal robes arrayed, 
 My body was attractive made ; 
 Her bridal bed with flowers decked, 
 Showed that her friends had great respect. 
 
 For, lo ! the place they call a tomb 
 Was lined and decked with earthly bloom. 
 Her brides-maids all attentive were, 
 And made things beautiful for her. 
 Death did not mar her face so fair; 
 I saw her sweetly lying there. 
 He clasped her in his strong embrace. 
 And pressed pale kisses on her face. 
 When he her hand and heart did gain, 
 Then ceased forever mortal pain ; 
 Now, under his protection, she 
 No more will suffer agony. 
 Dear mother, that was but the shell, 
 In which your daughter used to dwell; 
 So, mother, as that part is laid 
 Within the bed so lovely made. 
 Look not upon it as in gloom, 
 For Jesus once lay in the tomb. 
 Oh ! look not down, but look above. 
 Up to this world, where all is love. 
 Where there is found no pain to bear. 
 No parting scenes the heart to tear. 
 Oh ! let your hopes to heaven arise, 
 • And see your daughter's in the sMeB. 
 
th:e fig- tree. \m 
 
 We're watching at the pearly gate, 
 But 'tis not long we'll have to wait. 
 For you will soon be with us here ; 
 So do not weep, my mother dear. 
 
 Father, you're captain of a boat 
 
 That does upon the water Hoat; 
 
 You hold that boat in fviU contix)!, 
 
 When the dark waves like mountain t^ rolL 
 
 But you, yourself, are a small boat : 
 Upon life's troubled sea you float. 
 The precious freight is your dear soul : 
 Let Captain Jesus, then, control. 
 And if he walks upon the deck, 
 You need not fear there'll be a wreck; 
 Though on the dark waves you are tossed, 
 The precious freight cannot be lost. 
 We'll watch for you on the Inight shore. 
 And wait till you ride safely o'er. 
 We wait and watch for all the rest, 
 Until they come where all are blest, 
 As one by one they leave the earth. 
 Born into life by Spirit birth. 
 
 THE FIG-TREE. 
 
 May not the fig-tret3 represent 
 
 Those chosen from man's erring race. 
 
 Through which God's holy law was sent, 
 To t'^ch men of their pa^oper place ? 
 
VM THE FIG-THEE. 
 
 Or those that gospel do proclaim, 
 And tell us that bj grace we're saved. 
 
 Through faith in Jesus' holy name, 
 And so by sin no more enslaved 'i 
 
 Then may not three years typify 
 Three ages of God's wondrous plan. 
 
 In which he meant to signify 
 His favor to rebellious man ? 
 
 The number three must have to do 
 Something in this great parable ; 
 
 (h- why is it thus brought to view, 
 If it is not accountable ? 
 
 The first, tlie age of Patriarch, 
 
 In which but little fruit was borne: 
 
 The Jewish age was dull and dark, 
 And filled witli Pharisaic scorn. 
 
 h\ Gospel age the fig-tree's worth 
 In all these (•enturies has been 
 
 So very small to bless the earth,. 
 That ^\\\\ IS wallowing in sin.. 
 
 What wonder that tlie husbandman, 
 That's waited in the ages past, 
 
 For the fidfillment of his plan, 
 
 Should want to cut it down at last^ 
 
 What mercy, that the vine-dresser 
 Ls pleadiug for the barren tree, 
 
OOXTJ^AST. 191 
 
 And saying that he will bless her. 
 So that she may more frnitfnl be I 
 
 He wants her spared another age, 
 That extra effort he can make, 
 
 To bless her in a later stage. 
 That all may of her fniit partake. 
 
 For more than leaves she will bring finth. 
 
 All nations then to satisfy : 
 For all the races of the earth. 
 
 Will feed upon her great supply. 
 
 And then shall be the glorious age. 
 When 8atan shall be chained ^o tight ; 
 
 And though Satanic power may rage, 
 The wrong will have to yield to riglit. 
 
 C^ONTRAST, 
 
 The darkness makes the light more light. 
 
 The bitter makes the sweet more sweet 
 After storm the sun shines bright. 
 
 The shade is pleasant after heat. 
 
 And after strife, then comes calm ijeace. 
 To fill again Jove's scanty cup, 
 
 And bid estrangement then to cease, 
 And, oh ! how sweet the making up. 
 
 The bad is used to show the gocKl ; 
 We need the good to show the bad ; 
 
I<i2 FMCmWELl MOTHER, 
 
 And if sucli tlikigs were understood 
 Methinkt^ we oftener would be glad. 
 
 Sin would not Ii^ve been known to Pardr 
 
 But b> tlie law he ^aid was good ; 
 We think that ^rontra^t shows forth all 
 
 'File things we kn(nv, both bad and good- 
 Then, oh I so wretch f^d, like 8t. Paul', 
 
 We joyfully with him exolaiw, 
 And thank ihr Father of us all, 
 
 For hope in Jesus Christ's dear name. 
 
 And in that hof,^ we feel a joy, 
 
 That when we've done with earth below. 
 Well find a state without alloy, 
 
 The final coi^trast then to know, 
 
 And find that heavenV more heavenly still. 
 By b^ing contrasted with eartli' ; 
 
 And tlien we'll know each earthly ill 
 lias added unto heaven's worth. 
 
 f> — o — 
 
 FA RF WELL MOTHER. 
 
 To 1 he lucrnory of Mrs. Mary Cooper, by re(|uest. She chose* 
 IJt'\elati(»n vii. J6, 17 tm the text for her funeral sermon.) 
 
 Fare\vp]ll, dearest mother, so good and so kind; 
 Oh ! where can we go now such true love to 
 llnd { 
 
FA UK WELL MOTHEU, W.\ 
 
 Such kind gentle patience who will bestow, 
 Or bear with our faviltsi, while we dwell here 
 below i 
 
 Fii\^.v41 ii).v, (le.ir mother, thon'rt g-one from 
 
 the (-are 
 Tliat oftfMi seemed heavy upon thee to bear ; 
 Tliy self-denial, we remember it well, [swell. 
 Tiie memory of whith makes onr bosoms to 
 
 Fire well, dear mother, thon'rt gone where the 
 w^ary [dreary,— 
 
 Find re-^t from tlie toil that makes this life 
 
 AVIiere they hunger no more, nor thirst for a 
 drink ; [shrink. 
 
 From the heat of tlie sun no more they will 
 
 Farewell, dear mother, for the Lamb that was 
 slain, [again, 
 
 E it dwells in the midst of the throne now 
 Shall feed thee, and lead thee to water so clear, 
 And wipe from thy face every sorrowful tear. 
 
 Then farewell, dear mother, we wish thee not 
 
 back. 
 But rather we VI follow in thy shining track. 
 Until we shall find thee, and clasp thy dear 
 
 hand, 
 Away from all sorrow, in that happy land. 
 
194 FHKE rititM PA IK. 
 
 FREE FROM PAIN. 
 
 (TO THP: memory of MItS. WARKEN TnOMPSON.) 
 
 Now gone is the friend that we knew long ago, 
 When we skipped through the woods, or waded 
 
 the snow, 
 To get to her home in those pioneer days, 
 To enjoy her sweet smile and sweet pleasant 
 
 ways. 
 To receive a welcome so true and so kind. 
 That reflects sweet memories so oft to our mind. 
 Ah ! well we remember those suffering years, 
 She spent with us mortals in this vale of tears, 
 Her exemplary patience, while waiting for ease, 
 And yet at the same time, still trying to please. 
 We would not recall her amongst us again. 
 To suffer hor cough, and her wearisome pain. 
 Oh, no ! we would rather go join her above, 
 And find that in heaven the same gentle love, 
 Now free from all pain and all things of the 
 
 earth. 
 Is waiting to show us its heavenly worth. 
 
 — o — o 
 
 THREE LITTLE ANGELS. 
 
 One came to you some years ago, 
 And nestled in your loving arms ; 
 
 You loved your little darling so. 
 You longed far less for other charms. 
 
THREE UTILE ANGELS. 195 
 
 Her wings were hidden from your sight, 
 
 Nor did you know that they were there, 
 Until her spirit took its flight, 
 
 And she had left your tender care. 
 Another came to fill the place 
 
 Made void by her that flew away, 
 And she yet runs this mortal race, 
 
 And still is spared with you to stay. 
 The other two, that angels are, 
 
 Together came, to claim your love; 
 One seemed to think she'd wandered far, 
 
 So she flew back to heaven above. 
 
 But left her mate to soothe your grief, 
 And cheer your sad and lonely heart, 
 
 And though her mission was bo brief. 
 She acted well her childish part. 
 
 And then she spread her angel wings ; 
 
 They bore her spirit home on high. 
 To where the heavenly music rings. 
 
 And where dear children never die. 
 
 So, gentle mother, do not sorrow. 
 
 As the hopeless ones must do, 
 For beyond the last tomorrow. 
 
 Three little angels wait for you. 
 
im THE SEEDS WITHIN THE JIEAHT. 
 
 THE SEEDS WITHIN THE HEART. 
 
 In a garden all free from weeds, 
 Were sown some lovely flower seeds ; 
 The seeds sprang up and bid so fair, 
 To bring forth flowers sweet and rare. 
 
 The garden was neglected so. 
 The different weeds began to grow ; 
 They grew so thick, and grew so fast. 
 They covered up the flowers at last. 
 
 But still we knew that they were there, 
 And needed to have watchful care ; 
 The weeds should have been plucked away, 
 To let them have the light of day. 
 
 So they covild feel the balmy air, 
 Also the summer sun's bright glare ; 
 They should have had a good supply 
 Of water, when they were too dry. 
 
 And then they would have grown so fast. 
 And covered up the ground at last. 
 Then if the weeds had tried to grow. 
 They wouldn't have had much of a shbw. 
 The flowers would now be in full bloom, 
 And so for weeds there Vi be no room. 
 
 In every heart there's seed that's good; 
 That seed would bless all if it could; 
 'Twas planted by the God above. 
 To bear in man the fruit of love. 
 
THE SEEDS WITHIN THE HEART \\r, 
 
 But he neglects to cultivate 
 Tlie plant that might become yo great ; 
 Tlieii evil weeds, (or habits), grow, 
 And fill his heart with sin and woe ! 
 
 But still we know the seed is there, 
 And only needs the proper care, 
 To bring it to maturity, 
 80 we its loveliness may see. 
 In form of actions, good and kind, 
 In words, revealing a pure mind. 
 And influence like perfume sweet, 
 Wafted from flowers our sense to greet. 
 We each the germ of goodness share, 
 And if we each would for it care, 
 It would become a plant to bloom, 
 And cheer our pathway to the tomb. 
 Or like the germ of wisdom bright, 
 'Twould fill our hearts with heavenly light. 
 Then light, and truth, in love would blend. 
 From heart to heart, from friend to friend, 
 Till evil would far hence be hurled, 
 And righteousness would fill the world. 
 For like a mighty tree, 'twould spread 
 Its branches wide, its fruit to shed ; 
 That fruit brought to maturity, 
 Is truth, faith, hope, and charity ; 
 And when we feast on that supply, 
 We've joy and peaoe to satisfy. 
 
198 THE JJl'lXG :iAiyT. 
 
 THE DYING SAINT. 
 
 Farewell, dear world, that's been so good 
 To give me drink, and also food. 
 Farewell, bright sunshine, and yon sky, 
 That oft have drawn my thoughts on high. 
 
 Farewell to little stars so bright, 
 That taught me by their twinkling light, 
 To wonder at the works of God, 
 Spread o'er the universe abroad. 
 
 Farewell, sweet flowers, filled with perfume; 
 Spring always brings again your bloom. 
 Farewell to nature's beauties wild ; 
 I loved you from a little child. 
 Farewell, all seasons of the year, 
 Unto my heart you all were dear. 
 
 Farewell, dear memories of the dead, 
 Who did with me life's pathway tread ; 
 We'll meet again on yonder shore. 
 And love as we ne'er loved before. 
 Farewell, my kindred and my friends, 
 Our earthly intercourse now ends. 
 
 Farewell, my husband, dearest one, 
 Don't mourn for me when I am gone ; 
 Thy head is blossoming for the tomb, 
 And soon thy soul in heaven will bloom. 
 
 Farewell, my body, there will be 
 A resting-place prepared for thee ; 
 
The bosom of thy mother, earth, 
 Will take thee at my spirit's birth. 
 
 My hands, my feet, my face, my form, 
 Our intercourse, so close and warm. 
 Must henceforth and forever cease ; 
 Go to thy mother, go in peace. 
 
 Farewell to everything of earth ; 
 They're good, but there is far more worth 
 In that dear home beyond the sky, 
 To where my panting soul would fly. 
 
 Oh, blessed Jesus ! come, I pray, 
 And take the hindering cause away ; 
 Let my impatient soul get free. 
 That I thy lovely face may see. 
 
 Oh, swelling soul ! burst from thy clay, 
 And take thy flight to endless day ; 
 The bands are broke, my Saviour's come ; 
 I see — I see — Oh, glorious home ! 
 
 o — o 
 
 MYSTERY. 
 
 Oh, mystery ! thou great unknown ! 
 Where is thy great mysterious throne, 
 Thou dark unfathomableness ^ 
 Dost thou exist to curse, or bless? 
 Mystery profound 1 where'er we go, 
 Will we ever know, ever know ? 
 
Birth's a iuy«tery ! Life's a mystery ! 
 This we judge from page of history. 
 Everything's a mystery, all around, 
 Above us, and beneath the ground. 
 How do the things around us grow^ ? 
 We do not know; we do not know. 
 
 When looking up, our gazing eye 
 Sees what is called the calm blue sky. 
 We ask, with wonder in our face, 
 What is it? and they say 'tis space. 
 What are the stars in space that glow ? 
 We do not know ; we do not know. 
 
 And what is this that they call space? 
 'Tis up, and up, an endless race, 
 Where naught that lives beneath the sun 
 But tliought, can try its flights to run. 
 But to what higlits we'd have to go, 
 We do not know ; we do not know. 
 What is it guides yon giant sun. 
 In the fierce race he has to run ? 
 What does the gentle moon rest on, 
 As she in silence glides along? 
 What makes the bright stars sparkle so? 
 We do not know ; we do not know. 
 Tell me, ye gods, if such there be, 
 What is the rain-drop, or the sea? — 
 The silent, sparkling, cooling dew, — 
 The roaring wave, that drowns the crew 
 
Of many a boat that sinks below < 
 We do not know- w« do not know. 
 
 What is it makes the lightnings flash. 
 Bringing forth the thunder cmsh^ 
 They say 'tis electricity. 
 Well, what is that? pray tell to me. 
 But, when the knowledge they'd bestow. 
 They do not know ; they do not know. 
 
 What is it work^ the organ's coarse. 
 And makes the lion's growl sound hoarse ! 
 Or draws the music soft and sweet, 
 From little birds, our ears to greet i 
 What makes these soundf? so different flow! 
 We do not know ; we do not know. 
 
 What is it rules the raging storm i— 
 That hatches out the crawling worm ? — 
 That wafts the gentle breath of spring, 
 And paints the butterfly's gay wing i — 
 That makes the sturdy oak to grow ? 
 We do not know : we do not know. 
 
 Behind the fierce cyclone that blows. 
 And the sweet perfume of the rose. 
 The same Almighty Power holds sway. 
 But what that is we cannot say. 
 For mystery has bound us so. 
 We do not know : we do not know. 
 
202 MYSTERY. 
 
 But when we try to aearoli out man, 
 The most mysterious of the plan, 
 We find our knowledge at the best, 
 Still in dark mystery is drest. 
 For is he not in space to glow? 
 We do not know ; we do not know. 
 
 In him, we see all things combined. 
 That make the body and the mind. 
 What are the great attraction laws, 
 That all these parts together draws. 
 That do in time to manhood grow? 
 We do not know ; we do not know. 
 
 What is that mighty vital force, 
 
 That makes the life-blood take its course, 
 
 And fly, with life-inspiring race, 
 
 To every secret hiding-place. 
 
 And then return with ruddy glow i 
 
 We do not know ; we do not know. 
 
 What is the air. that we call breath. 
 That holds us from the grasp of death? 
 And what is death, that we so dread, 
 But yet o'er all the earth is spread ? 
 Why do we think it is our foe ? 
 We do not know ; we do not know. 
 Why try to search this endless theme. 
 That does with hidden wonders teem. 
 Both of the body, and the mind ? 
 The many things that we could find, 
 
Would be like drcip t-o <i(:>eaii flow. 
 
 But, would we know! ^b! would we know, — 
 
 Or understand the mighty spring 
 
 That makes and works in everything ! 
 
 The thinking physiologist. 
 
 The observing astronoiiiist, 
 
 Think they some insight can bestow. 
 
 But, do they know^ ah ! do they know! 
 
 The great and learned philosopher, 
 
 The star gazing astrologer. 
 
 Think they have found some of the k^ys 
 
 To unlock mysteiT^s dark decrees, 
 
 And let the light to mortals flow. 
 
 But, do they kiiow^ ah ! do they know! 
 
 And if they knov/, th<3n can th^y tell 
 Wherein themselves that know ledge dwells! 
 Or what's the source from whirh thei-e 
 
 springs 
 Meason and .^ense to know such things i 
 If they can't tell from whence they flow, 
 How do they know? How do they know i 
 
 The medical practitioner, 
 
 The anatomist dissector. 
 
 May think they've found the source of pain. 
 
 Also the source from which again 
 
 The stream of health may to us flow. 
 
 But oft they find they do not know. 
 
The would-be good theologist, 
 Has tried so hard to clear the mist, 
 And to unlock the things divine, 
 And tell ns how the good will shine. 
 When they shall leave this world below. 
 But do they know ? ah ! do they know? 
 
 There's heat and cold, there's love and hate, 
 And to all things an opposite. 
 It seems the vigorous positive, 
 Mixed with the slow cool negative, 
 Has something with this power to do, 
 That works in all things, old and new. 
 But back of these we have to go, 
 To see if we can know, can know. 
 
 Oh ! why are things so mystified 'i 
 Why does the source of all things hide, 
 Above, beneath, so near, so far, 
 In darkest cave, or brightest star, 
 In angeFs song, or mortal's woe ? 
 We do not know ; we do not know\ 
 Oh, mystery ! thou dark unknown ! 
 The universe is thy great throne. 
 Oh ! will it, can it, ever be. 
 That we will press through mystery, 
 And knowledge to our minds will flow. 
 So we will know ; so we will know ? 
 No depth of knowledge man can sound. 
 But nature Ira;^ One more pri^found ; 
 
W}fy n ISH TO K\(>]y. 205 
 
 That is in mystery hid away, 
 
 There to remain through this dark day, 
 
 Until the day-star shall arise, 
 
 And pierce for our long-straining eyes, 
 
 The mystery that has bound us so. 
 
 And then we'll know ; ah ! then we'll know. 
 
 WHY WISH TO Ki^OW ? 
 
 <^^)h ! child of wonder, and of doubt, 
 
 How wherefore dost thou wish to know. 
 And want to find out all about 
 
 The things above and things below t 
 Or wherefore wish to find the source 
 
 That paints the rainbow on the cloud, 
 That guides the lightnings in their course, 
 
 And seems to speak in thunder loud,— 
 That rears the rocks and mountains high, 
 
 That makes the blade of grass to grow, 
 That governs in tlie starry sky. 
 
 And sifts on earth the pure white snow,— 
 That makes and rules in each and all 
 
 Things that v,^e know or do not know. 
 And that provides for great and small. 
 
 In heaven above and earth below i 
 Hast thou not learned to see and feel. 
 
 And is it not unto thee plain 
 
'JTMi UHr WISH TO KKOW. 
 
 Thou canst not find ih' unsearchable? 
 Or that thy search is all in vain? 
 
 Bnt if thou mayst not know the source, 
 
 And very little of the (rause, 
 Yet often thou hast felt the force [laws^, 
 
 r^f things that conie through mystery's 
 
 The piercing cold has chilled thee oft ; 
 
 The glowing warmth has pleased thee 
 The gentle music sweet and soft, [more ; 
 
 Or the shrill notes aloft that soar, 
 
 flave all by tliee \\\ turn been felt. 
 
 To stir thy nature to its core. 
 Or else, in feelings soft to melt, 
 
 And stir thy nature to adore. 
 
 llie sights and sounds of balmy springs 
 The ijerfume of the summer flower, 
 
 All to the heart sweet pleasure bring. 
 Like summer sunshine after shower. 
 
 Autumn's abundant store of fruit 
 
 Doth oft thy hunger satisfy ; 
 T\w wintry snow, so soft and mute, 
 
 A source of pleasure doth supply. 
 
 Bat there is something better still, 
 That seems from mystery to flow, 
 
 And does with joy man's nature thrill, 
 And fills his heart with brightest glow; — 
 
THHEF. srsTEHS. 2u: 
 
 It is the heavenly peace of mind, 
 
 That's born of faith and of true love, 
 And will for us the mystery find. 
 
 When we liave soared to heaven above. 
 So, child of wonder and of doubt, 
 
 Wait with patience till you ro 
 To where all things are known about, 
 
 And then tlie mystery you will know. 
 
 ( >— ^o- 
 
 THREE SISTERS. 
 
 Three sisters walketl upon the earth, 
 And sought mankind to ])lesj< : 
 
 They all attended at a birth. 
 All ready to caress. 
 
 The first that did embrace the one 
 
 Just newly come to eartli, 
 Was Birtha, with her happy song. 
 
 That almost seemed like mirth. 
 
 Her bright eyes sparkling full of joy. 
 That tell of pleasure sweet. 
 
 To think a darling baby boy 
 Was born his friends to greet 
 
 Then Sleepie came, with drooping lids. 
 And kissed his eyes to sleep ; 
 
 Her sweet caress always forbids 
 All earth-born eyes to weep. 
 
^)S THREE ^iSTElhS. 
 
 But Deatlia Htood back in the sliade. 
 
 Watching her sisters fair, 
 And saw how happy they had made* 
 
 The ladles gathered there. 
 
 Tlie raven h)frks fell like a cloud, 
 About her black-diaped form ; 
 
 Her large s^ad eyes seemed to enshroud 
 A mournful autuum storm. 
 
 (Contrasted with her sisters gaj. 
 
 She seemed to be severe, 
 And often unto them would say,. 
 
 My timse on earth is drear ; 
 
 For I'm a dread to all mankind ; 
 
 lliey think I am their foe ; 
 But if they could luy brightness find. 
 
 The dilf'rence they would know. 
 
 Tis you they seek, and you they bless; 
 
 But me they shun and fear ; 
 You bring theui present happiness ; 
 
 I cannot bless them here. 
 
 You, sister Birtha, give them birth ; 
 
 You, Sleepie, give them rest ; 
 But I must take them from the earthy 
 
 To dwell among the blest. 
 
 Birtha, your robes of spotless white^ 
 (Contrasted with the blue 
 
THREE SISTERS. 209 
 
 And star-bespangled robes so bright, 
 Worn by our sister true, 
 
 Look lovely, when contrasted with 
 
 My sable robes of night ; 
 But the dark side is but a myth; 
 
 Within they're silvery bright. 
 
 I have my sorrows here on earth, 
 
 Because they know me not ; 
 But when there is a Spirit birth, 
 . Then happy is my lot. 
 
 For though the sad ones left below 
 
 See but the robe like night, 
 Those that are bid with me to go 
 
 Sleep in the lining bright. 
 
 And when they wake, 'tis not to dwell 
 
 Upon the earth again, 
 Or to be placed within a shell, — 
 
 The source of sin and pain. 
 
 But now, my sisters, I must go 
 
 And break your casket rare, 
 And take away from earth below 
 
 The soul that is ?o fair. 
 
 But tears were in her large dark eyes, 
 
 When she beheld the woe 
 Of those that filled the air with sighs, 
 
 Because their babe must go. 
 
 14 
 
210 THREE LOVEliS. 
 
 The midnight robe rolled back to take 
 
 The babe within its fold, 
 And she was happy for the sake 
 
 Of what that robe did hold. 
 
 But the sad mourners, looking down. 
 
 Saw but the broken shell, 
 And thought the dark and gloomy gown 
 
 Was where their babe did dwell. 
 
 While looking down, they lost the sight 
 
 Of the unfolded robe, 
 That flashed with such a glorious light, 
 
 Their treasure to enfold. 
 
 If they would, like the man that was 
 Made after God's own heart, 
 
 Lay down their dark and heavy cross. 
 They'd act the wiser part. 
 
 For he rejoiced to think he'd go 
 
 Unto his son above ; 
 He wished him not back here below. 
 
 Away from life and love. 
 
 -o — o- 
 
 THREE LOVEKS. 
 
 Three lovers wooed this sister band, 
 
 And married every one. 
 Earthly Life sought Birtha's hand, 
 
 And soon his suit he won. 
 
THREE LOVERS. 211 
 
 And she was happy while a bride, 
 
 (If only she had known,) 
 But laid her bridal robes aside, 
 
 To be a wife full-grown. 
 
 Rut when she came unto that state, 
 
 And tried in joy to live, 
 Her restless and her fickle mate 
 
 Had not much joy to give. 
 
 The lover known as Peaceful Rest 
 
 Won Sleepie's willing hand ; 
 81ie laid her head upon Jiis breast; 
 
 With peaceful breath he fanned 
 
 Her lovely, calm, sweet face to sleep ; 
 
 He knew it was his duty 
 'J'o wipe the tears from eyes that weep^ 
 
 Then watch the sleeping beauty. 
 
 Eternity sought Deatha's hand. 
 
 But told her very plain. 
 He could not live upon this land. 
 
 Where time was broke in twain. 
 
 He had no fragmentary life, 
 And could not live that way, — 
 
 Not even to be with his wife, 
 To bless her night and day. 
 
 So they agreed that it was right 
 For him to live where day 
 
212 THREE OTHER SISTERS. 
 
 Wa8 never broken up by ni^lit ; 
 And she would soar away— 
 
 And, visiting abodes of earth, 
 
 Would bear unto her love 
 God's children, changed by Spirit birth, 
 
 Made fit to live above. 
 
 So, as a messenger, she bears 
 
 Life's treasures far away 
 From earthly life and earthly cares, 
 
 To dwell in endless day. 
 
 THREE 0THP:K SISTERS. 
 
 Three sisters hover o'er the eartli, 
 
 Their influence to impart. 
 To show the sons of men the worth 
 
 Of goodness in the lieart. 
 
 They have been known for many years, 
 Upon tliis earthly ball ; [tears, 
 
 They've witnessed joys, and witnessed 
 E'er since they knew saint Paul. 
 
 Tall Faith, with dark-eyed dreamy gaze, 
 
 Seems searching the beyond. 
 As if to read in future's maze, 
 
 Things that to her belonged. 
 
 Or p'r'aps her searching look is cast 
 On what is dim to see, 
 
THLiEE UTUEH SlSTEIii<. 21.3 
 
 Away back in the dreamy past, 
 Tliat yeems a mystery. 
 
 Her raven tresses waving round, 
 
 Bedeck lier lovely head : 
 Her pearly teeth through smiles are found, 
 
 'Tvveen lips so ruby red. 
 
 The crimson blush is shining through 
 
 The olive of her cheek : 
 But the attraction, best and true, 
 
 Is when we hear her speak. 
 
 Sometimes she's weak and seems to doubt 
 
 Her given faculty 
 Of knowing things she's heard about. 
 
 But had no chance to see. 
 
 She must be true unto her name. 
 
 And by her nature she 
 Must do the work for which she cnme, — 
 
 Work of futurity. 
 
 Hope, with her sparkling eyes of gray, 
 
 And her attractive mien, — 
 She smiles and beckons us away 
 
 From disappointments seen. 
 
 Her sunny curls so dazzling bright, 
 
 Her blush of purity, 
 Her rose-bud mouth, and teeth so white, 
 
 Make her so sweet to see. 
 
:214 THREE OTHEli Sl^TEHS. 
 
 And dark would be this world if she 
 Were banished from our sight ; 
 
 We'd be o'erwhelmed with misery, 
 Without her sparkling light. 
 
 But Charity, with love-lit eyes, 
 Like heaven's tender blue, 
 
 Was sent to us from yonder skies, 
 To bring unto our view 
 
 The soft brown hair, like gentleness, 
 That waves above her brow ; 
 
 The trembling lips of tenderness, 
 Kind kisses to bestow. 
 
 Also good-will, and peace, from God, 
 And kindness that we see. 
 
 Is the instruction sent abroad 
 Through patient Charity. 
 
 Paul tells us Charity suffers long, 
 And that she faileth not ; 
 
 Rejoices not in any wrong ; 
 No vaunting pride she's got. 
 
 She beareth all things that offend, 
 Believeth all that's right ; 
 
 She hopeth all things bad will end, 
 And never faileth quite. 
 
 So, loveliest maiden of the three. 
 She hovers o'er the earth: 
 
THREE OTHER LOVERS. 21 i 
 
 For her description tells that she 
 Is of pure heavenly birth. 
 
 o — o 
 
 THREE OTHER LOVERS. 
 
 Three brave youths of the spirit kind, 
 
 Hovering upon the air, 
 Soon, in their wanderings, chanced to find 
 
 Those maidens sweet and fair. 
 
 And brave young Strength approached 
 weak Faith, 
 
 And took her trembling hand. 
 And unto her these words he saith. 
 
 You scarce alone can stand. 
 
 Sweet maiden, join your far-off sight 
 With my strong manhood grown. 
 
 So you'll have strength to bring to light 
 The things that should be known. 
 
 She drew her gazing eyes away 
 
 From things of the beyond. 
 So that she could attention pay 
 
 To words so true and fond. 
 
 She felt her weakness when alone, 
 
 So yielded to his plan. 
 That she the better could make known 
 
 Good things to doubting man. 
 
;iH THREE OTllEIi LOVE HIS. 
 
 And so strong Faith is wliat we've got 
 
 By this united pair, 
 And happy is tlie pilgrim's lot 
 
 Blessed with their presence rare. 
 
 Young Joy, attracted by the light 
 
 That sparkled in the eyes 
 Of lively little Hope so bright, 
 
 Approached her in this wise : — 
 
 Dear little fairy queen, will you 
 
 Now listen unto me ? 
 For I would be your husband true, 
 
 If you my wife will be. 
 
 And we could work together then,— 
 Could clear away the gloom 
 
 That's found among the sons of men, 
 While traveling to the tomb. 
 
 He needed but the beaming glance, 
 
 To tell he'd won the suit; 
 That did his .joyfulness enhance, 
 
 Though it was language mute. 
 
 And so by this united pair, 
 
 'Tis Joyful Hope we get; 
 That helps us many things to bear. 
 
 When, without them, we'd fret. 
 
 The other one, young gallant Truth, 
 Saw Charity so kind ; 
 
rilHEE OTllEli LOVEUS. 2]: 
 
 8he heeded not the gazing youth, 
 For her attempts to find 
 
 Some comfort for a broken heart 
 Just then her thoughts emi)loyed. 
 
 And she was busy with the part 
 Her nature aye enjoyed. 
 
 And so the honest, anxious youtli 
 
 Stepped up and offered aid ; 
 When she replied, I wish brave Trutti 
 
 Would tell this snffering maid 
 
 If she woukl let Strong Faith abide 
 
 Within her troubled lu'art, 
 Then Joyful Hope would lay aside 
 
 Sin's bitter piercing dart. 
 
 Truth whispered in her listening ear. 
 And well she knew 'twas true, 
 
 And soon Strong Faith made Heaven appear 
 More certain to her view. 
 
 Then Joyful Hope's bright sparkling wing 
 
 Soon hovered o'er her bed, 
 And caused the heart with Joy to sing, 
 
 That once in sorrow bled. 
 
 These friends together now had met, 
 
 And each one in his way, 
 Had helped a suffering sinner get 
 
 A glimpse of heavenly day. 
 
218 THREE OTHER LO VERS. 
 
 So now 'twas fitting to unite 
 
 The bravest and the best ; 
 Then, as a band, they all could fight 
 
 Whatever man's soul oppressed. 
 
 So Truth led Charity aside, 
 
 And whispered to her heart, 
 Will you not be my lovely bride, 
 
 And aid me to impart 
 The comfort that is needed much 
 
 Upon the troubled earth ? 
 For well I know your gentle touch 
 
 Will give sweet comfort birth. 
 Her heavenly blue but love-lit eyes 
 
 Turned on him with a smile, 
 That told him of the sweet surprise, 
 
 She would not hide with guile. 
 He called her Love, for that's her name, 
 
 And it is right, we know, 
 For Love and Charity's the same, 
 
 To comfort human woe. 
 So by the joining of this pair, 
 
 We've Truth and Love combined; 
 A combination that's so fair 
 
 Is often hard to find. 
 The marriages like those on earth 
 
 In heaven are forbid ; 
 But spirits that have heavenly birth 
 
 May blend, till they are hid 
 
31Y FIESr MY BHIDAL HOMK. 2)9 
 
 Like all the colors bteiiding ya, 
 
 To make the perfect white, 
 Or mixed perfume of airy flow^ 
 
 That giv€S u« such delight 
 
 MY FIRST MY BRIDAL HOMK 
 
 The little cottage by the wood, — 
 I well remember where it stood,— 
 My first, my dear, my bridal home, 
 I'll ne'er forget where'er I roam. 
 
 The little yard, the fence, the gate. 
 Where for my husband I would wait ] 
 The flowers in front where bees woukl come^ 
 And sing to me their merry hum I 
 
 That little home was dear to iiie, 
 Though it was humble as could be. 
 Fidelity and love were there. 
 Which made it seem to me so fair. 
 
 Oft I look back to yon bright days. 
 See my young husband's winning wa^ s, 
 His raven locks, his handsome face, 
 His tall and manly form of grace, 
 His large dark eyes so bright and brown. 
 His brow that never wore a frown, — 
 And wonder why Lot's wife should be 
 Now planted in the salty seii. 
 
220 LJXE.S TO MY DEAR Iir^SJJAyD. 
 
 For looking back to her first home, 
 When from it she was forced to roam. 
 
 My present home is not yet grand, 
 
 But in some ways 'tis better planned ; 
 
 And it is prized, quite dearly too ; 
 
 It holds the same kind love so true ; — 
 
 Love more than forty years of age, 
 
 Yet has been true, in every stage 
 
 Of life's advance, and though now old. 
 
 It shows no sign of being cold. 
 
 Though raven locks have turned to gray, 
 
 To show we're passing fast away. 
 
 We hope, when to this world we die, 
 And live in yonder world on high, 
 To find the youthful end of love, 
 Then join the young and old, above 
 The fear that death will ever part, 
 And tear asunder either heart. 
 We'll weld together the two ends, 
 And be forever lover friends. 
 
 LINES TO MY DEAR HUSBAND. 
 
 (December 14, 1892.) 
 
 'Tis forty-one years today, my love, 
 Since you and I were wed ; 
 
 The time so swiftly seems to move. 
 On love's bright pinions fled. 
 
LOVE TO TITE LAST. :i21 
 
 You are as dear to me today 
 
 As when yoii first were mine : 
 And when I know you're far away, 
 
 I in your absence pine. 
 
 But wiien I hear your ooming feet, 
 
 With joy I hail the sound ; 
 My heart with pleasing joy doth beat. 
 
 And with true love abound. 
 
 But, ah ! my dear, we'll part ere lon.s: : 
 
 One must the other leave. 
 That's what will mar love's joyous song. 
 
 And leave one here to grieve. 
 
 But if in heaven we meet and dwell. 
 And friend there knoweth friend, 
 
 Tlien gladdest joy our souls will i^well, 
 For love shall never end. 
 
 LOVE TO THE LAST. 
 
 Wk have walked life's patli together. 
 In all kinds of wind and weather, — 
 Passed through its many ups aixl downs, 
 Enjoyed its smiles and felt its frowns: 
 But in our hearts there is a thrill 
 <^)f love, for we are lovers still. 
 
 Together we have read life's book, 
 Upon some pages feared to look, 
 
mVELTY TO ANIMALS. 
 
 Hut we have read unto old age, 
 And soon we'll turn the book's last page. 
 We've reached the foot of life's steep hill 
 But, thank the Lord ! we're lovers still. 
 
 Now soon the stream we'll have to wade^ 
 To reach the hind for which Vv^e're made. 
 But one thing more we sorely want, 
 And pray the Lord the boon to grant,. 
 It is to know that we will I>e 
 Lovers to all eternity. 
 
 CHUELTV TO AINTMALK. 
 
 Oh ! when 1 tliink of cruelty 
 
 That's practiced on the poor dumb brute. 
 It makes me almost sick to see, 
 
 Their patient misery, sad and mute. 
 
 Their owners and their drivers should 
 Remember tliey were made to be 
 
 An earthly blessing kind and good, 
 To help man in his misery. 
 
 But often that seems quite forgot, 
 
 For some men's liearts seem awful hard. 
 
 And cruelty is then the lot 
 
 Such men unto their beasts award. 
 
 They pay their price so many a time. 
 And still they have to pay it o'er ; 
 
THE POOH OLD MULE. m 
 
 They do not mind it in their prime, 
 But only when they're old and poor. 
 
 If justice should be meted out 
 At the last end of this short race, 
 
 Green pastures that we read about, 
 I think should be the horse''s place. 
 
 And cruel men should find the doom 
 Oi misery, such as they have made ; 
 
 In it they should repent in gloom. 
 Until the farthing last was paid. 
 
 The righteous (not the (-ruel man,) 
 
 Is merciful unto his beast, 
 And favors it whene'er he can, — 
 
 Said the great monarch of the east 
 
 THE POOR OLD MULE, 
 He's notliing but a homely mule, 
 
 80 starve him, pound him, load him down; 
 For that's the practice and the rule, 
 
 Both in the country and the town. 
 
 His ears are long, his tail is slim, 
 His head's too large to carry high ; 
 
 He has not got the horse's vim 
 Excepting in his heels that fly _ j 
 
•2-24 THE rOOn OLD MrLfJ. 
 
 A[)()iit Ills tyrant driver'}^ head, 
 
 Who lias a coward's cruel lieart, 
 Tliat often beats in trembling dread 
 
 Of vengeance, that those heels impart, 
 lir impression general seems to be, 
 ' A mule can almost live on air, 
 Endure a life of misery, 
 
 And heavy burdens still must bear. 
 And when against a])use lie kicks, 
 
 TTis strange that lie does not do worse, * 
 He gets a greater dose of licks. 
 
 And many a mad fool's angry curse. 
 If the large head woidd use its teetJi, 
 
 And help its all four nimble feet 
 To make the cruel driver wreath, 
 
 The condvat would l^e more complete. 
 
 For on eacli side there would be three; 
 
 Starvation, over-load, and blows, 
 Are the poor mule's life misery, 
 
 And follow him wliere'er he goes. 
 
 Hut, like the crawling worm, should he 
 Turn on liis cruel foe to fight, 
 
 Then on the other side there'd be 
 Biting, kicking, and a -'<trilie. 
 
THE OX. 225 
 
 THE OX. 
 
 Thp: slow, the patient, plodding ox 
 
 Has been a friend to man, 
 But often took liis cruel knocks, 
 
 To urge him faster on. 
 
 Especially if he was drove, 
 
 Upon tlie tirescmie road, 
 They tried to make hiin faster move, 
 
 With wliip or piercing goad. 
 
 And in tlie dusty lieat of sun, 
 
 The soft wind in the south, 
 Twas sad to see his lolling tongue, 
 
 Protruding from his moutli. 
 
 On farm or fallow, there he would 
 
 His duty do the best, 
 For (chance he had to chew his cud, 
 
 And get a little rest. 
 
 Hut still occasionally we see, 
 
 An ox-team now and then, 
 But mostly it must horses be, 
 
 To satisfy fast men. 
 
 But if the ox can live until 
 
 He is too old to work, 
 He's rested then and fed to kill ; 
 
 In beef he can't be hurt. 
 
2t) BE A UTIES OF A COLD WTXTEB MOBXJNG. 
 
 So liable for comfort is 
 
 The ox in his last days; 
 But, oh ! how miserable 'tis 
 
 For the old horse always. 
 
 Unless he is a favored pet, 
 
 That's won a tender heart, 
 That will not let a tyrant get 
 
 A chance to make him smart. 
 
 THE BEAUTIES OF A COLD AVINTER 
 MORNING. 
 
 Come, view the winter's beauteous scene, 
 
 On this cold frosty morn. 
 The snowy mantle spread, to screen 
 
 The earth till Spring's return. 
 
 The hoary frost upon the trees, 
 That hides their faded brown. 
 
 And makes a sight the eye to please. 
 Like soft white eider-down. 
 
 The curling smoke, from chimneys tossed, 
 
 And from each factory stack, 
 Rolls aloft until it's lost, 
 
 And never more comes back. 
 
 Some of it black, like angry frowns, 
 
 And some like soft sea foam, 
 Adds to the beauty that abounds, 
 
 Then seeks a lofty home. 
 
BEAUTIES OF A ('OLD WINTER MORNIXO. 227 
 
 And snowy garlands, here and there, 
 
 Festoon the things v;ilh snch 
 A refined, graceful, tender care. 
 
 Like mother nature's touch. 
 
 And back of all this wintry gleam, 
 
 The sapphire of the sky 
 Shines where the sun's bright glorious beam 
 
 Will meet the waiting eye. 
 
 And when he spreads his dazzling light. 
 
 The various shades will glow, 
 In the prismatic colors bright, 
 
 As in the arched rainbow. 
 
 The panorama is sublime, 
 
 Its beauties seen and felt ; 
 But often in one short hour's time, 
 
 The loveliness doth melt. 
 
 Within, upon the window-pane, 
 
 Is seen the touch and trace 
 Of the most delicate ingrain, 
 
 Of the most costly lace. 
 
 We're glad there is such beauty left, 
 
 To decorate the part 
 Of time that would seem all bereft 
 
 Of things to cheer the heart. 
 
 Thus we may sing, who have enough 
 To keep us warm and dry, 
 
228 THE OLD DISTJCLOTU. 
 
 And plenty of the good bread-Btnff , 
 Qui' hunger to supply. 
 
 But cold and hungry ones can't know 
 That there is beauty bright, 
 
 Within the dazzling ice and snow 
 That fills their souls with fright. 
 
 But when they feel the lack no more 
 Of comforts they need here, 
 
 Their refined souls will then adore 
 The beauties they'll see clear. 
 
 THE OLD DISHCLOTH. 
 
 Oh ! do not shake me thus about. 
 
 Because I'm old and gray ; 
 Once I was new, and white, and stout, 
 
 And on a shelf I lay. 
 
 But there was naught for me to do, 
 
 While lying on that shelf, 
 And when I was brought out to view, 
 
 I tired of my own self. 
 
 At last, upon a bright spring day, 
 
 A lady came to see 
 What she could buy her daughter May, 
 
 And fell in love with me. 
 
 She took me to her pleasant home, 
 Made me into a dress ; 
 
THE OLD JJJSHCLOTIL 229 
 
 And then sweet May and I did roam 
 In places numberless. 
 
 And so some good I then could do, 
 While clinging round my friend ; 
 
 And as I never had seen you, 
 
 Ne'er thought my joys would end. 
 
 They trimmed me up in ribbons blue, 
 
 And made me look so smart, 
 I thought the dresses very few, 
 
 That could make us now part. 
 
 But after months of friendship sweet, 
 
 They cut me up again ; 
 Then into aprons long and neat, 
 
 I hoped I might remain. 
 
 But what is this short fleeting life ? 
 
 It seems we must grow old, 
 Be mingled with the worldly strife. 
 
 Then to the rag-man sold. 
 
 For often May made use of me, 
 
 To keep her dresses clean ; 
 So what with wear and dirt, you see, 
 
 I grew quite thin and mean. 
 
 And then you took me for your own, 
 
 To wash your dishes with ; 
 So all my early joys are gone ; 
 
 They seem now but a myth. 
 
530 THE OLD VISIIVLOTIL 
 
 For I am ragged, old, and gray, 
 
 Not fit for much on eartli ; 
 So when the rag-man comes this way, 
 
 Sell me for what I'm worth, 
 
 Tliat 1 may go to where they make 
 
 New paper out of rags. 
 And so be used by those Avho take 
 
 Their groceries home in bags. 
 
 Or, better still, be made so white, 
 
 That tliey may on me print 
 The words to set poor sinners right, 
 
 If they will take the hint. 
 
 And if I'm tilled with gracious words, 
 
 To scatter o'er the land, 
 Which pierce, like keen two-edged swords. 
 
 When held in God's right hand. 
 
 To bring poor sinners to the throne. 
 Through Christ the Lamb that bled, 
 
 And know the Father there would own 
 The children he has fed ; — 
 
 I'd willing bear the usage rough, 
 
 To bring my second birth. 
 If I could be made good enough. 
 
 To bless this sin-cursed earth. 
 
 If I am only used for good, 
 To hungry starving men, 
 
CHICAGO QVEEN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 To soul or body bring tlieiii food, 
 ni gladly say, Amen. 
 
 -() — o 
 
 CHICAGO, QUEEN OE THE WORLD. 
 
 Now, in this year of ninety-two, 
 The great collection does construe, 
 Unto our minds, that there will be 
 Things gathered in from land and sea. 
 From north and south, from east and west. 
 The treasures that are better, best. 
 Are drawing to the world's great queen, 
 That they by thousands may be seen. 
 
 As Solomon, the king of old. 
 Gathered in the glittering gold, 
 And treasures more than we can name. 
 In number and in worth the same ; 
 So now the world's great queen is doing, 
 For things are coming, and are going. 
 They're coming from the far away, 
 And going from where here we stay. 
 
 Thus is gathering the collection, 
 Greatest in man's recollection. 
 Greatest that man ever saw. 
 Or ever sanctioned by a law. 
 
 Hot Asia and dark Africa, 
 Cool Europe, fast America, 
 
2:{2 CIJICAGO QVEEy OF THE WOULD. 
 
 All pouring ill tlieir Ireavsured ytore, 
 Of implements and literature, 
 <^)f agriculture and of lierdy, 
 Of horticulture and of birds, 
 Of music and curiosities, 
 Things lovely, and monstrosities. 
 
 The Islands of the seas, also, 
 
 Their wonders and their best bestow. 
 
 From arctic clime to tropical. 
 
 Are brought things good and comical, 
 
 From the equator to each pole, 
 
 All kinds of things are on the roll 
 
 To thee, Chicago, queen of all 
 
 The nations on this earthly ball. 
 
 And in this nineteenth century, 
 We know of things, and some we see, 
 That would King Solomon surprise. 
 Although he was so very wise. 
 He the King of one great nation, 
 Queen of Sheba, of great station. 
 From their greatness now are hurled 
 By thee, fair queen of all the world. 
 
 Full thirteen years had come and gone, 
 Before the great King Solomon 
 Had finished for himself a house. 
 That he could live in with his spouse. 
 Forty-and-six years more he spent, 
 In building a temple that was meant 
 
i'HlCAdO (^lEEN OF THE noirLlL ^^ 
 
 To be a place to sacrific^i, 
 
 And where sweet iiweu^^. wimld ari^H' 
 
 Unto the God that Yive-s aliove, 
 
 And now prefers the lieart's l)est lo\ r. 
 
 But buihtings long, wide, deep, and iiigh. 
 With towers pointing to the sky, 
 f.ike magic from thy ground do t^pring, 
 By fairy's wand, 'neath fairy's whig. 
 The queen of wShebaV si)irits fell. 
 When she found v:here the king did dwell 
 And saw his majesty and pride^ 
 Where he so pompous did resitU'. 
 But what was that to what well het% 
 In this great nineteenth centui y, 
 When all thy w^onders are unfurled. 
 Thou great fair queen of ail the world. 
 
 If brave Columbus could but know 
 Of all this womderful great show, 
 That's to be seen upon the ground 
 That througia his bravery lie found, 
 It seems he'd In amazement stand, 
 To see the wonders of tlie land, 
 And the improvement in the ships, 
 That go and come on the same trips 
 That he^ in hopes and fears, we know, 
 Sailed on four hundred years ago. 
 
 But how^ would he surprise declare, 
 Qu seeing ships float in the air I 
 
2H4 THE MIUAGE. 
 
 Methinks, like liip Van Winkle, he 
 Would feel so strange such things to see, 
 His brain would be so dazed and whirled, 
 He'd seek another new strange world. 
 
 This time he'd sail a good air ship, 
 On his aerial, lofty trip, 
 And perhaps he'd find queen Isabel, 
 Upon some shining star, and tell 
 Her of the wonders here below, 
 That pleasure she might have, to know 
 That her kind words and aid did bless. 
 And help him find the wilderness. 
 That buds and blossoms like the rose. 
 And where bright intellect o'erflows. 
 
 And who can tell but they may be 
 Both hovering o'er where they can see 
 Each good thing, in its condition. 
 At the Columbian Exposition 'i 
 
 THE MIRAGE. 
 
 The thirsty traveler perishing on 
 The sandy desert, 'neath the sun. 
 Sees grass so green and water bright, 
 And looking at the pleasing sight. 
 Makes one more effort, though so hot. 
 To reach what seems the longed-for spot, 
 
THE MlHAdE. 2Sr» 
 
 That, if 'twas real, would -quenoii iiiw thirst. 
 
 But, ahi his heart miist nearly burst, 
 
 Tor as he wearily proceec^s, 
 
 Like Will-o'-the-Wisp, it then recedes ; 
 
 Or like eluding morrow shy, 
 
 We ne'er can catch, though hard we try: 
 
 Till disappointed he must stay. 
 
 And see the vision pass aw^y. 
 
 And oft the sailor^ far at sea, 
 Has viewed what really seeir.ed to lie 
 A city, with its buildings grand. 
 All standing on the solid land ; 
 And to his straining, wondering eye. 
 Its towers and steeples seek the sky ; 
 And hills and tree^, too, seem to rise^ 
 To make a floating paradise. 
 
 Now, what can all these strange sights mean. 
 
 That thus occasionally are seen^ 
 
 Is it because the spirit's eyes, 
 
 Catch a faint glimpse of paradise ! 
 
 Or are the spirit's yearnings such. 
 
 They draw until they nearly touch 
 
 The thing that's longed-for ;— till desire 
 
 8ets our longing soul on fire. 
 
 And God then opens up the eyes 
 
 That see through earthly mists that rise ; . 
 
 As once he did in days of old, 
 
 As in the Bible we are told, 
 
J3H FHIEMJS OF MY YOUTH. 
 
 To let the trembling serv ant see 
 
 The longed-for, great, strong company, 
 
 Who waited ready to defend 
 
 His master till the fight should end ? 
 
 Therefore his master had no fear, 
 
 Who saw the fiery host so near. 
 o — o — 
 
 FRIENDS OF MY YOUTH. 
 
 Friends of my youth, ye are passing away ; 
 Some to the cold dark chambers of clay, 
 Some gone, like the wind, into the far west, 
 Over the mountains, seeking for rest. 
 
 Again, others toward the rising sun. 
 Where ended the earthly race they'd run. 
 And some o'er the wide, rolling ocean so 
 deep, [sweep. 
 
 Have gone where the tide comes in with a 
 
 But the dearest of all is still with me here; 
 I cling to him, though with trembling fear; 
 Afraid I might find that his presence has 
 
 flown. 
 And left me to finish life's journey alone. 
 
 -0 — o- 
 
 TOO LATE. 
 
 While sitting by a corpse one night, 
 A vision came unto my sight ; 
 I thought of the departed soul. 
 That did no iiiOr)t3 the, clay control. 
 
TOO LATE. 2 
 
 I fancied it lamented sore 
 The life that it could live no more. 
 ''Too late," it said, " the chance is gone 
 To make aright each thing that's wrong t 
 "'Too late,'' it said, ^'to read God's word, 
 And learn about a loving Lord, 
 Too late to break from habits bad. 
 That o'er my life such power had ! 
 
 ''Too late to pay each honest debt. 
 That now must make the people fret, 
 Who waited on me months and years. 
 In anxious hopes and troubled fears ! 
 
 "Too late to set aright each wrong, 
 ( /aused by my hands or by my tongue ! 
 Too late to speak kind words to (:heer 
 The sad ones, or the ones most dear ! 
 
 " Too late to tell my faithful wife 
 That she was dearer than my life \- — 
 To speak the words to cheer and bless 
 Her in eartli's dreary wilderness ! 
 
 " Too late to do the many things 
 That unto us a heaven brings ! 
 Too late in this lamented state ; — 
 For aught but crying 'tis too late." 
 
'£i^ THE THOMWY CROWN.. 
 
 THE THORNY CROWN. 
 
 The kings and cimeens of worldly birtli^ 
 Wear glittering (?TO\vns of mighty worth ; 
 Flowers, ribbons, feathers, birds and cnrlsj 
 Deck the heads of ladies and girls ; 
 Bnt the noblest head that ever was born, 
 Wore for a crown the piercing thorn. 
 
 -4) <0 
 
 ETERNITY, 
 
 Eternity is now and here^ 
 Though it is measured year by year ;- 
 Divided now by day and night, 
 To rest and bless our mortal sight. 
 
 When mortal sight lias passed away,, 
 'Twill be one long eternal day ; 
 'Tis in ourselves the change must be^ 
 And not in God's eternity. 
 
 ITRE, 
 
 Oh, fire I when thou art a friend. 
 Thy friendship is most sw^eet ; 
 
 The comfort we can comprehend, 
 While warming our cold feet. 
 
 And when we come in from the cold, 
 A pleasure 'tis to feel 
 
FTHE. 2:i9 
 
 The warmth that does our frame enfold, 
 And to ns doth reveal 
 
 Thy presence, as a gracious friend, 
 
 Ready our cause to fight, 
 And with thy heat our life defend, 
 
 By putting cold to flight. 
 
 When as a servant we employ ^ 
 
 Thy services, so good, 
 Our hearts are filled with thankful joy. 
 
 While eating our warm fcx^d. 
 
 And while controlled by iron f^trcmg. 
 
 Or by the lamp-globe bright, 
 Small is thy chance to do aught wrong. 
 
 While held by them t^ tight 
 
 But when from under all control. 
 
 And on hot mischief bent, 
 Thou terrifiest eacli living soul; — 
 
 For then thy friendship's spent 
 
 Thy forerunner, the rolling smoke, 
 C'Ontains the power of death ; 
 
 For with its suffocating choke, 
 It stops the laboring breath. 
 
 And then thy roaring flame bursts forth, 
 As though thou wouldst engage 
 
 To sweep creation from the earth, 
 With hot Satanic rage. 
 
-Vrt WATER. 
 
 Tlry ifaiiiin^ t«mgue?i dart savagely 
 
 x\t aiiRht that will ignite, 
 As ill denionisjc reyelry, 
 
 'J'liey take siack hot delight. 
 
 When darting tongues can reach no more. 
 
 For liot fianies to devour, 
 Thy liissing, crackling screams give o'er. 
 
 For tlion hast lost thy power. 
 
 Starv;»ti(m is thy natnral death, 
 
 l\\A thori hast one great foe, 
 1liat ('Mil si.tHli'fe thy scorching breath, 
 
 Wlien sent oVr thee to tlow. 
 
 WATKR. 
 
 r^H, waterf thou art such a friend, 
 WHien friend thon really art ; 
 
 Without thy presence joy wonld end^ 
 And life would soon depart. 
 
 We cannot estimate thy nse, 
 
 Because we ne'er have l)een 
 Where thon hast not been most profuse : 
 
 Thy lack we ne^er have seen. 
 
 But oV)servation tells us plain, 
 
 That nanght could live or grow 
 Without thy life-reviving rain, 
 And thy cool, gentle flow. 
 
WATER. 241 
 
 Thou art the life-blood of the earth ; 
 
 Its arteries and its veins 
 Bear thy life-giving moisture forth, 
 
 To bless the hills and plains. 
 
 Thou'rt carried to earth's throbbing heart, — 
 
 The ocean, deep and wide, — 
 In vapor then again to start, 
 
 To fill the brooks that glide. 
 
 Not only are thy uses great 
 
 A comfort unto us, 
 But sad indeed would be our state, 
 
 Without thy smallest use. 
 
 Thou bearer art of loaded ship. 
 
 And of the pleasure yacht, 
 That gives us many a pleasant trip, 
 
 When watery pleasure's sought. 
 
 And when combined with heat from that 
 
 Which is thy opposite, 
 Engendered steam and its fiat 
 
 Produce the swift transit. 
 
 Thou quencher of all feverish thirst, — 
 
 Thou cleanser of all soils, — 
 We long to bathe in thee, when first 
 
 We rise to daily toils. 
 
 Perhaps those who suffer most of all 
 For thy cool sympathy, 
 
 16 
 
242 WATEIi. 
 
 Are those who on the desert fall, 
 And die for want of thee ! 
 
 Parched, swollen lips, protruding tongue, 
 
 With eyes so fiery red ! 
 Oh ! for a drop of thee they long, 
 
 Until they're faint and dead. 
 
 And when thy enemies, the flames, 
 
 Fain would creation melt. 
 Thy pouring stream their fierceness tames; 
 
 They die when thou art felt ! 
 
 And when congealed to ice or snow. 
 
 Thou art a pleasure still. 
 For riding, skating, fast or slow, 
 
 Or coasting down the hill. 
 
 Not only in the middle sphere 
 
 Is thy cool presence found ; 
 But in the cloudy atmosphere 
 
 Thou'rt floating oft around. 
 
 E'en in the regions of despair. 
 
 They call for thy cool drop, 
 To cool the parched tongue that's there, 
 
 And bid the torment stop. 
 
 In various forms we know of thee. 
 
 From ocean's rolling deep 
 To morn's bright speck of dew we see, 
 
 That falls while we're asleep. 
 
WA TEU. 243 
 
 Thy friendship we with thanks regard, 
 
 A cup of thee will bring 
 Unto the giver a reward, 
 
 For his cool offering. 
 
 Such art thou as our water friend, 
 
 But when thou art our foe, 
 Thy gentleness is at an end, 
 
 Thou art a wave of woe. 
 
 For thousands thou has choked to death, 
 
 Beneath thy rolling waves, — 
 Poured in their throats and stopped their 
 
 Within their watery graves. [breath, 
 
 Thy surging waves like mountains roll, 
 
 When wrecking ships at sea; 
 Their howling terror fills each soul, 
 
 With fear's deep agony. 
 
 Why try to tell of all the woe 
 Thy raging waves can spread ? 
 
 'Tis more than we can think or know, 
 For countless are thy dead ! 
 
 Fire has roared, has hissed, has squeeled, 
 
 And tried to burn the world ; 
 Her scorching nature still must yield, 
 
 And be from power, hurled. 
 
 But thou didst once burst every bar, 
 And spread o'er all the earth, 
 
244 MY MOTHER'S HOOD. 
 
 And took all life both near and far, 
 But those who found a birth 
 
 Within the ark of gopher wood, 
 
 That floated on thy waves, 
 And all thy wild, mad fury stood, 
 
 Held by the One who saves, 
 
 And placed the prism-shaded bow. 
 
 Upon the heavy cloud, 
 So trembling mortals aye might know, 
 
 Thou'll be no more allowed 
 
 To spread thyself o'er all the earth. 
 
 And take away the breath 
 Of all that has material birth. 
 
 And fill the world with death. 
 
 No ; for thy greatest part God's made 
 
 A place for thy abode, 
 And there thy proud waves he has staid, 
 
 And rules by his strong code. 
 
 MY MOTHER'S HOOD. 
 
 [WRITTEN TO MY MOTHER ON SEEING A HOOD WHICH SHE 
 
 HAD OFTEN AVORN) 
 
 'TwAs dear, though not a princess crown, 
 
 That met my earnest gaze, 
 'Twas but a humble hood of brown. 
 
 Oft seen in other days. 
 
MY MOTHER' IS liOOB. 245 
 
 And when I look upon it now, 
 
 I almost seem to see 
 My mother's calm and placid brow, 
 
 As seen in childhood's glee. 
 
 It carries back my busy mind 
 
 To days long passed away, 
 In which my loving heart can find 
 
 Sweets that it fain would stay. 
 
 It tells me of my childhood home, 
 
 Of brothers, sisters, dear ; 
 It asks me why from them I roam, 
 
 And why I linger here. 
 
 It asks me of my future state, 
 
 And where my hopes arise. 
 And tells me that my friends there wait, 
 
 Then points beyond the skies. 
 
 In short, it seems to say to me 
 
 All that a mother would ; 
 Although my mother I can't see, 
 
 I see her speaking hood. 
 
 Then let it hang on nail or chair ; 
 
 I oft a look bestow, 
 For sake of her that used to wear 
 
 That hood so long ago. 
 
1M6 M Y MOTHiJJfS HE P L T. 
 
 MY MOTHEirS REPLY. 
 
 ((JOMroSED BY nERSELF.) 
 
 Those earthly tliingvS do sometimes bring 
 
 Unto our vision clear, 
 The prospect of a brighter day, 
 
 Beyond this earthly sphere. 
 
 And if your mother's speaking hood 
 Should raise your mind in love, 
 
 To nobler joys and brighter scenes, 
 Where all is peace, above 
 
 These scenes of busy time and sense, 
 Where cares and fears abound, 
 
 Where joys and sorrows too are mixed, 
 In every scene around ; — 
 
 Then she will not have lived in vain, 
 Nor spent her strength for naught ; 
 
 And Jesus will take back again. 
 The souls that he has bought. 
 
 He'll take them to his own right hand, 
 
 In realms so pure and fair. 
 Where we shall see him as he is, 
 
 And meet our loved ones there. 
 
 Then let us strive to live in love. 
 
 Like those in endless day, 
 That, when our Saviour calls, we shall 
 
 Be ready to obey : — 
 
MV FOBE.ST HOME. 247 
 
 Our work be done, our robe put on, 
 Christ's robe of righteousness : 
 
 Our lamps all trimmed, and burning bright, 
 Our vessels filled with grace. 
 
 Then we shall wear not hoods of brown. 
 
 Or colors that are gay, 
 But we shall wear a glorious crown. 
 
 In realms of endless day. 
 
 -0 — o- 
 
 MY FOREST HOME. 
 
 (THOUGHTS ON THE PIONEER HOME I HAD IN 18()().) 
 
 My brothers and sisters, all so dear. 
 Would like to see my forest home ; 
 
 But as they cannot, they shall hear 
 How I like the place where I roam. 
 
 I think it's so very pleasant here. 
 
 Surrounded by forest trees. 
 To hear them all sound so very near. 
 
 When stirred by the storm or breeze. 
 
 There's the maple with its store of sweet, 
 And the hemlock ever green, — 
 
 The beech with its brown shells full of 
 As nice as ever was seen. [meat, 
 
 There are many more of varied worth ; — 
 Some are blessed with beauty rare, 
 
248 J/1' FOliEST HOME. 
 
 So each in its own way slioweth forth 
 Our Heavenly Father's care. 
 
 There are hills, and vales, and flowing 
 streams ; 
 
 There are meadows long and wide, 
 Where the sun can spread his glorious 
 
 And can show forth all his pride, [beams, 
 
 And those hills, and vales, and lofty trees, 
 Oft resound with music sweet. 
 
 From the little birds that swell the breeze 
 With their notes of praise complete. 
 
 Oh ! I often leave my work and care, 
 And bound in the forest deep, 
 
 And run down the sloping hill, to where 
 The valleys their rivulets keep. 
 
 True, around the house is rather rough, 
 With the brush and logs to pile. 
 
 Which shows that man has done enough 
 Fair nature's charms to spoil. 
 
 So do not think I am lonely here, 
 But think that if I should roam 
 
 Away from this spot that grows so dear, 
 I should sigh for my forest home. 
 
-—- HOLIDAYS. '-21'' 
 
 HOLIDAYS. 
 
 THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Thanksgiving once again is here, 
 Reminding of th' abundant year, 
 For which our many thanks should rise 
 To the great Giver in the skies, 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Let Christmas stars so brightly shine^ 
 To show the infant face divine. 
 Let merry, joyous, Christmas songs 
 Remind us of the heavenly throngs 
 That sang goodwill and peace to man. 
 Soon as Christ's mortal life began. 
 
 Let Christmas gifts remind us of 
 God's heavenly gift, his gift of love, 
 Sent to the world he loved so well; 
 That gift ail others doth excel. 
 By Christm-as gifts may thanks be won 
 To God, who gave his only Son 
 Unto the world, to dwell with men. 
 Restoring them to love again, 
 
 NEW YEAR. 
 
 Let's watch the old year out again, 
 Forgetting all the grief and pain 
 Its mission may have brought along 
 In spite of its first merry song. 
 
250 IN MEMORY OF MBS. HUGH MILLEU. 
 
 We'll bid it God-speed to the place 
 Where years are lost in endless space, 
 And welcome happy New Year's morn, 
 As soon as to the world it's born. 
 Whose timely mission perhaps may be 
 To call us to eternity. 
 
 o — o 
 
 IN MEMORY OF MRS. HUGH MILLER. 
 
 Well do I remember the first introduction 
 I had to the friend that proved worthy and 
 true, 
 And oft in my mind see a pleasing reflection 
 Of her rosy red cheeks, and her eyes that 
 were blue. 
 
 And she was so cheerful, so neat, thrifty and 
 clean ; — 
 That's th' impression I got, I recollect now, 
 As so far away back in the picture she's seen, 
 With her pail in her hand, going to milk her 
 red cow. 
 
 And, also, I remember how sweetly she'd sing, 
 
 In the little log school-house, among the 
 
 green trees, [and ring. 
 
 Where the sound of the singing would echo 
 Borne gently along on the wings of the breeze. 
 
 As the years sped away in my pioneer life, 
 I oft sought her company, to cheer me along. 
 
THE WIDOW ;S ^TOliY. iL^\ 
 
 And aye found those visits with pleasure were 
 
 rife, [song. 
 
 For while working she'd talk or sing me a 
 
 To show she'd a nature from coarseness refined, 
 
 Her flowers, next her family, were her pets, 
 
 I oft thought, — I her mind. 
 
 And filled with sweet pleasure the thoughts of 
 
 While they breathed sweet t>erfume, a« 
 
 among them she wrought 
 
 But disease overtook her, she lingered for year®, 
 In pain and in suffering, on this mortal shore, 
 
 And then left her friends, in this low valley of 
 
 tears, jbefore. 
 
 To join all her loved ones, who had gone on 
 
 Very soon, then followed her life-chosen mate, 
 
 And her wish and her prayer were granted, 
 
 we see : — [have to wait. 
 
 For 'twould seem but a moment, that she'd 
 
 To meet her dear husband, from suffering 
 
 now free, 
 
 THE WIDOW S STORY. 
 
 ^'Oh! 'tis sweet to die," my darling one said. 
 As I held in my arms his poor dying head. 
 '^ I go to the land that is bright and fair. 
 Where the roses bloom, but the thorn is not 
 there. 
 
252 A FMi^SENT, 
 
 " I go where Jesus has gone on before, 
 To prepare the mansions for those that pass o'er. 
 And there I'll secure a home in the skies, 
 And wait till thy soul unto me shall arise. 
 
 ' 'That home shall excel the one in this life, 
 That I tried to make pleasant for thee, my dear 
 wife ; [come, 
 
 Then weep not, my darling, for soon you will 
 To find I am waiting, for you in that home. " 
 
 He closed his dear eyes, and that was the last ; 
 His soul to the mansions of glory had passed ; 
 I would not recall him to earth's dreary love, 
 For I hope soon to meet my darling above. 
 
 o — o- 
 
 A PRESENT. 
 
 (LINES ON THE PRESENTATION OF A BIBLE.) 
 
 Enough within these lids doth lie, 
 
 If read and studied well. 
 To teach you how to live and die, 
 
 And how in peace to dwell. 
 
 It says to husbands, ' 'Love your wives, " 
 And wives, ' 'Your husbands love ;" 
 
 Be true and faithful all your lives, 
 Till called to dwell above. 
 
 Don't let your angry passions rise, 
 Unless your cause be just, 
 
THE SNOW. 253 
 
 But let forbearing love arise. 
 And confidential trupt 
 
 THE SNOW. 
 
 Ah ! who can live pure as the beautiful snow, 
 While they live in this world of sin and of woe I 
 The least little soil how plain it will show 
 On the pure, white, beautiful, beautiful snow. 
 
 The innocent babes that away from us go, 
 They leave the world while they are pure as 
 
 the snow. 
 Because they're redeemed from original woe, 
 By one that was purer than the beautiful snow. 
 
 There's none but him, who to maturity grow, 
 Ever lived a life as pure as the snow ; 
 He represents all mankind here below, 
 So in him we are all as white as the snow. 
 
 HOME, 
 
 What creatures of intelligence, 
 
 But seek themselves a home? 
 It may not be of elegance. 
 
 But still a place to come, 
 
 And feel they are at liberty, 
 And that they may presume , 
 
They from intrusion will be fre€?. 
 Their own ways to assume. 
 
 The spider has its woven web, 
 
 On which it crouches sly, 
 Swaying^ witli the winds that ebb^ 
 
 While waiting for the fly. 
 
 The fly has got the window-pane, 
 
 Where antics he shows forth, 
 As tliough he coukl forever reign,. 
 
 In fnn upon the earth. 
 
 All insects, birds, all beasts and fish, 
 
 Seek for themselves a home, 
 Where they may rest, when they shall wisJs 
 
 To cease around to roam. 
 
 The eagle seeks hers on the rocks, 
 And scorns the thought of fear ; 
 
 The city waif a dry goods' box 
 Seeks for a home so drear. 
 
 And so mankind all seek a home, 
 
 Where they may rest in peace. 
 When they no longer wish to roam^ 
 
 And when from toil they cease. 
 
 A hut, a house, or mansion grand, 
 
 Oh, for a place to stay ! 
 And that desire throughout the land^ 
 
 Home only can allay. 
 
INDECISION, 
 
 E'en Jesus, who the world controls. 
 Mourned for a place to rest, 
 
 And sadly said, ' ' Foxes have holes. 
 And little birds a nest." 
 
 But he, as Son of man, had not 
 A home, though e'er so small : 
 
 But as the Son of God, he's got 
 And really owns them all. 
 
 When man's materialism finds 
 [ts own, its long, lavSt home, 
 
 His soul its earthly home resigns, 
 And ceases here to roam. 
 
 Then seeks a home in paradise, 
 Where ceaseless ages roll ; 
 
 One of the mansions in the skies, — 
 Home of the living soul. 
 
 -0 — o- 
 
 INDECISIOK 
 
 * ' Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel f 
 Then be sure thy cause is honest and right; 
 
 Then go on, determined all doubts to repel, 
 And work with a strong will and work with 
 thy might. 
 
 And work to accomplish the thing whereunto 
 Thy mind has been set the work to begin, 
 
And thy hands have been set the hard work 
 to do, [thing. 
 
 And then Srhall be finished that worthy good 
 But if yon begin to waver and doubt^ 
 
 You'll never accomplish and never excel, 
 And never will bring any good thing about^ 
 To bless any place where'er you may dwelL 
 
 — — —o — o 
 
 GOSSIP. 
 '1 wiLi. tell yon a secret," the Cowlady said, 
 And the beantif^il Lily bowed down her fair 
 
 head, 
 ''The Rose is in love, I know very well ; 
 What I say to yon now I hope yon won't telL 
 I think she is fond of that yonng Mr. Breeze, 
 Who, 'they say,' lives far off among the green 
 
 trees. 
 But she'll find he's fickle as the wind that blows. 
 For he flirts with the Flowers whe?ever he goes. 
 But I think she loves him, for I see he flings 
 Her a kiss, as he hnrry's away on his wings. 
 And I saw her sweet smile, her nod and her 
 
 blush, 
 As I rested a while on a big Lilac bush. 
 She is lovely and fair, I know, to behold, 
 But some things that glitter are not pure gold ; 
 If he marries her, then, he will find the sharp 
 thorn, [born. 
 
 And wish to great goodness he'd never been 
 
GOSSIP. 2r)7 
 
 But I've staid over long, so I must be away, 
 And so now, my dear friend, I bid you good 
 
 She spreads her gauzy wings and away then 
 
 she goes, 
 To visit and gossip with the beautiful Rose. 
 
 "Well, Miss Rose, how are you this beautiful 
 
 day i 
 I thought I would stop as I went on my way. 
 And tell you some news that I have found out, 
 Tell you who it may be, and what it's about. 
 That big spotted Lily's in love, so they say. 
 For I talked with her fair white cousin today. 
 The fellow she's going with is poor as can be; 
 He lives, they all say, in a big hollow tree. 
 And so, then, of course, he's a poor pioneer; 
 If she don't get lonely, 'twill be very queer, 
 When she has to live far away in the woods. 
 With no one to talk to, but her own little buds. 
 For her husband, of course, will oft go away, 
 Seeking for honey in the long summer day. 
 For I think that must be hi& trade, — don't you 
 
 see ? — 
 For, they say, he is called the big Bumble Bee. 
 But then I should think she ne'er would expect, 
 With that spotted face, a rich husband to get. 
 But, I hear quite a stir among the green trees, 
 
 17 
 
258 GOISSiP. 
 
 And soon we may see that yonng Mr. Breeze; 
 
 So I will no longer upon you intrude, 
 
 For I know, if I stay, it will seem to be rude. '' 
 
 Miss Rose wondered, and pondered, and said 
 
 in her mind, 
 "I think Mrs. Cowlady's very unkind ; 
 'Tis strange that she'd ever have mentioned a 
 
 spot, 
 N When she can't help knowing she has such a 
 
 lot.'^ 
 
 Mrs. Cowlady hurried along on her way, 
 Not thinking at all of the time of the day. 
 So she called on a family of Pansies, at last, 
 And told them she thought she would stop as 
 she passed. 
 
 In the course of her call, she said, " Have you 
 heard [a word, 
 
 The news that they're telling? If you won't say 
 I tjiink I am able to give a surprise. " 
 The pansies all opened their purple, dark eyes; 
 Then she told them the news she'd oft told 
 
 before. 
 And that wasn't all, for she told them much 
 
 more ; 
 For a gossip ne'er makes what she tells any less, 
 But by adding she oft gets herself in a mess. 
 
GOSSIP. 2r>9 
 
 'Mong the rest of lier new?, she said, "What 
 
 do you tliink ? 
 I saw Mr. Honey Bee flirt with Miss Pink. 
 I wonder how lie can be so low and so mean, 
 When he's got for a wife such a good noble 
 
 queen." 
 
 A motherly pansy then hung down her head, 
 And kindly and friendly these few words she 
 
 said, 
 ' ' Why ! you make a mistake, or didn't you know 
 That poor Mrs. Honey Bee died long ago?" 
 
 "Ah ! ah ! now the end of the puzzle I see; 
 These widowers all want their next wife to be 
 A young beautiful toy, that they can adore; 
 But she must be thinking of the honey in store. 
 She's proud enough now, and a mean little flirt, 
 Who imagines she's made of much better dirt 
 Than the rest of the folks she sees all around, 
 When she knows she has come from the very 
 
 same ground. 
 There's that good, steady, old maid. Miss 
 
 Bouncing Bet, 
 He ought to feel lucky if her he could get. 
 
 But, oh ! hark at that noise ! From whence does 
 it come ?" [home ; 
 
 It says, "Cowlady, Cowlady, fly your way 
 Your house ia on fire, your children are gone ; 
 There's only one left, and that's little John ; 
 
2<5U NO TIME. 
 
 He's waiting and watching for you all alone ; 
 You'll find him right under the big grinding- 
 stone/' 
 
 That sound put a stop to her gossiping fun, 
 And away she flew, but the mischief was done, 
 Both where she had tattled, and at her own 
 
 home ; 
 For where there's a gossip, there's angry foam. 
 
 King Solomon says, " Where no tale-bearer is, 
 The strife ceaseth," then, for there's no one to 
 
 quiz. 
 If she'd spant as much time trying to do godd 
 As she did to have all the news understood, 
 She'd made better use of her sense and her life, 
 And been a better friend, better mother, and 
 
 wife. 
 
 o — o 
 
 NO TIME. 
 
 There is no time for any huff ; 
 
 Life is too short for that ; 
 The few short years are scarce enough 
 
 For smile or touch of hat. 
 
 There is no time to covet wealth ; 
 
 We could not keep it long ; 
 No time to take by sneaking stealth 
 
 What don't to us belong. 
 
^O TIME. 261 
 
 We want none of the short time lost 
 
 Behind the prison bars ; 
 That would be far too great a cost, 
 
 x\nd aye a good name mars. 
 
 Til ere is no time for getting drunk ; 
 
 That makes life shorter still ; 
 Part of the time would then be sunk 
 
 In liquor that would kill. 
 
 There is no time for gambling, 
 For we should think of heaven ; 
 
 Draw in our thoughts from rambling, 
 And pray to be forgiven. 
 
 There is no time for aught that's bad, 
 
 In this short, fleeting life ; 
 But often we are very sad. 
 
 Because it's mixed with strife. 
 
 There is not time to do much good. 
 
 In this short, mortal space ; 
 So we must hurry, if we would 
 
 Fill properly our place. 
 
 'Tis sad to think man's life should be 
 
 Cut short so often, when 
 He's scarcely reached maturity, 
 
 Much less three score and ten. 
 
 If the allotted space he gains. 
 Take youth and age away, 
 
TIIIi] LOWEST STEP. 
 
 There'll not much time to him remains, 
 To work in life's short day. 
 
 Tlien it behooves us to arouse, 
 And work while yet we may, 
 
 And not in wantonness carouse. 
 Until we're called away. 
 
 THE LOWEST STEP. 
 
 Dead ! oh death would be mercy, compared 
 
 to the fate 
 Of a fallen wife's low and degrading state! 
 Can we think, then, of aught that would ever 
 
 be worse. 
 Or bring to a woman a more bitter cursed 
 
 Yes, there's a low step that is far darker yet, 
 And makes such a woman for pity unfit, 
 'Tis when the fallen wife leads her young 
 daughter astray, [prey ! 
 
 And lets her poor child be the dark vulture's 
 
 Oh ! is there, oh ! can there be mercy for such 
 As have blackened themselves till they're not 
 
 fit to touch ? 
 As a wife, she is low, as a mother, still lower ; 
 Soon she may reap what her daughter must 
 
 ow^e her, — 
 
('0KTENT3£±:NT. 263 
 
 Contempt, bitter hatred, and withering f^corn, 
 To think by such a mother she ever was born. 
 
 For if surh a poor child should to womanhood 
 
 grow, 
 And si ion Id have the good sense such a great 
 
 wrong to know, 
 She'd surely despise the life her ma led her in, 
 And understand plainly her mother's great sin. 
 
 God pity such low ones, no humanity can ; 
 The heart is too small, in both woman and man. 
 To hold goodness enough for such a demand : 
 So, Lord, we leave such in thy merciful hand. 
 
 o — o 
 
 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 King Solomon, the wise man, said, 
 " Contentment is a constant feast f 
 
 And if contentment that man had, 
 Seems all men might have that at least. 
 
 For with his seven hundred wives, 
 
 And all his fretting concubines, 
 All telling of their lonely lives, 
 
 As in the multitude he finds, 
 Each separate one, to tell her Avoe, 
 
 Of waiting long her lord to see. 
 And that so soon he'll have to go. 
 
 And leave her in her misery. 
 
For he must hasten on his way, 
 And leave each one he loves to mourn ; 
 
 For if he spent with each a day, 
 It would be years ere he'd return. 
 
 If under such conditions, he 
 
 Could live a life of peaceful rest, 
 And of contentment constantly, 
 
 He was of all men greatly blessed 
 With strong will power, and self-control.. 
 
 And one so wise would never make 
 An error to disgrace the soul. 
 
 So then, he says, if one would take 
 A city, he is not so brave 
 
 As he that holds his temper fast, 
 And shows his anger he will have 
 
 Control of it, unto the last. 
 
 So the contentment that he meant, 
 
 We think, should not be understood 
 To be the total banishment 
 
 Of the ambition to do good ; 
 But that contented we should be, 
 
 And neither worry, scold, nor fret, 
 About the things we often see, 
 
 And wish we had, but cannot get. 
 
TliUU POLITiJXES^. :1^\:^ 
 
 TRUE POLITENESS. 
 
 "'TIS not to bow and touch the hat, 
 
 E^'en with a gi-acefnl curve, 
 Though it is pleasing to see that ; 
 
 It does some praise deserve. 
 
 "'Tis not to say, Yes, ma am, or sir^ 
 
 Though that is pleasing too ; 
 And sweet inferences do concur 
 
 'Tis to good training due. 
 
 But true politeness is, to show 
 
 Kind sympathy to all 
 On whom attention we bestow, 
 
 When duty makes the call. 
 
 For instance, if a millionaire 
 Should see one starved and cold, 
 
 And give him but a meager share 
 Of his bright glittering gold,— 
 
 Give in a way that will impart 
 
 To the poor beggar's view, 
 That it is from a feeling heart,— 
 
 That is politeness true. 
 
 And if the millionaire's young son 
 Should see some tottering feet, 
 
 Trying in fear to get along. 
 Upon the slippery street, 
 
m TRUE POLITJENE^iS. 
 
 And in a manner gentle, kind, 
 
 Should lead her safely through, 
 And should for her a safe path find, 
 
 Twould be politeness true. 
 Should a fair lady, dressed in plush, 
 
 Overtake a beggar child, 
 And try its shivering cries to hush. 
 
 By words of kindness mild, 
 And help pick up its little store, 
 
 That scattered when it fell, — 
 The things it begged from door to door, 
 
 Politeness that would tell. 
 
 Rut true politeness can be shown 
 By all, both rich and poor ; 
 
 'Tis not for any class, alone. 
 To use or to ignore. 
 
 For it's good manners, and aye shows 
 
 The kindness of the heart. 
 And manifests itself in those 
 
 Kind actions we impart, 
 
 Either by doing what might be 
 
 To some a pleasing joy, 
 Or doing not the thing we see 
 
 Some person might annoy. 
 
JESUS AXi) HIS rovyu cHViirn. -Hu 
 
 JESUS AND HIS YOUNa CHURCH. 
 
 While on life's battle-field we stay, 
 'Tis fight and struggle all along, 
 
 Both with ourselves and those who may 
 Annoy us, by their doing wrong. 
 
 Did Jesus fight life's battles too, 
 While living his short mortal life^ 
 
 Most of that life is hid from view, 
 
 But still we think "'twas mixed with strife 
 
 Irlimpses and hints are all we've got. 
 To show us he was living here. 
 
 Or that with man he had his lot, 
 Until about his thirtieth year. 
 
 The first glimpse in the manger ixmird. 
 Where wise men came from the far east. 
 
 And bowed themselves unto the ground. 
 And let their longing eyes then feast 
 
 Upon the lovely little one. 
 
 Who, in their wisdoin, they had known 
 Would be the eternal God's dear Son, 
 
 Directly from his Father's throne. 
 
 Not only did the bright star shine. 
 So wealthy wise men might rejoice ; 
 
 But messengers from the Divine, 
 Were sent with sweet seraphic voice. 
 
•2(\X JE.Sl\S AXD HIS YOUNG (JHUliCH. 
 
 Unto poor shepherds in the night, 
 To sing good will and peace to men. 
 
 Then with their dazzling wings so white, 
 Flew to the shining courts again. 
 
 Old Anna and old Simeon 
 
 Rejoiced because they'd seen the day, 
 When with their eyes they looked upon 
 
 The great salvation's glimmering ray. 
 
 Glad was old Simeon for the sight, 
 And that his aged arms might press 
 
 The blessed babe, to be the light 
 The Gentile nations all to bless. 
 
 And glory of the Israelites. 
 
 And then he wished his life might cease, 
 Amidst such joy and such delights. 
 
 So that he might depart in peace. 
 
 Twelve years then passed before again 
 We catch a glimpse of God's dear Son, 
 
 Who condescends to dwell with men, 
 And make his Father's presence known ; 
 
 And that is when by faith we see 
 Him in the temple, 'neath its dome, 
 
 With doctors of divinity. 
 While all his friends were traveling home. 
 
 Three days they searched for him among 
 His kindred and at'quaintances, 
 
JESVS AKD HIS VOJ^Xa (lirHCIL '1\\\) 
 
 But found him not in that great throng, 
 Because he in the temple ip. 
 
 In sorrow and in sore distress, 
 They now return to seek theh^ boy, 
 
 And wonder at his carelessness. 
 
 But found him to their hearts' great .joy. 
 
 They marveled at a boy so young 
 Hearing and asking questions thus ; 
 
 His mother said to him, ''My son, 
 
 Why hast thou dealt this way with usf' 
 
 So then, in meek subjection, he 
 
 Went with them to liis earthly home. 
 
 That's the last glimpse of him we see, 
 Until he is to manhood grown. 
 
 But hints we have, they're such as these,- 
 Some said he was a carpenter's vson. 
 
 And others that he did not please 
 His brethren, whom he lived among. 
 
 Tlierefore we see that there was strife, 
 Life's battles there to conquer, too. 
 
 In his most private part of life, — 
 
 The part that's scarcely brought to view. 
 
 But when we come to Jordan's stream. 
 And see the wonders there performed, 
 
 We are enraptured with the theme. 
 That tells us John had been forewarned 
 
i»T(l JESUS AND mis YOUNG CHUBCIL 
 
 Tliat when the Spirit he should see. 
 Descending on one like a dove, 
 
 He should proclaim that it was he, — 
 The Son of God's most tender love. 
 
 So when the heavens above them shon^*, 
 And to the world made manifest 
 
 That he was God's beloved Son, 
 And by his Father there confessed, 
 
 Tlie gentle dove brought down the news. 
 So to tlie world it might be shown, 
 
 They had a chance their Lord to choose, 
 For God his Father made him known, 
 
 John said, ''Behold the Lamb of God, 
 That takes away the world's great sin/- 
 
 By shedding his most precious blood, 
 A new clean church tlien to begin. 
 
 When John's disciples heard him speak, 
 The^ followed in the dusty road, 
 
 The precious Lamb of God to seek. 
 And found tlie place where he abode. 
 
 And so the gerin, or living seed, 
 
 Of God's true church began to grow, — 
 
 Tlie church that must all nations feed, 
 Whose Head must conquer sin and woe. 
 
 Unto this time we do not find 
 That his great power had been displayed ; 
 
JESUS AND HIS YOUXfi ('JIVHCTf. 2*1 
 
 It seems the wonders of his mind 
 ' For some good c-anse had been delayed. 
 
 His pondering mother had a thought 
 Of his miraculous power in store, 
 
 Or she would not to him have sought. 
 When feasters wanted wine so pure. 
 
 And though the time had not arrived, 
 
 To show his majesty divine, 
 Filial obedience still survived, 
 
 And so he made the needed wine, 
 
 Some of the first great work we see 
 Done by the church so lately born. 
 
 Was when its Head indignantly, 
 The old church cleans'd in righteous scorn. 
 
 What mighty power was concealed, 
 When that was but a spark or drop. 
 
 That he allowed to be revealed, 
 To bid such sacrilege to stop. 
 
 He must have terrorized the men, 
 
 Who dared his Father's house pollute. 
 
 By making it a thievish den. 
 Also a storehouse for the brute. 
 
 And from that day unto the last. 
 That he on earth as man was known, 
 
 He showed his will vile sin to blast, 
 But to all woe his pity shone. 
 
JESI'S AND JUS YOU^Yr' (HURVn, 
 
 Through his short luinisterial life. 
 Are many things we find to show 
 
 He had to battle with the strife 
 That comes to mortals here below. 
 
 Tempted in all points like to man, 
 
 Yet yielding not to any sin, 
 He carried ont his Father's plan, 
 
 A perfect earthly life to win. 
 
 Once by the Spirit he was led 
 
 Into the mazy wilderness, 
 Where forty days he had no bread. 
 
 And felt the pangs of hnngryness. 
 
 Then Satan came to him and said, 
 ''If truly thou art God's own Son, 
 
 C'Ommand these stones to be made breads 
 And by thy word it shall be done." 
 
 Next on the pinnacle he stands, 
 But naught of trembling fear he knowg. 
 
 For he is in his Father's hands, 
 And from that source his courage flows. 
 
 At last upon a mountain high. 
 He looks o'er all the Avorld below. 
 
 That world and glory far and nigh, 
 Bold Satan says he will bestow, 
 
 If he will unto him bow down, 
 Upon the mountain's dizzy top ; 
 
JESUS AND HIS YOUNG CIIUECIL 273 
 
 But Jesus, with a righteous frown, 
 Commands him hence, and bids him stop. 
 
 Then angels minister to him, 
 And feed and bless his hungry soul, 
 
 Until temptations grow so dim, 
 He thinks no more of their control. 
 
 When the first mortal Satan sought 
 To tempt away from duty plain. 
 
 By a mere apple she was caught, 
 And by forbidden knowledge slain. 
 
 But now he finds he's not a match 
 
 For Jesus, try him as he may, 
 Though he would give the world to catch 
 
 Him, and his mighty power to stay. 
 He preached upon a mountain top. 
 
 Where the young church assembled high, 
 To listen to the words that drop, 
 
 From lips that blessings did supply. 
 
 And here and there, and now and then. 
 We read he went from place to place. 
 
 To bless and teach the sons of men. 
 And tell them of his Father's grace. 
 
 And once, upon a mountain high, 
 
 The three elected here below 
 Were joined by members from the sky, 
 
 That spake about the scene of woe, 
 
 18 
 
274 JESUS AND HIS YOUNG ailUHCH. 
 
 That in Jenisalern soon wonld be ; 
 
 For there he wonld lay down his life, 
 So man could from the cnrse be free ; 
 
 But none should take that boon by strife. 
 
 For he was able to resign 
 His life, and take it back again ; 
 
 His Father gave that power divine, 
 So he by man should not be slain. 
 
 When the transfiguration shone 
 Upon the mount's exceeding hight, 
 
 His Father to the elect made known, 
 To listen to his words was right. 
 
 But they could scarcely look upon 
 His shining face and garments white, 
 
 When G-od proclaimed him his dear Son, 
 By speaking through the cloud so bright. 
 
 When he descended down below, 
 The people were amazed to see 
 
 The remnant of the brilliant glow 
 That must upon his person be. 
 
 The rest of the young church that staid 
 Down, at the mountain's lowest base, 
 
 Were found unable to invade 
 And cast out Satan from his place. 
 
 But when their glorious Leader came, 
 He soon rebuked the spirit dumb. 
 
JESUS AX I) HIS YOryO CnVBCH. 275 
 
 Consigned liini to Iiis ::ative ilan.e. 
 
 The child made whole could then go home. 
 
 When dining once where there wa?i spread 
 
 Upon the air an odor sweet, 
 There penitential tears were shed, 
 
 By a sad woman, on his feet. 
 
 Yes ! on his feet, ointment and tears 
 Mingled, to show her grief and love;— 
 
 Her grief for sins of many years, 
 Her love for his forgiving love. 
 
 But when the last sad supper came, 
 The little church all gathered in, 
 
 Then Satan was there all the same, 
 To teach a meml)er how to sin. 
 
 But not a thing could Satan do, 
 Until the Lord had dipped the sop, 
 
 And passed it unto Judas too. 
 
 For Jesus could his plans all stop. 
 
 But, oh ! how quick he entered in 
 The heart of that poor sinful man, 
 
 When Jesus let his chance begin 
 To carry out his cruel plan. 
 
 Then Jesus bade him quickly do 
 
 The part that he had promised men ; 
 
 It seems that he was anxious to 
 Lay down and take his life again. 
 
JEsrS AND HIS YOUNG CHVECII. 
 
 Twas unto Satan that he spoke : — 
 In Judas he could Fee him plain ; — 
 
 He bade him quick his power evoke, 
 To bring about the needed pain ; — 
 
 To cause the waiting blood to flow, 
 
 The antitype of paschal lamb. 
 When Jadas went, the Lord said, " Lo ! 
 
 Now glorified in God I am." 
 
 With condescension then so meek, 
 And girded with a towel coarse. 
 
 He washed his dear disciples' feet. 
 As he with them held sad discourse. 
 
 Impulsive Peter who exclaimed, 
 
 ''My feet shall ne'er be washed by thee,'' 
 Consented, when his Lord proclaimed, 
 
 " If not, thou hast no part with me." 
 
 "Then not my feet alone," he said ; — 
 For with his Lord he wished a part ; — 
 
 "Oh ! wash my hands, also my head," 
 And perhaps he thought. Oh ! wash my 
 heart. 
 
 For he was one of the elect. 
 And anxious with his Lord to go ; 
 
 But Jesus said to him, "Not yet, 
 But thou wilt come to me, I know." 
 
 But still he pleads, ' • Oh ! let me go, 
 For I would give my life for thee ;" 
 
JE;SU;S AND Hl^ YOUNG CHURCH. 277 
 
 "Ah ! ere the inorniiig cock shall crow, 
 Three times thou wilt have denied me." 
 
 On this last night their thoughts were sad; 
 
 After typical bread and wine, — 
 Perhaps hoping it would make them glad, — 
 
 They sang a holy hymn divine. 
 
 And then they climbed mount Olives' brow. 
 And Jesus tells them what's to be ; 
 
 Perplexed that little church is now, 
 For Jesus says they'll scattered be. 
 
 And then the three elect he took. 
 And sought the place he oft had found ; 
 
 And passing over Cedron's brook, 
 He bowed himself unto the ground. 
 
 And in Gethsemane alone, 
 
 He struggled with the powers of hell. 
 Where none could hear his mortal groan. 
 
 As on his face he prostrate fell. 
 
 Not even his elected three 
 
 Could hear his groans or see the blood, 
 Forced by his soul's deep agony, 
 
 Till on his brow in drops it stood. 
 
 For still those three were staying where 
 He bade them all remain behind ; 
 
 They slept in sorrow and despair, 
 When he came back their love to find. 
 
:!78 JE:SU:S AXU HIS YOUXa CHURCH. 
 
 80 lie returned and struggled on, 
 With all mau^s spiritual foes combined, 
 
 For he is all mankind in one, 
 And for man's conqueror assigned. 
 
 So bearing in his body all 
 
 The sins of all humanity, 
 He fights the prompter of man's fall, 
 
 And conquers in Gethsemane. 
 What wonder that the burdened soul 
 
 Should swell and press the blood from 
 veins! 
 'Tis wonderful he could control 
 
 His Godly power in mortal pains ! 
 
 Oh ! hear the cry of God's dear Son, 
 "Kemove the bitter cup," he begs, 
 
 "But, Father, let thy will be done ;" 
 And then he drinks the bitter dregs. 
 
 When, lo ! a lovely form appears, 
 An angel sent down from the skies. 
 
 To wipe away the blood and tears. 
 And talk to him of paradise. 
 
 Then soon he sought his chosen ones. 
 These words unto them he addressed, 
 
 In his most gentle loving tones, 
 
 ' ' Oh ! sleep on now, and take your rest. 
 
 "Spirits are willing, flesh is weak," 
 And thus excusing his elect, 
 
je:su:s and ins young ciiuhcil 279 
 
 He stood so gentle, kind and meek, 
 Nor cliided what might ^eem neglect. 
 
 But hardly were the kind words spoke, 
 Before, ''Rise up," was his command ; 
 
 WJien suddenly the three awoke, 
 He said, ''The traitor is at hand/' 
 
 The crowd came on witli weapons armed, 
 Filled with the legion of the swine. 
 
 And found the Son of God becalmed. 
 Filled with his Father's grace divine. 
 
 Because he had life's battle fought, 
 The spirits' last fierce charge had met. 
 
 And conquered as a hero ought, 
 
 But mortal pangs must suffer yet; — 
 
 And then lay down his mortal life. 
 To take a life all free from pain, 
 
 That cannot mix with mortal strife. 
 Or mortal torture feel again. 
 
 Bold Satan leads the crowd along ; — 
 In form of sinful man he is ; — 
 
 And he has told the gaping throng 
 'Twould be the one whom he would kiss. 
 
 Then unto Jesus straight he goes, 
 And "Master, Master," he exclaims, 
 
 And well he might, for well he knows, 
 His mighty Master he remains. 
 
280 JE.SUS AND i//6' YOUXa CHURCH. 
 
 Jesut? liiis nature did re&>train, 
 And kept liis Godly power down, 
 
 Or not a mortal could remain, 
 If only he had shown a frown. 
 
 What must have been the force held back, 
 When tlie mere shadow that was shown 
 
 Sent back the host come to attack, 
 Who to the ground in fear were thrown ! 
 
 But pity shown amidst his foes, 
 His healing power is displayed, 
 
 As he unto his trial goes, 
 He heals the wound the sword had made. 
 
 And in this hour of trying woe, 
 Still caring for his tender bride,— 
 
 The little church begun below, — 
 For their release he soon applied. 
 
 That new-made church so small and young, 
 Had members that were marred by sin, 
 
 And they their sinful ways begun, 
 Because bold Satan had got in. 
 
 As 'twas within the days of Job, 
 When sons of God together came. 
 
 Then Satan in Satanic robe, 
 Went there his wanderings to proclaim. 
 
 E'en one that was of the elect, 
 
 Oaths and denials would not keep, 
 
JESUS AXD JUS YOUNG cnURClL 281 
 
 For fear and pride would take effect, 
 
 But crowing C/Ock would make him weep. 
 
 When Judas had done Satan's work, 
 And he was left alone to think. 
 
 His troubled heart began to hurt, 
 And in despair began to sink. 
 
 For his good Master he had left, 
 
 And worked for one that was so bad. 
 
 For thirty pieces he^s bereft 
 Of all the comfort that he had. 
 
 He went unto the cruel men. 
 
 And told them of his sinful deefl. 
 
 And gave the money back again, 
 That caused the innocent to bleed. 
 
 In penitence and misery, he 
 
 Went out and hung in deep despair, 
 
 80 hastened to eternity, 
 
 To finish his repentance thei'e. 
 
 And now we see the mortal life 
 
 Of Jesus drawing to a close ; 
 And, oh ! how mixed it's been with strife ; 
 
 But he will conquer all his foes. 
 
 For all the multitudes of men, 
 
 Deniers and betrayers too. 
 E'en Satan and his fiery den 
 
 Can't hold, for Jesus will break through. 
 
^2SL' JESUS AND Ills lOUAf; CHL'RVII. 
 
 Death and the grave are naught to him, 
 For lie is Master of the whole ; 
 
 To man they seem so dark and grim ; 
 He knows they but release the soul. 
 
 Though of such majesty possessed, 
 Poor fallen man he fain would win ; 
 
 He does, within his loving breast, 
 The sinner love, but hates the sin. 
 
 'Tis little that these lines express, 
 Of all he did while here on earth, 
 
 Of healing power miraculous, 
 In love and pity aye shown forth. 
 
 None ever can his deeds all write. 
 For John supposed the world ne'er could 
 
 Contain the many books that might 
 Be printed, if one ever should 
 
 Attempt to show all that was done, 
 In his short mortal life below; 
 
 For he was God's eternal Son, 
 And endless work he could bestow. 
 
 But when his work was finished quite. 
 Two angels and a cloud were there. 
 
 The cloud received him from the sight 
 Of the young church that knelt in prayer 
 
 The angels then unto them said, 
 '' Why ylaud ye gazing upon high, 
 
JESUS AND HIS YOrXCf CHVliiMl. 283 
 
 For the same Jesu^ that wat? dead, 
 Shall come again from yonder ^ky/' 
 
 Then from mount Olivet again. 
 
 Unto Jerusalem they went, 
 And there determined to remain, 
 
 Till he the promised Spirit sent. 
 
 And when like rushing wind it came. 
 And set their hearts and tongues on lirt^. 
 
 The multitude then saw each flame. 
 And wondered what could thus inspire. 
 
 Thus the young churcli was set to work. 
 Like leaven in the measured meal, 
 
 But sought not in the meal to lurk. 
 For soon mankind began to feel 
 
 The new-born influence go abroad ; 
 
 But ere the lump all leavened be, 
 Another age must come from God, 
 
 To finish the immensity 
 
 Of the great work that must be done, 
 For sinful man, who fell from grace, 
 
 E'er the great victory is won, 
 The restoration of the race. 
 
284 VHRLSTIS GREATEST MIRACLE. 
 
 CHRIST'S GREATEST MIRACLE. 
 
 Christ's greatest miracle of all, 
 Was done within the judgment hall, 
 While standing there in human woes, 
 Surrounded by his demon foes. 
 
 They clamored for his precious blood, 
 As in their midst he meekly stood ; 
 Nor did they seem a curse to dread; 
 They cried, ''His blood be on our head, 
 And on our children's heads also, 
 If so by that his end we'll know." 
 
 Judge Pilate found in him no fault. 
 Think ye that made their fierceness halt ? 
 Ah no ! ' ' Crucify him, " they cry, 
 ' ' Let the imposter bleed and die. " 
 
 He stood amidst the raging storm 
 Of devils, dressed in human form ; 
 In outward mien he seemed to be 
 A man of grief and misery, 
 
 Obliged to take their spit, and jeers. 
 Accept their mocking, and their sneers, 
 Their crown of thorns, and bitter gall. 
 Though he had power to conquer all. 
 
 Ah ! could they but have looked within 
 That body, marred by their great sin. 
 Seen tlie great power and have known, 
 'Twas anchored to the eternal throne, 
 
f 'HEISTS GREATEST MJHACLE. 2Rr> 
 
 Satanic help had shrunk in fear, 
 Could they have seen such power so near, 
 For, with one breath, yea, with one thought, 
 He could have dashed them into naught. 
 
 Oh, the will power tremendous ! 
 Oh, the miracle stupendous! 
 The many others of the past, 
 Turn pale and nearly stand aghast! 
 
 ''Twas ea,sy for him to let go 
 The stream of love to ease the woe. 
 The human race to help and bless, 
 In all their need and t^ore dlstresi!^. 
 
 He walked the roaring waves and crossed 
 
 Unto his friends, so nearly lost, 
 
 In wonder and in fear dismayed, 
 
 The ^'It is I, be not afraid, ^' 
 
 Kemoved their doubts and filled their hearts 
 
 With joy that confidence imparts. 
 
 To heal the sick, the lame, the blind. 
 And money for the tribute find. 
 To feed the multitude with bread. 
 To raise the much-lamented dead, 
 Was but to breathe his goodness forth, 
 To bless the suffering ones of earth. 
 
 When deuions tore the human frame, 
 And legion was their awful name, 
 E'en they proclaimed him Son of God, 
 
mi (mmSl^S GEE A TEST MIR A fLE. 
 
 And trembled, though he did but nod^ — 
 Asked favor of his will divine, 
 To let them enter in the swine. 
 
 And when they nlothe themselves in form 
 
 Of winds and water in a storm. 
 
 He showed the power of his will, 
 
 By gently saying, ''Peace, be still.'' 
 
 The raging winds then ceased to roar. 
 
 The swelling waves fell back before 
 
 That mighty power, whose strength they 
 
 knew 
 Was living in t]i0#e words so few. 
 
 Ah, yes I 'twas easy for the stream. 
 That does with love and kindness teem. 
 Its great miraculous power to show, 
 Along the various paths of woe. 
 But when the mighty stream's turned back, 
 i\nd forced to stay its onward track, 
 The effort needs the unity 
 Of the eternal Trinity 1 
 
 While in that judgment hall he stood. 
 Listening to all their cries for blood, 
 He outwardly seemed but a man. 
 While hearing all their cruel plan ; 
 But inwardly, a triune God, 
 And, staying with an iron rod, 
 The torrent waiting to o'erfiow 
 The bounds of his commands, and throw 
 
rHRTsrs GTiEATEST MJEACLE. 287 
 
 Itself upon the mnrderoup crowd, 
 That's clamoring for his blood, so loud. 
 
 But only did one little jot 
 Escape, to show that he had got 
 A Father who would send him aid, 
 If such a prayer to him he made. 
 
 Oh! wondrous power of self control. 
 To hold within that burning soul, 
 The mighty attributes of God, 
 When from his head the slightest nod 
 Would bring the torrent of despair 
 Upon his foes assembled there. 
 
 And while we contemplate the scene 
 Of things that seem to u^ so mean, 
 The divine syjark within our soul 
 Strives hard to break from self-control. 
 And in its struggles and its strains, 
 Would burst away from what retains 
 It in the place where it doth dwell, 
 For wild emotions doth it swell. 
 
 And having not the power to stay 
 The torrent, in a Godlike way, 
 It fills, till we can hold no more. 
 And then we go, with hearts so sore. 
 Unto the meek and quiet Lamb, 
 Who stood before his shearers dumb, 
 And when he does for murderers pray, 
 
288 CKRISTS GEUATE.ST MIBAVLE, 
 
 Our wild emotions pass away. 
 ¥ov he says to us, ''Peace, be still, 
 I only do my Father's will ; 
 You know that I in strength arose, 
 And triumphed o'er my hellish foes. 
 'Twas not my Father's image man 
 That formed the plot and laid the plan ; 
 'Twas Satan's host, the race called sin. 
 The heart of man that entered in ; — 
 First into Judas, then the rest. 
 And so in human form they drest. 
 
 ''And goodness, too, was in those forms. 
 And to that good my heart still warms ; 
 For though I hate the sinner's sin, 
 I try the sinner's heart to win. 
 And so the miracle you thought 
 Was by such mighty power wrought. 
 Was done to save the good within 
 The human heart, that's marred by sin. 
 
 "'For though, in tt^th, the sin I hate. 
 
 For sinners yet my love is great ; 
 
 80 greatest miracle of all 
 
 Is restoration from the fall, 
 
 And so restoring unto God, 
 
 Those that the sinner's ways have trod/^ 
 
 Then, blessed Jesus, grant a crumb 
 Of that great power to overcome 
 
JESrs WEPT. 289 
 
 The anger that so oft doth mar, 
 
 And make our souls with passion jar. 
 
 Help us to see the good within 
 
 The sinner's heart, though mixed with sin, 
 
 And not be searching for the mote, 
 
 But lay the beam upon the goat. 
 
 JESUS WEPT. 
 
 Yes, Jesu^ wept, so we may weep, 
 When our beloved ones fall asleep. 
 Yes, Jesus groaned, so we may groan. 
 When those we love have from us flown. 
 Why not, when he could make alive? 
 But we cannot our dead revive. 
 
 And other precious tears he shed, 
 
 When to Jerusalem he said : — 
 
 "If thou had'st known, in this thy day, 
 
 The things that cast a peaceful ray ; 
 
 I would have gathered, 'neath my wings, 
 
 Thy children, as a hen that brings 
 
 Her chickens in from cold and storm, 
 
 And hovers close to keep them warm 
 
 But now, alas ! it is too late ; 
 
 Behold ! thy house is desolate. " 
 
 If thus he wept and mourned when failed 
 His earthly plans, and wrong prevailed. 
 Then surely we, of lower birth, 
 
 ]9 
 
290 PALM SUNDAY. 
 
 May weep and mourn when things of earth 
 Oft disappoint and overcome 
 Us, till to fate we near succumb. 
 
 He, from crude selfishness so free. 
 His tears were tears of sympathy ; 
 We, less of heaven than of earth. 
 Shed tears that are of lesser worth. 
 Rut still, we think it is not sin 
 To weep, when we have grief within ; 
 For has not Jesus made it plain, . 
 By weeping when his heart felt pain? 
 For he was tempted like as we, 
 But from all stains of sin kept free. 
 
 Then, if we weep, it is not wrong. 
 
 But better 'tis to sing a song ; 
 
 Or, better still, a hymn divine, — 
 
 In which some cheering words might shine, 
 
 As Jesus did on that sad night. 
 
 When every star was out of sight, 
 
 And he no cheering ray could see. 
 
 To light him to Gethsemane. 
 
 o — o 
 
 PALM SUNDAY. 
 
 (APRIL 10, 1892.) 
 
 Thou day by prophets prophesied. 
 In which the King of life would ride, 
 Meek and lowly to the city 
 Of his love and of his pity ! 
 
(UJOD FHIDAY. 291 
 
 Day when the glorious Holy Ghost 
 Entered in the mighty host, 
 And burst from parted lips the cry : — 
 " Hosanna to the King Most High ! 
 Hosanna unto David's Son, 
 Who victory o'er the flesh hath won !" 
 When willing hands their garments spread, 
 And waved the palm leaves o'er his head. 
 AVe who in vision now behold 
 The scene our Bibles oft have told, 
 Would the triumphant strain prolong, 
 And shout hosanna to God's Son. 
 
 o — o 
 
 GOOD FRIDAY. 
 
 ( APiilL IT), 1892.) 
 
 Oh thou dark day ! why call thee good?— 
 The day when Jesus shed his blood, — 
 The day the .sun hid his bright rays, 
 Refusing on the scene to gaze ! 
 
 The day when earth did fear and shake. 
 While tottering in the great earthquake ! 
 Day the infernal host broke in, 
 And filled the hearts of men with sin ! 
 
 Day of that wonderful event. 
 
 When the dividing vail was rent, 
 
 That separated brotherhood, 
 
 'Mongst nations who the earth would flood ! 
 
292 EASTER MORN. 
 
 Division then away was hurled, 
 Between the Jew and Gentile world ; 
 For by Christ's death all nations live ; 
 He is their Representative. 
 
 And that is why we call thee good, 
 Thou day when Jesus shed his blood, 
 To draw all nations into one, 
 United in God's only Son. 
 
 -0 — o- 
 
 E ASTER MORN. 
 
 (APRIL 17, 1892, THE author's SIXTIETH BIRTHDAY.) 
 
 Oh thou, bright, glorious, Easter morn ! 
 When victory, life, and light were born, 
 And rose triutnphant from the tomb, 
 To cheer the world that mourned in gloom, 
 
 Again the earth had quaked, and rolled 
 Away the stone, that could not hold 
 The mighty God, who then arose. 
 And triumphed o'er his mighty foes. 
 
 This time it was a shaft of light 
 That shook the earth and scattered night. 
 An angel form in white arrayed, 
 Cheered the poor women sore afraid. 
 
 At this great, vital step, our Lord, 
 By angels watched, also adored, 
 
TO MY BROTHER IN ENGLAND. 293 
 
 As in temptation there they came, 
 And in Gethsemane the same. 
 
 While being tried, 'twas then he could 
 
 Have called twelve legions, if he would. 
 
 At his ascension, there again 
 
 Two shining ones talked with the men. 
 
 And so it seems in all his woe, 
 
 His human form was guarded so. 
 
 And we are told when he descends 
 Again, to meet his watching friends, 
 He'll come with angel bands so fair, 
 To meet his loved ones in the air. 
 
 And so thou, Easter morn, so bright. 
 In thee there was a glimmering light, 
 Of the triumphant vict'ry won 
 To spiritual life, in God's dear Son. 
 
 TO MY BROTHER IN ENGLAND. 
 
 (COMPOSED BY MOTHER.) 
 
 Deae brother, are you living yet ? 
 
 I would so like to know ; 
 Or has the ruthless hand of death 
 
 That loving heart laid low ? 
 
 When you and I were boy and girl, 
 
 And did together play, 
 I little thought so soon to part, 
 
 And go so far away. 
 
294 THE MOTHER'S AXaUI^SH. 
 
 And must these eyes behold no more 
 The friends I love so well ? 
 
 Or shall the surging billows roll 
 A long and last farewell ? 
 
 Ah, no ! I cannot say farewell, 
 It too much swells my heart ; 
 
 For though our bodies meet no more, 
 Our spirits cannot part. 
 
 Then let us seek a Saviour's love. 
 
 Our souls to purify, 
 That we may meet in heaven above, 
 
 And join our friends on high. 
 
 There we shall sing a Saviour's praise 
 
 His name we'll glorify. 
 No tongue can tell the joy of those, 
 
 Who meet beyond the sky. 
 
 THE MOTHER'S ANGUISH. 
 
 * ' I CANNOT give my darling up ! 
 
 God save my child," she begs ! 
 *'Oh, take away the bitter cup ! 
 
 I cannot drink the dregs. 
 
 ' ' Oh, God ! she's dead ! my precious one ! 
 
 My babe so wondrous fair ! 
 My joy and comfort now is gone, 
 
 And I am in despair ! 
 
THE MOTHEB'S AXOUlSH. 295 
 
 "Talk not to me of God or skies, — 
 
 The words I cannot bear ! 
 He would not heed my pleading cries ; 
 
 He spurned a mother's prayer ! 
 
 "Oil ! tell me not the soul that shone, 
 
 And made her wondrous fair, 
 Now shines around his dazzling throne ; 
 
 I cannot see her there ! 
 
 "To me, she's in yon grave so deep. 
 
 So cold and all alone ! 
 Ah, if he'd break that Ipng, cold sleep. 
 
 His kindness then I'd own I" 
 
 THREE YEARS AFTER. 
 
 "My darling babe, so wondrous fair ! 
 
 You're all the world to me. 
 Oh, God ! I plead, my baby spare, 
 
 That I thy love may see. 
 
 " I hold her with a trembling hand, 
 
 For fear she'll slip away. 
 And leave me in this dreary land, 
 
 Oh, spare this one, I pray !" 
 
 EIGHTEEN YEARS AFTER. 
 
 "God heard my prayer, my precious child, 
 And spared you all these years ; 
 
 But now my heart is nearly wild ; 
 'Tis filled with hopes and fears. 
 
296 THE MOTliEKS AXGl'L^ll.. 
 
 ''For I must lay my olaiiu aside, 
 
 And trust you unto one 
 That claims you for his lovely bride; 
 
 (xod grant my fears are wrong.'' 
 
 TEN YEARS AFTER. 
 
 *' God, hear my prayer, my heart will break ! 
 
 Oh, listen to my cries ! 
 Again 'tis for my darling's sake, 
 
 My prayers to thee arise. 
 
 '* I had to trust her unto one 
 
 Who fills her life with pain ; 
 My once rebellious heart was wrong, — 
 
 I see it now so plain. 
 
 " Oh, God ! forgive, and hear my vow ! 
 
 I'll thank thee for the rod 
 That falls upon myself, just now, — 
 
 But take her, — oh, my God ! — 
 
 ''Away from such neglect and scorn, 
 Such anguish and such grief, 
 
 'Twere better had she ne'er been born, 
 If she gets no relief. 
 
 * ' I thank the kind and tender love, 
 
 That took my precious one, 
 To shine around the throne above, 
 
 With the angelic throng. 
 
 "Oh ! keep my child from going astray, 
 In her dark life of woe : 
 
THE THANKFUL OLD P At PEE. 291 
 
 That when she's done with grief, she may 
 To endless comfort go, 
 
 "^Then, like thy servant David, I 
 
 Will feel 'tis better so, 
 For her to rest, and me to die^ 
 
 So I to her can go. " 
 
 o — o 
 
 THE THANKFUL OLD PAUPER, 
 
 •' ' Oh ! do you ask m« how I do 1 
 
 Why, I am pretty well ; 
 I have the rhemmatiz, 'tis true, 
 
 My hands and feet they swell. 
 
 ^'But, then, I needn't work, you see. 
 
 Unless I feel inclined. 
 For everything's provided fret^. 
 
 And mostly to my mind. 
 
 "" And every day I sit and thinks 
 
 Of times that's passed away, 
 When my poor husband bought his drink. 
 
 And taxes I must pay. 
 
 •"'But wheii at last the time had come. 
 
 That tax I could not pay, 
 Why, then they took my little home. 
 
 And brought me here to stay. 
 
 *' And now it seems I've got back to 
 The state when I was young : 
 
298 THE THANKFUL OLD FAVFEE. 
 
 I sit and think that hymn all through, 
 That once my mother sung. 
 
 " If you will listen, I will tell 
 Some of the words, so dear ; 
 
 They often make my bosom swell 
 With thanks, now I am here. 
 
 "Just these few will not encumber, 
 ' Holy angels guard thy bed. 
 
 Heavenly blessings without number, 
 Gently falling on thy head. 
 
 " ' Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment. 
 House and home, thy friends provide. 
 
 All without thy care or payment, 
 All thy wants are well supplied.' 
 
 "You see how well they fit my case, 
 
 Since I to want have come ; 
 I oft my Heavenly Father praise. 
 
 For this last earthly home. 
 
 "And every day I try to be 
 
 Thankful and pleasant to 
 The folks that work and care for me, 
 
 For they have much to do." 
 
THE TWO BRIDES. 29\) 
 
 THE TWO BRIDES, 
 
 Kate, with her sparkling -eyes, so blu-e, 
 
 And bangs of golden glint, 
 Said, "Mary, I have come to you, 
 
 To get at least a hint, 
 
 *' Of where your wedding dress youll buy. 
 
 And what your plans may be ; 
 Also to tell that Charles and I 
 
 Conclude that we will be 
 
 *' United on the selfsame day, 
 As you have wished we would ; 
 
 Then let us make a bright disphiy, 
 So folks €an see we could. 
 
 ' ' The boys have banked, you know they say. 
 Five hundred dollars, or more. 
 
 That we may use in our own way, 
 Upon our wedding tour. 
 
 *' But, really, 1 thought Charles looked sad. 
 
 When I told him last night. 
 How it would make me feel so glad, 
 
 To spend those dollars bright. 
 
 ^' My dress shall be of satin, blue, 
 With trimmings rich and rare ; 
 
 You know that means we'll live so true. 
 And have a life so fair. 
 
300 THE TWO BliWElS. 
 
 " My ornaments shall correspond 
 With dress and trimmings too ; 
 
 For well you know that I am fond 
 Of things that's rich and new. 
 
 ' ' So, Mary, now, my friend so dear, 
 Pray tell me what you'll wear ; 
 
 Our wedding day is drawing near, — 
 There is no time to spare. " 
 
 Mary replied, "My friend, I think 
 My dress shall be pure white ; 
 
 My ornaments the rosebuds pink, 
 George gave to me last night. 
 
 ' ' Of course, they are of coral made» 
 But look so real and true ; 
 
 And, then, it is his favorite shade, 
 80 that is what I'll do. 
 
 ' ' The trimmings of my dress shall be 
 Just what shall show good taste, — 
 
 Shall correspond with modesty ; 
 I want no vulgar waste. 
 
 ''I know they say a bridal dress 
 Should not be perfect white. 
 
 For it denotes that happiness. 
 Will soon be ended quite. 
 
 ' ' But I no notice now will take 
 Of surh a silly whim ; 
 
THE TWO BRIBES. 301 
 
 I'll trust my noble-minded mate, 
 And live in peace with him. 
 
 *' And the five hundred dollars he 
 
 Has placed for me to use, 
 Shall be spent so that he may see 
 
 His trust is not abused. 
 
 '' Our wedding tour so short will be,— 
 You look surprised, my friend,— 
 
 ' Twill start at mother's door, you see. 
 And at our own door end. 
 
 *'No wedding presents do I want,— 
 
 I think the custom's wrong, — 
 It often does a poor friend haunt, ] 
 
 That works to get along. 
 
 *' I want each loved, invited friend 
 
 To feel that all is free, 
 And that they need not bring or send 
 
 A present unto me. 
 
 '' I would not look back on a shade 
 
 Of worry, or of strife. 
 Within the day that I was made 
 
 A happy loving wife, 
 
 "Some of my friends might presents bring, 
 
 That would so far excel, 
 They'd cause a mortifying sting, 
 
 That in the face would tell. 
 
:Myi THE TWO BHWmS. 
 
 ''Again, some five or six might bring- 
 Things that were all the same, 
 
 And that might cause a piercing sting. 
 To those by whom they came. 
 
 " And others might so costly be, 
 
 That we could not afford 
 To ever match them properly, 
 
 And so they'd be ignored. 
 
 " So, then, my gay and happy friend. 
 Those dollars, you perceive, 
 . Will be just what Fll have to spend, 
 To all niy ATants relieve. 
 
 -' I guess our k)verB thought tliey must 
 
 Re ready to comply 
 With our demands, though perhaps unjust. 
 
 And hard to satisfy, 
 
 '' I wonder sometimes that young men 
 
 Ffave courage, in these days. 
 To marry any woman, when 
 
 They contemplate their ways. 
 
 '' You say, my friend, you're going to board, 
 
 I fear the scheme you'll rue ; 
 For do you think Charles can afford 
 
 To pay the board for two ? 
 
 ^'I would not like to feel I was 
 A burden in the start, 
 
THE TWO BRIDES. 303 
 
 For fear 'twould make my husband cross, 
 And that would break my heart. 
 
 ' ' In the good book, you know, we can 
 
 Read God made mother Eve 
 To be a helpmeet unto man, 
 
 And not to make him grieve. 
 
 *' I think to me 'twill be a joy 
 
 My little work to do, 
 And not to be but a mere toy, 
 
 That couldn't work for two. 
 
 "Tis little good that I can do, 
 
 But one thing I will try : 
 To be a wife in all things true, 
 
 Though fashion I defy.'' 
 
 The day arrived, the brides were dressed, 
 
 Each in her chosen style ; 
 Kate's ornaments were far the best. 
 
 Triumphant was her smile. 
 
 But lookers-on could plainly see, 
 
 That there was inward strife, 
 Between the one that was to be 
 
 The partner of her life 
 
:^(H' THE. TWO B HIDE SI 
 
 And faHbion's god of tyranrij^ 
 That in her heart held sway. 
 
 And might in time lier ruin be^ 
 If cherished there- to stay. 
 
 Eiit Mary, in lier perfect white^ 
 
 Was lovely to behold ; 
 Her bazel eyes so clear and bright. 
 
 Their loving story told. 
 
 The only ornaments she wore 
 Were rosebuds pink and green, 
 
 wSome in lier soft, brown hair, and more 
 Upon her bosom seen. 
 
 No anxions, feverish restlessness 
 
 Disturbed her inward calm ; 
 Her mind, made up to nsefnlnesSr 
 
 Needed no other balm. 
 And on her snowy brow, there seemed 
 
 A settled peace^ so qviiet; 
 Between her rnby lips there gleamed 
 
 Her pearly teeth, so white. 
 If this fair land conld boast more sense. 
 
 Such as she put in force, 
 Then many causes would go hence, 
 
 That bring about divorce. 
 
THE DA RK Til) A L WA VE. 305 
 
 THE DAEK TIDAL WAVE. 
 
 There's a dark and dirty tidal wave, 
 
 That's rolling o'er this land, 
 It's swept its thousands to the grave, 
 
 And more is its demand. 
 
 And on its murky crest, we see 
 
 These terrorizing words, 
 "I am the source of misery, 
 
 I'm tilled Vvatli piercing swords. 
 
 "I pierce the mother's tender breast, 
 
 I spoil her every joy, 
 Nor let the father have his rest, 
 
 Because I've got their boy. 
 
 *'I've got their daughter's husband too, 
 
 I make him beat his wife ; 
 And worse than that I make him do; 
 
 Ah ! bitter is lier life. 
 
 "I'm filled with misery, sin, and woe! 
 
 With crime and bitter sliame ! 
 And if my nature you would know, 
 
 I'll tell you uiy dark name. 
 
 '"Tis legion, like my name of yore, 
 
 When many swine I filled ; 
 And now I'm filling thousands more, 
 
 And thousands I have killed. 
 
 20 
 
306 THE DABK TIDAL WAVE. 
 
 ''You watch me close, and you will see 
 
 I've many forms of woe, , 
 To torture poor humanity, 
 
 As rolling on I go. 
 
 ''The bar-room is my meeting-place. 
 
 And the saloon also ; 
 I meet with many a bloated face, 
 
 And noses that's in blow. 
 
 "The prison's oft my ending-place. 
 
 Crazy asylums too ; 
 With poverty and deep disgrace 
 
 I'm filled, all through and through. 
 
 "Husbands, to worse than brutes do come, 
 
 When they my liquor drink. 
 For I their kindly hearts benumb. 
 
 And in my filth they sink. 
 "Young, happy, joyous brides I turn 
 
 To poor neglected wives. 
 Who o'er their hungry children mourn, 
 
 Whom wretchedness survives. " 
 The last words are, "I cause more sin, 
 
 More misery, and more shame, 
 Than any other single thing 
 
 That anyone can name." 
 
THE WHITE SLAVE. 307 
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE. 
 
 Yon man's a slave, although he's white, 
 He's bound in chains so strong and tight ; 
 At first they were so very small, 
 He thought they were not there at all. 
 
 But when he found that they were there, 
 Still thought his strength superior, 
 Till brought unto the auction block, 
 Where Satan stood, ready to knock 
 And auctioneer him off, to go 
 To Liquor Habit and his Co., 
 A company so great and strong, 
 Tliat made him feel his strength was gone. 
 
 And very soon they made it known 
 
 To him, lie was no more his own. 
 
 They drove him on from bad to worse, 
 
 Until his life was but a curse 
 
 Unto himself, and others too, 
 
 That made his kindred sadly rue. 
 
 And if he tried to run away, 
 
 Habits, like blood -hounds, then would bay, 
 
 While in the jungle and the mesh, 
 
 They sought for blood, but not of flesh. 
 
 The blood that evil habits draw. 
 Must be the blood of moral law. 
 It is the life-blood of the soul. 
 That's under evil's full control. 
 
308 THE WHITE SLAVE. ""^ 
 
 Man's not in slavery alone, 
 For women oft in bondage groan ; 
 Some of them cringe in slavish fear, 
 To dress and fashion every year ; 
 And other foolish habits too, 
 Doing things they can't undo. 
 
 If habits we allow to be 
 
 Onr tyrants, then we are not free. 
 
 But if we feel our strength's o'ercome, 
 
 We may repair to Christ for some ; 
 
 He's stronger than the chains that bind. 
 
 And keep us in their coils confined ; 
 
 And evil habits he can cast 
 
 Into the swine that would run fast. 
 
 And choke themselves, down in the sea, 
 
 Rather than live in slavery. 
 
 To Satan and his fiery host. 
 
 Who, we are told, their captives roast. 
 
 What joy it is for us to know 
 We're not obliged in bonds to go ; 
 • We each and all have full control 
 Of freedom, for our precious soul. 
 
 White men enslaved those that were black, 
 And sent the blood-hounds on their track. 
 They whipped and lashed their bodies bare, 
 And nearly drove them to despair. 
 They sold their families apart. 
 And nearly broke each bleeding heart. 
 
DIVOKCE. 305) 
 
 But, ah ! they could not reach their ^oul, 
 For that was not in their control ; 
 Although they tried in every way, 
 To hinder those who met to pray. 
 However, those who longed for prayer, 
 Could meet their Saviour anywhere. 
 The slaveholders that we should shun. 
 Are evil habits every one. 
 
 o — o— • 
 
 DIVORCE. 
 
 LINES CO^IPOSED AFTER nKARIXG OF SO MANY DIVORCE 
 CASES IN COURT. ) 
 
 Oh, God of union and of love ! 
 Look from thy shining courts above. 
 And save our marriage institution. 
 From the dark waves of dissolution. 
 Teach husbands for their wives to care, 
 And with their imperfections bear, 
 Remembering that perfection's not 
 A quality themselves have got. 
 
 Teach them to hold their wives more dear 
 
 Than the saloonist and his beer. 
 
 And dearer than the smoke or spit 
 
 Of the obnoxious weed, not fit 
 
 To be within the mouth of man. 
 
 The noblest work of God's great plan. 
 
 Teach them that it is far the best. 
 To be at home where they can rest 
 
310 DIVORCE. 
 
 With their own wife, their bosom friend, 
 Than the dark hours of night to spend 
 In gambling dens, or places worse. 
 Sowing vile seeds to reap a curse ;— 
 Spending money their wives must need 
 Themselves and little ones to feed. 
 
 Teach every man that has a wife, 
 As true to him as death or life, 
 To give to her implicit trust, 
 And tell her so, for that is just. 
 Teach them to be true in return, 
 The siren's wicked ways to spurn, 
 And live true, noble, manly lives. 
 An honor to themselves and wives. 
 Teach wives to love their husbands, 
 
 And for their comfort care, 
 Make home a paradise of plans, 
 
 Where each the joys may share. 
 Give them a heart contented, 
 
 With what they can afford, 
 That naught may be lamented. 
 
 To break the sweet concord. 
 And, may things not necessary, 
 
 Ne'er lead them into debt, 
 To make their husbands worry. 
 
 And perhaps in anger fret. 
 And may gods of fashion never 
 
 Usurp a husband's part, 
 
DIVORCE. 311 
 
 But may he be always, ever, 
 The first in each wife's heart. 
 
 So, then, be second only to 
 
 The God that reigns above, 
 And that, we pray, will soon renew 
 
 The marriage covenant love. 
 
 For in his holy word we read 
 
 Advice from good Saint Paul, 
 And if that good advice we'd heed, 
 
 No man or wife need fall. 
 
 And children would obedient be, 
 
 And pleasing to behold. 
 Their conduct we'd rejoice to see. 
 
 In goodness manifold. 
 
 And parents never would provoke 
 
 Their children unto wrath, 
 But would their tender minds evoke, 
 
 To walk in wisdom's path. 
 
 Oh, God of union and of love ! 
 
 These evils pray subdue, 
 And may estrangement far remove, 
 
 From hearts that should be true. 
 
 And may love's bands so closely draw. 
 
 Where wedlock is in force, 
 That there will be no man-made law, 
 
 Able to grant divorce. 
 
312 THE TUHEE LINKS. 
 
 THE THREE LINKS, 
 
 Oh, thou glorious link of Friendship ! 
 
 We're glad of thy existence ; 
 For thou'rt next to heavenly worship, 
 
 And there's no time nor distance 
 That can stay thy onward progress, 
 
 That moves from heart to heart. 
 We feel thy blessed influence, 
 
 When acting well thy part. 
 Thou blessed, heavenly link of Love ! 
 
 Heaven's purest boon to man ! 
 With joy we hail thee from above, 
 
 Thou sweetener of life's plan. 
 Oh, thou link of Truth substantial ! 
 
 In thee there is no fear ; 
 For Truth is Truth eternal. 
 
 And lasts beyond this sphere. 
 Oh, links of Friendship, Love and Truth ! 
 
 Beneath the seraph's wing ; 
 Sent down to bless old age and youth, 
 
 Praise to you all we sing. 
 Defended by long weapons, sharp, 
 
 With justice underlaid. 
 That will the right of no one warp. 
 
 But see that wrongs are staid. 
 Embraced by victor's laurels too. 
 
 Above, the eye of God, 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF MH. AMOS FOX. 3K3 
 
 With watnliful brilliancy, looks through, 
 
 To see that all is *'Odd.'' 
 Between ye links and God's bright eye, 
 
 The hour-glass doth stand. 
 To indicate the hours that fly, 
 
 By the retreating sand. 
 We'll sing a verse to members too, 
 
 Belonging to this lodge ; 
 We hope you live up staunch and true, 
 
 And not a rule you dod^e. 
 *' Odd Fellows " you are called, we trow ; 
 
 In one thing you're not odd, 
 'Cause watchful wives, you say, sha'n't know 
 
 The secret ways that's trod 
 When you assemble here ; and so 
 
 We trust you to the eye of God, 
 
 o — o- 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF MR AMOS FOX. 
 
 In eighteen hundred and sixty-five. 
 The Steamer Wenona did arrive. 
 At one of the most northern docks, 
 Built by the late known Mr. Fox. 
 
 'Twas then that we first met the man, 
 That started here the merchant's plan. 
 Since then we've known him all along. 
 But now, alas ! our friend is gone. 
 
314 TO THE ME MOBY OF MB. AMOS FOX. 
 
 We miss his well known form and face, 
 So many years known in this place ; 
 Though things move in the usual way, 
 We feel a friend has passed away. 
 
 Before the town could boast of docks, 
 This man, we knew as Mr. Fox, 
 Built one, far out into the bay, [way. 
 
 Where steamboats stopped, when on their 
 And found that there was wood enough 
 To make the steam for them to puff. 
 While steaming up, from " down below," 
 And then again to Buffalo. 
 
 80 we have known him many years, 
 Knew him when we were pioneers. 
 'Twas he that did the biggest part 
 To help the town to get a start. 
 
 So, in the store and on the street, 
 
 We often met his wandering feet. 
 
 And when our eyes would seek his face. 
 
 Sometimes he'd speak with pleasing grace. 
 
 At other times, he'd seem to be 
 
 Far from the things so near to see. 
 
 His mind might then have wandered west, 
 
 To where his young days, perhaps his best, 
 
 Had been spent in the golden land, 
 
 Searching for treasures in the sand. 
 
 But we'll let that be as it may, 
 
 We know and feel he's passed away. 
 
POETRY. 315 
 
 '^Tis true, ^ometime^ he was called rough, 
 Rut he showed kindness, quite enough 
 To let us see he did possess 
 A share of goodness that's not less 
 Than a bright spark of heavenly love, 
 To draw the soul to heaven above. 
 
 His wandering feet have found the rest 
 That stops their wanderings east or west. 
 We hope his soul ha» found the place, 
 Where Jesus shows the sinner grace. 
 Where wickedness and trouble cease. 
 And where the weary rest in peace. 
 
 POETRY, 
 
 They ask u^, What is poetry? 
 
 'Tis sense, 'tis measure, and 'tis rhyme. 
 And these all form a trinity, 
 
 And if inspired, it is sublime. 
 
 That trinity its body forms. 
 
 And must be joined by other two. 
 
 The two that aye its nature warms. 
 And makes it poetry all through. 
 
 Then, it's body, soul, and spirit ;— 
 
 Its body is the words we see, 
 Thought is the soul that fills it, 
 
 Its spirit's from eternity ; — 
 
316 FOETliY. 
 
 The best part of the whole design, i 
 
 Because it is of God a part, ■ 
 
 And with its tender charms divine, 
 Inspires and fills the human heart. 
 
 If bodily it has defects, 
 
 Its soul filled with divinity. 
 The charming influence oft effects 
 
 A hiding of deformity. 
 
 As like some human forms we see. 
 Where seems no beauty in the whole. 
 
 But, when we know them perfectly. 
 We find that they are beautiful, 
 
 Because their souls are filled with grace. 
 That must be sought and found, before 
 
 We notice it upon the face, 
 Then nature's defects we ignore. 
 
 And other forms so wondrous fair. 
 
 Their lovely faces index to 
 The mental gems so bright and rare, 
 
 That makes them beautiful all through. 
 
 So poetry's visible defect [sought 
 
 May hide some charms that must be 
 
 And found, before they take effect, 
 And into pleasing use are brought. 
 
POETRY. 317 
 
 x\nd then, again, some verse? shine, 
 
 From surface to diameter ; 
 There's beauty seen in every line, 
 
 And charming is the conqueror, 
 
 That sways, as with a fairy's hand, 
 The heart and soul that are refined, 
 
 Then pointing with a flowery wand, 
 To beauties that enchant the mind. 
 
 The inspiration varies oft, — 
 
 From organs grand and deep4oned bass. 
 Unto the lute-string sweet and soft, — 
 
 To suit each often varied case. 
 
 When singing of the hero brave, 
 The strains are lofty, noble, grand. 
 
 When sighing o'er the silent grave, 
 
 In gentle quavering breath they're fanned. 
 
 In tenderness they whisper love, — 
 The love of this short mortal time. 
 
 But, when they sing eternal love. 
 We feel 'tis poetry syMime. 
 
318 FAREWELL. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 This book, like all things of the earth. 
 
 Must come unto an end ; 
 I trust it will be of some worth, 
 
 To neighbor and to friend. 
 
 The writer's motive is to do 
 
 Some little good this way ; 
 She sought to make the pictures true. 
 
 Instead of for display. 
 
 Full well she knows that poetry 
 
 In even waves should roll, 
 And smoothly flow in symmetry,. 
 
 From the poetic soul. 
 
 But sometimes she has had to bend 
 
 This rule so delicate, 
 In efforts to make sense to blend 
 
 With measure obstinate. 
 
 Therefore she knows perfection's not 
 
 Of its component parts ; 
 But, then, she hopes there may be what 
 
 Will help to bless some hearts. 
 
 Though she expects there will be some. 
 Who are both learned and wise. 
 
FAREWELL. 
 
 319 
 
 Who will to the conclusion come, 
 They ought to criticise. 
 
 Her aim has been to "cast some bread" 
 Where troubled "waters" swell; 
 
 But if she's made mistakes instead, 
 'Tis time she said, Farewell. 
 
PRESS OF *^THE WORLDS HOPE, 
 ALMONT. MLCK. 
 
 H 77 78 * 
 

 
 
 
 
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