S 2545 P68 opy 1 )EWDROPS IN 5he Yalley G)1$S. 5. E FJ. F)ANLY Eei^y Dewdrops IN The Valley By MRS. J. P. R. HANLY PERRY NEW YORK PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR 1892 27/^D u f 5 &* c ?c<^ Copyright, 1892, by MRS. J. P. R. HANLY PERRY, Ocean Grove, N. J. CONTENTS PAGE At the Ocean Grove Beach, .... 5 In Memoriam, ....... 7 Watching and Waiting, ..... 9 Our Precious Susie is Dying, . . . .12 Pulaskie, . . . . . . . 13 After the Battle, ..... 15 A Mother's Sorrow, . . . . . 18 The Old Homestead, . . . . .21 Bright Visions, ...... 27 To All who Weep for Loved Ones Gathered Home, . 29 John B. Gough, ...... 31 Blessings, . . . . . . .33 The Voice of Jesus, ..... 34 Trusting, . . . . . . .35 I Know not the Day, ..... 36 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. AT THE OCEAN GROVE BEACH, May 27, 1892. I atsi standing alone by the restless sea,- All alone on the beaten strand ; And the sighing winds are bringing to me Sweet sounds from a distant land. For my thoughts float beyond the rolling waves, Where the ransomed are gathering home; And I look far away from the silent graves, Where death has been conquered and shorn. Yet sad is the thought that never again Dear faces, so beaming and bright, Will look into mine with a whispered refrain, " God's dealings are always right." Ah ! these are the friends that we miss in the strife Where the battle grows heavy and sore, Where the strength of their faith shone out in their life, As the ensign of heaven they bore. DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. We will need the clear ring of their bugle note, That gave no uncertain sound, And feel the loss of their saber stroke, That sent death through the enemies' ground. But who dares to say that the good and the grand, That have vanished like stars from our sight, Are not leading still, in a higher command, Than when here 'mid the shadows of night ? And it does seem to me that our souls may hear Their voices, more sweet than of old, Our lives may grow better, our friendships more dear. As they beckon us on to the fold. In the hush of God's Spirit we may stand side by side, And join in the worship and praise That will still ring out o'er the drifting tide, To him, the Ancient of days. But, O! how much sweeter their songs are to-day Than any that mortals can sing; And grander and purer the homage they pay To Jesus, their Saviour and King. It will not be long ere we who now wait On the shores of time here below Will be welcomed and met at the golden gate, If our souls are made whiter than snow. The sorrows of earth will be left far behind, The mist and the clouds rolled away; We will spring into life in that beautiful clime, A life that will never decay. DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. IN-MEMORIAM. Written for the Memorial Services of Mrs. Sarah J. C. Downs, held in St. Paul's Methodist Episcopal Church, Ocean Grove, Sabbath, November 29, 1891. Over the host of the white ribbon army Surges a tide of sorrow to-day; Out of the ranks to a clime pure and balmy A great light and leader is taken away. Under the shadow of loss and bereavement Thousands are offering their tribute of love To her whose clear judgment and wondrous achievement Has brought to New Jersey rich gifts from above. Over her archways a still hand is lifted, Pointing to battlefields dusty and worn, Where with God's guidance the crusade was shifted, Till the last foe was routed, defeated, and shorn. Alas for ourselves, is the cry that's ascending From hearts bowed and broken at sorrow's dark shrine; With lips mute in anguish and silence we're bending To ask the dear Saviour to make us resigned. O Death, thou art greedy, so hard and relentless, To tear from our hearts our own Sarah Downs; But God is the victor, 'tis he that's bereft us, And shows us by faith her reward and her crown. Ah, here, precious sister, in hearts true and loyal, Thy mem'ry's sweet fragrance shall ne'er pass away; Thy works have reared for thee a monument royal, That cannot be marred by change or decay. DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY: O thou blessed Jesus, whose tears were once mingled With sisters that wept o'er a fresh opened tomb, Speak thou unto us, let our eyes catch the signal, That points from the grave to eternity's bloom. But, O, how much darker the deep cloud of sorrow Hangs over the homes in the East and the West, Over whose portals there dawns no to-morrow, When mother will come with her children to rest. But look up, ye sons, and fond loving daughters, To the mansion of light, there she's waiting for thee ; Her dear arms are reaching above the dark waters, To gather her " bairns to her ain countrie." DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. WATCHING AND WAITING. Years have come and gone since my brave and only boy, slipping his hand out of mine and placing it with confidence into the strong hand of his waiting Guide whom he had loved and trusted from early childhood, entered the shadowy vail with his farewell kiss still warm upon my lips, while I with a heart breaking and bleeding with an agony that none, per- haps, but a mother can fully understand, watched this sol- emn passing beyond. To me came the darkness and the sor- row; to him, the halo and the glory. To me, the watching and the waiting; to him, the blessed reality of home, rest, and heaven. Like gems rare and pure his precious words still live and burn in the hidden chambers of my soul, and the great mother heart, taking many of these dear words, wove them with sobs and tears into the following poem. Under the shadow of that great grief they were written as a solace and a balm for my own broken spirit, and now with tender thoughts and feelings I bring them for the first time before the public eye and give them a place with my other poems, hoping and trusting that other dear mothers who have known this same agony of parting may with me find comfort in the promises of God and in some sweet messages echoed back from the eternal shore. Mother, mother, I am passing through the misty valley now, For I feel its chilling dampness and its breath is on my brow; And I hear the cold waves lashing by that river dark and drear, Where my feet will soon be pressing, where I'll part with all that's here. io DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. All thy loving care, my mother, like a mantle soft and sweet, Folds around me in this hour, strengthens my poor weary feet For their last sad mournful journey over Jordan's stormy tide, Where the waves are parting for me, and where Jesus is my guide. I have longed to live, my mother, ah! perhaps for thy dear sake, For I know when I have left thee what a void my loss will make ; 3Iany hopes with me will perish, and thy fond dreams will be o'er; Thou wilt be so sad and desolate on life's dark and lonely shore. But, my precious, loving mother, let thy bleeding heart grow calm, Let the bright reward that waits thee be a solace and a balm; Let the blessings of thy darling, rich with gratitude and love, Lift thy soul from out the furnace, fasten it on things above. Ah ! I know that thou wilt miss me, for thy heart has fondly clung To thy child, though heedless sometimes, yet to thee a faith- ful son; For thy earnest, faithful prayers, like a magnet to my soul, Drew my spirit to its haven, steered it safe past every shoal; Led me close up to my Saviour, placed my trembling hand in his ; Now I'm clinging close to Jesus; mother, mother, think of this. Let it comfort you in sorrow, let it wipe away each tear, That your loved one in the conflict felt no terror, knew no fear. DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. u Oft I've thought my sainted father hovered o'er my youth- ful path, Though I can but just remember when I gazed upon him last; Yet his voice was ne'er forgotten, nor that hand that pressed my brow, And the prayer that he whispered cheers my spirit even now. That last dying prayer is answered, God has blessed his only son, And is gathering him so early with that long-mourned ab- sent one, With the jewels that were taken from our once bright Eden here, Where you'll find them all, my mother, in that fold beyond all care. Ah! I'm very weary, mother, though I have not traveled long; Only nineteen summers, mother, since I listened to the song Of the spring birds' early welcome as they sang around our home; Now they're flying southward, mother, I with them will soon be gone. Not to lands where clouds and sunshine intermingle day by day, Nor to climes where orange blossoms only bloom and then decay ; For the land that I am gaining ne'er has felt one bitter blast, And the joys that there await me will forever, ever last. Our next meeting, precious mother, will be on that blissful shore, Where I'll wait and watch thy coming when thy sorrowing life is o'er. Blessed Saviour, I am ready ; mother, sister, all, good night, It is morning with my spirit, in the valley all is light. 12 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. OUR PRECIOUS SUSIE IS DYING. Thus wrote a sorrowing sister as she watched the going out of a bright young life, the household pet, a young and beautiful girl of seventeen. I immediately replied to the sad message in the following lines, but when they were received that cherished one had passed the misty vail, had entered the fold, and seemed to be whispering back to those who wept and mourned her loss, " Weep not for me, for I am safe in the arms of Jesus." Can it be that she is fading, That her feet will soon be making Music o'er all that bright and starry floor, Where a mother stands to greet her, Brothers, sisters wait to meet her, And a loving Saviour's welcome thrill her soul For evermore ? Do not say that she is dying — Her young soul is only sighing For the friendship of the angels who have watched her from the shore. Now they stand so close beside her, Now they wait in joy to guide her Through the mist of that dark valley, robbed of terror Evermore. Hear ye not the fluttering motion Of those spirits from the ocean Of eternity's broad waters, as they watch beside her door? With their wings all bathed in glory, Soft they chant the sacred story: Jesus died to clothe such jewels with new beauty Evermore. DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 13 And, while watching by her pillow, Soft they whisper, not a billow Shall engulf a soul that Jesus saved in childhood's hour; When she knelt beside the altar, Her firm soul that did not falter Then was sealed for God and heaven, sealed for him For evermore. PULASKIE. On the lonely isle of Tybec, Where the heaving billows break, And the thousand feathered songsters Day and night their music make, Where the tangled mossy branches Of the live oak sweep the ground, And the pine looks out in silence On the dreary waste around; There, where clustering vines and flowers Link their tendrils firm and strong, There the weary, dying soldier Caught the angels' welcome song After dreary nights of labor In the marshes damp and low, Where the pestilence and fever Struck the sad and fatal blow. Long before the day of battle Graves of heroes marked that shore, Scores of lofty, noble spirits Whose brave works on earth were o'er, i 4 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. All unconscious of the glory They had twined around the name Of the hero of Pulaskie Who had wiped away her shame. From her battered walls and rampart Rolled the shout of victory won, And a nation rose to offer Homage to her brilliant son; While the name of those brave spirits Who had nobly done their part Ne'er were known except in circles Where their mem'ry filled the heart. DEVVDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 15 AFTER THE BATTLE. The very sands sent up a breath Freighted with poison and with death ; And all along that beaten shore, Where late was heard the battle's roar, A stillness reigned, so hushed and drear That hearts grew faint, appalled by fear. The weary sentinel at his post Moved like some specter walking ghost. So pale, so chiseled was his face, So lost was every natural trace, So ghastly was his sunken eye, Friend after friend might pass him by, And little dream that years before They'd played beside each other's door. Dim visions of the distant past Loomed up like dreams that did not last, Leaving upon their weary brain A feeling close akin to pain. A gloomy shadow of despair Was thrown o'er every creature there; Even the birds within the trees Looked out in silence o'er the seas; Their very warblings seemed so sad, Like mournful strains above the dead. The tall palmettoes' branches waved Where heroes fell beneath their shade, Or bent their palm-leaved branches low, As if they felt the weight of woe That fell on many a bleeding heart In distant homes so sad and dark, 16 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. Where mourners sat with hearts so filled With grief and sorrow that it chilled Each sympathizing friend that came To speak of hope or breathe the name Of their dear ones who in the strife Sealed their pure loyalty with life, Leaving no message to be borne To those who watched each night and morn, And wept and looked, but looked in vain, To clasp them to their hearts again. Ah ! sad those days when every gale Sobbed out its bitter, mournful wail; Grief like a plague preyed hard and sore On town and city, till it bore A nation pleading to the throne For Christ to hear the piteous moan That rose, like incense to the skies, From altars where the holiest ties Were rent and severed, till we stood A nation bathed in crimson blood ; And there, like ancient Israel, we Were led as ne'er before to see God's vengeance poured upon our land While heedless of his just command. Alas, alas! that greed should stain A nation's record, and defame A land that God decreed as free As streams that roll toward the sea; A land of freedom! thus we sung, And to the breeze our banner flung, Bidding all nations look and see The glory of our liberty. DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 17 From east to west the song arose, From north to south we felt repose, And heeded not the gathering storm Whose muttering thunders breathed alarm. Through many a home the line was drawn, For North or South the watchword rung, Till those who at one mother's knee Had lisped their prayers in infancy Were sundered far by strife and hate, That pressed them onward to a fate So sad and sorrowing, that to me It dimmed the crown of victory. How oft in thoughts I move again Among the wounded and the slain, And catch the last sweet message home From out the shadows and the gloom — Some farewell word for mother dear To soothe and help 'mid bitter tears; Some loving token for the true, Brave girl that loved the boy in blue ; Some cheering words for wives at home, Into whose hearts they knew would come A wound so deep that time itself Misfit fail to heal their sore distress. Yet 'mid the pangs of death 'twas sweet To know that they again would meet Beyond all battlefields of life — Beyond the conflicts and the strife. And in this hope their souls were blest, For Christ was there to give them rest. DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. A MOTHER'S SORROW. Amid a nation's mourning, when so many expressions of grief fell from the lips of thousands at the sad death of our noble Garfield, perhaps there was nothing that touched the human soul more tenderly or left a longer and deeper lodg- ment in the great feeling heart of the country than the plain, simple, yet pathetic words of that aged mother, who, amid the honors shown the departed president at Cleveland, 0. 2 previous to bearing his remains to their last resting-place, seemed lost to everything around her, and, apparently forget- ful of all else save her boy, cried out from the depths of her hungry soul, " O ! I must see his face, for he is my own boy, you know." Alas ! how empty and inadequate all the pomp and glory with which an appreciative nation strives to embalm its hon- ored dead. Yes, all the show and grandeur fell far short of satisfying that mother heart, whose touching words rang deeply through my own soul, at which time the poem was written. O ! I must gaze upon his face, Though changed that face may be; My eyes though dim will surely trace Some look that's dear to me. My hungry heart craves one last look On him, my pride and joy; Ah ! my poor heart is well nigh broke For him, my own dear boy. Think not though years, long years have past, Since he, the blessed child, Sat pondering o'er his evening task, While I my needle plied, DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 19 That I can e'er forget the smile He gave so oft to me, My weary hours he would beguile While sitting at my knee. All else may sweep from this poor brain, All else may be forgot, But memory keeps one steady train Clear back to that dear spot, Where we so oft together sat, Shut in alone with God; Ah! those sweet hours they cheer me yet, AVhile trembling 'neath this rod. Friends thought us poor, they little dreamed What wealth lay hid away Beneath that roof where angels came To chant their sweetest lay. How gladly would I live again Those struggling years of care; 5 T\vas not as hard as this dull pain That lies deep buried here. It would not smother out my breath Like that deep tolling bell, That tells me of my darling's death In each sad sobbing knell. How like a dream, a painful dream, This throng appears to me, The drooping flags, the music's strains, Like mist upon the sea, 20 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. Through which I peer and only ask To see my boy once more, My feeble arms stretch out to clasp That form like days of yore. Lead me, O, lead me to the place Where rests his silent form, And let me gaze upon his face, It cannot do me harm. Let me just lay my weary head One moment near his heart; My boy, my noble boy, though dead, How hard from thee to part. Dead, did I say ? O ! never more Let me express that word; He lives, he moves from shore to shore, His voice will still be heard. He'll come to me, I know he will, In many a lonely hour, "When all things else are hushed and still I'll feel his soothing power. DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 21 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. Yes, there it stood, so dark and drear, That old farm house, with many a sear From time's rough hand, that long had pressed That old, old home to its cold breast, Until it stood at that dim hour Wrapped in a mantle of strange power; While the gray twilight, shadowing o'er, Sent phantoms stealing from the door; And from each window seemed to come Some spirit that once called it home. Through the dim vista of the past They pointed back, as if to clasp Some treasured idol that once shone In all its luster round that home. The blushing bride, like some fair queen, Came gliding past me in that scene, Leaning with pride upon the arm Of her proud lord, whose stately form Bowed gracefully to every guest, Who, filled with joy, around him pressed To give the fair young bride who came A welcome in her husband's name. For her that home had reared its head; For her rich bounties had been spread; And he who brought that noble bride To crown and bless his fireside Felt richly paid for all his care To see her bright and happy there. Sometimes a tear would dim her eye, Her breast heave tip a struggling sigh, 22 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. As thoughts of dear ones o'er the sea Came to her soul like melody From some lone harp, whose trembling strain Brought back the past all fresh again. These were but shadows on her face, That failed to find a hiding-place In the pure heart, whose inner life Made her a true and faithful wife. Softly time touched that forehead fair, And twined those flaxen locks of hair, With here and there a silver thread That shone like pearls around her head; While noble sons and daughters rose To call her blessed ere day had closed; And her fond husband kissed her brow, And whispered, Thou art dearer now Than when I won that heart of thine And asked thee to be ever mine. Calmly they glided side by side, So peacefully o'er time's rough tide, Until they stood upon its shore As if they both would travel o'er To that fair city, just in view, Without that solemn word, Adieu. But as they stood the King drew near, Unclasped their hands, hushed every fear; One farewell kiss was quickly given, And that fond wife was crowned in heaven. And thus the first dark storm arose To break the quiet and repose That nestled like a gentle dove In that bright home of ease and love, DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 23 Leaving its mildew on the heart Of him who seemed to stand apart From every gay and festive throng, As if from out his life had gone That glowing light that cheered his way And turned all darkness into day. Ah ! sad indeed was it to see That strong and stately parent tree Writhing beneath the lightning stroke, As if his heart fore'er was broke. And yet as time passed slowly by It left bright tinges in his sky, And shed at least a mellow light To guide him through the gloom of night; But, O, it ne'er brought back again That link within the broken chain. And when his last fond daughter stood In her fresh morn of womanhood, And sweetly gave herself away, Vowing to honor and obey The stranger who in love had come To bear her to his distant home, That father pressed his happy child One moment to his heart and smiled, Breathing his blessings on her head, And then his thoughts were with his dead. For, O, how swift on memory's wing Came back the day in that bright spring When his own bosom swelled with pride In bearing back his chosen bride To his own home, that long was blessed With that rich treasure he possessed. 24 DEWDROPS TN THE VALLEY. But now within that silent hall, That echoed back his own footfall, A mournful stillness seems to reign Which fills his lonely heart with pain; For now no merry child is seen In sportive play upon the green. All, all were gone, each worthy son And faithful daughter, all save one. One son alone is all that's left In that large hand so richly blessed, So trained to justice and to truth Through all the tempted years of youth. Not in a cold and formal style, That hardens even a trusting child, But love like fountains, rich and clear, Watered each heart with earnest prayer, Which, like the sunshine and the rain, Brought forth a harvest rich in grain. This was the motto each one wore When leaving that paternal door : " Do unto all mankind as you Would have each one do unto you," And ne'er forget that God is nigh To watch you with a loving eye, And guide you with a tender hand, If you obey his just command. These faithful lessons were not lost Upon their lives; for like a host They went afar and scattered wide — Some by the ocean's restless tide, Some far toward the setting sun, And others where the busy hum DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 25 Of active life forever rose Without one day of calm repose; And one upon the ocean's wave Went forth with courage true and brave, Planting his standard clear and high, On which he kept a steady eye, And never aimed beneath the mark, No matter if his way grew dark. Onward, still onward through the gale, His steady bark bent every sail. While years rolled on he earned a name That shone upon the list of fame; Then, like a shock of grain full ripe, He passed beyond all mortal sight, Leaving a wife and children dear Alone within this world so drear. Though blessed from earth's abundant store With wealth that drove want from their door, Yet O, how dark, how drear was life To that frail, trembling, loving wife, When out in the cold world and storm She missed the strength of that strong arm, That, like a sheltering tower, had spread A loving shelter o'er her head. How short life's sunniest days appear! How soon they're hid in clouds and tears! How quick the clear and brightest morn Is followed by the raging storm, And all along life's beaten path We see some victims of its wrath! Sadly I read these records o'er Of those who played beside this door, 26 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. And wait beneath these towering trees To catch upon the passing breeze Some voice from out the spirit land, Some message from that cherished band, Some token that my heart shall know That those I fondly loved belo^ Will know me on that peaceful shore, And come to bid me welcome o'er. DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 27 BRIGHT VISIONS. Far back in the past, like a vision, I see A child of the forest 'neath the shade of a tree ; With her little brown feet half hid in the sod, And her eyes turned to heaven as if dreaming of God. Her light tresses wave unbound in the air, And calm is her brow, too youthful for care ; Her sun-burnt hands are clasped on her breast, As if striving to hush some wild thoughts to rest. The murmuring stream that flows at her feet Has music that almost makes her weep ; While the soft swaying branches of maple and pine Sound strange and unearthly in their soft vesper chime. And the shadows that creep over meadow and dale Seem coming to whisper some sorrowful tale ; While the trembling rays of the fast setting sun Strange phantoms and thoughts in her bosom have flung. All wrapt in a vision she cannot reveal, The bright forms of angels seem round her to steal, Till in her young soul the deep buried fire Is fanned to a flame that burns clearer and higher. Ah ! then, even then her soul seemed to feel The blast that was gathering o'er life's weary field, And the chill of the storm, like the avalanche breath, Seemed wrapping her then in its mantle of death. 28 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. O, child of the forest, couldst thou but have seen The dark years of sorrow that would intervene 'Twixt thee and the grave, all light would have fled, And thorns would have been the wreath for thy head. Yet under the cloud I saw thy true soul Gleaning up from the billows rich treasures untold, Precious pearls that the storms heaved up from the deep, And laid in thy bosom, rare jewels to keep. DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 29 TO ALL WHO WEEP FOR LOVED ONES GATHERED HOME. Look away from yourself, from your sorrows though deep, From the world that is fleeting and vain, Place your hand into His who has promised to keep Every soul who will honor his name. Come up from the valley, where darkness and gloom Fold their mantles of sadness around The poor stricken ones, who peer in the tomb As if their dear ones could be found. I would not persuade thee, nor ask thee to turn From treasures held sacred and dear ; Like beautiful lights I would have them to burn, To bless thee and comfort thee here. O, pure in thy heart keep the love that once blessed And crowned thee with peace and content, But never forget there's a home of sweet rest, Where treasures are given, not lent. Think not of thy dear ones as hid in the grave, 'Tis the mortal alone that is there ; The world's great Redeemer is mighty to save> On him cast your burdens of care. He stands, precious ones, to bear all your grief, He waits to give comfort and rest ; He's calling so sweetly, " I'll give thee relief, O, come unto me and be blessed." 3 o DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. Let each vanished pleasure, each joy of the past, Be as stepping-stones up to the skies ; Not as something that's lost and gone from thy grasp, Never more to gladden thine eyes. I would have them flash out as lights to that home Where joys never vanish away, Where the heart never sighs, never utters one moan, Where clouds never darken the day. I would have thee take up in Gethsemane's shade The cup that is given thee there ; It is only one glimpse of the price that was paid To lift thee from utter despair. Then shrink not away from this Hand that will guide Through the valley, though dreary and dark ; O, look up, though fainting, cling close to his side, He's your shelter, your hope, and your ark. DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 3 r JOHN B. GOUGH. Written for the memorial services of John B. Gough, held in the Baptist Church at Asbury Park, under the auspices of the Neptune Reform Club and Woman's Christian Temperance Union of Asbury Park and Ocean Grove. 'Tis meet that we should gather here, With tender, hallowed thoughts, For one whose loving words of cheer Helped many a fainting heart. To him our cause was sacred, He never lost his faith In woman's holy mission To save a rum-cursed race. Who knows but what his ransomed soul, Clothed with new power and might, To press us all in battle line, To struggle for the right ? He's only laid his weapons down For other hands to grasp ; He waves the palm and wears the crown, He's reached his home at last. But think ye that a soul like his, So grand, so broad, and good, Has ceased its work of love to bless The human brotherhood? God's vital breath can ne'er go out, Though breathed through human lips ; He'll shield the truth from ev'ry doubt While time and heaven exist. 2,2 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. The host, the myriad host above, Join hands with us below, If on we're marching, moved by love, To crush man's bitterest foe. God leads the way, and shadowy hands Wave us to whitened fields, At home, abroad, yes, every land Rings out this loud appeal. Rise, mothers, rise ! ere your dear sons Drift off on sin's dark waves, Led downward by the friends of rum To dark and starless graves. Strike, mothers, strike ! these towering walls, Hemmed in by legal right, They tremble now, and they must fall Before God's power and might. Help, brothers, help ! your arms are strong To pierce rum's bulwarks through ; Your ballots count for right or wrong, Which will you have them do ? Thou loving Christ, speak, speak this day, To every heart and soul that's here ; Let every hand prepare the way That brings the Prince of glory near. Ride on, triumphant King of kings, Our eyes are fixed alone on thee ; The soft gray light of morning brings The herald of our libertv! DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 33 BLESSINGS. All life's sorrows may prove blessings If we strive to bear them right, Watching, waiting for the lessons God would teach us mid the night. We may find the darkest shadows Covering up some golden ray, And the choicest plants in meadows 'Mid the brambles hid away. May we learn to search for treasures Where the heaviest billows roll, Never moaning for lost pleasures That will not enrich the soul. For the shadows and the sunshine That now flicker o'er our way Are the threads that God is weaving Into garlands for that day, When each victor from the battle Will be called to take and wear Crowns that Christ's own blood has purchased, Crowns that must be worn while here. 34 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. THE VOICE OF JESUS. I have heard the voice of Jesus Speaking softly to my soul, And that voice is never sweeter Than when tempests round me roll. When the fiercest storms are raging, Shutting out each human sound, Then my head is pillowed softly On his bosom soft as down. Let me hear thy voice, my Saviour, While I w r alk life's tangled vale; Let me hear it in the valley, When all earthly aid must fail Let my spirit yield obedience To thy voice from day to day ; Let thy signal be my watchword, Let me never answer, nay. Onward then I'll move in triumph Till I reach the promised land, Till I hear thy voice, my Saviour, Greet me mid the blood-washed band. DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 35 TRUSTING. It comes, the New Year, just unfolding To the world its stainless page ; What will be its last unrolling, What its impress on the age ? All ! I cannot lift the curtain, Cannot peer the mystic veil, Cannot see the heavy burden That might make my courage fail. But I can, O blessed Father, Give my trembling hand to thee; Clasp it, hold it if I falter When my way I cannot see. In new pathways I am stepping, Seeking only for the light ; Let me ne'er be found relenting, Though I ofttimes find the night. For it may be thy good pleasure Thus to lead me through the gloom. That I may find richer treasure When I pass beyond the tomb. 36 DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. I KNOW NOT THE DAY. I know not the day, but there will come A hush so still in my narrow home, And all that is mortal shall find repose That ne'er can be broken by friends or foes. No matter how loudly the storms may rave Around that lone spot, the silent grave, The ear will be dull to every sound That will break on the silence above that mound. The springtime and flowers will be just the same As the cold, blighting winter with its sleet and its rain. Though one will be bringing its birds and its bees, To warble and hum in the lullaby breeze, The other will pile its deep drifting snow O'er the bed where the mortal is sleeping below, And the pulseless heart no longer can give One tender expression to those who may grieve. Nor never again can a look or a word Smite through the soul like a sharp-cutting sword, Nor heed in that silent chamber of death The tenderest words that may then be expressed. Though once the same words would have lightened the care And cheered amid sorrows so hard to bear, And gilded with soft tinted touches of gold The dark, rayless clouds that shadowed the soul, DEWDROPS IN THE VALLEY. 37 And kind loving words might have broken the spell That saddened the heart like a funeral knell, A smile might have made the dark, starless night All radiant with beauty and effulgent with light. It will matter not then, for that quiet sleep Will ne'er be disturbed by those who may weep; The lip and the brow mid the damps of the tomb Shall have caught the bright halo of eternity's bloom. It will be but the casket that shall lie there so still, For the soul in its rapture, that so oft was filled With the sweet peace of God, shall have found its true home In the presence of Jesus hard by the great throne. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 016 165 493 #