OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
" How fair the simple flowers appear, 
 
 If hands belov d the garland braid, 
 And friendship s flowers collected here 
 Tho Springs must die will never fade /" 
 
 MY THREE JEWELS 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 LILIEN WISE. 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO: 
 
 H. S. CROCKER & COMPANY, 
 
 Printers and Stationers, 
 
 1887. 
 
PAGE. 
 
 MY THREE JEWELS .................... 5 
 
 GEMS ........... . ............. . 8 
 
 ALL RIGHT ....................... . 12 
 
 FLORAL FORTUNE-TELLER ................ 13 
 
 ALPHABETICAL ACROSTIC ................. 17 
 
 Louis BIRTHDAY .................... 19 
 
 JERRY .......................... 20 
 
 To Louis .......... ~ .-... ........... 21 
 
 HOME ....................... ... 22 
 
 EDUCATION ........................ 23 
 
 MEMORY ......................... 25 
 
 TIME DESTROYS EVERYTHING 
 
 FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE . 
 
 HAROLD S BIRTHDAY 
 
 LOVE 
 
 HOPE 
 
 TJ IT I VI^RS I T Y" 
 " 
 
 THE BOYS 33 
 
 ONE TOUCH OF NATURE 35 
 
 TIRED MOTHERS 36 
 
 THE BABY 38 
 
 MOTHER S BOYS 39 
 
 To THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER 41 
 
 ROCK ME TO SLEEP, MOTHER 43 
 
 ANSWER 45 
 
 OUR DEAD 46 
 
 A MOTHER S HEART 48 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 RETROSPECTION 49 
 
 THE EMPTY CRADLE 50 
 
 EYES 52 
 
 THE UNFINISHED PRAYER 55 
 
 AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE 57 
 
 IF WE KNEW 61 
 
 IN THE NEST 63 
 
 LITTLE FEET 64 
 
 THE SILVER LINING 67 
 
 SEVEN TIMES ONE 69 
 
 THE ESSENCE OF LIFE 7 1 
 
 THE SECRET PRAYER 73 
 
 IMAGINARY EVILS 75 
 
 ONLY WAITING ... 76 
 
 EUGENE 78 
 
 MONTEREY 79 
 
 POWER OF SUCCESS 82 
 
 DOWNHEARTED 83 
 
 A MOTHER S GIFT 84 
 
 THE GOLDEN SIDE 86 
 
 MERCY 88 
 
 SHAKESPEARE S ADVICE 89 
 
4 \y 1 b 
 
 s, 
 
 Three Jewels of immortal birth, 
 Three Jewels bright, of priceless worth, 
 Three Jewels I can call my own, 
 As bright as ever decked a crown. 
 Each Jewel in a casket lies, 
 And each and all I highly prize. 
 
 The first, a "Diamond," sparkling bright, 
 
 Of the first water in my sight; 
 
 And though six years I ve called it mine, 
 
 I scarce begin to note the time, 
 
 It seems so short, since first I pressed 
 
 The darling treasure to my breast; 
 
 And ever since, with tender care, 
 
 I ve fondly smiled to see it there. 
 
 The second is a lovely " Pearl," 
 So sweet you d think it was a girl; 
 The world could not produce another, 
 And yet it is the Diamond s brother. 
 Oh, such a Jewel! All that see 
 Think tis the finest of the three. 
 
M} THREE JEWELS. 
 
 Then who can chide a mother s love, 
 If she a little partial prove ? 
 And though all three dwell in my heart, 
 The " Pearl " can claim the largest part. 
 
 The third, a " Ruby " and a brother, 
 The very image of its mother, 
 And all who see it think me cruel, 
 Because tis not my fav rite Jewel; 
 For ev ry feature of the elf 
 Reflects the image of myself: 
 Its eyes, its mouth, and nose, and chin, 
 And e en the color of its skin; 
 Its ways and manners, all so mild, 
 Proclaim the mother in the child; 
 But for my " Pearl " I feel more care, 
 Because I see its father there. 
 
 Whatever ills of life betide, 
 These Jewels rare shall be my pride; 
 To guard them and to keep them bright, 
 Each day shall be my chief delight, 
 And ev ry prayer I send to Heav n 
 Shall for their welfare here be giv n, 
 That when time s furrows mark my brow 7 , 
 They then may shine more bright than now, 
 And in my last declining day, 
 My Jewels light me on my way, 
 And round me shed their hallowed light, 
 Till I shall bid the world " Good night." 
 
MY THREE JEWELS. 
 
 Three Jewels bright to me were giv n, 
 Three Jewels of immortal birth, 
 But one has been recalled to Heav n, 
 And two are left with me on earth: 
 Three links united by my love, 
 Two angels here and one above. 
 
 Among the shining hosts above 
 
 A happy cherub there I see, 
 
 My darling boy, with sacred love 
 
 And beaming eye, smiles down on me; 
 
 Submissively I kiss the rod, 
 
 And give my darling back to God. 
 
 Though of my dearest hope bereft, 
 My heart in saddest mourning lies, 
 I ll try to live for those still left, 
 And fit them also for the skies; 
 That when our days on earth are o er, 
 We ll meet in heav n to part no more. 
 
errjs. 
 
 A Polish superstition holds, 
 
 A certain gem our fate controls; 
 
 Each month a gem throughout the year 
 
 Unfolds to us our life s career. 
 
 Through custom on each natal day 
 
 L,overs nice compliment do pay, 
 
 Accompanied with present fine 
 
 In which the natal gem doth shine. 
 
 GARNET. CONSTANCY. 
 
 This stone denotes a constant mind, 
 To truth, fidelity inclined. 
 All born this month may fitly claim 
 This splendid fortune and the name. 
 
 AMETHYST. PEACE. 
 
 No furious passions fill the breast, 
 But peace gives ever constant rest. 
 If in this month your birthday be, 
 No sorrow will you ever see. 
 
GEMS. 
 
 BLOOD STONE. COURAGE. 
 
 If born in March your courage bold 
 Through dangers great will life uphold, 
 And ev ry enterprise in life 
 Shall bring success amidst the strife. 
 
 DIAMOND. INNOCENCP;. 
 
 Innocent of guilt or harm, 
 This stone shall prove a constant charm, 
 The brightest gem that ever shone, 
 Innocence and this precious stone. 
 
 EMERALD. LOVE. 
 In May the emerald doth possess 
 The gift of love, complete success. 
 Of all the powers be this one thine, 
 For love sincere makes man divine. 
 
 urje, 
 
 AGATE. LONGEVITY. 
 The agate tells long life and health, 
 Two things, tis said, worth more than wealth; 
 For with the body full of pains 
 What good is all the rich man s gains. 
 
GEMS. 
 
 RUBY. FORGETFULNESS. 
 
 Though friends prove untrue and lovers have fled, 
 L,earn to live and forget, for it is truly said 
 That the ruby insures you a cure for all sorrow, 
 If you are jilted to-day you ll forget it to-morrow. 
 
 SARDONYX. HAPPINESS. 
 
 Thou shalt live in felicity, joy and content, 
 And ne er know the sorrows of those who repent. 
 This stone will insure you felicity great 
 With the one you shall claim in life for a mate. 
 
 CHRYSOLITE. PROTECTION. 
 
 This stone will protect from the follies of youth, 
 And insure an old age supported by truth; 
 How blest to look back o er your life and remember 
 You ve peacefully lived, by your birth in September. 
 
 10 
 
GEMS. 
 
 OPAL. MISFORTUNE. 
 
 Though misfortune o ertake you and shroud you in 
 
 gloom, 
 
 Hope brightens the future and smiles on the tomb; 
 Though life be all darkness and fortune may frown, 
 Hope points to the future and offers a crown. 
 
 TOPAZ. FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 The topaz gives fidelity and friendship to mankind, 
 I m sure no better jewel in the casket you can find, 
 And when the sere November of your life has come 
 
 at last 
 These will seem the sweetest virtues of the manhood 
 
 that is past. 
 
 TURQUOIS. SUCCESS. 
 
 Success shall attend the turquois stone 
 If worn by the peasant or king on the throne! 
 Then cherish this jewel as one of the best; 
 On the finger of diligence ever tis blest ! 
 
I have a little cherub boy, 
 
 His eyes are dark as night, 
 And tis his mother s greatest joy 
 
 To hear him say, "All right." 
 
 But nine short months have swiftly flown, 
 
 Since first he saw the light, 
 And yet in baby prattling tone 
 
 He sweetly says, "All right." 
 
 The dearest wish my fond heart knows, 
 
 Of blessings rich and bright, 
 Shall be that as he older grows, 
 
 He still shall say, "All right." 
 
 And when at last Time s sure decay 
 
 Shall dim my failing sight, 
 I ll think of him, as now, 
 
 And say, I know he is all right. 
 
 12 
 
OAK GERANIUM. FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 How sweet it is to know we have a friend 
 On whom in weal or woe we may depend, 
 For friendship, like a soothing balm, contains 
 A never failing cure for all our pains. 
 
 HAWTHORN. HOPE. 
 
 Hope, like an anchor, doth sustain, 
 When tossed on life s tempestuous main; 
 It gives the cloud a silver lining, 
 And keeps the heart from sad repining. 
 
 HYACINTH. FAITH. 
 
 Faith is the evidence of things not seen, 
 It makes the Christain s life on earth serene. 
 Faith scorns to hold one doubt or jealous fear, 
 But full of trust, confides in friends so dear. 
 
 13 
 
FL OR A L FOR TUNE- TEL L ER. 
 
 MYRRH. GLADNESS. 
 
 How brightly arises the day star of gladness, 
 Dispelling the gloom that surrounds us in sadness, 
 And filling the heart with its rays of delight, 
 As the sun brings the day and dispels the dark night. 
 
 STAR OF BETHLEHEM. PURITY. 
 
 Angels are robed in white, and purity dwells in heaven ! 
 Mistaken souls; no boon like this to mortals here is 
 
 given; 
 
 The best of earth are spotted with the stain of daily sin, 
 And naught but death can ever make erring mortal 
 
 clean. 
 
 urje, 
 DAILY ROSE. SMILE. 
 
 How sweetly blooms the daily rose and sheds its fra 
 grance round, 
 
 So smiles of joy should wreath the lips wherever we 
 are found. 
 
 A smile may gladden some poor soul and ease their 
 bosom s pain, 
 
 And twill not cost you but a thought but bring you 
 joy again. 
 
FL OR A L FOR TUNE- TELLER. 
 
 BITTER SWEET. TRUTH. 
 
 Truth is the mirror of the mind, revealing all within, 
 It shows defects of every kind e en to the smallest sin. 
 "Truth crushed to earth will rise again" and conquer 
 
 in the end; 
 Then make the truth thy constant guide, thy ever 
 
 faithful friend. 
 
 DAFFODIL. CONTENTMENT. 
 
 Contentment of mind s a continual feast, 
 The great may possess it and so may the least 
 It belongs to the young just as well as the old, 
 But it cannot be purchased with silver or gold. 
 
 BLUE BELL. SOLITUDE. 
 
 The wise, the learned and the good seek solitude to 
 
 think, 
 
 And there, in meditation deep, of solid comfort drink, 
 And from seclusion s secret vale bring forth some 
 
 precious flower, 
 And plant it in life s sunny dale, to bloom for many 
 
 an hour. 
 
 15 
 
FL OR A L FOR TUNE- TELLER. 
 
 CHINA ROSE. GRACE. 
 
 Elegant manners and beautiful form, 
 Like the rose among flowers, have ever a charm 
 Attracting the eye and cause admiration, 
 For beauty is ever the queen of creation. 
 
 FAME. 
 
 The height of man s ambition is for fame 
 
 To win the laurels of a glorious name. 
 
 Though death should stand before his dauntless eyes, 
 
 He ll face the monster to obtain the prize. 
 
 AMARANTH. IMMORTALITY. 
 
 Immortal man, thy soul can never die, 
 Although thy body in the dust must lie. 
 Immortal life; the boundless thought is great, 
 That man should rise from dust to God s estate. 
 
 1 6 
 
Abstain from alcoholic drinks of every name and kind; 
 Beware of habits that debase the body and the mind. 
 Conform to nothing that yon think wicked or impo 
 lite; 
 Do unto others what yon know to be both kind and 
 
 right. 
 Engage in nothing sinful, e en to please your dearest 
 
 friend ; 
 Folly will bring its own reward, and punish in the 
 
 end. 
 Give freely to the poor, for thus you re lending to the 
 
 Lord; 
 Here He has promised in return, a pure and great 
 
 reward, 
 In ev rything you think and do, let honor be your 
 
 guide; 
 
 Justice and truth and charity be evermore your pride. 
 Kind reader, if these simple rules you will adopt 
 
 through life; 
 Let me predict, you ll thus avoid all ills and bitter 
 
 strife. 
 Morning will dawn upon you then with pleasure on 
 
 its wings; 
 
 17 
 
A LPHA BE TIC A L A CR OS TIC. 
 
 Night, too, will bring, to cheer you on, so many happy 
 
 things. 
 Or if a cloud of sorrow should envelop your bright 
 
 way; 
 Press onward, for to-morrow may be a still brighter 
 
 day. 
 Queens, too, and Kings their troubles have, and so 
 
 have you and I; 
 Remember, tis the lot of man, for all were born to 
 
 die. 
 Some die while they are in their youth. Perhaps a 
 
 happy fate! 
 To others, many days are giv n, they do not die till 
 
 late. 
 Unto all sons of men there is both time and mercy 
 
 given; 
 Very thankful should we be and strive to enter 
 
 heaven. 
 When we reach that happy place where the weary 
 
 are at rest; 
 Xceeding bright and fair we shall be there forever 
 
 blest. 
 You ll never know a sorrow and will never feel a 
 
 pain; 
 Zaccheus found the certain way that holy land to 
 
 gain. 
 
 18 
 
.uis 
 
 FEBRUARY 22, 1875. 
 
 Six years ago this blessed day 
 
 A little angel came 
 And nestled in my loving breast 
 
 To claim a home and name. 
 
 With joyous heart and anxious care 
 I ve trained his tender mind, 
 
 And year to year each natal day 
 New buds of promise find. 
 
 His prattling tongue and sweet embrace 
 
 Repay my living care, 
 Life s path would be a dreary road 
 
 Were not my Louis here. 
 
 When darkness clouds my troublous sky 
 His smiles dispel the gloom, 
 
 When sorrow chills my paling cheek 
 His voice brings back the bloom. 
 
 And as the years still roll along 
 Bach birthday may be given 
 
 That voice, those smiles to cheer me on 
 To happiness and heaven. 
 
J 
 
 
 
 Alas! poor Jerry s dead, 
 
 His days on earth are o er, 
 His wagging tail and laughing eyes 
 
 We ne er shall see them more. 
 
 And tho no sculptured stone 
 
 Above his head shall rise, 
 Although no weeping friends strew flowers 
 
 Above where Jerry lies; 
 
 Yet, one lone heart, at least, 
 
 His death will long regret; 
 His meekness and affection sweet, 
 
 She cannot soon forget. 
 
 And tho his humble deeds 
 
 In hist ry will not live, 
 At least one humble, grateful lyre 
 
 A tribute tune will give. 
 
 So rest in peace, loved Jerry, 
 
 No cares disturb thy rest; 
 For, while alive, we all allow, 
 
 Of dogs thou wert the best. 
 
f IS 
 
 0ULS. 
 
 In memory of this happy day, 
 I write a little roundelay; 
 A holiday in ev ry State; 
 Birthday of Washington, the great. 
 
 Tis not of him I wish to write, 
 But one to memory jnst as bright; 
 My darling son, my lovely boy, 
 My pride, my hope, my life, my joy. 
 
 Ten years have winged their happy flight, 
 Since first my lyouis saw the light. 
 Ten years, with all a mother s pride, 
 To store his mind aright I ve tried. 
 
 And now to make this day more dear, 
 The cherished day of all the year, 
 I give to him with great delight 
 The finest present in his sight. 
 
 And as each birthday comes around, 
 Oh, may my L,ouis still be found, 
 Growing in goodness as in size, 
 More worthy of a better prize. 
 FEBRUARY 22, 1879. 
 
 21 
 
o 
 
 How dear to each heart is the memory of home, 
 
 How sacred the ties that still bind us; 
 Though far from its threshold in life we may roam 
 Its scenes will be with us across the deep foam 
 And in joy or sorrow will find us. 
 
 There is not in this world a spot that s so sweet 
 
 Or so free from all sorrow and care 
 As to make us forget that hallowed retreat 
 Where brothers and sisters in kindness did meet 
 
 And our father and mother were there. 
 
 Sweet memories will come and a tear will oft start, 
 
 And a sigh unbidden will rise, [part 
 
 And we long for those pleasures that youth did im- 
 And those fond recollections well up in the heart 
 As we long for our home and its ties. 
 
 22 
 
A babe in a house is a well-spring of pleasure" 
 
 Sent down from the regions above, 
 We hail it with joy as the heart s richest treasure, 
 
 And give it the heart s purest love. 
 
 Here innocence dwells with us mortals below, 
 
 A link between angels and men, 
 The holiest blessing that God can bestow, 
 
 But e ef long He will claim it again. 
 
 It is lent to us here as a talent of trust; 
 
 Remember tis lent and not given; 
 For we must return it with interest just, 
 
 For of such is the kingdom of heaven. 
 
 Though a babe in a house is a sacred delight 
 
 It is also an object of care, 
 And demands our attention by day and by night; 
 
 The bitter and sweet we must share. 
 
 In infancy s hours we must sow the first seed, 
 
 In the cradle its lessons begin, 
 Obedience and patience at the breast it doth feed, 
 
 To protect it from folly and sin. 
 
EDUCATION. 
 
 The prayers of its mother it will not forget, 
 
 But sweet recollections impart, 
 And the memory will bring it no after regret, 
 
 But be like sweet balm to his heart. 
 
 First seeds of instruction in deep furrows fall, 
 
 When his mind is plastic and soft; 
 Then instill in his mind as the noblest of all, 
 
 Ambition to soar up aloft. 
 
 If you wish to inscribe on life s future page 
 Some good that your own hands have done, 
 
 Then impress on his mind while in earliest age, 
 Twill appear in the life of your son. 
 
 Thus for weal or for woe every word, act or look 
 
 Is written in characters bold, 
 To be read in the future the author s own book, 
 
 Then write it in letters 
 
 Tis true education forms everyone s mind, 
 
 Then early to wisdom attend, 
 As the young twig is bent so the tree is inclined, 
 
 The good shall endure to the end. 
 
 24 
 
ff) 
 
 e. 
 
 [The following lines were suggested by an invitation to attend a 
 reunion of pupils.] 
 
 As fond memory reverts to the scenes of my "youth, 
 Though in far distant lands I now roam, 
 
 I see as a vision in the mirage of truth, 
 My happy, my dearly loved home. 
 
 And Qh, I regret the great distance that parts 
 
 Me from the reunion of friends, 
 But tis sweet to commune with the past in our hearts 
 
 And the thought that with memory blends. 
 
 My teachers and schoolmates I think of with pleasure, 
 My tasks that were blended with play, 
 
 All dwell in my heart as a long-cherished treasure, 
 To cheer me till life s closing day. 
 
 How oft I have sighed to be young once again, 
 
 To enjoy the sweet memories of old; 
 But alas, they are passed, and the wish is in vain, 
 
 Youth cannot be purchased with gold. 
 
 And here as I sit in my cot by the sea, 
 
 And hear the waves beat on the shore, 
 I think of the past and what still is to be, 
 
 Until time shall know me 
 
 K& S 
 
 CFTHE 
 
 TJHIVERSITY 
 
 Of 
 

 Time waits for none, but onward in its flight 
 Turns youth to age and morning into night; 
 Along its track destruction may be seen, 
 Where scarce a vestige tells of what has been. 
 The mighty monarch, whether base or just, 
 Soon lowly lieth crumbling in the dust; 
 The lofty steeple towering to the skies, 
 Yields to decay and soon in ruin lies; 
 The noble ship that plows the pathless deep, 
 Soon will be wrecked into a shapeless heap. 
 Thus all the works of man s ambitious pride 
 Are swept away by a resistless tide. 
 The statesman labors for a nation s praise, 
 But Time destroys him in his useful days; 
 The poet strives to win a deathless fame, 
 Passes away and men forget his name. 
 The glorious things of earth thus pass away, 
 Devouring Time claims all things for his prey. 
 But one sweet thing, as Time itself will prove, 
 Can never have an end, and that is love. 
 
I give you a motto to lead you through life, 
 
 Which many a sorrow will save, 
 No matter how gloomy or bitter the strife: 
 
 "Fortune will favor the brave." 
 
 Oh, mariner tossed on the dark stormy sea, 
 Your vessel engulfed by each wave; 
 
 Don t give up the ship, tho all others may flee, 
 " Fortune will favor the brave." 
 
 Poor trav ler, o ertaken by night and by storm, 
 With no shelter, perhaps, but a cave ; 
 
 Remember this motto, and wait for the morn, 
 " Fortune will favor the brave." 
 
 Tired merchant, bow d over your papers and books, 
 When all efforts seemed pow rless to save, 
 
 Be steadfast, no matter how gloomy it looks; 
 " Fortune will favor the brave." 
 
 Fond mother, heart-broken with sorrow and grief, 
 
 Thy jewel just laid in the grave ; 
 Weep not, God will give you a present relief, 
 
 Fortune will favor the brave. 
 
 Poor, desolate creature, whoever you are, 
 Though forsaken misfortune s poor slave! 
 
 Hope, kindled by faith, be thy sure guiding star, 
 "Fortune will favor the brave." 
 
 27 
 
ri 
 
 Tis just one year ago to-day; oh, blessed morn, 
 My darling little Harold, you were born; 
 And as I watch you playing by my side 
 My heart clings to thee, with a mother s pride. 
 
 One year to-day, with happy memories fraught 
 Of happy hours my baby s presence brought, 
 A constant comfort to my heart has given; 
 My baby was a sacred gift from heaven. 
 
 His faultless form and face divine, to me 
 Are all a mother s fondest hopes can be; 
 And the bright lustre of his eyes impart 
 The latent brilliance of his infant heart. 
 
 And as from year to year this day rolls round, 
 May each one brighter than the last be found; 
 And each succeeding birthday hail with joy, 
 While heavenly blessings crown my darling boy. 
 AUGUST 31, 1873. 
 
 28 
 
"A volume in a word, an ocean in a tear," 
 
 A story without end that angels love to hear, 
 
 A heaven in a glance, a whirlwind in a sigh : 
 
 The word, the king of words, the word that cannot die. 
 
 What concentrated joy there is in blessed love 
 The heart s own sacred music caught from above; 
 It is a sweet idolatry enslaving all the soul, 
 The devotion of the heart beyond the heart s control. 
 
 It is a fragrant blossom that ever doth impart 
 Sweet odors that do gladden the garden of the heart; 
 It is the brightness of affection, and ever is in bloom, 
 And fadeth not, though planted by the silent tomb. 
 
 I have seen its budding beauty, I ve felt its magic 
 
 smile, 
 I have knelt down and kissed it, and laughed and 
 
 wept the while ; 
 I thought some cherub angel had planted there a 
 
 flower 
 To nourish for awhile, away from Eden s bower. 
 
 This fragrant flower, when blighted, will bud no 
 
 more, 
 
 Or shed its odors sweet on Time s unfruitful shore; 
 This song, when once forgotten, cannot be learned 
 
 again, 
 
 The heart can ne er recall the sacred heavenly strain. 
 
 29 
 
Ipl 
 
 Hope is the anchor that our bark must save, 
 While tossed upon this life s tempestuous wave; 
 And when the billows loudest round us roar, 
 Hope bids us cling the tighter to our oar. 
 
 Though fortune, health, and friendship all do fail, 
 Yet hope still bids us spread our trembling sail ; 
 And when our bark the storm has wrecked at last, 
 Hope finds us closely clinging to the mast. 
 
 Frail mariner upon the sea of life 
 
 Thy path beset with sorrow, care, and strife; 
 
 When troubles come, hope soothes thy sad repining, 
 
 For darkest clouds have all a silver lining. 
 
 When death knocks at thy door, no power can save; 
 Hope tells thee life is all beyond the grave; 
 Hope, as a sovereign balm, to us is given, 
 To heal our wounds and point the way to heaven. 
 
]3 
 
 0s, 
 
 Here come the boys! Oh, dear, the noise, 
 The whole house feels the racket; 
 
 Behold the knees of Louie s pants, 
 And weep o er Harold s jacket ! 
 
 But never mind, if eyes keep bright, 
 And limbs grow straight and limber; 
 
 I d rather lose the tree s whole bark 
 Than find unsound the timber. 
 
 Now hear the tops and marbles roll! 
 
 The floors oh, woe betide them! 
 And I must watch the bannisters 
 
 I know the boys who ride them! 
 
 Look well as you descend the stairs 
 
 I often find them haunted, 
 By ghostly toys, that make no noise, 
 
 Just when the noise is wanted. 
 
 The very chairs are tied in pairs, 
 And made to prance and caper; 
 
 What swords are whittled out of sticks, 
 What brave hats made of paper! 
 
 33 
 
THE BOYS. 
 
 The dinner bell peals loud and well, 
 
 To tell the milkman s coming, 
 And then the rush of steam-car trains 
 
 Sets all oiir ears a-humming. 
 
 How oft I say, " What shall I do 
 To keep these children quiet?" 
 
 If I could find a recipe, 
 I certainly would try it. 
 
 But what to do with these wild boys, 
 
 And all their din and clatter, 
 Is really quite a grave affair 
 
 No laughing, trifling matter. 
 
 Boys will be boys, but not for long 
 
 Ah, could we bear about us 
 This thought: how very soon our boys 
 
 Will learn to do without us! 
 
 How soon the tall and deep-voiced men 
 Will gravely call us " Mother! " 
 
 Or we be stretching empty hands 
 From this world to another. 
 
 More gently should we chide the noise, 
 And when night quells the racket, 
 
 Stitch in, with loving thoughts and prayers, 
 While mending pants and jacket. 
 
 34 
 
Yucl) 
 
 
 
 A lark s song dropped from heaven, 
 
 A rose s breath at noon, 
 A still, sweet stream that flows 
 
 Beneath a still, sweet moon. 
 
 A little way -side flower 
 
 Plucked from the grasses thus, 
 
 A sound, a breath, a glance, and yet 
 What is t they bring to us ? 
 
 For the world grows far too wise, 
 
 And wisdom is but grief ; 
 Much thought makes but a weary way, 
 
 And question, unbelief. 
 
 Thank God for the bird s song 
 And for the flower s breath, 
 
 Thank God for any voice to wake 
 The old sweet hymn of faith. 
 
 For a world grown all too wise 
 
 Or is t not wise enough ? 
 Thank God for anything that makes 
 
 The path less dark and rough. 
 
 35 
 
A little elbow leans upon your knee 
 
 Your tired knee that has so much to bear; 
 A child s dear eyes are looking lovingly 
 
 From underneath a thatch of tangled hair. 
 Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch 
 
 Of warm, moist fingers, holding you so tight; 
 You do not prize this blessing overmuch ; 
 
 You almost are too tired to pray to-night. 
 
 But it is blessedness! A year ago 
 
 I did not see it as I do to-day 
 We are so dull and thankless ; and too slow 
 
 To catch the sunshine till it slips away. 
 And now it seems surpassing strange to me, 
 
 That, while I wore the badge of motherhood, 
 I did not kiss more oft and tenderly 
 
 The little child that brought me only good. 
 
 And if, some night, when you sit down to rest, 
 
 You miss this elbow from your tired knee 
 This restless, curling head from off your breast 
 
 This lisping tongue that chatters constantly ; 
 If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped, 
 
 And ne er would nestle in your palm again ; 
 If the white feet into their grave had tripped, 
 
 I could not blame you for your heart-ache then! 
 
 36 
 
TIRED MOTHERS. 
 
 I wonder so that mothers ever fret 
 
 At little children clinging to their gown ; 
 Or that the foot-prints when the days are wet, 
 
 Are ever black enough to make them frown. 
 If I could find a little muddy boot, 
 
 Or cap, or jacket, on my chamber floor; 
 If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot, 
 
 And hear it patter in my home once more ; 
 
 If I could mend a broken cart to-day 
 
 To-morrow make a kite to reach the sky, 
 There is no woman in God s world could say 
 
 She was more blissfully content than I. 
 But, ah ! the dainty pillow next my own 
 
 Is never rumpled by a shining head ; 
 My singing birdling from its nest is flown ; 
 
 The little boy I used to kiss is dead! 
 
 X7NIVERSITY 
 
 37 
 
Where did you come from, Baby, dear? 
 Out of everywhere into here. 
 
 Where did you get your eyes so blue? 
 Out of the sky as I came through. 
 
 Where did you get that little tear? 
 I fotmd it waiting when I got here. 
 
 What makes your forehead so smooth and high ? 
 A soft hand stroked it as I went by. 
 
 What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? 
 I saw something better than anyone knows. 
 
 Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? 
 Three angels gave me at once a kiss. 
 
 Where did you get that pretty ear? 
 God spoke and it came out to hear. 
 
 Where did you get those arms and hands? 
 L,ove made itself into hooks and bands. 
 
 Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? 
 From the same box as the cherub s wings. 
 
 How did they all come just to you? 
 God thought of me and so I grew. 
 
 But how did you come to us, you dear? 
 God thought about you and so I am here. 
 
I know there are stains on my carpet, 
 The traces of small, muddy boots; 
 
 I see your fair tapestry glowing, 
 
 All spotted with blossoms and fruits. 
 
 I know that my walls are disfigured 
 With prints of small fingers and hands, 
 
 And that your own household so neat, in 
 Immaculate purity stands. 
 
 I know that my parlor is littered 
 With many old treasures and toys, 
 
 While yours is in daintiest order, 
 Unharmed by the presence of boys. 
 
 I know that my room is invaded 
 Quite boldly all hours of the day, 
 
 While you sit in yours, unmolested, 
 And dream the soft quiet away. 
 
 I know there are three little bedsides, 
 Where I must stand watchful each night, 
 
 While you can go out in your carriage, 
 And flash in your dresses, so bright. 
 
 39 
 
MOTHER S BOYS. 
 
 I think I m a neat little woman 
 
 I like my home orderly, too; 
 I m fond of all dainty belongings, 
 
 Yet would not change places with you. 
 
 No! keep your fair home, with its order, 
 Its freedom from bother and noise, 
 
 And keep your own fanciful leisure, 
 But give me my three splendid boys! 
 
 40 
 
I had a father once, tender and kind, 
 
 Who in his feelings and affections too, 
 
 Was gentle as a woman pure and true. 
 
 A mellow radiance beamed ever forth 
 
 From his soft eye pure as our native skies, 
 
 Speaking the language of a generous heart 
 
 That throbbed within his breast; no stranger passed 
 
 Unnoticed by his hospitable board. 
 
 His hand was ever ready to bestow 
 
 Blessings and alms upon the suffering poor ; 
 
 And thus, by generous deeds and noble acts, 
 
 He won the love and praise of every heart. 
 
 My pen would prove too weak and frail a thing 
 
 To picture all the virtues of his soul 
 
 The purity and honor that were his. 
 
 But Death, the tyrant monarch, claimed the prize ; 
 He set the icy signet upon his brow, 
 And thus he marked him for his own. 
 The love-light faded from his eye of blue, 
 The beauteous smile that ever played around 
 The rosy lip, vanished at Death s touch. 
 
 41 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER. 
 
 The heart that beat within that manly breast, 
 
 Whose every throb but counted some good deed; 
 
 Whose impulses were great and noble all 
 
 Were stilled, and stilled forever. 
 
 Remorseless Death! Thy hand hath crushed the hopes 
 
 Of many hearts, like fair and fragile flowers 
 
 Beneath the feet of the great destroyer Time. 
 
 My father ! Oh, what sunny memories cling 
 Around thy spotless name! 
 Yes, golden memories of my father dear 
 Will ever linger in this wayward heart 
 Breaking like sunbeams through the clouds of life. 
 The recollections of thy name are shrined 
 In sacredness, and kept from the world s gaze, 
 And ever linked with my sublimest thoughts, 
 Wakening sweet music in my untaught heart, 
 Which steals upon the air in cadence soft, 
 Breathing sweet melody, like some lost strain 
 In wantonness had wandered off from heaven. 
 
Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight, 
 Make me a child again, just for to-night! 
 Mother, come back from the echoless shore, 
 Take me again to your heart as of yore ; 
 Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, 
 Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; 
 Over my slumbers your loving watch keep; 
 Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep! 
 
 Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years! 
 I am so weary of toil and of tears; 
 Toil without recompense, tears all in vain; 
 Take them, and give me my childhood again! 
 I have grown weary of dust and decay, 
 Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away ; 
 Weary of sowing for others to reap; 
 Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep! 
 
 Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, 
 Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you! 
 Many a summer the grass has grown green, 
 Blossomed and faded, our faces between: 
 
 43 
 
ROCK ME TO SLEEP, MOTHER. 
 
 Yet with strong yearning and passionate pain, 
 Long I to-night for your presence again. 
 Come from the silence so long and so deep; 
 Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep! 
 
 Over my heart in the days that are flown, 
 No love like mother-love ever has shown; 
 No other worship abides and endures, 
 Faithful, unselfish and patient like yours: 
 None like a mother can charm away pain 
 From the sick soul, and the world- weary brain. 
 Slumber s soft calms o er my heavy lids creep; 
 Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep! 
 
 Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, 
 Fall on your shoulders again, as of old ; 
 Let it drop over my forehead to-night, 
 Shading my faint eyes away from the light; 
 For with its sunny-edged shadows once more, 
 Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore; 
 Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep; 
 Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep! 
 
 Mother, dear mother, the years have been long 
 Since I last listened your lullaby song; 
 Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem 
 Womanhood s years have been only a dream; 
 Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace, 
 With your light lashes just sweeping my face, 
 Never hereafter to wake or to weep; 
 Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep! 
 
 44 
 
>T.rSwep. 
 
 My child, my child! thou art weary to-night; 
 
 Thy spirit is sad and dim is the light; 
 
 Thou wouldst call me back from the silent shore, 
 
 To the trials of life, to thy heart as of yore; 
 
 Thou longest again for the loving care 
 
 For my kiss on thy lips, my hand on thy hair; 
 
 But angels around thee, their loving watch keep, 
 
 And angels, my child, will rock thee to sleep. 
 
 Backward? say, Onward, ye swift rolling years; 
 
 Gird on thy armor! Dry up thy tears! 
 
 Count not thy trials, nor efforts, in vain, 
 
 They ll bring thee the light of thy childhood again. 
 
 Ye should not weary, my child, by the way, 
 
 But watch for the light of that brighter day; 
 
 Not tired of Sowing for others to reap," 
 
 For angels, my child, will rock thee to sleep. 
 
 Nearer thee, now, than in days that are flown 
 Purer the love-light encircling thy home; 
 Far more enduring the watch o er thy sleep, 
 Than even earth worship, no matter how deep. 
 Soon the dark shadows will linger no more, 
 Nor come at thy call, from the opening door; 
 But know, weary child, the angels, watch keep, 
 And soon, very soon, will rock thee to sleep. 
 
 45 
 
(9 
 
 Nothing is our own; we hold our pleasures 
 Just a little while ere they are fled; 
 
 One by one life robs us of our treasures; 
 Nothing is our own except our dead. 
 
 They are ours, and hold in faithful keeping, 
 Safe forever, all they took away; 
 
 Cruel life can never stir that sleeping, 
 Cruel time can never seize that prey. 
 
 Justice pales, truth fades, stars fall from heaven; 
 
 Human are the great whom we revere ; 
 No true crown of honor can be given 
 
 Till the wreath lies on a funeral bier. 
 
 i 
 How the children leave us! and no traces 
 
 Linger of that smiling angel band; 
 Gone, forever gone and in their places 
 Weary men and anxious women stand. 
 
 Yet we have some little ones, still ours; 
 
 They have kept the baby smile we know, 
 Which we kissed one day, and hid with flowers, 
 
 On their dead white faces long ago. 
 
 46 
 
OUR DEAD. 
 
 When our joy is lost and life will take it 
 Then no memory of the past remains, 
 
 Save with some strange, cruel stings, that make it 
 Bitterness beyond all present pains. 
 
 Death, more tender-hearted, leaves to sorrow 
 Still the radiant shadow fond regret; 
 
 We shall find, in some far, bright to-morrow, 
 Joy that he has taken, living yet. 
 
 Is love ours, and do we dream we know it? 
 
 Bound with all our heart-strings, all our own ? 
 Any cold and cruel dawn may show it 
 
 Shattered, desecrated, overthrown. 
 
 Only the dead hearts forsake us never; 
 
 Ivove, that to Death s loyal care has fled, 
 Is thus consecrated ours forever, 
 
 And no change can rob us of our dead. 
 
 So, when fate comes to besiege our city, 
 Dim our gold, or make our flowers fall, 
 
 Death, the angel, conies in love and pity, 
 And, to save our treasures, claims them all. 
 
 47 
 
A little dreaming, such as mothers know; 
 
 A little lingering over dainty things; 
 A happy heart, wherein hope all aglow 
 
 Strikes like a bird at dawn that wakes and sings 
 And that is all. 
 
 A little clasping to her yearning breast, 
 
 A little musing over future years; 
 A heart that prays, " Dear Lord, thou knowest best, 
 
 But spare my flower life s bitterest rain of tears" 
 And that is all. 
 
 A little spirit speeding through the night; 
 
 A little home grown lonely, dark and chill; 
 A sad heart groping blindly for the light; 
 
 A little snow-clad grave beneath the hill 
 And that is all. 
 
 A little gathering of life s broken thread; 
 
 A little patience keeping back the tears; 
 A heart that sings, "Thy darling is not dead, 
 
 God keeps him safe through his eternal years. 
 And that is all. 
 
 48 
 
OP THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 A peaceful home, a sun-lit land, 
 
 A lad that careless went his way; 
 A comfort kind on every hand, 
 
 Each wish fulfilled from day to day; 
 A mother s face, so wondrous fair, 
 
 A mother s love, so warm and true 
 But youth knew not its treasures there, 
 
 And sought the world and pleasures new. 
 
 A score of years (so quickly flown), 
 
 Of sorrows dark, of pleasures bright; 
 A lonely mound, a simple stone, 
 
 With " Mother" writ in letters white; 
 An honored man, a royal fame, 
 
 Ambition s prize on every side; 
 A princely wealth, a lauded name, 
 
 And all that flatters human pride. 
 
 But fame was hollow, wealth was dross; 
 
 Of little worth the pride of place; 
 And naught could compensate the loss- 
 
 The ne er- forgotten mother s face. 
 He learned, as learn it all men must, 
 
 For every life its truth doth prove 
 The brightest gem, the dearest trust 
 
 Vouchsafed to man a mother s love. 
 
 49 
 
Sad is the heart of the mother, 
 
 Who sits by the lonely hearth, 
 Where never again the children 
 
 Shall waken their songs of mirth, 
 And still through the painful silence 
 
 She listens for voice and tread; 
 Outside of the heart there only 
 
 She knows that they are not dead! 
 
 Here is the desolate cradle, 
 
 The pillow so lately pressed, 
 But far away has the bird ling 
 
 Flown from its little nest. 
 Crooning the lullabies over 
 
 That once were the babe s delight, 
 All through the misty spaces 
 
 She follows its upward flight. 
 
 Little she thought of a moment 
 So gloomy and sad as this, 
 
 When close to her heart she gathered 
 Her child for its good-night kiss. 
 
 50 
 
THE EMPTY CRADLE. 
 
 He should be tenderly cherished, 
 Never a grief should he know; 
 
 Wealth, and the pride of a prince, 
 These would a mother bestow. 
 
 And this is the darling s portion 
 
 In heaven where he has fled; 
 By angels securely guarded, 
 
 By angels securely led. 
 Brooding in sorrowful silence 
 
 Over the empty nest. 
 Can you not see through the shadows 
 
 Why it is all for the best ? 
 
Q 
 
 Sweet baby eyes 
 They look around with such a grave surprise, 
 
 What do you see ? 
 
 A strange new world, where simplest things 
 Engender wild imaginings 
 
 And fancies free ? 
 A resting place that is not home, 
 A paradise wherein to roam, 
 
 For years, may be ? 
 O placid, wondering baby eyes, 
 The mystery that in you lies 
 
 Oft puzzles me. 
 
 Clear, boyish eyes, 
 Whose fearless glance unconsciously defies 
 
 Trouble and care; 
 When babyhood is past and gone, 
 What is it that you gaze upon ? 
 
 A land most fair; 
 A sunny shore with pleasure rife; 
 And that great glorious gift of life 
 
 Tis bliss to share, 
 
 52 
 
EYES. 
 
 O happy, trustful, boyish eyes, 
 Let sages envy, fools despise, 
 The faith you wear. 
 
 The anxious eyes 
 Of manhood, slowly piercing earth s disguise, 
 
 Discover what ? 
 That life at best is quickly done, 
 That hopes fulfilled and wishes won 
 
 Are dearly got; 
 
 That shadows chased in headlong haste, 
 And golden fruit he strove to taste, 
 
 Delight him not. 
 
 O, restless, doubting, troubled eyes, 
 To learn in sorrow to be wise 
 
 Is manhood s lot. 
 
 Dim, aged eyes, 
 Gazing across the wreck of broken ties, 
 
 What do they see ? 
 
 Behind dead leaves that withered fall, 
 A fading wilderness where all 
 
 Is vanity; 
 
 Before to gladden weary sight, 
 A glimpse, a promise of the bright 
 
 Eternity. 
 
 O dim and tearful aged eyes, 
 If waiting till that dawn shall rise, 
 
 Blessed are ye! 
 
 53 
 
EYES. 
 
 And angel eyes, 
 Who have their dwelling-place beyond the skies, 
 
 Vainly do we 
 
 Imagine the glories they must know, 
 Picture the Pearly gates aglow 
 
 The crystal sea 
 
 For brightest visions mortal paint 
 Of that celestial country, faint 
 
 Must ever be. 
 No! pure and holy eyes, 
 We can but pray that what you prize 
 
 Our own may see. 
 
 54 
 

 
 [It is said of JOHN QUINCY ADAMS that he never went to bed with 
 out repeating this little prayer, the first taught him by the mother whose 
 memory was so dear to him to the last.] 
 
 Golden head so lowly bending, 
 
 Little feet so white and bare, 
 Dewy eyes, half shut, half open, 
 
 Lisping out his evening prayer. 
 
 "Now I lay" repeat it, darling 
 
 "Lay me," lisped the tiny lips 
 Of my darling, kneeling, bending 
 
 O er the folded finger tips. 
 
 "Down to sleep" "To sleep," he murmured, 
 
 And the curly head bent low; 
 "I pray the Lord" I gently added, 
 
 "You can say it all I know." 
 
 "Pray the Lord" the sound came faintly, 
 Fainter still "My soul to keep." 
 
 Then the tired head fairly nodded 
 And the child was fast asleep. 
 
 55 
 
THE UNFINISHED PRAYER. 
 
 But the dewy eyes half opened 
 When I clasped him to my breast, 
 
 And the dear voice softly whispered, 
 "Mamma, God knows all the rest." 
 
 O, the rapture, sweet unbroken, 
 Of the soul who wrote that prayer! 
 
 Children s myriad voices floating 
 Up to Heaven, record it there. 
 
 If of all that has been written, 
 
 I could choose what might be mine, 
 
 It should be that child s petition 
 Rising to the throne divine. 
 
(2/1 
 
 UPd. 
 
 O good painter, tell me true, 
 
 Has your hand the cunning to draw 
 Shapes of things that you never saw? 
 
 Ay? Well, here is an order for you. 
 
 Woods and cornfields_a little brown, 
 The picture must not be over-bright, 
 Yet all in the golden and gracious light 
 Of a cloud, when the summer sun is down. 
 Alway and alway, night and morn, 
 Woods upon woods, with fields of corn 
 Lying between them, not quite sere, 
 And not in the full, thick, leafy bloom, 
 When the wind can hardly find breathing- room 
 
 Under their tassels, cattle near, 
 Biting shorter the short green grass, 
 And a hedge of sumach and sassafras, 
 With bluebirds twittering all around, 
 (Ah, good painter, you can t paint sound!) 
 These, and the house where I was born, 
 Low and little, and black and old, 
 With children, many as it can hold, 
 
 57 
 
AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE. 
 
 All at the windows, open wide, 
 
 Heads and shoulders clear outside, 
 
 And fair young faces all ablush: 
 
 Perhaps you may have seen, some day, 
 Roses crowding the self-same way, 
 
 Out of a wilding, wayside bush. 
 
 Listen closer. When you have done 
 
 With woods and cornfields and grazing herds, 
 
 A lady, the loveliest ever the sun 
 Looked down upon, you must paint for me ; 
 Oh, if I only could make you see 
 
 The clear blue eyes, the tender smile, 
 The sovereign sweetness, the gentle grace, 
 The woman s soul, and the angel s face 
 
 That are beaming on me all the while, 
 
 I need not speak these foolish words: 
 
 Yet one word tells you all I would say, 
 She is my mother: you will agree 
 
 That all the rest may be thrown away. 
 
 Two little urchins at her knee 
 You must paint, sir; one like me, 
 
 The other with a clearer brow, 
 And the light of his adventurous eyes 
 Flashing with boldest enterprise: 
 At ten years old he went to sea, 
 
 God knoweth if he be living now; 
 He sailed in the good ship " Commodore," 
 Nobody ever crossed her track 
 
 58 
 
AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE. 
 
 To bring us news, and she never came back. 
 
 Ah, tis twenty long years and more 
 Since that old ship went out of the bay 
 
 With my great-hearted brother on her deck: 
 
 I watched him till he shrank to a speck, 
 And his face was toward me all the way. 
 Bright his hair was, a golden brown, 
 
 The time we stood at our mother s knee: 
 That beauteous head, if it did go down, 
 
 Carried sunshine into the sea ! 
 
 Out in the fields one summer night 
 
 We were together, half afraid 
 
 Of the corn-leaves rustling, and of the shade 
 Of the high hills, stretching so still and far, 
 Afraid to go home, sir; for one of us bore 
 A nest full of speckled and thin-shelled eggs ; 
 The other, a bird, held fast by the legs, 
 Not so big as a straw of wheat: 
 The berries we gave her she wouldn t eat, 
 But cried and cried, till we held her bill, 
 So slim and shining, to keep her still. 
 
 At last we stood at our mother s knee. 
 
 Do you think, sir, if you try, 
 
 You can paint the look of a lie? 
 
 If you can, pray have the grace 
 
 To put it solely in the face 
 Of the urchin that is likest me: 
 
 I think twas solely mine, indeed: 
 
 59 
 
AN ORDER FOR A riL Tl RE. 
 
 But that s no matter, paint it so; 
 
 The eyes of our mother (take good heed) 
 Looking not on the nestful of eggs, 
 Nor the fluttering bird, held so fast by the legs, 
 But straight through our faces down to our lies, 
 And oh, with such injured, reproachful surprise! 
 
 I felt my heart bleed where that glance went, 
 As though 
 
 A sharp, blade struck through it. 
 
 You, sir, know 
 
 That you on the canvas are to repeat 
 Things that are fairest, things most sweet, 
 Woods and cornfields and mulberry tree, 
 The mother, the lads, with their bird, at her knee: 
 
 But, oh, that look of reproachful woe! 
 High as the heavens your name I ll shout, 
 If you paint me the picture, and leave that out. 
 
 60 
 
If 
 
 If we knew the woe and heartache 
 
 Waiting for us down the road, 
 If our lips could taste the wormwood, 
 
 If our backs could feel the load, 
 Would we waste to-day in wishing 
 
 For a time that ne er can be? 
 Would we wait in such impatience 
 
 For our ships to come from sea ? 
 
 If we knew the baby fingers 
 
 Pressed against the window pane 
 Would be cold and stiff to-morrow 
 
 Never trouble us again. 
 Would the bright eyes of our darling 
 
 Catch the frown upon our brow ? 
 Would the print of rosy fingers 
 
 Vex us then as it does now ? 
 
 Ah! those little ice-cold fingers, 
 How they point our memory back 
 
 To the hasty words and actions 
 Strewn along our backward track! 
 
 61 
 
IF WE KNEW. 
 
 How these little hands remind us, 
 
 As in snowy grace they lie, 
 Not to scatter thorns, but roses, 
 
 For our reaping by-and-by ! 
 
 Strange we never prize the music 
 
 Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown ; 
 Strange that we should slight the violets 
 
 Till the Icvely flowers are gone; 
 Strange that Summer skies and sunshine 
 
 Never seem one half so fair 
 As when Winter s snowy pinions 
 
 Shake their white down in the air! 
 
 from which the seal of silence 
 
 None but God can roll away, 
 Never blossomed in such beauty 
 
 As adorns the mouth to-day; 
 And sweet words that freight our memory 
 
 With their beautiful perfume, 
 Come to us in sweetest accents 
 
 Through the portals of the tomb. 
 
 Let us gather up the sunbeams 
 
 Lying all along our path; 
 Let us keep the wheat and roses, 
 
 Casting out the thorns and chaff ; 
 L,et us find our sweetest comfort 
 
 In the blessings of to-day, 
 With a patient hand removing 
 
 All our griefs from out our way. 
 
 62 
 
lr) frje F/esl 
 
 Gather them close to your heart, 
 
 Cradle them on your breast; . 
 They will soon enough leave your brooding care, 
 Soon enough mount youth s topmost stair, 
 
 lyittle ones in the nest. 
 
 Fret not that the children s hearts are gay, 
 
 That the restless feet will run; 
 There may come a time in the bye and bye, 
 When you ll sit in your lonely room and sigh 
 For a sound of childish fun ; 
 
 When you ll long for the repetition sweet 
 
 That sounded through each room, 
 Of "Mother, mother," the dear love-calls 
 That will echo loud in the silent halls, 
 And add to their stately gloom. 
 
 There may come a time when you 11 long to hear 
 
 The eager boyish tread, 
 The tuneless whistle, the clear, shrill shout, 
 The busy bustle in and out, 
 And pattering overhead. 
 
 Then gather them close to your loving heart, 
 
 Cradle them on your breast; 
 They will soon enough leave your brooding care, 
 Soon enough mount youth s topmost stair, 
 
 L,ittle ones in the nest. 
 
 63 
 
Itiffl 
 
 e 
 
 Two little feet, so small that both may nestle 
 
 In one caressing hand 
 Two tender feet upon the untried border 
 
 Of life s mysterious land. 
 
 Dimpled and soft, and pink as peach-tree blossoms, 
 
 In April s fragrant days, 
 How can they walk among the briery tangles 
 
 Edging the world s rough ways ? 
 
 These rose- white feet along the doubtful future 
 
 Must bear a manly load; 
 Alas! Since man has the heaviest burden, 
 
 And walks the harder road! 
 
 L,ove, for awhile, will make the path before them 
 
 All dainty, smooth and fair 
 Will cull away the brambles, letting only 
 
 The roses blossom there. 
 
 64 
 
LITTLE FEET. 
 
 But when the mother s watchful eyes are shrouded 
 
 Away from sight of men, 
 And these dear feet are left without her guiding, 
 
 Who shall direct them then ? 
 
 How will they be allured, betrayed, deluded, 
 
 Poor little untaught feet! 
 Into what dreary mazes will they wander, 
 
 What dangers will they meet ? 
 
 Will they go stumbling blindly in the darkness 
 
 Of sorrow s tearful shades ? 
 Or find the upland slopes of Peace and Beauty, 
 
 Whose sunlight never fades? 
 
 Will they go toiling up Ambition s summit, 
 
 The common world above ? 
 Or in some nameless vale, securely sheltered, 
 
 Walk side by side with Love? 
 
 Some feet there be which walk life s track unwounded, 
 Which find but pleasant ways: 
 
 Some hearts there be to which this life is only 
 A round of happy days. 
 
 But they are few. Far more there are who wander 
 
 Without a hope or friend 
 Who find their journey full of pains and losses, 
 
 And long to reach the end. 
 
 65 
 
LITTLE FEET. 
 
 How shall it be with him, the tender stranger, 
 
 Fair-faced and gentle-eyed, 
 Before whose unstained feet the world s rude highway 
 
 Stretches so far and wide? 
 
 Ah! who may read the future? For our darling 
 
 We crave all blessings sweet, 
 And pray that He who feeds the crying ravens 
 
 Will guide the baby s feet. 
 
 66 
 
JJi 
 
 r)i 
 
 r)0 
 
 There s never a day so sunny 
 But a little cloud appears; 
 
 There s never a life so happy 
 But has had its time of tears; 
 
 Yet the sun shines out the brighter 
 When the stormy tempest clears. 
 
 There s never a garden growing 
 
 With roses in every plot; 
 There s never a heart so hardened 
 
 But it has one tender spot; 
 We have only to prune the border 
 
 To find the forget-me-not. 
 
 There s never a cup so pleasant 
 But has bitter with the sweet; 
 
 There s never a path so rugged 
 That bears not the prints of feet; 
 
 And we have a helper promised 
 For the trials we may meet. 
 
 There s never a sun that rises 
 
 But we know twill set at night; 
 The tints that gleam in the morning 
 
 ^ OF THE 
 
THE SILVER LINING. 
 
 At evening are just as bright; 
 And the hour that is the sweetest 
 Is between the dark and light. 
 
 There s never a dream that s happy 
 But the waking makes us sad; 
 
 There s never a dream of sorrow 
 But the waking makes us glad; 
 
 We shall look some day with wonder 
 At the troubles we have had. 
 
 There s never a way so narrow 
 But the entrance is made straight; 
 
 o 
 
 There s always a guide to point us 
 To the "little wicker gate;" 
 
 And the angels will be nearer 
 To a soul that is desolate. 
 
 There s never a heart so haughty 
 But will some day bow and kneel ; 
 
 There s never a heart so wounded 
 That the Saviour cannot heal; 
 
 There s many a lowly forehead 
 That is bearing the hidden seal. 
 
 68 
 
>evW) Yirrjes Urje, 
 
 
 There s no dew left on the daisies and clover, 
 
 There s no rain left in heaven. 
 I ve said my u Seven times " over and over 
 
 Seven times one are seven. 
 
 I am old so old I can write a letter; 
 
 My birthday lessons are done. 
 The lambs play always they know no better; 
 
 They are only one times one. 
 
 Moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing 
 
 And shining so round and low. 
 
 You were bright, ah, bright! but your light is failing; 
 You are nothing now but a bow. 
 
 You Moon, have you done something wrong in heaven, 
 That God has hidden your face ? 
 
 1 hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven, 
 
 And shine again in your place. 
 
 O velvet Bee! you re a dusty fellow 
 
 You ve powdered your legs with gold. 
 
 O brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow, 
 Give me your money to hold ! 
 
 69 
 
SEVEN TIMES ONE. 
 
 O columbine! open your folded wrapper, 
 Where two twin turtle-doves dwell! 
 
 cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper 
 
 That hangs in your clear green, bell! 
 
 And show me your nest, with the young ones in it 
 I will not steal them away: 
 
 1 am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet! 
 
 I am seven times one to-day. 
 
 70 
 
1 l) 
 
 Fair are the flowers and the children, but their subtle 
 
 suggestion is fairer; 
 Rare is the rose-burst of dawn, but the secret that 
 
 clasps it is rarer; 
 Sweet the exultance of song, but the strain that pre 
 
 cedes it is sweeter, 
 And never was poem yet writ, but the meaning out- 
 
 masters the meter. 
 
 Never a daisy that grows, but a mystery guideth the 
 
 growing; 
 Never a river that flows, but a majesty scepters the 
 
 flowing; 
 Never a Shakespeare that soared, but a stronger than 
 
 he did enfold him; 
 Nor ever a prophet foretells, but a mightier seer hath 
 
 foretold him. 
 
 Back of the canvas that throbs, the painter is hinted 
 
 and hidden; 
 Into the statue that breathes, the soul of the sculptor 
 
 is bidden; 
 
 71 
 
THE ESSENCE OF LTEE. 
 
 Under the joy that is felt, lie the infinite issues of 
 
 feeling; 
 Crowning the glory revealed, is the glory that crowns 
 
 the revealing. 
 
 Great are the symbols of being, but that which is 
 
 symboled is greater; 
 Vast the create and beheld, but vaster the inw r ard 
 
 Creator; 
 Back of the sound broods the silence, back of the gift 
 
 stands the giving; 
 Back of the hand that receives, thrill the sensitive 
 
 nerves of receiving. 
 
 And up from the pits where these shiver, 
 And up from the hights where those shine, 
 
 Twin voices and shadows swim starward, 
 And the essence of life is divine. 
 
 72 
 
I I}0 SDcCJ?cf ff 
 
 A single grateful thought towards Heaven is the most perfect prayer. 
 
 It was a still and silent hour 
 
 In an isle on the southern seas, 
 And slowly the shades of night were swept 
 
 Away by the morning breeze, 
 When a lowly son of Britain stood 
 
 With cheek and brow of care, 
 Seeking amid the solitude, 
 
 A place for secret prayer. 
 
 No ear to hear in that silent glen, 
 
 No eye but the eye of God, 
 But the giant fern gave back a voice 
 
 As forth the wanderer trod. 
 They were broken words that met his ear, 
 
 But a name was mingled there, 
 It was the name of Christ he heard, 
 
 And the language of secret prayer. 
 
 A native of that savage isle 
 
 From the depths of his full heart cried, 
 For mercy, for help in the hour of need, 
 
 For faith in the crucified; 
 
 73 
 
THE SECRET PRAYER. 
 
 And peace and hope were in those tones 
 
 So solemnly sweet they were; 
 For He who answers while yet we call, 
 
 Had heard that secret prayer. 
 
 The morning dawned on that lonely spot, 
 
 But a far more glorious day 
 Came with the accents of prayer and praise, 
 
 On the Indian s lip that lay, 
 The first, the first who had called on God 
 
 In those regions of Satan s care; 
 The first who had breath d in his native tongue, 
 
 The language of secret prayer. 
 
 And he who that hallow d music heard 
 
 The missionary lone; 
 Oh! the joy that thrilled thro his yearning heart 
 
 By a stranger may not be known; 
 But he knelt and blessed the hancfthat sent 
 
 In the hour of his deep despair, 
 Comfort and strength to his fainting sotil, 
 
 With the voice of that secret prayer. 
 
 74 
 
I 
 
 n^Qcnrjerpv 
 
 
 Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow, 
 Leave things of the future to fate; 
 
 What use to anticipate sorrow ? 
 
 Life s troubles come never too late. 
 
 If to hope over-much be an error, 
 
 Tisone that the wise have preferred; 
 
 And how often have hearts been in terror 
 Of evils that never occurred. 
 
 Have faith, and thy faith shall sustain thee, 
 
 Permit not suspicion and care 
 With invisible bonds to enchain thee, 
 
 But bear what God gives thee to bear. 
 
 By his spirit supported and gladdened, 
 
 And ne er by " forebodings" deferred 
 But think how oft heart have been saddened 
 Byjear of what never occurred. 
 
 Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow; 
 
 Short and dark as our life may appear, 
 We make it still darker by sorrow 
 
 Still shorter by folly and fear. 
 
 Half our troubles are of our invention, 
 And often from blessings conferred 
 
 Have we shrunk in vague apprehension 
 Of evils that never occurred. 
 
 75 
 
\Q 
 
 Only waiting till the shadows 
 
 Are a little longer grown, 
 Only waiting till the glimmer 
 
 Of the day s last beam is flown; 
 Till the night of earth is faded 
 
 From this heart once full of day, 
 Till the dawn of heaven is breaking 
 
 Through the twilight soft and gray 
 
 Only waiting till the reapers 
 
 Have the last sheaf gathered home, 
 For the summer-time hath faded 
 
 And the autumn winds are come. 
 Quickly, reapers, gather quickly 
 
 The last ripe hours of my heart 
 For the bloom of life is withered, 
 
 And I hasten to depart. 
 
 Only waiting till the angels 
 Open wide the mystic gate, 
 
 At whose feet I long have lingered, 
 Weary, poor, and desolate. 
 
 76 
 
ONLY WAITING. 
 
 Even now I hear their footsteps 
 And their voices far away : 
 
 If they call me I am waiting, 
 Only waiting- to obey. 
 
 Only waiting till the shadows 
 
 Are a little longer grown, 
 Only waiting till the glimmer 
 
 Of the day s last beam is flown; 
 Then from out the folded darkness 
 
 Holy, deathless star shall rise, 
 By whose light my soul will gladly 
 
 Wing her passage to the skies. 
 
 Mother, Dec. j/, 1884. 
 
 77 
 
uqene-. 
 
 Tread softly! Let no sound disturb the ear; 
 
 Let silence reign forever here. 
 
 A hallowed sweetness rests npon this spot; 
 
 While memory lasts, shall never be forgot; 
 
 And every object lingering nigh, 
 
 Brings back his image to my eye. 
 
 Oh, may these memories ever last 
 
 As sacred mementoes of the past. 
 
 I sit and view each vacant chair, 
 
 And fancy paints him sitting there; 
 
 Nor does the fancy slumber here, 
 
 His laugh throughout the house I hear, 
 
 And echoes from his youthful voice 
 
 Make all within my heart rejoice. 
 
 Be still! Oh, do not break the spell, 
 
 Nor call him back to earth to dwell. 
 
 No brighter star from God was given, 
 
 No brighter gem now shines in heaven. 
 
 Died, Monterey, Sept. 28, 1873. 
 
I ask no brighter Paradise, 
 
 I seek no fairer land; 
 There is no purer loveliness 
 
 On any ocean strand 
 Than this, whose shells the rarest 
 
 I cull each holiday 
 Surrounded by the fairest 
 
 Of lovely Monterey. 
 
 I ve roamed the shores of Italy 
 
 In happy infant years; 
 Whene er I think of Ireland, 
 
 Fast fall affection s tears. 
 But still, I say with candor, 
 
 Dissent from me who may, 
 Thy shores are fairer, grander, 
 
 Embowered Monterey. 
 
 Fair are the fields of Genoa 
 My boyhood s early home, 
 
 Its castellated terraces, 
 
 Each grand majestic dome 
 
 79 
 
MONTE REV. 
 
 Before my mind rise clearly, 
 Where er I chance to stray, 
 
 But them art loved more dearly, 
 Majestic Monterey. 
 
 The roaring of the Zuider Zee, 
 
 The Leyden loves it well; 
 The Roman views the Tiber banks 
 
 With thoughts no pen may tell, 
 But them art more enchanting 
 
 When the last solar ray 
 Is o er thy waters slanting 
 
 Romantic Monterey. 
 
 When taken by necessity, 
 
 For freely I ll ne er leave, 
 My troubled heart in bitterness 
 
 With saddened sigh must grieve ; 
 For thy fair crescent waters 
 
 Where I so love to stray 
 With some thy fairest daughters, 
 
 Pacific Monterey. 
 
 The waters of Niagara, 
 
 With great majestic roll, 
 Has filled my mind eternally 
 
 Without my heart s control, 
 But thy pure peaceful waters 
 
 Must be to me alway, 
 As pleasing as thy daughters 
 
 Angelic Monterey. 
 
 So 
 
MONTEREY. 
 
 But Bahia Vista Cottage 
 
 Is far more dear to me, 
 Than Ireland, than Italy, 
 
 Than roaring Zuider Zee, 
 Than all the sweets of Genoa, 
 
 Than Tiber s yellow spray, 
 Than all thy other beauties 
 
 Enchanting Monterey. 
 
 81 
 
<) P O 
 
 wer T uccess, 
 
 Laugh, and the world laughs with you; 
 
 Weep, and you weep alone; 
 For this brave old earth must borrow its mirth, 
 
 It has trouble enough of its own. 
 
 Sing, and the hills will answer; 
 
 Sigh, it is lost on the air; 
 The echoes bound to a joyful sound, 
 
 But shrink from voicing care. 
 
 Rejoice, and men will seek you, 
 
 Grieve, and they turn and go; 
 They want full measure for all your pleasure. 
 
 But do not want your woe. 
 
 Be glad, and your friends are many; 
 
 Be sad, and you lose them all. 
 There are none to decline your nectared wine, 
 
 But alone you must drink life s gall. 
 
 Feast, and your halls are crowded; 
 
 Fast, and the world goes by. 
 Succeed and give, and it helps you to live, 
 
 But no man can help you to die. 
 
 There s room in the halls of pleasure 
 
 For a long and lordly train, 
 But one by one we must all file on 
 
 Thro the narrow aisles of pain. 
 
 82 
 
Downhearted? Pshaw ! there s seldom seen 
 
 A lane without a turning ! 
 Each desert has a spot of green, 
 
 In spite of bright Sol s burning. 
 Yonr friends have left yon? Well, what then? 
 
 Remember changing Peter; 
 Sorrow has tried the best of men, 
 
 And life is all the sweeter. 
 
 What adds a zest to summer s joy? 
 
 Is it not a winter weary ? 
 Peace would be tame without alloy, 
 
 Past grief makes solace cheery. 
 All cannot win though all must run 
 
 When once life s race is started: 
 Yet all may hear the words: " Well done," 
 
 So never be downhearted. 
 
J\ Hoar s iff. 
 
 [Written by a mother on the fly-leaf of a Bible her gift to a son.] 
 
 Remember, love, who gave thee this, 
 When other days shall come 
 
 When she who had thy earliest kiss, 
 Sleeps in the narrow home; 
 
 Remember, twas a mother gave 
 
 The gift to one she d die to save. 
 
 That mother sought a pledge of love, 
 
 The holiest for her son ; 
 And from the gift of God above, 
 
 She chose a godly one; 
 She chose for her beloved boy 
 The source of life, and light and joy. 
 
 She bade him keep the gift that when 
 The parting honr should come, 
 
 They might have hope to meet again, 
 In her eternal home. 
 
 She said his faith in that would be 
 
 Sweet incense to her memory. 
 
 84 
 
A MOTHER S GIFT. 
 
 And should the scoffer, in his pride, 
 Laugh that fond gift to scorn, 
 
 And bid him cast his pledge aside 
 That he from youth had borne! 
 
 She bade him pause and ask his breast, 
 
 If he, or she, had loved him best. 
 
 A parent s blessing on my son 
 
 Goes with this holy thing; 
 The love that would retain the one 
 
 Must to the other cling, 
 Remember, tis no idle toy, 
 A mother s gift REMEMBER, BOY! 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
old 
 
 er) 
 
 There is many a rest in the road through life, 
 
 If we would only stop to take it, 
 And many a tone from the better land, 
 
 If the querulous heart would make it. 
 To the soul that is full of hope, 
 
 And whose beautiful trust ne er faileth, 
 The grass is green and the flowers are bright, 
 
 Though the Winter s storm prevaileth. 
 
 Better to hope, though the clouds hang low, 
 
 And to keep the eyes still lifted; 
 For the bright blue sky will soon peep through, 
 
 When the ominous clouds are rifted. 
 There was never a night without a day, 
 
 Or an evening without a morning; 
 And the darkest hour, so the proverb goes, 
 
 Is the hour before the dawning. 
 
 There is many a gem in the path of life 
 Which we pass in our idle pleasure, 
 
 That is richer far than the jeweled crown, 
 Or the miser s hoarded treasure; 
 
 86 
 
THE GOLD EX SIDE. 
 
 It may be the love of a little child, 
 Or a mother s prayer to heaven, 
 
 Or only a beggar s grateful thanks 
 For a cup of water given. 
 
 Better to weave in the path of life 
 
 A bright and golden setting, 
 And to do God s will with a cheerful heart, 
 
 And hands that are ready and willing, 
 Than to snap the delicate minute thread 
 
 Of our curious lives asunder, 
 And then blame heaven for the tangled ends, 
 
 And sit, and grieve, and wonder. 
 
erc, 
 
 "The quality of mercy is not strain d; 
 It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven, 
 Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless d; 
 It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 
 Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
 The throned monarch better than his crown: 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; 
 But mercy is above his sceptred sway. 
 It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
 It is an attribute to God himself; 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God s 
 When mercy seasons justice." 
 
s 
 
 [The following selections from different plays giving advice to young 
 men, are copied with a hope that mothers will deeply impress these 
 noble sentiments on the minds of their young sons. They embrace 
 counsel and direction for every state of life from the cradle to the grave :] 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 ( Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
 Nor any unproportipn d thought his act. 
 Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
 The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel; 
 But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
 Of each new-hatch d unfledg d comrade. Beware 
 Of entrance to a quarrel : but, being in, 
 Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. 
 Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice: 
 Take each man s censure, but reserve thy judgment. 
 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 
 But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy, 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man; 
 And they in France, of the best rank and station, 
 Are most select and generous, chief in that. 
 
 89 
 
SHA KESPEA RE S A D I ICE. 
 
 Neither a borrower, nor a lender be, 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend; 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
 This above all, To thine ownself be true. 
 And it must follow, as the^nightjthe day, 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man." 
 
 AW s Well That Ends Well 
 
 "Love all, trust a few, 
 Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy 
 Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend 
 Under thy own life s key: Be checked for silence, 
 But never taxed for speech." 
 
 Julius Ccesar. 
 
 " There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 Is bound in shallows and in miseries. 
 On such a full sea are we now afloat, 
 And we must take the current when it serves, 
 Or lose our ventures. 
 
 Anthony and Cleopatra. 
 
 " We, ignorant of ourselves, 
 
 Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers 
 Deny us for our good ; so find we profit, 
 By losing of our prayers." 
 
 90 
 
SHA KESPEA RE S AD VICE. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 "And that should teach us, 
 There s a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them how we will." 
 
 u In the corrupted currents of this world 
 Offence s gilded hand may shove by justice; 
 And oft tis seen, the wicked prize itself 
 Buys out the law : But tis not so above : 
 There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
 In his true nature; and we ourselves compell d, 
 Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
 To give in evidence." 
 
 Henry VIII. 
 
 U I charge thee, fling away ambition; 
 By that sin fell the angels; how can man then, 
 The image of his Maker, hope to win by t? 
 L,ove thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee. 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. 
 I,et all the ends thou aim st at be thy country s, 
 Thy God s, and truth s; then, if thou fall st, 
 Thou fall st a blessed martyr!" 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 " Be thou chaste as ice, as pure as 
 snow, thou shalt not escape calumny." 
 
 91 
 
SHA fCESPEA RE S ADI ICE. 
 
 Ju I hi s 
 
 * My heart laments that virtue 
 Cannot live out of the teeth of emulation." 
 
 Henry VIII. 
 
 "Men that make 
 
 Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment, 
 Dare bite the best. 
 
 If I am traduc d by tongues, which neither know 
 My faculties nor person, yet will be 
 The chronicles of my doing, let me say, 
 Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake 
 That virtue must go through. We must not stint 
 Our necessary actions, in the fear 
 To cope malicious censurers; which ever 
 As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow 
 That is new trimm d; but benefit no further 
 Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, 
 By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is 
 Not ours, or hot allow d; what worst, as oft, 
 Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up 
 For our best act. If we shall stand still, 
 In fear our motion will be mock d or carp d at, 
 We should take root here where we sit, or sit 
 State statues only." 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 "Meet it is, I set it down, 
 That one may smile, and smile and be a villain." 
 
 92 
 
SHAKESPEARE S ADTTCE. 
 
 Richard III. 
 
 "Ah ! that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, 
 And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice!" 
 
 Henry 17. 
 
 "What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted ? 
 Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just; 
 And he but naked, though locked up in steel, 
 Whose conscience with injiistice is corrupted." 
 
 Julius Ccesar. 
 
 " Cowards die many times before their deaths; 
 The valiant never taste of death but once. 
 Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, 
 It seems to me most strange that men should fear; 
 Seeing that death, a necessary end, 
 Will come, when it will come." 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
 " Friendship is constant in all other things, 
 Save in the office and affairs of love: 
 Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues. 
 Let every eye negotiate for itself, 
 And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch 
 Against whose charms faith melteth into blood." 
 
 King Henry VI. 
 
 "Let never day nor night unhallow d pass, 
 But still remember what the Lord hath done." 
 
 93 
 
SHAKESPEARE S ADVICE. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 "Confess yourself to heaven; 
 Repent what s past; avoid what is to come." 
 
 Henry IV. 
 
 "Oh, gentlemen, the time of life is short; 
 To spend that shortness basely, were too long, 
 If life did ride upon a dial s point, 
 Still ending at the arrival of an hour." 
 
 OF THE ^ 
 
 IVERSITY) 
 OF S