THE 1 [BRARY [HE UNIVERSITY OF CAL [FORNIA LOS ANGELES f . J ' ^ / ' . f - 7 r > ' , DEVOTIONAL, SENTIMENTAL, HUMOROUS. BY GEO. WHITE. CHICAGO: MOSES WARREN, 103 STATE STREET. 1878. COPYRIGHT. 1878. BY R. G. WHITE. PAGE. FOR THY SAKE, 5 LOVE OF GOD, - - 7 THY WILL BE DONE, 9 FAITH, - - 12 WHEREFORE FOR THE COMING DAY, 14 TRUST HIM ALTOGETHER, - i? STAR OF FAITH, 19 MOTHER, - 21 THE RIVER, - 24 THE OTHER SIDE, - 26 WAITING FOR ME, - 29 BY- AND BY, 3 1 DAWNING, - 33 SHELTERED, 35 GALILEE, 37 MERCY, - 39 SYMPATHY, - 4 1 HEBREW CAPTIVES, - 44 762888 4 Contents. IT is WELL, 47 SATAN'S POCKETBOOK, - - 49 SEQUEL TO SATAN'S POCKETBOOK, - 64 POLLY HONE, - - 75 HUMAN SYMPATHY, - 87 CIRCUMSTANCE vs. PROVIDENCE, - 94 GRACE AND MAY, - 97 IDA, - 99 THE SNOW-STORM, 106 I WISH, - - 109 WOMAN'S RIGHTS, - 112 THE WORLD IN ANTITHESIS, - 115 MEN AND WOMEN, - 119 SONG OF THE WIND, - - 121 SUNSHINE, - 123 ANGELS' VISITS, 125 GUARDIAN ANGELS, - 127 SONNET, - - - 129 DEFERRED, - 13 LOVE, ' - I3 2 COLOR, 133 For Chy Sake. DUTY stood at the door, Sternly compelling Something that oft before I'd done, rebelling; Seemed it, of all I know, Menial and lowly; "Lord, should I stoop so low When Thou art holy? I love the sunny sheen Where Thou hast led me; Love I the pastures green, Where Thou hast fed me." Just then a pleading word Made my weak hand shake; And a low voice I heard "Do it for my sake." Home Ballads. " Long have I suffered loss, Bearing this trial; Carried this heavy cross In self-denial; Toiled up this arduous way, Barren and dreary; Lord, I would fain obey, But I am weary!" "I bore the cross for thee Up Calvary's mountain; Prayed in Gethsemane, By Kedron's fountain; And need I urge thee still ? Do it for My sake." "I yield, dear Lord; I will Do all for Thy sake." Loue of $06. OVE of God, so full, divine - It is nearer, It is dearer Far than thine. Love of God, be more to me Than all other Sister, brother E'er could be! Love of God, fill all my heart; Never, never, From me sever, s.Or depart! Love of God, abide with me! I surrender Every tender Chord to thee. Home Ballads. Love of Jesus, make me whole; Move most sweetly, And completely, All my soul! Love of Christ, my being nerve, From inertion To exertion, Thee to serve! Love of God, endure alway; Ne'er grow older, Dimmer, colder Than today! Chy roil be Done, ERD! I would bow with Thee In dark Gethsemane, Praying alone. Thou, who didst bear for me My load of agony In dark Gethsemane, Thy will be done! Bring my petition near Into Thy heart and ear, O holy One! Pain darts across my way; Thick darkness hides the day; Yet, Lord, I still would pray, Thy will be done! io Home Ballads. Lord! I would go with Thee Up to mount Calvary, Bearing the cross; Bearing the grief and shame Of sundered friendship's name, And the world's scoffs and blame Counting but dross Would linger near the tree Where Jesus died for me Died for his own: The Father hides His face, Darkness comes on apace, Heaven frowns; for in disgrace He dies alone. Down to the sepulchre, Lord! I would follow her Who loved Thee well; There, at the dawn of day, Hear the sweet Mary say, "Who'll roll the stone away?" Angels can tell. Thy Will be Done. II "Not here!" The tidings flew; Who died for me and you, Death could not hold; Lo ! " He is risen " today, Hear the glad angels say, Go bear the news away The news untold. And so my guilt is not; This is the price that bought Pardon for me; This is the price that brings All good and precious things, On Faith's exultant wings, Glad soul, to thee! Faith. FAITH is on the mountain-top; High above the clouds she stands, On the Rock, and looking up, Hymning with the angel bands That surround the throne of God, Brightening His bright abode. Lightnings play beneath her feet, Thunders tremble through the air, Storms descend and torrents meet; Naught can hurt or harm her there; On the Rock she firmly stands, Hymning with the angel bands. Though in rags she walks the streets, Though her couch the cold, damp ground, Though no kindly voice doth greet, She hath all things and abounds; Faith. 13 She an heir of God and heaven Crowns and thrones to her are given. And when oft the unseen Hand Leads her to the valley dim Lions chained, and devils, stand Safely through she follows Him; Through the shadows dark and gray, Faith discerns the narrow way. When upon the raging sea, Winds adverse and baffled skill, Jesus sleeps; but waking, He Bids the winds and waves be still: Gazing upward, still she stands, Singing with the angel bands. When the human faints and fades, And the mortal meets decay, Faith escapes these narrow glades, Soars to ope the gates of day; Mounting upward, still she flies Home to God, when dying dies. therefore for the looming Day. T T THEREFORE, for the coming day, V V Care and trouble borrow? Do thy little work today, Trust Him for the morrow; Eat whate'er He gives to eat, Trust Him for tomorrow's meat. See thy Father's granary Filled to overflowing! Jesus holds the magic key, Tenderly bestowing As He willeth. Ask Him, then; He will honored be of men. What though weariness and pain Hold thy hand and waking, The unwelcome day again Through the darkness breaking? Wherefore for the Coming Day. 15 Trust Him though no work 'be done, Trust at morn and set of sun. See the lilies of the plain, Toiling not, nor spinning, Knowing neither loss nor gain, Neither care's beginning! Never lady, in her ease, Was arrayed like one of these. See the blithe birds of the air, Sowing not, nor reaping, Knowing neither toil nor care Flying, singing, sleeping Waking, praising God! why then Are they better fed than men? They do all they have to do, All that God has given; But they murmur not, as you, Child and heir of Heaven j Going where His kind hand leads, So He warms and clothes and feeds. 1 6 Home Ballads. Why so slow to learn of them, Of the birds and flowers? Why so loth to trust in Him, In life's darksome hours; We belie what we profess, Loving little, trusting less. Crust Him Altogether. THROUGH foul or pleasant weather, Whatever may befall, O, trust Him altogether, Or trust Him not at all! For He is fully able To meet thy soul's great need, To furnish well thy table, And all thy hungry feed. He giveth not by measure, Or grudgingly, or small; E'en to thy faith the treasure Shall be proportioned all. O, then, in stormy weather, Whatever may befall, Trust in Him altogether, Or trust Him not at all! What though the shadows lengthen, And cover all the ground; 2 1 8 Home Ballads. And thy forebodings strengthen, As, gazing all around, Thou viewest the ancient places, Where Hope has built high towers, And over all are traces Of sorrow's busy hours? Fear not! fear not! He loves thee, And to His loving breast, O child of God! He holds thee, And there thou mayest rest. E'en if thou fail, He loves thee, The clouds will break at length; The shades are sent to prove thee, To try thy faith and strength! And if thou fail not, glory And joy shall end thy days; Through Jesus' strength thou'st conquered, To Him shall be the praise. Then, in all stormy weather, Whatever may befall, O trust Him altogether, Or trust Him not at all! Star of Faith. J^T^WAS a lonely waif JL Upon the sea of life, Floating upon the tide, Tossing amid the strife Of the angry, foaming billows, With fear and danger rife. Borne upon the waves, Darkness shrouds the sky, While fearful wind and storm Obey the mandate high It quails at the awful thunder, Whose lightnings round it fly. Now the eye is fixed Upon a lone bright star; Its light through darkness gleams Over the waves afar. 2O Home Ballads. It is of heaven the token, Whose bright door seems ajar. Rest, oh, troubled heart; List its whisperings! 'T will strength to thee impart, 'Twill hope and courage bring, To gain a victory mighty, Under a Savior King. Safe 'twill guide thee o'er Life's dark, troubled sea, Till moored on heaven's shore, Thy own frail bark shall be The gift of the dear, kind Savior, Sweet star of Faith to thee. Bother. OTHE weary days of waiting On the borders of the river! Days of shadow and of sadness, Days of sunshine and of gladness, On the heights, where past and present Mingle with the great hereafter. Thinking, thinking knitting, knitting, Little blocks of patchwork fitting, In her old armchair a-sitting. She's aweary and awaiting Weary with a life of labor, Weary with a life of trial Feels her own life-work is ended; Loving much the loving Savior, Longs to be forever with Him; Wonders why the summons tarries. 22 Home Ballads. April with her crystal showers, Summer with her fruits and flowers, Autumn with his golden bowers, Winter with his busy hours Years roll by, and still she ever Hears the murmur of the river, Sees its wavelets gleam and glisten, Drops her work to look and listen: One by one they 're passing over, . Still for her arrives no summons; But her pains are growing sharper, And her face is growing paler, And the wrinkles something deeper; Thinking, knitting thinking, knitting; Little blocks of patchwork fitting; In her rocking-chair still sitting: Till one day, when gentle showers Fell upon earth's budding bowers, Came a soft and gentle calling, Like an angel voice at even All so still, we heard unheeding Mother. 23 And her eyes grew brighter, brighter, And her brow paled whiter, whiter Whiter than the couch she lay on Till a strange, mysterious glory Filled the room and us with wonder. Three long months in pain she lay there, And ofttimes she talked with angels Often with the blessed Jesus Longing, longing waiting, waiting; Not a whit her pain abating; But one eve, when twilight mingled With the growing shades of darkness, Silently and soft and welcome Came the last and final summons. Heaven's fragrance wafted earthward, Light from thence illumed earth's darkness; Earth and heaven were close together: Then the Savior threw His mantle Softly over her, and bare her Safely to the realms of glory. IThe Bluer. OVER the murmuring river, The loved ones are singing, Their melody ringing ' Forever and ever. Over the mystical river, Each knoweth the other; The infant, the mother, Death cannot dissever. Over the phantom river, Their pleasures are real; They grasp the ideal, And hold it forever. Over the weeping river, No tear of regretting, No sighing nor fretting, Disturb them, forever. The River. Over the sleeping river, The heart's dearest treasures, The soul's sweetest pleasures, Are waking together. O, blessed immortals! That river of terror, The tomb of old error, Is only heaven's portals. 2 5 Ehe Hither Si&e. SHOULD I dread to cross the river, Flowing darkly, deep and wide? I shall see the Golden City On the verdant heaven-side: I shall see the holy angels, Who have watched my pathway o'er; They are waiting to convey me Safely to the other shore. I shall see my long-lost kindred, And my bahy-brother meet Father, mother, sister, hasting On swift wings, their own to greet Not as when on earth we parted, Bear they palms of victory; And are like the blessed Jesus, Clothed with immortality. The Other Side. 27 The rejected " Man of Sorrows," There, methinks, I then shall see: The exalted, glorious Savior, Who once walked in Galilee Gaze upon the loved disciple, Paul, and Peter, and the rest; Greet the Marys and the Marthas, And the children that He blest. I shall see the great All-Father, Veiled in glory, veiled in light Reverent angels bow their faces, Bow their joyous faces bright. And the music there resounding Mortal ear hath never heard; And the beauty Him surrounding Mortal pulse hath never stirred. I shall view the martyred millions Who have died by sword and flame; And shall see the holy prophets Who have loved His holy name 28 Home Ballads. Gaze with awe on untold numbers From the islands of the sea, From the frozen zones, the jungles, And wild dens of Africa. Should I dread to cross the river, Since upon the other shore All my treasures dear are gathered, And my kindred gone before? In His house, of many mansions, Jesus hath prepared for me A dear home: I know 'tis waiting, And its light I long to see. Waiting for Be, IN a land undimmed by shadows, In a home where all is fair, I have kindred waiting for me Waiting my arrival there. And methinks they stand together Father, mother, gone before, Sister, brother, kindred spirits Waiting on the other shore. And the angels, too, are kindred, Round the throne of God they stand; Christ, my elder brother, waiting Forv me in His own fair land. And the great Supreme, Eternal, Is my Father, and He waits Patiently, till all His children Safe arrive at heaven's gates. 30 Home Ballads. How the cares of earth grow lighter, And its pain seems less to bear, When I feel they're waiting for me Waiting my arrival there. By-anb-By, T 'HERE is a hope, There is a fear; It may be far, It may be near; But, in the future, waiting, I Shall Jesus see; yes, by-and-by. Impatient soul, And longing heart, Your murmurs cease, And bear your part Of pain and labor on life's road, For soon 'twill lead thee to thy God; And by-and-by Will soon be now, And God shall wipe Each tear-stained brow; 3 2 Home Ballads. The Lamb shall feed them from His throne- To living fountains lead His own. O verdant fields! O shining shore! The Lamb of God Spreads wide the door. Ah, Golden City! surely I Shall see your glories by-and-by. Dauming. CHRISTIAN, awake! for the daystar is dawning That heralds the morning; Far over the sea the nations are waking, Their fetters are breaking; They struggle in vain their fetters to sunder, They struggle and wonder; They stretch forth their hands in attitude pleading, Oh, rest not unheeding! Mosque and pogoda are tottering, creaking, To you they are speaking; The kingdom of satan is trembling, falling, And Jesus is calling. God by His spirit the way is preparing, His strong arm is baring; God in His providence wide doors is oping, And will ye be moping? 3 34 Home Ballads. Ye, who have wealth, who have intellect's power, What, think of the hour? Crown it with dutiful grateful behavior; Give all to the Savior. For over the world the daystar is dawning That heralds the morning, And Jesus shall reign, with glad acclamations, The Light of all nations! Sheltered. MORNING dawned serenely, Sunlight danced around; Birds were on the wing, Birds were caroling; Beautiful and seemly, Every living thing, Every sight and sound! Such life's early waking; But, e're noon was nigh, Distant muttering, Loud threats uttering Storm and thunder breaking O'er me on swift wing Shelter none had I. Through the tempest dreary, Sped a welcome guest; 36 Home Ballads. Love, upon the wing, Unto me did sing: Come to me, ye weary, All your burdens bring; I will give you rest! Refuge I have found me From the stormy blast Lo! extended wide Jesus' arms! I hide; Love and Peace surround me, I will here abide Till life's storms are past. $alilee. WATCHFUL angels hover round, O'er the heights of Galilee; And the wondering stars look down, Where the Savior bends the knee. Burdened with the guilt and scorn Of the world, alone, He there Kneels, until the first faint dawn Of the morn, in fervent prayer. The disciples are away On the raging sea below; Winds adverse, and in dismay "Toiling in, they toiling row;" Hope and joy their bosoms thrill: Jesus comes! He comes! and hark! As He utters, "Peace, be still," At the port they moor their bark. 38 Home Ballads. Lone disciple on life's sea, Frightened mariner! His love Watcheth now, in heaven, o'er thee; Jesus prays for you above. Though the waves around thee roll, Fear and doubt thy bosom fill, See! He cometh to thy soul, On the waves, with "Peace, be still." Jftercy. WHO, who will bear these to fallen man- A ruined, stubborn race? The price of blood my Son hath shed Mercy with Truth and Grace. The spirit came the spirit of God, With gifts for one and all, Hands full of treasures rich and free, Many and great and small; And softly whispers in human hearts, "Ask and ye shall receive;" Ye need not hunger, need not thirst, Ye need not mourn and grieve: Here's Mercy for all, both great and small; Repent and turn to God A balm to heal the wound you feel, Beneath His angry rod. 4 Home Ballads. And Mercy still stands with open hands, Still waiting to bestow Her gifts to men, the moment when They will to have it so. Eye hath not seen, and ear hath not heard, Nor heart conceived, the bliss Laid up above for those who love And follow righteousness. Sympathy. THERE is a sympathy Above the human; It comes alike to child, To man and woman. To high and low alike, Where'er there's pining, Or burden to be borne, Or sick reclining. And whoso'er applies, However lowly, Its soothing power feels A charm most holy. It helps us bear our pain, Our grief and sadness; To sorrow gives again The smile of gladness. 42 Home Ballads. And those who stumble so, Their weakness showing, It yearns to raise them up, With love past knowing. This blessed sympathy, So freely given, On chords of love comes down From God in heaven. And in all human hearts, Though ill-assorted, This godlike impulse dwells, But blind, distorted Still burning with high zeal, Nor scarce discerning The true from false; for aye Cool reason spurning; Yet blesses she the world, Through blind endeavor. We'll clasp her to our hearts, For aye, forever, Sympathy. And when the hot tear starts, We pine and languish We look to God above To sooth our anguish. 43 Hebrew Captiues. BY Euphrates river, flowing Soft through Babylonia's street, Sit a crowd of weary wanderers, Sick of heart and sore of feet. All the way from Palestina, From their kindred and their home, Driven by Chaldean masters, Faint and weary they have come. On the willows by the rivers Hang their harps, from whose accord Rang the praises of Jehovah, Only God and mighty Lord. Mount Moriah's walls and temple, Fair Mount Zion's sacred keep, And Siloam's silver waters, Haunt their memory they weep. Hebrew Captives. 45 Pitiless, the proud foe taunts them, Heeding not their tears and wrongs: "Sing us one of David's measures, Sing us one of Zion's songs." " Can we sing the songs of Zion, Can we chant Jehovah's praise, Mid the jargon and the discord Of your heathen rites and ways? We can ne'er forget thee, never, Never, O Jerusalem! Be thy memory and worship Dearer far than diadem! Let my hand forget her cunning, And my tongue in silence cleave To my palate, if I ever For thy downfall cease to grieve." So their harps hang pendent, silent, On the boughs by Babel's streams; One sweet hope, Messiah's coming, Through the distant future gleams. 46 Home Ballads. Israel, had'st thou shunned, forsaken Idols, revelry and sin; Served the Lord thy God Him only, Oh, this never need have been! 3t is TIME wings lightly, Hope is high; Free from care or trial, Blest are they; and so am I Blest in self-denial. Life is pleasant, life is sweet, Full of joy and beauty; Yet is my reward complete In the path of duty. Life is sunshine, life is rest; Ease surrounds my neighbor; Still am I supremely blest Blest in toil and labor. Plenty crowns another's days, Free from want or losses; Yet am I, in all my ways, Blest in bearing crosses. Home Ballads. Though I weep while others smile, Knowing no aggrievement; I mourn not, being the while Blest in my bereavement. One great love encircles man, Yesterday, tomorrow; And that love alike I scan, Both in joy and sorrow. Satan's Pochetbooh. ROAMING with eager thought and aim, Unto an unknown land I came: 'Twas dark and wild I paused to look The murky air, the shivering gloom Hung o'er the valley like the doom Of banished souls; and closely by, Borne sluggishly and silently, The volume of a sulphurous brook. A chain of mountains dark was seen, Bounding the earth and Hell between; And many of their peaks towered up So high one could not see their top. This awful chain of mounts was called The mountains of God's wrath, and walled Th' Infernal Regions in, save where I stood; a narrow opening there 50 Home Ballads. Was guarded well This gate of Hell By the dark image of Despair. With eyes of fire and tongue of hate, Prime minister of Doom he sate; Yet chained so close he could not go But little way from Hell, although He guarded well th' Infernal gate. Beyond the mountains of God's wrath, Which walled th' Infernal Regions in, Outstretched a landscape fair, which hath Been singed and scorched by pain and sin; This country fair is called the earth, Outspreading wide a vast, vast plain, Heaven's sunshine falling on it Heaven's dew and Heaven's rain; And gazing mute, I heard, methought, Discordant notes of music brought Upon the wings of moving air; And listening, I heard, I know, The notes of joy and wail of woe Which mingle there. Satan's Pocketbook. 51 THE EARTH. A climate where they weep and sing, And hearts grow colder, warmer, With more of winter than of spring, And more of fall than summer. Where spectral death gloats after life, And storm the sunshine follows; Contentment sweet abides with strife, And famine plenty swallows. A region where the good and bad Grow side by side together; Walk hand in hand, the gay and sad, Through foul or pleasant weather. Where broods the raven's sable wing O'er love's enchanted bower; Where lurks the serpent's fatal sting, Hidden beneath the flower. A curious spot where night and morn By turns devour each other, Where patience is of sorrow born To overcome her mother. 52 Home Ballads. Lost spirits, 'scaped from prisons deep, Beneath where they were lying; . Work mischief with God's careless sheep, And lure with hope the dying. Where prayer can drive the deel away; Where Pain abides with Pleasure, Where Good and Evil strive alway Our hearts to rule and measure. Where angels weep, o'er fallen man, Their tears of love and pity; God's eyes, unseen, man's actions scan, From His Eternal City. The air was hot, the brooklet bad Was flowing earthward, and it had Its scource in Hell. Yet round and round It zigzag coursed until it found, Or stole, its way through Hellgate. From Hellgate 'tis Intemperance Flows onward through earth, and thence A circuit wide and strange to tell Pours in the other side of Hell. Satan's Pocketbook. 53 Alas! this stream of death and sin Appeared to flow both out and in! The under waters, narrow, deep, ' With insidious silence creep Over the unsuspecting world! But on its rippling surface gleams Delusion, and all fair it seems, As round and round it curled. Backward lowered a grizzly cloud, Hovering o'er the dark abyss, A cloud of sulphurous smoke; and loud The devils mutter, serpents hiss Fearful jargon, horrid cursing, Loud blasphemings seething, bursting, Trembling through the turbid air, From vengeful spirits dwelling there; And lightning's blaze and polar night Commingle with contending might. Rolling, bellowing thunders sound 'Neath my feet, and shake the ground; Their voice is heard above the din Of demons murmuring: hard within 54 Home Ballads. Within a horrid gulf, down, down, Where ne'er a bottom hath been found. The prisoned hissing of hell-fire, Outbursting with a sudden ire, Showers adown o'er all the plain Like an ill-omened, blood-red rain, The ashes of impure desire, Flying upon the wings of fire; Some sparks flew earthward, and they came Unto the brook of sulphurous name, And lighted on it; through the night The passion fires gleamed lurid light, And sparks became A quenchless flame, And war and anguish from below Terror, disaster, fear and woe, And famine, desolation, pain, Quickly spread over all the plain. Some sparks touched buds which ne'er again Essayed to put their beauties forth Upon the borders of the earth; But unto these 'twas surely given Satan's Pocketbook. 55 To bud again and bloom in heaven. Again, fire, smoke and soot flew out, Diffusing terror all about; And from the pit, on all around, Were ashes strewn, and on the ground. Dreadful eruptions! mortal fear Embraced me, as I lingered here; For o'er my head the mass sailed forth That lighted on and scorched the earth. It stayed at last; and moving fast, I sought to 'scape this awful place; And, musing much, I knew at last 'Twas Earth and Hell, the middle space. Upon the margin of the brook, And near those mountains dark and high, Hastening past, I paused to look At something, lost there, hard and dry; I seized it, in my waistcoat tight Demurely placed it, out of sight; And saw, upon the sand and soot, Prints of Apollyon's cloven foot; And numerous marks there were in sight, 56 Home Ballads. As though there'd been a recent fight He had just waged a desperate war For some poor soul he'd bargained for. At last I reached a quiet spot Upon Earth's bosom, broad and fair, And, sitting down to rest and muse Upon my strange adventure there, I thought upon "the something lost" I found upon the verge of Fate; And drew it from my waistcoat forth, And looked it o'er as there I sate And sudden horrors thrilled my veins; I dropped it, fled, then turned to look, When there, upon the grass and soot, Lay Satan's private Pocketbook. O, horror upon horrors! now, A pretty scrape you've got into; For devils old, and devils young, En masse, will soon be after you! Why did I ever leave the Earth, In thought to canvass worlds unknown- Satan's Pocketbook. That blessed, miserable place, With thorns and roses overgrown? But here I am, a helpless wight, Target of Chance, and sport of Fate! O, fly thee to thy quiet home! A pris'ner, I; too late, too late! For I have trespassed, trespassed deep, Upon forbidden ground, alone; I cannot laugh, I cannot weep My heart is like a block of stone. The cunning chief of misery Is lurking near me, all unseen; He will not lose his property Without one desperate grab, I ween. Woe, woe to me! for all of life, Of love and hope are lost to me! No, no! I'll give "the deel his own'" O God! thy worm appeals to Thee. After a while, as I grew calm, I took it up, nor felt alarm; And slowly, without fear or hate, 58 Home Ballads. Proceeded to investigate; A still, small voice within me calmed And bade me to unravel all The schemes of Satan, to ensnare Unwary ones within his thrall. THE POCKETBOOK. A curious thing! the outer sides, Of adamant, could well abide The fury of hell-fire. A bone, Mixed with a certain kind of stone, Inflammable, the clasp made close, Till, from a drunkard's veins let loose, Blood touched the spring; wide ope it flew, With noise and crash; when to my view Appeared the contents, lying in: Made of a pale and haggard skin The linings were; and diamonds rare, And precious things, and jewels fair, And many a price in. scrip and gold, Of fools, who e'en themselves had sold For pleasure, to the deel for wine, For honor, or a name to shine Satan's Pocketbook. 59 On Fame's high dome. When these were past The price, I'll have your soul at last. Still fumbling within, I sought And came to one whose facts were wrought In fiery lines, on parchment dark As midnight, without moon or stars, When naught Earth's quiet dreaming mars, But soft repose her slumbers mark. This deed malign I leave in shade; I cannot trace it undismayed. Terror withstood me as I mused, And trembling shook the hand 1 used. All hastily I hurried past The horrid details, and the last I fain would find; but infinite Their number seemed, and dark as night. Hatred of sin and sinful things Thrilled through my soul, as Satan sings, For here laid open to my view The hellish schemes that millions slew. The almighty dollar, it was plain, Had millions upon millions slain; 60 Home Ballads. And many who were void of sense Were snared and taken by "five cents." And one whose tiny little soul Was taken by a part or whole Of one round cent, was detailed there; And pennies, pennies everywhere, And cots and palaces and towers, And lands, dominions, thrones and powers, And ships, and stocks, and merchandise, Were bartered for the awful price Of human souls.. 'Tis strange, surprising strange, but so He claimed dominion long ago Of the duped Earth and all within; Then sought a traffic to begin With those he duped and caused to sin. He'd fought with heaven, and, vanquished there, Retreated backward, downward, where He and his minions people space; But spirits know no bound of place And near to Earth, too near, alas! To Earth, from thence, in freedom pass. Satan's Pocketbook. 61 'Twas thus he sought to circumvent His late discomfiture, and sent His minions forth with title-deeds Of lands and houses, names and creeds. Still searching, wonders more I found, Reclining there upon the ground Wonders of dark, malignant schemes, Surpassing diabolic dreams Of thought malign, and devilish plan, To snare and conquer listless man Heaven's pet for in his form and mien The image of his God was seen. I trembling sat in terror, pain, . [brain; While thought chased thought through my dazed A loud and sudden crashing heard, Like the collision of two worlds, Through space careering, met at last The less to atoms flies, and fast The greater moves in grandeur past. The air now wore the murky hue Of regions recently in view 62 Home Ballads. Of regions, I had lately flown. A dash of vivid lightning shone, And thunder burst and rolled around, Then bellowed underneath the ground. The tall trees swung their leafy arms, And bowed low down their stalwart forms, But did not break. The angry sky Seemed circling to earth, and high Of clouds sailed fragments, black as night, In seeming terror and affright, And dust and soot flew all about; Flew in and out, then in and out, And smoke of sulphur smote the sight. But harmlessly it passed, and calm Pervaded all around, and bright The sun poured down a radiance warm O'er hill, and dale, and mountain height; The soft wind breathed a murmured prayer, The echo murmured happiness; And flowers bloomed in beauty there, And stooped the soft, green earth to kiss. The bird-song burst upon the ear, Satan's Pocketbook. The brooklet paused to smile and hear. I wondered at the happy change, So sudden, and so sweet, and strange; And looked upon the ground in vain, And in my pocket, in my brain; Ah! Satan's Pocketbook had gone; I could not wish it back again The devil's own he'll have his own! Sequel to Satan's Pochetbooh. INTEMPERANCE, swift-moving flood, Freighted with evil, void of good So moved me with its ceaseless gleam, Like a somnambulistic dream, I climbed an elevated nook, Where I could trace this winding brook, To take of it another look. The distance safe, and lofty height, Offered an outlook, out of sight; And lo! o'er all the prospect vast, A strange, ill-omened light was cast, With meaning pregnant; not a sound Rolled through the air or jarred the ground. I saw a noiseless little brook, With unpretending harmless look, Flow from beneath the portals wide That shut close in the underside; 'Twas but a laughing little stream, Whose merry wavelets dance and gleam, Sequel to Satan's Pocketbook. Disclosing naught at first but joy, To tempt with merry jokes the boy With gentle, soothing motion flows, With siren measures lulling those Who launch upon this death-bound flood. Soon overcome with strange repose, Or dazed with outward show of good, Are charmed with what appeared to be A form of loveliness and grace, In whose voluptuous, ruddy face Are dimpled smiles and jovial mirth, Adorned with glittering gems of Earth. Dancing to varied minstrelsy, A weird, fantastic light is cast Upon the present, future, past, Until all solid things are made To fall behind, and rest in shade. The fair form changes now, and lo! Approaching stealthily and slow, Borne onward iri a gilded bark, Upon the waters deep and dark, The vender of a subtle thing 5 66 Home Ballads. Which makes a mortal laugh and sing, And dance and shout e'en in death's face, While Misery and shamed Disgrace Hang round the bier and yet for more The victim wails; his honor, store, His reputation, manhood, strength, His bread and meat, his soul at length, Are bartered to the deel for more. For, just behind this vender foul, Another stood with mince and scowl; 'Twas but a shape, though il^ or fair, With impious import hiding there, And in his hand, with close device, He firmly held concealed "the price;" And cries, "'Tis naught." As on they go, The brooklet widens; and the flow At first is easy, with calm mien Meanders terraced hills between, Or softly creeps through valleys green; But carries, with its eddies fair, A poisoned breath, a poisoned air, Which smites the leaf upon the trees, Sequel to Satan's Pocketbook. 67 And floats far off upon the breeze; It blights the tender, budding bloom Of gardens green with polar gloom; It slays the grass, it slays the grain, It stays the ever welcome rain. The shapeless shape, holding the price, Sulks frowningly, touches the dice; The trifling price to any one Looks like a little bit of fun. Delusion; but he deftly throws Chains over willing dupes, and goes With even motion swiftly on, ^ Until, sun, moon and stars all gone, The soul in darkness moans and quakes, And e'en this feeble body shakes; And the dire shape, so fair at first, Is changed to something dark, accursed, A horrid thing that, day and night, Impels him on_; 'tis Appetite. The dark form rages, foams and roars, While near a dreadful cataract pours; A voice is heard in accents clear, 68 Home Ballads. "Beware, beware, destruction's near!" A lovely, jeweled, helping hand Seems dropping from the better land; It beckons to him, and implores To turn and live. To golden shores The hand points, bleeding; oping wide, Light breaks the gloom and skims the tide, And over portals deep, inwrought, Was "touch not, taste not, handle not." These portals led to temples fair, Resting like jewels, here and there, Upon earth's throbbing breast; and lo! Many for refuge there did go, And found the safe retreat they sought In "touch not, taste not, handle not." But 'many more rush heedless on, 'Till manhood, strength and hope are gone. The prison houses are rilled full Of these poor wretches, bright and dull; Proud talent meets, and wealth rests by The sunburnt sons of poverty, While hunger and consumption pale List mute to disappointment's wail; Sequel to Satan's Pocketbook. 69 And orphans' groans, And widows' moans, Ambition's broken shrine, despair, Anguish and terror, mingle there. Rolls on the freighted flood, with power Submerging palace, hut and tower; Tall trees, and low, To ruin go; And the firm rock, Which bore the shock Of wind and storm for many years, Is swept away, and naught appears But helpless, broken fragments e'en Revealing what they might have been. As round and round its waters wind, It had whole cities undermined; Had kings uncrowned, And thrones borne down; Deluged many a castle fair, So grandly reared upon the air; Deluged many a castle strong, All freighted with a poet's song; 70 Home Ballads. Deluged many a castle great, Where a blazoned warrior sate; And, wheresoe'er it winds about, Fair homes were marred or blotted out; And many cots of humble mien, Or noble mansions, have been seen, Wrecked and ruined, floating thence On the dark stream, Intemperance Broad channel, ever bringing in Victims of pleasure, vice and sin! And o'er the bound of hell at last, Its volume thundered full and fast. And as they pass the fearful bourne From whence no one can e'er return, We hear their cries, we hear their groans, We hear their never-ending moans; And, as they hasten on apace, More come to fill their vacant place Borne onward, as all those before, En masse^ e'en to destruction's door. They heeded not the warning voice, They heeded not the helping hand: Sequel to Satan's Pocketbook. 71 One bade them make the better choice, One pointed to the better land. And oh, the ghostly vision dread! The shape ill-omened stalks ahead; That shapeless shape, always in sight, The fearful thing called Appetite. The eye is riveted to it; Will has no power to rule, or sit Upon her ancient throne, but lies In mute paralysis, and dies. The lovely, jeweled hand has gone, The day is ended, light has flown; Now darkness reigns supreme, and all Is merged in midnight's dismal pall; But through the blackness backward gleam Those horrid eyes whose glances seem Like charm of serpent; and no light Of cheering token breaks the night. Near, nearer still, the cataract pours, And from beneath loud thunder roars The shape, whose eyes haunt, haunt him still, Comes nearer; with a horrid thrill, Home Ballads. Its finger ends but touch his brow He writhes, and fain would die, but now Its lips upon his lips are pressed; While on his eyes its eyeballs rest; With hand to hand, and frame to frame, They breathe as one, and are the same. The devil has him now! The price Was but a wicked, shrewd device, And made to get him to this plight A cat's-paw of poor Appetite. Thus Appetite bought many more Than gold, and diamonds, and the lore / Of ancient sage, or heathen myth Fixed up to treat the season with. But over all Earthland shone bright Cities of refuge, clean and white, With temples rising to the sky, Imprinted on whose portals high, And visible in every spot, Was "touch not, taste not, handle not." And many millions more are near The cataract; some devoid of fear Sequel to Satan's Pocketbook. 73 So stupefied their senses are, They see no danger, near or far, While just ahead the torrent roars, And over hell's high walls it pours; But other some, more millions told, Know all, hear all and all behold, Of danger and destruction nigh; They struggle with their chains, and try With might and main the spell to break; But no, with senses wide awake, They hasten on, for Appetite Has fangs upon them close and tight. In vain they struggle, strive in vain, To break the spell, to burst the chain; Cities of refuge all are passed, The helping hand is gone at last; On hurrying to their dreaful fate Poor souls, poor souls! it is too late! You would not heed the golden hand, You would not list the warning voice: One pointed to the better land, One bade you make the better choice; 74 Home Ballads. One pointed to fair cities forth, Which sit like jewels on the earth, On whose high portals, deep inwrought, Was "touch not, taste not, handle not." Polly Hone. o ,NCE an old crone Lived all alone; Her name was simply Polly Hone. Her sister dead, Her brother led A wandering life. She never wed. Her neighbors proud, * She thought, aloud; Some better ones to find, she vowed; And vainly thought There surely ought Somewhere to be a better spot. The truth to own, Poor 'Polly Hone Disliked to live so much alone. 76 Home Ballads. So one day she Resolved to be A traveler, and the world to see. Too much, of late, She'd heard folks prate Of a new town in a new State. This town out west, She thought it best To seek; its name was Cozynest. Said she, "The keers, For one of years, Have many breakdowns, horrors, fears. 'Twill give me time, And be sublime, To go by Foot & Walker's line." So, firm in mind, New scenes to find, She looked around, and felt resigned. Then leave she took Of vale and brook, Of quiet home a cosy nook; Polly Hone. 77 But, when set out Upon her route, Found many things to whine about: The wind was cold, Her garments old, The road had mud and mire untold. Still, fully bent On her intent, She traveled on, nor did relent. Day after day She jogged away, And never stopped to rest or pray, Till, nearly through Her route so new, Tired out, she knew not what to do; Her appetite, As well it might, Loud clamoring for food that night; To take some rest She thought it best, Ere she arrived at Cozynest. 78 Home Ballads. A farmhouse lay Just on her way, With lawn and garden green and gay; The door in sight Seemed to invite, With open arms, this wayworn wight. Admittance sought, Just as she ought, Her rap at length an answer brought. A matron came, (Her much I blame) To see a woman old and lame, Whose feet were sore, As at the door With staff and scrip she stood before. "Please, let me stay Tonight, I pray; To Cozynest I'm on my way." "I have no taste For vagrants haste; A tavern lies beyond the waste;" Polly Hone. 79 And, pointing o'er A cold, bleak moor, Upon the woman closed the door Poor Polly Hone Stood there alone; Then in a moment more had gone, The sun was low; The wind raved so, She must needs stop to pant and blow. The setting sun Had now begun To warn home trav'lers, one by one, But, when at last The day had past, Darkness she saw approaching fast. Cold hung the night; The stars blinked bright At Polly Hone in her sad plight Poor Polly Hone Would almost own She'd rather be at home alone. 80 Home Ballads. At last a light Appeared in sight, Cheerfully shining through the night. Expectant, she Walked eagerly, Longing to grasp the "is to be"; She soon drew near To a small, queer And dingy-looking house; with fear Her knees did quake; She trembling spake To one who stood there, half awake And half asleep: "Pray, do you keep A tavern here, in this droll heap?" "Yes, ma'am; I do; And good fare, too; And room enough for likes o' you." And glad was she A place to see, Though poor, where yet some rest might be. Polly Hone. 8 1 A supper queer Was served her here Potatoes, cabbage, bread and beer. When past, "a bed I'd like," she said, "On which to lay my weary head." Then she was led Unto a bed Of straw; and she was mad, she said, And made a vow She'd "raise a row, Before she'd pay 'em, anyhow." But sleep at last Her eyelids fast Sealed up, and bright dreams o'er her cast. Soon morning light Shone clear and bright, And woke her to her piteous plight. Her cloak, anon, She then put on, And, e'er they knew it, she had gone. Home Ballads. Soon Cozynest, Away out west, Gleamed on her sight a place of rest, No steeple there, The house of prayer To mark nor here, nor anywhere; And, looking round Awhile, she found Not much there to be seen but ground. A prairie wide Stretched on one side, On th' other great burr-oaks abide; So strange and new, She stopped to view The river slowly winding through. Too slow, too slow Its waters flow! No pebbles on its banks so low! And then at last She stood aghast, To see the people move so fast. Polly Hone. 83 The houses low, All in a row Some things too fast, and some too slow. At length, the day Wearing away, She thought to find a place to stay " Stop, ye ole croon ; I'll hev yer, soon; Ye've bothered me from morn till noon." And looking back, Close on her track Her landlord came with all his pack. In blank dismay, She could not say One word; said he "I want my pay "Twelve shillings, mum; Hand over! come, Or the police 'ill give ye some." Too late, too late! The magistrate Of Cozynest was there in state. Home Ballads. Ah, well! thought she, I'll pay my fee, Then from annoyance I'll be free. The fee was paid; Still undismayed, She mused until her plan was laid. A house to find, She had in mind, Where she could live content, resigned. But such hard luck Had killed her pluck Worried her brain; and there she stuck, Almost distraught. At length she thought, To make one effort more, I ought; And so, once more, From door to door, All Cozynest she traversed o'er. It did befall No house at all To sell or rent, nor large, nor small. Polly Hone. 85 So in a huff She took some snuff, And thought she'd seen the world enough. The homeward track, With staff and pack, She took again, and traveled back. Once home again, She thought it vain To seek to flee from care and pain. And, wiser grown, She lives alone, Content to be poor Polly Hone. She. sings away, The livelong day; Now list to what her song doth say: "Though friends have flown, And cares have grown, Be wise let well enough alone; For it is plain That, all in vain, We seek for sunshine in the rain; 86 Home Ballads. But, after rain, We look again, And sunshine dances o'er the plain. And all things wait, At Heaven's Gate, For pearls that never come too late. But on the wise, In deep disguise, They fall like raindrops from the skies. So, after rain, We look again, And pearldrops gleam upon the plain." Human Sympathy. ONCE, on a certain time, I fell to dreaming; The day was in decline A twilight seeming. When in the dimness, lo! A great crowd hovered Upon an even plain, Completely covered. A crowd promiscuous, Of all sorts, gathered: The blind, the lame, the halt, The old and withered. The young, the rich, the poor, The tall, the meagre; And each one waiting there, Expectant, eager. 88 Home Ballads. And each a burden bore, Though well or ailing 'Twas large, or small, as each Could bear unfailing: When suddenly appeared A light most holy; From far above it came, Descending slowly, Till when, short space above The crowd it hovered, One wearing human form Could be discovered; A form of lovely mien, A maiden seeming, With pity, o'er the throng, Her mild eye beaming. Poised low in air, above The crowd she lingers; While pity issues from Her eyes, her fingers. Human Sympathy. To mitigate life's ills, Her chief concernment; While on her brow was traced "Want of discernment." And thus, at length, she spake, The silence breaking: "I came from heaven to soothe And cure your aching; Will linger here awhile For many morrows; Then come! I have a balm For all your sorrows." A millionaire came first At which I wondered Who in a recent fire Had lost "five hundred;" The loss he seemed to feel Keenly, intensely; The sympathy he craved, He got immensely. Home Ballads. An old man next advanced*, His head was hoary; In trembling accents he Told his sad story. A little balm he got, His grief abating, And then was thrust aside For others waiting. A maiden pale and worn With constant tending Upon a mother sick, And slowly bending Beneath the weight of years And constant ailing For Human Sympathy Came, unavailing. A lady, sweet and sad, Beneath her hovered; There, dressed in sable garb, Her grief uncovered: Human Sympathy. Two lovely infants lay As though they slumbered; They died while yet their age In months was numbered. A manly form laid low Beneath the willow; She'd shared with him his cares, His bread, his pillow. Into her heart and ear Comfort distilling, Came Sympathy, her own True mission filling. A poor man next appeared, With reason shattered; 'Twas plain the gutter had His clothes bespattered; Yet gentle Sympathy But one look gave him; And would not raise her soft, White hand to save him. 92 Home Ballads. A lady, on whose face Was spread her trouble, Now told her thrilling tale: Her corns were double; And, sometimes it would seem, Her head ached badly; And of her aches and pains She murmured sadly. A generous slice she got, If I saw plainly, And still her business seemed To murmur, mainly. The blind, the lame, the poor, All helter-skelter, Next clamored on the stage For food and shelter; Some food and shelter found; Some but a meagre Award of sympathy, Altho' so eager; Human Sympathy. 93 And some got kicks and cuffs, And maledictions; I wondered, in my dream, At these distinctions. The drunkard's children came To gain the treasure; To each she gave a small And stinted measure. The orphans next applied And there were many; To some she gave full weight, To some, not any. This whole transaction was So farce-like seeming, I groaned, and rubbed my eyes, And woke from dreaming. Circumstance us. Proui&ence. CREATED things were new; God, in his grace, made Good, And sat her in her place A presence fair to view. Then Evil came out from The nothingness of space Admiring, sought to wed, Persistent, though she fled In haste his hateful form. At last she came to earth; Wearied she lighted there; Lusting, he followed her, O'ercame her by a snare; Usurped her right of birth, And marred the things that were, Of Good and Evil born Was one, named Circumstance: Circumstance vs. Providence. 95 She lay on earth forlorn; Men came and called her chance. God pitied when he saw, And gave to Circumstance. The realms of Earth not Chance, Or arbitrary Law. One came and died for man, One bruised Evil's head; Evil became as dead; His doom was written then. Of Evil, all that came Were doomed e'en Circumstance; And her misnomer, Chance, Was known no more by name. Thence towers a mystic plan, Majestic, broad and high; Its arms encircle Earth, Its head is in the sky; Law is the outside part, But Law is not the heart; By it God governs still, Through it He works His will, All wise and good, and makes 96 Home Ballads. Law rule the elements, And nothing jars or breaks. For God controls the springs That work such wondrous things To human sight and sense Its name is Providence. Men cannot understand, It is so broad and high; They see no head or hand, And so the whole deny. Through it God will restore To Good her rightful sway; Evil shall be no more Like night, 'twill pass away When morn's bright rays are seen; And Good shall be Earth's queen. Bide patiently and wait, It will not come "too late." iSrace SWEET little Grace, with her winning face, And her eyes so full of glee Of the household all, both great and small, The pet and the darling, she. Poor little May is homely, they say, But good, and gentle, and mild; She blushes that she was born to be A drunkard's poor little child. Beautiful Grace, with smiles on her face, And love in her soft, brown eye, Runs to the gate to frolic and wait, And kiss dear papa good-bye. Poor little May, all the livelong day, Murmurs, nor falters, nor lags; The baby she lends, the stockings mends, And sews up the carpet -rags. 7 Home Ballads. Frolicsome Grace wears curls, with a trace Of mirth in her mouth and eye, She's pictures and books, a doll that looks Like a fay, and dolls that cry. Pensively May sits sewing away, But happy enough for that; She owns no toy, but gazes with joy At the pranks of her small cat. Happy is Grace; she has a large place In hearts both loving and true; She hears kind words, like chirping of birds, And words of good counsel, too. Pity poor May: she hears all the day Discord, and jarring, and strife; No kind words greet with melody sweet The dawn of her frail young life. A pitying eye looks from on high That pitying name is Love; All, all is well; He calls her to dwell With Him and angels above. MARCH winds shake the window pane, Chase the clouds and bear the rain; Pause, and their commotion cease, For the hour fore-shadows Peace. Lo! the setting sun, at last, Hues of red and amber cast O'er the clouds; and overhead Gleams a fair fantastic red Throws a gleam of promise round, Over tree, and roof, and ground, And the cottage window where Lay a mother, pale and fair; Little angel baby sweet, Sunshine comes, your birth to greet; Wind and storm their tumult cease, For the hour is one of Peace. Mother looks into her eyes, Opening with glad surprise ioo Home Ballads. Eyes of deep and mellow blue Reading them as mothers do; Joyfully essayed to speak, Answering, and kissed her cheek. Little golden angel, where Did you lose your wings so fair? Glad am I they dropped today, So you cannot fly away; Now you're mine to have and keep, Mine awake and mine asleep; Babyhood and girlhood mine, Mine in womanhood to shine Wondrous beauty, born for fame, Peerless Ida is your name. Ida crowed, and smiled, and grew, Day by day, as babies do; Tiny hands and tiny feet, Dimpled cheeks, and lips so sweet; Light brown hair with tinge of red, Curled in cues all o'er her head; Wept, and slept, and dreamed, and smiled' Beautiful, precocious child. Ida. IOI High of brow and pale of cheek, Mother watched from week to week Woke and watched both night and day, Watched her sleep and watched her play; Soothed her infantile distress Love dispelling weariness. But the autumn time, at last, Over earth his mantle cast Gay of color, cold of breath; Lo! the obvious import Death. Death! But oh! he loves the fair; Loves the pure and spotless, rare; Loves the good, and loves the wise; Loves the ones we love and prize. Ida died. A mother's love Could not shield her baby dove From Death's chilling touch. How meek Mother's love! how strong, how weak! Give Death all he asks, 'tis vain To remonstrate in your pain. Ida dead! a tiny rose, Fallen off at even's close, Home Ballads. Sweetly yielded up her breath, More than beautiful in death; Like a smitten cherub lay In her coffin, cold as clay; Like a pure and precious gem, Worn in seraph's diadem, Falling jarred, bewildered, chilled; So, a little grave was filled. Friends were there to sympathize With the mother with surprise Saw her face so pale and white Then laid Ida out of sight. Then the mother softly stepped, Stood and looked, but never wept; How her purposes were crossed Ida dead and Ida lost! All was gone, the world a blank! None to love and none to thank! All her plans of future bliss Blown to atoms! worse than this, Ida in some dreadful place, With companions vile and base! Ida. 103 Dreams of terror and of pain Fretted her disordered brain; So her sisters came and said, She is crazed, or out of head. Ida's mother silence kept Pined and paled, but never wept; Missed the burden from her arms, Missed her winning baby charms, Missed her cunning, artless grace, Missed her little dimpled face: Tried to pray; but prayer was caught In the wings of roving thought; And oft times she feared the Lord Had forgotten His kind word; Thought, if He remembered her, 'Twas with hate for sins that were: Thus we judge the Almighty's plan By the littleness of man. How the mother longed to see Baby as she used to be! Or of her to get a glance, In a dream or in a trance; 104 Home Ballads. Murmured, prayed, and then she wept, Prayed again, and softly slept: Dreamed? or was it really so? Answer, mothers, you that know. Lo! a radiant form divine, Being's essence full, divine, Fount of love and Love's own Name, To the mother's bedside came; Presence peerless! Overawed Mother lay, for It was God. In His loving arms He bore Ida as she was before Ida as she used to be; But more beautiful was she; Far more blessed, sweet and fair Looked she, as she nestled there. Mother did not speak or stir, Or attempt to get at her; Evermore she could resign Her to Being so divine. Jesus spake, and to her said: In my arms your babe is laid; Ida. 105 I, the Shepherd of the sheep, Do your tender lambkin keep Take her from your arms, but from Evil that would swiftly come; Take her from your sight, to raise You to higher thoughts and ways; And prevent you clinging so To the perishing below. Do not judge Jehovah's plan By the deeds of puny man ; But resign her to My love, And your lost one find above; For I hold your baby, blest, Safe within my loving breast; She shall always here remain, Free from sin, secure from pain. IThe Snow-Storm. A CLOUD of snow, one cold winter's day, Wrapped in the halo of sunset, lay Nestling dreamily there alone In the golden light where the sun went down, Till stars shone out, and the moon rose high Up to the top of the azure sky. Then it crept around, till close in among The specks of light where the pole-star hung, And slept till northern lights danced so high They touched the moon in the top of the sky; Then it rolled itself up in a sable vest, And dreamed till the moon had gone to rest. At last, when aurora's finger-tips Touched the brow of the eastern hills, Silently opening eyes and lips, The dome above with her mantle fills; Then did the waiting snow-storm espy The chariot of storm-king coming nigh, So they join hands, and away they fly. The Snow- Storm. 107 Far over the hills and lofty mounts, And over the vales and frozen founts, By the halls of the rich, and cots of the poor, They piled the snow up high at each door; Then over the fields and gardens fair, Over a little grave, cold and bare; Then storm-king paused, and his soul was stirred, For a baby's voice from the grave he heard. "Moldering deep in the grave I sleep, And mamma weeps as the cold winds creep Through chinks in her humble cottage door, While the cold storm wildly surges o'er. O, beautiful snow! she loved me well; And you, so pure, alone, can I tell How papa came home so crazed one night With rum, he shut out ma from my sight; And I, the baby, was left alone To weep or sleep on the cold hearth-stone. He then sank down on the floor, and slept, And I to my papa's side close crept, With mamma shut out in the cold, cold storm; I lay there wondering, still and warm io8 Home Ballads. Too still and warm, for something close press'd Over my head and over my breast: And so I died; for papa lay on And smothered to death his little son. With a burning tear ma buried me here, And I thought, as you came so close and near, And your soft, white hand so gently press'd, O, beautiful snow! on my cold, cold breast, I'd tell it to you; and now you know, Beautiful, beautiful, cold, white snow!" Mournfully sighing, sadly and slow, The cold wind warmed into murmurs low; And the drifting snow above the main, Melting to tears, descended like rain Wept o'er the ignorant, wise and witty, Wept o'er the hamlet, the town and city, Wept over forest, mountain and plain, Plentiful showers of cold, cold rain; Then ceased. 3 TOsh. I WISH I had a little house, A little parlor in it; I wish I had a pie to make, I'd hasten to begin it. I wish I had an organ, and An everlasting play-day; I wish I had a silk dress on, Then I should be a lady. I wish I had a ship at sea, Loaded with silks and laces, Six costly shawls, and tapestry About a hundred cases. I wish 'I had a bookcase stout, Of little books and big books; A river full of pike and trout, And forty-'leven " fish-hooks. no Home Ballads. I wish I had a shiny day, Around a great, big mountain; I wish I was a girl at play Beside a splashing fountain. I wish I had a somebody To worry and to tease me; I wish I had a bumble-bee, I'd let him buzz to please me. I wish I had ten thousand pounds, And half a pound of candy; I wish I had a small greyhound, And cat to fight him, handy. I wish I had a ruby lip, Like two red, mellow cherries; I wish I had two eyes to look Just like two huckleberries. I wish I had a horse and shay, I'd make a celebration, And take a ride, some pleasant day, Over the wide creation. I Wish. in I wish I had some stout wings made; I'd fly up to the moon, and Investigate its light and shade, Some pleasant night in June; and I wish I had a telescope, To sweep the constellations; I wish I had a key to ope Some strange hallucinations. I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish I was a poet; I wish I had a new hat I Would go somewhere to show it. "Roman's Bights. PLEASE listen, ye croakers and praters! Who gabble of women and Rights, As though we were made to hoe 'taters, Or mix in political fights. Your way through the crowd you can elbow, You delicate lady, to vote; Your dutiful husband remaining At home, "just to mend up his coat." On 'lection day make us a stump-speech, Make money, make love, and flour; When JefF raises Ned, raise an army, And fight for your country and power. Or shovel your way to the stable, On a bright, cold wintry day, To put on the harness and bridle, And hitch up old Bob to the sleigh; Woman's Rights. 113 Ride over to pretty young Maister's, And ask if he pleases to go A sleighing, this beautiful morning, Far over the beautiful snow. And then, if he deigns to say "yes, ma'am," You boost him so gracefully in, The buffalo robes tuck about him, Close up to his whiskers and chin. Scrape off all the snow from your small feet, And get in the other side; Then take up the whip and the bridle, And so swiftly away you glide. O! what upon earth are you thinking And a driving at, all your lives? You may gather bushels of honey, If you don't tip over the hives. Pray, let the world be as God made it; Let the masculines still be men; Let them build all the railroads they can, You can "boss" as to where and when. Home Ballads. Broad fields now lie open before you:- Home, colleges, clerkships and pen; Avail you of all, if you please to, But, oh! don't you try to be men. Che Tftorlb in Antithesis. 1 r I ^ IS a good and a bad world, A world old and new; A happy and sad world, A world false and true. 'Tis a large and a small world, A silent and loud; A heavy and light world Of sunshine and cloud. 'Tis a slow and a fast world, 'Tis dark and 'tis light; It is mystical, plain, 'Tis black and 'tis white. 'Tis a wet and a dry world, Unlovely and fair; A selfishly just world, A common and rare. Ii6 Home Ballads. 'Tis a rich and a poor world, A foolish and wise; A noble and mean world Of plausible lies. 'Tis a bitter and sweet world A kiss and a blow; A noisy and still world, A friend and a foe. 'Tis a strange and a queer world; 'Tis haughty and meek; A long and a short world; 1 'Tis strong and 'tis weak. 'Tis a tender and tough world; 'Tis crooked and straight; A pure and a vile world Of love and of hate. 'Tis a jovial arid sad world, 'Tis gay and 'tis grave; 'Tis sober and drunken, A master and slave. The World in Antithesis. 117 'Tis a crazy and sane world, 'Tis dirty and clean; 'Tis idle, 'tis busy, 'Tis fat and 'tis lean. It is lavish and stingy, 'Tis hungry and full; A hot and a cold world, A lively and dull. 'Tis a smooth and a rough world, 'Tis cruel and kind; 'T is civilized, savage, 'Tis rough and refined. 'Tis a high and a low world, The meanest and best; A noisy and calm world Of labor and rest. 'Tis a blest and a curst world, Thoughtful and thoughtless; A right and a wrong world, Faulty and faultless. Ii8 Home Ballads. 'Tis a half and a whole world; Real and seeming, A rested and tired world, Doing and dreaming. 'Tis an honored, despised world; It walks and it rides, It crawls and it flies with The winds and the tides; And it goes with a jingle By water and steam; 'Tis made up of pickles, And candy, and cream. It is broad at the front and Contracted behind; 'T is genial, friendly, 'Tis cold and unkind. 'Tis a talkative, dumb world, Serious and vain; A strangely mixed-up world Of pleasure and pain. Jften an& Tftomen. A LIFETIME it takes you men to get rich, J_ \_ And, when you get rich, you die; Better spread your energies doing good, And laying up stores on high. There is only one coin that is current above, One Bank that will never fail; That coin you can get upon earth 'tis Love, And the bank is beyond the vale. Ye love to .gather you silver and gold, And houses and lands so fair; What loss, should the water and fire sweep all, If you have a mansion there? It takes you women a lifetime of toil To follow the style, and flirt; Better spend your energies doing good, Or mending your husband's shirt. I2O Home Ballads. There is only one style where you go at last One style for the rich and poor! And the hearse is waiting for all of us It may be close to our door. Ye love to gather you jewels and gold Of curious, rare device; Should you own no glittering gem, what loss, If you have the Pearl of Price. Fair women! your elegant styles are vain; Your bodies will turn to dust; And men, the treasures you've piled so high Will soon be consumed by rust. Take a medium for the Irishman said "There is a middle extrame" Not hurry and worry for wealth and style For a useless, idle dream. But, oh! there are treasures that never fade One style, and that style is love; The orders are filled in this world of ours, And they will be cashed above. Song of theTOno. I COME from the mystical zones of earth The banqueting halls of Thunder; From the cradle of storm, with noise and mirth, I mount up with joy and wonder; I blow, and I blow,, and carry the snow, Piling it higher and higher, As hither I come, and thither I go, Crazy with mirth or ire. Then I scale the hilltops towering high, I scale the loftiest mountain; I scale the dumb clouds, and I touch the sky, And play with the flowing fountain; I moan with pain, and I carry the rain Down to the slumbering city, And I patter and pour on roof and door, In anger or in pity. 122 Home Ballads. I kiss the wet sand on the sweet seaside, And launch on the tranquil ocean; I goad her bosom to anger, and ride On Terror amid commotion; I baffle the ships that are out at sea, I plague the mariner toiling; And tumble their freight of humanity Into the ocean boiling. I carry the clouds, all blackened with death, And hurricane on my shoulder; I moan through the gorge with abated breath, And carve my name on the boulder; I blow their houses out into the street, I toy with trees of the wildwood; And carry, wherever my forces meet, Terror to age and childhood. I pause and blow, breathing softly and slow, Over fields of grain and clover; Sweet odors I bring on feathery wing To the maiden and her lover. But I come from the mystical zones of earth, The banqueting halls of Thunder; The cradle of Storm with music and mirth I rise and fly from under. Sunshine. GREET the golden sunshine, Blessing as it flies, Silently and swiftly, From the cloudless skies; Like the vale of heaven, Mystically bright, Fluttering to earthward, Dissipates the night. Falling like a blessing On the leaf and flower; Lifting up the dew-drop From the summer bower; Wakes the joy of morning, Wakes the happy bird; Harmony and gladness Everywhere are heard. Shine, oh! shine upon us, Till all discords cease, 124 Home Ballads. And the earth reposes In the arms of Peace! Shine! oh, shine in splendor From thy throne above, Till the earth is circled In the arms of Love! Then shine on, forever, And forever still! Haste to do the bidding Of thy Maker's will, Haste to bless His creatures, As thou hast before, And shine on forever, And forever more! Angels' Ui$it$. A DREAM. DO they watch, and do they wait For the weal of mortals? Do they come from heaven's gate E'en to death's dim portals? Do the angels visit men When all things confuse us? Do they come to help us when Friends mistake, misuse us? Slumber deep the eyelids close, Welcome to the weary; Tired nature could repose, Though the night hung dreary; Thought alone was wakeful, still Would escape the prisoned Mysteries that would flit and thrill Through the brain bedizened. 126 Home Ballads. Then anon the darkness sped, For a light was dawning; Through the room a radiance shed, Brighter far than morning; And a form beside me stood Beautiful, undying Pinions poised, as though he would Soon to heaven be flying. As I -held the open word, ^ Trembling, half affrighted, How my very soul was stirred, Comforted, delighted! Hands immortal, unconstrained, Traced each verse most sweetly, And immortal tongue explained All to me completely. Drink, my soul! thy fill of light Drink thy fill of pleasure! Grasp the sacred boon tonight Grasp the golden treasure! But the vision tarries not, Shadows round me gather; Darkness broods; I was, methought, Dreaming altogether. iBuarMan Angels. "Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for those who shall be heirs of salvation?" Paul. SPIRITS are light, and oft repose On piles of sunset clouds at even, Or, poised in air, their pinions close, A space midway 'twixt earth and heaven. There, whether good or whether bad, Sent, albeit, by God or devil, They lure us, and we follow glad The path we choose, for good or evil. When sickness, pain or death appears, The good ones ever round us hover Shield us from danger, wipe our tears, Our couch of pain their kind wings cover. They soothe our grief; guard our repose; They wait for us at heaven's portal, Thence sent to minister to those Who shall be heirs of life immortal. 128 Home Ballads. And oft, when Evil throws his darts, With thought malign, so thick around us, Their gentle breathings touch our hearts, Their own soft wings, forsooth, surround us. And stronger grow the chords that bind Our willing souls to the Supernal, While Hope exults, and Faith entwines Around us arms of Love eternal. And when, at last, the touch of Death From fear of Sin or sinning frees us, In arms of Love, on wings of Faith, They bear our happy souls to Jesus. Sonnet. IN vain we seek on earth to find A place adapted to our mind; There's trouble here, annoyance there, And inconvenience everywhere; While blessings that are so mixed up With pain in every human cup Are overlooked, or scarce discerned, Sometimes despised, or madly spurned, Like some abominated thing; And so away on magic wing They fly. And, when they're half forgot, We stop, and ponder, and relent, And recognize their kind intent, And would recall them, but cannot. 9 Deferred. GHOSTS of the past! They're buried; let them I would not resurrect them, or deny [lie; But that "it might have been" in days gone by. 'Tis over, now; and patiently I wait Who comes to welcome me at heaven's gate, And claim me for his own true spirit's mate. And yet, I miss the genial light that shone From kindred eyes, so fond, into my own Miss the strong arm, and grope along alone. Yet not alone; for lo! a cheering ray Shines o'er my path. God knoweth still my way, And angels chant to me from day to day. 'Tis better thus to be, than to be wed To one whose eye congenial light has fled The shadow of affection cold and dead; Deferred. 131 Or to a drunkard, knave, or fool, or all Combined in one. Forsooth, Fear's carnival Would hold strange revel prone beneath Hate's pall. So may it be. The good Lord keep, I pray, Our blighted buds, until in heaven's day They put forth bloom that ne'er shall fade away. Houe. EVE is most divinely fair; Love will live forever Azure eyes and golden hair, Changing never, never. Oh, my Love, thou art divine Essence pure of heaven; Never rapture such as mine Unto mortal given! But my Love is dead, is dead} Wrap him in a shadow; Smooth a pillow for his head In the silent meadow. Cease my heart to thrill, to thrill, Break not with your sorrow; Love is Love, immortal still, Love will rise tomorrow! Color. COLOR is beauty, and beauty Sits on the leaf and flower, Clothing the trees of the forest, Draping the summer bower. Seeking the hills and the valleys, The fields and the gardens fair; Touching them in her gladness, She traces her image there. Fair green is the dearest color God to nature has given; But green is only a shadow Of verdant hills in heaven. Red loves the tulips and roses, Red is the color of love; But red is only the token Of perfected hues above. 134 Home Ballads. The yellow that gilds the sunset Light and beauty has given, Is only a faded picture Of brighter scenes in heaven. Tomorrow our eyes will open, And the clod will fall away; New tints then shall gild the dawning Of a never-ending day. r UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 PS nhite - 317h Home ballads. UCLA-Young Research Library PS3174 .W5832H V || || L 009 618 366 PS 3171 W5832h UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 001 228 007 9 , : | . . ...