b'9<\\ \n\n\n\n,Sf<P<P \n\n\n\nA*r \n\n\n\nAND \n\n\n\nOTHER POEMS \n\n\n\nDigitized by the Internet Archive \nin 2010 with funding from \nThp Library of Congress \n\n\n\nhttp://www.archive.org/details/plantingcrossatsOOwebe \n\n\n\nPlanting the Cross \nat Sewanee \n\n\n\nand \n\n\n\nOther Poems \n\n\n\nBy \n\nMargaret Isabella Weber \n\n\n\nNashville, Tenn. \n1904 \n\n\n\nTwo OuBies deceived \nuUN 29 1904 \nn CoDVileht En\'.ry \n\nCLASS ** XXo. :\xe2\x80\xa2: \n\n?^ ^C I \n\n6oPV B \n\n\n\n\n\n\nCopyrighted 1904, by Margaret Isabella Weber \n\n\n\n\'h f ; \n\n\n\n^tthntit a tlnim to hum entextd into th\xc2\xab \n\nTnrtpk nf Taesg\xe2\x80\x94 nnlg th\xc2\xab ^jsttbuTj\xe2\x80\x94 \n\nthis Itttlr Molumr is msrrtiijri \n\ntn \n\n\n\nTOag thsg all bs I21I atiri kept tti ths \nnmg nf Hjaurrtlg ujtsdnm \n\n\n\nContents. \n\n\n\nDedication, \n\nThe Cross on the Mount of Hope, \n\nPlanting the Cross at Sewanee, \n\nLittle Eva and the Falling Stars, \n\n" Requiescat," . \n\nThe Old and the New, . \n\nVictors on the Other Shore, \n\nCarol at Sunrise, \n\nSweet Symphonies, . \n\nLittle Robin\'s Palm Tree, \n\nHome-Coming, \n\n\n\nPagb \n\n3 \n\n5 \nII \n\n13 \n16 \n21 \n\n25 \n27 \n\n30 \n\n33 \n\n39 \n\n\n\nplanting tlf^ (UrmB at ^^faan^^ \n\n\n\nThe Cross on the Mount of Hope\'\' \n\n\n\nThe winter day was bright ; and blushing Morn, \nA-tip-toe rose to greet the up-risen Sun, \nHer eager bridegroom. Through the riven clouds, \nThe sombre drapery of Night, he stole \nA side-long, loving glance, which wakened her. \nThe early breeze those tattered curtains shook, \nAnd opened wide ; when lo ! the rosy Morn \nAppeared, and lighted up the scene. The shades \nWithdrew ; but tremulous, essayed to rise \nAnd bend their dusky forms in adoration. \nInsensate man ! God\'s first-day miracle \nIs wrought anew, as at creation\'s dawn. \nAnd every morning should command thy praise, \n\xe2\x80\xa2\xe2\x80\xa2Let there be light!" Dear Lord, the fiat send \nThrough minds chaotic ; make them now to see \nThe Sun of Righteousness, and darkness flee \nAway ; and doubts, that shadow o\'er the soul, \nShall be transformed to Faith adoring ; so \nThy Church shall be the loving bride of Christ. \n\n\n\n*The signification of the Indian " Sewanee " \xe2\x80\x94 the site of the University of \nthe South. \n\n\n\nWar-desolated earth, in contrast dire \n\nWith pristine beauties of this winter day, \n\nMade one believe the world and heaven were not \n\nAttuned, or had not yet been reconciled. \n\nOne look into eternal depths of blue \n\nShould raise rebellious hearts to harmony. \n\nThe day was young, when up the "Mount of Hope," \n\nThe "Mother Mountain," *came a trinal band \n\nOf priests. The high priestf vigorous then, and young; \n\nAnd strong and vigorous now, in faith and love. \n\nAnd all good works" to this wild mountain came, \n\nTogether with a godly friend, and other \n\nTwo, belonging to the band of priests \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTo plant the Cross, the emblem of their faith ; \n\nAnd consecrate anew the vast domain, \n\nWhich Christian men had set apart long since \n\nFor training Christian youth. Grim, ghastly war \n\nHad intervened ; and followers of the camp. \n\nFor relics chipped away the corner-stone. \n\nWhich had been laid by Churchmen, full of hope. \n\nWith prayer and song and ornate ceremony. \n\nThe South made promise of her ample wealth \n\n\n\n*The signification of the Indian " Sewanee " \xe2\x80\x94 the site of the University of \nthe South. \n\nt Bishop Quintard, the second founder of the "University of the South." \n\n\n\nTo find the needed gold ; and men foresaw \n\nA mighty enterprise assured, and praised ! \n\nAlas ! for schemes of man. War swept the gold \n\nAway. Oh, God ! if that were all ! but such \n\nA conflict, fratricidal, swept away \n\nThe precious lives of men, the noblest men \n\nAnd best ; and sickness, sorrow, and the sword \n\nLeft broken hopes, and broken hearts ; and Peace, \n\nThe white-winged, hovered o\'er the land no more ! \n\nThe prelates, who this scheme at first advanced, \nHad passed away save two. A-weary some \nOf mortal strife \xe2\x80\x94 one on the battle-field.* \nWith lion strength, and boldness for the truth, \nA little longer one survived, to show \nIn his own life how much of sweetness comes \nFrom godlike strength.f One only now remains : \nHe walks with God ; his feet upon the earth. \nBut with his head and heart at home in heaven ; \nEnsample of a godly life : his crown \nOf glory on \xe2\x80\x94 a living benediction. J \nIn our extremest need, God makes a way ; \nAnd He it was who chose a fearless man, \n\n\n\n*Bishop Polk, the founder of the "University of the South." \n+ Bishop Elliott, \nt Bishop Green. \n\n\n\nA man of wondrous faith and energy, \n\nTo take the work again. For neither North \n\nNor South ; yea ! of them both, and for them both, \n\nHe stood within the gap, and tried to bring \n\nThe sundered parts together ; struggling for \n\nThe dear Southland, and for its elevation : \n\nWhen all was lost, or seeming so, he came, \n\nReviving or renewing work, where He \n\nHad sent him ; trusting that the Lord would bless \n\nHis own, who trusted Him. \n\n\'Twas in the hush \nOf solitude. A rustling in the dead \nAnd huddled leaves, anon ; which soughing winds \nHad stirred, or startled hare with timorous leap \nHad crackled. Robin and wood-thrush had not \nTheir matins yet begun : no sound was heard \nOf woodman\'s axe, nor hunter\'s winding horn, \nNor farmer\'s lusty shout to lazy swain : \nSuch sights and sounds ne\'er follow in the track \nOf war ; e\'en beasts and birds, affrighted, flee \nAway. Pandora\'s box is open wide, \nAnd even Hope escapes : and to the heart. \nWhen ushered in by waste, and want, and woe, \nComes utter desolation. Lone, forlorn, \nA chimney stood ; and cold, and bare, the hearthstone. \n\n\n\nWhen man his brother man forgets to love, \n\nThe Lord of Hosts sends forth His scourge of war; \n\nHere, where a holocaust to demon war \n\nWas made, \'twas meet to offer sacrifice \n\nOf prayer and praise to Him, the God of battles. \n\nHe can the wrath of man restrain. And here. \n\nWhere silence and where desolation reigned\xe2\x80\x94 \n\nNature herself, with breath suspended, looked \n\nOn death and devastation \xe2\x80\x94 here, the voice \n\nOf man was first to break the stillness, with \n\nA prayer. Like Winfrid, in the early Church, \n\nCalled rightly Boniface, who left his home, \n\nAnd went from land to land, to plant the cross. \n\nThe bishop, with untiring zeal, would urge \n\nThe work, when cavillers discouraged him \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWith words like his \xe2\x80\x94 "What would ye have me do. \n\nBut go in faith where God is calling me?" \n\nAnd so he came ; and, calling on his God \n\nTo consecrate the oak, which long had been \n\nDefiled with heathen worship, he began \n\nTo hew the tree, and make a Cross, to mark \n\nThe place for worshipping the God of gods. \n\nTwelve feet in length, the apostolic twelve. \n\nAnd patriarchal, too, he made the Cross ; \n\nAnd then assembling round it those who were \n\n\n\nOf priestly line, and other faithful few, \nRecalling His own promise, that "Where two \nOr three are gathered in My name, there am \nI in the midst," he solemnly invoked \nThe Lord to grant His blessing. \n\nHow sublime \nThe picture ! And what faith was there ! With all \nTheir voices joined, they, after prayer, began \nThe " Credo ; " then they waked the lonely echoes \nIn the woods with their triumphant song, \n\n" Glory to God on high, and on the earth \nBe peace" \xe2\x80\x94 "be peace!" And angels caught their lost \nRefrain \xe2\x80\x94 Peace ! Peace ! \n\nAnd angels marked this spot ; \nFor, strange and true it is, when years rolled by, \nAnd men began to build, without intent \nOr knowledge this was chosen for St. Luke\'s. \n\n"They builded better than they knew:" for on \nThis very place the oratory stands. \nWhere daily prayer and praise ascend to heaven ! \n\nDear pastor, brother. Father now in God, \nThe world will know thy worth, and not till then \nWhen to the church triumphant God shall call \nThee ; and, with crown of stars of ransomed souls, \nThou, too, wilt walk through Pearly Gates, adown \nThe golden streets of New Jerusalem ! \n\n\n\nPlanting the Cross at Sewanee \n\n\n\nON the nth of October, 1865, the Rt. Rev. Charles Todd \nQuintard, S. T. D., L L. D., was consecrated Bishop of \nTennessee, in St. Luke\'s, Philadelphia. So soon as he had \ntaken his seat in the House of Bishops he wrote to his \nfriend, the late Rev. Dr. Merrick, asking if he would go \nwith him to Sewanee, a d undertake with him the re-estab- \nlishment of the work which had been begun for God by the \nSouthern bishops before the war. The Rev. Dr. Merrick, the \nRev. Thomas A. Morris, and Major Geo. R. Fairbanks, met \nthe bishop by his appointment at Winchester, February, 1866. \nThey rode up the mountain on horseback and found that \nall of the buildings which had been erected before the war \non the site of the university had been destroyed by fire ; \nthey found shelter for the night in an old log cabin, occu- \npied by Mr. William F. Tomlinson. \n\nOn the day following their arrival Bishop Quintard caused \na rustic cross of oak to be made, twelve feet high, and erected \nit on the highest point of the domain. Around this cross a \nlittle band assembled, while a few of the mountaineers looked \non with lively interest, having witnessed, in i860, the grand \nceremony pf laying the corner-stone. \n\nThe bishop recited the Nicene Creed, and, kneeling on \n\n\n\nLcfC. \n\n\n\nthe ground, prayed Almighty God to give them "grace to \nperceive and know what things they ought to do, and strength \nfaithfully to perform the same." Then the woods were made \nto ring with that grand old hymn to the Trinity, " Glory be \nto God on High ! " \n\nOn this very spot the Theological Seminary now stands, \nand in justice to the Bishop of Tennessee, be it said, that \nwithout his extraordinary efforts for many years at home \nand abroad, in the interest of this university, there would \nnot be found to-day one stone upon another. \n\n\n\nThis lovely child was lent to the earth ; \n\nA link to the sky was given ; \nAnd the day of her death was the day of her birth, \n\nAn angel was born in heaven ! \nWe\'ll go to the Savior, like Jairus of old ; \n\nHe comforts him who weepeth ; \nHis answer receive, " Only believe ! " \n\n"The maid is not dead, but sleepeth!" \n\n\n\nDiscord reaches not so far as harmony: Happy \nthought, if earth\'s discordant notes are lost, and the har- \nmonies of life alone reach heaven\'s ear. \n\n\n\nLittle Eva and the Falling Stars \n\n\n\nI. \n\n" Let me catch a star ! \n\nLet me catch only four! \nDear mamma, oh ! please, \n\nI\'ll ask for no more ; \nOne, two, three, four, before they have passed, \nI\'ll show you, sweet mamma, how I\'ll hold them fast." \nAnd with wee, tiny fingers, she clasped on my table, \nSaying "see now, you know, my brother is able \nTo fasten them so, with a glass underneath. \nAnd a glass on the top, all around in a wreath, \nFor a breast-pin, mamma, and rings for my ears ; \nOh ! that will be lovely," and she laughed through her tears \nThat made her eyes glisten with heavenly light. \n"Say yes, do mamma, and awake me to-night, \nWhen the stars are all falling \xe2\x80\x94 oh! wh\'^n will it be?" \nAnd my darling jumped up in her innocent glee \nSo rich and so happy, with treasures untold, \nBright jewels from Heaven of silver and gold. \n\n\n\nII. \n\n" Go to sleep, baby, \n\nMamma will awake \nAnd count the clock strike \n\nTill the time it will take \nOld Leo to climb up the ramparts again ; \nI\'ll watch the gold sickle in his long silver mane ; \nAnd when- 1 can see the bright flash of his tail, \nI\'ll look to the east, the sooner to hail \nThe great meteors. Your mamma will call you. \nSleep, baby, sleep ! You shall then have all you \nCan gather and hold." Shall I tell her the truth? \nThat what she calls stars are not stars, forsooth. \n\nIII. \nToo soon it will come. \n\nOr it comes not at all ; \nWe still reach for stars. \nOr for moons do we call ; \nToo soon we forget the bright joys of our youth ; \nToo soon, alas ! we must learn bitter truth. \nThe tired hand clasps, the weary heart grasps \n\nStill, still for the moon ; \nThe stars we have caught no pleasure have brought- \n\nEvanishing soon. \nThe light had gone out when we looked about : \nWeep as we must, we found nothing but dust : \nSuch is life\'s boon. \n\n\n\nIV. \nSo I said to my child, \n" I know of a sphere \nWhere all is made right \n\nThat goes wrong with us here. \nThese stars you can\'t hold ; they are not true gold ; \n\nThey are stones and gas. \nWill you not wait till we reach Heaven\'s gate ? \nStarry crowns there await the good as the great." \n\nAlas ! ah, alas ! \nLike the overgrown child she looked up and smiled, \n"I don\'t want to wait!" \n\n\n\nSitting dreaming in the gloaming. \n\nIn the nook I love the best, \nOft my thoughts go sadly roaming \n\nTill they find thee, sweet Heart-Rest ! \nBack into the past they take me, \n\nWandering through life\'s winding ways. \nInto sunlight, when they make me \n\nSoon forget the cloudy days. \n\nif yf ^ \n\nThe invisible guard of one angel is worth more than \na whole armory of defense. \n\n\n\n" Requiescat \n\n\n\n>> \n\n\n\nSweet friends, in heaven, or on the earth, \nTo-day for us there is no dearth \nOf love. My soul is full of song ; \nI would the harmony prolong ; \n\nFor friends, I\'d pray; \n\nIf foes, I\'d say \n\n\'\'\'Requiescat.^\' \n\nThis little requiem is sung \n\nWhen hopes are crushed, and hearts are wrung; \nWhen weeping friends close tearless eyes \nThat ope so soon in Paradise. \n\nNo need to pray \n\nFor them and say \n\n\'^ Requiescat." \n\nSome that are dead, to me still live; \nWhile some that live no earnest give ; \nThe living dead \xe2\x80\x94 so dear, so dear ; \nThough not a tear has dropped on bier, \n\nFor them I pray; \n\nFor them I say \n\n\'"\' Requiescat." \n\n\n\ni6 \n\n\n\nI see eternal depths of blue \nWithout a fleck. See heaven through ; \nTo all amid that shining throng, \nSuperfluous seems such soothing song. \n\nWhat need to pray \n\nFor them, and say \n\n*\'\'Requiescat" \n\nMy father there, my mother, too ; \nI know I see, or hope I do : \nOne died so lonely; weary one, \nWith care and work forever done. \n\nIn life, I\'d pray, \n\nNot death, I\'d say \n\n\'^Requiescaty \n\nI love you, that you gave me birth, \nAlbeit to stay awhile on earth, \nThat\'s tottering with its weight of sin ; \nFor, here, we life indeed begin, \nWhere none need say. \nWhere none need pray \n\'^ Requiescat" \n\nn \n\n\n\nI love you with an aching heart ; \nBroken, I think ; at birth in part : \nThough never here I feel heart whole, \nThis life is matrix for the soul. \n\nThen, sorrow, cease ; \n\nIn heaven there\'s peace ; \n\'\'Requiescaty \n\nMy brothers, sisters, are you there, \nAfter a life of moil and care? \nGod grant that we united stand, \nAt last, in heaven, at His right hand. \n\nCan we now pray. \n\nCan we now say, \n\n\'\xe2\x96\xa0\'\xe2\x96\xa0 Requiescat?" \n\nOne sister did herself enshroud : \n\'Tis pitiful ; the heart is bowed ; \nIn thinking of her loneliness : \nSweet grass or flowers in wilderness. \n\nWhen winds do blow, \n\nOh ! whisper low, \n\n" Reqidescat." \n\n\n\ni8 \n\n\n\nFor baby brother, all alone, \n\nWhere piteous forests make a moan ; \n\nThe earth upon thy bosom lies \n\nSo deep, thou couldst not hear my cries. \n\nThy mother wings \n\nHer flight, and sings, \n\n"" Requiescat." \n\nAnd thou, who promised once to wait, \nAnd watch for me at heaven\'s gate, \nI know I\'ll find thee there above. \nWhere all is peace and joy and love. \n\nWe\'ll meet again ; \n\nFor me, say, then, \n\n^*Requiescat." \n\nThe flowers you gave with dying hand ; \nThose that none else could understand. \nWhen, as you plucked them one by one, \nAnd gave them me, when day was done ; \nThe light gone out \xe2\x80\x94 but love alone, \nSupernal light, within that shone ; \nTo me they sigh, \n" Heart rest is nigh ;" \n\n*^ Requiescat" \n\n19 \n\n\n\nAnd thou, my friend, and more than friend, \nWho found true peace before the end, \nAnd tried to teach me all thy lore ; \nI missed thee, when at heaven\'s door \nWe parted ; and I miss thee more. \nAnd con thy love and lessons o\'er. \n\nFor me, still pray ; \n\nAsk Christ to say \n\n"" Requiescat." \n\nOh ! hopes that die, and griefs that live, \nAnd joys that life will never give ; \nShadows, that fall from light unseen. \nSo dark, we stumbling walk between \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHence, hence away \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nLeave me to pray \n\n\'\'Requiescaty \n\nAnd now, my heart, we, two, can rest ; \nWe, two, can fill an empty nest, \nIf God so will ; and sing away ; \nLike tired children worn with play \nSing to themselves some little lay ; \nTill soothing sleep will hush for aye. \nWe\'ll sob our broken notes, and say. \nDear heart, to me, \nAnd I to thee, \nA II Saints\' Day. "\xe2\x96\xa0Requiescat. \' \' \n\n\n\nThe Old and the New \n\n\n\nThe King is Dead! Long Live the King!\' \n\n\n\nI heard the Old Year moan and sigh, \nI heard the Old Year groan and die, \nWhile wailing winds went soughing by, \n\nOut in the sobbing rain \xe2\x80\x94 \nOld Year, why art thou moaning so? \nWe are content that thou shouldst go ; \nWe tired of years long, long ago ; \n\nTo die must be a gain. \n\nOut of the death grows life anew ; \nOut of the false there comes the true ; \nOut of the Old Year springs the new; \n\nThou\'lt come again, Old Year. \nInto the dark alone thou\'lt go, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhy art thou sighing, sobbing so? \nThe One above keeps watch below. \n\nHe lives \xe2\x80\x94 need never fear. \n\n\n\nA rest and change ; all things anew ; \nThey\'ll live again, the false and true. \nIf only good lived in the new, \n\nOur many derelictions \nWould count but little in the end ; \nAnd truth from error would forefend ; \nIn life or death, sweet heaven would send \n\nUs many benedictions. \n\nOut of the night will come the day; \n\nOut of the dust, out of decay. \n\nWill come the buds and blooms of May ; \n\nOnly a change, remember \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhen every flow\'ret censer swings, \nAnd warbling bird its anthem sings. \nAnd to the heart such gladness brings. \n\nIt soon forgets December. \n\nHark ! on the air, I hear a bell \xe2\x80\x94 \nTis "twelve o\'clock, and all is well!" \nThe watchman\'s cry \xe2\x80\x94 Old Year farewell. \n\nOut in the sobbing rain ; \nNo passer-by I see on street ; \nHark ! now I hear the tramping feet. \nBut cannot see for storm and sleet, \n\nWith face against the pane. \n\n\n\nThe year is dead, Oh, no ! Oh, no ! \nThe year still lives, Oh, ho ! Oh, ho ! \nThe rain and wind have ceased, and so, \n\nLong life, New Year, to you ! \nAll sounds are hushed, above, below ; \nSoft, on the pane, the snow! the snow! \nA winding sheet that husheth all, \nIn lowly hut or lordly hall \xe2\x80\x94 \nA winding sheet for the Old Year, no ! \n\nA mantle for the New. \n\nOh ! bright New Year, with snow-white train, \nOh ! glad New Year, you\'ve come again : \nCovering the earth, its every stain. \nWith snow-white train from mount to main \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nMay good live on in you. \n\nThe beautiful and true ! \n\nLong life, long life to you ! \nOh ! bright New Year, Oh ! glad New Year, \n\'Tis not too soon for hearty cheer. \nOur requiem for the dying year, \n\nReveille for the new! \n\nThe beautiful, the true ! \n\nLong life, long life to you I \n\n\n\n23 \n\n\n\nLife out of death, Oh ! crown of thorn ! \nOh! sacred brow, all bleeding, torn; \nThou Man of many sorrows, born \n\nTo give us life eternal. \nGrant to us life indeed, we pray ; \nKeep us along this death-life way, \nTill death is dead in life, we pray ; \n\nOh love, oh joy supernal ! \n\n\n\nThe master of music and art. \n\nCaught the refrain \n\nOf a heavenly strain ; \n\nAnd it echoed again \n\nFrom the soul to the brain, \n\nTill it broke the sweet chords of his heart. \n\n^ ^ yf \n\nOh ! aching heart ! \n\nOh ! breaking heart ! \n\nLife we can not understand ; \n\nBut the vision will be clearer. \n\nIf we hold the Father\'s hand. \n\n^ ^ ^ \n\nSeek to be happy, by making others so ! \n24 \n\n\n\nVictors on the Other Shore \n\n\n\n(Lines Read at the Decoration of the Confederate Graves \nAT Nashville, Tenn., 186-.) \n\n\n\nNot the vanquished \xe2\x80\x94 No, for victors \nBring I laurel wreaths to-day ; \n\nNot the living \xe2\x80\x94 but the deathless \nHeroes who have passed away. \n\nHail my brothers marching onward, \nOnward on the other shore ! \n\nMay ye scale the walls of heaven ! \nVictors then for evermore. \n\nList ! your deeds are not forgotten ; \n\nAge and youth meet here to-day; \nSome to bring you wreaths of roses, \n\nSome to bring you crowns of bay. \n\nLaurel wreaths from distant mountain, \nWaving palms from ocean\'s shore \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nEmblems meet, I bring for heroes \xe2\x80\x94 \nHeroes are ye evermore. \n\n\n\nTrue, ye heard no shouts of triumph ; \n\nOnly wailing \xe2\x80\x94 only woe \xe2\x80\x94 \nAs ye watched the blood-red sunset ; \n\nBut we see the afterglow. \n\nAnd, my brothers, now we hail you \nVictors on the other shore ! \n\nMay ye scale the walls of heaven ! \nVictors then for evermore. \n\n\n\nBe strong, ye Tennesseans, \n\nWhenever in the right ; \nLike our immortal Jackson, \n\nBe valiant in the fight ; \nAnd give the oppressed your succor : \n\nMake ever Right your might. \n\n\n\nBring a broken life to the "Light of Light" \xe2\x80\x94 and \nGod\'s prism lets the glory through. \n\n\n\na6 \n\n\n\nCarol at Sunrise \n\n\n\nI know, I know, \n\nWhere zephyrs blow, \nAnd the teeming turf upheaves; \n\nOur Mother Earth \n\nIs giving birth \nTo violets under the leaves. \n\nSilent and shy, \n\nNo human eye \nWill discover her charm, I ween ; \n\nThe full-blown rose \n\nIn secret grows. \nAnd bursts from the bud unseen. \n\nI see, I see \n\nOn bush and tree \nThe tiny leaflets quiver ; \n\nAnd the shimmering light \n\nIn a dance of delight \nA-gleaming across the river, \n\nLighting the spire \n\nA ball of fire- \nGlancing from turret and tower ; \n\nAnd gilding the spray \n\nWhere the dew-drops lay, \nIt shivers in golden shower. \n\n27 \n\n\n\nI feel, I feel \n\nThat woe and weal \nIn life must be allied ; \n\nThe shades of night, \n\nThe bright sunlight, \nAre lying side by side. \n\nAway, away \n\nThey seem to play \n" Hide and seek," on yonder hill \n\nAlway, alway, \n\nTill perfect day. \nWe\'ll find them together still. \n\nI hear, I hear \n\nThe sweet notes clear \n\nOf a bonny bird that sings \nTo her little brood \nAs they take their food \n\nTwittering under her wings. \nAh, mother bird. \nYour song I\'ve heard ; \n\nAnd I sang it once \xe2\x80\x94 my best ; \nSome bright, bright day \nThey\'ll fly away, \n\nAnd leave you the empty nest. \n\n\n\nI pray, I pray, \n\nBy night, by day, \nFor my nestlings, where they be. \n\nDear God above, \n\nI know such love \nShould alone belong to thee ; \n\nAnd so I pray \n\nBy night, by day, \nThat Thy many gifts of love \n\nMay not alway \n\nLure me away \nFrom the Giver of Good above. \n\nRhythm imitated from Bishop Cox\'s hymn . \n\n\n\nWe now can see the dawn of better days : \nLook at the South from shore to shore, \nHer night of darkness almost gone. \nThe master, who the thralldom felt far more \nThan slave, is now more free than e\'er before. \nUntrammeled men and women will aspire. \nWith minds and hearts and souls set free, \nTo soar to heights unknown, and ardently desire. \nWith every height attained, the strength to go still \nhigher 1 \n\n\n\n39 \n\n\n\nSweet Symphonies \n\n\n\nLines Addressed to the Mother of My Dear Friend, \nMrs. M. L. C, on Her Eighty-First Birthday. \n\n\n\nI. \n\nSweet symphonies, I\'d sing to-day; \nCome, now, my heart\xe2\x80\x94 a tuneful lay! \nI love the truth \xe2\x80\x94 she loves it too; \nAnd, though I pierce the empyrean blue, \nMy spirit surely seeks the True \nAnd Beautiful. Artist Supreme, \nOn Thee I call: a poet\'s dream, \nA painter\'s skill, a workman\'s art. \nCome all from Thee: Thou art the Heart \nOf all this breathing, toiling world. \nThough Thou, for pride, archangel hurled. \nThe lowliest look to Thee for light, \nAnd claim from Thee the children\'s right \nTo call on Father, Maker, Friend \xe2\x80\x94 \nOr hope, or faith, or aid to send. \n30 \n\n\n\nII. \n\nSweet symphonies, I\'d sing to-day, \n\nTo her, the subject of my lay. \nMy friend \xe2\x80\x94 I hail thee now four score; \nNot far, I ween, from the heavenly shore; \n\nThe voyage was long, the barque is frail: \n\nSeems life to thee a brief, swift sail? \n\nI left the port two scores and more, \n\nAnd yet it seems so long before \nI reach the haven; watching drearily, \nWeeping, working, waiting wearily, \n\nTo hear the Boatman boat his oar \n\nIn silent seas \xe2\x80\x94 on the silent shore. \nSeems life to thee but short and swift? \nClouds in the evening speedily rift \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nDown suddenly drops the sinking sun : \n\nThe years go liesurely, one by one ; \n\nThe shadows grow long at set of sun ; \n\nThen swift and rapid \xe2\x80\x94 work is done ; \nHeart-sick and home-sick, wistful we glide, \n\'Till we "catch the light on the other side." \n\nIs it not so? I hail thee now ! \n\nI envy thee on the life-ship\'s prow. \nWhat say I? The Boatman may boat his oar \nAnd land me first on the heavenly shore. \n\n31 \n\n\n\nIII. \n\nSweet symphonies I\'d sing to-day, \n\nTrue and beautiful if I may, \n\nFor her, who well deserves the praise \n\nOf loving hearts and tuneful lays. \n\nShe lived her life both well and wise; \n\nAnd now, behold, "her children rise \n\nAnd call her blessed." Is not this \n\nA boon for earth ; for heaven a bliss? \n\nRevered, respected, honored, loved \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nMy friend, \'tis true, that thou hast proved \n\nThy life no failure ; right is right : \n\nAs truth is true, thy right is might ; \n\nAnd down the ages yet to be, \n\nThy influence, like a wave at sea. \n\nWill widen ever, more and more. \n\nTill broken on the eternal shore. \n\nThou art growing young, thou art not old ; \n\nWhen more than four score years are told, \nThou wilt still be young, working cheerily, \nSmiling, it may be, or waiting wearily, \n\nThy birth into life \xe2\x80\x94 the true Life given \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nImmortal youth, in the mansions of Heaven ! \n\n\n\n32 \n\n\n\nLittle Robin\'s Palm Tree \n\n\n\nIn the tangled sun and shade, \nUnderneath a palm tree played \nLittle Robin, fairest child. \n\nWhen the winds began to blow, \nWith the falling of the snow. \nWhen the birds of passage go ; \n\nLittle Robin too one day, \nFrom her northern home away, \nWent where orange trees and bay \n\nSnowy blossoms proudly show ; \nRoses rare and jasmines blow ; \nWhere the stately palm trees grow. \n\nLeaving large ancestral hall, \nSoon beyond the garden wall, \nShe would find her playmates all, \n\nCaroling their sweetest lays ; \nAnd her antiphone of praise \nMade for her those happy days. \n\n\n\n33 \n\n\n\nHappy, under whispering trees; \nHappy, hearing humming bees ; \nHappy, dancing in the breeze. \n\nHere, a butterfly to chase ; \nThere, to kiss the upturned face \nOf a pansy with sweet grace, \n\nOr, of rosebuds and sweet pinks \nMaking chains ; the flower links \nIncense breathing what she thinks. \n\nBuds and blossoms, rosary beads. \nCounting on them what she needs ; \nPraying truly, prayer succeeds. \n\nBut of all she loved the best \nUnderneath the palm to rest ; \nRoyal palm tree\'s royal guest. \n\nWatching shadows as they pass, \nWeaving lace work on the grass, \nDreaming day dreams, and, alas ! \n\nClaiming kinship with the sky. \nLike the azure of her eye ; \nAnd as clouds went floating by \n34 \n\n\n\nShe went sailing on them too ; \nOn the inverted sea of blue, \nFar beyond all human view ; \n\nDreaming fancies false and true, \n\nAs maturer minds will do, \n\nTill the stars came peeping through : \n\nBeacon lights in heaven, to show \nWhere man\'s soundings cannot go ; \nFinite minds must ever know \n\nSomething is beyond man\'s reach, \nSomething science cannot teach, \nSomething science to appeach. \n\nWould the Almighty condescend. \nAnd the finite comprehend, \nThen infinity would end. \n\nSo the little Robin played \n\nIn the tangled sun and shade ; \n\nLittle Endogens waylaid. \n\nAs the stately palms enroll \nInward life, her growth of soul \nDid her growing life control. \n\n35 \n\n\n\nWonder did she grow apace, \nWith such beauty and such grace, \nWith the soul -light in her face? \n\nWhen the winter on the wane. \nStronger grown, she went again \nTo her home ; she went, full fain, \n\nGreeting one than life more dear ; \nShe had known her mortal fear ; \nShe had seen the unwept tear \n\nBroken, glistening in the smile \nMothers\' hearts will try awhile \nSorest anguish to beguile. \n\nAnd the child, with sweetest grace. \nShowed how she had grown apace ; \nBut the soul -light in her face \n\nChild nor mother understood : \nIn such brightness no one could \nShadow o\'er this motherhood. \n\nFriends, beloved and left behind. \nMissed the child with wondering mind. \nAnd the palm tree in the wind \n\n36 \n\n\n\nSighed for her at night and morn ; \nStretched her arms in grief forlorn \nFor the child forever gone. \n\nWhen the winds again did blow, \nAnd the falling of the snow \nMade the birds of passage go, \n\nLittle Robin too had flown. \n\nO, the hearts that ache and moan \n\nIn the cold world, left alone. \n\nAnd the palm tree bowed her head, \nBowed her royal, crowned head ; \nMoaning, wailing for the dead, \n\nSighing for the maiden fair : \nThrenody, " O, where ? O, where ? " \nWith her last breath, "Where, O, where?" \n\nAngels bright, beyond our ken, \nTook her to her home again ; \nGod ! \'Tis hard to say \xe2\x80\x94 Amen ! \n\nSee her with the angel band ! \nPalms of victory in her hand, \nPointing upward to that land \n\n37 \n\n\n\nWhich but seems so far away ; \nWhen the mists are cleared away \nWe shall see in perfect day. \n\nNear the old ancestral hall \nJust beyond the garden wall, \nWhere they saw the Palm Tree fall, \n\nIn the Southland, Easter tide. \nOne that loved the child espied \nThere a little Palm, aside \n\nOf the old one, not apart. \nSpringing from the other\'s heart ; \nSweetest lesson to impart. \n\nAt Mt. Olivet is found \nKindred dust in sacred ground, \nAnd one precious little mound \n\nHas this Palm tree at its head, \nSighing still with bowed head, \nWhispering to the sleeping dead \n\nThat again \'tis Easter tide ! \n\nMother, may this thought abide. \nLift your heart, \'tis Eastertide ! \n\n\n\nHome- Coming \n\n\n\n[Inscribed to Col. Frank Cheatham, on Home-Coming of First \nTennessee Regiment from the Philippines] \n\n\n\nRing out, proud bells, a gladsome peal ! \n\nYe bugles, blow a joyous blast ; \nShout, all, huzzahs for the soldiers\' weal \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTo welcome them home at last ; \nThey were the bravest of the brave ; \n\nThey were true Tennesseans ; \nThey risked their lives their honor to save ; \n\nAnd we must sing their peans. \n\nA welcome to the "Boys in Blue" \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nGlad welcome from the "Gray:" \nThe Blue and Gray wear hearts as true \n\nAs ever fought in any fray ; \nTruth is \xe2\x80\x94 in that most dreadful strife. \n\nWhen brother met his brother \xe2\x80\x94 \nAbove the embattled host in life, \n\nUnseen, there was another; \nAnd those who fought on either side. \n\nFought for the right, " as they saw it ; " \nThey were the victors \xe2\x80\x94 side by side ; \n\nGod-crowned \xe2\x80\x94 as the angels saw it. \n\n39 \n\n\n\nUN 29 1904 \n\n\n\nMen say the valiant Southrons failed; \n\nThat Northern Arms o\'er them prevailed, \nBut wrong went down for both that day; \n\nAnd heroes wore the Blue and Gray. \n\nWhile bells for Tennesseans ring, \n\nWhene\'er, where\'er they meet us ; \nTo-day, for the "Boys in Blue" we sing \n\nA welcome when they greet us. \nAnd we, the mothers of the Gray, \n\nThe mothers of the Blue, \nNow, for another campaign, pray \n\nFor soldiers tried and true. \n\nAh ! boys, fight the battle of life as well ; \n"Make ready," "take aim" at the hosts of hell, \nWhenever assailed \xe2\x80\x94 they strike in the dark ; \nWith the armor of Light, you\'ll not miss your mark ; \nAnd when "Taps" are sounded, and "Lights are out," \nReveille will greet you, with joyful shout. \nFrom the angels who wait at the Golden Gate \xe2\x80\x94 \n(Your battles all fought ; your last voyage o\'er). \nTo bear you in triumph to the other shore, \nAnd welcome you home, forevermore. \n\n\n\n40 \n\n\n\nLIBRARY OF CONGRESS \n\n\n\n018 603 012 6 \xe2\x80\xa2^ \n\n\n\n'