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This book is tetiderly dedicated to the joint memory of my late beloved husband, James Thayers, and my dear departed father, Georg-e Shaw. My husband, I can ne'er forget Sr ', Thy good and kindly ways, How thou hast strove to smooth my path, Through all our wedded days. I'll love thee while this heart can love — Till every cord is riven, Then recommence and love thee through The endless life of heaven. Thy gentle kiss, thy tender look. Have oft soothed sorrow's hour ; Thy loving words have been to me Like fragrance from a flower. Thy constant kindness, James, has been Like a clear, steady light — Not now a flicker, then a blaze. But ever calm and bright. My father, when I visits pay Yon grave in fair Mount P — I'm not unmindful of thine own Away across the sea. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. I watch its visitors bring flowers, I know which flov/er each gave, I see the gUstening love-drops roll And fall upon thy grave. My father, looking back upon My child and girlhood's days, I see no sullen clouds break through The light of home's bright rays. Therefore with tender, grateful hands, I bring my buds and blooms. And lay them very gently down Between two sacred tombs. Toronto, 1894. M. J. T. ^^*\!t « IN jy^EMORIAM. J. T. Fell aslkkp in Christ, Arc,. 27, 1803. t=:f Can I not talk with thee, my own beloved ? It cannot be that thou art far removed, — We two were ever one. Each joy and sorrow we together bore, Now thou hast done vvlth g-rief for evermore. Hence, half of mine is gone. No more thou'It know one touch of keen heart-pain ; Nothing but perfect peace and happiness remain : Oh ! I am glad for thee ! Yet oft for thee my heart full loud doth sigh, 'Tis then thou hear'st its secret yearning cry. And hastens down to me. Not severed— no. O treasure of my heart, Thou could'st not rest if I had not a part O'i all the bliss now thine. Such love as ours was never born to die : 'Tis only, beautified and more refined on high, My husband, ever mine. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Yon bit of sacred ground, tended by me, The hours that pass without thy company, All whisper i>f my loss. Amidst it all thy blessed Home seems near, For by unfailing sight I see most clear, A pathway cut across. Our joys on earth outnumbered sorrows far, Ray after ray came forth from love's clear star, And when death strove to sever. His dark and mockful frown this light withstood, And through the thick black pall of vvidowhood, Twill gleam and glisten ever. » Preface. ^::ir In offering my song--sprays to the public just as I have plucked and bunched them, I would here say that within these covers are no pieces reprinted from my former little book of poems excepting two, "Sons of the Sea-Girt Isle," and "The Spanish Gipsy Girl," and these reappear by request. Toronto, 1894. M. J. T. l^M ^ h F Buds and Blossoms. ^:5» TWELVE MONTHS AGO TO-DAY.* 'VE got these letters out once more, Though I know all they say, About the day, the date, the hour, My father slept away. Twas Friday, sixteenth day of March, Soon after noon's bright ray Had goldened all the Heavenly arch, Twelve months ago to-day. I see just where they've made his grave, And where his dear head lies: Three thousand miles aside I waive, And stand neath England's skies. I'm looking through the railings now. On father's sacred mound ; . 'Tis visited, for footprints show Around the upraised ground. h. u^^ f ^^ ^""^^ ^'^ '■^'^ °"^ Wednesday night in his usual health, and continued in calm, wakeless slumber until the following t nday, at half-past one, p.m., in which sleep he then passed away. ,■■.--:,,;,;' M. J. T. lO BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. I'll put these letters back again ; I'll hear them when away, Whispering how father lost all pain Twelve months ago to-day. I wonder why these cears will roll, And why this heart must sigh, To grief of mind, of heart and soul, Father has said good-bye. One year r.go his crown was given ; Yes, just one year to-day Since he awoke, woke up in heaven, By hearing harpers play. It may be they are tuning o'er The glad reception lay He heard on Eden's stormless shorC; Twelve months ago to-day. I wonder, if I sit and list, Some notes may float along, With well-known voices blending 'midst The sweet triumphant song. Or I may, in some mystic way, Draw Earth's thick veil aside. And talk with father of that day He joined the glorified. His voice I do remember well : 'Twas kind, yet firm and clear— I never knew it when it fell Unwelcome on mv ear. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. II 'Twas tinged with melody's own touch, Which beautified his love; 'Twill not have altered very much, As Goodness rules above. Twelve months in heaven, without one fear- No doubt, no mystery : I try to think what this first year III heaven has been to thee. ^^^^^ ;. I've wondered, father, oft if they Who came to escort thee, Went out their course a little way To let thee look on me. My English home I was not near When thou didst calmly die ; 'Twas William's pen revealed it clear 'Mong letters just laid by. The more those letters meet my sight. The more they do refine; My heart gains culture from the light That gleams in every line. Through them, I stand beside thy bed And watch thee in thy sleep. And lean my cheek against thy head And with the others weep ; And visit often for awhile Thy peaceful burial place. Remembering the tranquil smile That settled on thy face. mmmmm 12 BC/nS AND BLOSSOMS. Your children all both think and say, "He showed us how to live," And 'round your memory to-day Our grateful thanks we give. We feel quite sure of reaching you, Near the White Throne of God, If we but keep in full review The path you taught and trod. Sometimes I've thought 'twas wrong to wear This crape 'round wrists and neck. And you, so far beyond all care. Might feel inclined to check. But, father, think : for one whole year You've seemed so far away — That's why we've worn, and still do wear, No shade but black to-day. I've fancied, father — was it true- When Arthur came your way That, with his escort, one was you That late October day. I bent above his sinking head. And whispered in his ear. He'd soon be with his loved ones fled And see the Saviour dear. He gazed at me so earnestly, Then, smiling, glanced above; To me that eloquent reply Said, "Some are near you love." BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. I'm r.ot at all perplexed because You knew him not down here : I rest alone on Friendship's laws— That bond could draw you near. Sometimes I fancy he and you, Through Heaven's fair gardens walk ; He leaving friends he loved most true To with my kindred talk. This group I see, and it I call My happy band of seven. Your once frail son looks strong and tall- Full of the health of Heaven. Dear Tom walks by you on your right, Arthur the other side, Both looking so supremely bright. And you well satisfied. Four children follow, two and Lwo; Each are a radiant pair (Though two of them I never kneiv Until I saw them there). Alfie— I knew him at first glance — And little Sarah, too. They skipped along in kind of dance, Like happy children do. Robbie and Martha's beauteous bloom I wish I could declare . I know when mother reaches home She'll find them wondrous fair. 13 14 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. li'i ! Methinks they're in Heaven's fairest bowers, This blessed, bright birthday, Where Sarah's culling Martha flowers To make a joint bouquet. My father, will you now relate What your blest five did say. When they met you at Heaven's Gate Twelve months ago to-day ? I used to like to hear you tell. In my young girlhood's days. Of some you loved and honored well For their unselfish ways. Doubtless those friends of yours, who died Long ere your hair turned gray. Are foremost 'mongst the glorified To celebrate this day. father ! if I could but dream. Or know in any way. That I had caught the faintest gleam How Christ will smile to-day, 1 would not drop another tear. Or breathe another sigh. That I could not bend o'er your bier And bid a sad good-bye. Hf if Hi if iit if I'd like to send your far-off tomb A garland or a spray Of pure white lilies in full bloom This anniversary day. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 15 To lay a bud I am denied, Or e'en a sprig of green ; But, in the future, I may glide Where your dear form has been — Come, laden with the choicest bloom From out immortal bowers, And build above your vacant tomb A pyramid of flowers, 'Mid which I will contrive to tell, In some attractive way, AVhat loss of worth on earth there fell Twelve months ago to-day. ^>^* >C^ i6 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS, THE WINNIPEG BOY; OR, A CALL TO THE BARDS. ^B^HERE'S a call from Parnassus, "Canadian bards, m Arise! grasp the pencil and scroll. A song's in demand, full of pathos and power, And ringing with grandeur of soul. There are heroes awaiting the minstrel's skill ; Their garlands with glory must shine; Your scrolls must be pure as unsullied snow. Ye singers of lineage divine. There are deeds to be carefully woven in song. By eyes yet unborn to be read : Then arise, Canadian bards, and begin To sing of the living and dead! What singer will start with the Winnipeg boy. Whose courage has travelled afar; Whose name* will mingle with heroes who now Gleam forth on the column of war. , Ammunition he bore our conquering troops, 'Mid the fire, the smoke and the fray. Crying "Cartridges, boys!— who's for cartridges, boys?" With calmness that heroes display. It Willie Buchanan. 17 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. The hotter the conflict, the louder his cry, Hence the call for a spirited lay. Oh! if I could sing as this singer should sing, Willie's crown would be woven to-day. Brave bugle-boy, Willie! Come, take him in hand; The work he may give will well pay. The gods of Parnassus will smile upon you, If you give his fine courage fair play. Some poet attend, ere a rhymer appears To sully your noble employ ; Go .summon your Muse and bring forth your lyre. And sing of the Winnipeg boy. And, poet, remember he went with that band— The Ninetieth, of gallant renown; Then bring for him leaves of beauteous green. And gracefully twine him a crown. Be careful, dear singer, for some o( our boys Who so nobly fell in the West, May l)e watching you weave the bugle-boy's wreath From the sorrowless realms of the blest. The Winnipeg youth may have nerved them on. And cheered them in victory's way; And they, in remembrance, from gardens of bliss May drop a memorial spray. He merits a garland of witherless leaves, Interwoven with deathless flowers. O Child of the Muses, look up and receive What may fall from immortal bowers. i8 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Begin with the song, some annointed bard; You've a grand and glorious theme. While I'm pleading with you I'm catching a glimpse How his garland of beauty should gleam. Then, O singer, commence the appointed lay. Sing loud of the deeds of our brave ; Sing sweetly of Willie — sing soothingly low When you come to a soldier's grave. ■ ; R| IN THE GREENHOUSE. (DEC. 30th, 1886.) ITTLE greenhouse, 'tis not often That I enter feeling fear, But 'tis whispered, fragrant bower. That a cottage should stand here. We would gain in cents and dollars Just by bidding thee good-bye. But the blessings thou affordest Cents and dollars cannot buy. Little greenhouse, husband tells me. Should a dwelling here be built, Thou shalt be at back or midst it ; To discard thee would be guilt. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 19 And he says he has decided Not at once to take thee down, Lest the goddess of the flowers Should look on us with a frown. Then I'll rest me ./aite contented, So thou standest anywhere. Flowers, doves and bright canaries, You shall have my willing cart. Little greenhouse, I've been thinking. Where some of thy sweets have gone, And it comforts to remember That I took a cent from none. With the heliotrope and roses, And with kindred blossoms fair ; I have tried to be unselfish, Yet have given them with care. Pretty blossoms- you departed — What about your record now ? You on silent breasts reposing. You still wreathing some cold brow. Seems to me your mission was to Bleeding hearts and households riven. More to mourners than the mourned for. Though to grave and casket given. You, ye beauties, who lived out your Lovely lives in some sick room, I must wait to read your record In the life beyond the tomb. 20 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Little greenhouse, I've been faithful To thy lovely children here, Blessed them when they smiled their sweetest, When they drooped I came to cheer. ! i TO MY BOUQUET. * * This year is dying — cannot live Beyond some twenty-four hours — I've come to cull most tenderly Her last sweet, missionary flowers. How shall I get you there, sweet things. Just as you now appear. You must be in yon sick girl's room Ere ends the closing year. Poor Httle rose, but just awake, The frost is so severe, The winds are keen ; how shall I get You in your beauty there? Fair sprigs of green and creamy white. And buds of lovely hue. And leaves of choice and varied shade, The cold will wither you. The weather-glass is saying now Fifteen below zero. My crimson, scarlet, pale pink gems, How shall we dare to go ? BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. »t Oh, faithless me ! do I forget The hand that made you fair? ' We'll venture forth confiding in Your Maker's wondrous care. We'll go, sweet friends, believing that You'll reach dear Annie's room, Bearing in full the message which Lies hidden 'mid your bloom. I'm thinking she may never have Another bunch of flowers. Until some loving fingers cull Her one from Eden's bowers. Then we'll away lest she should lose Your solace for some hours, And you'll be nearer heaven there Than here, my pretty flowers. 22 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. A COTTAGE ROOH. FTEN I pass by a cottage That seems veiled in mellow gloom; 'Mong its small and neat apartments Is a memorable room. In that room, one summer evening, Friends and neighbors gathered near- Near a little rosewood casket. Resting on a snow-white bier. Larger caskets had been resting * In that little room before; Two containing silent beauty Had been carried through its door: One a maiden, with dark tresses Clustering round her queenly brow; One a boy of five bright summers, With soft locks of sunny glow. Here the two had greeted seraphs, Here had lain in solemn grace; Now the third and smaller casket Rested in the selfsame place. And the little dark-eyed sleeper Finished hjre his two-year race; Here he slept in deepest slumber. With heaven's peace upon his face. And there seemed to come sweet whispers From his slightly-open lips, And such tender, soothing touches From his pretty finger-tips; i BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 23 And some fancied anj^el presence Had not left the little room, For a soft, consoling something Scattered all the funeral gloom. From the kindly, white-haired pastor. With the Bible on his knee. To each member of that household Came the same tranquility. No sad sobbing -no bewailing When the farewell kiss was given; All seemed thinking of the meeting That had taken place in heaven. E'en the flowers on the table Seemed to borrow heavenly bloom And the fragrance of a country Without graveyard, bier or tomb. Friends took up the lovely clusters. With their loops of silken white, Laid them on the little sleeper Till his robe was hid from sight. Save the brown hair on his forehead. And his collar of soft lace,- Naught was seen of the darling But his little, tranquil face. There he lay, sweet, peaceful rester, 'Neath his coverlet of flowers, Looking like a floral mantle Sent him from celestial bowers. !1* 24 BUrS AND BLOSSOMS, IHiij II ill I Someone whispered: "Happy sleeper! Highly favored little boy! Two years here 'mid naught but kindness, Now 'mid endless love and joy." Then they gently closed the casket, And 'tis now in care divine. Where 'twill rest by kindred sleepers Till the morn of mornings shine. Never pass I by that cottage, . Seemly clad in sacred gloom. But I wonder, do fair angels Visit still its western room ? Certainly, calm resignation In its inmates I can trace; So perchance those sweet consolers Have a liking for the place. irtiml I liliii -1^%\< II ''m BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 25 WHERE HAS THY MUSIC FLED? (TO MY DEAD CANARY.) ROFOUNDLY still, my little friend, I'm wondering, o'er and o'er, Where has thy music floated to — On what unheard of shore? I did not think, an hour ago, This room could feel so drear. With oleanders crowned with bloom And lilies smiling near. I cannot measure or express The beauty of thy song ; And must thy gladsome, joyous notes, But to the past belong ? We tend with care green flower-clad mounds, Where sacred forms low lie— They will awaken, but, 'tis said, Birds only live to die. Softly I stroke, and feel so loth To hide, thy plumage bright Within a grave from whence there gleams No resurrection light. Yet over thee no sighing leaf From cypress tree shall wave — This bit of silent beauty shall Not have a darksome grave. nil 26 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. w \\\m i f Beneath a bed of fairest green Shall rest this pretty head ; These lovely white-tipped wings shall have A fragrant burial bed. If not a sparrow falleth low Without Heaven's watchful love, Perchance thou singest now uncaged Near blissful bowers above. Can I be wrong in fancying that Thy silvery voice floats on, Joining the melody of Heaven, My pretty, silent one ? I'm just as certain as I know These little feet once trod— Like all true singers, birdie, thou Brought'st thy bright gift from God. Then, little minstrel, where O where Has all thy music fled ! Are there no singing birds where our Sweet angel children tread? No sound of lovely songsters where Our household darlings go ! (I would not listen to my Muse If she should whisper " No "). Our angel children— Oh, birdie ! Like thee, those treasures fled. And we, while bending o'er some drawer. Have often, weeping, said : BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 27 Could we but only gather up Their scattered toys once more, We never would complain again Of litter on the floor. Oh, birdie ! by those open drawers, How oft we kneel and try To solve that hard, perplexing word. The short, mysterious "Why?" How tenderly we touch and kiss Some old disfigured toy, And press it to our hearts as we Oft pressed a darling boy. On loop of ribbon, tiny glove. On dainty frill of lace. On little laid -up dresses, we A cherished lifetime trace. Yet, by those sacred drawers, we get Glimpses of Fatherland — The upper home called Heaven, birdie. We better understand. We see a world resembling ours — The two are near akin — We'd scarcely know the difference if . This one would banish sin. 28 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. CHATTERTON; OR, A WALK THROUGH A ROOM IN THE TEMPLE OF FAME. ^WAS holiday time, and I rose with the sun, For one day all duties and work would I shun. . The first place I sought was the home of a friend. And we planned how th?t day of pleasure to spend ; Our tastes and desires were nearly the same, So we started in search of the Temple of P'ame. 'Mong its rooms for heroes of every name Was a chamber for bards to which Britain lays claim ; We long had desired to enter in there, And it seemed an answer had come to our prayer. It appeared we were led by the light of some star To the wide, massive doors now standing ajar, t And we read on a door in the entrance hall From golden letters engraved in the wall: All nations glory in their sons, - Their great, their bright, immortal ones, Hence England proudly twined the bays, And crowned her Shakespeare king of lays. And the first thing we saw within the fair place Was a figure of Poesy, a goddess of grace, In her left hand she held the minstrel scroll, In her right one a pen new names to enroll ; She was standing with head turned a little aside, Looking down on her sons with satisfied pride ; To the sculptor it seemed a glimpse had been given BUrS AND BLOSSOMS. 29 Of beauty that only belongeth to heaven, For she stood a fair image of faultless grace From the fall of her robe to the light in her face. The next sight that caught our wandering gaze Was Chaucer, the founder of English lays, And others who lived and sung in his age. Whose names stand in order on Poesy's fair page. Though dusty their wreaths yet 'twas plainly seen No leaf had lost its original green. To the centre group then we hastened along Where Milton, the prince of princes in song, Sat by the side of our great poet king. Whose praises the world forever will sing. Avon, famed Avon, all lands homage pay At the feet of thy bard with the glossy green bay. There's Dryden and Pope of brilliant renown, And others whose names familiar have grown ; Poor Goldsmith, you know, he from Ireland came, A place 'mong the best to fairly claim; How princely they look with their green-wreathed brows, And no other land owns nobler rows. See Burns, with his holly-wreath glossy with light — Brighter e'en now than 'twas on the night When Coila bound her favorite's brow. It never looked sweeter or greener than now. , There Byron stands with a proud, princely air, (How sad that he tarnished talents so rare). Fair are those leaves round his wide open brow, A garland of beauty adorning him now. 30 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS, ii! And there is the good, the gifted young White, Round his cahn brow shines a halo of light, " In the path of true fame he carefully trod, And rests in the light, the smile of his God. That youth by his side so uncommonly fair. With a soft dreamy eye and flowing light hair, Is gentle John Keats, who early left earth. E'en he had to die to prove his true worth ; They have twined fair flowers 'mong evergreen leaves. And from his fair crown pure fragrance breathes. Here's Cowper, who sang some tender, sweet strains, The wreath on his brow its greenness retains, Though years have fled since his garland was made, Yet time has no power to dim or to fade. There's one standing back away in the shade, The leaves round his temples seems ready to fade ; 'Tis Savage, poor Savage, all sighed o'er his wrongs, What wonder he sent them abroad in his songs, A sorrowful life that poor poet led. Then lonely and sad slept the sleep of the dead. Here's Wordsworth and Rogers, one gentle and kind, The other possessing more polish of mind. Leaves gracefully twisted most lovely and green, Becometh those brows so calm and serene. There's Coleridge and Campbell, Southey and Moore, They seem to be thinking some favorite piece o'er. Leaves of sweet beauty are gracing each brow, Plucked from the tree that for bards alone grow. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 1^ Yon vacancy up in the foremost throng, An English bard will fill it ere long. His garland there rests on a cushion of down, A radiant wreath is Tennyson's crown. Those half- woven wreaths and those empty seats Are for some now living in quiet retreats. Bye and bye one and all will take his own place. And those garlands then finished will sparkle with grace. We could linger long here to see every one, But we'll have to return for the day's nearly gone. Those groups we are passing look happy and glad, But yonder are some looking troubled and sad. But Shelley we must not, we cannot pass by, 'T would bring a sad shade into Poesy's glad eye, She would fancy we never felt grateful or proud. That he left us his " Skylark " and song of "The Cloud," They have crowned him with roses and laid at his feet Fair clusters of myrtle and eglantine sweet. Ah, look! at that one with silky dark hair Shading a brow that is lined with care. Yet 'tis a fair, a beautiful brow. Though clouds of sorrow seem veiling it now. His young head rests in his pale, thin hand. Crushing the flowers that round his locks stand ; I think it is he, let us draw closer on. Ah, yes, so I thought, it is poor Chatterton. Sad, sad, is his tale, that great gifted boy. Would live on a crust to give others joy, 32 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Oft wanted for one so that he might prove How deep and how pure for his mother his love. Hovv deeply all felt for the lone, friendless lad, With his brain so full and his heart so sad, Crushed was that heart when he last sought his room, Pain, passion and pride fought hard for his doom, But 'twas hunger that set the seal to his fate, Wretched indeed was the young poet's state. When his soul was sent by his own rash hand, Uncalled for before his Maker to stand. Wt:. Softly all wept o'er the heart-rending tale. That talents so bright, so brilliant should fail, Friendless, forlorn, heart-crushed, without bread. Though glorious thoughts had a home in his head. It saddens to think that they gave him a grave Without flower to bloom or willow to wave, 'Twas hard, yea cruel, to lay his young head To sleep by the side of the unknown dead. Far from his mother, when his written request Had pleaded her hand might lay him to rest. How gloomily dark was his earthly end. No one was near, not a stranger or friend. No one to wipe the last tear that did roll. Or join the deep prayer that arose from his soul, No one to catch the last sorrow-born sigh. Or press the cold lids o'er each death-troubled eye. No one to give a soft sorrowful kiss On the beautiful lips that had sent others bliss. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 33 A story more sad could never be read, Though chequered the lives most poets have led ; 'Tvvas hunger and sorrow, anguish and pain, His noble heart broke and turned his fine brain. How touchingly sad ! scarce one ray of joy — Save loving his mother — life granted that boy, And gloomier still his story would be If our merciful Father like men should see. Round his shrine Bristol stands with a tear in her eye That her wondrous bard so youthful should die, That her own cherished boy in the morning of life Battled so hard and fell in the strife, She forgiveth in full that his fanciful pen Had wandered astray about places and men. Keenly she feels that unkindness dart • Entered and broke her boy's loving heart. What she chiefly remembers is her blue-coated lad Had struggled and suffered to make others glad, Hence she sought for his dust 'mongst the nameless dead. And brought it to rest where her tears could be shed. A proud monument she has reared to the name Of her wonderful boy and his deathless fame. And her tear-drops glisten on his flower-wreath now As they fell when she bound his beautiful brow. 'W 34 B(//)S AND BLOSSOMS. FOUR SISTERS. (SONGS) SPRING. AIL! gladsome, lovely messenger Of happiness and beauty, To kiss the border of thy robe Is a delightful duty; The soothing echo of thy voice Mild zephyrs bear along, Soft as an angel's whisper and Sweet as a seraph's song. At thy approach the birds awake, And in full chorus sing; The brooklets share their happy mirth At thy return, glad Spring. The trees cast off their sombre dress, And deck in fairest green; The hills and vales adorn themselves To greet life's youthful que^n. The skies re-robe in purest blue. The laughing wavelets meet. And sunbeams lay, with sweetest smiles, A carpet for thy feet. The violets and the daisies come, And all the gentle flowers, To weave a chaplet for thy brow, , And decorate thy bowers. 11 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 35 SUMMER. lELCOME! happy, joyous Summer, Goddess of all bright and fair, With thy fragrant crown of roses : Welcomes greet thee everywhere. Bearer of glad, glorious mornings, Radiant noons and blissful eves, Sunset glories, nightfall whispers. Restful shade of clustering trees. Tenderly thou understandest 'Why we ask and crave for bliss. And thou whispereth: ''Love supplieth All the yearning heart can wish." Melody from soothing songsters, Dancing sunbeams, lakelets blue, Murmuring streams and gentle breezes Speak thy language purely true. Then there is, O generous giver. All thy vast, sweet wealth of flowers. Sacred messages they bear us In the hallowed twilight hours. Welcome, welcome, happy Summer, Breathmg sweetest songs of love, Opening out fair scenes of splendor Far as heart and mind can rove. w 36 BC/nS AND BLOSSOMS. '11 Jib AUTUMN. UTUMN cometh— glorious Autumn! Sighing as she draweth near; Cypress leaves are in her garland, On each lash hangs a tear. 'Mid her rare, resplendent beauty. Waves of sadness cross her face; Such a melancholy sweetness Tinges all her wondrous grace. Coming forth to kiss the flowers Soft and silently good bye, Taking up the languid hi )ssoms In her tender arms to die; Breathes a loving, farewell blessing As she roams through forest shade, Throws a robe of brilliant glory Over dying leaf and blade; Dirrily watches radiant Summer, Passing Siiviingly away. Chanting low, melodious dirges On her sister's burial day; Spreads her pall of mellow brightness O'er the sweetly faithful dead, Lingering but to soothe the mourners, Weeping for the charmer fled. ' BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 37 WINTER. lAJESTIC Winter comes along In robes superbly rare, A coronet of icy pearls Gleams in her dusky hair. Fair slumberers she conies to guartl (A queenly guardian she), And constant is her guardianship Beside the beauteous three. She layeth wreaths of evergreen On Spring and Summer's breast, And spreads a stainless coverlet Where Autumn lies at rest. Her voice in clearest accent comes From where the sleepers lay; Her theme is not of death but life's Bright resurrection day. > She bids the moaning winds be still, She chides the gloomy clouds; Her gentle charges soon will rise And cast aside their shrouds; * Will re-appear in sweet array. Then Nature's bells will ring, And Silence lift her drooping head, Her happy songs to sing. ! 11' ill 111! 31 B[/£>S AND BLOSSOMS, A BUNCH OF GRAPES. LITTLE maiden sat beside Her dying mother's bed, The weary sufferer touched the child — "A drink, my dear," she said. " Poor mother, how . I wish I had Some juicy grapes for you, There's some within the palace gates Like grapes in Eden grew. '' Such lovely clusters, mother, round The royal vineries twine ! I wonder what a bunch would cost Of grapes so very fine ? '"Tis said our ruler is most kind, And loves his people well; Oh, if he knew you were so ill, I'm sure he some would sell. "I've got some money, all my own; I think I'll go and see." "No, no, my darling, courtly grapes Are not for you and me." Some grapes for motlier, nothing less Possessed her heart and head. And when she saw her mother slept, Away the maiden sped. She found the sentry looking stern ^^_ While pacing up and down. And when her fingers touched the bell, He spoke and wore a frown : BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 39 J "Halt, there! What are you doing at The palace gates? Come, tell. No beggars are allowed in there. So let alone that bell." " My mother, sir, is dying and Her lips are pale and dry, I have not come to beg; I want A bunch of grapes to buy. " Pray do not look so angry, sir, I will not rudely ring. Nor will I touch one grape myself, Oh ! let me .see the king." He put her little hand aside With something like i. fling, And in his sternest accents said, "You cannot see the king." It happened at this hour the Prince Was taking a slow walk Within the gardens, and he heard The child and sentry talk. The youth approached, and gently to The little maiden said: "You wish to see the king, my child, Will I not do instead? "I am his eldest son, and so I know him very well. It is my fathers rule to give; 1 never knew him sell." Ill w 40 BC/BS AND BLOSSOMS. He took her little hand and Jed Her where the vineries stood, And something dimmed his kindly eyes And stirred his honest blood. And cutting off two clusters large, In giving them he smiled, Saying: "One for mother and one for Her kind, unselfish child." When on their way back to the gates, He said: "Now, little Miss, Will you not tell me mother's name And where her cottage is?" Then, stooping, plucked four roses sweet. Pink, yellow, white and red. And as they parted at the gates, . In lower tones he said : " So mother's going up where none Have sick or weary hours. Where there are roses without thorns, And finer grapes than ours ? "Good day. The king shall hear about This little interview. Ere mother leaves for heaven she'll know His son will care for you." ^^ •^ ^^ 'I* ^» ^» ?|C This youth was princely, but we know A nobler Prince, who trod Life's thorny ways, to make for us A flowery path to God. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 4» SONS OF THE 5EA-QIRT ISLE. Dedication Poem, written at the time of the Founding of the Sons of England Society in Toronto. fJ^ROM whence came ye ? Who were your sires ? Can ye near kinship claim With that brave race and glorious land Which heads the scroll of fame ? You can call that proud land your own Which gave those heroes birth ; A land whose light illumes the world And gladdens all the earth. A land of happy cottage homes And proud ancestral halls ; A land on which the smile of God Serenely, softly falls; A land that's blest with Bible light And Heaven's most gracious smile ; Upheld by good and righteous laws, Is Britain's sea-girt isle. Standing beneath the red-cross flag— Whose glory gilds a world- Peace, happiness and love abound. Where'er it is unfurled ; Beneath that grand old glorious flag, Beneath its folds of light, ^V^ell may ye boast of pride of birth. And glory in your riglit. m 42 BC/nS AND BLOSSOMS. i jiiiktii,. Beneath its wide, wide sheltering folds, From every clime and tongue. Outcasts and homeless wanderers May find redress for wrong ; Borne high by Liberty it waves A welcome full and free; Tho' old and battle- worn, it is The prit< sp Then T think of a day, Not four monthr, fled, When that hand lay in mine, Pale, pulsele. s and dead. Yes, he died last fall. In his twenty-sixth year, With a look so triumphant O'er death and all fear. •v. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Oh, that look ' it was full Of such light from the skies, That we felt loth to close His glorious eyes. It seemed, sometimes, as I looked on his clay, That he slept, as we sleep, In-* a natural way. I took up his hand as If pressure was there, Gave a touch to his tie With the old-time care ; And, as if to enliven His waking hours. Brought water each morning To freshen the flowers. But when I remembered He'd done with all pain, I left off wishing He might waken again. I fancied I saw him In Life's upper bowers, Gazing fondly on blossoms E'en fairer than ours. Once I took up his brush, When no one was there, And gave the old turn To his glossy dark hair ; u Jrf 54 'i»;i! BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. And mingled his name in Low words that I said, As I pressed a soft kiss On his calm forehead. These fingers quivered, Yet no teardrop fell. As I pinned a white rose On his left lapel. But tear followed tear when They lowered him down Within yon brown gates* Outside of the town. That album was his, his Friends gave it to me ; Do you wonder that it A treasure should be ? I've devoted its leaves To friends who have fled: Every face you'll find there Now sleeps with the dead. 'Tis a sacred album ; Touch it tenderly, pray, And lay it down gently When you put it away. * Mount Pleasant. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 55 WOMAN'S RIGHTS. ER right to make home worthy of Its tender, hallowed name, To ever keep in memory— 'Twas for to bless she came. Her right to -mould the infant mind In all that's* true and good ; To train the yearnings of the heart To follow after God. Her right to try and lift a load From off a burdened heart ; Bid it forget its wounds, and look Where teardrops never start. Her right to gently wipe the tear From off the mourner's cheek ; To pour the oil of sympathy On hearts about to break. Her right to touch a troubled brow And smooth the ruffles there. And drop a whispered " God bless you," While kissing off a care. Her right, her sole right 'tis, to love With all her strength of soul— To wear affection's chain, and .keei. Each link completely whole.' •1 56 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Her right, her full right 'tis, to go And smooth the sufferer's bed — To bend and watch the dying face, To touch and kiss the dead. Her right to close the coffin-lid, Which hides what is so dear — Who can have better right to tend A babe or maiden's bier ? I BURNS' ANNIVERSARY. ROUND thy shrine to-day Princes and patriots meet. Poets and philosophers' Lay homage at thy feet. They celebrate the natal day, (With calm and quiet mirth) When one of nature's noblemen First saw the light of earth. They've buried all thy follies low. For they have failings too ; They know thy soul's deep agonies And struggles not a few. After a higher, nobler life Thy mighty spirit cried ; Thy sterling, independent worth E'en envy ne'er denied. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 57 They know thy earnest, heartfelt cries— Thy yearnings after rest, The hopes that bloomed to pine and find A grave within thy breast. And how that tender heart of thine With gratitude o'erflowed. Beat, throbbed with gentle sympathy O'er those in sorrow bowed ; The daisy, waving in the breeze, Its inmost chord could thriH ; The little, timid, startled mouse. Near thee could sport at will. Of Pharisaical tribe are they, Such as thou once addressed, Who will not leave, immortal bard, Thy pnncely fame at rest ; But lay thy failings open wide. That all the world may ken Thy great, grand soul was never read By these small-minded men. How carefully they cull the weeds, But trample on the flowers. And never wish to gain access Into thy hidden bowers. 'Tis generous souls, not narrow minds, Who read thy soul aright- One looks on thee at open day. The others gaze at night. V 'K '% \ >1 (57 w^ 58 BC/DS AND BLOSSOMS. And men, brave men, with feeling hearts, Are 'round thy shrine to-day, Who know that cold adversity Marked all thy chequered way. They know the deep soul-reverence Thou paid'st the Deity ; How hypocrites— like "Holy Will" — All feared a glance from thee. They're thinking how thou once was called The Meteor of the North, Altho' a steady, brilliant star. No mist could dim on earth; Whose glowing rays do still illume Thine own heroic land, And gild the waves that touch the shore Of every sea -washed strand. They see thee leave Edina's halls. While yet the worshipped one, To find the lowly, unmarked grave Of Robert Ferguson. They mark the troubled, tender tear Roll from thy proud, dark eye. That one who charmed unnumberr ' Should thus unheeded lie. ears They watch thee reverently kneel, And gently kiss the spot Where slept the blighted child of song, Whose sorrows seemed forgot. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 59 And other scenes akin to this, Their lasting love hath won— They glory in their cherished bard Being Scotia's darling son. That " Kannockburn " and " Auld Lang Syne," And " Honest Poverty," " Sweet Afton " and " Tarn's W^ondrous Tale " Had all their birth in thee. The "Cotter's Night" and "Mary's Shade," And "Man was Made to Mourn," Together with thy deathless name. On Fame's wide wings are borne. They know thy life's a nobler poem Than any from thine hand. For sinful, poor humanity ; And this is why they stand Around thy shrine, to celebrate The day that gave thee birth - AVhy Scotland's sons still proudly pay This tribute to thy worth. AV'hile sun rays glow and moonbeams shine, And planets glide along. While Spring returns and flowers bloom, And love and truth are strong, While Music's soft, subduing power Can hold the soul in sway. Brave men will meet to celebrate Thy Anniversary Day. ; 6o BUDS AND BLOSSOMS, ON REJECTION OF THE FOREGOING BY A TORONTO DAILY. ELL never mind, my bonnie bairn, This slight is no disgrace, Another twenty- fifth may see Thee show thy honest face. 'Tis hard, I know, thy heart was set On dropping one small spray Among the garlands that will be On Robin's shrine to-day. And Robin knows thou wouldst have laid Thy mite amongst the flowers, So dry thine eyes, rejected one. And wait for brighter hours. In time to come some editors May act with better grace, And not thrust little gifts aside. But lay them in their place. >V^v:. ! 1 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 6i HOPE AND TRUST. HOPE. IWlO shadows in her path are found, *l ' No wintry storms appear ; But all is bright and gay around, 'Tis summer all the year. No mournful sounds do greet her ear, No sorrow makes her sad ; * She breathes no sigh, she sheds no tear. She's mirthful, happy, glad. Sweet music greets her everywhere, In rich, deep, mellow song ; Joy, beauty, her attendants are. Wafting her steps along. TRUST. Serenely beautiful is she, Submissive, gentle, mild. Clad in soft robes of purity. The Father's favorite child. When storms do rave she calmly stands ; She fears no dread alarms ; Secure beneath His wiser hands And everlasting arms. If joys below do fade and die She leans upon His breast. Content they never fade on high, And what He wills is best. I! ■, r: It* ■ 62 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. THE DOQS IN COUNCIL. GROUP of faithful looking dogs Communed within the pound, Then one pricked up his well-bred ears, And called to all around : "Ve dogs, whose sad misfortune 'tis To be imprisoned here, To make the best of what is bad. And pass the time less drear, "My friends around me think 'twould be A plan none would regret To tell how some of us were caught Within that cruel net. "You that approve will kindly rise And show by wag of tail ; Those who oppose will please lie still And louder whine and wail. "'Tis carried; so we will appoint Someone to take the chair. I think friend Watch would well preside, And lead us with due care." The speaker was a splendid dog, With long, soft, wavy ears. And eyes that looked as if they had, Or could, shed human tears. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. A curly coat of glossy black, A sweeping, bushy tail, A dog whose mind, being once made up. Would never flinch or fail. And leading forth the dog called Watch, Who bowed his well- shaped head, And, in a pleasant voice and way, To his supporters said : "My friends, since you've appointed me, I'll do the best I can To tell you how I was entrapped Within that dirty van." "Excuse me. Watch," the leader said, "This noise must not prevail," Then cried, with a proud, scornful toss Of his commanding tail : "Order! ye crouching, ill-bred curs; Cease every howl and yell; List to our chairdog state how he In this vile bondage fell." "Now order is restored, I il try And truthfully relate How I have lost a right good home, And more than one playmate. "(Ah, friends, I miss their chubby arms Around my shaggy neck; I tell you what, it needs some pluck To keep the tears in check). «3 r(1 J I K .'if i lit 64 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. "I gamboled with them on the green, And watched them pluck wild flowers, ('Tis when in sorrow, friends, we miss, The bygone happy hours). "My master is an honest man. Good, genial, kind and free, And yet I'm fearful he'll not come In time to pay the fee. " For he has one great failing, friends, I've known it cost him dear, i^rocrastination is its name, And 'tis through it I'm here. "Our meeting, friends, tho' rather dull. Will not admit of song, So Rover, now, will tell us how He's with this fettered throng." "Dear friends, my story is more sad Than our good chairdog's told, I'm here because my master's heart Is set too much on gold. "I've licked his hand, I've leaned my head Mournfully on his knee ; Yet no bright collar, no iife- badge Would he bring home for me. "I've kept the robbers from his door While he has slept at night, And now he's lost a trusty friend, And I am doomed outright." ~" BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Chair do ^. — "The speaker who has just laid down Claims pity from us all; I'm sorry that his lot was cast With one with heart so small. " Ah, friends, I guess poor Rover could Some cruel scenes unfold, For if there's aught that hardens men It is -he love of gold. " The poet might have fairly said That dogs were ' made to mourn,' Through 'inhumanity of men ' We're brought to death with scorn. " And now I'll introduce to you One whom I much respect. My valued friend will tell you that He came through no neglect. "Friend Carlo, will you please step forth And give this audience A first-class speech abounding with Some sterling common sense?" " Imprisoned friends, our chairdog's given A right hard task to me. But I will do my best to cheer You in captivity. "My master! why, my friends, I love Each spot where he has trod. And once had hope to live until They laid him 'neath the sod. 65 .'t'J 66 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. ill III ill " Friends, if I were a gifted dog, And formed to use a pen, I'd tell the' world some royal souls Are what it terms "poor men." "I'd tell it that nobility Is often hid from sight Of glorious battles bravely won, Though not yet brought to light. " Ah, could I tell you all I know Of hope, joy, grief and fear, There's not a dog within this pound But what would drop r. tear. " But I am taking up good time. And we'll not have much more ; Our hopes, our joys, our fear^ and griefs Will very soon be o'er. " So I'll conclude with telling how I to this bond- ground came. As my brave friend, the chairdog, said, My master's not to blame. "(But, sir, are you entirely sure We've no reporters here, Some words may drop we might not care Should reach the public ear). " My home is not a wealthy heme Like some of you had here. But love, and happiness, and peace Were never absent there. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS, "My master, mistress, children three, AVere all I could desire, As time went round I only found More in them to admire. "I never saw unpleasant scenes In their domestic life; If sorrow came, my master seemed More tender to his wife. "And when he felt inclined to be Cast down at being poor, She kissed him fondly whispering There's better times in store. "Then he would draw her head low down Upon his manly breast, And say if not, IVe you, my girl, And so am truly blest. "And I would get a pat as he Hummed some small snatch of song ; Our home was never gloomy made Through business going wrong. "I always liLed the evening hour, The supper-cloth being spread, ' My master's next day's lunch prepared, The children snug in bed. "His slippers standing closely by His softly cushioned chair, My mistress with a simple knot Or flower in her hair ; 67 % fil'W ! ■ ^. ji. ii'7^1 li«l I'l 1'" BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. ;:ii';i ■"1 " The pictures gleaming from the wall, Some chosen book at hand ; The curtains drooping o'er our low Well-tended flower- stand. " Reading and music, lastly prayers, The evening hours would close ; The smiling sleepers softly kissed. They sought the night's repose. "And thus the weeks and months went round In happiness, until One morn my master was brought home Needing the doctor's skill. " I never knew my mistress well Until that illness came. Such tender gentleness I saw,— Too sacred here to name. '"Twas then I thought it best to lie Outside our garden gate To keep the noise from masters room. And better learn his state. " I tried to read the doctor's face As he would come and go, And 'twas while watching by the gate I met our cruel foe. "Excuse me, friends, I must conclude Or I'll break down I fear, There's something rising near my eye Feels very like a tear." BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Chairdog. — " Friends, if there is another world For brave dogs after this, My noble friend will have reward For his true-heartedness. "And, if there's not, his murderers Can not rob him of fame, I'm confident his friends will not Forget to prize his name "Now Dash, our president, will please Come forward on the floor; I know his heart is smarting by Being wounded to the core. "I would not call him had it not Been very truly said : 'It is the sorrowing who have got For sufferers tears to shed.'" "Dear sir, and friends, I feel too vexed To sigh or shed a tear, For 'tis throL^^h man's blind self-conceit That I am penned in here. "^>/ clever owner might have bought Lc ig since a badge for me; And, sir, I'd sooner die this death Than he should set me free. " He boasted that no dog-trapper Dare net a dog of his, And no\y he'll say 'twas through mistake That I was caught like this. 69 S AND BLOSSOMS. "Though dogs you be, you need not fear . Of growing over-wise, (I don't mean you should learn from books. But through your ears and eyes). "Through lack of knowledge you may bite Or shake a man ill dressed. Not knowing that a gentleman May wear a shabby vest. "Things often are so very far From what they seem to be. Or quite different wr d it be With some surrounding me. "But what is this I'm treading on So very neat and small. With something soothing in its touch. Like gentle pattings fall. ' ' It seems some clever dog has leaped Beyond both fate and law, For in this note our president Has pushed beneath my paw : " It plainly states in doggish lore I must my comrades telU That 'mongst the noblest born of dogs We'll be remembered well. " I've very often thought about That small, yet great word, fame. And wondered why fine minds should crave To win a lasting name. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 77 " I've puzzled over gifted men Struggling for this down here, But this kind note appears to make The mystery more clear. " 'Tis said men's ruling passions are Strongest at life's last hour, So it may be we dogs possess Something of this grand power. "Our last request is that this note Low in our graves shall lie ; With thanks to its kind sender, we Now wish you all good-bye." OH, NEVER BREATHE THOSE WORDS AGAIN. Written after hearing it said, " It shows a little mind to love one's own Country best." Oh, never breathe those words again. Lest great, grand souls should hear ! Lest thou should'st dim some hero's eye With loyalty's own tear. Rememberst thou not that one said, With his last dying sigh, " My country, oh, my country ! " Then closed his troubled eye? *!l l^'tttll fir 111 78 BUDS AND liLOSSOMS. Five sacred words, which British hearts Still fondle and caress Containing all the pathos of Their sad, sweet tenderness. The failing voice, the mournful tone, Those dying lips expressed. Is kept with pleasural)le pain In every loyal breast. " My country, oh, my country I " The dying patriot said, . And with that loving, yearning prayer. The brave, great spirit fled. War's crimson pall hung o'er our land, Her best blood was being shed. And anxious hearts and troubled souls. Bent o'er the *statesman's bed. " My country, oh, my country ! " Thrilled the whole nation through. And, as the years roll on, those words Grow beautifully new. Oh, hast thou never felt or read What love of Home can do ! Dost thou forget our Ocean -star, Or that of Waterloo ? Pitt. sX,.,- BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Thou livest within the radiant light, Which from their rays have spread, Pointing the nations from afar To our heroic dead. And hast thou never wished to kneel, Nor even softly tread, Within those hallowed halls which lead To our illustrious dead ? It cannot be ! thou must have longed To pass that glorious nave, And leave some sweet white roses on Our darling sailor's grave. "My country, oh, my country!" W^ords ever in our ears ; They have inspired -they still inspire— Our gallant volunteers. " My country, oh, my country I " What grander, loyal words Could be engraven on their hearts Or written on their swords ? Oh, never breathe those words again, Lest patriots, from earth fled. Should fear we thought unwillingly They fought and for us bled. Oh, never, never breathe them more — Would they could be unsaid ! Their echo may be rolling now. Near England's cherished dead 79 1 1 t m i " f!ni I T, ) : 1 III !»( i 80 BC/nS AND BLOSSOMS. JULY THE i2th. Written after first seeing^ the Orange Procession in Toronto, Monday, July 13th, 1874. YES I it was a brilliant scene, Dark leaden clouds gave way — The sun burst forth in rays serene- To celebrate the day ! Ah! William plucked the Papal thorn; Now freedom's rose blooms gay — And proudly were his banners borne By loyal hands to day. The Orangemen in full array, Looking so brave and bright, Do at his shrine proud homage pay For liberty and right. Young Britons, too — brave, dauntless band Toronto's hope and stay, If to the right they firmly stand, And give the truth fair play. The "No Surrender" Derry boys, Whose blood knows no decay — 'Twas Freedom and her train of joys Brought ouc their sons to-day. The Derry siege ; the Boyne campaign ! Rich Banners did display, Great William's glorious English reign Shone grandly I. right to-day. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. The Word of God blest book of books Borne open through the street, Not chained to l^locks— no savage looks Its readers now need meet ! No cruel stakes, no dreadful fires Burn men to death to-day : Man worships God as God inspires— Brave William ! cleared the way. But, Orangemen 1 stand firm and true ! The foe makes inroads sly— Remember! O remember, you The " No Surrender " cry ! And Protestants, be on your guard — (Half- Protestants 1 mean), Think, but for William's matchless reign What England now had been- Bound hand and foot in P(-::rh bonds ; I'ast in Rome's iron yoke ; But William came and broke her chains With one determined stroke I Shines round his great immortal name, A halo of pure light I Ah ! Britons know the Twelfth can claim A celebration bright. 8i 'fi •» i i. I I k'l 82 jBc/ds and blossoms. \\\\ ! !• I ■ m \ i'-^i 1 1 ' IIJI MY LITTLE IVY PLANT. 1HAVE a little ivy plant, (Tis not yet two feet high), That not my dearest earthly friend Can either beg or buy. Carnation, oleander and Fair lily I pass by. And fuchsia, full of drooping grace, To draw my ivy nigh. I touch it tenderly as I Have touched an infant's hand ; Amongst my very choicest gems. It takes a foremost stand. My little glossy favorite Possesses wondrous skill. It carries me and lets me down Near heaven's gates at will. Sometimes it whispers sweetly low. Sometimes I hear it sing; The atmosphere of heaven seems Around its leaves to cling. Now, would you know the secret of My little ivy's power. And why I prize it far beyond My choicest shrub or flower. '111! il 1 . Jl BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 83 nil M 1 ,i in And why I've watched it root and grow, And know each leaf's hirthdavj And why I cannot sell or give The little thing away. It came a tiny sprig from where Rude windiS dare never rave, From off a glossy vine that ran Around a baby's grave. ; '1 1 THE IRISH MOTHER'S PRAYER. H, but it is yourself, lady, Knows how to give relief, Knows how to warm a mother's heart When frozen o'er with grief. He was my only, only one. And his bright happy smile Has oft made up for loss of home — My Erin's fair green isle. 'Tis good and kind the friends have been. Their words were right and wise, But not one drop to ease my love Would come to these sad eyes. 'Twas when the light had left his eyes. And when his pulse grew still, 'Twas then my heart grew hard and cold Against God's righteous will. I ■ 1' 1 84 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. But when you kissed my dear, dead boy, And laid those leaves and flowers Down by his little white clasped hands That had been cold for hours ; 'Twas only then the blessed tears Came to my weary eyes, 'Twas only then a calmness came And hushed to sleep my sighs. 'Twas only then my stubborn will Would ask for grace to part — To give ; give back to Him who gave The jewel of my heart. God's blessing on your generous soul. And on your life's whole way. And when you sleep like my boy sleeps I pray the angels may Weave for your brow a crown of flowers From Eden's blest estate, And may my boy stand by and see Them crown you at the gate. And for that garland may he cull From Heaven's favor[]te bowers The fairest, sweetest, rarest sprays Of everlasting flowers. And may he be the first to meet You with a kiss above. And thank you as 1 fain would thank Vou for this act of love. ^ 4 ■\ \f BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. «5 ON THE HUHBER DISASTER. January 2nd, 1884. ^ORROW in sable garments clad, Sad visitor is here, Draping in heavy mourning robes The weeping fair new year. She 'moves the coronation crown, Worn but for pne short day, And softly twines in place of it The gloomy cypress spray. Thus robed the stricken youthful year Mourns over homes made sad. O'er broken hearts no more to know The joy of feeling glad. She weeps o'er childrtin robbed of mirth. And of a father's care ; "Ble-ss Papa," they no more will lisp At morn and evening prayer. She weep.s that death with rudest stroke And ghastliest form should come. And hurry youth and manhood in A wide unlocked for tomb. His victims not on pleasure bent, Nor crime's dark deeds to spread, But going forth that they and theirs Might lack no honest bread. f ! ;| ■tr ij ill' 86 IWDS AND BLOSSOMS. She weeps, and sadder are her tears, And lower droops her head In fullest sympathy with all Now mourning for their dead. No glimmer of the smile she wore A few short hours ago. Sharing with sisters, mothers, wives, And lovers in their woe. Then for a time in thought she leaves The sorrowing and the dead, ^Vipes from her pallid cheek the tears And lifts her drooping head. Cirateful the sad, sad scene took place, Near city kind and good, That long for pure benevolence On fames fair list has stood. ****** 'Tis sorrow's call, and thousands hear Her sad voice, far and near, I'Vom city, suburbs, towns they come. This fifth day of the year. Our stores are closed and drai)ed in black. The city bells all toll, And music's solemn melody Melts every tender soul. Foremost our gallant Grenadiers, With sorrowful slow tread, Follow the gun, with banner draped — Bearing: a comrade dead. ' BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. The cap, the l)eh, the pale sweet flowers On casket of the dead, Whisper of death, of gloom and woe, Of life and vigor fled. But oh ! those sable covered sleighs Ne'er bore such load before. No funeral cars have ever made Kind hearts more sad or sore. No sound, save sighs and muffled sobs, Comes from the mournful throng, As slowly moves the solemn train So sorrowful and long. The sun in tender pity sends A soothing, spring-like ray. To cheer the bleeding, riven hearts This tearful burial day. Winter arrayed in paler robes. Her voice hushed to a sigh. Comes forth this Saturday to bid Her coffined dead good-bye. Young year, clad in deep mourning robes, Beneath thy veil of white. Bound by its cypress wreath, we catch A gleam of grateful light. That kindliness should rear her throne, And seal it with her crest, Ip fair Toronto, proving her "Queen City of the West." 87 II 1 % -i I M 4 i... 88 BUDS AND BIOSSO2VS. lit ROAMING. t'D been roaming, I fancied, for hours, . AVhere poets may linger and dream. Nestling down amid Eden like flowers By the banks of a musical stream. How I longed that I often might rove In this realm vvith its lyrical name. And which lieth away and above The fanciful kingdom of fame. But no verse- making sinner must dare Bring hither his rythmless rhyme. For to sully the sanctified air Of music's ancestral clime. I felt tempted to ring at the gates. And learn from its lovable queen How if any amongst her estates In song-land adopted had been. Yet I knew that her children were All free-born Princes of Light, Weaving garlands and coronets rare No dust and no dimness could blight That the Goddess of Melody weeps At all inharmonious sounds. And the Angel of Harmony keeps The key of her sacred grounds. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS Hence I mastered and smothered a sigh For a place 'mongst the minstrel throng, As I saw the fair towers rise high, Which crowned the bright palace of song. 89 i ; TELL ME. iOME tell me, dear singer, pray tell AVhere your beautiful power idl lies. Which lightens and brightens sad eyes With lustre belonging the skies. Do you only seemingly live Down here amid cares and tears, And smile at the slights of this world, AVhile hushing its sighs and fears? Do you dip your invisible pen In the silvery dew of the flowers That bloom by the brooklets of bliss. And beautify heavenly bowers ? Your mission, I know, is to bless. To amuse, to comfort and charm, And to draw the tempted away From all that would sully or harm. I have gazed on the sacred leaves That crowneth your glorified brow. And yearned for a touch of the joy And a thrill of the pleasure you know. i. I i' go BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 'ill I Then whisper the knowledge, kind bard, In accents most tenderly low. For as you have called me your friend Your secrets I surely may know. TO CANADA. Written at the time of a newspaper contest of there being no poets Canadian born. Tl^OOK up, loved Canada, look up, 4ssii And cast aside thy fears ; Those doubtful friends of thine forgot Thy children's tender years. Thy boys are bright, thy girls are fair. Though they are very young; In riper years they may excel With pencil, pen or tongue. And, as to lineage, they need crave To own no better blood ; With such a motherhood as theirs, They surely should be good. Think'st thou, fond mother, that the gods Will pass thy children by Without bestowing one a wreath Of leaves that cannot die ? Remember, wisdom guards the throne On yonder lofty hill. That none have ever questioned yet The gods unerring skill ; Sill BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 91 m ets They know just how a singer's robe In every fold should fall, That he to whom their mandate comes I )are not oppose the call. They only know whose clay enshrines Their signet on the soul, They only know just where to drop The chaplet and the scroll. And, doubtless, one of thy bright boys Arrayed as bard shall be ; If so, his garland will be all Thine eyes could wish to see. If on Parnassus fingers fair Are weaving': it there now, Not all the critics in the world Can keep it off his brow. Then look, look up, dear Canada, And nevermore look down ; Rememlier, 'tis twixt earth and heaven They make a poet's crown. t!: .0^.\*^-.9>, %^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) I.I 1.25 uut- I 40 20 1.8 14 IIIIII.6 "/ <^ r >^, ^c^l e: e-j VI >> o / -^^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 4- v ^ ■^ \\ 'i^ ^\ WrS '^% ^ ^1>\ ^ m Ki^^^Hfl S .^ vj^ fA -^^\ ^ imm 92 BO^nS AND BLOSSOMS. mi\ ON THE DEATH OF AN ORGANIST. USH, musician, sorrow cometh Bearing on her arm a pall, And its heavy folds of mourning Must o'er this, thy keyboard fall ; I'm entrusted with her message, Sad, sad news I bear to thee, News that casts a shadow over All the soul of melody. In yon smitten home there lieth Calm and pale, a gifted brother, Only idol of his father. Only treasure of his mother ; L. H. W., musician. Has been called away from earth, And a dimness from much weeping Spreadeth for the loss of worth. Thou art sighing, kind musician. And thy look is asking why Must the genial, noble-hearted, And the talented thus die? He was young, so loved and useful, Yes, I understand thy sigh, Ah ! musician, there are many More than thee now asking why.-* All around the minstrel temple Low and solemn dirges creep. There your lovely, stricken goddess O'er this mystery doth weep ; - -. I BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 93 Drawing rooms and cottage parlors Have draped instruments to-day, Organs in our city churches Sob for him that's passed away. Everywhere 'mong music circles Sorrow wanders with a pall, She has shed a flood of tear-drops In our Christian Temperance hall. Dear musician, pray some poet, With his heaven- inspired skill, May twine Lyttleton, a chaplet That no withering blast can chill. Good musician, wilt thou lead me Where he lies in silent grace .^ Soon the casket-lid will cover For long time his clever face. O musician, those cold fingers That have laid aside their skill, Have so thrilled me, I would kiss them. Take me there while all is still. * * mt * sH List, musician, I could fancy, Standing by this coffin side. That, that was his touch on harpstrings Up amongst the glorified. * Hi if ^ % i|c Let us wipe away those tear-drops That have on his fingers fell, He might fancy we're believing That this is a last farewell; »i -tiil B '&■ .hi'' 94 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Stoop and kiss him very, softly, Bid him farewell for awhile, If he's looking down from heaven. Let him see we try to smile. Thanks, musician, I must leave thee Now this sacred duty's o'er. Let us make a parting promise That we'll grieve like this no more. Come, musician, I am waiting. Promise while thy hand's in mine, Think, O think of friends who met him As he stept on soil divine — P. P. Bliss and kindred spirits, Some we've often yearned to know, My dear brother, I'm not asking That thy tears shall cease to flow ; True, I know not what thou feelest And thou can'st not thy grief tell. But that pressure seals thy promise, Sincere mourner, fare thee well. ■M "~>^ -V-.- BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 95 TO THE SEVENTY-SEVEN CONTESTANTS. On the rejection of all the manuscripts for prize offered by the graduates of ilcQill, Montreal, for a jubilee poem, prize to be awarded April 30th, 1887. [Y fellow-scribblers, what's amiss? There's something sadly wrong; 'Mongst seventy-seven pens, not one Could frame a loyal song. At such a time, with such a theme, Cold shivers o'er me creep ; What wonder if the dead should sigh, And angels sit and' weep. We've all insulted our good Queen, In this triumphal year, By weaving nonsense that must shock A college-cultured ear. Impossible ! to grant the prize ; What ! pay us for our crimes } My brethren, is there blacker guilt Than stringing doggerel rhymes? A learned professor and a 'squire Have justly answered "No," And our good Canon must blow all The sinners down to woe. v.i" hj= i;J: ;i'^ •U,,(. 'Tis done, we seventy-seven now Are lying in a row, — A knowledge-blast from Montreal Has come and laid us low. (d 96 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 'Yet we may rise, as 'twas no l)all To shatter heart nor head ; Soma may be stunned and several hurt, But none of us are dead. How simple 'twas to fancy we Could form a line at all, Or think a stanza e'er was made Outside a college wall. Yet we have fancied Burns once lived And lined that Scottish tale. And other minds, akin to his, Could heights of glory scale. That some who feared to mount or climb Had glorified the vale. What foolish poetasters we ! No wonder all should fail. How should we know that graduates From out those lofty schools Could change the day from first to last For making April fools. /St P. S.- * li &, What think you, seventy-six, if we Our contest sheets compile— Bring out a doggerel volume that Would some weak minds beguile. \ fc- 1- BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 97 Our seventy-seven manuscripts Might pass for poetry, As every critic in the world As still as death would be. They would not lift a pen to soil, Or sully their rare skill By tampering with the verdict that Has issued from McGill. I know not any of the names, Of v/hat your offsprings be; I named my own rejected one A dream of jubilee. You're welcome to my castaway To help this book to make. What say you, unknown friends, shall we Our rhymes together rake.? Our volume should ha've some design, Looking like Poesy's crest, So some may think they see her seal On all its pages rest. How do you think a broken crown Would suit this book of ours.? Composed of seventy-seven sprays Of imitation flowers. 2nd P. S— • - Dear Versifiers, I have learned There is a darker crime rQi- ^ Than any rhymster could commit - J^ ^ :. :^^ By linking up vile rhyme. * ' . ii' , 1 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. We muht be very careful if We try again to win Some prize, that the awarders arc Oood men who hate all sin. For, oh ! my brethren, 1 have had A horrifying thrill By learning Neil, the poisoner, was A graduate of McGill. -I ll*' "ii & A DREAM OF JUBILEE. THOUGHT all lands were kecpin; A time of festive glee, A glorious demonstration Of light and liberty. All thrones were doing homage And sceptres were laid down At feet of one long gracing Old England's royal crown. 'Mid brilliancy and splendor, And blissful revelry, There came a pause, a moment Of sweet tranquility ; Loud mirth sank down to silence, Whilst softest melody Conveyed congratulations From kings across life's sea. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. W Following the sacred gladness 'rhat came to earth from heaven, A mandate full of sweetness From Poesy's clime was given, Bidding some favorite song-child His full-tuned lyre to bring, And lay in faultless touches His fingers on each string. Arise and celebrate it, In bright heroic line ; The minstrel and his parchment Must bare our sacred sign. I heard this proclamation. The gods' decisive will, As it came floating earthward, Down from the poet's hill. And in my soul I pitied The singer of the song, His theme a reign of glory Twice twenty-five years long; Poor bard, I felt so for him, I bowed my head to pray The spirit of John Milton Might aid him with his lay. I seemed to be in London, 'Neath dome of proud St. Paul's, And then in old Westminster- Most cherished of her halls; iM' M ! ' 1 ll ? WA mm lOO /JC/DS AND BLOSSOMS. While here, my prayer seemed answered, The poet's scroll was signed, And, by a smile from Poesy, 1 saw it pleased her mind. And then 1 roamed contented Through fair and weedless bowers, And revelled 'mid the beauty Of culture's fragrant flowers. The singer was approaching, I saw the signet's glow; The seal from Mount Parnassus Was gleaming on his brow. A poet to do justice When singing of my queen ! And warbling forth the greatness Those fifty years had seen 1 I wept, I was so thankful A bard had been inspired To sing of my loved sovereign Just as the gods required. 1 had from years quite early Loved and revered my queen, Though only once in girlhood Had I our lady seen, 'Mong many tiers of children, I in a bottom row. Beheld the royal carriage ' ' Pass through our ranks full slow. I i Itte ; ii I'll ill ii ill JU/DS AND lU,OSSOMS. lOI We sang the Nationiil Anthem, Our lady shed some tears As we in song asked heaven 'I o bless her many years : Prince Consort sat beside her, The scene rose in my dream ; I thought how good and happy That man and woman seem. I scarcely knew the meaning Of native, inborn grace, But my young heart was captured . By something in each face ; Soon after this, dark sorrow- Flooded England like high tide : Black robes wore that December When good Prince Albert died. Brave men and gentle women Blended their tears and sighs, Mourning like fondest mother Mourns when her first-born dies ; At morn and evening's altars Fathers were heard to pray— God cheer our weeping lady In this her darkest day. Maidens along with mothers All sobbed, and said "Amen," And manly elder brothers Wept like their sisters then: i \ . • \ b .jH.ii M ^M ■ m i IV 11 1 ' i' . >fl {' J fall ^1 '-jI i ^m &|^^H ^-fin •,^msm I ^ ft; ( ^IPP' WNW^?P «li^ ifwp 't '(^ I " P 102 ^^^/^.V AND BLOSSOMS. How solemn looked the churches, Black drapery everywhere, The grief clad moaning organs Seemed smitten with despair. Now while the earth was chanting A glad thanksgiving hymn, Methought my sovereign's eyes grew sad And sorrowfully dim: 1 whispered "(iracious. Lady!" Loved monarch, tell me why. When all the earth's rejoicing, Why does my lady sigh ? ; Kind ruler, all thy subjects, (Save few rebellious ones), Love thee with love as pure and deep As those who guard thy guns, My queen, then why this dimness— This mist from hidden tears, When the whole world is singing o'er Thy rule of fifty years? Thy fair colonial daughters Are dancing to the glee, And India's sons proclaiming this A righteous jubilee ; And Love and Reverence standeth With hand clasped firm in hand, Bel olding waves of gladness Now flooding every strand. ""---- JWDS AND BLOSSOMS. lo- The ^i^iins roar loud witli laughter, In their most natural way, I'hey're thundering forth their merriment In honor of the day : IVue-hearted, loyal servants, Ready and willing they, Should any dare insult thy crown, Strong vengence to display. Flags waft their joy to banners, Banners flutter and reply ; The roses lead the flowers All decked in sweetest dye : Bells toss and reel with pleasure, 'I'hey fling out peal on peal, And talent vies with genius Their rapture to reveal. And gentlest winds from heavcji On harp-chords linger long, Victoria ! Victoria I The keynote of their song, Victoria I Victoria ! Possessing every grace. For half a century filling well Her God-appointed place. List, lady! still the sweet notes Along the strings are ringing. And harpers in the tearless world Have joined the zephyrs singing. m B ,i 'Mi m i i: ■vj. 104 B[/DS AND BLOSSOMS. Wide-visioned, fair musicians, My lady do you hear, What love and loyalty will do To celebrate this year. They sing of lofty columns, And temples that will rise From lavish hands and kindly hearts To lessen tears and sighs ; Oh, madam, you have listened To strains most sweet and clear. But melody sublime as this Has never reached your ear. Pray, is my sovereign troubled On this bright day with fears That her devoted people may Change with the coming years? My monarch looked up quickly, And firmly shook her head, "No, no; but I am missing so Departed ones," she said. At this I heard a movement, A rustling but no tread ; I looked, immortal Albct bent Low o'er my Sovereign's head ; He spoke in accents fondly : "Go mingle in the glee, '^'" "' '■"^'^'- All heaven is glad that earth now keeps This joyous jubilee." BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. J05 I saw, at little distance, Another group being sent, 'Mongst them fair Charlotte's husband, And Edward, Duke of Kent. But Albert brought the Duchess, Our Queen's beloved mother, And lovely Alice leaning on The kind arm of her brother. The loved, the clever Leopold Smiled wonderfully sweet As Alice laid a wreath of flowers Down at her mother's feet. I woke just as the radiant four Had tender kisses given, So pleased I'd seen a garland made From lilies grown in heaven. A BRITISH HERO. IDST flash of bayonets, roar of guns. High did their standard wave; Proud Britain well may boast her sons Foremost amongst the brave. In hardship, hunger, knew no fears. They fought, though scarce ahve ; No Briton can forget the years Of fifty-four and five. ii 'I io6 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Mothers gave up their l)est-loved sons, Should life or death betide, And loving wives their cherished ones With true, heroic pride. Some went from huml)le cottage homes, Some from ancestral halls ; Rent tender ties in those dear homes To meet with shells and halls. And some returned bearing the wreath— The victor's wreath and name, - But homes once bright were clad in grief Because no loved one came. Far off some sleep, illustrious dead ! Their names can never die ; They bravely fought and nobly bled, And o'er those graves we sigh. One of those noble heroes fell By Russian treachery, Long will his deeds and bravery dwell In British memory. 'Twas night ; the air was chill and damp, From prayer he rose, and then Walked softly through the silent camp, Where slept his gallant men. A farewell look came in his eye , As o'er some forms he bent ; The March winds sighed a mournful sigh, And sobbed around his tent. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. lo- Why would not slumber visit him On this cold, misty night? Why o'er his men his eyes grow dim, And England seem in sight ? Why think so much of friends and home With sorrow-shaded joy? Why should his mother's voice now come : "Our country needs my boy?" Why should he press more tenderly The locket near his heart. And think of realms unceasingly Where lovers never part ? While wandering forth those thoughts he spoke. And caught a movement, when He hastened back and quickly woke His brave two hundred men, ' Told them the foe was stealing near. In numbers that would test Their soldiership, but not a fear Of that was in his breast. Two thousand Russians that March night Came creeping slow and sly ; He bade his men lie calmly (|uiet Until they heard his cry. Soon on the solemn midnight air His voice rose clear and high : " Up ninety-seventh I up and dare T To drive them back or die ! " ft* '. :t ! io8 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. He leaped amid the deadly foe, " This way, my men ! " his cry. "To death or victory we go ! But Britain's foe must fly I » Death-wounded yet he still fought on ; Once more his voice rose clear : " Brave ninety-seventh, the victory's won I " - Then dropped with his last cheer. (It seemed as if an angel's hand Had cleared the murky sky, For the unclouded moon appeared Pointing where he did lie). His gallant men rushed midst the foe, Their dying leader raised; Hot tears fast fell, they loved him so, So worthy to be praised. "Whom carry you?" fell on their ears. His name, they spoke it low. They knew his death would call forth tears Where tears did seldom flow. They paused to wet his paling lips With cooling water pure. And saw the smile which did eclipse The death-look that he wore. Again they moved with mournful pace ; ^ ^ He faintly, calmly speaks: " I'm going, cover o'er my face. Heaven's glory on me breaks." SfS I -» i iltllt BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. He went just as they laid him down, Died at his own tent door ; And he had won a rarer crown Than earthly victors wore. Ah, who can picture what they felt; What farewell words were said ? When by his foreign grave they knelt, And parted from their dead. A place in every noble heart Their captain long will claim. And tears of pride and grief will start At Hedley Vicar's name. 109 i . ^. BABY ROSA. IRST to leave us little treasure, Faded suddenly away Like a broken rose-bud droopeth While unfolding to decay. But we look, sweet little sleeper. From thy bed beneath the snow- Where we'll take our gifts of flowers . When the grass begins to grow — First in heaven, Baby Rosa, From our group of household flowers. In thci guardian care of Angels, Care so far surpassing ours. •' it 1 'A>.t\ no BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Dare we wish thou had'st lived longer, Little guest of nine short weeks, Now thou know'st, O blessed knowledge, How the Saviour smiles and speaks. Could we see thee. Baby Rosa, See thee as in heaven thou art. We would wear no folds of mourning, None but tears of joy would start. Never would we bend in sorrow Where thy folded robes are found, Never murmur that Mou.ii Pleasant Claims from us a little mound. First in heaven, happy baby. Free from earthly taint and dross. How we blunder, little Rosa, When we call translation loss. First of ours to look on Jesus, — ., Joy of all heaven's joys beside, Happy, happy, happy bal)y. To have seen the Crucified. 7^^-^ BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. I I T REHOVAL OF SONG'S FOREHOST STAR, October 6th, 1892. MOURNFUL silence spreadeth wide Round cot and palace fireside, A sacred, (^iiiet, hazy spell Is resting over hill and dell, A tender sadness doth prevail. And England standeth calmly pale, Her favorite bard 'mid mild moonlight Is bidding her and earth good-night, While Britain mourns, he tranquil lies Within full view of fairer skies ; Soon will those lips be sealed and cold. Through which the "May Queen" smoothly rolled. His lyre will seem a useless thing AVithout his hand to touch a string. Ii Hards gather round the gates of heaven That fitting welcome may be given. We notice by one jewelled door 'I'he poet Scott and several more ; The British singers all agree. That bards of every land must see The coming in of Tennyson — Whose earthly work is all v/ell done. His escort from their ranks have gone, Now who shall be the favored one Their coming brother first to see When England sets her minstrel free, .___ The peer of rhythm soon will be 112 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Across the mellow moonlit sea, Who shall be favored with first sight And greet him to these halls of light? Longfellow, Lowell, Bryant say, (If Albion's singers say not nay) Let loving Whittier step outside To watch him soar above death's tide. 1^ A Is , ; '.ti ..it- We see known faces 'mongst the throng Now waiting fi ^ the lord of song, Poor Edgar Pc t looks sad no more (He must havj found his lost Lenore) He's whispering to young Chatterton, Whose grief and anguish all seem gone, They each are fingering a lyre — Strings laden with seraphic fire. To-day they both may feel regret That all God's laws were not well met, Doubtless their converse does regard The coming and expected bard, They might have come the same as he. Crowned with divine prosperity. Laden with years, life's path well trod. Blessing mankind and pleasing God. * Now Whittier smiles and earthward moves, Recliners rise from restful groves, And every bard lifts up his lyre, Their princely brother's soaring higher. v-\ '■? BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. "3 * While moonbeams glorified his bed, 'Twas whispered, England's bard is dead, Our kingly singer's crossed death's tide And laid his royal pen side. Ascended to his long mourned friend Where broken friendships have an end, Where age and weakness come no more And earthly seemings all are o'er, Heaven satisfies his noble soul. Yet England's tear-drops slowly roll, Half down their masts her flags all creep. Her bells are moaning o'er his sleep, Sadly her cables send afar— Removal of song's foremost star. ****** England beloved, lift up thy brow. See how thy bard is smiling now. Lose not the greeting on yon strand, John Greenleaf's grasping Alfred's hand. No mourning there across earth's line Where bards are sipping heavenly wine. * * * , * He England's fair realms, so blest of (iod. Birthplace of sons brave, wise and good. Wipe off thy tears, thy grief resign. Rejoice that Tennyson was thine.. * "4 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. ACROSTIC. (Alfred Tennyson, Poet Laureate.) NOINTED singer, kingly bard, Look dow ■• in pitiful regard : Forgive those little essay- men Reviewing thy God-guided pen, Each one and all as they amuse. Distinguished poet, pray excuse. They may be doing strange, wild things, Examining thy Muse's wings. Noting each snow-tipped feather there — Not all are even ! may declare — Your silent lyre — most sacred thing, Some even dare adjust a string. Others are trying on thy crown — Not mindful of its maker's frown. Pure Saxon words are thine, bright peer. Orderly grouped with skillful care. Entwined in lines well- matched and wed. To please, * to profit heart and head. Loved and acknowledged by our queen. All thy best deeds her eye hath seen. Under her proud and haPowed dome, Rest, royal worker, in thy tomb, England drops on thy regal bier A tender smile, a grateful tear; ^ Turns o'er thy pages, whispering low. Enshrined in beauty's dimless glow. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. i>5 '% A CHILD-BARD'S GRAVE. ¥OU tell me you have stood beside A child-bard's slumbering clay, Have looked upon the sacred ground Where the young songster lay. You say it was a lovely plot 'Mid flowers here rarely seen, It seemed as though an angel's hand Had trained the twining green. "Our Poet Boy" on marble scroll Was all I hat marked the spot, No mention of his name or age. Or of his earthly lot. Ah, friend, a child-bard could not long Stay in a world like ours ; No wonder that you fancied heaven Had loaned his grave some flowers. So fair a soul was sure to soar To spirits near akin ; Heaven was his home, he could not stay 'Mid sorrow, care and sin. When, by God's grace, I enter through The fair, wide gates of joy, Have looked on Christ and those I've loved, I'll look round for that boy. ' \ -'t k: -la T ^-^^ ft- f i« '^'■4 ii6 BUDS AND BLOSSOMr, (lO leave me for awhile, my friend, I want to be alone, I want to think al)Out that form Heneath the marble stone. Yes, leave me for a little while, And come again ere long, IJut I must be alone to think About that child of song. ****** A child-bard's grave ! oh, could I kneel And softly kiss the sod, And stay awhile near that sweet boy . Who knew so much of God. JJeside that dead young poet I Could pass some calm, blest hours, I'd plead so softly witli the moss, And gently sue the flowers To tell me of the ways and looks Of that young singing boy. Who charmed a mother's heart and thrilled A father's soul with joy. I would have liked to kiss that boy Upon his cheek and brow. And stroked his soft, silk, wavy hair Of brown or golden glow. And I would like to read those songs, .^— The musings of his soul; How tenderly I'd gaze upon The fair, unsullied scroll. r:7:.-£?:'?:s^t^'"'»^?«g'r^»wg*'«w»»^ BUDS AND lU.OSSOMS. 117 I'd raise it gently to* my lii)s, For one iinpassioiied kiss; E'en while I think about the hoy I feel an inward bliss. It seems as if his spirit fair NVas hovering o'er me now; Was that the fluttering of his robe That lightly fanned my brow? O, can it be, bright, happy boy, That thou, indeed, art near? Was it thy little angel hand Brushed off that wandering tear ? No earthly hand could ever touch So softly human cheek. It must be so, blest unknown boy, For didst thou not then speak? Such melody could only come P>om thy fair homl^ of light ; Such visitors are only those Arrayed in softest white. Then this rare sweetness cometh from Thy crown of fadeless flowers, Some heavenly poetess has culled From out your radiant bowers. With what artistic skill and grace She twined thy garland rare, " •' And placed the beauteous coronet „„ Amid thy sunny hair. c ■,■1: i ff 1'!.,! r^'M ¥ i - it8 Jj(/£>S and blossoms. : Could it be Hemans, blissful boy, Who fashioned thee thy crown? O I am highly fnvored by Such knowledge coming down. Fair visitant, from angel-bards, ,,' What sweet mysterious tie. Has brought thee from the radiant throng Of singers in the sky ? Sweet, gentle spirit, are thou come To comfort and inspire? O hast thou left thy glorious home * To tell me my desire Shall be fulfilled, when I have done The work that God has given, Shall know thee well when I arrive At thy sweet home in heaven. Bright messenger, bear back my thanks For this sweet hour of bliss, My more than joyous gratitude For fellowship like this. --^. ■p BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 119 QUIETUDE. @ how sacredly sweet Is this calm quiet hour, With no company near Save a favorite flower, On this mild summer morn. How far my thoughts stroll ! I would like to converse With a glorified soul. Perchance some kind spirit Hears my silent request. And may leave for awhile The sweet joys of the blest, Some beautified spirit Long time from earth gone. Whose robes of soft grace Angel hands have put on ; Some youthful believer, Highly favored of God, Being called early to dwell In His sinless abode. If the language of heaven Is the language of love, Many traits we own here We'll retain when above. nil I 'H m vpvi I20 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Ill m i III A ^-1 And as friendship's sweet tie With the grave does not end, I may have thir, morning An invisible friend. * * ' # * Hush ' be silent, my soul ! Lay thy musings away, Someone's coming all clad In beauteous array : Is it Ellen, dear Ellen, Who by no tie of blood, Was so linked to my soul And loved for being good ; Draw nearer, kind spirit I Come lower, still lower. And commune with me in Tranquility's bower. O, dearly beloved, What a pleasure is this. Oft I've wanted to know More of heavenly bliss. But, needless to question, P"or thy tender embrace Has revealed me so much Of that beautiful place. * * * * I fancied the blessed Had forgot how to sigh. For we read there's no pain. Sin or sorrow on high. V i:l BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 121 Thou sayest a something- All begotten of love, Resembling sadness, Visits spirits above. AV^hen believers grow worldly, 'Most forgetting God's word, Or loving some creature More than Jesus their Lord, 'Tis then that there cometh A dimness on high ; Then I must, O my friend. Caused thee almost to sigh. Yet, scanning thy features I can gather no sign That one shadow has crossed O'er [his beauty of thine. Thou smilest so rarely, Had'st thou loved me aught less, 1 should think I had caused Thee no tinge of distress. Art thou gathering thy robes Lest they touch earthly things.? list to that sound Like the rustling of wings. Thine escort is coming ! They are nearing ; good-bye, " 1 dare not detain thee. But am tempted to try. / It 1 £ 'I' 'ill m^BBmmm i M 123 ,-^i^^.: BdnS AND BLOSSOMS. IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. "Rejoicing: in Hope, Patient in Tribulation." VER, forever over, All weariness and pain, No widowhood, no sorrow Will ever come again. The message just has reached me That thou from earth hast fled, And yet no sighs are rising, No teardrops do I shed. I think of keen, deep suffering, Of long affliction o'er, And of thy husband clasping His happy wife once more : Of a radiant child in glory Being folded to thy breast, Of joys now thine surpassing All thou had'st ever wished. Of angels coming forward To lead thee to thy Lord, Of sweeter songs in Heaven On hearing His reward : I take down memory's volume And where it speaks of thee, I see thy ways and converse With God's commands agree. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 12' The page on friendly visits To this dear home of mine, I scan the faithful record, But find no blotted line : I close the volume softly, After a scarchmg look. Thankful thy name has added Some beauty to the book. «t; TO MY ROBIN ON GOING TO ENGLAND, 1880. rajIRDIE, wilt thou go with me hsL To my home across the sea ? I will promise thee when there Thou shalt lack no love or care. Have the food thou likest best. Be with pretty words addressed. Room to hop and ope thy wings, Light and air and kindred things. Thou wouldst miss me much, I fear, If I was no longer here — Miss the many nameless things That around thy bird-life clings. Arthur, he would love thee well. Naught would tempt him thee to sell, Give thee with untiring care. Every moment he could spare. !• i4 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. But the daytime would seem long, \Vith no notice of thy song : \Vilt thou bear me company, Where thou wouldst not lonely be? Thou shalt see the skylark soar, Over daisied field and moor. Pride of all the songster throng, 'J'hou shalt listen to his song. Dost thou wish to go with me, And the little linnet see? Hear the thrush and nightingale Flood with melody the vale? Hear my native valleys ring When the morning songsters sing ; Then again at close of day Hear their glad thanksgiving lay. V>y thy hopping too and fro, 'Tis thy wish I see to go. But thy joyous twitter quell, AVhilst a truth to thee I tell: \ Listen, Robbie, this May morn. Thou from me might'st have been borne, For a buyer came to see If I wished to part with thee. \~^ ■, Said he ; " Madam, if you will, Here's a crisp five-dollar bill." . But I firmly shook my head, " Robb must go with me," I said. li,. -• BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 125 Came to mind that summer day When thou might'st have flown away, Hanging in the shade outside With thy cage door open wide. Ahj thou knoA^est by some sign That 'tis settled, birdie mine. Thou art going along with me To my home across the sea. ( • 'f; ,' ' ' «■ ill 1 1 i ON THE DEATH OF- MY ROBIN. In England, 1882. Tl MUST twine thee a garland, my sWeet, ^ Though my flowers be ever so poor, For ungrateful, indeed, would I be If I did not thy absence deplore. Friends told me 'twas foolish and weak When they caught me dropping some tears, O'er the loss of thy winsome wee ways. And thy song-life of five happy years. They have spoken of selling thy cage, Or of some other bird being there, But I'll dust it and keep it amongst The things that have claim on my care. In that cage thou earnest over the sea When the maples were donning new bloom, And I meant it to carry thee back To thy sunny Canadian home. --- i [$r J 1 - t T26 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. And there seemeth within those blue wires Some shade of my dear little friend, 'Mid the sorrowful silence that reigns, Some melody seemeth to blend. Oh, to die at the coming of spring, ' At the birth of the sunshine and flowers, When all songsters are hailed with delight, And Nature's preparing their bowers. Nestling low are thy flutterless wings On thy little pink burial bed. On the fairest geranium leaves Is pillowed thy pretty black head. O thy company ne'er wearisome grew. Not even in solitude's hours ; Thy remembrance is mournfully sweet, Like the lingering fragrance of flowers. Many thanks for thy sweet life of song ; Yea, thy memory shall be caressed, For the loud, joyous notes that rung through Yon dear little cot in the west. 'Mid the beauty of childhood and flowers, Near the door of a friend, is thy rest, And no bird-stuffer ever shall touch Or ruffle thy deep orange breast. That no voices discordant or rude Near our little pet sleeper should come ; We have laid thee in confidence down By a lovable, English home. p^i^ BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 127 The wee red-breasts of England will bring To thy grave some offering to lay ; E'en the poor little sparrows will come A sorrowful tribute to pay. And sweet songsters from valley and dell Will come in the happy spring days To the silent wee stranger's green bed With tender niemorial lays. Then I'll leave thee in beautiful care, No slight or neglect need I dread, For the birds and the children will guard My dear little poet's wee bed. Bertha, Edith, with Ethel and Fred, When I am far over the wave, Will remember 'mid laughter and play The little Canadian's grave. Then sleep, sleep, little singer, sleep on ; At death a bird bardie may rest. O rest deep, and unbrokenly long, The critics will never molest. W0 ^'^ ^ II I I2S BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. '% THE SPANISH GIPSY GIRL. 'UEEN of Spain's wandering tril)e was she, '. With soft, sad eyes of brilliancy, Dark as the raven's wing. Her step came gentle, soft and slow, Her voice, so mellow, swtet and low, Did music with it bring. 'I'he jest was hushed when she drew near ; A softer look each brow would wear — Her presence mildness lent : Her pure sweet smile and graceful mien \Vere lovely traits, and oft were seen On some sweet mission bent. She wandered to an artist's room. How could such beauty and such bloom Escape an artist's eye.'* Beauty his aim, his soul's delighi. Beauty in every form and light Must to his canvas fly. Painting was he an altar-piece. She sat her down with grace and ease, , And watched his moving hand. Day after day she silent sat ; She ne'er had seen a face like that --7— - ^ In Spain's fair sunny land. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 129 "Whose can it be?" at length she said, "That beautiful, that thorn-crowned head — Senor, who can he be? Why wears he thorns on brow so fair? What mean those cruel blood drops there- Beauty in agony? " That look ! it makes my bosom swell ; W^hat love, deep tender love doth dwell In his dim glazing eye ! Tell me, Senor, who can it be. What means that look of agony, Why dying thus— oh why?" "Why, 'tis the Saviour Christ," he said, "Of course you know that, in our stead, He died on Calvary." "I never heard the name before; Oh, Senor, you must tell me more !— His life, his history. "Died in our stead! why, Senor, why — How can it be that he should die, And thus for you and me? Senor, you must it all explain ; I think you said Christ was his name? Tell me who Christ can be. " But did he wear a look so rare ? ^Vhat deep compassion dwelleth there, Yet grief intense I see: Thorns must have caused him pain most keeUj But oh, what can that death-scene mean, And where is Calvary ? ■4 1 &. »3o JWDS AND BLOSSOMS. v: ' n u I n "Tell me, Senor, oh tell me why That gentle one should suffer, die. On a rude cross for me : I would have kissed that bleeding brow ! Oh, Senor, tell, and tell me now, Why did he die for me?" The artist's hand fell at his side ; He gazed upon the Crucified As he ne'er gazed before ; Then read the words his hand had traced — Words that shall never be erased. But live when time's no more. It was one verse, and only one — The sixteenth of the third of John, Placed 'neath his work, now done. He read, and read, and read it o'er : "So loved the world." Could God do more Than give His only Son ? Light broke— bright, glorious light divine. He looked away from Mary's shrine To Christ xnd Christ alone. A new-born joy neamed in his eye. Christ Jesus, Prince of Life, did die — ' i J Did for all sin atone. He ne'er had deeply thought before : For fame he worked, for nothing more; ' Now fame for Christ must fly. Turning, he saw the girl's dark eye . Fixed on his work, and heard her sigh: "Will he not tell me why?" -..:^-- ■I '3' nuns AAD ryWssoA/s. ♦'Tell thee? () yes, I'll gladly try To tell of Him, how, where and why For a lost world He died." Redemption's plan for Adam's fall, ^Vith soul new-born, he saw it all, And loved the Crucified. ^Vith burning zeal, heart filled with love. He told how Christ came from above- Christ, spotless undefiled ; How the incarnate Son of God The path of toil, of suffering trod, And how He was reviled. ^\'eary and worn, went doing good ; Wept, groaned and prayed, then shed PI is blood. And ill a grave did lie. The cross he bore, with all its shame, 'Twas thus he did the world reclaim. Now all may live— none die. Tear after tear ran down her face— Joy-drops did one another chase. ",Thank you, Senor," she said. "1 understand it-— every part; A heavy load has left my heart; I feel for me He bled. '"Tis such a wondrous story all. Our father Adam's sin and fall. And Christ our Saviour's birth. Senor, I'll love Him while I've breath, — - And think of His grand life and death Long as I live on earth. _- - N 1 r 132 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. m s . i f i I IS ?!■ " He lives, you say, no more to dit;, Not thorned, but glory- crowned on high, A mighty Victor- King, W^orshipped, adored by seraphs there. Yet stoops to hear the faintest prayer That broken hearts may bring. " So now I need not sigh and weep, Nor dread that cold, deep solemn sleep Which 1 have feared so long : Now peace, sweet peace, pervades my breast, On Him that died I now will rest, His love shall be my song." 5(* J^ 3jC 3(C jJC 5|> And now the veil of gloom was rent ; She spoke of Christ where'er she went — Told of His matchless love : The touching story of the cross Refined her soul of all its dross, IMd all her actions move. And thus time fled with rapid wing. The girl her deep, sweet joys did sing As she now dying by : Softer and brighter grew her eye. And oft she whispered, " He did die. And !)ore my sins away," More beautiful her smile became, More sweetly whispered she His nauic, In tranquil, holy glee; ' Twas on her lips both night and day, ' I'wns heard jpst as she passed away — "Christ Jesus died for me." ; - BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 133 ELOQUENT TEARS. (On seeing a child weep over reading the story of a dog's fidelity ) IliEAUTIFUL, eloquent tears, my boy, -i^ Nay, wipe them not away, Fm gazing through them to the years Of manhood's distant day. Those drops are telling me what thou Wilt be in after years ; Whole pages have I read in those Few sympathetic tears. Those glistening drops of beauty wiiich From thy soft brown eyes roll. Reveals to me of what there is Deep buried in thy soul. The world may know when I have done With earthly hcpes and fears. What I have read this afternoon In those few sacred tears. ■+| ! * I A 11 1 * I !h' 1. ;i! fe^ 134 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. EDDIE'S PICTURE. Written by request, to be placed under a photog^raph taken awhile before death. IS so like our darling Eddie, After sickness struck the blow, After death had set his signet On the little sufferer's brow. Not like Eddie when he revelled. Full of happy, childish glee. Filling home with mirth and gladness With his baby witchery. Image of dear, dying Eddie, How we pri/ie this relic, how ! O, but could we have a picture Taken as he's looking now. We would never, never murmur That death stole life's early glow. We would even thank the robber, Could we see our Eddie now. V ■ ■;f BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 135 A DREAH. WAS a lovely morn on God's blessed day, The bells chiming sweetly " come hasten to pray," By the window they placed my invalid chair, And the peal of the organ floated forth on the air : 'Neath its soft, soothing sound I sank in a dream, And entered the church with the worshipping stream. To the pew where I went one came with soft glide, And smiling most sweetly sat down by my side. In musical tones he said, " Mortal I'm here — I am sent to gather the incense of prayer, Now mark, what I write will be prayer alone. For none but heart- breathings I bear to the throne." Then the service began and long prayers were said, But the angel bowed low his beautiful head, And a shadow like pain passed o'er his fair brow, Not a mark had his heavenly tablets to show. When I looked again the shadow was gone, His eyes were full bent on a poor looking one, His wings rioved softly, he had written a prayer. No sound had I heard, but the writing was there. Then his eyes went around from pulpit to pew, He glanced at his tablets and murmured, " How few ; Yet here there are numbers who kneeling declare That this building is truly a temi)le of prayer:" 1 136 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. " We seraphs bow low and do humbly adore The Redeemer who came man's loss to restore." Then folding his tablets he his snowy wings spread, And waking, I found my fair neighbor had fled. (( mi- WITH CMRIST, WHICH IS FAR BETTER." ITH tears we prayed, and hoped It was our Father's will, That Martha might regain her strength And tarry with us still. Short time before she crossed On to the stormless shore. The answer came, " With Christ she shall Be well for evermore." ''With Christ is better far." This message dries our tears. " With Christ," where love and joy will reign Throughout eternal years. Blest one, we will not wish Thee for a moment back ; We would not have thee take one step Along life's backward track. "W^ith Christ," no more to sigh, Nor ever weep again ; "With Christ," yet whispering to thy friends: *' No loss do you sustain." 1 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. m O parents, look ! — look up ! Miss not the comfort given From radiant smiles and soothing words Your Martha sends from Heaven. "With Christ," O happy girl ! Great is thy blessedness ; No tongue, no earthly eloquence Thy rapture can express. " With Christ " and hosts of friends, Some never known before ; " With Christ," and all that message means, We cannot wish for more. WITH LIZZIE. ELOVED daughter, oft we pause — When mourning thee not here. To hush the rising sigh and wipe Away the falling tear. And render thanks to God that thou Gave in thy early days Thy heart's best love to Christ, thy Lord, And walked in righteous ways. Grateful we feel that thou didst seek _ The path that led to heaven ; And that some stars are in the crown Christ's hand to thee hath given. III It ' H I ' 111 iW .l-t"'*-" 138 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Tears fall l)ecause we have not now Thy much-loved face to kiss ; Sighs rise because thy loving words And kindly deeds we miss. How hard we strove to keep thee here When heavenly voices came : Thou lingered with us, generous girl, Till Jesus called thy name. Thou didst not chide us, dearest one, Nor wilt thou from above ; Thou understandest clearly now How fondly parents love. With happy sister Lizzie thou Now shar'st a joint employ, As guardian angels to attend Us in our grief and joy. More sacred light now gilds our home. Love's crest is everywhere ; Where e're we look its impress gleams Round tokens of thy care. '' II i We enter softly now thy room — ' So silent, calm and sweet, And fancy we oft tread on spots Hallowed by angel feet. Thy room so empty, yet so full Of memories we woul 1 keep; Where we review the trancjuil scene, When thou did'st fall asleep. . BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 139 ti Such precious treasures it retains, Amongst the rarest there— Thy dying charge, thy last fond look, And last sweet smile are fair. Beloved Annie, we will not Once breathe the word farewell ; For life, and love, and beauty grow ^Vhere thou hast gone to dwell. \WS ■ •tmrA THE PASSWORD. T^AND of beauty, home of joy. Fair realm of love and song : Thanks be to God, to us and ours Its title-deeds belong. Dear Ada, makes the fourth child We have on yon blest shore ; She knew the password, and soon found The three that went before. O glorious password — name of Him We breathe in every prayer — Through which so many of our friends Have claimed admittance there. • Jesus! sweet soul-uplifting name! With thrilling melody It stills the sobbings of our world, And turns its grief to glee. ;i,il!r V," 8..,>. 140 BUD^ AND BLOSSOMS. A welcome from the King of Love Has greeted Ada's ears, And in His palace she will spend Her everlasting years. Yet strange ! her absence here gives pain That borders on distress ; Oh I there are hours when we forget Her blissful happiness. Then, it delights our angel girl To cross yon shore to this, And hasten down with messages Of heavenly tenderness : To wipe with her angelic hand Our rolling tears away, And whisper she will visit till Our own translation day. 1 THE nULATTO BOY. NE morn, a group of Spanish youths Entered their studio room. And found some unknown hand had left Grand scenes of light and gloom. . The students round their easels stood, Gazing in mute surprise. , , An angel's smile, a demon's frown Met their astonished eyes. » BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 141 And their great master stood, and gazed, With eyes and heart intent, And wondered if the unknown was Some heavenly visitant. And, looking at his pupils, said : " Whose can these touches be ? What skillful lines !— what truthful shades And tender delicacy ! " Last night that brow unfinished was, And now perfection's there ; That eyelash was not heavy with A mournful, trembling tear. " But, O my pupils, look at this ! No man-taught painter's hand Hath ever drawn the Virgin's head Just as the gods demand. "Who can this unknown painter be Who nightly visits here. And leaves with perfect master-skill Lines so sublimely clear? "I've questioned oft the boy who keeps Within these walls at night. He tells me that he is alone From eve till morning's light. "But other scenes akin to these .^^ Before have met our sight, So, gentlemen, pray meet me here ~ Before to-morrow's light. ii »ii; 142 BUDS AND nUXSSOMS. " I'll warn the boy to keep awake Throughout the midnight hours, That we may learn whose hand and brain Possess those brilliant powers." ?|C >T^ :>|; ;]c ){< :f: " I-ist, boy. 1 bid you stay and keep ^Vatch till to morrow's light, And tell me who the artist is Who Cometh here each night. "No more excuses need you bring; And if to-night you sleep, Twenty- five lashes you shall have : I care not how you weep." He H« * >(« H< H^ The night was still, the lamp burned low Upon the marble stand ; The boy paced up and down the floor. Brow buried in his hand. Thus long and silently he paced, Living his slave-life o'er, And large, hot tears, all sorrow-born, Kept dropping on the floor. Thf::i in low tones of agony He talked, as if in prayer, — ' As if his heart had lack of room To store its burden there. " W^hy should my father be a slave, ^ . And I a bondman's son? ' . Why should I even dread to tell t~~ ~ My master what I've done? BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. ^\S " Why must I bear his pupils' jests, Mixed with their looks of scorn ? WHiy must I keep the knowledge locked That I was gifted born ? " Oh ! Genius, fair goddess, why — Why hast thou chosen me? Why was not this sweet gift bestowed On someone born free? "Oh I had I been a freeman's son. And not so dark a boy. Thy bright, inspiring smile had filled Me with adoring joy. "Thou know'st I must list to thy voice, And harken to thy calls ; No powder have I to leave untouched The canvas on those walls. " And thou must know the pangs I feel— What bitter tears outrush, . ^\•hen I have to efface some dear Creation of my brush. " Oh ! Slavery, thy cruel bands Are smothering my soul ; Angel of Liberty, O come, These spirit- wounds make whole. "These fetters broke, O Liberty, ' How fair I would paint thee ! And I would work, but not for fame : My father should be free. 1^, ? > % -111 ' ,1 Jk Wm" I 144 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS, "Twenty-five lashes 1 Ciod of Heaven! lather Supreme, lielp me ! Is there no land where freedom reigns, And all thy sons are free?" Then, falling on his knees, he sent Up one deep, bitter cry : "O Thou, my Maker, (lod of gods. Aid me or let me die." He rose, and in his eyes there beamed A radiant, hopeful tear, As at an easel he sat down To labor sweetly dear. Hour after hour he sat and worked. The light still in his eye. Till he forgot he was a, slave. And found no time to sigh. The terror of the lash was gone. His soul was all his own ; Smiling, he wreathed a faultless brow With beauty's favorite crown. His joyous soul seemed lost amid His happy, blissful toil, , As rapidly he gave the last Touch to a graceful coil. "Another touch," he whispered low, " And then her lips will part ; - I think I hear her voice fill soft - -- And soothing on my heart. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. "Just one more stroke, and then her eyes Will glow with seraph light, And give me one sweet look, which long Will thrill me with delight. "O beauteous look, my beautiful, How rich I am, my own 1 I would not lose thy look to gain A sceptre and a throne. "The morning breaks, and soon this room Will have its ful' . light. Father in Heaven, give me strength To meet my master's sight. "This head I never can efface, I would far sooner die." Turning, he saw the students and Their teacher standing by. A silent group, with folded arms, And not an eyelash dry. The master spoke in husky voice Which sounded like a sigh : "Who was your master? Tell me, child, For artists such are few. My wondrous boy— who was it gave Art lessons unto you?" "O Sire, you know, her voice is sweet And softer than a sigh ; She prompted when 1 carried shades To watch where each should lie. 145 ff 11 rl M 146 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. li'l II itii t. I " I saw you show the students, sire, Where every touch should be ; Oh pardon, she and you have made Me paint that head you see. Murillo turned, dashed off a tear — A tear of proud, calm joy, And said, "Now, sirs, what must we do Unto this gifted boy?" C'Rise, child," for here the boy had slid Low down upon one knee— " Rise quickly, you must never more Kneel down again to me.") "Say, does he merit punishment? Look at that picture, sirs ; It moves my soul, and every chord AVithin my heart it stirs. " Say, does he merit punishment ? Shall the rod on him fall? Or do you think he's wen reward? Look round the studio wall." " Senior, he merits great reward ! " Came from the admiring band; '' "• "And yet reward's a feeble word;' ''"' ''^ For he will grace Our land!" "" ' "^ "Ah, true, mo3t true; what must W^e db?" "Give to him g6ld," cries ohei"- '"''' Another says, "Sife, you have wealth,! '^"^"^ Adopt him iis your son."^''" ''"' " "' BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. '47 A third says, " Ves, and he may jome Our paintings to admire, That he may lead us on to fame And raise our loved art higher.". Each student asked out of his heart Some different request; The boy looked on, with trembling hope- One wish ruling his breast. The master drew the quivering boy Close to his heaving breast. And on the brow of brownish hue A tender kiss he pressed. Bending his te^.r dimmed kindly eyes Upon the timid boy. Whispered, "What is it, child, would give Your heart the deepest joy ? " My pupil, you can never be — As was expressed by one — Your talents are beyond my own ; I would you were my son. " I know a heart like thine must hold Some dear, unspoken wish. And thou shalt choose thine own reward ; Come, tell me what it is. "Tell, tell me, child, thine inmost wish, Thine heart wide open lay ; My noble boy, come tell me all — - ^ Thy yearning heart would say." •(If 1 ■ i -.'■I'l' w 148 BCTDS AND BLOSSOMS. Deep silence reigns, but for the sobs That shake the boy's slight frame, And then a joyful gleam of hope Through his large tear drops came. Clasping his small, young hands he raised His radiant eyes aloft — Looking so sorrowfully sad. And wonderfully soft. Then, pointing to his picture, said, In tones beseechingly, " O, sire, let me work and win My father's liberty." LITTLE NELL. E sought her where the daisies glenm And kindred flowers beguile, We found her lying 'neath the stream, Wearing an angel smile. The rose had faded from her cheek And left it lily fair. Her lips apart, as if to speak Her simple evening prayer. Her little folded hands were full Of pink-eyed daisies fair . So silent and so beautiful v Was Nellie lying there. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. And manly men were seen to weep, ^\'ho waded through the stre:im, Where Nellie seemed to be asleep, Dreaming some heavenly dream. Gently they raised her sunny head, The fairest in the dell. And softly bore our early dead — Our lovely little Nell. Her little playmates, hand in hand, Came with slow, gentle tread ; With dewy eyes that little band Stood gazing on the dead. One softly said, " Please may we kiss And take hci hand in ours ; And can we at her feet place this. This bunch of mixed wild flowers? " We gathered them with care this morn, Where Nellie used to go. And very gently them have borne, Because she loved them so. "And may we lay these daisies down By those she holdeth there, And fix this fresh, blue violet crown Upon her yellow hair?" We watched the faithful little band Give their last fond caress, And lay the snowy wax-like hand Down on its coffin dress. 14.J ¥1 n 150 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. They looked like cherubs come to grace Our beautiful young dead, So tenderly they bent to place The love- wreath round her head. Now they their little friend have met, And she to each has given A fair and fadeless coronet. Culled from the flowers of heaven. A REQUEST. (Written on Reading a Mr. BIye's Advertisement in the "Mail.") ^EAR Mr. Blye, how good to try To help the mammas here. When times are dull and homes too full, And plenty girls elsewhere. And, Mr. Blye, no flirt am I, l^'o give a man distress ; And 'twould be crime to waste my time On fashionable dress. With modest care I dress my hair Like some of whom I've read, And would not dare a coil to wear . Belonging to the dead. If I'm ne'er rich, I'll wear no switch. To please some dainty male; 'Twould make me sob a horse to rgb . -^ Qf either mane or t^iil, BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 151 Then, Mr. Blye, look at my eye, And in it you will see My leisure hours, my thinking powers Are not spent foolishly. And take a look. Sir, at the book That's lying on my lap,' And judge not rash. No low-born trash Do these neat covers wrap. Pure is my l)lood, my nose is good. So are brow, cheek and mouth. Say if I'll do, dear Sir, for you Or any Picton youth. On your reply I will rely (I trust it will be yes) ; Being not admired, Fm growing tired Of single blessedness. 'Tis very wise, in my blue eyes, For photographs to press ; Bewitching looks from album books Your lonely hours may bless. Through Bruce's skill your heart may thrill In prospect of a wife, And should you fail, you'll thank the Mail For one sweet bliss of life, 152 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. ON READING AN ADVERTISEMENT. (From one R. R., of 5alem, Ont., in search of a Wife). '^^^OU want a wife, you say, my friend. H Ah ! many want the same ; But in such times as these, a girl 'Most fears to change her name. You want a wife, but what about Your state of purse and heart ; One's needful for the joys of home And one to go to mart. You're young, good-looking, not ill-bred. And keep good company ; And Salem's not devoid, I hear, Of pleasant scenery. So far, so good ; but that's not all Your bill of fare should l)e ; E'en your initials, R. and R , Have doubtful sound to me. For they may stand for Regular Rogue, Or Radical Reformer; And either one would drive me in The aged maiden's corner. Or for some Reverend Runaway From Rome's Restrictive life. Whose cruel laws will not admit The comforts of a wife. P.S. — \ dare not send my picture yet, _ . " For not an hour would pass Ere your fond mother lost her son ^ ■ Through a Toronto lass. . " > BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. ^53 ¥ DOTY. ES, speak her name softly, Tis tenderly dear; Those rooms we tread ufentlv, She has frolicked in here. So lovely and lovesome, So winsomely sweet ; Soft melody came in The sound of her feet. Though her baptismal name She scarce ever got, But was known to all friends As Doty, or Dot. The light that enshrines it So sparkles with love. That we fancy they call Her Doty above. Such a ray of pure joy Was her beauteous smile, And her lovable ways Our cares would beguile. The pet of the household Was sweet little Dot ; Her presence still lingers In every spot. Only those who have lost A treasure most dear. Know the depth of the void Now Doty's not here. ■i 154 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Only those who have bowed O'er a child's coffin-side, Know all the sweet beauty One casket can hide. Yet we cover with flowers Her burial sod ; For e'en there gleams a light To the children of God. If we're poorer below, We are richer above ; And proving — though dimly — Our P'ather's great love. The bright ones who bore her Fair spirit away To the rest that in dreams We catch a faint ray, Bowed their fair heads while She kissed us good-bye. Then soared with their charge Where none ever die, To a bright land of song. Full of praise without prayer ; To a sorrowless clime, yes. Doty is there; \Vhere angels have kissed her, While seraphs have smiled ; And Jesus has welcomed Our beautiful chilc|. -": y BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. •55 WHAT NEED I HORE ? j|ARLING, I crave no more than this— I Than to be loved by thee ; What else could bring me deeper bliss Than that thou lovest me ? AV'ithout thee not a flower is fair, Music can bring no charm ; No beauty do the green woods wear, And twilight is not calm. No melody hath birds in Spring, Sun rays are dark as night ; No messages the breezes bring, And moonl)eams have no light. \V'hat need I more? With wealth of love. Its signet-seal thy kiss. Can there be purer bliss above Than what I now possess ? -4i *■ 156 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. TO POVERTY. HOU great dissembler! Thine is a lying tongue ; Thou makest good seem bad, And right appear as wrong. Thou makest courage faint, And truth look pale and ill ; E'en sterling, honest worth Must bow to thy rude will. 'i'hou crushest unto death The noblest, best desires ; Beneath thy withering frown Fair genius expires. THE HORNING AFTER THE RAIN. ST was a charming morning after the rain, . That I sauntered along my favorite lane. Where I met alone woman whose brow did declare . That once it had been most placidly fair ; But now it was scarred — marked deep by the brand Which sorrow has carried so long in her hand. Her eyes were dimmed, and faded her hair. And I thought I could trace some lines of despair Around her lips, though so firmly set — So sweetly moulded, and beautiful yet. We had met once before, but no words had been said, And nothing had passed save a move of each head j BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 157 But this morning she stopped, and her sorrowful eyes Looked full into mine, then turned to the skies, And as she put out one little white hand, Said: "(Irief never crosses yon calm upper strand." I pressed her soft hand but said not a word. As hearts can converse without voices being heard. Then she told me how husband, children all Had paid the debt brought in by the fall, That in far-severed graves their treasured forms lay, And one she had never looked on his loved clay, For he fell in the field of tumult and strife In the best of his days and the bloom of his life. 'Mid the roaring of guns and the bursting of shells. The shouts and the groans, the cheers and the yells. While clouds of thick dust shrouded dying and dead. Her brave, bright boy for his country had bled, — Her proud, noble lad, her first-born son Lay mangled and dead by the side of a gun ; And they wrote her to say they had carefully laid Her brave, gallant boy away in the shade Of a forest close by where the battle was won. And this was the last she had heard of her son. How she mourned for this son, and could never forget How noble he looked when their lips had last met. When she veiled his dear picture with crape on the wall. She had fancied she heard a sweet whisper then fall From those lips, which seemed from the canvas to speak: *'0h ! Mother — my Mother, your heart must not break. My spirit was borne on the breath of your prayers Where blossoms have sprung from your buried seed-cares, And these roses are moist with the dew from your tears ; ,t if' ■^^it^^^^^Aj >-"' i5« BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Whose fragrance will last throughout Heaven's bright [years." i|ti|ci|c If if if im ^ Then she told me that far in the West there lay A brother and sister, that had faded away In the morning of life, when full of l)right joy. Her pale, lovely girl and her bold, handsome boy Kissed her farewell, then sank calmly to rest. And they laid her fair head on her young brother's breast. So peacefully still together they lay, His cold arm enfolding her marble-like clay, Carnations they twined in his silky, dark hair. And with lilies they wreathed her flowing locks fair, One casket enclosing the silent young pair. Who are sleeping so deep 'neath the western air. But one brave heart and strong arm she had left — A rock of calm safety, a snug, tender cleft ; But now it was washed away by the tide So relentless and stern, and which comes to divide The husband and wife, whose hopes and whose fears Are one and the same 'mid sunshine and tears ; And the last blow came with a loud, crushing fall, And took from her side her chief earthly all, And why she stayed here it was only to be Quite near to the spot where sleeping was he. She was living in hope (when God saw it was best) To lie by his side and then with him be blest. And clasp to her heart those treasures again In a home where pure bliss will forever remain. -- BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. »59 * THE LITTLE LOW CHAIR. (IS a little low chair, neither costly nor grand, Not inlaid with ivory or gold. But a prominent place in my room doth command, And its value can never he told. Oh, that little low chair! — you would scarcely believe That a heart could love it so well, And what soft, tender words I oft over it breathe : It acts on my heart like a spell. But when I have told you what things it can tell, Although it stands empty and bare. You'll not chide me for loving and cherishing well That dear little common low chair. It tells of bright laughter, of sweet merry glee, Of kisses and pleasures so bright. Of sounds and of scenes full of music to me, Now hushed in the silence of night. How a bright blooming boy that I loved with fond pride,— For his ways, as his beauty, were rare,— With such bright golden hair, and so sweetly dark- eyed. Once sat in that little low chair. :r^ 1 60 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. AN INCIDENT. I.ADV, passing down the street, Met with a little child, Whose tender heart seemed over- charged With sorrow deep and wild. She bent and kissed the little one. And took her by the hand ; 1 hinking, no doubt, of a bright group, Her own fair, happy band. "Darling, where are you going to?" She asked the pretty one. Who answered with a choking sob, "To fetch my papa home." " Then what is papa's name, my dear. And where has papa gone ! " "His name is papa," she replied, "And papa's from me gone." "But what's his other name, my pet. Which mamma calls him by. Come, tell me, then we'll hasten on, To find him we will try?" " His name is papa, nothing more. My mamma calls him so ; We loved him very, very much. Oh 1 why did papa go? Hi BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. i6i * " But I must find and bring him back, My mamma is so sad ; Before my papa went away She always was so glad. " I want to kiss my papa so, I want to climb his knee, I want to ask what made him stay So long away from me." It seems the father of this child Quite recently had died ; Not knowing it, the innocent To find him thus had tried. Her little heart, brimful of love, Would meet him with a kiss ; ^\'as anything more touching sad, Or beautiful than this.^ * * * * We older children often mourn Our Father far away. We sigh, and grieve, and wonder why He should so from us stay. But O, our Father is not dead, He watches from above, And guides us with an unseen hand, And screens us with his love. * '*»••'• 1 62 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. FATHER CHRISTHAS. i I i 4 ^■P^HOU comest, Father Christmas 41 With kindly eyes aglow, And fair bright leaves of evergreen Encircling thy brow. Thou comest, Father Christmas, To bless the wide world o'er, - Thou com'st to cheer and comfort all, To gladden rich and poor. Throughout our fair Dominion A glad and grateful throng Are gathering now to greet thee With garland and with song. The bells are quivering to tell What happy hearts do feel, A grateful peoples heartfelt thanks In every mirthful peal. The temple gates wide open are To greet thy coming there, A heart whole welcome thou will get In every house of prayer. O gentle Father Christmas, How could we dare to mouin O'er earthly ills, we must rejoice This blessed birthday morn. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. But some, kind Father Christmas, 'Most fear to hear thy tread. This year has rol)l)ed them of their best, And laid them with the dead. JUit thou wilt whisper tenderly To hearts thus sorely riven. And tell them how their loved join in The natal song of heaven. Then gather round the Christmas tree, Come gather one and all, ^ For love hath laden every bough • With gifts for great and small. Each branch breathes joy to all below, Bliss to the peaceful dead. And of his vast un fathomed love O'er all the world outspread. The fire-light's cheerful ruddy blaze. The holly round the wall, All tell of Him, who gladly came Down to redeem us all. Then on this hallowed birthday morn Come gather, old and young. Join in the glad thanksgiving hymn AVith heart and mind and tongue. And bring out those dear empty chairs E'en though your eyes be dim- For those who sat in them last year Are now at home with Him. 163 m;^ W. 164 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Their gifts are on the Christmas tree, Each for an orphan child, All hanging on the fairest boughs O'er which some angel smiled. Then gather round with happy hearts. Let thanks and praise be given, They have but gone from us below To keep the day in heaven. AFTER A WHILE. HERE are angels on earth both tender and true, Doing the work God gives them to do, Soothing lone hearts full of tossings and fears, Speaking kind words and wiping off tears. Their present reward God's fatherly smile. And a home up in Heaven, after a while. The angels of earth are gentle and kind. Guarding the weak and leading the blind, Raising the fallen and cheering the sad. Feeding the poor and reclaiming the bad, Their present reward God's fatherly smile. And a home up in Heaven, after a while. Ye angels of mercy, residing on earth (But owning a title to nobler birth). Speed on your mission — lessening woe. Scattering joy wherever you go, Your present reward God's fatherly smile. And a home up in Heaven, after a while. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 165 Earthly angels, ye are watched from above On your beautiful mission— your errands of love. O spread forth your wings and travel afar, And bear your Lord's diadem many a star. O carry glad tidings— carry them wide, And bid all rejoice that Jesus has died : Your present reward God's fatherly smile, And a home up in Heaven, after a while. rue. TO A nOTHERLESS BABE. (While Sleeping). ^ffi^HEY call thee motherless. They never can have il seen thee smile as I behold thee now, O would that thou couldst tell me how thine angel-mother looks —in what protecting form she now appears. Couldst thou reveal in part the music of her voice (I almost covet thee thy lot, fair smiler), then I would know the message she hath whispered thee. But this this much I know: thou art not motherless. O lovely sleeper, take my kiss of thanks, such knowledge have I gained through thy enlightening smile. Ik 166 B[/DS AND BLOSSOMS. ON MY FATHER'S BIRTHDAY. l^EAK softly, rustling breeze, And come in mild array ; No boisterous message must thou bear Me on this sacred day. Speak softly, breeze, I pray. Wave gently, fading trees, This early autumn day ; My he'srt is full of tender thoughts, Beyond what words can say. Wave gently, trees, I pray. Grant me, mild, lingering flowers, A rarer smile to-day ; Smile like my father smiled on Me through youth and childhood's way. Smile rarer, flowers, I pray. Birds, in your leafy bowers, Sing me a sweeter lay ; Pour forth in melody all, all My filial heart would say. Sing sweeter, birds, I pray. Low murmuring autumn breeze. Soft sighing, changing trees. Tender departing flowers. Songsters in Nature's bowers, Accept, sweet friends, the thanks I pay For your pure sympathetic lay, Revealing all my heart would say On this my father's natal day. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 167 •SL* TO MY nOTHER ON HER BIRTHDAY. JY mother, this December morn, A sadness comes o'er me — A tender feeling near akin Unto solemnity. The birds are gone, the flowers are dead, The trees are dark and bare. And not a breezy note floats on The winter-laden air. And, Mother, thy spring days are gone. Summer and autumn's fled ; Morn, noon and eve have all passed by, And night is overhead. "^ 'Tis winter with thee. Mother, now— Leaves withered, flowers dead. Gone zephyr-melody and all The joyous songsters fled. But, O! beyond the wintry mists Bright, happy birds do sing, And fairest flowers are blooming through An everlasting spring. And thou hast fadeless flowers. Mother, In yonder gardenhome — Fair, fragrant blossoms that will greet Thee in the life to come. Then why should I, thy child, feel sad On this thy birthday morn, Because the birds and flowers are fled, And trees appear forlorn ? 1 68 I'l I :l ■■' m ! B[/BS AND BLOSSOMS. V '^J SORROW. • HE room bespoke its inmates poor, And poor and sad were they, A little orphaned band had wept The long, dark night away. Around a mother's silent form Were four children fair. And, oh, it was a touching sight To see those mourners there. A little, pale-faced, gentle girl Was kneeling by the l)ed, Her only flower she fondly placed On the unconscious dead. Then gently took the icy hand And kissed the fingers cold, Laid her young cheek against the dead, And bitter tear-drops rolled — Rolled down upon the sunken cheek, And on what was her shroud, Folding her arms around her dead She sobbed her grief aloud. A boy, the eldest of the group, Had buried his young brow Within his folded hands, and not A moan his grief could show. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 169 Then in one burst of agony He swayed him oer the dead, Moaned, " Mother's gone and father sleeps Low in the ocean's bed." Another sorrow-stricken girl, Eyes full of tears unshed, Who seemed to understand her loss. Sat looking at her dead. The youngest of the helpless band Sitting on sister's knee, AVith arms around that mourner's neck. Spoke to the sorrowing three. " Don't cry," in lisping tones, she said, " Our mamma can't be dead ; She's only sleeping till God sends An angel with some bread." PAT'S STORY. Ty MET with friend Pat, wife and children nine M. On the deck of a vessel of a far-famed line. Kind and simple was he and proud of his care ; If scant knowledge is bliss, he had a full share. I would paint you his picture, but fear to try that, I believe I should fail if I tried with his hat. Though I think it was something in shape like a top. When the broad part is down and the narrow part up. I I/O BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. i''fli i; (^ His brow was not open, nor lofty or clear: 1 think had you studied it for a whole year, You would not have found the seal of Apollo, Nor had any fears lest Patrick should borrow Your favorite authors or any good books (That is, if the mind can be judged by the looks). On one thing friend I'at was as firm as a rock : The priests of his Church knew more than their flock. And if he paid penance, counted his beads. Looked not in that Book the heretic reads, Believed all the stories the athers had given, He was sure of a place near Mary in Heaven. Such, I judged, was his creed, by what he told me, As we journeyed across the Atlantic sea ; And he seemed very sorry that I was not in The true Mother-Church, and thought it a sin. A very great sin, because I would smile At truths he had told in most solemn a style, And he feared a curse would rest on my head For trifling thus at what he had said. I told him I had not the shade of a fear, But I wished from my heart that his mind was more clear. That he'd read for himself Cod's own blessed Word, And cast to the winds his trash so nl/surd. But Pat shook his head. No, he was not wrong; His priests were well-learned and clever of tongue ; And he felt 'twas his duty to teach me Truth's way. When he found how- far my soul was astray. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 171 He would tell me something that happened to him, And my eyes must be blind or fearfully dim, If I could not see in sucn clear, broad light That the priests of his Church in all things were right. Such miracles they were known to perform, He, Pat, was prepared, should there come on a storm» For a charm his father-confessor had blest At the end of a string he wore on his breast. His story begun about a good cow, ♦ Which he owned where the three-leaved shamrocks grow. She got very sick and he feared she would die Before a priest could be called or brought nigh. His children nine (blessings on them all !) He told them the story both spring and fall, For a sight most sad indeed it would be If his darlints grew up so benighted as me. He did all he could then he went to the priest To pray to have her from pain released. A young priest should come, his reverence said, To the poor sick cow, and mass should be read. If that did not do, the young priest must run Back for an older to have it well done. From the young priest's reading there was no effect, So back for an elder he ran direct. The good father arose without delay, And came to the place where the poor cow lay. At his first few words she opened her eyes. Rolled herself over attempting to rise. 172 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. I i l< I Then she stood on her feet. As she could not speak, A large tear of thanks rolled down her long cheek, And she bowed her head again and again To the wonderful man who read away pain. And her milk after this such a yellow hue bore, And she never had given such pailfuls before. 'Twould last through his life like a wonderful dream How it tasted and looked like the richest cream. If blessings so great were theirs to bestow, Pat said he would like me also to know Their curses could heretics wither and blast, Pursue them to death and death e'en outlast. And could I but hear the good fathers tell Of men and women on whom it had fell, Youths, maidens, and babies in their first year, I would not smile, but would tremble with fear. The sons of the Church would have my l)est bow. I never would dare to slight them as now, Could he but talk like them for half an hour ; I would shake like a reed and bend like a flower. But how could he talk like sermons he heard? He never dare try to utter a word Like the fathers used -, but oft he had thought If heretic priests but preached as they ought. There might be some hope of Protestants then, But never while they believed in such men. His priests told their people things that were true. One case he would give — it some good might do : BUDS AND BLOSSOMS, '73 A certain poor priest owed money for rent, And the Protestant landlord angry went And took the goods of the dear man away; Because he had asked for a longer delay. But sickness, want, and a thousand ills came To the Englishman's home, then entered the same Death himself and hurried the soul away. Yet ihe curse still clung to the cold, dead clay. And when the day of the burial came. The hearse came up with two horses — both tame, And they put the corpse of the dead man in. And the funeral train was about to begin, When 'twas found that neither horse could move ; All means were tried and all vain did prove, And for hours they stood .i^efore the door, Till someone spoke of the good priest poor. Whose goods the dead man had taken for rent, And one ran to obtain his kind consent That the horses might move and bear away The Protestant's corpse to its grave that day. The kind father came and drew closely near, And whispered some words in each horses ear. Who looked their thanks and then moved away As the generous father offered to pray- Without being paid — for the soul of the dead. And the crowd heaped blessing upon his head. i \ V % '74 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. I" r When I think of poor Pat and all that he said My thoughts will then turn to those who have lead His footsteps, weak soul, in error's dark maze, Oh how will they meet their Judge's stern gaze ; And what will they do when they hear His voice say, "You knew in your hearts that I was the ^Vay, 'Tvvas written that 1, 1 alone was the Door Through which all must enter to live evermore, That wide open it stood by night and by day \Velcoming all who came in the right way. Souls fainting and thirsty ye drove them from Me And my Water of iJfe so abundantly free, Like poor tired sheep ye scattered them wide From shelter and care and their Good Shepherd's side." 11' HUSH, MERRY BIRDIE, HUSH. USH, merry birdie, hush, Thy song is far too gay ; Fond hearts are sad, if sing thou must. Then sing a softer lay. O [)Ut aside thy glee. And lis. to what I say ; We cannot bear thy gladsome notes On Gertie's burial day. Thou Lvn'st not know, birdie, That Gertie's gone away ; Or thou wouM'st silent sit, or sing A soft, soul-soothing lay. \i ' "- BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 175 lias no kind spirit come, And softly whispered thee ; That Gertie's just been carried out The silent nursery. Dost thou not note how calm, Is all around to-day ; The sympathetic sunbeams strive To hide their smiled away. It seemeth strange, birdie. Thou hearest not yon bell ; 'I'olling her tender summers fled. With sad and solemn knell. And passing strange it seems, Thou missest not those feet. And little hands that daily brought Something for birdie sweet. The melrncholy crape, Still on the entrance door ; In silent language whispers, Will never enter more. From every drooping fold, We hear a sad farewell ; And only can its band of white, A word of solace tell. Gently the snowy plumes, Waves o'er her peaceful clay ; The flowers on her coffin lid. Look sorrowful to-day. 176 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. The trees sigh softly low, As she is borne along ; Kind eyes look dimly on the long, Sad, moving, funeral throng. They're passing slowly by. The children leave their play ; And go away to weep, because 'Tis Gertie's burial day. O birdie ! hush, hush, hush. They're bearing her away ; With our last kisses on her brow. Thou must not sing to-day. '^ >>^ BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 177 P A STORM AT SEA |CEAN turned angry with sudden wrath, Some fearful whim has crossed her watery path Bright, beaming Sol affrighted, flieth west Long ere he wished to settle down to rest. Mild zephyrs cease to sing, startled they flee, At thy tremendous rage, wild, murderous sea. Skies change their azure robes for mourning dress Winds woke from slumber groan in dire distress, Skill work of hand, of brain, life, wealth of years At thy dark burst of fury disappears: Laughing at courage, hissing mute despair Beauty, worth, loveliness, naught wilt thou'spare l|or God's most noblest work what dost thou care When in thy harsh, mad frenzy, insane sea? ^1 lyS BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. I GATHERING LEAVES, AUGUST 31st. WENT out this morning to gather some leaves, As September's footsteps were near, And I wished to obtain a few of the first Which came forth to greet her this year. Some died on their journey, but lovely they looked All shrouded in yello v and red, vSoftly I touched them for they carried my mind To the graves of my far-away dead. And as 1 came home I stopped by a lawn, \\'\\.\\ its beds of summer's last flowers. While gazing upon them my thoughts roved away To a land far fairer than ours. And there I could see sweet evergreen lawns, ^\'here flowers celestial grew, And glorious trees and silvery streams. And verdure which ever looks new. And white-robed forms were there, gliding about And entering radiant bovvers, They wandered at will, and smiled as they passed By beds of fair, deathless flowers. I looked at the groups but I could not tell \V'ho here had been wealthy or poor. For all seemed happy, contented and blest. And glad that life's battle was o'er. ^l BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 179 And as 1 stood gazing I seemed to forget That life had more trials in store. And many rough billows I might have to cross, Before I set foot on that shore. IN THE WOODS. Watching Two Children Play. TIN this garden God's hand hath planted and dressed^ ■S. Where nature is calling, come hither and rest, 'Mid bright, shady leaves and green-covered hills And soft, soothing sounds of whispering rills ; Where zephyrs sing low and bird melody rings, Are two little angels without ai y wings. For had they got wings they would soon be away To the land that is fitted for such as they. Birds then would be silent, and darkened earth's bowers, Song and blossom would die without childhood's bright hours, But praise be to God, these treasures are given To teach us some truths of the home-life of Heaven. While blest with sweet children sin ne\ r will hold sway, And while flowers remain love ne'er can decay. What lessons we learn from the daisy and rose, From breezes and trees and from blessings like those. Thanks, thanks, to our Maker for musical things. And for dear little cherubs without any wings. j8o BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. CASSIE. Little daughter of Rev. T. W. Jolliffe. "For of such is the kingdom of heaven." m RANSLATED is Cassie, Evermore to be well, Not the tongue of a seraph Could her blessedness tell ; Yet the sight of a toy Or a dress she would wear, Or the sound of her name, Brings a sigh and a t(;ar. There are moments two hearts ' Feel so lonesomely drear- Earth lost half of its beauty When she went from them here ; Then her pale lovely face Memory comes to portray. With its happified look On her translation day. What sawest thou, darling, About two on that day. When thy countenance beamed With a mellowing ray ? Where Heaven's glittering gates Opening then to thy sight, And a glimpse of the Lamb Brought that beauteous light? BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. With the Heavenly escort Coming down from on high, . AVere there some who could claim Thee by kindreds fond tie? And were there blest spirits, Who had lived to do good, ^Vhom thy papa had won To the service of God? On whose grateful request The Redeemer had smiled, ^V'hen they craved to attend Home their Minister's child; AVere there sorrowless ones Hovering over thee, dear, AVhom thy mamma had soothed When they sorrowed down here? ^Vho came bearing solace To her suffering heart, And who carried her strength From her treasure to part. Sweet, beautiful Cassie, They have borne thee away. Now other bright beings Are in charge of thy clay. Who so tenderly watched The soft stainless flakes fall, When thy newly- made grave Had its Heaven-sent pall ; iSi l82 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Yon mound in Mount Pleasant They guard round and beneath, But thy loved ones can bear It the spray and the wreath. O, what guardianship sweet Is there tending that sod, Thy beloved ones below And those dwellers with God ; And thy parents can say There is gain with our loss, Even mystery's clear Through the light of the cross. Thou wert ours on earth, Thou art ours in Heaven, Thou wilt bear us relief When sorrows are given ; Thou wilt share in our joy, With all intercourse free. We have had, we still have, And we'll ever have thee. U I Thou art singing with friends, We have yearnings to know. They have clasped thee and kissed Thy celestial brow ; Thou hast told them we're all Coming upward to dwell. But are staying to do Our allotted work well. ■i \'i '- BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 1^3 THAT LAST PRAYER. To B. E. B., a motherless child whom we kept for nearly five years, who, on Jan. i8th, 1894, went on a visit in view of adoption, with Mrs. H., of Qalt, Ont. CS^O, Blanche, you have gone, really gone ^£r Away from this city and me ! Even Hazel and Violet, your dolls. Have left their own corners, I ,ce, And carried off something like glee. I am missing you much, little girl, My eyes they fill up and refill ; Without you the whole of this house Feels strange and uncommonly still, At times almost awfully still. It seems I can never forget That week of your going away, How I cried at the sight of some toys, And threw a cloth over your sleigh, And longed for those evenings of play. O, Blanche, may you never forget Our talks about Christ and His love, Our reading His pages of truth. And sending up wishes above — To the land v.'here the Godly remove. You now may have brighter attire, And things that I once liked to give. And I trust youi ippli With the food on which it should live, (Without which it never can live). 1 84 BUDS Arn BLOSSOMS. W I Tis trial- connected with death- Has borne you away from here ; Consolation and comfort doth come When I turn my thoughts to that prayer - To that prayer, that last dying prayer. I must settle my thoughts on that prayer, That prayer I requested for you, From one who was entering Heaven, Whose work was well finished and through, And who died whilst praying for you. Inside of the palace of peace. He knew that all praying was o'er, Hence, halted at one of the gates To plead for you, child, once more. Then passed through a glorified door. He must have seen right into Heaven, And Christ coming full into view — With His glorious, welcoming smile — When asking God's blessing on you, O, Blanche ! what a rapturous view ! I often think of that last prayer Which with his glad spirit arose ; (The lips that then breathed it, are now Sealed tightly in solemn repose), 1 am waiting until they unclose. That prayer folded up in three words Has asked a very great deal Of comfort, of joy and of bliss, Which Jesus will surely reveal, • As blessing on blessing you feel. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. Do you mind the scene, little girl, On that fair Sabbath August eve? I'd been away- pleading with God- Gaining strength to calmly take leave, (O, what help Heaven sent me that eve !) * * * * * * * And do you remember I asked Had he time for another short prayer, As this poor little child may soon be Removed from out of my care. (It seems there was need for that prayer). My lips were then near to his own. His two hands were folded in mine; "All is well" had come through his lips, And "My Redeemer is thine:" Yea, Blanche, 1 know well He is mine. O, child, I shall never forget That prayer which came husky and slow, Twas "G-o-d b-1-e-s-s B-1-a-n-c-h-e," the last request My belov'd one uttered below. (I am hearing that prayer just now.) ****** And a wonderful calmness comes, ^ More light on my vision hath fell. For the sweetest of whispers now says, "He ordereth all things well" All things that He doeth is well. '«5 * IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1^ ■10 IIM 1^ S m I.I 1.8 II 1.25 1.4 1.6 ^ .. 6" ► V2 ^ /a VI ^^' O 7 /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WEST MAIN STKEET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 873-4503 ^•^ iV V . . 114 92 95 98 105 109 III i ■3- ■ ■; - .i'L i.' " ■ - ' '' '■■■-• ■ ■ ■■' :■■' ' ■■" [':.-_ ' .-_ \ X 192 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. PAGK A Child-Bards Grave . ,15 The Morning After the^'^^^ Quietude n^ Rain 1-6 In Memory of a Friend. 122 The Little Low Chair . 159 To My Robin, on Going- An Incident .... 160 to England . . . . 12^ Father Christmas ... 162 On the Death of My Robin After Awhile .... i6a m England . ,,5 ^^ ^ Motherless Babe, The Spanish Gipsy Girl . 128 while Sleeping . . .,65 Eloquent Tears . . . ,33 On My Father's Birthday 166 Eddie's Picture .... 134 To My Mother, on Her A Dream ,3- Birthday .... 167 With Christ, which is Far Sorrow 153 ^^"er ,36 Pat's Story 169 ^•^^^'^^'^ 137 Hush, Merry Birdie, Hush 174 The Password .... 139 A Storm at Sea . . . . ,7- The Mulatto Boy. . . 140 Gathering Leaves . . 178 L'"'^ Nell ,48 i„ the Woods. ... 179 An^R^'T' • \a • . • '^"50 Cassie ,80 On Reading an Advertise- Th^f T ^.f d ment. . . ,.2 ^ hat Last Prayer ... 183 Doty .... 1-3 By-bye, Little Florrie, By. What Ne'ed 'l Mo;e?' . 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