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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
 
 
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BflLlRDS FBOn THE ST. JO. 
 
 Af U. CRULL. 
 
 'The poet's license — 'tis the fee 
 Of earth, and sky, and river, 
 For him who loves them royally, 
 To hold and have forever." — j. g. saxe. 
 
 ^894- i i r^ ^ 
 
 CHARLES B. HIBBERD, l^^l^^ f ^ ^ 
 
 SOUTH BEND. IND. 
 
 ^^ 
 
1^9 V- 
 
TO MY MOTHER. 
 
Copyrighted 1894 by A. U. CruII. 
 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Old St Jo. - - - - - - 7 
 
 I. MEMORIES. 
 
 Farm Times in Youth _ _ _ . g 
 
 Sweet Mary ------- 10 
 
 In Summer Time - - _ _ _ j^ 
 
 Culled from Evening - - - - - 15 
 
 At The Blacksmith's - _ _ _ jy 
 
 More Things of Summer - - - - 19 
 
 Boy Life ------- 21 
 
 The Bubbling Baugo ----- 23 
 
 The Place to be a Boy - - - - 26 
 
 II. Taken from The Moods and Experiences of 
 George Divine. 
 
 George Caught in The Meshes - - - 28 
 
 Indications ------- 30 
 
 George's Prayer _ _ _ _ _ 32 
 
 George Away but Soon to Return - - 36 
 
 Remembrance ------ 3^ 
 
 Elegy for Karl Ardent - - - - 38 
 
 Celestine :.-____ ^2 
 
 George's Friend in- Trouble - -. - 44 
 
 Longing ------- ^Ct 
 
 George's Lady - - - - - - 50 
 
 III. Miscellaneous. 
 
 To A Little Girl ----- ^2 
 
 Life's Mixture ------ 54 
 
 Is Life Worth Living ? - - - - 56 
 
 The Best in The World - - - - 58 
 
 Farewell ------- 61 
 
 The Dark Side --._-. 03 
 
 The BricxHT Side _ _ _ _ . fs^ 
 
A Christian's Thanksgiving Prayer - - 66 
 
 New Year's Lines ----- 53 
 
 A Letter I Love ------ 69 
 
 Tribute ------- ^i 
 
 To James Whitcomb Riley - - - - 72 
 
 Let's Be Happy ------ 73 
 
 Unparalleled ------ 74 
 
 Best Things ------ 75 
 
 A Face -------- 77 
 
 Song .--.---- 78 
 
 Another Letter - - - - - - 79 
 
 Evening in the City - - - - - 81 
 
 Lines - - - - - - - - 83 
 
 Spring Again _--__- 85 
 
 Hymn Addressed to Evening - - - 86 
 
 Rhyme Everywhere ----- 88 
 
 A Beautiful Kindness - -. - - - - 91 
 
 Musing - - - - - -- -93 
 
 The Glory of Women _ - - - g^ 
 
 Lines __-.--. g6 
 
 The Old -The New ----- 97 
 
 The Poet ------- 100 
 
THE OLD ST. JO. 
 
 O RIVER, where boy-hood longed to know 
 Of the larger world where you mystic went ; 
 What music so wild as the changing flow 
 Which the clouds to your bubbling eddies lent? 
 
 O swashing stream, when the freshet pours 
 And the snows of winter are melted away, 
 When the threatening thunder cloud lowers. 
 And your colors turn to a dirty gray. 
 
 O hurry and roar o'er the shallowed place. 
 And bubble and rest where the river runs deep ; 
 O music of birds when the first rays erase 
 The morning mist from branches that weep. 
 
 O waters that crowd where the shore juts out 
 So rocky and tangled with wild-grape vine ; 
 Your wavelets and foaming go churning about, 
 The shadows out on you so lazy recline. 
 
 O stream, with a thousand youthful joys 
 Strewn along the sanded and pebbly banks ; 
 O laughter of rollicking, wondering boys 
 With such measure of villainous pranks. 
 
FARM TIMES IN YOUTH. 
 
 FARM TIMES IN YOUTH. 
 
 Such rivers there are where I 
 
 Come from, and the brightest blue sky, 
 
 And the loveliest grass, and the greenest trees, 
 
 And the croaking crows, and bumble-bees. 
 
 And meadow larks, too, that flutter away 
 
 And hide in the leaves and the new-cut hay. 
 
 Oh ! isn't it wonderful fun 
 
 To watch the red squirrels run 
 
 On the fence, and the dog half crazy belo\v. 
 
 And the boys with their faces all aglow ? 
 
 Oh ! better to live where the cherry blooms edge 
 
 As thick as the snow-flakes white, and pledge 
 
 The richest puddings and cream and pies, 
 
 Than to be in town with its smoky skies. 
 
 Oh ! happier it was to climb on the plow 
 
 Than to ride in a Pullman palace now ; 
 
 And wilder my heart beat then to hear 
 
 The Jew's-harp's rough tones drop into my ear. 
 
 Than to sit while the church choir sings, 
 
 And the tenor starts on his eagle wings. 
 
 And the bass gets down so dismal and deep, 
 
 While the young man close at your side falls asleep. 
 
 Oh ! fairer it was to trembling meet 
 
 The bonneted girls with their unshod feet ; 
 
 To carry their books, and run and laugh, 
 
 And bellow, and frighten the calf. 
 
FARM TIMES IN YOUTH. 
 
 Than to level one's self to society's whims 
 
 And go where the giddy waltz swims. 
 
 O sunshine and meadow and lowing herd ! 
 
 O flutter of swallow and humming of bird ! 
 
 O dew - drops like crystals that swung in the sun ! 
 
 And sun - set so golden when the day was dojie ! 
 
 O apples and peaches and beechnuts too, 
 
 And spider- wheels spun where the ragweeds grew! 
 
 O strawberries red as the carpet flowers ! 
 
 O days as short as the later hours ! 
 
 O neighbors who joked me and made me blush ! 
 
 O fellows who choked me and made me hush 
 
 That nonsense ! Ah ! those were times about 
 
 As rich in life as the world turns out. 
 
SWEET MARY. 
 
 SWEET MARY. 
 
 There are old friends that live although 
 
 Their song is hushed, and all the glow 
 
 Of life is gone : sweet Mary she 
 
 Lives like a dream, and follows me 
 
 With that wild laugh and taunting gaze — 
 
 Her eyes were gems which song can praise 
 
 So meagerly. How fawn - like, too. 
 
 She ran and leaped the door way through 
 
 When noon hour came, and shouts so shrill 
 
 Of boys and girls swept o'er the hill. 
 
 Her voice w^as sweet with girlish glee, 
 
 And had such wondrous melody 
 
 Of praise when morning school-hour came, 
 
 And every body tried the same 
 
 Old tunes which still are jostled out 
 
 From childish lips that smile and pout. 
 
 But Mary's seat one April day 
 
 Was vacant : it was such awkward way 
 
 To have the day's mixed tasks begin 
 
 Unless her voice v/as mingled in 
 
 The music ; and there was no laugh 
 
 Upon our lips for almost half 
 
 lO 
 
SWEET MARY. 
 
 An hour. Some one had whispered round 
 
 How such a moaning plaint, — the sound 
 
 Of agony came through the wide 
 
 Open door where sweet she lay inside. 
 
 Her mother's kiss and touch so kind 
 
 Could not allay the fevered mind ; 
 
 The doctor with his morning smile 
 
 In such a cheery, hopeful style, 
 
 Was sure that soon our friend would grace 
 
 Her seat again ; and sudden trace 
 
 Of joy looked out from many a face. 
 
 But as the days dragged weary on 
 
 Another world began to dawn 
 
 Upon the little sufferer ; 
 
 The roses left her cheeks, and where 
 
 Had been the laughing eyes so blue 
 
 Such patient longing calm looked through ; 
 
 No murmur of reproach for this 
 
 Quick parting from youth's heaped - up bliss. 
 
 The horses harnessed black came out 
 From town, and men with arms so stout 
 Caught up the wreck of what had seemed 
 An angel in our lives. Tears streamed 
 The mother's cheeks in her wild woe, 
 And women whose lives were all aglow 
 Sobbed as they looked and closer pressed 
 Their babes so frail upon their breast. 
 
 II 
 
SWEET MARY. 
 
 Oh ! ^^ earth to earth and dust to dust," 
 
 That startles me in spite of trust, 
 
 Was trembling dropped from sacred tongue, 
 
 And we who looked on Death so young 
 
 Forgot the grief that had so wrung 
 
 Our hearts ; for other lives touched ours, — 
 
 And youth's deep griefs are like spring showers. 
 
IN SUMMER TIME. 
 
 IN SUMMER TIME. 
 
 The locust buzzes in the trees, 
 And the cricket chirps and chirps at night, 
 And the lazy, bumming bumble - bees 
 On the sweetest clover light. 
 
 The wagons creak and the horses puff 
 And patient pull the loads of hay ; 
 And at times the driver swears so gruff 
 And frightens the children where they play. 
 
 The robin breaks the noon - tide heat 
 With his chirrup high on the maple twig, 
 And the crow moves on with steady beat. 
 While the bee - bird strikes a whirl - a - gig. 
 
 A moan floats over the marsh and hill. 
 Of the milk - maid's mooing, patient cows ; 
 The breezes toss and gentle fill 
 The tangled tree -top's leafy boughs. 
 
 The house - wife sits between the doors 
 And laughs as the sweetest children play ; 
 Then a song of hope she playfuly pours 
 As she sets the dinner dishes away. 
 
 The turkey struts in his lordly style, 
 The cardinal king of the barn - yard flocks ; 
 The ducks jaunt off in single file, 
 Aloft the mischief red - head knocks. 
 
IN SUMMER TIME. 
 
 The chickens sit with open eye 
 And ears all awake as the speckled hen 
 Clucks soft and finds as she scans the sky 
 That the hawk is floating up there again. 
 
 The stable doors are open wide, 
 
 And the dreamy pigeons sit and coo, 
 
 While the horses' hoofs resound inside, 
 
 And the hired - man sleeps the noon hour through. 
 
 The clouds drift away in heaps of gauze 
 Across the arch of the mystic dome, 
 And the traveler starts from his resting pause 
 And sighs again for his farm - house home. 
 
 The watch - dog lazy lies before 
 The barn where wagon and hay - rack stand, 
 But bounds with a wish across the floors 
 To catch the touch of his master's hand. 
 
 The life of the farm is sweet to me, 
 
 And the boyish passions still abide 
 
 To return each year when from books I'm free 
 
 Where my mother and sister reside. 
 
 14 
 
CULLED FROM EVENING. 
 
 CULLED FROM EVENING. 
 
 Yonder where the fading glow 
 
 Of sunset sinks so soft below 
 
 The hills the bob -white used to sit 
 
 And whistle for his mate, and flit 
 
 Whene'er I tossed the wicked stone — 
 
 I stand there now, it seems, alone 
 
 And hear the wild -bird's mingled cry. 
 
 Above, the black - birds flutter by. 
 
 And softly comes the good - night coo 
 
 Of turtle doves — I feel the dew 
 
 Damp on the tender, spreading grass, 
 
 And see the wild - cranes awkward pass 
 
 Above the trees. The brook, whose praise 
 
 Is sung in Tennyson's wild lays. 
 
 Moves on between the logs and stops 
 
 Within, the pools awhile, then drops 
 
 In troubled accents o'er some steep. 
 
 The early stars begin to keep 
 
 Their vigil round a tired world ; 
 
 The farmer's call to cows is hurled 
 
 Across the fields until it wakes 
 
 In yonder forest wall and takes 
 
 Its backward bound. A soothing sound 
 
 Which travels slow along the ground 
 
 Is borne upon the cooling bree/e 
 
 And niunnurs in the swaying trees ; 
 
 15 
 
CULLED FROM EVENING. 
 
 The great trunks form a line of black, 
 And through its center runs a track 
 Of light. The wagon with its wheels 
 Grates harsh upon this peace, and steals 
 Away the quiet of the hour 
 With all its sense of hidden power. 
 Day sinks itself in gathering night ; 
 The last faint rays of western light 
 Dip soft away. The heavy cars 
 Roll dismally along ; the stars 
 Are crowding in the arch above — 
 The youth is wondering when his love 
 Will be more than a rhyme - told song. 
 The farmer, with his hand made strong 
 By toil, sinks down upon his bed 
 After his loved good night is said. 
 O days ! beyond my poor recall, 
 Linked to my soul with love, how small 
 Thy griefs ! But in life's gathering hope 
 Backward my memories ever slope; 
 And while my faith grows firmer fixed 
 I'll keep the doubts with courage mixed. 
 
 i6 
 
AT THE blacksmith's. 
 
 AT THE BLACKSMITH'S 
 
 To - DAY I stopped at the back swung door, 
 
 And a feeling of sadness swept o'er 
 
 The scene like the one I used to love 
 
 When I was a boy, not yet above 
 
 The bare -foot tramp around the fields. 
 
 What a flood of delight remembrance yields 
 
 As I sit again and hear the roar 
 
 Of bellows, and see the iron once more, 
 
 And hear the horses stamp. I applaud 
 
 The bay with words as he stands half awed 
 
 By the black - smith's quick and steady stroke 
 
 As he pounds the nail and drives the joke. 
 
 The sparks leapt aloft as the canvas swelled, 
 
 And moaned on its lips where the hot waves welled, 
 
 And groaned while a grimy hand so strong 
 
 Pulled the lever down, and then came a song. 
 
 The memory of the past abides 
 
 As life leaps along in crimson tides. 
 
 While youth grows fainter and farther away 
 
 Still the boys are passing the place each day, 
 
 And they stop and twitter, and strain their eyes 
 
 With sights like those I saw. Surprise 
 
 17 
 
AT THE blacksmith's. 
 
 Creeps into their fevered brains and breaks 
 
 In laughter and cheers, and rudely awakes 
 
 The embers that hide in the black- smith's heart 
 
 As he ply's his stroke and honors his art. 
 
 Sometimes he smiles, and again a tear 
 
 Creeps across his cheek while he stoops to hear 
 
 The boyish clamor and questioning 
 
 That touch life's harp on its delicate string. 
 
 i8 
 
MORE THINGS OF SUMMER. 
 
 MORE THINGS OF SUMMER. 
 
 Once more I sit in the shade and hear 
 
 The bumble - bee buzz and the robin squeak, 
 
 While across the road that runs so near 
 
 The wood - pecker thumps with his ivory beak. 
 
 And the breezes toss the golden grain 
 
 And bend the tops of the maple trees ; 
 
 The cows saunter slowly clown the lane 
 
 And the wind - mill grinds as the currents please. 
 
 The grass flattens out where I lie and muse 
 And get back close to Heaven once more ; 
 The boy thumps out with his stogy shoes 
 And whistles and swings the old - barn - door. 
 
 Thegeese gabble round and saucily hiss, 
 And the guineas cluck ^^ pa - twrack, pa - twrack; " 
 The doves flutter down and murmur amiss 
 While the sob of the orchard floats back. 
 
 The young apples hang in clusters on high 
 And the leaves keep them company greenly rich; 
 The boys look longing right up at the sky 
 Where the tree - toad croaks in his hidden niche. 
 
 Sweet scent of the meadow fills the day 
 And tells of clover - blooms richest red ; 
 The oriole swings and swings away 
 And into the nest pulls hiick her head. 
 
 19 
 
MORE THINGS OF SUMMER. 
 
 My neighbor, the jolly and bare -foot man, 
 Lies flat on his back in the front - door yard ; 
 His head is lowered as far as it can, 
 And his slumbers the dog's eyes guard. 
 
 The punkins are big almost as my fist. 
 
 And the vines are reaching all ways about ; 
 
 While the melons begin to insist 
 
 For room, and the corn-stalks get more stout. 
 
 The potato - bugs climb up in the sun 
 And sit as still as a practised shirk ; 
 They eat and eat until they are done 
 Or till the Paris - green does its work. 
 
BOY LIFE. 
 
 BOY LIFE. 
 
 Just to get a new and dainty fit 
 
 Of clothes, and to catch the biggest chub, 
 
 To astonish the boys with a little bit 
 
 Of dexterous leaping across the fence, 
 
 Without once touching your hands : to commence 
 
 To make the hide on your fore -head rub. 
 
 To stand at the head of the spelling class, 
 And knock the ball so hard, till it flies 
 As high as the maple trees ; to gas 
 With the man who runs the heavy machine 
 And keeps it Oh ! so nice and clean. 
 And eats with his knife the freshest pies. 
 
 And then it's a hero who can ride 
 
 The iron -gray horses that champ the steel. 
 
 Who can sit astride or on one side — 
 
 High honor it is to drive the team 
 
 And help the women churn the cream 
 
 With the churn that turns by an iron wheel. 
 
 And it enlarges the mimic's head 
 
 To be requested to write his name 
 
 In copy - books, with a pencil red ; 
 
 And there is a thrill of pride and stir 
 
 Of power when his neighbor calls him ''sir" — 
 
 To be forgotten is the palm of shame. 
 
 21 
 
BOY LIFE. 
 
 When the school - mam smiles he colors quick, 
 
 When the girls choose him he feels a thrill 
 
 Of joy shoot into his heart, and thick 
 
 Is his ready tongue for a little while ; 
 
 And he is in his highest style 
 
 When he .says a piece, and the crowd is still. 
 
 But Oh ! he hears of the city and longs 
 To see the towers that loom so high 
 Aloft ; and he sings his sister old songs. 
 And runs on errands to the neighbor folks ; 
 But he eats green apples and nearly chokes 
 As he lolls beneath the big blue sky. 
 
 22 
 
THE BUBBLING BAUGO. 
 
 THE BUBBLING BAUGO. 
 
 Across the corn - field, past the trees 
 The Baugo luns ; in galaxies 
 Of waves he crowds among the shrubs 
 That line his track ; he maddened rubs 
 The banks of clay that shining turn 
 And crook and meet the waters stern. 
 He darts below J. Sticklers barn 
 And spins away among the yarn 
 Of calamus that mats the clay ; 
 And here the shiners dart away 
 As boys toss in the baited hook, 
 And anxious, free from spelling book, 
 They see the cork go bobbing down. 
 Their faces catch the darkest brown 
 In spite of straw - hats with broad brim. 
 The swallows flit and float and skim 
 So close beside the water's edge. 
 Far out upon the rocky ledge 
 The turtle sits and w^nks and fries 
 His back against the sun, nor tries 
 His skill at leaping, but creeps in 
 
THE BUBBLTNG BAUGO. 
 
 And dives ^yhene'er you just begin 
 
 To crawl upon him where he stays. 
 
 Across the brook where cattle graze 
 
 The fish - hawk screeches, seated on 
 
 The limb from which the leaves are gone ; 
 
 His murmur has a long - drawn cry 
 
 Of woe for me when dog- days dry 
 
 The brooks, and when the open sky 
 
 Keeps on its garb of steady blue, 
 
 And the mosquitoes half eat you. 
 
 The king -fisher skims, and bold 
 
 Darts by, and angered tries to scold ; 
 
 He dips his breast in the whirling pool, 
 
 Nor does he fly by any rule 
 
 Of measurement, but probes his beak 
 
 Into the stream, then goes to seek 
 
 The hollow in the bank below 
 
 The great oak tree, which late will throw 
 
 The acorns in the waves and moan 
 
 Beneath the moon when autumn's own 
 
 Career has stripped the trembling twigs 
 
 Of all their leaves, and frost - fall digs 
 
 The greenness from belated corn. 
 
 stream ! wiiere appetite was born 
 In me for song of birds and bees ; 
 Where panting on the matted leas 
 
 1 tossed myself and wondered what 
 On earth could be a happier lot 
 
 24 
 
THE BUBBLING BAUGO. 
 
 Than mine, with all the wealth of love 
 Which parents gave. The softening glove 
 Of city scenes not yet had cooled 
 My boy - hood loves, nor yet had ruled 
 The fashion of my coats and shoes — 
 So fast and strange life's current strews 
 The early hopes, and sweeps us on 
 The way where higher faith must dawn. 
 
 25 
 
THE PLACE TO BE A BOY. 
 
 THE PLACE TO BE A BOY. 
 
 All right, I confess, to live in town 
 Where the houses loom up so high, 
 And steeples of churches look down 
 As you pass where the street - cars fly. 
 
 It is good, I admit, to get the news 
 
 As it fills the papers and helps you wait ; 
 
 To wear clean breeches and well - blacked shoes, 
 
 And to hear the statesmen orate. 
 
 These are fine, but by far the best 
 
 And sweetest of life for boys. 
 
 Is to live where the wild birds nest 
 
 And to taste the country's unmixed joys; 
 
 To climb the hickory trees for nuts, 
 And to shake the butternuts on the ground ; 
 To hold to the seat w^hile the wicked ruts 
 Make the Avagon creak and crazy bound : 
 
 To hunt the rabbit and wily fox. 
 And leap across the brooks and the logs ; 
 To ride the horses and drive the ox. 
 And to watch the wiggling polly - wogs : 
 
 To know where the ivy twines 
 And the reddest June - berries grow ; 
 To mix your feet with the melon vines, 
 And to scent the blossoms before they go. 
 
 26 
 
THE PLACE TO BE A BOY. 
 
 Oh ! give me the fresh, pure breath 
 Of the country, without a street 
 In sight; where you can watch the death 
 Of the year and be the first to greet 
 
 The May - apples when- they sprout 
 And push the leaves as they cautious come ; 
 And I like the croak of the frogs about 
 The time when the pheasants drum. 
 
 And the tasks on the farm which they give 
 
 To the boy. make him walk with the sheep and pig; 
 
 And he trusts himself and learns to live 
 
 While his muscles and lungs grow big. 
 
 The horses that trot are better to ride 
 Than electric cars that spin 
 And shake and bounce ; and too, inside 
 They charge you five cents to begin. 
 
 More goodness sinks into the soul, 
 More courage gets into the brain 
 Where the sun - light streams, and the roll 
 Of Nature sweeps on in her strain. 
 
GEORGE CAUGHT IN THE MESHES. 
 
 GEORGE CAUGHT IN THE MESHES. 
 
 Across my lady's face there runs 
 A smile which I can't help adore ; 
 The larger chase the little ones 
 And then they all run back once more. 
 Her lips are curved so fine, and tipped 
 With rosy red ; and too, a kiss 
 Is there. One time I slyly slipped 
 And stole a few, which she don't miss. 
 
 I never yet have penned a rhyme 
 
 To celebrate my lady's worth, 
 
 For when I try to, every time 
 
 They mix too much w^ith things of earth. 
 
 I can't make purest things more pure 
 
 Nor add new beauty to the rose : 
 
 Paper and pen I am quite sure 
 
 Will fail to even half disclose. 
 
 Something is prisoned in my vest — 
 I wonder if the same will be 
 When I am older and the best 
 Of life eterne is gone from me ? 
 The sweetest smiles that oftimes live 
 On lady lips, or e'en a laugh 
 Like giant's roar, could never give 
 My secret all away, nor half. 
 
 28 
 
GEORGE CAUGHT IN THE MESHES. 
 
 Far stretched the prairies lie between, 
 And miles of forest bar my eyes 
 From sight of hers. The hills were green 
 When last we parted, and the skies 
 Were smoky all around the edge ; 
 The black - bird beat his random way. 
 And sparrows fluttered in the hedge — 
 How sweet it would have been to stay I 
 
 I will not vex myself with doubt 
 To know if these pure joys can last ; 
 Not now shall they be put to rout 
 By sterner things — Fll hold them fast. 
 Life is so strangely, deftly spun 
 With mingling of the false and true. 
 When once a joy unmixed IVe won 
 Oh ! let me live it slowly through. 
 
 Let Byron rage and strike his chain. 
 Let cynics hug their wretched choice ; 
 Let me strike up a little strain 
 To suit my lady's trembling voice, 
 ril seek the rose and not the thorn, 
 And when the roses cease to grow 
 And bloom Til hasten to adorn 
 With other flowers — I hate old woe I 
 
 29 
 
INDICATIONS. 
 
 INDICATIONS. 
 
 George left me just a little while ago : 
 
 I asked him what was on again — you know 
 
 That we are confidential friends, and they 
 
 Are rather scarce along the world's high - way. 
 
 But to-night my friend was silent, and the dart 
 
 Of humor in his eye shut oat my heart ; 
 
 But then it is plain that when I once confess 
 
 That secrecy is mean — Yes, wretchedness — 
 
 The boy will let me see what is inside 
 
 His own heart's core ; I never yet defied 
 
 Him when he challenged me to let him see 
 
 My deepest plot of love and secrecy. 
 
 And friendship is a jealous, fleeing thing. 
 
 Nor will it stay where light doubts bring 
 
 Suspicion ever so small : the heart must be 
 
 As frank as morning sunrise and as free 
 
 As holy Christian's love for Himx w^io fain 
 
 Would humanly have missed dark Calvary's pain. 
 
 But now the meaning of his eye I know — 
 
 Soft ! listen while the moon is dipping low^ 
 
 Into the lurid West ; the soft tones flow 
 
 Along the street ; the crisp and midnight air 
 
 Is freighted with a song — almost a prayer. 
 
 It is the lover's strain, sweet serenade. 
 
 And I am anxious, too, yes l.alf afraid 
 
 30 
 
INDICATIONS. 
 
 Lest she who sleeps in yonder darkened room 
 
 May only dream that in the night's deep gloom 
 
 A hero came and called in sobbing tone — 
 
 But no, for they who worship from the throne 
 
 Which love lifts up, not slowly recognize 
 
 The voice which all through waking hours they prize. 
 
 And now the song is gone, and with it, too, 
 
 A youthful hope and fervor larger grew : 
 
 Soft hands are used to send a girPs reply. 
 
 And with the plauding George again will try. 
 
 O these are little Juliet and Romeo ! 
 
 It is the wide world's way : this overflow 
 
 Of youthful bliss will never, never cease, 
 
 Though lover's vows are broken and increase 
 
 Of anguish comes with gathering years. How plain 
 
 Why George would only smile ! he won't refrain 
 
 From pouring out his secret now, and we 
 
 Will laugh and celebrate right royally. 
 
 31 
 
GEORGE'S PRAYER. 
 
 Kind Father/ what hast thou not done 
 
 To help the quickening pulses run 
 
 With ecstacy ! What world could be 
 
 More crowned with love than this I see 
 
 About me ? Such childish laughs and pranks 
 
 Are every where : no later clanks 
 
 Of fear oppressed love they feel, 
 
 But every moment starts a pe^l 
 
 Of joy from off red lips ; the tear 
 
 That transient griefs press out, is near 
 
 Upon a smile, which latent lies 
 
 And breaks before the sorrow dies. 
 
 All this I lived one time, and yet 
 
 There linger memories I can't forget. 
 
 Of youth's own bliss of things possessed. 
 
 Dear Lord, have not I been caressed 
 
 By mother hands ? have not lips pressed 
 
 To mine her fondest tear- wet kiss? 
 
 Nor do I now once daily miss 
 
 Her prayer for me, and when 1 take 
 
 Long leave of her there is such ache 
 
 In this full heart — could thy great thought 
 
 Spare her least pain ; may never aught 
 
 Of all I do rob her of sleep 
 
 Or make the furrows sink more deep 
 
 32 
 
George's prayer. 
 
 Upon her cheek. My brothers are 
 Grown men, but every little jar 
 To us hurts those hard wrung heart strings 
 Which loved us through the darkest things. 
 
 Christ and God! Thou hast returned 
 The blossoms to the trees and earned 
 Such love from me ! I saddened yearned 
 To see the meadow with its dress 
 Come noiseless back, that I might press 
 My heart upon the mother fair, 
 
 Who with anemones set there 
 
 And pansies sweet, outruns my prayer. 
 
 And this deep frightened breath 
 
 Swept out the wood, has banished death 
 
 From every hill ; the swaying pine 
 
 Is lost among the greener twine 
 
 Of vines and tossing, fluttering flags 
 
 Of foliage ; the little crags 
 
 Of greenness spread across the hill 
 
 Tempt me to stop. O God, I will 
 
 Not ask for garlands better twined 
 
 1 han these whereon I fall, inclined 
 To sleep and dream. But O ! I would 
 The little girls in alleys could 
 
 Breathe here the breath which tosses white 
 The blossoms where I try to write. 
 And if there were more loved in all 
 The hearts that crowd to see the fall 
 
 33 
 
GEORGE'S PRAYER. 
 
 Of ashes on some fevered face 
 
 Which lets this world of beauty go 
 
 And meets the things almost we know ! 
 
 O, Christ ! shall I profane these lips 
 
 To ask thee for great things — high place 
 
 Where manhood stoops and sullied slips ? 
 
 Couldst Ttiou, O holy, holy One, 
 
 Let all my heart's outgoings run 
 
 With keener zest, to those who sit 
 
 In darkness ? in whose face is writ 
 
 The blush of shame ? And if it may 
 
 Be so, help us to find the way 
 
 To call the deadened virtue back 
 
 To some dark - dealing soul. Unpack 
 
 The selfishness which sits enthroned 
 
 In hearts of those who Christ have owned 
 
 Upon their lips, but never yet 
 
 Have eager tried to soothing let 
 
 The good deed find its patient way 
 
 Where sorrow sits and scarce can pray. 
 
 Father, befriend, O not forsake 
 
 The ones unloved who maddened wake 
 
 And scorn the sun - beams as they find 
 
 The shadows in the filthy mind. 
 
 And there are still forgotten things 
 
 For which my heart so riven sings, — 
 
 Loved ones on whom the curtain swings 
 
 Of poverty, and cruel brings 
 
 34 
 
George's prayer. 
 
 The sleepless night of dread unrest. 
 
 Need this be so ? Thou knowest best 
 
 Which way all dutys should be learned, 
 
 And how the common problem burned 
 
 Into life's core. Be blessings on 
 
 Me when the blithesome days are gone, 
 
 Be my first love as pure and calm 
 
 As when I earliest drank the balm 
 
 Of kisses oif the willing lips. 
 
 And mid all pain, through awkward slips 
 
 Of life, may every effort lift 
 
 Some one and make the shadows drift. 
 
 35 
 
GEORGE AWAY ! BUT SOON TO RETURN. 
 
 GEORGE AWAY! BUT SOON TO RETURN. 
 
 The leaves are falling and softly float 
 The laughter and ripple of waters, and in 
 The night - time from the cuckoo's throat 
 The wierd notes come ; and now begin 
 To gather the frogs along the stream, 
 And the marsh is dark and still, 
 While the early fire - flies gleam 
 Down below the silent mill. 
 
 In this calm hour Clotilde 
 
 Sits twining the tendrils and leaves 
 
 Which her lap have carelessly filled ; 
 
 And in her heart she silent grieves 
 
 That I must away on the morrow's sunrise 
 
 To the land where the cypress swings. 
 
 And the summer never dies, 
 
 And no winter - wind sings. 
 
 Good night ! and farewell, O love, 
 Until my errand is done ; 
 With thee in my heart and God above. 
 My labor will lightly be won 
 And letters Til send and flowers 
 Plucked off from the orange trees, 
 To hurry the days and the hours 
 Till again I kiss thy lips with these. 
 
 36 
 
GEORGE'S REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 GEORGE'S REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 But O! for a pen that rightly might tell 
 
 The secret I keep and save it so well, 
 
 Of the love whose presence is ever near, 
 
 Though the winter chills and the storm beats drear; 
 
 And the times when we pressed the daisies sweet 
 
 And crowded the sand down under our feet ; 
 
 Of the things that we knew yet did not say 
 
 As the stars turned round the arched way. 
 
 Dear sunshine and shadow were all forgot ; 
 
 The tremble of trees in the garden lot 
 
 We saw, but the love that we worshiping knew, 
 
 As pure as the dawn, as chaste as the dew, 
 
 Filled full our hearts and calmly shut out 
 
 The world that mixed - up was scattered about. 
 
 ">! 
 
George's elegy for karl ardent. 
 
 GEORGE'S ELEGY FOR KARL ARDENT. 
 
 PRIEST, your words are dark with pain ; 
 You try to tell me what his share 
 
 Of bliss : but you forget the gain 
 That I had in his face so fair. 
 So many times we met and vied 
 In friendly feats of earnest thought — 
 Lm sure no ill can him betide, 
 But such sincerity he brought. 
 
 His picture hangs above my chair, 
 Those eyes so steady scan my face, 
 And in that deep, courageous air 
 
 1 see the type of manly grace. 
 No trace of cowardice is here, 
 
 No sign of choice for sensuous sin — 
 My friend ! his love I had sincere, 
 No maiden had essayed to win. 
 
 Where is he now ? not long ago 
 He gave me entrance to his heart ; 
 My face is wet with streaming woe. 
 My life has sore been torn apart. 
 His sister does not moan, but I 
 Can scarce be reconciled to fate — 
 These tears would cease did I but try, 
 But griefs would fast accumulate. 
 
 38 
 
George's elegy for karl ardent. 
 
 Oh ! life has so much lack of joy, 
 And those in whom our trust is fixed 
 Are ah ! so few : he kept the boy 
 So sweetly with his manhood mixed. 
 When sorrow dropped upon my hope 
 He had such words of kind appeal 
 That I could see the future slope 
 Into the light. Almost I feel 
 
 The pressure of that firm right hand 
 
 Upon my- arm even as I write — 
 
 How soldiery he used to stand 
 
 And chafe me for my sighs ! he might 
 
 Have stayed below and blessed me still 
 
 As life runs swiftly to its end ; 
 
 It was his constant aim to fill 
 
 My joys — beneath this woe I bend. 
 
 Shall I wear emblems of my grief 
 To let the world know why my face 
 Is sad ? could this bring least relief, 
 And would it help to live and chase 
 The shadows from my daily task ? 
 I know what he would have me do — 
 Those lips are ready now to ask, 
 ^*Do you intend to live less true?" 
 
 39 
 
George's elegy for karl ardent. 
 
 Were it not best to stand erect, 
 
 Whatever good or ill befall ? 
 
 How well just now I recollect 
 
 His morning greeting and call 
 
 To follow when we heard the cry 
 
 Of pain sweep down the burning street,— 
 
 He did not hesitate to die 
 
 To make some other life more sweet? 
 
 How beautiful it is that such 
 As he are vouchsafed to the world ! 
 Around us moves and lingers much 
 So lowly vile : men's souls are curled 
 Within coarse mantles — weak as grass. 
 They imitate and ape the throng 
 And link themselves close to the class 
 Who do not feel another's wrong. 
 
 But this bold pioneer of mine 
 Had shut his teeth, compressed his lips. 
 And vowed that he would not resign 
 Himself to empty gain ; the whips 
 Which swing in Custom's coward hand 
 He scorned as only valiant heroes can,— 
 His life was calm, the day's command 
 He kept, and stood a noble man. 
 
 40 
 
GEORGE'S ELEGY FOR KARL ARDENT. 
 
 Ah ! his was the frankest heart : 
 He never quailed nor fear could know, 
 And never tried the shameless art 
 Which cowards train to meet a foe ; 
 But like the cloudless sun at dawn — 
 His face bespoke the hidden thought, 
 And crystal clear the voice now gone 
 His soul's expression sweetly wrought. 
 
 Where is he now ? Oh ! Faith, I see 
 The gold tints on the sun-set sky : 
 Those beauties ! have they small degree 
 Of lights which meet his sainted eye ? 
 What could I w^ish for him — a rest 
 Where pain and labor find release ? 
 No I no ! for him it seemed the best 
 To see the tasks begun, increase. 
 
 Who is it longs for rest ? not souls 
 Tvike his ; and where his spirit dwell, 
 I know his throbbing brain patrols 
 The wronged. And now, O Karl, farewell 
 Had it been mine to make the choice, 
 I would have chained thee to this heart ; 
 But I submit : henceforth thy voice, 
 Though gone, new courage shall impart. 
 
 41 
 
George's celestine. 
 
 GEORGE'S CELESTINE. 
 
 To-day 1 looked into the past — 
 
 It is a picture sad and vast ; 
 
 Crime and intrigue are everywhere, 
 
 Men lose themselves and lightly err 
 
 To win renown ; soldiers are lost 
 
 In bliss to see their brothers tossed 
 
 Upon the earth, and scarcely ask 
 
 How hearts will wring with woe ; they bask 
 
 In smile of emperor whose least salute 
 
 Quick wins the wavering recruit. 
 
 I am not faint to know that through 
 
 The years men rushed to arms and drew 
 
 Heart blood without a tear or sigh : 
 
 Mayhap because men dared to die 
 
 Ourselves and loved are named the free, 
 
 And breathe the air of liberty. 
 
 But, O Celeste, thy beaming face 
 
 And open heart and woman's grace. 
 
 Are more to me than all the fame 
 
 That lives about heroic name. 
 
 Oh sw^eet ! to know that every hour. 
 
 Afar or near, love's magic power 
 
 Abides, and thy dear heart is true 
 
 To our first pledge ; the mystic blue 
 
 Of thy fair-speaking, modest eyes 
 
 Is part of all I see ; surprise 
 
 42 
 
GEORGE'S CELESTINE. 
 
 Of song that came and went, as soft 
 
 You touched the keys, and trilled the oft 
 
 Repeated notes, lives on and gains 
 
 In melody as other strains 
 
 I hear. Celeste, thy voice was low 
 
 When evening shadows fell ; the glow 
 
 Of sunset kissed the hills, and tears 
 
 Were on my cheeks ; unbidden fears 
 
 Crowded themselves into my heart 
 
 When it was ours to kiss and part ; 
 
 But each day's toil is firmer writ 
 
 In earnestness to make it fit 
 
 Approval for thy coming smile. 
 
 When I shall clasp thy hand, and style 
 
 Thee queen of all that life may hold ; 
 
 And were my honors thousand-fold 
 
 As rich as ever came to gifted men, 
 
 ril live the old joy oft again, 
 
 Which thrilled me through, sublimely blessed 
 
 When your full heart its love confessed. 
 
 43 
 
George's friend in trouble. 
 
 CxEORGE'S FRIEND IN TROUBLE. 
 
 Two eyes he saw, and after that 
 
 He forgot where he was, and slipped his hat 
 
 On backward, and felt a thrill 
 
 Of trembling get into his w^ill. 
 
 And he went from the church all awake 
 
 With something that made his big heart ache 
 
 To see that face again and to rest 
 
 His eyes unknown upon the crest 
 
 Of her hat; and then a little more bold 
 
 He felt somewhat like the lovers of old 
 
 That his time had come. Asleep that night 
 
 He dreamed as usual ; he blew out the light 
 
 But saw in the darkness cold and deep 
 
 The lips of red and the graceful sweep 
 
 Of her head, and the chastest smile 
 
 And dimples that played and stayed awhile, 
 
 Then changed to new places in her cheeks. 
 
 The hours after that stretched out into weeks, 
 
 And his appetite grew slowly faint 
 
 And in his slumbers there came the taint 
 
 Of hope or despair : the rest of the fair 
 
 Ones had grown strangely poor and bare 
 
 44 
 
George's friend in trouble. 
 
 Of beauty for him. And Oh ! this boy, 
 
 My friend, so big and strong, like a toy 
 
 On the ocean was tossed about 
 
 With love : and he who had been so stout 
 
 And had laughed at danger and darkness, grew weak 
 
 And timid, and fearful, and afraid to seek 
 
 What most he prized. I said '' Now, go 
 
 Win the girl like the man you are, and show 
 
 What mettle is in your nerve and blood '' — 
 
 To-night the news came like a thud 
 
 Of surprise ; for J. E. in the spring will marry 
 
 And change the but not the Carrie. 
 
 45 
 
LONGING. 
 
 LONGING. 
 
 George is guessing what will be 
 
 The morrow weather, and if we 
 
 Can set our light canoe askim 
 
 On the river's eddying brim ; 
 
 Wondering if the rain will pelt 
 
 Round the water's edge where dwelt 
 
 The droves of ducks we slyly slipped 
 
 Upon, as noislessly the oars we dipped. 
 
 And we figure when the flowers 
 
 Will follow fast the warming showers, 
 
 And the lilacs soft awake 
 
 Such odors in the wind to shake ; 
 
 When the grass will spread as soft 
 
 As our boyhood pillows in the loft, 
 
 And the north wind will forget 
 
 For a season short to fret 
 
 The maple trees that sigh and swing 
 
 Like a war-encumbered king. 
 
 We wonder if the well-sown field 
 
 Will for the farmer plenteous yield. 
 
 And if the mortgage hanging o'er 
 
 The home can be released before 
 
 It falls. George asks me when perhaps 
 
 We can take a calm relapse 
 
 46 
 
LONGING 
 
 Out in the sunlight as it steals 
 
 Across the hills amid the peals 
 
 Of tree-top swinging bird and hum 
 
 Of morning things : the distant drum 
 
 Of pheasants in the tangled wood 
 
 And hen-hawk's cry of hardihood. 
 
 And sometimes, too, we whisper low 
 
 About the future and the slow 
 
 Approach of P'ortiine— skittish dame — 
 
 Who in our youthful fancy came 
 
 With palaces of art and sweet 
 
 Release from toil, where weary feet 
 
 And tired hands might rest and greet 
 
 Our sisters and our brothers who 
 
 Had been less happy, and slow grew 
 
 In wealth and fame. And then we fret 
 
 For swift return to her w^ho let 
 
 Us go with tear-dimmed eye and breath 
 
 That murmured some of fear lest death 
 
 Should steal away maternal bliss 
 
 Which comes when falls our greeting kiss. 
 
 And O, we muse about the day 
 
 When love shall come to us and stay 
 
 No more to shy and live in books 
 
 Alone : we question with what looks 
 
 The spell will come to him and me — 
 
 In loveliest, fairest modesty, 
 
 Or taunting, dangerous co(|uetr}'. 
 
 47 
 
LONGING 
 
 Will it be eyes of flashing dark 
 
 And cheek of marble with the mark 
 
 Of pink ? or will the eyes unseen 
 
 Be heaven's own blue ? and lips between 
 
 Which pearls of whiteness gently show, 
 
 While all the time they carry glow 
 
 Of reddest red ? and when we meet 
 
 With sadness and a strange retreat 
 
 Of joy we find in prose or song, 
 
 We wonder O, how far, how long 
 
 Must be the way until new laugh 
 
 Can be evoked, and lost the half 
 
 Of all the heavy load that's flung 
 
 Into life's scales so strangely swung. 
 
 And many times there comes the guess 
 
 When hearts will meet in tenderness 
 
 To see the prodigal out-cast 
 
 Find pity in men's love at last ; 
 
 When worships of the rich shall be 
 
 A thing of only memory, 
 
 A shadow in the past so filled 
 
 With wrong, which sweetest sweetness killed. 
 
 And O, we count the little span 
 
 Allotted to the full-lifed man, 
 
 And see the days spin off so swift 
 
 Into the realms where shadows drift ; 
 
 And then we long for courage strong 
 
 To help the right, make fail the wrong, 
 
 48 
 
LONGING. 
 
 To bring the day long shut from earth, 
 To haste the time of that new birth 
 Of man which shall bring in the reign 
 Of love without such bitter stain 
 Of self. And we look far across 
 The stream, and see a gain in loss 
 Of parting at the place called death — 
 And catch new hope with every breath. 
 
 49 
 
George's lady. 
 
 GEORGE'S LADY. 
 
 And she is fair as the early rose, 
 
 As pure as the breath of the morning that blows 
 
 From the hill where the mated flowers droop 
 
 In sweetness, and the whitest lilies group. 
 
 Oh ! she is lovely as the morn 
 
 With its clusters of clouds upborne ; 
 
 As the day when the shower has sudden left 
 
 The sun-light look through the clouds, bereft 
 
 Of the echoing thunder crash 
 
 And the livid lightning's maddened flash. 
 
 Oh ! she is whiter in soul than the flake 
 
 Which eddys and sinks in the hidden brake 
 
 Of the forest trees ; and her lips are still 
 
 Unkissed by another ; her calm eyes fill 
 
 With joy when my hand in hers is placed. 
 
 And her life is as beauteous and chaste 
 
 As the rain-drop which circles and sinks 
 
 In the sunlight ; as the bell which clinks 
 
 From afar as the timid herd climbs over 
 
 The hills all wrapped in their mantle of clover. 
 
 Oh ! she is as frank as the early star 
 
 When the skies of curtains all spotless are ; 
 
 50 
 
George's lady. 
 
 As the maiden who trusting loves 
 
 Her brother ; as sweet is she as the doves 
 
 That cooing sit quiet and soften their voice 
 
 Oh ! she is my love and I am her choice — 
 
 Unworthy, too, of her gifted trust ; 
 
 And the harshness all the notes encrust 
 
 When I offer a song in the dead 
 
 Of night as she sleeps in her snow-white bed 
 
 Above me where I lie in the pallid light 
 
 Of the moon, and around is the veil of night. 
 
 51 
 
TO A LITTLE GIRL. 
 
 TO A LITTLE GIRL. 
 
 Such eyes ! jet black, and too, 
 
 They sparkle and thrill me through. 
 
 Your apron is tied as neat as the rose 
 
 Fits into its place — such bows 
 
 Only mothers can make. 
 
 See here, little one, don't shake 
 
 Your head so harshly nor cough. 
 
 For the dimples might fall off. 
 
 Your playthings are there on the sod, 
 
 Left careless to answer a nod 
 
 Of greeting that came from the man 
 
 Who brings the berries and keeps the can 
 
 Of milk in the cart, in front 
 
 Of his feet, and drives the pigs that grunt, 
 
 And whistles the dogs that hunt. 
 
 Your blooming, bonnetted face 
 
 Bears not the first little trace 
 
 Of shame or grief, and the tears 
 
 That gather for a few short years 
 
 To come, will be light as the dew — 
 
 So quick to depart and so to renew ! 
 
 And the silvery tones of your tongue 
 
 Like wood-bird notes, are flung 
 
 With laughter's own careless pearls. 
 
 Which sweetly jostle the curls 
 
 52 
 
TO A LITTLE GIRL. 
 
 About your ears. In the distant land 
 
 The Master's gentle command 
 
 To his followers by the sea 
 
 Was the wish that they might be 
 
 Like the children who came to him. 
 
 Faces grow long and grim 
 
 As the years crowd on and sweep 
 
 With remorseless steps, and deep 
 
 The voice gets, and carries a tone 
 
 Of business. But I am prone 
 
 Almost to wish that your 
 
 Sweet self as you are might endure. 
 
 O what would you like the best ? 
 
 Your playthings lose sudden the zest 
 
 Of daily pleasure for you : 
 
 You need a toy or dolly that's new. 
 
 Sweet one ! it pleases me so 
 
 To steal a kiss ; and you don't know 
 
 How much is the trouble your mother takes 
 
 To butter your bread and cool off the cakes, 
 
 To smooth down the pillow and curl your hair, 
 
 And fix in your heart a little prayer. 
 
 But we'll not vex us now and wonder 
 
 What is to be, but ever soft under 
 
 My vest remembrance of best kiss 
 
 I'll keep — You are too perfect for this 
 
 Crooked rhyme : and now we must say good-by 
 
 Be just a girl and don't you dare cry. 
 
 53 
 
LIFE'S MIXTURE. 
 
 LIFE'S MIXTURE. 
 
 Unsung men die ! but this has naught 
 Of pain for me : such tears bedew 
 My heart to see men still untaught 
 In deeds of love and mercy too. 
 
 Dear little children moan and press 
 Thin lips to mother's sadly marred 
 With shame, made sadder with distress : 
 And love's fair gates are harshly jarred. 
 
 The wheels of commerce grind and crush 
 Fair childhood still in tenderest bloom, 
 And over song they bring a hush, 
 And into love a murderous gloom. 
 
 Oh ! wealth of gold is empty spite 
 Of drapery and jewels rare : 
 Hearts are the home, and lives delight 
 Where passion pure outrivals care. 
 
 Such blighted lives in prisons droop 
 And quiver at the faint recall 
 Of her who smiling used to stoop 
 And coo and let the kisses fall. 
 
 The summer creeps into the year 
 And brings the spring and flowers back, 
 But cannot wake my loved so dear 
 Who sleep beside the wagon track. 
 
 54 
 
life's mixture. 
 
 Nor does it heal the wounded hearts 
 So foully seared with careless wrong ; 
 It needs love's rarest art of arts 
 To fill the soul with sweetest song. 
 
 The year is steeped with wild delight, 
 And autumn crowns it round with gold ; 
 But sorrow's links the chain unite — 
 Not half life's pain was ever told. 
 
 O heart ! it is not fortune's thrust 
 Of bitterness at thee I note ; 
 But those I love life's woes encrust, 
 And stop the music in my throat. 
 
 But joy will come to them and I 
 Will seal the sadness ere it slips 
 And sets the tear drop in my eye 
 And burns upon these fevered lips. 
 
 55 
 
IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 
 
 IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 
 
 The smile of the girls and the jolly joke 
 Of the boys as we meet and give and take 
 Keen thrusts of humor, and gently poke 
 A pun to set the laughter awake. 
 
 There is a sweetness in the strain 
 
 Of music that comes from the new church choir : 
 
 As they sing the old tunes with soft refrain 
 
 I feel myself borne higher and higher. 
 
 And there is such joy in the dear sunrise 
 As it mounts the towering steeples and hills, 
 Streaks away on the scattered clouds and the skies, 
 And awakes again the whistles and mills. 
 
 And, too, it is so good to work 
 All the day and scarcely note as flies 
 The time fast away, and never shirk 
 A duty till slumber bedews the eyes. 
 
 Oh pleasant ! to watch the moon and the stars 
 
 As they scatter across the blue, 
 
 While below me hurry the passenger cars 
 
 And carry their precious freight safely through. 
 
 56 
 
IS LIFE WORTH LIVING ? 
 
 Oh blessing ! to meet the ones who held 
 To me fast when life was dark and cold, 
 When through the sadness, so hardly quelled, 
 Small hope of success was left to hold. 
 
 High treasure of life ! to live for those 
 
 Who silently sorrow and anxious wait 
 
 For the good time to come when the beaten foes 
 
 Of high effort their warfare abate. 
 
 And, then, to know that true deed and word 
 Of kindness forever endure and win 
 New beauty wherever they are seen and heard, 
 From the moment they first begin. 
 
 57 
 
THE BEST IN THE WORLD ! 
 
 THE BEST IN THE WORLD ! 
 
 A SONG to-night, boys? Alas ! I would 
 
 That I had music in my soul — Homer could 
 
 If he were here. Suppose I try a toast ? 
 
 ^^Our sweethearts?" you know that pleases most 
 
 Young fellows anytime, by day or night ; 
 
 But then you see Vm older and not quite 
 
 So like to wander off on things like that — 
 
 Don't leave us, Jim ; some one pull off his hat. 
 
 Jim met with a misfortune late, 'tis said. 
 
 Talk '^sweet-heart" to him, he gets as rich, ripe red 
 
 As cranberries when they are nicely cooked. 
 
 And it's whispered round that Charley hooked 
 
 His girl from him down at the dance — 
 
 The boy I he's got an uncle and two aunts 
 
 With lots of money ; they keep him trim, 
 
 And the sweetest girl in town will smile on him. 
 
 But to-night there is a fairer one for me — 
 
 You don't believe it? Wait. Do you see 
 
 That letter over there ? my pen is wet. 
 
 The ink is dripping from it yet ; 
 
 Inside of that is the story of my love : 
 
 A pretty theme ? Ah I yes, it is, but above 
 
 58 
 
THE BEST IN THE WORLD ! 
 
 The common songs that line our books — 
 
 I see a face ! how sweet and pure it looks ! 
 
 There is no error here ; fortune may never smile, 
 
 Or if she come and fail, I know the while 
 
 This love is fixed as yonder northern star ; 
 
 And if I linger near or wander far. 
 
 Wide open arms, caresses chaste, as sweet 
 
 As angel smile are hidden there to greet, 
 
 Oh ! those hands have cooled my fevered brow — 
 
 How vividly I see the tears (you must allow 
 
 Me time to be myself again) I felt 
 
 A thickening in my throat ; 'twill quickly melt 
 
 As other memories come streaming on : 
 
 Of patient toil, blest deeds of love ; at dawn 
 
 The day was ushered in by tenderest cares ; 
 
 Sweet songs of cheer and oft-unuttered prayers ; 
 
 And as the sun crept up his circled steep 
 
 All worn with play safe-guarded I could sleep. 
 
 Jt was her love tones, too, when shadows came 
 
 Could put such sweetness in my rugged name ; 
 
 And how it spurred my hope to know that she, 
 
 In faith that never shook, could urge a plea 
 
 Before the throne that guards the sparrow's fall. 
 
 The world's mishaps might come, and through it all 
 
 I saw a toil-worn hand held out to me 
 
 Which chained and yet could always set me free. 
 
 Yes; talk about your sweethearts, — their eyes 
 
 Struck from the blue that rims these northern skies; 
 
 59 
 
THE BEST IN THE WORLD ! 
 
 Or, if perchance, you rather have them jet. 
 Who knows whether they look upon another, w^et 
 With weeping ? And, too, the arts which they essay 
 May charm somebody else when you're away. 
 IVe plucked the fairest lily on the lake — 
 Send yours wherever you will, I vow to take 
 This one, and with a kiss and accent low 
 I'll crown the queen of womankind below ; 
 And do you guess whose is such nameless worth ? 
 It is my mother ! the sweetest name on earth. 
 
 60 
 
FAREWELL ! 
 
 FAREWELL ! 
 
 No revelry to-night 
 
 While we sit, and talk, and tell 
 
 Of the times when our hearts were light 
 
 And no darkening shadows fell. 
 
 The books are tossed away, 
 While we turn the theme that suits 
 Us best : the things of to-day. 
 And hap'ly no one confutes. 
 
 Who dare disturb as we sit, 
 And hurl wild jokes, and guess 
 Whom Cupid, the wily, will hit 
 The first and so sore distress ? 
 
 I go to-morrow to seek 
 
 The southern sky where flowers 
 
 Are mixed with the fruit, and the freak 
 
 Of frost never stops the showers. 
 
 Who w^ill live the best of us boys ? 
 Who will keep these memories sweet ? 
 Who will guard while the world employs 
 Its arts to entangle his feet? 
 
 Good by, now Karl and Jim, 
 
 Till we meet with the gathered news — 
 
 And Homer, we all love him, 
 
 And wait for the tread of his shoes. 
 
 6i 
 
FAREWELL ! 
 
 No cup dripping down with wine 
 Do we lift to our laughing lips ; 
 Our mothers like us to incline 
 Away from the tempting sips. 
 
 Our sweet-hearts wherever they be 
 We long for and then suppress 
 The secrets which trouble us three 
 While our hand- grips tight we press. 
 
 Adieu ! and ever keep 
 From shame, and hopeing go 
 That while the seasons sweep 
 Our love may live aglow. 
 
 62 
 
THE DARK SIDE. 
 
 THE DARK SIDE. 
 
 Father of light, thy children weep 
 To-night in palace, hut and hall : 
 Wherever stars their vigil keep 
 The bitter tear-drops fall. 
 
 Some hearts are seared with wildest pain, 
 Some child is faint and sad alone ; 
 And in the sunshine falls the rain 
 The cypress swings and starts the moan. 
 
 The tangled webs of life swift spin 
 Away, and cheeks grow strangely pale ; 
 In place of purity the tracks of sin 
 Are marked, and strong hearts quail. 
 
 Oh ! power for good is madly turned 
 From what it needed, might have done ; 
 Love's path-way, too, is coldly spurned 
 And filthy wishes foul begun. 
 
 Sits everywhere the widowed one. 
 Her children sw^ept away so far ; 
 And when the day's small tasks are done 
 Her prayer goes after where they are. 
 
 Talent and worth are nameless crushed, 
 And hope droops down her head ; 
 The sweetest song mayhap is hushed 
 By poverty which weighs like lead. 
 
 63 
 
THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 
 THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 
 To-night around the hearth fires sit 
 United hearts, and in the glow 
 From off the flames which shining flit. 
 Sweet conversations ebb and flow. 
 
 Joy beams from the eyes that I chance to meet, 
 And happiness everywhere looks and lurks; 
 While childish, pattering, unshod feet 
 Are beating the sand like little Turks. 
 
 The lip of the mourner sighing, stills 
 The pain as it climbs from the heart below ; 
 Across the meadow and over the hills 
 Are coming the songs I used to know. 
 
 The babies are cooing, and parent joy 
 Is drunk with the speech of one-year-olds ; 
 Young hands are tossing the latest toy. 
 And an arm the wayward son enfolds. 
 
 The lover is calm in the promise true 
 Which his sweet-heart trusting gives ; 
 Old age is hoping again to renew 
 Its youth in the land which all time lives. 
 
 64 
 
THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 
 Strong freemen are proud in spite 
 Of poverty which grips them fast, 
 While they court and do not shun the fight, 
 And win the needed joys at last. 
 
 And love is reaching out apace 
 To succor the souls whose lives are dark, 
 And sweetness is gathering in the face 
 Where scowling had furrowed deep its mark. 
 
 65 
 
A CHRISTIAN S THANKSGIVING PRAYER. 
 
 A CHRISTIAN'S THANKSGIVmG PRAYER. 
 
 Dear Lord, what prayer now shall I give ? 
 *^ It is so beautiful to live ; '' 
 And thou art O, so far away — 
 Can this be true ? Thy word does say 
 That as days come and quickly end, 
 Forever thou dost near attend. 
 Shall I thank thee in heart because 
 No pain I bore, and rich applause 
 Was mine ? Is it for joy we stay 
 Within this tenement of clay ? 
 Oh Christ ! thy steps across the plain 
 Were dogged, but thou didst not complain ; 
 Shall I then dare to inward plead 
 That joy unstinted be my meed? 
 The poet's heart, sore, crushed with pain, 
 Has sung its sweetest, softest strain. 
 And men who dropped time's golden sand 
 Unused away, grow nobly grand 
 Because some grief upon them sent 
 Awoke to life the deep intent. 
 Did rosy lips turn lily-white 
 And death sink all my day in night? 
 Mayhap it was thine own right hand 
 Dropped dow^n to save a burning brand. 
 
 66 
 
A CHRISTIAN'S THANKSGIVING PRAYER. 
 
 Shall I thank thee for gain alone, 
 
 Because my hopes have wildly grown 
 
 By some unheralded success ? 
 
 Or shall I join the throng and bless 
 
 Thee for the providential dart 
 
 Which pierced me through, laid bare my heart ? 
 
 Father, for gain and loss I owe 
 
 Thee song and prayer : how can I know 
 
 With these dim-sighted, human eyes ? 
 
 Grief may be good in dark disguise. 
 
 67 
 
NEW YEAR LINES. 
 
 NEW YEAR LINES. 
 
 O LIFE SO sweet ! with joy so filled ! 
 
 And O so brief ! The sunset tints 
 
 Across the hills now gently gild 
 
 The clouds ; down drop the darkness' hints. 
 
 The vesper bell rings w^ildly loud 
 And beckons me to look within ; 
 Who has been false and vilely proud 
 Come now and claim relief from sin. 
 
 Father of all, to-night the year 
 With its great freight of love and crime 
 Must wrap the shroud mid winds so blear 
 And sink into the tomb of time. 
 
 We would not weep this hour unless 
 The fainting heart and careless lip 
 Have missed a chance to love and bless, 
 And so have let some good deed slip. 
 
 68 
 
A LETTER I LOVE. 
 
 A LETTER I LOVE. 
 
 Three letters to-night ; and the best 
 
 Has come all the way from the West, 
 
 Where the sunsets dip low in the sea, 
 
 x\nd the Chinaman, sir Hop Lee, 
 
 Wears his cue and laundries the shirts. 
 
 Where the red-wood tree so stately skirts 
 
 The hills. There the goat and the wild-sheep play, 
 
 And the hunter beats the brush all day. 
 
 O summer is there the long, long year 
 
 While the frost and the snow are vexing here ; 
 
 And the purple grapes cluster and cling 
 
 In the leaves while the girls laugh and sing 
 
 And taunt the boys with a dearth of smiles, 
 
 While into their hearts come the aching wiles 
 
 And wishes and hopes that sometime yet 
 
 One manly and strong and brave will set 
 
 Their love all aflame ; and their wishes lend 
 
 A beauty to all they do, and send 
 
 The red to their cheeks. But here svhere I 
 
 Am threading my life's task through, the sky 
 
 Is sullen sometimes and the breezes blow 
 
 TJr.eir freight of ice, and the flakes of snow 
 
 Toss about and catch in the curls that deck 
 
 The school-girl's eyes and ringlet her neck. 
 
 Here the woods are bare, and the songs of the winil 
 
 Are mixed with moaning, and sad rescind 
 
A LETTER I LOVE. 
 
 The joy that comes with the crowding night 
 As the sun-set sinks in colors so bright. 
 But summer is at my side, though thin 
 Ice covers the marsh, and the skates begin 
 To rest again : the seasons are in 
 The heart and the brain, I guess, 
 Whatever be the wide world's dress. 
 
 70 
 
TRIBUTE. 
 
 TRIBUTFl 
 
 O BROTHERS ! who slecp in the camping ground 
 Of the land which no drum-beat ever hears, 
 Oh ! green be the grass which mantles the mound 
 Unwatered by kindred^s bedewing tears. 
 
 O nameless I wherever your couch is spread, 
 Where the cypress swings and the stars look through, 
 And the hills lift above your voiceless bed. 
 Our loves still follow and cling to you. 
 
 O comrades! now numbered with the roll which grows 
 As the days dissolve in the longer span. 
 May flowers as pure as the drifting snows 
 Be scattered as only our sisters can. 
 
 O veterans ! who linger and faint on the shore 
 Of the stream that leads out to the uncrossed sea 
 When the bark floats away, but comes back no more — 
 What laurels shall we twine this day for thee ! 
 
 O God of our fathers ! thou gavest to keep 
 Such valleys and mountains, such wandering streams — 
 The gem of the ages, with issues so deep. 
 Fulfillment and more of prophet's wild dreams. 
 
 O people ! whose banner with new-rising stars 
 Floats the wave and matches in meaning the best, 
 Who fails in devotion, thy purity mars, 
 And has lost the pearlest of patriot zest. 
 
TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 
 
 TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 
 
 Thy passion may not be as deep 
 
 As Burns', but 'tis so sweet 
 
 In artless song : thy measures sweep 
 
 In cadences along; the street 
 
 Of crowded city does not win 
 
 Applause the most from thee, 
 
 But everywhere is written in 
 
 The rural life unmixed and free. 
 
 Why does the strong man bend and strain 
 To catch the story as it showers 
 Upon his heart? and children fain 
 Would bring their sweetest flowers ! 
 Life is a simple, tragic thing : 
 Its joys drop wildly do\Yn, and then 
 They start away on sudden wing. 
 But poets bring them back again. 
 
 Who lives the best? Is he that sings 
 The songs of woe and death and crime — 
 The tragic fate of haughty kings^ 
 The prophet of the coming time ? 
 Or is it they who lift to light 
 Unnumbered sweets that waiting lie 
 Long hidden and forgotten quite 
 With those who live and love and die ? 
 
 72 
 
LET^S BE HAPPY; 
 
 LET'S BE HAPPY. 
 
 Sometimes a smile is on my lip, 
 A beauty in each face I see, 
 And then the wicked shadows slip 
 Into life's joy and burden me. 
 
 Sometimes it rains ^tid blows so coid 
 At every crevice round the door, 
 But hearth-joys fair our lives enfold, 
 And we are rich nor ask for more. 
 
 Who cannot see in c^arkest day 
 Some loveliness though skies are chill. 
 Has' missed the path where angels stay, — 
 He slights the good and hunts the ill. 
 
 Who finds a rose and then looks close 
 To see the thorn that grows too near ; 
 Who smiles so hard, yet is morose, 
 He makes the dreary day more drear. 
 
 I love the summer skies, the morn. 
 When bird-songs wake the sleeping ear, 
 When clover-blooms the fields adorn. 
 And heaven seems Oh! so wondrous near. 
 
 But weather-bureaus are vile things 
 To make us cry or even laugh ; 
 If these could guage heart flutterings, 
 Our joy would not be whole nor half. 
 
 73 
 
UNPARALLELED. 
 
 UNPARALLELED. 
 
 Eyes so fair and wondrous grace 
 In every motion ; step so light 
 And kindest smiles all o'er her face, 
 And teeth so lily-white. 
 
 Speech so like the river's flow, 
 And glance of artless art ; 
 Pity for all, while cheeks aglow 
 Revealed the fawn-like heart. 
 
 Among the flowers her laughter sweet 
 Gave gentle challenge to the cry 
 Of birds : the food tossed near her feet 
 They caught nor made slight haste to fly. 
 
 Ready she was to stoop and trace 
 The grime and tears away 
 From some besaddened face 
 Which missed the wished-for play. 
 
 No coquetry nor long-laid plan 
 Was hers in things of love ; but just 
 An open soul where you could scan 
 Sweet purity and cautious trusts. 
 
 74 
 
BEST THINGS. 
 
 BEST THINGS. 
 
 The sob of the sea is sweet to me, 
 And the murmur of the sky blue lake ; 
 Its echoes live on, increase in degree 
 As I speed in the wide world's wake. 
 
 The moaning of winds among the pines 
 And the flutter of flags in the breeze ; 
 The sobbing of prayer while an arm entwines 
 The boy's neck as he pleads on his knees. 
 
 The bay of the hound as he scents the trail. 
 And the shout as it rings across the wood ; 
 The whistle and whirr of the delicate quail 
 As he flies from the place where he lately stood- 
 
 The touch of a sweet-heart's hand, her talk, 
 Her smile, her eyes of beautiful blue; 
 Her step as light as a kitten's walk, 
 And her laughter of happiness too. 
 
 The jingle of coins when they are settled in 
 This pocket of mine with such large space ; 
 And slices of cake cut long and thin ; 
 A man with a heart all aglow, and the grace 
 
 75 
 
BEST THINGS. 
 
 Of whose speech lingers on in my ear 
 
 And sets me astir — half aflame 
 
 Until I forget all traces of fear, 
 
 And struggle to climb and cut my name 
 
 In the scroll of those who loved, and died 
 For the world, who suffered and won renown 
 For noble deeds, oftimes defied 
 Base leisure, and stooped to win a crown. 
 
 But I like my mother, 1 guess the best, 
 And my sister Alice she comes next ; 
 Then the fields in wild flowers dressed ; 
 Last the preacher who murders his text. 
 
 76 
 
A FACE. 
 
 A FACE. 
 
 Two eyes all merriment, 
 
 A mouth 'round which the grin 
 
 Went racing ; and glance swift sent, 
 
 On gentle mischief bent. 
 
 Opened a door for sin. 
 
 Kisses were poor enough 
 To print upon those lips; 
 They are sweeter with stuff 
 Bought from the shop-man gruff, 
 Which child hand tightly grips. 
 
 Roses are blooming there. 
 And curls are twining the ears ; 
 Fairer than painting most fair, 
 The treasure of mother's best care. 
 All mingled with patient fears. 
 
 From this that I now^ look on 
 
 Is to be the woman for love 
 
 Of someone when girl-hood is gone; 
 
 And pure she must be as the dawn. 
 
 Fit for the future above. 
 
 11 
 
SONG, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 O TOSSING, wild willow, thy nerveless unrest 
 Is soft as the touch of a snow-white hand ; 
 The zephyrs thy branches so lightly invest — 
 In memories so sweet all enraptured I stand. 
 
 O evening, you turn me to dreaming awake! 
 
 O sunset that sobers and sinks as the star 
 
 Comes gleaming, you make my heart sadden and break 
 
 To go where my love and her flowers are. 
 
 O warble of sky-lark that circles and sings, 
 You start me from sighing and set me aglow 
 To sit at the feet of the maiden who brings 
 Such music of laughter and whispers so low. 
 
 O breath of the south land, how far do you fly? 
 You swing through her tresses and travel the lea ; 
 Do you steal the wild tear-drop that sits in her eye? 
 O what is the message she sends now to me? 
 
 7^ 
 
ANOTHER LETTER. 
 
 ANOTHER LETTER. 
 
 To-night a message is mine 
 
 From over the salt-sea waves 
 
 Where the myrtle sings and twining vine 
 
 Creeps over historic graves. 
 
 The sunset is golden, I hear, 
 In the fair Italian skies ; 
 No winter creeps into the year 
 And the sea-moan never dies. 
 
 The flowers and grapes are set 
 
 With colors dipped from the warm sun's rays; 
 
 St. Peter's tall turrets fret 
 
 In the heat, and feeble thought raise. 
 
 And pictures are hung so fair 
 From the masters of long ago ; 
 Bewildered life loses its care 
 As you live with Angelo. 
 
 And beauty is around so calm 
 In marble ; and mosaics rare 
 Are under your feet ; the balm 
 Of summer is everywhere. 
 
 79 
 
ANOTHER LETTER. 
 
 I want to go, too, but yet I love 
 The sun-sets that sink down the lane, 
 And the rainbows so placid above 
 The trees set thrilling my brain. 
 
 Oh ! beauty is starred in the night 
 
 And strewn in the woods with the flowers ; 
 
 It lives in the swallows' flight, 
 
 And in the maple's high towers. 
 
 And it presses so near on the street 
 Where the children flock and laugh. 
 Where brothers and sisters meet 
 And increase their joys by half. 
 
 80 
 
EVENING IN THE CITY. 
 
 EVENING IN THE CITY. 
 
 To-NIGHT is the last ere Sunday comes, 
 And the city is all awake ; 
 The street-car grinds and gloomily hums, 
 And the window shutters shake. 
 
 The locomotive shrieks, 
 
 And its bell clangs brassy notes ; 
 
 The drayman's wagon creaks, 
 
 And the north wind blows our coats. 
 
 The opera troupe is on the street. 
 And the small boy threads his way 
 Through the crowd; the dust is on his feet, 
 And the marbles are put away. 
 
 The tree-tops sigh and fret 
 And lunge in the growing gale ; 
 The band strikes a tune to get 
 More money from the ticket sale. 
 
 The peanut man gets hoarse 
 From shouting to quicken his trade ; 
 He'll give you good measure, of course — 
 ^A nickel is all, don't be afraid." 
 
 8i 
 
EVENING IN THE CITY. 
 
 The clatter of shoes is on the walk 
 And laughter is wide awake ; 
 The fakir begins his impromptu talk 
 Which makes the lazy sides shake. 
 
 The cab-man cracks his whip 
 And speeds on his way to meet the train 
 Where the drummer w411 come with heavy grip 
 And fee and jokes to stagger your brain. 
 
 82 
 
LINES. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 The pines moaned to me and swung 
 In the breath of the nearing spring, 
 The dead vines twisting clung 
 To the porch where the heavens flung 
 The drops of rain. The crumpled grass 
 Was matted and turned to gray, 
 And the blue-jay, king of his class, 
 Kept clattering away. 
 
 The winter-bird chirped and ate 
 
 The seed-pods and crumbs from the stones. 
 
 And fluttered away at a rate 
 
 So careless and defied with his tones 
 
 So cheery my near approach. 
 
 From the barn came the call of the cows, 
 
 And down the road wheeled the coach, 
 
 And the children played in the mows. 
 
 The dark clouds heavy crossed 
 
 The dome where their edges lay 
 
 In folds : in spots they tossed 
 
 Apart, and the sparing ray 
 
 Of the sun looked hopeful through. 
 
 The echoes of spring-time will soon 
 
 Be blent with the turtle's coo. 
 
 And the trees will dip in a fairer moon. 
 
 83 
 
LINES. 
 
 The year has broken again 
 Its fetters of snow and ice, 
 And the hidden heart of men 
 Is watching for new device 
 Of mastery in the game 
 Which we put into life ; 
 The poet is building his fame, 
 And the lover is wooing a wife. 
 
 84 
 
SPRING AGAIN ! 
 
 SPRING AGAIN ! 
 
 The doves begin to coo and woo 
 Again, and the robin chirps as though 
 He had his mate and nothing to do 
 But warble and watch the river flow. 
 
 The sportsman is out again and waits 
 
 For the ducks that light on the river and float 
 
 Too near ] the fisherman longing baits 
 
 His hook and pulls the perch in the boat. 
 
 The farmer is knocking the corn-stalks down 
 And sowing the yearly field of oats, 
 And hauling his surplus grain to town. 
 And counting his wabbling shotes. 
 
 And bob-white is climbing the fence 
 And whistling with joy that winter's host 
 Is gone, and the waiters commence 
 To serve less quail on toast. 
 
 The thunder roars far along the sky 
 
 And startles the women and girls ; 
 
 The lightning-rod man is waiting to ply 
 
 His trade, and save from Jove's angry hurls. 
 
 Sweet spring time ! life bubbles again 
 
 In wood and on street, and hearts grow big 
 
 With gladness, and pessism's men 
 
 Are softened and walk with a lighter jig. 
 
 8S 
 
AN EVENING HYMN. 
 
 AN EVENING HYMN. 
 
 The sky is decked with wondrous gems 
 
 Of a wide-sweeping universe ; 
 
 The ardor of the day is done, 
 
 And distant from the bridge so terse 
 
 Is swept the locomotive blast. 
 
 The steps of 'lated labor glide 
 
 Across the lane so eager — fast 
 
 To reach the baby, and confide 
 
 The day's report of things to her 
 Whose love is still serene, aglow 
 With that high earnestness it kept 
 When they full twenty years ago 
 Knelt down, and prayed, and solemn gave 
 Their pledge before the world. High joys 
 Are these where passion sweet lives on 
 And kindlier arts each day employs. 
 
 The plaintive song of hope is passed 
 At random from the lips, and leaps 
 In awkward strains : so eager flows 
 The love w^hich gains, and secret weeps 
 In anxious fear which no one knows. 
 The watch-dog speeds the wagon on 
 And whines and asks in snarling tones 
 For his fair share of unused things, 
 And eager grabs rejected bones. 
 
 86 
 
AN EVENING HYMN. 
 
 The children prance the room and coo 
 And tussle wildly on the floor ; 
 The father roars and mother warns, 
 And into hope a prayer they pour. 
 Unseen alas ! the shadows flit 
 Across the future none can mark — 
 O Providence, thy hand hath sealed 
 The sunrise and the shadows dark. 
 
 O sunniest hours that fill our span ! 
 O place of pain and parent cheer ! 
 The early roof that slopes across 
 Where life began its dawning year. 
 O seat of sweetest mysteries 
 That twine the heart and press the tears ! 
 Sweet home ! the jewel of the world 
 The comforter of gathering fears. 
 
 87 
 
RHYME EVERYWHERE. 
 
 RHYME EVERYWHERE. 
 
 Sweet song is in the lifted dome 
 
 Of Peter's gilded church at Rome, 
 
 And breaks O, so much nearer home ; 
 
 And while it lives along Zermatt, 
 
 It echoes where the wood-man sat 
 
 Holding his ax which deftly hurls 
 
 The trees ; and rythm is in the curls 
 
 That wind the neck and toss about 
 
 Fair cheeks where roses red flush out. 
 
 It sobs along the ocean shore 
 
 Where waves pile high and madly roar 
 
 Across the sands, and crowd the shells 
 
 Far out upon the beach. Sweet bells 
 
 Swing soft in yon exalted tower — 
 
 It is the call of vesper hour ; 
 
 And hearts turn tender as the sun 
 
 Sinks fast from sight, while mixed rays run 
 
 Far out upon the arched sky, 
 
 And night looks forth with star-lit eye. 
 
 Sad verse lives on the pallid cheek. 
 
 On lips that curse or softly speak 
 
 88 
 
RHYME EVERYWHERE. 
 
 Of love, and carry such a smile 
 While dimples double round the while. 
 High music sweeps among the stars 
 And echoes as the railway cars 
 Go pounding down the crooked track, 
 And carry you and me straight back 
 To lips we kissed but late, while tears 
 Came with each breath, and horrid fears 
 Lest parting there perchance no more 
 To meet again. In days of yore 
 Men sang of kings and set with these 
 The melody of rills and trees. 
 Avon's great bard loved humblest things. 
 And while he sweeps heroic strings 
 The moan of broken hearts is mixed 
 Where tragic deeds of war are fixed. 
 The brook leaps down the rocky steeps. 
 Tosses itself o'er stones, and creeps 
 Into the cool and restful pool, 
 Murmurs, and wins the boys from school. 
 And frets itself among the weeds, 
 Then darts so swift and steady leads 
 Out in the sun, and last is lost 
 In larger flow, and madly tossed 
 Into the lake, while here it moans 
 And mocks the dismal sea-sick groans. 
 The muse is dead ! but deathless song 
 Has soothed this weary worKl so Icmg, 
 
 80 
 
RHYME EVERYWHERE. 
 
 And in the change of loss and love 
 It lifts the bleeding heart above 
 The pain of grief : with faith it soars, 
 And into prayer it calmly pours 
 New trust and sweeter tenderness 
 As men look up and Deity confess. 
 
 90 
 
A BEAUTIFUL KINDNESS. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL KINDNESS. 
 
 His arms were long and his jaw was set — 
 
 I can see his eyes flash wildly yet 
 
 When just across the crowded street 
 
 A brutal cabman in his seat 
 
 Drove careless by and jostled hard 
 
 A gray haired lady only a yard 
 
 From the place where Rad calmly sent 
 
 Havana whiffs aloft. He bent 
 
 To set the ragged shawl aright, 
 
 Then roared : ^^That was a barbarous sight; 
 
 Because her dress is old and torn 
 
 And her youthful beauty all outworn, 
 
 That villain wanted to make a show — 
 
 It's plain what men like him do know ! 
 
 I had a mother; years ago 
 
 Her hair was white as Christmas snow 
 
 When last we parted ; her tear-dimmed eyes 
 
 Are with me still, and the brightest skies 
 
 At noon somehow I always love — 
 
 Men folks forget how hard they shove 
 
 These tottering grand-ma-mas around. 
 
 I always count myself half bound 
 
 'J'o watch them when I come to town — 
 
 I don't wear fasli ion's latest i^fown 
 
A BEAUTIFUL KINDNESS. 
 
 Upon these arms, but they were trained 
 
 To take the soaking when it rained 
 
 At picnics where the crowd was thick : 
 
 It did not bother to turn a little sick 
 
 If I was sure it came because 
 
 I saved somebody. No, sir, applause 
 
 Was stale to me ; I wanted just 
 
 To know that every woman could trust 
 
 These hands if mishaps came. 
 
 You see I go a little lame — 
 
 I fought a brute so huge and wild 
 
 One time that tried to gore a child ; 
 
 She had no gift of gold, but stooped 
 
 And Vound my neck she sobbing looped 
 
 Her curls. I am coarse and rough, but I guess 
 
 The holy Christ can't fail to bless 
 
 Me for some things I did ; the pain 
 
 Was sharp, but there w^as no trace or stain 
 
 Of selfishness that I could see. 
 
 I rather think that we two agree 
 
 On some few points. You haven't said much, 
 
 But there is a smile, and a little touch 
 
 Of sadness in your patient face. 
 
 If you should see my mother, please chase 
 
 The sorrow from her brim-full heart — 
 
 Your train? good by ! too bad to part." 
 
 92 
 
MUSING. 
 
 MUSING. 
 
 I can't express what is mine to-day 
 Of joy : sorrow itself is light, 
 And every drop, the trembling spray, 
 Is filled with beauty quite. 
 
 Rhymes are so feeble, too, in tone 
 
 To tell the ecstacy I feel ; 
 
 And as I sit and muse alone 
 
 The heart beats quick while memories steal. 
 
 What can I praise? and need I ask 
 In such a Avondrous world as this ? 
 See ! under every human mask 
 The God -like lives ; it is there I wis. 
 
 Old sadness, too, has somehow turned 
 Half sweetness, and the pain has merged 
 Into feeling so strange ; things spurned 
 One time I love, and life is purged. 
 
 Nothing is vile : it is so sweet 
 With chance to live for love's own sake. 
 No day wings past but that I meet 
 Some one who needs a good, firm sluike 
 
 93 
 
MUSING. 
 
 Of this hard hand of mine that picks 
 The flowers and baits the crooked hooks 
 For boys, and helps to do their tricks 
 And digs the secrets from their looks. 
 
 Were all the world to-night quite free 
 From enmity and barbed desire, 
 The kingdom of the Christ would be 
 On earth, and satan would retire. 
 
 94 
 
THE GLORY OF WOMEN. 
 
 THE GLORY OF WOMEN. 
 
 ^In her long hair/' said stern St. Paul — 
 What was the measure of beauty then ? 
 Was her loveliness in all 
 Its wonder summed up by early men 
 So lightly as that? It is, my George confesses, 
 Entrancing to look on waving tresses ; 
 
 But what of the lips with delicate curve, 
 And teeth pearly white, and silky hands? 
 And who would leave out the artful swerve 
 In her motion ? And what commands 
 Strong manhood more than an artless tone 
 Of tenderness ? Leave us alone 
 
 Without their voices and charms so rare 
 
 And the earth would stop. But beauty is not 
 
 All grace ; St. Paul, why over there 
 
 In the city are women forgot, 
 
 Who hold their husbands' sterling hearts 
 
 With almost lack of beauty's arts. 
 
 They never passed for belles in the days 
 
 Far swept in the past, but there was O, such 
 
 A purity and womanly ways 
 
 That made up for the lack so much 
 
 Of beauty that fades from the perfect face 
 
 When no heart is left to live in its place. 
 
 9S 
 
LINES. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 I CAN not .tell, nor do I fret 
 Because 'tis so and will not change ; 
 The secrets of the soul are set 
 All tenderly and passing strange. 
 The dear recall of days swift sped 
 Is mine to make : they live again ; 
 The faces now so distant led 
 Return when soft I set my pen. 
 
 The sunshine ebbs across the hills, 
 The stars come scattering in the blue. 
 The joy of youth my own heart fills, 
 And broken hopes again renew. 
 And O, life's woof is knit with things 
 All wrapped in shadow, steeped in doubt- 
 Does that near bird which for me sings 
 Trill even half her music out ? 
 
 96 
 
THE OLD -THE NEW. 
 
 THE OLD — THE NEW. 
 
 The night winds sigh among the trees, 
 A sable cloud shuts out the sky ; 
 The hand of God is on the world — 
 To-night another year must die. 
 
 The priceless pearls of life drop off 
 Into the deep and silent sea ; 
 Nor sigh nor tear, nor wish nor hope 
 Avails to bring them back to me. 
 
 What is the year? to common thought 
 One link of life's fast growing chain ; 
 In bank accounts, in character, 
 A summing up of loss and gain. 
 
 Parental lips count one more span 
 Since wedded sorrows first begun ; 
 A little hand let loose its hold. 
 And found, please God, a warmer one. 
 
 The mists of time divide again 
 As sorrow turns to fairer skies ; 
 Touch the long record where you will, 
 A new hope lives an old one dies. 
 
 97 
 
THE OLD -THE NEW. 
 
 Some list the music of yon bells 
 
 And linger o'er the ebbing past; 
 
 The throbbing pulses start again 
 
 As bright dreams sweep that could not last 
 
 If it were mine, what should I choose 
 As this great year steals swiftly on ? 
 Whence lure those chimes from lifting spires- 
 To future or to time that's gone? 
 
 If memory could have her choice, 
 Reject the faintest weight of sin, 
 How glad the old year might go out, 
 How^ bright the new year would begin. 
 
 Unroll the long-drawn scroll and look — 
 What vice, what error left behind I 
 What burdens broken all the way 
 Racked body and compressed the mind I 
 
 The hunger fiend and blackest sins 
 Are in the open door-way still, 
 But every annual midnight chime 
 Exalts my faith in human skill. 
 
 The future in the past I see — 
 Ascent, a stairway in the dark — 
 The time long sung to all will come. 
 Each face will have the God-like mark. 
 
 98 
 
THE OLD -THE NEW. 
 
 Who are recruits? who will meet hands 
 To speed the right, the world along ? 
 The studied thought and fearless faith 
 Together prove a legion strong. 
 
 Peal on, O bells, I will not shrink 
 As echoes long forgot you wake ; 
 Mine is a cheerful hope to-night. 
 New courage for the race I take. 
 
 99 
 
THE POET. 
 
 THE POET. 
 
 He must not be too proud to touch 
 The viler things of life — his strain 
 Should echo sweetly just as much 
 The longings of the poor, the pain 
 
 They feel and bear all lone unknown : 
 In these no recompense can be 
 Like that which falls from kingly throne ; 
 But thus he makes the world more free. 
 
 His soul should wild elate, overflow 
 With childish glee, and in his heart 
 The early loves must keep aglow 
 And sweeten all his later art. 
 
 The sorrows of the world he claims ; 
 But while he seals with tears his rhyme, 
 He lifts the fallen, upward aims, 
 And sees approach the better time. 
 
 Oh, seer and prophet of the race ! 
 Whose verses sweet so strangely flow ; 
 As aspiration moves apace 
 He sees beyond the creeds below. 
 
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