LiBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Vbd^ZZ 
 
 Chap.. Copyright No. 
 
 ShelfAl-^-P6 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
i 
 
IX 
 
POEMS 
 
 (W 
 
 Home and Fireside 
 
 Charles William McCabe. 
 
 V 
 
76 3-^^^ 
 
 .A 
 
 a,"^^^ 
 
 ^ !?1^ 
 
Dedicabed bo ti)j Fabl)er apd MobI)er 
 
 Who, during a life of toil, retained the elements of 
 true living and made home happy and a blessing to 
 their children, by their kindness, cheerfulness and 
 Christian bearing in the face of many discourage- 
 ments and hardships. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
Copyright 1896, 
 
 BY 
 
 C. W. McCAB^. 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 COMMERCIAL PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 San Francisco, Cal. 
 
PROEM. 
 
 Oh, is there on earth, a picture more fair 
 Than the family gathered round the fireside. 
 
 Not the family alone but the nation is there,— 
 The brain and the brawn we so pride. 
 
 It is by the fireside great lives are made, — 
 The influence brought to bear there. 
 
 Oh, home, thy dear memories never shall fade. 
 But with time and great nations shall wear. 
 
f b^ ^oil 
 
 ers. 
 
 t tow pleasant on returning home from toil, 
 ] To know that those best loved thy com- 
 ing wait. 
 What peace and happiness after a day of m.oil, 
 To meet thy wife and children at the gate. 
 
 Affection's kiss goes round, and on each face 
 The light of love and sweet contentment rest, 
 
 While the fond father for a little space. 
 Clasps his sturdy offspring to his breast. 
 
 No towering walls of marble palace holds 
 Ties dearer than the toiler's humble cot. 
 
 No truer life its blossoms there unfolds, 
 
 Than that which blooms the poor man's 
 family plot. 
 
 [9] 
 
Taught in the days of youth to serve the Lord, 
 And Hve in quiet unpretentious ways, 
 
 No wicked strife is there to bring discord. 
 But peace and happiness lengthen out their 
 days. 
 
 What honest cheer the toiler's coming home, 
 To head the table and bless the hard-earned 
 bread, 
 
 And pray for those without such comforts roam 
 The world at large, unhappy and unfed. 
 
 How sweet to hear the children's merry voices. 
 As through the house they caper with delight. 
 
 Oh, how the parents' honest hearts rejoice 
 As with modest pride they gaze upon the 
 sight. 
 
 At nine the clock has struck the hour for rest. 
 The children sleep within the trundle-bed. 
 
 Oh, kiss them tenderly and own thyself much 
 blest. 
 For joy that comes to those who truly wed. 
 
 [10] 
 
Blest are they ere life is on the wane, 
 Who understand the secrets of true life, 
 
 If from all vice and folly do refrain. 
 And solace find in husband or in wife. 
 
 Seek where you may no lasting joy you'll find. 
 
 But in the narrow circle here laid down. 
 No ties of wealth or fame are strong enough to 
 bind 
 Together hearts, where dissention's shadows 
 frown. 
 
 The law of love is ruler of the home. 
 And honest toil the greatest nations make. 
 
 Think not you Ml find, no matter where you 
 roam, 
 A different law divined for thy own sake. 
 
 Contented be with the toiler's humble lot, 
 Free from pomp and ostentatious life. 
 
 Let thy home be the workman's tidy cot. 
 Thy best friends thy children and thy wife. 
 
 [11] 
 
^\)z ^m. 
 
 /^H, I love to hear the rain 
 ^^ On the roof and window-pane, 
 As it patters, patters down, 
 Clothing earth in a wet gown. 
 
 Lost in dreams or gentle slumber 
 Flit the hours without number^ 
 
 When the patter of the rain 
 Beats on roof and window-pane. 
 
 How the shadows light and darken, 
 When to rain and wind I harken ; 
 
 What ghostly figures then appear, 
 What strange voices do 1 hear. 
 
 [12] 
 
Now I start from gentle slumber, 
 
 Turn to the clock and note the number 
 
 Of the hours that stole away 
 While King of Nodland held his sway. 
 
 Out of Nodland to day dreaming, 
 
 Slippered feet and grate-fire gleaming. 
 
 Thus i love to hear the rain 
 On the roof and window-pane. 
 
 Now through palace halls 1 stray, 
 Culling life's roses all the way. 
 
 Proud ambition drinks her fill. 
 
 But something more is wanting still. 
 
 Now in fancy proud ambition 
 
 Bows her head in deep contrition, 
 
 And the common w^alks of life 
 Seem more worthy of man's strife. 
 
 For all great things loose their prestige. 
 And the ages leave no vestage 
 
 Of the things that have been. 
 Of the temples made by m.en. 
 
 [13] 
 
So in strange lands do I wander, 
 Life's grave problems love to ponder, 
 
 When the patter of the rain 
 
 Sounds on roof and window-pane. 
 
 f ^e f y^0 l^i^, 
 
 ei^s. 
 
 DEDICATED TO AGE. 
 
 /TlHE river of life grows less wide, 
 I There is no ebb or flow of tide. 
 Dark clouds have fled from out the sky. 
 Life's cares and troubles pass me by 
 A gleam of light I see beyond, 
 That in my soul find glad responc 
 Rent in twain is the vapored screen, 
 Immortality's river is rolling between. 
 Lo! in the distance as in a dream, 
 I see the boatman crossing the stream. 
 
 [14] 
 
1 b^ [fcrssiriq ©j r/i^l)!. 
 
 rrtHE gray and restful twilight 
 I Hangs softly over the earth, 
 Evening steals on and the firelight 
 Plays merrily around the hearth. 
 
 Night is here and the darkness 
 Hides the world and its sin, 
 
 Brings a haven of rest to the weary, 
 Wings to the burdens of men. 
 
 Midnight comes and the city 
 Lies silent, breathing deep, 
 
 While white-winged guardian angels 
 Their silent watches keep. 
 
 [15] 
 
Morn is near and the darkness 
 Flies from the light of day, 
 
 And the white-winged guardian angels 
 Flit silently away. 
 
 e ^QLVzs ©j JJije. 
 
 f X^HEN the cares of life o'er press me, 
 ^^ When day is changed to night. 
 When joy is turned into sorrow. 
 And the world seems aught but right. 
 Then in my phantom barque 1 enter. 
 And with the tide drift on the sea. 
 Drift far on the unknown river. 
 Drift into eternity. 
 
 r- 
 
 [i«] 
 
Llr)sp0^ 
 
 r)sp0^er) Vqi^^y 
 
 pctvei? 
 
 ^ T night or day, 
 
 At work or play, 
 Rejoicing or in despair, 
 Deep in the heart 
 Unbidden start 
 Unspoken prayer. 
 
 In the quiet of night, 
 Thoughts of wrong and right 
 
 Increase or lighten our care. 
 Which ere it be, 
 From our hearts flow free 
 
 Unspoken prayer. 
 
 [17] 
 
It is the lot of men 
 That all must sin, 
 
 All have sorrow to bear, 
 And passing them by, 
 We hear them sigh 
 
 Unspoken prayer. 
 
 When comes that day 
 And we're called away. 
 
 Called to dwell over there. 
 We Ml find in God's heart 
 
 Ready to start 
 A record of unspoken prayer. 
 
 r^aces. 
 
 /^^ACH life 's a history, but human faces. 
 Upon which time has left deep traces. 
 Are mirrors of the heart's distresses, 
 Which to the world divers tales confesses. 
 
 [18] 
 
^<2>rr)'s hziizv to Jiill, 
 
 OR THE BROTHER CANDIDATE. 
 
 f^EAR BILL : I 've just now took in hand 
 
 ^^ my pen, 
 
 To write a few lines to you agin, 
 
 And as this letter 's from me to you 
 
 Please excuse the writin' and spelin' two. 
 
 As a boy there was none like you, dear Bill, 
 Who could harness a team and go to mill. 
 Who dun the chores in the early morn, 
 In a day husked a hundred bushels of corn. 
 
 'T was I who used to lie in bed, 
 While you, dear Bill, went right ahead 
 A'tendin' the cattle and doin' the work 
 Which I, dear Bill, so loved to shirk. 
 
 [19] 
 
When in the field we used to hoe, 
 If the weeds were strong you dun my row. 
 'T was always so, 't was just your way. 
 And I can't help thinkin' of it to-day. 
 
 How easy my life you used to make. 
 My burdens upon your shoulders take, 
 How in a hundred different ways 
 You helped me in our boyhood days. 
 
 But this ain't the reason 1 've writ to you. 
 For this of course I often do ; 
 But they say at the Grove, — the people say, 
 That I, dear Bill, am in your way. 
 
 1 mean, of course — about election day. 
 That 's what the people at the Grove all say. 
 Say, if they were brothers they 'd hate 
 To be agin each other as a candidate. 
 
 Well, your family bigger 'n mine, dear Bill, 
 You 've four more mouths than me to fill. 
 And I reckon you 'd the sheriff be. 
 If, as the people say, it were n't for me. 
 
 [20] 
 
So now, dear Bill, to tell the truth. 
 
 And to square the debt of my early youth, 
 
 I ain't agoin' to run agin 
 
 A man who is my nearest kin. 
 
 Tomorrow, dear Bill, is election day. 
 And I 've writ a letter to the paper to say : 
 '' That 1, Tom Jinkins, brother of BilTs, 
 That lives at the Grove, County of Mills, 
 
 *' Have concluded not to run agin 
 
 A man who is my nearest kin, 
 
 And asking the people of the County of 
 
 Mills, 
 Not to vote for Tom Jinkins, the brother of 
 
 Biirs." 
 
 Saying: *' I Ve just concluded, before it 's 
 
 two late 
 Not to be a sheriff candidate ; 
 But that my oldest brother, the one named Bill, 
 Is in the race for sheriff still/' 
 
 [21] 
 
Tell the boys at the corner — make them un- 
 derstand — 
 That I 'm two busy a tillin' my land. 
 1 Ve a crib to build, and must dig a well, 
 And that will take a right smart spell. 
 
 I ain't a man of affairs, no how. 
 All the boys who know me must this allow. 
 But some other time, mebbe, I won't hate 
 To be a sheriff candidate. 
 
 [22] 
 
^y5ili^l)f ^©les. 
 
 niHE air is so soft and fragrant around me, 
 I The evening comes stealing o'er valley 
 and hill, 
 But the silence is broken, so softly, so gently, 
 By the sound of sweet miUsic and my soul 
 seems to fill. 
 
 'T is the notes of a guitar so sweetly is sound- 
 ing, 
 Afar o'er the valley on the still evening air, 
 In tremulous tones its voice is resounding. 
 By the soft summer breeze wafted hither 
 and there. 
 
 As I list to the strains so sweet and spell- 
 binding, 
 My thoughts speed away on lightest of wings. 
 And a calm that 's the saints' seems my soul 
 enter-winding. 
 My heart and all nature in harmony sings. 
 
 [23] 
 
^\)z ^Id Willoy^ ^pec. 
 
 /^H ! the old willow tree that stands in the 
 
 ^^ meadow, 
 
 Its low drooping branches throwing a deep 
 
 cooling shadow, 
 How oft have 1 sought thee in the heat of the 
 
 day. 
 To rest and to dream the noon hour away. 
 
 In thy shade oft in childhood, (Oh! bright, 
 
 golden hours,) 
 Have I pillowed my head on a wreath of wild 
 
 flowers. 
 And with the song of the lark and the hum of 
 
 the bee. 
 What sweet rest it was 'neath the old willow 
 
 tree. 
 
 [24] 
 
'Neath thy low bending branches, tree of 
 
 beauty and splendor, 
 I first met my love, so fair and so slender. 
 'Twas long, long ago, sweet Amy and me. 
 First plighted our love 'neath the old willow 
 
 tree. 
 
 The flight of the years has whitened our hair, 
 And life's cares and sorrows oft seem hard to 
 
 bear. 
 Yet not a year passes, but my Amy and me 
 Renew our first love 'neath the old willow tree. 
 
 Oh, old willow tree, we still fondly cleave thee, 
 For old memories sake we Ml be sorry to leave 
 
 thee, 
 But we hope when we 're gone, my Amy and 
 
 me. 
 They Ml lay us to rest 'neath the old willow 
 
 tree. 
 
 ^-^ 
 ^-^ 
 
 [25] 
 
5uli] 
 
 95 ^®95' 
 
 /?^H ! there 's joy in the Autumn when the 
 
 ^^ frost 's on the ground, 
 
 And the nuts from the trees are falHng 
 
 around, 
 To rise with the sun and off to the woods. 
 Where the frost-bitten nuts are shedding their 
 
 hoods. 
 
 Oh ! what joy in the Autumn when the trees 
 
 are aglow. 
 With red-tinted leaves kissed by Autumn's 
 
 young snow. 
 To go to the woods ere the frost 's off the 
 
 ground, 
 And gather the nuts that lie scattered 
 
 around. 
 
 [26] 
 
Oh! it 's jolly in Autumn with the boys and 
 
 the girls, 
 To go to the woods where the bushy-tailed 
 
 squirrels 
 Are carrying nuts to their holes in the 
 
 trees, 
 To keep them from starving during winter's 
 
 cold freeze. 
 
 What unstinted pleasure after a day of real toil. 
 To return home at night heavy ladened with 
 
 spoil, 
 To crack nuts and tell stories 'round the 
 
 kitchen's warm fire, 
 Till the clock on the mantel strikes the hour 
 
 to retire. 
 
 Oh ! there was nothing in Autumn that gave 
 
 me such joy. 
 As going a nutting when I was a boy. 
 To rise with the sun and off to the woods. 
 Where the frost-bitten nuts were shedding 
 
 their hoods. 
 
 [27] 
 
«/ir) <§/iufuir)r) k)ii»<zr 
 
 ii»<zfe. 
 
 r^ESOLATION 'S reigning, 
 
 Autumn leaves are staining 
 The earth so brown and sere, 
 Earth so bleak and drear. 
 
 November winds are blowing. 
 Like rain are dead leaves sowing, 
 The earth so brown and sere, 
 Earth so bleak and drear. 
 
 Everywhere wild winds are wailing. 
 Death and snow are trailing, trailing, 
 O'er the earth so brown and sere, 
 Earth so bleak and drear. 
 
 [28] 
 
^\)z £\)uvo\) liells. 
 
 t 1ST to the church bells ringing, 
 ^ Far up in the steeple high, 
 List to the church bells ringing. 
 Their music floating by. 
 
 Far out o'er hill and river, 
 Retreating and advancing, 
 Charming ears that listen 
 Their melody entrancing. 
 
 Oh ! sweet, sweet ringing bells. 
 All nature stops to listen. 
 Thy deep-toned mystic swells. 
 Sweet ringing, ringing bells. 
 
 [29] 
 
Wl)er) I 'n) ©eecJ. 
 
 'PsEAR, on the day they dress me, 
 ^ My shroud so stiff and white, 
 Will you, my darling, kiss me. 
 As 1 lie so cold and quiet ? 
 
 And dear, on the day I am buried. 
 Will you quietly let fall a tear ? 
 In your heart will you carry my image. 
 As sadly you turn from my bier ? 
 
 Will you sometimes bring a sweet violet. 
 And lay on the grass-covered mound. 
 As a token of love you bore her, 
 That 's crumbling to dust in the ground. 
 
 And when I enter God's Kingdom, 
 Shall I leave the portal ajar ? 
 Shall I set a light in heaven's window. 
 Whose brightness shall outshine the star ? 
 
 [30] 
 
A light on the sill of God's window, 
 That shall burn as a symbol of love, 
 A symbol of glory that 's Heaven's, 
 A symbol of God who is Love. 
 
 That thou from thy lowly-laid dwelling. 
 May see the light from afar, 
 May know that your darling is waiting, 
 Waiting by the portal ajar. 
 
 And when the light in God's window burns 
 
 brightest. 
 When your barque 's moored to eternity's 
 
 shore, 
 Will you seek among the angels' dear faces. 
 For the face of your darling once more ? 
 
 [31] 
 
J©)i»iffii)q /apapf. 
 
 TO W. E. M. 
 
 f^EAR friend, I fear we are drifting — 
 
 ^ far apart, 
 
 That distance and old time are sifting — 
 
 each hearty 
 Tho' in my visions thy face and thy image — 
 
 oft appear. 
 Oh ! forgive me if thy friendship seems — 
 
 less dear. 
 Is it because unwittingly a tie — 
 
 was broken ? 
 Or was it a kind word left — 
 
 unspoken ? 
 Take my hand, dear old friend, it is — 
 
 reaching ; 
 If I 'm the offender thy forgiveness I 'm — 
 
 beseeching. 
 Let no false note, time or distance — 
 
 keep us apart. 
 Remember days gone forever — 
 
 friend of my heart. 
 
 [32] 
 
Y\)<^ jf^el. 
 
 mHO' his feet trod the earth, 
 I His head rests on a star ; 
 Tho' 'mong mortals had his birth, 
 
 His spirit wanders far, 
 Wanders, wanders restlessly, 
 
 The corners of the earth. 
 Seeking spheres blissfully 
 
 Where his soul had its birth. 
 
 Tho' 'mong men has his being. 
 
 Dwells in fancy's land ; 
 Through the universe travels 
 
 With the Gods, hand in hand, 
 Mediator of earth and heaven, 
 
 Heir to estate Divine, 
 To men, the earth, angels. Heaven, 
 
 Oh ! poet, both are thine. 
 
 [33] 
 
^ ^-. 
 
 y- 
 
 1 SEE the blue of your eyes, Mary, 
 
 I see the blue of your eyes, 
 Tho' distant far, as the glimmering star, 
 I see the blue of your eyes. 
 
 I hear the sound of your voice, Mary, 
 I hear the sound of your voice, 
 
 Tho' the ocean wide do us divide, 
 I hear the sound of your voice. 
 
 1 see the smile on your lips, Mary, 
 
 I see the smile on your lips, 
 Tho' mountains high sever you and I, 
 
 1 see the smile on your lips. 
 
 [34] 
 
I see the blush on your cheeks, Mary, 
 I see the blush on your cheeks, 
 
 As red as the rose it comes and goes, 
 I see the blush on your cheeks. 
 
 I see the blue of your eyes, Mary, 
 I hear the sound of your voice, 
 
 I see the smile on your lips, Mary, 
 And my heart would fain rejoice. 
 
 But I know not if your love be mine, Mary, 
 I know not if your love be mine, 
 
 Tho' the ocean's tide bear you to my side, 
 I know not if your love be mine. 
 
 [35] 
 
^l)e Wi^ec^. 
 
 rnHE ocean's wild waters are rolling, rolling, 
 [ A ship's muffled bell is tolling, tolling. 
 The death knell to hearts, unconsoled, uncon- 
 soling. 
 
 Tumultuous waves o'er the good ship are flying, 
 A hundred brave men are dying, dying. 
 In the ocean's dark waters their still forms 
 are lying. 
 
 Like a draught from the breath of the universe 
 
 breathing. 
 The wind o'er the ocean's wild waters is 
 
 cleaving. 
 Like sighs from the earth the waves are up- 
 
 heaving. 
 
 [36] 
 
O'er the face of fair Heaven the storm-clouds 
 
 are creeping, 
 On the ocean's broad breast the wild waves 
 
 are leaping, 
 Far beneath the wild waves the ship's crew 
 
 are sleeping. 
 
 Through a rift in the clouds the bright stars 
 
 are peeping. 
 The untroubled moon in a calm sky is sleeping, 
 In a hundred sad homes widows and orphans 
 
 are weeping. 
 
 lO 
 
 [37] 
 
Y-9^ w<a:r)(ae2?ep's I\efupr) f© fr)e 
 ©ceries 0T rlis Voulr). 
 
 ^FTER years of wandering the world 
 ^^^ around, 
 Weary at last I sit me down 
 On the outskirts of my native town, 
 And with haunted memory gaze around. 
 
 On every side some familiar sight. 
 Gives to my heart new joy or blight. 
 At every turn there greets my view, 
 The scenes my truant boyhood knew. 
 
 1 see the cot where I was born. 
 
 In rustic beauty all forlorn. 
 
 Dear spot where flowers their spring-buds 
 
 swell, 
 1 knew and loved thee once so well. 
 
 [38] 
 
The old school house is standing still, 
 I see its roof beyond the hill, 
 The belfry rising above the trees, 
 That 'bout the ground sway in the breeze. 
 
 Boys and girls still romp around. 
 
 Together on the playing ground. 
 
 1 hear their laughter's echoing resound, 
 
 As it lingers faintly o'er the roofs of the town. 
 
 Those joyous hearts, how little they knov/ 
 Of the ills of life, its toil and woe. 
 To them how bright life's horizon gleams. 
 How sweet, how sw^eet are youthful dreams. 
 
 Ah ! there 's the bell, how sweet its ring. 
 How oft it 's called me from the spring, 
 Where at recess I used to drink 
 The bubbling water from its brink. 
 
 [39] 
 
To the woods near by how oft I 've stole, 
 There in deep shades to dream and loll. 
 How oft my brother Ned and 1 
 Flat on the ground there used to lie. 
 
 To list the murmuring of the stream, 
 The singing lark or jay's shrill scream. 
 To hear the hawk's exulting cry, 
 While mounting swiftly towards the sky. 
 
 But ah ! for me those days are past. 
 Aye, life itself is fading fast. 
 But still 't is '' bitter— sweet " to dwell 
 Among these scenes I once loved well. 
 
 But those I loved, loved most dear, 
 Father, mother and one more dear. 
 Who gave to me her heart and hand, 
 All dwell together in the silent land. 
 
 [40] 
 
Here in the glen belvv-een the hills, 
 Where nest the lonely whip-poor-wills, 
 Where ferns and dewy grasses wave 
 Each lie forever in the g;rave. 
 
 And through the evening's gathering gloom, 
 I read their names upon the tomb, 
 Fast from my eyes flow bitter tears, 
 Effusions of long pent-up years. 
 
 Standing sadly under the darkened sky. 
 The years of my life again roll by, 
 Scenes of the past linger in my brain, 
 Memories' faces live again. 
 
 ^ 
 
 [41] 
 
/i iiite s 1 \e}p0specfi©r). 
 
 rnHE night was fair, 
 1 Fragrant the air, 
 With roses sweet. 
 
 The bright moonbeam, 
 Like silver streams, 
 Lit the street. 
 
 A dimpled child. 
 Lisped and smiled, 
 As it slept. 
 
 A maiden fair. 
 With golden hair. 
 Dreamed of love. 
 
 [42] 
 
A happy wife, 
 Sang psalms of life, 
 In her joy. 
 
 A mother wild, 
 Wept o'er her child, 
 Lying dead. 
 
 The night was fair. 
 Fragrant the air, 
 With roses sweet. 
 
 [43] 
 
iT/e(2lif0:fi©r) ©r) J^ealr) of 0. Ki®ier)(a. 
 
 3 ND so he 's dead,— dead ! 
 
 Can this be he who I knew so well ; 
 this cold, senseless clay, he, who but yester- 
 day was as I am now, — a living creature, with 
 power of thinking, seeing, doing, and now, 
 alas ! is dead, oblivious to the world, gone. 
 
 Where ? 
 
 Who knows. His image is still before me, 
 but cold, motionless, unconscious, and with 
 marble lips and closed eyes, separated forever 
 — for eternity, from that we call life. And 
 what is life ? Is it not as mysterious, as fath- 
 omless as death ? Lives there one, or ever 
 lived who knows from whence it comes, why 
 here, whither bound ? Yesterday this inert 
 clay possessed life. Today, it has departed. 
 Yesterday those heavy lids were lifted, and his 
 
 [44] 
 
blue eyes beamed upon the world and me. He 
 spoke kind words, smiled, ate, drank, and — 
 lived. Today he is changed, dead, gone. 
 And where ? Theology cannot tell me. Sci- 
 ence leads me far hence, and learning in all its 
 various channels, but teaches me the futility 
 of attempting to bridge this mysterious gulf. 
 I have studied the theology of many sects, 
 have measured the distance from the earth to 
 the sun ; know the orbit of every planet drawn 
 earthward by invention, can foretell the exact 
 moment of the eclipse, have chained the thun- 
 derbolt and utilized it to the good of mankind ; 
 can trace the currents of the ocean, and tell 
 the exact moment of its ebb and flow ; have 
 vaulted mountain tops, or with the wings of an 
 eagle ; have wrested a million secrets from, na- 
 ture, yet I, even I am helpless, and like him, 
 like all the world must die, must go, but 
 where ? 
 
 Tf5 
 
 [45] 
 
Y® i\)<^ ^r)fel0pe. 
 
 n^HOU swift-footed beauty, 
 X Timid child of the plain, 
 Did man do his duty, 
 Thou never wert slain. 
 
 Oh ! thou bonny-eyed darling, 
 To wild nature wed. 
 Thy eyes like the starling, 
 A bright luster shed. 
 
 Thy home 's on the prairie. 
 The desert 's thy bed. 
 But soon from the prairie. 
 Thy herds shall have fled. 
 
 The horn of the hunter. 
 As he rides o'er the plain, 
 Is a dirge to thy mates. 
 Whose herds he has slain. 
 
 Oh ! thou swift-footed beauty. 
 Timid child of the plain. 
 Did man do his duty. 
 Thou never wert slain. 
 [46] 
 
^J 5«^^J 
 
 ^ CABIN to live in, a few acres of ground, 
 ^■^^ Happy me with these possessions found, 
 A plow, a horse, some good seed corn, 
 And I 'm the happiest mortal ever was born. 
 
 The great and rich live in ease and grow fat. 
 
 But I do not envy them for that. 
 
 My few acres and seed-corn may not yield 
 
 wealth, 
 But plain food to eat, and better — good health. 
 
 Add to this some good books, a retreat in the 
 
 forest. 
 I want nothing else, tho' my fortune 's the 
 
 poorest. 
 With plain food, robust health, and good books 
 
 to read. 
 Neither body nor mind will soon go to seed. 
 
 As a still greater blessing give me a good wife. 
 And I 've all the luxuries man needs in life. 
 This Kingdom I crave kind nature 's the donor, 
 And it 's better than wealth, ambition or honor. 
 
 [47] 
 
/lrr)epic0:. 
 
 ^ MERICA ! America ! Thou art our na- 
 ®^ tive land. 
 We are thy sons and soldiers, and by thy flag 
 
 we ni stand. 
 For thee we Ml march to battle, for thee we '11 
 
 gladly die, 
 For thee we '11 leave our home and friends, 
 thy enemy to defy. 
 
 For thy honor as a Nation, for the glory of thy 
 
 name. 
 We '11 maintain the laws and liberty that 
 
 sounded first thy fame. 
 And whether in war or peace, which ever it 
 
 may be, 
 Thy sons will ever rally in the cause of liberty. 
 
 In the cause of independence (for which our 
 
 grandsires fought and won), 
 Liberty's message has descended from father 
 
 unto son. 
 And for the nation our fathers founded, for the 
 
 land that they made free. 
 Their sons will ever rally in the cause of liberty. 
 
\( 
 
015 909 165 A 
 
 
 I 
 
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