■ 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 ■ 
 
J A/ /J 
 
A Few Thoughts 
 
 For a Few Friends. 
 
 Alice Arnol6 itrauiforb, 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 
 JANSEN, McCLUEG & COMPANY. 
 
 1875. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by 
 
 JANSEN, McCLURG & CO.. 
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 /«\ 
 
IU his Little Booh 
 
 IS I,OVIN(iI,Y INSCRIBED 
 
 Co J«lg Jttotijer, 
 
 TO WHOSE EARLY FOSTERING CARE, 
 
 AND LATER LOVING CRITICISM, 
 
 I OWE WHATEVER OF GOOD MAY BE FOUND 
 
 WITHIN ITS PAGI 
 
PREFACE 
 
 In presenting this collection of Mrs. Crawford's writings 
 to her friends, in accordance with oft repeated kindly re- 
 quests, we have, as nearly as possible, carried out her own 
 plan : though at the time of her leaving us for ' the better life,' 
 it was scarcely more than a thought, and only spoken of to 
 us, her mother and her husband, as something that might 
 be wrought out in the future, if she was restored to health 
 and permitted to pen other thoughts which, with a selection 
 from these, might form a volume more pleasing to her 
 friends, and more satisfactory to herself. 
 
 Many of the poems were written in quite early life, and, 
 owing to long continued and painful illness which preceded 
 her home-going, were never revised, as they would have 
 been had our dear one's life been spared a little longer. 
 
 We trust that all, into whose hands these thoughts may 
 fall, remembering this, will withhold all unkindly criticism, 
 for the sake of her whose loss we mourn, who, in her beau- 
 tiful life on earth, was ever considerate and truly charitable 
 toward all. 
 
 Traverse City, Mich., Feb. 10, 1875. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 A Gleam of the Morning, ------- 9 
 
 Blind Handel, 11 
 
 The Gates Ajar, --------- 15 
 
 Seed-Time, .--. .-17 
 
 Song of the Hearth, ____..-_ 20 
 
 Sabbath Eve, ---------- 22 
 
 In Memoriam, - 24 
 
 Thy Will be Done, 28 
 
 Home Again, 30 
 
 In Happy Days, - - 32 
 
 The Flower of Peace, -------- 34 
 
 Ode to the Sun, 36 
 
 A Eeverie, ----------- 40 
 
 The Forest Easter, --------- 41 
 
 "How Manifold are Thy Works," ----- 43 
 
 The Carpenter's Son, - - 47 
 
 Without and Within, -------- 49 
 
 In the Cathedral, --------- 51 
 
 Peace, ------------- 54 
 
 Truth, ------ 57 
 
 The Lighthouse, ----- 59 
 
 Centennial Anniversary of Our Church, 62 
 
 Thanksgiving Hymn, -------- 65 
 
8 CONTENTS. 
 
 "Happy New Year," 67 
 
 Writing with Diamonds, 69 
 
 Among the Old Laces, - 71 
 
 Mother's Touch, - 74 
 
 "He shall Cover Thee with his Feathers," - - 77 
 
 Thoughts for the New Year, 80 
 
 Unwritten Poems, 83 
 
 The Lincoln Statue, 86 
 
 Morning Glories, 88 
 
 The Voice of the Winds. ------- 91 
 
 The Eain is O'er, - 93 
 
 Lighting the Coal-Fire. -96 
 
 A Fragment, 100 
 
 The Sisters of Bethany, - - 102 
 
 Faith, - 105 
 
 Class Reunion, 106 
 
 Life, ------- 109 
 
 Beyond the Sky-Line, - 114 
 
 The Pathway of the Sun, ------- 117 
 
 The Fireside, ---------- 120 
 
 Song of the Fisherman's Wife, ----- 121 
 
 After the Storm, - 124 
 
 Arbutus, - - - - 126 
 
 A Retrospect, - - 128 
 
 The "Sea Bird," - - - 134 
 
 Valedictory, - 136 
 
 Passing Thoughts, - 143 
 
 Farewell, __.-.- 162 
 
A FEW THOUGHTS. 
 
A iBleam of the Florning. 
 
 A BURST of sun, and a sweep of snow 
 
 Came sloping down from the wintry wood ; 
 I lift the curtain to meet their glow, 
 
 And flood my room with their pledge of good. 
 
 Without — the glitter of snow-hung trees, 
 In banks of russet and spires of pine ; 
 
 Within — the flickering shapes of these, 
 Drawn out in shadow and gilded line. 
 
 Oh ! glad, glad smile on the lip of morn, 
 Thy presence bringeth an untold grace, 
 
 A flood of cheer, and a joy inborn, 
 
 And chrismal peace from a heavenly place. 
 
 Come down, O beautiful light, to me ! 
 
 Look down, through rifts in the branching pine ; 
 Rest down, wmerever thy will may be, 
 
 Thou glad'ning type of the light divine. 
 
10 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 O golden bars ! as ye lie unfurled 
 
 I make thee place in ray room and heart; 
 
 O blessed warmth of a waking world, 
 Thy quick'ning life unto me impart. 
 
 Thou two-fold Light of the breaking day, — 
 The inner glory, the outer guide, — 
 
 Thy dual blessing I wait. O stay 
 
 My soul within, and my steps beside. 
 
BLIND HANDEL. 11 
 
 BUn6 Handel. 
 
 ~1 TE sat alone- — the solemn service o'er; 
 
 No muffled footfall sounded on the floor; 
 The distant clangor of the closing door 
 From arch to arch leaped down the low octave 
 Of dying echoes, and within the nave 
 Dropped into silence. 
 
 Calm, and sweetly grave, 
 As one in whom some joy and sorrow blend, 
 The blind old man, beside his time-worn friend, 
 Still lingered lovingly. Across the keys 
 He felt the warmth of sunshine, and the breeze 
 At play upon the silver of his hair. 
 And, down the aisles, he knew the list'ning air 
 In conscious emptiness hung dead and still, 
 But waiting for the soul of melody to thrill 
 Its silence into life. 
 
12 A FEW THOUGHTS FOE A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 As one who loved them much 
 He sought the keys. They yielded to his touch, 
 And by some strange intelligence they caught 
 The thrilling impulse of their master's thought, 
 And followed softly, or in echoes rang 
 Their sweet response while he, trembling, sang 
 His life-song unto them. 
 
 " We are alone 
 O voices of my soul ! and joy, unknown 
 To those who know and love you less than I, 
 Is borne to me upon the melody 
 That wakens at my will. I feel no need of sight ; 
 But, reaching forth, I draw my warmth and light 
 From out the world of sound. That fine and mystic sense 
 Vouchsafed to me, makes more than recompense 
 For outer darkness; since the shadowy line 
 That shuts me from the world wins the divine 
 To blest communion, until life grows sweet 
 From hidden springs, and makes itself complete 
 From sources of its own. 
 
BLIND HANDEL. 13 
 
 " Men pity me ; 
 And little eyes that mine shall never see 
 Turn tenderly to watch the groping feet 
 That, hesitating, tread the aisle and street. 
 They look on me as one whose night and day 
 Are wearily the same ; and sadly say 
 My blindness is ray prison, and no star 
 That, key-like, hangs without the dungeon bar, 
 Shall ever turn or open unto me 
 The royal dawn, or noon-tide majesty. 
 
 "And yet I sorrow not. No life is dark 
 Whose inner chambers hold the vital spark 
 Of heavenly happiness. I only stand 
 Within the shadow of my Father's hand, 
 And list, through all the ling'ring eventide, 
 For loving tones that, comforting, abide 
 Forever in the air. O perfect gift! 
 O blessing marvelous! By thee I lift 
 The upper windows of my charmed soul, 
 And let the harmonies of heaven roll 
 Full-voiced into mine ear. 
 
14 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 "And still I wait. 
 My groping fingers clasp the golden gate 
 That bounds the sweet hereafter, while the hymn 
 That trembles from the harps of seraphim 
 Floats out to me. These soft and mellow pipes 
 Awaked by me, are but th' imperfect types 
 Of what I hear, — the faint interpreters 
 Through which I speak to men, — sweet messengers 
 From me unto the world. I ask no more, 
 Since 'My Kedeemer Liveth,' to restore, 
 In his own time, the fullness of my sight. 
 Then, for the loss of earth's imperfect light, 
 The crystal day shall evermore be given, 
 And Handel, ' blind and old,' shall see in heaven." 
 
THE GATES AJAR. 15 
 
 IThe iBates Ajar. 
 
 S~\ MYSTIC veil ! must thou hang forever 
 
 Above the future thy filmy fold ? 
 O heavenly gates ! will ye open never, 
 
 That we may gaze on the streets of gold ? 
 
 We ponder well on the sweet old story 
 Of " crystal river " and " morning star," 
 
 But shall we know of the inner glory 
 
 Whose beams fall faint through the gates ajar? 
 
 We long to fathom the great Uncertain — 
 We closely press to its very strand, 
 
 And vainly beat at the dusky curtain 
 
 That will not yield to our feeble hand. 
 
 We lift our eyes, if, perchance, some glimmer 
 May pierce the shadow that lies before, 
 
 As sailors watch for the mellow shimmer 
 Of tidal waters along the shore. 
 
16 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 The dear ones pass to the wondrous city — 
 We watch them over the silent track — 
 
 And shall no word of their loving pity 
 Between thy portals be wafted back? 
 
 And while we long for the vanished faces, 
 And stretch our hands thro' the prison-bar, 
 
 Do they who sit in heavenly places 
 
 Look down to us through the gates ajar? 
 
 And do they watch with love as tender 
 
 Our feeble feet through the tangled maze? 
 
 And in our grief do they yearn to render 
 The healing balm, as in olden days? 
 
 If this be true, we are scarce divided — 
 They o'er the river, we at the brink — 
 
 When from our vision the mists have glided, 
 Our souls shall welcome a kindred link. 
 
 Till then we wait, though the flood of glory 
 We see but dimly — it shines so far. 
 
 Content, we ponder the sweet old story, 
 
 And gaze on heaven through the gates ajar. 
 
SEED-TIME. 17 
 
 $ee6-Cime. 
 
 "VTOW is the seed-time, sunshine lies 
 
 In golden furrows on the field, 
 And speaks, in smiling prophecies, 
 
 The wealth of Autumn unrevealed. 
 The early blossom gaily lifts 
 
 Its petals to the winds that pass, 
 Then, fluttering, falls, till dainty drifts 
 
 Are nestled in the scented grass. 
 
 Now is the seed-time ; from the hills 
 
 A warm breath floats along the plain ; 
 And, straying through the ferns, 
 
 The rills awake their silver harps again 
 And sweetly from the distance rings 
 
 The merry voice of him who toils, 
 Guides well the plow and lightly swings 
 
 The seed upon the mellow soil. 
 
18 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Bright grows the pasture's wooded rim, 
 
 Where lie the beds of wintry leaves, 
 The willow's thickly-tasseled limb 
 
 Its emerald garniture receives. 
 Low hang the purple, misty clouds, 
 
 The orchard buds are faintly grown, 
 And pigeons wheel in dusky crowds 
 
 Above the furrows freshly sown. 
 
 Now is the seed-time ; and the glad, 
 
 The old time cometh, fresh and green 
 As when the merry Hebrew lad 
 
 Sang at his plow in Palestine. 
 And yet she has not failed us,— nay, 
 
 But coming, going, with the years, 
 Has lived through ages ; yet, to-day, 
 
 Fair in her ancient grace appears. 
 
 And when the bright seeds lightly fell, 
 
 Has treasured them, and bid them rear 
 Full many a slender shaft and bell, 
 
 Whose breezy tinklings touch the ear. 
 So now by meadow, path and walk, 
 
 Pale leaves are bursting through the mold, 
 Where blade, and stem, and swaying stalk 
 
 Begin their tiny weight to hold. 
 
SEED-TIME. 19 
 
 O seed-time ! promised still of God, 
 
 Man hails thee in the waking year ! 
 He soweth to the upturned sod, 
 
 And, trusting, waits the harvest cheer. 
 And if he toil where thistles sleep, 
 
 The fig-tree's bloom is sought in vain ; 
 For he who soweth tares must reap 
 
 His harvest from the tares again. 
 
 There is a seed-time of the heart, 
 
 Whose laughing skies are fresh and fair, 
 Within whose fertile soil will start . 
 
 Each germ that lieth buried there. 
 Year after year we fold away 
 
 With thoughtless hand the tiny seed, 
 Unconscious that a future day 
 
 Must rear the flower-bell, or weed. 
 
 Sow not the tares, — their growth may yet 
 
 Bring to the heart a bitter strife, 
 And, in the end, one sad regret — 
 
 The wasted seed-time of a lite. 
 But he that goeth forth to cast 
 
 His precious seed upon the mold, 
 Shall doubtless come with joy at last, 
 
 And bring with him his sheaves of gold. 
 
20 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Song of the Hearth. 
 
 A SONG for the hearth ! Let the glad swelling measure 
 Reecho the thoughts that are tend'rest and best ! 
 Bring hither a lay for the dear household treasure. 
 
 And sing the sweet joy of the fireside rest ! 
 Bring melodies sweet — 'tis a theme pure and holy, 
 Each hearth shall awake to an answering thrill ; 
 For, whether the home-roof be high or be lowly, 
 The loves of the hearthstone are beautiful still. 
 
 When over the meadow the long shadow stealeth, 
 
 When night draweth nigh, and the day's work is o'er, 
 A thousand fair pictures the twilight revealeth, 
 
 Of dear waiting groups at the wide open door. 
 Oh ! bright loving eyes through the window that glisten ! 
 
 Oh ! dear childish voices that pause in their talk ! 
 All watching for father, and hushing to listen 
 
 To footsteps that sound on the still garden walk. 
 
SONG OF THE HEARTH. 21 
 
 Then sing of the hearth, — of its ties never broken, — 
 
 Its beautiful worship, its life-giving cheer, — 
 Of comforting voices, and words gently spoken, — 
 
 Of trustful confiding that knoweth no fear ; 
 And still let the firelight be cheerily burning, 
 
 And bright be the hearth for the home-coming feet ; 
 Its glow in the future shall waken fond yearning, 
 
 And visions of home shall be sacred and sweet. 
 
22 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 \ 
 j 
 
 Sabbath "£ue. 
 
 T I ^HE sun's sweet ministry is o'er, 
 
 Through arch and aisle and emerald floor 
 
 The templed woods are still ; 
 The twilight's fitful breezes blow 
 "Where amber fires are burning low 
 
 Upon the western hill. 
 
 The day is done — the golden day, 
 With air of wine and breath of May, 
 
 From orchard censers borne; 
 Yet here, from quiet evening skies, 
 I gather some sweet ministries 
 
 To sunlight hours unknown. 
 
 Day is not done when light is fled ; 
 The ling'ring benediction shed 
 
 From out the glowing sky, 
 Oft wins the world from toil away, 
 And heralds, with its fleeting ray, 
 
 The grateful hour of rest. 
 
SABBATH EVE. 
 
 23 
 
 O Sabbath Eve, with breath of balm ! 
 Thy dewy presence brings a calm 
 
 More blest than ecstasy ; 
 More safely sweet, more surely mine, 
 More fraught with tenderness divine 
 
 Than morning's joy could be. 
 
24 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 / 
 In Ittemoriam. 
 
 "Our Brave Soldiee Boys." 
 
 "TTTHENE'EE the quiet sleep of death 
 
 Steals pulseless o'er a beating heart, 
 Some household mourns the parting breath, 
 And tribute tears unbidden start. 
 
 Few lives there are whose waning tlanie 
 Would leave no shadow of regret ; 
 
 Beneath the lowliest sculptured name 
 Some star of happiness has set. 
 
 But when, through War's relentless fate, 
 In noble strife our heroes fell, 
 
 A nation's heart grew desolate 
 
 With tones of muffled drum and bell. 
 
 In mem'ry of the manly trust 
 
 So bravely won on Southern soil — 
 
 In holiest reverence for their dust 
 
 Who perished in the strife and, toil, 
 
IN MEMO RI AM. 25 
 
 We come, to-day, with measured tread, 
 
 With time-worn tlag and bayonet, 
 To strew beside the loved and dead 
 
 The myrtle and the violet. 
 
 We come beneath the bannered stars 
 
 They proudly bore by field and flood; 
 
 Soiled — only with the battle scars, 
 Stained — but with sacrificial blood. 
 
 And all who share the victory 
 
 Won in the battle-heat by them, 
 Join silver stream, and murm'ring sea, 
 
 To chant the soldiers' requiem. 
 
 Sweet be the melodies we breathe ; 
 
 Awake the strains they loved of old ; 
 Let gentle hands the garlands wreathe 
 
 Above the consecrated mold. 
 
 Place here, upon each hallowed shrine, 
 
 Sweet tributes of the vernal spring, 
 Let snowy flower and clust'ring vine 
 
 Upon the gleaming marble cling. 
 
36 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 O'er youthful forms, with tearful prayer, 
 
 Some mother's hand the wreath shall press, 
 
 And many a slumberer's conch shall bear 
 The offerings of the fatherless. 
 
 Here widow'd hands shall fondly twine 
 Memorials of the parting year, 
 
 And in the floral cross shall shine 
 The chrism of her falling tear. 
 
 Yet few among the fallen sleep 
 
 In sweet Kienzi's templed shade ; 
 
 By tangled wood and mountain steep 
 
 Their thousand nameless graves are made. 
 
 Made, when the battle day was done, 
 Beneath the feet of hurrying hosts; 
 
 Made, where the booming naval gun 
 
 Tolled out their dirge along the coasts. 
 
 For them no thoughtful hand, to-day, 
 The tropic flower has gently strewn, 
 
 We, with the heart alone, can pay 
 
 Our tribute to the brave "Unknown." 
 
IN MEMO RI AM. 27 
 
 But ah! the eye that never sleeps 
 
 Their distant resting-place has found, 
 
 And now the shimmering sunlight creeps 
 In beauty o'er the lowly mound. 
 
 Unknown to us, they slumber on; 
 
 Unknown — beneath the sea and sod, 
 But, in the Kesurrection dawn, 
 
 Known in the likeness of their God. 
 
 Since theirs shall be the perfect rest, 
 
 Sing hopefully their requiem; 
 Bring tributes holiest, purest, best, 
 
 And leave them in memoriam. 
 
28 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 IThy W\\\ be Done. 
 
 r I ^HY will be done : O sweet, submissive words ! 
 
 The depth of trust — the height of Christian grace ! 
 The earnest cry when all the soul is stirred, 
 
 And conscious weakness veils th' uplifted face. 
 
 Thy will be done ! O lesson hard to learn, 
 When human frailty seeketh but its own ! 
 
 When troubled hearts with fierce resistance burn, 
 And wounded, pride rebels against the Throne. 
 
 O language sweet ! in deepest truth unsung, 
 
 Save where some strife hath wrought humility ; 
 
 Its cadence falls as in an unknown tongue 
 Until the soul hath found Gethsemane. 
 
 Thy will be done — not mine, for I am weak, 
 And dare not take the future in my hand, 
 Nor walk alone, lest, wandering, I should seek 
 3 The faint mirage across the shifting sand. 
 
THY WILL BE DONE. 
 
 B9 
 
 Thy will be done through all the varied way 
 That lies before me, leading unto thee, 
 
 Though heights of hope uplift me to the day, 
 Or lowly paths be dark with mystery. 
 
 Thy will be done. Then I may surely feel 
 The way is safe whose Leader is Divine. 
 
 Since he who wounds hath willingness to heal, 
 I cannot fear to say: Thy will — not mine. 
 
30 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Home Again. 
 
 II OME again ! the breeze low bending 
 
 Leaves its welcome on my cheek; 
 And the wood-bird's note ascending, 
 Breathes the joy I cannot speak. 
 
 Home ! where prairie winds are sweeter, 
 Home ! where smile the warmest skies, 
 
 Home! where weary steps grow fleeter, 
 As well-lov'd pathways greet the eyes. 
 
 Now I catch familiar voices, 
 And the sound of busy feet ; 
 
 Many a face mine eye rejoices 
 
 As I pace the well-known street. 
 
 Now the breath of sweetest flowers 
 From the dear home-garden floats — 
 
 Village bells from ivied towers 
 
 Waft to me their welcome notes. 
 
HOME AGAIN. 31 
 
 Home ! thou shrine of mera'ries holy, 
 
 Though thou art moss-grown now, and wild, 
 
 Yet I greet thy gateway, lowly, — 
 Home, receive thy weary child ! 
 
 Weary of the chilling splendor, 
 
 And the gleam of sculptured halls, 
 Dreaming, oft, with longings tender, 
 
 Of thy vine-hung cottage walls. 
 
 Home again! the deep fond yearning — 
 
 All is satisfied at last. 
 Yisioned dreams, and quick tears burning, 
 
 Rest forever in the past. 
 
 But to-day my heart's loud beating 
 
 Echoes to a new refrain ; 
 With my eager lips repeating, 
 
 "Home again ; yes, home again ! " 
 
32 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 3rt Happy Days. 
 
 T"N happy days, O Father, keep us thine — 
 
 In happy days, thy children meek and lowly ; 
 Uplift our souls, by each new gift of thine, 
 
 To know a trust more reverent, sw r eet and holy. 
 
 When seed-time thrift becomes the harvest gain, 
 When patient toil is crowned with sudden glory, 
 
 When present joy o'erlooks an old-time pain 
 And struggles seem the shadows of a story; 
 
 How soon the heart, o'ercome with subtle pride, 
 Doth steal from love the dignity of meekness — 
 
 Doth lead us forth to labors yet untried, 
 
 And whisper strength where all is human weakness ! 
 
 We sow, we reap, we bear our sheaves aloft 
 
 Through ranks of gold and aisles of rustling splendor, 
 
 Rememb'ring not why tempered winds were soft, 
 
 Why dews distilled and summer skies were tender. 
 
IN HAPPY DAYS. 33 
 
 We grasp the gift in glad bewilderment, 
 
 Forget the past in glory of the morrow ; 
 Yet see not thee — so blind is our content — 
 
 Who wins, for us, all victory over sorrow. 
 
 And yet, we claim thy loving Fatherhood, 
 We fly to thee, when weary or affrighted ; 
 
 We clasp thee close, and deem the shelter good, 
 That yesterday our wanton footsteps slighted. 
 
 But thou, O thou — Forgiveness Infinite! 
 
 Wilt thou receive the wand'ring feet that leave thee, 
 And hold again the hand whose haughty might, 
 
 Put forth alone, doth wound itself, and grieve thee? 
 
 We know thou wilt; yet filial love is best, 
 
 Most true and sweet, whose links are all unbroken. 
 
 The fond return but speaks the past unrest, 
 
 And wrongs are sad, though pardoning words be spoken. 
 
 Then let us be thine own, in happiest days, — 
 
 When life is sweet, and earthly ties are dearest; 
 
 Not bound by want, but taught in loving ways, 
 To feel that joy is best, when thou art nearest. 
 
34 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Ehe Flower of Peace. 
 
 A REGAL flower, white as the lily's snow, 
 
 And sweet as caught from some Elysian air, 
 Came in my dream from Him who doth bestow 
 Whate'er in life is truly good and fair. 
 
 " "Tis from the gardens of the Lord," he said ; 
 
 "Its name is Peace, and I will plant it here, 
 Close at thy side, where every breath shall shed, 
 
 By day and night, a soft perpetual cheer. 
 
 " Asleep or waking, toiling or at rest, 
 
 Through all thy soul its fragrance shall distill, 
 
 Till thou shalt deem this humble floweret blest 
 Beyond all gifts vouchsafed by heavenly will/' 
 
 I woke, and lo ! e'en as the Master said, 
 
 A conscious peace lay blooming at my heart ; 
 
 Where'er I walked, by daily duty led, 
 
 Its tender grace was there, nor would depart. 
 
THE FLOWER OF PEACE. 35 
 
 But human wisdom strangely fails to hold 
 In true esteem the treasure-gifts of Heaven, 
 
 And long possession makes our thought more bold 
 
 To ask that what we deem of greater worth be giv'n. 
 
 And I began, unmindful of my flower, 
 
 So humbly white, to long for brighter dyes; 
 
 To wish my soul might know th' ecstatic power 
 Of richer incense, blown from Paradise. 
 
 Yet, while I pondered, spake this still, small voice: 
 "Nay, child, I knew what gift was best for thee; 
 
 But since the flower of joy hath been thy choice, 
 Its fleeting light henceforth thine own shall be." 
 
 Rebuked in thought, I turned me to the white, 
 
 Sweet-breathing Peace, and said within my heart, 
 
 " Nay, nay, my Lord, I have not asked aright, 
 Nor understood the good thou wouldst impart, 
 
 " Forgive thou me. Take back this crumbling leaf 
 Whose breath e'en now has lost its wonted power. 
 
 I ask no good but peace, and fear no grief 
 
 That fails to blight its sweet, abiding flower." 
 
36 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 iDbe to the Sun. 
 
 A II ! there thou shinest, glorious Sun, 
 An emblem of th' Eternal One, 
 Who formed thee by his hand of love; 
 Who clothed thee in thy garments bright, 
 And crowned thee as with Heaven's own light, 
 Thou radiant, beauteous world above ! 
 
 Imperial Sun, a monarch thou, 
 To whom the lesser lights do bow, 
 
 As on through boundless space they roll, 
 Each glittering silently alone, 
 As 'twere a guardian of the throne 
 
 O'er which thou long hast held control. 
 
 E'en man has worshiped at thy shrine, 
 Deeming thee highest, most divine, 
 
 Of all thy Maker's works most high. 
 What wonder that an untaught mind 
 Should seek in thy bright beams to find 
 
 A God of power and majesty ? 
 
ODE TO THE SUN. 37 
 
 Impartial Sun, thou scorn est not 
 To shed upon the humble lot 
 
 The beams that only thou canst give ; 
 The lordly home, of wealth begot, 
 And peasant's humble thatch-roofed cot, 
 
 Rejoice thy bright smiles to receive. 
 
 The lily's pure, unsullied face, 
 
 And violets, with their modest grace, 
 
 In perfect trust look up to thee; 
 Sweet buttercups and daisies bright, 
 Beneath thy warm and cheering light, 
 
 Their dewy heads raise smilingly. 
 
 The brooklet, as it glides along, 
 Soft murmuring its soothing song, 
 
 Thine image on its bosom bears ; 
 Each smile of gratitude serene, 
 Upon its rippling surface seen, 
 
 Thy cheering light and power declares. 
 
 Since first fair Eden saw thee rise, 
 Illumining the eastern skies, 
 
 How great the change in every clime ! 
 
38 A FEW THOUGHTS FOE A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Thrones, Cities, Empires, Temples, — all 
 The Past has risen but to fall ; 
 
 Thou art the same through endless time. 
 
 Deep clouds may dim thee for awhile, 
 May darken or obscure thy smile ; 
 
 May strive to veil thee from our sight; 
 Yet vain attempt ! no fleeting cloud 
 Thy radiance can forever shroud, 
 
 Since the command — " Let there be light." 
 
 And hast thou, in thy yearly rounds, 
 E'er seen the blood-stained battle-grounds 
 
 Where lie our noble and our brave % 
 And hast thou heard the battle-cry 
 Sound forth our country's victory — 
 
 And seen its stars in triumph wave \ 
 
 Oh! couldst thou to the loved ones bear 
 The soldier's last, low-murmured prayer, 
 
 As life's frail cord was gently riven ; 
 Or mark the faint words, of adieu 
 As Life's sun sank from earthly view — 
 
 Sank but to rise agrain in Heaven ; 
 
ODE TO THE SUN. 39 
 
 Could we but see what thou hast seen, 
 And could we be where thou hast been 
 
 Since thy long journey was begun, 
 Our hearts anew, with awe and love, 
 Would rise to Him who rules above, 
 
 And guides thy radiant course, O Sun ! 
 
 'Tis beauty, life and constancy, 
 In thy resplendent form we see; 
 
 Undimmed art thou by Time's stern hand. 
 All nature's ill's — war, famine, flame — 
 Are naught to thee; thou shin'st the same 
 
 As when thou first dawned on our land. 
 
 Then shall not we, like thou, fulfill 
 Unceasingly our Maker's will ? 
 
 Untiringly his laws obey? 
 To all imparting joy and cheer, 
 Working with loving trust while here, 
 
 Until we reach the perfect day? 
 
40 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 A Beuerie. 
 
 A S when the winter twilight slanting falls 
 
 Between the curtains and athwart the walls, 
 And folds within its broad, low-drooping wings, 
 The very shadow of familiar things, 
 
 Till, slowly conquered by its firelight foe, 
 And trembling backward toward the outer night, 
 
 It spreads rich background for the heightened glow 
 Of shapes and tints wrought out into the light ; 
 So sorrow's shadow, folding 'round the soul, 
 Absorbs, enwraps, encompasses the whole ; 
 The joy once prized, the quiet old-time grace, 
 Hope, peace, content — each yields its wonted place 
 
 Before the creeping shade; till, in the light — 
 The abiding light from Faith's warm altar shed — 
 
 The melting shadow takes its parting flight, 
 
 And lo ! against the wall of outer night, 
 The heart's best treasures, waking from their dead 
 Forgotten slumber, shine more priceless there; 
 
 Their transient loss restores a richer gain, 
 A God-giv'n sorrow cannot be despair. 
 
Ihe Forest Easter. 
 
HOW MANIFOLD ARE THY WORKS." 43 
 
 " How Jflanifolb are Chy Tftorhs." 
 
 f~\ THOU, in whose Almighty Hand 
 
 The earth's foundations firmly stand, 
 
 And heaving oceans rise and fall, 
 Thee, the Creator, man shall fear, 
 So manifold Thy works appear ! 
 
 In wisdom hast Thou made them all ! 
 
 The heavens are Thine, — stars speak Thy praise, 
 Point with a thousand trembling rays 
 
 The pathway where Thy feet have trod ! 
 They roll along the deep blue arch, 
 And seem in their eternal march 
 
 The glittering armies of our God ! 
 
 And the bright sun, — the orb of day, 
 Who steals from morn her robe of gray 
 
 And bears the Daylight in his crown, 
 Gilds mountain, tower, and tree with light, 
 Rolls back the splendors of the night, 
 
 And drops the golden curtains down ! 
 
44 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Thy Spirit moves upon the Deep- — 
 Its restless waters ever keep 
 
 Thine Image on its rippling blue ; 
 Dark billows with their thundering speech, 
 And soft waves breaking on the beach, 
 
 Proclaim Thy wonders ever new ! 
 
 All hail the ocean and its shores ! 
 Its fairy harbors, where the oars 
 
 Of every nation lightly play ! 
 AVhere, sweeping o'er its boundless tide, 
 A world's great navies proudly ride 
 
 And press along their pathless way ! 
 
 The hills ! the everlasting hills, 
 Adown whose sides the gushing rills 
 
 Flash brightly in the morning sun ! 
 As there ye stand in mighty power, 
 Each seems a granite fortress tower, 
 
 A temple of the Eternal One ! 
 
 How grand the ever-drifting cloudsJ 
 How beautiful those snowy shrouds 
 
 That float alono; 'twixt earth and heaven ! 
 
"HOW MANIFOLD ARE THY WORKS." 45 
 
 And yet, — how fearful in their wrath, 
 When lurid lightnings mark their path 
 And they by tempest winds are driven ! 
 
 But when Thy hand hath hushed the storm, 
 And thrown the sunbeams bright and warm 
 
 Upon the tearful earth again,' 
 How like an emblem of Thy love, 
 The bright-hued rainbow bends above 
 
 And spans the misty veil of rain ! 
 
 The "Bow of Promise" glittering there, 
 Seemeth of all Thy works most fair, 
 
 So kind the assurance that it brings; 
 As if the angels bending low, 
 With sunbeam-pencils traced the bow, — 
 
 Then brushed it with their dewy wings. 
 
 Thy Name is traced in living-green 
 On mossy turf and clustering vine, 
 
 And every leaf that waves above ! 
 The flowers that scent the morning gale, 
 Or, with their bright hues, deck the vale, 
 
 Seem blushing emblems of Thy love. 
 
46 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Yet earth's fair flowers must surely fade, 
 Her Rainbows mingle with the shade, 
 
 And clouds dissolve their snowy chain ; 
 The wasting tower at last must fall, 
 And Ocean, beating at his wall, 
 
 Break many a rugged rock in twain. 
 
 Yet nought is lost, Thou gatherest up 
 The petals of the flow'ret's cup 
 
 To breathe into them life, again ; 
 Each atom of the crumbling hill 
 Hath its own mission to fulfill, 
 
 For Thou hast nothing made in vain. 
 
 Then let the earth and sea rejoice, 
 Let bird, nor beast, nor any voice 
 
 That Thou hast sweetly tuned, withhold 
 Thy praise ; but let one anthem ring, 
 Let all Thy creatures ever sing, 
 
 " Thy works, O God, how manifold ! " 
 
THE CARPENTERS SON 47 
 
 Che Carpenter's Son. 
 
 "TTTTHENE'ER I see the workman hastening by, 
 With shouldered tools a-glimmer in the sun, 
 Or watch his toil, against the noonday sky, 
 
 Or mark his wearied step when day is done ; 
 
 Whene'er I tread his yellow dusted floor, 
 
 Or draw from bruised wood the spicy breath, 
 
 I seem to see the pictured twain of yore, 
 Beside the bench, in lowly Nazareth. 
 
 From out the past their fancied faces rise ; 
 
 The elder, staid, pre-occupied, intent — 
 The younger, lit with grave, far-reaching eyes, 
 
 Divinely sweet, o'er earthly labor bent. 
 
 I love to hold the picture safe in thought; 
 
 To wake it oft from daily scenes like these — 
 As though the Saviour's life were nearer brought, 
 
 And linked with ours by stronger sympathies. 
 
48 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 To feel that He who glorified the Cross, 
 Uplifting shame to love's sublimest place, 
 
 Refining pain, and sacrifice and loss, 
 
 By suffering all with love's divinest grace, 
 
 That walked with man along the humbler way 
 Of hourly toil and human weariness ; 
 
 Has lived to know the changeless every day, 
 Whose gathered cares so burden and oppress. 
 
 The highest love has died to lift its own ; 
 
 The broadest love has borne -the scoffer's test, 
 And deepest love that life has ever known, 
 
 Has humbly toiled, that labor might be blest. 
 
 Thus will I watch the workmen hastening by, 
 If so I gain a nearness to my Lord ; 
 
 Or better grasp the truths that underlie 
 
 And bring his heart and mine to sweet accord. 
 
WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 49 
 
 "Without an6 "Within. 
 
 A DULL drab sky hangs chill above the bay; 
 
 The leaden wave drops snow-bound on the shore. 
 The crescent beach creeps backward into gray — 
 Where clouded hills, in wooded fringes lower. 
 
 Belated leaves, forgotten by the frost, 
 
 In tattered russet, skirt the laden bough, 
 
 Or skim the porch, as something lone and lost, 
 Whose final rest can matter little now. 
 
 Thus lies the world before my window spread ; 
 
 Whose wintry shade I could no brighter make — 
 Though I should mourn the burdened skies o'erhead, 
 
 And make my plaint o'er every fallen flake. 
 
 But here, within, I hold the priceless power 
 
 To keep a world as cheery as I will ; 
 To light the gloom with face of friend or flower, 
 
 And all the space with voiceful music till. 
 
50 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 I will not bid that outer world come in, 
 
 With whisp'ring storm, to chill my self-found cheer. 
 If warmth and peace, I have the power to win, 
 
 These better guests shall find glad welcome here. 
 
 I will not let the idle wand'ring wind 
 Creep to my ear with messages of ill ; 
 
 Nor scan the cloud, its boding will to find, 
 
 Since deepest snows must fall beyond the sill. 
 
 The bursting rose shall blush athwart the pane, 
 The ivy-green my pictured wall shall twine — 
 
 Until I dream that Spring has come again, 
 
 And smile to think what tropic skies are mine. 
 
 I cease to watch the storm I cannot quell ; 
 
 The outer strife I hear and mourn no more ; 
 If inner peace by heart and hearth-stone dwell, 
 
 I will forget chill Winter at my door. 
 
IN THE CATHEDRAL. 51 
 
 3n the itathe&ral. 
 
 "T TERE, upon the city street, 
 
 Where a thousand busy feet, 
 Daily beating on the pavement, ever sound life's hurried 
 march, 
 With their burnished crosses shining 
 Where the ivy-wreath is twining, 
 Dim cathedral towers lift proudly, vaulted roof and graceful 
 arch. 
 
 Open now the massive door, 
 
 Lightly tread the marble floor 
 Wrought with quaint mosaic tracery, and ancient Greek 
 design ; 
 
 'Twere a joy, to wander slowly 
 
 Through the aisles so still and holy, 
 With the mellow sunlight gilding silver crucifix and shrine. 
 
 Floating out upon the air 
 Like the murmur of a prayer, 
 Comes the organ's distant prelude, in its flute-like melody. 
 
52 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Deep'ning now — then softly trilling 
 Till the holy place seems thrilling, 
 As the grand Te Deum echoes through its silken drapery. 
 
 Waves of sound whose wondrous roll 
 
 Ebbs and murmurs — till the soul 
 Seems to drink of " living waters," in the liquid harmony ; 
 
 And the low bass beating, throbbing — 
 
 Like an angel voice seems sobbing, 
 Or the sorrow of the Saviour breathing from Gethsemane. 
 
 See! beneath yon arch the gleam 
 
 Of the altar-lights! they seem 
 In their pale and twinkling luster, like the stars when morn 
 is near. 
 
 And the censer near them swinging 
 
 On its silver chains, is flinging 
 The faint breath of burning incense on the spicy atmosphere. 
 
 Peaceful altar ! scarce a breath 
 
 Lifts thy curtains; and the wreath 
 Placed upon the brow of Mary, droops upon the marble yet. 
 
 Snowy flowers are still reclining 
 
 In the Infant arms, and twining 
 Where the chancel-light may touch them, with its hue of 
 violet. 
 
IN THE CATHEDRAL. 
 
 53 
 
 But the deep'ning shadows tell 
 
 That ere long, the vesper bell 
 And the vesper chant will wake me from this reverie and 
 dream ; 
 
 Though I go, the censer's burning, 
 
 To my vision oft returning, 
 May rekindle fires that slumber, keep alight the vestal flame. 
 
 And upon my feeble sight 
 
 Faith shall shed her altar-light, 
 Till I see the greater glory, and the crown that Faith may 
 claim. 
 
54 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Peace. 
 
 May, 1865. 
 
 IPROM our sky the clouds are drifting, 
 
 And the troubled nation sees 
 
 Through the mists the bow of promise, — 
 
 Token of returning peace. 
 Oh ! how joyful are the tidings 
 
 That shall reach the waiting ear, 
 Telling us the storm is over, 
 That a blessed calm is near. 
 
 Oh ! too well we know the sorrow 
 
 That a cruel war can bring ! 
 We have known the desolation, 
 
 We have felt the bitter sting ; 
 We have seen the cherished thousands 
 
 Of our loyal and our brave, 
 In the rescue of their country, 
 
 Find them but a soldier's grave. 
 
PEACE. 55 
 
 Yes, 'tis true, we all have suffered, 
 
 But our land has lost the stain 
 That has ever hung about her, 
 
 In the form of slave and chain ; 
 And the bright sun looks upon us 
 
 As when first his beams he gave, 
 While " the corn and cotton ripen 
 
 In a land without a slave." 
 
 But the strife is nearly finished, 
 
 And the cannon's echoing roar 
 Will be silent in our valleys, 
 
 And along our peaceful shore. 
 We shall see the smoke of battle 
 
 Slowly clearing from the land, 
 And shall clasp again in friendship, 
 
 Our erring brother's hand. 
 
 " Peace ! " the aged mother whispers, 
 
 " Was there ever word so sweet \ 
 "lis not vain that I have listened 
 
 For the sound of coming feet : 
 No, not vain that I have waited, 
 
 And my heart is filled with joy, 
 When I think that peace will bring to me 
 
 My dear brave soldier boy." 
 
56 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Out upon the restless waters,. 
 
 Tossed by every fitful wave, 
 Has our country's bark been drifting, 
 
 With no seeming power to save ; 
 But a strong hand has been guiding 
 
 Through the waves of good and ill, 
 And above the roar of tempest, 
 
 Rise the sweet words, " Peace, be still ! 
 
 Peace, that gentle dove is waiting, — 
 
 Waiting still with outstretched wing, 
 To unite the severed nation, 
 
 And her kind protection bring. 
 And while she shall hover o'er us, 
 
 Bidding all unkindness cease, 
 Let the olive be the emblem 
 
 Of an everlasting peace. 
 
TRUTH. 57 
 
 Cruth. 
 
 /^\ TRUTH, divinely sweet and fair! 
 
 The crystalsprings of life are thine ; 
 The light of years thy garments bear, 
 
 The stars of ages o'er thee shine ; 
 Inwrought with every circling sphere — 
 
 Born of a heavenly atmosphere. 
 
 O Truth triumphant! Though full oft 
 
 Borne down beneath the weight of wrong, 
 
 Though smiling Falsehood bear aloft 
 The seeming vict'ries of the strong, 
 
 Thou wilt awake, and, from the dust, 
 Rise pure, and beautiful, and just. 
 
 Though Error M'alk the fields of fame, 
 In raiment wrested from thy hand, 
 
 Though prison cell, and rack, and flame 
 Become despoilers of the land, 
 
 Unblemished still — undimmed by time, 
 Truth standeth glorious and sublime. 
 
58 
 
 A FEW THO UGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Power is not Truth — though millions bend 
 In homage to its seeptered sway, 
 
 The jeweled vestment cannot lend 
 True glory with its bright array. 
 
 The soul must be a templed shrine 
 Of truth, indwelling and divine. 
 
 O Star of Life ! thy Heaven-born light 
 Alone, reveals our noblest good, 
 
 Illumines manhood's proudest height, 
 And gives true grace to womanhood. 
 
 All life receives alone from thee 
 Its honor and sublimity. 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 59 
 
 IThe Lighthouse. 
 
 f I ^HE sun went down. The tossing wave, 
 
 Grew weird, and strangely dark ; 
 The clouds hung low, with misty breath, 
 And sobbing winds that whispered death 
 
 Crept round the Fisher's bark. 
 Her homeward way was dim with fog ; 
 
 The sky with danger fraught ; 
 The dripping lines unheeded lay, 
 For wearied hands, since early day, 
 
 Had toiled, and taken naught. 
 
 Oh ! young and fair, the boyish form 
 That climbed the swaying mast ; 
 
 And lithe the arms that furled the sail, 
 
 And tossed the rigging in the gale, 
 Or battled with the blast. 
 
 Alas for him who kept the watch 
 
60 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Alas for those who kissed his brow, 
 And watched him standing at the prow, 
 At dawn of yesterday ! 
 
 " Alas for all ! " the sailors said, 
 
 " The storm grows pitiless ; 
 And wives who wait our bark to-night, 
 For us will mourn at morning light, 
 
 With children fatherless. 
 Will no light glimmer from the shore? 
 
 No beacon from the hill \ 
 Will He not speak whose voice can save, 
 And calm the dark and hungry wave, 
 
 By whisp'ring, ' Peace ! be still ? ' " 
 
 Was that a signal from the cape 
 
 That met the eager eye? 
 Ah, yes. The weary sailor boy 
 Called from the mast-head, " Land ahoy ! 
 
 A light against the sky ! " 
 "Steer for the light! nnreef the sail! 
 
 There may be joy at last, 
 And loving cheer for those who stand, 
 To welcome us, upon the strand, 
 
 When danger shall be past." 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 ci 
 
 'Twas but a child who trimmed the lamp, 
 
 And watched it from the tower ; 
 A little hand, yet true and brave, 
 To whom the Lord of tempests gave 
 
 The spirit of his power. 
 Aye! "Light is sweet;" and little hands 
 
 The beacon flame may feed ; 
 And though their strength be feebleness, 
 If but the Father deign to bless, 
 
 A little child may lead. 
 
62 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Centennial Anniversary of iDur ithurch. 
 
 ~TTT"ELCOME the morn whose eastern sky awoke 
 
 With roseate beauty in each dawning ray, 
 Whose light, prophetic, through the Orient broke, 
 
 The herald of this sweet Memorial Day. 
 Fresh blowing gales across the western lea 
 
 Float over us, like the ancient marriage bells 
 Old mem'ries sounding, in their mellow key, 
 
 Memorial songs, in all their breezy swells. 
 This day commemorates that hallowed hour 
 
 Held by the Church in sweet memoriam, 
 When Christ bestowed his seal of grace and power 
 
 In token of her marriage with the Lamb. 
 Not as to-day — beneath the vaulted roof 
 
 Whose arches twine their moulding tracery, 
 Where falling shadows weave their mystic woof 
 
 Along the web of crimson tapestry; 
 Not where the wings of tinted sunlight fell 
 
 In lines of amber, touched with violet, 
 
CENTENNIAL ANNIVERSARY OF OUR CHURCH. 63 
 
 Nor where the pictured cup and cross could tell 
 
 The Saviour's love — his grief on Olivet; 
 Not as to-day — no fair and templed halls 
 
 Encircled her, the new-made Bride of Christ, 
 Yet clear to her, those humbler, ruder walls, 
 
 Where loving trust and living faith sufficed. 
 Few lips that morn, the sacred wine-cup pressed 
 
 In mem'ry of the Master crucified, 
 A band not strong in hosts, but richly blest 
 
 In that the risen Lord was glorified. 
 Some hours there were, when quivering to the shock 
 
 Of waves that rolled along her pilgrimage, 
 She must have fallen — but the Eternal Rock 
 
 Was her defense — her safer anchorage. 
 Thus moving on, through changeful march of years, 
 
 The Church of God was led from strength to strength, 
 Through wand'rings oft — through falterings and through 
 
 tears, 
 To know Almighty love in depth and length. 
 
 To-day behold her, as she nobly stands 
 
 With circling walls, and firmly builded tower, 
 
 Strong in the help of many willing hands, 
 
 Elate with hope, and clothed upon with power. 
 
64 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Strong in the Fathers — they whose silvery locks 
 With holy beauty crown the reverend face, 
 
 Who long, in Zion, " watched their Father's flocks," 
 And crown this hour with patriarchal grace. 
 
 Strong in the hands that childlike clasp our own, 
 In smiling brows where golden promise lies, 
 
 In fresh, young hearts where dawning love is shown, 
 Reflected in the depth of infant eyes. 
 
 Yea — strong in all things, if the Bridegroom's name 
 
 Upon her beauteous forehead grow not dim — 
 If on her altars burn th' unwearied flame — 
 
 If Christ abide in her, and she in Him. 
 The future decades sleep in mystic night, 
 
 The shadowy veil we may not brush aside ; 
 Yet many mansions, touched with heavenly light 
 
 Still unrevealed, await the Pilgrim Bride. 
 There cometh yet a higher marriage feast 
 
 Of whose blest joys we know not now the sum ; 
 The Spirit calleth, and the Church replies, 
 
 " With robes made white, we tarry till He come." 
 
THANKSGIVING HYMN. 65 
 
 Chanhsgiuing Hymn. 
 
 "^TOW the reaper's work is clone, 
 
 And the crisp, brown leaf is flying 
 Where the clear November sun 
 On the frosted field is lying. 
 Fruits whose ruddy clusters shine, 
 
 Corn-sheaves in their golden splendor, 
 Laden bough, and purpling vine, 
 Call a thousand hearts to render 
 
 One Thanksgiving Hymn. 
 
 For the year with blessings rife, 
 
 For the sunlight's daily greeting, 
 For the vigorous breath of life 
 
 And the pulse still warmly beating — 
 For the simplest fireside mirth, 
 
 Though the sheltering roof be lowly, 
 For the humblest joy of earth 
 
 Wake the song whose theme is holy — 
 Our Thanksgiving Hymn. 
 
A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 For the riches of the soil, 
 
 For the wealth of hidden treasure, 
 Yearly to the hand of toil 
 
 Yielding up its boundless measure, — 
 Let the miner's rolling car 
 
 Through the cavern'd arch be ringing, 
 While the thousand caves afar 
 
 Lift a mighty voice in singing 
 
 One Thanksgiving Hymn. 
 
 Thanks for Peace! The mighty sea, 
 
 In its solemn undulation, 
 Joins the wondrous melody 
 
 In the deep voice of the Nation. 
 Let the echoes never cease, 
 
 Murm'ring pine and rolling river! 
 May the white-winged Dove of Peace 
 
 Breathe into your voice forever 
 
 One Thanksgiving Hymn. 
 
HAPPY NEW YEAR." 67 
 
 Happy JNeiu year." 
 
 TpEOM our Bight the Old Year faded, 
 
 In the midnight cold and gray ; 
 Down the pathway dim and shaded, 
 Gone for aye. 
 
 Gone, and yet the early morning 
 
 "Whispers of the New Year's birth 
 All the glowing East gives warning 
 To the earth. 
 
 Coming! coming! hear the calling 
 Of her voice among the pines ! 
 Where the snow T -wreath, in its falling. 
 Whirls and shines. 
 
 Coming? yes, her light step clingeth 
 
 To the frosty-pinioned wind. 
 Freshly dawning life she bringeth 
 To mankind. 
 
68 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Now the world's great heart is beating 
 
 With a pulse elate and strong. 
 Waken ! then, and give her greeting, 
 Glad and long. 
 
 Joyous New Year ! let thy dealing 
 
 Gentle be, and ever calm. 
 All the wounds of error healing, 
 With thy balm. 
 
 Let the Spring, with roseate finger, 
 
 Touch the pallid cheek, and start 
 All the sluggish tides that linger 
 At the heart. 
 
 Paint, with Summer's richest luster, 
 
 Petal ed flower and tasseled weed; 
 And the Autumn grain still cluster, 
 For our need. 
 
 Then, O King of Peace and Promise ! 
 
 Stretch thy bow across the seas; 
 Make thy face to shine upon us, 
 Giving Peace. 
 
WRITING WITH DIAMONDS. 69 
 
 l&riting with Diamonds. 
 
 A LITTLE child, beside the window pane, 
 
 Held in his hand a diamond pure and bright, 
 And saw in every pure and burning plane 
 
 A mirrored rainbow, trembling in the light. 
 
 Across the pane he drew the tiny stone, 
 
 And, smiling, watched the dainty penciled line, 
 
 Till on the smooth and polished surface shone 
 A boyish thought in letters crystalline. 
 
 " Not there, my son ! not there," his father said, 
 
 And, stooping down, he took the jeweled ring; 
 Then, turning from the glass with eyes dismayed, 
 The boy looked up with eager questioning. 
 
 " Not there, my child ! though every word appear 
 As threaded silver shining in the sun ; 
 The jewel point has left it crisp and clear — 
 The diamond's work can never be undone. 
 
70 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 " Thine eye may weary, but the line must stand ; 
 
 Thy thought may change, but here 'tis traced in light 
 The fairest touches wrought by childish hands 
 May yet offend thy manhood's fairer sight. 
 
 "Nay, school thy hand, and wait a future day, 
 
 When thou may'st write with bolder mastery. 
 Give not this gem to fancy's careless play, 
 
 'Tis but for him who wields it thoughtfully." 
 
 O daily life ! thy fair and crystal page 
 
 By erring hands is written o'er and. o'er, 
 
 In deeds that live beyond the present age — 
 In characters that stand for evermore. 
 
 We cannot pause. 'Tis not for human will 
 To check the pen, or shun its solemn trust, 
 
 But living souls, discerning good and ill, 
 May leave their records beautiful and just. 
 
 The immortal truth demands each thoughtful hour ; 
 
 Our work must live through all futurity ; 
 The highest glory born of conscious power 
 
 Is but for him who wields it reverently. 
 
AMONG THE OLD LACES. 71 
 
 Among the 1DI6 Laces. 
 
 QHE spread them softly upon her knee, 
 The rare old webs of a costly thread, 
 With here a border and there a shred 
 
 Of fabric filmy and fair to see; 
 
 " They once were lovely," she sighed to me. 
 "They are lovely still," I said. 
 
 She drew them near with the aged hand, 
 Whose ling' ring touch was a faint caress. 
 " You speak of the laces, child ? Ah, yes ! 
 
 But / was thinking " — she paused and scanned 
 
 The tiny flaw in a woven strand 
 With a half-forgetful ness — 
 
 'Was thinking, dear, in the fond old way 
 That a mother has when she sits alone, 
 When plumes are left, but the birds have flown, 
 How long we treasure and fold away 
 Such small reminders of those who stray 
 From the nest so soon outgrown. 
 
72 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 " Now this " — uplifting a tiny shred 
 
 •Whose yellow mesh was an antique prize — 
 " Was fashioned under my loving eyes, 
 An infant crown for my son's fair head. 
 You scarce would think it? Ah! truly said, 
 My Willie has grown so wise. 
 
 " But these he wore on his christening day, 
 Above the dimples they fell like snow ; 
 But lace w T ill rust while the shoulders grow. 
 
 And honors fairer than these, they say 
 
 He carries proudly, and yet I pray 
 He may wear them as purely, so. 
 
 " This leaf-wrought edge and the fleecj 7 net 
 My Mary wore, as she smiling stood 
 Where books were closed, and her womanhood 
 
 Lay wide beyond. I had hoped — and yet, 
 
 Since she rests sweetly, can / regret 
 The loss of an earthly good ? 
 
 "My other daughters? Yes, one by one, 
 
 They knelt for mother to drape this veil 
 With bridal blessing. My heart did fail 
 
AMONG THE OLD LACES. 
 
 73 
 
 That last sad morn when the task was done. 
 Poor veil ! How long, as the years go on, 
 Will yon read me your thrice-told tale?" 
 
 She paused. I waited, and scanned her face. 
 The eyes were full of the far away, 
 And memory walked in the yesterday ; 
 Sweet dreams had peopled the films of lace : 
 I read the token, and yielded place : 
 Forgotten — I need not stay. 
 
74 A FEW THO UGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Mother's Couch. 
 
 nnHERE is a depth no other love can till ; 
 There is a cry no other hand can still ; 
 There is a call that meets no answering thrill 
 If Mother's touch be wanting. 
 
 Though busy hands may ply their cheerful task 
 Though happy eyes in warmest sunshine bask, 
 One other boon the heart must mutely ask — 
 One want, the soul still haunting. 
 
 No other life so blendeth with our own ; 
 No other queen ascends its holiest throne ; 
 Hers is the Kingdom, and her power alone 
 Its scepter wisely wieldeth. 
 
 There is a temple on whose altars burn 
 Deep, tender fires, the world may not discern ; 
 Its guardian key her hand alone can turn — 
 To Mother's touch it yieldeth. 
 
MOTHERS TOUCH. 75 
 
 Some lives there are, that, like the trembling bird, 
 Dare not repeat the songs within them stirred; 
 Their sweetest chords must ever be unheard 
 Till Mother's touch shall wake them. 
 
 To her we give the perfectness of trust, 
 And though we bring the care, the toil, the dust — 
 Life's petty wrongs — the scars of moth and rust — 
 She feareth not to take them. 
 
 Oh, kind confessor! In her patient ear 
 We pour our plaints, and wait with less of fear 
 Than hope — since for each true repentant tear, 
 Her smile is absolution. 
 
 Though knowing best what good our natures bear; 
 Though joying most at what is pure and fair, 
 If ill be found, she veils it with her prayer 
 And loves, with fond delusion. 
 
 Oh ! what is pain, if she withdraw its sting ? 
 And what is grief beneath her covert -wing, 
 Since from its brooding shadow we may sing 
 Of doubt and danger vanished ? 
 
76 
 
 A FEW THOUGHTS FOE A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 And what is toil, and what is weariness? 
 Far deeper woes the spirit may oppress ; 
 Count no life dark, nor wholly comfortless, 
 Till Mother's touch be banished. 
 
HE SHALL COVER THEE WLTH HLS FEATHERS." 77 
 
 "He shall iCouer Chee with his Feathers. 
 
 "TTT^HEN the sultry summer noon 
 
 Veils itself in somber hue, 
 When the shadows close too soon 
 
 O'er the daylight's tender blue, 
 When the rosy flush of morning 
 
 Purples early on the hill, 
 When the air is hushed with warning 
 
 And the valley-winds are still, 
 
 When the boding storm is nigh, 
 
 Breathing through the darkened wood, 
 Who will hear the flutt'ring cry 
 
 Of the robin's trembling brood ? 
 Who will hush the plaintive calling 
 
 Of the doves by fear oppressed ? 
 Who will mark the sparrow's tailing? 
 
 Who will guard the wren's frail nest? 
 
78 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Where the robin's home is hung; 
 She whose instinct, ever keen, 
 
 Yearneth o'er her sparrow-young ; 
 She whose wing is ample cover 
 
 For the wren's nest-full of love ; 
 She who flieth low, to hover 
 
 At the windows of the dove; 
 
 Each shall haste to watch her own, 
 
 Moved by that solicitude 
 Only to the mother known 
 
 In remembrance of her brood. 
 Every helpless cry awaketh 
 
 Speed of flight and strength of wing. 
 Ere the storm above her breaketh, 
 
 Each in straw-built home will swing. 
 
 Are we less than trembling bird 
 Unto Plim who spares the dove? 
 
 Do our plaints arise unheard 
 
 Through the cloud-land of his love ? 
 
HE SHALL COVER THEE WITH HIS FEATHERS." 79 
 
 When the breath of coming sorrow 
 
 Steals, prophetic, o'er the sense, 
 Must we vainly seek to borrow 
 
 From His strength a kind defense? 
 
 Shall the children of his grace 
 
 Bide the nearing storm alone? 
 Plas the world a covert-place 
 
 To the Comforter unknown? 
 Is there not a care more tender — 
 
 Held for those who trust him best — 
 Than the loving bird can render 
 
 To the helpless in her nest? 
 
 " Yea, the Lord hath given, of old, 
 
 One assurance, sweet and strong ; 
 By the lip of Prophet told ; 
 
 By the Psalmist breathed in song : 
 ' Through the chill of many weathers, 
 
 Under skies by storms o'erhung, 
 He will cover thee with feathers, 
 
 As a bird doth shield her young.' " 
 
80 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 {Thoughts for the Kew year. 
 
 rj^HE year is gone. Again thro' star-lit space 
 
 The circling earth completes her race sublime, 
 And, in the vast ellipse, is poised to trace 
 The yearly record of 'the lapse of time. 
 
 The year is done. His annals are enrolled 
 With decades past, upon historic page. 
 
 Time's sealed book his story shall unfold, 
 To mark the progress of the growing age. 
 
 Growth, Progress, Gain ! Aye, 'tis the Nation's song, 
 
 The glory of our teeming continent ; 
 And to the cabled waters shall belong 
 
 Responses glad, electric, eloquent. 
 
 Now, Genius, with his bright creative power, 
 
 Brings forth new trophies of triumphant thought ; 
 
 Each canvas marks some grand, inspiring hour, 
 
 And marble gleams with beauties newly wrought. 
 
THOUGHTS FOR THE NEW YEAR. 81 
 
 The pen leaps forth, as touched with hidden fire ; 
 
 The page reflects high, noble intellect. 
 There sages speak ; there laureates sweep the lyre, 
 
 And diamond Truth her keenest points direct. 
 
 Invention grasps the waging elements, 
 
 And shapes the subtle vapors as she will, 
 
 Divines the myst'ries of the firmament, 
 
 And sweeps the ocean's bed with curious skill. 
 
 Strong, earnest labor plies her thousand arts, 
 In fruitful soil, and richly-yielding mine. 
 
 The freighted stream supplies our teeming marts, 
 And brings new wealth from forests of the pine. 
 
 No sound of strife disturbs our closing year ; 
 
 Columbia leads no more her warring host, 
 Imperial arms, and Prussian battle cheer 
 
 But faintly sound from Europe's troubled coast. 
 
 No vineyards droop beneath our tropic skies, 
 Nor desolation marks the warrior's tread ; 
 
 No pillared hall in ruined beauty lies, 
 
 Nor fallen temples guard the princely dead. 
 
82 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Columbia wields the plough-share for the sword, 
 And reaps from fields of Peace her harvest spoil, 
 
 While golden plenty crowns the cottage board, 
 And happy homes reward the hand of toil. 
 
 Thus ends the year, and, through the mystic gate 
 Whence he departs, the New Year enters in — 
 
 Then welcome him with buoyant hope elate ! 
 'Mid happy greetings let his reign begin ! 
 
 Nor deem his advent other than of joy, 
 
 His steps but fraught with blessings full and free. 
 
 May sweet content, and peace without alloy, 
 Be ours through Him who giveth victory. 
 
UNWRITTEN POEMS. 
 
 "Unwritten Poems. 
 
 T I ^IIE sea is vast, the earth is deep and wide, 
 
 And knows full many a covert place to hide 
 The beauty born of Heaven. By cliff and cave, 
 By mount and mine, deep wood and flowing wave, 
 The rare perfection of created things 
 Fast-locked, denies our eager questionings. 
 The flower that wastes upon the desert air 
 Its Wealth of beauty and its perfume rare — 
 The song awaked by silver-throated bird, 
 And borne far up the sky to die unheard 
 Save by the ear of Heaven — the mountain stream 
 Upspringing in the clouds — these do but seem, 
 In our unskilled economy, as waste, 
 As sweetness lost, as light and song misplaced, 
 Since human vision fails to mark the tint 
 Of desert flower — or catch the cooling glint 
 Of crystal waters. 
 
 If we count aright — 
 That good is lost unless it meet the sight 
 And wake the praise of passing multitude, 
 
84 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Then toil is vain; and honor doth delude; 
 And gentler wisdom, taught by motherhood 
 To infancy, were better left unlearned 
 Than treasured vainly, till the world has turned 
 Its grace to ridicule; but He who made 
 All living beauty, He who fondly laid 
 Within our souls the germs of spirit-grace, 
 Proclaims us wrong in asking lofty place 
 For every noble work by patience wrought, 
 Eor every gem of art, or flower of thought 
 Within the world of mind. 
 
 The printed page 
 Hath styled itself the mirror of the age ; 
 Yet, mirror-like, its finely-polished glass 
 Reflects alone such images as pass 
 Before its surface, while the world beyond 
 Is rich with fairer wisdom yet unconned 
 By student care. 
 
 Unwritten poems lie 
 In rich profusion, where humanity 
 May read at will. The lives of humble men 
 Unknown to song, untouched by poet pen, 
 Would glide with fitting grace along the line 
 Of flowing Lyric, — tread with step divine 
 The Epic's stately measure, form a theme 
 
UNWRITTEN POEMS. 
 
 For glowing romance, nobler than the dream 
 Of fond, impassioned Genius. 
 
 Lowly life 
 Moves on in devious way. Its humble strife, 
 Its trifling loss and meager victories 
 Forever wear their unpoetic guise, 
 Whereby men know them not as Heaven reads, 
 Nor find the pathos in those daily deeds 
 Of labor and forbearance. Heroes stand 
 On every side, unskilled in mind and hand, 
 Not clothed upon by grace, nor touched by art, 
 But simple, honest heroes of the heart ; 
 And heroines, unconscious of the name, 
 Live on the dull routine, which golden Fame 
 Shall never gild nor gladden. 
 
 Unto such 
 Belongs the crown of Poesy. One touch 
 From truthful pen would magnify 
 The trivial care to noblest dignity — 
 The toilsome service of a humble soul 
 To strength sublime upon the classic scroll. 
 Unwritten lives are lost to sons of earth, 
 And Heaven alone shall know their perfect worth, 
 Repay the toil with hand compassionate, 
 And weave the crown for modest laureate. 
 
A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Che Lincoln Statue. 
 
 T IFE thronged the Capitol, and gaily swelled, 
 
 In jeweled tides, through Court and Senate hall. 
 Lip smiled to lip, and blooming beauty held 
 For noble art a brilliant festival. 
 
 Far up the dome the glitt'ring circlets hung, 
 The deep rotunda glowed with mellow light, 
 
 While pendant banners from their pillars swung 
 And silken folds enwrapped the statue white. 
 
 The hour .had come when she, whose maiden hand 
 Had wrought with skill this treasure of her art, 
 
 Should lift the veil, and read her triumphs grand 
 In quick response from loyal eye and heart, 
 
 Unveiled — it stood beneath the flushing light, 
 
 The w r ell-known form — the worn and placid face, 
 
 The straying locks above the forehead white, 
 
 The homely garb, disposed with modest grace. 
 
THE LINCOLN STATUE. 87 
 
 'Twas nobly done, 'twas perfect, for 'twas true ; 
 
 Each chiseled line engraved with honest care ; 
 The sculptor's touch no greater beauty drew 
 
 Than nature's impress on the marble fair. 
 
 This perfect work came not alone of thought; 
 
 Yon stately stone has borne the mallet-shock ; 
 Those drooping folds the chisel-stroke has wrought, 
 
 And ringing blows have cleft the rough-hewn block. 
 
 And we, unconscious sculptors of our lives, 
 
 Carve silently the lines of good or ill ; 
 Though oft unskillful, he is blest who strives, 
 
 With patient care, the noble trust to fill. 
 
 An hour must come when we, with souls unveiled, 
 Must bide the test of Heaven's diviner light ; 
 
 Though many hearts and many lives have failed 
 To bear the image of the Infinite. 
 
 That glorious standard is not reached by dreams, 
 The highest life some conflict scar must bear; 
 
 And rare perfection from no spirit beams 
 
 Unless it keep the Saviour's likeness there. 
 
t,^m 
 
 
 Ifiornincj iBlories. 
 
 There is a flower whose quiet homely 
 fame 
 
 the page of story — 
 '-•r 7 /'vIIIt^ More bright than dawn, and sweeter 
 
 *' %J jt \mE / than its name — 
 
 'hi Ir^iX 
 
 ;i Whom loving lips have christened, 
 
 jL. Morning Glory. 
 
 
MORNING GLORIES. 89 
 
 Dear ancient flower! Thou child of cottage cheer! 
 
 The wealth of years within thy heart is folden, 
 And many eyes caress thee with a tear 
 
 For what thou wert when dawning days were golden. 
 
 Deep purple bells, within your lily throats. 
 
 As fair as truth, your silent tongues are swaying, 
 
 Mute to the ear, — yet sounding sweetest notes; 
 To Mem'ry's depths dear undertones conveying. 
 
 Oh, pearly censers, swinging to the dawn ! 
 
 Oh, sacred cups, from Morning's altar taken ! 
 Your breath is fresh as in the years agone, 
 
 " The fairies' wine," by Reason's hand unshaken. 
 
 Again I greet your faces lifted up, 
 
 While bird and bee above your bright lips hover, 
 And long, with them, to quaff the nectar cup, 
 
 Till sunbeam-fingers close the dainty cover. 
 
 Day unto day, — what softly uttered speech 
 
 Breathes forth to us, with mystic intonation ! 
 
 Night unto night, — what knowledge do } r e teach 
 Unknown to man, save in the soul's translation ! 
 
 7 
 
90 
 
 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Of fleeting life, that, bursting into day, 
 
 Smiles to the light, one little space adorning,- 
 
 Blooming an hour, then slipping soft away, 
 Its noblest work, the glory of a morning. 
 
 Nay, little flower, thou hast a nobler aim ; 
 
 Thy dewy lips proclaim a sweeter story. 
 Thou art to me, in nature and in name, 
 
 An earthly type of Heaven's morning glory. 
 
• 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE WINDS. 91 
 
 Che Uoice of the Tflin&s. 
 
 1ST to the voice of the winds, to-night. 
 Eagerly flying on winged feet, 
 Down through the pines where the dark branches quiver, 
 Over the breast of the willow-fringed river, 
 
 Rising and falling in cadences sweet. 
 
 List to their song, as the cottager 
 
 Wearily toils through the evening rain ; 
 " Hasten thee home, for the bright lamp is lighted, 
 Fond little hearts at thy step are delighted, 
 And loved faces watch at the window-pane." 
 
 Sailor aloft on the swinging mast, 
 
 Hark to the sea-wind that falls and swells ; 
 Wafting to thee, from the shore that is dearest, 
 Breathings of home ; till in fancy thou nearest 
 Motherland songs and the village bells. 
 
')2 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Hear the low music, O fisher-boy 
 
 Rocked on the wave to their cradle-hymn, 
 List to the echoes that dreams cannot smother, 
 Sweet as the song, when the arms of thy mother 
 Cradled her babe at the twilight dim. 
 
 Listen, O Emigrant ! evening winds 
 
 Over the tent and the camp-fire pass, 
 Singing the Past till the gath'ring tears blind thee, 
 Hymning the Future, till grief falls behind thee 
 Like shadows that nod in the prairie grass. 
 
 Wandering winds, how ye search and thrill 
 
 Many a heart with thy voice to-night! 
 Weaving the chords into melodies cheery, 
 Glad, hopeful song, or the sad miserere ; 
 
 E'en as the heart may be, — mournful or light. 
 
 Beautiful breezes — float on for aye ! 
 
 Float from the hill-side and shell-rimmed shore, 
 Joyfully sing to the high and the lowly, 
 Peacefully sing to the sinful and holy, 
 
 Yoice of the wind-harps, forevermore. 
 
THE RAIN IS O'ER. 93 
 
 iEhe Rain is iD'er. 
 
 T I THE rain is o'er — the chilly autumn rain 
 
 That, yesternight, did patter in the grasses, 
 And swept with sighs beneath the sunset's wave, 
 Among the leaves and lowly garden passes. 
 
 The rain is o'er. We bade it glad good-night, 
 
 We — in the gleam of lamp and glowing ember — 
 
 Did draw the blind, and curtain from the sight 
 
 The cold, bright, tears of weeping-eyed September. 
 
 The rain is o'er. 'Twas lonely little flower, 
 
 Out in the mist, when twilight breathes around thee; 
 
 We heard thy leaves, through all the wintry shower, 
 
 Soft tap the pane where Winter's chance had bound thee. 
 
 Didst grieve thee sore, and in thy snowy heart 
 
 Did trembling doubt' make deeper yet thy sorrow, 
 
 When human love thus held itself apart, 
 
 And left thee lone, to bide — perchance — the morrow? 
 
94 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Didst call, and weep, because we answered not 
 
 "Who, yestermorn, so praised thy late-born beauty ? 
 
 Out in the chill didst deem thyself forgot, 
 
 And deem us false to love and loving duty ? 
 
 Didst long for hands to bear thee gently up, 
 To lay thee, soft, before the firelight glowing, 
 
 Uplift thy leaf, and kiss thy pearly cup, 
 
 Or hoard thy tears in bruised fragrance flowing \ 
 
 The rain is o'er. Thou smilest, little flower; 
 
 To all we ask, thy fairy head is shaken 
 In answering nay. Through all the darksome hour, 
 
 Thou hadst no blame, nor felt thyself forsaken. 
 
 Thou knewest well — for flowers are wise at heart — 
 That Heaven hath ways and times for kind caressing. 
 
 The evening lamp small comfort could impart, 
 
 If, for its sake, were lost, thy morning blessing. 
 
 They love not best, who bear us from our place, 
 With pitying haste, and rash impetuous yearning, 
 
 To bruise the root, and mar the flower of grace 
 
 With warmth and light from alien altars burning. 
 
THE RAIN IS O'ER. 
 
 95 
 
 The rain is o'er — the chilly autumn rain; 
 
 Smile on, dear flower, nor hold a dream of sorrow. 
 Tap, if thou wilt, to-night, against the pane, 
 
 Thy sweet "good-night" shall prophesy "good-morrow." 
 
 
96 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Lighting the iDoal-Pire. 
 
 ' rpHE coal-fire must be lighted," 
 
 Said mamma, looking down 
 Where crisp, cool winds had blighted 
 
 And turned the grasses brown ; 
 " So Ned shall bring the shining coal, 
 
 And Rob shall lay the pine, 
 While Bessie strikes the tiny match, 
 And bids the quiv'ring tinder catch 
 The sparks that dance and flames that roll 
 
 Till all the embers shine." 
 
 With clash, and click, and clatter, 
 
 With rattle, rush and roar, 
 With puff of dust, and scatter 
 
 Of fragments on the floor, 
 The heavy ore went swinging down 
 
 To meet the leaping flame; 
 It caught the breathing warmth below, 
 And all the slumbrous mass, aglow, 
 
LIGHTING THE COAL -FIRE. 97 
 
 Did paint the faces peering down 
 With hues that went and came. 
 
 Mamma sat softly gazing — 
 
 As mothers gaze, you know — 
 With roving eyes upraising, 
 
 Mute praises to bestow ; 
 Till Ned, grown conscious of the look, 
 
 Drew closei- to her knee, 
 And begged to know th' absorbing thought 
 That o'er her face such quiet wrought ; 
 For, better far than fairy-book 
 
 Could "Mamma's thinking" be. 
 
 " My thought," she said, replying, 
 
 "Was in the fire-light here, 
 Whose kindling and whose dying 
 
 So mark the passing year. 
 And thus, while looking at you all, 
 
 Within the ruddy blaze, 
 I marked how tall my Ned had grown — 
 How darkly Bobbie's ringlets shone, 
 And Bessie's height against the wall 
 
 Had changed, these summer days. 
 
98 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 " And while I slowly pondered 
 
 On changes yet to be, 
 I touched your face, and wondered 
 
 How long your mother's knee 
 Would be its welcome resting-place, 
 
 My growing student, ]STed ! 
 Before the fire shall die again, 
 Will you have learned to feel that men 
 Are nobler made by reckless ways, 
 
 And weak, if mother-led '( 
 
 " Shall Rob, my ' lion-hearted, 1 
 
 Grow gentler, watching you, 
 Forget the wound that smarted — 
 
 Forgive without the blow \ 
 Will Bessie learn that kindness flows 
 
 From hands as small as hers; 
 That she who dusts the parlor grate, 
 Or cares for hat, and book and slate, 
 Does greater service than she knows, 
 
 And sweeter joy confers \ " 
 
LIGHTING THE COAL -FIRE. 
 
 99 
 
 For answer, Ned drew nearer 
 
 His boyhood's resting-place ; t 
 And Robbie's eyes shone clearer 
 
 From out his dewy face. 
 " He wasn't 'fraid of any boy ! 
 
 But then, — for Mamma's sake — " 
 But Bessie, from the chimney-nook. 
 The oft- discarded duster took, 
 While Mamma felt the dawning joy 
 
 One fire-light thought could wake. 
 
100 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 A Fragment. 
 
 ~TTT"E scorn a fragment — longing for the whole; 
 
 Ignore the Fair, unless it wears completeness, 
 And seek to grace the sphere of mind and soul 
 With finished good, and all-perfected sweetness. 
 
 We drop the petal — grasping for the flower ; 
 
 We leave the clay — when once the vase is shattered, 
 And crush the pearliest pebbles on the shore, 
 
 Because their tints 'mid humbler ones are scattered. 
 
 But noblest beauty, born of Earth or Art, 
 
 Must rear itself from fragments freshly broken ; 
 
 And they but take from life its better part 
 
 Who love the real because they scorn its token. 
 
 The happiest clays are those whose passing hours 
 
 Are sunny fragments — caught from cloudless weather, 
 
 Or rich mosaics, wrought in lasting flowers, 
 
 From shining moments, " fitly joined together." 
 
A FRAGMENT. 
 
 101 
 
 We are most wise who soonest learn to take 
 
 The smallest blessing, counting each a treasure; 
 
 This happy wisdom doth most surely make, 
 
 From scattered gifts, a full and rounded measure. 
 
102 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Che Sisters of Bethany. 
 
 TOEHOLD, two loving women wrought, 
 In lowly guise and quiet thought, 
 
 Their life-work, side by side. 
 The one, all patient tenderness — 
 The other, loving not the less, 
 
 Though seeming more to chide. 
 
 The one, with soul of lilies' grace, 
 Within its deepest, purest place, 
 
 Held Sabbath for her Lord. 
 The other toiled, as one inspired 
 By loving zeal, nor paused, — nor tired 
 
 While Jesus smiled reward. 
 
 A crushing sorrow fell on both, 
 
 And Mary, through her flower-like growth 
 
 Of spirit, felt — and drooped. 
 The quivering fibers of her heart 
 Brake not ; she chose the better part, 
 
 By sorrow taught, and stooped. 
 
THE SISTERS OE BETHANY. 103 
 
 Low to the ground her meekness crept, 
 Until the storm above her swept 
 
 In cloud and gusty rain. 
 She had no moan for voiceless grief, 
 No weak resistance brought relief 
 
 Or surcease from her pain. 
 
 The Master came not; yet she made 
 No plaint because his steps delayed 
 
 Their mission to her side. 
 Her bruised love, from out the dust, 
 Gave forth its sweetest breath of trust — 
 
 And pain was glorified. 
 
 But Martha, by a womanhood 
 Of sterner type, arose and stood 
 
 Subdued, yet questioning, 
 And saying in her heart, " Oh, why 
 Hath not the Master heard our cry 
 
 Who seek him sorrowing? 
 
 "A thought from Him, a word — a breath 
 Might win the conquest over death, 
 Had Jesus willed it so ; 
 
104 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Yet we, his friends, are thus denied 
 A strangers gift, and must abide 
 In mystery and woe." 
 
 Thus Martna spake; yet never feet 
 Moved faster than her own to greet 
 
 The Master drawing nigh, 
 For heart was fond, though lip was stern, 
 And all her wearied soul did yearn 
 
 For sheltering sympathy. 
 
 Her heart's reproof, by love subdued, 
 Her quickened soul, by hope renewed, 
 
 She sped to meet her Lord; 
 While Mary, waiting calm and still, 
 Through all her spirit, felt the thrill 
 
 Of faith's divine reward. 
 
 Unlike in deed, yet one in thought, 
 The one did wait — the other sought 
 
 With haste his gracious might. 
 Each to her nature true, and both 
 Beloved by Him who watched their growth 
 
 From darkness into light. 
 
FAITH. 105 
 
 Faith. 
 
 T~ IFE hath full many a storm, whose waves 
 
 Gleam fitfully, and surge and roll,— 
 Whose troubled waters beat and break 
 
 Against the fortress of the soul. 
 And yet I fear not, though the sands 
 
 Be slipping from my feet away; 
 I fear not, though my outstretched hands 
 
 Grasp nothing but the dashing spray, 
 For Thou art with me — leading me 
 
 On through the water's angry toss, 
 Till, through the blinding mists, I see 
 
 My Rock, my Fortress, and thy Cross. 
 
106 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 iClass Reunion. 
 
 At the Old Picnic Grounds, June, '67. 
 
 O WEET is Reunion — though the years 
 
 Drift, with their changeful months, between, 
 Time but makes sweeter, and endears 
 
 To true hearts every old-time scene. 
 So we, drawn hither, at the voice 
 
 Of bygone pleasure, come again, 
 And with united hearts, rejoice 
 
 To bind again the severed chain. 
 Here, gathered on the broken edge 
 
 Of wild, gray rocks, again we meet, 
 To clamber round the vine-hung ledge, 
 
 And find again our mossy seat. 
 To search the deep cleft corridors, 
 
 To scale, again, their rough-hewn walls, 
 To tread the leafy, rustling floors, 
 
 And wake the caves to answering calls. 
 Here, 'neath a shelving rock, remain 
 
 The names we penciled long before. 
 
GLASS REUNION. 107 
 
 Five absent, and we turn again 
 
 To trace but ten names slowly o'er. 
 Five absent — East, and West, and North 
 
 Have wooed them, and far distant climes 
 Have won them from our number forth 
 
 To other scenes, and hopes, and times. 
 Yet not forgotten, for to-day 
 
 We miss the voice and vanished face, 
 And fondly name the far-away 
 
 Who come not to the vacant place. 
 
 O rugged rocks and frowning steeps! 
 
 O shining peaks and shadowy caves! 
 O crags whereon the hare-bell sleeps! 
 
 And low woods with their emerald waves, 
 Be ye our emblems, and impart 
 
 To us thine own sublimity; 
 Be every life, and hope, and heart, 
 
 So fraught with strength and purity! 
 As firm through angry waves of ill, 
 
 As thine own pillars, and as strong 
 To meet life's battle as it will, 
 
 Nor' falter at the approach of wrong. 
 Still bound together, though, between, 
 
 Stretch many a winding, rugged way, 
 
108 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Each bridge the chasm, with the green, 
 The clinging vine of sympathy. 
 
 Thus shall we live, and not in vain, 
 
 Each year, with Summer's breath, shall woo 
 
 Our devious footsteps back again, 
 And olden mem'ries wake anew. 
 
LIFE. 109 
 
 life. 
 
 A ND what is life? A sealed mystery, 
 
 No human hand hath found its mystic key, 
 Unlocked its portal, rent its silver veil, 
 Or passed beyond the quiet cloistered pale 
 That holds the secret fast. We cannot know 
 The hidden power that bids the life-lamp glow ; 
 We cannot trace, through windings intricate, 
 The mystic force that holds the flame elate. 
 We only light, beside the parent-ray, 
 Our slender torches, bearing them away — 
 Ours, for a space, to trim, to beautify; 
 His, in the end, whose power they glorify. 
 
 And what is life? Th' existence of to-day, 
 
 Told by a breath that falling floats away ? 
 
 A passing hour whose quickly rounded sum 
 Is measured by the heart's low pendulum? 
 
 An ebb and flow of countless crimson tides? 
 
 Bloom on the cheek where changeful beauty glides' 
 Ay, this is life, — but not its perfect whole; 
 
110 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Not that which wears the dignity of soul, 
 Nor grace of birth divine. True life is more 
 Than breath and motion girt with finite power; 
 
 In gift of spirit, breadth and depth, and height, 
 
 Our finer being meets the Infinite. 
 
 Our daily vision fails to grasp the whole 
 Of life's far-reaching grandeur. Heart and soul, 
 Like Israel's wand'rers, tread a weary plain 
 Whose golden verge — so near — is sought in vain; 
 Yet hours there are, when, plumed as ne'er before, 
 Frail human thought to noblest heights will soar; 
 When all our being, thrilled to list'ning awe, 
 Like Sinai's prophet, hears the unwritten law ; 
 When rich and fair, as viewed from Nebo's crest, 
 Our promised kingdom waits to be possessed ; 
 
 When, face to face, as viewed through crystal air, 
 The living view their lives transfigured there. 
 
 If all were o'er, when this frail breath is still ; 
 If all the past and present might fulfill 
 
 Their perfect work at setting of the sun ; 
 
 Then life were less, and duty sooner done ; 
 Then might the soul within itself repeat, 
 "Thou hast much goods. Make merry, drink, and eat 
 
LIFE. HI 
 
 And take thine ease until the night draw nigh. 
 
 To-day we live — to-morrow we may die." 
 But who shall dare, with idly-folded hands, 
 Walk forth to meet the future's high demands, 
 
 When life, to us, eternal as its Lord, 
 
 Must be the same in conquest and reward ? 
 
 Our lives are real. We cannot make them dreams 
 Of phantom barks on swiftly-gliding streams, 
 
 Nor typify our heritage of soul 
 
 By "loos'ning cord" nor " shatter' d golden bowl," 
 JSTor yet essay our wisdom draught to drink 
 From " broken pitchers " at the fountain's brink. 
 
 We cannot change, by fancy's alchemy, 
 
 The sterner truth to softer imagery. 
 Life calls for toil — for something true and grand, 
 Wrought out with care by brain, or heart, or hand ; 
 
 By these, alone, can mere existence be 
 
 The fitting heir of immortality. 
 
 The busy earth moves on its circling way, 
 Its million wants up-springing with the day ; 
 
 Throughout the world, the marshaled hosts of Mind, 
 By field and flood, in conquering legions wind ; 
 To-day at dawn the reveille is heard 
 
112 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Where, yestermorn, the air was yet unstirred ; 
 To-night the sky shall send a glory back 
 From kindled fires of distant bivouac. 
 Mind — restless force — proud victor of the world, 
 From shore to shore His banner has unfurled, 
 While yet its vet'rans gird themselves and sigh 
 For greater worlds and loftier victory. 
 
 Life calls for thought. The M^ant is ever vast ; 
 'Tis not enough to wake an echoing past. 
 Our fresher needs demand a later skill — 
 A leadership whose forces come at will, 
 An eye alert — discerning at a glance 
 The unguarded posts of present ignorance ; 
 A foresight keen, a wisdom to direct 
 The inventive growth of modern intellect; 
 Thought — broad and free, by student toil supplied, 
 With judgment crowned — by knowledge dignified; 
 These, moved by heart to impulse warm as wise. 
 Embody life's most true philanthropies. 
 
 Present Life ! Move onward, as thou must, 
 Thy smoothest path will bring some toil and dust 
 However we tread ; but stretch on either side 
 The shimmering green of pastures, cool and wide, 
 
LIFE. 113 
 
 And let the skies their sunny wealth pour down 
 In amber floods upon the hillsides brown ; 
 
 Let sound of brook and breath of flowers ascend 
 
 The path with us — yes, to the distant end. 
 Let toil be sweet with tenderest human ties, 
 Whose daily cares seem willing ministries; 
 
 Let service be the chivalry of love, 
 
 Till thou, O Life, art glorified above. 
 
 O Future Life! How yearningly we wait 
 Some conscious glimpse of thine unknown estate! 
 O storied land of "throne and jasper sea," 
 How thought and soul reach upward unto thee 
 For daily strength ! Thy blue horizon Hies 
 With mystic speed before our following eyes ; 
 Its sweet Beyond denied to subt'lest art, 
 We only learn as those who " know in part." 
 But this is sure, across that shadowy line, 
 Life's earthly type assumes its mould divine. 
 Its finite germ, beneath yon perfect light, 
 In glad fruition, greets the Infinite. 
 
114 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Beyonb the Shy-Line. 
 
 [" SEE the glory of autumnal days 
 
 Climb up the East, and mount the distant West, 
 Its burning beauty my horizon fills 
 
 From golden base to purple-tinted crest. 
 
 The amber willow kindles with the oak; 
 
 The deep'ning crimson smolders into brown; 
 And, far above them, blue as hov'ring smoke, 
 
 The denser vapors shut their curtains down. 
 
 I linger here within the hill-rimmed cup, 
 
 I drink its wine in breezes rich and sweet, 
 
 And yet mine eyes unconsciously " lift up 
 
 Unto the hills," where sky and forest meet. 
 
 There is a charm, strange, subtle, undefined, 
 
 In that frail line of undulating blue, 
 Not in itself, but that which lies behind — 
 
 Beyond the belt that girds our farthest view. 
 
BEYOND THE SKY-LINE. 115 
 
 Its very frailty woos the curious eye, 
 
 Its nothingness, but gives it mystic worth, 
 
 In feeling that so slight a thing can lie 
 
 Between this vale, and all the outer earth. 
 
 I can but long, as does the untaught child, 
 
 To mount the steeps, and lift the slender thread — 
 
 To know if furrowed field, or tangled wild, 
 
 Or sounding wave, beyond these slopes are spread. 
 
 And yet I know 'twere wantonness of thought, 
 For hills are rugged, and the way is long; 
 
 Yon tender blue, however fondly sought, 
 
 But faster flies before the swift and strong. 
 
 Beyond it lies no more of Nature's wealth 
 
 Than spreadeth here before the enchanted gaze. 
 
 No balm can waft the spirit sweeter health, 
 
 Than hourly breathes from soft autumnal days. 
 
 The sky-line parts no fairer view from me 
 
 Than floods the vale and gloweth at my side; 
 
 I should but gain by loss of what I see, 
 And for my toil, return unsatisfied. 
 
116 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 So will I sit within my heaven-filled cup, 
 
 And quaff from life, whate'er is rich and sweet 
 
 Nor let impatience win mine eyelids up 
 
 Unto those hills where earth and heaven meet. 
 
 For I shall feel that all the outer earth 
 Is shut away for reasons wise and good. 
 
 Life's sky-line has its own mysterious worth, 
 
 While Faith can learn the Perfect Fatherhood. 
 
TEE PATE WAY OF TEE SUN. 117 
 
 IThe Pathway of the Sun. 
 
 rT^HE summer sun dipped downward to the sea, 
 
 Its crimson swell unbroken by the shore ; 
 And, looking forth, it reached across to me 
 
 A golden path athwart the rippling floor. 
 Fair sunset isles hung purpling o'er the West, 
 
 Their mellow fringes swept the distant bay — 
 Each lapsing wave, with brightly beck'ning crest, 
 
 Seemed rolling back to close the gates of day. 
 
 Oh, pictured glory, wrought with lights intense! 
 
 Oh, wreathing vapors, melting into one ! 
 My soul leaned forth beyond the realm of sense, 
 
 And longed to tread the pathway of the sun. 
 Elysian splendor wooed the eager eye, 
 
 The waters called with plashing voices sweet ; 
 " How strange," I thought, " that, from yon drooping sky, 
 
 This royal way should reach my humble feet!" 
 
 "Why unto me, when all yon blue expanse 
 
 Grows dim and gray beneath the falling night — 
 
118 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 While other barks beside mine drift and dance, 
 And other eyes look fondly to the light?" 
 
 The answer came — "Nay, not to thee alone; 
 
 Each hung'ring eye will catch some radiant beam : 
 
 See ! yonder sails are bright'ning like thine own ; 
 
 And dripping prows through netted shadows gleam. 
 
 " The sun's warm heart gives, of its wealth, to all ; 
 
 Yon liquid line is but one slender ray ; 
 Unseen by thee, its myriad glories fall 
 
 In glancing arrows from the bow of day ; 
 Yet on their way the freighted barks go by, 
 
 Toil sets the sails, and Gain directs the wheel, 
 And you will mark the tender glowing sky, 
 
 Or lift the brow, one chrismal touch to feel." 
 
 I asked no more, " Why unto me, alone ? " 
 
 A nobler thought had touched me with its power ; 
 Diviner light beyond the sunset shone, 
 
 And higher lessons marked the fleeting hour. 
 All heavenly truth, by earthly types, we read 
 
 By sea or sky, beyond us or above ; 
 Some upward path will meet the humblest need, 
 
 And fair horizons mark Eternal Love. 
 
THE PATHWAY OF THE SUN. 
 
 119 
 
 " Sun of the soul ! " whose never setting ray 
 
 Shines over all, across life's trackless sea ! 
 We long to leave our tossing barks, and say 
 
 "Lord, o'er the water, bid us come to thee!' 
 Oh, Toil and Gain ! Why linger at thy wheel ? 
 
 Or seek to know if golden ports be won ? 
 Forsake awhile the Fleeting for the Eeal, 
 
 And tread, by faith, the pathway of the Sun. 
 
120 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 O 
 
 Che Firesibe. 
 
 H ! sacred and sweet, 
 Oh ! rich and complete, 
 Joys of the fireside have been ! 
 Sacred, — with altar fires glad'ning and cheering, 
 Sweet, — with the breath of love, warm and endearing; 
 Made rich through the treasures within. 
 
 Ay ! dearer than all, 
 Are blessings that fall 
 Safely the home-nest to keep. 
 What though life's crested waves sweep o'er it proudly ! 
 What though the swelling storm beat the roof loudly! 
 If Love on the Hearthstone may sleep ? 
 
SONG OF THE FISHERMAN'S WIFE. 121 
 
 Song of the Fisherman's T&ife. 
 
 TpVENING shades gather, 
 O loving Father ! 
 Down where the surges break heavy and white. 
 
 Dark shadows creeping, 
 
 Mine eyes still keeping 
 Watch for the snowy sail, far from my sight*. 
 
 Beacons are gleaming, 
 
 Light faintly streaming 
 Over the shimmering waves in the bay ; 
 
 Wild waters leaping, 
 
 Hollow winds sweeping, 
 Fanning my cheek with the damp breath of spray. 
 
 "Watching for Father" 
 
 Little ones gather, 
 Close at my side in the wild fitful gale. 
 
 On the rocks dreary, 
 
 Anxious and weary, 
 Wait we together the home-coming sail. 
 
122 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Little eyes closing-, 
 
 Dear heads reposing 
 Droop on my arm with their damp, clinging curls. 
 
 Seeing, nor hearing, 
 
 Knowing nor fearing 
 The wild threat'ning sea, as it surges and whirls. 
 
 Darkness grows deeper, 
 
 O loving Keeper ! 
 Come as thou didst on thine own Galilee ! 
 
 By his side linger, 
 
 Stretch forth thy finger, — 
 Guide the dear fisher-boat homeward to me. 
 
 But — am I dreaming % 
 
 N"ay ! 'tis the gleaming — 
 The swing of his boat-light — afar on the sea. 
 
 Now his sail glances, 
 
 Light the boat dances, 
 Floats through the storm, to the shore and to me. 
 
 Little ones, waken ! 
 
 No more forsaken, 
 
 Father has come to the home-nest again. 
 
SONG OF THE FISHERMAN'S WIFE. 
 
 See! lie is near us, 
 Voice and step cheer us, 
 We have not watched his dear coming in vain, 
 
 123 
 
 Heavy clouds breaking, 
 
 Moonlight awaking, 
 Silver the sands and the rocks 1 rugged crest. 
 
 Waves of the ocean 
 
 Cease their wild motion, 
 Winds of the water are hushed into rest. 
 
124 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 A 1 
 
 M\z\ the Storm. 
 
 FTEE the .storm, a calm ; 
 After the bruise, a balm; 
 For the ill brings good, in the Lord's own time, 
 And the sigh becomes the psalm. 
 
 After the drought, the dew ; 
 After the cloud the blue, 
 For the sky will smile in the sun's good time, 
 And the earth grow glad and new. 
 
 Bloom is the heir of blight. 
 
 Dawn is the child of night, 
 
 And the rolling change of the busy world 
 
 Bids the Wrong yield back the Eight. 
 
 Under the fount of ill, 
 Many a cup doth fill, 
 And the patient lip, tho' it drinketh oft, 
 Finds only the bitter still. 
 
AFTER THE STORM. 125 
 
 Truth seenieth oft to sleep, 
 Blessings so slow to reap, 
 Till the hours of waiting are weary to bear, 
 And the courage is hard to keep ! 
 
 Nevertheless, I know, 
 Out of the dark must grow, 
 Sooner or later, whatever is fair, 
 
 Since the Heavens have willed it so. 
 
 Life is the storm, and calm. 
 Life is the bruise, and balm. 
 But the peace and healing are surely to come, 
 And the sigh is to be the psalm. 
 
126 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Arbutus. 
 
 Language: " More heat than light.'" 
 
 Concealed Meaning: " I love more than I dure show." 
 
 QIO I have found you, dainty Sweet, 
 
 Where life and death so strangely meet,— 
 Beside the dark pine's leaf-strewn feet, 
 
 Arbutus mine! 
 Here, nestled in the rustling mound, 
 With tender cheek against the ground, 
 Though frozen dews have gernm'd you 'round, 
 Ye smile and shine. 
 
 No summer sun has shed its gold 
 Upon you, slumb'ring in the mold ; 
 Yet here, in darkness and in cold — 
 
 Dear little flowers — 
 Ye bear, in every upturned face, 
 A subtle charm, a spotless grace, 
 That draws me to your dwelling-place, 
 
 In wintry hours. 
 
ARBUTUS. 127 
 
 light and beauty, born of gloom ! 
 What secret sunshine doth illume 
 And warm you into balmy bloom 
 
 Among the snows? 
 What is the mystery of fear 
 That chills your life when we draw near, 
 Whose memory would hold so dear 
 
 Your breath of rose? 
 
 "More heat than light!" Ay, they were wise, 
 Who, through the many mysteries, 
 Did read this language in your eyes, 
 
 So lowly bent. 
 () sweet Arbutus of the snow! 
 O meekest flow'ret ! Be it so ! 
 Thou lov'st us " more than thou durst show." — 
 
 We are content. 
 
128 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 A Retrospect. 
 
 A S those who seek the happy haunts of yore, 
 
 Within the shades of dear ancestral walls, — 
 As those who ope, with gentle hand, the door, 
 To walk and dream among familiar halls, — 
 
 We come again from widely varied ways ; 
 
 We softly knock at Memory's ivied gate, 
 And, entering in, live o'er the sweet old days 
 
 Whose life was hope — whose hope was King of Fate. 
 
 Come, follow me. The doors are yet ajar ; 
 
 We left them thus, perchance, when last we went. 
 We know them still, by bruise, and stain, and mar, 
 
 And swing them wide, w 7 ith touch half reverent. 
 
 The keys are gone; the locks are tinged with rust; 
 
 The penciled lines are fading from the wood ; 
 And yet w r e pause to read, through gathered dust, 
 
 The jest and song of school-boy brotherhood. 
 
A RETROSPECT. 129 
 
 There is a name — one wrote with careless grace — 
 
 Far up the panel, overreaching all. 
 Some prophet impulse sought the lofty place, 
 
 For time has proved the emblem literal. 
 
 And here are others, linked with curious skill ; 
 
 Some girlish hand has traced them side by side. 
 Ah, strange indeed ! Names bound so closely still, 
 
 And they who bore them severed far and wide. 
 
 Poor battered doors ! Kude monuments are ye, 
 At once the source of laughter and of tears;' 
 
 We pass you by, and close you tenderly, 
 
 For what you hold of happy by-gone years. 
 
 This is a room aglow with southern light; 
 
 Its open windows sway in summer air; 
 Yet all is still, and dust lies thick and white 
 
 Along the floor, within the vacant chair. 
 
 But let us wait, the empty rooms are dear, 
 The flowerless vase' retains a fragrance still, 
 
 The sweet June sunlight floods the walls with cheer, 
 And empty aisles with fancied faces till. 
 
130 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 This is the desk one carved with wanton knife, 
 Who scarce recalls the rude design he wrought; 
 
 These were the days before the student life 
 
 Had waked the boy to man's maturer thought. 
 
 And here the page o'er which we toiled with care — 
 The problem solved through many a school-girl tear. 
 
 We smile to-day o'er what we suffered there, 
 
 Yet claim the book as something strangely dear. 
 
 Brown locks and black, and curls of golden hue, 
 Shine out again from yonder sunny nook; 
 
 And grave gray eyes, so sweet because so true, 
 Meet roguish orbs behind the masking book. 
 
 The harmless jest goes merrily its round, 
 The ready laughter follows in its wake, 
 
 Till, weaving in and through the web of sound, 
 The study bell its sterner thread doth take. 
 
 We turn again, obedient to its will ; 
 
 We greet once more the faces we revere : 
 This, gravely kind ; this, wise and patient still ; 
 
 And this, unchanged, aglow with wholesome cheer. 
 
A RETROSPECT. 131 
 
 Unbidden, now, we mount the school-room throne, 
 Where royal Knowledge held its daily reign, 
 
 Where Justice spake in weighed and measured tone, 
 Where Grace forgave and Pity smiled again. 
 
 O busy clock, against the western wall ! 
 
 Say not again, " You dream, you dream, you dream ;" 
 All this is real which loving thoughts recall, 
 
 This hour, at least, all things are what they seem. 
 
 The organ tone floats gaily out to us, 
 
 And through the hall its stirring measures sweep;* 
 We press the keys, and, still melodious, 
 
 They blend with ours their voices soft and deep. 
 
 Dear mellow voices ! How they rose and fell ! 
 
 How clear they rang to marches bold and sweet 
 Adown the stair still rings their faint farewell 
 
 To footsteps lost upon the busy street. 
 
 Some youthful feet that came not back at morn 
 
 Went thus at night,' with school-boy's careless tramp 
 
 Deur feet, alas ! that, bruised and travel-worn, 
 Returned alone from battle and from camp. 
 
132 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 No classic page the soldier's dream could fill ; 
 
 By student toil the patriot soul was pent. 
 They marched away — proud men, but children still — 
 
 Each brave boy-face with sorrow eloquent. 
 
 Some came, at last, who stand with us to-day, 
 
 "We know them; not by gleam of strap or star, 
 
 But in the heart we hold their names alway, 
 
 Who wear the wound, or bear the life-long scar. 
 
 O school-room walls! how much ye held in store; 
 
 What heart- coined wealth, by wayward youth concealed! 
 What germs of mind unrecognized of yore. 
 
 By later years developed and revealed ! 
 
 What flowers of soul, what grace of womanhood, 
 Awaited here Time's slow-perfecting bloom, 
 
 We know not yet, but, faintly understood, 
 
 We grasped the truth from thee, deserted room. 
 
 O visioned Past ! O voiceful days of yore ! 
 
 Ye were but types of all these later years. 
 In hopes and aims, in labors never o'er, 
 
 In lessons new, in vict'ries won through tears. 
 
A RETROSPECT. 133 
 
 The great school-life has wisdom for our need, 
 The open book is held by unseen hands; 
 
 Divinely taught, the misty page we read, 
 Divinely led, we meet the hour's demands. 
 
 To-morrow's leaf the morrow's sun must turn ; 
 
 We only know of yesterday — to-day. 
 The broad Forever, step by step, we learn 
 
 By daily light along the unknown way. 
 
 We dream no more. Each takes his chosen way. 
 
 Adieu, sweet Past, with all your sacred dust! 
 Dear friends, farewell. As we have walked to-day, 
 
 Our feet shall walk in coining years, we trust. 
 
134 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Che "Sea Birfc." 
 
 Burned on Lake Michigan. 
 
 T I ^IIE early morning brightly stole 
 
 Upon the waves of Michigan, 
 The breakers, in their silvery roll, 
 
 Received their thousand tints again. 
 The " Sea Bird," with her gleaming decks 
 
 And dripping wheel, rocked on the tide, 
 Whose eddying rings and foamy necks 
 
 Beat idly at the steamer's side. 
 
 In silence — save the water's drip, 
 Low, muffled voices, or the ring 
 
 Of laughter from a waking lip. i 
 But suddenly a hurried tread, 
 
 Quick, eager tones, the trembling cry — 
 " Fire on the ' Sea Bird ' ! " 'twas the dread 
 
 Awak'nino- of each slumb'ring eve. 
 
THE "SEA BIRD." 135 
 
 "Fire! fire!' 1 the loud call hurried past, 
 A hundred footsteps thronged the deck; 
 
 Fire leaping on from roof to mast, 
 
 The bright wave strewing with the wreck: 
 
 Fire on the left, with scorching breath, 
 Cold, curling waters at the right, 
 
 A clasp of hands — a thought of death — 
 
 The waves received them out of sight. 
 
 i 
 
 Sleep hangs upon the "Sea Bird's" wing — 
 
 And useless lies her buried keel; 
 The ear no more shall hear the ring 
 
 Of signal bell, or plashing wheel. 
 Loved eyes still sleep where surges break, 
 
 And morning smiles for them in vain. 
 Four hearts, alone, are left to wake 
 And battle into life a^ain. 
 
136 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Uale&ictory. 
 
 Read at Commencement Exercises op Fond du Lac High School, 
 June 29, 1866. 
 
 IFE hath its partings, — when the ties 
 That years have bound together, break, — 
 And slowly, in their sad surprise, 
 
 Hearts from their quiet dreaming, wake. 
 Such is our parting, and to-day 
 
 We feel the loos'ning clasp of hands, 
 And Badly hear the farewell lay 
 
 That our long friendship here demands. 
 Now, from these long familiar walls, 
 
 Whose very echoes have been dear, 
 We must depart, — while severed falls 
 
 The silver cord that bound us here. 
 Now on the threshold, we, in thought, 
 
 Look back along the chain of years 
 Whose every mystic link seems fraught 
 
 With lights and shadows, smiles and tears. 
 Who will forget when morning bright 
 
 Streamed through the eastern windows there, 
 
VALEDICTOR Y. 137 
 
 How oft it fell like wings of light 
 
 On youthful heads here bowed in prayer ! 
 How oft at morn, the playful call, 
 
 The much loved greeting met the ear ! 
 The laughter ringing through the hall 
 
 With all its music and its cheer. 
 All visions of the sunny Past, 
 
 Cling lovingly about the heart, 
 To cheer the loneliness and cast 
 
 Their sunshine 'round, as we depart ! 
 
 Brothers, we look upon you now 
 
 Ere Age hath traced his wrinkles on your brow, 
 
 Ere the remorseless hand of Care 
 
 Hath sprinkled silver 'mid the glossy hair, 
 
 Ardent, impatient, in the morn of life, 
 
 Untutored in the school of Manhood's strife, 
 
 Now rosy sunshine through your vision teems, 
 
 And glories throng before yon, in your dreams, 
 
 Whene'er Success to you her sceptre bends, 
 
 Proud as your own shall beat the hearts of friends, 
 
 Your barque will float where'er you choose to guide, 
 
 Adown the shady or the sunny side, 
 
 Honor and Fame by others have been won, 
 
 And Genius will not now forsake her son. 
 10 
 
138 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Dear Sisters, like some fairy dream 
 
 Our years have softly glided by. 
 As smoothly as the unruffled stream 
 
 And brightly as the summer sky. 
 Yes, we have loved each other long ; 
 
 In future, we shall miss the smile, 
 And voices of familiar song 
 
 Strike lonely on the heart, the while. 
 But shall our love die out with years? 
 
 Shall scenes on which we soon may gaze 
 Come with their hopes, and joys, and fears. 
 
 To dim the light of other days ? 
 Nay, — rather let Affection's hymn 
 
 Keep in the heart its merry chime, 
 Check now the rising tear, and dream 
 
 On mem'ries of the olden time. 
 
 Classmates, — up the way together 
 
 We have trod, with hearts as one ; 
 But to-day a voice seems whispering 
 
 "It is done." 
 Done ? ah no ! the Life before us 
 
 With its duties will not stay, 
 And shall we be first to falter 
 On the way ? 
 
VALEDICTORY. 139 
 
 See ! " the fields are white with harvest ! " 
 
 And "the laborers are few;" 
 Is there nothing in the gleaning 
 
 We may do ? 
 Yes, and when the sheaves are garnered, 
 
 When we hold the golden grain, 
 'Twill be sweet that we have labored 
 
 Not in vain. 
 Toil, then, with an earnest purpose 
 
 Till the crown of life be won, 
 When the angel voice shall whisper 
 "All is done." 
 
 Dear Teachers, ere the hour of closing, 
 
 O'er us shall droop its tearful wing, 
 These moments with the past reposing, 
 
 Forth from your care our steps shall bring. 
 What may we give, then, as a token ? 
 How may the grateful word be spoken 
 
 That lies within our heart to-day, 
 To you whose years of patient guiding, 
 With many a smile and gentle chiding 
 
 Hath led us up the winding way 1 
 Accept our own best gift, Affection, 
 
 Let memories of the ill be gone, 
 
140 
 
 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 While on the page of Keeollection, 
 
 Long live the good we may have done ! 
 
 And now to those whom we're addressing, 
 While mingled tones of sadness swell, 
 
 May the kind Father breathe a blessing, 
 As in behalf of these, I say " Farewell ! ' 
 
 ■ mmmmk 
 
PASSING THOUGHTS. 
 
Passing thoughts. 
 
 It is only when we are driven to the verge of the sea, 
 that the waters are parted and the dry patli walled before 
 ns. It is only when the stone is sealed before the cave, 
 that angels are sent to roll it away, and give the soul life 
 and liberty. If God so dealt with his beloved of old, what 
 greater care can the beloved ask to-day \ 
 
 Hope is like a distant sail, faint at first as a morning 
 star; but hour by hour, the bark climbs into our vision, 
 becoming a surety, and folding her wing above her golden 
 freight, waits ns on the shore, that doubt may be lost in 
 belief, and hope give place to knowledge. 
 
 A beautiful thought is a line written by angel hands 
 upon the page of the soul, and left to bear witness of 
 seraphic presence. 
 
 Self-respect is the crown of humanity, which, held too 
 lightly, trembles on the head, and, falling, leaves the king 
 a beggar. 
 
144 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 As one flower differs from another in tint or odor, so 
 do some creeds differ in externals; but the lily may not 
 say, " I am the only real flower," nor the rose, " There is 
 none but me," since both spring from the hand of the 
 Lord, and are nourished by his breath. 
 
 We are sorry when the petal of the beautiful apple 
 blossoms fall to the ground and wither, but we rejoice 
 when the fruit appears. So we grieve at disappointments, 
 knowing not that they are the forerunners of a happier 
 fruition. 
 
 Much that passes current in the world as good advice 
 is counterfeit, since it was never issued by the legislation 
 of experience, and will, at length, be repudiated by those 
 that coined it. 
 
 When Grod denies to us gifts of magnitude, it is made 
 up in blessings by multitudes. The calla blossoms grand 
 but solitary, while violets smile to us in millions. 
 
 To know when we have enough of life's bounty, is to 
 hold the secret of life's success. 
 
 Patience is always as sublime as strength, and often far 
 more potent. 
 
PASSING THOUGHTS. 145 
 
 When the soul is stirred to buoyancy, and dances with 
 the gladdest of emotions, it is not always the surest reflec- 
 tion of divine joy. There are calm hours when we can 
 forego the surface glimmer, and take the picture of heaven 
 deeper into our being, making it something of ourselves. 
 
 Those who float prosperously toward the shore of finan- 
 cial independence must learn that, without continual effort, 
 the safe point will never be reached. There is always an 
 undertow to every wave. 
 
 No one can sing from the upper windows of sacred 
 poesy until he has unlocked the doors of a spiritual life, 
 and ascended, step by step, the stairway of a Christian 
 experience. 
 
 Many stern duties, if met with a cheerful spirit, will 
 disappear, as the winter ice before the spring sunshine, 
 leaving the smooth waters of satisfaction in their wake. 
 
 There are warm, golden lives which can never go out 
 in sunset without throwing back a shimmer of their former 
 glory, to warm the watery wastes of the world. 
 
 Faith in the world is but an experiment; faith in God, 
 a success. 
 
146 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Ecstacy is a comet, brilliant, erratic, and, to the super- 
 stitious, prophetic of evil. 
 
 Peace is a fixed star, which the comet may throw into 
 shade for a time, but which the hand of God alone can 
 banish from the firmament of the soul. 
 
 As he is most independent in the possession of wealth 
 who acquired it through much toil and some losses, so is 
 he most to be envied for his wisdom, who has attained it 
 by personal struggles and occasional mistakes. 
 
 The human eye delights in novelty. It hails the first 
 fall of snow as joyfully as the first green tint of Spring, 
 and deems the crystal snow blossoms as rare and beautiful 
 as the daintiest of summer flowers. 
 
 Those who pretend to judge the depth of gratitude by 
 verbal exhibitions of the same, may, with equal propriety, 
 assume to know the depth of a well by the creaking of the 
 windlass at the top. 
 
 To say truly of a friend he is unselfish, is to bestow 
 upon him a coronet of praise, in which many priceless 
 jewels of virtue are combined to produce the bright effect. 
 
 No face can be homely that reflects a beautiful soul. 
 
PASSING THOUGHTS. 147 
 
 Duty is the firm, imprisoning hand, which keeps the 
 majority of mankind upon a general and healthful level. 
 If the hand should relax, for a short space, this hold upon 
 ns, half the world, buoyant, yet helpless as a bird, would 
 soar into the shelterless sky, while the other half, with 
 indolent heaviness of nature, would as certainly plunge 
 downward. 
 
 Each day of our life we make excuses to our conscience 
 for our failures, our shortcomings, our neglected duties, and 
 our sins. How many of us would dare stand face to face 
 with God and make the same flimsy excuses to Him % and 
 yet conscience is truly the voice of God in our souls. 
 
 As the student shades his lamp, that its concentrated 
 light may fall from him, and toward his open book, so the 
 Father often throws his hand between us and his glory, 
 that we may look undazzled on the labors he has placed 
 within the circle of his divine and radiant purpose. 
 
 Friendship is a craft that cannot be built from the tim- 
 bers of selfishness, nor will it long carry the cargo of self- 
 interest. 
 
 Malice is the thunder-clap which always follows the 
 lightning of praise. 
 
148 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 The temple of Truth is a structure whose walls need no 
 support. 
 
 So he who props his statements with warrants and 
 props, makes us suspicious of his veracity. 
 
 To want, to win, and to wear, is the song of the selfish 
 thousands, who meet and pass us day by day. 
 
 To gain, to give, and to gladden, is the life of a blessed 
 few. 
 
 If so much beauty can exist in this world of sin, how 
 far beyond conception of the finite mind must be the glory 
 of that far-off country into which no evil thought can enter. 
 
 Our outlook to the future is only fair when we part 
 the curtains of doubt that spread the meshes over the win- 
 dows of our faith. 
 
 "We read the book of experience only backward, and 
 find it punctuated as God willed. 
 
 To delay a good deed is to light our lamps at the mor- 
 row's daybreak. 
 
 A beautiful life is one that wears the rose-tint of God's 
 smile. 
 
PASSING THOUGHTS. 149 
 
 Scripture has said, "As a bird that wandereth from her 
 nest, so is a man who wandereth from his place." 
 
 How much failure comes from our lack of that delicate 
 instinct which teacheth the dove her dwelling-place, though 
 the face of the earth be covered with waters ! 
 
 Do we possess it, or, have we only deadened and per- 
 verted it ? 
 
 It is true of all earthly things, that, when obtained, 
 though by severe struggle, they seem much less than we 
 supposed. 
 
 It is only in the laying up of treasures in heaven that 
 we may consider our efforts truly rewarded. 
 
 " There are birds," says the naturalist, " whose most 
 musical notes are really those of grief or discontent." And 
 there are works of genius, rarest, sweetest and most won- 
 derful, which came from the anguish of the soul, from the 
 prison-house and darkness. 
 
 Many persons look upon others, as they would look 
 through the panes of their windows, — not noticing either, 
 unless a blemish or a flaw appear. 
 
 Faith is a pilot that guides many a storm-tossed soul to 
 the port of peace. 
 
150 a FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 No man can do all the work in God's vineyard as well 
 as he might do a part, and each man's portion is given 
 him from above. He who primes the vine, may not ignore 
 the labor of the planter, and he who gathers the clusters 
 may not say to them who prime, " Thy labors availeth 
 naught," for at the vintage season the Master shall count 
 the first as last, and the last as the first, and shall give to 
 each the reward of his labor. 
 
 We grieve when the leaves are stripped from the trees, 
 and say — " The beauty of color is lost ; " but, against the 
 pale winter sky, we still find a thousand beauties of form, 
 in the delicate tracery of branch and twig. So we mourn 
 when the gayer enjoyments of life are taken from us, yet 
 find, when the brilliant morning is gone, a thousand pleas- 
 ures of whose existence we were not aware. 
 
 The Universe is a sublime expression of God's love for 
 man. 
 
 We may build up beautiful theories for years, but one 
 stroke of necessity brings down the fair superstructure to 
 the foundations of fact. 
 
 We should turn for inspiration, not to the vanished glory 
 of the past, but to the crying needs, the urgent necessities 
 of the present. 
 
PASSING THOUGHTS. 151 
 
 The water-lily opens its petals, and tosses its dainty 
 boat hither and thither on the water, ready at any moment, 
 we think, to break loose and drift away, out of sight and 
 out of safety ; but while the stem remains threading the 
 depths to the very root, we need not fear. So blooming 
 youth rocks and dances on the wave of the social sea, and 
 we tremble lest it lose itself in the tide ; but we need not 
 fear while the youthful heart is moored to a mother-heart 
 somewhere, seen or unseen by the world. 
 
 As the stars of evening blossom out in the gardens of 
 the sky, giving no token whereby our eyes may know the 
 moment of their advent ; so, many souls dawn into the 
 world of Christian being, with naught to proclaim their 
 heavenly birth, save the beauty of their light, and their 
 fitness to shine in heavenly company. 
 
 Some of the wandering tribes believe the stars to be 
 torches, carried in the hands of departed friends, to light 
 the pathway of the beloved who are yet to come. 
 
 Beautiful thought from a pagan heart ! Has Christianity 
 not something akin to it in beauty, yet paramount in 
 truth ? 
 
 Courage is a noble quality, only when displayed in a 
 noble cause. 
 
152 A FEW THOUGHTS FOB A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 When Heaven ordained the sweet and fragile flowers to 
 do ministry, such power was given to each as seemed most 
 fitting and most wise, and they were sent forth as mute 
 apostles; some to bear witness of their Maker, some to lead 
 our thoughts to things most pure, and others, less attractive 
 in their tint and odor, have been sent to every clime, with 
 healing in themselves, by which to make them precious to 
 mankind. 
 
 Faithful — the poetry of the Bible bears no sweeter, no 
 stronger word, none so potent in the fullness of its signifi- 
 cation. The faithful are they that endure, that forget not, 
 that sleep not on duty, and to whom the whole great 
 world must look for all it possesses of the true, the good, 
 the beautiful. 
 
 Of all loves, none is so true, pure and long, as that of 
 a mother. The child is her anchor, and she cannot be 
 shaken far from her moorings. 
 
 Though duty often leads us over rough and rugged 
 paths, through clouds and darkness, it never fails to bring 
 us out into sunny lands. 
 
 The noblest sermons ever preached have found their 
 way into the world through the voice of noble actions. 
 
PASSING THOUGHTS. 153 
 
 The sound of hells by night, are as the voices of friends 
 in sorrow; rich in their cheerful assurance of human com- 
 panionship, though all the world besides lies sleeping in 
 forgetful ness of us ; more brave and clear and sweet because 
 they sound their comfort through a dark and wintry air ; 
 most tender and most dear because, with each repeated 
 tone, they prove the dawn more surely drawing near. 
 
 The world is full of Zenobias, who build their Palmyras 
 in the deserts of social life, and make them to cheer and 
 protect the fortunate indwellers. 
 
 The Zenobias are noble mothers and the Palmyras are 
 the homes that mothers rear. 
 
 There is no creature so unworthy as the critical eye 
 would make it, and none so worthy as to escape criticism, 
 until the eyes and hearts of mankind open, to feel the in- 
 fluence of the good and the beautiful in humanity. 
 
 Wit is a sparkling wine, whose use is exhilarating, but 
 whose abuse is intoxicating. As there is but a step between 
 the two effects, the universal wit is quite as apt to make 
 himself a terror, as an object of admiration. 
 
 He who meets trouble half-way, suffers, mathematically 
 speaking, exactly twice as long. 
 
154 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 They who preserve the beauty of amiability through the 
 trials incident to disappointment and discouragement, are 
 like the gardeners who keep their green and fragrant plants 
 through the clouded light of the winter days. 
 
 For each there must be hours of patient care, and the 
 surroundings of artificial warmth; yet unto each, the reward 
 of toil is such as to cheat the senses and rob the darkest 
 days of some dreariness. 
 
 When man has done his hest in any line of duty, ply- 
 ing the oars as long as human strength sustains him, there 
 comes a time, when, compass lost, his only course must be 
 to lift the sail of prayer, and wait for Heaven's breath to 
 waft the bark to whatsoever port it wills. 
 
 When flowers are full of dew they hang their heads, but 
 man too frequently, when showered with heavenly bless- 
 ings, only lifts his head the higher, as if he was the author 
 of his own good fortune. 
 
 Many persons are judged harshly by the world because 
 they allow no eye but God's to see into the inner sanctu- 
 aries of their hearts. 
 
 There is a crisis moment in every self-denial, which, 
 when passed, makes the future hours beautiful with victory. 
 
PASSING THOUGHTS. L55 
 
 When we cannot obtain light directly from the direction 
 of the sun, we can content ourselves with reflected light. 
 When we fail to receive joy from our own blessings, it is 
 our next privilege to make ourselves happy in the joy of 
 others. 
 
 A mistaken view of duty is often more productive of ill 
 than a lack of principle, especially if the conscience be ten- 
 der. It is well to be sure that the compass is in perfect 
 order before we persist in any course. 
 
 Good sense is the pilot-wheel of the mind. Without its 
 guiding power all the delicate enginery of the intellect 
 would be wrecked upon some mental rock. 
 
 In the great race of life, one must either pass his neigh- 
 bor, or go sorrowing in the dust at the rear, since no one 
 is satisfied to go quietly abreast. 
 
 People frequently think right, without doing right ; but 
 no one does right in the truest sense without thinking the 
 best and purest thoughts. 
 
 The progress of knowledge is like that of the sun — so 
 slow that we cannot see it, but so sure as to change night 
 into day. 
 
156 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Nothing- is lost that adds to the elevation of our thoughts, 
 since thoughts become the fibers of the will, and will is the 
 iron muscle by which mankind ascends the scale of human 
 possibilities. 
 
 The snow-storm of an hour can cover the germs of a 
 year's fond hopes. It is our faith in the spring's warm 
 sunshine that teaches us to hide the present loss. 
 
 We wind the threads of life from the spool of the future, 
 and when they are woven imperfectly into the past, we 
 mourn for the beauty of those white coils that we can 
 never replace. 
 
 If people devoted as much time to the correction of 
 their own faults as they do to the enumeration of other 
 people's, how much better the world would be for it. 
 
 No words are so seldom truthfully spoken as these: "I 
 am satisfied"; and none are so expressive of the Christian 
 hope as these : " I shall be satisfied.'' 
 
 The sunflower — homely type of honesty — forever turns 
 its broad, brown face unflinchingly to the sun. 
 
 If we perform the small duties of life faithfully, God 
 will take care of the mighty projects. 
 
PASSING THOUGHTS. 157 
 
 Science and Revelation seem to war with each other ; 
 not because they are in themselves antagonistic, but because 
 the mind of man has not found the truths by which they 
 are reconciled, and because his ear is not yet attuned to 
 their perfect harmony. 
 
 In the darkened recesses of sorrow, we often weave the 
 beautiful lacework, which in the after sunshine we delight 
 to wear in honor, and which, in the broad daylight of hap- 
 piness, could never have won an existence. 
 
 The mariner who steers upon the ocean of life, with 
 faith as his compass and heaven as the beacon-light ahead, 
 will escape many dangerous rocks that he who drifts with 
 the tide will surely encounter. 
 
 Sorrow falls upon some natures like summer rain on 
 budding flowers. They droop beneath its weight for a time, 
 but bloom afterward with fresher beauty — a sweeter and 
 
 We are often more cruelly robbed by those who steal 
 into our hearts than by those who break into our houses. 
 
 Pain and trial are the gauges by which God measures 
 
 humanity's love for Him. 
 
 12 
 
158 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 The line between the known and the unknown is nar 
 row but impassable. The familiar objects of daily use hold 
 mysteries which cannot be solved this side of eternity. 
 Why, then, should we shrink from "entering into that 
 within the veil," since "knowledge shall be given concern- 
 ing that which eye hath not seen," and whose conceptions 
 have not " entered into the heart of man " ? 
 
 " A full cup requires a steady hand." From him to 
 whom much is given, of wealth, influence or intellect, much 
 wisdom and grace are required. Good gifts must be re- 
 ceived with reverence and distributed with judicious benevo- 
 lence. 
 
 Gratitude is one of the holiest and tenderest emotions 
 of our being. A heart devoid of gratitude is like music 
 without expression, or beauty bereft of truth. 
 
 We rob many of our fairest plans of their success by 
 lack of patience, and pluck them, like unripe fruit, to be 
 disappointed at their taste. 
 
 Mignonette — the humble flower that the angels loved 
 and breathed upon with sweetest airs of heaven. 
 
 The heaviest burdens that we carry are those not seen 
 by human eyes. 
 
PASSING THOUGHTS. 159 
 
 The harp holds in its wires the possibilities of noblest 
 chords ; yet if they be not struck, they must hang dull and 
 useless. So the mind is vested with a hundred powers that 
 must be smitten by a heavy hand to prove themselves the 
 offspring of Divinity. 
 
 "He laid his hands on them," saith the Evangelist, and 
 in those six small words he wrote the Poem of the age, 
 and proclaimed, with tender grace, the blessed condescension 
 of our Savior to ourselves. 
 
 We cling to life as the ignorant bird to its cage, taking 
 its sweets between the prison bars, and daring not to sail 
 out into the fresh, sweet liberty beyond. 
 
 The rainbow is a masterpiece of the Divine Artist, con- 
 taining at once the u line of beauty" and a perfect har- 
 mony of color. 
 
 There is no garb which costs a woman less than mod- 
 esty, and none that is more becoming or more universally 
 admired. 
 
 Courtesy does not always walk hand in hand with 
 charity, but often, as its substitute, passes current in the 
 world. 
 
 Hope is the song bird of the soul. 
 
160 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 To yield abundant fruitage, the seed of virtue and 
 knowledge should be sown in life's early spring-time ; grain 
 sown too late in the season yieldeth no harvest at the 
 gathering. 
 
 We should look upon God's care and protection as the 
 sailor looks upon the Trade Wind — though scarcely com- 
 prehending it, we may expect it always, and avail ourselves 
 of its aid. 
 
 The spring leaves are fresh and beautiful, but the au- 
 tumn woods are the glory of the year. So youth is bright 
 and full of promise, but reverend age is the glory of life. 
 
 The days of a person who does no good are like a sieve. 
 All the fine and beautiful grains of benevolence are lost, 
 leaving to him only the selfish dross. 
 
 The greater a man's reputation, the greater care must 
 be given lest he lose it. Diamonds require more guarding 
 than do precious stones. 
 
 It is only when the waves of our will are stilled to peace, 
 that the Spirit of the Lord can be mirrored in the soul. 
 
 A cheerful spirit is the salt that savors many an other- 
 wise dull and distasteful day of duties. 
 
PASSING THOUGHTS. 161 
 
 It is an old but ever pleasant thought, that the Provi- 
 dence which prepares our work in the distance for us is 
 meanwhile preparing us for the coining requirement. More 
 thorough appreciation of this truth would rob our fears of 
 half their heaviness, while lifting our hopes upon a stronger 
 wing. 
 
 The ocean bark for whom no breezes blow, 
 Is not more safe, because the waters flow 
 In languid ripples at the prow ; nor yet 
 When tropic suns, unclouded, rise and set 
 For many days upon the drooping sails. 
 Ay, better far the freshly blowing gales, 
 Though waves were "lashed to fury at its breath," 
 And better far some danger, than the death 
 Of mariners becalmed. 
 
 Even so, the life 
 Whose rippling sea has neither storm nor strife, 
 Whose sky has neither cloud nor breath of ill, 
 Is not more blest in lying dead and still 
 Afar on sunny waters. Ports are gained, 
 By bending sails, and timbers stoutly strained ; 
 And human life — a ship before the wind — 
 Is safest when the sky is wisely kind. 
 
162 
 
 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 
 
 Farewell ! 
 
 IFE is but blent with the breaking of ties, 
 Only our duty is sure. 
 Perfect reward is the meeting that lies 
 Yonder — celestial — secure. 
 Cherish its spell, 
 Speak not farewell, 
 Time cannot sever the True and the Pure.