Chapter I: Part 1

Autumn Leaves

AUTUMN
LEAVES

Ardelia M. Barton

San Francisco
1908]

Copyright, by
Ardelia Maria Barton
1908

Press of Bruce Brough
San Francisco

Preface

=Autumn Leaves= was in the hands of the Publisher (BRUCE BROUGH) at the time of the Great Fire of April, 1906, and not a single page of the original manuscript was saved. I could only recall a few titles, and a line or two here and there, not knowing though where they belonged. I began to rewrite on the 12th of June, 1908, and on the 12th of September, 1908, it was ready for publication. It has given _me_ new courage, and by searching, perhaps _you_ may find one leaf among my =Autumn Leaves= that you will feel was painted expressly for you, and is worthy to be pressed upon the tablet of your heart.

ARDELIA MARIA BARTON

Dedication

TO MY MOTHER

Who ever watched with loving care
My childhood’s tender years.
She ever soothed my little woes,
And kissed away my tears.

She guided me o’er Life’s rough road,
And pointed out the snares,
And pitfalls that are e’er in life;
And all the many tares,

And brambles that beset Life’s paths,
And if I fell by way,
She helped me up with loving hands,
And tender words alway.

Contents

_Page_
Autumn Leaves 1

Write 2

Dreamland 6

What Will The Harvest Be? 8

We Know What The Harvest Will Be 10

Meridian 12

The Indian Lover’s Plea 14

Winona’s Reply 16

At Last 18

The Awakening Of The Lillies 20

Conquered 25

The Water Spirit 26

The World Is Asleep 29

What Is The Future Of The Race? 30

Love’s Path 33

A Prayer 34

Life’s Road 37

Where Is Heaven? 38

Destiny 40

Why? 43

Liberty 44

My Soul and I 46

Forsaken 48

Farewell 51

The Pebble’s Soliloquy 52

An Angel’s Message 54

The Race Of Life With Time 56

“O Death Where Is Thy Sting?” 59

The Mother’s Plea 60

To A Friend 63

Time Waits For No Man 64

Tide Waits For No Man 66

Freedom 68

Reverie 71

A Mohammedan’s Prayer 72

Nature’s Plan 74

The Sunbeam’s Wooing 76

The Progression of The Rose 78

All Life Hath Soul 80

It Matters Not 82

“What Is Man That Thou Art Mindful of Him?” 84

As a Man Thinketh So Is He 86

My Guests 88

God Is Everywhere 90

Dead Hopes 92

Buried Hopes 93

Love’s Message 95

A Fable 96

Deplore Not The Shadows of Life 99

Love’s Garland 100

Let Us Build Above The Stars 103

Ghosts Of The Attic 104

Not Yet 107

Duty 108

Life’s Plans 111

Brotherhood of Man 112

Man Defying The Dying Sun 114

If There Is No Hereafter 118

Love’s Song 120

Forgive 122

Forget 123

Yesterdays 124

Tomorrow 125

Consolation 126

The Dead Summer 127

There Is A Rift In The Clouds 128

To A Comet 130

Love’s Dart 131

Weeds 132

The Blind Beggar’s Appeal 134

The Threads of Life 136

Memory’s Book 138

Do Not Borrow Trouble 140

Give Smiles, Not Tears 142

Farewell To The Dying Year 144

The Book Of Gifts 146

Unkind Words 147

Seek For The Good In Life 148

Love’s Crown 150

My Soul’s Desire and Destiny 152

Incarnation 155

Reincarnation 156

Life’s Burdens 159

To Mount Sierra 160

Oft Poisoned Is The Wine Of Life 162

The Game of Life 164

“The Old, Old Story” 166

The Ghost of Love 168

I Shall Sing It Sometime 170

When I Am Dead 174

’Tis Folly To Be Wise 177

The Old Oak’s Reverie 178

Ingratitude 181

Judge Not 182

Our Virtues Are Carved Upon Our Tombstones 184

Honor, Fame, or Love 186

Courage 188

Persevere 190

Speak But Kind Words 192

Vagary 194

The Home Beautiful 197

The Beatitudes 198

Bury The Past 200

To A Friend On Her Birth-day 202

Have Ideals 203

Selfishness 204

Life Is Nothing Without Love 207

The Century Flower 208

Life’s Music 210

Love’s Garden 212

The Last Port 214

Canst Tell Me 216

The Soul Seeking For Perfection 219

Life’s Thoughtlessness 221

The Flower’s Prayer For Immortality 223

Love’s Offering 226

Love’s Acceptance 228

Autumn Leaves 230

Finale 231

AUTUMN LEAVES.

The autumn leaves are like our lives,
They serve their purpose for a day,
They then return to mother Earth:
They come but to decay.

The trees are gaunt, gaunt sentinels,
Deprived of their warm dress.
They shiver in their nakedness,
And moan in their distress.

But, as with us, they live again,
Again have garments fresh and new,
And though they seem to die to earth,
Again their lives renew.

Again the joy of living comes,
And brighter now is their new life;
They had a season of sweet sleep,
And rest from worldly strife.

WRITE.

_Republished by special request._

Take thy pen and write, O man!
Chronicle thy every thought;
Hath thy life been full of joy?
Hath this world all pleasure wrought?

If, before thou cam’st to earth,
Knowing what thou knowest now,
Free to choose to be, or not,
To life’s problems wouldst thou bow?

Wouldst thou think thy life a boon?
It with thankfulness accept,
Or wouldst say O Lord, me spare!
_I_ must weep, for man hath wept.

Dost thou think that life is sweet?
Dost thou think its joys are more
Than its griefs and misery?
Hath thy bark ne’er touched bleak shore.

Stranded hath it never been?
Thy sweet hopes forever lost,
Wrecked thy bark on shoals by storm,
On rough sea of life been tossed?

Is the wind and tide with thee?
And is life without a tear?
Manned is bark with happiness?
Hath thy sky been ever clear?

Dost thou bless thy natal day?
Long’st thou not for day of death?
Art thou willing to live on
Blessing God that thou hast breath?

Then, to thee, is life a joy,
Blessed heritage of peace
Was bequeathed to thee by Love,
_God_ gave unto thee the _lease_.

* * * * *

I will write in book of life,
Trace my thoughts with fadeless ink,
With a pen of gold will write;
Into hearts my words may sink.

Born to earth I wished it not,
Earth conditions knew not I,
E’en though filled with misery;
I will never question why.

I am here; will do my work,
Even though life stranded be,
E’en though storms beset my way,
Wrecked my ship on life’s rough sea.

Sunshine, aye, I look not for,
Wind and tide are often wrong
For my ship to leave its port;
Sad, yea mournful, is life’s song.

But I love, and I am loved,
Hope is strong within my heart,
Courage, too, I’ll stem life’s tide,
In the world do well my part.

Tears are shed. Then why should I
E’er from care and grief be free?
I must live, though oft I weep,
Do my work, what e’er it be.

Born of Love--O blessed thought!
Earth conditions I can bear;
God is Love, in Him I live,
Utter plaint I will not dare.

I will sail my ship of life,
Steer it over shoals and rocks,
Bring it safely into port,
It will bear all storms and shocks.

When, at last, Life’s dream is o’er,
Time--true censor--takes his flight,
Death, as Captain of my fleet,
In his Log my life will write.

DREAMLAND.

In our dreamland we are soaring
’Mong the stars, above the clouds,
Naught seems strange, our dress is moonlight;
Not one grief our heart enshrouds.

In this dreamland not one sorrow.
All the world is filled with joy.
There is naught but sweet contentment,
All is peace with no alloy.

’Mong the clouds we e’er are soaring,
All the heavens we control.
Stars, and planets, are our footstools
In the dreamland of the soul.

Butterflies are our companions,
Singing birds make love for aye.
Chariots are drawn by fire-flies;
And ’tis sunshine every day.

When we wake, our dreams all vanish.
We are in the work-day world.
We are simply common mortals;
From the uplands we are hurled.

Vanished now is shadowy dreamland;
Most prosaic is the dawn.
Chariots are common waggons,
Not by fireflies are they drawn.

There are clouds, and rain is falling.
Trouble meets us everywhere.
We must battle with conditions;
Many griefs we now must bear.

But we dream, e’en though not sleeping,
Nothing ever us debars,
Nothing seems to us unreal,
Though we soar above the stars.

WHAT WILL THE HARVEST BE?

We are sowing, we are reaping,
We are laughing, we are weeping
For the seeds we sow.

We are giving, we are hoarding,
Are withholding or dispersing
Broadcast o’er the land.

Are they thorns, or are they roses?
Are they weeds, or are they posies?
That we cull from life?

What confronts us at Life’s evening?
What will greet us on awaking?
Will it be Love’s flowers?

O the joy of loving, living,
If to others we are giving
Out of our heart’s store.

Let us do what is before us,
Not discouraged, not unhappy,
If some good we’ve done.

When we wake in the hereafter,
Is it tears, or is it laughter,
That will meet us there?

We shall sometimes be confronted,
And by phantoms shall be haunted--
Phantoms of our past.

Let no thought of dire deception
In our hearts have e’er inception,
Then not haunted we

By the ghosts of indiscretion,
By ill deeds and degradation.--
Let us all beware

Of temptations e’er surrounding,
And of evil e’er abounding.--
We must shun them all.

WE KNOW WHAT THE HARVEST WILL BE.

We plant a bright flower for the butterfly;
We plant a sweet flower for the bee.
We feed and we clothe the hungry and cold,
“We know what the harvest will be.”

We plant a good thought in some weary heart,
The thought that we plant goes to seed;
Increasing in strength full an hundred fold,
The thought will become a good deed.

A deed that will live in many a heart,
Will travel forever, and on;
Forgotten will never be words nor deeds;
They live and will thrive when we’re gone.

A well we may dig in a desert land,
Some traveler stops on the road,
And quenches his thirst in the living spring,
And lighter will now seem his load.

We may plant a tree, and its cooling shade
Will shelter some traveler worn,
And never from memory will it fade,
And never from heart can be torn.

In all of this life, ’tis the little things
That help and will cheer our lone way,
A sip of cold water, a little word,
Will many a sorrow allay.

And if in our hearts no envy doth reign,
From malice we ever are free,
Have nothing but love for even a foe;
“We know what the harvest will be.”

MERIDIAN.

’Tis twelve o’clock meridian.--.
My work is not half done.
Turn back the hands upon Life’s clock,
For it must not strike one.

’Tis twelve o’clock meridian,
Time faster, faster goes.
All heedless he of my distress,
Unheedful of my woes.

’Tis twelve o’clock meridian,
My life is now half gone,
’Tis useless to begin anew;
Anew life’s pages con.

’Tis twelve o’clock meridian,
Ambition now is gone.
I cannot take up stitches dropped;
My work cannot go on.

I’m tired and weary, will now rest,
Let time go on his way.
Life’s race is almost over now,
Time will not for me stay.

For wasted time now dead, and gone,
A requiem sad, time tolls.
All squandered hours, all work undone,
In winding-sheet he rolls.

THE INDIAN LOVER’S PLEA.

Winona! Winona! O list to my plea!
O why wilt thou leave me, O canst thou not see
How barren this world if deprived of thy love,
’Twas given to me by the Great Spirit above.

Winona! Winona! Return unto me--
From bonds of the white man O cut thyself free.
Thy heart is still mine, but the glitter of gold
Enticed thee away from thy lover of old.

The white man will weary of thee in a day,
Forsaken thou’lt be, dishonored for aye.
Thy beauty will fade, alas! for thee then!
Reviled, and dishonored, forsaken of men.

Forsaken, degraded, and then cast aside;
Dost think that the white man will make thee his bride?
My camp-fire is out, and my wigwam is cold,
The white man has won thee by the promise of gold.

I feel that I’ve loved thee in ages long gone,
Have fought for thy smiles, have always them won,
Winona dear heart, I will fight for them still,
Though broken thy troth, unbroken my will.

My arrows are broken, my bow is unstrung,
My powder-horn empty, on high it is hung.
Come back to the forest where we’ve wandered alone;
Come back to my wigwam, and I will condone

The sin of thy leaving, for thou didst not know
The wiles that the white man around thee couldst throw.
The white man will tire of thy beauty so rare,
His plaything thou’lt be, O Winona beware!

Return to thy lover before ’tis too late--
The love of an Indian is as strong as his hate.
Winona! Winona! this is my last plea!
Return unto me! O return unto me!

WINONA’S REPLY.

Oswega! Oswega! I’ll listen to thee--
Return to thee gladly, again will be free.
’Tis true, for a moment, the glitter of gold
Enticed my vain heart from my lover of old.

The white man so subtile flattered my pride--
He promised me honor for aye by his side.
I loved him not ever, ’twas only my pride
That caused me to waver, and leave thy dear side

I beg dear Oswega that thou wilt forgive,
And that in thy love-light again I shall live.
Yes, I will return to my lover so brave,
For home without love is as cold as the grave.

Yes, now dear Oswega I’ll come back to thee;
Though false I have seemed, I am true unto thee.
I will care for thy wigwam, will keep up thy fire,
Of thee my Oswega ne’er more will I tire.

I love thee Oswega, will love thee for aye--
’Twas but for a time that my heart went astray.
I’ll come to thy wigwam, will care for thy home,
And never again from my lover will roam.

Oswega! Oswega! my heart is as true
As thine is for me, and I bitterly rue
That vanity caused my heart to grow cold,
By flattering words and the glamour of gold.

The dream is now o’er, it was but for a day.
My vain heart was flattered, I could not say nay.
My beauty may fade, but I know that thy heart
Will ever be mine, and ne’er more shall we part.

AT LAST.

I struggle on blindly;
I know not the way,
I falter by wayside
Forever and aye.

I seek the right pathway,
’Tis hidden in gloom,
’Tis cold as the grave, and
As dark as the tomb.

So deep are the shadows
I see not the road,
My burden is heavy
I sink ’neath the load.

So long seems the journey;
O when will it end?
I’m tired, and weary,
’Neath burdens I bend.

No light in my pathway,
No hope in my soul.
My life seems a failure,
Far distant my goal.

* * * * *

I’ll rise from my languor,
And hope for the best.--
Now, clouds are dispelling,
I’ll come to my rest.

Though trials, and sorrows
Have e’er been my lot,
I’ll cast them aside now,
Life’s battles are fought.

I’ve gained in the battles,
All clouds will now break.
When journey is ended
In heaven I’ll awake.

THE AWAKENING OF THE LILIES.

Beneath the placid waters
A lily bulb had birth;
It slept in sweet reliance
In arms of mother earth.

In home beneath the waters,
It slept in calm repose;
With sweetness of the lily,
And beauty of the rose.

One morn the Sun looked downward,
And loving words he spake.
The lily bulb awakened
From dreams, beneath the lake.

A little bud shot upward
To meet the sun-god’s call,
It sent forth all its fragrance
Its lover to enthrall.

It sprang from out the waters,
And donned its pure white gown.
No sin defiled its beauty,
Its virtue was its crown.

The little bud then blossomed,--
So fragrant, pure and sweet,
The air was filled with fragrance,
And many stopped to greet

The pure white lily blossom
That on the water lay;
A ruthless hand then plucked it,
But threw it soon away.--

It faded, and then withered;
The earth was not its home;
It missed the sparkling water,
Nor wished from it to roam

* * * * *

Upon life’s turbid waters
A human flower was born.
As pure as water-lily,
With beauty of the dawn.

’Twas in a vine-clad cottage
Close by the lily’s home;
Where dwelt this pure young maiden,
Nor wished she e’er to roam.

To her there came a lover--
But soon he cast aside
The crushed and faded blossom
Who was his promised bride.

* * * * *

In lone, and dreary hovel
A weeping woman lay.
No loving hand to tend her,
And naught but shadows gray.--

She sinned in loving, trusting,
And what was her reward?
Dishonored, and forsaken,
No friend had she but God.

And in this lonely hovel
A little child was born.--
A little human lily
First saw the light of dawn.

Unheralded its coming,
Unwelcome was its birth.
This little human lily
Was born from out the earth.

It came without love’s greeting,
Its death caused not one tear;
’Twas born into conditions
That cost its mother dear.--

This child was pure and holy,
Though it was born of sin.--
Its heavenly father loved it,
So took it from the din

Of earthly cares and sorrows.
He took the mother too.
The child is with her sleeping,
No tears their grave bedew.

Together in one coffin
The human lilies lie;
Dishonored, and forsaken,
They blossomed but to die.

They lie upon the hillside.--
Some pitying hand now gave
A pure, white lily blossom,
To deck the outcasts’ grave.

CONQUERED.

I am beaten in the race of life,
Will acknowledge my defeat.
As I struggle on the uphill road,
Naught but failure do I meet.

I have fought the fight, have conquered been
At every stage of life.
For the battle is not for the weak;
Not fitted they for strife.

I must leave the battle ground of life
Where I have found but woe.
And at last will give the warfare up,
Lay down my arms to foe.

For “the race of life is for the swift,”
“The battle for the strong.”
And my place has been marked out for me
Among the defeated throng.--

THE WATER SPIRIT.

Beneath the wave tossed waters,
Upon the ocean bed;
There dwelt a water spirit,
To sea-king she was wed.

Years passed in happy wedlock,
And pledges to them came
Of love beneath the ocean;
For love is e’er the same.

They lived in sweet communion
Among their sea-weed flowers.
’Twas ever peace and gladness
Within their love-lit bowers.

One little spirit wandering
Away from childhood’s home--
Came into unknown waters,--
Beneath a coral dome,--

She heard a spirit teaching
A doctrine, new and strange;
She listened to his preaching,
And thought took wider range.

He told of other peoples
Who lived above the sea.
Of birds with brilliant plumage,
Who in the air were free.

To her this was awakening
From out a long, long sleep.
The soul was stirred within her,
To flowers of thought most deep.

Now to her home returning--
Dissension there arose;
Her former friends so loving,
Were now her bitter foes.

They cried to her “O heretic!”
You are forever lost,
Unless you pray to Neptune,
And not by doubts be tossed.

There is no God but Neptune,
There is no world but ours,
There are no stars, nor planets,
There are but sea-weed flowers.

And tilled with consternation
At everything she said--
They even feared pollution,
And from her they all fled.

* * * * *

Now e’en above the ocean
Some bigot there may be,
Who only prays to Neptune,
Who dwells beneath the sea.

He sees no beauty ever,
Except in his own flowers.
And if from him you differ,
Contumely on you showers.

THE WORLD IS ASLEEP.

Step softly for the world’s asleep
And when it wakes, it wakes to weep
O’er all the sins and dire mistakes
That it will see when it awakes.

O’er griefs and sorrows of the race,
Which all mankind must sometimes face.
O, world sleep on, ’tis better so
Than to awake and see the woe,

And burdens that mankind must bear;
The aching hearts aye filled with care.
In sleep you dream, and dream of peace;
From turmoil dire you have surcease.

Sleep on! Dream on! From care be free
Through time, and through eternity.
There is no rest, ’tis toil alway;
’Tis warfare, death, and then decay.

WHAT IS THE FUTURE OF THE RACE?

What is the future of the race?
I asked a little brook.
It laughingly replied to me
“I cannot stop to look.”

Then next I asked a gray old tree,
It shook with laughter too.
“Go ask the river, it may give
An answer unto you.”

The river stopped upon its course,
And unto me it said,
“Go ask the ocean, it is wise
And I shall soon him wed.”

The ocean seemed with anger filled,
But unto me replied,
“I have no time for foolish speech,
Do not delay my tide.”

The wind, in answer to my plea
A moment paused, to say,
“Go ask the sphinx, perhaps she knows,
And will your fears allay.”

I asked the sphinx, she seemed to smile,
I started back aghast;
She seemed to speak, I heard these words,
“I only know the past.”

I bowed before the placid stone,
And begged to know the past.
“The present is enough for you,
With all its questions vast.”

O tell me of the past I beg!
O do not it withhold
Sometime the future I shall know
It will to me unfold.

* * * * *

“O man why seekest thou to know
The future, or the past?
The present is enough for you,
If not with clouds o’er cast.”

The mountains seemed to pity me,
The clouds shed showers of tears,
The sun looked down in reverence,
And said: “Allay your fears,”

“For there’s a power that rules mankind,
E’er has and ever will.
The future, and the past, are His,
Are governed by His will.”

Then gazing at the works of God,
My thoughts seemed trivial, small,--
Why should I worry o’er the race?
When God is over all.

LOVE’S PATH.

Adown the many walks of life,
Though stormy be the weather,
We will clasp hands in confidence,
And walk Love’s path together.

When days are bright we’ll happy be,
And will not trouble borrow;
But do the very best we can
For clouds may come tomorrow.

Though life be filled with many cares,
If soul with soul is blending,
We’ll bear the cares most cheerfully.
Love hath with us no ending.

When Death shall come, as come he must,--
For life is short, and fleeting,
With outstretched hands and happy smile,
We’ll give him kindly greeting.

A PRAYER.

O Thou Almighty Presence--
O Thou Almighty Power--
No greater in the heavens,
Than in the smallest flower.

We bow to Thee in reverence,
We kneel to Thee in prayer.
We see Thee in the tiny weed,
We see Thee everywhere.

We know that we are ignorant,
And oftimes sinful are,
But we would keep thy every law,
No plan of Thine e’er mar.

For perfect are Thy mandates all,
And perfect every work,
And though we oft misunderstand,
We would no duty shirk.

Thou pitiest us, Thy children,
Wouldst teach us the right way
Wherein to walk, and what to do,
Wouldst teach us to obey

The law which Thou hast made supreme,
But if we disobey,
Thou still dost plead for our return
To straight and narrow way.

O God our Lord we reverence Thee!
And humble aye would be.
We love Thee ever, though we sin
Throughout eternity.

We know Thou art the only Power
Which reigns supreme on earth,
And though we many trials have,
We thank Thee for our birth.

We thank Thee for the blessings rich
That in our pathway lie.
We thank Thee e’en for tears we shed,
Thy love these tears will dry.

O help us Lord to do Thy work,
And bury self so deep,
That we shall every duty do,
And have no cause to weep.

And when we come into the home
That is prepared for us,
We’ll fitted be to dwell within
That home so glorious.

LIFE’S ROAD.

O the road seems long and devious
That our weary feet have trod,
Struggling, struggling, ever struggling,
Till we rest beneath the sod.

Dark and hidden is life’s pathway,
We have sought for it in vain;
But have fallen by the wayside,
Overcome by grief and pain.

And our feet are bruised and bleeding,
And life’s burdens are so great
That we fain would give up trying,
And be governed aye by fate.

All life’s road seems filled with shadows,
In despair we kiss the rod;
Then we see that road leads upward
From the depths, e’en up to God.

WHERE IS HEAVEN?

O where is heaven? cried a child.
Is it above, beyond the sky?
Is it above, beyond the clouds?
How shall I find it when I die?

O where is heaven? cried a youth.
It seems so far, so far away.
This world is such a weary waste
For Heaven’s peace I ever pray.

I long to know where heaven is,
Is it the place where angels dwell?
Is it the place where spirits go?
Can mortal man the place foretell.

I’ve searched in vain the place to find--
I’ve sought, I’ve searched for heaven’s door,
I cannot find one trace of it
In modern book, nor ancient lore.

We’re told that heaven is but for those
Who live a life all free from sin.
If this is true, there is no hope--
No one will ever heaven win.

O where is heaven? an old man cried.
Is it above the world’s fierce din?
“A still small voice” then spake to him
To find your heaven, O look within.

DESTINY.

When Destiny leads us
We have to obey.
No rest by the roadside;
No loitering by way.

She beckons us onward
With promise of peace;
Alluring us ever,
From bonds no release.

We struggle on blindly;
Obeying her call.
A shroud doth us cover,
’Tis Destiny’s pall.

The chains that aye bind us
Too strong are to break;
The fetters, and shackles
Are Destiny’s make.

So strong are these fetters
They bind us to earth.
Grim Destiny welded them
E’en before birth.

We rise from our bondage,
And try to be free;
But Fate is our gaoler,
She holds fast the key.

The prison is guarded,
No opening we see,
’Tis useless to struggle,
For helpless are we.

Yea, Destiny rules us;
A tyrant is she
Who keeps us in bondage,
When we would be free.

* * * * *

The warfare is ended.
Our colors are down.
We bow in submission,
And Destiny crown.

She now is our monarch,
On her we must lean,
Obeying her ever,
For she is our queen.

WHY?

Why should not we all understand
The laws of life, of living?
That everything in Nature’s works
Is sending forth, and giving.

She gives her life to help mankind,
She to the world gives beauty,
And it is given ungrudgingly,
And not because ’tis duty.

O let us try to emulate
Dear Nature in her giving,
Instead of thorns, give roses sweet;
Then life will be worth living.

Send loving thoughts out to the world,
Your cup returns o’erflowing;
You’ll find it holds no bitter dregs
If good you are bestowing.

LIBERTY.

A little dove impatient grew,
And weary of his bars.
He longed to break his prison bonds,
And soar among the stars.

He beat his wings against the bars,
And vainly tried to break
The door of his small prison house.
That freedom he might take.

For liberty he ever sought,
He did not love his home.
He ever wished that he was free
Around the world to roam.

The little dove most weary was;
Unhappy and distraught.
O why should he a prisoner be?
For liberty he fought.

But all in vain, he could not break
The bars that held him fast.
The future seemed as dark to him
As had been all his past.

At last with broken, bleeding wings,
He fell to earth in death.
For freedom sweet, for liberty,
He cried with his last breath.

MY SOUL AND I.

My soul and I a warfare waged,
Which had the right of way?
Precedence was a law laid down,
Which one should it obey.

I claimed that _I_ was first on earth,
My _soul_ put in the plea
That _I_ was but the home for him;
_He_ claimed eternity.

We argued long, and earnestly,
But argued all in vain.
Each one was sure that he was right,
No point did either gain.

So worn was I with argument
I closed my eyes to earth.
How long I slept I do not know.
I wakened to new birth.

I looked around for my lost soul--
Had it the victory won?
I looked within, and then I found
My soul and I were one.

Were one on earth, are one in heav’n,
The body is not _I_,
’Tis but the garment of the soul,
And in the grave must lie.

But soul lives on, forever on,
’Tis even one with God;
It permeates all life, all space,
Arising from its clod

A spirit of the universe,--
A light which never dies.
For soul is all creation,
And in the grave ne’er lies.

FORSAKEN.

They say that thou art false to me.
It is not true, it cannot be.
I loved thee once, I love thee yet;
O dearest! canst thou me forget?

I loved thee e’en when first we met,
And even now do not regret
The love for thee that fills my heart.
Wilt thou O dearest from me part?

O hath another won thy heart?
Must I alone endure the smart
That cometh from thy broken vow?
If I must suffer, so must thou.

The past is dead, and buried deep,
For thee my love I can but weep.
Though sad the day that first we met,
That past, for me, holds no regret.

E’en though thou lov’st another now,
Again thou’lt break thy troth, thy vow.
Thy fickle heart e’er fickle be
Through time, and through eternity.

Thou seemest not so happy now,
As when to me thou mad’st thy vow
That sometime thou wouldst be my bride,
And thy dear self to me confide.

The memory of that past is dear,
Though lying on sad memory’s bier.
And now farewell, “I love thee still,
Against my wish, against my will.”

The future holds no joy for me
If I am parted dear from thee.
Farewell! Farewell! I give thee up.
The dregs of life I now must sup.

But loving thee, I can forgive.
Without thy love, I cannot live.
Alone, forsaken, and bereft,
There’s naught on earth for me now left.

Farewell! farewell! our past is dead,
All happiness from me hath fled.
The dreary future must be met;
I find that I can _not_ forget.

I think that thou wilt love me dear,
When I am dead, and o’er my bier
Thou bendest down to look at me.
My heart will then from grief be free.

FAREWELL.

My lover of the past, farewell!
I do not thee regret;
For thou hast proven false to me,
And I will thee forget.

I would not turn the wheel of time,
Thy recreant love to gain;
For having once been false to me,
Thou wouldst be false again.

My love a plaything was to thee,
’Twas only for a day;
When weary of the love I gave,
’Twas cast by thee away.

My lover of the past, farewell!
I grieve not for thee now.
When trust is gone, love follows soon
Upon a broken vow.

THE PEBBLE’S SOLILOQUY.

Though but a pebble on the shore of time,
I feel my mission is sublime.
Though man may tread me ’neath his careless feet--
With scornful look will e’er me greet--

I have my place, no one that place can fill;
I live, and do my Master’s will.
There is a power that lies within my heart--
I must live on, and do my part.

I am a part of God--His loving thought,
And for some purpose I was wrought.
Naught else on earth could fill the pebble’s place.
To mountains grand my life I trace.

I will arise above my low estate,
And with the angels even mate.
I feel, I know, a pebble hath a soul,
And heaven is its right, its goal.

God put me here, so why should I complain?
I know I was not made in vain.
To you the song of ages I can sing.
Sweet flowers, in time, will from me spring.

And what is man? A pebble on Life’s strand--
With me, God holds him in His hand.
And e’en from me deep lessons he can learn.
To dust his body will return.

’Tis true he claims a soul, and so do I;
For soul is God, and God doth in me lie.
All that hath life, hath soul I do avow.
With love, all things God doth endow.

I have ambition, and some day will rise
To meet my God beyond the skies.
For everything on earth, or in the sea
Hath part in God, and immortality.

NOTE.

From the criticism of a friend, I am led to explain myself in regard to this poem (The Pebble) and some others. What is soul? That which lives forever--Well, a pebble disintegrates, and vegetation springs up from it. Vegetation supports the lower forms of life, which in turn support the higher, from atom up to God. Life is not matter, though _in_ all matter--_Life_, _Soul_, goes on through all eternity. God is in everything that he has created; therefore, _everything_ has _soul_.

AN ANGEL’S MESSAGE.

“Make merry,” cried the king, “drive care away.
I would not think of crown nor nation now.
The gayest of the gay I fain would be,
I would that none today before me bow.”

“Today I would as humblest subject be,
And I would even know the want of food.
A vision was vouchsafed to me this morn,
Methinks an angel by my bedside stood.”

“And one by one he placed before mine eyes
My subjects poor, who live in direst need,
Whilst I, in thoughtless rioting have dwelt.
And not of them have ever taken heed.”

“Make haste and send swift couriers o’er the land,
Through every hamlet, and through every town.
Henceforth my scepter shall be love to all,
And justice evermore shall be my crown.”

“Instead of pomp and pageantry, I will
Hereafter seek to know my subjects all;
Henceforth I’ll be a king in very sooth,
And none need fear upon their king to call.”

“A monarch I will be of stricken hearts;
Loud hallelujahs through my kingdom ring,
For nevermore shall Hunger stalk abroad,
A dark, dark blot upon the title, King.”

“Swift justice shall be meted out to all;
Mine eyes are opened now.--I have been blind
To all the misery that around me lay,
All heedless of the sufferings of mankind.”

“So, merry be, for I have found my soul,
And _Love_ is now the watchword of your king.
Rejoice, and be exceeding glad, henceforth.
Glad tidings now to all my people bring.”

THE RACE OF LIFE WITH TIME.

Life and Time once ran a race
O’er hills of sorrow and despair.
Life often halted by the way
For he had many ills to bear,
But Time went on, and on, and on.

Poor Life oft weary was, and worn.
Oft fell at Time’s unflagging feet.
But rose again with strength renewed,
And valiantly old Time did greet.
Who still went on, and on, and on.

Though Life oft blinded was by tears,
Discouraged he could never be.--
While Time rushed on to win the race;
Life’s work was for eternity.
Yet Time still onward went his way.

Life cried, O tarry, father Time!
One moment stop in thy mad race;
There is so much that I must do,
So many problems yet to face.
Time took no heed, but still rushed on.

Life often staggered ’neath his load,
And ever begged that Time would stay.
But Time, with scorn upon his brow
Rushed faster, faster on his way.
Went madly on, and on, and on.

Time had precedence in the race,
And to Life’s pleadings paid no heed.
He cared not for Life’s weariness,
Nor would one point to him concede.
But still went on, and on, and on.

O Time! cried Life, one moment pause!
O stay one moment in your flight,
For I am weak, the road is rough;
Too soon, too soon comes death’s dark night.
Still Time went on, and on, and on.

Time went his way, nor heeded he
That Life was weary, worn, distressed.
Life’s burdens all too heavy were;
At every dawn Time was refreshed,
With courage new went on his way.

But Life still struggled bravely on,
With patience bore his heavy load,
And though he often fell by way
Upon the weary upward road,
Time took no heed, but still went on.

Life begged, implored that Time would halt,
But Time ne’er tarried on Life’s way;
But when Life wept, with pitying hand
Time stopped to wipe the tears away,
And then went on, and on, and on.

At last Time seemed to fall behind--
Then Life with joy increased his pace.
Time laughed with almost fiendish glee,
He knew that Life would lose the race,
While he would still go on, and on.

Poor Life gave up the fight at last,
He laid his burdens down and died.
But still with agonizing voice
With his last breath to Time he cried.
Time took no heed, but still went on.

O DEATH WHERE IS THY STING?

The world will still go on its course
When we have passed away.
Not e’en one ripple on Life’s waves
There’ll be for e’en one day.

How vain and fleeting is all life,
’Tis but a little breath.
’Tis but a smile, and then a tear,
And then to us comes death.

We have high hopes at life’s bright morn,
Alas! they fade by noon.
They fade, they wither, fall to earth,
And death is then a boon.

Yet over all our dead, dead hopes,
We joyfully will sing:
“O Grave where is thy victory?
O Death where is thy sting.”

THE MOTHER’S PLEA.

It is my little baby,
Now lying fast asleep.
Her brow with wrinkles furrowed.--
O angels guard and keep
My precious, precious baby.--
For her I’d gladly die
To save her life from sorrow,--
For grief is ever nigh.

* * * * *

Now ope thine eyes my baby,
And gaze thou into mine.
If thou dost love me darling,
Thine arms around me twine.
I loved thee O my baby
Before thou camst to earth.
I longed for thy dear coming,
I longed for baby’s birth.

Thou wert a gift from heaven,
And selfishly I cling
To thee my precious baby.
No sorrow dost thou bring.
Dost know that ’tis thy mother
That’s speaking to thee now?
If so, the little wrinkles
Will vanish from thy brow.

Look up to me my baby,
And put thy hands in mine.
Dost thou not know, my precious!
That for thy love I pine?
Was’t kind in me, thy mother
To give to thee earth-life?
With all of its wild turmoil,
And all of its fierce strife.

If life shouldst be a burden,
No joy in it for thee,
Will future life repay thee?
And I forgiven be?
Will heaven be compensation
For all of earthly care?
Wilt thou forgive thy mother
For all that thou must bear?

In vain is all my pleading--
Alas! it is too late,--
For thou must bear life’s burdens,
And thou must meet thy fate.--
But, angels guard, and keep thee,
This is thy mother’s prayer.
At last to heaven take thee;
To meet thy mother there.

TO A FRIEND.

O thou fair daughter of a northern clime!
To thee, dear heart, I dedicate my rhyme.
Dost know that life to thee shouldst be sublime?

Though thou hast many problems yet to face,
Thou wilt not fall, nor falter in the race.
Nor e’en the smallest thing in life debase.

“New England” blood is coursing through my veins,
No evil deed, nor thought, thy pure heart stains.
Thy life is melody,--not sad refrains.--

In brightest life, some shadows there will be.
If thou dost bear these shadows cheerfully,
The clouds will break, and sunshine come to thee.

Not having burdens of thine own to bear,
Thou must be willing others’ griefs to share,
There are enough for all, and some to spare.
If this thou doest uncomplainingly
Thou wilt be blest throughout eternity.

TIME WAITS FOR NO MAN.

O father Time one moment tarry!
I have so much, so much to do,
And death will find my work unfinished,
For every day brings something new.
O Time, dear Time, what doth it matter?
A month, a year, is naught to thee,
But hours, minutes, even seconds,
To me doth make eternity.

Much time I feel that I have squandered;
So many hours, so many years.--
The misspent time that now confronts me
Will ever cause me bitter tears.
Life is so sweet when breaks the morning,
But groweth bitter by the noon;
By night I am so worn and weary,
E’en death doth seem to me a boon.

O Time give back my happy childhood,
And I will bless thee ever, aye;
My every task with joy performing;
And not from duty will I stray.
E’en Time seemed filled with deepest pity,
But cried, “O man, it is too late
To save the years that thou hast squandered;
So I must leave thee to thy fate.”

“Farewell O man! I must not tarry;
Long years ago my work began.
In vain, in vain is all thy pleading
For Time and Tide wait not for man.”
Farewell then Time, farewell for ever;
For there is naught but death for me.
A slave I have been to thee ever,
But now, in dying, I am free.

TIDE WAITS FOR NO MAN.

O Tide, O Tide, just wait one moment,
My ship is not prepared to sail;
She must be manned with sailors trusty,
Equipped to meet the coming gale.
It turned, and looking back a moment,
In angry waves this speech began:
“I cannot listen to thy pleading,
I cannot wait for any man.”

It turned and left me at my mooring,
And seemed to mock my earnest plea:
“Too long already I have tarried
On my long journey to the sea.”
Again it turned, and looking backward,
Derisively thus spoke to me;
“Thy words to me are vain and useless,
No longer will I list to thee.”

And yet he seemed to have some pity,
With kindness spake again to me.
“O man why art thou so persistent?
My work has been mapped out for me;
Was given to me by my Creator,
In æons past my work began.
I must no longer to thee listen,
I must not wait for any man.”

“Farewell O man! Farewell forever!
Dost thou not know that I am free?”
And waving me a bright good morning,
The Tide then hastened to the sea.
Alone I stood upon Life’s landing,
The waves to me this message bore:
“Thou needst no longer by me loiter.”
They then receded from the shore.

Upon Life’s shoal I now was stranded;
Alone, forsaken evermore.
All hope had with the Tide receded,
Life’s ship was left upon the shore.

FREEDOM.

The prisoned bird doth oftimes sing
Behind its prison bars;
But sweeter far its song would be
If carolled to the stars.

Just ope his door, he flies aloft,
The hills with music ring.
Exultant notes of melody
The bird when free, will sing.

When once is gained his liberty,
Each day new joys to meet,
He looks not back to prison home,
His freedom is so sweet.

No morsel giv’n, no word of love
Will tempt him back to cage.
Though he may often lack for food,
He now hath freedom’s wage.

And so with soul, when once ’tis free,
It sings sweet notes of joy;
Loud hallelujahs will send forth,
In them is no alloy.

When once the soul escapes its bonds
To soar above the stars,
Has broken chains, and freedom gained,
It ne’er goes back to bars.

It soars aloft, a happy soul,
E’en to bright heaven’s dome.
Emancipated it is now
From narrow gilded home.

* * * * *

Then soul be free from error’s chain,
And break the bars that bind
You to your prison cell so dark;
Then freedom you will find.

No more you’ll sup on prison food,
Contented with a crumb
That falls to you from gaoler’s hand,
To truth forever dumb.

When once the soul its prison leaves,
It finds such sweet relief
In knowing that the truth it hath,
Instead of a belief.

REVERIE.

I am sitting in the gloaming,
Sipping honey from Life’s flowers;
Gathering sweetness for the future;
I will store it in Love’s bowers.

Nothing bitter will I gather
To confront me by and by.
Though dark clouds are overhanging,
Shining is the sun in sky.

All the little clouds, and shadows
I will drive from out my heart;
For I love the sunshine better,
From no sunbeam will I part.

Though the raindrops may be falling,
Though the day is dark and drear;
It will clear before Life’s evening,
And Life’s sun again appear.

A MOHAMMEDAN’S PRAYER.

Thou art Allah, God divine,
And we bow before Thy shrine.
Humbly bend to Thee in prayer.
Thou my God art everywhere.

Thou hast willed th’ stars into space,
Everywhere we see Thy face.
In sidereal spaces grand
Worlds were fashioned by Thy hand.

Thou art Maker, Ruler, King;
Of Thy praises we will sing.
Allah great, O Allah good!
By Thy side we once have stood.

We are part of Thee, O Lord,
Though we sprang from ’neath the sod.
By Thy side we still would stand,
Guided by Thy loving hand.

There couldst never heaven be
But for immortality.
Thou dost need our helping hand
Even in Thy heavenly land.

Man was fashioned from the dust,
But his soul doth in Thee trust;
And will rise to Thee at last,
Not forgetting though, its past.

Man, from ages hath come down,
And in future Thou wilt crown
Him immortal, part of Thee;
Absorbed in Love, in Deity.

NATURE’S PLAN.

I am a part of Nature’s plan,
A part of her great work;
And incomplete would be all life
Should I my duty shirk.

I am a thread in Nature’s web,
If stitch is dropped by me,
The fabric most imperfect is,
Will not accepted be.

I am a stone the builder needs,
No other stone will do;
Nor structure ever finished be
For naught will do in lieu.

For I was fitted for the place,
Was taken from the earth,
And cut to fill this vacancy,
E’en at my very birth.

There is a leaf in Nature’s book
That is reserved for me,
And I must write my name thereon,
No blank in book must be.

I am a drop in Life’s great sea.
A drop seems very small;
But drops of water, grains of sand
Are worthy of God’s call.

I am a little candle light
That throws its beams--not far,
Yet lighting up the space around
E’en as a little star.

I may be but a common weed,
But weeds, in time, are flowers,
And are a part of Nature’s plan
To beautify God’s bowers.

THE SUNBEAM’S WOOING.

A fickle sunbeam fell in love
With a little flower;
He scattered sunshine in her path,
And tarried in her bower.

The little flower returned his love,
Her heart was filled with pride
To be the chosen flower of love;
To be the sun-god’s bride.

For bridal robe on wedding day
She chose her richest gown,
And donned a veil of sunshine bright,
And dew-drops for her crown.

Then up the aisle of sunbeams swept,
A queen of beauty she.
The sunbeam never brighter was.
In gorgeous dress was he.

Most proud he was of his fair bride,
So beautiful, and pure;
And thought, as he had found his mate,
His love would aye endure.

But sunbeams are not always true.
In glancing round one day,
He saw another little flower,
And by her wished to stay.

His chosen bride deprived of love,
Soon faded, withered, died.
A poor forsaken flower of earth
For love now vainly cried.

Alas for her! His love had cooled;
He hid behind a cloud.
He hid his face from his first love
Her bridal veil was shroud.

THE PROGRESSION OF THE ROSE.

The rose, when born, was purest white,
And of her beauty never thought.
The sun began to smile on her,
Then a great change in her was wrought.

The sun looked down admiringly.
She of her beauty ’gan to think;
Some one in passing, gave her praise,
And she then blushed a rosy pink.

The moss-rose next sprang into life,
With beauty rare, and fragrance sweet.
So modest was this little rose,
The public gaze she feared to meet.

She was so timid, and so shy,
She hid her face in veil of green;
It was a crown of beauty rare,
More beautiful had never queen.

She longed though for companionship.
She wished full oft to tell her woes.
So chose a mate among the flowers,
And then became a bridal rose.

She now ambitious was to rise,
And with disdain looked on the earth;
She then sent many tendrils out,
And then the climbing rose had birth.

She now was filled with greatest pride,
And struggled hard to reach the skies,
But Nature sent her edict forth
That she no higher e’er should rise.

The rose with anger now was filled,
For glancing down upon her bed,
She saw a worm coiled ’mong her roots,
And then she turned an angry red.

And now was born the bright red rose,
And though its beauty came from hate.
No one disputes its right to reign
A royal queen in regal state.

ALL LIFE HATH SOUL.

The running brook is never straight;
A pebble oft will change its course;
A tiny twig, a little sand
Is oft to it sufficient force
To send it dancing on its way
To reach its home, the sparkling sea.
So with our lives, from birth to death,
We’re struggling ever to be free.

A little word, a little thought
Will change our course, will change our way.
For life doth run in devious paths,
E’en tiny twig it must obey.
Alas! Our soul wings have been bound,
Or we would soar beyond the clouds;
And know the destiny of man,
And why a pall his life enshrouds.

We’re reaching up to even God.--
For we would know life’s meaning now;
Free from the shard that binds our thoughts,
And if with soul, God doth endow
The lower animals as we.
And if all life hath mind, hath soul?
Whatever God hath made, hath life,
And mind doth ever life control.

All living things; the trees, the flowers,
The ocean, mountain, and the sea;
The pebbles on the ocean beach,
And also grass upon the lea.--
We are as sand upon Life’s hill,
And but as grass, we live and grow,
“Tomorrow in the oven cast;”
For Death each day the grass doth mow.

IT MATTERS NOT.

What matters it what we may think,
Or what is our belief;
’Tis worthless straw thrashed o’er and o’er,
No wheat is in the sheaf.

’Tis what we _are_, ’tis what we _do_
That makes of life a song.
We may believe that black is white,
And though we are quite wrong:

It matters little to the world;
For we are as a drop
Of water in Life’s ocean broad;
Life’s tide will never stop

To see if we are in our place,
Or what we mean to do;
It comes, and goes without our help,
Would not our death e’en rue.

We are of little consequence,
Although perhaps we think
The world would be a barren waste,
If we perchance should sink

Beneath the waves of Life’s great sea.
Or on its shores be tossed.
But not a ripple would there be
E’en though our lives were lost.

The world would e’er go on the same.
Life’s tides would come and go;
Regardless of our happiness,
Regardless of our woe.

And yet we have our little place,
That little place is ours.
None other could our life work do,
Nor pluck for us Life’s flowers.

“WHAT IS MAN THAT THOU ART MINDFUL OF HIM?”