Chapter III: Part 3

Poor Folly will build a grand mansion,
And in it the wise man may live.
Poor Folly may hoard up his money,
But Wisdom will gladly it give.

Poor Folly Life’s game is aye playing,
And often the game he may win.
And Folly may build a cathedral,
And Wisdom may pray therein.

Though Folly knows how to make money,
He spends it full oft like a fool,
And Wisdom may do the same also,
But it is not always the rule.

If Folly were better than Wisdom,
’Twere foolish for us to be wise,
Perhaps though there’s folly in wisdom,
And wisdom in folly oft lies.

THE OLD OAK’S REVERIE.

I’ve stood and fought for centuries past
The storms of wind which beat,
And hurled their fury on my head,
But could not me defeat.

Though generations have passed on,
And gone to their last rest.
I’ve stood the ravages of time,
Have ever borne the test

Of summer’s heat, of winter’s cold,
And lightning’s scorching blast.
Unconquered been in nature’s fight,
As if of iron cast.

Sometimes when storms beat on my head,
I little cared for life;
I would have giv’n the battle up,
With all its fierce, fierce strife.

But then again I felt life’s love
Go coursing through my veins,
And then I felt impelled to say
I’m thankful that God reigns.

Long years ago,--I count them not,
A child on hillside stopped.
His pockets filled with acorns ripe,
And one of them he dropped.

I soon sprang up from out the earth,
With life and hope so strong.
I took my place, have kept it too
Through all these centuries long.

For many years the birds have built
Their nests beneath my boughs,
Have sung their love songs through the days,
Each day renewed their vows.

I learned their love songs I am sure,
I shared their joy and pride;
When lover brought to his old home
His sweetheart, his bird bride.

I’m lonely e’er when they depart
To fairer, warmer lands.
Impatiently await the time
When Love again demands

Their secret nesting ’mong my boughs.--
Again I’ll hear Love’s call;
Will hear their marriage vows renewed.
For Love e’en birds enthrall.

INGRATITUDE.

If we should help a friend in need
We would not have him kneel
In humble, abject gratitude;
And yet--we’d have him feel

Some little kindness in his heart,
Sometimes to it allude.
“For sharper than a serpent’s tooth”
Is base ingratitude.

We try to keep the rule laid down,
“Let not your right hand know”
What e’er your left may give, or do,
Though friend may change to foe.

Though friends ignore what we have done,
And often cause us pain,
We still will help to lift the loads,
And burdens on them lain.

“JUDGE NOT.”

Judge not of others’ lives by yours,
Unless your own is pure.
You know not what the others bear
Or what they may endure.

Temptations may have been too strong,
And they, alas! too weak
To cope with all the sins in life,
And purity aye seek.

Heredity is oft the cause;
And e’en the strongest mind
May find it hard to overcome;
For it, to sin may bind.

And yet there is a power within
To overcome all ill.
By cultivating this high power
All thought of sin we kill.

Yet “do not judge lest you be judged.”
Look deep in your own heart,
And you may find some secret sin
That of your life is part.

If you are sinless, then you may
The first stone throw at them;
If it recoils and falls on you,
Yourself you must condemn.

There are so many pitfalls deep
At every turn of road;
And all life’s paths so devious,
So heavy is life’s load

That man must carry up life’s hill,
Too oft he falls by way;
But he has strength to bear the load
If he God’s laws obey.

OUR VIRTUES ARE CARVED UPON OUR TOMBSTONES.

In attic bare and dreary,
With fingers blue with cold,
A man sat writing, writing,
For pittance small of gold.

His limbs were cramped, and trembling,
The light was low and dim.
For hours he had been writing,
And Hunger sat by him;

Sat even at his elbow
With taunting words of fame,
With promises alluring
That he would make a name.--

* * * * *

The morning light was breaking,
Still empty was his cot.
He seemed to be still writing.--
He had the world forgot.

* * * * *

In grave-yard he is lying,
“God’s acre” is the name.
Cold criticism killed him.
He fought too hard for fame.

* * * * *

Not colder is the grave-yard
Than was his attic bare,
When death had claimed his victim,
They found his “writings rare”

His name was now emblazoned
Upon the hearts of those
Who never did him justice,
Nor troubled at his woes.

* * * * *

Thus Fame, and Honor, Riches,
Oft come to man when dead,
Are proud to do him justice,
With _laurel_, crown his head.

HONOR, FAME, OR LOVE.

High Honor came to visit me,
And with him goddess Fame.
But Happiness deserted me
When Fame and Honor came.

I courted Honor, courted Fame,
They coldly smiled on me;
They soon became unwelcome guests,
For they caused Love to flee.

I fain would then have cast aside
The guests which I had sought.
Alas! It was too late, for they
Had then the evil wrought.

They were installed as guests of mine,
But soon I weary grew
Of their commands, of their demands,
And begged that Love renew

Dominion o’er my heart and home;
For home is drear indeed,
Though lacking nothing but sweet Love;
For Love the world doth lead.

My guests brought Jealousy one day.
Destroyer it, of peace.
When he came in, Love fled in fright,
And took with her sweet peace.

For Honor, Fame, and Love, can ne’er
In peace together dwell.
When Jealousy once joins the throng,
It is Love’s funeral knell.

When Love within our household reigns
Let none usurp her place.
She is the queen that e’er should rule,
And none should her abase.

COURAGE.

You will not find the bravest men
Upon the battle ground;
For in the quiet ranks of life
Great courage oft is found.

Though man may fight with brother man
In battle’s fierce array,
He may not have the courage to
Combat what others say.

If _others_ are of “higher grade”;
To gain himself a place
Upon the social rung of life,
He may their views embrace.

If e’er the time shall come to you
When you will shrink with fear,
And do not dare defend your views,
Though they to you are dear

Let not your courage fail you then.--
Be sure that you are _right_,
Then never swerve from _truth_ one point,
And for the truth e’en fight.

Though courage needed is in life,
And should of life be part,
Perverted it should never be,
Nor rule a loving heart.

“The race is not aye for the swift,
Nor battle, for the strong.”
Have courage to uphold the right.
And to denounce the wrong.

PERSEVERE.

Starting out to fight Life’s battles,
Persevere, persevere.
Though at first you may be worsted,
Persevere.

Though Life’s road be rough, and thorny,
Persevere, persevere.
Never falter by the wayside;
Persevere.

Though your burdens may be heavy,
Persevere, persevere.
Never drop them by the roadside;
Persevere.

Your ideal should be high heaven.
Persevere, persevere.
By perseverance you will gain it.
Persevere.

In this world, if seeking pleasure,
You will find, alas! but tears.
But in doing every duty,
Persevere.

E’en though hard may be the battle
For the right, for the right.
You must stand e’er by your colors.
Persevere.

Your companion must be Valor,
On your banner, Truth.
Perseverance be your pass-word.
Persevere.

If you’ve won in Life’s hard conflict;
You must still persevere.
For another life awaits you.
Persevere.

SPEAK BUT KIND WORDS.

Speak but kind words to those you love,
For there may come a day
When what you’ve said, and what you’ve done
E’er more will with you stay.

If you have unkind words to say,
O say them to the dead;
The dead cannot by them be grieved,
Their hearts not filled with dread.

Nor filled with fear and hopelessness.--
And you will not regret
That you have caused unhappiness.
For you can ne’er forget

That you have caused a loved one grief,
Your words have given pain.
You never can forgive yourself,
And _Love_ you may have slain.

A word seems but a little thing,
But it may break a heart,
Though thought is but a vapor light,
It causes many a smart.

It is the little pin pricks sharp
That are so hard to bear.
We are prepared for troubles great,
And only have our share.

Then speak kind words to those you love,
It is not hard to do.
Just keep a guard o’er thoughts, and tongue,
Then you’ll have naught to rue.

When death shall come to those we love,
If we have caused them pain,
Repentance then will be too late,
Regrets will then be vain.

VAGARY.

Vagary is stalking all over the land,
His home is a hut, or a palace most grand.
Whatever his folly, no matter how wild,
Some one will accept it, by it, be beguiled.

Vagary once built a “Home” on a hill,
And hoped that his dupes his coffers would fill.
This “Home” was a refuge for those in distress,
And, judging by numbers, it was a success.

He promised a cure for each ache, and each ill.
With lame, halt, and blind, the “Home” did soon fill.
Vagary was doctor, vagary was nurse,
And if at the door stood ever a hearse,

No comment was made, and it soon disappeared.
Respect had Vagary, and no one e’er sneered.
Vagary was doctor, and if patient he killed
No one made remark, and the place was soon filled.

Vagary discovered an underground mine
Called “Bonnevinterre” a lake of pure wine.
“Like sheep to the slaughter,” the people all rushed,
The mine proved a myth, and their hopes were all crushed.

Vagary then started a charity scheme,
To write all the bylaws took a full ream
Of “Fool’s Cap” commercial; for written thereon
Were benefits gained, and dividends won.

“O help the poor widows and orphans” he cried,
And money flowed in on every side.
Vagary was treasurer, and bookkeeper too,
Received all the dividends when they were due.

The widows got little, the orphans still less,
He ever was talking of their great distress.
Vagary grew richer, and richer each day,
For charity well managed, ever will pay.

He next discovered a marvelous light,
Compared to it, e’en the sun was as night.
Directly all other lights became dim,
As usual, the money poured in unto him.

He now with the highest magnates took rank,
For money he had in every bank.
But magnates, like others, sometime must die,
And in the same earth with poverty lie.

Vagary grew ill, and gave up the ghost,
But with his last breath he still made the boast
That every ill on earth he could cure.
And even though dying, did many allure.

THE HOME BEAUTIFUL.

’Tis not a palace built of marble,
’Tis not a mansion made of stone,
’Tis not a hostelry of splendor,
Nor a seat upon a throne.

It _may_ be but a humble cottage
With loving welcome at the door,
With sunshine peeping in at window,
And lighting up the naked floor.

It _may_ be but a tent by brookside,
But air is pure, and water sweet.
The tent is home of rarest splendor,
If Love, by brookside, doth you greet.

’Tis love that gives to home its beauty,
It is not honor, riches, fame.
For Love will light up every corner,
In home of beauty is Love’s name.

THE BEATITUDES.

Once Honesty and Faith combined
To find for each a mate.
They searched for Love all in vain,
They only found fierce Hate.

Forever Love eluded them;
For Love is hard to win.
They gave up Love, and searched for Faith,
For Faith, to Love is kin.

When Faith and Honesty are wed,
If Love will place her seal,
Confirmed is then the marriage vow,
From it there’s no appeal

When Love, and Truth, and Honesty,
In wedded life is found;
When Faith shall be their handmaid pure,
The four together bound;

There will be Peace and Harmony,
For Love has found her nest.
Now Happiness will join the throng,
And Love be now at rest.

It is too seldom that is found,
Them all combined in one,
There could be Faith, Truth, Honesty,
And yet sweet Love not won.

But if together all shall dwell,
A heaven on earth is home,
No discord ever will there be,
It is as heaven’s dome.

BURY THE PAST.

Do we ever think that others
May have griefs as well as we?
Can we bear our own griefs better?
If we know we’ll sometime be
Free from trials, free from troubles,
In the happy by and by,
And our burdens, although heavy,
In a grave will sometime lie.

We should be prepared for trouble;
We should be prepared for care.
For we know not of the morrow,
Nor what trials we must bear.
When today has passed beyond us
It is gone forever, aye,
And today should then be buried
In the grave of yesterday.

Though today we are in bondage,
We tomorrow may be free
From the yesterdays of sorrow;
E’en look back on them with glee.
Then the dead, dead past we’ll bury
In a shroud, and then forget
All the past that was unhappy
O’er that past we will not fret.

We can happy be, though burdens
May be hard for us to bear,
Happy be, and e’en contented,
Though we have much grief and care.
If we know that the tomorrows
Will to us bring sweet relief.
All the yesterdays we’ll bury,
And will shed no tears of grief.

TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTH-DAY.

Thy years are pearls strung on Life’s chain.
Not counted they by days, nor years.
But numbered by the good thou’st done;
And friend thou needest have no fears
That pearls have ever tarnished been;
Thou’st kept them bright by good thou’st done.
For thou hast many burdens borne,
And thou hast many vict’ries won
In Life’s hard battles for the right.
Thou oft hast had temptations strong,
But thou hast ever conquered them,
And thou hast overcome all wrong.

Congratulations I give thee,
On this, thy happy natal day,
And this shall be my earnest prayer,
That pearls of love be thine alway.

HAVE IDEALS.

My ideals are the highest,
Though my feet rest on the sod.
I aspire e’en to high heaven,
Even to the “throne of God.”

And I think it is much better
That we soar above the stars,
Than to grovel in the low-lands,
Or behind a prison’s bars.

Though ourselves have built the prison
That confines our souls therein;
We must ever live in darkness
Till we break the bars within,

And escape into God’s sunshine,
To the sunshine of the soul;
And live up to our ideals,
And take heaven as our goal.

SELFISHNESS.

We really do not understand
That which within us lies.
We think that we have conquered self,
And then there will arise
Some serious point within our hearts;
Some question there will be--
Some preconceived idea of self;
It vital seems to be.

We must begin all o’er again.
For self must conquered be.
We must accept the “Golden Rule”,
From selfishness be free.
Deep in the gardens of our hearts
We’ve sowed broadcast the seeds
Of selfishness; they’ve taken root,
Producing noxious weeds.

In time, by watchfulness and care
We may exterminate
Each selfish thought within our hearts,
And love accumulate.
We e’en are selfish in our love,
And selfish in our hate;
For Self doth rule with selfish hand,
E’er sits within our gate.

The ego is e’er uppermost;
We ever look within.
Self magnifies what good there is,
But overlooks the sin.
She sits upon the highest throne,
And on the lowest stool.
Self governs every act in life;
For self doth ever rule.

And Self is “mightier than the sword.”
If given once control
She conquers all there is of us
In mind, in heart, in soul.
Then let us bury selfishness
In grave with selfish deeds.
Erect a monument to Love
From stones cut from good deeds.

LIFE IS NOTHING WITHOUT LOVE.

Though of down may be your pillow,
And most sumptuous be your bed,
All your dreams will be unhappy,
Unless Love sits at your head.

Though your table may be loaded,
With rich viands e’er be spread;
All will be most flat and tasteless,
Unless Love shall break the bread.

Though you travel o’er creation,
Have all things that you demand;
Nothing meets your expectation,
Unless Love does by you stand.

Though you dwell in gorgeous palace,
Even though you may be king.
All is vanity, and joyless,
If sweet Love is on the wing.

THE CENTURY FLOWER.

What wakened thee from thy long sleep?
Who told thee when to bloom?
A century seems a long, long time
For thee to lie in gloom.

How didst thou know when to arise?
And thy new garment don;
Thou mightst have slept thy life away
Whilst time was going on.

Was there a power within thy soul?
A wish within thy heart?
To soar above all other flowers,
And with the birds take part

In singing songs of grateful joy
That thou hast waked from sleep,
That thou again dost see the light,
Hast risen from the deep;

The grave where thou so long hast lain.
To raise thy head on high,
And looking up to Deity
Once more; then droop and die.

Alas! Thy days are all too short
For thy long dreamless sleep.
When thou dost wake again to life,
Wilt thou awake to weep?

If thou rememberest aught of past,
Thou mayst perhaps regret
The flowers, and trees, now dead and gone,
And for them mourn e’en yet.

A generation will have passed;
A new one thou wilt greet;
All will be strangers unto thee,
No friend of past thou’lt meet.

LIFE’S MUSIC.

Though life may seem a symphony,
It is a sad, sad song.
Its music is a funeral dirge,
And weary are the throng
Who march to a weird threnody
Life’s long, and gloomy day,
The road made rough by all the ills
That meet us on our way.

The road, though long and devious
Hath guide posts on its way.
Though there are many sharp, sharp turns,
If guide posts we obey,
We safely reach our journey’s end,
And rest beneath the shade
Of Love’s own tree, whose buds, and flowers
Of hope will never fade.

Disheartened though we often are
Upon the uphill road.
If hope within our hearts is strong
’Twill lighten every load;
The saddest song be turned to joy,
Sweet music fill the soul.
Triumphant will our life march be
Until we reach our goal.

The final song we then shall sing.
Life’s measure be complete.
No minor chord shall lower life’s song,
Nor sound for us defeat.
The meter of our lives shall be
Exultant melody.
No sad refrain shall e’er be sung,
Nor doleful threnody.

LOVE’S GARDEN.

Sow the seeds of loving kindness,
And then gather flowers of joy.
Cultivate e’er peace and gladness,
Life will then have no alloy.

Pluck the weeds that e’er are growing
In the garden of the heart.
Train up all Love’s little tendrils
They are of life the sweetest part.

Prune the trees that bear but discord,
And then graft sweet peace thereon.
Ever help those who have trouble,
Pointing out to them Love’s morn.

In Love’s garden, if the shadow
Of the Cyprus hides Love’s way.
Plant the asphodel; its brightness
Will burst forth, and light Love’s day.

Clear Love’s garden of its wormwood,
And plant heartsease there instead.
’Tis not fitting that aught bitter
Should e’er grow where Love has led.

In all gardens are not roses,--
But rank weeds grow everywhere,
And it may be God’s intention
That the weeds should be your care.

There are many hearts now aching
For a loving word from you.
In their hearts is bitter wormwood,
In their gardens grow the rue.

You should plant for them sweet roses,
Give Love’s sunshine ever, aye.
From their hearts take all the darkness,
In its place put Love’s bright ray.

THE LAST PORT.

My ship of life has left its moorings
To sail upon an unknown sea.
Though ship is staunch, and ne’er has failed me,
Life’s bearings are unknown to me.

I have no chart, I have no compass,
But my life’s voyage must be made,
When once life’s ship on way has started,
The laws of life must be obeyed.

Each day the log must be well written;
Be kept with truthfulness, and care.
In it must be not one false entry,
For close inspection it must bear.

With courage I will start on voyage,
For God will guide me o’er the bar,
Lest I be dashed upon the breakers.
The Port of Death is not so far.

I must go on though storms assail me,
This voyage means so much to me.
No other refuge can I enter,
I sail for _Port Eternity_.

Without a chart, without a compass,
The star of _Hope_ shall be my guide,
And I shall have no fear of shipwreck,
For all Life’s storms I shall outride.

My ship is making its last voyage,
’Tis well I chose dear _Hope’s_ bright star,
To guide me to my heavenly harbor
With God to help me o’er the bar.

My ship will safely reach its landing,
And God will meet me at death’s bar;
Will not forsake me at Life’s ending.
Thank God for _Hope_, my guiding star.

CANST TELL ME?

Canst thou tell me dear friend of the other side?
Of thy beautiful home over there.
Dost thou love us the same as when here on earth?
Canst thou help us our burdens to bear?

And is heaven the same thou once thought it was?
Hast thou met thy dear friends gone before?
Wouldst thou wish to come back to this earth again?
To again live thy life as of yore?

All its pains and its griefs to take up again,
Were earth’s joys compensation for woes?
Art thou glad that thou’st lived, and loved, and e’en died?
Canst thou now upon others bestow

The sweet peace that is thine, the love of thy soul?
Canst thou teach us to live, and to die?
Canst thou meet us, and guide us to heaven above,
Solve the problems that in us e’er lie?

* * * * *

I’ve lived my life, thou must live thine.
In thine own soul life’s problems lie.
I cannot teach thee how to live,
I cannot teach thee how to die.

Take up thy burdens, and thy cares.
With patience bear thy every grief.
Thy back is fitted for each cross,
Death is surcease, and brings relief.

Though I have passed from earth away,
I still do feel what thou must bear.
But knowing what thy crosses are,
I say, be brave, thy crosses bear.

Do what thou canst for others’ weal,
Do what thou canst to conquer sin.
Then leave the rest in hands of God.
With pitying love he looks within,

And sees the burdens thou must bear.
He knows how weak, and sore distressed
His earthly children ever are.
But in His love they’re more than blessed.

Have courage, patience, pity, love,
Have charity for all who sin.
Thou need’st not look abroad for faults,
To find them, friend, O look within.

THE SOUL SEEKING FOR PERFECTION.

One day my soul a journey went;
It traveled East, it traveled West,
It searched in vain one soul to find
That able was to bear the test
Of perfect living, perfect love;
E’en in the best it found some flaw;
Some lack of truth, some selfishness;
Not _one_ had kept the “Perfect Law”.

Discouraged, weary, sore distressed;
It gladly turned again to home.
It thought perfection there to find,--
No farther it would have to roam.
Alas! Though once more snugly housed,
Perfection was not found therein.
Contented it could never be;
For e’en at home it found much sin,
O Soul! Though you have found much sin;
You’ve also found much that was good.
Temptations overcome by man,--
Known many ills he has withstood.

Perfection is not found on earth--
If it were so, no one would know
The joy of helping man to bear
Up under all the grief and woe
That is the heritage of life;
Bequeathed to man before his birth.
Be not discouraged then, O Soul,
Expect to find much sin on earth.

LIFE’S THOUGHTLESSNESS.

With careless feet we trample down
Love’s sweetest flowers oftimes.
Life’s music has so many sharps,
Discordant are Love’s rhymes.

With selfish hands we ever grasp
At what we think is best.
Unmindful we of others’ needs
Or what is their behest.

The thoughtless words we oftimes speak
Recalled can never be.
The heedless censure of a friend
Can ne’er forgotten be.

The unjust judgment which we give
May wean from us a friend.
Impatient words are daggers sharp
That will Love’s heart aye rend.

With selfish greed we grasp life’s joys;
No care for others’ woes.
The world is welcome to the thorns,
If we can keep the rose.

If our own ship outrides the gale,
Life’s bar we’ve safely crossed--
All other ships may be engulfed;
Or on rough waves be tossed.

Our careless words may pierce some heart,
And cause it deepest pain--
Awakening memories of the past
Which long in grave have lain.

’Tis ever so in life I fear.
Love’s flowers neglected are.
The weeds will thrive where flowers die,
And thus Love’s garden mar.

THE FLOWER’S PRAYER FOR IMMORTALITY.

The fragrance of th’ dying flower
Ascends ’e’en unto God;
Returning to its Maker
From birthplace ’neath the sod.

Its soul goes forth in anthems;
In songs of praise to Him
Who gave to it existence,--
And, dying, sings a hymn

Of thanks, and of rejoicing
To God for its short life,
Which e’er hath been a symphony,
With naught of care, nor strife.

Its God hath given it sunshine,
Its God hath given it food.
Bequeathed to it the dewdrops,
He hath pronounced it good.

It longs to soar to heaven,
So breathes its fragrance rare
To God, as invocation.
To Him sends forth this prayer:

* * * * *

O God accept my perfume,
’Tis all I have to give.--
O I would be immortal:
I would forever live,
The flower Thou hast created,
Wouldst live forever, aye.--
What use would be its fragrance?
If lost ’mid shadows gray.--
I claim of Thee my birthright,
My fragrance is my soul.
Though earth hath been my birthplace,
High heaven is my goal.
Take back what Thou hast given,
’Tis fit for heavenly bower;
Accept it O my Maker,
This incense of a flower.

E’en in my earthly prison,
When I was but a seed,
Thou spakest words so loving.
That upward they didst lead
My soul from out its darkness
Into thy glorious light.
It burst the bars of prison,
Became a flower bright.
To Thee I gave my fragrance--
I breathed to Thee a prayer,
A prayer of adoration
That sensed is everywhere.
All life, however lowly,
Is one, and part with Thee--
By Thee it was created,
And claims eternity.

LOVE’S OFFERING.

I have no rare jewels to give thee,
No diamonds, no pearls; and of gold
But one little circlet, as emblem
That love will thee ever enfold.

Thy home will be only a cottage,
And even the floors may be bare.
The furnishings be the most simple,
And frugal be also the fare.

The cottage will be by the brookside,
By willows so shady and cool.
Thy beauty will be e’er reflected
In mirror that is but a pool.

Thou wilt not be decked in fine linen;
E’en cotton may be all thy gowns.
But, love-words will e’er be my greeting,
And kisses take place of dark frowns.

My love is the most I can offer--
Will love cover up a bare floor?
Or will it fly out of the window,
If poverty enters at door?

I know that thy beauty would honor
A palace, instead of a cot.
That silks should be e’er thy adorning,
But happiness ne’er can be _bought_.

In palace there _can_ be much sorrow,
’Neath jewels may be broken heart.--
Though clothed in the finest apparel,
All naked the wound, and the smart

That comes from a troth that is broken;
That comes from a love that is cold.
’Thout love, e’en a palace is dreary,
Though furnished with jewels, and gold.

Then, darling, take what I can offer--
My heart filled with love, and my home
A nest for my birdling, my sweetheart,
And never from thee will I roam.

LOVE’S ACCEPTANCE.

Love’s jewels are better than baubles.--
A palace may not be a _home_;
Unhappiness dwelling within it
Though jeweled from throne-room to dome

Love’s jewels are all that I ask for;
True love is more precious than gold,
I wish not for palace, nor mansion
Thine arms shall me ever enfold.

A sip from Love’s brook is far better
Than wine from a gold jeweled cup.
’Tis poison in chalice, if Hatred
Sits with us at table to sup.

The mirror I crave is the love-light
That beams in thine eyes, and thy face,
And, cottage when furnished with love-deeds;
Of poverty shows not a trace.

Love ever looks upward, not downward,
Will therefore not think of bare floor;
And will not fly out of the window,
Though Poverty enters at door.

My gowns may be cotton, or linen;
It matters but little to me.--
My beauty is not of much value,
Unless it is pleasing to thee.

The nest thou hast built by the brookside,
Is better, far better for me
Than mansion, or palace, or castle;
No shadow within shall there be.

But echoing songs of thy “birdling”
Shall fill every corner, and nook.
The willows shall be sylvan bowers;
And fountain of love shall be brook.

AUTUMN LEAVES.

I now have culled from out Life’s forest
These Autumn Leaves which I shall send you
They have been pressed into service
For my little book.

Perhaps if you the leaves had chosen,
You would have culled more brilliant colors,
And pressed them better too.

By careful searching you may find one
That pleases you by word, or measure,
And _cherished_ e’en will be.

I hope that you will take some pleasure
In reading book, and conning measure.
But _kindly_ criticise.

I give my leaves into your keeping,
I hope with love you will receive them,
These offsprings of my heart.

FINALE.

My “Autumn Leaves” are gathered,
And now they must be pressed.
I hope they will give pleasure,
And hearts by them be blessed.

Transcriber Notes

In a few cases, obvious errors in punctuation have been fixed.

In the table of contents, “Our Virtues Are Carved Upon One Tombstones” changed to “Our Virtues Are Carved Upon Our Tombstones”. “Can’st Tell Me” changed to “Canst Tell Me”. “To A Friend On Her Birthday” changed to “To A Friend On Her Birth-day” “Yesterday changed to Yesterdays”

Page 32: A missing quote was added after “Are governed by His will.”

Page 54: A missing quote was added before “A monarch I will”

Page 60: “Eor her I’d gladly die” changed to “For her I’d gladly die”

Page 67: “They then receeded from the shore.” changed to “They then receded from the shore.”

Page 162: “Sharper than a sepent’s tooth is,” changed to “Sharper than a serpent’s tooth is,”

Page 201: In tears of grief the original version had the f printed upside down

Page 207: “LIFF IS NOTHING WITHOUT LOVE.” changed to “LIFE IS NOTHING WITHOUT LOVE.”

Page 217: “Dealh is surcease” changed to “Death is surcease”. “thy erosses bear” changed to “thy crosses bear”

Page 230: “These Antumn Leaves” changed to “These Autumn Leaves”