Chapter II: Part 2

Adown the years they come, like fleeting dreams,—
No sound disturbs the hush of daylight fair,
Save song of bird, or many murmuring streams,
Like sweetest music filling all the air.

Near, and yet nearer, till each sunlight ray
Reveals no shadows, as they onward glide,
But two young friends, upon life’s unknown way,
Eager to journey o’er a path untried.

Youth knows no fear; the day is near at hand
And Mother Earth breathes forth a welcome sweet;
Thus do they wander o’er the sun-lit land
Until they come to where the two paths meet.

They pause a moment, in their eager flight,
Uncertain which to take upon the way;
But choose the path now filled with morning light
Where flowers bloom and gentle zephyrs play.

Now Pleasure points the way to paths unknown,
The prospect brightens, as new scenes appear;—
The world invites them,—they are not alone,
But join a moving throng, who know no fear.

To one, a still voice comes,—a breath, a prayer,
Breathed by a brother, in life’s changing day;
And, gazing up, he leaves the valley fair
To seek that other path,—the surer way.

He climbs the height; the vale beneath him lies,
And angels guide his faltering steps aright;
To gain the summit manfully he tries,—
Above he sees the day’s eternal light;

But looking downward, to the valley fair,
Where, in youth’s morn, his weary feet have trod,
He sees his fellow traveler lingering there
And, in his strength, he leads him up to God.

Happy is he who finds the heavenly way
And lends to doubting souls a helping hand;
God’s light directs him, step by step, each day,—
God’s glory waits him in the Promised Land.

STEADFASTNESS.

We never know what we can do,
Until we try;
He who accomplishes the least,
Stands idly by;
While he who makes the most of life,
Keeps plodding on,
And earns at least his perfect rest
When strength is gone.

We never know what we can do,
Until we dare;
He who would gain the victor’s place,
Must not despair;
For tho’ life’s burdens seem too great,
The way too long,
He will succeed who conquers doubt
By prayer and song.

VOLUME ONE.

How beautiful is youth that grandly gleams
With bright illusions and aspiring dreams!
Book of beginnings, such as Fiction paints,
With model heroines and hero saints.

Each precious page with expectation teems,
Filling the mind as rain-drops fill the streams;
Sweet and refreshing as the summer shower
And adding charms to every passing hour.

Each coming chapter with a new hope beams,
But how ’twill end the wisest little dreams;
And when, at last, the book of Youth is done
A less romantic sequel is begun.

HAPPINESS-KILLERS.

We are crossing little bridges
That we never reach at all;
We are climbing mighty mountains
That are not upon our way;
We are looking for a twilight
While the morning sunbeams fall,
And the troubled thoughts of future
Take the gladness from to-day.

We are losing Nature’s glories,
Which are meant for us to see;
We are finding weeds and grasses
Where the pretty flowers grow;
We are looking for the storm clouds
Which perchance may never be,
And we quite forget the sunshine
Which to-day is ours below.

We are filling life’s brief season
Full of worry and regret,
And the thoughts of past and future
Rob the present of its best;
And the happiness of others
We perchance do oft forget.
Past regret and future worry
Banish peace and conquer rest.

Life is ours! The day is passing,
And the Present is our all;
Past has gone, and future cometh
In the moments one by one.
If to-day we do our duty,
Love the Saviour, hear His call,
Earth will bless and Heaven receive us,
And His words will be: “Well done.”

RECOMPENSE.

Not he who sins, but he who does God’s will
Finds, in life’s cup, some added sorrows still;
Not he who soars to heights of rank and fame,
But he who climbs, is he who bears Christ’s name;
Not he who wins, but he who daily tries
Shall best deserve the joys of Paradise.

WHY?

Why do I love thee and how do I know
That thou art the dearest of all to me?
Why do the moments, wherever I go,
Seem brighter and better because of thee?

Why, mid the work of the long, weary day,
Are burdens of life more easy to bear?
Why pause I so often, upon life’s way,
To ask God’s blessing for thee in prayer?

Why does my soul, once so tempted and sad,
Awaken to thoughts both noble and pure?
Why does the loving thee make my heart glad,—
God seem the nearer and Heaven the more sure?

Why, in my dreaming, thy voice do I hear,
Thy face do I see, and feel thy caress?
Why, dreaming or waking, seemeth thou near,
To soothe, to comfort, to help and to bless?

I pass others by, in the crowded street,
Whose faces, it may be, are fair as thine,
Yet thine, thine only, to me is most sweet,—
Thou only canst waken this love of mine.

Another’s low word and sweet, winning smile,
Tho’ sought by many, when given to me
I dare to confess can charm for awhile,
But love meaneth more and I love but thee.

I hear other voices, see other smiles,
But hearing and seeing bringeth unrest;
Laughter and music the evening beguiles,—
Thy voice and thy smile for me are the best.

Why do I love thee? Ask God why he gave
To thee, and thee only, that power divine
My heart to touch and my soul to save,
And then I can answer why thou art mine.

Why do I love thee? Ask God to reveal
Why He hath made thee so unlike the rest;—
True and unselfish, perchance thou mayest feel
That I have good reason for loving thee best.

Art thou the dearest one? Love can but show
That thou art the dearest, ideal of mine;
Knowing, I love thee; and loving, I know;
To know and to love are the gifts divine.

CLASS ODE,—1885.

We sail far out to sunset’s light beyond,
On Life’s most restless and most fitful deep;
Where tempests rage and storms do oft abound,
And waves and billows care not long to sleep.
In Ocean’s lap most priceless pearls we’ve found,
And gathered them as onward we have passed;
We deemed the work but pleasure and reward,
Rare treasures that in years to come would last.

Life’s dark blue waters cannot be recrossed
O’er which we passed so joyfully each day;
For youth and pleasure can not always last,
And Duty bids us hasten on our way.
We know that here our voyage together ends
And each alone must earn his own reward;
But through the storms and sunny days alike
We shall be guided by the hand of God.

To-day we all must bid a fond farewell;
We know henceforth our lives apart must be,
Until we cross the deep that lies before,
To be no longer tossed on life’s rough sea.
And when beyond the ever-changing waves
We anchor on that shining Heavenly shore,
May we, who linger now to say: “Farewell,”
United stand to part again no more.

TWO SIDES.

The clouds that float above
Each have two separate sides,—
One toward the earth below,
The other toward the sun;
And when we see our lives,
Which God in goodness guides,
Upon the darker side
He sees the brighter one.

Some day we shall behold
The side that He can see,
And we shall praise His name
For blessings that are ours;
Till clouds shall all disperse,
And life shall grander be,—
Refreshed like mother earth
When sunshine follows showers.

THE CHANGING CURRENT.

A river runs upon its way
Thro’ fertile fields and meadows gay;—
Among the sweetly-scented bowers,
And where the sunlight soothes the flowers.
It dances merrily along
And sings sweet Solitude a song;
But ere it meets the distant shore,
Its current changes more and more;
The stones that in its course now lie
It must rush over or pass by;
And while it meets them one by one
Dark clouds obscure the shining sun;
The sparkling waters lose their charm,
No more to frolic free from harm;
For threatening storm has come at last,—
The river rushes madly past
Thro’ cities and thro’ distant towns,
As tho’ it would escape its bounds;
But storm will cease and mists will clear
Till hidden sun shall reappear,
And that same river, calm and free,
Shall flow in fullness to the sea.
Thus runs the current of my life
Thro’ sun and shade, in calm and strife;
At first among the flowers gay
It sparkles freely on its way;
But while it sings its happy song,
And glides so peacefully along,
The obstacles and clouds appear
To hinder and deprive of cheer.
When all the barriers have been passed,
And threatening storms have ceased at last,
My life, more full, and calm, and free,
Shall end it’s course beyond the Sea.

SLEEP.

When sunset light has faded from our sight,
And darkness comes to tell us of the night,
We sleep, refreshed from earthly care and sorrow,
To waken to another hopeful morrow.

When sun and stars shall no more please our sight,
And darkness comes to tell us of the night,
We sleep, unmindful of earth’s joy and sorrow,
To waken to a never-ending morrow.

LIFE’S DAY.

When the morn has breathed her story,
And the noon of life is past,
When the sunset’s deepening glory
Fills the waiting soul at last;

Then, like sweetest music falling
Thro’ the splendors of the West,
We shall hear the angels calling
To a blest, eternal rest.

When the day in silence sleeping,
Shows that earthly light has fled,
When the heart has ceased it’s weeping
And the final prayer is said;

Then beyond life’s great endeavor,
In the stillness of the night,
We shall wake to live forever
And shall know God’s plans are right.

A POET.

A poet took in hand his mighty pen
To move the hearts of lyric-loving men.
He wrote of prayer, not knowing how to pray;
He wrote of Heaven, not having found the way;
He wrote of fame, not having reached the goal
Where fame’s great treasure thrills the seeking soul;
He wrote of Art, and then of Nature sweet,
While Nature’s flowers were crushed beneath his feet;
He wrote of life, and human love below,
The power of which he did not, could not know.
At last, grown weary of his every theme,
A thought aroused him from his restless dream;
He seized his pen,—the inspiration grew
To tell of things he really felt and knew:
He wrote of “mother” and his “childhood days;”
Then high and low began to sing his praise.

THANKSGIVING.

Not because Thou givest me
Life from care and sorrow free
Do I thank Thee, Lord, to-day;
But because in life’s dark hour,
Thou hast given peace and power
To sustain me on the way.

Not for gift of wealth or fame
Do I praise Thy kingly name
Kneeling now with grateful heart;
But for home, for friends, and health,—
Greater gifts than fame or wealth,
Blessings of my life a part.

Not because the earth is bright
With a wealth of joy and light
Do I thank Thee, Lord Divine;
But because in Home above
Life eternal speaks Thy love
And the hope of Heaven is mine.

MUSINGS.

Upon the shining sands a man once strolled;
And, looking out across the silvery sea,
He saw the waste of waters, blue and cold,
Where restless waves were climbing high and free.

He paused awhile to watch the changing tide;
But, tiring of the noise and sunlight’s glare,
He sought a hidden path, and turned aside,
Where sweet wild roses scent the balmy air.

Then, growing weary as the morning passed,
He filled his hands with blossoms that he found,
And threw himself beneath an oak at last,
Whose brawny branches brushed the grassy ground.

He bared his head; and lying ’neath the tree,
Arranging wealth of roses in his hands,
He thought that, ’bove the branches, he could see
The same blue ocean rolling to the sands.

His mind to rose thoughts turned in dreamy way,—
From untrained blossoms, blooming in the bowers,
Whose simple petals fade within a day,
Have been developed grander, sweeter flowers.

The jacqueminot and all her sisters fair,
Now clothed in colors bright and staying late,
Because of culture and a proper care
Have found a place within the garden gate.

So too with life; the untrained children we
Whose innocence shall fade within the hours,—
With thoughts, like petals, simple, pure, and free,—
And minds to be developed like the flowers.

If rightly clothed, according to God’s plan,
We soon discover, ere it is too late,
That cultivation makes the grander man
Who finds a place within the Heavenly gate.

* * * * *

The dreamer woke; his roses, once so bright,
Had drooped and faded in the heat of day;
His rose thoughts had unfolded to the light
To bless and help him all along life’s way.

SEEKING AND STRIVING.

The soul that seeks for Heavenly things,
And mounts above on tireless wings,
Shall find them by and by;
The soul that strives to conquer wrong,
And sings a happy trustful song,
Shall live and never die.

SOME DAY.

Some day, not far away,
In Heaven above,
Both you and I,
Who say the last good-bye,
Shall meet and love.

Some day, beyond life’s way
Of cares and tears,
Your soul and mine,
With Christ, the Soul divine,
Shall know no fears.

Some day, when others pray
With tear-stained eyes,
You’ll take my hand
And we shall understand
In Paradise.

Some day, when others stay
To do life’s part,
We’ll reach the goal
Each standing soul to soul,—
Not heart to heart.

Some day, when others say:—
“Their lot was sad,”
We’ll know the why;
In Heaven both you and I
Shall be more glad.

Some day, when earth is gay
On land and sea,
Beyond life’s shore
We two, who patience bore,
Shall thankful be.

Some day,—some brighter day
Than all the rest,
Both you and I
Shall say no more: “Good-bye,”
But:—“God knows best.”

THE AWAKENING.

When Earth is waking from her winter dream,
And Sunlight calls to life each sleeping stream;
When songsters shall return on joyful wings,
’Tis then the mind awakes to grander things.
Faith in our God becomes a mighty power,—
Deep rooted in the soul it grows each hour.
Hope springs to life and, like the budding rose,
Admits the light, and thus diviner grows.
Sweet Charity, the greatest of the three,
Unlocks the dormant heart with magic key,—
Then enters Joy, the ever welcomed guest,
To quiet Sorrow, and to bid her rest.
The waking Earth demands the watchful eye,
While day by day new glories round her lie.
No longer shall we sleep away the hours,
But wake to life as wake the budding flowers,—
Breathing to others, in our life’s brief day,
Fragrance and beauty as they pass our way.
No longer shall we wait for better days,
But, like the bird, sing forth His endless praise,
And in the hour new hope and pleasure bring
To those who listen but care not to sing.
No longer shall we rest and vainly dream,
But wake as wakes again the living stream,
Ever to broaden as we onward go,
Bearing to thirsting souls the joys we know.

LOVE-LETTERS.

You may burn the letters, dearie,
Tho’ they’re written from the heart
And have made the days less dreary
While we two have been apart.

You may burn each loving letter,
Tho’ the sentiment is true,
For it may be really better;—
They are meant for only you.

You may watch the glowing embers
While the ashes turn to white;
For your loyal heart remembers
Tho’ my words shall pass from sight.

You can burn Love’s secrets never
That my soul to yours confessed;
They, I know, will live forever
In the life that I love best.

So, my dearie, burn each token
That I’ve written just for you,
And accept the love unspoken
From a heart that’s ever true;

For our love-light burns out never,—
It is human and divine;
We shall live and love forever,—
I am yours and you are mine.

REGRET.

There is no time, in life, for vain regret;
The days have passed, the hours are passing yet.
Each moment wasted by regretful sigh
Will count as worthless in the by and by,
Till life itself, which God to man has given,
Will be unworthy of the peace of Heaven.
A vain regret is but an added wrong,—
It makes the past a sorrow, not a song;
It robs the present of its very best
And fills the future with a vague unrest.
The little wrongs can never be made right
By keeping them before the human sight;
Better it is to give them scanty space
By putting virtue in its proper place;
Better it is to let the whole heart sing
Than let it sigh o’er one regretted thing.

CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS.

Hear the mighty army,
Marching on the way,
With the banner lifted in the light.
See the Christian Soldiers,
In the ranks to-day,
As they battle ever for the Right.

Under Christ, the Leader,
Who commands them here,
They will stand united, one and all.
They will pledge allegiance,
They have naught to fear,
They will answer ever to His call.

In His Service Royal,
Theirs will be the fame;
They shall wear the laurels by and by.
On the Shore Eternal,
They will praise His name,
Where the soul shall never, never die.

A QUESTION.

What have you done to-day, dear heart,
For Jesus’ sake?
Did love for Him reveal the part
To undertake?

Have you been wishing to aspire
To better things?
Has your sweet soul been lifted higher
By willing wings?

Or has it fallen from a height
So far above,
That naught can make it pure and right
Except God’s love?

What have you done to-day, dear heart,—
What will you do?
Will you not wisely do the part
God gives to you?

Will you not put away the dream
That fancies fill,
And tho’ your duties humble seem
Accept God’s will?

SWEETEST MUSIC.

A little child, at an organ
In a room across the way,
While trying to learn his lesson
Awoke me from dreams to-day.

The exercises were simple
But he soon began to cry,
And I heard him say with feeling:
“’Tis really no use to try!”

Then the master, bending o’er him
As patiently as before,
Said: “Let me take your place, dear,
And I’ll show you how once more.”

Soon I hear instead of discord
A sweet, harmonious sound,
While the master’s skillful fingers
The musical keys have found.

Within the souls of the many
Are keys of ivory white,
Which will waken to sweetest music
If in tune and touched aright;

But how oft we hear a discord
When the wrong keys have been tried
And the amateur is playing
While the Master stands aside.

AT LAST.

A little stream that danced and played all day
Upon its rough and ever winding way,
Like some young child, upon his mother’s breast,
Soon neared the tide and calmed itself to rest.

A little flower that nodded here and there,
At every passing breeze, in daylight fair,
When sunset splendor lingered o’er the hill
Sent forth its fragrance and at last was still.

A little bird that built her airy nest
Nor thought in sunny hours to pause and rest,
Sang sweeter songs to cheer the passer by
When light was fading in the distant sky.

A man, who thro’ life’s day had toiled and wept,
When life was o’er lay down in peace and slept;
He, who had borne the burden of the day,
Found sunset glories flooding all his way.

Peace comes from God, and rest is sure and sweet
To those who bear life’s burden and its heat;
Sweet, starry twilight calms that manly soul
That strives by toil to reach Heaven’s distant goal.

HIS PROMISE.

Oft when the rain-drops fall,
We pray for sunlight fair;
Oft when the day is bright,
We seek the cooling shade;
Oft when the robins call,
We long for tree-tops bare;
Oft when the ground is white,
We wish that spring had stayed.

But God who ruleth all,
And keeps us in His care,
Doth plan all things aright,
Which for our good He made;
Our gifts, so poor and small,
Cannot with His compare,
And if we trust His might
His promise will not fade.

LIFE’S CRUCIBLE.

We do not cut and polish the stones
That are laid in the common wall;
We do not prune the brambles and weeds
That around our pathway fall.

We do not put into crucibles
A metal unworthy the test;
Nor do we send a man to the front
Who would not peril his best.

The vine that’s pruned bears the choicest fruit,—
Necessity grinds the dull tool;
And the keenest and best instructors
Are prepared in Affliction’s school.

Suffering gives us the richest thoughts
That to literature can belong;—
In poetry it strikes the sweetest note
And inspires the tenderest song.

Our troubles are but the inlets small
That shall lead to the human soul,
Thro’ which the Comforter comes to heal
And to strengthen us for the Goal.

The rarest of saints are afflicted
By One who doth know what is right;
And the stars shall ever shine brightest
That contend with the darkest night.

MY CHOICE.

Not the bird that soars the highest,
Nor whose plumage is the brightest,
But the bird that sings the sweetest
Is the bird I prize.
Not the flower that blooms the tallest,
Nor whose petals are the whitest,
But whose fragrance is completest
Satisfies my eyes.

Not the brook that laughs the loudest,
Nor whose waters are the purest,
But the brook that runs the fleetest
To the mill and sea.
Not the soul that soars the quickest,
But whose faith in God is surest,
And whose record is the neatest
Is the soul for me.

ENDEAVOR.

Life’s morning hour is never quite complete
If climbing upward at the break of day
We fail to show to others, whom we meet,
New glories found along the heavenly way.

If by endeavor, step by step we take,
And for another breathe a loving prayer
And lead him up to see the morning break,
We find a blessing as we journey there.

The noon of life, when sunlight floods the skies,
Is never quite so pleasing to our sight,
As when we help a fallen brother rise
And by his side direct his steps aright.

The way grows brighter as we pass along,
For not alone we seek the heights untried;
A soul is breathing us a thankful song—
The weary one is toiling by our side.

The twilight of the life God gives us here
Is never quite so filled with peace and rest
As when we journey on with naught to fear,
Tho’ sunset light is fading in the west.

The night comes not to those who look above,
For on the summit soon they all shall stand,
Who leave the vale and seek the Father’s love,
Which bids them welcome to the promised land.

Thus by endeavor—step by step each day
We climb above, where other feet have trod,
And leading others up the heavenly way
Find rest and day eternal with our God.

SERVICE.

If you love and trust the Saviour
You can find enough to do;
His good deeds and His compassion
Will be done and felt by you.

His great aims will all be cherished
If with Him you’re really one;
Can you think of Christ as idle
While so much remains undone?

His self-sacrificing spirit
Will be exercised by you;
And your faith will aid you ever
While love guides and makes it true.

Faith and love that work together
Will turn drudgery into joy;
And make every service easy
That doth trouble and annoy.

Love will show where service waits you
Tho’ it be but word or song;
Faith will prompt you how to do it
Be the service short or long.

You can never be discouraged
While the two together blend;
Joined to faith, love meets all trials
And endureth to the end.

You can leave the lower places,
And mount upward every day;
Winning character exalted
If you faithfully work and pray.

You can reach the best attainments
Doing service that you find;
And a worthier example
You can leave to all mankind.

CROWNING LIGHT.

There is a Land, beyond the gloomy sky,
That needs no earthly light for its adorning;
Where God’s own children nevermore shall die,—
A home of perfect peace and endless morning.

We cannot see the City’s shining towers,
But truths divine proclaim the wondrous story,—
On earth the cross, in Heaven the crown is ours,—
While Gates ajar reveal an inner glory.

NONCE.

To-day is here; to-morrow’s dawn
Perchance thou may’st not see;
The noon-tide of another day
May come, but not for thee.

The sun at even’-tide may glow
Upon yon mountain height,
And pause to bless the Mother Earth
Before he sinks from sight;

And yet for thee no earthly light,
No sunset glow at home,
No shadows of life’s twilight hour,—
No silent night may come.

Thou knowest not; the “brighter days”
May never come to thee;
The future is thy present time
Formed from life’s yesterday.

Thou can’st not look beyond this hour
To trace what may befall;
But now is the accepted time
To serve the Lord of all.

To-day then do the good thou canst,
And brighten home with love;
Then shall thy soul more brightly shine
In Heaven, the Home above.

Thy blessings oft are in disguise,—
What seems to be a sorrow
May be the shades of deepening night
Before a brighter morrow.

THE GOAL.

Each day we are grown older,
Years swiftly pass away;
And the world seems strangely colder,
The heart itself less gay.

The hopes that are brightly dawning,
The joys that oft are ours,
Shall vanish, in life’s fair morning,
Like dew-drops on the flowers.

Youth’s rosiest tints of splendor,
Are fading fast from sight;
And the trusting heart more tender,
In patience waits the night.

Like the athlete growing weary,
No more we run the race;
But near to the victors cheery
We seek a resting-place.

Just beyond the passing pleasure,
And thought of added years,
We can see Heaven’s greater treasure,
Which satisfies and cheers.

An eternal light is dawning,
To penetrate the gloom;
In life’s more radiant morning
Peace waits beyond the tomb.

A QUESTION ANSWERED.

What is the secret of discontent
That never for human hearts was meant,
And why the needless agitation
That tries a soul and taunts a nation?

A discontent would never be known,
An agitation would ne’er be shown,
If things that are simply prosy and real
Would correspond with the high ideal.

GRANDMOTHER.

Grandmother sits in her high-backed chair,
A snowy cap hides her soft gray hair;
And while her needles fly in and out
We wonder what her thoughts are about.
Beside the chair stands an antique bed,
With its modern draperies overhead,
While, close to the wall, and near at hand
Is the newly polished, square-topped stand.
Within its drawer lies her camphor-bag,
Some spicy cubebs and sugared flag,
Tomato cushion, of gaudy red,
A bit of wax, for her sewing-thread,
Some slippery elm, in a corner dark,
Scattered fragments of cinnamon bark,
The golden ear-knobs, and powder puff,
Near a little box of scented snuff,
A baby’s picture, with dimpled face,
And a lock of hair, in its broken case.
On its top is her bible, worn by age,
With its faded book-mark and penciled page.
The faithful clock, with its quaint, carved door,
Reaches the ceiling and meets the floor.
A chest of drawers, with handles of brass,
Stands just across from the gilt-framed glass,
And is reflected in all its pride;
While on its top, upon either side,
Whose fancy the modern mind might suit,
Stand the gypsum dishes of painted fruit.
Near an open fireplace, neatly swept,
The box of kindling-wood is kept;
While across the andirons polished bright,
A log lies ready for heat and light.
Beside the dust-pan and well-worn wing
The brass topped fire-tongs and shovel swing;
On the hearth-stone gray, ’neath the chimney high,
The useful bellows in waiting lie.
The “mantle-place” holds the candle-sticks
And silver snuffers for lighted wicks.
While, near to the match-safe, just between,
An apple filled with cloves is seen.
Grandmother rocks as she knits her sock,
To-day her thoughts are too deep for talk,—
She lives once more ’neath a cloudless sky,
And dreams again of the days gone by.
In her cherished dream she can seem to see
The dear old house as it used to be,
With its clapboards white, its blinds of green,
And the tiny window-panes between;
And lingers there for a little while,
Ere the modern workman changed its style.
She sings to her babies the old time song,
And hopes that “father” will come ere long;
She moves her chair to the waning light
To watch the glow of the sunset bright,
And looks for a few, pale evening stars
While the cows come home thro’ the pasture bars.
She lights the candles, and smoothes her hair,
And breathes for her loved ones a silent prayer;
Then goes to her work with happy heart,
Cheerfully doing the house-wife’s part;
And once again she can seem to feel
The well known move of her spinning-wheel.
As she fondly dreams of those days of yore
She hears a whisper beside her door;
Then close to her side the children creep:—
“Why, Grandma has fallen fast asleep!”
She hears one say, as they tip-toe out:
“I wonder what she’s dreaming about.”
Little they know what memories arise
When Grandmother thinks with half-closed eyes.

DILIGENCE.

He who cannot do to-morrow
Better than he does to-day
Is a creature of dishonor
And a failure all the way.

From to-day’s accomplished labor
Comes the morrow near at hand,
Just as yesterday’s completion
Brought to-day’s ambitions grand.

All the past is antiquated,—
Useful but for present guide,
And if followed makes the future
All that has been hoped and tried.

He who will not wisely labor
For the Present that is here,
Rather than prefer past pleasures
Or a future’s coming cheer;

Is, among the world’s great workers,
But a tramp, whom few can trust,
Who destroys the best of morals
Or is held in sheer disgust.

Happy hearts and willing workers
Make this earth a better place,
And receive the Father’s blessing,
When they see Him face to face.

THE BABY.

Within his little crib the baby lies;
And ’neath the lashes of his closing eyes
I catch a glimpse of summer’s bluest skies.

His tiny head, upon its pillow white,
Is crowned with curls, like sunshine fair and bright,
Half hidden now from his admirer’s sight.

His cheek, soon flushed in a refreshing sleep,
Is like the petal of a wild-rose deep,
While in and out the pretty dimples peep.

His rose-bud mouth, in such an hour as this,
Invites the pleasure of a loving kiss,
Which even strangers could not take amiss.

His tiny teeth are like the precious pearls
And, when his lip in childish laughter curls,
They shine, as perfect as a baby girl’s.

His shapely ears, like sea-shells pink and small,
Which soon discern the mother song and call,
Can quickly hear the slightest sound of all.

His little nose, not yet in proper style,
Which mother models every little while,
Is quite enough to make a critic smile.

His dimpled hands, unlike the restless feet
Securely pinned within his blanket neat,
Oft find a place outside the snowy sheet.

When baby sleeps the house is hushed and lone;
His rubber playthings to the floor are thrown,
While patient pussy seeks her peace unknown.

When baby wakes the house is filled with joy;
His lusty cries no loving heart annoy,
While mother runs to take her darling boy.

GOD’S LOVE.

Like a star, whose beams are brighter
When skies are dark above,
So shines, in night of sorrow,
The light of God’s great love.

We may not see its lustre,
While heads are bowed in prayer,
But looking just above us
We find its glories there.

Our tears may dim the vision
And we may question why;
But some day He will answer
Where souls shall never die.

Above the gathering shadows,
Beyond the gloom of years,
God’s star will shine forever,
Undimmed by Sorrow’s tears.

Some day, when He shall lead us
To our eternal rest,
We’ll know life’s hidden meaning
And we shall say: “’Twas best.”

RELEASE.

Fear not to die, but rather fear to live,
For death is not so grave a thing as life;
The soul that God to mortal man did give
Shall some day be exempt from earthly strife,
And from its narrow prison cell at last
It shall go forth the glorious light to see,
When chains are loosened, which now hold it fast,
By Death, the warden, who shall set it free;
And it shall live thro’ all the days and years
To know the peace of sunny Paradise,
No more to be the slave of doubts and fears,
Nor suffer failure when escape it tries.
Earth’s blossoms die, but from the falling seeds
Shall live again the pure and treasured flowers;
And thus we die, but loving words and deeds
Shall be immortal like this soul of ours.

EASTER.

[To M. M. M.]

’Twas Easter evening and the church
Was filled with a waiting throng,
To listen to Easter Service
With its flowers, its light and song.

The organist, by the altar,
Touched the pretty ivory keys
And sent, thro’ the house of worship
The sweetest of melodies.

Just as the notes were ceasing,
And the people arose for prayer,
A little maid came softly in
And seated herself by the stair.

The service was just beginning,
She had never entered before;
But while passing had heard the music
And seen bright lights from the door;—

So she thought: “I’ll look in a moment,
To see what it all is about,—
And perhaps—if I steal in softly
That no one will find it out.”

She saw all the people standing
With heads bowed down in the light,
And she heard the words: “Our Father,
Bless this service here to-night.”

When the good man ceased his speaking
And each one had taken seat,
Again the notes from the organ
Thro’ the stillness sounded sweet.

A little girl came to the altar,—
“No older than I am”—she thought;
She was dressed in snowy whiteness,
In her hands sweet flowers she brought.

She spoke of the Christ—our Saviour,
In her pretty childish way;
She said: “The Lord is risen
And he walks with men to-day.”

“He loves us—He died to save us,”
Said the little maid in white—
“He went to the Home above us,
To Heaven where there is no night.”

And the little girl by the stair-way
In her tattered gown of red,
Listening, heard the story sweet
And treasured the words she said;

And she wondered, as she listened,
If the Saviour did truly care
For one so small and neglected
As she, sitting down by the stair.

And while she looked at the flowers
And heard the grand organ play,
And sweet voices of the children
Now telling of Easter day;

Her little heart grew lighter,
She said: “I’m alone no more
For Christ, who loves the children,
Is my Father now gone before.”

When the Easter Service was ended
She wended her way alone
Thro’ the streets of the great city
To the garret, her only home.

As she climbed the narrow stair-way,
Unlighted by cheering ray,
Her little heart kept singing
The songs of glad Easter day;

And the woman, who kept the lodging,
Heard the little maiden come
And asked, in her gruffest manner,
What kept her so long from home.

“’Twas the Easter Service, madam,
And the words”—she made reply;
“I’m not an orphan any more
For my Father dwells on high.”

“See! I’ve brought you an Easter lily
All snowy, and pure, and white,
Which a lady dropped in passing
Ere her coach wheeled out of sight.”

“I almost know you’ll like it
For ’tis part of the Easter day,
And the children spoke of the lilies
In the verses they had to say.”

When all was still in the lodging
And the rest were sleeping below,
Unmindful of Christ, the Saviour,
Who died for them long ago;

Then this loving little maiden,
Away from all human sight,
Knelt down, in the dingy garret,
To thank God for Easter night.

EMINENCE.

Side by side the mountains rise
Toward the blue of distant skies;
But tho’ roots may interlace
And each base is joined to base,
Till the friendly trees incline
And their branches touch and twine,
Yet, while aging day by day,
They part union on their way
Till the welcome sunlight seeks
To crown insulated peaks.

Side by side the great men rise
Towards the heights of brighter skies;
But tho’ minds together blend
And each friend is joined to friend,
Till their spirits interchange
And their thoughts have fullest range,
Yet while aging day by day,
They diverge upon life’s way
Till Young Genius claims his own
And they choose to soar alone.

THE HERE AND THERE.

By courtesy of Ladies’ World, New York City.

The Here and There are not so far apart,
As oft’ they seem to Sorrow’s waiting heart;
The waking love that Here no more shall sleep
Will There the souls in perfect union keep.
God does not mean, tho’ Heaven be bright and fair,
To break the strands between the Here and There.
The heart that loves shall love beyond the skies;
The soul that lives shall live in Paradise.
We know that He in joy and peace will keep
Our own and His until we fall asleep.
The same sweet smile, the loving face so fair,
But glorified, awaits our coming There.
To those who trust and patiently endure,
He gives them back, bright, beautiful and pure.
They are not lost to such as you and me
But still shall love us thro’ Eternity;—
And from temptation and from earthly care
Shall lead us upward to the Heavenly There.

AIR CASTLES.

Sometimes I dwell not here—
But far away,
Where not a breath disturbs
My fondest dream;
Where, loitering at ease,
Myself alone I please
And sing my soul good cheer
Within my castles fair,
That I have built in air,
Above Time’s stream.

Outside, like haunting ghosts,
The clouds appear,
But noiselessly pass by
Each bolted gate;
Around my castle walls,
The hush of moon-light falls,
While, like the armied hosts,
With torches flashing bright,
The stars come out at night
To celebrate.

’Tis bliss to dwell like this,
In airy heights,
Above the common crowd
And earthly din;
Where all the livelong day,
With my best self I stay
And naught of glory miss;
Where neither friend nor foe,
To pity or bring woe,
Can enter in.

Who dares uplift a latch,
Like thief at night,
To scatter treasured hopes
And steal my store?
Who darkens my domain
Where I, an empress, reign,
While subjects wait dispatch?
Away, ye dread Despair!
To castles in the air
Still let me soar.

LITTLE JOE.

He stands in crowded city street,
Poor, tired, little Joe,
And sees the people pass and meet
While moments come and go.

He holds sweet flowers in his hand,
Poor, patient, little Joe,
And wonders who can understand
His poverty and woe.

“Please won’t you buy my blossoms bright?”
Cries hopeful, little Joe,
While daylight fades and sunset light
Floods stirring streets below.

But no one lingers, no one cares
For homeless, little Joe;
When mother breathed his name in prayers
He was too small to know.

When father took him on his knee,
Dear, little baby Joe,
He used to crow in childish glee
But that was long ago.

The night grows dark, and no one hears
Poor, heartsick, little Joe;
He puts his flowers away with tears
And turns his foot-steps slow.

He passes mansions grand and tall,
Poor, homesick, little Joe,
And hopes that men within the hall
Will gifts of love bestow.

Sometimes he stops to watch the lights,
Poor, lonely, little Joe,
And sees some whirling, dazzling sights
While dancers come and go.

In homes he hears the child-like noise,
Poor, orphaned, little Joe,
And wonders if their little boys
To great, good men will grow.

He seeks, at last, a sheltering shed,
Poor, hungry, little Joe,
And makes, of tattered coat, a bed,
While tear-drops freely flow.

And: “Now I lay me down to sleep,”
Says drowsy, little Joe,
“And pray the Lord my soul to keep,”
He whispers, soft and low.

“If I should die before I wake,”
Breathes tired, little Joe,
“I pray the Lord my soul to take,”
And it was even so.

Transcriber's Notes:
Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals.
Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved.
Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other
variations in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.