Chapter I: Part 1

_COPYRIGHT,
BY H. P. M'KNIGHT,
A. D. 1896._

_PRISON POETRY_,

_BY_

_H. P. McKNIGHT_.

_IN LEISURE MOMENTS CAST A LOOK
UPON THE PAGES OF THIS BOOK;
AND IF YOUR THOUGHTS THEY SHOULD ENGAGE,
JUST THINK OF ME WHO WROTE THIS PAGE.
AND IF BY CHANCE, IN YOUR TIME OF LEISURE,
YOU, IN THESE PAGES, SHOULD FIND PLEASURE,
THEN DART YOUR MIND UP TO THIS CELL,
FOR HERE I LIVE IN AN EARTHLY HELL._

_DEDICATION._

Go forth, thou little volume,
I leave thee to thy fate!
To those who read thee faithfully
Thy leaves I dedicate.

But if your fate should be so sad
As mine who thee have writ,
I'd be so vexed to think that I
Had made such a poor "hit."

But if by chance you meet a friend
Along life's road so dreary,
Just cheer his mind till he is blind,
And never make him weary.

Teach him the way, the live-long day,
To lend a helping hand,
And never turn or even spurn
Those wrecked on life's hard strand.

If chance should be you return to me,
Along with harvest's golden,
I'll vouch for thee to all who see,
That thou wilt not embolden.

And now go forth, thou little book,
I leave thee to thy fate!
To those who read thee faithfully
Thy leaves I dedicate.

_PREFACE._

In the preparation of the verses that fill these pages I have been helped by some of the prisoners of this institution. The donors have been somewhat few, for which I return thanks; but each and every verse is a fair representation of the many phases that the mind of a prisoner passes through, and of his true sentiment. Those that have been donated by my fellow prisoners are accredited to them by either their name or serial number. Some of the verses have been published in our prison "NEWS," but inasmuch as they have reached only an inconsiderable few outside the prison walls, I prepare this little volume and hand it to the wide, wide world. My motto, in so doing, is:

May you who enjoy the blessings of liberty and worldly freedom, partake with us of our solitary musings, and enjoy our noblest thoughts and resolutions, as well as for us to enjoy yours; and that you may know that we are not devoid of true, manly, noble principle simply because we are cast--some justly, others unjustly--into prison.

May we exchange greetings with you all--shake--and if by chance I have been fortunate enough to interest you, I am well compensated; but if I have been more fortunate, and given you--even one of you--a line of noble, good thoughts and advice--I say, "May the seed fall on good ground and bring forth good fruit; may it not be wasted upon barren rock." In my work on "Crime and Criminals" many of these verses will appear in the "Appendix."

Very truly yours,

H. P. McKNIGHT,

A. D. 1896. O. P., Columbus, O., U. S. A.

_INTRODUCTION._

True models of poetic art.
Should please the ear and touch the heart:
Stamp on the plastic mind of youth
Due reverence for Eternal Truth.
Paint field and flower in nature's hues,
Give to the world the heart's best news,
Or, lightly tripping o'er the page,
Rejuvenate the blood of age.
The sacred Muse should ne'er descend.
Vice to guild, nor wound a friend.
Heaven gave no man poetic art,
Save to improve the human heart.

You may not find, in coming page,
The ripened wisdom of the age:
Yet you _will_ find, untrained by art,
The deathless music of the heart:
And truth shall caress each flaming line.
Inspired by The Tuneful Nine;
No fear of man nor greed of praise
Shall make or mar our tuneful lays;
We simply voice the ripest thought
Of prisoned souls with meaning fraught.
Yours it is to praise or blame
My effort to deserve a name!

_CONTENTS._

PAGE.

Acrostic to Warden and Mrs. Coffin, By McKnight 93-95

Acrostic to Chaplain and Mrs. Winget, " " 183-185

Acrostic (Initial), " " 167

Acrostic to Capt. J. C. Langenberger, " Van Weighs 148

Acrostic to Dr. H. R. Parker, " Harrison 168

Acrostic to Harry Smith, " Van Weighs 150

A tribute to Capt. Geo. W. Hess, " " " 143

A Letter From Home, " 24138 42

A Memorial Ode, " Van Weighs 110-111

A Prisoner's Thanksgiving, " McKnight 20-21

A Prisoner's Lamentation, " " 63-64

A Prayer For Justice, " " 87

A Prison Vision, " Harrison 95-107

A Query, " Morse 69-70

A Sad Warning, " Harrison 146-147

An Appreciated Friend, " McKnight 114-115

Be Lenient to the Errant One, " Harrison 37

Birthday Musings, " Van Weighs 88

Coming In and Going Out, " Carr 50-51

Conclusion, " McKnight 194

Dreams, " " 48

Ella Ree's Revenge, " " 171-178

Erratic Musings of Unfettered Thought, " Harrison 25-36

Forget? No, Never! " McKnight 18

Freedom, " " 17

God Bless Them, " " 18

Guilt's Queries and Truth's Replies, " Harrison 41-42

Hope, " Law 39

Hope--Eternity, " McKnight 21

How To Be Happy In Prison, " 22700 23

In Prison, " Harrison 24

Influence, " Law 36

Judge Not Lest Ye Be Judged, " " 72

Kindness, " Roth 46

Lines To My Cell, " McKnight 111-112

Lines To My Wife, " Harrison 169

Love's Victim, " McKnight 58-63

Last Night In the Dungeon, " " 38-39

Midnight Musings, " " 68-69

Mother, " Overstreet 19

My Lawyer, " Gilbert 144-145

My Mother, " Carr 109-110

My Prison Garden, " McKnight 11

Our Board of Managers, " " 65-66

One and a Few, " 21069 67-68

Out of the Depths, " Harrison 170

Prison Pains, " " 45

Prisoners, " McKnight 83

Perfect Peace, " McKnight 37

Reflections, " " 43-44

Rhyme and Reason, " " 11-16

Stray Thoughts, " " 70-72

Salome's Revenge, " " 115-142

She Loves Me Yet, " Harrison 149

Soul Sculpture, " Doane 51

The Storms of Life, " Law 57

The Prisoner Released, " Col. Parsons 44

The Convict's Prayer, " Harrison 73

The Great "O. P." " McKnight 49

The Fall of Sodom, " " 75-80

" " " Canto Second, " " 78-80

There Is No Death, " " 47

The Murderer's Dream, " " 179-182

The Prisoner's Mother, " Mrs. Wirick 22

The Reformer, " Law 43

The Under Dog, " Barker 45-46

The Phantom Boat, " Harrison 151-169

To A Departed Idol, " Van Weighs 91-92

Tribute to Dr. G. A. Tharp, " " " 113

Tribute to the Wolfe Sisters, " Harrison 89-91

Tribute to the Wolfe Sisters, " McKnight 81-82

Tribute to Capt. Joseph Smith Acheson, " Harrison 108

Tribute to Capt. L. H. Wells, " Van Weighs 66-67

The Mind's the Standard of the Man, " McKnight 185-190

The Author's Farewell, " " 192-193

Two Letters, " Harrison 84-86

Weight and Immortality of Words, " McKnight 52-53

Which Loved Her Best, " " 54-57

Wine vs. Water, " " 74-75

Would They Know, " Collier 40

PRISON POETRY.

_PRELUDE._

If you prefer the sounding line,
Go read some master of the Nine!
Good taste perhaps you will display;
Let others read my simple lay
That gushes from an honest heart
Unawed by fear, unstrained by art.
I ne'er will prostitute my Muse
The rich to praise, nor poor abuse;
But simply sing as best I can
Whate'er may bless my fellow man;
I dare not stain a single page
With outbursts of unreasoning rage,
But if one sorrow I can soothe
Or one his rugged pathway smooth;
One pain relieve, one joy impart,
'Twill ease the burden of a heart
That has known for weary years
No solace save unbidden tears.
Hard is the heart that will refuse
Due merit to the Prison Muse.
May heaven watch the prisoner's weal
And mankind for his sorrow feel!

_MY PRISON GARDEN._

In this mind's garden thoughts shall grow,
And in their freshness bud and blow;
Thoughts to which love has beauty lent
And memories sweet of sentiment.
Now, if I cultivate them right good,
They'll furnish me with my mind's food.
My enemies may my corpus hail,
While onward, upward, thoughts will sail
To realms above, where all is peace,
And where the soul may rest with ease.

_RHYME AND REASON._

In contravention of the laws of right,
Man's cruel passion and his guilty might,
Has bound me tightly with a galling chain
Of heaped-up malice and unjust disdain!
From front rank lawyer to a felon's cell,
Through perjured villains, not by sin I fell!
By fiat law my body was consigned
To this grim cell for guilty ones designed.
Yet I'm no convict--I have never known
The deep remorse by guilty wretches shown!
I am a martyr--doomed by adverse fate
To brave the billows of malicious hate!
Yet I am free, for Nature's august plan
Makes MIND not _matter_ constitute the MAN.

Tho' men may curse me and cast out my name,
Like some vile bauble on the sea of shame;
Brand me as murderer or catiff thief,
Or atheistic infidel--steepid in unbelief;
Foe to all that's pure and good--wretch unfit to live;
Outlaw whom no honest man can even pity give!
Yet my soul will still defy your prison bolts and bars,
And soaring far on eager wings beyond the faintest stars,
Live in a world to you unknown, where only poet soul
Can bask in beauty undefiled by cankering control!
In vain is all your hate and scorn--vain your prison blight;
God loves me, and I feel assured that all will yet be right!
I know one law--a perfect law, by Nature's self designed--
'Tis Heaven's dearest gift to man--The Freedom of the Mind!

If minds and hearts were easy read as faces we can see,
Society would lose its dread and many a prisoner free!
But what, alas! do people care what's in another's brain?
They only seek to hide their share of misery and pain.
Were all compelled to truthful be and show their inner life--
Great heavens! what a jamboree of sin and shame and strife!
How few would measure half a span if Mind alone we closely scan!
Where is the man on this broad earth, so pure, so good, so true,
That never gave an action birth he dared not bring to view?
The Christ alone was sinless here, none other lives aright;
All human goodness springs from fear of death's approaching night!
There is no soul so white I know but what temptation's power
Its purity can overthrow and all its good deflower!
Disguise the truth as best we can, he _errs_ the most who most is
_Man_!

Come, let us take a journey, with cathode rays supplied,
And view the greatest and good in all their pomp and pride!
Examine first the churches, where the godly crew
Teach poor erring mortals what is best to do.
They tell us human nature is _once_ and always wrong,
And prove man's deep depravity in sermon or by song.
All natural passion is denounced as deep and deadly sin,
And _truth_ and _virtue_ painted as graces hard to win.
Heaven, they tell us, is a place with blisses running o'er;
Hell, a lake of torture, where fiery billows roar!
A choice eternal all must make between their birth and death;
It may be made in early life or with expiring breath!
But how this choice must be made each gives a separate plan,
That clearly proves how narrow is the erring mind of Man.

One tells us naught but good pursue, all evil to eschew;
Another swears without God's grace no mortal thus can do;
One bids us work salvation out with trembling and with fear,
Another swears that God's elect should never shed a tear;
One says all must live the life Jesus lived on earth.
Another says it can't be done without a Second Birth!
Some say _work_, others _trust_, others still say _wait_;
Some deem us mere automatons, saved or lost by _Fate_!
Some, with philanthropic views, declare all must be saved,
Since Christ, the Perfect Offering for _all_, death's horrors braved!
Since Christians never will agree, 'tis best that every man
Should listen to his conscience, and do the best he can!
God ever _has_ and _will_ do right! In His Eternal Plan
The time will come to set _aright_ the numerous wrongs of _Man_!

See yonder's pompous deacon, with diamonds clear and bright;
He looks a model Christian--just turn on him your light.
Great heavens! what a medley of _cant_ and sin and shame!
If the half we see was ever told 'twould ruin his good name!
But turn on yonder pastor your strange, mysterious light;
I know he is a real good man, who loves Eternal Right.
Ye holy saints, protect us! _he_ too has gone amiss!
When Siren Voice allured him with a seductive kiss!
If half the prayers we utter be not a sounding lie,
It is but little marvel that we are doomed to die!
For each will plead forgiveness for thought or action done,
And _none_ by spotless merit eternal bliss hath won.
Then gently judge your fellow, his failings lightly scan;
Like you, he can not corner _all_ the brains of man!

See, yonder is our Congress, where wits and fools unite,
To declare by the nation's statute what _is_ fundamental right!
They yell of patriotism and the majesty of Law,
And are for once unanimous--their salaries to draw!
Alas! alas! 'tis ever thus within our halls of State;
Sweet Justice is blacklisted--the _dollar_ is too great.
Aye, even on judicial bench, where justice should be done,
How scattering are the cases where _Right_ the victory won!
Lawyers, judge and jury _exparte_ view the case--
An angel would be ruined in the defendant's place!
In vain is protestation, in vain a blameless life;
Some _must be_ doomed to prison when prejudice is rife!
Law must keep its servants in stations high and proud,
Tho' every hour should furnish a coffin and a shroud!

The modern Shylock of today, unlike his friend of old,
Demands the pound of quivering flesh and _all_ his victim's gold;
Nor feels content until he sees his victim's hated face
Behind a wall of rock and steel in garments of disgrace.
Then he will raise his dainty hands and loud applaud the law
That _can_ protect such beings, who live without a flaw.
_He_ has no pity for the weak, who thro' temptation fall,
But freely spends his _time_ and _means_ the guileless to enthrall.
He heaps _his_ mighty wrath and scorn on every evil done,
And speaks in tones of pure disgust of poverty's pale son.
But if you bid him look within and study his own heart,
He has a task herculean--'tis such a _tiny_ part!
And as for Mind--ye angels! in fair creation's plan
'Twas given to his victim, and left him _half a man_!

The modern Clytemnestra no dagger needs to use;
She slays her Agamemnon within your _legal_ pews,
Since judges now are willing to sunder marriage ties,
And juries are so truculent when blushing beauty lies.
Or if she be a _Helen_, and Paris suits her taste,
She hastes without compunction to lay her honor waste.
"Society" allows her to have "a special friend,"
And a husband is _so_ handy her good name to defend!
But alas! Aspasia _no mercy_ need expect;
Her Pericles _lionized_, but none _her_ worth detect!
And as for poor Thargelia _none_ will take _her_ part;
She lives a social outcast, with broken, bleeding heart;
But each base seducer, in our social plan.
Makes poor, trusting woman bear the sins of _Man_!

Many men are now misjudged, and meet an awful fate,
Whose innocence is published, but alas, it is too late!
Many, too, are breathing freedom's precious air
Whose vile conduct merits prison dress and fare.
Only _little_ rascals in your prisons _die_,
While _stupendous_ villians liberty can buy!
Each one strives with fervor his neighbor to outshine,
And he who has the most of gold is reckoned half divine.
You scatter dark temptations around the poor man's path,
And when he falls you pour on him _all_ your vicious wrath.
Poverty in public lives all her deeds are seen;
Wealth can build a castle her _wickedness_ to screen.
Yet many a noble woman and kingly man is found
As toilers in your factories or tillers of the ground!

If cathode rays were freely used to bring to human sight
The dirty methods villians use to _damn_ Eternal Right,
Many men would be set free and others take their place
Who now can roll in luxury and laugh at their disgrace.
A judge and jury now can sit and _hang_ a man at will,
But they say 'tis open _murder_ if but _one_ dares kill!
Take a ring of brass and plate it o'er with gold,
And 'tis only _business_ when the fraud is sold!
Adulterate both food and drink, deal in deadly pills;
Law will aid your _robbery_ and collect your bills!
Give to your profession but a sounding name,
Then cut up the devil without fear or shame.
Be sure to call it _business_ whatever you may do,
And if you have sufficient _gall_ that will pull you through.

Now throughout this prison rays cathodal dart,
And read the hidden secrets of each convict heart.
Some have wrought vile deeds, and wrought them o'er and o'er,
That surely proves them rotten to their inmost core.
And here are wretched fiends, who with consumate art,
Ravish every instinct of the human heart.
Some men of wit and letters, cultured and refined,
Others moral lepers, with heart and conscience blind.
From drawing room and brothel, farm and city slum,
Some by acts of justice, some through perjury come;
The innocent and guilty, callow youth and age,
All can be imprisoned in this Christian age!
But they who seek for liberty no innocence must plead--
Gold, and plenty of it, will be all they need.

Some young souls are making, for a stated time,
This, their maiden effort, on the sea of crime.
Oh, Christians, teach them early what to me is plain;
Crime ever _has_ and ever _will_ result in lasting pain.
Do not be _too_ lenient, nor _too_ soon forgive,
Lest all _vice_ should flourish and no _virtue_ live.
Society demands it, the _guilty_ should atone--
But take care you punish those, and those _alone_!
Keep them in your prisons till by _virtue_ shown
They will know what _is_ and what is _not_ their own.
But let all be careful lest by _word_ or _act_
Those who should _reform_ them from their _good_ subtract.
Rule them wisely, gently--by some _humane_ plan,
All their faults to conquer as best becomes a MAN.

When your work is finished and their habits changed,
Give them honest labor, by the State arranged;
Show them honest labor _can_ a living gain,
While the _social outcast_ harvests _want_ and _shame_!
Treat them fairly, kindly; teach them all the true
Will be friendly with them while _the right_ they do.
Both principle and policy declare this course is wise;
Then why longer act the fool and wisdom's voice despise?
Crime never _can_ nor _will_ decrease until in _Wisdom's School_
Men learn the noted lesson, "Right _through_ Law should Rule."
All tried plans are failures, this none dares deny;
Now give _Common Sense_ a show and failure dare defy.
Do _this_, and lash and pistol, now your sole defense,
Shall give place to Reason and plain Common Sense!

Courts are far too careless when they give men life
For offense unnoticed save in time of strife.
Naught but some poor chicken or a ham he stole--
Shall the devil purchase at such price a soul?
If such petty crimes as this deserve such prison fare,
Come now, honest reader, what is _your_ just share?
Was that old Greek right, who, tho' a man of sense,
Could mete out death to all for each small offense?
Apply his heartless rule, and can you truly say
Any man or woman would be left to slay?
Man is only mortal, and to sin is prone;
Never cure another's faults till you quit your own.
Many are convicted by the _press_ at large;
The Public Mind is rarely Heaven's peculiar charge.

Bring the judge and jury who declared my fate
For the shining dollars furnished them by hate,
And their guilty conscience by my own arrange,
And then tell me frankly if my fate should change!
Yet I had sooner die behind these bars of steel
Than to have a heart of stone that _could_ not feel!
I know such human tigers, who fatten on distress,
Never _can_ and _never_ will enjoy one hour of rest!
Until all hate and malice, all greed and other sin
Is burned by awful torture to leave them pure within!
God _will_ forgive each penitent whate'er his sin may be,
Whose heart is overflowing with _love_ for bond and free.
Oh listen! brothers, listen--'tis Jehovah's plan--
And a _time is fixed_ to right the wrongs of Man.

_FREEDOM._

How sweet thou art, O freedom.
To every human heart--
Man's privilege most sacred.
His being's noblest part.
Thou priceless, great possession,
Without thee life were done!
Its sun gone down forever,
For thou and life are one.

How dear thou art, O freedom--
Our birthright here below!
Chief blessing of all blessings
Kind heaven doth bestow.
Deprived by dark misfortune
Of every other joy,
Naught while thou still remainest
Can happiness destroy.

But thou, O prison penance,
Dark shadow by life's board!
Of all that men hold mournful
Thou art the fullest stored.
There's naught on earth worth having
If't must be shared with thee--
O happy, holy freedom!
O heaven, set me free.

_GOD BLESS THEM_

God bless the mothers of this land!
They are so good and true;
And all the sisters of their band,
They are so noble, too.
If we don't treat them with respect,
And court their wholesome 'fluence,
Our morals will not be correct,
And we will suffer hence.

If women are not treated with respect, and made to exercise an influence over the social world, the standard of private virtue and public opinion will be lowered, and the morals of men will suffer.

_FORGET? NO, NEVER!_

There are things we'll not remember,
And much will be forgot,
As in the bleak December
When our coffee was not hot;
When the butter was much younger,
When the bread was sour and dry;
When are felt the pangs of hunger,
With regrets and many a sigh.
How the memory used to vex us
As 'twould o'er our senses steal;
How we wished they might "annex" us,
So we'd get one good square meal.
Other things may be forgot
In this busy, hustling age,
But one thing we ne'er can blot
From off our memory's page,
That we never can forget
In a hundred months of Junes;
It will long our memories fret--
_Those prunes--those rotten, wormy prunes_.

_MOTHER._

BY OVERSTREET.

Who is it, in this life so drear,
That pines for the wandering boy,
And ever ready with words of cheer
To turn sad thoughts to joy?
Mother.

Who is it, when all others do forsake
And leave us to our grief,
That will for long hours lie awake
And pray for our relief?
Mother.

Who is it, when the world laughs on
And gives our sighs no thought,
That thinks of the boy who looks upon
This life that's come to naught?
Mother.

Who is it, when from prison freed--
The boy goes forth so sadly--
That receives him in his hour of need
With tears of joy--yea, gladly?
Mother.

Who is it, when the end has come,
Looks fondly on her child,
And prays to God for a happy home
For the boy that's been so wild?
Mother.

_A PRISONER'S THANKSGIVING._

What if the gold of the corn lands
Is faded to somber grey?
And what if the down of the thistle
Is ripened and scattered away?
There's a crowning golden harvest,
There's turkey the heart to cheer,
There's a basket from home with plenty of "pone,"
Tho' 'tis bathed in a mother's tear.

What 'f our friends are far from us
And they know not where we are?
What if those who are dearest
Live ever away so far?
There's room for us by th' fireside,
Where in childhood days we'd play;
'Tis comfort to think, tho' we stand on the brink,
That we will be there some day.

What if our hearts are lonely
As we toil in our enemy's hand?
What if our sad looks betray us
As we take a true manly stand?
There's a coming golden harvest,
There's a time when we all'll meet,
When prison locks and iron bars
Will fail to ther pris'n'r keep.

What care we for the pang at heart?
'Twill all be gone some day;
And then tho' our enemies'ld crush us,
They'll be scattered far away.
Tho' this is a sad Thanksgiving,
A better one's coming our way,
When we'll all be home to share in the "pone"
And hear our angeled sister pray.

What if the gold of the corn lands
Is faded to somber grey?
And what if the down of the thistle
Is ripened and scattered away?

Away to the east in a far off land
There's turkey the heart to cheer.
Where the dear ones are partaking
And thinking of one that's here;
There's father and mother and sister and brother, all so far away.
There's a blessed time a-coming--
The prisoner's Thanksgiving day.

_HOPE--ETERNITY._

The heart bowed down with silent grief.
Despair its portals soon assails.
Oh! let such moments be but brief
When spirit lost o'er man prevails;
Think not of friend who, false, betrayed.
Nor sweetheart's change, nor colder wife--
Recall those oaths when passion prayed
For vengeance and for foeman's life.

We pass dear friends but once this way:
Our judge, accusers and our foe.
If false to God and man they play.
Not thou, but they, shall suffer woe.
All stay is short; the longest span
Counts less than raindrops in the sea.
Arouse thee, then, despairing man.
And hail with hope--Eternity!

Glows in thy cell a fragrant bloom,
Plucked from thy guardian angel's wreath.
Do thou but nurture it with prayer
And water it with tears of faith.
To humble hearts its petals ope,
Revealing bliss to streaming eye--
Immortal blooms this rose of hope,
God's flower of life--Eternity.

_THE PRISONER'S MOTHER._

BY MRS. S. E. WIRICK.

To be a prisoner's mother
Is to feel a piercing dart
That sets the mind a-whirling
And almost cleaves the heart.

To be a prisoner's mother
Is, upon a holiday,
To visit him in prison,
Then part and go away.

To be a prisoner's mother
'Tis, inside the lonely wall,
To say, "Farewell, my darling"--
Oh, I almost faint and fall.

No resting place but heaven,
No happy morn that dawns;
Our home so drear and lonely
Because our boy is gone.

An empty bed, a missing plate,
A grief that inward burns;
No balm on earth to heal our hearts
Until our boy returns.

"Honor and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part, there all the honor lies."

_HOW TO BE HAPPY IN PRISON._

BY NO. 22700

Do what is right, and day by day
Teach yourself that work is play
Of brain and muscle, rightly used--
And hurtful only when abused;
Deep interest take in all you do;
'Twill others please, as well as you.

Relieve a fellow prisoner's need;
Righteous counsel always heed;
Be not suspicious or unjust--
Few men betray a perfect trust;
He trusts the most whose heart is pure,
And generous thought will malice cure.

Brood not o'er the ills of life;
Give no cause for needless strife;
Tomb the past with all its sin;
Purify yourself within;
Rear your standard, be a MAN,
And do whatever good you can.

Some, perhaps, will misconstrue
All you say and all you do,
But when conscience is at rest
Happiness will fill the breast--
'Twill be a sweet red-letter day
When we all shall act that way.

_IN PRISON._

BY HARRISON.

That which the world miscals a jail
A private closet is to me;
Whilst a good conscience is my bail,
And innocence my liberty:
Locks, bars and solitude together met
Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret.

I, whilst I wisht to be retired,
Into this private room was turned,
As if their wisdoms had conspired
The salamander should be burned;
Or, like those sophists that would drown a fish,
I am constrained to suffer what I wish.

These manacles upon my arm
I as my mistress' favors wear;
And for to keep my ankles warm
I have some iron shackles there;
These walls are but my garrison; this cell,
Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel.

I'm in the cabinet lockt up,
Like some high-prized margarite,
Or, like the Great Mogul or Pope,
Am cloistered up from public sight:
Retiredness is a piece of majesty,
And thus, proud Sultan, I'm as great as thee.

_ERRATIC MUSINGS OF UNFETTERED THOUGHT._

[BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.]

Is living thought, proud condor of the mind,
By walls of rock and iron bars confined,
Innate divinity by human courts enslaved,
And right eternal by a dust-worm braved?
Think you the spirit's rapid flight to mar
With dungeon torture and by iron bar?
Can rock-ribbed walls and bars of steel
Deprive man of the power to feel?
Can you the stream of Lethe roll
In maddening torrents o'er the soul,
Pluck from my brow love's garland fair
And brand me "Victim of despair?"
No! weakling son of vengeful fate,
God grants to none a power so great.
My body is your lawful prey,
Poor lump of spirit-crumbling clay;
Seize, chain and manacle each part,
Aye, even starve my bleeding heart,
But know that for Creative Thought
All fetters by one's self is wrought.
Mind, glorious Mind--Jehovah's sleepless breath,
Can know no bondage and can feel no death.
In yon fair regions of unreached repose
Eternal Beauty's flower-chalice glows,
Filled to the brim with satisfying wine,
Ambrosial nectar of the Tuneful Nine.
My muse can reach it on external wings
And drink till all the heart within me sings!
I scale the lofty heights, by virtue shown,
And from Eternal Wisdom seek my own.
There, far above the struggling world of fate,
I greet true freedom and am wisely great.
'Tis mine in bright elysian fields to roam,
Pluck jeweled treasure from the sleeping gnome;
Bid ocean deeps their mysteries reveal,
Or, soaring far above the world of space,
Gain raptured visions of the Holy Place;
Admire and measure every glittering throne,
Count heavenly treasure as my own,
Make august angels bow beneath my rod,
And even dare to mould the mind of God;
O radiant fields of pure, untrammeled Thought,
With what sweet incense are thy zephyrs fraught;
How clear the view, from thy exalted height,
Of human errors and unerring right;
'Tis thou alone my laboring Muse can teach
The perfect measure of her powers to reach;
She cons these fragments of a Truth sublime,
And art stands ready with appropriate rhyme
To trim each sentence and each word to place
In melting numbers of seductive grace;
Since first Jehovah, bending low to earth,
Breathed in man's nostrils an eternal birth,
The rain drop falling, from the heavy cloud,
In waiting dust, finds ready shroud,
And there commingling fills each separate cell,
Yet still remains as pure as when it fell:
To man appearing but a dampened clod,
'Tis chambered favor of a gracious God;
And serves his purpose till He calls above
This liquid semblance of Immortal Love,
There _not_ to perish, but return again
To deck the forest and adorn the plain;
All nature feels its fructifying power
In laughing streamlets and in nodding flower;
The rain drop typifies the Pure Indwelling God,
That permeates our being, to animate a clod;
Give birth to all emotion, consistent with His plan,
And with unmeasured tenderness weep the fall of man.
From every nodding flower, from every whispering breeze
From mountain's lofty height, from towering trees,
From softly twinkling star, from lightning's giddy flash,
From the softest twitter of a bird and thunder's awful crash,
From hills the ants may call their own,
From crested elders 'round their throne,
From babbling brook, from storm-lashed wave,
From nature smiling, nature grave,
From earth and air, from sky and sea,
There comes the self same voice to me,
Like softest note of cooing dove,
And sweetly whispers, "GOD IS LOVE."
All nature is obedient to heaven's august plan,
And none will dare rebellion, save ever-erring man.
He, of a dual nature--purity and lust--
Defies his Great Creator and thus betrays his trust.
Thrones within his being the hydra-headed sin,
All his joy to murder and create _hell within_;
Self-conscienceness completes the triple blow
While memories of happier years augments his hapless woe.
Whatever then of pleasure his wounded spirit knows
From the fountain of bitter repentance it onward, onward flows,
His own environment, be it either fair or fell,
Must _now_ embower his heaven, or will create his hell.
Contentment, peace, or pleasure he must create anew
By sowing seeds of virtue where vice so lately grew.
He learns he must not do whatever man can do,
But recognize the limits of the just and true.
Law is his _Alma mater_, the measure of his right,
The barrier Jehovah set to curb irreverent flight;
He has the truest liberty who recognizes law;
'Tis made to shield his virtues and on his vices war;
He who denies humanity lives for himself alone
All history to hush, all culture to disown;
And quickly he relapses into a barbarous state,
Where only force and prowess can make the unit great.
None so lost to _virtue_, none so devoid of art,
As he who fails to capture the _empire of a heart_;
He who knows not sympathy feels no fellow's woe,
Will never feel the rapture of happiness below;
God planted seeds of pity in every human breast,
And he who loses most of woe secures most of rest:
Love is man's _all_, his conqueror, his cordial and wine,
The measure of his inner life that stamps him as divine.
How circumscribed the circle God allots to man,
His home is but an acre, his life is but a span;
And yet within that circle his influence is so great
He wakes the cooing notes of _love_ or feeds the fires of hate;
His influence is potential within a circle small,
But beyond the limit of the same he does no good at all;
All thought, all power with which our being teems,
Is action predicated on events or on dreams.
All we have seen or heard, all we now can feel,
Leaves an imprint on the heart that the future must reveal:
The vain are truly lonely, they long to be admired,
One wishes to be understood, another well attired,
This hushed by useless longings or fashion's changing art,
That sweetest of all poems, _the music of the heart_.
But he who solves life's mystery is never quite alone,
All ages is his playground and solitude his throne;
He walks in subtle converse with all the mighty dead,
Gathering priceless jewels their wit or wisdom bred.
The watchtowers of his thought o'erlooks the struggling mass,
While events both past and present before his vision pass.
He sees the weary captive tugging at his chain;
The weather-beaten sailor plough the raging main;
The swarthy burden bearer in forest, mine and field;
The merchant's soiled ledgers, the soldier's brazen shield;
The child with glittering toy, the maiden at her glass;
The ruler of an empire, the leader of the mass;
The student in his study, the priest on bended knee;
The teacher with his ferrule, the aged human tree,
All fondly dream of freedom, yet all beneath the ban,
Each in a separate prison presided o'er by _man_;
Sees _nature_ and _morality_ are ever waging war,
The first as god of freedom, the latter lord of law.
Sees culture raise her barriers between polite and rude,
And hears _Religion_ thunder, "Cover up the nude!"
Knows man in every station to be a willing slave,
The football of his passion, the dupe of every knave.
Yet hears him boast his freedom, laud his reasoning power;
Rule all he can with iron hand, and _finite_ judgment shower;
Sees all the devious, hidden paths by sinful mortals trod
Where _human_ law and custom dare ostracise a god;
Yet knows a germ of goodness, deep in the human breast,
Is living in the worst of men however much depressed.
Knows life is but the unit of God's Eternal Plan,
And learns to _pity_, not to blame, poor ever-erring man!
In each created atom sees faultless beauty glow
And God's Eternal purpose in onward sequence flow.
Views all souls as living harps, whose seeming dissonance
Is but apparent and not real; and believes, perchance,
God will mend each shattered chord, tune the quivering lyre,
And from out each soul shall bring a music sweeter, higher
Than earthly ears have ever heard or earthly lips essayed;
Such music as the ransomed sing in innocence arrayed;
While all the universe entranced shall wondering inquire:
"Is this the fruitage of _His_ woe? Is this his soul's desire?
Is this the harp so late unstrung? Is this poor fallen man?
Ah! can it be that all was wrought obedient to God's plan"?

Nature will o'er matter bear imperial sway,
And all not immortal must in time decay;
Man's tenement is mortal, but himself divine;
Which should he most cherish, the jewel or its shrine?
Yet when vice allures him with seductive ray,
Gives he not to passion undisputed sway?
Dreams he not of beauty who, with open arms,
Calls for lust to enter and revel 'mid her charms?
Is his eye not captive? Do not his senses thrill?
What is left the tempted one save his feeble will?
If that will prove recreant to Jehovah's trust,
Pays he not the penalty in self-consuming lust?
Must his spirit suffer through unending years
For the shame he purchased with agonizing tears?
Life is but a shoe-broom, Nature is God's book
And he's the aptest scholar who all her laws can brook!
If love of right was constant man could well defy
All of sin's allurements and unspotted die!
_One_ such man has lived who, with a faith sublime,
Crucified the temple where he dwelt in time,
And entered heaven victorious without the aid of grace,
The marvel of all centuries, the Savior of the race;
But had His will but weakened, Jesus, too, had fell,
And man without Redemption sank tottering into hell;
All would be good did not true goodness claim
Such earnest noble effort from a will so tame;
_Crime_ is but a sequence of misguided will
Inherent moral defect and _surrounding_ ill.
Man's innate love of beauty and his dread of pain,
His ever raging thirst for power and his greed for gain
Alternately do sway him with resistless power,
The spotless blossoms of the soul, until he only yearns
For the ever hideous lust that blackens as it burns.
Guilt comes not, thundering on the wings of time,
With vice-distorted feature and the leer of crime,
But like enchanting vision from a pagan dream,
Or softly echoed cadence of a whispering stream,
She steals upon us gently, with ever-changing art,
And usurps an empire--the waiting human heart!
Her outward form is beauty, her voice with Passion tense,
She only craves the privilege to gratify each sense;
All apparent pleasures 'round her path are spread,
But, alas! you seize the flower to find its fragrance fled;
But still pursuing, row with bated breath,
You clasp her to your bosom and--embrace a death!
Then, conscience stricken, you the wreck survey,
And with shuddering sorrow--humbly kneel to pray;
While the pitying angels on their pinions bear
The ever sacred burden of repentant prayer,
And almighty love descending reasserts control,
And mercy in the guise of grace has won a human _soul_;
But contrast a moment, with this heavenly plan,
The awful brutal conduct of exacting MAN.
See yon martial champion riding on the flood
Of a frightful carnage and a sea of blood;
His path is strewn with many a ghastly sight,
Dead and dismembered bodies and defenseless fright!
Yet all the people with a loud acclaim
Pronounce _him_ "_Hero_," and accord him Fame!
True, he butchers thousands in a cruel war,
Yet you deem him _guiltless_, he obeyed _your_ law.
But if your angered brother slay a single man,
_Him_ you brand a "Murderer," worthy of your ban;
And with zeal unbounded you wage relentless war
Until he falls, a victim to rage-created law.
As if a useless _murderer_, sanctioned by the state,
Was less the fruitage of revenge than one new-born of hate;
Perchance in some fair aiden, some far distant sphere
Your poor hapless victim these just words may hear:
"Thou art now forgiven, poor misguided son!
"Tho' tranced with dire passion thou hast slain but one.
"Thou hast made atonement, breathed a fiery breath
"Of a deep repentance and an awful death!
"Place on him the raiment--whiter far than snow,
"And teach his untried lips to sing the song the angels know.
"But as to yonder soldier who for the bauble fame
"Led unbattled thousands without fear or shame;
"And with banners flying to the bugle's chime
"Hurled obedient legions into conscious crime--
"All the tears he showed, _all_ the blood he shed,
"Now in molten fire shall circle 'round his head,
"And all shall learn the lesson, that horror-breeding war
"Will _never_ meet the sanction of Jehovah's law!"
This is no fancy picture, nor idle dream of youth,
But, if I know the laws of God, it is the solemn truth".

Behold a homeless wanderer, poor and thinly clad,
To biting cold a victim, with hunger almost mad,
Entering yonder mansion, dares to boldly steal
What none should e'er deny a dog--the pittance of a meal!
See the greedy sleuth-hounds of the outraged law
Wage against this robber an unrelenting war;
While _Christian_ judge and jury, with ready wit, declare
His crime an awful outrage, that merits prison fare!
But he who rears his costly domes
O'er wreck and ruin of human homes,
Plants in the breast a raging thirst
And leaves his victims doubly cursed,
Can roll in luxury, loll in pride
And, with _the law_, his gain divide!
Tho' every dime he pays the state
A thousand cost in wakened hate!

A simple youth by passion lured,
And of but little wisdom steward,
Meets with a maid of witching grace
And dalliance ends in dire disgrace!
In prison stripes you teach the fool
That he must _love_ by _human_ rule!
Yet you rear great, costly piles
Where soiled doves may ply their wiles
And lead to an unhallowed bed
The lustful brute you lately wed.
If passion will assert her power
None shall dare a maid deflower
Unless so _licensed_ by the state
In wedlock's bonds his lust to sate!
And, if marriage prove a bane,
_Divorce_, for cash, will ease his pain!
Then to your haunts of sin he hies
And laws of God and man defies
By casting, in a barren sea,
The germ of _life_ that is to be!
'Tis true this evil you decry--
And raise your taxes mountain high!
As if the more the state shall gain
The less will virtue feel the strain!--
You legalize _divorce_ and _fraud_,
And each _successful_ scoundrel laud,
Unmindful tho' he gain his wealth
By open plunder or by stealth.
In vain his hapless victims cry,
His _gold_ can legal silence buy!
But if through stress of penury's strife
One makes a shipwreck of his life,
You prisons build and place within
This fruitage of a law-made sin,
To linger till the cowering slave
Shall fill--unwept--a pauper's grave.
And scarce a line of obscure print
At this dark tragedy will hint;
But if your millioned puppy dies
What wailings rend the astonished skies!
What sabled hue and lengthened train
Attest your deep regret and pain!
How yon cathedral's vaulted arch
Will echo with his funeral march;
What flowers will deck his costly tomb;
What tapers rob the grave of gloom;
While columns, nay, whole papers tell
How _great_ a man today has fell.
Deluded mortals! raise your eyes
To yon fair regions of the skies,
Where _justice_ sits, each cause to try
Beneath Omniscience's searching eye;
Your "_convict_," on low bended knee,
Pleads "guilty"--and they set him free;
And angels crown, with loud acclaim,
The man you deemed a living shame!
Your _Croesus_, with uplifted eye,
(Still conscious of his station high)
Deigns to repeat, with growing stress,
How from defeat he wrung success;
Tells, with a proudly swelling heart,
Of millions spent on sculptured art;
And millions more on lordly hall,
The eye and heart of man to thrall;
Tells how a church and college new
From _his_ donation quickly grew;
Tells how--in cushioned pew--he knelt
And begged God other hearts to melt,
Until each child of man should be,
Like his dear self, from error free;
All this they hear your idol tell--
And cast him headlong into hell!
While heaven bows her head with awe
In sanction of Jehovah's law.

What mighty solons fill your halls of state!
(Poor gibbering parrots with an empty pate),
Who deem all prisons of but little use
Not founded on starvation and abuse.
They lock poor pris'ners in a loathsome cell,
While lash and pistol drives them on to hell;
They crush his manhood and his soul debase,
Blot out ambition and his name disgrace,
Yet wonder greatly that such humane plan
Makes not an angel of each convict man.
These truthful samples of your legal page
Condemn your judgment and disgrace your age--
Too oft repeated, who will dare to say
To what dark horrors they may pave the way?
Pause! ere the records that now strew your path
Invite the vengeance of Jehovah's wrath;
Relearn the lesson early taught mankind,
"To God give reverence and to man be kind."
Be this your motto, and each setting sun
Will kiss the feature of a work begun;
Time cannot tarnish and no heart can blame
Your noble effort to deserve a name;
Heaven will applaud you, and the smile
Of happiness the hours beguile,
Why pay such homage to mere human laws?
Dread you man's censure or admire applause?
Are you forgetful that the crown of fame
Is purchased torture and expiring shame?
Think you man's plaudits or his causeless hate
Can either ope or close the pearly gate?
Who ever placed in man implicit trust,
Nor saw his idol, soon or late, in dust?
Why thus pursue an ever fading wraith?
'Tis God, and God alone, deserves your faith.
Survey all things with comprehensive view,
Admire all beauty and enthrone the true;
Know every mortal, tho' a separate soul,
Is but a fragment of the mighty whole
That fills a niche in God's eternal plan,
All for the welfare of ungrateful man;
Learn that in many a loathsome cell
A prisoned genius or a saint may dwell,
Whose power, developed by an act of love,
May lead a million to the Courts above.
Shall it be yours to touch that vibrant chord
And share the honor of the great reward?
What heaven endorses that alone can stand;
All else is stubble, built on shifting sand,
That shall vanish 'mid the fire and flood
Like tiny snowflakes in a sea of blood.
Oh, could my Muse, by some exalted flight,
Portray her knowledge of Eternal Right--
Breathe in soft accents to the listening ear
The melting music which my soul can hear,
Some would declare my reason half dethroned
Before my fancy to such heights had flown;
Yet could such see as I have seen the scroll
Where God has written "Destiny of Soul,"
They much would wonder how my Muse
Could dare suppress such glorious news.
What pen can picture or what brush can paint
The endless rapture of a raptured saint?
Words are too feeble; they but tell in part
The truthful language of a human heart;
But, Oh, when spirit from its cumbering clay
Shall rise triumphant to the realms of day,
What strains seraphic from our lips shall break
Till all creation shall to bliss awake!
O bliss supernal! when our lips shall meet--
The lips long buried--and our souls shall greet
The loved and cherished of those earlier years.
Ere pain had turned each quivering chord to tears,
And life was smiling in her morning hours
And love was conscious of her magic powers.
Oh, sweet reunion on the crystal strand!
When we shall fondly clasp the waiting hand
Of buried jewels distance hides from view,
And all the plighted vows of life renew,
Then shall we learn the truthfulness of love,
When hearts like ours, renewed in youth, above
All passion and the cloying cares of earth
Shall wake to rapture with a Second Birth!

O hearts estranged, forgive and be forgiven!
Your cruel coldness has already driven
The angel sweetness from your speaking eye,
And suffered everything, save pride, to die.
O cradle, in the lap of everlasting sleep
The dark, fierce passions that now rudely sweep
The sounding chambers of the suffering soul,
Where Hate's tumultuous torrents hourly roll,
And blacken what was once so white and fair,
When spotless Innocence was centered there!
Oh, keep no kisses for my cold, dead brow--
I am so lonely--let me feel them now.
When dreamless sleep is mine I never more can need
The tenderness for which tonight I plead;
My wayworn spirit and my thorn-pierced feet
The piteous pleadings of my lips repeat.
Oh, shall I plead and plead with you in vain
To bring love's sunlight to my soul again?
Shall acts repented, bred of undue haste,
Lay all my stock of future pleasures waste?
Bid me to draw a servile, galling chain,
Nor wish to murmur, nor murmur to complain?
Will you deprive my hungry soul of love,
Nor leave one spark of happiness above?
Oh, what base deed has these my fingers wrought
To wake a malice with each vengeance fraught?
If I have sinned and disobeyed your laws,
Discarded fashion and despised applause,
Have I not suffered all a man can know,
And drank the bitterest dregs of human woe?
Think you my proud and haughty soul to cower
With scorpion lashes of tempestuous power?
Go scourge the ocean with puny lash,
Or raze a mountain with a feather's crash!
Why thus torment my swift declining age
With useless torture of unreasoning rage?
'Twere best to sound the caverns of my soul
And learn the being whom you dare control!
'Twill teach you wisdom in a single hour
And rob your malice of its wasting power!
For heaven has writ upon each poet soul
"DEAL GENTLY WITH HIM AND HIS ALL CONTROL."

_INFLUENCE._

BY SAM LAW.

When e'er a noble deed is wrought,
When e'er is spoke a noble thought,
Our hearts, in glad surprise,
To higher levels rise.

The sleeping purpose wakes in us,
Arousing power or genius,
And from their exercise
Is born good enterprise.

Honor to those whose words or deeds
Thus help us in our prison needs,
And by their overflow
Raise us from what is low.

_PERFECT PEACE._

["Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace."--Isaiah xxvi, 3.]

Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin,
The blood of Jesus whispers peace within;
Peace, perfect peace, for loved ones far away;
In Jesus' keeping we are safe and they.
Peace, perfect peace, with sorrows surging 'round,
On Jesus' bosom naught but calm is found;
Peace, perfect peace, our future all unknown;
Jesus we know, and He is on the throne.
Peace, perfect peace, death shadowing us and ours;
Jesus has vanquished death and all its powers.
It is enough, earth's struggles soon shall cease,
And Jesus calls to Heaven's own perfect peace.

_BE LENIENT TO THE ERRANT ONE._

BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.

Like phantoms weird of troubled dream,
In they come--a ceaseless stream--
The callow youth, the aged sire,
To reap the fruit of Satan's hire.

With pallid brow and rueful face
They view their garments of disgrace,
And oft in eyes unused to weep
Unbidden tears will slowly creep.

Be lenient with the blighted crowd;
Some come, perhaps, to greet a shroud;
Some, perhaps, will go outside
And yet become a nation's pride.

If by kindness you reclaim
A single soul from crime and shame,
God will reward the noble deed
And aid you in the hour of need.

_LAST NIGHT IN THE DUNGEON._

The darkness of Hades and a vile, deathly smell
Is all that I feel stealing over my senses,
As lingering alone in this cold dungeon cell,
Shut away from the world, where hearts' blood condenses.
I feel 'tis too much for slight, trivial offenses.

Shut away from the dear ones, the loved ones on earth,
I suffer the tortures that no man can tell
Till he's taken away from fireside and hearth
And sees the sad visions of a dungeon cell--
Then he feels that vile man can create a real hell.

As I sit here alone, my head throbbing and aching,
And listen to hear if the keeper is near,
My thoughts they roam back to little ones taking
Caresses so sweet from a mother so dear--
Then I'm prompted to ask, "Do they think of me here?"