Chapter II: Part 2

But when in my heart I feel a slight flutter,
I know there is sympathy somewhere about;
I then to myself do silently mutter,
"They have love for me still, and there is no doubt:"
Aye, love for me still, and this I've found out.

Then, down on the damp and cold stony floor,
Without either pillow, or blanket, or gown,
I stretch my weak body right close to the door,
And there, in sweet sleep, my vision to drown--
Then, when I awake, I'm not so cast down.

There is nothing so sweet and perfectly soothing
To one who is placed in a cold dungeon cell,
As the thought that yet there are dear ones a-wooing
The one who's imprisoned in a dark, dreary dell--
I muttered, while sleeping, "'Tis well, ah, 'tis well."

Then, when I awoke and proceeded to think,
Cold, stiffened and hungry, with tongue parched from thirst,
I seek but in vain for food and for drink,
But bread and poor water, the same as at first--
Aye, dry bread and bad water, the same as at first.

Then my heart sank within me, so weak and so pale,
As I gazed on the keeper of dungeon and jail
And begged for a drink of pure Adams' ale,
As he held in his hand a full water pail--
But the answer came back, "Your plea it must fail."

Then, giving it up in pure desperation,
I try to surpass the curse of damnation
That springs to my lips ere I can but control
The blood that is boiled by such torturing droll--
Then I whisper, "Be still! Some one loves this poor soul."

Then, staid by the love of those dear ones at home,
I steady myself and go swimming along;
I brave the hard life of a dark dungeon cell
And I come out victorious, all perfect and well--
Then I meet them again and go home there to dwell.
'T is well! Ah, 't is well!

_HOPE._

BY SAM LAW.

The world may change from old to new,--
From new to old again,--
Yet Hope and Heaven, forever true,
Within man's heart remain.
The dreams that bless the weary soul,
The struggle of the strong,
Are steps toward some happy goal,
The story of Hope's song.

_WOULD THEY KNOW?_

BY 25700.

If, amid these prison shadows,
These pale lips should breathe their last,
Would my friends regret the summons,
And forgive my guilty past?

Would they know the dire temptations
I had met and nobly braved
Ere the tears in guilty passion
My pale cheeks in torrents laved?

Would they know how oft and earnest
I had plead before the throne
For the place my crime made vacant
In the bosom of my own?

Would these hours of retribution
Prove sufficient for my sin?
Would the gates of glory open
To let this weary wanderer in?

Hear, Oh, hear! From yonder heaven
Speaks the Lamb once crucified;
"Look up, sad one; never falter;
For such sinners once I died."

_GUILT'S QUERIES AND TRUTH'S REPLIES._

BY HARRISON.

GUILT.

Will the fountain of life, now bathed in tears,
Ebb and flow ten weary years?
Will the soul escape the horrible blight
That stalks in prison's gruesome night?

TRUTH.

Trust, weary one, alone in ME;
Living or dead, thou shalt be free
From prison blight and sin's alarms,
While closely nestling in my arms.

GUILT.

Will the absent ones I love the best
'Neath heaven's smile serenely rest?
Will every branch of the family tree
Still bud and bloom till I am free?

TRUTH.

If they lean upon my breast
I will give thy loved ones rest;
If death a single jewel steal
Heaven its presence it shall reveal.

GUILT.

While prayers ascend from sacred fane
Shall penitent tears be shed in vain?
Will Christ ascend to a prison cell
And deign in a convict heart to dwell?

TRUTH.

None will I spurn who pardon crave--
I came on earth the lost to save:
He loves the most whose debt is large--
That soul is heaven's peculiar charge.

GUILT.

If ever again I shall be free
Will the wreck of my life still haunted be?
Will the much loved friends in the days of yore
Spurn me from their open door?

TRUTH.

Those who bathe in Calvary's stream
Sin regard as a hideous dream;
My children clothed in white by me
A welcome meet where'er they be.

_A LETTER FROM HOME._

BY NO. 24138.

I am far from the land where my loved ones are dwelling;
Between rolls the sea, with its billows and foam;
Yet my heart with fondest emotions is swelling
As I read the dear letter they've sent me from home.

For I fancy I see the brown cottage again,
And the garden where sweetly the red roses blow;
I kneel by a grave in the shade of the glen,
Where slumbers the dear one I lost long ago.

And oft to my heart, when in solitude straying,
Fond memory recalls the bright days of yore,
And I sigh for the fields, where the children are playing,
The hills and the valley I may never see more.

Long years have I wandered, alone and a stranger,
And dark is the pathway o'er which I must roam,
But I know there is ONE who can shield me from danger,
And his blessing I ask on the dear ones at home.

_THE REFORMER._

BY SAM LAW.

All grim and soiled and brown with tan,
I saw a strong one in his wrath
Smiting the godless shrines of man
Along his path.

I looked: aside the dust cloud rolled--
The Master seemed the Builder too;
Upspringing from the ruined Old
I saw the New.

Through prison walls, like heaven-sent hope,
Fresh breezes blew and sunbeams strayed,
And with the idle gallows rope
The young child played.

Where the doomed victim in his cell
Had counted o'er the weary hours
Glad school girls, answering to the bell,
Came crowned with flowers.

_REFLECTIONS._

How pleasant it is to be at home,
Surrounded by those we love;
How sweet to list to words of cheer
That softly fall on the listening ear
Like the notes of a cooing dove.

How the soft caress of a loving hand
Can dry the eyes that weep!
How the mind is eased and the pulses thrill
As we feel the strength of a loving will
That rocks our grief to sleep.

How soft that hand has ever been
When sickness laid us low,
How its soft caress could summon rest
And bring relief to the laboring breast,
And cool the fever's glow.

How soft the light in love-lit eye,
That welcomes our safe return;
How the tender kiss and warm embrace
Can soothe the pain of late disgrace
When fate has been too stern.

God bless the home where love abides--
'Tis the dearest spot on earth!
Be it hovel or palace, or great or small,
It holds man's hope, his joy, his all,
And heaven gave it birth!

_THE PRISONER RELEASED._

BY COL. H. C. PARSONS.

I could stand and look at the stars all night--
Where tides run in wreaths to the rivers and rills,
Where the sea breezes play with the wind from the hills--
Where by land and by sea man can go where he wills--
I'm a free man again, and a free man of right.

I could stand and look at the stars all night,
For months that were years they have prisoned my stars;
My silver-veiled Venus and red-hooded Mars
Were fettered and framed by the merciless bars,
That shaded their glory or shivered their light.

I will stand and look at the stars all night;
I will wait in the shadow and lee of the tower
Till morning shall come, with his magical power--
Perhaps in the flame of that wonderful hour
The prison shall tremble and pass from my sight.

_PRISON PAINS._

BY HARRISON.

Oh! to be heart hungry,
To feel that never again
Shall the heart pulsate with rapture
To the music of love's strain!

To feel o'er the senses stealing
A grief for words too deep,
And know the heart's best instincts
Are locked in fathomless sleep.

To hear the piteous wailings
That rise from an empty heart,
While every breath is torture
And every thought a dart.

Oh, list to the wondrous music
As it floats from the world above:
"There is balm for the broken-hearted:
The gift of my Son is--love."

Aye, prayer to heaven ascending,
Tho' winged from a convict cell,
Shall find in heaven a welcome
No tongue can ever tell.

_THE UNDER DOG._

BY BARKER.

I know that the world--the great, big world,
From the peasant up to the king,
Has a different tale from the tale I tell
And a different song to sing.

But for me--and I care not a single fig
If they say I was wrong or am right--
I shall always go in for the weaker dog,
For the under dog in the fight.

I know that the world--the great, big world--
Will never a moment stop
To see which dog may be in the fault,
But will shout for the dog on top.

But for me--I never shall pause to ask
Which dog may be in the right--
For my own heart will beat, while it beats at all,
For the under dog in the fight.

_KINDNESS._

BY ROTH.

A kind word for the prisoner,
A smile to cheer his heart,
For he bears a grievous burden,
Tho' he bravely plays his part.

From the world he hides his sorrows,
Stifles the groan of distress
That struggles oft for utterance
Beneath his convict dress.

The alert night watch could tell
Of the burning sighs they hear
While making midnight rounds
Through corridors so drear.

Then cheer his lot with kindness,
E'en though he be depraved:
If, wakened from his blindness,
The worst one may be saved.

_THERE IS NO DEATH._

There is no death! The feeble body, slumbering,
Seems but to waste and fade away;
In future years that God is numbering
'Twill spring from slumber and decay.

And clothed with beauty everlasting,
With not a stain of earth to mar,
'Twill voice a music more entrancing
Than anthem of the morning star.

A thing of beauty is immortal;
Each line once lost to mortal sight,
Soars upward to heaven's august portal,
Glad to escape earth's cankering night.

Earth's best and brightest can not perish--
Death is decreed alone to strife.
The good we love and fondly cherish
God has endowed with endless life.

Grieve not for those now calmly sleeping,
Rocked by the slow, revolving earth:
Angelic hosts around them sweeping
Shall wake them to an endless birth.

In heaven above there is no seeming:
God feeds immortal souls on bliss;
On earth we linger, sadly dreaming,
Till death awakes us with a kiss.

Then fear thee not death's friendly slumbers:
Guardian angels watch thy rest;
Jehovah all thy days shall number
And do for thee whate'er is best.

_DREAMS._

Dreams are but glimpses of the power
Deep hidden in the human soul
That, like some enchanted flower,
Withers 'neath reason's stern control.

They come not as invited guests
To while away the tedious hours--
Are they not lights from heaven sent
To teach the soul its wondrous powers?

And best they love to lead us back
O'er scenes to memory doubly dear,
For those we, waking, love the most
In dreams will seem most near.

While reason sleeps the soul, awake,
Lives o'er each precious hour,
And woos us with a gentle strain
Of pathos and of power.

Dreams index to our waking thought
Plans on which the heart is set,
And he who heeds their warning voice
Has in life least to regret.

In waking hours we sow the seed,
In dreams we reap the grain:
Sometimes the harvest all is joy,
Sometimes, alas! 'tis pain.

What marvel then that sleep is sweet,
If dreams bring bliss to view--
Perhaps the afterglow of death
Will prove most dreams are not untrue.

_THE GREAT "O. P."_

"Forward, march!" the left foot first,
The heel down mighty hard,
Your head erect and turned to the left,
As you slyly watch the guard.
Tramp, tramp, three times each day,
Back and forth to our meals,
While the fellow behind, with his "State brogans,"
Scrapes the skin all off our heels.

The visitors in amaze at us gaze
As we march gayly by,
The ladies fair, with many a stare,
Will slyly say, "O my!"
Some "Hayseed" old, with a chronic cold,
Will suddenly say, "I swow!
There goes the man--do you see him Ann?--
What took our brindle cow!"

They say we are "cut-throats" and "robbers,"
And would be worse if we could;
But it's false--we're noble-hearted patriots,
Here for our country's good,
And the honor came to us, you know:
We didn't go to it--
In other words, we were forced here
To "do" our little "bit."

Uncle Sam's domain has been ransacked
For men with blue-blooded veins,
For we don't want any persons here
With any mortal stains.
We are all old sons of Irish lords--
Or at least we'd like to be--
But instead we are only "cons," you know,
Doing time in the great "O. P."

_COMING IN AND GOING OUT._

BY CARR.

Coming in to penal slavery,
Coming in from liberty;
Going out to joy and freedom,
Going out the world to see;
Coming in, oh, how unhappy!
Going out with many a doubt--
Endless stream of wretched mortals
Coming in and going out.

From the many charms of home life,
From beneath the humble cot,
To this penal institution
Where the felon mortal's brought
From some distant homes perhaps torn
Because grim justice took a fit--
Coming in with sighs and sadness,
A bondsman for his life or "bit."

Far his loving wife and children,
While their eyes with tears are wet;
Though his family needs him daily.
And there are bills that must be met,
To this convict world about us,
With its heartless woe and din,
Endless stream of restless mortals
Adding to its load of sin.

Time goes on so very slowly,
Though we try hard not to grieve
For the dear old family homestead
And for those we're forced to leave;
Weary are we very often,
Weary when we try to win
News of those who loved us dearly
Ere we took this step in sin.

Coming in, alas! to never
See the outside world again!
Some there are that have my pity:
Naught for them but toil and pain;
Doomed life's golden hours to fritter
Far from home and friends most dear--
God's pity on the poor full-termer
Coming in to die, we fear.

Coming in to serve our sentence,
Going out, we hope, to cheer;
Coming in to do hard labor,
Going out to family dear--
Careless stream of wretched mortals
From all stations 'long life's route--
Hovel, mansion and the hamlet--
Coming in and going out.

_SOUL SCULPTURE._

BY BISHOP DOANE.

Sculptures of life are we as we stand,
With our souls uncarved before us,
Waiting the hour when, at God's command,
Our life dream shall pass o'er us.
If we carve it, then, on the yielding stone
With many a sharp incision,
Its heavenly beauty shall be our own,
Our lives the angel vision.

_WEIGHT AND IMMORTALITY OF WORDS._

Who knows how heavy his words may be,
Or watches, when he has set them free,
Their poising, their flight, their rise and fall
In the world of thought? We are careless all.

We fathom our own, not another's mind.
And are all near-sighted among our kind,
While words of ours and words of theirs
Are meeting and wrestling unawares.

Words are types of our moral trend,
The blooms of our daily lives, that lend
To others the fragrance of what we are--
The outward semblance that goes afar.

The part of ourselves that is not our own,
When set afloat in the vast unknown,
The something we give to the moving wheels
Of the mighty force that grows and feels.

No words are lost as they float away:
On some life ever they rest and weigh,
Unbound in public or depths obscure
Their immortality is secure.

Deep in our hearts we often find
Words lips long closed have left behind:
They live in the chambers of the brain,
The source of endless joy or pain.

Words may be soft as evening air
Or fierce as sultry noonday's glare,
But soft or fierce, be sure they rest
A curse or blessing in some one's breast.

How deep soever their meaning may lie,
Not every soul will pass them by!
No anger, nor passion, nor malice so great
But a match 'twill meet in a world of hate.

No love so deep, no word so kind
But lodges at last in a kindred mind,
No thought so vast, nor high nor low
But a parallel meets in a world of woe.

A heedless word a heart may break,
A thoughtful one a fortune make;
One, hurl a soul in endless night;
Another, lead to heaven's delight.

One word may nerve a murderer's arm,
Another still a raging storm--
One, sow the seeds of endless strife;
Another, sanctify a life.

Our words outline the feeble tongue
From which their outward being sprung,
Or, written on the stainless page,
They live to bless or curse an age.

How careful, then, ought we to be
Before we let such engines free!
Once free, no power can call them back,
Nor human genius trace their track.

We loose them 'mid the wide expanse
'Neath joyous spell or sorrow's trance,
But if their fruitage all could know
We would not deem them half so low.

_WHICH LOVED HER BEST?_

Two votaries of love's maddening dream
At twilight sat beside a stream,
Each painting scenes of future bliss,
Dependent on their darling's kiss.

Both were young and both were fair,
With noble hearts and manly air,
And both were members of a band
Who bled to free his native land.

Each was bound both heart and soul
Beneath fair Nellie's sweet control,
Yet they were friends both true and tried,
If such ere lived, if such ere died.

Each loved her much, yet neither knew
How well each loved her, nor how true,
For each was dreaming of the hour
That _he_ would cull this priceless flower.

At last Ned turned and gayly said,
"Next Wednesday I and Nellie wed--
God knows I am the happiest man
In all this joyous Western land.

"I could not keep this back from you--
That would be unjust--untrue.
I feel whatever shall betide
That _you_ will e'er defend my bride."

Harvey turned aside his face,
Lest his friend should see some trace
Of the anguish and despair
The hopeless suffering mirrored there.

Each word had sunk within his heart
Like adder's tooth or poisoned dart;
Joyful love and hope had fled,
And left his withered heart--stone dead.

He raised his haggard face above
Until an angel mother's love
Sent comfort to her suffering child,
That made him calm and meek and mild.

By memories of the tented field
Where patriots died, but dared not yield,
He knew that Ned his arm had lent
To stop steel for his bosom meant,

And oft had watched beside his bed
When others in dismay had fled;
When he spoke, his voice was low
And soft as rippling streamlets flow:

"I wish you peace and joy, Ned;
You best deserve this queen to wed.
I only crave in future life
To serve you and your peerless wife."

The loyal look in Harvey's eyes
Was to Ned a new surprise;
And in a moment all was plain--
His friend's devotion and his pain.

They stood and wrung each others hand
To reinforce their friendship's band--
Their hearts were full, their eyes were wet,
Yet who can such a scene regret?

Their friendship stood the cruel test,
And sank triumphant into rest;
They parted, but to meet again
Where life was torture, memory pain.

One year passed, and war had swept
O'er the spot where these two wept,
While they, with Meig's galland band,
Were held by Santa Anna's hand.

Behind Satillo's gloomy walls,
Whose history stoutest heart appalls,
Here base deeds were hourly wrought
With hell's intensest malice fraught.

Two hundred patriots true and tried
To Santa Anna's shame here died
Simply because they leapt the wall
And strove to go beyond recall!

Ned and his comrades planned their flight
While careless sentries slept at night,
And in safety reached the distant plain
Where hope and life revived again.

Across the arid plain they sped,
Half clothed, half starved and almost dead;
Without a guide to lead them right
They toiled by day and prayed by night.

The blistering soil bold cactus bred
Till every toil-worn foot was bled,
And one by one the hapless band
Fell prostrate on the glittering sand.

Pursuing soldiers found them thus,
And drug and drove them to the "truss,"
There to await the "tortures grand"
That Santa Anna would command.

"Nine of ten shall now be shot;
Choose the guilty dogs by lot:
This law for ages now untold
Has defied both fraud and gold!"

_Nine black_ beans and _one_ snow _white_
Were placed within a box at night--
Every captive must draw one,
Blindfolded, ere the work begun.

If _white_, he lived, if black, he died--
Thus were the Texas patriots tried!
By sons of Gantimozin's race--
Man's caricature and heaven's disgrace!

Harvey drew one of faultless white,
Ned drew one as black as night.
"I'm lost--oh, God, my wife!" Ned gasped,
As Harvey sprang his hand to clasp.

"Not so," he cried, "your bean is white--
See, mine is _black_, thank God! 'tis right!"
E'er Ned could draw a conscious breath--
Harvey had met a hero's death!

Which loved her best, the man who _died_
Or he who _lived_ to cheer his bride?
Please answer me; O heart, awake--
Such liberty I dare not take.

_THE STORMS OF LIFE._

BY SAM LAW.

The oak strikes deeper as his boughs
By furious blasts are driven;
So life's vicissitudes the more
Have fixed my heart in heaven.
All gracious Lord, whate'er my lot
In other times may be,
I'll welcome still the heaviest grief
That brings me near to Thee.

_LOVE'S VICTIM._

She was no dainty city belle,
Half art and half deceit,
And yet no fairer vision
The human eye could greet.

Naught knew she of city life
Or fashion's changing art--
Nature created her a belle
And blessed her with a heart.

Her eyes were large and soulful,
Her face divinely fair;
Her form was lithe and graceful
And a golden dream her hair.

Her voice was full of melody:
Each tone to listening ear
Seemed to awake such music
As angels delight to hear.

Beautiful, pure and guileless,
With the faith of a trusting child,
She worshiped the God of nature
With a spirit undefiled.

She lived with honest parents
In a home on the mountain side,
Where peace and plenty lingered
And love was true and tried.

Parental duress was unknown,
For love's restraints are mild:
A mother's love and father's hope
Were centered in this child.

The acknowledged belle of the mountain,
She spurned the coquette's art,
Determining never to promise
Her hand without her heart.

She could not love her suitors
With the love a wife should give,
And deemed it sin without such love
In wedlock's bonds to live.

The idol of many a noble heart,
None dared their suit to press:
Thus they wound the gentle spirit
That pitied, but could not bless.

Grateful for each friendly smile
That o'er her face would beam,
She reigned an empress absolute
In each fond lover's dream.

A petted child of fashion,
The heir to boundless wealth,
Came one day among them
To recruit his waning health.

These hospitable mountain people
Welcomed the haggard boy,
And strove to make his visit
One radiant scene of joy.

They bade their darling daughter
To be the stranger's guide,
And show him all the beauties
Of her loved mountain side.

Together they scaled the mountains,
With many a merry shout;
Together they garnered the flowers
Or angled the nimble trout.

He spake of his home in the city,
Of the wealth he soon would own;
Promised to make Lenora his wife
Ere the summer days had flown.

Lenora loved this stranger
With a soul-absorbing love,
And trembled 'neath his caresses
As helpless as a dove.

He was a master of the art
That robs the halls of Truth
To gain what passion courts,
Tho' it blasts the hopes of youth.

His honied words of flattery,
Uttered with seductive art,
Were music to the listening ear
And soon deceived the heart.

Lenora confided in his worth,
Receiving each promise as truth--
How could she doubt her only love
In the trustful hours of youth?

Assured of an early marriage,
She yielded to him one day
That priceless germ of innocence
And fell--to trust a prey.

She hoped this sacrifice would gain
Her lover's every thought;
This were a boon, if death could buy.
She deemed not dearly bought.

Little she dreamed that fatal hour
That love had sped the dart
That stamped her as an outcast,
With a withered, broken heart.

Eugene went to his city home,
Swearing to soon return
And claim as wife the girl he knew
His parents proud would spurn.

Summer and autumn days passed by
And the winter's cold set in,
Yet the recreant lover came not
To the child he taught to sin.

A mother's ever watchful eye
Discovered her daughter's shame,
Heard her story with breaking heart,
But uttered no word of blame.

She knew her daughter's downfall
Was the fruit of love beguiled,
But hated the heartless stranger
Who ruined her trusting child.

God alone can measure the pain
That child and mother felt,
As, locked in lingering embrace,
In agony they knelt

And poured in heaven's listening ear
Their heart-destroying grief;
And who so bold as to deny
That Heaven sent relief?

The father learned his daughter's sin
And drove her from his door.
"Go!" he said, "you guilty wretch,
You are my child no more."

Stung by these cruel, terrible words,
She fled in wild affright
In search of the heartless lover,
Her fearful wrongs to right.

She tracked the guilty miscreant down,
And he, to save his name,
Hid her till her child was born
In a house of doubtful fame.

The world looked on the helpless child
With cold, unpitying eye.
The villian bade his dupe go home,
"Repent of her sin and die."

She heard, and from her glittering eye
No tear of anguish sped--
With dagger drawn she reached his side,
And struck the villain _dead_!

With her babe she sought her father's door
And pled with a piteous cry
A shelter for her hapless babe
While the storm was raging high.

"Begone, you wretch!" the father cried,
"I curse the hour that gave
Birth to a wretch whose sin has laid
My wife within the grave."

"My mother dead! and I still live?
Ah! whither shall I fly?
O God! protect my hapless babe,
And suffer me to die."

The storm increased; she wandered on
Almost till break of day,
Till weary, wet and almost dead,
She knelt in the path to pray.

The sky was lit from end to end
By the lightning's awful glare,
And a falling tree pinned both to earth
As they knelt in the act of prayer!

They found them thus in the morning light,
And the father's grief was wild.
He tenderly looked on the touching scene
And at last forgave his child!

They buried Lenora and her nameless babe
Close beside her mother's clay,
And each one spake in kindly tones
Of the hapless ones that day.

The arm that sent the dagger home
Was nerved by a brain dethroned:
'Tis Lenora's was an awful deed,
But her terrible death atoned.

Aye, let us hope the much-wronged child
Has reached a home above
Where babes can live who have no name
And 'tis not sin to love.

_A PRISONER'S LAMENTATION._

A poor convict in his cell lay dying:
He thought of home and loved ones dear,
He asked his cell-mate, in a whisper,
"Do you think the end is drawing near?"

"If I should die before I see them
Tell them how I longed tonight
To have my mother's blessed care
To leave this world of sin and strife."

Oh! how he longed to see his mother
And the cottage on the hill--
"_God bless them all_," I heard him whisper,
As with tears his eyes did fill.

"Will they think of me--a prisoner--
I, who was once their pride and joy?
While I sleep in the churchyard yonder
Will they think of their wayward boy?

"I know I've caused them lots of trouble
In wild and reckless boyish day,
But I hope that God will now forgive me
When from this earth I'm called away.

"I know it broke my mother's heart
When she heard of me, her wayward son,
Who five long years did serve in prison
For a highway robbery he had done.

"Has Sister "Minn," whom I used to play with
In days of youth, forgotten me?
If she has, I vow I can not blame her,
For I've caused her pain and shame, not glee.

"There's but one wish I now shall mention--
That Mother's days may be days of joy,
And when she asks for me in prison
Speak mildly of her convict boy.

"Here, take this to my dear old mother!
I know 'tis but a lock of hair,
But it's all I've got to give her now--
I know she'll treasure it with care."

And when he handed me the keepsake
His spark of life had nearly fled.
He clenched my hand and uttered "_Mother_!"
And a poor convict there lay dead.

May all young men now take fair warning
From one who's had experience long:
Guard strong against temptation's dawning--
Cast off evil and do no wrong.

In your younger days _court_ good, _shun_ evil;
Be careful who you companions choose;
When you make life's start then do not cavil--
March manfully on to win, not lose.

_OUR BOARD OF MANAGERS._

Long have we lived in misery and woe;
Long have we suffered from "kindness" cold as snow;
Long has pernicious influence been kept
Hovering 'round our misery, while in dungeons we have slept.

Long have we suffered from want of human care:
Long have we been bearded as the tiger in his lair:
Long have we went hungry for want of proper food,
And felt the sting of th' master's lash, as o'er our task we stood.

As the dark and gloomy cloud, that hovered o'er our past,
Has been wafted off by humane hands--'tis swept away at last.
We now emerge from darkness into a welcome light,
And live in brighter future hopes--a day made out of night.

We hail you, noble, honest men, whose hearts beat five as one,
Thus far in your prison work your duty you have done;
Eternal God will always right the brutal wrongs of man,
And therefore He did send you here to do the best you can.

A Cherrington, for the chairman, is a master stroke, you know.
And a Rose is always welcome, 'cause virtue he will sow;
A McConica, of democrat fame, is a power behind the throne,
While a Hoffman, sent from Cleveland, is a father to the home;
A Muscroft from old "Cincy" is a rattler for the place;
They all do join their hands and thoughts and duty bravely face,
While a McAdow records their acts with a gentlemanly grace.

They issue mandates right and left and order what is just;
They raise poor fallen, helpless man to a place of welcome trust;
They seek to lead him on the way to a nobler, better life,
And restore him to his children and his broken hearted wife.

Their Coffin always sits close by to lend a helping hand,
And faithfully their trust does keep--a leader of their band.
Well they know the awful fruitage of each harsh and brutal plan
Is to rouse the lurking tiger in the breast of erring man.

Now they rule, whose every impulse ripened by enlightened thought,
And it leads to many actions that with highest good is fraught.
And they use with great discretion measures that are just and kind,
Hoping to reform the erring through the agency of mind.

They have learned the useful lesson taught men from the power above,
That the greatest force in nature is the power of inspired love.
They have learned that rank dissension from all evil nature flows,
And they deem that man the greatest who can ease most mortal woes.

Let us ever sing enchanting of our now official corps
As they lift us from dark ruin as it has been heretofore.
See! the clouds so lately darkening o'er the prisoner's gloomy past,
Mercy's hand is fast dispelling--REASON _takes the reins at last_!

_A TRIBUTE TO ASSISTANT DEPUTY WARDEN L. H. WELLS_.

BY G. W. VAN WEIGHS.

Comrade, may the God of heaven ease the maddening pain
That has swept across your bosom since your son was slain;
Think not of him as a mortal mouldering into dust;--
God, too, loved him and, my comrade, He betrays no trust.

You shall see him when the morning breaks above the night of death,
And your parting, O, my comrade, will but seem a passing breath.
Well I know the awful pressure grief exerts upon the soul,
But I know it will but whiten what it can't control.

You have met on field of battle many a gallant foe,
And, with patriotism burning, gave them blow for blow,
You have fought till every rebel bent the suppliant knee,
And the land you loved and cherished once again was free.

You despise no gallant fellow who once wore the blue
When it cost both blood and treasure if a man was true.
You forgive the trivial errors of that noble band,
And you meet a loyal comrade with extended hand.

You have friends in every station where your worth is known;
You have showered acts of kindness that but few have known.
Since your advent in this prison you have daily won
Hearts that ever will remember _acts of kindness nobly done_.

Comrade, time is passing swiftly, and Jehovah his reveille
Soon will sound upon the hilltops of a vast eternity.
May we gather with our comrades on that ever beautiful shore
And, like conquering heroes, listen to Heaven's plaudits ever more.

_ONE AND A FEW._

BY 21069.

Of all the pet pleasures so pleasing to man
In his present degenerate state,
I doubt if there's any can make him so glad
As the one I'm about to relate.

While here he's confined he's troubled in mind
With his "fifteen" or "twenty" to do,
And he longs for the day when he boldly can say:
"I've only got one and a few."

Then keep a strong heart. With courage don't part,
But manfully fight your way through;
Be it "five" or it "ten" or twice that again,
'Twill come down to "one and a few."

How often at night when I sit in my cell,
After working quite hard all the day,
My memory goes back to the time that I fell,
For the "bit" which I now have to stay.

And sometimes, I own, while sitting alone
I feel sad and disconsolate, too;
But it makes me feel gay when I think I can say,
"I've only got one and a few."

Oh, many's a home that's cheerless tonight,
And many's the mother feels drear;
When she thinks of the one far away from her sight
It causes her many a tear.

Though others may cleave to her, you are the same;
Misfortune but makes her more true;
She may now be quite sad, but won't she feel glad
When you've only got "one and a few?"

Then, don't be discouraged. No matter how long
In this prison you may have to stay,
You know that to worry and fret is quite wrong,
Far better drive dull care away.

Old Time is the boy your "bit" to destroy
As he jogs along, contented and true;
And so, in the end, you'll find he's the friend
That brought you to "one and a few."

_MIDNIGHT MUSINGS._

'Tis midnight! The sentry's muffled tread
Is heard within these walls:
As silent as the living dead
He makes his regular calls.

I try to sleep, but all in vain;
I try to close--I weep,
I hear that muffled tread again--
The sentries on me peep.

I hear a voice so clear and plain--
It calls to me aloud--
It calls to me again, again;
That voice comes from a shroud.

Hist! Hist! vile heart, be still! No fear,
My angel sister's voice I hear!
It speaks to me in accents clear
And bids me shun a vile career.

She bids me meet her once again
And live in Heaven's fairest clime.
Nor shall her pleading be in vain--
_Resolved_, I'll do no crime.

Oh, could I feel her warm embrace
As when, in days of old,
I gazed into her angeled face--
It gave happiness untold.

Oh, let me live my boyhood days
As in the time gone by!
And let me consecrate her ways
When for this boy she'd cry.

But, hist! again the muffled tread
Comes gliding, silent as the dead,
Along the beat within these walls--
Hark! Hark! again dear sister calls.

_A QUERY._

BY MORSE.

When the long weary days are over
And the front gates open to you,
Are you again to be a wild rover?
What are you going to do?

Have you plans or dreams for the future?
Have the days any brightness for you?
Will you be a poor homeless creature?
What are you going to do?

Should your old-time friends forsake you--
Those who were strong and true--
And leave you helpless, homeless--
What are you going to do?

But you have one friend who is faithful,
Who is always kind and true.
Read His word and study His gospel--
He'll tell you what to do.

_STRAY THOUGHTS._

In the fathomless depths of the mighty deep
What wonders live, what mysteries sleep!
What mind can name the sightless things
That live in the ocean's hidden springs,
Where treasures heaped on treasures lie,
Forever secure from the human eye;
Where creatures sport, that God alone
Can know their joy or hear their moan?

Who knows but the bride of the Dublin Bay
May walk in the ocean's depths today,
Arm in arm with her own dear Roy
In the conscious flush of honeymoon joy?
Who knows but the hearts that sadly yearned
For the gallant ship that never returned,
Have met, in the ocean's unknown bed,
The loved, tho' lost, we all thought dead?

Science has proved the human frame
Is water and salt by another name!
Hydrography yet may teach mankind
The open door of heaven to find.
"Davie Jones' locker" may prove to be
Instinct with life, by death set free!
Knew we the tongue of the deep sea shell
What wondrous news its notes might tell!

The myriad stars in yonder skies
May be the beams of death-freed eyes
That watch us from an unknown shore,
Still faithful to the vows of yore!
The vaulted blue of heaven may be
The looking glass of the mighty sea,
Where deathless souls their vigils keep
O'er fast decaying world, asleep.

Atlantis, the fabled city of old,
Whose gates inspired poets behold,
May now be resting beneath the wave,
Triumphant o'er a watery grave!
Its pearly gates and glittering spires
Arouse the poet's mad desires.
He sees--and sings in tongue unknown--
The mysteries by the Muses shown.

Conducted by a sybil fair,
He penetrates each demon lair
And pictures hell, in golden speech,
Beyond imagination's reach.
To highest heaven his thought has flown
And measured and admired the throne;
Made angels bow beneath his rod
And dared to mould the mind of God!

Who knows but legends the Muses tell
Are truths encased in a mighty dream?
Who knows but the angels of earth and air
Are the beautiful nymphs beside each stream?
Each singing bird and nodding flower
May be imbued with potent power;
And stars an influence, too, may wield
And bless or curse our natal hour!

Who knows but what we call a brute
Is with immortal reason blest?
Who knows man is alone divine
And destined to immortal rest?
Theorize and reason as we may,
How little we can really know;
We only learn to live, then die,
And who may say to what we go?

_JUDGE NOT, LEST YE BE JUDGED._

BY SAM LAW.

Art thou so good, so free from sin
That thou should'st judge thy fellow men?
Look well to self before the stone,
Aimed at thy brother's faults, be thrown,
Behold in thee
A Pharisee.

If thou art not so low, perchance thou'rt only so from circumstance;
Perhaps, if tempted, thou would'st fall. Thy nature's sinful, after all.

Thou knowest not, most righteous scribe,
The struggles, trials, patience tried;
The battles fought, the vict'ries gained,
The bleeding heart, the soul tear-stained,
More human be,
Have charity.

_THE CONVICT'S PRAYER._

BY 21269.

At midnight, in a prison cell,
On bended knee the convict fell,
And poured in heaven's listing ear
A prayer for those he held most dear.

Oh, God; defend my absent wife,
Whose breaking heart and blighted life
Spring not from conscious guilt within,
But from a reckless husband's sin.

Spare her, indulgent heaven, the blow,
That oft has laid an angel low;
Still may her ever angel face
Reflect the presence of Thy grace.

Be it well pleasing in Thy sight
That she may rear my babes aright,
And teach them, in the bloom of youth,
The laws of kindness and of truth.

Help me discharge, on every hand,
The duties right and law demand;
And may I live to dwell once more
Honored among the friends of yore.

_WINE VS. WATER._

There stood two glasses, filled to the brim,
On a rich man's table, rim to rim,
One was ruddy and red as blood,
And one as clear as the crystal flood.

Said the glass of wine to the paler brother:
"Let us tell the tales of the past to each other.
I can tell of banquet, revel and mirth,
And the proudest and grandest souls on earth
Fell under my touch as though struck by blight,
Where I was a king, for I ruled in night.
From the heads of kings I have torn the crown;
From the heights of fame I have hurled men down.
I have blasted many an honored name;
I have taken virtue and given shame.
I have tempted youth with a sip, a taste
That has made his future a barren waste.
Far greater than a king am I,
Or than any army beneath the sky.
I have made the arm of the driver fail,
And sent the train from the iron rail.
I have made good ships go down at sea,
And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me,
For they said, "Behold! how great you be!"
Fame, strength, wealth, genius before me fall,
For my might and power are over all.
Ho! ho! pale brother," laughed the wine,
"Can you boast of deeds so great as mine?"

The water said proudly, "I cannot boast
Of a king dethroned or a murdered host;
But I can tell of a heart once sad,
By my crystal drops made light and glad--
Of thirsts I've quenched, of brows I've laved;
Of hands I've cooled and souls I've saved;
I've leaped thro' the valley, dashed down the mountain,
Formed beautiful rivers and played in fountain,
Slept in the sunshine and dropped from the sky
And everywhere gladdened the landscape and eye.
I've eased the hot forehead of fever and pain,
I've made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain;
I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill
That ground out flower and turned at my will;
I can tell of manhood, debased by you.
That I lifted up and crowned anew.
I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid;
I gladden the heart of man and maid;
I set your close-chained captive free
And all are better for knowing me."

These are the tales they told each other--
The glass of wine and its paler brother--
As they sat together, filled to the brim.
On the rich man's table, rim to rim.

_THE FALL OF SODOM._

Thou sin-cursed city of the stricken plain,
Whose heinous lust all after time shall shame,
'Twas thine to rouse Jehovah's awful ire,
And test the strength of Heaven's revengeful fire.
Thy senseless lust and crime had spread
Till virtue, hope and shame had fled;
Degraded youth and tottering age
Could not appease thy senseless rage;
Thy leacherous sons, that roamed at night,
Were human only to the sight;
Their motto was hell's direst fruit:
"Debase the _man_, exhalt the _brute_!"
One man alone of all thy teeming millions sate,
And pondered on thy sin with deathless hate;
His righteous soul was vexed from day to day,
And strove in vain to turn you from your way.
_He_ dwelt among you as a child of God,
And in the path of honored wedlock trod.
_You_, dead to nature and to nature's voice,
Spurned woman and made man your choice!
And desecrated, with your impious lust,
The masterpiece God had formed from dust!
Till woman, shorn of all her natural power,
Was cast aside, like some discarded flower,
And stormed insulted heaven with hourly cry,
Till God beheld you with His searching eye,
And sent His angels in avenging haste
Your sin to punish and your land to waste.
The son of Horan met these at the gate,
And begged them at his frugal board to wait;
At first refused, they after turn aside,
And 'neath a righteous roof content abide.
They share his food and list with eager ear
As Lot recounts each nightly scene of fear;
When lust runs riot in the open streets,
And man with man in strange communion meets.
The men of Sodom learn, with kindling eye,
The stranger's presence, and in haste draw nigh.
Men, young and old, with equal ardor burn,
And, with unholy lust, towards these strangers yearn.
They call the patriarch with an angry shout,
And bid him bring the hallowed strangers out,
That they may satisfy their lawless lust
And trample decency in sinful dust.
He, taught from infancy in Mosaic Law,
Regarded heaven's High Ruler still with awe;
And shuddered with indignant fear
As these vile shouts assailed his ear.
He left his house and closed the door behind,
And to the rabble thus he eased his mind:
"Ye men of Sodom! _once_ in life do right,
Nor do this wickedness in heaven's sight!
Two virgin daughters 'neath my roof reside,
Till now a father's care and mother's pride;
Take them and do whatever you deem right,
But lay no impious hand upon my guests tonight.
The laws of hospitality, by Moses taught,
Harms not a stranger whom our roof has sought.
They know the law, who now reside within,
And with horror view your awful sin!"
"Ye men of Sodom! who this stranger gave
The right to judge us and our will to brave?
We kindly took a homeless wanderer in,
And dare he brand our greatest pleasure sin?
Shall empty words defy our proud behest,
Or useless offering prevent our guest?
Ten thousand 'No's' will pierce his dastard breast,
And treat him tenfold worse than all the rest!"
Thus spake their leader, and with angry roar
The o'er wrought friends assail the door;
Lot, backward hurled, could hardly stand,
Till snatched within by angel hand,
The maddened crowd no longer wait,
But headlong rush to meet their fate!
The ready angels rise, with godlike mind,
And strike the guilty wretches blind:
In vain they strive to reach and force the door,
Their useless orbs are blasted evermore!
"Go seek thy children, Lot, in eager haste,
And bid them not a precious moment waste.
God will destroy this sin-accursed place,
And wipe from earth its faintest trace!"
Lot, thus commanded, found each one that night,
And faithfully portrayed their awful plight;
But he, to them, seemed as a man that mocked,
And left them sorely grieved and doubly shocked.
The morn arose! The angels cautioned Lot
To wife and daughters take and tarry not;
And as they lingered took them by the hand
And led them from the endangered land.
"Flee to the mountains and no hind'rance brook,
Nor backward turn a long, admiring look.
The wretch who dares this mandate to defy
Shall, 'neath Jehovah's hand, in torture die!"
This stern command was heard by trembling Lot
With deep repugnance, for it pleased him not.
"Nay, nay, my lord; but if before thy face
Thy trembling servant dares to plead for grace,
Command me that I now may turn aside
And in your little city safe reside.
Thus may I keep my soul alive this day
Nor after fall to mountain beasts a prey."
The heavenly strangers, with an august nod,
Agree to lift from Zoar Jehovah's rod.
The rescued quartette Zoarward bend,
While hope and fear alternate tend.
With mien majestic, yes, with hasty tread,
Their trembling flight their aged father led.
Next came the virgins, able scarce to stand,
And followed by their mother, last of all the band.
She yet to Sodom and its idols clave,
And dared Jehovah's awful wrath to brave;
One look she sought, her weary journey to beguile,
And in a moment stood transfixed--_a Salty Pile_!
The more obedient trio onward fly,
Until the opening gates of Zoar greet the eye.
Now, with full hearts, they reach the calm retreat,
And cordial welcome from King Bela meet.

END OF FIRST CANTO.

_THE FALL OF SODOM--CANTO SECOND._