Chapter II: Gethsemane

_Matthew 26:36-46._

"Could ye not watch with me one hour?" O heart
Of Christ, still longing in the bitterest hour
For human sympathy and love to shower
A needed strength beyond words to impart!
Humanity is richer for this art
Of seeing in poor finite man a power--
Before which even ministering angels cower--
To know all truth, e'en dread Gethsemane's smart.
Alas! the power to know will bring the pain.
But through the pain of wisdom's true insight
Is Christ's own perfect sympathy made plain.
Possessed of this, we see in tenderest light
His sorrowing heart in failing to obtain
The longed-for love in hour of darkest night.

ON LAKE MEMPHREMAGOG.

By old Owl's Head on Memphremagog's side,
In hammock-nook 'midst scenery wild and bold,
The spirit of the waters, as of old,
Broods o'er my soul, its secrets to confide,
It whispers of the anguish, joy, and pride,
The heart of man has on its bosom told;
And hails as conqueror Him who once did hold
Its heart in peace when tempest-tossed and tried.

Loved spirit of the waters, we too hail
The power of Him who walked the holy sea
Of Galilee. Capacity to fail
Were harder to believe than victory.
May He who conquered wildest Nature's heart
His infinite power and rest to us impart!

_August, 1891._

LUKE 23:24.

From holy depths he to the Father prayed,
"Forgive them, for they know not what they do."
His heart, pierced then with anguish through and through,
Cried out "'Tis finished," as he death obeyed.
In bitterest wrong this marvellous soul was weighed
With tenderest love and longing towards those who,
Through ignorance of what they might be too,
Were now the slaves of evil passion's raid.
"They know not what they do." O blessed sight
Into the heart of sin's great mystery.
Forgiveness here is shown in sweetest light,
Clothed in her garment of sincerity.
Blest are those souls who reach this precious height;
They know the secret of Christ's victory.

TO THE MEMBERS OF MY HOME CLUB.[C]

While dwelling in sweet wisdom's fruitful ways,
In company with poets grand and good
Who met our human nature's every mood,
What life was ours, beyond our words to praise!
In seeking for the secret of the lays
Which clothed in art pure Nature's daily food,
Or brought to light a Christian brotherhood,
Did we not garner thoughts for future days?
'Tis one of wisdom's joys, while lingering here
To plant her seeds of righteousness and peace,
To give a sweet companionship and cheer
To those who seek from her their soul's increase.
This, friends, we've felt in our Club atmosphere.
May its sweet memory linger till life cease!

_Chelsea, Mass., 1888._

[C] For an account of this Home Club, see the _Boston Literary
World_, of July 9, 1887, and June 9, 1888; also, _Lend a Hand_,
for September, 1889.

FOR MY LITTLE NEPHEWS AND NIECES.

A MAMMA'S LULLABY.

Dream of loveliest beauty in thine hour of sleep,
Harold, baby boy.
Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby.
Catch the sweetest glimpses of the heavenly bliss,
While the holy angels bless thee with a kiss.
Lullaby, lullaby.
So shall mamma feel a breath
Of celestial power,
To beautify the ministry,
Of baby's waking hour.
Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby,
Harold, baby boy.
Lullaby, lullaby.

WARREN'S SONG.

How I love you, baby dear,
Sister Rosamond!
I must kiss you,
I must hug you,
I must be your little beau,
To protect you
Or to rescue
From the faults of friend or foe.
I must grow more wise and graceful
Every way,
That I may be true and helpful
For the day
When, as lovely fair young woman,
You will need my stay.
Darling Rosebud,
How I love you,
How I love you, sister dear!
Oh, I will be good and pure,
Striving always to endure
What will make me honest, kind,
Generous, manly, strong in mind,
Worthy of my Rosebud.
Darling Rosebud,
Sweetest Rosebud,
How I love you, sister dear!

BABY MILDRED.

Darling baby Mildred, playing on the floor--
I see!
Creeping here and creeping there,
Into mischief everywhere,
Mamma's little pet and care--
I see!

Fearless baby Mildred, on her rocking horse--
I see!
Never slipping from her place,
Joyous laughter keeping pace
With a motion full of grace--
I see!

Thoughtful baby Mildred, papa's pet and pride--
I know!
Lighting up the passing days
With such happy, winsome ways,
Joy of household life that pays--
I know!

Tired baby Mildred, lovely eyes all closed--
Sleep on!
Waking, heaven will be more near
For the angels' presence here,
Whispering secrets in her ear--
Sleep on! Sleep on!

ROSAMOND AND MILDRED.

Rosamond and Mildred, playing on the floor--
I see!
Laughing blue eyes, dimpled face,
Laughing brown eyes, ways of grace,
Chubby hands that interlace--
I see!

Rosamond and Mildred, trying hard to walk--
I see!
Clinging now to mamma's dress,
Trembling in new happiness,
Then at last a sweet success--
I see!

Rosamond and Mildred, born the same glad year--
I know!
Cousins; each in her own way
Growing wiser every day,
Full of promise as of play--
I know!

Rosamond and Mildred, parting to go home--
Good-bye!
Each a little picture fair,
Carrying blessing everywhere.
Grateful are we for our share--
Good-bye! Good-bye!

'CHILLA.

Chinchilla? Come, 'Chilla!--
Ah, here she comes bounding,
So quickly responding,
Oh, who could but love her!
Her fur like chinchilla--
Her movements all grace--
Such a wise little face--
What kitty is like her?
Oh, who could but love her,
Our dear pretty 'Chilla!

CHILDISH FANCIES.

(A FACT.)

My little nephew, four years old,
A sweet-faced, blue-eyed boy,
Was one day playing by my side
With this and that pet toy,

When all at once he said to me,--
As, laying down my book,
I paused a while to watch with joy
His bright, expressive look,--

"If Mac and I should plant today
Some paper in the ground,
Say, would it grow to be a book
Like yours, with leaves all bound?"

These were the same two little boys
Whose nurse searched far and wide
For little sister's rubber shoes;
"Where can they be?" she cried.

"I know," replied Mac, eagerly,
"We planted them last night,
To see if they would bigger grow
To fit our feet all right."

Dear little boys! These fancies hint
Of future questions deep,
When evolution's grand idea
Shall o'er their vision sweep.

God grant that when these come to them,
As at Truth's shrine they bow,
A childlike faith and earnestness
May fill them then as now.

WHAT LITTLE BERTRAM DID.

(A FACT)

Our little Bertram, six years old,
Sat on his grandpa's knee,
Enjoying to the full the love
That grandpa gave so free,

When, looking up bewitchingly,
He said,--the little teaze,--
"Will grandpa give me just one cent
To buy some candy, please?"

Who could resist such loveliness?
This grandpa could not, sure.
So with a kiss he gave the cent--
Ah, how such things allure!

No sooner was the cent in hand,
Than off the fair boy ran
To buy his candy, "'lasses kind,"
Or little "candy-man."

Now on his way, in scanning well
A window full of toys,
He spied a ring with big red stone,
O'erlooked by other boys.

All thought of candy was forgot.
He'd buy that ring so fine
For his new sister, Rosamond--
Oh, how his eyes did shine!

How could he stop to calculate
The size of such a thing;
His only care was for the price--
Would one cent buy the ring?

Ah yes, it would. The ring was bought;
And never girl or boy
Went tripping homeward through the streets
With greater wealth or joy.

"DEAR LITTLE MAC."[D]

(A FACT.)

When nearly eight years old, dear little Mac
Was called from out his happy home-life here
To that blest sphere
Beyond earth's dearest power to call him back.

"His questions wise will now sure answer find,"
Said one who'd loved to watch his eager face,
In happy chase
Of many a thought which flitted through his mind.

"Yes, he knows more than we," another said,
"Instead of guiding him, he'll be our guide
To where abide
The things we need most to be comforted."

While thus the older ones their comfort sought,
Two of the children paused in midst of play,
To have their say
Concerning this great mystery Death had brought.

"Dear little Mac," said Miriam, with a sigh,
"He's gone way up to heaven where angels are,
Way up so far
That we can't ever see him till we die."

"He's not up there," said Bertram. "He can't be.
I saw them put him in the cold dark ground,
And I went round
And threw some flowers in for him to see."

"He isn't there," replied the four-year old,
"He's up in heaven. My mamma told me so.
He _is_, I know.
He isn't in the ground all dark and cold."

A moment Bertram sat absorbed in thought,
While Miriam felt the joy of victory.
Then suddenly
The lovely six-year-old this idea caught:

"I tell you what, Mac's body's in the ground;
His head, his feet, and every other part,
But just his heart--
And that's gone up to heaven, and angels found."

The child thus solved the thought that troubled so.
And as I overheard this earnest talk,--
Which might some shock,--
I wondered if we could more wisdom show.

As each seemed satisfied, their play went on.
But Bertram's thought sank deep in sister's mind,
And left behind
The wonder how dear Mac to heaven had gone.

At last, when ready for their sweet "Good Night,"
She softly said, "It can't be very dark,
Not _very_ dark
For Mac, I know, 'cause God will make it light."

Oh, lovely faith of childhood's trusting days,
Sent fresh from heaven to be our loving guide,
When sadly tried
By doubt or sorrow's strange, mysterious ways.

[D] MacLaurin Cooke Gould, died in Maplewood, Mass., November 8, 1887.

WILLARD AND FLORENCE ON MOUNT WACHUSETT.

_July, 1888._

Happy little girl and boy,
Dancing hand in hand
Over hill and valley land,
Filled with summer joy;

Climbing up the steep path side
To Wachusett's top,
With that graceful skip and hop
Born where fairies hide;

Seeing Holyoke from the height,
Old Monadnock clear,
While Washacum twin-lakes near
Sparkle in sun-light;

Tripping down the mountain-road
Back to cottage home,
Only pausing there to roam
Where laurel finds abode;

Jumping on the new-mown hay,
Sitting under trees,
Feeling every mountain breeze,
Hearing birds' sweet lay;

Lying on the mossy stone
By the brook's cascade,
Listening 'neath the sylvan shade
To its rippling tone;

Down at pretty Echo Lake,
Plucking maiden-hair,
Gathering glistening "sundew" there
For "dear mamma's sake";

Picking in the pastures near
Berries red and blue;
Spying where the mayflowers grew
Earlier in the year;

Watching for the sun to rise,
Following sunset-cloud,
Singing low and singing loud
While the swift day flies;

Waiting for the "Tally-Ho,"
With its looked-for mails,
Hearing strangers tell their tales
As they come and go;

Happy little girl and boy,
Dancing hand in hand
Over hill and valley land,
Filled with summer joy.

A LITTLE BRAZILIAN.

(A FACT.)

'Twas in Brazil last Christmas day,
While at a family feast,
A little girl of five years old
The merriment increased,

By crying out,--as glasses held
The ice she ne'er had seen,--
"Oh see! what pretty little stones.
What for? Where have they been?"

"Here, give her one," the host exclaimed,
Pleased with her childish glee.
"'Twill show her as no words could show
What ice is, and must be."

She grasped the "white stone" in her hand,
All watching eagerly,
When suddenly she let it fall,
And cried, "It's burning me."

But, anxious still to see it more,
She asked a servant near
To hand it in a napkin wrapped--
Then there would be no fear.

Again the ice was in her hand,
Her plaything for the day,
When all at once she cried aloud,
"The stone is running away."

A glass of water now was used,
Sure that would keep it hers.
But no! with all her loving watch
The same result occurs.

The plaything gone, at evening hour
She sat on uncle's knee.
"Who makes those white stones, you or God?"
She asked, inquiringly.

"In Miss Brown's land [a Boston friend]
God makes them," answered he.
"But in Brazil a factory-man
Makes them for you and me."

A moment's pause. Then said the child,--
Heaven's blessing on her fall,--
"Why doesn't God get from Brazil
A man to make them all?"

THE LITTLE DOUBTER.

"Mamma, where is the sun to-day,
While all this rain comes down?"
Ah, little girl
Of flaxen curl,
Who has not asked before
This question o'er and o'er?

"Behind the clouds so thick and black
The sun is shining still,"
The mother quickly answered back,
Her child with faith to fill.

The child looked up in strange surprise,
In doubt almost a pain,
Then turned again her wistful eyes
To watch the pouring rain.

"I don't believe 'tis shining still,"
She muttered to herself.
Ah, little girl
Of flaxen curl,
Why doubt e'en mother's word,
Because of feelings stirred?

"I won't believe it till I see
The sun behind that cloud,"
She still went on, defiantly,
To say in accents loud.

Now, while she gazed as if to see
The truth made known by sight,
Behold the cloud did suddenly
Become imbued with light.

"There, there, mamma, the sun, the sun!"
The little doubter cried.
And, full of joy at victory won,
She danced with childish pride.

The mother watched with tearful eyes
Her child's transparent joy,
But dared not quench the glad surprise,
Or victory's power destroy.

"Perhaps she'll need this proof," she sighed,
"Of hidden things made plain,
When in the depths of life she's tried,
And all fond hopes are slain."

While thus she mused, as mothers will,
The little daughter fair
Rushed to her arms, all smiling still,
And said, while nestling there,

"Behind the clouds the sun _does_ shine,
E'en while the rain comes down."
Ah, little girl
Of flaxen curl,
This wisdom is indeed
For future hours of need.

OUR KITTY'S TRICK.[E]

I know that all the boys and girls
Would be so glad to see
Our kitty do the little trick
She often does for me.

When asked, "O kitty, where's the ball?"
She to my shoulder leaps,
And looks directly to the shelf,
Where from a box it peeps.

She will not cease to look and beg,
Until I find the place
Where she can take between her teeth
The ball with easy grace.

Then quickly to the floor she jumps;
When, dropping first the ball,
She runs behind the open door
That leads into the hall.

She waits, with only head in sight,
The ball to see me throw;
Then after it she scampers well
Some forty feet or so.

She never fails to bring it back;
Then lifts with wondrous grace
Her velvet paw to take the ball
From out its hiding place.

This done, she nestles by my side,
And purrs while I caress,
Unconscious of the trick she's done,
Since three months old or less.

She thus will lie in calm repose
So long as I am still;
But if I move to touch the ball,
Then all her nerves will thrill,

Her eyes will shine, she'll quickly find
Her place behind the door,
And wait again to see the ball
Roll on the long hall floor.

Ah, kitty dear, who told you how
To join thought, act, and sight?
Must not we think that in you dwells
The germ of mental light,

The germ that makes you kin to us
In kind though not degree,
But which was quickened by His touch
For our supremacy?

[E] These verses, true in every detail, are only preserved in
remembrance of a pet cat of our family for many years.

A MESSAGE.

A mountain hides within itself
This message grand and true,
Which at my bidding came to-day
For me to give to you:

"Drink deep of Nature's sweetest life,
While learning how to wait.
Stand strong against the tempest's strife,
Not questioning the fate.
Then shalt thou live above the din
Of petty things below,
Absorbing depths of life within,
The future to o'erflow."

_At the foot of Mount Holyoke._

Transcribers' Notes:

Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; inconsistent hyphenation was retained.

Footnotes have been moved to the ends of the poems that reference them.

It sometimes was unclear whether or not a new stanza began on a new page.

Page 32: Unbalanced closing quotation mark retained after: God's thought.

Page 78: "In perfect harmony" was printed as "perect".