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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Hattie Howard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Poems
+       Vol. IV
+
+Author: Hattie Howard
+
+Release Date: August 23, 2006 [EBook #19109]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Joseph R. Hauser and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: In Celestial realms where knowledge hath no end.
+  HARRY HOWARD,
+  STUDENT.
+  "Blessed are the pure in heart."]
+
+
+
+
+POEMS
+
+BY
+
+HATTIE HOWARD.
+
+AUTHOR OF "POVERTY VS. PAUPERISM," "OUR GIRLS," "VIVE LA
+REPUBLIQUE," "KEEPING A SECRET," "LITTLE JO,"
+AND OTHER STORIES.
+
+VOL. IV.
+
+
+  Happy whoever writes a book
+  On which the world shall kindly look,
+  And who, when many a year has flown--
+  The volume worn, the author gone--
+  Revere, admire, and still read on.
+
+
+HARTFORD PRESS:
+THE CASE, LOCKWOOD & BRAINARD COMPANY.
+1904.
+
+
+
+
+EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES OF A FORMER VOLUME.
+
+     "We find these poems of sentiment by Hattie Howard entirely
+     natural, spontaneous, direct, rhythmical, and free from ambitious
+     pretense. Many of the fanciful verses have a laugh at the end; and
+     the collection has altogether a sunny, hopeful spirit and will be
+     welcome in this time of generally morbid expression."
+
+     "This author's verse shows a hearty, wholesome, _human_ spirit,
+     sometimes overflowing into downright fun, and a straightforward
+     directness always. It is a pleasant book, sure to be welcomed by
+     all."
+
+     "These garnered gems reveal a genuine poetic faculty, and are
+     worthy their attractive setting. We give the book a hearty
+     welcome."
+
+     "Many of the poems abound in playful humor or tender touches of
+     sympathy which appeal to a refined feeling, and love for the good,
+     the true, and the beautiful."
+
+     "This poet's ear is so attuned to metric harmony that she must have
+     been born within sound of some osier-fringed brook leaping and
+     hurrying over its pebbly bed. There is a variety of subject and
+     treatment, sufficient for all tastes, and these are poems which
+     should be cherished."
+
+     "Lovers of good poetry will herald with pleasure this new and
+     attractive volume by the well-known authoress of Hartford. A wooing
+     sentiment and genial spirit seem to guide her in every train of
+     thought. Her book has received, and deserves, warm commendations of
+     the press."
+
+Copyright, 1904, BY HATTIE HOWARD.
+
+
+
+
+Contents.
+
+_FRONTISPIECE._
+                                 PAGE.
+
+  EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES,       2
+
+  "THE SALT OF THE EARTH,"           7
+
+  NOT GONE,                          9
+
+  LET US GIVE THANKS,               10
+
+  SONNET,                           11
+
+  A RAINY DAY,                      12
+
+  THE SUBWAY,                       16
+
+  THE APPLE TREE,                   18
+
+  TWO ROSES,                        21
+
+  THE TAXIDERMIST,                  23
+
+  EPITHALAMIUM,                     25
+
+  A FOWL AFFAIR,                    28
+
+  HOLIDAY HOME,                     31
+
+  RUTHA,                            34
+
+  THE STUDENT GONE,                 36
+
+  THE TOURIST,                      38
+
+  THE ANTIQUARIAN,                  40
+
+  POOR HOUSEKEEPING,                45
+
+  GOING TO TOBOG,                   47
+
+  "PASSER LE TEMPS,"                49
+
+  THE TORPEDO,                      50
+
+  MARGARET,                         51
+
+  CHRISTMAS BELLS,                  53
+
+  BY THE SEA,                       54
+
+  A SONG,                           55
+
+  IS IT APRIL?                      56
+
+  CHRISTMAS-TIDE,                   57
+
+  JANUARY, 1885,                    59
+
+  SWEET PEAS,                       61
+
+  THE SUMMER HOUSE,                 62
+
+  TO DIE IN AUTUMN,                 65
+
+  APPLE BLOSSOMS,                   67
+
+  WITHOUT A MINISTER,               68
+
+  INDIAN SUMMER,                    70
+
+  AUTUMN-TIME,                      72
+
+  THE BEAUTY OF NATURE,             74
+
+  "ALL THE RAGE,"                   76
+
+  MY MOTHER'S HAND,                 79
+
+  A LEAP YEAR EPISODE,              80
+
+  IF,                               83
+
+  PERFECT CHARACTER,                84
+
+  THE MIRACLE OF SPRING,            85
+
+  BERMUDA,                          86
+
+  THE CHARTER OAK,                  88
+
+  BLOSSOM-TIME,                     90
+
+  "ONE OF THE LEAST OF THESE,"      92
+
+  LIGHTNING-BUGS,                   94
+
+  OF HER WHO DIED,                  96
+
+  THANKSGIVING,                     98
+
+  RECEIVING SIGHT,                 100
+
+  REVENGE,                         102
+
+  ON THE COMMON,                   104
+
+  WOMAN'S HELP,                    106
+
+  TOBOGGANING,                     108
+
+  THE WOODS,                       110
+
+  LIKE SUMMER,                     112
+
+  SHERIDAN'S LAST RIDE,            114
+
+  A BIT OF GLADNESS,               116
+
+  THE CHARITY BALL,                118
+
+  THE BELL(E) OF BALTIMORE,        120
+
+  CHRISTMAS AT CHURCH,             122
+
+  MYSTERIOUS,                      124
+
+  "BE NOT ANXIOUS,"                126
+
+  MOUNT VERNON,                    128
+
+  A PRISONER,                      130
+
+  CUBA,                            131
+
+  THE SANGAMON RIVER,              133
+
+  SYRINGAS,                        135
+
+  STORM-BOUND,                     137
+
+  THE MASTER OF THE GRANGE,        139
+
+  A FRIEND INDEED,                 142
+
+  THE NEEDED ONE,                  143
+
+  "THY WILL BE DONE,"              145
+
+  SNOWFLAKES,                      147
+
+  MONADNOCK,                       149
+
+  NEVER HAD A CHANCE,              151
+
+  SORROW AND JOY,                  153
+
+  WATCH HILL,                      155
+
+  SUPPLICATING,                    157
+
+  "HONEST JOHN,"                   159
+
+  BUSHNELL PARK,                   161
+
+  AT GENERAL GRANT'S TOMB,         164
+
+  "BE COURTEOUS,"                  166
+
+  A NEW SUIT,                      168
+
+  THE LITTLE CLOCK,                170
+
+  IMPROVEMENT,                     173
+
+  ON BANCROFT HEIGHT,              175
+
+  A REFORMER,                      178
+
+
+
+Poems.
+
+
+
+
+"The Salt of the Earth."
+
+
+    The salt of the earth--what a meaningful phrase
+    From the lips of the Saviour, and one that conveys
+    A sense of the need of a substance saline
+    This pestilent sphere to refresh and refine,
+    And a healthful and happy condition secure
+    By making it pure as the ocean is pure.
+
+    In all the nomenclature known to the race,
+    In all appellations of people or place,
+    Was ever a name so befitting, so true
+    Of those who are seeking the wrong to undo,
+    With naught of the Pharisee's arrogant air
+    Their badge of discipleship humbly who wear?
+
+    Do beings, forsooth, fashioned out of the mold,
+    So secretly, strangely, those elements hold
+    That may be developed in goodness and grace
+    To shine in demeanor, in form and in face
+    Till they, by renewal of heavenly birth,
+    Shall merit their title--the salt of the earth?
+
+    To the landsman at home or the sailor at sea,
+    With nausea, scurvy, or canker maybe,
+    'Tis never in language to overexalt
+    The potent preservative virtue of salt--
+    A crystal commodity wholesome and good,
+    A cure for disease, and a savor for food.
+
+    Ah, the beasts of the wood and the fowls of the air
+    Know all of the need of this condiment rare,
+    Know well where the springs and the "salt-licks" abound,
+    Where streams salinaceous flow out of the ground;
+    And their cravings appease by sipping the brine
+    With more than the relish of topers at wine.
+
+    Our wants may be legion, our needs are but few,
+    And every known ill hath its remedy true;
+    'Tis ours to discover and give to mankind
+    Of hidden essentials the best that we find;
+    'Tis ours to eradicate error and sin,
+    And help to make better the place we are in.
+
+    If ever this world from corruption is free,
+    And righteousness reign in the kingdom to be,
+    Like salt in its simple and soluble way
+    Infusing malodor, preventing decay.
+    So human endeavor in action sublime
+    Must never relax till the finale of time.
+
+    To thousands discouraged this comforting truth
+    Appeals like the promise of infinite youth:
+    To know, as they labor like bees in the hive,
+    Yet do little more than keep goodness alive--
+    To know that the Master accredits their worth
+    As blessed disciples--"the salt of the earth."
+
+
+
+
+Not Gone.
+
+
+    They are not gone whose lives in beauty so unfolding
+      Have left their own sweet impress everywhere;
+    Like flowers, while we linger in beholding,
+      Diffusing fragrance on the summer air.
+
+    They are not gone, for grace and goodness can not perish,
+      But must develop in immortal bloom;
+    The viewless soul, the real self we love and cherish,
+      Shall live and flourish still beyond the tomb.
+
+    They are not gone though lost to observation,
+      And dispossessed of those dear forms of clay,
+    Though dust and ashes speak of desolation;
+      The spirit-presence--this is ours alway.
+
+
+
+
+Let Us Give Thanks.
+
+
+      If we have lived another year
+    And, counting friends by regiments
+    Who share our love and confidence,
+        Find no more broken ranks,
+        For this let us give thanks.
+
+      If, since the last Thanksgiving-time,
+    Have we been blessed with strength and health,
+    And added to our honest wealth,
+        Nor lost by broken banks,
+        For this would we give thanks.
+
+      If through adversity we trod,
+    Yet with serene and smiling face,
+    And trusted more to saving grace
+        Than charlatans and cranks,
+        For this let us give thanks.
+
+      If we have somehow worried through
+    The ups and downs along life's track,
+    And still undaunted can look back
+        And smile at Fortune's pranks,
+        For this would we give thanks.
+
+      If every page in our account
+    With God and man is fairly writ,
+    We care not who examines it,
+        With no suspicious blanks,
+        For this let us give thanks.
+
+
+
+
+Sonnet.
+
+
+    Upon my smile let none pass compliment
+      If it but gleam like an enchanting ray
+      Of sunshine caught from some sweet summer day,
+      In atmosphere of rose and jasmine scent
+    And breath of honeysuckles redolent,
+      When, with the birds that sing their lives away
+      In harmony, the treetops bend and sway,
+    And all the world with joy is eloquent.
+
+    But in that day of gloom when skies severe
+      Portend the tempest gathering overhead,
+    If by my face some token shall appear
+      Inspiring hope, dispelling darksome dread,
+      Oh, be the rapture mine that it be said,
+    "Her smile is like the rainbow, full of cheer."
+
+
+
+
+A Rainy Day.
+
+
+    Oh, what a blessed interval
+        A rainy day may be!
+    No lightning flash nor tempest roar,
+    But one incessant, steady pour
+        Of dripping melody;
+    When from their sheltering retreat
+    Go not with voluntary feet
+    The storm-beleaguered family,
+        Nor bird nor animal.
+
+    When business takes a little lull,
+        And gives the merchantman
+    A chance to seek domestic scenes,
+    To interview the magazines,
+        Convoke his growing clan,
+    The boys and girls almost unknown,
+    And get acquainted with his own;
+    As well the household budget scan,
+        Or write a canticle.
+
+    When farmer John ransacks the barn,
+        Hunts up the harness old--
+    Nigh twenty years since it was new--
+    Puts in an extra thong or two,
+        And hopes the thing will hold
+    Without that missing martingale
+    That bothered Dobbin, head and tail,
+    He, gentle equine, safe controlled
+        But by a twist of yarn.
+
+    When busy fingers may provide
+        A savory repast
+    To whet the languid appetite,
+    And give to eating a delight
+        Unknown since seasons past;
+    Avaunt, ill-cookery! whose ranks
+    Develop dull dyspeptic cranks
+    Who, forced to diet or to fast,
+        Ergo, have dined and died.
+
+    It is a day of rummaging,
+        The closets to explore;
+    To take down from the dusty shelves
+    The books--that never read themselves--
+        And turning pages o'er
+    Discover therein safely laid
+    The bills forgot and never paid--
+    Somehow that of the corner store
+        Such dunning memories bring.
+
+    It gives a chance to liquidate
+        Epistolary debts;
+    To write in humble penitence
+    Acknowledging the negligence,
+        The sin that so besets,
+    And cheer the hearts that hold us dear,
+    Who've known and loved us many a year--
+    Back to the days of pantalets
+        And swinging on the gate.
+
+    It gives occasion to repair
+        Unlucky circumstance;
+    To intercept the ragged ends,
+    And for arrears to make amends
+        By mending hose and pants;
+    The romping young ones to re-dress
+    Without those signs of hole-y-ness
+    That so bespeak the mendicants
+        By every rip and tear.
+
+    It is a time to gather round
+        The old piano grand,
+    Its dulcet harmonies unstirred
+    Since Lucy sang so like a bird,
+        And played with graceful hand;
+    Like Lucy's voice in pathos sweet
+    Repeating softly "Shall we meet?"
+    Is only in the heavenly land
+        Such clear soprano sound.
+
+    It is a time for happy chat
+        _En cercle tête-à-tête_;
+    Discuss the doings of the day,
+    The club, the sermon, or the play,
+        Affairs of church and state;
+    Fond reminiscence to explore
+    The pleasant episodes of yore,
+    And so till raindrops all abate
+        As erst on Ararat.
+
+    Ah, yes, a rainy day may be
+        A blessed interval!
+    A little halt for introspect,
+    A little moment to reflect
+        On life's discrepancy--
+    Our puny stint so poorly done,
+    The larger duties scarce begun--
+    And so may conscience culpable
+        Suggest a remedy.
+
+
+
+
+The Subway.
+
+
+    Oh, who in creation would fail to descend
+        That wonderful hole in the ground?--
+    That, feeling its way like a hypocrite-friend
+    In sinuous fashion, seems never to end;
+        While thunder and lightning abound.
+
+    Oh, who in creation would dare to go down
+        That great subterranean hole--
+    The tunnel, the terror, the talk of the town,
+    That gives to the city a mighty renown
+        And a shaking as never before?
+
+    A serpent, a spider, its mouth at the top
+        Where the flies are all buzzing about;
+    Down into its maw where the populace drop,
+    Who never know where they are going to stop,
+        Or whether they'll ever get out.
+
+    Why is it, with millions of acres untrod
+        Where never the ploughshare hath been,
+    That man must needs burrow miles under the sod,
+    As if to get farther and farther from God,
+        And deeper and deeper in sin?
+
+    O Dagos and diggers, who can't understand
+        That the planet you'll never get through--
+    Why, there is three times as much water as land,
+    And but for the least little seam in the sand
+        Your life is worth less than a _sou_.
+
+    Come up out of Erebus into the day,
+        There's plenty of room overhead;
+    No boring or blasting of rocks in the way,
+    No stratum of sticky, impervious clay--
+        All vacuous vapor instead.
+
+    Oh, give us a transit, a tube or an "el--",
+        Not leagues from the surface below;
+    As if we were never in Heaven to dwell,
+    As if we were all being fired to--well,
+        The place where we don't want to go!
+
+
+
+
+The Apple Tree.
+
+
+    Has ever a tree from the earth upsprung
+    Around whose body have children clung,
+    Whose bounteous branches the birds among
+    Have pecked the fruit, and chirped and sung--
+    Was ever a tree, or shall there be,
+    So hardy, so sturdy, so good to see,
+    So welcome a boon to the family,
+    Like the pride of the farmer, the apple tree?
+
+    How he loves to be digging about its root,
+    Or grafting the bud in the tender shoot,
+    The daintiest palate that he may suit
+    With the fairest and finest selected fruit.
+    How he boasts of his Sweetings, so big for size;
+    His delicate Greenings--made for pies;
+    His Golden Pippins that take the prize,
+    The Astrachans tempting, that tell no lies.
+
+    How he learns of the squirrel a thing or two
+    That the wise little rodents always knew,
+    And never forget or fail to do,
+    Of laying up store for the winter through;
+    So he hollows a space in the mellow ground
+    Where leaves for lining and straw abound,
+    And well remembers his apple mound
+    When a day of scarcity comes around.
+
+    By many a token may we suppose
+    That the knowledge apple no longer grows,
+    That broke up Adam and Eve's repose
+    And set the fashion of fig-leaf clothes;
+    The story's simple and terse and crude,
+    But still with a morsel of truth imbued:
+    For of trees and trees by the multitude
+    Are some that are evil, and some that are good.
+
+    The more I muse on those stories old
+    The more philosophy they unfold
+    Of husbands docile and women bold,
+    And Satan's purposes manifold;
+    Ah, many a couple halve their fare
+    With that mistaken and misfit air
+    That the world and all are ready to swear
+    To a mighty unapple-y mated pair.
+
+    The apple's an old-fashioned tree I know,
+    All gnarled and bored by the curculio,
+    And loves to stand in a zigzag row;
+    And doesn't make half so much of a show
+    As the lovely almond that blooms like a ball,
+    And spreads out wide like a pink parasol
+    Set on its stem by the garden-wall;
+    But I love the apple tree, after all.
+
+    "A little more cider"--sings the bard;
+    And who this juiciness would discard,
+    Though holding the apple in high regard,
+    Must be like the cider itself--very hard;
+    For the spirit within it, as all must know,
+    Is utterly harmless--unless we go
+    Like the fool in his folly, and overflow
+    By drinking a couple of barrels or so.
+
+    What of that apple beyond the seas,
+    Fruit of the famed Hesperides?
+    But dust and ashes compared to these
+    That grow on Columbia's apple trees;
+    And I sigh for the apples of years agone:
+    For Rambos streaked like the morning dawn,
+    For Russets brown with their jackets on,
+    And aromatic as cinnamon.
+
+    Oh, the peach and cherry may have their place,
+    And the pear is fine in its stately grace;
+    The plum belongs to a puckery race
+    And maketh awry the mouth and face;
+    But I long to roam in the orchard free,
+    The dear old orchard that used to be,
+    And gather the beauties that dropped for me
+    From the bending boughs of the apple tree.
+
+
+
+
+Two Roses.
+
+
+    I've a friend beyond the ocean
+      So regardful, so sincere,
+    And he sends me in a letter
+      Such a pretty souvenir.
+
+    It is crushed to death and withered,
+      Out of shape and very flat,
+    But its pure, delicious odor
+      Is the richer for all that.
+
+    'Tis a rose from Honolulu,
+      And it bears the tropic brand,
+    Sandwiched in this friendly missive
+      From that far-off flower-land.
+
+    It shall mingle _pot-à-pourri_
+      With the scents I love and keep;
+    Some of them so very precious
+      That remembrance makes me weep.
+
+    While I dream I hear the music
+      That of happiness foretells,
+    Like the flourishing of trumpets
+      And the sound of marriage bells.
+
+    There's a rose upon the prairie,
+      Chosen his by happy fate,
+    He shall gather when he cometh
+      Sailing through the Golden Gate.
+
+    Mine, a public posy, growing
+      Somewhere by the garden wall,
+    Might have gone to any stranger,
+      May have been admired by all.
+
+    But the rose in beauty blushing,
+      Tenderly and sweetly grown
+    In the home and its affections,
+      Blooms for him, and him alone.
+
+    Speed the voyager returning;
+      His shall be a welcome warm,
+    With the Rose of Minnesota
+      Gently resting on his arm.
+
+    Love embraces in his kingdom
+      Earth and sea and sky and air.
+    Hail, Columbia! hail, Hawaii!
+      It is Heaven everywhere.
+
+
+
+
+The Taxidermist.
+
+
+    From other men he stands apart,
+      Wrapped in sublimity of thought
+      Where futile fancies enter not;
+      With starlike purpose pressing on
+      Where Agassiz and Audubon
+    Labored, and sped that noble art
+      Yet in its pristine dawn.
+
+    Something to conquer, to achieve,
+      Makes life well worth the struggle hard;
+      Its petty ills to disregard,
+      In high endeavor day by day
+      With this incentive--that he may
+    Somehow mankind the richer leave
+      When he has passed away.
+
+    Forest and field he treads alone,
+      Finding companionship in birds,
+      In reptiles, rodents, yea, in herds
+      Of drowsy cattle fat and sleek;
+      For these to him a language speak
+    To common multitudes unknown
+      As tones of classic Greek.
+
+    Unthinking creatures and untaught,
+      They to his nature answer back
+      Something his fellow mortals lack;
+      And oft educe from him the sigh
+      That they unnoticed soon must die,
+    Leaving of their existence naught
+      To be remembered by.
+
+    Man may aspire though in the slough;
+      May dream of glory, strive for fame,
+      Thirst for the prestige of a name.
+      And shall these friends, that so invite
+      The study of the erudite,
+    Ever as he beholds them now
+      Perish like sparks of light?
+
+    Nay, 'tis his purpose and design
+      To keep them: not like mummies old
+      Papyrus-mantled fold on fold,
+      But elephant, or dove, or swan,
+      Its native hue and raiment on,
+    In effigy of plumage fine,
+      Or skin its native tawn.
+
+    What God hath wrought thus time shall tell,
+      And thus endowment rich and vast
+      Be rescued from the buried past;
+      And rare reliques that never fade
+      Be in the manikin portrayed
+    Till taxidermy witness well
+      The debt to science paid.
+
+    Lo! one appeareth unforetold--
+      This re-creator, yea, of men;
+      Making him feel as born again
+      Who looketh up with reverent eyes,
+      Through wonders that his soul surprise,
+    That great Creator to behold
+      All-powerful, all-wise.
+
+
+
+
+Epithalamium.
+
+
+I.
+
+    "Whom God hath joined"--ah, this sententious phrase
+    A meaning deeper than the sea conveys,
+    And of a sweet and solemn service tells
+    With the rich resonance of wedding-bells;
+    It speaks of vows and obligations given
+    As if amid the harmony of heaven,
+    While seraph lips approving seem to say,
+    "Love, honor, and obey."
+
+
+II.
+
+    Is Hymen then ambassador divine,
+    His mission, matrimonial and benign,
+    The heart to counsel, ardor to incite,
+    Convert the nun, rebuke the eremite?
+    As if were this his mandate from the throne:
+    "It is not good for them to be alone;
+    Behold the land! its fruitage and its flowers,
+    Not mine and thine, but ours."
+
+
+III.
+
+    Did not great Paul aver, in lucid spell,
+    That they of conjugal intent "do well"?
+    But hinted at a better state,--'tis one
+    With which two loving souls have naught to do.
+    For, in well-doing being quite content,
+    Be there another state more excellent
+    To which the celibate doth fain repair,
+    They neither know nor care.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    And does the Lord of all become High Priest,
+    And with his presence grace the wedding-feast?
+    Then must the whole celestial throng draw nigh,
+    For nuptials there are none beyond the sky;
+    So is the union sanctified and blest,
+    For Love is host, and Love is welcome guest;
+    So may the joyous bridal season be
+    Like that of Galilee.
+
+
+V.
+
+    Sweet Mary, of the blessed name so dear
+    To all the loving Saviour who revere,
+    Madonna-like be thou in every grace
+    That shall adorn thee in exalted place,
+    And thine the happy privilege to prove
+    The depth, the tenderness of woman's love;
+    So shall the heart that honors thee today
+    Bow down to thee alway.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    O radiant June, in wealth of light and air,
+    With leaf and bud and blossom everywhere,
+    Let all bright tokens affluent combine,
+    And round the bridal pair in splendor shine;
+    Let sweethearts coy and lovers fond and true
+    On this glad day their tender vows renew,
+    And all in wedlock's bond rejoice as they
+    Whom God hath joined for aye.
+
+
+
+
+A Fowl Affair.
+
+
+    I hope I'm not too orthodox
+        To give a joke away,
+    That took me like the chicken-pox
+        And left a debt to pay.
+
+    Let argument ignore the cost,
+        If it be dear or cheap,
+    And only claim that naught be lost
+        When it's too good to keep.
+
+    The proverb says "All flesh is grass,"
+        But this I do deny,
+    Because of that which came to pass,
+        But not to pass me by.
+
+    A body weighing by the pound
+        Inside of half a score,
+    In case and cordage safely bound,
+        Was landed at my door.
+
+    What could it be? for friends are slack,
+        And give, I rather trow,
+    When they are sure of getting back
+        As much as they bestow.
+
+    My hair, at thought of dark design,
+        Or dynamitish fate,
+    Stood up like quills of porcupine,
+        But more than twice as straight.
+
+    Anon, I mused on something rare,
+        Like duck or terrapin,
+    But dreamed not, of the parcel, there
+        Might be a pullet-in.
+
+    A mighty jerk,--the string that broke
+        The fowl affair revealed,
+    The victim of a cruel choke,
+        Its neck completely peeled.
+
+    The biped in its paper cof-
+        Fin, cramped and plump and neat,
+    Had scratched its very toenails off
+        In making both ends meat.
+
+    The only part I always ate,
+        That never made me ill,
+    Had gone away decapitate
+        And carried off the bill.
+
+    I pondered o'er the sacrifice,
+        The merry-thought, the wings,
+    On giblet gravy, salad nice,
+        And chicken-pie-ous things.
+
+    In heat of Fahrenheit degree
+        Two hundred twelve or more,
+    Where its grandsire, defying me,
+        Had crowed the year before,
+
+    I thrust it with a hope forlorn,--
+        I knew what toughness meant,
+    And sighed that ever I was born
+        To die of roasting scent.
+
+    But presto! what _dénouement_ grand
+        Of cookery sublime!
+    'Twas done as by the second hand,
+        The drumsticks beating thyme.
+
+    And now the moral--he who buys
+        Will comprehend its worth,--
+    Look not so much to weight and size
+        As to the date of birth.
+
+    In fowls there is a difference;
+        "The good die young," they say,
+    And for the death of innocence
+        To make us meat, we pray.
+
+
+
+
+Holiday Home.
+
+
+    Of all the sweet visions that come unto me
+    Of happy refreshment by land or by sea,
+    Like oases where in life's desert I roam,
+    Is nothing so pleasant as Holiday Home.
+
+    I climb to the top of the highest of hills
+    And look to the west with affectionate thrills,
+    And fancy I stand by the emerald side
+    Of charming Geneva, like Switzerland's pride.
+
+    In distant perspective unruffled it lies,
+    Except for the packet that paddles and plies,
+    And puffing its way like a pioneer makes
+    Its daily go-round o'er this pearl of the lakes.
+
+    Untroubled except for the urchins that come
+    From many a haunt that is never a home,
+    Instinctive as ducklings to swim and to wade,
+    Scarce knowing aforetime why water was made.
+
+    All placid except for the dip of the oar
+    Of the skiff, or the barge striking out from the shore,
+    While merry excursionists shout till the gale
+    Reverberates laughter through rigging and sail.
+
+    How it scallops its basin and shimmers and shines
+    Like a salver of silver encompassed with vines,
+    In crystal illusion reflecting the skies
+    And the mountain that seems from its bosom to rise.
+
+    There stands a great house on a summit so high,
+    Like an eyrie of safety enroofed by the sky;
+    And I think of the rest and the comfort up there
+    To sleep, and to breathe that empyreal air.
+
+    Oh, the charm of the glen and the stream and the wood
+    Can never be written, nor be understood,
+    Except by the weary and languid who come
+    To bask in the quiet of Holiday Home.
+
+    From prisonlike cellars unwholesome and drear,
+    From attic and alley, from labor severe,
+    For the poor and the famished doth kindness prepare
+    A world of diversion and excellent fare.
+
+    To swing in the hammock, disport in the breeze,
+    To lie in the shade of magnificent trees--
+    Oh, this is like quaffing from luxury's bowl
+    The life-giving essence for body and soul!
+
+    Nor distance nor time shall efface from the mind
+    The influence gentle, the ministry kind;
+    While gratitude fondly enhallows the thought
+    Of a home and a holiday never forgot.
+
+    Ah, one is remembered of saintliest men
+    To lovely Geneva who comes not again;
+    Who left a sweet impress wherever he trod,
+    Humanity's helper, companion of God.
+
+    In the hearts of the many there sheltered and fed,
+    As unto a hospice by Providence led,
+    Does often a thought like a sunbeam intrude
+    Of the bounty so free, and the donors so good?
+
+    Who of their abundance have cheerfully given
+    Wherewith to develop an embryo heaven--
+    To brighten conditions too hard and too sad
+    And make the unhappy contented and glad.
+
+    Be blessedness theirs, who like knights of renown
+    Thus scatter such largesse o'er country and town,
+    Their monument building in many a dome
+    Like healthful and beautiful Holiday Home.
+
+
+
+
+Rutha.
+
+
+    The days are long and lonely,
+      The weary eve comes on,
+    And the nights are filled with dreaming
+      Of one beloved and gone.
+
+    I reach out in the darkness
+      And clasp but empty air,
+    For Rutha dear has vanished--
+      I wonder, wonder where.
+
+    Yet must it be: her nature
+      So lovely, pure, and true;
+    So nearly like the angels,
+      Is she an angel too.
+
+    The cottage is dismantled
+      Of all that made it bright;
+    Beyond its silent portal
+      No love, nor life, nor light.
+
+    Where are the hopes I cherished,
+      The joys that once I knew,
+    The dreams, the aspirations?
+      All, all are perished too.
+
+    Yes, love's dear chain is broken;
+      From shore to shore I roam--
+    No comfort, no companion,
+      No happiness, no home.
+
+    Oh could I but enfold her
+      Unto my heart once more,
+    If aught could e'er restore me
+      My darling as before;
+
+    If God would only tell me--
+      Such myriads above--
+    Why He must needs have taken
+      The one I loved to love;
+
+    If God would only tell me
+      Why multitudes are left,
+    Unhappy and unlovely,
+      And I am thus bereft;
+
+    If--O my soul, be silent
+      And some day thou shalt see
+    Through mystery and shadow,
+      And know why it must be.
+
+    To every cry of anguish
+      From every heart distressed,
+    Can be no other answer
+      Than this--God knoweth best.
+
+
+
+
+The Student Gone.
+
+
+      So soon he fell, the world will never know
+        What possibilities within him lay,
+    What hopes irradiated his young life,
+    With high ambition and with ardor rife;
+      But ah! the speedy summons came, and so
+            He passed away.
+
+      So soon he fell, there lie unfinished plans
+        By others misapplied, misunderstood;
+    And doors are barred that wait the master-key--
+    That wait his magic Open Sesame!--
+      To that assertive power that commands
+            The multitude.
+
+      Too soon he fell! Was he not born to prove
+        What manhood and integrity might be--
+    How one from all base elements apart
+    Might walk serene, in purity of heart,
+      His face the bright transparency of love
+            And sympathy?
+
+      The student ranks are closed, there is no gap;
+        Of other brave aspirants is no dearth;
+    Prowess, fidelity, and truth go on,
+    And few shall miss or mourn the student gone,
+      Reposing in the all-protecting lap
+            Of Mother Earth.
+
+      Too soon--O God! was it thy will that one
+        Of such endeavor and of noble mien,
+    Enrapt with living, should thus early go
+    From all he loved and all who loved him so,
+      Mid life's activities no longer known,
+            No longer seen?
+
+      Oh, not for aye should agonizing lips
+        Quiver with questionings they dare not frame;
+    Though in the dark penumbra of despair
+    Seemeth no light, nor comfort anywhere--
+      All things enshadowed as in dense eclipse,
+            No more the same.
+
+      Could we but know, in that Elysian lore
+        Of happy exercise still going on
+    Could we but know of glorious heights attained,
+    Of his reward, of mysteries explained,--
+      Ah! but to know were to lament no more
+            The student gone.
+
+
+
+
+The Tourist.
+
+
+    Lo! carpet-bag and bagger occupy the land,
+      And prove the touring season actively begun;
+    His personnel and purpose can none misunderstand,
+    For each upon his frontlet bears his honest brand--
+                  The fool-ish one!
+
+    By caravan and car, from country and from town,
+      A great grasshopper army fell foraging the land;
+    Like bumblebees that know not where to settle down,
+    Impossible it is to curb or scare or drown
+                  The tourist band.
+
+    With guidebook, camera, with rod and gun, to shoot,
+      To lure the deer, the hare, the bird, the speckled trout,
+    The pauper or the prince unbidden they salute,
+    And everywhere their royal right dare none dispute--
+                  To roam about.
+
+    From dark immuring walls and dingy ways of trade,
+      From high society's luxurious stately homes,
+    From lounging places by the park or promenade,
+    From rural dwellings canopied in sylvan shade,
+                  The tourist comes.
+
+    To every mountain peak within the antipodes,
+      To sweet, sequestered spots no other mortal knows;
+    To every island fair engirt by sunny seas,
+    To forest-centers unexplored by birds or bees,
+                  The tourist goes.
+
+    For Summer's fingers all the land have richly dressed,
+      Resplendent in regalia of scent and bloom,
+    And stirred in every heart the spirit of unrest,
+    Like that of untamed fledglings in the parent nest
+                  For ampler room.
+
+    What is it prompts the roving mania--is it love
+      Of wild adventure fanciful, unique, and odd?
+    Is it to be in fashion, and to others prove
+    One's social standing, that impels the madness of
+                  The tramp abroad?
+
+    The question hangs unanswered, like an unwise prayer,
+      Importunate, but powerless response to bring;
+    Go ask the voyagers, the rovers everywhere--
+    They only say it is their rest-time, outing, their
+                  Vacationing.
+
+    So is the world's eccentric round of joy complete
+      When happy tourist-traveler, no more to roam,
+    His fascinating, thrilling story shall repeat
+    To impecunious, luckless multitudes who greet
+                  The tourist home.
+
+
+
+
+The Antiquarian.
+
+
+    Millions have been and passed from view
+    Benignity who never knew;
+      No aspiration theirs, nor aim;
+    Existence soulless as the clay
+    From whence they sprang, what right have they
+            To eulogy or fame?
+
+    So multitudes have been forgot--
+    But drones or dunces, good for naught;
+      Like clinging parasites or burrs
+    Taking from others all they dared,
+    Yet little they for others cared
+            Except as pilferers.
+
+    Not so with that majestic man
+    The all-round antiquarian--
+      No model his nor parallel;
+    From selfishness inviolate
+    Are his achievements good and great,
+            And thus shall ages tell.
+
+    A love for the antiquities
+    His honest hold, his birthright is!
+      And things unheard of or unread,
+    Defaced by moth or rust or mold,
+    To him are treasures more than gold,
+            Ay, than his daily bread.
+
+    At neither ghost nor ghoul aghast
+    He echoes voices of the past,
+      And tones like melancholy knells
+    Of years departed to his ear
+    Are sweeter than of kindred dear,
+            Sweeter than Florimel's.
+
+    He delves through centuries of dust
+    To resurrect some unknown bust,
+      A torso, or a goddess whole;
+    Maybe like Venus, minus arms--
+    Haply to find those missing charms;
+            But not the lost, lost soul.
+
+    He dotes on aborigines
+    Who lived in caves and hollow trees,
+      And barters for their trinkets rare;
+    Exchanging with those dusky breeds
+    For arrow-heads and shells and beads
+            A scalplock of his hair.
+
+    Had he been born--thus he laments--
+    Along with other great events,
+      Coeval say with Noah's flood,
+    A proud relationship to trace
+    With Hittites--or with any race
+            Of blue archaic blood!
+
+    Much he adores that Pilgrim flock,
+    The same that split old Plymouth rock,
+      Their "Bay Psalm" when they tried to sing.
+    Devoid of metre, sense, and tune,
+    Who but a Puritanic loon
+            Could have devised the thing?
+
+    He revels in a pedigree,
+    The sprouting of a noble tree
+      'Way back in prehistoric times;
+    And for the "Family Record" true
+    Of scions all that ever grew
+            Would give a billion dimes.
+
+    There is a language fossils speak:
+    'Tis not like Latin, much less Greek,
+      But quite as dead and antiquate
+    Its silent syllables, and cold;
+    But ah, what meanings they unfold,
+            What histories relate!
+
+    The earthquake is his best ally--
+    It shows up things he cannot buy,
+      And gives him raw material
+    For making mastodons and such,
+    Enough to beat that ancient "Dutch
+            Republic's Rise and Fall."
+
+    A piece of bone can never lie:
+    A rib, a femur, or a thigh
+      Is but a dislocated sign
+    Of something hybrid, half and half
+    Betwixt a crocodile and calf--
+            Maybe a porcupine.
+
+    The stately "Antiquarium"
+    Is his emporium, his home.
+      He wonders if when he is gone
+    Will people look with mournful pride
+    On him done up and classified,
+            And the right label on.
+
+    He dreams of an emblazoned page,
+    The calendar of every age
+      Down from Creation's primal dawn;
+    With archetypes of spears and bones,
+    And tons of undeciphered stones
+            Its illustrations drawn.
+
+    Labor a blessing, not a curse,
+    His hunting ground the Universe,
+      So much the more his nature craves
+    To sound the fathoms of the sea:
+    What mighty wonders there must be
+            Down in those hidden caves!
+
+    So toils this dauntless man, alert
+    Amid the ruins and the dirt,
+      That other men to endless day
+    Themselves uplifted from the clod
+    May see, and learn and know that God
+            Is greater far than they.
+
+    And thus, of mighty ken and plan,
+    The all-round antiquarian
+      Pursues his happy ministry;
+    And on the world's progressive track
+    Advances, always going back--
+            Back to antiquity.
+
+
+
+
+Poor Housekeeping.
+
+
+    If there is one gift that I prize above others,
+      That tinges with brightness whatever I do,
+      And gives to the sombre a roseate hue,
+    'Tis a legacy mine from the nicest of mothers,
+      Who haply the beauty of housewifery knew,
+      And taught me her neatness and diligence too.
+
+    So is my discomfort a house in disorder:
+      The service uncleanly, the linen distained,
+      The children like infantry rude and untrained;
+    The portieres dusty and frayed at the border,
+      By lavish expenses the pocketbook drained,
+      And miseries numberless never explained.
+
+    I dream not of pleasure in visions untidy,
+      A wrapper all hole-y, a buttonless shoe,
+      A slatternly matron with nothing to do;
+    And all the ill-luck charged to ominous Friday
+      Can never compare with the ills that ensue
+      On wretched housekeeping and cookery too.
+
+    There's many a husband, a patient bread-winner,
+      Gets up from the table with look of despair,
+      And something akin to the growl of a bear;
+    Not the saint he might be, but a querulous sinner--
+      One driven to fasting but not unto prayer--
+      Till epitaphed thus--"Indigestible Fare."
+
+    There's many a child, from the roof-tree diurnal,
+      A scene of distraction or dullness severe,
+      With the longing of youth for diversion and cheer,
+    That comes like the spring-time refreshing and vernal,
+      Goes out on a ruinous, reckless career,
+      Returning, if ever, not many a year.
+
+    O negligent female, imperfect housekeeper,
+      Though faultless in figure and charming of face,
+      In ruffles of ribbon and trailings of lace
+    Usurping the part of a common street-sweeper,
+      You never can pose as a type of your race
+      In frowsy appearance mid things out of place.
+
+    O fashion-bred damsel, with folly a-flutter,
+      Until you have learned how to manage a broom,
+      If never you know how to tidy a room,
+    Manipulate bread or decide about butter,
+      The duties of matron how dare you assume,
+      Or ever be bride to a sensible groom?
+
+    I covet no part with that army of shirkers
+      All down at the heels in their slipper-y tread,
+      Who hunt for the rolling-pin under the bed,
+    Who look with disdain on intelligent workers
+      And take to the club or the circus instead
+      Of mending a stocking or laying the spread.
+
+    Oh, I dream of a system of perfect housekeeping,
+      Where mistress and helper together compete
+      In excellent management, quiet and neat;
+    And though in the bosom of earth I am sleeping,
+      Shall somebody live to whom life will be sweet
+      And home an ideal, idyllic retreat.
+
+
+
+
+Going to Tobog.
+
+
+    Into my disappointment-cup
+      The snowflakes fell and blocked the road,
+    And so I thought I'd finish up
+      The latest style of Christmas ode;
+    When she, the charming little lass
+      With eyes as bright as isinglass,
+    Before a line my pen had wrought
+      In strange attire came bounding in,
+    As if she had with Bruno fought,
+      And robbed him of his shaggy skin.
+
+    She came to me robed _cap-à-pie_
+      In her bewitching "blanket-suit,"
+    In moccasin and toggery,
+      All ready for "that icy chute,"
+    And asked me if I thought she'd do;
+      I shake with love of mischief true:
+    "For what?--a polar bear?--why, yes!"
+      "No, no!" she said, with half a pout.
+    "Why, one would think so, by your dress--
+      Say, does your mother know you're out?"
+
+    "No, I'm not out," she said, and sighed;
+      "Because the storm so wildly raged--
+    But for the first delightful ride
+      For half a year I've been engaged."
+    "Engaged to what?--an Esquimau?
+      To ride a glacier, or a floe?"
+    "Why, don't you know"--her color glowed,
+      In expectation all agog--
+    "The reason why I'm glad it snowed?
+      Because--I'm going to tobog."
+
+
+
+
+"Passer Le Temps."
+
+
+    So _that's_ the way you pass your time!
+      Indeed your charming, frank confession
+    Betrays no sort of heinous crime,
+      But marks a wonderful digression
+    From puritanic views, less bold,
+    That we were early taught to hold.
+
+    "_Passer le temps_," of course, implies
+      A little cycle of flirtations,
+    Wherein the actors never rise
+      To sober, serious relations,
+    But play just for amusement's sake
+    A harmless game of "give and take."
+
+    While moments pass on pinions fleet,
+      And youth in beauty effloresces,
+    The joy that finds itself complete
+      In honeyed words and soft caresses,
+    Alas! an index seems to be
+    Of perilous inconstancy.
+
+    It may be with disdainful smile
+      You greet this comment from a stranger,
+    Your pleasure-paths pursuing while
+      A siren voice discounts the danger,
+    Until, some day, in sadder rhyme
+    You rue your mode of "passing time."
+
+
+
+
+The Torpedo.
+
+
+          Valiant sons of the sea,
+            All the vast deep, your home,
+          Holds no terror so dread
+    As this novel and unseen foe,
+            Lurking under the foam
+          Of some dangerous channel--
+    As the torpedo, the scourge of ships.
+
+          Through the rigging may roar
+            Æolus' thousand gales,
+          Yet the mariner's heart
+    Shrinketh not from the howling blast;
+            Though with battle-rent sails,
+          Flames and carnage around him,
+    Cowardice never shall pale his lips.
+
+          But when powers concealed,
+            Threatening with death the crew,
+          Pave each eddy below,
+    E'en the bravest are chilled with fear,
+            Lest yon wizard in blue,
+          Who their progress is spying,
+    Touch but the key with his finger-tips.
+
+          Lo! with thunderous boom
+            Towers a column bright,
+          And the vessel is gone!
+    In that ocean of blinding spray
+            Sink her turrets from sight,
+          By thy potency broken,
+    O irresistible scourge of ships!
+
+    --_Harry Howard._
+
+
+
+Margaret.
+
+
+    I saw her for a moment,
+      Her presence haunts me yet,
+    In oft-recurring visions
+      Of grace and gladness met
+    That marked the sweet demeanor
+      Of dainty Margaret.
+
+    Like gossamer her robe was
+      Around her lightly drawn,
+    A filmy summer-garment
+      That fairy maidens don
+    To make them look like angels
+      Croqueting on the lawn.
+
+    The mallet-sport became her
+      In hue of exercise
+    That tinged her cheek with roses;
+      And, dancing in her eyes,
+    Were pantomime suggestions
+      Of having won--a prize.
+
+    No more to me a stranger
+      Is she who occupies
+    A place in all my musings;
+      And brings in tender guise
+    A thought of one so like her--
+      Long years in Paradise.
+
+    Dear Margaret! that "pearl-name"
+      Is thine--and may it be
+    The synonym of goodness,
+      Of truth and purity,
+    And all ennobling graces
+      Exemplified in thee.
+
+
+
+
+Christmas Bells.
+
+
+    Ring out, O bells, in joyful chime!
+      Again we hail the Christmas time;
+    In melting, mellow atmosphere,
+      The crown and glory of the year.
+
+    When bitterness, distrust, and awe
+      Dissolve, like ice in winter's thaw,
+    Beneath the genial touches of
+      Amenity, good will, and love.
+
+    When flowers of affection grow,
+      Like edelweiss mid alpine snow,
+    In lives severe and beautiless,
+      Unused to warmth or tenderness.
+
+    Let goodness, grace, and gratitude
+      Revive in music's interlude,
+    And pæan notes, till time shall cease,
+      Proclaim the blessed reign of peace.
+
+    Ring, Christmas bells! for at the sound
+      Sweet memories of Him abound
+    Who laid aside a diadem
+      To be the babe of Bethlehem.
+
+
+
+
+By the Sea.
+
+
+    I am longing to dwell by the sea,
+      And dip in the surf every day,
+    And--height of subaqueous glee--
+      With the sharks and the porpoises play.
+
+    To novelty ever inclined--
+      Instead of a calm evening sail,
+    'Twould suit my adventurous mind
+      To ride on the back of a whale.
+
+    I want to disport on the rocks
+      Like a mythical mermaiden belle,
+    And comb out my watery locks,
+      Then dive to my cavernous cell.
+
+    I want to discover what lends
+      Such terror to all timid folks--
+    That serpent whose mystery tends
+      To make one believe it a hoax.
+
+    They say he's been captured at last;
+      The news is too good to be true--
+    He's slippery, cunning, and fast,
+      And likes notoriety too.
+
+    Once had I such longings to be
+      A sailor--those wishes are o'er,
+    But ever in dreams of the sea
+      My horoscope rests on the shore.
+
+    Oh, give me a home by the sea--
+      A cottage, a cabin, a tent!
+    Existence should ecstasy be
+      Till summer were joyfully spent.
+
+
+
+
+A Song.
+
+
+    Oh, sing me a merry song!
+      My heart is sad tonight;
+    The day has been so drear and long,
+    The world has gone awry and wrong,
+    Discouragements around me throng,
+      And gloom surpassing night.
+
+    Oh, sing again the song for me
+      My mother used to sing
+    When I, a child beside her knee,
+    Looked up for her sweet sympathy,
+    Nor ever thought how I might be
+      Her little hindering thing.
+
+    Oh, sing, as eventide draws near,
+      The old-time lullabys
+    Grandmother sang--forever dear,
+    Though in her grave this many a year
+    She lies who "read her title clear
+      To mansions in the skies."
+
+    Oh, sing till all perplexing care
+      Has vanished with the day!
+    And angels ever bright and fair
+    Come down the melody to share,
+    And on their pinions lightly bear
+      My happy soul away.
+
+
+
+
+"Is It April?"
+
+
+    No, this is January, dear,
+      The almanac's untrue;
+    For roaring Boreas, 'tis clear,
+    In sleet and snow and atmosphere,
+    Will be the monarch of the year,
+      And terror, too.
+
+    "Is it a blessing in disguise?"
+      Of course, things always are;
+    But Arctic blasts with ardent skies
+    Somehow do not quite harmonize,
+    That try to cheat by weather-lies
+      The calendar.
+
+    Old Janus must be double-faced;
+      He promised long ago
+    The maple syrup not to taste,
+    Nor steal the roses from the waist
+    Of one, a damsel fair and chaste
+      As April snow.
+
+    O winter of our discontent!
+      Your reign was for a day;
+    Behold! a scene of wonderment,
+    A thousand tongues are eloquent,
+    For spring, in bud and bloom and scent,
+      Is on the way.
+
+
+
+
+Christmas-Tide.
+
+
+          Let working-clothes be laid aside,
+    And Industry in festal garb arrayed;
+    Let busy brain and hand from toil and trade
+          Relax at Christmas-tide.
+
+          As moments pass by dial, so
+    Let gifts go round the happy circle where
+    In giving and receiving each may share,
+          And mutual kindness show.
+
+          The meaning deep, like mystery,
+    That lies in holly-bough or mistletoe,
+    May thousands never fathom--yet who know
+          And hail the Christmas-tree.
+
+          So strong a hold on human thought
+    Has this glad day that seasons all the year
+    With the rich flavoring of hearty cheer,
+          It ne'er shall be forgot.
+
+          It is the milestone on life's road
+    Where we may lay our burdens down, and take
+    A look at souvenirs, for love's dear sake
+          So prettily bestowed.
+
+          Upon its shining tablet we may write--
+    If, like the good Samaritan, in deed--
+    A record that the angel band shall read
+          With impulse of delight.
+
+          And this is why on Christmas morn
+    The world should smile and wear its brightest glow:
+    Because some nineteen hundred years ago
+          A little child was born.
+
+
+
+
+January, 1885.
+
+
+    These winter days are passing fair!
+      As if a breath of spring
+    Had permeated all the air,
+      And touched each living thing
+    With thankfulness for such a boon--
+      Discounting with a scoff
+    The almanac's report that "June
+      Is yet a long way off!"
+
+    We quarrel with the calendar--
+      For May has been misplaced--
+    And doubt the tale oracular
+      Of "Janus, double-faced;"
+    For this "ethereal mildness" looks
+      Toward shadowy delights
+    Of roseate bowers, of cosy nooks,
+      Of coming thermal nights.
+
+    Let robes diaphanous succeed
+      Dense garments made of fur,
+    And overcoats maintain the lead--
+      Among the things that were!
+    The wisely-rented sealskin sacque,
+      By many a dame possessed,
+    Be quickly relegated back
+      To its moth-haunted chest!
+
+    While every portly alderman,
+      In linen suit arrayed,
+    Manipulates the palm-leaf fan
+      And seeks the cooling shade;
+    And he perspires who not in vain
+      Suggests his funny squibs,
+    By poking his unwelcome cane
+      In other people's ribs.
+
+    Who dares to fling opprobrium
+      On January now?
+    As to a potentate we come
+      With reverential bow,
+    Because it doth not yet appear
+      That Time hath ever seen
+    The ruler of th' inverted year
+      In more benignant mien.
+
+    O Boreas! do not lie low--
+      That is, if "lie" thou must--
+    Upon our planet; do not blow
+      With fierce and sudden gust,
+    But come so gently, tenderly--
+      As come thou surely wilt--
+    That we may have sweet dreams of thee,
+      Beneath "our crazy quilt!"
+
+
+
+
+Sweet Peas.
+
+
+    By helpful fingers taught to twine
+      Around its trellis, grew
+    A delicate and dainty vine;
+    The bursting bud, its blossom sign,
+      Inlaid with honeyed-dew.
+
+    Developing by every art
+      To floriculture known,
+    From tares exempt, and kept apart,
+    Careful, as if in some fond heart
+      Its legume germs were sown.
+
+    So thriving, not for me alone
+      Its beauty and perfume--
+    Ah, no, to rich perfection grown
+    By flower mission loved and known
+      In many a darkened room.
+
+    And once in strange and solemn place,
+      Mid weeping uncontrolled,
+    Upon the crushed and snowy lace
+    I saw them scattered 'round a face
+      All pallid, still, and cold.
+
+    Oh, some may choose, as gaudy shows,
+      Those saucy sprigs of pride
+    The peony, the red, red rose;
+    But give to me the flower that grows
+      Petite and pansy-eyed.
+
+    Thus, meditation on Sweet Peas
+      Impels the ardent thought,
+    Would maidens all were more like these,
+    With modesty--that true heartsease--
+      Tying the lover's knot.
+
+
+
+
+The Summer House.
+
+
+    Midway upon the lawn it stands,
+      So picturesque and pretty;
+    Upreared by patient artist hands,
+      Admired of all the city;
+    The very arbor of my dream,
+      A covert cool and airy,
+    So leaf-embowered as to seem
+      The dwelling of a fairy.
+
+    It is the place to lie supine
+      Within a hammock swinging,
+    To watch the sunset, red as wine,
+      To hear the crickets singing;
+    And while the insect world around
+      Is buzzing--by the million--
+    No wingèd thing above the ground
+      Intrudes in this pavilion.
+
+    It is the place, at day's decline,
+      To tell the old, old story
+    Behind the dark Madeira vine,
+      Behind the morning glory;
+    To confiscate the rustic seat
+      And barter stolen kisses,
+    For honey must be twice as sweet
+      In such a spot as this is.
+
+    It is the haunt where one may get
+      Relief from petty trouble,
+    May read the latest day's gazette
+      About the "Klondike" bubble:
+    How shanties rise like golden courts.
+      Where sheep wear glittering fleeces,
+    How gold is picked up--by the quartz--
+      And all get rich as Croesus.
+
+    Here hid away from dust and heat,
+      Secure from rude intrusion,
+    While willing lips the thought repeat,
+      So grows the fond illusion:
+    That happiness the product is
+      Of lazy, languid dozing,
+    Of soft midsummer reveries,
+      Half-waking, half-reposing.
+
+    And here in restful interlude,
+      Life's fallacies forgetting,
+    Its frailties--such a multitude--
+      The fuming and the fretting,
+    Amid the fragrance, dusk, and dew,
+      The happy soul at even
+    May walk abroad, and interview
+      Bright messengers from Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+To Die in Autumn.
+
+
+    The melody of autumn
+      Is the only tune I know,
+    And I sing it over and over
+      Because it thrills me so;
+    It stirs anew the happy wish,
+      So near to perfect bliss,
+    To live a little longer in
+      A world like this.
+
+    The sound was never sweeter,
+      The voice so nearly mute,
+    As beauty, dying, loses
+      Her hold upon the lute;
+    And like the harmonies that touch
+      And blend with those above,
+    Forever must an echo wake
+      The heart of love.
+
+    Her robe of brown and coral
+      And amber glistens through
+    Rare jewels of the morning,
+      The opals of the dew,
+    Like royal fabrics worn beneath
+      The tinselry of pearls,
+    Or diamond dust by fashion strewn
+      On sunny curls.
+
+    If I could wrap such garments
+      In true artistic style
+    About myself departing,
+      And wear as sweet a smile
+    And be as guileless as the flowers
+      My friends would never sigh;
+    'Twould reconcile them to my death
+      To see me die.
+
+    And why should there be sorrow
+      When dying is no more
+    Than 'twixt two bright apartments
+      The opening of a door
+    Through which the freed, enraptured soul
+      From this, a paradise,
+    May pass to that supremely fair
+      Beyond the skies?
+
+    Oh, 'twere not hard to finish
+      When earth with tender grace
+    Prepares for her dear children
+      So sweet a resting place;
+    And though in dissolution's throe
+      The melody be riven,
+    The song abruptly ended here
+      Goes on in Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+Apple Blossoms.
+
+
+          Of all the lovely blossoms
+            That decorate the trees,
+          And shower down their petals
+            With every breath of breeze,
+    There is nothing so sweet or fair to me
+    As the delicate blooms of the apple tree.
+
+          A thousand shrubs and flow'rets
+            Delicious pleasure bring,
+          But beautiful Pomona
+            Must be the queen of spring;
+    And out of her flagon the peach and pear
+    Their chalices fill with essence rare.
+
+          Oh, is it any wonder,
+            Devoid of blight or flaw,
+          The peerless blooms of Eden
+            Our primal mother saw
+    In redolent beauty before her placed
+    So tempted fair Eve the fruit to taste?
+
+          But woman's love of apples,
+            Involving fearful price,
+          And Adam's love for woman
+            That cost him Paradise,
+    By the labor of hands and sweat of brow,
+    Have softened the curse to a blessing now.
+
+          If so those pink-eyed glories,
+            In fields and orchards gay
+          Develop luscious fruitage
+            By Horticulture's way,
+    Then, sweet as the heart of rich legumes,
+    Shall luxury follow the apple blooms.
+
+
+
+
+Without a Minister.
+
+
+    The congregation was devout,
+      The minister inspired,
+    Their attitude to those without
+      By every one admired,
+    And all things so harmonious seemed,
+    Of no calamity we dreamed.
+
+    But, just in this quiescent state
+      A little cloud arose
+    Portentous of our certain fate--
+      As everybody knows;
+    Our pastor took it in his head
+    His "resignation" must be read.
+
+    In every eye a tear-drop stood,
+      For we accepted it
+    Reluctantly, but nothing could
+      Make him recant one bit;
+    And soon he left for distant parts,
+    While we were left--with broken hearts.
+
+    And next the "patriarch" who led
+      For nearly three-score years
+    Our "Sabbath school"--its worthy head--
+      Rekindled all our fears
+    By saying, with a smile benign,
+    "Since it's the fashion, I'll resign!"
+
+    And so he did; but promptly came
+      Forth one, of good report--
+    "Our Superintendent" is his name--
+      Who tries to "hold the fort"
+    With wisdom, tact, and rare good sense,
+    In this, his first experience.
+
+    The world looks on and says, "How strange!
+      They hang together so,
+    These Baptists do, and never change,
+      But right straight onward go
+    While other flocks are scattering all,
+    And some have strayed beyond recall!"
+
+
+
+
+Indian Summer.
+
+
+    Is it not our bounden duty
+      Harsh and bitter thoughts to quell,
+      Wild, ambitions schemes repel,
+    And to revel in the beauty
+      Of this Indian summer spell,
+      Bathing forest, field, and dell
+      As with radiance immortelle?
+
+    None can paint like nature dying;
+      Whose dissolving struggle lent
+      Wealth of hues so richly blent
+    That, through weary years of trying,
+      Artist skill pre-eminent
+      May not copy or invent
+      Such divine embellishment.
+
+    Knights of old from castles riding
+      Scattered largesse as they went
+      Which, like manna heaven-sent,
+    Cheered the poverty-abiding;
+      But, when 'neath "that low green tent"
+      Passed the hand benevolent,
+      Sad were they and indigent.
+
+    Monarchs, too, have thus delighted
+      Giving unto courtiers free,
+      Costly robes and tinselry;
+    And, as royal guests, invited
+      Them to sumptuous halls of glee,
+      Banqueting and minstrelsy,
+      Bacchus holding sovereignty.
+
+    Then, perchance, in mood capricious
+      Stripped and scorned and turned away
+      Those who tasted for a day
+    Pleasure sweet and food delicious;
+      Nor might any say them nay--
+      Lest his head the forfeit pay
+      Who a king dared disobey.
+
+    But our own benignant Giver,
+      Almoner impartial, true,
+      Constantly doth gifts renew;
+    Nor would fitfully deliver
+      Aught unto the chosen few,
+      But to all the wide world through,
+      Who admire his wonders, too.
+
+    Never shall the heart be poorer,
+      Never languish in despair,
+      That such affluence may share;
+    For than this is nothing surer--
+      He hath said, and will prepare
+      In those realms of upper air
+      Glories infinitely fair.
+
+
+
+
+Autumn-Time.
+
+
+    Like music heard in mellow chime,
+    The charm of her transforming time
+      Upon my senses steals
+    As softly as from sunny walls,
+    In day's decline, their shadow falls
+      Across the sleeping fields.
+
+    A fair, illumined book
+    Is nature's page whereon I look
+      While "autumn turns the leaves;"
+    And many a thought of her designs
+    Between those rare, resplendent lines
+      My fancy interweaves.
+
+    I dream of aborigines,
+    Who must have copied from the trees
+      The fashions of the day:
+    Those gorgeous topknots for the head,
+    Of yellow tufts and feathers red,
+      With beads and sinews gay.
+
+    I wonder if the saints behold
+    Such pageantry of colors bold
+      Beyond the radiant sky;
+    And if the tints of Paradise
+    Are heightened by the strange device
+      Of making all things die.
+
+    Yea, even so; for Nature glows
+    Because of her expiring throes,
+      As if around her tomb
+    Unmeet it were,--the look severe
+    That designates a common bier
+      Enwreathed in deepest gloom.
+
+    And so I meditate if aught
+    Can be so fair where death is not;
+      If Heaven's loveliness
+    Is born of struggle and decay;
+    And, but for funeral array,
+      Would it be beautiless?
+
+    Oh solemn, sad, sweet mystery
+    That Earth's unrivaled brilliancy
+      Is but her splendid pall!
+    That Heaven were not what it is
+    But for that crown of tragedies,
+      The sacrifice for all.
+
+    So not a charm would Zion lose
+    Were it bereft of sparkling hues
+      In gilded lanes and leas;
+    It would be bright though not a flower
+    Unclosed in its celestial bower,
+      And void of jeweled trees.
+
+    Yet, lily-like, one bloom I see,
+    Its name is his who died for me;
+      Whose matchless beauty shows
+    Perfection on its bleeding stem,
+    The blossom-bud of Bethlehem,
+      The Resurrection Rose.
+
+
+
+The Beauty of Nature.
+
+
+    Oh bud and leaf and blossom,
+      How beautiful they are!
+    Than last year's vernal season
+      'Tis lovelier by far;
+    This earth was never so enchanting
+      Nor half so bright before--
+    But so I've rhapsodized, in springtime,
+      For forty years or more.
+
+    What luxury of color
+      On shrub and plant and vine,
+    From pansies' richest purple
+      To pink of eglantine;
+    From buttercups to "johnny-jump-ups,"
+      With deep cerulean eyes,
+    Responding to their modest surname
+      In violet surprise.
+
+    Sometimes I think the sunlight
+      That gilds the emerald hills,
+    And makes Aladdin dwellings
+      Of dingy domiciles,
+    Is surplus beauty overflowing
+      That Heaven cannot hold--
+    The topaz glitter, or the jacinth,
+      The glare of streets of gold.
+
+    In "Cedar Hill," the city
+      Of "low green tents" of sod,
+    I read the solemn record
+      Of those gone home to God;
+    While from their hallowed dust arising
+      The fragrant lilies grow
+    As if their life was all the sweeter
+      For those who sleep below.
+
+    And so 'tis not in sadness
+      I dwell upon the thought,
+    When I am dead and buried
+      That I shall be forgot.
+    Because the germ of reproduction
+      Doth this poor body hold,
+    Perchance to add to nature's beauty
+      A rose above the mold.
+
+
+
+
+"All the Rage."
+
+
+    A common wayside flower it grew,
+    Unhandsome and unnoticed too,
+      Except in deprecation
+    That such an herb unreared by toil,
+    Prolific cumberer of the soil,
+      Defied extermination.
+
+    Its gorgeous blooms were never stirred
+    By honey-bee nor humming-bird
+      In their corollas dipping;
+    But they from clover white and red
+    Delicious nectar drew instead
+      In dainty rounds of sipping.
+
+    No place its own euphonious name
+    Within the catalogue might claim
+      Of any flora-lover;
+    For, in the scores of passers-by,
+    As yet no true artistic eye
+      Its beauty could discover.
+
+    The reaper with his sickle keen
+    Aimed at its crest of gold and green
+      With spiteful stroke relentless,
+    And would have rooted from the ground
+    The "Solidago"--blossom-crowned,
+      But gaudy, rank, and scentless.
+
+    But everything must have its day--
+    And since some fickle _devotée_
+      Or myrmidon of Fashion
+    Declares that this obnoxious weed,
+    From wild, uncultivated seed,
+      Shall be the "ruling passion,"
+
+    Effusive schoolgirls dote on it;
+    Whose "frontispieces" infinite
+      That need no decoration
+    Are hid beneath its golden dust,
+    Till many a fine, symmetric bust
+      Is lost to admiration.
+
+    Smart dudes and ladies' men--the few
+    Who wish they could be ladies too--
+      Display a sprig of yellow
+    Conspicuous in their buttonhole,
+    To captivate a maiden soul
+      Or vex some other fellow.
+
+    And spinsters of uncertain age
+    Are clamoring now for "all the rage"
+      To give a dash of color
+    To their complexions, which appear
+    To be the hue they hold so dear--
+      Except a trifle duller.
+
+    That _négligée_ "blue-stocking" friend,
+    Who never cared her time to spend
+      On mysteries of the toilet,
+    Now wears a sumptuous bouquet
+    And shakes your hand a mile away
+      For fear that you will spoil it.
+
+    Delightful widows, dressed in black,
+    Complain with modest sighs they lack
+      That coveted expression,
+    That sort of Indian Summer air
+    Which "relicts" always ought to wear
+      By general concession;
+
+    And so lugubrious folds of crape
+    Are crimped and twisted into shape
+      With graceful heads of yellow,
+    That give a winsome toning down
+    To sombre hat and sable gown--
+      In autumn tintings mellow.
+
+    Alas, we only hate the weed!
+    And think that it must be, indeed,
+      The ladies' last endeavor
+    To match the gentlemen, who flaunt
+    That odious dried tobacco plant
+      At which they puff forever.
+
+
+
+
+My Mother's Hand.
+
+
+    My head is aching, and I wish
+      That I could feel tonight
+    One well-remembered, tender touch
+    That used to comfort me so much,
+      And put distress to flight.
+
+    There's not a soothing anodyne
+      Or sedative I know,
+    Such potency can ever hold
+    As that which lovingly controlled
+      My spirit long ago.
+
+    How oft my burning cheek as if
+      By Zephyrus was fanned,
+    And nothing interdicted pain
+    Or seemed to make me well again
+      So quick as mother's hand.
+
+    'Tis years and years since it was laid,
+      In her own gentle way,
+    On tangled curls of brown and jet
+    Above the downy coverlet
+      'Neath which the children lay.
+
+    As bright as blessed sunlight ray
+      The past comes back to me;
+    Her fingers turn the sacred page
+    For a little group of tender age
+      Who gather at her knee.
+
+    And when those hands together clasped
+      Devout and still were we;
+    To whom it seemed God then and there
+    Must surely answer such a prayer,
+      For none could pray as she.
+
+    O buried love with her that passed
+      Into the Silent Land!
+    O haunting vision of the night!
+    I see, encoffined, still, and white,
+      A mother's face and hand.
+
+
+
+
+A Leap Year Episode.
+
+
+    Such oranges! so fresh and sweet,
+      So large and lovely--and so cheap!
+      They lay in one delicious heap,
+        And added to the sumptuous feast
+    For each and all in taste expert
+    The acme of all fine dessert;
+        So, singling out the very least
+    As in itself an ample treat,
+      While sparkling repartee and jest
+      Exhilarated host and guest,
+        Of rarity so delicate
+        In dreamy reverie I ate,
+    By magic pinions as it were
+      Transported from this realm of snows
+    To be a happy sojourner
+      Away down where the orange grows;
+    Amid the bloom, the verdure, and
+    The beauty of that tropic land,
+      While redolence seemed wafted in
+      From orchard-groves of Mandarin.
+
+    In dinner costume _a la mode_,
+      Expressing from the spongy skin
+      The nectar that ran down her chin
+        In little rills of lusciousness,
+    Sat Maud, the beautiful coquette;
+    Her dainty mouth, like "two lips" wet
+      With morning dew, her crimson dress,
+    A sad discoloration showed
+      Where orange-juice--it was a sin!--
+      A polka-dot had painted in;
+        Which moved the roguish girl to say
+        Half-ruefully (half-_décolleté_)--
+    "I'm glad it's Leap Year now, for I--"
+      Her voice was like a moistened lute
+    "Shall wear the flowers, by and by--
+      I do not like this leaky fruit!"
+    And looking straight and saucily
+    At cousin Ned, her _vis-a-vis_;
+      While Will, who never dared propose,
+      Was blushing like a red, red rose.
+
+    The company was large, and she
+      Touched elbows with the exquisite,
+      Gay Archibald, who took her wit
+        And pertness all as meant for him;
+    Who, thereby lifted some degrees
+    Above less-favored devotees,
+      With rainbow sails began to trim
+    His craft of sweet felicity;
+      So mirth in reckless afterlude
+      Convulsed the merry multitude,
+        Who laughed at Archie's self-esteem,
+        And pitied Will's long-cherished dream;
+    While all declared, for her and Ned--
+      His face was like a silver tray--
+    The wedding-banquet should be spread
+      Before a twelvemonth passed away.
+    But, ah, the sequel--blind were we
+    To woman and her strategy!
+      For he so long afraid to speak
+      Bore off the bride within a week.
+
+
+
+
+If.
+
+
+    If all the sermons good men preach
+    And all the precepts that they teach
+      Were gathered into one
+    Unbroken line of silver speech,
+    The shining filament might reach
+      From earth unto the sun.
+
+    If all the stories ever told
+    By wild romancers, young or old,
+      Into a thread were drawn,
+    And from its cable coil unrolled,
+    'Twould span those misty hills of gold
+      That heaven seems resting on.
+
+    If every folly, every freak,
+    From day to day, from week to week,
+      Is written in "The Book,"
+    With all the idle words we speak,
+    Would it not crimson many a cheek
+      Upon the page to look?
+
+    If all the good deeds that we do
+    From honest motives pure and true
+      Shall there recorded be,
+    Known unto God and angels too,
+    Is it not sad they are so few
+      And wrought so charily?
+
+
+
+
+Perfect Character.
+
+
+      He lives but half who never stood
+        By the grave of one held dear,
+    And out of the deep, dark loneliness
+    Of a heart bereaved and comfortless,
+      From sorrow's crystal plentitude,
+        Feeling his loss severe,
+        Dropped a regretful tear.
+
+      Oh, life's divinest draught doth not
+        In the wells of joy abound!
+    For the purest streams are those that flow
+    Out of the depths of crushing woe,
+      As from the springs of love and thought
+        Hid in some narrow mound,
+        Making it holy ground.
+
+      He hath been blessed who sometimes knelt
+        Owning that God is just,
+    And in the stillness of cypress shade
+    Rosemary's tender symbol laid
+      Upon a cherished shrine, and felt
+        Strengthened in faith and trust
+        Over the precious dust.
+
+      So perfect character is wrought,
+        Rounded and beautified,
+    By the alchemy of that strange alloy,
+    The intermingling of grief and joy;
+      So nearer Heaven the spirit, brought
+        Bleeding, so sorely tried,
+        Finds its diviner side.
+
+
+
+
+The Miracle of Spring.
+
+
+    What touch is like the Spring's?
+    By dainty fingerings
+      Such rare delight to give,
+      'Tis luxury to live
+    Amid florescent things.
+
+    Through weary months of snow
+    When Boreas swept low,
+      How many an anxious hour
+      We watched one little flower,
+    And tried to make it grow;
+
+    And thrilled with ecstasy
+    When, half distrustfully,
+      A timid bud appeared,
+      A tender scion reared
+    In window greenery.
+
+    But lo! Spring's wealth of bloom
+    And richness of perfume
+      Comes as by miracle;
+      Then why not possible
+    Within a curtained room?
+
+    Ah, no! that everywhere
+    The earth is passing fair,
+      And strange new life hath caught,
+      Is but the marvel wrought
+    By sunlight, rain, and air.
+
+
+
+
+Bermuda.
+
+
+    O charming blossom of the sea
+      Atlantic waters bosomed in!
+    Abiding-place of gayety,
+      Elysian bower of "Cora Linn,"
+    The sprightly, lively _débiteuse_
+    Recounting all she sees and does.
+
+    Oh, how it makes the northern heart,
+      With sluggish current half-congealed,
+    In ecstasy and vigor start
+      To read about this tropic field;
+    The garden of luxuriousness,
+    In winter wearing summer's dress.
+
+    With gelid sap and frozen gum
+      In maple trees and hackmatack,
+    While waiting for the spring to come
+      Of life's necessities we lack;
+    And sip the nectar that we find
+    In luscious fruit with golden rind.
+
+    But down the street we dread to walk,
+      For all the teachings of our youth
+    Receive an agonizing shock;
+      _Do_ tempting labels lie, forsooth?
+    For "out of Florida," she says,
+    "Come our Bermuda oranges."
+
+    To speed the penitential prayer
+      Our rosary we finger o'er,
+    A yellow necklace rich and rare--
+      'Twas purchased at the dollar store;
+    But oh, it makes us sigh to see
+    That land of amber _bijouterie_!
+
+    Oh, ocean wave and flying sail
+      Shall never waft us to its shore!
+    But if some reckless cyclone gale
+      Should drop Bermuda at our door,
+    'Twould warm our February sky
+    And bring the time of roses nigh!
+
+
+
+
+The Charter Oak.
+
+
+    I seem to see the old tree stand,
+      Its sturdy, giant form
+    A spectacle remembered, and
+    A pilgrim-shrine for all the land
+      Before it met the storm.
+
+    Unnumbered gales the tree defied;
+      It towered like a king
+    Above his courtiers, reaching wide,
+    And sheltering scions at its side
+      As with protecting wing.
+
+    Revered as one among the trees
+      To mark the seasons born,
+    To watchful aborigines
+    It told by leafy indices
+      The time of planting corn.
+
+    The landmark of the past is gone,
+      Its site is overgrown;
+    A mansion overlooks the lawn
+    Where history is traced upon
+      A parapet of stone.
+
+    Shall e'er Connecticut forget
+      What unto it we owe--
+    How Wadsworth coped with Andros' threat,
+    And tyranny, in council met,
+      Outwitted years ago?
+
+    Aye, but it rouses loyal spunk
+      To think of that old tree!
+    Its stately stem, its spacious trunk
+    By Nature robbed of pith and punk
+      To guard our liberty.
+
+    But of the oak long-perished, why
+      Is earth forever full?
+    For, like the loaf and fish supply,
+    Its stock of fiber, tough and dry,
+      Seems inexhaustible.
+
+    Rare souvenirs the stranger sees--
+      Who never sees a joke--
+    And innocently dreams that these,
+    From knotty, gnarly, scraggy trees,
+      Were once the Charter Oak!
+
+
+
+
+Blossom-time.
+
+
+      Yes, it is drawing nigh--
+        The time of blossoming;
+    The waiting heart beats stronger
+        With every breath of Spring,
+    The days are growing longer;
+      While happy hours go by
+        As if on zephyr wing.
+
+      A wealth of mellow light
+        Reflected from the skies
+    The hill and vale is flooding;
+        Still in their leafless guise
+    The Jacqueminots are budding,
+      Creating new delight
+       By promise of surprise.
+
+      The air is redolent
+        As ocean breezes are
+    From spicy islands blowing,
+        Or groves of Malabar
+    Where sandal-wood is growing;
+      Or sweet, diffusive scent,
+        From fragrant attar-jar.
+
+      Just so is loveliness
+        Renewed from year to year;
+    And thus emotions tender,
+        Born of the atmosphere,
+    Of bloom, and vernal splendor
+      That words cannot express,
+        Make Spring forever dear.
+
+      Can mortal man behold
+        So beautiful a scene,
+    Without the innate feeling
+        That thus, like dying sheen
+    The sunset hues revealing,
+      Glints pure, celestial gold
+        On fields of living green?
+
+
+
+
+"One of the Least of These."
+
+
+    'Twas on a day of cold and sleet,
+    A little nomad of the street
+    With tattered garments, shoeless feet,
+        And face with hunger wan,
+    Great wonder-eyes, though beautiful,
+    Hedged in by features pinched and dull,
+    Betraying lines so pitiful
+        By sorrow sharply drawn;
+
+    Ere yet the service half was o'er,
+    Approached the great cathedral door
+    As choir and organ joined to pour
+        Their sweetness on the air;
+    Then, sudden, bold, impelled to glide
+    With fleetness to the altar's side,
+    Her trembling form she sought to hide
+        Amid the shadows there,
+
+    Half fearful lest some worshiper,
+    Enveloped close in robes of fur,
+    Had cast a scornful glance at her
+        As she had stolen by,
+    But soon the swelling anthem, fraught
+    With reverence, her spirit caught
+    As rapt she listened, heeding not
+        The darkness drawing nigh.
+
+    'Mid novelty and sweet surprise
+    Her soul, enraptured, seemed to rise
+    And tread the realms of Paradise;
+        Her shivering limbs grew warm,
+    And as the shadows longer crept
+    Across the chancel, angels kept
+    Their vigils o'er her as she slept
+        Secure from cold and storm.
+
+    No sound her peaceful slumber broke,
+    But one, whose gentle face bespoke
+    True goodness, took her costly cloak
+        In tender, thoughtful way,
+    And as the sleeper sweetly smiled,
+    Perchance by dreams of Heaven beguiled,
+    O'erspread the passive, slumbering child,
+        And softly stepped away.
+
+    So rest thee, child! since Sorrow's dart
+    Has touched like thine the Saviour's heart,
+    Thou hast a nearer, dearer part
+        In his great love for thee;
+    And when life's shadows all are gone,
+    May Heaven reveal a brighter dawn
+    To thee who, unaware, hast drawn
+        Our hearts in sympathy.
+
+
+
+
+Lightning-bugs.
+
+
+    Around my vine-wreathed portico,
+    At evening, there's a perfect glow
+      Of little lights a-flashing--
+    As if the stellar bodies had
+    From super-heat grown hyper-mad,
+      And spend their ire in clashing.
+
+    As frisky each as shooting star,
+    These tiny electricians are
+      The Lampyrine Linnæan--
+    Or lightning-bugs, that sparkling gleam
+    Like scintillations in a dream
+      Of something empyrean.
+
+    They brush my face, light up my hair,
+    My garments touch, dart everywhere;
+      And if I try to catch them
+    They're quicker than the wicked flea--
+    And then I wonder how 'twould be
+      To have a _dress_ to match them.
+
+    To be a "princess in disguise,"
+    And wear a robe of fireflies
+     All strung and wove together,
+    And be the cynosure of all
+    At Madame Haut-ton's carnival,
+      In fashion's gayest feather.
+
+    So, sudden, falls upon the grass
+    The overpow'ring light of gas,
+      And through the lattice streaming;
+    As wearily I close my eyes
+    Brief are the moments that suffice
+      To reach the land of dreaming.
+
+    Now at the ball, superbly dressed
+    As I suppose, to eclipse the rest,
+      Within an alcove shady
+    A brilliant flame I hope to be,
+    While all admire and envy me,
+      The "bright electric lady."
+
+    But, ah, they never shine at all!
+    My eyes _ignite_--I leave the hall,
+      For wrathful tears have filled them;
+    I could have crushed them on the spot--
+    The bugs, I mean!--and quite forgot
+      That _stringing_ them had killed them.
+
+
+
+
+Of Her who Died.
+
+
+    We look up to the stars tonight,
+      Idolatrous of them,
+    And dream that Heaven is in sight,
+    And each a ray of purest light
+      From some celestial gem
+      In her bright diadem.
+
+    Before that lonely home we wait,
+      Ah! nevermore to see
+    Her lovely form within the gate
+    Where heart and hearthstone desolate
+      And vine and shrub and tree
+      Seem asking: "Where is she?"
+
+    There is the cottage Love had planned--
+      Where hope in ashes lies--
+    A tower beautiful to stand,
+    Her monument whose gentle hand
+      And presence in the skies
+      Make home of Paradise.
+
+    In wintry bleakness nature glows
+      Beneath the stellar ray;
+    We see the mold, but not the rose,
+    And meditate if knowledge goes
+      Into yon mound of clay,
+      With her who passed away.
+
+    Of sighs, and tears, and joys denied
+      Do echoes reach up there?
+    Do seraphs know--God does--how wide
+    And deep is sorrow's bitter tide
+      Of dolor and despair,
+      And darkness everywhere?
+
+    Dear angel, snatched from our caress,
+      So suddenly withdrawn,
+    Alone are we and comfortless;
+    As in a dome of emptiness
+      The old routine goes on,
+      Aimless, since thou art gone.
+
+    Oh, dearer unto us than aught
+      In all the world beside
+    Of thee to cherish blessed thought;
+    So early thy sweet mission wrought,
+      As friend, as promised bride,
+      Who lived, and loved, and died.
+
+
+
+
+Thanksgiving.
+
+
+    Nature, erewhile so marvelously lovely, is bereft
+                Of her supernal charm;
+    And with the few dead garlands of departed splendor left,
+                Like crape upon her arm,
+          In boreal hints, and sudden gusts
+                That fan the glowing ember,
+          By multitude of ways fulfills
+                The promise of November.
+
+    Upon the path where Beauty, sylvan priestess, sped away,
+                Lies the rich afterglow
+    Of Indian Summer, bringing round the happy holiday
+                That antedates the snow:
+          The glad Thanksgiving time, the cheer,
+                The festival commotion
+          That stirs fraternal feeling from
+                The mountains to the ocean.
+
+    O Hospitality! unclose thy bounty-laden hand
+                In generous dealing, where
+    Is gathered in reunion each long-severed household band,
+                And let no vacant chair
+          Show where the strongest, brightest link
+                In love's dear chain is broken--
+          A symbol more pathetic than
+                By language ever spoken.
+
+    Into the place held sacred to the memory of some
+                Beloved absentee,
+    Perchance passed to the other shore, oh, let the stranger come
+                And in gratuity
+          Partake of festal favors that
+                Shall sweeten hours of labor,
+          And strengthen amity and love
+                Unto his friend and neighbor.
+
+    Let gratitude's pure incense in warm orisons ascend,
+                A blessing to secure,
+    And gracious impulse bearing largesse of good gifts extend
+                To all deserving poor;
+          So may the day be hallowed by
+                Unstinted thanks and giving,
+          In sweet remembrance of the dead
+                And kindness to the living.
+
+
+
+
+Receiving Sight.
+
+
+    In hours of meditation fraught
+      With mem'ries of departed days,
+    Comes oft a tender, loving thought
+      Of one who shared our youthful plays.
+
+    In gayest sports and pleasures rife
+      Whose happy nature reveled so,
+    That on her ardent, joyous life
+      A shadow lay, we did not know;
+
+    And bade her look one summer night
+      Up to the sky that seemed to hold,
+    In dying sunset splendor bright,
+      All hues of sapphire, red, and gold.
+
+    How strange the spell that mystified
+      Us all, and hushed our wonted glee,
+    As sadly her sweet voice replied,
+      "Why, don't you know I cannot see?"
+
+    Too true! those eyes bereft of sight
+      No blemish bare, no drop-serene,
+    But nothing in this world of light
+      And beauty they had ever seen.
+
+
+    A dozen years in gentle ruth
+      Their impress lent to brow and cheek,
+    When precious words of sacred truth
+      Led her the Saviour's face to seek.
+
+    Responsive unto earnest prayers
+      Commingling love and penitence,
+    A blessing came--not unawares--
+      In new and strange experience.
+
+    And all was light, as Faith's clear eye
+      A brighter world than ours divined;
+    For never clouds obscured the sky
+      That she could see, while _we_ were blind.
+
+    Oh, it must be an awful thing
+      To be shut out from light of day!--
+    From summer's grace, and bloom of spring
+      In gladness words cannot portray.
+
+    But haply into every heart
+      May enter that Celestial Light
+    That doth to life's dark ways impart
+      A radiance hid from mortal sight.
+
+
+
+
+Revenge.
+
+
+    Beside my window day and night,
+    Its tendrils reaching left and right,
+      A morning glory grew;
+    With blossoms covered, pink and white
+      And deep, delicious blue.
+
+    Its care became my daily thought,
+    Who to the sweet diversion brought
+      A bit of florist skill
+    To guide its progress, till it caught
+      The meaning of my will.
+
+    When through the trellis in and out
+    It bent and turned and climbed about
+      And so ambitious grew,
+    O'erleaped a chasm beyond the spout
+      Where raindrops trickled through,
+
+    Then, in caressing, graceful way,
+    Around a door knob twined one day
+      With modest show of pride;
+    All unaware that danger lay
+      Just on the other side.
+
+    An awkward, verdant "maid of work,"
+    Who dearly loved her tasks to shirk,
+      While rummaging among
+    Unused apartments, with a jerk
+      The door wide open flung.
+
+    And lo! there lay, uprooted quite,
+    The object of my heart's delight--
+      I did not weep or rant,
+    And yet a grain or two of spite
+      My secret thoughts would haunt.
+
+    So when at night her favorite beau
+    Beside his charmer sat below--
+      That is, _dans le cuisine_--
+    Occurred, as all the neighbors know,
+      A semi-tragic scene.
+
+    The garden hose, obscured from view,
+    Turned on itself and drenched the two--
+      A hapless circumstance
+    That lengthened out her "frizzes" new,
+      But shrunk his Sunday pants.
+
+    Remember this was years agone--
+    The madcap now hath sober grown
+      And hose is better wrought,
+    And neither now would run alone
+      The risk of being caught.
+
+
+
+
+On the Common.
+
+
+    We met on "Boston Common"--
+      Of course it was by chance--
+    A sudden, unexpected,
+      But happy circumstance
+    That gave the dull October day
+    A beautiful, refulgent ray.
+
+    Like wandering refugees from
+      A city of renown,
+    Impelled to reconnoiter
+      This Massachusetts town,
+    Each by a common object urged,
+    Upon the park our paths converged.
+
+    Good nature, bubbling over
+      In healthy, hearty laughs,
+    And little lavish speeches
+      Like pleasant paragraphs,
+    The kind regard, unstudied joke,
+    His true felicity bespoke.
+
+    A bit of doleful knowledge
+      Confided unto me,
+    About the way the doctors--
+      Who never could agree--
+    His knees had tortured, softly drew
+    My sympathy and humor, too.
+
+    I hoped he wouldn't lose them,
+      And languish in the dumps
+    By having to quadrille on
+      A pair of polished stumps--
+    But a corky limb, though one might dread,
+    Isn't half as bad as a wooden head.
+
+    He censured those empirics
+      Who never heal an ill,
+    Though bound by their diplomas
+      To either cure or kill,
+    Who should, with ignominy crowned,
+    Their patients follow--under ground.
+
+    I left him at the foot of
+      "The Soldiers' Monument,"
+    With incoherent mutterings--
+      As though 'twere his intent
+    To turn the sod, a rod or two,
+    And sleep beside the "boys in blue."
+
+    In Hartford's charming circles
+      His bonhommie I miss,
+    And having never seen him
+      From that day unto this,
+    I think of him with much regret
+    As lying--with the soldiers--yet.
+
+
+
+
+Woman's Help.
+
+
+    Sometimes I long to write an ode
+      And magnify his name,
+    The man of honor, on the road
+      To opulence and fame,
+    On whom was never aid bestowed
+      By any helpful dame.
+
+    To all the world I fain would show
+      That talent widely known,
+    Rare eloquence, of burning glow
+      To melt a heart of stone,
+    That all his gifts, a dazzling row,
+      Are his, and his alone.
+
+    But him, of character and mind
+      Superb, alert, and strong,
+    I never study but to find
+      The subject of my song,
+    Some paragon of womankind,
+      Has helped him all along.
+
+    He may not know, he may not guess,
+      How much to her he owes,
+    How every scion of success
+      That in his nature grows,
+    Developed by her watchfulness,
+      Becomes a blooming rose.
+
+    From buffetings in humble place,
+      And labors ill begun,
+    To proud achievement in the race
+      And laurels grandly won,
+    His trials all she dares to face
+      As friend and champion.
+
+    The bars that hinder his advance
+      And half obscure the goal,
+    The stubborn bond of circumstance
+      That irritates his soul,
+    The countershafts of arrogance,
+      All yield to her control.
+
+    He builds a tower--she below
+      Is handing up the bricks;
+    His light is brilliant just as though
+      Her hand had trimmed the wicks;
+    He prays for daily bread--the dough
+      A woman deigns to mix.
+
+
+
+
+Tobogganing.
+
+
+    Oh, the rare exhilaration,
+    Oh, the novel delectation
+      Of a ride down the slide!
+    Packed like ice in zero weather,
+    Pleasure-seekers close together,
+      On a board as thin as wafer,
+      Barely wider, scarcely safer,
+    At the height of recreation
+    Find a glorious inspiration,
+    Ere the speedy termination
+      In the snowy meadow wide,
+      Sloping to the river's side.
+
+    Oh, such quakers we begin it,
+      Timorous of the icy route!
+    But to learn in half a minute
+    What felicity is in it,
+      As we shoot down the chute,
+      Smothered in toboggan suit,
+      Redingote or roquelaure,
+      Buttoned up (and down) before,
+    Mittens, cap, and moccasin,
+    Just the garb to revel in;
+      So, the signal given, lo!
+      Over solid ice and snow,
+      Down the narrow gauge we go
+    Swifter than a bird o'erhead,
+    Swifter than an arrow sped
+      From the staunchest, strongest bow.
+
+    Oh, it beats all "Copenhagen,"
+      Silly lovers' paradise!
+    Like the frozen Androscoggin,
+      Slippery, and smooth, and nice,
+    Is the track of the toboggan;
+    And there's nothing cheap about it,
+    Everything is steep about it,
+    The insolvent weep about it,
+      For the biggest thing on ice
+      Is its tip-top price;
+    But were this three times the money,
+    Then the game were thrice as funny.
+
+    Ye who dwell in latitudes
+    Where "the blizzard" ne'er intrudes,
+      And the water seldom freezes;
+    Ye of balmy Southern regions,
+    Alabama's languid legions,
+      From the "hot blast" of your breezes,
+      Where the verdure of the trees is
+      Limp, and loose, and pitiful,
+      Come up here where branches bare
+      Stand like spikes in frosty air;
+    Come up here where arctic rigor
+    Shall restore your bloom and vigor,
+      Making life enjoyable;
+    Come and take a jog on
+    The unparalleled toboggan!
+      Such the zest that he who misses
+      Never knows what perfect bliss is.
+      So the sport, the day's sensation,
+      Thrills and recreates creation.
+
+
+
+The Woods.
+
+
+    I love the woods when the magic hand
+      Of Spring, as if sweeping the keys
+    Of a wornout instrument, touches the earth;
+    When beauty and song in the gladness of birth
+    Awaken the heart of the desolate land,
+      And carol its rapture to every breeze.
+
+    In summer's still solstice my steps are drawn
+      To the shade of the forest trees;
+    To revel with Pan in his secret haunts,
+    To pipe mazourkas while satyrs dance,
+    Or lull to soft slumber some favorite faun
+      And fascinate strange wild birds and bees.
+
+    I love the woods when autumnal fires
+      Are kindled on every hill;
+    When dead leaves rustle in grove and field,
+    And trees are known by the fruits they yield,
+    And the wild grapes, sweetened by frost, inspire
+      A mildly-desperate, bibulous thrill.
+
+    There's a joy for which I would fling to the air
+      My petty portion of wealth and fame,
+    In tracking the rabbit o'er fresh-fallen snow,
+    The ways of the 'coon and opossum to know,
+      To capture squirrels when branches are bare
+    As the cupboard shelf of that ancient dame.
+
+    Oh, I long to explore the woods again
+      In my own aboriginal way,
+    As before I knew how culture could frown
+    On a hoydenish gait and a homespun gown
+    Or dreamed that the strata of proud "upper-ten"
+      Would smile at rusticity's _naïveté_.
+
+    I sigh for the pleasures of long ago
+      In youth's sweet halcyon time;
+    When better beloved than the thoroughfare
+    By multitudes trod were the woodlands, where
+    Was never a path that I did not know,
+      Nor thrifty sapling I dared not climb.
+
+    Alas for lost freedom! Alas for me!
+      For oh, Society's lip would curl,
+    Propriety's self with scornful eye
+    And gilt-edged Fashion would pass me by
+    To know that sometimes I'm dying to be
+      The romp, the rover, the same old girl.
+
+
+
+
+Like Summer.
+
+
+    November? 'tis a summer's day!
+      For tropic airs are blowing
+    As soft as whispered roundelay
+    From unseen lips that seem to say
+      To feathered songsters going
+    To sunnier, southern climes afar,
+    "Stay where you are--stay where you are!"
+
+    And other tokens glad as these
+      Declare that Summer lingers:
+    Round latent buds still hum the bees,
+    Slow fades the green from forest trees
+      Ere Autumn's artist fingers
+    Have touched the landscape, and instead
+    Brought out the amber, brown, and red.
+
+    The invalid may yet enjoy
+      His favorite recreation,
+    Gay, romping girl, unfettered boy
+    In outdoor sports the time employ,
+      And happy consummation
+    Of prudent plans the farmer know
+    Ere wintry breezes round him blow.
+
+    And they by poverty controlled--
+      Good fortune shall betide them
+    As scenes of beauty they behold,
+    And seem to revel in the gold
+      Which Plutus has denied them;
+    For, ah! the poor from want's despair
+    Oft covet wealth they never share.
+
+
+
+
+Sheridan's Last Ride.
+
+
+          While Phoebus lent his hottest rays
+          To signalize midsummer days,
+    I stood in that far-famed enclosure
+              By thousands visited,
+    Where, in the stillness of reposure,
+              Are grouped battalions dead.
+
+          Where, round each simple burial stone,
+          The grass for decades twain has grown,
+    Protecting them in dreamless slumber
+              Who perished long ago,
+    The multitudes defying number,
+              A part of war's tableau.
+
+          Along the winding avenue
+          A vast procession came in view;
+    The mourners' slow, advancing column
+              With reverent step drew near,
+    The "Dead March" playing, sad and solemn,
+              Above a soldier's bier.
+
+          There were the colonels, brigadiers,
+          Comrades in arms of other years,
+    Civilians, true and loyal-hearted
+              To him their bravest man,
+    Who seemed to say to those departed,
+              "Make room for Sheridan!"
+
+          Anon, beside the new-made mound,
+          The warworn veterans gathered round,
+    And spake of Lyon and of Lander,
+              And others ranked as high,
+    Recalling each his old commander,
+              One not afraid to die.
+
+          Thus, silent tenants one by one
+          Are crowding in at Arlington;
+    Thus Sheridan, the horseman daring,
+              Has joined the honored corps
+    Of those, their true insignia wearing,
+              Who battle nevermore.
+
+          Potomac's wave shall placid flow,
+          And sing his requiem soft and low,
+    His terrace grave be sweet with clover,
+              And daisies star his bed,
+    For Sheridan's last ride is over--
+              The General is dead!
+
+
+
+
+A Bit of Gladness.
+
+
+    As I near my lonely cottage,
+      At the close of weary day,
+    There's a little bit of gladness
+      Comes to meet me on the way:
+    Dimpled, tanned, and petticoated,
+      Innocent as angels are,
+    Like a smiling, straying sunbeam
+      Is my Stella--like a star.
+
+    Soon a hand of tissue-softness
+      Slips confidingly in mine,
+    And with tender look appealing
+      Eyes of beauty sweetly shine;
+    Like a gentle shepherd guiding
+      Some lost lamb unto the fold,
+    So she leads me homeward, prattling
+      Till her stories are all told.
+
+    "Papa, I'm so glad to see you--
+      Cousin Mabel came today--
+    And the gas-man brought a letter
+      That he said you'd better pay--
+    Yes, and _awful_ things is happened:
+      My poor kitty's drowned to death--
+    Mamma's got the 'Pigs in Clover'--"
+      Here she stops for want of breath.
+
+    I am like the bold knight-errant,
+      From his castle who would roam,
+    Trusting her, my faithful steward,
+      For a strict account of home;
+    And each day I toil, and hazard
+      All that any man may dare,
+    For a resting-place at even,
+      And the love that waits me there.
+
+    And sometimes I look with pity
+      On my neighbor's mansion tall:
+    There are chambers full of pictures,
+      There are marbles in the hall,
+    Yet with all the signs of splendor
+      That may gild a pile of stone,
+    Not a living thing about it
+      But the owner, grim and lone.
+
+    I believe that all his millions
+      He would give without repine
+    For a little bit of gladness
+      In his life, like that in mine;
+    This it is that makes my pathway
+      Beautiful, wherever trod,
+    Keeps my soul from wreck and ruin,
+      Keeps me nearer to my God.
+
+
+
+
+The Charity Ball.
+
+
+    There was many a token of festal display,
+    And reveling crowds who were never so gay,
+    And, as it were Æolus charming the hours,
+    An orchestra hidden by foliage and flowers;
+    There were tapestries fit for the home of a queen,
+    And mirrors that glistened in wonderful sheen;
+    There was feasting and mirth in the banqueting-hall,
+    For this was the annual Charity Ball.
+
+    There were pompous civilians, in wealth who abide,
+    Displaying their purses, the source of their pride;
+    And plethoric dealers in margins and stocks,
+    And owners of acres of elegant blocks,
+    And tenement-landlords who cling to a cent
+    When from the poor widow exacting her rent--
+    Immovable, stern, as an adamant wall--
+    And yet, who "came down" to this Charity Ball.
+
+    There was Beauty whose toilet, superb and unique,
+    Cost underpaid industry many a week
+    Of arduous labor of eye, and heartache,
+    Its starving inadequate pittance to make;
+    There were mischievous maidens and cavaliers bold,
+    Whose blushes and glances and coquetry told
+    A tale of the monarch who held them in thrall--
+    Who met, as by chance, at the Charity Ball.
+
+    There were delicate viands the poor never taste,
+    And dollars were lavished in prodigal waste
+    To pamper the palate of epicures rich;
+    Who drew from the wine cellar's cavernous niche
+    "Excelsior" brands of the rarest champagnes
+    To loosen their tongues--though it pilfered their brains--
+    Oh, sad if a step in some woeful downfall
+    Should ever be traced to a Charity Ball!
+
+    Outside of the window, pressed close to the pane,
+    And furrowed by tears that had fallen like rain,
+    Was the face of a woman, so spectral in hue,
+    With great liquid eyes, like twin oceans of blue,
+    And cheeks in whose hollows were written the lines
+    That pitiless hunger so often defines,
+    Who muttered, as closer she gathered the shawl,
+    "Oh, never for me is this Charity Ball!"
+
+    From liveried hirelings who bade her begone,
+    By uniformed minions compelled to move on,
+    Out into the street again driven to roam--
+    For friends she had none, neither fortune nor home;
+    While carnival-goers in morning's dull gray
+    As homeward returning, fatigued and _blasé_,
+    A vision encountered their hearts to appall,
+    And banish all thought of the Charity Ball.
+
+    As if seeking warmth from the icy curb-stone,
+    A form half-reclining, half-clad, and unknown.
+    Dead eyes looking up with a meaningless stare,
+    Lay close to the crowded and broad thoroughfare;
+    A form so emaciate the spirit had fled--
+    But the pulpit and press and the public all said,
+    As society's doings they sought to recall,
+    That a "brilliant success" was the Charity Ball.
+
+
+
+
+The Bell(e) of Baltimore.
+
+[One of the notable features of Baltimore is the big bell that hangs in
+the city hall tower, to strike the hour and sound the fire alarm. It is
+called "Big Sam," and weighs 5,000 pounds]
+
+
+    A million feet above the ground
+    (For so it seemed in winding round),
+        A million, and two more,
+        The latter stiff and sore,
+    While perspiration formed a part
+        Of every reeking pore,
+    I viewed the city like a chart
+        Spread out upon the floor.
+
+    And said: "Great guide Jehoiakin,
+    To me is meagre pleasure in
+        The height of spires and domes,
+        Of walls like ancient Rome's;
+    Nor care I for the marts of trade,
+        Or shelves of musty tomes,
+    Nor yet for yonder colonnade
+        Before your palace homes;
+
+    "But curiosity is keen
+    To know the city's reigning queen,
+        Who suiteth well the score
+        Of suitors at her door;
+    Oh, which of your divinities
+        Is she whom all adore?
+    Embodiment of truth, _who is_
+        The belle of Baltimore?"
+
+    Veracity's revolving eyes
+    Looked up as if to read the skies:
+        "Why, Lor'-a-miss, see dar--
+        De bell is in de air!
+    Lan' sakes! of all de missteries
+        Yo' nebber learn before!
+    Why, don' yo' know 'Big Sam'? _He_ is
+        De bell of Baltimore!"
+
+
+
+
+Christmas at Church.
+
+
+        'Twas drawing near the holiday,
+            When piety and pity met
+    In whisp'ring council, and agreed
+    That Christmas time, in homes of need,
+        Should be remembered in a way
+            They never could forget.
+
+
+            Then noble generosity
+      Took youth and goodness by the hand,
+    And planned a thousand charming ways
+    To celebrate this best of days,
+      While hearts were held in sympathy
+          By love's encircling band.
+
+        So multitudes together came,
+      Like wandering magi from the East
+    With precious gifts unto the King,
+    With every good and perfect thing
+        To satisfy a shivering frame
+            Or amplify a feast.
+
+     The angels had looked long and far
+        The happy scene to parallel,
+    When through the sanctuary door
+    Were carried gifts from shop and store,
+        The treasures of the rich bazaar,
+          To give--but not to sell.
+
+          As once the apostolic twelve
+            Of goods allotment made,
+    So equity dealt out with care
+    The widow's and the orphan's share,
+        And of the aged forced to delve
+          At drudging task or trade.
+
+      Oh, could the joy which tears express
+          That out of gladness come
+    Be mirrored in its tender glow,
+    Before the beautiful tableau
+          Ingratitude and selfishness
+      Would shrink abashed and dumb!
+
+        If every year and everywhere
+          Could kindness thus expand
+    In bounteous gratuity,
+    To all her children earth would be
+        A flowery vale like Eden fair,
+          A milk-and-honey land.
+
+
+
+
+Mysterious.
+
+
+    The morning sun rose bright and fair
+    Upon a lovely village where
+      Prosperity abounded,
+    And ceaseless hum of industry
+    In lines of friendly rivalry
+      From day to day resounded.
+
+    Its shaded avenues were wide,
+    And closely bordered either side
+      With cottages or mansions,
+    Or marked by blocks of masonry
+    That might defy a century
+      To loosen from their stanchions.
+
+    Its peaceful dwellers daily vied
+    To make this spot, with anxious pride,
+      A Paradise of beauty,
+    Recounted its attractions o'er,
+    And its adornment held no more
+      A pleasure than a duty.
+
+    But, ere the daylight passed away,
+    That hamlet fair in ruins lay,
+      Its hapless people scattered
+    Like playthings, at the cyclone's will,
+    And scarce remained one domicile
+      Its fury had not shattered.
+
+    Few moments of the tempest's wrath
+    Sufficed to mark one dreadful path
+      With scenes of devastation;
+    While over piles of wild débris
+    Rose shrieks of dying agony
+      Above the desolation.
+
+    Oh, mystery! who can understand
+    Why, sudden, from God's mighty hand
+      Destructive bolts of power
+    Without discrimination strike
+    The evil and the good alike--
+      As in that dreadful hour!
+
+    Alas for aching hearts that wait
+    Today in homes made desolate
+      By one sharp blow appalling--
+    For all who kneel by altars lone,
+    And strive to say "Thy will be done,"
+      That awful day recalling!
+
+    We dare not question his decrees
+    Who seeth not as mortal sees,
+      Nor doubt his goodness even;
+    Nor let our hearts be dispossessed
+    Of faith that he disposeth best
+      All things in earth and Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+"Be not Anxious."
+
+"Be careful for nothing," Phil. iv. 6. Revised version, "Be not anxious."
+
+
+      Of all the precepts in the Book
+        By word of inspiration given,
+      That bear the import, tone, and look
+        Of messages direct from heaven,
+    From Revelation back to Genesis
+    Is nothing needed half so much as this.
+
+      Ah, well the great apostle spake
+        In admonition wise and kind,
+      Who bade humanity forsake
+        The petty weaknesses that bind
+    The spirit like a bird with pinioned wings,
+    That to a broken bough despairing clings.
+
+      Were all undue anxiety
+        Eliminated from desire,
+      Could feverish fears and fancies be
+        Consumèd on some funeral pyre,
+    Like holy hecatomb or sacrifice,
+    'Twould be accepted up in Paradise.
+
+      Could this machinery go on
+        Without the friction caused by fret,
+      What greater loads were lightly drawn,
+        More easily were trials met;
+    Then might existence be with blessings rife,
+    And lengthened out like Hezekiah's life.
+
+      Oh, be not anxious; trouble grows
+        When cherished like a secret grief;
+      It is the worm within the rose
+        That eats the heart out leaf by leaf;
+    And though the outer covering be fair,
+    The weevil of decay is busy there.
+
+      In deep despondency to pine,
+        Or vain solicitude,
+      Is to deny this truth divine
+        That God is great and good;
+    That he is Ruler over earth and Heaven,
+    And so disposes and makes all things even.
+
+
+
+
+Mount Vernon.
+
+
+    Subdued and sad, I trod the place
+      Where he, the hero, lived and died;
+    Where, long-entombed beneath the shade
+    By willow bough and cypress made,
+    The peaceful scene with verdure rife,
+    He and the partner of his life,
+    Beloved of every land and race,
+      Are sleeping side by side.
+
+    The summer solstice at its height
+      Reflected from Potomac's tide
+    A glare of light, and through the trees
+    Intensified the Southern breeze,
+    That dallied, in the deep ravines,
+    With graceful ferns and evergreens,
+    While Northern cheeks so strangely white
+      Grew dark as Nubia's pride.
+
+    What must this homestead once have been
+      In boundless hospitality,
+    When Greene or Putnam may have met
+    The host who welcomed Lafayette,
+    Or when Pulaski, honored guest,
+    Accepted shelter, food and rest,
+    While rank and talent gathered in
+      Its banquet hall of luxury!
+
+    What comfort, cheer, and kind intent
+      The weary stranger oft hath known
+    When she, its mistress, fair and good,
+    Reigned here in peerless womanhood,
+    When soft, shy maiden fancy gave
+    Encouragement to soldiers brave,
+    And Washington his presence lent
+      To grace its bright hearthstone!
+
+    O beautiful Mount Vernon home,
+       The Mecca of our long desire;
+    Of more than passing interest
+    To North and South, to East and West,
+    To all Columbia's children free
+    A precious, priceless legacy,
+    Thine altar-shrine, as pilgrims come,
+      Rekindles patriot fire!
+
+
+
+
+A Prisoner.
+
+
+    Where I can see him all day long
+    And hear his wild, spontaneous song,
+      Before my window in his cage,
+        A blithe canary sits and swings,
+        And circles round on golden wings;
+      And startles all the vicinage
+        When from his china tankard
+          He takes a dainty drink
+            To clear his throat
+            For as sweet a note
+        As ever yet was caroled
+          By lark or bobolink.
+
+    Sometimes he drops his pretty head
+    And seems to be dispirited,
+      And then his little mistress says:
+        "Poor Dickie misses his chickweed,
+        Or else I've fed him musty seed
+      As stale as last year's oranges!"
+        But all the time I wonder
+          If we half comprehend
+            In sweet song-words
+            The thought of birds,
+        Or why so oft their raptures
+          In sudden silence end.
+
+    They do not pine for forest wilds
+    Within the "blue Canary isles,"
+      As exiles from their native home,
+        For in a foreign domicile
+        They first essayed their gamut-trill
+      Beneath a cage's gilded dome;
+        But maybe some sad throbbing
+          Betimes their spirits stirs,
+            Who love as we
+            Dear liberty,
+        That they, admired and petted,
+          Are only--prisoners.
+
+
+
+
+Cuba.
+
+
+    As one long struggling to be free,
+    O suffering isle! we look to thee
+      In sympathy and deep desire
+    That thy fair borders yet shall hold
+    A people happy, self-controlled,
+      Saved and exalted--as by fire.
+
+    Burning like thine own tropic heat
+    Thousands of lips afar repeat
+      The story of thy wrongs and woes;
+    While argosies to thee shall bear,
+    Of men and money everywhere,
+      Strength to withstand thy stubborn foes.
+
+    Hispaniola waves her plume
+    Defiant over many a tomb
+      Where sleep thy sons, the true and brave;
+    But, lo! an army coming on
+    The places fill of heroes gone,
+      For liberty their lives who gave.
+
+    The nations wait to hear thy shout
+    Of "Independence!" ringing out,
+      Chief of the Antilles, what wilt thou?
+    Buffets and gyves from your effete
+    Old monarchy dilapidate,
+      Or freedom's laurels for thy brow?
+
+    In man's extremity it is
+    That Heaven's opportunities
+      Shine forth like jewels from the mine;
+    Then, Cuba, in thy hour of need,
+    With vision clear the tokens read
+      And trust for aid that power divine.
+
+
+
+
+The Sangamon River.
+
+
+    O sunny Sangamon! thy name to me,
+    Soft-syllabled like some sweet melody,
+    Familiar is since adolescent years
+    As household phrases ringing in my ears;
+    Its measured cadence sounding to and fro
+    From the dim corridors of long ago.
+
+    There was a time in happy days gone by,
+    That rosy interval of youth, when I
+    The scholar ardent early learned to trace
+    Great tributaries to their starting place;
+    And thine some prairie hollow obsolete
+    Whose name how few remember or repeat.
+
+    Like thee, meandering, yet wafted back
+    From distant hearth and lonely bivouac,
+    From strange vicissitudes in other lands,
+    From half-wrought labors and unfinished plans
+    I come, in thy cool depths my brow to lave,
+    And rest a moment by thy silver wave.
+
+    But, ah! what means thy muddy, muggy hue?
+    I thought thee limpid as yon ether blue;
+    I thought an angel's wing might dip below
+    Thy sparkling surface and be white as snow;
+    And of thy current I had dared to drink
+    If not as one imbibing draughts of ink.
+
+    Has some rough element of horrid clay
+    That spoils the earth like lava beds, they say,
+    Come sliding down, as avalanches do,
+    And thy fair bosom percolated through?
+    Or some apothecary's compound vile
+    Polluted thee so many a murky mile?
+
+    Why not, proud State, beneficence insure,
+    Selling thy soil or giving to the poor?
+    For sad it is that dust of Illinois,
+    With coal and compost its conjoint alloy,
+    A morceau washed from Mississippi's mouth,
+    Should build up acres for our neighbors south.
+
+    River! I grieve, but not for loss of dirt--
+    Once stainless, just because of what thou wert.
+    Thus on thy banks I linger and reflect
+    That, surely as all waterways connect,
+    Forever flowing onward to the sea,
+    Shall the great billow thy redemption be.
+
+    And now, dear Sangamon, farewell! I wait
+    On that Elysian scene to meditate
+    When, separated from the dregs of earth,
+    Life's stream shall sweeter be, of better worth;
+    And, like the ocean with its restless tide,
+    By its own action cleansed and purified.
+
+
+
+
+Syringas.
+
+
+    The smallest flower beside my path,
+      In loveliness of bloom,
+    Some element of comfort hath
+      To rid my heart of gloom;
+    But these, of spotless purity,
+      And fragrant as the rose,
+    As sad a sight recall to me
+      As time shall e'er disclose.
+
+    Oh, there are pictures on the brain
+      Sometimes by shadows made,
+    Till dust is blent with dust again,
+      That never, never fade;
+    And things supremely bright and fair
+      As ever known in life
+    Suggest the darkness of despair,
+      And sanguinary strife.
+
+    I shut my eyes; 'tis all in vain--
+      The battle-field appears,
+    And one among the thousands slain
+      In manhood's brilliant years;
+    An elbow pillowing his head,
+      And on the crimson sand
+    Syringa-blooms, distained and dead,
+      Within his rigid hand.
+
+    Could she foresee, who from the stem
+      Had plucked that little spray
+    Of flowers, that he would cherish them
+      Unto his dying day?
+    "Give these to M----;--'tis almost night--
+      And tell her--that--I love--"
+    Alas! the letter he would write
+      Was finished up above.
+
+    And so, with each recurring spring,
+      On Decoration day,
+    When to our heroes' graves we bring
+      The blossom-wealth of May,
+    While martial strains are soft and low,
+      And music seems a prayer,
+    Unto a hallowed spot I go,
+      And leave syringas there.
+
+
+
+
+Storm-bound.
+
+
+    My careful plans all storm-subdued,
+    In disappointing solitude
+        The weary hours began;
+    And scarce I deemed when time had sped,
+    Marked only by the passing tread
+        Of some pedestrian.
+
+    But with the morrow's tranquil dawn,
+    A fairy scene I looked upon
+        That filled me with delight;
+    Far-reaching from my own abode,
+    The world in matchless splendor glowed,
+        Arrayed in spotless white.
+
+    The surface of the hillside slope
+    Gleamed in my farthest vision's scope
+        Like opalescent stone;
+    Rich jewels hung on every tree,
+    Whose crystalline transparency
+        Golconda's gems outshone.
+
+    Beyond the line where wayside posts
+    Stood up, like fear-inspiring ghosts
+        Of awful form and mien,
+    A mansion tall, my neighbor's pride,
+    A seeming castle fortified,
+        Uprose in wondrous sheen.
+
+    The evergreens loomed up before
+    My staunch and storm-defying door,
+        Like snowy palaces
+    That one dare only penetrate
+    With reverence--as at Heaven's gate,
+        Awed by its mysteries.
+
+    The apple trees' extended arms
+    Upheld a thousand varied charms;
+        The curious tracery
+    Of trellised grapevine seemed to me
+    A rare network of filigree
+        In silver drapery.
+
+    And I no longer thought it hard
+    From favorite pursuits debarred,
+        Nor gazed with rueful face;
+    For every object seemed to be
+    Invested with the witchery
+        Of magic art and grace.
+
+    And, though a multitude of cares,
+    Perplexing, profitless affairs,
+        Absorbed the hours, it seems
+    That on the golden steps of thought
+    I mounted heavenward, and wrought
+        Out many hopeful schemes.
+
+    Thus every day, though it may span
+    The gulf wherein some cherished plan
+        Lies disarranged and crossed,
+    If, ere its close, we shall have trod
+    The path that leads us nearer God,
+        Cannot be counted lost.
+
+
+
+
+The Master of the Grange.
+
+
+    The type of enterprise is he,
+      Of sense and thrift and toil;
+    Who reckons less on pedigree
+      Than rich, productive soil;
+    And no "blue blood"--if such there be--
+      His veins can ever spoil.
+
+    And yet on blood his heart is set;
+      He has his sacred cow,
+    Some Alderney or Jersey pet,
+      The mistress of the mow;
+    His favorite pig is (by brevet)
+      "Lord Suffolk"--of the slough.
+
+    To points of stock is he alive
+      As keenest cattle king;
+    A thoroughbred he deigns to drive,
+      But not a mongrel thing;
+    The very bees within his hive
+      Are crossed--without a sting.
+
+    If apple-boughs drop pumpkins and
+      Tomatoes grow on trees,
+    It is because his grafting hand
+      Has so diverted these
+    That alien shoots with native stand
+      Like twin-born Siamese.
+
+    No neater farm a nabob owns,
+      Its care his chief employ,
+    To find fertility in bones
+      And briers to destroy,
+    Where once he lightly skipped the stones
+      A whistling, happy boy.
+
+    The ancient plough and awkward flail
+      He banished long ago;
+    The zigzag fence with ponderous rail
+      He dares to overthrow;
+    And wields, with sinews strong and hale,
+      The latest style of hoe.
+
+    The household, founded as it were
+      Upon the Decalogue,
+    He classes with the minister,
+      The rural pedagogue,
+    And as a sort of angel-cur
+      Regards his spotted dog.
+
+    His wife reviews the magazines,
+      His children lead the school,
+    He tries a thousand new machines
+      (And keeps his temper cool),
+    But bristles at Kentucky jeans,
+      And her impressive mule.
+
+    With Science letting down the bars,
+      Enlightening ignorance,
+    Enigmas deeper than the stars
+      He solves as by a glance,
+    And raises cinnamon cigars
+      From poor tobacco plants!
+
+    By no decree of fashion dressed,
+      And busier than Fate,
+    The student-farmer keeps abreast
+      With mighty men of state,
+    And treasures, like his Sunday vest,
+      The motto "Educate!"
+
+    Beyond encircling hills of blue,
+      Where I may never range,
+    This monarch in his realm I view,
+      Of title new and strange,
+    And make profound obeisance to
+      "The Master of the Grange."
+
+
+
+A Friend Indeed.
+
+
+    If every friend who meditates
+          In soft, unspoken thought
+    With winning courtesy and tact
+    The doing of a kindly act
+          To cheer some lonely lot,
+    Were like the friend of whom I dream,
+    Then hardship but a myth would seem.
+
+    If sympathy were always thus
+          Oblivious of space,
+    And, like the tendrils of the vine,
+    Could just as lovingly incline
+          To one in distant place,
+    'Twould draw the world together so
+    Might none the name of stranger know.
+
+    If every throb responsive that
+          My ardent spirit thrills
+    Could, like the skylark's ecstasy,
+    Be vocal in sweet melody,
+          Beyond dividing hills
+    In octaves of the atmosphere
+    Were music wafted to his ear.
+
+    If every friendship were like one,
+          So helpful and so true,
+    To other hearts as sad as mine
+    'Twould bring the joy so near divine,
+          And hope revive anew;
+    So life's dull path would it illume,
+    And radiate beyond the tomb.
+
+
+
+
+The Needed One.
+
+
+    'Twas not rare versatility,
+      Nor gift of poesy or art,
+    Nor piquant, sparkling _jeux d'esprit_
+        Which at the call of fancy come,
+      That touched the universal heart,
+        And won the world's encomium.
+
+    It was not beauty's potent charm;
+      For admiration followed her
+    Unmindful of the rounded arm,
+        The fair complexion's brilliancy,
+      If form and features shapely were
+        Or lacked the grace of symmetry.
+
+    So not by marked, especial power
+      She grew endeared to human thought,
+    But just because, in trial's hour,
+        Was loving service to be done
+      Or sympathy and counsel sought,
+        She made herself the needed one.
+
+      Oh, great the blessedness must be
+          Of heart and hand and brain alert
+      In projects wise and manifold,
+          Impending sorrow to avert
+    That duller natures fail to see,
+      Or stand aloof severe and cold!
+
+    And who shall doubt that this is why
+      In womanhood's florescent prime
+    She passed the portals of the sky?
+        As if a life thus truly given
+      To purpose pure and act sublime
+        Were needed also up in Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+"Thy Will Be Done."
+
+
+    Sometimes the silver cord of life
+      Is loosed at one brief stroke;
+    As when the elements at strife,
+    With Nature's wild contentions rife,
+      Uproot the sturdy oak.
+
+    Or fell disease, in patience borne,
+      Attenuates the frame
+    Till the meek sufferer, wan and worn,
+    Of energy and beauty shorn,
+      Death's sweet release would claim.
+
+    By instant touch or long decay
+      Is dissolution wrought;
+    When, lost to earth, the grave and gay,
+    The young and old who pass away,
+      Abide in hallowed thought.
+
+    In dear regard together drawn,
+      Affection's debt to pay,
+    Fond greetings we exchange at dawn
+    With one who, ere the day be gone,
+      Is bruised and lifeless clay.
+
+    O thou in manhood's morning-time
+      With health and hope elate,
+    For whom in youth's enchanting prime
+    The bells of promise seemed to chime,
+      We mourn thy early fate!
+
+    To us how sudden--yet to thee
+      Perchance God kindly gave
+    Some warning, ere the fatal key
+    Unlocked the door of mystery
+      That lies beyond the grave.
+
+    Then let us hope that one who found
+      Such favor, trust, and love,
+    And cordial praise from all around,
+    For rare fidelity renowned,
+      Found favor, too, above.
+
+    So "all is well," though swift or slow
+      God's will be done; and we
+    Draw near to him, for close and low
+    Beneath his chastening hand, the blow
+      Will fall less heavily.
+
+
+
+
+Snowflakes.
+
+
+      Of specious weight like tissue freight
+    The snowflakes are--in sparkle pure
+        As the rich _parure_
+    A lovely queen were proud to wear;
+    As volatile, as fine and rare
+    As thistle-down dispersed in air,
+        Or bits of filmy lace;
+    Like nature's tear-drops strewn around
+    That beautify and warm the ground,
+        But melt upon my face.
+
+      A ton or more against my door
+    They lie, and look, in form and tint,
+        Like piles of lint,
+    When war's alarum roused the land,
+    Wrought out by woman's loyal hand
+    From linen rag, and robe, and band--
+        From garments cast aside--
+    In hospital, on battle-field
+    The shattered limb that bound and healed,
+        Or stanched life's ebbing tide.
+
+      I see the gleam of lake and stream,
+    The silver glint in frost portrayed
+        Of the bright cascade;
+    They bear the moisture of marshes dank,
+    The dew of the lawn, or river bank,
+    The river itself by sunlight drank;
+        All these in frigid air,
+    That strange alembic, crystallize
+    In odd, fantastic shape and size
+        Like gems of dazzling glare.
+
+      Oh, of the snow such fancies grow,
+    'Till thought is lost in wandering,
+        And wondering
+    If portions of their drapery
+    The angel beings, sad to see
+    So much of earth's impurity,
+        Have dropped from clearer skies
+    As snowflakes, hiding stain and blot
+    To make this world a fairer spot,
+        And more like Paradise.
+
+
+
+
+Monadnock.
+
+
+    One summer time, with love imbued,
+    To climb the mount, explore the wood,
+      Or rove from pole to pole,
+    Upon Monadnock's brow I stood--
+      A lone, adventurous soul.
+
+    Beyond the Bay State border-line
+    A sweeping vista, grand and fine,
+      Embraced the Berkshire hills;
+    Embosomed hamlets, clumps of pine,
+      And country domiciles.
+
+    Afar, Mount Tom, in verdantique,
+    And Holyoke, twin companion peak,
+      Appeared gigantic cones;
+    The burning sunlight scorched my cheek,
+      And seemed to melt the stones.
+
+    Beneath a gnarled and twisted root
+    I loosed a pebble with my foot
+      That leaped the precipice,
+    And like an arrow seemed to shoot
+      Adown the deep abyss.
+
+    Beside the base that solstice day
+    A city chap who chanced to stray
+      Was shooting somewhat, too;
+    Who, when the nugget sped that way,
+      His firelock quickly drew.
+
+    While right and left he sought the quail,
+    Or the timid hare that crossed his trail,
+      Rang out a wild "Ha! ha!"
+    That might have turned the visage pale
+      Of a red-skinned Chippewa.
+
+    The game was his--for it made him quail;
+    He flung his gun and fled the vale,
+      The mountain-dwellers say,
+    As though pursued by a comet's tail--
+      And disappeared for aye.
+
+
+
+
+Never Had a Chance
+
+
+    Fresh from piano, school, and books,
+    A happy girl with rosy looks
+      Young Plowman wooed and won; despite
+    Her pretty, pouting prejudice,
+    Her deep distaste for rural bliss
+      Or countryfied delight.
+
+    Romance through all her nature ran--
+    Indeed, to wed a husband-man
+      Suffused her ardent maiden thought;
+    But lofty fancy dwelt upon
+    A new "Queen Anne," a terraced lawn,
+      A city's corner lot.
+
+    Her lily fingers that so well
+    Could paint a scene--in aquarelle--
+      Or broider plush with leaves and vines,
+    No more of real labor knew
+    Than waxen petals of the dew
+      On native eglantines.
+
+    Anon, with lapse of tender ways
+    That emphasized the courting days,
+      The housewife in her apron blue,
+    As mistress of her new abode,
+    By frequent lachrymations showed
+      Her grief and blunders too.
+
+    The butter-making, bread and cheese,
+    The old folks difficult to please,
+      The harvest hands--voracious bears!--
+    The infantry, a parent's pride,
+    By duos proudly classified:
+      So multiplied her cares.
+
+    The treadmill round of duties that
+    Makes any life inane and flat,
+      Without diversion sandwiched in,
+    The drudgery, the overplus
+    Of toil and trouble arduous,
+      Were rugged discipline.
+
+    What time for books and music, when
+    The lambs were bleating in their pen,
+      The chickens peeping at the door;
+    The rodent gnawing at the churn,
+    The buckwheat wafers crisped to burn,
+      The kettle boiling o'er?
+
+    To _hers_, so far between and few,
+    What resting-spells the farmer knew!
+      What intervals for culture! and
+    When intellect assumed the race,
+    He peerless held the foremost place--
+      No nobler in the land.
+
+    By virtue of exalted rank
+    "The brilliant senator from----"
+      Adorns society's expanse;
+    While by his side with folded hands,
+    Her beauty gone, the woman stands
+      Who "never had a chance."
+
+
+
+
+Sorrow and Joy.
+
+
+    In sad procession borne away
+      To sound of funeral knell,
+    Affection's tribute thus we pay,
+    And in earth's shelt'ring bosom lay
+    The friend to whom but yesterday
+      We gave the sad farewell.
+
+    But scarce the melancholy sound
+      Has died upon the ear,
+    Before the mournful dirge is drowned
+    By wedding-anthems' glad rebound,
+    That stir the solemn air around
+      With merry peals and clear.
+
+    Within our home doth gladness tread
+      So closely upon grief
+    That, in the tears of sorrow shed
+    O'er our beloved, lamented dead,
+    We see reflected joy instead
+      That gives a blest relief.
+
+    A father and a daughter gone
+      Beyond our fireside--
+    For one we loved and leaned upon
+    The skillful archer Death had drawn
+    His bow; and one in life's sweet dawn
+      Went out a happy bride.
+
+    We gave to Heaven, in manhood's prime,
+      Him whose brave strength and worth
+    Life's rugged steeps had taught to climb;
+    And her, for whom a tuneful rhyme
+    The bells of promise sweetly chime,
+      We consecrate to earth.
+
+    Thus each a mystic path, untried,
+      Has entered--God is just!
+    We leave with him our friend who died,
+    With him we leave our fair young bride
+    Who shall no more with us abide,
+      And in His goodness trust.
+
+    Oh, life and death, uncertainty,
+      Bright hopes and anxious fears,
+    Commingle so bewilderingly,
+    That perfect joy we may not see
+    Till all shall reunited be
+      Beyond this vale of tears!
+
+
+
+
+Watch Hill.
+
+
+    Fair summer home peninsula,
+      Enriched by every breeze
+    From fragrant islands, wafted far
+      Across the sunny seas!
+
+    A profile rare! a height of land
+      Outlined 'gainst heaven's blue
+    With bolder touch than skillful hand
+      Of artist ever drew.
+
+    In "mountain billows" that parade
+      The grandeur of the deep,
+    Is His supremacy displayed
+      Whose hands the waters keep.
+
+    No sweep of waves, in broad expanse,
+      With wild, weird melody,
+    Shall thus an unseen world enhance--
+      "There shall be no more sea!"
+
+    A wealth of joy-perfected days,
+      Where glorious sunset dyes,
+    Resplendent in declining rays,
+      Surpass Italia's skies!
+
+    Proud caravansaries that compete
+      In studied arts to please
+    The multitude, with restless feet,
+      From earth's antipodes!
+
+    A motley company astray:
+      The sojourner for health,
+    The grave, serene, the _devotée_
+      Of fashion and of wealth.
+
+    Artistic cottages upreared
+      In beauty, strength, and skill--
+    The happy, healthful homes endeared
+      To lovers of Watch Hill!
+
+    A golden crown adorns the spot;
+      Forever blessed be
+    The hand beneficent that wrought
+      "A temple by the sea!"
+
+    A star in some bright diadem
+      In glory it shall be,
+    For truly, "I will honor them,"
+      Saith God, "who honor me."
+
+    When Christians meet to praise and pray,
+      May feet that never trod
+    The sanctuary learn the way
+      Unto the house of God.
+
+    Glad pæans down the centuries
+      With joy the world shall thrill:
+    "The Lord, revered and honored, is
+      The glory of Watch Hill!"
+
+
+
+
+Supplicating.
+
+
+    One morn I looked across the way,
+      And saw you fling your window wide
+    To welcome in the breath of May
+      In breezes from the mountain-side,
+    And greet the sunlight's earliest ray
+      With happy look and satisfied.
+
+    The pansies on your window-sill
+      In terra cotta flowerpot,
+    Like royal gold and purple frill
+      Upon the stony casement wrought,
+    Adorned your tasteful domicile
+      And claimed your time and care and thought.
+
+    In cherry trees the robins sang
+      Their sweetest carol to your ear,
+    And shouts of merry children rang
+      Out on the dewy atmosphere,
+    But to my heart there came a pang
+      That my salute you did not hear.
+
+    I envied then the favored breeze
+      That dallied with your flowing hair,
+    Begrudged the songsters in the trees
+      And longed to be a flow'ret fair--
+    Some favorite blossom like heartease--
+      Within your miniature parterre.
+
+    O heart, that finds such ample room
+      Within thy confines broad and true,
+    For song and sunshine and perfume
+      And all benign impulses--go,
+    I pray thee, dissipate my gloom--
+      And take in thy petitioner too!
+
+
+
+
+"Honest John."
+
+
+    He was a man whose lot was cast,
+      As some might think, in lines severe;
+    In humble toil whose life was passed
+      From week to week, from year to year;
+    And yet, by wife and children blessed,
+    He labored on with cheerful zest.
+
+    As one revered and set apart,
+      A quaint, unusual name he bore
+    That well became the frugal heart;
+      While plain habiliments he wore
+    Without a tremor or a chill
+    At thought of some uncanceled bill.
+
+    A king might not disdain to wear
+      The title so appropriate
+    To one who never sought to share
+      Exalted station 'mong the great,
+    Nor cared if on the scroll of fame
+    Were never traced his worthy name.
+
+    As bound by honor's righteous law
+      In strictest rectitude he wrought--
+    The man who calmly, clearly saw
+      His duty, and who dallied not--
+    To garner life's necessities
+    For those whose comfort heightened his.
+
+    The parent bird its brood protects
+      As fledglings in their downy nest,
+    Until a Power their flight directs
+      From trial trips to distant quest,
+    Through trackless zones of ether blue,
+    For bird companions strange and new.
+
+    But ere his babes from prattlers grew,
+      Upon his knee or by his side,
+    To womanhood and manhood true--
+      Too soon we thought--the father died;
+    How could we know, when Death was nigh
+    Those little wings were taught to fly?
+
+    Another name his boyhood knew,
+      So seldom heard that lapse of years
+    Had made it seem a thing untrue,
+      Unmusical to friendly ears;
+    And thus his appellation odd
+    His passport was where'er he trod.
+
+    So long, on every lip and tongue
+      As if by universal whim,
+    To him had his cognomen clung,
+      And like a garment fitted him,
+    That angels even must have heard
+    Of one, like them, in love preferred.
+
+    And when he came to Heaven's door,
+      To Peter's self or acolyte,
+    The holy warder looking o'er,
+      "'Tis 'Honest John!'" he said aright;
+    And his pilgrim spirit passed within
+    Because his walk with God had been.
+
+
+
+
+Bushnell Park.
+
+
+    Sweet resting place! that long hath been
+    A boon Elysian 'mid the din
+      Of city life, 'mid city smoke;
+    Where weary ones who toil and spin
+    Have turned aside as to an inn
+      Whose swinging sign a welcome spoke;
+    Where misanthropes find medicine
+    In peals of laughter that begin
+      With ancient, resurrected joke,
+    Or ready wit of harlequin;
+    Where children, free from discipline,
+      Take on Diversion's easy yoke.
+
+    Fair oasis! to view aright
+    Its charming paths, its sloping height,
+      Its beautiful and broad expanse,
+    Must one approach in witching night
+    When, like abodes of airy sprite
+      Revealed unto the wondering glance,
+    O'erflooded with electric light
+    Than Luna's beams more dazzling bright,
+      Illumined nooks the scene enhance;
+    While zephyrs mischievous unite
+    The timid stroller to affright
+      By swaying boughs in shadow dance.
+
+    The Capitol that crowns the hill
+    Where Boreas sweeps with icy chill,
+      A masterpiece of studied art
+    Conceived by genius versatile
+    And fashioned with unerring skill,
+      O'erlooks the busy, crowded mart,
+    And, like a kingly domicile,
+    Its burnished dome and sculpture thrill
+      With admiration every heart;
+    And strangers pause beyond the rill
+    To view its grandeur, lingering still,
+      And with reluctant steps depart.
+
+    O Bushnell Park, memorial soil!
+    That marks success (though near to foil)
+      Of one who with prophetic ken,
+    With honest zeal and ceaseless toil,
+    Opposed the vandal wish to spoil
+      This lovely bit of vale and glen;
+    Who, 'mid discussion and turmoil
+    Of adverse minds, did not recoil
+      From vigorous stroke of tongue and pen;
+    And then, till passion ceased to boil,
+    On troubled waters poured out oil
+      And to his plans won other men.
+
+    So when, fatigued and overwrought,
+    In summer time when skies are hot
+      We seek its verdant, velvet sward,
+    Oh may we hold in reverent thought
+    The debt we owe, forgetting not
+      The spirit passed to its reward
+    Of one whose giant soul was fraught
+    With true benignity--who sought
+      To touch humanity's quick chord
+    With fire from Heaven's altar brought,
+    That love and zeal and being caught
+      As inspiration from the Lord.
+
+
+
+
+At General Grant's Tomb.
+
+
+    Afar my loyal spirit stirred
+      At mention of his name;
+    Afar in ringing notes I heard
+      The clarion voice of fame;
+    So to his tomb, hope long deferred,
+      With reverent step I came.
+
+    The pilgrim muse revivified
+      A half-forgotten day:
+    A slow procession, tearful-eyed,
+      In funeral array,
+    And from MacGregor's lonely side
+      A hero borne away.
+
+    Here sleeps he now, where long ago
+      Hath nature raised his mound:
+    A mighty channel far below,
+      Divided hills around,
+    Where countless thousands come and go
+      As to a shrine renowned.
+
+    With awe do strangers' eyes discern
+      A casket mid the green
+    Luxuriance of flower and fern;
+      Airy and cool and clean,
+    Unchanged from spring to spring's return,
+      This charnel chamber scene.
+
+    His country's weal his care and thought,
+      Beloved in peace was he;
+    Magnanimous in war--shall not
+      The nation grateful be,
+    And render at his burial spot
+      A testimonial free?
+
+    Oh, let us, ere the days come on
+      When energy is spent,
+    To him, the silent soldier gone,
+      Statesman and President,
+    On Riverside's majestic lawn
+      Uprear a monument.
+
+
+
+
+"Be Courteous."
+
+
+      Ah, yes; why not? Is one more adventitious born
+    Than others--shekels richer, honors fuller, and all that--
+      That he can pass his fellows by with lofty scorn,
+    Nor even show this slight regard--the lifting of the hat?
+
+      Why prate of social status, class, or rank when earth
+    Is common tenting-ground, the heritage of all mankind?
+      Except in purity is there no royal birth,
+    No true nobility but nobleness of heart and mind.
+
+      Life is so short--one journey long, a pilgrimage
+    That we cannot retrace, nor ever pass this way again;
+      Then why not turn for some poor soul a brighter page,
+    And line the way with courtesies unto our fellow-men?
+
+      To give a graceful word or smile, or lend a hand
+    To one downcast and trembling on the borders of despair,
+      May help him to look up and better understand
+    Why God has made the sky so bright and put the rainbow there.
+
+      Be courteous! is nothing helpful half so cheap
+    As kind urbanity that doth so much of gladness bring;
+      More precious too than all the treasures of the deep,
+    Making the winter of discomfort seem like joyous spring.
+
+      Be courteous and gentle! be serene and good!
+    Those grand ennobling and enduring virtues all may claim;
+      Of each may it be said, of the great multitude:
+    Oh that my life were more like such an one of blessed fame!
+
+      Is it that over-crowding, care, anxiety,
+    Vortex of pleasure, the incessant round of toil and strife,
+      Beget indifference, repressing love and sympathy,
+    Till we forget the beautiful amenities of life?
+
+      Then cometh a sad day, when with a poignant sting
+    Lost opportunities shall speak to us reproachfully;
+      And ours shall be the disapproval of the King--
+    "Discourteous to these, my creatures, ye have wounded Me."
+
+
+
+
+A New Suit.
+
+
+    The artist and the loom unseen,
+    In textures soft as _crepe de chine_
+    Spring weaves her royal robe of green,
+      With grasses fringed and daisies dotted,
+    With furzy tufts like mosses fine
+    And showy clumps of eglantine,
+    With dainty shrub and creeping vine
+      Upon the verdant fabric knotted.
+
+    Oh, winter takes our love away
+    For ashen hues of sober gray!
+    So when the blooming, blushing May
+      Comes out in bodice, cap, and kirtle,
+    With arbutus her corsage laced,
+    And roses clinging to her waist,
+    We crown her charming queen of taste,
+      Her chaplet-wreath of modest myrtle.
+
+    For eighteen centuries and more
+    Her fairy hands have modeled o'er
+    The same habiliments she wore
+      At her primeval coronation;
+    And still the pattern exquisite,
+    For every age a perfect fit,
+    In every land the favorite,
+      Elicits world-wide admiration.
+
+    Gay butterflies of fashion, you
+    Who wear a suit a year or two,
+    Then agitate for something new,
+      Look at Regina, the patrician!
+    Her cleverness is more than gold
+    Who so transforms from fabrics old
+    The things a marvel to behold,
+      And glories in the exhibition.
+
+    Why worry for an overdress,
+    The acme of luxuriousness,
+    Beyond all envy to possess,
+      Renewed as oft as lambkin fleeces!
+    Why flutter round in pretty pique
+    To follow style's capricious freak,
+    To match _pongee_ or _moire antique_,
+      And break your peace in hopeless pieces?
+
+    O mantua-maker, costumer,
+    And fair-robed wearer! study _her_
+    And imitate the conjurer
+      So prettily economizing,
+    Without demur, regret, or pout,
+    Who always puts the bright side out
+    And never frets at all about
+      The world's _penchant_ for criticizing.
+
+
+
+
+The Little Clock.
+
+
+    Kind friend, you do not know how much
+      I prize this time-ly treasure,
+    So dainty, diligent, and such
+      A constant source of pleasure.
+
+    The man of brains who could invent
+      So true a chrono-meter
+    Has set a charming precedent,
+      And made a good repeater.
+
+    It speaks with clear, commanding clicks,
+      Suggestive of the donor;
+    And 'tends to business--never sick
+      A bit more than the owner.
+
+    It goes when I do; when I stop
+      (As by the dial showing)
+    It never lets a second drop,
+      But simply keeps on going.
+
+    It tells me when I am to eat,
+      Which isn't necessary;
+    When food with me is obsolete,
+      I'll be a reliquary.
+
+    It tells me early when to rise,
+      And bother with _dejeuner_;
+    To sally forth and exercise,
+      And fill up my _porte-monnaie_.
+
+    I hear it talking in the night,
+      As if it were in clover:
+    You've never lost your appetite,
+      You've never been run over.
+
+    It makes me wish that I might live
+      More faithful unto duty,
+    And unto others something give
+      Like this bijou of beauty.
+
+    It holds its hands before its face,
+      So very modest is it;
+    So like the people in the place
+      Where I delight to visit.
+
+    Sometimes I wonder if it cries
+      The course I am pursuing;
+    Because it has so many I-s
+      And must know what I'm doing.
+
+    Sometimes I fear it makes me cry--
+      No matter, and no pity--
+    Afraid at last I'll have to die
+      In some far, foreign city.
+
+    It travels with me everywhere
+      And chirrups like a cricket;
+    As if it said with anxious air,
+      "Don't lose your tick-tick-ticket!"
+
+    Companion of my loneliness
+      Along my journey westward,
+    It never leaves me comfortless,
+      But has the last and best word.
+
+    I would not spoil its lovely face,
+      And so I go behind it,
+    And hold it like a china vase,
+      So careful when I wind it.
+
+    A clock is always excellent
+      That has its label on,
+    And proves a fine advertisement
+      For Waterbury, Conn.
+
+    Those Yankees--ah! they never shun
+      A chance to make a dime,
+    And counterfeit the very sun
+      In keeping "Standard Time."
+
+    Ah, well! the little clock has proved
+      The best of all bonanzas;
+    And thus my happy heart is moved
+      To these effusive stanzas.
+
+
+
+
+Improvement.
+
+
+    Along the avenue I pass
+      Huge piles of wood and stone,
+    And glance at each amorphous mass,
+    Whose cumbrous weight has crushed the grass,
+      With half resentful groan.
+
+    Say I: "O labor, to despoil
+      Some lovely forest scene,
+    Or at the granite stratum toil,
+    And desecrate whole roods of soil,
+      Is vandal-like and mean!
+
+    "Than ever to disfigure thus
+      Our prairie garden-land,
+    Let me consort with Cerberus,
+    Be chained to crags precipitous,
+      Or seek an alien strand."
+
+    But while this pining, pouting Muse
+      The interval ignores,
+    Deft industry, no time to lose,
+    Contrives and carries, hoists and hews,
+      And symmetry restores.
+
+    Behold! of rock and pile and board
+      A modern miracle,
+    My neighbor's dwelling, roofed and floored,
+    That rapid grew as Jonah's gourd,
+      And far more beautiful.
+
+    The artisan's receding gait
+      Has brushed the chips away,
+    Where innocence shall recreate,
+    Or like the flowers grow, and wait
+      The balminess of May.
+
+    An arid spot, where careless feet
+      Have long been wont to roam,
+    Where cattle grazed, as if to eat
+    Were life's delicious, richest treat,
+      Becomes a charming home.
+
+    O man primeval! hadst thou known,
+      Ere rude hands scooped thy grave,
+    Of Homestead Act, or Building Loan,
+    Thou wouldst have quite disdained to own
+      A rugged cliff or cave.
+
+    And now I see how skill and art
+      May cleave fair nature through,
+    Disintegrate her breathing heart,
+    And to the tissues torn impart
+      A use and beauty new.
+
+    And this improvement is, to turn
+      The things which God has given
+    To their best purpose, as we learn
+    To make the place where we sojourn
+      Homelike and more like Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+On Bancroft Height.
+
+
+    On Bancroft height Aurora's face
+      Shines brighter than a star,
+    As stepping forth in dewy grace,
+      The gates of day unbar;
+    And lo! the firmament, the hills,
+      And the vales that intervene--
+    Creation's self with gladness thrills
+      To greet the matin queen.
+
+    On Bancroft height the atmosphere
+      Is but an endless waft
+    Of life's elixir, pure and clear
+      As mortal ever quaffed;
+    And such the sweet salubrity
+      Of air and altitude,
+    Is banished many a malady
+      And suffering subdued.
+
+    On Bancroft height the sunset glow
+      When day departing dies
+    Outrivals all that tourists know
+      Of famed Italian skies;
+    And happy dwellers round about
+      Who view the scene aright
+    In admiration grow devout
+      And laud the Lord of light.
+
+    Round Bancroft height rich memories
+      Commingle earth's affairs,
+    Among the world's celebrities,
+      Of him whose name it bears;
+    The scholar-wise compatriot
+      Who left to later men
+    The grand achievements unforgot
+      Of that historic pen.
+
+    Fair Bancroft height revisited
+      When all the land is white,
+    A halo crowns its noble head
+      Impelling fresh delight;
+    The daring wish in winter-time
+      The blizzard to defy
+    Those shining slippery slopes to climb
+      Up nearer to the sky.
+
+    Though Boreas abrade the cheek
+      With buffetings of snow,
+    He gives a vigor that the weak
+      And languid never know;
+    And with rejuvenescent thrill,
+      Like children everywhere,
+    Bestirs the rhapsody, the will
+      To make a snow-man there.
+
+    On Bancroft height and Bancroft tower
+      Such vistas charm the eye
+    'Twere life's consummate, glorious hour
+      But to behold--and die;
+    Yet in the sparkle and the glow
+      Is earth so very fair
+    The spirit lingers, loath to go,
+      And dreams of heaven--up there.
+
+
+
+
+A Reformer.
+
+
+    When I was young, my heart elate
+      With ardent notions warm,
+    I thirsted to inaugurate
+      A spirit of reform;
+    The universe was all awry,
+      Philosophy despite,
+    And mundane things disjointed I
+      Was bound to set aright.
+
+    My mind conceived a million plans,
+      For Hope was brave and strong,
+    But dared not with unaided hands
+      Combat a giant wrong;
+    So with caress I sought to coax
+      Those who had humored me
+    In infancy--the dear old folks--
+      And gain their sympathy.
+
+    But quarreling with extant laws
+      They would have deemed a shame
+    Who clung to error, just because
+      Their fathers did the same.
+    I sought in Pleasure's gilded halls,
+      Where grace and beauty stirred
+    At revelry's impetuous calls,
+      To make my projects heard.
+
+    Then turned to stately palaces
+      Of luxury and ease,
+    Where wealth's absorbing object was
+      The master's whim to please;
+    And spoke of evils unredressed,
+      Of danger yet to be--
+    They only answered, like the rest:
+      "But what is that to me?"
+
+    And even pious _devotées_
+      Whom sacred walls immure
+    Condemned me (as by feeble praise)--
+      What more could I endure?
+    Down by the stream, so pure and clear
+      That sunbeams paused to drink,
+    In loneliness and grief sincere
+      I pressed its grassy brink.
+
+    Thick darkness seemed to veil the day;
+      Beyond a realm of tears
+    Utopia's land of promise lay;
+      And not till later years
+    I learned this lesson--that to win
+      Results from labor sure,
+    "Reformers" always must begin
+      Among the lowly poor.
+
+    For they whose lot privation is
+      And whose delights are few,
+    Whose aggregate of miseries
+      Is want of something new,
+    The measure of whose happiness
+      Is but an empty cup,
+    For every novelty will press
+      Alert to fill it up.
+
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+Page 27: Changed Galiee to Galilee (Printer's Error)
+Page 47: Indented 1st stanza to match others
+Page 173: Changed prarie to prairie (Printer's Error)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Hattie Howard
+
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+    .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;}
+
+
+    .bbox     {border: solid 2px;}
+
+    .center   {text-align: center;}
+    .smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
+
+    .caption  {font-weight: bold; text-align: center;}
+
+    .figcenter   {margin: auto; text-align: center;}
+
+    .poem             {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;}
+    .poem br          {display: none;}
+    .poem .stanza     {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;}
+    .poem span.i0     {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i2     {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i4     {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i10     {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i12     {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i14     {display: block; margin-left: 7em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i16     {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i18     {display: block; margin-left: 9em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i6     {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i8     {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    // -->
+    /* XML end  ]]>*/
+    </style>
+  </head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Hattie Howard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Poems
+       Vol. IV
+
+Author: Hattie Howard
+
+Release Date: August 23, 2006 [EBook #19109]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Joseph R. Hauser and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/poems.jpg" alt="[Illustration]" /><a name="Frontispiece" id="Frontispiece"></a>
+</div>
+
+<div class="caption">In Celestial realms where knowledge hath no end.<br />
+HARRY HOWARD,<br />
+STUDENT.<br />
+&quot;Blessed are the pure in heart.&quot;
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg&nbsp;1]</a></span></p>
+<h1>POEMS</h1>
+
+<p><br /></p>
+
+<h5>BY</h5>
+
+<h2>HATTIE HOWARD.</h2>
+
+<h6>AUTHOR OF "POVERTY VS. PAUPERISM," "OUR GIRLS," "VIVE LA<br />
+REPUBLIQUE," "KEEPING A SECRET," "LITTLE JO,"<br />
+AND OTHER STORIES.</h6>
+
+<p><br /></p>
+
+<h4 class="smcap">Vol. IV.</h4>
+
+<p><br /></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><br /></p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table summary="">
+  <tr>
+    <td>Happy whoever writes a book</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>On which the world shall kindly look,</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>And who, when many a year has flown&mdash;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>The volume worn, the author gone&mdash;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Revere, admire, and still read on.</td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p><br /></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><br /></p>
+
+<h6>HARTFORD PRESS:<br />
+<span class="smcap">The Case, Lockwood &amp; Brainard Company</span>.<br />
+1904.</h6>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><br /></p>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg&nbsp;2]</a></span></p>
+<h4><a name="EXTRACTS_FROM_PRESS_NOTICES_OF_A_FORMER_VOLUME" id="EXTRACTS_FROM_PRESS_NOTICES_OF_A_FORMER_VOLUME"></a>EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES OF A FORMER<br />VOLUME.</h4>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"We find these poems of sentiment by Hattie Howard entirely
+natural, spontaneous, direct, rhythmical, and free from ambitious
+pretense. Many of the fanciful verses have a laugh at the end; and
+the collection has altogether a sunny, hopeful spirit and will be
+welcome in this time of generally morbid expression."</p>
+
+<p>"This author's verse shows a hearty, wholesome, <i>human</i> spirit,
+sometimes overflowing into downright fun, and a straightforward
+directness always. It is a pleasant book, sure to be welcomed by
+all."</p>
+
+<p>"These garnered gems reveal a genuine poetic faculty, and are
+worthy their attractive setting. We give the book a hearty
+welcome."</p>
+
+<p>"Many of the poems abound in playful humor or tender touches of
+sympathy which appeal to a refined feeling, and love for the good,
+the true, and the beautiful."</p>
+
+<p>"This poet's ear is so attuned to metric harmony that she must have
+been born within sound of some osier-fringed brook leaping and
+hurrying over its pebbly bed. There is a variety of subject and
+treatment, sufficient for all tastes, and these are poems which
+should be cherished."</p>
+
+<p>"Lovers of good poetry will herald with pleasure this new and
+attractive volume by the well-known authoress of Hartford. A wooing
+sentiment and genial spirit seem to guide her in every train of
+thought. Her book has received, and deserves, warm commendations of
+the press."</p></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h5>Copyright, 1904, <span class="smcap">by Hattie Howard</span>.</h5>
+
+<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg&nbsp;3]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>Contents.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="#Frontispiece"><i>FRONTISPIECE.</i></a></p>
+
+<table class="toc" summary="Table of Contents">
+  <tr>
+    <td></td>
+    <td class="tocpage"><span class="smcap">Page.</span></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#EXTRACTS_FROM_PRESS_NOTICES_OF_A_FORMER_VOLUME">Extracts From Press Notices,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">2</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Salt_of_the_Earth">"The Salt of the Earth,"</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">7</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Not_Gone">Not Gone,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">9</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Let_Us_Give_Thanks">Let Us Give Thanks,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">10</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Sonnet">Sonnet,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">11</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Rainy_Day">A Rainy Day,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">12</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Subway">The Subway,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">16</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Apple_Tree">The Apple Tree,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">18</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Two_Roses">Two Roses,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">21</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Taxidermist">The Taxidermist,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">23</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Epithalamium">Epithalamium,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">25</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Fowl_Affair">A Fowl Affair,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">28</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Holiday_Home">Holiday Home,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">31</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Rutha">Rutha,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">34</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Student_Gone">The Student Gone,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">36</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Tourist">The Tourist,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">38</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Antiquarian">The Antiquarian,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">40</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Poor_Housekeeping">Poor Housekeeping,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">45</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Going_to_Tobog">Going to Tobog,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">47</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Passer_Le_Temps">"Passer Le Temps,"</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">49</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Torpedo">The Torpedo,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">50</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Margaret">Margaret,</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg&nbsp;4]</a></span></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">51</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Christmas_Bells">Christmas Bells,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">53</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#By_the_Sea">By the Sea,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">54</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Song">A Song,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">55</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Is_It_April">"Is It April?"</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">56</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Christmas-Tide">Christmas-Tide,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">57</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#January_1885">January, 1885,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">59</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Sweet_Peas">Sweet Peas,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">61</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Summer_House">The Summer House,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">62</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#To_Die_in_Autumn">To Die in Autumn,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">65</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Apple_Blossoms">Apple Blossoms,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">67</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Without_a_Minister">Without a Minister,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">68</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Indian_Summer">Indian Summer,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">70</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Autumn-Time">Autumn-Time,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">72</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Beauty_of_Nature">The Beauty of Nature</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">74</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#All_the_Rage">"All the Rage,"</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">76</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#My_Mothers_Hand">My Mother's Hand,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">79</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Leap_Year_Episode">A Leap Year Episode,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">80</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#If">If,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">83</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Perfect_Character">Perfect Character,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">84</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Miracle_of_Spring">The Miracle of Spring,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">85</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Bermuda">Bermuda,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">86</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Charter_Oak">The Charter Oak,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">88</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Blossom-time">Blossom-time,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">90</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#One_of_the_Least_of_These">"One of the Least of These,"</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">92</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Lightning-bugs">Lightning-bugs,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">94</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Of_Her_who_Died">Of Her who Died,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">96</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Thanksgiving">Thanksgiving,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">98</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Receiving_Sight">Receiving Sight,</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg&nbsp;5]</a></span></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">100</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Revenge">Revenge,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">102</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#On_the_Common">On the Common,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">104</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Womans_Help">Woman's Help,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">106</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Tobogganing">Tobogganing,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">108</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Woods">The Woods,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">110</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Like_Summer">Like Summer,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">112</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Sheridans_Last_Ride">Sheridan's Last Ride,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">114</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Bit_of_Gladness">A Bit of Gladness,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">116</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Charity_Ball">The Charity Ball,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">118</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Belle_of_Baltimore">The Bell(e) of Baltimore,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">120</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Christmas_at_Church">Christmas at Church,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">122</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Mysterious">Mysterious,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">124</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Be_not_Anxious">"Be not Anxious,"</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">126</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Mount_Vernon">Mount Vernon,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">128</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Prisoner">A Prisoner,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">130</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Cuba">Cuba,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">131</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Sangamon_River">The Sangamon River,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">133</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Syringas">Syringas,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">135</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Storm-bound">Storm-bound,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">137</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Master_of_the_Grange">The Master of the Grange,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">139</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Friend_Indeed">A Friend Indeed,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">142</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Needed_One">The Needed One,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">143</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Thy_Will_Be_Done">"Thy Will Be Done,"</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">145</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Snowflakes">Snowflakes,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">147</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Monadnock">Monadnock,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">149</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Never_Had_a_Chance">Never Had a Chance</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">151</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Sorrow_and_Joy">Sorrow and Joy,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">153</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Watch_Hill">Watch Hill,</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg&nbsp;6]</a></span></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">155</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Supplicating">Supplicating,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">157</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Honest_John">"Honest John,"</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">159</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Bushnell_Park">Bushnell Park,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">161</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#At_General_Grants_Tomb">At General Grant's Tomb,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">164</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Be_Courteous">"Be Courteous,"</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">166</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_New_Suit">A New Suit</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">168</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Little_Clock">The Little Clock,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">170</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#Improvement">Improvement,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">173</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#On_Bancroft_Height">On Bancroft Height,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">175</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Reformer">A Reformer,</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpage">178</td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg&nbsp;7]</a></span></p>
+<h1><a name="Poems" id="Poems"></a>Poems.</h1>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Salt_of_the_Earth" id="The_Salt_of_the_Earth"></a>"The Salt of the Earth."</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The salt of the earth&mdash;what a meaningful phrase<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the lips of the Saviour, and one that conveys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sense of the need of a substance saline<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This pestilent sphere to refresh and refine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a healthful and happy condition secure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By making it pure as the ocean is pure.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In all the nomenclature known to the race,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In all appellations of people or place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was ever a name so befitting, so true<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of those who are seeking the wrong to undo,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With naught of the Pharisee's arrogant air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their badge of discipleship humbly who wear?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Do beings, forsooth, fashioned out of the mold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So secretly, strangely, those elements hold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That may be developed in goodness and grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To shine in demeanor, in form and in face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till they, by renewal of heavenly birth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall merit their title&mdash;the salt of the earth?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg&nbsp;8]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To the landsman at home or the sailor at sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With nausea, scurvy, or canker maybe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis never in language to overexalt<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The potent preservative virtue of salt&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A crystal commodity wholesome and good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A cure for disease, and a savor for food.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah, the beasts of the wood and the fowls of the air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Know all of the need of this condiment rare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Know well where the springs and the "salt-licks" abound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where streams salinaceous flow out of the ground;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And their cravings appease by sipping the brine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With more than the relish of topers at wine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Our wants may be legion, our needs are but few,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every known ill hath its remedy true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis ours to discover and give to mankind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of hidden essentials the best that we find;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis ours to eradicate error and sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And help to make better the place we are in.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If ever this world from corruption is free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And righteousness reign in the kingdom to be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like salt in its simple and soluble way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Infusing malodor, preventing decay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So human endeavor in action sublime<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must never relax till the finale of time.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg&nbsp;9]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To thousands discouraged this comforting truth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Appeals like the promise of infinite youth:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To know, as they labor like bees in the hive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet do little more than keep goodness alive&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To know that the Master accredits their worth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As blessed disciples&mdash;"the salt of the earth."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Not_Gone" id="Not_Gone"></a>Not Gone.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They are not gone whose lives in beauty so unfolding<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Have left their own sweet impress everywhere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like flowers, while we linger in beholding,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Diffusing fragrance on the summer air.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They are not gone, for grace and goodness can not perish,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But must develop in immortal bloom;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The viewless soul, the real self we love and cherish,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shall live and flourish still beyond the tomb.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They are not gone though lost to observation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And dispossessed of those dear forms of clay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though dust and ashes speak of desolation;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The spirit-presence&mdash;this is ours alway.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg&nbsp;10]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Let_Us_Give_Thanks" id="Let_Us_Give_Thanks"></a>Let Us Give Thanks.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">If we have lived another year<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, counting friends by regiments<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who share our love and confidence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Find no more broken ranks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For this let us give thanks.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">If, since the last Thanksgiving-time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have we been blessed with strength and health,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And added to our honest wealth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Nor lost by broken banks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For this would we give thanks.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">If through adversity we trod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet with serene and smiling face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And trusted more to saving grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Than charlatans and cranks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For this let us give thanks.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">If we have somehow worried through<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ups and downs along life's track,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And still undaunted can look back<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And smile at Fortune's pranks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For this would we give thanks.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg&nbsp;11]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">If every page in our account<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With God and man is fairly writ,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We care not who examines it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">With no suspicious blanks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For this let us give thanks.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Sonnet" id="Sonnet"></a>Sonnet.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Upon my smile let none pass compliment<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If it but gleam like an enchanting ray<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of sunshine caught from some sweet summer day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In atmosphere of rose and jasmine scent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And breath of honeysuckles redolent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When, with the birds that sing their lives away<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In harmony, the treetops bend and sway,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the world with joy is eloquent.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But in that day of gloom when skies severe<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Portend the tempest gathering overhead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If by my face some token shall appear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Inspiring hope, dispelling darksome dread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Oh, be the rapture mine that it be said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Her smile is like the rainbow, full of cheer."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg&nbsp;12]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="A_Rainy_Day" id="A_Rainy_Day"></a>A Rainy Day.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, what a blessed interval<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">A rainy day may be!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No lightning flash nor tempest roar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But one incessant, steady pour<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of dripping melody;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When from their sheltering retreat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go not with voluntary feet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The storm-beleaguered family,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Nor bird nor animal.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When business takes a little lull,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And gives the merchantman<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A chance to seek domestic scenes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To interview the magazines,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Convoke his growing clan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The boys and girls almost unknown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And get acquainted with his own;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As well the household budget scan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Or write a canticle.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When farmer John ransacks the barn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Hunts up the harness old&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nigh twenty years since it was new&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Puts in an extra thong or two,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And hopes the thing will hold<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg&nbsp;13]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Without that missing martingale<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That bothered Dobbin, head and tail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He, gentle equine, safe controlled<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But by a twist of yarn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When busy fingers may provide<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">A savory repast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To whet the languid appetite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And give to eating a delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Unknown since seasons past;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Avaunt, ill-cookery! whose ranks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Develop dull dyspeptic cranks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, forced to diet or to fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Ergo, have dined and died.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It is a day of rummaging,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The closets to explore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To take down from the dusty shelves<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The books&mdash;that never read themselves&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And turning pages o'er<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Discover therein safely laid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bills forgot and never paid&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Somehow that of the corner store<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Such dunning memories bring.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It gives a chance to liquidate<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Epistolary debts;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg&nbsp;14]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To write in humble penitence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Acknowledging the negligence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The sin that so besets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cheer the hearts that hold us dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who've known and loved us many a year&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Back to the days of pantalets<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And swinging on the gate.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It gives occasion to repair<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Unlucky circumstance;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To intercept the ragged ends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And for arrears to make amends<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">By mending hose and pants;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The romping young ones to re-dress<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without those signs of hole-y-ness<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That so bespeak the mendicants<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">By every rip and tear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It is a time to gather round<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The old piano grand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its dulcet harmonies unstirred<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since Lucy sang so like a bird,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And played with graceful hand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like Lucy's voice in pathos sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Repeating softly "Shall we meet?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is only in the heavenly land<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Such clear soprano sound.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg&nbsp;15]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a time for happy chat<br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>En cercle t&ecirc;te-&agrave;-t&ecirc;te</i>;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Discuss the doings of the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The club, the sermon, or the play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Affairs of church and state;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fond reminiscence to explore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pleasant episodes of yore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so till raindrops all abate<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">As erst on Ararat.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah, yes, a rainy day may be<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">A blessed interval!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A little halt for introspect,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A little moment to reflect<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">On life's discrepancy&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our puny stint so poorly done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The larger duties scarce begun&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so may conscience culpable<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Suggest a remedy.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg&nbsp;16]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="The_Subway" id="The_Subway"></a>The Subway.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, who in creation would fail to descend<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That wonderful hole in the ground?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, feeling its way like a hypocrite-friend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In sinuous fashion, seems never to end;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">While thunder and lightning abound.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, who in creation would dare to go down<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That great subterranean hole&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tunnel, the terror, the talk of the town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That gives to the city a mighty renown<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And a shaking as never before?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A serpent, a spider, its mouth at the top<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Where the flies are all buzzing about;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down into its maw where the populace drop,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who never know where they are going to stop,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Or whether they'll ever get out.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why is it, with millions of acres untrod<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Where never the ploughshare hath been,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That man must needs burrow miles under the sod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if to get farther and farther from God,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And deeper and deeper in sin?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg&nbsp;17]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">O Dagos and diggers, who can't understand<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That the planet you'll never get through&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why, there is three times as much water as land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And but for the least little seam in the sand<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Your life is worth less than a <i>sou</i>.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Come up out of Erebus into the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">There's plenty of room overhead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No boring or blasting of rocks in the way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No stratum of sticky, impervious clay&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">All vacuous vapor instead.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, give us a transit, a tube or an "el&mdash;",<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Not leagues from the surface below;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if we were never in Heaven to dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if we were all being fired to&mdash;well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The place where we don't want to go!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg&nbsp;18]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="The_Apple_Tree" id="The_Apple_Tree"></a>The Apple Tree.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Has ever a tree from the earth upsprung<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Around whose body have children clung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose bounteous branches the birds among<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have pecked the fruit, and chirped and sung&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was ever a tree, or shall there be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So hardy, so sturdy, so good to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So welcome a boon to the family,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like the pride of the farmer, the apple tree?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How he loves to be digging about its root,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or grafting the bud in the tender shoot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The daintiest palate that he may suit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the fairest and finest selected fruit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How he boasts of his Sweetings, so big for size;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His delicate Greenings&mdash;made for pies;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His Golden Pippins that take the prize,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Astrachans tempting, that tell no lies.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How he learns of the squirrel a thing or two<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the wise little rodents always knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And never forget or fail to do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of laying up store for the winter through;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So he hollows a space in the mellow ground<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where leaves for lining and straw abound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And well remembers his apple mound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When a day of scarcity comes around.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg&nbsp;19]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">By many a token may we suppose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the knowledge apple no longer grows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That broke up Adam and Eve's repose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And set the fashion of fig-leaf clothes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The story's simple and terse and crude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But still with a morsel of truth imbued:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For of trees and trees by the multitude<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are some that are evil, and some that are good.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The more I muse on those stories old<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The more philosophy they unfold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of husbands docile and women bold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Satan's purposes manifold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, many a couple halve their fare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With that mistaken and misfit air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the world and all are ready to swear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To a mighty unapple-y mated pair.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The apple's an old-fashioned tree I know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All gnarled and bored by the curculio,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And loves to stand in a zigzag row;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And doesn't make half so much of a show<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As the lovely almond that blooms like a ball,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And spreads out wide like a pink parasol<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Set on its stem by the garden-wall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I love the apple tree, after all.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg&nbsp;20]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">"A little more cider"&mdash;sings the bard;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And who this juiciness would discard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though holding the apple in high regard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must be like the cider itself&mdash;very hard;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the spirit within it, as all must know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is utterly harmless&mdash;unless we go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like the fool in his folly, and overflow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By drinking a couple of barrels or so.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What of that apple beyond the seas,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fruit of the famed Hesperides?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But dust and ashes compared to these<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That grow on Columbia's apple trees;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I sigh for the apples of years agone:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Rambos streaked like the morning dawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Russets brown with their jackets on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And aromatic as cinnamon.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, the peach and cherry may have their place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the pear is fine in its stately grace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The plum belongs to a puckery race<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And maketh awry the mouth and face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I long to roam in the orchard free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dear old orchard that used to be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gather the beauties that dropped for me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the bending boughs of the apple tree.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg&nbsp;21]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Two_Roses" id="Two_Roses"></a>Two Roses.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I've a friend beyond the ocean<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So regardful, so sincere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he sends me in a letter<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Such a pretty souvenir.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It is crushed to death and withered,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Out of shape and very flat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But its pure, delicious odor<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is the richer for all that.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Tis a rose from Honolulu,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And it bears the tropic brand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sandwiched in this friendly missive<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From that far-off flower-land.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It shall mingle <i>pot-&agrave;-pourri</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With the scents I love and keep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some of them so very precious<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That remembrance makes me weep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">While I dream I hear the music<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That of happiness foretells,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like the flourishing of trumpets<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the sound of marriage bells.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg&nbsp;22]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">There's a rose upon the prairie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Chosen his by happy fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He shall gather when he cometh<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sailing through the Golden Gate.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Mine, a public posy, growing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Somewhere by the garden wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Might have gone to any stranger,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May have been admired by all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But the rose in beauty blushing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tenderly and sweetly grown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the home and its affections,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Blooms for him, and him alone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Speed the voyager returning;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His shall be a welcome warm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the Rose of Minnesota<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gently resting on his arm.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love embraces in his kingdom<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Earth and sea and sky and air.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hail, Columbia! hail, Hawaii!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It is Heaven everywhere.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg&nbsp;23]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="The_Taxidermist" id="The_Taxidermist"></a>The Taxidermist.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From other men he stands apart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wrapped in sublimity of thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where futile fancies enter not;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With starlike purpose pressing on<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where Agassiz and Audubon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Labored, and sped that noble art<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet in its pristine dawn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Something to conquer, to achieve,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Makes life well worth the struggle hard;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its petty ills to disregard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In high endeavor day by day<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With this incentive&mdash;that he may<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Somehow mankind the richer leave<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When he has passed away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Forest and field he treads alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Finding companionship in birds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In reptiles, rodents, yea, in herds<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of drowsy cattle fat and sleek;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For these to him a language speak<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To common multitudes unknown<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As tones of classic Greek.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Unthinking creatures and untaught,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They to his nature answer back<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg&nbsp;24]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Something his fellow mortals lack;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And oft educe from him the sigh<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That they unnoticed soon must die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leaving of their existence naught<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To be remembered by.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Man may aspire though in the slough;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May dream of glory, strive for fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thirst for the prestige of a name.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And shall these friends, that so invite<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The study of the erudite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ever as he beholds them now<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Perish like sparks of light?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nay, 'tis his purpose and design<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To keep them: not like mummies old<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Papyrus-mantled fold on fold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But elephant, or dove, or swan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its native hue and raiment on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In effigy of plumage fine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or skin its native tawn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What God hath wrought thus time shall tell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And thus endowment rich and vast<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Be rescued from the buried past;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And rare reliques that never fade<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Be in the manikin portrayed<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg&nbsp;25]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Till taxidermy witness well<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The debt to science paid.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lo! one appeareth unforetold&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This re-creator, yea, of men;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Making him feel as born again<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who looketh up with reverent eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Through wonders that his soul surprise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That great Creator to behold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All-powerful, all-wise.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Epithalamium" id="Epithalamium"></a>Epithalamium.</h2>
+
+
+<h3>I.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Whom God hath joined"&mdash;ah, this sententious phrase<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A meaning deeper than the sea conveys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And of a sweet and solemn service tells<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the rich resonance of wedding-bells;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It speaks of vows and obligations given<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if amid the harmony of heaven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While seraph lips approving seem to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Love, honor, and obey."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg&nbsp;26]</a></span></p>
+<h3>II.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Is Hymen then ambassador divine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His mission, matrimonial and benign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The heart to counsel, ardor to incite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Convert the nun, rebuke the eremite?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if were this his mandate from the throne:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"It is not good for them to be alone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Behold the land! its fruitage and its flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not mine and thine, but ours."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>III.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Did not great Paul aver, in lucid spell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That they of conjugal intent "do well"?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But hinted at a better state,&mdash;'tis one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With which two loving souls have naught to do.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For, in well-doing being quite content,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be there another state more excellent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To which the celibate doth fain repair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They neither know nor care.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>IV.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And does the Lord of all become High Priest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with his presence grace the wedding-feast?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then must the whole celestial throng draw nigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For nuptials there are none beyond the sky;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg&nbsp;27]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">So is the union sanctified and blest,><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Love is host, and Love is welcome guest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So may the joyous bridal season be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like that of Galilee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>V.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweet Mary, of the blessed name so dear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To all the loving Saviour who revere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Madonna-like be thou in every grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That shall adorn thee in exalted place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thine the happy privilege to prove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The depth, the tenderness of woman's love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So shall the heart that honors thee today<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bow down to thee alway.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>VI.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O radiant June, in wealth of light and air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With leaf and bud and blossom everywhere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let all bright tokens affluent combine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And round the bridal pair in splendor shine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let sweethearts coy and lovers fond and true<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On this glad day their tender vows renew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all in wedlock's bond rejoice as they<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom God hath joined for aye.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg&nbsp;28]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="A_Fowl_Affair" id="A_Fowl_Affair"></a>A Fowl Affair.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I hope I'm not too orthodox<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To give a joke away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That took me like the chicken-pox<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And left a debt to pay.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let argument ignore the cost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">If it be dear or cheap,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And only claim that naught be lost<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">When it's too good to keep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The proverb says "All flesh is grass,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But this I do deny,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because of that which came to pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But not to pass me by.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A body weighing by the pound<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Inside of half a score,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In case and cordage safely bound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Was landed at my door.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What could it be? for friends are slack,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And give, I rather trow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When they are sure of getting back<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">As much as they bestow.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg&nbsp;29]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">My hair, at thought of dark design,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Or dynamitish fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stood up like quills of porcupine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But more than twice as straight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Anon, I mused on something rare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Like duck or terrapin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But dreamed not, of the parcel, there<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Might be a pullet-in.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A mighty jerk,&mdash;the string that broke<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The fowl affair revealed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The victim of a cruel choke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Its neck completely peeled.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The biped in its paper cof-<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Fin, cramped and plump and neat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had scratched its very toenails off<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In making both ends meat.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The only part I always ate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That never made me ill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had gone away decapitate<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And carried off the bill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I pondered o'er the sacrifice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The merry-thought, the wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On giblet gravy, salad nice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And chicken-pie-ous things.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg&nbsp;30]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">In heat of Fahrenheit degree<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Two hundred twelve or more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where its grandsire, defying me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Had crowed the year before,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I thrust it with a hope forlorn,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I knew what toughness meant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sighed that ever I was born<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To die of roasting scent.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But presto! what <i>d&eacute;nouement</i> grand<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of cookery sublime!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas done as by the second hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The drumsticks beating thyme.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now the moral&mdash;he who buys<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Will comprehend its worth,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look not so much to weight and size<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">As to the date of birth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In fowls there is a difference;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">"The good die young," they say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And for the death of innocence<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To make us meat, we pray.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg&nbsp;31]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Holiday_Home" id="Holiday_Home"></a>Holiday Home.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of all the sweet visions that come unto me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of happy refreshment by land or by sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like oases where in life's desert I roam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is nothing so pleasant as Holiday Home.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I climb to the top of the highest of hills<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And look to the west with affectionate thrills,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fancy I stand by the emerald side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of charming Geneva, like Switzerland's pride.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In distant perspective unruffled it lies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Except for the packet that paddles and plies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And puffing its way like a pioneer makes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its daily go-round o'er this pearl of the lakes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Untroubled except for the urchins that come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From many a haunt that is never a home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Instinctive as ducklings to swim and to wade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scarce knowing aforetime why water was made.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All placid except for the dip of the oar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the skiff, or the barge striking out from the shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While merry excursionists shout till the gale<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reverberates laughter through rigging and sail.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg&nbsp;32]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">How it scallops its basin and shimmers and shines<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a salver of silver encompassed with vines,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In crystal illusion reflecting the skies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the mountain that seems from its bosom to rise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There stands a great house on a summit so high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like an eyrie of safety enroofed by the sky;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I think of the rest and the comfort up there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To sleep, and to breathe that empyreal air.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, the charm of the glen and the stream and the wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can never be written, nor be understood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Except by the weary and languid who come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To bask in the quiet of Holiday Home.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From prisonlike cellars unwholesome and drear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From attic and alley, from labor severe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the poor and the famished doth kindness prepare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A world of diversion and excellent fare.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To swing in the hammock, disport in the breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To lie in the shade of magnificent trees&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, this is like quaffing from luxury's bowl<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The life-giving essence for body and soul!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg&nbsp;33]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor distance nor time shall efface from the mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The influence gentle, the ministry kind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While gratitude fondly enhallows the thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a home and a holiday never forgot.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah, one is remembered of saintliest men<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To lovely Geneva who comes not again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who left a sweet impress wherever he trod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Humanity's helper, companion of God.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In the hearts of the many there sheltered and fed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As unto a hospice by Providence led,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Does often a thought like a sunbeam intrude<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the bounty so free, and the donors so good?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who of their abundance have cheerfully given<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherewith to develop an embryo heaven&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To brighten conditions too hard and too sad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make the unhappy contented and glad.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Be blessedness theirs, who like knights of renown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus scatter such largesse o'er country and town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their monument building in many a dome<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like healthful and beautiful Holiday Home.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg&nbsp;34]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Rutha" id="Rutha"></a>Rutha.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The days are long and lonely,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The weary eve comes on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the nights are filled with dreaming<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of one beloved and gone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I reach out in the darkness<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And clasp but empty air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Rutha dear has vanished&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I wonder, wonder where.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet must it be: her nature<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So lovely, pure, and true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So nearly like the angels,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is she an angel too.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The cottage is dismantled<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of all that made it bright;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beyond its silent portal<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No love, nor life, nor light.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where are the hopes I cherished,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The joys that once I knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dreams, the aspirations?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All, all are perished too.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg&nbsp;35]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Yes, love's dear chain is broken;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From shore to shore I roam&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No comfort, no companion,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No happiness, no home.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh could I but enfold her<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unto my heart once more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If aught could e'er restore me<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My darling as before;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If God would only tell me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Such myriads above&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why He must needs have taken<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The one I loved to love;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If God would only tell me<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why multitudes are left,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unhappy and unlovely,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I am thus bereft;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If&mdash;O my soul, be silent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And some day thou shalt see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through mystery and shadow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And know why it must be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To every cry of anguish<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From every heart distressed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can be no other answer<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than this&mdash;God knoweth best.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg&nbsp;36]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="The_Student_Gone" id="The_Student_Gone"></a>The Student Gone.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">So soon he fell, the world will never know<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">What possibilities within him lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What hopes irradiated his young life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With high ambition and with ardor rife;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But ah! the speedy summons came, and so<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">He passed away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">So soon he fell, there lie unfinished plans<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">By others misapplied, misunderstood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And doors are barred that wait the master-key&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That wait his magic Open Sesame!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To that assertive power that commands<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">The multitude.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Too soon he fell! Was he not born to prove<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">What manhood and integrity might be&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How one from all base elements apart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Might walk serene, in purity of heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His face the bright transparency of love<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And sympathy?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">The student ranks are closed, there is no gap;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of other brave aspirants is no dearth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Prowess, fidelity, and truth go on,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg&nbsp;37]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And few shall miss or mourn the student gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Reposing in the all-protecting lap<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Of Mother Earth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Too soon&mdash;O God! was it thy will that one<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of such endeavor and of noble mien,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enrapt with living, should thus early go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From all he loved and all who loved him so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mid life's activities no longer known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">No longer seen?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Oh, not for aye should agonizing lips<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Quiver with questionings they dare not frame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though in the dark penumbra of despair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seemeth no light, nor comfort anywhere&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All things enshadowed as in dense eclipse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">No more the same.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Could we but know, in that Elysian lore<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of happy exercise still going on<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could we but know of glorious heights attained,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of his reward, of mysteries explained,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah! but to know were to lament no more<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">The student gone.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg&nbsp;38]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="The_Tourist" id="The_Tourist"></a>The Tourist.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lo! carpet-bag and bagger occupy the land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And prove the touring season actively begun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His personnel and purpose can none misunderstand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For each upon his frontlet bears his honest brand&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">The fool-ish one!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By caravan and car, from country and from town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A great grasshopper army fell foraging the land;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like bumblebees that know not where to settle down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Impossible it is to curb or scare or drown<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">The tourist band.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With guidebook, camera, with rod and gun, to shoot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To lure the deer, the hare, the bird, the speckled trout,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pauper or the prince unbidden they salute,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And everywhere their royal right dare none dispute&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">To roam about.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From dark immuring walls and dingy ways of trade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From high society's luxurious stately homes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From lounging places by the park or promenade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From rural dwellings canopied in sylvan shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">The tourist comes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To every mountain peak within the antipodes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To sweet, sequestered spots no other mortal knows;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg&nbsp;39]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To every island fair engirt by sunny seas,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To forest-centers unexplored by birds or bees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">The tourist goes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For Summer's fingers all the land have richly dressed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Resplendent in regalia of scent and bloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stirred in every heart the spirit of unrest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like that of untamed fledglings in the parent nest<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">For ampler room.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What is it prompts the roving mania&mdash;is it love<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of wild adventure fanciful, unique, and odd?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is it to be in fashion, and to others prove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One's social standing, that impels the madness of<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">The tramp abroad?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The question hangs unanswered, like an unwise prayer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Importunate, but powerless response to bring;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go ask the voyagers, the rovers everywhere&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They only say it is their rest-time, outing, their<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Vacationing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So is the world's eccentric round of joy complete<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When happy tourist-traveler, no more to roam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His fascinating, thrilling story shall repeat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To impecunious, luckless multitudes who greet<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">The tourist home.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg&nbsp;40]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="The_Antiquarian" id="The_Antiquarian"></a>The Antiquarian.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Millions have been and passed from view<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Benignity who never knew;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No aspiration theirs, nor aim;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Existence soulless as the clay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From whence they sprang, what right have they<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">To eulogy or fame?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So multitudes have been forgot&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But drones or dunces, good for naught;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like clinging parasites or burrs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Taking from others all they dared,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet little they for others cared<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Except as pilferers.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not so with that majestic man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The all-round antiquarian&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No model his nor parallel;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From selfishness inviolate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are his achievements good and great,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And thus shall ages tell.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A love for the antiquities<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His honest hold, his birthright is!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And things unheard of or unread,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg&nbsp;41]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Defaced by moth or rust or mold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To him are treasures more than gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Ay, than his daily bread.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At neither ghost nor ghoul aghast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He echoes voices of the past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And tones like melancholy knells<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of years departed to his ear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are sweeter than of kindred dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Sweeter than Florimel's.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He delves through centuries of dust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To resurrect some unknown bust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A torso, or a goddess whole;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Maybe like Venus, minus arms&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Haply to find those missing charms;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">But not the lost, lost soul.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He dotes on aborigines<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who lived in caves and hollow trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And barters for their trinkets rare;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Exchanging with those dusky breeds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For arrow-heads and shells and beads<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">A scalplock of his hair.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Had he been born&mdash;thus he laments&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Along with other great events,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Coeval say with Noah's flood,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg&nbsp;42]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">A proud relationship to trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Hittites&mdash;or with any race<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Of blue archaic blood!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Much he adores that Pilgrim flock,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The same that split old Plymouth rock,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their "Bay Psalm" when they tried to sing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Devoid of metre, sense, and tune,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who but a Puritanic loon<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Could have devised the thing?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He revels in a pedigree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sprouting of a noble tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Way back in prehistoric times;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And for the "Family Record" true<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of scions all that ever grew<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Would give a billion dimes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There is a language fossils speak:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis not like Latin, much less Greek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But quite as dead and antiquate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its silent syllables, and cold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But ah, what meanings they unfold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">What histories relate!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The earthquake is his best ally&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It shows up things he cannot buy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gives him raw material<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg&nbsp;43]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">For making mastodons and such,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enough to beat that ancient "Dutch<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Republic's Rise and Fall."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A piece of bone can never lie:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A rib, a femur, or a thigh<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is but a dislocated sign<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of something hybrid, half and half<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Betwixt a crocodile and calf&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Maybe a porcupine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The stately "Antiquarium"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is his emporium, his home.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He wonders if when he is gone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will people look with mournful pride<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On him done up and classified,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And the right label on.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He dreams of an emblazoned page,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The calendar of every age<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Down from Creation's primal dawn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With archetypes of spears and bones,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tons of undeciphered stones<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Its illustrations drawn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Labor a blessing, not a curse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His hunting ground the Universe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So much the more his nature craves<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg&nbsp;44]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To sound the fathoms of the sea:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What mighty wonders there must be<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Down in those hidden caves!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So toils this dauntless man, alert<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amid the ruins and the dirt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That other men to endless day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Themselves uplifted from the clod<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May see, and learn and know that God<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Is greater far than they.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And thus, of mighty ken and plan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The all-round antiquarian<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pursues his happy ministry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on the world's progressive track<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Advances, always going back&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Back to antiquity.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg&nbsp;45]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Poor_Housekeeping" id="Poor_Housekeeping"></a>Poor Housekeeping.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If there is one gift that I prize above others,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That tinges with brightness whatever I do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gives to the sombre a roseate hue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis a legacy mine from the nicest of mothers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who haply the beauty of housewifery knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And taught me her neatness and diligence too.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So is my discomfort a house in disorder:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The service uncleanly, the linen distained,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The children like infantry rude and untrained;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The portieres dusty and frayed at the border,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By lavish expenses the pocketbook drained,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And miseries numberless never explained.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I dream not of pleasure in visions untidy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A wrapper all hole-y, a buttonless shoe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A slatternly matron with nothing to do;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the ill-luck charged to ominous Friday<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Can never compare with the ills that ensue<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On wretched housekeeping and cookery too.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There's many a husband, a patient bread-winner,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gets up from the table with look of despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And something akin to the growl of a bear;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg&nbsp;46]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Not the saint he might be, but a querulous sinner&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">One driven to fasting but not unto prayer&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till epitaphed thus&mdash;"Indigestible Fare."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There's many a child, from the roof-tree diurnal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A scene of distraction or dullness severe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With the longing of youth for diversion and cheer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That comes like the spring-time refreshing and vernal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Goes out on a ruinous, reckless career,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Returning, if ever, not many a year.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O negligent female, imperfect housekeeper,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though faultless in figure and charming of face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In ruffles of ribbon and trailings of lace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Usurping the part of a common street-sweeper,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You never can pose as a type of your race<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In frowsy appearance mid things out of place.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O fashion-bred damsel, with folly a-flutter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Until you have learned how to manage a broom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If never you know how to tidy a room,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Manipulate bread or decide about butter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The duties of matron how dare you assume,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or ever be bride to a sensible groom?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg&nbsp;47]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I covet no part with that army of shirkers<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All down at the heels in their slipper-y tread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who hunt for the rolling-pin under the bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who look with disdain on intelligent workers<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And take to the club or the circus instead<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of mending a stocking or laying the spread.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, I dream of a system of perfect housekeeping,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where mistress and helper together compete<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In excellent management, quiet and neat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though in the bosom of earth I am sleeping,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shall somebody live to whom life will be sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And home an ideal, idyllic retreat.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Going_to_Tobog" id="Going_to_Tobog"></a>Going to Tobog.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Into my disappointment-cup<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The snowflakes fell and blocked the road,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so I thought I'd finish up<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The latest style of Christmas ode;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When she, the charming little lass<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With eyes as bright as isinglass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before a line my pen had wrought<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In strange attire came bounding in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if she had with Bruno fought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And robbed him of his shaggy skin.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg&nbsp;48]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">She came to me robed <i>cap-&agrave;-pie</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In her bewitching "blanket-suit,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In moccasin and toggery,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All ready for "that icy chute,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And asked me if I thought she'd do;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I shake with love of mischief true:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"For what?&mdash;a polar bear?&mdash;why, yes!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"No, no!" she said, with half a pout.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Why, one would think so, by your dress&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Say, does your mother know you're out?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"No, I'm not out," she said, and sighed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Because the storm so wildly raged&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But for the first delightful ride<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For half a year I've been engaged."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Engaged to what?&mdash;an Esquimau?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To ride a glacier, or a floe?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Why, don't you know"&mdash;her color glowed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In expectation all agog&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"The reason why I'm glad it snowed?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because&mdash;I'm going to tobog."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg&nbsp;49]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Passer_Le_Temps" id="Passer_Le_Temps"></a>"Passer Le Temps."</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So <i>that's</i> the way you pass your time!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Indeed your charming, frank confession<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Betrays no sort of heinous crime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But marks a wonderful digression<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From puritanic views, less bold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That we were early taught to hold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"<i>Passer le temps</i>," of course, implies<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A little cycle of flirtations,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherein the actors never rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To sober, serious relations,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But play just for amusement's sake<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A harmless game of "give and take."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">While moments pass on pinions fleet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And youth in beauty effloresces,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The joy that finds itself complete<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In honeyed words and soft caresses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alas! an index seems to be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of perilous inconstancy.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It may be with disdainful smile<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You greet this comment from a stranger,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your pleasure-paths pursuing while<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A siren voice discounts the danger,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until, some day, in sadder rhyme<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You rue your mode of "passing time."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg&nbsp;50]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="The_Torpedo" id="The_Torpedo"></a>The Torpedo.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Valiant sons of the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">All the vast deep, your home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Holds no terror so dread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As this novel and unseen foe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Lurking under the foam<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of some dangerous channel&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As the torpedo, the scourge of ships.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Through the rigging may roar<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">&AElig;olus' thousand gales,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Yet the mariner's heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shrinketh not from the howling blast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Though with battle-rent sails,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Flames and carnage around him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cowardice never shall pale his lips.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">But when powers concealed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Threatening with death the crew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Pave each eddy below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">E'en the bravest are chilled with fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Lest yon wizard in blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Who their progress is spying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Touch but the key with his finger-tips.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg&nbsp;51]</a></span>
+<span class="i4">Lo! with thunderous boom<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Towers a column bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And the vessel is gone!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In that ocean of blinding spray<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Sink her turrets from sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">By thy potency broken,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O irresistible scourge of ships!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&mdash;<i>Harry Howard.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Margaret" id="Margaret"></a>Margaret.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I saw her for a moment,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her presence haunts me yet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In oft-recurring visions<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of grace and gladness met<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That marked the sweet demeanor<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of dainty Margaret.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like gossamer her robe was<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Around her lightly drawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A filmy summer-garment<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That fairy maidens don<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make them look like angels<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Croqueting on the lawn.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg&nbsp;52]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The mallet-sport became her<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In hue of exercise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That tinged her cheek with roses;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And, dancing in her eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were pantomime suggestions<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of having won&mdash;a prize.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No more to me a stranger<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is she who occupies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A place in all my musings;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And brings in tender guise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A thought of one so like her&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Long years in Paradise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dear Margaret! that "pearl-name"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is thine&mdash;and may it be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The synonym of goodness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of truth and purity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all ennobling graces<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Exemplified in thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg&nbsp;53]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Christmas_Bells" id="Christmas_Bells"></a>Christmas Bells.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ring out, O bells, in joyful chime!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Again we hail the Christmas time;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In melting, mellow atmosphere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The crown and glory of the year.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When bitterness, distrust, and awe<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dissolve, like ice in winter's thaw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath the genial touches of<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Amenity, good will, and love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When flowers of affection grow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like edelweiss mid alpine snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In lives severe and beautiless,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unused to warmth or tenderness.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let goodness, grace, and gratitude<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Revive in music's interlude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And p&aelig;an notes, till time shall cease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Proclaim the blessed reign of peace.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ring, Christmas bells! for at the sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sweet memories of Him abound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who laid aside a diadem<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To be the babe of Bethlehem.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg&nbsp;54]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="By_the_Sea" id="By_the_Sea"></a>By the Sea.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I am longing to dwell by the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And dip in the surf every day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;height of subaqueous glee&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With the sharks and the porpoises play.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To novelty ever inclined&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Instead of a calm evening sail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twould suit my adventurous mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To ride on the back of a whale.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I want to disport on the rocks<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like a mythical mermaiden belle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And comb out my watery locks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then dive to my cavernous cell.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I want to discover what lends<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Such terror to all timid folks&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That serpent whose mystery tends<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To make one believe it a hoax.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They say he's been captured at last;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The news is too good to be true&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He's slippery, cunning, and fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And likes notoriety too.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg&nbsp;55]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Once had I such longings to be<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A sailor&mdash;those wishes are o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But ever in dreams of the sea<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My horoscope rests on the shore.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, give me a home by the sea&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A cottage, a cabin, a tent!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Existence should ecstasy be<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till summer were joyfully spent.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_Song" id="A_Song"></a>A Song.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, sing me a merry song!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My heart is sad tonight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The day has been so drear and long,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world has gone awry and wrong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Discouragements around me throng,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gloom surpassing night.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, sing again the song for me<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My mother used to sing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I, a child beside her knee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looked up for her sweet sympathy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor ever thought how I might be<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her little hindering thing.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg&nbsp;56]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, sing, as eventide draws near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The old-time lullabys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grandmother sang&mdash;forever dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though in her grave this many a year<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She lies who "read her title clear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To mansions in the skies."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, sing till all perplexing care<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Has vanished with the day!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And angels ever bright and fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come down the melody to share,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on their pinions lightly bear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My happy soul away.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Is_It_April" id="Is_It_April"></a>"Is It April?"</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No, this is January, dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The almanac's untrue;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For roaring Boreas, 'tis clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In sleet and snow and atmosphere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will be the monarch of the year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And terror, too.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Is it a blessing in disguise?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of course, things always are;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Arctic blasts with ardent skies<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg&nbsp;57]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Somehow do not quite harmonize,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That try to cheat by weather-lies<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The calendar.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Old Janus must be double-faced;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He promised long ago<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The maple syrup not to taste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor steal the roses from the waist<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of one, a damsel fair and chaste<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As April snow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O winter of our discontent!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Your reign was for a day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Behold! a scene of wonderment,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A thousand tongues are eloquent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For spring, in bud and bloom and scent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is on the way.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Christmas-Tide" id="Christmas-Tide"></a>Christmas-Tide.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Let working-clothes be laid aside,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Industry in festal garb arrayed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let busy brain and hand from toil and trade<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Relax at Christmas-tide.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">As moments pass by dial, so<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let gifts go round the happy circle where<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg&nbsp;58]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">In giving and receiving each may share,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And mutual kindness show.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">The meaning deep, like mystery,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That lies in holly-bough or mistletoe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May thousands never fathom&mdash;yet who know<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And hail the Christmas-tree.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">So strong a hold on human thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has this glad day that seasons all the year<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the rich flavoring of hearty cheer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">It ne'er shall be forgot.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">It is the milestone on life's road<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where we may lay our burdens down, and take<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A look at souvenirs, for love's dear sake<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">So prettily bestowed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Upon its shining tablet we may write&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If, like the good Samaritan, in deed&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A record that the angel band shall read<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">With impulse of delight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">And this is why on Christmas morn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world should smile and wear its brightest glow:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because some nineteen hundred years ago<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">A little child was born.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg&nbsp;59]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="January_1885" id="January_1885"></a>January, 1885.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">These winter days are passing fair!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As if a breath of spring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had permeated all the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And touched each living thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With thankfulness for such a boon&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Discounting with a scoff<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The almanac's report that "June<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is yet a long way off!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We quarrel with the calendar&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For May has been misplaced&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And doubt the tale oracular<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of "Janus, double-faced;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For this "ethereal mildness" looks<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Toward shadowy delights<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of roseate bowers, of cosy nooks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of coming thermal nights.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let robes diaphanous succeed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dense garments made of fur,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And overcoats maintain the lead&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Among the things that were!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wisely-rented sealskin sacque,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By many a dame possessed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be quickly relegated back<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To its moth-haunted chest!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg&nbsp;60]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">While every portly alderman,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In linen suit arrayed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Manipulates the palm-leaf fan<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And seeks the cooling shade;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he perspires who not in vain<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Suggests his funny squibs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By poking his unwelcome cane<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In other people's ribs.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who dares to fling opprobrium<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On January now?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As to a potentate we come<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With reverential bow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because it doth not yet appear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That Time hath ever seen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ruler of th' inverted year<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In more benignant mien.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O Boreas! do not lie low&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That is, if "lie" thou must&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon our planet; do not blow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With fierce and sudden gust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But come so gently, tenderly&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As come thou surely wilt&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That we may have sweet dreams of thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beneath "our crazy quilt!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg&nbsp;61]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Sweet_Peas" id="Sweet_Peas"></a>Sweet Peas.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By helpful fingers taught to twine<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Around its trellis, grew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A delicate and dainty vine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bursting bud, its blossom sign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Inlaid with honeyed-dew.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Developing by every art<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To floriculture known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From tares exempt, and kept apart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Careful, as if in some fond heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its legume germs were sown.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So thriving, not for me alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its beauty and perfume&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, no, to rich perfection grown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By flower mission loved and known<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In many a darkened room.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And once in strange and solemn place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mid weeping uncontrolled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the crushed and snowy lace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw them scattered 'round a face<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All pallid, still, and cold.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg&nbsp;62]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, some may choose, as gaudy shows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Those saucy sprigs of pride<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The peony, the red, red rose;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But give to me the flower that grows<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Petite and pansy-eyed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus, meditation on Sweet Peas<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Impels the ardent thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would maidens all were more like these,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With modesty&mdash;that true heartsease&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tying the lover's knot.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Summer_House" id="The_Summer_House"></a>The Summer House.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Midway upon the lawn it stands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So picturesque and pretty;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upreared by patient artist hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Admired of all the city;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The very arbor of my dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A covert cool and airy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So leaf-embowered as to seem<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The dwelling of a fairy.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It is the place to lie supine<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Within a hammock swinging,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg&nbsp;63]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To watch the sunset, red as wine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To hear the crickets singing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And while the insect world around<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is buzzing&mdash;by the million&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No wing&egrave;d thing above the ground<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Intrudes in this pavilion.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It is the place, at day's decline,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To tell the old, old story<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Behind the dark Madeira vine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Behind the morning glory;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To confiscate the rustic seat<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And barter stolen kisses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For honey must be twice as sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In such a spot as this is.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It is the haunt where one may get<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Relief from petty trouble,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May read the latest day's gazette<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">About the "Klondike" bubble:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How shanties rise like golden courts.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where sheep wear glittering fleeces,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How gold is picked up&mdash;by the quartz&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And all get rich as Croesus.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg&nbsp;64]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Here hid away from dust and heat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Secure from rude intrusion,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While willing lips the thought repeat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So grows the fond illusion:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That happiness the product is<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of lazy, languid dozing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of soft midsummer reveries,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Half-waking, half-reposing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And here in restful interlude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Life's fallacies forgetting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its frailties&mdash;such a multitude&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The fuming and the fretting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amid the fragrance, dusk, and dew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The happy soul at even<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May walk abroad, and interview<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bright messengers from Heaven.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg&nbsp;65]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="To_Die_in_Autumn" id="To_Die_in_Autumn"></a>To Die in Autumn.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The melody of autumn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is the only tune I know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I sing it over and over<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because it thrills me so;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It stirs anew the happy wish,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So near to perfect bliss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To live a little longer in<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A world like this.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sound was never sweeter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The voice so nearly mute,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As beauty, dying, loses<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her hold upon the lute;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like the harmonies that touch<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And blend with those above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forever must an echo wake<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The heart of love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her robe of brown and coral<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And amber glistens through<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rare jewels of the morning,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The opals of the dew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like royal fabrics worn beneath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The tinselry of pearls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or diamond dust by fashion strewn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On sunny curls.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg&nbsp;66]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">If I could wrap such garments<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In true artistic style<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About myself departing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And wear as sweet a smile<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And be as guileless as the flowers<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My friends would never sigh;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twould reconcile them to my death<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To see me die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And why should there be sorrow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When dying is no more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than 'twixt two bright apartments<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The opening of a door<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through which the freed, enraptured soul<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From this, a paradise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May pass to that supremely fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beyond the skies?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, 'twere not hard to finish<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When earth with tender grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Prepares for her dear children<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So sweet a resting place;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though in dissolution's throe<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The melody be riven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The song abruptly ended here<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Goes on in Heaven.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg&nbsp;67]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Apple_Blossoms" id="Apple_Blossoms"></a>Apple Blossoms.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Of all the lovely blossoms<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">That decorate the trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And shower down their petals<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">With every breath of breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is nothing so sweet or fair to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As the delicate blooms of the apple tree.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">A thousand shrubs and flow'rets<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Delicious pleasure bring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">But beautiful Pomona<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Must be the queen of spring;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And out of her flagon the peach and pear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their chalices fill with essence rare.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Oh, is it any wonder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Devoid of blight or flaw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">The peerless blooms of Eden<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Our primal mother saw<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In redolent beauty before her placed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So tempted fair Eve the fruit to taste?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">But woman's love of apples,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Involving fearful price,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And Adam's love for woman<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">That cost him Paradise,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg&nbsp;68]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">By the labor of hands and sweat of brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have softened the curse to a blessing now.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">If so those pink-eyed glories,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">In fields and orchards gay<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Develop luscious fruitage<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">By Horticulture's way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, sweet as the heart of rich legumes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall luxury follow the apple blooms.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Without_a_Minister" id="Without_a_Minister"></a>Without a Minister.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The congregation was devout,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The minister inspired,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their attitude to those without<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By every one admired,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all things so harmonious seemed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of no calamity we dreamed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But, just in this quiescent state<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A little cloud arose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Portentous of our certain fate&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As everybody knows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our pastor took it in his head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His "resignation" must be read.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg&nbsp;69]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">In every eye a tear-drop stood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For we accepted it<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reluctantly, but nothing could<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Make him recant one bit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And soon he left for distant parts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While we were left&mdash;with broken hearts.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And next the "patriarch" who led<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For nearly three-score years<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our "Sabbath school"&mdash;its worthy head&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rekindled all our fears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By saying, with a smile benign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Since it's the fashion, I'll resign!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And so he did; but promptly came<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Forth one, of good report&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Our Superintendent" is his name&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who tries to "hold the fort"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With wisdom, tact, and rare good sense,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In this, his first experience.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The world looks on and says, "How strange!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They hang together so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These Baptists do, and never change,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But right straight onward go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While other flocks are scattering all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some have strayed beyond recall!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg&nbsp;70]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Indian_Summer" id="Indian_Summer"></a>Indian Summer.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Is it not our bounden duty<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Harsh and bitter thoughts to quell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wild, ambitions schemes repel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to revel in the beauty<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of this Indian summer spell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bathing forest, field, and dell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As with radiance immortelle?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">None can paint like nature dying;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose dissolving struggle lent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wealth of hues so richly blent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, through weary years of trying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Artist skill pre-eminent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May not copy or invent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Such divine embellishment.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Knights of old from castles riding<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Scattered largesse as they went<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which, like manna heaven-sent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cheered the poverty-abiding;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But, when 'neath "that low green tent"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Passed the hand benevolent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sad were they and indigent.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Monarchs, too, have thus delighted<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Giving unto courtiers free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Costly robes and tinselry;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg&nbsp;71]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And, as royal guests, invited<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Them to sumptuous halls of glee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Banqueting and minstrelsy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bacchus holding sovereignty.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then, perchance, in mood capricious<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Stripped and scorned and turned away<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Those who tasted for a day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pleasure sweet and food delicious;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor might any say them nay&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lest his head the forfeit pay<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who a king dared disobey.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But our own benignant Giver,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Almoner impartial, true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Constantly doth gifts renew;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor would fitfully deliver<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Aught unto the chosen few,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But to all the wide world through,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who admire his wonders, too.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Never shall the heart be poorer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Never languish in despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That such affluence may share;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For than this is nothing surer&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He hath said, and will prepare<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In those realms of upper air<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Glories infinitely fair.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg&nbsp;72]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Autumn-Time" id="Autumn-Time"></a>Autumn-Time.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like music heard in mellow chime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The charm of her transforming time<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon my senses steals<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As softly as from sunny walls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In day's decline, their shadow falls<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Across the sleeping fields.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A fair, illumined book<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is nature's page whereon I look<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While "autumn turns the leaves;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And many a thought of her designs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between those rare, resplendent lines<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My fancy interweaves.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I dream of aborigines,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who must have copied from the trees<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The fashions of the day:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those gorgeous topknots for the head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of yellow tufts and feathers red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With beads and sinews gay.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I wonder if the saints behold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such pageantry of colors bold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beyond the radiant sky;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if the tints of Paradise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are heightened by the strange device<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of making all things die.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg&nbsp;73]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, even so; for Nature glows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because of her expiring throes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As if around her tomb<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unmeet it were,&mdash;the look severe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That designates a common bier<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Enwreathed in deepest gloom.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And so I meditate if aught<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can be so fair where death is not;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If Heaven's loveliness<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is born of struggle and decay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, but for funeral array,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Would it be beautiless?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh solemn, sad, sweet mystery<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Earth's unrivaled brilliancy<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is but her splendid pall!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Heaven were not what it is<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But for that crown of tragedies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sacrifice for all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So not a charm would Zion lose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were it bereft of sparkling hues<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In gilded lanes and leas;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It would be bright though not a flower<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unclosed in its celestial bower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And void of jeweled trees.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg&nbsp;74]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet, lily-like, one bloom I see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its name is his who died for me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose matchless beauty shows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perfection on its bleeding stem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blossom-bud of Bethlehem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Resurrection Rose.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Beauty_of_Nature" id="The_Beauty_of_Nature"></a>"The Beauty of Nature."</h2>
+
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh bud and leaf and blossom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How beautiful they are!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than last year's vernal season<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Tis lovelier by far;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This earth was never so enchanting<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor half so bright before&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But so I've rhapsodized, in springtime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For forty years or more.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What luxury of color<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On shrub and plant and vine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From pansies' richest purple<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To pink of eglantine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From buttercups to "johnny-jump-ups,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With deep cerulean eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Responding to their modest surname<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In violet surprise.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg&nbsp;75]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Sometimes I think the sunlight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That gilds the emerald hills,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And makes Aladdin dwellings<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of dingy domiciles,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is surplus beauty overflowing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That Heaven cannot hold&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The topaz glitter, or the jacinth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The glare of streets of gold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In "Cedar Hill," the city<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of "low green tents" of sod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I read the solemn record<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of those gone home to God;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While from their hallowed dust arising<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The fragrant lilies grow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if their life was all the sweeter<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For those who sleep below.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And so 'tis not in sadness<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I dwell upon the thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I am dead and buried<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That I shall be forgot.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because the germ of reproduction<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Doth this poor body hold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perchance to add to nature's beauty<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A rose above the mold.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg&nbsp;76]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="All_the_Rage" id="All_the_Rage"></a>"All the Rage."</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A common wayside flower it grew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unhandsome and unnoticed too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Except in deprecation<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That such an herb unreared by toil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Prolific cumberer of the soil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Defied extermination.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Its gorgeous blooms were never stirred<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By honey-bee nor humming-bird<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In their corollas dipping;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But they from clover white and red<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Delicious nectar drew instead<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In dainty rounds of sipping.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No place its own euphonious name<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within the catalogue might claim<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of any flora-lover;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For, in the scores of passers-by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As yet no true artistic eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its beauty could discover.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The reaper with his sickle keen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Aimed at its crest of gold and green<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With spiteful stroke relentless,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And would have rooted from the ground<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The "Solidago"&mdash;blossom-crowned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But gaudy, rank, and scentless.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg&nbsp;77]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">But everything must have its day&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And since some fickle <i>devot&eacute;e</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or myrmidon of Fashion<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Declares that this obnoxious weed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From wild, uncultivated seed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shall be the "ruling passion,"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Effusive schoolgirls dote on it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose "frontispieces" infinite<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That need no decoration<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are hid beneath its golden dust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till many a fine, symmetric bust<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is lost to admiration.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Smart dudes and ladies' men&mdash;the few<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who wish they could be ladies too&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Display a sprig of yellow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Conspicuous in their buttonhole,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To captivate a maiden soul<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or vex some other fellow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And spinsters of uncertain age<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are clamoring now for "all the rage"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To give a dash of color<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To their complexions, which appear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be the hue they hold so dear&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Except a trifle duller.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg&nbsp;78]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">That <i>n&eacute;glig&eacute;e</i> "blue-stocking" friend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who never cared her time to spend<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On mysteries of the toilet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now wears a sumptuous bouquet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shakes your hand a mile away<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For fear that you will spoil it.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Delightful widows, dressed in black,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Complain with modest sighs they lack<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That coveted expression,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That sort of Indian Summer air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which "relicts" always ought to wear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By general concession;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And so lugubrious folds of crape<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are crimped and twisted into shape<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With graceful heads of yellow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That give a winsome toning down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To sombre hat and sable gown&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In autumn tintings mellow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Alas, we only hate the weed!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And think that it must be, indeed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The ladies' last endeavor<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To match the gentlemen, who flaunt<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That odious dried tobacco plant<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At which they puff forever.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg&nbsp;79]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="My_Mothers_Hand" id="My_Mothers_Hand"></a>My Mother's Hand.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My head is aching, and I wish<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That I could feel tonight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One well-remembered, tender touch<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That used to comfort me so much,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And put distress to flight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There's not a soothing anodyne<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or sedative I know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such potency can ever hold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As that which lovingly controlled<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My spirit long ago.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How oft my burning cheek as if<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By Zephyrus was fanned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And nothing interdicted pain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or seemed to make me well again<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So quick as mother's hand.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Tis years and years since it was laid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In her own gentle way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On tangled curls of brown and jet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Above the downy coverlet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Neath which the children lay.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As bright as blessed sunlight ray<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The past comes back to me;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg&nbsp;80]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Her fingers turn the sacred page<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a little group of tender age<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who gather at her knee.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when those hands together clasped<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Devout and still were we;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To whom it seemed God then and there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must surely answer such a prayer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For none could pray as she.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O buried love with her that passed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Into the Silent Land!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O haunting vision of the night!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see, encoffined, still, and white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A mother's face and hand.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_Leap_Year_Episode" id="A_Leap_Year_Episode"></a>A Leap Year Episode.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Such oranges! so fresh and sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So large and lovely&mdash;and so cheap!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They lay in one delicious heap,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And added to the sumptuous feast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For each and all in taste expert<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The acme of all fine dessert;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">So, singling out the very least<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As in itself an ample treat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While sparkling repartee and jest<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg&nbsp;81]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Exhilarated host and guest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of rarity so delicate<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In dreamy reverie I ate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By magic pinions as it were<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Transported from this realm of snows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be a happy sojourner<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Away down where the orange grows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amid the bloom, the verdure, and<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The beauty of that tropic land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While redolence seemed wafted in<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From orchard-groves of Mandarin.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In dinner costume <i>a la mode</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Expressing from the spongy skin<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The nectar that ran down her chin<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In little rills of lusciousness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sat Maud, the beautiful coquette;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her dainty mouth, like "two lips" wet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With morning dew, her crimson dress,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sad discoloration showed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where orange-juice&mdash;it was a sin!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A polka-dot had painted in;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Which moved the roguish girl to say<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Half-ruefully (half-<i>d&eacute;collet&eacute;</i>)&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I'm glad it's Leap Year now, for I&mdash;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her voice was like a moistened lute<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg&nbsp;82]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">"Shall wear the flowers, by and by&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I do not like this leaky fruit!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And looking straight and saucily<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At cousin Ned, her <i>vis-a-vis</i>;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While Will, who never dared propose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was blushing like a red, red rose.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The company was large, and she<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Touched elbows with the exquisite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gay Archibald, who took her wit<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And pertness all as meant for him;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, thereby lifted some degrees<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Above less-favored devotees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With rainbow sails began to trim<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His craft of sweet felicity;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So mirth in reckless afterlude<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Convulsed the merry multitude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Who laughed at Archie's self-esteem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And pitied Will's long-cherished dream;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While all declared, for her and Ned&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His face was like a silver tray&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wedding-banquet should be spread<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Before a twelvemonth passed away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, ah, the sequel&mdash;blind were we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To woman and her strategy!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For he so long afraid to speak<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bore off the bride within a week.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg&nbsp;83]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="If" id="If"></a>If.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If all the sermons good men preach<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the precepts that they teach<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Were gathered into one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unbroken line of silver speech,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shining filament might reach<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From earth unto the sun.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If all the stories ever told<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By wild romancers, young or old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Into a thread were drawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from its cable coil unrolled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twould span those misty hills of gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That heaven seems resting on.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If every folly, every freak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From day to day, from week to week,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is written in "The Book,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With all the idle words we speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would it not crimson many a cheek<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the page to look?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If all the good deeds that we do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From honest motives pure and true<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shall there recorded be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Known unto God and angels too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is it not sad they are so few<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And wrought so charily?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg&nbsp;84]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Perfect_Character" id="Perfect_Character"></a>Perfect Character.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">He lives but half who never stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">By the grave of one held dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And out of the deep, dark loneliness<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a heart bereaved and comfortless,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From sorrow's crystal plentitude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Feeling his loss severe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Dropped a regretful tear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Oh, life's divinest draught doth not<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In the wells of joy abound!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the purest streams are those that flow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Out of the depths of crushing woe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As from the springs of love and thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Hid in some narrow mound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Making it holy ground.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">He hath been blessed who sometimes knelt<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Owning that God is just,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the stillness of cypress shade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rosemary's tender symbol laid<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon a cherished shrine, and felt<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Strengthened in faith and trust<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Over the precious dust.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg&nbsp;85]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">So perfect character is wrought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Rounded and beautified,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the alchemy of that strange alloy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The intermingling of grief and joy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So nearer Heaven the spirit, brought<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Bleeding, so sorely tried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Finds its diviner side.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Miracle_of_Spring" id="The_Miracle_of_Spring"></a>The Miracle of Spring.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What touch is like the Spring's?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By dainty fingerings<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Such rare delight to give,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Tis luxury to live<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amid florescent things.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Through weary months of snow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Boreas swept low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How many an anxious hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We watched one little flower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tried to make it grow;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And thrilled with ecstasy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, half distrustfully,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A timid bud appeared,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A tender scion reared<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In window greenery.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg&nbsp;86]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">But lo! Spring's wealth of bloom<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And richness of perfume<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Comes as by miracle;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then why not possible<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within a curtained room?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah, no! that everywhere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The earth is passing fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And strange new life hath caught,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is but the marvel wrought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By sunlight, rain, and air.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Bermuda" id="Bermuda"></a>Bermuda.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O charming blossom of the sea<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Atlantic waters bosomed in!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Abiding-place of gayety,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Elysian bower of "Cora Linn,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sprightly, lively <i>d&eacute;biteuse</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Recounting all she sees and does.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, how it makes the northern heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With sluggish current half-congealed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In ecstasy and vigor start<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To read about this tropic field;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The garden of luxuriousness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In winter wearing summer's dress.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg&nbsp;87]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">With gelid sap and frozen gum<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In maple trees and hackmatack,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While waiting for the spring to come<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of life's necessities we lack;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sip the nectar that we find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In luscious fruit with golden rind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But down the street we dread to walk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For all the teachings of our youth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Receive an agonizing shock;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Do</i> tempting labels lie, forsooth?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For "out of Florida," she says,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Come our Bermuda oranges."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To speed the penitential prayer<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Our rosary we finger o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A yellow necklace rich and rare&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Twas purchased at the dollar store;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But oh, it makes us sigh to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That land of amber <i>bijouterie</i>!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, ocean wave and flying sail<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shall never waft us to its shore!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if some reckless cyclone gale<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Should drop Bermuda at our door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twould warm our February sky<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bring the time of roses nigh!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg&nbsp;88]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="The_Charter_Oak" id="The_Charter_Oak"></a>The Charter Oak.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I seem to see the old tree stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its sturdy, giant form<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A spectacle remembered, and<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pilgrim-shrine for all the land<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Before it met the storm.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Unnumbered gales the tree defied;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It towered like a king<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Above his courtiers, reaching wide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sheltering scions at its side<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As with protecting wing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Revered as one among the trees<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To mark the seasons born,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To watchful aborigines<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It told by leafy indices<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The time of planting corn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The landmark of the past is gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its site is overgrown;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A mansion overlooks the lawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where history is traced upon<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A parapet of stone.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg&nbsp;89]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall e'er Connecticut forget<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What unto it we owe&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How Wadsworth coped with Andros' threat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tyranny, in council met,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Outwitted years ago?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Aye, but it rouses loyal spunk<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To think of that old tree!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its stately stem, its spacious trunk<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By Nature robbed of pith and punk<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To guard our liberty.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But of the oak long-perished, why<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is earth forever full?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For, like the loaf and fish supply,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its stock of fiber, tough and dry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Seems inexhaustible.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Rare souvenirs the stranger sees&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who never sees a joke&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And innocently dreams that these,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From knotty, gnarly, scraggy trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Were once the Charter Oak!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg&nbsp;90]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Blossom-time" id="Blossom-time"></a>Blossom-time.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Yes, it is drawing nigh&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The time of blossoming;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The waiting heart beats stronger<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">With every breath of Spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The days are growing longer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While happy hours go by<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">As if on zephyr wing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">A wealth of mellow light<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Reflected from the skies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hill and vale is flooding;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Still in their leafless guise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Jacqueminots are budding,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Creating new delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">By promise of surprise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">The air is redolent<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">As ocean breezes are<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From spicy islands blowing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Or groves of Malabar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where sandal-wood is growing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or sweet, diffusive scent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">From fragrant attar-jar.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg&nbsp;91]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Just so is loveliness<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Renewed from year to year;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus emotions tender,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Born of the atmosphere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of bloom, and vernal splendor<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That words cannot express,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Make Spring forever dear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Can mortal man behold<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">So beautiful a scene,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without the innate feeling<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That thus, like dying sheen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sunset hues revealing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Glints pure, celestial gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">On fields of living green?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg&nbsp;92]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="One_of_the_Least_of_These" id="One_of_the_Least_of_These"></a>"One of the Least of These."</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Twas on a day of cold and sleet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A little nomad of the street<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With tattered garments, shoeless feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And face with hunger wan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great wonder-eyes, though beautiful,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hedged in by features pinched and dull,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Betraying lines so pitiful<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">By sorrow sharply drawn;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ere yet the service half was o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Approached the great cathedral door<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As choir and organ joined to pour<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Their sweetness on the air;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, sudden, bold, impelled to glide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With fleetness to the altar's side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her trembling form she sought to hide<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Amid the shadows there,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Half fearful lest some worshiper,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enveloped close in robes of fur,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had cast a scornful glance at her<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">As she had stolen by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But soon the swelling anthem, fraught<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With reverence, her spirit caught<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As rapt she listened, heeding not<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The darkness drawing nigh.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg&nbsp;93]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">'Mid novelty and sweet surprise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her soul, enraptured, seemed to rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tread the realms of Paradise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Her shivering limbs grew warm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as the shadows longer crept<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Across the chancel, angels kept<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their vigils o'er her as she slept<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Secure from cold and storm.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No sound her peaceful slumber broke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But one, whose gentle face bespoke<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">True goodness, took her costly cloak<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In tender, thoughtful way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as the sleeper sweetly smiled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perchance by dreams of Heaven beguiled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'erspread the passive, slumbering child,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And softly stepped away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So rest thee, child! since Sorrow's dart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has touched like thine the Saviour's heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou hast a nearer, dearer part<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In his great love for thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when life's shadows all are gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May Heaven reveal a brighter dawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To thee who, unaware, hast drawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Our hearts in sympathy.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg&nbsp;94]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Lightning-bugs" id="Lightning-bugs"></a>Lightning-bugs.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Around my vine-wreathed portico,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At evening, there's a perfect glow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of little lights a-flashing&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if the stellar bodies had<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From super-heat grown hyper-mad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And spend their ire in clashing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As frisky each as shooting star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These tiny electricians are<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Lampyrine Linn&aelig;an&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or lightning-bugs, that sparkling gleam<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like scintillations in a dream<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of something empyrean.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They brush my face, light up my hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My garments touch, dart everywhere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And if I try to catch them<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They're quicker than the wicked flea&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then I wonder how 'twould be<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To have a <i>dress</i> to match them.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To be a "princess in disguise,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wear a robe of fireflies<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All strung and wove together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And be the cynosure of all<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg&nbsp;95]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">At Madame Haut-ton's carnival,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In fashion's gayest feather.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So, sudden, falls upon the grass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The overpow'ring light of gas,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And through the lattice streaming;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As wearily I close my eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brief are the moments that suffice<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To reach the land of dreaming.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now at the ball, superbly dressed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As I suppose, to eclipse the rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Within an alcove shady<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A brilliant flame I hope to be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While all admire and envy me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The "bright electric lady."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But, ah, they never shine at all!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My eyes <i>ignite</i>&mdash;I leave the hall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For wrathful tears have filled them;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I could have crushed them on the spot&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bugs, I mean!&mdash;and quite forgot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That <i>stringing</i> them had killed them.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg&nbsp;96]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Of_Her_who_Died" id="Of_Her_who_Died"></a>Of Her who Died.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We look up to the stars tonight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Idolatrous of them,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dream that Heaven is in sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And each a ray of purest light<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From some celestial gem<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In her bright diadem.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Before that lonely home we wait,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah! nevermore to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her lovely form within the gate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where heart and hearthstone desolate<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And vine and shrub and tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Seem asking: "Where is she?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There is the cottage Love had planned&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where hope in ashes lies&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A tower beautiful to stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her monument whose gentle hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And presence in the skies<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Make home of Paradise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In wintry bleakness nature glows<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beneath the stellar ray;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We see the mold, but not the rose,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg&nbsp;97]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And meditate if knowledge goes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Into yon mound of clay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With her who passed away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of sighs, and tears, and joys denied<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Do echoes reach up there?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do seraphs know&mdash;God does&mdash;how wide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And deep is sorrow's bitter tide<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of dolor and despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And darkness everywhere?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dear angel, snatched from our caress,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So suddenly withdrawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alone are we and comfortless;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As in a dome of emptiness<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The old routine goes on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Aimless, since thou art gone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, dearer unto us than aught<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In all the world beside<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of thee to cherish blessed thought;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So early thy sweet mission wrought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As friend, as promised bride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who lived, and loved, and died.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg&nbsp;98]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Thanksgiving" id="Thanksgiving"></a>Thanksgiving.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nature, erewhile so marvelously lovely, is bereft<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Of her supernal charm;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with the few dead garlands of departed splendor left,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Like crape upon her arm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">In boreal hints, and sudden gusts<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">That fan the glowing ember,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">By multitude of ways fulfills<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">The promise of November.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Upon the path where Beauty, sylvan priestess, sped away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Lies the rich afterglow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Indian Summer, bringing round the happy holiday<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">That antedates the snow:<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">The glad Thanksgiving time, the cheer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">The festival commotion<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">That stirs fraternal feeling from<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">The mountains to the ocean.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O Hospitality! unclose thy bounty-laden hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">In generous dealing, where<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is gathered in reunion each long-severed household band,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">And let no vacant chair<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg&nbsp;99]</a></span>
+<span class="i6">Show where the strongest, brightest link<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">In love's dear chain is broken&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">A symbol more pathetic than<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">By language ever spoken.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Into the place held sacred to the memory of some<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Beloved absentee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perchance passed to the other shore, oh, let the stranger come<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">And in gratuity<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Partake of festal favors that<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Shall sweeten hours of labor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And strengthen amity and love<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Unto his friend and neighbor.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let gratitude's pure incense in warm orisons ascend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">A blessing to secure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gracious impulse bearing largesse of good gifts extend<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">To all deserving poor;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">So may the day be hallowed by<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Unstinted thanks and giving,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">In sweet remembrance of the dead<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">And kindness to the living.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg&nbsp;100]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Receiving_Sight" id="Receiving_Sight"></a>Receiving Sight.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In hours of meditation fraught<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With mem'ries of departed days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Comes oft a tender, loving thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of one who shared our youthful plays.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In gayest sports and pleasures rife<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose happy nature reveled so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That on her ardent, joyous life<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A shadow lay, we did not know;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And bade her look one summer night<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Up to the sky that seemed to hold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In dying sunset splendor bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All hues of sapphire, red, and gold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How strange the spell that mystified<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Us all, and hushed our wonted glee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As sadly her sweet voice replied,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Why, don't you know I cannot see?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Too true! those eyes bereft of sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No blemish bare, no drop-serene,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But nothing in this world of light<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And beauty they had ever seen.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg&nbsp;101]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">A dozen years in gentle ruth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their impress lent to brow and cheek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When precious words of sacred truth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Led her the Saviour's face to seek.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Responsive unto earnest prayers<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Commingling love and penitence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A blessing came&mdash;not unawares&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In new and strange experience.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And all was light, as Faith's clear eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A brighter world than ours divined;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For never clouds obscured the sky<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That she could see, while <i>we</i> were blind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, it must be an awful thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To be shut out from light of day!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From summer's grace, and bloom of spring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In gladness words cannot portray.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But haply into every heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May enter that Celestial Light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That doth to life's dark ways impart<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A radiance hid from mortal sight.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg&nbsp;102]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Revenge" id="Revenge"></a>Revenge.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beside my window day and night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its tendrils reaching left and right,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A morning glory grew;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With blossoms covered, pink and white<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And deep, delicious blue.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Its care became my daily thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who to the sweet diversion brought<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A bit of florist skill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To guide its progress, till it caught<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The meaning of my will.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When through the trellis in and out<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It bent and turned and climbed about<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And so ambitious grew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'erleaped a chasm beyond the spout<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where raindrops trickled through,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then, in caressing, graceful way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Around a door knob twined one day<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With modest show of pride;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All unaware that danger lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Just on the other side.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An awkward, verdant "maid of work,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who dearly loved her tasks to shirk,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg&nbsp;103]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">While rummaging among<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unused apartments, with a jerk<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The door wide open flung.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And lo! there lay, uprooted quite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The object of my heart's delight&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I did not weep or rant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet a grain or two of spite<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My secret thoughts would haunt.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So when at night her favorite beau<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beside his charmer sat below&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That is, <i>dans le cuisine</i>&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Occurred, as all the neighbors know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A semi-tragic scene.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The garden hose, obscured from view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turned on itself and drenched the two&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A hapless circumstance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That lengthened out her "frizzes" new,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But shrunk his Sunday pants.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Remember this was years agone&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The madcap now hath sober grown<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And hose is better wrought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And neither now would run alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The risk of being caught.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg&nbsp;104]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="On_the_Common" id="On_the_Common"></a>On the Common.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We met on "Boston Common"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of course it was by chance&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sudden, unexpected,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But happy circumstance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That gave the dull October day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A beautiful, refulgent ray.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like wandering refugees from<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A city of renown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Impelled to reconnoiter<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This Massachusetts town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each by a common object urged,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the park our paths converged.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Good nature, bubbling over<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In healthy, hearty laughs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And little lavish speeches<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like pleasant paragraphs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The kind regard, unstudied joke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His true felicity bespoke.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A bit of doleful knowledge<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Confided unto me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About the way the doctors&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who never could agree&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His knees had tortured, softly drew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My sympathy and humor, too.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg&nbsp;105]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I hoped he wouldn't lose them,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And languish in the dumps<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By having to quadrille on<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A pair of polished stumps&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But a corky limb, though one might dread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Isn't half as bad as a wooden head.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He censured those empirics<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who never heal an ill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though bound by their diplomas<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To either cure or kill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who should, with ignominy crowned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their patients follow&mdash;under ground.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I left him at the foot of<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"The Soldiers' Monument,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With incoherent mutterings&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As though 'twere his intent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To turn the sod, a rod or two,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sleep beside the "boys in blue."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In Hartford's charming circles<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His bonhommie I miss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And having never seen him<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From that day unto this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I think of him with much regret<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As lying&mdash;with the soldiers&mdash;yet.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg&nbsp;106]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Womans_Help" id="Womans_Help"></a>Woman's Help.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sometimes I long to write an ode<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And magnify his name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The man of honor, on the road<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To opulence and fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On whom was never aid bestowed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By any helpful dame.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To all the world I fain would show<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That talent widely known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rare eloquence, of burning glow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To melt a heart of stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That all his gifts, a dazzling row,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Are his, and his alone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But him, of character and mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Superb, alert, and strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I never study but to find<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The subject of my song,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some paragon of womankind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Has helped him all along.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He may not know, he may not guess,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How much to her he owes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How every scion of success<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg&nbsp;107]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">That in his nature grows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Developed by her watchfulness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Becomes a blooming rose.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From buffetings in humble place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And labors ill begun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To proud achievement in the race<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And laurels grandly won,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His trials all she dares to face<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As friend and champion.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The bars that hinder his advance<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And half obscure the goal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The stubborn bond of circumstance<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That irritates his soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The countershafts of arrogance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All yield to her control.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He builds a tower&mdash;she below<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is handing up the bricks;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His light is brilliant just as though<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her hand had trimmed the wicks;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He prays for daily bread&mdash;the dough<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A woman deigns to mix.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg&nbsp;108]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Tobogganing" id="Tobogganing"></a>Tobogganing.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, the rare exhilaration,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, the novel delectation<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of a ride down the slide!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Packed like ice in zero weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pleasure-seekers close together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On a board as thin as wafer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Barely wider, scarcely safer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At the height of recreation<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Find a glorious inspiration,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere the speedy termination<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the snowy meadow wide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sloping to the river's side.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, such quakers we begin it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Timorous of the icy route!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But to learn in half a minute<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What felicity is in it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As we shoot down the chute,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Smothered in toboggan suit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Redingote or roquelaure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Buttoned up (and down) before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mittens, cap, and moccasin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just the garb to revel in;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So, the signal given, lo!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg&nbsp;109]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Over solid ice and snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Down the narrow gauge we go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swifter than a bird o'erhead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swifter than an arrow sped<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From the staunchest, strongest bow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, it beats all "Copenhagen,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Silly lovers' paradise!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like the frozen Androscoggin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Slippery, and smooth, and nice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is the track of the toboggan;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there's nothing cheap about it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Everything is steep about it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The insolvent weep about it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For the biggest thing on ice<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is its tip-top price;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But were this three times the money,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then the game were thrice as funny.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ye who dwell in latitudes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where "the blizzard" ne'er intrudes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the water seldom freezes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ye of balmy Southern regions,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alabama's languid legions,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From the "hot blast" of your breezes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where the verdure of the trees is<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Limp, and loose, and pitiful,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg&nbsp;110]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Come up here where branches bare<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Stand like spikes in frosty air;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come up here where arctic rigor<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall restore your bloom and vigor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Making life enjoyable;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come and take a jog on<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The unparalleled toboggan!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Such the zest that he who misses<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Never knows what perfect bliss is.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So the sport, the day's sensation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thrills and recreates creation.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Woods" id="The_Woods"></a>The Woods.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I love the woods when the magic hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of Spring, as if sweeping the keys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a wornout instrument, touches the earth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When beauty and song in the gladness of birth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Awaken the heart of the desolate land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And carol its rapture to every breeze.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In summer's still solstice my steps are drawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To the shade of the forest trees;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To revel with Pan in his secret haunts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To pipe mazourkas while satyrs dance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or lull to soft slumber some favorite faun<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And fascinate strange wild birds and bees.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg&nbsp;111]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I love the woods when autumnal fires<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Are kindled on every hill;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When dead leaves rustle in grove and field,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And trees are known by the fruits they yield,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the wild grapes, sweetened by frost, inspire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A mildly-desperate, bibulous thrill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There's a joy for which I would fling to the air<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My petty portion of wealth and fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In tracking the rabbit o'er fresh-fallen snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ways of the 'coon and opossum to know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To capture squirrels when branches are bare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As the cupboard shelf of that ancient dame.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, I long to explore the woods again<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In my own aboriginal way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As before I knew how culture could frown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On a hoydenish gait and a homespun gown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or dreamed that the strata of proud "upper-ten"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Would smile at rusticity's <i>na&iuml;vet&eacute;</i>.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I sigh for the pleasures of long ago<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In youth's sweet halcyon time;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When better beloved than the thoroughfare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By multitudes trod were the woodlands, where<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was never a path that I did not know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor thrifty sapling I dared not climb.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg&nbsp;112]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Alas for lost freedom! Alas for me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For oh, Society's lip would curl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Propriety's self with scornful eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gilt-edged Fashion would pass me by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To know that sometimes I'm dying to be<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The romp, the rover, the same old girl.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Like_Summer" id="Like_Summer"></a>Like Summer.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">November? 'tis a summer's day!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For tropic airs are blowing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As soft as whispered roundelay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From unseen lips that seem to say<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To feathered songsters going<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To sunnier, southern climes afar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Stay where you are&mdash;stay where you are!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And other tokens glad as these<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Declare that Summer lingers:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Round latent buds still hum the bees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slow fades the green from forest trees<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ere Autumn's artist fingers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have touched the landscape, and instead<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brought out the amber, brown, and red.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg&nbsp;113]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The invalid may yet enjoy<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His favorite recreation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gay, romping girl, unfettered boy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In outdoor sports the time employ,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And happy consummation<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of prudent plans the farmer know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere wintry breezes round him blow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And they by poverty controlled&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Good fortune shall betide them<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As scenes of beauty they behold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seem to revel in the gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which Plutus has denied them;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For, ah! the poor from want's despair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oft covet wealth they never share.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg&nbsp;114]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Sheridans_Last_Ride" id="Sheridans_Last_Ride"></a>Sheridan's Last Ride.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">While Ph&oelig;bus lent his hottest rays<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To signalize midsummer days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I stood in that far-famed enclosure<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">By thousands visited,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where, in the stillness of reposure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Are grouped battalions dead.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Where, round each simple burial stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The grass for decades twain has grown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Protecting them in dreamless slumber<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Who perished long ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The multitudes defying number,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">A part of war's tableau.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Along the winding avenue<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">A vast procession came in view;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mourners' slow, advancing column<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">With reverent step drew near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The "Dead March" playing, sad and solemn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Above a soldier's bier.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">There were the colonels, brigadiers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Comrades in arms of other years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Civilians, true and loyal-hearted<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">To him their bravest man,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg&nbsp;115]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Who seemed to say to those departed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">"Make room for Sheridan!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Anon, beside the new-made mound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The warworn veterans gathered round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And spake of Lyon and of Lander,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And others ranked as high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Recalling each his old commander,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">One not afraid to die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Thus, silent tenants one by one<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Are crowding in at Arlington;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus Sheridan, the horseman daring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Has joined the honored corps<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of those, their true insignia wearing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Who battle nevermore.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Potomac's wave shall placid flow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And sing his requiem soft and low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His terrace grave be sweet with clover,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And daisies star his bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Sheridan's last ride is over&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">The General is dead!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg&nbsp;116]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="A_Bit_of_Gladness" id="A_Bit_of_Gladness"></a>A Bit of Gladness.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As I near my lonely cottage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At the close of weary day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's a little bit of gladness<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Comes to meet me on the way:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dimpled, tanned, and petticoated,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Innocent as angels are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a smiling, straying sunbeam<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is my Stella&mdash;like a star.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Soon a hand of tissue-softness<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Slips confidingly in mine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with tender look appealing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Eyes of beauty sweetly shine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a gentle shepherd guiding<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some lost lamb unto the fold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So she leads me homeward, prattling<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till her stories are all told.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Papa, I'm so glad to see you&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Cousin Mabel came today&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the gas-man brought a letter<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That he said you'd better pay&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yes, and <i>awful</i> things is happened:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My poor kitty's drowned to death&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mamma's got the 'Pigs in Clover'&mdash;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Here she stops for want of breath.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg&nbsp;117]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I am like the bold knight-errant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From his castle who would roam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Trusting her, my faithful steward,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For a strict account of home;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And each day I toil, and hazard<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All that any man may dare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a resting-place at even,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the love that waits me there.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And sometimes I look with pity<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On my neighbor's mansion tall:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There are chambers full of pictures,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There are marbles in the hall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet with all the signs of splendor<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That may gild a pile of stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not a living thing about it<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But the owner, grim and lone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I believe that all his millions<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He would give without repine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a little bit of gladness<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In his life, like that in mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This it is that makes my pathway<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beautiful, wherever trod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keeps my soul from wreck and ruin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Keeps me nearer to my God.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg&nbsp;118]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="The_Charity_Ball" id="The_Charity_Ball"></a>The Charity Ball.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There was many a token of festal display,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And reveling crowds who were never so gay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, as it were &AElig;olus charming the hours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An orchestra hidden by foliage and flowers;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There were tapestries fit for the home of a queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mirrors that glistened in wonderful sheen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was feasting and mirth in the banqueting-hall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For this was the annual Charity Ball.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There were pompous civilians, in wealth who abide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Displaying their purses, the source of their pride;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And plethoric dealers in margins and stocks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And owners of acres of elegant blocks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tenement-landlords who cling to a cent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When from the poor widow exacting her rent&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Immovable, stern, as an adamant wall&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet, who "came down" to this Charity Ball.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There was Beauty whose toilet, superb and unique,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cost underpaid industry many a week<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of arduous labor of eye, and heartache,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its starving inadequate pittance to make;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There were mischievous maidens and cavaliers bold,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg&nbsp;119]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose blushes and glances and coquetry told<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A tale of the monarch who held them in thrall&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who met, as by chance, at the Charity Ball.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There were delicate viands the poor never taste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dollars were lavished in prodigal waste<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To pamper the palate of epicures rich;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who drew from the wine cellar's cavernous niche<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Excelsior" brands of the rarest champagnes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To loosen their tongues&mdash;though it pilfered their brains&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, sad if a step in some woeful downfall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should ever be traced to a Charity Ball!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Outside of the window, pressed close to the pane,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And furrowed by tears that had fallen like rain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was the face of a woman, so spectral in hue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With great liquid eyes, like twin oceans of blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cheeks in whose hollows were written the lines<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That pitiless hunger so often defines,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who muttered, as closer she gathered the shawl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Oh, never for me is this Charity Ball!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From liveried hirelings who bade her begone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By uniformed minions compelled to move on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Out into the street again driven to roam&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For friends she had none, neither fortune nor home;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg&nbsp;120]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">While carnival-goers in morning's dull gray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As homeward returning, fatigued and <i>blas&eacute;</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A vision encountered their hearts to appall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And banish all thought of the Charity Ball.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As if seeking warmth from the icy curb-stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A form half-reclining, half-clad, and unknown.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dead eyes looking up with a meaningless stare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lay close to the crowded and broad thoroughfare;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A form so emaciate the spirit had fled&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the pulpit and press and the public all said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As society's doings they sought to recall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That a "brilliant success" was the Charity Ball.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Belle_of_Baltimore" id="The_Belle_of_Baltimore"></a>The Bell(e) of Baltimore.</h2>
+
+<p>[One of the notable features of Baltimore is the big bell that hangs in
+the city hall tower, to strike the hour and sound the fire alarm. It is
+called "Big Sam," and weighs 5,000 pounds]</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A million feet above the ground<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(For so it seemed in winding round),<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">A million, and two more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The latter stiff and sore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While perspiration formed a part<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of every reeking pore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I viewed the city like a chart<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Spread out upon the floor.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg&nbsp;121]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And said: "Great guide Jehoiakin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To me is meagre pleasure in<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The height of spires and domes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of walls like ancient Rome's;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor care I for the marts of trade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Or shelves of musty tomes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor yet for yonder colonnade<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Before your palace homes;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"But curiosity is keen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To know the city's reigning queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Who suiteth well the score<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of suitors at her door;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, which of your divinities<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Is she whom all adore?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Embodiment of truth, <i>who is</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The belle of Baltimore?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Veracity's revolving eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looked up as if to read the skies:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">"Why, Lor'-a-miss, see dar&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">De bell is in de air!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lan' sakes! of all de missteries<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Yo' nebber learn before!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why, don' yo' know 'Big Sam'? <i>He</i> is<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">De bell of Baltimore!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg&nbsp;122]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Christmas_at_Church" id="Christmas_at_Church"></a>Christmas at Church.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">'Twas drawing near the holiday,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">When piety and pity met<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In whisp'ring council, and agreed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Christmas time, in homes of need,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Should be remembered in a way<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">They never could forget.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Then noble generosity<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Took youth and goodness by the hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And planned a thousand charming ways<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To celebrate this best of days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While hearts were held in sympathy<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">By love's encircling band.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">So multitudes together came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like wandering magi from the East<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With precious gifts unto the King,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With every good and perfect thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To satisfy a shivering frame<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Or amplify a feast.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">The angels had looked long and far<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The happy scene to parallel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When through the sanctuary door<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg&nbsp;123]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Were carried gifts from shop and store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The treasures of the rich bazaar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">To give&mdash;but not to sell.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">As once the apostolic twelve<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Of goods allotment made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So equity dealt out with care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The widow's and the orphan's share,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And of the aged forced to delve<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">At drudging task or trade.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Oh, could the joy which tears express<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">That out of gladness come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be mirrored in its tender glow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before the beautiful tableau<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Ingratitude and selfishness<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Would shrink abashed and dumb!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">If every year and everywhere<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Could kindness thus expand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In bounteous gratuity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To all her children earth would be<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">A flowery vale like Eden fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">A milk-and-honey land.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg&nbsp;124]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Mysterious" id="Mysterious"></a>Mysterious.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The morning sun rose bright and fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon a lovely village where<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Prosperity abounded,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ceaseless hum of industry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In lines of friendly rivalry<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From day to day resounded.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Its shaded avenues were wide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And closely bordered either side<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With cottages or mansions,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or marked by blocks of masonry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That might defy a century<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To loosen from their stanchions.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Its peaceful dwellers daily vied<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make this spot, with anxious pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A Paradise of beauty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Recounted its attractions o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And its adornment held no more<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A pleasure than a duty.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But, ere the daylight passed away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That hamlet fair in ruins lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its hapless people scattered<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like playthings, at the cyclone's will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And scarce remained one domicile<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its fury had not shattered.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg&nbsp;125]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Few moments of the tempest's wrath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sufficed to mark one dreadful path<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With scenes of devastation;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While over piles of wild d&eacute;bris<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rose shrieks of dying agony<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Above the desolation.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, mystery! who can understand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why, sudden, from God's mighty hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Destructive bolts of power<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without discrimination strike<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The evil and the good alike&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As in that dreadful hour!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Alas for aching hearts that wait<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Today in homes made desolate<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By one sharp blow appalling&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For all who kneel by altars lone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And strive to say "Thy will be done,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That awful day recalling!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We dare not question his decrees<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who seeth not as mortal sees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor doubt his goodness even;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor let our hearts be dispossessed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of faith that he disposeth best<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All things in earth and Heaven.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg&nbsp;126]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Be_not_Anxious" id="Be_not_Anxious"></a>"Be not Anxious."</h2>
+
+<p>"Be careful for nothing," Phil. iv. 6. Revised version, "Be not anxious."</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Of all the precepts in the Book<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">By word of inspiration given,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That bear the import, tone, and look<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of messages direct from heaven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From Revelation back to Genesis<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is nothing needed half so much as this.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Ah, well the great apostle spake<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In admonition wise and kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who bade humanity forsake<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The petty weaknesses that bind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spirit like a bird with pinioned wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That to a broken bough despairing clings.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Were all undue anxiety<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Eliminated from desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Could feverish fears and fancies be<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Consum&egrave;d on some funeral pyre,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like holy hecatomb or sacrifice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twould be accepted up in Paradise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Could this machinery go on<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Without the friction caused by fret,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg&nbsp;127]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">What greater loads were lightly drawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">More easily were trials met;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then might existence be with blessings rife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lengthened out like Hezekiah's life.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Oh, be not anxious; trouble grows<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">When cherished like a secret grief;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It is the worm within the rose<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That eats the heart out leaf by leaf;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though the outer covering be fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The weevil of decay is busy there.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">In deep despondency to pine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Or vain solicitude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is to deny this truth divine<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That God is great and good;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he is Ruler over earth and Heaven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so disposes and makes all things even.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg&nbsp;128]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Mount_Vernon" id="Mount_Vernon"></a>Mount Vernon.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Subdued and sad, I trod the place<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where he, the hero, lived and died;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where, long-entombed beneath the shade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By willow bough and cypress made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The peaceful scene with verdure rife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He and the partner of his life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beloved of every land and race,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Are sleeping side by side.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The summer solstice at its height<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Reflected from Potomac's tide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A glare of light, and through the trees<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Intensified the Southern breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That dallied, in the deep ravines,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With graceful ferns and evergreens,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While Northern cheeks so strangely white<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Grew dark as Nubia's pride.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What must this homestead once have been<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In boundless hospitality,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Greene or Putnam may have met<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The host who welcomed Lafayette,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or when Pulaski, honored guest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Accepted shelter, food and rest,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg&nbsp;129]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">While rank and talent gathered in<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its banquet hall of luxury!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What comfort, cheer, and kind intent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The weary stranger oft hath known<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When she, its mistress, fair and good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reigned here in peerless womanhood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When soft, shy maiden fancy gave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Encouragement to soldiers brave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Washington his presence lent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To grace its bright hearthstone!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O beautiful Mount Vernon home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">The Mecca of our long desire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of more than passing interest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To North and South, to East and West,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To all Columbia's children free<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A precious, priceless legacy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thine altar-shrine, as pilgrims come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rekindles patriot fire!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg&nbsp;130]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="A_Prisoner" id="A_Prisoner"></a>A Prisoner.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where I can see him all day long<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hear his wild, spontaneous song,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Before my window in his cage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">A blithe canary sits and swings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And circles round on golden wings;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And startles all the vicinage<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">When from his china tankard<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">He takes a dainty drink<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">To clear his throat<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">For as sweet a note<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">As ever yet was caroled<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">By lark or bobolink.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sometimes he drops his pretty head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seems to be dispirited,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And then his little mistress says:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">"Poor Dickie misses his chickweed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Or else I've fed him musty seed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As stale as last year's oranges!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But all the time I wonder<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">If we half comprehend<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">In sweet song-words<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">The thought of birds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Or why so oft their raptures<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">In sudden silence end.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg&nbsp;131]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">They do not pine for forest wilds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within the "blue Canary isles,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As exiles from their native home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For in a foreign domicile<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">They first essayed their gamut-trill<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beneath a cage's gilded dome;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But maybe some sad throbbing<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Betimes their spirits stirs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Who love as we<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Dear liberty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That they, admired and petted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Are only&mdash;prisoners.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Cuba" id="Cuba"></a>Cuba.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As one long struggling to be free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O suffering isle! we look to thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In sympathy and deep desire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That thy fair borders yet shall hold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A people happy, self-controlled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Saved and exalted&mdash;as by fire.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Burning like thine own tropic heat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thousands of lips afar repeat<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The story of thy wrongs and woes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While argosies to thee shall bear,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg&nbsp;132]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Of men and money everywhere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Strength to withstand thy stubborn foes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hispaniola waves her plume<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Defiant over many a tomb<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where sleep thy sons, the true and brave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, lo! an army coming on<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The places fill of heroes gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For liberty their lives who gave.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The nations wait to hear thy shout<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of "Independence!" ringing out,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Chief of the Antilles, what wilt thou?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Buffets and gyves from your effete<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old monarchy dilapidate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or freedom's laurels for thy brow?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In man's extremity it is<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Heaven's opportunities<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shine forth like jewels from the mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, Cuba, in thy hour of need,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With vision clear the tokens read<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And trust for aid that power divine.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg&nbsp;133]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="The_Sangamon_River" id="The_Sangamon_River"></a>The Sangamon River.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O sunny Sangamon! thy name to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soft-syllabled like some sweet melody,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Familiar is since adolescent years<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As household phrases ringing in my ears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its measured cadence sounding to and fro<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the dim corridors of long ago.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There was a time in happy days gone by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That rosy interval of youth, when I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The scholar ardent early learned to trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great tributaries to their starting place;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thine some prairie hollow obsolete<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose name how few remember or repeat.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like thee, meandering, yet wafted back<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From distant hearth and lonely bivouac,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From strange vicissitudes in other lands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From half-wrought labors and unfinished plans<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I come, in thy cool depths my brow to lave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rest a moment by thy silver wave.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But, ah! what means thy muddy, muggy hue?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thought thee limpid as yon ether blue;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thought an angel's wing might dip below<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy sparkling surface and be white as snow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And of thy current I had dared to drink<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If not as one imbibing draughts of ink.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg&nbsp;134]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Has some rough element of horrid clay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That spoils the earth like lava beds, they say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come sliding down, as avalanches do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thy fair bosom percolated through?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or some apothecary's compound vile<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Polluted thee so many a murky mile?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why not, proud State, beneficence insure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Selling thy soil or giving to the poor?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For sad it is that dust of Illinois,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With coal and compost its conjoint alloy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A morceau washed from Mississippi's mouth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should build up acres for our neighbors south.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">River! I grieve, but not for loss of dirt&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once stainless, just because of what thou wert.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus on thy banks I linger and reflect<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, surely as all waterways connect,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forever flowing onward to the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall the great billow thy redemption be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now, dear Sangamon, farewell! I wait<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On that Elysian scene to meditate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, separated from the dregs of earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Life's stream shall sweeter be, of better worth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, like the ocean with its restless tide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By its own action cleansed and purified.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg&nbsp;135]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Syringas" id="Syringas"></a>Syringas.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The smallest flower beside my path,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In loveliness of bloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some element of comfort hath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To rid my heart of gloom;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But these, of spotless purity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And fragrant as the rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As sad a sight recall to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As time shall e'er disclose.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, there are pictures on the brain<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sometimes by shadows made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till dust is blent with dust again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That never, never fade;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And things supremely bright and fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As ever known in life<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suggest the darkness of despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And sanguinary strife.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I shut my eyes; 'tis all in vain&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The battle-field appears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And one among the thousands slain<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In manhood's brilliant years;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An elbow pillowing his head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And on the crimson sand<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg&nbsp;136]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Syringa-blooms, distained and dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Within his rigid hand.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Could she foresee, who from the stem<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Had plucked that little spray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of flowers, that he would cherish them<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unto his dying day?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Give these to M&mdash;&mdash;;&mdash;'tis almost night&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And tell her&mdash;that&mdash;I love&mdash;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alas! the letter he would write<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was finished up above.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And so, with each recurring spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On Decoration day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When to our heroes' graves we bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The blossom-wealth of May,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While martial strains are soft and low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And music seems a prayer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto a hallowed spot I go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And leave syringas there.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg&nbsp;137]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Storm-bound" id="Storm-bound"></a>Storm-bound.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My careful plans all storm-subdued,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In disappointing solitude<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The weary hours began;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And scarce I deemed when time had sped,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Marked only by the passing tread<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of some pedestrian.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But with the morrow's tranquil dawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fairy scene I looked upon<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That filled me with delight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far-reaching from my own abode,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world in matchless splendor glowed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Arrayed in spotless white.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The surface of the hillside slope<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gleamed in my farthest vision's scope<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Like opalescent stone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rich jewels hung on every tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose crystalline transparency<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Golconda's gems outshone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beyond the line where wayside posts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stood up, like fear-inspiring ghosts<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of awful form and mien,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A mansion tall, my neighbor's pride,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg&nbsp;138]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">A seeming castle fortified,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Uprose in wondrous sheen.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The evergreens loomed up before<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My staunch and storm-defying door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Like snowy palaces<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That one dare only penetrate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With reverence&mdash;as at Heaven's gate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Awed by its mysteries.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The apple trees' extended arms<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upheld a thousand varied charms;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The curious tracery<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of trellised grapevine seemed to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A rare network of filigree<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In silver drapery.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And I no longer thought it hard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From favorite pursuits debarred,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Nor gazed with rueful face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For every object seemed to be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Invested with the witchery<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of magic art and grace.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And, though a multitude of cares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perplexing, profitless affairs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Absorbed the hours, it seems<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg&nbsp;139]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">That on the golden steps of thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I mounted heavenward, and wrought<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Out many hopeful schemes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus every day, though it may span<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gulf wherein some cherished plan<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Lies disarranged and crossed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If, ere its close, we shall have trod<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The path that leads us nearer God,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Cannot be counted lost.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Master_of_the_Grange" id="The_Master_of_the_Grange"></a>The Master of the Grange.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The type of enterprise is he,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of sense and thrift and toil;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who reckons less on pedigree<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than rich, productive soil;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And no "blue blood"&mdash;if such there be&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His veins can ever spoil.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And yet on blood his heart is set;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He has his sacred cow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some Alderney or Jersey pet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The mistress of the mow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His favorite pig is (by brevet)<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Lord Suffolk"&mdash;of the slough.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg&nbsp;140]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To points of stock is he alive<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As keenest cattle king;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A thoroughbred he deigns to drive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But not a mongrel thing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The very bees within his hive<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Are crossed&mdash;without a sting.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If apple-boughs drop pumpkins and<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tomatoes grow on trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is because his grafting hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Has so diverted these<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That alien shoots with native stand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like twin-born Siamese.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No neater farm a nabob owns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its care his chief employ,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To find fertility in bones<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And briers to destroy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where once he lightly skipped the stones<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A whistling, happy boy.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The ancient plough and awkward flail<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He banished long ago;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The zigzag fence with ponderous rail<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He dares to overthrow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wields, with sinews strong and hale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The latest style of hoe.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg&nbsp;141]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The household, founded as it were<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the Decalogue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He classes with the minister,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The rural pedagogue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as a sort of angel-cur<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Regards his spotted dog.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His wife reviews the magazines,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His children lead the school,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He tries a thousand new machines<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">(And keeps his temper cool),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But bristles at Kentucky jeans,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And her impressive mule.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With Science letting down the bars,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Enlightening ignorance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enigmas deeper than the stars<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He solves as by a glance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And raises cinnamon cigars<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From poor tobacco plants!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By no decree of fashion dressed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And busier than Fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The student-farmer keeps abreast<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With mighty men of state,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And treasures, like his Sunday vest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The motto "Educate!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg&nbsp;142]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Beyond encircling hills of blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where I may never range,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This monarch in his realm I view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of title new and strange,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make profound obeisance to<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"The Master of the Grange."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_Friend_Indeed" id="A_Friend_Indeed"></a>A Friend Indeed.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If every friend who meditates<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In soft, unspoken thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With winning courtesy and tact<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The doing of a kindly act<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To cheer some lonely lot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were like the friend of whom I dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then hardship but a myth would seem.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If sympathy were always thus<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Oblivious of space,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, like the tendrils of the vine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could just as lovingly incline<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To one in distant place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twould draw the world together so<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Might none the name of stranger know.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg&nbsp;143]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">If every throb responsive that<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My ardent spirit thrills<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could, like the skylark's ecstasy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be vocal in sweet melody,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Beyond dividing hills<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In octaves of the atmosphere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were music wafted to his ear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If every friendship were like one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">So helpful and so true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To other hearts as sad as mine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twould bring the joy so near divine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And hope revive anew;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So life's dull path would it illume,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And radiate beyond the tomb.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Needed_One" id="The_Needed_One"></a>The Needed One.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Twas not rare versatility,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor gift of poesy or art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor piquant, sparkling <i>jeux d'esprit</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Which at the call of fancy come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That touched the universal heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And won the world's encomium.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg&nbsp;144]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">It was not beauty's potent charm;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For admiration followed her<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unmindful of the rounded arm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The fair complexion's brilliancy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If form and features shapely were<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Or lacked the grace of symmetry.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So not by marked, especial power<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She grew endeared to human thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But just because, in trial's hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Was loving service to be done<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or sympathy and counsel sought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">She made herself the needed one.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Oh, great the blessedness must be<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of heart and hand and brain alert<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In projects wise and manifold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Impending sorrow to avert<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That duller natures fail to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or stand aloof severe and cold!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And who shall doubt that this is why<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In womanhood's florescent prime<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She passed the portals of the sky?<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">As if a life thus truly given<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To purpose pure and act sublime<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Were needed also up in Heaven.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg&nbsp;145]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Thy_Will_Be_Done" id="Thy_Will_Be_Done"></a>"Thy Will Be Done."</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sometimes the silver cord of life<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is loosed at one brief stroke;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As when the elements at strife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Nature's wild contentions rife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Uproot the sturdy oak.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Or fell disease, in patience borne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Attenuates the frame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the meek sufferer, wan and worn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of energy and beauty shorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Death's sweet release would claim.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By instant touch or long decay<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is dissolution wrought;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, lost to earth, the grave and gay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The young and old who pass away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Abide in hallowed thought.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In dear regard together drawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Affection's debt to pay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fond greetings we exchange at dawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With one who, ere the day be gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is bruised and lifeless clay.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg&nbsp;146]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">O thou in manhood's morning-time<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With health and hope elate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For whom in youth's enchanting prime<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bells of promise seemed to chime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We mourn thy early fate!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To us how sudden&mdash;yet to thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Perchance God kindly gave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some warning, ere the fatal key<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unlocked the door of mystery<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That lies beyond the grave.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then let us hope that one who found<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Such favor, trust, and love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cordial praise from all around,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For rare fidelity renowned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Found favor, too, above.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So "all is well," though swift or slow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">God's will be done; and we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Draw near to him, for close and low<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath his chastening hand, the blow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Will fall less heavily.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg&nbsp;147]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Snowflakes" id="Snowflakes"></a>Snowflakes.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Of specious weight like tissue freight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The snowflakes are&mdash;in sparkle pure<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">As the rich <i>parure</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lovely queen were proud to wear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As volatile, as fine and rare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As thistle-down dispersed in air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Or bits of filmy lace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like nature's tear-drops strewn around<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That beautify and warm the ground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But melt upon my face.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">A ton or more against my door<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They lie, and look, in form and tint,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Like piles of lint,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When war's alarum roused the land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wrought out by woman's loyal hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From linen rag, and robe, and band&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">From garments cast aside&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In hospital, on battle-field<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shattered limb that bound and healed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Or stanched life's ebbing tide.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">I see the gleam of lake and stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The silver glint in frost portrayed<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of the bright cascade;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg&nbsp;148]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">They bear the moisture of marshes dank,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dew of the lawn, or river bank,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The river itself by sunlight drank;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">All these in frigid air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That strange alembic, crystallize<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In odd, fantastic shape and size<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Like gems of dazzling glare.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Oh, of the snow such fancies grow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Till thought is lost in wandering,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And wondering<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If portions of their drapery<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The angel beings, sad to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So much of earth's impurity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Have dropped from clearer skies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As snowflakes, hiding stain and blot<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make this world a fairer spot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And more like Paradise.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg&nbsp;149]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Monadnock" id="Monadnock"></a>Monadnock.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One summer time, with love imbued,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To climb the mount, explore the wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or rove from pole to pole,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon Monadnock's brow I stood&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A lone, adventurous soul.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beyond the Bay State border-line<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sweeping vista, grand and fine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Embraced the Berkshire hills;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Embosomed hamlets, clumps of pine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And country domiciles.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Afar, Mount Tom, in verdantique,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Holyoke, twin companion peak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Appeared gigantic cones;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The burning sunlight scorched my cheek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And seemed to melt the stones.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beneath a gnarled and twisted root<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I loosed a pebble with my foot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That leaped the precipice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like an arrow seemed to shoot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Adown the deep abyss.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg&nbsp;150]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Beside the base that solstice day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A city chap who chanced to stray<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was shooting somewhat, too;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, when the nugget sped that way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His firelock quickly drew.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">While right and left he sought the quail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or the timid hare that crossed his trail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rang out a wild "Ha! ha!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That might have turned the visage pale<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of a red-skinned Chippewa.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The game was his&mdash;for it made him quail;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He flung his gun and fled the vale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The mountain-dwellers say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As though pursued by a comet's tail&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And disappeared for aye.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg&nbsp;151]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Never_Had_a_Chance" id="Never_Had_a_Chance"></a>Never Had a Chance</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fresh from piano, school, and books,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A happy girl with rosy looks<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Young Plowman wooed and won; despite<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her pretty, pouting prejudice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her deep distaste for rural bliss<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or countryfied delight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Romance through all her nature ran&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Indeed, to wed a husband-man<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Suffused her ardent maiden thought;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But lofty fancy dwelt upon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A new "Queen Anne," a terraced lawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A city's corner lot.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her lily fingers that so well<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could paint a scene&mdash;in aquarelle&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or broider plush with leaves and vines,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No more of real labor knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than waxen petals of the dew<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On native eglantines.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Anon, with lapse of tender ways<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That emphasized the courting days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The housewife in her apron blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As mistress of her new abode,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg&nbsp;152]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">By frequent lachrymations showed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her grief and blunders too.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The butter-making, bread and cheese,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The old folks difficult to please,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The harvest hands&mdash;voracious bears!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The infantry, a parent's pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By duos proudly classified:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So multiplied her cares.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The treadmill round of duties that<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Makes any life inane and flat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Without diversion sandwiched in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The drudgery, the overplus<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of toil and trouble arduous,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Were rugged discipline.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What time for books and music, when<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lambs were bleating in their pen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The chickens peeping at the door;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rodent gnawing at the churn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The buckwheat wafers crisped to burn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The kettle boiling o'er?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To <i>hers</i>, so far between and few,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What resting-spells the farmer knew!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What intervals for culture! and<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg&nbsp;153]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">When intellect assumed the race,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He peerless held the foremost place&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No nobler in the land.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By virtue of exalted rank<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"The brilliant senator from&mdash;&mdash;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Adorns society's expanse;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While by his side with folded hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her beauty gone, the woman stands<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who "never had a chance."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Sorrow_and_Joy" id="Sorrow_and_Joy"></a>Sorrow and Joy.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In sad procession borne away<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To sound of funeral knell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Affection's tribute thus we pay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in earth's shelt'ring bosom lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The friend to whom but yesterday<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We gave the sad farewell.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But scarce the melancholy sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Has died upon the ear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before the mournful dirge is drowned<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By wedding-anthems' glad rebound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That stir the solemn air around<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With merry peals and clear.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg&nbsp;154]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Within our home doth gladness tread<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So closely upon grief<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, in the tears of sorrow shed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'er our beloved, lamented dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We see reflected joy instead<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That gives a blest relief.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A father and a daughter gone<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beyond our fireside&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For one we loved and leaned upon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The skillful archer Death had drawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His bow; and one in life's sweet dawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Went out a happy bride.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We gave to Heaven, in manhood's prime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Him whose brave strength and worth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Life's rugged steeps had taught to climb;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And her, for whom a tuneful rhyme<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bells of promise sweetly chime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We consecrate to earth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus each a mystic path, untried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Has entered&mdash;God is just!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We leave with him our friend who died,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With him we leave our fair young bride<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who shall no more with us abide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And in His goodness trust.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg&nbsp;155]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, life and death, uncertainty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bright hopes and anxious fears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Commingle so bewilderingly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That perfect joy we may not see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till all shall reunited be<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beyond this vale of tears!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Watch_Hill" id="Watch_Hill"></a>Watch Hill.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fair summer home peninsula,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Enriched by every breeze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From fragrant islands, wafted far<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Across the sunny seas!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A profile rare! a height of land<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Outlined 'gainst heaven's blue<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With bolder touch than skillful hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of artist ever drew.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In "mountain billows" that parade<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The grandeur of the deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is His supremacy displayed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose hands the waters keep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No sweep of waves, in broad expanse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With wild, weird melody,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg&nbsp;156]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall thus an unseen world enhance&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"There shall be no more sea!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A wealth of joy-perfected days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where glorious sunset dyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Resplendent in declining rays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Surpass Italia's skies!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Proud caravansaries that compete<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In studied arts to please<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The multitude, with restless feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From earth's antipodes!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A motley company astray:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sojourner for health,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The grave, serene, the <i>devot&eacute;e</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of fashion and of wealth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Artistic cottages upreared<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In beauty, strength, and skill&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The happy, healthful homes endeared<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To lovers of Watch Hill!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A golden crown adorns the spot;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Forever blessed be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hand beneficent that wrought<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"A temple by the sea!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg&nbsp;157]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">A star in some bright diadem<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In glory it shall be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For truly, "I will honor them,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Saith God, "who honor me."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When Christians meet to praise and pray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May feet that never trod<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sanctuary learn the way<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unto the house of God.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Glad p&aelig;ans down the centuries<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With joy the world shall thrill:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"The Lord, revered and honored, is<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The glory of Watch Hill!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Supplicating" id="Supplicating"></a>Supplicating.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One morn I looked across the way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And saw you fling your window wide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To welcome in the breath of May<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In breezes from the mountain-side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And greet the sunlight's earliest ray<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With happy look and satisfied.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The pansies on your window-sill<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In terra cotta flowerpot,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg&nbsp;158]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Like royal gold and purple frill<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the stony casement wrought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Adorned your tasteful domicile<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And claimed your time and care and thought.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In cherry trees the robins sang<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their sweetest carol to your ear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shouts of merry children rang<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Out on the dewy atmosphere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But to my heart there came a pang<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That my salute you did not hear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I envied then the favored breeze<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That dallied with your flowing hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Begrudged the songsters in the trees<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And longed to be a flow'ret fair&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some favorite blossom like heartease&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Within your miniature parterre.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O heart, that finds such ample room<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Within thy confines broad and true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For song and sunshine and perfume<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And all benign impulses&mdash;go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I pray thee, dissipate my gloom&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And take in thy petitioner too!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg&nbsp;159]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Honest_John" id="Honest_John"></a>"Honest John."</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He was a man whose lot was cast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As some might think, in lines severe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In humble toil whose life was passed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From week to week, from year to year;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet, by wife and children blessed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He labored on with cheerful zest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As one revered and set apart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A quaint, unusual name he bore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That well became the frugal heart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While plain habiliments he wore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without a tremor or a chill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At thought of some uncanceled bill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A king might not disdain to wear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The title so appropriate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To one who never sought to share<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Exalted station 'mong the great,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor cared if on the scroll of fame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were never traced his worthy name.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As bound by honor's righteous law<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In strictest rectitude he wrought&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The man who calmly, clearly saw<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His duty, and who dallied not&mdash;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg&nbsp;160]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To garner life's necessities<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For those whose comfort heightened his.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The parent bird its brood protects<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As fledglings in their downy nest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until a Power their flight directs<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From trial trips to distant quest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through trackless zones of ether blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For bird companions strange and new.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But ere his babes from prattlers grew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon his knee or by his side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To womanhood and manhood true&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Too soon we thought&mdash;the father died;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How could we know, when Death was nigh<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those little wings were taught to fly?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Another name his boyhood knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So seldom heard that lapse of years<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had made it seem a thing untrue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unmusical to friendly ears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus his appellation odd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His passport was where'er he trod.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So long, on every lip and tongue<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As if by universal whim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To him had his cognomen clung,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg&nbsp;161]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">And like a garment fitted him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That angels even must have heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of one, like them, in love preferred.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when he came to Heaven's door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To Peter's self or acolyte,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The holy warder looking o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"'Tis 'Honest John!'" he said aright;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And his pilgrim spirit passed within<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because his walk with God had been.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Bushnell_Park" id="Bushnell_Park"></a>Bushnell Park.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweet resting place! that long hath been<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A boon Elysian 'mid the din<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of city life, 'mid city smoke;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where weary ones who toil and spin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have turned aside as to an inn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose swinging sign a welcome spoke;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where misanthropes find medicine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In peals of laughter that begin<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With ancient, resurrected joke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or ready wit of harlequin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where children, free from discipline,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Take on Diversion's easy yoke.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg&nbsp;162]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair oasis! to view aright<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its charming paths, its sloping height,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its beautiful and broad expanse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must one approach in witching night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, like abodes of airy sprite<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Revealed unto the wondering glance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'erflooded with electric light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than Luna's beams more dazzling bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Illumined nooks the scene enhance;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While zephyrs mischievous unite<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The timid stroller to affright<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By swaying boughs in shadow dance.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Capitol that crowns the hill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Boreas sweeps with icy chill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A masterpiece of studied art<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Conceived by genius versatile<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fashioned with unerring skill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O'erlooks the busy, crowded mart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, like a kingly domicile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its burnished dome and sculpture thrill<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With admiration every heart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And strangers pause beyond the rill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To view its grandeur, lingering still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And with reluctant steps depart.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg&nbsp;163]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">O Bushnell Park, memorial soil!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That marks success (though near to foil)<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of one who with prophetic ken,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With honest zeal and ceaseless toil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Opposed the vandal wish to spoil<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This lovely bit of vale and glen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, 'mid discussion and turmoil<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of adverse minds, did not recoil<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From vigorous stroke of tongue and pen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then, till passion ceased to boil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On troubled waters poured out oil<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And to his plans won other men.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So when, fatigued and overwrought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In summer time when skies are hot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We seek its verdant, velvet sward,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh may we hold in reverent thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The debt we owe, forgetting not<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The spirit passed to its reward<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of one whose giant soul was fraught<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With true benignity&mdash;who sought<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To touch humanity's quick chord<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With fire from Heaven's altar brought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That love and zeal and being caught<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As inspiration from the Lord.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg&nbsp;164]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="At_General_Grants_Tomb" id="At_General_Grants_Tomb"></a>At General Grant's Tomb.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Afar my loyal spirit stirred<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At mention of his name;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Afar in ringing notes I heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The clarion voice of fame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So to his tomb, hope long deferred,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With reverent step I came.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The pilgrim muse revivified<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A half-forgotten day:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A slow procession, tearful-eyed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In funeral array,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from MacGregor's lonely side<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A hero borne away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here sleeps he now, where long ago<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hath nature raised his mound:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A mighty channel far below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Divided hills around,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where countless thousands come and go<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As to a shrine renowned.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With awe do strangers' eyes discern<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A casket mid the green<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Luxuriance of flower and fern;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Airy and cool and clean,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg&nbsp;165]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Unchanged from spring to spring's return,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This charnel chamber scene.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His country's weal his care and thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beloved in peace was he;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Magnanimous in war&mdash;shall not<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The nation grateful be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And render at his burial spot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A testimonial free?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, let us, ere the days come on<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When energy is spent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To him, the silent soldier gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Statesman and President,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On Riverside's majestic lawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Uprear a monument.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg&nbsp;166]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Be_Courteous" id="Be_Courteous"></a>"Be Courteous."</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Ah, yes; why not? Is one more adventitious born<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than others&mdash;shekels richer, honors fuller, and all that&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That he can pass his fellows by with lofty scorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor even show this slight regard&mdash;the lifting of the hat?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Why prate of social status, class, or rank when earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is common tenting-ground, the heritage of all mankind?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Except in purity is there no royal birth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No true nobility but nobleness of heart and mind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Life is so short&mdash;one journey long, a pilgrimage<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That we cannot retrace, nor ever pass this way again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then why not turn for some poor soul a brighter page,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And line the way with courtesies unto our fellow-men?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">To give a graceful word or smile, or lend a hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To one downcast and trembling on the borders of despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May help him to look up and better understand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why God has made the sky so bright and put the rainbow there.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg&nbsp;167]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Be courteous! is nothing helpful half so cheap<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As kind urbanity that doth so much of gladness bring;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">More precious too than all the treasures of the deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Making the winter of discomfort seem like joyous spring.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Be courteous and gentle! be serene and good!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those grand ennobling and enduring virtues all may claim;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of each may it be said, of the great multitude:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh that my life were more like such an one of blessed fame!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Is it that over-crowding, care, anxiety,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vortex of pleasure, the incessant round of toil and strife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beget indifference, repressing love and sympathy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till we forget the beautiful amenities of life?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Then cometh a sad day, when with a poignant sting<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lost opportunities shall speak to us reproachfully;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And ours shall be the disapproval of the King&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Discourteous to these, my creatures, ye have wounded Me."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg&nbsp;168]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="A_New_Suit" id="A_New_Suit"></a>A New Suit.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The artist and the loom unseen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In textures soft as <i>crepe de chine</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spring weaves her royal robe of green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With grasses fringed and daisies dotted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With furzy tufts like mosses fine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And showy clumps of eglantine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With dainty shrub and creeping vine<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the verdant fabric knotted.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, winter takes our love away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For ashen hues of sober gray!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So when the blooming, blushing May<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Comes out in bodice, cap, and kirtle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With arbutus her corsage laced,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And roses clinging to her waist,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We crown her charming queen of taste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her chaplet-wreath of modest myrtle.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For eighteen centuries and more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her fairy hands have modeled o'er<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The same habiliments she wore<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At her primeval coronation;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And still the pattern exquisite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For every age a perfect fit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In every land the favorite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Elicits world-wide admiration.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg&nbsp;169]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Gay butterflies of fashion, you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who wear a suit a year or two,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then agitate for something new,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Look at Regina, the patrician!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her cleverness is more than gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who so transforms from fabrics old<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The things a marvel to behold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And glories in the exhibition.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why worry for an overdress,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The acme of luxuriousness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beyond all envy to possess,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Renewed as oft as lambkin fleeces!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why flutter round in pretty pique<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To follow style's capricious freak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To match <i>pongee</i> or <i>moire antique</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And break your peace in hopeless pieces?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O mantua-maker, costumer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fair-robed wearer! study <i>her</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And imitate the conjurer<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So prettily economizing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without demur, regret, or pout,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who always puts the bright side out<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And never frets at all about<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The world's <i>penchant</i> for criticizing.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg&nbsp;170]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="The_Little_Clock" id="The_Little_Clock"></a>The Little Clock.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Kind friend, you do not know how much<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I prize this time-ly treasure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So dainty, diligent, and such<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A constant source of pleasure.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The man of brains who could invent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So true a chrono-meter<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has set a charming precedent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And made a good repeater.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It speaks with clear, commanding clicks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Suggestive of the donor;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And 'tends to business&mdash;never sick<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A bit more than the owner.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It goes when I do; when I stop<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">(As by the dial showing)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It never lets a second drop,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But simply keeps on going.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It tells me when I am to eat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which isn't necessary;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When food with me is obsolete,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I'll be a reliquary.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg&nbsp;171]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">It tells me early when to rise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And bother with <i>dejeuner</i>;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To sally forth and exercise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And fill up my <i>porte-monnaie</i>.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I hear it talking in the night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As if it were in clover:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You've never lost your appetite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You've never been run over.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It makes me wish that I might live<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">More faithful unto duty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And unto others something give<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like this bijou of beauty.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It holds its hands before its face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So very modest is it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So like the people in the place<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where I delight to visit.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sometimes I wonder if it cries<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The course I am pursuing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because it has so many I-s<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And must know what I'm doing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sometimes I fear it makes me cry&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No matter, and no pity&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Afraid at last I'll have to die<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In some far, foreign city.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg&nbsp;172]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">It travels with me everywhere<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And chirrups like a cricket;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if it said with anxious air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Don't lose your tick-tick-ticket!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Companion of my loneliness<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Along my journey westward,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It never leaves me comfortless,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But has the last and best word.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I would not spoil its lovely face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And so I go behind it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hold it like a china vase,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So careful when I wind it.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A clock is always excellent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That has its label on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And proves a fine advertisement<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For Waterbury, Conn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Those Yankees&mdash;ah! they never shun<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A chance to make a dime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And counterfeit the very sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In keeping "Standard Time."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah, well! the little clock has proved<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The best of all bonanzas;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus my happy heart is moved<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To these effusive stanzas.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg&nbsp;173]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Improvement" id="Improvement"></a>Improvement.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Along the avenue I pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Huge piles of wood and stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And glance at each amorphous mass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose cumbrous weight has crushed the grass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With half resentful groan.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Say I: "O labor, to despoil<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some lovely forest scene,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or at the granite stratum toil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And desecrate whole roods of soil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is vandal-like and mean!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Than ever to disfigure thus<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Our prairie garden-land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me consort with Cerberus,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be chained to crags precipitous,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or seek an alien strand."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But while this pining, pouting Muse<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The interval ignores,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deft industry, no time to lose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Contrives and carries, hoists and hews,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And symmetry restores.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Behold! of rock and pile and board<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A modern miracle,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg&nbsp;174]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">My neighbor's dwelling, roofed and floored,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That rapid grew as Jonah's gourd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And far more beautiful.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The artisan's receding gait<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Has brushed the chips away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where innocence shall recreate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or like the flowers grow, and wait<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The balminess of May.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An arid spot, where careless feet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Have long been wont to roam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where cattle grazed, as if to eat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were life's delicious, richest treat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Becomes a charming home.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O man primeval! hadst thou known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ere rude hands scooped thy grave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Homestead Act, or Building Loan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou wouldst have quite disdained to own<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A rugged cliff or cave.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now I see how skill and art<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May cleave fair nature through,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Disintegrate her breathing heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to the tissues torn impart<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A use and beauty new.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg&nbsp;175]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And this improvement is, to turn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The things which God has given<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To their best purpose, as we learn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make the place where we sojourn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Homelike and more like Heaven.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="On_Bancroft_Height" id="On_Bancroft_Height"></a>On Bancroft Height.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On Bancroft height Aurora's face<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shines brighter than a star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As stepping forth in dewy grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The gates of day unbar;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lo! the firmament, the hills,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the vales that intervene&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Creation's self with gladness thrills<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To greet the matin queen.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On Bancroft height the atmosphere<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is but an endless waft<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of life's elixir, pure and clear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As mortal ever quaffed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And such the sweet salubrity<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of air and altitude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is banished many a malady<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And suffering subdued.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg&nbsp;176]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">On Bancroft height the sunset glow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When day departing dies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Outrivals all that tourists know<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of famed Italian skies;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And happy dwellers round about<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who view the scene aright<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In admiration grow devout<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And laud the Lord of light.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Round Bancroft height rich memories<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Commingle earth's affairs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Among the world's celebrities,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of him whose name it bears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The scholar-wise compatriot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who left to later men<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The grand achievements unforgot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of that historic pen.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fair Bancroft height revisited<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When all the land is white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A halo crowns its noble head<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Impelling fresh delight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The daring wish in winter-time<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The blizzard to defy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those shining slippery slopes to climb<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Up nearer to the sky.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg&nbsp;177]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Though Boreas abrade the cheek<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With buffetings of snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He gives a vigor that the weak<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And languid never know;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with rejuvenescent thrill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like children everywhere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bestirs the rhapsody, the will<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To make a snow-man there.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On Bancroft height and Bancroft tower<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Such vistas charm the eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twere life's consummate, glorious hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But to behold&mdash;and die;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet in the sparkle and the glow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is earth so very fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spirit lingers, loath to go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And dreams of heaven&mdash;up there.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg&nbsp;178]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="A_Reformer" id="A_Reformer"></a>A Reformer.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When I was young, my heart elate<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With ardent notions warm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thirsted to inaugurate<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A spirit of reform;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The universe was all awry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Philosophy despite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mundane things disjointed I<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was bound to set aright.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My mind conceived a million plans,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For Hope was brave and strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But dared not with unaided hands<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Combat a giant wrong;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So with caress I sought to coax<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Those who had humored me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In infancy&mdash;the dear old folks&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gain their sympathy.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But quarreling with extant laws<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They would have deemed a shame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who clung to error, just because<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their fathers did the same.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sought in Pleasure's gilded halls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where grace and beauty stirred<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At revelry's impetuous calls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To make my projects heard.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg&nbsp;179]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Then turned to stately palaces<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of luxury and ease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where wealth's absorbing object was<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The master's whim to please;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And spoke of evils unredressed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of danger yet to be&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They only answered, like the rest:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"But what is that to me?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And even pious <i>devot&eacute;es</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whom sacred walls immure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Condemned me (as by feeble praise)&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What more could I endure?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down by the stream, so pure and clear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That sunbeams paused to drink,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In loneliness and grief sincere<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I pressed its grassy brink.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thick darkness seemed to veil the day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beyond a realm of tears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Utopia's land of promise lay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And not till later years<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I learned this lesson&mdash;that to win<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Results from labor sure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Reformers" always must begin<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Among the lowly poor.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg&nbsp;180]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">For they whose lot privation is<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And whose delights are few,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose aggregate of miseries<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is want of something new,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The measure of whose happiness<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is but an empty cup,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For every novelty will press<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Alert to fill it up.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="bbox">
+Transcriber's Notes:<br />
+Page 27: Changed Galiee to Galilee (Printer's Error)<br />
+Page 47: Indented 1st stanza to match others<br />
+Page 173: Changed prarie to prairie (Printer's Error)<br />
+</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Hattie Howard
+
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+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Hattie Howard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Poems
+       Vol. IV
+
+Author: Hattie Howard
+
+Release Date: August 23, 2006 [EBook #19109]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Joseph R. Hauser and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: In Celestial realms where knowledge hath no end.
+  HARRY HOWARD,
+  STUDENT.
+  "Blessed are the pure in heart."]
+
+
+
+
+POEMS
+
+BY
+
+HATTIE HOWARD.
+
+AUTHOR OF "POVERTY VS. PAUPERISM," "OUR GIRLS," "VIVE LA
+REPUBLIQUE," "KEEPING A SECRET," "LITTLE JO,"
+AND OTHER STORIES.
+
+VOL. IV.
+
+
+  Happy whoever writes a book
+  On which the world shall kindly look,
+  And who, when many a year has flown--
+  The volume worn, the author gone--
+  Revere, admire, and still read on.
+
+
+HARTFORD PRESS:
+THE CASE, LOCKWOOD & BRAINARD COMPANY.
+1904.
+
+
+
+
+EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES OF A FORMER VOLUME.
+
+     "We find these poems of sentiment by Hattie Howard entirely
+     natural, spontaneous, direct, rhythmical, and free from ambitious
+     pretense. Many of the fanciful verses have a laugh at the end; and
+     the collection has altogether a sunny, hopeful spirit and will be
+     welcome in this time of generally morbid expression."
+
+     "This author's verse shows a hearty, wholesome, _human_ spirit,
+     sometimes overflowing into downright fun, and a straightforward
+     directness always. It is a pleasant book, sure to be welcomed by
+     all."
+
+     "These garnered gems reveal a genuine poetic faculty, and are
+     worthy their attractive setting. We give the book a hearty
+     welcome."
+
+     "Many of the poems abound in playful humor or tender touches of
+     sympathy which appeal to a refined feeling, and love for the good,
+     the true, and the beautiful."
+
+     "This poet's ear is so attuned to metric harmony that she must have
+     been born within sound of some osier-fringed brook leaping and
+     hurrying over its pebbly bed. There is a variety of subject and
+     treatment, sufficient for all tastes, and these are poems which
+     should be cherished."
+
+     "Lovers of good poetry will herald with pleasure this new and
+     attractive volume by the well-known authoress of Hartford. A wooing
+     sentiment and genial spirit seem to guide her in every train of
+     thought. Her book has received, and deserves, warm commendations of
+     the press."
+
+Copyright, 1904, BY HATTIE HOWARD.
+
+
+
+
+Contents.
+
+_FRONTISPIECE._
+                                 PAGE.
+
+  EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES,       2
+
+  "THE SALT OF THE EARTH,"           7
+
+  NOT GONE,                          9
+
+  LET US GIVE THANKS,               10
+
+  SONNET,                           11
+
+  A RAINY DAY,                      12
+
+  THE SUBWAY,                       16
+
+  THE APPLE TREE,                   18
+
+  TWO ROSES,                        21
+
+  THE TAXIDERMIST,                  23
+
+  EPITHALAMIUM,                     25
+
+  A FOWL AFFAIR,                    28
+
+  HOLIDAY HOME,                     31
+
+  RUTHA,                            34
+
+  THE STUDENT GONE,                 36
+
+  THE TOURIST,                      38
+
+  THE ANTIQUARIAN,                  40
+
+  POOR HOUSEKEEPING,                45
+
+  GOING TO TOBOG,                   47
+
+  "PASSER LE TEMPS,"                49
+
+  THE TORPEDO,                      50
+
+  MARGARET,                         51
+
+  CHRISTMAS BELLS,                  53
+
+  BY THE SEA,                       54
+
+  A SONG,                           55
+
+  IS IT APRIL?                      56
+
+  CHRISTMAS-TIDE,                   57
+
+  JANUARY, 1885,                    59
+
+  SWEET PEAS,                       61
+
+  THE SUMMER HOUSE,                 62
+
+  TO DIE IN AUTUMN,                 65
+
+  APPLE BLOSSOMS,                   67
+
+  WITHOUT A MINISTER,               68
+
+  INDIAN SUMMER,                    70
+
+  AUTUMN-TIME,                      72
+
+  THE BEAUTY OF NATURE,             74
+
+  "ALL THE RAGE,"                   76
+
+  MY MOTHER'S HAND,                 79
+
+  A LEAP YEAR EPISODE,              80
+
+  IF,                               83
+
+  PERFECT CHARACTER,                84
+
+  THE MIRACLE OF SPRING,            85
+
+  BERMUDA,                          86
+
+  THE CHARTER OAK,                  88
+
+  BLOSSOM-TIME,                     90
+
+  "ONE OF THE LEAST OF THESE,"      92
+
+  LIGHTNING-BUGS,                   94
+
+  OF HER WHO DIED,                  96
+
+  THANKSGIVING,                     98
+
+  RECEIVING SIGHT,                 100
+
+  REVENGE,                         102
+
+  ON THE COMMON,                   104
+
+  WOMAN'S HELP,                    106
+
+  TOBOGGANING,                     108
+
+  THE WOODS,                       110
+
+  LIKE SUMMER,                     112
+
+  SHERIDAN'S LAST RIDE,            114
+
+  A BIT OF GLADNESS,               116
+
+  THE CHARITY BALL,                118
+
+  THE BELL(E) OF BALTIMORE,        120
+
+  CHRISTMAS AT CHURCH,             122
+
+  MYSTERIOUS,                      124
+
+  "BE NOT ANXIOUS,"                126
+
+  MOUNT VERNON,                    128
+
+  A PRISONER,                      130
+
+  CUBA,                            131
+
+  THE SANGAMON RIVER,              133
+
+  SYRINGAS,                        135
+
+  STORM-BOUND,                     137
+
+  THE MASTER OF THE GRANGE,        139
+
+  A FRIEND INDEED,                 142
+
+  THE NEEDED ONE,                  143
+
+  "THY WILL BE DONE,"              145
+
+  SNOWFLAKES,                      147
+
+  MONADNOCK,                       149
+
+  NEVER HAD A CHANCE,              151
+
+  SORROW AND JOY,                  153
+
+  WATCH HILL,                      155
+
+  SUPPLICATING,                    157
+
+  "HONEST JOHN,"                   159
+
+  BUSHNELL PARK,                   161
+
+  AT GENERAL GRANT'S TOMB,         164
+
+  "BE COURTEOUS,"                  166
+
+  A NEW SUIT,                      168
+
+  THE LITTLE CLOCK,                170
+
+  IMPROVEMENT,                     173
+
+  ON BANCROFT HEIGHT,              175
+
+  A REFORMER,                      178
+
+
+
+Poems.
+
+
+
+
+"The Salt of the Earth."
+
+
+    The salt of the earth--what a meaningful phrase
+    From the lips of the Saviour, and one that conveys
+    A sense of the need of a substance saline
+    This pestilent sphere to refresh and refine,
+    And a healthful and happy condition secure
+    By making it pure as the ocean is pure.
+
+    In all the nomenclature known to the race,
+    In all appellations of people or place,
+    Was ever a name so befitting, so true
+    Of those who are seeking the wrong to undo,
+    With naught of the Pharisee's arrogant air
+    Their badge of discipleship humbly who wear?
+
+    Do beings, forsooth, fashioned out of the mold,
+    So secretly, strangely, those elements hold
+    That may be developed in goodness and grace
+    To shine in demeanor, in form and in face
+    Till they, by renewal of heavenly birth,
+    Shall merit their title--the salt of the earth?
+
+    To the landsman at home or the sailor at sea,
+    With nausea, scurvy, or canker maybe,
+    'Tis never in language to overexalt
+    The potent preservative virtue of salt--
+    A crystal commodity wholesome and good,
+    A cure for disease, and a savor for food.
+
+    Ah, the beasts of the wood and the fowls of the air
+    Know all of the need of this condiment rare,
+    Know well where the springs and the "salt-licks" abound,
+    Where streams salinaceous flow out of the ground;
+    And their cravings appease by sipping the brine
+    With more than the relish of topers at wine.
+
+    Our wants may be legion, our needs are but few,
+    And every known ill hath its remedy true;
+    'Tis ours to discover and give to mankind
+    Of hidden essentials the best that we find;
+    'Tis ours to eradicate error and sin,
+    And help to make better the place we are in.
+
+    If ever this world from corruption is free,
+    And righteousness reign in the kingdom to be,
+    Like salt in its simple and soluble way
+    Infusing malodor, preventing decay.
+    So human endeavor in action sublime
+    Must never relax till the finale of time.
+
+    To thousands discouraged this comforting truth
+    Appeals like the promise of infinite youth:
+    To know, as they labor like bees in the hive,
+    Yet do little more than keep goodness alive--
+    To know that the Master accredits their worth
+    As blessed disciples--"the salt of the earth."
+
+
+
+
+Not Gone.
+
+
+    They are not gone whose lives in beauty so unfolding
+      Have left their own sweet impress everywhere;
+    Like flowers, while we linger in beholding,
+      Diffusing fragrance on the summer air.
+
+    They are not gone, for grace and goodness can not perish,
+      But must develop in immortal bloom;
+    The viewless soul, the real self we love and cherish,
+      Shall live and flourish still beyond the tomb.
+
+    They are not gone though lost to observation,
+      And dispossessed of those dear forms of clay,
+    Though dust and ashes speak of desolation;
+      The spirit-presence--this is ours alway.
+
+
+
+
+Let Us Give Thanks.
+
+
+      If we have lived another year
+    And, counting friends by regiments
+    Who share our love and confidence,
+        Find no more broken ranks,
+        For this let us give thanks.
+
+      If, since the last Thanksgiving-time,
+    Have we been blessed with strength and health,
+    And added to our honest wealth,
+        Nor lost by broken banks,
+        For this would we give thanks.
+
+      If through adversity we trod,
+    Yet with serene and smiling face,
+    And trusted more to saving grace
+        Than charlatans and cranks,
+        For this let us give thanks.
+
+      If we have somehow worried through
+    The ups and downs along life's track,
+    And still undaunted can look back
+        And smile at Fortune's pranks,
+        For this would we give thanks.
+
+      If every page in our account
+    With God and man is fairly writ,
+    We care not who examines it,
+        With no suspicious blanks,
+        For this let us give thanks.
+
+
+
+
+Sonnet.
+
+
+    Upon my smile let none pass compliment
+      If it but gleam like an enchanting ray
+      Of sunshine caught from some sweet summer day,
+      In atmosphere of rose and jasmine scent
+    And breath of honeysuckles redolent,
+      When, with the birds that sing their lives away
+      In harmony, the treetops bend and sway,
+    And all the world with joy is eloquent.
+
+    But in that day of gloom when skies severe
+      Portend the tempest gathering overhead,
+    If by my face some token shall appear
+      Inspiring hope, dispelling darksome dread,
+      Oh, be the rapture mine that it be said,
+    "Her smile is like the rainbow, full of cheer."
+
+
+
+
+A Rainy Day.
+
+
+    Oh, what a blessed interval
+        A rainy day may be!
+    No lightning flash nor tempest roar,
+    But one incessant, steady pour
+        Of dripping melody;
+    When from their sheltering retreat
+    Go not with voluntary feet
+    The storm-beleaguered family,
+        Nor bird nor animal.
+
+    When business takes a little lull,
+        And gives the merchantman
+    A chance to seek domestic scenes,
+    To interview the magazines,
+        Convoke his growing clan,
+    The boys and girls almost unknown,
+    And get acquainted with his own;
+    As well the household budget scan,
+        Or write a canticle.
+
+    When farmer John ransacks the barn,
+        Hunts up the harness old--
+    Nigh twenty years since it was new--
+    Puts in an extra thong or two,
+        And hopes the thing will hold
+    Without that missing martingale
+    That bothered Dobbin, head and tail,
+    He, gentle equine, safe controlled
+        But by a twist of yarn.
+
+    When busy fingers may provide
+        A savory repast
+    To whet the languid appetite,
+    And give to eating a delight
+        Unknown since seasons past;
+    Avaunt, ill-cookery! whose ranks
+    Develop dull dyspeptic cranks
+    Who, forced to diet or to fast,
+        Ergo, have dined and died.
+
+    It is a day of rummaging,
+        The closets to explore;
+    To take down from the dusty shelves
+    The books--that never read themselves--
+        And turning pages o'er
+    Discover therein safely laid
+    The bills forgot and never paid--
+    Somehow that of the corner store
+        Such dunning memories bring.
+
+    It gives a chance to liquidate
+        Epistolary debts;
+    To write in humble penitence
+    Acknowledging the negligence,
+        The sin that so besets,
+    And cheer the hearts that hold us dear,
+    Who've known and loved us many a year--
+    Back to the days of pantalets
+        And swinging on the gate.
+
+    It gives occasion to repair
+        Unlucky circumstance;
+    To intercept the ragged ends,
+    And for arrears to make amends
+        By mending hose and pants;
+    The romping young ones to re-dress
+    Without those signs of hole-y-ness
+    That so bespeak the mendicants
+        By every rip and tear.
+
+    It is a time to gather round
+        The old piano grand,
+    Its dulcet harmonies unstirred
+    Since Lucy sang so like a bird,
+        And played with graceful hand;
+    Like Lucy's voice in pathos sweet
+    Repeating softly "Shall we meet?"
+    Is only in the heavenly land
+        Such clear soprano sound.
+
+    It is a time for happy chat
+        _En cercle tete-a-tete_;
+    Discuss the doings of the day,
+    The club, the sermon, or the play,
+        Affairs of church and state;
+    Fond reminiscence to explore
+    The pleasant episodes of yore,
+    And so till raindrops all abate
+        As erst on Ararat.
+
+    Ah, yes, a rainy day may be
+        A blessed interval!
+    A little halt for introspect,
+    A little moment to reflect
+        On life's discrepancy--
+    Our puny stint so poorly done,
+    The larger duties scarce begun--
+    And so may conscience culpable
+        Suggest a remedy.
+
+
+
+
+The Subway.
+
+
+    Oh, who in creation would fail to descend
+        That wonderful hole in the ground?--
+    That, feeling its way like a hypocrite-friend
+    In sinuous fashion, seems never to end;
+        While thunder and lightning abound.
+
+    Oh, who in creation would dare to go down
+        That great subterranean hole--
+    The tunnel, the terror, the talk of the town,
+    That gives to the city a mighty renown
+        And a shaking as never before?
+
+    A serpent, a spider, its mouth at the top
+        Where the flies are all buzzing about;
+    Down into its maw where the populace drop,
+    Who never know where they are going to stop,
+        Or whether they'll ever get out.
+
+    Why is it, with millions of acres untrod
+        Where never the ploughshare hath been,
+    That man must needs burrow miles under the sod,
+    As if to get farther and farther from God,
+        And deeper and deeper in sin?
+
+    O Dagos and diggers, who can't understand
+        That the planet you'll never get through--
+    Why, there is three times as much water as land,
+    And but for the least little seam in the sand
+        Your life is worth less than a _sou_.
+
+    Come up out of Erebus into the day,
+        There's plenty of room overhead;
+    No boring or blasting of rocks in the way,
+    No stratum of sticky, impervious clay--
+        All vacuous vapor instead.
+
+    Oh, give us a transit, a tube or an "el--",
+        Not leagues from the surface below;
+    As if we were never in Heaven to dwell,
+    As if we were all being fired to--well,
+        The place where we don't want to go!
+
+
+
+
+The Apple Tree.
+
+
+    Has ever a tree from the earth upsprung
+    Around whose body have children clung,
+    Whose bounteous branches the birds among
+    Have pecked the fruit, and chirped and sung--
+    Was ever a tree, or shall there be,
+    So hardy, so sturdy, so good to see,
+    So welcome a boon to the family,
+    Like the pride of the farmer, the apple tree?
+
+    How he loves to be digging about its root,
+    Or grafting the bud in the tender shoot,
+    The daintiest palate that he may suit
+    With the fairest and finest selected fruit.
+    How he boasts of his Sweetings, so big for size;
+    His delicate Greenings--made for pies;
+    His Golden Pippins that take the prize,
+    The Astrachans tempting, that tell no lies.
+
+    How he learns of the squirrel a thing or two
+    That the wise little rodents always knew,
+    And never forget or fail to do,
+    Of laying up store for the winter through;
+    So he hollows a space in the mellow ground
+    Where leaves for lining and straw abound,
+    And well remembers his apple mound
+    When a day of scarcity comes around.
+
+    By many a token may we suppose
+    That the knowledge apple no longer grows,
+    That broke up Adam and Eve's repose
+    And set the fashion of fig-leaf clothes;
+    The story's simple and terse and crude,
+    But still with a morsel of truth imbued:
+    For of trees and trees by the multitude
+    Are some that are evil, and some that are good.
+
+    The more I muse on those stories old
+    The more philosophy they unfold
+    Of husbands docile and women bold,
+    And Satan's purposes manifold;
+    Ah, many a couple halve their fare
+    With that mistaken and misfit air
+    That the world and all are ready to swear
+    To a mighty unapple-y mated pair.
+
+    The apple's an old-fashioned tree I know,
+    All gnarled and bored by the curculio,
+    And loves to stand in a zigzag row;
+    And doesn't make half so much of a show
+    As the lovely almond that blooms like a ball,
+    And spreads out wide like a pink parasol
+    Set on its stem by the garden-wall;
+    But I love the apple tree, after all.
+
+    "A little more cider"--sings the bard;
+    And who this juiciness would discard,
+    Though holding the apple in high regard,
+    Must be like the cider itself--very hard;
+    For the spirit within it, as all must know,
+    Is utterly harmless--unless we go
+    Like the fool in his folly, and overflow
+    By drinking a couple of barrels or so.
+
+    What of that apple beyond the seas,
+    Fruit of the famed Hesperides?
+    But dust and ashes compared to these
+    That grow on Columbia's apple trees;
+    And I sigh for the apples of years agone:
+    For Rambos streaked like the morning dawn,
+    For Russets brown with their jackets on,
+    And aromatic as cinnamon.
+
+    Oh, the peach and cherry may have their place,
+    And the pear is fine in its stately grace;
+    The plum belongs to a puckery race
+    And maketh awry the mouth and face;
+    But I long to roam in the orchard free,
+    The dear old orchard that used to be,
+    And gather the beauties that dropped for me
+    From the bending boughs of the apple tree.
+
+
+
+
+Two Roses.
+
+
+    I've a friend beyond the ocean
+      So regardful, so sincere,
+    And he sends me in a letter
+      Such a pretty souvenir.
+
+    It is crushed to death and withered,
+      Out of shape and very flat,
+    But its pure, delicious odor
+      Is the richer for all that.
+
+    'Tis a rose from Honolulu,
+      And it bears the tropic brand,
+    Sandwiched in this friendly missive
+      From that far-off flower-land.
+
+    It shall mingle _pot-a-pourri_
+      With the scents I love and keep;
+    Some of them so very precious
+      That remembrance makes me weep.
+
+    While I dream I hear the music
+      That of happiness foretells,
+    Like the flourishing of trumpets
+      And the sound of marriage bells.
+
+    There's a rose upon the prairie,
+      Chosen his by happy fate,
+    He shall gather when he cometh
+      Sailing through the Golden Gate.
+
+    Mine, a public posy, growing
+      Somewhere by the garden wall,
+    Might have gone to any stranger,
+      May have been admired by all.
+
+    But the rose in beauty blushing,
+      Tenderly and sweetly grown
+    In the home and its affections,
+      Blooms for him, and him alone.
+
+    Speed the voyager returning;
+      His shall be a welcome warm,
+    With the Rose of Minnesota
+      Gently resting on his arm.
+
+    Love embraces in his kingdom
+      Earth and sea and sky and air.
+    Hail, Columbia! hail, Hawaii!
+      It is Heaven everywhere.
+
+
+
+
+The Taxidermist.
+
+
+    From other men he stands apart,
+      Wrapped in sublimity of thought
+      Where futile fancies enter not;
+      With starlike purpose pressing on
+      Where Agassiz and Audubon
+    Labored, and sped that noble art
+      Yet in its pristine dawn.
+
+    Something to conquer, to achieve,
+      Makes life well worth the struggle hard;
+      Its petty ills to disregard,
+      In high endeavor day by day
+      With this incentive--that he may
+    Somehow mankind the richer leave
+      When he has passed away.
+
+    Forest and field he treads alone,
+      Finding companionship in birds,
+      In reptiles, rodents, yea, in herds
+      Of drowsy cattle fat and sleek;
+      For these to him a language speak
+    To common multitudes unknown
+      As tones of classic Greek.
+
+    Unthinking creatures and untaught,
+      They to his nature answer back
+      Something his fellow mortals lack;
+      And oft educe from him the sigh
+      That they unnoticed soon must die,
+    Leaving of their existence naught
+      To be remembered by.
+
+    Man may aspire though in the slough;
+      May dream of glory, strive for fame,
+      Thirst for the prestige of a name.
+      And shall these friends, that so invite
+      The study of the erudite,
+    Ever as he beholds them now
+      Perish like sparks of light?
+
+    Nay, 'tis his purpose and design
+      To keep them: not like mummies old
+      Papyrus-mantled fold on fold,
+      But elephant, or dove, or swan,
+      Its native hue and raiment on,
+    In effigy of plumage fine,
+      Or skin its native tawn.
+
+    What God hath wrought thus time shall tell,
+      And thus endowment rich and vast
+      Be rescued from the buried past;
+      And rare reliques that never fade
+      Be in the manikin portrayed
+    Till taxidermy witness well
+      The debt to science paid.
+
+    Lo! one appeareth unforetold--
+      This re-creator, yea, of men;
+      Making him feel as born again
+      Who looketh up with reverent eyes,
+      Through wonders that his soul surprise,
+    That great Creator to behold
+      All-powerful, all-wise.
+
+
+
+
+Epithalamium.
+
+
+I.
+
+    "Whom God hath joined"--ah, this sententious phrase
+    A meaning deeper than the sea conveys,
+    And of a sweet and solemn service tells
+    With the rich resonance of wedding-bells;
+    It speaks of vows and obligations given
+    As if amid the harmony of heaven,
+    While seraph lips approving seem to say,
+    "Love, honor, and obey."
+
+
+II.
+
+    Is Hymen then ambassador divine,
+    His mission, matrimonial and benign,
+    The heart to counsel, ardor to incite,
+    Convert the nun, rebuke the eremite?
+    As if were this his mandate from the throne:
+    "It is not good for them to be alone;
+    Behold the land! its fruitage and its flowers,
+    Not mine and thine, but ours."
+
+
+III.
+
+    Did not great Paul aver, in lucid spell,
+    That they of conjugal intent "do well"?
+    But hinted at a better state,--'tis one
+    With which two loving souls have naught to do.
+    For, in well-doing being quite content,
+    Be there another state more excellent
+    To which the celibate doth fain repair,
+    They neither know nor care.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    And does the Lord of all become High Priest,
+    And with his presence grace the wedding-feast?
+    Then must the whole celestial throng draw nigh,
+    For nuptials there are none beyond the sky;
+    So is the union sanctified and blest,
+    For Love is host, and Love is welcome guest;
+    So may the joyous bridal season be
+    Like that of Galilee.
+
+
+V.
+
+    Sweet Mary, of the blessed name so dear
+    To all the loving Saviour who revere,
+    Madonna-like be thou in every grace
+    That shall adorn thee in exalted place,
+    And thine the happy privilege to prove
+    The depth, the tenderness of woman's love;
+    So shall the heart that honors thee today
+    Bow down to thee alway.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    O radiant June, in wealth of light and air,
+    With leaf and bud and blossom everywhere,
+    Let all bright tokens affluent combine,
+    And round the bridal pair in splendor shine;
+    Let sweethearts coy and lovers fond and true
+    On this glad day their tender vows renew,
+    And all in wedlock's bond rejoice as they
+    Whom God hath joined for aye.
+
+
+
+
+A Fowl Affair.
+
+
+    I hope I'm not too orthodox
+        To give a joke away,
+    That took me like the chicken-pox
+        And left a debt to pay.
+
+    Let argument ignore the cost,
+        If it be dear or cheap,
+    And only claim that naught be lost
+        When it's too good to keep.
+
+    The proverb says "All flesh is grass,"
+        But this I do deny,
+    Because of that which came to pass,
+        But not to pass me by.
+
+    A body weighing by the pound
+        Inside of half a score,
+    In case and cordage safely bound,
+        Was landed at my door.
+
+    What could it be? for friends are slack,
+        And give, I rather trow,
+    When they are sure of getting back
+        As much as they bestow.
+
+    My hair, at thought of dark design,
+        Or dynamitish fate,
+    Stood up like quills of porcupine,
+        But more than twice as straight.
+
+    Anon, I mused on something rare,
+        Like duck or terrapin,
+    But dreamed not, of the parcel, there
+        Might be a pullet-in.
+
+    A mighty jerk,--the string that broke
+        The fowl affair revealed,
+    The victim of a cruel choke,
+        Its neck completely peeled.
+
+    The biped in its paper cof-
+        Fin, cramped and plump and neat,
+    Had scratched its very toenails off
+        In making both ends meat.
+
+    The only part I always ate,
+        That never made me ill,
+    Had gone away decapitate
+        And carried off the bill.
+
+    I pondered o'er the sacrifice,
+        The merry-thought, the wings,
+    On giblet gravy, salad nice,
+        And chicken-pie-ous things.
+
+    In heat of Fahrenheit degree
+        Two hundred twelve or more,
+    Where its grandsire, defying me,
+        Had crowed the year before,
+
+    I thrust it with a hope forlorn,--
+        I knew what toughness meant,
+    And sighed that ever I was born
+        To die of roasting scent.
+
+    But presto! what _denouement_ grand
+        Of cookery sublime!
+    'Twas done as by the second hand,
+        The drumsticks beating thyme.
+
+    And now the moral--he who buys
+        Will comprehend its worth,--
+    Look not so much to weight and size
+        As to the date of birth.
+
+    In fowls there is a difference;
+        "The good die young," they say,
+    And for the death of innocence
+        To make us meat, we pray.
+
+
+
+
+Holiday Home.
+
+
+    Of all the sweet visions that come unto me
+    Of happy refreshment by land or by sea,
+    Like oases where in life's desert I roam,
+    Is nothing so pleasant as Holiday Home.
+
+    I climb to the top of the highest of hills
+    And look to the west with affectionate thrills,
+    And fancy I stand by the emerald side
+    Of charming Geneva, like Switzerland's pride.
+
+    In distant perspective unruffled it lies,
+    Except for the packet that paddles and plies,
+    And puffing its way like a pioneer makes
+    Its daily go-round o'er this pearl of the lakes.
+
+    Untroubled except for the urchins that come
+    From many a haunt that is never a home,
+    Instinctive as ducklings to swim and to wade,
+    Scarce knowing aforetime why water was made.
+
+    All placid except for the dip of the oar
+    Of the skiff, or the barge striking out from the shore,
+    While merry excursionists shout till the gale
+    Reverberates laughter through rigging and sail.
+
+    How it scallops its basin and shimmers and shines
+    Like a salver of silver encompassed with vines,
+    In crystal illusion reflecting the skies
+    And the mountain that seems from its bosom to rise.
+
+    There stands a great house on a summit so high,
+    Like an eyrie of safety enroofed by the sky;
+    And I think of the rest and the comfort up there
+    To sleep, and to breathe that empyreal air.
+
+    Oh, the charm of the glen and the stream and the wood
+    Can never be written, nor be understood,
+    Except by the weary and languid who come
+    To bask in the quiet of Holiday Home.
+
+    From prisonlike cellars unwholesome and drear,
+    From attic and alley, from labor severe,
+    For the poor and the famished doth kindness prepare
+    A world of diversion and excellent fare.
+
+    To swing in the hammock, disport in the breeze,
+    To lie in the shade of magnificent trees--
+    Oh, this is like quaffing from luxury's bowl
+    The life-giving essence for body and soul!
+
+    Nor distance nor time shall efface from the mind
+    The influence gentle, the ministry kind;
+    While gratitude fondly enhallows the thought
+    Of a home and a holiday never forgot.
+
+    Ah, one is remembered of saintliest men
+    To lovely Geneva who comes not again;
+    Who left a sweet impress wherever he trod,
+    Humanity's helper, companion of God.
+
+    In the hearts of the many there sheltered and fed,
+    As unto a hospice by Providence led,
+    Does often a thought like a sunbeam intrude
+    Of the bounty so free, and the donors so good?
+
+    Who of their abundance have cheerfully given
+    Wherewith to develop an embryo heaven--
+    To brighten conditions too hard and too sad
+    And make the unhappy contented and glad.
+
+    Be blessedness theirs, who like knights of renown
+    Thus scatter such largesse o'er country and town,
+    Their monument building in many a dome
+    Like healthful and beautiful Holiday Home.
+
+
+
+
+Rutha.
+
+
+    The days are long and lonely,
+      The weary eve comes on,
+    And the nights are filled with dreaming
+      Of one beloved and gone.
+
+    I reach out in the darkness
+      And clasp but empty air,
+    For Rutha dear has vanished--
+      I wonder, wonder where.
+
+    Yet must it be: her nature
+      So lovely, pure, and true;
+    So nearly like the angels,
+      Is she an angel too.
+
+    The cottage is dismantled
+      Of all that made it bright;
+    Beyond its silent portal
+      No love, nor life, nor light.
+
+    Where are the hopes I cherished,
+      The joys that once I knew,
+    The dreams, the aspirations?
+      All, all are perished too.
+
+    Yes, love's dear chain is broken;
+      From shore to shore I roam--
+    No comfort, no companion,
+      No happiness, no home.
+
+    Oh could I but enfold her
+      Unto my heart once more,
+    If aught could e'er restore me
+      My darling as before;
+
+    If God would only tell me--
+      Such myriads above--
+    Why He must needs have taken
+      The one I loved to love;
+
+    If God would only tell me
+      Why multitudes are left,
+    Unhappy and unlovely,
+      And I am thus bereft;
+
+    If--O my soul, be silent
+      And some day thou shalt see
+    Through mystery and shadow,
+      And know why it must be.
+
+    To every cry of anguish
+      From every heart distressed,
+    Can be no other answer
+      Than this--God knoweth best.
+
+
+
+
+The Student Gone.
+
+
+      So soon he fell, the world will never know
+        What possibilities within him lay,
+    What hopes irradiated his young life,
+    With high ambition and with ardor rife;
+      But ah! the speedy summons came, and so
+            He passed away.
+
+      So soon he fell, there lie unfinished plans
+        By others misapplied, misunderstood;
+    And doors are barred that wait the master-key--
+    That wait his magic Open Sesame!--
+      To that assertive power that commands
+            The multitude.
+
+      Too soon he fell! Was he not born to prove
+        What manhood and integrity might be--
+    How one from all base elements apart
+    Might walk serene, in purity of heart,
+      His face the bright transparency of love
+            And sympathy?
+
+      The student ranks are closed, there is no gap;
+        Of other brave aspirants is no dearth;
+    Prowess, fidelity, and truth go on,
+    And few shall miss or mourn the student gone,
+      Reposing in the all-protecting lap
+            Of Mother Earth.
+
+      Too soon--O God! was it thy will that one
+        Of such endeavor and of noble mien,
+    Enrapt with living, should thus early go
+    From all he loved and all who loved him so,
+      Mid life's activities no longer known,
+            No longer seen?
+
+      Oh, not for aye should agonizing lips
+        Quiver with questionings they dare not frame;
+    Though in the dark penumbra of despair
+    Seemeth no light, nor comfort anywhere--
+      All things enshadowed as in dense eclipse,
+            No more the same.
+
+      Could we but know, in that Elysian lore
+        Of happy exercise still going on
+    Could we but know of glorious heights attained,
+    Of his reward, of mysteries explained,--
+      Ah! but to know were to lament no more
+            The student gone.
+
+
+
+
+The Tourist.
+
+
+    Lo! carpet-bag and bagger occupy the land,
+      And prove the touring season actively begun;
+    His personnel and purpose can none misunderstand,
+    For each upon his frontlet bears his honest brand--
+                  The fool-ish one!
+
+    By caravan and car, from country and from town,
+      A great grasshopper army fell foraging the land;
+    Like bumblebees that know not where to settle down,
+    Impossible it is to curb or scare or drown
+                  The tourist band.
+
+    With guidebook, camera, with rod and gun, to shoot,
+      To lure the deer, the hare, the bird, the speckled trout,
+    The pauper or the prince unbidden they salute,
+    And everywhere their royal right dare none dispute--
+                  To roam about.
+
+    From dark immuring walls and dingy ways of trade,
+      From high society's luxurious stately homes,
+    From lounging places by the park or promenade,
+    From rural dwellings canopied in sylvan shade,
+                  The tourist comes.
+
+    To every mountain peak within the antipodes,
+      To sweet, sequestered spots no other mortal knows;
+    To every island fair engirt by sunny seas,
+    To forest-centers unexplored by birds or bees,
+                  The tourist goes.
+
+    For Summer's fingers all the land have richly dressed,
+      Resplendent in regalia of scent and bloom,
+    And stirred in every heart the spirit of unrest,
+    Like that of untamed fledglings in the parent nest
+                  For ampler room.
+
+    What is it prompts the roving mania--is it love
+      Of wild adventure fanciful, unique, and odd?
+    Is it to be in fashion, and to others prove
+    One's social standing, that impels the madness of
+                  The tramp abroad?
+
+    The question hangs unanswered, like an unwise prayer,
+      Importunate, but powerless response to bring;
+    Go ask the voyagers, the rovers everywhere--
+    They only say it is their rest-time, outing, their
+                  Vacationing.
+
+    So is the world's eccentric round of joy complete
+      When happy tourist-traveler, no more to roam,
+    His fascinating, thrilling story shall repeat
+    To impecunious, luckless multitudes who greet
+                  The tourist home.
+
+
+
+
+The Antiquarian.
+
+
+    Millions have been and passed from view
+    Benignity who never knew;
+      No aspiration theirs, nor aim;
+    Existence soulless as the clay
+    From whence they sprang, what right have they
+            To eulogy or fame?
+
+    So multitudes have been forgot--
+    But drones or dunces, good for naught;
+      Like clinging parasites or burrs
+    Taking from others all they dared,
+    Yet little they for others cared
+            Except as pilferers.
+
+    Not so with that majestic man
+    The all-round antiquarian--
+      No model his nor parallel;
+    From selfishness inviolate
+    Are his achievements good and great,
+            And thus shall ages tell.
+
+    A love for the antiquities
+    His honest hold, his birthright is!
+      And things unheard of or unread,
+    Defaced by moth or rust or mold,
+    To him are treasures more than gold,
+            Ay, than his daily bread.
+
+    At neither ghost nor ghoul aghast
+    He echoes voices of the past,
+      And tones like melancholy knells
+    Of years departed to his ear
+    Are sweeter than of kindred dear,
+            Sweeter than Florimel's.
+
+    He delves through centuries of dust
+    To resurrect some unknown bust,
+      A torso, or a goddess whole;
+    Maybe like Venus, minus arms--
+    Haply to find those missing charms;
+            But not the lost, lost soul.
+
+    He dotes on aborigines
+    Who lived in caves and hollow trees,
+      And barters for their trinkets rare;
+    Exchanging with those dusky breeds
+    For arrow-heads and shells and beads
+            A scalplock of his hair.
+
+    Had he been born--thus he laments--
+    Along with other great events,
+      Coeval say with Noah's flood,
+    A proud relationship to trace
+    With Hittites--or with any race
+            Of blue archaic blood!
+
+    Much he adores that Pilgrim flock,
+    The same that split old Plymouth rock,
+      Their "Bay Psalm" when they tried to sing.
+    Devoid of metre, sense, and tune,
+    Who but a Puritanic loon
+            Could have devised the thing?
+
+    He revels in a pedigree,
+    The sprouting of a noble tree
+      'Way back in prehistoric times;
+    And for the "Family Record" true
+    Of scions all that ever grew
+            Would give a billion dimes.
+
+    There is a language fossils speak:
+    'Tis not like Latin, much less Greek,
+      But quite as dead and antiquate
+    Its silent syllables, and cold;
+    But ah, what meanings they unfold,
+            What histories relate!
+
+    The earthquake is his best ally--
+    It shows up things he cannot buy,
+      And gives him raw material
+    For making mastodons and such,
+    Enough to beat that ancient "Dutch
+            Republic's Rise and Fall."
+
+    A piece of bone can never lie:
+    A rib, a femur, or a thigh
+      Is but a dislocated sign
+    Of something hybrid, half and half
+    Betwixt a crocodile and calf--
+            Maybe a porcupine.
+
+    The stately "Antiquarium"
+    Is his emporium, his home.
+      He wonders if when he is gone
+    Will people look with mournful pride
+    On him done up and classified,
+            And the right label on.
+
+    He dreams of an emblazoned page,
+    The calendar of every age
+      Down from Creation's primal dawn;
+    With archetypes of spears and bones,
+    And tons of undeciphered stones
+            Its illustrations drawn.
+
+    Labor a blessing, not a curse,
+    His hunting ground the Universe,
+      So much the more his nature craves
+    To sound the fathoms of the sea:
+    What mighty wonders there must be
+            Down in those hidden caves!
+
+    So toils this dauntless man, alert
+    Amid the ruins and the dirt,
+      That other men to endless day
+    Themselves uplifted from the clod
+    May see, and learn and know that God
+            Is greater far than they.
+
+    And thus, of mighty ken and plan,
+    The all-round antiquarian
+      Pursues his happy ministry;
+    And on the world's progressive track
+    Advances, always going back--
+            Back to antiquity.
+
+
+
+
+Poor Housekeeping.
+
+
+    If there is one gift that I prize above others,
+      That tinges with brightness whatever I do,
+      And gives to the sombre a roseate hue,
+    'Tis a legacy mine from the nicest of mothers,
+      Who haply the beauty of housewifery knew,
+      And taught me her neatness and diligence too.
+
+    So is my discomfort a house in disorder:
+      The service uncleanly, the linen distained,
+      The children like infantry rude and untrained;
+    The portieres dusty and frayed at the border,
+      By lavish expenses the pocketbook drained,
+      And miseries numberless never explained.
+
+    I dream not of pleasure in visions untidy,
+      A wrapper all hole-y, a buttonless shoe,
+      A slatternly matron with nothing to do;
+    And all the ill-luck charged to ominous Friday
+      Can never compare with the ills that ensue
+      On wretched housekeeping and cookery too.
+
+    There's many a husband, a patient bread-winner,
+      Gets up from the table with look of despair,
+      And something akin to the growl of a bear;
+    Not the saint he might be, but a querulous sinner--
+      One driven to fasting but not unto prayer--
+      Till epitaphed thus--"Indigestible Fare."
+
+    There's many a child, from the roof-tree diurnal,
+      A scene of distraction or dullness severe,
+      With the longing of youth for diversion and cheer,
+    That comes like the spring-time refreshing and vernal,
+      Goes out on a ruinous, reckless career,
+      Returning, if ever, not many a year.
+
+    O negligent female, imperfect housekeeper,
+      Though faultless in figure and charming of face,
+      In ruffles of ribbon and trailings of lace
+    Usurping the part of a common street-sweeper,
+      You never can pose as a type of your race
+      In frowsy appearance mid things out of place.
+
+    O fashion-bred damsel, with folly a-flutter,
+      Until you have learned how to manage a broom,
+      If never you know how to tidy a room,
+    Manipulate bread or decide about butter,
+      The duties of matron how dare you assume,
+      Or ever be bride to a sensible groom?
+
+    I covet no part with that army of shirkers
+      All down at the heels in their slipper-y tread,
+      Who hunt for the rolling-pin under the bed,
+    Who look with disdain on intelligent workers
+      And take to the club or the circus instead
+      Of mending a stocking or laying the spread.
+
+    Oh, I dream of a system of perfect housekeeping,
+      Where mistress and helper together compete
+      In excellent management, quiet and neat;
+    And though in the bosom of earth I am sleeping,
+      Shall somebody live to whom life will be sweet
+      And home an ideal, idyllic retreat.
+
+
+
+
+Going to Tobog.
+
+
+    Into my disappointment-cup
+      The snowflakes fell and blocked the road,
+    And so I thought I'd finish up
+      The latest style of Christmas ode;
+    When she, the charming little lass
+      With eyes as bright as isinglass,
+    Before a line my pen had wrought
+      In strange attire came bounding in,
+    As if she had with Bruno fought,
+      And robbed him of his shaggy skin.
+
+    She came to me robed _cap-a-pie_
+      In her bewitching "blanket-suit,"
+    In moccasin and toggery,
+      All ready for "that icy chute,"
+    And asked me if I thought she'd do;
+      I shake with love of mischief true:
+    "For what?--a polar bear?--why, yes!"
+      "No, no!" she said, with half a pout.
+    "Why, one would think so, by your dress--
+      Say, does your mother know you're out?"
+
+    "No, I'm not out," she said, and sighed;
+      "Because the storm so wildly raged--
+    But for the first delightful ride
+      For half a year I've been engaged."
+    "Engaged to what?--an Esquimau?
+      To ride a glacier, or a floe?"
+    "Why, don't you know"--her color glowed,
+      In expectation all agog--
+    "The reason why I'm glad it snowed?
+      Because--I'm going to tobog."
+
+
+
+
+"Passer Le Temps."
+
+
+    So _that's_ the way you pass your time!
+      Indeed your charming, frank confession
+    Betrays no sort of heinous crime,
+      But marks a wonderful digression
+    From puritanic views, less bold,
+    That we were early taught to hold.
+
+    "_Passer le temps_," of course, implies
+      A little cycle of flirtations,
+    Wherein the actors never rise
+      To sober, serious relations,
+    But play just for amusement's sake
+    A harmless game of "give and take."
+
+    While moments pass on pinions fleet,
+      And youth in beauty effloresces,
+    The joy that finds itself complete
+      In honeyed words and soft caresses,
+    Alas! an index seems to be
+    Of perilous inconstancy.
+
+    It may be with disdainful smile
+      You greet this comment from a stranger,
+    Your pleasure-paths pursuing while
+      A siren voice discounts the danger,
+    Until, some day, in sadder rhyme
+    You rue your mode of "passing time."
+
+
+
+
+The Torpedo.
+
+
+          Valiant sons of the sea,
+            All the vast deep, your home,
+          Holds no terror so dread
+    As this novel and unseen foe,
+            Lurking under the foam
+          Of some dangerous channel--
+    As the torpedo, the scourge of ships.
+
+          Through the rigging may roar
+            AEolus' thousand gales,
+          Yet the mariner's heart
+    Shrinketh not from the howling blast;
+            Though with battle-rent sails,
+          Flames and carnage around him,
+    Cowardice never shall pale his lips.
+
+          But when powers concealed,
+            Threatening with death the crew,
+          Pave each eddy below,
+    E'en the bravest are chilled with fear,
+            Lest yon wizard in blue,
+          Who their progress is spying,
+    Touch but the key with his finger-tips.
+
+          Lo! with thunderous boom
+            Towers a column bright,
+          And the vessel is gone!
+    In that ocean of blinding spray
+            Sink her turrets from sight,
+          By thy potency broken,
+    O irresistible scourge of ships!
+
+    --_Harry Howard._
+
+
+
+Margaret.
+
+
+    I saw her for a moment,
+      Her presence haunts me yet,
+    In oft-recurring visions
+      Of grace and gladness met
+    That marked the sweet demeanor
+      Of dainty Margaret.
+
+    Like gossamer her robe was
+      Around her lightly drawn,
+    A filmy summer-garment
+      That fairy maidens don
+    To make them look like angels
+      Croqueting on the lawn.
+
+    The mallet-sport became her
+      In hue of exercise
+    That tinged her cheek with roses;
+      And, dancing in her eyes,
+    Were pantomime suggestions
+      Of having won--a prize.
+
+    No more to me a stranger
+      Is she who occupies
+    A place in all my musings;
+      And brings in tender guise
+    A thought of one so like her--
+      Long years in Paradise.
+
+    Dear Margaret! that "pearl-name"
+      Is thine--and may it be
+    The synonym of goodness,
+      Of truth and purity,
+    And all ennobling graces
+      Exemplified in thee.
+
+
+
+
+Christmas Bells.
+
+
+    Ring out, O bells, in joyful chime!
+      Again we hail the Christmas time;
+    In melting, mellow atmosphere,
+      The crown and glory of the year.
+
+    When bitterness, distrust, and awe
+      Dissolve, like ice in winter's thaw,
+    Beneath the genial touches of
+      Amenity, good will, and love.
+
+    When flowers of affection grow,
+      Like edelweiss mid alpine snow,
+    In lives severe and beautiless,
+      Unused to warmth or tenderness.
+
+    Let goodness, grace, and gratitude
+      Revive in music's interlude,
+    And paean notes, till time shall cease,
+      Proclaim the blessed reign of peace.
+
+    Ring, Christmas bells! for at the sound
+      Sweet memories of Him abound
+    Who laid aside a diadem
+      To be the babe of Bethlehem.
+
+
+
+
+By the Sea.
+
+
+    I am longing to dwell by the sea,
+      And dip in the surf every day,
+    And--height of subaqueous glee--
+      With the sharks and the porpoises play.
+
+    To novelty ever inclined--
+      Instead of a calm evening sail,
+    'Twould suit my adventurous mind
+      To ride on the back of a whale.
+
+    I want to disport on the rocks
+      Like a mythical mermaiden belle,
+    And comb out my watery locks,
+      Then dive to my cavernous cell.
+
+    I want to discover what lends
+      Such terror to all timid folks--
+    That serpent whose mystery tends
+      To make one believe it a hoax.
+
+    They say he's been captured at last;
+      The news is too good to be true--
+    He's slippery, cunning, and fast,
+      And likes notoriety too.
+
+    Once had I such longings to be
+      A sailor--those wishes are o'er,
+    But ever in dreams of the sea
+      My horoscope rests on the shore.
+
+    Oh, give me a home by the sea--
+      A cottage, a cabin, a tent!
+    Existence should ecstasy be
+      Till summer were joyfully spent.
+
+
+
+
+A Song.
+
+
+    Oh, sing me a merry song!
+      My heart is sad tonight;
+    The day has been so drear and long,
+    The world has gone awry and wrong,
+    Discouragements around me throng,
+      And gloom surpassing night.
+
+    Oh, sing again the song for me
+      My mother used to sing
+    When I, a child beside her knee,
+    Looked up for her sweet sympathy,
+    Nor ever thought how I might be
+      Her little hindering thing.
+
+    Oh, sing, as eventide draws near,
+      The old-time lullabys
+    Grandmother sang--forever dear,
+    Though in her grave this many a year
+    She lies who "read her title clear
+      To mansions in the skies."
+
+    Oh, sing till all perplexing care
+      Has vanished with the day!
+    And angels ever bright and fair
+    Come down the melody to share,
+    And on their pinions lightly bear
+      My happy soul away.
+
+
+
+
+"Is It April?"
+
+
+    No, this is January, dear,
+      The almanac's untrue;
+    For roaring Boreas, 'tis clear,
+    In sleet and snow and atmosphere,
+    Will be the monarch of the year,
+      And terror, too.
+
+    "Is it a blessing in disguise?"
+      Of course, things always are;
+    But Arctic blasts with ardent skies
+    Somehow do not quite harmonize,
+    That try to cheat by weather-lies
+      The calendar.
+
+    Old Janus must be double-faced;
+      He promised long ago
+    The maple syrup not to taste,
+    Nor steal the roses from the waist
+    Of one, a damsel fair and chaste
+      As April snow.
+
+    O winter of our discontent!
+      Your reign was for a day;
+    Behold! a scene of wonderment,
+    A thousand tongues are eloquent,
+    For spring, in bud and bloom and scent,
+      Is on the way.
+
+
+
+
+Christmas-Tide.
+
+
+          Let working-clothes be laid aside,
+    And Industry in festal garb arrayed;
+    Let busy brain and hand from toil and trade
+          Relax at Christmas-tide.
+
+          As moments pass by dial, so
+    Let gifts go round the happy circle where
+    In giving and receiving each may share,
+          And mutual kindness show.
+
+          The meaning deep, like mystery,
+    That lies in holly-bough or mistletoe,
+    May thousands never fathom--yet who know
+          And hail the Christmas-tree.
+
+          So strong a hold on human thought
+    Has this glad day that seasons all the year
+    With the rich flavoring of hearty cheer,
+          It ne'er shall be forgot.
+
+          It is the milestone on life's road
+    Where we may lay our burdens down, and take
+    A look at souvenirs, for love's dear sake
+          So prettily bestowed.
+
+          Upon its shining tablet we may write--
+    If, like the good Samaritan, in deed--
+    A record that the angel band shall read
+          With impulse of delight.
+
+          And this is why on Christmas morn
+    The world should smile and wear its brightest glow:
+    Because some nineteen hundred years ago
+          A little child was born.
+
+
+
+
+January, 1885.
+
+
+    These winter days are passing fair!
+      As if a breath of spring
+    Had permeated all the air,
+      And touched each living thing
+    With thankfulness for such a boon--
+      Discounting with a scoff
+    The almanac's report that "June
+      Is yet a long way off!"
+
+    We quarrel with the calendar--
+      For May has been misplaced--
+    And doubt the tale oracular
+      Of "Janus, double-faced;"
+    For this "ethereal mildness" looks
+      Toward shadowy delights
+    Of roseate bowers, of cosy nooks,
+      Of coming thermal nights.
+
+    Let robes diaphanous succeed
+      Dense garments made of fur,
+    And overcoats maintain the lead--
+      Among the things that were!
+    The wisely-rented sealskin sacque,
+      By many a dame possessed,
+    Be quickly relegated back
+      To its moth-haunted chest!
+
+    While every portly alderman,
+      In linen suit arrayed,
+    Manipulates the palm-leaf fan
+      And seeks the cooling shade;
+    And he perspires who not in vain
+      Suggests his funny squibs,
+    By poking his unwelcome cane
+      In other people's ribs.
+
+    Who dares to fling opprobrium
+      On January now?
+    As to a potentate we come
+      With reverential bow,
+    Because it doth not yet appear
+      That Time hath ever seen
+    The ruler of th' inverted year
+      In more benignant mien.
+
+    O Boreas! do not lie low--
+      That is, if "lie" thou must--
+    Upon our planet; do not blow
+      With fierce and sudden gust,
+    But come so gently, tenderly--
+      As come thou surely wilt--
+    That we may have sweet dreams of thee,
+      Beneath "our crazy quilt!"
+
+
+
+
+Sweet Peas.
+
+
+    By helpful fingers taught to twine
+      Around its trellis, grew
+    A delicate and dainty vine;
+    The bursting bud, its blossom sign,
+      Inlaid with honeyed-dew.
+
+    Developing by every art
+      To floriculture known,
+    From tares exempt, and kept apart,
+    Careful, as if in some fond heart
+      Its legume germs were sown.
+
+    So thriving, not for me alone
+      Its beauty and perfume--
+    Ah, no, to rich perfection grown
+    By flower mission loved and known
+      In many a darkened room.
+
+    And once in strange and solemn place,
+      Mid weeping uncontrolled,
+    Upon the crushed and snowy lace
+    I saw them scattered 'round a face
+      All pallid, still, and cold.
+
+    Oh, some may choose, as gaudy shows,
+      Those saucy sprigs of pride
+    The peony, the red, red rose;
+    But give to me the flower that grows
+      Petite and pansy-eyed.
+
+    Thus, meditation on Sweet Peas
+      Impels the ardent thought,
+    Would maidens all were more like these,
+    With modesty--that true heartsease--
+      Tying the lover's knot.
+
+
+
+
+The Summer House.
+
+
+    Midway upon the lawn it stands,
+      So picturesque and pretty;
+    Upreared by patient artist hands,
+      Admired of all the city;
+    The very arbor of my dream,
+      A covert cool and airy,
+    So leaf-embowered as to seem
+      The dwelling of a fairy.
+
+    It is the place to lie supine
+      Within a hammock swinging,
+    To watch the sunset, red as wine,
+      To hear the crickets singing;
+    And while the insect world around
+      Is buzzing--by the million--
+    No winged thing above the ground
+      Intrudes in this pavilion.
+
+    It is the place, at day's decline,
+      To tell the old, old story
+    Behind the dark Madeira vine,
+      Behind the morning glory;
+    To confiscate the rustic seat
+      And barter stolen kisses,
+    For honey must be twice as sweet
+      In such a spot as this is.
+
+    It is the haunt where one may get
+      Relief from petty trouble,
+    May read the latest day's gazette
+      About the "Klondike" bubble:
+    How shanties rise like golden courts.
+      Where sheep wear glittering fleeces,
+    How gold is picked up--by the quartz--
+      And all get rich as Croesus.
+
+    Here hid away from dust and heat,
+      Secure from rude intrusion,
+    While willing lips the thought repeat,
+      So grows the fond illusion:
+    That happiness the product is
+      Of lazy, languid dozing,
+    Of soft midsummer reveries,
+      Half-waking, half-reposing.
+
+    And here in restful interlude,
+      Life's fallacies forgetting,
+    Its frailties--such a multitude--
+      The fuming and the fretting,
+    Amid the fragrance, dusk, and dew,
+      The happy soul at even
+    May walk abroad, and interview
+      Bright messengers from Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+To Die in Autumn.
+
+
+    The melody of autumn
+      Is the only tune I know,
+    And I sing it over and over
+      Because it thrills me so;
+    It stirs anew the happy wish,
+      So near to perfect bliss,
+    To live a little longer in
+      A world like this.
+
+    The sound was never sweeter,
+      The voice so nearly mute,
+    As beauty, dying, loses
+      Her hold upon the lute;
+    And like the harmonies that touch
+      And blend with those above,
+    Forever must an echo wake
+      The heart of love.
+
+    Her robe of brown and coral
+      And amber glistens through
+    Rare jewels of the morning,
+      The opals of the dew,
+    Like royal fabrics worn beneath
+      The tinselry of pearls,
+    Or diamond dust by fashion strewn
+      On sunny curls.
+
+    If I could wrap such garments
+      In true artistic style
+    About myself departing,
+      And wear as sweet a smile
+    And be as guileless as the flowers
+      My friends would never sigh;
+    'Twould reconcile them to my death
+      To see me die.
+
+    And why should there be sorrow
+      When dying is no more
+    Than 'twixt two bright apartments
+      The opening of a door
+    Through which the freed, enraptured soul
+      From this, a paradise,
+    May pass to that supremely fair
+      Beyond the skies?
+
+    Oh, 'twere not hard to finish
+      When earth with tender grace
+    Prepares for her dear children
+      So sweet a resting place;
+    And though in dissolution's throe
+      The melody be riven,
+    The song abruptly ended here
+      Goes on in Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+Apple Blossoms.
+
+
+          Of all the lovely blossoms
+            That decorate the trees,
+          And shower down their petals
+            With every breath of breeze,
+    There is nothing so sweet or fair to me
+    As the delicate blooms of the apple tree.
+
+          A thousand shrubs and flow'rets
+            Delicious pleasure bring,
+          But beautiful Pomona
+            Must be the queen of spring;
+    And out of her flagon the peach and pear
+    Their chalices fill with essence rare.
+
+          Oh, is it any wonder,
+            Devoid of blight or flaw,
+          The peerless blooms of Eden
+            Our primal mother saw
+    In redolent beauty before her placed
+    So tempted fair Eve the fruit to taste?
+
+          But woman's love of apples,
+            Involving fearful price,
+          And Adam's love for woman
+            That cost him Paradise,
+    By the labor of hands and sweat of brow,
+    Have softened the curse to a blessing now.
+
+          If so those pink-eyed glories,
+            In fields and orchards gay
+          Develop luscious fruitage
+            By Horticulture's way,
+    Then, sweet as the heart of rich legumes,
+    Shall luxury follow the apple blooms.
+
+
+
+
+Without a Minister.
+
+
+    The congregation was devout,
+      The minister inspired,
+    Their attitude to those without
+      By every one admired,
+    And all things so harmonious seemed,
+    Of no calamity we dreamed.
+
+    But, just in this quiescent state
+      A little cloud arose
+    Portentous of our certain fate--
+      As everybody knows;
+    Our pastor took it in his head
+    His "resignation" must be read.
+
+    In every eye a tear-drop stood,
+      For we accepted it
+    Reluctantly, but nothing could
+      Make him recant one bit;
+    And soon he left for distant parts,
+    While we were left--with broken hearts.
+
+    And next the "patriarch" who led
+      For nearly three-score years
+    Our "Sabbath school"--its worthy head--
+      Rekindled all our fears
+    By saying, with a smile benign,
+    "Since it's the fashion, I'll resign!"
+
+    And so he did; but promptly came
+      Forth one, of good report--
+    "Our Superintendent" is his name--
+      Who tries to "hold the fort"
+    With wisdom, tact, and rare good sense,
+    In this, his first experience.
+
+    The world looks on and says, "How strange!
+      They hang together so,
+    These Baptists do, and never change,
+      But right straight onward go
+    While other flocks are scattering all,
+    And some have strayed beyond recall!"
+
+
+
+
+Indian Summer.
+
+
+    Is it not our bounden duty
+      Harsh and bitter thoughts to quell,
+      Wild, ambitions schemes repel,
+    And to revel in the beauty
+      Of this Indian summer spell,
+      Bathing forest, field, and dell
+      As with radiance immortelle?
+
+    None can paint like nature dying;
+      Whose dissolving struggle lent
+      Wealth of hues so richly blent
+    That, through weary years of trying,
+      Artist skill pre-eminent
+      May not copy or invent
+      Such divine embellishment.
+
+    Knights of old from castles riding
+      Scattered largesse as they went
+      Which, like manna heaven-sent,
+    Cheered the poverty-abiding;
+      But, when 'neath "that low green tent"
+      Passed the hand benevolent,
+      Sad were they and indigent.
+
+    Monarchs, too, have thus delighted
+      Giving unto courtiers free,
+      Costly robes and tinselry;
+    And, as royal guests, invited
+      Them to sumptuous halls of glee,
+      Banqueting and minstrelsy,
+      Bacchus holding sovereignty.
+
+    Then, perchance, in mood capricious
+      Stripped and scorned and turned away
+      Those who tasted for a day
+    Pleasure sweet and food delicious;
+      Nor might any say them nay--
+      Lest his head the forfeit pay
+      Who a king dared disobey.
+
+    But our own benignant Giver,
+      Almoner impartial, true,
+      Constantly doth gifts renew;
+    Nor would fitfully deliver
+      Aught unto the chosen few,
+      But to all the wide world through,
+      Who admire his wonders, too.
+
+    Never shall the heart be poorer,
+      Never languish in despair,
+      That such affluence may share;
+    For than this is nothing surer--
+      He hath said, and will prepare
+      In those realms of upper air
+      Glories infinitely fair.
+
+
+
+
+Autumn-Time.
+
+
+    Like music heard in mellow chime,
+    The charm of her transforming time
+      Upon my senses steals
+    As softly as from sunny walls,
+    In day's decline, their shadow falls
+      Across the sleeping fields.
+
+    A fair, illumined book
+    Is nature's page whereon I look
+      While "autumn turns the leaves;"
+    And many a thought of her designs
+    Between those rare, resplendent lines
+      My fancy interweaves.
+
+    I dream of aborigines,
+    Who must have copied from the trees
+      The fashions of the day:
+    Those gorgeous topknots for the head,
+    Of yellow tufts and feathers red,
+      With beads and sinews gay.
+
+    I wonder if the saints behold
+    Such pageantry of colors bold
+      Beyond the radiant sky;
+    And if the tints of Paradise
+    Are heightened by the strange device
+      Of making all things die.
+
+    Yea, even so; for Nature glows
+    Because of her expiring throes,
+      As if around her tomb
+    Unmeet it were,--the look severe
+    That designates a common bier
+      Enwreathed in deepest gloom.
+
+    And so I meditate if aught
+    Can be so fair where death is not;
+      If Heaven's loveliness
+    Is born of struggle and decay;
+    And, but for funeral array,
+      Would it be beautiless?
+
+    Oh solemn, sad, sweet mystery
+    That Earth's unrivaled brilliancy
+      Is but her splendid pall!
+    That Heaven were not what it is
+    But for that crown of tragedies,
+      The sacrifice for all.
+
+    So not a charm would Zion lose
+    Were it bereft of sparkling hues
+      In gilded lanes and leas;
+    It would be bright though not a flower
+    Unclosed in its celestial bower,
+      And void of jeweled trees.
+
+    Yet, lily-like, one bloom I see,
+    Its name is his who died for me;
+      Whose matchless beauty shows
+    Perfection on its bleeding stem,
+    The blossom-bud of Bethlehem,
+      The Resurrection Rose.
+
+
+
+The Beauty of Nature.
+
+
+    Oh bud and leaf and blossom,
+      How beautiful they are!
+    Than last year's vernal season
+      'Tis lovelier by far;
+    This earth was never so enchanting
+      Nor half so bright before--
+    But so I've rhapsodized, in springtime,
+      For forty years or more.
+
+    What luxury of color
+      On shrub and plant and vine,
+    From pansies' richest purple
+      To pink of eglantine;
+    From buttercups to "johnny-jump-ups,"
+      With deep cerulean eyes,
+    Responding to their modest surname
+      In violet surprise.
+
+    Sometimes I think the sunlight
+      That gilds the emerald hills,
+    And makes Aladdin dwellings
+      Of dingy domiciles,
+    Is surplus beauty overflowing
+      That Heaven cannot hold--
+    The topaz glitter, or the jacinth,
+      The glare of streets of gold.
+
+    In "Cedar Hill," the city
+      Of "low green tents" of sod,
+    I read the solemn record
+      Of those gone home to God;
+    While from their hallowed dust arising
+      The fragrant lilies grow
+    As if their life was all the sweeter
+      For those who sleep below.
+
+    And so 'tis not in sadness
+      I dwell upon the thought,
+    When I am dead and buried
+      That I shall be forgot.
+    Because the germ of reproduction
+      Doth this poor body hold,
+    Perchance to add to nature's beauty
+      A rose above the mold.
+
+
+
+
+"All the Rage."
+
+
+    A common wayside flower it grew,
+    Unhandsome and unnoticed too,
+      Except in deprecation
+    That such an herb unreared by toil,
+    Prolific cumberer of the soil,
+      Defied extermination.
+
+    Its gorgeous blooms were never stirred
+    By honey-bee nor humming-bird
+      In their corollas dipping;
+    But they from clover white and red
+    Delicious nectar drew instead
+      In dainty rounds of sipping.
+
+    No place its own euphonious name
+    Within the catalogue might claim
+      Of any flora-lover;
+    For, in the scores of passers-by,
+    As yet no true artistic eye
+      Its beauty could discover.
+
+    The reaper with his sickle keen
+    Aimed at its crest of gold and green
+      With spiteful stroke relentless,
+    And would have rooted from the ground
+    The "Solidago"--blossom-crowned,
+      But gaudy, rank, and scentless.
+
+    But everything must have its day--
+    And since some fickle _devotee_
+      Or myrmidon of Fashion
+    Declares that this obnoxious weed,
+    From wild, uncultivated seed,
+      Shall be the "ruling passion,"
+
+    Effusive schoolgirls dote on it;
+    Whose "frontispieces" infinite
+      That need no decoration
+    Are hid beneath its golden dust,
+    Till many a fine, symmetric bust
+      Is lost to admiration.
+
+    Smart dudes and ladies' men--the few
+    Who wish they could be ladies too--
+      Display a sprig of yellow
+    Conspicuous in their buttonhole,
+    To captivate a maiden soul
+      Or vex some other fellow.
+
+    And spinsters of uncertain age
+    Are clamoring now for "all the rage"
+      To give a dash of color
+    To their complexions, which appear
+    To be the hue they hold so dear--
+      Except a trifle duller.
+
+    That _negligee_ "blue-stocking" friend,
+    Who never cared her time to spend
+      On mysteries of the toilet,
+    Now wears a sumptuous bouquet
+    And shakes your hand a mile away
+      For fear that you will spoil it.
+
+    Delightful widows, dressed in black,
+    Complain with modest sighs they lack
+      That coveted expression,
+    That sort of Indian Summer air
+    Which "relicts" always ought to wear
+      By general concession;
+
+    And so lugubrious folds of crape
+    Are crimped and twisted into shape
+      With graceful heads of yellow,
+    That give a winsome toning down
+    To sombre hat and sable gown--
+      In autumn tintings mellow.
+
+    Alas, we only hate the weed!
+    And think that it must be, indeed,
+      The ladies' last endeavor
+    To match the gentlemen, who flaunt
+    That odious dried tobacco plant
+      At which they puff forever.
+
+
+
+
+My Mother's Hand.
+
+
+    My head is aching, and I wish
+      That I could feel tonight
+    One well-remembered, tender touch
+    That used to comfort me so much,
+      And put distress to flight.
+
+    There's not a soothing anodyne
+      Or sedative I know,
+    Such potency can ever hold
+    As that which lovingly controlled
+      My spirit long ago.
+
+    How oft my burning cheek as if
+      By Zephyrus was fanned,
+    And nothing interdicted pain
+    Or seemed to make me well again
+      So quick as mother's hand.
+
+    'Tis years and years since it was laid,
+      In her own gentle way,
+    On tangled curls of brown and jet
+    Above the downy coverlet
+      'Neath which the children lay.
+
+    As bright as blessed sunlight ray
+      The past comes back to me;
+    Her fingers turn the sacred page
+    For a little group of tender age
+      Who gather at her knee.
+
+    And when those hands together clasped
+      Devout and still were we;
+    To whom it seemed God then and there
+    Must surely answer such a prayer,
+      For none could pray as she.
+
+    O buried love with her that passed
+      Into the Silent Land!
+    O haunting vision of the night!
+    I see, encoffined, still, and white,
+      A mother's face and hand.
+
+
+
+
+A Leap Year Episode.
+
+
+    Such oranges! so fresh and sweet,
+      So large and lovely--and so cheap!
+      They lay in one delicious heap,
+        And added to the sumptuous feast
+    For each and all in taste expert
+    The acme of all fine dessert;
+        So, singling out the very least
+    As in itself an ample treat,
+      While sparkling repartee and jest
+      Exhilarated host and guest,
+        Of rarity so delicate
+        In dreamy reverie I ate,
+    By magic pinions as it were
+      Transported from this realm of snows
+    To be a happy sojourner
+      Away down where the orange grows;
+    Amid the bloom, the verdure, and
+    The beauty of that tropic land,
+      While redolence seemed wafted in
+      From orchard-groves of Mandarin.
+
+    In dinner costume _a la mode_,
+      Expressing from the spongy skin
+      The nectar that ran down her chin
+        In little rills of lusciousness,
+    Sat Maud, the beautiful coquette;
+    Her dainty mouth, like "two lips" wet
+      With morning dew, her crimson dress,
+    A sad discoloration showed
+      Where orange-juice--it was a sin!--
+      A polka-dot had painted in;
+        Which moved the roguish girl to say
+        Half-ruefully (half-_decollete_)--
+    "I'm glad it's Leap Year now, for I--"
+      Her voice was like a moistened lute
+    "Shall wear the flowers, by and by--
+      I do not like this leaky fruit!"
+    And looking straight and saucily
+    At cousin Ned, her _vis-a-vis_;
+      While Will, who never dared propose,
+      Was blushing like a red, red rose.
+
+    The company was large, and she
+      Touched elbows with the exquisite,
+      Gay Archibald, who took her wit
+        And pertness all as meant for him;
+    Who, thereby lifted some degrees
+    Above less-favored devotees,
+      With rainbow sails began to trim
+    His craft of sweet felicity;
+      So mirth in reckless afterlude
+      Convulsed the merry multitude,
+        Who laughed at Archie's self-esteem,
+        And pitied Will's long-cherished dream;
+    While all declared, for her and Ned--
+      His face was like a silver tray--
+    The wedding-banquet should be spread
+      Before a twelvemonth passed away.
+    But, ah, the sequel--blind were we
+    To woman and her strategy!
+      For he so long afraid to speak
+      Bore off the bride within a week.
+
+
+
+
+If.
+
+
+    If all the sermons good men preach
+    And all the precepts that they teach
+      Were gathered into one
+    Unbroken line of silver speech,
+    The shining filament might reach
+      From earth unto the sun.
+
+    If all the stories ever told
+    By wild romancers, young or old,
+      Into a thread were drawn,
+    And from its cable coil unrolled,
+    'Twould span those misty hills of gold
+      That heaven seems resting on.
+
+    If every folly, every freak,
+    From day to day, from week to week,
+      Is written in "The Book,"
+    With all the idle words we speak,
+    Would it not crimson many a cheek
+      Upon the page to look?
+
+    If all the good deeds that we do
+    From honest motives pure and true
+      Shall there recorded be,
+    Known unto God and angels too,
+    Is it not sad they are so few
+      And wrought so charily?
+
+
+
+
+Perfect Character.
+
+
+      He lives but half who never stood
+        By the grave of one held dear,
+    And out of the deep, dark loneliness
+    Of a heart bereaved and comfortless,
+      From sorrow's crystal plentitude,
+        Feeling his loss severe,
+        Dropped a regretful tear.
+
+      Oh, life's divinest draught doth not
+        In the wells of joy abound!
+    For the purest streams are those that flow
+    Out of the depths of crushing woe,
+      As from the springs of love and thought
+        Hid in some narrow mound,
+        Making it holy ground.
+
+      He hath been blessed who sometimes knelt
+        Owning that God is just,
+    And in the stillness of cypress shade
+    Rosemary's tender symbol laid
+      Upon a cherished shrine, and felt
+        Strengthened in faith and trust
+        Over the precious dust.
+
+      So perfect character is wrought,
+        Rounded and beautified,
+    By the alchemy of that strange alloy,
+    The intermingling of grief and joy;
+      So nearer Heaven the spirit, brought
+        Bleeding, so sorely tried,
+        Finds its diviner side.
+
+
+
+
+The Miracle of Spring.
+
+
+    What touch is like the Spring's?
+    By dainty fingerings
+      Such rare delight to give,
+      'Tis luxury to live
+    Amid florescent things.
+
+    Through weary months of snow
+    When Boreas swept low,
+      How many an anxious hour
+      We watched one little flower,
+    And tried to make it grow;
+
+    And thrilled with ecstasy
+    When, half distrustfully,
+      A timid bud appeared,
+      A tender scion reared
+    In window greenery.
+
+    But lo! Spring's wealth of bloom
+    And richness of perfume
+      Comes as by miracle;
+      Then why not possible
+    Within a curtained room?
+
+    Ah, no! that everywhere
+    The earth is passing fair,
+      And strange new life hath caught,
+      Is but the marvel wrought
+    By sunlight, rain, and air.
+
+
+
+
+Bermuda.
+
+
+    O charming blossom of the sea
+      Atlantic waters bosomed in!
+    Abiding-place of gayety,
+      Elysian bower of "Cora Linn,"
+    The sprightly, lively _debiteuse_
+    Recounting all she sees and does.
+
+    Oh, how it makes the northern heart,
+      With sluggish current half-congealed,
+    In ecstasy and vigor start
+      To read about this tropic field;
+    The garden of luxuriousness,
+    In winter wearing summer's dress.
+
+    With gelid sap and frozen gum
+      In maple trees and hackmatack,
+    While waiting for the spring to come
+      Of life's necessities we lack;
+    And sip the nectar that we find
+    In luscious fruit with golden rind.
+
+    But down the street we dread to walk,
+      For all the teachings of our youth
+    Receive an agonizing shock;
+      _Do_ tempting labels lie, forsooth?
+    For "out of Florida," she says,
+    "Come our Bermuda oranges."
+
+    To speed the penitential prayer
+      Our rosary we finger o'er,
+    A yellow necklace rich and rare--
+      'Twas purchased at the dollar store;
+    But oh, it makes us sigh to see
+    That land of amber _bijouterie_!
+
+    Oh, ocean wave and flying sail
+      Shall never waft us to its shore!
+    But if some reckless cyclone gale
+      Should drop Bermuda at our door,
+    'Twould warm our February sky
+    And bring the time of roses nigh!
+
+
+
+
+The Charter Oak.
+
+
+    I seem to see the old tree stand,
+      Its sturdy, giant form
+    A spectacle remembered, and
+    A pilgrim-shrine for all the land
+      Before it met the storm.
+
+    Unnumbered gales the tree defied;
+      It towered like a king
+    Above his courtiers, reaching wide,
+    And sheltering scions at its side
+      As with protecting wing.
+
+    Revered as one among the trees
+      To mark the seasons born,
+    To watchful aborigines
+    It told by leafy indices
+      The time of planting corn.
+
+    The landmark of the past is gone,
+      Its site is overgrown;
+    A mansion overlooks the lawn
+    Where history is traced upon
+      A parapet of stone.
+
+    Shall e'er Connecticut forget
+      What unto it we owe--
+    How Wadsworth coped with Andros' threat,
+    And tyranny, in council met,
+      Outwitted years ago?
+
+    Aye, but it rouses loyal spunk
+      To think of that old tree!
+    Its stately stem, its spacious trunk
+    By Nature robbed of pith and punk
+      To guard our liberty.
+
+    But of the oak long-perished, why
+      Is earth forever full?
+    For, like the loaf and fish supply,
+    Its stock of fiber, tough and dry,
+      Seems inexhaustible.
+
+    Rare souvenirs the stranger sees--
+      Who never sees a joke--
+    And innocently dreams that these,
+    From knotty, gnarly, scraggy trees,
+      Were once the Charter Oak!
+
+
+
+
+Blossom-time.
+
+
+      Yes, it is drawing nigh--
+        The time of blossoming;
+    The waiting heart beats stronger
+        With every breath of Spring,
+    The days are growing longer;
+      While happy hours go by
+        As if on zephyr wing.
+
+      A wealth of mellow light
+        Reflected from the skies
+    The hill and vale is flooding;
+        Still in their leafless guise
+    The Jacqueminots are budding,
+      Creating new delight
+       By promise of surprise.
+
+      The air is redolent
+        As ocean breezes are
+    From spicy islands blowing,
+        Or groves of Malabar
+    Where sandal-wood is growing;
+      Or sweet, diffusive scent,
+        From fragrant attar-jar.
+
+      Just so is loveliness
+        Renewed from year to year;
+    And thus emotions tender,
+        Born of the atmosphere,
+    Of bloom, and vernal splendor
+      That words cannot express,
+        Make Spring forever dear.
+
+      Can mortal man behold
+        So beautiful a scene,
+    Without the innate feeling
+        That thus, like dying sheen
+    The sunset hues revealing,
+      Glints pure, celestial gold
+        On fields of living green?
+
+
+
+
+"One of the Least of These."
+
+
+    'Twas on a day of cold and sleet,
+    A little nomad of the street
+    With tattered garments, shoeless feet,
+        And face with hunger wan,
+    Great wonder-eyes, though beautiful,
+    Hedged in by features pinched and dull,
+    Betraying lines so pitiful
+        By sorrow sharply drawn;
+
+    Ere yet the service half was o'er,
+    Approached the great cathedral door
+    As choir and organ joined to pour
+        Their sweetness on the air;
+    Then, sudden, bold, impelled to glide
+    With fleetness to the altar's side,
+    Her trembling form she sought to hide
+        Amid the shadows there,
+
+    Half fearful lest some worshiper,
+    Enveloped close in robes of fur,
+    Had cast a scornful glance at her
+        As she had stolen by,
+    But soon the swelling anthem, fraught
+    With reverence, her spirit caught
+    As rapt she listened, heeding not
+        The darkness drawing nigh.
+
+    'Mid novelty and sweet surprise
+    Her soul, enraptured, seemed to rise
+    And tread the realms of Paradise;
+        Her shivering limbs grew warm,
+    And as the shadows longer crept
+    Across the chancel, angels kept
+    Their vigils o'er her as she slept
+        Secure from cold and storm.
+
+    No sound her peaceful slumber broke,
+    But one, whose gentle face bespoke
+    True goodness, took her costly cloak
+        In tender, thoughtful way,
+    And as the sleeper sweetly smiled,
+    Perchance by dreams of Heaven beguiled,
+    O'erspread the passive, slumbering child,
+        And softly stepped away.
+
+    So rest thee, child! since Sorrow's dart
+    Has touched like thine the Saviour's heart,
+    Thou hast a nearer, dearer part
+        In his great love for thee;
+    And when life's shadows all are gone,
+    May Heaven reveal a brighter dawn
+    To thee who, unaware, hast drawn
+        Our hearts in sympathy.
+
+
+
+
+Lightning-bugs.
+
+
+    Around my vine-wreathed portico,
+    At evening, there's a perfect glow
+      Of little lights a-flashing--
+    As if the stellar bodies had
+    From super-heat grown hyper-mad,
+      And spend their ire in clashing.
+
+    As frisky each as shooting star,
+    These tiny electricians are
+      The Lampyrine Linnaean--
+    Or lightning-bugs, that sparkling gleam
+    Like scintillations in a dream
+      Of something empyrean.
+
+    They brush my face, light up my hair,
+    My garments touch, dart everywhere;
+      And if I try to catch them
+    They're quicker than the wicked flea--
+    And then I wonder how 'twould be
+      To have a _dress_ to match them.
+
+    To be a "princess in disguise,"
+    And wear a robe of fireflies
+     All strung and wove together,
+    And be the cynosure of all
+    At Madame Haut-ton's carnival,
+      In fashion's gayest feather.
+
+    So, sudden, falls upon the grass
+    The overpow'ring light of gas,
+      And through the lattice streaming;
+    As wearily I close my eyes
+    Brief are the moments that suffice
+      To reach the land of dreaming.
+
+    Now at the ball, superbly dressed
+    As I suppose, to eclipse the rest,
+      Within an alcove shady
+    A brilliant flame I hope to be,
+    While all admire and envy me,
+      The "bright electric lady."
+
+    But, ah, they never shine at all!
+    My eyes _ignite_--I leave the hall,
+      For wrathful tears have filled them;
+    I could have crushed them on the spot--
+    The bugs, I mean!--and quite forgot
+      That _stringing_ them had killed them.
+
+
+
+
+Of Her who Died.
+
+
+    We look up to the stars tonight,
+      Idolatrous of them,
+    And dream that Heaven is in sight,
+    And each a ray of purest light
+      From some celestial gem
+      In her bright diadem.
+
+    Before that lonely home we wait,
+      Ah! nevermore to see
+    Her lovely form within the gate
+    Where heart and hearthstone desolate
+      And vine and shrub and tree
+      Seem asking: "Where is she?"
+
+    There is the cottage Love had planned--
+      Where hope in ashes lies--
+    A tower beautiful to stand,
+    Her monument whose gentle hand
+      And presence in the skies
+      Make home of Paradise.
+
+    In wintry bleakness nature glows
+      Beneath the stellar ray;
+    We see the mold, but not the rose,
+    And meditate if knowledge goes
+      Into yon mound of clay,
+      With her who passed away.
+
+    Of sighs, and tears, and joys denied
+      Do echoes reach up there?
+    Do seraphs know--God does--how wide
+    And deep is sorrow's bitter tide
+      Of dolor and despair,
+      And darkness everywhere?
+
+    Dear angel, snatched from our caress,
+      So suddenly withdrawn,
+    Alone are we and comfortless;
+    As in a dome of emptiness
+      The old routine goes on,
+      Aimless, since thou art gone.
+
+    Oh, dearer unto us than aught
+      In all the world beside
+    Of thee to cherish blessed thought;
+    So early thy sweet mission wrought,
+      As friend, as promised bride,
+      Who lived, and loved, and died.
+
+
+
+
+Thanksgiving.
+
+
+    Nature, erewhile so marvelously lovely, is bereft
+                Of her supernal charm;
+    And with the few dead garlands of departed splendor left,
+                Like crape upon her arm,
+          In boreal hints, and sudden gusts
+                That fan the glowing ember,
+          By multitude of ways fulfills
+                The promise of November.
+
+    Upon the path where Beauty, sylvan priestess, sped away,
+                Lies the rich afterglow
+    Of Indian Summer, bringing round the happy holiday
+                That antedates the snow:
+          The glad Thanksgiving time, the cheer,
+                The festival commotion
+          That stirs fraternal feeling from
+                The mountains to the ocean.
+
+    O Hospitality! unclose thy bounty-laden hand
+                In generous dealing, where
+    Is gathered in reunion each long-severed household band,
+                And let no vacant chair
+          Show where the strongest, brightest link
+                In love's dear chain is broken--
+          A symbol more pathetic than
+                By language ever spoken.
+
+    Into the place held sacred to the memory of some
+                Beloved absentee,
+    Perchance passed to the other shore, oh, let the stranger come
+                And in gratuity
+          Partake of festal favors that
+                Shall sweeten hours of labor,
+          And strengthen amity and love
+                Unto his friend and neighbor.
+
+    Let gratitude's pure incense in warm orisons ascend,
+                A blessing to secure,
+    And gracious impulse bearing largesse of good gifts extend
+                To all deserving poor;
+          So may the day be hallowed by
+                Unstinted thanks and giving,
+          In sweet remembrance of the dead
+                And kindness to the living.
+
+
+
+
+Receiving Sight.
+
+
+    In hours of meditation fraught
+      With mem'ries of departed days,
+    Comes oft a tender, loving thought
+      Of one who shared our youthful plays.
+
+    In gayest sports and pleasures rife
+      Whose happy nature reveled so,
+    That on her ardent, joyous life
+      A shadow lay, we did not know;
+
+    And bade her look one summer night
+      Up to the sky that seemed to hold,
+    In dying sunset splendor bright,
+      All hues of sapphire, red, and gold.
+
+    How strange the spell that mystified
+      Us all, and hushed our wonted glee,
+    As sadly her sweet voice replied,
+      "Why, don't you know I cannot see?"
+
+    Too true! those eyes bereft of sight
+      No blemish bare, no drop-serene,
+    But nothing in this world of light
+      And beauty they had ever seen.
+
+
+    A dozen years in gentle ruth
+      Their impress lent to brow and cheek,
+    When precious words of sacred truth
+      Led her the Saviour's face to seek.
+
+    Responsive unto earnest prayers
+      Commingling love and penitence,
+    A blessing came--not unawares--
+      In new and strange experience.
+
+    And all was light, as Faith's clear eye
+      A brighter world than ours divined;
+    For never clouds obscured the sky
+      That she could see, while _we_ were blind.
+
+    Oh, it must be an awful thing
+      To be shut out from light of day!--
+    From summer's grace, and bloom of spring
+      In gladness words cannot portray.
+
+    But haply into every heart
+      May enter that Celestial Light
+    That doth to life's dark ways impart
+      A radiance hid from mortal sight.
+
+
+
+
+Revenge.
+
+
+    Beside my window day and night,
+    Its tendrils reaching left and right,
+      A morning glory grew;
+    With blossoms covered, pink and white
+      And deep, delicious blue.
+
+    Its care became my daily thought,
+    Who to the sweet diversion brought
+      A bit of florist skill
+    To guide its progress, till it caught
+      The meaning of my will.
+
+    When through the trellis in and out
+    It bent and turned and climbed about
+      And so ambitious grew,
+    O'erleaped a chasm beyond the spout
+      Where raindrops trickled through,
+
+    Then, in caressing, graceful way,
+    Around a door knob twined one day
+      With modest show of pride;
+    All unaware that danger lay
+      Just on the other side.
+
+    An awkward, verdant "maid of work,"
+    Who dearly loved her tasks to shirk,
+      While rummaging among
+    Unused apartments, with a jerk
+      The door wide open flung.
+
+    And lo! there lay, uprooted quite,
+    The object of my heart's delight--
+      I did not weep or rant,
+    And yet a grain or two of spite
+      My secret thoughts would haunt.
+
+    So when at night her favorite beau
+    Beside his charmer sat below--
+      That is, _dans le cuisine_--
+    Occurred, as all the neighbors know,
+      A semi-tragic scene.
+
+    The garden hose, obscured from view,
+    Turned on itself and drenched the two--
+      A hapless circumstance
+    That lengthened out her "frizzes" new,
+      But shrunk his Sunday pants.
+
+    Remember this was years agone--
+    The madcap now hath sober grown
+      And hose is better wrought,
+    And neither now would run alone
+      The risk of being caught.
+
+
+
+
+On the Common.
+
+
+    We met on "Boston Common"--
+      Of course it was by chance--
+    A sudden, unexpected,
+      But happy circumstance
+    That gave the dull October day
+    A beautiful, refulgent ray.
+
+    Like wandering refugees from
+      A city of renown,
+    Impelled to reconnoiter
+      This Massachusetts town,
+    Each by a common object urged,
+    Upon the park our paths converged.
+
+    Good nature, bubbling over
+      In healthy, hearty laughs,
+    And little lavish speeches
+      Like pleasant paragraphs,
+    The kind regard, unstudied joke,
+    His true felicity bespoke.
+
+    A bit of doleful knowledge
+      Confided unto me,
+    About the way the doctors--
+      Who never could agree--
+    His knees had tortured, softly drew
+    My sympathy and humor, too.
+
+    I hoped he wouldn't lose them,
+      And languish in the dumps
+    By having to quadrille on
+      A pair of polished stumps--
+    But a corky limb, though one might dread,
+    Isn't half as bad as a wooden head.
+
+    He censured those empirics
+      Who never heal an ill,
+    Though bound by their diplomas
+      To either cure or kill,
+    Who should, with ignominy crowned,
+    Their patients follow--under ground.
+
+    I left him at the foot of
+      "The Soldiers' Monument,"
+    With incoherent mutterings--
+      As though 'twere his intent
+    To turn the sod, a rod or two,
+    And sleep beside the "boys in blue."
+
+    In Hartford's charming circles
+      His bonhommie I miss,
+    And having never seen him
+      From that day unto this,
+    I think of him with much regret
+    As lying--with the soldiers--yet.
+
+
+
+
+Woman's Help.
+
+
+    Sometimes I long to write an ode
+      And magnify his name,
+    The man of honor, on the road
+      To opulence and fame,
+    On whom was never aid bestowed
+      By any helpful dame.
+
+    To all the world I fain would show
+      That talent widely known,
+    Rare eloquence, of burning glow
+      To melt a heart of stone,
+    That all his gifts, a dazzling row,
+      Are his, and his alone.
+
+    But him, of character and mind
+      Superb, alert, and strong,
+    I never study but to find
+      The subject of my song,
+    Some paragon of womankind,
+      Has helped him all along.
+
+    He may not know, he may not guess,
+      How much to her he owes,
+    How every scion of success
+      That in his nature grows,
+    Developed by her watchfulness,
+      Becomes a blooming rose.
+
+    From buffetings in humble place,
+      And labors ill begun,
+    To proud achievement in the race
+      And laurels grandly won,
+    His trials all she dares to face
+      As friend and champion.
+
+    The bars that hinder his advance
+      And half obscure the goal,
+    The stubborn bond of circumstance
+      That irritates his soul,
+    The countershafts of arrogance,
+      All yield to her control.
+
+    He builds a tower--she below
+      Is handing up the bricks;
+    His light is brilliant just as though
+      Her hand had trimmed the wicks;
+    He prays for daily bread--the dough
+      A woman deigns to mix.
+
+
+
+
+Tobogganing.
+
+
+    Oh, the rare exhilaration,
+    Oh, the novel delectation
+      Of a ride down the slide!
+    Packed like ice in zero weather,
+    Pleasure-seekers close together,
+      On a board as thin as wafer,
+      Barely wider, scarcely safer,
+    At the height of recreation
+    Find a glorious inspiration,
+    Ere the speedy termination
+      In the snowy meadow wide,
+      Sloping to the river's side.
+
+    Oh, such quakers we begin it,
+      Timorous of the icy route!
+    But to learn in half a minute
+    What felicity is in it,
+      As we shoot down the chute,
+      Smothered in toboggan suit,
+      Redingote or roquelaure,
+      Buttoned up (and down) before,
+    Mittens, cap, and moccasin,
+    Just the garb to revel in;
+      So, the signal given, lo!
+      Over solid ice and snow,
+      Down the narrow gauge we go
+    Swifter than a bird o'erhead,
+    Swifter than an arrow sped
+      From the staunchest, strongest bow.
+
+    Oh, it beats all "Copenhagen,"
+      Silly lovers' paradise!
+    Like the frozen Androscoggin,
+      Slippery, and smooth, and nice,
+    Is the track of the toboggan;
+    And there's nothing cheap about it,
+    Everything is steep about it,
+    The insolvent weep about it,
+      For the biggest thing on ice
+      Is its tip-top price;
+    But were this three times the money,
+    Then the game were thrice as funny.
+
+    Ye who dwell in latitudes
+    Where "the blizzard" ne'er intrudes,
+      And the water seldom freezes;
+    Ye of balmy Southern regions,
+    Alabama's languid legions,
+      From the "hot blast" of your breezes,
+      Where the verdure of the trees is
+      Limp, and loose, and pitiful,
+      Come up here where branches bare
+      Stand like spikes in frosty air;
+    Come up here where arctic rigor
+    Shall restore your bloom and vigor,
+      Making life enjoyable;
+    Come and take a jog on
+    The unparalleled toboggan!
+      Such the zest that he who misses
+      Never knows what perfect bliss is.
+      So the sport, the day's sensation,
+      Thrills and recreates creation.
+
+
+
+The Woods.
+
+
+    I love the woods when the magic hand
+      Of Spring, as if sweeping the keys
+    Of a wornout instrument, touches the earth;
+    When beauty and song in the gladness of birth
+    Awaken the heart of the desolate land,
+      And carol its rapture to every breeze.
+
+    In summer's still solstice my steps are drawn
+      To the shade of the forest trees;
+    To revel with Pan in his secret haunts,
+    To pipe mazourkas while satyrs dance,
+    Or lull to soft slumber some favorite faun
+      And fascinate strange wild birds and bees.
+
+    I love the woods when autumnal fires
+      Are kindled on every hill;
+    When dead leaves rustle in grove and field,
+    And trees are known by the fruits they yield,
+    And the wild grapes, sweetened by frost, inspire
+      A mildly-desperate, bibulous thrill.
+
+    There's a joy for which I would fling to the air
+      My petty portion of wealth and fame,
+    In tracking the rabbit o'er fresh-fallen snow,
+    The ways of the 'coon and opossum to know,
+      To capture squirrels when branches are bare
+    As the cupboard shelf of that ancient dame.
+
+    Oh, I long to explore the woods again
+      In my own aboriginal way,
+    As before I knew how culture could frown
+    On a hoydenish gait and a homespun gown
+    Or dreamed that the strata of proud "upper-ten"
+      Would smile at rusticity's _naivete_.
+
+    I sigh for the pleasures of long ago
+      In youth's sweet halcyon time;
+    When better beloved than the thoroughfare
+    By multitudes trod were the woodlands, where
+    Was never a path that I did not know,
+      Nor thrifty sapling I dared not climb.
+
+    Alas for lost freedom! Alas for me!
+      For oh, Society's lip would curl,
+    Propriety's self with scornful eye
+    And gilt-edged Fashion would pass me by
+    To know that sometimes I'm dying to be
+      The romp, the rover, the same old girl.
+
+
+
+
+Like Summer.
+
+
+    November? 'tis a summer's day!
+      For tropic airs are blowing
+    As soft as whispered roundelay
+    From unseen lips that seem to say
+      To feathered songsters going
+    To sunnier, southern climes afar,
+    "Stay where you are--stay where you are!"
+
+    And other tokens glad as these
+      Declare that Summer lingers:
+    Round latent buds still hum the bees,
+    Slow fades the green from forest trees
+      Ere Autumn's artist fingers
+    Have touched the landscape, and instead
+    Brought out the amber, brown, and red.
+
+    The invalid may yet enjoy
+      His favorite recreation,
+    Gay, romping girl, unfettered boy
+    In outdoor sports the time employ,
+      And happy consummation
+    Of prudent plans the farmer know
+    Ere wintry breezes round him blow.
+
+    And they by poverty controlled--
+      Good fortune shall betide them
+    As scenes of beauty they behold,
+    And seem to revel in the gold
+      Which Plutus has denied them;
+    For, ah! the poor from want's despair
+    Oft covet wealth they never share.
+
+
+
+
+Sheridan's Last Ride.
+
+
+          While Phoebus lent his hottest rays
+          To signalize midsummer days,
+    I stood in that far-famed enclosure
+              By thousands visited,
+    Where, in the stillness of reposure,
+              Are grouped battalions dead.
+
+          Where, round each simple burial stone,
+          The grass for decades twain has grown,
+    Protecting them in dreamless slumber
+              Who perished long ago,
+    The multitudes defying number,
+              A part of war's tableau.
+
+          Along the winding avenue
+          A vast procession came in view;
+    The mourners' slow, advancing column
+              With reverent step drew near,
+    The "Dead March" playing, sad and solemn,
+              Above a soldier's bier.
+
+          There were the colonels, brigadiers,
+          Comrades in arms of other years,
+    Civilians, true and loyal-hearted
+              To him their bravest man,
+    Who seemed to say to those departed,
+              "Make room for Sheridan!"
+
+          Anon, beside the new-made mound,
+          The warworn veterans gathered round,
+    And spake of Lyon and of Lander,
+              And others ranked as high,
+    Recalling each his old commander,
+              One not afraid to die.
+
+          Thus, silent tenants one by one
+          Are crowding in at Arlington;
+    Thus Sheridan, the horseman daring,
+              Has joined the honored corps
+    Of those, their true insignia wearing,
+              Who battle nevermore.
+
+          Potomac's wave shall placid flow,
+          And sing his requiem soft and low,
+    His terrace grave be sweet with clover,
+              And daisies star his bed,
+    For Sheridan's last ride is over--
+              The General is dead!
+
+
+
+
+A Bit of Gladness.
+
+
+    As I near my lonely cottage,
+      At the close of weary day,
+    There's a little bit of gladness
+      Comes to meet me on the way:
+    Dimpled, tanned, and petticoated,
+      Innocent as angels are,
+    Like a smiling, straying sunbeam
+      Is my Stella--like a star.
+
+    Soon a hand of tissue-softness
+      Slips confidingly in mine,
+    And with tender look appealing
+      Eyes of beauty sweetly shine;
+    Like a gentle shepherd guiding
+      Some lost lamb unto the fold,
+    So she leads me homeward, prattling
+      Till her stories are all told.
+
+    "Papa, I'm so glad to see you--
+      Cousin Mabel came today--
+    And the gas-man brought a letter
+      That he said you'd better pay--
+    Yes, and _awful_ things is happened:
+      My poor kitty's drowned to death--
+    Mamma's got the 'Pigs in Clover'--"
+      Here she stops for want of breath.
+
+    I am like the bold knight-errant,
+      From his castle who would roam,
+    Trusting her, my faithful steward,
+      For a strict account of home;
+    And each day I toil, and hazard
+      All that any man may dare,
+    For a resting-place at even,
+      And the love that waits me there.
+
+    And sometimes I look with pity
+      On my neighbor's mansion tall:
+    There are chambers full of pictures,
+      There are marbles in the hall,
+    Yet with all the signs of splendor
+      That may gild a pile of stone,
+    Not a living thing about it
+      But the owner, grim and lone.
+
+    I believe that all his millions
+      He would give without repine
+    For a little bit of gladness
+      In his life, like that in mine;
+    This it is that makes my pathway
+      Beautiful, wherever trod,
+    Keeps my soul from wreck and ruin,
+      Keeps me nearer to my God.
+
+
+
+
+The Charity Ball.
+
+
+    There was many a token of festal display,
+    And reveling crowds who were never so gay,
+    And, as it were AEolus charming the hours,
+    An orchestra hidden by foliage and flowers;
+    There were tapestries fit for the home of a queen,
+    And mirrors that glistened in wonderful sheen;
+    There was feasting and mirth in the banqueting-hall,
+    For this was the annual Charity Ball.
+
+    There were pompous civilians, in wealth who abide,
+    Displaying their purses, the source of their pride;
+    And plethoric dealers in margins and stocks,
+    And owners of acres of elegant blocks,
+    And tenement-landlords who cling to a cent
+    When from the poor widow exacting her rent--
+    Immovable, stern, as an adamant wall--
+    And yet, who "came down" to this Charity Ball.
+
+    There was Beauty whose toilet, superb and unique,
+    Cost underpaid industry many a week
+    Of arduous labor of eye, and heartache,
+    Its starving inadequate pittance to make;
+    There were mischievous maidens and cavaliers bold,
+    Whose blushes and glances and coquetry told
+    A tale of the monarch who held them in thrall--
+    Who met, as by chance, at the Charity Ball.
+
+    There were delicate viands the poor never taste,
+    And dollars were lavished in prodigal waste
+    To pamper the palate of epicures rich;
+    Who drew from the wine cellar's cavernous niche
+    "Excelsior" brands of the rarest champagnes
+    To loosen their tongues--though it pilfered their brains--
+    Oh, sad if a step in some woeful downfall
+    Should ever be traced to a Charity Ball!
+
+    Outside of the window, pressed close to the pane,
+    And furrowed by tears that had fallen like rain,
+    Was the face of a woman, so spectral in hue,
+    With great liquid eyes, like twin oceans of blue,
+    And cheeks in whose hollows were written the lines
+    That pitiless hunger so often defines,
+    Who muttered, as closer she gathered the shawl,
+    "Oh, never for me is this Charity Ball!"
+
+    From liveried hirelings who bade her begone,
+    By uniformed minions compelled to move on,
+    Out into the street again driven to roam--
+    For friends she had none, neither fortune nor home;
+    While carnival-goers in morning's dull gray
+    As homeward returning, fatigued and _blase_,
+    A vision encountered their hearts to appall,
+    And banish all thought of the Charity Ball.
+
+    As if seeking warmth from the icy curb-stone,
+    A form half-reclining, half-clad, and unknown.
+    Dead eyes looking up with a meaningless stare,
+    Lay close to the crowded and broad thoroughfare;
+    A form so emaciate the spirit had fled--
+    But the pulpit and press and the public all said,
+    As society's doings they sought to recall,
+    That a "brilliant success" was the Charity Ball.
+
+
+
+
+The Bell(e) of Baltimore.
+
+[One of the notable features of Baltimore is the big bell that hangs in
+the city hall tower, to strike the hour and sound the fire alarm. It is
+called "Big Sam," and weighs 5,000 pounds]
+
+
+    A million feet above the ground
+    (For so it seemed in winding round),
+        A million, and two more,
+        The latter stiff and sore,
+    While perspiration formed a part
+        Of every reeking pore,
+    I viewed the city like a chart
+        Spread out upon the floor.
+
+    And said: "Great guide Jehoiakin,
+    To me is meagre pleasure in
+        The height of spires and domes,
+        Of walls like ancient Rome's;
+    Nor care I for the marts of trade,
+        Or shelves of musty tomes,
+    Nor yet for yonder colonnade
+        Before your palace homes;
+
+    "But curiosity is keen
+    To know the city's reigning queen,
+        Who suiteth well the score
+        Of suitors at her door;
+    Oh, which of your divinities
+        Is she whom all adore?
+    Embodiment of truth, _who is_
+        The belle of Baltimore?"
+
+    Veracity's revolving eyes
+    Looked up as if to read the skies:
+        "Why, Lor'-a-miss, see dar--
+        De bell is in de air!
+    Lan' sakes! of all de missteries
+        Yo' nebber learn before!
+    Why, don' yo' know 'Big Sam'? _He_ is
+        De bell of Baltimore!"
+
+
+
+
+Christmas at Church.
+
+
+        'Twas drawing near the holiday,
+            When piety and pity met
+    In whisp'ring council, and agreed
+    That Christmas time, in homes of need,
+        Should be remembered in a way
+            They never could forget.
+
+
+            Then noble generosity
+      Took youth and goodness by the hand,
+    And planned a thousand charming ways
+    To celebrate this best of days,
+      While hearts were held in sympathy
+          By love's encircling band.
+
+        So multitudes together came,
+      Like wandering magi from the East
+    With precious gifts unto the King,
+    With every good and perfect thing
+        To satisfy a shivering frame
+            Or amplify a feast.
+
+     The angels had looked long and far
+        The happy scene to parallel,
+    When through the sanctuary door
+    Were carried gifts from shop and store,
+        The treasures of the rich bazaar,
+          To give--but not to sell.
+
+          As once the apostolic twelve
+            Of goods allotment made,
+    So equity dealt out with care
+    The widow's and the orphan's share,
+        And of the aged forced to delve
+          At drudging task or trade.
+
+      Oh, could the joy which tears express
+          That out of gladness come
+    Be mirrored in its tender glow,
+    Before the beautiful tableau
+          Ingratitude and selfishness
+      Would shrink abashed and dumb!
+
+        If every year and everywhere
+          Could kindness thus expand
+    In bounteous gratuity,
+    To all her children earth would be
+        A flowery vale like Eden fair,
+          A milk-and-honey land.
+
+
+
+
+Mysterious.
+
+
+    The morning sun rose bright and fair
+    Upon a lovely village where
+      Prosperity abounded,
+    And ceaseless hum of industry
+    In lines of friendly rivalry
+      From day to day resounded.
+
+    Its shaded avenues were wide,
+    And closely bordered either side
+      With cottages or mansions,
+    Or marked by blocks of masonry
+    That might defy a century
+      To loosen from their stanchions.
+
+    Its peaceful dwellers daily vied
+    To make this spot, with anxious pride,
+      A Paradise of beauty,
+    Recounted its attractions o'er,
+    And its adornment held no more
+      A pleasure than a duty.
+
+    But, ere the daylight passed away,
+    That hamlet fair in ruins lay,
+      Its hapless people scattered
+    Like playthings, at the cyclone's will,
+    And scarce remained one domicile
+      Its fury had not shattered.
+
+    Few moments of the tempest's wrath
+    Sufficed to mark one dreadful path
+      With scenes of devastation;
+    While over piles of wild debris
+    Rose shrieks of dying agony
+      Above the desolation.
+
+    Oh, mystery! who can understand
+    Why, sudden, from God's mighty hand
+      Destructive bolts of power
+    Without discrimination strike
+    The evil and the good alike--
+      As in that dreadful hour!
+
+    Alas for aching hearts that wait
+    Today in homes made desolate
+      By one sharp blow appalling--
+    For all who kneel by altars lone,
+    And strive to say "Thy will be done,"
+      That awful day recalling!
+
+    We dare not question his decrees
+    Who seeth not as mortal sees,
+      Nor doubt his goodness even;
+    Nor let our hearts be dispossessed
+    Of faith that he disposeth best
+      All things in earth and Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+"Be not Anxious."
+
+"Be careful for nothing," Phil. iv. 6. Revised version, "Be not anxious."
+
+
+      Of all the precepts in the Book
+        By word of inspiration given,
+      That bear the import, tone, and look
+        Of messages direct from heaven,
+    From Revelation back to Genesis
+    Is nothing needed half so much as this.
+
+      Ah, well the great apostle spake
+        In admonition wise and kind,
+      Who bade humanity forsake
+        The petty weaknesses that bind
+    The spirit like a bird with pinioned wings,
+    That to a broken bough despairing clings.
+
+      Were all undue anxiety
+        Eliminated from desire,
+      Could feverish fears and fancies be
+        Consumed on some funeral pyre,
+    Like holy hecatomb or sacrifice,
+    'Twould be accepted up in Paradise.
+
+      Could this machinery go on
+        Without the friction caused by fret,
+      What greater loads were lightly drawn,
+        More easily were trials met;
+    Then might existence be with blessings rife,
+    And lengthened out like Hezekiah's life.
+
+      Oh, be not anxious; trouble grows
+        When cherished like a secret grief;
+      It is the worm within the rose
+        That eats the heart out leaf by leaf;
+    And though the outer covering be fair,
+    The weevil of decay is busy there.
+
+      In deep despondency to pine,
+        Or vain solicitude,
+      Is to deny this truth divine
+        That God is great and good;
+    That he is Ruler over earth and Heaven,
+    And so disposes and makes all things even.
+
+
+
+
+Mount Vernon.
+
+
+    Subdued and sad, I trod the place
+      Where he, the hero, lived and died;
+    Where, long-entombed beneath the shade
+    By willow bough and cypress made,
+    The peaceful scene with verdure rife,
+    He and the partner of his life,
+    Beloved of every land and race,
+      Are sleeping side by side.
+
+    The summer solstice at its height
+      Reflected from Potomac's tide
+    A glare of light, and through the trees
+    Intensified the Southern breeze,
+    That dallied, in the deep ravines,
+    With graceful ferns and evergreens,
+    While Northern cheeks so strangely white
+      Grew dark as Nubia's pride.
+
+    What must this homestead once have been
+      In boundless hospitality,
+    When Greene or Putnam may have met
+    The host who welcomed Lafayette,
+    Or when Pulaski, honored guest,
+    Accepted shelter, food and rest,
+    While rank and talent gathered in
+      Its banquet hall of luxury!
+
+    What comfort, cheer, and kind intent
+      The weary stranger oft hath known
+    When she, its mistress, fair and good,
+    Reigned here in peerless womanhood,
+    When soft, shy maiden fancy gave
+    Encouragement to soldiers brave,
+    And Washington his presence lent
+      To grace its bright hearthstone!
+
+    O beautiful Mount Vernon home,
+       The Mecca of our long desire;
+    Of more than passing interest
+    To North and South, to East and West,
+    To all Columbia's children free
+    A precious, priceless legacy,
+    Thine altar-shrine, as pilgrims come,
+      Rekindles patriot fire!
+
+
+
+
+A Prisoner.
+
+
+    Where I can see him all day long
+    And hear his wild, spontaneous song,
+      Before my window in his cage,
+        A blithe canary sits and swings,
+        And circles round on golden wings;
+      And startles all the vicinage
+        When from his china tankard
+          He takes a dainty drink
+            To clear his throat
+            For as sweet a note
+        As ever yet was caroled
+          By lark or bobolink.
+
+    Sometimes he drops his pretty head
+    And seems to be dispirited,
+      And then his little mistress says:
+        "Poor Dickie misses his chickweed,
+        Or else I've fed him musty seed
+      As stale as last year's oranges!"
+        But all the time I wonder
+          If we half comprehend
+            In sweet song-words
+            The thought of birds,
+        Or why so oft their raptures
+          In sudden silence end.
+
+    They do not pine for forest wilds
+    Within the "blue Canary isles,"
+      As exiles from their native home,
+        For in a foreign domicile
+        They first essayed their gamut-trill
+      Beneath a cage's gilded dome;
+        But maybe some sad throbbing
+          Betimes their spirits stirs,
+            Who love as we
+            Dear liberty,
+        That they, admired and petted,
+          Are only--prisoners.
+
+
+
+
+Cuba.
+
+
+    As one long struggling to be free,
+    O suffering isle! we look to thee
+      In sympathy and deep desire
+    That thy fair borders yet shall hold
+    A people happy, self-controlled,
+      Saved and exalted--as by fire.
+
+    Burning like thine own tropic heat
+    Thousands of lips afar repeat
+      The story of thy wrongs and woes;
+    While argosies to thee shall bear,
+    Of men and money everywhere,
+      Strength to withstand thy stubborn foes.
+
+    Hispaniola waves her plume
+    Defiant over many a tomb
+      Where sleep thy sons, the true and brave;
+    But, lo! an army coming on
+    The places fill of heroes gone,
+      For liberty their lives who gave.
+
+    The nations wait to hear thy shout
+    Of "Independence!" ringing out,
+      Chief of the Antilles, what wilt thou?
+    Buffets and gyves from your effete
+    Old monarchy dilapidate,
+      Or freedom's laurels for thy brow?
+
+    In man's extremity it is
+    That Heaven's opportunities
+      Shine forth like jewels from the mine;
+    Then, Cuba, in thy hour of need,
+    With vision clear the tokens read
+      And trust for aid that power divine.
+
+
+
+
+The Sangamon River.
+
+
+    O sunny Sangamon! thy name to me,
+    Soft-syllabled like some sweet melody,
+    Familiar is since adolescent years
+    As household phrases ringing in my ears;
+    Its measured cadence sounding to and fro
+    From the dim corridors of long ago.
+
+    There was a time in happy days gone by,
+    That rosy interval of youth, when I
+    The scholar ardent early learned to trace
+    Great tributaries to their starting place;
+    And thine some prairie hollow obsolete
+    Whose name how few remember or repeat.
+
+    Like thee, meandering, yet wafted back
+    From distant hearth and lonely bivouac,
+    From strange vicissitudes in other lands,
+    From half-wrought labors and unfinished plans
+    I come, in thy cool depths my brow to lave,
+    And rest a moment by thy silver wave.
+
+    But, ah! what means thy muddy, muggy hue?
+    I thought thee limpid as yon ether blue;
+    I thought an angel's wing might dip below
+    Thy sparkling surface and be white as snow;
+    And of thy current I had dared to drink
+    If not as one imbibing draughts of ink.
+
+    Has some rough element of horrid clay
+    That spoils the earth like lava beds, they say,
+    Come sliding down, as avalanches do,
+    And thy fair bosom percolated through?
+    Or some apothecary's compound vile
+    Polluted thee so many a murky mile?
+
+    Why not, proud State, beneficence insure,
+    Selling thy soil or giving to the poor?
+    For sad it is that dust of Illinois,
+    With coal and compost its conjoint alloy,
+    A morceau washed from Mississippi's mouth,
+    Should build up acres for our neighbors south.
+
+    River! I grieve, but not for loss of dirt--
+    Once stainless, just because of what thou wert.
+    Thus on thy banks I linger and reflect
+    That, surely as all waterways connect,
+    Forever flowing onward to the sea,
+    Shall the great billow thy redemption be.
+
+    And now, dear Sangamon, farewell! I wait
+    On that Elysian scene to meditate
+    When, separated from the dregs of earth,
+    Life's stream shall sweeter be, of better worth;
+    And, like the ocean with its restless tide,
+    By its own action cleansed and purified.
+
+
+
+
+Syringas.
+
+
+    The smallest flower beside my path,
+      In loveliness of bloom,
+    Some element of comfort hath
+      To rid my heart of gloom;
+    But these, of spotless purity,
+      And fragrant as the rose,
+    As sad a sight recall to me
+      As time shall e'er disclose.
+
+    Oh, there are pictures on the brain
+      Sometimes by shadows made,
+    Till dust is blent with dust again,
+      That never, never fade;
+    And things supremely bright and fair
+      As ever known in life
+    Suggest the darkness of despair,
+      And sanguinary strife.
+
+    I shut my eyes; 'tis all in vain--
+      The battle-field appears,
+    And one among the thousands slain
+      In manhood's brilliant years;
+    An elbow pillowing his head,
+      And on the crimson sand
+    Syringa-blooms, distained and dead,
+      Within his rigid hand.
+
+    Could she foresee, who from the stem
+      Had plucked that little spray
+    Of flowers, that he would cherish them
+      Unto his dying day?
+    "Give these to M----;--'tis almost night--
+      And tell her--that--I love--"
+    Alas! the letter he would write
+      Was finished up above.
+
+    And so, with each recurring spring,
+      On Decoration day,
+    When to our heroes' graves we bring
+      The blossom-wealth of May,
+    While martial strains are soft and low,
+      And music seems a prayer,
+    Unto a hallowed spot I go,
+      And leave syringas there.
+
+
+
+
+Storm-bound.
+
+
+    My careful plans all storm-subdued,
+    In disappointing solitude
+        The weary hours began;
+    And scarce I deemed when time had sped,
+    Marked only by the passing tread
+        Of some pedestrian.
+
+    But with the morrow's tranquil dawn,
+    A fairy scene I looked upon
+        That filled me with delight;
+    Far-reaching from my own abode,
+    The world in matchless splendor glowed,
+        Arrayed in spotless white.
+
+    The surface of the hillside slope
+    Gleamed in my farthest vision's scope
+        Like opalescent stone;
+    Rich jewels hung on every tree,
+    Whose crystalline transparency
+        Golconda's gems outshone.
+
+    Beyond the line where wayside posts
+    Stood up, like fear-inspiring ghosts
+        Of awful form and mien,
+    A mansion tall, my neighbor's pride,
+    A seeming castle fortified,
+        Uprose in wondrous sheen.
+
+    The evergreens loomed up before
+    My staunch and storm-defying door,
+        Like snowy palaces
+    That one dare only penetrate
+    With reverence--as at Heaven's gate,
+        Awed by its mysteries.
+
+    The apple trees' extended arms
+    Upheld a thousand varied charms;
+        The curious tracery
+    Of trellised grapevine seemed to me
+    A rare network of filigree
+        In silver drapery.
+
+    And I no longer thought it hard
+    From favorite pursuits debarred,
+        Nor gazed with rueful face;
+    For every object seemed to be
+    Invested with the witchery
+        Of magic art and grace.
+
+    And, though a multitude of cares,
+    Perplexing, profitless affairs,
+        Absorbed the hours, it seems
+    That on the golden steps of thought
+    I mounted heavenward, and wrought
+        Out many hopeful schemes.
+
+    Thus every day, though it may span
+    The gulf wherein some cherished plan
+        Lies disarranged and crossed,
+    If, ere its close, we shall have trod
+    The path that leads us nearer God,
+        Cannot be counted lost.
+
+
+
+
+The Master of the Grange.
+
+
+    The type of enterprise is he,
+      Of sense and thrift and toil;
+    Who reckons less on pedigree
+      Than rich, productive soil;
+    And no "blue blood"--if such there be--
+      His veins can ever spoil.
+
+    And yet on blood his heart is set;
+      He has his sacred cow,
+    Some Alderney or Jersey pet,
+      The mistress of the mow;
+    His favorite pig is (by brevet)
+      "Lord Suffolk"--of the slough.
+
+    To points of stock is he alive
+      As keenest cattle king;
+    A thoroughbred he deigns to drive,
+      But not a mongrel thing;
+    The very bees within his hive
+      Are crossed--without a sting.
+
+    If apple-boughs drop pumpkins and
+      Tomatoes grow on trees,
+    It is because his grafting hand
+      Has so diverted these
+    That alien shoots with native stand
+      Like twin-born Siamese.
+
+    No neater farm a nabob owns,
+      Its care his chief employ,
+    To find fertility in bones
+      And briers to destroy,
+    Where once he lightly skipped the stones
+      A whistling, happy boy.
+
+    The ancient plough and awkward flail
+      He banished long ago;
+    The zigzag fence with ponderous rail
+      He dares to overthrow;
+    And wields, with sinews strong and hale,
+      The latest style of hoe.
+
+    The household, founded as it were
+      Upon the Decalogue,
+    He classes with the minister,
+      The rural pedagogue,
+    And as a sort of angel-cur
+      Regards his spotted dog.
+
+    His wife reviews the magazines,
+      His children lead the school,
+    He tries a thousand new machines
+      (And keeps his temper cool),
+    But bristles at Kentucky jeans,
+      And her impressive mule.
+
+    With Science letting down the bars,
+      Enlightening ignorance,
+    Enigmas deeper than the stars
+      He solves as by a glance,
+    And raises cinnamon cigars
+      From poor tobacco plants!
+
+    By no decree of fashion dressed,
+      And busier than Fate,
+    The student-farmer keeps abreast
+      With mighty men of state,
+    And treasures, like his Sunday vest,
+      The motto "Educate!"
+
+    Beyond encircling hills of blue,
+      Where I may never range,
+    This monarch in his realm I view,
+      Of title new and strange,
+    And make profound obeisance to
+      "The Master of the Grange."
+
+
+
+A Friend Indeed.
+
+
+    If every friend who meditates
+          In soft, unspoken thought
+    With winning courtesy and tact
+    The doing of a kindly act
+          To cheer some lonely lot,
+    Were like the friend of whom I dream,
+    Then hardship but a myth would seem.
+
+    If sympathy were always thus
+          Oblivious of space,
+    And, like the tendrils of the vine,
+    Could just as lovingly incline
+          To one in distant place,
+    'Twould draw the world together so
+    Might none the name of stranger know.
+
+    If every throb responsive that
+          My ardent spirit thrills
+    Could, like the skylark's ecstasy,
+    Be vocal in sweet melody,
+          Beyond dividing hills
+    In octaves of the atmosphere
+    Were music wafted to his ear.
+
+    If every friendship were like one,
+          So helpful and so true,
+    To other hearts as sad as mine
+    'Twould bring the joy so near divine,
+          And hope revive anew;
+    So life's dull path would it illume,
+    And radiate beyond the tomb.
+
+
+
+
+The Needed One.
+
+
+    'Twas not rare versatility,
+      Nor gift of poesy or art,
+    Nor piquant, sparkling _jeux d'esprit_
+        Which at the call of fancy come,
+      That touched the universal heart,
+        And won the world's encomium.
+
+    It was not beauty's potent charm;
+      For admiration followed her
+    Unmindful of the rounded arm,
+        The fair complexion's brilliancy,
+      If form and features shapely were
+        Or lacked the grace of symmetry.
+
+    So not by marked, especial power
+      She grew endeared to human thought,
+    But just because, in trial's hour,
+        Was loving service to be done
+      Or sympathy and counsel sought,
+        She made herself the needed one.
+
+      Oh, great the blessedness must be
+          Of heart and hand and brain alert
+      In projects wise and manifold,
+          Impending sorrow to avert
+    That duller natures fail to see,
+      Or stand aloof severe and cold!
+
+    And who shall doubt that this is why
+      In womanhood's florescent prime
+    She passed the portals of the sky?
+        As if a life thus truly given
+      To purpose pure and act sublime
+        Were needed also up in Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+"Thy Will Be Done."
+
+
+    Sometimes the silver cord of life
+      Is loosed at one brief stroke;
+    As when the elements at strife,
+    With Nature's wild contentions rife,
+      Uproot the sturdy oak.
+
+    Or fell disease, in patience borne,
+      Attenuates the frame
+    Till the meek sufferer, wan and worn,
+    Of energy and beauty shorn,
+      Death's sweet release would claim.
+
+    By instant touch or long decay
+      Is dissolution wrought;
+    When, lost to earth, the grave and gay,
+    The young and old who pass away,
+      Abide in hallowed thought.
+
+    In dear regard together drawn,
+      Affection's debt to pay,
+    Fond greetings we exchange at dawn
+    With one who, ere the day be gone,
+      Is bruised and lifeless clay.
+
+    O thou in manhood's morning-time
+      With health and hope elate,
+    For whom in youth's enchanting prime
+    The bells of promise seemed to chime,
+      We mourn thy early fate!
+
+    To us how sudden--yet to thee
+      Perchance God kindly gave
+    Some warning, ere the fatal key
+    Unlocked the door of mystery
+      That lies beyond the grave.
+
+    Then let us hope that one who found
+      Such favor, trust, and love,
+    And cordial praise from all around,
+    For rare fidelity renowned,
+      Found favor, too, above.
+
+    So "all is well," though swift or slow
+      God's will be done; and we
+    Draw near to him, for close and low
+    Beneath his chastening hand, the blow
+      Will fall less heavily.
+
+
+
+
+Snowflakes.
+
+
+      Of specious weight like tissue freight
+    The snowflakes are--in sparkle pure
+        As the rich _parure_
+    A lovely queen were proud to wear;
+    As volatile, as fine and rare
+    As thistle-down dispersed in air,
+        Or bits of filmy lace;
+    Like nature's tear-drops strewn around
+    That beautify and warm the ground,
+        But melt upon my face.
+
+      A ton or more against my door
+    They lie, and look, in form and tint,
+        Like piles of lint,
+    When war's alarum roused the land,
+    Wrought out by woman's loyal hand
+    From linen rag, and robe, and band--
+        From garments cast aside--
+    In hospital, on battle-field
+    The shattered limb that bound and healed,
+        Or stanched life's ebbing tide.
+
+      I see the gleam of lake and stream,
+    The silver glint in frost portrayed
+        Of the bright cascade;
+    They bear the moisture of marshes dank,
+    The dew of the lawn, or river bank,
+    The river itself by sunlight drank;
+        All these in frigid air,
+    That strange alembic, crystallize
+    In odd, fantastic shape and size
+        Like gems of dazzling glare.
+
+      Oh, of the snow such fancies grow,
+    'Till thought is lost in wandering,
+        And wondering
+    If portions of their drapery
+    The angel beings, sad to see
+    So much of earth's impurity,
+        Have dropped from clearer skies
+    As snowflakes, hiding stain and blot
+    To make this world a fairer spot,
+        And more like Paradise.
+
+
+
+
+Monadnock.
+
+
+    One summer time, with love imbued,
+    To climb the mount, explore the wood,
+      Or rove from pole to pole,
+    Upon Monadnock's brow I stood--
+      A lone, adventurous soul.
+
+    Beyond the Bay State border-line
+    A sweeping vista, grand and fine,
+      Embraced the Berkshire hills;
+    Embosomed hamlets, clumps of pine,
+      And country domiciles.
+
+    Afar, Mount Tom, in verdantique,
+    And Holyoke, twin companion peak,
+      Appeared gigantic cones;
+    The burning sunlight scorched my cheek,
+      And seemed to melt the stones.
+
+    Beneath a gnarled and twisted root
+    I loosed a pebble with my foot
+      That leaped the precipice,
+    And like an arrow seemed to shoot
+      Adown the deep abyss.
+
+    Beside the base that solstice day
+    A city chap who chanced to stray
+      Was shooting somewhat, too;
+    Who, when the nugget sped that way,
+      His firelock quickly drew.
+
+    While right and left he sought the quail,
+    Or the timid hare that crossed his trail,
+      Rang out a wild "Ha! ha!"
+    That might have turned the visage pale
+      Of a red-skinned Chippewa.
+
+    The game was his--for it made him quail;
+    He flung his gun and fled the vale,
+      The mountain-dwellers say,
+    As though pursued by a comet's tail--
+      And disappeared for aye.
+
+
+
+
+Never Had a Chance
+
+
+    Fresh from piano, school, and books,
+    A happy girl with rosy looks
+      Young Plowman wooed and won; despite
+    Her pretty, pouting prejudice,
+    Her deep distaste for rural bliss
+      Or countryfied delight.
+
+    Romance through all her nature ran--
+    Indeed, to wed a husband-man
+      Suffused her ardent maiden thought;
+    But lofty fancy dwelt upon
+    A new "Queen Anne," a terraced lawn,
+      A city's corner lot.
+
+    Her lily fingers that so well
+    Could paint a scene--in aquarelle--
+      Or broider plush with leaves and vines,
+    No more of real labor knew
+    Than waxen petals of the dew
+      On native eglantines.
+
+    Anon, with lapse of tender ways
+    That emphasized the courting days,
+      The housewife in her apron blue,
+    As mistress of her new abode,
+    By frequent lachrymations showed
+      Her grief and blunders too.
+
+    The butter-making, bread and cheese,
+    The old folks difficult to please,
+      The harvest hands--voracious bears!--
+    The infantry, a parent's pride,
+    By duos proudly classified:
+      So multiplied her cares.
+
+    The treadmill round of duties that
+    Makes any life inane and flat,
+      Without diversion sandwiched in,
+    The drudgery, the overplus
+    Of toil and trouble arduous,
+      Were rugged discipline.
+
+    What time for books and music, when
+    The lambs were bleating in their pen,
+      The chickens peeping at the door;
+    The rodent gnawing at the churn,
+    The buckwheat wafers crisped to burn,
+      The kettle boiling o'er?
+
+    To _hers_, so far between and few,
+    What resting-spells the farmer knew!
+      What intervals for culture! and
+    When intellect assumed the race,
+    He peerless held the foremost place--
+      No nobler in the land.
+
+    By virtue of exalted rank
+    "The brilliant senator from----"
+      Adorns society's expanse;
+    While by his side with folded hands,
+    Her beauty gone, the woman stands
+      Who "never had a chance."
+
+
+
+
+Sorrow and Joy.
+
+
+    In sad procession borne away
+      To sound of funeral knell,
+    Affection's tribute thus we pay,
+    And in earth's shelt'ring bosom lay
+    The friend to whom but yesterday
+      We gave the sad farewell.
+
+    But scarce the melancholy sound
+      Has died upon the ear,
+    Before the mournful dirge is drowned
+    By wedding-anthems' glad rebound,
+    That stir the solemn air around
+      With merry peals and clear.
+
+    Within our home doth gladness tread
+      So closely upon grief
+    That, in the tears of sorrow shed
+    O'er our beloved, lamented dead,
+    We see reflected joy instead
+      That gives a blest relief.
+
+    A father and a daughter gone
+      Beyond our fireside--
+    For one we loved and leaned upon
+    The skillful archer Death had drawn
+    His bow; and one in life's sweet dawn
+      Went out a happy bride.
+
+    We gave to Heaven, in manhood's prime,
+      Him whose brave strength and worth
+    Life's rugged steeps had taught to climb;
+    And her, for whom a tuneful rhyme
+    The bells of promise sweetly chime,
+      We consecrate to earth.
+
+    Thus each a mystic path, untried,
+      Has entered--God is just!
+    We leave with him our friend who died,
+    With him we leave our fair young bride
+    Who shall no more with us abide,
+      And in His goodness trust.
+
+    Oh, life and death, uncertainty,
+      Bright hopes and anxious fears,
+    Commingle so bewilderingly,
+    That perfect joy we may not see
+    Till all shall reunited be
+      Beyond this vale of tears!
+
+
+
+
+Watch Hill.
+
+
+    Fair summer home peninsula,
+      Enriched by every breeze
+    From fragrant islands, wafted far
+      Across the sunny seas!
+
+    A profile rare! a height of land
+      Outlined 'gainst heaven's blue
+    With bolder touch than skillful hand
+      Of artist ever drew.
+
+    In "mountain billows" that parade
+      The grandeur of the deep,
+    Is His supremacy displayed
+      Whose hands the waters keep.
+
+    No sweep of waves, in broad expanse,
+      With wild, weird melody,
+    Shall thus an unseen world enhance--
+      "There shall be no more sea!"
+
+    A wealth of joy-perfected days,
+      Where glorious sunset dyes,
+    Resplendent in declining rays,
+      Surpass Italia's skies!
+
+    Proud caravansaries that compete
+      In studied arts to please
+    The multitude, with restless feet,
+      From earth's antipodes!
+
+    A motley company astray:
+      The sojourner for health,
+    The grave, serene, the _devotee_
+      Of fashion and of wealth.
+
+    Artistic cottages upreared
+      In beauty, strength, and skill--
+    The happy, healthful homes endeared
+      To lovers of Watch Hill!
+
+    A golden crown adorns the spot;
+      Forever blessed be
+    The hand beneficent that wrought
+      "A temple by the sea!"
+
+    A star in some bright diadem
+      In glory it shall be,
+    For truly, "I will honor them,"
+      Saith God, "who honor me."
+
+    When Christians meet to praise and pray,
+      May feet that never trod
+    The sanctuary learn the way
+      Unto the house of God.
+
+    Glad paeans down the centuries
+      With joy the world shall thrill:
+    "The Lord, revered and honored, is
+      The glory of Watch Hill!"
+
+
+
+
+Supplicating.
+
+
+    One morn I looked across the way,
+      And saw you fling your window wide
+    To welcome in the breath of May
+      In breezes from the mountain-side,
+    And greet the sunlight's earliest ray
+      With happy look and satisfied.
+
+    The pansies on your window-sill
+      In terra cotta flowerpot,
+    Like royal gold and purple frill
+      Upon the stony casement wrought,
+    Adorned your tasteful domicile
+      And claimed your time and care and thought.
+
+    In cherry trees the robins sang
+      Their sweetest carol to your ear,
+    And shouts of merry children rang
+      Out on the dewy atmosphere,
+    But to my heart there came a pang
+      That my salute you did not hear.
+
+    I envied then the favored breeze
+      That dallied with your flowing hair,
+    Begrudged the songsters in the trees
+      And longed to be a flow'ret fair--
+    Some favorite blossom like heartease--
+      Within your miniature parterre.
+
+    O heart, that finds such ample room
+      Within thy confines broad and true,
+    For song and sunshine and perfume
+      And all benign impulses--go,
+    I pray thee, dissipate my gloom--
+      And take in thy petitioner too!
+
+
+
+
+"Honest John."
+
+
+    He was a man whose lot was cast,
+      As some might think, in lines severe;
+    In humble toil whose life was passed
+      From week to week, from year to year;
+    And yet, by wife and children blessed,
+    He labored on with cheerful zest.
+
+    As one revered and set apart,
+      A quaint, unusual name he bore
+    That well became the frugal heart;
+      While plain habiliments he wore
+    Without a tremor or a chill
+    At thought of some uncanceled bill.
+
+    A king might not disdain to wear
+      The title so appropriate
+    To one who never sought to share
+      Exalted station 'mong the great,
+    Nor cared if on the scroll of fame
+    Were never traced his worthy name.
+
+    As bound by honor's righteous law
+      In strictest rectitude he wrought--
+    The man who calmly, clearly saw
+      His duty, and who dallied not--
+    To garner life's necessities
+    For those whose comfort heightened his.
+
+    The parent bird its brood protects
+      As fledglings in their downy nest,
+    Until a Power their flight directs
+      From trial trips to distant quest,
+    Through trackless zones of ether blue,
+    For bird companions strange and new.
+
+    But ere his babes from prattlers grew,
+      Upon his knee or by his side,
+    To womanhood and manhood true--
+      Too soon we thought--the father died;
+    How could we know, when Death was nigh
+    Those little wings were taught to fly?
+
+    Another name his boyhood knew,
+      So seldom heard that lapse of years
+    Had made it seem a thing untrue,
+      Unmusical to friendly ears;
+    And thus his appellation odd
+    His passport was where'er he trod.
+
+    So long, on every lip and tongue
+      As if by universal whim,
+    To him had his cognomen clung,
+      And like a garment fitted him,
+    That angels even must have heard
+    Of one, like them, in love preferred.
+
+    And when he came to Heaven's door,
+      To Peter's self or acolyte,
+    The holy warder looking o'er,
+      "'Tis 'Honest John!'" he said aright;
+    And his pilgrim spirit passed within
+    Because his walk with God had been.
+
+
+
+
+Bushnell Park.
+
+
+    Sweet resting place! that long hath been
+    A boon Elysian 'mid the din
+      Of city life, 'mid city smoke;
+    Where weary ones who toil and spin
+    Have turned aside as to an inn
+      Whose swinging sign a welcome spoke;
+    Where misanthropes find medicine
+    In peals of laughter that begin
+      With ancient, resurrected joke,
+    Or ready wit of harlequin;
+    Where children, free from discipline,
+      Take on Diversion's easy yoke.
+
+    Fair oasis! to view aright
+    Its charming paths, its sloping height,
+      Its beautiful and broad expanse,
+    Must one approach in witching night
+    When, like abodes of airy sprite
+      Revealed unto the wondering glance,
+    O'erflooded with electric light
+    Than Luna's beams more dazzling bright,
+      Illumined nooks the scene enhance;
+    While zephyrs mischievous unite
+    The timid stroller to affright
+      By swaying boughs in shadow dance.
+
+    The Capitol that crowns the hill
+    Where Boreas sweeps with icy chill,
+      A masterpiece of studied art
+    Conceived by genius versatile
+    And fashioned with unerring skill,
+      O'erlooks the busy, crowded mart,
+    And, like a kingly domicile,
+    Its burnished dome and sculpture thrill
+      With admiration every heart;
+    And strangers pause beyond the rill
+    To view its grandeur, lingering still,
+      And with reluctant steps depart.
+
+    O Bushnell Park, memorial soil!
+    That marks success (though near to foil)
+      Of one who with prophetic ken,
+    With honest zeal and ceaseless toil,
+    Opposed the vandal wish to spoil
+      This lovely bit of vale and glen;
+    Who, 'mid discussion and turmoil
+    Of adverse minds, did not recoil
+      From vigorous stroke of tongue and pen;
+    And then, till passion ceased to boil,
+    On troubled waters poured out oil
+      And to his plans won other men.
+
+    So when, fatigued and overwrought,
+    In summer time when skies are hot
+      We seek its verdant, velvet sward,
+    Oh may we hold in reverent thought
+    The debt we owe, forgetting not
+      The spirit passed to its reward
+    Of one whose giant soul was fraught
+    With true benignity--who sought
+      To touch humanity's quick chord
+    With fire from Heaven's altar brought,
+    That love and zeal and being caught
+      As inspiration from the Lord.
+
+
+
+
+At General Grant's Tomb.
+
+
+    Afar my loyal spirit stirred
+      At mention of his name;
+    Afar in ringing notes I heard
+      The clarion voice of fame;
+    So to his tomb, hope long deferred,
+      With reverent step I came.
+
+    The pilgrim muse revivified
+      A half-forgotten day:
+    A slow procession, tearful-eyed,
+      In funeral array,
+    And from MacGregor's lonely side
+      A hero borne away.
+
+    Here sleeps he now, where long ago
+      Hath nature raised his mound:
+    A mighty channel far below,
+      Divided hills around,
+    Where countless thousands come and go
+      As to a shrine renowned.
+
+    With awe do strangers' eyes discern
+      A casket mid the green
+    Luxuriance of flower and fern;
+      Airy and cool and clean,
+    Unchanged from spring to spring's return,
+      This charnel chamber scene.
+
+    His country's weal his care and thought,
+      Beloved in peace was he;
+    Magnanimous in war--shall not
+      The nation grateful be,
+    And render at his burial spot
+      A testimonial free?
+
+    Oh, let us, ere the days come on
+      When energy is spent,
+    To him, the silent soldier gone,
+      Statesman and President,
+    On Riverside's majestic lawn
+      Uprear a monument.
+
+
+
+
+"Be Courteous."
+
+
+      Ah, yes; why not? Is one more adventitious born
+    Than others--shekels richer, honors fuller, and all that--
+      That he can pass his fellows by with lofty scorn,
+    Nor even show this slight regard--the lifting of the hat?
+
+      Why prate of social status, class, or rank when earth
+    Is common tenting-ground, the heritage of all mankind?
+      Except in purity is there no royal birth,
+    No true nobility but nobleness of heart and mind.
+
+      Life is so short--one journey long, a pilgrimage
+    That we cannot retrace, nor ever pass this way again;
+      Then why not turn for some poor soul a brighter page,
+    And line the way with courtesies unto our fellow-men?
+
+      To give a graceful word or smile, or lend a hand
+    To one downcast and trembling on the borders of despair,
+      May help him to look up and better understand
+    Why God has made the sky so bright and put the rainbow there.
+
+      Be courteous! is nothing helpful half so cheap
+    As kind urbanity that doth so much of gladness bring;
+      More precious too than all the treasures of the deep,
+    Making the winter of discomfort seem like joyous spring.
+
+      Be courteous and gentle! be serene and good!
+    Those grand ennobling and enduring virtues all may claim;
+      Of each may it be said, of the great multitude:
+    Oh that my life were more like such an one of blessed fame!
+
+      Is it that over-crowding, care, anxiety,
+    Vortex of pleasure, the incessant round of toil and strife,
+      Beget indifference, repressing love and sympathy,
+    Till we forget the beautiful amenities of life?
+
+      Then cometh a sad day, when with a poignant sting
+    Lost opportunities shall speak to us reproachfully;
+      And ours shall be the disapproval of the King--
+    "Discourteous to these, my creatures, ye have wounded Me."
+
+
+
+
+A New Suit.
+
+
+    The artist and the loom unseen,
+    In textures soft as _crepe de chine_
+    Spring weaves her royal robe of green,
+      With grasses fringed and daisies dotted,
+    With furzy tufts like mosses fine
+    And showy clumps of eglantine,
+    With dainty shrub and creeping vine
+      Upon the verdant fabric knotted.
+
+    Oh, winter takes our love away
+    For ashen hues of sober gray!
+    So when the blooming, blushing May
+      Comes out in bodice, cap, and kirtle,
+    With arbutus her corsage laced,
+    And roses clinging to her waist,
+    We crown her charming queen of taste,
+      Her chaplet-wreath of modest myrtle.
+
+    For eighteen centuries and more
+    Her fairy hands have modeled o'er
+    The same habiliments she wore
+      At her primeval coronation;
+    And still the pattern exquisite,
+    For every age a perfect fit,
+    In every land the favorite,
+      Elicits world-wide admiration.
+
+    Gay butterflies of fashion, you
+    Who wear a suit a year or two,
+    Then agitate for something new,
+      Look at Regina, the patrician!
+    Her cleverness is more than gold
+    Who so transforms from fabrics old
+    The things a marvel to behold,
+      And glories in the exhibition.
+
+    Why worry for an overdress,
+    The acme of luxuriousness,
+    Beyond all envy to possess,
+      Renewed as oft as lambkin fleeces!
+    Why flutter round in pretty pique
+    To follow style's capricious freak,
+    To match _pongee_ or _moire antique_,
+      And break your peace in hopeless pieces?
+
+    O mantua-maker, costumer,
+    And fair-robed wearer! study _her_
+    And imitate the conjurer
+      So prettily economizing,
+    Without demur, regret, or pout,
+    Who always puts the bright side out
+    And never frets at all about
+      The world's _penchant_ for criticizing.
+
+
+
+
+The Little Clock.
+
+
+    Kind friend, you do not know how much
+      I prize this time-ly treasure,
+    So dainty, diligent, and such
+      A constant source of pleasure.
+
+    The man of brains who could invent
+      So true a chrono-meter
+    Has set a charming precedent,
+      And made a good repeater.
+
+    It speaks with clear, commanding clicks,
+      Suggestive of the donor;
+    And 'tends to business--never sick
+      A bit more than the owner.
+
+    It goes when I do; when I stop
+      (As by the dial showing)
+    It never lets a second drop,
+      But simply keeps on going.
+
+    It tells me when I am to eat,
+      Which isn't necessary;
+    When food with me is obsolete,
+      I'll be a reliquary.
+
+    It tells me early when to rise,
+      And bother with _dejeuner_;
+    To sally forth and exercise,
+      And fill up my _porte-monnaie_.
+
+    I hear it talking in the night,
+      As if it were in clover:
+    You've never lost your appetite,
+      You've never been run over.
+
+    It makes me wish that I might live
+      More faithful unto duty,
+    And unto others something give
+      Like this bijou of beauty.
+
+    It holds its hands before its face,
+      So very modest is it;
+    So like the people in the place
+      Where I delight to visit.
+
+    Sometimes I wonder if it cries
+      The course I am pursuing;
+    Because it has so many I-s
+      And must know what I'm doing.
+
+    Sometimes I fear it makes me cry--
+      No matter, and no pity--
+    Afraid at last I'll have to die
+      In some far, foreign city.
+
+    It travels with me everywhere
+      And chirrups like a cricket;
+    As if it said with anxious air,
+      "Don't lose your tick-tick-ticket!"
+
+    Companion of my loneliness
+      Along my journey westward,
+    It never leaves me comfortless,
+      But has the last and best word.
+
+    I would not spoil its lovely face,
+      And so I go behind it,
+    And hold it like a china vase,
+      So careful when I wind it.
+
+    A clock is always excellent
+      That has its label on,
+    And proves a fine advertisement
+      For Waterbury, Conn.
+
+    Those Yankees--ah! they never shun
+      A chance to make a dime,
+    And counterfeit the very sun
+      In keeping "Standard Time."
+
+    Ah, well! the little clock has proved
+      The best of all bonanzas;
+    And thus my happy heart is moved
+      To these effusive stanzas.
+
+
+
+
+Improvement.
+
+
+    Along the avenue I pass
+      Huge piles of wood and stone,
+    And glance at each amorphous mass,
+    Whose cumbrous weight has crushed the grass,
+      With half resentful groan.
+
+    Say I: "O labor, to despoil
+      Some lovely forest scene,
+    Or at the granite stratum toil,
+    And desecrate whole roods of soil,
+      Is vandal-like and mean!
+
+    "Than ever to disfigure thus
+      Our prairie garden-land,
+    Let me consort with Cerberus,
+    Be chained to crags precipitous,
+      Or seek an alien strand."
+
+    But while this pining, pouting Muse
+      The interval ignores,
+    Deft industry, no time to lose,
+    Contrives and carries, hoists and hews,
+      And symmetry restores.
+
+    Behold! of rock and pile and board
+      A modern miracle,
+    My neighbor's dwelling, roofed and floored,
+    That rapid grew as Jonah's gourd,
+      And far more beautiful.
+
+    The artisan's receding gait
+      Has brushed the chips away,
+    Where innocence shall recreate,
+    Or like the flowers grow, and wait
+      The balminess of May.
+
+    An arid spot, where careless feet
+      Have long been wont to roam,
+    Where cattle grazed, as if to eat
+    Were life's delicious, richest treat,
+      Becomes a charming home.
+
+    O man primeval! hadst thou known,
+      Ere rude hands scooped thy grave,
+    Of Homestead Act, or Building Loan,
+    Thou wouldst have quite disdained to own
+      A rugged cliff or cave.
+
+    And now I see how skill and art
+      May cleave fair nature through,
+    Disintegrate her breathing heart,
+    And to the tissues torn impart
+      A use and beauty new.
+
+    And this improvement is, to turn
+      The things which God has given
+    To their best purpose, as we learn
+    To make the place where we sojourn
+      Homelike and more like Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+On Bancroft Height.
+
+
+    On Bancroft height Aurora's face
+      Shines brighter than a star,
+    As stepping forth in dewy grace,
+      The gates of day unbar;
+    And lo! the firmament, the hills,
+      And the vales that intervene--
+    Creation's self with gladness thrills
+      To greet the matin queen.
+
+    On Bancroft height the atmosphere
+      Is but an endless waft
+    Of life's elixir, pure and clear
+      As mortal ever quaffed;
+    And such the sweet salubrity
+      Of air and altitude,
+    Is banished many a malady
+      And suffering subdued.
+
+    On Bancroft height the sunset glow
+      When day departing dies
+    Outrivals all that tourists know
+      Of famed Italian skies;
+    And happy dwellers round about
+      Who view the scene aright
+    In admiration grow devout
+      And laud the Lord of light.
+
+    Round Bancroft height rich memories
+      Commingle earth's affairs,
+    Among the world's celebrities,
+      Of him whose name it bears;
+    The scholar-wise compatriot
+      Who left to later men
+    The grand achievements unforgot
+      Of that historic pen.
+
+    Fair Bancroft height revisited
+      When all the land is white,
+    A halo crowns its noble head
+      Impelling fresh delight;
+    The daring wish in winter-time
+      The blizzard to defy
+    Those shining slippery slopes to climb
+      Up nearer to the sky.
+
+    Though Boreas abrade the cheek
+      With buffetings of snow,
+    He gives a vigor that the weak
+      And languid never know;
+    And with rejuvenescent thrill,
+      Like children everywhere,
+    Bestirs the rhapsody, the will
+      To make a snow-man there.
+
+    On Bancroft height and Bancroft tower
+      Such vistas charm the eye
+    'Twere life's consummate, glorious hour
+      But to behold--and die;
+    Yet in the sparkle and the glow
+      Is earth so very fair
+    The spirit lingers, loath to go,
+      And dreams of heaven--up there.
+
+
+
+
+A Reformer.
+
+
+    When I was young, my heart elate
+      With ardent notions warm,
+    I thirsted to inaugurate
+      A spirit of reform;
+    The universe was all awry,
+      Philosophy despite,
+    And mundane things disjointed I
+      Was bound to set aright.
+
+    My mind conceived a million plans,
+      For Hope was brave and strong,
+    But dared not with unaided hands
+      Combat a giant wrong;
+    So with caress I sought to coax
+      Those who had humored me
+    In infancy--the dear old folks--
+      And gain their sympathy.
+
+    But quarreling with extant laws
+      They would have deemed a shame
+    Who clung to error, just because
+      Their fathers did the same.
+    I sought in Pleasure's gilded halls,
+      Where grace and beauty stirred
+    At revelry's impetuous calls,
+      To make my projects heard.
+
+    Then turned to stately palaces
+      Of luxury and ease,
+    Where wealth's absorbing object was
+      The master's whim to please;
+    And spoke of evils unredressed,
+      Of danger yet to be--
+    They only answered, like the rest:
+      "But what is that to me?"
+
+    And even pious _devotees_
+      Whom sacred walls immure
+    Condemned me (as by feeble praise)--
+      What more could I endure?
+    Down by the stream, so pure and clear
+      That sunbeams paused to drink,
+    In loneliness and grief sincere
+      I pressed its grassy brink.
+
+    Thick darkness seemed to veil the day;
+      Beyond a realm of tears
+    Utopia's land of promise lay;
+      And not till later years
+    I learned this lesson--that to win
+      Results from labor sure,
+    "Reformers" always must begin
+      Among the lowly poor.
+
+    For they whose lot privation is
+      And whose delights are few,
+    Whose aggregate of miseries
+      Is want of something new,
+    The measure of whose happiness
+      Is but an empty cup,
+    For every novelty will press
+      Alert to fill it up.
+
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+Page 27: Changed Galiee to Galilee (Printer's Error)
+Page 47: Indented 1st stanza to match others
+Page 173: Changed prarie to prairie (Printer's Error)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Hattie Howard
+
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