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| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-03 17:25:08 -0800 |
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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-03 17:25:08 -0800 |
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diff --git a/44973-0.txt b/44973-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..799d7f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/44973-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3452 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44973 *** + +[Illustration: Yours Sincerely, + +Elizabeth Porter Gould.] + + + + + STRAY PEBBLES + FROM THE + SHORES OF THOUGHT + + BY + ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD + + + BOSTON + PRESS OF T. O. METCALF & CO. + 1892 + + + + + COPYRIGHT 1892 + BY + ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + POEMS OF NATURE: + PAGE + To Walt Whitman 11 + To Summer Hours 12 + A True Vacation 13 + A Question 14 + To a Butterfly 16 + In a Hammock 18 + O rare, sweet summer day 20 + An Old Man's Reverie 22 + On Jefferson Hill 26 + On Sugar Hill 28 + At "Fairfield's," Wenham 29 + Blossom-time 31 + The Primrose 33 + Joy, all Joy 35 + Among the Pines 37 + Conscious or Unconscious 39 + + + POEMS OF LOVE: + + Love's How and Why 43 + Love's Guerdon 44 + A Birthday Greeting 45 + Three Kisses 48 + If I were only sure 50 + Absence 52 + A Love Song 53 + In Her Garden 55 + Love's Wish 56 + Is there anything purer 58 + Longing 60 + Young Love's Message 61 + A Diary's Secret 63 + A Monologue 65 + A Priceless Gift 66 + The Ocean's Moan 67 + Love's Flower 70 + Renunciation 71 + Love Discrowned 74 + A Widow's Heart Cry 76 + Together 78 + Shadowed Circles 80 + + + MISCELLANEOUS POEMS: + + A Song of Success 85 + The Under World 87 + She Knows 88 + At Pittsford, Vermont 90 + Childhood's Days 92 + An Answer 94 + Where, What, Whence 96 + Heroes 98 + A Magdalen's Easter Cry 100 + For the Anniversary of Mrs. Browning's Death 103 + Robert Browning 105 + To Neptune, in behalf of S. C. G. 107 + To the Pansies growing on the grave of A. S. D. 109 + A Broken Heart 111 + My Release 113 + The god of music 115 + To Wilhelm Gericke 118 + For E. T. F. + 1.--After the birth of her son 119 + 2.--Upon the death of her son 121 + To C. H. F. 123 + An Anniversary Poem 126 + A Comfort 128 + An Anniversary 129 + To Miss Elizabeth P. Peabody 131 + At Life's Setting 133 + Grandma Waiting 136 + Does it Pay 144 + Auxilium ab Alto 145 + Limitations 147 + The Muse of History 148 + An Impromptu to G. H. T. 151 + To Mrs. Partington 153 + Lines for the Seventieth Birthday Anniversary of Walt + Whitman 156 + + + SONNETS: + + The Known God 161 + To Phillips Brooks 163 + At the "Porter Manse" 165 + Our Lady of the Manse 167 + To B. P. Shillaber 169 + To Our Mary 171 + A Birthday Remembrance 173 + Josef Hofmann 175 + After the Denial 177 + Gethsemane 179 + On Lake Memphremagog 181 + Luke 23: 24 183 + To Members of my Home Club 185 + + + FOR MY LITTLE NEPHEWS AND NIECES: + + Mamma's Lullaby 189 + Warren's Song 190 + Baby Mildred 192 + Rosamond and Mildred 194 + 'Chilla 196 + Childish Fancies 197 + What little Bertram did 199 + "Dear little Mac" 202 + Willard and Florence on Mt. Wachusett 207 + A little Brazilian 210 + The little doubter 213 + Our Kitty's Trick 217 + A Message 220 + + + + +POEMS OF NATURE. + + + + +TO WALT WHITMAN. + + + "I loafe and invite my soul." + And what do I feel? + An influx of life from the great central power + That generates beauty from seedling to flower. + + "I loafe and invite my soul." + And what do I hear? + Original harmonies piercing the din + Of measureless tragedy, sorrow, and sin. + + "I loafe and invite my soul." + And what do I see? + The temple of God in the perfected man + Revealing the wisdom and end of earth's plan. + + _August, 1891._ + + + + +TO SUMMER HOURS. + + +DAY. + + Trip lightly, joyous hours, + While Day her heart reveals. + Such wealth from secret bowers + King Time himself ne'er steals. + O joy, King Time ne'er steals! + + +NIGHT. + + Breathe gently, tireless hours, + While Night in beauty sleeps. + Hold back e'en softest showers,-- + Enough that mortal weeps. + Ah me, that my heart weeps! + + + + +A TRUE VACATION. + +IN A HAMMOCK. + + + "Cradled thus and wind caressed," + Under the trees, + (Oh what ease.) + Nature full of joyous greeting; + Dancing, singing, naught secreting, + Ever glorious thoughts repeating-- + Pause, O Time, + I'm satisfied! + Now all life + Is glorified! + +_Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass._ + + + + +A QUESTION. + + + Is life a farce? + Tell me, O breeze, + Bearing the perfume of flowers and trees, + While gaily decked birds + Pour forth their gladness in songs beyond words, + And cloudlets coquette in the fresh summer air + Rejoicing in everything being so fair-- + Is life a farce? + + How can it be, child, + When Nature at heart + Is but the great spirit of love and of art + Eternally saying, "I must God impart." + + Is life a farce? + Tell me, O soul, + Struggling to act out humanity's whole + 'Midst Error and Wrong, + And failure in sight of true victory's song; + With Wisdom and Virtue at times lost to view, + And love for the many lost in love for the few-- + Is life a farce? + + How can it be, child, + When humanity's heart + Is but the great spirit of love and of art + Eternally crying, "I must God impart." + + + + +TO A BUTTERFLY. + + + O butterfly, now prancing + Through the air, + So glad to share + The freedom of new living, + Come, tell me my heart's seeking. + Shall I too know + After earth's throe + Full freedom of my being? + Shall I, as you, + Through law as true, + Know life of fuller meaning? + + O happy creature, dancing, + Is time too short + With pleasure fraught + For you to heed my seeking? + + Ah, well, you've left me thinking: + If here on earth + A second birth + Can so transform a being, + Why may not I + In worlds on high + Be changed beyond earth's dreaming? + + + + +IN A HAMMOCK. + + + The rustling leaves above me, + The breezes sighing round me, + A network glimpse of bluest sky + To meet the upturned seeing eye, + The greenest lawn beneath me, + Loved flowers and birds to greet me, + A well-kept house of ancient days + To tell of human nature's ways,-- + Oh happy, happy hour! + + Whence comes all this to bless me, + The soft wind to caress me, + The life which does my strength renew + For purer visions of the true? + Alas! no one can tell me. + But, hush! let Nature lead me. + Let even wisest questions cease + While I breathe in such life and peace + This happy, happy hour. + +_Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass._ + + + + +O RARE, SWEET SUMMER DAY. + + "The day is placid in its going, + To a lingering motion bound, + Like a river in its flowing-- + Can there be a softer sound?" + + --_Wordsworth._ + + + O rare, sweet summer day, + Could'st thou not longer stay? + The soothing, whispering wind's caress + Was bliss to weary brain, + The songs of birds had power to bless + As in fair childhood's reign. + + The tinted clouds were free from showers, + The sky was wondrous clear, + The precious incense of rare flowers + Made sweet the atmosphere; + The shimmering haze of mid-day hour + Was balm to restlessness, + While thought of silent hidden power + Was strength for helplessness-- + O rare, sweet summer day, + Could'st thou not longer stay? + +_Porter Manse._ + + + + +AN OLD MAN'S REVERIE. + + + Blow breezes, fresh breezes, on Love's swiftest wing, + And bear her the message my heart dares to sing. + Pause not on the highways where gathers earth's dust, + Nor in the fair heavens, though cloudlets say must. + But blow through the valleys where flowers await + To give of their essence ere yielding to fate; + Or blow on the hill tops where atmospheres lie + Imbued with the health which no money can buy. + But fail not, O breezes, on Love's swiftest wing + To bear her the message my heart dares to sing. + + The breezes, thus ladened, sped on in their flight, + As, cradled in hammock, I sang in delight, + On that blest summer day in the years long ago, + When life was all sunshine and youth all aglow. + The sweets of the valleys, the breath of the hills + Were gathered--the best that our loved earth distills-- + As, obedient still to my wish, on they flew + To the home of my darling they now so well knew. + + * * * * * + + Alas for the breezes, alas for my heart, + Alas for my message, so full of love's art! + If only the breezes had followed their will, + And loitered among the pure cloudlets so still, + They'd have met a fair soul from the earth just set free + In search of their help for its message to me; + The message my darling, with last fleeting breath, + In vain tried to utter, o'ertaken by death. + + The breezes, fresh breezes, have blown on since then, + With messages laden again and again. + As for me, I send none. I wait only their will + To bring me that message my lone heart to fill. + They'll find it some day in a light zephyr chase, + For nothing is lost in pure love's boundless space. + + + + +ON JEFFERSON HILL. + +(BEFORE THE PRESIDENTIAL RANGE.) + + + The sovereign mountains bask in sunset rays, + The valleys rest in peace; + The lingering clouds melt into twilight haze, + The birds their warbling cease; + The villagers' hour of welcome sleep is near, + The cattle wander home, + While wrapped in summer-scented atmosphere, + Calm evening comes to roam + With gentle pace + Through star-lit space, + Till moon-kissed Night holds all in her embrace, + And Morning waits to show her dawn-flushed face. + + + + +ON SUGAR HILL. + +TO F. B. F. + + + The lovely valleys nestling in the arms + Of glorious mountain peaks; + The purple tint of sunset hour, and charms + The evening hour bespeaks; + The monarch peak kissed by the rising sun, + While clouds keep guard below; + Grand, restful views, with foliage autumn-won, + And Northern lights rare glow,-- + Will e'er recall, + In memory's hall, + The happy days when on fair "Look-Off's" height, + Sweet friendship cast her hues of golden light. + +_Hotel Look-Off, September, 1891._ + + + + +AT FAIRFIELDS[A], WENHAM. + +_June, 1890._ + + + Buttercups and daisies, + Clover red and white, + Ferns and crown-topped grasses + Waving with delight, + Dainty locust-blossoms, + All that glad June yields, + Welcome me with gladness + To dearly-loved "Fairfields." + But where's my happy collie dog, + My Rosa? + + The orioles sing greeting, + The butterflies come near, + The hens cease not their cackling, + The horses neigh "I'm here," + The cows nod "I have missed you," + The pigs' eyes even shine, + And from the red-house hearth-stone + Comes pet cat Valentine. + But where's my happy collie dog, + My Rosa? + + I miss her joyful greeting, + Her handsome, high-bred face, + Her vigorous, playful action + In many a fair field chase. + Not even lively Sancho + Can fill for me her place. + + O Rosa, happy Rosa, + Gone where the good dogs go, + Dost find such fields as "Fairfields," + More love than we could show? + + [A] "Fairfields" is but another name for "Porter Manse." + + + + +BLOSSOM-TIME. + + + Blossoms floating through the air, + Bearing perfumes rich and rare, + Free from trouble, toil, and care. + Would I were a blossom! + + Robins singing in the trees, + Feeling every velvet breeze, + Free from knowledge that bereaves. + Would I were a robin! + + Violets peaceful in the vale, + Telling each its happy tale, + Free from worldly noise and sale. + Would I were a violet! + + Blessed day of needed wealth, + Full of Nature's perfect health, + Fill me with thy power. + + Then like blossoms I shall be, + Wafting only purity, + Or like robins, singing free + 'Midst the deepening mystery, + Or like violets, caring naught + Only to reflect God's thought." + +_Porter Manse._ + + + + +THE PRIMROSE. + + + Who tells you, sweet primrose, 'tis time to wake up + After dreaming all day? + Who changes so quickly your sombre green dress + To the yellow one gay, + And makes you the pet of the twilight's caress, + And of poet's sweet lay? + Who does, primrose, pray? + + The primrose, secure on his emerald throne, + Looked up quickly to say, + "A dear lovely fairy glides down from his throne + In the sun's golden ray, + And with a sweet kiss opens wide all our eyes, + Saying, 'Now is your day.' + And lo! when he's gone we are filled with surprise + At our wondrous array, + So fresh and so gay. + Do tell us the name of this fairy, I pray, + Who gives of his beauty, and then hies away + Without thanks, without pay. + Does he linger your way?" + + + + +JOY, ALL JOY. + + + Lying on the new-mown hay, in a sightly field, + On a summer day, + With no care to weigh, + Or a bitter thought to stay all that sense might yield-- + What a joy to have alway! + + Sky as blue as blue can be, perfect green all round, + Birdlings on the wing + Ere they pause to sing + On the top of bush or tree, or on sweet hay-mound-- + Restful joy in everything! + + Butterflies just come to light, proud of freedom's hour, + Cows in pastures near, + Wondering why I'm here, + Chipmunks now and then in sight, bees in clover-flower-- + Added joy when these appear! + + Happy children far and near climbing loads of hay, + Running here and there. + Farmer's work to share, + Skipping, shouting loud and clear, full of daring play-- + Children's joy! Joy everywhere! + + + + +AMONG THE PINES. + + + Far up in air the pines are murmuring + Love songs sweet and low, + With a rhythmic flow, + Worthy of the glad sun's glow. + + The airy clouds are o'er them bending, + Captured by the sound + Of such pleasure found + In a playful daily round. + + The birds pause in their flight to listen, + Wondering all the while + How the trees can smile + Rooted so to earthly guile. + + The hush of summer noon enwraps them + Perfumed from below + By the flowers that show + They, too, murmuring love songs know. + + All nature finds a joy in loving-- + Oh, that I could hear + Love songs once so dear + Death has hushed forever here! + +_Intervale Woods, North Conway._ + + + + +CONSCIOUS OR UNCONSCIOUS? + + + The earthquake's shock, the thunder's roar, + The lightning's vivid chain, + The ocean's strength, the deluge's pour, + The wildest hurricane, + + Are moods that Nature loves to show + To man who boasts his birth + From conscious force she could not know + Because denied soul-worth. + + But is it true she does not share + A knowledge in God's plan? + Must not she His own secret bear + To so touch soul of man? + + Those who deny this see not clear + Into the heart of things; + For how could otherwise God here + Reveal His wanderings? + + + + +POEMS OF LOVE. + + + + +LOVE'S HOW AND WHY. + + + How do I love thee? + Oh, who knows + How the blush of the rose + Can its secret disclose? + Oh, who knows? + + Why do I love thee? + Ah, who cares + Sound a passion he shares + With the angels? Who dares, + Yes, who dares? + + + + +LOVE'S GUERDON. + + + Thine eyes are stars to hold me + To love's pure rapturous height. + Thy thoughts are pearls to lead me + To truth beyond earth's sight. + Thy love is life to keep me + Forever in God's light. + + + + +A BIRTHDAY GREETING. + + + Thy birthday, dear? + Oh, would I had the poet's art + By which I could my wish impart + For thy new year; + But e'en a poet's pen of gold + Would fail my wish to thee unfold + In earthly sphere. + + Thy birthday, dear? + Oh, would I had the painter's skill + Prophetic visions to fulfill + For thy new year; + But e'en a painter's rarest brush + Would but my holy visions crush, + Or fail to cheer. + + Thy birthday, dear? + Oh, would I had sweet music's aid + To vitalize the prayers I've made + For thy new year; + Alas! not even music's best + Could put in form my soul's behest + For thee, my dear. + + That only will expression find + In purest depths of thine own mind + This coming year; + As, guided by the inner light, + There'll come to thee the new-born sight + Of ravished seer. + + But in this sight thou may'st so feel + Eternal beauty o'er thee steal-- + God's gift, my dear-- + That thou can'st find the blessed art + By which to make e'en depths of heart + In form appear. + + Yet, it may be a heaven's birthday + Will have to dawn for us to say + Our best things, dear. + For, as thou know'st, Truth's deepest well + Must e'er reflect, its depths to tell + Heaven's atmosphere. + + + + +THREE KISSES. + + + The kiss still burns upon my brow, + That kiss of long ago, + When in the flush of love's first hour + He said he loved me so. + + Another burns yet deeper still, + The kiss of wedded bliss, + When soul met soul in rapture sweet-- + Oh, pure love's burning kiss! + + The third was laid away with him, + A kiss for heaven's day, + (O heart abide God's way)-- + When in the life beyond earth's change, + + Beyond these mysteries sad and strange, + New life will spring from out the old, + New thoughts will larger truth unfold, + And love have endless sway. + + + + +IF I WERE ONLY SURE. + + + If I were only sure + He loves me still, + As in the realms of beauteous space + (Alas! so far from my embrace) + He bides God's will, + I could be more content to bear + The bitter anguish and despair + Which now me fill. + + If I were only sure + He waits for me + To join him in the heavenly realm + (Oh, how the thought does overwhelm) + When body-free, + I could the better bear my fate, + As day by day I learn to wait + In silent agony. + + O Father, in my doubt + One thing is sure, + That Thou, all love, could ne'er destroy + (Death only is in earth's alloy) + Such love so pure + As that which blessed our union here, + The love which knew no change nor fear-- + Such must endure. + + + + +ABSENCE. + + + The days are happy here, dear, + But happier would they be + Could'st thou be near to bless me + With love's sweet ministry; + + Then all this beauty round me + Would on my memory lie, + As prayers of sainted mother, + Or childhood's lullaby. + +_Hotel Look-Off, Sugar Hill, N.H._ + + + + +A LOVE SONG. + + + Oh! ecstasy rare + Comes down to share + The heart that with human love trembles; + While all on the earth + Is crowned with new birth + And everything heaven resembles. + + But grief and despair + Have latent their share + In hearts that with human love tremble, + Since fires of love + Enkindled above + In frail earthen vessels assemble. + + Still, ecstasy rare + Comes down to share + The heart that with human love trembles; + While all on the earth + Is crowned with new birth + And everything heaven resembles. + + + + +IN HER GARDEN. + + + She picks me June roses. + Were ever such roses? + Their fragrance would honor + The heavenly halls. + + She finds me pet pansies. + Such wondrous-eyed pansies, + And lovely nasturtiums + That run on the walls. + + Sweet peas she's now bringing, + While all the time singing. + And I? Ask the flowers + To tell what befalls. + + + + +LOVE'S WISH. + + + Would I were beautiful! + Then you at Beauty's shrine might freely dine, + A welcome guest + For joy's bequest. + But, dear, if this were so,-- + If I were Beauty's child, all undefiled, + To make you blest + In beauty's quest, + + You might forget to see + The soul's pure hidden shrine wherein e'er shine + The things that test + Love's true behest. + Would I were beautiful, + That you might better see the soul in me! + That wish is best, + Is 't not, dearest? + + + + +IS THERE ANYTHING PURER? + + + Oh, the prayer of a dear virgin-heart, + Breathed forth with true love's gentle art! + Is there anything purer + On land or on sea, + More laden with blessing + For you or for me? + + It is sweeter than song ever heard, + More precious than love's spoken word. + It is fraught with a keen recognition + Of truest soul-need and fruition. + Is there anything purer + On land or on sea, + More laden with comfort + For you or for me? + + It is oftentimes born in great pain, + With no ray of hope's blessed gain. + But as lulled by the angels at midnight + Ere reaching the infinite daylight + Is there anything surer, + On land or on sea, + To bring the God-Father + To you or to me? + + + + +LONGING. + + + Through all this summer joy and rest, + Though lying on fair Nature's breast, + There breathes the longing heart's desire, + Would he were here! + + The thrill of pain kind Nature feels; + For all the while there o'er me steals + Like holy chimes in midnight air, + "He'll soon be here." + + And flowers and trees, vales, hills, and birds + Make haste to echo her glad words, + "He'll soon be here." + + + + +YOUNG LOVE'S MESSAGE. + + + Sing too, little bird, what my heart sings to-day. + Dost thou know?-- + I'll speak low-- + "Oh, I do love him so." + + Hold safe, waving grass, in thy rhythmical flow, + What I say, + Till the day + When as sweet new-mown hay + + Thou can'st bear it to him in the fragrance loved best. + Thou dost fear?-- + Oh, love dear, + How I wish thou wert here! + + But pause, little cloud, thou canst carry it now, + I am sure, + Sweet and pure, + Though the winds do allure; + + For thou art on the way to the west where he is. + But dost know?-- + Tell him low, + "That I do love him so, + Oh! I do love him so." + + + + +A DIARY'S SECRET. + + +_January 1, 1867._ + + God's love was once enough + My heart to satisfy, + When in the days of childhood's faith + I knew not doubt or sigh. + + But since I saw Roy's face, + And knew his love's sweet cheer, + And felt the anguish and despair + Which come from partings here, + + So hungry have I grown + No love can satisfy, + And all my childhood's faith in God + Doth mock me as a lie. + + But still in these dark hours + I hold one anchor fast: + Perhaps this is the _woman's_ way + To reach God's love at last. + + +_January 1, 1887._ + + The deepening years have proved + Love's conquest justified. + The woman's hungry heart at last + In God is satisfied. + + + + +A MONOLOGUE. + + + Has Love come? + Ah, too late! + Already Death stands o'er me + With hungry eyes that bore me-- + O cruel fate, + That after all life's years + Of sacrifice and tears, + 'Tis Death, not Love, that wins. + But, stay! This message bear, + Ere yet Death's work begins: + "In other realms earth's losses + Will change from saddening crosses + To love-crowned joy, + Where Death shall have no mission, + But Love his sweet fruition + Without alloy." + + + + +A PRICELESS GIFT. + + + 'Twas much he asked--a virgin heart + Unknown to worldly ways. + What could he give? Ah, well he knew + He lacked sweet virtue's praise. + + The virgin heart was given to him + Without a doubting thought, + When, lo! through seeming sacrifice + A miracle was wrought; + + A miracle of love and grace, + Revealing woman's power; + For, clothed in purity, he rose + To meet the coming hour. + + + + +THE OCEAN'S MOAN. + + + Last night the ocean's moan + Was to my ears + The deep sad undertone + Of vanished years, + + Bearing a burden, + A bliss unattained, + A strife and a longing, + A life sad and pained, + To the shores vast and free + Of eternity's sea. + + But in that undertone + Of restless pain, + Came at length a monotone + Of sweet refrain, + + Bearing a passion + Long known to the sea-- + Told in moments of silence + A sad heart to free-- + To be borne me some day + In the ocean's own way. + + And this rare monotone + Of mystery + Was now that passion-moan + Of secrecy, + + Bearing, "I love her, + My moaning ne'er'll cease + Till she on my breast + Findeth love's perfect peace; + Till she on my breast + Findeth love's perfect rest." + + Oh, is there tenderer tone + For mortal ear, + Than such a monotone, + Distinct and clear, + + Bearing its comfort, + Its heavenly peace, + Its help for all sorrow, + Its heart-pain release, + To a soul waiting long + For love's tender, true song? + + And now the ocean's moan + Is to my ears + The dearest undertone + Of all the years, + + Bearing a memory, + A sweet bliss attained, + A gratified longing, + A life's joys regained, + To the shores vast and free + Of eternity's sea. + +_Boar's Head, Hampton, N.H._ + + + + +LOVE'S FLOWER. + + + Love's sweet and tender flower + Of pure, perennial life, + Blooms ever fresh in power + O'er all earth's wrong and strife. + + Pluck not in haste, young man, + This flower of wondrous hue, + Nor dare to crush, nor fail to scan. + Such beauty ever new. + + Gaze at it long, young girl, + And guard its sacred blush; + Then shall its treasures old unfurl + Your yearning soul to hush. + + + + +LOVE DISCROWNED. + +(_In Four Scenes._) + + +SCENE I. + + "When he comes, my darling, + I shall tell him all: + All the secret ecstasy, + All the peace and joy, + All my heart's sweet fantasy, + Free from self's alloy,-- + All-- + + O blessed power + Of love's sweet hour, + When I shall tell him all, + Shall tell him all!" + + +SCENE II. + + "Hark, hark! he's come. I hear his step. + O joy, love's hour is here. + I knew that he was true and pure, + I could not feel love's fear. + Oh, no; I could not, dear." + + +SCENE III. + + She gave one look, one piercing look, + Drew back her anguished soul, + Then murmured low, "O bitter hour! + But--God--forgive--the--whole-- + Forgive-- + + O bitter power + Of love's death-hour, + I thought to tell him all, + To tell him all." + + +SCENE IV. + + He gazed upon her lifeless face, + He held her lifeless hand. + Was this the form he once had loved? + He did not understand. + Once loved? Yes, that was so. + He'd loved since, one or two, + And--well, what was a woman for, + If not for man to woo? + + +MORAL. + + Alas, for broken hearts and lives + Of those who can but trust! + Alas, for those who see no law + But that of selfish must! + + + + +RENUNCIATION. + + + "Oh, is not love eternal + When once the heart be won? + Oh, is not love infernal + When love can be undone?" + + So sighed a gentle maiden + In light of memory dear, + As, sad and heavy-laden, + She longed for knowledge clear. + + But soon the bitter heart-ache + Gave way to victory's cheer; + For, brave, she chose for His sake + The life which knows no peer; + + The life of abnegation + Which gives the Christ's own peace, + But leaves the sad temptation + To ask for life's release. + + + + +A WIDOW'S HEART-CRY. + + + "Thy will, not mine, be done!" + So breathe I when the day's begun, + So breathe I when the day is done. + + I whisper it in blinding tears, + I pause and listen, till appears + The welcome voice for listening ears; + + The voice which checks my wayward will + And makes my longing heart to thrill + With love for those who need me still. + + But, O, how long must I so pray? + When will I learn to calmly say, + "Thy will is mine," both night and day? + + Ah! this can never be on earth, + Since he who gladly gave me birth + To everything that was of worth + + Has gone from out my sense and sight, + To what? O ye who still invite + To heaven's sure realm and faith's own right, + + Reveal some clue for me to see + What life is his, what he's to me. + Alas! ye can't. Then what can be + + More precious when the day is done, + Or when the morning is begun, + Than, "Not my will, but Thine, be done." + + + + +TOGETHER. + + + Transformed, redeemed from all that dwarfs or blights, + In perfect harmony with beauteous sights + Beyond imagination's highest flights + Ere reached by seer, + We shall together walk the golden streets + Sometime, my dear. + + But how, you ask, shall we each other know, + So changed from what we were while here below, + When, caged like birds, we longed and suffered so? + Ah, do not fear. + Will not the soul, when free, seek like the bird + Its own, my dear? + + It may not be at once or soon, 'tis true. + For you may be among the blessed few + Who'll sooner reach the blissful heights--your due + For pure life here-- + But sometime, sure as God is love and truth, + We'll meet, my dear. + + Some precious, long-forgotten look or word + Breathed through the softest, sweetest music heard, + Or some vibration rare of soul depths stirred + By memory's tear, + Will, like a flash of light, reveal our souls + Together, dear, + To live the fuller life we've dreamed of here. + + + + +SHADOWED CIRCLES. + + + Why weepest thou, O dear one? + Do sorrows press? + Beneath the weight of sorrow + Is love's caress. + + Why joyest thou, O dear one? + Is love thine own? + Ah! 'neath love's deep rejoicing + Is sorrow's moan. + + Indeed, all earth's great passions-- + Is it not so?-- + Are circled in the shadow + Of joy or woe. + + But why should we bemoan this? + Could otherwise + Truth's dazzling light be subject + To mortal eyes? + + Could otherwise we enter + The endless light, + Beyond the shadowed circle + Of mortal sight? + + + + +MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. + + + + +A SONG OF SUCCESS. + +YOUTH. + + + I am dancing along. Just to live is a joy, + I'm so happy and free. + I know not nor care what will tame or destroy, + Life now satisfies me. + Oh, there's naught like dear youth + To reveal the glad truth + That 'tis pure, healthful joy just to know and to be! + + +MIDDLE AGE. + + I am marching along, full of work and of plan + To alleviate wrong. + With a heart full of love both to God and to man, + And an arm free and strong. + Oh, there's naught like mid-life + To make sure without strife + The beauty of progress through action and song. + + +OLD AGE. + + I am living along, sitting down by the way. + My work is all done. + I have fought the good fight, known the full of each day, + And true victory won. + Oh, there's naught like old age + To declare with the sage, + Life ending on earth is but heaven begun. + + + + +THE UNDER-WORLD. + + + Under the restless surface + Of ocean's vast domain, + The god of perfect quiet + Holds ever peaceful reign. + + Under the restless surface + Of passions strong and wild, + The still small voice of conscience + Is heard in accents mild. + + Under the restless surface + Of all man's life on earth, + The Christ of sacred story + Renews each day his birth. + + + + +SHE KNOWS. + + (_Written at Mountain Cottage, on Mount Wachusett, where Louisa M. + Alcott spent the last summer of her life._) + + + Last summer she believed that in and through these beauteous scenes + God's loving self did flow, + But now she knows 'tis so. + + For, having crossed the boundary lines of honest doubt and fear, + She sees with spirit-eye + What sense could not descry. + + Her firm belief, thus blossomed into perfect flower of sight, + Becomes a restful cheer + To all who linger here, + + Still asking for the secret of these changing, beauteous scenes, + And troubled with the why + Of all earth's sorrowing cry. + + Her presence here has filled the place with memory of a soul + Made beautiful through pain + Eternity to gain. + +_August, 1888._ + + + + +AT PITTSFORD, VERMONT. + +TO J. A. C. + + + As winds the lovely Otter Creek through vales of summer green, + Ne'er pausing on its way, + Though love its tribute pay, + + So gently winds my loving thought through memory's changing scenes, + To days of long ago + When thee I first did know. + + Thy heartfelt sympathy and help were to my fresh young soul + What these dear Vermont hills + Are to the little rills; + + A presence near, a faithful strength, life-giving and serene-- + Oh, hills, be now as much + To her who feels Time's touch! + + In different paths, through various ways, we've known the world + since then. + Together now we rest + On Nature's peaceful breast. + + + + +CHILDHOOD'S DAYS. + +TO M. C. + + + If knowledge gained in later years + May wholly cloud from sight + The glimpse which childhood's eye hath caught + Of heaven's celestial light, + + Then need we not the atmosphere + Of second childhood's days + To catch another broader glimpse + Of heaven's immortal rays? + + Ah, yes; we even need to seek, + Through earth's illusive hour, + Immortal childhood's heavenly days + Of sweet, revealing power; + + For how can otherwise we catch + The deeper glimpses yet + Of life eternal, glorious, pure, + Where sun hath never set? + + + + +AN ANSWER. + +TO B. P. S. + + + "Why don't I write a story?" + Ah, friend, if you could see + The depths of hidden heart-life + Alas! so known to me, + + You'd find the truest story + Flashed out in gleams of light, + Before which all pens falter + And vanish out of sight. + + And as they vanish from me + They leave the impress clear, + That only Heaven's pen could write + Such stories acted here. + + So in His book of life, + Revealed to all some day, + You'll find my story grand and true, + Worked out in His own way. + + + + +WHERE? WHAT? WHENCE? + + + The kingdom of heaven is where? + Oh, where? + Would that the heart which with pity o'erflows, + While deigning love's burdens to share, + Could disclose! + + The kingdom of heaven is what? + Oh, what? + Would that the Infinite Presence which flows + Through a life on the earth finely cut + Might disclose! + + The kingdom of heaven is whence? + Oh, whence? + Ah! let the wind and the breath of the rose + Their secrets of life and of sense + Dare disclose! + Could we then see the better whence spirit arose? + Who knows? Oh, who knows? + + + + +HEROES. + + + The heroes on the battlefield are calm in death, + Their fighting o'er; + They feel no more the fevered breath + Of battle's war; + They hear at last the voice that saith + "Fight on no more." + + But oh, the heroes on the grander field of peace, + Who know no rest! + Whose hearts ne'er feel the full release + From mortal quest, + Nor breathe the air where struggles cease + The soul to test. + + For such we mourn, O purifying soul of life, + For such we pray. + Let Nature free them from the strife + Of falsehood's way, + And Love through every struggle rife + Have free, full play. + + + + +A MAGDALEN'S EASTER CRY. + + + In the different mansions of heavenly space + Prepared for the faithful and pure, + (Ah me, for the faithful and pure!) + Can I dare hope to find e'en a small resting place + Free from sin and all earthly allure? + + Can a soul such as mine, that has wasted life's wealth + On the baubles and gewgaws of time, + (Ah me, on the baubles of time!) + Have a fitting strength left to regain needed health + For the life of a heavenly clime? + + For a life where the laws of the spirit, not sense, + Bring their perfect eternal reward, + (Ah me, their eternal reward!) + And the pleasures obtained with such fever intense + Can find nowhere a vibrating chord? + + Oh, woe is me, woe is me, this Easter day! + No hope riseth up in my soul. + (Ah me, my poor sin-laden soul!) + I have only the dregs of my pleasure to pay, + And such wrong, bitter thoughts of life's whole. + + But, listen! What's that? What's that message I hear + Bearing down on my sad troubled heart? + (Ah me, on my sad troubled heart!) + "Christ is risen indeed. He is risen to cheer, + And His strength to the weakest impart." + + O Christ, can it be that Thine own risen strength + Can give life, added life, to my soul, + To my sin-laden, weak, starving soul? + Yes, 'tis true. I'll believe, and rejoice now at length + To feel Easter's sweet joy o'er me roll. + + + + +FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF MRS. BROWNING'S DEATH. + +_June 29, 1861._ + + + "'Tis beautiful," she faintly cried, + Then closed her weary eyes and died. + + So stands plain fact on history's page, + Attested to by friend and sage. + + But in our hearts the fact grows bright, + Illumined with immortal light. + + For open eyes saw heaven's shores, + And life, not death, revealed its stores. + + "'Tis beautiful!" It must be so, + If such a soul 'midst parting's woe, + + Could with truth's perfect clearness see + The secret of life's mystery; + + Could _know_ that fullest life of man + Needs heaven's light to round God's plan. + + O woman-soul without a peer, + We thank thee more and more each year + + For this sweet proof of Beauty's power + Beyond earth's transitory hour. + + It calms our hours of doubt and pain, + And beautifies earth's troubled reign, + + To feel that thou art sending still + This same sweet message of God's will, + + Born of fruition's grander sight, + Of perfect beauty, peace, and light. + + + + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + "A peace out of pain, + Then a light, then thy breast. + O thou soul of my soul, I shall clasp thee again, + And with God be the rest!" + + --_Prospice._ + +_Fulfilled December 12, 1889._ + + + Oh, the blessed fruition + Of peace out of pain! + Of a light without darkness, + A clasping again! + Of a full soul reunion + In Love's endless reign! + + Sing, O earth, with new joy + At this victory won! + For the faith that endured + Till the setting of sun! + + For the hope that shone clear + Through the mighty work done! + For the love that sought God + To guide love here begun! + Sing, O earth, with new joy + For such victory won! + + + + +TO NEPTUNE, IN BEHALF OF S. C. G. + + + O Neptune, in thy vast survey + Of all the ships that sail, + Watch lovingly the well-known way + Of one we wait to hail. + + The Cephalonia is her name-- + But why need I tell more? + Thou knowest indeed the well earned fame + She bears from shore to shore. + + But since among her company's band + Is one who's life to me, + O Neptune, bear her in thy hand + E'en yet more tenderly, + + O'er gentle waves, 'neath fair blue sky, + 'Midst winds that only blow + To make the time more swiftly fly + For hearts that hunger so. + +_Boston, September 4, 1886._ + + + + +TO THE PANSIES GROWING ON THE GRAVE OF A. S. D. + + + Beautiful pansies, ye must know + Your sacred mission here, + For how could otherwise ye grow + So sweet and full of cheer? + + Your watchful love we can't o'errate, + As, lingering here in tears, + Fond memory brings the precious weight + Of friendship's golden years. + + Ye are the symbols, pure and sweet, + Of heartsease and of life, + Through which our thought may dare retreat + From pain and death so rife, + + To realms of light and peace above, + From earth's alloy set free, + Wherein abide immortal love + And deathless ministry. + + But still, while we your comfort seek, + Our hearts will wildly yearn + To hear once more the loved one speak, + Once more the form discern. + +_At Woodlawn Cemetery, May, 1886._ + + + + +A BROKEN HEART. + + +I. + + Must I always look for sorrow + On the morrow? + Must I never have the hope + That a life of larger scope + Will before my vision ope? + + +II. + + Ah, 'tis true there is but sorrow + On the morrow + For the broken hearts that wait, + Bearing secretly their fate. + Yet the opening of the gate + To the blessed heaven's morrow, + When the aching, longing heart + Shall be free from pain and sorrow, + Comes before my tired eyes + With a wondrous sweet surprise. + + +III. + + But this joy is not for me, + Not for me. + Alas! for my poor broken heart, + With its poisoned arrow's dart. + Without hope, alone, apart. + + + + +MY RELEASE. + + + I hear in the ocean's restless moan + My soul's lament. + Will it ever cease? + + I feel in the rumbling earthquake's groan + Deep anguish spent. + Shall I now know peace? + + I see in the smallest heaven's loan + Enough for content-- + But is that release? + + O no! + My release is but found in the pure undertone, + Coming nearer and dearer to me, + + Of a great human love beyond Nature at best, + Eternal, inspiring, and free. + Oh, that's my release. + Happy me, happy me! + + + + +THE GOD OF MUSIC. + +TO E. T. G. + + + Out from the depths of silence + The god of music came, + To echo heavenly cadence + On earth's fair shores of fame. + + Full-orbed, with heavenly glory, + He met the lords of earth. + But 'twas the old, old story, + They blind were to his worth. + + So back to depths of silence + He flew on wings of light, + "To bide their time of nonsense," + He sang when out of sight. + + And as rolled on the ages, + He ever and anon + Sent down to earth his pages + The lords to breathe upon. + + At length he felt vibrations, + From Germany's fair clime, + Of sweetest modulations + E'er heard in realms of time. + + So forth he flew in rapture + To that dear father-land, + To seize--ere earth could capture-- + A spirit pure and grand, + + To which he could surrender + Himself with perfect ease, + And weave the music tender, + Of heaven's own harmonies. + + He found the child Beethoven; + On him his blessing fell. + And in his soul was woven + The sounds we know so well. + + + + +TO WILHELM GERICKE. + + (_On the completion of his conductorship of the Boston Symphony + Orchestra._) + +_1884-1889._ + + + Great poets can without the aid + Of kindred mind + Reveal to us the secrets laid + On them to find; + But music-kings need ministries + To sound their hidden harmonies. + + For showing us the inmost heart + Of these great kings, + And making clear with wondrous art + Their wanderings, + We thank thee, while we tender here + A "bon voyage" to home's loved sphere. + + + + +FOR E. T. F. + + +I. + +AFTER THE BIRTH OF HER SON, R. A. F. + +_May 28, 1887._ + + I'd rather hear my baby's coo, + That little gurgling coo, + Than rarest song or symphony + Born out of music's mystery + Which once did woo. + + I'd rather see my baby's face, + That lovely dimpled face, + Than all the choicest works of art, + Inspired by loving hand or heart, + Contained in space. + + I'd rather feel my baby's eyes, + Such deep blue heavenly eyes, + Than all the world's delighted gaze, + Proclaiming with continued praise + My power to rise. + + O yes, 'tis true, my baby dear, + My precious baby dear, + Is more than music, art, or fame, + Or anything that bears the name + Of pleasure here. + + For in this joy I find a rest, + A soul-inspiring rest, + Beyond the wealth of fame or art, + To satisfy my woman-heart, + Or make it blest. + + And as I live in this my gift, + My heaven-sent, blessed gift, + Thoughts such as Mary pondered o'er + Deep in her heart in days of yore + Come to uplift, + + And make the claims of motherhood, + Dear sacred motherhood, + Become creation's mountain height, + Whereon e'er shines the beacon-light + Of womanhood. + +_Chelsea, Mass._ + + +II. + +AFTER THE DEATH OF R. A. F. + +_February 5, 1888._ + + Would I could see my baby's face, + That lovely dimpled face,-- + O God, how can I bear the pain + Of never seeing it again, + My baby's face; + + Of never seeing in those eyes, + Those deep blue heavenly eyes, + The wondrous glimpses of soul-light + Which filled my heart with strange delight + And sweet surprise; + + Of never hearing baby's coo, + That little gurgling coo-- + O God, how can I bear the pain + Of never hearing it again, + My baby's coo. + + Alas! "Thy will, not mine, be done." + Not mine, but Thine, be done. + I can but breathe again this prayer, + As in the days of past despair, + When peace was won. + + + + +TO C. H. F. + + (_Upon receiving a twig of green from the grave of Helen Hunt + Jackson, October, 1888._) + + + With reverent touch and grateful heart, + Dear thoughtful friend, + I hold this precious bit of green + You kindly send + From Cheyenne's holy, lonely grave, + Where pilgrims tend. + + It touches springs of tenderest life + Inspired by her, + Who, child of poetry and ease, + Did not demur + From sacrificing all to be + Wrong's arbiter. + + That rare mosaic it suggests + Made by the hand + Of those who seek this favored spot + In chosen land, + Where, oft in life, she penned her soul + At Truth's command. + + 'Tis true, she wished no monument + To mark the place; + But must she not be satisfied + To see the space + Thus blessed and open to the heart + Of every race? + + O brain of power and heart of fire, + America's pride, + No wonder that the mountain height, + Above sin's tide, + Was chosen as the resting place + With death to hide; + + For such could give the needed rest + On earth denied, + Could satisfy the poet's thought, + Unsatisfied, + And symbolize the soul's true rest + When glorified. + + + + +AN ANNIVERSARY POEM. + + + And is time marked in heaven? Dost know, O spirit friend, + 'Tis just a year ago to-day + Thou went so suddenly away, + And left me in my loneliness the weary days to spend?-- + Ah, weary days, + Denied thy praise + And all thy many helpful ways! + + And is earth known in heaven? Dost see, O clear-eyed soul, + The present changing life of man + Still working out the wondrous plan + Of making even broken lives add to the complete whole?-- + Ah, broken lives + That death deprives + Of help like thine that heavenward strives! + + And are we known in heaven? Do I, thy once fond care, + Still have that patient yearning love + Which longed to lift my soul above + The sweet though transitory joys of even earth's best fare?-- + Ah, earth's best fare + Cannot compare + With thy ideal of me laid bare! + + + + +A COMFORT. + +TO S. R. H. + + + I have sowed in tears,-- + Shall I reap in joy? + Shall my human heart be satisfied, + And sorrow and pain be justified? + Shall full fruition free my soul + From limitation's sad control, + And all my faculties of mind + Their perfect rest and freedom find? + + "They that sow in tears + Shall reap in joy," + Sang a poet-heart in the long ago, + 'Midst depths of sorrow, pain, and woe; + And what to him was truth and life + Has shone through all the ages' strife, + To be at last our beacon-light + Of comfort in the darkest night. + + + + +AN ANNIVERSARY. + + + The autumn tints of these loved hills + Outlined against the sky, + Are dearer far to me this year + Than in the years gone by; + + For they are colors Nature wears + To celebrate the time + When her pet child changed life on earth + For that of heavenly clime. + + She thus rejoices, while our hearts + Wear not their flowers of joy. + Alas! could she but give us back + Our gifted artist boy! + + But then she sees that it was best + That he, like her, should know + Death, and the Resurrection too, + The fullest life to show. + + + + +A THANK-OFFERING. + +TO MISS ELIZABETH P. PEABODY. + + + Thou priestess of pure childhood's heart, + Wherein God's spirit lies, + Thou willing priestess of the art + Of true self-sacrifice, + + Ere thy rare spirit takes its flight + To realms beyond our praise, + Where childhood's pure eternal light + Shines through the blessed days, + + We thank thee for thy legacy + Of thought wrought out in deed, + By which love's sweet supremacy + Becomes man's potent need. + + * * * * * + + Our nation must thy secret share, + Ere it can fully rise + To heights of truth and insight where + True wisdom's glory lies. + + + + +AT LIFE'S SETTING. + + + Put your arms around me. + There--like that. + I want a little petting + At life's setting. + For 'tis harder to be brave + When feeble age comes creeping, + And finds me weeping + (Dear ones gone), + Or brings before my tired eyes + Sweet visions of my youth's fair prize + (There is a pain in sacrifice), + Denied me then and ever. + Left me alone? No, never. + For in God's love I nestled, + While with deep thought I wrestled, + Till all my busy life at length + Was spent in giving others strength, + In making others' homes more bright, + In making others' burdens light. + + But now, alone and weary, + I am hungry + For a human love's sweet petting + At life's setting. + Keep your arms around me, + Kiss my fevered brow, + Whisper that you love me + I can bear it now. + + Oh, how this does rest me + Now my work is done! + I've all my life loved others, + Now I want love, dear one. + Just a little petting + At life's setting; + For I'm old, alone, and tired, + And my long life's work is done. + + + + +GRANDMA WAITING. + +A TRUE EXPERIENCE. + + + "Still waiting, dear good grandma, for the blessed angel Death?" + + "Yes waiting, only waiting to be borne across the sea, + To the home my soul's been building all these years of mystery, + Through ninety years and over now of deep and wondrous change, + Wherein I've known the heights and depths of human feeling's range, + And tried to solve the problems old of human life so strange. + + * * * * * + + You want to know my history, because I am so good? + Ah, child, no human life can here be fully understood. + You call me good, and what is more, a 'true and blessed saint.' + (There is illusion sweet indeed in what you child-souls paint + Before you know too much of life and feel its evil taint.) + You even picture beauties of my home across the sea + Which I never dared to hope for e'en on heights of ecstasy. + You see me sitting helpless here, blind now for many years, + Apparently so full of peace, so free from doubts and fears,-- + Though never free from Memory's thought which often brings the + tears,-- + And you wonder where's the passion and the energy of youth, + The power that even dared to sway to evil ways forsooth. + Ah, you but see the blessed fruit of what God planted sure, + When in my years of sorrow He was whispering, 'Endure.' + You cannot see the dreadful scars which naught on earth can cure. + You cannot see the passion wild, when, 'neath the coffin lid, + Among the flowers, my children three, my precious all, were hid. + + Nor can you see my conflict sore, when I went almost mad + Before the dying form of him who had loved me from a lad, + A loving husband, kind and true, as ever woman had. + But still, before my dear one died, more children came to me: + Two lovely boys, who seemed at last a recompense to be. + For sometimes it does seem as if God sends a special gift, + To be a special help and strength, the selfish clouds to lift, + Or--what, perhaps, we need as much--the wheat from chaff to sift. + Through all my lonely, widowed life I lived in their sweet ways, + And found no sacrifice too great in work for future days. + At length they were my crowning joy. I'd come again to know + The blessings of a married life--the happiest here below-- + When, lo! Death seized the oldest one, my boy that I loved so. + This opened fresh the old deep wounds; but still I had much left, + For then I was not, as before, of every child bereft. + So on I went in daily life, determined to be true + To blessings that were left to me. That does one's life renew,-- + Remember this, my dear one, when your grandma's gone from you. + + The years went on. I felt I'd had my share of sorrow's pain, + So I banished every lingering thought that Death could come again. + But when we are the surest, child, 'tis then he seems to be + More vigilant than ever to proclaim his mystery, + As if he envied us an hour of joy's sweet company. + My husband first was stricken down; then came the added blow: + Two grown up sons, all settled with as fine a business show + As ever comes to mortals, were cut down in prime of life, + Having just begun to free me from the circumstances rife, + Which boded of the bitterness of poverty's dread strife. + My soul was then so mystified, so dazed before God's will, + That I could only find my voice in His calm words, 'Be still.' + Oh, could I not been spared this stroke, known one less bitter + pain, + And been as good for duties here, as fit for heaven's reign? + Was this the way, the only way, eternal life to gain? + + It cannot be much longer. I shall soon have crossed the sea, + To the home my soul's been building all these years of mystery. + I've had my share of sorrow, but I've done the best I could. + God knows I've tried through all to grow more patient, wise, and + good; + To get at least this out of life, as every mortal should. + But, though I've had his comfort, and still hear his sweet + 'Endure,' + I feel the bitter heartache which no time or sense can cure. + My friends have all been laid away, my work long since was o'er, + And now I'm only waiting for Death's landing on the shore. + I hope 'twill be at sunset when he knocks at my soul's door; + For, somehow, it much easier seems to go the unknown way + Attended by the beauty of the sun's last glorious ray. + But as I calmly wait and think, it does seem rather queer + That what you 'blessed angel' call has seemed my chief curse here. + Alas! how much we suffer before God's ways appear." + + + + +DOES IT PAY? + + + Does it pay--all this burden and worry, + All the learning acquired with pain, + All the planning and nervous wild action, + The restlessness following gain, + Does it pay? + + To be free from this burden and worry, + To have knowledge without fear and pain, + To be peaceful, far-seeing, sweet tempered, + And calm in the presence of gain, + We must know the pure secret of Nature, + Like her be obedient to law, + And work in the light of the promise + Of blessed results Christ foresaw. + Then each day, + And alway, + Life will pay. + + + + +AUXILIUM AB ALTO. + + + The poet young e'er finds a tongue + To tell the joys of love. + The poet bold e'en dares behold + The mystery above. + + The poet brave e'er loves to rave + Of wars and victories gained. + The poet sweet e'en dares repeat + The angels' songs unfeigned. + + And to each one we say, "Well done, + Go on and do thy best." + Though still we feel each doth but seal + A part of life's bequest. + + But yet we cry, "O goddess high, + Must thou thy wealth so share? + America feign would have the reign + Of _one_ thy gift to bear. + + She needs such one to help her shun + The dangerous shoals of thought, + Which in this age of clown and sage + Her progress gained hath wrought. + + She needs such one to help her shun + The deeper shoals of wrong, + Which in these days of doubt's fond lays + Tempt e'en her favored strong. + + Oh, send such one to say, 'Well done,' + And tell in truth God's plan, + While he declares as well as shares + The fullest life of man." + + + + +LIMITATIONS. + + + "Would that my acts could equal the noble acts I've told. + Would that I could but master myself as visions bold!" + + So cried a famous artist, in agony of soul, + As waves of great temptation before him high did roll. + + "Oh, would that I could body the thoughts that govern me. + Oh, would that I could picture the visions I foresee!" + + So cried a saintly woman, in ecstasy of pain, + As waves of sad depression rolled on her soul to gain. + + + + +THE MUSE OF HISTORY. + + + Clio, with her flickering light + And book of valued lore, + Comes down the ages, dark and bright, + Our interest to implore. + + She walks with glad majestic mien, + Proud of her knowledge gained; + Though mourning oft at having seen + Man's life so dulled and pained. + + Her face with lines of care is wrought, + From searching mystery's cause, + And dealing with the hidden thought + Of nature's subtle laws. + + Yet still she blushes with new life + At sight of actions fine, + And pales with anguish at the strife + Of evil's dread design. + + She stops to sing her grandest lays + When, in creation's heat, + She sees evolved a higher phase + Of life's fruition sweet. + + 'Twas thus in days of Genesis, + When man came forth supreme. + 'Twas thus in days of Nemesis, + When Love did dare redeem. + + And thus 'twill be in future days, + When out from spirit laws, + Shall be brought forth for lasting praise + The ever great First Cause. + + Oh, gladly know this wondrous muse + Who walks the aisles of Time, + And not so thoughtlessly refuse + Her book of lore sublime; + + For in it is the precious force + Of spirit-life divine, + Which even through a winding course + Leads in to Wisdom's shrine. + + + + +AN IMPROMPTU. + + (_Written for G. H. T., on the death of W. S. T., March, 1889._) + + + As brothers here we've shared the smiles, + The tears of boyhood's hour, + And felt the sweet companionship + Of manhood's love and power. + + But now the tie is snapped. He's fled + Beyond the mortal sight. + The grave with all its mystery + Asserts Death's power to blight. + + Alas! Death seems the cruel thing + In this bright world of ours. + The bravest soul shrinks from its hold + Though loving faith empowers. + + But, hark! Is 't not his voice I hear, + With comfort as of yore? + "Dear brother, Death is but more Life, + The grave is heaven's door." + + + + +TO MRS. PARTINGTON. + +_July 12, 1886._ + + + Another birthday here? + It hardly seems a year + Since I these words did hear,-- + When three score years and one did crown thee,-- + "Not till I am an octagon, + Or, worse still, a centurion, + Shall I be old, with factories gone + All idiomatic and forlorn." + + But thou art still a "membrane" dear + Of what we call society's cheer; + "Ordained beforehand, in advance." + ('Twas "foreordained," that does enhance,) + + To hurl not "epitaphs" which sting, + But a new "Erie's" dawn to bring, + Of "fluid" thoughts which counteract + The "bigamies" of fate and fact. + + Alas! thy crutch of many years + Still hints "romantic" pains and fears; + A "Widow Cruise's oil jug" say, + To keep "plumbago" still at bay! + + Its helpful mission has a share + In "Lines of Pleasant Places" rare. + And, by the way, not crutch alone + Finds in that book its value shown. + + There in the depths of friendship's mines + Are seen thy tenderest, purest lines; + Impromptus born at love's command + To deck occasion's wise demand. + + One finds no "Sarah's desert" there, + No "reprehensible" despair; + But teeming thoughts on Mounds and Press + Poured out in pure unselfishness. + + This brings to mind thy _Knitting-Work_, + Wherein that "plaguey Ike" does lurk, + And other books with humor rife, + Done in the priming of thy life. + + "Contusion of ideas." O no; + What "Angular Saxon" would say so? + "Congestive thoughts then so inane + They'd decompose the soundest brain." + + Yes, there it is, thy humor still, + Not seventy years and two can kill. + 'Tis free from all "harmonious" lore, + A "wholesome" not a "ringtail" store. + + + + +LINES + + SENT TO THE DINNER GIVEN IN HONOR OF WALT WHITMAN'S SEVENTIETH + BIRTHDAY, AT CAMDEN, N.J., MAY 31, 1889, AT 5 O'CLOCK P.M. + + + "Splendor of ended day floating and filling me,"[B] + Comes to my mind as I think of the hour + When our poet and friend will be lovingly drinking + The mystical cup of the seventy years' power. + + Were I the man-of-war bird he has pictured + Nothing could keep me from flying that way. + But, though absent in body, there's nothing can hinder + My tasting the joys of that festive birthday; + + For on the swift wings of the ending day's splendor + My soul will glide in to drink deep the cup's wealth. + Who knows but the poet's keen sense of pure friendship + Will feel, 'midst the joy, what I drink to his health?-- + Splendor of ended day + Be but the door + Opening the endless way + Life evermore. + + [B] "Song at Sunset."--_W. W._ + + + + +SONNETS. + + + + +THE KNOWN GOD. + + (_Suggested by Arlo Bates' sonnet, "The Unknown God," published + in the_ BOSTON COURIER _of August 21, 1887_.) + + + If Paul in Athens' street left nothing more + Than what he found when deep in sacred thought, + He stood and marvelled o'er what had been wrought,-- + The _To the Unknown God_ of heathen lore,-- + Then were he only one on thought's wide shore + To lose his name in others. But, heaven-taught, + Undaunted, and in words experienced-fraught, + Declared he God as known forevermore. + + Paul's words, made deep and strong by martyred life, + Are more than vision deified. They are + Love's balm to permeate true mental strife, + And bring to sin-sick weary souls a star + Of hope born of temptation's struggles rife. + _To the Known God._ Through Paul we dare thus far. + +_August, 1887._ + + + + +TO PHILLIPS BROOKS. + + + O type of manhood, strong, serene, and chaste, + Attuned to law of man as well as God, + We hail thee as a guide, who, having trod + With Christ the spirit-fields, in eager haste + Makes glad return to give us blessed taste + Of fruit there found. Through thee our feet are shod + With gospel-peace, while thy imperial rod + Becomes our need in times of drought or waste. + + How can we thank thee for thy helpful cheer, + O master-spirit of the priests of earth? + By daily doing penance without fear, + Or resting satisfied in deeds of worth? + O no! 'Tis when we breathe love's atmosphere, + And live like thee the life of heavenly birth. + +_Boston, 1890._ + + + + +AT THE "PORTER MANSE." + + [That part of the Porter Manse containing the room referred to + was built early in the last half of the seventeenth century. + It was the house which Wenham (the first distinct township set + off--in 1639--from Salem) gave to the second pastor of its + church, Rev. Antipas Newman, who married, while living there, + Governor Winthrop's daughter. It was bought by John Porter in + 1703, and has remained in his family name without alienation to + this day.] + + + Before a smouldering fire at twilight hour + I muse alone. The ancient room, low-beamed, + Holds for my ear thoughts voiced by forms that teemed + Two hundred years ago with life and power. + I breathe the essence of sweet joys that flower + In light of home; while life that only _seemed_ + On history's page becomes the real, redeemed + From all the chaff that time fails not to shower. + + Ah, such old places, holding through the years + Continuous life of man's activity, + Reveal a wealth beyond that which appears + In modern homes built e'er so lovingly. + Imbued so long with human hopes and fears, + Have they not claim to personality? + + + + +OUR LADY OF THE MANSE. + + + Of all those born into the name to share + The charming freedom of the Porter Manse, + None were more worthy of inheritance + Than she who now presides as lady there. + Her gracious calm makes hospitality wear + A beauteous crown of peace. Kind tolerance + And wide-embracing sympathy enhance + Her power to please and lighten daily care. + + 'Tis only such rare souls who pierce the truth + Of home-life secrets, and through tact and grace, + Make growing years reflect the joys of youth. + They lose not hope, though sorrow leave a trace + In all their joy. Such cannot fail, forsooth, + Of making home a loved abiding place. + + + + +TO B. P. SHILLABER. + +_July 12, 1888._ + + + When lingering Day at last recedes from sight, + And Night comes slowly forth to fill her place, + Preceded by a twilight-hour's loved face + Reflecting glorious rays of sunset light, + 'Tis then my thoughts go wandering with delight + Through oft-frequented avenues of space + To those dear souls--the dearest of the race-- + Who've dwelt with me on friendship's purest height. + From this old mountain-top I come to you, + My large souled trusted friend of many a year, + With birthday greetings of the roseate hue + Left by a perfect Day just lingering here. + Oh, may life's twilight hold a peace as true, + And be as filled with hope of dawn's sweet cheer! + +_Mount Wachusett, Mass._ + + + + +TO OUR MARY. + + + Sweet sister, thoughtful ever of our need, + Forgetting self, if only we be served, + How oft thy loving sympathy has nerved + Our fainting hearts to kinder, nobler deed, + Or brought to being thoughts that intercede + For others' progress. We, all undeserved, + Cannot forget that life to ends thus curved + Made time for us to plant our own pet seed. + + The world owes much to many a sister dear, + Who, banishing with tears in midnight hour + A fond desire for larger, happier sphere, + Strives faithfully in lowly life to shower + Rich daily blessings. Such may know e'en here + A Christ-like joy unknown to worldly power. + +_Chelsea, Mass., 1887._ + + + + +A BIRTHDAY REMEMBRANCE. + +TO F. D. L. + +_September 26._ + + + Time brings to thee from out his storehouse old + Another year, which graciously awaits + Thy fair soul's bidding, as it estimates + The wealth the parting year has left untold. + Clothed in chameleon garments, which unfold + The fresh new days thine eye ne'er underrates, + It brings continued hope of life that dates + Man's finest being. Thou its secrets hold! + Are not such birthdays restful stepping stones, + To aid the growing soul pick out the way + To life eternal? Not earth's bitterest moans + Or wildest joys can man's true progress stay, + If, in these pauses, he but hear the tones + Of immortality's soothing, deathless lay. + +_1887._ + + + + +JOSEF HOFMANN. + + (_After hearing him play at Boston Music Hall in 1888._) + + + O marvellous child, a temple where in ease + Expectant Genius dwells, while lingering here + On earth to fit us for the heavenly sphere, + Dost feel awe-struck to know thou hast the keys + To new and wondrous unheard harmonies? + O favored boy, marked out to be the peer + Of those who in all ages God's voice hear, + Hushed are our souls before what thy soul sees! + + Guard tenderly, O earth, O sky, O fates, + This precious earthly temple of Art's shrine! + May chilling poverty, or sin that dates + Soul loss, ne'er hinder Genius' wise design + To have full sway--as she anticipates-- + In working out, in time, her laws divine. + + + + +I. + +AFTER THE DENIAL. + +_John 21: 15-18._ + + + When fast was broken on Tiberias' shore, + The risen Lord, still anxious that his own + Should know love's secret as to him 'twas known, + Thrice asked of Peter, "Lovest thou me more + Than these?" The third time Peter's heart was sore. + Must even love divine have doubt's sad tone? + "Thou knowest, Lord, I love thee," was his moan. + Then, "Feed my sheep," Christ answered as before. + Still in these days the risen Lord bends o'er + The shores of time, and longs for human love; + The love that hears his voice, awake, asleep, + And makes response as Peter did of yore. + "Lovest thou me?" O Christ, from heights above, + Thou knowest that we love thee. "Feed my sheep." + + + + +II. + +GETHSEMANE. + +_Matthew 26:36-46._ + + + "Could ye not watch with me one hour?" O heart + Of Christ, still longing in the bitterest hour + For human sympathy and love to shower + A needed strength beyond words to impart! + Humanity is richer for this art + Of seeing in poor finite man a power-- + Before which even ministering angels cower-- + To know all truth, e'en dread Gethsemane's smart. + Alas! the power to know will bring the pain. + But through the pain of wisdom's true insight + Is Christ's own perfect sympathy made plain. + Possessed of this, we see in tenderest light + His sorrowing heart in failing to obtain + The longed-for love in hour of darkest night. + + + + +ON LAKE MEMPHREMAGOG. + + + By old Owl's Head on Memphremagog's side, + In hammock-nook 'midst scenery wild and bold, + The spirit of the waters, as of old, + Broods o'er my soul, its secrets to confide, + It whispers of the anguish, joy, and pride, + The heart of man has on its bosom told; + And hails as conqueror Him who once did hold + Its heart in peace when tempest-tossed and tried. + + Loved spirit of the waters, we too hail + The power of Him who walked the holy sea + Of Galilee. Capacity to fail + Were harder to believe than victory. + May He who conquered wildest Nature's heart + His infinite power and rest to us impart! + +_August, 1891._ + + + + +LUKE 23:24. + + + From holy depths he to the Father prayed, + "Forgive them, for they know not what they do." + His heart, pierced then with anguish through and through, + Cried out "'Tis finished," as he death obeyed. + In bitterest wrong this marvellous soul was weighed + With tenderest love and longing towards those who, + Through ignorance of what they might be too, + Were now the slaves of evil passion's raid. + "They know not what they do." O blessed sight + Into the heart of sin's great mystery. + Forgiveness here is shown in sweetest light, + Clothed in her garment of sincerity. + Blest are those souls who reach this precious height; + They know the secret of Christ's victory. + + + + +TO THE MEMBERS OF MY HOME CLUB.[C] + + + While dwelling in sweet wisdom's fruitful ways, + In company with poets grand and good + Who met our human nature's every mood, + What life was ours, beyond our words to praise! + In seeking for the secret of the lays + Which clothed in art pure Nature's daily food, + Or brought to light a Christian brotherhood, + Did we not garner thoughts for future days? + 'Tis one of wisdom's joys, while lingering here + To plant her seeds of righteousness and peace, + To give a sweet companionship and cheer + To those who seek from her their soul's increase. + This, friends, we've felt in our Club atmosphere. + May its sweet memory linger till life cease! + +_Chelsea, Mass., 1888._ + + [C] For an account of this Home Club, see the _Boston Literary + World_, of July 9, 1887, and June 9, 1888; also, _Lend a Hand_, + for September, 1889. + + + + +FOR MY LITTLE NEPHEWS AND NIECES. + + + + +A MAMMA'S LULLABY. + + + Dream of loveliest beauty in thine hour of sleep, + Harold, baby boy. + Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby. + Catch the sweetest glimpses of the heavenly bliss, + While the holy angels bless thee with a kiss. + Lullaby, lullaby. + So shall mamma feel a breath + Of celestial power, + To beautify the ministry, + Of baby's waking hour. + Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby, + Harold, baby boy. + Lullaby, lullaby. + + + + +WARREN'S SONG. + + + How I love you, baby dear, + Sister Rosamond! + I must kiss you, + I must hug you, + I must be your little beau, + To protect you + Or to rescue + From the faults of friend or foe. + I must grow more wise and graceful + Every way, + That I may be true and helpful + For the day + When, as lovely fair young woman, + You will need my stay. + Darling Rosebud, + How I love you, + How I love you, sister dear! + Oh, I will be good and pure, + Striving always to endure + What will make me honest, kind, + Generous, manly, strong in mind, + Worthy of my Rosebud. + Darling Rosebud, + Sweetest Rosebud, + How I love you, sister dear! + + + + +BABY MILDRED. + + + Darling baby Mildred, playing on the floor-- + I see! + Creeping here and creeping there, + Into mischief everywhere, + Mamma's little pet and care-- + I see! + + Fearless baby Mildred, on her rocking horse-- + I see! + Never slipping from her place, + Joyous laughter keeping pace + With a motion full of grace-- + I see! + + Thoughtful baby Mildred, papa's pet and pride-- + I know! + Lighting up the passing days + With such happy, winsome ways, + Joy of household life that pays-- + I know! + + Tired baby Mildred, lovely eyes all closed-- + Sleep on! + Waking, heaven will be more near + For the angels' presence here, + Whispering secrets in her ear-- + Sleep on! Sleep on! + + + + +ROSAMOND AND MILDRED. + + + Rosamond and Mildred, playing on the floor-- + I see! + Laughing blue eyes, dimpled face, + Laughing brown eyes, ways of grace, + Chubby hands that interlace-- + I see! + + Rosamond and Mildred, trying hard to walk-- + I see! + Clinging now to mamma's dress, + Trembling in new happiness, + Then at last a sweet success-- + I see! + + Rosamond and Mildred, born the same glad year-- + I know! + Cousins; each in her own way + Growing wiser every day, + Full of promise as of play-- + I know! + + Rosamond and Mildred, parting to go home-- + Good-bye! + Each a little picture fair, + Carrying blessing everywhere. + Grateful are we for our share-- + Good-bye! Good-bye! + + + + +'CHILLA. + + + Chinchilla? Come, 'Chilla!-- + Ah, here she comes bounding, + So quickly responding, + Oh, who could but love her! + Her fur like chinchilla-- + Her movements all grace-- + Such a wise little face-- + What kitty is like her? + Oh, who could but love her, + Our dear pretty 'Chilla! + + + + +CHILDISH FANCIES. + +(A FACT.) + + + My little nephew, four years old, + A sweet-faced, blue-eyed boy, + Was one day playing by my side + With this and that pet toy, + + When all at once he said to me,-- + As, laying down my book, + I paused a while to watch with joy + His bright, expressive look,-- + + "If Mac and I should plant today + Some paper in the ground, + Say, would it grow to be a book + Like yours, with leaves all bound?" + + These were the same two little boys + Whose nurse searched far and wide + For little sister's rubber shoes; + "Where can they be?" she cried. + + "I know," replied Mac, eagerly, + "We planted them last night, + To see if they would bigger grow + To fit our feet all right." + + Dear little boys! These fancies hint + Of future questions deep, + When evolution's grand idea + Shall o'er their vision sweep. + + God grant that when these come to them, + As at Truth's shrine they bow, + A childlike faith and earnestness + May fill them then as now. + + + + +WHAT LITTLE BERTRAM DID. + +(A FACT) + + + Our little Bertram, six years old, + Sat on his grandpa's knee, + Enjoying to the full the love + That grandpa gave so free, + + When, looking up bewitchingly, + He said,--the little teaze,-- + "Will grandpa give me just one cent + To buy some candy, please?" + + Who could resist such loveliness? + This grandpa could not, sure. + So with a kiss he gave the cent-- + Ah, how such things allure! + + No sooner was the cent in hand, + Than off the fair boy ran + To buy his candy, "'lasses kind," + Or little "candy-man." + + Now on his way, in scanning well + A window full of toys, + He spied a ring with big red stone, + O'erlooked by other boys. + + All thought of candy was forgot. + He'd buy that ring so fine + For his new sister, Rosamond-- + Oh, how his eyes did shine! + + How could he stop to calculate + The size of such a thing; + His only care was for the price-- + Would one cent buy the ring? + + Ah yes, it would. The ring was bought; + And never girl or boy + Went tripping homeward through the streets + With greater wealth or joy. + + + + +"DEAR LITTLE MAC."[D] + +(A FACT.) + + + When nearly eight years old, dear little Mac + Was called from out his happy home-life here + To that blest sphere + Beyond earth's dearest power to call him back. + + "His questions wise will now sure answer find," + Said one who'd loved to watch his eager face, + In happy chase + Of many a thought which flitted through his mind. + + "Yes, he knows more than we," another said, + "Instead of guiding him, he'll be our guide + To where abide + The things we need most to be comforted." + + While thus the older ones their comfort sought, + Two of the children paused in midst of play, + To have their say + Concerning this great mystery Death had brought. + + "Dear little Mac," said Miriam, with a sigh, + "He's gone way up to heaven where angels are, + Way up so far + That we can't ever see him till we die." + + "He's not up there," said Bertram. "He can't be. + I saw them put him in the cold dark ground, + And I went round + And threw some flowers in for him to see." + + "He isn't there," replied the four-year old, + "He's up in heaven. My mamma told me so. + He _is_, I know. + He isn't in the ground all dark and cold." + + A moment Bertram sat absorbed in thought, + While Miriam felt the joy of victory. + Then suddenly + The lovely six-year-old this idea caught: + + "I tell you what, Mac's body's in the ground; + His head, his feet, and every other part, + But just his heart-- + And that's gone up to heaven, and angels found." + + The child thus solved the thought that troubled so. + And as I overheard this earnest talk,-- + Which might some shock,-- + I wondered if we could more wisdom show. + + As each seemed satisfied, their play went on. + But Bertram's thought sank deep in sister's mind, + And left behind + The wonder how dear Mac to heaven had gone. + + At last, when ready for their sweet "Good Night," + She softly said, "It can't be very dark, + Not _very_ dark + For Mac, I know, 'cause God will make it light." + + Oh, lovely faith of childhood's trusting days, + Sent fresh from heaven to be our loving guide, + When sadly tried + By doubt or sorrow's strange, mysterious ways. + + [D] MacLaurin Cooke Gould, died in Maplewood, Mass., November 8, 1887. + + + + +WILLARD AND FLORENCE ON MOUNT WACHUSETT. + +_July, 1888._ + + + Happy little girl and boy, + Dancing hand in hand + Over hill and valley land, + Filled with summer joy; + + Climbing up the steep path side + To Wachusett's top, + With that graceful skip and hop + Born where fairies hide; + + Seeing Holyoke from the height, + Old Monadnock clear, + While Washacum twin-lakes near + Sparkle in sun-light; + + Tripping down the mountain-road + Back to cottage home, + Only pausing there to roam + Where laurel finds abode; + + Jumping on the new-mown hay, + Sitting under trees, + Feeling every mountain breeze, + Hearing birds' sweet lay; + + Lying on the mossy stone + By the brook's cascade, + Listening 'neath the sylvan shade + To its rippling tone; + + Down at pretty Echo Lake, + Plucking maiden-hair, + Gathering glistening "sundew" there + For "dear mamma's sake"; + + Picking in the pastures near + Berries red and blue; + Spying where the mayflowers grew + Earlier in the year; + + Watching for the sun to rise, + Following sunset-cloud, + Singing low and singing loud + While the swift day flies; + + Waiting for the "Tally-Ho," + With its looked-for mails, + Hearing strangers tell their tales + As they come and go; + + Happy little girl and boy, + Dancing hand in hand + Over hill and valley land, + Filled with summer joy. + + + + +A LITTLE BRAZILIAN. + +(A FACT.) + + + 'Twas in Brazil last Christmas day, + While at a family feast, + A little girl of five years old + The merriment increased, + + By crying out,--as glasses held + The ice she ne'er had seen,-- + "Oh see! what pretty little stones. + What for? Where have they been?" + + "Here, give her one," the host exclaimed, + Pleased with her childish glee. + "'Twill show her as no words could show + What ice is, and must be." + + She grasped the "white stone" in her hand, + All watching eagerly, + When suddenly she let it fall, + And cried, "It's burning me." + + But, anxious still to see it more, + She asked a servant near + To hand it in a napkin wrapped-- + Then there would be no fear. + + Again the ice was in her hand, + Her plaything for the day, + When all at once she cried aloud, + "The stone is running away." + + A glass of water now was used, + Sure that would keep it hers. + But no! with all her loving watch + The same result occurs. + + The plaything gone, at evening hour + She sat on uncle's knee. + "Who makes those white stones, you or God?" + She asked, inquiringly. + + "In Miss Brown's land [a Boston friend] + God makes them," answered he. + "But in Brazil a factory-man + Makes them for you and me." + + A moment's pause. Then said the child,-- + Heaven's blessing on her fall,-- + "Why doesn't God get from Brazil + A man to make them all?" + + + + +THE LITTLE DOUBTER. + + + "Mamma, where is the sun to-day, + While all this rain comes down?" + Ah, little girl + Of flaxen curl, + Who has not asked before + This question o'er and o'er? + + "Behind the clouds so thick and black + The sun is shining still," + The mother quickly answered back, + Her child with faith to fill. + + The child looked up in strange surprise, + In doubt almost a pain, + Then turned again her wistful eyes + To watch the pouring rain. + + "I don't believe 'tis shining still," + She muttered to herself. + Ah, little girl + Of flaxen curl, + Why doubt e'en mother's word, + Because of feelings stirred? + + "I won't believe it till I see + The sun behind that cloud," + She still went on, defiantly, + To say in accents loud. + + Now, while she gazed as if to see + The truth made known by sight, + Behold the cloud did suddenly + Become imbued with light. + + "There, there, mamma, the sun, the sun!" + The little doubter cried. + And, full of joy at victory won, + She danced with childish pride. + + The mother watched with tearful eyes + Her child's transparent joy, + But dared not quench the glad surprise, + Or victory's power destroy. + + "Perhaps she'll need this proof," she sighed, + "Of hidden things made plain, + When in the depths of life she's tried, + And all fond hopes are slain." + + While thus she mused, as mothers will, + The little daughter fair + Rushed to her arms, all smiling still, + And said, while nestling there, + + "Behind the clouds the sun _does_ shine, + E'en while the rain comes down." + Ah, little girl + Of flaxen curl, + This wisdom is indeed + For future hours of need. + + + + +OUR KITTY'S TRICK.[E] + + + I know that all the boys and girls + Would be so glad to see + Our kitty do the little trick + She often does for me. + + When asked, "O kitty, where's the ball?" + She to my shoulder leaps, + And looks directly to the shelf, + Where from a box it peeps. + + She will not cease to look and beg, + Until I find the place + Where she can take between her teeth + The ball with easy grace. + + Then quickly to the floor she jumps; + When, dropping first the ball, + She runs behind the open door + That leads into the hall. + + She waits, with only head in sight, + The ball to see me throw; + Then after it she scampers well + Some forty feet or so. + + She never fails to bring it back; + Then lifts with wondrous grace + Her velvet paw to take the ball + From out its hiding place. + + This done, she nestles by my side, + And purrs while I caress, + Unconscious of the trick she's done, + Since three months old or less. + + She thus will lie in calm repose + So long as I am still; + But if I move to touch the ball, + Then all her nerves will thrill, + + Her eyes will shine, she'll quickly find + Her place behind the door, + And wait again to see the ball + Roll on the long hall floor. + + Ah, kitty dear, who told you how + To join thought, act, and sight? + Must not we think that in you dwells + The germ of mental light, + + The germ that makes you kin to us + In kind though not degree, + But which was quickened by His touch + For our supremacy? + + [E] These verses, true in every detail, are only preserved in + remembrance of a pet cat of our family for many years. + + + + +A MESSAGE. + + + A mountain hides within itself + This message grand and true, + Which at my bidding came to-day + For me to give to you: + + "Drink deep of Nature's sweetest life, + While learning how to wait. + Stand strong against the tempest's strife, + Not questioning the fate. + Then shalt thou live above the din + Of petty things below, + Absorbing depths of life within, + The future to o'erflow." + +_At the foot of Mount Holyoke._ + + + + +Transcribers' Notes: + + +Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant +preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed. + +Simple typographical errors were corrected; inconsistent hyphenation +was retained. + +Footnotes have been moved to the ends of the poems that reference them. + +It sometimes was unclear whether or not a new stanza began on a new +page. + +Page 32: Unbalanced closing quotation mark retained after: God's +thought. + +Page 78: "In perfect harmony" was printed as "perect". + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stray Pebbles from the Shores of +Thought, by Elizabeth Porter Gould + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44973 *** |