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diff --git a/old/51904-0.txt b/old/51904-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 24c8f83..0000000 --- a/old/51904-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1987 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Henry Reed Conant - -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/license - - -Title: Poems - -Author: Henry Reed Conant - -Release Date: May 1, 2016 [EBook #51904] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Charlie Howard, and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net -(This file was produced from images generously made -available by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - POEMS - - ----BY---- - - HENRY REED CONANT. - - - “’Tis pleasure, sure, to see one’s name in print: - A book’s a book, although there’s nothing in’t.” - --BYRON. - - - 1893. - THE SUN PUBLISHING CO., - Kaukauna, Wis. - - - - - Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1893 - By HENRY REED CONANT, - In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, - at Washington. - - - - - TO MY BROTHER, - CARLOS EVERETT CONANT, A. B., - NOW PROFESSOR OF LANGUAGES - IN THE - CHADDOCK COLLEGE, ILL., - AND FORMERLY - PROFESSOR IN THE STATE UNIVERSITY, - OF MINNESOTA, - THIS BOOK OF POEMS - IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - Telulah Spring, _Frontispiece_ - - Inscription, 5 - - Introduction, 11 - - Life, 17 - - Dream of a Fairy, 18 - - Together, 20 - - Be Not Discouraged, 21 - - Forest Delights, 22 - - Parting, 23 - - Song, 24 - - God’s Love, 25 - - Dreams, 26 - - Lines on Life, 28 - - Where are the Hearts we Cherished So? 29 - - Contentment, 31 - - The Telulah Spring, 33 - - Daybreak, 36 - - To a Brown Thrush, 37 - - Hope, 38 - - The Angel of Home, 39 - - To My Sister, 40 - - Woman, 40 - - The Fox River, 41 - - A Little Grave, 42 - - Autumn Days, 43 - - In Heaven, 44 - - Idleness, 46 - - The River, 47 - - The Crown of Fame, 49 - - Elegy on the Death of Hon. C. B. Clark, 52 - - A Reverie, 53 - - Opportunity, 56 - - Lines Written on Hearing a Gentleman remark: “God Bless - Dear Woman.” 57 - - My Lady Fair, 58 - - To a Firefly, 59 - - My Old New England Home, 60 - - A Lover’s Lament, 62 - - Faces That are Gone, 63 - - The True Way, 65 - - Pitcher or Jug, 66 - - Two Lives, 67 - - Meditation, 68 - - Tempus Fugit, 70 - - Gladness, 71 - - The Rainbow, 71 - - - MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. - - The Dawn o’ Spring, 75 - - Zeeke Bullard’s Farm, 76 - - Uncle Nick, on Eddication, 80 - - Uncle Nick, on Gossipers, 82 - - The Art o’ Knowin’ How, 84 - - Mother’s Photograph, 86 - - Fifty Years, 88 - - A Maiden Wondrous Fair, 89 - - Wealth and Want, 92 - - Childhood, 93 - - The Lassie O’er the Way, 94 - - - - -INTRODUCTION. - - -Henry Reed Conant was born in Janesville, Wis., on the seventeenth -day of February, 1872. When four years of age he removed to Vermont, -the native state of his parents Henry Clay and Dora Evaline (Reed) -Conant. Henry was educated in the public schools and at the Morrisville -“People’s Academy,” Vermont, and in his fifteenth year returned to the -west. - -He inherited from his New England ancestors a deep love of nature, and -pronounced religious and moral strength, which tinge the whole body -of his rhymes and poems. Like many poets in their juvenile days Mr. -Conant’s first lines were simple and artless, and the world of critics -can hardly assail him for penning his first rhymes in honor of his -“first love,” thus: - - “Of all the lassies in the land - That e’er I chanced to view, - Methinks the fairest one I saw - Had sparkling eyes of blue.” - -His first published poem appeared in a little story paper, February, -1890, at Belvidere, Ills. Nearly all of Mr. Conant’s poems were written -in Wisconsin, his native state. The selected poems forming this volume -reflect the young poet’s individuality to a sensible degree. The trend -of his thoughts and genius is toward the more solemn and religious -aspects of nature, and of human experience. He dwells in the forest’s -shade, on the banks of rivers flowing through lea and woodland, by -the grave of a little child, and wanders back to his old New England -home--to the scenes of his childhood. - -Henry Reed Conant, like many other beginners in the literary arena, -commits his poems to a critical public with the full consciousness -of their poetical deficiencies. Criticism he must await, and gladly -accept as the basis of that future development through which every poet -must pass ere he attain that popular following that is the reward not -only of genius, but of bitter disappointments. - - A. K. G. - - Appleton, Wis., Nov. 22, 1893. - - - - - We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; - In feelings, not in figures on a dial. - We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives - Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. - --_Bailey._ - - - - -POEMS. - - - - -_LIFE._ - - - Life is a race in which all compete, - Hastening onward with restless feet, - Eagerly striving for some great prize - That out in the hidden future lies: - The sturdy youth with visions bright, - The stalwart form of manhood’s might, - And tottering age, are borne along - In the mighty rush of the endless throng. - Like the waves of the sea that forever roll - ’Tis a livelong race to an unseen goal; - But the prize is gained at the end of the strife, - For it lies just beyond this earthly life, - Where fears, tribulations and trials cease, - In the golden realms of eternal peace. - - - - -_DREAM OF A FAIRY._ - - - When all the air was filled with song - At morning’s early beam, - In musing mood I strolled along - Beside a placid stream. - - And as I roved the meadow sweet, - What bade my heart rejoice? - Was it the daisies at my feet? - Nay, nor the songster’s voice. - - For glancing toward the crystal stream - I spied a little child, - Upon whose brow the morning beam, - With all its beauty smiled: - - And on her cheek, so wondrous fair, - I saw the ruddy glow,-- - Beheld her locks of flaxen hair - Wave gently to and fro. - - Then with delight I nearer drew, - But lo! here ends my theme; - I waked--the fairy fled my view-- - ’Twas but a happy dream. - -[Illustration] - - - - -_TOGETHER._ - - - ’Neath an aged elm sat a loving pair, - A long, long time ago-- - A youthful man and a maiden fair, - With faces all aglow: - The birds’ sweet notes in the boughs above - And the balm of the sweet June weather - Seemed to say, “’Tis the time for love,” - As they chatted and laughed together. - - The years flew by--an aged pair, - Sat by an old hearth-stone, - With furrowed brows and hoary hair, - Talking in feeble tone - Of the happy days they used to know, - When, in the gladsome weather, - They wandered merrily to and fro, - Talking of love together. - - And now the grass grows green on a pair - Of graves, made side by side; - Two hearts are lying in silence there, - That once beat with joy and pride. - They shared life’s triumphs, life’s defeats, - Thro’ fair and stormy weather, - And now they walk the golden streets - Of Paradise--together. - - - - -_BE NOT DISCOURAGED._ - - When the clouds hang darkly o’er thee, - Be thou not discouraged: - When the world looks drear before thee, - Be thou not discouraged: - Let thy heart be light and gay; - Soon the clouds will pass away: - ’Tis darkest just before the day; - Be thou not discouraged. - - - - -_FOREST DELIGHTS._ - - - I love to stroll amid the silent wood - Where naught is found to break the quietude, - Except the woodland tenants, or the breeze - Among the tender ferns and tow’ring trees. - - Here sports the timid hare in wanton glee, - While may be heard from yonder chestnut tree - The squirrel chirping to its mate near by, - Which gaily answers with a prompt reply. - - Here many a brooklet ripples on its way, - Here countless birds employ their sweetest lay, - And here and there the startled otter springs, - While oft a partridge hies on whirring wings. - - What are the palaces of kings and lords - Compared with all that nature here affords? - These forest charms are dearer to my heart - Than all the pomp of royalty and art. - - - - -_PARTING._ - - - The deepest sorrow fills the heart - To see our loved ones perish; - But soon or late we all must part - With those we fondly cherish. - - The tie must break with friend and friend: - The true and noble-hearted - Must one day reach their journey’s end, - To join the dear departed. - - Why mourn we, then, for those who cross - The intervening river? - Although to us a heavy loss, - To them is joy forever. - - - - -_SONG._ - - - Not always the prettiest flowers - Fill the air with the sweetest perfume; - And not always the sweetest singer - Is the bird with the fairest plume. - - But the sweetness surpassing all other, - And the richest and tenderest strain, - Rise out of the bosom that knoweth - The feelings of love and pain. - - - - -_GOD’S LOVE._ - - - I know where’er my feet may be, - Tho’ prone to stray, - His watchful eye is over me - Both night and day. - - And tho’ ofttimes this heart has erred - ’Mid worldly cares, - I know His pard’ning ear has heard - My humble prayers. - - At all times, e’en when I have failed - To do His will, - His love has in my heart prevailed-- - And guides me still. - - - - -_DREAMS._ - - - What cloudless scenes of wonder and delight - Come to us in the silent realms of night; - Loved ones we meet, that long have been at rest, - We grasp their hands and clasp them to our breast, - Talk with them of the happy days gone by, - With not a pang of sorrow nor a sigh: - And everything around looks wondrous fair, - Sweet flowers of richest hue bloom here and there; - On either hand we see unnumbered throngs - Of white-robed angels, wafting joyful songs: - And seeing thus, continued glories rise.-- - Our souls are ’rapt in endless Paradise. - But mingled voices touch the sleeper’s ear. - And lo! how swift the bright scenes disappear! - The morning light beams through the window pane-- - The dream has fled and day returned again. - - - - -_LINES ON LIFE._ - - - With all the cares and toils that here abound, - And e’en deep seas of grief which men must ford-- - To him whose guardian is th’ Omnipotent, - Life is a source of everlasting joy! - - This world at most is but an anteroom, - Where souls prepare to take their joyous flight - To Heaven’s eternal mansions. Thus the while - We here remain, is it not meet that we - Should wear the garb of truth and righteousness? - - - - -_WHERE ARE THE HEARTS WE CHERISHED SO?_ - - - Where are the hearts we cherished so, - Who’ve left this earthly main, - And gone from kindred circles dear, - Ne’er to return again? - Where gone those aged silvery locks? - That sturdy youthful brow? - Alas! no sound comes from the grave, - Where they’re reposing now! - - When troubles here our paths beset. - When cares and woes assail, - We often think of those at rest - Within that happy Vale; - And tho’ we cannot wish them back - In this sad world of pain-- - O! how we long to catch a glimpse - Of their dear forms again! - - But just beyond the stream which glides - Between that Land and ours-- - Where fairer fields are all adorned - With never-fading flow’rs, - And brighter suns forever shine - Throughout the golden spheres, - We’ll dwell with those who’ve left us here, - Through never-ending years. - -[Illustration] - - - - -_CONTENTMENT._ - - - The isle of contentment we view from afar, - And it dazzles our eyes like a beautiful star; - A region which thousands gaze wistfully at, - And would dwell there, if ’twasn’t for this or for that. - - The lord in his palace, the cotter obscure, - The high and the lowly, the rich and the poor, - Are all discontented whate’er be the case, - Because they are not in some other man’s place. - - In youth, how we long for mature years of men; - In age, how we sigh for our childhood again; - Wherever our station, whate’er be our lot, - We miss countless blessings for joys we have not. - - Thus, ever thro’ life, from our earliest prime, - We look and we long for some happier clime, - Until the bright portals of Paradise ope, - And we soar away home on the pinions of hope. - - - - -_THE TELULAH SPRING._ - - A living spring of cool, clear water, on the banks of the Fox - River, Appleton, Wis.: said to have been first discovered - by, and named after, a beautiful Indian girl by the name of - “TELULAH” who, many years ago, lived near the spot. - - - I’ve heard it told, that many years ago, - When here deep groves stood in their majesty, - Ere they had felt the white man’s fatal stroke, - And peace and happiness breathed over all,-- - That near this spring an Indian maiden dwelt. - Most beautiful was she, so runs the tale, - With tresses like the darkest raven’s coat, - And eyes to match their hue. Her lips, ’tis said, - Surpassed the reddest berries on the hill; - And the bright glow which rested on her cheek - Was like the morning beam, or like the rays - Of eve, that ling’ring, paint the western sky. - Such was the one, ’tis said, who first beheld - This living stream of water, cool and clear, - Uprising from the bosom of the earth. - Here many a traveler on his weary way - ’Mid summer’s heat, retires to cool his brow, - And freely drink the ever crystal tide. - And men oppressed with city care and strife, - Stroll hither when the toils of day are o’er; - Or when the weary week draws to a close, - Upon that day when all men cease their toils, - Approach this calm retreat to meditate - On nature’s wonders and the Mighty One - By Whom all things were formed and still exist. - And happy lovers strolling hand in hand - Amid these pleasant bowers, pause to behold - This sparkling fount forever gushing forth, - And linger ’round this scene of beauty, which - Still bears the name of that sweet Indian girl. - - - - -_DAYBREAK._ - - - We behold the bright joys of another day’s dawn, - As time swiftly flies “like a bird on the wing;” - Let’s improve every moment, now, ere it has gone, - For no one can tell what the next one may bring. - - Our hopes of the future we never may see; - Our days that are past we can never redeem; - But to-day every heart, love and joy may impart, - Which surpasses the sun’s most radiant beam. - - - - -_TO A BROWN THRUSH_, - -On finding its nest and young. - - - O little thrush, what gives thee such alarm? - Pray fear thee not, nor think that I am come - To injure or disturb thy happy home; - Thy little ones so sweet I ne’er would harm. - Thy love, like all true parents’ love, is strong-- - At all times anxious for thy young so dear; - But put away now ev’ry needless fear, - And once again resume thy happy song. - Sweet bird, I wish thee never-ceasing cheer! - Who, with devoted love and tender care, - Look’st on thy nestlings now so young and fair. - May never cruel enemy come near, - Led by blood-thirsty instincts, to destroy - Thy little home--now filled with peace and joy. - - - - -_HOPE._ - - - Ne’er lose thy courage, tho’ dark seems the strife; - The blackest night dies with the golden dawn: - Let not thy hope cease while there still is life, - For Hope is what the world is living on! - - - - -_THE ANGEL OF HOME._ - - - What visions of happiness often steal o’er me, - As back to my childhood in fancy I roam; - And the picture that mem’ry paints brightest before me, - Is mother, dear mother,--the angel of home. - - No love’s like a mother’s, so true and so tender, - No love’s so enduring ’neath heaven’s broad dome; - And not all earth’s wealth with its pomp and its splendor, - Could steal my affection from mother and home. - - - - -_TO MY SISTER._ - - - May still thy deeds of innocence, - Like stars of heaven, shine; - And thou retain thy purity, - Till Heaven itself is thine! - - - - -_WOMAN._ - - - The fairest flower that all our path adorns, - The loveliest rose amidst the cruel thorns, - The brightest star that shines in man’s abode, - The sweetest gift that Heaven e’er bestowed! - - - - -_THE FOX RIVER._ - - - O beautiful river, - How gently among - The fields and the forests - Thou glidest along! - - ’Mid thy pleasant valleys - And cool shady bow’rs, - Grow tall fragrant grasses - And bright blooming flow’rs. - - By day o’er thy waters - The sun beameth bright, - And stars ever twinkle - Above thee by night. - - And never complaining - Thou flowest along - ’Mid nature’s wide province - With laughter and song: - - Content with thy mission - In nature’s great plan; - And such is thy lesson - Thou teachest to man. - - - - -_A LITTLE GRAVE._ - - - Sweetly sing, ye little songsters; - Smile, ye happy skies; - Softly blow, ye wanton breezes-- - Here an infant lies! - - Brightly bloom, ye tinted flowers, - Wafting sweet perfume; - Gently fall, ye summer showers, - On this little tomb. - - - - -AUTUMN DAYS. - - - The summer joys are fleeting fast - From forest, field and glen, - And soon shall winter’s piercing blast - Sweep o’er the earth again. - - How lovely were the bright spring flow’rs, - That decked the landscape o’er; - But now we see, on fields and bow’rs, - Their dainty forms no more. - - The leaves are falling in the wind, - From many a lofty height, - And birds are calling to their kind, - Upon their farewell flight. - - But still, how cheering is the thought, - When other joys have flown; - That the little snow-bird leaves us not, - But chirps till winter’s gone. - - - - -_IN HEAVEN._ - - - One pleasant day in June a little thrush - Lit on a bough close by my window pane, - And as the streams from living fountains gush, - Poured forth its sweetest strain. - - My heart then felt released from every care, - And seemed to rise toward Heaven’s enchanted zone, - When soon the music ceased, and looking there, - I saw the bird had flown. - - And then the thought came to me of the one - Who left me when so youthful and so fair, - Who in the light of Heaven’s unsetting sun - Lives with the angels there. - - I little thought, ere those sweet smiles were gone, - That she so soon must heed the angel’s call; - But all the way He led her safely on - Who marks the sparrow’s fall. - - And some day, when life’s billows cease to roar, - And here no more my weary feet shall roam, - Our souls shall be conjoined forevermore - In Heaven’s eternal home. - - - - -_IDLENESS._ - - - Make some good use of ev’ry space of time, - In idleness are sown the seeds of crime; - Man’s erring mind, allured by passions strong, - Begins pursuing here the path of wrong; - And heedless of the peril just ahead, - Step after step proceeds with fearless tread, - Till ruin comes with overwhelming power-- - The bitter fate of many an idle hour! - - - - -_THE RIVER._ - - - Out from the shady woodland, - With song and laughter free; - Down from the sunny hillside, - And over the flow’ry lea, - Floweth the restless river, - On its journey to the sea. - - Over the silvery pebbles, - Sparkling like morning dew, - Whether in light or darkness, - Doth ever its course pursue, - Till it gains the mighty ocean - With waters vast and blue. - - And thus are WE traveling onward,-- - ’Tis Hope by which we’re borne, - And our hearts beat with triumphant gladness, - As we dream of some brighter dawn - With sights that are nobler and grander, - And we journey on and on. - - And up from the earth’s dark bosom, - Like the homeward flight of a dove, - On Hope’s majestic pinions - We soar to the realms above, - To lave forever and ever, - In the sea of Eternal Love. - -[Illustration] - - - - -_THE CROWN OF FAME._ - - - What toils and hardships oft confront man’s sight, - When first ascending fame’s immortal height: - What cares, vexations, worriments prevail, - What deep-laid plans, repeated efforts, fail; - Yet who would dwell in hermit den, obscure, - To shun the toils that hero-gods endure! - Bestir thyself, O man, for soon--too soon, - As youth recedes, shall fade life’s golden noon! - If thou wouldst make thyself undying name, - Direct thy efforts to one worthy aim; - Let each exertion then be wrought with zeal, - Nor faint if woe come where thou look’st for weal; - But toil thou on, nor fear the world’s dark frown, - Till firm upon the summit of renown. - Whatever good, perchance, thy toils, may greet, - Lose not thyself in folly’s vain conceit: - False pride to lowest degradation tends-- - It leads to vice and vice to crime descends; - As tiny rills, that from the mountain flow, - Pursue their course to larger streams below, - Till seas are joined where mighty billows roll, - So pride goes onward till it wrecks the soul; - Thus by degrees the downward course begins, - And greatest evils rise from little sins. - Nor seek thy fame ’mid pompous scenes of art, - Where vice and folly oft inure the heart: - ’Tis Right eternal kindles honor’s flame, - And crowns Man’s efforts with immortal Fame. - -[Illustration] - - - - -_ELEGY_, - - On the death of Hon. C. B. Clark, member of Congress from 1887 - to 1891, for Wisconsin district No. 6, (now No. 8.) Died Sept. - 10th, 1891. - - - Well may the throngs in countless numbers weep, - Bereft of such a great and noble man, - For brilliant was the course of life he ran, - But now he lies in everlasting sleep. - - He lived a life exempt from selfish pride; - He never turned a stranger from his door; - He ne’er refused to aid the needful poor; - He proved to youth a never-failing guide. - - Alas! we mourn, with aching in our breast - And eyelids moistened with the burning tear, - The loss of one, so generous and sincere, - Now silent in his sweet and peaceful rest. - - - - -_A REVERIE._ - - - O glad shall I be when the winter is ended, - When the wild sweeping blasts of the season are gone, - When the last flakes of snow to the ground have descended, - And the drifts have all vanished from meadow and lawn. - - O glad shall I be when these cold days are over, - And the bright joys of summer are with us again; - When the meadows are blooming with sweet-scented clover, - And the warm sun is smiling on new fields of grain. - - O glad shall I be, when as free as the air - The birds are all singing their merriest lay, - To remind me of days when I knew naught of care, - And the seasons all seemed like a long summer day. - - O spring! merry spring! with thy fragrance of flowers, - To thee from my sorrows I longingly turn;-- - I’ll forget the drear scenes of these long winter hours, - And dream of thy blessings and happy return. - -[Illustration] - - - - -_OPPORTUNITY._ - - - Time is ever swiftly fleeting, - Unimproved by scores of men; - Opportunities are passing - That we’ll never have again; - Many things we may accomplish, - As the hours go speeding on, - If we but improve each moment, - Ere the precious time is gone. - - There are many hearts about us, - That a loving word might cheer; - There are many dear ones with us, - That ere long may not be here: - Let us then be wise and thoughtful, - As our course we journey on, - Striving for the good of others - Ere the precious time is gone. - - - - -_LINES_ - - Written on hearing a gentleman remark: “God bless dear woman.” - - - “God bless dear woman!” did I hear you say? - Full many a man might wisely thus remark! - How oft her smiles have cheered man’s troubled way, - And comfort brought when fortune’s sky was dark-- - The vine that clings unto the oak, whose bark - Is coarse and rough and void of pleasing grace; - And like a dove within the cheerless Ark, - Mid life’s drear scenes we see her sweetly face, - And in God’s best design, there love and beauty trace! - - - - -_MY LADY FAIR._ - - - When aged winter, fierce and grim, - Had ceased his surly reign, - And virgin spring again adorned - The forest, field and plain; - One morning when the sun was bright - And music filled the air, - I wandered o’er the meadow sweet - Beside my lady fair! - - We strolled along ’mid blooming flow’rs, - Till ’neath a spreading tree, - We sat where swift the raptured hours - Flew o’er my love and me; - And when at last time bade us part, - I kissed those lips so sweet, - And little dreamed but we should still - Oft thus together meet. - - But us the stars of heav’n depart, - When dawn her glory brings, - One morn the angels bore her off - Upon their snowy wings! - Yet, in the golden realms above, - I trust some day to see, - With endless joy, the one who made - This earth a Heaven to me! - - - - -_TO A FIRE-FLY._ - - - Blithesome insect, gently flying - Thro’ the shades of night, - As we see thy rays of brightness, - May our hopes be bright; - And tho’ with life’s cares encompass’d, - May our hearts be light. - - - - -_MY OLD NEW ENGLAND HOME._ - - - When the stars above, in gladness, - Twinkle thro’ the evening gloam, - With a mingled joy and sadness, - Often do my fancies roam - Backward to the vanished pleasures - Of my old New England home. - - In that home I see my mother-- - Of all earthly friends the best-- - At her side my younger brother, - With his youthful pleasures blest; - And my little brown-eyed sister, - Sleeping on her mother’s breast. - - And within that sacred dwelling - Father’s cheerful face I see, - And I hear him kindly telling - Us to ever loyal be;-- - On the battle-field he perished, - When they made our country free. - - When he went away, our mother - Safely led our little band, - And she taught us of another - Loving Father, whose strong hand, - Never would forsake his children, - If they heeded His command: - - Taught us, in our youth and beauty, - Ne’er to turn our feet aside - From the paths of truth and duty, - Whatsoever might betide; - But to keep the path of wisdom, - And obey our Heavenly guide. - - Back to home and all its pleasures - Often do my fancies roam, - And to me, the richest treasures - Under heaven’s starry dome, - Were the blessings of my childhood, - In that old New England home. - - - - -_A LOVER’S LAMENT._ - - - As lillies, arrayed in their loveliness, fade, - So faded my fairest--my love: - My joys have all fled, for my darling is dead-- - O Stella! My dearest, my dove! - - The loveliest flowers, in this sad world of ours, - Are soonest from us to depart-- - Are first to decay; and thus faded away - The tenderest joy of my heart. - - My hopes, once so bright, have all taken their flight, - For gone is my beautiful dove: - I’m weary with grief, and shall ne’er find relief, - Till I rest with my darling above. - - - - -_FACES THAT ARE GONE._ - - - How we long to see the faces - That have crossed the silent tide-- - Faces marked with care and sorrow, - Faces full of joy and pride; - Some with furrowed brow and hoary, - Some in youth’s lamented bloom;-- - One by one from us departed, - For the cold and silent tomb. - - Birds employ their notes of gladness - As they flutter to and fro, - Flow’rs display their wealth of beauty, - As they used to long ago; - But the birds may sing forever, - And the flow’rs forever bloom; - They can ne’er bring back the faces - That are hidden in the tomb! - - Silently death steals upon us, - Silently time speedeth on-- - Soon we, too, shall all be numbered, - With the faces that are gone; - Each and all must shortly follow - Thro’ the shadows and the gloom, - To the loved ones who are waiting - In the light beyond the tomb. - - - - -_THE TRUE WAY._ - - - We know that we’re stubborn and willful, - And tho’ we have kindly been shown - The true way, which God has appointed, - We often go on in our own. - - And thus we go on in the darkness, - Groping our way thro’ the night; - Unmindful ofttimes of His goodness, - And missing His glorious light. - - But still He looks down with compassion, - And e’en thro’ life’s greatest alarms - We’re sheltered and safely protected, - As weak little lambs in His arms. - - Could we but have more of His goodness - Implanted each day in our heart, - Perhaps there are others about us - Who’d feel the rich joy we’d impart. - - Could our love, every day, be to others - As the love from our Maker above, - O what a grand army of brothers - Would be banded together in love! - - - - -_PITCHER OR JUG._ - - - Which brings poverty and woe, - Which makes useless tears to flow, - Which brings scorn where’er we go, - Pitcher or jug? - - Which fades beauty, health and bloom, - Which turns happiness to gloom, - Which leads to the drunkard’s tomb, - Pitcher or jug? - - - - -_TWO LIVES._ - - - They started out together - Amid the worldly din; - One yielded to temptation, - And lived a life of sin: - They found his lifeless body - One pleasant summer dawn, - All mangled in the gutter-- - A wretched life was gone. - - The other trod the pathway - Of righteousness and truth, - And kept his soul as spotless - As in his early youth; - And when his voyage was ended, - On Heaven’s blissful shore - He joined the great reunion, - Where parting is no more. - - - - -_MEDITATION._ - - - ’Mid scenes of mystery life’s tide rolls onward; - And tho’ some, delving deep in caves of knowledge, - Have revealed wondrous facts, this life, concerning, - Still blind they are to most of life’s great features; - How powerless to perceive the future’s movements, - Or e’en explain the present things about them! - We little more than know that we’re existing, - ’Mid scenes that time and tide are changing ever. - _Hope_ is a star that lures men ever onward, - Oft seeming near and yet forever distant; - _Contentment_ is an isle where man, if ever, - Has seldom dwelt amid the scenes enchanting; - _Love_ is a dew-drop on the rose-bush glowing, - Soon to depart as e’en the bush must perish: - All things of earth are like the fleeting shadows - Except the love of Him whose power and wisdom - Exceeds, by far, man’s deepest understanding, - And He, who clothes the lillies in their beauty, - Who feeds his flocks and marks the falling sparrow, - Will shield His children from life’s raging tempests, - And lead them safe through waters of affliction - Until, at last, beyond the vales and shadows, - Their eyes behold that Land of endless beauty. - - - - -_TEMPUS FUGIT._ - - - Men sleep, but time speeds on; - The sun comes out at dawn - O’er hill and town, - At eve goes down, - But ever time speeds on. - - Men die--the world moves on, - And when our forms are gone, - New hearts arise, - To seek earth’s prize; - And thus the world moves on. - - - - -_GLADNESS._ - - - Let thy heart, attuned to gladness, - Every fear and doubt dispel-- - Banish idle thoughts of sadness, - Then shall joy thy bosom swell. - - - - -_THE RAINBOW._ - - - Howe’er dark the clouds may hover - O’er thy pathway, ne’er repine; - Mark thou, when the storm is over, - In the heaven that beautious line! - - - - -[Illustration] - -MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. - -[Illustration] - - - - -NOTE. - - -My first intention was to omit the following pieces from this -publication, but on recommendation of several readers I have finally -decided to place them in a seperate department; expecting in either -case--whether included in this book or omitted--that the youthful -aspirant, in this attempt to flutter out into the literary sphere, will -fall headlong and be left only to dream of those glorious heights where -others triumphantly soar amid the silvery clouds of fancy. - - H. R. C. - - - - -_THE DAWN O’ SPRING._ - - - Yes, boys, I’m waitin’ patiently to see the dawn o’ spring-- - To see the flowers in blossom an’ to hear the robins sing; - An’ to see the trees an’ meadows clad in garbs o’ livin’ green; - An’ to hear the merry music o’ the brook thet flows between. - - It makes me fairly home-sick sech cold wintry days ez these, - The snow a driftin’ everywhere an’ layin’ in the trees; - An’ when Jack Frost steals ’round et night an’ frescoes everything, - It makes me hanker more an’ more to see the dawn o’ spring. - - Fer I know when spring comes ’round ag’in with all her sweet perfume; - Her reses all in blossom an’ her orchards all a-bloom, - An’ robins singin’ gaily--I’ll be happy ez a king; - Thet’s why I’m waitin’ patiently to see the dawn o’ spring. - - - - -_ZEEKE BULLARD’S FARM._ - - - Zeeke Bullard wuz a farmer of no great amount of worth, - Tho’ his farm wuz well supplied with miles of rich, productive earth; - Fer he owned three hundred acres, so his frien’s an’ neighbors sed, - But he uster say thet money wuz a thing he never hed. - - He’d groan about his losses, an’ his scarcity of tin, - An’ he of’en sed he wondered w’y his crops were all so thin; - He’d set aroun’ frum morn till night till days an’ weeks ’ud pass, - An’ talk about the way he’d lose his grain an’ garden sass. - - The ’tater bugs in multitudes ’ud come frum all aroun’, - Till nothin’ in his Murphy patch wuz left abuv the groun’; - Insects of all descriptions thronged aroun’ his garden beds, - While worms with powerful appetites devoured his cabbage heads. - - The crows ’ud come day after day to steal his yaller corn, - An’ dine on oats an’ barley till his fiel’s were nearly shorn, - An’ acre after acre where his clover oughter grow, - There wa’n’t but giant thistles pintin’ daggers high an’ low. - - An’ when his crops were harvested by bugs an’ worms an’ crows, - An’ wintry blasts were comin’ on, his sons were void of clo’es; - In spite of all the mendin’ thet his little wife could do, - The toes an’ knees an’ elbows of his boys were peekin’ thro’. - - * * * * * - - A while ago I left thet place of farmin’ enterprise, - An’ now my folks are livin’ ’neath the broad, blue western skies, - An’ tho’ I ain’t a farmer I’m convinced there’s nothin’ made, - Unless you work et farmin’, same ez any other trade. - - Weeds don’t need cultervatin’, but they grow up tall an’ stout, - An’ you mus’ work to save the grain an keep the thistles out: - You can’t loaf ’round frum morn till night an’ talk the hull day thro’, - For yer crops’ll go to ruin jest ez surely ez you do. - - * * * * * - - I’ve jest received a letter frum an ol’-time friend of mine, - Who sed poor Zeeke wuz dwellin’ where bright crowns of glory shine; - He’d quit the farmin’ business an’ wuz free frum worl’ly harm, - While his seven sons were lef’ to raise the mortgage on his farm. - - - - -_UNCLE NICK, ON EDDICATION._ - - - While ’tendin’ skool I uster be fust class et playin’ ball, - Et playin’ tag er leap-frog I wuz formost of ’em all; - Sech sportin’ allus hed fer me a wondrous fascination, - An’ so I spent more time et this than on my eddication. - - I of’en git to thinkin’ what fine chances I hed then - To git an’ eddication, but of course it’s useless when - The opportunity is passed to mourn yer situation-- - It’s pooty hard when you are ol’ to git an eddication. - - Now boys I’m ’fraid thet some o’ you are growin’ up this way, - I’m ’fraid fer learnin’ some o’ you are substertootin’ play, - I’m ’fraid there’s boys a-livin’ in this present gineration, - Who’ll wish some day they’d seen less play an’ more o’ eddication. - - You can’t keep waitin’, thinkin’ thet you’ve got a lot o’ time,-- - The time to git yer schoolin’, boys, is while you’re in yer prime; - When you are ol’ you’ll see enough o’ care an’ tribulation, - Without the thought thet carelessly you missed an eddication. - - - - -_UNCLE NICK, ON GOSSIPERS._ - - - When people git to gossipin’ sometimes they’ll set an’ talk - Fer hours an’ hours together, jest ez reg’ler ez a clock; - I s’pose they think folks love to hear their never-endin’ yop,-- - But when Samantha’s talked a while she knows enough to stop. - - When Mrs. Jones wuz tellin’ et our place the other day, - Thet Mrs. Williams told her thet her neighbor, Mrs. Gray, - Sed she never saw so big a story-teller’s Widder Heath-- - Samantha set there quiet, with her tongue between her teeth. - - She ain’t ferever slingin’ out sech everlastin’ gab:-- - She of’en sez “it’s bad enough to hear the neighbors blab;” - But she jest stays et home instid an’ ’tends to fam’ly cares, - An’ never tells the neighborhood about her home affairs. - - We don’t take any papers, but with news we’re well supplied; - Fer the neighbors tell us every birth an’ death an’ suicide: - When Mrs. Jones comes up our walk a-squeakin’ them new shoes, - Sometimes Samantha’ll say to me, “here comes the daily news.” - - - - -_THE ART O’ KNOWIN’ HOW._ - - - It’s hard to write a decent song, tho’ maybe you deny it, - Most any job looks easy you’ll allow; - But if you’re inexperienced perhaps you’d better try it, - An’ you’ll find the nickromancy’s in the art o’ knowin’ how. - - There’s lots o’ things you’ve never done that looks all killin’ easy-- - Did you ever try to milk a kickin’ cow? - If not, just try yer hand fer fun, to satisfy and please ye, - An’ you’ll find the nickromancy’s in the art o’ knowin’ how. - - Whatever yer profession, you’ll discover soon or late, - As you stop to wipe the sweat from off yer brow, - That to preach a decent sermon er to draw a furrow straight, - The nickromancy lies within the art o’ knowin’ how. - - So be sure thet you’re adapted to the work thet you profess, - Teachin’ gospel truths er hangin’ on the plow, - Then buckle down to business, an’ yer can’t escape success, - Fer you’ll find the nickromancy’s in the art o’ knowin’ how. - - - - -_MOTHER’S PHOTOGRAPH._ - - - D’you wish to know what came to me from good ol’ Santa Claus? - ’Twuz not a lot o’ nigger-toes to crack between yer jaws, - Nor candy nor a jumpin’-jack fer makin’ youngsters laugh-- - But the present thet he give to me wuz mother’s photograph. - - Some how a cur’ous feelin’ seems to steal acrost my mind, - Ez I look back to boyish days an’ think how good an’ kind - Thet mother’s been in teachin’ me to shun the evil ways, - An’ how attentive she hez been, e’en from my infant days. - - An’ when I think how many years she’s toiled thro’ shine and rain, - An’ how she’s allus been on hand to soothe my every pain, - It seems ez ef to do my best thet I could never be - Half good an’ kind enough to pay fer all she’s done fer me. - - Perhaps you think it’s silly, but it’s jest ez I hev sed, - Thet all the other presents ol’ St. Nicholas ever hed, - Compared with that he give to me w’ud be but worthless chaff, - Nor comfort me one half ez much ez mother’s photograph. - - - - -_FIFTY YEARS._ - - - Two score and ten summers have glided away, - As time speeds relentlessly on; - And our thoughts wander back, as we sit here to-day, - O’er the past that has faded and gone. - - Many dear ones have gone to their rest in the grave, - Young hearts have departed from play; - Still others have gone, their dear country to save, - And fall’n ’mid the wild battle’s fray. - - Many dear to our hearts are now far in the west, - While few near the old home remain; - And though often lonely, we’ve been greatly blest,-- - Our labors have not been in vain. - - ’Tis fifty long years since the day which we set, - Our sorrows and pleasures to share; - That bright, happy day we ne’er shall forget, - When life looked so joyous and fair! - - - - -_A MAIDEN WONDROUS FAIR._ - - - Within a certain town there dwelt - A maiden wondrous fair, - Whose cheeks were like the rose’s hue - And golden was her hair. - - Her eyes were like the twinkling stars, - Her teeth were like the pearl; - And sons of both the rich and poor, - Admired this charming girl. - - Two constant beaus this maiden had, - And each one swore that she, - Ere many months had passed away, - His own dear wife would be. - - But soon an incident occurred - Which all their plans upset, - When at the maiden’s gate one eve - Her two admirers met. - - Hard words arose between the two, - As oft there had before; - And that the maid should be his wife - Still each persistent swore. - - The longer thus they did contend, - The more their wrath did rise; - Until at last they came to blows - O’er who should have the prize. - - While thus engaged, a prim young man - With unpretentious mien - Approached, just as the maid herself - Appeared upon the scene. - - Then soon the angry blows were ceased - And quietude restored; - And each apologized to her - Whom he so much adored. - - Then bowing low, each went his way; - Quite black and swollen-eyed; - While she whom they had fought to win - Became the third man’s bride. - - - - -_WEALTH AND WANT._ - - - How often the poor are despised and neglected, - For no other reason except they are poor; - How often the rich are beloved and respected, - Because they have uncounted wealth at their door. - - There’s many an honest and virtuous heart, - To-day within poverty’s prison enchained; - While thousands reside amid pleasures of art, - Whose wealth was thro’ vice and dishonesty gained. - - Despise not the needy because they are poor, - Nor envy the wealthy because of their gold; - Good or ill fortune may stand at our door, - But true hearts are not to be purchased or sold. - - - - -_CHILDHOOD._ - - - We long for those days, once so joyous, - For that unbounded freedom, again, - When there were no cares to annoy us, - And life knew no sorrow nor pain; - But those sweet days of childhood have vanished, - And we long for them only in vain. - - Tho’ time has wrought changes unnumbered - Since those happy seasons were pass’d, - And now with life’s cares we’re encumbered, - Still backward fond visions we’ll cast; - And we’ll think of our childhood with pleasure - As long as our memories last. - - - - -_THE LASSIE O’ER THE WAY._ - - - A sweet little lassie - Lives over the way: - She’s pretty and modest, - Yet blithesome and gay. - - So perfect her manners, - So graceful her mien; - O who would not worship - This fair little queen! - - Is there a young laddie - Whose heart would not beat - For those smiles so angelic - And dimples so sweet: - - Those blue eyes a-sparkling, - That bright golden hair! - O where’s the young lassie - More charming and fair! - - She’s modest and gentle, - Yet cheerful and gay; - This sweet little lassie, - Just over the way. - - - - -Transcriber’s Note - - -Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a -predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not -changed. - -Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced -quotation marks retained. - -All of the illustrations are the same simple decoration. - -“Telulah Spring”, listed as the Frontispiece in the Contents, was -missing from the original book. - -“Note” at beginning of “Miscellaneous Verses”: “seperate” was printed -that way. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Henry Reed Conant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** - -***** This file should be named 51904-0.txt or 51904-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/0/51904/ - -Produced by Larry B. 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