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diff --git a/old/52623-0.txt b/old/52623-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ed9892e..0000000 --- a/old/52623-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5405 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Crocket McElroy - -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: Crocket McElroy - -Release Date: July 22, 2016 [EBook #52623] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif 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 - - CROCKET McELROY. - - ST. CLAIR, - MICHIGAN. - - [Illustration: colophon] - - CHICAGO, - SCROLL PUBLISHING COMPANY, - 1900. - - Copyrighted, 1900, - - BY CROCKET McELROY. - - - TO - - HON. THOMAS W. PALMER, Detroit, Michigan; - HON. JOSEPH B. MOORE, Lansing, Michigan; - CAPTAIN BYRON WHITAKER, Detroit, Michigan; - HENRY C. FRENCH, Esq., Buffalo, New York; - CHARLES A. CALZIN, Esq., Marine City, Michigan; - and all my other friends, this book is dedicated. - CROCKET MCELROY. - - - - -INDEX. - - -POEMS OF PATRIOTISM. - -Our Country and Our Flag, 9 - -The Flag of Hobson’s Choice, 16 - -The Old Soldier, 21 - -Washington, 26 - -A Voice for Freedom, 29 - -The Reconcentrados, 31 - -The Celebration, 40 - -Ode to Ontario, 42 - -The United States and Canada, 44 - -Ode to Our Country, 45 - - -POEMS OF SENTIMENT. - -The Milk of Human Kindness, 49 - -The Working Girl, 52 - -The Wayward Girl, 56 - -The Rose Cure, 59 - -To a Snow Drop, 61 - -A Family Song, 63 - -Thanksgiving Day, 64 - -Parental Advice, 65 - -The Doctor, 67 - -Brotherly Love, 69 - -The Minister’s Wife, 70 - -Nothing to Say, 73 - -The Heart, 74 - -My Darling Flora’s Margaret, 75 - -The Rich Sweet Sound of the Human Voice, 78 - -The Man for the Times, 82 - - -POEMS OF FEELING. - -To My Soul, 87 - -Dear Rolla, 89 - -To the Memory of a Good Woman, 90 - -On the Death of Mrs. Maggie Blood, 91 - -To the Memory of Mrs. Fidelia Whitaker, 93 - -Braver the Sick, 95 - -Do not Die Tonight, 96 - -On the Death of Mary McElroy, 98 - -Address to Death, 100 - -To the Memory of Mrs. Hon. Justin R. Whiting, 106 - -Captain Archie Morrison, 109 - - -POEMS OF DESCRIPTION. - -Where the Wind Blows, 113 - -Ode to Lake Superior, 117 - -The Dundas Valley, 118 - -The St. Clair River, 119 - - -MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. - -Compensation, 139 - -Expansion, 146 - -Fear Not, Lorain, 148 - -The Teacher, 150 - -A Gem, 153 - -The China Wedding, 154 - -The Honest Man’s Fate, 155 - -Time and Tide, 156 - -Christmas Day, 157 - -Progressive Euchre, 158 - -The Winner, 162 - -A Walk by Moonlight, 163 - -The Painter, 165 - -A Doctor’s Advice, 166 - -Here I Am, 168 - -A Christmas Turkey, 169 - -To Mrs. Harriet S. DeLano and Her Baby, 170 - -For the Baby, 171 - -Lines on My Father, 171 - -Advice to a Young Poet, 172 - -An Acrostic, 173 - -Charley’s Puppy, 174 - -Merry Christmas, 175 - -Temperance, 175 - -The Folding Puzzle, 176 - -In Florence’s Album, 176 - -In Lizzie Leonard’s Album, 177 - -In Henrietta’s Album, 177 - -In Worthy’s Album, 178 - -In Flora’s Album, 178 - -In Etta’s Album, 179 - -In Grace’s Album, 179 - -The Gallop of Life, 180 - -Where Are All the People We Knew, 184 - -The Honest Man, 187 - -Beautiful Things, 189 - -The Nurse, 192 - -A Sweet Disposition, 195 - -The Scow Race, 197 - -A Happy Choice, 201 - -Beautiful Flowers, 203 - -The Value of a Friend, 204 - - - - - PART I. - - POEMS OF PATRIOTISM - - - - - OUR COUNTRY AND OUR FLAG. - - - At morning light October twelfth, - In fourteen hundred ninety-two, - With shouts of joy and dreams of wealth, - Columbus and his happy crew, - Sang land ahoy! Sweet land ahoy! - And landing on the virgin soil, - Gave thanks to God, in tears of joy, - And laughed at danger, care and toil. - - And thus became our country known - A short four hundred years ago, - And yet in greatness it has grown - Beyond the reach of man to know; - The forests vast have given way - Before man’s mighty march and hand, - And prairie wastes like night to day - Have changed to blooming garden land. - - The savage hosts that here were found - Living like roving beasts of prey, - Have given up their hunting ground, - And thrown their poisoned darts away; - Now turning to the arts of peace, - And living on the white man’s plan, - Their wasted numbers will increase, - While they respect the rights of man. - - The howling wolf and dreaded bear, - The buffalo and antelope, - And all the beasts not in man’s care, - Are going down the western slope; - Whate’er obstructs the onward tread, - Of the overwhelming march of man, - Must soon be numbered with the dead, - All sacrificed on nature’s plan. - - The mighty rivers and great lakes, - Where once did float the bark canoe, - Are but the means that nature makes, - To push man’s grand endeavors thru; - And now upon these waters floats - A commerce of a size so vast, - (In more than seven thousand boats) - It never yet has been surpassed. - - And pressing on for conquests new, - The teeming millions reach our shore, - And bore the very mountains thru, - In eager reaching out for more; - The earth gives up its lead and gold, - Its silver, copper, salt, and oil, - And countless wealth will yet unfold, - Ere man has ceased to think and toil. - - A thousand cities now we show, - And eighty million freemen rule, - Where but four hundred years ago, - There was no house, or church, or school, - And not a white man yet had trod - The fairest portion of the earth, - The land where all may worship God, - Where liberty was given birth. - - In seventeen hundred seventy-six, - The brave forefathers of this land, - Tired of tyrannic laws and tricks, - Resolved to take a noble stand; - So on the fourth day of July - They said this country must be free, - And pledged themselves to win or die, - In fighting for its liberty. - - Then thirteen states together joined - And declared themselves a nation, - And prouder names were never coined - Than endorsed that declaration. - Our country now must have a flag, - To be praised in song and story, - No silly or unmeaning rag, - But an emblem of our glory. - - Flags are made of various types, - Our Congress chose for us the best, - And with our handsome stars and stripes, - We do not care for all the rest; - With seven red and six white bars, - A corner field of pretty blue, - In which to set the coming stars, - Now counting three and forty-two. - - Each star a state does represent, - A powerful aggregation, - And each one has a government, - For its local regulation; - So great we’ve grown in width and length, - The truth can hardly be believed; - We do not boast of size or strength, - But of the work we have achieved. - - We sixty thousand schools maintain - For the children of our nation, - Where free of cost they can obtain - A liberal education; - And sixty thousand churches, too, - Where people freely worship God, - Learn how to love, be good and true, - For that’s the style on freedom’s sod. - - We make ships go ’gainst wind and tide, - Our steamers sail to ev’ry shore, - And on our railroads one can ride - Two hundred thousand miles and more; - Our Franklin brought the lightning down, - Morse made it talk thru miles of wire, - And Edison has gained renown, - By using it for light and fire. - - We now can hear a thousand miles, - The ever welcome voice of friends, - And on our little waxen files - Preserve it till life’s journey ends; - The sweetest music in the world - Is sung and played for all mankind, - The notes are caught and then unfurled, - And lift man’s heart and cheer his mind. - - With gratitude our hearts are filled - For the triumphs of our nation, - We’ll not forget good blood was spilled - In fighting for its salvation; - We love our country and our flag, - And know not how to amend it, - And when it calls we will not lag - In rallying to defend it. - - O how it inspires one to hear, - When passing by upon the street, - The children sing in school house near, - “Forever float that standard sheet,” - And changing time to music true - “The star spangled banner shall wave,” - Following with “Red, white and blue,” - And cheers for the flag of the brave. - - In many nations of the earth, - Where kings and other tyrants rule, - The people’s rights are little worth, - Until they learn from freedom’s school; - But monarchs now are growing wise, - And hearts rejoice o’er all the world, - As freedom’s fires light the skies, - Where’er our noble flag’s unfurled. - - For justice and for liberty, - Our country is the champion, - We’ll advocate humanity, - Where’er man’s rights are trampled on; - In quiet peace we aim to live, - Avoiding war whene’er we can, - But life and gold we’ll freely give - To help our suff’ring fellowman. - - There is no nation that we fear - However skilled in war or arts, - We need no standing army here, - Our bulwark’s made of human hearts; - We have no lords, no king to crown, - But mindful of the bitter past, - We’ve anchored all our virtues down, - And nailed our banner to the mast. - - Respected now o’er all the earth, - In ev’ry country great and small, - The flag that crowned our nation’s birth, - Floats proudly with the best of all: - And now from school house top it flies, - And on all ships we send to sea, - The grandest flag beneath the skies, - The glorious flag of liberty. - - - - - THE FLAG OF HOBSON’S CHOICE. - - A SONG. - - Written June 10th, 1898, to commemorate in verse the great - achievement of Richard P. Hobson and his crew of seven men, in - sinking the steamer “Merrimac,” in the mouth of Santiago harbor, - island of Cuba, under orders of Admiral Sampson. - - - When Hobson saw his country’s need, - Demanded human sacrifice, - He asked that he might do the deed, - And give his life to pay the price. - - CHORUS. - - Three cheers now, boys, for liberty, - Three cheers again in louder voice, - For Hobson and his victory, - And for the flag of Hobson’s choice. - - He knew the course that he must take - Would lead him to the mouth of hell, - And boldly for his country’s sake, - He braved the storm of shot and shell. - - He knew that mines beset the place, - Where he must go to sink his ship, - And death would meet him face to face, - Ere he had time to make the trip. - - He knew his ship was weak and frail, - And could not stand the Spanish fire; - But all the signs that he would fail, - Served but to raise his courage higher. - - He knew that bombs embraced his boat, - And one good shot would send her high, - But lose or win, and sink or float, - He was ready to do and die. - - Advised to hoist the flag of Spain, - And thus deceive his watchful foe, - He could not bear his name to stain, - And quickly gave a manly “No.” - - “The stars and stripes, I love the name,” - (Thus spake the grand heroic voice.) - “Whether I fall, or rise to fame, - My country’s flag shall be my choice.” - - His mother’s home might soon be sold, - But surely this can never be, - His life should take the place of gold, - When given for humanity. - - He gaged his countrymen right well, - And left his mother in their hands; - No mortgagee could ever sell, - A nation’s hero’s mother’s lands. - - Seven brave men composed his crew, - All volunteers from Sampson’s fleet, - And ev’ry man a hero true, - Knowing the danger he must meet. - - His ship was called the Merrimac, - A noted name in history. - And soon she’ll sink and block a track, - A sacrifice to victory. - - At morning dawn the start was made, - And quick he reached the chosen spot, - ’Mid storms of shell from hill and glade, - And hundreds of death dealing shot. - - The cannons roared, the engine stop’d, - The anchor then was quickly dumped, - All hands ran aft, a float was drop’d, - And onto it eight heroes jumped. - - The fuse was lit, the ship blew up, - And sank upon the proper site, - Cervera’s fleet was bottled up, - And lost all chance to win the fight. - - A braver deed was never done, - In all the ages of mankind, - Since Adam faced the morning sun, - Or Christ inspired the human mind. - - Their duty done, no longer use - To risk their lives upon that trip, - And hoisting up a flag of truce - Were taken to Cervera’s ship. - - The Admiral, a gallant man, - As ever storm of battle braved, - Altho he did not like the plan, - Rejoiced that our brave men were saved. - - And then he did a noble act, - As human ear has ever heard, - By telling us the joyful fact, - And sending our brave Sampson word. - - A thousand cheers now rent the air, - And echoed all around the world, - Where freedom’s sons and daughters fair, - Will keep our hero’s flag unfurled. - - Brave Hobson has adorned his age, - And nobly won immortal fame, - His deed will blaze on hist’ry’s page, - And all the world will praise his name. - - - - - THE OLD SOLDIER. - - - Make your walks level and see they are straight - And hang sweet flowers on your open gate, - Throw the blinds apart, raise the curtains high, - Swing the door open and then stand near by, - For an old soldier is coming along. - - His step now is short and not very strong, - He uses a crutch to help him along, - His heart is honest and his head is clear, - He blossoms with love and brings you good cheer, - For he’s a good soldier hobbling along. - - He has but one eye and that is quite weak, - But thanks to his God his good tongue can speak, - He stops to converse and rest him awhile, - And meets an old friend who greets with a smile - The gallant old soldier coming along. - - The little dogs bark when they see the crutch, - For fear he will give them a gentle touch, - The little boys laugh and he speaks no blame, - But stops and helps them finish their game, - For he’s a kind soldier coming along. - - The boys admire him and bring him a seat, - And gather about to hear him repeat - The stories of war in the field and camp, - In the fort and trench, or on the long tramp, - As the brave soldier was talking along. - - He tells them slowly how the battle begun, - With rattle of muskets and booming gun, - How the soldier’s hopes arose and then fell, - As cheers were followed by bursting shell, - As the old soldier was marching along. - - How the orders were given fast and thick, - The first one to march, then the double quick; - How the brave Colonel led into the fight, - Where the battle was hot on left and right, - As the old soldier was running along. - - How the boys in blue gave the rebels fits - As they pop’d their heads out of rifle pits. - And soon drove them behind their breastworks strong, - Where they stood their ground bravely and long, - And stop’d the old soldier coming along. - - How the cannons roared and the bullets hissed - And many comrades from the ranks were missed; - How the Captains shouted high and higher - “Stand your ground, boys, load and fire, load and fire,” - As the old soldier was fighting along. - - How just as the works of the rebels fell, - His eye was ruined by a piece of shell, - And just as the boys were scaling the wall, - His leg was broken by a cannon ball, - Broken and smashed by a cannon ball. - - How sad his thoughts as he lay on the ground, - And felt he was dying from his death wound; - But roused by the cheers for victory won, - And sweet consolation for duty well done, - The old hero is still coming along. - - How he thought as he lay a plan to contrive, - To show his comrades he still was alive, - And held up his cap with his musket high, - So the boys could see it as they passed by, - Poor suff’ring soldier not ready to die. - - How the boys soon came with an ambulance, - And gathered him in by good luck and chance, - For holding up his cap was taking his breath, - And well they knew he was bleeding to death, - The brave old soldier was bleeding to death. - - How the surgeons laid him on a rough board, - And took off his leg not saying a word, - They looked at his eye, “’Tis useless,” they said, - “Boys, take him away and put him in bed,” - The helpless soldier now lying in bed. - - How six long weeks in hospital he lay, - And prayed for his wife and children each day, - “How to support them, Lord, give me some plan, - Tho broken in pieces I still am a man,” - The poor broken soldier still is a man. - - Paid off and discharged when able to go, - With heart as light and pure as the snow, - He steps on the cars and away is whirled, - To realms of love in his own little world, - The loving old soldier coming along. - - He has plenty to eat and plenty to wear, - And draws a pension that frees him from care, - His wife’s contented, his children as neat, - As any children you see on the street, - He’s a happy soldier coming along. - - “Boys, don’t run away when your country’s in need, - But prove your courage by brave act and deed, - And if you should fall, for you is the fame, - On tablets of honor, you’ve written your name,” - Said the brave old soldier coming along. - - - - - WASHINGTON. - - - History tells of noble men, - Of soldiers brave and statesmen great, - And how they wrought with sword and pen, - To raise man to a higher state: - The good and wise in ev’ry age, - Left honored names to lean upon; - But not a name on hist’ry’s page - Shines brighter than George Washington. - - Great Hannibal the Alps did cross, - And proudly march on Italy; - But suffered a tremendous loss, - By giving way to revelry; - Philip won at Charonea, - And Caesar crossed the Rubicon; - Alexander conquered Persia; - But nobler was our Washington. - - Cromwell wielded a dreaded sword. - And thousands fell beneath his stroke; - Cruelty stained his ill gained hoard, - Nor could time mend the hearts he broke. - Peter the Great was truly great - But tortured to death his own son; - He builded up a mighty state, - But does not rank with Washington. - - Cincinnatus was good and brave, - And fought for country, not for fame; - He left his plow his state to save, - And gave the world an honored name. - Mighty in war, in council strong, - Was the world famed Napoleon, - But oft ambition led him wrong; - This was not true of Washington. - - Great warriors and statesmen wise, - Have filled the world with their renown, - And often when they gained a prize, - Have placed upon their heads a crown; - And frequently by deeds of shame, - Have lost the glory they had won, - No hero e’er had purer fame, - Than modest, honest Washington. - - His brave soldiers he grandly led, - With frosted feet and hands all bare, - Over the cold earth’s frozen bed, - Across the icy Delaware; - And when they met the foes of right, - They shouted loud, “Come on! Come on!!” - And cheered as they went in the fight, - “Hurrah! Hurrah!! for Washington.” - - A famous battle then was fought, - That spread our glory far and wide, - And tho thru suff’ring dearly bought, - It turned the tide to freedom’s side; - Not ice, nor cold, nor frozen feet, - Could stop our heroes marching on, - So eager they the foe to meet, - And fight for love of Washington. - - When victory at last was won, - And the foe driven from our sod, - The people said, “Well done, well done,” - Our hero said “Thanks be to God.” - Some wanted him to be their King, - But not a crown would he put on; - Did ever King a nobler thing, - Than patriot soldier Washington? - - “The first in war and first in peace, - And the hearts of his countrymen,” - A grateful nation ne’er will cease, - To class him with the wisest men: - For freedom’s cause o’er all the world, - He prayed and labored, fought and won, - Where’er his country’s flag’s unfurled, - There cheers will rise for Washington. - - - - - A VOICE FOR FREEDOM. - - Written in 1856, during the struggle in Kansas, between the - pro-slavery and anti-slavery settlers. - - - Freemen of the north, why stand you still, - While fiends in Kansas your brothers kill, - Will you bow down to the tyrant’s God, - And worship slavery beneath the rod? - - No, never! you cry, no God have we, - But the God of love and liberty, - To Him we’ll bow, and for Him we’ll fight, - For liberty, justice and our right. - - Then shoulder your arms, prepare for the west, - A rifle provide, take one of Sharp’s best, - For there on the soil of Kansas do trod, - The foes of man and blasphemers of God. - - March to the battle, assist the brave few, - Now fighting nobly and looking to you, - Let them not look in vain, but lend a hand, - That will bring freedom and peace to their land. - - Hark! hear the patriots cry from their graves, - “Liberty for Kansas, freedom for slaves, - Drive out the foul demons that curse your land, - And rule you like slaves with a tyrant’s hand. - - “For freedom we lived, for country we died, - And may many heroes lie by our side, - Ere the tyrant wins, to curse with the slave, - ‘The land of the free and home of the brave’.” - - The heart cries vengeance and justice says fight, - For peace in Kansas, liberty and right, - Vengeance for our martyrs, peace by their tomb, - Where God in mercy may grant us a home. - - Remember for God and freedom you fight - And never forsake liberty and right, - But stand like a rock and fight to the last, - With eyes on the future, hearts on the past. - - When you meet your enemies in the field, - Go fight them bravely with no thought to yield, - But boldly cry out at ev’ry breath, - “Give us liberty, or give us death.” - - - - - THE RECONCENTRADOS. - - A Spanish physician on his way from Cuba to Spain, on arriving at - New York about October 1, 1898, was asked about the reconcentrados, - and answered sarcastically, “There are no reconcentrados now.” This - answer was understood to mean that they had all died of starvation - excepting the few that were saved by the United States. - - - Lives there a man in the United States, - That knows of the Cubans’ horrible fates, - Whose cheeks do not burn with the blush of shame, - When he hears these reproachful words of blame-- - “There are no reconcentrados now?” - - Where are the parents feeble, old and gray, - Driven from their own quiet homes away? - Where are the children, are they too all dead? - Is it a fact, can it truly be said-- - “There are no reconcentrados now?” - - Where are the mothers with babes at the breast? - Where are the infants, are they too at rest? - Where are the sick and all in need of care? - Were they left to perish, they are not there? - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - Where are the crops of food once stored in domes, - Around ten thousand humble Cuban homes? - Devoured by fire and borne in flames away, - No wonder then that men can truly say-- - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - Robbed of their cattle, crops and homes destroyed, - Years of hard labor in hours rendered void, - Huddled near cities, watched like beasts of prey, - Deprived of food they all have passed away, - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - Shorn of liberty, bound in lines of death, - They know their fate and dread the buzzard’s breath; - They pray for mercy, turn their eyes to God, - Then fall in death on their loved Cuban sod, - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - They beg for bread, but cruel Spain denies, - She does not heed heartrending children’s cries, - Nor the mother pleading in anguish wild, - “Pray give a morsel to my starving child.” - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - No father’s prayer, however strong and good, - Can draw from Spain a single ounce of food; - No mother’s tears, however freely shed, - Can make one less among the Cuban dead: - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - See the starving babe, hear its wailing cry, - Searching for food it finds the fountain dry; - What sorrow racks the dying mother’s head, - The babe must die, alas! the mother’s dead: - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - See the hollow cheeks, see the sunken eyes, - See the shrivelled limbs, hear the children’s cries, - Their flesh all gone, reduced to skin and bone, - With scarcely strength to give a dying moan: - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - See the poor creatures dropping to the ground, - And ravenous vultures hov’ring around, - Watching life flicker, and with ghoulish shout, - Greedy to come and tear the vitals out: - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - Hear the brave father plead in manly tones, - “Starve me, tyrant, but spare my little ones, - Then take your dagger and with demon’s art, - Plunge it to the hilt in my broken heart:” - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - Many are the crimes cruel man has done, - From the early ages to the present one, - But of all crimes against the human race, - This great crime of Spain brought the most disgrace: - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - Who would think a so called Christian nation, - Would kill the innocent by starvation, - When before did the non-combatant’s cry, - Receive the answer--you must starve and die? - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - Listen, Christendom, hear these people pray, - Poor fellow creatures, turn them not away, - Haste to bring them food, take a manly part, - If they perish ’twill grieve the Christian heart, - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - - - - THE PRAYER. - - - “Where is the God that tribes with manna fed? - Where is the Christ that gave the thousands bread? - Where are the men with noble heart and mind? - Where, O where! is the love of human kind? - - “Where is liberty, is there ground for hope? - Where is charity, where’s the blessed Pope? - Where is Germany, freedom loving land? - Where’s the Emperor with his helping hand? - - “Where is Russia, nation great and strong, - With mighty power to rectify wrong? - Where is France, rich and beautiful France, - Will she not give us one sweet loving glance? - - “Where is Great Britain, land of wealth and fame, - Whose acts of kindness glorify her name? - Oft has she helped the starving sick and sore, - Pray come, kind nation, and do so once more. - - “Where is America, land of the free? - Most noble country, we appeal to thee; - We know you pity our sorrow and need, - And our sore distress must make your heart bleed. - - “You are a nation powerful for good, - Your cars and ships are loaded down with food, - Mighty with inventions, speedy with plans, - What is the matter, brave Americans? - - “Arouse, great country, and if need there be - Break the Spanish bonds and set Cuba free; - Remember Spain is feeble, old and slow, - And lost her glory many years ago. - - “Wars just for conquest there should never be, - But for the cause of life and liberty, - Nations may grasp the sword of righteousness, - Crush out tyranny and relieve distress. - - “No other nation has courage to come, - All other countries to our cries are dumb, - Our prayers will be to our latest breath, - Come, blessed country, and save us from death.” - - Thank God! our country heard the Cuban plea, - And gave notice to Spain: “This shall not be; - You must not murder and starve any more, - The innocent people so near our shore:” - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - Fired with pity, the American heart, - For humanity’s sake took Cuba’s part, - And with our heroes on sea and on land, - Soon opened the way for charity’s hand: - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - Forts were destroyed and the proud Spanish fleet, - And the Spanish army forced to retreat, - And soon as ever we possibly could, - We sent to the starving ship loads of food: - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - There has not been since history began - A grander act in the progress of man, - By so nobly taking poor Cuba’s part - A load was lifted from the human heart: - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - No braver men e’er fought for liberty, - Than risked their lives that Cuba might go free; - No holier triumph was ever won, - Since the record of war was first begun: - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - No other nation, either young or old, - Ever gave so many millions in gold, - To feed the starving and set the bond free, - In the grand cause of human liberty: - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - Henceforth this saying our maxim shall be, - We’ll bear it aloft o’er land and o’er sea, - And that all civilized nations may know, - Will proudly proclaim wherever we go, - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - Wherever our grand old flag is unfurled, - In Cuba, or any part of the world, - Love, mercy, and peace will go with it there, - And bring the oppressed full freedom to share: - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - Nations respect us for the good work done, - And freely concede the glory we won; - We get the honor, the world gets the gain, - Mankind is lifted to a higher plain, - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - United for peace all nations should be, - Protecting man in his right to be free, - And if one nation man’s freedom restrain, - The rest should join and restore it again: - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - Humanity’s cause henceforth must prevail, - No nation will dare man’s rights to assail, - The example we set lays down the plan, - Nations will follow in lifting up man: - “There are no reconcentrados now.” - - - - - THE CELEBRATION. - - The following verses were written in November, 1889, when it was - supposed the World’s Fair at Chicago, to celebrate the four - hundreth anniversary of the discovery of America, would be held in - 1892. - - - In eighteen hundred ninety-two - We will have a celebration, - And prove our manners good and true, - By inviting ev’ry nation; - We’ll advertise from shore to shore, - And tell how we have expanded, - For just four hundred years before, - Christopher Columbus landed. - - We will build a mighty tower, - Much higher than any steeple, - And give it the strength and power, - To hold twenty thousand people; - We’ll build it strong and very high, - And elegant in size and form, - So it will please the cultured eye, - And ride triumphant ev’ry storm. - - A thousand feet we’ll raise the pile, - Yes, a thousand feet high and more, - Twelve hundred feet, a quarter mile, - Where never building reached before; - For it is our real intent, - To gage its height by measure true, - To finding of this continent, - In fourteen hundred ninety-two. - - And in the top we’ll place a light, - One hundred thousand candle strong, - To guide the trav’ler in the night, - More than a hundred miles along; - And over all a flag will fly, - The largest, handsomest and best, - That ever charmed the human eye, - Or fired the love in loyal breast. - - When independence day shall come, - In eighteen hundred ninety-two, - We’ll march to tune of fife and drum, - In every state the union thru, - And bless the land we love so dear, - United States of America, - Ten million voices then will cheer, - Hip, hip, hurrah! hurrah!! hurrah!!! - - - - - ODE TO ONTARIO. - - - Hail, Ontario, dear land of my birth, - Blessed Ontario, rich spot of earth; - Born upon the mountains, - I’ve played at thy fountains, - And drank from the sweet rills, - At the foot of thy hills. - - Lovely Ontario, land of the free, - Happy Ontario, blessings on thee; - I have played with thy boys, - And partook of their joys, - Before school and after, - With shouts and with laughter. - - Glorious Ontario, land of delight, - Peaceful Ontario, great is thy might; - I have loved thy sweet girls, - And have toyed with their curls, - Kissed the rose on their cheeks, - And then laughed at their freaks. - - Gallant Ontario, land of glory, - Blooming Ontario, grand in story; - Thy ladies are truthful, - Lovely and beautiful, - Safe will the nation be, - While they have liberty. - - Sparkling Ontario, land of brave acts, - Roaring Ontario, with cataracts; - Thy men are heroes born, - Brave both at night and morn, - Nobly they stand and fight, - For God, truth and the right. - - Beaming Ontario, with beautiful fields, - Teeming Ontario, with bountiful yields, - Rich in great mines of wealth, - Filled with large stores of health, - Great is the love we owe, - Beautiful Ontario. - - - - - THE UNITED STATES AND CANADA. - - On the manner in which the union of these countries should take - place, from an address delivered at Niagara Falls, Ontario, July - 4th, 1888. - - - Let it come as the seasons come, - With gradual change of weather; - Let it come as the waters come, - And quietly mingle together. - - Let it come as the gentle rain, - Refreshing the air and the land; - Let it come as the golden grain, - With promise of harvest at hand. - - Let it come as the evening sun, - With the peace and quiet of night; - Let it come as the morning sun, - In a blaze of glory and light. - - - - - ODE TO OUR COUNTRY. - - The following blank verse was written in January, 1864, during the - war of the rebellion, when many people in the northern states were - advocating peace on almost any terms. - - - The constitution our fathers made, - Long may it protect us. - The fine example our fathers set, - Long may we follow it. - The pure principles our fathers loved, - Long may we cherish them. - The perfect laws that our fathers made, - Long may we obey them. - Sacredly they pledged their lives and their honor, - All for their country’s sake, freedom not power; - Freely their blood was spilled, battling for justice, - All for their country’s sake, they were not selfish; - Boldly the trial made, God crowned their efforts, - Thanks to His providence their country was saved. - Grandly their thoughts were framed glowing with wisdom, - Wise were the laws they made, all the world blessed them; - Gray hairs honored them, old age and glory, - Then was their noble work left for their children. - Shall we their descendants forget the pure motives, - That guided our fathers in times of distress? - Shall we prove unworthy the boon they left us, - Or bravely defend the cause of liberty? - Large is the sacrifice, greatly ’tis needed, - Freely we grant it, for in God is our trust; - Our lives and fortunes like our fathers before, - Are pledged to the cause of justice and freedom, - Bravely we’ll defend it, let no traitor destroy, - The land of our fathers, the home of the free, - With strong arms and stout hearts we’ll continue to fight, - In perfect faith that God will favor the right. - - - - - PART II. - - POEMS OF SENTIMENT - - - - - THE MILK OF HUMAN KINDNESS. - - - What is it lures the tender heart, - From paths of joy and pleasures sweet, - To rush into the crowded mart, - And lift the fallen to their feet? - - What is it prompts the loving soul, - To go among the poor and sick, - Where sorrow and the empty bowl, - Stir one’s compassion to the quick? - - Why should one go where hunger reigns, - And meet the dreaded starving face, - Where life is full of aches and pains, - And sickness finds a brooding place? - - Why go where dread disease prevails, - And screams and groans afflict the heart, - Where death the struggling life assails, - And feel the pang of sorrow’s dart? - - Why go not to the palace grand, - Where fruits and wines await the guest, - With works of art on ev’ry hand, - And bask in comfort, peace and rest? - - Why go not where the flowers bloom, - And birds make music in the trees, - Where all is joy, there is no gloom, - And life and health ride on the breeze? - - Is it for love of doing good, - And working out the Master’s plan, - Or doing as all others should, - To elevate our fellow man? - - There is a motive in the mind, - That moves to noble, gen’rous deeds, - To sacrifice and actions kind, - And to relieving human needs. - - Some ruling thought, some spirit fair, - Or inward spring I can not see, - Whate’er it is, love must be there. - O that I knew what it can be. - - Arouse, my soul, increase my sight, - Awake, my muse, stay my blindness, - Ah! now I see by brighter light, - ’Tis the milk of human kindness. - - There is a fountain whence it flows, - A source from whence it takes its start, - Reviving hopes as on it goes, - That fountain is the human heart. - - God bless the hearts that feed the stream, - That fills the soul with tenderness, - God bless the lives that yield the cream, - From the milk of human kindness. - - - - - THE WORKING GIRL. - - Text: A newspaper item said that shop girls are often insulted on - the streets by men who assume that they are immoral because they - are poor. - - - I am only a working girl, ’tis true, - And my mother a widow poor and weak; - I am glad when I find some work to do, - For the bloom has faded from mother’s cheek. - - There are four little ones to clothe and feed, - And mother must work sixteen hours a day; - She struggles hard to provide what they need, - And I know is wearing her life away. - - I am old enough to go out and work, - And healthy and strong, thanks to mother’s care, - I could not bear my duty to shirk, - And mother’s burdens I am pleased to share. - - The money I earn pays for coal and rent, - And mother furnishes the food we eat, - Ev’ry dollar she gets is wisely spent, - And our cottage is always clean and neat. - - Mother takes washing and sewing to do, - And works like a slave until late at night, - I help her each evening an hour or two, - And don’t complain for I know it is right. - - I go to the church and the Sunday School, - And perform all my duties well and true, - I strive hard to live by the golden rule, - And that’s about all a poor girl can do. - - We’re not so unhappy as you might think, - For love reigns supreme in our humble dome, - And tho often near to starvation’s brink, - No money could coax me to leave my home. - - Mother is cheerful and good as can be, - And sings to us nightly songs that are choice, - No sound ever heard is so dear to me, - As the rich sweet sound of my mother’s voice. - - I met a strange man on the street one day, - With a dashing style and a brazen cheek, - Who said “Good night, my dear, just come my way,” - And alarmed me so that I could not speak. - - I hastened to mother’s protecting arms, - And asked if a poor girl must be on guard, - Who claims neither beauty, nor loving charms, - And whose dress cost only five cents a yard. - - “I’ll tell you, my dear, for I understand, - Why that bold bad man set your head awhirl. - He saw that poverty held you in hand, - And you were only a poor working girl.” - - “But tell me, mother, have the poor no rights, - Must one be rich to command respect? - Our minister tells us that God delights, - In the honest and poor of ev’ry sect.” - - “I know, my dear, what the ministers preach, - But I state the fact so well as I can, - Tho Christ has proclaimed what his priests shall teach, - They have not overcome the sin in man. - - “Some men are good as they know how to be, - While others repel life’s chastening rod, - The rich meet temptations we never see, - The good honest poor are nearest to God.” - - Thanks, my dear mother, your life is my guide, - I will work night and day just as you do, - When temptation comes I’ll thrust it aside, - Grow nearer to God and nearer to you. - - When my work in this life has all been done, - I will wend my way to the gates of pearl, - And present this plea to the Holy One: - “Dear Lord, I am only a working girl.” - - - - - THE WAYWARD GIRL. - - Suggested by reading the testimony of the severe whippings given - with the “cat o’ eight tails” in the Industrial School for Girls at - Adrian, Michigan. Written May, 1899. - - - Strip off my clothes, expose my back, - From shoulder to the hip, - Hold fast my hands in vise like rack, - Nor once let go the grip. - - Now raise your weapon high in air, - And strike with all your might, - On my poor back now white and fair, - Nor hide the brutal sight. - - A single lash is not enough - To bring the color quick, - A “cat o’ eight tails” strong and tough, - Will sooner make me sick. - - Rain down the blows nor halt to rest, - Till you are out of breath, - Another brute with equal zest, - Will whip me most to death. - - See now the color pinky bright, - But just over my heart, - There still remain some streaks of white, - Don’t miss this vital part. - - Measure your blows and deal them straight, - Bring out the redder hue, - Nor let your cruel strokes abate, - Till all is black and blue. - - Now burns my back as if by fire, - Red roasted in a flame, - What more can cruel fate require, - Of my poor trembling frame? - - I shrink with fear, I scream with pain, - I pray “O spare my life,” - So squeals the pig and squeals in vain, - For deeper goes the knife. - - My voice is hushed, I faint, I choke, - Death hovers closely by, - Down falls another last hard stroke, - “Take that, you wretch, and die.” - - O Michigan, my Michigan, - Let your heart strings unfurl, - Blot out the stain of Adrian, - And pity the wayward girl. - - - - - THE ROSE CURE. - - Written for Rose Gearing, a grandchild seven years old, while at - Lorain, O., November, 1897. - - - One day I went out walking, - And the road was hard and long, - No friend was with me talking, - And no bird gave out a song. - - The air was raw and chilly, - The warm summer days had past, - My path was rough and hilly, - The flowers were fading fast. - - The winds were blowing madly, - Lake Erie was lashed to foam, - And I was feeling sadly, - Two hundred long miles from home. - - I tried to stop that feeling, - And remove it from my mind, - But what would do the healing, - Was a thing I had to find. - - I thought of a nice river, - Where the water ever flows, - But God the mighty giver, - Soon reminded me of Rose. - - My heart with joy went beaming, - My spirits were lifted up, - Away went idle dreaming, - I had found the healing cup. - - Hereafter when in sadness, - Bewailing ill-fortune’s blows, - My thoughts will turn with gladness, - To the love of my sweet Rose. - - And when I need elixir, - That is pleasant, safe and sure, - I’ll go to my sweet mixer, - And quickly take--The Rose Cure. - - I know of nothing neater, - Than my darling’s love for me, - And none more pure, or sweeter, - Than my love for her shall be. - - - - - TO A SNOW DROP. - - The following verses were suggested by seeing a large and beautiful - drop of snow, in the form of a star, descend slowly and gradually - melt away on my clothing. The first three verses came to me - spontaneously and come the nearest to being an inspiration of - anything I have written up to January, 1888. I had only to write - down the words, which were ready without the labor of composition. - I mention this fact not because there is any merit in the verses, - but because I had a touch of inspiration, and have ever since - believed that writers and speakers are sometimes inspired with - thoughts that come to them without passing thru the process of - thinking. Written December, 1859. - - - A little thing of icy clearness. - Came dropping from the sky above, - Filling joyful hearts with gladness, - And others with the tears of love. - - For while hearts are upward bending, - Humbly praying for food to eat, - Others joy and mirth are blending, - Making their many pleasures sweet. - - Yet this little drop keeps falling, - And covers up man’s darkest deeds, - As if ’twere its only calling, - To drive temptation from our heads. - - Then let this pure emblem’s features, - Teach what we owe to God above - And to all our fellow-creatures, - Make a payment with our love. - - - - - A FAMILY SONG. - - TUNE: _A Life on the Ocean Wave_. - - - A home with my darling wife, - Along with my children dear, - Away from trouble and strife, - From sorrow, danger and fear; - Let some be gloomy and sad, - I shall be happy and free, - My wife be joyful and glad, - And our children full of glee. - - No storms shall darken our path, - The way is open and straight, - Ne’er yield our reason to wrath, - But aim for Heaven’s wide gate; - ’Twill open and let us in, - And the Lord be glad to see, - Living in Heaven with Him, - My wife and children and me. - - - - - THANKSGIVING DAY. - - - In this beautiful world, - Where love’s flag is unfurled - And given free scope to wave and entwine; - It does not become man - To complain of the plan, - Established by a Creator divine. - - And on Thanksgiving Day - While we sing and we pray, - And give thanks for the rich stores we possess; - Our hearts should open wide, - To the poor by our side, - And take measures to relieve their distress. - - For happy is the part, - Where there’s love in the heart, - To lighten the sorrows of one in need; - And peace comes to the breast, - When we help the distrest, - And, O God, what joy comes from a good deed. - - - - - PARENTAL ADVICE. - - Composed for the occasion of the marriage of my daughter, Flora, to - Howard C. Beck, June 17th, 1891. - - - Howard and Flora, there’s a beautiful land, - Where trees and flowers grow pretty and sweet, - Where many kind friends will lend you a hand, - And line with pleasure a path for your feet. - - ’Tis not among stars that twinkle with light, - ’Tis not in the moon so cheerless and cold, - ’Tis not just beyond great shadows of night, - To reach it requires no silver or gold. - - This beautiful land is easily found, - Its gates are open to virtue and worth, - Where peace and good will and reason abound, - This beautiful land is this lovely earth. - - If you would enjoy this beautiful land, - And crown with glory the days you have spent, - Let heart beat to heart and hand join with hand, - And travel thru life in peace and content. - - Your aim should be high, your walk should be straight, - Your lives fill with joy your parents and friends, - Your record keep bright and honor your state, - And tread the true path where happiness tends. - - Howard, should Flora once chance to go wrong, - With kind loving words the stain wash away, - When she shows weakness then you should be strong, - And quarrels never will darken your way. - - Flora, should Howard a moment be weak, - And stray from the path that leads men above, - Don’t hasten to bring a blush to his cheek, - But cover his fault with mantles of love. - - Thus in harmony and peace may you dwell, - Your knowledge expand, your pleasures increase, - Always be happy and always be well, - And end your journey in Heaven and peace. - - - - - THE DOCTOR. - - - Who is it drives thru mud and sleet, - At break-neck speed along the street, - Nor stops for cold nor stops for heat, - Until he rests close by your feet? - The Doctor. - - Who is it comes at dead of night, - When thieves are out and dogs do bite, - And hastens to the dismal light, - And greets you with a warm good-night? - The Doctor. - - Who is it asks the reason why, - That on a sick bed you should lie, - And answers to the sad reply, - “My friend, I will not let you die?” - The Doctor. - - Who is it startles in his dream, - And thinks he hears his patient scream, - And gives of life its very cream, - To save you from the downward stream? - The Doctor. - - Who is it takes his life in hand, - And promptly comes at your command, - When cholera is in the land, - Or small-pox with its dreaded brand? - The Doctor. - - Who is it comes with gentle tread, - When life is hanging by a thread, - And racks the brain within his head, - To lift you from a dying bed? - The Doctor. - - Who is it tells the loving friend, - In kindest words that tongue can bend, - All things in nature have an end, - And my poor patient cannot mend? - The Doctor. - - Who is it knows our secrets best, - The failing arm, the weakened chest, - And keeps those secrets in his breast. - Until we reach our final rest? - The Doctor. - - Then to the man whose heart is true, - Who does for us all man can do, - We’ll render love and honor due, - And trust our lives forever to-- - The Doctor. - - - - - BROTHERLY LOVE. - - - O may our hearts in love unite, - Our spirits shun all temptation, - Our souls incline to truth and right, - Our minds in love to all creation. - - Each other’s faults let us retrieve, - And our portion of love divide, - Each other’s loads a share receive, - And bear with them on ev’ry side. - - Let conscience dictate, our minds obey, - Our erring footsteps be retraced, - Our fallen brother gone astray, - Be welcomed back, in love embraced. - - Then will God be pleased to bless us, - And fill our lives with love and light, - Then will He sweet mercy grant us, - While we uphold the truth with right. - - - - - THE MINISTER’S WIFE. - - Written on the occasion of the marriage of my daughter, Worthy, to - Rev. G. N. Kennedy, October 17th, 1892. - - - A beautiful crown awaits you, - In the realm of your chosen life, - No higher duty commands you, - Than to be a minister’s wife. - - The road you are now to travel, - Is high over the common plain, - But when you have reached its level, - You must rise above it again. - - You must go onward and upward, - Nor halt in your journey thru life, - There’s always work in Christ’s vineyard, - For the faithful minister’s wife. - - ’Tis a difficult role to fill, - And the work will never be done, - But if you take hold with a will, - Then half the victory is won. - - Grapple with boldness and courage, - The duties to which you’re assigned, - And use all your strength and knowledge, - In work for the good of mankind. - - Always be pleasant and cheerful, - Forgiving, consoling and kind, - Speak soothing words to the tearful, - Bring light to the hearts of the blind. - - Help, O help the poor and the sick, - Help them with tears, labor and love, - Help them out when sorrows are thick, - Help them in the kingdom above. - - There’s a veil that obstructs our view, - From the beautiful higher life, - You should try hard to break it thru, - For you are a minister’s wife. - - Be a helpmeet to your husband, - Relieve him of burdens and care, - And the noble work of his hand, - Will bring you in glory to share. - - Wherever duty may place you, - In all the relations of life, - Remember, father commands you, - Be a model minister’s wife. - - - - - NOTHING TO SAY. - - - You ask me some verses to write, - But when I have nothing to say, - I had much rather keep quiet, - Than write in a roundabout way. - - But as nature is always kind, - Perhaps she’ll assist me today, - And thus I’ll be able to grind - Some verses on--nothing to say. - - ’Tis a splendid maxim, I’m told, - And I do not doubt what they say, - It will do for young and for old, - Never speak when you’ve nothing to say. - - Now if you will let me advise, - This maxim you’ll always obey, - Do just like the good and the wise, - Never speak when you’ve nothing to say. - - - - - THE HEART. - - - The heart like a sponge may drink to its fill, - But unlike the sponge there is room in it still, - Fill it with sorrow and pack it with pain, - One touch of sweet love revives it again. - - Crush it, abuse it, it bleeds like a sieve, - Tender it kindness, it holds all you give, - Pound it, and shake it, until it is sore, - Its love is as sweet as ever before. - - Sad it becomes without love to bless it, - Deeply it mourns for friends to caress it, - Deprived of love it loses its power, - Watered with hope it blooms like a flower. - - Dear is the heart that friends safely can trust, - Peaceful the bosom when the heart is just, - Blest is the heart when its love is secure, - Happy the friends loved by hearts that are pure. - - - - - MY DARLING FLORA’S MARGARET. - - The following poem was written to soothe and comfort my daughter - Flora, when lying low with typhoid fever in Detroit, while her then - only child, Margaret, thirteen months old, was at my house in St. - Clair. The acts attributed to the child actually occurred. - - - Come to my arms, my little sprite, - And help me in some verses write - How one can be so strong and bold, - And little more than one year old; - Many good things I learn from thee, - How sweet to smile and cheerful be, - That would adorn my life’s own page, - Tho I am fifty times your age. - Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet, - My darling Flora’s Margaret. - - What does she say when looking wise, - And gazing straight into my eyes, - Wondering if I understand, - The pretty sounds at her command? - Men of great wealth may own their towns, - And kings and queens may wear their crowns, - I would not care for crowns or herds, - Could I interpret baby words. - Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet, - My darling Flora’s Margaret. - - But listen! something jars the wall, - My pretty pet has had a fall, - And quick she rises from the floor, - Smiling as sweetly as before; - She seems to know life’s just begun, - And oft she’ll fall ere it is done, - And thus she teaches fallen men, - With cheerfulness to rise again. - Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet, - My darling Flora’s Margaret. - - I love to see her bright blue eyes, - That shine like Venus in the skies, - I love to see her dimpled hands, - That do whate’er her will commands; - I love to see and count her toes, - And gently touch her handsome nose, - I love her smile, I love her charms, - And love to take her in my arms. - Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet, - My darling Flora’s Margaret. - - She slaps me hard to make me cry, - Then watches for the swelling eye, - And when she sees that I am sad, - Kisses me quick to make me glad, - Then rubs her cheek against my face, - And clasps me in a fond embrace, - O that my life could be so good, - As bubbling, loving, babyhood. - Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet, - My darling Flora’s Margaret. - - They tell me that Heaven is grand, - A beautiful and happy land, - Imagination hath its dream, - And unknown things delightful seem; - I ask no land more grand than this, - Where babies live to swell our bliss, - With sickness out this world would be, - A happy land for all like me. - Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet, - My darling Flora’s Margaret. - - - - - THE RICH, SWEET SOUND OF THE HUMAN VOICE. - - - Many sounds are heard by the human ear, - Sounds that are delicate, or loud and clear, - The rustling of leaves by the gentle breeze, - Or the hurricane crashing thru the trees; - Sounds in the mountains and sounds on the sea - And sounds wherever man happens to be; - But of all known sounds the sound of man’s choice - Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice. - - The sweet little birds can charm by the hour, - By the songs they sing with all their power, - How freely they stretch their dear little throats - As they pour out floods of delicious notes, - And few are the sounds man ever has heard, - More pleasing to him than songs of the bird, - And still he can say, the sound of his choice, - Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice. - - The cracking bud of the bursting flower, - The spattering rain drops from the shower, - The bark of the dog when he barks in play, - The rumble of wheels on the hard highway, - The babble of brooks as they run along, - And the cataract’s never ending song; - Are sounds that are cheering, and still man’s choice, - Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice. - - The rattle of war when great armies clash, - The howling tornado’s terrible crash, - The splashing of waves on the ocean shore, - The startling grandeur of the thunder’s roar, - The alarming sound of the cannon’s boom, - And the bursting volcano threat’ning doom; - Are sounds that are thrilling, but still man’s choice, - Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice. - - The sweet violin in a master’s hand, - Gives delightful music at his command; - It is made to imitate many sounds, - That man often hears in his daily rounds, - (The human voice and the warble of birds,) - And to almost express these sounds in words; - But tho ’tis charming, the sound of man’s choice, - Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice. - - The pianoforte can delight and please, - When a Paderewski fingers the keys; - The great church organ has inspiring notes, - That expand the music from human throats; - The cornet’s shrill notes are stirring and clear, - And fill the music loving soul with cheer; - But of all known sounds the sound of man’s choice, - Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice. - - The martial music of the fife and drum, - That calls the nation’s defenders to come, - And the thrilling chorus brass bands produce, - Are grand when applied to the country’s use, - Even the bagpipe’s persistent humming, - Is sweet when it means relief is coming, - But nevertheless the sound of man’s choice, - Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice. - - Not a sound of instrument ever heard, - Nor loveliest note of the singing bird, - Nor sounds produced by the wave, or the wind, - Compare to the voice of a Jenny Lind; - And when Patti sings, O heaven! how sweet - Is the entrancing voice her hearers greet, - Thus proving it true, the sound of man’s choice - Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice. - - It may be the voice of a loving friend, - Kindly offering your sorrows to mend, - The voices of children engaged in play, - And happily passing the time away, - Or the gentle voice of a sister dear, - O’erflowing with tenderness, love and cheer, - And then it must be, the sound of man’s choice, - Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice. - - It may be a father warning his son, - And kindly teaching him the course to run, - Or a mother pleading in accents mild, - “O God, have mercy on my darling child;” - The voice of a father, sister, or brother, - And tender voice of a loving mother, - Make clear the fact that the sound of man’s choice, - Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice. - - - - - THE MAN FOR THE TIMES. - - - The man for the times is one with a soul, - And a heart that is tender and sound, - Who keeps his conscience in his own control, - And who bends his ear to the ground. - - His mind should be clear and his body strong, - And his habits correct and clean; - He should stand for right and fight against wrong, - And rise above everything mean. - - His views should be broad, liberal and wise, - And his acts conform to his views, - Quick to listen to humanity’s cries, - And give every creature his dues. - - Bomb proof against bribes and corruptions base, - With record and honor unstained, - Proving always the right man for the place, - With no conduct to be explained. - - Wide awake to the progress of events, - Marching with the leaders of thought, - Watching what science creates and prevents, - And what wonders are being wrought, - - Master of electricity and steam, - Also compressed and liquid air, - And the power contained in wind and stream, - And know how these forces compare. - - The wireless telegraph and telephone, - Should be simple toys in his hand, - And all sciences that to man are known, - He should fairly well understand. - - He should keep posted in man’s inventions, - And his rapid progress in art, - And in all proper works and intentions, - Take a leading and manly part. - - With courage and noble ambition, - He should grasp the problem of life, - And raise the standard of man’s condition, - Or perish in the throes of strife. - - His heart should be fired with burning love - For his suffering fellowman, - And his soul fragrant with balm from above, - Should elevate the human plan. - - Large hearted, whole souled and lofty in aim, - Not worshiping dollars and dimes, - But working always for honor and fame; - Such will be--the man for the times. - - - - - PART III. - - POEMS OF FEELING - - - - - TO MY SOUL. - - - When passions lure thee to deeds of shame, - And sorely tempt thee to stain thy name, - Arouse thy manhood, let virtue win, - And carefully shun the path of sin, - Turn away! turn away, my soul! - - When boon companions present the cup - Of sparkling liquor for thee to sup, - Reject the offer, don’t stop to think, - For snakes lie hidden in the first drink, - Keep away! keep away, my soul! - - When the gambler tempts thee to his den, - Where a dollar ventured brings back ten, - Tell him begone, you’ve a better plan, - You’ll work for wealth like an honest man, - Be honest! be honest, my soul! - - When rogues approach thee with scheme and plan - For helping them rob your fellowman, - With indignation, rebuke and scorn, - Make the rascals wish they’d ne’er been born, - Act bravely! act bravely, my soul! - - When brazen women with tricks and snares, - Seek to entrap thee within their lairs, - Beware! O beware! The fatal spell - That hurries men down to death and hell, - Fly away! Fly away, my soul! - - When cares and troubles distract thy brain, - And weigh thee down with sorrow and pain, - Cling to thy virtues with all thy strength, - And life’s great battle you’ll win at length, - Be manly! be manly, my soul! - - When fortune crowns thee with earned success, - Cease not to think, or to labor less, - But kindle anew the fires of youth, - And bravely uphold the cause of truth, - Be noble! be noble, my soul! - - And should you perchance be called a fool, - For striving to live by Christian rule, - Be not discouraged, but brave and strong, - Adhere to the right, denounce the wrong, - Have courage! have courage, my soul. - - The pleasures of earth and heaven too, - Are due to the good, the wise and true, - Then rejoice, my heart, the way is clear, - To a life of love and right good cheer, - Be happy! be happy, my soul! - - - - - DEAR ROLLA. - - Verses on the death of a child about three years old, written to - comfort his parents. - - - Dear Rolla, tho gone, is just gone on before, - To welcome you home to a happier shore; - The time will soon come when you, too, will away - For the home of the Lord with Rolla to stay. - - Christ loves little children and calls them away - To keep their sweet charms for a happier day, - Like the flowers you plant to adorn and bloom, - He has gone to sweeten your heavenly home. - - By Christ he was called, by God he was given, - You gain by the loss an interest in heaven, - Your hearts now are broken, your reason most wild, - So deep is your grief o’er the loss of your child. - - In God, your kind Father, rest hope and belief, - And He in His mercy will bring you relief, - Have faith in His power, believe in His love, - And He’ll lead you in safety to heaven above, - Where Rolla’s charming voice so sweet and so true, - Is calling, “Pa and ma, I’m waiting for you.” - - - - - TO THE MEMORY OF A GOOD WOMAN. - - - Gone from a life full of sorrow and care, - Gone to that realm where the good only go, - Gone from a world where true pleasure is rare, - Gone to that place so delightful to know. - - Now she will find the rest so long needed, - Now she is free from all toil and burthen, - Now she will meet the Lord she has heeded, - Now her sweet soul is happy in heaven. - - No one can fill the place she left vacant, - No mother now teach her children the way, - No grief can come to her home so distant, - No perils of life endanger her stay. - - O may her spirit shine forth like a star, - O may its light ever brighten our path, - O may it lead where she awaits us afar, - O may her love ever save us from wrath. - - Sweet be thy home, dearest mother and friend, - Sweet as the peace that can never depart, - Sweet be thy life in the world without end, - Sweet as the love that o’erflowed from your heart. - - - - - MEMORIAL LINES. - - On the death of Mrs. Maggie Blood, an exceedingly bright and - popular young wife. - - - O God! why teach us how to love so strong? - Why make our hearts so warm, soft and tender? - Why fill the world with happiness and song, - Since we must all to cold death surrender? - - Why take from us this good and noble life, - In spite of love and skill in human arts? - This precious daughter, sister, loving wife, - And make us weep and mourn with broken hearts? - - Why take the brightest and best in the land, - And leave those behind we can better spare? - Is it to place them at Thy own right hand, - Where bliss eternal they will ever share? - - Does heaven demand this great sacrifice, - That we should have cause to love it the more, - Think less of this earth with its sin and vice, - Take more interest in the other shore? - - When earth is deprived of the good and true, - Do they join Thy hosts in the world above? - O tell us, God, is Maggie there with You, - Safe, well and happy in the realm of love? - - How will it be known when the answer comes, - Must we show our faith ere we can hear it? - Then drive the sorrow from our saddened homes, - For Thou, O God, hast power to do it. - - - - - TO THE MEMORY - - Of Mrs. Fidelia Whitaker, the excellent wife of my old and good - friend, Byron Whitaker of Detroit, Michigan. Mrs. Whitaker had many - fine qualities, and commanded my respect and esteem to a high - degree. - - - Come listen, friends, the while I paint - Upon your hearts a picture true, - Of one whose love was never faint, - But full and strong and true to you. - - No master’s skill can I command, - To imitate a face so fair, - But love will help to guide my hand, - And draw the lines with tender care. - - First I will mark those large bright eyes, - So full of life, so full of cheer, - Sparkling with love yet meek and wise, - Touching our hearts to draw them near. - - That noble brow I next observe, - Fountain of thoughts so pure and sweet, - Teaching us all the way to serve - Our fellow men whene’er we meet. - - Now as a whole I will define, - That pleasant smile, that charming face, - That beams with joy in ev’ry line, - And wraps our hearts in love’s embrace. - - Oft have we felt the friendly glow, - That bubbled from her gen’rous soul, - Like as a spring whose overflow, - Yields cooling draughts to make us whole. - - Her tender voice no more is heard, - Her friendly acts and pleasant way, - Her gentle hand and soothing word, - Are gone away, all gone away. - - But graven on our aching hearts, - Her loving face is firmly cast, - And fortune’s sway, nor sorrow’s darts, - Can wash it out while life doth last. - - - - - BRAVER THE SICK. - - - Brave are the soldiers who go forth to fight, - Tho chances of death are one in a hundred, - Brave are the sailors who stand for the right, - Tho the hours of battle are soon numbered. - - Brave are the life savers who plunge in the main, - And rescue the drowning and land them on shore, - But braver the sick who long suffer pain, - And bear it as Christ once bore it before. - - - - - DO NOT DIE TONIGHT. - - Written in answer to the poem “If I Should Die Tonight.” - - - Do not die tonight. - Your friends would sadly miss your pleasant face, - Their joy depart and sorrow take its place, - Their hearts would mourn for one they loved so long, - And solemn hymns displace the joyful song. - Kind loving words might stay their grief awhile, - But naught could take the place of thy sweet smile - If you should die tonight. - - Do not die tonight. - Your friends all know how your warm heart doth bleed, - In sympathy and love for all in need, - How oft by kind words and good deeds you prove, - The depth, and strength, and wealth of human love; - Beautiful flowers will bloom by your side, - And all your friends rejoice you have not died, - If you will stay and do not die tonight. - - Do not die tonight. - Your wayward friends will all return to you, - Forgetting days when they were not so true, - And eyes that chilled with cold and selfish glance, - Will beam with love and glow with radiance, - And evermore will bless your happy way, - And change your night into bright and cheerful day, - If you will stay and do not die tonight. - - Do not die tonight. - Your friends will fondly kiss your sweet white brow, - And dearly love you, warmly love you now, - They know how nobly you have done your part, - How sweet your friendship, true and warm your heart, - Henceforth their love will be more manifest, - So please postpone the day of death and rest, - And do not die, pray do not die tonight. - - - - - MEMORIAL LINES - - On the death of my niece, Mary McElroy, of Lapeer, Michigan, a - bright, intelligent and amiable girl, twenty-one years old. - - - Grieve not, dear parents, your duty is done, - Your daughter is safe in the land of rest, - You brought into life this beautiful one, - And led her in ways, the wisest and best. - - Grieve not, dear brothers, Mary is not lost, - She has only gone to a better home, - Where bliss eternal is had without cost, - There she will patiently wait till you come. - - Cherish her memory, think of her kindly, - Follow her good ways in actions and talk, - Let her light guide you, wander not blindly, - O walk the same path that Mary did walk. - - Grieve not, loving friends, Heaven is brighter - Richer and sweeter since Mary is there, - Let the tears you shed make your hearts lighter, - For Mary’s sweet voice will plead for your care. - - Grieve not for Mary, her sorrows are past, - She trod the bright path of truth and honor, - No life e’er so sweet forever can last, - Tho decked with the crown love placed upon her. - - Gloomy this sad world now seems without her, - Wretched and lonely to hearts in distress, - Cut down in spring-time, life all about her, - Deep is the sorrow we cannot express. - - Loving and truthful, pleasant and cheerful, - Pride of her father, charm of her mother, - Delight of her friends, spirits so youthful, - Heart always open unto each brother. - - Gentle as ev’ning, bright as the morning, - Sweet as the flowers that shine by her side, - She will bloom again at the great dawning, - When Heaven’s broad gates are opened out wide. - - Take her loving soul, kind God, to Heaven, - Surround her with joys as sweet as can be, - Return her ten fold the love she has given, - Welcome, kind Savior, dear Mary to Thee. - - - - - AN ADDRESS TO DEATH. - - The following article was suggested and started while sympathizing - with a neighbor’s family in the loss of a young child stricken - suddenly by death, but was not completed until after the death of a - much loved lady school teacher, when it was finished on the request - that I write something for the memorial exercises, February, 1894. - I was very busy at the time and this, my first literary wrestle - with Death, was hot and fast. - - - Hail, Death! But why need we hail thee? - Thou comest without our call; - Yea, thou comest when wanted not. - Thou comest when and where thou wilt, - And choosest whom thou wilt. - Thou art no respecter of time, or conditions. - Thou takest thy victims from every age and station. - None so venerable that thou would’st spare them; - None so strong thou canst not conquer them: - - None so pure as to be exempted; - None so humble as to escape thy notice. - The good and the bad are at thy mercy; - Nay, not that, for thou hast no mercy. - Wherever man goest, thou goest, - The deepest caverns of earth; - The highest mountain top; - The darkest, densest forest; - A thousand miles of stormy sea afford no protection. - - Go whither man may, thou pursuest him; - Side by side thou marchest with him, like a - treacherous friend, ready at any moment to become his murderer. - The barricades of parental love that shield the tender - lives of innocent childhood, are as cobwebs before thy - relentless power for destruction. - Naught can stay thy gluttonous appetite for victims. - - If thou hadst discretion we would fear thee less; but thy - cruel drag net is set for all, and there is no escape from - thy devouring grasp. - We charge thee, Death, with unwonted cruelty. - There are those whom thou might’st spare for the general good, - These are the young, the happy, and the useful; innocent - babes in their mother’s arms; prattling darlings on their - father’s knees; - happy boys and girls in the temples of learning, active and - ambitious young men and young women, these, all these are - some only whom thou could’st pass by for a time when - reaping thy harvest. - There is another class, Death, whom I would plead for: it - is that noble class engaged in the high calling of training - the youthful mind and fitting it for the duties of life. - If thou would’st spare any, spare these. - Enter not, O cruel Death! Enter not the school house door. - Rob us not of the noble teachers, whose loving-kindness, gentle - words, and pleasant smiles, have drawn around them the - heart strings of affectionate children, unused to - sorrows, untrained in the mysteries and miseries of life. - Lacerate not their tender hearts. - Break not these strong ties of affection. - Stand off! Keep away! Lay not your tyrant hands on - loving childhood’s noble friend. - But I plead in vain. - My prayer comes too late. - It would have come too late had it come sooner. - - All human ingenuity, all human power falls before thee, - Death. - Thou ridest rough shod over all man’s contrivances to - hold thee back. - Thou enterest every gate, every house, and to thy - shame it would be said if thou hadst shame, or - any sensation, thou hast crossed the threshold - of the school house door. - A hundred hearts are mourning, two hundred eyes - are weeping, for the flower of their concentrated - love, the golden rod of their admiration, a noble - woman, a kind teacher, a loving friend, has been - torn from them mercilessly, wantonly, cruelly--and - thou art the robber. - Thou art exposed, Death; this act betrays thee; - thou art a monster. - - Come now, Death, we challenge thee to combat. - Be a heartless monster no longer. - Choose thee “foemen worthy of your steel.” - Choose the white haired, the aged who fear thee not. - Withdraw, coward! From the unequal contest thou wagest - against the young, and - the feeble, and those who love this life not knowing - its hardships. - Come on, tyrant! Cross arms with your equals! - We, the aged; we, the experienced; we, who are weary - of the world; we, who are sinking down, being - crushed into the earth by the heavy burthens of - life, care not for thee. - Come on! Strike us! Spare the young, strike us! - We know that thou wilt win the final battle. - We know that we shall soon be numbered among thy - victims, and yet we dare thee to tackle us. - We can not stop thy murderous progress, and yet we - seek to check thy course. - We fain would keep thee busy, wrestling with the - old and gray, and give thee no time to search - for the young the hopeful, and the happy. - We, the old, crippled by disease; - Worn out with trials and disappointments; - With great sorrows in our hearts, that never can - be taken away. - We who have suffered from thy cruelties, and know - full well thy unconquerable power, nevertheless defy thee. - We dare thee! We taunt thee! We challenge thee to - mortal combat! - We are weak and wounded, and are fast nearing the - brink of the dark chasm of eternity, and we implore - thee, monster, tyrant, demon that thou art, to busy - thyself with blotting out our poor lives, that - the young and innocent, the pure and useful, and - all those who are healthy and happy, and all those - who love this life, and have friends to love, and - friends that love them, may be spared to enjoy - this beautiful world. - - - - - A TRIBUTE - - To the Memory of Mrs. Hon. Justin R. Whiting, a brilliant woman. - May 22nd, 1900. - - - First among the first, leader of leaders, - In the front ranks of life she found her place; - A student of books, at home with readers, - In household duties well up in the race. - - In social life a bright ornament, - Pleasant and cheerful, quick witted and wise, - Graceful in manners, not prone to dissent, - Respecting custom and family ties. - - Sincere in religion, true to her church, - A Christian by rule, a Christian at heart, - Liberal, diligent, full of research, - Ever and always found acting her part. - - Active and foremost in charity’s work, - Helping the poor, her heart full of pity, - From mercy’s appeals she never would shirk, - Nor stay her hands at bounds of the city. - - Grand was her example in cheerfulness, - Courteous alike to the proud and humble, - Casting off sunbeams of sweet loveliness, - Honoring a name time will not crumble. - - Kind as a neighbor and true as a friend, - Strong hearted and brave when sorrow prevailed, - Ready to assist and willing to lend, - And quick with relief when sickness assailed. - - Devoted and kind, a dutiful wife, - Ready to labor and ready to share, - With her good husband the burdens of life, - And lighten his load of worry and care. - - In his ambitions helping with good will, - To grand achievements of honor and fame, - Working with courage, genius and skill, - To raise and uphold the family name. - - But as a mother her best work was done, - She gave her children the tenderest love, - And taught them the way their lives must be run, - To reach a haven in the realms above. - - Each childish sorrow appealed to her heart, - And sweet soothing words soon washed it away, - In her children’s plans she took active part, - And led them wisely in study and play. - - Great their affliction, deep is their sorrow, - But slowly and surely time will it heal, - Love is a blessing they cannot borrow, - We will not ask them to tell how they feel. - - - - - CAPTAIN ARCHIE MORRISON. - - On the 31st day of May, 1900, a bolt of lightning struck one of the - spars on a new steamer nearly finished, but still on the stocks, at - St. Clair, Michigan, and instantly killed three men, of whom Archie - Morrison was one. Mr. Morrison was a good man. I knew him well, and - wrote the following testimonial to his character, to comfort his - family and friends. - - - Come, death, in a flash from the sky! - Come in the lightning’s stroke! - Our Archie was prepared to die, - He well had worn his yoke. - - No notice, or threat was needed, - He lived in peace with God, - The golden rule he had heeded, - And virtue’s path had trod. - - He had no forgiveness to ask, - He did not give offense, - No person could bring him to task, - He needed no defense. - - True as a magnet to the pole, - He did what conscience said, - He took the advice of his soul, - And followed where it led. - - With carefulness he steered his ship, - To a port of safety, - And well may those who make the trip, - Follow pilot Archie. - - For him no pity need be sought, - His sorrows are all past, - His noble character he brought - Safe to heaven at last. - - But there are those who deeply mourn, - His wife and children weep, - Their greatest grief must now be borne, - Their hearts are wounded deep. - - That sudden, cruel, bolt came down, - And blasted all their hope, - But they have many friends in town, - Who’ll with their trouble cope. - - Rally, good friends, to their relief, - And all take active part, - Wash out all color of their grief, - And mend each broken heart. - - - - - PART IV. - - POEMS OF DESCRIPTION - - - - - WHERE THE WIND BLOWS. - - - Over the mountain top, - And thru the valley deep, - Waving the farmer’s crop, - Lulling the birds to sleep. - - Over the ocean wide, - Making the billows roll, - Without a compass guide, - Sweeping from pole to pole. - - Over the tops of trees, - The giant redwood’s crown, - And where the gentle breeze - Scatters the thistle down. - - Over the steeples high, - Swinging the weather vane, - In seasons wet, or dry, - In sunshine and in rain. - - Over the clouds of snow, - Wafting the aeronaut, - Where birds do never go, - In skies with danger fraught. - - Over the salty sea, - Driving the noble ship, - Laden with silk and tea, - Upon her homeward trip. - - Over the desert plain - In Afric’s sunny land, - Carrying in its train - Great clouds of burning sand. - - Over our heads so mild - We scarcely feel its breath, - Or in a tempest wild - Strewing its path with death. - - Over the mighty west, - Where roused by maddened ire, - It bears upon its crest - An awful prairie fire. - - Over the stormy sky, - Where currents meet and clash, - And make the lightning fly. - With sudden dart and flash. - - Over the ocean shore, - Tossing the waves in spray, - And in the thunder’s roar - Heard many miles away. - - Over the tinted cloud, - Under the shining sun, - Ruling over the proud, - Since life was first begun. - - Over the busy town, - Bearing away the smoke, - To where it settles down - Among the country folk. - - Over the garden wall, - Where pretty flowers bloom, - From early spring till fall, - Shedding their sweet perfume. - - Over the human race - And ev’ry form of life, - Upon the earth’s broad face, - Living in love or strife. - - Over the rich man’s tracks, - In highland and moor, - And whistling thru the cracks, - In homes of starving poor. - - Over the happy crowd, - Feasting on pleasures sweet, - Near humble voices loud, - Praying for food to eat. - - Over the good and wise, - And Christ-like loving soul; - Striving to win the prize - Of peace, in heaven’s goal. - - Over our country grand, - Waving the flag of peace, - Ruled by a Mighty Hand - Whose love will never cease. - - Over all things we see, - And ev’ry place we know, - Upon the land or sea, - Is where the winds do blow. - - - - - ODE TO LAKE SUPERIOR. - - Written 1855. - - - O glorious lake, thy waters tell, - A divine hand hath made thee well; - Thy stores of health, - And mines of wealth, - Are wondrous works of nature, too; - Thy granite rocks and mounds of sand, - And mountain shores of richest land, - All with reverence bow to you. - - O beauteous lake, thy gorgeous size, - To us doth prove that God is wise, - Thy copper, aye more, - Thy iron ore, - Is the best found in all the earth; - Thy waters flow thru one river, - And enrich thy shores of silver; - So great art thou, none know thy worth. - - O richest lake, thy wondrous beauty, - Makes praise to God become our duty, - Thy waters clear, - And pure atmosphere, - Strengthen many an invalid; - Thou givest wealth to man his portion, - Then ebb and flow just like an ocean, - We rejoice, great sea, thy wealth’s not hid. - - - - - THE DUNDAS VALLEY. - - A few miles west of Hamilton, Ontario, is one of the most beautiful - sections of country it has ever been my pleasure to see. The Grand Trunk - Railway cars run along the side of Dundas Mountain for several miles, - and the view of the valley from the cars is magnificent. In passing over - this route in the summer of 1892 I was charmed by the view and inspired - to write the following little poem. - - - Hills above hills in beauty rise, - And mark their outline on the skies, - And close inspection shows that man - Is helping on the mighty plan. - - Here valleys deep, and valleys wide, - And gushing streams from mountain side, - Present, o’ercapped by dome of blue, - A splendid panoramic view. - - - - - THE ST. CLAIR RIVER. - - - O beautiful river, I have longed for the hour, - My muse would awaken and give me the power, - To ring out the key note and tune my sweet lyre, - To sing of thy glory with spirit and fire. - - Oft charmed by thy beauty, and amazed at thy size, - I’ve gazed on thy grandeur with keen wondering eyes, - Watched thy clear blue waters as they slowly pass by, - Reflecting true pictures of the clouds in the sky. - - So deep is thy bottom and so broad is thy stream, - Thy volume is greater than thy looks make it seem, - Tho slow is thy current, great force there is in it, - Moving a million tons of water each minute. - - Many are the sources that provide the supply, - That keeps this great river from ever running dry, - The inflow and outflow do so nearly conform, - That the river’s level is very uniform. - - Far away in the north, in the land of the moose, - In the cool summer home of the fleety wild goose, - Where the valleys are deep and the mountain tops are white, - And the snow rarely melts above a certain height. - - Where springs burst from the hills and trickle down their sides, - And enlarge into brooks that go to swell the tides, - And joining rivulets from the dissolving snow, - Are gathered into lakes in the basins below. - - Where the small lakes are brown like the rocks on their shores, - And tho they are numbered by near an hundred scores, - And pour their dark waters into large lakes of blue, - The larger lakes remain unto their color true. - - Where the lazy brown bear sleeps the warm winter thru, - And beavers build houses and live in comfort, too, - And the lone loon’s shrill cry sounds far off, yet is near, - And the wolf lies in wait for the innocent deer. - - Where summer nights are short and winter nights are long, - And the tumbling waters keep up an endless song, - Where the forests are thick and in their native state, - But for the woodman’s ax will not have long to wait. - - Where many hills contain copper, silver and gold, - And iron mines hold wealth in vast millions untold, - Where precious stones are found of great beauty and worth, - And nickel and sandstone add value to the earth. - - Where lumbermen find wealth in the forests of pine, - And other valued trees within the drainage line, - The red birch, yellow birch, white birch, hemlock and spruce, - And the numerous trees man converts to his use. - - Where millions of acres of farming lands are drained, - And many bright children are in school being trained, - And thousands of people are toiling for their bread, - And rarely go hungry, thank God it can be said. - - And hundreds of rivers in the north, south and west, - Are working night and day, and striving at their best, - To empty their contents just so quick as they can, - Into lakes Superior, Huron and Michigan. - - But vast is the country they are called on to drain, - So heavy the snowfall, so frequent the rain, - Tho these rivers work hard and have no day to spare, - They can only supply the great river St. Clair. - - Lake Huron takes the flow from long Lake Michigan, - And Lake Superior since the work first began, - And tho these great bodies all empty into one, - That one’s capacity is never overdone. - - The river pours its waters into Lake St. Clair, - And the waters pass thru Detroit River fair, - And thence thru Lake Erie to Niagara Falls, - Where it drops in a chasm between two rocky walls. - - Thence to Ontario, the last lake in the chain, - And reaching this level it ne’er comes back again. - Now the great St. Lawrence carries it to the sea, - And there its journey ends is plain to you and me. - - Where this water comes from, my story now has told, - And whither it all goes, it does likewise unfold; - There is one more question I’ll answer with delight, - And it gives me pleasure to know I answer right. - - The God who made the earth revolve around the sun, - And who made the seasons their yearly courses run, - The God who made the rain and also made the snow, - Made this mighty river so it always will flow. - - And now I find my song is only half complete, - As praising my subject affords me pleasure sweet, - So on its great beauty I must a moment dwell, - Or else my song will end ere I have sung it well. - - How pretty thy waters when the south wind is high, - And white caps are breaking as the billows roll by, - And sailing vessels plow into the heavy seas, - As they scoot by swiftly before the driving breeze. - - And small boats are flying on the top of the waves, - And the spray they dash high is ducking sailor braves, - And all things are lively in tune with the water, - And the ten mile steamer seems a twenty knotter. - - When ruffled thy waters, to ride them is thrilling, - And quickens man’s spirits when the heart is willing, - The rich ozone one breathes brings a glow to the cheek, - Giving vim to the strong and vigor to the weak. - - When placid thy bosom what a change then is there, - Not a ripple stirring, not a zephyr of air, - Then great is thy beauty, magnificent river, - Reminding man of God, the generous Giver. - - Shining sometimes like glass, so transparent and clean, - At other times wearing a light tinge of dark green, - Tho the sun and the clouds give thy color a hue, - Thy color unfading is the pretty sky blue. - - So pretty, so charming, and so apt to beguile, - The lover of nature is soon wooed by thy smile, - Enchanted by the view of the beautiful stream, - Man soliloquizes until lost in a dream. - - Thy bright pretty waters are embellished by banks, - And rare must be the shores that their splendor outranks, - Sloping banks of beauty and sandy beaches low, - With steep bluffs and headlands, and points that sailors know. - - Here the elm tree is grand in beauty and in size, - And the pretty maple grows in plenty likewise, - The oak and hickory are native to the land, - And help by their presence to make the forest grand. - - Here the silver aspen turns white to ev’ry breeze, - And the laughing poplar babbles for all the trees, - The walnut and cherry, the butternut and plum, - The thorn and mulberry, yield fruit for all who come. - - Fine orchards of apples, and other kinds of fruit, - The sweet and the bitter, differing tastes to suit, - Fields of wheat, oats and corn, and large meadows of grass, - Are admired by watchful travellers as they pass. - - Lovely flowers and vines, and lawns of downy green, - Add their attractiveness to beautify the scene, - Hundreds of pleasant homes adorn the pretty shores, - And many grand hotels hold summer guests in scores. - - The river’s eight islands are turned to pleasure’s use, - And if it is not found, no man need make excuse. - Here is hunting, fishing, and games that all can play, - And people joyfully can pass the time away. - - Indians hold a part of the land on one side, - But now they are peaceful, having cast war aside, - Many sorts of people form the population, - And by their enterprise help to make the nation. - - Mineral waters cure the rheumatic and lame, - Restore health to people and give the river fame; - Thus good health and pleasure come from river and bank, - And give the location a standing high in rank. - - On either side the river a railroad runs along, - Thus accommodating the gay and happy throng, - Who gather for pleasure and spend a little wealth, - In hearty enjoyment and in renewing health. - - How beautiful to see steamers passing at night, - When brilliantly lighted by the electric light, - Showing on the waters their pictures as they pass, - As lively and pretty as in a looking glass. - - Travellers who have seen the Rhone and pretty Rhine, - And rode on the waters of the blue Danube fine, - Have seen the famous Nile and the great Amazon, - Say the St. Clair excels in beauty ev’ry one. - - ’Tis not alone beauty that gives this river fame, - Its great utility adds glory to its name; - When constructing the earth wise Nature took a halt, - And under this river made a vast sea of salt. - - In many factories this salt is now refined, - And no where in the world is found a better kind; - The farmers raise fine crops for man and beast to eat, - And large refineries make sugar from the beet. - - Large mills manufacture flour, staves, hoops and lumber, - And other industries exist in large number, - The plodding explorer finds reward for his toil, - As the land on the shores bears sulphur, gas and oil. - - In the towns there are built fine ships of wood and steel, - By workmen as handy as ever laid a keel, - And these ships are handled by men as smart and brave, - As ever left a port, or rode upon the wave. - - No bridge was ever built over this mighty stream, - But beneath a tunnel so strange as it may seem, - And cars by the hundreds pass thru it ev’ry day, - Bearing a large commerce upon its destined way. - - Far greater the traffic that daily passes thru, - In the thousands of ships that sail thy waters blue, - Sailing ships and steamships, and boats of ev’ry form, - Fit to sail a river, or face an ocean storm. - - How wonderful the change since five score years ago, - From the Indian canoe that was so small and slow, - To the mammoth steel ships of immense size and weight, - Large enough to carry eight thousand tons of freight. - - Numerous are the styles, between these two extremes, - And various in size with which the river teems, - There are skiffs and light sculls, that carry only one, - And row boats, and yawl boats, with room for half a ton. - - Sailing yachts for pleasure, quite safe when handled right, - Glide across the water and furnish great delight, - Fast electric launches and naptha boats are seen, - And beautiful steam yachts, nice enough for a queen. - - Schooners, scows, sloops and brigs, navigate up and down, - And are a pleasing sight when sailing by a town; - While passenger steamers of great beauty and speed, - Carry many thousands and furnish what they need. - - But greater the freight ships, full five hundred feet long, - With thirty feet of hold and in proportion strong, - And large are the cargoes these great ships can transport, - Food to feed a city, or supply a large fort. - - A whole township of crops in one enormous load, - Or railroad rails enough for eighty miles of road, - A copper cargo worth three millions of dollars, - Or cloth enough to clothe four millions of scholars. - - Many are the products transported by these ships, - And vast is the volume for they make many trips, - So great is the traffic it is safe to relate, - There’s no other river has a commerce so great. - - Michigan, Wisconsin and big Minnesota, - Furnish the greater part of the immense quota, - And the states further west help augment the treasure, - And Canada assists with a handsome measure. - - Grain comes from all the states in the thrifty northwest, - And Manitoba’s wheat takes rank among the best, - Millions of tons of grain are yearly carried by, - And fill elevators that tower in the sky. - - Lumber comes from the lakes above the river’s head, - And from the many streams by which the lakes are fed, - Copper and iron go east, coal always to the west, - And ordinary goods the way that pays the best. - - Tea and silk from China, India and Japan, - And thousands of products, the handiwork of man, - Fruits from California, elegant wines from France, - And ev’ry thing on earth that does man’s wealth enhance. - - One product not mentioned that moves itself along, - Is the excellent fish that in the river throng, - Myriads in number, of great value for food, - Catching them for pleasure does the fisherman good. - - With commerce unequaled and beauty unexcelled, - And water as pretty as ever river held, - This elegant river, its story now outlined, - Deserves to be admired by all ranks of mankind. - - - - - PART V. - - MISCELLANEOUS POEMS - - - - - COMPENSATION. - - - Under nature’s just laws, - All effects have their cause, - And bear each other a true relation; - And the good deeds of man - Are measured by this plan, - And in some way receive compensation. - - What tho a loving wife - Be united for life, - To one heartless as the moon or the sun; - Her soft love may entwine, - Like a beautiful vine, - And embellish the whole life of that one. - - If a true hearted man, - Who lives by moral plan, - Should be bonded to an ill-natured wife; - Of one thing he is sure, - ’Tis the love sweet and pure, - Of warm, sympathizing friends all his life. - - There’s a trait in the heart, - That espouses the part, - Of the sorrowful, the weary and meek, - And a just common sense, - Awards due recompense, - To the long-suff’ring who bear with the weak. - - The tall monument grand, - Is oft fated to stand, - Alone by itself, aloft in the sky; - But ’tis thus its great height, - Is revealed to man’s sight, - And its true grandeur appears to the eye. - - The snow covered mountains, - Far above the fountains, - And the sparking rills that spring from their base; - Make the landscape more fair, - While they temper the air, - And are awarded by nature a place. - - There’s a road that leads down - To the dregs of the town, - Where strife, poverty, and sorrow abound; - But the higher men climb - Toward regions sublime, - The more delightful the journey is found. - - The unfortunate may - See their lives pass away, - Before they succeed in gaining a prize; - But the more men aspire, - To realms that are higher, - The grander the view that opes to their eyes. - - The wise, ambitious man, - Who has failed in his plan, - And doubts if the world is using him right; - Will learn from his trials, - And brave self denials, - How grandly to win success in the fight. - - Little children at school - Think it is a hard rule, - That keeps them confined so much of their time; - But the knowledge they gain, - Pays them well for their pain, - When they arrive at the age of their prime. - - ’Tis a long tedious fight - To bring children up right, - And parents wear out while under the spell; - But rich compensation, - And sweet consolation, - Comes to the parents whose work is done well. - - There’s the mother whose share, - Is a life full of care, - With thousands of griefs and pains to smother; - But O what high honor, - Nature confers on her, - In the hallowed and sweet name of--mother. - - The physician whose life - Is never ending strife, - In battling with sickness common to man, - Finds great satisfaction, - In the benefaction, - His skill confers thru his life-saving plan. - - The surgeon whose trained knife, - Cuts in deep to save life, - May be criticized, called brutal, and spurned; - But his fame reaches out, - To wide regions about, - And brings distinction and honor well earned. - - The chemist who mixes, - And otherwise fixes - Powerful compounds, assumes a great risk; - But science advances - By taking great chances, - The world is the gainer and life more brisk. - - The inventor whose fate - Is to work and create, - And burn out his life by the fires of thought, - Is consoled by the fact, - That his genius and tact, - Have lifted mankind thru work he has wrought. - - The air navigator, - And bird imitator, - May fly to his death, then sad the story; - But the one who succeeds, - Has accomplished great deeds, - And established his fame to his glory. - - ’Tis the brave pioneers - Who inhabit frontiers, - And many hardships and trials endure; - But the work they begun - Often ends if well done, - In rest, happiness, and comfort secure. - - The man who discovers, - And nature uncovers, - Meets dangers that try him from sole to crown, - But his triumph is great, - When he gains for his state, - An honor that brings him lasting renown. - - The richest mines of gold - Are found in regions cold, - And where it’s so hot men scarcely can stand; - But the dangers o’ercome, - There will always be some, - To gather great wealth that spreads o’er the land. - - The poets whose stories, - Sing the nation’s glories, - May be ignored when honors are given; - But the thoughts they imbue, - Are ennobling and true, - And make patriots and Christians of men. - - The statemen who are wise, - Have bright thoughts men despise, - Because greatly in advance of the age; - But the wisdom they show, - If well rooted will grow, - And be emblazoned on history’s page. - - The minister may work - With the zeal of a Turk, - And not break the grip of sin upon man; - But he reaps his reward - By still serving the Lord, - Determined to save ev’ry soul he can. - - The man of advanced thought, - May see it come to naught, - Because others do not see the same light; - But by going before, - He has opened the door, - To beautiful realms now coming in sight. - - There’s no loss without gain, - Is quite true in the main, - And will apply to man or a nation, - And each sacrifice made, - To lift higher man’s grade, - Nature rewards with just compensation. - - The strictly honest man, - Who adheres to his plan, - Thru all the trials that over him roll, - Can endure with a smile, - For he knows all the while - He is living in sweet peace with his soul. - - When man’s record is right, - His good deeds make it bright, - And bloom in his manhood like golden rod; - ’Tis his vindication, - And brings compensation, - In lifting his soul up nearer to God. - - - - - EXPANSION. - - - The spirit of progression has spoken, - The hour for expansion is here, - The thraldom of ignorance is broken, - A wave of advancement is near. - - A war for humanity’s sake was fought, - That exalted the soul of man, - And lifted him up to a region fraught, - With work on a Lordlier plan. - - His horizon is vastly extended, - He stands on a loftier plain, - His fine talents can now be expended, - For his benighted brother’s gain. - - His mind has been delivered from bondage, - And filled with buoyancy and hope, - Will grow and expand to advantage, - And cover the world in its scope. - - With his soul as free as the thunder’s roll, - And as sure as the lightning’s stroke, - He can circle the earth from pole to pole, - And abolish tyranny’s yoke. - - No more will boundary lines restrain him, - Nor walls of granite stay his course, - The brotherhood of man will sustain him, - And the love of God be his force. - - The age of enforced delusion is past, - Man’s spirit is gathering light, - The slavery of the mind can not last, - Against the advancement of right. - - No army of men, nor murderous gun, - Is needed to open the way, - The greatest victories by love are won, - Where the spirit of Christ holds sway. - - It is love alone hath power and scope, - To penetrate the heathen mind, - And cause it to expand with faith and hope, - And a nobler ideal find. - - Expansion is right, expansion of soul, - And expansion of liberty, - Expansion of love till it gains control, - And all the world’s people are free. - - These are the principles that must prevail, - In ev’ry land beneath the sun, - And there’s no more oppression to assail, - Ere the work of love will be done. - - - - - FEAR NOT, LORAIN. - - The following poem was written at Lorain, O., November, 1897, and - published in the “Evening Herald” of that city. It was intended to - stimulate the courage of the people, who were gloomy, altho the - prospects were good. - - - Fear not, Lorain, thy future fate - Is not to roll in seas of mud, - A golden key will ope the gate, - A warm spring sun will burst the bud. - - Flowers will bloom and scent the air, - Large plants will rise from thy strong soil, - Your solid men and women fair - Reap rich reward for years of toil. - - See the halo that lights the sky, - Where flaming fires burn night and day, - Dispelling gloom from ev’ry eye, - And raising hopes that cheer your way. - - Rejoice! Be glad! Have doubts no more, - Prepare to greet the coming boom, - Should the town grow a thousand score, - It still could give a million room. - - Let croaking stop, let discord cease, - Lift high your town above the mire, - For soon success will bring you peace, - And warm your hearts with furnace fire. - - With courage strong and cheerful face, - Push on your work with might and main, - Prosperity will win the race - And bless your town. Fear not, Lorain. - - - - - THE TEACHER. - - - Trees in the forest grow stately and grand, - Some are beautiful and others are tall, - Each is the product of one mighty hand, - But the teacher’s art can improve them all. - - The grass of the fields is useful for food, - And provides dumb beasts a bountiful store, - And the teacher who saw that grass was good, - Made two blades grow where but one grew before. - - The wheat and the corn, and all kinds of grain, - Grow wild and scattered without any plan, - And the harvest is poor and reaped with pain, - Until improved by the teaching of man. - - The fruits of the trees grow stinted and small, - And meager the crop when the pickers come, - But the skilled hand of the teacher can call, - A mighty response from the things that are dumb. - - Then the cultured tree is laden with fruit, - The sweet and the tart according to plan, - The epicure finds a taste to his suit, - And learns that teachers are blessings to man. - - Beautiful flowers, God’s tokens of love, - Grow sickly and pale for want of man’s care, - When the training hand like balm from above, - Restores them to health and beauty most rare. - - When warmed by the sun and cooled by the breeze, - How pretty they grow, how sweet their perfume, - Whatever man’s taste they’re certain to please, - For God made them and the teacher is groom, - - The mighty rivers that run thru the land, - Gathering power as onward they roll, - Are each and all at the teacher’s command, - For his skill can bring them under control. - - Beasts in the forest roam savage and wild, - And woe to the man who crosses their path; - But the teacher makes them gentle and mild, - And by strength of mind can bridle their wrath. - - The great elephant, ponderous and strong, - Tho dangerous in his natural state, - When trained by teachers to do nothing wrong, - Serves his master with fidelity great. - - The beautiful horse in freedom how grand, - As proudly he trots o’er the prairie track, - Is trained to obey his teacher’s command, - And canters gayly with man on his back. - - There lives not a man with love in his heart, - Who lacks the good sense to freely endorse - The teacher’s grand work, his wisdom and art, - Or fails to admire and love a good horse. - - The much abused dog when savage and wild, - Is useless to man and game for his gun, - But when trained becomes docile as a child, - The faithfullest creature under the sun. - - Innocent children are never quite pure, - And need good teaching to keep them from crime, - To fasten in their hearts their morals sure, - And assist them to lead a life sublime. - - Human teachers are useful in their line, - And wisely, and nobly perform their part; - But the great teacher is the Teacher Divine, - From whose grand example man learned the art. - - - - - A GEM. - - - A gem is a beautiful thing, - Or even a beautiful thought, - Or that which will happiness bring, - Or the love that can not be bought. - - A gem is a beautiful stone, - Or beautiful shell from the sea, - Or a voice of elegant tone, - Or something more precious to thee. - - A gem is a token of love, - Or gift from the heart of a friend, - Or sweet note by wings of a dove, - With balm all your sorrows to mend. - - A gem may glisten like new gold, - Or sparkle like stars in the night, - Or charm like the rubies of old, - As they glow in the sun’s pure light. - - A gem may belong to a queen, - Or shine from the crown of a king; - But the richest gem ever seen, - Is love of the genuine ring. - - Some gems are delightful to see, - And their owners may justly boast; - But the best of all gems for me, - Is the friend that loves me the most. - - - - - THE CHINA WEDDING. - - Read at the party given by Mr. and Mrs. Hiram W. Robertson, on the - twentieth anniversary of their marriage, December 16th, 1887. - Composed the same evening after supper. - - - There are fountains away in the north, - From whence waters flow down to the sea, - There’s a heart in the bosom of man, - From whence love courses warmly and free. - - There are diamonds that dazzle the eye, - And rich gold that’s a pleasure to see, - But there’s nothing so pleasing to man, - As the love that flows warmly and free. - - There are men who have merits and wealth, - And kind husbands they gladly would be, - But Mary took a fancy to Hi, - For his love flows so warmly and free. - - There are women of beauty and worth, - Whose sweet smiles are a pleasure to see, - But Mary was the choice of them all, - For her love flows so warmly and free. - - They have kind friends who admire them both, - And they’re gathered this night just to see, - How well they are enjoying this life, - Where sweet love flows so warmly and free. - - - - - THE HONEST MAN’S FATE. - - Written January, 1866. - - - Friends have advised me to give up my plan - And shun the sad fate of the honest man. - They tell me ’tis hard, his comforts are few, - And what they tell me I know to be true; - But still I prefer to stick to my plan, - And cherish the fate of the honest man. - - I have dear children to clothe and to feed, - And a father’s love that knows what they need, - Grief comes to my heart, gray hairs on my head, - For fear I will fail to keep them in bread, - Yet I am trying to do what I can, - And cherish the fate of the honest man. - - My wife is gloomy, down-hearted and sad, - She fears my troubles will make me go mad, - Poor soul, she don’t know how heavy the weight - That hangs on my heart and threatens my fate. - Still I’m determined to do what I can, - And cherish the fate of the honest man. - - Debts overwhelm me and creditors call, - No more can I pay, they already have all. - The sheriff may come to bleed me afresh, - And take by the law one pound of my flesh; - But now, nor never, will I change my plan, - For I cherish the fate of the honest man. - - In liquid poisons I do not indulge, - Nor by vile language my weakness divulge: - From labor and right I never do quail, - And still my efforts continue to fail, - Yet I keep trying to do what I can - To merit the fate of the honest man. - - O, God of the poor, extend thy good word, - And grant the honest a better reward, - Save them from Shylocks, temptation and pain, - Make troubles on earth in heaven their gain, - O, give me the strength to live by my plan, - And die the proud death of the honest man. - - - - - TIME AND TIDE. - - Composed while dreaming about time and tide. - - - “Come, Time,” says Tide, “along with me, - For we must go together, - And join our forces at the sea, - Nor wait for wind or weather.” - - - - - CHRISTMAS DAY. - - Written at the request of my daughter Grace, then eleven years old, - to be spoken by her at the holiday exercises in school, December, - 1887. - - - There never had been a Christmas morn, - Till near nineteen hundred years ago, - When Christ our glorious Lord was born, - And peace and good will began to grow. - - Christ taught fathers and mothers to pray, - And how good, pure and kind they should be, - And when some one pushed children away, - Said, “Suffer them to come unto Me.” - - We all should rejoice and be thankful - That Christ loved little children so strong, - And strive to be happy and cheerful, - And never to do anything wrong. - - It pays to be good and be pleasant, - And pleases our kind parents so well, - We are sure to receive a nice present, - When old Santa Claus comes with his bell. - - Now, my good friends and my teacher, too, - I have one strong wish for which I’ll pray, - I wish for me and I wish for you, - That Christ will come back some Christmas day. - - - - - PROGRESSIVE EUCHRE. - - - A little nonsense is, now and then, - Highly relished by the best of men, - And women, too, are so fond of fun. - They laugh for joy when a game’s begun. - - There are games of skill, and games of chance, - And games with sweet music and the dance, - Some play at whist, and some at poker, - But all enjoy progressive euchre. - - A goodly party is twenty-four, - There may be less, and there may be more; - Twelve ladies fine you first invite, - And twelve gentlemen to spend the night. - - The tables now you arrange and fix, - And number them plainly one to six, - A pack of clean cards on each you lay, - All ready for the approaching fray. - - Use thirty-two cards, be uniform, - And in conduct to the rules conform; - Your table number is fixed by chance, - And good order will the fun enhance. - - By lot their partners gentlemen choose, - And then kindly treat them, win or lose, - Present your left arm with smiles and grace, - And escort your lady to her place. - - On the first table place a small bell, - And when all are ready ring it well, - The ladies now cut for woe or weal, - And the lowest card takes the first deal. - - Shuffle them well, let right neighbor cut, - Fair play’s a jewel, truth’s eyes are shut, - Deal three cards to each the first time round, - Then two the next time, that’s fair and sound. - - Turn up the trump so all can see it, - Those at left in turn, pass or play it; - When the trump is named be sharp and still, - Do not underrate your neighbor’s skill. - - Remember this is honest euchre, - And played for sport, not filthy lucre, - No true gentleman, or lady sweet, - Will play unfair, or stoop to cheat. - - The right is boss, the left’s his brother, - And the good old ace a kindly mother, - The king comes next, now king indeed, - And even the queen you often need. - - Jack is a knave, make the best of him, - And when not bower all detest him; - But there are times when jack is master, - And then his foes meet with disaster. - - The little cards you should not despise, - For they sometimes help to win the prize; - Watch sharply the game and win with suit, - Whenever you can fairly do it. - - Three tricks count one point, a march counts two, - And euchre counts the same for you; - When you are sure to make one or more, - Play it alone and try to make four. - - When five points are made at table one, - That ends one game and then all are done; - The winners go one table higher, - But those that lose go to the lower. - - All change partners and the game proceeds, - And the manager records your deeds, - These frequent changes as you advance, - Give the poorer players a fair chance. - - ’Tis not a game for spoils or treasure, - But a social game just for pleasure, - And if by good luck one wins the day, - Don’t condemn the man nor spurn the play. - - Three hour’s play is plenty long enough, - For the feeble ones and for the tough, - When the time has expired look and see, - Who the best players have proved to be. - - To the first lady give a small prize, - And the first gentleman treat likewise, - A second prize is by some awarded, - The booby prize should be discarded. - - A simple lunch is now provided - By hosts who may have so decided; - But refreshments are not in the game, - And all are free to omit the same. - - Now put on your hats and bid adieu - To the gen’rous host that welcomed you, - Favors accepted you may have learned, - Should at the proper time be returned. - - With happy hearts now seek your own hearth, - And kindly feel towards all on earth, - Remembering to always treasure - The game that brings you health and pleasure. - - - - - THE WINNER. - - - Don’t give a prize - For ’tis not wise, - So say our honest Christian folk; - But men will fight - With all their might, - To make their fellows wear the yoke. - - Some men are dull - And count for null, - And some are bright as glist’ning gold; - Say what you will - The truth is still, - We’re not all cast in the same mold. - - Some take their time - While others climb, - And struggle with their might and main, - And when they win, - Think it no sin, - To wear the crown they fought to gain. - - ’Tis luck, they say, - And fools can play, - And nature grows a heavy crop; - Give me the game, - I’ll bear the name, - And laugh when fools come out on top. - - - - - A WALK BY MOONLIGHT. - - - The moon is sweetly shining, - And the stars are entwining, - A wreath for my dear Annie, - Who is all the world to me. - - While all the world lies dreaming, - My heart with joy is beaming, - I’m happy with my Annie, - Who is all the world to me. - - All nature now is sleeping, - No living thing is creeping, - I’m all alone with Annie, - Who is all the world to me. - - The silent trees look neater, - The flowers, too, are sweeter, - But naught’s so sweet as Annie, - Who is all the world to me. - - My head with thought is turning, - My heart with love is burning, - I’m so happy with Annie, - Who is all the world to me. - - Sweet nature is insisting, - I must not be resisting, - I’ll ask the hand of Annie, - Who is all the world to me. - - - THE QUESTION. - - “O say, my lovely creature, - Thou brightest work of nature, - Do you love him, dear Annie, - Who is all the world to thee?” - - - THE ANSWER. - - “Do you love the sweet Savior? - Do you seek his kind favor? - Do you love your dear Annie, - Who is all the world to thee? - - “Will you live with the wisdom, - That rules the holy kingdom, - And please the heart of Annie, - Who is all the world to thee? - - “If you’ll shun the evil tempter, - With true love for a helper, - Accept the hand of Annie, - Who is all the world to thee.” - - - THE REPLY. - - “I’ll pious be and holy, - I’ll do my duty truly, - I’ll earn the hand of Annie, - Who is all the world to me. - - “I’ll love thee as no other, - But our Heavenly Father, - I’ll live and die for Annie, - Who is all the world to me.” - - - - - THE PAINTER. - - Written on a postal card and mailed to a lady, - as a token of my - appreciation of her skill as a painter. - - - Happy is he who can catch a fine thought, - And fit it to prose, or dress it in rhyme, - But happier she whose fingers are taught - To paint sweet nature in colors sublime. - - Inspiring the thought when nature’s the theme, - Uplifting one’s soul to the world of bliss, - Where painters and angels will ever beam - With love and kindness on the poets of this. - - - - - A DOCTOR’S ADVICE. - - “_Just Think of Something Else._” - - In the summer of 1898 I was taken quite sick at a hotel over two - hundred miles from home, and was confined to my room for five days. - On complaining to the doctor that I was not getting well fast, he - said I should not worry about my sickness, but “Just think of - something else.” I took his advice and the same night wrote the - following verses. - - - When sickness comes and joy departs, - And you are forced to lie in bed, - Don’t fret about the aching parts, - Remember what the doctor said, - “Just think of something else.” - - No matter if the pain is great, - And racks you thru from foot to head, - Be patient still and meekly wait, - Remember what the doctor said, - “Just think of something else.” - - When medicine has failed to act, - And you can’t see much hope ahead, - Why just ignore the trifling fact, - Remember what the doctor said-- - “Just think of something else.” - - What matter if you’re far from home, - And no kind friend is near your bed, - Let all your thoughts most freely roam, - Remember what the doctor said, - “Just think of something else.” - - Don’t mind your great debility, - Nor count the pains that fill your head, - The sick must show humility, - Remember what the doctor said, - “Just think of something else.” - - And when your friend presents his bills, - In language kind and manners suave, - Give him a dose of his own pills, - Remember that advice he gave, - “Just think of something else.” - - Ah, no! my friend that will not do, - The doctor kind deserves his pay, - The honest course is best for you, - No matter what the doctors say, - Don’t think of something else. - - - - - HERE I AM. - - A little grand-daughter wrote me a little letter and in it she - said, “If I were a little flower, this I would do: I would be happy - all the day.” Under these words she made a sketch of a bush bearing - flowers, and wrote beneath the sketch, “Here I am.” I replied as - follows: To the sweet little flower, “Here I am,” formerly Miss - Rose. - - - Caterpillars change into butterflies, - And eggs into birds that fly in the skies; - But I did not know a child had power, - To change her body into a flower. - - But what need I care since flower and child, - Grown in the city, or on mountain wild, - Both receive from me the tenderest care, - I find a flower and a child is there. - --GRANDPA. - - - - - A CHRISTMAS TURKEY. - - Lines sent with a large fat turkey - to a friend for Christmas, 1862. - - - A Christmas present is easy to make, - But a token of friendship should follow, - Mine is enclosed in the turkey you take, - Which is solid proof it is not hollow. - - As a toothsome sign of love it is sent, - And to show you what our Maker can do, - He tells us to love with earnest intent, - And has provided this turkey for you. - - Take it, and bake it, then richly enjoy, - And forget not the friend you befriended, - Whose heart will ever remember with joy, - The kind assistance you promptly lended. - - May God bless you and your family dear, - And keep all of you healthy and happy, - That you may gladly welcome each New Year, - And on every Christmas be merry. - - - - - TO MRS. HARRIET S. DELANO AND HER BABY. - - Written 1858. - - - Sweet innocence, love and beauty rest, - Wrapped in affection on mother’s breast, - While hopes and fears in profusion rise, - And fill with sweet tears the joyful eyes - Of the kind mother whose heart is bent, - In meek thankfulness to Him who sent - This type of beauty, sweet child of love, - Rich token from the heavens above, - To cheer the pure and unselfish heart, - Of a mother who with life would part, - To save her child from the paths of sin, - And guide her so she heaven will win. - - Then in the soft realms of earthly bliss, - Made lovelier by her mother’s kiss, - She will need no more a guide to show, - The straight road she has been taught to go. - The mother has then her duty done, - Who so well instructs her little one, - She covers her with a mother’s love, - Then trusts her to the wise God above. - Now to the babe and to its mother, - That you may each one love the other, - And never from your good reason part, - I will beg and pray with all my heart. - - - - - FOR THE BABY. - - - O what a charming baby I see, - Dancing on its kind father’s knee, - With eyes as pretty and as bright, - As the white stars that shine at night. - - And cheeks as lovely as the rose, - Which add much beauty to a nose, - Made handsome by a pretty chin, - And ruby lips nicely set in. - - And what is more her name so sweet, - So charming, dainty, nice and neat, - Darling Hattie, short and pretty, - And that’s why I wrote this ditty. - - - - - LINES ON MY FATHER. - - - The oak its mighty branches spread, - And gathered in the cooling dew, - And thus by gen’rous nature fed, - To a noble old tree it grew. - - So sought he knowledge far and wide, - And grew in wisdom as in age, - And when his worn out body died, - He was a ripe and honored sage. - - - - - ADVICE TO A YOUNG POET. - - - First think of something good to say, - Then take great pains to say it well, - Make sure you know the proper way, - To fairly write and rightly spell. - - Now clear all matter from your mind, - Except the work you have in hand, - And study hard until you find - Good rhyming words at your command. - - Compose one verse from end to end, - With equal feet in every line, - See that the words in metre blend, - And that the rhyme is true and fine. - - Beware of mistakes when you write, - Never say what needs correction, - Then men will say what you indite - Is poetry in perfection. - - Don’t mix grand thoughts with silly ones, - Nor call men by improper names, - If things weigh pounds don’t call them tons, - Nor make the world appear in flames. - - Remember you’re an honest youth, - And never write what is not true, - Be governed by the laws of truth, - In every thing you say or do. - - In language manly and refined, - Praise in song the heavenly plan, - And use the lowers of your mind, - In lifting up your fellowman. - - - - - AN ACROSTIC. - - Written for a niece of P. T. Barnum, 1863. - - - =F=ear not the scoffs of the heartless, - =A= manly self reliance show, - =N=o want can make thy head brainless, - =N=or money make thy spirit low. - =Y=ield not thy honor nor courage, - - =T=rue principles ever maintain, - =H=old to thy noble lineage, - =O=n their record permit no stain. - =M=ake no friendship with the wicked, - =P=refer poverty to their love, - =S=how with heart and mind united - =O=n the God of heaven above, - =N=o one can turn thee from His love. - - - - - CHARLEY’S PUPPY. - - Charley wrote me that his puppy was white - but had a black spot on his back. - - - A spot of black - Upon his back, - Will plainly mark your puppy dog; - A spot of red - Upon his head, - Would show he’s not a little hog. - - What puppies know - They scarce can show, - Until their mammies let them out; - Like little boys - That play with toys, - They hardly know what they’re about. - - A master once, - A cruel dunce, - Struck hard his puppy while at play; - The puppy sad, - Felt awful bad, - Dropped down his tail and ran away. - - A master kind - Will quickly find, - That puppies try to do their part; - So gentle be, - Let puppy see - There’s no black spot upon your heart. - - - - - MERRY CHRISTMAS. - - Written for Children. - - - Merry Christmas, friends, I wish you all well, - And many pretty things for your pockets, - May your Christmas box be a great big shell, - Filled with everything nice but sky rockets. - - May England and France, with Turkey and Greece, - All contribute to your pleasure and mirth, - And chickens and quail, with turkeys and geese, - Make you feel as if you owned the whole earth. - - And when you’re happy as happy can be, - Think of your parents so kind and clever, - And live such sweet lives you always can see, - Merry Christmas, merry Christmas forever. - - - - - TEMPERANCE. - - - Lord, hasten the day, pray hasten the day, - When supported by righteous laws, - We will win the fight, for virtue and right, - And the glorious temperance cause. - - - - - THE FOLDING PUZZLE. - - The first line was written on the outside, - the rest on the inside. - - - Open this quick - And see the trick, - If there’s a trick about it; - This thing is nice - And low in price, - But one could do without it. - - Some rack their brains - With toil and pains, - In making things fantastic; - But soon they’ll find - If they’re not blind, - They’ll need a purse elastic. - - - - - IN FLORENCE’S ALBUM. - - - A loving heart wears a smiling face, - And a cheerful mind is a source of joy, - She that carries both adorns her race, - And shines bright as gold without alloy. - - - - - WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM - - of Lizzie Leonard, a very tall young girl, at her mother’s home near - Middleboro, Mass., December, 1881. - - - The meanest of creatures low down are found - And slimy reptiles crawl upon the ground, - The innocent birds live in purer air, - And blest are they who find their level there. - - That you may grow to a loftier size, - And increase in wisdom as up you rise, - And ne’er let your height your head turn dizzy, - Shall be my prayer, my young friend Lizzie. - - - - - IN HENRIETTA’S ALBUM. - - - If in your mind good seed you sow, - And nourish it with tender care, - A splendid crop of fruit you’ll grow, - And reap the kind you planted there. - - - - - IN WORTHY’S ALBUM. - - - Watch how regular - Seasons come and go, - Summer brings the rain, - Winter brings the snow, - And the sweet flowers - Never out of tune, - Always wait their turn - And blossom in June. - - Thus from kind nature - This good lesson learn, - Patiently to wait - Till it is your turn, - Then like the flowers - Meekly take your place, - And by pure living - Ornament your race. - - - - - IN FLORA’S ALBUM. - - - By the side of a beautiful river - Whose clear waters continue to flow, - There may you live, happy forever, - And in wisdom and loveliness grow. - - - - - IN ETTA’S ALBUM. - - - The little flowers perfume the air. - And make the earth look pretty and fair, - And that you, my dear, will do your share - To make life sweet, is father’s prayer. - - - - - IN GRACE’S ALBUM. - - - The sun ne’er fails to do his duty, - Nor moon and stars to show their beauty, - Thus sweet little girls are taught the way, - To do their duty day after day, - To work and shine in every place, - And fill the big world with love and--Grace. - - - - - THE GALLOP OF LIFE - - - The infant at home - Unable to roam, - And enter in the fields of strife, - Drops on hands and knees, - In--go as you please, - And starts in the gallop of life. - - He often is dumped - And severely bumped, - When he is learning how to walk; - But he keeps trying, - Even while crying, - Until able to tread the chalk. - - Next he tries talking, - While still or walking, - And coins words not used in the past; - But keeps on gaining, - Without much training, - And really gets on quite fast. - - He’ll soon be at school - And breaking the rule, - Which never is fit till it’s broke; - ’Tis always too tight, - For boys that do right, - And hangs on their neck like a yoke. - - At Sunday School next, - He watches the text, - And the lesson that’s given out; - The teachers are kind, - And easy to mind, - And of Christ he learns much about. - - He’s now a strong boy, - And with shouts of joy - He becomes a player of ball; - He knows where he’s at, - Soon learns how to bat, - And seldom is caught in a fall. - - He wants a pony - To be his crony, - And to carry him on its back; - He masters his horse, - And shows no remorse, - When he hits his pony a whack. - - He loves the water, - Dives like an otter, - And swims with the grace of a seal; - He flounders and flops, - And finally stops, - With skin slippery as an eel. - - He now wants a boat - To sail and to float, - And thinks he could manage a ship; - He bends too much sail. - Is dumped o’er the rail, - And may be ship-wrecked the first trip. - - He has ambition, - And disposition, - To tackle everything men do; - What he lacks in skill, - Is made up with will, - And he always finds a way thru. - - He is now of age, - And tho not a sage, - Is a full fledged American; - Is proud of the fact, - And ready to act, - And to do all the good he can. - - He votes and would fight - For justice and right, - And manfully freedom defend: - No traitor is he, - And never will be, - His country can on him depend. - - When in politics, - He despises tricks, - And sets an example to all: - He’s right in the swim, - Has courage and vim, - And wins without doing things small. - - In war a hero, - When cold as zero, - Or hot as the entrance to hell; - Never stops to think, - Nor halts at the brink, - But bravely does his duty well. - - In the bus’ness crush - He goes with a rush, - And his energy makes things hum: - He holds a full hand, - Is brave in command, - And never shrinks when hard times come. - - His cup now is full. - He has a strong pull, - He’s right in the crisis of strife; - To hold all his gain, - He must bear stiff rein, - He’s riding his gallop of life. - - - - - WHERE ARE ALL THE PEOPLE WE KNEW. - - - Where are all the people we knew - In the generations gone past, - The thousands of men, false and true, - And who have disappeared so fast? - Whither have they gone, do you know? - To what vast haven have they sped? - Are they reaping as they did sow? - Are they living, or are they dead? - - They died and were laid in the ground, - And kind words said over their graves, - But some were lost and never found, - And some perished under the waves; - Some were left on the battle field, - And became food for birds and beasts, - Others were forced their lives to yield - That cannibals might have their feasts. - - Some bodies to ashes were burned, - And others have changed into stone, - A few into mummies were turned - And preserved in the skin and bone. - How they died it matters not now, - Nor if their race was lost or won, - They are gone and we meekly bow, - And say--O Lord, Thy will be done. - - Have those bodies been born again? - Were they restored to life and health? - Are they supplied with blood and brain? - Are they in poverty, or wealth? - A God that can revive the dead, - A perpetual life can give, - Therefore we hold it may be said, - The body has but once to live. - - But what has become of the souls, - That lived in the bodies now dead? - Are they counted on the same rolls? - Or have they from their bodies fled? - What is the soul, can you explain? - Is it an invisible thing, - Without flesh or blood, heart or brain, - Can it talk, or fly; can it sing? - - Can it out of the body live? - Is it without physical life? - Has it no need to take or give? - Is it clear of trouble and strife? - If free from the body since death, - Was it not free before it died? - If independent of man’s breath - Why does it adhere to his side? - - If freed at death where does it go? - Methinks that--to Heaven--you say, - And then I ask, how do you know? - Does any person know the way? - Have any come back that went there? - Can any one describe the place? - Is it upon some planet fair, - Or the realm of unbounded space? - - Living bodies have souls, we know, - We hope they live on forever, - So long as man can come and go, - His soul forsakes him never; - But there’s a question to explain, - Does the soul live without the man? - When man goes does the soul remain? - Let any one answer who can. - - - - - THE HONEST MAN. - - - I love the man who speaks the truth, - And never tells a lie, - Whose honesty bloomed in his youth, - And was not born to die. - - I love to see him take his place, - In busy ranks of men, - And love to see his honest face, - Glowing with manhood then. - - In office, or in place of trust, - Watching the people’s vault, - His ev’ry act is right and just, - And no one fears default. - - With soul upright and conscience clear, - And heart in virtue strong, - There is no force can make him steer - In any course that’s wrong. - - He pays his debts whene’er he can - And never should be prest, - No need pursue the honest man, - He always does his best. - - His conscience is his beacon light, - It always guides his way, - His path is blazed with glory bright, - He does not go astray. - - He loves his God and loves his soul, - And knows that both love him; - He gladly yields to their control, - And with them keeps in trim. - - Adversity’s dread winds may blow, - And carry off his wealth, - And fell disease its seeds may sow, - And undermine his health. - - His fortune which is breakable, - His foes may rend apart, - They’ll find his soul impregnable, - And can not break his heart. - - His soul approves each manly deed, - And cheers him in his race, - And in the time of greatest need, - Wreathes smiles upon his face. - - His truest friends endorse his plan, - And admire for his worth, - God’s noblest work, the honest man, - As nothing else on earth. - - - - - BEAUTIFUL THINGS. - - - There’s many an elegant thing - In this beautiful world of ours, - It may be a bird on the wing, - Or a bed of beautiful flowers. - - It may be a mountain, or hill, - Or beautiful valley of green, - And it may be a pond, or mill, - Adorning the beautiful scene. - - There are many rivers that flow, - That are beautiful things to see, - And many dainty plants that grow, - And many a beautiful tree. - - There is many a charming brook, - That becomes a beautiful stream, - As it winds with many a crook, - And with beautiful trout may teem. - - There are oceans mighty in size, - And many a beautiful lake, - With water as blue as the skies, - And that beautiful pictures make. - - There are mountain ranges sublime, - And beautiful forests of trees; - There are rocks grown hoary with time, - And beautiful sights on the seas. - - Many brilliant diamonds are found, - And beautiful rubies and pearls, - And many rich things in the ground, - As beautiful nature unfurls. - - Gold is difficult to obtain, - But a beautiful thing to own, - And tho it is hard to retain, - Few more beautiful things are known. - - A lovely and delightful thing, - Is a beautiful city park, - Which does pleasure to thousands bring, - And a beautiful landscape mark. - - But most charming of things men see, - Gardens of beautiful flowers, - Can fill his heart with ecstacy - And beautiful thoughts for hours. - - A landscape of hill and of dale, - And beautiful river of blue, - With steamers and ships under sail, - Is indeed a beautiful view. - - There are pretty and tasteful homes, - And beautiful capitols grand, - Embellished with towers and domes, - And built on beautiful land. - - There’s sculpture in marble and stone, - Beautiful in work and design, - And monuments standing alone, - Of beautiful progress a sign. - - There are elegant works of art, - And beautiful paintings by man, - And hundreds of things in the mart, - Beautiful in color and plan. - - Even pretty insects there are, - And thousands of beautiful birds - With plumage that glistens afar, - And beautiful cattle in herds. - - Wild beasts that roam over the plain - Are often beautiful to see; - But cannot be used for man’s gain - As the beautiful horse can be. - - There are men of honor and worth, - And women beautiful and mild; - But the handsomest thing on earth - Is a beautiful little child. - - - - - THE NURSE. - - - Among all the duties of life, - A most difficult place to fill, - Is that of the invalid nurse, - To the suffering thousands ill. - - The sacrifice is very great, - That nurses are required to make, - And there is no reason to doubt, - ’Tis made for humanity’s sake. - - A desire to comfort the sick, - Must ever be the ruling thought, - For without a merciful heart, - The work can never well be wrought. - - Sweet pleasures are at her command, - In which she seldom can take part; - She has consecrated herself, - To the grand work that fills her heart. - - Only the noblest human souls - Engage in woman’s highest work, - The selfish and hard-hearted ones, - Can always find excuse to shirk. - - The sick are hard to satisfy, - And the nurse exerts her trained skill, - Sometimes to give, sometimes deny, - And mildly sway the fickle will. - - By sweet smiles and true devotion, - She makes the invalid her friend, - Who appreciates the kindness, - With which she does his wants attend. - - When wild becomes the fevered brain, - The patient thinks the nurse his foe. - Imagines he is in a fight, - And strikes his friend a fearful blow. - - With wondrous strength she holds him down, - “Let go (he cries) I’ll break your head,” - And when his frenzy has expired, - Sinks back exhausted, almost dead. - - Now the nurse’s fine work begins, - The right remedies are applied, - She calls the doctor, orders help, - And does not leave the patient’s side. - - With noble zeal, the doctor’s help, - And support from the patient’s friends, - Reason returns, the strength’s restored, - And the sick man’s condition mends. - - Thru all the trials in her work, - The nurse must wear a smile serene, - The patient may rave, scold and swear, - No frown upon her face is seen. - - The splendid self control she shows, - Is worthy of the highest praise, - May Heaven grant well earned reward, - And fill her life with happy days. - - - - - A SWEET DISPOSITION. - - - Brave deeds have been done and glory oft won, - By the heroic and strong; - Their lives they have braved and thousands have saved, - And well they are praised in song. - - The soldiers who fight for country and right, - And often suffer great pain, - Deserve the applause of friends of the cause, - That they ventured their lives to gain. - - The active and brave, on land and on wave, - We praise for every good deed; - The skill they’ve acquired, is warmly admired, - And people bid them God speed. - - But there’s a small class, that none can surpass, - In whatever condition, - ’Tis those who are blest, with love in the breast, - And a sweet disposition. - - For such is reserved and richly deserved, - The best love our hearts can give; - For we feel quite sure, the sweetest are pure, - And the best people that live. - - ’Tis the warmest love that comes from above, - That fits for its high mission, - The heavenly face abounding in grace, - And a sweet disposition. - - Happy is the mind to virtue inclined, - That can one’s temper control, - And never show wrath, no matter who hath - Grave insults offered its soul. - - ’Tis sound common sense and brings recompense, - To be patient and be good; - His mind must be strong, that never goes wrong, - And always does as he should. - - Great is the delight in knowing one’s right, - In every position, - And happy and rife, is the journey thru life, - With a sweet disposition. - - - - - THE SCOW RACE. - - - There were twenty scows in the fleet, - Waiting at Detroit for a breeze, - They were bound to have a fine meet, - Under the rule--go as you please. - - They were all bound for Anchor Bay - At the north end of Lake St. Clair, - About thirty-five miles away, - And quickly reached when winds are fair. - - “A sail ahoy,” a sailor cried, - I see her coming round the bend, - The wind is from the starboard side, - And seems to give her a fair send. - - “All hands on deck, unlash dem sails, - Jus see de Foam she’s caught the breeze, - Heave dat anchor, come on, you gales, - We’ll beat de Foam wid greatest ease. - - “Hoist de foresail, shake out dem reefs, - We need all de breeze dat’s comin, - Mind your Cap’in we’re not all chiefs, - We’ll soon have de ole scow hummin. - - “Joe, take de helm, Jack, go for’ard, - Hoist de stanin jib, fly aroun, - Up with the flying jib, Dorard, - Hoist de main sail, now off we’re boun. - - “Keep out de current, Joe, look out, - Keep close shore American side. - See dem trying to beat us out, - And Dolphin on Canada side. - - “Never mine rushes, don’t be fraid, - Wine that center board clear up tight, - Now we will lead de whole parade, - We can beat em all goin light. - - “What’s dat, Jack, de Annie’s gainin? - Too much current, Joe, hold her in, - Pay off main sheet, now it’s rainin, - Dat’s good, our ole sails hold more win. - - “See dare! de Sweeper’s ahead now, - She’s boun to pass de light house firse, - Never mine, she’s light draf scow, - In de lak we’ll give her a burse. - - “Here we are in ole Lak St. Clair, - Take de helm, Bob, give Joe a res, - Lots of room here if all play fair, - And we’ll not be de secon bes. - - “See de White Pigeon how she scoots, - She has de bes breeze in de fleet, - Cap’in Isaac swells in his boots, - When he gets home he’ll have to treat. - - “What’s de matter? we’re fallin back, - Dare is four or five ahead now, - See de Lucinda in our track, - And de Ruffin crossin our bow. - - “Set your fore gaff and your main gaff, - Wing out dem sails, mind your helm, Bob, - We’ll let em know we’re not a raff, - To beat us da got a big job. - - “See de Abe Lincoln crawlin up, - She’s hard to beat when by de win. - But wid fair win can’t git de cup. - And we are sure to beat her in. - - “Now de Comet’s pushin hard, - Her big square sail catches de breeze, - I wish we had a good fore yard. - Never mine, she’s only a tease. - - “Git dat ole canvas out de hole, - Lash it to fore riggin each side, - Stretch it out good wid dem pike pole, - Now Miss Comet can step one side. - - “Where’s de Louise an Margaret, - St. Stephen an Napoleon? - De Betsey’s behine, poor old Bet, - De sweet Alvina’s comin on. - - “Where’s de Bronson and de Eugene, - And de Margaret Alice too? - Da’s way behine and can’t be seen. - And de Axford all do she’s new. - - “What’s dat you say, she is groanin, - Fire dat cannon, give em a greet, - When she’s groanin den she’s goin, - De ole Fair Trader leads de fleet, - - “Vansaw, bring out your ole fiddle, - Play--de girl I lef so handy, - Den Sallie go down de middle, - And sweet Yankee doodle dandy. - - “Haul in dat main sheet, come in stays, - Drop anchor, make dat cannon boom, - Cap’in Poquet will git de praise, - De ole Fair Trader’s won de broom.” - - - - - A HAPPY CHOICE. - - - We met at a party, - The greeting was hearty, - And her conduct was lady-like and kind, - I noticed her reserve, - And quickly did observe, - That she was educated and refined. - - She was dressed so neatly. - And she smiled so sweetly, - And her manners were so pleasing to me, - That I felt enraptured, - And was fairly captured, - And I wondered what the result would be. - - My plans were helped along, - By some who did belong, - By friendship and relation to her side; - They called me a good catch, - And sought to make a match, - And see their friend become a happy bride. - - Then I aimed to acquire, - The one I did admire, - And to make her my partner for life; - I did not have a doubt, - That she would carry out, - Ev’ry duty that belongs to a wife. - - I told her my intent, - And asked her to consent, - And promised I would love her evermore; - And then she did reply, - She was pleased to comply, - And love me as she never loved before. - - Now we are man and wife, - Have entered married life, - And are settled in a sweet little home; - I always do my best, - My wife does all the rest, - And neither one has any wish to roam. - - We have a little boy, - Our greatest source of joy, - Of sweet disposition like his mother; - He is a darling pet, - And we will not forget, - Is a tie that binds us to each other. - - We work well together, - Serve and please each other, - And do not know of any better plan; - Our home is one of peace, - And we will never cease, - To make it as attractive as we can. - - My wife is always kind, - She has a noble mind, - And is as good as I thought she would be; - I’ve reason to rejoice, - I made a happy choice, - And that my darling wife is pleased with me. - - - - - BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS. - - - The beautiful flowers turned their faces to me, - And the sweet little flowers threw kisses at me. - The larger flowers gently beckoned to me, - And all the pretty flowers talked love to me. - - I turned toward the river, it was grand to see, - Its banks were as pretty as river banks can be, - The trees dressed in gay colors were smiling at me, - ’Twas a world filled with beauty, with beauty for me. - - - - - THE VALUE OF A FRIEND. - - - How few there are who appreciate - The value of a friend, - Whose love is so deep, sincere and true, - You can on it depend. - - How often amid the storms of life, - A little help you need, - How cheering then to have a friend - That is a friend indeed, - - And when those storms continue to rage, - And friends to shelter go, - The genuine friend stands by you then, - And helps ward off the blow. - - God pity the man who would betray - The Christ-like loving friend, - Whose heart is with him everywhere - And will be to the end. - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Crocket McElroy - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** - -***** This file should be named 52623-0.txt or 52623-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/6/2/52623/ - -Produced by Larry B. 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