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diff --git a/old/53824-0.txt b/old/53824-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 98642b7..0000000 --- a/old/53824-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7364 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Heart Songs, by Jean Blewett - -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: Heart Songs - -Author: Jean Blewett - -Release Date: December 28, 2016 [EBook #53824] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEART SONGS *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from scanned images of public domain -material from the Google Books project.) - - - - - - - - - - - HEART SONGS. - - - - - HEART SONGS - - BY - JEAN BLEWETT. - - [Illustration: colophon] - - TORONTO: - GEORGE N. MORANG. - 1897 - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. - - - - - Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one -thousand eight hundred and ninety-seven, by GEORGE N. MORANG, in the Office - of the Minister of Agriculture. - - Printed by - The Brown-Searle Printing Co. - Toronto - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - -Wooing His Valentine 9 - -Jealous, Sweetheart? 11 - -The Day Neil Rode to Mill 14 - -At Joppa 20 - -The World is Growing Old 22 - -At Dawn 24 - -She 26 - -The Two Marys 27 - -The Mother’s Lecture 30 - -Spring 33 - -Reminiscences 36 - -Ammiel’s Gift 38 - -Robin 41 - -Margot 42 - -Dreamland 44 - -Only a Picture 45 - -Her Boy 47 - -The Indian Girl 49 - -Some Joys We May Not Keep 53 - -In Sunflower Time 55 - -As It Began to Dawn 61 - -Her Lesson 69 - -Until We Meet 70 - -His Care 71 - -With Her Sunshine, Breeze and Dew 72 - -What the Poppies Said 73 - -Eve 74 - -Ring Out Glad Song 77 - -In the Conservatory 81 - -A Bud 84 - -Envy 84 - -A Fancied Loss 85 - -How Close? 86 - -In the Wood 87 - -Lac Deschene 93 - -Deserted 94 - -My Neighbor 95 - -Hollyhocks 96 - -The Miscreant 99 - -Her Birthday 100 - -Slander 102 - -Summer Holidays 103 - -Violet 104 - -My Lady of the Silver Tongue 106 - -Sweeping to the Sea 107 - -Minerva’s Essay 108 - -To the Queen 111 - -In the Old Church 112 - -September 117 - -Spring o’ the Year 118 - -Mildred 119 - -The Old Valentine 121 - -The Boy of the House 124 - -For He was Scotch and so was She 127 - -The Legend of Love 128 - -Our Father 131 - -Jack 132 - -A Pledge 137 - -Blue-Eyed Bess 137 - -The Courtier’s Ladye 139 - -The Rustic’s Lassie 140 - -Her Dower 142 - -Mavourneen 143 - -Song of the Wind 145 - -The Richer Man 147 - -His Wife and Boy 149 - -She Just Keeps House for Me 151 - -Love’s Humility 153 - -Our Host and His House 155 - -The Mother’s Story 157 - -In Lovers’ Lane 160 - -O Last Days of the Year 164 - -Back on the Farm 165 - -He Meditates on the Critic 167 - -Jacynth 168 - -Her First Sleigh-Ride 171 - -His Own Little Black-Eyed Lad 176 - -Be Good and Glad 178 - -The Making Up 179 - -O Radiant Stream 180 - -My Sweetbriar Maid 183 - -My Canada 184 - -Perfect Peace 186 - -The King’s Gift 189 - -I Love Her Well 189 - -Good-Night 190 - -Her Gold 191 - -Good-Bye to Work 192 - -Somebody 195 - -My Little Maid 196 - -Heather White 199 - -Granny’s Message to Jack 200 - -The Ever and Ever So Long Ago 203 - -The Height 203 - -Her Portrait 204 - -God Loveth Us 205 - -An Etching 206 - -Shadows 207 - -A Merrie Christmasse Untoe Ye 207 - -Marguerite 208 - -The Hoar Frost on the Wood 212 - -Two Creeds 213 - -His Ex-Platonic Friend 216 - -The Grave 218 - -Settled by Arbitration 219 - -The Circuit 221 - -Gethsemane 224 - -My Friend 224 - -The Prodigal 226 - -At Quebec 230 - -The Tea-Kettle’s Tune 230 - -The Creed of Love 232 - -In the Clover-Field 233 - -Lullaby 234 - -A Sunset Talk 235 - -Truth Upon Honor 238 - -Elspeth’s Daughter-in-law 242 - -Cold Water 248 - -Long Time Ago 254 - -The Meanest Man 258 - - - - - Wooing His Valentine - - - If I could speak in phrases fine, - Full sweet the words that I would say - To woo you for my valentine - Upon this February day. - - But when I strive to tell you all, - The charms I see in your dear face, - A dumbness on me seems to fall-- - O, sweetheart, let me crave your grace! - - I fain would say your eyes of blue, - Like violets to me appear; - Shy blossoms, filled with heaven’s dew, - That throw their sweetness far and near. - - How tender are your lips of red! - How like a rose each velvet cheek! - How bright the gold upon your head-- - All this I’d say, if I could speak. - - How warm your blushes come and go! - How maidenly your air and mien! - How pure the glances you bestow-- - Wilt be my Valentine, O Queen? - - The angels walking at your side, - Methinks have lent their charms to you, - For in the world so big and wide, - There is not one so good and true. - - If I had but the gift of speech, - Your beauty and your grace to prove, - Then might I find a way to reach - Your heart, and all its wealth of love. - - Then, sweetheart, take the good intent-- - Truth has no need of phrases fine-- - Repay what long ago I lent, - And be to-day my Valentine. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Jealous, Sweetheart? - - - A step on the walk she’s waiting to hear-- - Waiting--waiting-- - There’s a frown on her face--pouting ’tis clear, - Ah, someone is late in coming I fear. - All lovers are very fickle, my dear, - Waiting, waiting! - - Only last week he was praising up Nell-- - Praising--praising-- - Saying her voice was clear as a bell, - Thinking her fairer, and who is to tell - All that he said as they walked through the dell? - Praising, praising! - - Perhaps he is with her this summer night-- - Who knows? Who knows? - Perhaps he is holding her hand so white, - Perhaps he is watching her eyes so bright, - Perhaps he is wooing with all his might, - Who knows? Who knows? - - Perhaps he is saying, “I love you best!” - Who cares? Who cares? - No need to carry a weight on one’s breast, - No need to worry and lose one’s rest, - Life is a comedy, love is a jest, - Who cares? Who cares? - - What if he has quite forgotten to keep - Old ways--old ways-- - There’s a path where the silver moonbeams creep, - And the tangled flowers have fallen asleep, - And the dew is heavy--the clover deep-- - Old ways--old ways! - - He’s not coming to-night, no need to wait, - Ah me! Ah me! - Hark, the clock is chiming the hour of eight, - And once on a time he railed at the fate - That kept him, if only a half-hour late-- - Ah me! Ah me! - - But who comes here with a swinging stride? - Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! - Turns she away in her pique and pride, - Turns she away, till he says at her side, - “There’s but one for me in the world so wide!” - Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! - - Now in the blossoms the beaded dew slips, - Sweetheart! Sweetheart! - Someone is kissing two tremulous lips, - And there lingers no sign of the past eclipse, - Down in the clover a drowsy bee sips, - Sweetheart! Sweetheart! - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Day Neil Rode to Mill - - - MacLeod of Dare called his son to him, - MacLeod of Dare looked morose and grim, - For he was sending on mission grave - This son of his, both handsome and brave, - And trembled, thinking, “what if he make - In his heedless youth a grave mistake?” - ’Twas not for country, nor for the King, - Nay, ’twas a much more important thing - Than the Church, or State, than feud or strife-- - The mission was to search out a wife. - - And young Neil listened with scanty grace, - A look of impatience on his face, - While the old man told him where to go, - Told him what to say, and what to do, - “On the morrow ye’ll gang an’ stay - Wi’ yer rich auld uncle, Allan Gray; - He ’ill gie ye the welcome o’ a son, - Ye’ll marry the dochter, there’s but one, - She’s worth the winnin’, for in her hand - She hauds the deed o’ all o’ his land, - She’s no weel-favored, a homely maid, - But guid, an’ properly grave an’ staid.” - - “But why should I wed a woman plain? - You didn’t yourself--” MacLeod was vain, - He smiled well-pleased, and said, “True, Neil, true, - But I was handsomer far nor you! - Just coort the maiden, an’ never mind - A squint or freckle, since luve is blind, - Or ought to be in a case like this, - For ’tis na’ a chance I’d hae ye miss. - - “She’s na’ sae braw as her cousin Kate, - But ’tis wi’ Janet I’d hae ye mate, - For Kate, puir lassie, she has nae land, - Her face is her fortune, understand, - She live’s wi’ Janet, who loves her much, - And fond o’ pictures, an’ books, an’ such; - Gie her gude-day when you chance to meet, - But mind an’ yer cousin Janet greet - Wi’ warmer words, and a gallant air, - Go win’ ye a wife--_an’ a warld o’ care_!” - - Neil listened closest to what was said - Of Kate, the penniless, pretty maid, - And when at length he came to the place - ’Twas Kate that in his eyes found grace, - While Janet viewed him with conscious pride, - As one who would some day be his bride. - He stopped with them for many a day, - A favorite he of old Allan Gray; - They walked together over the hill, - And through the valley, solemn and still, - The old man showed him acres wide - That would go with Janet as a bride, - Then spoke of the cousin, poor but _fair_, - The blue of her eyes, her golden hair, - “She’ll hae no flocks, an’ she’ll hae no land, - She’ll hae no plenishin’ rich an’ grand, - But gin’ she stood in her--scanty dress, - What man o’ mettle would luve her less?” - - The youth’s heart warmed to the logic old-- - O, what worth was land, what worth was gold, - What worth anything under the skies - Save the lovelight in a lassie’s eyes? - Janet pestered him day after day, - Did he walk out, why, she went that way, - Did he come in to rest him awhile, - She was waiting with beaming smile; - He never could get a step nearer Kate, - Janet was there like the hand of fate. - She was so cross-eyed, that none could say - Whether or not she looked his way. - But one day it chanced that, going to mill, - He overtook Kate under the hill. - Would she mount behind, and ride along? - Perhaps she would, there was nothing wrong-- - So he helped her up with trembling arm, - O, surely the day is close and warm! - Whoa mare! go steady! no need for haste - When two soft arms are about his waist; - Neil, shame on him, pressed her finger-tips, - Then turned he about and pressed her lips! - - On the road the hawthorn blossom white - Scattered itself just in sheer delight, - A bird was singing a tender rhyme - Of meadow, mate, and the nesting-time, - The hill looked beautiful in the glow - That heaven flung on the world below. - Ah me! if that ride could last a week, - Her gold hair blowing against his cheek, - As they rode to mill, say the world-wise, - Nay, rode in the lane of paradise. - Travel that way, though your hair grow white, - You never forget the journey quite! - - Next day, Neil went to the old home place - And met his stern father face to face; - Boldly enough he unfolded the tale, - Though maybe his cheek was sometimes pale, - He would marry Kate, and her alone, - He had tried to care for the other one, - But she squinted so, her hair was red, - And freckles over her face were spread; - In all the world there was none for him - But his Kate. Then laughed that old man grim, - “Your mither, lad, was a stubborn jade, - A stubborn an’ handsome dark-eyed maid, - An’ in a’ our battles she’s always won, - An’ Neil, you are just your mither’s son; - But I haven’a lived through a’ my days - And just learnt nothing, heaven be praised! - Hark now, a gaed to your uncle’s hame - An’ bargained wi’ him afore ye came, - A’ saw yer Kate an’ like’t her weel, - A luik o’ your mither I could spell - In her bonny face, a woman to win - By ony means, that is short o’ sin, - Sae I tellit him to let Kate be - The lassie puir an’ o’ low degree, - An’ sort gie ye to understand - That Janet was owner o’ the land. - _Why_ need I gie mesel’ sic a task? - Ye stiff-neck fellow, ye needna ask, - Gin ye was coaxed, ye wouldna move-- - Ye’d be too stubborn tae fa’ in love; - Like a’ the Campbells ye’ll hae yer way, - Yer mither’s hae’d hers mony a day. - - ’Tis glad ye should be this day--my word! - Tak’ time right now to thank the Lord, - Yer father’s wisdom gat ye a bride - An’ plenty o’ worldly gear besides.” - - Ah, thankful enough was Neil that day, - The joy leaped up in his eyes of gray, - But not for his father’s wisdom great, - Though maybe it had gotten him Kate,-- - Not for the land, and not for the gold,-- - Not for the flocks that slept in the fold, - “Thank heaven,” he said, with a glow and thrill, - “Thank heaven for the day I rode to mill.” - - - - - At Joppa - - - Perchance the day was fair as this-- - The eastern world is full of glow, - With warmer sun, and bluer sky, - And richer bloom than we can show-- - At Joppa quaint, beside the sea, - When Simon Peter went to pray. - - I wonder if he did not pause - Awhile to gaze on God’s great book, - To read on earth, and sea, and sky, - The smile divine, the tender look; - For when the hour of vision’s given, - The two worlds touch--our earth and heaven. - - God teaches with a tenderness - That we who follow him should learn, - Hides not His glory when ’twill bless - Eyes that look up, and souls that yearn. - He sent the vision fair to see, - And spoke to Peter on that day. - - Sleeping, the voice fell on his ears, - I hear bold Peter say “Divine, - ’Twill live and sound forever-more - In this poor wayward heart of mine-- - ‘What God has cleansed,’ so broad, so free, - My narrow creed flees shamed away.” - - Who would not be with Peter now? - Blue heaven above, and earth below, - So near to God, so far away - From sin, and wretchedness, and woe. - Before his eyes--gone, every doubt-- - The glory of the skies spread out. - - But hark! men knock upon the door, - And voices call, and not in vain, - For Peter comes down to the earth, - And takes his life-work up again, - Down from the fullness to the need, - From God to man, a change indeed. - - We fain would on the housetop be, - We fain would hold communion sweet, - But looking up, we never heed - The work unfinished at our feet. - God, give to us, we humbly ask, - Strength for the vision and the task. - - - - - The World is Growing Old - - - I am so weary, Master dear, - So very weary of the road - That I have travelled, year by year, - Bearing along life’s heavy load, - It is so long, it is so steep, - This highway leading to the skies, - And shadows now begin to creep, - And sleep lies heavy on my eyes. - - I am so weary, Master dear, - So very weary of the road, - I pray I may be very near - That snow-white City built of God, - Where pain and heart-ache have not strayed, - Where nought is known but peace and rest, - Where thy dear hands have ready made - A place for e’en the humblest guest. - - But come thou closer, Master dear, - My weakness makes me sore dismayed, - O, let me whisper in thine ear, - For I am troubled and afraid. - What if my soul its way should miss - Between this and the world above, - And never share the perfect bliss - Provided by thy tender love? - - But lo, He speaketh at my side - So close I feel His shelt’ring touch, - _“Thou art my guest, can harm betide_ - _One called of me, and known as such?_ - _Dear child, the journey is not long,_ - _Thy heart need not to fear or shrink_ - _An opening door, an angel’s song--_ - _Oh, heaven is nearer than you think!_ - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - At Dawn - - - I cannot echo the old wish to die at morn, as darkness strays! - We have been glad together greeting some new-born and radiant days, - The earth would hold me, every day familiar things - Would weight me fast, - The stir, the touch of morn, the bird that on swift wings - Goes flitting past. - Some flower would lift to me its tender tear-wet face, and send - its breath - To whisper of the earth, its beauty and its grace, - And combat death. - It would be light, and I would see in thy dear eyes - The sorrow grow. - Love, could I lift my own undimmed to paradise - And leave thee so! - A thousand chords would hold me down to this low sphere, - When thou didst grieve; - Ah! should death come upon morn’s rosy breast, I fear - I’d crave reprieve. - But when her gold all spent, the sad day takes her flight, - When shadows creep, - Then just to put my hand in thine and say, “Good night,” - And fall asleep. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - She - - - A woman who knows how to droop - Her eyes before the world’s bold gaze, - And teach, by silence, just how near - That world dare venture to her ways. - A woman who knows how to lift - Her eyes to mine without dismay-- - For innocence is might-- - And say that wrong is wrong alway, - That right and truth are best alway, - Eyes heaven-lit and clear, to-night - I’ll take, if for my own I may, - The creed you hold--the right! - - - - - The Two Marys - - - They journey sadly, slowly on, - The day has scarce begun, - Above the hills the rose of dawn - Is heralding the sun, - While down in still Gethsemane - The shadows have not moved, - They go, by loss oppressed, to see - The grave of One they loved. - - The eyes of Mary Magdalene, - With heavy grief are filled; - The tender eyes that oft have seen - The strife of passion stilled. - And nevermore that tender voice - Will whisper “God forgives;” - How can the earth at dawn rejoice - Since He no longer lives? - - O, hours that were so full and sweet! - So free from doubts and fears! - When kneeling lowly at His feet - She washed them with her tears! - With head low bowed upon her breast - The other Mary goes, - “He sleeps,” she says, “and takes His rest - Untroubled by our woes.” - - And spices rare their hands do hold - For Him, the loved and lost, - And Magdalene, by love made bold, - Doth maybe bring the most. - It is not needed, see the stone - No longer keeps its place, - And on it sits a radiant one - A light upon his face. - - “He is not here, come near and look - With thine own doubting eyes, - Where once He lay--the earth is shook - And Jesus did arise.” - And now they turn to go away, - Slow stepping, hand in hand, - ’Twas something wondrous he did say, - If they could understand. - - The sun is flooding vale and hill, - Blue shines the sky above, - “All Hail!” O voice that wakes a thrill - Familiar, full of love. - From darkest night to brightest day, - From deep despair to bliss, - They to the Master run straightway - And kneel, His feet to kiss. - - O, Love! that made Him come to save, - To hang on Calvary, - O mighty Love! that from the grave - Did lift and set Him free! - Sing, Mary Magdalene, sing forth-- - With voice so sweet and strong, - Sing, till it thrills through all the earth-- - The Resurrection Song! - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Mother’s Lecture - - - There’s _nothing_, did you say, Reuben? - There’s nothing, nothing at all, - There’s nothing to thank the Lord for - This disappointing fall. - - For the frost it cut your corn down, - Right when ’twas looking best, - And then took half the garden,-- - The drouth took all the rest. - - The wheat was light as light could be, - Not half a proper crop, - Then the fire burned your fences, - And burned till it had to stop. - - The cows were poor because the grass - Withered all up in the heat, - And cows are things that won’t keep fat - Unless they have plenty to eat. - - Suppose the frost did take the corn, - And the cattle are not fat, - Another harvest is coming-- - You _might_ thank the Lord for that. - - The fire that burned your fences down, - And laid your haystacks flat, - Left the old house above your head, - You _might_ thank the Lord for that. - - You’ve lost from field, and barn, and fold, - You’ve that word “loss” very pat, - But you’ve lost nothing from the home,-- - You _might_ thank the Lord for that. - - And here is your mother at your side, - Braiding a beautiful mat, - I’m old, my boy, but with you yet-- - You _might_ thank the Lord for that. - - Your wife is a good and patient soul, - Not given to worry or spat, - Nice to see, and pleasant to hear, - You _might_ thank the Lord for that. - - Here in the cradle at my side - Is something worth looking at, - She came this disappointing year, - You _might_ thank the Lord for that. - - Your boy is calling out, “Daddy!” - As hard as ever he can, - There’s lots of folks would thank the Lord - For just such a bonnie man. - - Ashamed of yourself, eh, Reuben? - Well, I rather thought you’d be-- - What! going to keep Thanksgiving - In a manner good to see? - - To kill the biggest gobbler - That’s strutting round the farm? - To give poor folks provisions, - And clothes to keep them warm? - - You’re going to help and comfort - Each sad old wight you find? - You’re feeling so rich and thankful, - And heaven has been so kind? - - Ah, now my own boy, Reuben, - I’m so glad we’ve had this chat, - You’re growing so like your father-- - You _might_ thank the Lord for that. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Spring - - - O, the frozen valley and frozen hill make a coffin wide and deep, - And the dead river lies, all its laughter stilled within it, fast asleep. - - The trees that have played with the merry thing, and freighted its - breast with leaves, - Give never a murmur or sigh of woe--they are dead--no dead thing grieves. - - No carol of love from a song-bird’s throat; the world lies naked and - still, - For all things tender, and all things sweet, have been touched by - the gruesome chill. - - Not a flower,--a blue forget-me-not, a wild rose or jessamine soft, - To lay its bloom on the dead river’s lips, that have kissed them - all so oft, - - But look, a ladder is spanning the space twixt earth and the sky beyond, - A ladder of gold for the Maid of Grace--the strong, the subtle, the fond! - - SPRING, with the warmth in her footsteps light, and the breeze and - the fragrant breath, - Is coming to press her radiant face to that which is cold in death. - - SPRING, with a mantle made of the gold held close in a sunbeam’s heart, - Thrown over her shoulders, bonnie and bare--see the sap in the great - trees start, - - Where the hem of this flowing garment trails, see the glow, the - color bright, - A-stirring and spreading of something fair--the dawn is chasing - the night! - - SPRING, with all love and all dear delights pulsing in every vein, - The old earth knows her, and thrills to her touch, as she claims - her own again. - - SPRING, with the hyacinths filling her cap, and the violet seeds - in her hair, - With the crocus hiding its satin head in her bosom warm and fair; - - SPRING, with its daffodils at her feet, and pansies a-bloom in - her eyes, - SPRING, with enough of the God in herself to make the dead to arise! - - For see, as she bends o’er the coffin deep--the frozen valley - and hill-- - The dead river stirs, Ah, that ling’ring kiss is making its heart - to thrill! - - And then as she closer, and closer leans, it slips from its snowy - shroud, - Frightened a moment, then rushing away, calling and laughing aloud! - - The hill where she rested is all a-bloom--the wood is green as - of old, - And ’wakened birds are striving to send their songs to the Gates - of Gold. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Reminiscences - - - There came a dash of snow last night, - An’ ’fore I went to bed, - I somehow got to thinkin’ ’bout - That old place, Kettletread. - I’m silly ’bout that spot of earth, - Though why, I can’t surmise, - For it has got me in more scrapes - And made me tell more lies, - When me, an’ you, - An’ Taylor’s boys, - Were always in the spill, - A stealin’ off - From work to go - A-coastin’ down that hill. - - Do you rec’lect how we used to stand - An’ holler out like sin, - “Now one must pass that walnut stump - Afore the rest chips in?” - An’ if one tumbled in the snow, we only stopped to laugh, - An’ all the help we ever gave was aggravatin’ chaff. - - Zip! Zip! the frost and snow - A pickin’ at our face, - The wind just howlin’ ’cause it knowed - ’Twas beat fair in the race! - - Good gracious! Jim, if I could stand, a-lookin’ down that hill, - A-watchin’ you boys tumblin’ off an’ laughin’ at the spill; - An’ then grab up my Noah’s Ark, so clumsy and so wide, - An’ pull the rope, an’ hold her back, there let her go kerslide-- - - An’ see that glazy piece of ice - A-spannin’ that old crick, - An’ know I couldn’t stop this side - If ’twas to save my neck-- - - Now don’t you get excited, Jim, ’cause I’m a-talkin’ so, - That would be awful foolish--Gosh! just hear that north wind blow. - - - - - Ammiel’s Gift - - - The City, girded by the mountain strong, - Still held the gold of sunset on its breast, - When Ammiel, whose steps had journeyed long, - Stood at the gate with weariness opprest. - One came and stood beside him, called him son, - Asked him the reason of his heavy air, - And why it was that, now the day was done, - He entered not into the city fair? - - Answered he, “Master, I did come to find - A man called Jesus; it is said He steals - The darkness from the eyeballs of the blind, - The fever from the veins--Ay, even heals - That wasting thing called sickness of the heart. - His voice they say doth make the lame to leap, - The evil, tearing spirits to depart.” - - From Nain there comes a tale - Doth make me weep, - Of one a widow walking by the bier - Of her dead son, and walking there alone, - And murmuring, so that all who chose might hear, - “A widow and he was my only one!” - This Jesus, meeting her did not pass by, - But stopped beside the mourner for a space, - A wondrous light they say shone in His eye, - A wondrous tenderness upon His face; - And He did speak unto the dead, “Young man, - I say arise”--these tears of mine will start-- - The youth arose, straight to his mother ran, - Who wept for joy and clasped him to her heart. - - Within me, Master, - Such a longing grew - To look on Him, perchance to speak His name, - I started while the world was wet with dew, - A gift for Him--Ah, I have been to blame, - For when a beggar held a lean hand out for aid, - I laid in it, being moved, a goodly share - Of this same gift, and then a little maid - Lisped she was hungry, in her eyes a prayer, - I gave her _all_ the fruit I plucked for Him, - His oil I gave to one who moaned with pain, - His jar of wine to one whose sight waxed dim-- - O, Master, I have journeyed here in vain! - - Within the city Jesus walks the street, - Or bides with friends, or in the temple stands, - But shamed am I the Nazarene to meet, - Seeing I bring to Him but empty hands. - - The sun had long since sunk behind the hills-- - The purple glory and the gleams of light - Had faded from the sky, the dusk that stills - A busy world was deep’ning into night. - - “Son, look on me,” the sweetness of the tone - Made Ammiel’s heart begin to thrill and glow, - “Full well,” he said, “I know there is but One - With simple words like these could move me so.” - “Son, look on me,” and lifting up his eyes - He looked on Jesu’s face, and knew ’twas He, - Knelt down and kissed His feet, and would not rise - Because of love and deep humility. - - Up in the deep blue of the skies above - Were kindled all the watchfires of the night - The voice of Jesus, deep and filled with love, - Said, “Come, bide with me till the morning’s light. - At dawn my beggar asked not alms in vain, - Since dawn, have I been debtor unto thee, - All day thy gifts within my heart have lain, - Fruit, oil, and wine, come through my poor to me.” - - - - - Robin - - - There’s not a leaf on the vine where you swing - And the wind is chill and the sky is grey, - But all undaunted you flutter and sing, - “Ho, the first of May! Ho, the first of May!” - There’s never a hint of yesterday’s frost, - Of the hunger and cold and waiting long, - Never a plaint over what you have lost - Thrown into the notes of your happy song; - The gladness is pressed in your bosom red, - And the gloss is laid on your little head. - I thank you for singing, robin to-day, - For flaunting before me, jolly and bold, - Chirping, “Ho! Ho! do you know it is May, - Or are you so dull you have to be told?” - - - - - Margot - - - Now Margot, dinna flout me, - O, dinna be unkind! - Mayhap to do without me, - A hardship you would find. - - Ye haud yer head too high, lass, - Ye haud yer head too high, - What if I wad pass by, lass, - Instead o’ lingerin’ nigh? - - Ye canna quite forget, dear, - The sunny days o’ yore, - They haud our twa lives yet, dear,-- - The days that are no more. - - When in the warld sae wide, dear, - One lesson we could spell-- - When it was a’ our pride, dear, - To love each other well. - - When riches had na found ye-- - My maid o’ tender face! - Before yer pride had bound ye, - An’ stolen a’ yer grace. - - ’Tis best that I should leave ye, - Cold are your eyes o’ blue, - ’Twould be a sin to grieve ye, - A love sae warm an’ true. - - Sae put yer hand within mine, - Forget--we can but try, - Here’s ane kiss for auld lang syne, - And here’s ane for good-bye. - - What is it that you say, dear, - You will not let me go? - Then ye maun bid me stay, dear, - This much to me ye owe. - - Twa foolish things were we, dear, - To dream that we could part, - The blind might almost see, dear, - Your image in my heart. - - So haud me close and fast, dear, - With arms so soft an’ white, - A fig for quarrels past, dear, - You are my ain to-night. - - - - - Dreamland - - - With an angel-flower laden, - Every day a little maiden, - Sails away from off my bosom - On a radiant sea of bliss. - I can see her drifting, drifting-- - Hear the snowy wings uplifting, - As he woos her into dreamland, - With a kiss. - - Blissful hour, my pretty sleeper, - Whispering with thy angel keeper, - List’ning to the words he brings thee - From a fairer world than this; - Ah! thy heart he is beguiling, - I can tell it by thy smiling, - As he woos thee into dreamland - With a kiss. - - Could there come to weary mortals - Such a glimpse through golden portals, - Would we not drift on forever, - Toward that far-off land of peace; - Would we not leave joys and sorrows, - Glad to-days, and sad to-morrows, - For the sound of white wings lifting, - For an angel’s tender kiss. - - - - - Only a Picture - - - Something to show me--well, my lass, - Make haste, I have no time to idle, - These bright spring hours they seem to pass - Like colts that fly from bit and bridle. - - A picture--well, if that is all, - I can’t--my child don’t look so sorry, - I’ll come and see, although I call - The whole thing only waste and worry. - - But have your nonsense while you may, - Your brushes, paints, and long-haired master, - They’re pretty whims for you who see - Such beauty in a canvas plaster. - - What’s in a picture? there’s but one - Could win for me an hour’s gazing; - It comes sometimes when day is done, - And dusk falls on the cattle grazing. - - A big, old house that fronts the sea, - The sunlight falling on the gables, - The wood--what’s this? Why, can it be! - Lass, you have neatly turned the tables. - - Know it? Ay, know each blade and stalk, - Each sunny knoll, each shady cover, - Why, every flower beside yon walk - Has had in me a faithful lover! - - Know it? See yonder worn old step, - The open door, the bench beside it, - The rose-tree trained where it should creep-- - I almost see the hand that tied it. - - The sunny windows seem to throw - On me a tender look of greeting, - And in my heart awakes the glow - Of other days so glad and fleeting. - - The dear old faces, one by one, - Come out from shadows swiftly thronging, - Dear picture of my boyhood’s home, - My eyes are dim with love and longing! - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Her Boy - - - There’s a looking-glass, a hammer, - Some toys all broken up, - There’s pebbles, and glass, and sawdust, - And papa’s shaving cup; - A little cart with the wheels off, - A horse that’s lost an eye, - A kitten tied to a chair-leg - That’s looking scared and shy. - - “Ah me!” the busy mother sighs, - I’m tired off my feet, - I really wish he were grown up - So I could keep things neat! - He catches her reproving eye - And is inclined for play, - So dons his bonnet wrong, and cries - “Bye, baby’s goin’ away!” - - The mother holds her darling close-- - A culprit, cute and small-- - For wild disorder reigning there - She does not care at all. - But, spendthrift with a mother’s love, - Puts kisses on his lips, - And on the cheeks so warm and red, - On neck, and finger-tips. - - Perhaps she thinks of coming years, - When in no childish play - Her boy shall bid her a good-bye, - Her baby go away, - To walk without her tender care - To shelter every move, - To stand without his hand in hers-- - Away from home and love. - - “I loves you bestest in the world!” - He lisps with pretty wiles, - “Thank God he’s but a baby yet!” - The mother says, and smiles. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Indian Girl - - - Now to the missionary’s home there came one autumn day, - A girl, borne in the arms of one so haggard, worn, and gray. - “White man,” he said, “the fever burns my little sunbeam up, - Naught ask I for myself, not bread nor water from a cup, - But give to her some healing thing, I leave her in your care, - Deal kindly with her, one harsh touch will bring revenge--beware!” - - Ere they could answer yea or nay, the old chief he had gone, - Had vanished in the gloom of night which came so swiftly on. - They could not stay the hand of death, its touch was on her brow, - O, bearer of the message true, here’s one to listen now! - The Indian maiden heard it all, and looked with wondering eyes, - How sweet to her the story of the life beyond the skies! - - Her eager throbbing heart drank in each precious promise given, - An Indian girl, a child of God, heir to a throne in heaven? - The joyful tears crept to her eyes, and down her dusky cheeks, - And all aglow with love and joy, in her soft tongue she speaks, - “Now I will tell my father, now I will tell him all - That I have heard of Jesus, who hears us when we call, - He does not know of Heaven, how happy we will be, - When, by and by, the Brother kind will bring him home to me. - - “When he sits down beside me he looks so stern and lone, - For I, his child, am dying, his last and only one.” - At twilight of another day he came--erect and tall, - As though he would not bow his head though heavy blows might fall, - But soft the glance and tender, he threw upon his child, - “My little Sunbeam in the dark!” he said, in accents mild. - - “Come closer, Oh my father,” the Indian maiden cried, - “Come closer while I tell you of One who loved and died - That we might live together, and never grieve in vain, - Of One who suffered cruel blows to rescue us from pain.” - Her fevered hands crept into his; his heart grew sick with fear, - The hour of parting and of grief was surely drawing near, - This child who shared his cup and couch--his “Sunbeam in the night” - Would go, and never come again to gladden his dim sight. - - “No gold have I,” the old chief said, “but name the Friend so good, - That I may prove an Indian brave forgets not gratitude.” - There, in the silence of the night he heard the story old, - Of Christ’s dear love for sinful man, the sweetest ever told; - And when the sun came creeping up all glorious to the eye, - His haughty soul had learned to say, “It is not much to die.” - - It is but evening to a land whose shores are always green, - Where never night comes darkly down, where tears are never seen, - Where heartbreak may not even touch, where sorrow may not come, - But where the weary rest and say, “’Tis good to be at home!” - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Some Joys We May Not Keep - - - “Something is lost to me,” she said, “that nevermore - Will be my very own, - Something has swiftly slipped through my heart’s door, - And to the winds has flown. - - “Loss was the kindest thing that fate could send-- - Some joys we may not keep-- - And yet, because this is the very end, - I needs,” she said, “must weep. - - “Feeling my heart so empty and so chill-- - There is no glow to-night, - No wakening of the old-time tender thrill, - No pulsing of delight. - - “When death hides from our eyes a much loved face, - We let our tears fall fast, - And then we take each sign, each ling’ring trace, - And seal it up--so--‘Past.’ - - “And I must put the memories away, - The toys love left behind, - The sweets we shared upon a summer day; - The kiss, the faith so blind. - - “I was so rich, so proud, awhile ago, - And now, I am so poor, - O, empty heart, there’s nothing now to do - But just to close the door!” - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - In Sunflower Time - - - In the farmhouse kitchen were Nan and John, - With only the sunflowers looking on. - - Now, a farm-house kitchen is scarce the place - For a knight or lady of courtly grace. - - But this was a common, everyday pair - That held the old kitchen, this morning fair. - - A persistent and saucy thorn-tree limb - Had sacrified a part of the brim - - Of the youth’s straw hat, so his face was brown, - Save his well-shaped forehead, which wore a frown, - - And his boots were splashed with the mud and clay - Of the marsh land pastures, over the way, - - Where the alders tall, and the spicewood grew, - And the frogs croaked noisily all night through. - - ’Neath the muslin curtains, snowy and thin, - The big homely sunflowers nodded in. - - Nan was worth the watching, her gingham gown - Had, it may be, old-fashioned grown, - - But it fitted the slender shape so well, - Was low at the neck where the soft lace fell; - - Of sleeves, it had none, from the elbow down, - While in length--well, you see, the maid had grown. - - A labor of love was her homely task - To share it, no mortal need hope or ask, - - For Nan she was washing each trace of dirt - From fluted bodice, and ruffled skirt. - - There are few that will, and fewer that can, - Bend over a tub like our pretty Nan, - - As she took each piece from its frothy lair, - The soap bubbles flying high in the air, - - And rubbed in a cruel, yet tender way, - Till her curls were wet with the steam and spray, - - Then wrung with her two hands, slender and strong, - Examined with care, and shook slowly and long, - - Then flung in clear water to lie in state-- - Each dainty piece met with the same hard fate. - - “There!” and she gave a look of conscious pride - At the rinsing-bucket, so deep and wide, - - Then wiping the suds from each rounded arm, - She turned to the youth with a smile so warm; - - “I have kept you waiting, excuse me please-- - The soap suds just ruin such goods as these.” - - “And you are so fond of finery, Nan, - Nice dresses, and furbelows,” he began. - - “Ah, maybe I am, of a truth,” she said, - And each sunflower nodded its golden head. - - “Well, Ned Brown’s getting rich,” John’s words came slow, - “And, he’s loved you a long while as you know; - - My house and my acres, I held them fast, - Was so stubborn over them to the last, - - For when my father was carried forth, - And the men were asking, ‘what was he worth?’ - - I knew that they said, with a nod and a smile, - As they whispered together all the while, - - ‘’Tis a fine old homestead, but mortgaged so, - What a foolish thing for a man to do!’ - - And I said, my father is dead and gone, - But he’s left behind him a strong-armed son, - - And my heart was hot with a purpose set, - To pay off that mortgage, to clear off that debt. - - I’ve worked, heaven knows it, like any slave, - I’ve learned well the lesson of pinch and save, - - I’ve kept a good horse, but dressed like a clown-- - I haven’t a dollar to call my own. - - O, I’m beaten--well beaten! yesterday - Everything went to Ned Brown from me; - - My meadows, my acres of tassled corn, - The big orchard planted when I was born. - - What I would have saved had I had the choice, - Was my chestnut mare, for she knows your voice. - - So I’m only a beggar, Nan, you see-- - Don’t fancy I’m begging for sympathy, - - You see for yourself that I don’t care much-- - Thank God, health’s a thing the law can’t touch! - - Why! the happiest man I ever knew - Was born a beggar--and died one too.” - - And so wisely nodding each yellow head - The sunflowers they listened to what was said, - - As Nan in her careful and easy way, - In the old farmhouse kitchen that summer day, - - Set a great and a mighty problem forth-- - “Tell me the truth, John, how much am I worth?” - - The question has stood since the world began - With Adam, a lone and a lonesome man. - - Now the sunbeams kissing her golden hair, - Her cheeks, and her round arms dimpled and bare, - - Seemed stamping a value of mighty wealth - On youth and love, and the bloom of health. - - John looked, and looked, till his eyes grew dim, - Then tilted the hat with the worthless brim, - - To hide what he would not have her see, - “You’re--you’re just worth the whole world, Nan,” said he. - - “Then you are no beggar”--O sweet, bold Nan! - “You’re _the whole world richer than any man_.” - - Now, a girl queen wearing a crown of gold - Did something like this, so the tale is told; - - But no royal prince that the world has seen - Ever felt quite so proud as John, I ween, - - As he clasped both her hands with new-born hope-- - Hands all crinkley with water and soap. - - Only the sunflowers, now looking on, - So--he kissed the maiden, O foolish John! - - As he hastened out through the garden gate, - Ned Brown was just coming to learn his fate. - - He was riding a handsome chestnut mare - But, somehow, our John didn’t seem to care. - - Ned thought of the acres he’d won from John, - “Poor beggar,” he said, and rode slowly on; - - John thought of all he had won from Ned, - “O you poor, poor beggar,” was what he said. - - Why? Under the heavens smiling and blue, - Only John and the yellow sunflowers knew. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - As it Began to Dawn - - - MARY MAGDALENE. - - A coward heart I carry in my breast, - Think you the soldiers stern will let us put - These spices that we carry, in his grave, - Or will they drive us hence? - See how I start - If but the breeze shakes on my head, - From limb or vine, the heavy drops of dew-- - Art weary Mary, weary and afraid? - - MARY. - - Nay, but so heavy-hearted, and so lost - To hope, so full of horrors was that day, - So full of grief, the mem’ry of it all - Will weigh upon me till my life is done. - And if I close my eyes, I see in dreams - His arms stretched out upon that cross so wide, - His head, His kingly head, crowned with the thorns. - - MARY MAGDALENE. - - Hush, Mary, - Or I drop upon the ground in weakness. - My friend! my tender, and my faithful friend! - When down thy forehead crept those crimson drops - The agony was more than I could bear. - ’Tis said that Peter and the rest did sleep, - Did sleep and take their rest that last night in - Gethsemane, leaving Him there to keep - His watch alone. O, poverty of love! - Think, Mary, had we heard that sobbing prayer - Could we have slept and our Lord sorrowful? - - MARY. - - Nay, we would but have had one thought, to share - His grief, to comfort and to cheer, - But man - Is dull at conning tasks of tenderness, - He is well qualified to guard with sword, - But not to keep long watches in the night; - His, is the strength to fight, ours, is the strength - To wait, and waiting, hold our faith In love. - They loved Him well, but being men they slept. - A loneliness - Grows on me as the dawn - Lights hill and valley, and the fertile plain. - His feet have pressed the paths, oft has He gone - Down this way to the gate, oft has He sought - The stillness, and the quiet of that mount - Lifting its head to heaven--Mount Olivet-- - And always will there be on Calvary - The heavy shadow of a cross of wood, - And if a hardy flower blossomed there, - Blood red its hue would be. - - MARY MAGDALENE. - - Surely it shuddered as it felt His weight, - That heavy cross on which He hung till eve! - How could they plunge the spear into His side, - And mock at Him with all their cruel tongues? - O, Mary, - When I think of His dear hands - That ever held out succor to the lost,-- - That ever touched to heal the sons of men,-- - That ever took the burden and the pain - From heavy hearts--His strong and tender hands - That lifted up the fallen and the weak, - That dwelt in blessing on the little ones, - That broke the bread to feed a multitude,-- - Wounded and hurt, the sharp nails through each palm, - My heart, it breaks with pity and with woe! - - MARY. - - I wonder if he saw us standing there, - So weak, and helpless, and so buffeted. - One soldier pulled the covering from my head, - Another scoffed, ‘O woman ye are fools!’ - And yet another, ‘Look now at your King!’ - I cared not, nay, was glad to feel that we - Shared in his trial, feared not their contempt, - I hope He saw us, that He understood - That love and faith were one with such as we. - When He cried out, I thought upon a day - When He did come to rest Himself with us, - The harvest fields were yellow, and the sun - Beat down so fiercely that it hurt the head - Of Ruth’s fair little one. ‘The pain!’ he cried, - ‘The pain! the pain!!’ with hot tears on his cheek, - And Ruth did lift him up and run with him - To where the Master was, who pushed the curls - Back with His hands and touched the forehead white, - The crying ceased, the quiver left the eyes, - The pallor crept away from off the cheek-- - He fell asleep, a smiling, healthy child. - - MARY MAGDALENE. - - And I thought of a day when He did meet - A woman, in her youth, but lost to all - The joys of innocence. Love she had known, - Such love as leaves the life filled full of shame, - Passion was hers, hate and impurity, - The gnawing of remorse, the longing vain - To lose the mark of sin, the scarlet flush - Of fallen womanhood, the hatred of - The spotless, the desire that they might sink - Low in the mire as she. O, what a soul - She carried on that day! The women drew - Their robes back from her touch, men leered, - And little children seemed afraid to meet - The devilish beauty of her form and face. - Shunned and alone, - Till One came to her side, - And took her hand in His, and what He said - Is past the telling; there are things the soul - Knows well, but cannot blazon to the world. - And when He went His way, upon her brow - Where shame had lain, set the sweet word, _Forgiveness_. - And Mary Magdalene - Did follow Him, led by a wondrous love, - Did wash His tender feet with grateful tears, - And wipe them with the soft hairs of her head. - - MARY. - - Joseph of Arimathea laid his form - In a new tomb. I tremble as we come - So near! and tell me, do you note a light, - Fairer than dawn, is cast on all things here. - Behold! one sits upon the stone, robed all - In white, a wondrous radiance on His face, - I fear and am perplexed. Let us go back. - - MARY MAGDALENE. - - Nay, we must put these spices in His grave-- - My fears have gone and left me strong and bold, - Let us advance and question him, for he - Is some good angel keeping watch and ward, - It may be he has caused the heavy stone - To roll away that we might enter in - With love’s last offering. What doth he say? - - MARY. - - He says that Jesus is alive to-day, - And bids us come and see the empty grave, - O, what a joy, if this were only true! - But, ’tis too great a mystery. Come hence, - Someone hath borne away our Lord, - To wrest from us the sorrowful delight - Of looking on His face, dead, with the lines - Of mortal agony on brow and lips, - Oh, Mary Magdalene, the world’s strong hate - Might well have spared us this last cruel blow! - - MARY MAGDALENE. - - But it may be - The angel tells us true, - And that He has arisen from the grave, - And is alive to love and keep His own-- - O, blessed hope! which all my being yearns - To grasp and hold--for if He is alive, - It means that you, and I, and all that love - And hold their faith in Him, can never die. - - MARY. - - I never understood what He did mean - By Life Eternal. So many things I had - Hid in my heart to ask Him. - - MARY MAGDALENE. - - Look how the sunshine sweeps down on the world! - There never was a yesterday so fair, - Something within me answers to the glow-- - And answers to the glad songs of the birds-- - And something seems to call out sweet and clear - The night is gone--is gone! the night is gone!! - - MARY. - - I am amazed! the tears have quickly dried upon your cheek. - I thought your grief was strong, - Too strong to lose itself in Nature’s smile, - The dazzling sunlight, and the song of birds, - The fair---- - - MARY MAGDALENE. - - Hush! ’tis our Lord himself who comes this way, - The wounds made by the thorns still on His brow, - His hands and feet marked with the cruel nails. - - MARY. - - It is the Master and my fears are gone-- - O, hark! He speaks. How often have we heard - That voice so filled with peace and tenderness? - Dear Lord, we fall and worship at Thy feet. - - MARY MAGDALENE. - - O risen Son of God! - Give me one hand pierced on the cross for me, - That I may place it on my heart and say, - For my transgression was He wounded sore, - Bruised, shamed, and hurt for my iniquity. - - MARY. - - We walked, O Master, in a maze of doubt, - Misgiving, grief, and great perplexity, - Knowing not where to turn, what to believe, - Then, through the tumult did we hear Thee say, - ‘All Hail!’ O, words of cheer! O, greeting, glad! - - MARY MAGDALENE. - - These words shall be a song--a song of joy - For a sad world to sing, a glorious song - Of triumph, and immortality, - The glad notes shall ring clearly up to heaven, - And echo down through hell. All Hail! - The Son of God - Hath left the grave and given us Life, - All Hail! - - - - - Her Lesson - - - Someone had told her that a sea-nymph dwelt - Within a murmuring shell, she called her own, - And she did love to hold it to her ear, - And always she could catch the meaning of - Its song. - - When she was gay the nymph she thought - Sang joyously, when she was sad at heart - The murmuring voice seemed full of plaint and tears. - One day, when longings softly stirred her breast, - She took the shell down to the shore and sat - Listening to all the things it had to tell, - Till, by-and-by, so homesick grew the voice - That called back to the waves when they did call, - A pity for its loneliness did make - Her suddenly resolve to set it free, - So with a stone she brake the shell in twain, - _’Twas empty as the air._ - - Who was it told - Her such a fair untruth--a pretty lie? - A mist fell down upon the wooded hills, - And crept from thence out over all the sea, - Her soft eyes caught it in their depth and held - It prisoner, till presently it grew - Too strong and subtle for the wide white lids - Which made but timid trembling sentinels, - And let it slip to liberty unchallenged. - The light unfeeling waves about her feet - Laughed at her grieving over such a thing-- - Laughed, calling to her as they rushed and ran, - “O pretty little one! - That one bright day - Didst think thyself so wise--didst count thyself - So rich? O foolish, foolish child, to weep - And break thy little heart o’er something that - Is not--has never been, save, in thy thought!” - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Until We Meet - - - Dear one, who crossed the border land - Into a world of love and song, - One of the tender white-robed band - To whom eternal joys belong! - Thy memory lives within my heart, - Will live until thy face I see; - The two worlds lie not far apart, - I soon will be at home with thee. - - - - - His Care - - - Gracious the sceptre that He wields, - Heart! do you understand? - All, all is His--His great arm shields - That which is bare, and that which yields, - Lord is He of the harvest fields, - And of the barren land. - - - - - With Her Sunshine, Breeze and Dew - - - Joyous May has come again - With her sunshine, breeze and dew, - Holding up her silken train, - See the blossoms, sweet and new. - Here a yellow primrose shows - All the world a heart of gold, - There a scarlet tulip glows, - By the breeze made overbold. - - Joyous May, we welcome you, - Welcome you and all you bring, - Skies so shining and so blue, - Birds to twitter and to sing, - Children on the green to play, - Blushing maid, and eager swain, - At your coming, joyous May, - All the world grows young again. - - - - - What the Poppies Said - - - “We have to-day,” so the poppies said - To the west wind softly blowing, - “To-day to hold, in our bosom red, - The great white tears that the night has shed - And the sunbeams warm and glowing.” - - “We have to-day,” said the lover bold, - “To spell out the sweet old story, - My heart for thine, and the tale is told-- - O, be not, sweetheart, so shy and cold, - See, the world is filled with glory!” - - The west wind sighed to the sea that night, - “’Tis a thought to give one sorrow, - The poppy boasts of her pearls of white, - The lover his store of dear delight, - But neither whispers _to-morrow_.” - - - - - Eve - - - She is an ideal daughter--mind you, friend, - You must not from my words infer she has - No faults. No angel is my Eve, not she, - But just a faulty fair thing, sweet of face, - And warm of heart, and with a tender flame - In her true eyes so innocent of guile, - With laughter on her lips, and loving words, - With something in each mood to draw - One’s soul the closer to her. Wondrous big - Her nature is--she’s something _more_ than kind. - - If sorrow touches me in any way - It is to her I turn for comforting; - If sickness stretches me upon my bed, - And steals my strength and spirits quite away, - I want her near me with her slim cool hands, - Her zeal to nurse me back to health again, - Her smoothing of the pillows underneath - My head, that I may rest the easier; - To her this world is such a pretty place - She likes no one to leave it ere he must. - - So plies her remedies with wondrous skill, - And talks the while of pleasant homely things-- - The tasks that tarry for my getting well, - The garden showing plainly my neglect, - The swarming bees, the apple trees in bloom, - The lonesome collie blinking in the sun, - The filly being broken for the plough, - My southdown sheep, the green of barley fields, - My neighbors, and the daily wish that I - Might soon be out among them as of old. - - This is the sort of nurse a sick man needs, - Not one who is forever breathing sighs, - And talking of the emptiness of life, - And urging one to wean his thoughts from earth, - Nor care a jot for life, since it is such - An empty, barren, disappointing thing. - Life! why, ’tis God’s good gift to each of us, - And some, I think, show much ingratitude - By slurring it forever with the wish - That they were rid of it for good and all. - - Now, you have mortgages, and deeds, and bonds, - You have a lordly mansion of your own, - While I--I have a big old-fashioned house, - And a few fields. You sometimes look at me - And sigh to think I am not better off - In this world’s goods. Old friend I like you well - And would not have you waste your pity so; - Why, man, I’m all amazed that you are not - Quite envious of me, since I have got-- - What you do lack--a daughter of my own. - - It makes a man feel rich to have a girl - Like mine to pet and make ado of him, - To come about him with her tender ways, - And cozening, and pretty tricks of speech, - To cry a little when he goes away, - To watch for his return with eager eyes, - To come to him with laughter on her lips-- - Ay, and sometimes a pout that shows itself - But to be kissed away--to keep his heart - From growing old with all the years that pass. - - I would not give this little Eve of mine - For _twenty_ times her weight in solid gold, - ’Tis a good world--you do not wonder now - That I’m so jolly and content alway; - You’re sighing like a furnace--’tis too bad! - I wish, old friend, you were as rich as I-- - With such a glad young thing to come and lay - Her rosy cheek to yours when you are sad! - The man who has no daughter of his own - Is such a pauper, I could cry for him. - - - - - Ring Out Glad Song. - -(A Diamond Jubilee Ode, 1897) - - - A perfect joy, the sages say, - Is more contagious than a grief; - A joy exceeding all belief - Is reigning in the world to-day. - Joy! See it spread on every side - The sea-girt Isles, so grand and proud, - Joy! Hear its paean sweet and loud - Go swelling--swelling--far and wide; - _It is the YEAR of JUBILEE! - Ring out glad song o’er land and sea; - God Save our Good Victoria!_ - - Old England warms now, through and through, - The rugged thing is full of love, - And pregnant with the thoughts that move - The great soul of a nation true, - Whom God’s hand hath been leading on - Through all the centuries dim and grey, - From ages dark, to dusk of dawn, - And then to full and perfect day. - _It is the YEAR of JUBILEE! - Ring out glad song o’er land and sea; - God save our Good Victoria!_ - - And green-clad Erin lifts her voice-- - Full sweet the words ring on her tongue-- - She will be always fair and young-- - And always ready to rejoice. - The lochs, the streams, the granite hills, - Of bonnie Scotland are aglow, - (Stronghold of loyalty you know) - And to the sky the paean thrills: - _It is the YEAR of JUBILEE! - Ring out glad song o’er land and sea; - God save our Good Victoria!_ - - East, West, North, South, it seems to float, - And pulses stir, and mem’ries wake, - “For God and merrie England’s sake,” - How oft has rung that battle note! - But ah, a grander measure moves - This glad old world of ours to-day, - Rings through the wilds--through palm tree groves - And rugged north lands far away: - _It is the YEAR of JUBILEE! - Ring out glad song o’er land and sea; - God save our Good Victoria!_ - - Rings through the solitudes so lone, - Through places all aglow with bloom, - Through dim, waste tracts where lurks the gloom-- - From Southern shores to Arctic Zone. - O mighty Empire, stretching far, - On solid, grand, foundations laid, - In love with peace, yet not afraid - To meet, if needs, grim visaged war. - _It is the YEAR of JUBILEE! - Ring out glad song o’er land and sea: - God save our Good Victoria!_ - - Australia hears it as she stands - Fanned by the sea-winds all around, - And sends a voice to swell the sound - From fertile fields and pasture lands. - In Canada--blest spot of earth-- - Joy revels on this perfect day, - And all aflame with pride of birth, - She sings out in her lusty way; - _It is the YEAR of JUBILEE; - Ring out glad song o’er land and sea; - God save our Good Victoria!_ - - The shadows long ago have fled, - Her song goes ringing clear and sweet, - From the Atlantic at her feet, - To the Pacific at her head; - From meadow wide, from forest tall, - From hill-top high and valley deep, - From rapids with their whirling sweep, - From river, lake, and waterfall: - _It is the YEAR of JUBILEE! - Ring out glad song o’er land and sea; - God save our Good Victoria!_ - - O Queen! we could not give thee less, - Well hast thou earned by noble thought, - By noble deeds thy hand hath wrought, - Our homage--and our tenderness. - Thy mother heart must thrill and move - To note the gladness of the time, - Hear thy name sung in every clime - By voices solemn--sweet with love. - _It is the YEAR of JUBILEE! - Ring out glad song o’er land and sea; - God save our Good Victoria!_ - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - In the Conservatory - - - We came out of the dusk and gloom, - Into the glowing fragrant room, - Walled in and carpeted with bloom. - - A merry group we made that day-- - Our laughter rang out clear and gay, - For we were young, and it was May. - - My cousin Dora walked with me-- - Late from her home across the sea, - And fair as any flower was she. - - Each pansy lifted up its face, - The slim fern shook her gown of lace, - A glory spread through all the place. - - My lady, Lily’s waxen bell, - Bent down, ashamed to hear us tell - How sweet her color, and her smell. - - The palms stood up like courtiers tall, - The smilax crept along the wall, - A sunbeam stole and kissed it all. - - “Now Dora, we shall see,” I said, - “The Persian violet lift her head, - Blaze out in purple and in red! - - The people seek her eagerly, - A rare aristocrat is she, - Proud of her fame as proud can be.” - - “So many tongues, her praises sing,” - Said Dora, “through the world they ring, - She looks a heartless haughty thing.” - - “Her country cousins sweet and shy, - That get their color from the sky, - Are fairer than herself,” said I. - - And last of all we came to where - The lilac and the primrose fair - Their breath threw on the heavy air. - - My cousin slipped the rows between, - Where yellow blossoms made a screen - Of their own foliage thick and green. - - “Ah! this,” she said, “is a surprise, - An English primrose”--soft her eyes, - “Mark what a beauty in it lies!” - - “O, primroses!” in careless tone, - Said Nell, “I’ve often seen them grown - Much prettier than this small pale one.” - - My cousin bent her soft white cheek - Against the blossoms, pale and meek, - And still she stood and did not speak. - - I think a tear or two she shed, - Ere lifted was the golden head, - “Poor little homesick flowers!” she said. - - “I wonder do you droop, and dream - Of fleecy cloud, and sunny gleam, - Of meadow wide, and laughing stream. - - I wonder if you wait to hear - The children’s voices, shrill and clear-- - Sweet! homesickness is hard to bear.” - - Then, gave us all a half-shamed look, - Ah, I could read her like a book, - Her heart was in some old world nook. - - “It wants to feel,” she said, “the touch - Of dew, and sunlight, and all such-- - Of wind that fondles overmuch. - - But by-and-by it will get bold, - And show you people all the gold - Its pretty heart does surely hold.” - - Back at my side she took her place, - And looking at her, I could trace - An added sweetness in her face. - - We came into the dusk and gloom, - Out of the glowing fragrant room, - Walled in and carpeted with bloom. - - - - - A Bud - - - Did the angel pluck thee, my blossom fair, - Ere the morning sun had spent its glow, - While the dew of heaven lay bright and clear - In each folded leaf? Ah, the angels know, - They gather our sweetest, our heart’s delight - To bloom where there cometh not frost nor blight. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Envy - - - When Satan sends--to vex the mind of man - And urge him on to meanness and to wrong-- - His satellites, there is not one that can - Acquit itself like Envy. Not so strong - As lust, so quick as fear, so big as hate-- - A pigmy thing, the twin of sordid greed-- - Its work, all noble things to under-rate, - Decry fair face, fair form, fair thought, fair deed, - A sneer it has for what is highest, best, - For love’s soft voice, and virtue’s robe of white; - Truth is not true, and pity is not kind, - A great task done is but a pastime light. - Tormented, and tormenting is the mind - That grants to Envy room to make its nest. - - - - - A Fancied Loss - - - If some day in your heart is born the thought - That one held dear is careless of the gift - Of tenderness, so fully, freely given, - I pray you, friend, to strangle it at birth. - - There are no losses half so real to us, - As losses which are not--have never been-- - A friendship gone! we say, and drop a tear - For wasted faith, and love, and loyalty. - - When, if we did but know the simple truth, - The gladness in these foolish hearts of ours-- - The gladness and the full content would leave - No room for sadness, and no place for doubt. - - - - - How Close? - - - How close will Jesus come to thee? - So close thine eyes can trace - The wondrous love He has for thee, - Upon His shining face. - - How close will Jesus come to thee? - So close, that thou cans’t feel - The sense of safety that He brings - O’er all thy being steal. - - How close will Jesus come to thee? - So close that thou canst hear - The whisper of His tender voice - Ring softly on thine ear. - - How close will Jesus come to thee? - So close that doubts will cease-- - Thy soul with sorrow weighed, and sin, - Find healing--joy--and peace. - - - - - In the Wood - - - To me, there comes a time in leafy June - When nature calls from wood, and stream, and field, - Calls low at dawn, calls loud and clear at noon, - Calls most persuasively when stars come out - Up in the blue, and other voices hush, - And _Come_! I hear her say, _come out with me_, - Come leave the low cramped rooms, the weary task, - Come take the path through meadow, and through wood, - Climb up the breezy hills and look abroad, - Climb down into the valleys deep and wide - And rest a space! There is no rest so full - As that which I will give you as you lie - On grassy knoll; I’ll give for lullaby - The rustle of the leaves tossed by the wind, - For covering the sunbeams meshed and snared - By waving boughs; I’ll fill your lungs with air - Made fragrant in the bowers I call my own. - Come! Come! I’ll keep you company, I have - A potion brewed, a wondrous healing thing, - Which brings forgetfulness of lurking care, - And rubs out from the mind the memory - Of loss, of striving and defeat--Come! Come! - - I went, I left the city far behind, - I went because she called--my fair first love! - I went at sunrise that for one full day - I might be with her, thrill beneath her touch - As in the long ago when she did claim - The full affection of my untried youth. - - O freshness, living freshness of a day - In June! Spring scarce has gotten out of sight - And not a stain of wear shows on the grass - Beneath our feet, and not a dead leaf calls, - “Our day of loveliness is past and gone!” - I found the thick wood steeped in pleasant smells, - The dainty ferns hid in their sheltered nooks, - The wild flowers found the sunlight where they stood, - And some hid their white faces quite away, - While others lifted up their starry eyes - And seemed right glad to ruffle in the breeze, - I revelled in the grandeur and the strength - Of towering trunks, and great wide-spreading limbs, - I revelled in the silence--far away - A noisy world I knew was waiting me, - But no sound from it reached me as I went - By tangled pathway through that wilderness. - - At noon I came out to the fields, sat down - And ate my lunch with hearty appetite, - Just at the foot of a wide hill which hid - The highway quite from sight, and shut me in. - - A meadow stretched itself out in the sun, - Each little blade of green did thrust its face - Up to the glow. The clover heads bent down - To let their visitors--the bees--pass out, - The heavy-footed honey bees. Ah, fond - Are they of the sweet juices stored in fragrant phials! - So fond, that in the breeze they smell them out - And straightway sally forth to taste the same, - And carry samples home. Down in the grass - A thousand insects hummed; a shallow stream - Laughed in the sunshine, speeding o’er the stones - To find the coolness of the shady wood. - The cattle laid their wide mouths to its breast - And slaked their thirst, and made their dappled sides - Swell out; then lowing forth their full content - They turned again to wade through knee-deep grass. - From off her four warm eggs of mottled shade, - A bird flew, with a call of love and joy, - That drew from her proved mate, perched on a bough - Too slight to hold him and his weight of song, - An answering note, replete with tenderness, - That sent the echo of its sweetness on - Into the dim old wood. A wild-rose spread - Its greenness o’er a corner of the fence, - And hung its tinted blossoms out to grace - The lowly spot, and make of it a bower. - - But fairer than the meadow or the wood-- - Than wild-rose blooming by the zig-zag fence-- - Than nesting bird, or softly murmuring stream-- - Than cattle standing knee-deep in the grass-- - Than dew-washed fern, or golden-hearted flowers-- - Fairer than sunbeam’s mesh or dappled shade-- - Or aught that I had seen this day of days - Was she, the glad young thing whose buoyant feet - Trod the slim path which wound its changeful way - Down the tall hill, past alders all abloom. - - A girl, a young girl, is a gracious sight, - A thing to make the eye light gaily up, - We see our youth in her--the joy of youth - Smiles out at us from her white-lidded eyes, - The careless grace of youth is on her lips, - The innocence of youth shines on her brow, - The prettiness of youth is on her cheek, - Her softness is the softness of a flower, - Her brightness and her beauty have the fresh - And healthy glow of morn. Her laughter stirs - A host of memories sleeping in our heart, - And makes a present hour of some far-off, - Some dear and half-forgotten yesterday. - - I wonder if the day will ever come - When we will be so old--so old and dull - That we will listen to, yet never heed - The sweetest sound of all the sounds which ring - Out through this world’s big aisles--the rippling laugh - Which comes from red young lips--comes straight from some - Rich storehouse in the breast, a storehouse filled - With gladness great, and hope, and all things good? - - She stopped to pluck a bouquet for her gown - From the sweetbriar that nodded in the sun, - And presently I heard a little “Oh!” - Of pain. That hand of hers the briar in greed - Had caught, and held so closely that its mark - Showed plainly on the warm and pink-palmed thing. - But she did pluck it, and its fragrance found - A place among the white folds at her neck, - And in the silken girdle which did creep - About the rounded slimness of her waist. - - Then down she sat to rest her for awhile, - And I could hear her crooning to herself: - - “O Sweetbriar, growing all alone - In shady, lonesome places, - By all but sun and dew unknown, - How full you are of graces! - - O Sweetbriar, with your fragrance rare - You woo me to come nigh you, - Your breath so fills the heavy air - I cannot well pass by you! - - O Sweetbriar, growing by the brook - The sleek, fat cattle wade in, - Say, will you share your cozy nook - With me--a happy maiden? - - O Sweetbriar, do the dew-drops fall - And make your soft leaves glisten? - O Sweetbriar, does the west wind call, - And do you wait and listen?” - - - - - Lac Deschene - - - O pretty, shallow, mimic lake! - Hedged in by rushes and wild rice, - Why is it that the wind can wake - And make you angry in a trice? - You were so peaceful and so still - Before the wind crept round the hill! - - The roystering, mischievous wind - That stooped and kissed you as you lay - In sunshine steeped--all bland and kind-- - Then racing, went away--away - To stir the languor of the wood, - And make its mutterings understood. - - And you, O pretty, shallow lake, - Must needs get ruffled and perplexed! - He kissed and fled, now wide-awake - You are at once, and cross, and vexed; - Lift your soft arms and let them fall-- - There is no stillness now at all. - - I think the pain of it is not - That it crept down to wake and kiss, - And give attentions all unsought, - I think the pain of it is this: - On your warm breast it did not stay, - It kissed, and then raced far away. - - You are so jealous you must cry - And toss about in much unrest-- - The rushes bend, the white gulls fly-- - In this wild mood I like you best. - You were too peaceful, and too still - Before the wind crept round the hill. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Deserted - - - She stood that night with a face so set, - So filled with bitterness and despair, - Closing my eyes, I can see her yet, - Sorrowful, broken, but passing fair. - - Her eyes were fixed on the sky above, - Where stars were shining so soft and clear; - Did the ghosts of innocence and love - Steal out of the gloom and stand quite near? - - So young to quiver beneath such smart! - A fairer brow ’twould be hard to find-- - The pity of it! a broken heart, - And childhood lying so close behind. - - I heard her whisper, “’Twas long ago - That I laughed for joy at the touch of morn, - Kneeled down and prayed in the light and glow-- - Ah me! I cry now--tempest-torn: - - “‘Thank God for night, and the world asleep’-- - Their eyes pierce through me the long, long day-- - Thank God for the darkness, soft and deep, - That folds me, and hides me quite away!” - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - My Neighbor - - - Say not, _I love the Lord_, unless you find - Within you, welling up by day and night, - A love, strong, full, and deep, for humankind-- - Unless you find it always a delight - To show the weary one a resting-place-- - To show the doubting one Faith’s shining way-- - To show the erring one the door of Grace-- - To show the sorrowing one where they may lay - Their broken hearts,--the heaviness--the care-- - The grief, the agony too sharp to bear. - - When each man is the neighbor whom we love, - According to the gracious measure of His word, - Then may we lift our eyes to heaven above, - And say with rapture sweet: _I love the Lord_. - - - - - Hollyhocks - - - Say, did you ever go to a place - Where nobody lived you cared about, - An’ jest go wanderin’ up an’ down, - Into all the great big stores, an’ out. - - An’ meetin’ sich heaps, an’ heaps of folks, - That pass you by with never a nod, - Till you got to feelin’ through an’ through - Jest right down lonesome, an, ’most outlawed. - - An’ you tell yourself if someone said - “_Will you have this place?_” You’d say, No thanks! - I wouldn’t live here for all the world, - Give me the fields, an’ the brooks an’ banks. - - Why the stuff that grows in your lots here - Can’t touch one side of our country stuff, - You have things tended to, right up fine, - But nature is sweet, though maybe rough. - - An’ your blossoms aren’t half so nice, - Nor your creepin’ vines, nor growin’ grass, - Why! ’cause ours swim in the sun all day, - An’ yours stretch their necks to see him pass. - - So you try somehow to pass the time, - A-wanderin’ up, and a-wanderin’ down, - So sick of yourself, but sicker still - Of the folks you meet, in that old town. - - Such dressy folks that don’t care a snap, - Not knowin’ you from Adam’s off ox, - An’ by an’ by you lift up your eyes, - An’ see such a clump of hollyhocks, - - A-holdin’ their own in some grand place, - With their shiny leaves spread in the sun, - Noddin’ so friendly, seemin’ to say - “Come in old neighbor, an’ share the fun!” - - There’s no flower nicer it seems to me, - There’s nothin’ prettier grows nor blows, - Though some folks call them old-fashioned things, - A-thinkin’ them homely I suppose. - - But you come across them some fine day - When you’re so homesick you can’t get air - Enough for your lungs down through your throat, - Because of the lump that’s stoppin’ there. - - An’ say, I would’nt wonder a bit - In you felt a mist come in your eyes - At sight of the bright familiar things,-- - The nicest flowers under the skies. - - For they set me thinkin’ of a house, - That stands by itself among the trees, - With a big wide porch, an’ stragglin’ walk - Bordered by jest such flowers as these, - - Till you hear the old familiar sounds, - The chirpin’, the buzzin’ soft an’ low, - An’ sniff the breath that comes with the wind - From the ripe, red clover down below. - - Till a big warm feelin’ swamps your heart, - You’re not so lonesome, there on their stalks - Are friends a-plenty, smilin’ at you, - The pretty old-fashioned hollyhocks. - - Folks write of pansy, rose, and fern, - But if I was a poet an’ could rhyme, - I wouldn’t bother with common things, - I’d write of hollyhocks, every time. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Miscreant - - - He glares out from the gathering dusk - With furtive glancing eye, - A creature hunted, and at war - With every passer-by. - - Such a malignant face he turns, - You feel a sudden fear, - Born of the knowledge which proclaims - An evil thing is near. - - A man goes by--ah, mark that scowl-- - A woman young and fair, - Evil the look he bends on her-- - Then comes a gallant pair. - - A laddie tall, and by his side - A baby-girl, who cries - _Good night!_ out to the miscreant, - And laughs up in his eyes. - - At strife is he with all the world, - But for a moment’s space, - Something akin to tenderness - Flares up in that dark face. - - - - - Her Birthday - - - Your birthday, my girl with the tender eyes, - And the dower of youth and zest, - It is kind of heaven to give us this day, - When the world is looking its best, - When the crimson roses are all abloom - With their sisters of paler grace, - When the sun makes warm, and the dew makes glad - Each velvety beautiful face. - - When the breeze which comes seems a heavy breath,-- - From the lungs of the earth o’ergrown - With the fairest things, and the sweetest things - That ever was seen, or known, - When the bird has an added note of pride - In each carol of joy he sings, - _Do you know? can you guess? my pretty mate, - And the wee things under my wings!_ - - Your birthday, my girl with the tender eyes - And the fair young cheek and brow, - Your birthday, my girl with the smiling lips, - What things shall I wish for you now? - Come close--put your two hands into my own - While I wish you a happy year, - While I wish you the best that heaven can give - To a maiden so sweet and dear. - - While I wish you love with never a stint, - For the riches of love are great-- - While I wish that shadows may flee your path, - And the glorious sunshine wait, - While I wish you the happiness, full and deep, - The gladness and brightness of life, - A place in your heart for the white dove of peace, - But none for the whisper of strife. - - Your birthday, my girl with the tender eyes - And the shimmering braids of hair-- - I say as I look through a mist of tears, - It is good to be young and fair, - It is well to lean on the Father’s arm, - Love forces the words in a flood: - _God bless my girl with the tender eyes! - God bless her and keep her good!_ - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Slander - - - The man who with the breath lent him by heaven - Speaks words that soil the whiteness of a life - Is but an assassin, for death is given - As surely by the tongue, as by the knife. - He does the devil’s basest work--no less-- - Who deals in calumnies--who throws the mire - On snowy robes whose hem he dare not press - His foul lips to. The pity of it! _Liar_, - Yet half believed, by such as deem the good - Or evil but the outcome of a mood. - O slanderer, if fierce imps meet in hell - For converse, when the long day’s toil is through, - Of _you_ they have this worthy thing to tell, - _He does the work we are ashamed to do!_ - - - - - Summer Holidays - - - School’s out! they cried, two happy wights; - School’s out for such a while, - The old bell won’t ding-dong to-day - And make us run a mile. - It seems too good--no lessons now - To tire us right out, - We’ve not a single thing to do - But run, and play, and shout. - - We’re going fishing in the creek - With bran new hook an’ line, - We’re going hunting in the woods, - O, holidays are fine! - We’re going to wade out in the pond - And scare the ducks and drake, - We’re going haying in the field, - And swimming in the lake. - - We’re going to jump, we’re going to sing, - And yell, and make a noise-- - ’Cause holidays come from the sky - For tired-out, shut-up boys. - That mean old bell that called so loud - Each time that it was rung, - _Come right straight in and hurry up!_ - Has just to hold its tongue. - - - - - Violet - - - O wrinkled, withered little flower, - You were so pretty and so blue - The day that you were given me, - By Mariana, fair and true. - - Angry and jealous had I been - That fragrant budding day in spring-- - Strange, that a man should let his mind - Be vexed by some light simple thing! - - She had gone walking with my friend, - A splendid fellow, with a face - As handsome as Apollo’s own, - And figure full of manly grace. - - And seeing that he gave to her - What seemed to me a tender gaze, - And that she was in happy mood, - My jealousy was all ablaze. - - I called her traitor in my heart-- - Was she not mine by every right? - Had I not held her to my breast, - And whispered things one starlight night? - - I strode away to where the waves - Rushed on the beach with sullen roar, - She cared not for me, why should I - Think fondly of her any more? - - Yet, when she softly called my name, - My heart beat quick with love and wrath, - And through the twilight soft and dim - I saw her coming down the path. - - Then love was dumb, and anger spake, - The eyes of her grew proud and shy, - I called her heartless, and coquette-- - What but a jealous fool was I? - - She turned to leave me, then I grew - Ashamed of all my bitter speech, - But she seemed now so far from me, - I could not hope her grace to reach. - - “Wait, Mariana, wait, and say - Farewell to one you hold in scorn!” - I cried, “and give to him I pray - One of the flowers you have worn.” - - O, Violet, she lifted you - Up with her slender finger tips, - Laid you for one brief moment’s space - Against the redness of her lips. - - Then gave you softly to my hand-- - O, Violet, so sweet and shy! - In all God’s universe there was - No happier man, I wot, than I. - - - - - My Lady of the Silver Tongue - - - My Lady of the Silver Tongue, - Do you not feel a thrill of shame? - The woman is so fair and young-- - Why seek to steal away her fame? - Nay, never mind that haughty stare, - For you and I must measure swords, - To tell you to your face I dare, - A lie lurked in your pretty words. - - Did you not say awhile ago - “_I am her friend_,”--in earnest tone-- - And soft that voice of yours, and low-- - “_I am her friend when all is done_;” - As though a friend a doubt would fling, - And evil tongues to wagging start! - _I am her friend_--ah, there the sting, - No friend will grieve and hurt a heart! - - Your eyes are very warm and kind, - And sweet the smile upon your lips, - I read the truth--I am not blind-- - False are you to your finger-tips, - And I would rather be, to-day, - The slandered woman, fair and young, - Than be yourself, so proud and gay, - My Lady of the Silver Tongue! - - A friend’s heart holds no wronging doubt, - No envy--meaner far than hate-- - With tenderness it pieces out - The small shortcomings, and the great. - So when you slander--blush for shame-- - Or, to some gossip’s tale attend, - I pray you take some other name, - And never say, _I am her friend_. - - For loyalty is not a jest, - No sweeter word is said or sung, - Take time to learn that truth is best, - My Lady of the Silver Tongue. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Sweeping to the Sea - - - O river, sweeping to the sea! - How clear your waters are,-- - So clear they mirror faithfully - Each fleecy cloud and star. - - O river, running to the sea! - How fresh the breath you fling, - As on you speed right merrily - From winds that chase and sing! - - - - - Minerva’s Essay - - - “_Men, give more frankness and less flattery_,” - So read Minerva from her essay fine. - “_Men, give more frankness and less flattery_,” - Much emphasis she laid upon this line. - “We are no foolish children to be fed - On empty words of unearned praise, forsooth, - Too long in such poor ways have we been led, - Give us no compliment--give us the truth, - Think not a woman pines to hear you tell - How beautiful her form, how fair her face, - Think not she whispers to herself, ‘’Tis well!’ - When you proclaim her rich in every grace. - You think to please her--Ah, sir, vain your dream, - - When next such fulsome praises you may speak, - Mark well her eyes, and read their scornful gleam, - And note the angry blush, on brow and cheek. - Be fair, speak out your thoughts as they may rise, - Nor seek to hide them, since the truth is grand - All praise unmerited we do despise, - If you could read our mind, and understand. - Men, give more frankness, and less flattery, - Remember, we are neither dull, nor blind, - Men, give more frankness, and less flattery, - If you would win the trust of womankind.” - - Much marvelled I at dear Minerva’s lay, - But thought she truly meant each earnest word, - And so neglected telling her straightway - How much her genius had my bosom stirred; - Neglected telling her that if two wings - But grew out from her shoulders soft and white, - Fair would she be as seraph mild that sings - The songs of love in Paradise to-night, - Neglected telling her the flowers she wore - Drooped with the heat of their own jealousy, - And whispered to each other o’er and o’er: - “Ah, how much sweeter is this maid than we!” - She begged for frankness from all men--from me-- - For this her wondrous eloquence was poured. - So afterwards when she did question me, - I--foolish man--confessed that I was bored. - And when she showed her gown of palest blue, - Shook for me all its dainty ruffles out, - I would not praise it--though I wanted to-- - Her red lips straight took on a pretty pout. - “Did not we graduates look very nice?” - She asked, and patted one rebellious curl. - - “Frankness, not flattery,” I murmured twice, - “Let me remember it my own dear girl!” - “I’ve seen you looking lovelier,” I said, - “I like your hair best when it softly flows, - Not piled in one big bunch upon your head-- - The powder showed quite plainly on your nose.” - Who was it said, “O, inconsistency, - Thy name is woman?” Surely he was right, - I spoke my thoughts, refrained from flattery, - Lo, for reward comes this brief note to-night: - - “I think to longer be engaged to you - Would be a foolish thing, and very wrong. - - POST-SCRIPT: - - Gray says he dreamed the whole night through - Of me, and of my essay wise and strong. - If you should call to night, at eight, pray bring - My notes--and--and--the photo, and the curl, - I will return your presents and your ring, - To think, that _you_ should grow into a churl.” - - I’m going to tell Minerva when we meet - That it was just a little joke of mine, - And nevermore--my cure is quite complete-- - Will I believe a woman’s essay fine. - - - - - To the Queen - - - We send thee greetings on this morn in May, - Long live the Queen, right fervently we pray! - We daughters of this country young and fair - Join all our voices, singing songs of thee, - O may the words ring clearly on the air, - And reach the island cradled in the sea. - Our Queen! lo, at the words a thrill of pride, - Of tenderness, and trust springs into life. - Our Queen, who rules so well her kingdom wide, - Our Queen, so soft in peace, so bold in strife. - - Our Queen! the love of loyal hearts we give, - We join our voices and we proudly say, - God bless the sweetest Woman--and long live - The greatest Ruler in the world to-day! - - - - - In the Old Church - - - “The fine new kirk is finished, wife--the old has had its day, - ’Tis like ourselves, a trifle worn, and out of date, and gray. - - Stained windows and a tower high--I like not such a show, - Beside the cost is something great, and money does not grow. - Now when they come to me for help I’m going to tell them, plain, - That since they’ve built to please themselves they’ll ask my - help in vain.” - - Then sat the woman at his side: “’Tis meet God’s house should be - As good a one as we can give,” she answered tenderly. - “And we who’ve worshipped all the years in that old church so gray, - Should go with songs, and thankful hearts, into the new to-day. - For think of all the precious hours we have had over there-- - The hours of penitence and tears, the hours of peace and prayer. - - I went to-day to say good-bye, and as I stood alone, - The memory of blessings shared came to me, one by one. - I heard the message from the Word, the sermon good and wise, - I heard the songs of love and hope ring clearly to the skies; - And looking over to the pew we’ve worshipped in for years, - I seemed to see so many things, to see them through my tears. - - I saw us sitting there when we were young, and glad, and strong, - Ere we had learned that sorrow lends a sweetness to life’s song - When every golden Sabbath day found us in love with life-- - The world was fair, and God was good, and we were man and wife. - One pretty far off summer morn my dim eyes seemed to see, - A morn when I sat by your side, our first-born on my knee; - - His fair head lay upon my arm, and rich was I, and proud, - I whispered in the Master’s ear things spoken not aloud; - And then our other bonnie lads grew plain unto my eyes, - And Belle--our lassie fair and good, our lassie sweet and wise. - I felt again her little hand clasped tightly in my own-- - A mother holds her daughter dear, and I had but the one. - - My soft eyed one, my loving one, with braids of yellow hair-- - Ah me! I could not help but know the little one was fair. - In the old church I thought upon our hour of grief and pain, - Of loneliness--_she went away and came not back again_-- - When broken-hearted ’neath the loss we bowed beneath the rod, - There, close about us in that hour, we felt the arm of God. - - I saw us older grown and bent, each tall son in his place, - I saw the minister who stood with heaven in his face, - His worn old face we loved so well, his eyes that seemed to see - The golden light that lights the shore of God’s eternity; - And yet how simple was his heart, how kindly was his way, - And how he cared for all his flock, nor wearied night nor day! - - If one strayed far he followed it, and won it back to fold, - If one fell down he lifted it with tenderness untold; - He fell asleep his labor done--how sweet must be the rest - Of one who made his motto this, _The Lord shall have my best_. - - Good-bye, old church! Good-bye, I said, and left its portals wide, - And then I turned and looked upon the new church just beside; - Upon its windows tall and stained the yellow sunbeams played, - It stood, the temple of the Lord, in loveliness arrayed. - “I thought,” she said, and stroked his hand, “of one who takes his rest, - I seemed to hear his deep voice say: _The Lord shall have my best_.” - - The sun crept lower in the sky, the world lay sweet and fair, - A bird trilled softly from its throat a song that was a prayer. - The old man looked up at his wife, with tears his cheeks were wet, - “Ay, there are many things,” he said, “we may not, dear, forget. - We’re growing old, wife, like the day our sun sinks in the west, - I’ll say with him we both loved well, _The Lord shall have my best_.” - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - September - - - September comes across the hills - Her blue veil softly flowing, - Her flagons deep of wine she spills, - And sets the old world glowing. - - Yon robin’s piping her a tune-- - How runs his carol tender? - “I knew you once as pretty June, - When you were young and slender. - - And though you’ve grown a gracious thing, - Full-blossomed, grand and stately, - I still can see a hint of spring-- - Your youth’s but left you lately.” - - - - - Spring o’ the Year - - - “_Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year!_” - Was there ever a song so gay, - As the song the meadow-lark sings to me - When we meet in the fields each day? - - “_Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year!_” - Then pauses a moment to look - At soft green leaves on shrub and tree, - And buttercups gay in the brook. - - “_Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year!_” - No more weather gloomy and sad, - Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year! - Aren’t you glad? Aren’t you glad? - - “_Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year!_” - Isn’t it blue--the sky above? - Watch ’em, watch ’em, these mates of mine, - Building their nests, and making love. - - “_Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year!_” - Ho! I sing it morning and night, - Never were meadows quite so green, - Never were posies quite so bright. - - “_Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year!_” - Out rings his song so sweet and shrill, - Its gladness catches you unawares, - With its gurgle, and laugh, and thrill. - - - - - Mildred - - - My lady Mildred tells me oft - That she is mistress now of me, - Her voice is very sweet and soft, - But, ah, an autocrat is she. - - Go, say the red lips, and I go, - Come, and I hasten to her side, - Her warm smile sets my heart aglow, - Her quaintness is my joy and pride. - - I used to say in phrases fine - That I was master of myself, - The proud boast is no longer mine; - I’m subject to a wilful elf. - - My Mildred with the rose-leaf face, - A tyrant spirit sways your breast, - For humbly though I sue your grace, - You will not grant a moment’s rest. - - I’ve served you for a whole long year-- - The woman new has come to stay-- - But tell me, now, have you no fear - That I will mutiny some day. - - You give yourself a lofty air, - Your throne an ill-used father’s knee-- - _Now worry fly, slink off dull care, - I have my girl, and she has me_. - - My lady Mildred without doubt, - Your tender eyes are full of mirth, - And by and by, your laugh rings out, - The gladdest sound in all the earth. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Old Valentine - - - I sent my sweetheart a valentine on one St. Valentine’s day, - A long time ago, when my hair was brown, ah, now it is sprinkled - with grey! - My sweetheart was pretty as she could be, a wild rose bloomed in - each cheek, - Her auburn hair rippled down to her waist, her eyes were tender and meek. - - And, O, my sweetheart was dear to me, though nobody could have guessed - From my careless glance, or my careless word, the tenderness in my - breast. - I sent my sweetheart a valentine, a flowery and foolish thing, - All covered with blue forget-me-nots, and cupids gay on the wing. - Two hearts pierced through, a ruffle of lace, a knot of ribbon, a dove, - And, better than all, a space whereon I could write a message of love; - So burning the midnight oil I wrote with infinite patience and care, - This one earnest verse (for rhyming came hard) to send to my lady fair: - “I love you, I love you with all my heart, And fain would I call - you mine, - My Mary, my darling, my beautiful girl, Let me be your valentine!” - - This yellow old page from the book of youth was put in my hand to-day, - As I growled, “Our Tom has fallen in love in a nonsensical way; - He is making a fool of himself--ha! ha! he is writing poetry now, - To his Anna’s lips, and his Anna’s hair, his Anna’s beautiful brow.” - - “Why what rubbish is this?” I asked my wife, a portly but sweet-faced - dame, - Who smilingly showed me the verse underneath which I had written my name; - Shamefaced, I read it again and again--let me confess to a truth-- - I felt like disowning the yellow thing that belonged to the days - of youth. - - Till I pictured myself an excited lad penning the words of care, - Knowing her answer would fill my heart with rapture or dark despair. - It was yesterday, who says we are old? “I do,” says Mary, my wife, - “But age has nothing to do with it, since the choosing was done - for life.” - - I bowed my grey head over her hand, “my sweetheart,” I whispered low, - On this Valentine’s day I tender you the verse written long ago. - - “I love you, I love you with all my heart, - And fain would I call you mine, - My Mary, my darling, my beautiful girl, - Let me be your Valentine.” - - - - - The Boy of the House - - - He was the boy of the house you know, - A jolly and rollicking lad, - He was never tired and never sick, - And nothing could make him sad. - - If he started to play at sunrise, - Not a rest would he take at noon; - No day was so long from beginning to end - But his bed-time came too soon. - - Did some one urge that he make less noise, - He would say with a saucy grin, - “Why, one boy alone doesn’t make much stir-- - I’m sorry I isn’t a twin! - - “There’s two of twins--oh it must be fun - To go double at everything, - To holler by twos, and to run by twos, - To whistle by twos, and to sing!” - - His laugh was something to make you glad, - So brimful was it of joy, - A conscience he had, perhaps, in his breast, - But it never troubled the boy. - - You met him out in the garden path, - With the terrier at his heels, - You knew by the shout he hailed you with - How happy a youngster feels. - - The maiden auntie was half distraught - At his tricks, as the day went by, - “The most mischievous child in the world!” - She said, with a shrug and a sigh. - - His father owned that her words were true, - And his mother declared each day - Was putting wrinkles into her face, - And was turning her brown hair grey. - - His grown-up sister referred to him - As a trouble, a trial, a grief, - “The way he ignored all rules,” she said, - “Was something beyond belief.” - - But it never troubled the boy of the house, - He revelled in clatter and din, - And had only one regret in the world-- - That he hadn’t been born a twin. - - * * * * * - - There’s nobody making a noise to-day, - There’s nobody stamping the floor, - There’s an awful silence up-stairs and down, - There’s crape on the wide hall door. - - The terrier’s whining out in the sun-- - “Where’s my comrade?” he seems to say, - Turn your plaintive eyes away, little dog, - There’s no frolic for you to-day. - - The freckle-faced girl from the house next door, - Is sobbing her young heart out, - Don’t cry little girl, you’ll soon forget - To miss the laugh and the shout. - - The grown-up sister is kissing his face, - And calling him “darling” and “sweet,” - The maiden aunt is holding the shoes - That he wore on his restless feet. - - How strangely quiet the little form, - With the hands on the bosom crossed! - Not a fold, not a flower out of place, - Not a short curl rumpled and tossed! - - So solemn and still the big house seems-- - No laughter, no racket, no din, - No startling shriek, no voice piping out, - “I’m sorry I isn’t a twin!” - - There’s a man and a woman pale with grief, - As the wearisome moments creep; - Oh! the loneliness touches everything-- - The boy of the house is asleep. - - - - - For He was Scotch and so was She - - - They were a couple well-content - With what they earned and what they spent, - Cared not a whit for style’s decree, - For he was Scotch, and so was she. - - And O, they loved to talk of Burns; - Dear, lithesome, tender, Bobby Burns! - They never wearied of his song, - He never sang a note too strong, - One little fault could neither see, - For he was Scotch, and so was she. - - They loved to read of men who stood - And gave for country, life and blood, - Who held their faith so dear a thing - They scorned to yield it to a king; - Ah! proud of such they well might be-- - For he was Scotch, and so was she. - - From neighbor’s broil they kept away-- - No liking for such things had they, - And O, each had a cannie mind! - Each could be deaf, and dumb, and blind; - Of words--nor pence--were none too free-- - For he was Scotch, and so was she. - - I would not have you think this pair - Went on in weather always fair, - For well you know in married life - Will come, sometimes, the jar and strife; - They couldn’t always just agree-- - For he was Scotch, and so was she. - - But near of heart they ever kept, - Until at close of life they slept, - Just this to say when all was past-- - They loved each other to the last, - They’re loving yet in heaven, maybe-- - For he was Scotch, and so was she. - - - - - The Legend of Love - - - There’s a cup on the very topmost shelf - Of the cupboard built in the wall, - On one side a vine is traced on the delf - With forget-me-nots blue and small; - On the other the words stand boldly up - That were once a pride and a joy, - For a legend it bears, this old-fashioned cup, - Which runs, “For a good little boy!” - - ’Twas bought by a mother with eyes as blue - As forget-me-nots pretty and shy, - When youth was her portion, and love was true, - And the days went merrily by. - - On the cottage floor where the sunbeams crept, - Played her own sturdy lad of three, - And but yesterday he smiled and he slept - Such a pretty babe on her knee. - - He followed her down to the garden gate - On her way to the little town, - “Now hurry right back, and don’t you be late,” - He said with a pout and a frown. - - He must have some toys for the Christmas-tide, - So she bought him a tiny sled, - And a nice little box of sweets beside - To go into his mouth so red. - - “Was there anything else!” she asked herself, - “She could buy for the laddie small?” - It was then that she saw the cup of delf - Which stands on the shelf in the wall. - - “For a good little boy,” ah, that meant him, - With a face as sweet as a rose, - “He is good,” she said, and her eyes grew dim, - “From his curly head to his toes.” - - And she carried her treasures one by one - To the cottage down in the lane, - Where the winter sunbeams brightly shone - On his face at the window pane. - - He was proud of the sleigh with its jingling bells - And the box was a thing of joy, - “But the cup is best,” he said, “for it tells - That I’m such a good little boy.” - - O poor little mother, your eyes so blue, - Faded out with the wash of tears! - O poor little mother, your heart so true, - It broke with the weight of years! - - And there, on the very topmost shelf, - The old-fashioned cup it has stood, - Since a day long ago when she owned to herself - That her boy was no longer good. - - There is dust on it now, but believe me, dear, - It was once a pride and a joy, - With its legend of love, so bright and so clear, - Which runs, “For a good little Boy.” - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Our Father - - - Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say - The words, _Our Father_, when we kneel to pray, - Our Father thou, then every child of thine - Is, by the bond, a brother, Lord, of mine. - - Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say - _Thy will be done_, when we kneel down to pray-- - Thy will be done--then our proud wills must break - And lose themselves in love for Thy dear sake. - - Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say - _Give us our daily bread_, when thus we pray; - We will be trustful when we understand, - Nor grasp the loaf from out a brother’s hand. - - Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say, - _Forgive our trespasses_, when, meek, we pray; - Forgive! the word was made in Paradise, - And this world’s hope and faith within it lies. - - Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say - The words Christ gave us, when we kneel to pray, - For when we know and live their meaning deep, - No heart will need to break, no eyes to weep. - - - - - Jack - - - Jack’s dead an’ buried, it seems odd, - A deep hole covered up with sod - A lyin’ out there on the hill, - An’ Jack, as never could keep still, - A sleepin’ in it. Jack could race, - And do it at a good old pace, - Could sing a song, an’ laugh so hard - That I could hear him in our yard - When he was half-a-mile away. - Why not another boy could play - Like him, or run, or jump so high, - Or swim, no matter how he’d try, - An’ I can’t get it through my head - At all, at all, that Jack is dead. - - Jack’s mother didn’t use to be - So awful good to him an’ me, - For often when I’d go down there - On Saturday’s, when it was fair, - To get him out to fish or skate, - She’d catch me hangin’ round the gate, - An’ look as cross as some old hen, - An’ tell me, “Go off home again, - It’s not the thing for boys,” she’d say, - “A hangin’ round the creek all day, - You go off home and do your task, - No, Jack can’t go, you needn’t ask,” - An’ when he got in scrapes, why, she - Would up and lay it on to me, - An’ wish I lived so far away - Jack couldn’t see me every day. - - But last night when I’d done the chores, - It seemed so queer like out of doors, - I kept a listenin’ all the while - An’ looking down the street a mile; - I couldn’t bear to go inside, - The house is lonesome since he died, - The robber book we read by turns - Is lyin’ there--an’ no boy learns - All by himself, ’cause he can’t tell - How many words he’ll miss or spell, - Unless there’s someone lookin’ on - To laugh at him when he gets done. - - An’ neighbor women’s sure to come - A visitin’ a feller’s home, - An’ talkin’ when they look at me - ’Bout how thick us two used to be-- - A stealin’ off from school, an’ such-- - An’ askin’ “Do I miss him much?” - ’Till I sneak off out doors, you see, - They just can’t let a feller be! - Well, I walked down the road a bit, - Smith’s dog came out, I throwed at it, - An’ do you know it never howled - Same as it always did, or growled, - It seemed to say, “why! Jim’s alone, - Now, I wonder where’s that other one?” - - Afore I knew it I was down - Way at the other end of town, - A hangin’ round in the old way - For some one to come out an’ play. - There wasn’t no one there to look - So I slipped in to our old nook, - I found his knife hid in the grass - Where we’d been Zulus at the pass, - The can of bait, an’ hook an’ line, - Were lyin’ with the ball of twine, - An’ “Jim,” I seemed to hear him say, - “The fish will suffer some to-day!” - - ’Twas more than I could stand just then, - I got up to go off home, when - Someone kissed me on the cheek, - An’ hugged me so I couldn’t speak, - You won’t believe it, like as not, - But ’twas Jack’s mother, an’ a lot - Of great big tears came stealin’ down - Right on my face; she didn’t frown - A single bit--kept sayin’ low, - “My blue eyed boy! I loved you so!” - Of course I knew just right away - That she meant Jack--my eyes are grey-- - But Jack, he had the bluest eyes, - Blue like you see up in the skies, - An’ shine that used to come and go-- - One misses eyes like his you know. - - An’ by-an-by she up and tried - To tell me that she’d cried an’ cried, - A thinkin’ of the times that she - Had scolded Jack an’ scolded me, - An’ other things that I won’t tell - To anyone, because--O, well, - Boys can’t do much, but they can hold - Tight on to secrets till they’re old. - She’s Jack’s relation, that’s why she - Feels kind of lovin’ like to me, - But when she called me her own lad, - Oh, say, I felt just awful bad; - My head it went round in a whirl, - I up and cried just like a girl. - - But say, if Jack did see us two - He laughed a little, don’t you know, - For if I’d ever brag around - That I’d lick some one, safe an’ sound, - He’d laugh an’ say, “Jim, hold your jaw! - You know your’re scared to death of maw.” - Oh! I’d give all this world away - If I could hear him laugh to-day, - I get so lonesome, it’s so still - An’ him out sleepin’ on that hill; - For nothin’ seems just worth the while - A-doin’ up in the old style, - Cause everything we used to do - Seemed always jus’ to need us two. - My throat aches till I think ’twill crack, - I don’t know why--it must be Jack. - - There ain’t no fun, there ain’t no stir, - His mother--well ’tis hard on her, - But she can knit, and sew, and such-- - Oh, she can’t miss him half so much! - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - A Pledge. - - - I sit alone, to-night--to-day our two roads meet, - You helped me find the right, and I will not forget; - I’m pledged to do my best with lips that will not lie, - To strive with mind and heart as all the days go by. - - You looked so strong and bold when all was done and said-- - You have a heart of gold--and I have one of lead-- - Some day I’ll climb the height, if fortune fair betide, - I only know to-night the world is strangely wide. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Blue Eyed Bess. - - - But let us argue for a space - Before we say that long good-bye, - Now heaven grant us store of grace, - We are so human, you and I. - - Full well you know the old time way - Will easiest seem unto our feet, - Full well you know with yesterday - No fair to-morrow may compete. - - Then some day, Bess, we will be old, - Think you our hearts content will stay - With bleak December, or, grown bold, - Will they not race back into May? - - Look not upon his acres wide, - But think how weary life would be, - Your body walking at his side, - Your soul back in the spring with me. - - Why will you try to cheat poor love - Who only asks you for his own, - His blindness should compassion move, - Yet what compassion have you shown? - - Say, “Love, take all I have to give, - For nothing would I keep from thee, - We’ll walk together while we live, - And thou shalt make the path for me.” - - The pretty blush is on your face, - We will not say that long good-bye, - Now heaven grant us store of grace, - We are so human, you and I. - - - - - The Courtier’s Ladye - - - My ladye’s face is proud and fair, - My ladye’s eyes are grey, - She goeth out to take the air - On every sunny day. - - My ladye wears a gown of blue - That falleth to her feet, - All broidered o’er with pearls like dew, - And daisies shy and sweet. - - My ladye wears a hat of silk, - That fairy hands did spin, - And strings it hath as white as milk, - To tie beneath her chin. - - My ladye wears upon her breast - A knot of ribbon gay, - But who her heart doth love the best-- - My ladye will not say. - - And, O, the jewels rich and rare - Do make the eye grow dim, - That sparkle in her powdered hair, - And on her fingers slim. - - My ladye wears a satin shoe, - With silver buckle wide, - A tiny thing from heel to toe - That is my joy and pride. - - My ladye wears upon her face - A little touch of scorn, - No fuller share of pride and grace - Hath any woman born. - - My ladye’s face is sweet and fair, - My ladye’s eyes are grey, - She goeth out to take the air - On every sunny day. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Rustic’s Lassie - - - My lassie’s face is fair to see, - My lassie’s eyes are blue, - And always do they tell to me - Her heart is fond and true. - - There’s silk, too, on my lassie’s head, - As yellow as the gold, - And woven is each shining thread - Into a braided fold. - - But never fairy hands did spin - Silk like my lassie’s hair, - As for the strings beneath her chin - I would not have them there. - - Lest one dear dimple growing shy - That everyone should see, - Within those silken strings would try - To hide itself from me. - - My lassie wears a gown of white, - Which needs no pearls to deck, - With lace like cobweb, soft and light, - Full-gathered at her neck. - - My lassie wears upon her breast - No knot of ribbon gay, - Forget-me-nots she loves the best, - Plucked at the dawn of day. - - My lassie’s feet like two white mice - Go slipping through the grass, - And all the dew-drops think them nice, - And kiss them as they pass. - - The satin shoe with buckle drest - Is richer, it may be, - But if the truth must be confest, - Not half so good to see. - - My lassie’s face is fair to see, - My lassie’s eyes are blue, - And always do they tell to me - Her heart is fond and true. - - - - - Her Dower - - - One angel brought a birth-day gift, - Straight from the courts above, - “Now soft thy voice, and bright thy smile, - For I do give thee Love.” - - Another came on snowy wings, - Tipped with a golden light, - “I bring the gift of Purity - To keep thy dear heart white.” - - The third had music in his tones: - “I bring thee Courage, strong, - To guard both Love and Purity - From what would do them wrong. - - “For tender feet must press the paths-- - The crowded paths of life-- - And tender souls must meet the shock - And din of passions strife. - - “Walk thou unmoved through perils great, - While we thy strength applaud, - With Courage true I crown to-day - The fairest work of God.” - - - - - Mavourneen - - - So still you sleep upon your bed, - So motionless and slender, - It cannot be that you are dead, - My little maiden tender. - - You were no creature pale and meek - That death should hasten after, - The red rose bloomed upon your cheek, - Your lips were made for laughter. - - To you the great world was a place - That care might never stay in, - A playground built by God’s good grace - For happy folks to play in. - - You made your footpath by life’s flowers, - O happy little maiden, - The sky was full of shine and showers, - The wind was perfume-laden. - - I came and found you sweet and wild, - Love--only love--could tame you, - To think, O pretty thoughtless child - That greedy death must claim you. - - Your dimpled hands are folded now - Above the snowy bosom, - The lilies creep and kiss your brow, - O tender broken blossom! - - The white lids hide the eyes so clear, - So witching and beguiling, - But as my tears fall on you dear - Your lips seem softly smiling. - - And do you feel that it is home, - The City we call heaven? - Ah! were they glad to have you come, - My little maid of seven? - - Methinks when you stand all in white - To learn each sweet new duty, - Some eye will note with keen delight - Your radiance and beauty. - - And when your laughter softly rings - Out where God’s streets do glisten, - The angels fair will fold their wings - And still their song to listen. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Song of the Wind. - - - O Wind you come singing, singing, - Gaily about the eaves, - I think you are bringing, bringing, - The secret of the leaves; - Secrets you learned in the Maytime, - Down in the wood so cool, - Learned in the night-time and day-time, - By bank, and brook, and pool. - - O wind, you go shrilling, shrilling, - Over the chimneys high, - While the clouds are softly spilling - Rain on the gardens dry: - ’Tis autumn, the wild new-comer - Has taught you how to sing, - But the voice of the sweet dead summer - Through it all seems to ring. - - O wind, you are railing, railing, - ’Tis the voice of a shrew, - Wearied at length, and failing, - Then beginning anew: - Here you come sighing, sighing, - Down to my casement wide, - A moment and you are flying - Away in pique and pride. - - I love your chasing and panting, - I love the melody, - That you go so gaily chanting - To earth, and sky, and sea. - Our birds go southward soaring, - When signs of frost appear, - You, with your sighing and roaring, - Sing to us all the year. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Richer Man - - - You know how it is--you have had the gain, - The sweetness and pleasures of life, - I the fruitless striving, the heat to attain, - The toil, the failure, the strife. - - Then we chance to come by the will of fate - To the warmth of one woman’s eyes, - And fate decrees it is not too late - To give me a great surprise. - - And the woman turns with matchless grace - The bloom of her tender cheek, - And her red lips smiling--her glorious face, - Her glance so loving and meek. - - To me--to the penniless bankrupt one, - And I find my portion at last, - And heaven as real, when all is done, - As the hell of the bitter past. - - The glories of earth are but chaff in the wind, - The riches of earth but a song, - Now listen, my brother, I think you will find - You have tried to do me a wrong. - - You had all that to me had been denied, - I starved while you feasted well, - You have fame, and a hundred things beside, - You have watched your coffers swell. - - Yet when we come by the will of fate - To the warmth of one woman’s eyes, - And fate declares it is not too late - To give me a great surprise. - - You come with the weight of your yellow gold, - And the trappings of your success; - You come with your bearing, courtly and bold, - You woo in your haughtiness. - - You try to dazzle her eyes of blue, - And you try to steal for yourself - The heart of a woman good and true, - Go, be content with your pelf. - - Learn there are treasures you may not grasp, - Joys you must surely miss, - The hand you court lies in my clasp - The lips are my own to kiss. - - A penniless fellow! you used to say-- - Own to the truth if you can-- - We stand here together this summer’s day, - And _I_ am the _richer_ man. - - - - - His Wife and Boy. - - - Love is a myth which men create from vapors of the heart and brain, - Thus far the poet grave did get, then from a smile could not refrain, - Someone was singing, he could hear - Each word so low and sweet and clear, - “By Baby Bunting! - Papa’s gone a-hunting, - To get a little rabbit skin - To wrap the Baby-Bunting in.” - - Right well he knew that picture fair - Might set a stoic’s heart aglow, - For it was such a bonnie pair, - So gently rocking to and fro. - The old song was a foolish thing, - Yet it seemed good to hear her sing, - “By Baby Bunting! - Papa’s gone a-hunting, - To get a little rabbit-skin - To wrap his Baby-Bunting in.” - - The sunshine would be creeping down - Upon her hair of golden brown, - And farther yet that it might peep - At her awake, at him asleep, - And both were his to have and hold, - How runs the foolish song so old? - “By Baby-Bunting! - Papa’s gone a-hunting - To get a little rabbit-skin - To wrap the Baby-Bunting in.” - - But he must to his hunting go, - A cloak this pen of his must win - As soft as silk and white as snow, - To wrap the Baby-Bunting in. - Strange that his poem deep and strong - Should wait upon a nursery song, - “By Baby-Bunting! - Papa’s gone a hunting, - To get a little rabbit skin - To wrap the Baby-Bunting in.” - - Love is a myth that men create - From vapors of the heart and brain, - O pen, I fear you lied of late! - Hark, softly rings the old refrain! - “By Baby-Bunting! - Papa’s gone a-hunting, - To get a little rabbit-skin - To wrap the Baby-Bunting in.” - - - - - She Just Keeps House For Me - - - She is so winsome and so wise - She sways us at her will, - And oft the question will arise - What mission does she fill? - And so I say with pride untold - And love beyond degree, - This woman with the heart of gold - She just keeps house for me-- - For me, - She just keeps house for me. - - A full content dwells in her face, - She’s quite in love with life, - And for a title, wears with grace - The sweet old-fashioned “Wife,” - And so I say with pride untold, - And love beyond degree, - This woman with the heart of gold - She just keeps house for me-- - For me, - She just keeps house for me. - - What though I toil from morn till night, - What though I weary grow, - A spring of love and dear delight - Doth ever softly flow, - And so I say with pride untold, - And love beyond degree, - The woman with the heart of gold - She just keeps house for me. - - Our children climb upon her knee - And lie upon her breast, - And ah! her mission seems to me - The highest and the best, - And so I say with pride untold, - And love beyond degree, - This woman with the heart of gold - She just keeps house for me. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Love’s Humility - - - “I love her, yes,” the younger of them said, - “I think her beautiful beyond compare; - How proudly does she carry that small head, - With all its wealth of silky night-black hair? - And then her warm red mouth--I see it now-- - Was it not made for kisses? And her chin - So round and firm--the smooth unwrinkled brow, - Each cheek with such a cunning dimple in. - She is so piquant, winsome, fair, and good, - I could not choose but love her if I would. - - “Did I not love her well, think you her charms - Would move my pulse in this delicious way, - And make me long to fold her in my arms, - Hold her love’s prisoner by night and day? - ’Tis joy to think of her white-lidded eyes-- - So full of dreams, so full of tender speech-- - Her slender form--and yet, it were not wise - To be too rash--come, let your wisdom teach. - She is so piquant, winsome, fair, and good, - I could not choose but love her if I would. - - “I fain would make her all my own, this maid, - I love her well, but would it be quite right - To risk so much? At times I grow afraid - To lift her up to such a dizzy height. - You know my prospects and you know my pride, - (It is a weighty matter to be wed) - And yet, I only know when at her side - That life is rich in joy and bliss,” we said. - “She is so piquant, winsome, fair, and good, - I could not choose but love her if I would.” - - “I could not choose but love her if I would” - You boast, but if you loved her you would say, - “I would not choose but love her if I could,” - So answered him the old man, stern and gray. - “There’s passion in your words, but you have fears, - Your high position! Ah! you are afraid! - Boy, learn this truth from one of sober years, - The man who really, truly, loves a maid - Knows only two things well--no more, no less-- - Her matchless worth--his own unworthiness.” - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Our Host and His House - - - Nay, rail not, dear, at Time in such rude way, - ’Tis scarcely fair, since he has been our host - For such a while. And rail not at the world, - This grey old ivy-covered manor-house wherein - He long has entertained us both. Since we - Have broken bread with him, danced in his halls, - Let us not talk of him in slighting way. - - What though - He has not given lavishly, - For daily use, the rich things in his store? - Rare things grow common, quite, when they are used - In common way--you know this for yourself-- - And delicacies lose their flavor when - The palate tires of them. - But ah, on state - Occasions has he not been prodigal? - O wine of life that he has poured for us! - Poured freely till it ran the goblet o’er, - And trickled down in little rosy streams! - - Believe me, dear, for all his length of beard - So snowy white, his venerable air, - Enough of youth lurks in his bosom still - To make him lenient with foolishness. - For often has he stolen off and left - Us standing heart to heart, - And has he not - Sometimes, stilled all his house lest we should wake - Too soon from some wrapt dream of tenderness? - Then, too, for playthings he has given us hours - Filled full enough of rapture unalloyed - To cover every day of all the years - With common happiness if properly - Spread out. - - As for this grey old world, - It is not half so murk, so wanting in - All light, all glow, and warmth, as some declare-- - As we oft picture to ourselves, my dear, - It has its windows looking east and west, - It has its sunset and its morning gold; - The trouble is we _will_ look toward the east - At eventide, and toward the sombre west - When heaven is shaking down upon the world, - A lusty infant day. And so we miss - The glory of the sunset and the dawn. - - - - - The Mother’s Story - - - She told a wonderful story, the mother so fair and good, - Of the deep and strange old mystery men have never understood. - It was such a pretty story I wove it into a rhyme - To read to myself, when the skies were grey, at the end of summertime. - - “Now listen,” she said, “my children, to every word that I say, - Dear Marjory, share the hearthrug with your restless sister May, - And you, my lad, with the great dark eyes, may share the couch with me, - While the baby-girl, with doll in arms, shall sit upon mother’s knee. - - Your faces change as I carry your thoughts through the ebb and flow - Of someone’s joys, and someone’s hopes, and I love to watch the glow - In Marjory’s eyes as we talk of elves in their wild and wanton glee, - When they make the dim old forest ring with the sound of revelry. - - But May cares only to listen when I tell some quaint home tale, - She likes a cot on a wooded hill, and flocks of sheep in the vale, - While you, my lad, with the dreamy eyes, you love the prose and - the rhyme, - The deeds of daring, the deeds of might, of good King Arthur’s time. - - To-day May asked me a question, and I’ve pondered it for hours, - _God’s acre_, she said, _is full of bloom--do the dead folks turn - to flowers?_ - There’s a tender story, my children, that may comfort you some day - When mother sleeps in God’s acre, and the flowers blossom gay. - - The soft-voiced angels of Life and Love they whispered to Christ one day - We pray Thee that when one fair and good in the earth is laid away, - That we in the golden dawn may go alone where the sleeper lies, - And sing in the solemn silence the songs learned in Paradise.” - - Answered Christ, “Go sing till comes springing up, up from the - sod beneath, - The lily, white as a ransomed soul, the rose with its fragrant breath.” - A silence fell on the little group, there were tears in Marjory’s eyes, - It was a wonderful story, and mother was O, so wise! - - Then the wee girl clapped her dimpled hands, and said in her loving way, - “When you turn to a posy, mamma, I’ll water you every day.” - It was such a pretty story I wove it into a rhyme, - To read to myself, when the skies were grey, at the end of summertime. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - In Lover’s Lane - - - O, ranting bully with clamorous breath, - O, vandal, why come you down from the North - With frost in your breath, and wrath in your voice, - And force in your arms to level and toss? - You rush through the wood and threaten the trees-- - The giants of oak, of beech, and of elm, - Playmates of yours ere age had o’ertaken, - Stolen their vigor, their sap, and their life. - The tender child-trees, the slender child-trees - You worry, you beat, you fling to the earth, - Lithe and supple are they to defy you, - Swiftly they spring up as soon as you pass, - Trembling a little with fear and anger, - But whole and unhurt--the slender young things! - - Is it not enough that you bend and you break, - And make you a path wherever you go, - But you must enter this quiet old lane, - Shut out from the world by lattice of vines, - Where Eve, pretty Eve, so prim and demure - Is walking with someone, taking the air? - You rest behind them plotting new mischief, - Rest till a soft hush falls down on the world, - Rest till the growing things listen and laugh - Thinking you gone to your lair in the North, - Then you begin to stir and to mutter, - Growing in anger, till, big with your wrath, - On you come rushing--vandal how can you - Liberties take with a maiden so fair? - - Eve, as you walk so primly beside him, - Keeping your distance, nor heeding his sighs. - Chin tilted forward, eyes straight before you, - Parasol swinging in one little hand, - Blue gown all flounces, ribbons a-flutter, - Dainty, and winsome, and proud as a queen! - - There is no time--the boorish thing takes you-- - You and your ruffles, your ribbons and curls, - You and your primness, your blushes, and airs, - Straight to the arms of the man at your side. - You have no conscience swaggering north wind, - Else would you hasten and leave them alone; - Why must you push her yet nearer to him? - Buffet and beat her--you ruffian strong! - She has to hide her face on his bosom, - While you go whirling in ecstasy round, - Then you loosen her bronze hair and fling it, - Warm and electric, up over his cheek, - Hair soft and shiny, full of allurement, - Tempting a mortal to feel of its gold. - - Down you go soberly over the fields, - Making believe you have left them for good, - Driving the cattle and scaring the flocks, - Shaking the cedars that stand on the hill; - Then, when she loosens herself from his grasp, - Laughing and blushing, and red as a rose, - Back you come flying on mischief intent - Pleased to torment the fair maid in the lane. - - Oh, how you buffet her, boor that you are! - Oh, how you flutter her garments abroad! - Clutch at her flounces, so pretty and neat! - Worry the ribbons that hang at her waist! - Then growing fiercer, you roar and you rage, - Whirling and twirling to show off your strength, - Pay no attention to prayer--or mishap-- - Drive her to shelter again in his arms. - Watching so closely the glances she gives, - Wondering greatly how much she regrets, - All that has happened, since, prim and demure, - Out from the farmhouse she started at noon. - “Maidens are queer things,” you laugh to yourself, - “Hiding their faces and owning to naught; - Why must she whimper? - - She’s glad to be there, - Glad to be holding so closely to him, - Glad to feel round her his care-taking arms, - Glad to be list’ning to all that he tells, - Glad that I rumpled her shiny bronze hair, - Making her fairer in somebody’s eyes; - Glad that I thrashed out her primness and pride, - Glad! she’ll not own it--mark her distress now-- - Oh! but these maidens are curious things!” - - Listen, old North Wind, listen and peer, - You have no manners, no conscience, no shame, - Words of the lovers you greedily seize-- - Seize, and go shrieking them out to the world! - _She is an angel! so fair, and so tender! - Too good for mortal--the loveliest, best!_ - - O, you prying, inquisitive meddler! - One thing you miss though--the sweetest of all-- - Not even a breath of love’s first warm kiss - Is wasted on you--O boor of the North! - - - - - O Last Days of the Year - - - “O last days of the year!” she whispered low, - “You fly too swiftly past. Ah, you might stay - Awhile, a little while, do you not know - What tender things you bear with you away? - - I’m thinking, sitting in the soft gloom here, - Of all the riches that were mine the day - There crept down on the world the soft new year, - A rosy thing with promise filled--and gay. - - But twelve short months ago! a little space - In which to lose so much--a whole life’s wealth - Of love and faith, youth, and youth’s tender grace-- - Things that are wont to go from us by stealth. - - Laughter and blushes, and the rapture strong, - The clasp of clinging hands, the burning kiss, - The joy of living, and the glorious song - That drew its sweetness from a full heart’s bliss. - - O gladness great! - O wealth of tenderness! - That were my own one little year ago, - A bankrupt I--gone faith, gone warm caress, - Gone love, gone youth, gone _all_,” - She whispered low. - - “O last days of the year! - You take away - The riches that I held so close and dear, - Go not so swiftly, stay a little--stay - With one poor bankrupt, - Last days of the year!” - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Back on the Farm - - - I’ll tell you what I wish I was, - When days like these arrive, - An’ spring puts all her gewgaws on, - An’ all the world’s alive. - - I wish I was a boy again-- - A boy back on the farm-- - A-watchin’ all the growin’ stuff, - An’ cowslips gettin’ warm. - - A playin’ round the whole long day - As happy as a lark, - An’ never out of mischief once - From daylight until dark. - - With such a lot of things to hear - An’ such a lot to see, - An’ my dog Rover at my heels, - To keep me company. - - A watchin’ the big sun go down - Behind the tree-tops high, - An’ wishin’ I could climb the one - That reached up to the sky. - - A-listenin’ to the katydids - A-jawin’ in the lane, - An’ sniffin’ up the earthy smell - That comes before a rain. - - Laughin’ to see the white-wool’d sheep - Come skippin’ down the hill, - An’ feelin’ such a heap of joy - I couldn’t quite keep still. - - An’ by-an’-by, a dozin’ off, - An’ wakin’ up to hear - My mother say: “Come in the house, - ’Tis past your bedtime, dear.” - - A longin’ takes me on these days - When all the world gets warm, - A-longin’ just to be a boy-- - A boy back on the farm. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - He Meditates on the Critic - - - “Criticism is a tonic, - Very healthy in effect,” - Wrote he, and my verse Byronic - Did most _ruthlessly_ reject. - - He’s a villain--deep--politic-- - Bitter things these tonics, all, - Manufactured by the critic - From his mighty store of gall. - - - - - Jacynth - - - “We have been something more than friends, Jacynth, - You know that well, yet now you say ‘my friend, - I give you welcome home,’ in such cold way - I scarce believe it is Jacynth who speaks-- - Jacynth, who used to give--but let it pass. - The new year finds me with a heavy heart, - I come to seek the girl - I used to know, - The happy, trusting, tender girl, and lo-- - I find her grown into a woman proud, - With richer dower of beauty for her own, - But far less lovable than my Jacynth.” - - _Jacynth_: - “We both are changed, I think.” - - _Derwent_: - “It is not so. - I am not of the sort that gets new friends - Like fashions for each season as it comes.” - - _Jacynth_: - “Hark to the bells! a happy year, Derwent; - Give me your hand and wish as much for me.” - - _Derwent_: - “You wish me happiness, and yet deny - My heart the highway to it.” - - _Jacynth_: - “Happiness! - I would that words might win the illusive - Thing to carry with thee alway. How I - Would wheedle! She cannot suit her step - To ours for long, she wearieth of our slow - And sober pace and flitteth where she will-- - Now near, now far away. We search in vain, - And when we go with down-bent head and eyes - Tear-filled, lo! on a sudden shineth round - Our feet her rainbow hues, and to our breast - She creepeth down with eager willingness.” - - _Derwent_: - - “There’s sweetness in thy words, such sweetness as - Wells up from fragrant things tho’ they be dead, - _A violet’s breath lives longer than its bloom_, - So in this tender wish of thine I read - Once on a time thy love was mine.” - - _Jacynth_: - “And Peace-- - Sweet Peace, whose softest note can drown the cry - Of bitterness--Oh! I would have her keep - Thy company, go with thee all the day, - Sleep on thine heart from dusk till rosy dawn, - And all such pretty joys be borne to thee - As come with fragrant breath, and dewy lips, - And subtle tender touch, to keep our love - Towards God and man a warm and living thing. - A Happy Year! - A Happy, Happy Year!” - - _Derwent_: - “Nay, from the velvet heart of flower in bloom - Comes this last wave of sweetness; - My Jacynth, - Love is not dead in that white breast of thine, - O glad bells! ring ye out to all the world, - A Happy Year! - A Happy, Happy Year!” - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Her First Sleigh-ride - - - All night the snowflakes sought the earth--the snowflakes big and white-- - They covered up the meadows brown, they bent the bushes slight! - At morn the sun with wondrous pomp came climbing o’er the hill, - And lent a thousand beauties to the world so fair and still. - Ruth at the old manse window stood, a wonder in her gaze, - “The earth was turned to fairyland” she cried out in amaze! - Her cousin Ronald laughed and said, “This is no fairyland, - But a Canadian landscape clothed in beauty wild and grand.” - - “In Georgia you have naught like this--ice, snow and wintery gale-- - The southern air is warm and soft, the southern girls are pale,” - Not pale the face she turned to him, in each soft cheek the red - Flamed up, “You need not say a word against the south,” she said, - “I envy not your rosy maids their color, or their land, - I love the warmth of our blue sky, the bloom on every hand, - Far more than all your snow-capped hills, and forests ghostly white, - And mournful winds that love to play a dirge both day and night!” - - Thereat his father--kindly soul as ever put to sleep - Both saint and sinner in the pew, with sermon long and deep-- - Bade him not tease a sister so, “Come, make your peace straightway, - Then harness and bring out Black Bess, for on this glorious day - My Ruth shall have a rare, good treat--a sleigh-ride, do you hear? - The air will warm up towards noon, for see the sky is clear, - Come, you should love each other well, so near of kin are you, - My child, in Ronald you shall have a brother good and true.” - - “No brother I,” the graceless youth did hastily exclaim, - And Ruth, affronted, bade him wait until she made such claim, - Black Bess came prancing from her stall, so smooth, so shiny-skinned, - Give her the rein and she would race as swiftly as the wind, - She tossed her slender head and pawed the snow-drifts as she stood, - And shook her bells until they chimed, so eager was her mood, - “Whoa, Bess, be patient for awhile?” said Ronald, as with care - He tucked the robes so thick and warm about his cousin fair. - - Then off they sped away--away, the snow-birds flew afraid, - The frost came in the air to touch the cheeks of man and maid, - The yellow sunbeams raced with them, and made a glow and gleam, - Put rainbow colors on the bridge that spanned the frozen stream. - A white highway they followed down into the valley wide, - And whiter yet the sun-kissed hills that rose on either side; - Black Bess made all her chiming bells flow music clear and sweet - As on she sped, and on, and on--a handsome thing and fleet. - - But when the forest wide was reached she took a sober pace, - As though to give them time to note the beauty of the place, - The giant heads were crowned with snow, the giant limbs were dressed, - And close about the giant girths the snowy drifts were pressed. - And Ruth, a fair and radiant Ruth, said softly “This is grand; - Old winter makes his home I trow, in this wide northern land, - You lacked in courtesy to-day, but this ride makes amends, - So Ronald now, a truce, I say; let us be loyal friends.” - - “No friend am I,” he said, and laughed to note her look of pride! - “What boors you are, here in the north!” the angry maiden cried; - “And now for home and supper warm, we’ll need them without doubt.” - - Homeward they flew, Black Bess as fresh as when she started out; - The sun with all his gorgeous train went down behind the crest - Of one tall hill, but left a glow of crimson in the west, - So soft, so pure, the old world lay as the young night came down, - For covered all her gardens sere, her meadows bare and brown. - - He spoke at length, “I will not be your brother or your friend. - But I will be your lover true till life and love shall end,” - The blue eyes looked into the brown, he bent his head full low, - He may have kissed her tender mouth--but this no one can know. - - * * * * * - - “Ho! Ho! this winter air is fine!” the old man cried with glee! - “Did you enjoy my treat? Your cheeks are rosy as can be,” - “I did,” Ruth owned, and stretched her hands out to the cheerful blaze, - “I like Canadian scenery--I--like--Canadian--ways.” - - - - - His Own Little Black-Eyed Lad - - - It is time for bed, so the nurse declares, - But I slip off to the nook, - The cosy nook at the head of the stairs, - Where daddy’s reading his book. - “I want to sit here awhile on your knee,” - I say as I toast my feet, - “And I want you to pop some corn for me, - And give me an apple sweet.” - - I tickle him under the chin--just so-- - And I say, “Please can’t I, dad?” - Then I kiss his mouth so he can’t say no, - To his own little black-eyed lad. - - “You can’t have a pony this year at all,” - Says my stingy uncle Joe - After promising it, and there’s the stall - Fixed ready for it, you know. - One can’t depend on his uncles, I see, - It’s daddies that are the best, - And I find mine and climb on his knee - As he takes his smoke and rest. - - I tickle him under the chin--just so-- - And I say, “Please can’t I, dad?” - Then I kiss his mouth so he can’t say no, - To his own little black-eyed lad. - - I want to skate, and oh, what a fuss - For fear I’ll break through the ice! - This woman that keeps our house for us - She isn’t what I call nice. - She wants a boy to be just like a girl, - To play in the house all day, - Keep his face all clean, and his hair in curl, - But dad doesn’t think that way. - - I tickle him under the chin--just so-- - And I say, “Please can’t I, dad?” - Then I kiss his mouth so he can’t say no, - To his own little black-eyed lad. - - “You’re growing so big” says my dad to me, - “Soon be a man, I suppose, - Too big to climb up on your old dad’s knee - And toast your ten little toes.” - Then his voice it gets the funniest shake, - And oh, but he hugs me tight! - I say, when I can’t keep my eyes awake, - “Let me sleep with you to-night.” - - I tickle him under the chin--just so-- - And I say, “Please can’t I, dad?” - Then I kiss his mouth so he can’t say no, - To his own little black-eyed lad. - - - - - Be Good and Glad - - - Why do you sigh as days go by, - And carry such a weight of sadness? - To wistful eyes, the hot tears rise-- - Yet life holds store of joy and gladness. - The sunbeams gay are out to-day, - Then worry not about to-morrow, - Nor shrink, nor start with beating heart, - Nor grave fears for the future borrow. - Let us not weep when shadows deep - About our pathway seem to gather, - But go our way, without dismay, - For children we--the Lord our Father. - I hold there must be faith and trust-- - For others’ sins a full forgiving-- - The greeting glad for sick and sad, - If we would taste the joys of living. - The sunlight streams, the old world dreams, - And by-and-by the stars will glimmer, - The lamps that swung when earth was young - Yet have not older grown, or dimmer. - And blind we are, or we would see - This lesson in the skies above us; - That all the way, by night or day, - God watchful is, since He doth love us. - - - - - The Making Up - - - We quarrel and make up again, - And then some day, - We quarrel, and forget, straightway, - The making up. - - The first harsh word comes tremblingly-- - We shame to fling - It forth--Ah me! ’twill wound and sting - What we hold dear. - - Ashamed and penitent we cry - “Forgive!” and kiss; - There is a wealth of joy and bliss - In making up. - - The next harsh word comes easier, - Till by-and-by, - We think it foolishness to cry - For peace again. - - The discord swells in every line, - And soon we grow - So used to it we hardly know - The once sweet air. - - We quarrel and make up again - And then some day - We quarrel and forget, straightway, - The making up. - - - - - O Radiant Stream - - - River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair, - Soft in the sunlight, blue as the sky, - Crowned with a beauty, tender and rare, - And kissed by the breeze that goes hurrying by. - Warm dost thou look, and fair as a dream, - Speeding so merrily out to the sea, - So strong and so gentle--O radiant stream, - The smile of the summer is resting on thee! - - River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair, - Winding thy way for a thousand long miles - Past meadow and homestead, past rocks grim and bare, - With a song for the shore, a kiss for the isles - Lovingly cradled on thy broad breast-- - Isles without number, and fair as can be, - O, sweet, shining river--bonniest, best-- - The smile of the summer is resting on thee! - River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair, - Lightly bearing the great ships along-- - Boats with their white sails spread out in the air-- - The broad rafts of timber, so clumsy and strong-- - The slender canoe, as swift as a bird, - The Indian builds with bark from a tree-- - Thou bearest them all, unwearied, unstirred-- - The smile of the summer is resting on thee! - - River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair, - Pure are thy waters that bask in the light; - Thy ripples of laughter ring sweet on the air-- - The rocks bend to listen by day and by night. - The turbulent streams rushing down from the hills - To mingle and race with thee out to the sea, - Steal not from thy azure--O, beauty that thrills, - The smile of the summer is resting on thee! - - River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair, - Onward thou speedest, so deep and so wide; - The sunbeams that lurk on thy bosom, see there - A tremulous tumult of love, and of pride-- - Of love and of pride for the place of thy birth-- - Thy far-away mother--the fresh-water sea-- - From whence thou didst spring forth to gladden God’s earth-- - The smile of the summer is resting on thee! - - River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair, - Soft in the sunlight, blue as the sky, - Crowned with a beauty tender and rare, - And kissed by each breeze that goes hurrying by; - Warm dost thou look, and fair as a dream, - Speeding so merrily out to the sea, - So mighty, so gentle--O, radiant stream, - The smile of the summer is resting on thee! - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - My Sweetbriar Maid - - - I called her sweetbriar when first we walked, - Deep down in the winding lane, - The wild birds sang, and we laughed, and we talked, - Deep down in the winding lane, - We met in the sunshine of one spring day-- - Youthful, and happy, and free, - Into her keeping my heart flew straightway, - Pretty and piquant, was she. - - Her hazel eyes were so gentle and meek, - But scornful her mouth and chin, - Her brow was severe, but each rosy cheek - Had a roguish dimple in, - And I cried, “I love you my sweetbriar maid!” - And then, oh moment of bliss, - My lips to her cherry-red lips I laid, - And tasted my first love-kiss. - - ’Twas ever and ever so long ago, - But I remember it yet, - Ah, the springtime of life, its bloom and its glow, - The heart can never forget, - My sweetbriar maid I would give to-day, - The wealth, the fame and the gold - That the years have brought, if they’d roll away, - And leave us the thrill of old. - - If only straight backward old time would move-- - (Ah, wishing is all in vain), - And leave us with youth, and joy, and love, - Deep down in that winding lane. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - My Canada - - - My Canada! - I would that I thy child might frame - A song half worthy of thy name, - Proudly I say-- - This is our country, strong, and broad and grand, - This is our Canada, our native land! - - My Canada! - ’Tis meet that all the world should know - How far thy sweeping rivers flow, - How fair to-day - Thy bonnie lakes upon thy bosom lie, - Their faces laughing upward to the sky. - - My Canada! - We look alway with love and pride - Upon thy forests deep and wide, - And gladly say. - “These giant fellows, mighty grown with age, - Are part and parcel of our heritage.” - - My Canada! - So rich in glow and bracing air, - With meadows stretching everywhere, - With gardens gay, - With smiling orchards, sending forth to greet - Full breaths of perfume from their burdens sweet. - - My Canada! - Thou art not old, thou art not skilled, - But through the ages youth hath thrilled; - ’Tis dawn with thee, - Thou has a glorious promise, and thy powers - Are measured only by the golden hours. - - My Canada! - What thou art now we know full well, - What thou wilt grow to be? Ah! who can tell? - We see to-day - Thy lithe form running swiftly in the race, - For all the things which older lands do grace. - - My Canada! - With loyal sons to take thy part, - To hold thee shrined within the heart, - Proudly we say, - “This is our country, strong, and broad, and grand, - “God guard thee Canada, our native land! - - - - - Perfect Peace - - _Because He Trusteth in Thee_--ISAIAH. - - - In an hour when all was anguish, when loss and death were near, - I sought the Christ and cried aloud for aid, - Through the heavy mist of sorrow, His voice came, sweet and clear - Take the promise, let thy mind on Me be stayed. - - _For_ ye shall have perfect peace, - And the grieving shall depart, - And the striving and the bitterness shall cease, - Then laid the wounded hand of Him - Upon my breaking heart, - Lo, ’twas mine, the priceless gift of Perfect Peace. - Come let us weigh the tenderness Christ hath for you and me, - By the promises He ready stands to prove, - Let us try to comprehend it, the gift so full and free, - O the height and depth, and length and breadth, of Love! - He is so patient with us as He guides our stubborn feet-- - So patient though we wander far astray, - Lean on the Everlasting Strength, He saith in accents sweet, - As we falter and we stumble by the way. - - For ye shall have perfect peace, - And the grieving shall depart, - And the striving and the bitterness shall cease, - Then laid the wounded hand of Him - Upon my breaking heart, - Lo, ’twas mine, the priceless gift of Perfect Peace. - Blessed Christ, if we could bring Thee the years so swiftly gone, - O the wasted hours! the swiftly coming night! - The finding in the twilight what we might have found at dawn-- - Thee--the source of strength, and joy, and all delight! - I can thank Thee now for taking what I held dear away, - For my mind on Thee, and Thee alone, is stayed, - Thou wilt give back my treasures in the coming golden day, - I will trust Thee and I will not be afraid. - - For I shall have perfect peace, - And the grieving shall depart, - And the striving and the bitterness shall cease, - Then laid the wounded hand of Him - Upon my breaking heart, - Lo, ’twas mine the priceless gift of Perfect Peace. - - - - - The King’s Gift - - - The angels open the windows wide - In the world so far above us, - Lo, all about us, on every side, - Falls the newborn year unstained, untried, - O, angel hearts that love us! - - Ye take our yesterdays dim and old, - Touched with sorrow and sinning, - And ye give to us with a grace untold - The year’s soft dew and the dawn of gold, - Ye give us the fresh beginning. - - Unstained the new year falls at our feet - From the world so far above us, - And what it will bring of joy complete, - Or take of treasures tender and sweet, - Ye know, O hearts that love us! - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - I Love Her Well - - - I love her well, day after day - I tell the old words over, - They ring no change from grave to gay, - It is enough, I love her! - - I love her well--nay never ask - The reason _why_ I do so, - Ask flowers that in the sunshine bask - The reason why they grew so. - - They’ll tell you heaven saw the need, - And so, on earth’s brown bosom - The angels scattered out the seed, - The sunbeams kissed to blossom. - - I love her well, day after day - I tell the old words over, - They ring no change from grave to gay, - It is enough--I love her! - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Good-Night - - - I am not brave enough to sing - The requiem of a hope just dead, - That word _good-bye_ will surely bring - The shadow upon swifter wing, - Come, let us say good-night instead. - - See, where upon the water’s crest - The sky comes down, a samite pall, - To our poor vision, dim at best-- - That curtain of rare amethyst - Marks the sure ending of it all. - - Ah, heart, the lesson you forget, - This wind which goes with hurrying sweep - Sees farther on, and farther yet - The white ships go, the waters fret, - The tender stars their vigils keep. - - So not good-bye, good-night--that’s all, - The loneliness, the loss is mine, - To-morrow when the glad winds call, - The folds of mist will backward fall, - And leave me with my hand in thine. - - - - - Her Gold - - - “I covet her gold, sir,” no farther I got, - His wrath down upon me so swiftly descended, - A gay fortune-hunter, a spendthrift, a sot, - Were names I was called before he had ended. - - “You covet her gold! Ah! no man with a heart - Would do such a thing--not even a pauper-- - With you on life’s journey my child shall not start - If counsel of mine, and warning, can stop her.” - - “I covet her gold, and, believe me,” I said, - “The honest fact will in no way surprise her, - I covet her gold, sir, _the gold on her head_, - Once it is mine you may call me a miser.” - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Good-Bye To Work - - - Good-bye to work, I say, and straight - The pain of having such to say - Puts coward touches on my face, - And leaves me strangely old and gray. - - Why not? We deem it not amiss - Beside the coffin and the pall - To let our loss fill all our thought, - To let our tears like raindrops fall. - - And when I stand and voice to-day - The thought of my reluctant heart, - Unclasp your bands and go your way - O work, ’tis time for us to part! - - I say good-bye to more than friend, - A comrade staunch, and tried and true, - Who linked his fate with that of mine, - And paced with me the dull year through. - - To work, the one enduring thing - Born of my vast desire for good, - And nourished by each grand resolve - That swept my being like a flood. - - To work, the gracious thing, and strong, - That found the welcome of a bride - When life was in its green, glad spring, - The coming years outstretching wide. - - When, not as laggard to his task, - But as a lover warm and true, - I held it close in my embrace, - And felt its greatness thrill me through. - - O work! if time had passed us by - And left us youth, and youth’s desires, - What heights--nay never soul of man - Mounts up so high as it aspires. - - The years--harsh things that steal the dew - From all that’s fair--disdained to show - Such mercy towards our purpose strong, - To learn untouched its tender glow. - - Not always kind, not often fair, - Since hearts so rarely constant prove - What wonder that my fervor passed, - That dulled grew the sharp edge of love? - - When eyes entreating met my own, - Between would come your changeless face, - Till, thwarted, I would feel to cry, - O work, release me for a space! - - But what man putting the last kiss - On lips once loved recalls to mind - One slight defect, the haughty look - The thoughtless word, the act unkind. - - But lets the mem’ry of each grace, - Each sweetness, each light tender trick - Throng to his heart, feel at its strings, - Until the tears fall hot and thick. - - So work, I find since you and I - May walk together nevermore, - I hold you dear enough to wish - That we might live the dead years o’er. - - Good-bye my work! and straight the pain - Of having such a thing to say, - Prints coward touches on my face, - And leaves me strangely old and gray. - - - - - Somebody - - - She is plain of face, she hath little grace, - They say when they speak of me, - ’Tis little I care, I am more than fair - In the eyes of _somebody_. - - She is cold, they say, as a winter’s day, - It mattereth not to me, - For the glow and heat of my true heart’s beat - Is known unto _somebody_. - - She holdeth in hand neither gold or land-- - Ah, the dull eyes cannot see - How rich and great is my broad estate - In the heart of _somebody_. - - - - - My Little Maid - - - My little maid, my little maid, - You grow too old, I am afraid, - Your birthday, is it? Tell me dear, - How long ago did you come here? - What? five to-day--how tall you grow! - I wish time would not hurry so, - I wish he’d just go on his way, - Nor call on us for many a-day. - - Stay in the baby-world so new, - Its flowers are drowning in the dew, - Its paths are soft to tender feet, - Stay in the baby-world my sweet! - - My little maid, my little maid, - You grow too old, I am afraid, - The questions trembling on your tongue - Tell me you are no longer young, - How many hours are in the year? - How high up is the heaven clear? - And do the ships, so big and grand - Go sailing to some other land? - - Stay in the baby-world so new, - Its flowers are drowning in the dew, - Its paths are soft to tender feet, - Stay in the baby-world, my sweet! - - My little maid, my little maid, - You grow too old, I am afraid, - The schoolhouse holds your steady gaze, - Your mind is in a wondrous maze, - So much to learn, so much to see, - You’re just as busy as can be, - My nursery rhymes have all been told, - Red Riding-Hood will soon be old. - - Stay in the baby-world so new, - Its flowers are drowning in the dew, - Its paths are soft to tender feet, - Stay in the baby-world my sweet! - - My little maid, my little maid, - You grow too old, I am afraid, - Your tender face it seems to me, - Is filled full of expectancy. - A spirit questioning, and wise - Looks out at me from your dark eyes, - Till I am fain to hold you fast - And hide you while old Time goes past. - - Stay in the baby-world so new, - Its flowers are drowning in the dew, - Its paths are soft to tender feet, - Stay in the baby-world my sweet! - - My little maid, my little maid, - You grow too old, I am afraid, - Five years! it seems a little while - Since you came here with slow sweet smile - On your wee mouth, your pretty chin, - And each cheek with a dimple in, - Your soft hands clutching at the air, - Your birthright all our love and care. - - Stay in the baby-world so new, - Its flowers are drowning in the dew, - Its paths are soft to tender feet, - Stay in the baby-world my sweet. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Heather White - - - Sprig o’ heather, you were born - Where the mountains greet the morn, - Just within the shadow dim - Of the grey rocks harsh and grim, - Just beside the torrent’s brim, - You were born; - I, a naturalist, can trace - In thy sweet sky-lifted face, - Signs and tokens of the place - Clear as morn. - - Breath that comes from ’mong the firs, - When the wet-faced sea-wind stirs - In its flight, - Night of gloom, and day of gold, - Hill and vale, white flocks in fold, - Ah, to-night, - Dim my eyes grow as they see - All thy dear heart shows to me, - Blossom from across the sea, - Heather White! - - - - - Grannie’s Message to Jack - - - You’re sending Jack a letter, dear-- - To-day he’s twenty-one, - And plainly I can read your pride - And joy in the dear son. - He wants a message--Ah, if I - Could take his hand in mine - Instead of putting all my love - In one poor little line. - - But write out clear and let it read - _To Jack, away from home, - Old Grannie says, get ready, - For the Kingdom come._ - - You’re smiling daughter as you write, - But Jack won’t smile that way, - His mind will just go flying back - To thoughts of yesterday; - Before he got so big and strong, - And oh, so very nice, - When he was Grannie’s white-haired boy - Just dreaming of the skies. - - So write out clear, and let it read, - _To Jack, away from home, - Old Grannie, says get ready - For the Kingdom come._ - - Somehow the letters that we get - Don’t seem to come from him, - And often when I’ve read them through - My poor old eyes are dim, - He talks too much of worldly things-- - My Jack was never proud, - Of wealth and fame, and power to win, - And going with the crowd. - - So write out clear, and let it read, - _To Jack, away from home, - Old Grannie says, get ready - For the Kingdom come._ - - You think his birthday calls for more - Than one poor little line, - Nay, there are those who love him less - To make him wishes fine; - My words go from a faithful heart, - They’re true, and they are warm, - There’s loving wisdom in them, too, - To keep my boy from home. - - So write out clear, and let it read, - _To Jack, away from home, - Old Grannie says, get ready - For the Kingdom come._ - - I’d like to see him as he reads, - His blue eyes brimming o’er, - And good thoughts rising white and strong - To be forgot no more; - Heaven will be nearer to his heart - Than it has been for years, - For he will read in these few words - My love, my hope, my prayers. - - So write it clear, and let it read, - _To Jack, away from home, - Old Grannie says, get ready - For the Kingdom come._ - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Ever and Ever so Long Ago - - - O, life has its seasons joyous and drear, - Its summer’s bloom, and its frost and snow, - But the fairest of all, I tell you, dear, - Was the sweet old spring of the long ago-- - The ever and ever so long ago! - - When we walked together among the flowers, - When the world with beauty was all aglow, - O, the rain and dew! O, the shine and showers - Of the sweet old spring of the long ago, - The ever and ever so long ago! - - A hunger for all of the past delight - Is stirred by the winds that softly blow, - O, spare but a thought, dear, from heaven to-night - For the sweet old spring of the long ago, - The ever and ever so long ago! - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Height - - - The climbing step by step up pathways steep - Had wearied me upon that summer day, - Till, by-and-by, a strong hand seemed to sweep - All save the joyousness of life away, - The heavens stretched their azure folds above-- - I stood, my feet upon the dizzy height - I had not thought to reach save in my dreams; - The whirring of an eagle’s wings in flight - Towards rarer winds, and still more dazzling gleams - Of the red sun, was every sound abroad. - Full sweet the silence of the solemn place - Where nature, radiant, drew so close to God, - You saw His very kiss upon her face, - And heard the mystic murmur of His love. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Her Portrait - - - A little child, she stood that far-off day, - When Love, the master-painter, took the brush - And on the wall of mem’ry dull and grey - Traced tender eyes, wide brow, and changing blush, - The gladness and the youth, the bending head - All covered over with its curls of gold, - The dimpled arms, the two hands filled with bread - To feed the little sparrows brown and bold - That flutter to her feet. It hangs there still, - Just as ’twas painted on that far-off day, - Nor faded is the blush upon the cheek, - The sweet lips hold their smiling and can thrill, - And still the eyes--so tender, and so meek-- - Light up the walls of mem’ry dull and gray. - - - - - God Loveth Us - - - God loveth us! in pain or bliss, - O heart, be true and strong! - God loveth us, and knowing this - We know life’s sweetest song. - - God loveth us! O eyes that find - Life’s lesson hard to read, - By tears of loss made dim and blind - Learn His great love instead. - - God loveth us! O hands that grasp - At human tenderness, - And then in emptiness unclasp, - He waits to fill and bless. - - God loveth us! O weary feet - That find life’s pathway long, - His love provides a rest so sweet - The hope of it makes strong. - - God loveth us! O hearts that ache - With striving all in vain, - His tender hand is reached to take - The bitterness and pain. - - God loveth us! O fallen one - Creep upward to the light, - God’s radiant stars shine on and on, - Until the dawn grows bright. - - God loveth us! in pain or bliss, - O heart be true and strong, - God loveth us! and knowing this, - We know life’s sweetest song. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - An Etching - - - A harvester throws up the sheaves, - And hums a merry old refrain, - Some thistles show their prickly leaves - Among the swaths of yellow grain. - - The briar bushes soft and green - Quite hide the zig-gag fence away, - And all the space that lies between - Is carpeted with new-mown hay. - - The heat of noonday presses all - To rest and silence, full and deep, - And still the cheery robins call - To show that they are not asleep. - - - - - Shadows - - - “O sweet white rose, I pray you tell - Why in that fragrant heart of thine - Where golden sunbeams seldom fell, - All grace and gladness seems to dwell, - And summer fragrance hold its shrine?” - - “Sweet, am I,” west wind, sweet and white, - Then leave me in the shadow pray, - Here soft dews bathe me all the night, - And no harsh sunbeam comes at light, - To kiss the great white tears away.” - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - A Merrie Christmasse Untoe Ye - - - A Merrie Christmasse untoe ye! - The wishe is olde, the sweete refraine - Of that song carolled longe agoe, - When Love crepte downe o’er hille and plaine - Singing, full-toned, to heartes in paine, - “Peace ande goodwille!” - Lete white flowers growe, - A Merrie Christmasse untoe ye! - - - - - Marguerite - - - All light and love, and golden grace, - One full glad day, one summer day - Goes ever with me on my way, - And to no other yields a place. - - Do you remember Marguerite, - Ah! faithful one, I need not ask, - Since to forget is such a task, - My strength fails toiling at it, sweet. - - We climbed the path among the hills, - And laughed to see the wild-birds go - All startled, flying to and fro - Afraid of great and unknown ills. - - The wind laughed with us, and grew warm - With breath of leaf, and stalk, and flower, - No space of that delicious hour - But held a fresh and subtle charm. - - Till, by-and-by, we stood and knew - Ourselves upon the height alone, - For us the blue sky smiled and shone, - The great world only held us two. - - So fair, so cold--it could not be! - Thou wert so proud, my Marguerite, - Thou wert so proud, and O, so sweet - I scarce could look at all on thee. - - Till in me grew a madness born - Of the wind blowing from the south, - I bent and kissed thee on the mouth, - The ripe, red mouth--the bow of scorn. - - No scorn was on it then, my sweet, - But tenderness beyond compare, - Thy white soul laid its secret bare, - Thy love was mine--_mine_--Marguerite! - - I whispered foolish things and fond, - O bliss, for which I vainly yearned! - Not, not for me, the truth I learned, - Thine hand had signed stern duty’s bond. - - It was the end, we did not say - The lover’s lingering good-bye, - Only the day’s glad soul did die, - And earth and heaven alike were grey. - - Did I forget? is mine a heart, - One apt to yield up all its store? - I loved thee ever, more and more - Through all the years we dwelt apart - One walked with me a little space, - To her I gave affection mild, - As to a pretty winning child - Who sought to cheer me with her grace. - - With pretty tasks she filled each day, - Walked in my home with gentle pride, - Called me a dreamer, oft would chide - My thoughts for soaring far away. - - Her robes swept softly to her feet, - Her hair fell down a golden fleece, - Yet, when mine arm embraced Bernice, - My soul embraced _thee_, Marguerite. - - We cannot change, we cannot pass - To other things until we die; - Who knows, the old love may not lie - Within the grave, beneath the grass? - - Perhaps ’twas wrong, but this I know - My longing I could never still, - For love was stronger than my will, - And mem’ry would not let thee go. - - I know where one long silky braid - Fell down upon thy snowy neck, - And how the blushes came to deck, - And where the cunning dimples laid. - - Each of thy little tricks of speech - Hath kept its echo all the while, - Thy laughter growing from a smile - Which sadness oft would chase and reach. - - And now we stand alone again, - With naught to keep us far apart; - Come to thy home within my heart, - And there forget all loss and pain. - - Come, with that glow upon thy face - We will go back a dozen years, - Back past the graves, back through the tears, - To that cold day of youth and grace. - - And there take up the golden store - Of life and love so weighty grown-- - I hold thy heart against mine own, - And thus will hold forever more. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Hoar Frost on the Wood - - - Look through the glistening stubble-fields to where - Last night, in sullen and complaining mood, - Over the fate that left them grim and bare, - The trees in yonder dear old forest stood. - “The spring,” they moaned, “Ah, it will be a while - Ere she can reach us with her magic wand!” - Who was it heard? To-day, mile upon mile,-- - There stretches out a white enchanted land, - Each tall tree hath a weight of gems that shine-- - Mark how the sun can draw its beauties out-- - On every soft white thing its kisses fall, - Till in the air we see a dazzling line - Of sparkling gems--it is a glorious rout - Of nature’s children holding Carnival. - - - - - Two Creeds - - - The Priest was earnest and sincere-- - He deemed that this stout cavalier, - This stranger unto Christ’s dear grace, - Who rested with him for a space, - Should hear the truth, what saith the creed? - “To every man that stands in need.” - - Though weary miles of pilgrimage - Has tried his strength, yet would he wage, - Stout war of argument to-night, - With heathen ignorance of right, - With faltering tongue he then began - To picture to this fellow-man-- - In error born, on error nursed, - By pride and passion doubly cursed-- - The glories of a city fair, - To which men climb on narrow stair - Of self-denial, prayer and fast, - And zeal unflagging to the last. - - “Its gates that flash the sunlight back, - What touch of splendor do they lack? - I see them lift themselves upright-- - Of pearl, unblemished, pure and white-- - Its streets gleam yellow in the sun, - Through fields of green its waters run, - And o’er it all no shadow flies, - The sun sets not in Paradise. - - “From every throat swells forth a song, - Not one is mute of that vast throng, - Who, through the weeping and the night, - Have found their way to Heaven’s delight. - No bitterness, no cry of pain, - No grieving over mortal strain, - No shrinking will, no coward fear, - No breaking heart, no scalding tear, - In the fair city built above, - For this is heaven, and heaven is love.” - - The other bowing courteously, - “Thanks for this kindness done to me. - I doffed my boldness and my pride, - And sat here meekly by your side, - While you, for a brief moment’s space, - Painted the beauty of that place, - Where white souls live, now list to me, - And bare your head as reverently, - While I set forth before your eyes - The glories of _my_ Paradise. - “A garden hidden quite away, - Where stranger footsteps never stray, - The yellow sun shines all day long, - - The wild-bird sings his choicest song; - There at the gate my angel stands - To welcome me with out-stretched hands; - A lotus-bud gleams in her hair, - Her round, soft arms all white and bare, - Between her lips warm kisses hide, - Love in her eyes that open wide. - - A perfume comes up from the beds - Of lilies hanging their white heads, - The pearls of dew begin to fall, - A night-bird to its mate doth call, - The changing shadows softly move - But never touch the face I love; - You know, O Priest, so learned and wise, - The sun sets not in Paradise. - - You tell of rest that waits the few, - That strive with earnest zeal and true - To gain it, as the years go past, - By toil, and care, and patient fast, - O Priest! my heaven gives richer dole, - It takes the laggard, worthless soul, - And fills it up with rapture sweet, - And makes it know itself complete. - Rest! never penance won such rest - As comes to me when her white breast - Is made a pillow for my cheek, - When her dark eyes look down and speak; - O Love! the world and all its care - Lies quite outside this garden fair, - You know, O Priest, so learned and wise - The sun sets not in Paradise. - - You look for heaven after death-- - I draw it in with every breath-- - I am content, be you the same, - If I mistake, be mine the blame, - But in one fair sweet odored grove - Lies heaven, if heaven means peace and love.” - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - His Ex-Platonic Friend - - - I’ve lost a thing of value great, - And, woe is me, I’ll now find it - The very choicest thing of all, - Or sure, you know I wouldn’t mind it. - - Some call it friendship--I don’t know. - But take their word as is my duty, - But if the definition’s true, - Then friendship is a thing of beauty. - - For mine took on so fair a form - It charmed away all care and sadness, - It flashed out beams so strong and warm, - Away went everything but gladness. - - It looked from tender eyes of brown, - And spake my greatest fault forgiven, - In wondrous sweetness there it shone-- - In truest eyes outside of heaven. - - I felt it in the hand I clasped, - So small, and yet so strong to guide me - Through waters deep, or breakers past, - Or aught that threatened to betide me. - - With ripe red lips it spake to me, - O voice, that always soothes and blesses! - While I, Philistine, felt to pray - That I might silence it with kisses. - - I’ve lost all this by my mistake, - I walked, you see, not circumspectly, - I pressed a claim for love’s sweet sake, - And friendship took to flight directly. - - And I am left to think with pain - How folly caused my loss and sorrow, - Had I my friendship back again - I’d do the very same to-morrow. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Grave - - - O the grave is a quiet place, my dear, - So still and so quiet by night and by day, - Reached by no sound either joyous or drear, - But keeping its silence alway, alway. - - O the grave is a restful place, my dear, - Unvext by the weightiest loss or gain, - All the undone work of the speeding year - May beat at its portals in vain, in vain. - - O the grave is a tender place, my dear, - The Love immortal, the faith, the trust, - The grace and the beauty, lie buried there, - So pure and so white in a robe of dust. - - O the grave is a home-like place, my dear, - Where we all do gather when day is done, - Where the earth mother folds us close and near, - And the latch-string waits for the laggard one. - - - - - Settled by Arbitration - - - The three sat at meat in a country inn, - And Patrick’s face wore an elegant grin, - For the Scotchman lean, and the Englishman stout - Were having a nice little quarrel out. - Now, it all begun when five times had gone - The glass and bottle to everyone, - The Englishman, he had a stubborn jaw - And could quote whole pages of English law, - While the Scotchman, was as stern and as gray - As the rocks of his country far away. - The bottle it made him but look more stern, - But the other one took a boasting turn, - He talked of their big brave ships on the sea, - Of their soldiers as brave as brave could be, - Of the English beef that no land could beat, - Of their puddings and pastries good to eat; - And the Scotchman listened to every word - And seemed agreeing with all that he heard, - Till the squared-jawed fellow by-and-by claimed - His country the wittiest ever named; - “The Henglish wit, sir, hit shines like the sun” - “Aye! the sun in a fog,” the other one, - Then the arguments flew so thick and fast-- - They’d have come to blows ere the thing was past - Had not Patrick, good hearted, blithe and gay, - Chanced to travel with them that summer day, - “Now sure,” said he, “you know ’tis the fashion - To settle disputes by arbitration, - Faith, a rale ould shindy’s the thing for me, - But the rale ould shindy has ceased to be, - Let’s be the powers, and raison a bit, - Whist now! and ould Erin will settle it.” - Then these two disputants, they both agreed - To take his finding in word and deed. - “The English wit, sir--let’s take off our hats-- - Can’t be seen by folks that are blind as bats, - ’Tis none of your common everyday stuff, - Nor like that of Ireland, vulgar and bluff, - Sure, ’tis something I would only compare - To what is well known as precious and rare, - Say to the famous philosopher’s stone-- - Or elixir of life to ould sages known; - No Irishman from the hill or the bog - Would say it was like the sun in a fog, - That statement, sirs, on the face is untrue - For sometimes the fog will let the sun through.” - One pacified man went off with good grace, - And Patrick laughed at the other’s stern face, - “You think me a blarney--hark, what I say, - I tould the truth in an iligant way, - Sure you know, and I know, and everyone, - The fable of the philosopher’s stone, - For stone, elixir, and Englishman’s wit - Men have searched long, and found nivir a bit,” - Then low to himself, “faith, that joke’s so clear - That even a Scotchman may see it--_next year_!” - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Circuit - - - A pretty port I sailed from, - So long, so long ago, - As day down golden stairway - Climbed to the world below. - Ho, mariner! come tell me, - Come tell me of a truth - Know you a track will lead me back - Unto the shores of youth? - - A pretty port I sailed from, - So long, so long ago, - The blue sky stretching over, - Blessed all the world below. - I laughed good-bye so lightly, - Nor recked I then, forsooth, - That leagues of years and mist of tears - Would hide the shores of youth. - - Yet ever follows after, - A breath of fragrance rare - From hearts of flowers that blossom - But in its tender air. - And ever hear I, sweet and clear, - The music of its birds-- - The whistling flight of wings at night-- - The songs too sweet for words. - - And ever see its beauty, - The smiling of its shore, - And ever wait, and ever long - To anchor there once more. - Ho mariner! Ho mariner! - Come tell me of a truth - Know you a track will lead me back - Unto the shores of youth? - - A pretty port I sailed from, - So long, so long ago, - As day, down golden stairway, - Passed to the world below. - Sail on! Sail on! till light is done, - Ho mariner, so wise! - ’Tis far behind--so far behind-- - This port I sailed from, lies. - - Sail on! Sail on! you tell me, - And in the twilight’s glow - I’ll reach the port I sailed from, - So long, so long ago. - If this be so, then we may know - That all who lose will find - Each ship will come to love and home, - And all it left behind. - - Youth’s golden shore lies on before, - So gaily sail we on, - For the port we reach at even - Is the port we leave at dawn. - The harbor bar shines golden, - O sweetness of the truth, - We’ll cross it o’er, and come once more - Unto the shores of youth. - - - - - Gethsemane - - - O Blessed Christ! O blessed Christ! - The night is deep and long, - And there is none to watch with me - Of all the careless throng. - O blessed Christ! O blessed Christ! - The world lies fast asleep, - Think Thou on dark Gethsemane - And count the tears I weep. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - My Friend - - - I have a friend, if you should ask - Why ’tis I love her well, - Indeed, ’twould be a weighty task - These reasons all to tell. - - First, she is good enough to see-- - A pretty face and kind, - That somehow fairer is to me - Than others I can find. - - She has two lips with laughter filled, - That hold not scorn nor sneer, - She is a little bit self-willed-- - Gangs her ain gait, I fear. - - She has two strong and supple hands, - Two bright and tender eyes, - She has a heart that understands, - She has a judgment wise. - - Her voice--at least to me--is fine, - I like to lie and rest, - And hear her reading, line by line, - The poems I love best. - - No jealousy, no trace of spite - Is in her nature strong, - She is so loyal to the right, - So gentle with the wrong. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Prodigal - - - They sat alone by the fireside, a couple old and gray, - Brooding over a sorrow keen at the close of a winter’s day. - - The woman spake to the man at length, tenderly, wistfully, - “The pillar of fire still guides by night, the cloud still guides by day. - - If you would but take the ills of life, the losses, the sorrow vain, - To the One whose ear is open to hear each cry of pain! - - You are thinking now of Willie, the boy we loved so well, - And who left his home to wander--whither--Ah, who can tell! - - His room stands just as he left it--I go upstairs each day - And smooth the pillows with my hands, and for my darling pray. - - He may not have--sometimes my heart grows fairly sick with dread-- - In cold, or storm, or in sickness, a place to lay his head. - - My heart would break did I not know the Father of us all - Stoops down to make my sorrow less, counts all the tears that fall. - - You will not turn where comfort lies, towards Him you will not move, - O husband, give the Lord your heart--prove, prove His faithful love.” - - “If I had sought the Lord,” said he, “when youth and strength were mine, - I might have had to cheer me now as dear a faith as thine. - - But God is just, His laws so stern, I’ve broken year by year, - God is a judge--I feel that now--just, holy, and severe. - - I scorn to seek Him after all the years I’ve walked in sin-- - ’Tis too near to life’s ending now for me to just begin. - - My heart lies heavy in my breast, but I must bear my load, - My pride has kept me all along a sad and dreary road. - - Yes, I’m thinking, wife, of Willie, the boy who went away-- - Thoughts of him fill the heart of me when comes this time of day. - - I watch you praying for his soul, a light in your dear e’e, - Methinks a soul from heaven itself might well come back to see. - - But I--I cannot pray at all; the words they will not come, - My soul rebels and will not bow--_my boy is far from home_. - - My lad I was so proud of, though often I was stern, - Wilful was he, but ah, to-night for his presence I yearn.” - - There’s a step on the walk outside, trembling hands at the door, - And some one is kneeling by them, sobbing out o’er and o’er: - - “Father, your prodigal has come, unworthy of your name, - Broken in spirit, buffeted, baptised with bitter shame. - - But say _forgiven_, and lay your hand on me in the old way; - Pride kept me long from you, but I had to come home to-day.” - - Such a welcome he got from them--the old love changeth not, - Faithful to death, unswerving--miracles hath it wrought. - - The father turned a glowing face, and whispered: Let us pray, - My pride has kept me long from God, but I’ll go home to-day. - - And then with the firelight shining, leaving his heavy load, - A prodigal old and hoary came tremblingly back to God. - - He knew the truth, deep as the sea, high as the heaven above, - Knew that the Fatherhood of God was made and crowned with Love. - - - - - At Quebec - - - Quebec, the grey old city on the hill, - Lies with a golden glory on her head, - Dreaming throughout this hour so fair--so still-- - Of other days and all her mighty dead. - The white doves perch upon the cannons grim, - The flowers bloom where once did run a tide - Of crimson, when the moon rose pale and dim - Above the battlefield so grim and wide. - Methinks within her wakes a mighty glow - Of pride, of tenderness--her stirring past-- - The strife, the valor, of the long ago - Feels at her heartstrings. Strong, and tall, and vast, - She lies, touched with the sunsets golden grace, - A wondrous softness on her grey old face. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Tea Kettle’s Tune - - - I like to hear the kettle sing - At this time of the day, - Such cheery thoughts it seems to bring, - All worries flee away. - - _Now spread your table cloth so white_, - It tells me as I wait, - _Come, bustle ’round, ’tis almost night-- - The goodman’s at the gate._ - - Long time ago it heard John say - Some foolish lover things, - And do you know that to this day - They’re in the song it sings. - - It caught the gladness in my tone - When baby Grace arrived, - My pride when Jim first stood alone, - My joy when Robbie thrived. - - All this was such awhile ago, - You’d think it would forget, - But ah, the tune--I love it so-- - It sings me sometimes yet. - - When I was vexed with John last night, - And sat here full of pride, - It sang away with all its might, - And shamed me till I cried. - - ’Tis humming now, _Come, broil the ham - Or supper will be late, - Put on the biscuits and the jam, - You’re goodman’s at the gate._ - - - - - The Creed of Love - - - I have a creed, I’ll tell it you, - Since you have asked me to define - On what I build my hopes of heaven. - My creed--yes, I can call it mine, - Since it belongs to every soul - That reaches upward toward the light, - And trusts in Christ for guidance sure, - And strength and will to do the right. - - You’ll find it written down, my friend, - In that old Book upon the shelf, - ’Tis: _Love the Lord with all thine heart - And love thy neighbor as thyself_. - Not _quite_ enough? ’Twas counted so - By One Who walked by Galilee, - His creed of love to God and man - Is quite enough for you and me. - - - - - In the Clover Field - - - The air is sweet as sweet can be, - The azure sky spreads smoothly over, - And rest and joy keep company, - In this wide field of sun-kissed clover. - - Among the heavy heads of pink, - The avaricious bees are straying, - A glad full-throated bobolink, - His highest note is now essaying. - - The earth is holding on her breast, - The sweetest flowers of all her growing, - The white clouds float, from out the west - A soft delicious wind is blowing. - - Oh, life is good on such a day, - The blue sky bending smoothly over, - For neither care nor cross will stay, - In this wide field of sun-kissed clover. - - - - - Lullaby - - - Going off to sleep on mamma’s breast, - Hush-a-bye, baby boy! - He’s the baby mamma loves best-- - Hush-a-bye, baby boy! - Rosy cheeks have been kissed by the sun, - Hush-a-bye, baby boy! - He’s so tired chasing after fun, - Hush-a-bye, baby boy! - - Pretty white “nighty”--isn’t he sweet? - Hush-a-bye, baby boy! - Reaching right from his chin to his feet, - Hush-a-bye, baby boy! - Never mind staring up at the sky, - Hush-a-bye, baby boy! - The stars will wink at you by and by, - Hush-a-bye, baby boy! - - Fast asleep on his mamma’s breast, - Hush-a-bye, baby boy! - Put him down in his little white nest, - Hush-a-bye, baby boy! - - - - - A Sunset Talk - - - How sweet the pink flush there in the west, - With the golden bars--let us sit a space-- - I want to talk to you as we rest-- - Sit where my eyes can dwell on your face. - - I have been thinking of you to-day, - You smile as you listen. Is there an hour - I’m not in her thoughts, I hear you say-- - Look at that butterfly hid in a flower. - - Yes, I have been thinking all day long, - For the fancy came and it will not go, - That if I were to die--I am strong, - ’Tis only a fancy of mine, you know. - - Only a fancy (you take my breath - With your passionate kisses) people die, - And happiness is no bar to death - Or we never need fear him, you nor I. - - Only a fancy, so don’t look grave, - We’ll be together for years to come, - But, listen, would you be good and brave - If Death, God’s reaper, came into our home? - - Would you remember the full glad years, - And remembering them forget to weep? - We have been happy, no need for tears - If one of us, dear one, should fall asleep. - - Living without me would break your heart, - “O sorrow of joys remembered!” You cry, - Keep all the brightness though far apart, - Explain my meaning--well dear, I will try. - - One summer morning I heard a lark - Singing to heaven, a sweet-throated bird, - _One winter night I was glad in the dark, - Because of the glorious song I had heard_. - - “The joy of my life,” I’ve heard you say, - “With her love and laughter, her smiles and tears”-- - Let these be the lark’s song, sweet and gay, - That will sound in your heart through all the years. - - For tell me, dear one, what is love worth - If it cannot crowd in the time ’tis given - To two like us, on this grey old earth, - Such bliss as will last till we reach heaven? - - So, if I should die just bend your head, - And kiss my lips as I lie at rest, - Whisper, _I love you living or dead - Always and ever I love you best_. - - Why talk of it now? A woman’s whim, - We are whimsical creatures, as you know-- - Look yonder, the twilight soft and dim - Comes hurrying over the world below. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Truth upon Honor - - - Pa’s brother is a bachelor, but not a crusty one, - He’s got the very nicest home and lives there all alone; - At Christmas-time he buys me up most everything I want, - Because I look, ’so people say, just like my pretty aunt. - - She’s just as nice as she can be, and long, long time ago - Pa’s brother was, or tried to be, this same Aunt Jessie’s beau, - For once I heard pa say to ma, “Your sister was to blame,” - Then ma, she flared right up and said, “She did right, just the same.” - - “Your brother, stubborn fellow, he would break a woman’s heart, - I tell you I was glad for one they thought it best to part!” - I thought of this the other day, when our relations came - To eat the Xmas turkey, and more things than I could name. - - For Aunt’s face got as red as fire when Uncle Ned came in, - “Peace and goodwill at Xmas time,” said pa, with such a grin. - “I wish,” said I to brother Tom, “they’d have a wedding day, - What is the good of two nice folks sulking around this way? - - I’d be a bridesmaid for them, Tom, and wouldn’t that be fun, - Then we’d go there for holidays as soon as school was done.” - “Don’t you believe such stuff of him,” said brother Tom to me, - “Why, everyone that falls in love is silly as can be! - - Put all their good clothes on at once--strut ’round an’ show off so, - The folks that have to live with them get sick of it you know.” - Sho! don’t tell up such stuff as that about our Uncle Ned, - If you don’t mind your p’s and q’s I’ll tell him what you said. - - But I found out that I was right--I’ll tell you how it came, - Truth upon Honor, we did play--it’s just a lovely game, - You ask the queerest questions and they answer out quite free, - And if they tell what isn’t true, it’s wicked, don’t you see? - - Tom asked me was I awful mad (he can be dreadful mean) - When a great deal prettier hat than mine went by on Mabel Green? - I had to tell, but never mind, I paid him back again, - I made him own he copied sums from clever cousin Ben. - - Aunt Jess she laughed, and Uncle Ned said ’twas a jolly game, - He changed his tune though pretty quick when round his own turn came. - “Now tell the truth,” I said to him--“not maybe or I guess-- - Ain’t you just heaps and heaps in love with our dear Auntie Jess? - - At first he scowled at Tom and me as mad as any hoe, - And Tom he laughed and said, “Own up! you used to be her beau.” - At this he looked and looked at her, and thought her nice I guess - For right out quick he said, “It’s true--I love your dear Aunt Jess.” - - We clapped our hands. Now ’tis your turn to question Auntie here, - But if he didn’t--mean old thing--just whisper in her ear. - Said she, “This is a pretty game, which everyone should know.” - “I wish we’d played it, dear,” he said, “a long, long time ago.” - - Then I winked hard at brother Tom, and he winked back at me, - And we sneaked off and left them there as jolly as could be. - I know a thing that I won’t tell--not to Tom anyway, - I’ll be a bridesmaid all so fine before next Xmas day. - - - - - Elspeth’s Daughter-in-law - - - I don’t know what spell came over us, - That’s over father and me, - But two silly things we must have been - To let the boy have his way. - But Sammie was all the boy we had, - An’ he grew so big an’ tall-- - We had no girl, I didn’t mind that, - For I don’t care for girls at all. - - An’ that great fellow, six feet I know, - An’ an arm I couldn’t span, - Was handsome--I may as well own up - That I like a handsome man. - Now father declares the trouble came - To fill our life to the brim - By reason of Sam’s good looks--he _thinks_ - The boy should look just like him. - - Not that I’d hurt his pride for the world, - But I’d feel most awful bad - To see father’s features one by one - A-showing up on our lad. - Sam got to college all right enough, - When he came home I declare - He told me about wonderful things - He’d had to learn while up there. - He showed me gloves all padded out, - The cap an’ the scanty trews, - An’ the mask of wire that hid his face, - The day that they beat the Blues. - - I had my doubts about Sammie too, - For fear ’twould spoil the lad, - An’ widow Dobbs kept throwing out hints - That he was going to the bad. - She’s awful quick with her nods and winks, - An’ a body can’t forget, - Why, she made me do a thing one day - That I’m mortal shamed of yet. - - She’d been telling up a big long yarn - Of boy’s deceit, an’ of things - That mothers discover unawares-- - An’ get just desperate stings. - It vexed me so much, that up I went - An’ opened our Sammie’s trunk, - Though if he had come an’ caught me there-- - Well, I know I should have sunk. - - I searched through all that big pile of stuff, - An’ I tried each little key, - But there was nothing in that big trunk - That his mother daren’t see. - Then I went over to widow Dobbs, - An’ we had a little spat, - My boy was hiding nothing from me, - Thank God! for a boy like that. - - But I must tell you about his wife; - You see we had always planned - That he’d marry Eliza Jane Jones-- - She owns a good bit of land. - She isn’t good looking, I’ll own up, - But in all your mortal life, - You never saw a better - Nor thriftier farmer’s wife. - - ’Twas a shock, I tell you, when he wrote - (Father said I was to blame) - That he’d bring a bride from the city-- - Daisy, he said, was her name. - Well, I’ll never forget how I felt - When I first saw Sammie’s wife, - I shook hands--I couldn’t have kissed her - Had it been to save my life. - - You see, I’d a thought of the work, - Plenty to do I can tell, - An’ I thought when Sammie’s wife came home - That I’d try a shirking spell. - An’ when I saw her, my heart was full - Of vexation an’ surprise, - I thought of hearty Eliza Jane Jones - Till the tears came in my eyes. - - She looked like a picture standing there, - A-smoothing her soft hair down, - It made me feel hateful, just to know - I was homely, old, and brown. - It vexed me just to look at her hands, - So dimpled, an’ soft, an’ white-- - I took Mr. Sammie to my room - An’ told him it wasn’t right. - - “She is no worker,” I said to him, - “An’ drones are bad in a hive,” - He laughed, “Oh we are a sleepy lot, - Daisy will keep us alive!” - “I know how ’twill be,” I said to him, - She’ll want new things every day - In machinery, to do up the work - In the quick new-fangled way. - - “But I won’t have it,” I said to him, - “I have my way of going, - An’ it’s girls that can’t do anything - That want to do the showing.” - He took it good--thinks I to myself - I’ll finish while I’m in it, - “There’s one thing, Sammie, I’ve never done, - An’ I’m old now to begin it. - - I’m old to wait on your lady wife, - An’ stick to it day by day, - An’ listen to high-falutin’ talk, - An’ feel I’m just in the way. - An’ another thing,” I said to him, - Then stopped, an’ got red an’ hot, - “You needn’t think your babies I’ll mind, - Because I tell you I’ll not.” - - I wish you could have heard the boy laugh, - He shook the things on the shelf, - “The dear little mammie, shan’t be ’bused” - He said, “I’ll mind ’em myself.” - All this talk I tell just to show - What a fickle thing I am, - An’ how little my words really meant - When I said all this to Sam. - - It was only some four years ago, - An’ stowed in the big back hall - There’s machines for almost everything, - Leaning their backs to the wall. - My daughter-in-law ’tends to it all-- - A good stout girl at her hand-- - If I say it myself, you can’t find - Better kept house in the land. - - The books, an’ papers, an’ flowers seem - Part of her every-day life, - An’ no doctor can ’tend to a sprain - Better than our Sammie’s wife. - Now, I like to sit here in my chair - An’ watch her happy an’ free, - An’ I like--yes, I’ll own up--I like - Baby to climb on my knee. - - Poor old father is sillier yet, - A slave to three-year-old Jim, - My, he grins an’ looks proud as can be - Because the boy looks like him! - Oh, we all have our worries I know, - We find each blemish an’ flaw, - But there’s one perfect thing in this world-- - Sam’s wife, _my daughter-in-law_. - - - - - Cold Water - - - My niece from Boston, Minerva Bleak, - So learned they call her Madam, - With all her ’ologies, French and Greek, - With all the queer things she styles antique, - Came to see me, an’ Adam. - - My brother, he wrote before she came, - A patient I send to you, - Just chase the cobwebs out of her brain, - And make her happy and sweet again, - Just now, she’s horribly blue. - - Blue! I cried, ’tis a serious thing, - System all out of kilter! - But Adam laughed when he saw me bring, - Herbs I had gathered late in the spring, - To brew into a philter. - - I tell you it was a big surprise - When I got a look at her. - Blue, there was nothing blue but her eyes, - They were as blue as the summer skies, - Adam laughed,--but no matter. - - She hadn’t been there many weeks - When I began to worry. - A girl should have roses in her cheeks, - Should sing, and laugh sometimes when she speaks, - And not be sad and sorry. - - I knew what was wrong, and told her so, - Studyin’, and contrivin’ - Over things she had no call to know, - An’ quite neglectin’ the life an’ glow - That keep the soul a-thrivin’. - - She had books on science, an’ books on art, - An’ books on things still higher, - Wonderful things that gave you a start, - But not a line, or a word, on the heart - Full of its vain desire. - - Well, she’d been there a month--maybe more, - ’Twas dreadful stormy weather, - She’d just been telling me o’er and o’er - Quaint little stories she’d told before - As we sat there together. - - When Martha came showin’ in young Blaine, - (Most as tall as our ceilin,’ - Such a splendid fellow, good and plain, - With no great beauty to make him vain, - But lots of sense an’ feelin.’) - - I introduced him all right I know-- - I like him--so does Adam, - But Minerva’s face went white as snow, - And he said, bowing his head, just so-- - “We’ve met, have we not, madam?” - - A nice romance right under my nose, - I watched it growin’, growin,’ - Along through the weeks of frosts and snows - (Oh, I wasn’t blind you may suppose) - And bitter north wind blowin’. - - For a man from Boston came along, - (Such an elegant fellow) - Played the guitar, wore his hair quite long, - Talked to Minerva of art and song - In tones so soft an’ mellow. - - Before long I had my feelings stirred, - And vowed he should’nt have her. - I listened long, but I never heard - From his mouth one good sensible word, - Nothin’ but rank palaver. - - And to watch that girl, who seemed so wise, - Listenin’ to all he told her, - It made the tears come into my eyes, - An’ my strong temper get on the rise. - But when the man got bolder. - - And they talked together, an’ agreed - God’s word was but a fable, - A good, well-written story, indeed, - Why I got right up, as I had need, - Stand this? I wasn’t able. - - I told him he had better take - His views where they were needed, - Minerva said ’twas a great mistake, - Said sometimes her heart did fairly ache - To know as much as he did. - - Then I got Minerva off alone, - Ah, she was dear, the sinner, - Said I, if old Satan gets this one - It won’t be because I haven’t done - All that I could to win her. - - So I told her things tender and true, - Told her of love undying, - Told her of peace that my own soul knew, - Till pride died out of her eyes of blue - An’ she fell softly crying. - - “You were a babe when your mother died, - And I stood there beside her, - Can you believe that your mother lied - When she kissed your face?” I said, an’ cried - “The Christ will keep an’ guide her,” - - “Will bring my little one home to me, - As gates of pearl were lifting.” - Your mother was very dear to me. - Now on what big mysterious sea - Would you have her soul drifting. - - Next day there came through the bitter cold - Two offers, or what I suppose was. - One in an envelope square and bold, - The other all perfume, white and gold, - Tied up in hot-house roses. - - They all went skating that afternoon - Down on the frozen river. - When I think how they came back so soon, - Minerva half-drowned, an’ in a swoon, - It always makes me shiver. - - ’Twas all for the best, that bath so cold, - Proved a boon an’ a blessin’, - Down went Blaine after her, strong an’ bold, - While safe to shore the other one rolled. - O ’twas a wholesome lesson! - - We sat there a happy crowd that night, - Though winter winds were blowin’, - Minerva, a little weak and white, - Her left hand hid in the preacher’s right, - Her eyes all soft an’ glowin’. - - Would you believe it, the other came, - Full of presumes and supposes, - Hoped nobody held he was to blame, - I carried him down, though, just the same, - His bunch of hot-house roses. - - He bowed himself off with such an air, - Not a bit overpowered, - And Adam said anything was fair, - With a man who went around with such hair, - And proved himself a coward. - - My brother wrote to me yesterday, - “How _did_ you cure my daughter, - She’s not the same girl that went away.” - But when I ask her, she’ll laugh and say, - “The cure! O just cold water!” - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - Long Time Ago - - - There’s been a fair in our nearest town, - A wonderful show of new things, - And Ebenezer and I went down - Just to see the folks, and view things. - - I wore the bonnet I got last week, - This stylish city-made bonnet, - And was sorry I did after all, - For the dust settled so upon it. - - I wouldn’t have Ebenezer know, - Or Parson, for all creation, - But I don’t feel right unless I’m dressed - In the very latest fashion. - - There’s sister Thomson, a good old maid, - It’s many a hint she’s given, - I’d feel more at home in Vanity Fair - Than I would in the courts of heaven. - - She vexes me with her saintly ways, - I never need try to please her, - And I can guess at the reason too, - She wanted my Ebenezer. - - “She’s delicate,” she said to him once - When he was at first my lover, - “No sort for a farmer lad to choose, - Sakes alive! there’s nothing of her.” - - “She won’t stand life’s toil and turmoil long!” - She says of late, so regretful, - Well, she may get Ebenezer yet - For all men are so forgetful. - - But never mind, I went to the fair, - I wish, my dear, you had been there, - For I know you would never forget - Such pretty sights as were seen there. - - Now, since I saw the marvel myself, - I know you’ll surely believe it, - They’re fooling ’round with the lightning grim, - Have made a plan to deceive it. - - Just think of taking some bits of steel, - And a rod that’s far from pliant, - To put on the roof of a house or barn, - That it can glare ’round defiant. - - Ebenezer fancied it, I know, - And wanted to make the bargain, - But kind of dreaded what I would say, - And also good elder Largain. - - “’Twould be right pleasant” he said to me, - “When the storm was at its labors, - To have something standing up like that - To scare it off to the neighbors.” - - “Ebenezer,” I said, very sharp, - For I didn’t like his spirit, - “God holds all the lightning in His hand, - Then why should His children fear it? - - “You just let that precious thing alone, - Let it alone, Ebenezer, - And if we’re struck when the lightning comes, - Why never mind, Ebenezer.” - - Then there were machines for everything, - But I would feel like a ninny, - Setting all day on a cushioned chair, - Spinning rolls on that queer jinny. - - They wanted to sell me one right off, - I shook my head, “not at present,” - I’ll do my work in the good old way, - Though it isn’t quite so pleasant. - - I’ve done my share of the big farm’s work, - Spinning, and weaving, and baking; - Though sometimes only the good Lord knows - How my back and legs are aching. - - And whatever sister Thomson says, - She can’t make fun of my working, - And if I like fashion most too well, - ’Tisn’t the fashion of shirking. - - There’s awful smart people in the world, - You’d think so if you had been there, - Such signs and wonders on every hand, - At the fair was to be seen, dear. - - And I wore my very newest things, - Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, - But truth is truth, and I’ll own right up, - I look quite nice in this bonnet. - - I wouldn’t have Ebenezer know, - Or parson, for all creation, - But I don’t feel right unless I’m dressed - In the very latest fashion. - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - The Meanest Man - - - “Tell you why I never got married? - I’d as lief as not, Sarah Ann, - I never but once got an offer, - And then--well, he wasn’t the man. - - Tell the story--yes, if you wish it, - You cannot remember I know - When the widow Wemp an’ her youngster - Moved in the old cottage below. - - That spring was as backward as could be, - The nights and the days were so cold, - Not a bird had a bit of a song - But the robins, saucy and bold. - - Did you ever try to be kind to - A kitten that scarcely could stand? - Half starved, or half drowned, or half frozen, - Yet it flies from your outstretched hand? - - Well, ’twas just so with that little one - When I tried to get him one day, - My heart kind of melted watching him - At his solemn unchildish play. - - A bran new idea, but struck me - As I washed the dishes that night, - I sauntered down to the cottage - With a basket, not very light. - - Oh, but that was a comfortless room! - The widow so thin and white - Was rocking the boy, and a dimness - Came over my eyes at the sight. - - I walked right up to her and kissed her, - Says I, little woman I know - Things haven’t gone well with you lately, - Or you wouldn’t look as you do. - - But, says I, if a friend can help you, - And ease up your trouble a mite, - Why, I’ll just sit down here beside you, - An’ we’ll talk it over to-night. - - She took my two hands and she held them, - The big tears ran down her pale cheek, - “Oh, I’m lonely, she cried, and foolish,” - Says I, you are worn out an’ weak. - - What has this to do with my offer? - Be patient, my dear Sarah Ann, - If you’d listened a minute longer - You’d have caught a glimpse of the man. - - For right there all creaking and groaning, - Beneath some rough limbs meant for wood, - In front of the door of the cottage - Old Abner Green’s big waggon stood. - - An’ Abner came in without knocking, - A-nodding to her, an’ to me, - “What, two of us here! well there’s nothin’ - Like havin’ good neighbors,” said he. - - “Now, I’ve heard you’re mazin’ poor, Missus, - An’ I reckon it must be true, - Speak out to us fully and freely, - It maybe I can help you through.” - - She told him--I sat there and listened - To a story of hopes and fears, - Of poverty, sorrow, and heartbreak, - Till I scarce could see for the tears. - - She talked of the home of her childhood, - Of parents and friends kind and true, - Of seasons o’erflowing with pleasure, - Of skies that were cloudless and blue, - Of the meadows so fragrant with clover, - With bees in each down-drooping head, - Of the noisy stream rushing onward, - Away to its pebble-lined bed. - - Of the homely affection abounding, - The work that was duty’s sweet call, - Of the church that stood on the hillside, - Of the graves--the end of it all. - - “I’m waiting,” her voice broke a little, - “For one perfect summer to come, - Not the stifling summers of cities, - But one of the summers of home. - - And before the frost touches the flowers”-- - Here she held the boy to her breast-- - “I’ll be sleeping too soundly to care, - And this dear one--ah, God knows best!” - - Now I’m not soft-hearted as some folks, - But an odd catch came in my breath, - She seemed such a lone little creature, - With nothing to wait for but death. - - But Abner, he rose up and buttoned - His great coat, and smiled so benign, - “Missus,” he said, “I’ve brought you some wood, - There’s no kinder heart--hem! than mine.” - - Them limbs may be just a little tough, - But no fire is tougher, I guess, - Don’t thank me, I know what you mean now, - An’ feelin’s are hard to express. - - Perhaps I’ve a penny about me - To give to that boy that’s asleep, - Don’t let him be foolish at spendin’, - But teach him to hold and to keep. - - There’s likely some things at the house, too, - I can either send up, or bring, - Don’t thank me, you’re poor but you’re honest, - _You can work it out in the spring_. - - I’m not so well-grounded as some folks, - An’ I took a tumble from grace, - To talk of her working to pay him, - An’ death in her pretty young face. - - He followed me out as I started-- - My head pretty high--down the lane, - But just as I came to the thorn-hedge, - He caught up, and said he, “Now Jane, - - I’ve something special to tell you, - You needn’t go hurrying through; - Say, I’m thinkin’ of marryin’, Jane, - An’ the lucky woman is--_you_. - - Yes, I might have found one much younger - If I had gone lookin’ around, - But you can keep house, little woman, - With the best of them, I’ll be bound. - - Looks shan’t count when I hunt a woman, - Said I to myself, long ago, - That she’s savin’, an’ strong, an’ hearty, - Is all that I hanker to know. - - I tell you what, Jane, such a bargain - Won’t travel your road every day, - I’ve fixed my affections right on you, - When shall it be? What do you say? - - We’re both of us steady an’ honest, - We’ve both got a fair share of pelf, - I’ve looked quite a while for a woman - Who thinks just about like myself.” - - I gasped, Sarah Ann, for a minute, - Was never so shamed in my life, - And old Abner Green stood there leering, - Quite certain, that I’d be his wife. - - “Do I look so anxious to marry?” - Said I, with lips scornfully curled, - “That you really think I’d go partners - With the meanest man in the world? - - So you’ve waited to find you a wife, - With a mind like your own, you say, - But you’ll not find one so mean as that, - If you wait till the Judgment Day.” - - Then I turned me about and left him - Staring up at the silent stars, - But I fancied I caught some swear words - As I hurried over the bars. - - Sarah Ann, that’s all the offer - This Aunt Jane of yours ever had; - ’Tis as well, I’m content to live here - With my own little bright-eyed lad. - - Yes, his mother died in the springtime-- - Here he comes with his hair all curled - And face like a peach--now isn’t he - The loveliest thing in the world! - - [Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.] - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Heart Songs, by Jean Blewett - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEART SONGS *** - -***** This file should be named 53824-0.txt or 53824-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/8/2/53824/ - -Produced by Larry B. 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