University of Virginia Library


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II. PART II.—SUNBEAMS.

SUNBEAMS.

To my Sister:
Sunbeams are gladsome, and bright and free—
Smiling on mortals from Heaven above,
Full of sweetness and sympathy,
Heart-cheering sunbeam—'tis thee we love.
Thine is a beauty that never departs;
Going on errands of mercy far—
Into sad lives and lonely hearts,
Proving ever a guiding star.
Little thou knowest, oh sunbeam bright,
How much of hope thy rays have given,
How thou hast strengthened and given light;
Thou art noble and pure, like an angel in Heaven
Shine on, sweet sunbeam, with light of truth,
May all of thy rays most brightly gleam,
Guiding to virtue the steps of youth,—
May'st thou ever shine brightly, my sweet Sunbeam!

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THE SAILBOAT.

Snowy speck upon the landscape,—
Like a bird far out at sea;
Seeming but a fleecy shadow,—
Do you ask: “What can it be?”
See it, ever rocking, rocking,
On the ever changing breast
Of the Roads, near the James River,
Active now, and then at rest.
What? it is a little sailboat!
Gliding swiftly up the Bay;
Sailing homeward from a days' work
In the dreamy far away.
How we welcome thee, oh sailboat,
Bringing home thy precious freight;
Bringing husband, son or father—
Love waits at the cottage gate.
Boat of life and hope, speed onward!
Spread thy white sails, more and more!
Do not think of casting anchor,
Till we reach the other shore.
Sail through sunshine and through darkness,
Dare the storm as black as night;
Brave the billows and the breakers—
Evening shall bring golden light.

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Let us all sail bravely onward,
To our Father's house above,
Where the billows are forgotten,
In a life of peace and love.

A CHRISTMAS STORY.

Almost two thousand years ago,
There was born in Bethlehem's manger,
A little child, who, as we well know,
Was to save us from sin and danger.
His face was fair, his eyes were bright,
And to his care was given
A sceptre, and a crown of light;
For he was the child of Heaven.
His name was Jesus Christ, the Lord;
His parents, Joseph and Mary,
To save his life and fulfil the Word,
Took a mid-night journey dreary,
Into a lone and distant land,
Where hearts were warm, tho' midnight
Darkness was on every hand,
And very few rays of God's sunlight.
There they remained until warned of God
That the wicked king's reign was over,
Then retraced their step to their native sod;
But when they found that a lover

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Of sin, held in his hand
The sceptre of his father,
They turned aside to another land,
And there remained out of danger.
This little babe became a man,
And began his work of preaching
And showing to men their lost estate;
But few gave heed to His teaching.
Still He persevered, till many came
To hear His words of wisdom;
And twelve were chosen to help Him on
In His work for the fettered soul's freedom.
He was tempted and tried on every hand,
And He cast out the savage devil
From the poor afflicted of that land,
And found for each man his level;
Caused the blind to see, and the lame to walk,
Gave food to thousands hungry;
The tongue of the dumb He made to talk,
Healed the sick, and gave rest to the weary.
Thus time passed on, and the hour came
When His work for men was completed—
When He was taken by cruel men,
And tried for crimes never committed.
He was cruelly whipped and condemned to die,
For thus had the prophets written:
And one of His followers told a lie
When accused of being with Him

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He was forsaken and much despised
By many, when nothing but love
Should have filled their hearts, for they realized
He was Son of the Father above.
He was led as a lamb, to the slaughter grim,
And never a thought of compassion
Entered the hearts of those wretches for Him,—
They were filled with hatred and passion.
They crucified Him upon a cross,
Between two thieves they hung Him;
But He died to save men from lasting loss,
And not because they nailed Him
Upon the cruel, cruel tree,
Between the vilest of sinners:
For we know that He died for you and for me;
Yes, He is our blessed Redeemer!
To-day, as we listened to the words
Of one of God's chosen preachers,
We thought of those who have never heard
Of that noblest and wisest of teachers,
Who, though despised by sinful men,
Came down from His throne in glory,
And suffered and died to rescue them
And give to the world a story—
A lovely example, a perfect life,
The most precious ever given,—
To guide men upward into light,
To guide them safe to Heaven.

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He said, “Go work in my vineyard, all;
Work with thy might, and never
Despair, and when I shall call
Thou shalt live in My home forever.”
And now, my friends, let each of us strive
To live in the year before us,
Nobler and purer and better lives,
That we, too, may join the chorus
Which the angels shouted o'er Bethlehem,
When the “star” was shining brightest;—
“Peace on earth, good will to men!
Glory to God in the highest!

TO D---.

Despair not, dear one, God is good;
His help is always nigh;
When friends prove treacherous as a flood,
Look to thy Friend on high;
He ever lives to bless thy life,—
Deliver thee from doubt and strife.

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A RECORD ABOVE.

It is not the way of this strange world of ours,
To honor its heroes with garlands of flowers,
For those who do much for poor suffering mankind
Are the ones who may suffer and be left far behind.
But we must not give up, tho' our efforts seem lost—
Though the ones we have aided with infinite cost
Prove ungrateful; keep on in your efforts of love;
Remember God keepeth a record above.
I know it is hard when you strive with your might,
To lighten the burdens, give a faint glimpse of light—
To those who in darkness are wandering along,
To feel that no thanks have been given for your song.
Keep heart, fainting brother, for hard is the road
To the city celestial, that heavenly abode;
Keep heart, fainting brother, and e'er faithful prove,
For Jesus is keeping a record above.
Men are not what they seem, for the most of their words
Are uttered in falsehood—simply to be heard,
While heart-longings and groanings are kept from the light,
And ever are shrouded in darkness and night.
Let us live for each other, and strive to impart
Life-giving wisdom, and cheer the lone heart;
'Tis well to forget self, to grow in His love,
And we will be sure of a record above.

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He said, long ago, “Work to save men from hell,
Work ever; do all that you can; do it well,—
And when, high in glory, my jewels I own,
I'll welcome thee, tried one, to sit on a throne.
His words, kindly spoken, are dear to our heart,
And never, God helping, we'll never depart
From His gracious commands, and His measures of love;—
And in death we'll rejoice in a record above.
And then in bright mansions, we'll e'er sing His praise;
Our glorious Redeemer, the Ancient of days;
With angels and loved ones, a numerous throng—
We'll ever be hymning that beautiful song;
Unto Him that has loved us and washed us from sin—
Washed white in His blood, each one has come in;
And now, safe in Heaven, we'll sing of His love—
That Saviour who granted a record above!

HOLD FAST, HOLD ON, HOLD OUT.

When the sky of life is dark,
Hold fast;
When by fear is tossed thy bark,
Hold fast;
Firm His promises endure,
Strong and steadfast, safe and sure;
Trust in Him, all is secure!
Hold fast!

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Art thou sinking in despair?
Hold on;
God's love reaches everywhere,
Hold on;
Be thy trials what they may,
In the night or in the day;
“Trust me,” hear the Saviour say,
Hold on!
If thou wouldst have peace of mind,
Hold out.
Wouldst thou joy eternal find?
Hold out.
When on earth shall set thy sun,
When thy life-race is well run,
Wouldst thou hear from Him “Well done?”
Hold out!

THE LIFE-BOAT.

There was a life-boat launched on Calv'ry,
Eighteen hundred years ago,
Which has rescued millions weary,
From the fearful ebb and flow—
Of the waves of sin and sorrow;
Of the waves of guilt and fear;
When the tempest raves the wildest,
Ever is that life-boat near.

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In that boat there is a Captain,
And His heart is full of love,
Ever on the watch for lost men,—
Pointing to His home above.
Many who have sinned the deepest,
Many who have been almost
To the door of dark perdition,
Have been saved, tho' almost lost!
When the sky is dark above us,
When the clouds are black as night,
See that life-boat with King Jesus,
And that welcome beacon light.
See that bark so full of talent,
Tossed amid the breakers wild
Of intemperance, and sinking!
“Jesus save thy shipwrecked child!”
See yon rover of life's ocean,
Struggling in that fearful sea!
Hear the welcome shout—“Ahoy there!
I can save you, look to me!”
Seek that life-boat now, my brother,
While a chance to you is given;
Seek its Captain, He will guide you
To His glorious home in Heaven.
Where I truly hope to meet you,
When the storms of life are past;
Brought in safely by that life-boat—
May we all reach home at last!

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AGNES.

To Agnes Adeline Rowe:
There is a winning little girl,
With dark brown eyes, and auburn curl,—
The name of this—my little pearl—
Is Agnes.
She is a cheerful little thing,
Happy as robins on the wing—
Which in the summer sweetly sing—
My Agnes.
To-day, she is just five years old—
Washington's birth-day, too, I'm told;
And she is dearer far than gold.
My Agnes.
Be kind to all you chance to meet;
Run errands of love with willing feet;
That grateful friends may ever greet
Thee, Agnes.
Love grandpa, grandma, mamma, too,
And Uncle Sam—they all love you,
To George, Phil, Blyden, e'er be true,—
My Agnes.
Learn all you can where'er you go,
Of nature's secrets,—where wild flowers grow,
And with Aunt Millie learn to row,
My Agnes.

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May God in kindness look on thee,
And many birthday's may you see,
And may you ever happy be—
My Agnes.
May all your life be pure and bright,
Illumined o'er with virtue's light,
And happy as it is to-night—
Dear Agnes.
Feb. 22d, 1882.

GOOD WISHES.

May your shadow never grow less,
As the Irishman once remarked;
May you never know the want of a friend,
Nor be pushed out in the dark.
May your joy be bright as sunshine,
On a glorious summer day;
For slighted love may you ne'er repine,
Nor dearly for kindness pay.
May you ever be well dressed,
In calico, worsted or silk;
And may you ever be so blessed
As to shed no tears for spilt milk.
May your cup of joy run o'er;
And if you must give up,
Friendship or treasure to you dear,
In meekness accept the cup.

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May all your plans succeed,
Especially if they're right;
And happiness ever be your meed,
Your pathway e'er be bright.
May you be free from tricks,
And a toast the Fenian gave—
May you live to eat the hen that picks
The grass upon your grave!

IRENE.

Shadows will fall, dear sister,
Upon the brightest path,
Many the cares and trials,
And conflicts life's journey hath.
But in the hallowed distance
We see a brightening ray—
It is hope's glimmering beacon
It tells of coming day.
No trial now seems joyous;
Each grief is hard to bear;
And yet you know that mother,
Has laid down a load of care.
Why then repine? 'tis better;
For she is now at rest;
And with the angels singing
In mansions of the blest.

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We know that our Redeemer
Has triumphed over death,
Because He lives, we surely
Have reason for the faith—
The hope we have within us,
That after toil and pain—
Yes, after death's dark valley,
Our loved ones live again.
Then do not doubt nor murmur,
But have a purpose true
To follow in His footsteps
And faithful service do,—
Until the summons cometh
To bid from labor cease,
And enter the bright haven
Of joy, and rest and peace.
Peace, sweet peace, with thee remain,
Friend of worth and constancy;
Signifying peace Thy name,
Thy companion may it be.
Be sincere of heart, Irene,
And thy life will be serene.

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SABBATH MORNING.

Over the forests clear and bright,
In glory comes the morning sun,
And sheds its radiant holy light—
A blessing rich on every one.
It is the Sabbath morning, and
Our hearts go out in love to Him,
Whose ever loving, guiding hand,
Leads us away from paths of sin.
Who sent His son into the world,
News of salvation to bring down.
If faithful to His flag unfurled,
Till death, thou shalt receive a crown.
Oh, may the worship of our hearts,
Our truest, warmest, best endeavor,
Be to our Father given on earth—
And songs of praise in Heaven forever.
August, 1883.

FIRELIGHT FANCIES.

As evening closes round the hearthstone,
In our woodland home,
Curious fancies fill the mind, and
Dreamy visions come.
Curious figures in the firelight,
Flit before our gaze;
Phantom men, and phantom women,
Scenes of other days,—

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All come trooping in procession,
Panoramas grand—
Warriors fierce with burnished sabres—
Marching through the land.
Soldiers uniformed in scarlet,
Red-coats grim, indeed;
Hessian reg'lars with their helmets,
Troopers at full speed.
See them close in mortal combat!
Hear the bugle's call!
How the mighty chiefs urge onward!
See them fight and fall!
Oh! the din, the awful carnage;
Young and old o'erthrown;
Horse and rider, youth and old age—
Hear the wounded moan!
Fearful is the musket's rattle,
And the cannon's boom;
Men are slaughtered like dumb cattle,—
Still they march to doom.
See! the battle now is ended,—
Men are marching home;
Peace declared, and wives and children
Shout—Our soldier's come.
Oh! how changed! from war and carnage—
Homelike now the scene!
Wives and children, youth and old age,
Happy and serene.

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They are listening to the story
Of the dreadful war;
Of American and Tory
On the field afar.
Tory fighting for the kingdom
Of old England free;
Col'nists striking hard for freedom,
Home and liberty.
How by many a hard-fought battle
Victory was won,
A Republic for the people
Set up 'neath the sun.
And much more the peasant warrior
Tells his family;
For they all are eager listeners
To his long story.
Ah! the fire upon the hearthstone,
Of my woodland home,
Now burns dimly, and the clock tones
Tell that evening's done.
Field and soldiers, each have vanished,
Cannon, muskets, all;
Scenes of home life, too, have perished
With the sentry's call.
Fancy now has ceased its roaming,
And the present hour,
With realities a-teeming
Breaks the charmer's power.

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Sometime when the fire is lighted,
Other scenes may come;
Our mind be again enchanted
In our woodland home.
October, 1885.

RAINY SABBATH.

I stand by my window this morning,
And list to the drip of the rain,
As it ceaselessly falls; and the moaning
Wind joins the sad refrain.
“Some days will be dark and dreary,”
The poet has truly said;
But a Sabbath of gloom is weary,
All its restfulness seems to have fled.
For my spirit is filled with longing,
To proclaim a Saviour's love;
And direct the minds of my little flock
Toward the Shepherd's fold above.
My mind is so impatient
Of obstacle and restraint,—
Right up from my heart on the instant
Arises the thought of complaint.
Yet each cloud has a silver lining,
And the lesson this day would teach—
Is a lesson of faith and patience—
Go forth to the few and preach.

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Where two or three gather together,
In service of prayer or praise,—
He'll bless them in spite of the weather,
Bring joy in the cloudy days.
Wherever He is, there's sunshine;
No cloud can His brightness dim,
So whether the day be dark or fine,
I'll keep my trust in Him.
September 27, 1885.

TELL JESUS.

To Mib, with Birthday Wishes:
Thirty years, yes, thirty years,
Filled with sunshine, shade and tears.
Do not brood o'er prospects drear;
Of your trials, doubts and fears,
Tell Jesus.
All along the way of life,
With its care and worry rife,
Do your duty little wife.
Of the struggle and the strife,—
Tell Jesus.
To a purpose ever bend;
Less of self my esteemed friend!
Ask Him; He the strength will send.
For His friendship to the end,
Thank Jesus.
April 9, 1885.

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BABY.

How helpless and senseless thou art,
In thy loving mother's arms;
Were it not for her tender, loving heart,
For thee, life would have few charms.
As a helpless babe, so we
In our Heavenly Father's sight,
Are in constant need of His tender care,
His guidance, His love, His light!

THE SEA.

Oh, the sea, the sounding sea,
Rolling and surging in awful glee,
Gathering volume and force it roars,
As wave after wave rushes on to the shore,
Filling our minds with wonder and awe,
As it rolls in obedience to God's law.
Oh, the sea, the glorious sea,
Full of beauty and mystery,
Seeming a thing of life and grace,
Ever rejoicing to run its race.
Laughing and rollicking, see it come!
Bringing the storm-tossed seaman home.
Oh! thou sea! thou deep, deep sea!
Treasures vast and untold there be
Underneath thy bosom swell;

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Thy wealth and bounty none can tell.
He alone who can name each star,
Can count thy treasures from near and far.
Pearls of beauty and fabulous worth,
Down in thy depths have been given birth;
Coral most beautiful, tinted and fair,
Shells and mosses, both rich and rare,
Lovely grottos, submarine caves,
Are buried beneath thy restless waves.
Oh! thou sea! thou deep blue sea!
Many a song has been sung of thee!
Many a heart hast thou filled with joy!
Many a girl and many a boy,
Hast thou filled with a longing, deep and wide,
When they first beheld thy rolling tide.
Oh! thou sea! thou pitiless sea!
Give back the loved ones who sleep in thee!
Give back the husband, the father, the son,
That thou hast secreted, one by one!
Give back the bridegroom and the bride,
Thou pitiless ocean, wild and wide.
Many the lives thou hast kept apart!
And thou hast broken the tender heart!
Tears of bitterness have been shed
For those who sleep in thy slimy bed;
For wealth and treasure engulfed by thee,
Thou heartless all-devouring sea.

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Oh! the sea! the grand old sea!
On its bosom what waifs are we!
On the land we may swell with pride,
By pomp and show our littleness hide,
But we sink into insignificance,
As on its restless waves we dance.
An animal of low degree,
Beside us upon the wide, wide sea,
Becomes our equal in helplessness,
Our weakness, then, we must confess;
Driven hither and thither, tempest tossed,
Knowing not if our life shall be saved or lost.
'Tis true that the ocean seems limitless,
In power and grandeur, her own mistress.
But there is One, she must obey,
“No further go,” we hear Him say;
“Peace; be still!” There is a calm,—
As pain is allayed by a soothing balm.
Our life is like the changeful sea,
Full of unrest and mystery,
Full of worry and care and strife,—
Like a surge of the sea, indeed, is life;
Like a boat upborne on the billow's crest,
It rocks and strains, then sinks to rest.
The sea is broad and full and deep,
But it never awakes from unconscious sleep;
No mind, no soul, has the boundless sea,
But created in image of God are we!
A living soul by His breath was given,—
When the sea is no more—we may live in Heaven!

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CYPRESS SLASH.

There's a place called Cypress Slash,
In the town of McIntosh;
'Tis a pleasant place to live,
And one's strength to missions give.
Many happy days we passed
In the bounds of Cypress Slash.
'Tis a farming district fine,
Where men and women spend their time
In the fields a-turning sod;
In sweet content they daily plod,
Clearing land of weeds and trash,
In the fields of Cypress Slash.
A mission church is standing there,
Siloam church, 'mid pines so fair;
On Sabbath, those who've six days trod
The fields, look up to Nature's God—
Turning their minds from care and crash
To temple praise in Cypress Slash.
Another church—the A. M. E.—
Stands near a grove of tall pine trees,
And there, on every Thursday night
The “Locals” preach with much delight,
And strike the book with mighty crash,
Down in the vale of Cypress Slash.
But with each month comes Brother G.—
A priest of common sense is he!

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Oh, what a change comes o'er that band
Under his firm and steady hand!
Until he's gone, no noise, no clash,
In the valley church of Cypress Slash.
Of youth and maidens there's no lack,
And many of them on the track
That leads to brighter scenes above,
Where all is peace and joy and love.
But they are modest, shy, abash,
These boys and girls of Cypress Slash.
In the happy hours of spring
The woodland songsters sweetly sing;
Bees are humming in the bowers,
Where bloom the rose and jasmin flowers,
And at evening fire-flies flash,
O'er the fields of Cypress Slash.
Come, then, friends, and see the place,
And its rural populace;
In their simple, happy homes,
Where peace and joy and plenty comes,
We'll give you welcome, and some—“hash”
If you visit Cypress Slash.

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POWER OF A SONG.

Tender and soft on the air of the night,
In sweetest cadences, there come
Strains of rapt harmony, tones that delight,
Floating forth from a happy home.
List to the words which with harmony blend!
In thought back to childhood we roam:
‘Mid pleasures and palaces, wherever we tend
There's no place on earth like home.
What tender reflections are brought by that song,
Which is sung in a careless mood,
By one who knows not that in yonder gay throng,
A famishing heart receives food.
See! tears of contrition, course down the worn cheek;
To the wanderer better thoughts come:
“I've wandered so long, I am broken and weak,
But I know there's a welcome at home.
Yes, father and mother are waiting me there,
My brothers and sisters say come!
I'll throw off this burden of folly and care,
And unite with the loved ones at home”!
The mission of song has been grandly fulfilled;
No more will the prodigal roam.
She turns from her error, with penitence filled,
To find there's forgiveness at home!

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Just think! what a power we mortals possess,
Our influence is constant and strong;
We teach when we think not, we curse or we bless,
By an act, or a word, or a song.

DAISY.

I have a valued friend, of thoughtful mien:
Intelligent she is, and sweet, I ween,
As any of the daughters of a queen,—
Her name is Daisy.
Her mind is stored with knowledge of great worth;
Her heart o'erflows with sympathy and mirth;
Her thoughts are pure and chaste as e'er had birth;
Most noble Daisy!
'Tis pleasant to possess so true a friend!
Like the day's eye, which light and gladness sends,
And gilds the day with beauty to the end,—
So shine, sweet daisy!
May peace and light and joy from Heaven above,
Upon thy path through life a blessing prove;
May health and happiness and constant love
Cheer thy life, Daisy!

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BANGS.

Give me a woman, true and fair,
With too much sense to “bang” her hair.
A woman who can make good bread;
And not ashamed of high forehead.
A lovely woman—true and fair,
With too much sense to “bang” her hair.
A woman who can mend a shirt,
And ceases ne'er to war on dirt;
Who keeps the buttons on her shoes,
Nor stoops to a deceitful ruse;
Who dresses neat, with grace and care,
And knows too much to “bang” her hair.
The good of others e'er in view;
A missionary spirit, too.
A Christian true, and apt to teach—
One who is not ashamed to preach
Against false modesty and glair,
And the silly mode of “banging” hair!
A woman of intelligence,
Who can converse with elegance,
Decided taste for literature,—
Who sings with tones both sweet and pure.
Too reverent to sit in prayer—
And one who scorns to “bang” her hair.
The Chimpanzee in Afric land,
For years has worn a little band
Of hair, upon his forehead low,
And smirks insipidly, you know;

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A “bang” the Shetland pony wears,
But ladies ne'er should “bang” their hair.
A temple fair, of thought, God made
The forehead! There His truth conveyed;
But Satan's scheme did “bangs” invent,
To set at naught God's wise intent.
To foil his purpose, now, declare
I'll never, never, “bang” my hair!

ANNA.

May thy life be like thy name,
Which signifieth favor,—
Full of peace and joy and grace,
Flowing from thy Saviour.
May His grace be ever given,
To conduct thee safe to Heaven!

CARRIE.

Your name is full of meaning,
Strong, womanly, and pure.
Filled, then, with a noble purpose
To the end may you endure.
Be strong in God, my sister,
High souled, and pure of mind.
To those who thirst and hunger—
Our Father is very kind.

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EIGHTEEN.

To Mary:
Our life is like a river,
Ne'er ceasing in its flow,—
It rushes on forever,—
The swift years come and go,
Bearing us on their current,
To happiness or woe.
May yours be spent in wisdom,
In profitable employ;
May deepest peace and freedom,
And happiness and joy
Flow on for you, my sister,
And trouble ne'er annoy.
And when the domes and mansions
Immortal may be seen,
When but the River Jordan,
So peaceful intervenes,
May you be just as hopeful
As when you were eighteen!

WILHELMINA.

I know a maid of gentle grace,
With eyes like stars of night,
With such a lovely, beaming face,—
Where'er she is 'tis light!

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I have a secret—shall I tell,
That every one may know?
I love this little maiden well—
Sweet Wilhelmina Rowe.
She has a large place in my heart,
'Tis hers where'er I go.
May we as lovers never part—
Sweet Wilhelmina Rowe.
And may Our Father's loving care
Protect from every foe;
A benediction is my prayer,—
For Wilhelmina Rowe.