Thoughts in Verse :: :: University of Virginia Library

The author has no apology to make, in offering this little volume to the public. The fact that among the books on various subjects by authors from our race, very little in the line of poetry has been contributed, leads to the sending forth of these “Thoughts in Verse,” with the hope that it may do something toward stirring up our young people to higher aspirations.

Sincerely, GEO. C. ROWE.

GOD SPEED.

Go forth my little volume,
And do thy work of love;
Cheer up the tired and lonesome,
And raise their thoughts above.
Thy lessons of humility,
With faith and patience teach;
Where shadows fall the darkest,
May thy rays of brightness reach.

Go forth to teach salvation,
A saviour's dying grace;
Go forth to all the nation
And cheer our struggling race.
May blessings rest upon thee,
And all thy course be bright,
Go forth in faith and purity,
And carry truth and light.

I. PART I.

DEDICATION.

This volume is affectionately dedicated to my Mother, Mrs. Adeline S. Rowe.

MOTHER.

Pure is the love that we give to thee, mother,
The purest and sweetest by mortals possessed;
A love that we cannot allow to another,
And there is no love in this cold world more blest.

In infancy, childhood and youth, thou did'st guide us;
When Christian instruction most freely was given—
'Twas thy loving teaching that pointed to Jesus,
To Jesus, to life, to a bright home in Heaven.

And were we bereft of thy presence, dear mother,
The half of life's sunshine would flee from our heart;
For friendship, or father, or sister or brother,
Could not fill thy place, if from thee we must part.

And for the great love thou hast given so freely,
We'll cherish thee, love thee, until the last breath,
And we will, God helping us, shield thee from evil,
And cheer thy dear heart till the shadow of death

Is o'er thee, and then, in the mansions of glory,
We'll think of thee happy with angels of love;
And when we have finished the work Christ has given us,
We'll meet thee, and greet thee, in Heaven above.

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!

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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,—

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.

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.

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.

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.

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;

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.

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!

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!

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.

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!

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!

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;

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.

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!

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.

III. PART III.—IN MEMORIAM.

Rev. Allan McLean,

Litchfield, Conn.

A christian warrior is sleeping,
After battle din has ceased,
Sleeping that sleep which knows no waking,
Resting now in perfect peace.

A noble-hearted man is sleeping,
For his life-work all is done;
And the angels now are keeping
Faithful watch around his tomb.

A man of God has ceased from labor,
And his work is fully blest;
Finished his course, with faith and patience—
Entered everlasting rest.

Wendell Phillips.

A mighty man has fallen asleep
Upon his Saviour's breast;
A life full-rounded, pure and deep,
Is finished and is blest.

His noble heart scorned every wrong,
His face was calm, serene;
His will well-governed, firm and strong,
Though oft his words were keen.

When duty called him to the fray,
His eloquence was grand;
He deeply longed to see the day—
The curse should flee his land.

He worked and toiled through bitter years,
To break the tyrants' power;
Through fire and flood and scalding tears,
He struggled, till the hour—

Which in the providence of God
Should set the captive free,
And men should reverence the blood
That flowed on Calvary,

To make them one; a brotherhood—
In bonds of Christian love;
And work for one another's good,
To gain a home above.

The blow was struck; the giant died;
Oppression ceased its reign,
And o'er the land now purified,
Peace sweetly smiled again.

And with the purpose of his life
Complete ere set of sun,
He calmly waited after strife
To hear—“Enough; well done!”

And when the message came at last,
A shock full-ripe was he,
The years allotted man were passed—
His age was seventy-three.

The work the Master gave is done,
His efforts have been blest;
He battled earnestly and won,
And now he is at rest.

Miss Ann Eliza Davis,

Danville, Va.

A year since, when we gently laid
Bright flowers above the sleeping brave,
We little thought that thou, sweet maid,
Would sleep this year within the grave.

Affection pure to thee we brought;
Thy life to earnest work was given;
We send this wreath with tender thought—
And may we meet, some day in Heaven.

Janie Armstrong.

Died in Savannah, Ga., October 8, 1885.

Near her bed are angels hovering,
As she breathes her life away;
Mother, friends, with tender patience
Gather round and watch and pray.

With fixed eyes upon some object,
Which seems mirrored on her sight;
With a voice o'erfilled with rapture,
And a countenance of light—

She exclaims—“I see my Saviour,
Standing near, and beckoning me;
Listen to the words he utters—
‘Come, my Father sends for thee!’

Come, a place for thee is waiting,
In my many-mansioned home;
At the gate are angels watching—
Do not linger, quickly come!

Yes, I hear the angels singing!
Do you hear them, mother dear?
And their bright wings softly rustling?
Heaven, indeed, is very near.

Death, for me has lost his terror;
Robbed of victory the grave.
I am in my father's keeping—
He but taketh what he gave.

He has promised to be with me,
In the valley, cold and dim;
I am resting on His bosom—
And my trust is all in Him.

Dr. George W. Levere.

To Zion Presbyterian Church, Charleston:

A pastor sleeps, and Zion weeps
In agony of grief.
They look above, to God of Love,
And supplicate relief.

He comes no more; he comes no more
With messages of peace.
His race is run; his labor done;
His soul has found release.

Then, Zion, wake, fresh courage take,
Our Father knoweth best.
He knoweth all; He sent the call—
And gave thy loved one rest.

Work on, work on; at morn and noon,
And in the gloomy night,
For soon shall come thy summons home
To Father's house of light.

[Dr. George W. Levere.]

To the Preachers' Union, of Charleston:

One of our number has finished his journey,
And in obedience passed under the rod.
He was a soldier who fought for his country—
Fought for his Saviour, humanity, God.

Brethren, 'ere long we must lay down our armor;
Soon we must cease from our warfare, and rest.
Let us be faithful, and constant in labor,
That we may enter the home of the blest.

We are ambassadors for the Lord Jesus,
With a commission His will to perform.
In all the duties required He will guide us,—
Give us a shelter, and peace, in the storm.

And when the work of our mission is over,
We shall with joy to our King's palace come,—
There we shall hear from our Prince and our Saviour,
“Rest from thy labor, ye blessed, well done!”

Mrs. A. Isabel Herron.

Died in Charleston, S. C., February 14, 1887.

A life of worth and beauty,
A life of hope and faith;
A life of love and duty
Has triumphed over death.
Of friends the best, the truest;
Of Christians lovely, sure;
Of womenhood the noblest,
Consistent, constant, pure.

We wonder why our Father—
Our tender-hearted Lord,
Thus early called our sister
From labor to reward;
But we should never question
His wisdom; none can tell
How kind has been His action—
He doeth all things well.

We have this consolation,
That, as the hour drew near,
There was no consternation,
No thought of dread or fear.
But with a faith unaltered—
Crowned with celestial light,
She whispered, “I am favored,
The valley is all bright!”

IV. PART IV.—PSALMS IN VERSE.

FIRST PSALM.

Blest be the man who never, never walketh,
In the dark counsel of ungodly men,
And in the way of sinners never standeth—
Nor sitteth in the seat of scornful ones.

But his delight is in the Lord Almighty,
And unto Him doth ever look for light,
His law of all things seems to Him most worthy
Of thought and meditation, day and night.

He, like a tree, shall be, beside the waters,
Which fruit in season ever bringeth forth.
His leaf luxuriant shall never wither,
Whate'er he does shall prosper—be of worth.

But it is never so with the ungodly,
Like unto chaff shall they be swept away;
Not in the judgment standeth the unholy,
Nor sinners in the righteous concourse stay.

The Lord in wisdom, mercy, love and goodness,
Protects the pathway of the pure in heart;
But in His wrath He doth condemn the godless—
Their way shall perish—they from Him depart.

SECOND PSALM.

Why do the heathen rage?
And people think vain things?
Rulers of earth take counsel sage;
'Gainst God and Christ are kings.

Let us asunder break,
Their bands, we hear them say.
Come, let us with accord awake,
And cast their cords away.

The King of earth and Heaven,
Shall laugh them all to scorn;
And pleasant blessings He has given,
Make bitter as a thorn.

Then shall He speak in wrath,
And vex with trials sore,
Those who have turned from wisdom's path,
And loved sin more and more.

Yet have I set my King
Upon my holy hill
Of Zion; ye His praise shall sing,
And do His righteous will.

I the decree declare,
The Lord said unto me;
Thou art my Son, none can compare,
I have begotten thee.

Ask me, and I shall give
The heathen unto thee,—

For thine inheritance receive
The boundless earth and sea.

Thou in thy power shall break
Them with an iron rod,—
Dash them in pieces, 'till they wake
To serve creation's God.

Now, therefore, kings be wise;
Ye judges of the earth,
Be thou instructed—seek the prize—
His wisdom and His worth.

Serve ye the Lord with fear,
With trembling love rejoice.
Kiss thou the Son for He is near;
Oh! hearken to His voice.

Lest He in anger turn,—
Ye perish from the way;
For all who trust in Him, and learn
His truth,—more blest are they.

THIRD PSALM.

Lord, how are they increased,
Who seek to trouble me:
Many are they—they will not cease,
They rise up like the sea.

Many there be that say,
His prayer God will not hear,—
His soul shall perish by the way;
He is engulfed in fear.

But thou, Lord, art a shield
And buckler unto me;
My glory on the battle-field—
My hope is all in Thee.

Thou liftest up my head,
As with my voice I cry;
Thou dost regard the tears I shed,
Thou hearest every sigh.

Beside thy holy hill,
I laid me down and slept,
Awoke obedient to thy will,
Rejoicing there, I wept.

I will not be afraid
Of many thousand men,
An army vast, for war arrayed—
They compass me in vain.

Arise, O Lord, and save;
In Thee I put my trust!
My enemies, though they be brave,
Smite, Lord, into the dust!

Salvation, full and free,
Belongeth to the Lord,
Thy people rest secure in thee,—
A blessing is thy word.

TWENTY-THIRD PSALM.

My Shepherd is the Lord;
I shall be free from care,
By the still waters of His word—
His spirit leads me there.

In pastures ever green,
My hungry soul He feeds;
My soul restored has ever been—
Provided for my needs.

In paths of righteousness,
He leads my wayward feet,
For His name sake, I must confess
My safety is complete.

Though in the vale of Death,
With shadows dark and chill,
With bitter pains and labored breath,
My soul shall fear no ill.

For thou art close beside,
To rouse my waning faith;
Thy rod and staff shall be my guide
And comfort me in death.

Thou dost in love prepare
A table rich and free,
Thou show'st thy bounteous loving care
Before my enemy.

My head thou dost anoint
With precious oil of grace.

An overflowing cup appoint—
Thy love my heart doth trace.

Thy goodness every day,
Thy mercy like a well,
Shall strength renew continually—
Till in thy House I dwell.

THIRTY-NINTH PSALM.

I said, I will take heed unto my going,
That I may keep from sinning with my tongue;
And keep my mouth at all times with a bridle;
When wicked ones are near, I will be dumb.

I held my peace, was as the dumb with silence,
Whenever I within their presence stood,
Though stirred with sorrow, sore vexed, out of patience,
I held my peace, even from speaking good.

Yet still my heart was burning, hot within me,
The fire was burning while I mused long;
Fierce thoughts of vengeance, surged and warred within me!
Then calm with peace, I pleaded with my tongue.

Make me to know mine end, O Lord, the measure
Of all the days thou hast allotted here;
That I in wisdom and in truth may treasure
Each day, each hour, each moment of the year.

Teach me to cherish all the time Thou sendest,
To the best use the smallest fraction give;
To ne'er forget how frail I am; Thou lendest
All of the strength by which I move and live.

Behold Thou mak'st my days as 'twere a hand breadth,
And all mine age fades into nothingness;
Before Thee as I stand my aching heart saith:
Man is but vanity and show when at his best.

In a vain show most surely each man walketh,
With care his life disquieteth in vain;
And to himself great sums of riches heapeth,
Then dies, and knoweth not who reaps his gain.

And now, O Lord, I wait for thy salvation,
Surely my hope is centered, Lord, in Thee.
Deliver me from sin—from all transgression,
Nor to the foolish a by-word may I be.

I was as dumb, my mouth I would not open,
Because in mercy Thou convictest me;
I am consumed by thy stroke of justice;
Remove Thy hand, O Lord, regard my plea.

When Thou in wrath correctest man for folly,
Like as a moth his beauty fades away.
When we oppose to Thee our strength, most surely
We realize that man is vanity.

Hear, now, my prayer, give ear unto my crying!
Hold not thy peace, when I am filled with fear!

For in thy sight, I know I am a stranger
And a sojourner, as were my fathers here.

Spare me, O Lord, for am I not a lover
Of thy great law, and all thy truth adore?
Spare me, O Lord, that I may strength recover,
Before I go, and hither come no more.

V. PART V. BETHESDA, AND OTHER POEMS.

BETHESDA.

'Tis Sabbath morn, and bright the sun is shining,
Gilding the ocean—cheering up the earth;
The Christian heart is filled with true devotion
And tender thoughts of Jesus' love have birth.

Hark! on the air the bells sweet tones are sounding
A call to prayer—the clock is striking eight;
With rapid steps the students now are coming
To join the gathering ere it be too late.

Short prayers of faith ascend to God the Father,—
Childlike the language, voice subdued and low,
Asking for pardon for a fallen brother,
And grace and strength their duty e'er to do.

And then they sing, “Stand up, stand up for Jesus,”
In harmony that lifts our minds above;
We meditate on His great plan to save us,—
His sacrificing, all-sufficient love.

A word of trust, and then the meeting 's ended,
And they go forth, renewed in strength divine,
Better prepared to hear the sermon rendered,
To understand the Maker's great design.

And now the bell again sends forth its warning,
Calling to Church the students one and all;
Teachers and friends, to each one it is calling—
All with one purpose seem to heed the call.

See them march forth, the boys all dressed as soldiers,
Marching to war, to sound of band and drum!
Followed by girls, the officers and teachers;
Friends from the Fort, Hampton, the Soldier's Home.

Hushed is that throng, within the sacred Temple—
Silently praying for God's grace and peace.
Thoughts soar aloft unto the Heavenly Temple,
Where songs of praise never, never cease.

Softly the choir chant a melodious measure;
Hearts raised to God in gratitude and love,
That through the week nor health, nor friend nor treasure
He has seen fit in wisdom to remove.

Sing then—Praise God from whom all good is flowing
Into our lives, in blessings rich and free—
Praise Him on earth, His love and goodness knowing,
And praise in Heaven through endless ages be.

Bow low the head while we repeat Our Father
Who art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name;
Thy rule and will on earth be done together
In earth as heaven, thine homage be the same.

Give us each day a share of food and shelter;
Our sins forgive, as we each other love,
Save from temptation, and from ill deliver,
Thine is the power in earth and Heaven above.

Fitting indeed to thus begin God's worship,
With silent prayer, doxology and praise;
Lifting the mind from toil and strife and hardship,
To God, our Father, the Ancient of Days.

Solemnly, now, the minister is pleading,—
Wrestling with God His people to forgive;
Laying before Him the blessings they are needing,
That by His grace they may as Christians live.

Angels are hovering as the aged God-man
Makes well his plea before the Court of Heaven;
Solemn the silence, as when is read the Koran—
And to devotion the Moslem heart is given.

Hymn follows prayer, within this house of mercy;
Reading of Scripture, then a silent prayer—
True sense of worship,—restful for the weary—
Nor seems the day to be more blest elsewhere.

Calmly and slow the aged prophet taketh
His topic from the Sermon on the Mount:
Blest be the pure, for they the Father loveth,
God they shall see when rendered their account.

With earnest tones he pleads the Father's goodness,
And His desire that every one may live;
That life is free to all who seek forgiveness,
And unto wisdom their whole attention give.

To guard the heart, our thoughts must in subjection
Be kept each day,—and evil thoughts crushed out,—
Then from the life will shine forth His reflection,
And Satan's legions will be put to rout.

Seek now His grace with earnestness and fervor;
Give all to Him if followers you would be;
Do not delay,—but ask at once His favor;
To-day He saith—“There's hope and life for thee!”

His pleading ceases, and with head bowed lowly,
He asks the Father's blessing on His Word;
That souls may turn aside from paths unholy,
Unto the ways of righteousness and God.

The hymn is followed by the benediction—
Commending us unto a Father's love;
And we go forth in serious meditation,
Hearts full of strength, and peace,—like that above.

Bethesda Chapel, house of grace and mercy!
Fulfil thy task in God's appointed way!
Within thy walls, no strife, nor controversy,—
Simply Truth pointing to the realms of day.

HOME.

It is the hour, when labor done, each one
Seeks home. Home, most restful word that lips
Of man can utter. Now to his rest,
The sun is sinking in the golden west,
And 'mid the shadowy mists of eventide
The masts of ships rise up majestically
Against the western sky.

The light and shade
Around the dome of the mansion house
Of the Soldier's Home; the dreamy haze
Of twilights' hour; and view of ocean grand,
As peacefully it sleeps—a picture makes,
Which art cannot produce.

The sun is set.
The sky, from whence it disappeared, is full
Of hallowed glories, not to be described.
Back of arch environing the sunset,
Gleam opaline and purple handiwork,
Which ever-changing, vividly recalls
To mind, stories oriental.

A scene
Like this, of beauty, not of earth, inspires—
And questions fill the mind: Is Heaven,
The home of Christ, Our Lord, and the Redeemed
The other side? 'Tis sweet to think and feel
That this grand arch the golden gateway is,
To the celestial city which we hope
Will one day be our home.

The beautiful
City of the jasper walls, from which
He who nearest stood to great white throne,
Because of folly, fell, to rise no more.
'Tis the abode of the angelic host,
In midst of which there stands the Tree of Life—
Through which, in fullness evermore doth flow,
The River of God's mercy and His love.
From thence came One, the Christ, with tender heart,
Who, one with God the Father, willingly
Became a man, and suffered pain and death,
That He unto a sinful world might give,
His Life and immortality and joy.

Hast thou, my friend, desired that city fair,—
Whose builder and whose maker is the Lord?
Hast thou received the Meek and Lowly One,
Who opened wide for thee those gates of pearl,
Providing thee within His Father's House,
Of many mansions—everlasting rest?
A home of peace, where God enthroned in light
Rules over all? There thou canst meet and greet

Full many a loved one who has gone before;
Enraptured thou mayst sound a harp of gold,
And join the heavenly choir in songs of praise.

The homes of earth bring gladness, joy and rest,
But ne'er afford a slight conception of
That home prepared above, by Christ, our Head.
For eye hath never caught, nor hath the ear
Of man received, the faintest glimpse or sound;
Nor hath the mind of man imagined e'er,
One tithe of grandeur, glory, beauty rare—
Or the exalted harmonies within
That place, beyond the beauteous sunset arch,
Which we call Heaven and Home.

That glorious place is the spirit's home,
Where free from care and pain,
The ransomed shall forever roam,
And go not out again.

The River of Life in freedom flows,
There heavenly beauties shine;
There loved ones meet and happiness glows
On features all divine.

Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,
The joys that surely come—
To those who follow His Holy Word—
In Heaven, our blessed home.

MOTHER'S 69TH BIRTHDAY.

To-night I think of you, mother,
And the happy days gone by;
When we in thoughtless childhood
Dwelt under a cloudless sky.

We did not dream of the crosses,
Good mother's always bear—
We were so gay and happy,
Not knowing your weight of care.

You lovingly watched our young lives,
And taught us words of Truth:
“Remember, boys, thy Creator,
In the sunny days of youth.”

For days come which are evil,
Days which are dark as night;
If, then, on Christ thou'rt anchored,
Thy soul shall be full of light.

How true were those words then spoken,
From a heart that was warm and true;
How much of the joy of maturer life,
Dear mother, is due to you!

Thy life has known much of shadow,
Of sorrow, and gloom and night,
Yet we thank God that the eventide,
Is blessed with a golden light.

How fit that a life so earnest,
In thy Saviour's service given,
Should be blest ere its close with joy and peace;
Foretaste of rest in Heaven!

July 5, 1882.

RETROSPECT.

As shadows of twilight are falling,
And hushed is the voice of the sea,—
The chirp of the blue-bird is calling
His mate to the airy home tree;
When nature seems resting from labor,
Then joyous, sweet memories come:
My mind wanders back to my childhood,
I think of the loved ones at home.

I think of those days full of brightness,—
The fields and the meadows so green;
The brook with its ripple of gladness,
Where minnows and trout could be seen
Darting blithely from cover to cover
Of the banks, where the lazy cows come
To drink 'ere the long day is over,
And the cow-boy should hurry them home.

Of picnics enjoyed in the wildwood,
By the side of the “Big” Bantam Lake;
The glad, happy voices of childhood
Which ever such sweet music make.

I think of the rides on the hay-load,
From the meadow down through the big gate,
The shrill, piping note of the tree-toad
That warned us 'twas growing quite late.

I think of the nightingale singing
In the apple-tree over the way,
At evening, with notes clear and ringing;
And how he was frightened away
By Tabby, the solemn old mouser,
Who always was ready to dine,
(Except when he caught sight of Towser,)
On a bird be he ever so fine.

I think of the slow-footed turtle
That lived by the brook in the vale,
Where delicate violets and myrtle,
And arbutus their fragrance exhale.
How he clumsily fell in the water,
As the feet of the school-boy approach,
Fright'ning the chub and the sucker,
And startling the shy little roach.

I think of the hole of the ground hog,
By the tree on the side of the hill,
And how it was watched by old “Spring-dog,”
Who ever was ready to kill.
He never considered it sinful
To take life of a poor fellow beast,
But always was ready and waiting,
And did not repent in the least.

I think of the home of the wood-thrush.
By the side of the Indian cave—
Old “Benvenough,” where the firebush,
Like a beacon its fiery leaves wave.
The shelter and haunt of the robin,
The woodpecker's nest in the tree,
The song of the cat-bird at evening—
All life seemed so happy and free!

I think of the hills and the mountains,
Where many glad hours have been passed
In hunting, and reading, and thinking,
And watching the dark clouds, that cast
A gloom over beautiful nature,
Oft filling our bosoms with dread;
The thunder that pealed forth in grandeur
The gleam of the lightning so red.

And then, too, I think of the sunset,
As seen from the old Prospect Hill,
How he gradually sunk in the far West,
With his light other countries to fill.
And thoughts that are brought by the sunset
And fleece-clouds by gentle winds driven;
Oh! the glory and beauty resplendent!
It seemed like a vision of Heaven!

I think of those days without shadow,
Each one was a separate gem;
Those walks to the brook in the meadow,
Conversing with dear Cousin Em,

Who long since has gone from earth's shadow,
To the land where the weary may rest,—
No fear of the coming to-morrow
Disturbs the repose of the blest.

I think of the faces of playmates,
Which long ago vanished away
From earth, now with many a loved one,
In the land of continual day.
Of teachers who taught on the Sabbath
The truths which by Jesus were given,—
To come, thou must suffer the children,
For of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.

I think of the rides on the railroad,
The slow-going, winding Shepang,
Running down through the hills and the valleys,
The snow, and the rain and the fog,—
To hear the great speeches of Phillips,
Of Boudinot, Holland and Gough,—
Which filled us with longings for greatness,
In the science of letters and thought.

And, as my mind wanders this evening,
To the far-away scenes of the past—
The hopes and the fears and repinings,
And pleasures too intense to last,
My heart is cast down, full of sadness,
As I think of the hours yet to come,
Of trial, and struggle,—once gladness,—
So changed from the old days at home.

The bright days of childhood have vanished,
And with them, full many a dream,
Of wealth, and of greatness have perished—
This old world is not what it seems.
And, as I arouse from my rev'rie,
Confronting the cares which have come,
With manhood's full day to perplex me,—
I long for the old days at home.

BURNING OF ACADEMIC HALL.

The Sabbath, day of holy thought and rest,
Is ending; and the waters of the creek,
Calm and placid 'neath the setting sun,
Suggest the rest prepared for saints above.
The Day of God with duties manifold,
And searchings of His Holy Word for light,
Has been devoutly spent in work for Him—
Performing deeds well-pleasing in His sight.

The hymn of praise and meek devotion, has
Been sung in harmony by many a voice;
And raising up, in faith, of heart and soul,
Unto the God whose name is Love, has brought
Its own reward in rest and peace.

And o'er
The gray old town of Hampton, picturesque
And sombre, with its wealth of memories
Historic and heroic, there now reigns
A dreamy silence and an hour of peace.

The sunset-tinted bosom of the bay
With boats and other crafts bestuded is,
Which gently sway and rock in restful mood,
Upon the sighing, swelling current.

List!
Soft on the air of eve, are borne sweet strains
Of music: 'tis the evening melody,
Which, day by day, comes sweetly stealing o'er
The intervening water from the Home:—
Retreat most beautiful, where now in peace,
Secure from battle din and strife of war,
There rest a thousand war-worn veterans.

Upon the breath of evening now we hear
The tones of bells—calling to prayer and praise
And worship—students of the Normal School;
Most fitting close of every earthly Sabbath—
An emblem, too, of the eternal Day
Of rest. That congregation vast arise
To sing the opening hymn in harmony
Which only they who in the rugged school
Of unrequited toil have served their day,
And felt the sweet relief—the pride and joy
Which perfect freedom gives—can sing; a strain
That thrills with joy the soul!

With rapid strides
A student enters; a mysterious look
Upon his countenance, as if possessed
Of knowledge of importance all unknown

Unto his fellows; and hastily imparts
That knowledge to his chief; and instantly
A hand is lifted and a silence reigns—
Full of suspense—a silence filled with dread!
Sure, in a moment so intense as this,
The mind, in seeming, lives for many years.
Then come the words which startle every one:
“Let girls remain, and men to duty pass—
On fire is Academic Hall!”

Now fierce and thrilling on the Sabbath peace
Rings out in fear the wild alarnm bell!
The night is dark; and rushing figures, wierd
In the lurid glare, appear like spectres—
Goblins grim and ghostly, on mischief bent,
Holding high carnival, with shout and dance,
In very truth a panorama grand!
A passing scene—bewildering, dazzling dream!

The engine whistle, shrill and piercing;
The fireman's shout; the startling spiteful hiss,
As stream in quick succession follows stream;
The crash of falling beams of giant size,
Bechill and curdle blood within the veins,
And cause to throb with pain the beating heart.
Phantastic colors brightly blazing forth
From bursting chemicals add brilliancy
Unto a scene of dazzling awfulness.

The hungry flames in grim defiance of
The efforts made for their extinguishment

Leap high in pride and fury—laugh with scorn
At the exertions small and puny, which
Man with all his learning, art and wisdom,
Can now put forth, as grappling hand to hand
In battle stern with the dread Fire King,
He fights with all his might.

An hour is gone;
And in its train, the work of busy years.
A pensive sadness overhangs the scene;
For Academic Hall which yesternight,
The scene of joyous, active life had been,
Has vanished, and in place thereof, outlined
Against the southern sky, now towers
A skeleton, in hideous grimness.
That structure, grand and noble, is no more;
Yet, mem'ry of the work accomplished here
Within its walls, shall live for years to come,
In the unfolding power and manhood of
A struggling race!

SISTERS OF PLYMOUTH.

To you belongs a meed of praise—
For in the dark and stormy days,
Your faith in God was bright.
When faith, in others, almost fled;
When clouds most dismal overspread;
And skies of brass were o'er your head,
You looked and prayed for light.

Yes, looked and prayed, but worked as well,
How faithfully, but He can tell
Who sees the sparrow's fall.
Discouraged much, but not cast down;
In spite of jeer, and taunt and frown
You labored on to win a crown,—
And constant was your call,

Unto Our Father for a shower
Of blessings on His withering flower,
The church you dearly love.
Revive thy work, send harmony,—
That spirit which must come from Thee!
United workers may we be,
Like the great host above.

But in succession years passed on—
A dreary, painful race they run.
Father canst Thou not hear?
Oh send a blessing on thy fold
A blessing as thou didst of old!
A blessing richer far than gold,
Thy love which casts out fear!

Look! suddenly there is a gleam,
A ray of light—an answering beam
The glorious break of day.
Your work and prayers were not in vain:
Peace, harmony, and love again,
With many blessings in their train—
The clouds have rolled away.

The Father heard—the answer came—
“To those who call upon my name
My promise is to save;
Behold salvation at your door,
The blessing shall depart no more,
But constantly my grace I'll pour,
So long as faith ye have.”

Then with one heart and voice, let all
With earnestness on sinners call,
To flee the wrath to come.
Consistently let each one strive
To work, to worship, to forgive,
And evermore as Christians live,
That Heaven may be your Home.

PLYMOUTH CHOIR.

Softly the choir is singing,
Singing their evening hymn;
Sweet as the breath of morning,
Ascends the strain to Him:
Day in the west is dying,
Heaven touches earth with rest,—
Now are His people waiting,
Waiting to be blest.

List to that sweet soprano
Voice, like a bird of June,
Pure are the tones and mellow,
Lovely are words and tune.

Lord, 'neath the dome of Heaven,
Thy providence we trace,
And with our sins forgiven,
We seek thy lovely face.

Thus in His holy Temple,
Gathered for praise and prayer,
Blessed indeed, His people,—
Neither more blest elsewhere.
With joy sing holy, holy,
Unto our God and king;
Yes, unto our gracious Saviour,
Our Lord, most holy, sing.

So shall His earthly temple,
Be type of that above,
Where gather every people,
To sing Redeeming Love,—
And, with their voices blending
In one triumphant strain,
They sing through years unending,
The lamb for us was slain!

THE SONG OF MOSES.

EXODUS XV, 2–19.

I will sing unto God, for great is His triumph,
The horse and his rider He hath overthrown!
The Lord is my song, my strength and my fortress,
With joy and thanksgiving His greatness I own.

The Lord is my God, and I will prepare Him
A place, that beside me He ever may dwell;

The God of my father, and I will exalt Him;
He leadeth His people, and doth all things well.

A warrior is He, as He marches to battle;
The Lord is His name; and a great God is He:
The chariots of Pharaoh—his pride and his glory,
With all his vast army are drowned in the sea.

The depths overwhelmed them, they sank to the bottom,
As lead in the waters they vanish from sight;
Thy right hand, O Lord, is in power become glorious,
Thy right hand, O Lord, hath destroyed them with might.

Thou sentest Thy wrath, as fire it consumed them;
The blast of Thy nostrils the waters divide;
As a heap stood the flood—Thy presence congealed them,—
A way of salvation Thy power didst provide.

The enemy shouted—come let us persue them!
With swift-footed coursers those aliens o'ertake,
My will and my lust shall be satisfied on them!
My sword I will draw and grim vengeance I'll take.

Thou didst blow with Thy wind, and the sea in obedience,
In fullness of strength to its channel returned;
They sank as a stone in the midst of the waters,
With grief and confusion Thy power they learned.

Who is like unto Thee in holiness glorious?
Who like unto Thee in Thy wisdom and power?
Thy praises are fearful, o'er all thou'rt victorious,
Thy wonders are manifest to us each hour.

Thou stretchedst thine hand and the earth owns allegiance
And quickly doth swallow the foes of the Lord.
Thine enemies perish when met by Thy vengeance,
They tremble in awe at the power of Thy word.

Thou hast led forth Thy people in wisdom and mercy—
The people whom Thou in Thy love hast redeemed.

Thou hast sent them deliverance, and guided them safely
To the place of Thy dwelling—most beautiful scene!

The people shall hear, and Thy fear shall possess them,
Each one shall be filled with amazement and awe;
Those of Palestina in deep lamentation
And sorrow, shall bow 'neath the ban of Thy law.

The rulers of Edom; the warriors of Moab,
Shall tremble and fear as Thy might they behold,—
And Canaan shall melt like the night mist before Thee;
The strength of Thy right arm no mortal has told!

The way Thou did'st make, and Thy people passed over;
The people which Thou in Thy mercy hast bought.
Thou shalt bring them in joy to Thy mountain most holy,
We shout in our gladness—Great things hath God wrought!

Thou shalt bring all Thy chosen, in peace to Thy temple,
And there with thanksgiving we'll praise Thee again.
The Lord is our King, our God, and our Saviour,—
The Lord shall reign o'er us forever, Amen.

VI. PART VI—AMBITION.

THE REASON WHY.

[_]

In the December, 1884, number of the American Missionary, an article published contained the following incident:

“The First Louisiana Regiment of colored soldiers, recruited in New Orleans, was about to take its departure for the front. The Colonel, who for some reason could not accompany his men, presented the regimental flags to the color-sergeant. After a brief speech, full of patriotic feeling, he concluded with these words: “Color-guard, protect, defend, die for, but do not surrender these flags.” The sergeant, upon receiving them, made this simple but noble response: “Colonel, I will bring back these colors to you in honor or report to God the reason why.” And when, a few days afterward, during an assault on Port Hudson, he fell defending the flag, and his dying blood crimsoned its folds, another took his place and saved it from falling into the hands of the enemy. The brave standard-bearer kept his word, and in failing to return the colors to the hands that had committed them to his care, he ‘reported to God the reason why.’”

It is the eve of battle;
The soldiers are in line;
The roll of drum and bugle's blast
Marshal that army fine.

The hour is fraught with mystery—
A hush pervades that throng,
And each one thinks of home and friends,
And says at heart, “How long?”

The colonel rides before his men,
His thoughtful brow is bare;
He calls the color-sergeant,
And tenders to his care

The nation's pride, the dear old flag—
The loved red, white and blue,
And says, with earnest tones and grave:
“I intrust this now to you.

“Yes, color-bearer, take in charge
Your country's flag to-day,
And to the conflict bear it—
The thickest of the fray.

“Bear it with lofty courage,
And to it faithful be;
This flag has inspired thousands,
And led to victory.

“Take it and never leave it,
'Tis a solemn charge to thee;
Bring back to me this banner,
This ensign of the free!”

“Colonel,” the color-sergeant said,
Holding the flag on high;
“I'll bring it back or else report
To God the reason why!”

Away to the front he bears it,
Cheered on by comrades brave,
Anxious to liberate his race,
Bring freedom to the slave.

They charge upon Port Hudson,
Where, sheltered by a wall,

The foemen cut them down like grass.
They bravely charge—but fall.

Yes, on that field, where thousands
Unheeding the tumult lie,
He left the flag, reporting
To God the reason why.

Another bears that flag along,
Holding it proud and high:
But the sergeant has reported
To God the reason why.

Oh, Christian soldier, going forth
To battle for the Lord,
Be filled with manly courage,
And proudly bear God's word.

It is the standard of your King,
Who rules the earth and sky;
You must win, through it, the vict'ry
Or tell Christ the reason why.

The war will soon be ended:
In the dust you soon will lie;
Go forth and conquer, or report
To God the reason why.

March, 1885.

TEACHERS OF GEORGIA.

AT SAVANNAH, MAY, 1886.

Listen, my friends, from whence comes this legion?
Legion of messengers, earnest and blessed;
Filled with a purpose—to teach is their mission—
Thousands of those who are wronged and oppressed.

Hear them contending for progress in all things!
Hear them contending for justice and right!
Principles, not men; truth, not for victory,—
For wisdom and learning and fairness they fight.

List to the clash of arms! stern, but not gory;
Striking illiteracy low in the dust!
Not in applause of men are they seeking glory,
But strong in their duty, and true to their trust.

Such is the work that is needed among us,
Men who will sacrifice self for their race!
Burning the oil of life, enlightening others,
That millions unborn may our history trace.

Teachers of Georgia, we heartily greet you!
Nobly and well you have carried the light!
Like one of old, be your watchword—Excelsior!
The long foretold morning shines gloriously bright!

Work with a will, let not jealousy hinder;
Build up each other, our progress demands!
No cause can advance when internal strife enters;
Columns unbroken the fierce charge withstands!

Stand ye together! no strife nor dissension—
United, harmonious, strength ye shall wield;
Build up a structure whose chief stone is union!
Better that weapon than sword and a shield!

Teachers of Georgia! be faithful and earnest,—
Patiently, trustfully, seed must be sown.
The harvest is sure, the result none computest,—
The future alone shall disclose it—work on!

And may the God of the Universe guide us,
Guide all our efforts in wisdom and love:
That when the duties of life are completed—
We may rejoice in our triumph above!

May, 1886.

IT IS NOT ALL OF LIFE TO LIVE.

At morning's dawn, when golden rays
And rosy tints a halo give
Unto the forests, bright and gay
With autumn hues—'tis sweet to live.

When in the hallowed woodland glen,
Our spirits higher thoughts conceive,
And we forget the faults of men,
Oh, what a blessing, then, to live.

When in God's holy temple we
In silence sit,—his truth receive,

Minds soar to what we soon shall be!—
How grand, how blessed 'tis to live.

When lying on the bed of death,
We back to God our spirits give,—
Besigning health and life and breath—
'Tis then we just begin to live!

EMANCIPATION.

Hark! what mean those shouts and cheers,
From yon group of slaves? Tell me?
Hear the words that greet our ears:
We are free! oh! we are free!

Can it be that this is so?
Is it true? Come, let us see!
Yes, thank God, 'tis even so,—
He has set the captive free.

Years have passed since they were torn
From their home across the sea;
But to-day has broke the morn—
Hear them shouting—we are free!

Free from slavery's cruel chain;
Free as ever man can be.
Prayers and groans were not in vain,
God has heard, and we are free!

Let thy thanks go up to Him,
Who has broke thy bands for thee;

Thank Him with thy lips and life,—
Praise Him! Praise Him! We are free!

In the years which are to come,
May one glad thought ever be
In our minds,—abroad, at home—
He has heard, and we are free!

January, 1882.

TRUE NOBILITY.

To the Teachers of Georgia, May, 1887. Atlanta.

Plutarch's Lives of Men, in story,
Bring instruction to our minds;
There we learn of men of glory—
Men who lived in other climes.
Youth were there of noble bearing,
Youth were there of nobler heart,
Who took great delight in sharing
In life's war a heroes' part.

There is one, about the races,
And the games of other days;
Where a lesson sage he traces
From their conduct at the plays.
His comparisons are rigid;
His deductions are concise;
And he counts all men invalid,
Who are not both true and wise.

Listen! I will tell the story
Which we glean from history's page,
Of Athenian pride and folly,
And a stranger bent with age.
Also, of true Spartan manhood,
Which is better far than pride;
More to be desired than rubies,—
Yes, than all the world beside.

Day of joy and pride in Athens;
Youth and maidens in full glee;
Subjects rare, of vast importance,
Cæsar great and Sophocles
Are discussed by strong debaters,
Ready with their war of words,—
Like contestants in the races,—
Fleet and strong as eagle-bird.

In the crowded amphitheatre,
Lords and ladies sit and gaze,
Dressed like kings, and queen's of fairies,
In the palmy olden days;
Courtiers grand, of every station;—
But the thoughts of all are kin,—
Faces beam with expectation
As activities begin.

Each desirous that his favorite
Horse or wrestler win a prize;
Each is filled with keen excitement,
Bated breath and anxious eyes.

Hear them cheer the strong and wary!
Little pity for the weak!
Strength and fortitude will carry
All of worth for which they seek.

See! there comes an aged stranger,
With a form bent low with years;
And his locks are white and silvery—
Plebeian is the dress he wears.
Slow his step; he's lame and weary,
From his journey from afar,
Yet his countenance is cheery,
For his eyes shine like a star.

Shining with the light of wisdom,—
Learning, knowledge, faith and truth;
Wise his mien, like Sage of Hebron,
Who remembered God from youth.
Low he bows to young Athenians—
They a haughty bow return;
Slighted is the aged Lydian,—
Sense of slight within him burns.

For they knew full well his mission,—
As a guest to them he came,
Pride and scorn meet his condition,
Though he's old, and weak, and lame.
Tired he is, but no one asks him
To be seated; “Will you rest”?
But with proud disdain repulse him,
Thus their breeding low confessed.

Proud are these Athenian grandees,
And they hold themselves aloof,—
Must not stoop below their circle
Of their standing “airs” is proof.
Spartans wait the coming contests,
Not with proud and haughty mien;
Spite of dress of jean and homespun,
True nobility is seen.

Men, a king might well do homage;
Men of character and worth!
Men, hard-handed, full of courage
Heroes true, of noble birth.
They have come to see the races;
Come to spend a holiday;
Come to study forms and faces,
Speech, and tragedy and play.

Toward the lowly seat, where Spartans,
Noble in their meekness sat,
Calmly walked the aged Lydian,
And each Spartan raised his hat—
Rose with one accord, to meet him
Gallantly, as if a king,
Covered o'er with royal vestments,
They to court were welcoming.

“Come, my father, pray be seated!
Thou art weary; rest thee here!
Take my seat!” each one entreated—
“Be at ease; be of good cheer!

Welcome, welcome, to the stranger,
Blessed of God with length of days;
Honor be to age! my grandsire
Come, and welcome!” each one says.

With that dignity which old age
Always lends, the Sage replies:
“True nobility and courage
In the willing action lies.
Wisdom in its highest nature
Is an inborn principle;
Not veneer—a foreign creature—
But a springing fountain-well.

Long live Sparta! Long live Sparta!
Let Athenians wisdom learn,
From the noble youth of Sparta!
In their hearts true wisdom burns.
Ye say, “Give the head that's hoary
All the honor that is due,
But your words, like fiction's story,
Is, when matched with life—untrue!”

Moral.

Spurious gems are always plenteous,
But the genuine are few.
Precepts teach us to be virtuous;
Practice is the work we do.
Not enough to know the precept,
And with eloquence to preach;
We with earnestness must practice
Always what the precepts teach.

Noble band of earnest teachers,
From this scene a lesson take:
Be not only able preachers,
But in practice progress make.
Teach by precept and example,
In the day and in the night,
Follow e'er the Great Exemplar!
And thy evening shall be light!

SLUICE THE DYKE.

[_]

In the year 1574, when Holland was struggling to throw off the yoke of Spain, Leyden was besieged by Philip II, and reduced to a state of famine. Multitudes perished of hunger. The Dutch fleet was waiting to help them, but could not reach the city. The heroic Hollanders sluiced the dykes and let in the waters which flooded the country and drowned many of the Spaniards. As the rescuing fleet sailed in, they threw loaves of bread to the famishing people, who thronged the canals. After their immediate wants had been supplied they repaired to the Protestant Cathedral and held a service of thanksgiving to the Great Deliverer.

It was famine-stricken Leyden,
Which, by Philip was besieged;
There was reigning death and horror,
And the most distressing need.

Its defenders brave were dying;
Not in charge or battle shock;
But were perishing by thousands
From starvation grim and dark.

Prayers of agony were uttered,
Constant, pleading, earnest prayer,
That their God would send deliverance,
Send His conquering legion there.

And He heard their prayer of sorrow—
For before another day,
He directed them in wisdom,
And provided them a way.

Even now was succor waiting
To deliver from their foes,
But it could not reach the city,
For the great dykes interpose.

Anxious is that Fleet of Holland,
With supplies the brave to reach:
But on all sides they're confronted
By a wall—the gateless beach.

“Shall we perish here from hunger,
When salvation is in sight?
While our friends await to rescue,
Shall we starve?—or sluice the dyke?”

Then these Hollanders heroic
For their lives and freedom strike;
See! they cut away the timbers!
They have done it! sluiced the dyke!

With a roar sweeps in the Old Rhine,
Swelling canals like a sea—
On its waves the Fleet of Rescue!
They are saved! yes, they are free!

Oh what joy that Dutch Fleet bringeth!
Blessings! blessings! on their head!

For unto that starving concourse
They are throwing loaves of bread.

'Tis Thanksgiving Day in Leyden,
And their feet with one accord
Seek with joy the great Cathedral,
There to praise their gracious Lord!

Trust Him, He will ever rescue;
Those who ask Him, He will save;
Bring to naught the strength of foemen,
Send deliverance to the brave!

Are you bound with chains of passion?
Will you not for freedom strike?
He will give you His salvation,
If you will but sluice the dyke!

Pride and sin are dykes around us,
And intemperance is rife.
Shall we suffer on and perish—
When He freely offers Life?

No! we, too, like men of Leyden,
Must for our salvation strike!
We must cut away all hindrance!
Yes, like heroes—sluice the dyke!

May 27, 1887.

FREEDOM.

Freedom! 'Tis a world-wide cry!
For it helpless millions sigh;
For it, veterans, heroes, die!

OPPORTUNITY.

Each moment brings an opportunity;
A moment lost can ne'er recovered be.
In wisdom, then, let each redeem the time—
The present hour, my friend, alone is thine!
Grasp, then, with power, the moments as they fly,
And into actions change ere they go by.
If all mankind would work with diligence
To make the most of life; oh! how intense—
How full and active would this short life be,
Well worthy of a blest eternity!
The 'lotted span of three score years and ten,
Equivalent to ages would be then.

'Tis not the one who stays for many a year,
Who in reality lives longest here;
But they who make good use of every hour,
By doing right to all become a pow'r
In raising up to nobler state mankind,
And thus, by earnest work, contentment find.
A single year in active service spent,
Is worth a score in aimless indolence.
In just three years our Lord accomplished more,
Than any being who had lived before.
'Gainst sin and crime, the truth with power hurled;
Redeemed the time, and thus redeemed the world!

A poet lived three hundred years ago,
By application learned life's way to know.
His proposition, true of mortals then:
“There is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which, taken at its flood, to fortune leads,”—
Is true to-day; and he who runs and reads,
Can, as a motto, in bright letters see:—
The Golden Tide is Opportunity!

A beggar blind, beside the highway stood,
And begged for alms to buy his daily food.
Jesus the Great Physician passed that way,—
There was a stir in Jericho that day!
He heard the footsteps of the multitude,
Was doubtless pressed and jostled by the rude.
He asked: What can this great excitement mean?
A tumult such as this had seldom been!
'Tis Jesus Christ of Nazareth, they say,
Who, on His mission passeth by to-day!

Has Jesus truly come? I've heard before
Of His compassion and his mighty power,
Brought from His home beyond the vaulted skies,—
I know that He can heal my sightless eyes!
And so he calls to Christ with all his might:
Have mercy, Son of David, give me sight!
And Christ stood still; and ordered that they call
Him that was blind. In wonder standeth all.
The tide is at its flood—the hour has come—
'Tis resting now; the ebb will follow soon!

So throwing garment off in eagerness,
He comes, desiring Jesus Christ to bless—
His sight restore—infirmity to heal—
His faith to strengthen and his hope to seal.

Hark! hear the gracious words that thrill the soul:
Go now thy way, thy faith hath made thee whole.
Immediately for him shines in the day—
His sight restored, he follows in the way.
The blessed tide was taken at its flood,
And brought Bartimeus to the highest good.
The lesson taught, we all can plainly see:
In wisdom use each Opportunity!

VII. PART VII.—MISCELLANEOUS.

THE CHRISTIAN LIFE.

Is it an easy thing to be a Christian? No.
For while we live, with Satan as our foe,
We shall have trials enough our faith to prove,
Before we reach the Christian's rest above.

As journeying on with weary feet we go—
Battling with sin and blindness here below,
With many a heartache, discouragement and grief
Faith almost dead while waiting for relief,—

Many of those we try to help along,
When trouble comes, will join the scoffing throng;
And friends with whom we long have cast our lot
Look coldly on, as if they knew us not.

Well, be it so, if we can but be true
To God, ourselves, and those who wrong us too,—
Let us press on, though rugged be the road,—
There's rest within the city of our God!

LORD, SAVE ME.

One day while sitting and list'ning
To a learned man of God;
He told me the following story,
Of a man who in sin long trod;
To show how the Holy Spirit
Of God may be grieved away;
And men be ruined for putting off
Their duty for but one day:

One day with earnest striving,
I spoke to a man of sin,
And urged him to seek that fountain,
Where he could be made clean;
For a day, not far off, was coming,
When this world, so fair and bright,
Would fade from his gaze admiring,
Into never-ending night;

If he anchored not on Jesus,
Who came from His home on high,
With a heart full of love for all men,
To save them from misery.
I told him how great that love was,
How sorrow, and toil and pain,
Were counted as naught by Jesus,
That sinners might live again.

With features o'erspread with scorning,
He turned, and with coldness said:
“There's time enough for such things;
I shall not bother my head

About religion for some time;
On the day of death I'll plea
For pardon and peace, from sin and crime,
And then I'll say—‘Lord, save me!’

Those three words will bring salvation,
If uttered with my last breath;
So talk your religion to some one else,
I'll wait till the hour of death.”
Again and again I urged him
To delay not, lest he be lost,
For none may say what wasted time
To a living soul may cost.

That in a moment when we think not,
Our Saviour may appear,
And we be summoned before our Judge
To answer for misdeeds here.
He turned away again and said—
“There's time enough, you see,—
In any time of danger
I can say—‘Lord save me!’”

My heart was filled with sadness,
As I thought of God's great plan
And His threatening words—‘My Spirit
Shall not always strive with man.
Few days passed when one evening—
My mind was filled with dread—
For news came that this careless one
In manhood's prime, was dead!

And then I asked what caused his death,
What his last word might be,—
To see if he cried with his parting breath
“Oh gracious Lord, save me!”
No, he was standing on the street,—
Death called him without delay,
To the upper world, his Judge to meet—
From thence to be sent away.

No word spoke he, for the angel Death,
Took his soul in its guilt to be
In endless remorse, in a world of woe,
For he cried not—“Lord Save Me!”
And now, my unconverted friends,
The lesson is plain to thee:
Do not delay to seek God's grace,—
But now cry—“Lord Save Me!”

January 31, 1882.

REST.

For rest, sweet rest, the human heart is longing,
As every day its care and burden brings,
Suffice to each the ill to each belonging,
And all a song of weary sadness sing:

Telling of work, of turmoil and endeavor,
Of strong wills bent unto a purpose true;
Rivers of energy flowing on forever,
Brightening old things, but ne'er creating new.

Some in the treadmill, busy doing nothing,
Seeming as fools unto the anxious throng
Who seek results, but little realizing,
Life is a treadmill for both weak and strong.

Oh! human heart! if for repose you hanker,
Seek it not here; but look for it above!
Where toil and care can never, never enter,
And you secure may rest in Heavenly love.

September, 1885.

REDEEM THE TIME.

The prophet stands upon the wall,
And warns the chosen race,
To turn away from folly's thrall,
And seek Jehovah's grace.

With earnestness doth he entreat
That love to God be given;
For sinful pride and self-conceit
Leadeth away from Heaven.

He tells them of their many sins;
Of God's enkindled wrath;
And fearful judgments unto him
Who turns from duty's path.

The golden days of summer time
Have all been given in vain!
Harvest is past, with gifts divine,
Ne'er to return again.

In spite of summer's shine and rain,
Of bounteous harvest home,—
They have neglected to obtain
His life,—refused to come.

Then, haste, oh! brethren! haste, to-day;
Stand ye no longer still!
There's death and danger in delay—
Haste, then, to do His will.

The cry of Jeremy of old,
Re-echoes in our ear;
Evil the time; our hearts are cold,
Unknown Jehovah's fear.

With earnestness we would entreat,
That all the chance improve;
And ere the day of grace be past,
Be saved by mighty love.

March 26, 1885.

GO WORK.

In my vineyard while 'tis day,
Go, and scatter precious seed,
Work with vigor while you may,
Work I say; not go succeed!

Paul the seed of life may sow,
And Apollos water give,

But they cannot make it grow,—
God alone can cause to thrive.

Go and labor with thy might;
'Tis the path thy Saviour trod,—
Labor on until the night—
Work, and leave results with God.

October 31, 1885.

CHANGE.

There are songs, sweet songs that we never sing,
And familiar names ne'er spoken;
Because of the memories which they bring,
Because of the heartache and suffering,—
Because of the charm that will ever cling
Round links of friendship broken.

Remembrances come with our happiest thoughts—
Which tinge them with gloom and sadness;
Of what the passing years have brought,
With their weight of joy and trial fraught,—
Of lessons by grim experience taught—
A mingling of pain and gladness.

The birds sing as sweetly, the bright spring day,
In cheering and happy chorus;
As they sang in the years which are far away,
When everything seemed so bright and gay,
When we were light-hearted and free as they,—
Yet they've not the same influence o'er us.

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The sky is as blue as in days gone by,
The sun shines as bright as ever;
The old pine woods continue to sigh,
The rolling river has never run dry,
Yet there is change—I scarce know why—
Which will not cease—no, never!

And as I wonder, the thought will come—
“Is this change in us, or Nature?”
But I think the truth with force comes home
To us, as through the fields we roam,—
Though they are the same as in days agone,
We feel not the same sweet pleasure.

And hope has not such a cheering glow
As in the days of childhood;
For as Old Time in his ceaseless flow,
Moves on, we unconsciously come to know,
That life is real, and the seeds we sow
In youth, we shall reap in manhood.

Yes, cause is followed by effect,
'Twill e'er be the same old story;
No matter what course you may select,
No matter what laws you may reject,
Change and disrelish you may expect;
Without change we can ne'er reach glory.

So let us patiently work and wait
For Him, who the world redeemeth;
Accepting with grace whatever fate
He sends, that ere it be too late

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We may enter through Him the Golden Gate—
As the last and great change cometh.

And when we reach that world of light
Above the Heavenly azure,
No change can come, for all is bright,
A land of beauty and delight—
No death, no falling tear, no night,
Within the walls of jasper!

LE COQ ET LA PERLE.

(The Shell and the Pearl.) Translated from the French.

Unto a jeweller a shell once turned aside,
With a bright pearl of beauty, worth and pride—
Of virtues rich and rare.
I believe 'tis valuable he said,
But the least bit of grain or food
Would better my affairs.

An ignorant heir a manuscript possessed,
And in a neighbor's library confessed
His trials and his cares.
I believe, he said, that it is fine,
But to be possessed of the smallest coin,
Would better my affairs.

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GENIUS IN RUINS.

There once on a time was a beautiful boy,
Whose purity was his mother's great joy;
His eyes were so bright, and his manners so sweet;
He was loved by all that he happened to meet.

At length, unto manhood's estate he arrived,
Possessing all talents that are to be prized:—
He entered society, where he became
A man of repute, with a much honored name.

The tempter approached him, in beauty and grace,
Like the first great temptation that came to the race,
'Twas woman who placed the dammed cup to his lip,
And with smiles and entreaties beguiled him to sip.

He sipped, and alas! by that drink he was given
A passion, and fell like a snow-flake from Heaven;
Or like a great ship, when disabled, will toss—
Well knowing the end—irrecov'rable loss.

The once honored man was now greatly despised;
The doom of the drunkard each one realized
Would be his—the gutter was often his bed,
One day he was found in a lonely street—dead!

And now, youth and maidens, I ask you to think—
Think earnestly how you may turn men from drink;
Work on with a will, and with earnestness strive,
For nobler and purer,—the highest of lives!

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That when for this life, every duty is done
The race set before you is faithfully run—
Ye hear from the lips of King Jesus the word—
“Come, enter ye faithful, the joy of thy Lord!”

LIFE.

What is life? It is a vapor;
Fleeting as the noontide hour;
Full of hope, though oft delusive;
Passing, like a summer shower.

Oh! how full of sin and folly,
Oh! how full of guilt and fear!
Trials oft and triumphs seldom,—
And the tempter ever near.

Oh! how oft we stop and listen,
To his counsels which deceive;
And alas! how oft we stumble—
Losing what we can't retrieve.

God of mercy! wilt thou hear me?
Strengthen me with power divine.
Let not sin and guilt o'erwhelm me,
Save me, Lord, for I am thine.

Fill me, with thy Holy Spirit,
May I ever faithful prove,
May I always trust thy merit,
And be filled with Heavenly love.

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Come, and whisper, gentle Saviour,
Sin no more—thy sin's forgiven,
Let me feel now thy deliverance,
Help me in the road to Heaven!

COMMUNION.

We now approach with holy joy,
The table of our Lord;
Here we find peace without alloy,
And feast upon His word.

We meditate upon His love,
That love to sinners given,
For which He left a home above,
To show the way to Heaven.

We think upon His wondrous plan,
To save a ruined race;
By which He rescues fallen man—
Redeems them by His grace.

We sit and feast upon our Lord,
And sweetest comfort find,—
His broken body and His blood
Shed freely for mankind.

May all who thus on Jesus feed,
Walk humbly in His way,
And faithfully their steps he'll lead,
To realms of endless day.

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COME.

When life's cares are pressing heavy,
And the days are dark for thee;
Listen, thou mayst hear a whisper—
“Heavy ladened, come to me.”

In this world of care and trial,
Thou wilt oft discouraged be,
Work on, weary one, He whispers,—
“Heavy ladened, come to me!”

“Come to thee?” thy tired heart asketh,
What shall coming profit me?”
Jesus Christ thy Lord repliest:
“Heavy ladened rest in me!”

Keep up courage, e'er prove faithful,
He has shed His blood for thee;
And He'll say, when life is finished,—
“Come ye blessed, rest with me.”

THE HOUR OF DEATH.

There is a solemn hour
That to us all must come,
But Christians do not dread its power,
For they are going home.

Their rest will be complete,
And sin and pain shall cease.
With Christ and loved ones they shall meet
To dwell in perfect peace.

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A glorious train shall come;
The joyous, ransomed throng;
And sing their rapturous welcome home,—
And we shall join that song;

Which all the saved shall know—
Saved from the fiery flood
Of sin, which here shall ever flow—
Redeemed by Jesus' blood.

MY PERSUASION.

Send Thy blessing, loving Saviour;
Let my life be hid in Thee:
May I ever know Thy favor;
May I ever faithful be.

For in truth I am persuaded,
That Thy love doth life impart:
Neither height nor depth nor angels
Can withdraw from Thee my heart.

Nor can present things, nor future,
Nor the earthly powers that be,—
Shake my faith in God the Father,
Or my constant trust in Thee.

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FAITH.

Is it thorny, the place where thou standest?
Are thy trials heavy to bear?
Think not that thou camest by accident
To the city of struggle and care.

'Tis the place that thy Father designedst,
The place of all others for thee.
The brave is not he that repinest!
Nor they who from obstacles flee!

Each duty, the small and the great one,
With faithfulness ever perform;
For sure thou shalt reap in due season—
In the beautiful harvest morn.

Many things that are dark in seeming,
At evening are flooded with light!
Waste not, then, thy moments in dreaming,
But labor with all of thy might!

Till the glorious time of reaping,
And the reapers, the shining ones come
To gather that scattered with weeping,—
With joy for the harvest home!

And then, when thy mission is ended,
Things here—that we cannot explain—
Denied us, for which we contended,—
The reason why will be made plain!

108

THE EARTHQUAKE.

The day was done, the evening dawned
Bright, calm and beautiful!
But ere the rising morrow's sun,
Full many a life its race had run;
The earthquake's shock its work had done—
Destruction terrible!

The people filled with fear and awe,
Before Jehovah bow.
Low in the dust the Sovereign saw
Ten thousand who had scorned his law,
Pleading deliverance from Death's jaw—
They cry for mercy now.

Another shock! the people wail
And rush forth helplessly.
But hardened wretches do not fail
To curse and ridicule, and rail,
And e'en Jehovah's power assail,
And laugh derisively.

It was a night with terror rife;
A night of dread suspense:
In every breast a raging strife,
A conscience keener than a knife,—
Were this the terminus of life
Have we a sure defence?

And many made the wisest choice,
And anchored fast their soul

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To Him who saves the tempest tost,
Whose mission is to seek the lost,
Who freely bore the bitter cross,
That men might be made whole.

Then sages, as in days of yore,
Were summoned forth in haste:
The cause is sought by men of lore,
Why this calamity most sore
Should visit Charleston any more
Than any other place?

To natural causes all agree,
They trace this matter broad.
Well, natural causes there may be,
But back of all we plainly see
A power that is and e'er shall be!
It is the power of God!

JEALOUSY.

Call it the green-eyed monster?
Name most mild for such an attribute!
The half is not expressed—it is a brute!
Of all things most unreasonable;
Of all things most unseasonable;
Of all things disagreeable!
Meanness in the superlative degree!
The crowning ill of life is—jealousy.

110

THE PASSING YEAR.

The year is going, pace by pace,
And memories cluster round.
He now has well-nigh run his race;
He hastens to his mound—
His grave beside the other years.
He dies; but his death brings no tears.

Cheerless and cold his life has grown;
Aged and hoar is he;
Full many a swath his scythe has mown,
In strength of full degree;
But now, the old man's work is done;
The clock strikes twelve—his race is run!

Our life is like the passing year:—
It opens fair and bright,
With smile and song—then comes the tear;
And then the chill of night.
Only a span to us is given—
Cling not to earth; but live for Heaven!

For soon shall come the glad New Year
Of never ending peace;
The angel chorus! Jesus near!
And joys that never cease.
Speed on, then, years! I shall be free!
Not told by years Eternity!

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OF ONE BLOOD.

Who taught thee, man, thy brother to despise?
By nature art thou favored more, or wise
As gods? Art thou in untaught state beclothed
In strength of mind, with lofty thought endowed?
Nay, nay, like him, untaught, thou art unwise;
Like unfledged bird, which neither sees nor flies,
Thou, too, art helpless—looked upon with scorn;
Were truth withheld, for thee would break no morn.
But God has granted thee enlightenment—
Upon thee beamed His gracious countenance.
The gift bestowed, in meekness thou shouldst use;
And not with pride this priceless gift abuse;
For all these things, He doth of thee demand
That thou shalt scatter with a willing hand.

Thy brother lacks the opportunity,
But spite of drawbacks, thou canst plainly see
That in a score of years he well has climbed;
More favored ones has quickly left behind.
Thou sayst with scorn that he can never reach
That high enlightenment that thou wouldst teach;
In all things vie with thee, in each pursuit
To gain success; with power to touch the lute—
And sound inspiring chords from sphere to sphere,
To swell majestic down the echoing years!
Remember what thou wast in years agone,
When thou, in thy forefather's loins didst roam
In nakedness, and a barbarian trod
The wild! Then know that all men are of God!

112

CRITICISM.

[_]

(Suggested by reading the words of Rev. Henry Ward Beecher to his Church, July, 1875.)

With courtesy and due respect
I look on all mankind.
Whate'er of me they may expect;
Whatever seeming fault detect—
Suspicion seldom is correct,
Hence, tranquil is my mind.

Each his opinion may enjoy,
I question not his right.
Harsh criticism may destroy
A friendship more than half alloy,
But it shall ne'er my peace annoy
For Jesus is my light.

I labor with a purpose pure;
I work for God and man.
If faithfulness can peace assure,
Then patiently will I endure,
For all His promises are sure:
He knoweth what I am.

It may be here, it may be there,
My fortune may be cast.
I seek not honor anywhere!
I'll live and work in faith and prayer,
And constantly His love declare
As long as life shall last.

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No man can hinder, none impede
My progress, full and free!
So long as human life hath need,
And burdened ones for succor plead—
For love, for sympathy—indeed,
There is a work for me!

I am your brother, and admire
Your fealty and your trust;
And may the Holy One inspire
Our hearts, that with a strong desire
May burn in us a sacred fire,
Until we sleep in dust.

And then, in that blest world of light—
Where perfect rest is given;
When, having fought in faith the fight,
And finished the last anxious night,—
Then, as a victor, robed in white,
I'll greet you all in Heaven!

Charleston, May 27, 1887.

GOD BE WITH YOU.