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 | Poems of reflection |  |
26
A NEW YEAR'S GREETING TO THE CITY OF THE LAKES.
I said “I will write a greeting,
To the City of the Lakes,
Write, while the city sleepeth,
And sing it when it wakes.
To the City of the Lakes,
Write, while the city sleepeth,
And sing it when it wakes.
“To this fair, and blessed city,
That the glad New Year doth bring
Its best, and its sweetest treasure,
Its choicest offering.
That the glad New Year doth bring
Its best, and its sweetest treasure,
Its choicest offering.
“It brings to our joyful Nation,
The boon of Peace again,
The fields are white, not scarlet,
With the death-blood of the slain.
The boon of Peace again,
The fields are white, not scarlet,
With the death-blood of the slain.
“And not with the sounds of sobbing,
Do we usher in the year,
Not with hand clasps, and partings,
But with goodly mirth and cheer.
Do we usher in the year,
Not with hand clasps, and partings,
But with goodly mirth and cheer.
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“And brother shall meet with brother,
In peace, from North to South,
And ‘I wish you a happy New Year,’
Shall echo from mouth to mouth.
In peace, from North to South,
And ‘I wish you a happy New Year,’
Shall echo from mouth to mouth.
“And there shall be feast, and revel,
In many a home, to-day,
(God grant that the wine be banished
From every board away.)
In many a home, to-day,
(God grant that the wine be banished
From every board away.)
“Thank God for his righteous goodness,
For a land not red with strife—
Thank God for the New Year's blessing,
Thank God for the boon of life.
For a land not red with strife—
Thank God for the New Year's blessing,
Thank God for the boon of life.
“Oh! beautiful white-robed city,
Asleep in the arms of Lakes,
I write me a song while it slumbers,
And I'll sing me a song when it wakes.”
Asleep in the arms of Lakes,
I write me a song while it slumbers,
And I'll sing me a song when it wakes.”
And thus while I dreamed, and pondered,
O'er the glad song I would sing,
Lo! I saw the sun was rising,
And my muse had taken wing.
O'er the glad song I would sing,
Lo! I saw the sun was rising,
And my muse had taken wing.
30
THE WOMEN.
See the women—pallid women, of our land!
See them fainting, dying, dead, on every hand!
See them sinking 'neath a weight
Far more burdensome than Fate
Ever placed upon poor human beings' backs.
See them falling as they go—
By their own hands burdened so—
Paling, failing, sighing, dying, on their tracks!
See them fainting, dying, dead, on every hand!
See them sinking 'neath a weight
Far more burdensome than Fate
Ever placed upon poor human beings' backs.
See them falling as they go—
By their own hands burdened so—
Paling, failing, sighing, dying, on their tracks!
See the women—ghastly women, on the streets!
With their corset-tortured waists, and pinched up feet!
Hearts and lungs all out of place,
Whalebone forms devoid of grace;
Faces pallid, robbed of Nature's rosy bloom;
Purple-lidded eyes that tell,
With a language known too well,
Of the sick-room, death-bed, coffin, pall and tomb.
With their corset-tortured waists, and pinched up feet!
Hearts and lungs all out of place,
Whalebone forms devoid of grace;
Faces pallid, robbed of Nature's rosy bloom;
Purple-lidded eyes that tell,
With a language known too well,
Of the sick-room, death-bed, coffin, pall and tomb.
See the women—sickly women, everywhere,
See the cruel, killing dresses that they wear!
Bearing round those pounds of jet,
Can you wonder that they fret,
Pale, and pine, and fall the victims of decay?
Is it strange the blooming maid,
All so soon should droop and fade—
Like a beast of burden burdened, day on day?
See the cruel, killing dresses that they wear!
Bearing round those pounds of jet,
Can you wonder that they fret,
31
Is it strange the blooming maid,
All so soon should droop and fade—
Like a beast of burden burdened, day on day?
See the women and their dresses as they go,
Trimmed and retrimmed, line on line and row on row;
Hanging over fragile hips,
Driving color from the lips,
Dragging down their foolish wearers to the grave!
Suicide, and nothing less,
In this awful style of dress!
Who shall rise to women's rescue, who shall save?
Trimmed and retrimmed, line on line and row on row;
Hanging over fragile hips,
Driving color from the lips,
Dragging down their foolish wearers to the grave!
Suicide, and nothing less,
In this awful style of dress!
Who shall rise to women's rescue, who shall save?
See the women—foolish women, dying fast;
What have all their trimmed-up dresses brought at last?
Worry, pain, disease and death,
Loss of bloom and gasping breath;
Doctors' bill, and golden hours thrown away.
They have bartered off for these
Beauty, comfort, health and ease—
All to ape the fleeting fashion of a day.
What have all their trimmed-up dresses brought at last?
Worry, pain, disease and death,
Loss of bloom and gasping breath;
Doctors' bill, and golden hours thrown away.
They have bartered off for these
Beauty, comfort, health and ease—
All to ape the fleeting fashion of a day.
34
A TRIBUTE TO VINNIE REAM.
All hail to Vinnie Ream!
Wisconsin's artist daughter,
Who stands to-day crowned with the fame
Her noble work has brought her.
Lift up your brows, hills of the West,
And tell the winds the story,
How she, our fairest, and our best,
Has climbed the heights of glory.
Wisconsin's artist daughter,
Who stands to-day crowned with the fame
Her noble work has brought her.
Lift up your brows, hills of the West,
And tell the winds the story,
How she, our fairest, and our best,
Has climbed the heights of glory.
Three cheers for Vinnie Ream!
Who fought with tribulation,
And brought from death, to lasting life,
The martyr of our Nation.
Oh, Spite and Envy, flee in shame!
And hide your head, black Malice!
She sips, to-day, the sweets of Fame,
From Fame's emblazoned chalice.
Who fought with tribulation,
And brought from death, to lasting life,
The martyr of our Nation.
Oh, Spite and Envy, flee in shame!
And hide your head, black Malice!
She sips, to-day, the sweets of Fame,
From Fame's emblazoned chalice.
Thank God for Vinnie Ream!
The peerless Badger maiden,
Who stands a nation's pride, to-day
With a nation's honors laden.
Ay! crown her Queen at every feast,
And strew her path with flowers,
Ye people of the South and East,
But remember, she is ours!
The peerless Badger maiden,
Who stands a nation's pride, to-day
With a nation's honors laden.
35
And strew her path with flowers,
Ye people of the South and East,
But remember, she is ours!
Bring gifts to Vinnie Ream!
I have no gift to offer,
Only a little gift of song,
And that I humbly proffer;—
Only this little gift to lay
Before Columbia's daughter,
Who stands crowned with the fame, to-day,
That her noble work has brought her.
I have no gift to offer,
Only a little gift of song,
And that I humbly proffer;—
Only this little gift to lay
Before Columbia's daughter,
Who stands crowned with the fame, to-day,
That her noble work has brought her.
40
DYING.
Let me lie upon your breast,
Lift me up, and let me twine
'Round your neck my arms, and rest
With your cheek laid close to mine.
Kiss me, kiss me tenderly;
I am dying now, you know;
Though you feel no love for me,
Clasp me, kiss me, ere I go.
Lift me up, and let me twine
'Round your neck my arms, and rest
With your cheek laid close to mine.
Kiss me, kiss me tenderly;
I am dying now, you know;
Though you feel no love for me,
Clasp me, kiss me, ere I go.
I have lingered many years,
For a moment, love, like this;
Oh! my darling! let no tears
Mar this drop of earthly bliss;
Do not weep because you know
I am dropping off to rest;
I am very glad to go,
Life was wearisome at best.
For a moment, love, like this;
Oh! my darling! let no tears
Mar this drop of earthly bliss;
Do not weep because you know
I am dropping off to rest;
I am very glad to go,
Life was wearisome at best.
I have loved you, oh, so long,
Seeing, knowing, in my brain,
That my love was wild and wrong,
Unrequitted, hopeless, vain;
Was it weak, unwomanly,
Thus to shrine you in my heart?
Oh! I struggled frantically—
Bade your image to depart.
Seeing, knowing, in my brain,
That my love was wild and wrong,
Unrequitted, hopeless, vain;
41
Thus to shrine you in my heart?
Oh! I struggled frantically—
Bade your image to depart.
There are hearts that love will pierce,
Then depart, and die at will;
Such as mine burns long and fierce,
Till the heart is cold and still,
Dropping, sinking off to rest,
Fearing naught of pain or strife;
Kiss me—clasp me to your breast,
This is all I ask of life.
Then depart, and die at will;
Such as mine burns long and fierce,
Till the heart is cold and still,
Dropping, sinking off to rest,
Fearing naught of pain or strife;
Kiss me—clasp me to your breast,
This is all I ask of life.
49
TRANSPLANTED.
Where the grim old “Mount of Lamentation”
Lifts up its summit like some great dome,
I list for the voices of Inspiration
That rang o'er the meadows and hills of home.
I catch sweet sounds, but I am not near them,
There are vast, vague oceans between us rolled;
Or it may be my heart is too full to hear them
With the eager ear that it lent of old.
Lifts up its summit like some great dome,
I list for the voices of Inspiration
That rang o'er the meadows and hills of home.
I catch sweet sounds, but I am not near them,
There are vast, vague oceans between us rolled;
Or it may be my heart is too full to hear them
With the eager ear that it lent of old.
It is full of the joy of to-day—and to-morrow,
Which smiles with a promise of fresh delight;
And yet my honey is galled with sorrow
As I think of the loved ones out of sight.
I wonder so soon if the dear old places
Are growing used to my absent feet,
I wonder if newer and fairer faces
To the hearts that housed me seem just as sweet.
Which smiles with a promise of fresh delight;
And yet my honey is galled with sorrow
As I think of the loved ones out of sight.
I wonder so soon if the dear old places
Are growing used to my absent feet,
I wonder if newer and fairer faces
To the hearts that housed me seem just as sweet.
I know on the world's great field of battle
When a comrade falls out how the ranks close in;
The strife goes on with its rush and rattle,
And who can tell where he late has been!
When a comrade falls out how the ranks close in;
The strife goes on with its rush and rattle,
And who can tell where he late has been!
55
MY COMRADE.
Out from my window westward
I turn full oft my face;
But the mountains rebuke the vision
That would encompass space;
They lift their lofty foreheads
To the kiss of the clouds above,
And ask, “With all our glory,
Can we not win your love?”
I turn full oft my face;
But the mountains rebuke the vision
That would encompass space;
They lift their lofty foreheads
To the kiss of the clouds above,
And ask, “With all our glory,
Can we not win your love?”
I answer, “No, oh mountains!
I see that you are grand;
But you have not the breadth and beauty
Of the fields in my own land;
You narrow my range of vision
And you even shut from me
The voice of my old comrade,
The West Wind wild and free.”
I see that you are grand;
But you have not the breadth and beauty
Of the fields in my own land;
You narrow my range of vision
And you even shut from me
The voice of my old comrade,
The West Wind wild and free.”
But to-day I climbed the mountains
On the back of a snow-white steed,
And the West Wind came to greet me—
He flew on the wings of speed.
On the back of a snow-white steed,
And the West Wind came to greet me—
He flew on the wings of speed.
67
MY VISION.
Wherever my feet may wander
Wherever I chance to be,
There comes, with the coming of even' time
A vision sweet to me.
I see my mother sitting
In the old familiar place,
And she rocks to the tune her needles sing,
And thinks of an absent face.
Wherever I chance to be,
There comes, with the coming of even' time
A vision sweet to me.
I see my mother sitting
In the old familiar place,
And she rocks to the tune her needles sing,
And thinks of an absent face.
I can hear the roar of the city
About me now as I write;
But over an hundred miles of snow
My thought-steeds fly to-night,
To the dear little cozy cottage,
And the room where mother sits,
And slowly rocks in her easy chair
And thinks of me as she knits.
About me now as I write;
But over an hundred miles of snow
My thought-steeds fly to-night,
To the dear little cozy cottage,
And the room where mother sits,
And slowly rocks in her easy chair
And thinks of me as she knits.
Sometimes with the merry dancers
When my feet are keeping time,
And my heart beats high, as young hearts will,
To the music's rhythmic chime.
When my feet are keeping time,
And my heart beats high, as young hearts will,
To the music's rhythmic chime.
77
THE BELLE OF THE SEASON.
Nay—do not bring the jewels—
Away with that robe of white,
I am sick of the ball room, sister—
I would rather stay here, to-night.
“The grandest ball of the season!”
“The upper-ten thousands' show!”
Yes, yes, I know it, my darling,
But I do not care to go.
Away with that robe of white,
I am sick of the ball room, sister—
I would rather stay here, to-night.
“The grandest ball of the season!”
“The upper-ten thousands' show!”
Yes, yes, I know it, my darling,
But I do not care to go.
Last night I was thinking deeply,
Something I seldom do.
You know I came home at midnight,
Well, I lay awake till two.
I was thinking of my girlhood,
Just how I had spent its years,
And I blushed for shame, my darling,
And my pillow was wet with tears.
Something I seldom do.
You know I came home at midnight,
Well, I lay awake till two.
I was thinking of my girlhood,
Just how I had spent its years,
And I blushed for shame, my darling,
And my pillow was wet with tears.
I have lived in a whirl of fashion,
I have kept right up to the “style,”
I have learned how to dance the “German,”
How to bow, and flirt and smile.
I have worn most beautiful dresses,
Been the belle of many a ball.
I have won the envy of women,
And the praise of fops—that's all.
I have kept right up to the “style,”
I have learned how to dance the “German,”
How to bow, and flirt and smile.
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Been the belle of many a ball.
I have won the envy of women,
And the praise of fops—that's all.
Does any one really respect me?—
Could a single thing be said
That would give the mourners pleasure
To-morrow, if I were dead?
“She wore such beautiful dresses,”
“She's a dozen strings to her bow,”
“She could waltz like a perfect fairy”—
Would you like me remembered so?
Could a single thing be said
That would give the mourners pleasure
To-morrow, if I were dead?
“She wore such beautiful dresses,”
“She's a dozen strings to her bow,”
“She could waltz like a perfect fairy”—
Would you like me remembered so?
Well, there's nothing else to remember—
What thing have I ever done
That has made a soul the better
Or cheered a hapless one?
I have spent my time and money—
The best of my fortune and days—
In gaining the envy of women
And making the poor fops gaze.
What thing have I ever done
That has made a soul the better
Or cheered a hapless one?
I have spent my time and money—
The best of my fortune and days—
In gaining the envy of women
And making the poor fops gaze.
I am going to be a woman,
And live for others awhile—
Forgetting myself for a season,
Though I know it isn't the “style.”
I am in no mood for a revel—
Away with that robe of white!
And I will stay here, my darling,
And talk with my heart to-night.
And live for others awhile—
Forgetting myself for a season,
Though I know it isn't the “style.”
79
Away with that robe of white!
And I will stay here, my darling,
And talk with my heart to-night.
87
ALL THE WORLD.
All the world is full of babies,
Sobbing, sighing everywhere,
Looking out with eyes of terror,
Beating at the empty air.
Do they see the strife before them,
That they sob and tremble so?
Oh, the helpless, frightened babies;
Still they come and still they go.
Sobbing, sighing everywhere,
Looking out with eyes of terror,
Beating at the empty air.
Do they see the strife before them,
That they sob and tremble so?
Oh, the helpless, frightened babies;
Still they come and still they go.
All the world is full of children,
Laughing over little joys;
Sighing over little troubles—
Fingers bruised or broken toys—
Wishing to be older, larger,
Weeping at some fancied woe.
Oh, the happy, hapless, children,
Still they come and still they go.
Laughing over little joys;
Sighing over little troubles—
Fingers bruised or broken toys—
Wishing to be older, larger,
Weeping at some fancied woe.
Oh, the happy, hapless, children,
Still they come and still they go.
All the earth is full of lovers,
Walking slowly, whispering sweet,
Dreaming dreams and building castles
That must crumble at their feet;
Breaking vows and burning letters,
Smiling lest the world shall know.
Oh, the foolish, trusting lovers,
Still they come and still they go.
Walking slowly, whispering sweet,
Dreaming dreams and building castles
That must crumble at their feet;
88
Smiling lest the world shall know.
Oh, the foolish, trusting lovers,
Still they come and still they go.
All the world is full of people,
Hurrying, pushing, rushing by,
Bearing burdens, carrying crosses,
Passing onward with a sigh;
Some like us, with smiling faces,
And their heavy hearts below.
Oh, the sad-eyed, burdened people—
How they come and how they go!
Hurrying, pushing, rushing by,
Bearing burdens, carrying crosses,
Passing onward with a sigh;
Some like us, with smiling faces,
And their heavy hearts below.
Oh, the sad-eyed, burdened people—
How they come and how they go!
All the earth is full of corpses,
Dust and bones, laid there to rest,
This the end, that babes and children,
Lovers, people find at best;
All their cares and all their burdens,
All their sorrows, wearing so—
Oh, the silent, happy corpses,
Sleeping soundly, lying low.
Dust and bones, laid there to rest,
This the end, that babes and children,
Lovers, people find at best;
All their cares and all their burdens,
All their sorrows, wearing so—
Oh, the silent, happy corpses,
Sleeping soundly, lying low.
89
LINES.
Dedicated to Mr. and Mrs. D. Atwood upon the celebration of their silver wedding, August 25th, 1874.
The harvest-moon of wedded love,
Fair in the heavens sailing,
Has reached mid-height, and, clear and bright,
Gives little sign of paling.
Fair in the heavens sailing,
Has reached mid-height, and, clear and bright,
Gives little sign of paling.
Since first, above the horizon,
The silvery crescent lifted,
The clouds of five-and-twenty years
Have o'er its surface drifted.
The silvery crescent lifted,
The clouds of five-and-twenty years
Have o'er its surface drifted.
But, while the days have come and gone,
Though many a changing “morrow,”
The growing moon sailed up and on
Above the hills of sorrow.
Though many a changing “morrow,”
The growing moon sailed up and on
Above the hills of sorrow.
And, though with years came blinding tears,
The guiding moon grew brighter;
It gave relief, in time of grief—
Made heavy burdens lighter.
The guiding moon grew brighter;
It gave relief, in time of grief—
Made heavy burdens lighter.
90
One quarter of one hundred years
It has been growing, filling,
Till, round and bright, its silvery light
On all tonight is spilling.
It has been growing, filling,
Till, round and bright, its silvery light
On all tonight is spilling.
Oh, harvesters on life's great plain!
The young sheaves shining 'round you
Prove that you have not toiled in vain—
Prove that God's blessing found you.
The young sheaves shining 'round you
Prove that you have not toiled in vain—
Prove that God's blessing found you.
Smile in the moonlight's silver gleam,
Rejoice in harvest weather;
Ye know ye may not always keep
The precious sheaves together!
Rejoice in harvest weather;
Ye know ye may not always keep
The precious sheaves together!
Shine on, oh moon of wedded bliss!
Live on through many a morrow,
Till from the sun of Immortal Love
Its golden light you borrow.
Live on through many a morrow,
Till from the sun of Immortal Love
Its golden light you borrow.
91
A FRAGMENT.
Your words came just when needed. Like a breeze,Blowing and bringing from the wide salt sea
Some cooling spray, to meadow scorched with heat
And choked with dust and clouds of sifted sand,
That hateful whirlwinds, envious of its bloom,
Had tossed upon it. But the cool sea breeze
Came laden with the odors of the sea
And damp with spray, that laid the dust and sand
And brought new life and strength to blade and bloom,
So words of thine came over miles to me,
Fresh from the mighty sea, a true friend's heart,
And brought me hope, and strength, and swept away
The dusty webs that human spiders spun
Across my path. Friend—and the word means much—
So few there are who reach like thee, a hand
Up over all the barking curs of spite
And give the clasp, when most its need is felt;
Friend, newly found, accept my full heart's thanks.
94
OLD.
They stood together at the garden gate;
They heard the night bird calling to his mate;
The sun had set,
And all the vines upon the summer bowers,
The long green grasses, and the blooming flowers
Were dewy wet.
They heard the night bird calling to his mate;
The sun had set,
And all the vines upon the summer bowers,
The long green grasses, and the blooming flowers
Were dewy wet.
The sun's last rays had lit the Western skies
And dipped the mass of clouds in golden dyes
Brilliant and grand.
They stood in silence for a little while,
And then he turned, and with a tender smile
He took her hand.
And dipped the mass of clouds in golden dyes
Brilliant and grand.
They stood in silence for a little while,
And then he turned, and with a tender smile
He took her hand.
“Of all the sweet days we have known, my friend,”
He said half sadly, “This will be the end.
I grieve to go,
Loving, as I shall never love again;
It rends my heart-strings, and it gives me pain,
But well I know
He said half sadly, “This will be the end.
I grieve to go,
Loving, as I shall never love again;
It rends my heart-strings, and it gives me pain,
But well I know
“I could not make you happy with my love,
You, tender hearted, gentle as a dove,
And I—oh, well!
I cannot grovel on in this dull life.
How my soul yearns for scenes of noise and strife
No tongue can tell.
You, tender hearted, gentle as a dove,
95
I cannot grovel on in this dull life.
How my soul yearns for scenes of noise and strife
No tongue can tell.
And so I give you back the pledge you gave,
I should but drag you to an early grave
With my unrest.
You are unfettered; but here at your feet
I leave my heart; oh, may you be, my sweet,
Forever blest.”
I should but drag you to an early grave
With my unrest.
You are unfettered; but here at your feet
I leave my heart; oh, may you be, my sweet,
Forever blest.”
She drew from off her hand the hoop of gold
(Dearer to her by far than wealth untold)
And gave to him,
And as she, slow and silent, moved away,
Her life like all that Western sky grew gray
And bleak and grim.
(Dearer to her by far than wealth untold)
And gave to him,
And as she, slow and silent, moved away,
Her life like all that Western sky grew gray
And bleak and grim.
He walks to-day, with kings upon the earth;
He dwells in scenes of revelry and mirth,
With naught of care.
And she—the sun that set for her in deepest gloom,
And never rose, will rise beyond the tomb
And meet her there.
He dwells in scenes of revelry and mirth,
With naught of care.
And she—the sun that set for her in deepest gloom,
And never rose, will rise beyond the tomb
And meet her there.
111
IN MEMORY OF J. B.
Brave heart, whose bed has now been made
A twelve month neath the grasses,
Checkered by sunshine and by shade,
Where every breeze that passes
Hushes its song and sighs along,
With sorrow in its cadence,
Not thinking how thy sainted brow
Glows with a Christly radiance.
A twelve month neath the grasses,
Checkered by sunshine and by shade,
Where every breeze that passes
Hushes its song and sighs along,
With sorrow in its cadence,
Not thinking how thy sainted brow
Glows with a Christly radiance.
Do spirits hover in the air?
Do the dear dead ones never
Float on the gentle zyphers near
Out of the vast forever?
Somehow to-day my thoughts will stray
To you, oh friend, in slumber!
You seem so near, I feel you here,
One of the angel number.
Do the dear dead ones never
Float on the gentle zyphers near
Out of the vast forever?
Somehow to-day my thoughts will stray
To you, oh friend, in slumber!
You seem so near, I feel you here,
One of the angel number.
Oh, face I never looked upon!
Oh, quiet, dreamless sleeper!
How strange that when you journeyed on
With death, the mighty reaper,
I missed you so. Do angels know,
Up in the City's splendor,
When hearts on earth embalm their worth,
And are they glad, I wonder?
Oh, quiet, dreamless sleeper!
How strange that when you journeyed on
With death, the mighty reaper,
112
Up in the City's splendor,
When hearts on earth embalm their worth,
And are they glad, I wonder?
119
MISTAKES.
My life is full of sad mistakes,—
Today I was thinking about them,
And thinking of all that I might have been
If I had but lived without them.
So many times have I laid my plan,
Only to spoil it in doing;
And much of the work that the world calls good
Has left me cause for rueing.
Today I was thinking about them,
And thinking of all that I might have been
If I had but lived without them.
So many times have I laid my plan,
Only to spoil it in doing;
And much of the work that the world calls good
Has left me cause for rueing.
Each thing that I do is like the page
Of a hurriedly written letter;—
Full of good thoughts perhaps, but the blots
Prove that it might be better.
I have wished for the world's applause, and thought
To make it praise and wonder,
But my noblest aim and best laid plan
Was sure to be spoiled by a blunder.
Of a hurriedly written letter;—
Full of good thoughts perhaps, but the blots
Prove that it might be better.
I have wished for the world's applause, and thought
To make it praise and wonder,
But my noblest aim and best laid plan
Was sure to be spoiled by a blunder.
I think I have lived too far from God,—
Not that I ever doubt Him,
But feeling too sure of my strength, I've tried
To do some things without Him.
And so we shall always make mistakes,
And always our errors be rueing,
Until we reach up for the Guiding Hand,
Whatever we may be doing.
Not that I ever doubt Him,
But feeling too sure of my strength, I've tried
To do some things without Him.
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And always our errors be rueing,
Until we reach up for the Guiding Hand,
Whatever we may be doing.
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THE PILGRIM FATHERS.
And now when poets are singing
Their song of olden days,
And now, when the land is ringing
With sweet Centennial lays,
My muse goes wandering backward
To the groundwork of all these,
To the time when our Pilgrim Fathers
Came over the winter seas.
Their song of olden days,
And now, when the land is ringing
With sweet Centennial lays,
My muse goes wandering backward
To the groundwork of all these,
To the time when our Pilgrim Fathers
Came over the winter seas.
The sons of a mighty kingdom,
Of a cultured folk were they,
Born amidst pomp and splendor,
Bred in it, day by day.
Children of bloom and beauty,
Reared under skies serene,
Where the daisy and hawthorne blossomed
And the ivy was always green.
Of a cultured folk were they,
Born amidst pomp and splendor,
Bred in it, day by day.
Children of bloom and beauty,
Reared under skies serene,
Where the daisy and hawthorne blossomed
And the ivy was always green.
And yet, for the sake of freedom,
For a free religious faith,
They turned from home and people,
And stood face to face with death.
They turned from a tyrant ruler
And stood on the new world's shore,
With a waste of waters behind them,
And a waste of land before.
For a free religious faith,
They turned from home and people,
And stood face to face with death.
They turned from a tyrant ruler
And stood on the new world's shore,
With a waste of waters behind them,
And a waste of land before.
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Oh, men of a great Republic;
Of a land of untold worth;
Of a nation that has no equal
Upon God's round green earth;
I hear you sighing and crying
Of the hard, close times at hand;
What think you of those old heroes,
On the rock 'twixt sea and land.
Of a land of untold worth;
Of a nation that has no equal
Upon God's round green earth;
I hear you sighing and crying
Of the hard, close times at hand;
What think you of those old heroes,
On the rock 'twixt sea and land.
The bells of a million churches
Go ringing out to-night,
And the glitter of palace windows
Fills all the land with light;
And there is the home and college,
And here is the feast and ball,
And the angels of peace and freedom
Are hovering over all.
Go ringing out to-night,
And the glitter of palace windows
Fills all the land with light;
And there is the home and college,
And here is the feast and ball,
And the angels of peace and freedom
Are hovering over all.
They had no church, no college,
No banks, no mining stock;
They had but the waste before them,
The sea and Plymouth Rock.
But there in the night and tempest,
With gloom on every hand,
They laid the first foundation
Of a nation great and grand.
No banks, no mining stock;
They had but the waste before them,
The sea and Plymouth Rock.
But there in the night and tempest,
With gloom on every hand,
They laid the first foundation
Of a nation great and grand.
There were no weak repinings,
No shrinking from what might be,
But with their brows to the tempest,
And with their backs to the sea,
They planned out a noble future,
And planted the corner-stone
Of the grandest, greatest republic
The world has ever known.
No shrinking from what might be,
But with their brows to the tempest,
And with their backs to the sea,
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And planted the corner-stone
Of the grandest, greatest republic
The world has ever known.
Oh, women in homes of splendor,
Oh lily-buds frail and fair,
With fortunes upon your fingers,
And milk-white pearls in your hair,
I hear you longing and sighing
For some new fresh delight;
But what of those Pilgrim mothers
On that December night?
Oh lily-buds frail and fair,
With fortunes upon your fingers,
And milk-white pearls in your hair,
I hear you longing and sighing
For some new fresh delight;
But what of those Pilgrim mothers
On that December night?
I hear you talking of hardships,
I hear you moaning of loss,
Each has her fancied sorrow,
Each bears her self-made cross.
But they, they had only their husbands,
The rain, the rock, and the sea;
Yet, they looked up to God and blessed Him,
And were glad because they were free.
I hear you moaning of loss,
Each has her fancied sorrow,
Each bears her self-made cross.
But they, they had only their husbands,
The rain, the rock, and the sea;
Yet, they looked up to God and blessed Him,
And were glad because they were free.
Oh, grand old Pilgrim heroes,
Oh, souls that were tried and true,
With all of our proud possessions
We are humbled at thought of you.
Men of such might and muscle,
Women so brave and strong,
Whose faith was fixed as the mountains,
Through a night so dark and long.
Oh, souls that were tried and true,
With all of our proud possessions
We are humbled at thought of you.
Men of such might and muscle,
Women so brave and strong,
Whose faith was fixed as the mountains,
Through a night so dark and long.
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We know of your grim, grave errors,
As husbands and as wives;
Of the rigid bleak ideas
That starved your daily lives;
Of pent-up, curbed emotions,
Of feelings crushed, suppressed,
That God with the heart created
In every human breast.
As husbands and as wives;
Of the rigid bleak ideas
That starved your daily lives;
Of pent-up, curbed emotions,
Of feelings crushed, suppressed,
That God with the heart created
In every human breast.
We know of the little remnant
Of British tyranny,
When you hunted Quakers and witches,
And swung them from a tree;
Yet back to a holy motive,
To live in the fear of God,
To a purpose light, exalted,
To walk where martyrs trod.
Of British tyranny,
When you hunted Quakers and witches,
And swung them from a tree;
Yet back to a holy motive,
To live in the fear of God,
To a purpose light, exalted,
To walk where martyrs trod.
We can trace your gravest errors.
Your aim was fixed and sure;
And e'en if your acts were fanatic,
We know your hearts were pure.
You lived so near to heaven,
You overreached your trust,
And deemed yourselves creators,
Forgetting you were but dust.
Your aim was fixed and sure;
And e'en if your acts were fanatic,
We know your hearts were pure.
You lived so near to heaven,
You overreached your trust,
And deemed yourselves creators,
Forgetting you were but dust.
But we with our broader visions,
With our wider realms of thought,
I often think would be better
If we lived as our fathers taught.
Their lives seemed bleak and rigid,
Narrow and void of bloom;
Our minds have too much freedom,
And conscience too much room.
With our wider realms of thought,
I often think would be better
If we lived as our fathers taught.
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Narrow and void of bloom;
Our minds have too much freedom,
And conscience too much room.
They overreached in duty,
They starved their hearts for the right;
We live too much in the senses,
We bask too long in the light.
They proved by their clinging to Him
The image of God in man;
And we, by our love of license,
Strengthen a Darwin's plan.
They starved their hearts for the right;
We live too much in the senses,
We bask too long in the light.
They proved by their clinging to Him
The image of God in man;
And we, by our love of license,
Strengthen a Darwin's plan.
But bigotry reached its limit,
And license must have its sway,
And both shall result in profit
To those of a later day.
With the fetters of slavery broken,
And freedom's flag unfurled,
Our nation strides onward and upward,
And stands the peer of the world.
And license must have its sway,
And both shall result in profit
To those of a later day.
With the fetters of slavery broken,
And freedom's flag unfurled,
Our nation strides onward and upward,
And stands the peer of the world.
Spires and domes and steeples
Glitter from shore to shore;
The waters are white with commerce,
The earth is studded with ore;
Peace is sitting above us,
And Plenty, with laden hand,
Wedded to sturdy Labor,
Goes singing through the land.
Glitter from shore to shore;
The waters are white with commerce,
The earth is studded with ore;
Peace is sitting above us,
And Plenty, with laden hand,
Wedded to sturdy Labor,
Goes singing through the land.
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Then let each child of the nation
Who glories in being free,
Remember the Pilgrim Fathers
Who stood on the rock by the sea;
For there in the rain and tempest
Of a night long passed away,
They sowed the seeds of a harvest
We gather in sheaves to-day.
Who glories in being free,
Remember the Pilgrim Fathers
Who stood on the rock by the sea;
For there in the rain and tempest
Of a night long passed away,
They sowed the seeds of a harvest
We gather in sheaves to-day.
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A DREAM.
The shadows of a winter night were falling,
The snows were drifting in my cottage door—
And loud the voices of the winds were calling,
When there came a stranger, lone, despised, and poor!
The snows were drifting in my cottage door—
And loud the voices of the winds were calling,
When there came a stranger, lone, despised, and poor!
Came to my glowing hearth, all humbly pleading
For food and shelter till the day should dawn—
But to his every word I stood unheeding,
And turned him forth and bade him wander on.
For food and shelter till the day should dawn—
But to his every word I stood unheeding,
And turned him forth and bade him wander on.
I have six little ones to guard from danger;
I have a pillow for each precious head;
But nought to waste upon a beggared stranger—
And “charity begins at home,” I said.
I have a pillow for each precious head;
But nought to waste upon a beggared stranger—
And “charity begins at home,” I said.
All fierce and loud the winter wind was groaning,
Like some lost spirit, doomed to death it seemed;
While at some door it made its ceaseless moaning,
I sought my pillow, and I slept and dreamed.
Like some lost spirit, doomed to death it seemed;
While at some door it made its ceaseless moaning,
I sought my pillow, and I slept and dreamed.
I dreamed I stood at Heaven's gate entreating,
Weeping and wailing for the other side;
While in the gloom I stood, all wildly beating,
Begging the angel guard to open wide.
Weeping and wailing for the other side;
While in the gloom I stood, all wildly beating,
Begging the angel guard to open wide.
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At length I heard the pearly hinges turning,
And saw the glories that no tongue can tell.
Before me all the hues of Heaven burning,
Behind me all the gloom of death and hell.
And saw the glories that no tongue can tell.
Before me all the hues of Heaven burning,
Behind me all the gloom of death and hell.
I strove to enter, but a voice like thunder,
Cried “Come no nearer, oh! thou soul of sin.”
And I shrank down in awful fear and wonder,
For I had thought to enter boldly in.
Cried “Come no nearer, oh! thou soul of sin.”
And I shrank down in awful fear and wonder,
For I had thought to enter boldly in.
Again the voice cried, “When in woe and anguish,
I sought a shelter at thy glowing hearth,
Thou turned me out, unclothed, unfed to languish,
And wander wearily upon the earth.
I sought a shelter at thy glowing hearth,
Thou turned me out, unclothed, unfed to languish,
And wander wearily upon the earth.
“Depart from here, thou selfish sinful mortal,
On heaven's perfect face, a stain and blot;
For never can'st thou cross the shining portal,
Ye knew not me and now I know ye not.”
On heaven's perfect face, a stain and blot;
For never can'st thou cross the shining portal,
Ye knew not me and now I know ye not.”
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FOR HIM WHO BEST SHALL UNDERSTAND IT.
I know a “righteous Christian,”
(That is, he thinks he's one,)
He goes to church on Sunday
And thinks his duty done.
And always at prayer-meeting,
He sighs, and groans, and prays;
And talks about the sinners,
And warns them from their ways.
(That is, he thinks he's one,)
He goes to church on Sunday
And thinks his duty done.
And always at prayer-meeting,
He sighs, and groans, and prays;
And talks about the sinners,
And warns them from their ways.
And many of his neighbors,
He knows are bound for hell;
Although they love their Master,
And do their duty well.
But they pray within their closet,
And do not own a “pew,”
And he's sure they'll not be numbered
Among God's chosen few.
He knows are bound for hell;
Although they love their Master,
And do their duty well.
But they pray within their closet,
And do not own a “pew,”
And he's sure they'll not be numbered
Among God's chosen few.
He exhorts men to be careful
And keep from worldly strife.
And he thinks a race for riches
The worst thing in this life.
“Do good,” he cried, “with money,
Ye who have aught to spare,”
And he preaches quite a sermon,
And ends it with a prayer.
And keep from worldly strife.
And he thinks a race for riches
The worst thing in this life.
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Ye who have aught to spare,”
And he preaches quite a sermon,
And ends it with a prayer.
Well! he has bonds with coupons,
And lots of cash on hand,
And when the fierce Fire Demon,
Went raging through our land,
The neighborhood was canvassed,
For money, clothes, and food,
To send the starving people,
And the man who cries, “Do good,”—
And lots of cash on hand,
And when the fierce Fire Demon,
Went raging through our land,
The neighborhood was canvassed,
For money, clothes, and food,
To send the starving people,
And the man who cries, “Do good,”—
My preaching, praying Christian,
Now boasts, in pride and glee,
“Those begging, sponging rascals,
Didn't get a cent from me!
I don't believe their stories,
About the suffering poor,
The thieves were after money,
And I sent them from my door.”
Now boasts, in pride and glee,
“Those begging, sponging rascals,
Didn't get a cent from me!
I don't believe their stories,
About the suffering poor,
The thieves were after money,
And I sent them from my door.”
Oh, out upon such a pretense!
May a curse be upon his gold,
And the cries of an hundred people,
Hungry, and naked, and cold,
Ring in his ears forever;
And the words his false lips pray
Fall on deaf ears in heaven,
From now till the Judgment Day.
May a curse be upon his gold,
And the cries of an hundred people,
Hungry, and naked, and cold,
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And the words his false lips pray
Fall on deaf ears in heaven,
From now till the Judgment Day.
Oh “hypocrites, and liars!”
Your prayers blaspheme God's name!
And if the angels hear them,
They blush for you in shame,
And, though you deceive your fellows,
With the pious cloak you wear;
The hosts of heaven look deeper,
And they know your true worth there.
Your prayers blaspheme God's name!
And if the angels hear them,
They blush for you in shame,
And, though you deceive your fellows,
With the pious cloak you wear;
The hosts of heaven look deeper,
And they know your true worth there.
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DYING.
The great high arch of heaven, like tapestry
On ancient walls, was grandly colored—save
The quiet, cloudless west, that was a sea
Of purest crystal—golden wave on wave.
“Oh love,” she whispered, “open wide the blind,
And let me see the glory of the West;
There just across the sea, my soul will find—
What here is never found—find peace and rest.”
On ancient walls, was grandly colored—save
The quiet, cloudless west, that was a sea
Of purest crystal—golden wave on wave.
“Oh love,” she whispered, “open wide the blind,
And let me see the glory of the West;
There just across the sea, my soul will find—
What here is never found—find peace and rest.”
Deeper, and darklier grand, the bright clouds grew,
And red and amber streaks shot through the North.
The very light of heaven was shining through
The crystal West. She reached her thin hand forth
And a strange splendor fell upon her face;
And her dark eyes glowed with unearthly light.
I knew it came from God's celestial place,
Where there is neither sorrow, death, nor night.
And red and amber streaks shot through the North.
The very light of heaven was shining through
The crystal West. She reached her thin hand forth
And a strange splendor fell upon her face;
And her dark eyes glowed with unearthly light.
I knew it came from God's celestial place,
Where there is neither sorrow, death, nor night.
“Oh love!” she cried, “my struggling spirit yearns
To leave this clay and go across the sea,
Look! how to molten gold the whole sky turns;
And see that white hand beckoning to me.
Oh love, my love, this is not death, to go
At this sweet hour across the golden tide;
To drop my every care, and henceforth know
Only the pleasures of that other side.”
To leave this clay and go across the sea,
Look! how to molten gold the whole sky turns;
And see that white hand beckoning to me.
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At this sweet hour across the golden tide;
To drop my every care, and henceforth know
Only the pleasures of that other side.”
The angel took the tapestries away,
And rolled them up in heaven, out of sight,
Leaving the common walls of sombre gray
To catch the dews and damp fogs of the night.
The west wind played upon his dulcimer.
I leaned across her couch with bated breath;
“Oh love,” I said, as I gazed down on her,
“Surely, thy words were true, this is not death!”
And rolled them up in heaven, out of sight,
Leaving the common walls of sombre gray
To catch the dews and damp fogs of the night.
The west wind played upon his dulcimer.
I leaned across her couch with bated breath;
“Oh love,” I said, as I gazed down on her,
“Surely, thy words were true, this is not death!”
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A TRIBUTE.
My heart that otherwise was glad
(So much God gives to make it so)
This golden afternoon is sad
And troubled with another's woe;
And stranger that I am, I fain
Would send some solace for her pain.
(So much God gives to make it so)
This golden afternoon is sad
And troubled with another's woe;
And stranger that I am, I fain
Would send some solace for her pain.
My talks with Sorrow have been brief;
She touched my robe, in gliding by—
And when I've chanced to meet with Grief,
He's passed me with averted eye.
Yet, through another's pain, I see
Sometimes a glimpse of what may be.
She touched my robe, in gliding by—
And when I've chanced to meet with Grief,
He's passed me with averted eye.
Yet, through another's pain, I see
Sometimes a glimpse of what may be.
And of all griefs that mortals know—
Of all that pierce the human heart,
There seems to me no other woe
Like that which rends the soul apart,
When a fond mother sees death's night
Sealing an infant's eyes of light.
Of all that pierce the human heart,
There seems to me no other woe
Like that which rends the soul apart,
When a fond mother sees death's night
Sealing an infant's eyes of light.
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The babe endeared by pangs and fears
That she has suffered for its sake,
The babe she watched above with tears,
Or sat through lonely nights, awake.
And sang some tender lullaby—
And all for this—to see it die.
That she has suffered for its sake,
The babe she watched above with tears,
Or sat through lonely nights, awake.
And sang some tender lullaby—
And all for this—to see it die.
And thinking of that stricken one,
Who weeps to-day a double loss,
Who sees a darkness o'er the sun
Made by her overshadowing cross—
And thinking how her poor arms ache—
I shed some tears for her sad sake.
Who weeps to-day a double loss,
Who sees a darkness o'er the sun
Made by her overshadowing cross—
And thinking how her poor arms ache—
I shed some tears for her sad sake.
Yet in the perfect pure sunlight—
In flowers of beauty and perfume,
I think God puts these souls so white,
And gives them back to us in bloom.
'Tis thus we have the light and flowers,
By yielding up these buds of ours.
In flowers of beauty and perfume,
I think God puts these souls so white,
And gives them back to us in bloom.
'Tis thus we have the light and flowers,
By yielding up these buds of ours.
In every golden, burnished ray,
In every sweet unfolding leaf,
Sad mother, you may find to-day
Some little solace in your grief.
God lets them comfort you this wise,
Until you join them in the skies.
In every sweet unfolding leaf,
Sad mother, you may find to-day
Some little solace in your grief.
God lets them comfort you this wise,
Until you join them in the skies.
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IN MEMORY OF CHARLIE SPAULDING.
Aged 6 years and 5 months; died July 4, 1875.
With eyes that scarce can see for tears,
We look back o'er the little space
Of baby Charlie's life. Six years
Since first we looked upon his face.
We look back o'er the little space
Of baby Charlie's life. Six years
Since first we looked upon his face.
Six years since from the angel band
Our little cherub strayed away.
We did not know or understand
He was but lent, and could not stay.
Our little cherub strayed away.
We did not know or understand
He was but lent, and could not stay.
We looked into his lovely eyes,
So large, so soulful, and so deep,
And knew he came from God's own skies,
And thought that he was our's to keep.
So large, so soulful, and so deep,
And knew he came from God's own skies,
And thought that he was our's to keep.
But angels missed him 'round the Throne
And ere his earthly years were seven,
Christ called him, leaving us alone,
To turn our sorrowing hearts to Heaven.
And ere his earthly years were seven,
Christ called him, leaving us alone,
To turn our sorrowing hearts to Heaven.
For now, no matter what may come,
Wealth, fortune, honors, earthly bliss,
No place can seem to us like home,
Hereafter save where Charlie is.
Wealth, fortune, honors, earthly bliss,
No place can seem to us like home,
Hereafter save where Charlie is.
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Life could not grow so warm, so bright,
No circumstances bring such joy,
But that our thoughts each morn and night
Would turn to Heaven and our boy.
No circumstances bring such joy,
But that our thoughts each morn and night
Would turn to Heaven and our boy.
The thought that we may meet him there,
And walk with him the heavenly plain
Alone can keep us from despair,
And bring us comfort in our pain.
And walk with him the heavenly plain
Alone can keep us from despair,
And bring us comfort in our pain.
For Arthur, who is left below,
Are many thorny paths to tread.
His lips must drink of grief and woe;
Not so with Charlie, who is dead.
Are many thorny paths to tread.
His lips must drink of grief and woe;
Not so with Charlie, who is dead.
For Arthur there must be, at best,
Full many an hour of gloom and sorrow;
For Charlie, dwelling with the blest,
Joy only, through an endless morrow.
Full many an hour of gloom and sorrow;
For Charlie, dwelling with the blest,
Joy only, through an endless morrow.
Walking the golden streets above,
He watches o'er us ever more.
God grant through Christ's redeeming love,
We yet may meet him on that shore.
He watches o'er us ever more.
God grant through Christ's redeeming love,
We yet may meet him on that shore.
The thought of death is very sweet—
The grave can have no chill or gloom
For those who have a child to meet
Beyond in fields of living bloom.
The grave can have no chill or gloom
For those who have a child to meet
Beyond in fields of living bloom.
| Poems of reflection | |