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6 tiyVi^ii ,^u.^, U 79. 



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POEMS 



OF 



HOME LIFE 



" Dear domestic recollections, 
Uome-bom loves and old affectiona. 
Incommunicable tlieyl" 




A.MERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

160 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK. 



It is the aim of this collection to group together 
some of the sweet, pure poems of our language 
which give expression to the varied experiences of 
daiJy life, as it flows through the channels of fam- 
ily and home affection, from prattling infancy to 
reverend age. 

Through the widespread agency of the American 
Tract Society, may it speak tender messages to 
many hearts and homes. H. P. W. 

BBO0KL.YH. 




POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 



•P 



The lijappt) Y](xnsc, 

"as for me and my house we will serve the lord." 

HAPPY house ! where Thou art loved the best, 

Dear Friend and Saviour of our race ; 
AMiere never comes such welcome honored guest. 

Where none can ever fill thy place ; 
Where every heart goes forth to welcome thee, 

Where every ear attends thy word ; 
WTiere every lip with blessings greeteth thee, 

"WTiere all are waiting on their Lord. 

O happy house ! '^IMiere man and wife in heart, 

In faith and hope are one. 
That neither hfe nor death can ever ^oit 

The holy union here begun ; 



POEMS OF HOME LIFE 

"VMiere both are sharing one salvation, 

And live before thee, Lord, always, 
In gladness or in tribulation, 

In happy or in evil days. 

O happy house ! whose little ones are given 

Early to thee, in faith and prayer — 
To thee their Friend, who from the heights of heavt-u 

Guard'st them with more than mother's care. 
happy house ! where little voices 

Their glad hosannas love to raise ; 
And childhood's lisping tongue rejoices 

To bring new songs of love and praise. 

O happy house ! and happy servitude ! 

"Where all ahke one IVIaster own ; 
WTiere daily duty in thy strength pursued, 

Is never hard or toilsome known ; 
"Where each one serves thee, meek and lowly, 

"WTiatever thine appointment be. 
Till common tasks seem gi-eat and holy, 

When they are done as unto thee. 

happy house ! where thou art not forgot 

"When joy is flowing full and free ; 
happy house ! where every wound is brought, 

Physician, Comforter, to thee; 
Until at last, earth's day's work ended. 

All meet thee in that home above, 
From Tvhence thou camest, where thou hast asoende.!, 

Thy heaven of glory and of love ! 



MV HOME. 



Mv) Jiame. 

A THANKSGIVING TO GOD FOR A HOUSE IN THE GREEN PARISH OF 
DEVONSHIRE. 

T ORD, thou hast given me a cell 
Cf Wherein to dwell, 

A little house, whose humble roof 

Is weather proof. 
Under the sparres of which I lie, 

Both soft and drie ; 
Where thou, my chamber for to ward, 

Hast set a guard 
Of harmlesse thoughts, to watch and keep 

Me while I sleep. 
Low is my porch, as is my fate, 

Both void of state ; 
And yet the threshold of my doore 

Is worn by th' poore, 
Who hither come and freely get 

Good words or meat. 
Like as my parlor, so my hall 

And kitchen's small; 
A little butterie, and therein 

A little bin, 
NVhich keeps my Uttle loafe of bread 

Unchipt, unstead. 
Some sticks of thorn or briar 

Make me a fire, 



POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Close by whose loving coals I sit, 

And glow like it. 
Lord, I confess too, when I dine, 

The pulse is thine. 
And all those other bits that bee 

There placed by thee; 
The worts, the purslain, and the messe 

Of water-cresse, 
Which cf thy kindness thou hast sent; 

And my content 
Makes those and my beloved beet 

More sweet. 
Lord, 't is thy plenty-dropping hand 

That soiles my land, 
And gives me, for my bushel sowne, 

Twice ten for one. 
Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay 

Her egg each day. 
The while the conduits of my kine 

Eun creame for wine. 
All these, and better, thou dost send 

Me to this end, 
That I should render for my part, 

A thaitkfulle heart, 
Which fired with incense, I resigne 

As wholly thine; 
But the acceptance, that must be, 

^Iy Chbist, by Thee. r, hereick, I6fii 



p 



KINGDOM Ol" HOME. 9 

Kingdom at ViixxM. 

ARK is the niglit, and fitful and drearily 

Rushes the wind Uke the waves of the sea; 
Little care I, as here I sing cheerily, 
Wife at my side and my baby on knee: 
King, king, crown me the king: 
Home is the kingdom, and love is the king ! 

Flashes the firehght upon the dear faces, 

Dearer and dearer as onward we go, 
Forces the shadows behind us, and places 
Brightness around us with warmth in the glow. 
King, king, crown me the king: 
Home is the kingdom, and love is the king ! 

Flashes the lovehght, increasing the glory, 

Beaming from bright eyes with warmth of the soul, 
TelHng of tnist and content the sweet stoiy. 
Lifting the shadows that over us roll. 
King, king, crown me the king : 
Home is the kingdom, and love is the king ! 

Richer than miser with perishing treasure. 

Served with a service no conquest could bring; 
Happy -with fortune that words cannot measure, 
Light-hearted I on the hearth-stone can sing, 
King, king, crown me the king: 
Home is the kingdom, and love is the king ! 



IC POEMS OF HOME LIKE. 

What is l^ome? 

LJOME 'S not merely four square walls, 
J Though hung with pictures nicely gilded; 
Home is where affection calls, 

Filled with shrines the heart hath builded 

Home ! go watch the faithful dove, 
Sailing 'neath the heaven above us; 

Home is where we 've one to love, 

Home is where there 's one to love us. 

Home 's not merely roof and room ; 

Home needs something to endear it ; 
Home is where the heart can bloom — 

Where there 's some kind heart to cheer it ! 

What is home with none to meet, 
None to welcome, none to greet us ? 

Home is sweet, and only sweet, 
When there 's one we love to meet us. 




f^S^- 



MERCIES. 



1 1 



The Wifi^'s Welcomjo, 

THE hearth is swept, the fire is bright, 
The kettle sings for tea ; 
The cloth is spread, the lamps ahght, 
The hot cakes smoke in napkins white, 

And now I wait for thee ! 
Come home, love, home ! thy task is done ; 

The clock ticks listeningly ; 
The bhnds are shut, the curtains down, 
The armchair to the fireside drawn, 

Our boy upon my knee. 
Thy task is done, we miss thee here ; 

Where'er thy footsteps roam, 
No hand will spread such kindly cheer, 
No beating heart, no listening ear 

Like those which wait at home ! 
Aha ! along the crisp walk fast 

That well-known step doth come ; 
The bolt is drawn— the gate is passed, 
The babe is wild with joy at last : 

A thousand welcomes home ! abet. 



jA 



Mercies. 

Y Father ! what am I, that all 

Thy mercies sweet, like sunlight, fall 
So constant o'er my way ? 



POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

That thy great love should shelter me. 
And guide my steps so tenderly 
Through every changing day? 

Each mom thy light doth come and wjike 
My soul again, its course to take 

A day's march on with thee ; 
Each night thou sendest gentle sleep, 
And thine own ward and watch dost keep 

Even o'er one like me. 

Thy mercy sought my wayward heart, 
That long had wandered far apart 

From happiness and thee ; 
Thy love each day its sin forgave, 
And saw but Him who died to save 

The host of those like me. 

Oh, then, for His dear sake forgive 
^ly thankless heart, and let me live 

Henceforth alone to thee ! 
May all my life show forth thy praise, 
Assured that through its fleeting days 

Thy love shall shelter me. 



Ba Time UU the Old Time, 

THERE'S no time like the old time, 
"SMien you and I were young, 
When the buds of April blossomed, 
And the birds of springtime sung : 



NO TIME LIKE THE OLD TIME. » i 

The garden's brightest glories 

By summer suns are nursed ; 
But, oh, the sweet, sweet violets, 

The flowers that opened first ! 

There 's no place like the old place, 

Where you and I were born. 
Where we hfted first our eyehds * 

On the splendors of the morn, 
From the milk-white breast that warmed us. 

From the clinging arms that bore. 
Where the dear eyes glistened o'er us, 

That -vN-ill look on us no more. 

There 's no friend Hke the old friend, 

"WTio has shared our morning days ; 
No greeting like his welcome. 

No homage like his praise ! 
Fame is the scentless sunflower, 

With gaudy crown of gold ; 
But Friendship is the breathing rose. 

With sweets in every fold. 

There 's no love like the old love, 

That we courted in our pride : 
Though our leaves are falling, falling, 

And we 're fading side by side. 
There are blossoms all around us, 

With the colors of our dawn, 
And we live in borrowed sunshine 

When the light of day is gone ! 



M 



POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

There are no times like the okl times — 

They shall never be forgot ! 
There is no place Hke the old place ; 

Keep green the dear old spot ! 
There are no friends hke our old friends ; 

May Heaven prolong their Hves ! 
There are no loves like our old loves — 

God bless our lo^'ing wives ! o. w. holmes. 



W 



Fifttj and Wiecn. 

ITH gradual gleam the day was dawning, 
Some lingering stars were seen, 

When swung the garden gate behind us — 
iJe fifty, /fifteen! 



The high-topped chaise and old gray pony 

Stood waiting in the lane ; 
Idly my father swayed his whip-lash, 

Lightly he held the rein. 

The stars went softly back to heaven. 

The night fog rolled away, 
And rims of gold and crowns of crimson 

Along the hill-top lay. 

That morn the fields, they surely never 

So fair an aspect wore ; 
And never from the purple clover 

Such perfume rose before. 



THE OLD SAMPLER. I J 

O'er bills and low romantic valleys, 

And flowing by-roads through, 
I sang my simplest songs, familiar, 

That he might sing them too. 

Our souls lay open to all pleasure — 

No shadow came between ; 
Two children busy with their leisure, 

lie fifty, 1 fifteen ! 



As on my couch in languor, lonely, 

I weave beguiling rhyme, 
Comes back with strangely sweet remembmnce 

That far removed time. 

The slow-paced years have brought sad changes 

That mom and this between ; 
And now on earth my years are fifty, 

And his in heaven fifteen. atlaxtic monthlt. 



•9 



The OUl Sampler. 

UT of the way, in a comer 

Of our dear old attic room, 
AMiere bunches of herbs fi'om the hillside 

Shake ever a faint perfume, 
An oaken chest is standing, 

"With hasp and padlock and kej'. 
Strong as the hands that made it 

Ol the other side of the sea. 



rO POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

When the winter days are dreary, 

And we 're out of heart with life, 
Of its crowding cares aweary, 

And sick of its restless strife, 
We take a lesson in patience 

From the attic comer dim. 
Where the chest still holds its treasures, 

A warder faithful and grim. 

Eobes of an antique fashion, 

Linen and lace and silk, 
That time has tinted Mith saffron, 

Though once they were white as milk : 
Wonderful baby garments, 

'Broidered with lo^-ing care 
By fingers that felt the pleasure, 

As they wrought the ruflfies fair ; 

A sword, with the red rust on it. 

That flashed in the battle tide, 
"When from Lexington to Yorktown 

Sorely men's souls were tried ; 
A plumed chapeau and a buckle, 

And many a rehc fine. 
And all by itself the sampler, 

Framed in viith. berry and vine. 

Faded the square of canvas. 
And dim is the silken thread, 

But I think of white hands dimpled, 
And a childish, sunny head ; 



THE OLD SAMPLER. H 

For here in cross and in tent-stitch, 

In a wreath of berry and vine, 
She worked it a hundred years ago, 

" Elizabeth, aged nine." 

In and out in the sunshine 

The little needle flashed, 
And in and out on the rainy day. 

When the merry drops down plashed, 
As close she sat by her mother, 

The little Puritan maid, 
And did her piece on the sampler, 

"WTiile the other children played. 

You are safe in the beautiful heaven, 

"EUzabeth, aged nine ;" 
But before you went you had troubles 

Sharper than any of mine. 
Oh, the gold hair turned with sorrow 

White as the diifted snow. 
And your tears dropped here, where I'm slandiug 

On this very plumed chapeau. 

When you put it away, its wearer 

Would need it never more, 
By a sword-thrust learning the secrets 

God keeps on yonder shore ; 
And you wore your grief hke glory, 

You could not yield supine. 
Who wTOUght in your patient childhood, 

"Elizabeth, aged nine." 

iieins of Home Life. 2 



l8 POEMS OF ilOME UFE. 

Out of the way, in a comer, 

With hasp and padlock and key, 
Stands the oaken chest of my fathers 

That came from over the sea ; 
And the hillside herbs above it 

Shake odoi-s fragrant and fine, 
And here on its lid is a garland 

To "Elizabeth, aged jtine." 

For love is of the immortal, 

And patience is sublime, 
And trouble a thing of every day 

And touching every time ; 
And childhood svreet and sunny, 

And -womanly truth and grace, 
Ever can hght life's darkness 

And bless earth's lowUest place. 

ilBS. if. E. SANGgTEB. 



B5emorij Bdls« 



? 



WEET memory bells ! their witching chimes 
Have charms as dear as olden rhjTnes ; 
We hear them oft at twihght hour. 
When sets the sun and shuts the flower. 
O happy bells, chiming bells, 
The clear, sweet bells of memory ! 

When Luna's mystic silver light 
Bathes hill and dale at noon of night. 



'• WHEN I REMEMBER." IS 

Then voices ring with magic strain, 
Breaking the calm with sweet refrain. 
O happy bells, chiming bells, 
The pure, sweet bells of memory ! 

Telling of childhood's joyous lays, 

And hopes and fears in bj^gone daj'S ; 

Of bridal vows and farewells said. 

And solemn dirges for the dead ! 

O mouraful bells, chiming bells, 
The sad, sweet bells of memory ! 

Soon, soon our weary feet shall tread 
That land where no sad tears are shed ; 
Soon we shall clasp the hands of friends, 
Where with the song no discord blends 
Of mournful bells, of tolUng bells, 
The sad, sweet bells of memory ! stewabi 



Q[ORROWS humanize our race ; 

p^ Tears are the showers that fertilize this world ; 
And memory of things precious keepeth wann 
The heart that once did hold them. 

They are poor 
That have lost nothing ; they are poorer far 
Who, losing, have forgotten ; they most poor 
Of all, who lose and wish they might forget. 



^^ POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

For life is one, and in its warp and woof 
There runs a tliread of gold that glitters fail', 
And somefinies in the pattern shows most svreiA 
"Where there are sombre colors. It is true 
That we have wept. But oh ! this thread of gold, 
We would not have it tarnish ; let us turn 
Oft and look back upon the wondrous web, 
And when it shineth sometimes, we shall know 
That memory is possession. 

When I remember something which I had, 
But which is gone and I must do without, 

T sometimes wonder how I can be glad. 
Even in cowslip time when hedges sprout ; 

It makes me sigh to think on it ; but j-et 

My days would not be better days should I forget 

WTien I remember something promised me. 
But which I never had, nor can have now, 

Because the promiser I no more see 
In countries that accord with mortal vow ; 

When I remember this I mourn — hut yet 

My happiest days are not the days — ichen I forget. 

JXAN INGELOW. 



The Bridge at l?lanhs» 

Q'PAXyiXG the streamlet's grassy banks, 
j'^ Above the shallow brook. 
Stands the old-fashioned bridge of planks. 
In a cool, shady nook. 



THE BRIDGE OF PLANKS. 31 

An alder and an aged thorn 

Over the watei*s meet, 
And the wooden path is thin and worn 

With the tread of many feet. 

For from the hamlet on the hill 

That ancient footway leads, 
Over the narrow brawhng rill, 

Into the wood and meads. 
The sturdy laborer, hale and strong. 

Crosses with hea%7' tread, 
"While the lark trills out its morning song 

High o'er his de^-y bed. 

The sun-burned children, girls and boys, 

In wild and merry rout, 
In the full prime of childhood's joys. 

Pass over with a shout. 

The gray-haired patriarch loves the place, 

He sees it from his cot. 
And totters do"^Ti, with feeble pace. 

To linger near the spot. 
And there, on summer eves, I ween. 

True lovers breathe their vows, 
What time the pale moon's trembling sheeu 

Falls on the hawthorn boughs. 

Through summer's heat and winter's cold, 

Spanning the grassy banks, 
It stands, the friend of young and old, 

The trusty bridge of planks. 



■Za POEMS OF HOxME LIFE. 

have highicus hnhow 

iK GOOD wife rose from her bed one morn, 
y^ And thought with a nervous dread 
Of the piles of clothes to be washed, and more 

Than a dozen mouths to be fed; 
Of the meals to get for the men in the field, 

And the children to fix away 
To school, and the millc to be skimmed and churned; 
And all to be done that day. 

It had rained in the night, and all the wood 

Was wet as it could be ; 
There were puddings and pies to bake, besides 

A loaf of cake for tea. 
And the day was hot, and her aching head 

Throbbed wearily as she said, 
"If maidens knew what good wives know, 

They would be in no haste to wed !" 

*' Jennie, what do you think I told Ben Brown ?" 

Called the farmer from the well ; 
And a flush crept up to his bronzed brow. 

And his eyes half bashfully fell ; 
*'It was this," he said, and coming near. 

He smiled, and stooping down. 
Kissed her cheek — " 't was this, that you were the Vest 

And the dearest wife in town !" 

The farmer went back to the field, and the wife, 

In a smiling and absent way, 
Sang snatches of tender little songs 

She 'd not sung for many a day. 



THE FARMER'S LIFE. 2 

And the pain in her head was gone, and the clothes 
"Were as white as the foam of the sea ; 

Her bread was light, and her butter was sweet, 
And golden as it could ba. 

"Just think," the children all called in a breath 

" Tom Wood has run off to sea ; 
lie would n't, I know, if he only had 

As happy a home as we." 
The night came down and the good wife smiled 

To herself, as she softly said : 
** 'T is so sweet to labor for those we love. 

It 's not st]"anKe that maids will wed !" 



Thi3 Farmer's hifo. 

Q[ AW ye the farmer at his plough, 
j"^ As ye were riding by, 

Or wearied 'neath the noon-day toil, 
"When the summer sun was high ? 
And thought you that his lot was hard. 

And did you thanlv your God 
That you and yours were not condemned 
Thus like a slave to plod ? 

Come, see him at his harvest homo, 
AVhen garden, field and tree 

Conspire with flowing store to fill 
His bam and granarj'. 



a 4 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

His healthful children gayly sport 

Amid the new-mo"«Ti hay, 
Or proudly aid ^vith vigorous arm 

His tasks as best they may. 

The Harvest-giver is his fiiend, 

The Maker of the soil ; 
And earth, the mother, gives them bread 

And cheers their patient toil. 
Come join them round their -vs-intiy hearth, 

Their heartfelt pleasure see ; 
And you can better judge how blest 

The fanner's life mav be. mbs. sigoubnkt. 



Gauntnj Ghildrx^n. 

T ITTLE fresh violets, 
OT* Bom in the wildwood ; 
Sweetly illustrating 

Innocent childhood ; 
Shy as the antelope — 
Brown as a berry — 
Free as the mountain air, 
Bomping and meny. 

Blue eyes and hazel eyes 
Peep from the hedges, 

Shaded by sun-bonnets 
Fraj'cd at the edgea 



COUNTRY CHILDREN. 

Up in the apple-trees, 

Heedless of danger, 
Manhood in embryo 

Stares at the stranger. 

Out in the hilly patch, 

Seeking the berries^ 
Under the orchard tree, 

Feasting on chenies — 
Tramping the clover blooms 

Down 'mong the grasses. 
No voice to hinder them, 

Dear lads and lasses. 

No grim propriety — 

No interdiction; 
Free as the birdlings 

From city restriction ! 
Coining the purest blood, 

Strength'ning each muscle, 
Donning health armor 

'Grainst Hfe's coming bustle I 

Dear little innocents ! 

Born in the wildwood; 
Oh, that all httle ones 

Had such a childhood ! 
God's blue spread over them, 

God's green beneath them. 
No sweeter heritage 

Could we bequeath tliera. 



2i> POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

I:iii;ijig: on a Farm» 

LiOW brightly throiigli the mist of years, 
J My quiet country home appears ! 
My father busy all the day 
In ploughing corn or raking hay ; 
My mother moving with delight 
Among her milk-pans, silver-bright , 
"We children, just from school set free, 
Filling the garden with our glee. 
The blood of life was flowing warm 
When I was living on a faim. 

I hear the sweet church-going bell, 
As o'er the fields its music fell, 
I see the country neighbors round 
Gathering beneath the pleasant sound. 
They stop awhile beside the door. 
To talk their homely matters o'er — 
The springing corn, the ripening gi'aiUj 
And "how we need a Uttle rain ;" 
"A little sun would do no harm, 
We want good weather for the farm." 

When autumn came, what joy to see 
The gathering of the husking-bee. 
To hear the voices keeping tune, 
Of girls and boys beneath the moon, 
To mark the golden corn-ears bright, 
More golden in the yellow light ! 



SONG OF THE COUNTRY BO\ . ^1 

Since I have learned the ways of men, 
I often turn to these again, 
And feel Hie wore its highest charm 
When I was hving on a farm. 



Sang of ilic Gountnj Boij 



¥/ 



HEN my father leads his aniiy 
Of men on the harvest day, 
'T is mine to carry the water, 

And turn the new-mown hay. 
I feel my arm grow stronger 

With the toil that sweetens my food. 
And I've learned to thmk with my mother, 

That labor is noble and good. 

Oh ! mine is a life of pleasure. 

Of simshine and frolicsome glee, 
And where is the prince on his throne 

VCho would not envy me ? 
They may talk as they wiU of the city, 

With its streets so broad and fine, 
With its palacee looking to heaven. 

But I do not wish them mine, 

I have heard that those mansions fair 
Are the lurking dens of pride. 

And those streets, by thousands trod. 
Are washed by misery's tide. 



28 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

And sick of the mournful story, 
With a shuddeiing sense of fear, 

I have tiimed to thank my God, 
That he kindly placed me here; 

That he gave to me his sunshine! 

And his winds that wander free, 
And the stars, the birds and the flowers. 

Congenial friends for me ; 
That he made me a fi-ee partaker 

Of the healthful, innocent joy 
That tinges the sky and crowns the life 

Of the care-free countrj' boy. 



The Empti} Barn, 

y^REAKING with laughter swings the old bara-dooi 
J"^ At httle winking seeds upon the floor. 
Dropped from four hungiy baiTels in a row, 
WTiich gave their contents to make harvests grow, 
"NMiile empty stalls gape with a stuj)id stare 
At cobwebbed lofts, with loose straws dangling there: 
Bunches of sunlight dance upon the floor. 
About a httle shoe, half-worn, beside the door; 
"NMiile swaying idly from a dusty beam. 
Blown by the breeze, the children's swing is seen. 

An empiy ham, save in the eaves where hes. 

In little bunchy nests, guarded by watchful eyea 



TWO PICTURES. 2.; 

Great store of eggs, all speckled o'er with blue, 
O'er which the birdies, quite delighted, coo, 
Jealous of Sol, who curiously will peep 
Between the shingles, where they he asleep, 
Wondering what warbles nestle in those shells, 
Or how they 're prisoned in such little cells. 

Antnmn may pad its breast with fragrant stors, 
And peg close up the idly swinging door, 
While barrels grin once more with well-fed grace. 
Glad to have hoops to belt them round the waist ^ 
And from the fields the cattle indoors stray, 
With many a bleating moo and sighing neigh. 
Spite of the fatness o'er the stalls' brown ribs. 
And clover blossoms packed within the cribs ; 
i''et when 't was empty, with its laughing door 
And well-filled nests, I think I loved it more. 

CHARLOTTE COUDirEB 



3 A N old farmhouse, with meadows v^ide, 
J And sweet with clover on each side ; 
A bright-eyed boy who looks from out 
The door with woodbine wreathed about, 
And wishes his one thought all day : 
•• Oh, if I could but fly away 

From this dull spot the world to see, 
How happy, happy, happy. 
How happy I should be !" 



30 l»OEMS OF HOME LIP R. 

Ajnid the city's constant din, 
A man v/lio round the world has been, 
"VMio, 'mid the tumult and the throng, 
Is thinMug, thinking all daj' long : 
'• Oh, could I only tread once more 
The field path to the farmhouse door, 

The old green meado^vs could I sec, 
How happy, nappy, happy, 

How happy I should be !" al^riax DouGiaaa 



Sun and Eain. 

? A YOUNG wife stood at the lattice-pane, 
J^ In a study sad and "brown," 
Watching the dreary ceaseless rain 
Steadily pouring down : 

Drip, drip, drip ! 
It kept on its tireless play ; 
And the poor little woman sighed, " Ah me ! 
What a wretched, weary day !" 

An eager hand at the door, 
A step as of one in haste, 
A kiss on her Hp once more- 
And an arm around her waist . 

Throb, throb, throb ! 
Went her httle heart, grateful and gay, 
As she thought, with a smile, "Well, after ail, 
It is n't so dull a day !" 



GOD BLESS VOU I $1 

Forgot was the plashing rain, 

And the lowering skies above, 
For the sombre room was lighted again 
By the blessed sun of love : 

"Love, love, love !" 
Ean the little ■vs'ife's murmured lay ; 
** Without, it may threaten and frown if it will. 
Within, what a golden day I" 



JJ 



{Jad BUss fou! 

OW sweetly fall these simple words 

Upon the human heart, 
When friends long bound by strongest tiea 

Are doomed by fate to part. 
Yet sadly press the hand of those 

Who thus in love caress you. 
And soul responsive beats to soul, 

In breathing out, " God bless you !" 

" God bless you !" Ah, long months ago 

I heard the mournful phrase. 
When one whom I in childhood loved 

Went from my dreamy gaze. 
Now blinding tears fall thick and ft;st— 

I mourn my long-lost larcasure, 
While echoes of the heart bring back 

The farewell prayer, " God bless you f 



S2 POEMS OF HOME LIFE 

The mother sending forth her boy 

To scenes untried an( lew, 
Lisps not a studied, stately speech 

Nor murmurs out, "Adieu." 
She sadly says between her sobs, 

"Whene'er misfortunes press you, 
Come to thy mother, boy, come back;" 

Then sadly sighs, " God bless you !" 

" God bless you !" more of expressed love 

Than volumes without number, 
Keveal we thus our trust in Him 

Whose eyehds never slumber, 
I ask in parting no long speech, 

Drawled out in studied measure ; 
I only ask the dear old words, 

So sweet, so sad, " God bless you !" 



Witx\\e> ^our tiaxnc Bx^autifuU 



f[' 



iKE your home beautiful — bring to it flowers; 

Plant them around you to bud and to bloom ; 
Let them give light to your loneliest hours — 

Let them biing light to enhven your gloom ; 
If 3^ou can do so, oh, make it an Eden 

Of beauty and gladness almost divine ; 
'TwiU teach you to long for that homo you ar<? 
needing, 

The earth robed in beauty beyond this dark time. 



HOMELESS. 33 

Make home a liive, where all beautiful feelings 

Cluster like bees, and their honey-dew bring : 
Make it a temple of holy revealings, 

And love its bright angel with "shadowing wings." 
Then shall it be, when afar on life's billows, 

AVhel-ever your tempest-tossed children are flung, 
They will long for the shades of the home weeping- 
willow, 

And sing the sweet song which their mother had sung. 



lA LONE in the populous city ! 

J^ No hearth for my coming is warm ; 

And the stars, the sweet stars, are all hidden 
Away in the cloud and the storm ! 

The thoughts of all things that are saddest, 
The phantoms unbidden that start 

From the ashes of hopes that have perished, 
Are ^vith me to-night in my heart ! 

ALas, in this desolate sorrow. 

The moments are heavy and long ; 

And the white-pinioned spirit of fancy 
Is wearj', and hushes her song. 

One word of the commonest kindness 
Could make all around me seem bright 

As birds in the haunts of the summer. 
Or hghts in a village at night. 



S4 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 



y^ 



The Utile t^copU. 

DREABY place M'ould be tliis earth, 

"Were there no httle people in it ; 
The song of Hfe would lose its mirth, 
Were there no chikli'eu to begin it ; 

No ht^e forms, hke buds to grow, 

And make the admiring heart surrender ; 

No httle hands on breast and brow. 
To keep the thriUiug love-chords tender. 

\\liat would the mother do for work, 
Were there no pants or jackets tearing ; 

No tiny dresses to embroider ; 
No cradle for their watchful caring ? 

No rosy boy, at -o-intry mom. 

With satchel to the schoolhouse hasting : 
No meri-y shouts, as home they rash, 

No precious morsel for their tasting ? 

The sterner souls would get more stern, 
Unfeeling nature more inhuman. 

And man to stoic coldness turn. 
And woman would be less than woman. 

For in that cUme towards which we reach 
Through time's mysterious dim unfolding, 

The little ones with cherub smile 
Are still our Father's foce beholding. 



A BIRD SONG. S5 

So said His voice in whom we trust, 
When, in Judea's realm a preacher, 

He made a child confront the proud, 
And be in simple guise their teacher. 

Life's song indeed would lose its charm, 

Were there no babies to begin it ; 
A doleful place this world would be. 

Were there no httle people in it' 



^ 



^ Bird Song, 

LITTLE bonnie bird I know, 
With breast more soft than eider down ; 
A dress she wears of dappled brown. 

And sings -svith sweeter tone, I trow — 
Ah, sweeter far this birdie sings 
Than all the birds that summer brings ; 
And yet her song is only this : 
" I love you, papa 1" — then a kiss. 

Not tenderest song of nightingale. 
Nor sparkling trills and gurgUng gush 
Of joy from velvet-throated thrush, 

Nor briUiant pipe of mottled quail, 
Nor tuneful plaint of whip-poor-will, 
The measure of her song can fill ; 
And yet her song is only this : 
" I love you, papa !" — then a kiss. 



3(> POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 



mn Bird. 



^"p RE last year's moon had left the sky, 
'1 A birdling sought my Indian nest, 
And folded, oh, so loNingly, 
Her tiny -^ings upon my breast. 

From morn till evening's piirple tiugo, 
In winsome helplessness she hes ; 

Two rose leaves, ^nth a silken fiingc, 
Shut softly on her starry eyes. 

There 's not in In d a loveher bird — 
Broad earth owns not a happier nest. 

O God, thou hast a fountain stii-red, 
"\Miose waters nevermore shall rest ! 

This beautiful, mysterious thing. 
This seeming visitant from heaven, 

This bird with the immortal wing, 
To me — to me thy hand has given. 

The pulse first caught its tinj' stroke. 
The blood its crimson hue from mine ; 

This life which I have dared invoke, 
Henceforth is parallel with thine. 

A silent awe is in my room, 
I tremble with delicious fear ; 

The future — with its hght and gloom, 
Time and Eternity — is here. 



CHOOSING A NAME. $^ 

Doubts — hopes, iu eager tumult rise : 
Hear, O my God, one earnest prayer ! 

Room for my bird in Paradise ; 
And give her angel plumage there ! 

Dt'UMAH, 18i8. EMILY C. JTJDSOM. 



I 



Choosing a Bame, 

HAVE got a new-bom sister; 

I was nigh the first that kissed her 

"When the nursing-woman brought her 

To papa — his infant daughter ! 

And papa has made the offer, 

I shall have the naming of her. 

Now I wonder what would please her — 

Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa ? 

Ann and Mary, they 're too common ; 

Joan's too formal for a woman; 

Jane's a prettier name beside; 

But we had a Jane that died. 

They would say, if 't was Rebecca, 

That she was a httle Quaker. 

Edith 's pretty', but that looks 

Better in old English books; 

Ellen 's left off long ago ; 

Blanche is out of fashion now. 

None that I have named as yet 

Are so good as Margaret. 



^8 POEMS OF HOMR LIFE. 

Emily is neat and fins; 

What do you think of Caroline? 

How I'm puzzled and perplexed 

What to choose or think of next ! 

I am in a little fever 

Lest the name that I should give her 

Should disgrace her or defame her; 

I will leave papa to name her. maby lamb. 



TJOW many pounds does the baby weigh, 
J Baby who came but a month ago ? 

How many pounds from the crowning curl 
To the rosy point of the restless toe ?" 

Grandfather ties the 'kerchief's knot, 
Tenderly guides the swinging weight, 

And carefully over his glasses peers 
To read the record, " Only eight." 

Softly the echo goes around; 

The father laughs at the tiny girl. 
The fair young mother sings the words, 

While grandmother smoothes the golden curl. 

And stooping above the precious thing. 

Nestles a kiss within a prayer, 
Murmurii^g softly, "Little one, 

Grandfather did not weigh you fiir." 



MOTHER'S SONG. 39 

Nobody weighed the baby's smile, 

Or the love that came with the helpless one; 
Nobody weighed the threads of care 

From which a woman's life is spuru 

No index fells the mighty worth 

Of httle baby's quiet breath, 
A soft, unceasing metronome. 

Patient and faithful unto death. 

Nobody weighed the baby's soul, 
For here on earth no weight may be 

That could avail ; God only knows 
Its value in eternity. 

Only eight pounds to hold a soul 

,That seeks no angel's silver wing, 

But shines beneath this human guise, 

Within so small and frail a thing ! 

O mother, kiugh your merry note ; 

Be gay and glad, but do n't forget 
From baby eyes looks out a soul 

That claims a home in Eden yet. 

>rRS. K. L, BEEBS. 



5 



motlijcr's Song, 

N"T grow old too fcist, my sweet! 

Stay a little while 
In this pleasant baby-land, 
Sumied by mother's smile. 



40 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Grasp not ■«itli thy dimpled bauds 

At the world outside; 
They are still too rosy soft, 

Life too cold and vn.de. 

Be not wistful, sweet blue' eyes' 
Find your rest in mine, 

"SMiicb through life shall watchful be 
To keep all tears from thine. 

Be not restless, little feet! 

Lie within my hand; 
Far too round these tiny soles 

Yet to try to stand. 

For awhile be mine alone, 
So helpless and so dear; 

By-and-by thou must go forth, 
But how, sweet, slumber here 



¥ 



AE shoon to hide her tiny tae, 

Nae stocking on her feet, 
Her supple ankles white as snaw, 
Like early blossoms sweet. 

Her simple dress of sprinkled pink, 
Her double, dimpled chin. 

Her puckered lips and balmy mou', 
With nae one tooth between. 



WHERE 'S MY BABY t 4 > 

Her e'en sae like her mither's e'en, 

Twa gentle liquid things; 
Her face is like an angel's face — 

"\Ye 're glad she has nae wings! 

She is the budiling of our love, 

A giftie God has gied us ; 
^Ye munna love the gift o'er weel, 

'Twad be nae blessing to us. 



w 



Whcri) ^s mi) Babtj ? 

IIEEE 'S my baby ? Where 's my baby ? 

But a Httle while ago, 
In my arms I held one fondly. 

And a robe of lengthened flow 
Covered little knees so dimpled, 

And each pink and chubby toe. 

Where 's my baby ? I remember 

Now about the shoes so red. 
Peeping from his shortened dresses, 

And the bright curls on his head ; 
Of the little teeth so pearly. 

And the first sweet words he said. 

Where 's my baby ? In the door yard 

Is a boy with shingled hair. 
Whittling, as he tries to whistle, 

With a big boy's manly air. 



4 2 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

With his pants within his boot-tops. 
But my baby is not there. 

Where 's my baby ? — Ask that urchin, 
Let me hear what he will say: 

*' "Where 's j^our baby, ma ?" he questioned, 
With a roguish look and way; 

" Guess he 's grown to be a boy, now,- 
Big enough to work and play." 

WTiere 's my baby ? 'Wliere 's my baby ? 

Ah! the years fly on apace ! 
Yesterday I held and kissed it, 

In its lovehness and gi'ace ; 
But to-morrow sturdy manhood 

Takes the httle baby's place. 



<) 



H those little, those little blue shoos' 
Those shoes that no little feet use. 
Oh the price were high 
That those shoes would huj, 

Those little blue unused shoes ! 

For they hold the small shape of feet 
That no more their mother's eye meet, 

That, by God's good will, 

Years since grew still, 
And ceased from their totter so sweet. 



THAT BABY OVER THE WAY. 43 

And oil, since that baby slept, 

So bushed, bow tbe motber bas kept, 

Witb a tearful pleasure, 

Tbat dear bttle treasure, 
And o'er tbem tbougbt and wept ! 

For tbey mind ber evermore 
Of a patter along tbe floor, 

And blue eyes sbe sees 

Look up from ber knees 
"Witb tbe look tbat in life tbey wora 
As tbey be before ber there, 
There babbles from chair to chair 

A bttle sweet face 

That 's a gleam in the place, 
Witb its bttle gold curls of hair. 

Then oh wonder not that ber heart 
From all else would rather part 

Than those tiny blue shoes 

That no bttle feet use, 
And whose sight makes such fond tears start. 

W. C. BENNETT 



?^ 



That Baliij oucr the Wai). 

S 1 've Silt at my chamber window, 
I 've noticed, again and again, 

The sweetest of baby figures. 
At the opposite window-pane ; 



44 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

llosy cheeks daintilj" dimpled, 
Curls that, without any check, 

Tumble and twist in confusion. 
With the corals about its neck. 

Eyes — but to mention the color, 

I must wait for a nearer view, 
Though I think I may state, at a venture, 

They '11 match with the ribbons of bluo 
Feet with their tiny bronzed slippers. 

And the dearest of wee chubby fists, 
And arms, in whose foldings of fatness 

You must search for the Uttle one's wtisI 

Sometimes I throw kisses to baby, 

And back come the kisses to me ; 
And the intricate game of ' ' bo-peep " 

Is a source of infinite glee, 
That lights up the smiles and the dimples ; 

So I think I may truthfully say, 
That I have an estabhshed flirtation 

With the baby over the way. 

But how has the Uttle one stolen 

A march on my foohsh old heart ? 
And why, as I watch those bright eyes, 

Will the quick tear instinctively start ? 
Ah, because in the long ago years. 

Ere time mixed my tresses with gray, 
I, too, had a baby as lovely 

As the little one over the waj'. 



THAT BABY OVER THE WAY. 45 

From the white robe and chasteriug curls, 

From that vision of infantine joy, 
Oh, sadly, so sadly I turn 

To all I have left of my boy • 
To the baby-clothes, yellow with ago, 

To the curl that once lay on his brow, 
To the old-fashioned cradle — the nest 

So drearily tenantless now. 

The first grief comes back to me then, 

The longing that cannot be told, 
For the sight of the dear little face, 

For my own darling baby to hold ; 
And my arms ache with emptiness so 

That I feel I am hardly content 
To wait for the summons to go 

The way that my httle one went 

And so, for the sake of the joy 

That long ago gladdened my heart, 
For the hght that once shone on my w-iy 

So quickly, alas ! to depart ; 
For the love that I bore my one darling, 

All babies are dearer to-day ; 
And I think I must call on the mother 

01' that baby over the way. 



46 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

TlitXJO I^ittlc Chairs. 

TIIEY sat alone by the briglit wood fire, 
The gray-haii'ed dame and the aged su-e, 

Dreaming of days gone by ; 
The tear-drops fell on each wrinkled cheek, 
They both had thoughts they could not speak. 
As each heart uttered a sigh. 

For their sad and tearful eyes descried 
Three little chairs, placed side by side, 

Against the sitting-room wall ; 
Old-fashioned enough as there they stood, 
Their seats of flag and their frames of wood, 

With their backs so straight and taU. 

Then the father shook his silvery head. 
And with trembhng voice he gently said . 

"Mother, those empty chairs ! 
They biing us such sad, sad thoughts to-night, 
We '11 put them for ever out of sight. 

In the small dark room up-stairs." 

But she answered, "Father, no, not yet, 
For I look at them, and I forget 

That the children went away ; 
The boys come back, and our Mary, too^ 
With her apron on of checkered blue, 

And sit here eveiy day. 



THE CHILDREN. 41 

••Johnny stiU whittles a ship's tall masts. 
And Willie his leaden bullets casts. 
While ISIary her patchwork sews : 
At evening time three childish prayers 
Go up to God from those httie chairs, 

So softly that no one knows. 
••Johnny comes back from the billowy deep, 
Willie wakes from his battle-field sleep, 

To say a good-night to me : 
]SIary 's a ^^'ife and a mother no more, 
But a tired child whose playtime is o'er, 

And comes to rest on my knee. 
" So let them stand there, though empty now. 
And every time when alone we bow 

At the Father's throne to pray, 
We 'U ask to meet the children above. 
In our Saviour's home of rest and lovo, 
Where no child goeth a.vay." 



w 



The ChiUlri^n* 

HEN the lessons and tasks are all ended. 

And the school for the day is dismissed. 
And the httle ones gather around me. 

To bid me good-night and be kissed . 
Oh, the little white arms that encircle 

My neck in a tender embrace ! 
Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven, 

Shedding sunshine of love on my face ! 



48 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

And \s-heu they are gone I sit dreaming 

Of my cliildhood too lovely to last ; 
Of love that my heart will remember 

When it wakes to the pulse of the past, 
Ere the world and its \sickedness made me 

A partner of sorrow and sin ; 
When the glory of God was about me, 

And the glory of gladness within. 

Oh, my heart grows weak as a woman's, 

And the fountains of feeling will flow, 
When I think of the paths steep and stony, 

"WTiere the feet of the dear ones must go ; 
Of the moimtains of sin hanging o'er them, 

Of the tempest of fate blowing wild ; 
Oh, there 's nothing of earth half so holy 

As the innocent heart of a child. 

They are idols of hearts and of households. 

They are angels of God in disguise ; 
His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses. 

His glorj' still gleams in their eyes : 
Oh, those truants from home and from heaven 

They have made me more manly and mild. 
And I know how Jesus could liken 

The kingdom of God to a child. 

I ask not a life for the detir ones, 
All radiant, as others have done, 

But that life may have just enough shadow 
To temper the glare of the sun. 



THE CHILDREN, 49 

I would pray God to guard tliem from evil, 
But my prayer would bound back to myself ; 

Ah, a seraph may pray for a sinner, 
But a sinner must pray for himself. 

The t-«-ig is so easily bended, 

I have banished the rule and the rod ; 
I have taught them the goodness of knowledge, 

They have taught me the goodness of God- 
My heart is a dungeon of darkness, 

Where I shut them from breaking a rule ; 
My frown is sufficient correction ; 

My love is the law of the schooL 

I shall leave the old house in the autumn. 

To traverse its threshold no more : 
Ah, how shall I sigh for the dear ones 

That meet me each mom at the door. 
I shall miss the " good nights " and the kisses, 

And the gush of their innocent glee, 
The group on the green, and the flowers 

That are brought every morning to me. 

I shall miss them at mom and at eve, 

Their song in the school and the street ; 
I shall miss the low hum of their voices, 

And the tramp of their delicate feet. 
^Vhen the lessons and tasks are all ended, 

And Death says, "The school is dismissed 1" 
May the Uttle ones gather around me, 

To bid me good night and be kissed ! 

P»eiM of Home Ufo. 4 ^- MCKENJiviN. 



50 rOEMS OF HOME LIFE 

TIIE world is old and the world is cold, 
And never a day is fair, I said. 
Out of the heavens the sunhght rolled, 

The green leaves rustled above my head. 
And the sea was a sea of gold. 

" The world is cruel," I said again ; 

"Her voice is harsh to my shrinking ear, 
And the nights are dreary and full of pain." 

Out of the darkness, sweet and clear, 
There rippled a tender strain— 
Bippled the song of a bird asleep, 

That sang in a dream of the budding wood, 
Of shining fields where the reapers reap. 

Of a wee brown mate and a nestling brood, 
And the grass where the berries peep. 

" The world is false though the world be fair, 
And never a heart is pure," I said. 

And lo ! the clinging of white arms bare, 
The innocent gold of my baby's head, 

And the lisp of a childish prayer. 



Bi^dtime, 



5^ 



ROW of httle faces by the bed, 
A row of httle hands upon the spread ; 
A row of little roguish eyes all closed, 
A row of little naked feet exposed. 



A SONG TO BRING SLEEP. < I 

A gentle mother leads them in their praise, 
Teaching their feet to tread in heavenly ways, 
And takes this lull in childhood's tiny tide, 
The little errors of the day to chide. 

No lovelier sight this side of heaven is seen, 
And angels hover o'er the group serene ; 
Instead of odors in a censer swung, 
There floats the fragrance of an infant's tongue. 

Then tumbling headlong into waiting beds, 
Beneath the sheets they hide their timid heads, 
Till slumber hides away their idle fears, 
And like a i)eeping bud each face appears. 

All dressed like angels in their gowns of white, 
They 'ro wafted to the skies in dreams of light, 
And heaven will sparkle in their eyes at mom, 
And stolen graces all their ways adorn. 



^ Sonrj to tiring Sleep, 

Two Uttle eyes, 
Two little lips. 
Two little hands. 
Two little feet : 
What shall we ask for them all ? 
Two little eyes. 
Blue, blue, 
Blue as the azure deep of the skies— 
Now so roguish, now wondrous xAae, 



52 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Solemn and funny, all in a twink, 
Changing and clianging with every -wink : 
"What shall we ask for these little eyes? 

Open them, Lord, 
To see in thy word, 

Wondrous things ; 
Light them with love, 
And shade them above 

With angel's wings. 

Two httle hps, 
Ked, red, 
Ked as the flamy coral tips, 
Sweet as the rose the wild bee sips, 
Singing and prattling all day long. 
And kissing and coaxing with witchery strong; 
"WTiat shall we ask for these little lips ? 

From thine altar. Lord, above, 
Touch those lips with fire of lovo ; 

Pure, pure let them be, 
Speaking holy melodies 
Out of a holy heart that rise, 

Warm, bright, up to thee ! 

Two httle hand>s. 

Busy, busy, 
Busy as bird, and busy as bee, 
Gathering "funny things" for mc. 



A SONG TO BRING SLEEP. >3 

Weaving webs, and building a house 
" Just the size for a wee, wee mouse :" 
What shall we ask for these little hands ? 

Lord, with wisdom filled. 
Teach these hands to build 

Thine own temple ; 
Let them skilful be — 
Cunning to work for theo 

By thine example. 

Two little feet, 

Nimble, nimble, 
Trot-foot and Light-foot, oh, what a pair ; 
Now here, now there, now everywhere : 
Running of errands, dancing in glee, 
•Skipping and jumping merrily : 
What shall we ask for these httle feet ? 

Lead them a blessed pilgrimage. 
From childhood through to saintly age, 

Dear Lord, we pray : 
Hold them a hght in the dim, dark night, 
And out of the narrow path of the right 

Ne'er let them stray ! 

Two httle eyes — closed ! 
Two httle hps— shut ! 
Two nttle hands — clasped I 
Two Httle feet— still ! 
God give my darling pleasant dreams I 

i:tV. J. K. NUTTIXU. 



54 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

UiiU Ghildrjen. 

J^ANDID and curious, ho\Y they seek 
y^ All truth to know and scan; 

And ere the budding riind can speak, 
Begin to study man ! 
Confiding sweetness colors all they say, 
And angels listen when they try to pray. 

More playful than the birds of spring, 

Ingenuous, warm, sincere; 
Like meadow-bees upon the wing 
They roam without a fear; 
And breathe their thoughts on aU who round them 

live. 
As Hght sheds beams, or flowers their perfume give. 

MONTGOM£BT 



" open ijovir Moxtth and Sluit ijour 

Eijes." 

if^PEN your mouth and shut your eyes," 
V Three httle maidens were saying, 
"And see what God sends you !" Little they thoughj 

He hstened while ^they were placing ; 

So Httle we guess that a light, light word 

At times may be more tlian prapng. 



THE LITTLE GRAVE. 55 

*I," said Kate, with men-y blue eyes, 
"Would have lots of froUc and folly." 

"I," said Lu, with the bonnie brown hair, 
"Would have life alwa^'s smiling and jolly." 

"And I would have just what our Father may send," 
Said lovable little pale Polly. 

liife came for the two, with sweetnesses new, 
Every morning in gloss and in ghster, 

But our Father above, in a gush of great love, 
Caught up little Polly and kissed her. 

And the churchyard nestled another wee grave; 
The angels another wee sister. gerald massey. 



The UiiU ©rauc. 

You need not dig it very wide, 
Nor dig it very deep. 
The little grave in which to hido 
My baby — gone to sleep. 

But dig it where the sun will shino 

Upon it all the day, 
And birds and blossoms aU combine 

To drive the gloom away. 

Choose some fair spot, where, in spring 
The grass vdU. soonest grow; 

And where the robins first will sing, 
And daisy blossoms blow. 



5 6 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

And take some violets from the brooi. 
And plant them at her head; 

Her eyes had just their dewy look — 
Our violet is dead. 

How slow the days will come and go, 

Now baby's gone away; 
But God will love her best, I know, 

Although I weep to-day. 



P 



you know what 's in my pottet ? 
Such a lot of treasures in it ! 
Listen now while I bedin it; 
Such a lot of sings it hold, 

And every sing dat 's in my pottet, 
And when, and where, and how I dot it 

First of all, here 's in my pottet 
A beauty shell — I picked it up; 
And here 's the handle of a tup 
That somebody has broke at tea; 
The shell 's a hole in it, you see; 

Nobody knows dat I dot it, 

1 keep it safe here in my pottet. 

And here 's my ball, too, in my pottet, 
And here '^ my pennies, one, two, free, 
That Aunty Mary gave to me; 



THE GRAIN OF CORN AND A PENNY. 5 7 

To-mon'ow day I '11 buy a spade, 
^Vllen I 'in out walking with the maid ; 

I can't put dat here in my pottet, 

But I can use it when I 've dot it. 

Here 's some more sings in my pottet ! 

Here s my lead, and here 's my string, 

And once I had an iron ring, 

But through a hole it lost one day ; 

And this is what I always say — 
A hole's the worst sing in a pottet ; 
Have it mended when you 've dot it 



The Urain of Bcxvn and the Ifcrini). 



^ 



GRAIN of com an infant's hand 

May plant upon an inch of land, 

Whence twenty stalks may spring, and yield 

Enough to stock a little field. 

The harvest of that field might then 

Be multipHed to ten times ten, 

Which, sown thrice more, would furnish bread, 

Wherewith an army might be fed. 

A penny is a little thing. 

Which e'en the poor man's child may fling 

Into the treasury of heaven. 

And make it worth as much as seven. 

As seven ? nay, worth its weight in gold. 

And that increased a million-fold • 



5? POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

For lo, a penny h'act, if well 
Applied, may save a soul from helL 
That soul can scarce be saved alone ; 
It must, it will, its bliss make known. 
" Come," it -svill cry, "and you shall see 
What great things God has done for me V* 
Hundreds Ihat joyful sound may hear — 
Hear with the heart as well as ear ; 
And these to thousands more proclaim 
Salvation in the " Only Name ;" 
Till every tongue and tribe shall call 
On "Jesus " as the Lord of all. 

JAilES MOXTGOilliHT. 



U 



Was ^oa Ever a Botj V^ 



^ 



Y little four-jear-old Harry, 

Bright in beauty and joy, 
Said with his accent of wonder, 

"Papa, was 'oo ever a boy? 
Was 'oo ever as little as I be ?" 

"Dear baby," I said, in rei)ly, 
" Will my darling ever be weaiy 

And heart- worn, and sinful as I V" 

With forehead of whiteness and candor, 

And losing and innocent eyes. 
Thou dost measure the distance between us 

"With a strange and holy surjirise. 



LITTLE GOLDRNIIAIR 59 

Thou like a bud flushed and fragrant, 

I like a leaf at its fall ; 
I far away from the angels, 

Thou within reach of their calL 

Type of the beauty celestial, 

Humble, and tender, and sweet. 
Thou comest in faith, my djxrling. 

To sit at thy father's feet. 
Taught by thy loving example, 

By thy truth that knows no alloy, 
May I go to our Father as simply, 

And in heart be always a Ijoy. 

FANNY BABTOK 



■q 



OLDENHAIR climbed up on grandpapa's knee, 
Dear little Goldcnhair ! tired was she, 
All the day busy as busy could be. 

Up in the morning as soon as 't was light ; 
Out with the birds and the butterflies bright. 
Skipping about till the coming of night. 

Grandpapa toyed with the curls on her head. 
" What has my baby been doing," he said, 
" Since she arose with the sun from her bed ?" 



60 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

"Pitty much," answered tlie sweet little one. 
" I cannot tell» so much things I have done ; 
Played with my dolly, and feeded my Bun. 

"And I have readed in my picture-book, 

And little BelLa and I went to look 

For some smooth stones by the side of the brook. 

" Then I comed home, and I eated my tea. 
And I cHmbed up to my grandpapa's knee — 
I jes' as tired as tired can be !" 

Lower and lower the little head pressed, 
Until it di'ooped upon grandpapa's breast. 
Dear little Goldenhair, sweet be thy rest ! 



We are as childi-eu ; the things that we do 
Are as sports of a babe to the Infinite view 
That marks all our weakness, and pities it too. 

God grant that when night overshadows our way, 
And we shall be called to account for our day, 
He may find it as guileless as Goldenhair's play. 

And oh ! when aweary, may we be so blest 
As to sink, like an innocent child, to our rest. 
And feel ourselves clasped to the Infinite Breast. 

r. BXJEGE SMITH. 



DAISY'S PRAYER. 

Ilaisiys l?ratjr3r. 

PAKLING Httle Daisy, 
Wifh her golden hair 
Sitting at the table 
In her own high chair, 

Closed the dewy eyeUds 
Over blue eyes bright; 

Drooped the golden lashoa 
Over cheeks so white, 

Bent above the table 

Little head so fair ; 
Daisj^'s supper 's wr/ltiug 

Till she says her pi*aycr. 

So she clasps her fingers 
As when wont to pray ; 

«'0h, dear me," sighs Daisy, 
" "What does papa say V" 

Lower bows her forehead 
O'er the table then ; 

And she whispers softly, 
"Jesus' sake, Amen." 

Darhng little Daisy, 

With your winsome lace, 
May the blessed Saviour 

Daily gh'e his grace I 



6f 



62 POExMS OF HOME LIFE. 

May you never venture 
Any path-to take, 

Till you ask God's blessing 
For dear Jesus' sake. 

"WTien the Hght of childhood 
Shall have left your brow, 

Jilay your faith in Jesus 
Be as pure as now ! 

From all sin and wandering 
May good angels keep ! 

And at last in Jesus 
May you fall asleep. 



I 



Only a Boij. 

J*^NLY a boy, with his noise and fun, 
V The veriest mystery under the sun ; 

As brimful of mischief, and wit, and gl't*^, 
As ever a human frame can be. 
And as hard to manage as — what ? ah iiK. I 
'Tis hard to tell. 
Yet we love him well. 

Only a boy, with his fearful tread, 
Who cannot be driven, but must be led ; 
Who troubles the neighbors' dogs and culs, 
And tears more clothes, and spoils more ha!s 
Loses more tops, and kites, and bats, 

Than woidd stock a store 

For a year or more. 



WOMAN'S WORK. ^"5 

Only a boy, witli his wild, strange ways, 
With his idle hours and his busy days ; 
With his queer remarks, and his odd repliofl. 
Sometimes foohsh, and sometimes wise, 
Often brilliant, for one of his size, 

As a meteor hiu-led 

From the planet world. 

Only a boy, who will be a man, 
If nature goes on vdih its first great plan- 
If water, or fire, or some fatal snare, 
Conspire not to rob us of this our heir, 
Our blessing, our trouble, our rest, our care. 

Our torment, our joy I 

"Only a boy." 



SARNING little stockings 
For restless little feet ; 
AVashing httle faces 

To keep them clean and sweet ; 
Hearing Bible lessons ; 
Teaching catechism ; 
Pi-aying for salvation 

From heresy and schism— 
"Woman's work. 



64 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Sewing on the buttons ; 

Overseeing rations ; 
SootMng with a kind word 

Others lamentations ; 
Guiding clumsy Bridgets, 

And coaxing sidlen cooks i 
Entertaining company, 

And reading recent boolcs— 
Woman's work. 

Burying out of sight 

Her own unheahng smarts, 
Letting in the sunshine 

On other clouded hearts ; 
Binding up the wounded, 

And healing of the sick ; 
Bravely marching onward 

Through dangers dark and tJiick 
"Woman's work. 

Leading little children, 

And blessing manhood's years . 
Showing to the sinful 

How God's forgiveness cheers ; 
Scattering sweet roses 

Along another's path ; 
Smihng by the wayside, 

Content with what she hath — 
Woman's work. 



) 



MRS. LOFTY AND I. 65 

Letting fall her o\m tears 

"Where onlj' God can see ; 
Wiping off another's 

"With tender sympathy ; 
Learning by experience ; 

Teaching by example ; 
Yearning for the gateway, 

Golden, pearly, ample — 
Woman's work. 

Fresh grave in the valley — 

Tears, bitter sobs, regret ; 
One more solemn lesson 

That life may not forget. 
Face for ever hidden, 

Race for ever run^ 
"Dust to dust," a voice saith, 

And woman's work is done. 



ISrs. hafi]} and !♦ 



JWr RS. LOFTY keeps a carriage, 
y^ So do I; 

She has dapple grays to draw it, 

None have I ; 
With my blue-eyed laughing baby, 

Tnindling by, 
I hide his fi\ce, lest she should seo 
The cherub boy, and envy me. 

f n»ff « c ! Ill iiie I-i'e. O 



t.6 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Her fine husband lias white fingers, 

Mine has not ; 
He could give his bride a palace — 

Mine a cot ; 
Hers comes home beneath the starlight — 

Ne'er cares she ; 
Mine comes in the purple twiUght, 

Kisses me ; 
And prays that He who turns life's sandd 
Will hold his loved ones in his hands. 

Mrs. Lofty has her jewels, 

So have I ; 
She wears hers upon her bosom — 

Inside I ; 
She will leave hers at death's portal 

By-and-by ; 
I shall bear my treasure viith. me 

When I die ; 
For I have love and she has gold: 
She counts her wealth — mine can'c be told. 

She has those who love her station, 

None have I ; 
But I 've one true heart beside me : 

Glad am I ; 
I 'd not change it for a kingdom, 

No, not I ; 
God will weigh it in his balance, 

By-and-by ; 
And the diflerence define 
'Twixt Mrs. Lofty's wealth and mine. 



LOVE VERSUS WEALTH. 6l 

Cracllc Song, 

,'PIS niglit on the mountain, 
I 'T is niglit on the sea, 
Mild dewdrops are kissing 

The bloom-covered lea ; 
Like plumes gently waving, 

The soft zephyrs creep ; 
The birds are all dreaming— 

Then sleep, darling, sleep. 
'T is night on the mountain. 

'T is night on the sea, 
Away in the distance 

The stars twinkle free ; 
O'er all of His creatures 

His watch He will keep 
Who guardeth the sparrows — 

Then sleep, darUng, sleep. 

MAKV M BOWEN. 

* 

JWr .VEEY not for wealth, 
y^ WTiate'er be thy lot ; 
For gold is but pelf 
"WTiere love is not. 
Stoop thou not to take 

A princess' hand, 
If not for thy sake 
She '11 by thee stand. 



6? POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

jMarrj' thou for love, 

By truth be led ; 
Toil and look above 

For daily bread. ij^oyd. 



T 



bear, to nurse, to rear, 

To watch, and then to lose ; 
To see my bright ones disappear, 

Drawn up like morning dews : 
To bear, to nurse, to rear. 

To watch, and then to lose : 
This have I done when God di-ew near 

Among his own to choose. 

To hear, to heed, to wed. 

And with thy lord depart, 
In tears that he, as soon as shed. 

Will let no longer smart : 
To hear, to heed, to wed, 

This while thou didst I smiled ; 
For now it was not God who said, 

"Mother, give me thy child !" 

O fond, fool, and blind ! 

To God I gave with tears ; 
But when a man like grace would find, 

My soul put by her feai*s : 



A BRIDAL BENEDICTION. ^9 

O fond, O fool, and blind ! 

God guards in happier spheres ; 
That man will guard where he did bind, 

Is hope for unknown years. 

To hear, to heed, to wed, 

Fair lot that maidens choose ! 
Thy mother's tenderest words are said, 
■ Thy face no more she views : 
Thy mother's lot, my dear, 

She doth in naught accuse ; 
Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear, 

To love— and then to lose 1 jean ingei/>w. 



$ 



^ Bridal Br^m^diction. 

fair the scene when hearts agree, 
When vows are breathed and pledges given 

So sweet are weddings— can it be 
That there are none in heaven ? 

Not wedded love— a purer gleam. 
To bless the world of Ught, is given ; 

Earth's love is but a troubled stream 
To the clear depth of heaven. 

Yet wedlock is a boon divine. 

To Eden's rosy bowers first given ; 

And love's dear Lord, at Cana's shiino. 
Renewed the seal of heaven. 



POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Come then, heavenly Guest, this day ; 

Thy blessing at these nuptials given, 
The angels bending down shall say. 

This might have been in heaven. 

These two young lives together wrought, 
New years begun, a new^ home given, 

Transfused in mind, in heart, and thought, 
'T is a sweet type of heaven. 

Both lambs of the good Shepherd's care, 
Both to the ark of safety di'iven ; 

Such wedded love the blest might share. 
Such chains be worn in heaven. 

Dear Lord, oh keep them near to thee ; 

To them a deep, sweet peace be given ; 
So hving here that each shall be 

The spouse of Christ in heaven. 

F. n. CAULKINS. 

— ♦ 

Whem is fami^ ? 

?ATHER, where is our Jamie to-night- 
Jamie, so bold and so gay ? 
The twilight shadows are falling now, 

^Yhy does he stay away ? 
Jamie is handsome, and manly too, 

And he will be good and great . 
But, father, why is our darling boy 
A staying awav so late ?" 



WHERE IS JAMIE ? 7 • 

*' Our noble boy is a child no more, 

He has grown to man's estate ; 
He has gone a courting IMinnie Gray, 

The reason he stays so late. 
For her golden hair and eyes of blue 

Have stolen his heart avcay ; 
And he goes in the holy twihght hour 

A wooing sweet !Minnie Gray." 

"Why does the maiden lure him away, 

Now we are growing so old? 
And we have shielded him all his hfe— 

Our love has never grown cold. 
The maiden can never love as we 

Have loved him all his years, 
Who have led him along the path of life. 

Sharing his smiles and tears." 

"But, :Millie, remember long years ago. 

When I was handsome and gay. 
And you a maiden so fair and sweet 

That you stole my heart away 
I had a father old and gray, 

And a mother kind and true, 
WTio loved me fondly all my life— 

But my heart went out with you." 

A blush crept over her withered cheek. 

Her eye shone clear and mild ; 
No longer she chided the lovely maid 

For -vsinning away her child. 



72 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

She thought of the long ago, when she 
Stood close to her lover"s side, 

In the little church, and the man of God 
Made her a happy bride. 



fjest^rday. 



w 



HAT makes the king uiihappy ? 

His queen is young and fair. 
His children climb around him, 

With waving yellow haii\ 

His realm is broad and peaceful. 

He fears no foreign foe ; 
And health to his veins comes leaping 

In all the winds that blow. 

What makes the king unhappy ? 

Alas ! a Uttle thing 
That money cannot purchase, 

Or fleets and armies brinsr. 

And yesterday he had it. 

With yesterday it went ; 
And yesterday it perished, 

With all the king's content 

For this he sits lamentincr. 
And sighs. " Alack ! alack ! 

I 'd give one half my kingdom 
Could yesterday come back !" 



rO-DAY. • T< 

nr VEHY new day has its dawn. 
•^ Its soft and silent eve, 

Its noontide hour of bhss or bale— 
Wherefore should we grieve? 

Why do we heap huge mounds of years 

Before us and behind, 
And scorn the httle days that pass 

Like angels on the wind? 

Each turning round a small sweet face 

As beautiful as near ; 
Because it is so small a face 

We will not see it clear ; 

We will not clasp it as it flies. 

And kiss its lips and brow ; 
We will not bathe our wearied souls 

In its delicious now. 

And so it turns from us, and goes 

Away in sad disdain , 
Though we would give our lives for it, 

It never comes again. 

Yet every new day has its da^vn. 
Its noontide, and its eve : 

Live M-hile we live, giving God thanks- 
lie will not let us grieve. mbs. d. m. cuaik 



^'^ POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

To-marrouT. 

^A BEIGHT Httle boy with laughing fixce, 
J A\Tiose every motion was full of grace, ' 
\n\o knew no trouble and feared no cLre 

IVas the Ught of our household - the' yonn-o8» 
there. ^ 

He was too young, this Uttle elf, 
With ti-oublesome questions to vex himself- 
But for many days a thought would arise 
And bring a shade to the dancing eyes. 

He went to one whom he thought more wise 
Than any other beneath the skies ; 
"Mother." word that makes the home ! 
•' TeU me, when wiU to-morrow come ?" 
"It is ahnost night," the mother said, 
"And time for my boy to be in bed ; ' 
When you wake up and it 's day again, 
It wiU be to-moiTow, my darhng, then." 

The Httle boy slept through all the ni-ht 
But woke Mith the first red streak of light • 
He pressed a kiss to his mother's brow° 
And whispered "Is it to-morrow now ?" 

"No, little Eddie, this is to-day, 
To-morrow is always one night away :" 
He pondered awhile, but joys came f^st. 
And this vexing question quickly passed 



TO-MORROW. 75 

But it came again with the shades of night ; 
*' Will it be to-moiTOW when it is hght?" 
From years to come he seemed care to borrow, 
He tried so hard to catch to-morrow. 

"You cannot catch it, my little Ted ; 

Enjoy to-day," the mother said ; 

" Some wait for to-morrow through many a year - 

It always is coming, but never is here." 

MRS. M. R. JOHNS )N. 



Ta-marrau;, 

TIS late at night— and in the realms of sleep 
My Uttle lambs are folded hke the flocks ; 
From room to room I hear the wakifal clocks 
ChaUenge the passing hour, like guards that keep 
Their sohtary watch on tower and steep ; 
Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks, 
And through the opening door that time unlocks, 
Feel the fresh breathing of to-morrow creep. 

To-morrow ! the mysterious unknown guest. 
Who cries aloud ; " Eemember Barmicide, 

Ajid tremble to be happy with the rest !" 
And I make answer : " I am satisfied ; 

[ dare not ask— I know not what is best ; 
God hath already said whtit shall betide.' 



LONOFELX<'*.V 



7^ POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Birthdatjs, 

'g RIGHT bii-thdays in the happy home ! 
1"^ And tender love prepares 

Fond gifts to please the precious child 

That dwelleth on its prayers. 
It showereth o'er the blooming youth 

Blessings and tokens sweet, 
And bows before the hoary head 
To pay an offering meet. 

The birthday of the absent ! Thought 

On winged scroll shall fly 
To distant realms, or stranger chmes 

Beneath a foreign sky ; 
Or bear that love o'er ocean waves 

That fierce with anger fi-own, 
Which many waters cannot quench, 

Nor all their billows drown. 

The birthday of the dead ! Be sure 

That sacred date to keep ; 
Send portions to the sick and poor, 

And drj^ the eyes that weep ; 
Wrap garments roimd the shrinking form. 

Homes for the orphan find, 
And bid the light of knowledge beam 

Upon the darkened mind. 

Spread wide the page that speaks of God ; 
Speed on the mission band 



THE TWENTIETH BIRTHDAY. T) 

O'er western vales, o'er Asia's wilds, 

Or far Liberia's strand : 
Give teachers to the prairie child. 

Shed hope o'er souls forlorn, 
Speak kindly words to erring hearts 

That feel the sting of scorn. 
Bemember those who chmb the shroud 

And plough the surging main ; 
Breathe pity through the prison grate 

On sin's despairing train : 
For aU mankind let deeds and prayers 

Of pure good-will be given ; 
So shall the birthdays of the dead 

Help thine own soul to lieaven.^^^ ,,3,„,nkv. 
♦ ■ 

The TujentietU Bivthdai). 

r( IRLHOOD'S sunny dixys are over 
*^ With to-day ; 

They with all their wayward brightness, 

Pass away : 
Woman's earnest path before me 

Lieth straight. 
Who can teU what grief and anguish 

There await? 
Guide me. Father, God of mercy, 

On the way ; 
Never from thy holy guidance 
Let me stray : 



78 



POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Give that meed of joy or soitow 

Pleasetli thee, 
Whatsoe'er thy will ordaineth 

Best for me. 

In the shadow and the darkness 

Be my star ; 
In the light, lest radiance dazzle, 

Go not far ; 
Make me patient, kind, and gentle, 

Day by day ; 
Teach me how to live more nearly 

As I pray. 

What my heart so much desireth, 

Grant me still, 
If that earnest hope accordeth 

With thy will : 
Should thy mercy quite withhold it, 

Be thou near : 
Let me feel I hold its promise 

All too dear. 

Here, upon life's veiy threshold, 

Take my heart ; 
From thy holy guidance let it 

Ne'er depart ; 
Wlien life's stormy strife is over. 

Take me home. 
There to be more fully, truly, 

Thine alone. 



LIFE AND I. ''^ 

yfc and t 

T IFE is the child's frail wreath, 
(t* And I a drop of dew 

Upon its fading beauty. In the breath 
Of the still night-air come I forth to view ; 

But with the reddening mom, 

I silently return 

To holy realms unseen. 

Where death hath never been, 

Where He hath his abode. 

Who is my God ! 

Life is the wind-snapped bough. 

And I a little bird— 
My motherland a fairer, calmer chma. 

Whose ohve groves no storm has ever stirred; 
A Uttle bird that came from far, 
Beyond the evening star, 
Alighting in my untried flight 

Upon this tree of night. 

Yet ere another sun 

His race shall have begun, 

I shall have passed from sight. 

To realms of truer light. 

These twilight skies above, 

To be with Him I love, 

My Lord, my God. 



>iO POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Life is the mountain lake, 

And I a drifting cloud, 
Or a cloud's broken shadow on the wave.. 

One of the silent multitude that crowd. 
With ever- varying pace. 
Across the water's face ! 
Soon must I pass from earth. 
To the calm azure of my better birth, 
M}^ sky of holy bUss ; 
With Him in love and peace 
To have my long abode, 
^\^lO is my God. 

Life is the tossing ark, 

And I the wandering dove, 
Kesting to-day mid clouds and waters darl-, 

To-morrow in my peaceful oHve grove 
Ketuming in glad haste 
Across time's billowy waste, 
For evermore to rest 
Upon the faithful breast 
Of Him who is my king. 
My Christ, my God. 

Life is the changing deep. 

And I a little wave. 
Rising a moment, and then passing down 

Amid my fellows to a peaceful grave : 
For this is not my rest, 
It i« not here I can be blest. 



I'M OLD TO-DAY. 8 1 

Far from this sea of strife, 
With Christ is hid my life, 
With Christ my glonous Lorcl, 
My ICing and God ! 

Life is a well-strung lyre, 

And I a wandering note, 
Struck from its cunning chords, and left alono 

A moment in the quivering air to float ; 
Then, ^vithout echo, die. 
And upward from this earthly jarring fly, 
To form a truer note above. 
In the great song of joy and love. 
The never-ending, never-jarring song 
Of the immortal throng, 
Sung to the praise of Him 
Who is at once its leader and its theme, 
My Christ, my King, my God ! bohan. 



"I'm 0W To-dai}!" 

T WAKE at last ; I 've dreamed too long : 
(J Where are my threescore j'cai-s and ten? 
My eye is keen, my limbs are strong, 
I well might vie with younger men. 
The world, its passions and its strife, 

Is passing from my gi-asp away ; 
And though this pulse seems full of life, 
I'm old to-day, I 'm old to-doy ! 

i^wiim ul lloini! Life. () 



89 POEMS OF HOME LIFE 

" Strange that I never felt before 

That I had ahnost reached my goal ! 
My bark is nearing death's dark shore ; 

Life's waters far behind me roll : 
And yet I love their murmuring swell, 

Their distant breakers' proud array ; 
And must I, can I, say ' Farewell '? 

I 'm old to-day, I 'm old to-day ! 

"This house is mine, and those broad lands 

That slumber 'neath yon fervid sky ; 
Yon brooklet, leaping o'er the sands, 

Hath often met my boyish eye. 
I loved those mountains when a child ; 

They still look young in green array. 
Ye rocky chffs, ye summits wild, 

I 'm old to-day, I 'm old to-day ! 

•' 'Twixt yesterday's short hours and me 

A mighty gulf has intervened ; 
A man with men I seemed to be ; 

But now 't is meet I should be weaned 
From all my kind, my Idndred dear. 

From those deep skies, that landscape gny, 
From joys and hopes I 've cherished here ; 

I 'm old to-day, I 'm old to-day !" 

O man of years ! while earth recedes. 
Look forward, upward, not behind ! 

"Why dost thou lean c«i broken reeds ? 
Why still with earthly fetters bind 



OLD AGE. 



53 



Thine ardent soul? God gave it wings 
'Mid higher, purer joys to stray ! 

In heaven no happy spirit sings, 
•« I 'm old to-day, I 'm old to-day !" 



0ld |igc. 

TS it an evil to be drawing near 

i The time when I shall know as I am known ? 
Is it an evil that the sky grows clear. 

That sunset light upon my path is thrown, 
That truth grows fairer, that temptations cease, 
And that I see, afar, a path that leads to peace? 

Is it not joy to feel the lapsing years 
Calm down one's spirit? As at eventide 

After long storm the far horizon clears. 
The skies shine golden and the stars subside ; 

Stem outhnes softened in the sunht air. 

And still, as day decUnes, the restful earth grows fair 

And so I drop the roses from my hand, 
And let the thorn-pricks heal, and take my way 

Down-hill, across a fair and peaceful land 
Lapped in the golden cahn of dying day ; 

Glad that the night is near, and glad to know 

That, rough or smooth the way, I have not far to go 



8^ POEMS OF HOME LIFR. 



T NEVER call that gentle name, 
Cj My mother ! but I am again 
E'en as a child ; the very same 

That prattled at thy knee ; and fain 
Would I forget, in momentary joy, 
That I no more can be thy happy boy ; 

Thine artless boy, to whom thy smile 

Was sunshine, and thy frown sad night, 
(Though rare that frown, and brief the •while 
It veiled from me thy loving hght ;) 
For well-conned task, ambition's highest bliss 
To win from thy approving Hps a kiss. 

I 've lived through foreign lands to roam, 

And gazed on many a classic scene ; 
But oft the thought of that dear home, 
TMiich once was ours, would intervene. 
And bid me close again my languid eye, 
To think of thee and those sweet days gone by. 

I 've pored o'er many a yellow page 

Of ancient wisdom, and have won 
Perchance a scholar's name ; yet sage 
Or poet ne'er have taught thy son 
Lessons so pure, so fraught with holy tnith, 
As those his mother's faith shed o'er his youth. 

If e'er through grace my God shall o\m 
The offerings of my life and love. 



A DAUGHTER'S WISH. 85 

Methinks, when bending close before bis throne, 
Amid the ransomed hosts above, 
Thy name on my rejoicing hps shall be, 
And I will bless that grace for heaven and thee ! 

For thee and heaven ; for thou didst tread 
The way that leads to that blest land, 

My often wayward footsteps led 

By thy kind words and patient hand ; 
And when I wandered far, thy faithful call 

Restored my soul from sin's deceitful thrall. 

****** 

Mother, thy name is widow ; well 
I know no love of mine can fill 
The waste place of thy heart, nor dwell 
Within one sacred recess ; stiU 
Lean on the faithful bosom of thy son, 
My parent ! thou art more— my only one ! 



BETHTNR 



Wii 



mother ! 
sometimes strengthens me for care, 

And quells a mental strife. 
To think how quietly you bore 

The various ills of hfe ! 
Would that your daughter had a tithe 

Of what you once possessed — 
The calm forbearing gentleness 

That filled her mother's breast ! 



86 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 



Th^ ^geA mother. 



I' 



'S she not beautiful, 
Graceful, and fair, 
In her armchair. 
So cheerful and dutiful, 
Sitting, sitting. 
Knitting, knitting. 
With ivory needles, her strips so long, 
Woven together with chat and song, 
Her rainbow matting to lay on the floor 
For the feet she loves, by the chair or door ? 
Sitting, sitting, 
Knitting, knitting, 
Never a murmur from day to day, 
Happily passing her Ufe away. 
As blessed as a child in its sportive glee 
Is our dear mother at eighty-three. 

We call her beautiful 

As she sits there 

In her armchair, 
Her snow-white cap o'er her snow-white hair, 
Her 'kerchief, pure as a hly's crest, 
Smoothly folded upon her breast. 
Smooth and clear as her life of rest : 
Her robo and shawl, of a twihght gray, 
Falling in softened folds away 
From her busy hands as she is sit'ing, 
Busily reading or busily knitting. 



THE AGED MOTHER. 87 

From morn till niglit, 

Cloudy or bright, 
Ever contented and blessed is she, 
Our dear mother at eighty-three. 

Oh, maidens fair, with shining hair, 

And cheeks and lips like strawberrj'-tipg. 
With springing feet that upward still 
Essay to gain hfe's summit hill ; 
Oh think, before you reach the height, 

To gather jewels by the way, 
As now you may 
On left and right, 

For strewTi beside j^our path they lay - 
The pearls of faith for ever pure. 
Diamonds of hope for ever bright. 
And charity's sweet gems of hght, 

That will endure. 
And weave a crown so beautiful, 
Filled in with loves so dutiful. 
That when you come to totter down 
** The other side," your lives may be 
A benediction, as to me 
Is our blest mother's at eighty-three. 



88 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

J^ OME near me, wife ; I fare the better far 
J"'^ For the sweet food of thy divine advice. 
Let no man value at a Httle price 
A virtuous woman's counsel : her winged spirit 
Is feathered oftentimes with heavenly words, 
And like her beaut}', ravishing and pure. 

CHAPMAN. 



THE shell that once has learned to sing 
The sweet song of the sea, 
Never forgets the soughing notes 

Of that deep symphony ; 
But ever from its winding throat 

The hngering music sighs. 
Soft as an angel's breath, that bears 
Celestial harmonies. 

Thus through the spiral of the years 

As voices breathe from shells, 
There come sweet notes of joy to-day 

From distant marriage bells ; 
Sweet marriage bells, dear marriage bells 

That touch a chord so hve, 
It vibrates just as thrillingly 

Through circles twenty-fiva 



A MOTHER'S PLACE. 89 

And, chiming with those marriage bells, 

"Whose tones wind to us here. 
Sweet infant voices, childhood's song,. 

Salute your silteb year. 

Oh, may this coil of wedded years 

StiU wind and wind away, 
Until this silvery song becomes 

A golden roundelay ! 
May this blest flagon ne'er be drained, 

This wine of hfe drunk up. 
Until, in twenty-five years more, 

It fills a GOLDEN cup. 



^ Mcxihev's flace* 



¥ 



earthly friend a mother's place can fill ! 
There is an instinct love, an added sense 
Within a mother's breast, that draweth thence 
Rare quickness of perception, to discern 
Her ofispring's wants. She needeth not to learn 
By voice or gesture. Swift her footsteps glide, 
Noiseless as Silence' self ; and at the side 
Of her beloved one, with love's strength inspired, 
She is content to watch for hours untired — 
To move the weary limb, and soft recHne 
The aching head ; the language of a sign, 
Wishes unshaped in words, by glance or siglu 
Quick to iuteipret and to gratify. 



90 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

&randmotliJ3r. 

JUST as the sun rose blushing red 
Over the hill tops, somebody said. 
In broken accents of mourning woe, 
Sobbing aloud, but sobbing low: 
" Grandmother is dead !" 

When the sorrowful murmur broke, 
Out from our beautiful dreams we woke, 
Feeling a sense of terrible loss ; 
" She was gold, refined from its dross," 
So somebody spoke. 

Just as she sometimes sat in her chair, 
Lifting her heart in silent prayer. 
Looked she ; only a purple mist 
Her drooping Uds and thin lips kissed, 
And rested there. 

Only yesterday, how she planned 
Labois of love for her aged hand : 
"Whenever my useful days are o'er 
Let me go to the heavenly shore," 

Was her demand- 
Dear old grandmother ! How her prayer 
Quickened the ear of Eternal care ! 
And, with only a warning pain, 
Ilis angel gathered her soul again 

To those regions fair. 



THE DAUGHTERS PORTRAIT. Ql 

Blessed is it for her to sleep : 
Can it be wrong for us to weep ?— 
We who loved her so well and knew 
All the worth of her loving, too, 
And her wisdom deep. 

She was aged and knew the way 
Youthful feet were inclined to stray: 
"The young are giddy, and they must learn 
Of hard experience ere they turn," 
She would gently say. 

Happy grandmother ! "Would that we 
Might share \nth you the mystery 
Of that Beyond, where a thought of sin 
Never, oh ! never can enter in, 
Through eternity. 



^ Brother Shouring the Ifortroit of 
her ehild, 

T iViNG child or pictured cherub 
Cf Ne'er o'ermatched its baby grace ; 
And the mother, moving nearer. 
Looked it calmly in the face ; 
Then with slight and quiet gesture, 

And with hps that scarcely smiled, 
Said, ** A portrait of my daughter 
When she was a child !" 



9^ POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Easy thouglit was hers to fatliom, 

Nothing hard her glance to read, 
For it seemed to say, " No praises 

For this little child I need ; 
If you see, I see far better. 

And I will not feign to care 
For a stranger's prompt assurance 

That the face is fair. " jean inqelow. 



Written in a San^s Bible. 

nE3iIE:MBER, love, who gave thee this, 
When other days shall come. 
When she who had thy earliest kiss 

Sleeps in her narrow home : 
Remember 't was a mother gave 
The gift to one she 'd die to save. 

That mother sought a pledge of love, 

The holiest, for her son ; 
And from the gifts of God above 

She chose a goodly one : 
She chose, for her beloved boy. 
The source of Hfe and hght and joy ; 
And bade him keep the gift, that when 

The parting hour should come, 
They might have hope to meet again 

In her eternal home : 
She said his faith in that should be 
Sweet incens-e to her memory. 



OUR MOTHER'S DEATH 9$ 

And should the scoffer in his pride 

Laugh that fond gift to scorn, 
And bid him cast that gift aside 

That he from youth had borne, 
She bade him pause, and ask his breast 
If he or she had loved him best. 

A parent's blessing on her son 

Goes with this holy thing ; 
The love that would retain the one, 

Must to the other cling : 
Kemember, 't ia no idle toy, 

A mother's gift — REMEMBER, BOY"! 



Su;jei3tcst Words ! 

Q'OJ^IE precious words are bom of earth ; 
p Some others by the angels given ; 
But sweetest of celestial birth, 
Ai-e these: "My Mother," "Home," and "Heaven. 



Our mother's Sleath. 

QjILENTLY over land and sea 
p"^ Came do^NTi the winter's night 
Bearing upon its ebon wings 
A mantle purely white, 



^4 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

A spangled robe, as beautiful 

As the immortals wear ; 
And over all the land it spread 

The vesture soft and fair. 

Over the frozen river's breast, 
And o'er the town 't was spread, 

And o'er the monuments and mounda 
Above the quiet dead. 

Within our peaceful, sheltered home, 
"VMiere all was bright and warm, 

Was one preparing to go forth. 
But not into the storm. 

We gathered round our mother's bed 

To catch her parting breath ; 
But one stood nearer to her heart ; 

We knew his name was — Death ! 
And from our love and from our grief, 

And from our dwelling warm. 
He bore our mother in his arms. 

But not into the storm. 

She went unseen — but not alone, 

Dear pilgrim of the earth ; 
For Jesus took her by the hand, 

And gently bore her forth. 
And the sweet word she left for us 

Shall our life's watchword be : 
"As I have folio w'ed Jesus' steps, 

Beloved ones, follow me !" 



IN MEMORIAM. 9'» 

We laid her body down to sleep 

WTiere all is sweet and still, « 
Where the last rays of sunlight fall 

Upon the westward hill. 

And precious, precious to our hearts 

Shall be that sacred spot ; 
"While by the Lord she loved so well 

It will not be forgot. 

Wasted and wan, we laid her down, 

Worn out with mortal strife ; 
But fair and glorious shall she rise 

To glad eternal life. 

O heavenly Father, teach us how 

To Hve, and how to die. 
That we may with our mother rise 

To nraoBTAUTY ! atjgusta moohi , 



W 



In Mcmoriam. 

HAT did we ask, with all our love for him, 
But just a little breath of fuller life. 
To float the laboring lungs? And God hath given 
Him hfe itself — full, everlasting life ! 
What did we pray for ? Best, even for a night. 
That he might rise with sleep's most golden dews 
Refreshed, to feel the morning in his soul ; 
Ant? God hath given him His eternal rest 



9<) POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

We could not offer freedom for one hour 
From that dread weight of weariness they bear 
Who tiy for years to shake death's shadow off; 
And God hath made him free for eyermore ! 

Before me hangs his picture on the wall, 
Alive still with the loving, cordial eyes. 
How tenderly their winsome lustre laughed ! 
The fine pale face, pathetically sweet, 
So thin \nth suffering that it seemed a soul ; 
We feared the angels might be kissing it 
Too often and too wooingly for us ; 
The hands, so woman-white and delicate, 
That day by day were gliding from our grasp, 
They used to make my heart ache many a time. 

I see another picture now : the fonn 
Ye sowed in weakness hath been raised in power - 
A. pleasure-palace for a prison of pain ! 
The beauty of his nature that we felt, 
Is featured in the shape he weareth now ; 
The same kind face, but changed and glorified. 
From life's unclouded summit it looks back, 
And sweetl}^ smiles at all the sorrows past. 
With such a look as taketh away grief ; 
No longer pale, and there is no more pain. 
His face is rosed with heaven's immortal bloom, 
For he hath found the land of health at last, 
• The one Physician who can cure all ills ; 
An 1 he hath eaten of the tree of life. 
And felt the eternal spring ! oerald uAssira 



NOW AND HEREAFTER. 97 

tJou; and liiercaftcr, 

** rWO HANDS UPON THE BREAST, AND LABOR IS PAST." 

KussiAN PaovHaB. 

TWO hands upon the breast, 
And labor 's done ; 
Two pale feet crossed in rest — 

The race is run ! 
Two eyes with coin-weights shut, 

And all tears cease ; 
Two lips where grief is mute, 
And yrrath at peace !" 
So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot ; 
Grod in his kindness answereth not 

"Two hands to work addrcst 

Aye for His praise ; 
Two feet that never rest, 

Walking His ways ; 
Two eyes that look above, 

Still through all tears ; 
Two lips that breathe but love, 

Nevermore fears." 
So cry we afterwards, low at our knees. 
Pardon those erring prayers, Father ! hear thesa 

MISS BCXTLOCK. 



I'«i*!ni8 ')f Home Lifo. 



98 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Finish Thy Wxirh, 

*TrlI^SH thy Tvork ; the time is short, 
J The sun is in the west, 

The night is coming down ; till then 
Think not of rest 

Yes, finish all thy work, then rest ; 

Till then, rest never : 
The rest prepared for thee by God 
Is rest for eyer. 

Finish thy work ; then wipe thy brow, 

Ungird thee from thy toil ; 
Take breath, and from each weary limb 
Shake off the soil. 

Finish thy work : then sit thee down 

On some celestial hill, 
And of its strength-reTiving air 
Take thou thy filL 

Finish thy work ; then go in peace, 
Life's battle fought and won ; 

Hear from the Master's throne his voice 
*'Well done, well done !" 

Finish thy work ; then take thy harp, 
Give praise to God above ; 

Sing a new song of endless joy 
And heavenly love. 



THERE'S CRAPE ON THE DOOR. 99 

Give thanks to Him who held thee up 

In all thy path below, 
"Who made thee foithful unto death, 

And crowns thee now. e. b. mxlleb. 



> ■— 



There's Erapc on the ^oor. 

Q^O^IE one has gone from this strange world of ours, 
f^ No more to gather its thorns with its flowers ; 

No more to linger where sunbeams must fade, 

Where on all beauty death's fingers are laid ; 

"Weary with mingling life's bitter and sweet, 

"Weary with parting, never to meet ; 

Gone, we -^-ill hope, to the bright golden shore. 

King the bell softly, there 's crape on the door ! 

Eing the bell sofily, there 's crape on the door ! 

Some one is resting from sorrow and sin, 
Happy where earthly strifes enter not in ; 
Joyous as birds when the morning is bright, 
And the sweet sunbeams have bro't us their hght 
"Weary with sowing and never to reap, 
"Weary with labor and welcoming sleep ; 
Some one 's departed for heaven's bright shore, 
Ring the bell softly, there's crape on the door ! 
Eing the bell softly, there 's crape on the door ! 

Angels were anxiously longing to meet 

One who walks with them in heaven's bright street ; 



lOO POEMS OF HOME LIFR. 

Loved ones have wliispered that some one is blest, 
Free from earth's trials and taking sweet rest. 
Yes, there is one more in heavenly bliss, 
One less to cherish, and one less to kiss ; 
One more departed for heaven's bright shore. 
Ring the bell softly, there 's crape on the door ! 
Fing the bell softly, there 's crape on the door ! 



I'PIS hai'd to die in spring-time, 
j When, to mock my bitter need. 
All life around runs over 

In its fulness without heed : 
New hfe for tiniest twig on tree. 
New worlds of honey for the bee, 
And not one drop of dew for me, 

Who perish as I plead ! 

***** 

'T is sweet to die in spring-time, 

For I feel my golden year 
Of summer-time eternal 

Is beginning even- here ! 
" Poor Ellen !" now you say and sigh ; 
** Poor Ellen !" but to-morrow I 
Shall say, "Poor mother !" and on higb 

Watch you, and wait you there. 



"FOLLOW ME." **^* 



THE Master's voice was sweet : 
"I gave my life for thee ; 
Bear thou this cross through pain and loss ; 

Arise and follow me." 
I clasped it in my hands : 

" Thou who diedst for me, 
The day is bright, my step is hght, 
'T is sweet to follow thee 1" 

Through the long summer day 

I followed lovingly ; 
'Twas bhss to hear his voice so near, 

His glorious face to see. 
Down where the hhes pale 

Fringed the bright river's brim, 
In pastures green his steps were seen— 

'T was sweet to follow him. 

» 

Oh, sweet to follow him ! 

"Lord, let us here abide." 
The flowers were fair, I hngered there, 

I laid his cross aside. 
I saw his face no more 

By that bright river's brim ; 
Before me lay the desert way— 

'T was hard to follow him. 



J 09 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Yes, hard to follow him 

Into that dreary land : 
I was alone ; his cross had grown 

Too heavy for my hand. 
I heard his voice afar 

Sound through the night air chill ; 
My weary feet refused to meet 

His coming o'er the hill. 

'^he Master's voice was sad : 

" I gave my life for thee ; 
I bore the cross through pain and loss ; 

Thou hast not followed me." 
"So fair the hhed banks, 

So bleak the desert way ; 
The night was dark, I could not mark 

Where thy blest footsteps lay." 

"Fairer the Ulied banks, 

Softer the grassy lea. 
The endless rest of those who best 

Have learned to follow me. 
Canst thou not follow me, 

All weary as thou art ? 
Hath patient love no power to move 

Thy slow and faithless heart ? 
Wilt thou not follow me ? 

These weary feet of mine 
Have stained red the pathway dread 

For thee and thine. " 



TRUST. *°^ 

**0 Lord, Love diviue, 

Once more I follow thee ! 
Let me abide so near tliy side, 

That I thy face may see. 
I clasp thy pierced hand, 

thou that diedst for me ; 
I'll bear thy cross through pain and loss, 

Solmay cling to thee." 



Trust. 



I 



KNOW not if or dark or bright 

Shall be my lot ; 
If that wherein my hopes delight 

Be blest or not. 

It may be mine to drag for years 

Toil 's heavy chain ; 
Or, day and night, my meat be tears 

On bed of pain. 

Dear faces may surround my hearth 

With smiles and glee ; 
Or I may dwell alone, and mirth 

Be strange to me. 
My bark is wafted from the strand 

By breath divine, 
And on the helm there rests a hand 
Other than mine. 



>04 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

One, wlio has kncwn in storms to sail, 

I have on board ; 
Above the raging of the gale 

I hear my Lord. 

lie holds me when the billows smito ; 

I shaU not fall. 
If sharp, 't is short ; if long, 't is light * 

He tempers all. 

Safe to the land ! safe to the land ! 

The end is this ! 
And then with him go hand in hand 

Far into bhss. 



C^UN of my soul, thou Saviour dear, 
I It is not night if thou be near ; 
Oh ! may no earth-bom cloud arise 
To hide thee from thy servant's eyes .' 

"WTien the soft dews of kindly sleep 
My wearied eyehds gently steep, 
Be my last thought : How sweet to rest 
For ever on my Saviour's breast ! 

Abide with me from morn till eve, 
For without thee I cannot hve ! 
Abide with me when night is nigh, 
For without thee I dare not die. 



NIGHT THOUGin. 10; 

Thou frainer of tlie liglit and dark, 
Steer through the tempest thiue own ark ! 
Amid the howhng, mighty sea, 
"We are in port if we have thee. 

Oh ! by thine own sad burthen, borne 
So meekly up the hill of scorn. 
Teach thou thy priests their daily cross. 
To bear as thine, nor count it loss ! 

If some poor wandering child of thine 
Have spumed to-day the voice divine ; 
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin ; 
Let him no more lie down in sin ! 

"Watch by the sick — enrich the poor 
"With blessings from thy boundless store ! 
Be every mourner's sleep to-night 
Like infant's slumber, pure and Ught ! 

Come near and bless us when we wake. 
Ere through the world our way we take, 
Till, in the ocean of thy love, 
"We lose ourselves in heaven above ! keblh. 



Bight Thought, 



I 



X silence of the voiceless night. 
When chased by dreams the slumbers flee, 
"Whom in the darkness do I seek, 
OGod, but thee? 



lo6 POEMS OF HOME LIFE 

And if there weigh upon my breast 
Vague memories of the day foregone, 
Scarce knowing why, I fly to thee, 
And lay them down. 

Or if it be the gloom that comes 
In dread of an impending ill, 
My bosom heeds not what it is, 
Since 't is thy wilL 

For oh ! in spite of constant care, 
Or aught beside, how joyfully 
I pass that sohtary hour, 

My God, with thee. 

More tranquil than the stilly night, \ 

More peaceful than that voiceless hour, | 

Supremely blest, my bosom lies i 

Beneath thy power. \ 

For what on earth can I desire ] 

Of all it hath to offer me ? i 

Or whom in heaven do I seek, 
O God, but thee ? 



The {Jolden mUe-Stane* 

XP ACH man's chimney is his golden mile-stone ; 
'H Is the central point from which he measures 
Eveiy distance 
Through the gateways of the world around him. 



RE PATIENT. 1 07 

In his farthest wanderings still he sees it ; 

Hears the talking flame, the answering night-wind, 

As he heard them 
When he sat with those who were, but are not. 

Happy he whom neither wealth nor fashion, 
Nor the march of the encroaching city, 

Drives an exile 
From the hearth of his ancesti-al homestead. 

We may build more splendid habitations, 

Fill our rooms with paintings and with sculptures, 

But we cannot 
Buy with gold the old associations ! 

I.0NG1'EIJ.(JW. 



P 



B13 l?atient» 

E patient ! oh, be patient ! Put your ear against the 

earth ; 
Listen there how noiselessly the germ p' the seed 

has birth — 
How noiselessly and gently it upheaves its little way, 
Till it parts the scarcely broken ground and the 

blade stands up in the day. 

Be patient ! oh, be patient ! go and watch the wheat 

ears grow — 
So imperceptibly that ye can mark nor change nor 

throe — 



io8 



POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 



Day after day, clay after day, till the ear is fully 

gi'own, 
And then again day after day, till the ripened field is 

brown. tekkcu 



<\ 



Eucning Ifraij^r* 

OD, that madest earth and heaven, 

Darkness and light ! 
Who the day for toil hast given, 

For rest the night ; 

May thine angel guards defend us, 

Slumber sweet thy mercy send us, 

Holy dreams and hopes attend us. 

This livelong night ! 



HEBEB. 



" Tii(x tfou Thinh of Ma as $ TliinU 
of fou?" 

f ( T^ you think of me as I think of you, 

CT My friends, my friends ?" She said it on the sea, 
The English minstrel in her minstrelsy. 
While under brighter skies than erst she knew 
Her heart grew dark, and groped there as tht 

blind 
To reach, across the waves, friends left behind : 
**Do you think of me as I think of you?" 



THE SILENT HOUR. l OQ 

It seemed not much to ask, " As I of you ?" 
We all do ask the same ; no eyehds cover 
"Within the meekest eyes that question over : 
And little in this world the loving do 
But sit (among the rocks ?) and hsten for 
The echo of their own love evermore : 
*• Do you think of me as I think of you ?" 

*' Do you think of me as I think of j'ou ?" 

O friends, O kindred, dear brotherhood 

Of all the world ! "What are we that we should 

For covenants of long afi'ection sue ? 

Why press so near each other when the touch 

Is barred by graves? Not much and yet too 

much 
Is this, "Think of me as I think of you !" 

But while on mortal lips I shape anew 

A sigh to mortal issues, verily 

Above the unshaken stars, that see us die, 

A vocal pathos rolls ! and He who drew 

All life from dust, and for all tasted death, 

By death, and life, and love, appeahng saith — 

'* Do you think of me as 1 think of you ?" 

MBS. BROWKINQ. 



The $Ui3nt l-jom\ 

CjlLENTLY the shades of evening 
f"*^ Gather round my lowly door ; 
Silently they bring before me 
Faces I shall see no more. 



1 lO POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Oh, the lost, the unforgotten ! 

Though the world be oft forgot ; 
Oh, the shrouded and the lonely — 

In our hearts they perish not 

Living in the silent hours 

TVTiere our spirits only blend, 
They unlinked with earthly trouble, 

"We still hoping for its end- 
How such holy memories cluster, 

Like the stars when storms are past 
Pointing up to that far heaven 

We may hope to gain at last. 



I 



'♦The hard uiill Ifrouide/* 

N some way or other the Lord will provide : 
It may not be my way. 
It may not be thy way ; 
And yet in his own way 
" The Lord will provide." 



A.t some time or other the Lord will provide ; 
It may not be my time. 
It may not be thy time ; 
And yet in his own time 
"The Lord will provide." 



A FLOWER— LITTLE WHITE LILY. 1 I i 

Despond tlien no longer, " the Lord will provide :" 
And this be the token, 
No \rord he hath spoken 
"Was ever yet broken — 
" The Lord will provide." 

March on then right boldly, the sea shall dirido : 
Thy pathway made glorious, 
With shoutings victorious 
We '11 join in the chorus, 
*' The Lord wiU pro\-ide !" 

MRS. M. A. W. COOKB. 



<i 



OD wills but ill," the doubter said, 
"Lo, time doth evil only bear ; 

Give me a sign His love to prove — 
His vaunted croodness to declare !" 



The poet paused by where a flower, 
A simple daisy, starred the sod, 

And answered, "Proof of love and power. 
Behold ! behold a smile of God !" 



BT^STTX. 



T ITTLE white Uly sat by a stone, 

Cf Drooping and waiting till the sun sbnno, 

Little white Uly sunshine has fed ; 

Little white lily is hfting her head. 



» 1 2 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Little white lily said, "It is good — 
Little white lily's clothing and food :" 
Little white lily dressed hke a bride, 
Shining with whiteness and crowned beside I 

Little white lily droopeth vrith. pain. 
Watching and waiting for the wet rain. 
Little white lily holdeth her cup ; 
Eain is fast falling and filling it up. 

Little white lily said, " Good again, 
When I am thirsty to have nice rain ; 
Now I am stronger, now I am cool ; 
Heat cannot burn me, my Yeins are so fulL*' 

Little white lily smells very sweet. 

On her head sunshine, rain at her feet : 

' ' Thanks to the sunshine, thanks to the rain I 

Little white lily is happy again !" g. ji'dchaui. 



t^esson at the Flowi?rs» 

^ YERY flower is sweet to me : 
'H The rose and violet. 

The pink, the daisy, and sweet pea, 
Heart's-ease and mignonette. 

And hyacinths and daflfodillies ; 

But sweetest are the spotless lilies. 



LESSON OF THE FLOWERS. « « ^ 

I know not what the lilies were 

That grew in ancient times — 
When Jesus walked uith childi*en fair 

Through groves of eastern chmes, 
And made each flower as He passed by it, 
A type of foith, content, and quiet. 

But they were not more pure and bright 

Than those our gardens show, 
Or those that shed their silver light 

"Where the dark waters flow. 
Or those that hide in woodland alley 
The fragrant lilies of the valley. 

And I in each of them can see 

Some lesson for my youth : 
The loveliness of purity. 

The stateliness of truth, 
Whene'er I look upon the lustre 
Of those that in the garden chister. 

Tatience and hope that keep the soul 

Unruffled and secure, 
Though floods of grief beneath it roll, 

I learn, when calm and pure 
I see the floating water-lily, 
Gleam amid shadows dark and chilly. 

And when the fragrance that ascends, 
Shows where its lovely face 

I'Ofiiis (>f Home Life. O 



iU POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

The lily of the valley bends, 

I think oF that sweet grace, 
Which sheds within the spirit lowly, 
A rest, hke heaven's, so safe and holy. 

CASbUKE MA¥. 

» ■ 

^A PKESSED flower I love, 
J^ Not for itself — but that its form is linked 
With things dejDarted 
And with days gone by ! 



^rjc^n Things ^muring. 

W*^H ! the green things growing ! the green things grow- 

T ing, 
The fresh sweet smell of the green things growing, 
I would like to live, whether I laugh or grieve, 
To watch the happy life of the green things growing. 

Oh, the fluttering and pattering of the green things 

growing, 
Talking each to each when no man is knowing, 
In the wonderful white of the weird moonhght, 
Or the gray dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing. 

I love, I love them so, the green things growing. 
And I think that they love me witliout false showing, 
For by many a tender touch they comfort me so miicb, 
With the mute, mute comfort of green things growing. 



"AND WE SHALL ALL BE CHANGED." 1 1 5 

And in the full wealth of their blossoms glowing, 
Ten for one I take they 're on me bestowing, 
Ah, I should like to see, if God's ■will it might be, 
Many, many a summer of my green things growing. 

MISSMUIOCX. 

^<|ind We shall all be Changed*" 



y 



E dainty mosses, lichens gray, 
Pressed each to each in tender fold. 

And peacefully thus, day by day, 
Returning to the mould ; 

Brown leaves that with aerial grace 

Slip from your branch like birds a-wing, 

Each leaving in its appointed place 
A bud of future spring ; 

If we, God's conscious creatures, knew 
But half your faith, in our decay. 

We should not tremble as we do 
When summoned clay to clay. 

But with an equal patience sweet 
We should put off this mortal gear, 

In whatsoe'er new form is meet 
Content to reappear. 

Knowing each germ of life he gives 
Must have in him its source and rise ; 

Being that of his being hves 
May change, but never dies. 



» » tJ POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Ye dead leaves, dropping soft and slow, 
Ye mosses green, and lichens fair, 

Gk) to your graves, as I will go. 
For God is also there ! 

BOSS MCLOCK. 



f[ 



The Best in Stare* 

Y God, I thank Thee who hast made 

The earth so bright — 
So full of splendor and of joy, 

Beaiity and light : 
So many glorious things are here 

Noble and right ! 

I thank Thee, too, that thou hast made 

Joy to abound : 
So many gentle thoughts and deeds 

Circling us round. 
That in the darkest spot of earth 

Some love is found. 

I thank Thee more that all our joy 

Is touched with pain ; 
That shadows fall in brightest homes ; 

That thorns remain : 
80 that earth's bliss may be our guidi 

And not our chain. 



THE HUMBLE HEART. l 1 7 

For thou who knowest, Lord, how soon 

Our weak heart cUngs, 
Hast given us joys tender and truo 

Yet all with wings : 
So that we see gleaming on high, 

Diviner things ! 

I thank thee, Lord, that thou hast kept 

The best in store. 
We have enough, yet not too much 

To long for more, 
A yearning for a deeper peace 

Not known before. 

I thank thee, Lord, that here our souia 

Though amply blest, 
Can never find, although they seek, 

A perfect rest : 
Nor ever shall, until they lean 

On Jesus' breast. 



The Jjumble l-jeart. 

THY home is with the humble, Lord ! 
The simplest are the best ; 
Thy lodging is in child-like hearts ; 
Thou makest there thy rest 



« »8 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Dear Comforter ! Eternal Love ! 

If thou wilt stay with me, 
Of lowly thoughts and simple ways 

I '11 build a house for thee. 

Who made this beating heart of mine 
But thou, my heavenly Guest ? 

Let no one have it, then, but thee, 
And let it be thy rest. ltra cato 



!Ku eross of moss. 



f- 



TINY cross 
Of soft wood moss, 
And that is all ! 
And 5'et it hath a voice, and speaks to me 
Of patient faith and holy victory ; 
Faith that could triumph in Gethsemane, 
And for our sins a sinless sufferer be 
Upon the cross. 

A shadowy cross, 

Of soft gray moss ! 

And that is all ! 
But when from sinful thoughts I fain would flee, 
This little cross reproaches silently. 
As if it said, "Canst thou ungrateful bo. 
When Christ, to cleanse from sin, hath died for tbco 

Nailed to the cross?" 



THE HOUR OF PRAYER. 1 1 9 

A little cross 

Of velvet moss, 

And tliat is all ! 
Yet when I 've left my darlings vnth the dead, 
And storms of sorrow have swept o'er my head, 
I 've seen his beacon cross thro' tears and said — • 
•' "\Miat grief he bore ! I will be comforted. 

And bear my cross. " 

Oh, tiny cross, 

Of forest moss ! 

That is not aU ! 
I '11 have thee for my daily guard and guide. 
And learn of thee to conquer sin and pride ! 
Thou shalt speak oft of Jesus crucified, 
And all the burden of hfe's woes I '11 hide 

Beneath His cross. 



jA 



The Jiour of fraijen 

Y God, is any hour so sweet, 

From blush of morn to evening star. 
As that which calls me to thy feet. 

The calm and holy hour of prayer ? 

Blest is the tranquil break of mom. 
And blest the hush of solemn eve, 

When on the wings of prayer upborne. 
This fair but transient world I leave. 



120 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Then is my strength by thee renewed ; 

Then are my sins by thee forgiven : 
Then dost thou cheer my solitude 

With clear and beauteous hopes of heaven. 

No words can tell what sweet relief 
There for my every want I find ; 

What strength for warfare, balm for grief, 
What deep and cheerful peace of mind. 

Lord, till I reach that bHssful shore, 

No privilege so dear shall be, 
As thus my inmost soul to pour 

In faithful filial prayer to thee. 



^ 



PRAYEE that is said alone 

Starves, having no companion. 
Great things ask for, when thou dost pray ; 
And those great are which ne'er deca)'. 
Pray not for silver — rust eats this ; 
Ask not for gold, which metal is ; 
Kor yet for houses, which are here 
But earth ; such prayers ne'er reacli God's ear. 

HKIIBICK 



'» LET NOT YOUR HEART BE TROUBLED." 12 1 

'♦I^ct not ^our Jjeart be Tmubled." 

T_[E will smile on thee. 

J "^ One smile of his shall be enough to heal, 
The wound of man's neglect ; and he will sigh, 
Pitying the trouble which that sigh shall cure ; 
And he will speak — speak in the desolate night. 
In the dark night : " For me a thorny crown 
Men wove, and nails were driven in my hands 
And feet : there was an earthquake, and I died — 
I died, and am aUve for evermore ! 
I died for thee ; for thee I am alive, 
And my humanity doth mourn with thee, 
For thou art mine ; and all thy little ones, 
They, too, are mine, are mine. 

"Behold, the house 
Is dark ; but there is brightness where the sons 
Of God are singing ; and behold, the heart 
Is troubled ; yet the nations walk in white ; 
They have forgotten how to weep : and thou 
Shalt also come, and I will foster thee 
And satisfy thy soul ; and thou shalt warm 
Thy trembUng life beneath the smile of God ! 
A httle while— it is a little while — 
A little while, and I will comfort thee : 
I go away, but I will come again." 



129 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

T ONG hast thou watched my bed, 
G7^ And smoothed the pillow oft 
For this poor aching head, 
"With touches kind and soft. 

Oh, smooth it yet again, 

As softlj- as before ; 
Once, only once, and then 

I need thy hand no more. 

Yet here I may not stay, 
"Where I so long have lain, 

Through many a restless day 
And many a night of pain. 

But bear me gently forth 
Beneath the open sky, 

"Where, on the pleasant earth, 
Till night the sunbeams he. 

There, through the coming days, 
I shall not look to thee. 

My weary side to raise. 
And shift it tenderly. 

There sweetly shall I sleep. 
Nor wilt thou need to bring 

And put to my hot lip 
Cool water from the spring ; 



A SICK-BED. 12^ 

Nor wet the 'kerchief laid 

Upon my burning brow ; 
Nor from my eyehds shade 

The light that wounds them now ; 

Nor watch that none shall tread, 

"With noisy footstep, nigh ; 
Nor hsten by my bed 

To hear my faintest sigh ; 

And feign a look of cheer, 

And words of comfort speak, 
Yet turn to hide the tear 

That gathers on thy cheek. 

Beside me, where I rest. 

Thy loving hands will set 
The flowers I love the best^ 

Moss-rose and violet. 

Then to the sleep I crave 

Kesign me, till I see 
The face of Him who gave 

His hfe for thee and me. 
Yet, with the setting stln, 

Come, now and then, at eve, 
And think of me as one 

For whom thou shouldst not grieve ; 

Who, when the kind release 

From sin and suffering came, 
Passed to the appointed peace 

In mui-muring thj' name. 



1 24 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Leave, at my side, a space, ^ 

"Wliere thou slialt come at last, i 

To find a resting-place 
When many years are past. 

WM. C. anYANT 



Jesus, I am Vlcvev Weartj, 

JESUS, I am never weary, 
When upon this bed of pain ; 
If thy presence only cheer me, 
All mj loss I count but gain : 

Ever near me — 
Ever near me. Lord, remain ! 

Dear ones come with fruit and flowers, 
Thus to cheer my heart the while 

Li these deeply anxious hours : 
Oh, if Jesus only smile ! 

Only Jesus 
Can these trembling fears beguile. 

All my sins were cast upon thee, 
All my griefs on thee were laid ; 

For the blood of thine atonement 
All my utmost debt has paid : 

Dearest Saviour, 
I believe, for thou hast said. 



COMFORT FOR SICKNESS. la** 

Dearest Saviour, go not from me, 

Let thy presence still abide ; 
Look in tenderest love upon me — 

I am sheltered near thy side. 
Dearest Saviour, 

"Who for suffering sinnei-s died. 

iioth mine arms are clasped around thee 

And my head is on thy breast ; 
For my weary soul has found thee 

Such a perfect perfect rest. 
Dearest Saviour, 

Now I know that I am blest mks. \v::i>s. 



/ Somfort for Sictoi^ss. 

^r^H, how soft that bed must be, 
V Made in sickness, Lord, by thee ; 
A.nd that rest, how calm, how sweet. 
Where Jesus and the sufferer meet ! 

Come, thou good Physician, now. 
Soothe my cheek and smooth my brow ; 

vVhisper, raising up my head, 

"It is I ; be not afraid !" 

Bless me, and I shall be blest ; 
Soothe me, and I shall have rest ; 
Fix my heart, my hopes above ; 
Love me, Lord, for thou art Love ! 



2 6 POEMS OF HOME LIF E. 

THOUSANDS, O Lord of Hosts, to-day 
Within thy temple meet ; 
And tens of thousands throng to pay 
Their homage at thy feet. 

They sing thy deeds as I have sung, 
In sweet and solemn lays ; 

Were I among them, my glad tongue 
]\Iight learn new themes of praise. 

I may not to thy courts repair, 
Yet here thou surely art : 

Oh, give me here a house of prayer ; 
Here Sabbath joys impart ! 



Blearing the iSrass. 

THE heavier cross, the- stronger faith ; 
The loaded palm strikes deeper root ; 
The vine juice sweetly issueth 

When men have pressed the clustered fruit ; 
And courage grows where dangers come, 
Like pearls beneath the salt sea foam. 

The heavier cross, the heartier prayer ; 
The bruised herbs most fragi*ant are ; 



NIGHT TO THE WEARY. I2;j 

If wind and sky were always fixir, 

The sailor would not watch the star ; 
And David's psalms had ne'er been sung 
If David's heart had not been wrung. 



f 



Bicjht to the Wx^anj. 

ATHER of heaven and earth, 
I bless thee for the night, 
The soft, still night ! 

The holy pause of care and mirth. 
Of sound and Heht ! 



Now far in glade and dell. 

Flower-cup and bud and bell 
Have shut around the sleeping woodlark's nest ; 

The bee's Jong murmuring toils are done, 

And I, the o'er-wearied one, 

O'er-wearied and o'er-wrought, 
Bless thee, God, O Father of the oppressed. 

With my last waking thought, 
In the still night ! 

Yes, ere I sink to rest, 

By the fire's dying Hght, 

Thou Lord of earth and heaven, 

I bless thee, who hast given 

Unto life's fainting travellers the night, 

The soft, still, holy night ! 



128 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

JOHN 21 : 15-17. 

T OVEST thou me ?" I hear my Saviour say. 

A, Would that my heart had power to answer, " Ye:\, 
Thou knowest all things, Lord, in heaven above 
And earth beneath ; thou knowest that I love." 
But 't is not so ; in word, in deed, in thought, 
I do not, cannot love thee as I ought. 
Thy love must give the power, thy love alone ; 
There 's nothing worthy of thee but thine own. 
Lord, with the love wherewith thou lovest me, 
Reflected on thyself, I would love thee. 

MGNTGOMEBY. 



.' " This I did for Thefi— What doesJ 
Thau for Me?" 

MOTTO PLACED UNDER A PRINT OF CHRIST ON THE CROSS. 



I 



GAVE my life for thee. 
My precious blood I shed. 

That thou might'st ransomed be, 
And quickened from the dead. 

[ gave my Ufe for thee ; 

V\Tiat hast thou given for me ? 



WHAT DOEST THOU FOR 31E ?" l^-} 

I spent long years for thee 

In weariness and woe, 
That one eternity 

Of joy thou mightest know. 
I spent long years for thee : 
Hast thou spent one for me ? 

My Father's house of light, 
My rainbow-circled throne, 

I left for earthly night, 
For wanderings sad and lone ; 

I left it all for thee ; 

Hast thou left aught for me ? 

I suffered much for thee, 
More than thy tongue can tell 

Of bitterest agony. 
To rescue thee from hell. 

I suffered much for thee ; 

^\^lat dost thou bear for me ? 

And I brought down to thee, 
Do^vn from my home above, 

Salvation full and free, 
My pardon and my love ; 

Great gifts I brought to thee ; 

What hast thou brought to me ? 

Oh, let thy life be given. 
Thy years for mc be spent, 

Poems of Home Life. J 



ISO POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

World-fetters all be riven, 

And joy "vntli suffering blent : 
Give thou thyself to me, 
And I 'vsill welcome thee ! 



Son of the Garpjcnten 

Q'OX of the* carpenter, receive 
\^ This humble work of mine ; 
Worth to my meanest labor give, 
By joining it to thine. 

Servant of all, to toil for man 
Thou wouldst not, Lord, refuse ; 

Thy majesty did not disdain 
To be employed for us. 

Thy bright example I pursue, 

To thee in aU things rise ; 
And all I think, or speak, or do. 

Is but one sacrifice. 

Careless through outward cares I go. 

From all distraction free ; 
My hands are but engaged below, 

My heart is still with thee. 

Oh, when wilt thou, my Life, appear? 

How gladly would I crj' : 
♦'Tis done ! the work thou gav'st me here 
'T is finished, Lord !" and fly. 



WHAT THE SPARROW CHIRPS. I'^l 



^' What the Sparmuj Chirps, 



I 



A^I only a little sparrow, 

A bird of low degree ; 
My life is of little value ; 

But the dear Lord cares for me. 

He gave me a coat of feathers ; 

It is very plain, I know, 
"With never a speck of crimson, 

For it was not made for show. 

But it keeps me -warm in -winter, 
And it shields me from the rain ; 

Were it bordered with gold or purple, 
Perhaps it would make me vain. 

By-and-by, -when the spring-time comes, 

I '11 build myself a nest, 
With many a chirp of pleasure, 

In the spot I like the best 

And He -will give me wisdom 
To build it of leaves most brown ; 

Soft it must be for my birdies. 
And so I will line it with down. 

I have no bam or storehouse, 

I neither sow nor reap ; 
God gives me a sparrow's portion. 

But never a seed to keep. 



19 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

If my meal is sometimes scanty, 
Close pickiiig makes it sweet ; 

I have always enough to feed me, 
And "life is more than meat." 

I know there are many sparrows^ 
All over the world we are found ; 

But our heavenly Father knoweth 
When one of us falls to the ground. 

Though small, we are never forgotten ; 

Though weak, we are never afraid ; 
For we know that the dear Lord keepeth 

The life of the creatures he made. 

I fly through the thickest forests, 

I Hght on many a spray ; 
I have no chart nor compass, 

But I never lose my way. 

And I fold my wings at twihght, 
Wherever I happen to be ; 

For the Father is always watching. 
And no harm wiU come to me: 

I am only a httle sparrow, 

A bird of low degree ; 
But I know that the Father loves ma. 

Have you less faith than we ? 



THE SINGING LESSON. ^ *? ^ 

Trust in Gad* 

THE child leans on its parent's breast, 
Leaves there its cares, and is at rest : 
The bird sits singing by its nest. 

And teUs aloud 
nis trust in God, and so is blest 

'Neath every cloud- 
He hath no store, he sows no seed, 
Yet sings aloud, and doth not need ', 
By flowing streams or grassy mead, 

He sings to shame 
Men, who forget, in fear of need, 

A Father's name. 

The heart that trusts, for ever sings, 
And feels as light as it had wings ; 
A well of peace within it springs ; 

Come good or ill, 
Whate'er to-day— to-moiTOW brings, 

It is Ills will ! 

ISAAC -WTLLIAMB. 



X TliJC Singing Lesson^ 

; A NIGHTINGALE made a mistake ; 
J^ She sang a few notes out of tune : 
Her heart was ready to break, 
And she hid away from the moon, 



134 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

And wiTing her claws, poor thing, 
But was far too proud to speak ; 

She tucked her head under her wing. 
And pretended to be asleep. 

A lark, arm-in-arm with a thrush. 

Came sauntering up to the place ; 
The nightingale felt herself blush, 

Though feathers hid her face ; 
She knew they had heard her song, 

She felt them snicker and sneer ; 
She thought that life was too long, 

And wished she could skip a year. 

" nightingale !" cooed a dove ; 

" nightingale ! what 's the use ? 
You bird of beauty and love, 

"VMiy behave like a goose ? 
Do n't sulk away from our sight. 

Like a common, contemptible fowl. 
You bird of joy and dehght, 

"Why behave like an owl ? 

" Only think cf all you have done ; 

Only think of all you can do ; 
A false note is really fun 

From such a bird as you ! 
Lift up your proud little crest, 

Open your musical beak ; 
Other birds have to do their best, 

You need only to speak !" 



HUMILITY. 135 

The nightingale shyly took 

Her head from under her wing, 
And, giving the dove a look, 

Straightway began to sing. 
There was never a bird that could piss ; 

The night was divinely calm ; 
And the people stood on the grass 

To hear that wonderful psalm ! 

The nightingale did not care, 

She only sang to the skies ; 
Her song ascended there, 

And there she fixed her eyes. 
The people that stood below 

She knew but little about ; 
And this tale has a moral, I know, 

If you 'U try and find it out ! 

JEXS TSOYiaW- 



IJumiUtij. 

THE bird that soars on highest wing 
Builds on the ground her lowly nest ; 
And she that doth most sweetly sing, 

Sings in the shade, where all things rest ; 
Tn lark and nightingale we see 
What honor hath humility. 

When Mary chose "the better part," 
She meekly sat at Jesus' feet ; 



1S6 POEMS OF HOME LIFE, 

And Lydia's gently opened heart 

Was made for God's own temple meet : 
Fairest and best adorned is she 
"Whose clothing is humihty. 

The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown 

In deepest adoration bends ; 
The weight of glory bows him down 

Then most, when most his soul ascends. 
Nearest the throne itself must be 
The footstool of humility. montgomeby. 



I 



HAVE enough, God ! my heart to-night 
Euns over with its fulness of content ; 
And as I look out on the fragrant stars. 
And from the beauty of the night take in 
My priceless portion — yet mj'self no more 
Than in the universe a grain of sand — 
I feel His glory who could make a world, 
Yet in the lost depths of the wilderness 
Leave not a flower unfinished. 

Rich, though poor 
My low-roofed cottage is this hour a heaven. 
Music is in it — and the song she sings, 
That sweet-voiced wife of mine, arrests the ear 
Of my young child awake upon her knee ; 



WHY THUS LONGING? 137 

And, with his calm eyes on his master's face. 
My noble hound lies couchant ; and all here - 
All in this little home, yet boundless heaven- - 
Are, in such love as I have power to give, 
Blessed to overflowing. 

Thou who look'st 
Ui)on my brimming heart this tranquil eve, 
Knowest its fulness, as thou dost the dew 
Sent to the hidden violet by thee ; 
And as that flower, from its unseen abode, 
Sends its sweet breath up, duly, to the sky, 
Changing its gift to incense, so, God, 
May the sweet drops that to my humble cup 
Find their far way from heaven, send up to Tbee 
Fragrance at thy throne welcome ! wilub. 



w 



Whij thus hou^iug"^. 

IIY thus longing, thus for ever sighing 
For the fiir-ofi", unattained and dim ; 
While the beautiful all round thee lying 
Offers up its low perpetual hymn ? 



Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching 
All thy restless yearning it would still. 

Leaf and flower and laden bee are preaching 
Thine own snhere though humble first to fill. 



'j8 POEMS OK HOME LIFE. 

I'oor indeed thou must be, if around thee 
Thou no ray of Hght and joy canst throw ; 

If no silken cord of love hath bound thee 
To some httle world through weal or woe. 

If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten, 
No fond voices answer to thine own ; 

If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten 
By tender sympathy and gentle tone. 

Not by deeds that win the crowd's applauses ; 

Not by works that give thee world-renown ; 
Not by martyrdom or vaunted crosses, 

Canst thou win and wear the immortal crown. 

Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely, 
Every day a rich reward will give ; 

Thou wilt find by hearty striving only, 
Truly loving thou canst truly live. 

MRa USZT. 



Vl(x Jici Falls Fruitless. 

Cf CORN not the shghtest word or deed, 
f-^ Nor deem it void of power ; 

There 's fruit in each wind- wafted seed 

That waits its natal hour. 
A whispered word may touch the heart, 

And call it back to life ; 
A look of love bid sin depart, 
And still unholy strife. 



THE CRUSE THAT FAILETH NOT. 139 

No act falls fruitless ; none can tell 

How vast its power may be, 
Nor what results infolded dwell 

"Within it silently. 
Work on, despair not, bring thy mite, 

Nor care how small it be ; 
God is with all that serve the right, 

The holy, true, and free. 



The erase that Failcth lUU 

"there is that scattereth, and yet INCREASETH." 
TS thy cruse of comfort wasting? 
G Kise and share it with another. 
And through all the years of famine 
It shall serve thee and thy brother. 

Love divine will fill thy storehouse, 
Or thy handful still renew ; 

Scanty fare for one will often 
Make a royal feast for two. 

For the heart grows rich in giving ; 

All its wealth is hving grain ; 
Seeds, which mildew in the garner, 

Scattered, fill with gold the plain. 

Is thy burden hard and heavy ? 

Do thy steps drag heavily ? 
Help to bear thy brother's burden j 

God will bear both it and thee. 



> 40 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Numb and weary on the mountains, 
Woultlst thou sleep amid the snow? 

Chafe that frozen form beside thee, 
And together both shall glow. 

Art thou stricken in life's battles ? 

Many wounded round thee moan ; 
La\ish on their wounds thy balsams. 

And that balm shall heal thine own. 

Is thy heart a well left empty ? 

None but God its void can fill ; 
Nothing but a ceaseless fountain 

Can its ceaseless longings filL 

Is thy heart a li^-iug power ? 

Self-entwined its strength sinks low ; 
It can only Uve in loving, 

And by serving, love will grow. 

Mi;3. CHABT.FS 



CjPEAK gently— it is better far 
f"^ To rule by love than fear ; 

Speak gently, let not hai-sh words mar 
The good we might do here. 

Speak gently — love should whisper low 
To friends when fixults we find ; 

Gently let tnithful accents flow, 
Aflfeetion's voice is kind. 



SrEAK GENTLY. 141 

Speak gently to the little child, 

Its love be sure to gain ; 
Teach it in accents soft and mild ; 

It may not long remain. 

Speak gently to the yonng, for they 

"Will have enough to bear ; 
Pass through this life as best they may, 

'T is fall of anxious care. 

Speak gently to the aged one, 

Grieve not the careworn heart : 
The sands of life are nearly run ; 

Let such in peace depart 
Speak gently, kindly to the poor, 

Let no harsh tone be heard ; 
They have enough they must endure 

"Without an unkind word. 
Speak gently to the eiTing, know 

That thou art also man ; 
Perchance unkindness drove them so : 

Oh win them back again. 
Speak gently, for 't is like the Lord, 

"Whose accents, meek and mild, 
Bespoke him as the Son of God, 

The gracious holy child- 

"Washed in his blood, redeemed to life. 

The family of heaven 
Flee from all anger, wrath and strife. 

Forgive as they 're forgiven. 



»42 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 



^ 



" WHAT I SPENT I HAD ; 
WHAT I KEPT I LOST ; 
WHAT I GAVE I HAVEl" oij) rilT 

YEEY coin of earthly treasure 

We have lavished upon earth, 
For our simple worldly pleasure, 

May be reckoned something worth ; 
For the spending was not losing 

Though the purchase were but small ; 
It has perished with the using ; 

We have had it — that is all ! 

All the gold we leave behind us 

When we turn to dust again, 
Though our avarice may bhnd us, 

We have gathered quite in vain : 
Since we neither can direct it. 

By the winds of fortune tossed. 
Nor in other worlds expect it. 

What we hoarded we have lost ! 
But each merciful oblation, 

Seed of pity wisely sown — 
What we give in self-negation. 

We may safely call our own ; 
For the treasure freely given 

Is the treasure that we hoard, 
Since the angels keep, in heaven, 

What is lent unto the Lord ! 



OVER AND OVER AGAIN. 143 



Sympathy* 



THE blessings wliicli the poor and weak can scatter 
Have their own season. 'T is a little thing 
To give a cup of water ; j^et its draught 
Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips, 
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame 
More exquisite than when nectarean juice 
Renews the life of joy in happiest hours. 
It is a Httle thing to speak a phrase 
Of common comfort which by daily use 
Has almost lost its sense ; yet on the ear 
Of him who thought to die unmourned 'twill fall 
Like choicest music ; fill the glazing eye 
"With gentle tears ; relax the knotted hand 
To know the bonds of fellowship again ; 
And shed on the departing soul a sense 
More precious than the benison of friends 
About the honored deathbed of the rich — 
To him who else were lonely, that another 
Of the great family is near and feels. 

TALFOrRIX 



•9 



0i;^r and 0vcv ^gain» 

YEB. and over again, 

No matter which way I turn, 
1 always find in the book of life 

Some lesson I have to Icam. 



«44 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

I must take my turn at the mill, 
I must grind out the golden grain, 

I must work at my task -vvdth a resolute will. 
Over and over again. 

We cannot measure the need 

Of even the tiniest flower, 
Nor check the flow of the golden sands 

That run through a single hour ; 
But the morning dews must fall. 

And the sun and the summer rain 
Must do their part, and perform it all 

Over and over again. 

Over and over again 

The brook through the meadows flows, 
And over and over again 

The ponderous mill-wheel goes. 
Once doing will not suffice. 

Though doing be not in vain ; 
And a blessing failing us once or twice, 

M?iy come if we try again. 

The path that has once been trod 

Is never so rough to the feet ; 
And the lesson we once have learned 

Is never so hard to repeat. 
Though sorrowful tears must fall. 

And the heart to its depths be driven 
With storm and tempest, we need them all 

To render us meet for heaven. 



WHICH? **5 



WHICH shaU it be ? Which shall it be T 
1 looked at John— John looked at me : 
Dear patient John, who loves me yet, 
As well as though my loclcs were jet 
And when I found that I must speak, 
My voice seemed strangely low and weak : 
*« Tell me again what Eobert said 1" 
And then I listening bent my head, 
"This is his letter: 

" 'I will give 
A house and land while you shall live, 
If, in return, from out your seven, 
One child to me for aye is given.' " 
I looked at John's old garments worn, 
I thought of all that John had borne 
Of poverty, and work, and care, 
^Vhich I, though billing, could not share ; 
I thought of seven mouths to feed, 
Of seven httle children's need. 
And then of this. 

"Come, John," said I, 
"We'll choose among them as they lie 
Asleep :" so walking hand in hand. 
Dear John and I surveyed our band. 
First to the cradle light we stepped, 
Where Lihan the baby slept, 

Pucui* of Home Life. iU 



»46 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

A glory 'gainst the pillow white. 
Softly the father stooped to lay 
His rough hand down in loving way, 
When dream or whisper made her stir. 
And huskily he said : "Not her !" 

We stooped beside the trundle-bed, 
And one long ray of lampUght shed 
Athwart the boyish faces there. 
In sleep so pitiful and fair ; 
I saw on Jamie's rough red cheek, 
A tear undried. Ere John could speak, 
"He 's but a baby, too," said I, 
And kissed him as we hurried by. 

Pale, patient Eobbie's angel face 
StiU in liis sleep bore suflfeilag's trace : 
"No, for a thousand crowns, not him," 
He whispered, while our eyes were dim. 

Poor Dick ! bad Dick ! our wayward son. 
Turbulent, reckless, idle one — • 
Could he be spared? "Nay, He who gave 
Bade us befriend him to the grave ; 
Only a mother's heart can be 
Patient enough for such as he ; 
And so," said John, "I would not dare 
To send him from her bedside prayer.** 

Then stole we softly up above 
And knelt by Mary, child of love. 



A LITTLE GOOSEY. M 1 

" Perhaps for lier 't would better be," 
I said to John. Quite silently 
He Ufted up a curl that lay 
Across her cheek in wilful way, 
And shook his head. "Nay, love, not thee 
The while my heart beat audibly. 

Only one more, our eldest lad, 
Trusty and truthful, good and glad- 
So like his father. " No, John, no— 
I can not, will not let him go." 

And so we wrote, in courteous way, 

We could not drive one child away. 

And afterward, toil Hghter seemed. 

Thinking of that of which we dreamed, 

Happy in truth that not one face 

We missed from its accustomed placo ; 

Thankful to work for all the seven. 

Trusting the rest to One in heaven 1 

Mks. E. L. Be_rs. 

THE chill November day was done, 
The working world home faring, 
The wind came roaring through the streets 

And set the gas lamps flaring ; 
And hopelessly and aimlessly 

The scared old leaves were flying. 
When mingled with the sighing wind 
I heard a small voice crjdng ; 



M? POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

And shivering on the corner stood 

A child of four or over ; 
No cloak nor hat her small soft arms 

And wind-blown curls to cover. 
Her dimpled face was st&ined with tears ; 

Her round blue eyes ran over ; 
She cherished in her wee cold hand 

A bunch of faded clover. 

And, one hand round her treasure, while 

She sUpped in mine the other, 
Half-scared, half-confidential, said, 

" Oh, please I want my mother T' 
" Tell me your street and number, pet .; 

Don't cry, I'll take you to it." 
Sobbing, she answered, "I forget • 

The organ made me do it. 

* He came and played at Milly's steps. 

The monkey took the money, 
And so I followed down the street. 

The monkey was so funny ; 
I 've walked about a hundred hours, 

From one street to another ; 
The monkey 's gone, I 've spoiled my flowers ; 

Oh, please, I want my mother !" 

"But, what's your mother's name, and what 
The street ? Now think a minute." 

"My mother's name is 'Mamma dear'; 
The street — ^I can't begin it" 



A LITTLE GOOSEY. MQ 

'* But what is sti*ange about the house, 

Or new, not like the others?" 
"I guess you mean my truudle-bed, 

Mine and my httle brother's. 

" Oh, dear ! I ought to be at home, 

To help him say his prayers, 
He 's such a baby, he forgets, 

And we are both such players — 
And there 's a bar between to keep 

From pitching on each other. 
For Harry rolls when he 's asleep. 

Oh, dear ! I want my mother." 

The sky grew stormy ; people passed 

All muffled, homeward faring ; 
"You'll have to spend the night with me," 

I said at last, despairing. 
I tied a kerchief round her neck — 

"What ribbon's this, my blossom?" 
*' Why, do n't you know ?" she smiling asked, 

And drew it from her bosom, 

A card with number, street, and name ! 

My eyes astonished met it ; 
'*For," said the little one, "you see 

I might sometimes forget it ; 
And so I wear a httle thing. 

That tells you all about it ; 
for mother says she 's very sure 

I would get lost without it." 



iSO POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 



"Vy 



HAT shall I do with aU the days and hours 
That must be counted ere I see thy face ? 

How shall I charm the intenral that lowers 
Between this time and that sweet time of gi-ace ? 

Shall I in slumber steep each vreary sense — 
Wear}'' with longing ? Shall I flee away 

Into past days, and with some fond pretence 
Cheat myself to forget the present day ? 

Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin 
Of casting from me God's great gilt of time ? 

Shall I, these mists of memory 1-xked within, 
Leave and forget hfe's purposes subhme ? 

Oh how or by what means may I contrive 
To bring the hour that brings thee back moro 
near? 

How may I teach my drooping hope to live 
Until that blessed time, and thou art here ? 

I '11 tell thee ; for thy sake I wiU lay hold 
Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee. 

In worthy deeds, each moment that is told 
While thou, beloved one ! art far from me. 

For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try 
All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains; 

For thy dear sake I will walk patiently 

Through these long hours, nor call theil 
minutes pains. 



THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS. 15I 

I will tills dreary blank of absence make 
A noble task-time, and will therein strive 

To follow excellence, and to o'ertake 
More good than I have won since yet I live; 

So may this doomed time build up in me 

A thousand graces which shall thus be thine : 

So may my love and longing hallowed be. 
And thy dear thought an influence divine. 

MKS, BUTLEE. 

* 

Thi3 md man's Comforts. 

You are old, father William," the young man cried, 
*' The locks which are left you are gray ; 
You are hale, father William, a hearty old man ; 
Now tell me the reason, I pray." 

" In the days of my youth," father William replied, 
"I remembered that youth would fly fast. 

And abused not my health and my vigor at first, 
That I never might need them at last." 

"You are old, father William," the young man cried, 
" And pleasures with youth pass away ; 

And j'et you lament not the days that are gone ; 
Now tell me the reason, I pray." 

" In the days of my youth," father William replied, 
"I remembered that youth could not last ; 

I thought of the future, whatever I did, 
That I never might grieve for the past." 



152 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

"You are old, father William," the young man cried, 

"And life must be hasting away ; 
X ou are cheerful, and love to converse upon death ; 

Now tell me the reason, I pray. " 

" I am cheerful, young man," fiither "William replied. 

'*Let the cause thy attention engage : . 
f u the days of my youth I remembered my God, 

And he hath not forgotten my age." soittiiet. 



^ge (xi Cluldri3n i-i^ppicst. 



I 



SAW the little boy. 

In thought how oft that he 
Did wish of God to 'scape the rod, 
A tall young man to be. 

The young man eke that feels 
His bones with work opprest. 

How he would be a rich old man, 
To live and lie at rest. 

The rich old man that sees 

His end draw on so sore, 
How would he be a hoy again, 

To live so much the more. 

Whereat full oft I smiled 

To see how all those three, 
"From, boy to man, from man to boy, 

Would chop and change degree. 

EARL or SUIUIET, ICTH CENTnR'S 



GOING HOME. 153 



Going Viomc, 



'W 



HERE are you going so fast, old man, 

Where are you going so fast ? 
There 's a valley to cross and a river to ford, 
There 's a clasp of the hand and a parting word. 
And a tremulous sigh for the past, old man — 
The beautiful vanished past. 

The road has been rugged and rough, old man. 

To your feet it 's rugged and rough ; 
But you see a dear being with gentle eyes 
Has shared in your labor and sacrifice. 
Ah, that has been sunshine enough, old man, 

For you and me, sunshine enough. 

How long since you passed o'er the hill, old man. 

Of life — o'er the top of the hill ? 
Were there beautiful valleys on t' other side ; 
Were there flowers and trees, with their branches 

wide. 
To shut out the heat of the sun, old man, 

The heat of the fervid sun ? 

And how did you cross the waves, old man. 

Of sorrow — the fearful waves ? 
Did you lay your dear treasures by, one by one, 
With an aching heart and " God's will be done,' 
Under the wayside dust, old man, 

In the graves 'neath the wayside dust? 



I 54 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

There is sorrow and labor for all, old man ; 

Alas, there is sorrow for all ; 
And you, peradventure, have had your share, 
For eighty long winters have whitened your hair, 
And they 've whitened your heart as well, old man. 

Thank God, your heart as well. 

You 're now at the foot of the hill, old man, 

At last at the foot of the hill ; 
The sun has gone down in a golden glow, 
And the heavenly city lies just below : 
Go in through the pearly gate, old man, 

The beautiful pearly gate. 



f^ 



I'm {S^raiving: 01 d, 

Y days pass pleasantly away. 

My nights are blessed with sweetest sleep, 
I feel no symptoms of decay, 

I have no cause to mourn or weep ; 
My foes are impotent and shy, 

!My friends are neither false nor cold ; 
And yet of Late I often sigh — 

I 'm growing old. 

My growing talk of olden times, 
My growing thirst for early news. 

My growing apathy to rhymes, 
My growing love of easy shoes, 



I'M GROWING OLD. 1^5 

My growing hate of crowds and noise. 

My growing fear of catching cold, 
All tell me in the plainest voice — 
I 'm growing old ! 

I 'm growing fonder of my staff, 
I 'm growing dimmer in the eyes, 

1 'm growing fainter in my laugh, 
I m growing deeper in my sighs, 

I 'm growing careless in my di'ess, 
I 'm growing frugal of my gold, 

I 'm growing wise, I 'm gro\\'ing — yea, 
I 'm growing old ! 

I feel it in my changing taste, 

I see it in my changing hair, 
I see it in my growing waist, 

I «ee it in my growing heir ; 
A thousand hints proclaim the truth 

As plain as truth was ever told. 
That even in my haunted youth — 
I 'm growing old ! 

Ah me ! my very laurels breathe 

The tale in m^ reluctant ears ; 
And every boon the hours bequeath. 

But makes me debtor to the years ; 
E'en Flattery's honeyed words declare 

The secret she would fain withhold, 
And tell me in " How young you are !" 
I 'm growing old ! 



156 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Thfiuks for tlie year whose rapid flight 
My sombre muse too gladly sings ; 

Thanks for the gleams of golden hght 
That tint the darkness of their wings; 

The hght that beams from out the sky. 
Those heavenly mansions to unfold, 

Where all are blest and none shall sigh, 
" I 'm growing old !" 

J. O SAXE. 

Towards Eur^ning. 

*rtATHEK, the shadows fall 
J Along my way ; 

'T is past the noon of day ; 
My "westering sun" tells that the eve is near; 
I know, but feel no fear. 
And loved ones have gone home — 

A holy band. 
I hear them call me from the spirit land — 

A gentle call, 
Yes, dear ones, I shall come. 

O, not alone ! though now 

I lead the van, 
And with uncovered head 
Press on where others led 

"When my young life began* 
I am not left alone. 
Though they are gone. 



REST. 1 5 1 

Sweet voices of the past, 

And of to-day — 
The loved that cheer my way 
And twine around my heart, 
Tell me how good thou art. 

O holy light and love ! 
Beam on my soul. 
My inmost life control ; 
Then may each pure thought spring ; 
And peace, v.'ith gentle wing. 

Brood like the dove. 



HEST is not quitting 
This busy career ; 
Best is the fitting 
Of self to one's sphere. 

'T is the brook's motion, 

Clear without strife. 
Fleeing to the ocean 

After its life. 

T is loving and serving 

The highest and best ; 
T is onward, unswerving : 

And this is true rest. ookthk. 



158 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 



I 



Thr^jc Old Saius. 

F the world seems " cold" to you 

Kindle fires to warm it ! 
Let tlieir comfort hide from view 

"Winters that deform it. 
Hearts as frozen as your own 

To that radiance gather ; 
You will soon forget to moan 

"Ah ! the cheerless weather !' 

If the world 's a "wilderness," 

Go build houses in it ! 
"Will it help your loneliness 

On the winds to din it ? 
Raise a hut, however slight ; 

"\\''eeds and brambles smother, 
And to roof and meal in\'ite 

Some forlomer brother. 

If the world 's "a vale of tears," 

Smile till rainbows span it ! 
Breathe the love that life endears ; 

Clear from clouds to fan it. 
Of your gladness lend a gleam 

Unto souls that shiver ; 
Show them how dark sorrow's stream 

Blends \dth hope's bright river. 



AS THOU WILT. »5y 

The Bablc flature* 

TT is not growing like a tree 

o In bulk, doth make man better be ; 

Or standing long an oak three hundred year, 

To full a log at last, dry, bald, and sere ; 
A lily of a day 
Is fairer far in May, 

Although it fall and die that night ; 

It was the plant and flower of Light. 

In small proportions we just beauty see ; 

And in short measures life may perfect be. 

BEN JONSON. 



I 



^s Thou Wilt. 

T is so sweet to live 

My Httle life to-day 
That I would never leave it, if 

I might for ever stay ! 

I sometimes say. 

I am so weary. Lord, 

I would lie down for aye. 
Could I but hear thee speak the word ; 

•' Thy sins are washed away !" 

I sometimes say. 



i 60 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

The better mood that hes 
These moods between midway, 

Comes softly, and I lift my eyes, 
"Lord, as thou wilt !" I jiray ; 
And would alway. h. m. kimball 



hxiiU IRamcnts, 

T ITTLE moments, how they fly, 
Cf Golden-winged, flitting by. 

Bearing manj^ things for me 

Into vast eternity ! 

Never do they wait to ask. 
If completed is my task. 
Whether gathering grain or weeds, 
Doing good or evil deeds ; 
Onward haste they evermore, 
Adding all unto their store ! 

And the little moments keep 
Kecord if we wake or sleep. 
Of our every thought and deed. 
For us all some time to read. 

Artists are the moments too, 
Ever painting something new, 
On the walls and in the air. 
Painting pictures cverywhero ! 



THE CHILD ON THE JUDGMENT-SEAT. l 'J 1 

If we smile or if we frown. 

Little moments put it down, 
And the angel, memory. 
Guards the whole eternally ! 

Let us then so careful be. 
That they bear for you and mc, 
On their little noiseless viings 
Only good and pleasant things ; 
And that pictures which they paint 
Have no background of complaint : 
So the angel, memory, 
May not blush for you and me ! 



The Ghild on the Judgment-seat, 

WHERE hast thou been toiling all day, sweet heart, 
That thy brow is burdened and sad? 
The Master's work may make weary feet 
But it leaves the spuit glad. 

Was thy garden nipi^ed with the midnight frosts, 
Or scorched with the mid-day glare ? 

Were thy vines laid low, or thy liJies cruahed. 
That thy face is so full of care ? 

•'No pleasant garden-toils were mine, 

I have sat on the judgment-seat, 
WTiere the Master sits at eve, and calls 

The children around his feet" 

Poviii* of Hotne Life. XX 



l62 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

How earnest thou on the judgment-seat, 

Sweet heart, who set thee there ? 
'T is a lonely and lofty seat for thee, 

And well might fill thee with care. 

** I climbed on the judgment-seat myself ; 

I have sat there alone all day, 
For it grieved me to see the children around 

Idling their life away. 

♦* They wasted the Master's precious seed, 

They wasted the precious hours ; 
They trained not the vines, nor gathered the fruits, 

And they trampled the sweet meek flowers.." 

But how fared thy garden-plot, sweet heart, 
Whilst thou sat'st on the judgment-seat? 

Who watered thy roses, and trained thy vines 
And kept them from careless feet ? 

"Nay, that is the saddest of all to me, 

That is saddest of all ! 
My vines are trailing, my roses are parched. 

My lilies droop and fall. " 

Go back to thy garden-plot, sweet heart, 

Go back till the evening falls. 
And bind thy lilies, and train thy vines, 

Till for thee the Master calls. 



BURIED TO-DAY. 

Go make thy garden fair as tliou canst, 

Thou workest never alone ; 
Perchance he whose plot is next to thine 

Will see it and mend his own. 

And the next may copy his, sweet heart, 

Till all grows fair and sweet ; 
And when the Master comes at eve, 

Happ3' faces his coming will greet. 

Then shall thy joy be full, sweet heart, 

In the garden so fair to see, 
In the I^Iaster's words of praise to all, 

In a look of his own for thee. mus. rHARtJEd. 



163 



Buried T^-lllaij. 

'iDUrvIED to-day ! 

7"^ When the soft green buds are bursting out, 

And up on the south wind comes a shout 

Of village boys and girls at play 

In the mild spring evening gray. 
* * * * * 

Enters to-day 

Another body in churchyard sod, 

Another sonl on the life in God. 

Our Christ was buried", and Uvcs alway : 

Tbust Him, and go your way. miss mth-ock 



64 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

The Funetal Bell 

"irtEOM the tower, 
J Heavy, slow. 
Tolls the funeral 
Bell of woe, 
Sad and solemn, with its kneU attending 
Some new wand'rer on the last way wending. 

To mother Earth's dark, silent bosom 

The husbandmen the seed consign. 
And hope that it will swell and blossom, 

And bless the sower, by laws divine. 
Still costher seed in sorrow bringing. 

We hide within the lap of earth, 
And hope that from the coffin springing, 

'T will bloom in brighter beauty forth. 

SCHILLER. 



<? 



^Onli} a ^eav |igo. 

NE year — one year — one little year, 

And so much gone ! 

And yet the even flow of Ufa 

Moves calmly on. 

The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair 

Above that head ; 
No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray 
, Says he is dead. 



SAFE. 



16": 



No pause or Lush of meny birds, 

That sing above, 
Tells us how coldly sleeps below 

The form we love. 

Where hast thou been this year, beloved ? 

What hast thou seen ? 
What visions fair, what glorious life ? 

^V^lere hast thou been ? 

The veil ! the veil ! so thin, so strong, 

Twixt us and thee. 
The mystic veil ! when shall it fall. 

That we may see ? 

Not dead, not sleeping, not e'en gone, 

But present still, 
And waiting for the coming hour 

Of God's sweet will. 

Lord of the living and the dead. 

Our Saviour dear, 
We lay in silence at thy feet 

This sad, sad year. mbs. stowe. 



Safe. 



W 



RITE it down, angel, in the book. 
Among the lambs of my fair flock. 
One more dear name shall be engraved — 
♦ By Jesus saved !' " 



i66 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

The angel paused aud wrote it down. 
And turned and touched a glowing crown 
On which the precious sentence gleamed — 
"By Christ redeemed !" 

It was our lamb whose name was there, 
So precious to our hearts, so fair, 
That oft we trembled as he dreamed. 
So near to heaven he seemed. 

Ah me ! we would have stayed the hand 
"Which led him to the beauteous land ! 
But troops of little ones came down 
To lead him to his crown ! 

And as he joined the glittering throng, 
We almost heard the shout and song 
Of countless darhngs, gone before 

Unto the shining shore ! c. c, o. 



U 



not Ujead. but SUi^peth/^ 



THE baby wept ; 
The mother took it from the nurse's arms, 
And soothed its griefs, and stilled its vain alarms; 
And baby slept 

Again it weeps, 
And God doth take it from the mother's arms, 
From present pain and future unknown harms ; 

And baby sleeps ! de. Hmoa 



TAKING FLIGHT. 167 

\^u ^ugel in the ioousc. 

IJOW sweet it were, if \nthout feeble fright, 
J Or djing of the dreadful beauteous sight, 
An angel came to us, and we could bear 
To see him issue from the silent air 
At evening in our room, and bend on ours 
His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers 
News of dear fiiends, and children who have never 
Been dead indeed — as we shall know for ever. 
Alas ! we think not what we daily see 
About our hearths — angels that are to be, 
Or may be if they will, and we prepare 
Their souls and ours to meet in happy air— 
A child, a friend, a wife, whose soft heart sings 
In unison with ours, breeding its future wings. 

L. HUST. 



Tahing Flight. 



^ 



ND she is gone : sweet human love is gone ! 
'T is only when they spring to heaven, that angels 
Reveal themselves to you : they sit all day 
Beside you, and lie down at night by you. 
Who care not for their presence, muse or sleep — 
And all at once they leave you, and you know them. 

SEOWWINO. 



68 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 



¥/ 



Besidx3 the Eiuer. 

E stood beside the river 

"Where all our souls must go, 

Bearing a loved one in our arms, 

Oar hearts repeating the alarms 

That came across the river ; 
And saw the sun decline in mist, 
That rose until her brow it kissed, 

And left it cold as snow. 

"Watching beside the river, 

"With every ebb and flow. 
Fond hopes within our hearts would spring, 
"Until another warning ring 

Came o'er the fearful river. 
"We saw the flush, the brightness fade, 
The loving lips looked giieved and sad. 

The white hands whiter grow. 

"Watching by the river, 

"With anguish none can tell. 
And trembhng hearts and hands, we strove 
To save the darhng of our love 

From going down the river ! 
Oh, powerless, but to weep and pray, 
And grieve for one who, far away, 

Had said his last forewcll. 



BESIDE THE RIVER. 1G9 

Weeping by the river, 

There came a blessed time, 
A solemn cahn spread all around. 
Making it seem like holy ground, 

Beside the silent liver. 
The -world receding from our eyes. 
Caught gleams of that dear land -which lies 

In Canaan's happy clime ! 

And there, beside the river, 

Came lessons strange and s-«-eet, 
The perfect -work of patience done. 
The -warfare finished, -victory -won 

"With -weak hands by the river ! 
The childlike fear, the clinging love. 
The darkness brightened from above, 

The peace at Jesus' feet ! 

"Waiting by the river. 

Through mingled night and day, 
Sweet memories round our hearts -we bring, 
Of Jesus' love and heaven we sing. 

To soothe her by the river ; 
And -wept for one whose heart -^'ould break. 
Be pitiful, for Jesus' sake. 

Father in heaven, we pray. 

Standing by the river, 

"We closed the -weary eyes ; 
In Jesus' arms -we laid her down, 
A lovely jewel for his crown. 



• 70 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

He bore her throngh the river, 
And clothed her in a robs so white, 
Too beautiful for mortal sight, 

And took her to the skies ! 



The Beautiful Gate. 

AX/HEX mysterious whispers are floating about, 

Y And voices that will not be still 
Shall summon me hence from the sUppery shore 

To the waves that are silent and still ; 
When I look ■«-ith changed eyes at the home of the blest, 

Far out of the reach of the sea. 
Will any one stand at that beautiful gate 

Waiting and watching for me ? 

There are friendless and suffering strangers around. 

There are tempted and poor I must meet ; 
There are dear ones at home I may bless with my love 

There are wretched ones pacing the street ; 
There are many unthought of, whom, happy and blqst. 

In the land of the good I shall see : 
WiU any of these at the beautiful gate 

Be waiting and watching for me ? 

There are old and forsaken, who linger awhile 
In the homes which their doarest have left. 

And an action of love and a few gentle wordB 
Might cheer the sad spirit bereft ; 



ONE BY ONE. 17I 

But the reaper is near to the long-standing com, 

The weary shall soon be set free ; 
Will any of these at the beautiful gate 

Be waiting and watching for me ? 

rhere are little ones glancing about on my ijath 

In need of a friend or a guide ; 
There are dim Uttle eyes looking up into mine, 

"Whose tears could be easily dried ; 
But Jesus may beckon the children away 

In the midst of their grief or their glee : 
Will any of them at the beautiful gate 

Be waiting and watching for me ? 

I may be brought there by the manifold grace 

Of the Sa^'iour who loved to forgive, 
Though I bless not the hungry ones near to my side, 

Only pray for myself while I live ; 
But I think I should mourn o'er my selfish neglect, 

If sorrow in heaven can be, 
If no one should stand at that beautiful gate 

Waiting and watching for me ! 



0ne by 0xie. 

THEY are gathering homeward from every land. 
One by one ; 
As their weary feet touch the shining strand. 
One by one, 



172 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Their brows are enclosed iu a golden crown, 
Their travel-stained garments are all laid down, 
And, clothed with white raiment, they rest on the mead, 
^Vhere the Lamb loveth his chosen to lead. 
One by one. 

Before they rest they pass through the strife, 

One by one ; 
Through the waters of death they enter Ufe, 

One by one. 
To some are the floods of the river still. 
As they ford their way to the heavenly hill ; 
To others the waves run fiercely and wild, 
Yet all reach the home of the undefiled, 

One by one. 

We too shall come to the river's side. 

One by one ; 
"We are nearer its waters each even-tide. 

One by one : 
We can hear the noise and dash of the stream. 
Now and again, through our life's deep dream ; 
Sometimes the floods o'er the bank o'erflow, 
Sometimes in ripples the small waves go. 

One by one. 

Jesus ! Redeemer ! we look to thee, 

One by one ; 
We lift up our voices tremblingly, 

One by one. 



POOR MAN'S SUNDAV. 17 9 

The waves of the river are dark and cold, 
We know not the spots where our feet may hold ; 
Thou wh*: didst pass through in deep midnight, 
Strengthen us, send us the staff and the light, 
One by one. 

Plant thou thy feet beside as we tread. 

One by one ; 
On thee let us lean each drooping head. 

One by one : 
Let but thy mighty arm around us be twined, 
We '11 cast all our fears and cares to the wind. 
Saviour ! Kedeemer ! with thee full in view, 
Smihngly, gladsomsly, shall we pass through, 

One by one. 



w 



X fMv IHan^s Sundaij* 

E thank thee, Lord, for one day, 

To look heaven in the face ! 
The poor have only Sunday ; 

The sweeter is the grace. 
'T is then they make the music 

That sings their week away, 
Oh there 's a sweetness infinite 

In the poor man's Sabbath-day I 

'T is as a burst of sunshine 

A tender fall of rain, 
That set the barest life abloom, 

Make old hearts young again. 



174 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

The dry and dusty roadside 
"Willi smiling flowers is gay ; 

'T is open heaven one day in seven, 
The poor man's Sabbath-day ! 

GEBALD iiAtSStS. 



g-oing to Sundatj-SchooK 



<) 



N Sunday morning early, 
"WTiile yet the grass is pearly ; 

The air is bright and cool ; 
AH clad in our best graces, 
"With rosy morning faces, 

"We go to the Sunday-school ! 

To-day is life in blossom — 
Heartsease in every bosom. 

And all is beautiful, 
A spirit vrithin us springing 
At heaven's gate "will be singing 

Thanks for the Sunday-school ! 

"We sun us in its brightness ; 
"We clothe us in its whiteness, 

As doth the wayside pool, 
That holds from mom till even 
Its httle bit of heaven — 

The gladsome Sabbath-school I 

Here learn we how to lighten 
The heaviest lot, and brighten 



NO TIME TO PRAY. i "J 5 

The day most dark with dule, 
And hxj up childhood's treasure, 
To reap immortal pleasure 

Even in a Sunday-school ! 

The summer earth rejoices, 
"With hers we lift our voices 

And heaven blends the whole, 
And when God's angels cover us, 
Drawing the darkness over us. 

They bless the Sundaj'-school ! 

GEKALI) UASSEY. 



¥ 



Jla Time ta Ifray. 

O time to pray ! 

Oh, who so fraught with earthly care 
As not to give to humble prayer 
Some part of day ? 

No time to pray ! 
^Vhat heart so clean, so pure within, 
That needeth not some check from sin- 
Needs not to pray ? 

No time to pray ! 
TSlid each day's danger, what retreat 
More needful than the mercy-seat 2 

Who need not pray ? 



1 16 POEMS OF HOME LIFE 

No time to pray ! 
Must care or business' urgent call 
So press us as to take it all, 

Each passing day ? 

No time to pray ! 
Then sure your record falleth short ; 
Excuse will fail you as resort 

On that last day. 

What thought more drear 
Than that our God his face should hide 
And say, through all life's swelling tide, 

No time to hear ! 

Cease not to pray ; 
On Jesus as your all rely. 
Would you hve happy — happy die ? 

Take time to pray. 



^ 



The Sabbatli Bell. 

OW sweetly through the lengthened dell, 

When wintry airs are mild and clear. 
Floats chiming up the Sabbath bell. 

In softened echoes to the ear ! 
"Come, gentle neighbors, come away," 
So does the welcome summons say ; 
" Come, friends and kindred, 'tis the time.' 
So seems to peal the Sabbath chime. 



THE CELESTIAL SABBATH. 17^ 

Done axe the week's debasing cares, 

And worldly ways and worldly will, 
And eai'th itself an aspect wears 

Like heaven, so bright, so pure, so still ! 
BLark, how by turns each mellow note, 
Now low, now louder, seems to float, 
And falling with the wind's decaj'. 
Like softest music dies away ! 
"And now," it says, " where heaven resorts, 

Come -with a meek and quiet mind ; 
Oh, worship in these earthly courts. 

But leave your earth-born thoughts behind." 
Come, neighbors, while the Sabbath bell 
Peals slowly up the winding dell. 
Come, friends and kindred, let us share 
The sweet and holy rapture there. 



The Gdcstial Sabbath. 

THE golden palace of my God, 
Towering above the clouds, I see. 
Beyond the cherub's bright abode, 

Higher than angels' thoughts can be. 
How can I in these courts appear, 

Without a wedding garment on ? 
Conduct me, thou Life-giver, there, 

Conduct me to thy glorious throne, 
And clothe me with thy robes of light, 
And lead me through sin's darksome night, 

My Saviour and my God. 

ropini of Home Life. 1^ 



178 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Manna in the Bight, 

QjILENTLYitfeU, 

f"^ Whence, no man might tell, 

Like good dreams from heaven 
Unto mortals given. 
Like a snowy flock 
Of strange sea-birds alighting on a shore of rock ; 
Silent thus and bright, 
Fell the manna in the nighi 

Silent thus and bright, 
In our starless night, 
God's sweet mercy comes 
All about our homes ; 
Whence no man can see, 
In a soft shower drifting, drifting ceaselessly. 
Till the morning light. 
Falls the manna in the night. 

Thus His mercy's crown, 
"Bread of life" came doAvn. 
At our doors it fell. 
Whence no man might tell. 
Silent to the ground, 
Softly shining thus through the darkness all around, 
Snowy, pure and white, 
Fell the manna in the uigLt 



? 



THE BETTER COUNTRY. 1 79 



Th^ Better Country. 

"WEET place, sweet place alone, 
The court of God Most Higli, 
The heaven of heavens, the throne 

Of spotless majesty ! 
The stranger homeward bends, 

And sigheth for his rest : 
Heaven is my home ; my friends 
Lodge there in Abram's breast. 
happy place ! 
"WTien shall I be, 
My God, with thee, 
To see thy face ? 

Earth 's but a sorry tent 

Pitched for a few frail days, 
A short-leased tenement ; 

Heaven 's still my song, my praise. 
No tears from any eyes 

Drop in that holy choir ; 
But death itself there dies, 
And sighs themselves expire. 
O happy place ! 
When shaU I be. 
My God, with thee, 
To see thy foce ? 



i8o POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

There should temptations cease ; 
My frailties there should end : 
There should I rest in peace, 

In the arms of my best Friend. 
Jerusalem on high 

My song and city is, 
My home •whene'er I die. 
The centre of my bhss. 
happy place ! 
"When shall I be. 
My God, -with thee, 
To see thy face ? 

Thy walls, sweet city, thine. 
With pearls are garnished ; 
Thy gates ■with praises shine, 

Thy streets with gold are spread ; 
No sun by day shines there. 
Nor moon by silent night : 
Oh no ! these needless are ; 
The Lamb 's the city's light 
happy place ! 
"V\Tien shall I be 
My God, with thee. 
To see thy face ? 

There dwells my Lord, my King, 
Judged here unfit to Hve ; 

There angels to him sing. 
And lowly homage give ; 



JERUSALEM. l8t 

The Lamb's apostles there 
I might with joy behold ; 
The harpers I might hear 
Harping on harps of gold. 
O happy place ! 
WTien shall I be, 
My God, "mith thee, 
To see thy fia.ce ? 

The bleeding martyrs, they 

Within those courts are found, 
All clothed in pure array, 

Their scars with glory crowned. 
Ah me ! ah me ! that I 

In Kedar's tents here stay ! 
No place like this on high ! 
Thither, Lord, guide my way ! 
happy place ! 
When shall I be, 
My God, with thee. 
To see thy face ? camvel cnooaMAK 



Jerusalem, 

JERUSALEM the golden ! 
I weary for one gleam 
Of all thy glory folden 
In distance and in dream 



l%<i POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

My thoughts, like palms in exile. 

Climb up to look and pray 
For a glimpse of thy dear counti-y 

That lies so far away. 

Jerusalem the golden ! 

When sunset 's in the west, 
It seems thy gate of glory. 

Thou city of the blest, 
And midnight's starry torches. 

Through intermediate gloom. 
Are waving with our welcome 

To thy eternal home ! 

Jerusalem the golden ! 

There all our birds that, flew, 
Our flowers but half unfolden. 

Our pearls that turned to dew, 
And all the glad life-music, 

Now heard no longer here, 
Shall come again to greet as 

As we are drawing near. 

Jerusalem the golden ! 

T toil on, day by day ; 
Heartsore each night with longing, 

I stretch my hands and pray. 
That, 'mid thy leaves of heahng, 

My soul may find her nest. 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

The weary are at rest ! oehaud 5iaskk\ 



PLEASURE IN HEAVEN. l8«t 



xtlctisnre in IJ^aucn. 



^ 



ILL it no pleasure be, 
"When faith shall end in kno^^ing, 
Hope to fruition growing, 

The Saviour's face to see ? 
To learn from him the story, 
What vict'ries won our glory — 

Will this no pleasure be ? 

Will it no pleasure be, 
When friends who went before us 
Our God shall there restore us, 

From pain and sickness free ? 
Where sorrows show no traces, 
To meet their glad embraces, 

Will this no pleasure be ? 

Will it no pleasure be, 
Where th' angel-chorus raises 
To God most high their praises, 

With seraphs to agree ? 
And when the skies are ringing. 
To join •'Thrice holy !" singing, 

Will this no pleasure be ? 

Oh yes, there 's pleasure there ! 
Away, earth's glittering bubbles, 
Your joys are full of troubles. 



184 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Your bliss not worth the care 
Then, friends, do not bewail me, 
When heart and flesh shall fail me. 

But think, there 's pleasure there ! 

FBOM THE OE&MAH. 



Etm^nitij ! 

X'TEKNITY, eternity, 
"I How long art thou, eternity ! 
Yet hasteth on toward thee our life. 
E'en as the war-steed to the strife. 
The messenger toward home doth gv), 
Or ship to shore, or bolt from bow. 

Eternity, eternity. 
How long art thou, eternity ! 
As in a globe, so smooth and round, 
Beginning ne'er and end are found. 
Eternity, not more can we 
Beginning find, or end, in thee. 

Eternity, eternity. 
How long art thou, eternity ! 
Thou art a ring of awful mould ; 
"For ever " is thy centre called, 
And "Never " thy circumference wide ; 
For unto thee no end can tide. 



TALITHA, CUMI. 185 

Eternity, eternity, 
How long art tliou, eternity ! 
And if a little bird bore forth 
One single sand-corn from the earth, 
And took in thousand years but one, 
Ere thou wert past, the world were gone ! 

Eternity, eternity. 
How long art thou, eternity ! 
In thee, if every thousandth year. 
An eye should drop one httle tear. 
To hold the water thence would grow, 
Nor heaven nor earth were wide enow. 

Etcmit}', etemitj''. 
How long art thou, eternity ? 
Hear, man ! So long as God shaU reign, 
So long continue hell and pain ; 
So long last heaven and joy also. 
Oh, lengthened joy ! oh, lengthened woe ! 

OERMAM 



Talitha, Gumi ! 

TALITHA, Cumi !" 
"Damsel, arise !" 
And slowly open 
Those death-sealed eyoa 



l86 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Witli a name of endearmeut, 
Tender and soft — 

Her mother had waked her 
From sleep with it oft — 

He calls her spirit 
Beyond the tombs, 

** Talitha, Cumi !" 
She hears and comes. 

The portals of Hades, 
The gates of brass, 

Which through the ages 
None living pass, 

Before those accents 
Quake as with thunder, 

Quiver like aspens, 
And part asunder : 

Open hke flowers 
Touched bj^ the sun ; 

Yet through the portals 
Passeth but one. 

Fearless came through them 
The soul of the child, 

Saw him who called her, 
Knew him, and smiled. 



THE LOVED ONE EVER NIGH. 1«7 

"Talitha, Cumi 1" 

The Saviour spoke ; 
And as from light slumbers 

The dead awoke. 

1IK8. CIf4BLEa. 



The h(>ved 0m Evrer Jiigh. 

THOU art not lost to me, though coldly Ij'ing - 
Beneath the snows ; 
While thy pure spirit to the land is flying 
Of blest repose. 

Death has but loosed the bonds which oft forbade 
thee 

With me to be ; 
The grave holds only what could e'er have made 
thee 

A gi-ief to me. 

From all strange throngs thy loved familiar glances 

Upon me smile, 
And the lone hours when studious thought advances 

Sweetly beguile. 

Thou hearest when I speak with kind approval ; 

And from thy breast 
My weary, aching head finds no removal— 

But peaceful rest. 



l88 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Miue eyes are holden — but my heart beholds thee ] 

Thou join'st my prayer ; 
And thy pure 4ove in heavenly arms enfolds me ] 

With guardian care. 

Up thro' the way to God thou 'rt gently drawing ' 

My faltering feet : \ 

The veil grows thin ; near comes thy low voice calling ; • 

Soon we shaix aieet. i 

' I 

C^PEECHLESS Sorrow sat with me ; 
y I was sighing wearily ! 

Lamp and fire were out ; the rain 

"Wildly beat the window pane ; 

In the dark we heard a knock 

And a hand was on the lock ; 

One in waiting spake to me, 
Saying sweetly, 

"I am come to sup with thee !" 

All my room was dark and damp ; 
"Sorrow," said I, "tiim the lamp ; 
Light the fire, and cheer thy face ; 
Set the guest-chau- in its place." 
And again I heard the knock ; 
Li the dark I found the lock : 
"Enter, I have found the key ! 

Enter, Stranger, 
Who art come to sup with me V 



f^ 



THE OLD FISHERMAN BY THE SEA. 1S9 

Opening wide the door he came, 
But I could not speak his name ; 
In the guest-chair took his place, 
But I could not see his face ;* 
When my cheerful fire was beaming, 
"When my little lamp was gleaming 
And the feast was spread for three, 

Lo ! my Master 
Was the guest that supped with me ! 

H. M. KmBALX- 

* 

Thi3 01d Fisherman by the $ca» 

Y, I was strong 
And able-bodied — loved my work ; but now 
I am a useless hull : 't is time I sunk. 
I am in all men's way; I trouble them ; 
I am a trouble to myself. But yet 
I feel for mariners of stormy nights, 
And feel for wives that watch ashore. Ay, ay, 
If I had learning I would pray the Lord 
To bring them in : but I 'm no scholar, no ; 
Book-learning is rf world too hard for me ; 
But I make bold to say, * Lord ! good Lord ! 
I am a broken-down poor man, a fool 
To speak to thee ; but in the book 't is writ. 
As I hear say from others that can read, 
How, when thou earnest, thou didst love the sea, 
And live with fisherfolk ; whereby 't is sure 
Thou knowest all the peril they go through, 
And all their trouble. 



go POEMS OF HOME LIFE, 

" * As for me, good Loid, 
I have no boat ; I am too old — too old ! 
My lads are drowTied : I buried my poor wife ; 
My little lasses died so long ago 
That mostly I forget "what they were like. 
Thou knowest, Lord, they were such Httle ones 
I know they went to thee, but I forget 
Their faces — though I missed them sore. 

"♦OLord, 
I was a strong man ; I hare drawn good food 
And made good money out of thy great sea, 
But yet I cried for them at nights ; and now 
Although I be so old, I miss my lads. 
And there be many folk this stormy night 
Heavy with fear for theirs. Merciful Lord, 
Comfort them : save their honest boys, their pride, 
And let them hear next ebb, the blessedest 
Best sound — the boat keel grating on the sand. 
" ' I cannot pray with finer words. I know 
Nothing ; I have no learning, cannot learn — 
Too old — too old ! They say I want for naught, 
I have the parish pay. 

"'But I am dull 
Of hearing, and the fire scarce warms mo through. 
God save me ! I have been a sinful man. 
And save the lives of those that still can work, 
For they are good to me ; ay, good to me. 
But, Lord, I am a trouble ! and I sit. 
And I am lonesome, and the nights are fe^ 



THE OLD FISHERMAN BY THE SEA. 1 9 » 

That any tliink to come and draw a cliair, 
And sit in my poor place and talk awhile. 
Why should they come forsooth ? Only the wind 
Knocks at my door. Oh long and loud it knocks, 
The only thing God made that has a mind 
To enter in.'" 

Yea, thus the old man spake : 
These were the last words of his aged mouth. 
But One did knock ! One came to sup with him, 
That humble, weak old man ; knocked at his dooi 
In the rough pauses of the laboring wind. 
I tell you that One knocked while it was dark ; 

What He said 
In that poor place where he did talk awhile, 
I cannot tell : but this I am assured. 
That when the neighbors came the morrow mom, 
What time the wind had bated, and the sun 
Shone on the old man's floor, they saw the smile 
B.e passed away in, and they said, " He looks 
As he had woke and seen the face of Christ, 
And with that rapturous smile held out his arms 
To come to Him." jean ingelow. 



jA 



Y years crowd sail, and pass away 

Before me to eternity. 
How poorly freighted. Lord, are they 

With acts of i^xith and love to thee 1 



J 92 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

^ttex the Eain. 

'PHE old man sits 'ncath the tall elm-trees, 
i And watches the heavens with dreamy e3'es, 
"V\Tiile his white locks stir to the same cool breezo 
That scatters the silver along the skies. 

The old man's eyelids are wet with tears — 

Tear^ of sweet pleasure and sweeter pain, 
For his thoughts are driving back over the years 

Like beautiful clouds after life's long rain. 
Sorrows that drowned all the springs of his life. 

Trials that crushed him with pitiless beat. 
Storms of temptation and tempests of strife, 

Float o'er his memory — tranquil and sweet 

And the old man's spirit, made soft and bright 
By the long, long rain that bent him low, 

Sees a visi(Mi of angels on wings of white. 
In the drooping clouds as they come and go. 



•0 



^uld Man and Wife. 

HAPPY was the gloamin', when 

I gently wooed and won thee. 
As through the shadows o' the glen 

The young moon smiled upon thee. 
Thine e'en were like the stars aboon, 

Thy step was like the fairy, 
And sweeter than the throstle's tune 

"Was thy saft voice, my l^Iary. 



AULD MAN AND WIFE. 19^ 

Thy ban' in mine, my cheek to thiuc, 

Our beating hearts thegither, 
And mair than a' the waiid beside 

Were we to aue anither. 

Fu' mony a di\y we twa hae seen, 

Fu' mony a night o' sorrow ; 
And clouds that lowered the yester-o'oH, 

Grew blacker on the morrow ; 
Yet never was the day sae sad. 

Nor night sae mirk and eerie, 
But ae fond kiss could mak' us glad, 

My ain dear faithfu' Mary. 
Thy ban' in mine, my cheek to thine, 

Our beating hearts thegither. 
The warld might frown, but what cared wo^ 

Sae we had ane anither? ' 

And now as in the gloamiu' sweet. 

When first my passion won thee, 
I homeward come at e'en to meet 

And fondly gaze upon thee ; 
Tho' locks be gray on ilka brow, 

And feet be slow and wearie, 
O ne'er to me sae dear wert thou. 

Nor I to thee, my Mary. 
Thy han' in mine, my cheek to thine, 

Our beating hearts thegither, 
^^^late'er may change, thae hearts are still 

The same to ane anither. 

Po^iniof Uom« Lir«. 13 



194 POEMS OF HOME LIFL 

The gloamin' dim o' passing life 

Is fa'ing gently o'er us ; 
And here we sit, auld man and wifo, 

Nor dread the night before us ; 
For we maun lift to heaven hie 

A lightsome hope and cheerie, 
Nor fear to lay us doon and die, 

And wak' aboon, my Mary. 
Thy han' in mine, my cheek to thine, 

Our faithfu' hearts thegither, 
Welcome be death to tak' the ane. 

Gin he will tak' the ither ! dr. bethttk r. 



Vlc^xev to yfe's Winter, Wife. 



i< 



EAEER to life's winter, wife, 

We are drawing nearer. 
Memories of our blessed spring 

Growing dearer, dearer. 

Through the summer's heats we 've toiled. 
Through the autumn weather, 

We have often passed, sweet wife. 
Hand in hand together. 

Time was, hearts were, well as feet, 

Lighter, I remember ; 
April's locks of gold are turned 

Silver, this November. 



CROSSING THE MOOR. t95 

Flowers are fewer than at first, 

And the way grows drearer, 
For unto life's winter, wife, 

We are drawing nearer. 

Nrarer to life's end, sweet wife. 

We are drawing nearer ; 
The last mile-stone on our way 

To our sight grows clearer. 

Some whose hands we held grew faint, 

And lay down to slumber ; 
Looking backwards, we to-day 

All their graves may number. 

Heights we 've sought we 've failed to climb 

Fruits we 've failed to gather ; 
But what matter, since we 'vc still 

Jesus and each other ? 



I 



Crossing: the lUaor. 

AM thinking of the glen, Johnny, 

And the little gushing brook — 
Of the birds upon the hazel copse, 

And violets in the nook. 
I am thinking how we met. Johnny, 

Upon the httle bridge : 
You had a garland on your arm 

Of flag-flowers and of sedge. 



tQ^ POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

You placed it in my hand, Johnny, 

And held my hand in yours ; 
You only thought of that, Johnny, 

But talked about the flowers. 
We lingered long alone, Johnny, 

Above that shaded stream ; 
We stood as though we were entranced 

In some delicioiis dream. 

It was not all a dream, Johnny, 

The love we thought of then, 
For it hath been our life and Hght 

For threescore years and ten. 
But ah ! we dared not speak it. 

Though it lit our cheeks and eyes ; 
So we talked about the news, Johnny 

The weather, and the skies. 

At last I said, " Good night, Johnny T 

And turned to cross the bridge. 
Still holding in my trembling hand 

The pretty wreath of sedge. 
But you came on behind, Johnny, 

And drew my arm in yours. 
And said, " Y'ou must not go alone 

Across the barren moors. " 

Oh, had they been all flowers, Johnny, 
And full of singing birds, 

They could not have seemed fairer 
Tlmu when listening to those words 



CROSSING THE MOOR. IQ-J 

The new moon shone above, Johnny, 

The sun was nearly set ; 
The grass that crisped beneath our feet 

The dew had shghtly wet : 

One robin, late abroad, Johnny, 

Was winging to its nest ; 
I seem to see it now, Johnny, 

The sunshine on its breast. 
You put your arm around me. 

You clasped my hand in yours. 
You said, " So let me guard you 

Across these lonely moors. " 

A.t length we reached the field, Johnny, 

In sight of father's door ; 
We felt that we must part there ; 

Our eyes were brimming o'er ; 
You saw the tears in mine, Johnny, 

I saw the tears in yours : 
" You 've been a faithful guard, Johnny, 

I said, "across the moors." 

Then you broke forth in a gush, Johnny 

Of pure and honest love. 
While the moon looked down upon you 

From her holy throne above, 
And you said, "We need a guide, Ellen 

To lead us o'er life's moors ; 
I 've chosen you for mine, Ellen, 

Oh, would that I were yours !" 



19S POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

We parted witli a kiss, Johnny, 

The first, but not the last ; 
I feel the rapture of it yet, 

Though threescore years have passed ; 
And you kissed my golden curls, Johnny, 

That now are silver gray, 
And -whispered, "We are one, Ellen, 

Until our dying day !" 

That dying day is near, Johnny, 

But we are not dismayed ; 
We have but one dark moor to cross. 

Why need we be afraid ? 
We 've had a hard life 's row, Johnny, 

But our heavenly rest is sure ; 
And sweet the love that waits us there, 

When we have crossed the moor ! 

jrRS. S. E. M.'.VO. 



THE summer comes, and the summer goes, 
Wild-flowers are fringing the dusty lanes. 
The sparrows go darting through fragrant mins, 
And all of a sudden — it snows ! 

Dear heart ! our lives so happily flow. 
So lightly we heed the flying hours, 
We only know winter is gone by the flowers, 

We only know winter is come by the snow ! 

T. B. ALXtRICU. 



"I NEVER CAST A FLOWEK. AWAY." 199 

First and tast 

JUST come from heaven, Low bright and fair 
The soft locks of the baby's hair ! 
As if the unshut gates still shed 
The shining halo round his head. 

Just entering heaven, what sacred snows 
Upon the old man's brow repose ! 
For there the opening gates have thro^vn 
The glory from the great white throne. 

H. P. SPOFFORD. 



*<I VlcvcT Cast a Flawer c^iuaij/' 



I 



NEVER cast a flower away, 
The gift of one who cared for me — 
A httle flower— a foded flower, 
But it was done reluctantly. 

I never looked a last adieu 

To things familiar, but my heart 
Shrank with a feeling almost pain, 

Even from their lifelessness to part. 

1 never spoke the word "Farewell," 
But with an utterance faint and brok(ai • 

An earth-sick longing for the time 
When it sh^^Jl never more be spoken. 

HB8. BOD THEY. 



I 

i 



aoo POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 



I 



Mai Knau;ing» 

KNOW not what shall befaU me, 
God hangs a mist o'er my eyes, 

Ajid each step in my onward path 
He makes new scenes to rise, 

And every joy he sends me 
Comes as a sweet sui'prise. 

I see not a step before me, 
As I tread on another year, 

But the past is still in God's keeping 
The future his mercy shall clear, 

And what looks dark in the distance, 
j^Iay brighten as I draw near. 

For perhaps the dreaded future 
Has less bitter than I think : 

The Lord may sweeten the waters 
Before I stoop to drink ; 

Or if Marah must be lilarah, 
He will stand beside its brink. 

It may be he has, waiting 
For the coming of my feet. 

Some gift of such rare value, 
Some joy so strangely sweet, 

That my hps shall only tremble 
With the thanks they cannot spaak 



"I SLEEP, UUT MY HEART WAKETH !" 20l 

Oh, restful, blissful ignorance ! 

'T is blessed not to know : 
It keeps me still in those arras 

Which will not let me go, 
And hushes my soul to rest 

In the bosom that loved me so ! 

So I go on — not kno\\ing : 

I would not if I might, 
Kather walking with God in the dark 

Than going alone in the light : 
Rather walking with him by faith 

Than walking alone by sight 

My heart shrinks back from trials 

"NMiich the future may disclose, 
Yet I never had a sorrow 

But what the dear Lord chose ; 
So I send the coming tears back, 

With the whispered word— "He knows !" 

M. J. BPAI injj. 



<'I Sleep; but mtj lieart Waheth!'"' 

TT is the night ; the hghts are burning low, 

(J . The house is still, 
And through the silent chambers come and go, 

At their own wayward v.ill. 
The dreams that thrill the night, with murmurings 
Of voices, mingled with a rush of wings. 



20 2 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

And going through the hous3 we are aware 

Of dreams upon the wall, 
Of visions passing up the shadowy stair, 

And through the vacant hall ; 
And every sleeper in his darkened room, 
Is busy with his guests, in joy or glcom. 

Then come dear living ones across the sea, 

From distant lands ; 
Then come the holy dead, in ecstasy, 

With liHes in their hands, 
And looks more sweet, to these poor hearts of ours, 
Than even the fragrance of eternal flowers ! 

And dearer than the living ones, that dwell 

Beyond the throbbing sea, 
And dearer than the dead, whose voices swell 

The heavenly melody. 
One visiteth his people in the night. 
Who giveth songs, and makes the darkness bright 

*'I sleep ; yet evermore my heart doth wake, 

Within the veil ; 
The voice of my beloved ! hear it break 

Across the moonlight pale : 
He is come down to comfort me awhile. 
And cheer the sad night with his tender smile." 

And when the days and nights of earth are flown 

And I lie dead. 
Then come and write, dear friends, upou the stone 

Above my quiet head. 



JESUS KNOWS! 0O<^ 

*♦ I sleep ; yet far upon the crystal sea, 

My heart is waking— waking, Lord, with thee !" 

For I shall sleep beneath the steadfast sky, 

So free from care. 
That tvsmijra my hands may folded lie, 

As if in prayer : 
And evermore the sealed eyehds keep 
The secret of dim eyes, that joyful sleep. 
And, whilst I sleep, behold ! my heart will wake. 

And sing its perfect song, 
In thy sweet presence, Master, for whose sake 

It watched and waited long ; 
And evermore thy deathless love shall be 
The treasure of the heart that loveth thee I b. k. 



I 



Hsns Knmus! 

CANNOT understand, when o'er time's ocean 

My life barque sailed, 
Why tempests came, and why in dim confusion 

My way seemed veiled. 
The reasons are not clear to my weak vision ; 

I look in vain 
For that fair past, and for those fields Elysian 

I thought to gain. 
But this is plain, God saw it best, and therefore 

The storm arose : 
And though I cannot see the why nor wherefore, 

Yet Jesus knows. 



204 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

I canuot tell why, -when the day seemed clearest, 

Dark clouds should lower : 
Nor why the hopes that my fond heart held dearest 

Failed in that hour : 
I know not why the morning's glorious shining 

"Was veiled ere noon, -^ 
Nor why the fragrant garlands love was twining 

Should fade so soon. 
But this I know ; though God his why and wherefora 

Does not disclose, 
His purposes are ever best, and therefore 

My Jesus knows. 

Much, much there is, to our poor human vision 

Shrouded in gloom ; 
Much that, when questioned b}'^ our weak docision, 

Seems saddest doom. 
Many the treasures that we mourn departed 

From our fond hold. 
Leaving us desolate and broken-hearted, 

With griefs untold. 
We cannot fathom yet the why nor wherefore 

Of joys or woes, 
But our dear Lord does ever right, and therof'-re 

My Jesus knows. 



AN ENDED EARTH LV LIFE. 20 ; 

^n Endi^d Earthlu Ute. 

YES ! the day has been full of labor, 
But now is the daylight past ; 
And the journey was very toilsome 
But the journey is over at last. 

Lo ! the pilgrim's staff is broken 

And the sandals are laid aside ; 
"I am come to the gate," said our f.vther ; 

" Will they hear on the other side ? 

•'I have only a little token, 

'T -was given me long ago : 
But it came from the dear Kedeemer, 

Who liveth and loveth— I know !" 

Softly he whispered the watchword, 
As he knocked at the gate of the King 

And I think that the shining angels 
Must have hasted to let him in. 

For just as the terrible shadow 

Was veiling the dear old face. 
There fell o'er its marble features 

A glory of perfect peace. 

It smoothed away from the forehead 
The folds and the Hues of care ; 

And touched with its brightening halo 
The tresses of silvered hair. 



20 6 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

For a moment the voice of our weeping 
Was hushed at the glorious sight, 

For the fearful shadow had passed away 
And ' ' the evening time was lieht !" 



i^ 



01x1 Jige thonging for lijom^. 

SONG of a boat : 
There was once a boat on a billow ; 
Lightly she rocked to her port remote, 
And the foam was white in her wake, like snow, 
And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would bU« »v, 

And bent like a wand of willow. 

I shaded my eyes one day when this boat 

Went courtesying over the billow, 
I marked her course till a dancing mote 
She faded out on the moonlit foam. 
And I stayed behind in the dear loved home ; 
And my thoughts all day were about the boat 

And in dreams upon my pillow. 

1 pray you hear my song of a boat, 

For it is but short. 
My boat, you shall find none fairer afloat 

In river or port. 
Long I looked out for the lad she bore, 

On the open desolate sea, 
But I think he sailed to the heavenly shore, 

For ho came not back to me — 
Ah me ! 



OLD AGE LONGING FOR HOME. 20-; 

A song of a nest. 
There was once a nest in a hollow ; 
Down in the mosses and knot-grass presserl. 
Soft and warm, and full to the brim — 
Vetches leaned over it purple and dim, 
With buttercup buds to follow. 

I pray you hear my song of a nest, 

For it is not long : 
You shall never light, in a summer quest 

The bushes among — 
Shall never light on a prouder sitter, 

A fairer nestful, nor ever know 
A softer sound than their tender twitter, 

That wind-like did come and go. 

I had a nestful once of my own, 

Oh happy, happy I ! 
Right dearly I loved them ; but when tlioy were 
grown 

They spread out their wings to fly, 
Oh one after one they flew away 

Far up to the heavenly blue, 
To the better country, the upper day. 

And — I wish I was going too. 

I pray you what is the nest to me, 

My empty nest? 
And what is the shore where I stood to seo 

Mv boat sail down to the west ? 



2o8 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Can I call that home where I anchor yet 

Though my good man has sailed ? 
Can I call that home where my nest was set, 

Now all its hope hath failed ? 
Nay but the port where my sailor went, 

And the land where my nestlings be ; 
There is the home M^here my thoughts are sent, 

The only home for me — 

Ah me ! 

»EAN INOELOW 



I 



The J^est. 

BUILT my nest by a pleasant stream 
That glided on with a smile in its gleam, 
Bringing me gold that was sumless ; 
Ah me ! but the floods came drowning one dny. 
And swept my nest with its wealth away ; 
I in the world was homeless ! 

I built my nest in a gay green tree, 
And the summer of Hfe went merrily 

With us ! we were birds of a feather ! 
But the leaves soon fell, and my pretty ones flew, 
And through my nest the bitter winds blew ; 

'T was bare in the wildest weather. 

I built my nest under heaven's high eaves ; 
No rising of floods, no falling of leaves, 



MY AIN COUNTREE. 2O0 

Can mock my heart's endeavor ; 
Waters may wash, and breezes may blow, 
In the bosom of Rest I shall smile, I shaU know 

^ly nest is safe for ever. o. massed. 



T AM far frae my hame, an' I'm weary often whiles, 
(j For the langed for hame-bringing an' my Father's 

welcome smiles ; 
I '11 ne'er be fu' content, until my een do see 
The gowden gates of heaven, an' my ain countree ! 

The earth is flecked with flowers, many-tinted, fresh 

and gay, 
The birdies warble bhthely, for my Father made them 

sae ; 
But these Hghts an' these soun's will be naething to me. 
When I hear the angels singing in my ain countree ! 

I 've his gude word of promise, that some gladsome day 

the King 
To his ain royal palace his banished hame will bring ; 
Wi' een an' wi' hearts running over we shall see 
The King in his beauty in our ain countree ! 

My sins have been mony, an' my sorrows ha' been sair, 
But there they '11 nae mair vex me, nor be remembered 

mair. 
His bluid has made me white, his hard shall dry mine ee, 
When he brings me back at length to my ain countreo ' 

u 



2 1 O POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest, 
I wad fain be ganging noo unto my Saviour's breast ; 
For he gathers in his bosom, witless, worthless Lambs 

like me, 
A.n' he carries them himsel' to his ain countrce ! 

He is faithfu' that hath promised, he'll surely come 

again ; 
He '11 keep his tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken ; 
But he bids me still to watch, an' ready aye to bo 
To gang at ony moment to my ain countree ! 

So I 'm watching, aye, an' singing o' my hame as I wait, 
For the sounin' o' his foot-fa' this side the gowden gate. 
God gie his grace to ilk ane who listens noo to me, 
That we a' may gang in gladness to our ain countree ! 

MISS M. A. LEE. 



'h 



The h(xw\\} hifc. 

LITTLE flower so lowly grew, 

So lonely was it left. 
That heaven looked like an eye of blue, 
Down in its rocky cleft 

"What could the httle flower do, 

In such a darksome place, 
But try to reach that eye of blue 

And climb to kiss heaven's face ? 



J 



CHRIST IS ALL. Stl 

And there 's no life so loue and low 
But strength may still be given, 

From naiTOwest lot on earth to grow 
The straighter up to heaven. 

GEIIALD MAStiEY 

> 

Christ is alL 

ENTERED once a home of care, 
For age and penury were there, 

Yet peace and joy withal ; 
I asked the lonely mother whence 
Her helpless widowhood's defence : 
She told me Christ was alL 

I stood beside a dying bed, 

"Where a sweet infant drooped his head, 

Waiting for Jesus' call ; 
I marked his smile, 't was sweet as May, 
And as his spirit passed away, 

He whispered, " Christ is all." 

I saw the martjT at the stake. 

And no fierce flames his faith could shake, 

Nor death his soul appal ; 
I asked him whence such strength was given, 
He looked triumphantly to heaven, 

And answered " Christ is all." 

I saw the gospel herald go 
To Afric's sand and GreenLmd's snow. 
To save from Satan's thrall ; 



2 1 2 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

Nor hope nor life lie counted dear ; 
'Midst want and perils owned no fear ; 
He felt that Christ was all. 

I dreamed that hoary time had fled, 
And earth and sea gave up theii* dead. 

And fire dissolved this ball ; 
I saw the church's ransomed throng, 
I heard the burden of their song : 

'T was, "Christ is all in aU !" 

Then come to Jesus, come to-day. 

* ' Come !" Father, Son, and Spirit say ; 

The Bride repeats the call. " 

Come, he has blood for all your stains ; 
Come, he has balm for all your pains ; 

Come, Christ is all in all ! 



"Trt AIR in the east the rosy morning breaks, 
j And Jacob trembhng and amazed awakes. 

' * wondrous dream ! ■sdsion passing fair ! 
holy sacred spot ! the Lord was there !'' 

He grasps his pilgrim staff and onward hies, 
Hope in his smile and courage in his eyes. 

And yet, Lf asked what made his heart so Ught, 
•''Twas but a dream, a vision of the night." 



NO DREAM. 



913 



Here, with my pilgrim scrip, and stiff in hancl, 
I walk like Jacob through a stranger land. 

Rough is the path, the journey long and drear, 
And yet I go with courage and good cheer. 

What makes my steps so free, my heart so light? 
Ah ! was it all a vision of the night ? 

My faith must fix on things unseen, unknown, 
My hopes must rest on Jesus' word alone. 

And there are dreary hours when it may seem 
All I have loved and hoped was but a di-eam. 

Yet even then a whisper soft and low 
Speaks to my inmost heart, " It is not so ! 

•♦ That was no baseless dream which Faith believed 
The vision was not false which Hope received." 

My father's God shall guide me with his hand. 
Till the poor pilgrim gains his fatherland. 

And when at last on Jacob's couch I lie— 
A stone my pillow, and my tent the sky- 
Then shall the gates of light again unclose, 
And happy angels call me from repose ; 

Then all the past a bright reverse shall seem, 
Heaven the reahty, and earth the dream. 

KA.BL QEROK. 



•2 14 POEMS OF HOME LIKS. 



<? 



In Ifaraxlisc. 

H, Paradise must fairer be 

Than any spot below ! 
My spirit pines for liberty ; 

Now let me thither go I 
In Paradise for ever clear 

The stream of love is flowing ; 
For eveiy tear that I shed here 

A pearl therein is glowing. 

In Paradise alone is rest, 

Joy-breathing, woe-dispeUing ; 
A heavenly wind fans every breast 

Within that happy dwelling. 
For every wounding thorn below 

A rose shall blossom there, 
And sweeter flowers than earth can slio'*' 

Shall twine around my hair. 

And every joy that, budding, died, 

Shall open there in bloom, 
And Spring in all her flowery pride 

Shall waken from the tomb. 
And all the joys shall meet me there 

For which my heart was pining, 
Like golden fruit in gardens fair, 

And flowers for ever shining. 



FRAGMENTS FROM HERRICK. 215 

My youth that fled so soon away, 

And left me sad, decaying, 
Shall there be %vith me eveiy day. 

With bright wings round me plajing ; 
All hopes, all wishes, all the love 

I sighed for, pined for, ever, 
Shall bloom around me there above, 

And last Mith me for ever ! bticxebt. 



Fraginciits from licrrick* 

TjU^IBLE we must be, if to heaven we go ; 
J^ High is the roof there, but the gate is low. 



<\ 



OD, when he takes my goods and chattels hence. 

Gives me a portion, giving patience. 
"WTiat is in God is God ; if so it be 
He. patience gives, he gives himself to me. 



-c; 



OD from our eyes all teares hereafter wipes, 
And gives his children kisses then, not stripes. 



"Q" 



OD gives to none so absolute an ease, 
.\s not to know or feel some grievances. 



^ 



O man is tempted so, but may o'ercome, 
If that he has a will to masterdom. 



2' 6 POEMS OF HOME LIFE. 

-Q HEIST took our nature on him, not that he 
y 'Bove all things loved it for its puritie ; 

No ! but he drest him with our human trim. 

Because our flesh stood most in need of him. 



c^^^HEX once the soule has lost her waj, 
Oh, then, how restless does she stray ! 



And having not her God for light, 
How does she erre in endless night 



-• 



i^ 



EA'STEN is most faire, but fairer He 
That made that fairest canopie. 



TN vain our labors are, whate'er they bo, 
G" Unless God gives 



I^IDEX Of COJS'TEj^Tg. 



Absence i>age 150 

Aflcr tt.e Rain 192 

Age of Children Happiest 152 

An Angel in the House 167 

'•And we shall all be changed" 115 

As Thou Wilt 159 

Aula Man and Wife 192 

Bai)y over the Way 43 

Baby's Shoes 42 

Bahy, Weighing the 3& 

Bedtime 50 

B'j Patient 107 

Beside the River 168 

Bast in Store, The 116 

Better country, The 179 

B.rd, My 36 

B.rd Song, A 35 

Birthdays 76 

li.rthday, The Twentieth -- 77 

Blessed to Overflowing 136 

Bridal Benediction 69 

Bridge of Planks, The 20 

Buried To-day 163 

Child on the Judgment-seat 161 

Children, Little 54 

Children, The 47 

Christ is all 211 

Country Boy, Song of the 27 

Country Children 24 

Cradle Song 67 

Cross, Bearing the 126 

Crossing the Moor 195 

Cross of Moss, My 118 

Cruse, The, that Faileth Not 139 

Daisy's Prayer 61 

Daughter's Wish, A 85 

"Uo You think of Me as I think of You?" 108 

Empty Barn, The 28 

Elided Earthly Life, An 20c 



21 8 INDEX OF CONTENTS. 

Eternity 1?^ 

Evening Ilymn ID-l 

Evening Prayer - 103 

Farmer's Life, Tlie 23 

Farm, Living on a 26 

Fifty and Fifteen U 

Finish Thy Work 98 

First and Last 199 

Fislierman by tlie Sea, The Old --- 189 

Flower, A Ill 

Flower, A Pressed 114 

Flowers, Lesson of the 112 

"Follow Me" 101 

Funeral Bell 164 

Gate, The Beautiful 17G 

God bless You 31 

God's House, Detained from 126 

Going Home - 153 

Golden Mile-Stone, The 106 

Goosey, A Little 147 

Grain of Corn and Penny 57 

Grandmother 90 

Grave, The Little 55 

Green things Growing 114 

Happy House, The - 5 

Heavenly Treasure 142 

Herrick, Fragments from 215 

Homeless 33 

Humble Heart, The 117 

Humility -- 135 

"I'm growing Old" - 154 

I 'm Old To-day - 81 

"I never cast a Flower away" 199 

In Memoriam - 95 

" I sleep, but my Heart Wakcth " - 201 

Jerusalem isi 

Jesus. I am never Weary - 124 

Jesus knows 203 

Kingdom of Home 9 

" Let not your heart be troubled " 121 

Life and 1 79 

Little Bov's Pocket 56 

Little Goldenhair 59 

Little Moments ---- 160 

Little People, The - 34 

Little White Lily Ill 

I^vcd One ever Xii,ii, The 187 



INDEX OF CONTENTS. 819 

Love lightens Labor 22 

Love versus WeaUh 67 

•• Lovest thou Me ?" ---- 128 

Lowly Life, The 210 

Make Your Home Beautiful 32 

Manna in the Night 178 

iiarriage, Giving in 68 

Memory Bells 18 

Mercies 11 

Mother, My 84 

Mother's Death, Our 93 

Mother's Phicc, A 89 

Mother's Song 39 

Mother, The Aged 86 

Mrs. Loft V and I 65 

My Aiu Countree 209 

MyGuect - 188 

My Home 7 

Nae Shoon 40 

Name, Choosing a 37 

Nearer to Life's Winter, Wife 194 

Nest, The - 208 

Night Thought 105 

Night to the Weary - 127 

No Act faUs Fruitless 138 

Noble Nature, The 159 

No Dream - 212 

"Not Dead, but Slecpeth" - 166 

No Time like the Old Time 12 

No Time to pray 175 

Not Knowing 200 

Now and Ucreafter 97 

Old Age 83 

Old Age Longing for Home '206 

Old Man's Comforts, The 151 

One by One ?71 

Only a Boy 62 

Only a year Ago 164 

"Open your Mouth, and shut your Eyes" 54 

Over and Over again 143 

Paradise, In 214 

rieasure in Heaven 183 

"Poor Ellen" 100 

Poor Man's Sunday 173 

Portrait, The Daughter's 91 

Prayer 120 

1*1 aycr, The Hour of 119 



'^20 INDEX OF CONTENTS. 

Rebuke 50 

llest 157 

yabbatli Bell, Tlie 176 

Sabbatli, Tlie Celestial 177 

Safe - 165 

Sampler, The Old 15 

8ick-Bed, A 122 

Sickness, Comfort for 125 

Silent Hour, The 109 

Silver Wedding, The 88 

Singing Lesson, The 133 

Sleep, A Song to bring 51 

Snow 198 

Son of the Carpenter 130 

Son's Bible, Lines written in 92 

Speak Gently 140 

Sun and Rain - 30 

Sunday-school, Going to 174 

Sweetest Words 93 

Sympathy - 143 

Taking Flight 167 

Talitha, Cumi 185 

"The Lord will provide" - 110 

" There 's Crape on the Door " 99 

' ' This I did for T'lee— What doest thou for Me ?" 128 

Three Little Chairs 46 

Tliree Old Saws 158 

To-day 73 

To-morrow 74, 75 

Towards Evening 156 

Trust 103 

Ti-ustinGod i:>3 

Two Pictures 29 

"Was '00 ever a Boy?" • 68 

Wliatis Home? 10 

What the Sparrow chirps 131 

"When I Remember" 19 

Where is Jamie ? 70 

Where's my Baby? 41 

Which? 145 

Why thus Longing? 137 

Wife's Counsel 88 

Wife's Welcome, The 11 

Woman's Work 63 

Jesteiday 7? 



I^IDEX Of flF(gT U]\^?. 



A bright little boy with laughing face paob 14 

A dreary place would be this earth 34 

A good wife rose from her bed one morn 2: 

A grain of corn an infant's hand 57 

A little bonnie bird I kno-y 3G 

A little flower so lowly grew 210 

Alone in the populous city 3; 

And she is gone : sweet human love is gone 16*i 

A nightingale made a mistake- 133 

An old farmhouse with meadows wide 29 

A prayer that is said alone 120 

A pressed flower I love 114 

A row of little faces by the bed 50 

Aa I 've sat at my chamber window 43 

A song of a boat 206 

A tiny cross 118 

Ay, I was strong and able-bodied — ls9 

A young wife stood at the lattice-pane - 30 

Be patient 1 oh, be patient 1 Put your car against the earth 107 

Bright birthda3's in the happy home 76 

Buried to-day 163 

Candid and curious, how they seek 54 

Come near me, wife ; I fare the better far 88 

Creaking with laughter swings the old barn-door 28 

Dark is the night, and fitful and drearily ? 

Darling little Daisy 61 

Darning little stockings 63 

Do n't grow old too fast, my sweet 38 

Do you know what's in my pottet? — 56 

"Do you think of me as I think of you?" 108 

Each man's chimney is his golden mile-stone 106 

Kre last year's moon had left the sky 36 

Eternity, eternity - 184 

Every coin of earthly treasure 141' 

Every flower is sweet to me 112 

Every new day has its dawn 73 

Fair in the east the rosy morning breaks 212 

Father of heaven and earth 127 

Fdtlicr, the shadows fall 1 i»ti 



22 2 INDEX OF FIRST LIXES. 

Father, wnere is our Jamie to-niglit 70 

Finish thy work ; the time is sliort - 98 

From the tower, hea\'y, slow 164 

Girlhood's sunny days are over -- 77 

God, that madest earth and heaven 108 

"God wills but ill," the doubter said Ill 

Goldenhair climbs upon grandpapa's knee 59 

lie will smile on thee 121 

Home's not merely foursquare walls 10 

How brightly through the mist of years 26 

How many pounds does the baby weigh 38 

How swee't it were, if without feeble fright 1 07 

How sweetly fall these simple words 31 

How sweetly through the lengthened dell 176 

I am far frae my liame, an' I 'm weary oftenwhiles 209 

I am only a little sparrow 13i 

I am thinking of the glen, Johnny 1!<5 

I built my nest by a pleasant stream 2(,8 

I cannot understand, wlien o'er time's ocean 2t(3 

I entered once a home of care 211 

If the world seems "cold" to you 158 

I gave ray life for thee .- 128 

I have enough, God ! ray heart to-night 136 

I have got a new-born sister 37 

I know not if or dark or bright - 103 

I know not what shall befall me -- 200 

I never call that gentle name 84 

I never cast a flower away 199 

In silence of the voiceless night 105 

In some way or other the Lord will provide 110 

I saw the little boy 152 

Is it an evW. to be drawing near 83 

Is she not beautiful 86 

Is thy cruse of comfort wasting? 139 

It is not growing like a tree 159 

It is so sweet to Uve 159 

It is the night ; the lights are burning low 201 

I wake at last; I 've dreamed too long 81 

lernsalem the golden 181 

Jesus, I am never weary 124 

Just as the sun rose blushing red 90 

J ust come from heaven, how bright and fair 199 

Life is the child's frail wreath--" 72 

Little fresh violets 24 

Little moments, how they fly 160 

Little white lily sat by a stone : Ill 

l^ivina child of pictured cherub 01 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 223 

L,ong hast thou watched my bed 122 

•X)rd, thou hast given me a cell 7 

•Lovcst thou me?" I hear my Saviour say 128 

Make your home beautiful — bring to it flowers 32 

Marry not for wealth 67 

Mrs. Lofty keeps a carriage 65 

My days pass pleasantly away 154 

My Father I what am 1, that all 11 

My God, is any hour so .sweet 119 

My God, I thank thee who hast made 116 

My little four-year-old llarry 58 

My mother 85 

My years crowd sail, and pass away 191 

Xae" shoon to hide her tiny tae 40 

Nearer to life's winter, wife 194 

No earthly friend a mother's place can fill 89 

No time to pray 175 

happy house ! where Thou art loved the best 5 

happy was the gloamin', when 192 

Oh, how soft that bed must be 125 

Oh, Pavadi=e must fairer be 214 

oh, tho green things growing, the green things growing 114 

Oh, those little, those little blue shoes 42 

4 >ne year— one year — one little year 164 

Only a boy, with his noise and fun 62 

ou Sunday morning early 174 

'•Open your mouth and shut your eyes " 54 

Out of the way, in a corner - 115 

Over and over again 143 

llemeraber, love, who gave thee this 92 

Ili'St is not quitting 157 

Saw ye the farmer at his plough 23 

Scorn not the slightest word or deed Ly6 

Silently it fell 1'8 

Silently overland and sea 93 

Silently the shades of evening 109 

So fair the scene when hearts agree 69 

Some one lias gone from thii, strange world of ours 99 

Some precious words are born of earth 93 

Son of the carpenter, receive 130 

Sorrows humanize our race 19 

Spanning the streamlet's grassy binks 20 

Speak gently— it is better far 140 

Speechless Sorrow sat with me 188 

Sun of my soul, thou Saviour dear 104 

Sweet memory bells ! their Avitching chimes 18 

Sweet place, sweet place alone 179 



224 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 

"Talitlia, Cumi !" 185 

The baby wept 166 

The bird that soars on highest wing 135 

The blessings wliich the poor and weak can scatter 148 

The child leans on its parent's breast ]3i 

The chill November day was done 147 

The golden palace of my God 177 

The hearth is swept, the fire is bright 11 

The heavier cross, the stronger faith 126 

The Master's voice was sweet 101 

The old man sits 'ueath the tall elm-trees 192 

There 's no time like the old time 12 

The shell that once has learned to sing ■ 88 

The summer comes, and the summer goes 1 98 

The world is old and the world is cold 50 

They are gathering homeward from every land ITI 

They sat alone by the bright wood fire 46 

Thou art not lost to me, though coldly lying 1 87 

Thousands, Lord of Hosts, to-day 126 

Thy home is with the humble. Lord IIT 

'Tis hard to die in spring-time Ifio 

'T is late at night— and in the realms of sleep 75 

'Tis night on the mountain Ci7 

To bear, to nurse, to rear 6^ 

Two hands upon the breast '.7 

Two little eyes, two little lips 'l 

We stood beside the river 1P8 

We thank thee. Lord, for one day 173 

What did we ask, with all our love for him 95 

W^hat makes the king unhappy? T'i 

What shall I do with all the days and hours 150 

When my father leads Ms army 27 

■When mysterious whispers are floating about 170 

When the lessons and tasks are all ended 47 

Where are you going so fast, old man ] 53 

Where hast thou been toiling all day, sweet heart 1<M 

Where 's my baby ? Where's my baby? - 41 

«• Which shall it be ? which shall it be?" 145 

Why thus longing, thus for ever sighing 137 

Will it no pleasure be — 183 

With gradual gleam the day was dawning u 

Write it down, angel, in the book 1 5 

Ye dainty mosses, lichens gray ■ T 5 

Yes, the day has been full of labor i05 

"You are old, father William," the young man cried I'l 

You need not dig it very wide 55 



3*- 



