Part 6

There will be Peace and Harmony, For Love has found her nest. Now Happiness will join the throng, And Love be now at rest.

It is too seldom that is found, Them all combined in one, There could be Faith, Truth, Honesty, And yet sweet Love not won.

But if together all shall dwell, A heaven on earth is home, No discord ever will there be, It is as heaven’s dome.

BURY THE PAST.

Do we ever think that others May have griefs as well as we? Can we bear our own griefs better? If we know we’ll sometime be Free from trials, free from troubles, In the happy by and by, And our burdens, although heavy, In a grave will sometime lie.

We should be prepared for trouble; We should be prepared for care. For we know not of the morrow, Nor what trials we must bear. When today has passed beyond us It is gone forever, aye, And today should then be buried In the grave of yesterday.

Though today we are in bondage, We tomorrow may be free From the yesterdays of sorrow; E’en look back on them with glee. Then the dead, dead past we’ll bury In a shroud, and then forget All the past that was unhappy O’er that past we will not fret.

We can happy be, though burdens May be hard for us to bear, Happy be, and e’en contented, Though we have much grief and care. If we know that the tomorrows Will to us bring sweet relief. All the yesterdays we’ll bury, And will shed no tears of grief.

TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTH-DAY.

Thy years are pearls strung on Life’s chain. Not counted they by days, nor years. But numbered by the good thou’st done; And friend thou needest have no fears That pearls have ever tarnished been; Thou’st kept them bright by good thou’st done. For thou hast many burdens borne, And thou hast many vict’ries won In Life’s hard battles for the right. Thou oft hast had temptations strong, But thou hast ever conquered them, And thou hast overcome all wrong.

Congratulations I give thee, On this, thy happy natal day, And this shall be my earnest prayer, That pearls of love be thine alway.

HAVE IDEALS.

My ideals are the highest, Though my feet rest on the sod. I aspire e’en to high heaven, Even to the “throne of God.”

And I think it is much better That we soar above the stars, Than to grovel in the low-lands, Or behind a prison’s bars.

Though ourselves have built the prison That confines our souls therein; We must ever live in darkness Till we break the bars within,

And escape into God’s sunshine, To the sunshine of the soul; And live up to our ideals, And take heaven as our goal.

SELFISHNESS.

We really do not understand That which within us lies. We think that we have conquered self, And then there will arise Some serious point within our hearts; Some question there will be-- Some preconceived idea of self; It vital seems to be.

We must begin all o’er again. For self must conquered be. We must accept the “Golden Rule”, From selfishness be free. Deep in the gardens of our hearts We’ve sowed broadcast the seeds Of selfishness; they’ve taken root, Producing noxious weeds.

In time, by watchfulness and care We may exterminate Each selfish thought within our hearts, And love accumulate. We e’en are selfish in our love, And selfish in our hate; For Self doth rule with selfish hand, E’er sits within our gate.

The ego is e’er uppermost; We ever look within. Self magnifies what good there is, But overlooks the sin. She sits upon the highest throne, And on the lowest stool. Self governs every act in life; For self doth ever rule.

And Self is “mightier than the sword.” If given once control She conquers all there is of us In mind, in heart, in soul. Then let us bury selfishness In grave with selfish deeds. Erect a monument to Love From stones cut from good deeds.

LIFE IS NOTHING WITHOUT LOVE.

Though of down may be your pillow, And most sumptuous be your bed, All your dreams will be unhappy, Unless Love sits at your head.

Though your table may be loaded, With rich viands e’er be spread; All will be most flat and tasteless, Unless Love shall break the bread.

Though you travel o’er creation, Have all things that you demand; Nothing meets your expectation, Unless Love does by you stand.

Though you dwell in gorgeous palace, Even though you may be king. All is vanity, and joyless, If sweet Love is on the wing.

THE CENTURY FLOWER.

What wakened thee from thy long sleep? Who told thee when to bloom? A century seems a long, long time For thee to lie in gloom.

How didst thou know when to arise? And thy new garment don; Thou mightst have slept thy life away Whilst time was going on.

Was there a power within thy soul? A wish within thy heart? To soar above all other flowers, And with the birds take part

In singing songs of grateful joy That thou hast waked from sleep, That thou again dost see the light, Hast risen from the deep;

The grave where thou so long hast lain. To raise thy head on high, And looking up to Deity Once more; then droop and die.

Alas! Thy days are all too short For thy long dreamless sleep. When thou dost wake again to life, Wilt thou awake to weep?

If thou rememberest aught of past, Thou mayst perhaps regret The flowers, and trees, now dead and gone, And for them mourn e’en yet.

A generation will have passed; A new one thou wilt greet; All will be strangers unto thee, No friend of past thou’lt meet.

LIFE’S MUSIC.

Though life may seem a symphony, It is a sad, sad song. Its music is a funeral dirge, And weary are the throng Who march to a weird threnody Life’s long, and gloomy day, The road made rough by all the ills That meet us on our way.

The road, though long and devious Hath guide posts on its way. Though there are many sharp, sharp turns, If guide posts we obey, We safely reach our journey’s end, And rest beneath the shade Of Love’s own tree, whose buds, and flowers Of hope will never fade.

Disheartened though we often are Upon the uphill road. If hope within our hearts is strong ’Twill lighten every load; The saddest song be turned to joy, Sweet music fill the soul. Triumphant will our life march be Until we reach our goal.

The final song we then shall sing. Life’s measure be complete. No minor chord shall lower life’s song, Nor sound for us defeat. The meter of our lives shall be Exultant melody. No sad refrain shall e’er be sung, Nor doleful threnody.

LOVE’S GARDEN.

Sow the seeds of loving kindness, And then gather flowers of joy. Cultivate e’er peace and gladness, Life will then have no alloy.

Pluck the weeds that e’er are growing In the garden of the heart. Train up all Love’s little tendrils They are of life the sweetest part.

Prune the trees that bear but discord, And then graft sweet peace thereon. Ever help those who have trouble, Pointing out to them Love’s morn.

In Love’s garden, if the shadow Of the Cyprus hides Love’s way. Plant the asphodel; its brightness Will burst forth, and light Love’s day.

Clear Love’s garden of its wormwood, And plant heartsease there instead. ’Tis not fitting that aught bitter Should e’er grow where Love has led.

In all gardens are not roses,-- But rank weeds grow everywhere, And it may be God’s intention That the weeds should be your care.

There are many hearts now aching For a loving word from you. In their hearts is bitter wormwood, In their gardens grow the rue.

You should plant for them sweet roses, Give Love’s sunshine ever, aye. From their hearts take all the darkness, In its place put Love’s bright ray.

THE LAST PORT.

My ship of life has left its moorings To sail upon an unknown sea. Though ship is staunch, and ne’er has failed me, Life’s bearings are unknown to me.

I have no chart, I have no compass, But my life’s voyage must be made, When once life’s ship on way has started, The laws of life must be obeyed.

Each day the log must be well written; Be kept with truthfulness, and care. In it must be not one false entry, For close inspection it must bear.

With courage I will start on voyage, For God will guide me o’er the bar, Lest I be dashed upon the breakers. The Port of Death is not so far.

I must go on though storms assail me, This voyage means so much to me. No other refuge can I enter, I sail for _Port Eternity_.

Without a chart, without a compass, The star of _Hope_ shall be my guide, And I shall have no fear of shipwreck, For all Life’s storms I shall outride.

My ship is making its last voyage, ’Tis well I chose dear _Hope’s_ bright star, To guide me to my heavenly harbor With God to help me o’er the bar.

My ship will safely reach its landing, And God will meet me at death’s bar; Will not forsake me at Life’s ending. Thank God for _Hope_, my guiding star.

CANST TELL ME?

Canst thou tell me dear friend of the other side? Of thy beautiful home over there. Dost thou love us the same as when here on earth? Canst thou help us our burdens to bear?

And is heaven the same thou once thought it was? Hast thou met thy dear friends gone before? Wouldst thou wish to come back to this earth again? To again live thy life as of yore?

All its pains and its griefs to take up again, Were earth’s joys compensation for woes? Art thou glad that thou’st lived, and loved, and e’en died? Canst thou now upon others bestow

The sweet peace that is thine, the love of thy soul? Canst thou teach us to live, and to die? Canst thou meet us, and guide us to heaven above, Solve the problems that in us e’er lie?

* * * * *

I’ve lived my life, thou must live thine. In thine own soul life’s problems lie. I cannot teach thee how to live, I cannot teach thee how to die.

Take up thy burdens, and thy cares. With patience bear thy every grief. Thy back is fitted for each cross, Death is surcease, and brings relief.

Though I have passed from earth away, I still do feel what thou must bear. But knowing what thy crosses are, I say, be brave, thy crosses bear.

Do what thou canst for others’ weal, Do what thou canst to conquer sin. Then leave the rest in hands of God. With pitying love he looks within,

And sees the burdens thou must bear. He knows how weak, and sore distressed His earthly children ever are. But in His love they’re more than blessed.

Have courage, patience, pity, love, Have charity for all who sin. Thou need’st not look abroad for faults, To find them, friend, O look within.

THE SOUL SEEKING FOR PERFECTION.

One day my soul a journey went; It traveled East, it traveled West, It searched in vain one soul to find That able was to bear the test Of perfect living, perfect love; E’en in the best it found some flaw; Some lack of truth, some selfishness; Not _one_ had kept the “Perfect Law”.

Discouraged, weary, sore distressed; It gladly turned again to home. It thought perfection there to find,-- No farther it would have to roam. Alas! Though once more snugly housed, Perfection was not found therein. Contented it could never be; For e’en at home it found much sin, O Soul! Though you have found much sin; You’ve also found much that was good. Temptations overcome by man,-- Known many ills he has withstood.

Perfection is not found on earth-- If it were so, no one would know The joy of helping man to bear Up under all the grief and woe That is the heritage of life; Bequeathed to man before his birth. Be not discouraged then, O Soul, Expect to find much sin on earth.

LIFE’S THOUGHTLESSNESS.

With careless feet we trample down Love’s sweetest flowers oftimes. Life’s music has so many sharps, Discordant are Love’s rhymes.

With selfish hands we ever grasp At what we think is best. Unmindful we of others’ needs Or what is their behest.

The thoughtless words we oftimes speak Recalled can never be. The heedless censure of a friend Can ne’er forgotten be.

The unjust judgment which we give May wean from us a friend. Impatient words are daggers sharp That will Love’s heart aye rend.

With selfish greed we grasp life’s joys; No care for others’ woes. The world is welcome to the thorns, If we can keep the rose.

If our own ship outrides the gale, Life’s bar we’ve safely crossed-- All other ships may be engulfed; Or on rough waves be tossed.

Our careless words may pierce some heart, And cause it deepest pain-- Awakening memories of the past Which long in grave have lain.

’Tis ever so in life I fear. Love’s flowers neglected are. The weeds will thrive where flowers die, And thus Love’s garden mar.

THE FLOWER’S PRAYER FOR IMMORTALITY.

The fragrance of th’ dying flower Ascends ’e’en unto God; Returning to its Maker From birthplace ’neath the sod.

Its soul goes forth in anthems; In songs of praise to Him Who gave to it existence,-- And, dying, sings a hymn

Of thanks, and of rejoicing To God for its short life, Which e’er hath been a symphony, With naught of care, nor strife.

Its God hath given it sunshine, Its God hath given it food. Bequeathed to it the dewdrops, He hath pronounced it good.

It longs to soar to heaven, So breathes its fragrance rare To God, as invocation. To Him sends forth this prayer:

* * * * *

O God accept my perfume, ’Tis all I have to give.-- O I would be immortal: I would forever live, The flower Thou hast created, Wouldst live forever, aye.-- What use would be its fragrance? If lost ’mid shadows gray.-- I claim of Thee my birthright, My fragrance is my soul. Though earth hath been my birthplace, High heaven is my goal. Take back what Thou hast given, ’Tis fit for heavenly bower; Accept it O my Maker, This incense of a flower.

E’en in my earthly prison, When I was but a seed, Thou spakest words so loving. That upward they didst lead My soul from out its darkness Into thy glorious light. It burst the bars of prison, Became a flower bright. To Thee I gave my fragrance-- I breathed to Thee a prayer, A prayer of adoration That sensed is everywhere. All life, however lowly, Is one, and part with Thee-- By Thee it was created, And claims eternity.

LOVE’S OFFERING.

I have no rare jewels to give thee, No diamonds, no pearls; and of gold But one little circlet, as emblem That love will thee ever enfold.

Thy home will be only a cottage, And even the floors may be bare. The furnishings be the most simple, And frugal be also the fare.

The cottage will be by the brookside, By willows so shady and cool. Thy beauty will be e’er reflected In mirror that is but a pool.

Thou wilt not be decked in fine linen; E’en cotton may be all thy gowns. But, love-words will e’er be my greeting, And kisses take place of dark frowns.

My love is the most I can offer-- Will love cover up a bare floor? Or will it fly out of the window, If poverty enters at door?

I know that thy beauty would honor A palace, instead of a cot. That silks should be e’er thy adorning, But happiness ne’er can be _bought_.

In palace there _can_ be much sorrow, ’Neath jewels may be broken heart.-- Though clothed in the finest apparel, All naked the wound, and the smart

That comes from a troth that is broken; That comes from a love that is cold. ’Thout love, e’en a palace is dreary, Though furnished with jewels, and gold.

Then, darling, take what I can offer-- My heart filled with love, and my home A nest for my birdling, my sweetheart, And never from thee will I roam.

LOVE’S ACCEPTANCE.

Love’s jewels are better than baubles.-- A palace may not be a _home_; Unhappiness dwelling within it Though jeweled from throne-room to dome

Love’s jewels are all that I ask for; True love is more precious than gold, I wish not for palace, nor mansion Thine arms shall me ever enfold.

A sip from Love’s brook is far better Than wine from a gold jeweled cup. ’Tis poison in chalice, if Hatred Sits with us at table to sup.

The mirror I crave is the love-light That beams in thine eyes, and thy face, And, cottage when furnished with love-deeds; Of poverty shows not a trace.

Love ever looks upward, not downward, Will therefore not think of bare floor; And will not fly out of the window, Though Poverty enters at door.

My gowns may be cotton, or linen; It matters but little to me.-- My beauty is not of much value, Unless it is pleasing to thee.

The nest thou hast built by the brookside, Is better, far better for me Than mansion, or palace, or castle; No shadow within shall there be.

But echoing songs of thy “birdling” Shall fill every corner, and nook. The willows shall be sylvan bowers; And fountain of love shall be brook.

AUTUMN LEAVES.

I now have culled from out Life’s forest These Autumn Leaves which I shall send you They have been pressed into service For my little book.

Perhaps if you the leaves had chosen, You would have culled more brilliant colors, And pressed them better too.

By careful searching you may find one That pleases you by word, or measure, And _cherished_ e’en will be.

I hope that you will take some pleasure In reading book, and conning measure. But _kindly_ criticise.

I give my leaves into your keeping, I hope with love you will receive them, These offsprings of my heart.

FINALE.

My “Autumn Leaves” are gathered, And now they must be pressed. I hope they will give pleasure, And hearts by them be blessed.

Transcriber Notes

In a few cases, obvious errors in punctuation have been fixed.

In the table of contents, “Our Virtues Are Carved Upon One Tombstones” changed to “Our Virtues Are Carved Upon Our Tombstones”. “Can’st Tell Me” changed to “Canst Tell Me”. “To A Friend On Her Birthday” changed to “To A Friend On Her Birth-day” “Yesterday changed to Yesterdays”

Page 32: A missing quote was added after “Are governed by His will.”

Page 54: A missing quote was added before “A monarch I will”

Page 60: “Eor her I’d gladly die” changed to “For her I’d gladly die”

Page 67: “They then receeded from the shore.” changed to “They then receded from the shore.”

Page 162: “Sharper than a sepent’s tooth is,” changed to “Sharper than a serpent’s tooth is,”

Page 201: In tears of grief the original version had the f printed upside down

Page 207: “LIFF IS NOTHING WITHOUT LOVE.” changed to “LIFE IS NOTHING WITHOUT LOVE.”

Page 217: “Dealh is surcease” changed to “Death is surcease”. “thy erosses bear” changed to “thy crosses bear”

Page 230: “These Antumn Leaves” changed to “These Autumn Leaves”