Part 5

I’m going to tell Minerva when we meet That it was just a little joke of mine, And nevermore--my cure is quite complete-- Will I believe a woman’s essay fine.

To the Queen

We send thee greetings on this morn in May, Long live the Queen, right fervently we pray! We daughters of this country young and fair Join all our voices, singing songs of thee, O may the words ring clearly on the air, And reach the island cradled in the sea. Our Queen! lo, at the words a thrill of pride, Of tenderness, and trust springs into life. Our Queen, who rules so well her kingdom wide, Our Queen, so soft in peace, so bold in strife.

Our Queen! the love of loyal hearts we give, We join our voices and we proudly say, God bless the sweetest Woman--and long live The greatest Ruler in the world to-day!

In the Old Church

“The fine new kirk is finished, wife--the old has had its day, ’Tis like ourselves, a trifle worn, and out of date, and gray.

Stained windows and a tower high--I like not such a show, Beside the cost is something great, and money does not grow. Now when they come to me for help I’m going to tell them, plain, That since they’ve built to please themselves they’ll ask my help in vain.”

Then sat the woman at his side: “’Tis meet God’s house should be As good a one as we can give,” she answered tenderly. “And we who’ve worshipped all the years in that old church so gray, Should go with songs, and thankful hearts, into the new to-day. For think of all the precious hours we have had over there-- The hours of penitence and tears, the hours of peace and prayer.

I went to-day to say good-bye, and as I stood alone, The memory of blessings shared came to me, one by one. I heard the message from the Word, the sermon good and wise, I heard the songs of love and hope ring clearly to the skies; And looking over to the pew we’ve worshipped in for years, I seemed to see so many things, to see them through my tears.

I saw us sitting there when we were young, and glad, and strong, Ere we had learned that sorrow lends a sweetness to life’s song When every golden Sabbath day found us in love with life-- The world was fair, and God was good, and we were man and wife. One pretty far off summer morn my dim eyes seemed to see, A morn when I sat by your side, our first-born on my knee;

His fair head lay upon my arm, and rich was I, and proud, I whispered in the Master’s ear things spoken not aloud; And then our other bonnie lads grew plain unto my eyes, And Belle--our lassie fair and good, our lassie sweet and wise. I felt again her little hand clasped tightly in my own-- A mother holds her daughter dear, and I had but the one.

My soft eyed one, my loving one, with braids of yellow hair-- Ah me! I could not help but know the little one was fair. In the old church I thought upon our hour of grief and pain, Of loneliness--_she went away and came not back again_-- When broken-hearted ’neath the loss we bowed beneath the rod, There, close about us in that hour, we felt the arm of God.

I saw us older grown and bent, each tall son in his place, I saw the minister who stood with heaven in his face, His worn old face we loved so well, his eyes that seemed to see The golden light that lights the shore of God’s eternity; And yet how simple was his heart, how kindly was his way, And how he cared for all his flock, nor wearied night nor day!

If one strayed far he followed it, and won it back to fold, If one fell down he lifted it with tenderness untold; He fell asleep his labor done--how sweet must be the rest Of one who made his motto this, _The Lord shall have my best_.

Good-bye, old church! Good-bye, I said, and left its portals wide, And then I turned and looked upon the new church just beside; Upon its windows tall and stained the yellow sunbeams played, It stood, the temple of the Lord, in loveliness arrayed. “I thought,” she said, and stroked his hand, “of one who takes his rest, I seemed to hear his deep voice say: _The Lord shall have my best_.”

The sun crept lower in the sky, the world lay sweet and fair, A bird trilled softly from its throat a song that was a prayer. The old man looked up at his wife, with tears his cheeks were wet, “Ay, there are many things,” he said, “we may not, dear, forget. We’re growing old, wife, like the day our sun sinks in the west, I’ll say with him we both loved well, _The Lord shall have my best_.”

September

September comes across the hills Her blue veil softly flowing, Her flagons deep of wine she spills, And sets the old world glowing.

Yon robin’s piping her a tune-- How runs his carol tender? “I knew you once as pretty June, When you were young and slender.

And though you’ve grown a gracious thing, Full-blossomed, grand and stately, I still can see a hint of spring-- Your youth’s but left you lately.”

Spring o’ the Year

“_Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year!_” Was there ever a song so gay, As the song the meadow-lark sings to me When we meet in the fields each day?

“_Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year!_” Then pauses a moment to look At soft green leaves on shrub and tree, And buttercups gay in the brook.

“_Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year!_” No more weather gloomy and sad, Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year! Aren’t you glad? Aren’t you glad?

“_Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year!_” Isn’t it blue--the sky above? Watch ’em, watch ’em, these mates of mine, Building their nests, and making love.

“_Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year!_” Ho! I sing it morning and night, Never were meadows quite so green, Never were posies quite so bright.

“_Spring o’ the year! Spring o’ the year!_” Out rings his song so sweet and shrill, Its gladness catches you unawares, With its gurgle, and laugh, and thrill.

Mildred

My lady Mildred tells me oft That she is mistress now of me, Her voice is very sweet and soft, But, ah, an autocrat is she.

Go, say the red lips, and I go, Come, and I hasten to her side, Her warm smile sets my heart aglow, Her quaintness is my joy and pride.

I used to say in phrases fine That I was master of myself, The proud boast is no longer mine; I’m subject to a wilful elf.

My Mildred with the rose-leaf face, A tyrant spirit sways your breast, For humbly though I sue your grace, You will not grant a moment’s rest.

I’ve served you for a whole long year-- The woman new has come to stay-- But tell me, now, have you no fear That I will mutiny some day.

You give yourself a lofty air, Your throne an ill-used father’s knee-- _Now worry fly, slink off dull care, I have my girl, and she has me_.

My lady Mildred without doubt, Your tender eyes are full of mirth, And by and by, your laugh rings out, The gladdest sound in all the earth.

The Old Valentine

I sent my sweetheart a valentine on one St. Valentine’s day, A long time ago, when my hair was brown, ah, now it is sprinkled with grey! My sweetheart was pretty as she could be, a wild rose bloomed in each cheek, Her auburn hair rippled down to her waist, her eyes were tender and meek.

And, O, my sweetheart was dear to me, though nobody could have guessed From my careless glance, or my careless word, the tenderness in my breast. I sent my sweetheart a valentine, a flowery and foolish thing, All covered with blue forget-me-nots, and cupids gay on the wing. Two hearts pierced through, a ruffle of lace, a knot of ribbon, a dove, And, better than all, a space whereon I could write a message of love; So burning the midnight oil I wrote with infinite patience and care, This one earnest verse (for rhyming came hard) to send to my lady fair: “I love you, I love you with all my heart, And fain would I call you mine, My Mary, my darling, my beautiful girl, Let me be your valentine!”

This yellow old page from the book of youth was put in my hand to-day, As I growled, “Our Tom has fallen in love in a nonsensical way; He is making a fool of himself--ha! ha! he is writing poetry now, To his Anna’s lips, and his Anna’s hair, his Anna’s beautiful brow.”

“Why what rubbish is this?” I asked my wife, a portly but sweet-faced dame, Who smilingly showed me the verse underneath which I had written my name; Shamefaced, I read it again and again--let me confess to a truth-- I felt like disowning the yellow thing that belonged to the days of youth.

Till I pictured myself an excited lad penning the words of care, Knowing her answer would fill my heart with rapture or dark despair. It was yesterday, who says we are old? “I do,” says Mary, my wife, “But age has nothing to do with it, since the choosing was done for life.”

I bowed my grey head over her hand, “my sweetheart,” I whispered low, On this Valentine’s day I tender you the verse written long ago.

“I love you, I love you with all my heart, And fain would I call you mine, My Mary, my darling, my beautiful girl, Let me be your Valentine.”

The Boy of the House

He was the boy of the house you know, A jolly and rollicking lad, He was never tired and never sick, And nothing could make him sad.

If he started to play at sunrise, Not a rest would he take at noon; No day was so long from beginning to end But his bed-time came too soon.

Did some one urge that he make less noise, He would say with a saucy grin, “Why, one boy alone doesn’t make much stir-- I’m sorry I isn’t a twin!

“There’s two of twins--oh it must be fun To go double at everything, To holler by twos, and to run by twos, To whistle by twos, and to sing!”

His laugh was something to make you glad, So brimful was it of joy, A conscience he had, perhaps, in his breast, But it never troubled the boy.

You met him out in the garden path, With the terrier at his heels, You knew by the shout he hailed you with How happy a youngster feels.

The maiden auntie was half distraught At his tricks, as the day went by, “The most mischievous child in the world!” She said, with a shrug and a sigh.

His father owned that her words were true, And his mother declared each day Was putting wrinkles into her face, And was turning her brown hair grey.

His grown-up sister referred to him As a trouble, a trial, a grief, “The way he ignored all rules,” she said, “Was something beyond belief.”

But it never troubled the boy of the house, He revelled in clatter and din, And had only one regret in the world-- That he hadn’t been born a twin.

* * * * *

There’s nobody making a noise to-day, There’s nobody stamping the floor, There’s an awful silence up-stairs and down, There’s crape on the wide hall door.

The terrier’s whining out in the sun-- “Where’s my comrade?” he seems to say, Turn your plaintive eyes away, little dog, There’s no frolic for you to-day.

The freckle-faced girl from the house next door, Is sobbing her young heart out, Don’t cry little girl, you’ll soon forget To miss the laugh and the shout.

The grown-up sister is kissing his face, And calling him “darling” and “sweet,” The maiden aunt is holding the shoes That he wore on his restless feet.

How strangely quiet the little form, With the hands on the bosom crossed! Not a fold, not a flower out of place, Not a short curl rumpled and tossed!

So solemn and still the big house seems-- No laughter, no racket, no din, No startling shriek, no voice piping out, “I’m sorry I isn’t a twin!”

There’s a man and a woman pale with grief, As the wearisome moments creep; Oh! the loneliness touches everything-- The boy of the house is asleep.

For He was Scotch and so was She

They were a couple well-content With what they earned and what they spent, Cared not a whit for style’s decree, For he was Scotch, and so was she.

And O, they loved to talk of Burns; Dear, lithesome, tender, Bobby Burns! They never wearied of his song, He never sang a note too strong, One little fault could neither see, For he was Scotch, and so was she.

They loved to read of men who stood And gave for country, life and blood, Who held their faith so dear a thing They scorned to yield it to a king; Ah! proud of such they well might be-- For he was Scotch, and so was she.

From neighbor’s broil they kept away-- No liking for such things had they, And O, each had a cannie mind! Each could be deaf, and dumb, and blind; Of words--nor pence--were none too free-- For he was Scotch, and so was she.

I would not have you think this pair Went on in weather always fair, For well you know in married life Will come, sometimes, the jar and strife; They couldn’t always just agree-- For he was Scotch, and so was she.

But near of heart they ever kept, Until at close of life they slept, Just this to say when all was past-- They loved each other to the last, They’re loving yet in heaven, maybe-- For he was Scotch, and so was she.

The Legend of Love

There’s a cup on the very topmost shelf Of the cupboard built in the wall, On one side a vine is traced on the delf With forget-me-nots blue and small; On the other the words stand boldly up That were once a pride and a joy, For a legend it bears, this old-fashioned cup, Which runs, “For a good little boy!”

’Twas bought by a mother with eyes as blue As forget-me-nots pretty and shy, When youth was her portion, and love was true, And the days went merrily by.

On the cottage floor where the sunbeams crept, Played her own sturdy lad of three, And but yesterday he smiled and he slept Such a pretty babe on her knee.

He followed her down to the garden gate On her way to the little town, “Now hurry right back, and don’t you be late,” He said with a pout and a frown.

He must have some toys for the Christmas-tide, So she bought him a tiny sled, And a nice little box of sweets beside To go into his mouth so red.

“Was there anything else!” she asked herself, “She could buy for the laddie small?” It was then that she saw the cup of delf Which stands on the shelf in the wall.

“For a good little boy,” ah, that meant him, With a face as sweet as a rose, “He is good,” she said, and her eyes grew dim, “From his curly head to his toes.”

And she carried her treasures one by one To the cottage down in the lane, Where the winter sunbeams brightly shone On his face at the window pane.

He was proud of the sleigh with its jingling bells And the box was a thing of joy, “But the cup is best,” he said, “for it tells That I’m such a good little boy.”

O poor little mother, your eyes so blue, Faded out with the wash of tears! O poor little mother, your heart so true, It broke with the weight of years!

And there, on the very topmost shelf, The old-fashioned cup it has stood, Since a day long ago when she owned to herself That her boy was no longer good.

There is dust on it now, but believe me, dear, It was once a pride and a joy, With its legend of love, so bright and so clear, Which runs, “For a good little Boy.”

Our Father

Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say The words, _Our Father_, when we kneel to pray, Our Father thou, then every child of thine Is, by the bond, a brother, Lord, of mine.

Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say _Thy will be done_, when we kneel down to pray-- Thy will be done--then our proud wills must break And lose themselves in love for Thy dear sake.

Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say _Give us our daily bread_, when thus we pray; We will be trustful when we understand, Nor grasp the loaf from out a brother’s hand.

Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say, _Forgive our trespasses_, when, meek, we pray; Forgive! the word was made in Paradise, And this world’s hope and faith within it lies.

Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say The words Christ gave us, when we kneel to pray, For when we know and live their meaning deep, No heart will need to break, no eyes to weep.

Jack

Jack’s dead an’ buried, it seems odd, A deep hole covered up with sod A lyin’ out there on the hill, An’ Jack, as never could keep still, A sleepin’ in it. Jack could race, And do it at a good old pace, Could sing a song, an’ laugh so hard That I could hear him in our yard When he was half-a-mile away. Why not another boy could play Like him, or run, or jump so high, Or swim, no matter how he’d try, An’ I can’t get it through my head At all, at all, that Jack is dead.

Jack’s mother didn’t use to be So awful good to him an’ me, For often when I’d go down there On Saturday’s, when it was fair, To get him out to fish or skate, She’d catch me hangin’ round the gate, An’ look as cross as some old hen, An’ tell me, “Go off home again, It’s not the thing for boys,” she’d say, “A hangin’ round the creek all day, You go off home and do your task, No, Jack can’t go, you needn’t ask,” An’ when he got in scrapes, why, she Would up and lay it on to me, An’ wish I lived so far away Jack couldn’t see me every day.

But last night when I’d done the chores, It seemed so queer like out of doors, I kept a listenin’ all the while An’ looking down the street a mile; I couldn’t bear to go inside, The house is lonesome since he died, The robber book we read by turns Is lyin’ there--an’ no boy learns All by himself, ’cause he can’t tell How many words he’ll miss or spell, Unless there’s someone lookin’ on To laugh at him when he gets done.

An’ neighbor women’s sure to come A visitin’ a feller’s home, An’ talkin’ when they look at me ’Bout how thick us two used to be-- A stealin’ off from school, an’ such-- An’ askin’ “Do I miss him much?” ’Till I sneak off out doors, you see, They just can’t let a feller be! Well, I walked down the road a bit, Smith’s dog came out, I throwed at it, An’ do you know it never howled Same as it always did, or growled, It seemed to say, “why! Jim’s alone, Now, I wonder where’s that other one?”

Afore I knew it I was down Way at the other end of town, A hangin’ round in the old way For some one to come out an’ play. There wasn’t no one there to look So I slipped in to our old nook, I found his knife hid in the grass Where we’d been Zulus at the pass, The can of bait, an’ hook an’ line, Were lyin’ with the ball of twine, An’ “Jim,” I seemed to hear him say, “The fish will suffer some to-day!”

’Twas more than I could stand just then, I got up to go off home, when Someone kissed me on the cheek, An’ hugged me so I couldn’t speak, You won’t believe it, like as not, But ’twas Jack’s mother, an’ a lot Of great big tears came stealin’ down Right on my face; she didn’t frown A single bit--kept sayin’ low, “My blue eyed boy! I loved you so!” Of course I knew just right away That she meant Jack--my eyes are grey-- But Jack, he had the bluest eyes, Blue like you see up in the skies, An’ shine that used to come and go-- One misses eyes like his you know.

An’ by-an-by she up and tried To tell me that she’d cried an’ cried, A thinkin’ of the times that she Had scolded Jack an’ scolded me, An’ other things that I won’t tell To anyone, because--O, well, Boys can’t do much, but they can hold Tight on to secrets till they’re old. She’s Jack’s relation, that’s why she Feels kind of lovin’ like to me, But when she called me her own lad, Oh, say, I felt just awful bad; My head it went round in a whirl, I up and cried just like a girl.

But say, if Jack did see us two He laughed a little, don’t you know, For if I’d ever brag around That I’d lick some one, safe an’ sound, He’d laugh an’ say, “Jim, hold your jaw! You know your’re scared to death of maw.” Oh! I’d give all this world away If I could hear him laugh to-day, I get so lonesome, it’s so still An’ him out sleepin’ on that hill; For nothin’ seems just worth the while A-doin’ up in the old style, Cause everything we used to do Seemed always jus’ to need us two. My throat aches till I think ’twill crack, I don’t know why--it must be Jack.

There ain’t no fun, there ain’t no stir, His mother--well ’tis hard on her, But she can knit, and sew, and such-- Oh, she can’t miss him half so much!

A Pledge.

I sit alone, to-night--to-day our two roads meet, You helped me find the right, and I will not forget; I’m pledged to do my best with lips that will not lie, To strive with mind and heart as all the days go by.

You looked so strong and bold when all was done and said-- You have a heart of gold--and I have one of lead-- Some day I’ll climb the height, if fortune fair betide, I only know to-night the world is strangely wide.

Blue Eyed Bess.

But let us argue for a space Before we say that long good-bye, Now heaven grant us store of grace, We are so human, you and I.

Full well you know the old time way Will easiest seem unto our feet, Full well you know with yesterday No fair to-morrow may compete.

Then some day, Bess, we will be old, Think you our hearts content will stay With bleak December, or, grown bold, Will they not race back into May?

Look not upon his acres wide, But think how weary life would be, Your body walking at his side, Your soul back in the spring with me.

Why will you try to cheat poor love Who only asks you for his own, His blindness should compassion move, Yet what compassion have you shown?

Say, “Love, take all I have to give, For nothing would I keep from thee, We’ll walk together while we live, And thou shalt make the path for me.”

The pretty blush is on your face, We will not say that long good-bye, Now heaven grant us store of grace, We are so human, you and I.

The Courtier’s Ladye

My ladye’s face is proud and fair, My ladye’s eyes are grey, She goeth out to take the air On every sunny day.

My ladye wears a gown of blue That falleth to her feet, All broidered o’er with pearls like dew, And daisies shy and sweet.

My ladye wears a hat of silk, That fairy hands did spin, And strings it hath as white as milk, To tie beneath her chin.

My ladye wears upon her breast A knot of ribbon gay, But who her heart doth love the best-- My ladye will not say.