Chapter 5

The students of life's mysteries Toil hard, with stern resolve, The secrets of the universe To penetrate and solve; For most minds have some purpose, Some goal they fain would gain, Which they believe the linklet Wanting in life's grand chain.

The warrior risks dear life-blood, Others toil hard for fame; The Sage works on through midnight To earn an honoured name. The Lover pleads untiring, At the beloved one's feet, Each seeking the missed linklet That may life's chain complete.

Some seek the link in pleasure, In rioting and sin. Others, in forced retirement Of self, in cloisters dim. Some make the world's applauses Their sole reward and aim, Some torture gold to fashion The missed links of life's chain.

Strive on, ye band of workers, In faith and courage strong, Knowledge by labour entereth, Through perseverance long; No prize is half so precious As that obtained through pain, No means like self-denial, For perfecting life's chain.

Ever a something wanting, Ever, just one link more; Such is the hope-lit watchword Of pilgrims to heaven's shore, Nor till on that shore landed, Will missed links of life's chain Be found, and firmly welded, To sunder ne'er again.

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A PAINFUL HISTORY.

Three youths in the heyday of life's hopeful spring, On a bright April morn gaily hied, With three little skiffs, each one made by himself, To skim o'er the silvery tide.

In the joy that awaits on all well-performed work, Engaged in by youth, child, or man, Whilst employing the powers which to him God has given, And labouring as well as he can,

They pushed from the shore, their young spirits elate. In a trance of enjoyment and pride; For were they not reaping the cherished reward Which to labour is never denied?

Far happier than kings, as light-hearted as birds Who warbled spring carols on high, Each guided his skiff o'er the freshening wave, 'Neath a cloudless, sun-glorified sky.

They had chatted together while making their boats, Half in serious mood, half in fun, Of parting their hair in the middle to aid Fair balance in the risk they might run.

And thus, in increasing and joyful delight, They paddled a full hour and more, And were gaily returning triumphantly, when, Within about ten yards from shore,

Young Ithill, the eldest, a youth of sixteen, His seat unaccountably lost, And out of the frail skiff, the promising boy, In a twinkling was ruthlessly tost.

His nearest companion, young Whittaker, sprang, His canoe prompt assistance to lend, But the noble young Ithill refused to lay hold, For fear of endangering his friend.

Young Girling was some distance off, but at once To the rescue most gallantly sprang, As meantime the cry of "a boy drowning," loud Through the air supplicatingly rang.

And the mother of Girling, who heard that wild cry, Flew like lightning across to the strand, Plunged fearlessly into the tide, where her son Was struggling with stout heart and hand

To reach his poor friend, and the brave mother sought To encourage his efforts to save, While she, who, like him, could not swim, struggled hard, Kept afloat by her clothes on the wave.

But vain were their efforts, the telegraph boy Had sunk 'neath the pitiless wave, And his poor lifeless body, so late full of life, Now lies in its calm ocean grave.

In response to shrill cries for assistance, some men Put off in a boat, all too late! Instead of at once plunging in to the boy, Thus heartlessly left to his fate,

'Tis said one of three or four beings called men, Calmly standing close by on the land, Threw stones to direct where the poor boy had sunk, In reply to the woman's demand.

I've been told, but 'tis almost too hard to believe, That one of these beings could swim, But was too great a coward and poltroon to risk The endangering of life or of limb.

But enough of such sickening allusions as these; Those who might have saved life, lost what none Who never ennoble their lives by good deeds, Could imagine of happiness won

By hearts braced with courage, regardless of self, Such as John Girling's mother displayed, Who, like a true hero, sublimely risked life In those efforts, alas! vainly made.

Is there not on this isle some society formed To reward such brave deeds as this one? For surely humanity could not withhold Recompense for such gratitude won!

Let us hope that this sad, painful history may lead Every one to determine to try, The fine art of swimming to master forthwith, Ere the now opening season pass by.

For doubtless the poor boy might yet have been spared, Had he known how to swim or to float, As very few strokes might have brought him to shore, When he slipped from his slight fragile boat.

'Tis sweet to record the good conduct and life Of this well-beloved, motherless boy, In the hope that it may to his absent sire's heart Convey some consolation and joy.

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SELF DENIAL.

Teacher sublime, great, grand and free! My spirit loves and honours thee, Who taught that all religion ran, In love to God, and love to man.

Grand, comprehensive standard this, To lead mankind to peace and bliss, Inspiring them, when well unfurled, To link in brotherhood the world.

Could any sect or doctrine claim A higher, nobler, holier aim? And should not all religion tend, To this all-glorious god-like end?

The greatest teacher ever known, This simple rule of life has shown Should be the standard for all time, Of all the sons of every clime.

If then Christ's soul-inspiring plan, Makes love to God and love to man, Embrace all duties, and insure Virtue and happiness most pure.

Why vex the world with differing creeds, Which meet not universal needs, Which sore perplex and lead the mind To separate, not link mankind?

For would not self-denial spring From such rich soil, and blessings bring, Which would provoke each one to be His brother's helper ceaselessly?

If each love God with heart and mind, And treat as brethren all mankind, All other virtues must perforce, Outflow from such inspiring source.

Such life divine inspired within, Would form stern barriers to all sin, And be the motive power to lead, To all that man could wish or need.

Blest reason, long dethroned, might then Become the guide of erring men, Blind superstition meet its doom, Within an unregretted tomb.

Let all with one accord then bend, Their powers to further this grand end, Love then would herald the new birth, Of peace and good will through the earth.

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TO A FAITHFUL DOG.

Poor Tyne! no verse of mine has ever sung The praise of one more faithful than thou wert, For warm affection formed a major part Of thy canine existence, now, alas! Cut short by sad and cruel accident. We cannot choose but mourn thee, good old dog, Who for a period of thirteen years Guarded the family hearth and claimed a share Of warm affection in its daily life, Watching through tender, melancholy eyes, Each loved one forming its component parts. Ready to follow, sport, caress or play, If but a kind word led the cue or way, _Parisien emigré_ of sixty-seven, Reserved for kinder, more congenial fate Than thy unhappy brethren of the siege; Perchance with instinct keen thou did'st rejoice To leave thy native land, o'ercharged with strife, And on a foreign shore tell out thy life. Thy soft, thick, creamy coat, expressive tail, Deep, lustrous, loving eyes, short bark and wail; Thy wild delight at prospect of a walk, Glad boundings over green sward fresh and free, Thy look of conscious guilt when wrong was done, And patient waiting at thy master's side, For well-selected morsel of each meal; Thy pleadings, far more eloquent than words Of mine could ever chronicle, thy sweet Low whinings of inquiry or desire, All will be long remembered, watcher true, Good, old, affectionate, responsive Tyne!

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FLOWERS.

Is there a heart so sere as not to feel Pleasures innumerable o'er it stead, In sweet surroundings of earth's lovely flowers, Which cheer and elevate man's saddest hours.

Sweet messages from heaven they convey, Through perfumed breath they sing their God-taught-lay, Root firmly bedded in the active sod, And eye turned upward to their Father God.

Pure gems of earth are beauteous to behold, Set in the royalty of burnished gold; But what is their dead beauty, to the glow Of living, loving glory which flowers show?

Kind angel messengers to earth they seem, Suggestive of hopes radiant, evergreen, And of a future blossoming above, In an eternal home of blissful love.

Types of what earthly love is meant to be, Struggling through labours to existence free. Then putting on a fragant outgrowth, rife With joy for others, through true flowering life.

Sweet influences borne on angel wing, These odorous blossoms to the sad heart sing, Diffusing added zest to joyful mirth, And spreading ripening gladness through the earth.

The perfume of a flower, a touch, a tone, Oft waken memories of dear days gone, Wherein an atmosphere of earthly bliss, A plighted love was sealed with thrilling kiss.

Who has not treasured some poor faded flower? In token of a radiant, love lit hour, When life was one delicious joyful dream, Ere we had learnt "things are not what they seem."

Sweet rose! in sunlit robes of beauty rare, Which loads with fragrance the enraptured air, Reposing gracefully on verdant stem, Thou art of all earth's flowers the choicest gem!

Well has our country done in making thee An emblem of her nationality; Thy beauteous form, sweet breath and sunset sheen, Make thee of all earth's loveliest flowers the Queen!

Who says that Scotland's thistle is not fair? Of sturdy growth and free determined air, Type of a race, in mental vigour strong, Of perseverance and endurance long.

The shamrock with its triple verdant smile, Fit emblem of our emerald sister isle! Whose people's pleasant humour laughs down care, As they good fellowship delight to share.

May thistle, shamrock, rose, for aye intwine In union and brotherhood sublime; And every Briton heavenward waft the prayer, That each the other's weal or woe still share.

Narcissus, sacred to proud Juno once, Was afterwards the flower of cultured France, Then the dynastic emblem of Savoy, Now, the red Indian's magic herb and joy.

The violets of classic Athens too, Of modest bearing and enchanting hue, In the accomplishment of time became, Napoleon's violets of world-wide fame.

Nabrassor's Queen, tired of the level plains Which her adopted Babylonia claims, Sighed for her Midian gardens and sweet flowers, To cheer her in her few retiring hours.

She sighed not long or vainly, for her lord Called art to rival nature; at his word Bewitching gardens with rare flowers were Formed and suspended in mid-air for her.

Let all be grateful to these flower friends, Who to life's pleasure such rich fragrance lends, And strive, like them through perfumed actions clear, Others to gladden, elevate and cheer.

Then will they not have toiled and smiled in vain, For man a fuller, freer life to gain, In bright incentives to enjoyments sure, Through sympathetic nature's teachings pure.

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A WELCOME FROM LIVERPOOL.

_To Her Majesty the Queen, May 11th, 1886_

Beloved Queen of Britain's sea-girt Isles, And lands o'er which the grand Sun ever smiles, Accept from Liverpool, we humbly pray, The heartiest welcome loyal hearts can pay.

Thrice welcome to this enteprising Port, Whose ships to Earth's remotest point resort, Making our City a commercial throne, For merchant princes of deserved renown.

The loyal shouts which will beset thy way, And hearty cheers which thrill thy heart to-day, Are but expressions impotent to tell, Our fealty to the Queen we love so well.

We welcome also Connaught's Prince with pride, And the Prince Henry and his royal bride, And pray they may in wedded bliss long live, With every blessing heaven and earth can give.

Our Exhibition, we would fondly hope, May prove with former splendid shows to cope; But chief its maritime displays we deem, May gain the approbation of our Queen.

Peoples of other and far distant lands, Have toiled with active brains and willing hands, Working with competition's keen excess, To make the shipperies a grand success.

In its arrangements may a lion's share Of grateful thanks be given to our mayor, To whose untiring enterprise is due, The grand result which we now proudly view.

What rich displays of scientific art, Applied to manufactures, form a part Of its instruction, and what mines of wealth Have they not sprung to minister to health.

What triumphs of constructive power are here, What force in those huge engines doth appear, Which leagued with steam are conquering time and space And quickening intellect to giant's pace.

And see, yon granite structure towering high, As if earth's wildest tempest to defy, Lighthouse of Eddystone, reared at Land's End, To storm-tossed mariners an angel friend!

And fitting offspring of this noble tower, To shipwrecked mariners a priceless dower, Are those blest life-boats merciful to save Full many a sufferer from a watery grave.

Yonder the graceful trophy, typical Of our fair City's commerce, trade and skill, A not unworthy tribute to form part Of the world's storehouse of constructive art.

Magnificent displays from every clime! Columbia, Afric', Asia, all combine With Europe, in this peaceful contest won From every nation known beneath the Sun!

Science, with her fair sister Art, unite With nature, to form parterres rare and bright, Preside at buffets of refreshment pure, To make enjoyment in the whole more sure.

All industries have freely lent their aid. And to our city's fête grand tribute made, Too numerous the products, rich and rare, In this too brief description to have share,

Suffice it that the whole is richly worth A pilgrimage from any part of earth, Besides the lustre shed by thee, dear Queen, Over the practical, inspiring scene.

Well do we, who are acting out life's part In its last scene, remember with sad heart, How nearly five and thirty years ago, Thou came'st here, with thy loved one, in life's glow!

Albert the Good! long shall his honoured name Deep love and reverence from all people claim; Cultured and intellectual, virtuous, kind. His manly heart was generous and refined.

Noble by birth, yet nobler far by deed, In philanthrophic work he took the lead, With thy ennobling union strengthened, graced, His name on Fame's grand scroll is firmly traced.

Accept, beloved Queen, ere thou depart, The fervent prayer of every loyal heart, That the Great Father bless and guard thee long, Thy gracious reign to prosper and prolong.

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IN RESPONSE TO A KIND GIFT OF FLOWERS.

Your beauteous gift of lovely brilliant flowers, My dear young friend, has cheered my suffering hours, With loved charged telegrams from nature's king, Such as these messengers to mortals bring.

In gorgeous hues of scarlet, pink and white, Caught from the glorious sun's electric light. And sheened by lovely fronds of maiden hair, With which no emerald jewels could compare.

How merciful the ways of providence! Our daily life with such sweet joys to fence, And linking with them such divine discourse, To point the way to heavenly intercourse!

What pure benevolence has called them forth, Calm, blooming offspring of rejoicing earth, Never to sadden, ever to make gay, And chase the clouds of gloom and care away.

Responding with delight to human care, Loading with fragrance the enraptured air, Proving that culture and refinement can, Increase the happiness of plants and man.

While the divine suggestions which they impart, Are elevating both to mind and heart; Calm and refresh the spirit, and incite To seek through nature's laws "The kindly light."

For nature is God's revelation sure, Which ever was and ever shall endure, A daily new creation, to inspire To simple pleasures and devine desire.

Then let us question nature more and more, Her glorious realm more ardently explore, Since she has joys unbounded to extend, To all who truly seek to be her friend.

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HEALTH.