VOLUME ONE.

How beautiful is youth that grandly gleams With bright illusions and aspiring dreams! Book of beginnings, such as Fiction paints, With model heroines and hero saints.

Each precious page with expectation teems, Filling the mind as rain-drops fill the streams; Sweet and refreshing as the summer shower And adding charms to every passing hour.

Each coming chapter with a new hope beams, But how ’twill end the wisest little dreams; And when, at last, the book of Youth is done A less romantic sequel is begun.

HAPPINESS-KILLERS.

We are crossing little bridges That we never reach at all; We are climbing mighty mountains That are not upon our way; We are looking for a twilight While the morning sunbeams fall, And the troubled thoughts of future Take the gladness from to-day.

We are losing Nature’s glories, Which are meant for us to see; We are finding weeds and grasses Where the pretty flowers grow; We are looking for the storm clouds Which perchance may never be, And we quite forget the sunshine Which to-day is ours below.

We are filling life’s brief season Full of worry and regret, And the thoughts of past and future Rob the present of its best; And the happiness of others We perchance do oft forget. Past regret and future worry Banish peace and conquer rest.

Life is ours! The day is passing, And the Present is our all; Past has gone, and future cometh In the moments one by one. If to-day we do our duty, Love the Saviour, hear His call, Earth will bless and Heaven receive us, And His words will be: “Well done.”

RECOMPENSE.

Not he who sins, but he who does God’s will Finds, in life’s cup, some added sorrows still; Not he who soars to heights of rank and fame, But he who climbs, is he who bears Christ’s name; Not he who wins, but he who daily tries Shall best deserve the joys of Paradise.

WHY?

Why do I love thee and how do I know That thou art the dearest of all to me? Why do the moments, wherever I go, Seem brighter and better because of thee?

Why, mid the work of the long, weary day, Are burdens of life more easy to bear? Why pause I so often, upon life’s way, To ask God’s blessing for thee in prayer?

Why does my soul, once so tempted and sad, Awaken to thoughts both noble and pure? Why does the loving thee make my heart glad,— God seem the nearer and Heaven the more sure?

Why, in my dreaming, thy voice do I hear, Thy face do I see, and feel thy caress? Why, dreaming or waking, seemeth thou near, To soothe, to comfort, to help and to bless?

I pass others by, in the crowded street, Whose faces, it may be, are fair as thine, Yet thine, thine only, to me is most sweet,— Thou only canst waken this love of mine.

Another’s low word and sweet, winning smile, Tho’ sought by many, when given to me I dare to confess can charm for awhile, But love meaneth more and I love but thee.

I hear other voices, see other smiles, But hearing and seeing bringeth unrest; Laughter and music the evening beguiles,— Thy voice and thy smile for me are the best.

Why do I love thee? Ask God why he gave To thee, and thee only, that power divine My heart to touch and my soul to save, And then I can answer why thou art mine.

Why do I love thee? Ask God to reveal Why He hath made thee so unlike the rest;— True and unselfish, perchance thou mayest feel That I have good reason for loving thee best.

Art thou the dearest one? Love can but show That thou art the dearest, ideal of mine; Knowing, I love thee; and loving, I know; To know and to love are the gifts divine.

CLASS ODE,—1885.

We sail far out to sunset’s light beyond, On Life’s most restless and most fitful deep; Where tempests rage and storms do oft abound, And waves and billows care not long to sleep. In Ocean’s lap most priceless pearls we’ve found, And gathered them as onward we have passed; We deemed the work but pleasure and reward, Rare treasures that in years to come would last.

Life’s dark blue waters cannot be recrossed O’er which we passed so joyfully each day; For youth and pleasure can not always last, And Duty bids us hasten on our way. We know that here our voyage together ends And each alone must earn his own reward; But through the storms and sunny days alike We shall be guided by the hand of God.

To-day we all must bid a fond farewell; We know henceforth our lives apart must be, Until we cross the deep that lies before, To be no longer tossed on life’s rough sea. And when beyond the ever-changing waves We anchor on that shining Heavenly shore, May we, who linger now to say: “Farewell,” United stand to part again no more.

TWO SIDES.

The clouds that float above Each have two separate sides,— One toward the earth below, The other toward the sun; And when we see our lives, Which God in goodness guides, Upon the darker side He sees the brighter one.

Some day we shall behold The side that He can see, And we shall praise His name For blessings that are ours; Till clouds shall all disperse, And life shall grander be,— Refreshed like mother earth When sunshine follows showers.

THE CHANGING CURRENT.

A river runs upon its way Thro’ fertile fields and meadows gay;— Among the sweetly-scented bowers, And where the sunlight soothes the flowers. It dances merrily along And sings sweet Solitude a song; But ere it meets the distant shore, Its current changes more and more; The stones that in its course now lie It must rush over or pass by; And while it meets them one by one Dark clouds obscure the shining sun; The sparkling waters lose their charm, No more to frolic free from harm; For threatening storm has come at last,— The river rushes madly past Thro’ cities and thro’ distant towns, As tho’ it would escape its bounds; But storm will cease and mists will clear Till hidden sun shall reappear, And that same river, calm and free, Shall flow in fullness to the sea. Thus runs the current of my life Thro’ sun and shade, in calm and strife; At first among the flowers gay It sparkles freely on its way; But while it sings its happy song, And glides so peacefully along, The obstacles and clouds appear To hinder and deprive of cheer. When all the barriers have been passed, And threatening storms have ceased at last, My life, more full, and calm, and free, Shall end it’s course beyond the Sea.

SLEEP.

When sunset light has faded from our sight, And darkness comes to tell us of the night, We sleep, refreshed from earthly care and sorrow, To waken to another hopeful morrow.

When sun and stars shall no more please our sight, And darkness comes to tell us of the night, We sleep, unmindful of earth’s joy and sorrow, To waken to a never-ending morrow.

LIFE’S DAY.

When the morn has breathed her story, And the noon of life is past, When the sunset’s deepening glory Fills the waiting soul at last;

Then, like sweetest music falling Thro’ the splendors of the West, We shall hear the angels calling To a blest, eternal rest.

When the day in silence sleeping, Shows that earthly light has fled, When the heart has ceased it’s weeping And the final prayer is said;

Then beyond life’s great endeavor, In the stillness of the night, We shall wake to live forever And shall know God’s plans are right.

A POET.

A poet took in hand his mighty pen To move the hearts of lyric-loving men. He wrote of prayer, not knowing how to pray; He wrote of Heaven, not having found the way; He wrote of fame, not having reached the goal Where fame’s great treasure thrills the seeking soul; He wrote of Art, and then of Nature sweet, While Nature’s flowers were crushed beneath his feet; He wrote of life, and human love below, The power of which he did not, could not know. At last, grown weary of his every theme, A thought aroused him from his restless dream; He seized his pen,—the inspiration grew To tell of things he really felt and knew: He wrote of “mother” and his “childhood days;” Then high and low began to sing his praise.

THANKSGIVING.

Not because Thou givest me Life from care and sorrow free Do I thank Thee, Lord, to-day; But because in life’s dark hour, Thou hast given peace and power To sustain me on the way.

Not for gift of wealth or fame Do I praise Thy kingly name Kneeling now with grateful heart; But for home, for friends, and health,— Greater gifts than fame or wealth, Blessings of my life a part.

Not because the earth is bright With a wealth of joy and light Do I thank Thee, Lord Divine; But because in Home above Life eternal speaks Thy love And the hope of Heaven is mine.

MUSINGS.

Upon the shining sands a man once strolled; And, looking out across the silvery sea, He saw the waste of waters, blue and cold, Where restless waves were climbing high and free.

He paused awhile to watch the changing tide; But, tiring of the noise and sunlight’s glare, He sought a hidden path, and turned aside, Where sweet wild roses scent the balmy air.

Then, growing weary as the morning passed, He filled his hands with blossoms that he found, And threw himself beneath an oak at last, Whose brawny branches brushed the grassy ground.

He bared his head; and lying ’neath the tree, Arranging wealth of roses in his hands, He thought that, ’bove the branches, he could see The same blue ocean rolling to the sands.

His mind to rose thoughts turned in dreamy way,— From untrained blossoms, blooming in the bowers, Whose simple petals fade within a day, Have been developed grander, sweeter flowers.

The jacqueminot and all her sisters fair, Now clothed in colors bright and staying late, Because of culture and a proper care Have found a place within the garden gate.

So too with life; the untrained children we Whose innocence shall fade within the hours,— With thoughts, like petals, simple, pure, and free,— And minds to be developed like the flowers.

If rightly clothed, according to God’s plan, We soon discover, ere it is too late, That cultivation makes the grander man Who finds a place within the Heavenly gate.

* * * * *

The dreamer woke; his roses, once so bright, Had drooped and faded in the heat of day; His rose thoughts had unfolded to the light To bless and help him all along life’s way.

SEEKING AND STRIVING.

The soul that seeks for Heavenly things, And mounts above on tireless wings, Shall find them by and by; The soul that strives to conquer wrong, And sings a happy trustful song, Shall live and never die.

SOME DAY.

Some day, not far away, In Heaven above, Both you and I, Who say the last good-bye, Shall meet and love.

Some day, beyond life’s way Of cares and tears, Your soul and mine, With Christ, the Soul divine, Shall know no fears.

Some day, when others pray With tear-stained eyes, You’ll take my hand And we shall understand In Paradise.

Some day, when others stay To do life’s part, We’ll reach the goal Each standing soul to soul,— Not heart to heart.

Some day, when others say:— “Their lot was sad,” We’ll know the why; In Heaven both you and I Shall be more glad.

Some day, when earth is gay On land and sea, Beyond life’s shore We two, who patience bore, Shall thankful be.

Some day,—some brighter day Than all the rest, Both you and I Shall say no more: “Good-bye,” But:—“God knows best.”

THE AWAKENING.

When Earth is waking from her winter dream, And Sunlight calls to life each sleeping stream; When songsters shall return on joyful wings, ’Tis then the mind awakes to grander things. Faith in our God becomes a mighty power,— Deep rooted in the soul it grows each hour. Hope springs to life and, like the budding rose, Admits the light, and thus diviner grows. Sweet Charity, the greatest of the three, Unlocks the dormant heart with magic key,— Then enters Joy, the ever welcomed guest, To quiet Sorrow, and to bid her rest. The waking Earth demands the watchful eye, While day by day new glories round her lie. No longer shall we sleep away the hours, But wake to life as wake the budding flowers,— Breathing to others, in our life’s brief day, Fragrance and beauty as they pass our way. No longer shall we wait for better days, But, like the bird, sing forth His endless praise, And in the hour new hope and pleasure bring To those who listen but care not to sing. No longer shall we rest and vainly dream, But wake as wakes again the living stream, Ever to broaden as we onward go, Bearing to thirsting souls the joys we know.

LOVE-LETTERS.

You may burn the letters, dearie, Tho’ they’re written from the heart And have made the days less dreary While we two have been apart.

You may burn each loving letter, Tho’ the sentiment is true, For it may be really better;— They are meant for only you.

You may watch the glowing embers While the ashes turn to white; For your loyal heart remembers Tho’ my words shall pass from sight.

You can burn Love’s secrets never That my soul to yours confessed; They, I know, will live forever In the life that I love best.

So, my dearie, burn each token That I’ve written just for you, And accept the love unspoken From a heart that’s ever true;

For our love-light burns out never,— It is human and divine; We shall live and love forever,— I am yours and you are mine.

REGRET.

There is no time, in life, for vain regret; The days have passed, the hours are passing yet. Each moment wasted by regretful sigh Will count as worthless in the by and by, Till life itself, which God to man has given, Will be unworthy of the peace of Heaven. A vain regret is but an added wrong,— It makes the past a sorrow, not a song; It robs the present of its very best And fills the future with a vague unrest. The little wrongs can never be made right By keeping them before the human sight; Better it is to give them scanty space By putting virtue in its proper place; Better it is to let the whole heart sing Than let it sigh o’er one regretted thing.

CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS.

Hear the mighty army, Marching on the way, With the banner lifted in the light. See the Christian Soldiers, In the ranks to-day, As they battle ever for the Right.

Under Christ, the Leader, Who commands them here, They will stand united, one and all. They will pledge allegiance, They have naught to fear, They will answer ever to His call.

In His Service Royal, Theirs will be the fame; They shall wear the laurels by and by. On the Shore Eternal, They will praise His name, Where the soul shall never, never die.

A QUESTION.

What have you done to-day, dear heart, For Jesus’ sake? Did love for Him reveal the part To undertake?

Have you been wishing to aspire To better things? Has your sweet soul been lifted higher By willing wings?

Or has it fallen from a height So far above, That naught can make it pure and right Except God’s love?

What have you done to-day, dear heart,— What will you do? Will you not wisely do the part God gives to you?

Will you not put away the dream That fancies fill, And tho’ your duties humble seem Accept God’s will?

SWEETEST MUSIC.

A little child, at an organ In a room across the way, While trying to learn his lesson Awoke me from dreams to-day.

The exercises were simple But he soon began to cry, And I heard him say with feeling: “’Tis really no use to try!”

Then the master, bending o’er him As patiently as before, Said: “Let me take your place, dear, And I’ll show you how once more.”

Soon I hear instead of discord A sweet, harmonious sound, While the master’s skillful fingers The musical keys have found.

Within the souls of the many Are keys of ivory white, Which will waken to sweetest music If in tune and touched aright;

But how oft we hear a discord When the wrong keys have been tried And the amateur is playing While the Master stands aside.

AT LAST.

A little stream that danced and played all day Upon its rough and ever winding way, Like some young child, upon his mother’s breast, Soon neared the tide and calmed itself to rest.

A little flower that nodded here and there, At every passing breeze, in daylight fair, When sunset splendor lingered o’er the hill Sent forth its fragrance and at last was still.

A little bird that built her airy nest Nor thought in sunny hours to pause and rest, Sang sweeter songs to cheer the passer by When light was fading in the distant sky.

A man, who thro’ life’s day had toiled and wept, When life was o’er lay down in peace and slept; He, who had borne the burden of the day, Found sunset glories flooding all his way.

Peace comes from God, and rest is sure and sweet To those who bear life’s burden and its heat; Sweet, starry twilight calms that manly soul That strives by toil to reach Heaven’s distant goal.

HIS PROMISE.

Oft when the rain-drops fall, We pray for sunlight fair; Oft when the day is bright, We seek the cooling shade; Oft when the robins call, We long for tree-tops bare; Oft when the ground is white, We wish that spring had stayed.

But God who ruleth all, And keeps us in His care, Doth plan all things aright, Which for our good He made; Our gifts, so poor and small, Cannot with His compare, And if we trust His might His promise will not fade.

LIFE’S CRUCIBLE.

We do not cut and polish the stones That are laid in the common wall; We do not prune the brambles and weeds That around our pathway fall.

We do not put into crucibles A metal unworthy the test; Nor do we send a man to the front Who would not peril his best.

The vine that’s pruned bears the choicest fruit,— Necessity grinds the dull tool; And the keenest and best instructors Are prepared in Affliction’s school.

Suffering gives us the richest thoughts That to literature can belong;— In poetry it strikes the sweetest note And inspires the tenderest song.

Our troubles are but the inlets small That shall lead to the human soul, Thro’ which the Comforter comes to heal And to strengthen us for the Goal.

The rarest of saints are afflicted By One who doth know what is right; And the stars shall ever shine brightest That contend with the darkest night.

MY CHOICE.

Not the bird that soars the highest, Nor whose plumage is the brightest, But the bird that sings the sweetest Is the bird I prize. Not the flower that blooms the tallest, Nor whose petals are the whitest, But whose fragrance is completest Satisfies my eyes.

Not the brook that laughs the loudest, Nor whose waters are the purest, But the brook that runs the fleetest To the mill and sea. Not the soul that soars the quickest, But whose faith in God is surest, And whose record is the neatest Is the soul for me.

ENDEAVOR.

Life’s morning hour is never quite complete If climbing upward at the break of day We fail to show to others, whom we meet, New glories found along the heavenly way.

If by endeavor, step by step we take, And for another breathe a loving prayer And lead him up to see the morning break, We find a blessing as we journey there.

The noon of life, when sunlight floods the skies, Is never quite so pleasing to our sight, As when we help a fallen brother rise And by his side direct his steps aright.

The way grows brighter as we pass along, For not alone we seek the heights untried; A soul is breathing us a thankful song— The weary one is toiling by our side.

The twilight of the life God gives us here Is never quite so filled with peace and rest As when we journey on with naught to fear, Tho’ sunset light is fading in the west.

The night comes not to those who look above, For on the summit soon they all shall stand, Who leave the vale and seek the Father’s love, Which bids them welcome to the promised land.

Thus by endeavor—step by step each day We climb above, where other feet have trod, And leading others up the heavenly way Find rest and day eternal with our God.

SERVICE.

If you love and trust the Saviour You can find enough to do; His good deeds and His compassion Will be done and felt by you.

His great aims will all be cherished If with Him you’re really one; Can you think of Christ as idle While so much remains undone?

His self-sacrificing spirit Will be exercised by you; And your faith will aid you ever While love guides and makes it true.

Faith and love that work together Will turn drudgery into joy; And make every service easy That doth trouble and annoy.

Love will show where service waits you Tho’ it be but word or song; Faith will prompt you how to do it Be the service short or long.

You can never be discouraged While the two together blend; Joined to faith, love meets all trials And endureth to the end.

You can leave the lower places, And mount upward every day; Winning character exalted If you faithfully work and pray.

You can reach the best attainments Doing service that you find; And a worthier example You can leave to all mankind.

CROWNING LIGHT.

There is a Land, beyond the gloomy sky, That needs no earthly light for its adorning; Where God’s own children nevermore shall die,— A home of perfect peace and endless morning.

We cannot see the City’s shining towers, But truths divine proclaim the wondrous story,— On earth the cross, in Heaven the crown is ours,— While Gates ajar reveal an inner glory.

NONCE.

To-day is here; to-morrow’s dawn Perchance thou may’st not see; The noon-tide of another day May come, but not for thee.

The sun at even’-tide may glow Upon yon mountain height, And pause to bless the Mother Earth Before he sinks from sight;

And yet for thee no earthly light, No sunset glow at home, No shadows of life’s twilight hour,— No silent night may come.

Thou knowest not; the “brighter days” May never come to thee; The future is thy present time Formed from life’s yesterday.

Thou can’st not look beyond this hour To trace what may befall; But now is the accepted time To serve the Lord of all.

To-day then do the good thou canst, And brighten home with love; Then shall thy soul more brightly shine In Heaven, the Home above.

Thy blessings oft are in disguise,— What seems to be a sorrow May be the shades of deepening night Before a brighter morrow.

THE GOAL.

Each day we are grown older, Years swiftly pass away; And the world seems strangely colder, The heart itself less gay.

The hopes that are brightly dawning, The joys that oft are ours, Shall vanish, in life’s fair morning, Like dew-drops on the flowers.

Youth’s rosiest tints of splendor, Are fading fast from sight; And the trusting heart more tender, In patience waits the night.

Like the athlete growing weary, No more we run the race; But near to the victors cheery We seek a resting-place.

Just beyond the passing pleasure, And thought of added years, We can see Heaven’s greater treasure, Which satisfies and cheers.

An eternal light is dawning, To penetrate the gloom; In life’s more radiant morning Peace waits beyond the tomb.

A QUESTION ANSWERED.

What is the secret of discontent That never for human hearts was meant, And why the needless agitation That tries a soul and taunts a nation?

A discontent would never be known, An agitation would ne’er be shown, If things that are simply prosy and real Would correspond with the high ideal.

GRANDMOTHER.

Grandmother sits in her high-backed chair, A snowy cap hides her soft gray hair; And while her needles fly in and out We wonder what her thoughts are about. Beside the chair stands an antique bed, With its modern draperies overhead, While, close to the wall, and near at hand Is the newly polished, square-topped stand. Within its drawer lies her camphor-bag, Some spicy cubebs and sugared flag, Tomato cushion, of gaudy red, A bit of wax, for her sewing-thread, Some slippery elm, in a corner dark, Scattered fragments of cinnamon bark, The golden ear-knobs, and powder puff, Near a little box of scented snuff, A baby’s picture, with dimpled face, And a lock of hair, in its broken case. On its top is her bible, worn by age, With its faded book-mark and penciled page. The faithful clock, with its quaint, carved door, Reaches the ceiling and meets the floor. A chest of drawers, with handles of brass, Stands just across from the gilt-framed glass, And is reflected in all its pride; While on its top, upon either side, Whose fancy the modern mind might suit, Stand the gypsum dishes of painted fruit. Near an open fireplace, neatly swept, The box of kindling-wood is kept; While across the andirons polished bright, A log lies ready for heat and light. Beside the dust-pan and well-worn wing The brass topped fire-tongs and shovel swing; On the hearth-stone gray, ’neath the chimney high, The useful bellows in waiting lie. The “mantle-place” holds the candle-sticks And silver snuffers for lighted wicks. While, near to the match-safe, just between, An apple filled with cloves is seen. Grandmother rocks as she knits her sock, To-day her thoughts are too deep for talk,— She lives once more ’neath a cloudless sky, And dreams again of the days gone by. In her cherished dream she can seem to see The dear old house as it used to be, With its clapboards white, its blinds of green, And the tiny window-panes between; And lingers there for a little while, Ere the modern workman changed its style. She sings to her babies the old time song, And hopes that “father” will come ere long; She moves her chair to the waning light To watch the glow of the sunset bright, And looks for a few, pale evening stars While the cows come home thro’ the pasture bars. She lights the candles, and smoothes her hair, And breathes for her loved ones a silent prayer; Then goes to her work with happy heart, Cheerfully doing the house-wife’s part; And once again she can seem to feel The well known move of her spinning-wheel. As she fondly dreams of those days of yore She hears a whisper beside her door; Then close to her side the children creep:— “Why, Grandma has fallen fast asleep!” She hears one say, as they tip-toe out: “I wonder what she’s dreaming about.” Little they know what memories arise When Grandmother thinks with half-closed eyes.

DILIGENCE.

He who cannot do to-morrow Better than he does to-day Is a creature of dishonor And a failure all the way.

From to-day’s accomplished labor Comes the morrow near at hand, Just as yesterday’s completion Brought to-day’s ambitions grand.

All the past is antiquated,— Useful but for present guide, And if followed makes the future All that has been hoped and tried.

He who will not wisely labor For the Present that is here, Rather than prefer past pleasures Or a future’s coming cheer;

Is, among the world’s great workers, But a tramp, whom few can trust, Who destroys the best of morals Or is held in sheer disgust.

Happy hearts and willing workers Make this earth a better place, And receive the Father’s blessing, When they see Him face to face.

THE BABY.

Within his little crib the baby lies; And ’neath the lashes of his closing eyes I catch a glimpse of summer’s bluest skies.

His tiny head, upon its pillow white, Is crowned with curls, like sunshine fair and bright, Half hidden now from his admirer’s sight.

His cheek, soon flushed in a refreshing sleep, Is like the petal of a wild-rose deep, While in and out the pretty dimples peep.

His rose-bud mouth, in such an hour as this, Invites the pleasure of a loving kiss, Which even strangers could not take amiss.

His tiny teeth are like the precious pearls And, when his lip in childish laughter curls, They shine, as perfect as a baby girl’s.

His shapely ears, like sea-shells pink and small, Which soon discern the mother song and call, Can quickly hear the slightest sound of all.

His little nose, not yet in proper style, Which mother models every little while, Is quite enough to make a critic smile.

His dimpled hands, unlike the restless feet Securely pinned within his blanket neat, Oft find a place outside the snowy sheet.

When baby sleeps the house is hushed and lone; His rubber playthings to the floor are thrown, While patient pussy seeks her peace unknown.

When baby wakes the house is filled with joy; His lusty cries no loving heart annoy, While mother runs to take her darling boy.

GOD’S LOVE.

Like a star, whose beams are brighter When skies are dark above, So shines, in night of sorrow, The light of God’s great love.

We may not see its lustre, While heads are bowed in prayer, But looking just above us We find its glories there.

Our tears may dim the vision And we may question why; But some day He will answer Where souls shall never die.

Above the gathering shadows, Beyond the gloom of years, God’s star will shine forever, Undimmed by Sorrow’s tears.

Some day, when He shall lead us To our eternal rest, We’ll know life’s hidden meaning And we shall say: “’Twas best.”

RELEASE.

Fear not to die, but rather fear to live, For death is not so grave a thing as life; The soul that God to mortal man did give Shall some day be exempt from earthly strife, And from its narrow prison cell at last It shall go forth the glorious light to see, When chains are loosened, which now hold it fast, By Death, the warden, who shall set it free; And it shall live thro’ all the days and years To know the peace of sunny Paradise, No more to be the slave of doubts and fears, Nor suffer failure when escape it tries. Earth’s blossoms die, but from the falling seeds Shall live again the pure and treasured flowers; And thus we die, but loving words and deeds Shall be immortal like this soul of ours.

EASTER.

[To M. M. M.]

’Twas Easter evening and the church Was filled with a waiting throng, To listen to Easter Service With its flowers, its light and song.

The organist, by the altar, Touched the pretty ivory keys And sent, thro’ the house of worship The sweetest of melodies.

Just as the notes were ceasing, And the people arose for prayer, A little maid came softly in And seated herself by the stair.

The service was just beginning, She had never entered before; But while passing had heard the music And seen bright lights from the door;—

So she thought: “I’ll look in a moment, To see what it all is about,— And perhaps—if I steal in softly That no one will find it out.”

She saw all the people standing With heads bowed down in the light, And she heard the words: “Our Father, Bless this service here to-night.”

When the good man ceased his speaking And each one had taken seat, Again the notes from the organ Thro’ the stillness sounded sweet.

A little girl came to the altar,— “No older than I am”—she thought; She was dressed in snowy whiteness, In her hands sweet flowers she brought.

She spoke of the Christ—our Saviour, In her pretty childish way; She said: “The Lord is risen And he walks with men to-day.”

“He loves us—He died to save us,” Said the little maid in white— “He went to the Home above us, To Heaven where there is no night.”

And the little girl by the stair-way In her tattered gown of red, Listening, heard the story sweet And treasured the words she said;

And she wondered, as she listened, If the Saviour did truly care For one so small and neglected As she, sitting down by the stair.

And while she looked at the flowers And heard the grand organ play, And sweet voices of the children Now telling of Easter day;

Her little heart grew lighter, She said: “I’m alone no more For Christ, who loves the children, Is my Father now gone before.”

When the Easter Service was ended She wended her way alone Thro’ the streets of the great city To the garret, her only home.

As she climbed the narrow stair-way, Unlighted by cheering ray, Her little heart kept singing The songs of glad Easter day;

And the woman, who kept the lodging, Heard the little maiden come And asked, in her gruffest manner, What kept her so long from home.

“’Twas the Easter Service, madam, And the words”—she made reply; “I’m not an orphan any more For my Father dwells on high.”

“See! I’ve brought you an Easter lily All snowy, and pure, and white, Which a lady dropped in passing Ere her coach wheeled out of sight.”

“I almost know you’ll like it For ’tis part of the Easter day, And the children spoke of the lilies In the verses they had to say.”

When all was still in the lodging And the rest were sleeping below, Unmindful of Christ, the Saviour, Who died for them long ago;

Then this loving little maiden, Away from all human sight, Knelt down, in the dingy garret, To thank God for Easter night.

EMINENCE.

Side by side the mountains rise Toward the blue of distant skies; But tho’ roots may interlace And each base is joined to base, Till the friendly trees incline And their branches touch and twine, Yet, while aging day by day, They part union on their way Till the welcome sunlight seeks To crown insulated peaks.

Side by side the great men rise Towards the heights of brighter skies; But tho’ minds together blend And each friend is joined to friend, Till their spirits interchange And their thoughts have fullest range, Yet while aging day by day, They diverge upon life’s way Till Young Genius claims his own And they choose to soar alone.

THE HERE AND THERE.

By courtesy of Ladies’ World, New York City.

The Here and There are not so far apart, As oft’ they seem to Sorrow’s waiting heart; The waking love that Here no more shall sleep Will There the souls in perfect union keep. God does not mean, tho’ Heaven be bright and fair, To break the strands between the Here and There. The heart that loves shall love beyond the skies; The soul that lives shall live in Paradise. We know that He in joy and peace will keep Our own and His until we fall asleep. The same sweet smile, the loving face so fair, But glorified, awaits our coming There. To those who trust and patiently endure, He gives them back, bright, beautiful and pure. They are not lost to such as you and me But still shall love us thro’ Eternity;— And from temptation and from earthly care Shall lead us upward to the Heavenly There.

AIR CASTLES.

Sometimes I dwell not here— But far away, Where not a breath disturbs My fondest dream; Where, loitering at ease, Myself alone I please And sing my soul good cheer Within my castles fair, That I have built in air, Above Time’s stream.

Outside, like haunting ghosts, The clouds appear, But noiselessly pass by Each bolted gate; Around my castle walls, The hush of moon-light falls, While, like the armied hosts, With torches flashing bright, The stars come out at night To celebrate.

’Tis bliss to dwell like this, In airy heights, Above the common crowd And earthly din; Where all the livelong day, With my best self I stay And naught of glory miss; Where neither friend nor foe, To pity or bring woe, Can enter in.

Who dares uplift a latch, Like thief at night, To scatter treasured hopes And steal my store? Who darkens my domain Where I, an empress, reign, While subjects wait dispatch? Away, ye dread Despair! To castles in the air Still let me soar.

LITTLE JOE.

He stands in crowded city street, Poor, tired, little Joe, And sees the people pass and meet While moments come and go.

He holds sweet flowers in his hand, Poor, patient, little Joe, And wonders who can understand His poverty and woe.

“Please won’t you buy my blossoms bright?” Cries hopeful, little Joe, While daylight fades and sunset light Floods stirring streets below.

But no one lingers, no one cares For homeless, little Joe; When mother breathed his name in prayers He was too small to know.

When father took him on his knee, Dear, little baby Joe, He used to crow in childish glee But that was long ago.

The night grows dark, and no one hears Poor, heartsick, little Joe; He puts his flowers away with tears And turns his foot-steps slow.

He passes mansions grand and tall, Poor, homesick, little Joe, And hopes that men within the hall Will gifts of love bestow.

Sometimes he stops to watch the lights, Poor, lonely, little Joe, And sees some whirling, dazzling sights While dancers come and go.

In homes he hears the child-like noise, Poor, orphaned, little Joe, And wonders if their little boys To great, good men will grow.

He seeks, at last, a sheltering shed, Poor, hungry, little Joe, And makes, of tattered coat, a bed, While tear-drops freely flow.

And: “Now I lay me down to sleep,” Says drowsy, little Joe, “And pray the Lord my soul to keep,” He whispers, soft and low.

“If I should die before I wake,” Breathes tired, little Joe, “I pray the Lord my soul to take,” And it was even so.

Transcriber's Notes: Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals. Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved. Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.