Part 2

O spring! merry spring! with thy fragrance of flowers, To thee from my sorrows I longingly turn;-- I’ll forget the drear scenes of these long winter hours, And dream of thy blessings and happy return.

_OPPORTUNITY._

Time is ever swiftly fleeting, Unimproved by scores of men; Opportunities are passing That we’ll never have again; Many things we may accomplish, As the hours go speeding on, If we but improve each moment, Ere the precious time is gone.

There are many hearts about us, That a loving word might cheer; There are many dear ones with us, That ere long may not be here: Let us then be wise and thoughtful, As our course we journey on, Striving for the good of others Ere the precious time is gone.

_LINES_

Written on hearing a gentleman remark: “God bless dear woman.”

“God bless dear woman!” did I hear you say? Full many a man might wisely thus remark! How oft her smiles have cheered man’s troubled way, And comfort brought when fortune’s sky was dark-- The vine that clings unto the oak, whose bark Is coarse and rough and void of pleasing grace; And like a dove within the cheerless Ark, Mid life’s drear scenes we see her sweetly face, And in God’s best design, there love and beauty trace!

_MY LADY FAIR._

When aged winter, fierce and grim, Had ceased his surly reign, And virgin spring again adorned The forest, field and plain; One morning when the sun was bright And music filled the air, I wandered o’er the meadow sweet Beside my lady fair!

We strolled along ’mid blooming flow’rs, Till ’neath a spreading tree, We sat where swift the raptured hours Flew o’er my love and me; And when at last time bade us part, I kissed those lips so sweet, And little dreamed but we should still Oft thus together meet.

But us the stars of heav’n depart, When dawn her glory brings, One morn the angels bore her off Upon their snowy wings! Yet, in the golden realms above, I trust some day to see, With endless joy, the one who made This earth a Heaven to me!

_TO A FIRE-FLY._

Blithesome insect, gently flying Thro’ the shades of night, As we see thy rays of brightness, May our hopes be bright; And tho’ with life’s cares encompass’d, May our hearts be light.

_MY OLD NEW ENGLAND HOME._

When the stars above, in gladness, Twinkle thro’ the evening gloam, With a mingled joy and sadness, Often do my fancies roam Backward to the vanished pleasures Of my old New England home.

In that home I see my mother-- Of all earthly friends the best-- At her side my younger brother, With his youthful pleasures blest; And my little brown-eyed sister, Sleeping on her mother’s breast.

And within that sacred dwelling Father’s cheerful face I see, And I hear him kindly telling Us to ever loyal be;-- On the battle-field he perished, When they made our country free.

When he went away, our mother Safely led our little band, And she taught us of another Loving Father, whose strong hand, Never would forsake his children, If they heeded His command:

Taught us, in our youth and beauty, Ne’er to turn our feet aside From the paths of truth and duty, Whatsoever might betide; But to keep the path of wisdom, And obey our Heavenly guide.

Back to home and all its pleasures Often do my fancies roam, And to me, the richest treasures Under heaven’s starry dome, Were the blessings of my childhood, In that old New England home.

_A LOVER’S LAMENT._

As lillies, arrayed in their loveliness, fade, So faded my fairest--my love: My joys have all fled, for my darling is dead-- O Stella! My dearest, my dove!

The loveliest flowers, in this sad world of ours, Are soonest from us to depart-- Are first to decay; and thus faded away The tenderest joy of my heart.

My hopes, once so bright, have all taken their flight, For gone is my beautiful dove: I’m weary with grief, and shall ne’er find relief, Till I rest with my darling above.

_FACES THAT ARE GONE._

How we long to see the faces That have crossed the silent tide-- Faces marked with care and sorrow, Faces full of joy and pride; Some with furrowed brow and hoary, Some in youth’s lamented bloom;-- One by one from us departed, For the cold and silent tomb.

Birds employ their notes of gladness As they flutter to and fro, Flow’rs display their wealth of beauty, As they used to long ago; But the birds may sing forever, And the flow’rs forever bloom; They can ne’er bring back the faces That are hidden in the tomb!

Silently death steals upon us, Silently time speedeth on-- Soon we, too, shall all be numbered, With the faces that are gone; Each and all must shortly follow Thro’ the shadows and the gloom, To the loved ones who are waiting In the light beyond the tomb.

_THE TRUE WAY._

We know that we’re stubborn and willful, And tho’ we have kindly been shown The true way, which God has appointed, We often go on in our own.

And thus we go on in the darkness, Groping our way thro’ the night; Unmindful ofttimes of His goodness, And missing His glorious light.

But still He looks down with compassion, And e’en thro’ life’s greatest alarms We’re sheltered and safely protected, As weak little lambs in His arms.

Could we but have more of His goodness Implanted each day in our heart, Perhaps there are others about us Who’d feel the rich joy we’d impart.

Could our love, every day, be to others As the love from our Maker above, O what a grand army of brothers Would be banded together in love!

_PITCHER OR JUG._

Which brings poverty and woe, Which makes useless tears to flow, Which brings scorn where’er we go, Pitcher or jug?

Which fades beauty, health and bloom, Which turns happiness to gloom, Which leads to the drunkard’s tomb, Pitcher or jug?

_TWO LIVES._

They started out together Amid the worldly din; One yielded to temptation, And lived a life of sin: They found his lifeless body One pleasant summer dawn, All mangled in the gutter-- A wretched life was gone.

The other trod the pathway Of righteousness and truth, And kept his soul as spotless As in his early youth; And when his voyage was ended, On Heaven’s blissful shore He joined the great reunion, Where parting is no more.

_MEDITATION._

’Mid scenes of mystery life’s tide rolls onward; And tho’ some, delving deep in caves of knowledge, Have revealed wondrous facts, this life, concerning, Still blind they are to most of life’s great features; How powerless to perceive the future’s movements, Or e’en explain the present things about them! We little more than know that we’re existing, ’Mid scenes that time and tide are changing ever. _Hope_ is a star that lures men ever onward, Oft seeming near and yet forever distant; _Contentment_ is an isle where man, if ever, Has seldom dwelt amid the scenes enchanting; _Love_ is a dew-drop on the rose-bush glowing, Soon to depart as e’en the bush must perish: All things of earth are like the fleeting shadows Except the love of Him whose power and wisdom Exceeds, by far, man’s deepest understanding, And He, who clothes the lillies in their beauty, Who feeds his flocks and marks the falling sparrow, Will shield His children from life’s raging tempests, And lead them safe through waters of affliction Until, at last, beyond the vales and shadows, Their eyes behold that Land of endless beauty.

_TEMPUS FUGIT._

Men sleep, but time speeds on; The sun comes out at dawn O’er hill and town, At eve goes down, But ever time speeds on.

Men die--the world moves on, And when our forms are gone, New hearts arise, To seek earth’s prize; And thus the world moves on.

_GLADNESS._

Let thy heart, attuned to gladness, Every fear and doubt dispel-- Banish idle thoughts of sadness, Then shall joy thy bosom swell.

_THE RAINBOW._

Howe’er dark the clouds may hover O’er thy pathway, ne’er repine; Mark thou, when the storm is over, In the heaven that beautious line!

MISCELLANEOUS VERSES.

NOTE.

My first intention was to omit the following pieces from this publication, but on recommendation of several readers I have finally decided to place them in a seperate department; expecting in either case--whether included in this book or omitted--that the youthful aspirant, in this attempt to flutter out into the literary sphere, will fall headlong and be left only to dream of those glorious heights where others triumphantly soar amid the silvery clouds of fancy.

H. R. C.

_THE DAWN O’ SPRING._

Yes, boys, I’m waitin’ patiently to see the dawn o’ spring-- To see the flowers in blossom an’ to hear the robins sing; An’ to see the trees an’ meadows clad in garbs o’ livin’ green; An’ to hear the merry music o’ the brook thet flows between.

It makes me fairly home-sick sech cold wintry days ez these, The snow a driftin’ everywhere an’ layin’ in the trees; An’ when Jack Frost steals ’round et night an’ frescoes everything, It makes me hanker more an’ more to see the dawn o’ spring.

Fer I know when spring comes ’round ag’in with all her sweet perfume; Her reses all in blossom an’ her orchards all a-bloom, An’ robins singin’ gaily--I’ll be happy ez a king; Thet’s why I’m waitin’ patiently to see the dawn o’ spring.

_ZEEKE BULLARD’S FARM._

Zeeke Bullard wuz a farmer of no great amount of worth, Tho’ his farm wuz well supplied with miles of rich, productive earth; Fer he owned three hundred acres, so his frien’s an’ neighbors sed, But he uster say thet money wuz a thing he never hed.

He’d groan about his losses, an’ his scarcity of tin, An’ he of’en sed he wondered w’y his crops were all so thin; He’d set aroun’ frum morn till night till days an’ weeks ’ud pass, An’ talk about the way he’d lose his grain an’ garden sass.

The ’tater bugs in multitudes ’ud come frum all aroun’, Till nothin’ in his Murphy patch wuz left abuv the groun’; Insects of all descriptions thronged aroun’ his garden beds, While worms with powerful appetites devoured his cabbage heads.

The crows ’ud come day after day to steal his yaller corn, An’ dine on oats an’ barley till his fiel’s were nearly shorn, An’ acre after acre where his clover oughter grow, There wa’n’t but giant thistles pintin’ daggers high an’ low.

An’ when his crops were harvested by bugs an’ worms an’ crows, An’ wintry blasts were comin’ on, his sons were void of clo’es; In spite of all the mendin’ thet his little wife could do, The toes an’ knees an’ elbows of his boys were peekin’ thro’.

* * * * *

A while ago I left thet place of farmin’ enterprise, An’ now my folks are livin’ ’neath the broad, blue western skies, An’ tho’ I ain’t a farmer I’m convinced there’s nothin’ made, Unless you work et farmin’, same ez any other trade.

Weeds don’t need cultervatin’, but they grow up tall an’ stout, An’ you mus’ work to save the grain an keep the thistles out: You can’t loaf ’round frum morn till night an’ talk the hull day thro’, For yer crops’ll go to ruin jest ez surely ez you do.

* * * * *

I’ve jest received a letter frum an ol’-time friend of mine, Who sed poor Zeeke wuz dwellin’ where bright crowns of glory shine; He’d quit the farmin’ business an’ wuz free frum worl’ly harm, While his seven sons were lef’ to raise the mortgage on his farm.

_UNCLE NICK, ON EDDICATION._

While ’tendin’ skool I uster be fust class et playin’ ball, Et playin’ tag er leap-frog I wuz formost of ’em all; Sech sportin’ allus hed fer me a wondrous fascination, An’ so I spent more time et this than on my eddication.

I of’en git to thinkin’ what fine chances I hed then To git an’ eddication, but of course it’s useless when The opportunity is passed to mourn yer situation-- It’s pooty hard when you are ol’ to git an eddication.

Now boys I’m ’fraid thet some o’ you are growin’ up this way, I’m ’fraid fer learnin’ some o’ you are substertootin’ play, I’m ’fraid there’s boys a-livin’ in this present gineration, Who’ll wish some day they’d seen less play an’ more o’ eddication.

You can’t keep waitin’, thinkin’ thet you’ve got a lot o’ time,-- The time to git yer schoolin’, boys, is while you’re in yer prime; When you are ol’ you’ll see enough o’ care an’ tribulation, Without the thought thet carelessly you missed an eddication.

_UNCLE NICK, ON GOSSIPERS._

When people git to gossipin’ sometimes they’ll set an’ talk Fer hours an’ hours together, jest ez reg’ler ez a clock; I s’pose they think folks love to hear their never-endin’ yop,-- But when Samantha’s talked a while she knows enough to stop.

When Mrs. Jones wuz tellin’ et our place the other day, Thet Mrs. Williams told her thet her neighbor, Mrs. Gray, Sed she never saw so big a story-teller’s Widder Heath-- Samantha set there quiet, with her tongue between her teeth.

She ain’t ferever slingin’ out sech everlastin’ gab:-- She of’en sez “it’s bad enough to hear the neighbors blab;” But she jest stays et home instid an’ ’tends to fam’ly cares, An’ never tells the neighborhood about her home affairs.

We don’t take any papers, but with news we’re well supplied; Fer the neighbors tell us every birth an’ death an’ suicide: When Mrs. Jones comes up our walk a-squeakin’ them new shoes, Sometimes Samantha’ll say to me, “here comes the daily news.”

_THE ART O’ KNOWIN’ HOW._

It’s hard to write a decent song, tho’ maybe you deny it, Most any job looks easy you’ll allow; But if you’re inexperienced perhaps you’d better try it, An’ you’ll find the nickromancy’s in the art o’ knowin’ how.

There’s lots o’ things you’ve never done that looks all killin’ easy-- Did you ever try to milk a kickin’ cow? If not, just try yer hand fer fun, to satisfy and please ye, An’ you’ll find the nickromancy’s in the art o’ knowin’ how.

Whatever yer profession, you’ll discover soon or late, As you stop to wipe the sweat from off yer brow, That to preach a decent sermon er to draw a furrow straight, The nickromancy lies within the art o’ knowin’ how.

So be sure thet you’re adapted to the work thet you profess, Teachin’ gospel truths er hangin’ on the plow, Then buckle down to business, an’ yer can’t escape success, Fer you’ll find the nickromancy’s in the art o’ knowin’ how.

_MOTHER’S PHOTOGRAPH._

D’you wish to know what came to me from good ol’ Santa Claus? ’Twuz not a lot o’ nigger-toes to crack between yer jaws, Nor candy nor a jumpin’-jack fer makin’ youngsters laugh-- But the present thet he give to me wuz mother’s photograph.

Some how a cur’ous feelin’ seems to steal acrost my mind, Ez I look back to boyish days an’ think how good an’ kind Thet mother’s been in teachin’ me to shun the evil ways, An’ how attentive she hez been, e’en from my infant days.

An’ when I think how many years she’s toiled thro’ shine and rain, An’ how she’s allus been on hand to soothe my every pain, It seems ez ef to do my best thet I could never be Half good an’ kind enough to pay fer all she’s done fer me.

Perhaps you think it’s silly, but it’s jest ez I hev sed, Thet all the other presents ol’ St. Nicholas ever hed, Compared with that he give to me w’ud be but worthless chaff, Nor comfort me one half ez much ez mother’s photograph.

_FIFTY YEARS._

Two score and ten summers have glided away, As time speeds relentlessly on; And our thoughts wander back, as we sit here to-day, O’er the past that has faded and gone.

Many dear ones have gone to their rest in the grave, Young hearts have departed from play; Still others have gone, their dear country to save, And fall’n ’mid the wild battle’s fray.

Many dear to our hearts are now far in the west, While few near the old home remain; And though often lonely, we’ve been greatly blest,-- Our labors have not been in vain.

’Tis fifty long years since the day which we set, Our sorrows and pleasures to share; That bright, happy day we ne’er shall forget, When life looked so joyous and fair!

_A MAIDEN WONDROUS FAIR._

Within a certain town there dwelt A maiden wondrous fair, Whose cheeks were like the rose’s hue And golden was her hair.

Her eyes were like the twinkling stars, Her teeth were like the pearl; And sons of both the rich and poor, Admired this charming girl.

Two constant beaus this maiden had, And each one swore that she, Ere many months had passed away, His own dear wife would be.

But soon an incident occurred Which all their plans upset, When at the maiden’s gate one eve Her two admirers met.

Hard words arose between the two, As oft there had before; And that the maid should be his wife Still each persistent swore.

The longer thus they did contend, The more their wrath did rise; Until at last they came to blows O’er who should have the prize.

While thus engaged, a prim young man With unpretentious mien Approached, just as the maid herself Appeared upon the scene.

Then soon the angry blows were ceased And quietude restored; And each apologized to her Whom he so much adored.

Then bowing low, each went his way; Quite black and swollen-eyed; While she whom they had fought to win Became the third man’s bride.

_WEALTH AND WANT._

How often the poor are despised and neglected, For no other reason except they are poor; How often the rich are beloved and respected, Because they have uncounted wealth at their door.

There’s many an honest and virtuous heart, To-day within poverty’s prison enchained; While thousands reside amid pleasures of art, Whose wealth was thro’ vice and dishonesty gained.

Despise not the needy because they are poor, Nor envy the wealthy because of their gold; Good or ill fortune may stand at our door, But true hearts are not to be purchased or sold.

_CHILDHOOD._

We long for those days, once so joyous, For that unbounded freedom, again, When there were no cares to annoy us, And life knew no sorrow nor pain; But those sweet days of childhood have vanished, And we long for them only in vain.

Tho’ time has wrought changes unnumbered Since those happy seasons were pass’d, And now with life’s cares we’re encumbered, Still backward fond visions we’ll cast; And we’ll think of our childhood with pleasure As long as our memories last.

_THE LASSIE O’ER THE WAY._

A sweet little lassie Lives over the way: She’s pretty and modest, Yet blithesome and gay.

So perfect her manners, So graceful her mien; O who would not worship This fair little queen!

Is there a young laddie Whose heart would not beat For those smiles so angelic And dimples so sweet:

Those blue eyes a-sparkling, That bright golden hair! O where’s the young lassie More charming and fair!

She’s modest and gentle, Yet cheerful and gay; This sweet little lassie, Just over the way.

Transcriber’s Note

Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced quotation marks retained.

All of the illustrations are the same simple decoration.

“Telulah Spring”, listed as the Frontispiece in the Contents, was missing from the original book.

“Note” at beginning of “Miscellaneous Verses”: “seperate” was printed that way.