Part 2

Millions of homes to-day rejoice And praise our God above; Millions have learned the hymn to swell, Through missionaries, sent to tell Of Him whose name is Love.

But millions still are left in doubt, In darkness and alone; Their restless souls are wrung with grief, They find no respite or relief In heathen gods of stone.

They've never heard of Him who gave Their glorious sun-kissed shores; God grant that we our efforts lend To teach them of a loving Friend Whom Freedom's land adores.

Prosper, O Lord, this land of ours, So glad, so proud, so free, That we may missionaries send Till all that beauteous India land Has learned to worship Thee.

Nothing we give our Father's cause Escapes His watchful eyes; Each mite will be a jewel rare To deck the crown we'll surely wear Some day in Paradise.

WEARY.

Weary of the tumult of the town, Of the burdens and the cares that weigh me down, Of oppression, greed, and strife, Of the din of city life, Disappointments that my noblest efforts crown.

Weary of the world's vain, gilded styles, Though my moments he with softest words beguiles; Though he warble ne'er so blandly, His old heart is false though friendly, For he lingers near me but when fortune smiles.

Weary of his griefs and empty show, To the quiet woods alone I love to go, And in sweet repose abide Where the sylvan echoes ride On October's drowsy winds that whisper low.

Where the bonnie squirrel flits among the trees, And the quail his piping flings upon the breeze, Where the gold and brown leaves quiver O'er the winding, osiered river, Bearing on its soft, low music to the seas.

And the forest oak, so grand, majestic, high, With his rainbow-mantled branches woos the sky, And the wind a fairy story Breathing o'er the maple's glory, Brings it down in twirling crimson showers, where lie

Many springtime flowers, fast asleep, Spreading over them a cover warm and deep; And the sunlight glints and spangles Through the wild and woody tangles, Where alone the eye of God doth vigils keep.

Standing there on wild, leaf-covered sod, Where perhaps no human foot before hath trod My storm-tossed soul is blest In a halo of sweet rest, All alone within the crimson wood with God.

TO A VIOLET.

Violet, sweet violet, Of modest, dainty grace, Why dost thou hide among the grass Thy pretty velvet face?

Thine eyes are filled with dew, thy breath Makes sweet the air of spring; Thy whispers low, sweet memories Of other springtimes bring.

Sweet olden, golden springtimes, When bluebirds sang so gay, As I plucked thy sister blossoms From a woodland far away,

With her, whose eyes, in color, Sweet flow'r, were just like you, And like you grew in radiance From drinking heaven's blue.

Each spring, as lisping children, As romping schoolgirls, too, Our feet were bathed in violet banks That dripped with melting dew;

Our souls were bathed in bliss divine, As all day long we basked In sweet and fragrant winds we knew Had kissed them as they passed.

But when the summer sun shone hot, Their slender stems were dried; Their modest heads bent lower, and Their fragrant blossoms died;

And could we pierce to-day the blue Of heaven's dome so fair, Methinks we'd see them blooming in Celestial glory there!

Culled by our angel Emma, In a rapturous clime, that lies In the radiant, springtime glory Of the fields of Paradise!

GOLDEN DAYS.

SONG.

(To my sister Emma.)

I've just seen the first robin of spring, Emma, And he's warbling a sweet little song, Bringing back tender mem'ries of you, Emma, And of joys that to childhood belong. He was singing a song to his mate, Emma, A sweet song of happiness and love, And it echoed thro' woodland and dale, Emma, Over valley and hilltop and grove.

CHORUS:

Oh, those happy, happy days gone by, Emma, Their memory is ever dear to me; Oh, those old golden, glorious days, Emma, When I played 'mong the flowers with thee.

Bringing back tender mem'ries of you, Emma, When life seemed only a song, Holding neither a sorrow nor tear, Emma, As we played 'mong the flowers all day long. We gathered the mosses and ferns, Emma, The cowslips and violets so blue, And the crab-apple blossoms so sweet, Emma, And the sweet, mellow May-apple, too.

CHORUS.

You remember the old apple-tree, Emma, With its wide-spreading branches o'erhead? Such perfume I have never since found, Emma, As its sweet, fragrant blossoms did shed. But now we are far, far apart, Emma, The sunny days of childhood are o'er, But we'll roam hand in hand 'mong the flowers, Emma, That bloom on the Bright Golden Shore.

CHORUS.

BABY MINE.

Tired of laughter, tired of play, Baby mine, On my breast thy tresses lay, Baby mine. Cooing, loving, prattling, too,-- Shine and showers the whole day thro', Tires a bonnie thing like you, Baby mine.

Little violets so blue, Baby mine, Close their eyes now wet with dew, Baby mine, Saying, sweetheart, unto you, Close those orbs of azure hue, Where that glimpse of heaven gleams thro', Baby mine.

Whence that dimpled foot and hand, Baby mine? Came they here at love's command, Baby mine? Or did angels, in their flight, Drop this little blossom white On the stream of time one night, Baby mine?

Dimples guard thy crimson lips, Baby mine; Prints of fairy finger-tips, Baby mine. Now the shade of angel wings Sweet repose upon thee brings,-- Silken soft thy slumberings, Baby mine.

LULLABY.

Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, baby, my dear, Nothing can harm you, for mother is near. The journey is short, and the stars twinkle bright O'er your path into Byloland, baby, good-night.

Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, baby, my pet, Grasses that cover your pathway are wet With dewdrops that sparkle like jewels so bright, Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, baby, good-night.

Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, sweetheart of mine, Rest from their prattle those red lips of thine. Bridges you cross in your Byloland flight Sway to your footsteps, my baby, good-night.

Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, baby, my love, Angels are watching thy cradle above. Thy feet into Byloland's dreamy delight Have entered, then rest, little pilgrim, good-night.

A DAY IN JUNE.

(To Mercy.)

This is the month of roses, dear, The sweetest time of all the year. Field, woodland, roadside,--everywhere, Is clad in crimson beauty rare. The very earth beneath our feet Is covered with their petals sweet; Where'er we go the balmy air Is laden with sweet fragrance rare.

And now and then, dear, we may see The cheerful, busy little bee From out this dainty, crimson flow'r, Sip nectar for his winter store. The sky is blue, and there and here We see a fleecy cloud appear; Nor tongue nor pen can e'er portray The beauties of this sweet June day.

In mem'ry, dear, it takes me back Along life's sunny backward track Just thirteen years, to a sweet June day And a little cot, not far away, Where roses bloomed, and song of bird Throughout the livelong day was heard; But never was this song so gay As on that blissful, bright June day.

Within that little nut-brown cot, On earth the dearest, sweetest spot, A wee pink flower, both sweet and gay, First opened to the light of day. As time flew by on fairy wing, This wee pink flower, this dainty thing, Of all our love demanded part, And twined its tendrils 'round each heart.

Sometimes, without, 'twas dark and dreary, But all within this cot was cheery, Because this little floweret gay Chased gloom and shadows all away. This dainty thing, so dear to me, This little flower I have in thee. 'Neath blue June sky and rainbow shower, Long live earth's purest, sweetest flower.

CHRISTMAS ON THE FARM.

Don't you remember, oh, brother mine! What fun we had at Christmas-time, Out on the old farm, you and I-- That home we loved in days gone by? How up in the loft we used to climb For nuts, stored there in autumn-time, To crack and eat by the dear old fire, While the cheerful blaze leaped high'r and high'r?

And when it was time to go to bed, How each tired, sleepy little head Was laid on a pillow, soft and white, To dream of Christmas the livelong night? And how in the morn, before 'twas light, Our eyes were opened wide and bright, As we ran a race down the high old stair, To see if "Santa" had been there,

And brought his bundle of toys with him, And filled our stockings up to the brim? But dear old "Santa" would always stop And fill them full to the very top. Then we'd away to the old hillside, The country shoemaker's cot beside-- Just 'round the corner, near the wood, Where the tall old beech-tree grew and stood.

And the snowbirds hopped on its boughs awry As our brand-new sled went whizzing by; And down to the foot of the hill we'd go, Over the crystal Christmas snow. Oh, could life's downward journey be As free from care for you and me; Our hearts be filled with the same glad rays Of those olden, golden Christmas days!

When life was so sunny, bright, and new, Oh, brother mine! for me and you. A happier home none ever had Than ours, holding hearts so light and glad. But those happy Christmas days of yore To us will come again no more; For she who chased all our care away Sings a Christmas anthem in heaven to-day.

MY LITTLE BROWN-EYED SWEETHEART.

When evening shadows gather round, And work of day is done, When down the west horizon sinks The glorious, golden sun, And sweetly sing the whip-po-wils Ode to the closing day, Back to my home among the hills My visions often stray.

CHORUS:

Tho' time from mem'ry may efface All else that's sweet and tender, Those happy olden, golden days I ever shall remember. Oh, happy, olden, golden days, Oh, days with sunshine laden, When I wandered o'er those verdant hills With a little brown-eyed maiden.

Where flowers were fair and fields were green, And trees with blossoms lade, 'Twas there I met and loved and wooed A little brown-eyed maid; And oftentimes she'd sing to me Sweetly her Flower Song, As o'er those verdant, flowery hills We gaily strolled along.

CHORUS:

But that was years, long years ago, Yet o'er and o'er again In dreams I'm with my brown-eyed love, And hear that sweet refrain. Tho' death's cold frost has touched my flower, And bid its life depart, Yet still within my soul doth live My little brown-eyed sweetheart.

CHORUS:

I KNOW TWO EYES.

SONG.

I know two eyes--two jet-black eyes, Yet fond and true and tender. I see them in the twinkling stars, And in the glowing ember. You girls may talk of sweet blue eyes, Or on soft brown eyes tarry, But I will take those jet-black eyes, So sparkling, bright, and merry.

They come to me at twilight hour, They come in morning early, They come my every joy to share, Those jet-black eyes so merry. They come at noon, and when I'm sad They look at me so kindly, Their ever-tender, sparkling glance Dwells on me, oh, so fondly.

I know two eyes--two jet-black eyes, Yet fond and true and tender; They're bright as any twinkling star Up in the heavens yonder. I look into those sparkling eyes, Those jet-black eyes so merry, And see within their radiant depths The love-light of my "dearie."

CUPID'S MISTAKE.

Cupid looked forth one bright spring day, And whispered, "Now I must away. Old winter, with his frost and snow, Took his departure long ago.

"O'er roadside, field, and woodland, too, Sweet violets grow, with eyes so blue; Blossoms of every hue and shade The balmy air with perfume lade.

"There's light and sunshine everywhere; All nature is so wondrous fair; E'en from the woods the wild birds sing A welcome to the newborn spring.

"This surely is my harvest time, To make men bow at Love's sweet shrine; For all around, below, above, Will help me make men fall in love."

So from beneath his flow'ry tent He started on this mission bent. First to the halls of wealth and rank Went cunning Cupid with his prank.

On reaching them, to his dismay, Those halls in deepest quiet lay; And music, once the food of love, Could not be heard below, above.

So Cupid's little wings he spread, And, flying, to himself he said, "The lawyer will be in, I know, He's poring o'er his books, I trow.

"Poor fellow, what a lot is his! To be shut up a day like this, From sunlight, flowers, and wild bird's song, Trying to balance right and wrong.

"I'll take my tiny little dart, And lightly touch the lawyer's heart, And show him how love's sweet, glad light Can make his dingy office bright."

But when he reached the longed-for spot, He found the studious lawyer not. These words he read upon the door, "The lawyer will be in at four."

"To the office of the doctor kind I'll go," said he, "for there I'll find Him tending to his patients' ills With soothing balms and dainty pills."

But doctor's doors were closed, and lo! Just as poor Cupid turned to go, These words he read 'twixt tears, alack! "At six the doctor will be back."

Next to the dentist man he flew, And called upon the merchant, too; In every place, the city 'round, But not a bit of game he found.

"Well, well!" said Cupid, with a moan, "The world has cold and heartless grown." So once again his wings he spread, And over country roads he sped,

Back toward his home among spring flowers, And shady walks, and leafy bowers; But as he flew the stream beside, A crowd of wheelmen there he spied.

"Ha! ha!" laughed he, "I've found them all, Both short and tall, both great and small. Oh, what a pretty lad I see Gliding along so merrily!

"With pretty boots laced to the knee, His limbs how shapely, blithe, and free; If I can get such game as he, This trip a grand success will be."

So, saying this, his bow he bent, And through the air his arrow sent; Straight toward this pretty lad it flew, And pierced his bosom through and through.

"My! wasn't that a blissful aim. I'll fly to earth and get my game." But when he reached that laddie's side He looked perplexed, then horrified.

Then quickly rose and flew away, And as he went was heard to say: "Oh, what a blunder! Now I see Fort Wayne is not the place for me;

"For, counting now my time and cost, This lovely day is worse than lost. My wings are weary, brain's awhirl, For, oh, 'twas but a Bloomer Girl!"

DEWEY'S VICTORY.

'Tis morning at Manila, The first dawn of the May; Along the eastern horizon We see the light of day.

As spreads its golden splendor And drives away the night, The hills that guard the islands Are decked with diamonds bright.

The cocoa palms so olden, Now robed in silvered green, Stretch their broad branches heav'nward To golden fields serene.

And yon cathedral spire gleams With glory from the skies; The beauty of the Sabbath Across the city lies.

A little bay rests softly Among those sun-kissed isles, Reflecting heaven's azure, And basking in God's smiles.

Upon its sleeping waters A Spanish squadron lies; Her flags unfurl their folds, and Upon sweet breezes rise.

Lo! another fleet approaches, More beauteous and grand; The flag she bears so proudly Has waved o'er Freedom's land!

She comes across the billows, And in Freedom's cause to-day The smoke and fire of battle Enfold Manila Bay.

Look! on Fort Cavite they're firing! Their efforts now prevail; 'Tis shattered into splinters, And Spanish cheeks grow pale

The cannons belch forth thunder! The shells burst thick and fast! With might charge Freedom's heroes, Amid the purple blast.

The handsome flagship Reina Christina's sinking now; She's robed in flames and ruin, From th' Olympia's snowy bow.

Now all the Spanish squadron, Its proud and dauntless crew, Sinks 'mid the storm of battle, 'Neath troubled waters blue.

Nor falls a single hero In Freedom's cause so true, While fighting 'neath the banner That's red and white and blue.

The Philippines are freed from All tyrant rule and reign, _Avenged_ the noble sailors On board our gallant Maine!

The gory hands of Spain are In ocean waters laved, O'er whose enchanted bosom This morn her banner waved.

Hills, mountains, vales, and rocks ring With shouts of victory, As falls the sunset's crimson Across the earth and sea.

And Dewey's noble squadron, That bravely won the day, On drowsy winds is floating "Old Glory" o'er the bay.

All hail! our great commander, Thou hero of the sea, With your brave and noble boys you Have captured victory.

Your name is wreathed in glory, Its praises will be sung Wherever Freedom's flag is To Freedom's breezes flung.

The guns you've fired to-day, On the first of flow'ring May, Will thunder o'er Spain's hilltops Ten thousand miles away!

Fling higher Freedom's emblem! Long may its colors wave Where God has given victory To Freedom's noble brave.

BATTLE OF SANTIAGO BAY.

Just off the coast of an isle that lies Where silver'd, feathery palm-trees rise As if their branches would kiss the skies So blue, so far away; When woke each vale the Sabbath bell, On seas that gently rose and fell, Our nation's warships lay.

As dreamily, lazily basking, they In quiet tropical sunshine lay, In sight of a placid, sleeping bay, Where anchored the Spaniard's ships, "A big boat's coming from the bay! The Spaniard's squadron comes this way!" Came loud from a lookout's lips.

As one by one came the fleet of Spain Across the bay, toward the main, With hope in each bosom they once again Launched forth on open sea. "Each man to his gun!" the commodore cried, And the warships plowed through the cloven tide, In the trail of the enemy.

"Full speed ahead! Open fire!" The commodore's voice rose high'r and high'r, 'Midst smoke and flames to the enemy nigh'r, The gallant fleet plunged on. The cannons poured forth fire and thunder, The great shells cleft the waves asunder, As gun replied to gun.

Right through the hot hell-fire and shell, Through mist and smoke and shot that fell O'er ship and boiling sea, pell-mell, Charged Freedom's heroes true. For o'er the battle's smoke and fury Waved high the synonym of glory,-- The old "Red, White and Blue."

Great crashing volleys, long and loud, Swept from the decks the Spaniards proud, Then wrapped their boats in a smoky shroud, And left them beached and burning. Their decks in human blood were laved, O'er which the yellow banner waved So vauntingly that morning.

That eve the sunset's crimson ray Touched gently, softly, tenderly The waves that moaned where the lost fleet lay,-- The pride of Spain erstwhile,-- And crowned the man who climbed the height To plant "Old Glory's" spangles bright On sun-kissed Cuba's Isle.

THE OLD MAN'S STORY.

We'd been a talkin'--me and Ma-- A deal about our Bill. He wuz well nigh onto thirty, And gettin' older still.

He wa'n't a lazy lad, you see, Wuz tall and strong and big, But to accomplish anything He must git up and dig.

Next we sot out to talk of Sal; She wa'n't a hansum lass, But luvin'er or kinder soul Ne'er stepped on medder grass.

Sez I, "Good wimmen never grows Frum idle gals, 'tis true;" So we decided Sally should Airn her own livin' too.

And then we talked about the twins,-- About our Joe and Jim. Joe allus wuz a truant cuss, And oft I've wallerp'd him

Fer runnin' 'way from skule to watch The ships cum in at sea. He allus said, "When I'm a man, A sailor I will be."

Wuz allus gettin' inter scraps On politicks at skule; It wa'n't no use to send 'im, He broke ever' gol-durned rule.

But Jim wuz sort o' studious; He keered a heap fer books. Lazy? I guess! On summer days He'd find the shady nooks

And lay and read, while me and Bill Got out and dun the work, And airned a decent livin' fer This lazy, wuthless shirk.

But Sue, she wuz a hansum gal; Her cheek wuz like the rose; Her breth wuz sweet as any breeze The June-time ever blows.

Her eyes wuz dark and full of fire, Her cheeks wuz churry red, Her body sort o' willery, But she'd a haughty head.

But if you wanted her to work She never could be found; And, mebby, if you scoured the farm And all the country round,

You'd find her sittin' in a tree A-whistlin' o' the tune She'd heered the medder lark a-singin' To the skies o' June.

And so one nite I called 'em in, I think jest arter tea. Sez I, "We've clothed and edecated you-- Yer Ma and me;

But now we're gettin' old, our j'ints O' roomatism tells, And it's high time fer you to airn A livin' fer yoursel's."

Our kids wuz proud as eny Indiany's ever grown, And so, afore another month They left us all alone.

Bill went to Philadelphy town And hired to a store As keeps all sorts o' things in lots, Oh, millions,--mebby more.

Sal went to work fer Deken Dobbs, And Joe went off to sea; But Jim turned out an editor-- A mighty man wuz he.

Along kum one o' them air shows With gals that danced and sang; And, spite of all her ma could say, Our Sue, she j'ined the gang.

As years went by our Bill he wed A hansum city wife, And went to livin' in accord With high-dad city life.

The children kum till he possessed O' them a mammoth fold; And ever'thing he teched jest seemed To turn to yaller gold.

Sal, wed to Deken Dobbs's son, Wuz happy, but so poor; And meny children played around Her country cabin door.

But then she loved that wuthless man, And p'raps, when all is told, She's happier 'n she would 'a' bin If she had wed fer gold.

The last I heered of rompin' Sue, I b'lieve it wuz a "hit" They called it that she made in France, And ever' night she'd git

Great piles o' flowers, roses and sich, O' yaller, red and white; And ever' time she danced she fetched Ten thousan' francs a night!

But Jim--poor Jim! our lazy boy-- He did'nt fare so well; He's good in larnin', but, somehow, His paper didn't sell.

But why it didn't I can't tell, And of'n wonder yit; Fer when the people brung in stuff As fer his paper writ

Thet didn't sound jest right to him, And wuzn't right in looks, He allus tuk and made it right, Fer Jim wuz good in books.

He know'd about the president, Congress and senate, too; Could tell you all that they hed done And what they'd ort to do.

And when he found he couldn't make Enuff to buy a bike, He _walked_ off down the railroad track Toward the Klonindike.

But do you know that wuthless Joe Turned out the best of all? When down-trod Cuby needed help, He answered duty's call,

An' what he taught ol' haughty Spain I guess she'll not forget; Fer the way he licked them Spanyards Wuz a caution, now, you bet!

The people all went wild about His bravery and fame, An' now he's got an "Admiral" Hitched on afore his name.