Chapter 19

I seek divine simplicity in him Who handles things divine, and all besides, Through learned with labor, and though much admired By curious eyes and judgments ill informed To me is odious Such should still be affectionate in look And tender in address, as well becomes A messenger of Grace to guilty man

_Cowper_

I.

How strange the various scenes through which we pass In our life's journey--onward to the grave! Sometimes all smiles and sunshine; then alas, Dark clouds hang o'er us, and God's help we crave. Weak in adversity--when prosperous brave, We often act a very foolish part; Forsaking Mercies which our Father gave. To follow our devices, till we smart With self-inflicted pangs sent through our inmost heart.

II.

So I, who many times have sung; of duty, Too oft am led to slight my own, and feel God's chastening hand, until I see the beauty Of all His dealings with me for my weal. And yet the hand that wounds is sure The injured part; designing all in love; And in such manner that He can't conceal The Father's kindly heart. 'Tis thus we prove His earnest wish to have us always look Above.

III.

Some months have fled since I this task began, Bringing to neat completion its first part. Awhile my thoughts in easy measure ran, Which much beguiled an often saddened heart. And made me lay my pleasing task aside. Now, as I write not for an earthly mart, I have a wish that my poor rhymes may bide The test of Scripture Truth by whomsoe'er applied.

IV.

I feel a sacred pleasure warm my breast As I resume my simple tale of love: A tale which is not in rich language dressed, I fain would look for help from God above, To leave a record of my principles; And seek the guidance of the Heavenly Dove, Whose influence the darkest doubt dispels, And fills with purest peace the heart wherein he dwells.

V.

This glorious truth was never more displayed Than in dear GOODWORTH'S every day's employ; Or in the fields or in the woodland shade, His love of duty yielded constant joy; Sweet Heaven-born Peace naught could in him destroy. For why? He had in God most steadfast trust, And things which do so many minds annoy Led him to curb all anger, pride and lust, While in each fresh distress he knew that God was just.

VI.

He also knew that he is merciful And wish in all he does unto mankind. If this we see not we are very dull, And to our soul's best interests truly blind. This to perceive some minds are too refined By false philosophy and learning vain. No wonder then if they are left behind The humble child of God who with disdain Views all these worldly pleasures that he might obtain.

VII.

Just so with GOODWORTH; though he had in schools Learned much of what is termed deep classic lore, He quite preferred to train his life by rules Contained in Scripture; and it grieved him sore To see some Christians--this all should deplore-- Neglect Christ's precepts to procure their ends. But seeing this, he never once forbore To speak plain truth and reap what oft attends An upright course--ev'n scorn; but this his walk commends.

VIII.

In his snug home he evermore obtained What flowed from love--a holy reverence. Of harsh commands his children ne'er complained; Wrangling and discord both were banished thence. His much loved wife possessed some rare good sense, And seconded his efforts for their good. She never sought in earnest or pretence To lower him before his flesh and blood; While to increase their comforts she did all she could.

IX.

Nor was it strange if such a home as this Made him content his leisure time to spend Within his family circle; for such bliss Comes not to all, who seek to make an end Of troubles that a single life attend, By entering soon into the marriage state. If such folks would but strict attention lend To Bible teaching, they might share the fate Of these, our friends, on whom true pleasure seemed to wait.

X.

Their constant mutual love became the theme With all who knew them in that Settlement; Domestic bliss was proved no idle dream, For in true happiness their lives were spent. To labor hard they always were content, Regarding Paul's advice and his example: It was their thought they were but thither sent To furnish proof which all might own was ample That they loved Jesus' laws, on which too many trample.

XI.

Let none imagine they e'er built on this A hope of endless happiness in heaven. They deemed it right all men should bow submiss To His Authority, whose life was given For sinners vile; that they might not be driven Away from Him to dwell in endless woe. This oft has cheered them on as they have striven To lead their fellow men God's truth to know; And every day its power did their behavior show.

XII.

The Spring is past and Summer's heat has fled. United diligence hath well supplied A plenteous store of more than needful bread, For they have some choice luxuries beside, By which means different tastes were gratified. The snug ten acre field with wheat is sown, And looks most promising. Should naught betide To hurt their present prospects this alone Will well repay them for the hardships they have known.

XIII.

And now the necessary steps are taken To shield the cattle from dread Winter's rage. Necessity--stern master--does awaken Their full inventive powers, and they engage With ready ardor pens and sheds to wage; And in the absence of commodious barn, They stack with care their straw, and thus are sage Compared with many whom no dangers warn, And who, though often suffering, will not stoop to learn.

XIV.

A good supply of hard wood they obtain, To serve them through the season drawing near, When rude King Frost will hold tyrranic reign, Making the country desolate and drear. But in those woods they have small cause for fear From Winter's howling, fearful, bitter blasts, For they have fuel in abundance near, And the huge wood file constant comfort casts Into the snug log house long as the season lasts.

XV.

All these arrangements made, the Pastor felt He had more leisure now to walk abroad; And in the gorgeous woods he often knelt In fervent prayer before his Father, God. For miles around his feet have pressed the sod Which ne'er was turned by plow up to the sun-- Wilds that the foot of white man seldom trod, And where no clearance had as yet begun: Where he could sit and watch some charming brooklet run.

XVI.

Or now and then would wander near the side Of that majestic Lake, whose isles, tree clad And decked in Autumn's tints, appeared to ride With all their splendors quite elate and glad On Huron's silvery surface. Such scenes had A powerful charm to one of GOODWORTH'S mind. They would indeed, if aught had made him sad, Often dispel his gloom and leave behind Precious remembrances of an enduring kind.

XVII.

This was no marvel for his soul was filled With true poetic fire; and oft sweet song Of purest praise spontaneously has welled From his enraptured heart. Then he would long To leave a world where misery and wrong So much prevail, but yet content to stay And sere his master, his poor saints among; Would try to save those led from God astray, That he might aid Christ's cause while it is called "To-day."

XVIII.

Amidst such scenery he would sometimes take In haste his pencil, that he might note down Such thought as gushing from their fountain make The truest poetry that man has known. A specimen or two will now be shown Ere I proceed with my unlettered tale. If I mistake not they have all been drawn From Nature's store, and if so should not fail To claim our deep respect while they our minds regale.

PASTOR'S AUTUMNAL SONG.

Sweet Nature in grandeur Autumnal lies still, And I stand all entranced mid the gorgeous display, While the sun brightly sets o'er yon westermost hill, And soft twilight succeeds to a most balmy day.

It is sweet in our woods a free ranger to wander, And view the bright tints the frost makes on the leaves; To watch day by day, as the colors grow grander, And its garb evanescent each tall tree receives.

'Tis here that I feel my breast heave with emotion, While reflections arise in its deepest recess; And these in their turn fill my soul with devotion, As I trace the Kind Hand for my aid in distress.

These all are thy works, O, Thou glorious Being! Thou art the great Limner with whom none can vie; Yet dim are the splendors as night comes, fast fleeing, Compared with the glories around Thee on high.

Amidst this array comes the solemn thought stealing, That these glowing colors will soon pass away. Each rude blast of wind seems a passing bell pealing, And loudly is calling all Christians to pray.

For full preparation, ere Death comes to call them To lay all earth's cares and sweet pleasures aside; That they may be happy whatever befall them, Still trusting in Jesus, the Lamb who hath died.

HIS SONG TO A RILL.

Swiftly flowing, gentle Rill, Murm'ring softly down this hill, Oft I list thy charming voice, At the bright and early morn, As the Sun comes from the East, While his beams these scenes adorn, To furnish minds like mine a feast.

Sweetly musical, pure Rill, Thou dost me with pleasure fill. As I note thy varied charms Dulcet sounds fall on my ear, Soothing much a saddened heart; Easing me of grief and fear, Till I grieve from thee to part.

Modest, unassuming Rill, Thou art formed by matchless skill. Grace and beauty are displayed In thy ever-smiling face And the objects which surround This thy home; where I can trace Traits to make this hallowed ground.

Lively, joyous, trickling Rill! As I gaze upon thee still, Wanders back my mind afar To those haunts of boyish days, When my young and ardent soul Warbled forth its earnest lays, Gladly following Nature's call.

Glittering, dancing, pearly Rill! Thou dost well thy Maker's will In regarding his behest. Teaching Christians all the way They must take to please their God; Lest in dangerous paths they stray, And bring upon themselves his Rod.

Swiftly flowing, gentle Rill, Murm'ring softly down this hill, I must bid thee now farewell; Other scenes my presence claim. My dear Master's work demands What will bring no earthly fame-- The labor of my heart and hands.

XIX.

Upon these songs no farther I comment; They speak a language dear unto my soul; And I could dwell through all my life content To gaze on Nature, who doth never pall A mind well tuned to listen to the call Of her pure minstrelsy, which yields delight Unmixed, enduring, as the seasons roll In quick succession, hymning forth the Might Of their All-wise Creator, who doth all things right.

XX.

'Tis "Indian Summer," and the sun looks down As if afraid to show his blazing face. And now the woods assume a darker brown, While in the weather there is not a trace Of Summer's ardent heat that doth unbrace The nerves of most, and makes one long to feel The cooling breeze as Winter comes apace To scatter forest leaves with savage zeal, Which do the narrow wood-paths by their fall conceal.

XXI.

And now the copious rains come pouring down, Filling the creeks and swamps and rivers full; Or in the woods or in the growing town, Things wear an aspect truly dark and dull. Through deep, stiff mud the stoutest oxen pull With much ado the very smallest load; While many a blow across his patient skull Urges the meek ox slowly on the road, Tiring the settler out ere he reach his abode.

XXII.

Anon the angry northwest winds arise, Bringing dark scowling clouds full fraught with snow. This all discharged, perhaps for months there lies One vast white sheet which screens the plants below From biting frosts, while easier to and fro The settlers move in their convenient sleighs. These heed not cold if they have hearts aglow With friendly feelings, but will speed for days Along the snow-paved roads and on some strange highways.

XXIII.

At such a time Goodworth and eldest son Left home and all its inmates in God's care; But ere they had their first day's journey done A circumstance occurred by no means rare. An English emigrant had settled where The woods were heavy and no neighbors near. He had partaken of the morning's fare And armed with axe dreamt not of cause for fear-- Thought he'd be back at noon to wife and children dear.

XXIV.

But noontide came and brought no father fond To take his place and share the frugal meal. They little knew that his loved form beyond In that dark wood could no emotion feel. The loving wife could very ill conceal Dread thoughts which rose within her faithful breast. Should he be dead her own and children's weal Were fled forever. So, with mind distressed She went to search the woods and gave herself no rest.

XXV.

At last she came to where a huge tree lay Athwart the body of the hapless man. By grief distracted there she could not stay, But up the road with frightful speed she ran. Soon she met Goodworths and forthwith began To tell her tale most incoherently. Few words were needful at such a time to fan Love's flame in them or make them prove to be Both Good Samaritans to that poor family.

XXVI.

They took her up and tried to calm her mind Until they came to that soul-harrowing scene. Now all alight; ere long the axe they find, Which had so late the man's companion been. His stiffened corpse was wedged quite fast between The tree and frozen earth, and naught remained But first the widow with sleigh-robes to screen From bitter cold; and this point having gained They soon cut through the tree, so well had they been trained.

XXVII.

It then became their melancholy duty To take the lifeless form from the sad spot. And now the widow in sweet, mournful beauty Directs the new-found friends to her log cot. A tearless eye within that home was not-- All felt the dreadful nature of the loss Which had that day occurred, for naught could blot His great worth from their minds. He ne'er was cross To those who clung to him as to the tree the moss.

XXVIII.

To leave this family in such piteous state Was out of question, so young GOODWORTH took The horses out--for now 'twas growing late-- To quench their thirst at a clear purling brook, And gave them food within a sheltered nook; Then found some boards and made a coffin rude. Meanwhile the father took God's holy Book And read such portions as teach fortitude To us, that all immoderate grief may be subdued.

XXIX.

'Twas well that mother long had known the Lord, For wondrous strength is now to her imparted; And each clear promise in the Holy Word Proved balm unto her soul, though much she smarted. In both the GOODWORTHS she found friends warm hearted, Friends who could give their love and sympathy; And ere they from her humble home departed They showed such proofs of generosity As did with their profession very well agree.

XXX.

For such a work by sad experience trained, They soon proceeded to lay out the dead; And though fatigued they ne'er of it complained. Nor would they let the widow spread a bed For their joint use, but sat and watched instead. _She_, much refreshed by prayer and conversation Retired to rest her weaned heart and head. _They_ spent the night in solemn contemplation Or read that precious Book which does unfold Salvation.

XXXI.

When morning came their plans were well matured, And each went off to tell the mournful news. Ere noon appeared assistance they secured, For help at such time who can well refuse? Some brought their tools which they knew how to use, And dug a grave in the selected spot. There round it grew no stately, somber yews, But these and other things it needed not To be fit resting-place for one not soon forgot.

XXXII.

When all was ready GOODWORTH lent support To the bereaved one following the bier. In sweet-toned language he did her exhort To look to Him who "bottles up each tear" His children shed while in deep sorrow here. They reached the grave, where she with firmness stood And felt such comfort as dispelled her fear. Such fruits spring from true Christian Brotherhood To all who rest their hopes on Christ's atoning blood.

XXXIII.

Due rites performed, the settlers flock around The widowed mother and warm offers make Of humble service, with respect profound. _This_ wished the boy and _that_ the girl to take, And treat them well for their dear parents' sake. She heard these offers with much thankfulness, But said to part with them her heart would break-- Would miss them, too, in this her sad distress, And they could get along if God their efforts bless.

XXXIV

That night the Pastor ventured to enquire What were her prospects? Did she money need? The answer made he could not but admire: "Her God had ever proved a friend indeed; Cheered by His promises which she could plead, She doubted not He would them still protect, And, make their labors on the farm succeed; Her boy was strong, and had such great respect For what was right that he his work would not neglect."

XXXV.

Next day the friends prepared again to start On their cold journey soon as it was light. Both urged their hostess freely to impart To them from time to time her prospects bright Or the reverse, as she might deem it right. In fervent prayer they her to God commend, Then bade Farewell and soon were out of sight They reached that day their lengthy journey's end, And gained a hearty welcome from their loving friend.

XXXVI.

That friend lived in a village destined soon To show few traces of the times gone past When its fair site was woods where the racoon, The bear, and wolf had munched their stolen repast. In wealth and people 'twas increasing fast, But not in morals--these were very low; Yet some there lived who roused themselves at last And with great vigor met the monster foe-- Ev'n vile Intemperance--to give him his death blow.

XXXVII.

This end they hoped for by the simple means Of total abstinence from liquors strong. The frequent use of these gives rise to scenes Which all good men would scorn to be among. Vile oaths, the boisterous mirth, the wanton song, Were constant heard within each horrid den Where these vile drinks were retailed all day long. 'Twas sad indeed to view such filthy pen Filled with poor ruined wretches who once had been men.

XXXVIII.

Throughout the village there were many such, And as a consequence great mischief done. It is surprising and has grieved me much To think our Magistrates have laurels won By doing what all devils view as fun! Why grant a license to each Groggery When it is evident men only run To those low places for iniquity, Till they become as vile as wicked men can be?

XXXIX.

Our Pastor's friend was one among the number That first came forward openly to stand On "total Abstinence," nor did he slumber, But to the work lent willing heart and hand. GOODWORTH knew this, and having at command A little leisure held a meeting there. He spoke with warmth in language bold yet bland, Using such arguments as made men stare Who went for sake of fun, but got some better fare.

XL.

With ready tact he showed the means insidious Used oft by those who sold the drunkard drink. To lure him on by stimulants oblivious, Till he lost self-command, and ceased to think. Then showed him tottering on the fearful brink Of the wide-opening grave and drunkard's hell, And truthfully described how link by link Of sacred ties were severed, as the spell Grew daily stronger, and a sot confirmed he fell.

XLI.

And now he drew as with a master's hand, A vivid picture of sad family woes; The broken-hearted wife oft forced to stand Betwixt her children and their father's blows-- He mad with rum, thus trampling Nature's laws; Or gave a life-like sketch where parents vie In drunken riot, every day the cause Of strife and discord, the poor home a sty Where filth and rags surround them, till like beasts they die.

XLII.

And then he gave with most consummate skill A true description of Sobriety, Where man and wife walk up and down Life's hill In sweet conjugal peace and piety; Their love increasing as more years they see, Their children growing up like olive plants To love and cherish much their memory, And if need be in Age supply their wants, Then meet with that reward which God to such still grants.

XLIII.

While he was speaking there was some excitement, And at the meeting's close a number came To sign the Pledge, expressing much delightment. Yet some were there who slunk away in shame, Muttering that they were not a whit to blame For the poor drunkard's fate, although they had Used every means to keep alive the flame Which burned their vitals and made them quite mad. That these escape due punishment is far too bad.

XLIV.

I here would try to speak my mind in brief Upon the Temperance movement ere I pass To other scenes, either of joy or grief, In which our Pastor figures--for alas, "Man's best laid schemes are only like to grass Which springs up for a season and then dies." Just so this question 'mongst the world's great mass Sometimes seems gaining ground, but the Foe plies His sly ensnaring waits and all reform defies.

XLV.

Now why is this? Can any tell me why? Some feel quite sure all we now want's a law To stop the godless traffic. These rely Perhaps too much on man to strike the blow Which is to bring the fell Destroyer low. Others are sure that it is useless quite To curb the monster. These ne'er felt the glow Of pure Philanthropy move them aright Or they would rise and aim to crush this demon's might.

XLVI.

Try this scheme, friends: Let all true Christians stand Fast in one body, and use fervent prayer And self-denial, that the Lord's right hand May be stretched out to break each chain and snare Which binds mankind. Then let it be our care To act consistently in all we do. Of resting on an arm of flesh beware! For in this case our plans will all fall through; We shall be put to shame and feel deep anguish too.

XLVII.

May we no opportunity neglect Of spreading wide the Gospel's joyful sound For those who never do indeed expect That God's rich blessing will their steps surround. Thrice happy shall we be if we are found Engaged still thus when Jesus calls us hence. Rise, Christians, then, and let your zeal abound! The Savior calls! In earnest now commence This Godlike work, and let his name be our defence.

XLVIII.

I now resume my simple narrative, To tell how GOODWORTHS reached their home again. More striking views of them I yet must give, If I may strike my harp and use my pen. To me who rank not 'mongst well learned men 'Twill prove a task of no small magnitude; Yet after hard bench-labor, now and then It gives relief from much solicitude To sit in my arm chair and form my verses rude.

XLIX.

Once more our friends are gliding o'er the road, While their clear bells most lively music make. The sleighing good, and past each log abode They swiftly fly and soon a side-line take To gain an Indian village near the Lake. Here they intend to spend a little time The poor Red Men from sin and death to wake By speaking to them of those Truths sublime, Which can renew the souls of men sunk low in crime.

L.

The Indian Chiefs received them with much pleasure; They saw in GOODWORTH what did suit them well. Of outward charms he had an ample measure, And his fine voice was like a deep-toned bell. These all combined cast as it were a spell Over those haughty rangers of the wood, And made them ponder what he had to tell. It was a sight to see those natives rude List to God's Gospel-message in a serious mood.

LI.

They listened, and the Holy Ghost with power Sent home the word to some of savage heart. These since have seen great cause to bless the hour In which our Pastor visited that part. A few, deep-skilled in blackest "heathen art" Were full of rage and would have done him harm, But lacked the power, which but increased their smart. Meanwhile the others with fresh feelings warm, Pressed hospitable rites and quelled the fierce alarm.

LII.

With these he had some very earnest talk Of that obedience which the Lord requires From his Disciples, to ensure a walk Such as may tend to curb our vain desires And nurture that which to all good aspires. He deemed it proper not to press at first The rite Baptismal; and while one admires His views on this, another seems to thirst For full initiation lest he die accursed.

LIII.

This from an Indian did excite surprise; But soon 'twas known this man had heard before A hint of it from some one he thought wise-- One truly skilled in strong Sectarian lore. To try to set him right Goodworth forbore, At least at that time, as too well he knew Men oft in controversy feel more sore On things of which they have but partial view; That they will argue most for what to them is _new_.

LIV.

Upon the morrow ere they took their leave, It was arranged--God willing--to return Within a week or two those to receive Into strict Fellowship who wished to learn God's will, which all in Scripture may discern, That in Church standing they a light might be To their poor friends whose state required concern. This settled, GOODWORTHS then most cheerfully Resumed their journey home to join their family.

LV.

The first few miles in safety soon they passed, And reach the edge of a most dismal swamp Stretched out before them in dimensions vast; A huge receptacle of gloom and damp. There savage wolves and beasts of such a stamp Might lodge secure and plan most daring deeds. Gloomy the prospect, though the solar Lamp Was full two hours from setting, and the steeds Restive become and faster fly as instinct leads.

LVI.

The men knew well what they had to expect, And sent a prayer into their Father's ear. This done, they did no proper means neglect To meet what danger might be hovering near, And also strove each others' hearts to cheer. Swifter the horses speed o'er the rough logs That form the road, and now some wolves appear Hungry and fierce and fresh from noisome bogs, To pounce upon our friends who lack their faithful dogs.

LVII.

The murderous gang now spring but miss their prey, And plunging in deep snow vent forth their rage In horrid yells, then strive to reach the sleigh. Again they fail; again afresh engage With double fury bloody war to wage! Vain their attempts. A Mighty Hand unseen Aids those two men. This does their fears assuage, And nerves their arms, and keeps their minds serene, Or they had failed to tell how good the Lord had been.

LVIII.

The swamp is cleared, yet on the smoother road Their speed they slack not till they reach the house Of a poor drunken settler then abroad On his nocturnal revels, while the spouse Was left to mourn his oft-indulged carouse, And tremble for his safety from the cold. No sense of danger e'er could him arouse From his sad sunken state. Drink had such hold On his gross appetite he seemed to Satan sold.

LIX.

And yet the wife, the mother of his babes, Ne'er breathed reproach against her low-sunk mate. Such love as her's it is which sometimes saves A wretched husband from a drunkard's fate. 'Tis true such love is oft repaid with hate, And driven to distraction wives may say Hard things of men who bring them to a state Of heartfelt woe, and drive their feet astray From Virtue's paths, until they shun the light of day.

LX.

But here and there a character shines forth, As in this case, most worthy of all praise. For this sweet wife was one of matchless worth, And her dear name should grace my artless lays, If I by that means could her triumphs raise. She was in truth a noble heroine, Whose brow might well have been bedecked with bays; For deeds like hers through every age should shine To show the strength of Love and prove it is divine.

LXI.

O, woman! who has skill of mind or pen Those feelings to portray that fill thy breast? All we yet see are glimpses, now and then, Which make us long the more to know the rest. Self-sacrificing woman! thou'rt possessed Of that which does enable thee to bear A load of misery on thy heart impressed By wrongs from him who should thy sorrows share, And make the daily weal his ever constant care.

LXII.

His home in that far North wild wilderness, Had naught about it which could tell the tale Of what that mother suffered of distress, For hope--fond hope had kept her strong and hale. It was still whispering she would soon prevail Upon her husband to renounce his sin. This cheered her heart although her face grew pale With anxious care how best she could begin And what means to employ that she might victory win.

LXIII.

So GOODWORTH found her on that bitter night With house quite trim and table neatly laid, And hopeful still though in a serious plight, As we have hinted, very much afraid Lest her dear man should freeze. "He is," she said, "As good a husband as I could desire But lot his fault. He always has displayed Such love for me that I will never tire Of loving him, though none my conduct may admire."

LXIV.

And saying this she would have gone alone The absent one upon the road to seek. Her ardent love conspicuously shown On that occasion, and I fain would speak Her praise with trumpet tongue, though she so meek Might blush to hear it and feel half offended. Now GOODWORTHS thought that one whom they deemed weak Was best at home, yet they her love commended, And volunteered to go, by trusty dog attended.

LXV.

'Twas not in vain. Behind a Huge pine tree The man, o'ercome, was lying fast asleep; Nor could they rouse him, so far gone was he, Or from the cold or from potations deep. An unseen Eye did faithful vigils keep O'er that poor sinner though he knew it not; And thoughts of this has since oft made him weep Tears of true penitence in that lone spot, Which gave to him a lesson that he ne'er forgot.

LXVI.

This spot was very near to where he lived, And the kind friends Drink's hapless victim bore To his own home, both feeling truly grieved That his sad state would make his wife's heart sore. And now the faithful dog trots on before, Most clearly glad because his master's found. Anon he whines and scratches at the door, Which makes his mistress' heart within her bound As she peers through the dark and tries to catch some sound.

LXVII.

Each moment seemed an hour as thus she stood In doubt, expecting some great evil near; And when they came the sight nigh froze her blood. She fainting fell, through mingled grief and fear. Meanwhile the children in the chamber hear A noise below, and leave their snug, warm bed, Then in deep sorrow view their parents dear, And big, warm tears each youngling freely shed, For their idea was that both were lying dead.

LXVIII.

Our friends knew better and strove eagerly To still their cries and consciousness restore Unto the sufferers. Soon with joy they see The mother fast recovering; her they bore Into her bed-room that they might give more Attention to the drunken father's case. He in deep stupor did most loudly snore And looked quite frightful with frost-bitten face, Which kept him long in mind of that--his great disgrace.

LXIX.

Next they rub hard with snow the frozen parts, Until the flesh displays a ruddy glow. This task accomplished they with lighter hearts Deeper concernment for the mistress show. She, quite awake, most anxious was to know Their full opinion of her partner's state. The favorable answer made her bow Her heart to God for this his mercy great, In having kept her man from such an awful fate.

LXX.

From bed she rose and pressed on them to eat, But GOODWORTH asked if he might go to prayer. She gave consent, and 'fore the Mercy Seat They poured forth thanks for all their Father's care, And prayed that all within the house might share God's rich forgiving love, and ever be Devoted to his service: so prepare By constant practice of true piety To join the heavenly ranks a happy family.

LXXI.

And now they eat with keenest appetite Of the good things so temptingly displayed-- Prime venison with bread both sweet and light; And charming butter as e'er housewife made Were with tea, cream, and rich preserves arrayed In plentiful supply upon the table. These, backed by welcome, all their toil repaid, And they found backwoods cheer indeed no fable; Yet to partake thereof their hostess was not able.

LXXII.

Their noble team they came so near forgetting, Had been provided for with care by one Who gave his parents no just cause for fretting-- A rather small but very hopeful son. Around the blazing hearth-fire they begun To draw their chairs to dwell in converse pure Another hour on what the Lord had done; How he had kept them all from death secure And caused their love and faith through trials to endure.

LXXIII.

The guests both slept in peace and early rose, And found their host already stirring round, And suffering much from being badly froze, And strangely nervous at the slightest sound. The elder GOODWORTH spoke to him and found That Conscience was at work within his breast. She made him hear with reverence profound Truths suited to the case of one distressed By sense of heinous guilt, which drives away all rest.

LXXIV.

He also brought most forcibly to view The need there was of "total abstinence" For such as he; and step by step he drew The man along till an o'erwhelming sense Of his great crime made him wish to commence At once a life of strict Sobriety. He signed a pledge and straightway banished thence The fiery fluid, his great enemy,-- And did thenceforward keep his pledge most sacredly.

LXXV.

The breakfast o'er, our two friends bade adieu To parents, children, in their kindly way. 'Twas now their wish to push the journey through Before the close of that short Winter day. The Sun was up and made a grand display Upon the trees and shrubs on every hand; These all were clad in silvery array, As if transformed by some Magician's wand, But 'twas the work of Him who counts the grains of sand.

LXXVI.

For through the night a change had taken place-- Such as we frequent view without surprise. Rain falls and freezes--this is oft the case--, And trees look pretty to our outward eyes, But is this all that such a view supplies? Can we not trace a Mighty Artist's skill, Which competition from mankind defies? Then let us learn to reverence Him still, Who forms these beauteous scenes according to His will.

LXXVII.

Dear GOODWORTH gazed upon the glittering scene Until his soul was filled with ecstacy. Here he perceived that God indeed had been To clothe dull Winter in great majesty. To him it was so full of poetry That he was led to frame another lay, Which seems to me to breathe such melody I must ev'n give it without more delay, And rest in hope 'twill live far, far beyond my day.

PASTOR'S SONG ON THE FROST-WORK OF A FOREST SCENE.

Last night's air was keen and the snow lay around; All the trees, stript of leaves, were quite naked and black, And naught broke the stillness so very profound Save the jingle of bells as we passed o'er the track.

And little we thought of the sorrowful state Of that fond, loving, wife by whose bountiful cheer Our needs were supplied, nor yet dreamt of the fate Impending o'er one--to her heart ever dear.

As little expected the clouds of despair Hanging terribly pregnant with evils so dire Would all quickly vanish in answer to prayer, And sweet comfort spring forth from the midst of the fire.

As little we thought that the rude rising blast Would bring rain to transform every dark forest scene To richness of splendor by nothing surpassed That we mortals have witnessed of wonders' terrene.

Yon maple trees bend with their silvery load Like the frail sons of earth under ponderous wealth. These feel keen affliction their consciences goad, Yet they heed not the warning till Death comes by stealth.

And those, though they look on this calm, sunny day, To be robed in pure beauty so strikingly grand, Should Boreas arise his least might to display, Would be stript of their charms by his merciless hand.

And yonder dark pines that seem still to aspire To pre-eminence over their comrades below, Which shine in Sol's rays like huge masses of fire, To the earth their proud heads may be soon made to bow.

Yon oaks, which, like kings of the forest appear, With their thick, crooked branches all coated with ice, Never dream that the loss of their splendor is near, That each branch may be broke by the wind in a trice.

Just so we vain mortals indulge foolish pride, When we deck our poor bodies in splendid attire; And oft has the Tempter successfully tried With such means us to lead to most sinful desire.

How seldom we think that the primitive use Of the first suit of clothing by Adam and Eve Was not for adornment with trappings profuse, But as cover for nakedness--guilt to relieve.

This lesson more frequently brought to our view Might preserve all our souls from much sorrow and sin, And make us more anxious each day to renew Those adornings which Christians should all have within.

With reflections like these in true pleasure I gaze On this landscape so fair--so transcendently bright, And utter my heart's feeble tones of sweet praise To my Father who formed it by Wisdom and Might.

LXXVIII.

Thus to a mind by sacred Truth impressed Nature at all times is an open book, And he who reads aright is truly blest. But ah, how much her teachings we overlook! One who his Scripture Guide has quite forsook Makes her an idol, and her praises sings In warmest strains; he hears in every nook Of her domain a thousand different things Proclaim her Godship, which to him much pleasure brings.

LXXIX.

Another, dreaming he is taught of God, Will hardly deign to look on her sweet face. His feet may press the flower-bespangled sod, But to admire the carpet would disgrace A mind so holy, and perhaps displace Far better thoughts which rise within his breast! In such a one 'twere difficult to trace The influence of Truths sublime expressed By our Great Master in discourse to us addressed.

LXXX.

As on most questions, mine's the middle view, And looks on all creation as the work Of God All-wise, most kind and mighty too. This frees my mind from all vain thoughts which lurk In its recesses, dissipates the murk Of idol worship and religious pride, And makes me proof 'gainst each insidious quirk Thrown out by those who do my views deride; Whose judgment seems to me from truth and reason wide.

LXXXI

In musings deep or Lively conversation, The time flies quickly as our friends draw near Their woodland home, which, after separation So long from those it holds, is still more dear. Anon, friends' farms successively appear, And at Luth's house they stop to rest awhile Themselves and team. There they lack not good cheer Nor kindly welcome, shown by many a smile From man and wife, a loving pair quite free from guile.

LXXXII.

From Luth they learned all their dear folks were well, And this relieved them from anxiety; So now with grateful hearts awhile they dwell Upon those themes which dear to Saints should be-- Spoke of the love displayed so lavishly In journeying mercies, wheresoe'er they went; Of good accomplished--though with modesty-- By them as instruments most timely sent; And thus an hour or two was profitably spent.

LXXXIII.

Ere very long they reached their own abode-- That _Nest_ well lined with Love, Content and Peace, Where true home feelings in each bosom glowed, And solid comforts day by day increase, Bidding quite fair to last till life shall cease. This their return the trusty dogs first hear, And they by joyous barking rouse the geese, The ducks and poultry, which in chorus clear At once their voices raise, dreaming that harm is near.

LXXXXIV.

The household listen to the noise outside A few short moments, when the youngest son Struck by a pleasant thought could not abide Longer suspense, but in a trice begun To don his hat and gloves, both quickly done. He hurries forth and by fair Luna's gleam His eyes beheld what made him faster run To bid the loved ones welcome, and the team To house, and give such food as he may fittest deem.

LXXXV.

The two well loaded with their traveling gear, Make for the cottage fast as they can go. There the three females cheerfully appear Determined they a welcome will bestow Such as most virtuous minds alone can show. Sweet smiles bedeck the mother's comely face, The daughters too with joy are all aglow, Quite pleased to have a kiss or warm embrace From those they love so well at such a time and place.

LXXXVI.

Reader, dost thou possess imagination? If so, just use that precious faculty And join with me in making observation On love scenes drawn from this dear family. Thou art no eavesdropper, but yet I see An interest sparkling in thy earnest face Which shows thy heart doth go along with me As I such secrets do my best to trace And hold them up to view to benefit my race.

LXXXVII.

Imagine then the cordial reception That I above have feebly tried to paint. My picture has the charm of no deception-- A thing of which there's oft not much complaint. Behold this loving band without restraint Gathered mound the evening's social board, Each in such frame of mind as seems a Saint, Even in their eating honoring the Lord, As they with temperance use whate'er their means afford.

LXXXVIII.

The father in most truly Pastoral style Spoke of the dangers they had just passed through; Dwelt on the English settler's death awhile. And the sweet conduct of the widow, too, Until the listeners had enough to do To calm their feelings and restrain their fears. Their sympathy was pure, to nature true, Which made them deeply feel the griefs and fears Of fellow mortals; and their father's heart it cheers.

LXXXIX.

He next informed them of the low sunk state Of that new village where he meetings held. How some few men were snatched from drunkard's fate, How drink's most worthless traffic had been quelled, And prejudice by force of Truth dispelled. Next of their visit to the Indian tribe; Told who received the Truth and who repelled Its influx to their souls and Satan's bribe Received, which did of Life Eternal them deprive.

XC.

The wolf adventure and Inebriate's case Received due notice and called loud for praise To Him whose hand they could-so clearly trace, Who had most kindly cared for them always. Then the _Doxology_ at once they raise To the "Old Hundred," the immortal air, The clear, full harmony of which displays Such skill that mortals now may well despair Of making better tune though they have talents rare.

XCI.

This done once more they read God's holy Word, Choosing such portion as their minds may suit. Then in great reverence kneel with full accord, And fervent pray, though all save one are mute. Are there who deem such acts of no repute? Sad is their state, for they have nothing learned As well worth learning. Will they this dispute? Alas, poor sinners, you are not concerned That you have Christ refused and thus your soul's good spurned.

XCII.

We'll draw the curtain while the family sleep-- Such sleep as pure contentment ever brings; And while good Angels, o'er them vigils keep, Let's pause a little that my rude harp's strings May be drawn tighter, that my Muse her wings Afresh may plume, ere she completes her song For she has yet to sing of pleasant things And the reverse, so she must needs be strong To execute her task as time fast flies along.

XCIII.

The occasion I will take to introduce More fully to my patient reader's view This worthy household; which will be of use In after scenes, as I my tale renew. Joseph, the eldest, we have seen was true To God and Nature in some trials great: Much like his father year by year he grew Until he reached to manhood's full estate; In manners humble, and in preaching gifts first rate.

XCIV.

William, the younger, was not quite so grave; As kind in heart, but still more blithe and free; Quite serious on occasions and most brave, There were few youths more loveable than he. In Sunday school 'twas his delight to be, There he still led the singing and took part In teaching children the "great Mystery" Of gospel truth, and many a childish heart Felt that the loss of him would yield unceasing smart.

XCV.

The sisters, younger still, I must compare To two fair roses very lately blown; Who, though they lived in the woods, were debonair As any town's girls I have ever known. Their skill in housewifery was clearly shown In the discharge of all their household duties. They both had voices of the sweetest tone-- Not shrill nor harsh, but more like what the flute is, And were by all who saw them looked upon as beauties.

XCVI.

But those were naught compared with Faith and Love Possessed by both, evinced by all their acts; And nothing pleased them better than to prove That pure Religion never aught subtracts From real enjoyment, as is shown by facts Which all who can may read if so inclined. 'Tis true our Father evermore exacts Complete obedience, but our hearts refined By the Spirit through the Truth know all's in love designed.

XCVII.

Clarissa and Louisa were the names Bestowed upon these daughters at their birth, And 'twas foretold by some attendant dames That each when grown would have uncommon worth. This prophecy gave rise to harmless mirth In after years, and led the girls to say That in their conduct there should be no dearth Of loveliness, for fear it should betray The fame of those good dames still living in their day.

XCVIII.

"Surely those parents must have been well off!" Some reader may exclaim in scorn or jest; But if 'twere _not_ so there's no need to scoff, And if it were I have the truth expressed. Mine eyes have seen some parents quite as blest In all their offspring, and I hope to see My own dear children in their day attest That what I write is true, and ever be A loving, happy band and useful family.

XCIX.

I have an aim in making this digression, Can anyone divine what it may be? Though not a Papist I will make confession And clear at once the seeming mystery. Luth had a son now grown to man's degree, Who made proposals for Clarissa's hand, And GOODWORTH thought for aught that he could see It was not well their wishes to withstand, So let things take the way they were already planned.

C.

And Joseph, wishing not to be behind His darling sister, cast about his eyes And soon found one possessing generous mind, Whose fund of worth proved his selection wise. Her name methinks the reader may surmise, For it was Ruth and also Luth, a maid Who did prepare for matrimonial ties In prayerful spirit, and who ne'er betrayed That love of coquetry by many girls displayed.

CI.

Both these young folks had followed the example Of worthy parents, and as Christians stood In that young Church. Their worldly means were ample At least for such as wed from motives good. Besides if needful they could earn their food, Which made their marriage prospects bright and cheering, Things thus far settled they did all they could To haste the nuptials, and grew more endearing As the auspicious day drew nearer its appearing.

CII.

Again the Sabbath day came duly round, And Goodworth met his flock with heartfelt joy. Once more he faithful preached "the joyful sound," Or taught the Saints sin's fetters to destroy, And how their time and talents to employ. Then just before the "Breaking of the Bread" He of his journey spoke in manner coy, And deep attention by the Church was paid As he recounted mercies sent by Christ their Head.

CIII.

Upon the work especial stress he laid, Begun by God amongst the poor Red Men, And moved by sacred zeal he boldly said That something must be done; but how or when Was for the Church to say. As he stood then Chosen of God and them to oversee, His little flock, he could not go again Without depriving some of Ministry Most needful at that time if he would faithful be.

CIV.

He further said it was a settled thing With him that if the Holy Spirit call One to the Pastorship, no good could spring From frequent absence, for the Church needs all His time and talents; and should ill befall A flock so left God might the question ask, "Why didst thou leave my sheep and lambs at all? I placed thee there; attend thou to the task If in my smiles approving thou wouldst wish to bask!"

CV.

He cited many texts to prove his view, [Footnote: See at least one amongst many in I Peter, V, 1-4] And felt much grieved some Churches in our day Should to their _interest_ be seldom true, And Pastors for slight causes turn away. From personal observation he would say That many men who make a great profession Begrudge the mite so needful as the pay Of those whose Pastoral worth's their sole possession; Who could not wink at sin nor make undue concession.

CVI

"Some folks, again," he said, "quite overlook The nature of the office as laid down For Churches' guidance in the holy Book, And substitute opinions of their own. Such meet their fellow Christians with a frown If they insist upon the Scripture plan, And deem him little better than a clown Who has the courage their false views to scan: And should he not desist might place him under ban."

CVII.

"_Thus saith the Lord_, in all religious matters, As the thing; needful should our minds impress. We've naught to do with the unseemly tatters Of creeds and ceremonials on which stress Is laid by many who the Truth profess. The Scriptures teach that Pastors should take heed To all their flock, that faith and holiness May grow apace; that they the sheep should feed With Heaven-inspired food according to their need."

CVIII.

"But Churches for most part make choice of him Who does a splendid preaching talent show; Or else they seek to gratify some whim Lest hearers should their purse strings tighter draw. 'Tis easy for one taught of God to show That those so chosen cannot well fulfill True Pastoral duty, which consists, we know, In oversight according to God's will-- Not Lords o'er his inheritance, but humble still."

[Footnote: The author would not like to be misunderstood. All he intends to say is that a talent for preaching, however good, is not the only qualification for Elder or Pastor. See I Tim. iii and Tit. i.]

CIX.

The Church agreed in what the Pastor said And Luth suggested that young GOODWORTH might Act as Evangelist in his father's stead, Should he 'fore God consider it quite right. Joseph assured them it was his delight To aid in any way his Master's cause, But thought that all should seek for further light By fervent prayer, and therefore Would propose To leave it unto Him from whom all wisdom flows.

CX.

This as determined on and they attended Unto the "Supper of the Lord" in love. Once more their Sacrifice of Praise ascended From grateful hearts unto their God above, Who heard it all and did such acts approve. Refreshed in soul once more they separate In friendly manner, as it does behove The joint possessors of such blessings great As heirs of bliss and glory in a future state.

CXI.

Throughout the week the members freely gave Unto this subject due consideration; And Joseph looked, to anxious friends, more grave, Was oft in prayer or wrapped in contemplation. The father, who of this made observation, Encouraged him to frankly speak his mind. This led them soon to mutual explanation And fuller confidence, which all combined To lead them both to be unto God's will resigned.

CXII.

It caused a struggle in that parent's breast To part with one grown dearer every day; And Joseph at the first felt quite distressed At leaving friends so very far away. As was but natural, thoughts of wedding day Would also cross his mind and make him sigh; But yet he felt determined to display True Christian courage and himself deny, If to his fellow men 'twould bring Redemption nigh.

CXIII.

The father; saw no very great occasion For much of self-denial in the case. The Bride-expectant would with small persuasion Share any trials he might have to face. Besides the Indians would prepare a place With needful comforts, should he there remain. 'Twas therefore his advice to seek for Grace, Such as the work demanded, and thus gain The glorious Reward which faithful ones obtain.

CXIV.

To this the son made not the least objection, And so the matter stood till next Lord's Day, When, as the Church approved of the selection, Much unfeigned love the all to him display; Rejoicing to see one so young obey Duty's strong impulse, and to God commend Their much loved brother, who without delay Made preparation that ere the week's end He might the Indians reach and to his work attend.

CXV.

At the reformed Inebriate's house he called In passing, and was truly glad to find The man his vice inveterate had controlled, And was improving daily in his mind. He owned that had his wife not proved most kind He might have been again to drinking drove. This Joseph hears, but hopes the pledge he signed Would be some safeguard if he should lack love; Yet urged him much to seek for help from God above.

CXVI.

To miss the swamp he took another road Not so direct, but pleasanter by far. Most holy feelings in his bosom glowed As he gazed on the glittering Evening Star. The sleighing good, such traveling was no bar To his sweet musings as he nearer drew Unto the village where he had to war With heathen darkness, and for aught he knew, Where trials great and many might his steps pursue.

CXVII.

On his arrival joy sincere was felt By those who had the Gospel's sound regarded. These in full council passed the Wampum Belt, And by their confidence his zeal rewarded. None had the influence of Truth discarded Who first professed by it to be made free, And 'twas their wish, since nothing now retarded, To be baptized with due solemnity, That those who disbelieved might their obedience see.

CXVIII.

The Preacher this performed by full immersion Of the whole body in the deep blue lake, And none but those who evidenced conversion Did of that holy ordinance partake. I state not this from a desire to wake Any contention in a Christian's breast; I rather "strive for things which peace do make," That I my love for all saints may attest. This course I long have deemed the wisest and the best.

CXIX.

Those thus baptized in fellowship then stood, And as instructed, to Christ's laws attended. Their souls reposed on His atoning blood For full salvation, and their lives commended The saving Truth to those who were offended At the first preaching of the Joyful News. What these beheld their outward rage suspended, And now no longer dared they to accuse The Preacher of vile motives and his work abuse.

CXX.

For some few weeks he labored there with pleasure, And his Red brethren urged on him to take The Pastor's office, but so grave a measure Demanded time for its importance's sake. "Should I be spared," he said, "I wish to make My life a useful one where'er I live; To Duty's call to keep my ear awake, And as I have received to freely give, Aiming to show I wish for no alternative."

CXXI.

With this resolve so very freely spoken We bid the Red Man for the time Adieu, For other scenes most clearly do betoken That genial pleasure is not lost to view. The lovers to their vows continued true, And fixed upon the following New Year's day As best for entering on their duties new, When it was planned a Wedding jaunt to pay In visit to Niagara, many miles away.

CXXII.

The day arrived--a bright and cheering one, With which came Settlers on kind thoughts intent. Then gratitude for what the Lord had done They wished to show by love and substance spent Upon their Pastor, whom they viewed as bent On seeking their advantage since he came. One, by a neighbor, had two turkeys sent, Both fine young birds, well fed and very tame-- A gift which well might put some richer men to shame.

CXXIII.

This neighbor brought upon his own account An ewe and ram of most superior breed. Another had a very fair amount Of splendid timothy and clover seed. A fourth good maple sugar as his meed Bestowed with blandest smiles and modest mien. A fifth had apples, of which all agreed They were the best they in that part had seen; While a sixth brought savory sausages quite fresh and clean.

CXXIV.

These as an average sample of the gifts, I mention merely with a view to show That Gratitude is put to no mean shifts In kindly hearts whose love keeps them aglow. Those who have naught but water to bestow Upon a thirsty Saint, reward will gain From Heaven's high King, who loves to have it so. We must from sneering at small gifts refrain. For the poor widow's mite did great reward obtain.

CXXV.

Surprise and joy that Christian family felt At this display of love and gratitude; While with their friends they reverently knelt To give God thanks, they for rich blessings sued For the kind donors, now more strongly viewed As brethren in the very strongest bond. Each at the Mercy Seat their love renewed, And heart to heart did fervently respond. All merely worldly pleasure this is far beyond.

CXXVI.

This past, the marriage knot was quickly tied For those young well matched couples, who appeared In all respects well pleased and satisfied This tended much to keep the parents cheered, And to the friends around them more endeared The wedding feast parta'en, they soon prepare For their long journey, as a change they feared In the fine weather, which might make roads bare And the good sleighing spoil--a thing by no means rare.

CXXVII.

On that delightful jaunt I need not dwell, Only to say that all the drive enjoyed. When safe returned each had a tale to tell Of the great Cataract's wonders, never void Of thrilling interest to minds employed In viewing Nature right. I now would haste Lest my dear readers feel themselves annoyed, To finish what has brought me no small taste Of Poet's joy, and often has my heart solaced.

CXXVIII.

That earthly pleasure's not without alloy Poets have sung and sages oft have said, And none did e'er such pleasure long enjoy Without being to the same conclusion led. Our Pastor's dear Louisa took to bed Soon after New Year's visit to the Falls; Ere Spring came round she bowed her lovely head To Death's stern summons! Yet sweet hope consoles The friends for loss of her, and undue grief controls.

CXXIX.

Her death-bed was a scene I love to view With chastened pleasure, for her faith was strong. She to her Savior had for years been true. And then to be with Him did daily long, Yet not impatiently, for 'twould be wrong; But with strong fortitude--so calm and pure That one who saw her left the World's gay throng, And since has had great trials to endure, But found the Savior's aid was ever near and sure.

CVXX.

But little now remains for me to sing, Not that I matter lack--a large supply Exists _where I got this from,_ and may spring Into poetic joy if I should try Again to tune my harp, this time laid by At Duty's call. Our friend and spouse live where We found them first. William and wife are nigh, And with their children choicest comforts share. While Joseph of the Red Men's Church takes Pastoral care.

CXXXI.

Luth and Clarissa own a good sized farm, Well tilled, well stocked and fronting to the Lake. Around their hearthstone boys and girls do swarm, So that they soon a larger house must make. Some members of the Church now sometimes take Their turns in preaching, and the elder Luth Shares Pastoral duty for his Master's sake. As Deacons they have men who love the Truth, All proving that the Church is in a state most sooth.

CXXXII.

The Lord's _Forget-me-nots_ grow everywhere Along the Christian's path as he pursues His Heavenward journey. And a Father's care Gives each sweet odors and most lovely hues. And they throughout the darkest days diffuse A balmy fragrance strikingly delicious! Yet we, vain mortals, oft these sweets refuse And choose instead that which is most pernicious,-- Thus wandering far from God, who always is propitious.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

JENNY AND HER PET LAMB.

By the side of lonely moor, In a humble clay-built cot, Lived a widow very poor Who received her daily store As the Lord's Forget-me-not.

With her lived her little girl, Blithe and pretty blue eyed Jane; She wore golden locks in curl, Which showed Nature was no churl, If it did not make her vain.

Plain but neatly was she dressed, With her lot was quite content, No great cares her mind oppressed, She with cheerfulness was blessed, While in work her time was spent.

Came there by the cot one day Quite a numerous flock of sheep. Lambs did by their mothers play, One was in a sickly way, Which called up Jane's feelings deep.

He who drove them, hard of heart, Did that sickly lamb abuse; This increased young Jennie's smart, It went through her like a dart, Wondering, "would the man refuse

"To give her that pretty lamb Which appeared so like to die?" Came the thought to her like balm, Her distress of mind to calm, As she to the man drew nigh.

When to him she made request Answered he in surly tones, "She might have the little pest, For it was at very best But a heap of skin and bones!"

Joyfully she took the prize In with her to that rude cot. Pleasure filled her sparkling eyes, For the lamb had ceased its cries Ere it reached so safe a spot.

Like a foster mother she Nursed it then with gentle care, Till it grew in time to be Large as any sheep you see, Fed upon such scanty fare.

And its wool in one short year For some better pasture pays And assists the heart to cheer Of that widow, who had fear The coming Winter days.

Came there soon some troubles great On this poor, small family. He who owned the large estate Where they lived, had sunk of late Into greatest poverty.

Lost he all his wide domain, Dragged to jail because of debt. He would not of fate complain, If that widow might remain, But consent he could not get.

He who took their kind friend's place Acted a most cruel part. All might see upon his face There was not a single trace Of a kind or gentle heart.

And the widow was forbid To remain another week. Sternly he her pleadings chid, "All such tenants he would rid, And fresh quarters make them seek."

Threatened if they would not go He then all would take away. This was such a heavy blow Sickness laid the mother low; The were thus obliged to stay.

Ere the time had quite expired Down the angry landlord came With a man whom he had hired; Liquor strong their courage fired Till they felt no sense of shame.

Seize they Jenny's pretty pet, Cut its throat and leave it there; Then the household goods they get-- Heed not how the dear ones fret When their cot was made so bare.

Saw the Lord that wicked deed? Did the widow's prayer avail? See you further on may read, What the Lord had just decreed In the sequel of my tale.

Thunder clouds hung overhead, While those shocking acts were done; Forth the lightning's arrow sped, Guided there it struck them dead, Ceased to beat their hearts of stone.

All who heard the widow's case, Those who saw sweet Jenny's tears, Got for them a better place, Bade them wear a cheerful face, Trust in God and calm their fears.

Said the widow to her Jane, "Saw you how your darling died? Did it of the act complain? Jesus as a Lamb was slain, As a Lamb was crucified.

"This was in the sinner's stead, This was done for you and me; For our sins he freely bled, Bowed to Death his sacred head On the shameful cursed tree."

Heard that lovely girl these things? Yes, and did believe them too. Faith its blessings to her brings, And God's goodness oft she sings. This, dear reader, you may do.

TO A VERY TALL SUNFLOWER.

Gigantic flower with many golden faces, Why climbest thou so very high in air? Art loth to show the very smallest traces Of sweet Humility with aspect fair? Well, even 'mongst men they are by far too rare!

I oft have heard how thou in deep devotion Dost follow Sol, the glorious king of Day. If this be true, perhaps thou seek'st promotion To his high courts, thy splendors to display, And dazzle all who view thy bright array.

Poets we know are strangely given to dreaming, And thus it came--they all thought this of thee. 'Tis true, sometimes thy yellow flowers do seem in Just such a mood, and this they chanced to see; But those who watch thee closely will agree

That yet these flowers at times face all the quarters, East, West, and North as well as sunny South, And I have seen them like most patient martyrs Hang thus for days in time of Summer's drouth, Although such weather did not stop their growth.

Thou tallest of the tall amongst thy fellows Look'st like a king. So full of majesty Art thou, that this alone the truth may tell us Why we no humble mien in thee can see. Thou only bow'st to God who fashioned thee.

If this be so thou art a lesson teaching To all who view thy many golden charms; And all this time a sermon hast been preaching To me, and now my heart toward thee warms; Till I would gladly save thee from Frost's harms.

This may not be; already thou art drooping: A few more days will strip thy splendors off, And when Frost comes to find thy tall form stooping He at thy nakedness perhaps may scoff, But heed not, 'twas not his thy charms to doff.

Sunflower, I leave thee now, and this truth ponder, Thou hast fulfilled the task allotted thee. Have _I_ discharged the obligations under Which I lay to God? the world? Ah me! A host of imperfections I can see.

Then let me now, before I cease my rhyming Take thy strong lesson very much to heart, That while I am up Life's rough ladder climbing I still may seek to act a proper part, And strive to fearless meet Death with his dart.

BIRTHDAY THOUGHTS AND ASPIRATIONS.

WRITTEN ON MY THIRTY-SEVENTH BIRTHDAY, MARCH 20, 1854.

What solemn thoughts crowd o'er my mind As this eventful day moves on. I feel most forcibly inclined To strive some proper words to find, In praise of God for what he's done.

And why? For seven and thirty years: He who at first my being gave Has still upheld me, calmed my fears, While passing through this Vale of Tears, And on my journey to the grave.

'Tis then but right that I should take A retrospect of my past days. This done in faithfulness will make My humble lyre aloud to wake Its every string in God's pure praise.

Then let my memory recall Each striking scene through which I've passed. What strong emotion fills my soul, As they in quick succession roll Before my wondering gaze at last!

I feel my childhood's joys once more, Again I pass its sorrows through. Of richest mercies what a store, In health or else in sickness sore, As if by magic spring to view.

With all my sins upon my head I see two near escapes from death; Then is a feast before me spread, And I on heavenly food am fed, The precious gift of God through faith.

Lo, there I see Him guard me round, Lest strong temptations me o'ercome; Here I am in his favor found, While others in perdition drowned Were long since hurried to the tomb!

O, what a miracle is this, That I am saved from hell and sin! Predestined by pure Grace to Bliss, My soul in transport bows submiss To God, and hopes a crown to win.

Then may I mourn my past neglect Of all thy goodness, O, my God! Henceforward may I more respect Thy just commands and still detect Those lurking sins that bring thy rod.

Should I be spared another year, May one great thought my bosom fill; To let it to mankind appear That I am but a pilgrim here, Just left awhile to do Thy will.

But Lord, thou know'st I am but weak; Impart fresh strength that I may be More and more anxious still to seek The good of souls with spirit meek, And thus prove my sincerity.

And here I would once more record The fervent breathings of my soul, That thou would'st richest Grace afford To all my children through the Word, And still our every act control.

SONG TO THE LILY OF THE VALLEY.

Lily of the valley, this brief poetic sally At the very least is due unto thee. Thy fragrant wax-like flowers all freshened by Spring showers Seem purity embodied unto me. _Lily of the valley blooming near the alley_ _Of the little garden close to my home!_

Lily of the valley, I fain would gladly rally All the powers of sweet Fancy to my aid To describe thy form retiring, which I cannot help admiring As it peeps from its broad, leafy shade. _Lily of the valley_, etc.

Lily of the valley, thou very well dost tally With my notion of a modest, gentle maid. Thy delicate bell-cluster may lack in grandeur's lustre, Yet thou in true beauty art arrayed. _Lily of the valley_, etc.

Lily of the valley, Sol scarce with thee dare dally; He plants no rose-blushes on thy cheek, Yet indebted to his power art thou from hour to hour, And his beams play with thee _hide and seek_. _Lily of the valley_, etc.

Lily of the valley, deem not my rhyming folly, For I love both thy form and thy scent; And this is chiefly true as thou kissest in the dew, While thy head in pure modesty is bent. _Lily of the valley_, etc.

Lily of the valley, bloom near my garden alley, And shed forth thy fragrancy around; I'll think as thou art growing of the lessons thou art showing To me when in musing I am found. _Lily of the valley blooming near the alley Of the little garden close to my home._

DAISY, I HAVE SOUGHT FOR THEE.

Daisy, I have sought for thee In the garden, on the lea, Ever since I learned to roam From my much loved English home.

Once I owned a little thing Called a daisy here about, And it bloomed awhile in Spring, But the Winter froze it out.

'Twas a pigmy flower at best, Though in red robe it was dressed. English daisy's lively mien Never in its face was seen.

When it died I did not fret, Nor a dirge sung o'er its bier. Some few plants that I have met Claimed at least from me a tear.

Now what is it that I see? Daisies growing on a tree! White and double--white as snow, Hundreds of them in full blow.

Let me look awhile at them, Even through sweet fancy's eyes. Every flower's a perfect gem. And as such I will it prize.

But let Fancy stand aside, Common folks might me deride. Thinking something ailed my brain, Should I such a thing maintain.

Well, 'tis all as one to me, Fancy still shall have the sway. That _Daisies here grow on a tree_ _I_ mean to insist alway!

[Footnote: The blossoms of the double flowering cherry tree. They bear a great resemblance to the white double daisy of English gardens, and in fact were pronounced to be the same by a lady friend of mine. I took the hint and wrote the above.]

THE CHARMS OF JUNE.

INSCRIBED TO MY WIFE.

The lilacs are now in the full flush of beauty, The fruit trees have blossomed, the tulips are gay, And birds' gushing melody points out our duty To God who doth bless us so vastly each day.

Brilliant verbenas in rich robes are glowing, And spireas their fair silver glories maintain, While violets and lilies their charms are bestowing To add to the splendors of sweet Flora's reign.

O, soon will the odors of bright blushing roses Unite with the woodbines in fragrance complete; For hoards of their incense this fine month discloses, To all who are fond of a garden retreat.

Viburnum Opulus its snowballs is forming, The peonies are ready to burst into bloom, Rude Boreas has ceased for awhile his dread storming, And Nature at last has got rid of her gloom. [Footnote: Guelder Rose.]

In flower-bedecked fields or vast woods at this season I would 'twere my privilege to frequently roam; But fear such indulgence might well be termed treason Against the sweet duties and pleasures of Home.

Then since this solacement by God is denied me, I'll joy that in fancy it still is my lot To rove with my own lovely Ellen beside me, Through scenes that can never by us be forgot.

TO DR. LAYCOCK, ON HIS LEAVING BRANTFORD ON ACCOUNT Of ILLNESS.

NOVEMBER, 1854.

Doctor, you must not hence depart Ere I address a parting lay Fresh gushing from an honest heart, Which grieves because you cannot stay.

To Rhyme I make but small pretence, Yet what I write is what I feel; And should it prove but common-sense, Many defects this will conceal.

I have oft wished since you came here, That we might years together spend; And now I hang 'twixt hope and fear, In strange uncertainty, my friend.

Right glad, dear Doctor, would I be If you left here in perfect health; I know 'tis prized by you and me As far before the greatest wealth.

And well it may! For that is wealth In most men's hands but splendid dross To purchase _friends_ who leave by _stealth_ Their friend, when he has found its loss.

Yet 'tis I own, when rightly used, A goodly thing for you and me, Who can't of hoarding be accused At least from all that I can see.

Then take what I most freely give-- A wish sincere that you may yet Return in health near us to live, An honest livelihood to get.

And may your partner live to share With you for years fresh joy and peace. For this I urge an earnest prayer To God who makes my joys increase.

TO MR. COWHERD, FROM HIS FRIEND, H. S. LAYCOCK.

[Perhaps my readers will have the goodness to pardon me if I here present them with an exact copy of a Rhyming Letter which I received in answer to the poem above from my much respected and greatly lamented friend, the late Dr. Laycock, of Woodstock, Ont. I place it here because of the compliment he was kind enough to pay me on my rhyming abilities, and chiefly in relation to those Pieces to my Children. I candidly acknowledge that it was his opinion, so freely and perhaps flatteringly expressed, which weighed with me greatly as an inducement for giving so many of them in these pages.]

Dear friend, though a poor hand at rhymes, I'll try In _kind_ to your _kind_ verses to reply. Together we have passed some happy hours, Pleasantly loitering in the Muses' bower; Not with the Bards who sing of Wine and Love, But those who can the nobler Passions move To finer sympathies, and by their art Instruct, amend as well as cheer the heart! Such Bard our COWPER. Oft his pleasing strains Have won us to forget the cares and pains The world lays on us all; WORDSWORTH the same; And other bards besides _less known to fame;_ _Thyself,_ dear friend, amongst the rest. Thy rhymes Flow from a heart in tune with Nature's chimes, And breathings of Sweet Home, Domestic joys, The opening graces of thy girls and boys, And themes like these _to Nature dear_ please all Whose souls like ours respond to Nature's call. Nature, to whom proud Art can _lend a grace,_ But whom if absent _Art can not replace!_

Take these poor lines in haste and sickness penned, As tribute from a warm and grateful friend, Who, though thy kindness he can not repay, Will ne'er forget thee, Cowherd, nor thy lay.

BRANTFORD, Nov. 16, 1854

TO MR. JAMES C----T

NOVEMBER, 1853.

"A friend in need's a friend indeed."

My friend much respected, 'tis hardly the thing That I on some subjects so often should sing, And yet never manage a rhyme to bestow On one whose great kindness I'd gratefully show.

It oft has been spoken, as oft has been penned That "It cannot be ever too late to amend." And as I'm unconscious of lacking respect, Will do what I can to repair my neglect.

O, can I look back to the time of my need, When thou, under God, prov'dst a kind friend indeed, And feel no emotion my bosom to swell? 'Twere baseness of conduct too shocking to tell.

Time was when chill penury stared in my face, And I was made feel it almost a disgrace. As a fruit of thy kindness that time has gone by, So I to be thankful would constantly try.

O, well I remember how often I thought My business endeavors would all come to naught; That I, 'midst my toiling should surely stick fast, And most sad disappointment meet me at last.

The Lord sent thee to me at such time of trial, When exercised well with the grace Self-denial. Thy kind way of speaking took from me my sadness, And left in its place a rich increase of gladness.

And oft since that time though a much chequered life Amidst this world's bustle, its turmoil and strife My mind has been solaced with thoughts of thy love, Which does thy relation to Christ clearly prove.

Under the weakness of age thou art bending, Yet no doubt have I that the Lord is still sending The joy of His presence thy spirit to cheer, By doing thy duty while thou stayest here.

And Oh, may it please our kind Father and God Thy steps to support with his "Staff and his Rod;" Then cause his bright Angels thy way to attend, And thus bring thee safely to Life-journey's end.

May thy good example to those that remain, Be useful in showing Religion is gain, That they may still follow the path that Christ trod, And join thee in singing the praises of God.

TO THE CHRISTIANS OF BRANTFORD.

OCTOBER, 1853.

Christians of Brantford, list awhile, An humble Rhymer speaks to you. Perhaps the fact may cause a smile, Though I speak not from motives vile, But with your interest full in view.

You are engaged in warfare great With that great sin which oft has made A loving husband full of hate, A young wife's beauty quickly fade, And early death become her fate.

You have to grapple with that fiend That oft has made poor children weep, Bereft them too of every friend, Who would unto their wants attend-- When they were sick afford relief.

You are engaged in mortal strife With that huge serpent which ere now Has poisoned all the joys of life, Made many homes with discord rife, And sunk poor human nature low.

With him that oft has torn away The laurel from the Sons of Fame, Caused them from Wisdom's paths to stray, Has turned to darkness their bright day, And covered them all o'er with shame.

Young as some are, all must have seen His potent arm stretched forth to strike As victims those who long had been Striving on human aid to lean. Mind friends you never do the like!

Oh, have you thought upon his power, And learned how weak are mortal men When brought into temptation's hour, And "storms arise and tempests lower?" The _strong_ may even falter then.

And feeling weak have you been led To put your trust in God alone, Who with his bounteous hand hath fed You all your lives, and in the stead Of guilty man did sin atone?

If you have not done this before O flee, my dear young friends, away To Jesus Christ, the friend who bore Our sins, that he might us restore To God and Bliss and Endless Day.

TO THE SAME.

NOVEMBER, 1854.

Christians, arouse you! Quick, up and be doing! The monster Intemperance stalks through our land! Unfurl wide your banners, and good still pursuing, On "No Truce with Tyrants!" let each take his stand. Lend, lend a hand! Lend, lend a hand! The might of this evil but few can withstand!

Shrieks and groans from the dying are heard all around you, And heartrending sights every day are displayed; While blasphemous curses may well nigh astound you, And dangers fast thicken; yet be not dismayed. Lend, lend a hand! Lend, lend a hand! If these things appal you your help they demand.

Thousands of widows and orphans call on you Who lost their support from this tyrant's attacks, And he with his legions may soon fall upon you, If you now shrink from duty or show him your backs. Lend, lend a hand! Lend, lend a hand! Your own peace and safety your efforts demand.

Our Jails and Asylums are full to o'erflowing With victimized wretches struck by this fiend's hand, And many poor youths unsuspicious are going To destruction, led on by his magical wand. Lend, lend a hand! Lend, lend a hand! The doom which hangs o'er them gives forth the command.

Then muster your forces and stand forth unyielding, In the name of Humanity heed not his rage. Mind not his blandishments--evil still gilding-- But ever determine to war with him wage. Lend, lend a hand! Lend, lend a hand! In this monster's overthrow firmly now stand.

Christians, arouse you! Quick, up and be doing! For help look to God's own Omnipotent Arm! Let no Tempter charm with the soft voice of wooing, Or frighten your hearts by the sounds of alarm. Lend, lend a hand! Lend, lend a hand! 'Midst trials and dangers like true heroes stand.

VERSES WRITTEN IMMEDIATELY AFTER READING HORACE SMITH'S "BACHELOR'S FARE."

1854.

He who wrote these lively verses Hath his talents misemployed, While he marriage ills rehearses-- The conjugal life asperses Which so many have enjoyed.

And each brown or blue eyed charmer, Let her rank be high or low, Must have felt such verses harm her-- Must have felt her cheek grow warmer With just indignation's glow.

Were he then as bachelor living He might speak of bachelor life. But such men need not be giving Crabbed views of man and wife.

If he were to fair one married Greater still would be the shame; It would prove love had miscarried, He alone perhaps to blame.

Were it shown that he was jesting, Jests like this with ills are rife; Poets should be still attesting This plain truth--Mankind are blest in Chaste and sweet Conjugal Life.

Marriage is of God's ordaining, Serving purpose wise and good. Those who are from it abstaining, Should be found always refraining From treating it in jesting mood.

From experience I am speaking, In protesting I prefer A wedded life. If you are seeking To have pockets with no leak in, From it let naught you deter.

But this thing make up your mind in, Choice should fall on one of worth. Love of wealth some men are blind in; For a wife may be worth finding, Though she be of humble birth.

If you are a true wife blest in, Mind you well fulfill your part, That you may, all cares distressed in, Prove the warmth of woman's heart.

I have proved it in rich measure, And with honest brow declare, Married life for sweetest pleasure Can with any life compare!

STANZAS ON THE PEACEFUL STRUGGLE IN EUROPE.

APRIL, 1854.

England's real strength is in the Lord of Hosts

Slumbereth now the British Lion, In his sweet green Island lair? No! He rushes forth to die on Europe's plains, or crush the Bear.

Now he may well hope for glory, Warring in defense of Right. Will he soon be faint and gory From the Czar's most lawless fight?

Oh, forbid it, God of Battles-- In whom we would place our trust! Ere is heard his cannon's rattles Quench the Bear's most savage lust!

Turn him back to his own regions, Though a wild and bitter clime; Wide disperse his barbarous legions In Thy own good _way_ and _time_.

If in Wisdom thou ordainest This dread war shall still proceed-- Let us feel thou ever reignest Through the saddest hours of need;

That thou still as Sovereign rulest O'er the Nations of this world; That thou yet mad Despots schoolest, Ere they to the dust are hurled.

O preserve our generous Lion, And his partners in the War; Bid their hosts thy arm rely on; Guard each soldier, shield each tar.

Let we see them soon returning To their now deserted domes; Let pure joy instead of mourning Fill their fondly cherished homes.

May we profit by the lesson Which events like this should teach-- Seek to put away transgression, Act as healers of each breach.

Then we long may share God's favor-- From the Queen upon her throne To the lowly son of labor Toiling his poor crust to own.

LINES WRITTEN ON THE MORNING OF THE DREADFUL FIRE WHICH CONSUMED THE B. B. & G. R. R. DEPOT BUILDINGS.

Oh! there has come on us a dreadful calamity, Our fine Depot Buildings in ruin lie low. And works which for months were in earnest activity, To Fire's fearful ravage have been made to bow.

If the watchmen were both in the right path of duty, How came it we every one heard with amaze, That they saw not the fire till it fiercely was bursting Right through the gable in one perfect blaze.

I would not indulge in ungrounded suspicion, But truly the matter looks dark to my mind. And I trust before long a most strict inquisition Will be instituted, the faulty to find.

But should this be done would it rear up the buildings That now form a rubbish heap blackened and hot? Ah, no! and the Muse peering into the Future Fears never such structures shall rise on that spot!

Then mourn, Brantford, mourn! for thy sad, sad misfortune May well make thy sons to remember this day; And all may well sigh and feel strongest emotion, For troubles now thicken in blackest array.

And oh, it would tend to thy weal in the future, If thou such events as a warning would take To cleanse from thy dwellings Sin's dreadful pollution, Lest God's greater judgments against thee awake.

TO THE REV. J. W AND HIS BRIDE

A MARRIAGE DAY

October 4, 1853

An humble poet--save the mark! Wishes to give to you a lay In honor of your wedding day, But somehow labors in the dark, And fears from etiquette to stray.

And why? No invitation came To bid me tune my simple lyre-- To fan my low poetic fire, Nor yet a hope of deathless fame Which might for risk, serve me for hire.

I'll run the risk and fearless strike A lyre too apt to slumber long, And pour my thoughts in artless song. Many there are who do the like, And yet in this may do no wrong.

Now, I would hope sweet blessings may Flow to you from our Father kind: The rich gift of a happy mind, In Wisdom's paths content to stay, And purest peace in that to find.

I trust you will be filled with love, Such love as God alone can give; That you may still before Him live. Placing your hopes always above, May you his Spirit never grieve.

O, may you still, as man and wife, Mutual confidence possess; For this will free from much distress Your family in after life, And make your care and sorrow less.

May both such lovely patterns be Of what your character requires, That if brought through Affliction's fires Mankind your purity may see; And which to see God most desires.

And may you ever useful prove In making known Christ's saving Name; Your minds not swayed by worldly fame-- In urging souls to taste that Love Which cheers our hearts through scorn and shame.

And should you by His Grace become A numerous, holy, happy band, Still he'll uphold you by His Hand, Till all at last come safely home Unto that glorious Spirit Land.

STANZAS ON HEARING AN AUCTIONEER QUOTE THE FOLLOWING PASSAGE OF SCRIPTURE: "THERE WAS SILENCE IN HEAVEN ABOUT THE SPACE OF HALF AN HOUR."--

REV. VIII, I.

Yes, vain Scoffer! so the Scriptures tell us, But awful was the silence at that time; A prelude of the wrath of God most jealous, Expressed in dreadful thunderbolts sublime.

Oh! hast thou ever marked the scene that follows, When the first Angel did his trumpet take And blow a blast heard through all Earth's vast hollows, Which did the mountains to their bases shake?

Or realize "the hail and fire commingling With blood, and all cast down upon the Earth?" To mention this should set thine ears a-tingling, And check at times thy loud uproarious mirth.

But read thou on with most profound attention: Dire woes stand forth in gloomy vividness! Ah! would'st thou shrink from some vague apprehension That the perusal might cause thee distress?

Know thou, what follows is but the beginning Of plagues more fearful than we can conceive. This thou must see, and yet thou keep'st on sinning, As if such madness Conscience could relieve.

Stop, then, at once, lest in Eternal ruin Thy soul engulfed shall see her folly great. Flee now to Christ; become a suppliant suing For pardon from Him ere it be too late.

WINTER'S RAVAGES, AN APPEAL TO THE RICH ON BEHALF OF THE POOR.

NOVEMBER, 1857.

Stern Winter on foul mischief bent Left his cold region of the North; As his Advance-guard early sent Loud howling blasts and snow storms forth.

These warriors hastened to obey The mandate of their frost-robed King, And as they came the Orb of Day Withdrew his rays which gladness bring.

They, gathering strength as nigh the drew Unto our homes, spread ruin round, And thus transformed each beauteous view, And in white mantle clad the ground.

Before their track lay pastures green, While root crops in abundance told How fruitful had the Summer been Ere she away from us had rolled.

Behind them was a widespread waste Of leafless trees and drifting snows, And still with most malicious haste They dealt around their chilling blows.

Anon their King in ice-car rode With furious speed, and placed his seal Upon the devastation broad,-- Exulting in his savage zeal.

This done, fair Nature at his feet Lay prostrate in the arms of death! And now the poor lack food and heat, Benumbed by his dread icy breath.

For in our great Commercial World Loud storms have rung their changes round, While some are from high station hurled And in chill Penury are found.

Our Workshops, erst with men well filled, The scenes of Trade's most busy strife, Are almost silent now, and skilled Mechanics want the means of life.

And shall it e'er be said of those Who have of means a full supply, That avarice has their heart's blood froze,-- That they can see their brethren die?

Forbid it, O Thou gracious One, From whom we every good obtain; O, melt the hardest heart of stone, And quell its cruel thirst for gain!

That those who have may freely give Of food and clothes a plenteous store To help the needy now to live: "Those tend to God who help the poor."

A CANADIAN NATIONAL SONG.

Tune, "Auld Lang Syne."

O, no; I'm not an Englishman, Though it is something great To have for birthplace English soil, And live in such a State; Yet I'm not _now_ an Englishman, For why? I crossed the sea And live in dear Canadian clime, The Land of Liberty

I am not _now_ a leal Scotchman, Though born 'midst Scotia's hills, And recollections of her scenes My bosom ever thrills, For I have sailed o'er ocean vast, And to this land have come, Where Freedom waves her banner o'er My new, adopted home.

O, no, I'm not an Irishman, Though sprung from Erin's bowers, And Memory often takes me back To those most happy hours When, roaming o'er her fair green Isle, With warmth I pressed her sod, And felt my own, my native Land, The best that foot e'er trod.

[Footnote: The writer's main object in writing this song was to do what he could toward breaking down all remains of clannish feeling in this highly important country. Should a company, consisting of one or more persons from each of the countries mentioned, desire to sing it, each one might take the part applicable to him, and when the several sections have been gone through all join as full chorus in the last stanza, or slight verbal alterations may be so made that any single individual may sing it.]

For I have come to Canada To settle on her land, And to all her inhabitants Give Friendship's honored hand.

I am no longer German now Though "Fatherland" I loved, And vowed remembrance to take Of her, where'er I roved. For here on this prolific soil I own a splendid farm, And lovely children growing up Call forth my feelings warm.

I would not be a Frenchman deemed, Though sprung of Gaulish race, And their pure blood I freely can In my forefathers trace. For I would feel as much at home As ever man can be Back in our woods or in our towns, Whilst I have liberty.

O, yes; we are Canadians now, Wherever we were born; And we will strive in time to come To heal a land so torn By party strife, by clannish fire, And aim to live in peace. Then put united efforts forth, Till life itself shall cease, To make her what she ought to be-- Acknowledged on each hand A noble, free, and powerful State, A great and glorious Land!

A CALL TO THE SOIREE* OF THE MECHANIC'S INSTITUTE, DECEMBER 23, 1857.

"Endeavor always to combine real good with pleasurable enjoyment."

Come, friends, to the Soiree; O why will you tarry When good things are waiting you there? For, after the eating, our friends, for this, meeting Have speeches prepared with due care.

Let all upper classes give ladies cash passes, 'Twill cost but a very small price; And what they may spend in a way that will end in Real good, is a blow unto vice.

Come, merchants and doctors; come lawyers and proctors, And treat all your clerks to the feast. Fear not that your kindness will make them more mindless Of what is your interest, the least.

Come, all ye mechanics, for no dreadful panics Will meet you with grim spectre-faces. Bring also your spouses, nor leave in your houses Those charmers who wear childhood's graces.

Come, each son of labor, and do us the favor Of tasting the good things provided. A truce to your moiling! for hard daily toiling Gives Rank that must ne'er be derided.

Haste all to the Soiree; none need to be sorry For giving our Institute aid. The good you may do us'll diffuse itself through us To the townsfolks of every grade.

* Pronounced as nearly as possible, _swarry_.

AN ADDRESS BY THE MEMBERS OF THE "INSTITUTE" TO THEIR FRIENDS AT THE SOIREE.

Dear friends, to this our social feast, We bid you welcome gladly, And trust you will not in the least Spend moments with us sadly.

For though we've no great Bardling's strain Joined to rich organ's pealing, Yet none the less may Pleasure's train Be softly near us stealing.

And should she deign to show her face, To smile on us benignly, Let's give to her a chaste embrace, By no means most supinely.

What though we lack exciting cause For loud, uproarious laughter? Our temperate fare will not dispose To heart-upbraidings after.

Yet we may well of mirth-enjoy A reasonable measure; And even skill and time employ To gain so bright a treasure.

Avoiding still too great extremes, Enjoy in moderation The blessings which our Father deems Best for us in each station.

Then we need have no vain regrets, No consciences unruly,-- For sense of doing right begets A sense of peace most truly.

ALCOHOL'S ARRAIGNMENT AND DOOM.

Alcohol! Alcohol! who are thy victims? Come, answer me quickly; stand forth to the bar! That frown most defiant Will not make me pliant, I've pledged myself firmly to wage with thee war. For years thy dread shock I have borne like a rock, Still leaning for help on God's mighty aim.

Say, Alcohol, truly, who are thy victims? "Of the rich and the poor, the good and the fair, Mankind of each standing, Know well I've a hand in The havoc and ruin they see everywhere! Daily with fury From Still and from Brewery I'm dealing out death without much alarm.

"Princes and Statesmen I count 'mongst my victims, With painters and poets, philosophers sage, Rich merchants, skilled doctors, Cute lawyers, keen proctors, Mechanics and laborers of each sex and age Are found in my ranks, And lured on by my pranks, While I care not a pin what comes to them."

Then, Alcohol, tell me what do thy victims In such vile standing while here in this world? "They're spending their money Not for milk and honey, But for what will cause them to be quickly hurled To that dreadful place Where there is not a trace Of richest mercy they here do contemn."

Alcohol, tell me what more are thy victims As fruits of their orgies accomplishing here? Asylums they're filling, While jails by their swilling Are constantly crowded, or far off or near; And orphans are made By this great liquor trade, In thousands as all may very soon see!

Alcohol, listen the doom which awaits thee: More than half of thy doings thou'st kept out of sight. Every good man and true Deems it is but thy due That thou should'st be banished to Regions of Night. And heart-broken mates, With all orphans' sad fates, Compel us to give forth this doom on thee.

TO MY BELOVED FRIEND MR. JAMES WOODYATT.

A CHRISTMAS LAY.

Woodyatt, this Christmas I devote Some portion of my time to tell In humble verse what God hath wrought For us who're snatched as brands from hell.

The best of all my coaxing powers To lure the Muse I'll freely spend, Nor heed a whit the fleeting hours Until my pleasing task shall end.

For I have found a friend in thee, Such as I strove in vain to find For twenty years; and this may be A wonder to thy generous mind.

But so it is; and I would prize The gift my God has kindly sent, Nor quell the feelings which arise Within my breast, till life be spent.

So, while my unlearned lyre I take, Most gracious Muse, thy aid impart! Thou canst not at such time forsake Thy humble friend in this his Art.

No paltry theme shall form my lay To such a friend at such a time. Then let my thoughts in rich array Come forth in gently flowing rhyme.

Nor wealth nor earthly pleasures make The sum and substance of my song; Such themes let grovelling rhymsters take, Who write to please a worldly throng.

For him and me a better way Remains, and I will freely sing Of pleasures with most lustrous ray,-- Of those which from religion spring.

And well indeed may'st thou, dear friend, Rejoice with me that God hath brought Such sinful creatures to attend Unto His voice who pardon brought.

I more than twice ten years have been Within the Way to Endless Life. Thou in the last few months hast seen That Way with richest blessings rife.

And now, when seated round our fires, Or when we take our walks abroad, We seem as one in strong desires To speak the praises of our God.

Big thoughts our kindred bosoms swell, Deep gratitude our ardor fires, Until we long for words to tell The fervency that Love acquires;

And ponder as so well we may Upon our present happy state Compared with that in which we lay-- Objects of wrath at hell's dread gate.

We ask each other, Why is this? Why are we favored thus of God? Why are we made joint heirs of Bliss, Destined to dwell in His abode?

Quickly the answer comes to hand: Simply because of God's pure Grace. And does not Love like God's demand That we all seasons should embrace--

To speak to others of Christ's worth, That they with us may fully share The glories of our heavenly birth, The riches He can freely spare?

Then let us, brother, with our might, Work for Him while 'tis called To-day; Looking above for strength, for light, Press forward in this thrice-blest way.

Let us dig deep into that mine Of hidden wealth stored in the Word, And with strong faith all else resign Just clinging solely to the Lord.

O, should our lives for years be spared, May not one word or thought or deed Unworthy God, be by us shared, Who are from Satan's bondage freed.

1856.

TRIBUTARY VERSES, WRITTEN IMMEDIATELY ON HEARING OF DR. O'CARR'S DEATH.

APRIL 18, 1854.

Sorrow stealeth o'er my spirit, For I hear O'Carr is dead. Once I tried to sing his merit, After health began to fade. Then I thought his end was nigh, That he very soon would die,

When I saw that he was leaving His sweet home for distant Isle, Oft the thought my soul was grieving "He might linger for a while And then leave his wife and babe, Far away o'er Ocean's wave."

Yet I know our loving Father Often hears his children's prayers; That he would at all times rather Ease them of their ills and cares, Than lay on a single stroke, If not needful 'neath his yoke.

And I thought he then would listen To our supplications strong; That each countenance might glisten With sweet joy ere very long: Joy from seeing him come back, Having of good health no lack.

When I heard of his returning, And how he was sinking fast, Soon my soul was strongly yearning To be with him ere he passed From these earthly scenes away To enjoy Eternal Day.

This, my wish, kept growing stronger, As each day flew o'er my head, Till I felt I could no longer Brook delay, when lo! he's dead. Now I prize this pleasing thought, He to Bliss is safely brought.

While hot tears bedim the vision Of dear friends who mourn his death, May they manifest decision By the wondrous power of Faith, In belief that those who sleep Safe in Jesus shall not weep.

We are not forbid to sorrow,-- Jesus wept at Lazarus' tomb. Soon will come the glorious Morrow Which shall chase away our gloom; If we put our trust in God, And still seek to kiss His Rod.

STANZAS, SUGGESTED BY THE DREADFUL RAILWAY ACCIDENT AT THE DESJARDINS CANAL, MARCH 12, 1857.

Deep gloom pervades my spirit, and great sorrow fills my breast With an overwhelming sense, which leaves me but little rest, For a dreadful stroke has fallen on the town in which I live, And sympathy and condolence I would most gladly give.

I have gone through many a street since this event transpired, Seen the faces of my townsmen in grief sincere attired, Heard them make sad remarks, seen tears bedim their eyes, While from every feeling bosom burst forth responsive sighs.

The stranger in our midst might well wonder why we're sad, For tokens of prosperity can everywhere be had. The river has not risen to a mighty swelling flood, Nor raging fire destroyed the homes of the Evil and the Good.

No pestilence like a serpent, with dread envenomed fangs Has seized the young and beautiful and filled our souls with pangs. Then why has gloom profound so settled on each face, And the finger-prints of sorrow left on us so dark a trace?

Ah! loving hearts left homes all filled with family delight. Full of hope and joyous feelings, never dreaming of a blight To prospects of enjoyment that awaited their return, Where the smiles of wives and children make true love the brighter burn.

In such a happy state of mind they to Toronto went, And accomplished all their objects in the time which had been spent. Now, with still lighter hearts they make for home again, And in the cars meet many of their traveling fellow men.

Drawn by the snorting Iron Horse along the track they flew, What danger might be lurking near was hidden from their view. On, on, still on they went to a bridged precipice, When the Bridge gave way and all were hurled into the dread abyss!

The locomotive like a demon took first the fatal leap, Dragging the human-freighted cars with speed into the deep One plunged with him beneath the dark and icy wave, And one stood upright on its end, as if some few to save.

Oh, my soul shrinks back with horror from dwelling on the scene Which met the gaze of anxious friends who to that place have been. I'd rather dwell upon the fact that Death to some was Life; That they have gained by having done so soon with earthly strife.

What thoughts filled all the bosoms of that mixed devoted band Is only known to God Most High, who, in his mighty hand Holds all our life and breath as his own most sovereign gift, And who alone can mortals shield from such destruction swift.

O, I know that some there died who had tasted of his grace, And sudden death to them was summons to the place Prepared by Jesus for his Saints in the mansions of the Blest, And they now are drinking of the sweets of Everlasting Rest.

Amongst these we gladly number the three* whom we have lost, In sympathy with the bereaved would try to count the cost; But oh, 'twould prove a fruitless task; then, while we feel so sore, Let us humbly bow our hearts to God and worship and adore.

*Mr. and Mrs. John Russell and Mr. Secord, who were well known as consistent Christians by all who had the pleasure of their acquaintance. All left large families and a numerous circle of friends to mourn their shocking and untimely end.

TRIBUTARY STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF DR. LAYCOCK, WHO WAS ACCIDENTALLY KILLED WHILE ON A PROFESSIONAL JOURNEY, DECEMBER 10, 1857.

Tumultuous feelings like a torrent rush Athwart my soul and bear my spirit down. Pent up awhile they from my bosom gush In such wild measure as I scarce have known.

For one I loved as friend for many years Has met a shocking end in Manhood's prime! And this dire stroke prospective pleasure sears, As grass is scorched by Sol in torrid clime.

Living as neighbors, Friendship's sacred bond Grew stronger every time we visits paid. He, undeterred by business would respond To my desire, and list the songs I made.

Oft at such times he has my Mentor proved, Doing his best to aid me in my Art, By prudent counsel which I dearly loved, Proceeding as it did from kindly heart.

Now with bold hand I strike my rude harp's strings, And sing a funeral dirge o'er his sad bier. Up, up, my Muse, and sail aloft on wings Of tuneful pathos while I shed a tear.

No more shall this kind friend thy efforts guide, Listening thy mournful or thy joyous strains. Death suddenly has torn him from the side Of her he loved, who shared his joys and pains.

And I no more on Earth shall see his face, Or hear his praise or censure of my songs, Nor yet will he most critically trace What of true poesy to them belongs.

No more will he, well pleased, sweet music bring From our melodeon, while we join in praise. His soul untrammeled now on high will sing In God's pure worship and angelic lays.

His frame, too weakly for his ardent soul, Will feel fatigue no more by night or day. But then no more he'll take with me a stroll By our fine stream, soft murmuring on its way.

Nor yet, with pleasure great, hold deep discourse On many subjects dear alike to both: Tracing the stream of Truth up to its Source, To do which fully he was nothing loth.

No more will he to an attentive throng Give well-timed lectures for his Country's weal; Yet his remembrances will live among Those whom his conduct taught his worth to feel.

Ah me! that it should e'er have been my lot To sing in soul-wrung anguish this sad strain! For, while his friendship will not be forgot, I long may wait to find such friend again.

BRANTFORD, December 12, 1857.

SONG OF THE CANADIAN CRADLER.

1858.

With my cradle scythe, feeling brisk and blithe, In the breeze-tempered heat of this fine day; I'll haste to the field with the wheaten yield, And there will I manfully cut my way.

Now in all my walks, with broad, rapid strokes; I bring down the waving grain quite low. Every sweep I try seems to make it sigh, But cheerful on, and still on I go.

I heed not the sweat, making my clothes wet, The toil and care will be well repaid; For this golden store drives want from my door, And the surplus is farmers' profit made.

Binder now keep pace, for this hard-run race Will tell on the field ere night come in; And rest will be sweet in our plain retreat, Until a new day with its toil begin.

O, I think I see with exhuberant glee, The _shocks_ in good order standing round, And well-laden teams in my bright day-dreams, Are now trotting briskly over the ground.

Then hasten the day when our grain and hay Well secured beneath our good barn dome-- Will inspire our hearts to perform their parts In the cherished joy of Harvest Home.

STANZAS, ADDRESSED TO THE REV. J. B. HOWARD AND HIS FAMILY AS A TRIBUTE OF RESPECT ON THEIR DEPARTURE FROM BRANTFORD, AUGUST, 1858.

Howard, thy fervid Christian zeal, Combined with large amount of love, So blessed to bonny Brantford's weal, So truly owned by God above, Lead me, ere from our midst thou move With those who form thy family, To seek assistance from that Dove-- Inspirer of true Poesy,

That I may sing a well-timed lay; One which may thy best feelings suit, And thou may'st read when far away With pleasure, as the genuine fruit Of well-spent years that are not mute, But which have spoke in loudest tone To some who have been most astute, As I in truth would frankly own.

They've told us of a work begun Amongst thy people, brought quite low By worldliness, which Saints should shun If God's pure will they seek to know, Or wish in safety's path to go. Thou foundest them in this sad state And to the yoke thy neck didst bow With ardor, for thy soul was great.

Satan, no doubt, with jealous eye Watched keenly for thy halting then; But thy Redeemer, ever nigh, Made much of his dread malice vain. He spake the word and wicked men Fell down before the high-raised Cross, And forthwith steadily refrain From pleasures now viewed but as dross.

Backsliding Christians trembling came To that blest place--neglected long, And there rekindled worship's flame, And freely owned they had been wrong. Then, feeling sense of pardon strong, Afresh they family altars raise-- On which to offer sacred Song, And join sweet prayer to grateful praise.

But 'tis a small, small part indeed Of what God had for thee to do Which I can sing; so I proceed To waft my meed of tribute through. For I would name, with pleasure too, The part performed by thy good wife. O, that I could in measure due Descant upon her Christian life.

No party motives sway my soul, Nor thirst for paltry worldly fame; But feelings I need not control Prompt me to dwell on her dear name. Sweet sufferer, deem me not to blame If I have sacred rapture felt In noting freely since you came, The virtues that with you have dwelt.

I frequent heard from one who saw You lying oft on bed of pain, How bright in you was love's pure glow, Meek Patience following in his train. Now, could we see our loss your gain, Pleased we would bid you all depart; And might from vain regrets refrain Glad still to cherish you at heart.

GRUMBLINGS.

Man professes to be humble, Signs himself "your servant, sir!" But he's very prone to grumble, Till it forms his character.

Grumbles he about the weather, Now too hot, anon too cold; Fancies oft 'tis both together Ere the day is twelve hours old.

Then the dryness of the season Rouses up anew his ire; Next its wetness without reason Makes him grumbling bolts to fire.

Grumbles he of prospects darkening, Now, because _hard times_ have come, And to evil promptings hearkening By much grumbling spoils his home.

Hard to please in point of dinner, Flings he grumblings at his wife, Breaking her dear heart--the sinner! Inch by inch in daily life.

Nor at night are matters mended; Grumbles he if supper's late. She had need to be offended, Being tied to such a mate.

For a little kind enquiry Of existing state of things Might well curb his temper fiery, As each day her troubles brings.--

Bonny Fred's about his teething, Jane is sick in bed of mumps, Chris from croup has labored breathing, Maid-of-all work has the dumps.

Often thus are grumblings marring Man's great duties in the world; Filling it with strife and jarring, Till God's judgments forth are hurled.

Grumblers sometimes vent their spite in Gross abuse of those in power, Promise well to show their might in Doing right, had they their hour.

Give it them, and still they grumble, Having not got all they want; Neither are they longer humble, Which but proves them full of _cant_.

Many will not cease their grumbling Till death puts a stop to it. May God save all such from tumbling Into the eternal Pit!

VERSES, SUGGESTED BY THE FEARFUL ACCIDENT ON THE GREAT WESTERN R. R. NEAR COPETOWN, ON THE NIGHT OF THE 18TH MARCH, 1859.

March, with his usual terrors armed, Resolved again to mark his flight O'er the "Great Western," which has swarmed With human freight by day and night.

Leagued closely, with a mischievous crew, Held by stern winter in reserve, He up and down the doomed track flew, But did not from his purpose swerve.

His eye he fixed upon a part-- A deep embankment on a slope, And joy o'erflowed his chilly heart While lingering near the town of Cope.

Musing, he to himself thus spoke: "Here shall my darling scheme be tried; I and my gang at one bold stroke Can easily produce a slide.

"Better to serve my purpose foul I'll fix it for the eighteenth night, And raise such storm as may appal The bravest soul that lacks daylight!"

Then, as by some mysterious spell He called for elemental strife. Forth came dread clouds as black as hell That seemed with every mischief rife.

Impelled by many a howling blast, Uniting in terrific roar, They down their fearful contents cast, And quickly a deep chasm tore.

The midnight train came rushing on, Nor dreamt the passengers of death. Nor thought perhaps that ere day's dawn God would call some to yield their breath.

With furious speed the Iron Horse Plunged headlong in the new-formed deep, While raging elements their force Spend as if laughing at the leap.

Dragged swiftly down is every car Save one, the last of all the train, And still the storm prolongs the war With drifting snow or pelting rain.

Imagination scarce conceives The shrieks, the groans, the heart-wrung wails, Which rent the air! One yet believes They did exceed what's told in tales.

And still the wind its keenest darts Hurls at the living and the dead. Blest then were those whose fearful hearts Could cling to Christ who for them bled.

A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF THE REV. THOMAS FAWCETT WHO LOST HIS LIFE BY THE ACCIDENT ABOVE MENTIONED.

Fawcett, twelve years have swiftly fled Since first we one another knew. Then mutual sufferings quickly led To friendship which but stronger grew.

The Angel Death hath ta'en thy wife From thy loved arms to dwell above; I the sweet partner of my life Had lost, and sadly missed her love.

Joy seized our sympathetic souls As each to each his trials told; We found that Bible Truth consoles For loss of wives--worth more than gold.

Left with young families each was soon Compelled again to seek a mate; In love Heaven gave once more the boon Of partners suiting well our state.

Laboring as Gospel Minister, Thou Brantford left for other place, Yet did thou not, I can aver, Neglect to tell of God's rich grace.

Nobly thy work thou did'st pursue, With a fair share of good success; Daily grew clearer in thy view The Scripture plan of Happiness.

At last amongst the poor Red Men, Who needed much thy pastoral care, Thy lot was cast, and O how fain They were such ministry to share.

Of this we had the fullest proofs When thy sad end to them was known; Wailings were heard beneath their roofs, And other signs of grief were shown.

They'll miss thee much, as Sabbath day Brings fresh thy memory to their mind, And gratefully a tribute pay To thee--in thine thus left behind.

Oh! how can I now further sing? How tell the horrors of that blow Which caused thy death, when each rude string Of my poor lyre doth tremble so?

Ah, me! that one on mercy bent, Hasting to his sick brother's side, Should be from life thus strangely rent, And have his faith so greatly tried!

Peace! God All-wise gave this dread shock And took his soul with Him to dwell. He to the last stood on that Rock Which can withstand the rage of Hell.

A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF MR. RICHARD FOLDS, WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE APRIL 21, 1859.

"The Righteous are taken away from the evil to come."

This truth may to Christians in darkness be shrouded, While mourning for friends in the grave newly laid, But a time will soon come when the Dayspring unclouded Of doubt, from our souls shall dispel every shade.

These words to his people by God have been spoken, To light up their passage on Life's dreary way, And each day's fresh mercy is from Him a token That he will prove to them a Comfort and Stay.

This friend, who by conduct to us so endearing Has drawn from us sympathy, called forth our love, Is gone--O, the thought is transportingly cheering! To join the glad throng of Redeemed Ones above.

And we who have witnessed his pure conversation Have listened to Truths which he uttered so well, Rejoice that the theme of Christ's glorious Salvation Was that upon which he delighted to dwell.

His constant infirmities were but refining A soul well endowed by both choice gifts and rare, And he through a long course of years has been shining By light gained from Heaven, which guided him there.

Friends, let these remembrances cheer and delight you, And patiently wait till your own change shall come. The death of dear Richard should not now affright you, Since he through that portal has passed to his home.

TO THE HUMMING BIRD.

1859

Hail to thee, Humming Bird Beauteous and bright, That flitt'st like a spirit Before my rapt sight! I bid thee a welcome To sip from my flowers The rich, honied produce Of sunshiny hours.

O, be not so easily Moved to depart! Thy presence is cheering To my saddened heart. Thine shall be the treasures Of clove-currant trees And bells of the Columbine Prized by the Bees.

My odorous tulips I will with thee share, Nor grudge thee the blossoms Of apple or pear. The sweet-scented woodbine I shall not withhold, Nor rare perfumed lilies, Like pure burnished gold.

O then, pretty Humming Bird, Stay thou with me, Midst bright blushing roses So charming to see. I'll hail thee at morning Or woo thee at noon-- Thy presence at all times Regard as a boon.

Then why be so anxious My garden to leave? Know'st thou that I never Attempt to deceive? I would not confine thee In cage if I could: I glory in Freedom-- The best earthly good.

Then, Humming Bird, listen My earnest appeal; The love I have for thee I cannot conceal. My children, too, love thee, My wife does the same, And I am in transports At sound of thy name.

TO THE SAME.

JUNE, 1859.

Whence, and what art thou? O thou beauteous little thing! That like a dazzling sprite Appearest in my sight, Sipping from sweet flower-cups the honey stores of Spring.

I have sought for many days to find a proper word As a fitter name for thee More pleasing unto me, But cannot find a better than that of Humming Bird.

True, I might thee call A Fluttering Ray of Light Decked in prismatic hues, Which a radiance diffuse Just like a beam of glory straying from a Seraph bright.

Yea, I could picture thee as a new-born infant's soul, Bidding adieu to Earth A moment after birth, But having love for flowers which it scarcely can control.

Or, I might describe thee as a precious, new-coined thought Illumined by the Truth, Always enjoying youth, Till into Wisdom's Temple 'tis by its Builder wrought.

Yet, whatever thou may'st be, or howsoever called, Thou'rt welcome to remain-- My garden sweets to drain, And a lonely _Vision_ be evermore enrolled.

FIRE SONG.

TUNE, "AULD LANG SYNE."

When the wild cry of fire is heard Borne on the midnight air, And those who listen soon are stirred To anxious ask "Where? Where?" Our Firemen brave, full bent to save, Rush to their engine room; And flushed with hope they grasp each rope, And with the "Rescue" come.

CHO.--Hurrah, then! for the firemen brave! Who with stout hearts and arms Are bent our lives and goods to save-- Not fearing fire's alarms.

While still the cry is going round, And bells peal forth their notes, The engine comes with rumbling sound, Dragged by our bold "Red Coats." And there too, rush, as if they'd crush The ground on which they tread, The band of "Hook and Ladder," who look Truly devoid of dread!

CHO.--Hurrah, boys! for the fire brigade-- The men resolved to stand In danger's front and bear the brunt Of this foe to our land.

When fire is reached and water got; In haste the hose they lay; They fall to work, each brave "red coat," By night as well as day. And now the hook and ladder boys--look! Have made their "grapples" fast To that huge frame midst glowing flame, And down it comes at last.

CHO.--Hurrah, then! for the Fire Brigade, Who heed not flame and smoke; They work as though such working made The zest of some good joke!

THE FIRE ALARM.

JUNE, 1859

Fire--fire--fire! Nigher still and nigher Seem the tones of the "Alarum bell" borne on the air! Awaking with a start, what a sinking of the heart Even the strong are apt to feel, ere they are well aware!

Fire--fire--fire! Higher now and higher Leaps the madly raging flames as the cry goes round! In the darkness of the night what a truly awful sight Is the burning up of homes, while we listen to the sound.

Fire--fire--fire! Behold the havoc dire! When the black, wreathing smoke a moment clears away-- The flames both hiss and roar as the brave firemen pour Constantly the crystal streams from Engines in full play.

Fire--fire--fire! Fresh force it does acquire! The rising wind has sent the blaze unto the other side! Yet men are standing round in torpor most profound; Rouse ye up! now fall to work, and let your strength be tried!

Fire--fire--fire! Two blocks seem one vast pyre. Oh, pity the poor houseless ones--fleeing now away! Screen them from Winter's blast, for they are on you cast-- That sympathy in measure their losses may repay.

Fire--fire--fire! Thank God, the flames expire! For a cold, but drenching rain most opportunely comes. Now honor that Brigade which has such efforts made, And don't forget your neighbors who have just lost their homes.

MY OLD ARM CHAIR.

1859.

My old Arm Chair! The wear and tear Thou hast endured for me, Long ere this time deserved a rhyme Expressly made to thee.

When I thee bought, thy varnished coat And well proportioned frame My house adorned, and no one scorned Thee Rocking Chair to name.

But since that day, my bairns in play, Have tumbled thee about, Till thou appears well struck with years, And truly nigh worn out.

Dear to my heart--I'm loth to part With such a well tried friend; Yet even repairs to old arm chairs Must some time have an end.

I've patched thee oft; and cushions soft Those patches somewhat screen; Still, thy poor arms--reft of paint's charms Are scarce fit to be seen.

The rockers, too, I did renew-- Will hardly yield a rocking. But out of sight to cast thee quite Would, to my mind, be shocking.

I therefore say: Thou here shalt stay As long as I remain; And no neglect I can detect Shall cause thee to complain.

Farewell, Arm Chair! thou canst not fare Much worse than I have done; For, by my pen, from fellow men Large share of scorn I've won.

A TRIBUTE TO THE BRAVERY OF MY COUSIN, MRS. T. A. COWHERD, WHO CROSSED THE ATLANTIC IN MID-WINTER WITH THREE HELPLESS CHILDREN, AND UNDER VERY TRYING CIRCUMSTANCES.

1855.

Dear cousin, I hail you as Mother most brave, Who crossed in mid-winter Atlantic's broad wave! What you had to suffer in part I conceive, Though no gloomy story you made me believe.

Assisted by Fancy I see your sad plight, Before busy Liverpool passed from your sight; On shipboard I view you with three little babes, While the vessel rides proudly o'er blue ocean waves.

One small, year-old infant then hangs at your breast, And one child much older disturbs your night's rest By her frequent wailings from sickness most sore. The third is but young and yet needs watching o'er.

I still look and wonder how you could bear up, When drinking so deeply of this bitter cup. I picture you gazing, with tears in your eyes, Upon the poor sufferer and hushing her cries.

The vessel by dread winter tempests is tossed, And many more favored give all up for lost. But Hope--that sweet Angel! your courage supports, And in these great trials to _trust God_ exhorts.

I fancy I see you while nearing the land, On the ship's crowded deck in sorrow now stand, Still watching your babe as she gives her last sigh; Yet Thomas, your husband, to help is not nigh.

And then is most vividly brought to my view _That_ Coroner's Inquest so trying to you; The bearing your loved one away to the grave, Though you, quite dejected, are still on the wave.

Oh, then I can paint, it is true but in part, The anguish and grief of your warm loving heart, Expecting at lodgings your partner to see, As anxious as any fond mother can be.

Your painful suspense as day passed after day, And trifle of money was melting away; The pleasure which beamed in your calm, patient face, When _that_ friend was able your sojourn to trace.

Your journey so cold and so cheerless at last, Till you and the two tender children were cast On kindness of strangers in reaching our town, While Winter put on his most terrible frown.

My own keen emotions I need not express When you first came here and I saw your distress. Once more I would hail you as Mother most brave, Who crossed in mid-winter Atlantic's broad wave.

CANADIANS' WELCOME TO H. R. H. THE PRINCE OF WALES, 1860.

Canadians, welcome now the Prince-- Victoria's noble, first-born son; Who comes amongst us to evince How much his Mother's love we've won.

He comes not as, a despot's heir From serfs their homage to demand. He comes not with that outward glare So suited to a slave-cursed land,

But as a freeman to the free, His errand is of vast concern. Then let us show our loyalty By aiming sordidness to spurn.

And thus while he inaugurates The wondrous triumph of Man's art*, See that our conduct compensates For right performance of his part.

*The Victoria bridge at Montreal.

Then shall his stay amongst us here Fill him with memories so sweet That he may, at no distant year, Be led his visit to repeat.

And while he views our country, filled With wonders of the vastest kind, May grain fields wide, industrious tilled, And thriving Arts, please well his mind.

Eager to prove ourselves content With British rule, and land so fair; We gladly hail the Prince now sent, And trust he will our blessings share.

A thousand welcomes then to you, The Heir to loved Victoria's throne; Canadians still to Freedom true, Would warmly make their homage known.

BRANTFORD'S WELCOME TO THE PRINCE OF WALES, 1860.

Welcome, thrice welcome, to our fair town, Albert Edward, the heir to Brittania's Crown! We hail this your visit With feelings exquisite, And all party spirit most cheerfully drown In the joy of the day; While we earnestly pray That God's richest blessings may compass your way.

No Niagara's vast glories have we, No Bridge spanning River as wide as a sea; Yet we have a county Whose soil, for its bounty, Surpassed is by none in this clime of the FREE.. _The Garden_, 'tis named, Of all Canada, famed For choicest of land, though but lately reclaimed.

We have no splendid buildings to show, No Millionaire's palace that might notice draw, But yet we may boast of A very fair host of Both women and men who their duty well know. While sweet girls and bright boys Sympathize in our joys, As your Highness can see by their truth-speaking eyes.

Nor yet men with great titles have we; But some meet you here brave as bravest can be. These have been no strangers To greatest of great dangers, When war's horrid front threatened Liberty's tree. Both Red Men and White Mingled then in the fight, And still live together to stand for the RIGHT.

Our good town, as your Highness well knows, Is called after one long released from life's woes. His memory we cherish, And gladly would nourish The motives that led him to march against foes. For brave Captain Brant Did most eagerly pant The Flag of true Freedom in these parts to plant.

Welcome, thrice welcome to our fair town, Albert Edward, the heir to Brittania's Crown! No niggardly measure Would we yield of pleasure, To you and your Suite, as you doubtless will own. For we British rule prize, And would strengthen the ties Binding us to VICTORIA, the good and the wise.

A CALL FOR HELP FOR GARIBALDI.

1860

Canadian freemen, one and all, Respond to Garibaldi's call, And help him now to speed the fall Of fair Italia's foes. Our God this year abundance sends, Oh, spend it not for selfish ends, But give to him who RIGHT defends, And strives to heal her woes.

See him as he unselfish stands, Surrounded by his patriot bands-- The admiration of all lands-- Wave Freedom's banner high. He moves--acclaiming thousands wait To open wide each city gate. And trust to him their future fate-- Assured redemption's nigh.

Whole-souled and brave as man can be, He fights alone for Liberty; Nor will he rest till Italy Shake off her tyrants' chains. This done he seeks not high estate; Success does not his soul elate; In lowliness he can be great, For meanness he disdains.

Can we to such a one deny Assistance? when to do or die He passes outward splendors by In singleness of heart? Forbid it, ye of British blood! Forbid it all who seek for good. Rise! show that you have understood An honest freeman's part!

Let not this noble Patriot's fate Be such as was Kossuth's the Great. May their magnific deeds create A glow of sympathy Which shall increase till every chain Enslaving man be snapped in twain, And universal Freedom reign In glorious majesty.

LINES SUGGESTED BY THE NEW YORK TRIBUNE'S ACCOUNT OF LINCOLN'S DEPARTURE FROM SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS, FOR WASHINGTON.

He stood--the noble Lincoln--calm, though, sad, About to part from those with whom he lived So many years in sweetest amity. Before him prospects which might well appal The stoutest heart. His country, fondly cherished, But erst so great and fair, the humbled victim Of black traitors' arts, and on the verge Of fearful ruin's widely yawning gulf. While recollections of domestic bliss, Such as but few enjoy, might well indeed Make him quite loth to leave his much loved home. With steady eye he views the concourse vast, Big thoughts fast welling from his inmost soul Too big for utterance. Yet a few choice words Steal forth and fall upon attentive ears: "Here have I lived for many, many years; Here were my children born, and one beneath The graveyard sod rests now in death, at peace! I know not when each dear familiar face Now left behind may glad my eyes again; But this I know--a duty greater far Than ever fell to man since Washington Held Governmental reins, now falls to me. Without God's aid he never could have known Success. Upon that Being placed he still His firm reliance, and succeeded well. Succeed I cannot without aid Divine Imparted to me in this hour of need. I place in God my trust; and oh, my friends, Pray you for me that I may have His help! Then shall success, such as we well may crave, Be mine for certain in this crisis dread. I bid you all affectionate farewell."

This heard with throbbing hearts the gazing throng; And, deeply moved within their bosom's depths, Responded soon, "We will all pray for you!" Upon this scene might Angels fondly gaze, And place 't on record in high Heaven's archives, That Lincoln, feeling his own weakness much, His burden cast upon the Lord of all.

Go thus, thou chosen one, and firmly stand For Truth and Freedom in the Halls of State! Let no time-serving policy be thine; But, placing round thee men of sterling worth, Grasp tight the reins of Constitutional sway. If go they will, let dupes of Slavery go, And reap the baneful fruit they've nurtured long. In this they'll find a certain, speedy cure, For madness such as they have always shown. Go, Lincoln, then, and if Canadians' prayers May aught avail, thou may'st their prayers command.

FEBRUARY, 1861.

"Sumpter has Fallen, but Freedom is Saved."

(_New York Tribune, April, 1861_.)

Thank God 'tis so! for now we know All compromise is ended. List Lincoln's call, then freemen, all Who have from braves descended.

Your Stripes and Stars, ye gallant tars, Keep proudly o'er you waving; Strike for the _right_ with all your might, Stern danger freely braving!

Ye Soldier hosts, stand to your posts Like Anderson, unflinching. Those Southern foes need heavy blows To cure them of their "lynching."

A traitor's fate may them await, But yet their monstrous madness May work you woe for aught ye know, And fill the world with sadness.

Innocent blood--of this a flood For vengeance loud is calling! And God's light hand shall blast that land With plagues the most appalling,

Which dares to hold from love of gold Poor slaves in galling fetters! Rise, East--West--North! Your might put forth, For you are Freedom's debtors!

SONG.

MY LOVE IS NO GAY, DASHING MAID.

My love is no gay, dashing maid, With rosy cheeks and golden curls, Nor high-born lady well arrayed In glittering diamonds and pearls. Yet she is a lovely, loving wife, Who can blithely sing while working well; And so happy is our married life, That I on its pleasures fondly dwell. O my love is no gay, dashing maid, But a wife in matronly worth, arrayed.

I've seen young girls of beauty rare, With ruby lips and sparkling eyes, Use all their charms to form a snare By which to carry off a _prize_. I've noted the wedded life of such, Oft finding them slatterns void of love; And none need wonder so very much If I value high my turtle dove. For she is no vain, dashing maid, But a wife in matronly worth arrayed.

Through years of matrimonial care, And constant toil from day to day, To me her face has still been fair, As if her charms would ne'er decay. And our house is full of girls and boys, The pledges sweet of a sacred love, Sent to keep young and bright the joys Which many with wealth oft fail to prove. O my love is no gay, dashing maid, But a wife in matronly worth arrayed.

THE SEWING MACHINE.

1861.

I sing the Sewing Machine, The blessings it brings to the fair. Some of those blessings I've seen, And therefore its praises declare. 'Tis a curious thing Of which I now sing, And poets have sung it before me; But if the theme's good, 'Twill be well understood I'm right in prolonging the story.

Well finished Sewing Machine! Whose form is so graceful and neat; Thou of inventions art Queen, And to look at thy work is a treat. Each nice burnished wheel, With the plate of pure steel, Thy gold bedecked arms and the gauges, All speak of the skill Which the genius at will Puts forth in the work that he wages.

Wonderful Sewing Machine! No visions of gloom and despair Float over my mind serene, As I thy performance compare To the old-fashioned stitch, The dread sorrows which Accompanied work by the fingers Of those forced to sew 'Midst a life full of woe. With pity my soul on it lingers.

Excellent Sewing Machine! Thy musical click-a-click-click, Removes far away the spleen From those who of toiling are sick. Thy task speeds along, While the fair ones in song Give vent to their feelings of gladness. How diff'rent I ween From the sight often seen By HOOD with a heart full of sadness.

[Footnote: See "Song of the Shirt."]

Dutiful Sewing Machine! Now cheerfully stitching away, Neatly and quickly, as seen In the things by my wife made to-day; Enraptured am I, For no heart-bursting sigh Escapes from the dear operator; But a smile of delight Is now alwavs in sight, Of happiness sweet indicator.

Beautiful Sewing Machine! How thankful am I to the man Through many years who has been Thus carefully forming thy plan! May smiles from the fair, Rid of much toil and care-- Shine on him, in moments of anguish. May their tender hands To obey his commands Be ready, should he in life languish.

TABBY AND TIBBY.

As Tabby and Tibby were playing one day, I, watching their frolicksome mood, Greatly wondered they never got tired of play, But the secret I soon understood.

For, listening, I hear on the drum of the ear, These thoughts in cat language conveyed-- The which I interpret lest it should appear Of telling the truth I'm afraid.

Said Tabby to Tibby: "Our master's downcast; Else why are his looks full of gloom? There's something like spectres in future or past, Which strangely before his mind loom.

"So, daughter, still further in frolic indulge, And thus chase his sadness away; Our motives we need not to mortals divulge; Then at it in right earnest play."

This said, she gave Tibby a sly, knowing wink, And straight on her haunches sat down, While Tibby, who is of all kittens the pink, Laid the counsel safe by in her crown.

And now, as if struck by electrical shock, The young one swift bounded aside, And then with an air which would true valor mock, Some strange soldiers' antics she tried.

Advancing, retreating, with rig well upreared, Her looks testify to her ire; And every manoeuvre, it is to be feared, Will bring some calamity dire.

But meantime, the mother in calmest content, And careless as cat could well be, Just waited till Tibby's flash-valor was spent, Yet now and then winking at me.

I judged from this fact that a wrinkle had struck, To the depths of her sage cat-like brain; And I thought of my beautiful kitten's ill-luck In entering on such a campaign.

The thought had scarce flashed through the chambers of mind, When she pounced like a tiger on prey! Oh, horror! but stop! with relief I now find They both were engaged in mere play.

But whether in play or real earnest, it seems Young Tibby's no match for her mother; So thus I now end this my first of cat dreams, Not caring to write such another.

LINES COMPOSED AT MR. M'LARTY'S, WEST MISSOURI, AUGUST 3, 1873.

McLarty, I can't leave your house, Your darling daughter, charming spouse, Without at least a single rhyme Commemorating that sweet time When I, with my beloved wife, Shared your dear home, with comforts rife.

And now I backward cast my eye O'er eight-and-twenty years, gone by, Since first to you the land I sold Which now you prize far more than gold. Ah, then with trees 'twas covered o'er Thousands of which are now no more; But in their stead rich, waving grain, On hill and dale and pleasant plain Abundant grows; and year by year Adds comforts to your home so dear.

Fair trout creek still flows softly by, Though not so pleasing to the eye, As when at first its stream I saw, So many, many years ago. For then no logs unshapely, rude, Did on that beauteous creek intrude; But o'er its smooth and gravelly bed It held its course, and murmur shed Like sweetest music on my ear, And made me long to live just here.

But urgent duty called me hence, To scenes less pleasing to the sense Of one who had a poet's eye For Nature's works. I bade good bye To what so quickly had become To me almost as dear as home.

And now, kind friends, we must return To that same home, while bosoms burn With platitude for kindness shown To those you had so little known.

We linger still: 'tis hard to part From you, when fondly heart to heart Beats now, as if for years we'd been Fast bound in friendship's bands serene.

God bless you all! we fervent pray, And make you happier every day! Should we in future meet no more, O, may we all reach Canaan's shore.

FAMILY PIECES

LINES TO MY MOTHER, WHO DIED WHEN I WAS ABOUT TWO YEARS OLD.

I had a mother once, and her dear name Has power even now to thrill my very frame, And call forth feelings which can only rise When Love doth view its object in the skies. So would I view thee, Mother, and rejoice That I have power to raise my feeble voice And tell what thoughts arise within my breast, As thus I view thee entered into rest.

O, say, my Mother, canst thou see thy son? Dost thou behold the poor, erratic one Who has been tossed on Life's tempestuous wave Till he has fairly longed to find his grave? I fain would know if, when I heave a sigh, Tears e'er bedim thy sympathetic eye? When I have drunk so deep of heartfelt woe, And: roved the vanity of all below, Oh, say, my Mother, hast thou felt a share Know'st thou what 'tis to be weighed down with care?

Why write I thus? for souls in heavenly bliss Feel not our woes--know not what sorrow is-- Unless their past experiences they feel, To aid, by contrast, in producing weal. For it is written, "God shall wipe away Tears from all faces," in Eternal Day! Then let me rest content, and strive to show True patience, while I suffer here below, And follow Christ wherever he may lead: Thus proving faith sincere by every deed. O, then, whenever he may call me hence, I shall be willing to leave time and sense And mount aloft to dwell with God forever, To taste that bliss from which naught can me sever.

TO MY WIFE.

Ellen, dear, it is clear I have not half thy merits told; Sweet of life, lovely wife, More precious thou hast been than gold.

Listen now; truth I trow Will be my guide while I relate What pure love, sweetest dove, Thou still hast shown in marriage state.

When I'm ill thou dost fill The office of a comforter; Soothing sickness with such quickness That disease seems banished far.

If low spirits we inherit, Thou swiftly drivest them away By sweet song all day long, Until I feel quite young and gay.

Then our house, tidy spouse, Is kept by thee so trim and neat, That from home I'll not roam To try and find a snug retreat.

Of girls and boys, and many joys, We have, my dearest, quite our share; How to use them, not abuse them, Should always be our constant care.

But alas! how soon pass All present good desires away. Feel we weakness? then in meekness Let us unto our Father pray.

He is strong, and has long Upheld us by His mighty arm; O how glorious! Faith victorious Will us preserve always from harm.

Then let us pray, love, day by day, That our dear children may be brought Into His fold, ere they are old: Even as God himself hath taught.

O, what pleasure in rich measure We then should feel, my own true love! For naught ever could us sever, But all at last would dwell above--

By God's grace in that place Inhabited by Spirits bright. This secured, we allured, Might view by Faith the glorious sight.

TO THE SAME, WHEN AWAY FROM HOME

Oh, when will my beloved come To her own home again? Surely it will not be my doom To miss her always in each room, And of her loss complain.

Dear Chris and Jenny wish her home, And ask why she's not here; And I in quest of her would roam, But fear to miss her much-loved form, Which I would hope is near.

Yet I would not impatient be; Thou art on Mother tending. Thy love to her I like to see. It will not lessen mine to thee, Until my life is ending.

And should'st thou stay another week, A month, or even a year-- Thy conduct past would loudly speak Thy faithfulness, thy spirit meek, And say I've naught to fear.

Then stay, my dear, till thou hast done All that thy mother needed; Yet just remember there is one Who will be sadly woe-begone, His loneliness unheeded.

For well I know that such a wife Is better far than gold; And all the joys of bachelor life, However free from care and strife, On my mind take no hold.

Just now her brother brings me word That I must go and see her. For all the joys this will afford May I be thankful to the Lord, And go from care to free her.

Within an hour I see her face Bedecked with smiles to greet me, But yet she seems in woeful case, For marks of _toothache_ I can trace As she comes forth to meet me.

We spend the night with th' dear old folk, The moments quickly fly, While we link-armed start on a walk, But soon return to sing and talk-- The fire all sitting by.

Upon the morrow then return To home, "sweet home," again. Our hearts afresh with love do burn, As we at hand our house discern, And all it does contain.

TO MY DEAR LITTLE BOYS, JAMES, CHRISTOPHER AND ALFRED.

Three lovely boys who bear my name, Have all upon me equal claim, And seem to ask a rhyme from me-- A humble poet as you see. James, Christopher and Alfred, dear, You often do my spirit cheer, Each in his own most charming way, From hour to hour, from day to day. James by his often tuneful mood, And other things best understood By a fond parent, at the time, To he as sweet as music's chime. In him, though young, my eye can trace A something in his pretty face Which shows strong passion lurks within That childish breast--the fruit of sin. I also think I truly see A trait somewhat too miserly. I may be wrong--I hope I am, For 'twould be sad in my sweet lamb.

Then Chris, what must I say of him, Who shows us many a little whim? But with it all displays affection For one so young in much perfection, And can forget his sorrows all, Though his young heart he filled with gall. If but his mother seem to cry he upward turns his bright brown eye, And asks so earnestly a kiss That we're compelled to love our Chris.

Once, dear child, O strange to tell, From brother Willie's knee he fell And sadly burned his little arm, Which greatly filled us with alarm. He cried, as might have been expected, And quick relief was not neglected. But while his heart was fit to burst, He spied a wound on Mamma's hand, And though his own w as far the worst, The sight of Hers he could not stand. He ceased his crying, gave a sigh, "Poor Mamma's sore," [Footnote: A literal fact] became his cry. My darling child, this act of thine Makes me right glad to call thee mine.

But I must hasten; one remains Who well deserves my ablest strains. This is my Alfred--lovely babe A smiling cherub sure art thou, How can I best describe thy charms? How can I write about thee now? Nearly four months have passed away Since thou first saw the light of day; And in that time we've hardly had One tedious night with thee, my lad. By day thy chirruping and smiles Thy own dear mother's heart beguiles, And makes me run a dreadful risk Of falling to idolatry! But let me tell thee, little _Frisk_, This will not do for thee or me! 'Tis time to quit; I cease to write, And bid my precious babes good night!

TO ALFRED, JUST LEARNING TO WALK

1854

O, Alfred dear, thou wilt, I fear, Get burned before 'tis long; Thy little tricks with fiery sticks Have called forth this my song.

That roguish eye seems to defy All I can say or do. Thy chubby face does not disgrace The food thou art used to.

Come now, my boy, thy skill employ In walking to Papa; Well, now, my child, I own I smiled To see thee choose thy _Ma_.

But still I will that thou fulfill My just commands to thee; Sometime I shall soon make thee squall For disobeying me!

And now a walk or else some talk I do insist upon; But mind that chair or thou wilt fare Not cry well, my son!

Thy limbs are strong, so don't be long, Nor mind that little mountain; Ah, down he goes! and out there flows Big tear-drops from their fountain.

Fear not, my son, thou hast well done; I'll wipe thy tears away, And lie in hopes on Life's rough slopes Thou wilt not go astray.

Now come again, I can't refrain From tuning one more trial; Don't stagger on so woe-begone, But use some self-denial.

Thou wilt have need if thou succeed In life, to use it often, And I have found in moving round It does life's trials soften.

Mind thou the stove! nor further rove, For fear thou get a burning Let not thine eyes in such surprise Upon thy Pa be turning.

See, there at last thou hast got past The dangers which beset thee, So in my arms, proud of thy charms, I'll hug thee if thou let me.

I fain would hope that thou wilt cope With ills besetting mortals, Depending on God's Arm alone, And so reach Heaven's portals.

TO AMELIA MY LAST INFANT DAUGHTER

1854

On the fifth of chill November Came my Amie unto me, Adding one more lovely member To my numerous family.

Daughter, thou art welcome truly To the care we can bestow; May we do our duty duly While we stay with thee below.

Think not, daughter, we will slight thee, Since so many claim our love; Gladly--wish we to delight thee, As we look for help Above.

Thou art to us, little charmer, Dear as any child we own; And our love to each grows warmer For the sorrows we have known.

Take then, daughter, take our blessing, It comes forth from loving hearts; Though we shrink hot from confessing Oft we fail to act our parts.

TO FREDRIC

Fred, thou art six months old This very day! And I no more withold From thee a lay.

That rosy, smiling face-- Thou need not fear-- Has weeks since claimed a place 'Midst "rhyming gear."

Thy winning, childish pranks Make further claim To set thee in the ranks Of infant fame.

But when I think what troubles Thou hast passed through, The obligation doubles What I've to do--

In rhyming for thee, Fred, My dark-eyed boy; And I have left my bed To sing the joy.

I feel from day to day In seeing thee So full of lively play-- Most sweet to see.

By such most lovely smiles, Such crowing, too, Ah, Fred, thy many wiles Have charmed me through!

'Tis true _Ma_ lost much rest, By day and night, Through thee when so distressed. Which scarce seemed right.

But doubtless 'twill be seen To be for good, Since God our Friend has been, And by us stood.

Then, with this full in view I 'll close my rhyme, And hope that it may do Thee good some time.

TO MY DAUGHTER IDA, WHEN THREE MONTHS OLD.

1859.

Ida, it is a burning shame That thy short, sweet poetic name Has not a single lay called forth From my _cranium_ since thy birth! Thy pale-face, brown-eyed style of beauty Every day points out my duty. Conscience, too, whispers 'tis not right That I this task should longer slight. So now I take thee on my knee And woo the Muse right eagerly, In earnest hope she'll lend her aid Until this tribute be well paid.

Ida, thou art of babes the best; This much at least must be confessed, Unless thy mother's words are wrong-- Words shadowing forth Affection strong. Thou art indeed, sweet tempered pet, As good a child as I have met. And oh, my heart for thee' has bled, When thou wert forced to be spoon-fed, Because of Mamma's trying weakness. Yet this thou didst still bear with meekness, And ever from the first thy cries Had for companions tearful eyes, And such a mournful, piteous mien As is not in bad temper seen. When I saw this thou may'st be sure, I felt quite ready to endure Thy tediousness by night or day, While mother on a sick-bed lay. Now, as reward for all my toil, Thou cheerest me by many a smile. And while I gaze on thy sweet face Bedecked with every infant grace, My soul's best feelings are called Forth-- I see in thee increasing worth.

Say, sweetly smiling, pretty creature, So perfect in each limb and feature, What means that dreamy sort of look Thou wear'st at times? Art thou then struck With wonder at our household ways? At brother's, sister's childish plays? I would give something just to know How thoughts within the mind can grow. I fancy sometimes thou art thinking On what's around thee or else drinking Thou fill of heavenly visions sweet, Such as would prove to me a treat: Art silent still? Ah, then, young Miss, Thou must eve'n give a parting kiss! Farewell, my dear, my lovely child, Fair Ida, with the look so mild!

TO MY WIFE, ON THE THIRTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF OUR WEDDING DAY

SEPT. 26, 1860.

A thousand joys, my darling wife, Be thine on this our marriage day! And now I'll sing; for such a life As we have led deserves a lay Fresh-gushing from a heart like mine-- By thee well known to be sincere. O, where are charms compared with thine? Which, after years of toil appear More fresh and fair, Though much of care Has fallen daily to thy share.

On me old Time has marked his flight-- My outward frame doth tell me this; But still, sweet dove, my heart's as light As when at first I found the bliss Of Ellen's love in silken bands. And what the future has in store I know not, but my soul expands Assured thou lov'st me more and more. This rapturous thought With blessings fraught By gold could never have been bought.

But love--such love as we now feel Ten thousand ills can face and foil, And passing years afresh reveal-- We better are for cure and toil! I would not then my lot exchange For one where pampered luxury The hearts of man and wife estrange, And all is insincerity. A lot like this, Devoid of bliss, Dear wife, may we forever miss!

What though when let but forty-three I sober _Grandpa_ have become? With thee, my Ellen, yes, with thee I can enjoy our humble home; And the dear children to us given, With those left by my first loved spouse, Can by God's blessing make a heaven For me in yet a poorer house! The world dreams not That in our cot We pure, substantial joys have got.

As thus I sing in gladsome strain Of my unmatched felicity, There comes an almost endless train From the deep founts of Memory, Of pleasing pictures which retain Poetic colors lich and rare. Yet fearing they might make me vain, I breathe to God this fervent prayer: Lord, shield me well, From potent spell Of syren Pleasures, and Pride quell!

Oh, let us humbly now renew Our vows to God, my sweetest love! He then will shed His grace like dew Upon us all, and bid the Dove Of steadfast Peace assure our souls. Thus may we battle on in life, And as each season forward rolls Feel stronger for the daily strife Until at last Our lot is cast With those who into heaven have passed.

TO THE SAME, ON THE TWENTY-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF OUR MARRIAGE.

SEPTEMBER 26, 1872.

Dear Bride of five-and-twenty years, I gladly give to thee this song. That thou wilt spurn it I've no fears, For love still reigns within thee strong, And will reign long as life shall last; For it has stood the fiery test Of anguished moments in the past-- When out of pain came peaceful rest, Until our life Of toil and strife Is joyful still, my darling wife.

When last I penned a lay to thee I little dreamt that youthful charms Would cling to thee at forty-three; But now the thought my spirit warms _That I can see thee lovelier grown_! While fond affection constant beams Within thy lovely eyes, light brown, Thus realizing my young dreams. For then I thought The wife I sought Should bring to me what thou hast brought.

A face lit up with genial smiles, A heart to love through trials great, With winning ways, with pleasant wiles, To cheer me in life's troublous state. I pictured her both fair and neat, With voice so soft, with wifely skill, To make my home a snug retreat From many kinds of mortal ill. _Such hast thou been_, My own heart's queen, As good a wife as e'er was seen.

What though we've not attained to wealth? Have still to toil for daily bread? So long as God gives precious health, We have no worldly needs to dread,

For, day by day our table's filled, Our dearest children constant fed; With many comforts life to gild, Our years enjoyably have sped. Then we'll not care For larger share Of riches, which oft prove a snare.

Then, darling, let us battle on, The future may ev'n brighter prove; But if it does not we have won A glorious boon in such true love As well might smooth a harder life. And few, I trow, have lived so long wedded state with joys so rife. Then fear not, let our hearts be strong In Christ our Lord, And let His Word Yield us the comfort therein stored.

Now, as the ears flow swiftly by, With crosses manifold to hear, We still will look to Him on high, Who has permitted us to share So much of matrimonial bliss, And in that bond has kept us true. Let's deem it best His rod to kiss, And keep His promises in view. So, side by side Our lives may glide Till death bring us o'er Jordan's tide!

TO THE SAME, ON THE THIRTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF OUR MARRIAGE.

SEPTEMBER 26, 1877.

Full thirty years of wedded bliss, My darling wife, we have enjoyed; And still I can with rapture kiss Thy sweet, chaste lips--for I am void Of every fear that thou wilt fail To love me till our race is run. Our mutual love is still as hale As though we had but just begun To link our fate In marriage state, Where joys for sorrows compensate.

So, filled with sense of God's rich love, Let us those decades three review; For though we have with trials strove To keep our happiness still new, We've had Religion's holy aid Still shedding sunshine on our way, As we pursued our humble trade And struggled on from day to day. Our hearts imbued With gratitude Call loud for vows to God renewed.

Now looking back through all these years, 'Midst chequered scenes of daily life, A family of eight appears For thee to love and serve, my wife! Thou wert indeed a youthful bride, But weak in body--not in heart-- As thou my cherished hearth beside Sat down, content to do thy part. And well I know No lot below Was e'er more free from earthly woe.

In this review I can't forget How oft in sickness, grief and pain, Thy loving heart our needs has met, While solace rich came in thy train. Nor when thyself on sick bed lay, Racked with _Neuralgia's_ maddening pangs. How Patience kept the wolf at bay, And made him soon withdraw his fangs. My darling sweet, 'Tis surely meet I thee with song like this should greet!

Nor yet when by that dreadful fall Thy limbs were bruised, thy system shook, How easily I can recall Each winning smile, each tender look,

As I attempted to alleve Thy sufferings great for many days. And while I could not help but grieve, I saw thy meekness with amaze; For no dread pain Could triumph gain O'er thee, nor did'st thou once complain.

Then, O my darling, join with me To celebrate our Father's praise! For he has kept us lovingly From hankering after worldly ways. Raise then our Ebenezer high! Join, children, in my joyful song! Lay ever disagreement by, That you in, union may be strong. Thus let us wait At Wisdom's gate, Till Christ in turn shall each translate.

FAREWELL TO MY HARP

Farewell my rude Harp and my still ruder Lyre! For season your tones may not fall on my ear; At the _bench_ will hard labor repress rhyming fire, And Fact over Fancy triumphant appear.

Yet I will remember the exquisite pleasure For full thirty years freely rendered by you; How oft in that time you have proved a rich treasure-- Still constant abiding and evermore true.

Again and again bring afresh to my mind. How in youth your wild minstrelsy ravished my soul Till I became daily to musings inclined, And strong, gushing impulse that scarce brooked control.

I oft will recall how you chased away sadness, As sore family tumbles my heart did affright When a fond, faithful partner, whose presence was gladness Was reft from my side--turning day into night!

Nor forget soon the dirges you poured o'er the tomb Enclosing both her and our infant so dear; Whose soul-stirring notes dissipated my gloom, And since have refreshed me through many a year.

Ah, no! those sweet _memories_, fresh in me springing, Shall nerve to new efforts in God's holy cause; And hearing within me your melodies ringing, I'll steadfastly aim at observing His Laws.

THE END.