Part 16

Then the hearts of the little ones filled with fear, With a sickening sense of a danger near; And with frantic efforts they strove to flee, To the homes where they knew there would safety be; And deaf alike to request or command, Rushed to death,--the sweet flowers of Sunderland.

Swift flew the alarm from street to street, And swiftly responded the hurrying feet. Fathers and mothers with grief gone wild, Cried as they ran, "Oh, my child! my child!" Women half fainting, and men all unmanned,-- 'Twas a sad, sad day for Sunderland.

Pen cannot tell what keen anguish wrung, Their bleeding hearts, as the fair and young, Were dragged from the struggling, groaning mass, Mangled, disfigured and dead, Alas! And offers of help came from every hand, For they were the children of Sunderland.

Quickly and tenderly, one by one, They were brought to light, till the task was done; The wounded were tended with kindness and skill; Side by side lay the dead,--all so ghastly and still;-- What a terrible tale told that silent band, As the Sabbath sun rose over Sunderland.

In the promise of beauty and strength cut down, Two hundred spirits from earth had flown; Two hundred frail caskets that love could not save, Awaiting their last earthly home in the grave; And a crowd of white angels expectant stand, To welcome the angels from Sunderland.

Woe in the cottage, and woe in the hall;-- Woe in the hearts of the great and the small;-- Woe in the streets,--in the houses of prayer; Woe had its dwelling place everywhere. Suffering and sorrow on every hand,-- Woe-woe-woe throughout Sunderland.

Who can give comfort in grief such as this? Man's arm is helpless,--no power is his. There is but One unto whom we can flee, One who in mercy cries, "Come unto me." One who in pity outstretches His hand, To the heart-broken mourners of Sunderland.

Sad will the homes be for many a day, Where the light of the household has been snatched away; But through the dull cloud of our sorrow and pain, Shines the hope that at last we may meet them again; For on the bright shores of the 'better land,' Are gathered the treasures of Sunderland.

Trusting Still.

When shall we meet again? One more year passed; One more of grief and pain;-- Maybe the last. Are the years sending us Farther apart? Or love still blending us Heart into heart? Do love's fond memories Brighten the way, Or faith's fell enemies Darken thy day? Oh! could the word unkind Be recalled now, Or in the years behind Buried lie low, How would my heart rejoice As round it fell, Sweet cadence of thy voice, Still loved so well. Sometimes when sad it seems Whisperings say: "Cherish thy baseless dreams, Yet whilst thou may, Try not to pierce the veil, Lest thou should'st see, Only a dark'ning vale Stretching for thee." But Hope's mist-shrouded sun Once more breaks out, Chasing the shadows dim, Heavy with doubt. And far ahead I see, Two rays entwine; One faint, as soul of me, One bright like thine. And in that welcome sign, Clearly I view, Proof of this trust of mine,-- Thou art still true.

Shiver the Goblet.

Shiver the goblet and scatter the wine! Tempt me no more with the sight! I care not though brightly as ruby it shine, Like a serpent I know it will bite. Give me the clustering fruit of the vine,-- Heap up my dish if you will,-- But banish the poison that lurks in the wine, That dulls reason and fetters the will.

Oft has it lured me to deeds I detest,-- Filled me with passions debased; Robbed me of all that was dearest and best, And left scars that can ne'er be effaced. Oh! that the generous rich would but think, As they scatter their wealth far and wide, Of the evil that lives in the ocean of drink, Of the thousands that sink in its tide.

They give of their substance to help the poor wretch, The victim of custom and laws; But never attempt the strong arm to outstretch, To try to abolish the cause. The preacher as well may his eloquence spare, Nor his tales of "glad tidings" need tell, If by precepts he urge them for heaven to prepare, Whilst his practice leads downward to hell.

Erect new asylums and hospitals raise,-- Build prisons for creatures of sin;-- Can these be a means to improve the world's ways? Or one soul from destruction e'er win? No!--License the cause and encourage the sale Of the evil one's strongest ally, And in vain then lament that the curse should prevail,-- And in vain o'er the fallen ones sigh.

Strike the black blot from the laws of the land! And take the temptation away; Then give to the struggling and weak one's a hand, To pilot them on the safe way. Can brewers, distillers, or traffickers pray For the blessing of God, on the seed Which they sow for the harvest of men gone astray? Of ruin, the fruit of their greed?

No bonds can be forged the drink-demon to bind, That will hinder its power for ill; For a way to work mischief it surely will find, Let us watch and contrive as we will. Then drive out the monster! The plague-breathing pest; And so long as our bodies have breath, Let us fight the good fight, never stopping for rest, Till at last we rejoice o'er its death.

Little Sunshine.

Winsome, wee and witty, Like a little fay, Carolling her ditty All the livelong day, Saucy as a sparrow In the summer glade, Flitting o'er the meadow Came the little maid. A youth big and burly, Loitered near the stile, He had risen early, Just to win her smile. And she came towards him Trying to look grave, But she couldn't do it, Not her life to save. For the fun within her, Well'd out from her eyes, And the tell-tale blushes To her brow would rise. Then he gave her greeting, And with bashful bow, Said in tones entreating, "Darling tell me now, You are all the sunshine, This world holds for me; Be my little valentine, I have come for thee." But she only tittered When he told his love, And the gay birds twittered On the boughs above; He continued pleading, Calling her his sun-- Said his heart was bleeding,-- Which seemed famous fun. Then he turned to leave her. But she caught his hand, And its gentle pressure Made him understand, That in spite of teasing, He her heart had won, And through life hereafter, She would be his sun.

Now they have been married Twenty years or more, But she's just as wilful As she was before. And she's just as winsome In his eyes to-day, As when first be met her, Mischievous and gay. Will the years ne'er tame her? Will she ne'er grow old? Does the grave man blame her? Does he never scold? Does he never weary Of her ready tongue? Does he love her dearly As when he was young? Yes--she was the sunshine Of his youthful day, And her light laugh cheers him Now he's growing gray. Happy little woman, That time cannot tame; Happy sober husband, Loving still the same. Happy in her lightness When life's morn was bright, Happy in her brightness As draws on the night.

Passing Events.

Passing events,--tell, what are they I pray? Are they some novelty?--Nay, nay, nay! Ever since the world its course began, Since the breath of life was breathed into man, Still rolling on with the wane of time, Through every nation, in every clime; In every spot where man has his home, Ever they long for events to come.

Hours or days or years it may be, Before hopes realization they see; And no sooner it comes than it hastes away, And others rush after no longer to stay. And there scarcely is time to know its in sight, E'er its found to be leaving with marvellous flight, And what had been longed for with eager intent, Is chronicled but as a passing event.

Hope's joys are uncertain;--anxiety rules, Expectancy's paradise, peopled by fools; And the present has oft so much bustle and care, That the joys spread around we have no time to share. He is surer of peace who leaves future to fate, And the present joy snatches before it's too late; But he's safest by far, who in mem'ry holds fast, The sweet tastes and joys of events that are past.

Those Days have Gone.

Those days have gone, those happy days, When we two loved to roam, Beside the rivulet that strays, Near by my rustic home. Yes, they have fled, and in the past, We've left them far behind, Yet dear I hold, those days of old, When you were true and kind.

You dreamed not then of wealth or fame, The world was bright and fair, I seldom knew a grief or game, That you, too, did not share. And though I mourn my hapless fate, In mem'ry's store I find, And dearly hold those days of old, When you were true and kind.

Say, can the wealth you now possess, Such happiness procure, As did our youthful pleasures bless, When both our hearts were pure? No,--and though wandering apart, I strive to be resigned; And dearer hold those days of old, When you were true and kind.

And if your thoughts should turn to me, With one pang of regret, Know that this heart, still beats for thee, And never will forget; Those tender links of long ago Are round my heart entwined, And dear I hold those days of old, When you were true and kind.

I'd a Dream.

I'd a dream last night of my boyhood's days, And the scenes where my youth was spent; And I roamed the old woods where the squirrel plays, Full of frolicsome merriment. And I walked by the brook, and its silvery tone, Seemed to soothe me again as of yore; And I stood by the cottage with moss overgrown And the woodbine that trailed round the door.

No change could I see in the garden plot, The flowers bloomed brightly around, And one little bed of forget-me-not In its own little corner I found. The sky had a home-look, the breeze seemed to sigh, In the strain I remembered so well, And the little brown sparrows looked cunning and shy, As though anxious some story to tell.

But as quietness reigned and a loneliness fell, O'er the place that had once been so gay; Its sunlight had saddened since I bade farewell, And left it for lands far away. The door stood ajar and I sought for a face, Of the dear ones I longed so to see; But others I knew not were now in the place, And their presence was painful to me.

A pang of remorse seemed to shoot through my heart, As I left with a sorrowing tread, From all the familiar objects to part; For I knew that the loved ones were dead. The home once my own, now knows me no more, The treasures that bound me all gone, And I woke with cheeks tear-stained, and heart sadly sore, To find that a home I had none.

To my Harp.

Wake up my harp! thy strings begin to rust! Has the soul fled that once within thee dwelt? Idle so long, shake off that coat of dust! Are there no souls to cheer, no hearts to melt? Are there no victims under tyrants' yoke, Whose wrongs thy stirring music should proclaim? Or have the fetters of mankind been broke? Or are there none deserving songs of fame?

Awake! awake! thy slumber has been long! And let thy chords once more arouse the heart; And teach us in thy most impassioned song, How in our sphere we best may play our part. Tell the down-trodden, who with daily toil, Wear out their lives, another's greed to fill; That they have rights and interests in the soil, And they can win them if they have the will.

Tell the high-born that chance of birth ne'er gave To them a right to carve another's fate; Nor yet to make the humbler born a slave, Whose heart with goodness may be doubly great. Tell the hard-handed poor, yet honest man, That though through roughest ways of life he plod, Nature hath placed upon his birth no ban,-- All men are equal in the sight of God.

And yet a softer, pitying strain let pour, To soothe the anguish of the troubled soul, And fill the heart bereaved, with hope once more, And from the brow the heavy grief-cloud roll. Cheer on the brave who struggle in the fight,-- And warn oppression of the gathering storm, And drag the deeds of false ones to the light,-- And herald in the day of true reform.

Nor leave the gentler, loving themes, unsung, Compassionate the maiden's tender woes, Revive the faint who are with fears unstrung, And solace them who writhe in suffering's throes. Awake! awake! there's need enough of thee, Nor let again such sloth enchain thy tongue, And may thy constant effort henceforth be, To plant the right, and to uproot the wrong.

Backward Turn, Oh! Recollection.

Backward turn, oh! recollection! Far, far back to childhoods' days; To those treasures of affection, 'Round which loving memory plays Show to me the loving faces Of my parents, now no more,-- Fill again the vacant places With the images of yore.

Conjure up the home where comfort Seemed to make its cosy nest; Where the stranger's only passport, Was the need of food and rest. Show the schoolhouse where with others, I engaged in mental strife, And the playground, where as brothers Running, jumping, full of life.

Now I see the lovely maiden, That my young heart captive led; Like a sylph, with gold curls laden, And her lips of cherry red. Now fond voices seem to echo, Tones as when I heard them last; And my heart sighs sadly, Heigh, ho! For the joys for ever past.

From the past back to the present, Come, ye wandering thoughts again; Memories however pleasant, Will not rid to-day of pain, Now we live, the past is buried,-- We are midway in life's stream; Onward, onward! ever hurried,-- And the futures but a dream.

Alice.

Dear little Alice lay dying;-- I see her as if 'twas to-day, And we stood round her snowy bed, crying, And watching her life ebb away.

'Twas a beautiful day in the spring, The sun shone out warmly and clear; And the wee birds, their love songs to sing Came and perched on the trees that grew near.

In the distance, the glistening sea, Could be heard in a deep solemn tone, As if murmuring in sad sympathy, For our griefs and our hopes that had flown.

The windows, wide open, allowed The soft wind to fan her white cheek, As with uncovered heads, mutely bowed, We stood watching, not daring to speak.

We were only her playmates,--no tie Of relationship drew us that way, We'd been told that dear Alice must die, And she'd begg'd she might see us that day.

We were all full of sorrow, and tears We all shed,--but not one showed surprise; Of her future we harboured no fears, For we knew she was fit for the skies.

Ever gentle and kind as a dove, To each one she knew she had been; She had ruled her dominion by love, And we all paid her homage as Queen.

Her strange beauty, now, as I look back, I can see as I ne'er saw it then; But words to describe it I lack, It could never be told by a pen.

Half asleep, half awake, as she lay, With her golden curls round her pale face; A smile round her lips 'gan to play, And her eyes gazed intently on space.

With an effort she half raised her head, And looked lovingly round us on all, Then she motioned us nearer the bed; And we silently answered her call.

Then she put out her tiny white hand, The friend nearest her took it in his; And so faintly she whispered "Good-bye," As he printed upon it a kiss.

One by one, boy and girl, did the same, And she bade them 'farewell' as they passed Calling everyone by their name, 'Till it came to my turn;--I was last,

"Good-bye, Harry," she breathed very low, And her eyes to my soul seemed to speak; And she strove not to let my hand go, Till I stooped down and kissed her pale cheek.

Then she wearily laid down her head, And she closed her blue eyes with a sigh;-- "Don't forget me, dear Harry, when dead, But meet me in Heaven by-and-bye."

And that whisper I never forgot, And her hand's dying clasp I feel still; For I swore, that whatever my lot, I'd be true to that child,--and I will.

It may be a foolish conceit, But it oft is a solace for me, To think, when life's troubles I meet, There's an angel in Heaven cares for me.

Friends deplore my lone bachelor state, Some may pity, and others deride; But they know not for Alice I wait, Who took with her my heart when she died.

Looking Back.

I've been sitting reviewing the past, dear wife, From the time when a toddling child,-- Through my boyish days with their joys and strife,-- Through my youth with its passions wild. Through my manhood, with all its triumph and fret, To the present so tranquil and free; And the years of the past that I most regret, Are the years that I passed without thee.

It was best we should meet as we did, dear wife,-- It was best we had trouble to face; For it bound us more closely together through life, And it nerved us for running the race. We are nearing the end where the goal is set, And we fear not our destiny, And the only years that I now regret, Are the years that I passed without thee.

'Twas thy beauty attracted my eye, dear wife, But thy goodness that kept me true; 'Twas thy sympathy soothed me when cares were rife, 'Twas thy smile gave me courage anew. Thy bloom may be faded by time, but yet, Thou hast still the same beauty to me, And no part of my past do I now regret, Save the years that I passed without thee.

We have struggled and suffered our share, dear wife, But our joys have been many and sweet; And our trust in each other has taken from life, The heartaches and pangs others meet. I still bless the day, long ago, when we met, And my prayer for the future shall be, That when the call comes and thy life's sun has set, I may never be parted from thee.

I Know I Love Thee.

I shall never forget the day, Annie, When I bid thee a fond adieu; With a careless good bye I left thee, For my cares and my fears were few. True that thine eyes seemed brightest;-- True that none had so fair a brow,-- I _thought_ that I loved thee then, Annie, But I _knew_ that I love thee now.

I had neither wealth nor beauty, Whilst thou owned of both a share, I bad only a honest purpose And the courage the Fates to dare. To all others my heart preferred thee, And 'twas hard to part I know; For I _thought_ that I loved thee then, Annie, But I _know_ that I love thee now.

Oh! what would I give to-night, love, Could I clasp thee once again, To my heart that is aching with loving,-- To my heart where my love does reign. Could I hear thy voice making music, So gentle, so sweet and so low, I _thought_ that I loved thee then, Annie, But I _know_ that I love thee now.

I have won me wealth and honour,-- I have earned a worldly regard, But alas they afford me no pleasure, Nor lighten my lot so hard. Oh come for my bosom yearneth, All its burden of love to bestow,-- Once I _thought_ that I really loved thee, But I _know_ that I love thee now.

Canst thou ever forgive me the folly, Of failing to capture the prize, Of thy maiden heart, trustful and loving, That shone thro' thy tear bedimmed eyes. But I knew not until we had parted, How fiercely love's embers could glow; Or how _truly_ I loved thee then, Annie, Or how _madly_ I'd love thee now.

Bachelors Quest.

She may be dark or may be fair, If beauty she possesses; But she must have abundant hair-- I doat on flowing tresses. Her skin must be clear, soft and white Her cheeks with health's tints glowing, Her eyes beam with a liquid light,-- Red lips her white teeth showing. She must be graceful as a fawn, With bosom gently swelling, Her presence fresh as early dawn,-- A heart for love to dwell in. She must be trusting, yet aware That flatterer's honey'd phrases Are often but a wily snare, To catch her in love's mazes. Accomplishments she must possess, These make life worth the having; And taste, especially in dress Yet still inclined to saving. In cookery she must excel, To this there's no exception, And serve a frugal meal as well As manage a reception. Untidyness she must abhor, In every household matter; And resolutely close the door To any gossip's chatter. She must love children, for a home Ne'er seems like home without 'em. And women seldom care to roam, Who love their babes about 'em, Should she have wealth, she must not boast Or tell of what she brought me; Content that I should rule the roost,-- (That's what my father taught me.) If I can find some anxious maid Who all these charms possesses, I shall be tempted, I'm afraid, To pay her my addresses.

Waiting at the Gate.

Draw closer to my side to-night, Dear wife, give me thy hand, My heart is sad with memories Which thou canst understand, Its twenty years this very day, I know thou minds it well, Since o'er our happy wedded life The heaviest trouble fell.

We stood beside the little cot, But not a word we said; With breaking hearts we learned, alas, Our little Claude was dead, He was the last child born to us, The loveliest,--the best, I sometimes fear we loved him more Than any of the rest.

We tried to say "Thy will be done," We strove to be resigned; But all in vain, our loss had left Too deep a wound behind. I saw the tears roll down thy cheek, And shared thy misery, But could not speak a soothing word, I could but grieve with thee.

He looked so calm, so sweet, so fair Why should we stand and weep? Death had but paused a moment there, And put our pet to sleep. The weary hours crept sadly on, Until the burial day; Then in the deep, cold, gravel grave, We saw him laid away.

His little bed was taen apart, His toys put out of sight; His brother and his sister soon Grew gay again and bright. But we, dear wife, we ne'er threw off, The sorrow o'er us cast; And even yet, at times, we grieve, Though twenty years have passed.

We know he's in a better land, A heaven where all is bliss; Nor would we try if we'd the power To bring him back to this. Draw closer to my side, dear wife, And wipe away that tear, Heaven does not seem so far away, I seem to feel him near.

He'll come no more with us to dwell, For our life's lamp burns dim; But He who doeth all things well, Will draw us up to Him. Come closer, wife, let us not part, We have not long to wait; A something whispers to my heart, "Claude's waiting at the Gate."

Love.

Love--love--love--love,-- A tiny hand in a tiny glove; A witching smile that means,--well,--well, Whether little or much its hard to tell. A tiny foot and a springy tread, Short curls running riot all over her head; A waist that invites a fond embrace, Yet by modesty girt seems a holy place; Not a place where an arm should be idly thrown, But should gently rest, as would rest my own. An angel whose wings are but hid from view, Whose charms are many and faults so few, As near perfection as mortal can be, Is the one that I love and that loves but me. They tell me that love is blind,--.oh, no! They can never convince a lover so; Love cannot be blind for it sees much more, Then others have ever discovered before. Oh, the restless night with its pleasing dreams, Sweet visions through which her beauty beams; The pleasant pains that find vent in sighs,-- And the hopes of a earthly paradise Where we shall dwell and heart to heart In unison beat. Of the world a part Yet so full of our love for each other that we Shall sail all alone on life's troublesome sea, In a charmed course, of perpetual calm, Away from all danger, sccure from harm.