Part 17
Ah, yes,--such is love to the maiden and youth, That have implicit trust in each others truth;-- Such love was mine, but alas, alas! The things I had hoped for ne'er came to pass. But I thank the star of my destiny, That guided a true plain woman to me; That amid the bustle and worry and strife, Has proved a good mother and faithful wife, Though the fates did not grant me an angel to wed, They gave me a woman for helpmate instead.
Do your Best and Leave the Rest.
As through life you journey onward Many a hill you'll have to climb; Many a rough and dang'rous pathway, You'll encounter time and time. Now and then a gleam of sunshine, Will bring hope to cheer your breast; Then press onward,--ever trusting,-- Do your best and leave the rest.
Though your progress may be hindered, By false friends or bitter foes; And the goal for which you're striving, Seems so far away,--who knows? You may yet have strength to reach it, E'er the sun sinks in the west; Ever striving,--still undaunted;-- Do your best and leave the rest.
If you fail, as thousands must do, You will still have cause for pride; You will have advanced much further, Than if you had never tried. Never falter, but remember, Life is not a foolish jest; You all are in the fight to win it;-- Do your best and leave the rest.
If at last your strength shall fail you, And your struggles have proved vain; There is One who will sustain you;-- Soothe your sorrow,--ease your pain, He has seen your earnest striving, And your efforts shall be blest; For He knows, that you, though failing, Did your best,--He'll do the rest.
To my Daughter on her Birthday.
Darling child, to thee I owe, More than others here will know; Thou hast cheered my weary days, With thy coy and winsome ways. When my heart has been most sad, Smile of thine has made me glad; In return, I wish for thee, Health and sweet felicity. May thy future days be blest, With all things the world deems best. If perchance the day should come, Thou does leave thy childhood's home; Bound by earth's most sacred ties, With responsibilities, In another's life to share, Wedded joys and worldly care; May thy partner worthy prove,-- Richest in thy constant love. Strong in faith and honour, just,-- With brave heart on which to trust. One, to whom when troubles come, And the days grow burdensome, Thou canst fly, with confidence In his love's plenipotence. And if when some years have flown, Sons and daughters of your own Bless your union, may they be Wellsprings of pure joy to thee. And when age shall line thy brow, And thy step is weak and slow,-- And the end of life draws near May'st thou meet it without fear; Undismayed with earth's alarms,-- Sleeping,--to wake in Jesus' arms.
Remorse.
None ever knew I had wronged her, That secret she kept to the end. None knew that our ties had been stronger, Than such as should bind friend to friend. Her beauty and innocence gave her Such charms as are lavished on few; And vain was my earnest endeavour To resist,--though I strove to be true.
She had given her heart to my keeping,-- 'Twas a treasure more precious than gold; And I guarded it, waking or sleeping, Lest a strange breath should make it grow cold. And I longed to be tender, yet honest,-- Alas! loved,--where to love was a sin,-- And passion was deaf to the warning, Of a still small voice crying within.
I feasted my eyes on her beauty,-- I ravished my ears with her voice,-- And I felt as her bosom rose softly, That my heart had at last found its choice. 'Twas a wild gust of passion swept o'er us,-- Just a flash of tumultuous bliss;-- Then life's sunlight all vanished before us, And we stood by despair's dark abyss.
'Tis past,--and the green grass grows over, The grave that hides her and our shame; None ever knew who was her lover, For her lips never uttered his name. But at night when the city is sleeping, I steal with a tremulous tread, And spend the dark solemn hours weeping, O'er the grave of the deeply wronged dead.
My Queen
Annie--Oh! what a weary while It seems since that sad day; When whispering a fond "good bye," I tore myself away. And yet, 'tis only two short years; How has it seemed to thee? To me, those lonesome years appear Like an eternity.
We loved,--Ah, me! how much we loved; How happy passed the day When pouring forth enraptured vows, The charmed hours passed away. In every leaf we beauty saw,-- In every song and sound, Some sweet entrancing melody, To soothe our hearts we found.
And now it haunts me as a dream,-- A thing that could not be!-- That one so pure and beautiful Could ever care for me. But I still have the nut-brown curl, Which tells me it is true; And in my fancy I can see The brow where once it grew.
Those eyes, whose pensive, loving light, Did thrill me through and through: Still follow me by day and night, As they were wont to do. Thy smile still haunts me, and thy voice, At times I seem to hear; And when the scented zephyrs pass I fancy thou art near.
'Twill not be long, dear heart, (although It will seem long to me;) Until I clasp thee once again; To part no more from thee. Though storms may roar, and oceans rage And furies vent their spleen;-- There's naught shall keep me from my love; My beautiful;--my queen!
Now and Then.
Did we but know what lurks beyond the NOW; Could we but see what the dim future hides; Had we some power occult that would us show The joy and sorrow which in THEN abides; Would life be happier,--or less fraught with woe, Did we but know?
I long, yet fear to pierce those clouds ahead;-- To solve life's secrets,--learn what means this death. Are fresh joys waiting for the silent dead? Or do we perish with am fleeting breath? If not; then whither will the spirit go? Did we but know.
'Tis all a mist. Reason can naught explain, We dream and scheme for what to-morrow brings; We sleep, perchance, and never wake again, Nor taste life's joys, or suffer sorrow's stings. Will the soul soar, or will it sink below? How can we know.
"You must have Faith!"--How can a mortal weak, Pin faith on what he cannot comprehend? We grope for light,--but all in vain we seek, Oblivion seems poor mortal's truest friend. Like bats at noonday, blindly on we go, For naught we know.
Yet, why should we repine? Could we but see Our lifelong journey with its ups and downs! Ambition, hope and longings all would flee, Indifferent alike to smiles and frowns. 'Tis better as it is. It must be so. We ne'er can know.
The Open Gates.
My heart was sad when first we met; 'Yet with a smile,-- A welcome smile I ne'er forget, Thou didst beguile My sighs and sorrows;-and a sweet delight Shed a soft radiance, where erst was night.
I dreamed not we should meet again;-- But fate was kind, Once more my heart o'er fraught with pain, To joy inclined. It seemed thy soul had power to penetrate My inmost self, changing at will my state.
Then sprang the thought:--Be thou my Queen! I will be slave; Make here thy throne and reign supreme, 'Tis all I crave. Let me within thy soothing influence dwell, Content to know, with thee all must be well.
I knew not that another claimed By prior right, Those charms that had my breast inflamed With fancies bright. Ah! then I recognized my loneliness:-- My dreams dispelled;--still I admired no less.
Time wearily dragged on its way,-- We met once more, And thou wert free! Oh, happy day! As sight of shore Cheers the worn mariner;--so sight of thee, Made my heart beat with sweet expectancy.
Is it too much to hope,--someday This heart of mine, That beats alone for thee,--yet may Thy love enshrine? All things are said to come to him who waits, I'm waiting, darling.--Love, opes wide the gates.
Blue Bells.
Bonny little Blue-bells Mid young brackens green, 'Neath the hedgerows peeping Modestly between; Telling us that Summer Is not far away, When your beauties blend with Blossoms of the May.
Sturdy, tangled hawthorns, Fleck'd with white or red, Whilst their nutty incense, All around is shed. Bonny drooping Blue-bells, Happy you must be With your beauties sheltered 'Neath such fragrant tree.
You need fear no rival,-- Other blossoms blown, With their varied beauties But enhance your own. Steals the soft wind gently, 'Round th' enchanted spot, Sets your bells a-ringing Though we hear them not.
Idle Fancy wanders As you shake and swing, Our hearts shape the message We would have you bring. Dreams of happy Springtimes We hope yet to share; Vague, but pleasant visions All to melt in air.
Children's merry voices Break your witching spells, Chubby hands are clasping Languishing Blue-bells. Gay and happy children Hop and skip along, With their ringing laughter, Sweet as skylark's song.
Slowly soon I follow Through the rustic lane, But the sight that greets me Gives me pang of pain. Strewed upon the pathway, Fairy Blue-bells lie, Trampled, crushed and wilted, Cast away to die.
Yet they lived not vainly Though their life was brief, Shedding gleams of gladness O'er a world of grief. And they taught a lesson,-- Rightly understood; By their mute endeavour Striving to do good.
A Song of the Snow
Oh the snow,--the bright fleecy snow! Isn't it grand when the north breezes blow? Isn't it bracing the ice to skim o'er, With a jovial friend or the one you adore? How the ice crackles, and how the skates ring, How friends flit past you like birds on the wing. How the gay laugh ripples through the clear air, How bloom the roses on cheeks of the fair! Few are the pleasures that life can bestow, To equal the charms of the beautiful snow.
Oh, the snow,-the pitiless snow! Cruel and cold, as the shelterless know; Huddled in nooks on the mud or the flags, Wrapp'd in a few scanty, fluttering rags. Gently it rests on the roof and the spire, And filling the streets with its slush and the mire, Freezing the life out of poor, starving souls, Wild whirling and drifting as Boreas howls. Hard is their lot who have no where to go, To shelter from storm and the merciless snow.
Oh, the snow,-the treacherous snow! Up in a garret on pallet laid low! Dying of hunger,--oh, sad is her fate;-- No food in the cupboard,--no fire in the grate. A widening streak of frost crystals are shed, Through the window's broke pane on the comfortless bed, And the child that she clasps to her chill milkless breast, Has ended its troubles, and gone to its rest. Husbandless,--childless, and friendless.--Go slow,-- She sleeps with her babe, and their shroud is the snow.
Oh, the snow, the health-giving snow! Setting the cheeks of the children aglow, Father and mother,--well fed and well clad, Join in the frolic like young lass and lad. Little they dream of the suffering and woe, Of those shivering outcasts with nowhere to go. Then they read from their paper with quivering breath, Accounts of poor wand'rers found frozen to death, And their hearts with pure pity perchance overflow, But it vanishes soon, like the beautiful snow.
Hide not thy Face.
Hide not Thy face,--and though the road Be dark and long and rough, With cheerfulness I'll bear my load, Thy smile will be enough. All other helps I can forego, If with Faith's eye I trace, Through earthly clouds of grief and woe, The presence of Thy face.
Hide not Thy face;--weak, worn and Oppressed with doubt and fear; Still will I utter no complaint,-- Content if Thou art near. Thy loving hand my steps shall guide, And set my doubts at rest; In loving trust, whate'er betide, For Thou, Lord, knowest best.
Hide not Thy face;--the tempter's wiles Around my feet are spread; The world's applause,-the wanton's smiles, Beset the path I tread. Alone, too weak to fight the host Of Pleasure's vicious train, 'Tis then I need Thy succour most;-- Let me not seek in vain.
Hide not Thy face, but day by day, Shine out more clearly bright; Until this narrow, thorny way, Shall end in Death's dark night. Then freed from all the taints of sin, Through Thine abundant Grace; The crown of righteousness I win, And see Thee face to face.
In my Garden of Roses.
Oh! Come to me, darling! My Sweet! Here where the sunlight reposes; Pink petals lie thick at my feet, Here in my garden of rose's.
Oh! come to my bower! My Queen! Sweet with the breath of the flow'rs; Shaded with curtains of green;-- Here let us dream through the hours.
The sky is unfleck'd overhead,-- Trees languish in Sol's fervid ray,-- The earth to the heavens is wed, And robin is piping his lay.
Lost is their sweetness upon me; Vainly their beauties displaying;-- Cheerless I wander, and lonely,-- Hoping and longing and praying.
Oh! come to me, Queenliest flower! Reign in my garden of roses; Humbly we bow to thy power, Loving the sway thou imposes.
Hark! 'Tis her tinkling footfall! Robin desist from thy singing; Mar not those sounds that enthrall,-- Faint as a fairy bell's ringing.
She cometh! My lily! my rose! Queenlier,--purer, and sweeter! Haste, every blossom that blows, Pour out your perfumes to greet her!
Panting she rests in my arms;-- Now is my bower enchanted! Essence of all this world's charms;-- My heart has won all that it wanted.
The Match Girl.
Merrily rang out the midnight bells, Glad tidings of joy for all; As crouched a little shiv'ring child, Close by the churchyard wall. The snow and sleet were pitiless, The wind played with her rags, She beat her bare, half frozen feet Upon the heartless flags; A tattered shawl she tightly held With one hand, round her breast; Whilst icicles shone in her hair, Like gems in gold impressed, But on her pale, wan cheeks, the tears That fell too fast to freeze, Rolled down, as soft she murmured, "Do buy my matches, please."
Wee, weak, inheritor of want! She heard the Christmas chimes, Perchance, her fancy wrought out dreams, Of by-gone, better times, The days before her mother died, When she was warmly clad; When food was plenty, and her heart From morn to night was glad.
Her father now is lying sick, She soon may be alone; He cannot use his spade and pick, As once he could have done. The workhouse door stands open wide, But should he enter there, They'd tear his darling from his side And place her anywhere. They'd call it charitable help, Though breaking both their hearts; But then, when in adversity Folks have to bear the smarts.
Some carriages go rolling by, Gay laughter greets her ears; She envies not their better lot, She only sheds more tears, And now and then a passing step, Will cause the tears to cease; As fainter, fainter, comes the plaint, "Do buy my matches, please."
Darker the sky, colder the wind,-- The bells are silent now;-- She creeps still closer to the wall, And sinks upon the snow. The sound of revelry no more Disturbs her weary ear, Sleep conquers cold and pain and grief;-- Oblivion shuts out fear. The snow drifts to the churchyard wall, The graves with white are spread; But those gray walls do not enclose All of the near-by dead.
The wind has ta'en the snowflakes, And gently as it might, Has spread a shroud o'er one more lost And hid it from the sight.
I would not wake her if I could, 'Twas well for her she died; Her spirit floated out upon The bells of Christmastide, She breathed no prayer, nor thought of Heaven,-- Her last faint words were these;-- As time merged in eternity, "Do buy my matches, please."
But surely angels would be there, To shield her from all harm; And in Christ's loving bosom, She could nestle and get warm.
The wifeless, childless, stricken man, Lies moaning in his pain-- "Come, let me bless thee e'er I die!" But she never came again.
De Profundis.
Down in the deeps of dark despair and woe;-- Of Death expectant;--Hope I put aside; Counting the heartbeats, slowly, yet more slow,-- Marking the lazy ebb of life's last tide. Sweet Resignation, with her opiate breath, Spread a light veil, oblivious, o'er the past, And all unwilling handmaid to remorseless Death, Shut out the pain of life's great scene,--the last.
When, lo! from out the mist a slender form Took shape and forward pressed and two bright eyes Shone as two stars that gleam athwart the storm, Grandly serene, amid the cloud-fleck'd skies. "Not yet," she said, "there are some sands to run, Ere he has reached life's limit, and no grain Shall lie unused. Then, when his fight is done, Pronounce the verdict,--be it loss or gain."
I felt her right hand lightly smooth my brow, Her left hand on my heart; and a sweet thrill Swept all the strings of being, and the flow Of a full harmony aroused the dormant will. Death slunk away, sweet Resignation paled, And Hope's bright star made all the future bright; The clouds were rent;--a woman's love prevailed, And dragged a sinking soul once more to love and light.
Angels there are who walk this troublous world, Whose wings are hid beneath poor mortal clay, Lest their effulgence to man's eyes unfurled, Might scare the timid-hearted ones away. The whispered word, the smile, the gentle tone, Love-prompted from a woman's heaving breast, Enforce her claim to make the world her throne, Beyond compare,--of all God's gifts the best.
Nettie.
Nettie, Nettie! oh, she's pretty! With her wreath of golden curls; None compare with charming Nettie, She's the prettiest of girls. Not her face alone is sweetest,-- Nor her eyes the bluest blue, But her figure is the neatest Of all forms I ever knew. But she has a fault,--the greatest That a pretty girl could have; When she's looking the sedatist, And pretending to be grave,-- You discover, 'spite of hiding, What I feel constrained to tell; That she knows she is a beauty,-- Knows it,--knows it,--aye, too well. May be when the bloom has vanished; Which we know in time it will; And her foolish fancies banished, May be, she'll be lovely still. For though Time may put his finger, On her dainty-fashioned face; There will still some beauty linger, Round her form so full of grace. And her heart,--the priceless treasure, Which so many long to win, Still shall prove a fount of pleasure, To the love that enters in. Pity 'tis that fairest blossoms Must in time fall from the tree; Pity 'tis that snow-white bosoms Must yield up their symmetry. Brightest eyes will lose their love-light, Fairest cheeks grow pale and gray;-- Golden locks will lose their sunlight, And the loveliest limbs decay. But whilst life is left we hunger For a taste of earthly bliss; But the man need seek no longer, Who can call sweet Nettie his.
The Dean's Brother.
A little lad, but thinly clad, All day had roamed the street; With stitled groans and aching bones, He beg'd for bread to eat.
The wind blew shrill from o'er the hili, And shook his scanty rags; Whilst cold and sleet benumbed his feet, As plodding o'er the flags.
The night drew on with thick'ning gloom,-- He hailed each passer by, For help to save, but nought they gave,-- Then he sat down to cry.
It was a noble portico, 'Neath which the beggar stept, And none would guess, one in distress There shiv'ring sat and wept.
But soon the door was open thrown,-- The Dean, a goodly man; Who lived within, had heard a moan, And came the cause to scan.
"Ah, little boy, what want you here, On such a bitter night? Run home at once, you little dunce, Or you'll be frozen quite."
The boy looked at his cheery face, Yet hid his own in dread; "I meant no harm, the place was warm, And I am begging bread;
"And if you can a morsel spare, I'll thank you, oh! so much, For all day long I've begged and sung, And never had a touch."
"Step in," then said the kindly man, "And stand here in the hall, You shall have bread, poor starving child, I promise you you shall."
And off he went, and soon returned With a thin, tempting slice, And little Jemmy dapt his hands And cried, "Oh, Sir, that's nice!"
"And what's your name, come tell me that?" "My name is Jimmy Pool." "And do you always beg all day Instead of going to school?
"And can you read, and can you write?" Poor Jimmy shook his head, "No, sir, I have to beg all day, At night I go to bed.
"My mother lays me on the floor, Upon a little rug; And I ne'er think of nothing more, When I'm so warm and snug.
"Sometimes I wake, and when I do, Unless it's almost day, She's always there, upon her chair, Working the night away.
"It isn't much that she can make,-- Sometimes I think she'd die, But for her little Jimmy's sake,-- There's only her and I."
"And do you ever pray, my boy?" "No, sir, I never tried, I never heard a praying word Since my poor Daddy died."
"Then let me teach you, little boy, Just come now, let me see,-- I know you'll manage if you try,-- Now say it after me.
"Our Father,"--"Our Father,"--"right," "That art in heaven," "go on!" Jimmy repeated every word, Until the prayer was done.
Then turning up his hazel eyes, Which questioning light shone through, He said, "that prayer sounds very nice,-- Is He your Father too?"
"Yes, He is mine as well as yours, And Lord of all you see." "Far as I know, if that be so, My brother you must be."
"Yes we are brethren, every one, All equal in His sight." "Well, I will _try_ to think so, sir, But I can't believe it _quite_.
"It seems so strange that you should be Akin to such as me, For you are rich, and great, and grand And I'm so poor you see."
"But it is true, my little lad, And if to Him you pray, He'll make your little heart feel glad,-- He'll turn you not away."
"Well, if that's so, I'll learn to pray, I'll take your kind advice,-- But if you are my brother, Give me just one thicker slice.
"And if He's Father of us all,-- Now, as I'm going home, From your big share perhaps you'll spare Your widowed sister some?"
The Dean's face wore a puzzled look, And then a look of joy; Then said, "'tis you the teacher are, I am the scholar, boy."
That night the widow's eyes were wet, But they were tears of joy,-- 'When she beheld the load of things Brought by her little boy.
And Jimmy danced upon the flags, And cried, "there's few have seen, And ever thought that in these rags, Stands brother to a Dean."
I Would not Live Alway.
"I would not live alway," Why should I wish to stay, Now, when grown old and grey, Enduring slow decay? When power to do has fled, 'Twere better to be dead-- The tree that's ceased to bear, Has no right to be there. Who cares to keep a bird Whose note is never heard? Yet many things abound, Encumbering the ground; Useless, unsightly wrecks, That only serve to vex The sight of those who boast All that those wrecks have lost.
If God gave me this life,-- Now, when worn out with strife, May I not give it back And move from out the track?
This world is not for drones! The right to live each owns; But he to earn that right Must work with all his might.
When power to do has fled, 'Twere better to be dead. The dog has had its day;-- "I would not live alway."
Too Late.
How should I know, That day when first we met, I Would be a day I never can forget? And yet 'tis so. That clasp of hands that made my heartstrings thrill, Would not die out, but keeps vibrating still? How should I know?