Autumn Leaves
Date: 2022-02-18T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: American poetry

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Title: Autumn Leaves

Author: Ardelia Maria Cotton Barton

Release date: February 18, 2022 [eBook #67436]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Press of Bruce Brough, 1908

Credits: Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUTUMN LEAVES ***

Autumn Leaves

Ardelia Maria Barton.

Ardelia M. Barton

San Francisco
1908

Copyright, by
Ardelia Maria Barton
1908

Press of Bruce Brough
San Francisco

Preface

Autumn Leaves was in the hands of the Publisher (Bruce Brough) at the time of the Great Fire of April, 1906, and not a single page of the original manuscript was saved. I could only recall a few titles, and a line or two here and there, not knowing though where they belonged. I began to rewrite on the 12th of June, 1908, and on the 12th of September, 1908, it was ready for publication. It has given me new courage, and by searching, perhaps you may find one leaf among my Autumn Leaves that you will feel was painted expressly for you, and is worthy to be pressed upon the tablet of your heart.

Ardelia Maria Barton

Dedication

TO MY MOTHER

Who ever watched with loving care
My childhood’s tender years.
She ever soothed my little woes,
And kissed away my tears.

She guided me o’er Life’s rough road,
And pointed out the snares,
And pitfalls that are e’er in life;
And all the many tares,

And brambles that beset Life’s paths,
And if I fell by way,
She helped me up with loving hands,
And tender words alway.

Contents

Page
Autumn Leaves | 1
Write | 2
Dreamland | 6
What Will The Harvest Be? | 8
We Know What The Harvest Will Be | 10
Meridian | 12
The Indian Lover’s Plea | 14
Winona’s Reply | 16
At Last | 18
The Awakening Of The Lillies | 20
Conquered | 25
The Water Spirit | 26
The World Is Asleep | 29
What Is The Future Of The Race? | 30
Love’s Path | 33
A Prayer | 34
Life’s Road | 37
Where Is Heaven? | 38
Destiny | 40
Why? | 43
Liberty | 44
My Soul and I | 46
Forsaken | 48
Farewell | 51
The Pebble’s Soliloquy | 52
An Angel’s Message | 54
The Race Of Life With Time | 56
“O Death Where Is Thy Sting?” | 59
The Mother’s Plea | 60
To A Friend | 63
Time Waits For No Man | 64
Tide Waits For No Man | 66
Freedom | 68
Reverie | 71
A Mohammedan’s Prayer | 72
Nature’s Plan | 74
The Sunbeam’s Wooing | 76
The Progression of The Rose | 78
All Life Hath Soul | 80
It Matters Not | 82
“What Is Man That Thou Art Mindful of Him?” | 84
As a Man Thinketh So Is He | 86
My Guests | 88
God Is Everywhere | 90
Dead Hopes | 92
Buried Hopes | 93
Love’s Message | 95
A Fable | 96
Deplore Not The Shadows of Life | 99
Love’s Garland | 100
Let Us Build Above The Stars | 103
Ghosts Of The Attic | 104
Not Yet | 107
Duty | 108
Life’s Plans | 111
Brotherhood of Man | 112
Man Defying The Dying Sun | 114
If There Is No Hereafter | 118
Love’s Song | 120
Forgive | 122
Forget | 123
Yesterdays | 124
Tomorrow | 125
Consolation | 126
The Dead Summer | 127
There Is A Rift In The Clouds | 128
To A Comet | 130
Love’s Dart | 131
Weeds | 132
The Blind Beggar’s Appeal | 134
The Threads of Life | 136
Memory’s Book | 138
Do Not Borrow Trouble | 140
Give Smiles, Not Tears | 142
Farewell To The Dying Year | 144
The Book Of Gifts | 146
Unkind Words | 147
Seek For The Good In Life | 148
Love’s Crown | 150
My Soul’s Desire and Destiny | 152
Incarnation | 155
Reincarnation | 156
Life’s Burdens | 159
To Mount Sierra | 160
Oft Poisoned Is The Wine Of Life | 162
The Game of Life | 164
“The Old, Old Story” | 166
The Ghost of Love | 168
I Shall Sing It Sometime | 170
When I Am Dead | 174
’Tis Folly To Be Wise | 177
The Old Oak’s Reverie | 178
Ingratitude | 181
Judge Not | 182
Our Virtues Are Carved Upon Our Tombstones | 184
Honor, Fame, or Love | 186
Courage | 188
Persevere | 190
Speak But Kind Words | 192
Vagary | 194
The Home Beautiful | 197
The Beatitudes | 198
Bury The Past | 200
To A Friend On Her Birth-day | 202
Have Ideals | 203
Selfishness | 204
Life Is Nothing Without Love | 207
The Century Flower | 208
Life’s Music | 210
Love’s Garden | 212
The Last Port | 214
Canst Tell Me | 216
The Soul Seeking For Perfection | 219
Life’s Thoughtlessness | 221
The Flower’s Prayer For Immortality | 223
Love’s Offering | 226
Love’s Acceptance | 228
Autumn Leaves | 230
Finale | 231

AUTUMN LEAVES.

The autumn leaves are like our lives,
They serve their purpose for a day,
They then return to mother Earth:
They come but to decay.

The trees are gaunt, gaunt sentinels,
Deprived of their warm dress.
They shiver in their nakedness,
And moan in their distress.

But, as with us, they live again,
Again have garments fresh and new,
And though they seem to die to earth,
Again their lives renew.

Again the joy of living comes,
And brighter now is their new life;
They had a season of sweet sleep,
And rest from worldly strife.

WRITE.

Republished by special request.

Take thy pen and write, O man!
Chronicle thy every thought;
Hath thy life been full of joy?
Hath this world all pleasure wrought?

If, before thou cam’st to earth,
Knowing what thou knowest now,
Free to choose to be, or not,
To life’s problems wouldst thou bow?

Wouldst thou think thy life a boon?
It with thankfulness accept,
Or wouldst say O Lord, me spare!
I must weep, for man hath wept.

Dost thou think that life is sweet?
Dost thou think its joys are more
Than its griefs and misery?
Hath thy bark ne’er touched bleak shore.

Stranded hath it never been?
Thy sweet hopes forever lost,
Wrecked thy bark on shoals by storm,
On rough sea of life been tossed?

Is the wind and tide with thee?
And is life without a tear?
Manned is bark with happiness?
Hath thy sky been ever clear?

Dost thou bless thy natal day?
Long’st thou not for day of death?
Art thou willing to live on
Blessing God that thou hast breath?

Then, to thee, is life a joy,
Blessed heritage of peace
Was bequeathed to thee by Love,
God gave unto thee the lease.

I will write in book of life,
Trace my thoughts with fadeless ink,
With a pen of gold will write;
Into hearts my words may sink.

Born to earth I wished it not,
Earth conditions knew not I,
E’en though filled with misery;
I will never question why.

I am here; will do my work,
Even though life stranded be,
E’en though storms beset my way,
Wrecked my ship on life’s rough sea.

Sunshine, aye, I look not for,
Wind and tide are often wrong
For my ship to leave its port;
Sad, yea mournful, is life’s song.

But I love, and I am loved,
Hope is strong within my heart,
Courage, too, I’ll stem life’s tide,
In the world do well my part.

Tears are shed. Then why should I
E’er from care and grief be free?
I must live, though oft I weep,
Do my work, what e’er it be.

Born of Love—O blessed thought!
Earth conditions I can bear;
God is Love, in Him I live,
Utter plaint I will not dare.

I will sail my ship of life,
Steer it over shoals and rocks,
Bring it safely into port,
It will bear all storms and shocks.

When, at last, Life’s dream is o’er,
Time—true censor—takes his flight,
Death, as Captain of my fleet,
In his Log my life will write.

DREAMLAND.

In our dreamland we are soaring
’Mong the stars, above the clouds,
Naught seems strange, our dress is moonlight;
Not one grief our heart enshrouds.

In this dreamland not one sorrow.
All the world is filled with joy.
There is naught but sweet contentment,
All is peace with no alloy.

’Mong the clouds we e’er are soaring,
All the heavens we control.
Stars, and planets, are our footstools
In the dreamland of the soul.

Butterflies are our companions,
Singing birds make love for aye.
Chariots are drawn by fire-flies;
And ’tis sunshine every day.

When we wake, our dreams all vanish.
We are in the work-day world.
We are simply common mortals;
From the uplands we are hurled.

Vanished now is shadowy dreamland;
Most prosaic is the dawn.
Chariots are common waggons,
Not by fireflies are they drawn.

There are clouds, and rain is falling.
Trouble meets us everywhere.
We must battle with conditions;
Many griefs we now must bear.

But we dream, e’en though not sleeping,
Nothing ever us debars,
Nothing seems to us unreal,
Though we soar above the stars.

WHAT WILL THE HARVEST BE?

We are sowing, we are reaping,
We are laughing, we are weeping
For the seeds we sow.

We are giving, we are hoarding,
Are withholding or dispersing
Broadcast o’er the land.

Are they thorns, or are they roses?
Are they weeds, or are they posies?
That we cull from life?

What confronts us at Life’s evening?
What will greet us on awaking?
Will it be Love’s flowers?

O the joy of loving, living,
If to others we are giving
Out of our heart’s store.

Let us do what is before us,
Not discouraged, not unhappy,
If some good we’ve done.

When we wake in the hereafter,
Is it tears, or is it laughter,
That will meet us there?

We shall sometimes be confronted,
And by phantoms shall be haunted—
Phantoms of our past.

Let no thought of dire deception
In our hearts have e’er inception,
Then not haunted we

By the ghosts of indiscretion,
By ill deeds and degradation.—
Let us all beware

Of temptations e’er surrounding,
And of evil e’er abounding.—
We must shun them all.

WE KNOW WHAT THE HARVEST WILL BE.

We plant a bright flower for the butterfly;
We plant a sweet flower for the bee.
We feed and we clothe the hungry and cold,
“We know what the harvest will be.”

We plant a good thought in some weary heart,
The thought that we plant goes to seed;
Increasing in strength full an hundred fold,
The thought will become a good deed.

A deed that will live in many a heart,
Will travel forever, and on;
Forgotten will never be words nor deeds;
They live and will thrive when we’re gone.

A well we may dig in a desert land,
Some traveler stops on the road,
And quenches his thirst in the living spring,
And lighter will now seem his load.

We may plant a tree, and its cooling shade
Will shelter some traveler worn,
And never from memory will it fade,
And never from heart can be torn.

In all of this life, ’tis the little things
That help and will cheer our lone way,
A sip of cold water, a little word,
Will many a sorrow allay.

And if in our hearts no envy doth reign,
From malice we ever are free,
Have nothing but love for even a foe;
“We know what the harvest will be.”

MERIDIAN.

’Tis twelve o’clock meridian.—.
My work is not half done.
Turn back the hands upon Life’s clock,
For it must not strike one.

’Tis twelve o’clock meridian,
Time faster, faster goes.
All heedless he of my distress,
Unheedful of my woes.

’Tis twelve o’clock meridian,
My life is now half gone,
’Tis useless to begin anew;
Anew life’s pages con.

’Tis twelve o’clock meridian,
Ambition now is gone.
I cannot take up stitches dropped;
My work cannot go on.

I’m tired and weary, will now rest,
Let time go on his way.
Life’s race is almost over now,
Time will not for me stay.

For wasted time now dead, and gone,
A requiem sad, time tolls.
All squandered hours, all work undone,
In winding-sheet he rolls.

THE INDIAN LOVER’S PLEA.

Winona! Winona! O list to my plea!
O why wilt thou leave me, O canst thou not see
How barren this world if deprived of thy love,
’Twas given to me by the Great Spirit above.

Winona! Winona! Return unto me—
From bonds of the white man O cut thyself free.
Thy heart is still mine, but the glitter of gold
Enticed thee away from thy lover of old.

The white man will weary of thee in a day,
Forsaken thou’lt be, dishonored for aye.
Thy beauty will fade, alas! for thee then!
Reviled, and dishonored, forsaken of men.

Forsaken, degraded, and then cast aside;
Dost think that the white man will make thee his bride?
My camp-fire is out, and my wigwam is cold,
The white man has won thee by the promise of gold.

I feel that I’ve loved thee in ages long gone,
Have fought for thy smiles, have always them won,
Winona dear heart, I will fight for them still,
Though broken thy troth, unbroken my will.

My arrows are broken, my bow is unstrung,
My powder-horn empty, on high it is hung.
Come back to the forest where we’ve wandered alone;
Come back to my wigwam, and I will condone

The sin of thy leaving, for thou didst not know
The wiles that the white man around thee couldst throw.
The white man will tire of thy beauty so rare,
His plaything thou’lt be, O Winona beware!

Return to thy lover before ’tis too late—
The love of an Indian is as strong as his hate.
Winona! Winona! this is my last plea!
Return unto me! O return unto me!

WINONA’S REPLY.

Oswega! Oswega! I’ll listen to thee—
Return to thee gladly, again will be free.
’Tis true, for a moment, the glitter of gold
Enticed my vain heart from my lover of old.

The white man so subtile flattered my pride—
He promised me honor for aye by his side.
I loved him not ever, ’twas only my pride
That caused me to waver, and leave thy dear side

I beg dear Oswega that thou wilt forgive,
And that in thy love-light again I shall live.
Yes, I will return to my lover so brave,
For home without love is as cold as the grave.

Yes, now dear Oswega I’ll come back to thee;
Though false I have seemed, I am true unto thee.
I will care for thy wigwam, will keep up thy fire,
Of thee my Oswega ne’er more will I tire.

I love thee Oswega, will love thee for aye—
’Twas but for a time that my heart went astray.
I’ll come to thy wigwam, will care for thy home,
And never again from my lover will roam.

Oswega! Oswega! my heart is as true
As thine is for me, and I bitterly rue
That vanity caused my heart to grow cold,
By flattering words and the glamour of gold.

The dream is now o’er, it was but for a day.
My vain heart was flattered, I could not say nay.
My beauty may fade, but I know that thy heart
Will ever be mine, and ne’er more shall we part.

AT LAST.

I struggle on blindly;
I know not the way,
I falter by wayside
Forever and aye.

I seek the right pathway,
’Tis hidden in gloom,
’Tis cold as the grave, and
As dark as the tomb.

So deep are the shadows
I see not the road,
My burden is heavy
I sink ’neath the load.

So long seems the journey;
O when will it end?
I’m tired, and weary,
’Neath burdens I bend.

No light in my pathway,
No hope in my soul.
My life seems a failure,
Far distant my goal.

I’ll rise from my languor,
And hope for the best.—
Now, clouds are dispelling,
I’ll come to my rest.

Though trials, and sorrows
Have e’er been my lot,
I’ll cast them aside now,
Life’s battles are fought.

I’ve gained in the battles,
All clouds will now break.
When journey is ended
In heaven I’ll awake.

THE AWAKENING OF THE LILIES.

Beneath the placid waters
A lily bulb had birth;
It slept in sweet reliance
In arms of mother earth.

In home beneath the waters,
It slept in calm repose;
With sweetness of the lily,
And beauty of the rose.

One morn the Sun looked downward,
And loving words he spake.
The lily bulb awakened
From dreams, beneath the lake.

A little bud shot upward
To meet the sun-god’s call,
It sent forth all its fragrance
Its lover to enthrall.

It sprang from out the waters,
And donned its pure white gown.
No sin defiled its beauty,
Its virtue was its crown.

The little bud then blossomed,—
So fragrant, pure and sweet,
The air was filled with fragrance,
And many stopped to greet

The pure white lily blossom
That on the water lay;
A ruthless hand then plucked it,
But threw it soon away.—

It faded, and then withered;
The earth was not its home;
It missed the sparkling water,
Nor wished from it to roam

Upon life’s turbid waters
A human flower was born.
As pure as water-lily,
With beauty of the dawn.

’Twas in a vine-clad cottage
Close by the lily’s home;
Where dwelt this pure young maiden,
Nor wished she e’er to roam.

To her there came a lover—
But soon he cast aside
The crushed and faded blossom
Who was his promised bride.

In lone, and dreary hovel
A weeping woman lay.
No loving hand to tend her,
And naught but shadows gray.—

She sinned in loving, trusting,
And what was her reward?
Dishonored, and forsaken,
No friend had she but God.

And in this lonely hovel
A little child was born.—
A little human lily
First saw the light of dawn.

Unheralded its coming,
Unwelcome was its birth.
This little human lily
Was born from out the earth.

It came without love’s greeting,
Its death caused not one tear;
’Twas born into conditions
That cost its mother dear.—

This child was pure and holy,
Though it was born of sin.—
Its heavenly father loved it,
So took it from the din

Of earthly cares and sorrows.
He took the mother too.
The child is with her sleeping,
No tears their grave bedew.

Together in one coffin
The human lilies lie;
Dishonored, and forsaken,
They blossomed but to die.

They lie upon the hillside.—
Some pitying hand now gave
A pure, white lily blossom,
To deck the outcasts’ grave.

CONQUERED.

I am beaten in the race of life,
Will acknowledge my defeat.
As I struggle on the uphill road,
Naught but failure do I meet.

I have fought the fight, have conquered been
At every stage of life.
For the battle is not for the weak;
Not fitted they for strife.

I must leave the battle ground of life
Where I have found but woe.
And at last will give the warfare up,
Lay down my arms to foe.

For “the race of life is for the swift,”
“The battle for the strong.”
And my place has been marked out for me
Among the defeated throng.—

THE WATER SPIRIT.

Beneath the wave tossed waters,
Upon the ocean bed;
There dwelt a water spirit,
To sea-king she was wed.

Years passed in happy wedlock,
And pledges to them came
Of love beneath the ocean;
For love is e’er the same.

They lived in sweet communion
Among their sea-weed flowers.
’Twas ever peace and gladness
Within their love-lit bowers.

One little spirit wandering
Away from childhood’s home—
Came into unknown waters,—
Beneath a coral dome,—

She heard a spirit teaching
A doctrine, new and strange;
She listened to his preaching,
And thought took wider range.

He told of other peoples
Who lived above the sea.
Of birds with brilliant plumage,
Who in the air were free.

To her this was awakening
From out a long, long sleep.
The soul was stirred within her,
To flowers of thought most deep.

Now to her home returning—
Dissension there arose;
Her former friends so loving,
Were now her bitter foes.

They cried to her “O heretic!”
You are forever lost,
Unless you pray to Neptune,
And not by doubts be tossed.

There is no God but Neptune,
There is no world but ours,
There are no stars, nor planets,
There are but sea-weed flowers.

And tilled with consternation
At everything she said—
They even feared pollution,
And from her they all fled.

Now e’en above the ocean
Some bigot there may be,
Who only prays to Neptune,
Who dwells beneath the sea.

He sees no beauty ever,
Except in his own flowers.
And if from him you differ,
Contumely on you showers.

THE WORLD IS ASLEEP.

Step softly for the world’s asleep
And when it wakes, it wakes to weep
O’er all the sins and dire mistakes
That it will see when it awakes.

O’er griefs and sorrows of the race,
Which all mankind must sometimes face.
O, world sleep on, ’tis better so
Than to awake and see the woe,

And burdens that mankind must bear;
The aching hearts aye filled with care.
In sleep you dream, and dream of peace;
From turmoil dire you have surcease.

Sleep on! Dream on! From care be free
Through time, and through eternity.
There is no rest, ’tis toil alway;
’Tis warfare, death, and then decay.

WHAT IS THE FUTURE OF THE RACE?

What is the future of the race?
I asked a little brook.
It laughingly replied to me
“I cannot stop to look.”

Then next I asked a gray old tree,
It shook with laughter too.
“Go ask the river, it may give
An answer unto you.”

The river stopped upon its course,
And unto me it said,
“Go ask the ocean, it is wise
And I shall soon him wed.”

The ocean seemed with anger filled,
But unto me replied,
“I have no time for foolish speech,
Do not delay my tide.”

The wind, in answer to my plea
A moment paused, to say,
“Go ask the sphinx, perhaps she knows,
And will your fears allay.”

I asked the sphinx, she seemed to smile,
I started back aghast;
She seemed to speak, I heard these words,
“I only know the past.”

I bowed before the placid stone,
And begged to know the past.
“The present is enough for you,
With all its questions vast.”

O tell me of the past I beg!
O do not it withhold
Sometime the future I shall know
It will to me unfold.

“O man why seekest thou to know
The future, or the past?
The present is enough for you,
If not with clouds o’er cast.”

The mountains seemed to pity me,
The clouds shed showers of tears,
The sun looked down in reverence,
And said: “Allay your fears,”

“For there’s a power that rules mankind,
E’er has and ever will.
The future, and the past, are His,
Are governed by His will.”

Then gazing at the works of God,
My thoughts seemed trivial, small,—
Why should I worry o’er the race?
When God is over all.

LOVE’S PATH.

Adown the many walks of life,
Though stormy be the weather,
We will clasp hands in confidence,
And walk Love’s path together.

When days are bright we’ll happy be,
And will not trouble borrow;
But do the very best we can
For clouds may come tomorrow.

Though life be filled with many cares,
If soul with soul is blending,
We’ll bear the cares most cheerfully.
Love hath with us no ending.

When Death shall come, as come he must,—
For life is short, and fleeting,
With outstretched hands and happy smile,
We’ll give him kindly greeting.

A PRAYER.

O Thou Almighty Presence—
O Thou Almighty Power—
No greater in the heavens,
Than in the smallest flower.

We bow to Thee in reverence,
We kneel to Thee in prayer.
We see Thee in the tiny weed,
We see Thee everywhere.

We know that we are ignorant,
And oftimes sinful are,
But we would keep thy every law,
No plan of Thine e’er mar.

For perfect are Thy mandates all,
And perfect every work,
And though we oft misunderstand,
We would no duty shirk.

Thou pitiest us, Thy children,
Wouldst teach us the right way
Wherein to walk, and what to do,
Wouldst teach us to obey

The law which Thou hast made supreme,
But if we disobey,
Thou still dost plead for our return
To straight and narrow way.

O God our Lord we reverence Thee!
And humble aye would be.
We love Thee ever, though we sin
Throughout eternity.

We know Thou art the only Power
Which reigns supreme on earth,
And though we many trials have,
We thank Thee for our birth.

We thank Thee for the blessings rich
That in our pathway lie.
We thank Thee e’en for tears we shed,
Thy love these tears will dry.

O help us Lord to do Thy work,
And bury self so deep,
That we shall every duty do,
And have no cause to weep.

And when we come into the home
That is prepared for us,
We’ll fitted be to dwell within
That home so glorious.

LIFE’S ROAD.

O the road seems long and devious
That our weary feet have trod,
Struggling, struggling, ever struggling,
Till we rest beneath the sod.

Dark and hidden is life’s pathway,
We have sought for it in vain;
But have fallen by the wayside,
Overcome by grief and pain.

And our feet are bruised and bleeding,
And life’s burdens are so great
That we fain would give up trying,
And be governed aye by fate.

All life’s road seems filled with shadows,
In despair we kiss the rod;
Then we see that road leads upward
From the depths, e’en up to God.

WHERE IS HEAVEN?

O where is heaven? cried a child.
Is it above, beyond the sky?
Is it above, beyond the clouds?
How shall I find it when I die?

O where is heaven? cried a youth.
It seems so far, so far away.
This world is such a weary waste
For Heaven’s peace I ever pray.

I long to know where heaven is,
Is it the place where angels dwell?
Is it the place where spirits go?
Can mortal man the place foretell.

I’ve searched in vain the place to find—
I’ve sought, I’ve searched for heaven’s door,
I cannot find one trace of it
In modern book, nor ancient lore.

We’re told that heaven is but for those
Who live a life all free from sin.
If this is true, there is no hope—
No one will ever heaven win.

O where is heaven? an old man cried.
Is it above the world’s fierce din?
“A still small voice” then spake to him
To find your heaven, O look within.

DESTINY.

When Destiny leads us
We have to obey.
No rest by the roadside;
No loitering by way.

She beckons us onward
With promise of peace;
Alluring us ever,
From bonds no release.

We struggle on blindly;
Obeying her call.
A shroud doth us cover,
’Tis Destiny’s pall.

The chains that aye bind us
Too strong are to break;
The fetters, and shackles
Are Destiny’s make.

So strong are these fetters
They bind us to earth.
Grim Destiny welded them
E’en before birth.

We rise from our bondage,
And try to be free;
But Fate is our gaoler,
She holds fast the key.

The prison is guarded,
No opening we see,
’Tis useless to struggle,
For helpless are we.

Yea, Destiny rules us;
A tyrant is she
Who keeps us in bondage,
When we would be free.

The warfare is ended.
Our colors are down.
We bow in submission,
And Destiny crown.

She now is our monarch,
On her we must lean,
Obeying her ever,
For she is our queen.

WHY?

Why should not we all understand
The laws of life, of living?
That everything in Nature’s works
Is sending forth, and giving.

She gives her life to help mankind,
She to the world gives beauty,
And it is given ungrudgingly,
And not because ’tis duty.

O let us try to emulate
Dear Nature in her giving,
Instead of thorns, give roses sweet;
Then life will be worth living.

Send loving thoughts out to the world,
Your cup returns o’erflowing;
You’ll find it holds no bitter dregs
If good you are bestowing.

LIBERTY.

A little dove impatient grew,
And weary of his bars.
He longed to break his prison bonds,
And soar among the stars.

He beat his wings against the bars,
And vainly tried to break
The door of his small prison house.
That freedom he might take.

For liberty he ever sought,
He did not love his home.
He ever wished that he was free
Around the world to roam.

The little dove most weary was;
Unhappy and distraught.
O why should he a prisoner be?
For liberty he fought.

But all in vain, he could not break
The bars that held him fast.
The future seemed as dark to him
As had been all his past.

At last with broken, bleeding wings,
He fell to earth in death.
For freedom sweet, for liberty,
He cried with his last breath.

MY SOUL AND I.

My soul and I a warfare waged,
Which had the right of way?
Precedence was a law laid down,
Which one should it obey.

I claimed that I was first on earth,
My soul put in the plea
That I was but the home for him;
He claimed eternity.

We argued long, and earnestly,
But argued all in vain.
Each one was sure that he was right,
No point did either gain.

So worn was I with argument
I closed my eyes to earth.
How long I slept I do not know.
I wakened to new birth.

I looked around for my lost soul—
Had it the victory won?
I looked within, and then I found
My soul and I were one.

Were one on earth, are one in heav’n,
The body is not I,
’Tis but the garment of the soul,
And in the grave must lie.

But soul lives on, forever on,
’Tis even one with God;
It permeates all life, all space,
Arising from its clod

A spirit of the universe,—
A light which never dies.
For soul is all creation,
And in the grave ne’er lies.

FORSAKEN.

They say that thou art false to me.
It is not true, it cannot be.
I loved thee once, I love thee yet;
O dearest! canst thou me forget?

I loved thee e’en when first we met,
And even now do not regret
The love for thee that fills my heart.
Wilt thou O dearest from me part?

O hath another won thy heart?
Must I alone endure the smart
That cometh from thy broken vow?
If I must suffer, so must thou.

The past is dead, and buried deep,
For thee my love I can but weep.
Though sad the day that first we met,
That past, for me, holds no regret.

E’en though thou lov’st another now,
Again thou’lt break thy troth, thy vow.
Thy fickle heart e’er fickle be
Through time, and through eternity.

Thou seemest not so happy now,
As when to me thou mad’st thy vow
That sometime thou wouldst be my bride,
And thy dear self to me confide.

The memory of that past is dear,
Though lying on sad memory’s bier.
And now farewell, “I love thee still,
Against my wish, against my will.”

The future holds no joy for me
If I am parted dear from thee.
Farewell! Farewell! I give thee up.
The dregs of life I now must sup.

But loving thee, I can forgive.
Without thy love, I cannot live.
Alone, forsaken, and bereft,
There’s naught on earth for me now left.

Farewell! farewell! our past is dead,
All happiness from me hath fled.
The dreary future must be met;
I find that I can not forget.

I think that thou wilt love me dear,
When I am dead, and o’er my bier
Thou bendest down to look at me.
My heart will then from grief be free.

FAREWELL.

My lover of the past, farewell!
I do not thee regret;
For thou hast proven false to me,
And I will thee forget.

I would not turn the wheel of time,
Thy recreant love to gain;
For having once been false to me,
Thou wouldst be false again.

My love a plaything was to thee,
’Twas only for a day;
When weary of the love I gave,
’Twas cast by thee away.

My lover of the past, farewell!
I grieve not for thee now.
When trust is gone, love follows soon
Upon a broken vow.

THE PEBBLE’S SOLILOQUY.

Though but a pebble on the shore of time,
I feel my mission is sublime.
Though man may tread me ’neath his careless feet—
With scornful look will e’er me greet—

I have my place, no one that place can fill;
I live, and do my Master’s will.
There is a power that lies within my heart—
I must live on, and do my part.

I am a part of God—His loving thought,
And for some purpose I was wrought.
Naught else on earth could fill the pebble’s place.
To mountains grand my life I trace.

I will arise above my low estate,
And with the angels even mate.
I feel, I know, a pebble hath a soul,
And heaven is its right, its goal.

God put me here, so why should I complain?
I know I was not made in vain.
To you the song of ages I can sing.
Sweet flowers, in time, will from me spring.

And what is man? A pebble on Life’s strand—
With me, God holds him in His hand.
And e’en from me deep lessons he can learn.
To dust his body will return.

’Tis true he claims a soul, and so do I;
For soul is God, and God doth in me lie.
All that hath life, hath soul I do avow.
With love, all things God doth endow.

I have ambition, and some day will rise
To meet my God beyond the skies.
For everything on earth, or in the sea
Hath part in God, and immortality.

NOTE.

From the criticism of a friend, I am led to explain myself in regard to this poem (The Pebble) and some others. What is soul? That which lives forever—Well, a pebble disintegrates, and vegetation springs up from it. Vegetation supports the lower forms of life, which in turn support the higher, from atom up to God. Life is not matter, though in all matter—Life, Soul, goes on through all eternity. God is in everything that he has created; therefore, everything has soul.

AN ANGEL’S MESSAGE.

“Make merry,” cried the king, “drive care away.
I would not think of crown nor nation now.
The gayest of the gay I fain would be,
I would that none today before me bow.”

“Today I would as humblest subject be,
And I would even know the want of food.
A vision was vouchsafed to me this morn,
Methinks an angel by my bedside stood.”

“And one by one he placed before mine eyes
My subjects poor, who live in direst need,
Whilst I, in thoughtless rioting have dwelt.
And not of them have ever taken heed.”

“Make haste and send swift couriers o’er the land,
Through every hamlet, and through every town.
Henceforth my scepter shall be love to all,
And justice evermore shall be my crown.”

“Instead of pomp and pageantry, I will
Hereafter seek to know my subjects all;
Henceforth I’ll be a king in very sooth,
And none need fear upon their king to call.”

“A monarch I will be of stricken hearts;
Loud hallelujahs through my kingdom ring,
For nevermore shall Hunger stalk abroad,
A dark, dark blot upon the title, King.”

“Swift justice shall be meted out to all;
Mine eyes are opened now.—I have been blind
To all the misery that around me lay,
All heedless of the sufferings of mankind.”

“So, merry be, for I have found my soul,
And Love is now the watchword of your king.
Rejoice, and be exceeding glad, henceforth.
Glad tidings now to all my people bring.”

THE RACE OF LIFE WITH TIME.

Life and Time once ran a race
O’er hills of sorrow and despair.
Life often halted by the way
For he had many ills to bear,
But Time went on, and on, and on.

Poor Life oft weary was, and worn.
Oft fell at Time’s unflagging feet.
But rose again with strength renewed,
And valiantly old Time did greet.
Who still went on, and on, and on.

Though Life oft blinded was by tears,
Discouraged he could never be.—
While Time rushed on to win the race;
Life’s work was for eternity.
Yet Time still onward went his way.

Life cried, O tarry, father Time!
One moment stop in thy mad race;
There is so much that I must do,
So many problems yet to face.
Time took no heed, but still rushed on.

Life often staggered ’neath his load,
And ever begged that Time would stay.
But Time, with scorn upon his brow
Rushed faster, faster on his way.
Went madly on, and on, and on.

Time had precedence in the race,
And to Life’s pleadings paid no heed.
He cared not for Life’s weariness,
Nor would one point to him concede.
But still went on, and on, and on.

O Time! cried Life, one moment pause!
O stay one moment in your flight,
For I am weak, the road is rough;
Too soon, too soon comes death’s dark night.
Still Time went on, and on, and on.

Time went his way, nor heeded he
That Life was weary, worn, distressed.
Life’s burdens all too heavy were;
At every dawn Time was refreshed,
With courage new went on his way.

But Life still struggled bravely on,
With patience bore his heavy load,
And though he often fell by way
Upon the weary upward road,
Time took no heed, but still went on.

Life begged, implored that Time would halt,
But Time ne’er tarried on Life’s way;
But when Life wept, with pitying hand
Time stopped to wipe the tears away,
And then went on, and on, and on.

At last Time seemed to fall behind—
Then Life with joy increased his pace.
Time laughed with almost fiendish glee,
He knew that Life would lose the race,
While he would still go on, and on.

Poor Life gave up the fight at last,
He laid his burdens down and died.
But still with agonizing voice
With his last breath to Time he cried.
Time took no heed, but still went on.

O DEATH WHERE IS THY STING?

The world will still go on its course
When we have passed away.
Not e’en one ripple on Life’s waves
There’ll be for e’en one day.

How vain and fleeting is all life,
’Tis but a little breath.
’Tis but a smile, and then a tear,
And then to us comes death.

We have high hopes at life’s bright morn,
Alas! they fade by noon.
They fade, they wither, fall to earth,
And death is then a boon.

Yet over all our dead, dead hopes,
We joyfully will sing:
“O Grave where is thy victory?
O Death where is thy sting.”

THE MOTHER’S PLEA.

It is my little baby,
Now lying fast asleep.
Her brow with wrinkles furrowed.—
O angels guard and keep
My precious, precious baby.—
For her I’d gladly die
To save her life from sorrow,—
For grief is ever nigh.

Now ope thine eyes my baby,
And gaze thou into mine.
If thou dost love me darling,
Thine arms around me twine.
I loved thee O my baby
Before thou camst to earth.
I longed for thy dear coming,
I longed for baby’s birth.

Thou wert a gift from heaven,
And selfishly I cling
To thee my precious baby.
No sorrow dost thou bring.
Dost know that ’tis thy mother
That’s speaking to thee now?
If so, the little wrinkles
Will vanish from thy brow.

Look up to me my baby,
And put thy hands in mine.
Dost thou not know, my precious!
That for thy love I pine?
Was’t kind in me, thy mother
To give to thee earth-life?
With all of its wild turmoil,
And all of its fierce strife.

If life shouldst be a burden,
No joy in it for thee,
Will future life repay thee?
And I forgiven be?
Will heaven be compensation
For all of earthly care?
Wilt thou forgive thy mother
For all that thou must bear?

In vain is all my pleading—
Alas! it is too late,—
For thou must bear life’s burdens,
And thou must meet thy fate.—
But, angels guard, and keep thee,
This is thy mother’s prayer.
At last to heaven take thee;
To meet thy mother there.

TO A FRIEND.

O thou fair daughter of a northern clime!
To thee, dear heart, I dedicate my rhyme.
Dost know that life to thee shouldst be sublime?

Though thou hast many problems yet to face,
Thou wilt not fall, nor falter in the race.
Nor e’en the smallest thing in life debase.

“New England” blood is coursing through my veins,
No evil deed, nor thought, thy pure heart stains.
Thy life is melody,—not sad refrains.—

In brightest life, some shadows there will be.
If thou dost bear these shadows cheerfully,
The clouds will break, and sunshine come to thee.

Not having burdens of thine own to bear,
Thou must be willing others’ griefs to share,
There are enough for all, and some to spare.
If this thou doest uncomplainingly
Thou wilt be blest throughout eternity.

TIME WAITS FOR NO MAN.

O father Time one moment tarry!
I have so much, so much to do,
And death will find my work unfinished,
For every day brings something new.
O Time, dear Time, what doth it matter?
A month, a year, is naught to thee,
But hours, minutes, even seconds,
To me doth make eternity.

Much time I feel that I have squandered;
So many hours, so many years.—
The misspent time that now confronts me
Will ever cause me bitter tears.
Life is so sweet when breaks the morning,
But groweth bitter by the noon;
By night I am so worn and weary,
E’en death doth seem to me a boon.

O Time give back my happy childhood,
And I will bless thee ever, aye;
My every task with joy performing;
And not from duty will I stray.
E’en Time seemed filled with deepest pity,
But cried, “O man, it is too late
To save the years that thou hast squandered;
So I must leave thee to thy fate.”

“Farewell O man! I must not tarry;
Long years ago my work began.
In vain, in vain is all thy pleading
For Time and Tide wait not for man.”
Farewell then Time, farewell for ever;
For there is naught but death for me.
A slave I have been to thee ever,
But now, in dying, I am free.

TIDE WAITS FOR NO MAN.

O Tide, O Tide, just wait one moment,
My ship is not prepared to sail;
She must be manned with sailors trusty,
Equipped to meet the coming gale.
It turned, and looking back a moment,
In angry waves this speech began:
“I cannot listen to thy pleading,
I cannot wait for any man.”

It turned and left me at my mooring,
And seemed to mock my earnest plea:
“Too long already I have tarried
On my long journey to the sea.”
Again it turned, and looking backward,
Derisively thus spoke to me;
“Thy words to me are vain and useless,
No longer will I list to thee.”

And yet he seemed to have some pity,
With kindness spake again to me.
“O man why art thou so persistent?
My work has been mapped out for me;
Was given to me by my Creator,
In æons past my work began.
I must no longer to thee listen,
I must not wait for any man.”

“Farewell O man! Farewell forever!
Dost thou not know that I am free?”
And waving me a bright good morning,
The Tide then hastened to the sea.
Alone I stood upon Life’s landing,
The waves to me this message bore:
“Thou needst no longer by me loiter.”
They then receded from the shore.

Upon Life’s shoal I now was stranded;
Alone, forsaken evermore.
All hope had with the Tide receded,
Life’s ship was left upon the shore.

FREEDOM.

The prisoned bird doth oftimes sing
Behind its prison bars;
But sweeter far its song would be
If carolled to the stars.

Just ope his door, he flies aloft,
The hills with music ring.
Exultant notes of melody
The bird when free, will sing.

When once is gained his liberty,
Each day new joys to meet,
He looks not back to prison home,
His freedom is so sweet.

No morsel giv’n, no word of love
Will tempt him back to cage.
Though he may often lack for food,
He now hath freedom’s wage.

And so with soul, when once ’tis free,
It sings sweet notes of joy;
Loud hallelujahs will send forth,
In them is no alloy.

When once the soul escapes its bonds
To soar above the stars,
Has broken chains, and freedom gained,
It ne’er goes back to bars.

It soars aloft, a happy soul,
E’en to bright heaven’s dome.
Emancipated it is now
From narrow gilded home.

Then soul be free from error’s chain,
And break the bars that bind
You to your prison cell so dark;
Then freedom you will find.

No more you’ll sup on prison food,
Contented with a crumb
That falls to you from gaoler’s hand,
To truth forever dumb.

When once the soul its prison leaves,
It finds such sweet relief
In knowing that the truth it hath,
Instead of a belief.

REVERIE.

I am sitting in the gloaming,
Sipping honey from Life’s flowers;
Gathering sweetness for the future;
I will store it in Love’s bowers.

Nothing bitter will I gather
To confront me by and by.
Though dark clouds are overhanging,
Shining is the sun in sky.

All the little clouds, and shadows
I will drive from out my heart;
For I love the sunshine better,
From no sunbeam will I part.

Though the raindrops may be falling,
Though the day is dark and drear;
It will clear before Life’s evening,
And Life’s sun again appear.

A MOHAMMEDAN’S PRAYER.

Thou art Allah, God divine,
And we bow before Thy shrine.
Humbly bend to Thee in prayer.
Thou my God art everywhere.

Thou hast willed th’ stars into space,
Everywhere we see Thy face.
In sidereal spaces grand
Worlds were fashioned by Thy hand.

Thou art Maker, Ruler, King;
Of Thy praises we will sing.
Allah great, O Allah good!
By Thy side we once have stood.

We are part of Thee, O Lord,
Though we sprang from ’neath the sod.
By Thy side we still would stand,
Guided by Thy loving hand.

There couldst never heaven be
But for immortality.
Thou dost need our helping hand
Even in Thy heavenly land.

Man was fashioned from the dust,
But his soul doth in Thee trust;
And will rise to Thee at last,
Not forgetting though, its past.

Man, from ages hath come down,
And in future Thou wilt crown
Him immortal, part of Thee;
Absorbed in Love, in Deity.

NATURE’S PLAN.

I am a part of Nature’s plan,
A part of her great work;
And incomplete would be all life
Should I my duty shirk.

I am a thread in Nature’s web,
If stitch is dropped by me,
The fabric most imperfect is,
Will not accepted be.

I am a stone the builder needs,
No other stone will do;
Nor structure ever finished be
For naught will do in lieu.

For I was fitted for the place,
Was taken from the earth,
And cut to fill this vacancy,
E’en at my very birth.

There is a leaf in Nature’s book
That is reserved for me,
And I must write my name thereon,
No blank in book must be.

I am a drop in Life’s great sea.
A drop seems very small;
But drops of water, grains of sand
Are worthy of God’s call.

I am a little candle light
That throws its beams—not far,
Yet lighting up the space around
E’en as a little star.

I may be but a common weed,
But weeds, in time, are flowers,
And are a part of Nature’s plan
To beautify God’s bowers.

THE SUNBEAM’S WOOING.

A fickle sunbeam fell in love
With a little flower;
He scattered sunshine in her path,
And tarried in her bower.

The little flower returned his love,
Her heart was filled with pride
To be the chosen flower of love;
To be the sun-god’s bride.

For bridal robe on wedding day
She chose her richest gown,
And donned a veil of sunshine bright,
And dew-drops for her crown.

Then up the aisle of sunbeams swept,
A queen of beauty she.
The sunbeam never brighter was.
In gorgeous dress was he.

Most proud he was of his fair bride,
So beautiful, and pure;
And thought, as he had found his mate,
His love would aye endure.

But sunbeams are not always true.
In glancing round one day,
He saw another little flower,
And by her wished to stay.

His chosen bride deprived of love,
Soon faded, withered, died.
A poor forsaken flower of earth
For love now vainly cried.

Alas for her! His love had cooled;
He hid behind a cloud.
He hid his face from his first love
Her bridal veil was shroud.

THE PROGRESSION OF THE ROSE.

The rose, when born, was purest white,
And of her beauty never thought.
The sun began to smile on her,
Then a great change in her was wrought.

The sun looked down admiringly.
She of her beauty ’gan to think;
Some one in passing, gave her praise,
And she then blushed a rosy pink.

The moss-rose next sprang into life,
With beauty rare, and fragrance sweet.
So modest was this little rose,
The public gaze she feared to meet.

She was so timid, and so shy,
She hid her face in veil of green;
It was a crown of beauty rare,
More beautiful had never queen.

She longed though for companionship.
She wished full oft to tell her woes.
So chose a mate among the flowers,
And then became a bridal rose.

She now ambitious was to rise,
And with disdain looked on the earth;
She then sent many tendrils out,
And then the climbing rose had birth.

She now was filled with greatest pride,
And struggled hard to reach the skies,
But Nature sent her edict forth
That she no higher e’er should rise.

The rose with anger now was filled,
For glancing down upon her bed,
She saw a worm coiled ’mong her roots,
And then she turned an angry red.

And now was born the bright red rose,
And though its beauty came from hate.
No one disputes its right to reign
A royal queen in regal state.

ALL LIFE HATH SOUL.

The running brook is never straight;
A pebble oft will change its course;
A tiny twig, a little sand
Is oft to it sufficient force
To send it dancing on its way
To reach its home, the sparkling sea.
So with our lives, from birth to death,
We’re struggling ever to be free.

A little word, a little thought
Will change our course, will change our way.
For life doth run in devious paths,
E’en tiny twig it must obey.
Alas! Our soul wings have been bound,
Or we would soar beyond the clouds;
And know the destiny of man,
And why a pall his life enshrouds.

We’re reaching up to even God.—
For we would know life’s meaning now;
Free from the shard that binds our thoughts,
And if with soul, God doth endow
The lower animals as we.
And if all life hath mind, hath soul?
Whatever God hath made, hath life,
And mind doth ever life control.

All living things; the trees, the flowers,
The ocean, mountain, and the sea;
The pebbles on the ocean beach,
And also grass upon the lea.—
We are as sand upon Life’s hill,
And but as grass, we live and grow,
“Tomorrow in the oven cast;”
For Death each day the grass doth mow.

IT MATTERS NOT.

What matters it what we may think,
Or what is our belief;
’Tis worthless straw thrashed o’er and o’er,
No wheat is in the sheaf.

’Tis what we are, ’tis what we do
That makes of life a song.
We may believe that black is white,
And though we are quite wrong:

It matters little to the world;
For we are as a drop
Of water in Life’s ocean broad;
Life’s tide will never stop

To see if we are in our place,
Or what we mean to do;
It comes, and goes without our help,
Would not our death e’en rue.

We are of little consequence,
Although perhaps we think
The world would be a barren waste,
If we perchance should sink

Beneath the waves of Life’s great sea.
Or on its shores be tossed.
But not a ripple would there be
E’en though our lives were lost.

The world would e’er go on the same.
Life’s tides would come and go;
Regardless of our happiness,
Regardless of our woe.

And yet we have our little place,
That little place is ours.
None other could our life work do,
Nor pluck for us Life’s flowers.

“WHAT IS MAN THAT THOU ART MINDFUL OF HIM?”

O man with all thy knowledge,
Dost know what brought thee here?
Dost know the law of living?
To die is not more drear
Than living on uncertain
Of what the future state.
Is death annihilation?
Is it to be our fate?

O th’ myst’ry of our coming!
From what were we evolved?
O th’ myst’ry of our going!
Will it be ever solved?
We’re filled with dark forebodings,
We know not what our end.
Is there a power that governs?
If so, we to it bend.

Shall we e’er know the myst’ries,
The problems that we meet
At every stage of living;
With fear we e’er them greet.
What may be in the future?
The present we deplore.
The past hath been a failure,
With shadows e’er before.

An angel heard my questions,
And sorrowed at my fears.
“O know that God is mindful
Of man; though it appears
That man is aye complaining,
Not trusting to the Power
That gave to him existence,
And blessings on him shower.”

“AS A MAN THINKETH SO IS HE.”

So think no evil, if not evil thou wouldst be,
For as thou thinkest, so wilt thou e’en be.
If hate thou thinkest, hate will thee control.
If love thou thinkest, love will fill thy soul.

If seeking ill, ill in thy friend thou’lt find.
If seeking good, to good thou wilt him bind.
Instead of seeking in thy friend for sin,
O turn a retrospective glance within.

For what thou seekest thou wilt surely find,
For good, or evil is in thine own mind.
For as thou thinkest, thou wilt surely be
Then seek for good, and happier thou wilt be.

Mayhap thy friends may evil think of thee,
Then look within, and shocked thou mayest be
At thine own faults, and then some good may’st see
In friend or foe, whichever he may be.

Before thou censurest friend, it doth behoove
Thee to correct thyself; thy ways improve.
Thou’lt find thyself no better than thy friend,
And thinking good, thy conduct will amend.

Love’s search-light turn upon thy bitterest foe,
And thou mayst find in him such utter woe
That all thy anger mayst then turn to love,
And gentle be thy thoughts as gentlest dove.

And thou shouldst study self with greatest care;
Though heart mayst seem most pure, some fault is there.
The faults in others, thou shouldst aye condone,
If thou art perfect, thou mayst cast a stone.

MY GUESTS.

Cold Wisdom was a guest of mine;
But Pleasure came one day,
And she, with almost fiendish glee
Drove Wisdom far away.

I tried to call chill Wisdom back;
Alas! it was too late.
She never could an entrance gain
With Pleasure at my gate.

And so with recklessness I gave
Myself to Pleasure’s call.
She led me such a merry chase,
I soon seemed past recall.

Then Pleasure seemed to tire of me,
And left me worn, distraught.
She left me for a fresher field,
And never gave one thought

To me, nor to my previous life;
She’d other things to do;
For she had other lives to wreck,
Had work in pastures new.

For Pleasure has no conscience e’er.
She cares not who may fall
So long as she doth have her way,
Her victims to enthrall.

One need not treat her with disdain,
Nor drive her far away.
She often is a welcome guest,
If Wisdom too doth stay.

Companions they may even be.
Though ’tis not always wise
For Pleasure to take foremost rank,
Though decked in royal guise.

GOD IS EVERYWHERE.

God guides us o’er the barren wilds,
And o’er the waters still;
He guides us in all walks of life
If we but do His will.

Is with us in the sunshine bright,
And in the falling rain;
And God is in the pastures green,
And in the growing grain.

And He is in the fragrant flower,
And in the smallest weed;
Is in our every thought, and act,
Is in our every deed.

He dwells upon the mountains high,
He dwells upon the lea;
He made, and rules the ocean grand.
He dwells upon the sea.

Through ignorance we oftimes sin,
God loves us though we fall;
He helps us to arise again,
Does ever on us call.

’Tis vain to mourn, ’tis vain to weep,
And we should feel, should know
That life is not a funeral dirge,
That life is not all woe.

And we must live for others’ weal;
Of evil e’er beware.
And we must love, and we must trust;
For God is everywhere.

DEAD HOPES.

When Love was young, and in his prime,
And in deception not yet skilled,
I found that guile was in his heart,
E’en as with saw-dust dolls were filled.

Alas! Though sad the lesson was,
And with the deepest misery fraught;
The lesson has not been in vain,
Though ’tis experience dearly bought.

I had a loved, and trusted friend,
But when I found she was untrue,
I plucked her image from my heart;
No more for friendship will I sue.

Today Love pleads to me in vain;
For nevermore shall I him trust.
When once deception comes to us,
Dead hopes henceforth are only dust.

BURIED HOPES.

I found a slight flaw in a diamond,
And now it is worthless to me;
Though the gem is as brilliant as ever,
Henceforth ’tis the flaw I shall see.

I had a dear friend most enticing,
Her life seemed so pure unto me;
I found a slight fault in her living,
That fault evermore I shall see.

I stood by the grave of a loved one,
The world seemed so drear, and so cold;
No hope in my heart, and the future
No promise of peace did unfold.

I had a belief in my girlhood,
Essential it seemed unto me;
But now my belief seems a phantom;
From bigotry now I am free.

Alas for the hopes of our childhood;
They blossom, then wither and die,
Are buried full deep in Love’s coffin;
The grave is so cold where they lie.

We cherish our hopes for a moment,
A will-o’-the-wisp they oft are,
Dark phantoms eluding us ever,
And often our lives they will mar.

I seek for the truths, and truth only.
All error henceforth I decry,
And hid in the grave of oblivion
Full deep in that grave must e’er lie.

LOVE’S MESSAGE.

I sent thee a message my darling,
Across the great highway of thought.
Transmitting my love to thy keeping;
Thy soul must the message have caught.

Receiving it into thy being,
Absorbing my love into thine.
When hearts are once truly united,
The love of their souls is divine.

And life is a heaven created
By love, the great Ruler of all,
And love is the message He sendeth;
It lightens life’s heaviest pall.

Send love to thy friend and thy neighbor.
Send love to thy bitterest foe.
It costs thee not even one farthing.
Love’s coin we can always bestow.

A FABLE.

A mother mouse with mien most humble
Called to her children—one and all—
Revealed to them her sins so many,
That o’er her heart hung like a pall.

“I must my sins be expiating
Before my life draws to an end.
To convent holy, I will enter,
And my past sins will there amend.”

“O do not seek me! Do not follow!
Where I am, seek not to know.
Take heed my children to my warning,
For it will save you pain and woe.”

“Farewell! Farewell! I now must leave you,
Of my advice O pray take heed;
And do not follow my example,
To grief it surely will you lead.”

When left alone the little mouselets
Were very happy for a while;
For mice, like children, are forgetful,
They soon forgot their mother’s guile.

They hopped around, all rules forgetting,
Until their hunger made them think
Of their dear mother, their provider,
Their eyes with tears then ’gan to blink.

“O let us search for our dear mother;
She may be hungry, cold, or dead.
O we will never give up hunting,
Though we may die with her instead.”

They searched for her in every corner,
In every crevice, every nook.
But searched in vain, they could not find her:
So thought no further they would look.

But they a big round cheese discovered;
It long upon a shelf had lain.
“Forsooth we’ll take a little breakfast,
Our search has not been all in vain.”

All their past searching they found needless;
For snugly housed within the cheese
They found their poor repentant mother,
With conscience very much at ease.

Forgotten was their mother’s teaching,
And all that she for them had borne,
They only thought of her example,
And for her sins they could but mourn.

If you have sins my friends to mourn for,
Seek not a cheese to hide within.
For surely someone will be seeking,
And finding cheese, will look therein.

DEPLORE NOT THE SHADOWS OF LIFE.

Our lives are rounded out by pain,
And though it oft doth seem
That we have more than we can bear,
Through it we catch a gleam

Of light celestial from on high;
The angels speak sweet words
Of hope, and peace, encouragement,
Their loving care engirds

Our weary, worn, and saddened hearts,
And though not understood
While here on earth, we know full well
Our lives, by God are viewed.

E’en though in life are many clouds;
There is some sunshine too;
Then store the sunshine you may have
And shadows not pursue.

LOVE’S GARLAND.

We will weave Love’s sweetest garland,
Fit to deck a monarch’s brow,
We will hide the thorns with roses,
And before Love’s throne will bow.

We will strive to make all happy,
And will never duty shirk.
Never loiter by life’s wayside,
Ne’er in heart shall malice lurk.

We are sowing, ever sowing—
Soon the harvest we shall reap;
We are planting for the morrow.
Deeds will ripen while we sleep.

We may harvest richest blessings,
Or may gather thorns instead.
We may place Love’s choicest garland
On some tired and drooping head.

If an unkind word we utter,
We shall make some poor heart sad.
If we give a cup of water,
It will make some faint heart glad.

We may often light life’s pathway
With the candle of our love,
And its beams will shine forever
In the heaven we make above.

We may bring a ray of sunshine
Where before was darkest cloud.
And with flowers hide a coffin,
And may cover up the shroud.

We can give a smiling welcome,
We can send out loving words;
E’en our tears may comfort some one
Showing that our love engirds,

And surrounds him as a garland
Woven by Love’s tireless hands;
Woven from Love’s sweetest blossoms,
Love translated in all lands.

We are gathering joy or sorrow
In our every walk of life.
We are sowing, we are reaping,
Sowing peace, we reap not strife.

We may garner, we may scatter
Many blessings on life’s road.
We may help to carry burdens,
We may help to lift the load

From our weaker brother’s shoulders
From our weary sister’s way,
We may cast a ray of sunshine
O’er some dark and stormy day.

LET US BUILD ABOVE THE STARS.

Let us build above the stars,
We are able to thus build,
There is nothing that debars
Us from ever doing so.

Though foundation be the earth;
Have the corner-stone well laid;
If it grounded was at birth,
We can rest our pillars there.

Have our plans all drawn with skill,
And have God as architect.
We must ever do His will,
And must trust Him ever, aye.

Even though we fall to earth
With the plans that God has made.
What we’ve gained, to us is worth
All the efforts we have made.

GHOSTS OF THE ATTIC.

Memory takes me back to childhood
To my home upon a hill;
I am sitting in the attic,
Memories cause my heart to thrill.

Now the rain is dropping, dropping,
Softly dripping from the eaves,
And the wind is sighing, moaning
A sad dirge for dying leaves.

In the attic there are hanging
Herbs of catnip, sage, and mint;
Filling all the air with fragrance,
While the sunbeams throw a glint

Through the tiny attic windows,
Then they rest upon a chest;
And this chest seems almost sacred,
For beneath its lid doth rest

A small package of old letters
Tied with ribbon once so blue;
And the love that is within them
Oft though told, is ever new.

Faded now the ink, and ribbon,
And the letters yellow are;
But the words which there are written
Father Time can never mar.

They were written by my father,
Every word was tender, true,
They were love notes to my mother,
Even now when brought to view
(Though the ink is faded, yellow,)
To my eyes they bring hot tears,
To my breast a pang of anguish.
They are ghosts of other years.

Ghosts of love, and truth, and virtue,
But these ghosts I would not lay;
They are memories of my childhood,
And through life shall with me stay.

O the subtle, subtle fragrance
Of the herbs upon the wall;
They now fill my heart with sadness,
And to memory they recall
My dear mother, my dear father,
And my childhood’s happy years;
And forgotten they are never—
Ghosts they are which bring no fears.

Now the home of my dear parents
Is the grave-yard by the sea.
But their love has new awakening
In the bright eternity.

NOT YET.

What doth the future hold for us?
Shall we the past forget?
The answer came in plaintive tones:
“Sometime you may. Not yet.”

When will the future be made plain?
The past hold no regret?
In present be not one mistake—
The answer, is “Not yet.”

When will the path of life be smooth?
No pitfalls by the way,
No stone to bruise our weary feet,
And never shadows gray.

O shall we ever understand
Why trials should beset
Us in our every walk of life?
We ask in vain: “Not yet.”

DUTY.

When Duty doth call us,
Unless we obey,
No rest doth she give us
By night, nor by day.

We cannot escape her,
She gives us no peace.
Till duty is done
We have no release.

We try to avoid her,
Pretend not to see
The road she hath taken
O’er mountain or lea.

We cannot evade her,
For by us she stands,
And fetters the strongest
She binds on our hands.

Though we may not listen
To Duty’s loud voice,
Obeying her mandates
May not be our choice;

We ever are happy
When duty is done;
When self is once conquered,
A victory is won.

She smiles now upon us,
The demon is laid.
We’re glad that she conquered,
That we have obeyed.

We will no more stumble,
Nor push her aside,
Triumphant is Duty,
With us will aye bide.

We now have acknowledged
Her right to control
Each thought, and each action;
Yea—even our soul.

We give up the battle,
Proclaim our defeat,
Now Duty triumphant
Doth sweetly us greet.

We haul down our banner,
Put Duty on throne,
Though we were once traitors,
We now will atone

For all our past errors,
And sit at her feet,
With joy do her bidding,
Each duty will meet.

The battle is ended,
And now we are free
From selfish indulgence,
And happy are we.

LIFE’S PLAN.

The plan of my life is marked out,
Is traced with most infinite skill.
Through ignorance the plan may be changed,
And of good, I may often make ill.

Not arbiter, I, of my life,
Yet I must forever beware—
For every mistake that I make
Will add to my trouble and care.

I builded the best that I knew,
And no one I’m sure could do more.
The Architect God drew the plans,
I knew not the tracings they bore.

So, blindly, I work from the plans;
In future, they all will unfold,
God means that sometime I shall know;
And will not the plans e’er withhold.

BROTHERHOOD OF MAN.

We are the children of one God.—
This truth I’ll not deny.
But you stand clad in fine array,
Have houses grand, while I
Must toil in grime from morn till night,
And oft am hungry, cold,
My loved ones living in a hut,
All for the want of gold.

You know not what it is to work;
Your measure is complete;
Aye running over; pressed hard down;
While I toil on in heat,
In cold, in wind, in rain, and snow,
With aching back and feet;
With pittance small, and that begrudged.—
You scorn me when we meet.

You prate of “Brotherhood of Man,”
But will you hold the plough?
Or till the soil, or plant the grain,
Or stack the hay in mow?
I see you smile my brother (?) man;
You are of higher birth.
You fix your eyes upon the stars,
While mine belong to earth.

Your children must to college go,
But mine must learn to work,
Must learn to wait on you and yours,
And never duty shirk.
Yet, brothers we, in very sooth,
Are children of one God;
And though you claim a higher birth,
We’re leveled ’neath the sod.

MAN DEFYING THE DYING SUN.

Farewell, farewell, O dying Sun!
Thy glorious race is almost run.
But I acknowledge this to thee
That thou hast fought most valiantly.
Wast ever foremost in the fight,
No rest for thee by day, nor night.
I too have fought most manfully,
And stand erect, defying thee.

I’ve fought the fight, have gained the day,
I shall live on forever, aye.—
Farewell then Sun, for thou must die;
While I have gained eternity.
When thou art dead and cold, O Sun,
Thou’lt be a crownless king laid low.
No pity shall I have for thee,
O thou my conquered, fallen foe.

Thou seem’st to laugh exultantly—
Thou shalt be humbled, haughty Sun;
He laughs the best, who laughs the last,
For now thy race is nearly run.
I stand alone defying thee
One moment, then, I too shall die.
But I have gained the victory;
I nevermore to thee shall cry.

Thou standest in thy majesty,
Thou standest in thy glorious might.
With scorn thou viewest dying man
From out thy wondrous, wondrous height
Thou lookest down on me, O Sun,
And dost contempt upon me cast.
But thou art slowly dying, Sun,
Thy greatness is but of the past.

I stand alone upon the earth—
No living thing can I now see;
But I shall witness thy defeat;
A fallen king thou soon wilt be.
One moment I shall stand erect;
A sovereign of the earth, and space;
Then die as thou hast died, O Sun,
The last of all my dying race.

The last of all humanity—
I’ve struggled hard to win the race;
Have conquered too, for now I stand
Alone on earth, grim death to face.
The earth is mine, I’ve conquered thee—
One moment witness thy defeat,
Then falling to the earth, now king;
A dead, cold Sun, I proudly greet.

The earth is cold; (all life is gone,—)
And little now it holds for me.
I miss thy warmth, I miss thy light,
Although I stand exultantly.—
Thou never canst atone, O Sun,
For all the misery thou hast wrought—
’Tis evermore on earth, dark night;
Though I have life, ’tis dearly bought.

Farewell! Farewell! defeated Sun!
Thou now art dead; thy race is run.—

IF THERE IS NO HEREAFTER.

If soul has no hereafter,
What is the unknown bond
That bindeth soul to matter,
And what is the beyond?

What is the power that buildeth?
What is the mind that wills?
What is the power within us
That all our being thrills?

If there is no hereafter
What use to us was birth?
We’re naught but vegetation
Encumbering the earth.

If knowledge had been given
Of th’ power that brought us here—
The law of living, dying.—
Of death we’d have no fear.

We’d start on our new journey,
And would not death regret.
These questions are deep problems
Which sometime must be met.

This life would be a failure
If naught there was beyond;
No tie twixt soul and matter,
No everlasting bond.

O Thou Almighty Father!
Canst be that soul must die?
O listen to my pleading,
O Father hear my cry!

O tell me what is dying?
I would by Thee be taught.—
Give me the glimpse of heaven
Which I so long have sought.—

LOVE’S SONG.

What sounds the deepest notes of life?
Is it bright sunshine, aye?
Some wish that we have had fulfilled,
Or pleasure in our way.

Are we the happiest when some note
Of praise rings through the air?
Or when proud Fame entices us,
Then leaves us to despair.

When people list with bated breath
To hear the words we speak,
And words of admiration give,
And joyously us seek?

Ah no! The deepest note is struck
When we with others weep;
When we have sympathy for those
Who are in trouble deep.

It is afflictions we must bear,
Mistake that we have made,
That strikes the deepest chords of life,
And ne’er from mem’ry fade.

The loss of those who were a part
Of every joy, and grief.
The shadowy thoughts within our souls
That is of life the chief.

To feel, to know, there is a world
Where we shall meet again
The loved ones who have gone beyond;
But not beyond our ken—

Now all the past forgotten is,
And notes of joy will ring
Throughout the blest eternity,
For we Love’s song now sing.

FORGIVE.

Forgive me dear, I did not know
That words of mine wouldst cause thee woe.
I love thee all too well to bring
To thy dear heart the smallest sting.
Thy life is all too sweet and pure
To ever grief or pain endure.

And evermore I’ll guard my speech,
E’ermore my careless tongue I’ll teach
To speak but loving words to thee,
From caustic speech I will be free.
The past is past. Wilt thou forget
The words I spake when first we met?

The thoughtless words that I then spake
Will ever in my heart awake
Remorse, and sorrow, deepest pain.—
O must I plead to thee in vain?
E’er more I’ll speak but love words, dear,
For only love-words shouldst thou hear.

FORGET.

Forget the past, ’tis dead and gone.—
When book is read, no further con
The pages old; unless therein
There’s something that will ever win
A throb of joy within thy heart,
And of thy life seem e’en a part.

The sacred present we will hold.
The future to us will unfold.
The dead, dead past shall be entombed;
Forget it dear, for it is doomed
To mould in grave, to dust return,
All record of that past we’ll burn.

Begin the “Book of Life” anew;
This book we’ll not with tears bedew.
In it we’ll have but love, and peace,
All bitterness of past must cease.
The present, and the future be
Love’s sweetest song, and symphony.

YESTERDAYS.

For all the buried yesterdays
I have not one regret;
I love them not, I mourn them not,
I would them all forget.

Of all the dead, dead yesterdays
Which were so dearly bought,
I care not to remember one,
They were with misery fraught,
They held no joy, they held no peace,
Each day had some deep pain;
So I would never call them back;
Each day seemed lived in vain.

Today I live, today I love,
The yesterdays are dead.
I wot not of the passing days
Though by them I am led.
Today is mine with all it holds,
I’ll do the best I know.
The future is a closed up book,
And may be filled with woe.

TOMORROW.

O the sweet happy thoughts of tomorrow.—
No shadowy clouds in Life’s sky,
No tears in our eyes, and no mourning,
No trouble in pathway doth lie.

Today may be filled with dark shadows,
Tomorrow they all clear away.
For Hope is the goddess that guides us,
Tomorrow she with us will stay.

Tomorrow may not be as happy
As Hope bids us look for, today.
But if we’ve reached out for Life’s gladness,
Life’s gladness will come in our way.

’Tis better to seek the bright sunshine;
The rainbow comes after the clouds,
And sweeter is life after storm-clouds,
For vanished the gloom that enshrouds.

CONSOLATION.

To my soul a voice hath spoken,
Hath spoken thus to me.
O earth-child be not discouraged,
For God doth pity thee.

Though thy way be filled with shadows,
And Life’s sun obscured by clouds;
Though Life’s road seems leading downward,
And deep darkness all enshrouds;

There is light for thee, and gladness,
And sweet Peace will thee enfold.
In the evening, in the gloaming
Joy unbounded will thee hold.

Never more will desolation
In thy heart find resting place,
If with Love thou meetest troubles,
And with him thou keepest pace.

THE DEAD SUMMER.

In the forest, in the autumn,
’Neath the oaks, and ’neath the beeches,
Are the dead and dying children
Of the mother trees.

And the trees are sighing, moaning,
And the clouds are weeping, weeping
Tears of sorrow for the summer
That is dead, and gone.

E’en the sun his face has hidden
By a veil of clouds and shadows,
All the earth seems grieved and troubled
At the summer’s death.

But the earth has a new carpet,
Gorgeous with its brilliant colors.
For the autumn leaves have covered
And hid the sodden ground.

THERE IS A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS.

Though life may be gloomy,
And dark be thy way,
No light in thy pathway,
Not even one ray.
Look up to the heavens;
There’s a rift in the clouds.

Though life may be warfare,
Thy heart have no peace,
Fear not, thou wilt conquer,
Thy heart have surcease.
Look upward, not downward,
There’s a rift in the clouds.

Though friends may prove faithless,
And false unto thee;
There may be a reason
That thou dost not see.
Have charity always,
And see rift in the clouds.

Thy days may be cloudy,
Thy sun be obscured,
To thee may come evil,
It can be endured.
There’s a rift in the clouds.
Soon the sun will peep through.

Give comfort to some one
Who comes in thy way.
O be not despondent,
Be cheerful alway.
Look up and be happy,
See the rift in the clouds.

May the rift in the clouds
O’erspread all thy sky,
And all birds of ill omen
Away from thee fly.
Seek ever life’s sunshine,
And the rift in life’s clouds.

TO A COMET.

O thou uncanny, fearful thing!
A flaming sword art thou;
Thou may’st be sent by demon’s hand
Among the stars to plough.

Thou’st travelled on for many years,
And still must travel on.
Thy master’s bidding thou must do
Until the victory’s won.

Sometime perhaps thy anger fierce
No more will burn in wrath.
Thou’lt gently fall upon the earth,
Leave blessings in thy path.

Thou art a mystery now to us,
Thy life may be divine—
Although it seems that demons black
Hath part in life like thine.

LOVE’S DART.

My heart is filled with joy today;
There’s peace within my soul.
My cup is running o’er with bliss,
There’s love in pleasure’s bowl.

I will not think of aught that’s sad;
I’ll happy be today.
Tomorrow may bring pain and grief,
But love will each allay.

Life’s bowl is filled with happiness,
There’s naught that I regret.
It is so full of love and joy
I would not it forget.

The god of love peeped in at morn,
From bow, he sent a dart,
In aim he was so accurate
It lodged within my heart.

WEEDS.

A weed was in my garden growing;
I nurtured it with tender care,
It grew to be a flower of beauty
With col’ring rich and fragrance rare.

It only needed love, and culture
To bring out beauty from its heart;
It ever had been timid, shrinking,
But now it proudly took a part

With other flowers whose birth was higher.
Though coming up from out the sod
It gave to all sweet ministration,
It was a thought, a part of God.

Now if a little weed so humble,
A higher place in life could gain
By care, and love, and sweet attention,
Why not a human weed attain

Conditions better, and by struggling,
Arise from out its low estate?
But it needs help and cultivation
To rise above its seeming fate.

It needs but pruning, needs but watching.
From human weed ’twill rise to be
A flower of love, with soul of beauty;
It needs though, love and sympathy.

Though but a weed in Life’s bright garden,
It is not crushed by th’ heel of Fate.
It only needs a new awakening
To enter Life’s bright golden gate.

Then give at least as much attention
To human weed as garden flower,
And thus you will enrich creation,
And God will blessings on you shower.

THE BLIND BEGGAR’S APPEAL.

Just close your eyes and try to walk
Along the crowded thoroughfare;
And ask each passer-by for help,
Then know the insults I must bear.

I’m hungry, homeless, cold and sick.
I’ve groped around the livelong day;
No pitying word have I once heard,
No one has stopped me on my way

A little pittance to dole out
To me, who as a little child
Had mother love, and father’s care,
Enough to eat, enough to wear.

O God have pity! And now take
The poor blind beggar who does crave
Some resting place upon the earth;
E’en though that place should be the grave.

I seek some shelter from the cold;
Some place to lay my weary head.—
Some day I shall have covering warm,
But that will be when I am dead.

Sometime sweet flowers will cover me,
The grass grow green upon my grave.
My weary body will have rest,
My soul return to God who gave

The poor blind beggar rest at last,
A place to rest beneath the sod,
A covering of sweet flowers and grass.—
So patiently I’ll kiss the rod

Though it may scourge my body weak,
Though I be hungry, blind and poor,
I’ll bear my burdens patiently,
And thank my God that I them bore.

THE THREADS OF LIFE.

I count my age by what I’ve done
And not by months, and years.
I count from smiles, and happiness,
And not from pain, and tears.

By these I’ve lived an hundred years,
May live an hundred more.
I’ll count the sunbeams in my life,
The clouds I will ignore.

I’ll count the good that I have done.
Alas! That will not do.
If by that standard I should count,
My years would be too few.

Turn back O wheel of Time I pray—
Another chance I crave.
I would more worthy be of life,
More worthy of the grave.

But I have failed through thoughtlessness,
Through ignorance also;
But thoughtlessness and ignorance
Excuse me not, I know.

I must pick up the threads of life,
And weave them o’er again,
For every stitch I’ve dropped in past,
Has left on soul a stain.

Life’s shuttle I must hold with care,
Life’s web must perfect be.
I weave not for this world alone,
But for eternity.

MEMORY’S BOOK.

I ope the book at mother’s side,
And turn the leaves so pure.
I read the pages with delight;
Their innocence allure.

I turn the leaves with greatest care,
I find there naught of pain;
’Tis happy childhood’s joyous days,
And were not lived in vain.

I turn another leaf, and find
Some things I would forget;
Some selfish thought, some unkind act,
And much that I regret.

Again I turn a leaf, and there
I see inscribed thereon,
Mistakes, and errors, selfishness,
Yet many victories won.

Full many times I conquered self,
And overcame much ill.
These memories are the dearest ones,
And linger with me still.

One memory sweet has its own place,
Has its own sacred nest.
’Tis buried deep within my heart,
And rests there—let it rest.

O childhood days come back again!
When at my mother’s knee
I learned the songs my mother sang,
In our cottage by the sea.

DO NOT BORROW TROUBLE.

Do not ever trouble borrow;
You’ll find enough of it at home;
Find enough for self, and neighbor,
You will for it not have to roam.

Go not forth to meet sad Trouble,
For she with tears will e’er you greet.
But if given a cold greeting,
She will acknowledge her defeat.

Do not cross life’s troubled waters
While you are yet upon the land.
Do not feel that you are sinking
Beneath life’s drifting, shifting sand.

Though your life may seem a desert,
Of scorching winds, and burning sand;
You may find some green oasis,
Some beauty in a desert land.

Trouble is a turbid river.
On it you need not launch life’s boat.
Life has rivers calm and peaceful,
And placid streams on which to float.

You may never cross the river,
On troubled sea may not be tossed.
Though life’s bridge be weak and swaying,
By you, the bridge need not be crossed.

Do not think that you must carry
The burdens of life’s yesterday.
Do not look for grief tomorrow,
With courage live your life today.

You must rise above all trouble,
And keep it ever from your view;
It can ever then be vanquished,
And you can bid it glad adieu.

GIVE SMILES, NOT TEARS.

Give to the world your happy thoughts,
Too many give but tears.
A word, a thought, a deed full oft
Makes some heart sad, or cheers
Some lonely, weary, world sick soul,
Who now will drop his cares,
And even smile at his defeats,
And disappointment bears.

For in his heart is now a hope,
A hope for better things.
The world is now not half so sad,
And joy it even brings.
If you are sad, hide grief beneath
A happy smiling face.
No one is better for your tears,
Nor stronger for Life’s race.

Then bury grief within your heart,
And dig its grave full deep;
And cover it with flowers of Hope,
And do not o’er it weep.
Too many keep their sorrows fresh
By tears too often shed.
Look up! Look out! Your sorrows hide,
And rest in Hope’s own bed.

FAREWELL TO THE DYING YEAR.

Farewell! farewell! thou dying year;
For thee we will not mourn,
But bury thee in grave of past,
In garments worn, and torn.

And yet, thou hast not been unkind,
Thou’st giv’n more smiles than tears;
Hast giv’n us health, e’en though not wealth,
Bright hopes of coming years.

So we should bury thee with pomp,
Take off thy garments torn,
And give to thee more fitting shroud
Than that which thou hast worn.

Though we give tribute to thee new;
We’ll still remember thee.
We know thou didst the best thou couldst
While struggling to be free.

Free from the chains that bound thee down,
And though we shed no tear
At thy demise, we feel that thou
Hast given us some good cheer.

The blare of trumpets at thy death
Shouldst sorrow to us bring,
For thou canst never be recalled.
A dirge, we should then sing,

For opportunities we’ve lost.
Our chance comes not again
To do the things we should have done.
How sad the words, “It might have been.”

THE BOOK OF GIFTS.

An angel came to me one day
With “Book of Gifts” in hand,
And offered any one therein
That I should then demand.

With pride he pointed out to me
Each gift, and urged that I
Would take from them the choicest one.
For in his power did lie
The giving out of life’s rich stores.
This single time had man
Been given the choice of worldly gifts
Since life on earth began.

I had the choice of all life’s gifts,
Fame, honor, untold wealth.
I chose not one he offered me,
But begged for love and health.

UNKIND WORDS.

If we could know the sorrow
That unkind words aye give;
We never would them utter;
For unkind words will live
Long after we’ve forgotten
That we the words once spake,
And that a harsh word spoken
Some weary heart may break.

When once a word has started
Upon its journey long;
It travels on forever.
And mingles with the throng
Of other words of censure;
More bitter grows each day,
And though perhaps forgiven
It sometime love will slay.

SEEK FOR THE GOOD IN LIFE.

In our lives there’s much of gladness,
Also much that is sad,
Much in life without a blemish,
Many things that may be bad.

But, we should ignore all evil;
There is ever much of good.
We shall find what e’er we look for,
Then o’er evil do not brood.

Grasp the good when e’er you find it.
Good is not for but the few;
If too much to you is given,
Some one else can share with you.

There is sunshine, there is shadow,
Clouds must come before the rain;
After storm clouds, comes the rainbow,
Oft from grief, we peace attain.

Some one else must share our troubles;
They should share our pleasures too;
For life’s flowers are ever brightest
When Love’s tears the flowers bedew.

Be ye never then disheartened,
There is beauty everywhere.
There are fragrant flowers growing
In the garden of Despair.

Let us then be not discouraged,
Soon life’s storms will clear away.
Though our griefs seem overwhelming,
Brighter soon will be life’s day.

Though life’s sun his face has hidden,
And black clouds obscure our view,
All the flowers take on new beauty,
After rain, and after dew.

LOVE’S CROWN.

The tasks that have been set for me,
Are almost done; are almost done.
I’ve labored hard, and faithfully,
But now life’s race is nearly run.

I’m weary, and I’m sore distressed,
My burdens all too heavy are.
In vain I try to lay them down;
I’ve brought them all too far, too far.

I’ll try to lay them down at eve,
And from my labors try to rest.
Though I begin another day,
Tonight I’ll rest, tonight I’ll rest.

Tomorrow at the break of day,
Again I take them up with grief,
And through another day I work;
For me, there never comes relief.

Complaints will never do my work,
Nor fit me for life’s weary day.
With courage then I’ll do my tasks,
And all life’s laws try to obey.

I’ll bear my cross whatever it is,
No one shall bear a cross for me;
And though I bend beneath life’s load,
From selfishness I will be free.

There is a time not distant far,
When I can lay life’s burdens down.
So many crosses I have borne,
At last I hope to win Love’s crown.

MY SOUL’S DESIRE AND DESTINY

I’ve travelled down through centuries.
Have never known one moment’s rest.
Have passed through every phase of life.
Is this, O Father, Thy behest?

I’ve battled with conditions that
Oftimes seemed much too hard to bear,
Would then give up, and seem to sink
Into the maelstrom of Despair.

Again would take Life’s burdens up
Without a knowledge of my past.
Experience was of little use
In seething whirlpool it seemed cast.

The same temptations come to us;
As fiends, they ever us pursue.
The consequences are the same.
We’ve brought down retribution too.

I still desire to live, to do—
I am not ready yet to change
My form, my thoughts, my puny life;
E’en though I gain a wider range.

Absorbed though I may be in Love,
And e’en a part of Deity,
I still am human in desire,
And human still, I wish to be.

Soul’s Destiny I now take up.—
Where shall I go? What shall I be?
Shall I aye travel on, and on?
Or be a part of Deity.

Will memories of the past be mine?
And will a panoramic view
Before mine eyes be ever cast?
If so, that past I can but rue.

Absorbed in God, I lose myself.
I am no part of my own life.
Though one with God, and part of Him,
My soul will still keep up its strife

To be itself, apart, though with
The Maker, Ruler of my soul.
The Soul’s Desire is not yet dead,
E’en though bright heaven is its goal.

Though I may carry “Karma” on,
Improve upon it ever, aye;
Could I not do the same, and yet
Not on this weary earth e’er stay?

INCARNATION.

Though part and parcel of the past
The future is an unknown book—
Though writing for eternity,
I dare not on its pages look.

My past is dead, and buried too.
In grave of Hope it lies full deep;
It resurrected ne’er shall be,
It is a nightmare of my sleep.

Will life’s fair morning never come?
I wait for it impatiently.
And Death’s long sleep I fain would break
With all its gruesome mystery.

I pray to go forever on,
Retracing ne’er earth’s steps again.
Incarnate once, and only once,
I would not live on earth again.

REINCARNATION.

I feel that I have lived before,
That I shall live again.
Shall yet have my desires fulfilled,
Although I know not when.

If now is all there is of life,
What use to me was birth?
Not one desire has been fulfilled,
Since first I came to earth.

There is a realm not yet explored,
I feel it in my soul,
I’ll struggle on (though oft I fail)
To reach that blissful goal.

Full oft I catch a glimpse of past.
Old mem’ries round me throng.
The mem’ries of a long gone past.—
Again I hear a song

That I once heard in previous life,
And it to me doth seem
As though an angel sang the song;
My life his chosen theme.

The notes seem now so strange and weird.
I’ve heard them though, before;
In former life the music sweet
Came from celestial shore.

A vague, vague dream of other lives
Doth often with me stay;
But when I try to hold the dream,
It vanishes straightway.

My present life is incomplete.
A fragment is of past.
I shall take up the threads again,
And in Life’s loom them cast.

The “Great First Cause” has charge of
The lives that have been mine.
The web that’s woven on Life’s loom
In time becomes divine.

Absorbed in God I soon shall be.
E’en now I feel Love’s kiss.
Life’s struggles soon will ended be
In everlasting bliss.

What was my life in that dim past?
It matters not to me.
My Karma of the past will be
Absorbed in Deity.

LIFE’S BURDEN.

Each one hath some burden to carry,
Each one hath some sorrow or woe.
But hearts that are cheerful, and willing,
Can every trouble o’erthrow.

We will not complain, but have courage
To bear every cross, and all pain;
For burdens when carried with patience
Are blessings which we may attain.

Our hopes may be bright in the morning,
But fade, as the day grows apace;
Though clouds may obscure all Life’s evening,
With patience these clouds we must face.

Behind every cloud is some sunshine,
Behind every grief is some mirth.
Behind every tear there is laughter,
Though tears came first at our birth.

TO MOUNT SIERRA.

Thou grand old granite mountain
Canst tell me what thy age?
What secrets art thou holding
Within thy heart O sage.

Couldst man find out by delving
Deep in thy stony breast,
How long thou hast been rearing
On high, thy hoary crest.

Hadst thou e’er a beginning?
Wilt thou in death e’er fall?
Canst thou these questions answer?
On thee I humbly call.

Is life, within thy bosom?
Or art thou cold and dead?
Thou standest in thy myst’ry
No tears of misery shed.

Thy heart, thy life is granite,
Thou carest not for woe.
If tear thou ever sheddest
It turns to ice and snow.

But why seek I thy secrets,
Thou haughty mountain king?
Thou wilt not give me answer,
No knowledge to me bring.—

The wind doth give me answer
That thou wast born of fire.
Thou claimest Earth as mother,
Jehovah is thy sire.

Farewell O Mount Sierra!
I leave thee to thy rest.
But, man will wrench thy secrets
In future from thy breast.

OFT POISONED IS THE WINE OF LIFE.

Socrates drank of the hemlock;—
Others drink of poisons deadly.—
Poison as a draught of hemlock
Will unrequited love aye be.

And ingratitude of loved ones
Sharper than a serpent’s tooth is,
And misunderstandings cruel
That ever meet us on Life’s way.

Often we are greeted coldly,
By the ones who should be friendly.
We may fall, and we may falter.
Life’s battles we may never win.

Others soon will take our places.
Take the love, and take the friendship,
Which was ours by laws most holy,
And love is now but in the name.

Hemlock would not be as poisonous,
Nor would be so hard its taking.
As cold words of bitter taunting
From trusted friends whom we have loved.

Faithless friends may give a chalice,
Filled with poison just as deadly,
As the hemlock which was drunken
By Socrates in that long past.

Every day we meet deception
From some one we loved, and trusted.
Poison may be in each vessel
From which we drink the wine of Life.

THE GAME OF LIFE.

Would we turn back the wheel of Time,
And live this life all o’er?
Take up the threads of life anew,
And weave them as before?

Methinks I hear you say “Ah no!”
Life’s fabric is worn out.
The colors too, have lost their hue.—
I would not turn about

And live my life all o’er again,
Unless I could improve
Upon the game of Life I’ve played;
More skillfully could move.

For I have oft made dire mistakes,
Made errors in Life’s deal,
And could I change the game, would it
Add something to my weal?

I never learned Life’s game quite right;
Mistakes I ever made,
And if I gained a single point,
My ignorance next outweighed

All I had gained in former move.
I ever lost in game.
It seems I ever lacked in skill,
If so, I’m not to blame.

And now the game I must give up,
But I will not despair.
I will begin all o’er again—
Defeat I cannot bear.

But it will not be on this earth;
For here I’m done with life.
I’ve played Life’s game, and ever lost,
To live is naught but strife.

“THE OLD, OLD STORY.”

Come into the garden sweet Lilith
When the clock in the tower strikes nine.
When the moon by the hill tops is hidden,
For thine eyes e’er the moonbeams outshine.

Come into the garden my loved one,
While the nightingales sing in the trees.
All th’ air is filled with the fragrance
That the flowers send forth to the breeze.

Come into the garden and meet me
Beneath the old oak on the lawn.
To thee I will tell the same story
That was told at the world’s first dawn.

Come into the garden sweet Lilith,
To thee, I’d anew my vows plight.
Again I would speak to thee love words,
Again by the moon’s waning light.

Come into the garden my Lilith,
The meadow lark chants his love song.
E’en the trees are whispering sweet love notes,
For they to each other belong.

Come into the garden sweet Lilith,
Where the fire-flies seem dancing around.
They are plighting their love to each other,
Their love smiles light up all the ground.

Come into the garden sweet Lilith,
O listen, sweetheart, to my plea.
The trees, and the birds, and the fire-flies
Tell their love; then why should not we?

My heart is with love overflowing,
I would clasp thee in Love’s close embrace.
If parted from thee my sweet Lilith,
Thy love I could never efface.

THE GHOST OF LOVE.

Thou art a specious pleader,
But thou dost plead in vain.
Though once I loved, and trusted,
My love and trust thou’st slain.

Though in the past were hidden
Thy many faults from me;
As phantoms they now haunt me,
As ghosts, those faults I see.

The mask that ever covered
The evil in thy life,
From thy false face hath fallen,
And now thy passions rife

Stand out in greatest contrast
From what they seemed in past.
To me ’tis revelation—
With awe I stand aghast.

And feel a sense of horror,
That love should come to me
For one whose life was hideous,
But now,—Thank God I’m free!

Free from the ties that bound me,
Free from the chains of ill.—
Thy love no more enthralls me,
And yet—O heart be still!

I find that love, and pity
Lie deep within my heart.
I cannot, cannot hate thee—
Thou art of life a part.

Farewell! Farewell! ’Tis better
For both; that we are free.
For life, when trust hath left us
Is naught but misery.

I SHALL SING IT SOMETIME.

There is a poem somewhere
That is perfect in its time;
That is perfect in its metre,
That is perfect in its rhyme.

It is written on the flowers,
It is floating in the air;
It is written on the hill tops,
It is singing everywhere.

And I know sometime I’ll write it—
It is singing in my brain.
I will seek it, I will find it,
In my soul it long has lain.

When I try to grasp this poem,
It eludes me ever, aye—
It is ever just beyond me,
Though I hear it night and day.

It is sung by hosts unnumbered,
And was heard when world was new.
It is heard when storm-clouds gather,
And in glistening drops of dew.

’Tis the singing of the flowers,
’Tis the music of the stars.
’Tis the rhythm of the ocean,
And most perfect are its bars.

In the universe ’tis written,
And it is so sweet, and rare—
It was written by the Master,
It inspires every prayer.

O if I could catch the rhythm
That aye fills the universe—
That is sung by choir of angels;
Inspired would be my verse.

In Cathedral ’tis resounding,
Chanted ’tis at altar pure;
And the rhythm haunts me ever—
Spirit song which doth allure.

It is stately in its measure,
Though it be a sad refrain;
Though it be a merry jingle
That goes dancing through my brain.

Yet it may be but the echo
Of a symphony, or dirge,
Or a mother’s loving ditty,
That may through my brain e’er surge.

’Tis the waterfall’s loud roaring,
Or the humming of the bee.
’Tis the raging of the tempest
As it moans upon the sea.

’Tis the detonating cannon,
Or the sigh of dying leaf.
’Tis a song of glad rejoicing,
Or a threnody of grief.

’Tis the ghost of an old love song,
Or the spirit of a prayer.
’Tis a wail of deepest anguish,
And I hear it everywhere.

It is floating in the ether,
It is written in the sky;
But wherever may be poem,
I shall sing it by and by.

Be it song, or be it anthem—
It doth in my heart e’er lie;
And my soul for song is waiting,
I shall sing it by and by.

WHEN I AM DEAD.

Will friends remember that I lived,
Give me a passing thought,
Give tribute to what I have done,
To what I may have wrought.

Or will they pass with heedless laugh,
Not feeling one regret
That I have gone beyond their ken;
And will they soon forget

That I loved them, that they loved me,
That friendship in the past
Was part, and parcel of our lives;
We hoped ’twould ever last.

But when I’m dead, I hope few tears
Will then be shed for me.
If others then shall take my place,
I shall not grieve to see

My loved ones happy without me.
Why should they grieve for aye?
Their duties they must ever do,
The laws of life obey.

Forget me then when I am dead;
I fain would have it so.
If world is better for my life,
Bequeath I would not woe

To those I leave behind on earth;
They need not shed one tear,
Nor be unhappy for one hour;
Nor need they have one fear

Of what befalls me when I die.
I’ll go where I belong.
I shall not crowd nor push aside
The ever swelling throng.—

My place I’ve made while here on earth,
And I shall go therein
Without a fear, without a thought
Of any earthly sin.

I’ve lived, I’ve loved, I’ve done the work
That was laid out for me.
I still shall live, I still shall love
Throughout eternity.

Be patient with the living ones,
The dead need not your care.
The living ones need comforting
For much they have to bear.

“’TIS FOLLY TO BE WISE.”

Poor Folly will build a grand mansion,
And in it the wise man may live.
Poor Folly may hoard up his money,
But Wisdom will gladly it give.

Poor Folly Life’s game is aye playing,
And often the game he may win.
And Folly may build a cathedral,
And Wisdom may pray therein.

Though Folly knows how to make money,
He spends it full oft like a fool,
And Wisdom may do the same also,
But it is not always the rule.

If Folly were better than Wisdom,
’Twere foolish for us to be wise,
Perhaps though there’s folly in wisdom,
And wisdom in folly oft lies.

THE OLD OAK’S REVERIE.

I’ve stood and fought for centuries past
The storms of wind which beat,
And hurled their fury on my head,
But could not me defeat.

Though generations have passed on,
And gone to their last rest.
I’ve stood the ravages of time,
Have ever borne the test

Of summer’s heat, of winter’s cold,
And lightning’s scorching blast.
Unconquered been in nature’s fight,
As if of iron cast.

Sometimes when storms beat on my head,
I little cared for life;
I would have giv’n the battle up,
With all its fierce, fierce strife.

But then again I felt life’s love
Go coursing through my veins,
And then I felt impelled to say
I’m thankful that God reigns.

Long years ago,—I count them not,
A child on hillside stopped.
His pockets filled with acorns ripe,
And one of them he dropped.

I soon sprang up from out the earth,
With life and hope so strong.
I took my place, have kept it too
Through all these centuries long.

For many years the birds have built
Their nests beneath my boughs,
Have sung their love songs through the days,
Each day renewed their vows.

I learned their love songs I am sure,
I shared their joy and pride;
When lover brought to his old home
His sweetheart, his bird bride.

I’m lonely e’er when they depart
To fairer, warmer lands.
Impatiently await the time
When Love again demands

Their secret nesting ’mong my boughs.—
Again I’ll hear Love’s call;
Will hear their marriage vows renewed.
For Love e’en birds enthrall.

INGRATITUDE.

If we should help a friend in need
We would not have him kneel
In humble, abject gratitude;
And yet—we’d have him feel

Some little kindness in his heart,
Sometimes to it allude.
“For sharper than a serpent’s tooth”
Is base ingratitude.

We try to keep the rule laid down,
“Let not your right hand know”
What e’er your left may give, or do,
Though friend may change to foe.

Though friends ignore what we have done,
And often cause us pain,
We still will help to lift the loads,
And burdens on them lain.

“JUDGE NOT.”

Judge not of others’ lives by yours,
Unless your own is pure.
You know not what the others bear
Or what they may endure.

Temptations may have been too strong,
And they, alas! too weak
To cope with all the sins in life,
And purity aye seek.

Heredity is oft the cause;
And e’en the strongest mind
May find it hard to overcome;
For it, to sin may bind.

And yet there is a power within
To overcome all ill.
By cultivating this high power
All thought of sin we kill.

Yet “do not judge lest you be judged.”
Look deep in your own heart,
And you may find some secret sin
That of your life is part.

If you are sinless, then you may
The first stone throw at them;
If it recoils and falls on you,
Yourself you must condemn.

There are so many pitfalls deep
At every turn of road;
And all life’s paths so devious,
So heavy is life’s load

That man must carry up life’s hill,
Too oft he falls by way;
But he has strength to bear the load
If he God’s laws obey.

OUR VIRTUES ARE CARVED UPON OUR TOMBSTONES.

In attic bare and dreary,
With fingers blue with cold,
A man sat writing, writing,
For pittance small of gold.

His limbs were cramped, and trembling,
The light was low and dim.
For hours he had been writing,
And Hunger sat by him;

Sat even at his elbow
With taunting words of fame,
With promises alluring
That he would make a name.—

The morning light was breaking,
Still empty was his cot.
He seemed to be still writing.—
He had the world forgot.

In grave-yard he is lying,
“God’s acre” is the name.
Cold criticism killed him.
He fought too hard for fame.

Not colder is the grave-yard
Than was his attic bare,
When death had claimed his victim,
They found his “writings rare”

His name was now emblazoned
Upon the hearts of those
Who never did him justice,
Nor troubled at his woes.

Thus Fame, and Honor, Riches,
Oft come to man when dead,
Are proud to do him justice,
With laurel, crown his head.

HONOR, FAME, OR LOVE.

High Honor came to visit me,
And with him goddess Fame.
But Happiness deserted me
When Fame and Honor came.

I courted Honor, courted Fame,
They coldly smiled on me;
They soon became unwelcome guests,
For they caused Love to flee.

I fain would then have cast aside
The guests which I had sought.
Alas! It was too late, for they
Had then the evil wrought.

They were installed as guests of mine,
But soon I weary grew
Of their commands, of their demands,
And begged that Love renew

Dominion o’er my heart and home;
For home is drear indeed,
Though lacking nothing but sweet Love;
For Love the world doth lead.

My guests brought Jealousy one day.
Destroyer it, of peace.
When he came in, Love fled in fright,
And took with her sweet peace.

For Honor, Fame, and Love, can ne’er
In peace together dwell.
When Jealousy once joins the throng,
It is Love’s funeral knell.

When Love within our household reigns
Let none usurp her place.
She is the queen that e’er should rule,
And none should her abase.

COURAGE.

You will not find the bravest men
Upon the battle ground;
For in the quiet ranks of life
Great courage oft is found.

Though man may fight with brother man
In battle’s fierce array,
He may not have the courage to
Combat what others say.

If others are of “higher grade”;
To gain himself a place
Upon the social rung of life,
He may their views embrace.

If e’er the time shall come to you
When you will shrink with fear,
And do not dare defend your views,
Though they to you are dear

Let not your courage fail you then.—
Be sure that you are right,
Then never swerve from truth one point,
And for the truth e’en fight.

Though courage needed is in life,
And should of life be part,
Perverted it should never be,
Nor rule a loving heart.

“The race is not aye for the swift,
Nor battle, for the strong.”
Have courage to uphold the right.
And to denounce the wrong.

PERSEVERE.

Starting out to fight Life’s battles,
Persevere, persevere.
Though at first you may be worsted,
Persevere.

Though Life’s road be rough, and thorny,
Persevere, persevere.
Never falter by the wayside;
Persevere.

Though your burdens may be heavy,
Persevere, persevere.
Never drop them by the roadside;
Persevere.

Your ideal should be high heaven.
Persevere, persevere.
By perseverance you will gain it.
Persevere.

In this world, if seeking pleasure,
You will find, alas! but tears.
But in doing every duty,
Persevere.

E’en though hard may be the battle
For the right, for the right.
You must stand e’er by your colors.
Persevere.

Your companion must be Valor,
On your banner, Truth.
Perseverance be your pass-word.
Persevere.

If you’ve won in Life’s hard conflict;
You must still persevere.
For another life awaits you.
Persevere.

SPEAK BUT KIND WORDS.

Speak but kind words to those you love,
For there may come a day
When what you’ve said, and what you’ve done
E’er more will with you stay.

If you have unkind words to say,
O say them to the dead;
The dead cannot by them be grieved,
Their hearts not filled with dread.

Nor filled with fear and hopelessness.—
And you will not regret
That you have caused unhappiness.
For you can ne’er forget

That you have caused a loved one grief,
Your words have given pain.
You never can forgive yourself,
And Love you may have slain.

A word seems but a little thing,
But it may break a heart,
Though thought is but a vapor light,
It causes many a smart.

It is the little pin pricks sharp
That are so hard to bear.
We are prepared for troubles great,
And only have our share.

Then speak kind words to those you love,
It is not hard to do.
Just keep a guard o’er thoughts, and tongue,
Then you’ll have naught to rue.

When death shall come to those we love,
If we have caused them pain,
Repentance then will be too late,
Regrets will then be vain.

VAGARY.

Vagary is stalking all over the land,
His home is a hut, or a palace most grand.
Whatever his folly, no matter how wild,
Some one will accept it, by it, be beguiled.

Vagary once built a “Home” on a hill,
And hoped that his dupes his coffers would fill.
This “Home” was a refuge for those in distress,
And, judging by numbers, it was a success.

He promised a cure for each ache, and each ill.
With lame, halt, and blind, the “Home” did soon fill.
Vagary was doctor, vagary was nurse,
And if at the door stood ever a hearse,

No comment was made, and it soon disappeared.
Respect had Vagary, and no one e’er sneered.
Vagary was doctor, and if patient he killed
No one made remark, and the place was soon filled.

Vagary discovered an underground mine
Called “Bonnevinterre” a lake of pure wine.
“Like sheep to the slaughter,” the people all rushed,
The mine proved a myth, and their hopes were all crushed.

Vagary then started a charity scheme,
To write all the bylaws took a full ream
Of “Fool’s Cap” commercial; for written thereon
Were benefits gained, and dividends won.

“O help the poor widows and orphans” he cried,
And money flowed in on every side.
Vagary was treasurer, and bookkeeper too,
Received all the dividends when they were due.

The widows got little, the orphans still less,
He ever was talking of their great distress.
Vagary grew richer, and richer each day,
For charity well managed, ever will pay.

He next discovered a marvelous light,
Compared to it, e’en the sun was as night.
Directly all other lights became dim,
As usual, the money poured in unto him.

He now with the highest magnates took rank,
For money he had in every bank.
But magnates, like others, sometime must die,
And in the same earth with poverty lie.

Vagary grew ill, and gave up the ghost,
But with his last breath he still made the boast
That every ill on earth he could cure.
And even though dying, did many allure.

THE HOME BEAUTIFUL.

’Tis not a palace built of marble,
’Tis not a mansion made of stone,
’Tis not a hostelry of splendor,
Nor a seat upon a throne.

It may be but a humble cottage
With loving welcome at the door,
With sunshine peeping in at window,
And lighting up the naked floor.

It may be but a tent by brookside,
But air is pure, and water sweet.
The tent is home of rarest splendor,
If Love, by brookside, doth you greet.

’Tis love that gives to home its beauty,
It is not honor, riches, fame.
For Love will light up every corner,
In home of beauty is Love’s name.

THE BEATITUDES.

Once Honesty and Faith combined
To find for each a mate.
They searched for Love all in vain,
They only found fierce Hate.

Forever Love eluded them;
For Love is hard to win.
They gave up Love, and searched for Faith,
For Faith, to Love is kin.

When Faith and Honesty are wed,
If Love will place her seal,
Confirmed is then the marriage vow,
From it there’s no appeal

When Love, and Truth, and Honesty,
In wedded life is found;
When Faith shall be their handmaid pure,
The four together bound;

There will be Peace and Harmony,
For Love has found her nest.
Now Happiness will join the throng,
And Love be now at rest.

It is too seldom that is found,
Them all combined in one,
There could be Faith, Truth, Honesty,
And yet sweet Love not won.

But if together all shall dwell,
A heaven on earth is home,
No discord ever will there be,
It is as heaven’s dome.

BURY THE PAST.

Do we ever think that others
May have griefs as well as we?
Can we bear our own griefs better?
If we know we’ll sometime be
Free from trials, free from troubles,
In the happy by and by,
And our burdens, although heavy,
In a grave will sometime lie.

We should be prepared for trouble;
We should be prepared for care.
For we know not of the morrow,
Nor what trials we must bear.
When today has passed beyond us
It is gone forever, aye,
And today should then be buried
In the grave of yesterday.

Though today we are in bondage,
We tomorrow may be free
From the yesterdays of sorrow;
E’en look back on them with glee.
Then the dead, dead past we’ll bury
In a shroud, and then forget
All the past that was unhappy
O’er that past we will not fret.

We can happy be, though burdens
May be hard for us to bear,
Happy be, and e’en contented,
Though we have much grief and care.
If we know that the tomorrows
Will to us bring sweet relief.
All the yesterdays we’ll bury,
And will shed no tears of grief.

TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTH-DAY.

Thy years are pearls strung on Life’s chain.
Not counted they by days, nor years.
But numbered by the good thou’st done;
And friend thou needest have no fears
That pearls have ever tarnished been;
Thou’st kept them bright by good thou’st done.
For thou hast many burdens borne,
And thou hast many vict’ries won
In Life’s hard battles for the right.
Thou oft hast had temptations strong,
But thou hast ever conquered them,
And thou hast overcome all wrong.

Congratulations I give thee,
On this, thy happy natal day,
And this shall be my earnest prayer,
That pearls of love be thine alway.

HAVE IDEALS.

My ideals are the highest,
Though my feet rest on the sod.
I aspire e’en to high heaven,
Even to the “throne of God.”

And I think it is much better
That we soar above the stars,
Than to grovel in the low-lands,
Or behind a prison’s bars.

Though ourselves have built the prison
That confines our souls therein;
We must ever live in darkness
Till we break the bars within,

And escape into God’s sunshine,
To the sunshine of the soul;
And live up to our ideals,
And take heaven as our goal.

SELFISHNESS.

We really do not understand
That which within us lies.
We think that we have conquered self,
And then there will arise
Some serious point within our hearts;
Some question there will be—
Some preconceived idea of self;
It vital seems to be.

We must begin all o’er again.
For self must conquered be.
We must accept the “Golden Rule”,
From selfishness be free.
Deep in the gardens of our hearts
We’ve sowed broadcast the seeds
Of selfishness; they’ve taken root,
Producing noxious weeds.

In time, by watchfulness and care
We may exterminate
Each selfish thought within our hearts,
And love accumulate.
We e’en are selfish in our love,
And selfish in our hate;
For Self doth rule with selfish hand,
E’er sits within our gate.

The ego is e’er uppermost;
We ever look within.
Self magnifies what good there is,
But overlooks the sin.
She sits upon the highest throne,
And on the lowest stool.
Self governs every act in life;
For self doth ever rule.

And Self is “mightier than the sword.”
If given once control
She conquers all there is of us
In mind, in heart, in soul.
Then let us bury selfishness
In grave with selfish deeds.
Erect a monument to Love
From stones cut from good deeds.

LIFE IS NOTHING WITHOUT LOVE.

Though of down may be your pillow,
And most sumptuous be your bed,
All your dreams will be unhappy,
Unless Love sits at your head.

Though your table may be loaded,
With rich viands e’er be spread;
All will be most flat and tasteless,
Unless Love shall break the bread.

Though you travel o’er creation,
Have all things that you demand;
Nothing meets your expectation,
Unless Love does by you stand.

Though you dwell in gorgeous palace,
Even though you may be king.
All is vanity, and joyless,
If sweet Love is on the wing.

THE CENTURY FLOWER.

What wakened thee from thy long sleep?
Who told thee when to bloom?
A century seems a long, long time
For thee to lie in gloom.

How didst thou know when to arise?
And thy new garment don;
Thou mightst have slept thy life away
Whilst time was going on.

Was there a power within thy soul?
A wish within thy heart?
To soar above all other flowers,
And with the birds take part

In singing songs of grateful joy
That thou hast waked from sleep,
That thou again dost see the light,
Hast risen from the deep;

The grave where thou so long hast lain.
To raise thy head on high,
And looking up to Deity
Once more; then droop and die.

Alas! Thy days are all too short
For thy long dreamless sleep.
When thou dost wake again to life,
Wilt thou awake to weep?

If thou rememberest aught of past,
Thou mayst perhaps regret
The flowers, and trees, now dead and gone,
And for them mourn e’en yet.

A generation will have passed;
A new one thou wilt greet;
All will be strangers unto thee,
No friend of past thou’lt meet.

LIFE’S MUSIC.

Though life may seem a symphony,
It is a sad, sad song.
Its music is a funeral dirge,
And weary are the throng
Who march to a weird threnody
Life’s long, and gloomy day,
The road made rough by all the ills
That meet us on our way.

The road, though long and devious
Hath guide posts on its way.
Though there are many sharp, sharp turns,
If guide posts we obey,
We safely reach our journey’s end,
And rest beneath the shade
Of Love’s own tree, whose buds, and flowers
Of hope will never fade.

Disheartened though we often are
Upon the uphill road.
If hope within our hearts is strong
’Twill lighten every load;
The saddest song be turned to joy,
Sweet music fill the soul.
Triumphant will our life march be
Until we reach our goal.

The final song we then shall sing.
Life’s measure be complete.
No minor chord shall lower life’s song,
Nor sound for us defeat.
The meter of our lives shall be
Exultant melody.
No sad refrain shall e’er be sung,
Nor doleful threnody.

LOVE’S GARDEN.

Sow the seeds of loving kindness,
And then gather flowers of joy.
Cultivate e’er peace and gladness,
Life will then have no alloy.

Pluck the weeds that e’er are growing
In the garden of the heart.
Train up all Love’s little tendrils
They are of life the sweetest part.

Prune the trees that bear but discord,
And then graft sweet peace thereon.
Ever help those who have trouble,
Pointing out to them Love’s morn.

In Love’s garden, if the shadow
Of the Cyprus hides Love’s way.
Plant the asphodel; its brightness
Will burst forth, and light Love’s day.

Clear Love’s garden of its wormwood,
And plant heartsease there instead.
’Tis not fitting that aught bitter
Should e’er grow where Love has led.

In all gardens are not roses,—
But rank weeds grow everywhere,
And it may be God’s intention
That the weeds should be your care.

There are many hearts now aching
For a loving word from you.
In their hearts is bitter wormwood,
In their gardens grow the rue.

You should plant for them sweet roses,
Give Love’s sunshine ever, aye.
From their hearts take all the darkness,
In its place put Love’s bright ray.

THE LAST PORT.

My ship of life has left its moorings
To sail upon an unknown sea.
Though ship is staunch, and ne’er has failed me,
Life’s bearings are unknown to me.

I have no chart, I have no compass,
But my life’s voyage must be made,
When once life’s ship on way has started,
The laws of life must be obeyed.

Each day the log must be well written;
Be kept with truthfulness, and care.
In it must be not one false entry,
For close inspection it must bear.

With courage I will start on voyage,
For God will guide me o’er the bar,
Lest I be dashed upon the breakers.
The Port of Death is not so far.

I must go on though storms assail me,
This voyage means so much to me.
No other refuge can I enter,
I sail for Port Eternity.

Without a chart, without a compass,
The star of Hope shall be my guide,
And I shall have no fear of shipwreck,
For all Life’s storms I shall outride.

My ship is making its last voyage,
’Tis well I chose dear Hope’s bright star,
To guide me to my heavenly harbor
With God to help me o’er the bar.

My ship will safely reach its landing,
And God will meet me at death’s bar;
Will not forsake me at Life’s ending.
Thank God for Hope, my guiding star.

CANST TELL ME?

Canst thou tell me dear friend of the other side?
Of thy beautiful home over there.
Dost thou love us the same as when here on earth?
Canst thou help us our burdens to bear?

And is heaven the same thou once thought it was?
Hast thou met thy dear friends gone before?
Wouldst thou wish to come back to this earth again?
To again live thy life as of yore?

All its pains and its griefs to take up again,
Were earth’s joys compensation for woes?
Art thou glad that thou’st lived, and loved, and e’en died?
Canst thou now upon others bestow

The sweet peace that is thine, the love of thy soul?
Canst thou teach us to live, and to die?
Canst thou meet us, and guide us to heaven above,
Solve the problems that in us e’er lie?

I’ve lived my life, thou must live thine.
In thine own soul life’s problems lie.
I cannot teach thee how to live,
I cannot teach thee how to die.

Take up thy burdens, and thy cares.
With patience bear thy every grief.
Thy back is fitted for each cross,
Death is surcease, and brings relief.

Though I have passed from earth away,
I still do feel what thou must bear.
But knowing what thy crosses are,
I say, be brave, thy crosses bear.

Do what thou canst for others’ weal,
Do what thou canst to conquer sin.
Then leave the rest in hands of God.
With pitying love he looks within,

And sees the burdens thou must bear.
He knows how weak, and sore distressed
His earthly children ever are.
But in His love they’re more than blessed.

Have courage, patience, pity, love,
Have charity for all who sin.
Thou need’st not look abroad for faults,
To find them, friend, O look within.

THE SOUL SEEKING FOR PERFECTION.

One day my soul a journey went;
It traveled East, it traveled West,
It searched in vain one soul to find
That able was to bear the test
Of perfect living, perfect love;
E’en in the best it found some flaw;
Some lack of truth, some selfishness;
Not one had kept the “Perfect Law”.

Discouraged, weary, sore distressed;
It gladly turned again to home.
It thought perfection there to find,—
No farther it would have to roam.
Alas! Though once more snugly housed,
Perfection was not found therein.
Contented it could never be;
For e’en at home it found much sin,
O Soul! Though you have found much sin;
You’ve also found much that was good.
Temptations overcome by man,—
Known many ills he has withstood.

Perfection is not found on earth—
If it were so, no one would know
The joy of helping man to bear
Up under all the grief and woe
That is the heritage of life;
Bequeathed to man before his birth.
Be not discouraged then, O Soul,
Expect to find much sin on earth.

LIFE’S THOUGHTLESSNESS.

With careless feet we trample down
Love’s sweetest flowers oftimes.
Life’s music has so many sharps,
Discordant are Love’s rhymes.

With selfish hands we ever grasp
At what we think is best.
Unmindful we of others’ needs
Or what is their behest.

The thoughtless words we oftimes speak
Recalled can never be.
The heedless censure of a friend
Can ne’er forgotten be.

The unjust judgment which we give
May wean from us a friend.
Impatient words are daggers sharp
That will Love’s heart aye rend.

With selfish greed we grasp life’s joys;
No care for others’ woes.
The world is welcome to the thorns,
If we can keep the rose.

If our own ship outrides the gale,
Life’s bar we’ve safely crossed—
All other ships may be engulfed;
Or on rough waves be tossed.

Our careless words may pierce some heart,
And cause it deepest pain—
Awakening memories of the past
Which long in grave have lain.

’Tis ever so in life I fear.
Love’s flowers neglected are.
The weeds will thrive where flowers die,
And thus Love’s garden mar.

THE FLOWER’S PRAYER FOR IMMORTALITY.

The fragrance of th’ dying flower
Ascends ’e’en unto God;
Returning to its Maker
From birthplace ’neath the sod.

Its soul goes forth in anthems;
In songs of praise to Him
Who gave to it existence,—
And, dying, sings a hymn

Of thanks, and of rejoicing
To God for its short life,
Which e’er hath been a symphony,
With naught of care, nor strife.

Its God hath given it sunshine,
Its God hath given it food.
Bequeathed to it the dewdrops,
He hath pronounced it good.

It longs to soar to heaven,
So breathes its fragrance rare
To God, as invocation.
To Him sends forth this prayer:

O God accept my perfume,
’Tis all I have to give.—
O I would be immortal:
I would forever live,
The flower Thou hast created,
Wouldst live forever, aye.—
What use would be its fragrance?
If lost ’mid shadows gray.—
I claim of Thee my birthright,
My fragrance is my soul.
Though earth hath been my birthplace,
High heaven is my goal.
Take back what Thou hast given,
’Tis fit for heavenly bower;
Accept it O my Maker,
This incense of a flower.

E’en in my earthly prison,
When I was but a seed,
Thou spakest words so loving.
That upward they didst lead
My soul from out its darkness
Into thy glorious light.
It burst the bars of prison,
Became a flower bright.
To Thee I gave my fragrance—
I breathed to Thee a prayer,
A prayer of adoration
That sensed is everywhere.
All life, however lowly,
Is one, and part with Thee—
By Thee it was created,
And claims eternity.

LOVE’S OFFERING.

I have no rare jewels to give thee,
No diamonds, no pearls; and of gold
But one little circlet, as emblem
That love will thee ever enfold.

Thy home will be only a cottage,
And even the floors may be bare.
The furnishings be the most simple,
And frugal be also the fare.

The cottage will be by the brookside,
By willows so shady and cool.
Thy beauty will be e’er reflected
In mirror that is but a pool.

Thou wilt not be decked in fine linen;
E’en cotton may be all thy gowns.
But, love-words will e’er be my greeting,
And kisses take place of dark frowns.

My love is the most I can offer—
Will love cover up a bare floor?
Or will it fly out of the window,
If poverty enters at door?

I know that thy beauty would honor
A palace, instead of a cot.
That silks should be e’er thy adorning,
But happiness ne’er can be bought.

In palace there can be much sorrow,
’Neath jewels may be broken heart.—
Though clothed in the finest apparel,
All naked the wound, and the smart

That comes from a troth that is broken;
That comes from a love that is cold.
’Thout love, e’en a palace is dreary,
Though furnished with jewels, and gold.

Then, darling, take what I can offer—
My heart filled with love, and my home
A nest for my birdling, my sweetheart,
And never from thee will I roam.

LOVE’S ACCEPTANCE.

Love’s jewels are better than baubles.—
A palace may not be a home;
Unhappiness dwelling within it
Though jeweled from throne-room to dome

Love’s jewels are all that I ask for;
True love is more precious than gold,
I wish not for palace, nor mansion
Thine arms shall me ever enfold.

A sip from Love’s brook is far better
Than wine from a gold jeweled cup.
’Tis poison in chalice, if Hatred
Sits with us at table to sup.

The mirror I crave is the love-light
That beams in thine eyes, and thy face,
And, cottage when furnished with love-deeds;
Of poverty shows not a trace.

Love ever looks upward, not downward,
Will therefore not think of bare floor;
And will not fly out of the window,
Though Poverty enters at door.

My gowns may be cotton, or linen;
It matters but little to me.—
My beauty is not of much value,
Unless it is pleasing to thee.

The nest thou hast built by the brookside,
Is better, far better for me
Than mansion, or palace, or castle;
No shadow within shall there be.

But echoing songs of thy “birdling”
Shall fill every corner, and nook.
The willows shall be sylvan bowers;
And fountain of love shall be brook.

AUTUMN LEAVES.

I now have culled from out Life’s forest
These Autumn Leaves which I shall send you
They have been pressed into service
For my little book.

Perhaps if you the leaves had chosen,
You would have culled more brilliant colors,
And pressed them better too.

By careful searching you may find one
That pleases you by word, or measure,
And cherished e’en will be.

I hope that you will take some pleasure
In reading book, and conning measure.
But kindly criticise.

I give my leaves into your keeping,
I hope with love you will receive them,
These offsprings of my heart.

FINALE.

My “Autumn Leaves” are gathered,
And now they must be pressed.
I hope they will give pleasure,
And hearts by them be blessed.

Transcriber Notes

In a few cases, obvious errors in punctuation have been fixed.

In the table of contents, “Our Virtues Are Carved Upon One Tombstones” changed to “Our Virtues Are Carved Upon Our Tombstones”. “Can’st Tell Me” changed to “Canst Tell Me”. “To A Friend On Her Birthday” changed to “To A Friend On Her Birth-day” “Yesterday changed to Yesterdays”

Page 32: A missing quote was added after “Are governed by His will.”

Page 54: A missing quote was added before “A monarch I will”

Page 60: “Eor her I’d gladly die” changed to “For her I’d gladly die”

Page 67: “They then receeded from the shore.” changed to “They then receded from the shore.”

Page 162: “Sharper than a sepent’s tooth is,” changed to “Sharper than a serpent’s tooth is,”

Page 201: In tears of grief the original version had the f printed upside down

Page 207: “LIFF IS NOTHING WITHOUT LOVE.” changed to “LIFE IS NOTHING WITHOUT LOVE.”

Page 217: “Dealh is surcease” changed to “Death is surcease”. “thy erosses bear” changed to “thy crosses bear”

Page 230: “These Antumn Leaves” changed to “These Autumn Leaves”

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUTUMN LEAVES ***

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Table of Contents

Autumn Leaves

Preface

Dedication

Contents

AUTUMN LEAVES.

WRITE.

DREAMLAND.

WHAT WILL THE HARVEST BE?

WE KNOW WHAT THE HARVEST WILL BE.

MERIDIAN.

THE INDIAN LOVER’S PLEA.

WINONA’S REPLY.

AT LAST.

THE AWAKENING OF THE LILIES.

CONQUERED.

THE WATER SPIRIT.

THE WORLD IS ASLEEP.

WHAT IS THE FUTURE OF THE RACE?

LOVE’S PATH.

A PRAYER.

LIFE’S ROAD.

WHERE IS HEAVEN?

DESTINY.

WHY?

LIBERTY.

MY SOUL AND I.

FORSAKEN.

FAREWELL.

THE PEBBLE’S SOLILOQUY.

AN ANGEL’S MESSAGE.

THE RACE OF LIFE WITH TIME.

O DEATH WHERE IS THY STING?

THE MOTHER’S PLEA.

TO A FRIEND.

TIME WAITS FOR NO MAN.

TIDE WAITS FOR NO MAN.

FREEDOM.

REVERIE.

A MOHAMMEDAN’S PRAYER.

NATURE’S PLAN.

THE SUNBEAM’S WOOING.

THE PROGRESSION OF THE ROSE.

ALL LIFE HATH SOUL.

IT MATTERS NOT.

“WHAT IS MAN THAT THOU ART MINDFUL OF HIM?”

“AS A MAN THINKETH SO IS HE.”

MY GUESTS.

GOD IS EVERYWHERE.

DEAD HOPES.

BURIED HOPES.

LOVE’S MESSAGE.

A FABLE.

DEPLORE NOT THE SHADOWS OF LIFE.

LOVE’S GARLAND.

LET US BUILD ABOVE THE STARS.

GHOSTS OF THE ATTIC.

NOT YET.

DUTY.

LIFE’S PLAN.

BROTHERHOOD OF MAN.

MAN DEFYING THE DYING SUN.

IF THERE IS NO HEREAFTER.

LOVE’S SONG.

FORGIVE.

FORGET.

YESTERDAYS.

TOMORROW.

CONSOLATION.

THE DEAD SUMMER.

THERE IS A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS.

TO A COMET.

LOVE’S DART.

WEEDS.

THE BLIND BEGGAR’S APPEAL.

THE THREADS OF LIFE.

MEMORY’S BOOK.

DO NOT BORROW TROUBLE.

GIVE SMILES, NOT TEARS.

FAREWELL TO THE DYING YEAR.

THE BOOK OF GIFTS.

UNKIND WORDS.

SEEK FOR THE GOOD IN LIFE.

LOVE’S CROWN.

MY SOUL’S DESIRE AND DESTINY

INCARNATION.

REINCARNATION.

LIFE’S BURDEN.

TO MOUNT SIERRA.

OFT POISONED IS THE WINE OF LIFE.

THE GAME OF LIFE.

“THE OLD, OLD STORY.”

THE GHOST OF LOVE.

I SHALL SING IT SOMETIME.

WHEN I AM DEAD.

“’TIS FOLLY TO BE WISE.”

THE OLD OAK’S REVERIE.

INGRATITUDE.

“JUDGE NOT.”

OUR VIRTUES ARE CARVED UPON OUR TOMBSTONES.

HONOR, FAME, OR LOVE.

COURAGE.

PERSEVERE.

SPEAK BUT KIND WORDS.

VAGARY.

THE HOME BEAUTIFUL.

THE BEATITUDES.

BURY THE PAST.

TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTH-DAY.

HAVE IDEALS.

SELFISHNESS.

LIFE IS NOTHING WITHOUT LOVE.

THE CENTURY FLOWER.

LIFE’S MUSIC.

LOVE’S GARDEN.

THE LAST PORT.

CANST TELL ME?

THE SOUL SEEKING FOR PERFECTION.

LIFE’S THOUGHTLESSNESS.

THE FLOWER’S PRAYER FOR IMMORTALITY.

LOVE’S OFFERING.

LOVE’S ACCEPTANCE.

AUTUMN LEAVES.

FINALE.

Transcriber Notes

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