Skip to main content

Full text of "Author's edition of Texas garlands"

See other formats

Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2007 with funding from 

IVIicrosoft Corporation 





Hutbot'8 Ebition 


Texas Garlands 


Mrs. Martha E. Whitten, 



DoNOHUE & Henneberry, 

Printers and Binders. 


■ a 9 a. 

Entered according to Act oi Congress, in the year 1886, by 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, 

Bancroft Library 

\0,7 5^ 












THIS is an age of books. Truly, "^of making many books 
there is no end." One is almost bewildered by the many 
well dressed, nice mannered, highly endorsed volumes that knock 
at the door of his library, and is not to be blamed if, when he 
sees his time and energies being wasted in an effort to decide 
which to admit and which to reject, he is tempted to slam the 
door in the face of all new-comers, and settle down to Emerson's 
advice not to read a book that is not more than one year old. If 
in that mood, will the reader be advised and kindly make an 
exception in favor of this latest candidate for attention? For 
Texas Garlands, having been written, is anxious to be read, 
and ought to be. 

These poems were not originally written with the deliberate 
intention of giving them to the public in this form, but the 
author wrote for the love of it. Built up from the bloom of 
many summers, the author plucking the flowers that sprang up 
in her fertile fancy, this well-wrought wreath is now sent forth 
on its mission. 

The book is Texas born, Texas christened and Texas bred, 
and, like other Texas institutions, stands on its merits. Give it 
a chance. Don't pass it by because it is new and unpretentious, 
nor because it hails from Austin instead of from Boston. But 
for certain unavoidable circumstances it might have been written 
and published at the latter place instead of the former, not the 
least of which is — the author happened to be born in Texas. 



But where is the difference ? A mocking bird is equal to a 
niglitingale, if it sings as sweetly — it is all in the song. The 
wild flowers of our prairies are as many colored and rich in their 
native beauty as the hot-house bloom of northern latitudes. 

The author is not unknown as a waiter, having long been a 
contributor, in prose and verse, to many of the leading papers 
and periodicals of Texas. This volume will be gladly welcomed 
by a host of friends and admirers who have been cheered and 
charmed by her occasional pieces. 

Mrs. Martha E. Whitten, daughter of Judge Wm. S. Hotch- 
kiss, one of the pioneer settlers of Austin, was born near Austin, 
in Travis county, Texas, on the third day of October, 1842. 
She attended B. J. Smith's Female Academy at Austin for years, 
afterwards old McKenzie College, under J. W. P. McKenzie, 
which latter fact is commemorated in one of her most popular 

She began writing verses at the early age of eleven years, and 
at twelve contributed to the press. Some of these earlier poems 
are included in this collection. 

These poems were written amid the burdens of domestic life. 
The cares of a large family have often forced the impatient pen 
to lie idle. But the songs are sweeter for having been sung 
above the home nest. Many a weary housewife will find comfort 
and rest here, communing with one who walks by her side, and 
pours over the scenes and incidents of common-place life the 
mellow light of poesy. Happily the day is past, and our Amer- 
ican poets have hastened it forward, when red-handed war, deeds 
of the so-called great, or the impossible doings of imaginary 
beings can furnish the only themes for the Muses. The heart 
of genius touched and tuned by the hand of the Crucified, finds 
its noblest inspiration in the struggles and experiences of its 


fellow-men, and its happiest employment in making life easier 
and brighter for them. Such has been the mission of the author 
of this volume. She has written, not for fame nor pecuniary 
advantage, but with a desire to do good. She recognizes the 
truth that 

Art is an instrument, not an end — 
A servant, not a master, nor a God 
To be bowed down to. 

Every verse has been laid at the feet of a higher Master. Every 
poem is shot through and through with the light of Christian 
hope. The reader will be reminded on every page that these 
garlands blossomed in the atmosphere of prayer, and that their 
roots struck deep in a ripe Christian experience. 

To the critical there will appear blemishes. How could it be 
otherwise ? The sun has spots. But here is also true poetry, 
tender and beautiful, with occasional passages of surprising excel- 
lence and power, revealing like a flash of light the rare gifts of 
the author. If her Muse sometimes sinks to the common-place 
she as often rises to the sublime. The lark that sings in the 
sky also builds her nest on the ground. 

What is to be the career of this volume is in the hands of a 
discriminating public to determine. Of one thing be assured, 
the author and book deserve a generous reception. 


Austin, July 7, 1886. 


'X'O my readers — especially those dear friends at whose earnest 

solicitations these poems have been compiled in book form and 

presented to the public, and whose kind words of loving cheer 

have been to ns Ijke *' hidden treasure/' urging us on to success. 

We confess it is with considerable trepidation that we have 
consented to launch our Texas GarlaJs^ds upon the great sea 
of literature, conscious as we are of their many imperfections, 
and yet we trust not altogether devoid of merit. These verses 
are not the fruits of leisure hours — we have had none. Life 
with us has been full of pressing duties and cares, but the gentle 
Muses have deigned to linger with us while performing our home 
duties and ministering to our dear ones — sometimes in the hush 
of evening while we were rocking a babe to sleep with gentle 
lullaby ; sometimes in the fragrant woodland surrounded by all 
nature's loveliness ; sometimes by the couch of a sufferer ; but 
oftenest in the silence of the death chamber, where torn and 
bleeding hearts poured forth their uncontrollable grief in stifled 
moans and broken sobs. 

There are pieces here for the glad and gay — for the lonely and 
the bereaved. Reader ! if a great sorrow has weighed down your 
loving heart — if the Eeaper has gathered some beautiful bud to 
himself, leaving your heart torn and bleeding, then turn and read 
Our Dove with Folded Wings, or Little Pet — or if the companion 
of 3^our bosom has been borne to the silent home of the dead, 
then turn to Eest in Peace, or At the River, and be comforted. 
We have endeavored throughout this work, wherever we are con- 
scious of appropriating the thoughts, or expressions of others, to 


give due credit, and yet, like some long forgotten strain, or some 
dream but half remembered, perhaps the thoughts of others have 
intruded upon us when we were unconscious of it. Many of 
these poems have already been given to the public in different 
newspapers and periodicals of our State, but by far the greater 
number appear in print for the first time. 

Eeader! may you be comforted and benefited by the perusal 
of these pages, and we can only hope that you may enjoy to 
some extent in reading them, the pleasure that we have enjoyed 
in loriting them. 



A USTIN ! fair city of our Southern land. 
By nature's gifts adorned on every hand! 
What pen so gifted can thy beauties trace? 
Or tall the charms thy lovely features grace? 

What painter skilled can touch in varied dyes 
Thy changeful scenes? Thy soft Italian skies? 
Thy towering hills, thy fragrant leafy bowers; 
Thy gardens fair, abloom with choicest flowers? 

What noted lute attuned to songs of praise. 
In thy behalf can fitting music raise? 
What Poet's song in measured flowering verse 
Can well the grandeur of thy scenes rehearse? 

Sure, Nature decked thee in her wanton pride, 
With more of beauty than an Eastern bride; 
Thy Streets are teeming with commerce and gain; 
Thy suburbs still some pristine charms retain. 

Like quiet nuns, in sombre garb arrayed. 
Thy forest oaks lends here and there a shade; 
While fragrant cedars in their emerald dress, 
Enhance, fair City, thy rare loveliness. 



Thou sittest a Queen! Secure thy royal throne 
On statelier hills than e'er old Eome had known; 
We render homage to thy gentle sway. 
And mark with pleasure thy renown to-day. 

We, who caught first thy early cradle hymn, 
^Mid grand old oaks with shadows weird and dim — 
Contrast delighted thy sublime career. 
Thy present glory with thy rude frontier. 

The red deer feasted on the grasses green. 

Where thy smooth pavements, and thy streets are seen; 

And now the hum of industry is heard 

Where caroled once the lonely singing bird. 

''Mid clash of horns and sounding battle horn. 
On the greensward wast thou, fair City, born; 
Born 'midst the terror of a despot's reign, 
While martyr's blood thy swaddling garments stain. 

Fear rocked thy infancy! Thy lullaby 
The Indian warwhoop, and the cayote's cry; 
A few rude cabins, dotted through the wood. 
The red man's missiles and the storms Avithstood. 

Like some fair flower, of wondrous beauty rare. 
Thou hast expanded 'neath artistic care; 
Business and thrift have to thy center poured; 
Unlocked with magic touch thy wealthy hoard. 


With what wild rapture now thy beauty thrills! 
Thy love-lit vales and glory-curtained hills; 
Thy stately structures — edifices grand. 
Embossed with splendor from the sculptor's hand. 

The Colorado, on whose tranquil breast 
More than ten thousand burnished rubies rest; 
As flashing back the sun's meridian rays 
Its rippling waters in refulgence blaze 

Embraces thee. With murmurings low and sweet. 
Pours constant homage at thy willing feet — 
Like mother-love, its onward, ceaseless flow. 
Gladdens thee still, as in the Long Ago. 

Grim, dark-browed mountains^ — stately monarchs grand. 
Wrapping in shadow all the fertile land, 
Like giant lovers at thy north are seen. 
Guarding with vigilance their honored Queen. 

Fairest art thou in all this sunny land. 
With vast resources waiting thy command! 
May thy prospei;ity remain secure. 
Through future ages may'st thou still endure. 



T^HEEE is a beautiful islet 

Kept green in life's dark main, 
"Wheie relics of dear heart treasures 

Enrich its fair domain; 
And the heart full oft grown weary 

With its weight of care and woe. 
Delights to wonder backward 

To that Isle of Long Ago. 

There, friends we fondly cherished 

Are once more by our side; 
We forget in joyous greeting 

That they have crossed the tide. 
We forget in that blest reunion, 

The shadows that come and go. 
When we wander away in dreamland. 

To that Isle of Long Ago. 

Its bowers in springtime verdure 

From us ne'er fade away, 
And its flowers of sweetest fragrance 

Ne'er wither by decay. 
And there love's faithful watchfires 

Through changeless seasons glow. 
While we wreathe in fadeless beauty. 

That Isle of Long Ago. 


Though faded hopes and broken vows 

Mark well earth's dreary track. 
Still there are cherished seasons 

That win affection back. 
Still there's a favored islet, 

Nor change nor blight can know — 
That blissful isle in memory — 

That Isle of Long Ago. 


JVIURSING and working. 

Her duty ne'er shirking. 
Who can a mother portray? 
AYith heart and hand willing — 
Rare comforts distilling, 
To gladden her flock each day; 
Oh, who is so faithful to watch and to wait? 
Toiling for little ones early and late. 

Making and mending. 
Ten thousand wants tending 
With motherly care; 

Winning and wooing, 

"Billing and cooing" 

Over her baby so fair; 

Hushing its cries with her lullaby song. 

Seeking its happiness all the day long. 


Commending or chiding. 
The little feet guiding 
Into the ^'narrow way;" 
Reproving or blessing. 
With tender caressing. 
Seeking her duty each day; 
Her heart breathing prayers from morning till night- 
*'God bless my children, and guide them aright." 

Baking and broiling. 
Constantly toiling, 
Suiting the daintiest taste; 
Changing and turniug. 
Her hands ne'er spurning 
Aught that secures from waste; 
Doing, and doing from morning till night. 
Making home happy and little ones bright. 

Knitting and sewing. 
Her duties pursuing. 
Scarce knowing leisure or ^st; 
Ugly rents repairing. 
Time nor trouble sparing, 
In aught that maizes children blest; 
Fashioning, fitting, arranging with care. 
Beautiful clothes for her darlings to wear. 

Staying the patter. 
The noise and the clatter 
Of so many restless feet; 


Washing their faces. 

Adding new graces 
To dimpled cheeks downy and SAveet; 
Combing and braiding the soft silken l:air, 
With deft fingers robing her children so fair. 

Teaching and training. 
The wayward restraining, 
Leading each dear little hand; 
No Monarch of State 
Has a mission so great — 
]^o General such a command. 
Oh, who has so much to perplex and annoy? 
Or who knows a tithe of a mother^s pure joy? 

Herself forgetting. 
Their crying and fretting 
She soothes with gentle caress; 
To cure all their bruises. 
Her kiss ne'er refuses. 
Her love healing each distress; 
Who can the charms of a mother unfold? 
Or tell of her worth ^'^ Above rubies and gold?'* 

Watching and weeping, 
While others are sleeping, 
Keeping her vigil alone; 

With heart well nigh breaking. 
Her post ne'er forsaking 
Beside her suffering one; 
Bathing his temple, arranging his bed. 
Smoothing the pillow for the dear little head. 


In yonder home lonely. 
One little lamb only 
The Shepherd would spare; 
It grew in rare beauty. 
The mother^s sole duty 
To tend it with care. 
But now pale and cold sleeps that dear little one. 
And mother is resting; her mission is done. 


T TAIL sunny isle! Hail city by the sea! 

Galveston! I would wake a song for thee; 
Of thee may poets sing in rapturous lays. 
For thy rare beauty merits lofty praise. 

Like some fair queen of royal birth — alone 
Thou^rt reigning to-day on thy wave-girt throne; 
Of thee, Galveston! Texas well may boast — 
A wealthy "gem^* worn on her wave- washed coast. 

We saw thee first in all thy spring-time bloom, 

"When regal lilies donned their crimson plume; 

"When breezes laden with ten thousand sweets. 

Strayed through thy groves and cheered thy busy streets. 


Thy princely homes, embowered with climbing vines. 
Where honeysuckle with the rose entwines — 
Far lovelier haunts than Naiads ever knew 
Arose in splendor to our wondering view. 

Thy ^^ angry lover, ^^* as the poets tell. 
Still binds thee fast with his enchanting spell; 
His swelling heart, in all its yearning pride. 
Longs to embrace thee as a willing bride. 

Constant devotion he pours at thy feet. 
With low soft murmur sings thy praises sweet; 
He is sobbing and moaning with sad refrain — 
For thou^'t mocking his love with cold disdain. 

Thou charming queen! Thou hast listened long 
To his sobbing moans, and his ceaseless song; 
Thou art still repelling his wanton charms; 
Thou dost still recede from his frothy arms. 

Galveston! Lovely city by the sea! 
We fondly cherish pleasant thoughts of thee; 
Of gentle hearts whose kind, attentive care. 
Gladdened our stay upon thy island fair. 

God guard and keep thee! May no storm o'erwhelm 
Thee, lovely city, in thy wave-bound realm; 
May never thy corse ^neath the billowy brine 
With sleeping mermaids in death recline. 

Molly v.. Moore styled the Gulf, Galveston's angry lover. 



AxT—Fa^td Flowers. 


OO fair was our bud in unfolding. 

So lovely the casket of clay. 
That angels from heaven beholding. 

Soon beckoned our idol away. 
'Mid the bleak winds of earth blowing roughly, 

'Mid sorrow, affliction and guile, 
'Twas mete that a being so lovely 

Should only remain a brief while. 

Not paler the cold chiseled marble 

We've reared o'er her last resting j)lace. 
Than was the sweet face of our darliiig, 

While sleeping in death's chill embrace. 
We'll scatter the violets and roses. 

In beauty and fragrance around 
The spot where our Lillie reposes, 

Un waked by the zephyr's low sound. 

We'll not plant the yew and the cypress. 

Unfitting their dark verdure there. 
Or the willow with low hanging branches. 

To shadow the grave of our fair. 
Stern death may each cherished hope sever. 

But we'll plant the amaranth* there. 
For we kAow that she liveth forever^ 

In that land where the pure spirits are. 


While tear-drops our eyes are fast dimming, 

And grief rends each true loving breast. 
Our Lillie in heaven is hymning 

The songs of the happy and blest. 
^Ye bow ^neath this chastening sorrow. 

Our Father' can lessen the pain. 
And we wait for that glorious morrow 

When we shall meet our darling again. 

^The amaranth is the emblem of immortality. 


A N earnest child with thoughtful brow. 
And learned beyond his years, 
With anxious look and questions grave. 

By grandma's side appears. 
All evening long his gossip sweet. 

For her such music made; 
They noted not the flying hours, 
Xor marked the gathering shade. 

Intent on learning something more. 

He plied his questions still; 
The evening shadows longer grew. 

And wrapped the distant hill. 
They settled o'er the grove and vale. 

And o'er the busy town; 
He started — '^Grandma, I must go,'* 

''The dark is coming down."' 


He Imrried off with flying feet, 

Nor stayed his rapid pace. 
Till safe at home in mother's arms. 

Clasped in her fond embrace; 
With her warm kiss upon his cheek, 

Iler love his heart to crown; 
What cared he then for gathering night. 

For "dark fast coming down?" 

In future years that yet may come 

To that devoted child, 
May friends be near to comfort him, 

Should tempests gather wild. 
And, oh! should fiery trials come. 

And changeful fortune frown, 
God keep him safely in Thy care 

When "the dark is coming down." 

When tliis life with us is over. 

When its duties all are done. 
As our feet shall tread that portal. 

Whither all must walk alone; 
When death's mists are gathering o'er us. 

And its waves our senses drown; 
Then, oh, blessed Savior, keep us. 

When "the dark is coming down." 




TIE is resting! ^Tis vacation! 

Holiday has just begun ! 
He is resting from his labors 

As he ne'er before hath done. 
Life with him was long and useful. 

And with deeds of love replete — 
Let him rest as rests the faithful — 

Ne'er before was rest so sweet. 

He is resting — as the warrior 

Who has conquered all his foes; 
As the watchman — true to duty 

Seeks at last his sweet repose; 
As the brave and fearless hero. 

When the battle's strife is done. 
Weary, seeks his waiting pillow. 

Calmly sleeps at set of sun. 

Many trophies for the Savior 

He had gathered by the way; 
They may not be known or numbered 

Till eternity's great day. 
When its light so grand and glorious 

Radiates our world below — 
When God's record shall be opened. 

Then, perhaps, we each may know. 


Lo ! a throng of white-robed angels — 

Pupils who have gone before. 
Tune their harps to bid him welcome 

As he nears the golden shore; 
Happy souls who long have lingered 

'Mid those heavenly visions fair; 
And we wonder who is pupil — 

Who the teacher over there. 

Hear the Savior's joyful welcome — 

'^Servant of the Lord, well done,'' 
^*Rest from sin and pain and labor" — 

Earth is lost and heaven won. 
He is resting, sweetly resting — 

Gone the cross — secure the crown. 
In the glory of His presence 

Where the dark no more comes doivn.\ 

*Rev. B- J. Smith, who passed away July 4, 1882, had been a faithful preceptor and instructor 
of the young of our city for thirty years, and to his faithful training and instruction is our city 
and county indebted for many of its best citizens. Sweet be his rest. M. E. W. 

tit was his own little ^andchild who gave rise to the sentence, "Tho dark is coming down," 
used elsewhere in this work. M. E, W. 



T^HE boys, the boys, oh, the rollicking boys ! 

Filling the house with their din and their noise; 
Coming and going, and racing so fast; 
Hurrying, skurrying, scampering past. 

Upsetting chairs. 

Climbing up stairs. 
Almost forgetting their lessons and prayers. 

The boys, the boys, oh, the unruly boys I 
Teasing for dainties, gumdrops and toys; 
Their wants are named legion — ne'er will they stop 
Begging a drum, kite, whistle, or top. 

Dare we to complain 

At Ms constant strain. 
Taxing our patience, our prudence and brain ? 

The boys, the boys, oh, the mischievous boys ! > 
How their fun and frolic the household annoys; 
They're teasing a. sister — pulling her curls — 
Spoiling her dolly, mocking at girls; 

"Worrying the cat — 

Tossing a hat — 
Playing too roughly with their ball and their, bat. 


The boys, the boys, oh, the fun-loving boys ! 

Their thoughtlessness often our pleasure destroys; 

Fishing or swimming, with friends or alone. 

The mother, distressed, counts the time they are gone. 

They play for long hours 

Too near our choice flowers; 
Oh, who can endure these dear boys of ours? 

The boys, the boys, oh, our wild, wayward boys ! 
What- patience and tact the mother employs ! 
Over and over to chide and restrain, 
From morning till night her duty is plain — 

To curb and to cure 

Whatever is impure; 
To warn them of evils, their hearts to allure. 

The boys, the boys, the dear, darling boys ! 
Soon to be men, leaving nonsense and toys; 
Soon to assume duties weighty and great 
Guiding in safety the great shij) of State. 

Oh, when they shall stand 

Honored men in the land. 
We will rejoice in onr mission so grand ! 

Whei#mother grows old and her steps are weak. 
And Time's deep furrows mark her brow and her cheek; 
When her tottering feet need a stay and a guide, 
Oh, then mark her boys as they wait by her side ! 

Her sorrows to share, 

They nothing will spare. 
But shield and protect her with tenderest care. 


When the kind Angel waits near her unseen, 
And the dark river flows dimly between; 
With her head pillowed on each loving breast. 
Their kiss on her cheek, she will sink to her rest 

Blessing her boys, 

Her dear, darling boys, 
Source of her comforts, and fund of her joys ! 


r^ULL many a ship, that was nobly manned, 

Has been 'mid the breakers lost. 
Just for the want of a beckoning hand 

To point out the perilous coast. 
In vain did the seamen strive, and try 

Their noble barque to save; 
No warning voice told of breakers nigh. 

And they sank to a watery grave. 

Thus many a soul, with powers — God-givX 

Might belong to his jeweled band; 
But was lost, alas ! to God and heaven. 

For want of a beckoning hand. 
Oh, mark how the shattered barques lie strewn! 

Far out on the wave- washed strand; 
Sad token of those who perished alone 

For want of a beckoning hand. 


Full many a sot in the gutter low. 

Might now with noblemen stand. 
Had he only been won from the wine cup's glow. 

By the touch of a gentle hand. 
Are there not those, wearing woman's fair brow, 

(Unnamed in the family band). 
Who might have been saved from sin's overthrow 

But for want of a beckoning hand ? 

Mother ! oh, where are your children to-day ? 

Are they safe in His sheltering fold ? 
Or has one gone off into sin's dark way, 

O'er the mountains bleak and cold ? 
Oh, mother! call back, call back your child! 

Call it back to your nestling band, 
Lest it be lost 'mid the torrents wild. 

For want of your beckoning hand. 

There are sinking barques, by the tempest driven. 

To be lost ^neath the crested wave; 
There are wandering feet; there are hearts deep riv^n; 

There are erring ones to save. 
Are we doing our part ? God help us to think ! 

And faithful to duty stand. 
Lest some should perish on ruin's brink. 

For want of our beckoning hand. 


I WISH I WERE A child; 

Written at the Age of Fifteen. 




T SAW a man whose brow was marked 

With care's resistless hand, 
And o'er his locks a silvery hue, 

Betraying age, I scanned — 
And his fond heart, that once was free, 
Had known a share of misery. 

A little girl before him passed, 

Witli bright Spring roses crowned; 

Her step was like the fearless fawn. 
As from the play she bound — 

And gazing on her as she smiled. 

He said, ''I wish I were a child.'' 

*^1 wish I were a child again 

To frolic through the dell. 
Or play beside the laughing brook 

That over pebbles fell — 
While not a weary grief or care 
Should in my pleasure have a share. 


*' Again beside my mother's knee 

I'd bow with childish joy. 
As with her hand upon my head, 

She'd pray : ' God bless my boy ! ' 
Then what were gold on Ophir's plain. 
Were only I a child again!" 


T^OLL, toll the bells! Let far and near 

The dreadful tidings spread! 
America in sackcloth mourns 
Her noble chieftain dead. 

Ye nations kind from o'er the seas ! 

Join in our grief to-day; 
Orphaned, bereft, our nation weeps — 

Sorrow holds sovereign sway. 

Her princely Chieftain, great and good 

In courtly splendor lies; 
But Death's dark touch is on his brow; 

His seal on heart and eyes. 

A bleeding nation's anguished wail. 
Can ne'er his slumbers break; 

Nor yet stern duty's bugle-call 
This faithful Hero wake. 


America! proud empire, grand! 

Home of the good and brave ! 
With boundary lines from sea to sea. 

From mount to ocean's wave. 

One pulse-beat of thy royal heart 

Bespeaks thy common woe — 
Above thy murdered President 

Tears of the millions flow. 

United in thy common loss; 

Draped in one common gloom, 
Mingling bereavement's hallowed tears 

About thy Chieftain's tomb. 

Written soon after the telegram v(as received announcing the death of the President. Bellg 
were tolled, flags were at half-mast, houses of business were closed, and the entire city draped 
in deep mourning, expressive of our sorrow for our noble Chieftain. 





QWEET Friend! thou weavest 'round me a spell 

More potent than mere words can tell; 
Sweet memories flitting to and fro 
Bring back that happy Long Ago — 
When I, a lonely school -girl proved 
Thy gentle heart, by kindness moved. 


Though other loves my heart has known. 
In the long years that since have flown; 
And scenes of sorrow left their trace. 
Impressed upon my form and face — 
Yet none of these could ever rend 
Thy image from my heart, sweet friend ! 

The years have lightly dealt with thee — 

The same sweet genial face I see; 

And though amid thy jetty hair, 

A ^'silvery thread" gleams here and there; 

In vain old Time his wand applies — 

Thy heart his changeful power defies. 

Oh, mayest thou live for many a year! 

To shed thy happy influence here; 

To gladden other hearts as w'ell, 

And weave 'round them thy loving spell. 

And then at last, 'mid joys of heaven 

May an angel's crown to thee be given! 






QNOWY sheets and downy pillow 

Fitted in a cradle bed. 
Ready for a dimpled darling; 
Eeady for a curly head. 

Yes, 'tis ready, fully ready; 

Soft and smooth, and snowy white — 
Near the mother^s bed ^tis waiting 

As if for her babe to-night. 

Ah! our hearts grow sad in asking — 
Why does baby wait so long? 

AVell we know she^s with the angels 
Listening to their charming song. 

Lovely visions fill my bosom 
O^er this relic doubly dear. 

Of a precious baby darling 
Often folded sweetly here. 

Here, her head in slumber nestled 

While I sang her lullaby; 
Here, the dark-winged angel hovered. 

While we watched our darling die. 


Empty cradle! Precious relic! 

Linger thus within our sight. 
Though no little head may nestle 

^Mid your downy folds to-night. 

(At thy feet, oh Holy Father! 

Chastened, we would humbly bow. 
For we know our babe is resting 

With her blessed Savior now. 

May we through this night of sorrow 
For thy kingdom riper grow; 

Till amid the joys of heaven 
We, our babe again shall know.) 



r^AR from home and all its loved ones. 

In a stranger's land he lies, 
While above him stars are twinkling 

And the evening zephyr flies. 
No kind friend is standing near him; 

No loved hand to press his own — 
But he sickens — dies — is buried. 

In a strange land — all alone. 

Ah, methinks I see him lying 

On the chilly bed of death. 
With his pulses beating slowly. 

And still shorter wastes his breath. 


But he whispers ! Catch the echo ! 

E^er its lingering sound be gone. 
For perchance he^s breathing tokens 

To the saddened ones at home. 

^*Tell my mother I am dying — 

On my brow the cold sweat stands ; 
Death, the monster, now doth chain me 

With his iron clenching bands. 
Yet I do not fear his fetters. 

For my soul is going home 
And I'll wait for thee — sweet mother. 

Till thy spirit thence shall come. 

''Tell my sisters Fm a stranger; 

That a stranger's grave is mine — 
Yet I would not they should sorrow. 

Or at my sad fate repine. 
'Twould be sweet to hear them singing 

Songs I loved in days of yore ; 
For my barque would float more gently 

O'er the turbid ocean's roar. 

''Tell her — whom my heart loves fondly. 

That I never more shall hear 
Her sweet voice like tender music. 

Whispering gently in my ear. 
Tell her that when smiles are flitting 

O'er her cheek so fair and free; 
Or when her sad heart is weeping — 

Tell her to remember me/' 


Now the last dim note is dying; 

And his pulse has ceased to beat. 
Cold and stiff his limbs are getting; 

On his brow is icy sweat. 
He is dead ! his life is ended ; 

He has met his eternal doom ; 
And e'er long we hope to meet him 

In the heavenly, happy home. 

Written at the age of fifteen. 


/^H, my heart is thrilled to-day 
^^^With the voices of the May — 

Feasts of song. 

Borne along 
On the gentle murmuring breeze. 
From the leafy woodland trees. 
As the songsters in their glee. 
Chant their full-voiced melody — 
Wake anew their joyous strain 
"Welcoming the May again. 

Ere the radiant day is born, 
lio, the lark on yonder thorn 
Leaves her nest 
With dewy breast ; 
High her gushing peans raise 
To her Maker lofty praise ; 
Soaring, singing — lost to view, 
^Mid the dim ethereal blue — » 


Glad my heart would join the lay, 
Caroling the joyous May. 

The turtle-dove from out the wood. 
Where calmly waits her patient brood. 

With gentle coo 

Doth fondly woo 
To her warm breast her distant mate. 
And for his coming long doth wait ; 
Constant, faithful, loving, free. 
We would learn sweet bird of thee. 
Oh, may^st thou e^er a symbol prove 
Of our affection, gentle dove. 

From morn to eve is loudly heard 
The changeful notes of mocking bird ; 

From tree to tree 

So joyously. 
Oh, thou peerless prince of song ! 
How thy gushing notes prolong ; 
While the woods and valleys ring 
With the music thou dost bring ; 
Caroling from day to day 
Thy glorious songs of lovely May. 

Hark ! from off the distant hill 
Chants the sad-voiced whip-poor-will; 

Its plaintive note 

Doth sadly float 
Over hill, and wood, and plain — 
A lonely, melancholy strain ; 


Pouring out its tuneful powers 
'Mid the twilight's holy hours; 
Hiding from the glare of day 
To wake at night its lonely lay. 

Outpouring from the leafy glen 
Comes the song of modest wren ; 

K"ot the least 

In this glad feast. 
Is her music, sweet and clear. 
Charming heart, and soul, and ear. 
The red bird in his glorious dress. 
Whistles strains of tenderness ; 
'Tis thus the birds their voices blend. 
And with rich songs the May attend. 



DINGr out glad bell your joyous chime! 
Let your echo reach that distant clime 
Where this favored pair, in early youth 
Plighted the vows of eternal truth. 

'Twas far away in the dear *' home land," 
Where Atlantic kisses the pebbly strand. 
This bridegroom stood in his manly pride. 
Clasping the hand of his gentle bride ; 


While she — in robes and graces rare. 
With orange encircling her jetty hair, 
A peeress seemed, as with modest mein. 
She reigned alone — his unrivalled queen. 

For half a century by his side 
She has journeyed on — his faithful bride ; 
With love unwearied has cheered his heart ; 
Of all his grief, borne a willing part. 

What though her cheeks less ruddy glow ! 
Though her jetty locks some silver know ! 
The ''^ Golden" honors that crown her now. 
More charming seem than a youthful brow. 

No orange twines in her braided hair; 

^Tis a crown of '"^gold"! that sparkles there. 

She sits a queen ! let all hearts unite 

To crown her with gems this festive night. 

When added ones by their fireside hearth 
Gladdened their home with their childish mirth, 
'Twas theirs to guide with untiring care 
The little feet that were tottering there. 

Together they watched with a love untold 
Those opening buds of their home unfold ; 
Together mingled their silent tears 
When two fell asleep in their baby years. 


Their little graves heaped side by side 
Tell of angel feet by the " shoreless tide ;^' 
Their babes by the heavenly portal wait. 
To open for them the ^^ pearly gate/' 

Another — weary of earthly strife. 
Yielded up full soon her bright young life; 
She fell, alas ! in her youthful bloom — 
Too fair a flower for an early tomb. 

With what aching hearts they saw her fade ; 
Then humbly her grave 'neath the grasses made- 
She sweetly sleeps ! where the crumbling stone 
Bears — '^^ Bertha" to stranger eyes unknown. 

The years have passed, until fifty flown 
Bear on their bosom the changes gone. 
God has been good ! to His name be praise. 
Who has kindly lengthened their happy da3'S. 

Oh, joyous boon ! they have lived to see 
Three generations about their knee. 
Their children's children — a host attend, 
To glad the years they are yet to spend. 

May 'God in His mercy kindly spare 

For many a year this happy pair ; 

Crown them with good in this favored land — 

Then reunite them at His right hand. 

•Mr. and Mrs. Ernst liaven were marriod on February 7, 1830, at Gotha, Germany, and celebrated 
their g^olden wedding in Austin, Texas, on February 7, 1880. 

tShe was crowned with a golden crown, presented to her by friends in Germany. 




'HE sea, the sea, oli, the wonderful sea ! 
It hath a charm like enchantment for mc ; 
Like a joyous child I wait by its shore, 
And list to the sound of the wild waves' roar; 
I catch the murmur of the restless tide; 
As it nears the land with a rapid stride. 

The sea, the sea, oh, the turbulent sea ! 

It surges and swells in its frantic glee; 

It tosses, it writhes like the soul in unrest. 

While the mad waves play on its billowy breast. 
The sea, the sea, oh, a charm sublime 
Beguiles my heart with its wondrous chime. 

The sea, the sea, oh, thou treacherous sea ! 

What mines of wealth are reposing with thee; 

What treasures below in thy donjon keep 

With jewels of earth ^neatli thy billows sleep ! 
Full many have sunk from some fated wreck 
With naught but the seaweed their corse to deck. 

I had loved the paths through the fragrant wo(>(' 

The forest dense in its solitude; 

I had watched the stream with its rijipling tide. 

Till it charmed my heart with a holy pride. 
But how tame are these on the quiet land. 
Since I've gazed in awe on these billows grand. 


The sea, the sea, oh, thou deep restless sea ! 

I list the rude song of thy minstrels}^; 

And holy thoughts fill my heart and my brain • 

As I .gaze entranced on thy surging main — 
He at -whose word thou didst part from the land 
Holdeth thee still ^Mn the hollow of his hand/' 

In vain thou art lashing the foam-flecked strand; 

In vain thou'rt striving to compass the land; 

Thy waves recede in their froth and their foam 

For He has declared, '^thus far shalt thou come; 
Thus far, and no farther" — His word is obeyed, 
For here, boisterous sea, thy proud waves are stayed. 

The sea, the sea, oh, thou fathomless sea! 

An emblem thou art of immensity! 

Iron-clad steamers that sail fearlessly by 

Are toys in thy power when thy breakers are high. 
Though fickle and false, thou treacherous sea! 
Thou hast a charm like enchantment for me. 
Galveston, April 20th, 1881. 



'E meet as strangers now. Alas! 
Where'er in city streets we pass. 
By no mute sign or look is shown 
The fact we had each other known; 
And none could guess, so cold thou art. 
That once my name lived in your heart. 


^Twere better tlius. I'd rather bear 
Thy image from my heart to tear. 
Than live beneath the stinging smart 
Arising from a broken heart — 

Than see thee in the gutter lie 

Despised by every passer-by. 

Thou wast a man with manly pride 
When once I thought to be thy bride; 
But now, alas ! there's woeful change 
You loved your glass! sure 'tis not strange- 
Now gross neglect, and scorn and strife 
Are hers, your pledged, dishonored wife. 

As strangers now full oft we meet 
In crowded hall or busy street 
Without one pang. I joy to know 
My tears for thee shall never flow; 
And noiu I bless the happy day 
That proved my idol naught but clay. 

Far better to have lived alone. 
And ne'er the joys of Hymen known. 
Than to have pawned my heart's pure gold, 
For miseries by tongue untold — 
Than to have lived through years of strife, 
Neglected, cursed — a drunkard's' wife. 

God saved me that. I bless his name ! 
One worthier far a suitor came; 


He asked my hand — nay do not start ! 

I yielded him my hand and heart ! 
And ne^er from that glad day to this 
Have ever deemed the act amiss. 

Xot one regret now pains my heart. 
That thou and I are thus apart; 
Xay to my death I'll thankful be 
That I was spared such misery. 

You loved your glass and this is why 

I pass you now so coldly by. 



f^ on, tireless one, in thy mission of love 

Proclaiming to man the glad news from above; 
Go, herald salvation from Zion^s sure wall 
Till the power of Satan before it shall fall. 
Go, visit the poorhouse, the workshop, the prison; 
Go tell there of Jesus the buried — the risen; 
Proclaim how he died, that to man might be given 
Remission on earth, and the glories of heaven. 

The orphan^s sad tear at thy presence shall dry; 
The widow shall cease for a moment her sigh; 


The sick and the dying with glad hearts shall bless 
The friend that has ministered in such deep distress. 

How glorious the mission! thus humbly to tread 
In the footsteps of Christ — the Immaculate Head, 
Cheered on by His presence, upheld by His grace. 
To offer redemption to Adam's lost race. 

Go on. Cheer the weary, relieve the oppressed; 
Go, comfort the dying, the sad, the distressed; 
And may thy reward through eternity be 
Prom the lips of the Master — '^ You did it to me." 



QAY! heard ye not that rustle 
^ Within the heavenly land? 
When another soul unfettered 

Joined the happy angel band? 
Another spirit ransomed 

From sorrow, death aud sin — 
Open wide " ye everlasting gates, ^ 

Welcome our Lizzie in. 

Mother! her garments fold away. 
She does not need them there; 

Here is a robe of spotless white. 
Such as the angels wear. 


Oh, sure heaven's walls are ringing 
With a new and joyous song, 

And we feel that she is singing 
With that holy, happy throng. 

The being, glad and happy. 

That made your home so bright. 
Unfettered now is basking 

In heaven's holier light. 
That lovely form may moulder. 

And in the grave decay; 
But we shall again behold her. 

In realms of cloudless day. 

Oh, dry your tears, ye parents! 

Beyond our mortal view. 
In the fields of heavenly beauty. 

Your Lizzie waits for you. 
Joyous will be your meeting . 

Upon that heavenly shore. 
Where your darling daughter greeting. 

Your partings will be o'er. 




\17ELC0ME, thrice welcome^ our beautiful boy I 

Thy coming enhances our bliss; 
With hearts brimming o^er with infinite joy. 

We give thee a parentis fond kiss. 
Thou seem'st a wanderer from some sunny nest. 

Where sorrow had not blighted all; 
Unsullied and pure as a snowflake at rest. 

Art thou now — our dear baby Paul. 

Welcome, thrice welcome, our innocent one! 

We bless the kind love that has given 
So precious a boon to our hearts, gentle son, 

To brighten our pathway to heaven. 
How bleak would this earth be now, little dear. 

If God should this blessing recall; 
Our hearts would be desolate, lonely and dreai% 

Without thee our dear little Paul. 

Welcome, thrice welcome! No words can express 

The half that our fond hearts now feel; 
We fain would shield thee from every distress, 

Each sorrow would joyfully heal. 
God spare thee, our darling, and grant thee his love, 

To conquer the sin of the fall. 
And bring thee at last, to his haven above, 

Our innocent, beautiful Paul. 



A PICTURE fair to see 
Lingers in memory; 
'Twas deeply graven on my cliildish heart. 
Within our cottage home; 
Ere sorrow yet had come, 
Ere yet the angel called our mother to depart. 

Beside our mother's knee. 

In deep humility. 
At night, to pray, we older children knelt; 

''Our Father who in heaven art'' — 

The prayer arose from each young heart, 
While humble looks bespoke the reverence felt. 

The babe in snowy gown. 

Then by her knee knelt down; 
Clasped tiny hands and closed its eyes 

As if in prayer- — yet no faint word 

From those sweet baby lips was heard. 
Rising as incense to the skies. 

Yet listening angels there. 

Beheld the baby fair. 
So like themselves the gentle cherub seemed. 

Its little infant prayer they guessed, 

And paused that night above its rest 
To kiss it while it dreamed. 

The babe in snowy gown 
Then by her knee knelt down, 
Clasped tiny hands and closed its eyes 
As if in prayer. 




^^/^NLY waiting till the shadows 
Are a little longer grown, " 
Till the sun so near declining, 

In the twilight shall go down. 
Till the last hright rose of summer 

Bbws its drooping head to die, 
Till the merry woodland songsters 
To a sunnier clime shall fly. 

Only waiting till the Savior 

Calls thee from this darkened land. 
Counting thee a worthy workman. 

By his glorious throne to stand. 
Till thy brow which now is farrowed 

With the cares the righteous know. 
Shall be crowned w4th living laurels 

Which in heaven alone may grow. 

Only waiting for the moment 

That shall sever earthly ties. 
Making thee a kindred angel 

With the throng in yonder skies; 
That shall nerve thy trembling fingers 

To a harp of priceless gold; 
And unto thy raptured vision, 

Heavenly beauties shall unfold. 


Only waiting! only waiting! 

AVhat a glorious thought is this! 
Waiting till the master's bidding 

Welcomes thee to scenes of bliss. 
All thy earthly labor ended. 

Calm and tranquil is thy breast — 
Waiting till some friendly angel 

Takes thee to thy long-sought rest. 


^6 "FAKE, oh take me to my mother," 
Pleaded once a gentle child, 
When that angel mother's likeness. 
Life-like, in her presence smiled. 

"Take, oh take me to my mother; 
Sure the way cannot be long; 
And if you' will lead me, sister! 
Then my feet will not go Avrong. 

''The sad secret of her absence 
I can never understand; 
But you tell me she is resting 
Safely in the better land. 

'* And you say that she is waiting 
For her darlings over there; 
And that we again shall see her. 
Gentle sister! tell me where! 


'^Oh, I long so much to see her! 
Sister, take me to her now; 
I would have her loving kisses. 
On my lips, and cheek, and brow. 

'^She would fold me to her bosom. 
As so often she hath done; 
For I feel that e'en in heaven 
She would know her little one. 

'*0h, my heart has been so lonely! 
Ever since she went away, 
Take me to my gentle mother. 
By her side, oh let me stay." 

. No, not yet thou guileless prattler! 
For a season linger here, 
Our sad hearts so sorely wounded. 
Your sweet mission is to cheer. 


May the angels keep thee, Maggie! 

Guide thy little tender feet 
Till within those heavenly mansions. 

You that angel mother greet! 

* Little Maprgie John, of Galveston (daughter of our esteemed friend. , liev. I. G. John), aged three and 
a half years, ou beholding an enlarged picture of her mother soon after her death, burst into tears, 
and begged her sister to take her to her mother. 




/^UR Henry sleeps. K"o more at morn 
^^^ AYith laughing eyes to wake. 
And brush the trembling tears aAvay, 
That gather for his sake. 

AVe've put his playthings all away. 

And hid his little chair; 
We miss him from our lonely hearts. 

We miss him everywhere. 

He was our ^^ Sunbeam ^^ * kindly sent 

To cheer us with his smile; 
A ''Cherub''* by our Father loaned 

To gladden earth awhile. 

W^e thought Death was ''a gloomy thing,' 

And bitter tears we shed. 
When loving friends bent over him 

And whispered ''he is dead." 

But, oh! he was so beautiful. 

In snowy garments dressed^ 
With little hands clasped lovingly 

Across his quiet breast; 


AYith flaxen ringlets parted back 

From off his marble brow — 
We paused to ask, ''Can this be death?'* 
''Surely he^s sleeping now!" 

Oh to the young and innocent ^ 

How sweet a thing is death! 
Just loosing life's bright "silver chord," 

Checking the mortal breath. 

We laid him down so tenderly 

Beneath the distant skies; 
And twinkling stars watch lovingly 

The place where Henry lies. 

Sleep on, dear babe! Though sad our hearts 
Since earth's sweet ties are riven; 

We know that thou ar.t shining now. 
An angel bright in heaven. 

* "Sunbeam " and " Cherub " were the pet names by which his mother called him. 



\17ERE I that little bird that sings 

On yonder budding tree. 
Waking the woodlands far and near 
With his rich melody, 
I'd wake for thee my sweetest song, 
And pour devotion pure and strong. 


Were I tlie flower of sweetest bloom. 

Gracing the meadow fair. 
Shedding its sweets so lavishly 
Upon the perfumed air, 
I'd love to bloom for thee, sweet friend, 
And ^round thy path sweet fragrance cpend. 

Were I a lonely wandering bee 
Searching for honeyed sweet, 
And lingering mid the favorite haunts 
That yield the richest treat, 
I\l pause upon thy ruby lip. 
The hone^^ed nectar there to sip. 

Were I a sunny, restless wave. 
Freighted from foreign land. 
With gems, and gold, and bright sea-shells 
To pour on friendly strand, 
I'd fondly seek thee out, my sweet. 
And pour my jewels at thy feet. 

But bird, or bee, or flower, or wave 

Could never more reveal 
The deep affections of my heart. 
The hopes I can't conceal. 
Wilt thou accept a love divine 
^or cast aside your Valentine? 

* Considerable merriment was occasioned by this Valentine as tlie Author contrived to be present 
■when it was received and read by the fair friend to whom it was addressed, and watched the surprised, 
pleased expression of her face as she read the loving lines, supposing they had been sent by some of the 
beaux. We enjoyed the pleasure for several hours, and then she accidentally found out where they 
came from. 







T TE comes no more! AVe have waited long! 

Silent our mirth, and hushed our song. 
Sadly we've gazed at his vacant seat. 
And watched in vain for his coming feet — 
He comes no more! 

lie comes no more! Through dusky eve 
Where the grand old hills their shadows leave. 
We lingering look for the aged one 
Who was wont to come when the day was done — 
He comes no more! 

Ho comes no more! Far, far away 
Where pale moonbeams through the shadows play. 
Where the wild north winds 'round his death couch creep. 
They have laid him down in his grave to sleep. 
He comes no more! 

He comes no more! The wrinkled form 
That had felt full well life's wintry storm, 
Now rests in peace 'neath heaven's starry dome, 
Far, far away, from his Texas home — 
He comes no more! 


He comes no more! In that Temple fair 
Where the blood-washed millions in glory are, 
Another joins the exulting song 

That has pealed through heaven^s glad walls so long 
He comes no morel 

O'er his weary head, 'round his careworn brow 
Gleams a radiant crown of splendor now. 
We shall see him there by our Father's throne; 
The dear departed — the aged one — 
He comes no more! 



I FxilN would grant thy fond request. 

And breathe the thoughts within my breast, 
If ])Q\\ and words at my control 
Could speak the feelings of my soul. 

I here thy charms would glad rehearse. 
In measured line and flowing verse. 
Nor mar this page, reserved for me, 
AVith aught that should unworthy be. 

For thee Fd tune anew my lyre, 
Nerved by the thoughts thou dost inspire; 
I'd wake its chords, so long unstrung, 
And sadly on the Willow hung. 


The sweetest song that poets sing 
Should be the offVing that I^d bring. 
While every note of every key 
Should pour forth strains of love for thee. 

No gift for thee should be too grand. 
Though proffered by a master hand; 
No coronet for thy brow too fair. 
Though woven of exotics rare. 

Let other poets speak thy praise 
In flowing verse, or rapturous lays. 
None more sincere than / can be, 
Love gilds each line I write for thee, 

I deem thee worthy, gentle friend! 
Of all on earth that e'er can tend 
To make thy bliss while here complete. 
Or crown thy joy where angels meet. 

May heavenly light its radiance shed 
On all the paths that thou shalt tread. 
Guard thee from ill whatever betide. 
Thy feet unto the haven guide. 





AY her down gently, 
Disturb not her sleep. 
Watchers! tread lightly 
Your vigils to keep. 
Startle her not from her quiet repose. 
She's sleeping that sleep which no waking e'er knows. 

Smooth Lack the tresses 

Of soft baby hair; 
Save one for the mother, 
In tenderness spare; 
The pale little hands, so waxen and cold. 
Over her bosom now lovingly fold. 

Sad, stricken mother! 

Oh, why longer weep? 
Though cradled no more 

In your arms she shall sleep; 
On the bosom of Jesus, safe guarded from ill. 
She's your little treasure, your dear Mamie still. 

She knows not a sorrow. 

She feels not a pain; 
No earthly affliction 
Shall harm her again; 
From heaven's pure world — its unchanging bliss. 
Would you call her again to the evils of this? 


The grave shall not hold her. 

So lonely and deep; 
For the Savior the keys 
To its silence shall keep; 
He, the Crucified — the Buried — the Iiisen, 
Himself shall unlock the doors of her prison. 

Glad Faith lifts the veil. 

And through trackless light 
Your dear angel child 

Wings her heavenward llight. 
The pearly gates open and she passes through; 
By the Beautiful Eiver she's waiting for you. 


\1 7ITH stealthy tread the years have crept 
Above the spot where thou hast slept, 
Each in its faithful cycles round 
Has marked thy rest, calm and profound. 
Low in the grave. 

Winter, with ruthless gales, has sown 
Its snowflakes o'er thy pillow lone. 
And Autumn from its branches sere 
Has strewn its beauties year by year, 
Above thy bed. 


Spring in its changeful glories dress 'd 
Has brought its charms to deck thy breast. 
Has waked the flowers of sweetest bloom 
To shed their fragrance o'er thy tomb — 
My Mother dear. 

Bright summer with her golden glow. 
Her wild bird's song, her zephyrs low; 
With rippling sunshine, bright and clear, 
Has decked thy couch from year to year; 
Yet sweet thy rest. 

Though seasons thus with ceaseless tread 
Have worn their emblems o'er thy head; 
And brought to us the weight of years, 
yfho knelt above thee in our tears, 
Thou'rt not forgot. 

Stereotyped within thy mind 
I still thy gentle image find; 
The lineaments of thy saintly face 
I still on memory's tablet trace, 
My Mother dear. 

Though o'er earth's paths my feet may go. 
And earthly griefs my heart o'erflow, 
Xor time, nor change can from me tear- 
A mother's image, graven there 
With impress true. 


Fair worshiper! before the throne! 
So long hast thou its glories known; 
So long gazed on its radiant light, 
Shutting from heaven sin's dark blight. 
One boon I crave. 

If prayer avails within that world of bliss. 
When offered for the friends beloved in this; 
Sweet friend! plead for thy wanderer there 
That she at last thy home may share 
In perfect peace. 

Even now my heart by cares oppressed 
Is fondly longing for that holy rest; 
Notes the dull hours whose tardy flight 
Bears me unto that world of light. 
To heaven and thee. 



/^H, Grief ! what offering canst thou bring 

To ease the aching heart? 
What comfort for our sorrowing 

When those we love depart? 
What balm for agony untold. 

When faithful love no more 
Our dearest loved ones can withhold 

From Death's relentless power. 


The grave is lonely, dark, and cold; 

Xo ray of comfort there; 
Our choicest treasures wear its mould, 

Xone doth its vengeance spare. 
Tliere beauty, loveliness, and worth 

In its locked j)ortals rest, 
Wliile silently tlie kindred earth 

Mingles above each breast. 

lUit oh! 'tis Immortality 

Pierces the sullen gloom; 
And Faith exclaims, ^Hhc dead shall live. 

Shall burst the narroAV tomb 
And with resplendent glory rise; 

Like Christy the risen Head, 
►Shall mount beyond the star-paved skies.'' 

Then ^^ blessed are the Dead!" 

Yc sorrowing ones whose sweetest care 

Was by her couch to stay; 
And by your faithful watching strive 

ller sufferings to allay; 
Xo more on earth that j)recious task 

Will to your hearts be given; 
Your mother needs your care no more — 

Til ere are no sick in heaven. 




ITOW busy the angels are today! 

Hastening on tireless wing 
Our Father's ''jewels" to gather up, 

And safe to his palace bring. 
To greet earth's weary, suffering ones 

Whom death has given release. 
Guiding their feet to the mansions fair. 

To rivers of endless i^eace. 

How busy the angels are to-day! 

Welcoming the dear ones in, 
Leading them up the ''shining way'' 

That shuts out a world of sin. 
" Lending a hand " to the timid ones 

As they mount the "golden stair," 
Bringing the crowns, and the snowy robes 

For the dear ones now to wear. 

How busy the angels are to-day! 

Opening the pearly gate; 
While friends long gone to usher them in. 

With gladness their cOming wait; 
Waking anew the anthems of heaven 

As they join redemptions song; 
Tuning the harps for their gentle touch. 

Waiting in heaven so long. 


How busy the angels are to-day! 

As they hasten to and fro, 
The lovely of that city fair 

To His heloved to show; 
Leading them on through golden streets. 

By fields of waving green; 
Through the crowded aisles where gathered saints 

In spotless robes are seen. 

Yes, the angels are busy to-day! 

So many are gathering home 
We almost fancy their rustling Avings 

As they bid the weary — "Come/' 
Oh, yes, heaven^s songs ring out to-day! 

The glad hallelujahs arise! 
For the dear ones fallen asleep below 

Have waked in Paradise, 




Y close-muffled sister before you has passed, 
And her v/intry mantle over nature cast; 
She bound the brook with her fetters strong, 
She checked its ripple, and hushed its song; 
Ice, snow, hail and frost — winter's chill blighting train, 
Have all marked her dreary and rigorous reign. 


She blighted the flowers with her chilling breath, 

And mistletoe berries were twined in her wreath, 

Oak, i\T, and cedar in silvery sheen 

Are glistening with beauty, where winter has been. 
But 710W she is gone; / reign in her stead 
With lovelier emblems, and far lighter tread. 

All nature rejoices my coming to see 
With swift gliding footstep so noiseless and free; 
. I breathe in the zephyr, and sing in the sliower; 
I wake to new beauty the long hidden flower; 
Hill, Avoodland, and meadow by winter made bare 
I clothe with new verdure — with drapery fair. 

The forests are vocal with music and song, 
The lambkins frisk gaily where I pass along; 
The brooklet long fettered I loose from its chain. 
It sparkles with beauty, and flows on again; 
Ev^n pale stars reflected in bright pearly dew 
Shed lovelier light from the deep distant blue. 

Fm laden with trophies — fit emblems of May 
To twine in thy garland, our fair Queen, to-day; 
Accept this my offering, for summer draws nigh 
With her ripe golden fruits and hot, burning sky- 

May each coming May-day our heart's love renew; 

My brief reign is ended — ye loved ones adieu! 




nPHE Old Year is dying, 
I hear its faint moan; 
The weird winds are sighing 

In a sad undertone; 
A low plaintive requiem 

Sounds in my ear; 
^Tis the dirge-note of sorrow. 

For the dear dying year. 

Like a Victor retiring 

Whose conquests are done. 
Like a Hero expiring 

When the battle is won; 
As a hoary-haired Veteran 

Sinks to his rest. 
With the bay and the laurel 

Encircling his crest. 

Ev^n thus art thou dying 

As a hero renowned; 
Thy moments fast flying 

With rare honors were crowned. 
Ev^n thus like a spirit 

Thou'rt passing away. 
But long in each bosom 

Shall thy memory stay. 


Thou hast added new treasures 

To heighten the mirth. 
Where innocent pleasures 

Cheer fireside and hearth; 
Thou hast brought choicest blessings 

For many a home. 
While others are mantled 

In sorrow and gloom. 

Thus while thy low breathing 

Grows faint on our ear. 
Fair garlands we're wreathing 

For thee — dying year. 
We note thy death agony 

With sorrow sincere; 
With hearts strangely softened 

We watch by thy bier. 



T^HE old year is gone. Time hastened his flight; 
The new year appears in his chariot of light; 
He pencils the east in rare traceries of gold 
His amber-hued jewels he hastes to unfold. 

He comes like a conqueror. Lo, on his crest 
The sun-glories sparkle, like Jewels at rest; 
His cohorts of light spread their robes in his way. 
He reigns as a king, holding earth in his sway. 


He leaps o'er the mountain so stately and old; 
He wraps the rude oak in his tenderest fold; 
He rouses the valley from death-like repose. 
Dispelling the shadows that night^s curtain throws. 

He kisses the lake on whose ice-fettered breast. 
The *^ jewels ^^ of frost king so tranquilly rest; 
He treads o'er the meadow with snow-curtained feet, 
Exploring with rapture each quiet retreat. 

Oh, what dost thou hold in thy treasuries dear? 
Oh, what art thou bringing for us gentle year? 
Art thou laden with pleasures? with joys art thou rife? 
Dost thou hold in thy keeping for us death or life? 


Written when very young, in memory of a clear friend. 

pKI]S"G- the white robe! bring the roses! 

That shall deck her flowing hair; 
Spread the winding sheet about her. 
And her lonely bed prepare. 

Let her folded hands lie lightly 
On her cold and lifeless breast. 

And upon her marble forehead. 
Let the parting kiss be pressM. 

Close her eyes that now are sightless, 
Never more to laugh or weep; 

And beside her quiet bosom 
Let her infant treasure sleep. 


Scarce one short year has passed away, 

Since by her lover's side, 
She stood in snowy garments dress'd, 

A blooming, happy bride. 

But now Ms heart is desolate. 
That once knew joy and peace; 

For the lone grave henceforth must be 
Her only resting place. 

No more weary grief or care 

Her gentle bosom stirs — 
Her babe beside her — who e'er knew 

A sweetjer sleep than hers? 


r\ SAY what shall I do 

^ For little Mattie Lou? 

Of what shall I write? 
Shall I tell you of her eye 
With its blue like yonder sky? 

Of her teeth so white? 

Shall I tell you of her plays? 
And her little baby ways? 

Of her laugh so clear? 
Of the dimples in her cheek? 
And her hair so smooth and sleek. 

O'er her forehead fair? 


How our hearts around her cling 
For she seems a dainty thing 

Sent us from the sky; 
Our Father^s gift of love. 
From his happy home above 

To guide us on high. 

Oh, may she ever be. 
From sin and sorrow free 

While earth is her home! 
And when life with her is o'er 
May she rest on that bright shore 

Where no grief shall ever come! 


Written hy request for a schoolmate, at the age of thirteen. 

T LOVE thee, dear William, and willing would stay 

Near unto thee, dearest, and pass life away; 
Where no sorrow should come, and no tear dim my eye. 
But all should be joy when my idol was nigh. 

Fm happy, I'm happy, when thou love, art near; 
When thy bright smiles greet me, and thy voice I hear; 
AVhen all sorrow departs and gives place to love 
As fond and devoted as of the turtle-dove. 

With thee, dearest one, and the smiles of my God, 
I'd willingly leave this vile transient abode, 
And soar to the realm where bright angels on high 
Would welcome us, love, to our home in the sky. 



Written at the age of twelve years. 

T TPON a ravine^s shady bank 
A gentle wild flower grew. 
That from the sun at noonday shrank, 
But bathed in twilight dew. 

^Twas evening! and the sun had passed 

Behind the western hill. 
And twilight gray a shadow cast 

O^er that sequestered rill. 

Two gentle girls, from school returned. 

Were passing by that way, 
And with a loitering step they turned 

To watch the close of day. 

But they espied the lonely flower — 

Admired its snowy mien; 
One stooped and plucked it from the bower 

Where it that day had been. 

That tiny flower was white and lone, 

No other by its side. 
And ere one twilight hour was gone 

Had withered, drooped, and died. 

And thus ^tis oft the young and fair,- 

Bloom only for a day, 
For Death, the Reaper, none doth spare. 

But tears our gems away. 



This poem was written at the age of thirteen. 

T MISS thee, little sister. 

Throughout the livelong day. 
My heart is very lonely. 
While thou art still aAvay. 

I miss thy bird-voice, sister, 
When twilight hour appears, 

For then thy tones so soothing 
Would check my falling tears. 

I miss thy merry laugh, sister, 

Amid the fireside play. 
And thy bended knee beside me. 

When I kneel down to pray. 

And when I walk, sweet sister. 

Alone, at day^s decline, 
I miss thy step beside me. 

And thy soft hand in mine. 

And when I sleep, my sister. 
Thy form I do not press, 

Nor does thy little head repose 
Upon my throbbing breast. 

Oh, why dost thou stay, sister, 
From those that hold thee dear? 

The flowers are gone and nothing 
Save wintry winds are here. 


Birds that used to sing, sister. 

Upon the bending spray. 
Have hushed their songs of summer. 

And gone to climes away. 

And now there^s nothing, sister. 
To cheer my saddened song. 

Since all that once was lovely 
Is faded, dead, and gone. 

Then come back, oh, my sister! 

For thou hast staid too long; 
And add thy smiling sweetness 

To cheer my plaintive song. 


\1 7ELC0ME, thrice welcome, to these gloomy walls 

Ye beautiful rose-tinted flowers. 
What visions of joy your presence recalls — 

Blest scenes of 3^outh's halcyon hours; 
Ye bring me sweet thoughts of life's earliest time. 
Ere my hands were crimsoned with guilt and crime. 

Ye bring me glad news of the woodland and grove, 

Of the home I once prized so much; 
Of the dear, faithful f;icnds and their undying love. 

Ere sin had polluted my touch; 
Ye waft me a breath of the pure air 
That kissed my young brow when life's day-dream was fair. 


How oft have I sought when a barefooted boy 

Each beautiful delicate bloom. 
But now there^s a sorrow deep mixed with my joy 

As I feast on your fragrant perfume; 
Ye flowers! bright flowers! that I once loved so well 
Unfitting ye seem in this dungeon to dwell. 

I bless the kind friend whose dear loving heart 

Has sent you my prison to cheer; 
Beneath your soft touch repentant tears start, • 

Ye lighten the dreariness here. 
There^s nothing that^s pure in this foul, loathsome place. 
But these flowers, so full of beauty and grace. 

Ye^re freighted with memories tender and true — 

How into my spirit they burn; 
1 long for the joys that in innocence I knew. 

Would God they would ever return — 
Would God that my tears could my guilt-record blot. 
That the past with its wrong could for aye be forgot. 

Ye bring me sweet thoughts of my mother to-day, 

W^ho taught me the accents of prayer; 
Alas! from her precepts I wandered away 

And deep sorrow silvered her hair — 
She is resting in peace ^neath the churchstone gray. 
While ye bloom untouched o^er her pillow to-day 

I think of another one, lovely and fair — 

My beautiful bonny young bride; 
Ye bloomed in the braids of her soft silky hair. 

When blushing she stood by my side — 


Heart-broken and sad she is weeping alone 

"While I count the long hours in my prison of stone. 

When lowly we laid our first-born down to rest, 

Serene in death's chilly embrace. 
How lovely ye gleamed o'er his pure baby breast 

And brightened his pale waxen face — 
How kind of the angels to call him away 
Ere his young life was darkened by sorrow's array. 

Welcome, bright flowers to this dreary place. 

This den of pollution and crime; 
Ye gladden my heart, but ye seem out of place 

'Mid the darkness, the dirt, and the slime; 
Ye come to me here like a message from heaven. 
Ye whisper of Him who your beauty has given. 


A WEE, wee grave so lonely. 

Away o'er the far hillside. 
Where the early birdlings warble. 
And the dewy flow'rets hide. 

Marked by no bending willow. 
By no yew tree's friendly shade; 

Under the waving grasses. 
This tiny grave is made. 


Only the neat white railing. 

Bearing a baby's name — 
Tells how the loving angels 

For a mother's darling came. 

How they called it back to heaven. 
When its stay had been so 'brief; 

How the mother's heart was stricken 
When it faded like the leaf. 

Only a grave so tiny 

Over the far hillside — 
Yet who can tell the anguish 

When that darling baby died? 

That wrung the hearts that loved it? 

Oh, who can tell their woe! 
When they hid it 'neath the grasses. 

Where the bleak winds rudely blow? 

Who can tell the bitter sorrow 
As that mother sadly weeps. 

Thinking how far o'er the hillside 
All alone the baby sleeps? 

How no more upon her bosom 
It shall sleep in sweet repose. 

While her gentle, kind caressing 
Hushes all its infant woes. 

DO THEY 31188 ME AT HOME?'' 77 

Mothers! ye who all your darlings 
Safely to your bosom hold; 

Who, no little lambs are missing, 
From your careful, loving fold. 

Drop one tear of friendly pity 
For that mother, sorely tried. 

Who above that grave is weeping. 
O'er the distant, lone hillside. 

* We were peculiarly impressed while traveling at the sight of a baby's grave at some distance from 
the road; only a neat, white railing denoting it. 





^^r^O they miss me at home'' when lovely Spring 
Wreaths earth in her mantle of green, 
AVhen birds in the woodland sweetly sing 

And lambs in the valley are seen. 
When fair hands cull the sweetest flower 

That doth in the valley bloom — 
Do they think of me at twilight hour 
And whisper, '''she's far from home?" 

''Do they miss me at home*' wiien Summer's rose 
Is blooming in colors so bright. 
When its petals are kissed from silent repose 
By the truant zephyr of night. 


When the pale-browed moon so brightly doth shine, 

TJndimmed by cloud or gloom, 
Does a thought of me 'round their hearts entwine — 

Do they dream of me far from home? 

''Do they miss me at home " when Autumn leaves 

Begin to wither and die. 
When the sighing wind o'er the casement grieves 

For the beauties that withered lie; 
Does my absence a place in their memory find? 

Though far, far my feet may roam; 
Oh, dear are the hearts I have left behind — 

Do they miss me sadly at home! 

'' Do they miss me at home " when snowflakes fall. 

And Xature is frozen arid bare? 
When the merry laughter of children all 

Floats out on the wintry air? 
When they cozily sit by the old fireside 

'Round the dear old hearthstone at home — 
Do the tears well up that they fain would hide 

O'er my vacant jDlace at home? 

"Do they miss me at home" when the hour of prayer 

At evening's close appears, 
AVhen holy devotions are offered there 

By those I have loved for years; 
When the family band so humbly kneel 

To invoke blessings to come. 
Does a prayer for me through their offering steal — 

Do they think of me far from home? 


^'Do they miss me at home"' when the church bell rings 

So loudly on Sabbath morn; 
Its deep-toned music a solace brings 

To those who are weary and worn; 
When worshiping hosts at the house of prayer 

Are kneeling before the throne. 
Do they note my seat standing vacant there — 

Do they sigh that I'm far from home? 

'' Do they miss me at home " when troubles come 

With their melancholy brood 
To bow down the heart of some cherished one 

And sadden their happy mood? 
When some heart is torn by anguish and grief. 

And trials are hard to be borne. 
Do they wish I were there to extend relief — 

Do they weep that Fm far from home? 

* We owe the readers an apology for inserting the accompanying verses in the present volume, as they 
abound in glaring errors; but at the request of some of our old college friends we have inserted it 
here and the age at which it was written, as an apology for some of its defects. 



WES, how truthful the response — they miss thee at home! 

When lisping the kind words by thee once spoken. 
How oft gushes forth from the heart's troubled dome, 
'^ We dreaded to part" but the tie is now broken; 


May you not go when fond parents are waiting; 

The smiles of a father will welcome thee home; 
The sister beside the porch will be watching; 

The brother will wait to greet when you come. 

The mother perchance by the window is sighing; 

The servant's sad song in the distance is heard, 
Its notes, dim and low, on the breezes are dying. 

As waves sink to rest which a pebble have stirred. 

Yes, they miss thee — their hearts by sorrow are riven; 

But Time will yet teach all that weep to be ga}-; 
The barque by the breath of the tempest-tread driven 

Ma}^ then float calmly, when the storm flits away. 

The warm sparkling rills that in summer do perish 
Like ice may be frozen when winter prevails; 

And thus the fond home that in girlhood you cherish 
^May fade in the blast of the world's withering gales. 

Though they miss thee at home, on fame do you border; 

Your footsteps are falling in Science's cave; 
Full oft have you quaffed its deep flowing water. 

But draughts sweeter still you may sip from its w^ave. 

As deep 'mong the rude rugged rocks of the mountain 
Are streamlets which labor alone can unfold. 

So curbed in the mind there slumbers a fountain 
The beauties of which Nature ne'er can unfold. 

As pilgrims who tread the rich isles of the ocean. 
Cross first the dread waters that murmur around — 

Though missed at home with unceasing devotion. 

Toil on, if your efforts by success would be crowned. 


When the leaves of lifers autumn, in the "west-wind shall roam^ 
The r.ose-bloom of life though withered will appear 

Stamped on the memory, the vacant seat at home, 
AVhile all in the future is darksome and drear. 

AVhen gone from the bright home of girlhood forever. 
Your banner, though torn by the breath of the blast 

Will bear then a bright star which age cannot sever — 
The star of remembrance that shone o^er the past. 

Though bright rivers and prairies between you doth rise. 
Still in your j) regress you never should falter; 

Though home and friends are intercepted from your eyes. 
Yet a dear home you can find at this altar. 

'•Farewell to my lionie^' — has quite often been spoken, 
Tlien why do you weep as you breathe it again? 

Their dream of your absence may hence be unbroken 

Save by some murmuring wavelet in memory's dark main. 


Written when very young. 

1 KNOW an humble, lonely mound 

Near by a ravine's side. 
Where years ago I sadly knelt 
AVith life's sad scenes untried. 

A lonely elm is standing there, 

Above its lowly head. 
And there the joyous birds have sung. 

Their carols o'er the dead. 


"No marble nTn nor sculptured bust" 
Proclaims the sleeper^s name, 
But that low mound and bending tree 
Denote my mother^s grave. 

Oh, were the richest treasures mine 

That sleep beneath the wave, 
AYere I so gifted that my mind 

In learning's stream might lave. 

That humble spot would still possess 
My dearest thought and care, 

And my abiding wish would be 
That narrow home to share. 

My mother's grave! What visions fond! 

What holy feelings crowd 
Around the place! What thoughts vibrate 

To memory's wakened chord! 

Oh, could the gloomy tale be told, 

Of what my heart has felt. 
Of anguished tears I've shed since first 

Beside that grave I knelt; 

Of how with aching heart I've longed 
'Neath Autumn's leaf to rest! 

But I forbear, my reader kind, 
'T would grieve thy gentle breast. 

Whene'er my youthful spirits bow, 
'Neath sorrow's darkened wave; 

How soon unbidden tears recall 
My mother's lonely grave. 

nv MEMORY. 83 

"Where'er my wandering steps may go, 
"What'er may be my doom; 

I feel that I shall always love 
The memory of that tomb. 


SEPTEMBER 20, 1878. 

\1 7EEP, Austin, weep! In sackcloth veil thy head. 

And breathe thy sorrow for thy noble dead; 
His name embalm with fadeless glory blest. 
And fold his memory to thy chastened breast. 

Weep, Austin, weep! Thy Manning is no more! 
Ko braver soldier e'er his ensign wore. 
Hero of heroes! He, thy champion, dies 
At duty's post — a willing sacrifice. 

His glorious life has ended but too soon. 
His '*star of destiny" has set at noon; 
Scarce could we spare him — so gifted his mind. 
Minister of mercy to his sorrowing kind. 

Not as the warrior whose reeking foes 
By conquered thousands greet his last repose, 
Not as the chieftain with his comrades dies. 
Viewing his dripping scalps — his life-bought prize. 

Ah no! not blood his fair escutcheon stained — 
Love was the weapon that his laurels gained; 
Let history's page his valiant deeds recall, 
And nations learn how Christian heroes fall. 


Where the Mississippi in its grandeur flows. 
There comes a voice freighted with human woes; 
A wail of anguish — like a funeral dirge 
From bleeding hearts, portrays the dreadful scourge. 

The call for *'help" from that once crowded mart 
Fired his warm blood and stirred his generous heart. 
He, yielding to that helj)less, pleading cry, 
Eesolved to succor, or with them to die. 

Oh, let his name beside those patriots stand 
Who scorned to die — a brave, unconquered band; 
And where ^tis told how valiant Fannin fell. 
Of him, the martyr, let the record swell. 

The scroll that bears a Crockett^s honored name. 
Or tells of Travis and his blood-bought fame. 
Should by these find our Manning^s name a place; 
They for their country died — he for his race. 

Sweet be his rest! May holy angels keep 
Their silent vigils where his ashes sleep; 
And wdien for us death^s messenger shall call. 
At duty's post may toe, like Manning, fall. 

* Dr. T. D. Manning, a noted physician and oculist of our city, embarked for the scene of suffering 
In Jlississippi on September 3d, and was a corpse on September 20th, just seventeen days later. 

Extract from an editorial in tho " Statesman " complimentary to physicians in general, and to Dr. 
Manning in particular: 

"The Thysicians. They stand bravely before the foe, and if needs be, go down before his dread power 
uncomplainingly and in deference to the very highest and noblest promptings of a beautiful fidelity. 
Among this brave band stood poor Maniiing. Young, talented, noble and a-i pure ad a woman, Lev. as 
not content to brave the terrors of d isease at home , but flew to a distaut State in her distress and went 
downat theb;dsideof the scourge-stricken. "What soldier of fortune who seeks the banners of the 
weaker and struggling force for principle's sake,deserves a higher monument than that which Texas and 
Mississippi ought to build above the resting-place of the gentle, the brave, the tender Manning. His 
Damp will Ion? he kept among the green memories of the people axaongwhomhe l^^boi ed so long and 
so successfully, aad whom he loved so welL' 




OPRIN^G — lovely season, comes again. 

It robes the woodland trees; 
Its breath is on the evening gale, 
And in the passing breeze. 

The flowers are blooming everywhere. 

Of every shade and hue; 
And on each leafy, bending spray. 

The birds are singing too. 

All nature is so beautiful. 
And with such blessings fraught, 

^Twere wrong to pine the hours away 
In sad and pensive thought. 

I'm grateful for these glorious gifts, 

I joy to see them come; 
But there^s a sadness 'round my heart — 

A shadow o'er my home. 

I miss one dear familiar face. 

One footstep on the floor; 
The voice I loved to hear is hushed — 

Will it ne'er greet me more? 

I care not for the bird's sweet song, 
Nor for the lovely flowers — 

I'm lonely now since thou art gone. 
And slowly drag the hours. 


With aching heart and weary eyes, 

I \yatch — I pray — I weep; 
And through the long, long, lingering hours. 

My lonely vigils keep. 

Ah! well do I remember now. 

The dark and mournful day. 
When clinging to thy side I wept. 

To see thee go away. 

Full many weary months have sped. 

Since that sad hour of pain; 
And oh, how many more may pass. 

Before we meet again! 

God speed the day! the blessed morn. 
When war and strife shall cease! 

When all our loved ones shall return 
And live at home in peace! 



OEST in peace, for I am kneeling 
O'er thy grave, my buried one; 
Here my heart its grief revealing. 

Breathes a saddened plaintive tone. 
Others may not know my sorrow. 

Nor the tears that wildly start; 
Dream not that each coming morrow 

Brings no sunshine to my heart. 


Earthly things have lost their brightness, 

Joys once cherished now are gone, 
And my heart has lost its lightness 

Since thy smile has been withdrawn. 
Oh, to see those loved eyes languish. 

And that faithful heart grow cold! 
Who? ah, who can tell my anguish? 

Who can half my grief unfold? 

Rest in peace. The cup was bitter. 

But my Father filled it up; 
His dear promise made it sweeter — 

Brightened by the Christian's hope. 
He who made thy death so glorious. 

And upheld tliee by his power. 
He will make my faith victorious 

In this dark and trying hour. 

Rest in peace my buried treasure! 

Angels guard thy sleeping clay! 
Till the Savior's second coming 

On the resurrection day. 
When our Father counts his '* jewels/' 

And the untold millions rise, 
Then with transport may I greet thee 

Shouting victory through the skies. 



A GAIN the busy day is done, 
^^ Its cares and duties fled; 
And o^er the hills the sinking sun 
In quiet grandeur sped. 

The pale-browed moon in beauty reigns. 

Fair impress of the night; 
While myriad stars — her shining trains 

Glow with their feebler light. 

Mght's regal robe is closely drawn 

About our sleeping earth; 
Sadness should from each heart be gone. 

And holy thoughts have birth. 

Xo sound of busy life I hear, 

No chirp of lonely bird; 
Only the rustling ''leaflets sere^' — 

That by the breeze are stirr'd. 

Oh, night! with blessings richly fraught — 

Beneath thy shadowy wing. 
What • fountains of unsullied thought 

Within my bosom spring! 

In all thy lovely scenes displayed 

I would my Maker trace; 
Whose power this mighty earth hast made. 

Who gave the stars their place; 


Who on creation^s rosy morn 

Tlie dreadful silence broke; 
And lo! unnumbered worlds were born. 

And countless creatures woke. 

With wonder and delight I gaze 

On all around — above; 
In weakness seek to know Thy ways; 

In all to read Thy love. 

Since earth — Thy footstool gracious Lord! 

Thou hast so lovely made; 
And in ten thousand changeful liues 

Her varied scenes arrayed. 

How beautiful must heaven be! 

How gloriously bright! 
Thy throne — Thy dwelling place — with Thee 

The center of its light. 

When I shall tread the shadowy road 

That hides that unseen land; 
Shall lay aside this mortal load 

To join the spirit band; 

Oh, Father! then may wings of faith, 

To my glad soul be given. 
That I may rise o'er all beneath 

To live with Thee in heaven. 



QO lovely hast thou been, dear October, 

So tranquil thy delicate reign; 
We bid thee farewell in thy glory. 
With regrets almost akin to pain. 

Thou hast seemed like some fair enchantress, 
Binding our fond hearts by a spell; 

Thou hast been so freighted with blessings. 
We feel loth to bid thee farewell. 

The beautiful woodlands are glowing, 

In emerald, azure and green; 
While in gardens abloom with rare flowers. 

The touch of the spoiler is seen. 

Radiant in autumnal splendors. 
The forests well nigh seem ablaze; 

While mountains in the distance glimmer. 
Decked with a royal jourple haze. 

We watched thee with hearts deeply glowing. 
When thy skies wore bright sunny blue; 

And we saddened when nature was donning 
The garb of the year's '^ sombre hue." 

We sadden to see thee surrender 

Thy balmy and beautiful reign, 
To the dreary month of Xovember, 

W^ith its cold and pitiless rain. 


We bid thee farewell, October, 
And of thee our own frailty learn — 

How many who watch thy departing. 
Will linger to greet thy return? 



WOU bid me write, my sister dear! 

And yet I scarcely know. 
Whene'er I take my pencil up, 

Which way my thoughts should flow. 
I cannot speak of spring's bright hours — 

That time to youth so dear; 
I cannot talk of birds and flowers, 

For wintry winds are here. 

I would not cloud thy sunny brow 

With sorrow's saddened tone; 
I would not speak of faded hopes, 

And joys forever gone. 
Life's flowers are blooming fair for thee — 

Oh, may they never fade! 
And may thy heart so warm and free, 

Never know cloud or shade. 

Sweet sister! would you have me write 

Of one that's far away? 
Whose smile has cheered this doting heart. 

Through all our wedded day? 


Alas! 'round him the battle's roar 

Has sent its deafening sound, 
"While mangled corpses red with gore 

Bestrewed the battle-ground. 

Or would you have me tell of Mm 

"Who roams 'neath foreign skies? 
Our absent brother! him for whom 

Our warmest wishes rise! 
Perchance, sad-hearted and alone. 

Upon some distant shore, 
He pines for friendship's loving tone — 

For joys he knows no more. 

Or shall I strike one loving chord 

For our dear father's sake? 
"Whose care o'er us through childhood's day. 

Should fervent thanks awake. 
Oh, sister, are his eyes grown dim?* 

Do deep lines mark his brow? 
Then tenderly we'll cherish him. 

For he is fading now. 

Or would you have me tune my notes 

To angel friends in heaven? 
Who, to our wandering erring hearts 

As beacon lights are given. 
To bid us steer our barque safe o'er 

Life's troubled, boisterous sea; 
That we may rest heyond the tide. 

From sin and death made free. 


(All humbly at thy feet, oh, God! 

We now a blessing crave — 
Our husband — brother — father, all. 

Oh, by Thy goodness save! 
That we all purified may meet 

On that eternal shore — 
Our angel friends in triumph greet 

And praise Thee evermore.) 

*The first time we had seen our father wear glasses in reading, and it brought the quick 
t< ars to our eyes to realize that he was getting old. 

Note.— That this piece may be better understood we would explain — it was written during the 
war. The husband and brother alluded to in the third and fourth verses were soldiers in the 
war at the time. It may not be amiss to add, the brother never returned, but fell as many 
others did. The husband, though wounded in battle, lived to return home to die in the embrace cf 
his family, more than a year after the war troubles were adjusted. Our precious father still 
Jives, and long may he live to gladden the hearts of those who love him so much 


Written hy request for a young lady friend. 


H, what these strange emotions 
Within my girlish heart? 
Oh, what these happy feelings 
That through my bosom dart? 

I wonder why the blushes 
Will crimson either cheek? 

When I meet "somebody's'' glances? 
When I hear "somebody" speak? 


I wonder why I'm lonely. 

Throughout the twilight dim? 

Why I start at every footfall. 
And wonder if 'tis him? 

And when I think he's coming 
Just at the garden gate. 

Why does my heart beat wildly. 
As anxiously I wait? 

Ah, sure he's not more handsome 
Than many beaux I've seen! 

His laughing eyes no brighter. 
Than others may have been. 

Then why these blissful feelings 
That in my bosom swell! 

And whence this girlish dreaming - 
Can anybody tell? 




QO pale and so sweet. 
In its silent retreat, 
We have folded our Lily away; 

Too fair and too frail. 

For earth^s ruthless gale, 
It bloomed here but one fleeting day. 

We thought our employ. 

Should be with rare joy 
To train the sweet bud He had given; 

From stain and from blight, 

It should be our delight. 
To keep it unspotted for Heaven. 

How little we knew 

That soon from our view 
This beautiful bud should be folded; 

Far beyond the tomb. 

With immortal bloom. 
In the '^garden of God" to be moulded. 

Bloom on our sweet flower! 

In that changeless bower. 
Untouched by time's withering blight; 

Bloom in beauty fair — 

May we meet thee there 
Amid the glory of Heaven's pure light. 



WE beautiful gems of the wildwood! 

I hail you with pleasure sincere! 
Ye bring me sweet thoughts of my childhood, 

And scenes to my heart once so dear. 
Ye whisper of breezes rich laden 

With perfume of myriad flowers; 
Ye tell of a shy little maiden. 

That- sought them in Spring's sunny hours. 

Ye tell me of green, shady woodlands. 

Of the brook with murmurings low; 
Of how o^er the meadows and lowlands 

Ye blossomed, that sweet long ago. 
In your native beauty ye^re blooming 

With hues just as perfect as them; 
Your odors, the zephyrs perfuming. 

Are wafted o'er valley and glen. 

Full many may pass you unheeded; 

Your plain, simple livery spurn; 
But lessons of wisdom much needed. 

From each opening flow'ret I learn. 
I read of One full of compassion, 

Whose heart yearning over each child. 
Has led Him in mercy to fashion 

These beautiful flowers of the wild. 

Your dew-laden petals unclosing, 
Diifuse sweetest fragrance abroad; 

Your perfection of beauty disclosing 
The sure handiwork of a God. 


Ye grow by our Fatlier^s own tending. 
All over this eartli ye are sown; 

Your beautiful colors are blending 
In regions to man yet unknown. 

Ye cheer by your bright, sunny i)resence 

The cottager's barefooted band; 
And even the dark sons of the forest 

Rejoice when ye sprinkle the land. 
Ye peep from the wayside and hedges. 

Ye brighten the valley and glen; 
Ye droop from the high rocky ledges, 

Untouched and untarnished by men. 

Ye bear on your bosom a blessing. 

Ye breathe of His infinite love; 
I welcome your gentle cairessing, 

And fain my affection w^ould prove. 
Oh, where in our Father's creation 

Is there such a bleak, dreary spot — 
So barren of all vegetation 

That these beautiful gems come not? 




T IKE a rent harp by rough hands rudely torn. 

Like a pure lily of its petals shorn; 
So this fair mother in her anguish lay, 
Like a crushed flower beneath the spoiler's sway. 

The Angel Death, with visage dark and bold, 
Had torn the lambs from out her loving fold; 
Leaving her mother-heart bereft and bare. 
Since babes with downy cheeks had nestled there. 

The Sabbath day was waning in the west. 
As sinks the parting soul to quiet re,st; 
There came a moaning wail, plaintive and low — 
''The darkness gathers — Savior let me go! 

"Have I not seen my darlings sink in death. 
As droops the bud before stern winter's breath? 
Have I not watched my new-born cherubs fly 
Ere yet earth-taint had sullied heart or eye? 

"About my couch I mark a shining band — 
My sinless babes! that in His presence stand — 
Hark! angel voices call the mother home — 
My longing heart responds — I come, I come. 


"Oh, clo not bid me stay! Upon that shore 
Where weary feet shall rest forever more, 
I note the footprints where my babes have trod. 
Marking the ' shining- way ' that leads to God. 

''Why would ye hold me here? Oh, sure ^twere wrong. 
Since I have caught the echo of that song, 
That pours its music through Heaven's holy land. 
By infant voices tuned — my white-robed band. 

"Through years of bitter grief my heart has learned 
Oh, God! to bear thy will. My feet have turned 
Unto thy law " — (then came a murmur low) 

"My darlings call me — Savior let me go. 

"Savior, with them and thee, oh, let me rest. 
Pillow my aching head upon thy breast, 
I do not dread death's dark and chilly tide. 
Since thou, Christ, the way hast sanctified.'* 

The Sabbath passed; and ere the sun had ris'n 
Her sou], released, had left its earthly pris'n. 
Noiu^ with her babes, her Joy complete shall be. 
On "the shoreless tide" of eternity. 

* The sad circumstances attending: the death of this estimable lady are truly heart-rending. She 
had lost two children in two weeks— was herself taken in convulsions at the church during the funersil 
of the second child, and carried home, where, with wailing cries, she begged them to let her go to her 
darlings, saying, " They are calling me home." She suffered intensely a few days and then passed from 
earth, to join her babes in the Beautiful Beyond. Author. 





T the river's verge, 
Where the restless surge 
Into glistening spray was breaking; 

Its rippling song. 

As it rushed along. 
The blushing flowerets waking; 

Their dimpled feet, 

Pressed the mosses sweet. 
Bright hopes each breast elating; 

They stepped with pride. 

In the flowing tide, 
And knew not that Death was waiting. 

So tempting fair 

Were the bright wa^^s there. 
Just stirred by the wind's low sighing, 

They little knew, 

With that passing view. 
Of the river onward flying; 

That crouching there. 

In his watery lair. 
The Death- Angel hovered near; 

That ^neath that wave. 

They should find a grave. 
Its foamy crest their bier. 


Oh, was there ever. 

Thou fatal river! 
A lovelier gem on. thy bosom worn? 

Than tliose blooming girls, 

AVith their dripping curls. 
Asleep down thy current borne? 

Each gentle face. 

In thy chill embrace. 
Shall kindle with joy no more; 

And the dimpled feet. 

Thy cold waves greet, 
Ne'er again shall press thy shore. 

But far away. 

In that world of day 
Where the pure and happy come. 

They joyful wait. 

At the Pearly Gate, 
For the stricken ones at home. 

No grief or care 

Shall enter there. 
To mar the souFs deep joy; 

And there no death. 

With poisonous breath. 
Our treasures shall destroy. 




\1 7HAT a charming, happy sight! 
Little creatures robed in white! 
" Wee ones " in the glad home nest. 
Ready for their nightly rest. 

Day — with all its pleasures gone; 
Night^s dark curtains closely drawn; 
Playthings scattered o'er the floor, 
Cliarm those sleepy eyes no more. 

Parted back from each fair brow. 
See those tangled tresses now! 
Full of love and winning grace. 
See each youthful, blooming face! 

Childish voices low and sweet 
Plead before the mercy seat; 
Guileless hearts unhurt by care. 
Mingle in the evening prayer. 

Silken eyelids veil from sight. 
Drowsy orbs that shine less bright, 
Dimpled hands so plump and fair. 
Clasp in humble reverence there. 

Heaven-sent angels lingMng near 
Pause awhile, the message hear. 
Quick before our Father's throne 
All those childish wants are known. 


Eose-bud lips so ripe and rare. 
Fragrant with the breath of prayer, 
To the mother's now are pressed. 
Ere her ^^ birdies" seek their ^^nest." 

Little lips now loving meet, 
Pressing kisses fresh and sweet; 
All that may have been amiss, 
Forgotten in the good-night kiss. 

Tiny limbs so weary grown 
Sink upon their couch of down, 
Seeking there that sweet repose, 
Naught but guileless childhood knows. 

O'er their couch their mother bends. 
High to heaven her prayer ascends; 
^Holy angels! deign to keep 
Watch above my darlings' sleep. 

•Heavenly Father! in thy care. 
These, my folded treasures ai'e. 
Guide their feet through earth's dark way. 
To that land of cloudless day." 

Not the miser's hoarded gold. 
Can such wealth as this unfold. 
Wealth by heaven and angels blest, 
Treasures in the glad home nest. 




/^H, do not check her joyousness, 
^■^^ That rippling light and free 
Bespeaks a heart attuned to mirth. 

To childhood^'s minstrelsy. 
You cannot tell how much of Avoe 

Life's future cup may hold, 
Nor how the trusting heart may grasp 

The ^^ glitter/' not the ^^gold." 

Oh, do not quell that happy mood 

That wakes such melody; 
That shames the fountain in its gush. 

The wild bird in its glee. 
Oh, do not hush that happy strain. 

That flow of spirits light. 
That makes earth seem a fairy land 

Enriched in colors bright. 

Remember He who formed the lake. 

So placid, calm and still. 
Has also in His wisdom made 

The noisy, rippling rill. 
And he who gave that happy heart 

Its wealth of childish joy. 
Will give a mission that demands 

Its every gift's employ. 


Each in His purpose hath a work — 

A mission to fulfill; 
And each is fitted by his grace 

To work His holy will. 
Life's cup for each is brimming o'er 

With much of good or ill — 
Then do not hush that happy strain 

So like a wild bird's trill. 

The nectar in youth's golden cup 

Oh, let her freely sip! 
Ere yet the dregs of sorrow press 

Unto her quivering lip. 
Oh, do not chide her buoyancy. 

That wells up in the soul; 
That native fund of joyous mirth 

That cannot brook control. 

Oh, do not check her lively mood. 

Or wish her less of joy; 
Let childhood's hours be measured up 

With bliss without alloy. 
And should life's future duties bring 

A weight of pain and care, 
God make her brave to meet life's ills. 

And in His love to share. 




/^^HASE away every care, let us hie to the Fair, 
^^ And for pleasant enjoyment a brief moment spare; 
Put away every thought with anxiety fraught. 
Intent but on pleasure — this holiday sought. 
There's so much to be seen, the eye wearies I ween, 
As it gazes with rapture on each glowing scene; 
Luxuriant flowers from fairy-like bowers. 

Samples of handiwork, wrought through long hours; 
There are birds of bright plume, exotics rich in perfume; 
A mammoth supply from field, orchard and loom; 
There is everything fine, sheep, horses and kine; 
Eggs, butter, and cheese, fat poultry and swine; 

Eine goods and rare graces, pretty babies and faces — 

A rare combination this State Fair embraces; 

In work or in art, we see in each part, 

Rare beauties to gladden the eye and the heart. 


T DO not ask the highest wreath 

That decked Zenobia's brow; 
Nor do I crave the hoarded wealth 
That did to Croesus bow; 


The gold of Colchis would be dust. 
Compared with such a boon 

As my frail fancy would demand — 
A heart to love my own. 

Were Fortune^s scepter mine to sway 

With an unbounded power; 
Were all the pleasures Fame can give 

Bestowed me as my dower; 
Of these my heart would weary grow 

And turn away with scorn. 
To seek the priceless, fadeless gem — 

A heart to love my own. 

Oh, what to me were all life's joys 

Without a friend to share. 
Whose soul should echo back my own 

With calm and constant care? 
Oh, what were all the dazzling hues 

Upon the breezes borne, 
Without one true confiding friend — 

One heart to love my own? 

Ev'n Paradise, if it were mine. 

Would be a lonely place 
Without a heart beside my own 

To share its scenes of bliss. 
Then take from me, oh, partial Fate! 

A wealthy store, or crown; 
But leave to me one sincere friend — 

A heart to love my own. 




A PRIXCE has fallen! Not ^mid scenes of war, 

AVhen Mars rides fearless on his blood-stained car; 
AVhen reeking victims mark his dreadful reign. 
And banners trail above the conquered slain. 

He fell as only fall the good and true. 
As sinks a weary child whose tasks are through — 
Leaning, like him of old, upon his Savior^s breast. 
Peacefully, so peacefully he sank to rest. 

A Christian without guile. In his hearths shrine 
He ever wore that Image all divine; 
Proved to his fellows how sublime the art 
To Avear the gentle Christ within the heart. 

^Mid rural haunts — far from his cherished home. 
In quest of ease, awhile he thought to roam. 
Grateful he breathed the gentle, perfumed air. 
And fondly gazed on blooming meadows fair. 

About his couch were those he loved most dear — 
He little thought the parting hour so near. 
The breeze that kissed his cheek with odorous breath. 
Bore on its wings the white-robed angel, Death. 

That fragrant woodland bower was holy ground, 
"Where waiting angels seemed to hover 'round; 
That chosen rural spot with heaven so nigh. 
Seemed fitting place for God's own child to die. 


He will be missed. Weep by his lowly bier. 
Since lie, an Israel Prince, is shrouded here; 
^Tis meet that flowing tears your eyes should dim — 
Weep for his orphaned ones, but not for him. 

Oh, shed no tear for him. No, better far 

Mourn the freed bird that breaks its prison bar, 

Or the glad captive from his cell released. 

Than mourn for him whose sufferings now have ceased. 

Yes, weep for those who through earth^s barren land 
Must walk henceforth without his guarding hand; 
While he, unfettered, joins the angel throng 
Who sing redemption's ever-glorious song. 

*Of whom it was said at his funeral, "There was no fault found in liim — hehad no enemy 
hut every one rose up to bless him." 


\17ATCHERS! do not wake my darling, 
• If my soul shall pass away. 

Ere the rosy kiss of morning 

Wakes to life the new-born day. 
Do not break that gentle slumber 

Folding her so calm and deep — 
For I know when she shall waken. 

She'll learn soon enough to weep. 


Youth's bright golden hopes are gilding 

All her thoughts with rainbow tinge. 
While her eyes are locked in slumber 

'Neath their drooping silken fringe. 
She is heeding not the angel 

Gently beckoning to me — 
And when morn unseals her eyelids. 

My glad spirit shall be free. 

Into fairy realms of dreamland 

She is passing lightly now. 
While the kiss of gentle beings 

Eests upon her sunny brow. 
Music charms her sleeping senses 

Sweeter than zEolian strain! 
Oh, when, after this sad parting. 

Shall she rest so sweet again? 

Do not wake my precious darling. 

Let her sleep the long night through. 
Even though I pass to heaven 

Without kissing her adieu. 
Dark to her will be the morrow. 

Orphan's woe her heart will steep — 
Do not wake her, gentle watchers! 

She'll learn soon enough to weep. 

Do not wake my darling daughter. 
Let her rest in sweet repose; 

Ne'er again upon my bosom 

Will be hushed her childish woes. 


Darker grow the midnight shadows, 
Nearer o^er my senses creep — 

Watchers, do not wake my darling. 
She'll learn soon enough to weep. 

*A dying mother requested that if she passed away during the night, her daughter should 
not be waked, adding, "She'll learn soon enough to weep." 



QWEET be thy rest! Where thou art sleeping 

May sighing breezes lull to sweet repose; 
While wafting o^er thy couch in rich profusion. 
The fragrant odors of the early rose. 

Closed is thy princely home. No happy voices 
Make music now throughout each quiet room; 

No sunlight penetrates the darkened shutters 
To drive away the sullen, silent gloom. 

The nightfall brings no step upon its threshold, 
No footfall on the lonely waiting stair; 

A hush is on the shrine of true devotion. 

Where oft uprose the morn and evening prayer. 

No more, no more thy sunny-hearted darling 
Hastes as of yore with happy flying feet. 

Along the path where evening shadows lengthen. 
His noble father with glad heart to meet. 


And she, thy gentle bride, above thy lowly pillow- 
In untold anguish weeps — thy widowed one; 

Bereft of earthly joy, the dreadful truth attesting. 
That hearts can break, and mockingly beat on. 

And we, who loved thee from thy lifers bright dawning, 
Who watched with pride thy early years unfold; 

Fondly recall bright visions of thy beauty, 
Thy laughing eyes and waving curls of gold. 

Alas! on earth there comes no glad reunion. 

Where thou shalt join with happy beaming face. 

As when about our parents dear we mingled 
With loving hearts the flying hours to chase. 

Oh! we shall miss thee here! Earth seems so dreary 
When those we love are parted from its shore; 

Though death's dark seal is on thee, gentle brother! 
Thou art '^'not lost-,'' but only ^^gone before." 

Thou shalt live on amid those scenes immortal, 
Wliere happy souls their glad devotions pour; 

Thou shalt live on, with Christ, thy blessed Savior, 
When waning suns shall rise and set no more. 




WE daisies! beautiful daisies! 

Blossoming everywhere, 
Filling the air with your fragrance. 

Making our earth so fair; 
Blooming in rich profusion. 

Crimson, purple and white; 
Smiling about my pathway. 

Filling me with delight. 

Ye daisies! beautiful daisies! 

Waked from your long dark sleep. 
Where ye lay through the dreary winter 

Cradled ^neath snow-drifts deep. 
Ye come with the wild bird's warble; 

Ye gladden the early spring; 
And unto my loving bosom 

A Avealth of memories bring. 

Sweet thoughts of a fair-haired darling 

Come to me o'er and o'er; 
And I mark her saintly beauty. 

And think of the smile she wore, 
AVhen clasped in her pale, wan fingers, 

Ye blossomed so bright and fair — 
Ye twined in her baby tresses, 

And shone in her rippling hair. 


She seemed but a fair, frail blossom, 

Fading from earth away; 
Though wooed with tender caresses. 

She could no longer stay. 
She sleeps ^neath the budding daisies; 

Nestling peacefully there; 
And I love you beautiful flowerets, 

Making our earth so fair. 


i^H, make the children happy! 
^^^ Oh, make them glad and gay! 
Let smiles, and mirth, and laughter 
Beguile life's sunny May. 

Oh, make them glad and happy — 
Childhood will pass to soon. 

As roseate hues of morning 
Give place ere long to noon. 

Oh, make the children happy! 

Let them rejoice to-day. 
For hope's bright glowing rainbow 

Now spans their joyous way. 

It gilds with tints of glory 

The paths they think to tread — 

Let not the Future's shadows 
Now fill their hearts with dread. 



Oh, make the children happy! 

Fill high their cup of bliss; 
Whatever may be unpleasant, 

Oh, heal it with a kiss. 

Forgive their little errors. 

Cancel whatever is wrong; 
'Twill fit them for life's battle. 

And help them to be strong. 

Oh, make the children happy! 

While they are still at home — 
Their feet will oft grow weary, 

When earth's bleak paths they roam. 

Oh, chase away the shadows! 

Let sunshine ripple in — 
Perchance 'twill save from sadness — 

Perchance from ways of sin. 

Oh, make the children happy! 

While they are 'round your knee; 
Chide not their joyous carols. 

So jubilant and free. 

Oh, make these dear ones happy! 

While at your side they stand — 
Ye know not but to-morrow 

May find a broken band. 



TVTOT where iniquity shall roll 

Its fearful billows o'er the soul; 
Not where sin's foul corrosive breath 
Shall mark the opening buds for death; 

Where blight and mildew leave their stain- 
Not there shall Thy dead live again, 

Not there! not there I 

Not where our fairest flowerets fade. 

Where fondest hopes are soon decayed. 

Where dearest friends are borne away. 

To mingle with their kindred clay; 

W^here sorrow breathes a plaintive strain — 
Not there shall Thy dead live again, 

Christ! not there. 

Not where warm, tears the eyes overflow. 
Where aching hearts are steeped in woe. 
Where widow's prayers and orphan's sighs 
As incense to Thee daily rise; 

Where Death rends loving hearts in twain - 
Not there shall Thy dead live a^ain — 

Not there! not there I 

We may not tear the veil away 
That hides that world of cloudless day; 
Its waving fields and pastures green 
By mortal eyes may not be seen — 


But there we know removed from pain. 
The dead in Christ shall live again — 

'Tis there! 'tis there! 

That Temple fair not made with hands. 
Reared in the heavens, eternal stands; 
Its light reflects the glorious throne 
Resplendent with the Holy One — 

While ransomed millions join the strain — 
"The dead in Christ shall live again '"^ — 

'Tis there! 'tis there! 



JANUARY 1, 1876. 

LJAPPY New Year to all! happy Xew Year to all! 

Oh, sound the glad tidings through hamlet and hall! 
The Old Year has vanished! w^e bid it adieu, 
And hasten with glad hearts to welcome the New; 
The Carrier comes with hearty good cheer. 
To wish all his patrons a happy New Year! 

The Old Year is gone! Ere we welcome the New, 
Let us briefly the scenes of the past one review; 
Nor need we cross over the ocean so grand. 
To gather our "news'' from a fair foreign strand; 
Or brave the fierce wrath of the blue "misty deep," 
To learn of commotions that other realms sweep; 


Or note in the distance the mutterings of war 

That deafen our ears from the nations afar. 

Scarce could you expect the Carrier's rhymes 

To embody the ^^ news'' from all other climes; 

There's more here at home onr thoughts to engage 

Than would form our brief chat through the Carrier's page; 

A few items so staring we cannot pass by. 

Are all that Ave hope for the present to try. 

First on our list comes the new Co7istitution 
(Work of deep thought) to save from pollution 
Our great ship of State — our finance to improve 
And lade with rich blessings the country we love. 
May no foul injustice our legacy mar 
Or dim for one moment our lustrous ^^Lone Star." 

The past year how glorious! what blessings we boast! 
But cannot forget the wreck on our coast. 
Where heart-jewels sank like pearls in the deep 
To rest 'neath the waves, in Death's dreamless sleep. 
And other unpleasant things, too, we have known. 
But over them all let a mantle be thrown. 

Improvement is steadily pushing its way 
Over obstacles great; nor will it delay — 
Our city a witness to this may be seen. 
Towering in grandeur like some stately queen! 
Imperial in beauty! In i^egal robes dress'd, 
Mark the improvements adorning her crest! 
Street, alley, and hillside are modeled anew. 
And fine costly sti-uctures stand out to our view; 


Other new things are talked of — their workings we scan; 

The great Iron Bridge^ our river to span; 

The water conductors through by-way and street 

To force Colorado to flow ^neath our feet. 

Many glad hearts I ween, with hopes glowing alive, 

Will remember with joy eighteen seventy-five. 

New joys and new blessings to many were given, 

To gladden their earthway, and point them to heaven. 

Full many a troth at the altar was sealed 

Where ardent affection had long been concealed. 

Many a saint — by earthly care oppress'd 

And fondly longing for eternal rest. 

Has laid his burden and his sorrows down — 

Exchanging crosses for the victor's crown. 

Ah, there's many a home now dark and lone 

From whence some "bright-winged bird" hath flown, 

And now are missed the pattering feet. 

The piping voice with its music sweet; 

And loving hearts have in anguish bled. 

Laid low by the Keaper's relentless tread — 

(Oh, may_ the great Healer to every such heart 

The balm of His love in compassion impart). 

We may not pause here, but hastening still, 
We gather the "news" our budget to fill — 
■"Hard times," and "hard taxes" well-nigh rend the air -^ 
Go where you will 'tis the- talk everywhere. 
On our principal corners behold what a throng If 
With coats rather "seedy" and faces quite long — 


•Hard times," ^Mittle work," ^' awful tax" — one by one. 
Oh, hear them exclaim — ^^ What is to be done?" 
^Down! down with Miard times;' "with additional tax 
Whose continual cry is a 'few more greenbacks' — 
AVho clutches our purse and w^ould leave ' not a red,' 
Though little ones at home are crying for bread." 
We find, notwithstanding the scarceness of " tin," 
The tide of immigration is still pouring in. 
And hundreds of exiles- — the rich and the poor. 
Are seeking for homes on our Avell-favored shore; 
Let such at our hands a kind welcome receive 
As they strive in our midst lost joys to retrieve — 
To them let us say: 

Behold our lovely State! 
In vast resources great; 
Mark her rich varied soil. 
Rewarding honest toil; 
Her mines of hidden ore. 
Immense in wealth and store; 
Her climate passing mild; 
Her unhewn forests wild; 
Meadows and flowery plains 
Mark her new vast domains; 
Her towering mountains grand 
Like honored heroes stand; 
While rivulets and rills 
Embosom green-clad hills. 

And sparkling, bubbling streams 
Lovely as Poet's dreams — 


Laughing in merry glee. 
Flow onward to the sea. 
Mark well her uncleft sod 
Where man has scarcely trod. 
Her million acres broad 
That well might food afford. 
And great abundance yield 
If made a waving fields 

Welcome to Texas! lo, she stands 

Fitting compeer of older lands! 

iVnd now kindly Patrons! we bid you adieu. 
We hail each dear face, the old and the new, 
And pray you from pleasure and business spare 
A thought for the boy who all weather doth dare; 
Who mocks at the heat, and defies winter's snow. 
And onward, right onward in duty doth go. 
To bring to your dwellings with untiring feet. 
The Evening Netus^Si neat printed sheet. 
That you safe ensconced by bright blazing 'fires 
May read at your leisure all that transpires; 
May know of commotions that stir outward life, 
'Though 'mid quiet at home you feel not its strife. 
And now will you not from your bountiful store 
Grant him most kindly a quarter or more? 
And let him assure you 'twill heighten your Joy 
To gladden the heart of the Carrier Boy. 

*The Bridge was built of wood instead of iion, a:id only stood six jcars, wlien it went down 
with a crash, with a large herd of cattle aboard. It has been rebuilt now with better material, 
t Omitted in the fli-st prin ing 



r^KANDMOTHER dear I how her saintly face. 

From her snowy cap with frills of lace, • 
Beamed on us all with a sincere pride. 
As a merry group we gained her side — 
"Where with chatting and laughing and innocent glee 
We passed happy hours by her aged knee. 

To our fond eyes, oh, how passing fair! 

Was her wrinkled face and silv'ry hair; 

We patted her cheeks in our childish way 

To smooth out the wrinkles that fain would stay. 
But her crowning grace, kind acts well did prove. 
Was her gentle heart with its wealth of love. 

To heighten our joy she nothing would spare; 

Of all our pleasures s7ie held a share; 

If any were sad, by sorrow ojDpressed; 

If any were hurt, she gently caressed — 
She petted and soothed in her motherly way 
Till our bruises were healed and we scampered away. 

Grandmother dear! who hath power to tell. 
What strange emotions my bosom swell, 
As I fain recount joys o'er and o'er? 
Thy blessing was wont on each heart to pour. 

Of all our treasures stored in memory 

The sweetest, dear friend, are those linked with thee. 


Of all the dear pictures on memory's wall 

That fondly lifers sunny hours recall; 

Of the sweet faces there Iters holds a place. 

Set in diamonds of love and jewels of grace. 
Grandmother! sweet friend! next to her who had died. 
We loved you the best of all others beside. 

Of all the visits with which we were blessed 

The one to grandmother's seemed the best; . 

AVe left the city with its din and care. 

For the fragrant fields and meadows fair; 
For the shady wood and leafy grove — 
For grandmother's kiss, and passionate love. 

With nimble feet we hastened away 
'Mid the rustling corn and new-mown hay; 
We sought the path where the orchard stood. 
With its ripening fruit so mellow and good — 
We were 'Miere" and ^' there'' as on flying feet 
We sought with new joy each favorite retreat. 

We chased the squirrel from tree to tree 

And seemed as happy and glad as he; 

We sought the brook with its shady bank 

Where the ducklings swam and the milch-cows drank; 
The calves, many colored, full forty or more. 
We brought from the pasture when day Avas o'er. 

When she wanted eggs to make a '^^ surprise," 
{We thought 'twould be cookies, doughnuts or pies,) 
Oh, then how each ''-cuddy" and ''nook" we'd explore, 
We'd search the barn through for dozens or more. 


Till laden with trophies so fresh and white, 

Buch '^ goodies'' we gained filled each with delight. 

Her bread was the lightest, her cakes was the best; 

On butter and honey we feasted with zest; 

Her cheeses, a dozen, on the dairy-room shelf, 

"Were golden and rich — she made them herself. 
Oh, kind were the words that fell from her tongue! 
And sweet was the hymn that in evening she sung. 

Tlie years have been long. Full many a change 
Xow marks her home with a presence strange. 
While ice who loved her motherly care. 
The impress of time on our features wear. * 
Changes may come and our hearts may grow cold. 
Grandmother still our affections shall hold. 

Long, long years she has slept 'neath the sod; 

Her soul, gone home to its Maker — God ; 

We feel that she waits us on yonder shore. 

To greet our arrival when death is o'er. 
God grant we may meet her triumph there 
'Mid the sun-lit realms of that city fair. 



6i\17ILL you be lonely, mother?" 

Our dying Jimmie said; 
/'Will you be lonely, mother. 
When I am with the dead? 
It grieves my heart to leave you. 

And have you sorrow so — 
But the blessed angels call me, 
I feel that I must go. 

**You have talked to me of heaven 

And its happy shining band. 
Till I long to join the angels 

That near my Savior stand. 
I long to look at Jesus, 

So holy^ good and kind;. 
The only thought that grieves me 

Is leaving you behind. 

*' Will you be lonely, mother, 

When day beams warm and bright? 
And when the gathering shadows 

Proclaim approaching night? 
Will you listen for my footstep. 

As though you thought me near? 
And pause amid your duties 

For tones you ne^er may hear? 


*'Will you be lonely, mother? 

I feel it must be so; 
Now put your arms around me 

And kiss me ere I go. 
Kiss me good-night, dear mother, 

For ere another day. 
My spirit shall be gone above. 

My body — lifeless clay. 

*' When, at evening^s holy hour. 

Beside my little bed. 
My brother kneels to say the prayer 

That I so oft have said, 
'Twill do you good, dear mother. 

To know / am at home; 
That I^m waiting, dearest mother, 

'Till you shall safely come. 

" Now put your arms around me. 

And hear my little prayer. 
For Death's dark seal is on me. 

His breath is in my hair. 
Now sing the song, dear mother, 

That I have loved so well; 
And kiss me but once more good-night. 

My mother, dear, farewell!" 

♦Dying words of little Jimmie C , a bright, promising boy of five years, whose only dis- 
tress in Tiew of death was the thought that liis mother would bo lonely without him. 



Written on the fly leaf by request. 

'T'O you this volume I present, 
And may the offering prove 
^Mid every wreck of time and sense 
A mother's faithful love. 

No holier boon could I select, 

Or purer gift bestow — 
Thy mother's choice — be it thy guide 

Through darksome paths below. 

Herein are gems whose " ray serene " 
Earth's diamonds far outshine; 

Gems, sparkling with eternal truth. 
Emblazon every line. 

Here, God his Law to us declares 

In Sinai's thunder tone; 
And here, in whispers of his love. 

His mercies are made known. 

Its holy lessons ponder well, 

Peruse each sacred page; 
And may this book — God's holy word. 

Your earnest thoughts engage. 


Memory bears me back through years. 

Unto that blissful morn. 
When nestling in my arms you slept. 

My beautiful first born. 

Deep lines mark now my faded brow. 
And '^silv^er threads^' my hair; 

I soon shall tread the '^unseen way,'' 
Shall mount the '^'golden stair." 

Oh, when you mark the lowly mound 

Where sleeps a mother's dust. 
May you through faith in Christ be found 

Your mother's God, your trust. 


OIRD of ill omen! away, away! 

Thou hidest thyself from the glare of day, 

'Mid the foliage dense of some deep dark wood. 

Choosing thy home 'mid its solitude — 

To wake at midnight its somber gloom, 
With thy dismal note like the knell of doom. 

Bird of ill omen! avaunt, avaunt! 

Thou seekest my home like some storied haunt; 

Night after night thou dost come again 

To pour in my ear thy dull, dreary strain. 

And my heart grows sick with a sad strange thrill 
For 'tis said that thou art an omen of ill. 


Strange bird of the wood! what doest thou here? 

Why dost thou linger so oft, so near? 

Art thou a warning of evil to come? 

Does some shadow dark brood over my home? 
Sleepless, I'm watching and waiting alone. 
By the cradle-bed of my suffering one. 

Bird of ill omen I by what strange spell 
Could thy plaintive note an evil foretell? 
By what magic power couldst thou be possessed 
To waken such sadness within my breast — 

And why does thy song seem a knell of doom 
As it echoes thus through my lonely room? 

Dost thou sound for my babe a funeral knell? 

Say, is it her death thou wouldst thus foretell? 

We are the Lord's, let him do as he will. 

Living or dying, we honor him still; 

And into his hand my babe I resign, 

No more to be grieved by that lay of thine. 

Gentle bird! love triumphs! no more, no more 
Shall thy song sadden my heart as before — 
My baby is spared. A lesson I learn — 
The rose-hue of health to her cheek shall return. 
I'm calmly resigned to my Father's will — 
And thou art no more an omen of ill. 

With what sad tidings does thy bosom swell? 
Is it some grief of thy own thou wouldst tell? 
Hast thou lost thy mate in that dense dark wood? 
Art thou grieving to-night for thy famished brood? 


Is it sorrow that breathes in thy plaintive song? 
Perhaps, gentle bird! thou wouldst tell thy wrong. 

♦'Thoughts entertained while watching night after night by my sick babe, when a screech- 
owl would perch in one of the shade trees and chant his dismal lay— said by the superstitious 
to be an "omen of ill." 



A BOUT that stool, that humble stool, 

What tender memories cling! 
Strangers may deem it worthless here. 
But ^tis a sacred thing. 

What though ^tis faded, worn and old? 

For us its charms remain, 
Sweet visions of the past unfold — 

We view them o^er again. 

It brings to mind a saintly face, 

With eye upturned to heaven; 
A trembling form, a palsied limb. 

For which this stool was given. 

Sweet thoughts of him we loved it brings, 

Who in this temple stood; 
Who taught our hearts of heavenly things - 

Of Christ's atoning blood. 


The liumble, trusting prayer of faitli 
Full often here he poured. 

And ministered to hungry souls 
About this '' sacred board/' 

We call to mind his ''words of life'* 

In earnest, glowing strain. 
Sermons with faithful warnings rifcT— 

We hear them o'er again. 

Afflictions dire his body tried; 

But true and faithful still. 
He battled on 'mid anguish sore 

Against the hordes of ill. 

Ne'er wearying of his sacred task. 
His zeal for God well proved; 

In God's pure smile content to bask. 
While waiting his beloved. 

His soul imprisoned here in clay — 
Plumed for its heavenward flight. 
Beat 'gainst its bars from day to day 
• With Canaan just in sight. 

In light divine his life-star waned. 

As sinks the setting sun; 
For Christ, his Lord, the welcome gave- 

''Servant of God, well done!" 


He lives above; in scenes of bliss — 

In heavenly mansions fair, 
No pain disturbs his soul's deep peace, 

No palsied limbs are there. 


^^/^^ER the hills the sun is sinking, 
^""^ Longer now the shadows grow; 
And my soul is reaching homeward — 
Kiss me, darling, ere I go. 

*' Dearest! I have grown so weary. 

With these constant hurting pains; 
Rest my head upon your bosom. 
While life's feeble spark remains. 

^^ Out upon that boundless ocean, 
All unseen by mortal eye. 
My frail barque will soon be sailing — 
But I fear no breakers high. 

^'For the Savior steers my vessel; 

He — true pilot — guides the helm. 
And no rough or stormy billows 
Shall my fragile barque overwhelm., 

*' And my soul shall anchor, dearest I 

Where heaven's glorious scenes unfold; 
For beyond death's stormy billow. 
Lies that city built of gold. 


" Kiss me darlings day is waning, 
Longer now the shadows grow; 
And my soul is launching homeward — 
Kiss me, dearest, ere I go. 

*Dying words of Dr Masterson, of Round Rock, Texas, addressed to his weeping wif3. 
These verses were appended to his obituary by the author, written by request of the family 
and published in the " Statesman," of our city. 


]\TOT room to worship in that wealthy jjew. 

Where the silks were rustling crisp and new; 
Where diamonds sparkled and laces gleamed 
On those who of heaven so fondly dreamed. 

Oh, no, not room for the j^oor saint there. 
With her shrunken form and silvery hair; 
Her faded garb they thought out of place 
With rustling silks and shimmering lace. 

Though dull her hearing, and dim her eye, 
8he might not linger thus to wealth so nigh; 
The liveried sexton with stern set face, 
Sought out for the '^poor" a suitable place. 

What though she had trudged a long, long way 

To hear the sermon that Sabbath day. 

To listen with joy to that gifted one 

So thronged and courted — her oion dear son. 


"No room," ^'no room," ^twas their rude complaint. 
As they pushed aside this gentle saint — 
Jeered and slighted she soon withdrew 
From those wealthy saints (?) and their gilded pew. 

Her heaving breast and quivering chin, 
Spoke the hurt heart that beat within; 
With tearful eyes she turned — "I hope," said she, 
"There'll be room in heaven for you and me." 

Yes, room in heaven for one and all, 
^Mid its waving fields and arches tall; 
Where the crystal river so boundless flows. 
And the tree of life on its margin grows. 

Ah! yes, there'll be room in the mansions fair. 
The Lord of glory has gone to prepare. 
When the rags of earth with their stain and sin 
Shall be changed for garments snow-white and clean. 

♦Founded upon a piece that appeared in the "Texas Christian Advocate.' 



'E hail thee, grand o'd church! With thoughts subdued. 
We dare within thy lonely courts intrude; 
We mark thy walls, like battlements reared high — 
True monument of ages long gone by — 

An honored relic of the storied past, 

Defvins^ still the winter's sullen blast. 

1-1. (TD 

_- O 

§ s: 


"Within, without, above thee, and around i 

jA death-like stillness reigns throughout, profound; 
iNo kindly voice comes on the eve»ning air, 
'Thy ancient grace and glory to declare — 

And yet, to Fancy's keen and practiced ear. 

Ten thousand voices of the past appear. 

By thy mute touch thou bringest us face to face 

With long-lost members of a distant race; 

Though perished long ago the head and hand 

Whose cunning skill thy architecture planned — 

(Though marred and blemished now by Time's dark stains) 
Through passing centuries their work remains. 

Thy outer walls, grown bleak and gray with age. 
Like some grim castle, prove the Storm King's rage; 
Thy ruined heights are wreathed in mosses green. 
Where flowering shrubsf add beauty to the scene — 
Lonely, deserted, desolate thou art. 
But cherished still by many a friendly heart. 

Beside this altar crumbling to decay, 

A waiting throng can Fancy fain portray; 

Before those images with saintly crown 

Knelt the shrewd Priest with gold-embroidered gown — 

In the gray dawn arose the matin chime, 

And solemn vesper in the evening time. 

"Twas here full oft the trustful sire and dame 
[Brought their young babe to consecrate and name; 


And blushing here the happy bridal pair 
Sealed their glad vows — each other's life to share; 
And here full oft with muffled, measured tread, 
'Mid stifled sobs, was borne the honored dead! 

But now, along thy "^'dim cathedral aisles," 
No sound the dull monotony beguiles; 
]S"o echoing footfalls break the sullen gloom 
Enfolding thee as with a fateful doom; 

Ko organ peals a solemn, thrilling strain; 

No sounding bell calls back the hosts again. 

No blazing taper with its friendly glare 
Dispels the shadows from thy portals bare; 
No burning censer wafting sweet perfume 
Pours fragrant odors through thy settled gloom; 
No more the dusky worshipers by scores 
Pour in and out thy waiting, open doors. 

No kneeling priest with humble, reverent air. 
Breaks thy dead calm with lowly muttered j)rayer; 
No "' hooded monk," no close-veiled, gentle nun 
Here now invokes the Holy Virgin one. 

Whore are those worshipers? Cold, stark and still,. 

They sleep profound beneath the distant hill. 

But, oh! what changeful scenes have come to pass 

Since here were chanted litany and mass! 

Since thou — old Mission — in this fragrant wood 

An honored relic through the years hast stood — 

Kingdoms and empires tottered from their throne 
And infant nations into empires grown. 

/. 0. 0. F. 137 

Hail, grand old church! Rear high thy battered dome! 

A relic still for centuries yet to come; 

May no rude hand pollute thy sacred fane! 

Nor blood and wrong thy crumbling altars stain; 

And when the thousands who have marked thy gloom. 
Shall sleep forgotten in the silent tomb. 
May thy quaint walls, enwreathed in living green. 
By wondering tourists still with pride be seen. 

*Near San Antonio — reared more than one hundred and fifty-three years ago, 
+ Shrubs and grasses are growing in the crevices of the walls. 

I. O. O. F. 


Written hy request of Odd Fellows. 

/^H! whence this mighty army,* 
^^ That march in grand array. 
To sound of drum and bugle, 

Adown our streets to day? 
Their banners proudly flying. 

By wayward breezes toss'd, 
Bear ensigns of the conqueror; 

Oh, whence this mighty host? 


Oh, sure not war's loud tocsin 

Has waked the cry — *'to arms^' — 
Filling the hrave with quaking, 

The timid with alarms. 
No hlood-stains on their garments 

Bespeaks a bloody field, 
Where they in mighty phalanx 

Have forced their foes to yield. 

They march in stately grandeur. 

Their footprints trail no blood; 
They are God's honest freemen, , 

A royal Brotherhood. 
Their cause is far more noble 

Than Conquering heroes claim — 
With Love, Truth and Fidelity, 

Behold their banners flame! 

They come from blushing hamlets. 

From flowery meadows fair; 
From cities grand, from villages 

That teem with thrift and care. 
Throughout our lovely Texas, 

They rank five thousand strong;. 
In many a love-crowned homestead 

These heroes brave belong. 

Hand linked in hand they journey 

Where desolations spread; 
They clothe the. naked, soothe the sick, 

Entomb the homeless dead. 

/. 0. 0. F. 139 

They dry f uir of t the orphan's tears; 

The widow^s griefs relieve — 
Oh, who may tell the countless good 

This veteran host achieve? 

Their banners wave from sea to sea. 

From mount to ocean strand; 
In proud America they boast 

A half a million band; 
Where'er by dreary threshold 

Stern want and woe and pain, 
Mark out more human victims 

Than e'er by sword lie slain. 

Go on in deeds of mercy — 

Go, brave heroic band. 
As sentinels on duty. 

Ye grace our sunny land. 
We thank the ^' God of nations " 

For these — the good and brave — 
Go, follow his example — 

"The poor ye always have/' 

Go, soothe with touch like woman's. 

The sufferer's dying bed; 
Go, hush the orphan's sobbing. 

And dry the tears they shed. 
And when death holds the gavel. 

And one by one you fall; 
When Christ, yoiy.' Worthy Master, 

For his beloved shall call; 


AVhen to that grand old Temple 

Your Order shall repair. 
May each pronounce the pass-Avord 

That gains admittance there. 
May you, with Christ — the Master — 

In holy triumph rise. 
To wear in spotless beauty. 

Regalia of the skies. 

*The procession, composefl of the delegates to the Grand Lodge and visiting lodges, as it 
moved through our streets, was very imposing — being more than a mile long. 


T LOVE thee more than words can tell 

My gentle, patient friend, 
For .thee through twilight^s lonely hours. 

My prayers shall e'er ascend. 

I love thee for thy gentle heart — 
So generous, good and kind; 

I love thee for thy winning ways. 
And for thy well-stored mind. 

Oh, may thy cup of earthly joy 

Be filled unto the brim! 
May no dark shadow e'er arise 

Thy sunny path to dim. 


May sorrow ne^er with sullen mood, 

Sadden thy gentle breast; 
In all that makes this life complete, 

Mayest thou be ever blessM. 

And when beyond this world's fleet hours. 

When life with thee is o'er; 
Oh, mayest thou bask in God's pure love. 

An angel evermore I 


Written at her request at the age of fifteen. 

/^H, were I gifted as of yore 
^^^ The English Poets were, 
I'd write upon this snowy page 

Lines beautiful and fair; 
I'd paint in hues as bright as Spring 

The glowing thoughts that lie 
Within my bosom — silently 

I fear to wane and die. 

I'd sing to thee in Milton's strains 

Of worlds to us unknown; 
jind flowers bedewed with happy tears 

I'd cull from Fancy's throne. 
I ne'er would tell thee how the heart 

Doth disappointment know; 
How oft its sorrows here arc soothed . 

By tears that madly flow. 


But ah! such gifts were never mine; 

Such thoughts are far too high 
For one like me, of humble birth. 

In imag'ry to try. 
But, gentle friend! accept the lines. 

The tribute that I bring. 
Humble and worthless though they be. 

From hope and love they spring. 

We know this life hath gaudy toys 

That dazzle for a while; 
It hath its scenes of happiness 

That oft our hearts beguile; 
It hath its lovely blooming flowers. 

But oh! how soon they fade. 
And in the cold and silent tomb 

Our dearest friends are laid. 

But oh, in heaven there are no tears! 

And no more parting sighs! 
And all its Joys are pure and true, 

Unmixed with sin's device. 
Then live not for this world, dear friend. 

Where all things fade and die; 
But with an unfledged wing soar on 

To realms beyond the sky. 



/^H, touch again thy gentle lute ! 

llepair its broken string; 
Too long it hath lain hushed and mute — 
A silent, slumbering thing. 

Oh, wake once more its thrilling strain ! 

Renew each trembling chord ; 
To thee it may bring peace again. 

And others joy afford. 

Oh, do not say '*the dream is o^er^' 
That could such bliss impart; 

Poesy still hath soothing power 
To calm the troubled heart. 

Though hopes long cherished may have flown 

And left instead a sting — 
Why rests thy harp with un waked tone. 

Thy muse with broken wing? 

Surely he does not live amiss. 
Who writes his names in hearts; 

Who gladdens others with the bliss 
The poet's gift imparts. 


Tlien wake again thy gentle lute. 

Renew its thrilling strain; 
Too long it liatli lain hushed and mute 

Oh, wake its chords again! 

*To a retired poet — Judse W. T. G. Weaver— who upon being requested to renew his writing 
remarked to the author, "With me the dream is o'er." 
He had kuov\n great family afflictions. 



' E hail thy return, fair queen of the year ! 
Beautiful May ! beautiful May ! 
In splendor sublime thy cohorts appear, 
With joy we welcome thy sway; 

We welcome anew thy bright sunny hours 
Heralded by ApriFs pattering showers. 

We rejoice that our eyes again should behold 

Beautiful May! beautiful May! 
Thy gems of emerald, azure and gold 
That gleam in thy garlands to-day — 

Thou comest to brighten earth's fairy bowers. 
Thy pathway embroidered with choicest flowers. . 

Thou'rt freighted with blessings for one and all, 

Beautiful May! beautiful May! 
The young birds chirp in the grasses tall ; 
Oh, sure thou hast passed that way. 

Thou art robing the woodland, brightening the glen, 
Strewing rich gifts for the children of men. 


Light as a zephyr tliy fairy-like tread, 

Beautiful May! beautiful May! 
Tinging the blooms o^er the valley sj)read, 
With colors brilliant and gay — 

Thy dewy touch the opening buds disclose, 
Lading with fragrance each beautiful rose. 

Over the valley thy feet have pressed. 

Beautiful May! beautiful May! 
Waking the lark from its dewy nest 
To welcome the new-born day; 

Rousing the bee to its honeyed feast 

Ere the Day-God crimsons the glowing east. 

Thou hast kissed the brow of the mountain grand, 

Beautiful May! beautiful May! 
Wreathing its summit with thy own fair hand. 
Hiding its turrets so gray; 

Decking the grove where the red-deer lies. 
Tipping the cloud with thy rainbow dyes. 

Thou bringest sweet thoughts of life's early time. 

Beautiful May! beautiful May! 
When our hearts re-echoed thy joyous chime 
Gilded with hope's bright ray — 

Thou wilt come each year when the flow'rets start, 
But only once, oh. May! to the human heart. 

There are sad hearts beating beneath thy wing. 

Beautiful May! beautiful May! 
Sweet, tender memories around thee cling — 

Where are our idols of clay? 


Where are the dear ones that made life complete 
When last thou didst gladden our quiet retreat? 

Where are the hands that nestled in ours. 

Beautiful May! beautiful May! 
When last we rambled thy fragrant bowers — 
Oh, why thus so short their stay? 

They pluck the flowers of perennial bloom 
That fadeless the city above perfume. 

Lovely Queen of our hearts! whither so fast? 

Beautiful May! beautiful May! 
Thy reign so glorious will soon be past — 
Ah! why so transient thy stay? 

Shall toe linger to greet thy next return? 
Or lowly lie ^neath the friendly urn? 


/^H, put away this treasure — 
^^ This trunk so new and small, 
The sight of it brings sadness. 
And hopes beyond recall. 

'Tis filled with tiny garments 
Of rich and costly make; 

Braided and 'broidered nicely. 
For darling baby's sake. 


Made of such costly fabrics, ' 
Trimmed with such lovely lace; 

With bits of choicest ribbon, 
The baby^s robes to grace. 

It holds the baby's wardrobe. 
Folded and fixed with care; 

So many tiny garments, 
A mother fashioned there. 

Full many hours she labored 
Ere baby came to earth. 

To fit and fashion garments 
Just suited to its birth. 

While in her nimble fingers 
The shining needle fiew — 

Oh, who may tell the visions 
That 'neath the 'broidery grew? 

She wondered if the baby 
Would like its father be; 

Or if within its features 
The mother's most would see. 

Oh, who may tell the pictures 
Her loving fancy drew? 

Of babe with golden ringlets 
And eyes of azure blue? 


She doted on these musings. 
Scarce thinking of her pain; 

As o'er and o'er she measured 
Those tiny robes again. 

But now they are all useless. 
So put them out of sight — 

The dresses tucked and ruffled 
The flannels — fleecy white. 

And e'en these lovely stockings 
That carefully she knit. 

And all the time kept wondering 
If baby's toes they'd fit. 

Scarce any of these garments 
Has darling baby wore; 

For she has gone to heaven. 
And will not need them more. 

For just one fleeting moment 
On earth she ope'd her eyes; 

Bright orbs of latent beauty, 
"With blue like noonday skies. 

For just one blissful moment 
We pressed her to our heart; 

And then the waiting angels 
Called baby to depart. 


So now our home is lonely. 
Our hearts are full of pain; 

The hopes we loved are blighted 
Our babe comes not again. 

So lock this tiny treasure, 
Nor dare its lid to raise; 

Secure is baby^s Avardrobe 
From stranger's prying gaze. 



TT is a cloudy day, Mollie, 

And I am all alone; 
While hovering o'er my heart there comes 

The thought of days long gone. 
Our childhood days! blest, happy time! 

When we were free from care; 
When grief and pain we scarce had felt. 

And all the world was fair. 

I seem to see again the groves 
AVhere you and I have played; 

Again I watch the rippling stream. 
Along whose banks we've strayed; 



Again the steep high hills appear, 

And caverns deep and wide, 
"Where oft we sought the early flowers 

That there were wont to hide. 

I view with awe the ponderous rock. 

With moss all overgrown. 
Beside whose base we sometimes stood 

To watch the sun go down. 
The setting sun! how on each mind 

The glowing scene was traced! 
Its radiant beauty penciled there, 

No more to be effaced. 

Aweary with our plays, we pause 

Beside the mossy spring. 
To watch the bending branches wave, 

And hear the glad birds sing; 
Each brow is bathed — and how we watch 

The faces mirrored there. 
As if the sparking waves could tell 

What form in years theyM wear. 

Those years have come to us, sweet friend — 

We are not children now, 
A statelier grace now marks each form. 

And deeper thoughts each brow. 
No more we seek the wildwood flowers. 

By brooklet, grove or hill; 
But may our loving hearts remain. 

True to each other still. 




T^HOU art here in thy glory, oh, beautiful June! 

We rejoice at thy coming to-day; 
The birds are prolonging the same joyous tune 
That caroled the beauties of May. 

With o^er grateful hearts we hail thy return. 

And gladly our fond tribute would j^ay; 
Sad, pensive thoughts in our memory burn 

O^er the death of our beautiful May. 

Thou hast caught the last breath of the dear dying queen, 

Ere she sank to her silent repose; 
Thou hast snatched up her garlands of crimson and green. 

Thou art twining the myrtle and rose. 

Oh, June! thou art freighted with loveliest flowers, 

Thou art smiling with gladness and song; 
Thou art wreathing in beauty this earth's fair bowers — 

We would fondly thy brief stay 2:>rolong. 

The bright summer skies don a roseate hue. 

Since touched by thy radiant glow; 
And the woodlands are wearing their garlands anew. 

And the river runs tardy and slow. 

The gathering herds seek its cool, shady banks. 

Where they lazily rest on their side; 
Or they plunge in the stream till their ''fair heated flanks." 

Are laved by the bright, sparkling tide. 


Oh, fiercer the rays of the summer sun burn, 

And the fruit ripens low on the bough — 
Thou art here, lovely June! we hail thy return; 

But a sadness steals over us now. 

There was one* who had longed for thy coming, oh, June! 

With a ^^ far-away look" in his eyes. 
That told us so plainly lieM gaze very soon 

On the sun-bright bowers of Paradise. 

He watched from his window through loug, weary days, 

For the beautiful budding young Spring; 
And he looked for thy coming with fond, ardent gaze — 

For the blessings that Summer would bring. 

Ho said ^twould be sweet 'mid thy green groves to lie, 

Eefreshed by thy low sighing breath; 
To list for the voice of thy angel on high 

That should call him from sorrow and death. 

To that bright summer-land — that beautiful home. 

Where flowers perennial bloom; 
Where his feet never more from its portal sliould roam,. 

Nor halt on the brink of the tomb. 

With sad hearts we watched him fast fading away, 

AVliile so calmly his sufferings he bore; 
His eye brighter grew as he languished each day. 

Like an angel's the smile that he wore. 

AT REST, 153 

He passed from our grasp one bright cheery noon — 

Love could not his dear life prolong — 
Oh, he longed for thy coming, thou beautiful June! 

Why, why didst thou tarry so long? 

Thou art here. All the glory that to thee doth belong 

Is gleaming o^er earth, air and sky. 
But our loved one is joining the angeFs glad song 

Where the beauties of June never die. 

*Our son, W. T. Bostick, who died April 8, 1886, would often express a wish to live until 
June, adding that he thought it would be sweet to die surrounded by all the loveliness of that 




T ET him rest, sweetly rest, 

Where the daisies shall bloom, 
And lavish their fragrance 
Above his low tomb; 
Where the blithe birds shall carol their sweet roundelay, 
And the stars keep their watch at the close of the day — 
Let him rest ! 

Let hi in rest, sweetly rest! 

The long night of 23ain 
lias ended in noonday. 

To come not again. 


'Twas but the kind angel He sent in disguise 
To bear bim away to bis borne in tbe skies — 
Let bim rest! 

Let bim rest, sweetly rest; 

Tbougb life seemed so fair. 
And loved ones watcbed by bim 
With tenderest care, 
Tbe touch of tbe spoiler e^en love could not stay. 
And slowl}^, but surely, be faded away — 
Let bim rest! 

Let bim rest, sweetly rest! 

His life-work is done. 
The conflict is ended, 
Tbe glory begun — ■ 
So ripe for tbe Kingdom, so longing for home; 
On earth's dreary shore no longer to roam — 
Let bim rest! 

Let bim rest, sweetly rest. 

Blessed Savior, with Thee, 

From earth's vain allurements 

His spirit is free. 

So weary of suffering — by anguish oppressed — 

Evermore, blessed Savior, on Thy loving breast. 

Let him rest! 

•Published in "Georgetown Record" with the heading changed. 




|H, fain would we sing 
Of thee — beautiful Spring! 
Tripping over tliis fair world of ours. 
With colors so gay, 
Thou^rt wreathing thy way. 
And crowning our pathway with flowers. 

How the forest groves ring 

With thy voices — oh. Spring! 
While we list to the minstrelsy now, 

A sweet roundelay. 

Re-echoes to-day 
Prom the songsters on each leafy bough. 

Over winter — now dead. 

With fairy-like tread. 
Thou art strewing rich garlands to-day; 

We welcome thy dawn 

Since stern Winter is gone — 
We rejoice in thy delicate sway. 

']N"eath thy beautiful glance 

The merry dimples dance 
On the face of tiie bright, sparkling lake; 

And the mountain so grand, 

Peering over the land, 
Dons most beautiful hues for thy sake. 


Thou art robbing each grove 
In the verdure we love; 

Thou art waking the lark from its nest. 
^Neath thy fairy- like wing 
Thou beautiful Spring! 

Our earth in rare '^ jewels^' is dressed. 

With hearts full of love 

To the Father above 
We welcome thee — beautiful Spring! 

With nature so bright. 

Our full hearts unite 
In offerings of praise to our King. 



OO fair she grew 

That we little knew. 
As with pride we loved to behold her. 

That our gentle child, 

Scarce by earth defiled. 
So goon in the grave would moulder. 

Earth^s scenes looked drear. 

But Heaven seemed near, 
AVhen with hearts that were almost breaking. 

We lingered nigh 

To watch her die. 
And to catch the words she was speaking. 

JENNIE L. 157 

'^Ye loved ones dear! 

I am drawing near 
Death's dark and turbid river; 

I feel its cliill 

My pulses thrill, 
I shall soon be at rest forever. 

*^^But oh! to me. 
Death will only be 

The pass- way to life immortal; 
Heaven's holy land 
With its white-robed band. 

Lies beyond death's shadowy portal. 

'^Mother! you'll weep 

When the shadows creep 
O'er the spot where I'm sleeping alone; 

And your cheek grow pale, 

When the wintry gale 
Rushes by with its dirge-like moan. 

*^No more on your breast 

Shall I sink to rest. 
Or whisper a prayer at even; 

And my vacant chair! 

When you miss me there, 
Oh, think that your child's in heaven. 

''^ Father! no more 
By our cottage door 
Shall I greet you at day's declining; 


You'll wait in vain 
For your Jennie then. 
Her arms 'round your neck entwining. 

"My brother! say, 

"When I'm laid away. 
In the cold, cold grave forever, 

"Will you seek that rest 

For the sad oppressed 
That is found by the shining river? 

"Sister! when Spring 

Shall its gladness bring. 
Our earth with beauty adorning, 

Will you o'er me strew 

The violets blue. 
Wet with the dews of morning? 

"Ye loved ones dear 

"Who linger near! 
Our family band will be broken; 

But oh! up there — 

Where the ransomed are 
No sad farewells are spoken. 

"Oh, will you come 

To our father's home. 
Where our sins shall be all forgiven? 

No grief or care 

Shall harm us there — 
All is peace in that glorious heaven." 




TN the distant years to come, 

When full many are "gathered home/' 
Should old Time thy dear life spare. 
Even though silver threads thy hair. 

When the busy day is done. 
And the slowly sinking sun. 
Wooes to rest both bee and flower. 
Through the lovely twilight hour; 

When your duties all are o'er. 
Closely shut your chamber door; 
And ere sleep shall seal your eyes. 
Ere the glowing twilight dies. 

Take your album then, sweet friend! 
O'er it one brief moment spend; 
Eead its words of gentle cheer — 
Love's mementos graven here. 

Should this hand and heart be cold. 
Resting 'neath the churchyard mould. 
Let me claim kind pity's tear, 
Eor our loving friendship here. 



'T'HE snow, the snow, oh, the beautiful snow! 

Falling so softly, so gently below; 
Hiding the rubbish in by-way and street. 
Bridging the road for the traveler's feet — 
Silently, solemnly eddying down. 
Robing the hillside and shrouding the town. 

The snow, the snow, it is with us again. 
It is drifting in heaps o'er valley and plain; 
'Tis spoiling the paths our feet loved to tread. 
Winding its sheet o'er our dear precious dead — 
Whisking and Avhirling and sailing around. 
Filling the doorway and whitening the ground. 

The snow, the snow, how we hail its return. 

As higher the fires on the hearthstone burn; 

The young and the merry, with fond hearts aglow. 

Welcome thy coming, thou beautiful snow! 

Flitting and frisking and flying about 

'Mid the sleigh-bell's jingle and the school-boy's shout. 

The snow, the snow, unsullied it comes — 
In its vesture of white 'tis draping our homes; 
'Tis heaping a grave for the dear dying flowers. 
Wreathing in beauty this bleak world of ours — 
Till the woodland sparkles with crystallized gems. 
Where the sunrays slant through its glittering stems. 


The snow, the snow, 'tis staying the conrse 

Of the ^^ onward train'' with its '^ fiery horse/' 

Snorting and neighing, it boldly defies. 

While deep o'er the track the snow-mountain lies. 

Oh, the snow, the snow, the beautiful snow! 

What ruin and wreck it can work below! 

The snow, the snow, how its feathery flakes 
Kiss the faces cold of the pure glassy lakes. 
Till lost on their bosom in rest serene 
The moon looks down on the beautiful scene 
Where the lakes and flakes are blended in one. 
And the Frost King reigns on his ice-girt throne. 

The snow, the snow, it is hurrying past. 

Borne on the wings of the wild wintry blast; 

Its delicate down is filling the air 

O'er village and steeple, and city so fair — 

Over the churchyard silent and white. 

It gleams like a spectre abroad at night. 

The snow, the snow, it is finding its way 
Through the battered, hut where the wretched stay; 
It mocks their wants with a broad, cold grin. 
As through crevice and crack 'tis hurrying in — 
It heeds not their tatters, but pierces through all; 
God pity the poor when the snow-flakes fall! 

The snow, the snow, the pitiless snow! 
Unheeding the pauper, bereft and low; 


He dies alone in the cold dreary street. 

With naught but the snow for his winding sheet. 

Like an angel kind with a delicate wing. 

It bears him away to the home of the King. 

The snow, the snow, by wayward winds tossM, 
Soon in the mire of the street to be lost, 
An emblem thou art of man^s primitive state, 
Ere yet the drawn sword guarded Eden^s lone gate; 
But more than an Eden in Christ is regained. 
Since the cross in His hallowed blood was stained. 

The snow, the snow, wafting drearily by. 

Bringing sweet thoughts of the dwellers on high. 

Who, spotless and pure, and unsullied by sin, 

Through the beautiful gates are gathering in. 

Blest boon for the falFn, through Christ they may rise 

As pure as the snow when it falls from the skies. 



pAR out upon the borders of our State, 

Where oft is wreaked the Red Man's vengeful hate; 
Where they who dare to intercept his path. 
Fall oft a victim to his cruel wrath; 
Where scenes of carnage oft our history swell — 
(Pens dipped in blood could scarce their horrors tell.) 


Long years ago an humble cottage smiled. 
Where Nature blushed untarnished, undefiled. 
Xo roses sweet, or clustering vines entwined. 
But sturdy oaks that pleasant spot enshrined. 

That cot, though humble, Avas the settler's pride; 
^Twas there he first had brought his bonny bride; 
There on SAvift wings the golden moments flew. 
As ^neath his sturdy hands a field and orchard grew, 
With joy he watched the early springing corn. 
Or caught the lark's loud song at early morn; 
Tending his farm, watching his fine herds graze. 
Furnished employment for the passing days. 

A few brief years crowned rich with wedded Joy 

Had brought them peaceful thrift — a good without alloy. 

The God of love had on this couple smiled. 

And sent to glad their home one gentle child. 

Their lives, though fraught with care — with blessings, too. 

Bespoke Infinite Love — whose gifts forever new, 

Eichly dispense to every needy child, 

AVhether in city full or forest wild. 

Humble they lived, contented with their lot — 

The rich mane's costly goods they envied not; 

Only one cloud hung o'er them like a pall 

And ofttimes threatened to embitter all. 

The days that passed o'er each devoted head. 

Though crowned with good, were filled with anxious dread — 

Drciid of the Eed Man's hate — that innate fear 

Dccp-born in the heart of the pioneer. 


They knew full well his watch-word — ''luai' 'till death" 
Gloating in ^^pale face" blood his knife to sheathe. 

(Texans have studied well this wary foe, 

His cunning nature — wily traits they know; 

Many an old scarred hero loves to tell 

Of dangers dire that oft his lot befell. 

Woe is to him who falls within his snare! 

They know no mercy, and no "pale face" spare.) 

By those lone dwellers in that humble cot, 
These dreadful truths were scarcely e'er forgot; 
They filled their moments with a waking dread. 
For many Texans ^neath that hate had bled. 

Thus time wore on, until at last — oh, grief ! 
Spring's fragrant kiss rested on flower and leaf; 
It waked the bursting buds — the insect's hum. 
It set the blushing violets a-bloom; 
Its happy voices made the woodlands ring, 
AVhile life and gladness burst from everything. 
Spring's fairy touch had dressed the distant trees. 
And wafted sweetness on each passing breeze; 
The grand old oaks now robed in living green. 
Added fresh beauty to the lovely scene. 
A day like this fraught with rare blessings came. 
Gilding the eastern sky in streaks of livid flame; 
The distant mountains caught the crimson hue. 
Dark, weird-like shadows from their tops withdrew; 
The farmer whistling, ploughed his growing corn. 
Watching the sun's path from the early morn. 


His patient team the oft ploughed ^' rounds^' pursue. 
As if their duty passing well they knew. 
The evening shadows slanting o^er the hill. 
With thoughts of " turning out '' his bosom fill. 
He fondly wished for that sweet time to come — 
With team dismissed he then should hurry home; 
Should fold his darlings to his loving breast; 
Seek food, refreshment, peace and quiet rest. 

The wife, the hours had filled with duties light. 
Seeking her cottage home to make more bright; 
Her heart so happy oft broke forth in song. 
As the glad hours in sweet content prolong. 

Day waned apace. The shadows longer grew, 

And o'er the cottage their dark outlines threw; 

Her babe she fondled on her loving breast. 

Then with low lullaby soothed it to rest; 

And while sweet slumbers o'er its eyelids steal. 

She leisurely prepares their frugal meal. 

Pendant above the fire the steaming kettle swung. 

And cheerily its monotone like bubbling music sung; 

With busy feet she hurries here and there, 

As her deft hands their cheery meal prepare; 

With clean white cloth she spreads their humble board. 

Then leisurely awaits her husband, lord. 

The western skies with radiant hues aglow. 
On floating clouds their gorgeous tints bestow; 
The Day-God ere he his curtain lifts 
His '^ gold dust" o'er the mountain sifts. 


The sturdy farmer to his home repairs — 
Heeds not the foe who stealing unawares 
Crouches half-bent amid the lengthening shade 
That wraps its curtain o'er the forest glade; 
He lurks full nigh amid night's gathering gloom. 
And marks the cottage in its pending doom. 

The farmer halts I Quick, boding fears arise. 
As dusky forms outlined against the skies. 
Like evil sprites from out the world of woe, 
To his keen sight go flitting to and fro. 

With anxious heart he hastens within his home, 
While nearer still those fiendish cut-throats come. 
With weapons raised — on murderous work intent — 
Their stealthy steps toward the hquse are bent; 
With wild, unearthly yells, whose piercing sound 
Well nigh might wake the sleepers underground. 
Like half-clad demons starting from each bush. 
They hasten on, their bloody work to i^ush. 

The settler brave had quick a rampart made; 
Against the door had formed a barricade — 
He knew full well in this his safety lay. 
They would not force the door. The fiends at bay 
He thus withstood, and 'mid the gathering shade 
Their grotesque figures 'round his dwelling played; 
While he and his like frightened doves within 
Scarced moved or spoke, so dreadful was their din. 
At length their came a pause — oh, sure 'twas strange. 
The Indians seemed intent on some new change. 


Each dusky warrior from the scene withdrew, 

And, as if baffled, slowly passed from view; 

The settler watched them gliding thus away. 

Glad hopes revive — once more his bosom sway. 

He surely thought his bloody foes were gone; 

Their hated presence from his home withdrawn. 

^Twas but a ruse, adown the wooded hill 

They lay in ambush — bent on mischief still. 

Said he: "Dear wife, we'll leave this wretched place 

Before the savages their steps retrace; 

We'll haste to some kind neighbor's house for aid, 

Night screening us beneath its friendly shade. 

(Had they but known the dangers in their way 

Within their house they sure had tried to stay.) 

Their gentle babe — a twelvemonth old or more. 

Frantic the mother from its cradle tore; 

Impassioned, strained it to her loving heart. 

Then wrapped it close and hastened to depart. 

With one wild prayer for help they fled — 

Their meal untasted on the table spread; 

Though tempting viands their rude table crowned. 

Their charm was lost 'mid danger so profound. 

Oh, who may tell how much of hidden woe. 

Each bosom veiled as they essayed to go? 

Oh, who portray the heavy, aching pain 

That rent each breast, as down the shadowy plain 

They hasten on? They heed not gathering night, 

Fear gave them strength thus to pursue their flight. 

Adown the hill and o'er the flowery plain, 

With quickened steps full half the way they gain. 


Alas, like shrieking fiends from out the grass. 

The Indians rush to intercept their pass; 

With burnished weapons, brandished high in air. 

They seize their victims — they no '' pale face " spare. 

In vain to them for life's sweet boon they cry; 

Their burnished weapons clash, they die, they die! 

So strong in death the mother's feelings swell. 

She closer clasped her baby as she fell. 

From some strange freak the babe they did not kill; 

In its dead mother's arms it sweetly slumbered still. 

Locked in her icy grasp it felt no dread! 

But slept all night beside its murdered dead. 

Xo hungry beast from out its distant lair, 

No x)rowling wolf had scented from afar 

This helpless one — serene and calm it slept. 

(Oh, sure, the Holy One the orphan baby kept! 

The fiends a moment view their bloody work, 

Then quick each scalp from off their victims jerk; 

Still warm and dripping with their human gore, 

AVithin their girdles place by many more; 

Then leave the ghastly scene, their hearts not yet content 

They hasten to the cot on further mischief bent. 

Caution no longer in their steps they need, 

But hurry back with quick and rapid speed; 

Alone, defenceless, now the cottage stands. 

Soon to be sacked and pillaged by their bands. 

No brave defenders of that home were nigh — 

Below the hill in death's cold sleep they lie. 

Boldly defiant now they force the door. 

Their dusky hordes into the cottage pour; 


The meal untasted on the table spread, 

They soon devour without a fear or dread. 

They eat and drink with greedy gusto rare — 

Naught that is good within the cottage spare. 

Their work of pillage then begins anew; 

They quickly search the cottage through and through. 

Appropriating to themselves with speed 

Whatever they fancy or whatever they need; 

When all is pillaged to their hearths desire 

They light a torch and soon the building fire. 

The blazes sparkled 'mid surrounding gloom; 

They wrap the cottage, sealing fast its doom; 

Their fiery tongues like hissing serpents high 

Reach out their fangs toward the distant sky. 

High leap the flames, and by their lurid light 

Is quickly brought to view a pandemonium sight — 

Savages half-clad, in frightful war-paint dressM, 

With lofty feathers nodding from their crest; 

While dripping scalps hang dangling from their side. 

And murderous weapons stained with life's dark tide; 

In frantic mirth they 'round the building dance. 

Their hideous features well the scene enhance. 

With wild war-whoop, and savage, mocking song 

They round the burning wreck their joy prolong; 

Their savage shapes grotesque and bare 

More horrid seem amid the fire's red glare. 

They shout and sing and dance in maniac glee. 

Their joy intense their crowning work to see; 

Nor does it cease until the fires burn low. 

The perfect ruin of that home to show. 


Then with one yell that rends the midnight air. 

Those dusky hordes from that sad scene repair; 

Adown the hill, and through the wood they pass, 

Gliding like serpents through the dewy grass. 

With quickening steps they hasten on their way. 

Full many miles traverse ere yet 'tis day; 

They knew the Texans ne'er to them would yield 

The palm of victory on an open field. 

And though so bold their actions late had been. 

Like skulking criminals they now are seen; 

They fear pursuit and know their doom is sealed 

If overtaken ere they're safe concealed. 

Though fast they speed, yet not so fast are they 

As is His word who said '"^I will repay," 

Already are the missiles of his wrath 

Pursuing in hot haste their bloody path; 

Already is a Texan band prepared 

To wreak revenge on those who none have spared. 

They had been curtained by surrounding night. 

Whose sable folds shut out the sickening sight; 

Yet their vile work by anxious eyes was seen 

As the red flames lit up the dreadful scene. 

The kindly neighbors watch the distant blaze; 

A moment in excited wonder gaze; 

Then quickly by the fire-light's ruddy glow 

Mark the dark figures flitting to and fro. 

They understand this awful scene full well, 

Its fearful horrors on their senses swell. 

For many homes where Texans brave have toiled 

Have been la'id waste, by ruthless Eed Men spoiled. 


A little while in consultation spent — 
These noble Texans on revenge are bent. 
They summon help from settlers far and near — 
Armed and equipped a score of men appear. 
And ere the waning hours herald the day, 
In hot pursuit they hasten on their way. 
Their weapons true, with well-directed aim 
They many dusky scalps as trophies claim. 

T* 5jC y y SjC ^ 3|C 

Ere long Night draws its somber shades aside 

As o^er the quiet earth Day's billowy beauties glide; 

The eastern skies like burnished jewels glow. 

As up their radiant heights, sublime yet slow. 

The Day-Grod rolls his gold-encircled car, 

Hiding the glories of the last faint star. 

Ah, yes, the day had risen serene and bright. 

Penciled the landscape with its rays of light; 

Illumed anew the harrowing, sickening scene. 

Where heartless foes with murderous work had been. 

The babe had waked. 'Mid such surroundings strange 

It surely marveled at the wondrous change. 

Mute it remained; it neither shrieked nor cried 

Since lying near both parents it descried. 

Yes, it had waked, by hunger-pain oppressed 

Its tiny hands had bared its mother's breast. 

Seeking the fountain whence each day's supply 

Was wont its hunger-pains to satisfy. 

It did not know that death that fount had sealed. 

Its icy touch the current had congealed. 

It only knew the mother's breast was nigh — 

It tried to suck — its wants to satisfy. 


No wonder manly hearts with tender pity moved. 
And gathering tears their deep emotions proved. 
When after searching through the woodlands 'round 
The 'baby sucking its dead mother found. 


f HEAR the happy children 
At play beneath the tree. 
While hours of blissful childhood 

Pass thus in mirth and glee; 
Anon their rippling laughter 

Is wafted to my ear; 
And I pray ^'^ God bless the children 

To mother's heart so dear/' 

Now, 'mid the hush of nightfall. 

With humble, reverent air. 
The children kneel beside me 

To breathe their evening prayer. 
I fold them to my bosom 

While each with loving kiss. 
Whispers, ^' Grood-night, dear mother''- 

Thank God for love like this! 

Oh, 'tis the joyous children, 
AVith hearts so free from guile. 

Who fill our homes with sunshine. 
Who charm us with their smile. 


Oh, dear to us the music 

Of childish voices sweet; 
And dear to us the patter 

Of little restless feet. 

And while my heart may worship 

At this devoted shrine, 
And feel 'mid home's sweet pleasures 

A joy almost divine; 
There is a gentle sadness. 

Comes to me o'er and o'er. 
For by and by these blessings 

Will charm our home no more. 

Amid my heart's fond doting 

I ne'er this truth may hide — 
That by and by these children 

Will scatter far and wide. 
Then, some may walk 'mid sunshine 

AVith flowers about them spread; 
Others 'mid scenes of sorrow 

With weary feet may tread. 

Oh, then no more their laughter 

Will chase away our care; 
And then no more at evening 

They'll breathe with us their prayer. 
And then with lonely anguish 

Our hearts will be oppressed, 
•Our earthly home deserted — 

Our ^^ birdies" flown their ^^nest." 


Oh, Father, guide their footsteps 

Wherever they may roam! 
And comfort with thy presence 

The dear' ones of our home. 
And when on earth grown weary 

They one by one shall fall — 
Then, Father, in thy mansions 

Unite us one and all. 

TO MRS. G. S. H 


CULL many friends for thee have traced 
Pleasant mementos here; 
These pages glow with loving lines 
And words of happy cheer. 

Love-flowers for thee are here entwined, 

That shall not lose their bloom; 
Even when the hearts from which they sprang 

Are hushed within the tomb. 

How pleasant as the years roll by 

To muse these relics o^er! 
Call up again those gentle friends 

You may behold no more. 

TO MRS. G. 8. H. 175 

I would not mar the spotless page 

Thou hast assigned to me; 
But here a fragment — lovers own gift 

I fain would trace for thee. 

The maiden's blush no longer glows 

Upon thy gentle cheek) 
New vows are thine, and greater joys 

That language may not speak. 

The '^wedding bells" for thee 'have chimed; 

Thou'st knelt at Hymen's shrine; 
A blissful love now crowns thy life — 

A Jove almost divine. 

Oh, may the love that guards thee now 

With such unwearied care. 
Constant through life, the thorns remove 

And sunny path's prepare. 

May Time rest lightly on thy brow! 

And added joys be given 
To glad thy heart along earth's way 

And welcome thee in Heaven. 




\1 7E knew our darling was failing; 

And fever his little cheek burned; 
When our love and our prayers unavailing 

The power of disease had not turned — 
TVe knew by the heart's rapid flutter — 

By his eyes now so fast growing dim — 
(An anguish our lips might not utter) 

That the angels were calling for him. 

When we watched by his bed till the dawning 

And marked the long hours of the night; 
AVe felt that ere bright rosy morning 

Should gladden our earth with its light. 
This treasure to us lately given. 

Unstained and unblighted by sin. 
Should pass with the angels to heaven. 

And through the pearl gates enter in. 

And when the night shadows were banished. 

Our darling so motionless lay. 
We knew that the spirit had vanished 

And left us the beautiful clay. 
And when by his grave we were weeping — 

Hope soothingly, cheeringly smiled — 
Thy babe the good Shepherd is keeping — 

It is welly it is zoell icith the child" 



/"^OME sinner-friend, let^s to the cross draw near- 

Unveil onr faces while its scenes appear, 
With humble hearts our dying Savior see — 
For His life ollering is for you and me. 

On Calvary^s summit — mark the rabble crowd! 
AVho mock the Savior with their curses loud; 
With cruel taunts His sufferings they deride; 
Oloat o'er their work — their victim crucified. 

The lloman soldiers — visaged grim and hard 
Keep faithful watch, the dying God to guard; 
They stand unmoved amid death's gathering gloum. 
Guarding His cross, and then secure His tomb. 

What yearning tenderness divine appears 
In that fond look the dying Savior wears! 
Thou, gentle Christ! oh, why will mortal spurn. 
Or from such love as Thine so blindly turn? 

About His brow — oh, mark the platted thorn! 
The Jews' mock symbol thus their King to scorn; 
His temples torn; His feet and hands laid bare, 
Nailed to the w^ood with rough, unfriendly care. 

Nature — true matron, with distorted breast. 
Whose great upheavals prove her deep unrest. 
Views the dread scene with visage sadly marred; 
With rending rocks — than human hearts less hard. 


The sun, while thus his dying Maker bowed. 
Curtained his glory 'neath a rising cloud, 
Abashed at man — inhuman creature — man 
Forfeits his reign while clouds the zenith span. 

Oh, where is now His honored, faithful band? 
His loved disciples? Sure they near should stand; 
They vowed to follow Him through shame and death 
Where are they now as shorter wastes His breath? 

They could not brook the noisy, furious crowd 
Who jeered their Master with their curses loud; 
They from His hallowed cross withdrew a pace 
While anguished drops bedewed the Savior's face. 

Staggered their faith, their dying Lord to view. 
With timid hearts they from the scene withdrew; 
E'en boastful Peter — he, too, stood aloof — 
(This, human frailty, is Thy surest proof). 

But one remained. He of the twelve loved best. 
Whose head once pillowed on his Master's breast — 
He, near the cross beheld the Crucified, 
Caught His last words and marked His pierced side. 

And woman, too, beside the Lord she loved 
Was waiting nigh, her deep affection proved; 
What cared she then for Eoman's glittering spear? 
There hung her Lord — she dared to linger near. 


When braver, sterner hearts were made to quail; 
When nature frowned, and lordly men grew pale — 
Then meek-ej^ed woman by her Savior staid — 
For her first sin a full atonement made. 

There stood the Marys He had loved and known. 
With streaming eyes and glowing hopes overthrown; 
His mother, too, who hushed His infant cry 
With the soft cadence of her lullaby. 

Was ever mother-love so sorely tried 

As when she saw her royal son denied; 

Saw ignominy, hate and scorn defile 

That sinless brow, serene with heaven's smile. 

What yearning love His royal bosom stirs. 

As His sad eyes look fondly into hers? 

With His last breath — a heaven of love expressed — 

Bequeaths that mother to the one loved best. 

''Woman! thy son; and son, thy mother see!" 
Oh, wondrous love! oh, precious legacy! 
Ye boastful youths! learn of this filial heart 
Who for His mother cared beneath death's cruel smart. 

The mother of his Lord, the ''loved discii^le" bore 
To his own home — his guest there evermore. 
Savior! may we of this sweet lesson learn 
Whom God has given ne'er to slight or spurn. 


We thank Thee, Christ, that thus a faithful few 
Lingered beside Thy cross amid death's gathering dew, 
The earthquake's fury, and the mob withstood. 
They watched Thy throes, and saw Thy trickling blood. 

Oh, Savior ! ever may our hearts remain 
AVitli trusting faith beside that cross of pain: 
Ourselves, our all, an offering meet we bring. 
To crown Thee, Savior, Brother, Priest, and King. 

Prompted by Rev. A. E. Goodwyn's sermon in Austin, February 5, 1882. Text, John xix— 25, 26, 27. 


Written at the age of fifteen. 

*T^HE twilight hour has come again. 

And with it comes a welcome train 
Of sweet and happy musings. 

I welcome now this thoughtful mood. 
And here while none may dare intrude. 
Beneath the Muse's touch would wake again 
The glowing scenes that long have lain 
Treasured in memory. 

Again, I am a child ! 
My mother's kiss is on my brow; 
Low by her knee at night I bow. 


And with clasj)ed hands and guileless heart 

Repeat the evening prayer. 

When morn returns, to school again 

My busy feet their way retrace. 

And though ^tis long, yet mother's parting kiss and smile 

The lonely way for me beguile. 

And ere I scarce believe it true. 

The school-room door is plain in view. 

Fm greeted by a happy band 

Of loved and gentle girls. 

Again, I stand 
With a loved favorite beside the sparkling stream ■ 
Whose bright waves in the sunlight gleam 
And ripple 'neath the pebble's dash. 
I gather in a bright bouquet. 
The sweet wild flowers that bloom 
Along its green and mossy banks; and anon 
Place one within the hair of her who sports beside me» 

And thus one by one 
The scenes of childhood's day are borne 
Before fond Fancy's eyes so vividly 
That for a moment it does seem 
To be reality. I quickly turn 
To meet my mother's wonted smile. 
And lo! the dreams that thus beguile 
The twilight hour, depart. 
Leaving no balm for this poor heart 
Save the memory of the dead. 
The cheek that bore the smile of her 
Who was the idol of my dream. 


Has long since gone low in the tomb 

To feed the canker-worm. 

While those dear schoolmates that I loved 

Have been divided. Some have gone 

To distant lands; while others sweetly rest 

Amid the slumbering dead. 

Yes, they are gone! and nothing now 

Is left to bring them to my mind 

Save when on wings of Thought unfettered, unconfined. 

At twilight^s holy hour, I turn to memory. 



\17ITH joy we greet thy natal day. 

Fair nursling of a year! 
Though storm and cloud, though light and shade 

Have marked thy short career. 
A year ago in swaddling bands 

The infant paper lies — 
To-day thou comest a noble sheet 

Of mammoth dress and size. 

Oh, who may tell the changeful scenes 

Thy brief career has known? 
Or how full oft with waning hopes 

Thou'st barely struggled on? 


Oh, who may tell of sleepless nights; 

Of weary hours of thought? 
That trembling watched thy infancy 

With anxious brain overwrought. 

Oh, who shall tell how sad the day 

When fickle fortune frowned? 
Or who portray Ms happy hour 

With such ripe vict'ry crowned? 
So short thy life — a brief, bright day — 

A quickly flitting year ; 
But thou hast proved of giant birth. 

Without a single peer. 

Thy weekly visits fresh and bright 

Have cheered full many homes; 
While happy hearts and faces gleam 

Where'er thy presence comes. 
Bright gems of thought, priceless and rare. 

Gleam on thy printed page; 
While business, science, wit and fun 

The thought of all engage. 

Thou comest with words of healing balm 

For sad and stricken hearts ; 
Thou bearest the Poet's blessing sweet. 

The comfort it imparts. 
The joy thou bringest in thy train 

Shall ne'er in full be told. 
Till all the gathered good of earth 

Is read in lines of gold. 


We wish thee joy! May each return 

Of this thy natal day 
Find thee still crowned with prosperous gales 

Wending the joyous way. 
May naught impure pollute thy page! 

May thy friends, old and new. 
Aid thee with money, means and might — 

Success to the Review! 



T^OLL the bell softly! Serene on his bier 

A mother's rent idol is slumbering here ; 
So dreamless his sleep, so tranquil he lies. 
He heeds not her anguish nor wild, piercing cries. 

Toll the bell softly! 'Tis not for the old 
AVho had grown weary with sorrows untold ; 
Who, burdened with age, as a ripe garnered sheaf. 
Welcomes death more than life as a joyous relief. 

Time had not furrowed his forehead so fair. 
Where the breeze parted back his dark, glossy hair ; 
Hopes blissful and radiant his future made bright — 
Alas! that so soon they should perish in night. 

OUR BABY. 185 

Toll the bell softly! No harsh sound should mar 
So sacred a scene with its discordant jar; 
Sad hearts are aching that thus in lifers bloom 
The kind and the noble should sink to the tomb. 

Toll the bell softly! "With slow measured tread 
They bear him away to the home of the dead. 
Mortal! mark well the lone spot where he lies. 
Thy own frailty learn — in lifer's heyday be wise. 

* Editor of the " Review," an esteemed friend of the author, and at whose solicitation she contributed 
largely to the " Review." He became a prey to consumption and passed away at the early age of twenty- 
seven years. In grateful remembrance of the many kind words of encouragement spoken to us in regard 
to our humble writings, the accompanying verses are affectionately inscribed to his memory. He fell as 
fails the good and brave. Peace to his ashes. 




r\^ earth so short her stay, 
^^^ It seemed a brief, bright day 

Too quickly gone ; 
As if an angeFs smile 
Had gladdened us a while 

And been withdrawn. 


Close nestled in our arms. 

We watched her budding charms 

Each day unfold ; 
To our fond eyes how fair 
She seemed — a jewel rare! 

Of gentle mould. 

No earthly name as yet 
Seemed fitted for our pet — 

We wonder most 
What precious name in heaven 
To our sweet babe is given 

By angel host? 

So calm in death her sleep, 
^Twas almost wrong to weep 

O^er aught so fair ; 
That gentle baby face. 
Sure wore angelic grace 

Reflected there. 

Beyond the starlit sky, 
Where hopes can never die. 

Our angel one 
Joins in that happy throng 
Who sing redemption's song 

Around the throne. 

To us she comes no more. 
But on the blissful shore 


We hope to meet. 
With baby for our guide 
We^ll seek the Savior^s side — 

Our joy complete. 



TF artistes pencil in my hand 

And artist's gift at my command 
Could to this snowy leaf convey 
An image I would glad portray, 
Then gentle girl thy lovely face 
Would soon this spotless canvas grace. 
Thy radiant brow with thought serene 
That would befit some lofty queen; 
Thy curls, that might an Houri please 
Just lifted by the evening breeze 
From rounded shoulders plump and bare 
That well might grace a princess fair; 
Thy eyes — but oh, what pen can write 
Their- starry depths, like "noon of night?" 
What pen to canvas could convey 
The beauties that within them lay? 
rd paint thee ''Gena," as thou art 
Enshrined within my loving heart. 
But since an artist's gift and fame 
I must forevermore disclaim. 


I may not liere forbear to tell 
The graces that within thee dwell — 
That through thy gentle actions prove. 
Excite within me warmest love. 


A LITTLE while on every hand 

Spring's lovely beauties deck the land; 
And fragrant roses in their bloom 
Gladden our homes with rich perfume 

A little while — and then 
Stern winter comes with snow and frost, 
Lo! all our flowery gems are lost; 
And wailing winds with restless moan. 
The glories of the wood dethrone. 

A little while is hushed to rest 
The babe upon its mother's breast; 
Bright hopes begird her darling round. 
As with her love his life is crowned 

A little while — and then 
We find no more the darling there. 
With sunny brow and rippling hair — 
The babe to man's estate has grown. 
Her ^^birdling" from the home-nest flown. 


A little while at wealth's command 
Its courts abound with nabobs grand; 
A pampered host before its heel. 
As favored minions willing kneel 
A little while — and then 
"Riches take wings'^ and quickly fly, 
'^The glittering pageant has gone by; 
Its victim left 'mid hate and scorn. 
Despised, abandoned and forlorn. 

A little while with friendly cheer. 
Our hearts are gladdened waiting here ; 
Friends tried and true with loving smile. 
Our earthly path with joy beguile 

A little while — and then 
As leaves before the tempest fall. 
So Death — the Reaper — gathers all, 
And we amid its fitful gloom, 
Have laid our dear ones in the tomb. 

A little while, as pilgrims sore. 
With weary feet we tread earth's shore. 
Full oft His ways to us are veiled. 
And faith groT^s faint when sore assailed 

A little while — and then 
Eternity's broad light shall gleam 
O'er our earth-way with radiant beam. 
We then may learn from what dark sin 
'Our '''hedge of thorns" has fenced us in. 


A little while, and we shall pass 
In serried ranks below the grass; 
The silent nations under ground 
Shall calmly rest in sleep profound 

A little while — and then 
Jehovah's hand, a blackening scroll. 
The heavens shall together roll. 
While blood-washed hosts in Christ shall rise 
To swell the armies of the skies. 


Air: "''Golden Stair. ^ 


T^HEY are sleeping, sweetly sleeping 

In the churchyard, side by side. 
While the holy stars are keeping 

Silent watch at eventide. 
Xaught can wake their dreamless slumber; 

Naught disturb each tranquil breast; 
They are now among that number 

Who have "entered into rest/' 

Chokus: Oh, the angels gently whisper, 

'^Seek them not in churchyard fair. 
They have reached the Golden City, 
And have met a welcome there. " 


They are sleeping, sweetly sleeping. 

Where the purple violets bloom. 
Where the tangled grasses creeping 

Soon will wreathe each lowly tomb; 
Where the mocking bird is singing 

In the gathering twilight dim. 
Till the forest groves are ringing 

With his fulWoiced morning hymn. 

Chokus: Oh, the angels, etc. 

They are sleeping, sweetly sleeping, 

Never more to suffer pain; 
Ne^er to wake to woe or weeping; 

Ne'er to feel earth's griefs again. 
Meet it is, ^mid birds and flowers. 

Thus so tranquilly to lie. 
Lulled to rest with, singing showers. 

And the wind's low lullaby. 

Chorus: Oh, the angels, etc. 

They are sleeping, sweetly sleeping. 

Where the shimmering sunlight falls — 
Through the chequered leaflets peeping. 

Gilds the sepulchre's dark walls. 
Thus the light of suns immortal 

Sheds a halo o'er the tomb; 
Shining o'er Death's darkened portal — 

Drives away its sombre gloom. 

Chorus: Oh, the angels, etc. 


They are sleeping, sweetly sleeping — 

Eests in hope their precious dust; 
On the breast of Jesus sleeping — 

He will guard the sacred trust. 
Till, with angels hosts descending. 

He shall bid His children rise; 
Then, when rocks and graves are rending, 

They shall gather to the skies. 


/^^OME and sit beside me, dearest. 

For life's tide is ebbing fast; 
I would have thy loved form nearest, 
I would see tliee to the last. 

Once more pillowed on my bosom, 
I w^ould have thy head recline; 

Once more folded to me closely. 
Have my arms around thee twine. 

Let me hold those trembling fingers 
Closely pressed within my own — 

Let me hold them while life lingers. 
For they soon must toil alone. 

I could weep in bitter sorrow 
For thy lonely lot my love. 

When I lie a corpse to-morrow 
And my soul has gone above. 


When no gentle tones can waken 
Love-words from my lips again; 

And tlion'lt feel like one forsaken. 
Bearing silently thy ^^ain. 

When thy hope and joy departed. 

Lifers rough, thorny way thon'lt tread 

Sad, alone and broken-hearted. 
When Fm resting with the dead. 

How I watched thy warm tears starting 
When ^twas said that I must die ! 

And thy quick glance upward darting. 
Begging mercy from on high. 

Not unheeded is thy anguish ! 

Not unseen thy poignant grief ! 
Jesus once for us did languish—^ 

He will give thy heart relief. 

Though the bruised reed is bending. 
He has said it shall not break; 

Though love's ties on earth are rending. 
Bear it, dearest, for His sake. 

He will aid thee with thy burden. 
He will be thy friend, my dear; 

And when tlioio shalt cross the Jordan, 
He'll sustain thee — do not fear. 


Hark! the angels' thrilling story- 
Breaks upon my listening ear ! 

Lo, they sing — '''To Him be glory 
Now the music draweth near. 

Oh, I soon shall enter heaven ; 

Soon shall pass the Pearly Gate 
Wife, farewell! in thy life's even 

ril beside the river wait. 


Dying words of Lucy Johnson, who passed away December 4th, 1880, beloved and lamented by 
many friends and school-mates, aged 11 years. 

A fair, frail flower that perished but too soon — 
An opening bud that withered ere 'twas noon. 


^ ^ T T will soon be over. Mother ! 
All this weary, hurting pain; 
I shall rest from every sorrow 

Ere the day dawns bright again. 
Lo, the shadows darken ^round me. 

And the twilight deepens fast; 
Let me rest upon your bosom 
Ere this trying hour is passed. 


'^ It will soon be over. Mother ! 

Over with your darling one. 
And your heart will ache most sorely 

When you know that I am gone. 
You will miss me, gentle Mother, 

When the parting hour is o^er; 
And your home will be so lonely. 

When your Lucy comes no more. 

''It will soon be over, Mother! 

Fainter comes my feeble breath; 
While upon my cheek and forehead. 

Rests the icy touch of death. 
Oh, I'm surely near the crossing 

Of death's cold and chilly tide; 
But the blessed holy angels 

Beckon from the other side. 

*'Soon ril join that throng, dear Mother; 

Soon that city fair behold; 
With its walls of burnished Jasper, 

And its streets of shining gold. 
Soon I'll see the blessed Savior 

Who was once a little child; 
Walked alone earth's thorny pathway — 

Holy, spotless, undefiled. 

"Tell my sisters and my schoolmates 
That in heaven I'll feel no pain; 
That I long to be remembered 
When the spring-time comes again. 


Bring the flowers I loved so dearly. 
Strew tliem o^er my lonely tomb; 

They will make the place seem brighter. 
With their beauty and perfume. 

' It will soon be over. Mother; 

All my sufferings soon will cease, 
And my soul in realms of glory 

Taste the balm of heavenly peace. 
Fast your tears are falling. Mother, 

Fraught with anguish none can tell; 
Soon we all shall meet in heaven — 

Parents, school-mates — all fareivell ! " 


^^WE loved ones who are lingering near. 
The hour of our parting has come; 
A voice through the darkness 1 hear — 
My Father is calling me home. 

"''So long I have thought on his word, 
And walked in its light day by day; 
So long I have waited my lord. 
He calls me — I haste to obey. 

*'What glory! what rapture it brings; 
It drives from my heart every fear; 
My spirit is pluming its wings 

With the glorified throng to appear. 


^^ Death's Valley to me is not drear, 
A light througli its shadow 1 see 
More radiant than diamonds appear — 
Heaven's glory revealed unto me. 

^'I'm nearing that ^heaven of rest;' 
My feet touch its beautiful shore; 
With Jesus I soon shall be blessed. 
To suffer and languish no more. 

'^I shall not be a stranger, I know — 
A ' iuelco7ne' is waiting me there. 
For friends that I loved here below 
Have entered that city so fair. 

"My children, so loving and kind I 
It pains me to witness your grief; 
To leave you in sorrow behind — 

Our parting, though sad, shall be brief. 

" My faltering tongue cannot tell 
His glories that to me appear — 
Ye sorrowing loved ones, farewell! 
I little thought Heaven so near." 

* Mrs. Peninah Browning, •' a mother In Israel," passed away November 13th, at the advanced 
age of seventy years, having been a follower of her Savior for fifty years, and for forty-two 
years a resident of our city. To the sorrowing ones who mourn the absence of her saintly pres- 
ence these lines (founded upon her dying words) are affectionately dedicated. 





T AM near the river, dearest. 

Will you hold my trembling hand, 

Till I clasp the outstretched fingers 
Of the waiting angel-band? 

Hark! I hear the heavenly harpers 
Tuning now their glorious song — 

Dearest! I shall soon be with them. 
Soon shall to that choir belong. 

I am waiting near the crossing. 
Soon to try the billows deep. 

For I feel Death's chilly waters 
Close around my senses creep. 

Could you only journey with me 
As when first I was your bride; 

Hand in hand to God's own temple. 
Oft we hastened side by side. 

Hand in hand we'd cross the river. 
Hand in hand we'd stem the tide. 

Till we reached the heights of glory 
Gleaming on the other side. 


But you may not enter with me 
On the way as yet unknown — 

(Oh! the sorrow of this parting 
Is to leave j^ou here alone.) 

Take our darling baby daughter. 
Tell her oft of heaven and me. 

Fold her to your bosom, dearest! 
1^11 her guardian angel be. 

I am stepping in the river — 
Lo! my Savior^s voice I hear, 
*^1 am with you, ever with you. 

Trusting saint, there's naught to fear.' 

Blessed Savior, gn thy bosom 
I would lean my weary head; 

As I cross death's lonely billow, 
Let me by thy hand be led. 

Oh! I feel my Savior near me! 

Precious to my heart his grace. 
For the bliss, the joy of heaven. 

Soon will be to see his face. 

Dearest! 'I am at the river. 

Will you hold my trembling hand, 

Till I join the waiting angels 

Thronging now* that peaceful strand? 




/^H, weep for the fair^ gentle Annie, 

Who quietly slumbers to-day, 
With, breath of the roses about her 

As when on her bright nuptial day. 
Oh, death! cruel death, so relentless. 

Could you not the beautiful spare, 
Nor trail your dark fingers, so ruthless. 

Amid the soft braids of her hair? 

Oh, weep for the husband and lover. 

Who kneels in his anguish and j)ain; 
He kisses her pale marble forehead. 

But wakes not his idol again. 
No more shall her gentle caresses. 

Make earth seem an Eden of love; 
No more may she soothe his distresses; 

No more her affection may prove. 

Oh, weep for the sad, stricken mother,. 

For out of her desolate life 
Has gone the sweet flower she nurtured. 

With beauty and loveliness rife. 
Alas! that the touch of the spoiler 

Should trail our fair buds in the dust; 
God comfort that sad-hearted mother — 

In him may she evermore trust. 


Oh, weep for the lonely old father. 

Who mourns in his far distant home; 
The light of his household departed. 

The rose withered now in its bloom. 
Oh, weep for the sisters and brothers. 

The desolate, heart-broken band 
"Who mingle their sobbings together. 

Over this fair bride of the land. 



DESIDE the sacred altar 

I saw thee trembling stand; 
Thy auburn ringlets floating back. 

By evening breezes fanned. 
I marked the '^glad throng" gathered there; 

The loved one at thy side; 
The ^'joyous scene" — the vow — the prayer. 

And I knew thou wast a bride. 

Oh, not more beautiful the folds. 

Of rich and snowy lace, 
Than was the peerless beauty of 

Thy radiant, beaming face. 
Not brighter the orange wreath 

Above tliy durk brown hair, 
Than deep witlnn ihy heart, beneath. 

Were love fljjvers blooming there. 


I saw the quick glance of thine eye; 

The blush upon thy cheek; 
And I read the glowing hopes within 

That language may not speak. 
And oh! to see thee thus so blest, 

It seemed a little while. 
Since softly pillowed on my breast. 

You hid your baby smile. 

And when our dying mother prayed — 
*^^My infant daughter take; 
Cherish, and love her for herself — 

But 'doubly for my sake;^" 
Oh, with what yearning tenderness 

I pressed thee to my heart; 
And when I saw thee in distress. 

My tears would quickly start. 

We^ll miss thee, sister! from our home — 

Our hearts will saddened be; 
To hear no more thy gentle tone; 

No more thy bright face see. 
And when perchance our tears may fall. 

Surely ^twill not be wrong — 
Thou wast the "pet," the ''loved of all,'' 

And love's sweet ties are strong. 

Another home will claim thy smile. 

And other hearts rejoice, 
To view thy happy, joyous face. 

To hear thy winning voice. 


May he in whom you now confide 

"With such devoted love. 
To thee — his blooming happy bride — 

Forever worthy prove. 



/^H, do not say that he is dead! 

I cannot bear the thought; 
My heart is breaking with the grief 

This dreadful truth has brought. 
Oh, do not say that he is dead! 

Take back the bitter word; 
The sunshine from my lieart is fled. 

Its agony is stirred. 

I know that motionless he lies — 

No more he suffers pain; 
He does not heed my wailing cries — 

I call his name in vain; 
I kiss his brow, he does not wake; 

His heart's faint throbs are o'er; 
His eyes are sealed — oh, for my sake, 

Sav, will he wake no more? 


And must he in the grave be hid 

Forever from my view? 
While I without his faithful love 

My lonely way pursue? 
Father! is this thy wise decree? 

Must I be thus oppressed? 
Then let me trusting lean on Thee 

For what Thou will'st is best. 

Stricken and bruised and helpless, Lord, 

To thy dear cross I cling; 
Oh, let this aching heart find rest, 

Beneath thy friendly wing. 
Help me to suffer out thy will 

And in this trial jjrove — 
Though stricken, i'w thy hand-maid still; 

And still thy name is Love. 


(~\^, we miss thee, baby darling. 

Miss thee through the weai-y day; 
And when evening shadows lengthen 
All along the dusky way. 

Miss thee, darling, when the twilight 
Deepens through the purple eve, 

When the shadows fairy pictures 
All along the hillside weave. 


Oh, we miss thy baby prattle; 

Miss thy tones so low and sweet; 
Miss the ever-busy patter 

Of thy little restless feet. 

And we miss the sweet entwining 

Of thy loving arms at night. 
Baby darling! loving treasure! 

Thou didst make earth seem so bright! 

Yes, we miss thee, precious darling — 
God in heaven knows how much! 

But a new harp now awakens 
To thy gentle baby touch. 

Ne^er again upon my bosom 

Shall your head in slumber rest. 

Father, help me! Soothe my anguish! 
What thou wiliest must be best. 

For our meeting '^o^er the river,'' 

Father, keep me undefiled; 
Help me cherish this promotion — 

Mother of an angel child. 

*VVhitten.— the city of Austin, Texas, March 16, 1883, Nannie Elizabeth Whitten, infant 
daughter of A. H. and M. E. Wtiitten, aged 1 year, 4 months and 14 days. Thus has passed away 
one of the sweetest babes ever given to a mother — the first missing one from out our earthly 
fold. Possessed of remarkable intelligence for one 9o young, and full of gentleness and affection 
for those about her, she was loved passionately by parents, brothers and sisters, who together min- 
gle their tears over her loss. We feel now that she was only loaned to us a little while, to b3 
recalled to heaven ere yet earth-taint had sullied the purity of her beautiful spirit. May we meet 

lier there! 

"A bright bird parted for a clearer sky. 

Ours still in heaven. 



/^UR dove, our gentle dove, weary witli earth^s unrest. 

Folded, its tiny wings upon my mother-breast. 
And sank, as sinks the blest, to dreamless slumber there; 
Though rent my heart — though wild my anguished prayer,. 

Our dove, our gentle dove — not even love like ours 
Could woo her longer from those sun-wreathed bowers; 
For one bright year she to our home wcis given. 
And then recalled to glad her native heaven. 

Our gentle dove, with wooings low and sweet; 
With winning ways; with acts of love replete. 
Had tuon all hearts; her sunny presence wore 
The impress of the heavenly more and more. 

When cruel winter, with its storms, was gone, 

And blushing spring, with radiant beams, came on. 

It waked anew the wild-bird's trilling song. 

But could not keep our dove — could not her stay prolong. 

All night the soul beat 'gainst its clayey prison. 

And when the morning sun on golden wdngs had risen. 

Like some freed bird, that hails the glorious day. 

It fluttered, rent its bars, and soared from earth away. 


Noio clost thou soar sweet dove! on angel wing, 
^Mid fadeless verdure of unchanging spring! 
What thrilling song wakes to thy voice in heaven? 
What ''angel plumage" to our bird is given? 

Yes, thou art there. Upon that golden shore 
We soon shall greet thee when lifers ills are o'er — 
Shall join the song that makes heaven^'s welkin ring. 
And fondly clasp again our dove with folded wing. 


\1 7HERE the roses ope their petals. 

With the quivering dew-drops wet; 
Underneath the budding daisies — 
Sleeps in peace our Little Pet. 

As the parting glory lingers 
W^here the radiant sun has set. 

So, about our lonely household 
Linger memories of our Pet. 

Oh, she filled our hearts with sunshine; 

Banished sadness and regret; 
And she seemed so meet for heaven. 

That we named her Little Pet. 


In our weesome, winsom treasure 
Gentleness and love were met; 

And of all fond names we called her, 
Fittest, seemed our Little Pet. 

Sin and sorrow had not sullied 

This our lovely jewel, yet, 
When from off earth's rugged pathway 

Angels called our Little Pet. 

Though our hearts are sad and lonely 
Since her life's bright sun is set — 

Yet we thank the blessed Patlier 
That He gave us Little Pet. 

Kow, amid our Father's ^''jewels" 
She — a lovely *'gem" is set — 

And we wonder if the angels 
Call our darling — Little Pet. 


/CHRISTIAN Soldier! don thy armor; 
^^ Have thy burnished weapons bright; 
Hellish foes for victory clamor; 

Up — be ready for the fight! 
Eouse thee! 'tis thy Captain calling, 

Hearest thou not the bugle's sound? 
See our banner well nigh falling! 

Mark the fearful foes around! 


Christian ! see, the fields are whitening 

Everywhere before thy view; 
See the harvest fully ripening. 

While the lab^'ers are but few. 
Pray that God in his great mercy 

Send more workmen to the field. 
Who shall ne'er grow faint or weary, 

'Till the powers of darkness jdeld. , 

Christian! life's short day is wasting. 

Soon the night of death will come; 
Precious souls to ruin hasting 

Will have met their final doom. 
Child immortal! heavenly moulded! 

Canst thou like the sluggard sleep? 
Rest, with active powers enfolded? 

Sweetly smile! when thou shouldst weep? 

Christian, work! 'tis Jesus pleading, 

See his kingdom just begun; 
Think of Christ — the God-man — bleeding I 

Canst thou leave his' work undone? 
Canst thou slight that gentle spirit 

That has wooed thy heart so long? 
Dream of heaven, but ne'er inherit 

Joys that to the true belong? 

See the road to ruin crowded! 

Crowded thick with living souls; 
And the yawning gulf enshrouded 

Just beneath its fury rolls. 


Rush thee, Christian! rush before them; 

Stop their downward, mad career; 
With uplifted hands implore them — 

''Never, never enter there !^' 

Pause not. Christian! souls are priceless, 

^Twas for them the Savior died — 
Bore the Cross — the dreadful crisis 

When His power all hell defied! 
Haste! oh haste! for time is fleeting. 

Soon, alas! ^twill be too late; 
Hell is moving — heaven entreating — 

Christian! Mortal! dare not wait! 


/^H, tell me, heard ye not that chime? 

Sweeter than minstreFs lay, or poet's rhyme? 

I hear it all the day; 
Its music fills my darkened room, 
Driving away its weary gloom — 
'Tis angel bands! They call the mourner home — 

Startle them not away! 

I may no longer wait. My ear 

Hath caught the music of your holy sphere. 


I know its cadence well; 
Its gentle echoes through my senses ring; 
Vyq thought I heard the rustle of a wing 
And almost .caught the song the ransomed sing. 

So near its glad notes swell. 

I list! the song swells louder, higher, 
^Tis infant voices! -'tis my baby choir! 

For me they come! they come! 
About my lonely couch they wait. 
My spirit longs with holy joy elate, 
To soar with them beyond the Jasper Gate 

To heaven — my happy home. 

Oh, joy! oh, joy! I soon shall be 

From all these dark surroundings free — 

Beyond the azure skies; 
No more kept in by iron-bar; 
Or prison-wall; beyond each distant star. 
Those shining worlds that glitter from afar. 

My uncaged soul shall rise. 

♦Inscribed to the memory of a beloved school-mate — one of the sweetest spirits we ever 
knew — who graduated with high honors, and after her marriage bore, and lost by the hand of 
death, several beloved children in rapid succession. The blow seemed too severe for her delicate, 
nervous temperament and soon resulted in insanity. She was brought to the lunatic asylum of 
our city, where she died in 186-, after a confinement of two years there. The last day of her life 
she talked almost incessantly of heaven and her babies, and would say; "Don't you hear them? 
the angels ! 'tis my babies — they have come for me — hush ! do not startle them away," as related 
to the author by the attendant, who said; "She died a glorious death." 






WE spotless angel ones! 

Who in His presence stand, . 
Say, did ye need our Annie there 
To swell your sinless band? 

Was there some silent harp 

Upon the walls of heaven. 
That waited but her gentle touch 

To wake its strains at even?* 

She tarried here awhile — 
A few bright fleeting years; 

But now, unhurt by earthly guile. 
She in His sight appears. 

Our home an Eden seemed. 

While gladdened with her love; 

ISTow, far removed from grief and pain. 
She waits for us above. 

'Twas meet that one so pure 

Should taste those scenes of bliss — 

Unselfish, loving, kind, and good — 
''Of such his kingdom is.'' 


Father! perfect our trust! 

Thy sorrowing children spare; 
Oh, lead us to our heavenly home 

To find our Annie there. 

* This figure of eveninp: in heaTen is used because that time seems most fitting, and is usually- 
devoted to music here, and yet, strictly speaking, there is doubtless no evening in heaven — but one 
bright, unclouded day. 





WE sentinels* beside the bier! 

Pass by with muffled tread; 
Your heads unveil with reverence here 
In the hushed presence of the dead. 

Relentless death his seal has placed 

Upon that noble brow; 
And pain's dark impress may be traced 

Upon his pallid features now. 

Death sought a '^gem" of noblest worth 

To deck his royal crest; 
The friend of suffering ones on earth 

Sure finds upon Thy bosom rest. 


Now, conquered is the last dread foe. 

Sweet be his tranquil sleep! 
A faithful, loving friend lies low — 

Green shall our hearts his memory keep. 

Oh! solemn is death^s funeral train. 

And dark the lonely grave. 
When dust to dust returns again. 

And the freed soul to God who gave. 

But death's dark portal veils from sight 

Those realms of cloudless day, 
Where God's own presence is the light; 

Where somber shadows pass away. 

Ye stricken ones! whose bleeding hearts 

Bow ^leath the chastening rod — 
Trust Him whose grace new strength imparts — 

Trust Him — your Father, Savior, God. 

*Two sentinels were standing, one at the foot and one at the head of the bier. 



T^HERE is a stair, a ** winding stair," 

That leads to each human heart; 
Leads to that inner temple where 

Its treasures are kept apart. 
Though closed the way and locked the door. 

Where those hidden memories twine — 
Still there's a key with magic touch 

Will unlock that guarded shrine. 

The heart grown hard and seared with sin 

Until purity erased, 
There's scarce a vestige remains to show 

Where the Image Divine was traced — 
Still, there's a stair, a '' winding stair," 

The angel of good may mount. 
And there's a key, a golden key 

Will unseal that heart's deep fount. 

A loving word or a gentle tone 

Its inner emotion stirs; 
A mother dead may speak again 

In a voice or a^ form like hers; 
The prayer she breathed o'er each young head 

'Ere she soothed her lambs to rest, 
€omes back again o'er the *' winding stair" 

With balm for each troubled breast. 


A kiss it may be from baby lips, 

A smile from tender eyes. 
Will wake again in the hungry heart 

A vision of Paradise. 
A baby's shoe, well-worn and old, 

With print of a chubby toe. 
Unlocks the fount of a stubborn heart 

Whence the friendly tears may flow. 

Adown the isles of memory. 

Sweet visions come and go, 
Finding their way o'er the *^ winding stair 

From the scenes of 'Hong ago." 
With dainty tread and magic touch, 

Comes the rustle of angel wings; 
And the heart expands with sudden joy 

And yearns for nobler things. 

* We arc indebted to a sermon by Dr. Poindexter for the thought of the " winding stair.' 


AUTUMN, beautiful Autumn! 
In gorgeous livef^ dress'd; 
With gleams of golden sunshine 
Athwart thy royal crest. 

Thou seem'st a shy coquette. 
Kissing with 'Miazy breath" 

The trembling, faded leaflet. 
Sealed by that kiss for death. 

A UTUMN, 217 

Thy voice in gentle cadence. 
Is whisjpering in the breeze; 

'Tis sounding in the hurricane 
That sways the forest trees. 

Thy touch has changed the woodlands 
To hues of ^^ russet brown," 

And scarce one timid floweret, 

Blooms ^neath thy withering frown. 

We watched the queenly summer 

In quiet grandeur die; 
The low and gentle zephyrs 

Echoing her last faint sigh. 

Thy moaning winds seem chanting 

A requiem for the lost — 
For summer's faded glories. 

By wayward breezes tossed. 

The storm-cloud darkly hovering; 

The slowly pattering shower; 
The biting frost; the fearful blast — 

All, all attest thy power. 

We chide thee, grand old Autumn, 
So changeful are thy whims; 

Stripping the lovely forest. 
To leave but barren limbs. 



/^H, fair is thy brow by the moonbeams kiss'd 
^^^ Or wreathed by the cloudlet in veils of mist; 
Or when parting rays of the sunset rest. 
Like the kiss of Deity o'er thy crest. 

Fair is thy bosom embroidered with flowers 
When Spring is wreathing the woodland bowers; 
When royal cedars don lovelier hue 
And thy own mountain laurel is blooming anew. 

But grander far is thy giant form 
Ploughed by the hurricane; swept by the storm; 
Wrapped by the lightning in sheets of flame, 
Deflant and bold, remaining the same. 

Thou hast witnessed oft full many a tryst 
When thy shadows hung low like wreaths of mist, 
Happy lovers have lingered beneath thy boughs 
To pledge their betrothal in love's holy vows. 

Even Hymen* has chosen this fair rustic spot; 
Twining the orange with forget-me-not; 
As happy hearts pledged their love-vows divine. 
Kneeling together at this holy shrine. 


Oh, what is thy charm? Like some giant old 
Wrapped in thy curtains of azure and gold — 
Thou livest in legend, in story and song — 
Oh, what rare enchantment to thee can belong? 

Thou art the tourist^s and traveler's delight — 
Climbing thy summit — thy rude craggy height; 
And standing alone like some monarch grand 
He surveys the bright scenes that gladden the land. 

Majestic hills in their stateliness rise; 
Outlined in grandeur 'gainst the evening skies; 
While woodland and valley arrayed in green 
Add their bright hues to the beautiful sceLe. 

Rare picturesque charms the vision enhance; 
There are shady nooks where the moonbeams dance; 
And the Colorado with silvery glow 
Is singing to thee from the depths below. 

Oh! is it singing of scenes far away? 

Of fairy-like dells where weird shadows play? x 

Of the mountain gorge? of the flowery lea? 

Of the billowy depths of the deep blue sea? 

Entranced and charmed thou hast listened long. 
To its gentle murmur, and passionate song; 
'Tis laving thy feet with its sparkling tide. 
As it hurries past by the mountain's side. 


Deity^s handiwork! Long hast thou stood 
A monument fair in this fragrant wood; 
Silently, solemnly pointing on high, 
Honoring Him who rules earth, air and sky. 

Thou hast looked down on full many a scene 
Eeplete with rare beauty, where Summer has been; 
Or when Autumn glows in ^' russet and brown, " 
Or Winter reigns with cold withering frown. 

Still thou dost hold us spell-bound in thy sway 
While snow-flakes are wreathing thy turrets gray; 
For the eagle might pause in its skyward flight 
To perch 'mid the boughs on thy bleak, barren height. 

'Tis said that a legend is linked with name — 
Of a dark-haired maiden who once shyly came 
Joined by her lover — a brave, courtly knight. 
Keeping their tryst on this mountain's rude height. 

So happy were they in this Eden-like spot, 
Though the shadows grew long they heeded it not; 
Of Time's rapid flight they took no account; 
Kor of the dark savages gaining the mount. 

On, on they hasten, with slow, stealthy stride, 
AYith weapons upraised gain the fond lover's side 
Felling him down with one merciless blow. 
Then hurl him headlong to dark depths below. 


And she^ half dazed, with quickly reeling brain 
Marks her lost lover — bleeding — mangled — slain. 
With anguished woe her maiden bosom stirs — 
A sadder, darlcer fate luould soon he lier's. 

Quick as a flash she their intent discerns; 
Their fiendish nature thus full well she learns; 
Watching her chance eludes their hated grasp. 
And far below, her lover fond to clasj). 

Her breath still fragrant with his loving kiss 
Hurls herself down that dreadful, dark abyss. 
Known ever after as "the Lovers' Leap," 
Where folded close in death's embrace they sleep. 

♦Mount Bonnell has been selected as the scene where one or more marriages have taken 



A ROUND the patliAvay here belov/ 

May flowers of sweetest fragrance grow; 
May heaven's rich gifts on thee descend, 
Is my fond prayer for thee — sweet friend. 

May peace, and love, and sweet content. 
With all the Christian graces blent. 
Fold their white wings within thy heart 
And never, never from it part. 


Fd fondly wish thee fadeless joy; 
But earth might then thy spirit cloy; 
Were it all bright — no shadow given^ 
Our hearts would seek no better heaven. 

Beyond this life — in heaven^s pure land 
There waits for thee an angel band. 
Thy sinless babes! with praises sweet. 
May you those long-lost jewels greet! 


Written at the age of fifteen. 

T^HOU art weeping, dearest Fannie! 

On thine eyelids I behold 
Trembling tears, as if thy bosom 

Heaved with anguish yet untold. 
All thy lovely smiles have vanished 

That made sunshine through each room; 
And thy happy songs are silent — 

Fannie, whence this settled gloom? 

Why art thou so sad, dear Fannie? 

Why dost thou so sorely weep? 
Hath this world ijo joy to charm thee? 

Wilt thou still thy secret keep? 
Have tliy cherished hopes been blighted? 

By stern sorrow's ruthless gale. 
Leaving thee a wound inflicted. 

Making thee so sad and pale? 


Ah, methinks thou are saying, Fannie, 

That thy heart is sad and lone; 
That thy joys like passing sunbeams 

Have flitted by and gone; 
That the world has naught to charm thee 

Since thy heart is rent with grief. 
And that all its bright allurings. 

Cannot now afford relief. 

Would that / could cheer thee, Fannie! 

And new hope to thee impart; 
Would that / could lift the shadow 

Veiling now thy gentle heart. 
I would link thy loving bosom 

With a chain of fadeless ties; 
And I^d weave for thee a garland 

That should prove a worthy prize. 

Brush away thy tears, dear Fannie! 

Bid the troubled thought be gone. 
And let hope with stainless plumage 

Shine upon thy path so lone. 
Let it whisper to thee, Fannie, 

Of the happy home above. 
Where our hearts shall always linger 

At the shrine of fadeless love. 



nPHE dear old home! Oh, the dear old home! 
What thronging mem'ries about me come — 

Called up again by thy magic wand. 

The dear home faces around me stand — 
Scenes half forgotten return anew. 
As I pause awhile the old home to view. 

What though its walls were ^but roughly hewn! 

And few were the pictures around them strewn; 

Not decorations of wealth or art 

Gilded our home in each comely part — 

But the climbing vine with its clustering flowers 
Wreathed the stooping porch into fairy bowers. 

In that dear old home, how the merry shout 
Of children's voices rang in and out! 
Till its walls re-echoed the chorus sweet 
Of singing hearts and of pattering feet. 

How full of joy seemed each passing scene! 

But weary years have now come between. 

Its sylvan bowers, and leafy dell. 
Wove 'round our hearts a "^^ witching spell; ^' 
AYliile the wooded haunts that graced it 'round. 
Wore the blending charms of ^^ enchanted ground" — 
Joyous we ran, and jumped, and sang and played 
O'er the grassy meadow and down the glade! 

What though its walls were but roughly hewn, 
And few were the pictures around them strewn. 


The tinkling bells of the good old cows; 

The workmen^s tune whistled o^er their plows; 

The bee^s low hum, and the rustling corn; 

The lark's loud song in the early morn — 
Was the glad music whose happy strain 
Gladdened our hearts with its sweet refrain. 

Not far away the old elm trees stood. 
That sheltered oft full many a brood; 
That rang with minstrelsy wild and free. 
Poured from the songsters on each green tree — 

How their joyous chime made my young heart thrill! 

Oh, say, do they build in the old trees still? 

The gnarled old oak! how its branches swayed! 

As we lingered long neath its friendly shade; 

While the spring breeze kissed each youthful brow — 

/ almost seem to hehold it noiu — 

How mournful it looked where the dark moss hung. 
O'er the drooping bough where we children swung! 

The rocky clilf where the green ferns clung, 
Finding their life its rough crags among; 
Its towering summit old and gray. 
Where the owl and lapwing used to stay. 

So grand appeared I how we thought of God! 

As with ^' bated breath'' by its base we trod. 

We watched for hours by the sparkling stream. 
Till it seemed more fair than a Poet's dream; 


Its parting waves kissed the waiting shore, 
Then bhished with merriment o'er and o'er — 
The stream's bright ripple and the waterfall 
Most enticing seemed to our eyes of all. 

We loitered lazily near the brink. 

To watch the gathering cattle drink; 

And anon we snatched with *' savage hook" 

The *' shining trout" from their ''shady nook" — 
Oh, the joy, the glee, the bliss that was ours, 
As swiftly whiled away our childhood hours! 

Ah, those halcyon days that flitted past. 

Too bright, too beautiful long to last; 

They soothe our hearts with their bliss complete. 

Like the gentle touch of an angel's feet — 

We treasure them noiu more than golden ore. 
And grieve to think they will come no more. 

We gathered daisies and violets blue. 

That erst by the brook profusely grew; 

The blue-bells too, and primroses wild. 

And myriads more that in beauty smiled; 
We twined them for each in a coronet — 
Do the wild flowers bloom by the brookside yet? 

One chosen spot in that shady wood 
Where the mock-bird's song woke the solitude 
Was my bower of prayer — my loved retreat 
Where I sought full oft the mercy seat — 
My soul was filled with a peace divine, 
As I humbly knelt at that holy shrine. 


The winding path to the distant spring! 

What pleasant memories around it cling! 

There the forest trees in wooded prime 

Shaded the spring with its silvery chime 

And the pond below, where we put to float 
As on mimic ocean my brother's boat. 

There purple grapes embowered in green. 
Peeped saucily out from their leafy screen; 
Their luscious bunches, so ripe and fine. 
Seemed bending low the unwieldy vine — 

Until tve partook of the banquet spread — 
Were ever kings more daintily fed? 

There the cherry-tree stood from year to year — 
Could it only speak what tales we'd hear 
Of romping misses — how we'd dispute 
With robin and red-bird over the fruit — 

Of maiden's secrets — I fear we would blush. 
And soon bid the old cherry tattler to hush. 

Guarded by briers half hidden from view, 
By that shady path dew-berries grew. 
Those purple beauties, juicy and rare. 
We gathered oft with untiring care — 

Our delicious feast, with berries and cream. 
Fit for an epicure surely would seem. 

Near the garden path the old orchard stood, 
Blushing beneath its beautiful load 


Of peaches, mellowing one by one 
•'Neath the golden rays of the summer's sun? 
Was there fairer fruit in that sunny clime 
Where *^the Gods'' were feasted in olden time? 

I must not forget old Puss, Kit and Buck — 
How we children thought it the best of luck. 
In the family coach to speed away. 
Drawn by these steeds, the sorrel and gray— 

How we watched the wheels as they swiftly whirled. 

Bearing us over this beautiful world! 

Old Carlo, too, I don him a verse; 

This watch-dog true, in measure rehearse; 

How he wandered off when years had flown. 

And his life ebbed out, to die alone. 

And none of us know to this distant day 
Where old Carlo's bones a-bleaching lay. 

Old Tabby, too — great household pet. 

With olden memories I must not forget; 

How she charmed the '^ wee ones" in the house. 

As she toyed long with a captive mouse — 

One morn she was missed from our cottage door, 
Her fate none knew — for she returned no more. 

Of the lovely pictures I fain would hold. 
And close to my heart in tenderness fold. 
Is one well kept; how one dewy morn 
A baby sister unto us was born — 


How she won all hearts by her sweet caress. 
We surely thought she was born to bless. 

But a little while on mother^s breast 

Were her faint sorrows hushed to rest — 

(My heart droops low with its weight of pain. 

The saddest of pictures comes again,) 

For the angels paused by our cottage door. 
Bore our mother hence to return no more. 

That scene remains, e^en though long the years; 

I see it now through my blinding tears; 

We saw her fade as the days went by 

^Till she sank at last ^neath summer's sky — 
Oh, my breaking heart, when the coffin-lid 
That sweet-faced mother from our sight had hid. 

Our home, once happy and full of cheer, 

W^as desolate now — no mother near; 

As silent mourners about a tomb. 

Listless we wandered from room to room — 

This — the rankling thorn in the song-bird's breast. 
That loahed its first lay in that grief -torn 7iest.* , 

When twice the woodbine over her head. 

Its feathery blooms in fragrance spread; 

AVhen spring twice had gladdened flower and leaf, 

''Time — great Healer," had softened our grief. 
Another one stood by our father's side, 
A fair, gentle creature — his second bride. 


She wreathed his heart with her faithful love, 

As the ivy twines the oak above; 

Her busy hands kept the children warm. 

When old winter reigned with snow and storm; 
And added blessings from our father's hand. 
Gladdened our home and enlarged our band. 

First came Willie, with his curls of gold; 

Then — with a heart fearless and bold; 

Then M — the afflicted, but God knows best. 

And De, the last in that dear home nest — 

Oh, those romping boys, what wild joy they knew 
As on gilded wings the bright moments flew! 

Full many scenes in that dear old home 

Are doubly dear as we farther roam; 

As the years go by with ceaseless round. 

Bearing us off from its happy ground; 

And old Time is writing deep lines of care 
On the happy forms that were mirrored there. 

One — dearest of all — how its holy calm 

Soothes my tried heart with its heavenly balm — 

The family-altar, where our sire 

At morn and night reared the altar-fire; 

Where his prayer, as incense rose to heaven. 
That our sins, though many, might be forgiven. 

When the mists of time shall dim our eye; 
And cherished memories wane and die — 


The altar, the prayer and the family stand. 

The holy book in our father^s hand. 

Shall green in our memories still be kept. 
Though surging billows have o^er us swept. 

When my ^feet are slipping o^er the brink' 

Of the river of Death — then I think 

I shall thank God most for father's care; 

The dear home-altar, his fervent prayer — 
And sure in Heaven one note shall swell. 
Of a Savior's love at that shrine to tell. 

The old house rough hewn — marked by decay — 

In time was torn from its site away. 

One statelier far the acres graced. 

{The old with the new had been replaced, — 
It had spacious rooms and an airy hall, 
And roses climbing o'er the outer wall. 

The breeze that strayed through each quiet room. 
Was fraught with sweets of the early bloom; 
It swayed the trees whose friendly shade 
O'erhung the paths where we children played; 
And the swinging bucket that rose and fell 
In the hidden depths of the dear old well. 

But the years flew by with rapid round. 
Each by our Father with goodness crowned. 
Till the eldest born, a blushing bride. 
Was crowned with love at her dear one's side — 


Heart supremely blest, but the tears ivould come, 
When she bade adieu to her childhood's home. 

As young birds long their new wings to try. 
And oft full soon from the home nest fly; 
So each in turn left that ha^opy nest. 
With a chosen one life's storms to breast — 
T7ieir homes now gladden our sunny land. 
And children's children by their grandsire stand. 

Oh, where are the children nurtured there? 

W^ith kind affection and tender care? 

Whose nimble feet so merrily flew 

O'er the well-worn paths where the daisies grew? 
We have gone our ways in the world's wild din,, 
Xo more in that home to be gathered in. 

Some of us linger on earth's bleak way. 
Cherish the precepts of youth's fond day; 
Others are treading that unseen shore. 
Where griefs and partings are felt no more; 
T7iet/ want to welcome tis over the tide. 
When we shall safely the billows outride. 

Two of them stand on Zion to-day — 
Pointing to Jesus — the Life — the Way — 
God speed their work, may many be given 
To shine as gems in their crown in heaven. 

Where we trust our band shall be all complete. 
Mingling our praises at the Savior's feet. 


The first one lost was a brother brave — 

Beyond Rio Grande with murky wave, 

When war laid low our beautiful land, 

He was slain by a dark assassin's hand — 

Now, naught but the cactus and the chaparral 
Mark the lonely spot where our brother fell. 

Ye who have watched by the couch of death, 

As slow and sure wastes the parting breath; 

Oh, count it blest, thus to linger nigh. 

Tenderly watching a loved one die — 

This were grief supreme — on a waste to fall. 
With no friend to answer his dying call. 

One faded, alas, when autumn leaves 
Came sifting down o'er the cottage eaves; 
When lovely ^'glintings" of ^"^gold and brown'' 
Decked the distant trees with a gorgeous crown — 
A purer spirit earth ne'er held, I trow. 
But oh, dust rests on her beautiful brow. 

Our parents remain. Far dearer now 
For the deep-drawn lines that mark each brow; 
For the silv'ry locks (they are growing old). 
For the faithful love that has ne'er grown cold — 
God guard and keep them till life's ills are o'er. 
Then may they rest on that "evergreen shore." 

But the dear old home of our faithful lay. 
Has long since passed f:x::i our grasp away; 


Could ye cliide our tears when it was sold? 

Bartered away for the rich man^s gold? 

As the Arab parts from his cherished steed — 

Takes one last fond look, though his heart may bleed. 

So we take one look at our home again. 
Even though ^tis fraught with a bitter pain; 
Its walls re-echo our steps no more — 
Strangers are treading its threshold o^er — 

And other children carol music sweet. 

Going in and out with restless feet. 

No outstretched field with its waving grain, 
Now greets the eye o^er that level plain; 
No shady bower, with cool retreat. 
Waits at close of day my returning feet — 

The paths we loved now with weeds are o'er grown; 

And the woodman's axe has the groves overthrown; 

Its favorite haunts seem bereft and strange. 
And o'er them all we mark wond'rous change; 
Full many cottages dot the plain 
Where the reapers mowed the golden grain — 

And where melons lay ripening in the sun 

The streets of a city obliquely run. 

Thus time and progress have altered all, 
But still that home with joy we recall; 
Its shady groves, and its wooded hill. 
Its flowery meadows are with us still — 


ImperishaUe in fond memory, 

Unchanged and fadeless that home shall still be. 

*Thi3 refers to the author of this volume, as her first verses were written about her mother 
ut the age of eleven years. 



T HAVE been to the *^old home/' sister. 

The home that our childhood knew; 
When with birds, and bees, and blossoms 

The joy-laden moments flew. 
When we knew not of pain or of sorrow 

That waited us down the way, 
Nor thought of the clouds that should gather. 

To darken our sunny way. 

I had longed so much to revisit 

Those haunts of life's early time. 
When our hearts re-echoed the music. 

Attuned to the wild bird's chime. 
Bright hours full of sunshine and gladness. 

While blest with a mother's pure love; 
But dark was the night of our sorrow 

When the angels had called her above. 


The old, old house is demolished. 

Its walls have crumbled away. 
And only the stones and rubbish 

Are marking its place to-day. 
Whatever of wrong or of anguish. 

Or tears in that dear home known — 
Over it all may love's mantle 

In tender forgiveness be thrown. 

I wandered again through the woodland. 

And down to the grassy dell. 
In search of the long-cherished relics 

That still in our memory dwell. 
Ye beautiful haunts of my childhood! 

What treasures unto you belong! 
With you in my heart was first wakened 

The mystical music of song. 

I drank in the sweet inspiration 

iVs the floweret awakes to the dew; 
The ** beauties of Nature^' affording 

Themes charming, attractive, and new. 
But my heart grows sad o^er the changes 

That shadow our ^'old home" to-day — 
The bowers we loved are demolished. 

Or torn by the woodman away. 

In vain I sought for the pathways 
Well known to our restless feet, 

AVhere we rambled oft 'mid the flowers. 
That gladdened our quiet retreat. 


Of all the loved paths through the woodland. 
And down o'er the shadowy vale, 

Not a vestige to-day is remaining. 
Save only a dim, dim trail. 

But the feathery ferns are clinging 

As of yore, from the '' rocky ledge, " 
And the pure lilies dip their petals 

In the water's silvery edge; 
And the sparkling stream is still singing — 

But to us how sad its tone! 
For it mirrors no more the faces 

That once in its bright waves shone. 

While here and there a grand old Live Oak, 

Familiar to us still appears. 
Marked deep by the rude storms of winter. 

And crowned o'er with the wealth of years; 
And a few old stately cedars 

Still wave their emerald plume — 
Emblem of the fadeless verdure. 

That stretches beyond the tomb. 

And the '*^ gnarled old oak" still is standing, 

Half-veiled by its mossy fringe. 
With its wealth of changing leaflets. 

Aglow with the sunset's tinge. 
But oh, "the drooping bough" is broken. 

Where we children used to swing — 
And that dear old tree so long cherished 

Seems now a desolate thing. 


I thought of the happy children. 

Who with sports and laughter free 
Lingered so oft through the sunny hours. 

In the shade of that dear old tree. 
A merry group was our thoughtless band. 

Rollicking over the green. 
Watching the flickering leaflets. 

As the sunbeams danced between! 

But some of our group are missing; 

And earth seems to us less bright 
Since their feet by the way ^^grew weary,'' 

And we folded them out of sight. 
They wait by the gates of glory 

For us of that stricken band — 
We shall know no grief or sadness, 

No tears in that better land. 


pALVESTON BAY! Galveston Bay! 
^"^ '^A thing of beauty" evermore 
Thou dost remain, since that glad day 
When first we stood upon thy shore. 

We marked thy waters calm and deep. 
Scarce ruffled by the sea-bird's wing; 

Thy slumbering waves like seas asleep - 
Where hidden jewels fondly cling. 


Ploughing thy depths with mammoth stride. 
We marked the gallant ships go by. 

With fluttering sails they cleft thy tide — 
Like white-winged birds they seemed to fly. 

Impearled within thy bosom lie 

Night's ''^ starry gems'' all bright and fair. 
As if thou hadst robbed the midnight sky 

To hold its ^^ jewels" prisoned there. 

How dark and dread must be the hour 
When Storm-Kings in their fury meet! 

And rock thee with their fearful power. 
And lash thy waves beneath their feet. 


Would you know our little maiden? 

With her gifts and graces laden? 

Brimming o'er with mirth and fun. 

Sunny-hearted, guileless one ? 

Leading captive all our hearts. 
With her winning, childish arts? 

I will paint her picture fair. 
Beaming face and rippling hair; 
Tresses straying unconfined. 
Kissed by every sporting wind — 
In and out on either cheek, 
Dimples playing ''hide and seek." 


Yes, ril paint our darling sweet. 
Hieing from her woodland seat; 
With her cheeks aglow with health — 
Nature^s own untarnished wealth — 
AVith her rustic air and dress. 
Blushing in sheer loveliness. 

She it is whose laughing eyes 
Wear the hue of summer skies. 
And whose gentle, bird-like voice 
Makes our doting hearts rejoice — ■ 
For its thrilling notes are heard. 
Like the warbling of a bird. 

Sure a woodland nymph is she. 

Roaming like a fairy free; 

Whiling off the sunny hours 

^Mid the fragrant greenwood bowers — 
Bounding o'er the grassy lawn 
Like a free, unfettered fawn. 

All unlearned in Fashion's lore. 
Knotty problems vex her sore; 
And the long, long list of verbs 
Much her little brain disturbs — 
And the charms she cannot Bee 
In the complex Eule of Three. 

She is learned in simpler things; 
Knows the joys the Springtime brings; 


Studies Nature^s ample book 

By the noisy, laughing brook; 

Marks the sunlit hill-top^s flame. 
Calls the. sweet wild-flowers by name. 

And who knows so well as she. 

All about the honey bee! 

How he feasts on rich perfume; 

Lingers where the daisies bloom — 

Humming, buzzing, ^' on the wing,'^ 
Sipping sweets from ever3^thing. 

Oh, ^tis she who knoweth best 
Where the robin builds her nest;- 
Where within the shady wood. 
Mock-birds rear their tender brood; 
And where o'er the distant hill 
Sounds the red-bird^s whistle shrill. 

She it is who well doth know 
Where the first ripe berries grow. 
Where they hide with purple edge, 
'Neath the leafy hawthorn hedge — 
Oft she seeks their cool retreat, 
Hurrying there with nimble feet. 

She can watch the lovely stars 
As they mount their silvery cars; 
Read in them of One above 
Who has formed them in His love; 
And who watches from on high 
Those He loves with wakeful eye. 


Oh, the world to her is fair! 
Beauty gleaming everywhere! 
Laughing, skipping, full of song, 
Joys untold her pathway throng — 
Artless child! she little knows, 
~ Thorns are hidden ^neath the rose. 

Spending thus life's sunny hours. 
With the birds, and bees, and flowers; 
While the world's ^^ dark ways " unknown, 
'Round her ne'er their wiles have thrown - 
We could wish that sin and care 
Might this guileless dreamer spare. 


lyyi Y heart is strangely thrilled to-day. 
Before this happy, august throng; 
I fain would woo the Muse's sway. 
To weave for them an humble song — 
I'd sing of these, the brave and true. 
Who patiently their work pursue. 

No holier mission could you ask 

Than thus to train the immortal mind! 
An angel well might seek the task. 
And yet his powers deficient find — 
What noble gifts should each possess 
To make the work a grand success. 


Since to your care has been assigned 

The teacher's gentle work of love — 
To touch the heart and mould the mind. 
And point the little ones above — 

What faithful tact should each employ- 
To treasure good without- alloy. 

But where, you ask, can teachers learn 

For such a grand work to prepare? 

To what great fountain can they turn 

To fit them for such weighty care? 

If you would have your work complete, 
Like Mary, learn at Jesus' feet, 

'Tis yours to lead the enquiring mind. 

Where founts of knowledge sweetly flow; 
Where classic rivers proudly wind. 
And mountains wear perpetual snow; 
Where warriors meet on battle-plain. 
Where conquering generals heap their slain; 

To the bright isles that deck the sea. 

Like jewels on its bosom worn; 
Or diamond caves, full soon to be 

From hidden fields by research torn — 
'Tis yours to ope the founts of truth 
To studious minds of tender youth. 

To lead them on where Spartan bands. 
With Persian hosts in battle meet; 

Where Hannibal victorious stands 

On Alpine heights, with blistered feet; 


Where blood-marks stain the mountain's brow 
And clouds hang dripping far below. 

Ye patient toilers! ne'er despair! 

Nor think the time of waiting long; 
Some gentle child within your care 
May to the great of earth belong — 
A Webster, Clay, or Cleveland here. 
May with your happy throng appear. 

In some fair girl of modest mien; 

With pensive thought and laughing eye — 
A Hemans, Carey, Cook is seen. 
With latent powers of Poesy — 
Who would not crave the teachers place 
Could only they their triumphs trace! 

Among the children gathered ^round, 

Who claim your constant, faithful care, 
A noble Wesley may be found. 
For great reform to do and dare. 
Some godly woman here may stand 
To bear His word to heathen land. 

Oh, holy work! Oh, grand reward! 

Oh, task that angels count sublime! 
In earthly school, in humble ward. 
To train the great and good of time; 
But grander far! to you is given. 
To train for angelhood in heaven. 


A few may seek with bleeding feet, 
Ambition^s dizzy height to climb; 
Naught caring for the ills they meet. 
So they but reach that height sublime — 
They little know how false, though fair. 
All earthly hopes and prospects are. 

^Tis well to climb. But let the mark 

Be set in Purity and Truth — 
It hides no deed or record dark — 
Fair model- for aspiring youth — 

Let all their hopes and longings tend 
To God, their author, in the end. 

Oh, deem this not an humble sphere! 

Teaching the young — a task God-given; 
Sowing good seed in patience here. 

To garner sheaves for earth and heaven — 
Writing their names with little ones. 
Imperishable as flaming suns. 

Ye patient teachers! toiling hard 

From day to day, from sun to sun. 
Be faithful! Lo, your great reward 
Will be secure when work is done. 
These little ones about your knee 
Shall keep your names in memory. 

When earthly names and systems die, 
And suns shall set to rise no more. 


When God shall call the roll on high, 
And countless hosts about Him pour. 
My prayer for each and every one 
Is from his lips to hear, ''Well done." 

* Written by request for Teachers' Association, assembled in convention in the city of Aostln, 
June 30, 1886, 



T AM waiting, calmly waiting. 

Prisoned in my house of clay. 
Like a captive bird that^s beating 

'Gainst its bars from day to day; 
Longing for some sunnier region, 

For some realm of purer light. 
So my spirit-wings are pluming 

For my heavenward, homeward flight, 

I am waiting, yes, I'm waiting! 

Lo, ''the gates are left ajar!" 
And I seem to catch the echoes 

Floating from that world afar. 
What to me are pain and anguish 

While my father's voice I hear? 
On his breast my head is j)illowed — 

Angel bands 'round me appear. 

''ONLY PEARLS." 24' 

I am waiting, fondly waiting, 

Till my glad release shall come; 
Till the ransomed hosts in glory 

Bid me *' welcome'' safely home. 
Peering through these earthly shadows, 

I some glimpse of heaven would catch. 
For I'm waiting at its threshold 

With my hand upon the latch. 


inn WAS out on the desert bleak and bare 

Where the breath of the simoon filled the air; 

Where the drifting sand 

On every hand 
Piled high and bleak on that barren way — 
A lonely Arab disconsolate lay 

Sadly sighing. 

Starving, dying — 
His swarthy skin was parched and dry. 
He was laying there on that waste to die. 

The wild sirocco with scorching breath 
Bore on its Avings the missiles of death — 

It fanned his cheek 

So gaunt and weak, 
But bore no healing for him — no balm 
Prom the fields of myrrh, or the groves of palm; 

No faint perfume 

Of, the early bloom 


On the zephyr^s wing is wafted nigh 
From the bowers of his lovely Araby. 

How could ye know — earth's favored few! 
The pain, the hunger that Arab knew? 

While thus he lay 

On that desert way 
Watching the sun go down in gloom 
As it lent its rays to deck his tomb. 
Far, far ahead in the road he spied 
A little package so deftly tied. 

What could it contain? 

Hope revived again — 
Oh, how he wished that it might be bread 
That starving, dying he might be fed, 

He crawled to the spot where the package lay. 
Soiled and begrimed on that desert-way. 

Oh, it might be food. 

How happy his mood. 
Hope lit his face with a radiant smile. 
For a moment her siren songs beguile; 

Were it only bread 

That he might be fed. 
That his life revived might back be given — 
He opened the treasure and there — oh, heaven I 

^Twas '' only pearls ^' — 

His poor brain whirls; 
They mocked his pain — he tossed them by 
And settled him down to starve and die. 


Some jeweled Prince may have lost them there 
In gilded caravan, with trappings rare — 

Had it been bread — 

,('Twas pearls instead) 
'Twould have saved the life of that Arab dark 
And rekindled his hopes from that feeble spark' 

^Twas "only pearls!" 

Think of it, girls. 
While gleaming on arms and neck and hair,^ 
These beautiful gems ye proudly wear. 

The Arab alone 

Uttered a moan 
While thick around him these jewels lay — 
It was bread he sought that sorrowful day. 




AIT a moment here, dear mother, 
I have something 1 would say; 
I have joyful news to tell you — 
I am Agoing home' to-day.^' 



'* Going home! my precious daughter. 
This is ever home to you! 
And upon your mother's bosom 
Ever find a refuge true." 



'Well I know it, gentle mother. 

Home has been so sweet with you; 
And upon your loving bosom 

I have found a refuge true. 
But you know I have another. 

That my eyes have never seen. 
Far beyond the stars, sweet mother, 

That^s the happy home I mean/' 


' Oh, my heart is rent with anguish! 

Darling, must you go so soon? 
Must my bud, not yet unfolded. 

Wither ere life's sunny noon? 
How I've watched with eager longing 

O'er this bud from day to day. 
For I felt to heaven belonging. 

It would pass from earth away. 

' Seeds of suffering early planted 

By the Spoiler, well you bore; 
And to us you still grew dearer 

As his fatal seal you wore. 
Home without you will be lonely — 

Oh, how can I bear to stay 
'Mid these cherished scenes that only 

Whisper of my loss each day?" 



''Do not grieve, my gentle mother! 

Our sad parting won^t be long — 
Only think I am in heaven, 

Listening to the angels' song. 
And remember, there's no sorrow 

And no suffering over there — 
We shall meet within those mansions 

Where our Father's Jewels are. 

''All night long you thought me sleeping; 

But I heard the angel's voice. 
And I calmly lay and listened. 

While it made my heart rejoice. 
They were calling me, sweet mother — 

Calling me from earth away. 
Do not grieve — farewell, sweet mother, 

I shall be in heaven to-day." 


^^\17HIP up the horses, driver, we're near our journey's end; 
Beyond that sloping hill where you see the smoke ascend, 
Stands the humble village church, with neither spire nor dome; 
And just beyond it, driver, is my vine-wreathed cottage home. 

"My heart o'erflows with gladness, I scarce can think it true 
That I so soon that cottage beyond the hill shall view; 
With rapture wild and joyous my senses are aglow — 
Whip up the horses, driver, they seem to creep so slow. 


''Excuse my rude impatience, I scarcely can hold still, 
I long so much to reach that home beyond the hill; 
I watch its near approach with eager, longing eyes, 
For loved ones there await me — I'll take them by surprise. 

''Oh, joy! oh, joy! I'm almost home. I soon with holy pride 
Shall to my bosom fold again my gentle, loving bride; 
Shall clasp my baby treasures unto my throbbing breast — 
I know God has been good to me — I am securely bless'd. 

"Full many a brave young soldier who journeyed at my side. 
Amid the horrors of the war in saintly patience died; 
And now in many a home, love's faithful watch-fires burn; 
And loving hearts are waiting for those who'll ne'er return. 

"I've been thinking of my wife — my fair young wife to-day, 
I wonder if she seems much changed since when I went away? 
She was so young and girlish, with cheeks of peachy down; 
With eyes of heavenly azure and hair a glossy brown. 

" Time touched her brow so lightly, she scarce seemed less a bride. 
Though crowned twice o'er with motherhood — a royal boon beside; 
I wonder if the trials her faithful heart has known. 
Have o'er her sunny features their saddened impress thrown. 

"She wrote me that the baby, I left upon her breast 
Has grown to be a little man, in suit of homespun dressed. 
My wife and babies! oh, how oft 'mid hunger, want and cold 
I've held them to my heart again in dreams of joy untold. 


^'1 know Fm strangely altered since on that gala day. 
When to sound of fife and drum I proudly marched away; 
Oh, then onr ranks were teeming; each one was in his place — 
But now they^re thinned most sadly — there^s many a missing face. 

^^Ah, yes! I know I'm altered — my cheeks are sunken now. 
And ''^ silver threads'' are with the black about my faded brow; 
My step is slow and feeble, I'm strangely old, 1 ween — 
But I've known much of hardship and thrilling sights I've seen, 

" What with our weary marching through dismal marshes low; 
Through muddy swamps, 'mid blinding sleet, through wind and 

rain and snow; 
Full oft we trudged our dreary way with aching blistered feet. 
Half-shod, half-clad, and often, not half enough to eat. 

'' Our hardships dire told fearfully upon our ranks and crew, 
Full many sickened by the way, and from the march withdrew; 
While here and there a new-made grave, told but the truth too well 
Of how 'mid want and hardship, the brave true-hearted fell. 

''And when we reached old Arkansaw at Pine Blulf and the Post, 
There hundreds more — our gallant boys soon yielded up the ghost. 
We buried them as best we could — they're sleeping side by side. 
The river chants their requiem with sullen, restless tide. 

''Our hearts were sad and heavy, and friendly tears we shed 
Above our gallant comrades — our loved and honored dead; 
From every mess was missing a genial mate and true — 
We wondered then how many would live the campaign through. 


''The grave-yards we had founded along the river's banks 
Proved how grim death had thinned our regimental ranks; 
Xo pen can paint the hardships we soldiers underwent, 
For we were infantry, you know^ — in Allen's Regiment. 

''And lying in this hack to-day upon my bed of pain, 

I've seemed to travel wearily that dreary path again; 

The memory of those scenes like surges o'er me swept — 

I lay so still with close-shut eyes, perhaps you thought I slept. 

"My mind has wandered back to-day to where so many died. 
Amid the swamps of Arkansaw, and by the river's side; 
And I remember how, when winter's storms were o'er. 
Full many men at roll-call would answer nevermore. 

"When days had grown more balmy, and spring had flitted by; 
When June had hung her banners o'er earth and air and sky; 
There came a fearful battle with blood and carnage rife. 
And there full many a hero soon yielded uj) his life. 

"We fought — yes bravely fought from morn till early night. 
To see our comrades fall so fast, sure 'twas a dreadful sight; 
'Mid groans and moans of dying, and corpses of the slain. 
Side by side lay friend and foe upon the battle plain. 

"The mangled bodies of the dead filled up the gulches wide. 
And down the Mississippi flowed their blood — a crimson tide, 
'Twas at the Bend called Milliken we fought that desperate day. 
And I fell wounded in the leg amid the battle's fray. 


^^For weeks within the Hospital they thought I'd surely die. 
But I grew convalescent, a furlough home to try. 
And driver! with this wound I've suffered all the way. 
But God has kept me safely — I'll be at home to-day. 

'^ Ah, yes, I'll soon be home. Though haggard, pale and weak. 
Warm hearts will welcome me with joy, that language may not 

I know not if my coming home will be to live or die. 
In either case 'twere pleasant to have my loved ones nigh. 

*^So whip the team up, driver! we're near our journey's end, 
'Tis from my cottage home we see the curling smoke ascend; 
There are my children on the green beneath that shady tree. 
And in the doorway stands my wife — she soon will webome me.'' 


\1 7HERE the dark and turbid waters 

Of the distant Rio Grande, 
Course their way from mountain gorges 

Down old Mexico's fair land; 
Where the chaparral is growing; 

Where the palm trees proudly wave; 
Where bright crystal streams are flowing 

There, there is my brother's grave. 

It is lonely and unhonored. 

Where no tear of pity falls; 
Where no slab of chiselled marble 

His young daring life recalls. 


There's no verse of rytiimic measure 
To rehearse his noble deeds — 

Kindly hands with dumb, sad pleasure. 
Scooped it ^mid the wild, rank weeds. 

Oh, fond eyes grew weary waiting! 

And fond hearts grew sad with pain! 
When the war's dark scenes were ended 

And he came not back again. 
Who, oh, who can tell the story 

Of his cruel, cruel death? 
How assassins dark and gory 

Stopped for aye his mortal breath. 

By his side there sleeps a comrade* — 

Brave he was, with gallant form; 
When they came on fiery chargers 

They were clad in uniform. 
Night had hung its sombre curtains 

All along the dusky way, 
AVhen they sought a place for camping 

By the waning light of day. 

They soon left the beaten highway. 

Sought a lone, sequestered dell. 
Where they thought to rest securely 

Hidden in the chaparral. 
But those wary, dark assassins. 

Marked that lonely spot full well — 
Marked those Texans sleeping soundly. 

Cloistered in the chaparral. 


Came they on with stealthy footsteps — 

In each hand a shining blade; 
By no outward sign or symbol 

Was their purpose dark betrayed. 
Out upon the midnight watches 

Rang one wild, despairing cry. 
When those brave, true-hearted Texans 

For their gold and chattels die. 

Oh, thou land of wealth and story! 

Sunny land of Mexico ! 
Where thy cloud-capped mountains hoary 

Frown beneath perpetual snow ; 
Wliere the sun in gorgeous splendor, 

Sinks with diamonds on , his breast; 
While his lovely beams surrender 

All their glory in the west; 

]N"ot for all thy scenes of grandeur. 

For thy mountains towering high. 
For thy sloping, flowery meadows, 

Where thy lovely valleys lie. 
For thy history old, renowned. 

For thy mines of wealth unknown; 
For thy altars priestly crowned — 

Couldst thou for this deed atone. 

Years have passed on restless pinions, 
Since those lowly graves were made; 

And the humble slab that marked them. 
May have been long since decayed — 


But the dark-eyed Senorita, 

Hastening near her tryst to keep, 
"Whispers to her dusky lover — 
*' This is where the Texans sleep/' 

•Our uncle, E. T. Puckett, who fell with him near Piedras Niegrras. 


■pLY home, little bird, to thy soft, down nest; 

Fly home, for the tempest is nigh; 
Go tuck thy head close in a mother's warm breast 
For dark clouds are filling the sky. 
The lightning's bright glare in the distance is beaming, 
Its meteor-like lines in the darkness are gleamiug ; 
And torrents of rain are from *^ upper depths'' streaming — 
Then fly to thy home, little bird, quickly fly.. 

Not meet 'mid the storm and the fierce howling tempest 

Thy pinions half -fledged thus to try; 
Thy form is too frail, too tiny, and helpless 
To brave the fierce anger on high. 
The storm in its fury o'er all is descending ; 
Beneath its rude power the forest is bending; 
Tall, stately oaks from their center are rending — 
Then fly to thy home, little bird, quickly fly. 




A H, whither away 

This bright sunny day? 
Oh, where can the people be going? 
They surely have found 
Some '^enchanted ground"" 
AVhere May^s fragrant breezes are blowing. 

The young and the old, 

The timid and bold — 
Brave lads and beautiful lasses; 

Prim matrons are there 

And maidens most fair 
While little ones make up the masses. 

Impatient they stand 

With lunches at hand. 
The train^s onward motion awaiting; 

Oh, who could dare say 

What bright hopes to-day 
The hearts of this throng are elating! 

And soon with all speed, 

On our fiery-tongued steed. 
Away from the city we're riding; 

Over carpets of flowers 

To fairy-like bowers 
Where May's truant zephyrs are hiding. 


On no fairer spot 

Could it e'er be our lot. 
To spend thus a picnic occasion; 

Dame Nature with grace 

Has adorned this fair place 
'Till it seems like some field of Elysian. 

Here grand, stately trees. 

Are kissed by the breeze; 
Their leaflets at *^ Bo-peep" are playing; 

A curtain theyVe spun. 

To shut out the sun. 
And to shade us while here we are staying. 

The spring bubbling o'er 

Its nectar doth pour — 
'Tis rippling, and sparkling, and laughing; 

To its fount we hie 

Our thirst to satisfy. 
As its bright limpid waters we're quailing. 

The birds blithely sing 

'Till the woodlands ring. 
As they carol the beauties of May. 

We join the glad song — 

Its echoes prolong. 
With hearts just as joyous and gay. 

Even the slimy snakes 
Have hid in the brakes. 



Nor crawl from their covert away; 

Contented to yield 

The picnickers the field. 
Through this beautiful sunshiny day. 

Here are maidens shy. 

With lovers near by 
Whose blushing and radiant faces 

Fond secrets would hide. 

But lovers crimson tide. 
Is adding its beautiful graces. 

Some are strolling away, 

Seeking garlands of May, 
And the dark waving moss entwining. 

With flowers so fair — 

A chaplet most rare, 
O'er their dark glossy ringlets shining. 

'Here the hobby-horse 

On its flying course. 
Went 'round and 'round and 'round; 

How nickels did slide 

For a jolly good ride 
As each leaped to his seat with a bound! 

W^hen ready to dine. 

Oh, sure it was fine. 
We quickly improvised our seats. 

Out of the stock 

Of honey-comb rock 
That graced those woodland retreats. 


When tables were spread, 

That all might be fed, 
'Neath their load we feared they would groan; 

With appetite keen. 

Such feasting was seen. 
As is only to picnickers known. 

And this was the way 

We spent the glad day — 
That never-to-be-forgotten occasion; 

Oh, dear Spice-wood Spring! 

How our memories cling, 
To thy scenes — like fields of Elysian. 


T^HERE are objects and scenes to our childhood so dear 

They often through life to our hearts reappear; 
By fond memory's wand they are called up again, 
Bridging sweet thoughts in their fairy-like train — 
The loves of our childhood our natures refine 
As we worship anew at this hallowed shrine. 

There was a noble old tree — I remember it well. 
Its long, friendly shadow o'er the green meadow fell; 
We lingered full oft ere the daylight was gone 
To rest in the shade of that stately Pecan. 


^Twas a noble old tree, and its branches were spread 

Like some mammoth pavilion, far over each head; 

Had it been a pavilion with broad, curtained door, 

I^m sure ^twould have seated a thousand or more; 

Its old, massive trunk measured full three feet through — 

It had stood there perhaps for a century or two; 

Each year it was burdened with a bountiful store 

Of rich, juicy nuts — half a car-load or more; 

How we gathered those treasures and stored them away 

Till Christmas should come with its festivals gay! 

There were plenty for home use, and plenty to spare, 

For all the kind neighbors came in for a share; 

When all were supplied with these nuts rich and fine 

My grandfather's hogs were sent there to dine. 

'Twas a grand old Pecan! How its long shadows fell 
O'er the cool sparkling depths of that faithful old well 
Whose fountain ne'er failed] though the summers hung dry 
With hot scorching ^^inds and bright burning sky; 
Its *' moss-covered bucket" bore a bright sparkling draught 
More healthful and cooling than Bacchus e'er quaffed — 
Full many a traveler — tired, dusty and dry. 
Paused beside this old well, its cold waters to try. 
Then, refreshed by the shade, and the water, passed on 
Blessing that old well and the friendly Pecan. 

But when Summer with sunshine and fruitage was o'er 
And the rough winds of Autumn blew fierce at our door. 
This noble old tree of its fruitage all shorn — 
Its last trembling leaflets by wind-eddies torn, 


Stretched its long naked limbs appealingly forth 

As if begging respite from the winds of the north — 

How it shivered and creaked ^neath the wild wintry blast! 

How it shook, swayed and rocked when the hurricane passed! 

Sometimes it was wreathed by the fairy — Frost-King, 

Till it sparkled and glistened — a beautiful thing; 

Its branches were "jewels'' that dazzled the sight, 

Eeflecting the sun-rays translucent and bright; 

But we shunned it full oft through the wild wintry days, 

For we seemed better charmed with the fire's ruddy blaze. 

Grand, n<oble tree! When transformed b}'' the Spring, 

And robed in the beauties that May-time can bring. 

We sought it anew and hailed it with pride. 

And our fun-loving brothers 'mid its green boughs would hide 

As they sought out the nest built so cozy and shy 

By a queer little squirrel perched lofty and high. 

We loved that old tree — in its shadow to dwell. 
And now v/ith true pleasure its attractions would tell; 
We love on its graces and its fruitage to think, 
And the faithful old well where the thirsty could drink; 
How little we thought in our frolic and fun. 
When life's happy hey-day we thoughtlessly spun, 
That those cherished scenes that in childhood we loved 
Should be the glad key-note to affection that moved; 
That we often through life those haunts would recall — 
Glad pictures adorning fond memory's wall — 
Those pictures are fadeless in memory hung 
And those scenes have full oft by this poet been sung» 


But long weary years have on tardy wings passed. 

And the grave cares of woman, on the child have been cast — 

Art thou standing old tree in thy beauty and bloom? 

Or has changeful old Time wreathed thy corse for the tomb? 

And the dear aged ones who added such charms; 

Who folded us close in their kind, friendly arms; 

Who made our young lives with rare pleasure complete 

As we hastened to join them with quick, nimble feet — 

(How their warm, faithful love brightened each happy life) — 

But they have grown weary of earth^s toil and strife; 

With folded hands lying on each peaceful breast. 

Low, low in the church-yard they quietly rest; 

They are waiting the morn when earth^s shadows shnll fly 

And their children shall gather in hosts to the sky. 

♦Reference is here made to a noble Pecan tree (the largest I ever saw, that grew) at my 
grandfather's farm. 

tFor a period of thirty years or more this noted well furnished an inexhaustible supply of 
good cold water for man and beast, and many a traveler has been refreshed by it. It was four 
miles west of Webberville, on the Bastrop road — well remembered by many old settlers. 



CAEEWELL! we little thought so soon 

To look iipon thy silent clay. 
Ere life with thee had reached its" noon. 
That thoushould'st pass away. 

We marked with pride thy manly form; 

Thy pure and noble brow; 
Thy generous heart so true and warm — 

Alas, death chains thee now. 

He sought a ''gem of purest worth'' 

To adorn his royal crest. 
And lo, the mandate stern went forth 

To still thy throbbing breast. 

Oh, could he not in mercy kind 

Our princely darling spare? 
Nor leave our breaking hearts behind? 

Oh, wast thou needed there? 

At parting we had kissed thy cheek. 
And stroked thy manly brow; 

We little thought in one short week 
To see thee thus laid low. 


A vision fair as sunset skies 

To my fond heart appears; 
Thy sunny curls and laughing eyes 

I see them through my tears. 

When in thy early childhood's prime 

For Bible-truths you yearned; 
And by my side from time to time 

The happy lessons learned. 

Like Timothy — the godly youth 

Who heavenly wisdom sought, 
Tliy heart was charmed with words of truth 

To thee in patience taught. 

God set his seal divine on thee — 

Thou didst his image wear — 
What must thy grand perfection be 

In heaven — with Christ so near! 

Thy aged father thought to lean 

On his devoted son — 
God's plans are best — though oft unseen — 
'^His will on earth be done.'' 

Thou'rt now from sin and suffering free; 

Thy soul is filled with love; 
Thou'rt with the happy company 

Who wait for us above. 


In that blest home, glad notes of praise 
From happy hearts unceasing swell; 

There ive shall join those rapturous lays 
And never, never say farewell! 

* In memory of Brother Willie, who passed away December 16th, 1885, just one week after our 
family reunion, when he seemed in perfect health, and was the center of our happy circle. 



/^UR baby, our beautiful baby! 

Our tears are fast falling for thee, 
A shadow rests over our household 
Since thy smile no longer we see. 

Our hearts are bereft, sad, and lonely; 

Their sunshine has strangely grown dim; 
And gone are the lovely endearments, 

That centered so sweetly in him. 

Oh, he was our beautiful darling! 

We tliouglit God had sent him to stay. 
And w^ith joy we watched him unfolding 

In loveliest graces each day. 

We listen in vain for the music 
That waked from his sweet baby voice. 

When his presence filled home with its sunshine; 
And made all our fond hearts rejoice. 


Oh, he was our '' bird of bright plumage," 
That sought out our home for his nest. 

That nestled in innocen^ beauty, 

Closey close to my proud mother-breast. 

He was our lamh that had wandered 

From heavenly pastures away. 
Love lured him to earth for a season 
We tliouglit in our home-fold to stay. 

There came to my bosom an angel 

Who called for this dear darling one. 
And when night's dark shadows were banished 
. Our "bird of bright plumage'' was gone. 

Our lamb had grown weary of earth-folds 

So desolate, lonely and bare. 
He had gone to those evergreen pastures 

That gladden that city so fair. 

Oh, we knelt in our heart-rending anguish 
To watch this our dear darling die! 

And we mingled our tears together. 
His poor stricken father and I. 

Our baby, our beautiful baby! 

Stern death seems so cruel and grim. 
To. prison our sunny-haired darling 

In a coffin so lonely and dim. 


Twas only a tiny white casket. 

That was lowered so gently to earth; 

But it held in its keeping a treasure 
More priceless than diamonds in worth. 

Oh, Father, to Thy blessed keeping 
Our beautiful babe we resign; 

May these scenes of sorrow and trial 
Our hearts from all earth-dross refine. 

And when we are done with all sorrow; 

And the angel of death hovers near, 
May we with our babes in Thy presence 

A family unbroken appear. 



T^HERE was one loved spot to my childhood known. 

That has ever about me its witchery thrown; 
It has charmed my heart with its magic power 
'Mid pleasure's scenes; or in sorrow's hour — 

'Twas the lovely bower by the Wild Rose made. 
As its fragrant blooms in the sunshine played. 

Oh, deep emotions my fond bosom swell! 
As I fain the charms of that Wild Rose tell; 



Its boughs interlaced and with blooms overspread 
Wove a '^fairy-like bower" o'er each young head; 
No spot to us children seemed half so dear 
As the bower where the Wild Rose bloomed each year. 

Oh, oft did we linger in that cool retreat 

AVhile the breeze strewed the rose-petals under our feet — 

^'A carpet of roses/'' oh, how gorgeous the boon! 

Sad that such scenes should have vanished so soon; 
Sad that the joys that in childhood we knew, 
Should fade like the Wild Rose away from our view. 

Oh, there are bright visions my memory throng 
Of loved haunts that did to my childhood belong! 
But the sweetest and best was that rose-curtained bower 
Where we wove happy dreams 'neath its magical power ; 
They were gay girlish dreams as transient as vain 
But oft in my fancy I recall them again. 

Gone is that bower! Oh, the parting was pain! 

But oft in my dreams I have seen it again, 

AVhen fever's hot flush on my temples was laid, 

I have longed, oh, so much! for its cool, quiet shade; 

And I've thought — 'twould be sweet in my final repose 
To rest 'neath the bower of that beautiful Rose. 




OENEATII a hot midsummer^s sultry sk}^ 

Upon the burning desert plains that grandly lie 
Outstretched before that land of shining gold. 
To which so many hearts have steered elate with hopes untold; 
Many, alas! to perish by the desert way, 
Their only monument the bleaching bones that lay 
Like mocking spectres, whose grim visage bode but ill; 
But few to reach the destined goal, and fewer still 
To realize the half of all their glorious dreams. 
Or heap the shining ore from California's streams. 
'Twas on that barren .waste; upon those trackless plains. 
Bereft of flowering shrubs — uncheered by friendly rains, 
A group of dusty travelers, weary and travel-sore 
Were plodding slowly on toward that distant shore. 
But why their step so laggard thus, and slow? 
Their steeds so jaded they can scarcely go? 
Their pack- mules loiter with uneven pace. 
And dust-begrimed we mark each manly face. 
Full thirty years have slowly passed away 
Since on that ever memorable day 

Of which we write; years fraught with wondrous change! 
To us in looking back it may seem strange 
For men to plod through weary months that desert way. 
That now needs but one long bright summer day 
'I'o cross that sterile plain. They of that time had never known 
The wondrous things man has unto his fellow shown. 

They knelt and prayed as only man can pray, 

When on the crumbling verge he feels the sands give way. 


No railroad trains with lightning-like express 
Had cleft in twain the waiting wilderness; 
Had levelled low the towering mountains grand 
And lakes and rivers by its strong arm spanned. 
Improvement has been graven on ^'the wings of Time" 

As it flew past with rapid sweep sublime 

We now recall but faintly the pack-mule and the horse ' 
That served for transportation upon tliat desert course. 

The hot midsummer^s sun 
Poured down its burning rays upon their aching heads; 
While covered o'er with foam and sweat their faithful steeds 
Beneath the maddening heat so faint and weary grew 
With swollen tongues, and blistered feet they could not well pursue 
Tlieir weary way. And yet those travelers dared not stop. 
Three long, hot days had passed since one cool drop 
Had touched their parched and fevered lips. Three days 
Since water quenched their thirst. Life's feeble, flickering blaze 
Seemed but to surely going out. Oh, how much pain! 
How much of torture racks the heart and brain 
In such a dreadful time as that, God only knows! 
How feebly through their veins life's purple current flows! 
Already Death — grim, awful, unrelenting Death 
Seemed clutching in his iron grasj) their falling breath. 

In that dark hour, oh, what to them 

Were all earth's wealth? oh, what were gold or gem? 

Were every pebble on that far off shore a diamond bright; 

Were every tree a crystal dazzling to the sight; 

Were every dewdrop turned to living pearls; and these and more 

Before their languid eyes a wealthy gracious store 


In rich profusion lavished at their feet 
Gladly would they exchange them all — an offering meet 
For water's healing draught, to check their inward pain 
And sinking life in all its feeble powers sustain. 

When Aveeping I^ove 
Sits sadly brooding o'er the death-couch of the fair. 
While hope's last feeble ray is slowly waning there. 
As rending Kature sinks — its fearful struggle o'er; 
Life's fair chambers darkened to be relit no more; 
While loving eyes look forth a lingering adieu 
As the free unchained spirit passes through 
The shadowy portals of the unseen land 
And joins with eager haste the white-robed spirit band; 
While fond Affection lingers and would gladly stay 
To fold once more in close embrace the sleeping clay — 
(Though deeply pierced within by sorrow's poignant sting) 
Even then to aching hearts death seems a bitter, bitter thing I 

But to that crew '^ horror of horrors " thus to die 
Upon that barren waste — their untombed bodies lie 
Parched by the summer's sun — the vulture's food by day. 
By night the prowling wolf's, or hungry jackal's prey. 
The maddening thought brought torture to their dizzy brain 
And eagerly they long to taste life's sweets again. 

Water! water! was all their cry. Each tongue 
Whispered it through the day; at night bright visions hung 
Above their slumbers, mocking them with feverish dreams 
Of brightly sparkling brooks, and sweetly flowing streams. 


In vain they try to haste with feeble tottering feet 
To where their anxious eyes the sparkling mirage greet, 
In vain they hope to quench their inward torturing thirst 
Where its pure waters in the distance seem to burst — 
Alas! ere they can reach its shore; ere they its fountains clasp 
The phantom flies! its joys elude their trembling grasp! 
No faithful Moses there as when at HoreVs, mount 
To smite the flinty rock and lo! a gushing fount 
Of limpid waters burst to their enraptured view. 
Their sinking hopes revive, and fainting lives renew. 

The* hopes that all along had cheered their toilsome way 
Pointing to California's goal with true unerring ray 
Had well nigh fled each breast. Already grim Despair 
Had chained their fettered spirits down: His seal they wear. 

What though beyond the reach of human eye 
The blue-capped mountains seem to touch the sky! 
Their friendly shadoAvs stretching long and low 
O'er fragrant meadows where the wild flowers grow; 
What though bright fountains bask in silvery sheen 
Where velvet lawns are clothed in fadeless green; 
Though bubbling springs and laughing brooks go by 
It matters not to them with death, stern death, so nigh. 

Death! dreadful thought! They paled like dead men there 

As o'er their livid features settles down the look of stern despair. 

How could they think of death! to them the long dark night 

That never more should end in morning's rosy light; 

To them the gateway to that world of endless woe 

Where 'neath Jehovah's burning wrath the unrepenting go. 


Hope's cheering light shut out; mercy forever fled; 
Dying in living torments, and yet never dead. 
How full of maddening horror was to them the thought ! 
Before Jehovah's flaming bar thus to be brought. 

Had they not trod 
Beneath their impious feet the holy covenant blood 
That flowed so freely from a wounded Savior's side 
AVhen on the Eoman Cross at Calvary's mount He died? 
Had they not spurned His love? and mocked His grief 
When 'neatli a sinking world He groaned, and brought relief 
For all of Adam's guilty race with His own death? 
Well might they shrink like guilty fugitives beneath 
The dreadful fiat of an angry Maker's wrath. 

Their feeble steps grew slower, slow^er still; 
More faintly came their breath; that sloping hill 
They could not now ascend; its steep untrodden side 
Loomed in their pathway like a spectre dark and wide — 
They halt! (For them to halt is death.) 

Around them, and on every hand 
taught could be seen but sand — hot, burning sand. 
Above, as if to mock their pain, the leaden sky 
Poured down its fiery darts — and yet they halt 
Beneath that burning summei* sky 
Upon that barren w^aste to linger and to die. 

Oh, God! oh, God! and must they perish thus alone? 

AVithout a tear to fond affection known? 

Without a mother's kiss upon their pale brows press'd; 

Without Hiy love — far from Thy gentle breast? 


Sweet memory I blest boon! with more than magic powers 
Brings back again the scenes of childhood's sunny hours. 
A mother's love — her prayer, with loving hand low laid 
In benedicticiis on her proud boy's head '- 
Ah, memory's touch unlocks their fount of tears 
So long unbroken — and one, the senior of the group in years. 
Uprose, witli streaming eyes; with voice subdued and weak. 
And on this wise lie to his suffering friends did speak: 
"Comrades! I well remember how in childhood's day 
A prattler at my mother's knee, I knelt to pray — 
Oh, how sublime is childhood's guileless trust! 
I feared not then the fiat, 'dust to dust;^ 
Oh, could I then in innocence have died 
Ere sin and wrong my heart had stupefied! 
And now though deeply marred by sin and shame; 
With lips unused to speak God's holy name 
Save with a burning oath — I here of all my sins repent — 
Would fain atone for all the years so vilely spent — 
Perchance even now our prayer that God will hear 
If on His name we call; if into his willing ear 
We pour our deep distress. Of every earthly hope bereft 
This, only this unto our bleeding hearts is left. 
1^0 one but God has power in this dark hour to save 
Or snatch us from the gaping, yawning, waiting grave.'* 
They knelt and prayed as only man can pray 
When on the crumbling verge he feels the sands give way 
While just below the yawning billows roll; 
The mad waves leap impetuous to engulf his soul. 

They prayed for water and God heard their prayer — 
The heavens grew dark; the hushed and stifled air; 


The gathering clouds that quickly overspread the sky 
Brought answer to their hearts that help was nigh. 
And soon, ah! soon, the trickling raindrops fall — 
They press them to their feverish lips, and one, and all 
Proclaim God's goodness. Aye, they drink and live. Adown 

each cheek 
Warm, flowing tears their gratitude bespeak. 

Oh, now how changed! how blest the happy scene! 

Their hearts arc filled with peace w^hero anguish late has been. 

They feel that God is near — that he has spared their lives — 

But only one to God the rescued life now gives. 

'Twas he who first had bade his comrades pray 

With death, grim death, so near that fatal day — 

He drank the purling stream and satisfied his thirst. 

But better far, for him the Living Waters burst; 

And on that desert desolate and bare 

He knelt to find a Father's tender care; 

He rose subdued -^overwhelmed by grace divine 

As God's unfolding glories throughout his glad heart shine. 

How changed! how beautiful, how bright 

The lovely visions that absorb his sight! 

*' The desert seems no longer bare; but like a rose 

All decked in radiant beauty now it glows. 

Those sterile mountains seem not now so bleak and bare 

For God enfolds their summits in His tender care; 

Over this trackless waste, so late a scorching sand 

The singing brook and laughing rill now water all the land; 

And thus God's grace has cleansed my heart from sin and wrong. 

Kedemption! let it be my theme — and angels join the song!'' 


A little pocket-Bible carried for many a day — 

A sister^s gift at parting, he had hidden quite away. 

But noio he seeks its pages, though crumpled, worn and old, 

What mines of hidden treasure! what jewels they unfold! 

He reads its pages o^er and o'er; with tears his eyes grow dim 

To think of God's great goodness displayed even to him. 

Their journey was resumed. They reached the Golden State, 
And soon 'mid its bewitching scenes forgot their woe of late; 
They marked its glowing scenes, and heaped the shining ore. 
But one ^ jewel brighter far within his bosom wore. 

*The facts upon which this piece is founded were related to the Author by one of the group 
•who survived the dreadful death herein referred to. 



QWEET sister of my heart, farewell! 
^ 'Twas hard to see thee go; 
Emotions deep my bosom swell — 
With tears my eyes o'erflow. 

Alas, 'tis vain to call thy name. 
Thou wilt not answer now — 

Death for our household darling came- 
His seal is on thy brow. 


Sweet sister of my heart, farewell! 

Death's agony is passed 
And these fond eyes that watched thee well 

Have looked on thee their last. 

Thou erst within thy heart didst wear 

The gentle Christ enshrined, 
And proved to us what visions fair 

Can fill the immortal mind. 

How lonely seems earth's barren way 

Uncheered, unblest by thee — 
'Mid earthly scenes how brief thy stay! 

And now thy soul is free. 

The grave-yard in its silence holds 

One lovely casket more. 
And heaven's glad light to thee unfolds 

Its beauties evermore. 




T^HE seasons come and go, Mother! 

With each successive year; 
And with them birds and flowers 

In gaudy hues appear. 
The placid waters ebb and flow, 

The suns arise and set, 
And hearts that loved thee long ago 

Seem almost to forget. 

But thy smiles come not, sweet Mother! 

With the voice of early Spring; 
And thy voice is hushed in silence. 

While Winter reigns within. 
In vain we wait thy coming 

When the evening hour appears, 
For thou art in thy lowly grave — 

And we are bathed in tears. 

Though fleeting years have passed. Mother! 

Since I beheld thy face; 
Yet vividly ou memory's page 

I can each feature trace. 


In that bright world where thou art gone 

Decay no more appears; 
And time flows on, unmeasured by 

The rapid flight of years. 

Since thy parting, dearest Mother! 

Oft V\e wept in sadness. 
When near me thou wert lingering 

It seemed — my soul to bless. 
And I've wished that I were with thee 

In the cold and silent tomb. 
Where no earthly griefs or troubles 

Should penetrate my home. 

Yes, soon I'd leave this world, Mother! 

AVith all its tempting foes. 
To join the slumbering nation 

That 'neath the clod repose. 
While with thee my happy spirit 

Would soar to realms above; 
And Join the angelic chorus 

Proclaiming — "God is love" 

Oh, Fd be so happy. Mother! 

Around my Father's throne; 
Where parting sighs, and blighting tears 

Shall never more be known. 
And within its heavenly portals 

I'd see my Savior stand; 
And I'd sing his praises ever 

In that bright and happy land. 



T^IIOTJ peerless, pensive child of song! 

What rare gifts to thee belong! 
We have studied all thy moods 
And one happy thought intrudes — 
Thou art worthy of all praise, 
Singing all thy happy days. 
Making other hearts rejoice. 
With the cadence of thy voice,- 
Winning all our hearts to thee. 
With thy deep-toned melody. 

How thy funny freaks amuse! 
Hopping in those bright, "red shoes;'* 
Loving "Pincher" just the same, 
As when a "friendless" pup he came. 
And sought the refuge of your arm 
To shelter him from pending harm; 
*^^^01d Dobbin,*' too, must have his share 
Of thy great love and friendly care. 

Bird, and beast, and book, and flower 
AVaked in thee the Poet's power — 
Even the dear old-fashioned " cries," 
From thy hands obtain a prize; 
Subjects plain and common-place. 
Thou didst wreathe with radiant grace; 
Happy hearts at Christmas glow. 
While the noted "log" burns low. 


Thy happy moods we fain recall — 
But one seems happiest of all; 
Claiming our interest even now — 
With floral wreaths about thy brow; 
And smiles that play at ''hide and seek'' 
Over lips and brow and cheek; 
You in the ''old barn^' gaily dance. 
While youthful friends the joy enhance. 

But to i(s thou seemest most fair. 
When kneeling by that "old arm-chair;'' 
With aching heart and stifled moan — 
Thy girlish hopes for aye o'erthrown 
Telling us "what the heart can bear," 
While Aveeping o'er thy mother's chair — 
Oh, how thy plaintive orphan lay 
Charmed our young heart in childhood's day I 

Old "England's sunny homes" command 
Their mead of praises from thy hand 
When " Christmas-tides " with happy scene — 
Wreathed mistletoe and evergreen. 
In every heart rare joys awake. 
While all do of their bliss partake — 
England may well be proud of thee, 
A bright " star " in her galaxy. 




T^WO little squirrels live in a tall tree. 

Tucked in a snug, warm nest so cozily; 
With nothing to do but to frolic and play. 
Growing saucy and fat from day to day. 

They were rocked by the breeze stealing softly by; 
The wild birds chanted their lullaby; 
Their lives had been thus so pleasantly spent. 
We would have thought them most surely content. 

But like little children that sometimes are found. 
Who grow discontented with rich blessings crowned; 
So these little squirrels were pining each day, 
From their snug cozy home to wander away. 

While mother-squirrel was gone exploring ^round, 
If perchance ripe nuts for her dears could be found - 
One of them said — ^'Tm as tired as I can be 
Living so long in this stupid old tree. 

I do not propose to spend my life thus; 
Sticking always at home for fear of a fuss; 
Growing old and gray in this lonely old tree 
There are sights to be seen, that I hope to see. 


ril just peep outside, so, not to be too fast 

For I'm quite sure I heard somebody go past, 

I long out of doors to frolic and frisk'' — 

Said the other — ''I fear it will be too much risk." 


Ah, no little brother! have no fear for me 

I long to look out some wonder to see." • 

So out popped his little head all in a trice 

He looked this way and that — it seemed very nice. 

Along came a sportsman who wanted to dine; 
He thought a fat squirrel would be very fine; 
He raised up his gun — took aim — then let fly 
And shot little squirrel right *^ plump" in the eye. 

His small parlor rifle scarce made any sound 
But soon little squirrel fell to the ground — 
Said the other — ^^ oh, what can this be ybout. 
I'm sure I can tell if I only joeep out." 

So without longer waiting, he popped out his head. 
And he, too, was shot by the hunter dead. 
He brought them both home, 'twas a pleasant surprise. 
Had them cooked delicious, and made into pies. 

Dear children! a lesson this story will teach — 
Ambition should never true tvisdom overreach — 
Far better their lives in a tree to have spent. 
Than so soon to have perished through discontent. 



T ONCE knew a cliff majestic and grand — 
And wearing the touch of a Master-hand; 
With its granite walls reared so rude and high. 
They seemed like battlements ''gainst the sky — 
How it awed our young hearts with its touch sublime! 
As we sought its shadow from time to time — 
Of all the loved haunts to my childhood known 
There were none could vie with that cliff of stone. 

Oh, that towering cliff! That rude rocky ledge! 
With the mosses peeping from o'er its edge! 
Its summit was wreathed in such verdure green 
That the sun's glad rays could scarce stray between. 
How it filled our hearts with sweet thoughts of Him 
W^ho formed that old cliff in the forest dim; 
We wondered how long in that fragrant wood, 
Majestic and stately its walls had stood. 

How our thoughts flew back thruogh the flight of time. 

To the morn when the stars sang their first glad chime; 

When the footprints of Deity over the earth. 

Waked the happy millions to a living birth — 

And we wondered then in our childish way 

If God reared that cliff on tliat first bright day; 

If he o'er its crags the dark shadows flung, 

Where the owlet screamed, and the oriole sung. 

Or if he had planted here just one small stone 

And from it this cliff in its grandeur had grown.* 


There were gnarled old oaks that beside it grew; 

And their friendly shadows around it threw; 

They wreathed its dark brow with their quiet grace; 

They added rare charms to that cherished place — 

But our anxious questionings they would disdain; 

Voiceless and silent for ages remain — 

Oh, they wove ^round that cliff their enchanting spell! 

But of its grand history naught would they tell. 


How sublime it looked! Its majestic form 
Had long stood unmoved 'neath the wintry storm; 
It had boldly defied the hurricane^s wrath; 
Though uprooted oaks lay strewn in its path; 
Though thejightnings played with a ruddy glow. 
O'er its rugged heights, and the depths below — 
Not e'en the wild chamois so agile and fleet, 
Could have scaled its walls with his nimble feet. 

We sought its cool shadow when Summer reigned high 

AVith warm sultry days and hot burning sky; 

And when 'dropping nuts" in the Autumn were heard 

As the '-'fruit-laden boughs" by the rough gales were stirred; 

And when Winter had stripped it of all that was fair 

Leaving it desolate, lonely, and bare — 

Unto our hearts 'twas the same cherished spot; 

Its rustic attractions we never forgot. 

Beside this rocky cliff, a barren towering ledge 

Eose high and bleak, no verdure crowned its edge; 

Between the two there yawned a chasm deep and wide 

A sort of rugged canyon with rough uneven side. 


So deep and dark it lay, we dared not linger there, 
A fitting place it seemed for "wild beast^s secret lair; 
There the lone whip-poor-will chanted its nightly song; 
There sat the mother-owl her waiting brood among. 

I recall that dark abyss as when I saw it then; 

Fit place for giant's home, or cruel ogre's den; 

Its sides were steep and rugged where long, dark shadows lay. 

And not a straggling sunbeam could drive the gloom away. 

There was a narrow bridge that spanned the chasm's breast, 

'Twas scarce a hand-breadth wide — where foot could hardly rest; 

Inured to danger, we of peril seldom thought 

But on tliat dangerous point we ne'er dared to venture out. 

We always were content as often here we played, 

To (jaze upon the cliff, or rest within its shade; 

As oft we loitered near we deemed it joy enough 

To contemplate the charms of that old rugged bluff; 

Amid its solitude grand lessons oft we learned. 

And so with happy hearts to this rude teacher turned; 

Whenever we grew weary of playing at its base. 

Or wished to change position or reach a higher place, 

We sought a narrow path that led us far around. 

And reached its summit there on high, uneven ground. 

A memory of that ledge — the forest then unhewn, 

And lovely wild wood flowers about its bosom strewn. 

Comes o'er my heart again, and looking back to-day, 

I recount the dangers that thronged our childhood way. 

Once, I remember well, it seems but yesterday. 

We wandered through the woods in search of flowers of May— 


We paused beside the cliff — that massive tower of stone, 
We thought to rest awhile and then refreshed pass on. 

High on that rocky ledge, exposed to our fond view. 
Blushing in native beauty, a lovely wild flower grew; 
Untended it had bloomed upon that rocky point 
AVhere merest bit of soil had sifted through the joint; 
We thought that flower more lovely than others near our side. 
But out upon that rocky ledge our phicJcing it defied — 
My brother thought to gain it, and so his thought expressed 
And cautiously essayed to span the chasm's breast. 

W^e watched his slow ascent — we almost stopped our breath. 
For well we knew to fall, would there be certain death; 
We watched his nimble feet — alas, one step amiss, 
Would hurl him quickly down that dreadful dark abyss 
Where naked, rugged rocks, that jutted far below 
AVould dash his young life out at one dark, dreadful blow; 
We heard the mad waves leap with wild impetuous dash — 
Oh, if he were to fall with one tremendous crash! 

Oh, God! to think of this to-day makes my brain dizzy now; 
And livid drops start out upon my anxious brow! 
I seem to see that noble life just poised on danger's brink, 
(IIow great those dangers were near crazes me to think;) 
But we in childish innocence of danger scarcely thought. 
With rugged scenes familiar; with perils thickly frauglit — 
In looking back I feel that angels watched our way 
And kept our orphan feet, to neither fall nor stray. 


He gained the flower — then stood erect, and proudly waved his 

Like some undaunted monarch who owned great leagues of land; 
Fearless and grand he stood upon that dangerous rock. 
Just like some storied hero of bold Herculean stock. 
We frightened sisters coaxed, entreated, begged and cried. 
Besought him to come down — our pleadings he defied; 
Then sad and disappointed we turned and ran away — 
AVhile he was thus in jeopardy we could not bear to stay. 

He quickly hastened down when thus left all alone, 

Perched high in willful daring upon that ledge of stone; 

His noble life imperiled had caused us such alarms, 

The wild flower was forgotten with all its budding charms. 

Our noble brother! well we knew his was a heart 

Dauntless and bold, that feared not danger^s dart; 

He was the partner of our plays, the sharer of our joys. 

His sisters' hero! Peer of all the village boys — 

In manhood's years he made the soldier brave and true. 

And for his country's weal his weapons firmly drew. 

* This is no fancy sketch, for I remember these very thoughts filled our minds while enjoy- 
ing the rustic beauty of the cliff. 


ly" IND Lady! 'tis to thee I owe 
*^ The gratitude. I fain would show; 
And by these simple lines express 
The feelings I cannot suppress. 


'Twas at thy house my father lay, 
And sadly languished day by day. 
When fever scorched his aching brow. 
And pain and suffering laid him low. 

No kindred heart or hand was nigh 
His wants with pleasure to suppy, 
No loved one from his home was near — 
His plaintive call we could not hear. 

But thou so kindly gentle friend I 
Didst to his feeble wants attend; 
Didst patiently his demands supply. 
And linger like an angel by. 

Thy faithful kindness tiius hast proved, 
^Twas Christian love thy bosom moved; 
And thy bright image in my heart, 
Shall never more from it depart. 

Oh, may est thou with that hapj)y throng' 
Who sing redemption's glorious song, 
Forever vie beside the throne 
Where tears and partings are unknown. 

♦Written for a friend (by request) who wished to present it to a liind-hearted lady- 
token of gratitude for her kindness to his sick father. 




'T^IS morn! 

•Above the eastern sky the sun in grandeur rides; 
While deep within the lily's bell the tiny dew-drop hides; 
All darkness is dispelled; the newly opened flower 
Blushes and blooms beneath the sun's magnetic power; 
The spring-breeze fans my cheek, laden with rich perfume; 
And thick around my path the sweet wild flowers bloom; 
Forests are vocal with the songs that happy warblers raise. 
And with their untaught melody their great Creator praise. 

It seems a fitting time for sober pensive thought — 
A fitting time to shut this weary world without 
And here while none intrude to wake again 
Those recollections that for years have lain 
Buried in memory's vault. 

Come, let us ramble through these fragrant bowers 

Where swiftly sped so many of my childhood hours. 

How dear these cherished scenes! I fain each spot would trace 

For pleasant memories throng around this happy place. 

That stately tree! I know it well, for 'neath its friendly shade 
A group of happy children in summer-time we played; 
We watched the branches wave that were so far outspread 
To shelter from the sun each careless youthful head. 


And that old sturdy vine! 'twas there we sometimes swung 
Or strove in vain to catch the clustering grapes that hung 
Just out of reach, and then in disappointment sigh 
And wish for that dear time when by-and-by 
We should le grown. Ah, reckless wish! we little thought 
Hiat aye at every step with anxious care was fraught. 

All through this shady wood, and by that ravine's side 
We sought the berries wild that there were wont to hide; 
How eagerly we plucked the rosy dimpled fruit, 
That ruby lips, and blushing cheeks it seemed so well to suit. 

In looking back to-day I seem to hear the shout 

That gushed like wayward music these woods and hills about; 

I hear the joyous laughter that rippled sweet and clear 

As these bright scenes of loveliness to our fond eyes appear; 

They filled with joy profound each happy, youthful soul. 

Till hearts overflowed with rapture and wildly burst control. 

A wayward group we were! with hands and faces tanned, 

I fear we much resembled a straying gipsy-band; 

As quick we doffed our books and slates when home from village 

And hastened with untrammelled feet to gain the woodlands cool — 
We hurried to the sandy beach — we loved its calm retreat; 
Full quick we doffed our shoes and hose, and o'er our naughty 

We built (not in Masonic style) sand-houses quaint and wide 
With door and ceiling low and plain, and chimney rude outside. 
We patted here, and patted there, and reared a palace grand. 
Then gently drew our foot away — behold our house of sand! 


AVere ever skillful architects of their own work as proud? 
We cheered our palaces of sand with laughter long and loud. 
Our skill not yet exhausted, another branch we thought to try, 
AVe made full many sand-pies and put them up to dry; 
But when we came again amid those haunts to play, 
Behold the wayward winds had torn our work away. 

That sparkling brook! I love it well. Its murmurings sweet 

and low, 
Seem singing to my heart to-day of that sweet Long Ago. 
Oh, could its tranquil bosom one half our hopes unfold! 
Oh, could our "secret sessions^' by this old brook be told! 
Of how at holy eve we lingered near its brink 
To watch the pebbles glance^^ then in its bosom sink; 
How we confidingly betrayed our childish hopes and fears 
And wondered what our lot would be in womanhood's ripe 

Oh, could it tell our secrets, Fd fear we'd turn away 
With cheeks a deeper crimson than on that merry day. 

We longed for future years, when to each form and face 
Old Time should add the dignity of Woman's statelier grace; 
Oh, could we but have seen the thorns that lined the way 
We surely would have been content for childhood's hour to stay. 

While these scenes so dear come thronging 'round my mind 

There is a sadder picture I cannot leave behind. 

Within our cottage-home for many a weary day. 

Upon a couch of suffering our pale, sick mother lay; 

We brought her sweetest flowers — how pleasantly she smiled! 

And prayed in feeble accents that God would bless each child. 


With acliing hearts we watched her, fast sinking day by day 
We felt that she would die — -consumption's ready prey; 
We noted well each change and dreaded the dark hour 
When death should bear her off with unrelenting power. 

Thus time wore on, until a day there came at last — 

(I pause — deep sorrow veils my heart — my tears are falling fast) 

A long bright summer day in all its beauty came, 

It crimsoned all the glowing east like light of lambent flame. 

Its gentle breeze was laden with odors sweet as Araby, 

But our rent hearts were breaking, and to us 'twas mockery; 

And in our childish sorrow, we felt we'd rather know 

A cloud hung in the heavwns then see earth smiling so; 

But noio we know 'twas meet that earth should don a smile 

W^hen one so pure and saintly was freed from earthly guile. 

The angels that had lingered about our cottage door 

From out our loving bosoms our gentle mother bpre. 

Hushed was our childish glee — subdued each loving tone;. 

She answered not our call — we knew that life was gone. 

Oh, like some Parian statue most beautifully fair 
With angel's kiss still lingering in holy imprint there 
She slept the sleep of death! while we with noiseless tread 
Poured forth our wailing anguish beside our precious dead. 
We kissed her marble forehead, and laid her down to rest 
W^ith sweetest wild wood flowers reposing on her breast. 
We knelt in untried orphanage beside her lowly grave — 
'Twas made where daisies bloom; and friendly grasses wave. 
We felt that none but God — our mother's God could heal our 


And with the balm of his great love afford our hearts relief— 
Oh, surely he who wept o^er Lazarus' lowly grave 

Would not forbid our tears when back to God we gave 

Our mother. 


Soft footsteps are beside me, and little hands seek mine. 
Laden with bright flow^ers that fairies well might twine. 
Sweet voices call me ^'Mother/' I start! my dream is o'er! 
My reverie is broken! my childhood comes no more. 
Childhood! sweet time — too innocent to last. 
Thy joyous scenes have faded; thy glories all are passed. 
But often since thy time bright hopes have filled my breast; 
And oft the cup of happiness has to my lips been pressed. 

Thoughts of my early womanhood come crowding on my brain 

And for one fleeting moment I taste its sweets again. 

A manly form — a noble face — the tender loving tone 

The whispered love-words to my heart that through his dark eyes 

/ almost seem to hear them now — to feel again the bliss 
When our betrothal vow was sealed with love's most holy kiss; 
And then the church — its lofty spire — the cloudless Autumn 

The crowded throng with anxious looks, and faces glad and bright; 
When with heart brim-full of happiness I stood a trembling bride. 
And thought not of life's ills while by my loved one's side. 

Not 'brighter shone the gems within my glossy hair 

Than deep within my bosom vrere the hopes just budding there. 


With what confiding happiness I leaned upon that arm 

That henceforth through life's scenes should shield from every 

With what unspoken love that of my life seemed part 
I trusted unreservedly that faithful manly heart. 

And from that happy hour what joy unfeigned was ours! 
Bright sunshine rested on our home, our path was strewn with 

On fleeting wings the moments flew, we noted not how fast 
Each with its store of blessings, sweet pleasures 'round us cast. 
While scarce a flitting shadow could sadden either heart. 
In love's sweet union blended, each of the other seemed a part. 

Thus days, weeks, months, flew by, more than a year was gone, 
I clasped my first-born to my heart — my beautiful bright son; 
He nestled on my happy breast — oh, bliss without alloy! 
When to the hride's was added the mothers deeper joy. 

Oh, blessed boon of motherhood! Oh, holy mother love! , 

Do angels know a purer flame amid the courts above? \ 

We blessed the gracious Father whose love this tie had given — 
So pure, so innocent, he seemed, some wanderer from heaven. 
With what parental tenderness we watched this bud unfold 
To our fond eyes a richer ''gem" than miser's coffers hold. 

The years went swiftly by. Time left a deeper trace 
Penciled in lines of care about each form and face; 
Two other added ''jewels" came to glad our home and hearth, 
Their voices echoed through the rooms with happy childish mirth. 


And these, these happy little ones are with me even now, 

I note each childish face, each happy thoughtful brow — 

Eut where? oh, where is he who won my girlish heart? 

(Alas, that those who love so true should thus be called to part.) 

lie sleeps beyond the distant hill. While yet in manhood's bloom 

The Keaper came and sealed him for an early tomb. 

And now his lowly grave far o'er the hill is seen 

Where sweetest wild flowers hide, 'neath waving grasses green. 

No words can tell my anguish when my cherished idol lay 

Stricken and pale beneath the Spoiler's dreadful sway. 

And yet how blest that happy dying scene! amid our gloom 

To feel that angels filled our lonely darkened room; 

That visitants from radiant fields of Paradise 

AYere waiting on poised wing to bear him to the skies. 

Our Father's plans we may not know, 'twere vain for us to seek — 
Why He should take the strong away, and leave behind the weak. 
How futile seem all earthly hopes! His will on earth be done! 
How like a bruised reed was I for these sweet babes to lean upon. 
Along a desert way — through mazes dark and dense; 
Through blinding tears; through sorrows wild, intense. 
My feet have plodded on. With trusting faith I've still looked 

unto God 
Who has in wisdom chosen all the paths my feet have trod. 



I pause again to retrospect, for twenty years have sped 
Since through the vale of widowhood my lonely pathway led; 
Through dark and trying scenes, where weary grief and care 
Left their deep impress on my heart till I their symbol wear. 


From out the grave of buried love — from out its sombre gloom 
Love's flowers within my doting heart again were wont to bloom; 
Again with trusting heart beside a chosen one 
I stood a happy bride — no happier 'neath the sun. 

The years have passed on fleeting wings, and other jewels here 
Have by our Father's love been sent our earthly home to cheer. 
Proudly I've worn my motherhood while on my loving breast 
These little ones were folded in innocence to rest. 
They were my jewels, and I called them all pet names — my 

queen, my dove — 
Two of them were too fair for earth and went to live above. 

Like Hinda's pets that she had loved, and fondled all too well — 
^' The tree, the flower, or bright-eyed glad gazelle," 
But when they came to know her well were sure to die — 
Thus, thus Fve seen my sweet-voiced warblers fly; 
I've seen my buds of bright immortal bloom 
Languish and fade — fair victims for an early tomb. 

The first one that we lost was one of gentle, modest mien 
A lovely blue-eyed girl — heaven's impress on her brow was seen; 
A brief, bright year she cheered us with her smile 
And then to heaven returned, unhurt by earthly guile. 

How lonely seemed our earthly home when she had gone above. 
We longed so for her winning smile and for her baby-love. 
Father! we know thy will is best though grief our bosoms fill 
For she is folded close with thee, secure from earthly ill. 

Another came — our baby boy — So full of winning grace — 

I said — '^the Lord has given this one to fill her vacant place.'* 


We cherished him for one brief year, we lived in his pure love; 
Oh, sure such happy scenes on earth are type of heaven above. 

Our first-born in his stateliness to manhood's years had grown, 
With wealth of splendid intellect his grand success to crown; 
But lo, upon his manly brow the Spoiler's touch was seen 
And paler grew his wasted cheek where health's bright flush liad 

Earth's hold on him was loosened, he fixed his hopes on high, 
And in the bloom of manhood's years he was content to die. 
His heart had grown so weary of earthly strife and sin. 
The angels bore him safely home — through pearl-gates led him in. 

So lovely to his raptured gaze did heaven's glad scenes appear, 
A backward look to earth he gave, to those who lingered here. 
Then beckoned to our baby-boy. Again the Spoiler came, 
lie came unto our loving hearts and called for this dear lamb. 
He faded 'neath that blighting touch — oh heaven, how great our 

When soon we saw that this bright bird from earthly bowers 

must go. 
We watched him fading day by day, alas that aught so fair 
Should in his baby innocence the Spoiler's signet wear! 
When night rolled back its curtains before the rising dawn 
We found that this, our sweet-voiced bird, from earthly scenes 

was gone! 

And now these three — our loved and lost, are safe with God in 

And radiant glories crown each brow — a harp to each is given. 
And we shall meet them there, when life's scenes with us are o'er. 
Shall enter through the heavenly gates to wander thence no more. 



A piece for the little ones. 

ly-ATIE, our gentle Katie 

Our hearts are strangely stirred. 
To see thee limp and lifeless 
Our dear canary bird. 

Thy lonely mate is grieving. 

He sings no happy lay — 
Thy hungry brood is waiting, 

Thou dost not come to-day. 

The children dear, are sobbing; 

Their hands thy grave have made. 
The sweetest, brightest flowers, 

Above thy couch have laid. 

"We miss thee, gentle Katie! 

At morn and noon was heard 
Thy low and gentle wooing. 

Thou faithful niother-bird. 

Oh, we are sad without thee, 
Our hearts are strangely stirred; 

^Ye loved thee, gentle Katie, 
Our dear canarv bird. 



A8 long as he liveth he shall be lent to the Lord— I. Sam. 1, xxviiL 

A BOVE the orient gleaming, 
The morn on golden wings 
Lights up the dull horizon's path. 

And gilds all waiting things. 
Pencils the earth in living light 

Till hills and valleys glow, 
Till laughing brooks, and singing rills 
Are dancing far below. 

O'er Shiloh's plain the sun had ris'n — 

'Twas there the temple shone. 
And there the God of Israel 

Unto His hosts was known. 
It robed the earth with splendor bright. 

Lit up the temple with its flame. 
When a gentle meek-eyed mother 

To that holy temple came. 

By the hand she led her first-born — 

Led her beautiful bright boy 
Who, to tend, caress, and cradle. 

Had been now her sweet employ. 
She it was who once had lingered 

By the temple's sacred fane. 
Who had sought in earnest praying 

To assuage her. heart's deep pain. 


Down those aisles she bent her footstej)s 

To the holy Priest of God — 
Down whose beard, and o'er whose garments 

Once the holy oil had flowed. 
While before the Priest she waited % 

Joy was beaming on her face. 
And her heart broke forth in praises 

In that consecrated place. 

Then her cause she meekly uttered; 

Told him of her tribe and name, 
How with heart baptized in sorrow 

To the temple once she came. 
How she lingered at its altar 

As her deep complaint she made; 
How she prayed in broken accents — 

'•^ For this child," said she, ^'I prayed.'^ 

^ And a vow I there recorded. 

That if God this child would give. 
He should be my willing offering. 

Lent to God while he shall live. 
I have brought him to the temple. 

Ever here with you to stay; 
Walking in God's holy precepts. 

Learning of His will each day." 

Time would fail to tell how joyous, 

Happy days had flitted by. 
As she lulled her babe to slumber 

With her low, sweet lullaby. 
How she watched his fringed eyes drooping, 


As lie sought his nightly rest; 
As he sank to dreamy slumber. 
Cradled on her mother-breast. 

How that mother loved to listen 

To the music of his voice; 
How his lisping baby prattle 

Made her happy heart rejoice; 
And when first he called her '^ mother/' 

Coming near with pattering feet, 
Oh, she thought sure ne'er such music 

Was to mother-ears so sweet! 

Happy mother! meek-eyed Hannah 

Surely was supremely blest 
As her babe drank life's fruition 

From the fountain of her breast; 
Oft she gazed in thoughtful wonder 

At this treasure God had given. 
Sure he seemed a wondering cherub 

From the unseen gates of heaven. 

But the days are swiftly passing. 

And the babe grows fine and strong; 
Soon will come the time of parting — 

She may not his stay prolong. 
Once more let me hold my darling — 

Feast my heart on his pure love. 
Then I'll bear him to the temple, 

To be lent to God above. 


Happy Hannah! Songs of praises 

Else exultant from her tongue. 
And the temple wakes the echo 

By this Christian mother sung. 
Earthly throngs catch up the music 

As it rings o^er Shiloh's plain, 
And the angel hosts in glory 

Stoop to catch its sweet refrain. 

There is naught of sad repining — 
There's no hitter, lonely day, 

"When her steps were homeward bending, 
From her babe she turned away. 

She had given God this offering. 
And her heart would ne'er repent, 
'' For,'' said she, '* while he is living, 

. To the Lord he shall be lent." 

Blessed gift! we gaze in wonder 

And our hearts with rapture glow. 
As we learn how this fond mother 

For her God such love could show. 
How she gave her bright-eyed darling 

To the God who gave him first, 
And no murmur, no repining, 

From her heart's deep fountain burst. 

How she sang God's holy praises 
When she turned to go away. 

Leaving thus her gentle darling 
With the good old Priest to stay. 

A HYMN. oOr 

Ever in the temple waiting. 
As the days and years went by; 

He was chosen for a prophet — 
Honored by the Lord Most High. 

Year by year that Christian mother 

Hastened to that holy place. 
Worshiped in that honored temple — 

Saw her darling's smiling face. 
And a little coat she bronght him. 

That was 'broidered with her love — 
Sure such gifts as thine, dear Hannah, 

Faithful love for God shall prove. 


T LONG, oh, my Savior and God, 

Thy glorious presence to see! 
To enter Thy blissful abode. 
From sin and iniquity free. 

I long to behold Thee above, 

Eemoved far from sorrow and strife; 

To feast on Thy unbounded love. 
To drink of the river of life. 

A pilgrim on earth's barren shore, 
A brief while I patiently roam. 

Still longing in triumph to soar 
To heaven, my spirit's bright home. 


Vm seeking a city on high, 

Where sorrow and sin are unknown; 
Where angels in spotless robes vie 

With the ransomed around His throne. 

Oh, when shall my pilgrimage end? 

When shall my affliction be o'er? 
When shall I to heaven ascend? 

And wander from Jesus no more? 


A RRAYED in royal purple, reigning on his gilded throne. 

Was the King — Nebuchadnezzar, in the province of Babylon; 
Courtiers, lords and counselors obeyed his slight command. 
And idoVworship reigned supreme throughout that heathen land. 

IN"aught cared he for the Holy God, who all the worlds had made; 
Who kept the stars in place; whom sun and moon obeyed; 
Who hung the earth in empty space; who holds the roaring seas 
In the great '^ hollow of His hand; '^ who robes the forest trees; 
Who reared in stately beauty the towering mountains grand; 
Who smiled on love-lit valleys, emblossomed by His hand. 
Oh, ne^er to Him, the true and Holy God, had he 
Poured out his souFs deep plaint, on lowly bended knee — 
His heart was proud and haughty, his bearing insolent and vain. 
For deeds of death and darkness had marked his guilty reign. 



Lo, '^ stocks and stones'' — dumb idols on every hand are found. 
And throngs of waiting worshipers crowd with devotion 'round 
To honor these dumb idols, who neither see, nor hear, nor feel; 
Who ne'er can comfort, bless, forgive; or aught of love reveal. 

On Dura's plain was boldly reared by that king's vile command 
A heathen idol all of gold — a towering image grand. 
Looming in stately grandeur against the distant skies, 
Full three-score cubits high it stood, the pride of wondering eyes. 

That wicked king exultant beheld the image grand. 
And in his 'Mieathen blindness" defied that stern command — 
Jehovah's word — " Thou no other God shalt have but Me; 
Before no idol thou shalt bow" on bended knee. 

He called his subjects far and near, from up and down the land 
To dedicate this image, reared so wonderful and grand; 
It gleamed like burnished jewels beneath the sun's bright rays; 
All hearts were jubilant that day — all spake the idol's praise. 

Behold the merry dancers are gathering fast around 
Where instruments of music shall wake a stirring sound; 
The king's heart was uplifted, joying in his wanton pride. 
And to that throng of worshipers in thunder tones he cried — 
'^When flute and harp awaken a thrilling, joyous strain 
And sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, resound o'er Dura's plain. 
See that ye fall and worship this image great and grand, 
For if ye worship it, 'tis well," so said the king's command; 
''^But if ye fail to worship this" (and a dark scowl o'er him pass'd) 
'^Into a burning, fiery furnace this hour ye shall be cast. 
Ye know the laws of Mede and Persian all unchanged shall stand. 
And who is now that God to deliver from my hand." 


The music waked the silent vales, it rang o^er Dura's plains. 
And heathen hearts rejoiced beneath its wild, voluptuous strains; 
A host of kneeling worshipers the king's commands obey, 
And yield their souls to wanton sin beneath the despot's sway. 
But there were three, brave, faithful men, who 'mid the music's din 
Still stood erect — refused to kneel, ^ho would not yield to sin; 
They wore the seal of Israel's God, upon each lofty brow, 
And for their faithful love to Him Avould not to idols bow. 

'Twas they the captive ones, who in their hearts had kept 
The memory of their distant home; who once forlorn had wept 
Beside the streams of Babylon — Zion's sweet songs unsung; 
Their harps silent and voiceless upon the willows hung; 
Strangers within a stranger's land, so lonely and unknown — 
But woz^ they hold high favor there, and king's their influence own. 

Safe in their hearts through all these years, within that heathen 

They had cherished thoughts of Judah, of its waving, sunny land; 
Of the temple in its glory, e'er its altars were o'erthrown; 
Ere they were led oif as captives in a stranger land alone. 

Oft they thought of good old Canaan — the Israelite's abode; 
Its laughing rills and flowery plains where milk and honey flowed; 
Where their eyes first gazed in wonder on the morning's rosy light. 
Sheltered on a mother's bosom safely through the brooding night; 
Of the prayers that mother taught them — of her gentle lullaby 
That soothed their infant sorrows when the twilight gathered nigh; 
These thoughts of home and mother and of their far distant land. 
Of Sinai's scene- — of Israel's God, and of His stern command. 
Kept them from idol- worship — bowing down to wood and stone, 
Por they in trustful confidence the living God had known. 


They did not fear the king's command— they scorned his rude decree. 
Before that golden God to kneel on humble, reverent knee; 
Like empty sounds were all his threats, though with stern ven- 
geance rife. 
Their God and His true worship was dearer far to them than life. 
They marked the kneeling worshipers; the music's swelling strains, 
As loudly it reverberated o'er Dura's lowly plains; 
There stood the fiery furnace roaring 'neath its seething heat 
Lashing out its tongues of fury to receive their waiting feet; 
Well they marked it, roaring, seething, heated sevenfold more hot, 
But they stood unswerved, undaunted, all its fury moved them not. 
In the God of Israel trusting — honoring his glorious name. 
Well they knew he could deliver from that angry, fiery flame. 

Mark! oh mark that haughty monarch in his wrathful, boastful 

pride ! 
W^hen he knew they mocked his vengeance, and his kingly 

power defied; 
Quick he called his waiting courtiers — ^'Bind them hand and 

foot," he said, 
''Cast them in the fiery furnace with its flames of angry red." 
Then because his word was urgent, as full well his subjects knew, 
Forked flames from out the furnace soon their wicked captors slew. 
Yes, they bind these willing captives— Shadrach, Meshack, Abednego, 
And with hearts unmoved by pity, in the flaming furnace throw. 

Nearer drew that haughty monarch, thinking they would soon expire 
And he thought to watch their torment in the seething, flaming fire; 
But a change comes o'er his features — lo, his face is deadly pale; 
Livid drops are on his forehead— what can make this monarch quail? 
:N^ow, forgotten all his glory! what strange sight is this he sees? 
What can bring such sudden terror, bring such quaking to his knees? 


Glorious sight! let men and angels on this rapturous picture gaze! 
Heathen worshipers in wonder view the sight with hearts amaze. 
God had honored these His children who had trusted in His name — 
Sent His angel to deliver them from death and fiery flame. 

Then the king rose up astonished, seized with guilty, ghastly fears, 
(Can it be the God of Heaven with his trusting ones appears)? 
Quick he called his waiting courtiers, and his counselors around — 
'^ Did we not cast three men helpless, in the fiery furnace, bound? 
I see four men loose and walking, and no hurt on them is found; 
Three of them are those poor captives brought from Judah long ago? 
But the fourth, with radiant visage, is the Son of Man, I know.'^ 

Guilty monarch! how he trembled as he viewed the thrilling scene!. 
Marked the triumph God had given, by these wondering heathen seen, . 
He had lingered near the furnace, when he thought to see them die;. 
But their God had sent His angel from the shining courts on high. 
And had saved His trusting children in that dreadful trying hour. 
For that flaming, fiery furnace on their bodies had no power. 

Deej) emotions now were stirring in that monarch's guilty breast; 
Well he knew his sins had found him; he by anguish was oppressed. 
Now forgotten was that image; all their idols were overthrown. 
For no other like the true God could thus make His presence known. 

Then he called those Hebrew captives, from the burning, seeth- 
ing flame — 
"Come, ye servants of the Most High — honored be His holy name! 
God hath rescued these His children, let all men the truth rehearse,. 
He hath turned to richest blessings what was meant to be a curse. 
Now I do declare His goodness, and throughout this heathen land 
I, the king, Nebuchadnezzar, issue this my stern command — 


Know all men that God — Jehovah is the true and faithful Lord, 
Who alone can thus deliver — who can thus such help afford; 
And whoe'er shall speak amiss of this faithful God of heaven. 
Shall be made to feel my vengeance — be from home and coun- 
try driven/' 

Christian, art thou in the furnace? Do afflictions dire oppress? 
Have thy loved ones faded early? Is thy heart in deep distress? 
Lo, thy Savior walks beside thee, though his presence be unseen. 
He will rescue those who trust Him from each dark and trying scene; 
Though the waters deep are 'round thee, angry waves shall not 

He has said, " I will not leave thee," through earth's paths so 

dark below. 


"■Having a desire to depart and he with Christ.'' 

/^H, how I long to leave this world 
^-^ With all its glittering toys. 
And soar away to heaven's pure realm 
To live 'mid heaven's joys. 

Earth's pleasures all, how soon are gone I 
Its joys full soon are passed; 

And o'er the heart a saddened tone 
Its brightest moments cast. 

Its gayest flowers— how soon they fade 

Before the wintry blast! 
Its sweetest songs— alas, are hushed 

Throui^h winter's frozen waste. 


Its fondest topes are blighted soon. 

By disappointment's gale; 
Our loved ones too, how soon they sleep 

Within death's lowly vale. 

But oh, in heaven — the Christians home 

There is no fading bliss; 
No bitter tears to mingle with 

The soul's unbounded peace. 

The flowers of heaven are always fair. 

And all its joys are pure; 
No tempting fiend, or worldly care 

Shall ever more allure. 

There friends we love shall never fade. 
Like dew-drops from the leaf; 

And heaving sighs shall ne'er betray 
The weary pilgrim's grief. 

Then I would not love to live here 
Through eternity's long day, 

"Where my dearest hopes are blighted 
And my treasures soon decay. 

But to the celestial city 

With pleasure I'd depart. 
And with pure angelic beings 

'^ Would bear some humble part." 

•Written at ihe age of fifteen. 




/^H, mark the muffied drum! the soldier's silent tread! 
^^^ With arms reversed, and saddened air beside his honored dead! 
The noble-hearted Southron here with faithful Northern weeps. 
Mingling together hallowed tears, where brave McClellan sleeps. 

Prom North to South, o'er all the land there comes a wail of woe. 
And hearts are aching ^neath the sweep of sorrow's mighty throe; 
The wires have flashed the dreadful truth, it leaps from shore 

to shore 
''^Weep, weep, ye brave American, McClellan is no more." 

Throughout our sunny South-land the funeral dirge we hear, 
And hosts of mourners swell the train who weep beside his bier; 
The North and South have here embraced above this hallowed spot — 
In bonds of loving brotherhood they meet, the bitter past forgot. 

And they who met as hostile foes in battle's dread array. 
Have grounded arms, and sweetly clasp above their dead to-day. 
Love reigns supreme I oh, blessed sight, that angels love to see, 
Our banner waves its sunny folds above a nation free. 

Behold our city draped in gloom! Hark! hark, the tolling bell! 
Mark our proud banner furled! The music's solemn swell! 
All o'er our land a funeral dirge is chanted 'mid the gloom, 
That wraps our proud America above McClellan's tomb. 


Our South-land mourns above his grave with heaving, throbbing 

Our orators and statesmen true his memory have blessed; 
Grand eulogies are spoken here — gi'eat things are kindly said 
Of him — the soldier, citizen, the Christian hero dead. 

In time of war an honored foe; in peace a trusted friend; 
A servant of the Lord Most High, faithful unto the end; 
He ever kept the fear of God before his watchful eyes — 
All earthly honor he renounced to win the heavenly prize. 

"When war^s dark cloud hung o'er the land, and waked such 

dread alarms; 
When far and near the cry was heard, ^' To arms, brave men! 

to arms!^' 
He to the front of battle came, and there unswerving stood. 
But ne'er forgot that these his foes were men of kindred hJood^ 

Xo braver general e'er his men to conquering victories led; 
Iso truer heart o'er fallen foes e'er beat above the dead; 
He loved full well his native land, and his allegiance proved. 
But for his erring countrymen his tender pity moved. 

Though every pulse-beat of his heart was true to his own land,. 
Yet back from pillaging and wrong he forced with stern command 
The soldiers in his charge — they dared not disobe}^, 
Nor devastate the Southern homes that loomed along their way. 

'Twas said no burning, ruined homes, with lurid flames were red; 
No weeping helpless ones bewailed his army's fearful tread; 
No smiling fields by him laid waste; no princely homes o'erthrown. 
His great heart moved by Pity's touch, to kindly acts alone. 


1^0 deed of his liath record dark to ever blanch with shame 
The cheek of her — his widowed one, who wears his honored name; 
That name illustrious shall shine when earth's brief scenes are o'er, 
When sun and stars have sunk in night, to rise and set no more. 

McClellan sleeps! the true, the brave! Sweet be his tranquil rest ! 
Fold the bright banner that he loved about his loyal breast; 
The Stars and Stripes unfurled above our nation proudly wave — 
•Oh, may they ever float above McClellan's honored grave. 

•Thoughts entertained at the memorial services held in honor of General Geo. B. McClellan in our 
Oiity, where he was eulogized as " the Soldier, the Citizen and the Christian," the speakers dwelling upon 
his illustrious character in each of these positions. Memorial services were held throughout the South 
In his honor, where buildings were draped in mourning, and other evidences of sorrow proved the high 
«steem in which he was held by our people. 


A piece for the little ones. 

A BEE in lonely wandering 
^ Had sailed on weary wings. 
Searching all day for honey 
That to the flow'ret clings. 

The Spring had yielded treasures 
To fill each honeyed cell. 

And Summer's blushing fiow'rets 
Had lavished sweets as well. 


But when the dreary Autumn 
Came on with chilling hreath, 

It blighted leaves and blossoms — 
It sealed them unto death. 

The bee knew well that Winter 
Would soon come on apace. 

That long, dark days of waiting 
Would sunny hours misplace. 

So all day long it wandered 

In search of honey sweet. 
To house for winter using. 

Within its home retreat. 

It sought for blooming meadows. 
Where late the flowers had been, 

Alas! they now are barren — 
No lovely flowers are seen. 

It sought the waving corn-fields. 
If haply sweets were there — 

Alas, the corn was garnered, 
And clover-fields were bare. 

It strayed through grove and woodland. 

Beside the laughing rill, 
But found no honeyed treasure 

Its waiting cell to fill. 



At last it sought a garden. 

Where just one bloom remained; 
*'!N"ow," thought the bee, ''I'm happy; 
My treasure I have gained. 

''Fll creep into this blossom 
Ere all its sweets depart. 
Perhaps some luscious morsel 
ril gather from its heart/* 

Full soon it hushed its buzzing. 

And slyly crept inside. 
To seek for bits of honey 

That should within it hide. 

As if the flower had waited 
For this glad hour to come. 

Quickly the bee is folded 
Within its new-found home. 

It shut its golden petals 

As firmly as could be. 
And folded to its bosom 

That lone imprisoned bee. 





EST, loved one, rest! 
Above thy gentle breast 
Mght's glittering ''dew-pearls" now are falling; 
While through the solitude 
That wraps the distant wood 
The lonely night-bird to its mate is calling. 

Sleep, loved one, sleep! 

Heaven^s "holy watches^' keep 
Tlreir silent vigils o^er thy lonely pillow; 

The zephyrs come and go. 

With breathings soft and low; 
They scarcely stir the lowly bending willow. 

Above thy narrow bed. 

O'er thy devoted head 
May lovely flowers thy lonely couch adorning — 

Bloom e'er with graces sweet 

To cheer thy lone retreat. 
And blush with beauty 'neath the kiss of morning. 


Fair sleeper! rest; 

By grief no more oppressM, 
Unhurt by earthly pain or sorrow; 

Thou shalt sleep calmly on 

Until that radiant dawn 
Tha^ ushers in eternity's bright morrow. 

Like some fair flower 

Crushed by the spoiler's power; 
Like some pure lily withered in its bloom 

Wast thou — so full of grace 

With gentle, beaming face — 
Our hearts are lonely now since thou art in the tomb. 

Within that realm above, 

Of pure unchanging love. 
Where fadeless flowers are ever blooming; 

Where crystal rivers flow. 

And murmuring breezes low 
Bear odorous sweets, the balmy air perfuming, 

Beside our Father's throne 

Where sorrow is unknown; 
Where eyes shall ne'er grow dim by weeping; 

Our lovely jewel fair! 

We hope to meet thee there. 
Where angel friends for us their watch are keeping. 




Written hy request. 

A BEAUTIFUL boy lay dying. 

And the wailing wind swept past. 
And the voice of his weary moaning 
Was borne on the fitful blast. 

His parents wept in sorrow 

As they noted his failing breath. 

For his eyes were being darkened 
With the gathering mists of death. 

They thought of their home so lonely, 
Uncheered by his happy love. 

But they could not hold him longer 
From his blessed home above. 

They thought how our Heavenly Father 

Had given His only Son 
To die for us — fallen children — 

And they said: "His will be done." 

The father bent o'er his darling 

When the waves of death were nigh. 

And talked of the beautiful heaven — 
The home of the blest on high. 


He held the hand of his darling 
And said there was naught to fear, 
''For the blessed Christ is waiting 
To anchor you safe, my dear. 

''Your feet touch the lonely billow 
Of Jordan's chilly tide. 
But I will hold you safely 
Till you reach its farther side. 

"And when you are crossing over 
And I can do no more. 
Oh then the blessed Jesus 
Will lead you safely o'er 

"Death's dark and turbid waters 
With its lonely, billowy tide; 
Lead you safely through the darkness 
Till you reach the heavenly side. 

"There my darling will be sheltered 
In the Savior's loving arms; 
Safe from earthly storm and tempest- 
Safe from all its 'rude alarms.'" 

Morning dawned in radiant beauty— 
Lo, its rosy wings unfold; 

But his feet had gained the portal 
Of that city built of gold. , 


Angels waited for his coming, 

Now they welcome him on high — 

Dry your tears, ye lonely parents. 
You will meet him by-and-by. 

When the storms of life are over, 
When to earth you close your eyes. 

He will greet you first in glory 
As you mount the star-paved skies. 


WES sweet friend! we^ll meet in heaven — 

In that blessed home above. 
Where our hearts shall ever linger 
At the fount of fadeless love. 

Where no grief, or pain, or sorrow 

Shall distress our spirits more; 
Where our feet shall ne'er grow weary 

On that heavenly happy shore. 

Where with blessed white-robed angels 
Who beside our Lord have place. 

We shall gaze with sight enraptured 
On the glories of His face. 


Where, forgotten ^mid that glory 
Shall be earthly pain and woe; 

As we taste those lasting pleasures 
That the '^pure in heart" shall know. 

What though o'er earth's thorny pathway 
Long our feet have plodded on! 

And sometimes the night of sorrow 
Has nigh hidden morning's dawn. 

Though our hearts have oft grown weary. 
By earth's care and grief oppress'd. 

Heaven will only prove far sweeter 
When we 'mid its glories rest. 

Yes, sweet friend! we'll meet in heaven 
When the storms of life are o'er. 

And we join the hosts triumphant, 
On that bright, unclouded shore. 

We shall meet departed loved ones. 
There to spend one long bright day, 

Basking in His glorious presence, 
AVliere the clouds have passed away. 

Oh, my heart is fondly waiting! 

Thinking of my home each day. 
Longs to clip its restless pinions 

And to soar from earth away. 


Haste, oh, haste the blessed morning! 

When that happy time shall come. 
When amid those joys eternal. 

My glad soul shall find its home. 

♦Upon hearing of the death of my esteemed friend, Mrs. M. F. Smith, with whom we have 
spent many happy hours, we were deeply bereft, but took comfort in the thought that we should 
meet again in heayeu. 


A SLEEP, and the fitful winds go past 

With their dreary sullen moan; 
I list to the sweep of the wintry blast 
And think of thee all alone — 
My baby, all alone. 

Asleep, and the pattering rain drops fall 

O^er thy humble lowly bed. 
And the night shuts 'round thee like a pall. 

Its curtains above thee spread. 

Sweet babe! above thee spread. 

Asleep, but not in thy mother's arms; 

Nor folded upon her breast. 
Like a lovely flower with its budding charms 

We have laid thee down to rest — 
Alone, sweet babe to rest. 

ASLEEP. ;j;>7 

Asleep, and our hearts are lonely now 

And bitter the tears we shed; 
For the hue of death is on thy brow. 

And empty thy cradle-bed — 

Sweet one, thy cradle-bed. 

We list to the sound of falling rain; 

We list to the wind's low moan; 
And our hearts grow sad with aching pain 

As we think of thee all alone — 
Our baby all alone. 

But the blessed Father knows our grief. 

And our sorrow He can see; 
And how we mourn o'er thy life so brief. 

For the hopes that died with thee — 

That died, sweet babe! with thee. 

We think of His love. His wondrous love 

To give us His only Son, 
That we might enjoy a home above — 

And we say — *' His will be done" — 
His blessed will be done. 

Though all alone in death's shadowy vale. 

Our beautiful sleeper lies, 
'Tis only the casket cold and pale— 

Our ''jewel" is in the skies — 
Our baby is in the skies. 


He is folded close on the Savior's breast. 
Close, close to His loving heart; 

There evermore he shall safely rest. 
And never from Jesus part — 

No, never from Jesus part. 

We hope when lifer's fitful storm is o'er 
We shall meet our darling there, 

'Mid the lovelit bowers on Eden's shore 
Where the bright- winged angels are — 
Our babe, where the angels are. 


A cMldPs piece for Christmas. 

T^HE holy Christmas comes again! 

We haste with joy and mirth. 
To celebrate the Savior's reign 
On this our weary earth. 

Long years ago o'er Bethlehem's plains. 

Angels proclaimed his birth — 
*^^Good news to men! the Savior reigns!'* 
'''Peace, and good will on earth." 

Their music rang o'er Judah's rocks. 
And waked the solemn night, 

Shepherds beside their sleeping flocks 
Beheld the wondrous sight. 


They haste to Bethlehelm^s lowly stall 

Their costly gifts to bring; 
Befor the infant Christ they fall. 

And crown Him Savior, King. 

Fain ive would join their happy song 

Proclaiming Jesus^ birth! 
With joyful hearts the theme prolong — 
''Peace and good will on earth." 

* Written for a little girl of nine years, who recited it at school for the Christmas holidays, hence 
its simplicity. 


Who perished in the storm at Indianola, Texas, August 20, 1886, while on a visit to that place. 
Memorial services were held for her in St. David's church, Austin, where for thirteen years she had 
filled the position of organist, perfect harmony and good will prevailing with organist and choir. 
The organ on which she had performed so often was silent, and appropriately diaped in mourning. 

T^OLL, toll, thou solemn bell! Thy plaintive tone 

Signals our sorrow o'er this cherished one; 
Thy pealing sound— a funeral dirge is heard 
While deep emotions in each breast are stirred. 

Toll on, thou solemn bell! Deep sorrow reigns 
And anguished hearts pour forth in rending strains 
Their pent-up grief. Our city draped in gloom 
Bespeaks our sorrow o'er her early tomb. 

Our tears are falling fast above her bier; 
And mourning friends Avith saddened mien appear 
With silent tears o'er her so deeply loved— 
AVhose every act her kindly nature proved. 


She ever sought with ready, willing hand 
To soothe the sorrows of earth's weary band; 
To comfort the bereaved; the sick to bless. 
And minister in love to each distress. 

As fleeting years went swiftly whirling by, 
She strove within God's temple to supply 
An honored place. She labored for the Lord 
And His approving smile her blest reward. 

Through winter's cold; through summer's scorching heat. 
With happy heart, and sure untiring feet 
She with the faithful in God's house appears. 
While changeful seasons mark revolving years. 

The deep-toned organ waked beneath her skill, 
Till its grand music charmed with happy thrill; 
As oft the lovely wedding march she played. 
Or funeral chant o'er loved ones lowly laid. 

So long with duties stern was she oppress'd, 
She said she longed for rest,, sweet, soothing rest; 
She sought a famed resort, where wooed the breeze 
Freighted with balmy breath from briny seas. 

But short her stay amid those scenes so fair. 
Where she had thought to rest with loved ones there; 
Alas! the Storm Kings reigned like vengeful hate 
And bore her onward to untimely fate. 

No pen can paint that dark and dreadful hour, 
When waves o'erleaped their bounds with frantic power; 
And ruin reigned, wrought by that seething flood, 
Where happy homes in sweet content had stood. 


Roll back thy angry waves, tliou billowy deep! 

Our jewels fair in thy embraces sleep; 

The Storm Kings lashed thee 'neath their grinding feet, 

Till ruined homes proclaim the wreck complete. 

Recede, recede, thou roaring, seething sea! 
Since thou hast sealed our treasures unto thee; 
Cease, cease thy reign thou beating, blinding storm! 
For thou hast wrapped in death her lovely form. 

With heart grown cold; with ghastly, upturned face 
She rests within thy cruel cold embrace. 
Dark sea! thou canst not hold our jewel there — 
^Tis but the clayey form she used to wear. 

Her spirit free — by earth no more oppressed 
Has winged its flight to mansions of the blest; 
Before her vision — lo! heaven's scenes unfold, 
And she enraptured views that city built of gold. 

Her organ stands with silent unwaked tone 

Since the skilled hand that moved its strains is gone — 

But oh! what thrilling, joyous song in heaven, 

She wakes on that new harp so lately given! 

Toll on, thou solemn bell! Our grief and woe. 
Thou canst not by thy plaintive cadence show; 
But she is resting safe, where God's bright jewels shine 
Encompassed ever by his love divine. 



ly /I Y heart is strangely thrilling on this consecrated spot, 

Where our hero brave is sleeping, though by Texans ne'er 
And I mark the chiselled marble reared above his resting place,. 
And the grand old trees above him in their stateliness and grace. 

And I turn the musty pages of our history o'er and o'er. 
There to read his deeds of valor, and the honored name he wore; 
There to see our lovely Texas by a tyrant's heel oppress'd. 
And to mark the patriotism in full many a manly breast. 

Hark! I seem to catch the echo, from the mutterings of war. 
And I mark a gallant leader — ^tis the valiant br^ive Lamar! 
He espoused her cause most nobly; rushed to danger's trying place. 
By the side of grand old Houston, Eusk, and others of his race. 

Texas groaned beneath the despot; o'er her land his track was 

In the blood-stained Alamo — where old Goliad's scene was known; 
Low our banner was seen trailing; strangely dimmed our bright 

'^lone star," 
Till by heroes true uplifted — Houston, Rusk, and brave Lamar. 

He, the hero, soldier, poet (may his memory e'er be blest!) 
Proved the truth of that grand motto — ^^bravest are the tenderest;'' 
'Mid the roar and din of battle he still owned the muses' sway. 
And his songs so sweet and touching, thrilled our heart in child- 
hood's day. 


When the chiselled marble o'er him has been blackened by decay. 
And the grand old oaks are blighted 'neath the tem.pest's dreadful 

AVhen the evergreens are withered that now deck his lowly tomb. 
And the sweet wild flowers are faded in their beanty and their bloom. 

On the page of Texas history may his name illustrious shine, 
While his heart's unfeigned devotion radiates each glowing line; 
And let Texans read the story of his pure undying fame, 
How he once to gain our freedom to the front of battle came. 

Let his name in undimmed splendor live in every Texan's heart, 
And his deeds of loving valor great resolves to each impart; 
Host's of patriots swelled the army of our Texas in the war, 
But with all her honored heroes, she can boast but one Lamar I 

Oh, my heart is strangely thrilling o'er our brave and honored dead. 
As with air subdued and humble by his lowly grave I tread; 
iVnd I mark the shimmering sunbeams as they wrap his silent breast, 
Lingering with lovely halo o'er his calm and tranquil rest. 

Rest in peace our honored hero! Ne'er the mutterings of war 
Shall disturb thy tranquil slumber, oh, thou gallant, brave Lamar! 
May our bright and lovely banner ever o'er thee proudly wave: 
May our " star " in undimmed splendor shed its halo o'er thy grave. 

Now the onward rolling river, sings its happy song for thee; 
It is chanting thy sad requiem as it hurries to the sea; 
Sleep in peace, our soldier poet! Sure the heavenly "gates ajar'' 
Welcome in our honored hero— gallant, fearless, brave Lamar! 

* General Mirabeau B. Lamar is buried in the cemetery at Richmond. not far fron, the 
Brazos river. The author had the sad sweet pleasure of vlsitingr his grave recently, and plucked 
an evergreen near it to preserve as a memento of that lonely grave. 



OOLL on thou dark blue sea! Thy fitful surges 

Have swept full many to an early doom ; 

Thy moaning waves have chanted funeral dirges 

O'er those who perish in life's joyous bloom. 

Roll on, roll on, thou dark and restless billow! 

Since jewels fair repose upon thy breast; 
Their weary heads upon thy bosom pillow; 

Their hearts grown cold and chill now calmly rest. 

Roll on, dark sea! Where love-lit homes were smiling; 

Where villages in quiet beauty stood, 
All, all, are gone! lured by thy fond beguiling, 

Borne down before the dark and cruel flood. 

There were women fair with streaming tresses; 

Babes clinging still to a mother's breast; 
And lovely children with their sweet caresses — 

All, all went down in thy depths to rest. 

There were fathers brave; there were blooming daughters; 

And husbands, lovers, powerless to save; 
Tossed to and fro on thy angry waters 

To sink at last to a briny grave. 

Roll on thou deep sea! Oh, what pen so gifted 
The record dark of thy whims can keep? 

Or the dying shrieks of the lost who drifted 
Far, far away o'er thy billowy deep? 


Who can paint their dispair? The prayers they were breathing? 

As their forms chill and numb on the billows were tossed? 
Or the rending sight when the dawn was wreathing 

The wreck-strewn shore where so many were lost. 

The Storm-Kings have held their demoniac orgies; 

Have lashed thy dark waves ^neath their pitiless feet; 
They have revelled and reigned on thy wild restless surges, - 

Till their pathway is marked by a ruin complete. 

Eoll on, thou dark sea! Even iron-clad steamers 
Are but playthings and toys to be shivered by thee; 

On thy tempest-lashed bosom — alas, for the dreamers. 
Who sank to the depths of the loud-sounding sea! 

* Lovingly inscribed to the memory of those who i>erished in the fearful storm at Sabine Pass, 
October 12th, 1886, where farms were laid waste, homes were desolated, and whole families 
perished in the roaring, seething waters. 



'T'HE ''golden gates ''were left ''ajar'' 

Whence came the angel's song. 
The Prince of glory to adore 
In music loud and long. 

Earth's millions caught the happy strain. 
And from their altars poured 

Their willing off'rings fraught with praise 
In honor of their Lord. 


While earth and heaven in one glad lay- 
Sang out, "the Lord is risen/' 

Her soul exultant rent the bars 
Of this, her earthly prison. 

Redeemed from sin through Jesus' blood 
She gained those realms of bliss. 

To be forever with her Lord, 
And "see him as he is/' 

She is "not lost, but gone before;" 

Oh, let our tears be dry! 
We soon shall meet to part no more. 

In the "Sweet By-and-Bye." 



/'^OME, let me hold you to my heart, sweet babe; 

Nestle a moment in my lonely arms. 
And let me gaze upon your lovely baby face. 
And note the beauty of your budding charms. 

Oh let me fold you closely to my breast! 

Perchance 'twill stay this aching, hurting pain. 
And let me close my eyes, and fondly think 

My own sweet babe is nestling here again. 


Oh, let me look into the "starry depths'' 
That sparkle in thy beaming, love-lit eyes, 

They wake within my lonely, loving heart 
A vision fair of one in Paradise. 

You may not know while thus upon my breast 
You lie, in sweet content — without a fear, 

That like a mourning dove from day to day 
My heart cries for the babe once folded here. 

Now how at holy eve, when twilight reigns. 
And long dark shadows o'er the hillside creep, 

I list for baby tones, and pattering feet — 
They come alas, no more. I wait and weep. 

Some times in blissful dreams I half forget. 
And for a moment think my baby nigh; 

And in low tones through twilight's holy hour 
I sing again the old-time lullaby. 

Alone, with empty arms, and heart bereft, 
I cannot still this weary, hurting pain; 

And yet, I luould not if 1 could, recall 

My angel one to tread earth's shores again. 

No, no, .1 would not call him back. No more 
To pinion his bright wings to earth's dull clay. 

Or prison here that free, unfettered soul 

Tliat basks in heaven through bright, unclouded day. 


My heart with all its wealth of mother-love. 
Could ne'er on earth such pure affection know. 

As that which noiu encircles him above — 
As God and angels on my babe bestow. 

Come, gentle one, and let me kiss you for his sake; 

And let me look again into your eyes — 
I love to gaze into your baby face 

And think of him — my angel in the skies. 



T7M thinking of you to-day, sweet friend; 

I am thinking of you to-day, 
And how your love for our father dear 
Has cheered him along life's way. 

I recall the time — the long ago 

When our hearts were sad and lone, 

When our own sweet mother with saintly grace 
From our cottage home had gone. 

When the angels called her back to heaven 

And sad were the tears we shed, 
As we roamed about from place to place 

And grieved for our precious dead. 



But the days flew past on rapid wings 
Till more than a year had flown. 

And you came in your youth and beauty 
Our father's life to crown. 

Oh, you came in your youth and beauty 

To fill our dear mother's place. 
And the heart of our precious father 

You wreathed with your gentle grace. 

While the years went swiftly passing by. 
Your children — our brothers — came. 

Each brought to our home some pleasure new 
And each wore some cherished name. 

They have grown to manhood's noble prime 
With hearts that were true and brave — 

Two on the walls of our Zion stand — 
One sleeps in his lowly grave. 

You have had your ^'^ silver wedding'' o'er. 
And you scarcely seemed less fair 

Than the youthful bride of that long ago. 
With your dark and glossy hair. 

Through the passing years my father's love 

Has shielded from every harm; 
You have nestled close on his faithful breast 
• You have leaned on his manly arm. 


But he has groAvn old and feeble now. 

He is frail, and sick and weak. 
And your faithful love — your devotion true, 

A changeless affection speak. 

We may not know why these trials come — 

God^s plans we may not unfold. 
But we know ^tis the fire that purifies — 

The crucible tries the gold. 

My prayers are breathed for you, sweet friend. 

May you wear a crown above. 
May our Savior welcome you home to heaven 

For the sake of your faithful love. 


Inscribed to the memory of Beauregard Gaines, who wooed and won a lovely Northern lady. 
The day was appointed for their nuptials, and he embarked for the city where they were to be 
celebrated, but was taken sick and died, the day that was to have witnessed their marriage found 
liim B. corpse. 

TJASTE, haste to the nuptials! this glad, festive day 

Where the bride is adorned in her lovely array; 
Where she waits, with her lover at Hymen to bow 
To seal their betrothal in lovers holy vow. 

Haste, haste to the nuptials! The morn beams serene. 
And glad hearts are waiting to hallow the scene; 
Bright gleam the hopes of that beautiful bride — 
Alas, that lovers chalice should be thus dashed aside. 


The hours slowly wane as the day wears away. 
Why, why does her lover his coming delay? 
The hours longer grow, lo! her heart fills with dread. 
She listens in vain for her lover^s quick tread. 

But where is that lover so gallant and gay? 

And why do the wheels of his chariot delay? 

His bride is arrayed in her jewels so fair. 

And the orange-wreath gleams in her dark glossy hair. 

Ah, pale grows that lover and livid his brow; 
And the touch of the spoiler is sealing him now; 
His features are pallid beneath that chill breath, 
Alas, for his bridal, ^tis the bridal of death. 

Oh, blanched is the cheek of that beautiful bride. 
Her faithful heart-worship stern death had defied; 
A messenger hastes the sad tidings to spread — 
'^Weep, weep, gentle lady! your lover lies dead! 

'^In vain you have waited. He comes not again. 
Through the long weary hours while the stars slowly Avane; 
On his cold icy bier he is sleeping alone. 
He heeds not thy sorrow, he hears not thy moan.'^ 

Oh, faint grows her heart as that sad truth is known; 
Her day-dreams are shattered — her hopes are overthrown; 
Her heart-rending wails on the night winds are heard! 
As sorrow's deep fount in her bosom is stirred. 

When joy's brimming cup to her fond lips was pressed. 
And hope's radiant beams encircled her breast, 
Death entered unbidden and dashed them aside — 
Noiu widowed, and lone is that beautiful bride. 


Her jewels that sparkled with bright burning ray 
She hastily tore from her bosom away; 
And the gems that had shown on her rich bridal dress 
Seemed mocking her anguish, her hopeless distress. 

'^Oh, take these bright jewels, these ornaments rare. 
Their bright rays distress me, 1 shrink from their glare; 
Oli, hide them away with the bride's orange-wreath. 
They are mocking my woe — 'tis the bridal of death. 

''Oh, death, cruel Monster! could you not forbear? 
Xor this my heart-idol away from me tear? 
Why, why when the feast and the banquet were spread 
Should you enter unbidden my darling to wed? 

''Ob, why should you chain him — the noble and free? 
And still that fond heart that was beating for me? 
And when I was waiting my darling to wed — 
AVhy, why should you enter, and claim him instead? 

"Oh, hide from my vision my bridal trousseau. 
Bring the widow's dark robes of dull sable hue. 
And tear from my forehead this pure orange-wreath — 
I am widowed, alone — 'tis the bridal of death. 

"Stern death! love has triumphed — on that radiant shore 
My darling awaits me — to suifer no more; 
No more to be chilled by thy cold blighting breath; 
No more to be mocked by the bridal of death." 



Lovingly inscribed to the memory of our sainted brothers — Rev. S. P. Wliitten, of Tennessee 
Conference, anci Rev. Joel W. Whitten, of Alabama Conference — ■who, after preaching the gospel 
for a period of thirty years, fell asleep in Jesus —Brother Joel on October 20, 1878, at Decatur, Ala., 
and Brother Peter on May 19, 1880, at Alexandria, Tenn. 

OEST, sainted ones! in Jesus rest! 

His work was long your loved employ. 
Ye labored in his vineyard here, 
Now enter his eternal joy. 

On Zion^s holy walls ye stood 

As faithful watchmen, for your Lord, 

The gospel-trumpet sounded long, 
While ye declared Ilis faithful word. 

With burning words and glowing hearts 

Salvation ever was your theme, 
^Good news" to dying men ye brought. 

Of him who suffered to redeem. 

Unswerving, dauntless, bold and true 

Ye to the front of battle came. 
Though Satan's hosts in dread array 

Were marshalled 'gainst your Leader's name. 

Ye servants of the Lord, '^well done!" . 

Enter your heavenly rest; 
'Tis Jesus calls you to the skies 

To be with Him forever blest. 


Oh, blest reward! Oh, glad release! 

To be from earthly sorrow free; 
To bask in heaven's unclouded day. 

And Christ the Crucified to see. 

To those who live for God and heaven; 

Who sow good seed along the way, 
^Tis sweet to labor for their Lord, 

And then to pass from earth away. 

Rest, sweetly rest, ye sainted ones! 

No earthly evil may betide 
Those who are found in Christ secure — 

Who in His sheltering love abide. 

Ye who had walked with God below. 
Who tasted here his boundless love. 

Shall now its full fruition know 
Amid those heavenly courts above. 

When your feet touched the Jordan's tide. 
When death — the angel waited nigh; 

Tlie glad soul paused to echo back — 

^^'Tis sweet to die! 'Tis sweet to die!"* 

'Tis sweet to die with God so near, 
^To lean upon his loving breast. 
And feel though changeless years shall pass. 
He giveth his beloved rest. 

Dying words of Brother Joel. 

Tlie old Alamo in San Antonio, Texas. 




\17E liail this sacred place! Sad memories come and go 

Before this grand old relic — this dear old Alamo! 
This ''memory-haunted" spot shall live on history's page. 
Shall still the tourist's happy thoughts engage; 
And oft, full oft shall loving hearts rehearse 
Thy stirring scenes in glowing raptured verse; 
Shall oft recount again the dreadful, tragic scene 
That steeped thy walls in blood where war had been. 

One look ujocn these battered, ruined walls, 
What visions of the past the scene recalls! 
Kot of the kneeling Priest or gentle Nun, 
Who worshiped here when first thy life begun; 
Not of the dusky hordes who gathered here betime 
To worship at the matin hour, or vesper chime — 
Ah, no; ^tis no.t for these and these alone 
That Texans honor now this hulk of stone — 
"Within these walls (for aye the Texan's pride) 
A mere handful of men Santa Anna's hosts defied. 

Kuin and wreck upon thy brov/ are set! 
Here, undisturbed, the spider weaves her net; 
Wliile through the dust heaped high upon thy walls 
The loneiy cricket to its fellow calls; 


Above tliy altars crumbling to decay 

The lapwing hides from ruddy glare of day; 

While the lone '^ church-mouse," timid, gaunt and lean, 

A constant tenant of thy rooms is seen. 

AVhat silent memories on thy presence wait? 
What stirring scenes dost thou commemorate? 
Whence the fond love to grateful Texans known 
For this old crumbling church? this battered stone? 
O'er thee our hearts are touched — our eyes overflow; 
Thou loved and honored spot! thou dear old Alamo! 
We pay our homage at thy broken shrine. 
And for thy faithful dead our loving garlands twine.* 

Along these aisles, now mouldy, dark and damj). 
Was heard of yore the soldier^s steady tramp; 
With weapons primed and heart disdaining fear. 
The faithful sentry kept his lone *^^beat" here. 
Through that last night of impenetrable gloom 
His muffled tread scarce echoed through each room. 
As he his wakeful watch above his comrades kept. 
While they awhile in fitful slumbers slept. 

Hark! hark! the cannon's boom breaks on the frosty air — 

They start! they wake! and for their dreadful work prejDare; 

Again! again that deaf'ning roar is heard. 

While every impulse of their hearts is stirred. 

Tor long, long days, besieged, shut in, oppressed, 

They scarce had taken food or known a moment's rest; 

And now a rousing peal rings out — the bugle's clarion sound. 

And lo! Santa Anna's hosts arise (they blacken all the ground). 


''Surrender, Texans!" Lo, tlie dusky champion cries — 
''Never, no Is^ever!'' back ''the booming shot'' replies — 
And soon the foremost one essays to scale the walls — 
The Texans fire! he reels, and reeling quickly falls. 
Another, and another still, courageous, fearless, brave. 
Attempts to scale the walls, but sinks to find a grave — 
But soon — aye, far too soon — 'mid smoke and strife and din, 
The dusky, conquering hordes came quickly trooping in. 

Oh, fierce the battle raged! and lordly men grew pale, 
When conquering hosts their feeble garrison assail; 
The booming cannon ploughed the distant, sloping hill; 
It scarred thy battered walls, I see its havoc still. 
No workman's skill or wreathing evergreens repair 
The desolation thou art doomed to wear — 
How dark! how lone thou art! we seem to tread 
Some lonely vault — sepulchre of the dead. 

Against these battered walls those death-fraught missiles flew 
O'er this devoted band, this faithful fighting crew; 
Like Autumn's falling leaves before the ruthless gale, 
Those missiles fell around, and manly cheeks turned pale; 
And manly hearts stood still when hope and life died out. 
As dusky hordes poured in with riot, yell and shout; 
The Texans had resolved to sell their lives most dear, 
For not a sniveling coward or sycophant was here. 

Not one escaped of all that faithful band. 

To spread the dark defeat throughout the land; 

In sackcloth clad, with one despairing wail, 

To breathe in waiting ears the harrowing, sickening tale, 

Of how 'mid fearful odds the noble Texans died; 


How friend and foe lay weltering side by side; 
How Crockett fell with fallen foes around; 
How faithful Travis by his gun was found. 

That day, the darkest in our history known, 

When o'er a sea of blood our ''star'' went down; 

Our banner trailed above the conquered slain, 

Xo standard-bearer left to hoist it high again — 

Iso '' messenger of defeat " was there, not one, to tell 

How fearless faithful Texans fighting fell — 

Ah, sure the angels wept o'er that dark day of gloom, 

AVhen fallen heroes found within thy walls a tomb. 

Not far from where those fallen Texans slept, 

A lonely womanf in deep anguish wept; 

Close to her torn and aching bleeding breast 

Her infant daughter in despair she press'd. 

Oh, depth of misery! oh, sullen, settled gloom! 

The living and the dead within one tomb! 

Oh, Avho the anguish of that hour can tell? 

Or paint the sorrows that her bosom swell? 

Sure pitying angels, touched by human woe, 

Wiir round these lonely ones their care vouchsafe to throw. 

She, she had heard the cannon's deaf ning roar: 
Had marked the Texan's fall to rise no more; 
O'er their dead bodies (anguish none may speak) — 
Had seen the dusky hordes their vengeance wreak. 
When all was o'er and smoke had cleared away. 
She knew that with the dead her noble husband lay — 
He who had brought her here to shield, protect and save. 
Had with his comrades fallen — had found a bloody grave. 


She hugged her baby closer to her bleeding heart 
While scalding tears adown her pale face start — 
''My babe, thy father sleeps in death. Upon his brow 
The icy dews of death are gathering even now; 
The ''God of battles^' saw him with his comrades fall, 
He ne^er again will come, my babe, at thy sweet call; 
And ne^er again upon his breast shalt thou recline; 
Or shall he pillow this sad heart of mine. 

"Oh that I might but see him even now! 

To press one parting kiss upon his marble brow; 

That I might pray beside my dead one prayer; 

Or wipe the trickling blood that's slowly clotting there. 

Oh, that I might be near him now in death — 

(Perchance he called my name with his last breath). 

In this dark hour of settled, deep despair 

I'd deem it sweet to perish with him there." 

She might not thus her plaintive wail prolong 

For close around her mark the gathering throng! 

Those dusky soldiers steeped in human blood— 

A mighty phalanx ^round this woman stood. 

She marked the motley crowd with quickly blanching cheek 

Nor dared one pitying look from their hard hearts to seek— 

Trembling in every limb she sees those bloody foes, 

And what her fate may be, kind heaven only knows. 

But there was one in all that motley crew— 

A "mother's son,'' whose heart a touch of pity knew— 

An officer of rank in Santa Anna's corps 

Who well the insignia of his station Avore. 


He now approached this lonely one and spoke in friendly tone- 
*' Woman fear not! we spare you, for yourself alone. 
Here, take my arm, and trust your babe to me, 
I'll lead you from this place of death and agony. 

'* This day has been a day of blood, ere night comes on 

Let me by this one act for part of it atone; 

I've given my soldiers charge that they shall never harm 

The woman lonely and bereft that leans upon my arm." 

He took her babe and to his bosom press\I 

This lovely one — (some memory stirred his breast) — 

lie ordered back the dusky hordes around 

And led them forth — a place of safety found. 

Oh gentle Pity! sure thy mission is divine 

When thou canst thus such stubborn hearts refine! 

Those stirring scenes enacted on this spot 

Shall never be by Texan hearts forgot, 

Even though these walls shall crumble quite away. 

And in the dust of dark oblivion lay, 

Till not a vestige here remains to tell. 

How that brave band of noble heroes fell — 

Still thou old Alamo! shalt grateful thoughts engage — 

Thou still shalt live on history's truthful page. 

* It was wreathed in evergreen when we saw it , in memory of its dead heroes. How impressive! how 
beautiful! how appropriate the custom! 

+ Mrs. Dickinson — wife of Slajor Dickinson — afterwards termed " The widow of the Alamo." 
The manner of her escape after tlie battle, as given here, was related to the author by the lady 
herself, as well as all the other stirring scenes of that day. She being in another part of the 
building saw and heard much of that dreadful conflict, and wa» never known to speak of it 
without tears. 




r^OME, ye gentle loving muses! Come, ye holy, happy Nine! 

Come and aid our humble efforts, andour glowing thoughts refine. 

Come and tune to sweetest music, this our humble trembling lyre.. 

Touch my heart from off your altar, with your wild Promethean fire. 

We would sing of deeds of valor — deeds of heroes good and true. 
Who once for our lovely Texas trusty weapons firmly drew; 
Naught they cared for all the hardships or the perils they had known 
When upon that field victorious, and their foes were all overthrown. 

Fifty years on restless pinions have been numbered with the Past; 
Fifty years their changeful shadows o'er our heroes brave have cast; 
Grand Improvement has been marching in the half a century gone. 
Since the dark night of our sorrow ushered in the radiant dawn. 

How our land by war was darkened, and our hopes were nigh forlorn ! 
Till that day at San Jacinto when our infant State was born; 
When among earth's favored nations, she a grand Republic stood 
Free and honored and untrammelled — freedom bought by martyr's 

Oh, her sons were lion-hearted! they were true, and good and brave, 
And they chose to free our Texas, or with her to find a grave; 
They had come from love-lit hamlets, from the hillside, grove 

and glen. 
And they were our valiant heroes — these the proud, unconquered 



AVhen our Texas was invaded by Santa Anna and his band. 
And the *' battle-cry" was sounded from Sabine to Rio Grande; 
Oh, the sturdy yeoman answered, starting up from vale and mount, 
From beside the sparkling river, by the brooklet's silv'ry fount. 

On they came from fields and ranches; from the village; from the 

From rude cots that decked the prairie where the red-deer loved 

to rove; 
And a purpose born of heaven, fired each manly heart that day — 
They resolved to rescue Texas from the despot's iron sway. 

They were brave and sturdy fathers, who the storms of life had 

Quick they 1-eft the plow and sickle and the fields so newly mown; 
There wera sons of noble sires — fearless, dauntless, brave and young, 
(J rasped their flint-lock rifles firmly, and their knapsacks o'er 

them flung. 

There were tired, true-hearted husbands ; there were bridegrooms 
in their pride 

Who had kissed away the tear-drops from their blooming, blush- 
ing bride; 

Quick they left their homes and loved ones when the cry '^to 
arms''' was heard. 

For a heaven-born patriotism, every faithful bosom stirred. 

Gentle wives gave up their husbands with a trustful, hopeful joy; 
Loving mothers prayed for blessings on the noble soldier-boy; 
Blushing maidens, shy and winning, smothered back their 

unshed tears 
As each proud and gallant lover with the soldier-band appears. 

SA^' JACINTO. 353 

^Twas before these sturdy Texans, Santa Anna could not stand. 
For no braver hearts were beating in old Sparta's fearless band ; 
They had weapons tried and trusty, neither marred nor hurt by rust. 
And they met Santa Anna's armies, and soon made them "bite 

the dust." 

For the right these men were fighting, for their homes, their 

country too — 
Braver men in cause of freedom ne'er the sword of justice dre^v; 
They were nerved to deeds heroic by the thoughts of home a::d love. 
And their names have been recorded in the angel's book above. 

They Avere led by noble Houston — Texans e'er shall bless his name, 
He with these his fighting soldiers to the front of battle c:ime; 
On they marched with hearts unswerving, and with firm and steady 

For their manly breasts were heaving with the memory of their dead. 

They were thinking of brave Fannin and his noble Texan band. 
How they stood blind-fold and helpless while there came a rough 

That those brave and noble Texans should be shot like beasts of 

prey — 
They v^^re thinking of old Goliad — of its gory scene tliat day. 

And they heaved a sigh of anguish, and of deep unuttered woe, 
As they there recalled the horrors of the blood-drenched Alamo; 
As they thought of comrades falling— they, the good, the true, 

the brave. 
Butchered by Santa Anna's forces, and denied a friendly grave. 


How our brave and noble Houston proud liis rank of office wore ! 
He commanded them as Jackson did his army once before — 
'*Do not fire your shots at random, nor from flying bullets shrink; 
March right on! your fires reserving — till you see the foremost 

Sentinels on post of duty had been falling here and there, 
As the sound of Texan rifles rent the evening's balmy air; 
And full oft some silent sentry pacing o'er his lonely '^beat," 
Was a target for the marksman yielding up his ready feet. 

As full oft above the breastworks, dusky heads are seen to peer — 
Just a moment — what a target! Texan bullets whistle near. 
And their rifles do their duty, for the dusky foemen fall 
While those noble, fearless Texans, rush to battle one and all. 

Quick, they charge those stolid breastworks — charge their hated 

dusky foe. 
And their watch-word was, ^^Eemember Goliad and Alamo'' — 
Fitting watch-word for those heroes upon San Jacinto's plain. 
How it nerved their hearts for fighting, to avenge their noble slain. 

Loud it rang amid the battle — 'mid the din, and smoke, and strife. 
Echoing back the fearful message with the threats of vengeance rife, 
"Oh, ye brave and noble Texans, mark your land all steeped in woe. 
And remember while your fighting, Goliad and Alamo I" 

Long they fought beside the river, o'er its banks of waving green — 
Long they fought and bravely conquered, and all Texas blest the 

Yes, they conquered Santa Anna, and his dusky hordes were found 
Scattered uji and down the river — o'er the blood-stained battle- 


Then this proud and haughty chieftain when his noble horse was 

Hid himself among the grasses and the shrubs that blossomed 'round. 
Hoping to elude pursuers with disguise he deemed complete. 
But the victor and the vanquished face to face astonished meet. 

Yes, they captured Santa Anna, but his secret guarded well. 
Of his name or rank or station naught would he his captors tell; 
Only by his superb rigging, and the diamonds on his breast. 
Well they knew he held high honor, hut his name thetj had not 

Soon he asked to see old Houston — noble, grand, with brow serene. 
And his captors led him onward where his conquered men were seen. 
And those men subdued and humbled quick their stately chief 

betrayed — 
For they hailed him, " Santa Anna," and his heart grew sore afraid. 

Yes, they fought beside the river on the San Jacinto's plain, 
And they gained the rights of freemen — they avenged their com- 
rades slain. 
Oh, they conquered Santa Anna with his diamond-studded breast. 
And he said : ^'1 surrender, Houston, I, Napoleon of the West." 

Our "lone star "that sank in midnight, sank in blood and grief 

and woe. 
That had paled above our heroes in the blood-steeped Alamo; 
Rose again in matchless splendor, never more to pale or wane, 
'Twas the symbol of our victory, on proud San Jacinto's i)lain. 


Though our banner had been trailing o'er a sea of blood and gloom — 
Torn and tattered o'er our Travis, wrapped those heroes for the tomb; 
Now the perfume-freighted breezes kissed its gleaming sunny fold, 
As it waved in undimmed splendor, and the news of victory told. 

Oh, that day was grand and glorious I day of joy and victory I 
And the river sang the anthem as it hurried to the sea, 
And the blooming fragrant woodlands echoed back the Texan's song, 
As with hearts aglow with rapture, they the joyful news prolong. 

It is ringing down the ages, though full fifty years liave flown; 
It is ringing down the ages, may it ever thus ring on; 
Though a mere handful now linger, echoing back the army's tread. 
And the frosts of fifty winters have sown snow-flakes o'er each head. 

Yes, the winters have sown snow-flakes through their beard and o'er 

their hair; 
And their forms are old and shrunken, but a saintly look they wear; 
And their beaming eyes grow brighter — their blood leaps Avitli 

cfuicker glow 
As they now recount the victory of that happy long ago. 

To the young who love to listen they recall those scenes again — 
Tell about the glorious battle fought on San Jacinto's plain. 
And the same sweet thrill of pleasure moves their happy hearts to tell 
How before those dauntless Texans, Santa Anna's forces fell. 

Here and there has fall'n a comrade, as the years went whirling by. 
They are answering now to roll-call, in the mansions of the sky; 
Soon the angel death will gather these the true, the good, the brave — 
These who poured their hearts' devotion for the land they'd died to 


Let us cherish these old heroes — relics of a noble race. 

Soon, aye soon, they will be missing, leaving us their vacant place ; 

When the last one has been furloughed, seeking home and friends, 

and rest. 
May their army be recruited from the ''home-guards" of the blest. 

Petncrolt LibrKj 

* The author is indebted to one of the Texas veterans who participated in the battle of San 
Jacinto, for the minute details here given. 


Written by request of the Alumnce Association of the Southwestern Universltj . and read before 
the audience there during commencement, June 8, 1885— tlie author representing McKenzie College. 
where she was formerly a student. 

TN" this bright age of progress, pomp, and pride. 

While grand improvement stalks with rapid stride; 
Wisdom and science hold triumphant sway. 
And 'neath their touch, lo! errors dark give way — 
Till man, abashed, beholds the wondrous sight. 
And ignorance is dumb before the blazing light. 

The lightning chained, obeys man^s wild behest; 

Girdles the globe; flashes from east to west; 

Skims through dull space, nor halts beside the sea. 

For 'neath the waves its pathway still we see; 
Outstrips the sun; quick on its mission goes, 
Bearing glad news, or breathing human woes. 


The railroad train, propelled by onward steam 
Supplants the slow-drawn coach with laggard team, 
Speeds on its way with snorting ''^iron horse" 
O^er chasms deep; o'er rivers' rugged course; 

O'er trackless plains; besides the seas deep roar; 

Through mountains grand ; from verdant shore to shore. 

And yet, from these glad scenes we turn away, 
To mark the pleasures of an earlier day; 
Recount again that cherished long ago 
When genius plodded patiently, and slow — 
To thee, my Alma Mater! I would turn. 
While glowing thoughts within my bosom burn. 

Fain would I here invoke Promethean fire! 

To touch with sacred flame my sluggish lyre; 

That I, beneath its holy, heavenly spell. 

Might here thy glory and thy grandeur tell — 
Might here again thy pleasant scenes recall. 
Fair pictures hung on memory's sacred wall. 

I well remember the long, dusty way. 
With slow-drawn coach we traveled day by day; 
The lonely journey seemed so dull and long 
(Though cheered by changeful scenes, and birds' sweet song); 
It brought me to thy threshold in the end — 
A stranger with strangers, far from home or friend. 


AVhat joy ! what fear ! what blending hopes we knew 
When thy glad walls arose before bur view; 
Thy buildings large, with broad piazzas 'round. 
And these, with eager, gazing pupils crowned — 
Each hailed our coming with a smiling face — 
(With them how timidly we took our place). 

How like a royal palace thou didst stand! 

Fringed in by shady wood on every hand! 

Thy verdant groves where erst the wild rose climbed; 

Where the wild song-birds in sweet chorus chimed; 

'Twas there we strolled when busy tasks were done. 
And earth was radiant 'neatli a setting sun 

Thy rules so simple, well we understood. 
Bade us be courteous, gentle, wise, and good; 
To heed them and obey, how hard we strove 
To please our teachers and secure their love. 
Some of those teachers are with us to-day — 
God bless and cheer them all along life's way. 

Ere yet the lark had left its dewy nest 
Or called its mate from out her tranquil rest. 
Ere dawned the day with busy tasks aiul cares 
The college bell waked us for morning prayers. 
How songs and prayers of true devotion rose, 
At day's bright dawn, and at its shadowy close. 


Fain would I paint the happy, youthful throng. 
The waiting hundreds who did there belong; 
From day to day they conned their lessons o'er. 
Seeking new truths from learning's ample store. 
To fathom wisdom's depths by day their toil. 
And linger still to burn the midnight oil. 

Oh, there were beardless youths and maidens fair, 
Wlio at thy altars sought in lore to share; 
Some climbed the heights where valiant Spartans led. 
Others perused the page where dauntless heroes bled. 
O'er problems dark full many lingered long. 
While others listened to blind old Homer's song. 

Yes, there were brilliant minds within thy walls, 

A host of embryo statesmen, memory recalls ; 

They sought with patient toil high up the scroll of fame. 

In characters of living light to write an honored name. 

An 1 *many patient toilers ! have reached that dizzy height. 
And shine to-day as stars in the galaxy of light. 

Fain would I sketch the master'sf kindly face. 
The silvery locks his aged temples grace ; 
His earnest tone — his keen and fiery eye, 
(Woe to the youth who dared his wrath defy). 
Preceptor, pastor. Christian, teacher, friend. 
Where gentleness with firmness strangely blend. 


How grand his life! More than threescore and ten 
He lived for God and for his fellow-men; 
Training immortal minds for God and heaven, 
Employing well the useful talents given. 
He founded tliee far in the misty past. 
And 'round thee all his tend'rest fostering cast. 

Faithful preceptor! did he toil in vain. 
The wilful and the wayward to restrain? 
Ask of the thousands who to-day are found, 
Throughout our State with golden honors crowned; 
Who at his feet learned of a Savior's will. 
And honor their preceptor's teachings still. 

When in the pulpit what a feast was ours! 
To sit enraptured 'neath his gifted powers 
Of burning eloquence that poured in lava tide 
From his full heart, when Christ the Crucified, ^ 

Savior, Conqueror, mighty to redeem, 

Stirred his great soul, and proved his favorite theme. 

I see again the matron's gentle face, 
Framed as of yore with frills of snowy lace; 
Her heart full oft by tender pity moved 
As many home-sick pupils fondly proved. 

She lingers still! her Master's cull awaits, 
And blest reunion tit the pearly gates. 


What of the hundreds — pupils gathered there? 

For life's stern battle nobly to prepare? 

Full many stand on Zion's holy walls; 

Others have voice in legislative halls; 

Others ''^ beyond the tide," a white-robed spirit-band 

Redeemed, forgiven, before our Father stand; 

While others still 'mid this world's strife and din^ 
Have wandered off in paths of vice and sin. 

Thou'rt sadly changed! All desolate the scene 

Where once glad pupils strolled the shadowy green; 

Where roses breathed upon the perfumed air; 

Where oft uprose the interceding prayer; 

Along the aisles where echoing steps were heard — 
All, all is calm — no waking note is stirred. 

The master sleeps! Serene his last repose! 

Though grand his life, far J grander was its close. 

Mark the last hours of this, God's honored saint! 

Slow beats his pulse; his breath comes low and faint; 
While weeping friends his dying couch surround. 
To them the sacred place seems '^holy ground." 

The j)arting hour is nigh. Slow wastes his breath; 

His pallid features wear the hue of death; 

Commissioned angels — a bright convoy wait 

To waft the unfettered soul through heaven's op'ning gate. 
While it still beats against its earthly bars, 
Longing to plume its wings and soar beyond the stars. 


What vision fair unfolds to mortal sense; 

Filling liis soul with rapture wild, intense? 

What light divine breaks on his wondering gaze, 

As heaven unfolds in one transcendant blaze? 

He said, as his feet touched those shores of bliss: 
''I'm going to a brighter world than this J* 

McKenzie College! lovely cherished spot! 

Shall ever time or change thy memory blot? 

If I forget thee ere life's sun is set. 

Then let my hand its cunning all forget; 

Let this fond heart grow dull, and hard, and cold. 
When it no longer shall thy memory hold. 

Though thou art ruined, and" thy walls decayed, 
And o'er thy founder rests the yew tree's shade. 
From out thy ruins phoenix-like appears 
This Institution framed in later years — 

This dear Southwestern University, 

Fitting emblem of immortality. 

All honor to its noble founder's name ! 
With glowing hopes, with high and holy aim 
He planted it. When other hearts would quail 
His motto was — ''We must not, shall not fail." 
''Christian Education''— h\^ untiring theme 
Our youth from worldly follies to redeem. 


He gazed adown the corridors of time; 

Marked its bright destiny — its course sublime ; 

Saw it an ornament to Church and State, 

While happy hundreds at its altars wait. 

Mayest thou, dear College! reach that grand success 
Till unborn thousands shall thy memory bless! 

Pulseless the heart and cold the master-hand 
That well thy greatness and thy glory planned! 
Hid from our view his patient, saintly face, 
He fills no longer here his wanted place. 
May not his spirit hover near to-night, 
With one long, loving look from glory's height? 

Sweet bo his rest! Oh wreath his lowly tomb 
With bright spring roses to dispel its gloom! 
McKenzie! Mood! names honored and revered! 
Christian educators! to us endeared! 
Graven in marble by the sculptor's arts. 
But deeper still in happy, grateful hearts — 
May they live on when marble slabs decay 
And earth's last vestige shall have passed away! 

* RefercHce is here made to Hon. W, S. Hemdon, ex-United States Congressman; Hon. J. H, Coch- 
ran, ex-Speaker of the House, Texas Legislature ; Rev. J. H, McLean, D.D. of Gouthwestern University. 
and many others, who shared with the author the advantages of McKenzie College. 

+ Rev. J. W. P. McKenzie, founder of McKenzie College. 

t The thought embodied here refers to the honor God gave h\m in the closing tcenes of his long, 
useful life. 


Austin- City, . . 

A Valejs-tixe — For Miss Kola, 

Address of Spring — For a May Party, . 

A Heart to Love My Own-, . 

A Prikce has Fallen — To Major D. W. Jones, 

At Rest — In memory of Mm Elliot, . 

A Touching Incident of Indian Cruelty, 

At the Cross, ..... 

A Little While — And Then, 

At the River — To Brother Oscar, 

AUTU3IN, ..... 

A Morning Ramble — Recapitulation, . 
A Hymn, ..... 

Asleep, . . .... 

At the Grave of Lamar, . 



1(1 > 




Bertha — The Dead Wife, .... 08 

Beautiful in Death — In memory of Bet tie Costley, etc., 100 
Beautiful May, ...... 144 

Baby's Trunk, . . • • • .140 

Beautiful Spring, ..... 1^''> 

Baby Calvin, ...... 1*0 

Beside the Altar— To my youtigest sister, . . 201 

Brother, Farewell, . . . • .200 

€oME to My Arms, Sweet Babe, 



Do They Miss Mb at Home? 
Daisies, Beautiful Daisies, 
Dear, Dear Grandmother, 

Eliza Cook, .... 

For Want of a Beckoning Hand, 
Flowers in Prison, 

First Love, ..... 
Farewell to October, . 

Galveston City, .... 
Go ON Tireless One — To Rev. I. G. John, 
Going to Bed, .... 

Galveston Bay, 
Gen. Geo. B. McClellan, . 

He is Kesting — Li memory of B. J. Smith, 
Henry Bishop, .... 

He Comes no More, 
How Busy the Angels are To-day, 
Hannah's Offering. 

I AVisH I Were a Child, . 

I Love Thee, Dear William, 

In Memory of Dr. T. D. Manning, 

I. 0. 0. F. Session of Grand Lodge, 

In the Distant Years to Come, . 

It Will Soon be Over, Mother, 

In Memory of Mrs. Peninah Browning, 

In Memory of Dr. Stalnaker, 

I Have Been to the Old Home, Sister, 

I Am Waiting, .... 













1^ THE FUEI^ACE, . . 

I Lo:n"G to Depart, ..... 

Ik Memory of Mrs. Fak^^ie Crooker, 

June, ........ 

Je:n^xie L., ...... . 

Kiss Me Darlii^g Ere I Go, . 

KiKD Lady, ^tis to Thee I Owe, .... 

Katie — The Dead Caj^ary, . . . . 

Lizzie Washi:n"Gtoj^ — To her pare7its, 

Little Paul's Welcome, . . 

Little Mamie — To Judge Smith and Lady^ 

Little Mattie Lou — A namesake, 

Lix^ES FOR Mollie's Album, .... 

LiK^ES TO MoLLiE — My childhood's friend, 

Little Pet, ...... 

Little Harold Bell, . . . . . 

Mother's Work, ...... 

My Mother's Grave, ..... 

'*My Darli:n^gs Call Me, Let Me Go" — To Mrs. DeGress, 
Moujs^T Bonxell, ...... 

Miss Darotha Dietrich, .... 

My Brother's Grave, . . . . 

McKeis^zie College, ..... 

'^ Night Thoughts," . . . . . .88 

New Year's Greeting — A Carrier's Address, . 117 

Now, AND Then, . . . . . .11% 

Our Lillie — Dedicated to Mr. and Mrs. J. H. Robinson, 20 
Only Waiting, . . .... 40 



Our Folded Lily, 

On, Do Not Check Her Joyousness, 

Oh, Make the Childrej^ Happy, . 

Oh, Touch Agaij^ Thy Lute, . 

Our Baby — To Mr. and Mrs. Radkey, 

Oh, Weep for the Fair Youxg Bride, 

Oh, Do Not Say that He is Dead, 

Our Dove with Folded Wiis^gs, • 

*'0e Such is the Kingdom," 

Our Little Couktry" Maiden, 

''Only Pearls," 

Our Baby, Our Beautiful Baby, 

President Garfield is Dead, 

Passed Heavenward — On Easter Sunday. 


. 95 

. 114 

. 185 

. 203 


. 212 

. 247 

. 30 




Rest in Peace — At the grave of the departed, . . 86 

Rlst, Loved One, Eest — In memory of Mrs. Fannie Noble, 320 
Poll On Thou Dark Blue Sea, .... 334 
Rest, Sainted Ones, In Jesus Rest — hi memory of our 

Sainted Brothers, . . . . .343 

Sweet Friend, Thou Weavest ^Round Me a Spell, 31 

Sweet Mother, . . . . . .59 

Sweet Be Thy Rest— To P^: /f. iJ., . . . Ill 

San Jose Mission, . . . . . . 134 

Sister, Farewell, . . ... . 279 

San Jacinto — Fifty years after the battle, , . 351 

^'The Isle of Long Ago," 
''The Dark is Coming Down,' 
The Boys! The Boys! 



The Empty Cradle, 

The Stranger, . 

The Voices of the May, . 

The Golden Wedding, 

The Sea ! The Sea ! 

The Jilted Inebriate, 

The Baby's Prayer, 

Take Me to My Mother, 

To Olivia — In lier album, . 

The Dead Mother, 

The Old Year is Dying, . 

The Xew Year, . 

The Flower, . 

To My Little Sister — Durmg her absence, 

The Baby's Grave, . 

To My Husband, in the Army, 

The Capital State Fair — A71 Acrostic, 

The Motherless, 

The Dead in Christ Shall Live Again 

The Bible — A mother's gift, 

To A Screech Owl, . 

The Stool in the Pulpit, 

There'll be Room in Heaven, 

To Miss Lucy — In her album, 

The Snow! The Snow! . 

To My Friend, Mrs. G. S. H. — In her album. 

Twilight Musings, . 

The Weekly Review, . 

Toll the Bell Softly — In memory of C. G. Lathrop, 

To A Young Girl, 

They are Sleeping, 



The Dyixg Husband to His Wife, 

The Christian" Soldier, 

The Maniac Mother, - . • . 

**The Winding Stair of the Heart," 

To My Friend Mrs. G.-^In her alhum, » 

To Fannie — Weeping, 

TiiE Dear Old Home, . • . 

The Teacher's Mission, 

The AVounded Soldier's Return, 

The Dove in the Storm, 

The Picnic, . . . - . 

The Old Pecan Tree, . . 

The Wild Eose Bower — To Mrs. Drishill. 

The tlALiFORNiA^'s Last Hope, 

To My Mother Five Years After Her Death 

The Two Squirrels, .... 

The Cliff ! The Cliff ! . 

The Imprisoned Bee, 

The Holy Christmas, 

To My Step-mother, 

The Bridal of Death, 

The Old Alamo, 

AViLD Flowers, 

'*WiLL You be Lonely, Mother?" . 
We Miss Thee, Baby Darling, . 
We Shall Meet in Heaven, . 

''Yes, They Miss Thee at Home," 
You Bid Me Write — To Sister Mary,