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Hutbot'8  Ebition 


OF 


Texas  Garlands 


BS 


Mrs.  Martha  E.  Whitten, 


ILLUSTRATED. 


CHICAGO: 

DoNOHUE  &  Henneberry, 

Printers  and  Binders. 


1889. 


■  a  9  a. 


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

MRS.  MARTHA  E.  WRITTEN, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington, 


Bancroft  Library 

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^. 


ZL 


THIS  VOLUME 

IS  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED  TO  MY  BELOVED  FATHER, 

TO  WHOSE   CAREP^UL   TRAINING,  AND   TO  WHOSE  LOVING  ENCOURAGEMENT  AND 
ASSISTANCE  —  WHO  FILLED   TO  REPLETION  EVERY  DUTY  AND  TRUST  OF 
FATHER  AND   MOTHER  —  I  OWE  A  DAUGHTER'S  GRATITUDE;   AND 
TO  HIM  BELONGS  THE  HONOR  OP  WHATEVER  SUCCESS  I  MAY 
ATTAIN  IN  LIFE  AS  A  WOMAN — FILLING  THE  DUTIES 
OP  WOMAN  —  OR    AS    AN  AUTHORESS  ;   AND    TO 
WHOM  I  OWE  FOR  HIS  CARE,  HIS  TRAIN- 
ING,   AND  HIS  LESSONS,    MY  LOVE 
FOR    THE    TRUE,    FOR    THE 


GOOD.  AND  FOR  THE 


BEAUTIFUL. 


MARTHA  E.  HOTCHKISS  WHITTEN. 


-^ 


'¥ 


INTRODUCTION 


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. 

5 


TEXA^  GARLANDS, 


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 
poems. 

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 


INTRODUCTION. 


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. 

W.  W.  PINSON. 

Austin,  July  7,  1886. 


PREFACE 


'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 


10  PREFACE. 


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. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


AUSTIN    CITY. 


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. 

11 


12  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


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. 


AUSTIN  CITY.  13 


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. 


U  TEXAS   GARLANDS, 


"THE    ISLE   OF    LONG   AGO.'* 


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. 


MOTHER'S    WORK.  15 


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. 


MOTHER'S  WORK. 


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. 


16  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


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; 


MOTHERS   }YORK.  17 


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. 


18  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


GALVESTON    CITY. 


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. 


GALVESTON  CITY.  19 


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. 


20  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


OUR    LILLIE 


AxT—Fa^td  Flowers. 


DEDICATED   TO  MIL    AND   MRS.    J.    II.    KOBINSON,    OF   OUR  CITY. 


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. 


THE  DARK  IS  COMIJS'G   DOWJf."  21 


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. 


THE    DARK  IS  COMING   DOWN." 


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."' 


22  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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." 


HE  IS  RESTING.  23 


HE  IS   RESTING. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  REV,  B.  J.  SMITH,*   THIS  HUMBLE  TRIBUTE  IS  AFFECTIONATELY 
INSCRIBED   BY   HIS  FRIEND   AND   FORMER  PUPIL. 


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. 


24  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE  BOYS!     THE  BOYS!  25 


THE    BOYS!     THE    BOYS! 


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. 


^6  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


FOR    WANT  OF  A   BECKONING   HAND.  27 


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 ! 


FOR  WANT  OF  A  BECKONING  HAND. 


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. 


28  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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."  29 


I    WISH    I    WERE    A    child; 


Written  at  the  Age  of  Fifteen. 


DEDICATED   TO   JUDGE  F.    M.    GIBSON,    EDITOR    OP    ONE    OP   OUR    CITY  PAPERS. 

FOUNDED    UPON  HIS  REMARK,    "l  WISH  I  WERE   A  CHILD," 

WHILE   ATTENDING   A  MAY  PARTY. 


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. 


30  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


*' 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!" 


PRESIDENT   GARFIELD    IS    DEAD. 


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. 


SWEET  FRIEND!    THOU   WEAVEST  A    SPELL.     31 


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. 


SWEET  FRIEND!  THOU  WEAVEST  'ROUND  ME  A  SPELL. 


DEDICATED    TO    MY    ESTEEMED    FRIEND    AND    FORMER    TEACHER,    MRS.    M.    E. 

RAG8DALE,    OP  M'kENZIE    COLLEGE,    UPON    MEETING    HER   AFTER 

A    SEPARATION    OP    TWENTY-FIVE    YEARS. 


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. 


32  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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! 


THE  EMPTY  CRADLE.  33 


THE    EMPTY   CRADLE. 


DEDICATED  TO  MY  FRIEND,  MRS.  NAN  M.,  WHO  KEEPS  HER  BABY's  CRADLE 

ARRANGED  AND  NEAR  HER,  AS  IF  WAITING  FOR  HER  BABY, 

BUT  SHE  IS  IN  HEAVEN. 


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. 


34  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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.) 


THE    STRANGER.* 


DEDICATED  TO  THE  WIDOWED  MOTHER  OF  N.  G. 


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. 


THE  STRANGER.  35 


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/' 


36  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE   VOICES   OF   THE    MAY. 


/^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 —         » 


THE   VOICES   OF  THE  MAY.  37 


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 ; 


38  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE    GOLDEN    WEDDING. 


DEDICATED   TO   MR.    AND  MRS.    ERNST   RAVEN.* 


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 ; 


THE   GOLDEN   WEDDING.  39 


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. 


40  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE  SEA,   THE  SEA!  41 


THE    SEA,    THE    SEA! 


T 


'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. 


42  TEXA^S   GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE    JILTED    INEBRIATE. 


W 


'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. 


THE  JILTED  INEBRIATE.  43 


^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; 


44  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


GO    ON.    TIRELESS    ONE. 


DEDICATED  TO  REV.  I.  G.  JOHN,    OP  GALVESTON;    SUGGESTED   BY  HIS   KINDNESS 
TO  THE  SUFFERING,  DURING  THE  YELLOW  FEVER  EPIDEMIC  OF  1867. 


f^  0  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; 


LIZZIE    W.  45 


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." 


LIZZIE  W. 


DEDICATED   TO  HER  PARENTS. 


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. 


46  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


LITTLE  PAUUS   WELCOME.  47 


LITTLE   PAUL'S  WELCOME. 


DEDICATED   TO  MY  FRIENDS,    DR.    J.    W.    STALNAKER  AND   LADY. 


\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. 


48  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


THE    BABY'S    PRAYER. 


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. 


ONLY    WAITING.  49 


ONLY   WAITING. 


DEDICATED   TO   AN   AGED    MIXISTER. 


^^/^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. 


50  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


-TAKE    ME   TO  MY  MOTHER."* 

^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! 


-  TAKE  ME  TO  MY  MOTHER.''  51 


'^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. 

(Invocation.) 

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. 


52  TEXJS  GARLAXDS. 


HENRY    BISHOP. 


DEDICATED    TO   HIS   PARENTS. 


/^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; 


A    VALENTINE.  53 


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. 


A   VALENTINE.* 


FOR  MISS   NOLA. 


\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. 


54  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


HE  COMES  NO  MORE. 


HE   COMES   NO   MORE. 


IN    MEMORY    OF    T.    P.,    MY   AGED    GRANDFATHER,    ONE    OF    THE    PIONEERS   OF 

TEXAS,    V.'IIO  AFTER  RESIDING   HERE   NEARLY^  FORTY  Y1:ARS,    DIED 

IN  TUSCOLA,    ILLINOIS,    WHILE    ON  BUSINESS  TO  THAT 

PLACE,  AGED   SEVENTY-SEVEN  Y'EAES. 


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! 


56  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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! 


TO    OLIVIA. 


IN  IIEU  ALBUM. 


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. 


TO    OLIVIA. 


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. 


58  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


LITTLE    MAMIE. 


DEDICATED   TO  MY  BEREAVED   FRIENDS,    JUDGE   J.    W.    SMITH  AND   LADY. 


L 


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? 


SWEET  MOTHER.  59 


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. 


SWEET    MOTHER. 


\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. 


60  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE  DEAD  MOTHER.  01 


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. 


THE    DEAD    MOTHER. 


AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED   TO   THE   CHILDREN   OK   MRS.    K. 


/^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. 


62  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


irOW  BUSY   THE  ANGELS  ARE  TO-DAY.         03 


HOW    BUSY    THE   ANGELS    ARE    TO-DAY! 


DEDICATED    TO     THE     MEMORY    OP    MRS.    C.    T.    AVILLENBERG    A^'D    MRS.    A.    E. 
CASTLEMAN,    WHO   DIED   THE   SAME  NIGHT, 


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. 


64  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


How  busy  the  angels  are  to-day! 

As  they  hasten  to  and  fro, 
The  lovely  sccr.es  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, 


ADDRESS    OF    SPRING. 


WRITTEN     FOR    A    YOUNG     LADY    REPIIESENTING     SPRING     AT    A    MAY    PARTY 
SHE   WAS   PRECEDED   BY   ONE   AVIIO   REPRESENTED    WINTER. 


M 


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. 


ADDRESS   OF  SPRING.  65 


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! 


66  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


THE  OLD   YEAR  IS    DYING. 


1880. 


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. 


THE  NEW  YEAR,  67 


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. 


THE  NEW  YEAR. 


1881. 


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. 


68  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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? 


BERTHA— THE   DEAD   WIFE. 


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. 


LITTLE  MATTIE  LOU.  69 


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? 


LITTLE   MATTIE    LOU. 


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? 


70  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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! 


I  LOVE  THEE,  DEAR  WILLIAM. 


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. 


THE  FLOWER.  71 


THE    FLOWER. 


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. 


72  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


TO    MY   LITTLE    SISTER,   WHILE    ABSENT 


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. 


FLOWERS  IN  PRISON.  73 


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. 


FLOWERS    IN    PRISON. 


\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  mountr.in  air 
That   kissed  my  young   brow  when  life's  day-dream  was   fair. 


74  TEX  A  8  GARLANDS. 


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  — 


THE  BABY'S  GRAVE.  75 


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. 


THE   BABY'S  GRAVE.* 


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. 


TG  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


DO    THEY    MISS    ME    AT    HOME?'"'- 


AVRITTEN    AT    THE    AGE    OF    FOURTEEN,    WHILE    AT    M  KENZIE    COLLEGE,    AND 

READ    BEFORE    THE     STUDENTS    IN     LIEU     OF    A    COMPOSITION. 

INSERTED    HERE    liY    REQUEST    OF    OLD    FRIENDS. 


^^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. 


78  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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? 


YES,   THEY  MTSS  THEE  AT  HOME.  79 


^'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. 


YES,    THEY    MISS   THEE   AT    HOME. 


BY   REV.    T.    J.    EDWARDS,    M.  D.,    OP   M  KENZIE   COLLEGE. 


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; 


80  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


J/r  MOTHER'S   GRAVE.  81 


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. 


MY    MOTHER'S    GRAVE. 


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. 


83  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


"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. 


IN    MEMORY 


OP   DR.    T.  D.    MANNING,*   WHO   DIED   AT  HOLLY   SPRINGS,    MISSISSIPPI, 
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. 


84  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


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' 


i 


TO  MY  HUSBAND,  IN  THE  ARMY.  85 


TO    MY    HUSBAND,    IN    THE    ARMY. 


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. 


86  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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! 


REST    IN    PEACE. 


AT  THE  GRAVE  OF  MY  DEPARTED  HUSBAND. 


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. 


REST  IN  PEACE.  87 


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. 


88  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


"NIGHT  THOUGHTS." 


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; 


NIGHT  THOUGHTS.  89 


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. 


90  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


FAREWELL   TO    OCTOBER. 


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. 


rOU  BID   ME    WRITE.  91 


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

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


YOU    BID    ME   WRITE. 


DEDICATED   TO   MY   SISTER  MARY. 


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? 


92  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


FIRST  LOVE.  {):\ 


(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 


FIRST    LOVE. 


Written  hy  request  for  a  young  lady  friend. 


o 


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? 


94  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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? 


OUR  FOLDED   LILY.  1)5 


OUR    FOLDED    LILY. 


AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED   TO  MY  FRIEND,   MRS.    REGINA  C. 


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. 


96  TEXAS   GARLAXDS. 


WILD    FLOWERS. 


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. 


WILD  FLOWERS.  97 


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? 


98  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


"MY  DARLINGS  CALL  ME.  LET  ME  GO.' 


IN  MEMORY  OP  MRS.  BETTIE  DEGRESS,  CONSORT  OP  HON,  J.  C.  DEGRESS.* 


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. 


''MY  DARLINGS  CALL  ME,    LET  ME  GO."       99 


"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,  0  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. 


100  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


BEAUTIFUL    IN    DEATH. 


IN     MEMORY     OF     MISS     BETTIE     COSTLEY     AND    MISS    GRIFFITH,     WHO     WEI 
DROWNED   IN  THE   COLORADO   RIVER   WHILE   BATHING,    MAY,    1867. 


A' 


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. 


BE  A  UTIFUL  /.Y  DEA  TH.  101 


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. 


lOa  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


GOING   TO   BED. 


A  HOME    PICTURE. 


\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. 


GOING    TO  BED.  103 


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. 


104  TEXAS   GARLANDS, 


OH,  DO  NOT  CHECK  HER  JOYOUSNESS. 


DEDICATED      TO      THE      MOTHER      WHO     REMARIiED     TO     THE     AUTHOR,      "MY 
DAUGHTER   IS  TOO   LIVELY — TOO  BUOYANT," 


/^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. 


OH,   DO  NOT  CHECK  HER  JOYOUSNESS,       105 


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. 


100  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


THE   CAPITAL  STATE   FAIR. 


AN  ACROSTIC. 


/^^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. 


A   HEART   TO    LOVE    MY   OWN. 


T  DO  not  ask  the  highest  wreath 

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


A    HEART  TO   LOVE  MY  OWN.  107 


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. 


108  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


A    PRINCE    HAS   FALLEN. 


IN   MEMORY  OF    ]^IAJOR  D.    W.    JONES,    OUR  ESTEEMED   FRIEND,* 


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. 


THE  MOTHERLESS,  109 


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." 


THE  MOTHERLESS.* 


\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. 


110  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


SWEET  BE   THY  REST.  Ill 


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." 


SWEET    BE    THY    REST! 


DEDICATED   TO   THE    MEMORY    OF    MY   SAINTED    BROTHER,    WM.    H.    HOTCHKISS. 


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. 


112  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


DAISIES,   BEAUTIFUL  DAISIES!  113 


DAISIES,    BEAUTIFUL    DAISIES! 


WRITTEN    BY    REQUEST    OF    MY  ESTEEMED    FRIEND;    MRS.    J.    F.    HARRISON,    OF 
MOBILE,    ALA.,    LATE   OF  AUSTIN,    TEXAS. 


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. 


114  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


OH,    MAKE    THE    CHILDREN    HAPPY! 


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. 


I 


OH,   MAKE   THE  CHILDREN  HAPPY!  115 


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. 


116  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


THE  DEAD  IN  CHRIST  SHALL  LIVE  AGAIN. 


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, 

0  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  — 


NEW    YEAR'S   GBEETING.  11? 


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! 


NEW   YEAR'S   GREETING. 


A    CARRIERS    ADDRESS    FOR    THE     "EVENING    NEWS,"    J.    D.    LOGAN,     EDITOR, 

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; 


118  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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; 


NEW  YEAR'S  GREETING.  119 


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  — 


120  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


•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  — 


NEW  YEAR'S  GREETING,  121 


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 


122  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


DEAR,    DEAR   GRANDMOTHER. 


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. 


DEAR,  DEAR    GRANDMOTHER,  123 


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. 


124  TEXAS  OARLAXDS. 


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. 


-  WILL    YOU  BE  LONELY,  MOTHER?"  125 

-WILL   YOU    BE    LONELY,    MOTHER?"* 

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? 


126  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


*'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. 


THE  BIBLE— A   MOTHERS  GIFT.  127 


THE   BIBLE  — A   MOTHER'S   GIFT. 


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. 


128  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


TO    A   SCREECH^OWL.* 


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. 


TO  A   SCREECH-OWL.  129 


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? 


130  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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." 


THE    STOOL    IN    THE    PULPIT. 


IN     MEMOKY     OF     REV.     F.    C.    WILKES,     OUR     FORMER     PASTOR,     FOR     WHOSE 
BENEFIT   A   STOOL   WAS  PLACED  IN  THE  PULPIT,  WHICH   STILL   REMAINS. 


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  STOOL  IN  THE  PULPIT  131 


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!" 


132  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


He  lives  above;  in  scenes  of  bliss — 

In  heavenly  mansions  fair, 
No  pain  disturbs  his  soul's  deep  peace, 

No  palsied  limbs  are  there. 


"KISS    ME,   DARLING,  ERE    I    GO."* 

^^/^^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. 


THERE'LL   BE  ROOM  IN  HEAVEN,  133 


"  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. 


THERE'LL   BE   ROOM   IN   HEAVEN.* 


]\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. 


134  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


"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.' 


SAN   JOSE   MISSION.* 


W 


'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: 


SAJV  JO  SB  MISSION.  135 


"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; 


13G  TEXAS  GARLAND'S. 


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. 


SESSION   OP   THE   GRAND   LODGE  IN  AUSTIN,    FEBRUARY  8,    1881. 


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? 


138  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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; 


140  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


TO    MISS    LUCY— IN   HER   ALBUM. 


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. 


LINES  FOR  MOLLIE'S  ALBUM.  141 


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 


LINES    FOR    MOLLIE'S    ALBUM. 


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. 


142  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


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. 


OH,    TOUCH  AG  A  IX  THY  LUTE!  143 


OH,    TOUCH    AGAIN    THY    LUTE!* 


/^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. 


144  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


BEAUTIFUL    MAY! 


W 


'  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. 


BEAUTIFUL  MAY.  145 


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? 


146  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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? 


BABY'S   TRUNK. 


/^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. 


BABY'S  TRUNK.  147 


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? 


148  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


LINES   TO   MOLLIE.  MO 


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. 


LINES   TO   MOLLIE. 


MY   CHILDHOOD  S  FRIEND. 


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; 


150 


TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


JUNE. 


151 


JUNE. 

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. 


152  TEXAS   GARLANDS, 


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 
month. 


AT    REST.^^ 


DEDICATED    TO    MY    BEREAVED    FRIEND,    MRS.    NORA    ELLIOT,    IN  MEMORY   OP 

THE   DEPARTED. 


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. 


154  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


'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. 


BEAUTIFUL   SPRING.  155 


BEAUTIFUL    SPRING. 


O 


|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. 


156  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


JENNIE    L. 


DEDICATED  TO  HER  PARENTS. 


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; 


158  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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." 


AY  THE  DISTANT   YEARS  TO    COME,  150 


IN   THE    DISTANT   YEARS   TO    COME. 


IN   A   FRIEND  S  ALBUM. 


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. 


160  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


THE    SNOW!     THE    SNOW! 


'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!  101 


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; 


162  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


A  TOUCHING   INCIDENT 


OP  INDIAN   CRUELTY  IN   TEXAS. 


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.) 


A    TOUCHING  INCIDENT.  163 


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. 


164  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


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. 


A    TOUCHING  INCIDENT.  165 


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. 


166  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


A    TOUCHING  INCIDENT,  167 


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. 


168  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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; 


A    TOUCHING  INCIDENT.  169 


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. 


170  TEXAS   GARLAXDS. 


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    TOUCHING  INCIDENT.  171 


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. 


172  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


NOW   AND   THEN. 


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. 


NOW  AND    THEN.  173 


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." 


174  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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 


IN   IIEH  ALBUM. 


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. 


176  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


BABY   CALVIN. 


DEDICATED   TO  MY   SISTER  MARY   ON   THE   LOSS   OF  HER  BABE. 


\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" 


AT  THE  CROSS.  177 


AT   THE    CROSS.* 


/"^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. 


178  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


AT  THE  CROSS,  179 


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. 


180  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


TWILIGHT    MUSINGS. 


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. 


TWILIGHT  MUSINGS.  181 


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. 


182  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE    -WEEKLY    REVIEW." 


ITS    FIRST    ANNIVERSARY. 


\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? 


THE  ''WEEKLY  REVIEW:'  183 


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. 


184  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


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! 


TOLL   THE    BELL   SOFTLY. 


IN    MEMORY   OP  CLARENCE  G.    LATHROP,"    WHO    DEPARTED    THIS  LIFE  MARCH 
4,    1881.      AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED  TO  HIS  BEREAVED  MOTHER. 


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. 


OUR    BABY. 


AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED  TO  MY  BEREAVED  FRIENDS,  MR.  AND  MRS. 

B.  RADKEY, 


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. 


186  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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 


TO  A    YOUNG    GIRL.  187 


We  hope  to  meet. 
With  baby  for  our  guide 
We^ll  seek  the  Savior^s  side  — 

Our  joy  complete. 


TO   A   YOUNG   GIRL. 


IN  HER  ALBUM. 


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. 


188  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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— AND   THEN. 


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— AND    THEN.  189 


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. 


190  TEXAS   GARLANDS, 


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. 


THEY   ARE    SLEEPING. 


Air:  "''Golden  Stair. ^ 


IN    MEMORY    OP    REV,     R.     H.    WILLENBERG     AND     WIPE, 


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.  191 


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. 


192  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE    DYING    HUSBAND— TO    HIS   WIFE. 


/^^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. 


THE  DYING  HUSBAND— TO  HIS    WIFE.         193 


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. 


194  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


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. 


'^T  WILL  SOON  BE  OVER,  MOTHER. 


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. 


AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED  TO  HER  BEREAVED  PARENTS. 


^  ^  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   SOOJSr  BE   OVER,    MOTHER/'         195 


'^  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. 


196  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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 !  " 


IN    MEMORY    OF    PENINAH    BROWNING.* 

^^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. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  PENINAH  BE  OWNING.        197 


^^  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. 


198  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


AT   THE    RIVER. 


DEDICATED    TO    MY    BKOTHER,     KEA\   O.    T.    HOTCHKISS,    IN    MEMORY    OP    THE 

DEPARTED. 


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. 


AT  THE  RIVER.  199 


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? 


200  TEXAS   GARLANDS, 


OH,  WEEP  FOR  THE  FAIR  YOUNG   BRIDE. 


IN    MEMORY    OP    MRS.     ANNIE    SHEEIIAX,     WHO    PASSED    AWAY    JLNE    80,  1881 


/^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. 


BESIDE   THE  ALTAR,  "  201. 


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. 


BESIDE    THE    ALTAR." 


DEDICATED    TO   MY    YOUNGEST    SISTER,     ON    HER    MARRIAGE. 


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  gler.med  the  orange  wreath 

Above  tliy  durk  brown  hair, 
Than  deep  witlnn  ihy  heart,  beneath. 

Were  love  fljjvers  blooming  there. 


:^02  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


OH,   DO  NOT  SAY  THAT  HE  IS  DEAD.         203 


May  he  in  whom  you  now  confide 

"With  such  devoted  love. 
To  thee  —  his  blooming  happy  bride  — 

Forever  worthy  prove. 


OH,   DO  NOT  SAY    THAT  HE  IS  DEAD. 


DEDICATED    TO    THE    SAME    SISTER,     WHEN    FOUR   YEARS   SHE   WAS  WIDOWED- 


/^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? 


204  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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.* 


(~\^,  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. 


WB  MISS   THEE,    BABY  DARLING,  205 


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.— Died.in  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. 


20G  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


OUR  DOVE  WITH  FOLDED  WINGS. 


/^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. 


LITTLE  PET.  207 


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. 


LITTLE    PET. 


\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. 


208  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE    CHRISTIAN   SOLDIER. 


/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! 


THE   CHRISTIAN  SOLDIER.  209 


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. 


210  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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! 


THE    MANIAC    MOTHER.* 


/^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. 


THE  MANIAC  MOTHER,  211 


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." 


312  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


OF  SUCH  IS  THE  KINGDOM  OF  HEAVEN.' 


IN    MEMORY    OP    ANNIE     STALNAKEH,    A     BRIGHT    BUD    OF     SIX    YEARS,    WHO 

PASSED    AWAY    DECEMBER    6,     1881.      AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED 

TO    HER    PARENTS. 


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.'' 


IN  IIEMORIAM.  213 


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. 


IN    MEMORIAM. 


IN    MEMORY     OP    DR.     J.     W.    STALNAKER,     WHO     PASSED     AWAY    NOVEMBER 

11,     1883,    BELOVED    AND    LAMENTED    BY    A    LARGE    CIRCLE    OF 

FRIENDS.      SWEET    BE    HIS    REST. 


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. 


214  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE  ''WINDING   STAIR''    OF  THE  HEART     215 


THE  -WINDING  STAIR"  OF  THE  HEART* 


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. 


21(1  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


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. 


218  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


MOUNT    BONNELL. 


/^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. 


MOUNT  BON  NELL.  219 


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. 


220  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


TO   MY  FRIEND,    MRS.    G.  221 


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 
place. 


TO   MY  FRIEND,    MRS.    G. 


IN   HER  ALBUM, 


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. 


222  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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! 


TO    FANNIE— WEEPING. 


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? 


TO  FANNIE— WEEPING,  223 


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. 


^24  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


THE   DEAR   OLD  HOME, 


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  DEAR    OLD  HOME.  225 


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; 


226  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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  DEAR    OLD  HOME,  227 


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 


228  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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  — 


THE  DEAR    OLD   HOME.  229 


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. 


230  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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  0  —  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  DEAR    OLD  HOME.  231 


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  — 


232  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


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  DEAR    OLD  HOME,  233 


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; 


234  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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  — 


/  HA  VE  BEEN  TO  THE  ''OLD  HOME/'  SISTER.  235 


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. 


I    HAVE   BEEN    TO  THE    -OLD    HOME,' 
SISTER. 


DEDICATED    TO    MY    SISTER   MARY,    UPON    VISITING    OUR    CHILDHOOD  S    HOME 
AFTER    AN    ABSENCE    OF    MANY    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. 


230  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


/  HA  VE  BEEN  TO  THE  ''OLD  HOME;'  SISTER.     237 


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. 


238  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


GALVESTON   BAY. 


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. 


OUR  LITTLE  COUNTRY  MAIDEN,  239 


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. 


OUR  LITTLE  COUNTRY  MAIDEN. 


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." 


240  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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; 


OUR   LITTLE  COUNTRY  MAIDEN,  241 


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. 


242  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE   TEACHER'S   MISSION.* 


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. 


THE   TEACHER'S  MISSION.  243 


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; 


244  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE  TEACHER'S  MISSIOX.  245 


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. 


246  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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, 


I  AM  WAITING. 


DEDICATED    TO    MY     BELOVED    FATHER,    WHO     FOR    EIGHTEEN     MONTHS    HAS 
BEEN  PARTIALLY    PARALYZED  AND    CONFINED    MOSTLY    TO    HIS    BED. 


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. 


-ONLY  PEARLS." 


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 


248  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


MISS  DA  ROTH  A   DIETRICH.  249 


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. 


MISS    DAROTHA    DIETRICH. 


LOVINGLY    INSCRIBED    TO    HER    MEMORY,    AND    FOUNDED    UPON    HER     DYING 
WORDS.       DEDICATED    TO    HER    MOTHER. 


DAUGHTER. 

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.^' 


-W 


MOTHER. 

'* Going  home!  my  precious  daughter. 
This  is  ever  home  to  you! 
And  upon  your  mother's  bosom 
Ever  find  a  refuge  true." 


250  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


DAUGHTEB. 

'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/' 

MOTHER. 

'  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?" 


THE    WO  VXD  ED   SOLDIER'S  RETURN.  251 


DAUGHTER. 

''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." 


THE    WOUNDED    SOLDIER'S    RETURN.    ' 

^^\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. 


252  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


''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. 


THE   WOUNDED  SOLDIER'S  RETURN.  253 


^'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. 


254  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


''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. 


MY  BROTHER'S  GRAVE,  255 


^^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 

speak, 
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.'' 


MY    BROTHER'S    GRAVE. 


\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. 


256  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


MY  BROTHiJR^S  GRA  VE.  257 


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  — 


258  TEXA8  GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE    DOVE    IN    THE    STORM. 


■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. 


THE  PICMG.  259 


THE    PICNIC. 


AT   SPICE-WOOD   SPRING,    EIGHT   MILES  FROM   THE   CITY,    MAY  8,   1880. 


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. 


260  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


I 


THE  PICNIC,  201 


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. 


262  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE    OLD    PECAN    TREE.^ 


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. 


THE  OLD  PECAN  TREE.  263 


^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, 


264  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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» 


THE   OLD  PECAN  TREE.  265 


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. 


^66  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


BROTHER!   FAREWELL!* 


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. 


BROTHER!     FAREWELL!  267 


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. 


268  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


OUR    BABY— OUR    BEAUTIFUL    BABY! 


IN  MEMORY   OF  JOEL  M'KENZIE  WHITTEN,   WHO   PASSED  AWAY  JULY  11,  1886. 


/^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. 


OUR  BABY— OUR  BEAUTIFUL  BABY.  209 


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. 


270  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE   WILD    ROSE. 


DEDICATED    TO     MY  ESTEEMED    FRIEND,    MRS.    J.    L.    DRISKILL,    OF   OUK    CITY. 


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; 


I 


THE  WILD   ROSE.  2tL 


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. 


i 


273  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


THE    CALIFORNIAN'S    LAST    HOPE.* 


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. 


THE  CALIFORNIAN'S  LAST  HOPE.  273 


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 


274  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE  CALIFORNIAN'S  LAST  HOPE,  275 


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. 


276  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


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? 


THE  CALIFORNIA N'S  LAST  HOPE.  277 


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; 


278  TEXAS   GAB  LANDS. 


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!'' 


SISTER,   FAREWELL!  279 


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. 


SISTER,  FAREWELL. 


IN    MEMORY    OF    C.  T.  W.,  MY    YOUNGEST    SISTER. 


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. 


280  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


TO  MY  MOTHER,  281 


TO    MY   MOTHER, 


FIVE    YEARS    AFTER    HER    DEATH,  WHEN    THE   AUTHOR   WAS  FIFTEEN    YEARS 
OLD.      PUBLISHED    IN    AN    AUSTIN    PAPER. 


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. 


2S2  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


ELIZA    COOK.  283 


ELIZA    COOK. 


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. 


284  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE  TWO   SQUIRRELS.  285 


THE    TWO  SQUIRRELS. 


A  PIECE   FOR  THE   LITTLE   FOLKS. 


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. 


28(j  TEXAS  GARLAj^DS. 


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. 


THE  CLIFF!     THE  CLIFF!  287 


THE    CLIFF!     THE   CLIFF! 


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.* 


288  TEXA8  GARLANDS. 


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. 

9 

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. 


THE  CLIFF!     THE  CLIFF!  289 


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— 


290  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


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. 


KIND   LADY!  'TIS  TO    THEE  I  OWE.  ^91 


He  gained  the  flower —  then  stood  erect,  and  proudly  waved  his 

hand, 
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. 


KIND    LADY!    'TIS    TO   THEE    I   OWE.* 


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. 


292  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


'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. 


A   MORXING  RAMBLE..  203 


A   MORNING   RAMBLE 


RECAPITULATION . 


'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. 


294  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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 

school 
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 

feet 
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! 


A   MORNING   B AMBLE,  295 


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 

years; 
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. 


290  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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 
grief. 


A   MORNING  RAMBLE.  297 


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. 

PART  II. 

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 

shone. 
/  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 

night. 
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. 


298  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


With  what  confiding  happiness  I  leaned  upon  that  arm 

That  henceforth   through  life's   scenes  should   shield  from  every 

harm; 
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 

flowers; 
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. 


A  MORNING   RAMBLE.  299 


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. 

PART   III. 

AFTER     TWENTY    YEARS. 

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. 


e300  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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.'* 


A   MORNING  RAMBLE.  301 


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 

been. 
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 

woe! 
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 

heaven, 
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. 


302  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


KATIE— THE  DEAD   CANARY. 


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. 


HANNAH'S  OFFERING.  303 


HANNAH'S   OFFERING. 


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. 


304  TEXAS   GARLANDS, 


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, 


HANNAH'S   OFFERING.  305 


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. 


30G  TEX  A  8  GARLANDS. 


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. 


A  HYMN. 


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. 


308  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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? 


IN   THE    FURNACE. 


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. 


IN  THE  FURNACE. 


309 


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." 


310  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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 

land. 
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. 


IN  THE  FURNACE,  311 


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? 


312  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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  — 


/  LONG    TO  DEPART.  313 


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 

overflow. 
He  has  said,   "  I  will  not   leave   thee,"  through  earth's   paths  so 

dark  below. 


I   LONG   TO    DEPART.* 


"■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. 


314  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


GEN.    GEO,    B,    McCLELLAN. 


315 


GEN.    GEO.    B.    McCLELLAN.* 


/^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. 


316  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


Our  South-land  mourns  above  his  grave  with  heaving,  throbbing 

breast; 
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. 


THE  IMPRISONED  BEE.  3r 


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. 


THE  IMPRISONED    BEE. 


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. 


318  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


4 


THE  IMPRISONED  BEE.  319 


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. 


320  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


REST,  LOVED    ONE,  REST. 


AFFECTIONATELY    INSCRIBED    TO    THE    MEMORY    OF    MRS.    FANNIE    NOBLE, 
DAUGHTER    OF    REV.    O.    AND    REBECCA    FISHER,    AND    WIFE    OF 
FRANK    NOBLE,    FORMERLY    OF    OUR    CITY. 


R 


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. 


REST,    LOVED  OXE,  REST,  331 


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. 


322  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


LITTLE   HAROLD   BELL. 


SON  OF  A  MnaSTER,  PASSED  AWAY  MARCH  5,  1886,  AT  DRIPPING  SPRINGS,  TEX. 


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. 


LITTLE  HAROLD  BELL,  323 


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.     , 


324  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


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. 


WE    SHALL    MEET    IN    HEAVEN.* 


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. 


WF  SHALL   MEET  IN  HE  A  YEN.  325 


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. 


326  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


ASLEEP. 


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. 


328  TEXAS   GARLANDS. 


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. 


HOLY   CHRISTMAS.* 


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. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  MRS,    FANNIE  CROOKER.      32D 


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. 


IN    MEMORY   OF    MRS.    FANNIE   CROOKER 


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. 


330  TEXAS  GARLAXDS. 


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. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  MRS.    FANNIE  CROOKER.     331 


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. 


332  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


AT   THE    GRAVE   OF    LAMAR.* 


ly /I  Y  heart  is  strangely  thrilling  on  this  consecrated  spot, 

Where  our  hero  brave  is  sleeping,  though  by  Texans  ne'er 
forgot; 
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 

shown 
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. 


AT  THE   GRAVE   OF  LAMAR.  333 


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 

sway; 
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.  To.as.  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. 


334  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


ROLL  ON  THOU   DARK  BLUE   SEA."* 


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? 


PASSED  HEAVENWARD,  335 


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. 


PASSED    HEAVENWARD. 


ON   EASTER   SUNDAY,    APRIL  9,    1882,    MRS.    KATIE   A.    DEAN,    OP  AUSTIN. 


'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. 


33G  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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." 


COME  TO  MY  ARMS,  SWEET  BABE. 


LOVINGLY   INSCRIBED   TO   THE    SWEET   BABY   THAT   CAME    TO  ME  SO  WILLINGLY 
ON   THE   CAR,    AND    NESTLED    IN    MY   ARMS. 


/'^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. 


COME   TO  MY  ARMS,   SWEET  BABE.  337 


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. 


338  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


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. 


TO    MY  STEP-MOTHER. 


PROMPTED  BY  HER   UNTIRING   DEVOTION   TO   MY   AFFLICTED   FATHER. 


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. 


TO  MY  8TEP-M0THER. 


339 


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. 


340  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE    BRIDAL    OF    DEATH 


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  BRIDAL    OF  DEATH.  341 


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. 


342  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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." 


REST,    SAINTED    OXES.  343 


REST,   SAINTED   ONES! 


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. 


344  TEXAS  GARLAi\DS. 


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. 


THE  OLD  ALAMO.  345 


THE  OLD  ALAMO. 


THOUGHTS  UPON  VISITING  IT,    DECEMBER   30,    1883. 


\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; 


^40  TEXAS   GARLANDS, 


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). 


THE   OLD  ALAMO,  347 


''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; 


348  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


THE  OLD  ALAMO.  U\) 


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. 


350  TEXAS  GARLAJSTDS. 


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. 


SAJV  JACINTO.  351 


SAN  JACINTO. 


FIFTY   YEARS    AFTER  THE   BATTLE. 


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 
blood. 

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 

men. 


352  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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 

grove; 
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 

knovrn, 
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 

tread, 
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 

command, 
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. 


354  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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 

scene. 
Yes,  they  conquered  Santa  Anna,  and  his  dusky  hordes  were  found 
Scattered  uji  and  down  the  river  —  o'er  the  blood-stained  battle- 
ground. 


8AJV  JACINTO.  355 


Then  this  proud  and  haughty  chieftain  when  his  noble  horse  was 

drowned, 
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 
guessed. 

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. 


356  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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 
save. 


McKENZIE  COLLEGE.  357 


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. 


McKENZIE    COLLEGE. 


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. 


358  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


McKENZlE  COLLEGE, 


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. 


IGO  TEXAS  GARLANDS, 


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. 


McKENZIE  COLLEGE.  3ei 


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. 


3G2  TEXAS  GARLANDS. 


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. 


McKENZIE   COLLEGE.  ?>m 


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. 


364  TEXAS  GARLANDS 


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. 


INDEX. 


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,    . 


PAGS 

11 

G4 
lOG 
108 
15:3 
1(1  > 

i:t 

188 
108 
2Ui 
293 

:]or 
:}:3-2 


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, 


330 


INDEX. 


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,     .... 


PAGE 

77 

122 

283 

27 
73 
93 
90 

18 

44 

102 

238 
315 

23 
52 
55 
63 
303 

29 
70 
83 
137 
159 
194 
196 
213 
235 
246 


INDEX. 


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 


IV 


IXDEX. 


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. 


PAGE 

.   95 
104 

.  114 
143 

.  185 
200 

.  203 

200 

.  212 
239 

.  247 
268 

.   30 

h 

♦ 

335 

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! 


14 
21 
25 


INDEX, 


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, 


VI 


INDEX 


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, 


PAGE 

192 
208 
210 
215 
221 
222 
224 
242 
251 
258 
259 
262 
270 
272 
281 
285 
287 
317 
328 
338 
340 
345 

90 
12^ 
204 
324 

79 
91 


^'"^p^