PART V. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS |
COMPENSATION. Under nature’s just laws,
All effects have their cause,
And bear each other a true relation;
And the good deeds of man
Are measured by this plan,
And in some way receive compensation.
What tho a loving wife
Be united for life,
To one heartless as the moon or the sun;
Her soft love may entwine,
Like a beautiful vine,
And embellish the whole life of that one.
If a true hearted man,
Who lives by moral plan,
Should be bonded to an ill-natured wife;
Of one thing he is sure,
’Tis the love sweet and pure,
Of warm, sympathizing friends all his life.
There’s a trait in the heart,
That espouses the part,
Of the sorrowful, the weary and meek,
And a just common sense,
Awards due recompense,
To the long-suff’ring who bear with the weak.
The tall monument grand,
Is oft fated to stand,
Alone by itself, aloft in the sky;
But ’tis thus its great height,
Is revealed to man’s sight,
And its true grandeur appears to the eye.
The snow covered mountains,
Far above the fountains,
And the sparking rills that spring from their base;
Make the landscape more fair,
While they temper the air,
And are awarded by nature a place.
There’s a road that leads down
To the dregs of the town,
Where strife, poverty, and sorrow abound;
But the higher men climb
Toward regions sublime,
The more delightful the journey is found.
The unfortunate may
See their lives pass away,
Before they succeed in gaining a prize;
But the more men aspire,
To realms that are higher,
The grander the view that opes to their eyes.
The wise, ambitious man,
Who has failed in his plan,
And doubts if the world is using him right;
Will learn from his trials,
And brave self denials,
How grandly to win success in the fight.
Little children at school
Think it is a hard rule,
That keeps them confined so much of their time;
But the knowledge they gain,
Pays them well for their pain,
When they arrive at the age of their prime.
’Tis a long tedious fight
To bring children up right,
And parents wear out while under the spell;
But rich compensation,
And sweet consolation,
Comes to the parents whose work is done well.
There’s the mother whose share,
Is a life full of care,
With thousands of griefs and pains to smother;
But O what high honor,
Nature confers on her,
In the hallowed and sweet name of—mother.
The physician whose life
Is never ending strife,
In battling with sickness common to man,
Finds great satisfaction,
In the benefaction,
His skill confers thru his life-saving plan.
The surgeon whose trained knife,
Cuts in deep to save life,
May be criticized, called brutal, and spurned;
But his fame reaches out,
To wide regions about,
And brings distinction and honor well earned.
The chemist who mixes,
And otherwise fixes
Powerful compounds, assumes a great risk;
But science advances
By taking great chances,
The world is the gainer and life more brisk.
The inventor whose fate
Is to work and create,
And burn out his life by the fires of thought,
Is consoled by the fact,
That his genius and tact,
Have lifted mankind thru work he has wrought.
The air navigator,
And bird imitator,
May fly to his death, then sad the story;
But the one who succeeds,
Has accomplished great deeds,
And established his fame to his glory.
’Tis the brave pioneers
Who inhabit frontiers,
And many hardships and trials endure;
But the work they begun
Often ends if well done,
In rest, happiness, and comfort secure.
The man who discovers,
And nature uncovers,
Meets dangers that try him from sole to crown,
But his triumph is great,
When he gains for his state,
An honor that brings him lasting renown.
The richest mines of gold
Are found in regions cold,
And where it’s so hot men scarcely can stand;
But the dangers o’ercome,
There will always be some,
To gather great wealth that spreads o’er the land.
The poets whose stories,
Sing the nation’s glories,
May be ignored when honors are given;
But the thoughts they imbue,
Are ennobling and true,
And make patriots and Christians of men.
The statemen who are wise,
Have bright thoughts men despise,
Because greatly in advance of the age;
But the wisdom they show,
If well rooted will grow,
And be emblazoned on history’s page.
The minister may work
With the zeal of a Turk,
And not break the grip of sin upon man;
But he reaps his reward
By still serving the Lord,
Determined to save ev’ry soul he can.
The man of advanced thought,
May see it come to naught,
Because others do not see the same light;
But by going before,
He has opened the door,
To beautiful realms now coming in sight.
There’s no loss without gain,
Is quite true in the main,
And will apply to man or a nation,
And each sacrifice made,
To lift higher man’s grade,
Nature rewards with just compensation.
The strictly honest man,
Who adheres to his plan,
Thru all the trials that over him roll,
Can endure with a smile,
For he knows all the while
He is living in sweet peace with his soul.
When man’s record is right,
His good deeds make it bright,
And bloom in his manhood like golden rod;
’Tis his vindication,
And brings compensation,
In lifting his soul up nearer to God.
EXPANSION. The spirit of progression has spoken,
The hour for expansion is here,
The thraldom of ignorance is broken,
A wave of advancement is near.
A war for humanity’s sake was fought,
That exalted the soul of man,
And lifted him up to a region fraught,
With work on a Lordlier plan.
His horizon is vastly extended,
He stands on a loftier plain,
His fine talents can now be expended,
For his benighted brother’s gain.
His mind has been delivered from bondage,
And filled with buoyancy and hope,
Will grow and expand to advantage,
And cover the world in its scope.
With his soul as free as the thunder’s roll,
And as sure as the lightning’s stroke,
He can circle the earth from pole to pole,
And abolish tyranny’s yoke.
No more will boundary lines restrain him,
Nor walls of granite stay his course,
The brotherhood of man will sustain him,
And the love of God be his force.
The age of enforced delusion is past,
Man’s spirit is gathering light,
The slavery of the mind can not last,
Against the advancement of right.
No army of men, nor murderous gun,
Is needed to open the way,
The greatest victories by love are won,
Where the spirit of Christ holds sway.
It is love alone hath power and scope,
To penetrate the heathen mind,
And cause it to expand with faith and hope,
And a nobler ideal find.
Expansion is right, expansion of soul,
And expansion of liberty,
Expansion of love till it gains control,
And all the world’s people are free.
These are the principles that must prevail,
In ev’ry land beneath the sun,
And there’s no more oppression to assail,
Ere the work of love will be done.
FEAR NOT, LORAIN. The following poem was written at Lorain, O., November, 1897, and published in the “Evening Herald” of that city. It was intended to stimulate the courage of the people, who were gloomy, altho the prospects were good. Fear not, Lorain, thy future fate
Is not to roll in seas of mud,
A golden key will ope the gate,
A warm spring sun will burst the bud.
Flowers will bloom and scent the air,
Large plants will rise from thy strong soil,
Your solid men and women fair
Reap rich reward for years of toil.
See the halo that lights the sky,
Where flaming fires burn night and day,
Dispelling gloom from ev’ry eye,
And raising hopes that cheer your way.
Rejoice! Be glad! Have doubts no more,
Prepare to greet the coming boom,
Should the town grow a thousand score,
It still could give a million room.
Let croaking stop, let discord cease,
Lift high your town above the mire,
For soon success will bring you peace,
And warm your hearts with furnace fire.
With courage strong and cheerful face,
Push on your work with might and main,
Prosperity will win the race
And bless your town. Fear not, Lorain.
THE TEACHER. Trees in the forest grow stately and grand,
Some are beautiful and others are tall,
Each is the product of one mighty hand,
But the teacher’s art can improve them all.
The grass of the fields is useful for food,
And provides dumb beasts a bountiful store,
And the teacher who saw that grass was good,
Made two blades grow where but one grew before.
The wheat and the corn, and all kinds of grain,
Grow wild and scattered without any plan,
And the harvest is poor and reaped with pain,
Until improved by the teaching of man.
The fruits of the trees grow stinted and small,
And meager the crop when the pickers come,
But the skilled hand of the teacher can call,
A mighty response from the things that are dumb.
Then the cultured tree is laden with fruit,
The sweet and the tart according to plan,
The epicure finds a taste to his suit,
And learns that teachers are blessings to man.
Beautiful flowers, God’s tokens of love,
Grow sickly and pale for want of man’s care,
When the training hand like balm from above,
Restores them to health and beauty most rare.
When warmed by the sun and cooled by the breeze,
How pretty they grow, how sweet their perfume,
Whatever man’s taste they’re certain to please,
For God made them and the teacher is groom,
The mighty rivers that run thru the land,
Gathering power as onward they roll,
Are each and all at the teacher’s command,
For his skill can bring them under control.
Beasts in the forest roam savage and wild,
And woe to the man who crosses their path;
But the teacher makes them gentle and mild,
And by strength of mind can bridle their wrath.
The great elephant, ponderous and strong,
Tho dangerous in his natural state,
When trained by teachers to do nothing wrong,
Serves his master with fidelity great.
The beautiful horse in freedom how grand,
As proudly he trots o’er the prairie track,
Is trained to obey his teacher’s command,
And canters gayly with man on his back.
There lives not a man with love in his heart,
Who lacks the good sense to freely endorse
The teacher’s grand work, his wisdom and art,
Or fails to admire and love a good horse.
The much abused dog when savage and wild,
Is useless to man and game for his gun,
But when trained becomes docile as a child,
The faithfullest creature under the sun.
Innocent children are never quite pure,
And need good teaching to keep them from crime,
To fasten in their hearts their morals sure,
And assist them to lead a life sublime.
Human teachers are useful in their line,
And wisely, and nobly perform their part;
But the great teacher is the Teacher Divine,
From whose grand example man learned the art.
A GEM. A gem is a beautiful thing,
Or even a beautiful thought,
Or that which will happiness bring,
Or the love that can not be bought.
A gem is a beautiful stone,
Or beautiful shell from the sea,
Or a voice of elegant tone,
Or something more precious to thee.
A gem is a token of love,
Or gift from the heart of a friend,
Or sweet note by wings of a dove,
With balm all your sorrows to mend.
A gem may glisten like new gold,
Or sparkle like stars in the night,
Or charm like the rubies of old,
As they glow in the sun’s pure light.
A gem may belong to a queen,
Or shine from the crown of a king;
But the richest gem ever seen,
Is love of the genuine ring.
Some gems are delightful to see,
And their owners may justly boast;
But the best of all gems for me,
Is the friend that loves me the most.
THE CHINA WEDDING. Read at the party given by Mr. and Mrs. Hiram W. Robertson, on the twentieth anniversary of their marriage, December 16th, 1887. Composed the same evening after supper. There are fountains away in the north,
From whence waters flow down to the sea,
There’s a heart in the bosom of man,
From whence love courses warmly and free.
There are diamonds that dazzle the eye,
And rich gold that’s a pleasure to see,
But there’s nothing so pleasing to man,
As the love that flows warmly and free.
There are men who have merits and wealth,
And kind husbands they gladly would be,
But Mary took a fancy to Hi,
For his love flows so warmly and free.
There are women of beauty and worth,
Whose sweet smiles are a pleasure to see,
But Mary was the choice of them all,
For her love flows so warmly and free.
They have kind friends who admire them both,
And they’re gathered this night just to see,
How well they are enjoying this life,
Where sweet love flows so warmly and free.
THE HONEST MAN’S FATE. Friends have advised me to give up my plan
And shun the sad fate of the honest man.
They tell me ’tis hard, his comforts are few,
And what they tell me I know to be true;
But still I prefer to stick to my plan,
And cherish the fate of the honest man.
I have dear children to clothe and to feed,
And a father’s love that knows what they need,
Grief comes to my heart, gray hairs on my head,
For fear I will fail to keep them in bread,
Yet I am trying to do what I can,
And cherish the fate of the honest man.
My wife is gloomy, down-hearted and sad,
She fears my troubles will make me go mad,
Poor soul, she don’t know how heavy the weight
That hangs on my heart and threatens my fate.
Still I’m determined to do what I can,
And cherish the fate of the honest man.
Debts overwhelm me and creditors call,
No more can I pay, they already have all.
The sheriff may come to bleed me afresh,
And take by the law one pound of my flesh;
But now, nor never, will I change my plan,
For I cherish the fate of the honest man.
In liquid poisons I do not indulge,
Nor by vile language my weakness divulge:
From labor and right I never do quail,
And still my efforts continue to fail,
Yet I keep trying to do what I can
To merit the fate of the honest man.
O, God of the poor, extend thy good word,
And grant the honest a better reward,
Save them from Shylocks, temptation and pain,
Make troubles on earth in heaven their gain,
O, give me the strength to live by my plan,
And die the proud death of the honest man.
TIME AND TIDE. Composed while dreaming about time and tide. “Come, Time,” says Tide, “along with me,
For we must go together,
And join our forces at the sea,
Nor wait for wind or weather.”
CHRISTMAS DAY. Written at the request of my daughter Grace, then eleven years old, to be spoken by her at the holiday exercises in school, December, 1887. There never had been a Christmas morn,
Till near nineteen hundred years ago,
When Christ our glorious Lord was born,
And peace and good will began to grow.
Christ taught fathers and mothers to pray,
And how good, pure and kind they should be,
And when some one pushed children away,
Said, “Suffer them to come unto Me.”
We all should rejoice and be thankful
That Christ loved little children so strong,
And strive to be happy and cheerful,
And never to do anything wrong.
It pays to be good and be pleasant,
And pleases our kind parents so well,
We are sure to receive a nice present,
When old Santa Claus comes with his bell.
Now, my good friends and my teacher, too,
I have one strong wish for which I’ll pray,
I wish for me and I wish for you,
That Christ will come back some Christmas day.
PROGRESSIVE EUCHRE. A little nonsense is, now and then,
Highly relished by the best of men,
And women, too, are so fond of fun.
They laugh for joy when a game’s begun.
There are games of skill, and games of chance,
And games with sweet music and the dance,
Some play at whist, and some at poker,
But all enjoy progressive euchre.
A goodly party is twenty-four,
There may be less, and there may be more;
Twelve ladies fine you first invite,
And twelve gentlemen to spend the night.
The tables now you arrange and fix,
And number them plainly one to six,
A pack of clean cards on each you lay,
All ready for the approaching fray.
Use thirty-two cards, be uniform,
And in conduct to the rules conform;
Your table number is fixed by chance,
And good order will the fun enhance.
By lot their partners gentlemen choose,
And then kindly treat them, win or lose,
Present your left arm with smiles and grace,
And escort your lady to her place.
On the first table place a small bell,
And when all are ready ring it well,
The ladies now cut for woe or weal,
And the lowest card takes the first deal.
Shuffle them well, let right neighbor cut,
Fair play’s a jewel, truth’s eyes are shut,
Deal three cards to each the first time round,
Then two the next time, that’s fair and sound.
Turn up the trump so all can see it,
Those at left in turn, pass or play it;
When the trump is named be sharp and still,
Do not underrate your neighbor’s skill.
Remember this is honest euchre,
And played for sport, not filthy lucre,
No true gentleman, or lady sweet,
Will play unfair, or stoop to cheat.
The right is boss, the left’s his brother,
And the good old ace a kindly mother,
The king comes next, now king indeed,
And even the queen you often need.
Jack is a knave, make the best of him,
And when not bower all detest him;
But there are times when jack is master,
And then his foes meet with disaster.
The little cards you should not despise,
For they sometimes help to win the prize;
Watch sharply the game and win with suit,
Whenever you can fairly do it.
Three tricks count one point, a march counts two,
And euchre counts the same for you;
When you are sure to make one or more,
Play it alone and try to make four.
When five points are made at table one,
That ends one game and then all are done;
The winners go one table higher,
But those that lose go to the lower.
All change partners and the game proceeds,
And the manager records your deeds,
These frequent changes as you advance,
Give the poorer players a fair chance.
’Tis not a game for spoils or treasure,
But a social game just for pleasure,
And if by good luck one wins the day,
Don’t condemn the man nor spurn the play.
Three hour’s play is plenty long enough,
For the feeble ones and for the tough,
When the time has expired look and see,
Who the best players have proved to be.
To the first lady give a small prize,
And the first gentleman treat likewise,
A second prize is by some awarded,
The booby prize should be discarded.
A simple lunch is now provided
By hosts who may have so decided;
But refreshments are not in the game,
And all are free to omit the same.
Now put on your hats and bid adieu
To the gen’rous host that welcomed you,
Favors accepted you may have learned,
Should at the proper time be returned.
With happy hearts now seek your own hearth,
And kindly feel towards all on earth,
Remembering to always treasure
The game that brings you health and pleasure.
THE WINNER. Don’t give a prize
For ’tis not wise,
So say our honest Christian folk;
But men will fight
With all their might,
To make their fellows wear the yoke.
Some men are dull
And count for null,
And some are bright as glist’ning gold;
Say what you will
The truth is still,
We’re not all cast in the same mold.
Some take their time
While others climb,
And struggle with their might and main,
And when they win,
Think it no sin,
To wear the crown they fought to gain.
’Tis luck, they say,
And fools can play,
And nature grows a heavy crop;
Give me the game,
I’ll bear the name,
And laugh when fools come out on top.
A WALK BY MOONLIGHT. The moon is sweetly shining,
And the stars are entwining,
A wreath for my dear Annie,
Who is all the world to me.
While all the world lies dreaming,
My heart with joy is beaming,
I’m happy with my Annie,
Who is all the world to me.
All nature now is sleeping,
No living thing is creeping,
I’m all alone with Annie,
Who is all the world to me.
The silent trees look neater,
The flowers, too, are sweeter,
But naught’s so sweet as Annie,
Who is all the world to me.
My head with thought is turning,
My heart with love is burning,
I’m so happy with Annie,
Who is all the world to me.
Sweet nature is insisting,
I must not be resisting,
I’ll ask the hand of Annie,
Who is all the world to me.
THE QUESTION.
“O say, my lovely creature,
Thou brightest work of nature,
Do you love him, dear Annie,
Who is all the world to thee?”
THE ANSWER.
“Do you love the sweet Savior?
Do you seek his kind favor?
Do you love your dear Annie,
Who is all the world to thee?
“Will you live with the wisdom,
That rules the holy kingdom,
And please the heart of Annie,
Who is all the world to thee?
“If you’ll shun the evil tempter,
With true love for a helper,
Accept the hand of Annie,
Who is all the world to thee.”
THE REPLY.
“I’ll pious be and holy,
I’ll do my duty truly,
I’ll earn the hand of Annie,
Who is all the world to me.
“I’ll love thee as no other,
But our Heavenly Father,
I’ll live and die for Annie,
Who is all the world to me.”
THE PAINTER. Written on a postal card and mailed to a lady, as a token of my appreciation of her skill as a painter. Happy is he who can catch a fine thought,
And fit it to prose, or dress it in rhyme,
But happier she whose fingers are taught
To paint sweet nature in colors sublime.
Inspiring the thought when nature’s the theme,
Uplifting one’s soul to the world of bliss,
Where painters and angels will ever beam
With love and kindness on the poets of this.
A DOCTOR’S ADVICE. “Just Think of Something Else.” In the summer of 1898 I was taken quite sick at a hotel over two hundred miles from home, and was confined to my room for five days. On complaining to the doctor that I was not getting well fast, he said I should not worry about my sickness, but “Just think of something else.” I took his advice and the same night wrote the following verses. When sickness comes and joy departs,
And you are forced to lie in bed,
Don’t fret about the aching parts,
Remember what the doctor said,
“Just think of something else.”
No matter if the pain is great,
And racks you thru from foot to head,
Be patient still and meekly wait,
Remember what the doctor said,
“Just think of something else.”
When medicine has failed to act,
And you can’t see much hope ahead,
Why just ignore the trifling fact,
Remember what the doctor said—
“Just think of something else.”
What matter if you’re far from home,
And no kind friend is near your bed,
Let all your thoughts most freely roam,
Remember what the doctor said,
“Just think of something else.”
Don’t mind your great debility,
Nor count the pains that fill your head,
The sick must show humility,
Remember what the doctor said,
“Just think of something else.”
And when your friend presents his bills,
In language kind and manners suave,
Give him a dose of his own pills,
Remember that advice he gave,
“Just think of something else.”
Ah, no! my friend that will not do,
The doctor kind deserves his pay,
The honest course is best for you,
No matter what the doctors say,
Don’t think of something else.
HERE I AM. A little grand-daughter wrote me a little letter and in it she said, “If I were a little flower, this I would do: I would be happy all the day.” Under these words she made a sketch of a bush bearing flowers, and wrote beneath the sketch, “Here I am.” I replied as follows: To the sweet little flower, “Here I am,” formerly Miss Rose. Caterpillars change into butterflies,
And eggs into birds that fly in the skies;
But I did not know a child had power,
To change her body into a flower.
But what need I care since flower and child,
Grown in the city, or on mountain wild,
Both receive from me the tenderest care,
I find a flower and a child is there.
—Grandpa.
A CHRISTMAS TURKEY. Lines sent with a large fat turkey to a friend for Christmas, 1862. A Christmas present is easy to make,
But a token of friendship should follow,
Mine is enclosed in the turkey you take,
Which is solid proof it is not hollow.
As a toothsome sign of love it is sent,
And to show you what our Maker can do,
He tells us to love with earnest intent,
And has provided this turkey for you.
Take it, and bake it, then richly enjoy,
And forget not the friend you befriended,
Whose heart will ever remember with joy,
The kind assistance you promptly lended.
May God bless you and your family dear,
And keep all of you healthy and happy,
That you may gladly welcome each New Year,
And on every Christmas be merry.
TO MRS. HARRIET S. DELANO AND HER BABY. Written 1858. Sweet innocence, love and beauty rest,
Wrapped in affection on mother’s breast,
While hopes and fears in profusion rise,
And fill with sweet tears the joyful eyes
Of the kind mother whose heart is bent,
In meek thankfulness to Him who sent
This type of beauty, sweet child of love,
Rich token from the heavens above,
To cheer the pure and unselfish heart,
Of a mother who with life would part,
To save her child from the paths of sin,
And guide her so she heaven will win.
Then in the soft realms of earthly bliss,
Made lovelier by her mother’s kiss,
She will need no more a guide to show,
The straight road she has been taught to go.
The mother has then her duty done,
Who so well instructs her little one,
She covers her with a mother’s love,
Then trusts her to the wise God above.
Now to the babe and to its mother,
That you may each one love the other,
And never from your good reason part,
I will beg and pray with all my heart.
FOR THE BABY. O what a charming baby I see,
Dancing on its kind father’s knee,
With eyes as pretty and as bright,
As the white stars that shine at night.
And cheeks as lovely as the rose,
Which add much beauty to a nose,
Made handsome by a pretty chin,
And ruby lips nicely set in.
And what is more her name so sweet,
So charming, dainty, nice and neat,
Darling Hattie, short and pretty,
And that’s why I wrote this ditty.
LINES ON MY FATHER. The oak its mighty branches spread,
And gathered in the cooling dew,
And thus by gen’rous nature fed,
To a noble old tree it grew.
So sought he knowledge far and wide,
And grew in wisdom as in age,
And when his worn out body died,
He was a ripe and honored sage.
ADVICE TO A YOUNG POET. First think of something good to say,
Then take great pains to say it well,
Make sure you know the proper way,
To fairly write and rightly spell.
Now clear all matter from your mind,
Except the work you have in hand,
And study hard until you find
Good rhyming words at your command.
Compose one verse from end to end,
With equal feet in every line,
See that the words in metre blend,
And that the rhyme is true and fine.
Beware of mistakes when you write,
Never say what needs correction,
Then men will say what you indite
Is poetry in perfection.
Don’t mix grand thoughts with silly ones,
Nor call men by improper names,
If things weigh pounds don’t call them tons,
Nor make the world appear in flames.
Remember you’re an honest youth,
And never write what is not true,
Be governed by the laws of truth,
In every thing you say or do.
In language manly and refined,
Praise in song the heavenly plan,
And use the lowers of your mind,
In lifting up your fellowman.
AN ACROSTIC. Written for a niece of P. T. Barnum, 1863. Fear not the scoffs of the heartless,
A manly self reliance show,
No want can make thy head brainless,
Nor money make thy spirit low.
Yield not thy honor nor courage,
True principles ever maintain,
Hold to thy noble lineage,
On their record permit no stain.
Make no friendship with the wicked,
Prefer poverty to their love,
Show with heart and mind united
On the God of heaven above,
No one can turn thee from His love.
CHARLEY’S PUPPY. Charley wrote me that his puppy was white but had a black spot on his back. A spot of black
Upon his back,
Will plainly mark your puppy dog;
A spot of red
Upon his head,
Would show he’s not a little hog.
What puppies know
They scarce can show,
Until their mammies let them out;
Like little boys
That play with toys,
They hardly know what they’re about.
A master once,
A cruel dunce,
Struck hard his puppy while at play;
The puppy sad,
Felt awful bad,
Dropped down his tail and ran away.
A master kind
Will quickly find,
That puppies try to do their part;
So gentle be,
Let puppy see
There’s no black spot upon your heart.
MERRY CHRISTMAS. Merry Christmas, friends, I wish you all well,
And many pretty things for your pockets,
May your Christmas box be a great big shell,
Filled with everything nice but sky rockets.
May England and France, with Turkey and Greece,
All contribute to your pleasure and mirth,
And chickens and quail, with turkeys and geese,
Make you feel as if you owned the whole earth.
And when you’re happy as happy can be,
Think of your parents so kind and clever,
And live such sweet lives you always can see,
Merry Christmas, merry Christmas forever.
TEMPERANCE. Lord, hasten the day, pray hasten the day,
When supported by righteous laws,
We will win the fight, for virtue and right,
And the glorious temperance cause.
THE FOLDING PUZZLE. The first line was written on the outside, the rest on the inside. Open this quick
And see the trick,
If there’s a trick about it;
This thing is nice
And low in price,
But one could do without it.
Some rack their brains
With toil and pains,
In making things fantastic;
But soon they’ll find
If they’re not blind,
They’ll need a purse elastic.
IN FLORENCE’S ALBUM. A loving heart wears a smiling face,
And a cheerful mind is a source of joy,
She that carries both adorns her race,
And shines bright as gold without alloy.
WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM of Lizzie Leonard, a very tall young girl, at her mother’s home near Middleboro, Mass., December, 1881.
IN WORTHY’S ALBUM. Watch how regular
Seasons come and go,
Summer brings the rain,
Winter brings the snow,
And the sweet flowers
Never out of tune,
Always wait their turn
And blossom in June.
Thus from kind nature
This good lesson learn,
Patiently to wait
Till it is your turn,
Then like the flowers
Meekly take your place,
And by pure living
Ornament your race.
IN FLORA’S ALBUM. By the side of a beautiful river
Whose clear waters continue to flow,
There may you live, happy forever,
And in wisdom and loveliness grow.
IN ETTA’S ALBUM. The little flowers perfume the air.
And make the earth look pretty and fair,
And that you, my dear, will do your share
To make life sweet, is father’s prayer.
IN GRACE’S ALBUM. The sun ne’er fails to do his duty,
Nor moon and stars to show their beauty,
Thus sweet little girls are taught the way,
To do their duty day after day,
To work and shine in every place,
And fill the big world with love and—Grace.
THE GALLOP OF LIFE The infant at home
Unable to roam,
And enter in the fields of strife,
Drops on hands and knees,
In—go as you please,
And starts in the gallop of life.
He often is dumped
And severely bumped,
When he is learning how to walk;
But he keeps trying,
Even while crying,
Until able to tread the chalk.
Next he tries talking,
While still or walking,
And coins words not used in the past;
But keeps on gaining,
Without much training,
And really gets on quite fast.
He’ll soon be at school
And breaking the rule,
Which never is fit till it’s broke;
’Tis always too tight,
For boys that do right,
And hangs on their neck like a yoke.
At Sunday School next,
He watches the text,
And the lesson that’s given out;
The teachers are kind,
And easy to mind,
And of Christ he learns much about.
He’s now a strong boy,
And with shouts of joy
He becomes a player of ball;
He knows where he’s at,
Soon learns how to bat,
And seldom is caught in a fall.
He wants a pony
To be his crony,
And to carry him on its back;
He masters his horse,
And shows no remorse,
When he hits his pony a whack.
He loves the water,
Dives like an otter,
And swims with the grace of a seal;
He flounders and flops,
And finally stops,
With skin slippery as an eel.
He now wants a boat
To sail and to float,
And thinks he could manage a ship;
He bends too much sail.
Is dumped o’er the rail,
And may be ship-wrecked the first trip.
He has ambition,
And disposition,
To tackle everything men do;
What he lacks in skill,
Is made up with will,
And he always finds a way thru.
He is now of age,
And tho not a sage,
Is a full fledged American;
Is proud of the fact,
And ready to act,
And to do all the good he can.
He votes and would fight
For justice and right,
And manfully freedom defend:
No traitor is he,
And never will be,
His country can on him depend.
When in politics,
He despises tricks,
And sets an example to all:
He’s right in the swim,
Has courage and vim,
And wins without doing things small.
In war a hero,
When cold as zero,
Or hot as the entrance to hell;
Never stops to think,
Nor halts at the brink,
But bravely does his duty well.
In the bus’ness crush
He goes with a rush,
And his energy makes things hum:
He holds a full hand,
Is brave in command,
And never shrinks when hard times come.
His cup now is full.
He has a strong pull,
He’s right in the crisis of strife;
To hold all his gain,
He must bear stiff rein,
He’s riding his gallop of life.
WHERE ARE ALL THE PEOPLE WE KNEW. Where are all the people we knew
In the generations gone past,
The thousands of men, false and true,
And who have disappeared so fast?
Whither have they gone, do you know?
To what vast haven have they sped?
Are they reaping as they did sow?
Are they living, or are they dead?
They died and were laid in the ground,
And kind words said over their graves,
But some were lost and never found,
And some perished under the waves;
Some were left on the battle field,
And became food for birds and beasts,
Others were forced their lives to yield
That cannibals might have their feasts.
Some bodies to ashes were burned,
And others have changed into stone,
A few into mummies were turned
And preserved in the skin and bone.
How they died it matters not now,
Nor if their race was lost or won,
They are gone and we meekly bow,
And say—O Lord, Thy will be done.
Have those bodies been born again?
Were they restored to life and health?
Are they supplied with blood and brain?
Are they in poverty, or wealth?
A God that can revive the dead,
A perpetual life can give,
Therefore we hold it may be said,
The body has but once to live.
But what has become of the souls,
That lived in the bodies now dead?
Are they counted on the same rolls?
Or have they from their bodies fled?
What is the soul, can you explain?
Is it an invisible thing,
Without flesh or blood, heart or brain,
Can it talk, or fly; can it sing?
Can it out of the body live?
Is it without physical life?
Has it no need to take or give?
Is it clear of trouble and strife?
If free from the body since death,
Was it not free before it died?
If independent of man’s breath
Why does it adhere to his side?
If freed at death where does it go?
Methinks that—to Heaven—you say,
And then I ask, how do you know?
Does any person know the way?
Have any come back that went there?
Can any one describe the place?
Is it upon some planet fair,
Or the realm of unbounded space?
Living bodies have souls, we know,
We hope they live on forever,
So long as man can come and go,
His soul forsakes him never;
But there’s a question to explain,
Does the soul live without the man?
When man goes does the soul remain?
Let any one answer who can.
THE HONEST MAN. I love the man who speaks the truth,
And never tells a lie,
Whose honesty bloomed in his youth,
And was not born to die.
I love to see him take his place,
In busy ranks of men,
And love to see his honest face,
Glowing with manhood then.
In office, or in place of trust,
Watching the people’s vault,
His ev’ry act is right and just,
And no one fears default.
With soul upright and conscience clear,
And heart in virtue strong,
There is no force can make him steer
In any course that’s wrong.
He pays his debts whene’er he can
And never should be prest,
No need pursue the honest man,
He always does his best.
His conscience is his beacon light,
It always guides his way,
His path is blazed with glory bright,
He does not go astray.
He loves his God and loves his soul,
And knows that both love him;
He gladly yields to their control,
And with them keeps in trim.
Adversity’s dread winds may blow,
And carry off his wealth,
And fell disease its seeds may sow,
And undermine his health.
His fortune which is breakable,
His foes may rend apart,
They’ll find his soul impregnable,
And can not break his heart.
His soul approves each manly deed,
And cheers him in his race,
And in the time of greatest need,
Wreathes smiles upon his face.
His truest friends endorse his plan,
And admire for his worth,
God’s noblest work, the honest man,
As nothing else on earth.
BEAUTIFUL THINGS. There’s many an elegant thing
In this beautiful world of ours,
It may be a bird on the wing,
Or a bed of beautiful flowers.
It may be a mountain, or hill,
Or beautiful valley of green,
And it may be a pond, or mill,
Adorning the beautiful scene.
There are many rivers that flow,
That are beautiful things to see,
And many dainty plants that grow,
And many a beautiful tree.
There is many a charming brook,
That becomes a beautiful stream,
As it winds with many a crook,
And with beautiful trout may teem.
There are oceans mighty in size,
And many a beautiful lake,
With water as blue as the skies,
And that beautiful pictures make.
There are mountain ranges sublime,
And beautiful forests of trees;
There are rocks grown hoary with time,
And beautiful sights on the seas.
Many brilliant diamonds are found,
And beautiful rubies and pearls,
And many rich things in the ground,
As beautiful nature unfurls.
Gold is difficult to obtain,
But a beautiful thing to own,
And tho it is hard to retain,
Few more beautiful things are known.
A lovely and delightful thing,
Is a beautiful city park,
Which does pleasure to thousands bring,
And a beautiful landscape mark.
But most charming of things men see,
Gardens of beautiful flowers,
Can fill his heart with ecstacy
And beautiful thoughts for hours.
A landscape of hill and of dale,
And beautiful river of blue,
With steamers and ships under sail,
Is indeed a beautiful view.
There are pretty and tasteful homes,
And beautiful capitols grand,
Embellished with towers and domes,
And built on beautiful land.
There’s sculpture in marble and stone,
Beautiful in work and design,
And monuments standing alone,
Of beautiful progress a sign.
There are elegant works of art,
And beautiful paintings by man,
And hundreds of things in the mart,
Beautiful in color and plan.
Even pretty insects there are,
And thousands of beautiful birds
With plumage that glistens afar,
And beautiful cattle in herds.
Wild beasts that roam over the plain
Are often beautiful to see;
But cannot be used for man’s gain
As the beautiful horse can be.
There are men of honor and worth,
And women beautiful and mild;
But the handsomest thing on earth
Is a beautiful little child.
THE NURSE. Among all the duties of life,
A most difficult place to fill,
Is that of the invalid nurse,
To the suffering thousands ill.
The sacrifice is very great,
That nurses are required to make,
And there is no reason to doubt,
’Tis made for humanity’s sake.
A desire to comfort the sick,
Must ever be the ruling thought,
For without a merciful heart,
The work can never well be wrought.
Sweet pleasures are at her command,
In which she seldom can take part;
She has consecrated herself,
To the grand work that fills her heart.
Only the noblest human souls
Engage in woman’s highest work,
The selfish and hard-hearted ones,
Can always find excuse to shirk.
The sick are hard to satisfy,
And the nurse exerts her trained skill,
Sometimes to give, sometimes deny,
And mildly sway the fickle will.
By sweet smiles and true devotion,
She makes the invalid her friend,
Who appreciates the kindness,
With which she does his wants attend.
When wild becomes the fevered brain,
The patient thinks the nurse his foe.
Imagines he is in a fight,
And strikes his friend a fearful blow.
With wondrous strength she holds him down,
“Let go (he cries) I’ll break your head,”
And when his frenzy has expired,
Sinks back exhausted, almost dead.
Now the nurse’s fine work begins,
The right remedies are applied,
She calls the doctor, orders help,
And does not leave the patient’s side.
With noble zeal, the doctor’s help,
And support from the patient’s friends,
Reason returns, the strength’s restored,
And the sick man’s condition mends.
Thru all the trials in her work,
The nurse must wear a smile serene,
The patient may rave, scold and swear,
No frown upon her face is seen.
The splendid self control she shows,
Is worthy of the highest praise,
May Heaven grant well earned reward,
And fill her life with happy days.
A SWEET DISPOSITION. Brave deeds have been done and glory oft won,
By the heroic and strong;
Their lives they have braved and thousands have saved,
And well they are praised in song.
The soldiers who fight for country and right,
And often suffer great pain,
Deserve the applause of friends of the cause,
That they ventured their lives to gain.
The active and brave, on land and on wave,
We praise for every good deed;
The skill they’ve acquired, is warmly admired,
And people bid them God speed.
But there’s a small class, that none can surpass,
In whatever condition,
’Tis those who are blest, with love in the breast,
And a sweet disposition.
For such is reserved and richly deserved,
The best love our hearts can give;
For we feel quite sure, the sweetest are pure,
And the best people that live.
’Tis the warmest love that comes from above,
That fits for its high mission,
The heavenly face abounding in grace,
And a sweet disposition.
Happy is the mind to virtue inclined,
That can one’s temper control,
And never show wrath, no matter who hath
Grave insults offered its soul.
’Tis sound common sense and brings recompense,
To be patient and be good;
His mind must be strong, that never goes wrong,
And always does as he should.
Great is the delight in knowing one’s right,
In every position,
And happy and rife, is the journey thru life,
With a sweet disposition.
THE SCOW RACE. There were twenty scows in the fleet,
Waiting at Detroit for a breeze,
They were bound to have a fine meet,
Under the rule—go as you please.
They were all bound for Anchor Bay
At the north end of Lake St. Clair,
About thirty-five miles away,
And quickly reached when winds are fair.
“A sail ahoy,” a sailor cried,
I see her coming round the bend,
The wind is from the starboard side,
And seems to give her a fair send.
“All hands on deck, unlash dem sails,
Jus see de Foam she’s caught the breeze,
Heave dat anchor, come on, you gales,
We’ll beat de Foam wid greatest ease.
“Hoist de foresail, shake out dem reefs,
We need all de breeze dat’s comin,
Mind your Cap’in we’re not all chiefs,
We’ll soon have de ole scow hummin.
“Joe, take de helm, Jack, go for’ard,
Hoist de stanin jib, fly aroun,
Up with the flying jib, Dorard,
Hoist de main sail, now off we’re boun.
“Keep out de current, Joe, look out,
Keep close shore American side.
See dem trying to beat us out,
And Dolphin on Canada side.
“Never mine rushes, don’t be fraid,
Wine that center board clear up tight,
Now we will lead de whole parade,
We can beat em all goin light.
“What’s dat, Jack, de Annie’s gainin?
Too much current, Joe, hold her in,
Pay off main sheet, now it’s rainin,
Dat’s good, our ole sails hold more win.
“See dare! de Sweeper’s ahead now,
She’s boun to pass de light house firse,
Never mine, she’s light draf scow,
In de lak we’ll give her a burse.
“Here we are in ole Lak St. Clair,
Take de helm, Bob, give Joe a res,
Lots of room here if all play fair,
And we’ll not be de secon bes.
“See de White Pigeon how she scoots,
She has de bes breeze in de fleet,
Cap’in Isaac swells in his boots,
When he gets home he’ll have to treat.
“What’s de matter? we’re fallin back,
Dare is four or five ahead now,
See de Lucinda in our track,
And de Ruffin crossin our bow.
“Set your fore gaff and your main gaff,
Wing out dem sails, mind your helm, Bob,
We’ll let em know we’re not a raff,
To beat us da got a big job.
“See de Abe Lincoln crawlin up,
She’s hard to beat when by de win.
But wid fair win can’t git de cup.
And we are sure to beat her in.
“Now de Comet’s pushin hard,
Her big square sail catches de breeze,
I wish we had a good fore yard.
Never mine, she’s only a tease.
“Git dat ole canvas out de hole,
Lash it to fore riggin each side,
Stretch it out good wid dem pike pole,
Now Miss Comet can step one side.
“Where’s de Louise an Margaret,
St. Stephen an Napoleon?
De Betsey’s behine, poor old Bet,
De sweet Alvina’s comin on.
“Where’s de Bronson and de Eugene,
And de Margaret Alice too?
Da’s way behine and can’t be seen.
And de Axford all do she’s new.
“What’s dat you say, she is groanin,
Fire dat cannon, give em a greet,
When she’s groanin den she’s goin,
De ole Fair Trader leads de fleet,
“Vansaw, bring out your ole fiddle,
Play—de girl I lef so handy,
Den Sallie go down de middle,
And sweet Yankee doodle dandy.
“Haul in dat main sheet, come in stays,
Drop anchor, make dat cannon boom,
Cap’in Poquet will git de praise,
De ole Fair Trader’s won de broom.”
A HAPPY CHOICE. We met at a party,
The greeting was hearty,
And her conduct was lady-like and kind,
I noticed her reserve,
And quickly did observe,
That she was educated and refined.
She was dressed so neatly.
And she smiled so sweetly,
And her manners were so pleasing to me,
That I felt enraptured,
And was fairly captured,
And I wondered what the result would be.
My plans were helped along,
By some who did belong,
By friendship and relation to her side;
They called me a good catch,
And sought to make a match,
And see their friend become a happy bride.
Then I aimed to acquire,
The one I did admire,
And to make her my partner for life;
I did not have a doubt,
That she would carry out,
Ev’ry duty that belongs to a wife.
I told her my intent,
And asked her to consent,
And promised I would love her evermore;
And then she did reply,
She was pleased to comply,
And love me as she never loved before.
Now we are man and wife,
Have entered married life,
And are settled in a sweet little home;
I always do my best,
My wife does all the rest,
And neither one has any wish to roam.
We have a little boy,
Our greatest source of joy,
Of sweet disposition like his mother;
He is a darling pet,
And we will not forget,
Is a tie that binds us to each other.
We work well together,
Serve and please each other,
And do not know of any better plan;
Our home is one of peace,
And we will never cease,
To make it as attractive as we can.
My wife is always kind,
She has a noble mind,
And is as good as I thought she would be;
I’ve reason to rejoice,
I made a happy choice,
And that my darling wife is pleased with me.
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS. The beautiful flowers turned their faces to me,
And the sweet little flowers threw kisses at me.
The larger flowers gently beckoned to me,
And all the pretty flowers talked love to me.
I turned toward the river, it was grand to see,
Its banks were as pretty as river banks can be,
The trees dressed in gay colors were smiling at me,
’Twas a world filled with beauty, with beauty for me.
THE VALUE OF A FRIEND. How few there are who appreciate
The value of a friend,
Whose love is so deep, sincere and true,
You can on it depend.
How often amid the storms of life,
A little help you need,
How cheering then to have a friend
That is a friend indeed,
And when those storms continue to rage,
And friends to shelter go,
The genuine friend stands by you then,
And helps ward off the blow.
God pity the man who would betray
The Christ-like loving friend,
Whose heart is with him everywhere
And will be to the end.
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