SENTIMENT and AFFECTION

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J. S. Ogilvie
SENTIMENT and AFFECTION
Peace be around thee, wherever thou rovest;
May life be for thee one summer’s day;
And all that thou wish, and all that thou lovest,
Come smiling around thy summer way.
If sorrow e’er this calm should break,
May even thy tears pass off so lightly,
Like spring showers, they will only make
The smiles that follow shine more brightly.

May the chain of friendship formed by the links which are dropped here, serve to unite you more closely in spirit with the friends who have worked it.

May each link be brought to a white heat in the fires of Love; and, forged on the anvils of Truth, may they be strong as iron, yet light as air: keeping you bravely to the duties of Life. And when the chain of human bondage shall be broken, may they become flowers of eternal brightness in the gardens from whence cometh exceeding peace.

Our lives are albums, written through
With good or ill—with false or true—
And, as the blessed angels turn
The pages of our years,
God grant they read the good with smiles,
And blot the bad with tears.

The gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man perfected without adversity.

Time advances like the slowest tide, but retreats like the swiftest current.

What’s the use of always fretting
At the trials we shall find
Ever strewn along our pathway—
Travel on, and never mind.
Life giveth unto each his space,
A span of earth, an arch of sky,
And unto each a several grace—
To each a separate destiny.
And some were born to win and spend,
And some to love unto the end.
There is another album
Filled with leaves of spotless white,
Where no name is ever tarnished,
But forever pure and bright.
In the Book of Life—God’s album—
May your name be penned with care,
And may all who here have written,
Write their names forever there.

Daily we write our autographs on the minds and hearts of those around us.

“Poor is the friendless master of a world. A world in purchase for a friend, is gain.”

So slight a favor ’tis you crave,
That I can scarce refuse compliance;
Nor shall I use the page you gave,
To set your champions at defiance.
Dear lady, vainly awed, I praise
That dimpled hand I pressed at parting;
Or those dark eyes, beneath whose gaze
A cupid lurks equipped for darting.
Nor can I hope to lightly touch
On charms so oft the theme of lovers;
To add another, while so much
That beautiful about thee hovers.
I can but add one little pearl
To all the gems about thee scattered;
And say again, sweet, artless girl,
That all thy poets have not flattered.
I have tried for a week, and vainly I seek
Words of wisdom to write to you here;
So, wishing you life free from sorrow and strife,
Nor wanting in friends and good cheer,
With health—perhaps wealth—
Love better than self,
And Truth, far the best, to the end;
Since content it maintains
While existence remains,
I subscribe myself, Truly, your friend.
Strength for to-day, in house and home,
To practice forbearance sweetly;
To scatter kind words and loving deeds,
Still trusting in God completely.

A volume of this kind, it is supposable, will be more or less frequently referred to, in future years, to revive fading recollections and recall pleasant associations; and, therefore, though it is so easy to moralize, it seems eminently fitting that helpful suggestions should accompany familiar autographs.

Let me say, then, that while in your youth a favorable combination of circumstances permits so much of happiness, the conditions of its enjoyment cannot always remain as now.

As the responsibilities, at present borne for you, shall come to rest on your own shoulders, and the darker shades of life’s history are unfolded, you will find the peace, which floweth like a river, only in the degree in which you resolutely perform every known duty; and, forgetting your own wants—whether fancied or real—devote your thoughts, as well as your energies, to making the society in which you move, happier for your being.

That you may indulge in no selfish ease; but bestow, as well as enjoy, a full share of the pleasures of time, and afterward receive a crown of glory, is the earnest wish of your friend—

I would that I could express my mind
To you, dear friend, in scribbling some rhyme;
But you know my failing as well as I,
And you’d better get another to try.

That one who can work right on, quietly waiting for recognition, if it come: if not, yet right on, is the true nobleman.

Dost thou know, love, that thy smile
Makes the whole world bright for me?
Just as sunrise pours a sudden
Purple glory on the sea.
Ah! had I that power, ever
Should the world look bright to thee.
I know not what to write about,
So many themes are pressing;
All good enough in very truth,
But quite unprepossessing:
Each moment of thy future life,
Live holy, whether maid or wife.
And let it be thy constant care,
Midst earthly joy and sorrow,
By watchfulness and fervent prayer,
Each this day and to-morrow,
To be prepared when Christ shall come,
His heaven to make thy final home.
Oh, those eyes! so calm, serene—
Sweetest eyes were ever seen.
Will the woes of coming years
Ever shadow them with tears?
Shall my life the sunshine own,
That last night upon me shone,
When, beneath the summer skies,
Beamed on me those brown, brown eyes?

These little souvenirs possess not their greatest value when first written; but as time, with scythe in hand, passes along, and we are left standing, we are not the same, but these lines remain. Some, to cheer the saddened by awakening slumbering memories of better things; and others serving as guide-boards on the road to eternity.

And thou, too, whosoe’er thou art,
That readest this brief psalm,
As one by one thy hopes depart,
Be resolute and calm.
O fear not in a world like this,
And thou shalt know e’re long—
Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong.
Press on! our life is not a dream
Though often such its mazes seem.
We were not born to live at ease—
Ourselves alone to aid and please
To each a daily task is given;
A labor that shall fit for heaven,
When duty calls, let love grow warm,
Amid the sunshine or the storm;
With faith, life’s trials boldly breast
Then come a conqueror to thy rest.

As you travel through life, scatter kind words and gentle deeds; in so doing, you will enrich your soul. Withhold them, and it tends to poverty.

May your life be like the day—more beautiful in the evening; like the summer—aglow with promise; and, like the autumn, rich with the golden sheaves, where good works and deeds have ripened on the field.

Let the road be rough and dreary,
And its end far out of sight;
Foot it bravely—strong or weary;—
Trust in God, and do the right.
Life is but a day, at best,
Sprung from night, in darkness lost;
Hope not sunshine every hour;
Fear not—clouds will always lower.
All the paths of faith, tho’ severed wide,
O’er which the feet of prayerful reverence pass
Meet at the gate of Paradise at last.
If I wake, or if I sleep,
Still the memory I keep
Of the tender light that lies
In the depths of those brown eyes.
Be blessings scattered o’er thy way,
My gladsome, joyous, laughing sprite;
Be thy whole life one summer’s day
Without the night.
On this leaf, in memory prest,
May my name forever rest.
On this page I’ll write, simply to indite
My name as your friend.
May thy life happy be,
Is my dear wish for thee.
It never pays to fret and growl
When fortune seems our foe,
The better bred will push ahead
And strike the braver blow;
For luck is work,
And those who shirk
Should not lament their doom,
But yield the play,
And clear the way,
That better men have room.
Desire not to live long, but well;
How long we live, not years, but actions, tell.
Meanness shun, and all its train;
Goodness seek, and life is gain.
A beautiful life ends not in death.
Round went the autograph; hither it came,
For me to write in; so here’s my name.
Passing through life’s field of action,
Lest we part before its end,
Take within your modest volume,
This memento from a friend.
We meet and part—the world is wide;
We journey onward side by side
A little while, and then again
Our paths diverge. A little pain—
A silent yearning of the heart
For what has grown of life a part;
A shadow passing o’er the sun,
Then gone, and light again has come.
We meet and part, and then forget;
And life holds blessings for us yet.
When things don’t go to suit you,
And the world seems upside down,
Don’t waste your time in fretting,
But drive away the frown.
Old friends and true friends!
Don’t talk to me of new friends;
The old are the best,
Who stand the test,
Who book their name as through friends.

May your coffee and slanders against you be ever the same—without grounds.

The world is full of fools.
And he who would none view,
Must shut himself in a cave,
And break his mirror, too.
Methinks long years have flown,
And, sitting in her old arm-chair,
---- has older grown.
With silver sprinkled in her hair,
Her album thus she holds,
And turns its many pages o’er,
And wonders if it still contains
The memories of yore.
As o’er these pages thus she runs,
With many a sigh and kiss,
Then suddenly she stops and says,
“Who could have written this?”
It never pays to wreck the health
In drudging after gain;
And he is sold who thinks that gold
The cheapest bought with pain.
An humble lot,
A cosey cot,
Have tempted even kings;
For station high,
That wealth will buy,
Not oft contentment brings.
Remember me, is all I ask
And, if remembrance be a task,
Forget me.
----, life is all before you,
Stretched out in its misty sheen
And the future, though now hidden
Holds much joy for thee, I ween.
Why, then, seek to know what’s coming?
It is forming day by day
But your heart, in blind out-reaching,
Makes to-morrow of to-day.
“Life is real—life is earnest;”
And the heroine in the strife
Is the one who leaves the future—
Living but the present life;—
Lives it truly, nobly, grandly;
Thus prepares for coming fate;
Strives to make her living perfect;—
Learns to labor and to wait.
The violet is for faithfulness,
Which in me shall abide:
Hoping, likewise, from your heart
You will not let it slide.
This is thine album. May it be
A source of happiness to thee.
And may each page that’s written o’er,
Be better than the one before.
’Tis a terrible fate, my dear miss,
To be asked to write in a book like this;
For, scratch my head as hard as I may—
I’ve such a skull—
And if I try to moralize,
Or vent my thoughts in sentiment,
Or attempt to laud you to the skies,
Or spread myself on compliment,
I’m so awful dull,
That my efforts would prove futility;
For the sex of your kind, are of that turn of mind,
That morals, verse and flattery,
Have to you been so oft defined,
You are full.
If rhyming I try, adorable Miss,
The first I think of, is dear little Kiss,
Or some such nonsense as connubial bliss,
Or changing your title “Mrs.” from “Miss;”
But that’s prosaical.
To give you advice, I’d never presume;—
Incompetence may be the reason for that;—
To wish you long life and a blest happy home
Is aged and stale, exhausted and flat,
And excruciatingly formal.
Now, what to do I do not know,
Or how to make my paragraph;
So I’ll doff my hat, and make my bow
And send this as my autograph.

May there be just clouds enough o’er your life to cause a glorious sunset.

That every kindly wish and thought,
By friends expressed within these pages,
Be yours, and trials common to us all
May cross your path by “easy stages.”
Remember me when far away,
And only half awake;
Remember me on your wedding-day,
And send a slice of cake.
When worth and beauty prompt the line,
Perhaps a pen as poor as mine
May be forgiven
To try and write of things divine,
And think of heaven!
But pause, rash verse! and don’t abuse
A bashful maiden’s ear with news
Of her own beauty!
And yet no other theme I’ll choose,
Or think a duty!
So, then, for fear I might offend,
I’ll say, God bless her!—and thus end.
The earth can boast no purer tie,
No brighter, richer gem,
No jewel of a lovelier dye,
Than Friendship’s diadem.
Then may this ray of light divine
Ne’er from our bosoms fade;
But may it on our pathway shine,
Till death our hearts invade.
---- is your name,
Single is your station;
Happy be the little man
That makes the alteration.
Oh! love is such a strange affair;
So strange to all.
It cometh from above
And lighteth like a dove
On some.
But some it never hits
Unless it gives them fits.
Oh, hum.
Thy cheerful, gentle ways, I do admire:
Thy future, to be happy, I greatly desire;
Thy trusting confidence, may I require;
Thy firm friend to be, will I aspire.
As a slight token of esteem,
Accept these lines from me;
So plain and simple, they do seem
Unworthy such as thee.
But soon these traced lines will fade
And disappear—’tis their doom.
May you, unlike them, be arrayed
In a perpetual bloom.
In memory’s wreath may one bud be entwined for me.

We are all placed here to do something. It is for us, and not for others, to find out what that something is, and then, with all the energy of which we are capable, honestly and prayerfully to be about our business.

Oh! think of me some day
When I am far away;
I’ll pray thy days be long
And joyous as the song
Of sweet birds singing near,
Thy heart with love to cheer.
May joy thy spirit fill,
All care and sorrow cease;
Remember ’tis His will
Who hath spoken, “Peace!”
In fair and sunny beauty, or gray ’neath evening skies,
The purple hills from misty vales, upward to heaven rise:
Their rugged side we scarce can see o’er-decked with fern and heather,
That rings its scented violet bells through fair and stormy weather;
So may thy life be clothed with flowers, and breathe a purer air,
Fresh from the “everlasting hills,” knowing no grief or care,—
And if the sunny sky must pale, as pales the setting sun,
May it only show the stars are near, peeping out, one by one!
These few lines to you are tendered,
By a friend sincere and true;
Hoping but to be remembered
When I’m far away from you.
Work, while yet the daylight shines,
With a loving heart and true,
For golden years are fleeting by,
And we are passing, too.
Wait not for to-morrow’s sun
To beam upon thy way,
For all that thou can’st call thine own,
Is in this one to-day.
Then learn to make the most of life—
Make glad each passing day—
For time will never bring thee back
The chances swept away.
Leave no tender word unsaid—
Do good while life shall last;—
You know the mill can never grind
With the water that is past.
Let not the hours we’ve spent together,
Go past as nothing, by;
Forget me not, e’en though you must
Remember with a sigh.
Thanksgiving-day again is here,
And turkey is the leading question;
I wish, with heartiness sincere,
That you may have a good digestion.
Though many flowers have faded from my life,
And clouds obscure the brightness of its sky;
This have I learned: we can do much to make
Our lives a blessing and our words a power,
If what we find to do, for Christ’s dear sake,
We do with faithfulness, from hour to hour.
It may occur in after life
That you, I trust, a happy wife,
Will former happy hours retrace,
Recall each well-remembered face.
At such a moment I but ask—
I hope ’twill be a pleasant task—
That you’ll remember as a friend
One who’ll prove true e’en to the end.

May thy darkest hours in life be well lighted with the sunshine of contentment.

Yours sincerely—although merely—
When the golden sun is setting,
And your heart from care is free,
When o’er a thousand things you’re thinking,
Will you sometimes think of me?
How long we live, not years, but actions tell;
That man lives twice who lives the first life well.
Make then, while yet ye may, your God your friend.
Whom Christians worship, yet not comprehend.
The trust that’s given, guard; and to yourself be just;
For, live we how we can, yet die we must.
Live well; how long or short, permit to Heaven;
They who forgive most, shall be most forgiven.
Soar not too high to fall, but stoop to rise;
We masters grow of all that we despise.
Your fate is but the common fate of all;
Unmingled joys here to no man befall.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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