Horror of combat, and tumult and dread;Thunder of cannon and bursting of bomb;Moans of the wounded (who envy the dead)Lost in the clamor of trumpet and drum.O where is the song of the angels?O when shall we hear it again?"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,"And good will evermore among men."Here is fierce anger and hatred and death,Pitiless slaughter of pitiless foe;Blessings and curses poured forth in a breath;Brave self-forgetting, and measureless woe.But where is the song of the angels?O when shall we hear it again?"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,"And good will evermore among men."Blue waves of ocean are reddened with gore,Victor and victim earth holds to her breast;Hearts that will thrill with ambition no more;Heads that so lately fond mothers caressed.O where is the song of the angels?O when shall we hear it again?"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,"And good will evermore among men."Victory, purchased at infinite cost,Honors and titles so fearfully won,Fame, at the price of lives blighted and lost,Graves, all unnoted, unnumbered, unknown.O where is the song of the angels?Dear Christ, let us hear it again;"Peace on earth," send the chorus seraphic,"Peace on earth, and good will among men."
Horror of combat, and tumult and dread;Thunder of cannon and bursting of bomb;Moans of the wounded (who envy the dead)Lost in the clamor of trumpet and drum.O where is the song of the angels?O when shall we hear it again?"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,"And good will evermore among men."
Here is fierce anger and hatred and death,Pitiless slaughter of pitiless foe;Blessings and curses poured forth in a breath;Brave self-forgetting, and measureless woe.But where is the song of the angels?O when shall we hear it again?"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,"And good will evermore among men."
Blue waves of ocean are reddened with gore,Victor and victim earth holds to her breast;Hearts that will thrill with ambition no more;Heads that so lately fond mothers caressed.O where is the song of the angels?O when shall we hear it again?"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,"And good will evermore among men."
Victory, purchased at infinite cost,Honors and titles so fearfully won,Fame, at the price of lives blighted and lost,Graves, all unnoted, unnumbered, unknown.O where is the song of the angels?Dear Christ, let us hear it again;"Peace on earth," send the chorus seraphic,"Peace on earth, and good will among men."
I have dreamed a sweet dream; I have seen a fair vision;I have looked the wide universe o'er;And earth's nations arise in a glory elysian—They do not learn war any more.There are music and mirth; there are childhood's sweet voices,Winsome age lends its placid charm there;There are laughter and glee as when home-life rejoicesUnshadowed by sorrow or care.In all noble achievement, all worthy endeavor,Men in kindly ambition contend;But the valiant of heart may yet know he hath everIn his sturdiest foeman a friend.Nevermore the proud boast or the haughty defiance;—Without end shall His kingdom increase;'Tis the day ofall nations in Holy Alliance,'Tis the reign of truth, justice, and peace.Nevermore shall a nation lift sword against nation,The dominion of Hatred is o'er;'Tis the triumph of Love, 'tis the dawn of Christ's kingdom,They shall not learn war any more.
I have dreamed a sweet dream; I have seen a fair vision;I have looked the wide universe o'er;And earth's nations arise in a glory elysian—They do not learn war any more.
There are music and mirth; there are childhood's sweet voices,Winsome age lends its placid charm there;There are laughter and glee as when home-life rejoicesUnshadowed by sorrow or care.
In all noble achievement, all worthy endeavor,Men in kindly ambition contend;But the valiant of heart may yet know he hath everIn his sturdiest foeman a friend.
Nevermore the proud boast or the haughty defiance;—Without end shall His kingdom increase;'Tis the day ofall nations in Holy Alliance,'Tis the reign of truth, justice, and peace.
Nevermore shall a nation lift sword against nation,The dominion of Hatred is o'er;'Tis the triumph of Love, 'tis the dawn of Christ's kingdom,They shall not learn war any more.
Put up thy sword, O Nation, grand and strong!Call in thy fleet-winged missiles from the sea;Art thou not great enough to suffer wrong,Land of the brave, the freest of the free?Put up thy sword. 'Tis nobler to endureThan to avenge thee at another's cost;And while thy claim and purpose are made sure,Behold that other's life and honor lost.Put up thy sword. It hath not hushed the cryThat called it all too rashly from its sheath;Still o'er the fated isle her children lieAnd find surcease from anguish but in death.Put up thy sword, O Country, strong and free,Let strife and avarice and oppression cease;So shall the world thy Star of Empire seeResplendent o'er the heaven-touched hills of Peace.
Put up thy sword, O Nation, grand and strong!Call in thy fleet-winged missiles from the sea;Art thou not great enough to suffer wrong,Land of the brave, the freest of the free?
Put up thy sword. 'Tis nobler to endureThan to avenge thee at another's cost;And while thy claim and purpose are made sure,Behold that other's life and honor lost.
Put up thy sword. It hath not hushed the cryThat called it all too rashly from its sheath;Still o'er the fated isle her children lieAnd find surcease from anguish but in death.
Put up thy sword, O Country, strong and free,Let strife and avarice and oppression cease;So shall the world thy Star of Empire seeResplendent o'er the heaven-touched hills of Peace.
1 Samuel 4: 10, 11; 7: 3.(WRITTEN ON THE DEFEAT OF THE PROHIBITION AMENDMENT IN PENNSYLVANIA.)
They fought with lances in that ancient day,With sword and spear and arrow deftly sped.At eventide the hosts of Israel layVanquished and spoiled, the dying with the dead;And the Ark of God was taken.They fought with ballots in our nearer day;From morn to eve the light-winged missiles flew;Again Philistia's triumph brought dismay,And Wrong, victorious, struggling Virtue slew,And the Ark of God was taken.O ye to whom the sacred trust was givenTo guard the altar and the ark of God,Have ye been recreant to the charge of heaven,That thus we fall before the avenging rod,And the Ark of God is taken?Rouse from your shameful slumbers. Put awayYour strange gods from among you. Turn again;That in the drawing of some nobler dayThe hosts of sin may be rebuked of men,And the Ark of God re-taken.
They fought with lances in that ancient day,With sword and spear and arrow deftly sped.At eventide the hosts of Israel layVanquished and spoiled, the dying with the dead;And the Ark of God was taken.
They fought with ballots in our nearer day;From morn to eve the light-winged missiles flew;Again Philistia's triumph brought dismay,And Wrong, victorious, struggling Virtue slew,And the Ark of God was taken.
O ye to whom the sacred trust was givenTo guard the altar and the ark of God,Have ye been recreant to the charge of heaven,That thus we fall before the avenging rod,And the Ark of God is taken?
Rouse from your shameful slumbers. Put awayYour strange gods from among you. Turn again;That in the drawing of some nobler dayThe hosts of sin may be rebuked of men,And the Ark of God re-taken.
(Air: King Bibbler's Army.)FOR M. B. T.
In the years, years ago, when the true-hearted women,Started forth on their errand of prayer,Many said, "'Tis the cry of the Home for protection";Many said, "'Tis delusion and snare."Some said, softly, "God bless you"; some murmured, "Mistaken";Some the swift shafts of calumny hurled;But they went bravely forward, a praying procession,Marching out, out, out in the world.ChorusHark! hark! a trembling chorus:No, no, no, no;We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;No, no, no, no;And now to save our young men the White-Ribbon ArmyMarches on, on, on round the world.At the head of the host came the silver-haired mothers,Arm in arm with the daughters so fair;While the wives for their husbands, the girls for their brothers,Raise their voices to heaven in prayer.As their pleadings prevail, and "the worst foe" surrenders,The white banner of peace is unfurled;And we now may behold them, a joyful procession,Marching on, on, on round the world.ChorusHark! hark! a swelling chorus:No, no, no, no;We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;No, no, no, no;And oh to save our country the White-Ribbon ArmyMarches on, on, on round the world.They have entered the gates of the Empire Celestial,They have compassed the Isles of the Sea,And they carry glad tidings of good to all people,From the land of the brave and the free.On the peeress of England, on Afric's dark daughter,Is the white-ribbon emblem now twirled;And the army moves onward, a dauntless procession,Marching on, on, on round the world.ChorusHark! hark! a ringing chorus:No, no, no, no;We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;No, no, no, no;And lo! to save all nations the White-Ribbon ArmyMarches on, on, on round the world.
In the years, years ago, when the true-hearted women,Started forth on their errand of prayer,Many said, "'Tis the cry of the Home for protection";Many said, "'Tis delusion and snare."Some said, softly, "God bless you"; some murmured, "Mistaken";Some the swift shafts of calumny hurled;But they went bravely forward, a praying procession,Marching out, out, out in the world.
Chorus
Hark! hark! a trembling chorus:No, no, no, no;We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;No, no, no, no;And now to save our young men the White-Ribbon ArmyMarches on, on, on round the world.
At the head of the host came the silver-haired mothers,Arm in arm with the daughters so fair;While the wives for their husbands, the girls for their brothers,Raise their voices to heaven in prayer.As their pleadings prevail, and "the worst foe" surrenders,The white banner of peace is unfurled;And we now may behold them, a joyful procession,Marching on, on, on round the world.
Chorus
Hark! hark! a swelling chorus:No, no, no, no;We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;No, no, no, no;And oh to save our country the White-Ribbon ArmyMarches on, on, on round the world.
They have entered the gates of the Empire Celestial,They have compassed the Isles of the Sea,And they carry glad tidings of good to all people,From the land of the brave and the free.On the peeress of England, on Afric's dark daughter,Is the white-ribbon emblem now twirled;And the army moves onward, a dauntless procession,Marching on, on, on round the world.
Chorus
Hark! hark! a ringing chorus:No, no, no, no;We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;No, no, no, no;And lo! to save all nations the White-Ribbon ArmyMarches on, on, on round the world.
Dawn of glory! radiant morn!To-day the Christ, our King, is born.Our King, our Saviour, Son of Man,And Son of God—all-wondrous plan!A Virgin's joy; a world's salvation;Humblest type of exaltation!Highest form of life despised;Visage marred, and beauty prized.By angels heralded on high;By men abhorred and doomed to die.Entombed secure 'neath seal and stone;Uprisen to the Eternal Throne!Hail, blessed light! Hail glorious morn!The Wonderful, the Christ is born!
Dawn of glory! radiant morn!To-day the Christ, our King, is born.Our King, our Saviour, Son of Man,And Son of God—all-wondrous plan!A Virgin's joy; a world's salvation;Humblest type of exaltation!Highest form of life despised;Visage marred, and beauty prized.By angels heralded on high;By men abhorred and doomed to die.Entombed secure 'neath seal and stone;Uprisen to the Eternal Throne!Hail, blessed light! Hail glorious morn!The Wonderful, the Christ is born!
The Early Dawn looked out upon the worldAnd cried, "How beautiful a world to be!"The Dawn herself was beautiful to see;Her hair of glowing golden light uncurledAbout a face of clear serenity,Whereon rose-tinted smiles played daintily and free."Aye, fair the earth," she said, "most fair—and yetHow can I for one briefest space forgetHow dark a stain its loveliness doth mar;A stain, a scourge, the cruel curse of war!Even now I dimly see and faintly hearThe clang of drum, the clash of sword and spear."And pale with pity, swift she shrank away,Leaving the world and war to broader day.The Sun at noon looked down upon the world;From depths of vast ethereal blue looked down,And mused, "You far, fair Earth, sure we must crownQueen of the Universe. Great flags unfurledO'er her bright waters witness high renownWon by her creature, Man; aye, bring for Earth a crown!Yet stay—there riseth over Afric plainsA cloud of battle-smoke; with crimson stainsHer rivers run; her hills and meadows fair,Trampled by hostile hordes, lie waste and bare.And yonder, in the islands of the sea,A people struggle vainly to be free;And everywhere the banners of fair fameTrail in the dust of hatred, greed and shame.No crown for Earth; I mourn so bright a starLost in the chaos of consuming war."And veiled in robe of woe, he went his way,Borne by the passing hours to close of day.The twilight lingered, and the Evening StarLooked back upon the world and whispered low:"These who have spoken surely could not know:—Earth is a great, pure pearl, and seems from farSet with fair homes, like gems; in amber glow,Or emerald green, or gold or roseate snow.But hush! In palace hall a bitter cry;A mangled hero is borne in to die;And in yon lowly cot, a widow's moan;—A mother's heart-break o'er her only son.Alas! 'tis true. Earth's battle-fields destroyHer noblest manhood; rob her homes of joy."And sad the Star of Evening sank from sight,While Earth lay shrouded in the gloom of night.But from afar—beyond the Morning's birth,Beyond the depths whence Sun looked down on earth,Beyond the dreamy distance of the Star,—A voice proclaimed: "They shall no more learn war."
The Early Dawn looked out upon the worldAnd cried, "How beautiful a world to be!"The Dawn herself was beautiful to see;Her hair of glowing golden light uncurledAbout a face of clear serenity,Whereon rose-tinted smiles played daintily and free."Aye, fair the earth," she said, "most fair—and yetHow can I for one briefest space forgetHow dark a stain its loveliness doth mar;A stain, a scourge, the cruel curse of war!Even now I dimly see and faintly hearThe clang of drum, the clash of sword and spear."And pale with pity, swift she shrank away,Leaving the world and war to broader day.
The Sun at noon looked down upon the world;From depths of vast ethereal blue looked down,And mused, "You far, fair Earth, sure we must crownQueen of the Universe. Great flags unfurledO'er her bright waters witness high renownWon by her creature, Man; aye, bring for Earth a crown!
Yet stay—there riseth over Afric plainsA cloud of battle-smoke; with crimson stainsHer rivers run; her hills and meadows fair,Trampled by hostile hordes, lie waste and bare.And yonder, in the islands of the sea,A people struggle vainly to be free;And everywhere the banners of fair fameTrail in the dust of hatred, greed and shame.No crown for Earth; I mourn so bright a starLost in the chaos of consuming war."And veiled in robe of woe, he went his way,Borne by the passing hours to close of day.
The twilight lingered, and the Evening StarLooked back upon the world and whispered low:"These who have spoken surely could not know:—Earth is a great, pure pearl, and seems from farSet with fair homes, like gems; in amber glow,Or emerald green, or gold or roseate snow.But hush! In palace hall a bitter cry;A mangled hero is borne in to die;And in yon lowly cot, a widow's moan;—A mother's heart-break o'er her only son.Alas! 'tis true. Earth's battle-fields destroyHer noblest manhood; rob her homes of joy."And sad the Star of Evening sank from sight,While Earth lay shrouded in the gloom of night.
But from afar—beyond the Morning's birth,Beyond the depths whence Sun looked down on earth,Beyond the dreamy distance of the Star,—A voice proclaimed: "They shall no more learn war."
Light on my pathway, blessed Lord,The light of life, I pray;O, let the glory of Thy wordShine o'er my life to-day.I cry to Thee for present help,Turn not my prayer away;O Strength and Refuge of Thine own,Keep Thou my soul to-day.My willing but uncertain feetGuide in Thy chosen way;And let Thy grace sufficient beFor all my need to-day.
Light on my pathway, blessed Lord,The light of life, I pray;O, let the glory of Thy wordShine o'er my life to-day.
I cry to Thee for present help,Turn not my prayer away;O Strength and Refuge of Thine own,Keep Thou my soul to-day.
My willing but uncertain feetGuide in Thy chosen way;And let Thy grace sufficient beFor all my need to-day.
My 'Infant Class' one summer morn,Was gathered in the maple shadeNear the church door, and there we talkedOf the fair world our Lord had made—The swaying trees upon the hill,The waving grain, the shadowy grove—Till every little heart seemed filledWith the sweet sense of Jesus' love.A query came: Dear little ones,As days go by what shall we do—Since Jesus has so loved us all—To show him that we love him too?"I'll mind mama," said wilful Tim;And Ben, "I'll carry in the wood;"Said Mary, "I will lessons learn;"While Dimple lisped, "I will be dood."And how will Helen show her love?She, with a wistful glance at Rose—A sweet, but pale and timid child—Replied, "By giving up, I 'spose."Dear girl! To fragile sister RoseShe oft must yield her will and way;But now this duty shall discloseHer love for Jesus, day by day.Oh oft, were we but wise, we'd findOur triumph in another's gain;On glowing altar—coals of love—Would joy to see self-idols slain.In simplest ways the soul may drinkWith Christ the sacrificial cup,And many a victory is won,And nobly won, by 'giving up.'
My 'Infant Class' one summer morn,Was gathered in the maple shadeNear the church door, and there we talkedOf the fair world our Lord had made—
The swaying trees upon the hill,The waving grain, the shadowy grove—Till every little heart seemed filledWith the sweet sense of Jesus' love.
A query came: Dear little ones,As days go by what shall we do—Since Jesus has so loved us all—To show him that we love him too?
"I'll mind mama," said wilful Tim;And Ben, "I'll carry in the wood;"Said Mary, "I will lessons learn;"While Dimple lisped, "I will be dood."
And how will Helen show her love?She, with a wistful glance at Rose—A sweet, but pale and timid child—Replied, "By giving up, I 'spose."
Dear girl! To fragile sister RoseShe oft must yield her will and way;But now this duty shall discloseHer love for Jesus, day by day.
Oh oft, were we but wise, we'd findOur triumph in another's gain;On glowing altar—coals of love—Would joy to see self-idols slain.
In simplest ways the soul may drinkWith Christ the sacrificial cup,And many a victory is won,And nobly won, by 'giving up.'
Thy will, Thy way, not mine, O blessed Lord;My will would choose the smooth and pleasant way,And that might lead from duty's path astray;Nay, I would walk "according to Thy word,"Choosing Thy way, not mine.Thy peace, my gracious Saviour, would I choose,My peace might lead me man, not God, to please,Might lure my soul to take its selfish ease,And, gaining all the world, itself to lose,Give me Thy peace, not mine.Thy will, Thy way, Thy peace, Thou knowest best;Let me but see the guiding of Thine eye,Let me but know Thy voice, and swift replyMy soul shall make to every know behest,Doing Thy will, not mine.
Thy will, Thy way, not mine, O blessed Lord;My will would choose the smooth and pleasant way,And that might lead from duty's path astray;Nay, I would walk "according to Thy word,"Choosing Thy way, not mine.
Thy peace, my gracious Saviour, would I choose,My peace might lead me man, not God, to please,Might lure my soul to take its selfish ease,And, gaining all the world, itself to lose,Give me Thy peace, not mine.
Thy will, Thy way, Thy peace, Thou knowest best;Let me but see the guiding of Thine eye,Let me but know Thy voice, and swift replyMy soul shall make to every know behest,Doing Thy will, not mine.
Ah me! what life since hers in age agoneHath not known Hagar's hour in desert wild;Outcast from sheltering home, adrift, alone,Bereft of love's sweet ministry, her child—Her heart's one treasure—late so fond and fair,Become a burden more than she could bear;All earth and sky a strange enfolding scrollWrit o'er with nameless pain and sense of needTo which nor pitying eye nor ear gave heedTill came the thought of God.Even so the soul,Consumed with vain regret and doubt and dread—As she upon the barren sand her boy—Lays all it once had counted hope and joyUpon the desolate waste itself had spread;Self-abnegating, tho with bitter cry—"I yield thee, but I cannot see thee die."But, passing thence, the agonizing pleaFaith transforms into tuneful harmony,Glad to remember "Thou, God, seest me."
Ah me! what life since hers in age agoneHath not known Hagar's hour in desert wild;Outcast from sheltering home, adrift, alone,Bereft of love's sweet ministry, her child—Her heart's one treasure—late so fond and fair,Become a burden more than she could bear;All earth and sky a strange enfolding scrollWrit o'er with nameless pain and sense of needTo which nor pitying eye nor ear gave heedTill came the thought of God.Even so the soul,Consumed with vain regret and doubt and dread—As she upon the barren sand her boy—Lays all it once had counted hope and joyUpon the desolate waste itself had spread;Self-abnegating, tho with bitter cry—"I yield thee, but I cannot see thee die."But, passing thence, the agonizing pleaFaith transforms into tuneful harmony,Glad to remember "Thou, God, seest me."
Written for a literary club, to which the author had formerly belonged, in Waterford, Va.
Written for a literary club, to which the author had formerly belonged, in Waterford, Va.
Start not, good friends; there was a timeWhen I, whom fate, in kindly mood,Made brief sojourner in your clime,Was glad partaker of the goodThat from your "Circle" emanated;And as the seven days went 'roundThe appointed "Fourth-day evening" foundMe with its members congregated.And also now I recognizeThe smiling lips and beaming eyesOf some, who, cordial, kind and free,Had smiles and loving words for me.Who, when I entered rose to greet,And welcome gave, sincere and sweet.But that was years ago, and nowThere may be wrinkles on my brow;There may have fled from form and faceThe transient charms of youth and grace,And time and sadness may have thrownA shadow o'er the "chestnut brown"Of locks that once—well, let that pass;—These are but sorrowful reflections,And, like those of my looking-glass,Do but discover imperfections;So let us leave this train of thoughtAnd start in happier directions.But first I think it may be dueAlike unto myself and you,Lest some should think I may have broughtMy ghostly presence here unsought,To make this note of explanation:—That not for pride, or praise, or gloom,Or curious motive am I come;Nor yet for want of occupation;Far from intruding thus, I wouldHave it distinctly understoodI'm here by "special invitation."Here! and my phantom pulses quicken!Pale memories gather round me fast,And now they grow, and gleam, and thicken,And fan me with their wings of light,And bear me to a realm more brightThan fairy land or elfin home,Or that sweet world whence dreams do comeThe heaven of a happy Past!* * * * *Familiar faces on me smile,Remembered voices greet my ear,And social converse gives the while,The old-time wisdom and good cheer.But while we're all engaged in chat,Of work, of weather, and all that,And voices rise and smiles grow broader,Presiding dignity comes forthWith modest but "amazing" worthAnd calls the whole concern to order.Then "minutes" penned by snow-white hand,Approved without dissension stand;And hushed is all the talk and noiseThe while some soft or manly voiceFrom gifted author doth unfoldBefore us treasures new and old.We grant them rare, yet lay them byOur intellectual strength to tryIn essay, speech, or declamation;We reverence the might of mind,But here our home-spun thoughts still findA kindlier appreciation.With hushed breath and eyes that glisten,To some fine argument we listen,From one with head so full of loreThat to prevent its brimming o'erHe must impart his information.The which he does "by book and rule,"Achieving in the village schoolA never-ceasing reformation.With rapt attention now we hearA discourse upon Sound and Ear,Wherein is beautifully blended,The Science and the History,The Knowledge and the MysterySo fair, when fairly comprehended.Then some poetic brain is fired,Some secret spring unlocked, forA brother brings, with love inspired,Kind thoughts in glowing words attired,And prays at once with heart and pen—And all the people say Amen—"God bless the Country Doctor."And "lesser lights" send out a gleamOf intellectual glory;And many a grave or playful theme,Or fact profound, or doubtful dream,Or song, or allegoryBeguiles the gloom of winter night,And makes the slow hours swift and light;To social pleasure adds a charm,Makes young hearts wise and old hearts warm,And Life a pleasant story.* * * * *O friends, I live it o'er again!I cross the gulf 'twixt Now and Then,And live that happy time again;Its varied joy and brightness, all—The crowded room, the lighted hall,The merry laugh, the friendly nod—And bless the Fate that brought—but no,Let us not read these chances so—Fate is the Sovereign will of God;He marks the paths by mortals trod;And He appoints our joy and woe.Then bless we God, whose gracious handHath led us gently on our way;By whose good will to-day we standRejoicing that we live to-day.By whose sweet mercy yet we trustThat all of us which is not dust,From time and toils of earth shall riseTo nobler life beyond the skies.
Start not, good friends; there was a timeWhen I, whom fate, in kindly mood,Made brief sojourner in your clime,Was glad partaker of the goodThat from your "Circle" emanated;And as the seven days went 'roundThe appointed "Fourth-day evening" foundMe with its members congregated.And also now I recognizeThe smiling lips and beaming eyesOf some, who, cordial, kind and free,Had smiles and loving words for me.Who, when I entered rose to greet,And welcome gave, sincere and sweet.But that was years ago, and nowThere may be wrinkles on my brow;There may have fled from form and faceThe transient charms of youth and grace,And time and sadness may have thrownA shadow o'er the "chestnut brown"Of locks that once—well, let that pass;—These are but sorrowful reflections,And, like those of my looking-glass,Do but discover imperfections;So let us leave this train of thoughtAnd start in happier directions.But first I think it may be dueAlike unto myself and you,Lest some should think I may have broughtMy ghostly presence here unsought,To make this note of explanation:—That not for pride, or praise, or gloom,Or curious motive am I come;Nor yet for want of occupation;Far from intruding thus, I wouldHave it distinctly understoodI'm here by "special invitation."
Here! and my phantom pulses quicken!Pale memories gather round me fast,And now they grow, and gleam, and thicken,And fan me with their wings of light,And bear me to a realm more brightThan fairy land or elfin home,Or that sweet world whence dreams do comeThe heaven of a happy Past!
* * * * *
Familiar faces on me smile,Remembered voices greet my ear,And social converse gives the while,The old-time wisdom and good cheer.But while we're all engaged in chat,Of work, of weather, and all that,And voices rise and smiles grow broader,Presiding dignity comes forthWith modest but "amazing" worthAnd calls the whole concern to order.Then "minutes" penned by snow-white hand,Approved without dissension stand;And hushed is all the talk and noiseThe while some soft or manly voiceFrom gifted author doth unfoldBefore us treasures new and old.We grant them rare, yet lay them byOur intellectual strength to tryIn essay, speech, or declamation;We reverence the might of mind,But here our home-spun thoughts still findA kindlier appreciation.With hushed breath and eyes that glisten,To some fine argument we listen,From one with head so full of loreThat to prevent its brimming o'erHe must impart his information.The which he does "by book and rule,"Achieving in the village schoolA never-ceasing reformation.With rapt attention now we hearA discourse upon Sound and Ear,Wherein is beautifully blended,The Science and the History,The Knowledge and the MysterySo fair, when fairly comprehended.Then some poetic brain is fired,Some secret spring unlocked, forA brother brings, with love inspired,Kind thoughts in glowing words attired,And prays at once with heart and pen—And all the people say Amen—"God bless the Country Doctor."
And "lesser lights" send out a gleamOf intellectual glory;And many a grave or playful theme,Or fact profound, or doubtful dream,Or song, or allegoryBeguiles the gloom of winter night,And makes the slow hours swift and light;To social pleasure adds a charm,Makes young hearts wise and old hearts warm,And Life a pleasant story.
* * * * *
O friends, I live it o'er again!I cross the gulf 'twixt Now and Then,And live that happy time again;Its varied joy and brightness, all—The crowded room, the lighted hall,The merry laugh, the friendly nod—And bless the Fate that brought—but no,Let us not read these chances so—Fate is the Sovereign will of God;He marks the paths by mortals trod;And He appoints our joy and woe.Then bless we God, whose gracious handHath led us gently on our way;By whose good will to-day we standRejoicing that we live to-day.By whose sweet mercy yet we trustThat all of us which is not dust,From time and toils of earth shall riseTo nobler life beyond the skies.
Up in the same sweet heaven,Though parted far,We two may see at evenThe same bright star.So the same blessed guide-starOf Love divineIllumines with its gloryThy path and mine.When thoughts of these, of heavenAnd love are thine,Be one kind memory givenThy Valentine.
Up in the same sweet heaven,Though parted far,We two may see at evenThe same bright star.
So the same blessed guide-starOf Love divineIllumines with its gloryThy path and mine.
When thoughts of these, of heavenAnd love are thine,Be one kind memory givenThy Valentine.
Bless us now, our Heavenly Father,As we gather once againAnd unite our hearts and voicesIn a grateful, glad refrain;Praises for a Father's bounty,Praises for a Saviour's reign.Guide us by thy Holy Spirit,Lead us in thy perfect way;Show us as we strive to serve Thee,What to do and what to say;Teach us how to work and suffer,How to watch and how to pray.Gracious Lord, we come with pleadingFor our tempted brother's sin;At the open door of mercyPraying Thou wilt take him in.Sin-sick, heart-sore and repentant,Let him now new life begin.And we bring our sister, moaningOver blighted hope and home;Robbed of all life's best possessionsBy the ruthless spoiler—Rum,To her rest in Thy compassion,Bid the heavy-laden "Come."And we pray, O God of Nations,That thine outstretched arm of might,May rebuke this prowling evil,May drive back the powers of night,And preserve us Home and CountryOverruled by Love and Right.
Bless us now, our Heavenly Father,As we gather once againAnd unite our hearts and voicesIn a grateful, glad refrain;Praises for a Father's bounty,Praises for a Saviour's reign.
Guide us by thy Holy Spirit,Lead us in thy perfect way;Show us as we strive to serve Thee,What to do and what to say;Teach us how to work and suffer,How to watch and how to pray.
Gracious Lord, we come with pleadingFor our tempted brother's sin;At the open door of mercyPraying Thou wilt take him in.Sin-sick, heart-sore and repentant,Let him now new life begin.
And we bring our sister, moaningOver blighted hope and home;Robbed of all life's best possessionsBy the ruthless spoiler—Rum,To her rest in Thy compassion,Bid the heavy-laden "Come."
And we pray, O God of Nations,That thine outstretched arm of might,May rebuke this prowling evil,May drive back the powers of night,And preserve us Home and CountryOverruled by Love and Right.
FOR THE LOYAL TEMPERANCE LEGION
Kind friends, we thank you, one and all,For giving such attention,While we've arraigned Old Alcohol,And of his faults made mention.And if you'd like to see him nowPut "in a pretty pickle,"Just lend a hand and help us onBy giving us a nickel.He stalks the earth from east to west,A deal of mischief doing;But we are "on the war-path" now,Old Alcohol pursuing.So if you'd like to see him caughtAnd punished for his crime, sir,Just lend a hand and help us onBy tossing us a dime, sir.He robs our homes of peace and joy;He fills the land with sighing;Sets snares and pitfalls for our feet,(He'd better be a-dying.)So if you think he should be slain,As we believe he'd or'ter,Just lend a hand and help us onBy handing out a quarter.He boasts himself a King—by lawAnd license well protected;But now "the children are a-field"We'll have him soon ejected.So if you'd see us tackle him,And take him by the collar,Just lend a hand and help us onBy dropping in a dollar.
Kind friends, we thank you, one and all,For giving such attention,While we've arraigned Old Alcohol,And of his faults made mention.And if you'd like to see him nowPut "in a pretty pickle,"Just lend a hand and help us onBy giving us a nickel.
He stalks the earth from east to west,A deal of mischief doing;But we are "on the war-path" now,Old Alcohol pursuing.So if you'd like to see him caughtAnd punished for his crime, sir,Just lend a hand and help us onBy tossing us a dime, sir.
He robs our homes of peace and joy;He fills the land with sighing;Sets snares and pitfalls for our feet,(He'd better be a-dying.)So if you think he should be slain,As we believe he'd or'ter,Just lend a hand and help us onBy handing out a quarter.
He boasts himself a King—by lawAnd license well protected;But now "the children are a-field"We'll have him soon ejected.So if you'd see us tackle him,And take him by the collar,Just lend a hand and help us onBy dropping in a dollar.
"Here shall the Boundary Line be laid.""Not so, but here," the other said.Clamor of contest ran fierce and high,—Defiant challenge and proud reply.For heights of the Andes rose betweenThe Chilean States and the Argentine;And the mooted question, day by day,Was "What doth limit my neighbor's sway?"The sunlight rose and the shadows fellOn either slope, but none could tellJust where the morning's magic wandTouched the Argentine or Chile land.Fair in their verdure, pure in their snow,So near to heaven their summits go—Why should they ever by man be trod?'Twould seem they should only belong to God.But the strife went on with passing years,Fed by resentment and pride and fears;Nor priest nor people could yet defineThe rightful range of the Boundary Line.The strife went on with its loss and shame,As generations went and came,And each in its turn the task essayedTo solve the problem so long delayed.* * * * *Then kinder, kinglier thought prevailed,Where threat of sword and gun had failed;And love-illumined reason wroughtThe adjustment long so vainly sought."For how can a trifle of earth and airWith the worth of human lives compare?And what can it matter if thine or mineBe the narrow side on the Boundary Line?"And why should greed and grim distrustDespoil us of our faith and trust?Enough, enough, let us pledge our wordTo settle by judgment, not by sword."Let us heed the counsel our good priests bring,And raise the standard of Christ our King,And the here or there of the Boundary LineLet God and the British king define."Then the mother-heart of the nation stirred,As the fair De Costa's plea was heard:"Fathers and brothers! warriors, men!Shall we give our bravest to death and pain?"Shall we hush our hearts as we see them go—God pity!—to strive with a brother foe?Long we have waited, have suffered and prayedFor a joy still denied us, a hope still delayed."Enough; let the sun in highest heavenPencil the line for which you have striven;Let a princely people on either sideIn friendship and fair accord abide;"Be the strife of the past to the wild winds swept;The faith of the future unswervingly kept;And let 'The Christ of the Andes' restIn token of peace on the mountain's crest."Grandly the people made reply;The pledge was taken, the arms laid by,And glad thanksgiving and festal songWitnessed the joy of the gathered throng.Joy! for the strife of the past was o'er;Joy! for the promise of war no more;Joy in the gladness of land and home,Joy for the world-wide peace to come.On snow-tipped height of the Andean rangeThey planted the statue fair and strange;And there, to the query of the sky,Its bronze and granite make reply:"I witness the failure of the sword,The victory of the Love-sent word;To dust may crumble rock and hill,This pledge of nations abideth still."* * * * *So now the Boundary Line is laid;Christ in the heart hath the conflict stayed;And now doth "the Christ of the Andes" restIn token of peace on the mountain's crest.
"Here shall the Boundary Line be laid.""Not so, but here," the other said.Clamor of contest ran fierce and high,—Defiant challenge and proud reply.
For heights of the Andes rose betweenThe Chilean States and the Argentine;And the mooted question, day by day,Was "What doth limit my neighbor's sway?"
The sunlight rose and the shadows fellOn either slope, but none could tellJust where the morning's magic wandTouched the Argentine or Chile land.
Fair in their verdure, pure in their snow,So near to heaven their summits go—Why should they ever by man be trod?'Twould seem they should only belong to God.
But the strife went on with passing years,Fed by resentment and pride and fears;Nor priest nor people could yet defineThe rightful range of the Boundary Line.
The strife went on with its loss and shame,As generations went and came,And each in its turn the task essayedTo solve the problem so long delayed.
* * * * *
Then kinder, kinglier thought prevailed,Where threat of sword and gun had failed;And love-illumined reason wroughtThe adjustment long so vainly sought.
"For how can a trifle of earth and airWith the worth of human lives compare?And what can it matter if thine or mineBe the narrow side on the Boundary Line?
"And why should greed and grim distrustDespoil us of our faith and trust?Enough, enough, let us pledge our wordTo settle by judgment, not by sword.
"Let us heed the counsel our good priests bring,And raise the standard of Christ our King,And the here or there of the Boundary LineLet God and the British king define."
Then the mother-heart of the nation stirred,As the fair De Costa's plea was heard:"Fathers and brothers! warriors, men!Shall we give our bravest to death and pain?
"Shall we hush our hearts as we see them go—God pity!—to strive with a brother foe?Long we have waited, have suffered and prayedFor a joy still denied us, a hope still delayed.
"Enough; let the sun in highest heavenPencil the line for which you have striven;Let a princely people on either sideIn friendship and fair accord abide;
"Be the strife of the past to the wild winds swept;The faith of the future unswervingly kept;And let 'The Christ of the Andes' restIn token of peace on the mountain's crest."
Grandly the people made reply;The pledge was taken, the arms laid by,And glad thanksgiving and festal songWitnessed the joy of the gathered throng.
Joy! for the strife of the past was o'er;Joy! for the promise of war no more;Joy in the gladness of land and home,Joy for the world-wide peace to come.
On snow-tipped height of the Andean rangeThey planted the statue fair and strange;And there, to the query of the sky,Its bronze and granite make reply:
"I witness the failure of the sword,The victory of the Love-sent word;To dust may crumble rock and hill,This pledge of nations abideth still."
* * * * *
So now the Boundary Line is laid;Christ in the heart hath the conflict stayed;And now doth "the Christ of the Andes" restIn token of peace on the mountain's crest.
Margaret Lee—you do not know her?Rightly named—a pearl is she;Half a score of years I've loved her—Precious Margaret Lee."Dimples?" No; nor "golden tresses,"Nor yet "voice of silvery tone";—If such phrases must express her,Beauty she has none.Soft brown hair and grey eyes dreamingVisions that none others see;Plain her features;youmight call herHomely Margaret Lee.Margaret owns no stately mansion,Carries not a heavy purse;Heiress to no "lordly acres,"Humble station hers.Quietly she treads life's highway;Quiet, yet with noble mien;'Mid the lowly, 'mid the loftyJourneying like a queen.Some have called her cold and haughty,From her bearing, high and free;Some have said a lofty spiritDwells with Margaret Lee.Why then do the "heavy-laden"Hail with joy her coming nigh?Why the childern love her shadowAs she passeth by?Some have deemed her weak, erratic.Some, too self-reliant, strong;One avers, her mood too gloomy;One, too light her song.All may be; the clouds of errorOfttimes overshade her way,Hiding where the rough and changefulPaths of duty lay.But unseen by mortal visionDaily bends a suppliant knee;Humbly bows a contrite spirit—Praying Margaret Lee—Asking of the All-forgivingPardon for her erring life;Seeking wisdom, faith and patienceFor its coming strife.So with footstep sometimes faltering,But with steadfast hope in God,Keeps she still a blithesome journeyO'er the earthly road.And at last all loss and failureLost in mercy, it may beHeaven's gate of pearl will openFor sweet Margaret Lee.There redeemed from sin and sorrow,There from care and conflict free;She will walk the angel city,Angel Margaret Lee.
Margaret Lee—you do not know her?Rightly named—a pearl is she;Half a score of years I've loved her—Precious Margaret Lee.
"Dimples?" No; nor "golden tresses,"Nor yet "voice of silvery tone";—If such phrases must express her,Beauty she has none.
Soft brown hair and grey eyes dreamingVisions that none others see;Plain her features;youmight call herHomely Margaret Lee.
Margaret owns no stately mansion,Carries not a heavy purse;Heiress to no "lordly acres,"Humble station hers.
Quietly she treads life's highway;Quiet, yet with noble mien;'Mid the lowly, 'mid the loftyJourneying like a queen.
Some have called her cold and haughty,From her bearing, high and free;Some have said a lofty spiritDwells with Margaret Lee.
Why then do the "heavy-laden"Hail with joy her coming nigh?Why the childern love her shadowAs she passeth by?
Some have deemed her weak, erratic.Some, too self-reliant, strong;One avers, her mood too gloomy;One, too light her song.
All may be; the clouds of errorOfttimes overshade her way,Hiding where the rough and changefulPaths of duty lay.
But unseen by mortal visionDaily bends a suppliant knee;Humbly bows a contrite spirit—Praying Margaret Lee—
Asking of the All-forgivingPardon for her erring life;Seeking wisdom, faith and patienceFor its coming strife.
So with footstep sometimes faltering,But with steadfast hope in God,Keeps she still a blithesome journeyO'er the earthly road.
And at last all loss and failureLost in mercy, it may beHeaven's gate of pearl will openFor sweet Margaret Lee.
There redeemed from sin and sorrow,There from care and conflict free;She will walk the angel city,Angel Margaret Lee.
A. G. M., lingering on the threshold of eternity, looked lovingly back to tell of the glory revealed to her purified vision. "Angels are waiting," she whispered, "and all is beautiful, beautiful." Then, as her spirit winged its happy way, a sweet murmur again was heard, and the words were: "Soaring upward, upward into Heaven."
A. G. M., lingering on the threshold of eternity, looked lovingly back to tell of the glory revealed to her purified vision. "Angels are waiting," she whispered, "and all is beautiful, beautiful." Then, as her spirit winged its happy way, a sweet murmur again was heard, and the words were: "Soaring upward, upward into Heaven."
They call thee dead. They say that thou art gone,Forevermore from earth. It is not so;I know thy gentle spirit will returnAnd linger fondly round the loved below.They call thee dead. And now thou art not ours;"God touched thee," for thy work on earth was done.Thy presence was to us like summer flowers;And they are faded now; and thou art gone.I had not thought, fair girl, that thou couldst die;I knew thee gentle, innocent and gay;And dreamed not that the brightness of thine eye,Was destined thus so soon to fade away.'Tis well: "He giveth His beloved sleep,"—O Sleeper, thou so early loved and blest!Say, were it wrong, if we who linger weep,And long to sleep, like thee, and be at rest?Ay, we who linger should not idlers be;Day hath appointed work from morn till even;And while we wait 'tis sweet to think of theeAs "soaring upward, upward into heaven!"
They call thee dead. They say that thou art gone,Forevermore from earth. It is not so;I know thy gentle spirit will returnAnd linger fondly round the loved below.
They call thee dead. And now thou art not ours;"God touched thee," for thy work on earth was done.Thy presence was to us like summer flowers;And they are faded now; and thou art gone.
I had not thought, fair girl, that thou couldst die;I knew thee gentle, innocent and gay;And dreamed not that the brightness of thine eye,Was destined thus so soon to fade away.
'Tis well: "He giveth His beloved sleep,"—O Sleeper, thou so early loved and blest!Say, were it wrong, if we who linger weep,And long to sleep, like thee, and be at rest?
Ay, we who linger should not idlers be;Day hath appointed work from morn till even;And while we wait 'tis sweet to think of theeAs "soaring upward, upward into heaven!"