What a balm for the mind’s the joyous spring,What fragrant nectar its breezes bring;How the babbling brook and the birds we hear,Lull the heart from worry, the soul from fear;What magnet power its measures holdTo keep the soul from growing old!What joy upon the turf to lieAnd watch the fleeting butterfly,To hear the bee as it buzzes by;The humming bees as they go and come,Sipping honey from the bloom.Wake, fainting heart, around thee look,Stroll through the woods, sit by the brook,And hear it clatter, laugh and sing,A flood of hope to you ’twill bring.Look, see the orchard a mass of snow,Sending the fragrance by the winds that blow;Drink deep of its joys, on its fragrance fill,That thy soul may stand cold winter’s chill.Look at the daisies, see them bend,Giving their fragrance to each wind;The lilies in their lovely arrayThink of the words the sowers say:Toil not, spin not, yet how they grow,So fragrant and spotless and whiter than snow.List to the thrush up in the trees,The song of the cuckoo, the hum of the bees;The tame and wild flowers, drink deep their sweet scent,Surely thy sad heart will then be content.On springtime’s fair bosom rest thy aching head,Who cannot feel springtime surely is dead.
What a balm for the mind’s the joyous spring,What fragrant nectar its breezes bring;How the babbling brook and the birds we hear,Lull the heart from worry, the soul from fear;What magnet power its measures holdTo keep the soul from growing old!What joy upon the turf to lieAnd watch the fleeting butterfly,To hear the bee as it buzzes by;The humming bees as they go and come,Sipping honey from the bloom.Wake, fainting heart, around thee look,Stroll through the woods, sit by the brook,And hear it clatter, laugh and sing,A flood of hope to you ’twill bring.Look, see the orchard a mass of snow,Sending the fragrance by the winds that blow;Drink deep of its joys, on its fragrance fill,That thy soul may stand cold winter’s chill.Look at the daisies, see them bend,Giving their fragrance to each wind;The lilies in their lovely arrayThink of the words the sowers say:Toil not, spin not, yet how they grow,So fragrant and spotless and whiter than snow.List to the thrush up in the trees,The song of the cuckoo, the hum of the bees;The tame and wild flowers, drink deep their sweet scent,Surely thy sad heart will then be content.On springtime’s fair bosom rest thy aching head,Who cannot feel springtime surely is dead.
What a balm for the mind’s the joyous spring,What fragrant nectar its breezes bring;How the babbling brook and the birds we hear,Lull the heart from worry, the soul from fear;What magnet power its measures holdTo keep the soul from growing old!What joy upon the turf to lieAnd watch the fleeting butterfly,To hear the bee as it buzzes by;The humming bees as they go and come,Sipping honey from the bloom.Wake, fainting heart, around thee look,Stroll through the woods, sit by the brook,And hear it clatter, laugh and sing,A flood of hope to you ’twill bring.Look, see the orchard a mass of snow,Sending the fragrance by the winds that blow;Drink deep of its joys, on its fragrance fill,That thy soul may stand cold winter’s chill.Look at the daisies, see them bend,Giving their fragrance to each wind;The lilies in their lovely arrayThink of the words the sowers say:Toil not, spin not, yet how they grow,So fragrant and spotless and whiter than snow.List to the thrush up in the trees,The song of the cuckoo, the hum of the bees;The tame and wild flowers, drink deep their sweet scent,Surely thy sad heart will then be content.On springtime’s fair bosom rest thy aching head,Who cannot feel springtime surely is dead.
———
Tell me, deep ocean, why not be still,Why not this surging cease,Why shouldst thou sing this mournful sound,And why not hold thy peace?Is it a tale of love you sing,Tell me, oh mighty deep;What some poor sailor bade thee bring,Just as he sank to sleep?If so, I yearn to know thy song,Pray, make it known, oh wave;I had a lover, brave and strong,Who met a sailor’s grave.I yearn to know his parting words,Were they not told to thee?If so, I pray thee make them known,Pray tell, were they of me?
Tell me, deep ocean, why not be still,Why not this surging cease,Why shouldst thou sing this mournful sound,And why not hold thy peace?Is it a tale of love you sing,Tell me, oh mighty deep;What some poor sailor bade thee bring,Just as he sank to sleep?If so, I yearn to know thy song,Pray, make it known, oh wave;I had a lover, brave and strong,Who met a sailor’s grave.I yearn to know his parting words,Were they not told to thee?If so, I pray thee make them known,Pray tell, were they of me?
Tell me, deep ocean, why not be still,Why not this surging cease,Why shouldst thou sing this mournful sound,And why not hold thy peace?
Is it a tale of love you sing,Tell me, oh mighty deep;What some poor sailor bade thee bring,Just as he sank to sleep?
If so, I yearn to know thy song,Pray, make it known, oh wave;I had a lover, brave and strong,Who met a sailor’s grave.
I yearn to know his parting words,Were they not told to thee?If so, I pray thee make them known,Pray tell, were they of me?
———
If I should chance to spy love far at sea,With outstretched arm beckoning unto me;Though I bereft complete of spar and sail,’Twould not prevail.
If I should chance to spy love far at sea,With outstretched arm beckoning unto me;Though I bereft complete of spar and sail,’Twould not prevail.
If I should chance to spy love far at sea,With outstretched arm beckoning unto me;Though I bereft complete of spar and sail,’Twould not prevail.
———
If love could see each other’s heart,And read the truth which they impart;Much doubt and fears it would relieve,No love would e’er have ought to grieve.
If love could see each other’s heart,And read the truth which they impart;Much doubt and fears it would relieve,No love would e’er have ought to grieve.
If love could see each other’s heart,And read the truth which they impart;Much doubt and fears it would relieve,No love would e’er have ought to grieve.
———
Since I got ’ligionTryin’ to do what’s rightDevil, jus’ to temp’ me,Keeps ol’ sin in sight.Farmers plant th’ir melonsJam up ’gin the fence;Leave the hen-coops openLike they got no sense.Man who own the orch’rdDon mov’ off to town;Peaches an’ the applesRot’nin’ on the groun.’In a trap th’s mornin’By the ’simmon tree,Saw a grea’ big ’possum,Fat as he cou’d be.Wou’d ’ve got th’t ’possumEph—he’d never kno’,Th’t his trap co’t him,Got a ’ligion tho’.People got no bus’nessFo’ to temp’ a man;’Fusin’ water-melonsMore th’n I can stan’.If theys out th’re waitin’T’night whin I com’ ’long,They shan’t teach no oth’rChrist’an to go ’rong.Sally bake a hoe cake;Get the kittle hot.Goin’ bring back a chickenIf I don’t git shot.
Since I got ’ligionTryin’ to do what’s rightDevil, jus’ to temp’ me,Keeps ol’ sin in sight.Farmers plant th’ir melonsJam up ’gin the fence;Leave the hen-coops openLike they got no sense.Man who own the orch’rdDon mov’ off to town;Peaches an’ the applesRot’nin’ on the groun.’In a trap th’s mornin’By the ’simmon tree,Saw a grea’ big ’possum,Fat as he cou’d be.Wou’d ’ve got th’t ’possumEph—he’d never kno’,Th’t his trap co’t him,Got a ’ligion tho’.People got no bus’nessFo’ to temp’ a man;’Fusin’ water-melonsMore th’n I can stan’.If theys out th’re waitin’T’night whin I com’ ’long,They shan’t teach no oth’rChrist’an to go ’rong.Sally bake a hoe cake;Get the kittle hot.Goin’ bring back a chickenIf I don’t git shot.
Since I got ’ligionTryin’ to do what’s rightDevil, jus’ to temp’ me,Keeps ol’ sin in sight.
Farmers plant th’ir melonsJam up ’gin the fence;Leave the hen-coops openLike they got no sense.
Man who own the orch’rdDon mov’ off to town;Peaches an’ the applesRot’nin’ on the groun.’
In a trap th’s mornin’By the ’simmon tree,Saw a grea’ big ’possum,Fat as he cou’d be.
Wou’d ’ve got th’t ’possumEph—he’d never kno’,Th’t his trap co’t him,Got a ’ligion tho’.
People got no bus’nessFo’ to temp’ a man;’Fusin’ water-melonsMore th’n I can stan’.
If theys out th’re waitin’T’night whin I com’ ’long,They shan’t teach no oth’rChrist’an to go ’rong.
Sally bake a hoe cake;Get the kittle hot.Goin’ bring back a chickenIf I don’t git shot.
I find in Mr. McGirt’s verses a meaning and accent which belong only to the true poet.
(Mrs.) REBECCA HARDING DAVIS.
Mr. McGirt’s poetry is spontaneous, natural and true.
(Mrs.) MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
My Dear Mr. McGirt: Your verses indicate talent. I see no reason why you should not have a great deal of success.
Sincerely Yours,(Mrs.) ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
Mr. James E. McGirt:
Dear Sir:—You show in these verses a talent for putting thoughts into literary form ... very rare. I have found the sentiment of the poems always pure and orthodox—often sweet and touching; there is a simplicity about them which wins the reader’s attention....
I remain sincerely yours,JULIAN HAWTHORNE.
You show a great deal of talent in your poems. I find them very interesting and sweet.
THOMAS NELSON PAGE.
Mr. James E. McGirt, Philadelphia,
My Dear Sir:—I have given some spare hours to the reading of your poems, which you were kind enough to furnish me in volume and manuscript. It is always gratifying to me to find one of your race aim to advance or excel in literary efforts. I was specially pleased with the merits of your poems, which should certainly command a large circle of readers, not only among your own people, but among all lovers of genuine poetic effort.
Yours truly,(Col.) A. K. McCLURE.