TWO LITTLE ORPHANS

They come from everywhere,By land, by sea and air,The old, the young and fair—And all without a care,In Florida.Just pause, my friend, and seeThe multitudes that beO’er lovely shore and lea;They reach from sea to sea,In Florida.Look at the aged one,Who shines like a little sun,And feels himself undone,If he played not golf and won,In Florida.His gouty feet must dance,His eye will look askance,And his mind make glad advance,To reach five score, perchance,In Florida.Yes, let him have his wishTo feel the line’s quick swish,And catch his finest fishFor his epicurean dish,In Florida.’Tis here he makes the stride;There’s nothing he can’t ride,With a maiden by his side—Yet a few things must he hide,In Florida.The birds and trees here sing;The prigs and plants upspring,And each gets in the swing,With Nature all a-wing,In Florida.Behold, my friend, the youth,The forward, the uncouth;The gentle and their ruth,The beauty and the truth,In Florida.It’s like a moving stage,The folk of every age;No place nor cause for rage—Even workless have their wage—In Florida.Then see the females all;Alack! you rise or fall,Or else your heart forestall,In this moving, magic ball,In Florida.One great kaleidoscope,From silk to dirt and dope,From puppet to a pope,This passing throng of hope,In Florida.

They come from everywhere,By land, by sea and air,The old, the young and fair—And all without a care,In Florida.

They come from everywhere,

By land, by sea and air,

The old, the young and fair—

And all without a care,

In Florida.

Just pause, my friend, and seeThe multitudes that beO’er lovely shore and lea;They reach from sea to sea,In Florida.

Just pause, my friend, and see

The multitudes that be

O’er lovely shore and lea;

They reach from sea to sea,

In Florida.

Look at the aged one,Who shines like a little sun,And feels himself undone,If he played not golf and won,In Florida.

Look at the aged one,

Who shines like a little sun,

And feels himself undone,

If he played not golf and won,

In Florida.

His gouty feet must dance,His eye will look askance,And his mind make glad advance,To reach five score, perchance,In Florida.

His gouty feet must dance,

His eye will look askance,

And his mind make glad advance,

To reach five score, perchance,

In Florida.

Yes, let him have his wishTo feel the line’s quick swish,And catch his finest fishFor his epicurean dish,In Florida.

Yes, let him have his wish

To feel the line’s quick swish,

And catch his finest fish

For his epicurean dish,

In Florida.

’Tis here he makes the stride;There’s nothing he can’t ride,With a maiden by his side—Yet a few things must he hide,In Florida.

’Tis here he makes the stride;

There’s nothing he can’t ride,

With a maiden by his side—

Yet a few things must he hide,

In Florida.

The birds and trees here sing;The prigs and plants upspring,And each gets in the swing,With Nature all a-wing,In Florida.

The birds and trees here sing;

The prigs and plants upspring,

And each gets in the swing,

With Nature all a-wing,

In Florida.

Behold, my friend, the youth,The forward, the uncouth;The gentle and their ruth,The beauty and the truth,In Florida.

Behold, my friend, the youth,

The forward, the uncouth;

The gentle and their ruth,

The beauty and the truth,

In Florida.

It’s like a moving stage,The folk of every age;No place nor cause for rage—Even workless have their wage—In Florida.

It’s like a moving stage,

The folk of every age;

No place nor cause for rage—

Even workless have their wage—

In Florida.

Then see the females all;Alack! you rise or fall,Or else your heart forestall,In this moving, magic ball,In Florida.

Then see the females all;

Alack! you rise or fall,

Or else your heart forestall,

In this moving, magic ball,

In Florida.

One great kaleidoscope,From silk to dirt and dope,From puppet to a pope,This passing throng of hope,In Florida.

One great kaleidoscope,

From silk to dirt and dope,

From puppet to a pope,

This passing throng of hope,

In Florida.

Two orphans in the world are left,A brother and sister sighing;Two Vireos aggrieved, bereft,Two little orphans crying.

Two orphans in the world are left,

A brother and sister sighing;

Two Vireos aggrieved, bereft,

Two little orphans crying.

By the Author.

Close clinging to their cheerless nest,Two little birds are tryingTo call back joys of mother’s breast,A mother, lifeless lying.God’s two-fold plan for making song—Some fiend the while defying—And man’s two friends their whole life long;Two little orphans crying.No answer comes, save from the King,A King who’s aye supplyingThe needs of the great and smallest thing—His little orphans crying.

Close clinging to their cheerless nest,Two little birds are tryingTo call back joys of mother’s breast,A mother, lifeless lying.

Close clinging to their cheerless nest,

Two little birds are trying

To call back joys of mother’s breast,

A mother, lifeless lying.

God’s two-fold plan for making song—Some fiend the while defying—And man’s two friends their whole life long;Two little orphans crying.

God’s two-fold plan for making song—

Some fiend the while defying—

And man’s two friends their whole life long;

Two little orphans crying.

No answer comes, save from the King,A King who’s aye supplyingThe needs of the great and smallest thing—His little orphans crying.

No answer comes, save from the King,

A King who’s aye supplying

The needs of the great and smallest thing—

His little orphans crying.

By Courtesy of Briscoe and Arnold.

It’s trouble and gladness from first to the last,Ere joy is quite vanquished some sorrow comes fast;Yet while old Calamity’s having his way,For one that’s in trouble, there are others at play.What is play to the pup is grief to the child;What is fun for the boy makes mother go wild;Some deeds of the mother cause angels to weep;While God smiles over all, and all He doth keep.

It’s trouble and gladness from first to the last,Ere joy is quite vanquished some sorrow comes fast;Yet while old Calamity’s having his way,For one that’s in trouble, there are others at play.

It’s trouble and gladness from first to the last,

Ere joy is quite vanquished some sorrow comes fast;

Yet while old Calamity’s having his way,

For one that’s in trouble, there are others at play.

What is play to the pup is grief to the child;What is fun for the boy makes mother go wild;Some deeds of the mother cause angels to weep;While God smiles over all, and all He doth keep.

What is play to the pup is grief to the child;

What is fun for the boy makes mother go wild;

Some deeds of the mother cause angels to weep;

While God smiles over all, and all He doth keep.

We never foreknow, but our hearts were a-glow,The hearts of Artena and I,As we walked to and fro by the waters a-flow,The waters in “the land of the sky.”The children see true—they generally do—The charming things all around;I followed her view, and I presently knewA Tanager’s nest was found.The boys advanced, as soon as they glanced,And down came the limb of a tree;Thus fortune chanced, while little hearts danced,With four wee fledglings to see.With noisy protest, and tumult and zest,The camera captured all four.’Twas the parents’ sure test—they forsook the nest,Though birdlings a-weeping sore!I began to weep, in my heart quite deep,When the babes kept up their cry;I ran up the steep like a deer in a leap,For the best bird food supply.They reached and they tried; they ate and they cried,Till the four had eaten their fill;The mother aside still motherhood belied,And the heart in me struggled still.I learned in my youth, an old, new truth;’Mongst men and beasts and birds,Some grow uncouth, nor ever show ruth;And for fools waste not your words.Filled oft to the beak, as the days made a week,The fledglings and I were friends,And over the creek the folk came to speakOf their beauty, their cuteness and ends.And all the hearts right grew more tender and bright,As the Tanagers grew apace;And those of insight, said, “The birds have a rightTo partake of our friendly grace.”

We never foreknow, but our hearts were a-glow,The hearts of Artena and I,As we walked to and fro by the waters a-flow,The waters in “the land of the sky.”

We never foreknow, but our hearts were a-glow,

The hearts of Artena and I,

As we walked to and fro by the waters a-flow,

The waters in “the land of the sky.”

The children see true—they generally do—The charming things all around;I followed her view, and I presently knewA Tanager’s nest was found.

The children see true—they generally do—

The charming things all around;

I followed her view, and I presently knew

A Tanager’s nest was found.

The boys advanced, as soon as they glanced,And down came the limb of a tree;Thus fortune chanced, while little hearts danced,With four wee fledglings to see.

The boys advanced, as soon as they glanced,

And down came the limb of a tree;

Thus fortune chanced, while little hearts danced,

With four wee fledglings to see.

With noisy protest, and tumult and zest,The camera captured all four.’Twas the parents’ sure test—they forsook the nest,Though birdlings a-weeping sore!

With noisy protest, and tumult and zest,

The camera captured all four.

’Twas the parents’ sure test—they forsook the nest,

Though birdlings a-weeping sore!

I began to weep, in my heart quite deep,When the babes kept up their cry;I ran up the steep like a deer in a leap,For the best bird food supply.

I began to weep, in my heart quite deep,

When the babes kept up their cry;

I ran up the steep like a deer in a leap,

For the best bird food supply.

They reached and they tried; they ate and they cried,Till the four had eaten their fill;The mother aside still motherhood belied,And the heart in me struggled still.

They reached and they tried; they ate and they cried,

Till the four had eaten their fill;

The mother aside still motherhood belied,

And the heart in me struggled still.

I learned in my youth, an old, new truth;’Mongst men and beasts and birds,Some grow uncouth, nor ever show ruth;And for fools waste not your words.

I learned in my youth, an old, new truth;

’Mongst men and beasts and birds,

Some grow uncouth, nor ever show ruth;

And for fools waste not your words.

Filled oft to the beak, as the days made a week,The fledglings and I were friends,And over the creek the folk came to speakOf their beauty, their cuteness and ends.

Filled oft to the beak, as the days made a week,

The fledglings and I were friends,

And over the creek the folk came to speak

Of their beauty, their cuteness and ends.

And all the hearts right grew more tender and bright,As the Tanagers grew apace;And those of insight, said, “The birds have a rightTo partake of our friendly grace.”

And all the hearts right grew more tender and bright,

As the Tanagers grew apace;

And those of insight, said, “The birds have a right

To partake of our friendly grace.”

Give me thy music, O most musical One,The rhythm that rolls from yonder cycling sun;Yea more, as heart and soul of all that’s good,Thy nature gave in vaster plenitude;Nor time will ever be when thy glad starsWill cease to sing as one in rhythmic bars;Nor conscious sons of God go shouting joy;Nor woodland birds of song their loved employ.It’s in the very heart of things;It’s in our bounds and sweeps and swings;It’s in the tree and rose that springs—All Nature sings—— and—— sings.The heart of man, his coursing blood through veins;The very breath of life, his thoughts and reins;His dreams, devotions, deeds, his all, O soul,Or great or small beneath divine control.The gracious seasons roll in mighty numbers;The snow, the sleet but falls, that He who slumbersNot may again awake the earth to lifeAnd stay, for man and all, the winter’s strife.The raging storm, the great earthquake and warAre music bound, if we but see afar;From heart of heav’n to heart of hell—ah yes;The prince of darkness is beset, not less—’Tis bars and feet, far-reaching leaps and falls,Through light not seen in His momentous calls.Consider Job—upright but proud—at last,By grinding fate, by every woe held fast,He turned to highest hills and King of all;And never more asked he, “why such a fall?”It was the rhythm of God through stops of sin;’Twas His own anthems deep, without, within.Our Pilgrim fathers, banished by the fates,Brought out of many ills the United States;And through each crisis great of all known time,’Tis God in love; ’tis music full sublime.At last the Lamb and Lion in song shall join;The Child and Wolf eternal riches coin;The Night shall sing to Day, and Day to Him,Who receives the plaudits of the seraphim.

Give me thy music, O most musical One,

The rhythm that rolls from yonder cycling sun;

Yea more, as heart and soul of all that’s good,

Thy nature gave in vaster plenitude;

Nor time will ever be when thy glad stars

Will cease to sing as one in rhythmic bars;

Nor conscious sons of God go shouting joy;

Nor woodland birds of song their loved employ.

It’s in the very heart of things;It’s in our bounds and sweeps and swings;It’s in the tree and rose that springs—All Nature sings—— and—— sings.

It’s in the very heart of things;

It’s in our bounds and sweeps and swings;

It’s in the tree and rose that springs—

All Nature sings—— and—— sings.

The heart of man, his coursing blood through veins;The very breath of life, his thoughts and reins;His dreams, devotions, deeds, his all, O soul,Or great or small beneath divine control.

The heart of man, his coursing blood through veins;

The very breath of life, his thoughts and reins;

His dreams, devotions, deeds, his all, O soul,

Or great or small beneath divine control.

The gracious seasons roll in mighty numbers;The snow, the sleet but falls, that He who slumbersNot may again awake the earth to lifeAnd stay, for man and all, the winter’s strife.

The gracious seasons roll in mighty numbers;

The snow, the sleet but falls, that He who slumbers

Not may again awake the earth to life

And stay, for man and all, the winter’s strife.

The raging storm, the great earthquake and warAre music bound, if we but see afar;From heart of heav’n to heart of hell—ah yes;The prince of darkness is beset, not less—’Tis bars and feet, far-reaching leaps and falls,Through light not seen in His momentous calls.

The raging storm, the great earthquake and war

Are music bound, if we but see afar;

From heart of heav’n to heart of hell—ah yes;

The prince of darkness is beset, not less—

’Tis bars and feet, far-reaching leaps and falls,

Through light not seen in His momentous calls.

Consider Job—upright but proud—at last,By grinding fate, by every woe held fast,He turned to highest hills and King of all;And never more asked he, “why such a fall?”It was the rhythm of God through stops of sin;’Twas His own anthems deep, without, within.

Consider Job—upright but proud—at last,

By grinding fate, by every woe held fast,

He turned to highest hills and King of all;

And never more asked he, “why such a fall?”

It was the rhythm of God through stops of sin;

’Twas His own anthems deep, without, within.

Our Pilgrim fathers, banished by the fates,Brought out of many ills the United States;And through each crisis great of all known time,’Tis God in love; ’tis music full sublime.

Our Pilgrim fathers, banished by the fates,

Brought out of many ills the United States;

And through each crisis great of all known time,

’Tis God in love; ’tis music full sublime.

At last the Lamb and Lion in song shall join;The Child and Wolf eternal riches coin;The Night shall sing to Day, and Day to Him,Who receives the plaudits of the seraphim.

At last the Lamb and Lion in song shall join;

The Child and Wolf eternal riches coin;

The Night shall sing to Day, and Day to Him,

Who receives the plaudits of the seraphim.

(In Patrick County, Virginia, little stone crosses have been found and are yet obtainable. Jewelers of Roanoke and Martinsville, Va., assure inquirers that the Virginia “Fairy” or “Lucky” stones, discovered nowhere else in the world, have been a puzzle to scientists, and are being worn by some of the crowned heads of Europe. A bulletin of the U. S. Geological Survey speaks of them as “the most curious mineral found in the United States,” and calls them Staurolite or Fairy Stones.)

In Virginia’s historic hills around a hallowed spot,There was born a mystic legend which ne’er shall be forgot;A story true to Nature and to One without a blot—The divinest story of old!For glory bright is round it, which has softened many a heart,A tale of wise and saintly ones, in universal art;A story mightiest with men now and ever mighty partIt played in the races of old.We yet believe that angels must have wept and good men sighed,When Gallilee’s great Son with hateful spite was crucified;But who would ever dream the fairy spirits were alliedIn Heaven’s great scheme of old?Yet when these blithesome fays were dancing by a mountain spring,Ere the days of Pocahontas and Powhattan, the fearless King,In union with the naiads, an elfin, swift of wing,Came weeping from the East, of old.The story sad he told of Christ, the Saviour, and His Cross;Then joy and laughter sudden ceased, and grieving for their loss,They shed their tears upon the pebbles and on the velvet moss—A heaven moved grief of old.And lo, when they had flown from the enchanted spring and ground,Just where the tears had fallen on the pebbles lying round,The Fairy stony crosses by the thousand there were found,Sweet Nature’s crosses of old.

In Virginia’s historic hills around a hallowed spot,There was born a mystic legend which ne’er shall be forgot;A story true to Nature and to One without a blot—The divinest story of old!

In Virginia’s historic hills around a hallowed spot,

There was born a mystic legend which ne’er shall be forgot;

A story true to Nature and to One without a blot—

The divinest story of old!

For glory bright is round it, which has softened many a heart,A tale of wise and saintly ones, in universal art;A story mightiest with men now and ever mighty partIt played in the races of old.

For glory bright is round it, which has softened many a heart,

A tale of wise and saintly ones, in universal art;

A story mightiest with men now and ever mighty part

It played in the races of old.

We yet believe that angels must have wept and good men sighed,When Gallilee’s great Son with hateful spite was crucified;But who would ever dream the fairy spirits were alliedIn Heaven’s great scheme of old?

We yet believe that angels must have wept and good men sighed,

When Gallilee’s great Son with hateful spite was crucified;

But who would ever dream the fairy spirits were allied

In Heaven’s great scheme of old?

Yet when these blithesome fays were dancing by a mountain spring,Ere the days of Pocahontas and Powhattan, the fearless King,In union with the naiads, an elfin, swift of wing,Came weeping from the East, of old.

Yet when these blithesome fays were dancing by a mountain spring,

Ere the days of Pocahontas and Powhattan, the fearless King,

In union with the naiads, an elfin, swift of wing,

Came weeping from the East, of old.

The story sad he told of Christ, the Saviour, and His Cross;Then joy and laughter sudden ceased, and grieving for their loss,They shed their tears upon the pebbles and on the velvet moss—A heaven moved grief of old.

The story sad he told of Christ, the Saviour, and His Cross;

Then joy and laughter sudden ceased, and grieving for their loss,

They shed their tears upon the pebbles and on the velvet moss—

A heaven moved grief of old.

And lo, when they had flown from the enchanted spring and ground,Just where the tears had fallen on the pebbles lying round,The Fairy stony crosses by the thousand there were found,Sweet Nature’s crosses of old.

And lo, when they had flown from the enchanted spring and ground,

Just where the tears had fallen on the pebbles lying round,

The Fairy stony crosses by the thousand there were found,

Sweet Nature’s crosses of old.

Note the crosses in this clod of earth.Photographed in Patrick County, Va.

Note the crosses in this clod of earth.

Photographed in Patrick County, Va.

’Tis the flower that looms and turns to pure gold,Yes, the flower that loves, and is loved the best;For it plans from the first—this is love’s true test—To give forth its riches to young and to old.It o’er reaches men high with its shining crest,Yet never in climbing unduly bold—’Tis the flower that looms and turns to pure gold,Yes, the flower that loves, and is loved, the best.The Gold Finches arrive as its petals unfold,And the Cardinal’s joy is manifest,As groom gives to bride the jolly behestTo feast on its wealth and in her heart to holdThe flower that looms and turns to pure gold,Yes, the flower that loves, and is loved, the best.

’Tis the flower that looms and turns to pure gold,

Yes, the flower that loves, and is loved the best;

For it plans from the first—this is love’s true test—

To give forth its riches to young and to old.

It o’er reaches men high with its shining crest,Yet never in climbing unduly bold—’Tis the flower that looms and turns to pure gold,Yes, the flower that loves, and is loved, the best.

It o’er reaches men high with its shining crest,

Yet never in climbing unduly bold—

’Tis the flower that looms and turns to pure gold,

Yes, the flower that loves, and is loved, the best.

The Gold Finches arrive as its petals unfold,And the Cardinal’s joy is manifest,As groom gives to bride the jolly behestTo feast on its wealth and in her heart to holdThe flower that looms and turns to pure gold,Yes, the flower that loves, and is loved, the best.

The Gold Finches arrive as its petals unfold,

And the Cardinal’s joy is manifest,

As groom gives to bride the jolly behest

To feast on its wealth and in her heart to hold

The flower that looms and turns to pure gold,

Yes, the flower that loves, and is loved, the best.

I would like to attain to my four score and two,With a joy in my heart and with naught to efface,Could I dance, or could sing with an energy true,Could I lighten the load of the populace.I’d run out in the open for Nature’s embrace,With a mind ever high, yet my feet on the sod;While my soul would be set to the music of grace,With the heart of a child and the gifts of a god.

I would like to attain to my four score and two,

With a joy in my heart and with naught to efface,

Could I dance, or could sing with an energy true,

Could I lighten the load of the populace.

I’d run out in the open for Nature’s embrace,

With a mind ever high, yet my feet on the sod;

While my soul would be set to the music of grace,

With the heart of a child and the gifts of a god.

Photograph taken when he was82 years of age.

My pursuit would be learning the old and the new;And whenever I could I would Psyche’s wings chase!I would speak of high art with my privileged few,And persuade men below to the nobler race;In the faith I’d rejoice that the world grows apace.I would skip on the mountain, or valley’s dull clod,Having plenty and power, or only an ace,With the heart of a child and the gifts of a god.I would rather, like Diamond, all the way through,Either poor, or unknown, or with glorious mace,Make somebody happy—ah, many and you!And the love of a child with my love interlace;Yes, content with my lot, and the righteous ukase.I would work and I’d play, but never more plod;A glad song in my heart, and a smile on my face,With the heart of a child and the gifts of a god.EnvoyHere’s to Diamond’s health, to the grand-daughter’s grace;They are under love’s sway, which surpasses the rod;So united and happy in every place,With the heart of a child and the gifts of a god.

My pursuit would be learning the old and the new;

And whenever I could I would Psyche’s wings chase!

I would speak of high art with my privileged few,

And persuade men below to the nobler race;

In the faith I’d rejoice that the world grows apace.

I would skip on the mountain, or valley’s dull clod,

Having plenty and power, or only an ace,

With the heart of a child and the gifts of a god.

I would rather, like Diamond, all the way through,Either poor, or unknown, or with glorious mace,Make somebody happy—ah, many and you!And the love of a child with my love interlace;Yes, content with my lot, and the righteous ukase.I would work and I’d play, but never more plod;A glad song in my heart, and a smile on my face,With the heart of a child and the gifts of a god.

I would rather, like Diamond, all the way through,

Either poor, or unknown, or with glorious mace,

Make somebody happy—ah, many and you!

And the love of a child with my love interlace;

Yes, content with my lot, and the righteous ukase.

I would work and I’d play, but never more plod;

A glad song in my heart, and a smile on my face,

With the heart of a child and the gifts of a god.

Envoy

Here’s to Diamond’s health, to the grand-daughter’s grace;They are under love’s sway, which surpasses the rod;So united and happy in every place,With the heart of a child and the gifts of a god.

Here’s to Diamond’s health, to the grand-daughter’s grace;

They are under love’s sway, which surpasses the rod;

So united and happy in every place,

With the heart of a child and the gifts of a god.

How wonderful the wild wood,The fresh sweet wood with its hush.Silent, my soul! Take thou the moodOf Veery and of Thrush,’Way out in the wild wood.Give ear to hymn of oak and pine;Drink, my soul, drink deep;The master Muse would make it thine,But who can fully know the sweepOf music of the wild wood?Each tree sings low an old, new song,Softest lay of life and love;Unmarred by the daring, prattling throngOf rushing men—like a doveMy soul in the wild wood.The honeysuckle and wild rose—Purity and balm a-bloom—Refresh my heart and they transposeMy hungry mind to richer roomAnd food in the wild wood.The violets with their upward look,The stones beneath my feet,Make one and all an open book;Ah, the meditations meet,With God in the wild wood.At length the sun puts on pure gold;The birds and breezes softer sing,List! all, within this shrine of old,Chime symphonies to the King—High mass in the wild wood!

How wonderful the wild wood,The fresh sweet wood with its hush.Silent, my soul! Take thou the moodOf Veery and of Thrush,’Way out in the wild wood.

How wonderful the wild wood,

The fresh sweet wood with its hush.

Silent, my soul! Take thou the mood

Of Veery and of Thrush,

’Way out in the wild wood.

Give ear to hymn of oak and pine;Drink, my soul, drink deep;The master Muse would make it thine,But who can fully know the sweepOf music of the wild wood?

Give ear to hymn of oak and pine;

Drink, my soul, drink deep;

The master Muse would make it thine,

But who can fully know the sweep

Of music of the wild wood?

Each tree sings low an old, new song,Softest lay of life and love;Unmarred by the daring, prattling throngOf rushing men—like a doveMy soul in the wild wood.

Each tree sings low an old, new song,

Softest lay of life and love;

Unmarred by the daring, prattling throng

Of rushing men—like a dove

My soul in the wild wood.

The honeysuckle and wild rose—Purity and balm a-bloom—Refresh my heart and they transposeMy hungry mind to richer roomAnd food in the wild wood.

The honeysuckle and wild rose—

Purity and balm a-bloom—

Refresh my heart and they transpose

My hungry mind to richer room

And food in the wild wood.

The violets with their upward look,The stones beneath my feet,Make one and all an open book;Ah, the meditations meet,With God in the wild wood.

The violets with their upward look,

The stones beneath my feet,

Make one and all an open book;

Ah, the meditations meet,

With God in the wild wood.

At length the sun puts on pure gold;The birds and breezes softer sing,List! all, within this shrine of old,Chime symphonies to the King—High mass in the wild wood!

At length the sun puts on pure gold;

The birds and breezes softer sing,

List! all, within this shrine of old,

Chime symphonies to the King—

High mass in the wild wood!

The beginning of things, the first of all men—It fascinates me, and I’ve wondered whenAnd what and how the beginning of things.Jehovah the first, and Jehovah the last,But the wisest must think very deep and fast,To fix in his mind the first of all things.All creatures began in the heavens and earth;The sun and the moon and star had a birth;But when and where the beginning of things?Not yet is the answer, but I hope somewhere,With Christ and his saints and seraphim fair,To know more about the advent of things;To get better acquainted with Adam the first,To learn the true source of his deepest thirst,The wonderful truth of the beginning of things—The beginning of thought, and the primals of love;How a reptile became the soft cooing dove,And whence the beginning of all present things;The ape-grunt to a word, and that word a vast tongue,And whence the sweet music of mankind has sprung;Who struck the first note in the beginning of things?’Tis an evolution great, and a marvel to me,But never have I prayed to our father up a tree;Aye, no man yet since the origin of things.The Alpha, Omega, the First, Last and Whole,Who, from the small first, had foreseen the vast goal,He only knows now the beginning of things.But will He not somewhere permit me to know,If I go on with Him in the eternal flow,The satisfying truth of the first of all things?

The beginning of things, the first of all men—It fascinates me, and I’ve wondered whenAnd what and how the beginning of things.

The beginning of things, the first of all men—

It fascinates me, and I’ve wondered when

And what and how the beginning of things.

Jehovah the first, and Jehovah the last,But the wisest must think very deep and fast,To fix in his mind the first of all things.

Jehovah the first, and Jehovah the last,

But the wisest must think very deep and fast,

To fix in his mind the first of all things.

All creatures began in the heavens and earth;The sun and the moon and star had a birth;But when and where the beginning of things?

All creatures began in the heavens and earth;

The sun and the moon and star had a birth;

But when and where the beginning of things?

Not yet is the answer, but I hope somewhere,With Christ and his saints and seraphim fair,To know more about the advent of things;

Not yet is the answer, but I hope somewhere,

With Christ and his saints and seraphim fair,

To know more about the advent of things;

To get better acquainted with Adam the first,To learn the true source of his deepest thirst,The wonderful truth of the beginning of things—

To get better acquainted with Adam the first,

To learn the true source of his deepest thirst,

The wonderful truth of the beginning of things—

The beginning of thought, and the primals of love;How a reptile became the soft cooing dove,And whence the beginning of all present things;

The beginning of thought, and the primals of love;

How a reptile became the soft cooing dove,

And whence the beginning of all present things;

The ape-grunt to a word, and that word a vast tongue,And whence the sweet music of mankind has sprung;Who struck the first note in the beginning of things?

The ape-grunt to a word, and that word a vast tongue,

And whence the sweet music of mankind has sprung;

Who struck the first note in the beginning of things?

’Tis an evolution great, and a marvel to me,But never have I prayed to our father up a tree;Aye, no man yet since the origin of things.

’Tis an evolution great, and a marvel to me,

But never have I prayed to our father up a tree;

Aye, no man yet since the origin of things.

The Alpha, Omega, the First, Last and Whole,Who, from the small first, had foreseen the vast goal,He only knows now the beginning of things.

The Alpha, Omega, the First, Last and Whole,

Who, from the small first, had foreseen the vast goal,

He only knows now the beginning of things.

But will He not somewhere permit me to know,If I go on with Him in the eternal flow,The satisfying truth of the first of all things?

But will He not somewhere permit me to know,

If I go on with Him in the eternal flow,

The satisfying truth of the first of all things?

The aim of the heavens, the end of the earth—What a measureless sweep, what a mighty girth,From the far off first to the end of all things!The end of the rose, which fades in a day,The purpose of the plant an age on the way—I dream of Beauty in the end of things.The end of all men, and the end of myself,From the artist great to the smallest elf,Our thoughts and our deeds in the end of things.The fate of the infants who die without ken,Of their growth and knowledge, God’s super-men—What developments vast in the end of things!The issue of thousands and millions of slain,The end of all wars, and the victor’s sure gain—There’s a league worth while, toward the end of things;A league of the nations, the long coming starThe prophets of old fore-glimpsed from afar,A brotherhood true toward the close of things.The last of the martyr, who passed with a prayer,The last for the felon, who died in despair—All good and all ill in the end of things?We know but in part, yet co-workers are weIn a scheme as complete as eternity—In the far off final, and fulfillment of things.It delights one to think, we’re only in school,That our joys and our woes do not mean mis-rule,In God’s plan for the race to the end of things.In this purpose of His the rose will uncover;In its family great we’ll at length discoverThe sweet Rose of Sharon, the completion of things;In the plants by the waters, that quicken and die,But give out their riches unstinted, nor sigh,The Lily of the Valley, the Goal of all things.The song of the Thrush and of plaintive NightingaleWill merge with the Master’s glorious “all hail,”In harmony perfect in the end of things.St. John, the inspired, saw horses in heaven,And I love to believe even they will be givenSome happier part in the end of all things.The best of our words and our ways here forgotWill be gathered and treasured in a hallowed lot,Exalted in place at the end of things—God’s men as the angels and angels as men,Ah, the little child too shall be received then,In love of the Highest, in the end of all things.

The aim of the heavens, the end of the earth—What a measureless sweep, what a mighty girth,From the far off first to the end of all things!

The aim of the heavens, the end of the earth—

What a measureless sweep, what a mighty girth,

From the far off first to the end of all things!

The end of the rose, which fades in a day,The purpose of the plant an age on the way—I dream of Beauty in the end of things.

The end of the rose, which fades in a day,

The purpose of the plant an age on the way—

I dream of Beauty in the end of things.

The end of all men, and the end of myself,From the artist great to the smallest elf,Our thoughts and our deeds in the end of things.

The end of all men, and the end of myself,

From the artist great to the smallest elf,

Our thoughts and our deeds in the end of things.

The fate of the infants who die without ken,Of their growth and knowledge, God’s super-men—What developments vast in the end of things!

The fate of the infants who die without ken,

Of their growth and knowledge, God’s super-men—

What developments vast in the end of things!

The issue of thousands and millions of slain,The end of all wars, and the victor’s sure gain—There’s a league worth while, toward the end of things;

The issue of thousands and millions of slain,

The end of all wars, and the victor’s sure gain—

There’s a league worth while, toward the end of things;

A league of the nations, the long coming starThe prophets of old fore-glimpsed from afar,A brotherhood true toward the close of things.

A league of the nations, the long coming star

The prophets of old fore-glimpsed from afar,

A brotherhood true toward the close of things.

The last of the martyr, who passed with a prayer,The last for the felon, who died in despair—All good and all ill in the end of things?

The last of the martyr, who passed with a prayer,

The last for the felon, who died in despair—

All good and all ill in the end of things?

We know but in part, yet co-workers are weIn a scheme as complete as eternity—In the far off final, and fulfillment of things.

We know but in part, yet co-workers are we

In a scheme as complete as eternity—

In the far off final, and fulfillment of things.

It delights one to think, we’re only in school,That our joys and our woes do not mean mis-rule,In God’s plan for the race to the end of things.

It delights one to think, we’re only in school,

That our joys and our woes do not mean mis-rule,

In God’s plan for the race to the end of things.

In this purpose of His the rose will uncover;In its family great we’ll at length discoverThe sweet Rose of Sharon, the completion of things;

In this purpose of His the rose will uncover;

In its family great we’ll at length discover

The sweet Rose of Sharon, the completion of things;

In the plants by the waters, that quicken and die,But give out their riches unstinted, nor sigh,The Lily of the Valley, the Goal of all things.

In the plants by the waters, that quicken and die,

But give out their riches unstinted, nor sigh,

The Lily of the Valley, the Goal of all things.

The song of the Thrush and of plaintive NightingaleWill merge with the Master’s glorious “all hail,”In harmony perfect in the end of things.

The song of the Thrush and of plaintive Nightingale

Will merge with the Master’s glorious “all hail,”

In harmony perfect in the end of things.

St. John, the inspired, saw horses in heaven,And I love to believe even they will be givenSome happier part in the end of all things.

St. John, the inspired, saw horses in heaven,

And I love to believe even they will be given

Some happier part in the end of all things.

The best of our words and our ways here forgotWill be gathered and treasured in a hallowed lot,Exalted in place at the end of things—

The best of our words and our ways here forgot

Will be gathered and treasured in a hallowed lot,

Exalted in place at the end of things—

God’s men as the angels and angels as men,Ah, the little child too shall be received then,In love of the Highest, in the end of all things.

God’s men as the angels and angels as men,

Ah, the little child too shall be received then,

In love of the Highest, in the end of all things.

The Junco comes when warblers go,When leaves lay dead by a dauntless foe;Ay, winter plans with all his mightTo put in a grave the heart’s delight,And cover all with a shroud of snow.But seasons have a rhythmic flow,With good in each, and this I know,Through storm and sleet, in cheerful flight,The Junco comes.This bonny bird has faith to showTo faithless mortals, fearing woe,How the changeless One, with a changing lightFore-plans for bird and man aright;With autumn gone and winter here—lo,The Junco comes!

The Junco comes when warblers go,When leaves lay dead by a dauntless foe;Ay, winter plans with all his mightTo put in a grave the heart’s delight,And cover all with a shroud of snow.

The Junco comes when warblers go,

When leaves lay dead by a dauntless foe;

Ay, winter plans with all his might

To put in a grave the heart’s delight,

And cover all with a shroud of snow.

But seasons have a rhythmic flow,With good in each, and this I know,Through storm and sleet, in cheerful flight,The Junco comes.

But seasons have a rhythmic flow,

With good in each, and this I know,

Through storm and sleet, in cheerful flight,

The Junco comes.

This bonny bird has faith to showTo faithless mortals, fearing woe,How the changeless One, with a changing lightFore-plans for bird and man aright;With autumn gone and winter here—lo,The Junco comes!

This bonny bird has faith to show

To faithless mortals, fearing woe,

How the changeless One, with a changing light

Fore-plans for bird and man aright;

With autumn gone and winter here—lo,

The Junco comes!

(Written beside his grave in Lake City, Fla., where he was buried after a tragic death, February 8, 1868, by railroad accident.Dr. Lovick Pierce, when in his prime, once facetiously remarked to several opposing preachers: “My brethren, you had better let brother Jackson alone. He has the most metaphysical mind of any man in Georgia, myself only excepted.”Rev. W. J. Scott, D. D., in “Biographic Etchings” says of contemporary ministers: “Not one of them was his equal as a theologian or logician.”The late Dr. W. J. Cotter, of Newnan, Ga., wrote: “Your father was a great and good man.”)

(Written beside his grave in Lake City, Fla., where he was buried after a tragic death, February 8, 1868, by railroad accident.

Dr. Lovick Pierce, when in his prime, once facetiously remarked to several opposing preachers: “My brethren, you had better let brother Jackson alone. He has the most metaphysical mind of any man in Georgia, myself only excepted.”

Rev. W. J. Scott, D. D., in “Biographic Etchings” says of contemporary ministers: “Not one of them was his equal as a theologian or logician.”

The late Dr. W. J. Cotter, of Newnan, Ga., wrote: “Your father was a great and good man.”)

Father, O my father!Attend unto the cryOf this, thy son,And, though long silent and invisible,Speak thou to me.I stand with uncovered head,’Neath giant water oaks,Thy sleepless body-guard,Supporting emblems of eternal mourning,The clinging mosses at half mast,Nature’s weepers;Now still, now softly chanting, now waving,While sympathetic zephyrs flow,And give them kiss of comfort as they pass—Calling all, like my hungry heart,For thee!Victimized thy body,Thy very bones were mangled,Long since done to dust,Exalted dust, once indwelt by Deity,Assuring foretaste of higher life.In towering oak a mocking-bird doth sing,Not doleful dirge,Nor requiem for the hopeless dead,But sonatas pure sings he of life and love,This receiving and out-giving Psyche of every wandering note,The Sidney Lanier ’mongst birds of the sunny South,His own “trim Shakespeare on a tree”—The oak, the moss, the bird and I,Above all Jehovah, the life of all,Proclaim thee ever-living,And glorified.I cry unto thee, ascended sire;Hearest thou me?Conscious of thy child’s communion?Meetest thou me as son or spirit?Yea; closer now than as tender offspring of thy loins,I sat upon thy knee, inquirer and receiver,In the long ago.Yet fettered I by frailties of the flesh,With poor and halting language of mortal men,Miserable makeshift, the spirit’s aphasia,This spoken or written word—I will fight through fetters all and fly!Mine is the inarticulate cry of love,Plea of a son’s aspiring heart.Made more and more apt and musicalBy what thou wast and art,During all thy crowning years.Again I see thy imaged face, O master man;Thy penetrating eye, that reads from soul to soul—Stern, inflexible;Yet merciful thou, and gentle with men.I wonder what thou hast become;What thoughts, what plans, achievements now?But three short months in a fourth-rate school,At twenty spelling and struggling onThrough the Book Divine,Making marvelous mistakes and ludicrous—[14]What man or angel climbed from less to more?What god?Once teacher, tender, patient, firm;A preacher powerful of the Gospel everlasting;College president; thinker, deep and rare,Holding and molding many from thy conquered heights!Whose soul ever sang oratoriosSweeter, richer in the hierarchy ofBeing and becoming?Who ever possessed more wondrous will,Power uppermost in God and man?Thou didst express God-begotten longingTo return and be guide to some lone, weary one—It is I—prayer proven.Oft and again thy fond fatherhood,One with the eternal Father,Who sends forth His spirits as ministers,Has converted my weakness into strength,My loneliness to fellowship free,My doubt and darkness to lovely light,My cup of bitterness to blessing—What father still, and guardian angel thou!Thy spirit ineluctableLives, and reigns, and rises ever;Delving deeper, more divinelyInto glories of love and service;High above the maddening marts of men,Of dire machines, for murder built,That sow and reap the woes of war.O immortal man, high grown saint and prophet,Beloved father, I come—ere long, I come!Even now and here, earth-bound as I am, I riseTo meet and greet thee,In God’s pure heights,And thine!

Father, O my father!Attend unto the cryOf this, thy son,And, though long silent and invisible,Speak thou to me.

Father, O my father!

Attend unto the cry

Of this, thy son,

And, though long silent and invisible,

Speak thou to me.

I stand with uncovered head,’Neath giant water oaks,Thy sleepless body-guard,Supporting emblems of eternal mourning,The clinging mosses at half mast,Nature’s weepers;Now still, now softly chanting, now waving,While sympathetic zephyrs flow,And give them kiss of comfort as they pass—Calling all, like my hungry heart,For thee!

I stand with uncovered head,

’Neath giant water oaks,

Thy sleepless body-guard,

Supporting emblems of eternal mourning,

The clinging mosses at half mast,

Nature’s weepers;

Now still, now softly chanting, now waving,

While sympathetic zephyrs flow,

And give them kiss of comfort as they pass—

Calling all, like my hungry heart,

For thee!

Victimized thy body,Thy very bones were mangled,Long since done to dust,Exalted dust, once indwelt by Deity,Assuring foretaste of higher life.

Victimized thy body,

Thy very bones were mangled,

Long since done to dust,

Exalted dust, once indwelt by Deity,

Assuring foretaste of higher life.

In towering oak a mocking-bird doth sing,Not doleful dirge,Nor requiem for the hopeless dead,But sonatas pure sings he of life and love,This receiving and out-giving Psyche of every wandering note,The Sidney Lanier ’mongst birds of the sunny South,His own “trim Shakespeare on a tree”—The oak, the moss, the bird and I,Above all Jehovah, the life of all,Proclaim thee ever-living,And glorified.

In towering oak a mocking-bird doth sing,

Not doleful dirge,

Nor requiem for the hopeless dead,

But sonatas pure sings he of life and love,

This receiving and out-giving Psyche of every wandering note,

The Sidney Lanier ’mongst birds of the sunny South,

His own “trim Shakespeare on a tree”—

The oak, the moss, the bird and I,

Above all Jehovah, the life of all,

Proclaim thee ever-living,

And glorified.

I cry unto thee, ascended sire;Hearest thou me?Conscious of thy child’s communion?Meetest thou me as son or spirit?Yea; closer now than as tender offspring of thy loins,I sat upon thy knee, inquirer and receiver,In the long ago.

I cry unto thee, ascended sire;

Hearest thou me?

Conscious of thy child’s communion?

Meetest thou me as son or spirit?

Yea; closer now than as tender offspring of thy loins,

I sat upon thy knee, inquirer and receiver,

In the long ago.

Yet fettered I by frailties of the flesh,With poor and halting language of mortal men,Miserable makeshift, the spirit’s aphasia,This spoken or written word—I will fight through fetters all and fly!Mine is the inarticulate cry of love,Plea of a son’s aspiring heart.Made more and more apt and musicalBy what thou wast and art,During all thy crowning years.

Yet fettered I by frailties of the flesh,

With poor and halting language of mortal men,

Miserable makeshift, the spirit’s aphasia,

This spoken or written word—

I will fight through fetters all and fly!

Mine is the inarticulate cry of love,

Plea of a son’s aspiring heart.

Made more and more apt and musical

By what thou wast and art,

During all thy crowning years.

Again I see thy imaged face, O master man;Thy penetrating eye, that reads from soul to soul—Stern, inflexible;Yet merciful thou, and gentle with men.I wonder what thou hast become;What thoughts, what plans, achievements now?But three short months in a fourth-rate school,At twenty spelling and struggling onThrough the Book Divine,Making marvelous mistakes and ludicrous—[14]What man or angel climbed from less to more?What god?

Again I see thy imaged face, O master man;

Thy penetrating eye, that reads from soul to soul—

Stern, inflexible;

Yet merciful thou, and gentle with men.

I wonder what thou hast become;

What thoughts, what plans, achievements now?

But three short months in a fourth-rate school,

At twenty spelling and struggling on

Through the Book Divine,

Making marvelous mistakes and ludicrous—[14]

What man or angel climbed from less to more?

What god?

Once teacher, tender, patient, firm;A preacher powerful of the Gospel everlasting;College president; thinker, deep and rare,Holding and molding many from thy conquered heights!

Once teacher, tender, patient, firm;

A preacher powerful of the Gospel everlasting;

College president; thinker, deep and rare,

Holding and molding many from thy conquered heights!

Whose soul ever sang oratoriosSweeter, richer in the hierarchy ofBeing and becoming?Who ever possessed more wondrous will,Power uppermost in God and man?

Whose soul ever sang oratorios

Sweeter, richer in the hierarchy of

Being and becoming?

Who ever possessed more wondrous will,

Power uppermost in God and man?

Thou didst express God-begotten longingTo return and be guide to some lone, weary one—It is I—prayer proven.Oft and again thy fond fatherhood,One with the eternal Father,Who sends forth His spirits as ministers,Has converted my weakness into strength,My loneliness to fellowship free,My doubt and darkness to lovely light,My cup of bitterness to blessing—What father still, and guardian angel thou!

Thou didst express God-begotten longing

To return and be guide to some lone, weary one—

It is I—prayer proven.

Oft and again thy fond fatherhood,

One with the eternal Father,

Who sends forth His spirits as ministers,

Has converted my weakness into strength,

My loneliness to fellowship free,

My doubt and darkness to lovely light,

My cup of bitterness to blessing—

What father still, and guardian angel thou!

Thy spirit ineluctableLives, and reigns, and rises ever;Delving deeper, more divinelyInto glories of love and service;High above the maddening marts of men,Of dire machines, for murder built,That sow and reap the woes of war.

Thy spirit ineluctable

Lives, and reigns, and rises ever;

Delving deeper, more divinely

Into glories of love and service;

High above the maddening marts of men,

Of dire machines, for murder built,

That sow and reap the woes of war.

O immortal man, high grown saint and prophet,Beloved father, I come—ere long, I come!Even now and here, earth-bound as I am, I riseTo meet and greet thee,In God’s pure heights,And thine!

O immortal man, high grown saint and prophet,

Beloved father, I come—ere long, I come!

Even now and here, earth-bound as I am, I rise

To meet and greet thee,

In God’s pure heights,

And thine!

This old mansion in Stokes County, N. C., was seven years in being built by its owner, Col. John Martin, who was the great-grandfather of Judge W. P. Bynum of Greensboro, N. C.Photo by the Author.

(With a historical basis never before published.)

Ride back, my children, in the chariot of Time,A hundred and sixty-five years;And we’ll join a fond father, a hero sublime—A maiden is pleading in tears!She was seized by the Tories at a bold mountain spring,Soon after refusing her heart,To one who belonged to the enemy’s ring,A foreign and haughty up-start.Away thru the mountains they carried the maidTo their secret and darksome den;And there the pure daughter of Martin was laid,The captive of merciless men.

Ride back, my children, in the chariot of Time,A hundred and sixty-five years;And we’ll join a fond father, a hero sublime—A maiden is pleading in tears!

Ride back, my children, in the chariot of Time,

A hundred and sixty-five years;

And we’ll join a fond father, a hero sublime—

A maiden is pleading in tears!

She was seized by the Tories at a bold mountain spring,Soon after refusing her heart,To one who belonged to the enemy’s ring,A foreign and haughty up-start.

She was seized by the Tories at a bold mountain spring,

Soon after refusing her heart,

To one who belonged to the enemy’s ring,

A foreign and haughty up-start.

Away thru the mountains they carried the maidTo their secret and darksome den;And there the pure daughter of Martin was laid,The captive of merciless men.

Away thru the mountains they carried the maid

To their secret and darksome den;

And there the pure daughter of Martin was laid,

The captive of merciless men.

The “rock ribbed pen” in which Miss Martin was placed by the Tories.Photograph by author.

She’s pleading with them, but her cries are in vain;They’ve bound her secure and fast;And vowed she should never see Martin again—And the lover, “You’re mine at last.”Her sleep has departed, her food is refused,But unto the Father she prayed;While the body of thieves are greatly amused,Near a glowing fire they’ve made.A brave of the friendly Saura tribeSoon heard of the stolen girl;To Martin he went without thought of a bribe,With plans that proved him no churl.To the top of his mansion the father flew,A mansion of solid gray stone;It’s standing yet—and ’twas years that it grew—A tower defiant, though lone.The two anxious men looked near and afar,And at length a glimmer was seen,A gleam far away, like a dim fallen star,A token of promising sheen.A compass was set, that infallible guide;At sunrise it pointed the way,When the father and friend, alert by his side,Made a silent, complete survey.While they searched through the wood some fragments were found,Torn threads of a girl’s scarlet shawl,Lying hither and yon on the virgin ground—Faint hope of success was all.Now at length a full score of Tories is spied,At the mouth of their cave with guns—“Down, still!” said Martin, “a moment we’ll hide,Then away for our friends and our sons.”Two score are secured and each man is well armed;They approach the Tories’ dark cave;But the thieves are alert as well as alarmed,Before men so mighty and brave.Quick shots are exchanged—the maiden still prays;All the Tories but three take flight,And these are bound fast, and in Heaven’s own ways,There’s rapture and holy delight.Ah, ne’er such a kiss and ne’er such embrace,’Twixt Martin and only daughter;For the gold of the hills, and the wealth of the race,Could not, for all, have bought her.The Tories still flee, the seven and ten,Pursued thru the Sauratown hills,’Till the last is destroyed or safe in a pen,And the lovers had a feast that fills.

She’s pleading with them, but her cries are in vain;They’ve bound her secure and fast;And vowed she should never see Martin again—And the lover, “You’re mine at last.”

She’s pleading with them, but her cries are in vain;

They’ve bound her secure and fast;

And vowed she should never see Martin again—

And the lover, “You’re mine at last.”

Her sleep has departed, her food is refused,But unto the Father she prayed;While the body of thieves are greatly amused,Near a glowing fire they’ve made.

Her sleep has departed, her food is refused,

But unto the Father she prayed;

While the body of thieves are greatly amused,

Near a glowing fire they’ve made.

A brave of the friendly Saura tribeSoon heard of the stolen girl;To Martin he went without thought of a bribe,With plans that proved him no churl.

A brave of the friendly Saura tribe

Soon heard of the stolen girl;

To Martin he went without thought of a bribe,

With plans that proved him no churl.

To the top of his mansion the father flew,A mansion of solid gray stone;It’s standing yet—and ’twas years that it grew—A tower defiant, though lone.

To the top of his mansion the father flew,

A mansion of solid gray stone;

It’s standing yet—and ’twas years that it grew—

A tower defiant, though lone.

The two anxious men looked near and afar,And at length a glimmer was seen,A gleam far away, like a dim fallen star,A token of promising sheen.

The two anxious men looked near and afar,

And at length a glimmer was seen,

A gleam far away, like a dim fallen star,

A token of promising sheen.

A compass was set, that infallible guide;At sunrise it pointed the way,When the father and friend, alert by his side,Made a silent, complete survey.

A compass was set, that infallible guide;

At sunrise it pointed the way,

When the father and friend, alert by his side,

Made a silent, complete survey.

While they searched through the wood some fragments were found,Torn threads of a girl’s scarlet shawl,Lying hither and yon on the virgin ground—Faint hope of success was all.

While they searched through the wood some fragments were found,

Torn threads of a girl’s scarlet shawl,

Lying hither and yon on the virgin ground—

Faint hope of success was all.

Now at length a full score of Tories is spied,At the mouth of their cave with guns—“Down, still!” said Martin, “a moment we’ll hide,Then away for our friends and our sons.”

Now at length a full score of Tories is spied,

At the mouth of their cave with guns—

“Down, still!” said Martin, “a moment we’ll hide,

Then away for our friends and our sons.”

Two score are secured and each man is well armed;They approach the Tories’ dark cave;But the thieves are alert as well as alarmed,Before men so mighty and brave.

Two score are secured and each man is well armed;

They approach the Tories’ dark cave;

But the thieves are alert as well as alarmed,

Before men so mighty and brave.

Quick shots are exchanged—the maiden still prays;All the Tories but three take flight,And these are bound fast, and in Heaven’s own ways,There’s rapture and holy delight.

Quick shots are exchanged—the maiden still prays;

All the Tories but three take flight,

And these are bound fast, and in Heaven’s own ways,

There’s rapture and holy delight.

Ah, ne’er such a kiss and ne’er such embrace,’Twixt Martin and only daughter;For the gold of the hills, and the wealth of the race,Could not, for all, have bought her.

Ah, ne’er such a kiss and ne’er such embrace,

’Twixt Martin and only daughter;

For the gold of the hills, and the wealth of the race,

Could not, for all, have bought her.

The Tories still flee, the seven and ten,Pursued thru the Sauratown hills,’Till the last is destroyed or safe in a pen,And the lovers had a feast that fills.

The Tories still flee, the seven and ten,

Pursued thru the Sauratown hills,

’Till the last is destroyed or safe in a pen,

And the lovers had a feast that fills.

I’m pore an’ bline, but I shore kin sing;And I lubs to hear dat silver ring,So cum on wid yer money fur me.Yer knows, white folks, a nigger’s pore chance;An’ de best I kin do is ter sing an’ dance;Now cum on wid yer money fur me.Fill up dat cup an’ run hit ober,An’ I’ll be full like a sheep in de clober;So cum on wid yer money fur me.Dar neber wuz er pull like de money pull,An’ meny’s bin de day since mer cup wuz full—O cum on wid yer money fur me!While mer song do er about like ole Jim Crow,Yer hearts will be happy an’ oberflow,Ef yer cum on wid yer money fur me.So cum er-long, cum er long an stan’ er round;Let smiles on ebery face be found,An’ cum on wid yer money fur me.While I’se jes a nigger, pore an’ bline,Dis shore am de song of yore race an’ mine;O cum on wid yer money fur me!

I’m pore an’ bline, but I shore kin sing;And I lubs to hear dat silver ring,So cum on wid yer money fur me.

I’m pore an’ bline, but I shore kin sing;

And I lubs to hear dat silver ring,

So cum on wid yer money fur me.

Yer knows, white folks, a nigger’s pore chance;An’ de best I kin do is ter sing an’ dance;Now cum on wid yer money fur me.

Yer knows, white folks, a nigger’s pore chance;

An’ de best I kin do is ter sing an’ dance;

Now cum on wid yer money fur me.

Fill up dat cup an’ run hit ober,An’ I’ll be full like a sheep in de clober;So cum on wid yer money fur me.

Fill up dat cup an’ run hit ober,

An’ I’ll be full like a sheep in de clober;

So cum on wid yer money fur me.

Dar neber wuz er pull like de money pull,An’ meny’s bin de day since mer cup wuz full—O cum on wid yer money fur me!

Dar neber wuz er pull like de money pull,

An’ meny’s bin de day since mer cup wuz full—

O cum on wid yer money fur me!

While mer song do er about like ole Jim Crow,Yer hearts will be happy an’ oberflow,Ef yer cum on wid yer money fur me.

While mer song do er about like ole Jim Crow,

Yer hearts will be happy an’ oberflow,

Ef yer cum on wid yer money fur me.

So cum er-long, cum er long an stan’ er round;Let smiles on ebery face be found,An’ cum on wid yer money fur me.

So cum er-long, cum er long an stan’ er round;

Let smiles on ebery face be found,

An’ cum on wid yer money fur me.

While I’se jes a nigger, pore an’ bline,Dis shore am de song of yore race an’ mine;O cum on wid yer money fur me!

While I’se jes a nigger, pore an’ bline,

Dis shore am de song of yore race an’ mine;

O cum on wid yer money fur me!

Snapped by the Author in Tampa, Fla.

O God of power great and endless love,While dwelling in immensity above.On highest throne of all, of life and light;Yet comest down thou gently in thy might,To succor of the low and heavy laden,And on thou leadest to a peaceful haven.’Tis ever thine to bring forth love from hate,O Christ, eternal Wisdom, incarnate;All good from evil, health from all our pain;From darkness light—so be it always plainTo men and devils:Thou alone art king;And highest in all worlds thy praises ring!Afar Thou dost foresee the certain end.And cause the strife of nations mad to bendTheir worst, their artful plan and utmost deed,To bless thine own and be thy servant’s meed;Rich peace from war; high Heaven from utter hell;O what a God is ours—let angels tell!

O God of power great and endless love,

While dwelling in immensity above.

On highest throne of all, of life and light;

Yet comest down thou gently in thy might,

To succor of the low and heavy laden,

And on thou leadest to a peaceful haven.

’Tis ever thine to bring forth love from hate,O Christ, eternal Wisdom, incarnate;All good from evil, health from all our pain;From darkness light—so be it always plainTo men and devils:Thou alone art king;And highest in all worlds thy praises ring!

’Tis ever thine to bring forth love from hate,

O Christ, eternal Wisdom, incarnate;

All good from evil, health from all our pain;

From darkness light—so be it always plain

To men and devils:Thou alone art king;

And highest in all worlds thy praises ring!

Afar Thou dost foresee the certain end.And cause the strife of nations mad to bendTheir worst, their artful plan and utmost deed,To bless thine own and be thy servant’s meed;Rich peace from war; high Heaven from utter hell;O what a God is ours—let angels tell!

Afar Thou dost foresee the certain end.

And cause the strife of nations mad to bend

Their worst, their artful plan and utmost deed,

To bless thine own and be thy servant’s meed;

Rich peace from war; high Heaven from utter hell;

O what a God is ours—let angels tell!

Ho, children, ho!Ring loud the bells,In town and dells;And gladly go,Thru ice and snow,For mistletoe,With merry bells!Come, welcome Santy,In his reindeer sleigh,On the King’s highway—He’s never scanty—So children, ho!For mistletoe,With jingling bells!Of Christ we’ll sing,With glad acclaim,And steadfast aim,His praises ring—O children, go,For mistletoe,With joyful bells!Come young, come old!Those only liveWho love to give,With hearts of gold,All people, ho!For mistletoe,With dancing bells!

Ho, children, ho!Ring loud the bells,In town and dells;And gladly go,Thru ice and snow,For mistletoe,With merry bells!

Ho, children, ho!

Ring loud the bells,

In town and dells;

And gladly go,

Thru ice and snow,

For mistletoe,

With merry bells!

Come, welcome Santy,In his reindeer sleigh,On the King’s highway—He’s never scanty—So children, ho!For mistletoe,With jingling bells!

Come, welcome Santy,

In his reindeer sleigh,

On the King’s highway—

He’s never scanty—

So children, ho!

For mistletoe,

With jingling bells!

Of Christ we’ll sing,With glad acclaim,And steadfast aim,His praises ring—O children, go,For mistletoe,With joyful bells!

Of Christ we’ll sing,

With glad acclaim,

And steadfast aim,

His praises ring—

O children, go,

For mistletoe,

With joyful bells!

Come young, come old!Those only liveWho love to give,With hearts of gold,All people, ho!For mistletoe,With dancing bells!

Come young, come old!

Those only live

Who love to give,

With hearts of gold,

All people, ho!

For mistletoe,

With dancing bells!

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