The Project Gutenberg eBook ofPoems

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofPoemsThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: PoemsAuthor: Clara A. MerrillRelease date: August 9, 2017 [eBook #55315]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: PoemsAuthor: Clara A. MerrillRelease date: August 9, 2017 [eBook #55315]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)

Title: Poems

Author: Clara A. Merrill

Release date: August 9, 2017 [eBook #55315]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***

BYCLARA A. MERRILL[Colophon: pine tree, unavailable.]

“Take me back to the homeOf my youth once again—To the dear Pine Tree State—The Old State of Maine.”

Copyrighted 1915CLARA A. MERRILLMERRILL & WEBBER CO. PRS., AUBURN

The memory of her beautiful life, and of her deep and unchanging love for me,—together with the knowledge of the interest she felt in my writings, fills me with a longing to do that which I know would be pleasing to her.

For though the dear voice of her whom I so loved can no longer cheer and guide me on, yet in spirit I hear her gently whisper bidding me resume the work I had laid aside.

Thus from my writings I have selected a few poems which, though submitted with diffidence, I hope may be kindly received by my many friends; and accepted by them with such degree of generosity as will enable them to throw the mantle of charity over the many short-comings, and to see any good that may chance to exist.

And if from any of these poems there may perchance be found one little ray of sunshine—though it beams ever so faintly—that may radiate and give pleasure to evenoneappreciating heart, then surely I may feel that my labor will not have been wholly in vain.

Clara A. MerrillThe Author

Sail on gallant bark, bearing onward your freight,Ye breezes blow briskly! her sails to inflate,—See how her staunch prow the green billows will break,And the path of white foam that she leaves in her wake!Speed onward, ye courses of iron!—Swiftly stealsAway the bright rails as they fly ’neath your wheels.Bear me onward, fleet charger, nor yet me detain,Oh take me back home to my Old State of Maine!When twilight’s dark shade o’er the valley impends,And the pale crescent moon its refulgence blends;Then fancy reverts to the long agone days,The sweet scenes of Childhood revisit our gaze;And hill, vale and woodland our minds will employ,Expanding the bosom with infinite joy.Peal on, memory sweet! Let me hear thy glad strain,Oh take me back home to my old Old State of Maine!Tho’ I traverse at will Old Neptune’s domain,Or by fair country-side bounding river and plain;In dreams I can see,—in their places once moreKind familiar faces, long since gone before,—And I dwell once again in the days that are past,Nor think, for the time, that naught earthly can last.Dream on, faithful muse, I have long sighed in vain,—Oh, take me back home to my Old State of Maine!From Katahdin’s proud crest, to Atlantic’s blue verge,New lights and new scenes in succession emerge;Silver lakes and green meads, in confusion ariseIn grand panorama to gladden our eyes.I love the old ingle, each nook, rock and knoll,And the country’s dear flag that waves over the whole;Take me back to the home of my youth once again,To the dear Pine Tree State,—the Old State of Maine.

When twilight’s dark shade o’er the valley impends,And the pale crescent moon its refulgence blends;Then fancy reverts to the long agone days,The sweet scenes of Childhood revisit our gaze;And hill, vale and woodland our minds will employ,Expanding the bosom with infinite joy.Peal on, memory sweet! Let me hear thy glad strain,Oh take me back home to my old Old State of Maine!

Tho’ I traverse at will Old Neptune’s domain,Or by fair country-side bounding river and plain;In dreams I can see,—in their places once moreKind familiar faces, long since gone before,—And I dwell once again in the days that are past,Nor think, for the time, that naught earthly can last.Dream on, faithful muse, I have long sighed in vain,—Oh, take me back home to my Old State of Maine!

From Katahdin’s proud crest, to Atlantic’s blue verge,New lights and new scenes in succession emerge;Silver lakes and green meads, in confusion ariseIn grand panorama to gladden our eyes.I love the old ingle, each nook, rock and knoll,And the country’s dear flag that waves over the whole;Take me back to the home of my youth once again,To the dear Pine Tree State,—the Old State of Maine.

[decorative bar.]

The stars in their infinite beauty,And the moon in yon azure deep;All speak of some great Duty—Of some tireless Watch to keep.This beautiful, beautiful world so grand—The trees, the birds and the flowers;All point with a beckoning hand,To a wisdom more potent than ours.Hear ye the Ocean speaking—Hear ye the surges roar!As the wild-winged winds come shriekingFrom some far distant shore.Is there not something greaterThan the power of Man alone?Aye, the power of the CreatorIs far greater than our own.See ye the lightning flashing—Now, as in anger comesBooming, rolling, crashingLike a hundred beating drumsPeals of terrific thunder—We stand in silence, awed;We can but pause and wonderAt the infinite power of God!And thou, oh mighty torrentFlowing on, and on, through time—Tell us, who sends thy currentO’er the cataract sublime?And thou, gigantic mountain—Canst tell us whence thy birth—Sprang thou from some living fountain—How into existence came this earth?Could we doubt for a single hourThat these marvelous works were lentBy the high and wondrous powerOf One Omnipotent?Nay! tho’ we seek where man ne’er trodAnd traverse sea or land;It seems thatallthings speak of God—And a Loving Father’s hand.

Hear ye the Ocean speaking—Hear ye the surges roar!As the wild-winged winds come shriekingFrom some far distant shore.Is there not something greaterThan the power of Man alone?Aye, the power of the CreatorIs far greater than our own.

See ye the lightning flashing—Now, as in anger comesBooming, rolling, crashingLike a hundred beating drumsPeals of terrific thunder—We stand in silence, awed;We can but pause and wonderAt the infinite power of God!

And thou, oh mighty torrentFlowing on, and on, through time—Tell us, who sends thy currentO’er the cataract sublime?And thou, gigantic mountain—Canst tell us whence thy birth—Sprang thou from some living fountain—How into existence came this earth?

Could we doubt for a single hourThat these marvelous works were lentBy the high and wondrous powerOf One Omnipotent?Nay! tho’ we seek where man ne’er trodAnd traverse sea or land;It seems thatallthings speak of God—And a Loving Father’s hand.

The south wind returns, with a gentle caressAnd it kisses the lakelets’ bright waves;And softly it moans in low musical tonesAs it sighs through the mystical caves.Sweet Summer is waiting to welcome the rose,Who is queen of the flowery band—In regal robes new and jewels of dewShe with majestic grace will command.Drowsy and low is the hum of the beesAs the nectar they sip from the bloom;The rivulet courses, all nature rejoices,For Winter is laid in the tomb.Gaily among the green arches the birdsPour forth their thanksgiving in song;Their clear, mellow notes in pure cadence floatsAs the echoing gale sweeps along.The hillside with blushes lifts up its fair headIn its verdurous beauty so proud;And the flower-faces gleam as a loving sunbeamWafts down from the light fleecy cloud.The grand, lofty mountain where hangs the white mistTells the brooklets of Summer’s warm glow;And they in turn hail each glen, woodland and valeWhere the soft willow catkins bend low.The flowerets join the harmonious strainWith the cricket, the bird and the bee;And the rippling rill the sweet chorus will trillOn its clear winding way to the sea.’Neath the gnarled oak tree by the silvery lakeAre the fairies all robed in white;Awaiting their queen, for they dance at e’enBy the fireflies magical light.Then come to the country so grand—O come to the old oaken treeWhere mystical notes on the gentle breeze floatsAnd the fays dance so gay on the lea.O come to the old oak treeWhere the ivy so lovingly twines,And Zephyr’s warm kiss so freighted with blissIs perfumed by the evergreen pines.

Drowsy and low is the hum of the beesAs the nectar they sip from the bloom;The rivulet courses, all nature rejoices,For Winter is laid in the tomb.Gaily among the green arches the birdsPour forth their thanksgiving in song;Their clear, mellow notes in pure cadence floatsAs the echoing gale sweeps along.

The hillside with blushes lifts up its fair headIn its verdurous beauty so proud;And the flower-faces gleam as a loving sunbeamWafts down from the light fleecy cloud.The grand, lofty mountain where hangs the white mistTells the brooklets of Summer’s warm glow;And they in turn hail each glen, woodland and valeWhere the soft willow catkins bend low.

The flowerets join the harmonious strainWith the cricket, the bird and the bee;And the rippling rill the sweet chorus will trillOn its clear winding way to the sea.’Neath the gnarled oak tree by the silvery lakeAre the fairies all robed in white;Awaiting their queen, for they dance at e’enBy the fireflies magical light.

Then come to the country so grand—O come to the old oaken treeWhere mystical notes on the gentle breeze floatsAnd the fays dance so gay on the lea.O come to the old oak treeWhere the ivy so lovingly twines,And Zephyr’s warm kiss so freighted with blissIs perfumed by the evergreen pines.

Aurora-borealis:—Thy secret vastHast ne’er by Man been found—As, through the Ages of the PastFrom Times remotest boundWhen Night her sable curtains foldO’er all the earth, then high’Mid star-gemmed canopy—beholdThy rays illume the sky!Canst tell—ye ice-bergs of the North—Whence comes these waves of lightWhose golden splendor shimmers forthTo greet the Queen of Night—Dost power that welds thy icy chainAnd casts thy fetters strongEre thus make radiant thy domainAs the ages creep along?Ye wavering light!—Afar on highShines forth, like chastening rodThat Power, reflecting on the skyThe mighty Hand of God!Then bow, ye mortal monarchs braveBefore thy crumbling throne!Aurora’s beams shall deck thy graveWhen a hundred years are flown.

Canst tell—ye ice-bergs of the North—Whence comes these waves of lightWhose golden splendor shimmers forthTo greet the Queen of Night—Dost power that welds thy icy chainAnd casts thy fetters strongEre thus make radiant thy domainAs the ages creep along?

Ye wavering light!—Afar on highShines forth, like chastening rodThat Power, reflecting on the skyThe mighty Hand of God!Then bow, ye mortal monarchs braveBefore thy crumbling throne!Aurora’s beams shall deck thy graveWhen a hundred years are flown.

[decorative bar.]

Round the homestead old I wandered,Slowly, and with silent tread;And at last I turned my footstepsTo the chamber overhead.There, among the broken rubbish,Where the cobwebs thickly hung;Something sent my thoughts far backwardTo the songs my mother sung.That old fashioned, wooden cradleWhich I slept in when a child;As my mother sat beside meSinging ever low and mild.With her foot upon the rocker,To and fro the cradle swung;Peacefully I lay and listenedTo the songs my mother sung.Long ago was that old cradleBanished to the dust and gloom’Neath the dark and musty raftersOf that unused lumber room.Long had it remained forgotten,—Yet fond memory quickly sprungAs I view’d the dear old relic—To the songs my mother sung.Oft I’ve roamed in distant places,I have traveled far and wide;And I know the hours most care-freeWere those spent by mother’s side.While the bell of Time is tollingWith its harsh unfeeling tongue;In my memory I shall cherishAll the songs my mother sung.

That old fashioned, wooden cradleWhich I slept in when a child;As my mother sat beside meSinging ever low and mild.With her foot upon the rocker,To and fro the cradle swung;Peacefully I lay and listenedTo the songs my mother sung.

Long ago was that old cradleBanished to the dust and gloom’Neath the dark and musty raftersOf that unused lumber room.Long had it remained forgotten,—Yet fond memory quickly sprungAs I view’d the dear old relic—To the songs my mother sung.

Oft I’ve roamed in distant places,I have traveled far and wide;And I know the hours most care-freeWere those spent by mother’s side.While the bell of Time is tollingWith its harsh unfeeling tongue;In my memory I shall cherishAll the songs my mother sung.

[decorative bar.]

Softly, sweetly she is sleepingWhere the slender grasses wave;Daisies bright, their vigil keepingO’er her calm and peaceful grave.Naught can e’er disturb her slumber—Passed all pain—from sorrow free;Gone from earth, to join the numberO’er the silent, mystic sea.Sweetly sleep, dear, gentle sister,Tranquil ever be thy rest,—Yet, ah yet, how we have missed her—Gone from those she loved the best.Gone from the home—and o’er her pillowStrewn with flowers, so fair and whiteFell tears, and grief like surging billowTouched the heart with withering blight.Time can ne’er efface our sadness—Still the heart’s filled with despairFor the loved one, who in gladnessMade the earth-home bright and fair.Sad the way seems now, and lonely,As we journey day by dayPaths through which she wandered, onlyScattering brightness o’er the way.Memory points with beckoning fingerThrough the mists of long agoTo her songs, which sweetly lingerIn the hush of twilight’s glow—Points to words of comfort, spokenBy those lips so good and true—Tells of her love, so true, unbroken,And we weep in grief anew.For the gentle hands lie folded,And the pure heart now is still;And the brow, in beauty moldedBy the Hand of Death, so chillIs now at rest.—Yet visions brightlyThrough the misty haze will bringA joy, like whispered promise, lightlyWafted as on Zephyr’s wing.Visions of that promised splendorOf a mansion fair, on high;Where, with welcome warm and tenderShe will greet us by and by.—By and by—sweet hope, elating—When the Voice that bid dear Appey sleepShall call us forth, where she is waiting,Ne’er to part, no more to weep.

Sweetly sleep, dear, gentle sister,Tranquil ever be thy rest,—Yet, ah yet, how we have missed her—Gone from those she loved the best.Gone from the home—and o’er her pillowStrewn with flowers, so fair and whiteFell tears, and grief like surging billowTouched the heart with withering blight.

Time can ne’er efface our sadness—Still the heart’s filled with despairFor the loved one, who in gladnessMade the earth-home bright and fair.Sad the way seems now, and lonely,As we journey day by dayPaths through which she wandered, onlyScattering brightness o’er the way.

Memory points with beckoning fingerThrough the mists of long agoTo her songs, which sweetly lingerIn the hush of twilight’s glow—Points to words of comfort, spokenBy those lips so good and true—Tells of her love, so true, unbroken,And we weep in grief anew.

For the gentle hands lie folded,And the pure heart now is still;And the brow, in beauty moldedBy the Hand of Death, so chillIs now at rest.—Yet visions brightlyThrough the misty haze will bringA joy, like whispered promise, lightlyWafted as on Zephyr’s wing.

Visions of that promised splendorOf a mansion fair, on high;Where, with welcome warm and tenderShe will greet us by and by.—By and by—sweet hope, elating—When the Voice that bid dear Appey sleepShall call us forth, where she is waiting,Ne’er to part, no more to weep.

[decorative bar.]

When the darkness seems to gatherO’er the dawn of hope and peace;Like the storm-cloud towering upwardWhich the wild winds e’er increase,—And, like angry ocean billowsFainting soul is fraught with woe;And we’re longing for our loved ones—Does the Heavenly Father know?Though He notes the fallen sparrow—Does He heed the child who weeps—Does He seemytears fast fallingO’er the grave where Sister sleeps?When the bitter sob of anguishMingles with the earnest prayer;Pleading for His love and comfortDoes the Heavenly Father care?Will He in His loving wisdomSend that sweet peace bye and bye—When the eye can gaze far upwardTo the brighter realms on high?As the way-worn, weary pilgrimTurns his footsteps toward the grave;And ’neath load of sin he falleth—Will the Heavenly Father save?In that home where friends await usShall we know them when we meet—Will they seem the same dear loved onesThat on earth we used to greet?—Mystic thoughts—Ah! who can tell usAll that Fancy fain would know?“God is Love” and “We shall know then”Faithresponds in answer low.

Though He notes the fallen sparrow—Does He heed the child who weeps—Does He seemytears fast fallingO’er the grave where Sister sleeps?When the bitter sob of anguishMingles with the earnest prayer;Pleading for His love and comfortDoes the Heavenly Father care?

Will He in His loving wisdomSend that sweet peace bye and bye—When the eye can gaze far upwardTo the brighter realms on high?As the way-worn, weary pilgrimTurns his footsteps toward the grave;And ’neath load of sin he falleth—Will the Heavenly Father save?

In that home where friends await usShall we know them when we meet—Will they seem the same dear loved onesThat on earth we used to greet?—Mystic thoughts—Ah! who can tell usAll that Fancy fain would know?“God is Love” and “We shall know then”Faithresponds in answer low.

[decorative bar.]

Get up Sam, ’n’ harness Nancy,Shake the hayseed from yer head;We are goin’ on a ’s’cursion,Goin’ on the old bob-sled;Won’t the folks think we are handsome,As we pass the village street;With the old horse-blanket round us,And a bed-quilt at our feet!Won’t they stare with mouths wide open,When they see our fine turn-out?Stare away, ye duck-leg’d dandy—Guess we know what we’re about!Won’t they think that Sam’s a daisy,Settin’ there so grand ’n’ straight—Wonder what they’ll think of PhoebeWith her sleepy-lookin’ pate?Have yer got the harness mended?Well, go tie it with a string!Fix it so’s ’twill hold together;Take a rope, or anything!Drive a nail into the fender!It won’t wobble then, I hope,—The thill is broken in two places?Here—come get this other rope!Then go brush old Nancy’s foretop,From her mane pick off the hay;In a knot then tie her tail upSo it won’t be in the way.Tie a greased rag round her spavin!To let ’er hurt it won’t be right,—Say! d’ye spose we’ll want the larntern,When we’re comin’ home tonight?Wish we had a nigger driver,Then I guess we’d go in style;We’d make the people gaze beforeWe’d been a half a mile!Come now, hurry, Jake and Lydia,—Have ye washed yer? where’s the comb?Come now, hurry,—let’s start early,So we’ll find the folks at home.Hope Aunt Hulda’ll bile some ’taters;Won’t we ply the knife and fork?Hope she’ll have a Injun pudd’n!Hope she’ll have a hunk of pork!Marm, bring out that bag o’ apples!See them youngsters fight ’n’ scratch!Shut the door ’n’ crawl out o’ the winder!Stick the scissors in the latch!Now we’re off, as sure as preachin’Sun is in the eastern sky,—Nancy! Nancy! don’t git frisky!My! but aint the critter high!Phoebe, tuck that blanket round yer,Have ye got yer gaiters on?Gosh—I’ve left my pipe ’n’ barker,Clean forgot ’em sure’s yer born!Sam, set over side of Lydia—Marm ’n’ me will set in front,—Thought I’d get a jug o’ ’lasses,But I swan, I guess I won’t.Got to stop ’n’ buy some barker—Can’t git through the day without.Double up yer long legs, Sammy—Stop yer sprawlin’ like a lout!Hold on Bill! ye’ll git a tumble—Ye’ll be slidin’ on yer head!Jake, SET DOWN! or I shall send yeTo the other end o’ the sled!There, now see if ye’ll keep quiet—Billy, Sh! shut up yer beak!Mustn’t holler by the houses,—Bad enough to look ’n peek.Without a squallin’ like a ’n Injun!Guess yer mammy was a squaw,—What! he keeps his chin a goin’Just the image of his Pa?Get up Nancy! Show yer sperit!Whoop-along thar, Nancy—climb!Durn ye, git a wiggle on ye—We sha’n’t be back ’fore milkin’ time.

Won’t they stare with mouths wide open,When they see our fine turn-out?Stare away, ye duck-leg’d dandy—Guess we know what we’re about!Won’t they think that Sam’s a daisy,Settin’ there so grand ’n’ straight—Wonder what they’ll think of PhoebeWith her sleepy-lookin’ pate?

Have yer got the harness mended?Well, go tie it with a string!Fix it so’s ’twill hold together;Take a rope, or anything!Drive a nail into the fender!It won’t wobble then, I hope,—The thill is broken in two places?Here—come get this other rope!

Then go brush old Nancy’s foretop,From her mane pick off the hay;In a knot then tie her tail upSo it won’t be in the way.Tie a greased rag round her spavin!To let ’er hurt it won’t be right,—Say! d’ye spose we’ll want the larntern,When we’re comin’ home tonight?

Wish we had a nigger driver,Then I guess we’d go in style;We’d make the people gaze beforeWe’d been a half a mile!Come now, hurry, Jake and Lydia,—Have ye washed yer? where’s the comb?Come now, hurry,—let’s start early,So we’ll find the folks at home.

Hope Aunt Hulda’ll bile some ’taters;Won’t we ply the knife and fork?Hope she’ll have a Injun pudd’n!Hope she’ll have a hunk of pork!Marm, bring out that bag o’ apples!See them youngsters fight ’n’ scratch!Shut the door ’n’ crawl out o’ the winder!Stick the scissors in the latch!

Now we’re off, as sure as preachin’Sun is in the eastern sky,—Nancy! Nancy! don’t git frisky!My! but aint the critter high!Phoebe, tuck that blanket round yer,Have ye got yer gaiters on?Gosh—I’ve left my pipe ’n’ barker,Clean forgot ’em sure’s yer born!

Sam, set over side of Lydia—Marm ’n’ me will set in front,—Thought I’d get a jug o’ ’lasses,But I swan, I guess I won’t.Got to stop ’n’ buy some barker—Can’t git through the day without.Double up yer long legs, Sammy—Stop yer sprawlin’ like a lout!

Hold on Bill! ye’ll git a tumble—Ye’ll be slidin’ on yer head!Jake, SET DOWN! or I shall send yeTo the other end o’ the sled!There, now see if ye’ll keep quiet—Billy, Sh! shut up yer beak!Mustn’t holler by the houses,—Bad enough to look ’n peek.

Without a squallin’ like a ’n Injun!Guess yer mammy was a squaw,—What! he keeps his chin a goin’Just the image of his Pa?Get up Nancy! Show yer sperit!Whoop-along thar, Nancy—climb!Durn ye, git a wiggle on ye—We sha’n’t be back ’fore milkin’ time.

Back to Index Next