BROTHERLY LOVE.

Who is it drives thru mud and sleet,At break-neck speed along the street,Nor stops for cold nor stops for heat,Until he rests close by your feet?The Doctor.Who is it comes at dead of night,When thieves are out and dogs do bite,And hastens to the dismal light,And greets you with a warm good-night?The Doctor.Who is it asks the reason why,That on a sick bed you should lie,And answers to the sad reply,“My friend, I will not let you die?”The Doctor.Who is it startles in his dream,And thinks he hears his patient scream,And gives of life its very cream,To save you from the downward stream?The Doctor.Who is it takes his life in hand,And promptly comes at your command,When cholera is in the land,Or small-pox with its dreaded brand?The Doctor.Who is it comes with gentle tread,When life is hanging by a thread,And racks the brain within his head,To lift you from a dying bed?The Doctor.Who is it tells the loving friend,In kindest words that tongue can bend,All things in nature have an end,And my poor patient cannot mend?The Doctor.Who is it knows our secrets best,The failing arm, the weakened chest,And keeps those secrets in his breast.Until we reach our final rest?The Doctor.Then to the man whose heart is true,Who does for us all man can do,We’ll render love and honor due,And trust our lives forever to—The Doctor.

Who is it drives thru mud and sleet,At break-neck speed along the street,Nor stops for cold nor stops for heat,Until he rests close by your feet?The Doctor.

Who is it comes at dead of night,When thieves are out and dogs do bite,And hastens to the dismal light,And greets you with a warm good-night?The Doctor.

Who is it asks the reason why,That on a sick bed you should lie,And answers to the sad reply,“My friend, I will not let you die?”The Doctor.

Who is it startles in his dream,And thinks he hears his patient scream,And gives of life its very cream,To save you from the downward stream?The Doctor.

Who is it takes his life in hand,And promptly comes at your command,When cholera is in the land,Or small-pox with its dreaded brand?The Doctor.

Who is it comes with gentle tread,When life is hanging by a thread,And racks the brain within his head,To lift you from a dying bed?The Doctor.

Who is it tells the loving friend,In kindest words that tongue can bend,All things in nature have an end,And my poor patient cannot mend?The Doctor.

Who is it knows our secrets best,The failing arm, the weakened chest,And keeps those secrets in his breast.Until we reach our final rest?The Doctor.

Then to the man whose heart is true,Who does for us all man can do,We’ll render love and honor due,And trust our lives forever to—The Doctor.

O may our hearts in love unite,Our spirits shun all temptation,Our souls incline to truth and right,Our minds in love to all creation.Each other’s faults let us retrieve,And our portion of love divide,Each other’s loads a share receive,And bear with them on ev’ry side.Let conscience dictate, our minds obey,Our erring footsteps be retraced,Our fallen brother gone astray,Be welcomed back, in love embraced.Then will God be pleased to bless us,And fill our lives with love and light,Then will He sweet mercy grant us,While we uphold the truth with right.

O may our hearts in love unite,Our spirits shun all temptation,Our souls incline to truth and right,Our minds in love to all creation.

Each other’s faults let us retrieve,And our portion of love divide,Each other’s loads a share receive,And bear with them on ev’ry side.

Let conscience dictate, our minds obey,Our erring footsteps be retraced,Our fallen brother gone astray,Be welcomed back, in love embraced.

Then will God be pleased to bless us,And fill our lives with love and light,Then will He sweet mercy grant us,While we uphold the truth with right.

Written on the occasion of the marriage of my daughter, Worthy, to Rev. G. N. Kennedy, October 17th, 1892.

A beautiful crown awaits you,In the realm of your chosen life,No higher duty commands you,Than to be a minister’s wife.The road you are now to travel,Is high over the common plain,But when you have reached its level,You must rise above it again.You must go onward and upward,Nor halt in your journey thru life,There’s always work in Christ’s vineyard,For the faithful minister’s wife.’Tis a difficult role to fill,And the work will never be done,But if you take hold with a will,Then half the victory is won.Grapple with boldness and courage,The duties to which you’re assigned,And use all your strength and knowledge,In work for the good of mankind.Always be pleasant and cheerful,Forgiving, consoling and kind,Speak soothing words to the tearful,Bring light to the hearts of the blind.Help, O help the poor and the sick,Help them with tears, labor and love,Help them out when sorrows are thick,Help them in the kingdom above.There’s a veil that obstructs our view,From the beautiful higher life,You should try hard to break it thru,For you are a minister’s wife.Be a helpmeet to your husband,Relieve him of burdens and care,And the noble work of his hand,Will bring you in glory to share.Wherever duty may place you,In all the relations of life,Remember, father commands you,Be a model minister’s wife.

A beautiful crown awaits you,In the realm of your chosen life,No higher duty commands you,Than to be a minister’s wife.

The road you are now to travel,Is high over the common plain,But when you have reached its level,You must rise above it again.

You must go onward and upward,Nor halt in your journey thru life,There’s always work in Christ’s vineyard,For the faithful minister’s wife.

’Tis a difficult role to fill,And the work will never be done,But if you take hold with a will,Then half the victory is won.

Grapple with boldness and courage,The duties to which you’re assigned,And use all your strength and knowledge,In work for the good of mankind.

Always be pleasant and cheerful,Forgiving, consoling and kind,Speak soothing words to the tearful,Bring light to the hearts of the blind.

Help, O help the poor and the sick,Help them with tears, labor and love,Help them out when sorrows are thick,Help them in the kingdom above.

There’s a veil that obstructs our view,From the beautiful higher life,You should try hard to break it thru,For you are a minister’s wife.

Be a helpmeet to your husband,Relieve him of burdens and care,And the noble work of his hand,Will bring you in glory to share.

Wherever duty may place you,In all the relations of life,Remember, father commands you,Be a model minister’s wife.

You ask me some verses to write,But when I have nothing to say,I had much rather keep quiet,Than write in a roundabout way.But as nature is always kind,Perhaps she’ll assist me today,And thus I’ll be able to grindSome verses on—nothing to say.’Tis a splendid maxim, I’m told,And I do not doubt what they say,It will do for young and for old,Never speak when you’ve nothing to say.Now if you will let me advise,This maxim you’ll always obey,Do just like the good and the wise,Never speak when you’ve nothing to say.

You ask me some verses to write,But when I have nothing to say,I had much rather keep quiet,Than write in a roundabout way.

But as nature is always kind,Perhaps she’ll assist me today,And thus I’ll be able to grindSome verses on—nothing to say.

’Tis a splendid maxim, I’m told,And I do not doubt what they say,It will do for young and for old,Never speak when you’ve nothing to say.

Now if you will let me advise,This maxim you’ll always obey,Do just like the good and the wise,Never speak when you’ve nothing to say.

The heart like a sponge may drink to its fill,But unlike the sponge there is room in it still,Fill it with sorrow and pack it with pain,One touch of sweet love revives it again.Crush it, abuse it, it bleeds like a sieve,Tender it kindness, it holds all you give,Pound it, and shake it, until it is sore,Its love is as sweet as ever before.Sad it becomes without love to bless it,Deeply it mourns for friends to caress it,Deprived of love it loses its power,Watered with hope it blooms like a flower.Dear is the heart that friends safely can trust,Peaceful the bosom when the heart is just,Blest is the heart when its love is secure,Happy the friends loved by hearts that are pure.

The heart like a sponge may drink to its fill,But unlike the sponge there is room in it still,Fill it with sorrow and pack it with pain,One touch of sweet love revives it again.

Crush it, abuse it, it bleeds like a sieve,Tender it kindness, it holds all you give,Pound it, and shake it, until it is sore,Its love is as sweet as ever before.

Sad it becomes without love to bless it,Deeply it mourns for friends to caress it,Deprived of love it loses its power,Watered with hope it blooms like a flower.

Dear is the heart that friends safely can trust,Peaceful the bosom when the heart is just,Blest is the heart when its love is secure,Happy the friends loved by hearts that are pure.

The following poem was written to soothe and comfort my daughter Flora, when lying low with typhoid fever in Detroit, while her then only child, Margaret, thirteen months old, was at my house in St. Clair. The acts attributed to the child actually occurred.

Come to my arms, my little sprite,And help me in some verses writeHow one can be so strong and bold,And little more than one year old;Many good things I learn from thee,How sweet to smile and cheerful be,That would adorn my life’s own page,Tho I am fifty times your age.Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet,My darling Flora’s Margaret.What does she say when looking wise,And gazing straight into my eyes,Wondering if I understand,The pretty sounds at her command?Men of great wealth may own their towns,And kings and queens may wear their crowns,I would not care for crowns or herds,Could I interpret baby words.Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet,My darling Flora’s Margaret.But listen! something jars the wall,My pretty pet has had a fall,And quick she rises from the floor,Smiling as sweetly as before;She seems to know life’s just begun,And oft she’ll fall ere it is done,And thus she teaches fallen men,With cheerfulness to rise again.Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet,My darling Flora’s Margaret.I love to see her bright blue eyes,That shine like Venus in the skies,I love to see her dimpled hands,That do whate’er her will commands;I love to see and count her toes,And gently touch her handsome nose,I love her smile, I love her charms,And love to take her in my arms.Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet,My darling Flora’s Margaret.She slaps me hard to make me cry,Then watches for the swelling eye,And when she sees that I am sad,Kisses me quick to make me glad,Then rubs her cheek against my face,And clasps me in a fond embrace,O that my life could be so good,As bubbling, loving, babyhood.Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet,My darling Flora’s Margaret.They tell me that Heaven is grand,A beautiful and happy land,Imagination hath its dream,And unknown things delightful seem;I ask no land more grand than this,Where babies live to swell our bliss,With sickness out this world would be,A happy land for all like me.Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet,My darling Flora’s Margaret.

What does she say when looking wise,And gazing straight into my eyes,Wondering if I understand,The pretty sounds at her command?Men of great wealth may own their towns,And kings and queens may wear their crowns,I would not care for crowns or herds,Could I interpret baby words.Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet,My darling Flora’s Margaret.

But listen! something jars the wall,My pretty pet has had a fall,And quick she rises from the floor,Smiling as sweetly as before;She seems to know life’s just begun,And oft she’ll fall ere it is done,And thus she teaches fallen men,With cheerfulness to rise again.Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet,My darling Flora’s Margaret.

I love to see her bright blue eyes,That shine like Venus in the skies,I love to see her dimpled hands,That do whate’er her will commands;I love to see and count her toes,And gently touch her handsome nose,I love her smile, I love her charms,And love to take her in my arms.Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet,My darling Flora’s Margaret.

She slaps me hard to make me cry,Then watches for the swelling eye,And when she sees that I am sad,Kisses me quick to make me glad,Then rubs her cheek against my face,And clasps me in a fond embrace,O that my life could be so good,As bubbling, loving, babyhood.Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet,My darling Flora’s Margaret.

They tell me that Heaven is grand,A beautiful and happy land,Imagination hath its dream,And unknown things delightful seem;I ask no land more grand than this,Where babies live to swell our bliss,With sickness out this world would be,A happy land for all like me.Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet,My darling Flora’s Margaret.

Many sounds are heard by the human ear,Sounds that are delicate, or loud and clear,The rustling of leaves by the gentle breeze,Or the hurricane crashing thru the trees;Sounds in the mountains and sounds on the seaAnd sounds wherever man happens to be;But of all known sounds the sound of man’s choiceIs the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.The sweet little birds can charm by the hour,By the songs they sing with all their power,How freely they stretch their dear little throatsAs they pour out floods of delicious notes,And few are the sounds man ever has heard,More pleasing to him than songs of the bird,And still he can say, the sound of his choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.The cracking bud of the bursting flower,The spattering rain drops from the shower,The bark of the dog when he barks in play,The rumble of wheels on the hard highway,The babble of brooks as they run along,And the cataract’s never ending song;Are sounds that are cheering, and still man’s choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.The rattle of war when great armies clash,The howling tornado’s terrible crash,The splashing of waves on the ocean shore,The startling grandeur of the thunder’s roar,The alarming sound of the cannon’s boom,And the bursting volcano threat’ning doom;Are sounds that are thrilling, but still man’s choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.The sweet violin in a master’s hand,Gives delightful music at his command;It is made to imitate many sounds,That man often hears in his daily rounds,(The human voice and the warble of birds,)And to almost express these sounds in words;But tho ’tis charming, the sound of man’s choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.The pianoforte can delight and please,When a Paderewski fingers the keys;The great church organ has inspiring notes,That expand the music from human throats;The cornet’s shrill notes are stirring and clear,And fill the music loving soul with cheer;But of all known sounds the sound of man’s choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.The martial music of the fife and drum,That calls the nation’s defenders to come,And the thrilling chorus brass bands produce,Are grand when applied to the country’s use,Even the bagpipe’s persistent humming,Is sweet when it means relief is coming,But nevertheless the sound of man’s choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.Not a sound of instrument ever heard,Nor loveliest note of the singing bird,Nor sounds produced by the wave, or the wind,Compare to the voice of a Jenny Lind;And when Patti sings, O heaven! how sweetIs the entrancing voice her hearers greet,Thus proving it true, the sound of man’s choiceIs the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.It may be the voice of a loving friend,Kindly offering your sorrows to mend,The voices of children engaged in play,And happily passing the time away,Or the gentle voice of a sister dear,O’erflowing with tenderness, love and cheer,And then it must be, the sound of man’s choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.It may be a father warning his son,And kindly teaching him the course to run,Or a mother pleading in accents mild,“O God, have mercy on my darling child;”The voice of a father, sister, or brother,And tender voice of a loving mother,Make clear the fact that the sound of man’s choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.

The sweet little birds can charm by the hour,By the songs they sing with all their power,How freely they stretch their dear little throatsAs they pour out floods of delicious notes,And few are the sounds man ever has heard,More pleasing to him than songs of the bird,And still he can say, the sound of his choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.

The cracking bud of the bursting flower,The spattering rain drops from the shower,The bark of the dog when he barks in play,The rumble of wheels on the hard highway,The babble of brooks as they run along,And the cataract’s never ending song;Are sounds that are cheering, and still man’s choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.

The rattle of war when great armies clash,The howling tornado’s terrible crash,The splashing of waves on the ocean shore,The startling grandeur of the thunder’s roar,The alarming sound of the cannon’s boom,And the bursting volcano threat’ning doom;Are sounds that are thrilling, but still man’s choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.

The sweet violin in a master’s hand,Gives delightful music at his command;It is made to imitate many sounds,That man often hears in his daily rounds,(The human voice and the warble of birds,)And to almost express these sounds in words;But tho ’tis charming, the sound of man’s choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.

The pianoforte can delight and please,When a Paderewski fingers the keys;The great church organ has inspiring notes,That expand the music from human throats;The cornet’s shrill notes are stirring and clear,And fill the music loving soul with cheer;But of all known sounds the sound of man’s choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.

The martial music of the fife and drum,That calls the nation’s defenders to come,And the thrilling chorus brass bands produce,Are grand when applied to the country’s use,Even the bagpipe’s persistent humming,Is sweet when it means relief is coming,But nevertheless the sound of man’s choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.

Not a sound of instrument ever heard,Nor loveliest note of the singing bird,Nor sounds produced by the wave, or the wind,Compare to the voice of a Jenny Lind;And when Patti sings, O heaven! how sweetIs the entrancing voice her hearers greet,Thus proving it true, the sound of man’s choiceIs the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.

It may be the voice of a loving friend,Kindly offering your sorrows to mend,The voices of children engaged in play,And happily passing the time away,Or the gentle voice of a sister dear,O’erflowing with tenderness, love and cheer,And then it must be, the sound of man’s choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.

It may be a father warning his son,And kindly teaching him the course to run,Or a mother pleading in accents mild,“O God, have mercy on my darling child;”The voice of a father, sister, or brother,And tender voice of a loving mother,Make clear the fact that the sound of man’s choice,Is the rich, sweet sound of the human voice.

The man for the times is one with a soul,And a heart that is tender and sound,Who keeps his conscience in his own control,And who bends his ear to the ground.His mind should be clear and his body strong,And his habits correct and clean;He should stand for right and fight against wrong,And rise above everything mean.His views should be broad, liberal and wise,And his acts conform to his views,Quick to listen to humanity’s cries,And give every creature his dues.Bomb proof against bribes and corruptions base,With record and honor unstained,Proving always the right man for the place,With no conduct to be explained.Wide awake to the progress of events,Marching with the leaders of thought,Watching what science creates and prevents,And what wonders are being wrought,Master of electricity and steam,Also compressed and liquid air,And the power contained in wind and stream,And know how these forces compare.The wireless telegraph and telephone,Should be simple toys in his hand,And all sciences that to man are known,He should fairly well understand.He should keep posted in man’s inventions,And his rapid progress in art,And in all proper works and intentions,Take a leading and manly part.With courage and noble ambition,He should grasp the problem of life,And raise the standard of man’s condition,Or perish in the throes of strife.His heart should be fired with burning loveFor his suffering fellowman,And his soul fragrant with balm from above,Should elevate the human plan.Large hearted, whole souled and lofty in aim,Not worshiping dollars and dimes,But working always for honor and fame;Such will be—the man for the times.

The man for the times is one with a soul,And a heart that is tender and sound,Who keeps his conscience in his own control,And who bends his ear to the ground.

His mind should be clear and his body strong,And his habits correct and clean;He should stand for right and fight against wrong,And rise above everything mean.

His views should be broad, liberal and wise,And his acts conform to his views,Quick to listen to humanity’s cries,And give every creature his dues.

Bomb proof against bribes and corruptions base,With record and honor unstained,Proving always the right man for the place,With no conduct to be explained.

Wide awake to the progress of events,Marching with the leaders of thought,Watching what science creates and prevents,And what wonders are being wrought,

Master of electricity and steam,Also compressed and liquid air,And the power contained in wind and stream,And know how these forces compare.

The wireless telegraph and telephone,Should be simple toys in his hand,And all sciences that to man are known,He should fairly well understand.

He should keep posted in man’s inventions,And his rapid progress in art,And in all proper works and intentions,Take a leading and manly part.

With courage and noble ambition,He should grasp the problem of life,And raise the standard of man’s condition,Or perish in the throes of strife.

His heart should be fired with burning loveFor his suffering fellowman,And his soul fragrant with balm from above,Should elevate the human plan.

Large hearted, whole souled and lofty in aim,Not worshiping dollars and dimes,But working always for honor and fame;Such will be—the man for the times.

When passions lure thee to deeds of shame,And sorely tempt thee to stain thy name,Arouse thy manhood, let virtue win,And carefully shun the path of sin,Turn away! turn away, my soul!When boon companions present the cupOf sparkling liquor for thee to sup,Reject the offer, don’t stop to think,For snakes lie hidden in the first drink,Keep away! keep away, my soul!When the gambler tempts thee to his den,Where a dollar ventured brings back ten,Tell him begone, you’ve a better plan,You’ll work for wealth like an honest man,Be honest! be honest, my soul!When rogues approach thee with scheme and planFor helping them rob your fellowman,With indignation, rebuke and scorn,Make the rascals wish they’d ne’er been born,Act bravely! act bravely, my soul!When brazen women with tricks and snares,Seek to entrap thee within their lairs,Beware! O beware! The fatal spellThat hurries men down to death and hell,Fly away! Fly away, my soul!When cares and troubles distract thy brain,And weigh thee down with sorrow and pain,Cling to thy virtues with all thy strength,And life’s great battle you’ll win at length,Be manly! be manly, my soul!When fortune crowns thee with earned success,Cease not to think, or to labor less,But kindle anew the fires of youth,And bravely uphold the cause of truth,Be noble! be noble, my soul!And should you perchance be called a fool,For striving to live by Christian rule,Be not discouraged, but brave and strong,Adhere to the right, denounce the wrong,Have courage! have courage, my soul.The pleasures of earth and heaven too,Are due to the good, the wise and true,Then rejoice, my heart, the way is clear,To a life of love and right good cheer,Be happy! be happy, my soul!

When passions lure thee to deeds of shame,And sorely tempt thee to stain thy name,Arouse thy manhood, let virtue win,And carefully shun the path of sin,Turn away! turn away, my soul!

When boon companions present the cupOf sparkling liquor for thee to sup,Reject the offer, don’t stop to think,For snakes lie hidden in the first drink,Keep away! keep away, my soul!

When the gambler tempts thee to his den,Where a dollar ventured brings back ten,Tell him begone, you’ve a better plan,You’ll work for wealth like an honest man,Be honest! be honest, my soul!

When rogues approach thee with scheme and planFor helping them rob your fellowman,With indignation, rebuke and scorn,Make the rascals wish they’d ne’er been born,Act bravely! act bravely, my soul!

When brazen women with tricks and snares,Seek to entrap thee within their lairs,Beware! O beware! The fatal spellThat hurries men down to death and hell,Fly away! Fly away, my soul!

When cares and troubles distract thy brain,And weigh thee down with sorrow and pain,Cling to thy virtues with all thy strength,And life’s great battle you’ll win at length,Be manly! be manly, my soul!

When fortune crowns thee with earned success,Cease not to think, or to labor less,But kindle anew the fires of youth,And bravely uphold the cause of truth,Be noble! be noble, my soul!

And should you perchance be called a fool,For striving to live by Christian rule,Be not discouraged, but brave and strong,Adhere to the right, denounce the wrong,Have courage! have courage, my soul.

The pleasures of earth and heaven too,Are due to the good, the wise and true,Then rejoice, my heart, the way is clear,To a life of love and right good cheer,Be happy! be happy, my soul!

Verses on the death of a child about three years old, written to comfort his parents.

Dear Rolla, tho gone, is just gone on before,To welcome you home to a happier shore;The time will soon come when you, too, will awayFor the home of the Lord with Rolla to stay.Christ loves little children and calls them awayTo keep their sweet charms for a happier day,Like the flowers you plant to adorn and bloom,He has gone to sweeten your heavenly home.By Christ he was called, by God he was given,You gain by the loss an interest in heaven,Your hearts now are broken, your reason most wild,So deep is your grief o’er the loss of your child.In God, your kind Father, rest hope and belief,And He in His mercy will bring you relief,Have faith in His power, believe in His love,And He’ll lead you in safety to heaven above,Where Rolla’s charming voice so sweet and so true,Is calling, “Pa and ma, I’m waiting for you.”

Dear Rolla, tho gone, is just gone on before,To welcome you home to a happier shore;The time will soon come when you, too, will awayFor the home of the Lord with Rolla to stay.

Christ loves little children and calls them awayTo keep their sweet charms for a happier day,Like the flowers you plant to adorn and bloom,He has gone to sweeten your heavenly home.

By Christ he was called, by God he was given,You gain by the loss an interest in heaven,Your hearts now are broken, your reason most wild,So deep is your grief o’er the loss of your child.

In God, your kind Father, rest hope and belief,And He in His mercy will bring you relief,Have faith in His power, believe in His love,And He’ll lead you in safety to heaven above,Where Rolla’s charming voice so sweet and so true,Is calling, “Pa and ma, I’m waiting for you.”

Gone from a life full of sorrow and care,Gone to that realm where the good only go,Gone from a world where true pleasure is rare,Gone to that place so delightful to know.Now she will find the rest so long needed,Now she is free from all toil and burthen,Now she will meet the Lord she has heeded,Now her sweet soul is happy in heaven.No one can fill the place she left vacant,No mother now teach her children the way,No grief can come to her home so distant,No perils of life endanger her stay.O may her spirit shine forth like a star,O may its light ever brighten our path,O may it lead where she awaits us afar,O may her love ever save us from wrath.Sweet be thy home, dearest mother and friend,Sweet as the peace that can never depart,Sweet be thy life in the world without end,Sweet as the love that o’erflowed from your heart.

Gone from a life full of sorrow and care,Gone to that realm where the good only go,Gone from a world where true pleasure is rare,Gone to that place so delightful to know.

Now she will find the rest so long needed,Now she is free from all toil and burthen,Now she will meet the Lord she has heeded,Now her sweet soul is happy in heaven.

No one can fill the place she left vacant,No mother now teach her children the way,No grief can come to her home so distant,No perils of life endanger her stay.

O may her spirit shine forth like a star,O may its light ever brighten our path,O may it lead where she awaits us afar,O may her love ever save us from wrath.

Sweet be thy home, dearest mother and friend,Sweet as the peace that can never depart,Sweet be thy life in the world without end,Sweet as the love that o’erflowed from your heart.

On the death of Mrs. Maggie Blood, an exceedingly bright and popular young wife.

O God! why teach us how to love so strong?Why make our hearts so warm, soft and tender?Why fill the world with happiness and song,Since we must all to cold death surrender?Why take from us this good and noble life,In spite of love and skill in human arts?This precious daughter, sister, loving wife,And make us weep and mourn with broken hearts?Why take the brightest and best in the land,And leave those behind we can better spare?Is it to place them at Thy own right hand,Where bliss eternal they will ever share?Does heaven demand this great sacrifice,That we should have cause to love it the more,Think less of this earth with its sin and vice,Take more interest in the other shore?When earth is deprived of the good and true,Do they join Thy hosts in the world above?O tell us, God, is Maggie there with You,Safe, well and happy in the realm of love?How will it be known when the answer comes,Must we show our faith ere we can hear it?Then drive the sorrow from our saddened homes,For Thou, O God, hast power to do it.

O God! why teach us how to love so strong?Why make our hearts so warm, soft and tender?Why fill the world with happiness and song,Since we must all to cold death surrender?

Why take from us this good and noble life,In spite of love and skill in human arts?This precious daughter, sister, loving wife,And make us weep and mourn with broken hearts?

Why take the brightest and best in the land,And leave those behind we can better spare?Is it to place them at Thy own right hand,Where bliss eternal they will ever share?

Does heaven demand this great sacrifice,That we should have cause to love it the more,Think less of this earth with its sin and vice,Take more interest in the other shore?

When earth is deprived of the good and true,Do they join Thy hosts in the world above?O tell us, God, is Maggie there with You,Safe, well and happy in the realm of love?

How will it be known when the answer comes,Must we show our faith ere we can hear it?Then drive the sorrow from our saddened homes,For Thou, O God, hast power to do it.

Of Mrs. Fidelia Whitaker, the excellent wife of my old and good friend, Byron Whitaker of Detroit, Michigan. Mrs. Whitaker had many fine qualities, and commanded my respect and esteem to a high degree.

Come listen, friends, the while I paintUpon your hearts a picture true,Of one whose love was never faint,But full and strong and true to you.No master’s skill can I command,To imitate a face so fair,But love will help to guide my hand,And draw the lines with tender care.First I will mark those large bright eyes,So full of life, so full of cheer,Sparkling with love yet meek and wise,Touching our hearts to draw them near.That noble brow I next observe,Fountain of thoughts so pure and sweet,Teaching us all the way to serveOur fellow men whene’er we meet.Now as a whole I will define,That pleasant smile, that charming face,That beams with joy in ev’ry line,And wraps our hearts in love’s embrace.Oft have we felt the friendly glow,That bubbled from her gen’rous soul,Like as a spring whose overflow,Yields cooling draughts to make us whole.Her tender voice no more is heard,Her friendly acts and pleasant way,Her gentle hand and soothing word,Are gone away, all gone away.But graven on our aching hearts,Her loving face is firmly cast,And fortune’s sway, nor sorrow’s darts,Can wash it out while life doth last.

Come listen, friends, the while I paintUpon your hearts a picture true,Of one whose love was never faint,But full and strong and true to you.

No master’s skill can I command,To imitate a face so fair,But love will help to guide my hand,And draw the lines with tender care.

First I will mark those large bright eyes,So full of life, so full of cheer,Sparkling with love yet meek and wise,Touching our hearts to draw them near.

That noble brow I next observe,Fountain of thoughts so pure and sweet,Teaching us all the way to serveOur fellow men whene’er we meet.

Now as a whole I will define,That pleasant smile, that charming face,That beams with joy in ev’ry line,And wraps our hearts in love’s embrace.

Oft have we felt the friendly glow,That bubbled from her gen’rous soul,Like as a spring whose overflow,Yields cooling draughts to make us whole.

Her tender voice no more is heard,Her friendly acts and pleasant way,Her gentle hand and soothing word,Are gone away, all gone away.

But graven on our aching hearts,Her loving face is firmly cast,And fortune’s sway, nor sorrow’s darts,Can wash it out while life doth last.

Brave are the soldiers who go forth to fight,Tho chances of death are one in a hundred,Brave are the sailors who stand for the right,Tho the hours of battle are soon numbered.Brave are the life savers who plunge in the main,And rescue the drowning and land them on shore,But braver the sick who long suffer pain,And bear it as Christ once bore it before.

Brave are the soldiers who go forth to fight,Tho chances of death are one in a hundred,Brave are the sailors who stand for the right,Tho the hours of battle are soon numbered.

Brave are the life savers who plunge in the main,And rescue the drowning and land them on shore,But braver the sick who long suffer pain,And bear it as Christ once bore it before.

Written in answer to the poem “If I Should Die Tonight.”

Do not die tonight.Your friends would sadly miss your pleasant face,Their joy depart and sorrow take its place,Their hearts would mourn for one they loved so long,And solemn hymns displace the joyful song.Kind loving words might stay their grief awhile,But naught could take the place of thy sweet smileIf you should die tonight.Do not die tonight.Your friends all know how your warm heart doth bleed,In sympathy and love for all in need,How oft by kind words and good deeds you prove,The depth, and strength, and wealth of human love;Beautiful flowers will bloom by your side,And all your friends rejoice you have not died,If you will stay and do not die tonight.Do not die tonight.Your wayward friends will all return to you,Forgetting days when they were not so true,And eyes that chilled with cold and selfish glance,Will beam with love and glow with radiance,And evermore will bless your happy way,And change your night into bright and cheerful day,If you will stay and do not die tonight.Do not die tonight.Your friends will fondly kiss your sweet white brow,And dearly love you, warmly love you now,They know how nobly you have done your part,How sweet your friendship, true and warm your heart,Henceforth their love will be more manifest,So please postpone the day of death and rest,And do not die, pray do not die tonight.

Do not die tonight.Your friends all know how your warm heart doth bleed,In sympathy and love for all in need,How oft by kind words and good deeds you prove,The depth, and strength, and wealth of human love;Beautiful flowers will bloom by your side,And all your friends rejoice you have not died,If you will stay and do not die tonight.

Do not die tonight.Your wayward friends will all return to you,Forgetting days when they were not so true,And eyes that chilled with cold and selfish glance,Will beam with love and glow with radiance,And evermore will bless your happy way,And change your night into bright and cheerful day,If you will stay and do not die tonight.

Do not die tonight.Your friends will fondly kiss your sweet white brow,And dearly love you, warmly love you now,They know how nobly you have done your part,How sweet your friendship, true and warm your heart,Henceforth their love will be more manifest,So please postpone the day of death and rest,And do not die, pray do not die tonight.

On the death of my niece, Mary McElroy, of Lapeer, Michigan, a bright, intelligent and amiable girl, twenty-one years old.

Grieve not, dear parents, your duty is done,Your daughter is safe in the land of rest,You brought into life this beautiful one,And led her in ways, the wisest and best.Grieve not, dear brothers, Mary is not lost,She has only gone to a better home,Where bliss eternal is had without cost,There she will patiently wait till you come.Cherish her memory, think of her kindly,Follow her good ways in actions and talk,Let her light guide you, wander not blindly,O walk the same path that Mary did walk.Grieve not, loving friends, Heaven is brighterRicher and sweeter since Mary is there,Let the tears you shed make your hearts lighter,For Mary’s sweet voice will plead for your care.Grieve not for Mary, her sorrows are past,She trod the bright path of truth and honor,No life e’er so sweet forever can last,Tho decked with the crown love placed upon her.Gloomy this sad world now seems without her,Wretched and lonely to hearts in distress,Cut down in spring-time, life all about her,Deep is the sorrow we cannot express.Loving and truthful, pleasant and cheerful,Pride of her father, charm of her mother,Delight of her friends, spirits so youthful,Heart always open unto each brother.Gentle as ev’ning, bright as the morning,Sweet as the flowers that shine by her side,She will bloom again at the great dawning,When Heaven’s broad gates are opened out wide.Take her loving soul, kind God, to Heaven,Surround her with joys as sweet as can be,Return her ten fold the love she has given,Welcome, kind Savior, dear Mary to Thee.

Grieve not, dear parents, your duty is done,Your daughter is safe in the land of rest,You brought into life this beautiful one,And led her in ways, the wisest and best.

Grieve not, dear brothers, Mary is not lost,She has only gone to a better home,Where bliss eternal is had without cost,There she will patiently wait till you come.

Cherish her memory, think of her kindly,Follow her good ways in actions and talk,Let her light guide you, wander not blindly,O walk the same path that Mary did walk.

Grieve not, loving friends, Heaven is brighterRicher and sweeter since Mary is there,Let the tears you shed make your hearts lighter,For Mary’s sweet voice will plead for your care.

Grieve not for Mary, her sorrows are past,She trod the bright path of truth and honor,No life e’er so sweet forever can last,Tho decked with the crown love placed upon her.

Gloomy this sad world now seems without her,Wretched and lonely to hearts in distress,Cut down in spring-time, life all about her,Deep is the sorrow we cannot express.

Loving and truthful, pleasant and cheerful,Pride of her father, charm of her mother,Delight of her friends, spirits so youthful,Heart always open unto each brother.

Gentle as ev’ning, bright as the morning,Sweet as the flowers that shine by her side,She will bloom again at the great dawning,When Heaven’s broad gates are opened out wide.

Take her loving soul, kind God, to Heaven,Surround her with joys as sweet as can be,Return her ten fold the love she has given,Welcome, kind Savior, dear Mary to Thee.

The following article was suggested and started while sympathizing with a neighbor’s family in the loss of a young child stricken suddenly by death, but was not completed until after the death of a much loved lady school teacher, when it was finished on the request that I write something for the memorial exercises, February, 1894. I was very busy at the time and this, my first literary wrestle with Death, was hot and fast.

Hail, Death! But why need we hail thee?Thou comest without our call;Yea, thou comest when wanted not.Thou comest when and where thou wilt,And choosest whom thou wilt.Thou art no respecter of time, or conditions.Thou takest thy victims from every age and station.None so venerable that thou would’st spare them;None so strong thou canst not conquer them:None so pure as to be exempted;None so humble as to escape thy notice.The good and the bad are at thy mercy;Nay, not that, for thou hast no mercy.Wherever man goest, thou goest,The deepest caverns of earth;The highest mountain top;The darkest, densest forest;A thousand miles of stormy sea afford no protection.Go whither man may, thou pursuest him;Side by side thou marchest with him, like a treacherous friend, ready at any moment to become his murderer.The barricades of parental love that shield the tender lives of innocent childhood, are as cobwebs before thy relentless power for destruction.Naught can stay thy gluttonous appetite for victims.If thou hadst discretion we would fear thee less; but thy cruel drag net is set for all, and there is no escape from thy devouring grasp.We charge thee, Death, with unwonted cruelty.There are those whom thou might’st spare for the general good,These are the young, the happy, and the useful; innocent babes in their mother’s arms; prattling darlings on their father’s knees;happy boys and girls in the temples of learning, active and ambitious young men and young women, these, all these are some only whom thou could’st pass by for a time when reaping thy harvest.There is another class, Death, whom I would plead for: it is that noble class engaged in the high calling of training the youthful mind and fitting it for the duties of life.If thou would’st spare any, spare these.Enter not, O cruel Death! Enter not the school house door.Rob us not of the noble teachers, whose loving-kindness, gentle words, and pleasant smiles, have drawn around them the heart strings of affectionate children, unused to sorrows, untrained in the mysteries and miseries of life.Lacerate not their tender hearts.Break not these strong ties of affection.Stand off! Keep away! Lay not your tyrant hands on loving childhood’s noble friend.But I plead in vain.My prayer comes too late.It would have come too late had it come sooner.All human ingenuity, all human power falls before thee, Death.Thou ridest rough shod over all man’s contrivances to hold thee back.Thou enterest every gate, every house, and to thy shame it would be said if thou hadst shame, or any sensation, thou hast crossed the threshold of the school house door.A hundred hearts are mourning, two hundred eyes are weeping, for the flower of their concentrated love, the golden rod of their admiration, a noble woman, a kind teacher, a loving friend, has been torn from them mercilessly, wantonly, cruelly—and thou art the robber.Thou art exposed, Death; this act betrays thee; thou art a monster.Come now, Death, we challenge thee to combat.Be a heartless monster no longer.Choose thee “foemen worthy of your steel.”Choose the white haired, the aged who fear thee not.Withdraw, coward! From the unequal contest thou wagest against the young, andthe feeble, and those who love this life not knowing its hardships.Come on, tyrant! Cross arms with your equals!We, the aged; we, the experienced; we, who are weary of the world; we, who are sinking down, being crushed into the earth by the heavy burthens of life, care not for thee.Come on! Strike us! Spare the young, strike us!We know that thou wilt win the final battle.We know that we shall soon be numbered among thy victims, and yet we dare thee to tackle us.We can not stop thy murderous progress, and yet we seek to check thy course.We fain would keep thee busy, wrestling with the old and gray, and give thee no time to search for the young the hopeful, and the happy.We, the old, crippled by disease;Worn out with trials and disappointments;With great sorrows in our hearts, that never can be taken away.We who have suffered from thy cruelties, and know full well thy unconquerable power, nevertheless defy thee.We dare thee! We taunt thee! We challenge thee to mortal combat!We are weak and wounded, and are fast nearing the brink of the dark chasm of eternity, and we implore thee, monster, tyrant, demon that thou art, to busy thyself with blotting out our poor lives, that the young and innocent, the pure and useful, and all those who are healthy and happy, and all those who love this life, and have friends to love, and friends that love them, may be spared to enjoy this beautiful world.

None so pure as to be exempted;None so humble as to escape thy notice.The good and the bad are at thy mercy;Nay, not that, for thou hast no mercy.Wherever man goest, thou goest,The deepest caverns of earth;The highest mountain top;The darkest, densest forest;A thousand miles of stormy sea afford no protection.

Go whither man may, thou pursuest him;Side by side thou marchest with him, like a treacherous friend, ready at any moment to become his murderer.The barricades of parental love that shield the tender lives of innocent childhood, are as cobwebs before thy relentless power for destruction.Naught can stay thy gluttonous appetite for victims.

If thou hadst discretion we would fear thee less; but thy cruel drag net is set for all, and there is no escape from thy devouring grasp.We charge thee, Death, with unwonted cruelty.There are those whom thou might’st spare for the general good,These are the young, the happy, and the useful; innocent babes in their mother’s arms; prattling darlings on their father’s knees;happy boys and girls in the temples of learning, active and ambitious young men and young women, these, all these are some only whom thou could’st pass by for a time when reaping thy harvest.There is another class, Death, whom I would plead for: it is that noble class engaged in the high calling of training the youthful mind and fitting it for the duties of life.If thou would’st spare any, spare these.Enter not, O cruel Death! Enter not the school house door.Rob us not of the noble teachers, whose loving-kindness, gentle words, and pleasant smiles, have drawn around them the heart strings of affectionate children, unused to sorrows, untrained in the mysteries and miseries of life.Lacerate not their tender hearts.Break not these strong ties of affection.Stand off! Keep away! Lay not your tyrant hands on loving childhood’s noble friend.But I plead in vain.My prayer comes too late.It would have come too late had it come sooner.

All human ingenuity, all human power falls before thee, Death.Thou ridest rough shod over all man’s contrivances to hold thee back.Thou enterest every gate, every house, and to thy shame it would be said if thou hadst shame, or any sensation, thou hast crossed the threshold of the school house door.A hundred hearts are mourning, two hundred eyes are weeping, for the flower of their concentrated love, the golden rod of their admiration, a noble woman, a kind teacher, a loving friend, has been torn from them mercilessly, wantonly, cruelly—and thou art the robber.Thou art exposed, Death; this act betrays thee; thou art a monster.

Come now, Death, we challenge thee to combat.Be a heartless monster no longer.Choose thee “foemen worthy of your steel.”Choose the white haired, the aged who fear thee not.Withdraw, coward! From the unequal contest thou wagest against the young, andthe feeble, and those who love this life not knowing its hardships.Come on, tyrant! Cross arms with your equals!We, the aged; we, the experienced; we, who are weary of the world; we, who are sinking down, being crushed into the earth by the heavy burthens of life, care not for thee.Come on! Strike us! Spare the young, strike us!We know that thou wilt win the final battle.We know that we shall soon be numbered among thy victims, and yet we dare thee to tackle us.We can not stop thy murderous progress, and yet we seek to check thy course.We fain would keep thee busy, wrestling with the old and gray, and give thee no time to search for the young the hopeful, and the happy.We, the old, crippled by disease;Worn out with trials and disappointments;With great sorrows in our hearts, that never can be taken away.We who have suffered from thy cruelties, and know full well thy unconquerable power, nevertheless defy thee.We dare thee! We taunt thee! We challenge thee to mortal combat!We are weak and wounded, and are fast nearing the brink of the dark chasm of eternity, and we implore thee, monster, tyrant, demon that thou art, to busy thyself with blotting out our poor lives, that the young and innocent, the pure and useful, and all those who are healthy and happy, and all those who love this life, and have friends to love, and friends that love them, may be spared to enjoy this beautiful world.

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