THE TEACHER.

The following poem was written at Lorain, O., November, 1897, and published in the “Evening Herald” of that city. It was intended to stimulate the courage of the people, who were gloomy, altho the prospects were good.

Fear not, Lorain, thy future fateIs not to roll in seas of mud,A golden key will ope the gate,A warm spring sun will burst the bud.Flowers will bloom and scent the air,Large plants will rise from thy strong soil,Your solid men and women fairReap rich reward for years of toil.See the halo that lights the sky,Where flaming fires burn night and day,Dispelling gloom from ev’ry eye,And raising hopes that cheer your way.Rejoice! Be glad! Have doubts no more,Prepare to greet the coming boom,Should the town grow a thousand score,It still could give a million room.Let croaking stop, let discord cease,Lift high your town above the mire,For soon success will bring you peace,And warm your hearts with furnace fire.With courage strong and cheerful face,Push on your work with might and main,Prosperity will win the raceAnd bless your town. Fear not, Lorain.

Fear not, Lorain, thy future fateIs not to roll in seas of mud,A golden key will ope the gate,A warm spring sun will burst the bud.

Flowers will bloom and scent the air,Large plants will rise from thy strong soil,Your solid men and women fairReap rich reward for years of toil.

See the halo that lights the sky,Where flaming fires burn night and day,Dispelling gloom from ev’ry eye,And raising hopes that cheer your way.

Rejoice! Be glad! Have doubts no more,Prepare to greet the coming boom,Should the town grow a thousand score,It still could give a million room.

Let croaking stop, let discord cease,Lift high your town above the mire,For soon success will bring you peace,And warm your hearts with furnace fire.

With courage strong and cheerful face,Push on your work with might and main,Prosperity will win the raceAnd bless your town. Fear not, Lorain.

Trees in the forest grow stately and grand,Some are beautiful and others are tall,Each is the product of one mighty hand,But the teacher’s art can improve them all.The grass of the fields is useful for food,And provides dumb beasts a bountiful store,And the teacher who saw that grass was good,Made two blades grow where but one grew before.The wheat and the corn, and all kinds of grain,Grow wild and scattered without any plan,And the harvest is poor and reaped with pain,Until improved by the teaching of man.The fruits of the trees grow stinted and small,And meager the crop when the pickers come,But the skilled hand of the teacher can call,A mighty response from the things that are dumb.Then the cultured tree is laden with fruit,The sweet and the tart according to plan,The epicure finds a taste to his suit,And learns that teachers are blessings to man.Beautiful flowers, God’s tokens of love,Grow sickly and pale for want of man’s care,When the training hand like balm from above,Restores them to health and beauty most rare.When warmed by the sun and cooled by the breeze,How pretty they grow, how sweet their perfume,Whatever man’s taste they’re certain to please,For God made them and the teacher is groom,The mighty rivers that run thru the land,Gathering power as onward they roll,Are each and all at the teacher’s command,For his skill can bring them under control.Beasts in the forest roam savage and wild,And woe to the man who crosses their path;But the teacher makes them gentle and mild,And by strength of mind can bridle their wrath.The great elephant, ponderous and strong,Tho dangerous in his natural state,When trained by teachers to do nothing wrong,Serves his master with fidelity great.The beautiful horse in freedom how grand,As proudly he trots o’er the prairie track,Is trained to obey his teacher’s command,And canters gayly with man on his back.There lives not a man with love in his heart,Who lacks the good sense to freely endorseThe teacher’s grand work, his wisdom and art,Or fails to admire and love a good horse.The much abused dog when savage and wild,Is useless to man and game for his gun,But when trained becomes docile as a child,The faithfullest creature under the sun.Innocent children are never quite pure,And need good teaching to keep them from crime,To fasten in their hearts their morals sure,And assist them to lead a life sublime.Human teachers are useful in their line,And wisely, and nobly perform their part;But the great teacher is the Teacher Divine,From whose grand example man learned the art.

Trees in the forest grow stately and grand,Some are beautiful and others are tall,Each is the product of one mighty hand,But the teacher’s art can improve them all.

The grass of the fields is useful for food,And provides dumb beasts a bountiful store,And the teacher who saw that grass was good,Made two blades grow where but one grew before.

The wheat and the corn, and all kinds of grain,Grow wild and scattered without any plan,And the harvest is poor and reaped with pain,Until improved by the teaching of man.

The fruits of the trees grow stinted and small,And meager the crop when the pickers come,But the skilled hand of the teacher can call,A mighty response from the things that are dumb.

Then the cultured tree is laden with fruit,The sweet and the tart according to plan,The epicure finds a taste to his suit,And learns that teachers are blessings to man.

Beautiful flowers, God’s tokens of love,Grow sickly and pale for want of man’s care,When the training hand like balm from above,Restores them to health and beauty most rare.

When warmed by the sun and cooled by the breeze,How pretty they grow, how sweet their perfume,Whatever man’s taste they’re certain to please,For God made them and the teacher is groom,

The mighty rivers that run thru the land,Gathering power as onward they roll,Are each and all at the teacher’s command,For his skill can bring them under control.

Beasts in the forest roam savage and wild,And woe to the man who crosses their path;But the teacher makes them gentle and mild,And by strength of mind can bridle their wrath.

The great elephant, ponderous and strong,Tho dangerous in his natural state,When trained by teachers to do nothing wrong,Serves his master with fidelity great.

The beautiful horse in freedom how grand,As proudly he trots o’er the prairie track,Is trained to obey his teacher’s command,And canters gayly with man on his back.

There lives not a man with love in his heart,Who lacks the good sense to freely endorseThe teacher’s grand work, his wisdom and art,Or fails to admire and love a good horse.

The much abused dog when savage and wild,Is useless to man and game for his gun,But when trained becomes docile as a child,The faithfullest creature under the sun.

Innocent children are never quite pure,And need good teaching to keep them from crime,To fasten in their hearts their morals sure,And assist them to lead a life sublime.

Human teachers are useful in their line,And wisely, and nobly perform their part;But the great teacher is the Teacher Divine,From whose grand example man learned the art.

A gem is a beautiful thing,Or even a beautiful thought,Or that which will happiness bring,Or the love that can not be bought.A gem is a beautiful stone,Or beautiful shell from the sea,Or a voice of elegant tone,Or something more precious to thee.A gem is a token of love,Or gift from the heart of a friend,Or sweet note by wings of a dove,With balm all your sorrows to mend.A gem may glisten like new gold,Or sparkle like stars in the night,Or charm like the rubies of old,As they glow in the sun’s pure light.A gem may belong to a queen,Or shine from the crown of a king;But the richest gem ever seen,Is love of the genuine ring.Some gems are delightful to see,And their owners may justly boast;But the best of all gems for me,Is the friend that loves me the most.

A gem is a beautiful thing,Or even a beautiful thought,Or that which will happiness bring,Or the love that can not be bought.

A gem is a beautiful stone,Or beautiful shell from the sea,Or a voice of elegant tone,Or something more precious to thee.

A gem is a token of love,Or gift from the heart of a friend,Or sweet note by wings of a dove,With balm all your sorrows to mend.

A gem may glisten like new gold,Or sparkle like stars in the night,Or charm like the rubies of old,As they glow in the sun’s pure light.

A gem may belong to a queen,Or shine from the crown of a king;But the richest gem ever seen,Is love of the genuine ring.

Some gems are delightful to see,And their owners may justly boast;But the best of all gems for me,Is the friend that loves me the most.

Read at the party given by Mr. and Mrs. Hiram W. Robertson, on the twentieth anniversary of their marriage, December 16th, 1887. Composed the same evening after supper.

There are fountains away in the north,From whence waters flow down to the sea,There’s a heart in the bosom of man,From whence love courses warmly and free.There are diamonds that dazzle the eye,And rich gold that’s a pleasure to see,But there’s nothing so pleasing to man,As the love that flows warmly and free.There are men who have merits and wealth,And kind husbands they gladly would be,But Mary took a fancy to Hi,For his love flows so warmly and free.There are women of beauty and worth,Whose sweet smiles are a pleasure to see,But Mary was the choice of them all,For her love flows so warmly and free.They have kind friends who admire them both,And they’re gathered this night just to see,How well they are enjoying this life,Where sweet love flows so warmly and free.

There are fountains away in the north,From whence waters flow down to the sea,There’s a heart in the bosom of man,From whence love courses warmly and free.

There are diamonds that dazzle the eye,And rich gold that’s a pleasure to see,But there’s nothing so pleasing to man,As the love that flows warmly and free.

There are men who have merits and wealth,And kind husbands they gladly would be,But Mary took a fancy to Hi,For his love flows so warmly and free.

There are women of beauty and worth,Whose sweet smiles are a pleasure to see,But Mary was the choice of them all,For her love flows so warmly and free.

They have kind friends who admire them both,And they’re gathered this night just to see,How well they are enjoying this life,Where sweet love flows so warmly and free.

Written January, 1866.

Friends have advised me to give up my planAnd shun the sad fate of the honest man.They tell me ’tis hard, his comforts are few,And what they tell me I know to be true;But still I prefer to stick to my plan,And cherish the fate of the honest man.I have dear children to clothe and to feed,And a father’s love that knows what they need,Grief comes to my heart, gray hairs on my head,For fear I will fail to keep them in bread,Yet I am trying to do what I can,And cherish the fate of the honest man.My wife is gloomy, down-hearted and sad,She fears my troubles will make me go mad,Poor soul, she don’t know how heavy the weightThat hangs on my heart and threatens my fate.Still I’m determined to do what I can,And cherish the fate of the honest man.Debts overwhelm me and creditors call,No more can I pay, they already have all.The sheriff may come to bleed me afresh,And take by the law one pound of my flesh;But now, nor never, will I change my plan,For I cherish the fate of the honest man.In liquid poisons I do not indulge,Nor by vile language my weakness divulge:From labor and right I never do quail,And still my efforts continue to fail,Yet I keep trying to do what I canTo merit the fate of the honest man.O, God of the poor, extend thy good word,And grant the honest a better reward,Save them from Shylocks, temptation and pain,Make troubles on earth in heaven their gain,O, give me the strength to live by my plan,And die the proud death of the honest man.

I have dear children to clothe and to feed,And a father’s love that knows what they need,Grief comes to my heart, gray hairs on my head,For fear I will fail to keep them in bread,Yet I am trying to do what I can,And cherish the fate of the honest man.

My wife is gloomy, down-hearted and sad,She fears my troubles will make me go mad,Poor soul, she don’t know how heavy the weightThat hangs on my heart and threatens my fate.Still I’m determined to do what I can,And cherish the fate of the honest man.

Debts overwhelm me and creditors call,No more can I pay, they already have all.The sheriff may come to bleed me afresh,And take by the law one pound of my flesh;But now, nor never, will I change my plan,For I cherish the fate of the honest man.

In liquid poisons I do not indulge,Nor by vile language my weakness divulge:From labor and right I never do quail,And still my efforts continue to fail,Yet I keep trying to do what I canTo merit the fate of the honest man.

O, God of the poor, extend thy good word,And grant the honest a better reward,Save them from Shylocks, temptation and pain,Make troubles on earth in heaven their gain,O, give me the strength to live by my plan,And die the proud death of the honest man.

Composed while dreaming about time and tide.

“Come, Time,” says Tide, “along with me,For we must go together,And join our forces at the sea,Nor wait for wind or weather.”

Written at the request of my daughter Grace, then eleven years old, to be spoken by her at the holiday exercises in school, December, 1887.

There never had been a Christmas morn,Till near nineteen hundred years ago,When Christ our glorious Lord was born,And peace and good will began to grow.Christ taught fathers and mothers to pray,And how good, pure and kind they should be,And when some one pushed children away,Said, “Suffer them to come unto Me.”We all should rejoice and be thankfulThat Christ loved little children so strong,And strive to be happy and cheerful,And never to do anything wrong.It pays to be good and be pleasant,And pleases our kind parents so well,We are sure to receive a nice present,When old Santa Claus comes with his bell.Now, my good friends and my teacher, too,I have one strong wish for which I’ll pray,I wish for me and I wish for you,That Christ will come back some Christmas day.

There never had been a Christmas morn,Till near nineteen hundred years ago,When Christ our glorious Lord was born,And peace and good will began to grow.

Christ taught fathers and mothers to pray,And how good, pure and kind they should be,And when some one pushed children away,Said, “Suffer them to come unto Me.”

We all should rejoice and be thankfulThat Christ loved little children so strong,And strive to be happy and cheerful,And never to do anything wrong.

It pays to be good and be pleasant,And pleases our kind parents so well,We are sure to receive a nice present,When old Santa Claus comes with his bell.

Now, my good friends and my teacher, too,I have one strong wish for which I’ll pray,I wish for me and I wish for you,That Christ will come back some Christmas day.

A little nonsense is, now and then,Highly relished by the best of men,And women, too, are so fond of fun.They laugh for joy when a game’s begun.There are games of skill, and games of chance,And games with sweet music and the dance,Some play at whist, and some at poker,But all enjoy progressive euchre.A goodly party is twenty-four,There may be less, and there may be more;Twelve ladies fine you first invite,And twelve gentlemen to spend the night.The tables now you arrange and fix,And number them plainly one to six,A pack of clean cards on each you lay,All ready for the approaching fray.Use thirty-two cards, be uniform,And in conduct to the rules conform;Your table number is fixed by chance,And good order will the fun enhance.By lot their partners gentlemen choose,And then kindly treat them, win or lose,Present your left arm with smiles and grace,And escort your lady to her place.On the first table place a small bell,And when all are ready ring it well,The ladies now cut for woe or weal,And the lowest card takes the first deal.Shuffle them well, let right neighbor cut,Fair play’s a jewel, truth’s eyes are shut,Deal three cards to each the first time round,Then two the next time, that’s fair and sound.Turn up the trump so all can see it,Those at left in turn, pass or play it;When the trump is named be sharp and still,Do not underrate your neighbor’s skill.Remember this is honest euchre,And played for sport, not filthy lucre,No true gentleman, or lady sweet,Will play unfair, or stoop to cheat.The right is boss, the left’s his brother,And the good old ace a kindly mother,The king comes next, now king indeed,And even the queen you often need.Jack is a knave, make the best of him,And when not bower all detest him;But there are times when jack is master,And then his foes meet with disaster.The little cards you should not despise,For they sometimes help to win the prize;Watch sharply the game and win with suit,Whenever you can fairly do it.Three tricks count one point, a march counts two,And euchre counts the same for you;When you are sure to make one or more,Play it alone and try to make four.When five points are made at table one,That ends one game and then all are done;The winners go one table higher,But those that lose go to the lower.All change partners and the game proceeds,And the manager records your deeds,These frequent changes as you advance,Give the poorer players a fair chance.’Tis not a game for spoils or treasure,But a social game just for pleasure,And if by good luck one wins the day,Don’t condemn the man nor spurn the play.Three hour’s play is plenty long enough,For the feeble ones and for the tough,When the time has expired look and see,Who the best players have proved to be.To the first lady give a small prize,And the first gentleman treat likewise,A second prize is by some awarded,The booby prize should be discarded.A simple lunch is now providedBy hosts who may have so decided;But refreshments are not in the game,And all are free to omit the same.Now put on your hats and bid adieuTo the gen’rous host that welcomed you,Favors accepted you may have learned,Should at the proper time be returned.With happy hearts now seek your own hearth,And kindly feel towards all on earth,Remembering to always treasureThe game that brings you health and pleasure.

A little nonsense is, now and then,Highly relished by the best of men,And women, too, are so fond of fun.They laugh for joy when a game’s begun.

There are games of skill, and games of chance,And games with sweet music and the dance,Some play at whist, and some at poker,But all enjoy progressive euchre.

A goodly party is twenty-four,There may be less, and there may be more;Twelve ladies fine you first invite,And twelve gentlemen to spend the night.

The tables now you arrange and fix,And number them plainly one to six,A pack of clean cards on each you lay,All ready for the approaching fray.

Use thirty-two cards, be uniform,And in conduct to the rules conform;Your table number is fixed by chance,And good order will the fun enhance.

By lot their partners gentlemen choose,And then kindly treat them, win or lose,Present your left arm with smiles and grace,And escort your lady to her place.

On the first table place a small bell,And when all are ready ring it well,The ladies now cut for woe or weal,And the lowest card takes the first deal.

Shuffle them well, let right neighbor cut,Fair play’s a jewel, truth’s eyes are shut,Deal three cards to each the first time round,Then two the next time, that’s fair and sound.

Turn up the trump so all can see it,Those at left in turn, pass or play it;When the trump is named be sharp and still,Do not underrate your neighbor’s skill.

Remember this is honest euchre,And played for sport, not filthy lucre,No true gentleman, or lady sweet,Will play unfair, or stoop to cheat.

The right is boss, the left’s his brother,And the good old ace a kindly mother,The king comes next, now king indeed,And even the queen you often need.

Jack is a knave, make the best of him,And when not bower all detest him;But there are times when jack is master,And then his foes meet with disaster.

The little cards you should not despise,For they sometimes help to win the prize;Watch sharply the game and win with suit,Whenever you can fairly do it.

Three tricks count one point, a march counts two,And euchre counts the same for you;When you are sure to make one or more,Play it alone and try to make four.

When five points are made at table one,That ends one game and then all are done;The winners go one table higher,But those that lose go to the lower.

All change partners and the game proceeds,And the manager records your deeds,These frequent changes as you advance,Give the poorer players a fair chance.

’Tis not a game for spoils or treasure,But a social game just for pleasure,And if by good luck one wins the day,Don’t condemn the man nor spurn the play.

Three hour’s play is plenty long enough,For the feeble ones and for the tough,When the time has expired look and see,Who the best players have proved to be.

To the first lady give a small prize,And the first gentleman treat likewise,A second prize is by some awarded,The booby prize should be discarded.

A simple lunch is now providedBy hosts who may have so decided;But refreshments are not in the game,And all are free to omit the same.

Now put on your hats and bid adieuTo the gen’rous host that welcomed you,Favors accepted you may have learned,Should at the proper time be returned.

With happy hearts now seek your own hearth,And kindly feel towards all on earth,Remembering to always treasureThe game that brings you health and pleasure.

Don’t give a prizeFor ’tis not wise,So say our honest Christian folk;But men will fightWith all their might,To make their fellows wear the yoke.Some men are dullAnd count for null,And some are bright as glist’ning gold;Say what you willThe truth is still,We’re not all cast in the same mold.Some take their timeWhile others climb,And struggle with their might and main,And when they win,Think it no sin,To wear the crown they fought to gain.’Tis luck, they say,And fools can play,And nature grows a heavy crop;Give me the game,I’ll bear the name,And laugh when fools come out on top.

Don’t give a prizeFor ’tis not wise,So say our honest Christian folk;But men will fightWith all their might,To make their fellows wear the yoke.

Some men are dullAnd count for null,And some are bright as glist’ning gold;Say what you willThe truth is still,We’re not all cast in the same mold.

Some take their timeWhile others climb,And struggle with their might and main,And when they win,Think it no sin,To wear the crown they fought to gain.

’Tis luck, they say,And fools can play,And nature grows a heavy crop;Give me the game,I’ll bear the name,And laugh when fools come out on top.

The moon is sweetly shining,And the stars are entwining,A wreath for my dear Annie,Who is all the world to me.While all the world lies dreaming,My heart with joy is beaming,I’m happy with my Annie,Who is all the world to me.All nature now is sleeping,No living thing is creeping,I’m all alone with Annie,Who is all the world to me.The silent trees look neater,The flowers, too, are sweeter,But naught’s so sweet as Annie,Who is all the world to me.My head with thought is turning,My heart with love is burning,I’m so happy with Annie,Who is all the world to me.Sweet nature is insisting,I must not be resisting,I’ll ask the hand of Annie,Who is all the world to me.THE QUESTION.“O say, my lovely creature,Thou brightest work of nature,Do you love him, dear Annie,Who is all the world to thee?”THE ANSWER.“Do you love the sweet Savior?Do you seek his kind favor?Do you love your dear Annie,Who is all the world to thee?“Will you live with the wisdom,That rules the holy kingdom,And please the heart of Annie,Who is all the world to thee?“If you’ll shun the evil tempter,With true love for a helper,Accept the hand of Annie,Who is all the world to thee.”THE REPLY.“I’ll pious be and holy,I’ll do my duty truly,I’ll earn the hand of Annie,Who is all the world to me.“I’ll love thee as no other,But our Heavenly Father,I’ll live and die for Annie,Who is all the world to me.”

The moon is sweetly shining,And the stars are entwining,A wreath for my dear Annie,Who is all the world to me.

While all the world lies dreaming,My heart with joy is beaming,I’m happy with my Annie,Who is all the world to me.

All nature now is sleeping,No living thing is creeping,I’m all alone with Annie,Who is all the world to me.

The silent trees look neater,The flowers, too, are sweeter,But naught’s so sweet as Annie,Who is all the world to me.

My head with thought is turning,My heart with love is burning,I’m so happy with Annie,Who is all the world to me.

Sweet nature is insisting,I must not be resisting,I’ll ask the hand of Annie,Who is all the world to me.

THE QUESTION.

“O say, my lovely creature,Thou brightest work of nature,Do you love him, dear Annie,Who is all the world to thee?”

THE ANSWER.

“Do you love the sweet Savior?Do you seek his kind favor?Do you love your dear Annie,Who is all the world to thee?

“Will you live with the wisdom,That rules the holy kingdom,And please the heart of Annie,Who is all the world to thee?

“If you’ll shun the evil tempter,With true love for a helper,Accept the hand of Annie,Who is all the world to thee.”

THE REPLY.

“I’ll pious be and holy,I’ll do my duty truly,I’ll earn the hand of Annie,Who is all the world to me.

“I’ll love thee as no other,But our Heavenly Father,I’ll live and die for Annie,Who is all the world to me.”

Written on a postal card and mailed to a lady, as a token of my appreciation of her skill as a painter.

Happy is he who can catch a fine thought,And fit it to prose, or dress it in rhyme,But happier she whose fingers are taughtTo paint sweet nature in colors sublime.Inspiring the thought when nature’s the theme,Uplifting one’s soul to the world of bliss,Where painters and angels will ever beamWith love and kindness on the poets of this.

Happy is he who can catch a fine thought,And fit it to prose, or dress it in rhyme,But happier she whose fingers are taughtTo paint sweet nature in colors sublime.

Inspiring the thought when nature’s the theme,Uplifting one’s soul to the world of bliss,Where painters and angels will ever beamWith love and kindness on the poets of this.

“Just Think of Something Else.”In the summer of 1898 I was taken quite sick at a hotel over two hundred miles from home, and was confined to my room for five days. On complaining to the doctor that I was not getting well fast, he said I should not worry about my sickness, but “Just think of something else.” I took his advice and the same night wrote the following verses.

“Just Think of Something Else.”

In the summer of 1898 I was taken quite sick at a hotel over two hundred miles from home, and was confined to my room for five days. On complaining to the doctor that I was not getting well fast, he said I should not worry about my sickness, but “Just think of something else.” I took his advice and the same night wrote the following verses.

When sickness comes and joy departs,And you are forced to lie in bed,Don’t fret about the aching parts,Remember what the doctor said,“Just think of something else.”No matter if the pain is great,And racks you thru from foot to head,Be patient still and meekly wait,Remember what the doctor said,“Just think of something else.”When medicine has failed to act,And you can’t see much hope ahead,Why just ignore the trifling fact,Remember what the doctor said—“Just think of something else.”What matter if you’re far from home,And no kind friend is near your bed,Let all your thoughts most freely roam,Remember what the doctor said,“Just think of something else.”Don’t mind your great debility,Nor count the pains that fill your head,The sick must show humility,Remember what the doctor said,“Just think of something else.”And when your friend presents his bills,In language kind and manners suave,Give him a dose of his own pills,Remember that advice he gave,“Just think of something else.”Ah, no! my friend that will not do,The doctor kind deserves his pay,The honest course is best for you,No matter what the doctors say,Don’t think of something else.

When sickness comes and joy departs,And you are forced to lie in bed,Don’t fret about the aching parts,Remember what the doctor said,“Just think of something else.”

No matter if the pain is great,And racks you thru from foot to head,Be patient still and meekly wait,Remember what the doctor said,“Just think of something else.”

When medicine has failed to act,And you can’t see much hope ahead,Why just ignore the trifling fact,Remember what the doctor said—“Just think of something else.”

What matter if you’re far from home,And no kind friend is near your bed,Let all your thoughts most freely roam,Remember what the doctor said,“Just think of something else.”

Don’t mind your great debility,Nor count the pains that fill your head,The sick must show humility,Remember what the doctor said,“Just think of something else.”

And when your friend presents his bills,In language kind and manners suave,Give him a dose of his own pills,Remember that advice he gave,“Just think of something else.”

Ah, no! my friend that will not do,The doctor kind deserves his pay,The honest course is best for you,No matter what the doctors say,Don’t think of something else.

A little grand-daughter wrote me a little letter and in it she said, “If I were a little flower, this I would do: I would be happy all the day.” Under these words she made a sketch of a bush bearing flowers, and wrote beneath the sketch, “Here I am.” I replied as follows: To the sweet little flower, “Here I am,” formerly Miss Rose.

Caterpillars change into butterflies,And eggs into birds that fly in the skies;But I did not know a child had power,To change her body into a flower.But what need I care since flower and child,Grown in the city, or on mountain wild,Both receive from me the tenderest care,I find a flower and a child is there.—Grandpa.

Caterpillars change into butterflies,And eggs into birds that fly in the skies;But I did not know a child had power,To change her body into a flower.

But what need I care since flower and child,Grown in the city, or on mountain wild,Both receive from me the tenderest care,I find a flower and a child is there.—Grandpa.

Lines sent with a large fat turkey to a friend for Christmas, 1862.

A Christmas present is easy to make,But a token of friendship should follow,Mine is enclosed in the turkey you take,Which is solid proof it is not hollow.As a toothsome sign of love it is sent,And to show you what our Maker can do,He tells us to love with earnest intent,And has provided this turkey for you.Take it, and bake it, then richly enjoy,And forget not the friend you befriended,Whose heart will ever remember with joy,The kind assistance you promptly lended.May God bless you and your family dear,And keep all of you healthy and happy,That you may gladly welcome each New Year,And on every Christmas be merry.

A Christmas present is easy to make,But a token of friendship should follow,Mine is enclosed in the turkey you take,Which is solid proof it is not hollow.

As a toothsome sign of love it is sent,And to show you what our Maker can do,He tells us to love with earnest intent,And has provided this turkey for you.

Take it, and bake it, then richly enjoy,And forget not the friend you befriended,Whose heart will ever remember with joy,The kind assistance you promptly lended.

May God bless you and your family dear,And keep all of you healthy and happy,That you may gladly welcome each New Year,And on every Christmas be merry.

Written 1858.

Sweet innocence, love and beauty rest,Wrapped in affection on mother’s breast,While hopes and fears in profusion rise,And fill with sweet tears the joyful eyesOf the kind mother whose heart is bent,In meek thankfulness to Him who sentThis type of beauty, sweet child of love,Rich token from the heavens above,To cheer the pure and unselfish heart,Of a mother who with life would part,To save her child from the paths of sin,And guide her so she heaven will win.Then in the soft realms of earthly bliss,Made lovelier by her mother’s kiss,She will need no more a guide to show,The straight road she has been taught to go.The mother has then her duty done,Who so well instructs her little one,She covers her with a mother’s love,Then trusts her to the wise God above.Now to the babe and to its mother,That you may each one love the other,And never from your good reason part,I will beg and pray with all my heart.

Then in the soft realms of earthly bliss,Made lovelier by her mother’s kiss,She will need no more a guide to show,The straight road she has been taught to go.The mother has then her duty done,Who so well instructs her little one,She covers her with a mother’s love,Then trusts her to the wise God above.Now to the babe and to its mother,That you may each one love the other,And never from your good reason part,I will beg and pray with all my heart.

O what a charming baby I see,Dancing on its kind father’s knee,With eyes as pretty and as bright,As the white stars that shine at night.And cheeks as lovely as the rose,Which add much beauty to a nose,Made handsome by a pretty chin,And ruby lips nicely set in.And what is more her name so sweet,So charming, dainty, nice and neat,Darling Hattie, short and pretty,And that’s why I wrote this ditty.

O what a charming baby I see,Dancing on its kind father’s knee,With eyes as pretty and as bright,As the white stars that shine at night.

And cheeks as lovely as the rose,Which add much beauty to a nose,Made handsome by a pretty chin,And ruby lips nicely set in.

And what is more her name so sweet,So charming, dainty, nice and neat,Darling Hattie, short and pretty,And that’s why I wrote this ditty.

The oak its mighty branches spread,And gathered in the cooling dew,And thus by gen’rous nature fed,To a noble old tree it grew.So sought he knowledge far and wide,And grew in wisdom as in age,And when his worn out body died,He was a ripe and honored sage.

The oak its mighty branches spread,And gathered in the cooling dew,And thus by gen’rous nature fed,To a noble old tree it grew.

So sought he knowledge far and wide,And grew in wisdom as in age,And when his worn out body died,He was a ripe and honored sage.

First think of something good to say,Then take great pains to say it well,Make sure you know the proper way,To fairly write and rightly spell.Now clear all matter from your mind,Except the work you have in hand,And study hard until you findGood rhyming words at your command.Compose one verse from end to end,With equal feet in every line,See that the words in metre blend,And that the rhyme is true and fine.Beware of mistakes when you write,Never say what needs correction,Then men will say what you inditeIs poetry in perfection.Don’t mix grand thoughts with silly ones,Nor call men by improper names,If things weigh pounds don’t call them tons,Nor make the world appear in flames.Remember you’re an honest youth,And never write what is not true,Be governed by the laws of truth,In every thing you say or do.In language manly and refined,Praise in song the heavenly plan,And use the lowers of your mind,In lifting up your fellowman.

First think of something good to say,Then take great pains to say it well,Make sure you know the proper way,To fairly write and rightly spell.

Now clear all matter from your mind,Except the work you have in hand,And study hard until you findGood rhyming words at your command.

Compose one verse from end to end,With equal feet in every line,See that the words in metre blend,And that the rhyme is true and fine.

Beware of mistakes when you write,Never say what needs correction,Then men will say what you inditeIs poetry in perfection.

Don’t mix grand thoughts with silly ones,Nor call men by improper names,If things weigh pounds don’t call them tons,Nor make the world appear in flames.

Remember you’re an honest youth,And never write what is not true,Be governed by the laws of truth,In every thing you say or do.

In language manly and refined,Praise in song the heavenly plan,And use the lowers of your mind,In lifting up your fellowman.

Written for a niece of P. T. Barnum, 1863.

Fear not the scoffs of the heartless,Amanly self reliance show,No want can make thy head brainless,Nor money make thy spirit low.Yield not thy honor nor courage,True principles ever maintain,Hold to thy noble lineage,On their record permit no stain.Make no friendship with the wicked,Prefer poverty to their love,Show with heart and mind unitedOn the God of heaven above,No one can turn thee from His love.

Fear not the scoffs of the heartless,Amanly self reliance show,No want can make thy head brainless,Nor money make thy spirit low.Yield not thy honor nor courage,

True principles ever maintain,Hold to thy noble lineage,On their record permit no stain.Make no friendship with the wicked,Prefer poverty to their love,Show with heart and mind unitedOn the God of heaven above,No one can turn thee from His love.

Charley wrote me that his puppy was white but had a black spot on his back.

A spot of blackUpon his back,Will plainly mark your puppy dog;A spot of redUpon his head,Would show he’s not a little hog.What puppies knowThey scarce can show,Until their mammies let them out;Like little boysThat play with toys,They hardly know what they’re about.A master once,A cruel dunce,Struck hard his puppy while at play;The puppy sad,Felt awful bad,Dropped down his tail and ran away.A master kindWill quickly find,That puppies try to do their part;So gentle be,Let puppy seeThere’s no black spot upon your heart.

A spot of blackUpon his back,Will plainly mark your puppy dog;A spot of redUpon his head,Would show he’s not a little hog.

What puppies knowThey scarce can show,Until their mammies let them out;Like little boysThat play with toys,They hardly know what they’re about.

A master once,A cruel dunce,Struck hard his puppy while at play;The puppy sad,Felt awful bad,Dropped down his tail and ran away.

A master kindWill quickly find,That puppies try to do their part;So gentle be,Let puppy seeThere’s no black spot upon your heart.

Written for Children.

Merry Christmas, friends, I wish you all well,And many pretty things for your pockets,May your Christmas box be a great big shell,Filled with everything nice but sky rockets.May England and France, with Turkey and Greece,All contribute to your pleasure and mirth,And chickens and quail, with turkeys and geese,Make you feel as if you owned the whole earth.And when you’re happy as happy can be,Think of your parents so kind and clever,And live such sweet lives you always can see,Merry Christmas, merry Christmas forever.

Merry Christmas, friends, I wish you all well,And many pretty things for your pockets,May your Christmas box be a great big shell,Filled with everything nice but sky rockets.

May England and France, with Turkey and Greece,All contribute to your pleasure and mirth,And chickens and quail, with turkeys and geese,Make you feel as if you owned the whole earth.

And when you’re happy as happy can be,Think of your parents so kind and clever,And live such sweet lives you always can see,Merry Christmas, merry Christmas forever.

Lord, hasten the day, pray hasten the day,When supported by righteous laws,We will win the fight, for virtue and right,And the glorious temperance cause.

The first line was written on the outside, the rest on the inside.

Open this quickAnd see the trick,If there’s a trick about it;This thing is niceAnd low in price,But one could do without it.Some rack their brainsWith toil and pains,In making things fantastic;But soon they’ll findIf they’re not blind,They’ll need a purse elastic.

Open this quickAnd see the trick,If there’s a trick about it;This thing is niceAnd low in price,But one could do without it.

Some rack their brainsWith toil and pains,In making things fantastic;But soon they’ll findIf they’re not blind,They’ll need a purse elastic.

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