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: Frances Ellen Watkins HarperRelease date: October 1, 1996 [eBook #679]Most recently updated: January 1, 2021Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Judith Boss*** 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: Frances Ellen Watkins HarperRelease date: October 1, 1996 [eBook #679]Most recently updated: January 1, 2021Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Judith Boss
Title: Poems
Author: Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Author: Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Release date: October 1, 1996 [eBook #679]Most recently updated: January 1, 2021
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Judith Boss
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
Produced by Judith Boss
Poems
By
The Black Heritage Library Collection
First Published 1895
Whereas thou hast been forsaken and hated, so that no man went through thee, I will make thee an eternal excellency, a joy of many generations. ISAIAH 60:15.
My Mother's Kiss . . . . . . . . . . 1A Grain of Sand . . . . . . . . . . 3The Crocuses . . . . . . . . . . . . 4The Present Age . . . . . . . . . . 6Dedication Poem . . . . . . . . . . 9A Double Standard . . . . . . . . . 12Our Hero . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15The Dying Bondman . . . . . . . . . 17A Little Child Shall Lead Them . . . 19The Sparrow's Fall . . . . . . . . . 21God Bless Our Native Land . . . . . 23Dandelions . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24The Building . . . . . . . . . . . . 25Home, Sweet Home . . . . . . . . . . 26The Pure in Heart Shall See God . . 28He Had Not Where to Lay His Head . . 30Go Work in My Vineyard . . . . . . . 31Renewal of Strength . . . . . . . . 33Jamie's Puzzle . . . . . . . . . . . 34Truth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36Death of the Old Sea King . . . . . 38Save the Boys . . . . . . . . . . . 40Nothing and Something . . . . . . . 42Vashti . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44Thank God for Little Children . . . 47The Martyr of Alabama . . . . . . . 49The Night of Death . . . . . . . . . 53Mother's Treasures . . . . . . . . . 56The Refiner's Gold . . . . . . . . . 58A Story of the Rebellion . . . . . . 60Burial of Sarah . . . . . . . . . . 61Going East . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63The Hermit's Sacrifice . . . . . . . 66Songs for the People . . . . . . . . 69Let the Light Enter . . . . . . . . 71An Appeal to My Country Women . . . 72
My mother's kiss, my mother's kiss,I feel its impress now;As in the bright and happy daysShe pressed it on my brow.
You say it is a fancied thingWithin my memory fraught;To me it has a sacred place—The treasure house of thought.
Again, I feel her fingers glideAmid my clustering hair;I see the love-light in her eyes,When all my life was fair.
Again, I hear her gentle voiceIn warning or in love.How precious was the faith that taughtMy soul of things above.
(1)
The music of her voice is stilled,Her lips are paled in death.As precious pearls I'll clasp her wordsUntil my latest breath.
The world has scattered round my pathHonor and wealth and fame;But naught so precious as the thoughtsThat gather round her name.
And friends have placed upon my browThe laurels of renown;But she first taught me how to wearMy manhood as a crown.
My hair is silvered o'er with age,I'm longing to depart;To clasp again my mother's hand,And be a child at heart.
To roam with her the glory-landWhere saints and angels greet;To cast our crowns with songs of loveAt our Redeemer's feet.
Do you see this grain of sandLying loosely in my hand?Do you know to me it broughtJust a simple loving thought?When one gazes night by nightOn the glorious stars of light,Oh how little seems the spanMeasured round the life of man.
Oh! how fleeting are his yearsWith their smiles and their tears;Can it be that God does careFor such atoms as we are?Then outspake this grain of sand"I was fashioned by His handIn the star lit realms of spaceI was made to have a place.
"Should the ocean flood the world,Were its mountains 'gainst me hurledAll the force they could employWouldn't a single grain destroy;And if I, a thing so light,Have a place within His sight;You are linked unto his throneCannot live nor die alone.
In the everlasting armsMid life's dangers and alarmsLet calm trust your spirit fill;Know He's God, and then be still."Trustingly I raised my headHearing what the atom said;Knowing man is greater farThan the brightest sun or star.
They heard the South wind sighingA murmur of the rain;And they knew that Earth was longingTo see them all again.
While the snow-drops still were sleepingBeneath the silent sod;They felt their new life pulsingWithin the dark, cold clod.
Not a daffodil nor daisyHad dared to raise its head;Not a fairhaired dandelionPeeped timid from its bed;
Though a tremor of the winterDid shivering through them run;Yet they lifted up their foreheadsTo greet the vernal sun.
And the sunbeams gave them welcome.As did the morning airAnd scattered o'er their simple robesRich tints of beauty rare.
Soon a host of lovely flowersFrom vales and woodland burst;But in all that fair processionThe crocuses were first.
First to weave for Earth a chapletTo crown her dear old head;And to beautify the pathwayWhere winter still did tread.
And their loved and white haired motherSmiled sweetly 'neath the touch,When she knew her faithful childrenWere loving her so much.
Say not the age is hard and cold—I think it brave and grand;When men of diverse sects and creedsAre clasping hand in hand.
The Parsee from his sacred firesBeside the Christian kneels;And clearer light to Islam's eyesThe word of Christ reveals.
The Brahmin from his distant homeBrings thoughts of ancient lore;The Bhuddist breaking bonds of casteDivides mankind no more.
The meek-eyed sons of far CathayAre welcome round the board;Not greed, nor malice drives awayThese children of our Lord.
And Judah from whose trusted handsCame oracles divine;Now sits with those around whose heartsThe light of God doth shine.
Japan unbars her long sealed gatesFrom islands far away;Her sons are lifting up their eyesTo greet the coming day.
The Indian child from forests wildHas learned to read and pray;The tomahawk and scalping knifeFrom him have passed away.
From centuries of servile toilThe Negro finds release,And builds the fanes of prayer and praiseUnto the God of Peace.
England and Russia face to faceWith Central Asia meet;And on the far Pacific coast,Chinese and natives greet.
Crusaders once with sword and shieldThe Holy Land to save;From Moslem hands did strive to clutchThe dear Redeemer's grave.
A battle greater, grander farIs for the present age;
A crusade for the rights of manTo brighten history's page.
Where labor faints and bows her head,And want consorts with crime;Or men grown faithless sadly sayThat evil is the time.
There is the field, the vantage groundFor every earnest heart;To side with justice, truth and rightAnd act a noble part.
To save from ignorance and viceThe poorest, humblest child;To make our age the fairest oneOn which the sun has smiled;
To plant the roots of coming yearsIn mercy, love and truth;And bid our weary, saddened earthAgain renew her youth.
Oh! earnest hearts! toil on in hope,'Till darkness shrinks from light;To fill the earth with peace and joy,Let youth and age unite:
To stay the floods of sin and shameThat sweep from shore to shore;And furl the banners stained with blood,'Till war shall be no more.
Blame not the age, nor think it fullOf evil and unrest;But say of every other age,"This one shall be the best."
The age to brighten every pathBy sin and sorrow trod;For loving hearts to usher inThe commonwealth of God.
Dedication Poem on the reception of the annex tothe home for aged colored people, from the bequest ofMr. Edward T. Parker.
Outcast from her home in SyriaIn the lonely, dreary wild;Heavy hearted, sorrow stricken,Sat a mother and her child.
There was not a voice to cheer herNot a soul to share her fate;She was weary, he was fainting,And life seemed so desolate.
Far away in sunny EgyptWas lone Hagar's native land;Where the Nile in kingly bountyScatters bread with gracious hand.
In the tents of princely AbramShe for years had found a home;Till the stern decree of SarahSent her forth the wild to roam.
Hour by hour she journeyed onwardFrom the shelter of their tent,Till her footsteps slowly falteredAnd the water all was spent;
Then she veiled her face in sorrow,Feared her child would die of thirstTill her eyes with tears so holdenSaw a sparkling fountain burst.
Oh! how happy was that mother,What a soothing of her pain;
When she saw her child reviving,Life rejoicing through each vein
Does not life repeat this story,Tell it over day by day?Of the fountains of refreshmentEver springing by our way.
Here is one by which we gather,On this bright and happy day,Just to bask beside a fountainMaking gladder life's highway.
Bringing unto hearts now agedWho have borne life's burdens long,Such a gift of love and mercyAs deserves our sweetest song.
Such a gift that even heavenMay rejoice with us below,If the pure and holy angelsJoin us in our joy and woe.
May the memory of the giverIn this home where age may rest,Float like fragrance through the ages,Ever blessing, ever blest.
When the gates of pearl are openedMay we there this friend behold,Drink with him from living fountains,Walk with him the streets of gold.
When life's shattered cords of musicShall again be sweetly sung;Then our hearts with life immortal,Shall be young, forever young.
Do you blame me that I loved him?If when standing all aloneI cried for bread a careless worldPressed to my lips a stone.
Do you blame me that I loved him,That my heart beat glad and free,When he told me in the sweetest tonesHe loved but only me?
Can you blame me that I did not seeBeneath his burning kissThe serpent's wiles, nor even hearThe deadly adder hiss?
Can you blame me that my heart grew coldThe tempted, tempter turned;When he was feted and caressedAnd I was coldly spurned?
Would you blame him, when you draw frommeYour dainty robes aside,If he with gilded baits should claimYour fairest as his bride?
Would you blame the world if it should pressOn him a civic crown;And see me struggling in the depthThen harshly press me down?
Crime has no sex and yet to-dayI wear the brand of shame;Whilst he amid the gay and proudStill bears an honored name.
Can you blame me if I've learned to thinkYour hate of vice a sham,When you so coldly crushed me downAnd then excused the man?
Would you blame me if to-morrowThe coroner should say,
A wretched girl, outcast, forlorn,Has thrown her life away?
Yes, blame me for my downward course,But oh! remember well,Within your homes you press the handThat led me down to hell.
I'm glad God's ways are not our waysHe does not see as man;Within His love I know there's roomFor those whom others ban.
I think before His great white throne,His throne of spotless light,That whited sepulchres shall wearThe hue of endless night.
That I who fell, and he who sinned,Shall reap as we have sown;That each the burden of his lossMust bear and bear alone.
No golden weights can turn the scaleOf justice in His sight;And what is wrong in woman's lifeIn man's cannot be right.
Onward to her destination,O'er the stream the Hannah sped,When a cry of consternationSmote and chilled our hearts with dread.
Wildly leaping, madly sweeping,All relentless in their sway,Like a band of cruel demonsFlames were closing 'round our way
Oh! the horror of those moments;Flames above and waves below—Oh! the agony of agesCrowded in one hour of woe.
Fainter grew our hearts with anguishIn that hour with peril rife,When we saw the pilot flying,Terror-stricken, for his life.
Then a man uprose before us—We had once despised his race—But we saw a lofty purposeLighting up his darkened face.
While the flames were madly roaring,With a courage grand and high,Forth he rushed unto our rescue,Strong to suffer, brave to die.
Helplessly the boat was drifting,Death was staring in each face,When he grasped the fallen rudder,Took the pilot's vacant place.
Could he save us? Would he save us?All his hope of life give o'er?Could he hold that fated vessel'Till she reached the nearer shore?
All our hopes and fears were centered'Round his strong, unfaltering hand;If he failed us we must perish,Perish just in sight of land.
Breathlessly we watched and waitedWhile the flames were raging fast;When our anguish changed to rapture—We were saved, yes, saved at last.
Never strains of sweetest musicBrought to us more welcome sound
Than the grating of that steamerWhen her keel had touched the ground.
But our faithful martyr heroThrough a fiery pathway trod,Till he laid his valiant spiritOn the bosom of his God.
Fame has never crowned a heroOn the crimson fields of strife,Grander, nobler, than that pilotYielding up for us his life.
Life was trembling, faintly tremblingOn the bondman's latest breath,And he felt the chilling pressureOf the cold, hard hand of Death.
He had been an Afric chieftain,Worn his manhood as a crown;But upon the field of battleHad been fiercely stricken down.
He had longed to gain his freedom,Waited, watched and hoped in vain,Till his life was slowly ebbing—Almost broken was his chain.
By his bedside stood the master,Gazing on the dying one,Knowing by the dull grey shadowsThat life's sands were almost run.
"Master," said the dying bondman,"Home and friends I soon shall see;But before I reach my country,Master write that I am free;
"For the spirits of my fathersWould shrink back from me in pride,If I told them at our greetingI a slave had lived and died;
"Give to me the precious token,That my kindred dead may see—Master! write it, write it quickly!Master! write that I am free!"
At his earnest plea the masterWrote for him the glad release,
O'er his wan and wasted featuresFlitted one sweet smile of peace.
Eagerly he grasped the writing;"I am free!" at last he said.Backward fell upon the pillow,He was free among the dead.
Only a little scrap of bluePreserved with loving care,But earth has not a brilliant hueTo me more bright and fair.
Strong drink, like a raging demon,Laid on my heart his hand,When my darling joined with othersThe Loyal Legion * band.
But mystic angels called awayMy loved and precious child,And o'er life's dark and stormy waySwept waves of anguish wild.
* The Temperance Band,
This badge of the Loyal LegionWe placed upon her breast,As she lay in her little coffinTaking her last sweet rest.
To wear that badge as a tokenShe earnestly did crave,So we laid it on her bosomTo wear it in the grave.
Where sorrow would never reach herNor harsh words smite her ear;Nor her eyes in death dimmed slumberWould ever shed a tear.
"What means this badge?" said her father,Whom we had tried to save;Who said, when we told her story,"Don't put it in the grave."
We took the badge from her bosomAnd laid it on a chair;And men by drink deludedKnelt by that badge in prayer.
And vowed in that hour of sorrowFrom drink they would abstain;
And this little badge became the wedgeWhich broke their galling chain.
And lifted the gloomy shadowsThat overspread my life,And flooding my home with gladness,Made me a happy wife.
And this is why this scrap of blueIs precious in my sight;It changed my sad and gloomy homeFrom darkness into light.
Too frail to soar—a feeble thing—It fell to earth with fluttering wing;But God, who watches over all,Beheld that little sparrow's fall.
'Twas not a bird with plumage gay,Filling the air with its morning lay;'Twas not an eagle bold and strong,Borne on the tempest's wing along.
Only a brown and weesome thing,With drooping head and listless wing;It could not drift beyond His sightWho marshals the splendid stars of night.
Its dying chirp fell on His ears,Who tunes the music of the spheres,Who hears the hungry lion's call,And spreads a table for us all.
Its mission of song at last is done,No more will it greet the rising sun;That tiny bird has found a restMore calm than its mother's downy breast
Oh, restless heart, learn thou to trustIn God, so tender, strong and just;In whose love and mercy everywhereHis humblest children have a share.
If in love He numbers ev'ry hair,Whether the strands be dark or fair,Shall we not learn to calmly rest,Like children, on our Father's breast?
God bless our native land,Land of the newly free,Oh may she ever standFor truth and liberty.
God bless our native land,Where sleep our kindred dead,Let peace at thy commandAbove their graves be shed.
God help our native land,Bring surcease to her strife,And shower from thy handA more abundant life.
God bless our native land,Her homes and children bless,Oh may she ever standFor truth and righteousness.
Welcome children of the Spring,In your garbs of green and gold,Lifting up your sun-crowned headsOn the verdant plain and wold.
As a bright and joyous troopFrom the breast of earth ye cameFair and lovely are your cheeks,With sun-kisses all aflame.
In the dusty streets and lanes,Where the lowly children play,There as gentle friends ye smile,Making brighter life's highway
Dewdrops and the morning sun,Weave your garments fair and bright,And we welcome you to-dayAs the children of the light.
Children of the earth and sun.We are slow to understandAll the richness of the giftsFlowing from our Father's hand.
Were our vision clearer far,In this sin-dimmed world of ours,Would we not more thankful beFor the love that sends us flowers?
Welcome, early visitants,With your sun-crowned golden hair,With your message to our heartsOf our Father's loving care.
"Build me a house," said the Master,"But not on the shifting sand,Mid the wreck and roar of tempests,A house that will firmly stand.
"I will bring thee windows of agates,And gates of carbuncles bright,And thy fairest courts and portalsShall be filled with love and light.
"Thou shalt build with fadeless rubies,All fashioned around the throne,A house that shall last forever,With Christ as the cornerstone.
"It shall be a royal mansion,A fair and beautiful thing,It will be the presence-chamberOf thy Saviour, Lord and King.
"Thy house shall be bound with pinionsTo mansions of rest above,But grace shall forge all the fettersWith the links and cords of love.
"Thou shalt be free in this mansionFrom sorrow and pain of heart,For the peace of God shall enter,And never again depart."
Sharers of a common country,They had met in deadly strife;Men who should have been as brothersMadly sought each other's life.
In the silence of the even,When the cannon's lips were dumb,
Thoughts of home and all its loved onesTo the soldier's heart would come.
On the margin of a river,'Mid the evening's dews and damps,Could be heard the sounds of musicRising from two hostile camps.
One was singing of its sectionDown in Dixie, Dixie's land,And the other of the bannerWaved so long from strand to strand.
In the land where Dixie's ensignFloated o'er the hopeful slave,Rose the song that freedom's banner,Starry-lighted, long might wave.
From the fields of strife and carnage,Gentle thoughts began to roam,And a tender strain of musicRose with words of "Home, Sweet Home."
Then the hearts of strong men melted,For amid our grief and sinStill remains that "touch of nature,"Telling us we all are kin.
In one grand but gentle chorus,Floating to the starry dome,Came the words that brought them nearer,Words that told of "Home, Sweet Home."
For awhile, all strife forgotten,They were only brothers then,Joining in the sweet old chorus,Not as soldiers, but as men.
Men whose hearts would flow together,Though apart their feet might roam,Found a tie they could not sever,In the mem'ry of each home.
Never may the steps of carnageShake our land from shore to shore,But may mother, home and Heaven,Be our watchwords evermore.
They shall see Him in the crimson flushOf morning's early light,In the drapery of sunset,Around the couch of night.
When the clouds drop down their fatness,In late and early rain,They shall see His glorious footprintsOn valley, hill and plain.
They shall see Him when the cycloneBreathes terror through the land;They shall see Him 'mid the murmursOf zephyrs soft and bland.
They shall see Him when the lips of health,Breath vigor through each nerve,When pestilence clasps hands with death,His purposes to serve.
They shall see Him when the trembling earthIs rocking to and fro;They shall see Him in the orderThe seasons come and go.
They shall see Him when the storms of warSweep wildly through the land;When peace descends like gentle dewThey still shall see His hand.
They shall see Him in the cityOf gems and pearls of light,
They shall see Him in his beauty,And walk with Him in white.
To living founts their feet shall tend,And Christ shall be their guide,Beloved of God, their rest shall beIn safety by His side.
The conies had their hiding-place,The wily fox with stealthy treadA covert found, but Christ, the Lord,Had not a place to lay his head.
The eagle had an eyrie home,The blithesome bird its quiet rest,But not the humblest spot on earthWas by the Son of God possessed.
Princes and kings had palaces,With grandeur could adorn each tomb,For Him who came with love and life,They had no home, they gave no room.
The hands whose touch sent thrills of joyThrough nerves unstrung and palsiedframe,The feet that travelled for our need,Were nailed unto the cross of shame.
How dare I murmur at my lot,Or talk of sorrow, pain and loss,When Christ was in a manger laid,And died in anguish on the cross.
That homeless one beheld beyondHis lonely agonizing pain,A love outflowing from His heart,That all the wandering world would gain.
Go work in my vineyard, said the Lord,And gather the bruised grain;But the reapers had left the stubble bare,And I trod the soil in pain.
The fields of my Lord are wide and broad,He has pastures fair and green,And vineyards that drink the golden lightWhich flows from the sun's bright sheen.
I heard the joy of the reapers' song,As they gathered golden grain;Then wearily turned unto my task,With a lonely sense of pain.
Sadly I turned from the sun's fierce glare,And sought the quiet shade,And over my dim and weary eyesSleep's peaceful fingers strayed.
I dreamed I joined with a restless throng,Eager for pleasure and gain;But ever and anon a stumbler fell,And uttered a cry of pain.
But the eager crowd still hurried on,Too busy to pause or heed,When a voice rang sadly through my soul,You must staunch these wounds that bleed.
My hands were weak, but I reached them outTo feebler ones than mine,
And over the shadows of my lifeStole the light of a peace divine.
Oh! then my task was a sacred thing,How precious it grew in my eyes!'Twas mine to gather the bruised grainFor the "Lord of Paradise."
And when the reapers shall lay their grainOn the floors of golden light,I feel that mine with its broken sheavesShall be precious in His sight.
Though thorns may often pierce my feet,And the shadows still abide,The mists will vanish before His smile,There will be light at eventide.
The prison-house in which I liveIs falling to decay,But God renews my spirit's strength,Within these walls of clay.
For me a dimness slowly creepsAround earth's fairest light,But heaven grows clearer to my view,And fairer to my sight.
It may be earth's sweet harmoniesAre duller to my ear,But music from my Father's houseBegins to float more near.
Then let the pillars of my homeCrumble and fall away;Lo, God's dear love within my soulRenews it day by day.
There was grief within our householdBecause of a vacant chair.Our mother, so loved and precious,No longer was sitting there.
Our hearts grew heavy with sorrow,Our eyes with tears were blind,And little Jamie was wondering,Why we were left behind.
We had told our little darling,Of the land of love and light,Of the saints all crowned with glory,And enrobed in spotless white.
We said that our precious mother,Had gone to that land so fair,To dwell with beautiful angels,And to be forever there.
But the child was sorely puzzled,Why dear grandmamma should goTo dwell in a stranger city,When her children loved her so.
But again the mystic angelCame with swift and silent tread,And our sister, Jamie's mother,Was enrolled among the dead.
To us the mystery deepened,To Jamie it seemed more clear;
Grandma, he said, must be lonesome,And mamma has gone to her.
But the question lies unansweredIn our little Jamie's mind,Why she should go to our mother,And leave her children behind;
To dwell in that lovely city,From all that was dear to part,From children who loved to nestleSo closely around her heart.
Dear child, like you, we are puzzled,With problems that still remain;But think in the great hereafterTheir meaning will all be plain.
A rock, for ages, stern and high,Stood frowning 'gainst the earth and sky,And never bowed his haughty crestWhen angry storms around him prest.Morn, springing from the arms of night,Had often bathed his brow with light.
And kissed the shadows from his faceWith tender love and gentle grace.
Day, pausing at the gates of rest,Smiled on him from the distant West,And from her throne the dark-browed NightThrew round his path her softest light.And yet he stood unmoved and proud,Nor love, nor wrath, his spirit bowed;He bared his brow to every blastAnd scorned the tempest as it passed.
One day a tiny, humble seed—The keenest eye would hardly heed—Fell trembling at that stern rock's base,And found a lowly hiding-place.A ray of light, and drop of dew,Came with a message, kind and true;They told her of the world so bright,Its love, its joy, and rosy light,And lured her from her hiding-place,To gaze upon earth's glorious face.
So, peeping timid from the ground,She clasped the ancient rock around,And climbing up with childish grace,She held him with a close embrace;
Her clinging was a thing of dread;Where'er she touched a fissure spread,And he who'd breasted many a stormStood frowning there, a mangled form;A Truth, dropped in the silent earth,May seem a thing of little worth,Till, spreading round some mighty wrong,It saps its pillars proud and strong,And o'er the fallen ruin weavesThe brightest blooms and fairest leaves.
'Twas a fearful night—the tempest ravedWith loud and wrathful pride,The storm-king harnessed his lightning steeds,And rode on the raging tide.
The sea-king lay on his bed of death,Pale mourners around him bent;They knew the wild and fitful lifeOf their chief was almost spent.
His ear was growing dull in deathWhen the angry storm he heard,
The sluggish blood in the old man's veinsWith sudden vigor stirred.
"I hear them call," cried the dying man,His eyes grew full of light;"Now bring me here my warrior robes,My sword and armor bright.
"In the tempest's lull I heard a voice,I knew 'twas Odin's call.The Valkyrs are gathering round my bedTo lead me unto his hall.
"Bear me unto my noblest ship,Light up a funeral pyre;I'll walk to the palace of the bravesThrough a path of flame and fire."
Oh! wild and bright was the stormy lightThat flashed from the old man's eye,As they bore him from the couch of deathTo his battle-ship to die,
And lit with many a mournful torchThe sea-king's dying bed,And like a banner fair and brightThe flames around him spread.
But they heard no cry of anguishBreak through that fiery wall,With rigid brow and silent lipsHe was seeking Odin's hall.
Through a path of fearful splendor,While strong men held their breath,The brave old man went boldly forthAnd calmly talked with death.
Like Dives in the deeps of HellI cannot break this fearful spell,Nor quench the fires I've madly nursed,Nor cool this dreadful raging thirst.Take back your pledge—ye come too late!Ye cannot save me from my fate,Nor bring me back departed joys;But ye can try to save the boys.
Ye bid me break my fiery chain,Arise and be a man again,
When every street with snares is spread,And nets of sin where'er I tread.No; I must reap as I did sow.The seeds of sin bring crops of woe;But with my latest breath I'll craveThat ye will try the boys to save.
These bloodshot eyes were once so bright;This sin-crushed heart was glad and light;But by the wine-cup's ruddy glowI traced a path to shame and woe.A captive to my galling chain,I've tried to rise, but tried in vain—The cup allures and then destroys.Oh! from its thraldom save the boys.
Take from your streets those traps of hellInto whose gilded snares I fell.Oh! freemen, from these foul decoysArise, and vote to save the boys.Oh, ye who license men to tradeIn draughts that charm and then degrade,Before ye hear the cry, Too late,Oh, save the boys from my sad fate.
It is nothing to me, the beauty said,With a careless toss of her pretty head;The man is weak if he can't refrainFrom the cup you say is fraught with pain.It was something to her in after years,When her eyes were drenched with burningtears,And she watched in lonely grief and dread,And startled to hear a staggering tread.
It is nothing to me, the mother said;I have no fear that my boy will treadIn the downward path of sin and shame,And crush my heart and darken his name.It was something to her when that only sonFrom the path of right was early won,And madly cast in the flowing bowlA ruined body and sin-wrecked soul.
It is nothing to me, the young man cried:In his eye was a flash of scorn and pride;I heed not the dreadful things ye tell:I can rule myself I know full well.
It was something to him when in prison he layThe victim of drink, life ebbing away;And thought of his wretched child and wife,And the mournful wreck of his wasted life.
It is nothing to me, the merchant said,As over his ledger he bent his head;I'm busy to-day with tare and tret,And I have no time to fume and fret.It was something to him when over the wireA message came from a funeral pyre—A drunken conductor had wrecked a train,And his wife and child were among the slain.
It is nothing to me, the voter said,The party's loss is my greatest dread;Then gave his vote for the liquor trade,Though hearts were crushed and drunkardsmade.It was something to him in after life,When his daughter became a drunkard's wifeAnd her hungry children cried for bread,And trembled to hear their father's tread.
Is it nothing for us to idly sleepWhile the cohorts of death their vigils keep?To gather the young and thoughtless in,And grind in our midst a grist of sin?
It is something, yes, all, for us to standClasping by faith our Saviour's hand;To learn to labor, live and fightOn the side of God and changeless light.
She leaned her head upon her handAnd heard the King's decree—"My lords are feasting in my halls;Bid Vashti come to me.
"I've shown the treasures of my house,My costly jewels rare,But with the glory of her eyesNo rubies can compare.
"Adorn'd and crown'd I'd have her come,With all her queenly grace,And, 'mid my lords and mighty men,Unveil her lovely face.
"Each gem that sparkles in my crown,Or glitters on my throne,
Grows poor and pale when she appears,My beautiful, my own!"
All waiting stood the chamberlainsTo hear the Queen's reply.They saw her cheek grow deathly pale,But light flash'd to her eye:
"Go, tell the King," she proudly said,"That I am Persia's Queen,And by his crowds of merry menI never will be seen.
"I'll take the crown from off my headAnd tread it 'neath my feet,Before their rude and careless gazeMy shrinking eyes shall meet.
"A queen unveil'd before the crowd!—Upon each lip my name!—Why, Persia's women all would blushAnd weep for Vashti's shame!
"Go back!" she cried, and waved her hand,And grief was in her eye:"Go, tell the King," she sadly said,"That I would rather die."
They brought her message to the King;Dark flash'd his angry eye;'Twas as the lightning ere the stormHath swept in fury by.
Then bitterly outspoke the King,Through purple lips of wrath—"What shall be done to her who daresTo cross your monarch's path?"
Then spake his wily counsellors—"O King of this fair land!From distant Ind to Ethiop,All bow to thy command.
"But if, before thy servants' eyes,This thing they plainly see,That Vashti doth not heed thy willNor yield herself to thee,
"The women, restive 'neath our rule,Would learn to scorn our name,And from her deed to us would comeReproach and burning shame.
"Then, gracious King, sign with thy handThis stern but just decree,
That Vashti lay aside her crown,Thy Queen no more to be."
She heard again the King's command,And left her high estate;Strong in her earnest womanhood,She calmly met her fate,
And left the palace of the King,Proud of her spotless name—A woman who could bend to grief,But would not bow to shame.
Thank God for little children,Bright flowers by earth's wayside,The dancing, joyous lifeboatsUpon life's stormy tide.
Thank God for little children;When our skies are cold and gray,They come as sunshine to our hearts,And charm our cares away.
I almost think the angels,Who tend life's garden fair,Drop down the sweet wild blossomsThat bloom around us here.
It seems a breath of heavenRound many a cradle lies,And every little babyBrings a message from the skies.
Dear mothers, guard these jewels.As sacred offerings meet,A wealth of household treasuresTo lay at Jesus' feet.
"Tim Thompson, a little negro boy, was asked to dance for the amusement of some white toughs. He refused, saying he was a church member. One of the men knocked him down with a club and then danced upon his prostrate form. He then shot the boy in the hip. The boy is dead; his murderer is still at large."—News Item.
He lifted up his pleading eyes,And scanned each cruel face,Where cold and brutal cowardiceHad left its evil trace.
It was when tender memoriesRound Beth'lem's manger lay,
(49)
And mothers told their little onesOf Jesu's natal day.
And of the Magi from the EastWho came their gifts to bring,And bow in rev'rence at the feetOf Salem's new-born King.
And how the herald angels sangThe choral song of peace,That war should close his wrathful lips,And strife and carnage cease.
At such an hour men well may hushTheir discord and their strife,And o'er that manger clasp their handsWith gifts to brighten life.
Alas! that in our favored land,That cruelty and crimeShould cast their shadows o'er a day.The fairest pearl of time.
A dark-browed boy had drawn anearA band of savage men,Just as a hapless lamb might strayInto a tiger's den.
Cruel and dull, they saw in himFor sport an evil chance,And then demanded of the childTo give to them a dance.
"Come dance for us," the rough men said;"I can't," the child replied,"I cannot for the dear Lord's sake,Who for my sins once died."
Tho' they were strong and he was weak,He wouldn't his Lord deny.His life lay in their cruel hands,But he for Christ could die.
Heard they aright? Did that brave childTheir mandates dare resist?Did he against their stern commandsHave courage to insist?
Then recklessly a man (?) arose,And dealt a fearful blow.He crushed the portals of that life,And laid the brave child low.
And trampled on his prostrate form,As on a broken toy;
Then danced with careless, brutal feet,Upon the murdered boy.
Christians! behold that martyred child!His blood cries from the ground;Before the sleepless eye of God,He shows each gaping wound.
Oh! Church of Christ arise! arise!Lest crimson stain thy hand,When God shall inquisition makeFor blood shed in the land.
Take sackcloth of the darkest hue,And shroud the pulpits round;Servants of him who cannot lieSit mourning on the ground.
Let holy horror blanch each brow,Pale every cheek with fears,And rocks and stones, if ye could speak,Ye well might melt to tears.
Through every fane send forth a cry,Of sorrow and regret,Nor in an hour of careless easeThy brother's wrongs forget.
Veil not thine eyes, nor close thy lips,Nor speak with bated breath;This evil shall not always last,The end of it is death.
Avert the doom that crime must bringUpon a guilty land;Strong in the strength that God supplies,For truth and justice stand.
For Christless men, with reckless hands,Are sowing round thy pathThe tempests wild that yet shall breakIn whirlwinds of God's wrath.
Twas a night of dreadful horror,—Death was sweeping through the land;And the wings of dark destructionWere outstretched from strand to strand
Strong men's hearts grew faint with terror,As the tempest and the waves
Wrecked their homes and swept them downward,Suddenly to yawning graves.
'Mid the wastes of ruined households,And the tempest's wild alarms,Stood a terror-stricken motherWith a child within her arms.
Other children huddled 'round her,Each one nestling in her heart;Swift in thought and swift in action,She at least from one must part.
Then she said unto her daughter,"Strive to save one child from death.""Which one?" said the anxious daughter,As she stood with bated breath.
Oh! the anguish of that mother;What despair was in her eye!All her little ones were precious;Which one should she leave to die?
Then outspake the brother Bennie:"I will take the little one.""No," exclaimed the anxious mother;"No, my child, it can't be done."
"See! my boy, the waves are rising,Save yourself and leave the child!""I will trust in Christ," he answered;Grasped the little one and smiled.
Through the roar of wind and watersEver and anon she cried;But throughout the night of terrorNever Bennie's voice replied.
But above the waves' wild surgingHe had found a safe retreat,As if God had sent an angel,Just to guide his wandering feet.
When the storm had spent its fury,And the sea gave up its deadShe was mourning for her loved ones,Lost amid that night of dread.
While her head was bowed in anguish,On her ear there fell a voice,Bringing surcease to her sorrow,Bidding all her heart rejoice.
"Didn't I tell you true?" said Bennie,And his eyes were full of light,
"When I told you God would help meThrough the dark and dreadful night?"
And he placed the little darlingSafe within his mother's arms,Feeling Christ had been his guardian,'Mid the dangers and alarms.
Oh! for faith so firm and precious,In the darkest, saddest night,Till life's gloom-encircled shadowsFade in everlasting light.
And upon the mount of visionWe our loved and lost shall greet,With earth's wildest storms behind us,And its cares beneath our feet.