The Project Gutenberg eBook ofPoems

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofPoemsThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: PoemsAuthor: Thomas Hall ShastidRelease date: July 10, 2016 [eBook #52546]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***

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

Title: PoemsAuthor: Thomas Hall ShastidRelease date: July 10, 2016 [eBook #52546]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)

Title: Poems

Author: Thomas Hall Shastid

Release date: July 10, 2016 [eBook #52546]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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

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

BYTHOMAS HALL SHASTID,AUTHOR OF“NewspaperBallads.”————PITTSFIELD, ILLINOIS:THE AUTHOR.1881.Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1881, byTHOMAS HALL SHASTID,In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.—————Printed and Bound byH. E. Hanna, Book Printer,Pittsfield, Illinois.

To my many friends who have been so lenient in their criticisms of my former work, and to the several editors and literary men who have given me so much encouragement, I wish to return my sincere thanks.

All the request I have to make, is, that I hope my efforts this time will receive no more condemnation than my other.

I take pleasure in launching my little volume upon the wide sea of literature. The author is fourteen years of age, but many of the poems were written at a much earlier age.

Yours, most respectfully,THOMAS HALL SHASTID.

[Image of text decoraton unvailable.]

Bepeace on earth, good will to men;And let this now our carol be:If on the land, or on the sea,We still will sing the glad refrain;And in the closing light of dayGood words of peace and cheer will say.The Babe that in the manger bornHas risen high above the star,To judge in peace, or judge in war,To judge at night or judge at morn.The star that told us of his birthHas given us joy and lasting mirth.The Man that suffered on the treeIs risen high above all men;Then swell the glad refrain again—He died for me, He died for thee:Then peace be ever on the earthTo one and all of human birth.

The Babe that in the manger bornHas risen high above the star,To judge in peace, or judge in war,To judge at night or judge at morn.The star that told us of his birthHas given us joy and lasting mirth.

The Man that suffered on the treeIs risen high above all men;Then swell the glad refrain again—He died for me, He died for thee:Then peace be ever on the earthTo one and all of human birth.

Theapple tree has fallen, now—The axe has laid it low;The blossoms sparkled ere it fell,But now they wither so.Its shade we now shall seek in vain—The spot we loved so wellHas vanished since the apple treeSo loudly crashing fell.No more the wind sings through the leaves,The song so dear to me;Ah! yes, that rustling far aboveWas one of melody.No more we see that staunch old tree—The axe has laid it low,And much we’ll miss it, evermore,That fall was one of woe.

Theapple tree has fallen, now—The axe has laid it low;The blossoms sparkled ere it fell,But now they wither so.

Its shade we now shall seek in vain—The spot we loved so wellHas vanished since the apple treeSo loudly crashing fell.

No more the wind sings through the leaves,The song so dear to me;Ah! yes, that rustling far aboveWas one of melody.

No more we see that staunch old tree—The axe has laid it low,And much we’ll miss it, evermore,That fall was one of woe.

TheAngel of Peace flew over the land,And the country was wild with glee;And she stilled the wave in the stormy nightOn a rolling and restless sea.But the Angel of Death flew over the landAnd a babe was taken that night.And an angel sweet in heaven appearedIn the land of glory and light.

TheAngel of Peace flew over the land,And the country was wild with glee;And she stilled the wave in the stormy nightOn a rolling and restless sea.

But the Angel of Death flew over the landAnd a babe was taken that night.And an angel sweet in heaven appearedIn the land of glory and light.

Ina palace sad and lonelyFlit two spectres all the day—Spectres chasing joy and brightnessFrom each window far away.One is Sorrow clad in raiment,Sombre as the shades of night,While her trailing robes of darknessChase away each ray of light.But the other one is EnvyClad in blackness, clad with woe,Sorrow’s only sad companion,Flitting ever to and fro.By the windows ever gliding,Filling all with thoughts of pain;All who gaze are doomed forever,Ne’er to see bright joy again.

Ina palace sad and lonelyFlit two spectres all the day—Spectres chasing joy and brightnessFrom each window far away.

One is Sorrow clad in raiment,Sombre as the shades of night,While her trailing robes of darknessChase away each ray of light.

But the other one is EnvyClad in blackness, clad with woe,Sorrow’s only sad companion,Flitting ever to and fro.

By the windows ever gliding,Filling all with thoughts of pain;All who gaze are doomed forever,Ne’er to see bright joy again.

Allaround us, ever floating,Silently yet swiftly on,Pass the years in quick succession—Years that are forever gone.Years that soon are past recalling.Years of gladness or of woe;We can never stop their fleetingBut forever they will go.Years of sorrow passing round us,Dark and dreary as the night.Years of gladness quickly followBringing thoughts all fair and bright.Still the years continue passingSwiftly as the years can be,Till we leave our pains and sorrow;Till we find eternity.

Allaround us, ever floating,Silently yet swiftly on,Pass the years in quick succession—Years that are forever gone.

Years that soon are past recalling.Years of gladness or of woe;We can never stop their fleetingBut forever they will go.

Years of sorrow passing round us,Dark and dreary as the night.Years of gladness quickly followBringing thoughts all fair and bright.

Still the years continue passingSwiftly as the years can be,Till we leave our pains and sorrow;Till we find eternity.

I wouldI had some magic penThat would my thoughts convey.There were a mighty pen that wouldThe world astound to-day.They come and go as fountains flow:Unceasing, always flowing,For while some thoughts are coming fastThe others fast are going.

I wouldI had some magic penThat would my thoughts convey.There were a mighty pen that wouldThe world astound to-day.

They come and go as fountains flow:Unceasing, always flowing,For while some thoughts are coming fastThe others fast are going.

Onthe bright red coals before me,Pictures come and pictures go—Pictures of the waiting futureFilled with gladness or with woe.By the fireside do I pictureTo myself my destiny.Who knows but these golden rapturesMay be real unto me.Though the storm outside be ravingAnd the snowflakes drift on high;By the fireside I am safelyCounting on what may be nigh.All the flames fly ever upwardCoiling into every form.Fairies circle ever round meHeedless of the outside storm.Still I watch the weird wild rapturesOf the golden dream so nigh.Let us love our happy fanciesE’er the time has passed us by.

Onthe bright red coals before me,Pictures come and pictures go—Pictures of the waiting futureFilled with gladness or with woe.

By the fireside do I pictureTo myself my destiny.Who knows but these golden rapturesMay be real unto me.

Though the storm outside be ravingAnd the snowflakes drift on high;By the fireside I am safelyCounting on what may be nigh.

All the flames fly ever upwardCoiling into every form.Fairies circle ever round meHeedless of the outside storm.

Still I watch the weird wild rapturesOf the golden dream so nigh.Let us love our happy fanciesE’er the time has passed us by.

Seethe grass upon its threshold;See the ivy on its wall;Vacant are its crumbling windows,Vacant is its mossy hall.Ah! the step of man upon itShall resound along no more,For the spirits of the dead onesEver flit about the door.There the whisperings of the voicesOf the spirits of the dead;Those of friends and enemiesEver murmur ’round your head.Let us leave the haunted ruin;Spirits walk the crumbling floor;Light their step, but oh! their voicesHaunt the building evermore.

Seethe grass upon its threshold;See the ivy on its wall;Vacant are its crumbling windows,Vacant is its mossy hall.

Ah! the step of man upon itShall resound along no more,For the spirits of the dead onesEver flit about the door.

There the whisperings of the voicesOf the spirits of the dead;Those of friends and enemiesEver murmur ’round your head.

Let us leave the haunted ruin;Spirits walk the crumbling floor;Light their step, but oh! their voicesHaunt the building evermore.

Peacefulbe for we have reached itLighter, lighter ever tread,’Tis a sacred spot and hallowed:’Tis the kingdom of the dead.Silent kingdom, sad and lonely,Though so many in it dwell.Who can number all its people?Who, ah! who can ever tell?Still and peaceful is their restingIn their last and humble bed.Tread ye lightly, ’tis the kingdomOf the sacred holy dead.

Peacefulbe for we have reached itLighter, lighter ever tread,’Tis a sacred spot and hallowed:’Tis the kingdom of the dead.

Silent kingdom, sad and lonely,Though so many in it dwell.Who can number all its people?Who, ah! who can ever tell?

Still and peaceful is their restingIn their last and humble bed.Tread ye lightly, ’tis the kingdomOf the sacred holy dead.

Hearye not the howling wind,Sad and wild?In its wake come dismal fanciesNever mild.Like the moaning of the lostComes the wind:Moaning, sighing—viewless phantomsCome behind.In the darkness come the spiritsOf the night,Howling, with their dismal groaningIn their flight.Absent friends come in our fanciesEvermore,As the demons flee from HadesRush and roar.Hear ye not the moaning windMoan and quiverLike the moaning of the lost—Lost forever?

Hearye not the howling wind,Sad and wild?In its wake come dismal fanciesNever mild.

Like the moaning of the lostComes the wind:Moaning, sighing—viewless phantomsCome behind.

In the darkness come the spiritsOf the night,Howling, with their dismal groaningIn their flight.

Absent friends come in our fanciesEvermore,As the demons flee from HadesRush and roar.

Hear ye not the moaning windMoan and quiverLike the moaning of the lost—Lost forever?

Overhill and over valley—Over meadows rich and green,Playing with the summer grasses—Fairer sights were never seen.Not a mortal ever saw me,Though I seeTHEMev’ry day;Passing like a viewless spiritOn my happy singing way.Often do I rise up skyward,Chasing fast the cloudlets there,And I drive them headlong onwardTill they all in fragments tear.Often on the field of battle,’Mid the storm that works them woe,Do I cheer ’mid cannon’s rattle,Kissing both the friend and foe.And the wounded, as he listensTo me as I whistle on,Thinks of home and friends and parentsAnd of days that now have gone.I often whistle through the woodsAnd toss the hunter’s hair.He sits him down upon a log,While I caress him there.His brow with sweat is covered o’er—He feels my cooling sway,I toss about his silver locks;That deck his head of gray.But on I go until I findThe farmer in his field;I whistle o’er his garnered storeThe willing land doth yield.He hails me as his merry friend,And thus I am to him;I never pass without I cheerHis features calm and grim.I cheer the poet as he singsBeside some flowing stream,And looks upon the dim, dim past,A vision or a dream.

Overhill and over valley—Over meadows rich and green,Playing with the summer grasses—Fairer sights were never seen.

Not a mortal ever saw me,Though I seeTHEMev’ry day;Passing like a viewless spiritOn my happy singing way.

Often do I rise up skyward,Chasing fast the cloudlets there,And I drive them headlong onwardTill they all in fragments tear.

Often on the field of battle,’Mid the storm that works them woe,Do I cheer ’mid cannon’s rattle,Kissing both the friend and foe.

And the wounded, as he listensTo me as I whistle on,Thinks of home and friends and parentsAnd of days that now have gone.

I often whistle through the woodsAnd toss the hunter’s hair.He sits him down upon a log,While I caress him there.

His brow with sweat is covered o’er—He feels my cooling sway,I toss about his silver locks;That deck his head of gray.

But on I go until I findThe farmer in his field;I whistle o’er his garnered storeThe willing land doth yield.

He hails me as his merry friend,And thus I am to him;I never pass without I cheerHis features calm and grim.

I cheer the poet as he singsBeside some flowing stream,And looks upon the dim, dim past,A vision or a dream.

He hails me, as I sail along,In accents clear and free.I answer in an unknown tongueAnd pass on cheerily.He knows me well, and loves me too—He watches till I findHis resting place where he may leaveAll earthly cares behind.I visit oft where lovers sit,I hear their vows of love;The bright green grass is all below—The sky of blue above.And there they sit and talk of love—As only lovers know;—They think the world a paradiseAnd all things bright below.

He hails me, as I sail along,In accents clear and free.I answer in an unknown tongueAnd pass on cheerily.

He knows me well, and loves me too—He watches till I findHis resting place where he may leaveAll earthly cares behind.

I visit oft where lovers sit,I hear their vows of love;The bright green grass is all below—The sky of blue above.

And there they sit and talk of love—As only lovers know;—They think the world a paradiseAnd all things bright below.

I visit oft the city’s haunts,—I raise the dust on high,And whirl it like a water-wheel,As ever on I fly.I play with wigs and hats and cloaks,And whistle by the house—Then to a gentle zephyr turn,—As quiet as a mouse.Then breaking in an angry fit,I whistle by the bellThat hangs within the steeple tall—And sound a faint, low knell.By ruins old I make my way—I tear the ivy vines,And fill with dust and sand and dirtThe ancient sculptured lines.

I visit oft the city’s haunts,—I raise the dust on high,And whirl it like a water-wheel,As ever on I fly.

I play with wigs and hats and cloaks,And whistle by the house—Then to a gentle zephyr turn,—As quiet as a mouse.

Then breaking in an angry fit,I whistle by the bellThat hangs within the steeple tall—And sound a faint, low knell.

By ruins old I make my way—I tear the ivy vines,And fill with dust and sand and dirtThe ancient sculptured lines.

I ramble on the deep, dark sea,And toss those waves of blue;I scare the boasting marinerAnd tear the sails in two.The clouds that hang far overheadAre dropping to the sea,The waves as mountains now become—I roar out in my glee.The captain stands with face aghast—With terror in his eyes—The fork-ed lightning strikes its wingsThat waft it from the skies.The thunder stops, the clouds pass by,The waves are resting now;The gallant ship before my breathWith magic speed doth plow.

I ramble on the deep, dark sea,And toss those waves of blue;I scare the boasting marinerAnd tear the sails in two.

The clouds that hang far overheadAre dropping to the sea,The waves as mountains now become—I roar out in my glee.

The captain stands with face aghast—With terror in his eyes—The fork-ed lightning strikes its wingsThat waft it from the skies.

The thunder stops, the clouds pass by,The waves are resting now;The gallant ship before my breathWith magic speed doth plow.

Ye frightened goodly mariners,That angels were before—The storm has quit, you curse again,You’re sinners wild once more.And when the next storm rocks the ship,And the thunders roll and roar,You drop upon your knees again—Art sainted then once more.I cross the sea, and soon I findEuropa’s golden coast—The Spanish pride;—the English tarMakes well his frequent boast.

Ye frightened goodly mariners,That angels were before—The storm has quit, you curse again,You’re sinners wild once more.

And when the next storm rocks the ship,And the thunders roll and roar,You drop upon your knees again—Art sainted then once more.

I cross the sea, and soon I findEuropa’s golden coast—The Spanish pride;—the English tarMakes well his frequent boast.

I love the clime of Africa—The dark man’s native home;I love that central, torrid zoneWherever I may roam.I also love the Northern pole—Auroras glisten there—I love the regions still and cold,The icebergs standing bare.The water trickling down their sides—I waft them towards the south;The walrus suns him as we go,And opes his giant mouth.I love to sway the trees in springWhen all in green they stand,—In winter do I move their boughsWhile roaming o’er the land.Sometimes I frolic round aboutBetween the earth and sky;And it is true where’er I goA jolly one am I.I love to whirl the storm aroundAnd roar out ev’rywhere,And superstitious people, too,I often sadly scare.I’ve seen fair Eden’s leafy trees—I’ve seen the first of man,And I shall see the last of him—I saw how he began.

I love the clime of Africa—The dark man’s native home;I love that central, torrid zoneWherever I may roam.

I also love the Northern pole—Auroras glisten there—I love the regions still and cold,The icebergs standing bare.

The water trickling down their sides—I waft them towards the south;The walrus suns him as we go,And opes his giant mouth.

I love to sway the trees in springWhen all in green they stand,—In winter do I move their boughsWhile roaming o’er the land.

Sometimes I frolic round aboutBetween the earth and sky;And it is true where’er I goA jolly one am I.

I love to whirl the storm aroundAnd roar out ev’rywhere,And superstitious people, too,I often sadly scare.

I’ve seen fair Eden’s leafy trees—I’ve seen the first of man,And I shall see the last of him—I saw how he began.

I saw the star of Bethlehem—I heard the angels sing;I saw the manger and the Christ—The great and goodly king.I saw the Cæsar in his Rome—Who raised her towers on high;She raised those towers aloof from earth,She rose, and but to die.Then passing in the flight of yearsI saw Napoleon’s day;I saw the time when he did rise,And when he fell away.I saw the hero, Washington,Who for his country fought.“I’ll free my country from her bonds,”That was his only thought.I’ve known more things than history—And if I brought to light,These things ’twould make the stoutest heartTo start aback with fright.I’ve witnessed murders never seenBy any human eye;I’ve seen the very best of menBy violence to die.I’ve touched the knife that did the deed;I’ve kissed the brow in vain;No sign of life upon the face,So dark and black with pain.

I saw the star of Bethlehem—I heard the angels sing;I saw the manger and the Christ—The great and goodly king.

I saw the Cæsar in his Rome—Who raised her towers on high;She raised those towers aloof from earth,She rose, and but to die.

Then passing in the flight of yearsI saw Napoleon’s day;I saw the time when he did rise,And when he fell away.

I saw the hero, Washington,Who for his country fought.“I’ll free my country from her bonds,”That was his only thought.

I’ve known more things than history—And if I brought to light,These things ’twould make the stoutest heartTo start aback with fright.

I’ve witnessed murders never seenBy any human eye;I’ve seen the very best of menBy violence to die.

I’ve touched the knife that did the deed;I’ve kissed the brow in vain;No sign of life upon the face,So dark and black with pain.

I know of secrets never knownTo any one but me.I’ve seen when death had come at lastAnd set the captive free.Then listen as I pass alongFor aye and evermore,—I sing my only song to you,As I pass by your door.

I know of secrets never knownTo any one but me.I’ve seen when death had come at lastAnd set the captive free.

Then listen as I pass alongFor aye and evermore,—I sing my only song to you,As I pass by your door.

Often have I sung this story,When at midnight’s solemn reign;Like a ghost or howling demonWill I sing it oft again.I have lived through all the ages,And will live for many more,Blowing by the stormy ocean,On the sea and on the shore.On the shore or on the ocean—Still a jolly friend am I,Ne’er deserting, always constant,As my zephyrs gently fly.You will find me in the futureJust as I have always been—Free from all unjust transgressions—Free from any kind of sin.Often do I waft the odorsFrom the fields of clover sweet;When with breath of sweetest perfume,Do I all the woodlands greet.

Often have I sung this story,When at midnight’s solemn reign;Like a ghost or howling demonWill I sing it oft again.

I have lived through all the ages,And will live for many more,Blowing by the stormy ocean,On the sea and on the shore.

On the shore or on the ocean—Still a jolly friend am I,Ne’er deserting, always constant,As my zephyrs gently fly.

You will find me in the futureJust as I have always been—Free from all unjust transgressions—Free from any kind of sin.

Often do I waft the odorsFrom the fields of clover sweet;When with breath of sweetest perfume,Do I all the woodlands greet.

So good-bye; I must be speeding—Stirring up the Autumn leaves;I must visit now the farmerAs he binds his golden sheaves.I must visit now the smithyAnd his anvil ringing clear,—Even now his clanking ironsDo I faintly seem to hear.Now, adieu; I must be speedingWhere the wild wings swiftly fly,And the clouds go by me floating,So I bid you all “good-bye.”

So good-bye; I must be speeding—Stirring up the Autumn leaves;I must visit now the farmerAs he binds his golden sheaves.

I must visit now the smithyAnd his anvil ringing clear,—Even now his clanking ironsDo I faintly seem to hear.

Now, adieu; I must be speedingWhere the wild wings swiftly fly,And the clouds go by me floating,So I bid you all “good-bye.”

Oh, bright the day when England’s crownCame forth to crown the king;And in the minds of those aroundIt seemed no trifling thing.“Give back the crown!” was William’s word,“Or my good sword shall pay,With heavy thrust and bleeding cut,For this you’ve done to-day.”For Edward’s will that crown had sentTo grace stern William’s head,But Harold too had claimed the right,And for that right he bled.Aye! bled, and died, and lost the crownHe’d struggled so to save,And ah! that struggle led him toHis solitary grave.Yes! Godwin’s son was born to fight—To chase and not to fly,And he was born for Hasting’s fate,And that fate was to die.Ah! weep ye noble Saxon men—The last king of your lineShall sleep the cold, still sleep of death,That solemn sleep divine.To-day we merry are and joyDoth reign supreme around,And music seems in every noiseAnd ev’ry passing sound.To-morrow comes—that joy is gone—There lies the human clay,The spirit to its rest has goneWhere brighter shines the day.We know not when that bidding comes,That bears us from the earth;How few the years that stand betweenOur death-call and our birth.Thus was’t with Harold—in the night,Carousing in the tent,His joy was great, but ’morrows light,His knee in suppliance bent.The cup went round,—and small thought theyUpon the next day’s fight,That Harold soon in death should lieWithin the waning light.In William’s camp no cup went round,But heads were bent in prayer,And plans were laid; then silence keptIts peaceful reigning there.Oh! solemn was the prayer they said—And solemn was the scene;The archers with their bows stood byWith grave and silent mien.The morning came,—the proud arrayStood silent as the dead;The battle-axes in their handsDid rise far overhead.And in the midst, his armor bright,Stood Harold with his sword,And far and near around stood thoseWho waited at his word.The banner rose above them all—Its warrior stood on high,And precious stones did mark him thereThat scarcely wealth could buy.Duke William led his heroes forthAnd gave them to the fray,Ah, many of those heroes thereNe’er saw another day.The battle raged, and sunset came,And flashed on armor bright,And all around were mangled men—It was an awful sight.King Harold fell, the arrow piercedAnd bore him to the ground;Ah! then was heard a trampling noise—A wildly flying sound.The warrior and the banner fell,And dyed were they in bloodNo more the Saxon’s sang their shout:“God’s rood! aye, holy rood!”

Oh, bright the day when England’s crownCame forth to crown the king;And in the minds of those aroundIt seemed no trifling thing.

“Give back the crown!” was William’s word,“Or my good sword shall pay,With heavy thrust and bleeding cut,For this you’ve done to-day.”

For Edward’s will that crown had sentTo grace stern William’s head,But Harold too had claimed the right,And for that right he bled.

Aye! bled, and died, and lost the crownHe’d struggled so to save,And ah! that struggle led him toHis solitary grave.

Yes! Godwin’s son was born to fight—To chase and not to fly,And he was born for Hasting’s fate,And that fate was to die.

Ah! weep ye noble Saxon men—The last king of your lineShall sleep the cold, still sleep of death,That solemn sleep divine.

To-day we merry are and joyDoth reign supreme around,And music seems in every noiseAnd ev’ry passing sound.

To-morrow comes—that joy is gone—There lies the human clay,The spirit to its rest has goneWhere brighter shines the day.

We know not when that bidding comes,That bears us from the earth;How few the years that stand betweenOur death-call and our birth.

Thus was’t with Harold—in the night,Carousing in the tent,His joy was great, but ’morrows light,His knee in suppliance bent.

The cup went round,—and small thought theyUpon the next day’s fight,That Harold soon in death should lieWithin the waning light.

In William’s camp no cup went round,But heads were bent in prayer,And plans were laid; then silence keptIts peaceful reigning there.

Oh! solemn was the prayer they said—And solemn was the scene;The archers with their bows stood byWith grave and silent mien.

The morning came,—the proud arrayStood silent as the dead;The battle-axes in their handsDid rise far overhead.

And in the midst, his armor bright,Stood Harold with his sword,And far and near around stood thoseWho waited at his word.

The banner rose above them all—Its warrior stood on high,And precious stones did mark him thereThat scarcely wealth could buy.

Duke William led his heroes forthAnd gave them to the fray,Ah, many of those heroes thereNe’er saw another day.

The battle raged, and sunset came,And flashed on armor bright,And all around were mangled men—It was an awful sight.

King Harold fell, the arrow piercedAnd bore him to the ground;Ah! then was heard a trampling noise—A wildly flying sound.

The warrior and the banner fell,And dyed were they in bloodNo more the Saxon’s sang their shout:“God’s rood! aye, holy rood!”

Driftingdown the tide we go?Nay! we hoist the sail;Speeding fast and faster stillWith the blowing gale.Come sign the pledge and get on boardAnd leave behind your woe,For the sky is bright, and the gale is right,As like the wind we go.We sail between the shores of green,On the waters shining breast;Oh! sign the pledge and the ribbon donAnd forever you’ll find rest;Sweet rest upon our temperance shipAnd leave behind your woe;For the sky is bright and the gale is right,As like the wind we go.

Driftingdown the tide we go?Nay! we hoist the sail;Speeding fast and faster stillWith the blowing gale.

Come sign the pledge and get on boardAnd leave behind your woe,For the sky is bright, and the gale is right,As like the wind we go.

We sail between the shores of green,On the waters shining breast;Oh! sign the pledge and the ribbon donAnd forever you’ll find rest;

Sweet rest upon our temperance shipAnd leave behind your woe;For the sky is bright and the gale is right,As like the wind we go.

Thereis a Hall of MemoryWithin a happy land;The walls are high and marble clearWith wealth on every hand.The railings on the stairwayAre made of purest gold;The marble steps below themAre hard and stern and cold.I love the Hall of Memory—I love to linger there;Sweet visions coming evermore,—Its pictures bright and fair.Its walls are decked with picturesMade by a Masters hand;The marble figures far and nearAlive they seem to stand.But there is one fair pictureI love to gaze upon;It is the picture of a timeThat is forever gone.There is a Hall of Memory,Its walls are stern and high;The treasures it contains for meNo wealth can ever buy.

Thereis a Hall of MemoryWithin a happy land;The walls are high and marble clearWith wealth on every hand.

The railings on the stairwayAre made of purest gold;The marble steps below themAre hard and stern and cold.

I love the Hall of Memory—I love to linger there;Sweet visions coming evermore,—Its pictures bright and fair.

Its walls are decked with picturesMade by a Masters hand;The marble figures far and nearAlive they seem to stand.

But there is one fair pictureI love to gaze upon;It is the picture of a timeThat is forever gone.

There is a Hall of Memory,Its walls are stern and high;The treasures it contains for meNo wealth can ever buy.

Thecold moon-light is shining clear;The tall trees shadows throw,And all is spectral far and nearAs far as eye can go.A peaceful calm rests o’er the scene,The clouds no longer fly.The busy world is hushed and still—Its cares have passed us by.But when to-morrow’s light has come,Then comes the care and pain—The strife and warfare of our livesIs rushing on again.But still the white clouds fleck the sky,And Peace is reigning on;But soon the beauty of the nightWill fade and fast be gone.

Thecold moon-light is shining clear;The tall trees shadows throw,And all is spectral far and nearAs far as eye can go.

A peaceful calm rests o’er the scene,The clouds no longer fly.The busy world is hushed and still—Its cares have passed us by.

But when to-morrow’s light has come,Then comes the care and pain—The strife and warfare of our livesIs rushing on again.

But still the white clouds fleck the sky,And Peace is reigning on;But soon the beauty of the nightWill fade and fast be gone.

Farin the west is the sunset landWhere flows a mighty river;It flows right o’er the crimson cloudsAnd it follows the sun forever.The stars come chasing through the sky,—They chase and they twinkle and play,And they love the clouds of the sunset landThat soon will be far away.And the twilight jealous and sombre and sadComes down with his robes of gray,And he chases the light of the sunset landFar from the west away.

Farin the west is the sunset landWhere flows a mighty river;It flows right o’er the crimson cloudsAnd it follows the sun forever.

The stars come chasing through the sky,—They chase and they twinkle and play,And they love the clouds of the sunset landThat soon will be far away.

And the twilight jealous and sombre and sadComes down with his robes of gray,And he chases the light of the sunset landFar from the west away.

Whenthe weary day at lastWith its cares and strife is past;When I lay me down to sleep,While the angels vigils keep,Comes an echo far awayOf the doings of the day.Ere my weary eyelids close,Ere my being seeks repose.Comes a voice from far away:“What hast thou performed this day?”Yes the air is full of spirits,Many does each man inherit.But at night each one will say:“What hast thou performed this day?”Ere my weary eyelids close;Ere I calmly seek repose,Comes an echo far away:“What hast thou performed this day?”

Whenthe weary day at lastWith its cares and strife is past;

When I lay me down to sleep,While the angels vigils keep,

Comes an echo far awayOf the doings of the day.

Ere my weary eyelids close,Ere my being seeks repose.

Comes a voice from far away:“What hast thou performed this day?”

Yes the air is full of spirits,Many does each man inherit.

But at night each one will say:“What hast thou performed this day?”

Ere my weary eyelids close;Ere I calmly seek repose,

Comes an echo far away:“What hast thou performed this day?”

Theseagull screamed and flopped his wingsAnd hied him to his home;The breakers dashed upon the shore—Their crests were filled with foam.The briny mounts were thrown on highWhere reeled a ship; the galeHad shorn her of her masts, and tornIn shreds each flying sail.Alas! a wail comes o’er the deep—The ship is sinking fast—The mighty mountains of the seaAre aided by the blast.’Tis morn again, the rosy mornThe storm at sea is o’er;The elements are calm and still;The wreck is on the shore.Then take good care in future life,While near the billows roll;—Take care lest your own self be lostBy shipwreck of your soul.Then never let the breakers rollTo whelm the bark within,As in the world you sail aroundThe blackened sea of sin.

Theseagull screamed and flopped his wingsAnd hied him to his home;The breakers dashed upon the shore—Their crests were filled with foam.

The briny mounts were thrown on highWhere reeled a ship; the galeHad shorn her of her masts, and tornIn shreds each flying sail.

Alas! a wail comes o’er the deep—The ship is sinking fast—The mighty mountains of the seaAre aided by the blast.

’Tis morn again, the rosy mornThe storm at sea is o’er;The elements are calm and still;The wreck is on the shore.

Then take good care in future life,While near the billows roll;—Take care lest your own self be lostBy shipwreck of your soul.

Then never let the breakers rollTo whelm the bark within,As in the world you sail aroundThe blackened sea of sin.

Itwas in Africa’s torrid clime,Two sisters stood alone,And what they witnessed was a sightTo melt a heart of stone.The English came and carried offOne sister, far away;And now in London’s haunts she standsAnd sorrows all the day.They took her from her native spot,Where she was wont to stand,And placed her in a foreign clime,Within a foreign land.Ah! how she feels, with other eyesThan on bright Egypt’s shore;—She stands where she had never been—To stand for evermore.The others came with iron bonds,Her sister, too, they brought,To grace America’s bright parksWhere pity ne’er was thought.Ah! yes, in New York city’s hauntsThat sister is to be;Between the two the waters lie—A dark and stormy sea.Ah! now when I to Egypt’s plainsDo wend my careful way,I’ll seek the spot where once they stood,And there respect I’ll pay.But, oh, the beauties will be gone—The sisters are not there,Insulted by a grosser race,They stand where naught is fair.

Itwas in Africa’s torrid clime,Two sisters stood alone,And what they witnessed was a sightTo melt a heart of stone.

The English came and carried offOne sister, far away;And now in London’s haunts she standsAnd sorrows all the day.

They took her from her native spot,Where she was wont to stand,And placed her in a foreign clime,Within a foreign land.

Ah! how she feels, with other eyesThan on bright Egypt’s shore;—She stands where she had never been—To stand for evermore.

The others came with iron bonds,Her sister, too, they brought,To grace America’s bright parksWhere pity ne’er was thought.

Ah! yes, in New York city’s hauntsThat sister is to be;Between the two the waters lie—A dark and stormy sea.

Ah! now when I to Egypt’s plainsDo wend my careful way,I’ll seek the spot where once they stood,And there respect I’ll pay.

But, oh, the beauties will be gone—The sisters are not there,Insulted by a grosser race,They stand where naught is fair.

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