THE WOOINGA youth went faring up and down,Alack and well-a-day.He fared him to the market town,Alack and well-a-day.And there he met a maiden fair,With hazel eyes and auburn hair;His heart went from him then and there,Alack and well-a-day.She posies sold right merrily,Alack and well-a-day;But not a flower was fair as she,Alack and well-a-day.He bought a rose and sighed a sigh,"Ah, dearest maiden, would that IMight dare the seller too to buy!"Alack and well-a-day.She tossed her head, the coy coquette,Alack and well-a-day."I'm not, sir, in the market yet,"Alack and well-a-day."Your love must cool upon a shelf;Tho' much I sell for gold and pelf,I 'm yet too young to sell myself,"Alack and well-a-day.The youth was filled with sorrow sore,Alack and well-a-day.And looked he at the maid once more,Alack and well-a-day.Then loud he cried, "Fair maiden, ifToo young to sell, now as I live,You're not too young yourself to give,"Alack and well-a-day.The little maid cast down her eyes,Alack and well-a-day.And many a flush began to rise,Alack and well-a-day."Why, since you are so bold," she said,"I doubt not you are highly bred,So take me!" and the twain were wed,Alack and well-a-day.
A youth went faring up and down,Alack and well-a-day.He fared him to the market town,Alack and well-a-day.And there he met a maiden fair,With hazel eyes and auburn hair;His heart went from him then and there,Alack and well-a-day.
A youth went faring up and down,
Alack and well-a-day.
He fared him to the market town,
Alack and well-a-day.
And there he met a maiden fair,
With hazel eyes and auburn hair;
His heart went from him then and there,
Alack and well-a-day.
She posies sold right merrily,Alack and well-a-day;But not a flower was fair as she,Alack and well-a-day.He bought a rose and sighed a sigh,"Ah, dearest maiden, would that IMight dare the seller too to buy!"Alack and well-a-day.
She posies sold right merrily,
Alack and well-a-day;
But not a flower was fair as she,
Alack and well-a-day.
He bought a rose and sighed a sigh,
"Ah, dearest maiden, would that I
Might dare the seller too to buy!"
Alack and well-a-day.
She tossed her head, the coy coquette,Alack and well-a-day."I'm not, sir, in the market yet,"Alack and well-a-day."Your love must cool upon a shelf;Tho' much I sell for gold and pelf,I 'm yet too young to sell myself,"Alack and well-a-day.
She tossed her head, the coy coquette,
Alack and well-a-day.
"I'm not, sir, in the market yet,"
Alack and well-a-day.
"Your love must cool upon a shelf;
Tho' much I sell for gold and pelf,
I 'm yet too young to sell myself,"
Alack and well-a-day.
The youth was filled with sorrow sore,Alack and well-a-day.And looked he at the maid once more,Alack and well-a-day.Then loud he cried, "Fair maiden, ifToo young to sell, now as I live,You're not too young yourself to give,"Alack and well-a-day.
The youth was filled with sorrow sore,
Alack and well-a-day.
And looked he at the maid once more,
Alack and well-a-day.
Then loud he cried, "Fair maiden, if
Too young to sell, now as I live,
You're not too young yourself to give,"
Alack and well-a-day.
The little maid cast down her eyes,Alack and well-a-day.And many a flush began to rise,Alack and well-a-day."Why, since you are so bold," she said,"I doubt not you are highly bred,So take me!" and the twain were wed,Alack and well-a-day.
The little maid cast down her eyes,
Alack and well-a-day.
And many a flush began to rise,
Alack and well-a-day.
"Why, since you are so bold," she said,
"I doubt not you are highly bred,
So take me!" and the twain were wed,
Alack and well-a-day.
MERRY AUTUMNIt's all a farce,—these tales they tellAbout the breezes sighing,And moans astir o'er field and dell,Because the year is dying.Such principles are most absurd,—I care not who first taught 'em;There's nothing known to beast or birdTo make a solemn autumn.In solemn times, when grief holds swayWith countenance distressing,You'll note the more of black and grayWill then be used in dressing.Now purple tints are all around;The sky is blue and mellow;And e'en the grasses turn the groundFrom modest green to yellow.The seed burrs all with laughter crackOn featherweed and jimson;And leaves that should be dressed in blackAre all decked out in crimson.A butterfly goes winging by;A singing bird comes after;And Nature, all from earth to sky,Is bubbling o'er with laughter.The ripples wimple on the rills,Like sparkling little lasses;The sunlight runs along the hills,And laughs among the grasses.The earth is just so full of funIt really can't contain it;And streams of mirth so freely runThe heavens seem to rain it.Don't talk to me of solemn daysIn autumn's time of splendor,Because the sun shows fewer rays,And these grow slant and slender.Why, it's the climax of the year,—The highest time of living!—Till naturally its bursting cheerJust melts into thanksgiving.
It's all a farce,—these tales they tellAbout the breezes sighing,And moans astir o'er field and dell,Because the year is dying.
It's all a farce,—these tales they tell
About the breezes sighing,
And moans astir o'er field and dell,
Because the year is dying.
Such principles are most absurd,—I care not who first taught 'em;There's nothing known to beast or birdTo make a solemn autumn.
Such principles are most absurd,—
I care not who first taught 'em;
There's nothing known to beast or bird
To make a solemn autumn.
In solemn times, when grief holds swayWith countenance distressing,You'll note the more of black and grayWill then be used in dressing.
In solemn times, when grief holds sway
With countenance distressing,
You'll note the more of black and gray
Will then be used in dressing.
Now purple tints are all around;The sky is blue and mellow;And e'en the grasses turn the groundFrom modest green to yellow.
Now purple tints are all around;
The sky is blue and mellow;
And e'en the grasses turn the ground
From modest green to yellow.
The seed burrs all with laughter crackOn featherweed and jimson;And leaves that should be dressed in blackAre all decked out in crimson.
The seed burrs all with laughter crack
On featherweed and jimson;
And leaves that should be dressed in black
Are all decked out in crimson.
A butterfly goes winging by;A singing bird comes after;And Nature, all from earth to sky,Is bubbling o'er with laughter.
A butterfly goes winging by;
A singing bird comes after;
And Nature, all from earth to sky,
Is bubbling o'er with laughter.
The ripples wimple on the rills,Like sparkling little lasses;The sunlight runs along the hills,And laughs among the grasses.
The ripples wimple on the rills,
Like sparkling little lasses;
The sunlight runs along the hills,
And laughs among the grasses.
The earth is just so full of funIt really can't contain it;And streams of mirth so freely runThe heavens seem to rain it.
The earth is just so full of fun
It really can't contain it;
And streams of mirth so freely run
The heavens seem to rain it.
Don't talk to me of solemn daysIn autumn's time of splendor,Because the sun shows fewer rays,And these grow slant and slender.
Don't talk to me of solemn days
In autumn's time of splendor,
Because the sun shows fewer rays,
And these grow slant and slender.
Why, it's the climax of the year,—The highest time of living!—Till naturally its bursting cheerJust melts into thanksgiving.
Why, it's the climax of the year,—
The highest time of living!—
Till naturally its bursting cheer
Just melts into thanksgiving.
WHEN DE CO'N PONE'S HOTDey is times in life when NatureSeems to slip a cog an' go,Jes' a-rattlin' down creation,Lak an ocean's overflow;When de worl' jes' stahts a-spinnin'Lak a picaninny's top,An' yo' cup o' joy is brimmin''Twell it seems about to slop,An' you feel jes' lak a racah,Dat is trainin' fu' to trot—When yo' mammy says de blessin'An' de co'n pone 's hot.When you set down at de table,Kin' o' weary lak an' sad,An' you 'se jes' a little tiahedAn' purhaps a little mad;How yo' gloom tu'ns into gladness,How yo' joy drives out de doubtWhen de oven do' is opened,An' de smell comes po'in' out;Why, de 'lectric light o' HeavenSeems to settle on de spot,When yo' mammy says de blessin'An' de co'n pone 's hot.When de cabbage pot is steamin'An' de bacon good an' fat,When de chittlins is a-sputter'n'So 's to show you whah dey's at;Tek away yo' sody biscuit,Tek away yo' cake an' pie,Fu' de glory time is comin',An' it's 'proachin' mighty nigh,An' you want to jump an' hollah,Dough you know you 'd bettah not,When yo' mammy says de blessin'An' de co'n pone 's hot.I have hyeahd o' lots o' sermons,An' I 've hyeahd o' lots o' prayers,An' I 've listened to some singin'Dat has tuck me up de stairsOf de Glory-Lan' an' set meJes' below de Mastah's th'one,An' have lef my hea't a-singin'In a happy aftah tone;But dem wu'ds so sweetly murmuredSeem to tech de softes' spot,When my mammy says de blessin',An' de co'n pone's hot.
Dey is times in life when NatureSeems to slip a cog an' go,Jes' a-rattlin' down creation,Lak an ocean's overflow;When de worl' jes' stahts a-spinnin'Lak a picaninny's top,An' yo' cup o' joy is brimmin''Twell it seems about to slop,An' you feel jes' lak a racah,Dat is trainin' fu' to trot—When yo' mammy says de blessin'An' de co'n pone 's hot.
Dey is times in life when Nature
Seems to slip a cog an' go,
Jes' a-rattlin' down creation,
Lak an ocean's overflow;
When de worl' jes' stahts a-spinnin'
Lak a picaninny's top,
An' yo' cup o' joy is brimmin'
'Twell it seems about to slop,
An' you feel jes' lak a racah,
Dat is trainin' fu' to trot—
When yo' mammy says de blessin'
An' de co'n pone 's hot.
When you set down at de table,Kin' o' weary lak an' sad,An' you 'se jes' a little tiahedAn' purhaps a little mad;How yo' gloom tu'ns into gladness,How yo' joy drives out de doubtWhen de oven do' is opened,An' de smell comes po'in' out;Why, de 'lectric light o' HeavenSeems to settle on de spot,When yo' mammy says de blessin'An' de co'n pone 's hot.
When you set down at de table,
Kin' o' weary lak an' sad,
An' you 'se jes' a little tiahed
An' purhaps a little mad;
How yo' gloom tu'ns into gladness,
How yo' joy drives out de doubt
When de oven do' is opened,
An' de smell comes po'in' out;
Why, de 'lectric light o' Heaven
Seems to settle on de spot,
When yo' mammy says de blessin'
An' de co'n pone 's hot.
When de cabbage pot is steamin'An' de bacon good an' fat,When de chittlins is a-sputter'n'So 's to show you whah dey's at;Tek away yo' sody biscuit,Tek away yo' cake an' pie,Fu' de glory time is comin',An' it's 'proachin' mighty nigh,An' you want to jump an' hollah,Dough you know you 'd bettah not,When yo' mammy says de blessin'An' de co'n pone 's hot.
When de cabbage pot is steamin'
An' de bacon good an' fat,
When de chittlins is a-sputter'n'
So 's to show you whah dey's at;
Tek away yo' sody biscuit,
Tek away yo' cake an' pie,
Fu' de glory time is comin',
An' it's 'proachin' mighty nigh,
An' you want to jump an' hollah,
Dough you know you 'd bettah not,
When yo' mammy says de blessin'
An' de co'n pone 's hot.
I have hyeahd o' lots o' sermons,An' I 've hyeahd o' lots o' prayers,An' I 've listened to some singin'Dat has tuck me up de stairsOf de Glory-Lan' an' set meJes' below de Mastah's th'one,An' have lef my hea't a-singin'In a happy aftah tone;But dem wu'ds so sweetly murmuredSeem to tech de softes' spot,When my mammy says de blessin',An' de co'n pone's hot.
I have hyeahd o' lots o' sermons,
An' I 've hyeahd o' lots o' prayers,
An' I 've listened to some singin'
Dat has tuck me up de stairs
Of de Glory-Lan' an' set me
Jes' below de Mastah's th'one,
An' have lef my hea't a-singin'
In a happy aftah tone;
But dem wu'ds so sweetly murmured
Seem to tech de softes' spot,
When my mammy says de blessin',
An' de co'n pone's hot.
BALLADI know my love is true,And oh the day is fair.The sky is clear and blue,The flowers are rich of hue,The air I breathe is rare,I have no grief or care;For my own love is true,And oh 'the day is fair.My love is false I find,And oh the day is dark.Blows sadly down the wind,While sorrow holds my mind;I do not hear the lark,For quenched is life's dear spark,—My love is false I find,And oh the day is dark!For love doth make the dayOr dark or doubly bright;Her beams along the wayDispel the gloom and gray.She lives and all is bright,She dies and life is night.For love doth make the day,Or dark or doubly bright.
I know my love is true,And oh the day is fair.The sky is clear and blue,The flowers are rich of hue,The air I breathe is rare,I have no grief or care;For my own love is true,And oh 'the day is fair.
I know my love is true,
And oh the day is fair.
The sky is clear and blue,
The flowers are rich of hue,
The air I breathe is rare,
I have no grief or care;
For my own love is true,
And oh 'the day is fair.
My love is false I find,And oh the day is dark.Blows sadly down the wind,While sorrow holds my mind;I do not hear the lark,For quenched is life's dear spark,—My love is false I find,And oh the day is dark!
My love is false I find,
And oh the day is dark.
Blows sadly down the wind,
While sorrow holds my mind;
I do not hear the lark,
For quenched is life's dear spark,—
My love is false I find,
And oh the day is dark!
For love doth make the dayOr dark or doubly bright;Her beams along the wayDispel the gloom and gray.She lives and all is bright,She dies and life is night.For love doth make the day,Or dark or doubly bright.
For love doth make the day
Or dark or doubly bright;
Her beams along the way
Dispel the gloom and gray.
She lives and all is bright,
She dies and life is night.
For love doth make the day,
Or dark or doubly bright.
THE CHANGE HAS COMEThe change has come, and Helen sleeps—Not sleeps; but wakes to greater deepsOf wisdom, glory, truth, and light,Than ever blessed her seeking sight,In this low, long, lethargic night,Worn out with strifeWhich men call life.The change has come, and who would say"I would it were not come to-day"?What were the respite till to-morrow?Postponement of a certain sorrow,From which each passing day would borrow!Let grief be dumb,The change has come.
The change has come, and Helen sleeps—Not sleeps; but wakes to greater deepsOf wisdom, glory, truth, and light,Than ever blessed her seeking sight,In this low, long, lethargic night,Worn out with strifeWhich men call life.
The change has come, and Helen sleeps—
Not sleeps; but wakes to greater deeps
Of wisdom, glory, truth, and light,
Than ever blessed her seeking sight,
In this low, long, lethargic night,
Worn out with strife
Which men call life.
The change has come, and who would say"I would it were not come to-day"?What were the respite till to-morrow?Postponement of a certain sorrow,From which each passing day would borrow!Let grief be dumb,The change has come.
The change has come, and who would say
"I would it were not come to-day"?
What were the respite till to-morrow?
Postponement of a certain sorrow,
From which each passing day would borrow!
Let grief be dumb,
The change has come.
COMPARISONThe sky of brightest gray seems darkTo one whose sky was ever white.To one who never knew a spark,Thro' all his life, of love or light,The grayest cloud seems over-bright.The robin sounds a beggar's noteWhere one the nightingale has heard,But he for whom no silver throatIts liquid music ever stirred,Deems robin still the sweetest bird.
The sky of brightest gray seems darkTo one whose sky was ever white.To one who never knew a spark,Thro' all his life, of love or light,The grayest cloud seems over-bright.
The sky of brightest gray seems dark
To one whose sky was ever white.
To one who never knew a spark,
Thro' all his life, of love or light,
The grayest cloud seems over-bright.
The robin sounds a beggar's noteWhere one the nightingale has heard,But he for whom no silver throatIts liquid music ever stirred,Deems robin still the sweetest bird.
The robin sounds a beggar's note
Where one the nightingale has heard,
But he for whom no silver throat
Its liquid music ever stirred,
Deems robin still the sweetest bird.
A CORN-SONGOn the wide veranda white,In the purple failing light,Sits the master while the sun is lowly burning;And his dreamy thoughts are drownedIn the softly flowing soundOf the corn-songs of the field-hands slow returning.Oh, we hoe de co'nSince de ehly mo'n;Now de sinkin' sunSays de day is done.O'er the fields with heavy tread,Light of heart and high of head,Though the halting steps be labored, slow, and weary;Still the spirits brave and strongFind a comforter in song,And their corn-song rises ever loud and cheery.Oh, we hoe de co'nSince de ehly mo'n;Now de sinkin' sunSays de day is done.To the master in his seat,Comes the burden, full and sweet,Of the mellow minor music growing clearer,As the toilers raise the hymn,Thro' the silence dusk and dim,To the cabin's restful shelter drawing nearer.Oh, we hoe de co'nSince de ehly mo'n;Now de sinkin' sunSays de day is done.And a tear is in the eyeOf the master sitting by,As he listens to the echoes low-replyingTo the music's fading callsAs it faints away and fallsInto silence, deep within the cabin dying.Oh, we hoe de co'nSince de ehly mo'n;Now de sinkin' sunSays de day is done.
On the wide veranda white,In the purple failing light,Sits the master while the sun is lowly burning;And his dreamy thoughts are drownedIn the softly flowing soundOf the corn-songs of the field-hands slow returning.
On the wide veranda white,
In the purple failing light,
Sits the master while the sun is lowly burning;
And his dreamy thoughts are drowned
In the softly flowing sound
Of the corn-songs of the field-hands slow returning.
Oh, we hoe de co'nSince de ehly mo'n;Now de sinkin' sunSays de day is done.
Oh, we hoe de co'n
Since de ehly mo'n;
Now de sinkin' sun
Says de day is done.
O'er the fields with heavy tread,Light of heart and high of head,Though the halting steps be labored, slow, and weary;Still the spirits brave and strongFind a comforter in song,And their corn-song rises ever loud and cheery.
O'er the fields with heavy tread,
Light of heart and high of head,
Though the halting steps be labored, slow, and weary;
Still the spirits brave and strong
Find a comforter in song,
And their corn-song rises ever loud and cheery.
Oh, we hoe de co'nSince de ehly mo'n;Now de sinkin' sunSays de day is done.
Oh, we hoe de co'n
Since de ehly mo'n;
Now de sinkin' sun
Says de day is done.
To the master in his seat,Comes the burden, full and sweet,Of the mellow minor music growing clearer,As the toilers raise the hymn,Thro' the silence dusk and dim,To the cabin's restful shelter drawing nearer.
To the master in his seat,
Comes the burden, full and sweet,
Of the mellow minor music growing clearer,
As the toilers raise the hymn,
Thro' the silence dusk and dim,
To the cabin's restful shelter drawing nearer.
Oh, we hoe de co'nSince de ehly mo'n;Now de sinkin' sunSays de day is done.
Oh, we hoe de co'n
Since de ehly mo'n;
Now de sinkin' sun
Says de day is done.
And a tear is in the eyeOf the master sitting by,As he listens to the echoes low-replyingTo the music's fading callsAs it faints away and fallsInto silence, deep within the cabin dying.
And a tear is in the eye
Of the master sitting by,
As he listens to the echoes low-replying
To the music's fading calls
As it faints away and falls
Into silence, deep within the cabin dying.
Oh, we hoe de co'nSince de ehly mo'n;Now de sinkin' sunSays de day is done.
Oh, we hoe de co'n
Since de ehly mo'n;
Now de sinkin' sun
Says de day is done.
DISCOVEREDSeen you down at chu'ch las' night,Nevah min', Miss Lucy.What I mean? oh, dat 's all right,Nevah min', Miss Lucy.You was sma't ez sma't could be,But you could n't hide f'om me.Ain't I got two eyes to see!Nevah min', Miss Lucy.Guess you thought you's awful keen;Nevah min', Miss Lucy.Evahthing you done, I seen;Nevah min', Miss Lucy.Seen him tek yo' ahm jes' so,When he got outside de do'—Oh, I know dat man 's yo' beau!Nevah min', Miss Lucy.Say now, honey, wha 'd he say?—Nevah min', Miss Lucy!Keep yo' secrets—dat's yo' way—Nevah min', Miss Lucy.Won't tell me an' I'm yo' pal—I'm gwine tell his othah gal,—Know huh, too, huh name is Sal;Nevah min', Miss Lucy!
Seen you down at chu'ch las' night,Nevah min', Miss Lucy.What I mean? oh, dat 's all right,Nevah min', Miss Lucy.You was sma't ez sma't could be,But you could n't hide f'om me.Ain't I got two eyes to see!Nevah min', Miss Lucy.
Seen you down at chu'ch las' night,
Nevah min', Miss Lucy.
What I mean? oh, dat 's all right,
Nevah min', Miss Lucy.
You was sma't ez sma't could be,
But you could n't hide f'om me.
Ain't I got two eyes to see!
Nevah min', Miss Lucy.
Guess you thought you's awful keen;Nevah min', Miss Lucy.Evahthing you done, I seen;Nevah min', Miss Lucy.Seen him tek yo' ahm jes' so,When he got outside de do'—Oh, I know dat man 's yo' beau!Nevah min', Miss Lucy.
Guess you thought you's awful keen;
Nevah min', Miss Lucy.
Evahthing you done, I seen;
Nevah min', Miss Lucy.
Seen him tek yo' ahm jes' so,
When he got outside de do'—
Oh, I know dat man 's yo' beau!
Nevah min', Miss Lucy.
Say now, honey, wha 'd he say?—Nevah min', Miss Lucy!Keep yo' secrets—dat's yo' way—Nevah min', Miss Lucy.Won't tell me an' I'm yo' pal—I'm gwine tell his othah gal,—Know huh, too, huh name is Sal;Nevah min', Miss Lucy!
Say now, honey, wha 'd he say?—
Nevah min', Miss Lucy!
Keep yo' secrets—dat's yo' way—
Nevah min', Miss Lucy.
Won't tell me an' I'm yo' pal—
I'm gwine tell his othah gal,—
Know huh, too, huh name is Sal;
Nevah min', Miss Lucy!
DISAPPOINTEDAn old man planted and dug and tended,Toiling in joy from dew to dew;The sun was kind, and the rain befriended;Fine grew his orchard and fair to view.Then he said: "I will quiet my thrifty fears,For here is fruit for my failing years."But even then the storm-clouds gathered,Swallowing up the azure sky;The sweeping winds into white foam latheredThe placid breast of the bay, hard by;Then the spirits that raged in the darkened airSwept o'er his orchard and left it bare.The old man stood in the rain, uncaring,Viewing the place the storm had swept;And then with a cry from his soul despairing,He bowed him down to the earth and wept.But a voice cried aloud from the driving rain;"Arise, old man, and plant again!"
An old man planted and dug and tended,Toiling in joy from dew to dew;The sun was kind, and the rain befriended;Fine grew his orchard and fair to view.Then he said: "I will quiet my thrifty fears,For here is fruit for my failing years."
An old man planted and dug and tended,
Toiling in joy from dew to dew;
The sun was kind, and the rain befriended;
Fine grew his orchard and fair to view.
Then he said: "I will quiet my thrifty fears,
For here is fruit for my failing years."
But even then the storm-clouds gathered,Swallowing up the azure sky;The sweeping winds into white foam latheredThe placid breast of the bay, hard by;Then the spirits that raged in the darkened airSwept o'er his orchard and left it bare.
But even then the storm-clouds gathered,
Swallowing up the azure sky;
The sweeping winds into white foam lathered
The placid breast of the bay, hard by;
Then the spirits that raged in the darkened air
Swept o'er his orchard and left it bare.
The old man stood in the rain, uncaring,Viewing the place the storm had swept;And then with a cry from his soul despairing,He bowed him down to the earth and wept.But a voice cried aloud from the driving rain;"Arise, old man, and plant again!"
The old man stood in the rain, uncaring,
Viewing the place the storm had swept;
And then with a cry from his soul despairing,
He bowed him down to the earth and wept.
But a voice cried aloud from the driving rain;
"Arise, old man, and plant again!"
INVITATION TO LOVECome when the nights are bright with starsOr when the moon is mellow;Come when the sun his golden barsDrops on the hay-field yellow.Come in the twilight soft and gray,Come in the night or come in the day,Come, O love, whene'er you may,And you are welcome, welcome.You are sweet, O Love, dear Love,You are soft as the nesting dove.Come to my heart and bring it restAs the bird flies home to its welcome nest.Come when my heart is full of griefOr when my heart is merry;Come with the falling of the leafOr with the redd'ning cherry.Come when the year's first blossom blows,Come when the summer gleams and glows,Come with the winter's drifting snows,And you are welcome, welcome.
Come when the nights are bright with starsOr when the moon is mellow;Come when the sun his golden barsDrops on the hay-field yellow.Come in the twilight soft and gray,Come in the night or come in the day,Come, O love, whene'er you may,And you are welcome, welcome.
Come when the nights are bright with stars
Or when the moon is mellow;
Come when the sun his golden bars
Drops on the hay-field yellow.
Come in the twilight soft and gray,
Come in the night or come in the day,
Come, O love, whene'er you may,
And you are welcome, welcome.
You are sweet, O Love, dear Love,You are soft as the nesting dove.Come to my heart and bring it restAs the bird flies home to its welcome nest.
You are sweet, O Love, dear Love,
You are soft as the nesting dove.
Come to my heart and bring it rest
As the bird flies home to its welcome nest.
Come when my heart is full of griefOr when my heart is merry;Come with the falling of the leafOr with the redd'ning cherry.Come when the year's first blossom blows,Come when the summer gleams and glows,Come with the winter's drifting snows,And you are welcome, welcome.
Come when my heart is full of grief
Or when my heart is merry;
Come with the falling of the leaf
Or with the redd'ning cherry.
Come when the year's first blossom blows,
Come when the summer gleams and glows,
Come with the winter's drifting snows,
And you are welcome, welcome.
HE HAD HIS DREAMHe had his dream, and all through life,Worked up to it through toil and strife.Afloat fore'er before his eyes,It colored for him all his skies:The storm-cloud darkAbove his bark,The calm and listless vault of blueTook on its hopeful hue,It tinctured every passing beam—He had his dream.He labored hard and failed at last,His sails too weak to bear the blast,The raging tempests tore awayAnd sent his beating bark astray.But what cared heFor wind or sea!He said, "The tempest will be short,My bark will come to port."He saw through every cloud a gleam—He had his dream.
He had his dream, and all through life,Worked up to it through toil and strife.Afloat fore'er before his eyes,It colored for him all his skies:The storm-cloud darkAbove his bark,The calm and listless vault of blueTook on its hopeful hue,It tinctured every passing beam—He had his dream.
He had his dream, and all through life,
Worked up to it through toil and strife.
Afloat fore'er before his eyes,
It colored for him all his skies:
The storm-cloud dark
Above his bark,
The calm and listless vault of blue
Took on its hopeful hue,
It tinctured every passing beam—
He had his dream.
He labored hard and failed at last,His sails too weak to bear the blast,The raging tempests tore awayAnd sent his beating bark astray.But what cared heFor wind or sea!He said, "The tempest will be short,My bark will come to port."He saw through every cloud a gleam—He had his dream.
He labored hard and failed at last,
His sails too weak to bear the blast,
The raging tempests tore away
And sent his beating bark astray.
But what cared he
For wind or sea!
He said, "The tempest will be short,
My bark will come to port."
He saw through every cloud a gleam—
He had his dream.
GOOD-NIGHTThe lark is silent in his nest,The breeze is sighing in its flight,Sleep, Love, and peaceful be thy rest.Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.Sweet dreams attend thee in thy sleep,To soothe thy rest till morning's light,And angels round thee vigil keep.Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.Sleep well, my love, on night's dark breast,And ease thy soul with slumber bright;Be joy but thine and I am blest.Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.
The lark is silent in his nest,The breeze is sighing in its flight,Sleep, Love, and peaceful be thy rest.Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.
The lark is silent in his nest,
The breeze is sighing in its flight,
Sleep, Love, and peaceful be thy rest.
Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.
Sweet dreams attend thee in thy sleep,To soothe thy rest till morning's light,And angels round thee vigil keep.Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.
Sweet dreams attend thee in thy sleep,
To soothe thy rest till morning's light,
And angels round thee vigil keep.
Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.
Sleep well, my love, on night's dark breast,And ease thy soul with slumber bright;Be joy but thine and I am blest.Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.
Sleep well, my love, on night's dark breast,
And ease thy soul with slumber bright;
Be joy but thine and I am blest.
Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.
A COQUETTE CONQUEREDYes, my ha't 's ez ha'd ez stone—Go 'way, Sam, an' lemme 'lone.No; I ain't gwine change my min'—Ain't gwine ma'y you—nuffin' de kin'.Phiny loves you true an' deah?Go ma'y Phiny; whut I keer?Oh, you need n't mou'n an' cry—I don't keer how soon you die.Got a present! Whut you got?Somef'n fu' de pan er pot!Huh! yo' sass do sholy beat—Think I don't git 'nough to eat?Whut's dat un'neaf yo' coat?Looks des lak a little shoat.'T ain't no possum! Bless de Lamb!Yes, it is, you rascal, Sam!Gin it to me; whut you say?Ain't you sma't now! Oh, go 'way!Possum do look mighty nice,But you ax too big a price.Tell me, is you talkin' true,Dat 's de gal's whut ma'ies you?Come back, Sam; now whah 's you gwine?Co'se you knows dat possum's mine!
Yes, my ha't 's ez ha'd ez stone—Go 'way, Sam, an' lemme 'lone.No; I ain't gwine change my min'—Ain't gwine ma'y you—nuffin' de kin'.
Yes, my ha't 's ez ha'd ez stone—
Go 'way, Sam, an' lemme 'lone.
No; I ain't gwine change my min'—
Ain't gwine ma'y you—nuffin' de kin'.
Phiny loves you true an' deah?Go ma'y Phiny; whut I keer?Oh, you need n't mou'n an' cry—I don't keer how soon you die.
Phiny loves you true an' deah?
Go ma'y Phiny; whut I keer?
Oh, you need n't mou'n an' cry—
I don't keer how soon you die.
Got a present! Whut you got?Somef'n fu' de pan er pot!Huh! yo' sass do sholy beat—Think I don't git 'nough to eat?
Got a present! Whut you got?
Somef'n fu' de pan er pot!
Huh! yo' sass do sholy beat—
Think I don't git 'nough to eat?
Whut's dat un'neaf yo' coat?Looks des lak a little shoat.'T ain't no possum! Bless de Lamb!Yes, it is, you rascal, Sam!
Whut's dat un'neaf yo' coat?
Looks des lak a little shoat.
'T ain't no possum! Bless de Lamb!
Yes, it is, you rascal, Sam!
Gin it to me; whut you say?Ain't you sma't now! Oh, go 'way!Possum do look mighty nice,But you ax too big a price.
Gin it to me; whut you say?
Ain't you sma't now! Oh, go 'way!
Possum do look mighty nice,
But you ax too big a price.
Tell me, is you talkin' true,Dat 's de gal's whut ma'ies you?Come back, Sam; now whah 's you gwine?Co'se you knows dat possum's mine!
Tell me, is you talkin' true,
Dat 's de gal's whut ma'ies you?
Come back, Sam; now whah 's you gwine?
Co'se you knows dat possum's mine!
NORA: A SERENADEAh, Nora, my Nora, the light fades away,While Night like a spirit steals up o'er the hills;The thrush from his tree where he chanted all day,No longer his music in ecstasy trills.Then, Nora, be near me; thy presence doth cheer me,Thine eye hath a gleam that is truer than gold.I cannot but love thee; so do not reprove me,If the strength of my passion should make me too bold.Nora, pride of my heart—Rosy cheeks, cherry lips, sparkling with glee,—Wake from thy slumbers, wherever thou art;Wake from thy slumbers to me.Ah, Nora, my Nora, there 's love in the air,—It stirs in the numbers that thrill in my brain;Oh, sweet, sweet is love with its mingling of care,Though joy travels only a step before pain.Be roused from thy slumbers and list to my numbers;My heart is poured out in this song unto thee.Oh, be thou not cruel, thou treasure, thou jewel;Turn thine ear to my pleading and hearken to me.
Ah, Nora, my Nora, the light fades away,While Night like a spirit steals up o'er the hills;The thrush from his tree where he chanted all day,No longer his music in ecstasy trills.Then, Nora, be near me; thy presence doth cheer me,Thine eye hath a gleam that is truer than gold.
Ah, Nora, my Nora, the light fades away,
While Night like a spirit steals up o'er the hills;
The thrush from his tree where he chanted all day,
No longer his music in ecstasy trills.
Then, Nora, be near me; thy presence doth cheer me,
Thine eye hath a gleam that is truer than gold.
I cannot but love thee; so do not reprove me,If the strength of my passion should make me too bold.Nora, pride of my heart—Rosy cheeks, cherry lips, sparkling with glee,—Wake from thy slumbers, wherever thou art;Wake from thy slumbers to me.
I cannot but love thee; so do not reprove me,
If the strength of my passion should make me too bold.
Nora, pride of my heart—
Rosy cheeks, cherry lips, sparkling with glee,—
Wake from thy slumbers, wherever thou art;
Wake from thy slumbers to me.
Ah, Nora, my Nora, there 's love in the air,—It stirs in the numbers that thrill in my brain;Oh, sweet, sweet is love with its mingling of care,Though joy travels only a step before pain.Be roused from thy slumbers and list to my numbers;My heart is poured out in this song unto thee.Oh, be thou not cruel, thou treasure, thou jewel;Turn thine ear to my pleading and hearken to me.
Ah, Nora, my Nora, there 's love in the air,—
It stirs in the numbers that thrill in my brain;
Oh, sweet, sweet is love with its mingling of care,
Though joy travels only a step before pain.
Be roused from thy slumbers and list to my numbers;
My heart is poured out in this song unto thee.
Oh, be thou not cruel, thou treasure, thou jewel;
Turn thine ear to my pleading and hearken to me.
OCTOBEROctober is the treasurer of the year,And all the months pay bounty to her store;The fields and orchards still their tribute bear,And fill her brimming coffers more and more.But she, with youthful lavishness,Spends all her wealth in gaudy dress,And decks herself in garments boldOf scarlet, purple, red, and gold.She heedeth not how swift the hours fly,But smiles and sings her happy life along;She only sees above a shining sky;She only hears the breezes' voice in song.Her garments trail the woodlands through,And gather pearls of early dewThat sparkle, till the roguish SunCreeps up and steals them every one.But what cares she that jewels should be lost,When all of Nature's bounteous wealth is hers?Though princely fortunes may have been their cost,Not one regret her calm demeanor stirs.Whole-hearted, happy, careless, free,She lives her life out joyously,Nor cares when Frost stalks o'er her wayAnd turns her auburn locks to gray.
October is the treasurer of the year,And all the months pay bounty to her store;The fields and orchards still their tribute bear,And fill her brimming coffers more and more.But she, with youthful lavishness,Spends all her wealth in gaudy dress,And decks herself in garments boldOf scarlet, purple, red, and gold.
October is the treasurer of the year,
And all the months pay bounty to her store;
The fields and orchards still their tribute bear,
And fill her brimming coffers more and more.
But she, with youthful lavishness,
Spends all her wealth in gaudy dress,
And decks herself in garments bold
Of scarlet, purple, red, and gold.
She heedeth not how swift the hours fly,But smiles and sings her happy life along;She only sees above a shining sky;She only hears the breezes' voice in song.Her garments trail the woodlands through,And gather pearls of early dewThat sparkle, till the roguish SunCreeps up and steals them every one.
She heedeth not how swift the hours fly,
But smiles and sings her happy life along;
She only sees above a shining sky;
She only hears the breezes' voice in song.
Her garments trail the woodlands through,
And gather pearls of early dew
That sparkle, till the roguish Sun
Creeps up and steals them every one.
But what cares she that jewels should be lost,When all of Nature's bounteous wealth is hers?Though princely fortunes may have been their cost,Not one regret her calm demeanor stirs.Whole-hearted, happy, careless, free,She lives her life out joyously,Nor cares when Frost stalks o'er her wayAnd turns her auburn locks to gray.
But what cares she that jewels should be lost,
When all of Nature's bounteous wealth is hers?
Though princely fortunes may have been their cost,
Not one regret her calm demeanor stirs.
Whole-hearted, happy, careless, free,
She lives her life out joyously,
Nor cares when Frost stalks o'er her way
And turns her auburn locks to gray.
A SUMMER'S NIGHTThe night is dewy as a maiden's mouth,The skies are bright as are a maiden's eyes,Soft as a maiden's breath the wind that fliesUp from the perfumed bosom of the South.Like sentinels, the pines stand in the park;And hither hastening, like rakes that roam,With lamps to light their wayward footsteps home,The fireflies come stagg'ring down the dark.
The night is dewy as a maiden's mouth,The skies are bright as are a maiden's eyes,Soft as a maiden's breath the wind that fliesUp from the perfumed bosom of the South.Like sentinels, the pines stand in the park;And hither hastening, like rakes that roam,With lamps to light their wayward footsteps home,The fireflies come stagg'ring down the dark.
The night is dewy as a maiden's mouth,
The skies are bright as are a maiden's eyes,
Soft as a maiden's breath the wind that flies
Up from the perfumed bosom of the South.
Like sentinels, the pines stand in the park;
And hither hastening, like rakes that roam,
With lamps to light their wayward footsteps home,
The fireflies come stagg'ring down the dark.
SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHTOut in the sky the great dark clouds are massing;I look far out into the pregnant night,Where I can hear a solemn booming gunAnd catch the gleaming of a random light,That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing.My tearful eyes my soul's deep hurt are glassing;For I would hail and check that ship of ships.I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud,My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips,And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing.O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpassing,O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark!Is there no hope for me? Is there no wayThat I may sight and check that speeding barkWhich out of sight and sound is passing, passing?
Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing;I look far out into the pregnant night,Where I can hear a solemn booming gunAnd catch the gleaming of a random light,That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing.
Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing;
I look far out into the pregnant night,
Where I can hear a solemn booming gun
And catch the gleaming of a random light,
That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing.
My tearful eyes my soul's deep hurt are glassing;For I would hail and check that ship of ships.I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud,My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips,And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing.
My tearful eyes my soul's deep hurt are glassing;
For I would hail and check that ship of ships.
I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud,
My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips,
And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing.
O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpassing,O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark!Is there no hope for me? Is there no wayThat I may sight and check that speeding barkWhich out of sight and sound is passing, passing?
O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpassing,
O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark!
Is there no hope for me? Is there no way
That I may sight and check that speeding bark
Which out of sight and sound is passing, passing?
THE DELINQUENTGoo'-by, Jinks, I got to hump,Got to mek dis pony jump;See dat sun a-goin' down'N' me a-foolin' hyeah in town!Git up, Suke—go long!Guess Mirandy'll think I's tight,Me not home an' comin' on night.What 's dat stan'in' by de fence?Pshaw! why don't I lu'n some sense?Git up, Suke—go long!Guess I spent down dah at Jinks'Mos' a dollah fur de drinks.Bless yo'r soul, you see dat star?Lawd, but won't Mirandy rar?Git up, Suke—go long!Went dis mo'nin', hyeah it 's night,Dah 's de cabin dah in sight.Who's dat stan'in' in de do'?Dat must be Mirandy, sho',Git up, Suke—go long!Got de close-stick in huh han',Dat look funny, goodness lan',Sakes alibe, but she look glum!Hyeah, Mirandy, hyeah I come!Git up, Suke—go long!
Goo'-by, Jinks, I got to hump,Got to mek dis pony jump;See dat sun a-goin' down'N' me a-foolin' hyeah in town!Git up, Suke—go long!
Goo'-by, Jinks, I got to hump,
Got to mek dis pony jump;
See dat sun a-goin' down
'N' me a-foolin' hyeah in town!
Git up, Suke—go long!
Guess Mirandy'll think I's tight,Me not home an' comin' on night.What 's dat stan'in' by de fence?Pshaw! why don't I lu'n some sense?Git up, Suke—go long!
Guess Mirandy'll think I's tight,
Me not home an' comin' on night.
What 's dat stan'in' by de fence?
Pshaw! why don't I lu'n some sense?
Git up, Suke—go long!
Guess I spent down dah at Jinks'Mos' a dollah fur de drinks.Bless yo'r soul, you see dat star?Lawd, but won't Mirandy rar?Git up, Suke—go long!
Guess I spent down dah at Jinks'
Mos' a dollah fur de drinks.
Bless yo'r soul, you see dat star?
Lawd, but won't Mirandy rar?
Git up, Suke—go long!
Went dis mo'nin', hyeah it 's night,Dah 's de cabin dah in sight.Who's dat stan'in' in de do'?Dat must be Mirandy, sho',Git up, Suke—go long!
Went dis mo'nin', hyeah it 's night,
Dah 's de cabin dah in sight.
Who's dat stan'in' in de do'?
Dat must be Mirandy, sho',
Git up, Suke—go long!
Got de close-stick in huh han',Dat look funny, goodness lan',Sakes alibe, but she look glum!Hyeah, Mirandy, hyeah I come!Git up, Suke—go long!
Got de close-stick in huh han',
Dat look funny, goodness lan',
Sakes alibe, but she look glum!
Hyeah, Mirandy, hyeah I come!
Git up, Suke—go long!
Ef 't had n't a' b'en fur you, you slow ole fool, I 'd a' be'n home long fo' now!
DAWNAn angel, robed in spotless white,Bent down and kissed the sleeping Night.Night woke to blush; the sprite was gone.Men saw the blush and called it Dawn.
An angel, robed in spotless white,Bent down and kissed the sleeping Night.Night woke to blush; the sprite was gone.Men saw the blush and called it Dawn.
An angel, robed in spotless white,
Bent down and kissed the sleeping Night.
Night woke to blush; the sprite was gone.
Men saw the blush and called it Dawn.
A DROWSY DAYThe air is dark, the sky is gray,The misty shadows come and go,And here within my dusky roomEach chair looks ghostly in the gloom.Outside the rain falls cold and slow—Half-stinging drops, half-blinding spray.Each slightest sound is magnified,For drowsy quiet holds her reign;The burnt stick in the fireplace breaks,The nodding cat with start awakes,And then to sleep drops off again,Unheeding Towser at her side.I look far out across the lawn,Where huddled stand the silly sheep;My work lies idle at my hands,My thoughts fly out like scattered strandsOf thread, and on the verge of sleep—Still half awake—I dream and yawn.What spirits rise before my eyes!How various of kind and form!Sweet memories of days long past,The dreams of youth that could not last,Each smiling calm, each raging storm,That swept across my early skies.Half seen, the bare, gaunt-fingered boughsBefore my window sweep and sway,And chafe in tortures of unrest.My chin sinks down upon my breast;I cannot work on such a day,But only sit and dream and drowse.
The air is dark, the sky is gray,The misty shadows come and go,And here within my dusky roomEach chair looks ghostly in the gloom.Outside the rain falls cold and slow—Half-stinging drops, half-blinding spray.
The air is dark, the sky is gray,
The misty shadows come and go,
And here within my dusky room
Each chair looks ghostly in the gloom.
Outside the rain falls cold and slow—
Half-stinging drops, half-blinding spray.
Each slightest sound is magnified,For drowsy quiet holds her reign;The burnt stick in the fireplace breaks,The nodding cat with start awakes,And then to sleep drops off again,Unheeding Towser at her side.
Each slightest sound is magnified,
For drowsy quiet holds her reign;
The burnt stick in the fireplace breaks,
The nodding cat with start awakes,
And then to sleep drops off again,
Unheeding Towser at her side.
I look far out across the lawn,Where huddled stand the silly sheep;My work lies idle at my hands,My thoughts fly out like scattered strandsOf thread, and on the verge of sleep—Still half awake—I dream and yawn.
I look far out across the lawn,
Where huddled stand the silly sheep;
My work lies idle at my hands,
My thoughts fly out like scattered strands
Of thread, and on the verge of sleep—
Still half awake—I dream and yawn.
What spirits rise before my eyes!How various of kind and form!Sweet memories of days long past,The dreams of youth that could not last,Each smiling calm, each raging storm,That swept across my early skies.
What spirits rise before my eyes!
How various of kind and form!
Sweet memories of days long past,
The dreams of youth that could not last,
Each smiling calm, each raging storm,
That swept across my early skies.
Half seen, the bare, gaunt-fingered boughsBefore my window sweep and sway,And chafe in tortures of unrest.My chin sinks down upon my breast;I cannot work on such a day,But only sit and dream and drowse.
Half seen, the bare, gaunt-fingered boughs
Before my window sweep and sway,
And chafe in tortures of unrest.
My chin sinks down upon my breast;
I cannot work on such a day,
But only sit and dream and drowse.
DIRGEPlace this bunch of mignonetteIn her cold, dead hand;When the golden sun is set,Where the poplars stand,Bury her from sun and day,Lay my little love awayFrom my sight.She was like a modest flowerBlown in sunny June,Warm as sun at noon's high hour,Chaster than the moon.Ah, her day was brief and bright,Earth has lost a star of light;She is dead.Softly breathe her name to me,—Ah, I loved her so.Gentle let your tribute be;None may better knowHer true worth than I who weepO'er her as she lies asleep—Soft asleep.Lay these lilies on her breast,They are not more whiteThan the soul of her, at rest'Neath their petals bright.Chant your aves soft and low,Solemn be your tread and slow,—She is dead.Lay her here beneath the grass,Cool and green and sweet,Where the gentle brook may passCrooning at her feet.Nature's bards shall come and sing,And the fairest flowers shall springWhere she lies.Safe above the water's swirl,She has crossed the bar;Earth has lost a precious pearl,Heaven has gained a star,That shall ever sing and shine,Till it quells this grief of mineFor my love.
Place this bunch of mignonetteIn her cold, dead hand;When the golden sun is set,Where the poplars stand,Bury her from sun and day,Lay my little love awayFrom my sight.
Place this bunch of mignonette
In her cold, dead hand;
When the golden sun is set,
Where the poplars stand,
Bury her from sun and day,
Lay my little love away
From my sight.
She was like a modest flowerBlown in sunny June,Warm as sun at noon's high hour,Chaster than the moon.Ah, her day was brief and bright,Earth has lost a star of light;She is dead.
She was like a modest flower
Blown in sunny June,
Warm as sun at noon's high hour,
Chaster than the moon.
Ah, her day was brief and bright,
Earth has lost a star of light;
She is dead.
Softly breathe her name to me,—Ah, I loved her so.Gentle let your tribute be;None may better knowHer true worth than I who weepO'er her as she lies asleep—Soft asleep.
Softly breathe her name to me,—
Ah, I loved her so.
Gentle let your tribute be;
None may better know
Her true worth than I who weep
O'er her as she lies asleep—
Soft asleep.
Lay these lilies on her breast,They are not more whiteThan the soul of her, at rest'Neath their petals bright.Chant your aves soft and low,Solemn be your tread and slow,—She is dead.
Lay these lilies on her breast,
They are not more white
Than the soul of her, at rest
'Neath their petals bright.
Chant your aves soft and low,
Solemn be your tread and slow,—
She is dead.
Lay her here beneath the grass,Cool and green and sweet,Where the gentle brook may passCrooning at her feet.Nature's bards shall come and sing,And the fairest flowers shall springWhere she lies.
Lay her here beneath the grass,
Cool and green and sweet,
Where the gentle brook may pass
Crooning at her feet.
Nature's bards shall come and sing,
And the fairest flowers shall spring
Where she lies.
Safe above the water's swirl,She has crossed the bar;Earth has lost a precious pearl,Heaven has gained a star,That shall ever sing and shine,Till it quells this grief of mineFor my love.
Safe above the water's swirl,
She has crossed the bar;
Earth has lost a precious pearl,
Heaven has gained a star,
That shall ever sing and shine,
Till it quells this grief of mine
For my love.
HYMNWhen storms ariseAnd dark'ning skiesAbout me threat'ning lower,To thee, O Lord, I raise mine eyes,To thee my tortured spirit fliesFor solace in that hour.The mighty armWill let no harmCome near me nor befall me;Thy voice shall quiet my alarm,When life's great battle waxeth warm—No foeman shall appall me.Upon thy breastSecure I rest,From sorrow and vexation;No more by sinful cares oppressed,But in thy presence ever blest,O God of my salvation.
When storms ariseAnd dark'ning skiesAbout me threat'ning lower,To thee, O Lord, I raise mine eyes,To thee my tortured spirit fliesFor solace in that hour.
When storms arise
And dark'ning skies
About me threat'ning lower,
To thee, O Lord, I raise mine eyes,
To thee my tortured spirit flies
For solace in that hour.
The mighty armWill let no harmCome near me nor befall me;Thy voice shall quiet my alarm,When life's great battle waxeth warm—No foeman shall appall me.
The mighty arm
Will let no harm
Come near me nor befall me;
Thy voice shall quiet my alarm,
When life's great battle waxeth warm—
No foeman shall appall me.
Upon thy breastSecure I rest,From sorrow and vexation;No more by sinful cares oppressed,But in thy presence ever blest,O God of my salvation.
Upon thy breast
Secure I rest,
From sorrow and vexation;
No more by sinful cares oppressed,
But in thy presence ever blest,
O God of my salvation.
PREPARATIONThe little bird sits in the nest and singsA shy, soft song to the morning light;And it flutters a little and prunes its wings.The song is halting and poor and brief,And the fluttering wings scarce stir a leaf;But the note is a prelude to sweeter things,And the busy bill and the flutter slightAre proving the wings for a bolder flight!
The little bird sits in the nest and singsA shy, soft song to the morning light;And it flutters a little and prunes its wings.The song is halting and poor and brief,And the fluttering wings scarce stir a leaf;But the note is a prelude to sweeter things,And the busy bill and the flutter slightAre proving the wings for a bolder flight!
The little bird sits in the nest and sings
A shy, soft song to the morning light;
And it flutters a little and prunes its wings.
The song is halting and poor and brief,
And the fluttering wings scarce stir a leaf;
But the note is a prelude to sweeter things,
And the busy bill and the flutter slight
Are proving the wings for a bolder flight!
THE DESERTED PLANTATIONOh, de grubbin'-hoe 's a-rustin' in de co'nah,An' de plow 's a-tumblin' down in de fiel',While de whippo'will 's a-wailin' lak a mou'nahWhen his stubbo'n hea't is tryin' ha'd to yiel'.In de furrers whah de co'n was allus wavin',Now de weeds is growin' green an' rank an' tall;An' de swallers roun' de whole place is a-bravin'Lak dey thought deir folks had allus owned it all.An' de big house stan's all quiet lak an' solemn,Not a blessed soul in pa'lor, po'ch, er lawn;Not a guest, ner not a ca'iage lef' to haul 'em,Fu' de ones dat tu'ned de latch-string out air gone.An' de banjo's voice is silent in de qua'ters,D' ain't a hymn ner co'n-song ringin' in de air;But de murmur of a branch's passin' watersIs de only soun' dat breks de stillness dere.Whah 's de da'kies, dem dat used to be a-dancin'Evry night befo' de ole cabin do'?Whah 's de chillun, dem dat used to be a-prancin'Er a-rollin' in de san' er on de flo'?Whah 's ole Uncle Mordecai an' Uncle Aaron?Whah 's Aunt Doshy, Sam, an' Kit, an' all de res'?Whah 's ole Tom de da'ky fiddlah, how 's he farin'?Whah 's de gals dat used to sing an' dance de bes'?Gone! not one o' dem is lef' to tell de story;Dey have lef' de deah ole place to fall away.Could n't one o' dem dat seed it in its gloryStay to watch it in de hour of decay?Dey have lef' de ole plantation to de swallers,But it hol's in me a lover till de las';Fu' I fin' hyeah in de memory dat follersAll dat loved me an' dat I loved in de pas'.So I'll stay an' watch de deah ole place an' tend itEz I used to in de happy days gone by.'Twell de othah Mastah thinks it's time to end it,An' calls me to my qua'ters in de sky.
Oh, de grubbin'-hoe 's a-rustin' in de co'nah,An' de plow 's a-tumblin' down in de fiel',While de whippo'will 's a-wailin' lak a mou'nahWhen his stubbo'n hea't is tryin' ha'd to yiel'.
Oh, de grubbin'-hoe 's a-rustin' in de co'nah,
An' de plow 's a-tumblin' down in de fiel',
While de whippo'will 's a-wailin' lak a mou'nah
When his stubbo'n hea't is tryin' ha'd to yiel'.
In de furrers whah de co'n was allus wavin',Now de weeds is growin' green an' rank an' tall;An' de swallers roun' de whole place is a-bravin'Lak dey thought deir folks had allus owned it all.
In de furrers whah de co'n was allus wavin',
Now de weeds is growin' green an' rank an' tall;
An' de swallers roun' de whole place is a-bravin'
Lak dey thought deir folks had allus owned it all.
An' de big house stan's all quiet lak an' solemn,Not a blessed soul in pa'lor, po'ch, er lawn;Not a guest, ner not a ca'iage lef' to haul 'em,Fu' de ones dat tu'ned de latch-string out air gone.
An' de big house stan's all quiet lak an' solemn,
Not a blessed soul in pa'lor, po'ch, er lawn;
Not a guest, ner not a ca'iage lef' to haul 'em,
Fu' de ones dat tu'ned de latch-string out air gone.
An' de banjo's voice is silent in de qua'ters,D' ain't a hymn ner co'n-song ringin' in de air;But de murmur of a branch's passin' watersIs de only soun' dat breks de stillness dere.
An' de banjo's voice is silent in de qua'ters,
D' ain't a hymn ner co'n-song ringin' in de air;
But de murmur of a branch's passin' waters
Is de only soun' dat breks de stillness dere.
Whah 's de da'kies, dem dat used to be a-dancin'Evry night befo' de ole cabin do'?Whah 's de chillun, dem dat used to be a-prancin'Er a-rollin' in de san' er on de flo'?
Whah 's de da'kies, dem dat used to be a-dancin'
Evry night befo' de ole cabin do'?
Whah 's de chillun, dem dat used to be a-prancin'
Er a-rollin' in de san' er on de flo'?
Whah 's ole Uncle Mordecai an' Uncle Aaron?Whah 's Aunt Doshy, Sam, an' Kit, an' all de res'?Whah 's ole Tom de da'ky fiddlah, how 's he farin'?Whah 's de gals dat used to sing an' dance de bes'?
Whah 's ole Uncle Mordecai an' Uncle Aaron?
Whah 's Aunt Doshy, Sam, an' Kit, an' all de res'?
Whah 's ole Tom de da'ky fiddlah, how 's he farin'?
Whah 's de gals dat used to sing an' dance de bes'?
Gone! not one o' dem is lef' to tell de story;Dey have lef' de deah ole place to fall away.Could n't one o' dem dat seed it in its gloryStay to watch it in de hour of decay?
Gone! not one o' dem is lef' to tell de story;
Dey have lef' de deah ole place to fall away.
Could n't one o' dem dat seed it in its glory
Stay to watch it in de hour of decay?
Dey have lef' de ole plantation to de swallers,But it hol's in me a lover till de las';Fu' I fin' hyeah in de memory dat follersAll dat loved me an' dat I loved in de pas'.
Dey have lef' de ole plantation to de swallers,
But it hol's in me a lover till de las';
Fu' I fin' hyeah in de memory dat follers
All dat loved me an' dat I loved in de pas'.
So I'll stay an' watch de deah ole place an' tend itEz I used to in de happy days gone by.'Twell de othah Mastah thinks it's time to end it,An' calls me to my qua'ters in de sky.
So I'll stay an' watch de deah ole place an' tend it
Ez I used to in de happy days gone by.
'Twell de othah Mastah thinks it's time to end it,
An' calls me to my qua'ters in de sky.
THE SECRETWhat says the wind to the waving trees?What says the wave to the river?What means the sigh in the passing breeze?Why do the rushes quiver?Have you not heard the fainting cryOf the flowers that said "Good-bye, good-bye"?List how the gray dove moans and grievesUnder the woodland cover;List to the drift of the falling leaves,List to the wail of the lover.Have you not caught the message heardAlready by wave and breeze and bird?Come, come away to the river's bank,Come in the early morning;Come when the grass with dew is dank,There you will find the warning—A hint in the kiss of the quickening airOf the secret that birds and breezes bear.
What says the wind to the waving trees?What says the wave to the river?What means the sigh in the passing breeze?Why do the rushes quiver?Have you not heard the fainting cryOf the flowers that said "Good-bye, good-bye"?
What says the wind to the waving trees?
What says the wave to the river?
What means the sigh in the passing breeze?
Why do the rushes quiver?
Have you not heard the fainting cry
Of the flowers that said "Good-bye, good-bye"?
List how the gray dove moans and grievesUnder the woodland cover;List to the drift of the falling leaves,List to the wail of the lover.Have you not caught the message heardAlready by wave and breeze and bird?
List how the gray dove moans and grieves
Under the woodland cover;
List to the drift of the falling leaves,
List to the wail of the lover.
Have you not caught the message heard
Already by wave and breeze and bird?
Come, come away to the river's bank,Come in the early morning;Come when the grass with dew is dank,There you will find the warning—A hint in the kiss of the quickening airOf the secret that birds and breezes bear.
Come, come away to the river's bank,
Come in the early morning;
Come when the grass with dew is dank,
There you will find the warning—
A hint in the kiss of the quickening air
Of the secret that birds and breezes bear.
THE WIND AND THE SEAI stood by the shore at the death of day,As the sun sank flaming red;And the face of the waters that spread awayWas as gray as the face of the dead.And I heard the cry of the wanton seaAnd the moan of the wailing wind;For love's sweet pain in his heart had he,But the gray old sea had sinned.The wind was young and the sea was old,But their cries went up together;The wind was warm and the sea was cold,For age makes wintry weather.So they cried aloud and they wept amain,Till the sky grew dark to hear it;And out of its folds crept the misty rain,In its shroud, like a troubled spirit.For the wind was wild with a hopeless love,And the sea was sad at heartAt many a crime that he wot of,Wherein he had played his part.He thought of the gallant ships gone downBy the will of his wicked waves;And he thought how the church-yard in the townHeld the sea-made widows' graves.The wild wind thought of the love he had leftAfar in an Eastern land,And he longed, as long the much bereft,For the touch of her perfumed hand.In his winding wail and his deep-heaved sighHis aching grief found vent;While the sea looked up at the bending skyAnd murmured: "I repent."But e'en as he spoke, a ship came byThat bravely ploughed the main,And a light came into the sea's green eye,And his heart grew hard again.Then he spoke to the wind: "Friend, seest thou notYon vessel is eastward bound?Pray speed with it to the happy spotWhere thy loved one may be found."And the wind rose up in a dear delight,And after the good ship sped;But the crafty sea by his wicked mightKept the vessel ever ahead.Till the wind grew fierce in his despair,And white on the brow and lip.He tore his garments and tore his hair,And fell on the flying ship.And the ship went down, for a rock was there,And the sailless sea loomed black;While burdened again with dole and care,The wind came moaning back.And still he moans from his bosom hotWhere his raging grief lies pent,And ever when the ships come not,The sea says: "I repent."
I stood by the shore at the death of day,As the sun sank flaming red;And the face of the waters that spread awayWas as gray as the face of the dead.
I stood by the shore at the death of day,
As the sun sank flaming red;
And the face of the waters that spread away
Was as gray as the face of the dead.
And I heard the cry of the wanton seaAnd the moan of the wailing wind;For love's sweet pain in his heart had he,But the gray old sea had sinned.
And I heard the cry of the wanton sea
And the moan of the wailing wind;
For love's sweet pain in his heart had he,
But the gray old sea had sinned.
The wind was young and the sea was old,But their cries went up together;The wind was warm and the sea was cold,For age makes wintry weather.
The wind was young and the sea was old,
But their cries went up together;
The wind was warm and the sea was cold,
For age makes wintry weather.
So they cried aloud and they wept amain,Till the sky grew dark to hear it;And out of its folds crept the misty rain,In its shroud, like a troubled spirit.
So they cried aloud and they wept amain,
Till the sky grew dark to hear it;
And out of its folds crept the misty rain,
In its shroud, like a troubled spirit.
For the wind was wild with a hopeless love,And the sea was sad at heartAt many a crime that he wot of,Wherein he had played his part.
For the wind was wild with a hopeless love,
And the sea was sad at heart
At many a crime that he wot of,
Wherein he had played his part.
He thought of the gallant ships gone downBy the will of his wicked waves;And he thought how the church-yard in the townHeld the sea-made widows' graves.
He thought of the gallant ships gone down
By the will of his wicked waves;
And he thought how the church-yard in the town
Held the sea-made widows' graves.
The wild wind thought of the love he had leftAfar in an Eastern land,And he longed, as long the much bereft,For the touch of her perfumed hand.
The wild wind thought of the love he had left
Afar in an Eastern land,
And he longed, as long the much bereft,
For the touch of her perfumed hand.
In his winding wail and his deep-heaved sighHis aching grief found vent;While the sea looked up at the bending skyAnd murmured: "I repent."
In his winding wail and his deep-heaved sigh
His aching grief found vent;
While the sea looked up at the bending sky
And murmured: "I repent."
But e'en as he spoke, a ship came byThat bravely ploughed the main,And a light came into the sea's green eye,And his heart grew hard again.
But e'en as he spoke, a ship came by
That bravely ploughed the main,
And a light came into the sea's green eye,
And his heart grew hard again.
Then he spoke to the wind: "Friend, seest thou notYon vessel is eastward bound?Pray speed with it to the happy spotWhere thy loved one may be found."
Then he spoke to the wind: "Friend, seest thou not
Yon vessel is eastward bound?
Pray speed with it to the happy spot
Where thy loved one may be found."
And the wind rose up in a dear delight,And after the good ship sped;But the crafty sea by his wicked mightKept the vessel ever ahead.
And the wind rose up in a dear delight,
And after the good ship sped;
But the crafty sea by his wicked might
Kept the vessel ever ahead.
Till the wind grew fierce in his despair,And white on the brow and lip.He tore his garments and tore his hair,And fell on the flying ship.
Till the wind grew fierce in his despair,
And white on the brow and lip.
He tore his garments and tore his hair,
And fell on the flying ship.
And the ship went down, for a rock was there,And the sailless sea loomed black;While burdened again with dole and care,The wind came moaning back.
And the ship went down, for a rock was there,
And the sailless sea loomed black;
While burdened again with dole and care,
The wind came moaning back.
And still he moans from his bosom hotWhere his raging grief lies pent,And ever when the ships come not,The sea says: "I repent."
And still he moans from his bosom hot
Where his raging grief lies pent,
And ever when the ships come not,
The sea says: "I repent."
RIDING TO TOWNWhen labor is light and the morning is fair,I find it a pleasure beyond all compareTo hitch up my nag and go hurrying downAnd take Katie May for a ride into town;For bumpety-bump goes the wagon,But tra-la-la-la our lay.There's joy in a song as we rattle alongIn the light of the glorious day.A coach would be fine, but a spring wagon's good;My jeans are a match for Kate's gingham and hood;The hills take us up and the vales take us down,But what matters that? we are riding to town,And bumpety-bump goes the wagon,But tra-la-la-la sing we.There's never a care may live in the airThat is filled with the breath of our glee.And after we've started, there's naught can repressThe thrill of our hearts in their wild happiness;The heavens may smile or the heavens may frown,And it's all one to us when we're riding to town.For bumpety-bump goes the wagon,But tra-la-la-la we shout,For our hearts they are clear and there 's nothing to fear,And we've never a pain nor a doubt.The wagon is weak and the roadway is rough,And tho' it is long it is not long enough,For mid all my ecstasies this is the crownTo sit beside Katie and ride into town,When bumpety-bump goes the wagon,But tra-la-la-la our song;And if I had my way, I 'd be willing to payIf the road could be made twice as long.
When labor is light and the morning is fair,I find it a pleasure beyond all compareTo hitch up my nag and go hurrying downAnd take Katie May for a ride into town;For bumpety-bump goes the wagon,But tra-la-la-la our lay.There's joy in a song as we rattle alongIn the light of the glorious day.
When labor is light and the morning is fair,
I find it a pleasure beyond all compare
To hitch up my nag and go hurrying down
And take Katie May for a ride into town;
For bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la our lay.
There's joy in a song as we rattle along
In the light of the glorious day.
A coach would be fine, but a spring wagon's good;My jeans are a match for Kate's gingham and hood;The hills take us up and the vales take us down,But what matters that? we are riding to town,And bumpety-bump goes the wagon,But tra-la-la-la sing we.There's never a care may live in the airThat is filled with the breath of our glee.
A coach would be fine, but a spring wagon's good;
My jeans are a match for Kate's gingham and hood;
The hills take us up and the vales take us down,
But what matters that? we are riding to town,
And bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la sing we.
There's never a care may live in the air
That is filled with the breath of our glee.
And after we've started, there's naught can repressThe thrill of our hearts in their wild happiness;The heavens may smile or the heavens may frown,And it's all one to us when we're riding to town.For bumpety-bump goes the wagon,But tra-la-la-la we shout,For our hearts they are clear and there 's nothing to fear,And we've never a pain nor a doubt.
And after we've started, there's naught can repress
The thrill of our hearts in their wild happiness;
The heavens may smile or the heavens may frown,
And it's all one to us when we're riding to town.
For bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la we shout,
For our hearts they are clear and there 's nothing to fear,
And we've never a pain nor a doubt.
The wagon is weak and the roadway is rough,And tho' it is long it is not long enough,For mid all my ecstasies this is the crownTo sit beside Katie and ride into town,When bumpety-bump goes the wagon,But tra-la-la-la our song;And if I had my way, I 'd be willing to payIf the road could be made twice as long.
The wagon is weak and the roadway is rough,
And tho' it is long it is not long enough,
For mid all my ecstasies this is the crown
To sit beside Katie and ride into town,
When bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la our song;
And if I had my way, I 'd be willing to pay
If the road could be made twice as long.
WE WEAR THE MASKWe wear the mask that grins and lies,It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—This debt we pay to human guile;With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,And mouth with myriad subtleties.Why should the world be over-wise,In counting all our tears and sighs?Nay, let them only see us, whileWe wear the mask.We smile, but, O great Christ, our criesTo thee from tortured souls arise.We sing, but oh the clay is vileBeneath our feet, and long the mile;But let the world dream otherwise,We wear the mask!
We wear the mask that grins and lies,It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—This debt we pay to human guile;With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,And mouth with myriad subtleties.
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,In counting all our tears and sighs?Nay, let them only see us, whileWe wear the mask.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our criesTo thee from tortured souls arise.We sing, but oh the clay is vileBeneath our feet, and long the mile;But let the world dream otherwise,We wear the mask!
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
THE MEADOW LARKThough the winds be dank,And the sky be sober,And the grieving DayIn a mantle grayHath let her waiting maiden robe her,—All the fields alongI can hear the songOf the meadow lark,As she flits and flutters,And laughs at the thunder when it mutters.O happy bird, of heart most gayTo sing when skies are gray!When the clouds are full,And the tempest masterLets the loud winds sweepFrom his bosom deepLike heralds of some dire disaster,Then the heart aloneTo itself makes moan;And the songs come slow,While the tears fall fleeter,And silence than song by far seems sweeter.Oh, few are they along the wayWho sing when skies are gray!
Though the winds be dank,And the sky be sober,And the grieving DayIn a mantle grayHath let her waiting maiden robe her,—All the fields alongI can hear the songOf the meadow lark,As she flits and flutters,And laughs at the thunder when it mutters.O happy bird, of heart most gayTo sing when skies are gray!
Though the winds be dank,
And the sky be sober,
And the grieving Day
In a mantle gray
Hath let her waiting maiden robe her,—
All the fields along
I can hear the song
Of the meadow lark,
As she flits and flutters,
And laughs at the thunder when it mutters.
O happy bird, of heart most gay
To sing when skies are gray!
When the clouds are full,And the tempest masterLets the loud winds sweepFrom his bosom deepLike heralds of some dire disaster,Then the heart aloneTo itself makes moan;And the songs come slow,While the tears fall fleeter,And silence than song by far seems sweeter.Oh, few are they along the wayWho sing when skies are gray!
When the clouds are full,
And the tempest master
Lets the loud winds sweep
From his bosom deep
Like heralds of some dire disaster,
Then the heart alone
To itself makes moan;
And the songs come slow,
While the tears fall fleeter,
And silence than song by far seems sweeter.
Oh, few are they along the way
Who sing when skies are gray!