Kitabı oku: «Home Poems», sayfa 6

LOVE-LETTERS

 
You may burn the letters, dearie,
Tho’ they’re written from the heart
And have made the days less dreary
While we two have been apart.
 
 
You may burn each loving letter,
Tho’ the sentiment is true,
For it may be really better;—
They are meant for only you.
 
 
You may watch the glowing embers
While the ashes turn to white;
For your loyal heart remembers
Tho’ my words shall pass from sight.
 
 
You can burn Love’s secrets never
That my soul to yours confessed;
They, I know, will live forever
In the life that I love best.
 
 
So, my dearie, burn each token
That I’ve written just for you,
And accept the love unspoken
From a heart that’s ever true;
 
 
For our love-light burns out never,—
It is human and divine;
We shall live and love forever,—
I am yours and you are mine.
 

REGRET

 
There is no time, in life, for vain regret;
The days have passed, the hours are passing yet.
Each moment wasted by regretful sigh
Will count as worthless in the by and by,
Till life itself, which God to man has given,
Will be unworthy of the peace of Heaven.
A vain regret is but an added wrong,—
It makes the past a sorrow, not a song;
It robs the present of its very best
And fills the future with a vague unrest.
The little wrongs can never be made right
By keeping them before the human sight;
Better it is to give them scanty space
By putting virtue in its proper place;
Better it is to let the whole heart sing
Than let it sigh o’er one regretted thing.
 

CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS

 
Hear the mighty army,
Marching on the way,
With the banner lifted in the light.
See the Christian Soldiers,
In the ranks to-day,
As they battle ever for the Right.
 
 
Under Christ, the Leader,
Who commands them here,
They will stand united, one and all.
They will pledge allegiance,
They have naught to fear,
They will answer ever to His call.
 
 
In His Service Royal,
Theirs will be the fame;
They shall wear the laurels by and by.
On the Shore Eternal,
They will praise His name,
Where the soul shall never, never die.
 

A QUESTION

 
What have you done to-day, dear heart,
For Jesus’ sake?
Did love for Him reveal the part
To undertake?
 
 
Have you been wishing to aspire
To better things?
Has your sweet soul been lifted higher
By willing wings?
 
 
Or has it fallen from a height
So far above,
That naught can make it pure and right
Except God’s love?
 
 
What have you done to-day, dear heart,—
What will you do?
Will you not wisely do the part
God gives to you?
 
 
Will you not put away the dream
That fancies fill,
And tho’ your duties humble seem
Accept God’s will?
 

SWEETEST MUSIC

 
A little child, at an organ
In a room across the way,
While trying to learn his lesson
Awoke me from dreams to-day.
 
 
The exercises were simple
But he soon began to cry,
And I heard him say with feeling:
“’Tis really no use to try!”
 
 
Then the master, bending o’er him
As patiently as before,
Said: “Let me take your place, dear,
And I’ll show you how once more.”
 
 
Soon I hear instead of discord
A sweet, harmonious sound,
While the master’s skillful fingers
The musical keys have found.
 
 
Within the souls of the many
Are keys of ivory white,
Which will waken to sweetest music
If in tune and touched aright;
 
 
But how oft we hear a discord
When the wrong keys have been tried
And the amateur is playing
While the Master stands aside.
 

AT LAST

 
A little stream that danced and played all day
Upon its rough and ever winding way,
Like some young child, upon his mother’s breast,
Soon neared the tide and calmed itself to rest.
 
 
A little flower that nodded here and there,
At every passing breeze, in daylight fair,
When sunset splendor lingered o’er the hill
Sent forth its fragrance and at last was still.
 
 
A little bird that built her airy nest
Nor thought in sunny hours to pause and rest,
Sang sweeter songs to cheer the passer by
When light was fading in the distant sky.
 
 
A man, who thro’ life’s day had toiled and wept,
When life was o’er lay down in peace and slept;
He, who had borne the burden of the day,
Found sunset glories flooding all his way.
 
 
Peace comes from God, and rest is sure and sweet
To those who bear life’s burden and its heat;
Sweet, starry twilight calms that manly soul
That strives by toil to reach Heaven’s distant goal.
 

HIS PROMISE

 
Oft when the rain-drops fall,
We pray for sunlight fair;
Oft when the day is bright,
We seek the cooling shade;
Oft when the robins call,
We long for tree-tops bare;
Oft when the ground is white,
We wish that spring had stayed.
 
 
But God who ruleth all,
And keeps us in His care,
Doth plan all things aright,
Which for our good He made;
Our gifts, so poor and small,
Cannot with His compare,
And if we trust His might
His promise will not fade.
 

LIFE’S CRUCIBLE

 
We do not cut and polish the stones
That are laid in the common wall;
We do not prune the brambles and weeds
That around our pathway fall.
 
 
We do not put into crucibles
A metal unworthy the test;
Nor do we send a man to the front
Who would not peril his best.
 
 
The vine that’s pruned bears the choicest fruit,—
Necessity grinds the dull tool;
And the keenest and best instructors
Are prepared in Affliction’s school.
 
 
Suffering gives us the richest thoughts
That to literature can belong;—
In poetry it strikes the sweetest note
And inspires the tenderest song.
 
 
Our troubles are but the inlets small
That shall lead to the human soul,
Thro’ which the Comforter comes to heal
And to strengthen us for the Goal.
 
 
The rarest of saints are afflicted
By One who doth know what is right;
And the stars shall ever shine brightest
That contend with the darkest night.
 

MY CHOICE

 
Not the bird that soars the highest,
Nor whose plumage is the brightest,
But the bird that sings the sweetest
Is the bird I prize.
Not the flower that blooms the tallest,
Nor whose petals are the whitest,
But whose fragrance is completest
Satisfies my eyes.
 
 
Not the brook that laughs the loudest,
Nor whose waters are the purest,
But the brook that runs the fleetest
To the mill and sea.
Not the soul that soars the quickest,
But whose faith in God is surest,
And whose record is the neatest
Is the soul for me.
 

ENDEAVOR

 
Life’s morning hour is never quite complete
If climbing upward at the break of day
We fail to show to others, whom we meet,
New glories found along the heavenly way.
 
 
If by endeavor, step by step we take,
And for another breathe a loving prayer
And lead him up to see the morning break,
We find a blessing as we journey there.
 
 
The noon of life, when sunlight floods the skies,
Is never quite so pleasing to our sight,
As when we help a fallen brother rise
And by his side direct his steps aright.
 
 
The way grows brighter as we pass along,
For not alone we seek the heights untried;
A soul is breathing us a thankful song—
The weary one is toiling by our side.
 
 
The twilight of the life God gives us here
Is never quite so filled with peace and rest
As when we journey on with naught to fear,
Tho’ sunset light is fading in the west.
 
 
The night comes not to those who look above,
For on the summit soon they all shall stand,
Who leave the vale and seek the Father’s love,
Which bids them welcome to the promised land.
 
 
Thus by endeavor—step by step each day
We climb above, where other feet have trod,
And leading others up the heavenly way
Find rest and day eternal with our God.
 

SERVICE

 
If you love and trust the Saviour
You can find enough to do;
His good deeds and His compassion
Will be done and felt by you.
 
 
His great aims will all be cherished
If with Him you’re really one;
Can you think of Christ as idle
While so much remains undone?
 
 
His self-sacrificing spirit
Will be exercised by you;
And your faith will aid you ever
While love guides and makes it true.
 
 
Faith and love that work together
Will turn drudgery into joy;
And make every service easy
That doth trouble and annoy.
 
 
Love will show where service waits you
Tho’ it be but word or song;
Faith will prompt you how to do it
Be the service short or long.
 
 
You can never be discouraged
While the two together blend;
Joined to faith, love meets all trials
And endureth to the end.
 
 
You can leave the lower places,
And mount upward every day;
Winning character exalted
If you faithfully work and pray.
 
 
You can reach the best attainments
Doing service that you find;
And a worthier example
You can leave to all mankind.
 

CROWNING LIGHT

 
There is a Land, beyond the gloomy sky,
That needs no earthly light for its adorning;
Where God’s own children nevermore shall die,—
A home of perfect peace and endless morning.
 
 
We cannot see the City’s shining towers,
But truths divine proclaim the wondrous story,—
On earth the cross, in Heaven the crown is ours,—
While Gates ajar reveal an inner glory.
 

NONCE

 
To-day is here; to-morrow’s dawn
Perchance thou may’st not see;
The noon-tide of another day
May come, but not for thee.
 
 
The sun at even’-tide may glow
Upon yon mountain height,
And pause to bless the Mother Earth
Before he sinks from sight;
 
 
And yet for thee no earthly light,
No sunset glow at home,
No shadows of life’s twilight hour,—
No silent night may come.
 
 
Thou knowest not; the “brighter days”
May never come to thee;
The future is thy present time
Formed from life’s yesterday.
 
 
Thou can’st not look beyond this hour
To trace what may befall;
But now is the accepted time
To serve the Lord of all.
 
 
To-day then do the good thou canst,
And brighten home with love;
Then shall thy soul more brightly shine
In Heaven, the Home above.
 
 
Thy blessings oft are in disguise,—
What seems to be a sorrow
May be the shades of deepening night
Before a brighter morrow.
 

THE GOAL

 
Each day we are grown older,
Years swiftly pass away;
And the world seems strangely colder,
The heart itself less gay.
 
 
The hopes that are brightly dawning,
The joys that oft are ours,
Shall vanish, in life’s fair morning,
Like dew-drops on the flowers.
 
 
Youth’s rosiest tints of splendor,
Are fading fast from sight;
And the trusting heart more tender,
In patience waits the night.
 
 
Like the athlete growing weary,
No more we run the race;
But near to the victors cheery
We seek a resting-place.
 
 
Just beyond the passing pleasure,
And thought of added years,
We can see Heaven’s greater treasure,
Which satisfies and cheers.
 
 
An eternal light is dawning,
To penetrate the gloom;
In life’s more radiant morning
Peace waits beyond the tomb.
 

A QUESTION ANSWERED

 
What is the secret of discontent
That never for human hearts was meant,
And why the needless agitation
That tries a soul and taunts a nation?
 
 
A discontent would never be known,
An agitation would ne’er be shown,
If things that are simply prosy and real
Would correspond with the high ideal.
 

GRANDMOTHER

 
Grandmother sits in her high-backed chair,
A snowy cap hides her soft gray hair;
And while her needles fly in and out
We wonder what her thoughts are about.
Beside the chair stands an antique bed,
With its modern draperies overhead,
While, close to the wall, and near at hand
Is the newly polished, square-topped stand.
Within its drawer lies her camphor-bag,
Some spicy cubebs and sugared flag,
Tomato cushion, of gaudy red,
A bit of wax, for her sewing-thread,
Some slippery elm, in a corner dark,
Scattered fragments of cinnamon bark,
The golden ear-knobs, and powder puff,
Near a little box of scented snuff,
A baby’s picture, with dimpled face,
And a lock of hair, in its broken case.
On its top is her bible, worn by age,
With its faded book-mark and penciled page.
The faithful clock, with its quaint, carved door,
Reaches the ceiling and meets the floor.
A chest of drawers, with handles of brass,
Stands just across from the gilt-framed glass,
And is reflected in all its pride;
While on its top, upon either side,
Whose fancy the modern mind might suit,
Stand the gypsum dishes of painted fruit.
Near an open fireplace, neatly swept,
The box of kindling-wood is kept;
While across the andirons polished bright,
A log lies ready for heat and light.
Beside the dust-pan and well-worn wing
The brass topped fire-tongs and shovel swing;
On the hearth-stone gray, ’neath the chimney high,
The useful bellows in waiting lie.
The “mantle-place” holds the candle-sticks
And silver snuffers for lighted wicks.
While, near to the match-safe, just between,
An apple filled with cloves is seen.
Grandmother rocks as she knits her sock,
To-day her thoughts are too deep for talk,—
She lives once more ’neath a cloudless sky,
And dreams again of the days gone by.
In her cherished dream she can seem to see
The dear old house as it used to be,
With its clapboards white, its blinds of green,
And the tiny window-panes between;
And lingers there for a little while,
Ere the modern workman changed its style.
She sings to her babies the old time song,
And hopes that “father” will come ere long;
She moves her chair to the waning light
To watch the glow of the sunset bright,
And looks for a few, pale evening stars
While the cows come home thro’ the pasture bars.
She lights the candles, and smoothes her hair,
And breathes for her loved ones a silent prayer;
Then goes to her work with happy heart,
Cheerfully doing the house-wife’s part;
And once again she can seem to feel
The well known move of her spinning-wheel.
As she fondly dreams of those days of yore
She hears a whisper beside her door;
Then close to her side the children creep:—
“Why, Grandma has fallen fast asleep!”
She hears one say, as they tip-toe out:
“I wonder what she’s dreaming about.”
Little they know what memories arise
When Grandmother thinks with half-closed eyes.