Home Poems

RECOMPENSE

Not he who sins, but he who does God’s willFinds, in life’s cup, some added sorrows still;Not he who soars to heights of rank and fame,But he who climbs, is he who bears Christ’s name;Not he who wins, but he who daily triesShall best deserve the joys of Paradise.

WHY?

Why do I love thee and how do I knowThat thou art the dearest of all to me?Why do the moments, wherever I go,Seem brighter and better because of thee?Why, mid the work of the long, weary day,Are burdens of life more easy to bear?Why pause I so often, upon life’s way,To ask God’s blessing for thee in prayer?Why does my soul, once so tempted and sad,Awaken to thoughts both noble and pure?Why does the loving thee make my heart glad,—God seem the nearer and Heaven the more sure?Why, in my dreaming, thy voice do I hear,Thy face do I see, and feel thy caress?Why, dreaming or waking, seemeth thou near,To soothe, to comfort, to help and to bless?I pass others by, in the crowded street,Whose faces, it may be, are fair as thine,Yet thine, thine only, to me is most sweet,—Thou only canst waken this love of mine.Another’s low word and sweet, winning smile,Tho’ sought by many, when given to meI dare to confess can charm for awhile,But love meaneth more and I love but thee.I hear other voices, see other smiles,But hearing and seeing bringeth unrest;Laughter and music the evening beguiles,—Thy voice and thy smile for me are the best.Why do I love thee? Ask God why he gaveTo thee, and thee only, that power divineMy heart to touch and my soul to save,And then I can answer why thou art mine.Why do I love thee? Ask God to revealWhy He hath made thee so unlike the rest;—True and unselfish, perchance thou mayest feelThat I have good reason for loving thee best.Art thou the dearest one? Love can but showThat thou art the dearest, ideal of mine;Knowing, I love thee; and loving, I know;To know and to love are the gifts divine.

CLASS ODE,—1885

We sail far out to sunset’s light beyond,On Life’s most restless and most fitful deep;Where tempests rage and storms do oft abound,And waves and billows care not long to sleep.In Ocean’s lap most priceless pearls we’ve found,And gathered them as onward we have passed;We deemed the work but pleasure and reward,Rare treasures that in years to come would last.Life’s dark blue waters cannot be recrossedO’er which we passed so joyfully each day;For youth and pleasure can not always last,And Duty bids us hasten on our way.We know that here our voyage together endsAnd each alone must earn his own reward;But through the storms and sunny days alikeWe shall be guided by the hand of God.To-day we all must bid a fond farewell;We know henceforth our lives apart must be,Until we cross the deep that lies before,To be no longer tossed on life’s rough sea.And when beyond the ever-changing wavesWe anchor on that shining Heavenly shore,May we, who linger now to say: “Farewell,”United stand to part again no more.

TWO SIDES

The clouds that float aboveEach have two separate sides,—One toward the earth below,The other toward the sun;And when we see our lives,Which God in goodness guides,Upon the darker sideHe sees the brighter one.Some day we shall beholdThe side that He can see,And we shall praise His nameFor blessings that are ours;Till clouds shall all disperse,And life shall grander be,—Refreshed like mother earthWhen sunshine follows showers.

THE CHANGING CURRENT

A river runs upon its wayThro’ fertile fields and meadows gay;—Among the sweetly-scented bowers,And where the sunlight soothes the flowers.It dances merrily alongAnd sings sweet Solitude a song;But ere it meets the distant shore,Its current changes more and more;The stones that in its course now lieIt must rush over or pass by;And while it meets them one by oneDark clouds obscure the shining sun;The sparkling waters lose their charm,No more to frolic free from harm;For threatening storm has come at last,—The river rushes madly pastThro’ cities and thro’ distant towns,As tho’ it would escape its bounds;But storm will cease and mists will clearTill hidden sun shall reappear,And that same river, calm and free,Shall flow in fullness to the sea.Thus runs the current of my lifeThro’ sun and shade, in calm and strife;At first among the flowers gayIt sparkles freely on its way;But while it sings its happy song,And glides so peacefully along,The obstacles and clouds appearTo hinder and deprive of cheer.When all the barriers have been passed,And threatening storms have ceased at last,My life, more full, and calm, and free,Shall end it’s course beyond the Sea.

SLEEP

When sunset light has faded from our sight,And darkness comes to tell us of the night,We sleep, refreshed from earthly care and sorrow,To waken to another hopeful morrow.When sun and stars shall no more please our sight,And darkness comes to tell us of the night,We sleep, unmindful of earth’s joy and sorrow,To waken to a never-ending morrow.

LIFE’S DAY

When the morn has breathed her story,And the noon of life is past,When the sunset’s deepening gloryFills the waiting soul at last;Then, like sweetest music fallingThro’ the splendors of the West,We shall hear the angels callingTo a blest, eternal rest.When the day in silence sleeping,Shows that earthly light has fled,When the heart has ceased it’s weepingAnd the final prayer is said;Then beyond life’s great endeavor,In the stillness of the night,We shall wake to live foreverAnd shall know God’s plans are right.

A POET

A poet took in hand his mighty penTo move the hearts of lyric-loving men.He wrote of prayer, not knowing how to pray;He wrote of Heaven, not having found the way;He wrote of fame, not having reached the goalWhere fame’s great treasure thrills the seeking soul;He wrote of Art, and then of Nature sweet,While Nature’s flowers were crushed beneath his feet;He wrote of life, and human love below,The power of which he did not, could not know.At last, grown weary of his every theme,A thought aroused him from his restless dream;He seized his pen,—the inspiration grewTo tell of things he really felt and knew:He wrote of “mother” and his “childhood days;”Then high and low began to sing his praise.

THANKSGIVING

Not because Thou givest meLife from care and sorrow freeDo I thank Thee, Lord, to-day;But because in life’s dark hour,Thou hast given peace and powerTo sustain me on the way.Not for gift of wealth or fameDo I praise Thy kingly nameKneeling now with grateful heart;But for home, for friends, and health,—Greater gifts than fame or wealth,Blessings of my life a part.Not because the earth is brightWith a wealth of joy and lightDo I thank Thee, Lord Divine;But because in Home aboveLife eternal speaks Thy loveAnd the hope of Heaven is mine.

MUSINGS

Upon the shining sands a man once strolled;And, looking out across the silvery sea,He saw the waste of waters, blue and cold,Where restless waves were climbing high and free.He paused awhile to watch the changing tide;But, tiring of the noise and sunlight’s glare,He sought a hidden path, and turned aside,Where sweet wild roses scent the balmy air.Then, growing weary as the morning passed,He filled his hands with blossoms that he found,And threw himself beneath an oak at last,Whose brawny branches brushed the grassy ground.He bared his head; and lying ’neath the tree,Arranging wealth of roses in his hands,He thought that, ’bove the branches, he could seeThe same blue ocean rolling to the sands.His mind to rose thoughts turned in dreamy way,—From untrained blossoms, blooming in the bowers,Whose simple petals fade within a day,Have been developed grander, sweeter flowers.The jacqueminot and all her sisters fair,Now clothed in colors bright and staying late,Because of culture and a proper careHave found a place within the garden gate.So too with life; the untrained children weWhose innocence shall fade within the hours,—With thoughts, like petals, simple, pure, and free,—And minds to be developed like the flowers.If rightly clothed, according to God’s plan,We soon discover, ere it is too late,That cultivation makes the grander manWho finds a place within the Heavenly gate.The dreamer woke; his roses, once so bright,Had drooped and faded in the heat of day;His rose thoughts had unfolded to the lightTo bless and help him all along life’s way.

SEEKING AND STRIVING

The soul that seeks for Heavenly things,And mounts above on tireless wings,Shall find them by and by;The soul that strives to conquer wrong,And sings a happy trustful song,Shall live and never die.

SOME DAY

Some day, not far away,In Heaven above,Both you and I,Who say the last good-bye,Shall meet and love.Some day, beyond life’s wayOf cares and tears,Your soul and mine,With Christ, the Soul divine,Shall know no fears.Some day, when others prayWith tear-stained eyes,You’ll take my handAnd we shall understandIn Paradise.Some day, when others stayTo do life’s part,We’ll reach the goalEach standing soul to soul,—Not heart to heart.Some day, when others say:—“Their lot was sad,”We’ll know the why;In Heaven both you and IShall be more glad.Some day, when earth is gayOn land and sea,Beyond life’s shoreWe two, who patience bore,Shall thankful be.Some day,—some brighter dayThan all the rest,Both you and IShall say no more: “Good-bye,”But:—“God knows best.”

THE AWAKENING

When Earth is waking from her winter dream,And Sunlight calls to life each sleeping stream;When songsters shall return on joyful wings,’Tis then the mind awakes to grander things.Faith in our God becomes a mighty power,—Deep rooted in the soul it grows each hour.Hope springs to life and, like the budding rose,Admits the light, and thus diviner grows.Sweet Charity, the greatest of the three,Unlocks the dormant heart with magic key,—Then enters Joy, the ever welcomed guest,To quiet Sorrow, and to bid her rest.The waking Earth demands the watchful eye,While day by day new glories round her lie.No longer shall we sleep away the hours,But wake to life as wake the budding flowers,—Breathing to others, in our life’s brief day,Fragrance and beauty as they pass our way.No longer shall we wait for better days,But, like the bird, sing forth His endless praise,And in the hour new hope and pleasure bringTo those who listen but care not to sing.No longer shall we rest and vainly dream,But wake as wakes again the living stream,Ever to broaden as we onward go,Bearing to thirsting souls the joys we know.

LOVE-LETTERS

You may burn the letters, dearie,Tho’ they’re written from the heartAnd have made the days less drearyWhile 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 embersWhile the ashes turn to white;For your loyal heart remembersTho’ my words shall pass from sight.You can burn Love’s secrets neverThat my soul to yours confessed;They, I know, will live foreverIn the life that I love best.So, my dearie, burn each tokenThat I’ve written just for you,And accept the love unspokenFrom 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 sighWill 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 bestAnd fills the future with a vague unrest.The little wrongs can never be made rightBy keeping them before the human sight;Better it is to give them scanty spaceBy putting virtue in its proper place;Better it is to let the whole heart singThan 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 partTo undertake?Have you been wishing to aspireTo better things?Has your sweet soul been lifted higherBy willing wings?Or has it fallen from a heightSo far above,That naught can make it pure and rightExcept God’s love?What have you done to-day, dear heart,—What will you do?Will you not wisely do the partGod gives to you?Will you not put away the dreamThat fancies fill,And tho’ your duties humble seemAccept God’s will?

SWEETEST MUSIC

A little child, at an organIn a room across the way,While trying to learn his lessonAwoke me from dreams to-day.The exercises were simpleBut he soon began to cry,And I heard him say with feeling:“’Tis really no use to try!”Then the master, bending o’er himAs patiently as before,Said: “Let me take your place, dear,And I’ll show you how once more.”Soon I hear instead of discordA sweet, harmonious sound,While the master’s skillful fingersThe musical keys have found.Within the souls of the manyAre keys of ivory white,Which will waken to sweetest musicIf in tune and touched aright;But how oft we hear a discordWhen the wrong keys have been triedAnd the amateur is playingWhile the Master stands aside.

AT LAST

A little stream that danced and played all dayUpon 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 hillSent forth its fragrance and at last was still.A little bird that built her airy nestNor thought in sunny hours to pause and rest,Sang sweeter songs to cheer the passer byWhen 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 sweetTo those who bear life’s burden and its heat;Sweet, starry twilight calms that manly soulThat 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 mightHis promise will not fade.

LIFE’S CRUCIBLE

We do not cut and polish the stonesThat are laid in the common wall;We do not prune the brambles and weedsThat around our pathway fall.We do not put into cruciblesA metal unworthy the test;Nor do we send a man to the frontWho would not peril his best.The vine that’s pruned bears the choicest fruit,—Necessity grinds the dull tool;And the keenest and best instructorsAre prepared in Affliction’s school.Suffering gives us the richest thoughtsThat to literature can belong;—In poetry it strikes the sweetest noteAnd inspires the tenderest song.Our troubles are but the inlets smallThat shall lead to the human soul,Thro’ which the Comforter comes to healAnd to strengthen us for the Goal.The rarest of saints are afflictedBy One who doth know what is right;And the stars shall ever shine brightestThat 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 sweetestIs the bird I prize.Not the flower that blooms the tallest,Nor whose petals are the whitest,But whose fragrance is completestSatisfies my eyes.Not the brook that laughs the loudest,Nor whose waters are the purest,But the brook that runs the fleetestTo the mill and sea.Not the soul that soars the quickest,But whose faith in God is surest,And whose record is the neatestIs the soul for me.

ENDEAVOR

Life’s morning hour is never quite completeIf climbing upward at the break of dayWe 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 prayerAnd 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 riseAnd 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 hereIs never quite so filled with peace and restAs 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 dayWe climb above, where other feet have trod,And leading others up the heavenly wayFind rest and day eternal with our God.

SERVICE

If you love and trust the SaviourYou can find enough to do;His good deeds and His compassionWill be done and felt by you.His great aims will all be cherishedIf with Him you’re really one;Can you think of Christ as idleWhile so much remains undone?His self-sacrificing spiritWill be exercised by you;And your faith will aid you everWhile love guides and makes it true.Faith and love that work togetherWill turn drudgery into joy;And make every service easyThat doth trouble and annoy.Love will show where service waits youTho’ it be but word or song;Faith will prompt you how to do itBe the service short or long.You can never be discouragedWhile the two together blend;Joined to faith, love meets all trialsAnd endureth to the end.You can leave the lower places,And mount upward every day;Winning character exaltedIf you faithfully work and pray.You can reach the best attainmentsDoing service that you find;And a worthier exampleYou 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 dawnPerchance thou may’st not see;The noon-tide of another dayMay come, but not for thee.The sun at even’-tide may glowUpon yon mountain height,And pause to bless the Mother EarthBefore 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 timeFormed from life’s yesterday.Thou can’st not look beyond this hourTo trace what may befall;But now is the accepted timeTo serve the Lord of all.To-day then do the good thou canst,And brighten home with love;Then shall thy soul more brightly shineIn Heaven, the Home above.Thy blessings oft are in disguise,—What seems to be a sorrowMay be the shades of deepening nightBefore 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 cheeryWe 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 morningPeace waits beyond the tomb.

A QUESTION ANSWERED

What is the secret of discontentThat never for human hearts was meant,And why the needless agitationThat 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 realWould 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 outWe 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 handIs 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 wingThe 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-sticksAnd 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 seeThe 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 lightTo watch the glow of the sunset bright,And looks for a few, pale evening starsWhile 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 feelThe well known move of her spinning-wheel.As she fondly dreams of those days of yoreShe 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 ariseWhen Grandmother thinks with half-closed eyes.

DILIGENCE

He who cannot do to-morrowBetter than he does to-dayIs a creature of dishonorAnd a failure all the way.From to-day’s accomplished laborComes the morrow near at hand,Just as yesterday’s completionBrought to-day’s ambitions grand.All the past is antiquated,—Useful but for present guide,And if followed makes the futureAll that has been hoped and tried.He who will not wisely laborFor the Present that is here,Rather than prefer past pleasuresOr a future’s coming cheer;Is, among the world’s great workers,But a tramp, whom few can trust,Who destroys the best of moralsOr is held in sheer disgust.Happy hearts and willing workersMake this earth a better place,And receive the Father’s blessing,When they see Him face to face.

THE BABY

Within his little crib the baby lies;And ’neath the lashes of his closing eyesI catch a glimpse of summer’s bluest skies.His tiny head, upon its pillow white,Is crowned with curls, like sunshine fair and bright,Half hidden now from his admirer’s sight.His cheek, soon flushed in a refreshing sleep,Is like the petal of a wild-rose deep,While in and out the pretty dimples peep.His rose-bud mouth, in such an hour as this,Invites the pleasure of a loving kiss,Which even strangers could not take amiss.His tiny teeth are like the precious pearlsAnd, when his lip in childish laughter curls,They shine, as perfect as a baby girl’s.His shapely ears, like sea-shells pink and small,Which soon discern the mother song and call,Can quickly hear the slightest sound of all.His little nose, not yet in proper style,Which mother models every little while,Is quite enough to make a critic smile.His dimpled hands, unlike the restless feetSecurely pinned within his blanket neat,Oft find a place outside the snowy sheet.When baby sleeps the house is hushed and lone;His rubber playthings to the floor are thrown,While patient pussy seeks her peace unknown.When baby wakes the house is filled with joy;His lusty cries no loving heart annoy,While mother runs to take her darling boy.