Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving, with Other Ballads and Poems

THE PRICE OF VICTORY

     "A VICTORY!—a victory!"       Is flashed across the wires;     Speed, speed the news from State to State,       Light up the signal fires!     Let all the bells from all the towers       A joyous peal ring out;     We've gained a glorious victory,       And put the foe to rout!     A mother heard the chiming bells;       Her joy was mixed with pain.     "Pray God," she said, "my gallant boy       Be not among the slain!"     Alas for her! that very hour       Outstretched in death he lay,     The color from his fair, young face       Had scarcely passed away.     His nerveless hand still grasped the sword.       He never more might wield,     His eyes were sealed in dreamless sleep       Upon that bloody field.     The chestnut curls his mother oft       Had stroked in fondest pride,     Neglected hung in clotted locks,       With deepest crimson dyed.     Ah! many a mother's heart shall ache,       And bleed with anguish sore,     When tidings come of him who marched       So blithely forth to war.     Oh! sad for them, the stricken down       In manhood's early dawn,     And sadder yet for loving hearts.       God comfort them that mourn!     Yes, victory has a fearful price       Our hearts may shrink to pay,     And tears will mingle with the joy       That greets a glorious day.     But he who dies in freedom's cause,       We cannot count him lost;     A battle won for truth and right       Is worth the blood it cost!     O mothers! count it something gained       That they, for whom you mourn,     Bequeath fair Freedom's heritage       To millions yet unborn;—     And better than a thousand years       Of base, ignoble breath,     A patriot's fragrant memory,       A hero's early death!

HARVARD ODES

     (SUNG AT ANNUAL DINNERS OF THE HARVARD CLUB OF New York. NEW YORK.)     HARVARD ODES     I     (Feb. 23, 1869.)     Fair Harvard, dear guide of our youth's golden days;       At thy name all our hearts own a thrill,     We turn from life's highways, its business, its cares,       We are boys in thy tutelage still.     And the warm blood of youth to our veins, as of yore,       Returns with impetuous flow,     Reviving the scenes and the hopes that were ours       In the vanished, but sweet Long Ago.     Once more through thy walks, Alma Mater, we tread,       And we dream youth's fair dreams once again,     We are heroes in fight for the Just and the Right,       We are knights without fear, without stain;     Its doors in fair prospect the world opens wide,       Its prizes seem easy to win,—     We are strong in our faith, we are bold in our might,       And we long for the race to begin.     Though dimmed are our hopes, and our visions are fled,       Our dreams were but dreams, it is true;     Dust-stained from the contest we gather to-night,       The sweet dreams of youth to renew.     Enough for to-morrow the cares it shall bring,       We are boys, we are brothers, to-night;     And our hearts, warm with love, Alma Mater, to thee,       Shall in loyal devotion unite.     II     (Feb. 11, 1870.)     As we meet in thy name, Alma Mater, to-night,       All our hearts and our hopes are as one,     And love for the mother that nurtured his youth       Beats high in the breast of each son.     The sweet chords of Memory bridge o'er the Past,       The years fade away like a dream,     By the banks of Cephissus, beneath the green trees,       We tread thy fair walks, Academe.     The heights of Hymettus that bound the near view       Fill the air with an odor as sweet     As the beautiful clusters of sun-tinted grapes       From the vineyards that lie at our feet.     O realm of enchantment, O Wonderful land,       Where the gods hold high converse with men,     Come out from the dusk of past ages once more,       And live in our fancy again.     Let us drink to the Past as our glasses we lift,       Let eye speak to eye, heart to heart,     Let the bonds of sweet fellowship bind each to each,       In the hours that remain ere we part.     And thou, Alma Mater, grown fairer with age,       Let us echo the blessing that fell     From thy motherly lips, as we stood at thy side,       And thou bad'st us God-speed and Farewell.     III     (Feb. 21, 1872.)     Fair Harvard, the months have accomplished their round       And a year stands full-orbed and complete,     Since last at thy summons, with dutiful hearts,       Thy children sat here at thy feet.     Since last in thy presence, grown youthful once more,       We drank to the past and its joys,     Shaking off every care that encumbered our years,       And dreamed that again we were boys.     To-night once again in thy presence we meet       In the freshness and flush of life's spring;     We wait but thy blessing, we ask but thy smile,       As our sails to the free air we fling.     The winds breathe auspicious that waft us along,       The sky, undisturbed, smiles serene,     Hope stands at the prow, and the waters gleam bright       With sparkles of silvery sheen.     And thy voice, Alma Mater, so potent and sweet,       Still sounds in our ears as of yore,     And thy motherly counsel we hear, wisdom-fraught,       As we push our frail barks from the shore.     From the foam-crested waves of the mountainous sea       As backward our glances we strain,     We see the dear face of our mother benign,       And bless her again and again.     IV     (Feb. 21, 1873.)     There's a fountain of Fable whose magical power       Time's ravages all could repair,     And replace the bowed form and the tottering step,       The wrinkles and silvery hair,     By the brown flowing locks and the graces of youth,       Its footstep elastic and light,     Could mantle the cheek with its long-vanished bloom       And make the dull eye keen and bright.     'Tis only a fable—a beautiful dream,       But the fable, the dream, shall come true,     As thy sons, Alma Mater, assemble to-night       The joys of past years to renew.     Our eyes shall grow bright with their old wonted light,       Our spirits untrammelled by care,     And the Goddess of Hope, with her fresh rainbow tints,       Shall paint every prospect more fair.     How sweet were the friendships we formed in thy halls!       How strong were the tendrils that bound     Our hearts to the mother whose provident care       Encompassed her children around!     Now strong in our manhood we cherish her still;       And if by misfortune brought low,     Our strength shall support her, our arms bear her up,       And sustain her through weal and through woe.

OCCASIONAL ODES.

BI-CENTENNIAL ODE.2

     (June 13, 1860.)     From the door of the homestead the mother looks forth,       With a glance half of hope, half of fear,     For the clock in the corner now points to the hour       When the children she loves should appear.     For have they not promised, whatever betide,       On this their dear mother's birthday,     To gather once more round the family board,       Their dutiful service to pay?     From the East and the West, from the North and the South,       In communion and intercourse sweet,     Her children have come, on this festival day,       To sit, as of old, at her feet.     And our mother,—God bless her benevolent face!—       How her heart thrills with motherly joys,     As she stands at the portal, with arms opened wide,       To welcome her girls and her boys.     And yet, when the first joyful greetings are o'er,       When the words of her welcome are said:     A shadow creeps over her motherly face,       As she silently thinks of the dead,     Of the children whose voices once rang through her fields,       Who shared all her hopes and alarms,     Till, tired with the burden and heat of the day,       They have fallen asleep in her arms.     They have gone from our midst, but their labors abide       On the fields where they prayerfully wrought;     They scattered the seed, but the harvest is ours,       By their toil and self-sacrifice bought.     As we scan the fair scene that once greeted their eyes,       As we tread the same paths which they trod,     Let us tenderly think of our elders by birth,       Who have gone to their rest, and their God.     God bless the old homestead! some linger there still,       In the haunts which their childhood has known,     While others have wandered to places remote,       And planted new homes of their own;     But Time cannot weaken the ties Love creates,       Nor absence, nor distance, impede     The filial devotion which thrills all our hearts,       As we bid our old mother God-speed.

FOR THE CONSECRATION OF A CEMETERY

     This verdant field that smiles to Heaven       In Nature's bright array,     From common uses set apart,       We consecrate to-day.     "God's Acre" be it fitly called,       For when, beneath the sod,     We lay the dead with reverent hands,       We yield them back to God.     And His great love, so freely given,       Shall speak in clearer tones,     When, pacing through these hallowed walks,       We read memorial stones.     Here let the sunshine softly fall,       And gently drop the rain,     And Nature's countless harmonies       Blend one accordant strain;     That they who seek this sacred place,       In mourning solitude,     In all this gracious company       May have their faith renewed.     So, lifted to serener heights,       And purified from dross,     Their trustful hearts shall rest on God,       And profit by their loss.

1

Written by request for the Philadelphia Sanitary Fair.

2

Sung at the bi-centennial celebration of the incorporation of Marlboro, Mass.