Poems

Dear Grandpa Lee, with little Grace, Followed the pathway to the mill; Bright daisies starred the shady lane, And now and then a bird would trill. Thus happily they onward went, Till Grace cried, "There is little Kate, And Frank and Nellie, too—and oh! Nell's swinging on the garden-gate!" As Grace and Grandpa came in sight, The little ones to meet them sped, Their eager, prattling lips apart, Eyes flashing bright, and cheeks rose-red.

"Light, more light," the poet cried, Ere he bowed his head and died; Light more light, on earth's dark way, Leading to immortal day. Long ago, in Holy Land, Lived there one by God's right hand,— Never absent from God's sphere, Though he lived among us here.

I dreamed my spirit broke the bars of sense, That hold the gates of consciousness shut fast,— Threw off the prison garb of self, and passed Into the wonder of omniscience. As mists that rise from ocean, and condense In clouds, in million raindrops melt, at last, Through brooks and rivers, join again the vast Primeval sea—so do I read the whence And whither of the soul.

March on, ye Child of Progress, In the fight ne'er falter; Through the eternal ages, God's law doth not alter. He is a guide unflinching, Full of grace and pity; His is a path unerring, Leading to Truth's city.

Now that I have thee, thou art ever near; A gift from the All-love, I hold thee dear. Our ways may lie apart, earth may divide, But Heaven, my friend, will find us side by side.

It was the eve of Christmas, the snow lay deep and white; I sat beside my window, and looked into the night; I heard the church-bells ringing, and saw the bright stars shine; And childhood came again to me, with all its dreams divine. Then, as I listened to the bells, and watched the skies afar, Out of the east majestical, there rose one radiant Star; And every other star grew pale, before that heavenly glow, It seemed to bid me follow, and I could not choose but go.

The Spirit grieves Over a wasted life,— Sins committed while conscience slept, Promises made but never kept, Hatred, anger, and strife,— Nothing but leaves! Nothing but leaves! No garnered sheaves Of Life's fair, ripened grain: We sow our seeds! Lo, tares and weeds We reap, in toil and pain,— Nothing but leaves. And shall we greet the Master so, Bearing our withered leaves? The Saviour looks for perfect fruit, We stand before him humbled, mute, Waiting the words he breathes,— "Nothing but leaves!".

Evil must cease,— For that way tend All things that bend Its final end, With lessening trend,— And give us peace. Falsehood no more In least degree Truth's face may see.

Look hopefully forward, from life's shining plow, For the Spirit's sure prompter and guide; And find, in Love's labor, the radiant brow Of the promised Messiah and bride. The Life-giving Power awakes us today, And we know the bright message is true; For it works, as of old, in a marvellous way, Forever revealing the new.

The Truth he told, the Truth he lived; Truth was his very self. Loyal to God, a nation's friend.