“You wish me happiness, and yet deny
My heart the highway to it.”
_Jacynth_:
“Happiness!
I would that words might win the illusive
Thing to carry with thee alway. How I
Would wheedle! She cannot suit her step
To ours for long, she wearieth of our slow
And sober pace and flitteth where she will--
Now near, now far away. We search in vain,
And when we go with down-bent head and eyes
Tear-filled, lo! on a sudden shineth round
Our feet her rainbow hues, and to our breast
She creepeth down with eager willingness.”
_Derwent_:
“There’s sweetness in thy words, such sweetness as
Wells up from fragrant things tho’ they be dead,
_A violet’s breath lives longer than its bloom_,
So in this tender wish of thine I read
Once on a time thy love was mine.”
_Jacynth_:
“And Peace--
Sweet Peace, whose softest note can drown the cry
Of bitterness--Oh! I would have her keep
Thy company, go with thee all the day,
Sleep on thine heart from dusk till rosy dawn,
And all such pretty joys be borne to thee
As come with fragrant breath, and dewy lips,
And subtle tender touch, to keep our love
Towards God and man a warm and living thing.
A Happy Year!
A Happy, Happy Year!”
_Derwent_:
“Nay, from the velvet heart of flower in bloom
Comes this last wave of sweetness;
My Jacynth,
Love is not dead in that white breast of thine,
O glad bells! ring ye out to all the world,
A Happy Year!
A Happy, Happy Year!”
[Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.]
Her First Sleigh-ride
All night the snowflakes sought the earth--the snowflakes big and white--
They covered up the meadows brown, they bent the bushes slight!
At morn the sun with wondrous pomp came climbing o’er the hill,
And lent a thousand beauties to the world so fair and still.
Ruth at the old manse window stood, a wonder in her gaze,
“The earth was turned to fairyland” she cried out in amaze!
Her cousin Ronald laughed and said, “This is no fairyland,
But a Canadian landscape clothed in beauty wild and grand.”
“In Georgia you have naught like this--ice, snow and wintery gale--
The southern air is warm and soft, the southern girls are pale,”
Not pale the face she turned to him, in each soft cheek the red
Flamed up, “You need not say a word against the south,” she said,
“I envy not your rosy maids their color, or their land,
I love the warmth of our blue sky, the bloom on every hand,
Far more than all your snow-capped hills, and forests ghostly white,
And mournful winds that love to play a dirge both day and night!”
Thereat his father--kindly soul as ever put to sleep
Both saint and sinner in the pew, with sermon long and deep--
Bade him not tease a sister so, “Come, make your peace straightway,
Then harness and bring out Black Bess, for on this glorious day
My Ruth shall have a rare, good treat--a sleigh-ride, do you hear?
The air will warm up towards noon, for see the sky is clear,
Come, you should love each other well, so near of kin are you,
My child, in Ronald you shall have a brother good and true.”
“No brother I,” the graceless youth did hastily exclaim,
And Ruth, affronted, bade him wait until she made such claim,
Black Bess came prancing from her stall, so smooth, so shiny-skinned,
Give her the rein and she would race as swiftly as the wind,
She tossed her slender head and pawed the snow-drifts as she stood,
And shook her bells until they chimed, so eager was her mood,
“Whoa, Bess, be patient for awhile?” said Ronald, as with care
He tucked the robes so thick and warm about his cousin fair.
Then off they sped away--away, the snow-birds flew afraid,
The frost came in the air to touch the cheeks of man and maid,
The yellow sunbeams raced with them, and made a glow and gleam,
Put rainbow colors on the bridge that spanned the frozen stream.
A white highway they followed down into the valley wide,
And whiter yet the sun-kissed hills that rose on either side;
Black Bess made all her chiming bells flow music clear and sweet
As on she sped, and on, and on--a handsome thing and fleet.
But when the forest wide was reached she took a sober pace,
As though to give them time to note the beauty of the place,
The giant heads were crowned with snow, the giant limbs were dressed,
And close about the giant girths the snowy drifts were pressed.
And Ruth, a fair and radiant Ruth, said softly “This is grand;
Old winter makes his home I trow, in this wide northern land,
You lacked in courtesy to-day, but this ride makes amends,
So Ronald now, a truce, I say; let us be loyal friends.”
“No friend am I,” he said, and laughed to note her look of pride!
“What boors you are, here in the north!” the angry maiden cried;
“And now for home and supper warm, we’ll need them without doubt.”
Homeward they flew, Black Bess as fresh as when she started out;
The sun with all his gorgeous train went down behind the crest
Of one tall hill, but left a glow of crimson in the west,
So soft, so pure, the old world lay as the young night came down,
For covered all her gardens sere, her meadows bare and brown.
He spoke at length, “I will not be your brother or your friend.
But I will be your lover true till life and love shall end,”
The blue eyes looked into the brown, he bent his head full low,
He may have kissed her tender mouth--but this no one can know.
* * * * *
“Ho! Ho! this winter air is fine!” the old man cried with glee!
“Did you enjoy my treat? Your cheeks are rosy as can be,”
“I did,” Ruth owned, and stretched her hands out to the cheerful blaze,
“I like Canadian scenery--I--like--Canadian--ways.”
His Own Little Black-Eyed Lad
It is time for bed, so the nurse declares,
But I slip off to the nook,
The cosy nook at the head of the stairs,
Where daddy’s reading his book.
“I want to sit here awhile on your knee,”
I say as I toast my feet,
“And I want you to pop some corn for me,
And give me an apple sweet.”
I tickle him under the chin--just so--
And I say, “Please can’t I, dad?”
Then I kiss his mouth so he can’t say no,
To his own little black-eyed lad.
“You can’t have a pony this year at all,”
Says my stingy uncle Joe
After promising it, and there’s the stall
Fixed ready for it, you know.
One can’t depend on his uncles, I see,
It’s daddies that are the best,
And I find mine and climb on his knee
As he takes his smoke and rest.
I tickle him under the chin--just so--
And I say, “Please can’t I, dad?”
Then I kiss his mouth so he can’t say no,
To his own little black-eyed lad.
I want to skate, and oh, what a fuss
For fear I’ll break through the ice!
This woman that keeps our house for us
She isn’t what I call nice.
She wants a boy to be just like a girl,
To play in the house all day,
Keep his face all clean, and his hair in curl,
But dad doesn’t think that way.
I tickle him under the chin--just so--
And I say, “Please can’t I, dad?”
Then I kiss his mouth so he can’t say no,
To his own little black-eyed lad.
“You’re growing so big” says my dad to me,
“Soon be a man, I suppose,
Too big to climb up on your old dad’s knee
And toast your ten little toes.”
Then his voice it gets the funniest shake,
And oh, but he hugs me tight!
I say, when I can’t keep my eyes awake,
“Let me sleep with you to-night.”
I tickle him under the chin--just so--
And I say, “Please can’t I, dad?”
Then I kiss his mouth so he can’t say no,
To his own little black-eyed lad.
Be Good and Glad
Why do you sigh as days go by,
And carry such a weight of sadness?
To wistful eyes, the hot tears rise--
Yet life holds store of joy and gladness.
The sunbeams gay are out to-day,
Then worry not about to-morrow,
Nor shrink, nor start with beating heart,
Nor grave fears for the future borrow.
Let us not weep when shadows deep
About our pathway seem to gather,
But go our way, without dismay,
For children we--the Lord our Father.
I hold there must be faith and trust--
For others’ sins a full forgiving--
The greeting glad for sick and sad,
If we would taste the joys of living.
The sunlight streams, the old world dreams,
And by-and-by the stars will glimmer,
The lamps that swung when earth was young
Yet have not older grown, or dimmer.
And blind we are, or we would see
This lesson in the skies above us;
That all the way, by night or day,
God watchful is, since He doth love us.
The Making Up
We quarrel and make up again,
And then some day,
We quarrel, and forget, straightway,
The making up.
The first harsh word comes tremblingly--
We shame to fling
It forth--Ah me! ’twill wound and sting
What we hold dear.
Ashamed and penitent we cry
“Forgive!” and kiss;
There is a wealth of joy and bliss
In making up.
The next harsh word comes easier,
Till by-and-by,
We think it foolishness to cry
For peace again.
The discord swells in every line,
And soon we grow
So used to it we hardly know
The once sweet air.
We quarrel and make up again
And then some day
We quarrel and forget, straightway,
The making up.
O Radiant Stream
River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair,
Soft in the sunlight, blue as the sky,
Crowned with a beauty, tender and rare,
And kissed by the breeze that goes hurrying by.
Warm dost thou look, and fair as a dream,
Speeding so merrily out to the sea,
So strong and so gentle--O radiant stream,
The smile of the summer is resting on thee!
River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair,
Winding thy way for a thousand long miles
Past meadow and homestead, past rocks grim and bare,
With a song for the shore, a kiss for the isles
Lovingly cradled on thy broad breast--
Isles without number, and fair as can be,
O, sweet, shining river--bonniest, best--
The smile of the summer is resting on thee!
River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair,
Lightly bearing the great ships along--
Boats with their white sails spread out in the air--
The broad rafts of timber, so clumsy and strong--
The slender canoe, as swift as a bird,
The Indian builds with bark from a tree--
Thou bearest them all, unwearied, unstirred--
The smile of the summer is resting on thee!
River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair,
Pure are thy waters that bask in the light;
Thy ripples of laughter ring sweet on the air--
The rocks bend to listen by day and by night.
The turbulent streams rushing down from the hills
To mingle and race with thee out to the sea,
Steal not from thy azure--O, beauty that thrills,
The smile of the summer is resting on thee!
River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair,
Onward thou speedest, so deep and so wide;
The sunbeams that lurk on thy bosom, see there
A tremulous tumult of love, and of pride--
Of love and of pride for the place of thy birth--
Thy far-away mother--the fresh-water sea--
From whence thou didst spring forth to gladden God’s earth--
The smile of the summer is resting on thee!
River St. Lawrence, tranquil and fair,
Soft in the sunlight, blue as the sky,
Crowned with a beauty tender and rare,
And kissed by each breeze that goes hurrying by;
Warm dost thou look, and fair as a dream,
Speeding so merrily out to the sea,
So mighty, so gentle--O, radiant stream,
The smile of the summer is resting on thee!
[Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.]
My Sweetbriar Maid
I called her sweetbriar when first we walked,
Deep down in the winding lane,
The wild birds sang, and we laughed, and we talked,
Deep down in the winding lane,
We met in the sunshine of one spring day--
Youthful, and happy, and free,
Into her keeping my heart flew straightway,
Pretty and piquant, was she.
Her hazel eyes were so gentle and meek,
But scornful her mouth and chin,
Her brow was severe, but each rosy cheek
Had a roguish dimple in,
And I cried, “I love you my sweetbriar maid!”
And then, oh moment of bliss,
My lips to her cherry-red lips I laid,
And tasted my first love-kiss.
’Twas ever and ever so long ago,
But I remember it yet,
Ah, the springtime of life, its bloom and its glow,
The heart can never forget,
My sweetbriar maid I would give to-day,
The wealth, the fame and the gold
That the years have brought, if they’d roll away,
And leave us the thrill of old.
If only straight backward old time would move--
(Ah, wishing is all in vain),
And leave us with youth, and joy, and love,
Deep down in that winding lane.
[Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.]
My Canada
My Canada!
I would that I thy child might frame
A song half worthy of thy name,
Proudly I say--
This is our country, strong, and broad and grand,
This is our Canada, our native land!
My Canada!
’Tis meet that all the world should know
How far thy sweeping rivers flow,
How fair to-day
Thy bonnie lakes upon thy bosom lie,
Their faces laughing upward to the sky.
My Canada!
We look alway with love and pride
Upon thy forests deep and wide,
And gladly say.
“These giant fellows, mighty grown with age,
Are part and parcel of our heritage.”
My Canada!
So rich in glow and bracing air,
With meadows stretching everywhere,
With gardens gay,
With smiling orchards, sending forth to greet
Full breaths of perfume from their burdens sweet.
My Canada!
Thou art not old, thou art not skilled,
But through the ages youth hath thrilled;
’Tis dawn with thee,
Thou has a glorious promise, and thy powers
Are measured only by the golden hours.
My Canada!
What thou art now we know full well,
What thou wilt grow to be? Ah! who can tell?
We see to-day
Thy lithe form running swiftly in the race,
For all the things which older lands do grace.
My Canada!
With loyal sons to take thy part,
To hold thee shrined within the heart,
Proudly we say,
“This is our country, strong, and broad, and grand,
“God guard thee Canada, our native land!
Perfect Peace
_Because He Trusteth in Thee_--ISAIAH.
In an hour when all was anguish, when loss and death were near,
I sought the Christ and cried aloud for aid,
Through the heavy mist of sorrow, His voice came, sweet and clear
Take the promise, let thy mind on Me be stayed.
_For_ ye shall have perfect peace,
And the grieving shall depart,
And the striving and the bitterness shall cease,
Then laid the wounded hand of Him
Upon my breaking heart,
Lo, ’twas mine, the priceless gift of Perfect Peace.
Come let us weigh the tenderness Christ hath for you and me,
By the promises He ready stands to prove,
Let us try to comprehend it, the gift so full and free,
O the height and depth, and length and breadth, of Love!
He is so patient with us as He guides our stubborn feet--
So patient though we wander far astray,
Lean on the Everlasting Strength, He saith in accents sweet,
As we falter and we stumble by the way.
For ye shall have perfect peace,
And the grieving shall depart,
And the striving and the bitterness shall cease,
Then laid the wounded hand of Him
Upon my breaking heart,
Lo, ’twas mine, the priceless gift of Perfect Peace.
Blessed Christ, if we could bring Thee the years so swiftly gone,
O the wasted hours! the swiftly coming night!
The finding in the twilight what we might have found at dawn--
Thee--the source of strength, and joy, and all delight!
I can thank Thee now for taking what I held dear away,
For my mind on Thee, and Thee alone, is stayed,
Thou wilt give back my treasures in the coming golden day,
I will trust Thee and I will not be afraid.
For I shall have perfect peace,
And the grieving shall depart,
And the striving and the bitterness shall cease,
Then laid the wounded hand of Him
Upon my breaking heart,
Lo, ’twas mine the priceless gift of Perfect Peace.
The King’s Gift
The angels open the windows wide
In the world so far above us,
Lo, all about us, on every side,
Falls the newborn year unstained, untried,
O, angel hearts that love us!
Ye take our yesterdays dim and old,
Touched with sorrow and sinning,
And ye give to us with a grace untold
The year’s soft dew and the dawn of gold,
Ye give us the fresh beginning.
Unstained the new year falls at our feet
From the world so far above us,
And what it will bring of joy complete,
Or take of treasures tender and sweet,
Ye know, O hearts that love us!
[Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.]
I Love Her Well
I love her well, day after day
I tell the old words over,
They ring no change from grave to gay,
It is enough, I love her!
I love her well--nay never ask
The reason _why_ I do so,
Ask flowers that in the sunshine bask
The reason why they grew so.
They’ll tell you heaven saw the need,
And so, on earth’s brown bosom
The angels scattered out the seed,
The sunbeams kissed to blossom.
I love her well, day after day
I tell the old words over,
They ring no change from grave to gay,
It is enough--I love her!
[Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.]
Good-Night
I am not brave enough to sing
The requiem of a hope just dead,
That word _good-bye_ will surely bring
The shadow upon swifter wing,
Come, let us say good-night instead.
See, where upon the water’s crest
The sky comes down, a samite pall,
To our poor vision, dim at best--
That curtain of rare amethyst
Marks the sure ending of it all.
Ah, heart, the lesson you forget,
This wind which goes with hurrying sweep
Sees farther on, and farther yet
The white ships go, the waters fret,
The tender stars their vigils keep.
So not good-bye, good-night--that’s all,
The loneliness, the loss is mine,
To-morrow when the glad winds call,
The folds of mist will backward fall,
And leave me with my hand in thine.
Her Gold
“I covet her gold, sir,” no farther I got,
His wrath down upon me so swiftly descended,
A gay fortune-hunter, a spendthrift, a sot,
Were names I was called before he had ended.
“You covet her gold! Ah! no man with a heart
Would do such a thing--not even a pauper--
With you on life’s journey my child shall not start
If counsel of mine, and warning, can stop her.”
“I covet her gold, and, believe me,” I said,
“The honest fact will in no way surprise her,
I covet her gold, sir, _the gold on her head_,
Once it is mine you may call me a miser.”
[Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.]
Good-Bye To Work
Good-bye to work, I say, and straight
The pain of having such to say
Puts coward touches on my face,
And leaves me strangely old and gray.
Why not? We deem it not amiss
Beside the coffin and the pall
To let our loss fill all our thought,
To let our tears like raindrops fall.
And when I stand and voice to-day
The thought of my reluctant heart,
Unclasp your bands and go your way
O work, ’tis time for us to part!
I say good-bye to more than friend,
A comrade staunch, and tried and true,
Who linked his fate with that of mine,
And paced with me the dull year through.
To work, the one enduring thing
Born of my vast desire for good,
And nourished by each grand resolve
That swept my being like a flood.
To work, the gracious thing, and strong,
That found the welcome of a bride
When life was in its green, glad spring,
The coming years outstretching wide.
When, not as laggard to his task,
But as a lover warm and true,
I held it close in my embrace,
And felt its greatness thrill me through.
O work! if time had passed us by
And left us youth, and youth’s desires,
What heights--nay never soul of man
Mounts up so high as it aspires.
The years--harsh things that steal the dew
From all that’s fair--disdained to show
Such mercy towards our purpose strong,
To learn untouched its tender glow.
Not always kind, not often fair,
Since hearts so rarely constant prove
What wonder that my fervor passed,
That dulled grew the sharp edge of love?
When eyes entreating met my own,
Between would come your changeless face,
Till, thwarted, I would feel to cry,
O work, release me for a space!
But what man putting the last kiss
On lips once loved recalls to mind
One slight defect, the haughty look
The thoughtless word, the act unkind.
But lets the mem’ry of each grace,
Each sweetness, each light tender trick
Throng to his heart, feel at its strings,
Until the tears fall hot and thick.
So work, I find since you and I
May walk together nevermore,
I hold you dear enough to wish
That we might live the dead years o’er.
Good-bye my work! and straight the pain
Of having such a thing to say,
Prints coward touches on my face,
And leaves me strangely old and gray.
Somebody
She is plain of face, she hath little grace,
They say when they speak of me,
’Tis little I care, I am more than fair
In the eyes of _somebody_.
She is cold, they say, as a winter’s day,
It mattereth not to me,
For the glow and heat of my true heart’s beat
Is known unto _somebody_.
She holdeth in hand neither gold or land--
Ah, the dull eyes cannot see
How rich and great is my broad estate
In the heart of _somebody_.
My Little Maid
My little maid, my little maid,
You grow too old, I am afraid,
Your birthday, is it? Tell me dear,
How long ago did you come here?
What? five to-day--how tall you grow!
I wish time would not hurry so,
I wish he’d just go on his way,
Nor call on us for many a-day.
Stay in the baby-world so new,
Its flowers are drowning in the dew,
Its paths are soft to tender feet,
Stay in the baby-world my sweet!
My little maid, my little maid,
You grow too old, I am afraid,
The questions trembling on your tongue
Tell me you are no longer young,
How many hours are in the year?
How high up is the heaven clear?
And do the ships, so big and grand
Go sailing to some other land?
Stay in the baby-world so new,
Its flowers are drowning in the dew,
Its paths are soft to tender feet,
Stay in the baby-world, my sweet!
My little maid, my little maid,
You grow too old, I am afraid,
The schoolhouse holds your steady gaze,
Your mind is in a wondrous maze,
So much to learn, so much to see,
You’re just as busy as can be,
My nursery rhymes have all been told,
Red Riding-Hood will soon be old.
Stay in the baby-world so new,
Its flowers are drowning in the dew,
Its paths are soft to tender feet,
Stay in the baby-world my sweet!
My little maid, my little maid,
You grow too old, I am afraid,
Your tender face it seems to me,
Is filled full of expectancy.
A spirit questioning, and wise
Looks out at me from your dark eyes,
Till I am fain to hold you fast
And hide you while old Time goes past.
Stay in the baby-world so new,
Its flowers are drowning in the dew,
Its paths are soft to tender feet,
Stay in the baby-world my sweet!
My little maid, my little maid,
You grow too old, I am afraid,
Five years! it seems a little while
Since you came here with slow sweet smile
On your wee mouth, your pretty chin,
And each cheek with a dimple in,
Your soft hands clutching at the air,
Your birthright all our love and care.
Stay in the baby-world so new,
Its flowers are drowning in the dew,
Its paths are soft to tender feet,
Stay in the baby-world my sweet.
[Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.]
Heather White
Sprig o’ heather, you were born
Where the mountains greet the morn,
Just within the shadow dim
Of the grey rocks harsh and grim,
Just beside the torrent’s brim,
You were born;
I, a naturalist, can trace
In thy sweet sky-lifted face,
Signs and tokens of the place
Clear as morn.
Breath that comes from ’mong the firs,
When the wet-faced sea-wind stirs
In its flight,
Night of gloom, and day of gold,
Hill and vale, white flocks in fold,
Ah, to-night,
Dim my eyes grow as they see
All thy dear heart shows to me,
Blossom from across the sea,
Heather White!
Grannie’s Message to Jack
You’re sending Jack a letter, dear--
To-day he’s twenty-one,
And plainly I can read your pride
And joy in the dear son.
He wants a message--Ah, if I
Could take his hand in mine
Instead of putting all my love
In one poor little line.
But write out clear and let it read
_To Jack, away from home,
Old Grannie says, get ready,
For the Kingdom come._
You’re smiling daughter as you write,
But Jack won’t smile that way,
His mind will just go flying back
To thoughts of yesterday;
Before he got so big and strong,
And oh, so very nice,
When he was Grannie’s white-haired boy
Just dreaming of the skies.
So write out clear, and let it read,
_To Jack, away from home,
Old Grannie, says get ready
For the Kingdom come._
Somehow the letters that we get
Don’t seem to come from him,
And often when I’ve read them through
My poor old eyes are dim,
He talks too much of worldly things--
My Jack was never proud,
Of wealth and fame, and power to win,
And going with the crowd.
So write out clear, and let it read,
_To Jack, away from home,
Old Grannie says, get ready
For the Kingdom come._
You think his birthday calls for more
Than one poor little line,
Nay, there are those who love him less
To make him wishes fine;
My words go from a faithful heart,
They’re true, and they are warm,
There’s loving wisdom in them, too,
To keep my boy from home.
So write out clear, and let it read,
_To Jack, away from home,
Old Grannie says, get ready
For the Kingdom come._
I’d like to see him as he reads,
His blue eyes brimming o’er,
And good thoughts rising white and strong
To be forgot no more;
Heaven will be nearer to his heart
Than it has been for years,
For he will read in these few words
My love, my hope, my prayers.