INTRODUCTORY.—SPIRIT MAY.
This, the second part of our volume, will contain the writings of a
beautiful young spirit whose literary labors through her medium, Miss M.
T. Shelhamer, have been adapted to the taste of children and young
people; though ample testimony has been received from a number of
persons of mature age that these simply-worded and easily-understood
poems and narratives of spirit children, and of child-life in the
spheres, are replete with interest, instruction, and enjoyment for
“children of a larger growth” than those for whom they were originally
designed.
Mary G. Kinsey is a younger sister of Kate A. Kinsey—spirit Violet—whose
descriptions of life and labor in the spirit world have been given on
the preceding pages. She passed to spirit life June 27, 1862, at the
tender age of four months and one day, and consequently has gained her
knowledge and experience of life in the spirit world. In the early
summer of 1879, spirit Violet informed her medium that her sister Mary
was a teacher of little children in the Summer-land; that she dearly
loved the young and lovely buds of humanity, and found her chief
enjoyment in ministering to their needs, and in catering to their
pleasure; and announced her, Mary’s, intention of opening a children’s
department in the columns of the _Voice of Angels_, through which she
would talk to the children of earth,—singing them simple rhymes, or
relating incidents and anecdotes of the children of the spirit world.
Shortly after this, Mary appeared to the medium for the purpose of
putting this plan into execution, inditing through the organism of Miss
Shelhamer her first contribution to a Children’s Department for the
_Voice_ under the signature of “Spirit May,” which _nom de plume_ she
has ever since employed; and from that time to the present, this sweet
young spirit has assiduously labored to present to mortal children
something fresh and bright from the tablets of her mind—either in poetry
or prose—that would be at once interesting and instructive. At first,
spirit May’s productions were given in the form of verse for the ready
comprehension of her young readers; but later, she successfully
attempted the description of how children live in the Summer-land, with
accounts of their labors, studies, and recreations.
As this work is published for the purpose of informing mortals
concerning real life in the spirit world, that portion of it which
spirit May has contributed will consist principally of her recitals of
the work, doings, and surroundings of spirit children. The succeeding
four chapters of this work treat upon these themes exclusively. Below we
give a little brochure written by spirit May, entitled, “The Council of
the Flowers,” followed by a few selections from her poetic contributions
to the _Voice of Angels_, with which it is thought best to finish this
chapter.
THE COUNCIL OF THE FLOWERS.
The soft, glistening raindrops of April fell over the tired earth, that
had been held by wintry cold and storm for many long months. The bright
golden sunbeams and the sweet, fragrant breezes of May swept over the
fields and woods and lanes, calling their flowers forth to enjoy the
beautiful springtime of gladness and mirth.
Myriads of blossoms, white and yellow, red and purple and blue, sprang
up from their nests of dainty green grasses and leaves, to swing in the
passing breeze and shake the perfume from their petals with which to
scent the balmy air. Roses and lilies, violets and daisies, pinks and
cowslips, and a thousand other flowers made the hedges and gardens and
meadows and forests appear gay and beautiful and very sweet.
June came and went, followed by July and August, with their burning
splendor of sunlight and heat. Many of the flowers bloomed in sweetness
for a little while, and then dropped their leaves and died to earthly
things, and passed away to the heaven where flowers bloom forever.
Others, fragrant and fresh and fair, came to take their places, and so
the whole world was sweet until the autumn came.
Down, down, dropped the leaves from the trees, whirling along through
the air, no longer wearing their summer hue of green, but bearing the
marks of age in the dull, brown appearance which had come to them.
The autumn time had come, and the oldest flowers began to shake their
heads and whisper to each other that it was time for them to be gone,
and that the winter must not find them here below. A great wind from the
east, that had been listening to these remarks, caught up the words, and
rushing over hill and dale, and wood and field, shrieked them into the
ears of all the flowers that lingered there, causing them to draw their
petals together and shiver in alarm.
Then the wise old flowers said: “Let us call a council, and discuss the
propriety of leaving earth before the snow-king comes.”
And so they gathered together all who could come, and concluded that
they had lived quite long enough in this world, and it was time for them
to take their flight to the great Paradise of flowers, where in one
great garden they should live and bloom, and enjoy the sunlight and the
dew forever.
And then a great red rose, the last of its kind, shook its fragrant
petals and sweetly said: “Oh, kind west wind, we have decided to leave
this world for our beautiful home above. Please to carry this message to
our friends and relations all over the land. Wherever you find a flower,
no matter how humble it may be, or what its color, whisper into its ear
these words: Be ready when the west wind comes again to take your flight
from earth; all your friends and kindred will join you in your journey
to the Summer-land; their mission is ended here below; their new life
will be taken up in company with their sweet friends of spring and
summer, who have passed on before them. There is joyful reunion for all
the flowers. Here they shall bloom no more. When the winter flies, new
flowers and other blooms will shed their perfume here, but you and your
friends will blossom in the eternal world, where no wintry cold nor
frost will ever come.”
And the genial west wind bore the message of the grand old rose far and
wide, and whispered it to every flower, and the flowers bowed in silence
while he spake; but when he had passed along, they shook off their
useless petals and prepared for their journey as they sweetly sang: “We
are going home, we are going home; good-bye, old world, good-bye.”
And when the west wind came again, he found them ready, and he gathered
them all up in his arms and bore them away to the happy Summer-land.
The north wind came with a biting blast, but he found no trembling leaf
or shrinking flower; they had all departed with their friend, the west
wind, to remain forever in that land of sunlight, where the south wind
sings to them of the peace and beauty of their heavenly home.
FOR THE LITTLE ONES.
All day long the leafy branches
Of the stately maple tree
Waved their banners in the breezes
Bold and fearless, strong and free;
All day long the golden sunshine
Bathed the pretty flowers in light,
As they peeped above the grasses
And revealed their faces bright.
All day long a merry songster
Warbled in the leafy tree,
Waking all the air with music,
Thrilling all the hours with glee;
For he held a happy secret
’Neath his crimson mottled coat,
Cause of all the liquid gladness
Bubbling from his downy throat.
Let me tell to you the secret—
In a dainty, pretty nest,
Hid among the leafy branches,
There were cuddled down to rest
Little tiny, cunning birdlings,
Three in number—do you see?
This was why the merry songster
Warbled in his happy glee.
All day long the birdies wondered
What this strange, bright world could be,
While their gentle-hearted mother
Hushed them with her tender “Wee;”
And the happy, singing father
Brought them goodies fresh to eat,
As he told them famous stories
Of the flowers pure and sweet.
What a happy, joyous summer
Came to bless the maple tree
As the birdies grew in beauty,
Strength and vigor, full and free;
And they filled the earth with music,
Charmed the sunshine, woke the flowers,
As they brought a peaceful blessing
To the golden-hearted hours.
WHO CAN TELL?
Which is the prettiest flower
Growing in field or dell?
Think of it, little children,
See if your tongues can tell.
Is it the white-fringed daisy,
Bright with its heart of gold?
Is it the fragrant snowdrop,
Peeping above the mold?
Which is the prettiest flower
Blooming in woody glade?
Is it the lowly violet,
Seeking the cooling shade?
Is it the sweet field-lily,
Lifting her shining head?
Or is it the perfumed wild rose,
On the clearest dewdrops fed?
Which is the prettiest flower
Growing in meadow green?—
The buttercup so yellow,
With gay and dashing mien?
Is it the dandelion,
So like a star of gold?
Or is it the tiger-lily,
With manner bright and bold?
Oh, who can tell, my children,
The prettiest flower of all,
From lily fair and stately
To violet so small?
For each is bright and glowing,
And fills with native grace,
From early seed to blowing,
Its own appointed place.
WORK.
Work! work! work!
’Tis better to work than play—
’Tis better to do some little good
As we travel from day to day;
’Tis better to help some needy one
Than to idle our time away.
Work that is done with zeal
Is never too hard to do,
Work that is full of use
Will bring only strength to you;
Work that will bless some weary soul
Is filled with a purpose true.
Oh, children, large or small,
Give happy smiles, not tears,
Give pleasant looks and loving words
Through all the coming years
To those who come to you in pain,
Bowed down by doubts and fears.
Give of the best you have
To brighten life below,
To all who come within your reach
As on your way you go;
Be gentle, patient, true, and kind,
A friend to all in woe.
The angels give you joy,
And guard you with their love,
They watch you with their tender care
Where’er your footsteps rove;
They guide you o’er the shining way
That leads to Heaven above.
TO MY SISTER GENEVIEVE.
I know a little maiden,
So pure and sweet and fair,
There’s roses in her smiling face
And sunbeams in her hair;
Her voice is soft and pleasant,
And rings with notes of love;
Her eyes are bright as starry gems
That shine in heaven above.
This happy little maiden
Possesses jewels bright,
With mines of wealth and splendor,
Aflame with brilliant light;
The wealth of priceless tenderness
Affection’s soul imparts,
The gems of love and kindness
That shine from parent hearts.
Her path is strewn with blossoms
Of kindly smiles and words,
That break in sweetest music,
Like songs of summer birds,
From those who dwell about her—
Dear brothers, sister, true—
And crown her life with gladness
More sweet than morning dew.
Oh, gentle little maiden,
The angels love you well,
And bless your life with holier joy
Than human tongue can tell;
They whisper to your spirit
In accents pure and clear,
“Be gentle, pure, and loving,
For God has placed you here
To bless the souls of mortals,
And fill their hearts with love,
To lead them o’er the starry heights
To holier worlds above:
He gives you words of kindness
To scatter as you go
Along the way that leads to heaven
From earthly fields below.”
GRANDMA’S PET.
What a charming, nice old lady
Sits in yonder easy-chair,
Where the straying sunbeams wander
O’er her locks of snow-white hair!
Do you know that she is grandma
To these little children three,
Who are playing by the doorway
In such merry, laughing glee?
There is roguish little Harry,
With his eyes as black as sloes,
Flashing, leaping, snapping, dancing,
And a sweet face like a rose;
There is laughing Sue, whose tresses
Are as bright as shining gold—
Happy Sue, whose life is joyous,
For she is but ten years old.
Here is little, timid Bessie,
Quietest of all the three,
Fair as any snow-white lily
And as sweet as she can be;
With her ringlets brown and shining
Falling o’er her smiling face,
Bessie is a pretty picture
As she moves with gentle grace.
Now, of all these little children,
Which does grandma love the best?
Listen to her quiet answer:
“If you put me to the test,
I am sure I cannot tell you,
For each one is dear to me:
Harry is my pride and pleasure,
And I love his boyish glee:
Sue is wild and sometimes reckless,
And she does not always mind
What her gentle mother tells her—
To such faults I am not blind;
But I know that she is thoughtless,
And these faults will be outgrown;
Susie is my darling madcap,
And no brighter child I’ve known.
Bessie is a precious baby,
And for her I often fret
If she’s from my side an hour—
So perhaps _she_ is my pet:
But I love them _all_—the darlings—
And I pray the Holy One
To preserve them pure and spotless,
Till their life on earth is done.”
TWO BIRDIES.
Down in a cool and mossy glen
Two little birdies sing,
One hath a flaming crimson breast,
And one a speckled wing;
They chirp and talk and sing away,
As birdies often do,
And fill the sunny air of day
With music sweet and true.
They have a cunning little nest,
Safe hidden in a tree,
Where four wee birdlings snugly rest
In happiness and glee;
And not a shadow flits across
The sunshine of their way,
And so they sit and sing in joy
Through all the summer day.
When Master Robin brings his food
To Mrs. Jenny Wren,
A cheerful flutter ripples through
The pleasant, mossy glen;
The wee, small birdlings open wide
Their tiny mouths for more,
As careful Jenny feeds them well
From out her ample store.
Oh, children, when you go and play
Within the mossy glen,
Look carefully for Robin Red,
And Mrs. Jenny Wren;
And as they sit and chirp to you
Of all their tender joy,
Resolve to never harm a bird
Nor any nest destroy.
EVENING.
When the day has gone to sleep,
And the shades of night appear,
All along the evening sky
Twinkling stars are shining clear;
Then the restless, weary birds
Cuddle in their downy nest,
Undisturbed by doubt or fear,
For our Father gives them rest.
As the golden stars appear
In the sky of crystal blue,
And the flowerets seek repose,
Bathed in heaven’s pearly dew;
When the breezes cease to blow,
In their wandering, willful way,
When the waters quiet grow,
And the leaflets cease to play;
All are folded down to rest,
Nature gives each one repose
Till the morning-star appears,
And the gates of day unclose;
And with flowers, birds, and bees
Little children fall asleep,
Safely in the arms of love,
That eternal vigils keep.
When the evening stars appear,
Little forms in robes of white,
Kneeling by their mother’s knee,
Pray to Him who rules the night;
And their gentle prayers ascend
On the wings of faith and love,
To the angels who attend
Little children up above.
From the heavens where angels dwell,
From the earth and air and sky,
From the parent heart below,
From the Father’s love on high,
Comes a blessing pure and sweet,
All aglow with holy care,
For the children who repeat,
Lispingly, their evening prayer.
THE AWAKENING OF THE FLOWERS.
Out in the sunshine, far out in the lanes,
Up on the hillsides, and over the plains,
Springing to life in each meadow and glen,
Filling the forests with sweetness again—
See how the flowers come trooping in glee,
Decking the woodlands, adorning each tree,
Climbing the mountain side, thronging the dell,
Weaving o’er all things a magical spell.
All through the long frosty winter they slept,
Nature above them her kind vigils kept;
Snugly tucked into their beds soft and warm,
Every sweet flower was safe from all storm.
Spring, with her musical voice, is now heard
Calling: “Good morning,” to flower and bird;
Singing: “Awaken, my darlings, ’t is time,
Winter has gone to some far-distant clime.
Come from the valley and hillside and glen,—
Birdlings now list for your footsteps again,
Violet! May Flower! Snowdrop! my dears,
Rouse and give welcome when robin appears.
Summer is coming with sunshine and song,
Life will be happiness all the day long.
Haste! from your slumbers now brightly arouse,
Shake out your garments and garland your brows!”
Swift at the sound of their loved leader’s call,
Leaped up the flowers by hillside and wall;
Over the meadows and forests they wove
Treasures of beauty; each woodland and grove
Rang with the musical anthems of birds,
Nature’s rich music unwedded to words;
While summer found earth so enchanting and sweet,
She thought nothing lacking to make it complete.
BABY NELLIE.
Cunning little baby Nellie,
With her laughing, sweet blue eyes,
Gazing on the world around her
In a wondering, deep surprise,
As if asking in amazement,
What do all these strange things mean?
Ne’er before such giant people,
Or such places has she seen.
For you see, my little children,
Baby Nell has lately come
From some far-off sunny Elf-land,
To make this her future home:
And so many things around her
Seem so hard to understand,
For such people and their doings
Are not known in Baby-land.
Now she catches at the sunbeam
Gleaming on the snowy floor,
Then she coos in smiling wonder
At the vines around the door;
And the little, spotted kitten
Is a source of great delight
To our charming baby Nellie,—
Winsome baby, sweet and bright.
Through her tiny lips so rosy
Peeps one tooth as white as milk,
And her sunny, golden tresses
Are as soft as finest silk;
With her dimpled hands and fingers,
And her little pink-white toes,
She is just the fairest creature,
Sweet and pure as any rose.
Oh, she is our little darling,
Sent to us by God above,
As a token of his goodness,
As a symbol of his love;
And we prize our tiny treasure,
For an angel sure must dwell,
Undefiled and pure and spotless,
In the form of baby Nell.
A HAPPY NEW YEAR.
New Year has come! New Year has come!
Oh, children sweet and dear,
And from our pleasant spirit home
We’ve seen its face appear;
’Tis fresh and clear, and full of smiles,
And beaming o’er with mirth,
’Tis bright with charming little wiles,
To please old Mother-Earth.
I know its happy hours dawn
In sunbeams sweet and mild,
That bring a story, or a song,
To every laughing child;
I know its hands are full of love
For children sweet and dear,
It comes in gladness from above,
This gentle, bright New Year.
Oh, it is full of work and play,
To share with little boys
And little girls, it comes your way,
To bring you pleasant joys;
And when you deeds of kindness show
To others whom you meet,
Its hours with happiness will glow
All pure and rich and sweet.
New Year has come! New Year has come!
Oh, meet it children, dear,
With shouts of welcome to your home—
This happy, glad New Year!
Oh, smile upon it with your love,
And make its life more sweet—
It is an angel from above
To guide your little feet!
SNOW DROPS.
Beneath the coverlet of snow,
Two little flowers learn to grow;
Their cheeks are pale and white and fair,
Their lips are sweet as summer air.
At first they shiver in the cold,
Then grow more fearless, calm and bold,
To push aside the snowy sheet
And lift their faces pure and sweet.
One to the other gently speaks,
As March winds blanch her tender cheeks:
“Dear sister, it is cold today,
But yet I think we here may stay;
The earth is bleak, and dark and chill,
All other flowers are sleeping still,
But we’ll remain awhile to sing
In token of the coming spring.”
The sister softly makes reply:
“We’ll bloom together, you and I,
And send our choicest perfume out
To gladden mortals round about;
I’m sure they must be weary now
Of winter’s dismal, icy brow,
And longing for the breath of flowers,
So we will stay and offer ours.”
And so the dainty blossoms braved
The snow and sleet, and only craved
A tiny place to fill with bloom,
And scatter forth their rich perfume;
And many hearts that yearned for spring,
And all the beauties she would bring,
Gave blessing to the little flowers,
As heralds of her fragrant hours.
AN EVENING SONG.
Rest, rest sweet hours of the day,
Your moments, filled with toil and play,
Have wandered far since morning’s sun,
But now their journeyings are done;
Rest, precious hours, bright and fair,
Let no rude touch of pain and care
Disturb your well-earned calm repose,
The world its friendship to you owes.
Hail! peaceful hours of the night
Attended by yon stars so bright,
You come with quiet steps to earth,
And silent tones of woe or mirth;
We give you welcome, for you bring
The balm of sleep upon your wing,
With which to touch our weary eyes
Until all sense of weakness flies.
Oh, we are little children small,
And yet we love the hours all,—
Those of the bright and shining day
That fly in happiness away;
And those that wander through the night
To give us visions of delight,
And show us in each pleasant dream
The world where heavenly mansions gleam.
CHILDREN.
Everywhere we hear the voices
Of the children, glad and free,
Shouting, chatting, laughing, talking,
Ringing out in merry glee;
Everywhere we hear the patter
Of their busy little feet,
Romping over hills and meadows,
Rushing through the city street.
Everywhere we see the faces
Of those little girls and boys,
Who, in spite of care and trial,
Are their parents’ sweetest joys;
Boys and girls that in the future
Will be men and women too,
Rulers of the sunny nation,
Bright and active, grand and true.
Little children, as you wander
In your happy, careless moods,
Through the snowy streets of winter,
Or the pleasant summer woods;
As you feel that in the future,
When to manhood you have grown,
You will seek for truth and wisdom,
Seek to gain them for your own.
Little children, pray remember
That the love that holds you fast,
Burning in your parents’ bosoms,
Will endure until the last;
Seek to pay it back in kindness,
Gentle smiles and loving words,
Which will echo in their hearing
Sweeter than the songs of birds.
Little children, live in blessing
Others with a word or smile,
And the angel friends above you
Will protect you all the while;
Live by love and gentle kindness,
Then the world will better grow,
And rejoice that little people
Such as you may dwell below.
SNOW FLAKES.
Softly falls the spotless snow,—
Flakes are flying everywhere,
Like as many white-winged birds
Speeding through the silent air;
Down and down to earth they come,
Full of mercy, full of love,
Sent upon their mission forth,
By our Father-God above.
How they weave a garment bright,
As they come in thick’ning crowds;
Weave a garment soft and light,
White and fleecy as the clouds.
Over all the fields it spreads,
Tucking all the flowers in,
Hushing them to sleep in beds,
Far removed from earthly din.
Thick and fast the snow-flakes fly,
Giving every girl and boy,
As they watch them flutter by,
Glimpses of delight and joy.
How they cover all the earth,
Brown and gloomy, up from sight;
How they deck each leafless tree
With a garment fresh and white!
Oh, we love the downy snow,
’Tis a messenger of love,
Sent to grace the world below
By our God who reigns above;
Sent to keep the flowers warm
Till the wintry storms are o’er,
And to gladden youthful hearts
With their beauty evermore.