CHAPTER XIX.--THE FATE OF TIME.

Inexorable and insatiate Time!

Thou, too, shalt die, and dread annihilation meet!

The soul shall happier be when thy ruin ’s complete.

Listen, then, thou scourge! “And the angel which I saw

Stand upon the sea, and upon the earth, lifted up his hand

And sware by Him that liveth for ever and ever

That time should be no longer.” Never, no, never,

In the night of eternity shall thy face be seen;

Thou shalt not break in to mar existence more serene.

In the deeps of outer darkness shall be thy doom,

In the desolate voids of black, eternal gloom.

Farewell, then, Time!

By the ruin of the dead centuries, farewell!

By the ensanguined fields of millions slain, farewell!

By the countless tears of broken hearts, farewell!

By the mother’s agonizing prayer, farewell!

By the children’s want and orphan’s cry, farewell!

By the repentant sinner’s groans and tears, farewell!

By the sick and weary wanderers, farewell!

By the tortured, dreary lives of slaves, farewell!

By the Saviour’s persecuted life, farewell!

By His agony and death thou sawest, farewell!

Aye, thy cruel flight shall at last reach death’s shore,

And the soul shall rejoice when thy stern reign is o’er.

LOST AND WON; OR, WINTER AND SUMMER.

O Summer! thy regal splendor

Hath borne the spring-time away;

Thy proud and passionate wooing

Hath won thee a bride to-day.

Her sweet smiles and tears and sunshine,

Her glory of flowers and streams

Are gone, and alone I ponder

O’er vain, delusive dreams.

Her beautiful, tender presence

Is lost in thy eager embrace;

Thou kissest the dewy fragrance

From her lovely, lovely face.

And I, who was near unto her,

Have lost my all to-day--

The chill of the grave is on me,

My sky is cold and gray.

I stand without the cold portals,

And through my frozen tears

I mark the bliss that e’er crowns you.

My own poor broken years

Lie dark in a land that never

Will bloom with fruit or flowers;

Chill is the bleak wind that sweepeth

My desolate, haunted bowers.

And thou, with thy priceless treasures,

In the land of love and song,

Amid full voluptuous pleasures,

Thy years glide proudly on.

Alone, with my vast surroundings,

Shunned is my weird abode;

An outcast, with but the bitter;

Forsaken by all--but God.

GRANDSIRE.

Old and feeble, bowed and weary,

Trembling near the dreaded stream;

Night approacheth, and the sunset

Casts a last expiring beam

On the silver-headed wanderer

Waiting by the turbid tide,

List’ning for the phantom boatman

O’er the Lethean waters wide.

Yet, amid the gathering darkness,

And the chill of coming night,

He croons a song that reaches heaven,

E’en in trusting and delight.

And he seems to catch a murmur,

Wafted from the other shore,

Of sweet-voiced friends that are awaiting

Where the night comes nevermore.

Poor old grandsire, patient ever,

Thou hast known neglect and care,

And hast felt the dreary heartache,

Ingratitude and dark despair.

But thou ’st ever been uplifted

And sustained by One who knew

All the sorrow man is heir to,

And to man’s relief that flew.

Oh, ye careless and forgetful!

For your own and father’s sake,

Cheer his feeble, trembling footsteps;

Do not let his old heart break.

Take his withered hand and bless him,

He hath given e’en life for you;

He will soon glide o’er the river;

God grant in peace his last adieu.

ADVERSITY.

Why should our tears fall down?

And why should the heart sink low?

And why should our courage fail

When adversity’s chill winds blow?

Bow not thy head, my brother,

Though slander’s poisonous dart,

Hurled by an assassin hand,

Find lodgment in thy heart.

And though they strew thy pathway

With thorns that wound thy feet,

Press bravely on thy journey,

Dare thy proud foes to meet.

Why should we grieve so, and mourn,

When old friends pass us by

With cold and averted face,

And we heave the weary sigh?

Still move on, though sore wounded;

Fight thou sternly for the goal;

Heed not thy vile traducers;

Be firm, thou, and brave of soul.

Aye, still move steadily on,

Though all the world should forsake;

Though you sink beneath your load,

And the heart at last should break.

Heed not the stony glances,

Nor the cold, sarcastic tone;

Press on through storm and darkness,

Though you stand on the hills alone.

Still fight onward and upward,

There are mountains still to climb,

And heights to win, my brother,

That in grandeur are sublime.

Should you fall by the wayside,

And never reach the goal,

’Tis brave to die ’mid the struggle,

Displaying a hero’s soul.

And as you near the sunset

Proud peace you may gain at last;

When the skies are aflame with glory

You may rest from the weary past.

FULLMER’S LANE.

After years of feverish wandering,

Long years of loss and pain,

It comes like the tenderest wooing,

The memory of Fullmer’s Lane.

There was a winding way through the forest

That I lovingly recall again--

A wild wealth of nature’s loveliness

Leading onward to Fullmer’s Lane.

And how often, O heart! how often

In the bright years that have flown away,

When all life was a sunny gladness,

A full song of the summer day,

We went with a light-bounding footstep,

At morn or the calm afternoon,

Along the way so sweet and so fair,

Wreathed o’er by a billow of bloom.

There was a wealth of song from the glades,

And by upland and shadowed hill;

By lonely tarn and the winding stream,

And the tiniest silver rill.

The robin, bluebird, and bobolink,

And the sweet redbird soft and low;

The quail, with its festive shout “Bob White,”

Broke in on the rhythmic flow.

And we burst from the shadowy wood

Overlooking the meadowy plain,

And gained the home by the pebbly stream

Bordering on Fullmer’s Lane.

Dear friends awaited our eager feet

In that rural home so dear;

Alight with love and the jewel content,

And the essence of right good cheer.

And we quaffed from the delicious spring

Bubbling up from the dark ravine;

And played on the banks, sloping away,

And bathed in the running stream.

We chased the squirrel from tree to tree,

And joined in the bobolink’s song

That rose from the meadows joyously

And gaily followed along.

We saw the sun in the west sink low,

And the warm moon rise over the plain,

And listened to the winds go by,

And knew not a shadow of pain.

But partings come, and the world rolls on,

’Tis ever, aye, ever the same;

And relentless fate dissevered the ties

That drew us to Fullmer’s Lane.

After the flight of pitiless years,

With heart grown heavy with pain,

I seek for the beautiful winding way

That led us to Fullmer’s Lane.

The stately forest is swept away--

Not a vestige of it can we trace

As we look for the entrance to Fullmer’s Lane

And the old familiar place.

The day is as lovely as ever June

In its wealth of roses can be,

But no friends are left by the pebbly stream

To cheer or to welcome me.

The tear will fall for the lovely past,

And the fond heart will murmur its pain;

Farewell! for strangers but mock us here;

Farewell, then, to Fullmer’s Lane!

AUTUMN WINDS.

O winds! why sound so mournful?

’Tis the grand autumnal time;

The world is dressed in splendor,

And all things are sublime.

There’s a fulness in the vales,

Fraught with blessings rich and rare;

Ripe fruits bedeck the uplands

And hillsides everywhere.

O winds! why sigh so mournful

Through the forest’s golden sheen?

More touchingly beautiful

Than all the summer’s green.

’Tis true the leaves are falling,

The forest glades along;

The birds are fleeing southward,

I hear their farewell song.

O winds! I, too, am mournful

O’er the things that cannot be,

And thoughts that crowd my bosom

Sob like waves along the sea.

O voices, long, long silent!

O faces, long hid away!

Your presence breathes around me

With the mournful winds to-day.

THE BATTLE OF BATOCHE.

We were waiting for the signal

In our lines before Batoche;

Ready, eager, and expectant

For the grand and final rush.

For three days we had been fighting--

On the rebels’ pits we’d rained

A furious and pelting fire,

And our advance maintained.

All along our lines ’twas whispered

“We storm the pits to-morrow,”

And a thrill of valor swept our ranks,

Dispelling care and sorrow.

We laid the smoking rifle by

When the shades of night drew on,

And grouped about the camp-fire’s light

To await the morrow’s dawn.

And some sang songs of home and love,

And some of martial glory;

And merry laugh responsive came

To pun, or stirring story.

The sentries paced their lonely round;

All silent was the scene

Save for here and there a dropping shot

From pit or dark ravine.

The soldier sank to peaceful rest,

The earth his slumber-bed;

The night winds crooned a lullaby,

The stars beamed o’er his head.

And all, perhaps, were thinking then

Of loved ones far away--

Brave hearts, that ere the morrow’s eve

Should perish in the fray.

From Nova Scotia far they came,

Quebec, and Ontario;

Manitoba’s fearless sons were there,

Ready to face the foe.

All there to stamp rebellion out

And the grand “Old Flag” to save;

“A united empire” for us all,

And to traitor hordes a grave!

The thunder of the frowning gun

Roused up that soft May dawn;

The bugles blared the reveille

Beside the Saskatchewan;

And there was forming in “hot haste,”

Beside the flowing stream.

The sun shone on our gleaming steel

All peaceful and serene.

And Williams, with the Midlanders,

Formed on the left with cheers,

And Grassett on their right deployed

His Royal Grenadiers.

The valiant Ninetieth in support

To the right the line prolonged,

And Boulton, with his mounted men,

Near to their right wing thronged.

The Surveyors’ scouts moved to the right

To prolong the line again,

And Boulton’s mounted infantry

Formed near the open plain;

And French’s scouts held the extreme right,

Poised like eagles for their prey;

Montizambert with his guns moved up,

For a moment held at bay.

Howard and Rivers their gatling

Placed by the Ninetieth’s side,

And prepared to sweep the plain

With their missiles far and wide.

And down the stream the _Northcote_ lay

With the Infantry School corps,

To upward move and draw the fire

Of the foe from either shore.

And bravely Major Smith performed

This trying duty that day,

Though fiercely assailed he sternly held

The wild western shore at bay.

A gallant corps, deserving well

Of our country and our Queen;

History records your daring deeds

On that far storied stream.

The infantry brigade was led

By the gallant Straubenzie,

Full of resource, with eagle eye

Safe vantage ground to see.

At the zareba Haughton stood,

Cool, intrepid under fire;

His men his spirit emulate

In chivalric desire.

And thus formed up that fearless line,

As steady as on parade;

The light of battle on each face--

Of such are true heroes made.

The signal at last is given,

The bugles ring out “advance”;

The general ’s in position;

We’re under his flashing glance.

With a ringing cheer we greet him,

That war-worn veteran gray,

The hero of a hundred fights

In strange lands far away.

His hand directed wise and well;

For him the heartfelt shout;

His strategy and deep resource

Put the rebel hordes to rout.

“Forward!” now along the line

Rings our leader’s fearless tone;

And with quick bursts of rousing cheers

We enter the fire zone.

And the Metis open upon us

From pit and dark ravine;

Pelting like fierce hail about us

Comes a deadly leaden stream.

We pause, and return upon them

Such a fire as shakes the hills;

Montizambert’s guns tear through them,

And our lines with confidence thrills.

Jarvis’s battery joins the left,

And thunders beside the stream;

And Howard’s gatling is raging--

From its lips the missiles scream.

’Twas dreadful, the roar and tumult,

But our men rise above fear;

Ha! the Midlanders and Grens rush on,

Winning the first line with a cheer.

“Forward, now, with the bayonet!”

Rings out along the whole line,

And a cheerful, responsive cry

Rose from a valor sublime.

Forward, now, dauntless Midlanders,

And brave Royal Grenadiers!

And, gallant Ninetieth, sweep the plain;

Ring out, ring out defiant cheers!

And, Boulton, with your mounted men,

Rush on the doomed rebels, too:

Ye ’re not the corps to pause nor shrink

When there’s daring work to do!

Ho, scouts! to the front; forward, too,

Rush like mad upon the foe;

A French leads on, ye need not doubt;

Strike with might a crushing blow!

Montizambert, let your guns rage,

And Howard’s gatling gun scream,

And rend the rebel pits and lines,

And shake the trembling stream!

The decisive moment had come--

Forward! forward! side by side;

“Charge home!” the general ordered,

With manly, confident pride.

And the ring of our flashing steel

Greeted his lionlike eye,

And we swept like a besom on

With a thrilling battle-cry.

Gallantly and swiftly onward

With a mighty rush we go,

And burst like a pent-up torrent

On the desperate fighting foe.

Like chaff by the wind we swept them

From pit and from dark ravine;

The bayonet was effectual,

And withering as a flame.

Aye, we struck the pits and ravines

In our fiery onward roll,

But not for a single moment

Was the charge beyond control.

Hand to hand we taught them a lesson

They ne’er will forget again,

And broken and beaten they fled

Over the wide death-strewn plain.

From line to line we pressed them,

Turning their right on our way;

Clearing their works with our lines of steel,

And thus deciding the day.

From every point we charged them,

Till Batoche lay at our feet;

The rebels were utterly ruined,

And our victory complete.

And we pulled their bunting down,

And hoisted the Old Flag again,

And a storm of heartfelt greeting

Rolled in thunder o’er the plain.

And we cheered for Queen and country,

And our chief we loved so well,

And silently dropped a tear

For those who in fighting fell.

Mournfully to the muffled drum,

At the smile of another dawn,

We put our gallant dead away

By the dark Saskatchewan;

And we wept as never before,

And silently marched away,

Leaving them there at peace and rest

Till dawn of the judgment day.

My country, forget thou them not,

Nor the close of that sad scene;

They dared their all for the flag they loved,

And died for country and Queen.

Revere, then, that hallowed place;

Their life was no idle dream;

Honor the brave dead far away

By the dark and storied stream.

FALLING LEAVES.

Poor falling leaves! I have watched you

Fading slowly, with heavy heart,

And as you patter around me,

Vain tears to my tired eyes start.

Drearily the rain is falling,

And my soul is heavy with pain;

O winds, thy desolate sobbing

Hath wakened old dreams again!

Short-lived, but ah! how lovely

Were the peaceful summer hours!

Sweet golden days in the wildwood,

Reposing ’mid fairest bowers.

The skies were grand in their beauty,

And the earth was never more fair;

The hills and vales filled with rapture,

Caressed by the perfumed air.

As a child of nature I revelled

By hillside, cool streamlet, and sea;

Tender and kind were the voices

That whispered in love unto me

Of a time that had no seeming,

When life was all joyous and gay,

And the years, with roses laden,

Passed soon like a dream away.

I knew when the autumn shrouded

The world in a strange, sad veil,

And heard in the lonely woodland

The hollow, mysterious wail

Of the wind in sad meanderings

By forsaken bower and stream,

Searching out the dim recesses

Where the summer had dwelt supreme.

Whence cometh these weird, sad longings?

Ah! wherefore this dreary pain?

I’m tired as a weary child,

And would rest and forget again;

But the drip of the weeping rain,

And the moan of waves on the shore,

And the pitiful falling leaves

May cease in the heart nevermore.

THE SEA.

Ah! but thou’rt beautiful, sapphire sea,

When the sun in splendor along thee smiles,

And thy sparkling wavelets rise and fall

In murmurs afar by a thousand isles,

Where whispering winds speak soft and low--

O gentle isles, kissed by thy restless feet--

Where the spices and palm and olives grow,

And odorous blossoms so fair and sweet.

But why dost thou moan so, O great, sad sea?

Such a weary, pitiful, pleading moan,

Like a soul all dead to the hope of heaven,

Drifting out and lost in the vast unknown.

And why dost thou sob through the moonless night?

Such passionate sobs rend thy deep, dark caves,

Throbbing up from thy bosom ne’er at rest,

O sea, with thy million lone hidden graves!

Thy deep soul ever appealeth to me

In the lonesome night on the wave-worn shore;

But I cannot tell all it says to me

Of voices and dreamings that are no more.

Sometimes thou murmurest soft and low,

When the summer glorifies earth and sea;

Thy pathetic voice is borne on the wind,

The sweet south wind toying kindly with thee.

And thou seemest to woo in tender tones,

And would clasp and hold the warm, shining shore;

But thou failest, O sea, and thy sad voice

Is sobbing and sobbing forevermore.

O wonderful, majestic, awesome sea!

Surely the Creator speaketh in thee;

And a sorrow so deep, so mysterious,

Appealeth in sobs eternally.

When the wild typhoon sweeps thy heaving breast,

And thy billows threaten the angry sky,

Thy merciless fury knoweth no bounds

As the doomed ships before thee madly fly.

In vain the appealing flag of distress,

In vain the minute guns peal o’er the sea,

In vain are prayers and the pleading cry--

They sink! they sink to eternity!

But the storm rolls by, and the waves subside,

And the sun in glory bursts forth again;

But oh! there are many breaking hearts,

Weary of waiting in hopeless pain.

Aye, ye’re watching in vain through dimming eyes;

Ye’ve waited so long by the storm-swept shore:

The seasons will come and the years will go,

But the loved will come no more, no more.

Art troubled, O sea, that ye rest not, nor sleep,

Nor cease thy dirges by night or day?

The loved and lost of the pale, dead past

Strew thy drear chambers and desolate way.

And they slumber in utter loneliness;

No friend may kneel by their dismal tomb;

They never know of the spring’s fair hours,

Or the songs of birds. The summer’s bloom

Decks not their mystical, sea-fret graves,

But they await the illumining ray

Of light from heaven to pierce the cold gloom--

An everlasting celestial day.

I love thee, O sea, in thy every mood--

In passion rent, or in gentle tone;

Thy awesome voice is a mystery still,

But never at rest is thy weary moan.

ONLY A FADED LEAF.

’Twas only a faded leaf

That settled down on my hair,

The last from a poor bare bough

In the crisp October air.

I gathered it tenderly in,

And could not restrain the tears

As I thought of summer hours

And the silent faded years.

O beautiful fallen leaf!

Russet and crimson and gold,

With a tinge of emerald still,

Smitten by the frost and cold.

A souvenir of the past,

Telling of spring’s fair hours,

Of the bloom and sighing winds,

And June’s ambrosial bowers.

But still this dear autumn time

Is tender and subtly sweet,

Though littered by fallen leaves

Rustling sad at my feet.

As lives that are good and true

Fade out like an autumn day;

More beautiful at the last,

They serenely pass away.

So all the hills are enwrapped

In the hazy, dreamy light

Of the Indian summertime--

A season of calm delight.

Ah! little pale fallen leaf,

Type, thou, of man’s short hour--

To bud and bloom for a span,

And fade as the leaf and flower.

ASTRAY.

I have not a cent in the world,

And I’ve left my father’s home

Out in the hard world to wander,

Friendless, poor, and alone.

I have sought in vain for a place

To earn my daily bread,

A shelter from the winter’s storm,

And a place to lay my head.

But cold are the bosoms I meet,

Aye, cold as the drifting snow;

I’m turned away from their doors,

And I know not where to go.

All day I’ve struggled along

Through the weary wastes of snow,

And I’m tired almost to death,

But who will care now, or know?

The night is closing around me,

And fierce is the angry sky;

I’m hungry and faint and helpless--

Must I sink by the way and die?

’Tis strange in this terrible hour

That thoughts of my childhood’s days

Should pass like a dream before me

In all their innocent ways.

Ah! sunny home by the hillside,

Song-birds of the long ago,

I hear your glad, wild, sweet singing,

And the murmuring brooklet’s flow.

Ah! happy days in the wildwood,

Revelling in nature’s bowers;

Bluest skies, and soft wind sighing

’Mid the tall trees and flowers.

Ah! songs I sang with my mother

At evening’s golden glow,

Voices of father and brother,

Why are ye haunting me so?

Ah! years that came with temptation,

And lured me away from right,

Till hope was gone, and in frenzy

I fled from its wiles in fright.

Weep, hearts, for there on the morrow,

By the sun’s wan light ye may trace

His weary way, and find there

Frozen tears on his poor dead face.

God in His infinite mercy

Knew when all hope was slain,

And closed his eyes, and in pity

Relieved him from earthly pain.

A SPECTRE.

Away, gaunt fiend!

Take thy tyrannous presence from my cottage door.

Too long thou hast held me captive at thy will,

And I cannot bear thy blighting touch so chill,

For I am weary, and my heart is bruised and sore.

Too long thou’st mocked me with thy hideous face;

When all the world seemed dark and cold to me,

Thou’st jeered and taunted in thy fiendish glee,

That I was homeless and had scarce a resting place.

Vile spectre, avaunt!

Take thy evil visage from my humble cottage door,

And thy lacerating talons from my shrinking heart.

O! I have prayed that thou would’st pity and depart,

And leave me peace at last that I might want no more.

Why hast thou all these weary and burdened years

Shadowed every hope and left but toil and pain,

Clutched at my very life, and made all vain

The aspirations that died in sorrow and in tears?

Down, black phantom!

Filled with blighted hopes, vain dreams, and dead men’s bones,

Thou heedest not the pleadings of the souls that die,

The widow’s want and prayer, the orphan’s cry

For help, earth’s poor that struggle on ’mid sighs and moans.

Thou hast still’d the voices that rang light and gay,

And hushed the laughter that will gush no more,

And brought the gloom of night along the shining shore

Of souls once bright with bloom and sunny as the day.

Insatiate ghoul!

I’d snatch thee from thy infamous pedestal,

And hurl thee writhing down the glaring vaults of hell,

That man might walk redeemed, with head erect, and dwell

In plenteousness when capital’s divided well.

But I’ll arise and smite thy grinning, dev’lish face;

Aye, I’ll fight thee unto death’s grim, ghastly gate,

And, though I perish by thy cruel fangs and fate,

’Twere best to fight a hero’s fight for liberty and place!

Malignant foe!

Thou shalt at last be put to ignominious flight,

For life is but a span, an echo on the shore,

Where burdens are laid down and sorrow is no more.

Thy doom shall be “cast out in endless, shoreless night.”

Thank God, there is a sphere to which thou canst not rise,

A radiant place of fadeless bloom divine:

Man’s home supernal, far beyond the reach of time,

Where weary ones may rest, O wondrous paradise!

A REVERIE.

The golden sun all mellow was falling

Adown the far aisles of the flaming west,

Bathing earth and sea in fading glory

As it sank majestically to rest.

Murmuringly the summer winds were breathing

A song of love to the birds and flowers,

Wooing low the streams and distant woodlands,

And toying with gems in fairest bowers.

Low were the tones, mysterious and soothing,

That came from the depths of the throbbing sea,

Whisp’ring the soul of the great Eternal,

Far, far beyond, where bright spirits are free.

Gently the twilight came stealing around me,

Mantling earth and sea in dreamy array;

Palely the night orbs o’er me were twinkling,

Silv’ring the waters away and away.

Serenely the queen of night in her beauty

Looked on the sea and the isles afar,

Pointing her rays o’er the quivering foliage

To the far gates of day just left ajar.

Sweet were my dreamings alone in the gloaming

On that summer’s eve of the long ago,

Loving and trusting in meek adoration,

Quaffing from nature’s mysterious flow.

I paused by the murmuring sad voiced sea,

Dreaming of love, with the world at my feet;

So trusting is youth at the flush of its morn,

Soaring high on the wings of hope complete.

But darker and denser the shadows grew,

Deepening to gloom as night grew apace;

Ghostly clouds hid the stars, sky, earth, and sea,

And the crescent moon hid her beautiful face;

And the wandering night winds sighed and grieved,

And the waves sobbed low along the dim shore,

And a voice like a prayer, full of tears,

Wailed pitifully, “Nevermore!”

And I softly wept, yet I scarce knew why;

Vague doubts and fears touched my passionate soul,

Like the approaching tempest heard afar

When its muttering thunders onward roll.

I wandered away o’er the pitiless world,

Fighting life’s battle with might and with main,

And amid toil and tears through long sad years,

So weary of waiting, and all in vain.

All scathed and worn by the battle’s fierce flame,

With the day uncertain and incomplete;

Bright hope, love, and fame, and friendship so dear,

Lie a pitiful wreck at my tired feet.

I’ve come once again with the summer time,

At the evetime’s mystical afterglow,

To the lonely sea, ’neath a waning moon,

Where the waves still restlessly ebb and flow.

I look far out o’er the shadowed deep,

Seeking its dreamland isles afar;

But I scarce can see for the blinding tears

The beautiful sunset gates ajar.

But I seem to view up its golden aisles

A fairer world ’neath immortal skies,

All bright with bloom, and the friends I loved,

On the fadeless hills of paradise!

IN MEMORIAM.

List! The year was slowly dying

In the dark December days,

And the winds moaned low and sadly

O’er the lonely winter ways.

And the hills and vales were lying

As when life’s last flush hath fled,

Folded in a snowy mantle,

Silent, dreamless, cold and dread.

Whilst the winds without were grieving

O’er the meads and frozen streams,

Hearts within were filled with mourning,

Near the firelight’s fitful gleams.

On a couch of painful anguish,

Meek and patient, pale and wan,

Hand clasped hand in solemn parting--

Dying mother, stricken son.

“Dearest mother, are you trusting

In the name of Jesus now,

As you near the Stygian river

With the death damps on your brow?

Oh, so cold and dark the waters!

Do you fear to enter in?

Mother, I shall sadly miss you

In this world of care and sin.”

“Yes, my boy, I’m fully trusting

In the Saviour’s mighty love;

And I know His hand will guide me

Safely to His courts above.

Ah! I hear such holy voices

Chanting on the other shore,

Filling all my soul with rapture

As I’m swiftly sailing o’er.”

Thus she passed beyond the river,

Far beyond the gleaming bars

Of the sunset’s golden glory

And the pathway of the stars.

And they laid her last cold relics

’Neath the dreary drifting snow,

Whilst the winds moaned saddest requiem,

Prayerful, solemn, grieved, and low.

ONLY DREAMS.

Only dreams, aye, dreams forever

Haunt my soul and fill my brain

With the loved that I may never

Meet in this great world again.

Springtime seems but fraught with sadness,

Though the birds sing just as gay;

And there’s still as much of gladness

In the blooming, balmy May;

And the soft winds play as lightly

O’er the verdure and the flowers;

And the sun beams just as brightly

Over nature’s lovely bowers;

And the streamlet and the river

Murmur onward to the sea,

Singing low with silver quiver

Just the same, but not to me;

And the twilight dews of even

Just as sweet a fragrance shed,

And the pale night orbs of heaven

Beam the same, though years have fled--

Years that brought so many changes,

Years that stole my flowers away;

Now in fancy only linger

Dreams that once were bright as day.

Visions of the cot and wildwood

Flit before me evermore,

But the friends that blest my childhood

Meet me at the stream no more.

Thus it is that dreams will haunt us--

Forms and scenes we loved so well;

Smiling faces, tones and voices,

Time nor change can e’er dispel.

THE BATTLE OF CUT KNIFE HILL.

O’er the vast rolling prairie,

And afar in the “Great Lone Land,”

Otter’s column’s advancing

Amid dangers on every hand.

Yet forward, steadily forward,

A day and a long night they go,

And just at the morn’s pale dawning

Sweep down on the savage foe.

And under the gallant Otter

Swiftly they form up and well,

Dash forward over the streamlet

Into coulee, ravine and dell.

Moving into the fighting line

With a rush the fierce gatling goes;

Forward, into the hot centre,

Dealing death on the dusky foes.

And the intrepid Shortt moves up,

Placing his guns on either side,

To sweep coulee and dark ravine,

And the Cut Knife Hill far and wide.

With “B” Battery in support

Of Rutherford’s raging guns,

Shaking the dark, trembling stream

That by the base of Cut Knife runs.

On either flank of the batteries

The Mounted Police were placed,

And steadily they extended,

And proudly the dark foe faced.

To the right and rear were the Guards,

And the proud Infantry School corps,

Cool and steady as on parade,

Under Gray and the stern Wadmore.

To the left, on a ledge of the hill,

Extending near unto the stream,

Was the ever-gallant Queen’s Own

With but an interval between

The stealthy approach of the foe.

Protecting the ford and right rear

Was the good Battleford Rifles--

Brave men, deterred not by fear.

Opening along the whole line,

The roaring guns shake the hill,

And the infantry’s fire crashes,

And all hearts heroically thrill.

Thus cool, collected, and steady,

Dealing out grim death on the foe,

By coulee and hill and ravine,

And the trembling stream below.

Here the foe rushed for our gatling,

But were met by a scorching flame

From the Police and artillery,

And driven confused back again.

Shortt gallantly led the brave onset,

And the foe were punished sore,

And the deafening guns raged madly,

In one incessant roar.

The right rear was now menaced,

But there came a defiant cheer

From the ready Battleford corps

As the savage foe drew near.

And the gallant Nash with his corps

Cleared the ground that was threatened so;

The Queen’s Own and the Guards assisted,

And delivered a telling blow.

The left rear, too, was threatened,

But instantly now to the fore

Went the fearless Queen’s Own Rifles

And Nash with his gallant corps.

Hot and furious was their fire,

Holding there the red fiends at bay,

And their coolness and their valor

Added lustre to the day.

Meanwhile, Ross, the intrepid scout,

With his resourceful, daring band,

Stole around the dark foeman’s flank,

Making untenable their stand.

Thus at eleven o’clock of the day,

After six hours of strife,

Our flanks and our rear were clear of the foe,

Though severe was the loss of life.

But the object of the reconnaissance

Was admirably attained,

And Canadian and British valor

Was at Cut Knife Hill sustained.

The wounded and dying were cared for,

And the gallant dead borne away

To the slow, sad tread of comrades,

At the close of the dying day.

Honor Otter, Herchmer, and Shortt,

Wattom and the gallant Pelletier,

Nash and McKell, Sears and Mutton,

And Rutherford hail with a cheer.

They fought for this grand land of ours,

For our union from sea to sea;

Placing their lives in the balance,

They won, and Canada is free.

And shall not a grateful country

Honor the living and dead?

We, so blest in our true freedom,

Remember the blood that was shed.

As long as the years roll by us

May the Old Flag over us wave,

And conspirators and traitors

Find a ready dishonored grave.

THE SILENT VOICE.

O songless, lost, and silent voice,

Steal back from pale oblivion’s shore,

And breathe the songs so loved of old,

That echo down the years no more.

O voice, lost voice, that pined and died--

A solace with the changing years--

I miss thee so, my more than friend,

That soothed to rest life’s cares and fears.

We were so gay, lost friend and I,

When life was young and all a song;

And tenderness steals o’er us now,

As thoughts of old around us throng.

We played at dawn by field and glade;

The wild birds joined us with their song;

And oh! the days were fair and sweet

That to the dreamy past belong.

We were so merry when the hills

Were mantled o’er with emerald green,

And summer winds blew soft and low,

And bloomed the lilies by the stream.

And how we sang by lane and mead,

And wandered through the forest aisles,

By brook and rill and lonely tarn,

Where nature in profusion smiles.

And tasks were lightened by our lay,

And dear to us was the old farm--

Our own dear home beside the stream,

Where hearts were sunny, true and warm.

The ev’ning heard us singing still--

A solace ’twas for every care--

Ah! feet will seldom go astray,

If cheered by song and mother’s prayer.

We had a lay for every theme,

And sang of home, of life, of heaven,

Our country and our country’s cause,

The sinner, and his sins forgiven.

We sang of friendship and of love,

Of plighted troth and true hearts slain,

Of heroes and their noble war

On many a hard-fought battle plain.

But time flows on, and bears away

Our youthful dreams, and on the tide

Of stormy seas we too are borne,

Drifting and drifting far and wide.

And still we sing, though oft through tears

We scarce can trace the lonesome way,

Or count our grievous loss or gains

As closes down the dreary day.

And we have known adversity,

Saw love and friendship take their flight;

And very weary grew our feet;

Alone we looked upon the night.

And sad and sadder grew our lay,

But still it soothed the heart to rest;

Teaching us patience to abide

The years in trust and tenderness.

But when our voice grew weary, too,

Chilled by the winter’s sleet and rain,

And stilled in death’s embrace it lay,

Our head bowed low in dreary pain.

We are forgot, our voice and I,

That once could wake the smile or tear,

And stir the heart to tenderness,

And drive away its every fear.

And now our feet must go alone;

Our day is passing, night is near;

If we should sink beneath our load,

Ah! who will drop a silent tear?

A thought comes to us, and it cheers,

It makes the lonely heart rejoice,

That in a sphere above the stars

Awaits a more melodious voice.

FORGOTTEN.

A little apart from the rest,

Unnoticed and alone,

No crypt or costly monument,

Nor rich engraven stone.

A little lonely weed-grown mound

But marks the silent spot

Of all that now is left of her,

The fair, so soon forgot.

The summer hath kindly given

A few wild fragrant flowers

To deck her lonely, neglected grave

In meekness from her bowers.

And nature’s song is there trilling

A soothing lullaby,

And in the rustling foliage

The wind breathes sigh for sigh

To the voice of wavelets murmuring

In whispers deep and low,

Of a maiden fair as summer

That perished long ago.

Meek and loving and gentle,

Pure as the angels are

Was her every thought and feeling,

Her soul was bright as a star.

I’m filled with a deathless longing,

Aleene, kneeling by thee;

But the years are slowly waning

Into eternity.

And shall we be reunited,

Where love and life ne’er dies,

In a land of summers fadeless,

In the vales of paradise?

INNER LIFE.

What is this that subtly stealeth

Over my soul to-day,

Just as the last sweet day of summer

Fleeth swiftly away.

Weird and strained is this tender silence

That broodeth o’er the lea,

Over the streams and lonely woodlands,

And along the shrouded sea.

The fields are shorn of their golden yield,

The harvest time is o’er,

And the last sweet day of the summer

Is gone for evermore.

I hear only the crickets chanting

A ceaseless, haunting strain,

And the plaint of the wandering winds

Filling my heart with pain.

Regret for the past that was so fair

Steals back with phantom tread,

With beautiful dreams and faces dear

Hid with the silent dead.

And I bow in tender reverence

Beside their sacred tomb;

My soul is full of a fond desire

For rest, sweet rest, and home.

But still in these mystical dreamings

Comfort and strength is given;

These soulful, loving, and tender thoughts

Bring us nearer heaven.

And nature is full of subtle charms

That speak to the soul alone;

And they soothe and purify and bless,

Nearing the setting sun.

SPRING-TIME.

A monotone of love and song,

In cadence mild, serene

As unseen harps borne on the wind,

Breathes over all the scene.

I love thee yet, beauteous time;

Yet oh, so far away

Adown the dim forsaken past

Thou lead’st my thoughts to-day.

So grand, awak’ning from death’s sleep,

So regally adorned

Art thou, O nature’s queen; and I

Thy absence long have mourned

As for the dead who come no more.

Across a wintry sea

I look in vain; only in dreams

Do they return to me.

The melody of other times,

In many an olden song,

Echoing down the vanished years

In interminable throng,

Steals o’er my soul, and I would wake

The dear old strains again,

Though fraught with many banished hopes,

Delusive dreams, and vain.

WE HAVE MISSED THEE.

_A SONG._

When the low, sweet winds of summer

Play among the wildwood trees,

And the waves of ocean murmur,

And the flow’rets ope their leaves;

In the evening’s dewy hours,

At the twilight’s dreamy ray,

In the morning’s balmy bowers,

All the long, fair summer’s day.

CHORUS.

Shall we never hear thy gentle voice at evening?

We’ve been pining for thee, Allie, all the day;

And our sad hearts o’er the lonely seas are gliding,

Seeking vainly where our darling’s footsteps stray.

We have missed thee, ever missed thee,

With thy sweet and tender smile,

And thy bright and glowing beauty--

Nature’s pure and winning guile;

And thy voice’s glorious music

We, alas, do hear no more

In the vale where Allie wandered

In the dear old times of yore.

When the golden sun his splendor

Pours along the summer sea,

And the southern winds are dying,

Allie dear, come back to me.

We are weary and so lonely;

Ah, this life seems but in vain

Since our Allie hath departed--

Dearest one, return again.

THE RESCUE.

A THRILLING INCIDENT, AND A GALLANT RESCUE OFF LEAMINGTON, ONTARIO, IN

THE WINTER OF 1895.

Bitterly all day the north-east gale

Swept with a wild roaring moan,

Hurling particles of glist’ning ice

That cut to the very bone;

And a leaden and lowering sky

Threatened the frozen world;

The storm king was sternly approaching

With frosted banners unfurled.

Ever darker and denser it grew

As the day wore on apace,

And the swirl of the merciless winds

Tore on in a fierce, wild race.

It was a day to seek the shelter

Of home by the warm fireside;

God help the homeless at such a time

That wander far and wide!

Suddenly in hushed tones through the town

Ran the word from Pigeon Bay,

That the harvesters of ice were drifting

Helplessly out and away--

On an ice-floe helplessly drifting,

Detached from the wind-rifted shore,

Out over the bosom of Erie

’Mid the tempest’s ruthless roar.

“To the rescue! the rescue!” was shouted,

And we paused with bated breath,

Close beside the rage of the waters,

Black and menacing with death.

And many a stern face grew whiter

As we saw thro’ the deadly gloom

Our friends drifting out, swiftly drifting,

Helplessly to their doom.

“Launch the ‘lighter’! quick, launch the ‘lighter’!

And drift to the floe away,

O’er the swirling, desolate waters,

Out over wide Pigeon Bay.”

Thus cried the dauntless Robinson,

And instantly to his side

Sprang Conover, Miller and Cullen,

And Frank Ives in manly pride.

“Pay out the long shore-line now swiftly,

We’ll save them at any cost;

Pay out till we reach the ice-floe,

They must not, shall not be lost.”

And they drifted before the tempest,

And gained the edge of the floe,

But the very last inch of the shore-line

Could let them no farther go.

And before the rescuers could reach them

They drifted swiftly away,

While the gallant crew of the “lighter”

Were now helpless on the bay,

With the black waves leaping over them,

Icy, and cold as death,

Stiffening their garments about them,

And congealing the very breath.

We knew that their efforts were futile,

And looked in each other’s face,

And scanned the wild waste of waters,

As the gloom of night grew apace.

“Launch the sail-boat! launch the gallant _Davie_!”

The hero Johnston cried,

And Ives and Ralph and Herman Robson

Instantly stood by his side.

And they hoisted their ice-cold canvas,

Spread their wings and swept away,

Full three miles through the wild tempest,

Engulfed in a deadly spray.

They reached and saved the perishing,

Landed them safe on shore--

At the imminent risk of their own lives,

Gave them to their friends once more.

And we hauled away on the shore line,

Hauled the “lighter” back through the gloom

Of the storm and approach of night-time,

Saving all from a dreadful doom.

Some cheered, and others were weeping,

And through the old town there ran

The news of the intrepid rescue--

Man’s venture for fellowman.

The Humane Society awarded

A medal for each manly breast,

And we pinned their badges of honor

On proudly, for such a test

Of stern endurance and heroism

Is seldom, aye, seldom seen;

And we cheered for them as ne’er before,

For our country and our Queen.

A PRAYER.

Father, I’ve trespassed in Thy sight,

But I’m weak and poor and sad;

My days are long and dreary,

And my soul is never glad.

My nights are dark and lonely,

And my dreams are full of pain;

I’ve wandered, oh, so long,

And toiled so long in vain.

I’d feel Thy forgiving hand

Rest kind on my stricken head

Ere the last sad sigh is breathed,

And I sleep with the quiet dead

In a dreamless, perfect rest;

No bitter, cankering care

To trouble my deep repose,

Or fill me with dark despair.

Forgive, for my burden is heavy,

And grievous, and hard to bear,

And I have no home to-night;

And around me everywhere

The chill and blight are falling,

And the way is rough and cold;

The summer of life is faded,

And I am growing old.

Forgive, for my tears are falling;

I kneel at Thy sacred feet;

Lead from “the deep, dark valley,”

Where but ruin reigns complete.

Forgive, for all around me

Is the winter’s fret and moan,

And I long for summers fairer,

Near Thy great white throne.

THE FAREWELL.

I stood to look a last farewell

Upon our dear Dominion shore,

Ere I should turn afar to roam,

Perhaps to view it nevermore.

I looked upon the waters bright;

The scene recalled the times of yore,

But who can tell how I have loved

Thy waves and sands, oh, peaceful shore?

The crescent moon shone o’er the sea

And lit the dark and vaulted sky,

And touched the waves that rose and fell

In gentle murmurs like a sigh.

Ah! days, sweet days, ye’ve flown away

With Aleene by the shining sea;

It was a time too fair to last--

Only a mem’ry now to me.

For time’s relentless years went by

On voiceless, viewless, sable wing:

Ah! lost Aleene! that drooped and died

In the sweet fragrance of the spring.

She’s resting now, to wake no more

When moon and sea are gleaming bright;

She sleeps, and I am weary now,

Away, these tears! I go; good night!

FAREWELL TO SUMMER.

Farewell, thou beautiful summer,

Gliding swift from our land away;

Thy viewless winds have a murmur

And cadence of sadness to-day.

Adieu to thy laughing sunlight,

And thy skies so supremely blue;

The sigh of the breeze at twilight,

And peaceful glades starlit in dew.

Farewell, thy streams softly purling

Like silver threads over the lea;

Great rivers rolling onward,

Right grandly toward the sea.

Shadows steal out from the woodlands,

Lengthening day by day;

The sun sinks low in southern skies

As the summer-time drifts away.

The fairest and tiniest flowers

Have closed their delicate leaves,

And the harvesters have garnered

The last of their golden sheaves.

Afar in the lonely wildwood,

By hillside, bright bower and plain,

The reddened brown leaves are sifting

Fast earthward in red, red rain.

And burns the vast flaming sunset

In crimson and tawny-barred gold;

Athwart the advancing night-time

The star-gemmed skies unfold.

Sadly, aye, sad and regretful,

I list to the wild, glad strain

Of the song-birds flying southward,

Filling my heart with pain.

And the winds are melancholy

That tread o’er the withering lea;

And mysterious tones in unison

Come up from the restless sea;

And my yearning thoughts are tender,

And fair hopes that ended in pain

Rise with the summer’s departure,

Like pale ghosts, to haunt us again.

And I sigh for summers olden,

For a time that cometh no more.

The years of the past were golden:

On memory’s dreamland shore

I buried them in deep silence;

And I shed there some burning tears,

And ever the days creep slowly

Into wearily fading years.

There’s a clime of fadeless sunshine

Where the chill and blight ne’er come,

And perpetual bloom of summer

Is surrounding a great white throne.

I wonder, approaching the sunset,

When life and its cares are all done,

If we, though sinful and outcast,

May enter that beautiful home.

REMEMBRANCE.

I’m thinking of thee to-day, Jennie,

While the spring is young and fair,

And nature’s glad songs are ringing

Along the perfumed air;

And the winds are lightly playing

O’er earth and the far blue sea,

And floods of warm golden sunlight

Crown forest, and vale, and lea.

My heart is young to-day, Jennie,

Though years and years have flown,

And delusive dreams have perished,

And many dear friends are gone.

Yet to-day I revel in fancy

At memory’s fadeless shrine,

And the thoughts that stir my bosom

Are tender and half divine.

Over the hills to-day, Jennie,

The blooming, sun-crowned hills,

My footsteps lightly go, Jennie,

Where the pure sparkling rills

Merge in the stream’s soft murmur

The wind in its voiceful glee

Joins in the mystical music

Of nature’s own harmony.

Oh, how I sang to-day, Jennie,

The songs we loved so well;

Songs of the olden time, Jennie,

Ere we had said “farewell.”

I’m looking beyond the years, Jennie,

To a far-off golden shore,

Where life, like the fairest spring-time,

Will bloom on for evermore.

THE WORSHIPPERS.

I stood in a wide-arched portal

That led to the house of God,

And gazed on the assembling people

As up the aisles they trod;

And as with lofty bearing,

In ranks of proud array,

With garments all resplendent,

The worshippers bowed to pray.

And the lights streamed out the windows,

Streamed out like shining spears--

Sparkled gaily and scintillated

From the gleaming chandeliers--

Out on the desolate tents of night,

All tempest-tossed and wild;

Out on the glistening frost and snow,

Where drift on drift was piled.

Oh, proud worshippers there assembled,

Sumptuously clad and warm,

Do you think of the homeless wanderers

Out in the pitiless storm?

Do you extend them a helping hand?

Have you sheltered, clothed and fed,

And cheered by sympathy’s magic

The soul that was almost dead?

Do you think of the hopeless poor?

Their dwellings are chill and bare;

They are comfortless and all forlorn,

With little to eat or wear.

Do you visit them in their sorrow?

Do you help them from your store?

For Providence has ever blest you

With enough, to spare, and more.

Do you help the struggling widow

In the fight for daily bread?

Do you succour the orphan children,

Scantily clothed and fed?

Do you visit the sick and needy,

And soothe their heartache and pain?

For encouraging words and kindness

May lift them up strong again.

The tall spire pointeth to heaven;

The worshippers pass within,

Heeding, perhaps, but slightly

The want, the despair, and sin

Of the great world’s unfortunate poor,

Helpless and hopeless and worn;

Tempted, fallen, and tired of life,

Its bitter neglect and scorn.

I turned away from the portal

Thinking what might have been

Had you kept the example set you

By the lowly Nazarene.

The eyes of the world are upon you,

And faith in your precepts is flown,

And because of example and teaching

Many have sceptical grown.

AT MIDNIGHT.

I stood tearless and lone at midnight

Near a grave by destiny made;

Deep in a vale by a lonely stream,

Where the branches drooped and swayed

In the soft night wind that breathed a sigh

To the flowers in the sheen

Of the pale moon, and the world at rest

Seemed fair as an angel’s dream.

But sorrow enwrapt me at midnight

Beside my beautiful dead,

And I buried it deep for evermore,

And hope with its white wings fled.

And I wept alone at the midnight

A passion of burning tears--

I knew, the way would be rough and long

Through all the untried years.

I stole away from that sacred place,

Where never a form was laid,

But the fairest dream my soul e’er knew

Rests in that sylvan shade.

In many lands and o’er distant seas

My restless feet have strayed;

I’ve faced the storm and battle’s rage

With courage undismayed.

In every clime and on every sea

I vainly sought to forget,

But memory still remained the same--

A changeless, fadeless regret.

I have come again at the midnight,

After changeful, weary years,

And the scenes of the dear long ago

Fill my eyes with tender tears.

And I steal sometimes at the midnight

To that quiet, sacred place,

When the wind’s breath kindly caresses,

And the moon unveils her face.

I dream of the future at midnight,

A fadeless, celestial shore,

Where the lost shall be reunited,

And weariness come no more.

CHANGE.

Sunny were the days of childhood,

And the old home was aglow

With love of the happy faces--

A dear dream of long ago.

And the household then was perfect,

With no vacant, appealing chair,

Like a long sweet day of summer,

Breathing joyance everywhere.

Like songs of birds in the spring-time,

Or the fragrant flowers of May,

Or the blooming of the summer,

Or the seasons that glide away;

Like dreams our life is, and fleeting,

Aye, a dreaming, and nothing more;

True life is beyond the gloaming,

Full and free on God’s fadeless shore.

THOUGHTS.

Ah! why is it ever thus?

These mystical thoughts and tears

Are ever present with me

As a dream for years and years.

Is’t the voice of weary winds

In plaint o’er the blighted lea,

Rustling the autumn leaves

Adown from each faded tree?

Or the flight of little birds,

As they pass from us away,

With their sweet notes of gladness,

That we miss from day to day?

The crickets’ ceaseless chanting

In the serried grass and flowers,

Wakening olden memories

Of the long, long silent hours?

The sombre hues that gather

O’er purpling hill and dell,

The flowing stream and fountain

Seem e’er haunted like a spell.

And many hearts are haunted,

Saddened and thoughtful grown;

Dead leaves are around them lying,

And the warmth of life is flown.

Is it the moaning billows

That surge o’er the lonely sea

Whose mournful tones are ever

Pleading sobbingly to me

Of a brother that I loved?

Lost where the wild tempest sweeps,

Unfathomable and lone

Is the bier where he now sleeps.

And when we walk at even

Along the dim-lit shore,

We hear weird voices whisper,

“Nevermore! no, nevermore!”

There in the holy silence,

Bowed to a tender power,

Passionate dreams enfold us

In that pale, mystical hour.

We gaze far out and upward

Toward God’s great vaulted dome,

Where stars in their bright splendor

Are gleaming one by one.

They seem so pure and holy

In their calm, silvery light;

We feel subdued and lowly

’Neath their pathless flight.

I think it is thus with us:

The great Creator’s power

Is ever present with us

In leaf, and tree, and flower.

The sighing of the lone winds,

And the moaning of the sea,

All join in one grand anthem

Of the great eternity.

SPRING.

The spring has come! Once more I hear

The song-birds carol free,

The gentle winds play o’er my brow

In whisp’ring melody.

A glad refrain from hill and dell,

From mountain, stream, and sea,

Pours joyously o’er all the land,

From winter’s shackles free.

Alternate suns and April rains,

Distilling dews at even,

Will deck in verdure all the land;

And just as fair as Eden

Will bud and bloom the forest glades.

Vales and leafless bowers

Will spring into new life again,

Enwreathed with fairest flowers.

Sing on, sing on, glad voice of Spring!

Wake, wake, the song again!

A jubilee of joy shout forth

From mountain, stream, and plain.

O human hearts, by care oppressed,

Rise up! rise up! and o’er

This joyous time, so pure and young,

Renew thy strength once more.

REGRET.

A tender, delicate kiss given me long ago,

A wistful look from the deep blue eyes,

That set my sensitive yearning heart aglow

With dreams of an earthly paradise.

But we drifted far apart, my love and I,

For the world is cold and hearts must break;

And in vain were tears and the weary sigh--

They said it was best for her dear sake.

IN MEMORIAM.

One more tender, fragile flower

Faded from our sight to-day,

Just as spring-time’s buds and blossoms

Ushered in the bloom of May.

She had lingered, fading slowly,

Till the op’ning of the day;

’Mid its radiant, dewy fragrance,

Her sweet spirit soared away.

We’ve sung her last sad requiem,

Closed the eyes that lost their sight--

Eyes that beamed with love and beauty,

Eyes that shone with holy light.

Ah, how many hearts will miss thee,

Miss thy smile and gentle tone;

Life’s but emptiness and shadow

When the loved and lost are gone.

In the graveyard on the upland

That o’erlooks an inland sea,

Where the flowers bloom in beauty,

Where the birds sing wild and free:

In the grave we sadly laid her

At the quiet eventide,

And the thoughts that filled our bosoms

Breathed of prayer and faith sublime.

She’s not dead, she only sleepeth

From the cares of earthly strife;

She’ll arise more fair and perfect

To a grander, nobler life.

If we follow in her footsteps,

We, too, may the goal attain:

Just beyond the Stygian river

Blooms a life that’s not in vain.

THE PARTING.

I never deemed we thus should sever,

Two hearts that vowed to love forever;

I never thought in this proud, selfish world,

That love so soon her soft white wings furled.

Our parting I remember yet too well:

The budding spring was decking earth once more,

The birds were singing in the quiet dell,

The south winds sighed along the rippling shore.

We stood where fragrant violets grew

Beside thy cottage door;

The early dawn soft glances threw

The lovely landscape o’er.

I took thy hand, it quivered not;

Thy face was calm and cold;

You knew not then the storm of grief

That o’er my spirit rolled.

One impassioned kiss I pressed

Upon thy lovely brow,

But thou turn’st coldly from my side--

How strangely changed wert thou!

We parted, and we ne’er have met

Since then, long years ago;

But still I dream, and dream of thee--

Sad thoughts will backward flow.

Since then I’ve wandered far and wide

O’er earth and stormy sea,

And mingled in the world’s deep strife,

But still I think of thee.

The human heart I trust no more;

Sweet smile or voice’s tone

Are but an echo on the shore

Of dreams that long have flown.

Thus it is with many a one

In the world’s hurry and strife:

Deserted and ever alone,

They end a weary life.

Hoping not and trusting never,

Waifs on the sea of time;

Longing, aye, longing forever

For something more divine.

TO THE WANDERER.

It is years since we met, my brother,

Years of more loss than gain;

I wonder as I sit by the fire

If we e’er shall meet again.

I’m tired of time’s ceaseless changes,

And longing as ne’er before

For the faces I knew in childhood,

And smiles that greet me no more.

And I sigh for a time long vanished,

And weep o’er my life’s lost cause.

Ah! the battle was long and doubtful,

With never a lull nor pause

In the long strife fierce and vengeful;

And swept from the fateful field

Was my torn and toil-stained banner

When at last I was forced to yield.

I am thinking to-night, my brother,

We two may clasp hands once more,

And sing the songs of the olden time,

And wander there as of yore

Over the hills long, long forsaken,

And by paths that are o’ergrown;

By many a nook and quiet vale

Bordering our dear old home.

We may seek the stream in the meadow,

And wander on through the glade,

And revel again in joyousness

In the woodland’s grateful shade;

And hear in fancy our father’s voice,

And our mother’s cheerful call

To the noon-tide rest and welcome cheer

Lovingly prepared for all.

Ah! to-night in this dreary northland,

How the wild wind sweeps and moans

Through the lone forest bare and ghostly,

That awesomely rocks and groans!

Madly it leaps o’er the white, dead hills,

Sweeping fiercely the plain afar;

And there is no light of pale, cold moon,

Nor yet of wandering star.

Far away in the sunny southland,

Where the breeze steals o’er the sea,

Toying with foliage and flowers,

And where wild birds carol free,

There, brother, thy feet are wandering;

And over my stricken head

Old memories are fondly crowding

Of the living and the dead.

LULA BY THE SEA.

_A SONG._

In the loveliest springtime,

’Neath a willow tree,

There we laid poor Lula

Near the sighing sea,

That the birds might warble

Sweetly o’er her tomb;

That the flowers in beauty

There might ever bloom.

CHORUS.

Yes, by the sobbing sea we’ve laid her,

Near its waters flow,

Where the sad waves are ever breathing

Music deep and low.

When the shadowy twilight

Gathered o’er the lea,

And the stars of heaven

Were beaming on the sea,

Then with gentle Lula

Oft we silent strayed

By the murmuring waters

Where the moonlight played.

Now no more with Lula

On the ocean’s shore;

When the breeze is dying

Lula comes no more.

Gone to rest forever

In her beauty’s bloom,

’Neath a dark green willow,

In the silent tomb.

I am growing weary

Watching here alone,

For my darling Lula

Nevermore will come.

Yet a voice is ever

Whisp’ring unto me

That there are no partings

Beyond life’s mystic sea.

TIRED.

Tired of the past and present,

For the slowly fading years

Have brought so little of joyance,

So many sorrows and tears.

Tired of fighting life’s battle

Between evil and the good;

Tired, so tired of living

And being misunderstood.

The path of life to the present

Has been hard and rough all the way;

My feet are worn and bleeding,

And burdened from day to day

With a load that never grows lighter;

And hope dying with the years

Of toil and disappointment,

Life’s bitterness, pains, and tears.

Tired of the cold surroundings

Of folly, ambition, and pride;

The glint, the glitter, and falseness

Alluring on every side.

Tired of my own sad longings

For blessings I never knew:

A love that is deep and changeless,

A friend that is ever true.

Tired of the stony glances

Of eyes cold as pale death,

Where charity never lingers,

And with their icicle breath

They blight and wither the blooms

Enshrined in the human heart;

The bright hopes and aspirations

Of our life a very part.

Life’s like the sea, ever restless,

Limitless, deep, and wide,

Where many gallant ships go down

Battling ’gainst storm and tide;

Whilst others sail gaily afar

’Mid beautiful isles of song,

O’er blue and sunny wreathed seas,

Where pleasures innumerable throng.

Tired of watching and waiting

The dawn of a happier day;

Will the night with gloom and sadness

Nevermore pass away?

If there’s aught in the mystic future

Of reward for the dreary past,

Will the wayworn, weary wanderer

Find rest and peace at last?

THE LOST FLOWER.

Why do I ever dream of thee?

In vain are thy dreamings, O memory;

Why sit in sorrow--others are gay--

Restless and grieving, as day follows day?

Bright as the morn sparkling in dew,

Blooming with roses’ beauteous hue;

Pure as an angel, artless and true,

Smiling in gladness, loving me too.

When o’er the lea with silent wing

Summer was stealing flowers of spring,

In a sweet valley, where willows wave

O’er faded blossom, made we her grave.

I’m only waiting for that blest hour

When I shall rest with my lost flower,

Waking at last where the perfect day

In loveliness shall fade not away.

DRIFTING.

The day has gone and the night is come,

Dreary, dreary, dreary;

And hope is dying within my breast,

Weary, weary, weary.

The pitiless winds sweep the earth in wrath,

Drifting, drifting, drifting

The fierce white snow, with a wail of woe,

Over the wild, dark reaches sifting.

I sit by the dim, forsaken hearth,

Thinking, thinking, thinking

Of a love that ne’er can come to me;

Shrinking, shrinking, shrinking

From the cold clasp of a fateful hand

That shadowed all the years.

Dreary without, and dreary within,

Dying, dying, dying

Is the last hope of a broken life

That can love and trust no more.

LONGING.

I have grown weary of voices,

And I long for silence and rest,

And the peacefulness of night-time,

When no care doth my soul infest.

And I’ve grown weary of faces

That have never a thought for me;

Of eyes all cold and repellent

I would be forever made free.

And I’ve grown weary of thinking

The thoughts that my being possess;

The finite and the infinite

Forever my bosom oppress.

I’m very weary of hoping,

And e’er waiting from day to day

A happy and bright consummation,

An illusion still far away.

I’m weary of vacant places:

The dear hands that clasp mine no more

Have drifted o’er the dark river,

And gained the eternal shore.

Ah! how I miss the dear faces

Of old friends long years since made free;

But only their vacant places

Forever are calling to me.

And so I’m saddened and lonely,

And trying to trust and to wait,

Dreaming and longing for rest time--

’Tis the passion and burden of fate.

THE LAST SONG.

I have sung my last song, and am ready

To go at the dying of day;

Ere the gloom of night comes to sadden,

My feet shall have passed away.

No more when you meet at the twilight

Shall I mingle my voice with the strains

That tell of home, of love, and heaven,

And the past with its pleasures and pains.

And when again you are carolling

The old songs I love so well,

Will you steal a thought for the absent,

For the one who is saying farewell?

Or must I then, too, be forgotten

When my voice shall be nevermore heard?

Will regret ne’er trouble thy bosom,

Nor memory ever be stirred?

Sing on, happy hearts, in the gloaming;

Sing of home, and of heaven, and love;

Heed not the feet that have wandered

Far away, like the voice of a dove.

An echo I hear sweetly tender,

That seems ever to whisper to me

Of a meeting of friends long severed,

In a life made all perfect and free.

THE FIRST SNOW.

I’m walking to-day with mem’ry

Through the woodlands weird and still,

With ghostly shadows around me,

Haunting, and strange, and chill.

Ominous clouds are gathering

O’er a ghastly, threatening sky;

The voice of the wind is grieving

In the treetops bare and high.

And the streams are stilled and sleeping,

And under my onward tread

The fallen leaves are rustling;

And from the pale, silent dead

Come stealing back phantom footsteps

By many a ruined bower;

And tender, mystical murmurings,

From many a pale dead flower;

And a subtle song of summer,

Of beautiful seasons fled,

Of faces, voices, and ruined hopes,

Sweet dreams, and the tears we shed;

And sweet as the angels’ singing,

Or the summer’s soft twilight,

Or love asleep in fragrant bloom,

Or the peaceful, dreamland night;

And a love that waked to never die,

A radiant and fadeless bloom

That waning years cannot efface,

An endless and golden noon.

I revel at will with mem’ry

By streams and rippling rills;

My heart is wrapt in ecstasy,

As I climb its shining hills.

But list to the dirge of the wind

Through the ever deep’ning gloom;

See! ’tis falling, the death-white snow,

Awak’ning my soul too soon.

It whitens the lonely moorlands,

And the forest glade and glen,

The dreamy hills and silent vales

Where the summer late hath been.

And see how it swirls and eddies,

Searching fiercely everywhere;

It clasps in an icy embrace,

Flurrying fast through the air.

’Tis so desolate and dreary,

And thought grows heavy with pain,

For it may be that never for me

Will the summer come again.

PEACE.

At last, when the sun is setting,

And the beautiful golden bars

Reach upward through purple splendor,

And mingle their light with the stars;

The winds are hushed to a whisper,

Caressing the leaves and flowers;

And song of birds are rippling

Sweetly in twilight bowers;

I ponder o’er past and present,

And rest from the care and strife--

At peace with all, and storing strength

For the daily battle of life.

ARMAGEDDON.

CHAPTER I.

I know not if ’twas in a vision, or a spirit dream.

’Twas at the noon of day, when fairest summer time serene

Clothed all the world in loveliness; when dazzling light

Streamed o’er the Himalayas, and the grandeur of the sight

Lay all before me, as I stood on that far peerless height,

And saw through spirit eyes the whole world at my feet.

Magnificently grand was that far panoramic view,

And I was lost in wonderment as swift-winged vision flew

From sea to sea, lake, river, stream, and tiny rippling rill,

Far mountains tow’ring to the skies, and rolling plain and hill,

And a thousand verdured swells that like billows roll away

Beyond the horizon’s mystic rim and the far gates of day.

From tropic seas I pierced the veil where Arctic oceans roll,

By a thousand isles that gem the deep and flit from pole to pole,

And swift return by milder climes of rich perpetual bloom,

No more to look on that wild waste of mystery and gloom.

I saw the cattle on a thousand sloping emerald hills,

Heard the dream-songs of shepherds that through the distance thrills

The list’ning ear; and saw millions of tillers of the soil--

The support of kings, nations--earth’s suffering sons of toil,

A thousand cities glistened in the near and far away;

All domed and minaretted, by a thousand streams they lay.

I heard the din of commerce and the rush of countless feet,

And the cry of untold voices, and babel reigned complete;

And pomp and power were trampling the poor and weak ones down,

And kings looked on from palace halls with ne’er rebuke nor frown.

I saw giant nations flaunting diverse banners to the breeze,

All bristling o’er with armament, and frail thrones at their knees;

Lust of power was rampant, jars and threat’nings everywhere,

Deep mutterings of the rising storm fell across the air.

The seas were white with commerce, with the ships that o’er them sweep,

Watched by the navies of the world, vast guardians of the deep;

I heard the cry of Christian, and of ruthless Moslem bands

Flaunting their crescent banner with cruel bloodstained hands.

One flag I marked on every sea, in every clime and zone--

The meteor flag of Britain, proudly, defiantly outthrown.

It seemed to tower over all, bidding tyrants to beware,

Of the nation’s rights its bright folds guard to have a proper care.

There were mutterings and combinations adverse to Britain’s fame,

And from the horizon’s darkening rim burst shafts of ruddy flame.

But a couchant lion rose and shook his majestic, tawny mane,

And roared with a roar that shook the seas and braced his giant frame;

And the Empress of the Ocean stood on her seagirt shores

In the panoply of war, where her royal banner soars.

Serene and noble there she stood, in majesty and pride,

And beckoned, and millions of men uprose, and far and wide

Her dauntless ships moved out, and covered all the sea,

To guard the nation’s sacred cause and Christian liberty.

The German nation heard the call that echoed o’er the deep,

And her mighty heart was thrilled, and with one generous sweep

Hurled all differences to the four quarters of the wind,

And swiftly ranged by Britain’s side, as one in heart and mind.

And Italia’s answering cry rose up, regenerated, free,

As she joined the alliance with a shout for Christian unity.

The Austrian nation was moved as by a mighty throe,

And prepared to strike by Britain’s side the now advancing foe

Of Russ, and Gaul, and Moslem hordes converging for the fight

That is to shake the astonished world in horror and affright.

Converging to the gates of India in columns vast they come

To the martial blare of trumpets and roll of fife and drum,

The half a million horse--the van--in wild clangor clears the way

For three thousand frowning guns in formidable array,

With vast masses of infantry--six millions of the foe,

To deliver a vast attack, an irresistible blow;

To sweep Albion from the Ind, and the German power to break;

To win the Orient, even the world to dominate

For the passes of the Himalayas on and on they sweep,

Making the very earth to vibrate beneath their marching feet.

But hark! on the expectant and sharply startled ear

Bursts a fiercer blare of trumpets and a still more rousing cheer.

I turned my vision southward. Oh, welcome, glorious sight!

Five million men advancing in the glowing golden light

Of the sun of Ind, that fell athwart the grand array

Of Albion and her illustrious allies. And far away

I saw another army moving swiftly to the right

(As if detached from Albion’s hosts), and disappear from sight

In the foothills of the Himalayas--some deep strategy evolved

By Wolseley and Roberts, who war’s problems oft have solved.

Too late, the rushing foe the barring mountain passes gain,

And swift debouch in mighty mass and unfold along the plain.

An awful front is formed, reaching leagues and leagues away,

Deployed in seven battle lines in stupendous grim array,

With three thousand guns at intervals frowning there between

Vast corps of horse and infantry, such as the world hath ne’er seen.

Intermingled were strange devices to hurl storms of shot and shell,

Hot and furious as the deadly, insatiate maw of hell.

Bicycle corps with protecting shields flashed everywhere;

And balloons, like eagles, poised on high, borne along the air;

Swooping like eagles for their prey, searching the far and nigh,

They fearless rise above the clouds and soar along the sky.

Swiftly telegraph lines reach every part of the vast line,

Entrenched by corps of engineers skilful of design.

And central, in rear of that stupendous and waiting host,

The White Czar of all the Russias with his staff takes post.

With the Russians forming the centre, gigantic, deep, and wide,

And the corps of France the right wing, a mass of fiery pride;

And the Sultan’s hordes of Moslems form the left, and there await

The awful pending struggle, the doom of a boding fate!

And thus they wait the adversary, Gog and Magog.

CHAPTER II.

Again I turned to the southward, thrilled by the glorious sight

Of vast battle lines advancing all beautiful and bright;

With flashing steel, like countless stars, bannered, bedight they come,

Great waves of scarlet, blue and gold, fearlessly rolling on,

Preceded by a reconnaissance of cavalry and balloons,

With deadly explosives to hurl by hot platoons.

Five million men advancing in the panoply of war,

With Albion in the centre; and prolonging the right afar

Are the Italians and Austrians facing the Moslem bands,

The followers of the crescent from far Orient lands.

Deployed to the left are the Germans, a stately array,

Once more to grapple their ancient foes, defiantly at bay.

Seven leagues! seven leagues! an awful front

Albion and her allies form!

Five battle lines advancing in parallel,

Fronting the dire impending storm,

With vast masses of brilliant cavalry

At intervals on each wing,

And supporting divisions in reserve,

They half a million sabres bring.

Intermingling are three thousand quick-fire guns,

And destructive and strange machines--

Cunning devices for the attack and defence--

Under cover of light steel screens.

And covering the front are bicycle corps,

And steel-armoured motor cars;

Swift and frightfully deadly, well befitting

The grand intrepid sons of Mars.

As a very god of vast war sits Wolseley

On his charger, unmoved, serene,

In rear of the centre, with a brilliant staff,

Intrusted with the command supreme.

And the stern Germans are with their great war lord,

The Kaiser, eager for the fray;

Believing the God of all battles will win

Them this last great decisive day.

And the Austrians and dauntless Italians

Passionate enthusiasm bring,

And are grandly, unflinchingly coming on

Under Emperor and King.

Oh, the dread majesty of that gigantic,

Glorious panoply of war!

Advancing with the awesome roar of the sea

When its deep wrath is heard afar;

Advancing upon the giant adversary

To the swift help of the Lord.

To put the proud, inveterate followers

Of Satan to the pending sword;

To free the benighted world from tyranny,

And the hard yoke and scourge of sin,

They roll on, and onward, fearing neither death

Nor hell, all eager to begin.

Now pauses the colossal, mighty advance,

When near to the gigantic foe,

Ere hurling a destroying and vast attack,

Ere delivering the first great blow.

To perfect his wonderful dispositions

Wolseley, with lightning speed,

Distributes his detail of final orders

By wire, ’cycle, and fiery steed.

The engineers along the intrepid lines

Throw up works of shelter and defence;

And wires and ’phones to every abiding corps

Waiting the issue grim, intense.

It was an awful and a trying moment.

Should heaven now, or hell, prevail?

I feared as the masterful Christian hosts

Prepared the foe to assail.

CHAPTER III.

Hist! what’s this horror stealing o’er the serenitude of heaven?

A weird panoply of cold, metallic light had driven

All the deep-toned azure of the summer skies away.

A spectral terror seems to chill the very noon of day.

And see! those strange, dark phantoms falling on the earth and sea,

Portending calamity. An appalling mystery

Envelops all the horizon, and a pending doom

Seems inevitable to man; and nature’s woof and bloom

Is smitten by a poisonous and hot simoon.

But see! it changes. A wondrous crimson flood

Hath enveloped earth, sea and sky in lurid robes of blood!

And from out the awful threatening deeps, and voids on high,

Marshalling legions of phantom armies go sweeping by!

And they wheeled in vast evolution on high o’er where I stood.

The hosts of heaven, in the glorious panoply of God,

Wheeled into huge lines of columns fronting on the foe;

In golden chariots and equipments strange, and burnished so.

I bowed in awe; I could not bear the dazzling sight

Of that mass of immaculate glory, intensely bright.

But I thought with ecstasy, that heaven would fight this day

For the Christian hosts in the vale, and bear the foe away

To destruction, desolation, and bind Satan with a chain,

And cast him down headlong, to trouble man never again.

But hark! from the threatening vale below

Comes a rumbling commotion,

A sullen roar, as when storms sweep across

The wrathful face of the ocean;

And from Albion’s front move two thousand guns

Sternly rolling upon the foe,

With vast corps of riflemen in support;

And swiftly forward flashing go

The bicycle divisions, and quick-fire guns,

A destructive torrent to pour.

And aloft are the airships and balloons;

Like great eagles they rise and soar

With dire explosives and deadly machines

To hurl death on the lines below--

The awful lines in manœuvre vast

In the strange light glittering so.

Suddenly along those ponderous fronts

Bursts the roar of the dreadful guns,

Causing the very earth to tremble

As through it the vibration runs.

And peal on peal incessant staggered

The great mountain on which I stood;

And the responsive, bellowing thunder

Of the adversary froze the blood.

Thus, loosed from the leash, the dogs of war

Burst in nameless fury on the foe,

And death was hurled from the clouds above

To the hosts in the vale below.

And I saw lines of airships advancing,

Soaring like mighty birds of prey;

And rent asunder were the lurid clouds

That obscured the red god of day.

And I saw them glide on to each other,

The opposing lines up on high,

And the trumpet call from balloon to balloon

Manœuvred them through the sky.

And still dropping their horrid explosives

Below to the shattered plain,

They seek by quick aerial manœuvres

Advantageous positions to gain.

And thus rising, poising, and advancing,

Pausing in close column and line,

The strange scene was awesome and wonderful,

And immeasurably sublime.

Fiercely on each other with quick-fire guns

Destruction they now madly pour,

And infernal machines and magazines

Add their terrible, deadly roar.

And out on the vast aerial spaces

It echoed and rolled away,

A shuddering and horrible tumult,

Lost in distance grim and gray.

And contending there for the mastery,

Some collided with ruinous clash,

And fell from the fierce crimson clouds above

To the earth with a horrid crash.

And thus they fought in the aerial plains

To cover their own below,

And to hover o’er, and hurl destruction

On the contending mammoth foe.

I looked on the fearful scene below,

And the earth was pent with the slain;

And the deafening and tumultuous roar

Rolled o’er the embattled plain.

And from the hot lips of six thousand guns

Leaped whirlwinds of smoke and flame,

And the fiendish missiles tore divisions

Asunder, in ruin amain.

In majestic evolution vast masses

Of infantry enter the fire zone,

And whole fronts of magnificent columns

Into eternity are blown.

And the bicycle corps and quick-fire guns

Into the maelstrom of battle go;

Flashing in and out all along the fronts,

They deliver their blow on blow.

Vast clouds of cavalry charge on the wings

At intervals along the line;

And the mighty reserves _en masse_ abide

Magnificent and sublime.

And these enormous adversaries sway

In furious struggles to and fro,

Repelling, receding, and advancing,

Like the vast sea-waves’ ebb and flow.

Incessant charges of the cavalry

Sweep like whirlwinds over the plain,

And though thousands fall in the mad _melee_,

They charge and recharge again.

And they shore whole lines into fragments

Where confusion had entered in;

Where the foot and horse had suffered most,

They drove their wild charge within.

Again and again they too were hurled back,

Broken, beaten, and swept away

By the deadly guns and the magazines

Of the infantry’s ceaseless play.

And explosives drop from the fierce red clouds,

Hurling death and dismay around,

Making ghastly rents in the shattered ranks,

Chasming the trembling ground.

And the infantry charged fierce and wild

With the bayonet’s resistless play,

And their deadly work in the mad _melee_,

Added horror to the ghastly day.

Thousands of banners waved through smoke and flame,

And wild cheers rent the glaring sky;

Along the lines for leagues and leagues

Rose the dauntless battle-cry.

And oh, the incessant tumultuous roar!

On the shuddering world it fell;

It seemed to rise from the infernal pit,

The red bellowing maw of hell.

CHAPTER IV.

And so the night fell redly down,

Such a night as man ne’er hath seen--

One vast crimson glare through the universe,

And weird phantoms flitting between

The stars that glowed in the vast far voids,

Falling prone on the earth and sea.

Horrible convulsions ran all amain,

Staggering the mountains under me;

And lightning leapt from the fierce red clouds,

And the appalling thunder shock

Seemed to rive the firmament in twain,

Crashing from mountain and rock to rock.

And fiendish voices shrieked through the air,

Mocking and gibing at man’s doom;

And the pale, dead legions heaping the plain,

Peering out of the gory gloom.

And the battle ceased not; through the night

It raged with the fury of hell,

And the ponderous blows that Albion dealt

Like a destroying angel fell.

They pressed the Russians from line to line

By the bayonet and sabre stroke;

On and on with a deathless valor,

Through their vast divisions they broke.

And the left of the line stands firm, where

The Germans are sternly at bay,

Assailed by the Gauls in furious hate,--

They must not and will not give way.

But the right is threatened and sorely pressed

By the Sultan’s valiant corps,

For like rocks they abide before the fire

The Italians and Austrians pour.

Avalanches of smoke and raging flame

From the batteries belch far and wide;

Like a misty veil cover all the field,

And creep up the great mountain side.

’Twas as a mist of blood, obscuring but

Slightly the struggle; and on high

The bright aerial ships still hovered

In conflict along the fierce red sky.

Suddenly, with terrific, awful throe,

The earth was rent at the mountain’s base,

And hot sulphurous fumes uprose, and

Demoniacal cries, and the face

Of Satan, with horrible equipments,

Crawled up o’er the red rim of hell;

And twelve flaming legions of fiends--lost souls--

Sprang after, and into phalanx fell.

With flaming harness all scaled, bedight,

Hideous blazoned shield and lance,

With Satan, Lucifer and Apollyon,

They prepared their direful advance

To the help of the mighty adversary,

Gog and Magog. They clanged their shields,

And raged and uttered such blasphemous,

Malignant, and discordant cries

As only the infernal conclaved

Regions of the damned could vomit forth.

And frightful shapes--scorpions, lizards, vampires,

Dragons, and serpents--wriggled up,

Hissing, and spread along the scorched ground

Their poisonous slime and horrid breath;

And all things venomous, of which to touch,

To breathe, is loathsome, instant death!

I was horrified and appalled,

And raised my eyes in prayer;

And oh, the sight that met my affrighted gaze,

In the red cloud’s tremendous glare!

The celestial army, by some wondrous

Evolution, poised o’er the foe--

Poised central--and hurled annihilation

To the Satanic hosts below;

Hurled vast streams of glaring lightning,

And rending thunderbolts roaring fell,

And countless blinding meteors scathed

And ruined Satan where they fell.

Avalanches of ponderous aerolites

Tore the maw and counterscarp of hell!

Nameless armaments beat Satan’s cohorts down,

And a hideous, discordant knell

Of rage, despair, smote the shuddering hills,

With’ring the verdure all amain,

And rolled in nameless horror along

The lines of that ensanguined plain.

Nearer and nearer swooped the celestial

Legions in majesty and might,

Until, all ruined and beaten down,

The demon foe were put to flight,

And Satan seized and bound with a chain,

And hurled blaspheming back once more

Down the accursed, eternal void of

Damnation’s frenzied awful shore!

Closed and sealed was that deadly maw

Of desolation and of doom,

That man might escape the horror of an

Everlasting suffering and gloom.

All through the lurid night the conflict raged

With furious, unabated breath,

Swaying backward, forward, with frightful carnage

In the cruel revelry of death.

And the flame and light of that vast battle,

And the veil that shrouded all the sky,

Made light as day upon the earth and sea,

And where the air ships fought on high.

All the night Albion had pressed the huge

Centre of the foe from line to line,

Pressing onward, aye, steadily onward,

With deeds of chivalry sublime.

CHAPTER V.

The intrepid Germans have not made way,

But like the rocks they firm abide,

And the fiery Gauls dash swift upon them,

Like the rise and sweep of ocean’s tide

In frenzied fury hurled forward,

And rolled backward over all

The stern rocks they seethe and roar upon, ere

Hurled in ruin to their fall.

The far right of the line’s in peril sore

At the dawn of another day,

And though sorely pressed by the Sultan’s corps,

They will die, but never give way.

This I saw as the glaring sun uprose,

And the conflict still shook the world;

And in mighty mass all along the front,

The vast foot and horse were hurled.

And the earth was heaped and pent with the slain,

And their blood like a river ran,

And ne’er was witnessed such a battle-scene

Since ever this strange world began.

And I see through the red rays of the sun

A glad sight that my bosom thrills:

’Tis Roberts, debouching in rear of the foe,

From the sheltering Himalayan hills.

’Twas he that had disappeared to the right

Ere the dreadful conflict began;

’Twas Wolseley’s masterful, strategic stroke--

A card in his vast battle plan.

With the flower of the Ind and British Guards

He fell on the brave Sultan’s rear

With half a million of horse and foot,

With a prolonged, thunderous cheer.

And they shattered the Moslems from right to left,

And lent and tore them asunder

By the infantry’s fire, and sabre stroke,

And the batteries’ awful thunder.

Crushed to atoms between the two lines,

The Sultan’s ruin is complete,

And he lays his flaming scimitar down

At the invincible Roberts’ feet.

The critical time had now arrived

To deliver a crushing blow,

And Wolseley redoubled all the fire

Of his guns on the suffering foe;

And the infantry close up, and again

They a devastating fire pour,

And the bicycle corps and quick-fire guns

Added their fierce and incessant roar.

And from the crimson clouds his aerial ships

Hurl their cruel and deadly rain,

Shattering the foe in the lines below

And rending the stormswept plain.

A grand _coup de main_ he had prepared--

A thousand electric motor cars,

With a hedge of spears on their outward shields

That flashed like countless silver stars;

Each with a quick-fire gun, and a score of men

Held with the reserves in the rear.

He sends with a rush all along the lines

Those intrepid souls without fear.

Forward in line at intervals they sweep

With resistless hedge of steel,

And the writhing lines of the foe they reach--

See! see! they in wild horror reel

From the death rush of those wonderful cars

That cut them to pieces there,

And confusion enters those suffering lines,

And a wave of sullen despair.

And Wolseley seizes the fateful moment,

And rolls forward now the whole line--

Seven leagues! seven leagues of front!

Irresistible and sublime.

“All along their front let the cavalry charge!

Crush now their faltering powers!

Let the reserves sweep the foe from the field!

Complete this day of days, which is ours.”

And they swift unfold and sweep o’er the plain,

Resistlessly forward everywhere,

A fiery mass of heroic chivalry,

So glorious and so fair.

Like destroying angels they fall on the foe,

Rending, destroying all amain,

And they reel back in despair, still struggling there,

But ever and ever in vain.

And the cavalry charged in mighty mass,

And the earth rocked beneath their tread,

And they shore whole lines into mere fragments,

And the fragments in terror fled.

The infantry volleyed, and swept the guns,

And charged through the flame and smoke,

And rent and ruined those wavering lines

As through and through them they broke.

Thus Albion and her allies rolled on

Till from every position driven,

Bleeding and torn, ruined, and all forlorn,

The foe were cast to the four winds of heaven.

Oh, mourn! oh, pity! and weep, all the world;

At the close of that awful day

Two million of fearless, heroic dead

Were hidden forever away!

And the sinister skies were cleared again,

And the phantoms that fell on the sea,

And the fierce crimson clouds faded away,

And heaven’s blue shone again o’er me.

I heard a song, as of seraphic choirs,

And it floated down from above,

A most wonderful song of ecstasy,

Of rejoicing and infinite love.

And the celestial host soared upward,

Away, repeating the chorus; it ran:

“For the world is redeemed; joy! joy! joy!

Peace on earth and good will to man.”

CHARITY.

Seek but to benefit thy fellowman:

Let smiles, not frowns, his rugged path assail.

Better with blinded eyes his faults to scan,

Than let the sin of wrong and scorn prevail.

O Charity! unfold thy pure white wings,

Teach us to suffer and to forbear;

To hurl no darts, no evil, bitter stings,

For life is needful and full of care.

Then fold us, fold us, in thy pure white wings,

Shield us from ourselves, and let us see

Only good in others, and the joy that brings

Peace to us in life and in eternity.

THE END.