’Tis the presence of friendship, The clasp of a hand, ’Tis the kindness that speaketh In tones to command
The Demon to loosen His hold and depart, That Hope may return to Her nest in the heart.
This boon have I tasted While couched in my room; And fair, as the rainbow That spanneth the gloom,
Shall be the remembrance Of faces that shed A magic that blunted The thorns of my bed, That wrought on the Demon Of pain till he fled.
HALLOWE’EN IN CANADA;
AND
HOW IT SETTLED A DOMESTIC QUARREL.
To-night, upon the land or sea, Wherever Scotland’s bairns may be, Whether they plough Australian soil, Or in Canadian forests toil;— Or, on the Ganges or the Nile, Defy the gaping crocodile; Or on the South Sea waters sail, A terror to the fated whale; In lonely dell or crowded street, Wherever two or more may meet, Warm hands are clasped—no formal grip,— No dainty, bloodless fingers’ tip, But such a cordial squeeze and shake As leave behind a welcome ache, Such greeting as can only mean, To-night, my friend, is Hallowe’en.
The quicksand of the sliding years, Is moistened with perpetual tears; But as the sunshine tempers showers, As perfume clings to wounded flowers, As music tones the midnight storm, As beauty clothes the lightning’s form, So wedded to each human ill, Some pleasing charm is felt or seen, And hence, though exiles here, they thrill With yearly joys of Hallowe’en.