HOME LYRICS.
A Book of Poems.
BY
H. S. BATTERSBY.
VOLUME II.
PREFACE.
This second volume of HOME LYRICS has been published since the death of the authoress, and in fulfilment of her last wishes, by her children, and is by them dedicated to the memory of the dearest of mothers, whose whole life was consecrated to their happiness and welfare and who fully reciprocated her self-denial, devotion and love.
HER CHILDREN.
INDEX.
[To the Memory of a Beloved Son who passed from Earth April 3rd, 1887]
[Birdies. For a Little Five Year Old]
[Mrs. Langtry as Miss Hardcastle in "She Stoops to Conquer"]
[Up, Sisters, Morn is Breaking]
[Oh! I Love the Free Air of the Grand Mountain Height]
[To the Empress Eugenie on the Death of Her Son]
[A Victim to Modern Inventions]
[Written on board the S. S. "Egypt," September 5th, 1884]
[Roberval. A Legend of Old France]
[A Voice from St. George's Hall]
[To the Museum Committee, on opening Museums on Sundays]
[A Welcome from Liverpool to the Queen]
[In Response to a Kind Gift of Flowers]
[Recollections of Fontainebleau]
[The Tunbridge Wells Flower Show]
HOME LYRICS.
TO THE MEMORY OF A BELOVED SON WHO PASSED FROM EARTH, APRIL 3rd, 1887.
I would gaze down the vista of past years,
In fancy see to-night,
A loved one passed from sight,
But whose blest memory my spirit cheers.
Shrined in the sacred temple of my soul,
He seems again to live,
And fond affection give,
His mother's heart comfort and console.
Perception of the beautiful and bright,
In nature and in art,
Evolved from his true heart
Perpetual beams like sunshine's cheering light.
A simple unsophisticated life,
With faith in action strong,
And perseverance long,
Made all he did with vigorous purpose rife.
Responsive to sweet sympathy's kind claim,
His quick impulsive heart
Loved to take active part
In mirthful joy or sorrowing grief and pain.
His manly face would glow with honest glee.
As with parental pride,
Which he ne'er sought to hide,
He fondly gazed on his loved family.
For them he crowned with industry his days;
Ever they were to him
The sweetest, holiest hymn
Of his heart's jubilant, exultant praise.
And Oh, the tender pity of his eye.
The gentle touch and word,
When his fond heart was stirred
To practical display of sympathy.
His true affection, manners gently gay,
The kiss that seems e'en now
Warm on my lips and brow,
Are memories that ne'er can pass away.
Naught can e'er lessen the fond hope that we
May, one day, meet above
With all we dearly love,
To live again in blissful unity.
BIRDIES. FOR A LITTLE FIVE YEAR OLD.
A tender birdie mother sat
In her soft nest one day,
Teaching her little fledglings, three,
To gambol, sing, and play.
Dear little brood, the mother said,
'Tis time for you to fly
From branch to branch, from tree to tree,
And see the bright blue sky.
Chirrup, the eldest, quick replied,
O yes, sweet mother mine,
We'll be so glad to hop about,
And see the bright sunshine.
Twitter and Downy also said,
We, too, shall happy be,
To bask within the sun's warm rays,
And swing on branch and tree.
Well, then, the mother said, you shall,
And straight the birdies all,
Perched on the edge of the high nest,
Beside the chestnuts tall.
Remember, said the mother bird,
You must not go beyond
That row of trees that skirt the edge
Of the transparent pond.
For if you do you might get lost,
Or drowned, and die in pain,
And never to our dear home nest
Return in joy again.
Well mind your orders, mother dear,
And will not disagree,
But do just what you tell us now,
Said all the birdies three.
They hopped off on delighted wing,
To the next chestnut tree,
O'erjoyed and panting with delight,
The great, grand world to see.
Oh! what a bright, glad scene, they cried,
And what a wond'rous sky!
What joy 'twould be to kiss the Sun,
And be with him on high.
And I, said Downy, I should like
To sail on yonder sea,
And with that pretty milk-white bird,
Skim o'er the waters free.
Said Twitter, you talk very large,
And do not seem to know
Our little wings have not yet power
Beyond these trees to go.
Besides, said Chirrup, mother said
We must not go beyond,
But only hop and fly about
The trees that skirt the pond.
But mother's gone to get us food,
And she will never know,
Said Downy, so upon the pond
I am resolved to go.
O fie! exclaimed the birdies both,
To think of such a thing,
You might get harm, and on us all
Sorrow and trouble bring.
Oh, I am not a bit afraid,
I feel so strong and free,
And will not homeward go until
I float on yonder sea.
Ah, well, said both the other two,
We will not go with you,
Good-bye, we will not disobey
Our mother kind and true.
Off went the two obedient birds,
And safely reached their nest,
The little birdies' happy home
Of sweet delight and rest.
Meanwhile, poor naughty Downy flew
From off the chestnut tree,
Away towards the milk-white bird
That skimmed the waters free.
But ah! his wings were much too weak
To bear him all the way,
And Downy fell imploring aid
From loved ones far away.
But no help came. The mother bird
Was far off gathering food,
From perfumed clover meadows round,
For her beloved brood.
And when she reached her nest and found
But two birds there alone,
And heard that Downy to the pond
So wilfully had flown,
Her heart, so lately full of joy,
Was rent with grief and pain,
For fear lest she should never see
Her darling bird again.
Calling upon his name she flew,
In terror, far and near,
From tree to pond, from pond to tree,
Seeking her birdie dear.
She called; alas, no answer came
To that poor mother's cry,
She searched among the sweet, wild flowers,
And chestnut branches high.
At length she spied a tiny speck
Beside the waters clear,
It was, alas, the lifeless form
Of her lost Downy dear.
She drew him on the soft green grass,
And chafed his lifeless form,
Opened his glassy eyes and mouth,
And tried his limbs to warm.
But all in vain, her darling bird
Was dead, and nevermore
Would he into that mother's ear,
His pretty warblings pour.
Then in despair she buried him
Beside the chestnut tree,
And covered him with twigs and leaves,
While weeping bitterly.
And then, with torn and sorrowing heart,
She flew back to her home,
Where Twit and Chirrup trembling staid,
Disconsolate and lone.
My little birdie dears, she said,
In bitterness and pain,
Our darling Downy to his nest
Will never come again.
His wilful disobedience
To my direct commands,
Has brought its own dire punishment,
Such as all sin demands.
I thought I could have trusted him,
For he, as you well know,
Promised me very faithfully
Not from these trees to go.
I want you both, my birdies dear,
To learn from this to see
How lying disobedience
Will ever punished be.
So take a lesson from it, dears,
And be resolved that you
Will never disobey or lie,
Whatever else you do.
O yes, we'll try our very best,
Your orders to obey,
And always strive to tell the truth,
Whether at work or play.
Dear children who may hear this tale,
You, too, should also try
To do whatever you are told,
And never tell a lie.
THE ANGEL ON WAR.
An angel spirit winging
Through aerial space her flight,
O'er peaceful, sleep-bound nature
Thus sang one autumn night:
What are those hosts advancing
In legions o'er the plain,
Through orchards heavy laden
And fields of full-eared grain?
Eastward and westward come they
Shining like gems of light,
Beneath soft, silvery moonbeams
Of peaceful, silent night.
Surely assembled nations
Are gathering for a fête
Of tournament, sham fight or joist,
In pride of strength elate.
Or, may be, some grand meeting
On field of cloth of gold,
Attracts those swarming legions
A peaceful tryst to hold;
For see, the steeds caparisoned
In trappings rich and bright,
With noble, high-bred men astride,
In transports of delight!
The flower of German fatherland,
In manhood's strength and pride,
Press on in measured marching,
By grey-haired veterans' side,
And westward press the youth of France,
Whose ardour none can stay,
Thirsting for laurels in the tilts
And contests of the day.
Emperors, with marshals, generals,
And stalwart men, are there;
Flushed with excitement swift they come
The splendid sports to share,
Doubtless each wears the colours
Of some loved lady fair
Whom they predict shall one day
Their heart and fortunes share.
Now sable night droops kindly
Into the arms of morn,
Who comes to herald in the day
And nature's face adorn?
Heaven's soft grey eastern portals
For her wide open fly,
As the grand sun's golden chariot
Wheels proudly through the sky.
Night's gentle Queen and star gems
Withdraw their gracious sway,
As the sun in rose-hued splendour
Kisses to life the day.
Waters like polished silver
Dotting the plain like shields,
Babble their morning greeting
From golden, grain-crowned fields.
Then the glad light of morning
Trips joyful o'er the plain,
As the angel horror stricken
Takes up her strain again,
Alas! those hosts advancing
In hot haste from afar,
But yesternight so joyous,
Now close in bloody war.
And, as ferocious tigers,
On tasting human blood,
Revel in greedy madness
Amid the crimson flood,
So these fierce hostile warriors,
Now stained with human gore,
Grow unrestrained and reckless,
And fiercer than before.
The valley late so peaceful
Steams with the rage of strife,
Fast down the gloated furrows
Flows the red stream of life.
Maddened to rage and fury,
Th' opposing hosts contend,
And murder, ruin, carnage, death,
Through the gorged plains extend.
What can be, cried the angel,
The meaning of such strife,
And how dare man thus rashly
Trifle with human life?
Can all the so-called glory,
That man to man can pay,
Outweigh the dire inheritance
Of this unhallowed fray?
Are hearts thus drunk with life blood,
And hands thus steeped in gore,
Not calculated to become
More brutal than before?
And do not youth and manhood
Deserve a better fate,
Than to be rashly sacrificed
To jealous greed and hate?
Thousands of glittering lances
Cut through the startled air,
As valiant chiefs and mighty men
The blood-red carnage share.
Flashes, like sunlight splendour,
Gleam forth from brazen shields,
And burnished arms dart back the light,
O'er the blood-gorged fields.
List! said the angel, sighing,
From many a ghastly mound
Deep groans of torture mingle
With the battle din around.
What piteous cries of anguish
Are those, who dying moan,
That they may never more behold
Their dearly loved at home!
Some of earth's best and brightest,
'Mid prospects glad and gay,
Others to loved ones plighted
Slaughtered and bleeding lay!
Some, sons of widowed mothers
Who had none else to cheer,
Some, guardians of fond sisters,
Many to wives most dear!
Ah! who can tell the sorrow
Intailed by war's foul breath,
Or gauge the dire inheritance
Of all this murderous death!
The sinew of their country,
The hope of years to come,
Cut down in prime of manhood,
Buried in stranger tomb!
O sages, statesmen, rulers,
Bestir yourselves and teach
The nation's misled millions
A higher goal to reach;
Exchange for greed and murder,
A reign of peace divine;
Thus, elevate earth's children
To brotherhood sublime!
Thus spake the gentle angel
As, gathering each fond prayer,
She wreathed them into garlands,
Of flowerets rich and rare
For Sardanapolis to plant,
Where they shall ever bloom,
In the eternal gardens
Beyond the silent tomb.
IN MEMORIAM.
CHARLES OLIVES BAYLIS, M.D., M.R.C.S.,
Late Medical Officer of Health for West Kent, and formerly of Birkenhead.
DIED DECEMBER 12TH, 1884.
Broken the silver cord! the harp unstrung!
And kindred hearts with grief and anguish wrung,
For a beloved one from the earth hath flown
Leaving his dear ones desolate and lone.
Cheerless, deserted now each empty place,
So lately filled by him with radiant grace;
Sad memories in each lone corner dwell,
Vocal of him our torn hearts loved so well.
To feelings sympathetic and refined,
He joined a well-stored, richly cultured mind,
Where holy reason held her peerless sway,
Dictating all he had to do and say.
Self-discipline in action, thought and deed,
Was his uncompromising, glorious creed;
To do to others as he would that they
Should do to him, his crystal rule each day.
Dark superstition never gained his ear,
Or led to slavish and debasing fear;
A hater of hypocrisy in all
The varied forms by which it doth enthrall.
His logical and comprehensive mind,
Was marvellously gentle, loving, kind,
Which gave him with his patients wonderous power,
And served them well in many a trying hour.
A man of penetration, forethought, tact,
Loving to solve, elucidate each fact;
He firmly held to truth with friend and foe,
And ne'er was known to act from greed or show.
A safe and trusted counsellor was he,
And helpful, sweet companion as could be,
Of such calm, chastened thought, that all he said
Was fraught with wisdom, and by justice led.
His sense of duty formed the crucial test
By which to rule his actions, work and rest.
And his well-regulated heart and mind
Were full of charity towards all mankind.
A zealous public worker in the cause
Of sanitation, based on nature's laws;
For fifteen years in Birkenhead and Kent,
To this great end he his rare knowledge lent.
He loved his work and duties, as some love
Their pleasures, and with earnest purpose strove,
To prove that each right action surely brought
Its blessing, as all evil misery wrought.
Entheal concord, where 'twas possible,
And truth and justice made it feasible,
The armour his peace-loving spirit wore,
The love-crowned banner which aloft he bore.
The beautiful in nature and in art,
Charmed and delighted his devoted heart,
A gorgeous sunset, and a moonlit sky,
Ne'er failed to captivate both mind and eye.
As circlets made by weights flung in the deep,
Clear multiplying forms concentric keep,
Obedient to the heavenly law sublime,
Each circle forming others through all time.
So our beloved one leaves his track behind,
Of multiplying circles to his kind,
In the rich lessons of his well-spent life,
With holy God-like teachings ever rife.
No storied marble setting forth his praise,
A more enduring monument could raise,
Than the productive seed which he has sown,
Which chants his requiem in undying tone.
A priceless heritage he leaves behind,
In the example of his well-trained mind,
A blessed Aftermath! God grant that we
May tune our hearts to its sweet melody.
For though the jewel casket be no more
Amongst us, as in happier days of yore,
The radiance of the gem it held will still
Remain our lonely home and hearts to fill.
Let us then try courageously to tread,
The footprints where his noble teachings led,
With self-denying zeal right onward go,
Striving to vanquish every inward foe.
And thus we'll hope to meet again once more
Unitedly with loved ones gone before,
In the divine hereafter-home above,
Safe in each other's and the Father's love.
IN MEMORIAM.
HENRY LEWIS PROWSE,
Died at Longueuil August 2nd, 1884.
AGED 6 YEARS AND 7 MONTHS.
A fair child of promise, just nipped in the bud,
To plant on heavenly shore,
To bloom and expand in its love-light and peace
Not dead, only gone there before!
Just six years he lived in his loved earthly home,
His fond parents' joy and delight,
Where his bright little spirit shed gladness around,
And filled it with radiant light.
His fond little heart with affection o'erflowed,
To all his beloved ones at home;
Oh, think not these heavenly cords will be riven,
In the spiritual land where he's gone!
Grieve not, then, fond parents, your darling is safe,
In the happier realms of the blest,
There waiting to welcome and join you again,
In the time the Great Father finds best.
THE RINK.
The rink, the rink, th' entrancing rink!
Come there to prove the sweet
Delicious joys of exercise,
In rhythmic glide of feet.
'Tis pleasure pure that all should taste
For it makes the spirit gay,
In graceful sylph-like movements free,
O'er the smooth floor to sway.
It stirs life's pulses to a glad.
Refreshing, genial flow;
It paints the cheeks with roses bright,
And lovely, healthful glow.
Come, then, and in enjoyment pure,
With loved ones at your side,
To sweet melodious music's strain,
Like fairies graceful glide.
A BINGHAMPTON HOME.
A lovely, happy, peaceful home,
Within the fond embrace
Of circling mountains and a stream
Of calm meandering grace.
The Susquehanna's limpid flow,
With the Chunango strove,
And at their mild contention formed
The lovely sylvan grove.
Nature smiled sweetly all around
This homestead glad and bright,
Which seemed peculiarly endowed
With heaven's blent rainbow light.
So danced its colours through that home,
As if they sought to prove
Their harmony with the glad hearts
That formed this shrine of love.
A tender wife refined and pure,
A husband brave and true
Ruled o'er this shrine of happiness,
And darling children two.
Blossy, a dark-eyed, happy girl,
Whom fourteen years have seen,
Blooming in gentle maidenhood,
As fair as e'er was seen.
And then a darling child of four,
Like a fair beam of light,
The household flower, who filled the home
With perfume and delight.
Nice Annie, a fair, dimpled girl,
Who with untiring care
Strove in the home's machinery
To take her loving share.
Mary, the maid, with active zeal
And ever thoughtful heart.
With conscientious care fulfilled
Her well-directed part.
Well skilled in culinary lore,
Her "graham gems" kept time
With all the other household gems
Which in rare grace combine.
Accept these simple words of love,
Dear friends, as we now part,
And guard kind thoughts of me, I pray,
Within the household heart.
MRS. LANGTRY AS MISS HARDCASTLE IN "SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER."
Like a radiant gleam of sunshine
She glanced upon the sight,
A being rare and lovely,
With wit and beauty bright.
Moulded and fashioned finely,
With tall, lithe, rounded form,
And graceful mien and manner,
Her beauty to adorn.
Without one graceless effort,
And perfected by art,
She gave a faithful rendering
Of her adopted part.
Her every turn and movement
Was poetry and grace,
Which lent a sweet enchantment
To her expressive face.
Supported splendidly by all
The other artists there,
Who well deserve with her, their star,
The public praise to share.
Would that we had more artists
As natural as she,
Then might the stage a mirror
Of true life prove to be.
THE SHAKER GIRL
I met a pleasant, thoughtful girl,
Fresh from a homely band
Of Shaker brethren who fare well
In this far Western land.
I talked to her of earthly love,
She answered with a sigh;
I sought to know the hidden truth,
And asked the reason why
She would prefer a Shaker's life,
Pleasant though it might be,
To working in the free, grand world,
Consistently and free,
With household duties wooing her,
And babies on her knee?
She blushed a trifle, and looked shy,
Confessed the truth was plain,
That if "some one" should ever come
And seek her love again,
She would, with all her loving heart,
Accept his profferred hand,
And leave her Shaker friends with him,
For any clime or land;
But that she doubted that the love
He once professed was o'er,
And that she feared that it for her
Was quenched for evermore;
And so she guessed she'd best return
To her calm Shaker home,
And curb the feelings of her heart,
And never seek to roam.
O Shaker maiden, pause, I pray,
Take further earnest thought,
Nor stay the longings of your heart,
With heaven-born nature fraught
Duties there are on every side,
Awaiting willing hands,
All unrestricted, unconfined
By any creeds or lands.
Sweet ties of home are holier far,
Spontaneous acts more true,
Than any Shaker work ordained
For man to struggle through.
ICE PALACE.
O palace of marvellous beauty and light,
Like a shrine of enchantment thou art to the sight,
As sparkling with pride 'neath the sun's fond caress,
Thou blushest with love's conscious joyful excess.
Ten thousand bright jewels, from Neptune's realm won,
Compose thy weird structure, where daily the sun
And nightly the Moon in turn sparklingly play
Through each lunar ripple and bright solar ray.
Like some ancient temple upreared to the sun,
As chaste as a bride—and as pure as a nun,
Result of stern winter's imperious commands,
Fitting tribute to it in these northern lands.
Thy empire, O ice king, is stern and severe,
But it has rare pleasures which all hold most dear.
We, our winter pastimes to greet thee convoke,
And the goddess of health with thee daily invoke.
In gleeful assemblage we now celebrate
Thy reign, through tobogganing, snow-shoes, and skate,
In sliding along to the sleigh-bells' blithe sound,
O'er rivers, and meadows, and snow-mantled ground.
Then hurrah for the Palace, the ice king, the snow;
Around them let mirth and hilarity flow,
Hurrah for our Governor, country, and main,
And God bless our loved Queen, and long may she reign.
THE FABLE OF THE SPHYNX
Facts gathered from a lecture by George Chainey, of Boston, U.S.
Oh! the image and the fable of the Sphynx!
What lessons do they teach,
What sermons do they preach
Of the riddle and the mystery of life!
'Tis a union of brute force and love sublime.
A female face and head
To a lioness form are wed,
Embodying strength and purity divine.
The lioness, a symbol of wild might;
The peerless head and face,
And bust of female grace,
Are types of pure affection and delight.
In each one lies this dual element:
Leonine cruelty,
That well might master be,
If not o'er-ruled by strict fidelity.
And the all-powerful conquering light of love,
Which, blessing those who give
No less than who receive,
Makes bliss on earth, as God's laws clearly prove.
In crowning thus the Sphynx with love's sweet worth,
We have for us the old,
Sweet gospel ever told
That love in peerless might should rule the world.
Shall then our path o'er life's uncertain way
Be led by a true heart,
Acting pure love's kind part,
Or by fierce guidance of a beast of prey?
To what heroic heights mortals may climb,
Humanity to serve,
With loving heart and nerve,
Are seen in Buddha, and in Florence Nightingale.
And to what depths of leonine lust and crime
A cruel man may go,
Scattering fear, ruin, woe,
Witness fierce Nero and Caligula!
In each these possible heights and depths betide,
All, then, may freely choose,
None can the choice refuse,
Between the higher and the lower guide.
Where selfishness and unchecked passions stray
As ruling motives sole,
To reach a tinselled goal,
There crouches the ferocious beast of prey.
Shall life to us be crowned with blessings sure,
As noblest woman's life,
Harmonious 'mid all strife,
Or blurred with bestial appetites impure?
Surely the answer should be prompt and plain,
That we, at any cost,
Will not be so far lost
As to permit the beast o'er love to reign.
The purport of the dual female form,
Shrines the grand truth, that Might
Should bravely nourish Right,
Life's checkered pathway sweetly to adorn.
'Tis said the Sphynx in ancient Afric' stood
Upon the great highway,
Beckoning all to stay,
Who passed, to guess life's riddle if they could,
Which if they failed in, she devoured them there,
As she believed that they
Who would not learn life's way,
Were not entitled its best joys to share.
But Oedipus, a wiser man than most
Passing, the riddle guessed,
That gave the Sphynx sweet rest,
And forthwith she descended from her post.
Knowing her secret, once devined, would be
Learned by all thinkers, then
Proclaimed by them to men,
Her mission o'er, she vanished 'neath the sea.
The axiom of "Man, know thyself" is worth
The pains it costs to learn,
E'en through long labours stern,
Since 'tis the key that opes rich joys on earth.
Pure knowledge entereth through struggles fierce,
And only to the few
Who sternly seek the true,
Is given to solve the mystery of the Sphynx.
UP, SISTERS, MORN IS BREAKING.
Up, sisters! morn is breaking
Over the mountains grey,
As, borne on silvered pinions,
She ushers in the day.
She comes, and at her bidding
The empress of the night,
And starry hosts of heaven,
Veil their supernal light.
Scarce has their empire ended,
O'er the awakening earth,
When morning, fresh and joyous,
With dewdrops clad comes forth.
And now the great sun's chariot,
Led by the rosy hours,
Sweeps through the heavens proudly,
And o'er fond nature towers.
The grand, majestic sun-god,
Pavilioned is on high,
And throned in golden splendour
He reigns o'er earth and sky.
Dispersing gloom and sadness,
Giving to all new birth,
Dispensing light and gladness,
O'er the rejoicing earth.
Up, then, fair sisters, early
His call from sleep obey,
His first sweet healthful teachings
Will sanctify the day.
Inhale his breath delicious,
Its freshness health bestows;
It tints the cheeks with colours
Of Persia's lovely rose.
Up, then, at nature's bidding,
Over the hills away,
With freshened pulses glowing,
To hail the King of Day.
OH! I LOVE THE FREE AIR OF THE GRAND MOUNTAIN HEIGHT.
Oh! I love the free air of the grand mountain height,
In its freshness new vigour I find,
It makes life's warm pulses throb high with delight,
And stimulates body and mind.
Its freedom inspires happy thought and desire,
And the heart cannot fail to rejoice,
As it makes the glad spirit receptive and quick
To translate nature's eloquent voice.
The sun-illumed firmament royally decked
In pearly-tinged cloudlets of grey,
Framed in exquisite clearness of deep tender blue,
Fit throne for the Monarch of day!
The city below lies in tranquil repose,
Betraying no symptom of life,
Ah! who could suppose at this distance that it
Could be moved by dissension and strife!
For it lies like an innocent, slumbering babe
In the fold of a fond mother's breast,
Between the fair river that kisses its feet,
And the mountain in well-guarded rest.
Then o'er the St. Lawrence and spanning its flow,
Is Stephenson's triumph of skill,
The grand bridge that laughs at a kingdom of ice,
Which essays its stern ramparts to kill.
And there like an emerald shrined in mid stream,
Is St. Helen's bright islet of grace,
Whose trees on the river's soft waters, delight
To mirror their beautiful face.
Then hurrah! for the mountain, the islet and bridge,
And fair Montreal in their midst,
With her clear sun-lit skies, that bring blessing and health,
For few pleasanter cities exist.
SUNRISE.
Behold a miracle! the eastern sky
Is whispering of a new creation nigh,
As the fair dawn, with love-born joy and pride,
Is gently opening day's grand portals wide.
And see her rosy sisters tripping o'er
Land, sea and mountain, lake and pebbly shore,
Spreading th' entrancing tidings, near and far,
Of the sun's advent in his golden car.
And now through lustrous, glad, effulgent sheen,
God's presence manifest to man is seen,
As the majestic herald of his love
Enthrones himself in matchless pomp above.
And see, each rippling streamlet, mount and sod
Obeys the mandate sent to it from God,
To do the work to each by Heaven assigned,
And in its due performance joy to find.
With joy extatic all creation springs
To glad new life each his anthem sings
To the sun-god's Creator and upraise
Their thrilling melodies of morning praise.
Have ye e'er heard it echoed through the woods
By birds and insects, mountain, streams and floods?
Then, say, do man's best efforts match the song
Of that harmonious, grateful, fervent throng?
Renewed and glad the denizens of earth
Obey the will of Him who calls them forth:
Obedience makes all labour doubly sweet,
And victory crowns the race with willing feet.
The great sun never wavers from his line
Of duty, in his gracious work sublime,
His grand example perfect is, as when
The Everlasting first created men.
Symbol he is of the Great Father's power,
Discoursing of it every passing hour,
As calling to new life each germ and seed,
He teaches earth to bring forth what men need.
Streams, plants and insects, animals and earth
Fulfil the role assigned to them at birth;
Soft, gentle showers in cooling streams descend
O'er verdant nature freshened joy to lend.
Planets and stars obey the law divine,
And in the pre-concerted plan combine.
To do this bidding who in ether placed
Their glorious orbs, and their grand circles traced.
And think ye mortals that a God so great
Could be unmindful of our mortal state?
Ah, no, His grand unchanging laws apply
To every living creature equally.
There's not a denizen of earth, sky, sod,
But bears some message to us from our God;
The changeless laws of earth and firmament
Are with deep truths and glorious lessons blent.
The Great Eternal, ruler of the earth,
Formed laws immutable for it at birth;
Charging the realm of nature to befriend,
The race for whom he formed it, to life's end.
Grand proofs of His great love through it are found,
By those who seek them, and rich joys abound
For all who learn themselves, and the blest will
Of the Creator lovingly fulfil.
LOVE.
Immortal love! what power is thine,
To quicken and inspire!
Fabled Prometheus well might dare
To steal from heaven such fire.
For 'tis a beacon light to guide
To rapturous joy and peace,
In this our present earthly home,
And where all sorrows cease.
Thy subtle fire electrical,
In word, look, touch or kiss,
Thrills through our being to invoke
Responsive mutual bliss.
Once moved by this Herculean power,
What cannot mortals dare?
Dangers else insurmountable,
They with impressment share.
Nothing on earth e'er nerved the arm
Of knight or warrior bold,
Like love of country, home, and heaven,
In the brave days of old.
No matter what man's form of words,
Uttered or written down,
If thy incisive, quickening spell,
Does not their labour crown.
And still thou reign'st supremely fair,
In homes and battle fields,
And his the arm victorious,
Who thy grand armour wields.
For they who with untiring zeal,
Thy heart-fires ceaseless feed,
Know their supernal warmth alone,
Can meet man's highest need.
But hearts e'en at the altar pledged
Oft seek for love in vain,
And hungering souls are doomed to starve,
In freezing, cold disdain.
Ah, why should mortals thus refuse
To wield that grace divine,
The chief of the blest three that heaven
Gives to make life sublime.
Some make a grave mistake, and seek
Pity beyond their home;
No friend or relative on earth
Should counsel thus to roam.
Others have cultivated minds,
Are leaders in high art,
Whilst in the little things of life,
They take no kindly part.
And yet if we investigate,
It is these little things,
Which make up human happiness,
And lasting pleasure brings.
And tastes objectionable oft,
May on life's harp-strings jar,
Producing irritation
And much domestic war.
The little word in the right place,
The gentle touches, tones,
The watchful loving sympathy,
Which for so much atones,
Are potent means which moral force
Finds it the best to wield,
For 'neath their mystic influence,
Most hearts are bound to yield.
Oh! for this love that conquers self,
That binds us to our kind,
That raises us to heaven and God,
And purifies the mind!
Ecstatic, sweet, rekindling power,
Bright altar-fire sublime,
Most precious gift to mortals given,
That will outlive all time.
The Rubicon is past when wed,
And there is no retreat,
Brave hearts should then accept the lot,
Which none but they can meet.
'Tis always wise and safe to choose
The heaven directed course
Of ruling by all-conquering love,
Than by the rod of force.
Let home be made a sacred shrine,
The best, most cherished spot,
All others then will surely be
Deserted and forgot.
Each should uphold the other self,
Before the world's keen sight;
In thus upholding, each will keep
His honour doubly bright.
Like Graecian vestals who of yore
Believed no duty higher
Than tending night and day the flame
Of the celestial fire,
So let the broad world's denizens
Foster this heart-fire bright,
Which can their pilgrimage on earth
Illume with glorious light.
Domestic bliss, how beautiful!
No idol is so fair.
Set in the royalty of love,
What can with it compare?
Models of virtue are the homes
Where this blest power holds sway,
Where parents' words suffice to move
Their offspring to obey.
I know of such a happy home,
Where love-signs rarely cease,
And 'tis in very truth a throne
Of harmony and peace.
Nature's grand law of order there,
Reigns with exactness sure
The wheels of time glide smoothly through
An atmosphere so pure.
A group of healthy children six
Their happy parents meet,
For breakfast where food, simple, pure,
Their hungry senses greet.
Those budding blossoms of the home
With joy-lit life appear,
A daily morning glory they,
So neat, clean, trim and dear.
No wonder if the father's soul,
Worships his darling bride,
No wonder if his manly heart,
Swells with delighted pride:
For does she not make home a shrine,
Where love and duty vie
To honour, through her peerless love,
Their holy marriage tie?
He daily leaves his happy home,
Next heaven the holiest place,
Strengthened by her sweet words and kiss,
For action in life's race.
And she through all her daily rounds,
Thinks foremost of the one,
Who no less now than years ago,
Her steadfast love has won.
God bless them in their happy home!
God bless their children nine!
And may they through a peaceful life,
Ever in love combine,
To aid and cheer each other here,
And when this life is past,
Be reunited in that life
Which will for ever last.
Such homes of cheerful industry,
Of order, thrift and care,
Sweetly reflect on those whose minds,
Their thrice blest precincts share.
And since 'tis in the reach of most
To make a home like this.
What pity that e'en one refuse
To win such priceless bliss.
People there are who ceaseless moan,
Their hard and cruel fate,
Yet never see their course is wrong,
Until alas! too late;
To such the axiom I'd repeat,
That 'tis God's righteous will,
To help all those who help themselves,
Life's duties to fulfil.
'Tis written upon every life
With which we mingle here,
And throughout nature's wide domain
It also doth appear,
That all unchanging are God's laws,
Their consequences sure;
That as we choose to sow we reap,
Fruit holy or impure.
Trace the effects of idleness,
Extravagance and play,
Of self-indulgence, vice and pride,
And then reflecting say,
It was not stern Nemesis' part,
To punish each, as cause
Of retribution to himself
For breaking nature's laws.
Let all, then, bravely conquer self,
And use the means which heaven
Has placed within the reach of each,
Life's sorriest state to leaven.
Industry, perseverance, thrift,
Love, honesty and skill,
Will aid the weakest in their work,
Life's duties to fulfil.
All-conquering, grand, unselfish love!
Nought can withstand the power
Of thy divine, o'ermastering force,
To man heaven's richest dower.
All know who own thy sovereign sway,
No wealth can equal thine,
Inspiring and constraining each,
To sacrifice sublime!