By the Sea, and Other Verses

Horror of combat, and tumult and dread;
Thunder of cannon and bursting of bomb;
Moans of the wounded (who envy the dead)
Lost in the clamor of trumpet and drum.
O where is the song of the angels?
O when shall we hear it again?
"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,
"And good will evermore among men."

Here is fierce anger and hatred and death,
Pitiless slaughter of pitiless foe;
Blessings and curses poured forth in a breath;
Brave self-forgetting, and measureless woe.
But where is the song of the angels?
O when shall we hear it again?
"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,
"And good will evermore among men."

Blue waves of ocean are reddened with gore,
Victor and victim earth holds to her breast;
Hearts that will thrill with ambition no more;
Heads that so lately fond mothers caressed.
O where is the song of the angels?
O when shall we hear it again?
"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,
"And good will evermore among men."

Victory, purchased at infinite cost,
Honors and titles so fearfully won,
Fame, at the price of lives blighted and lost,
Graves, all unnoted, unnumbered, unknown.
O where is the song of the angels?
Dear Christ, let us hear it again;
"Peace on earth," send the chorus seraphic,
"Peace on earth, and good will among men."

A NEW EARTH

I have dreamed a sweet dream; I have seen a fair vision;
I have looked the wide universe o'er;
And earth's nations arise in a glory elysian—
They do not learn war any more.

There are music and mirth; there are childhood's sweet voices,
Winsome age lends its placid charm there;
There are laughter and glee as when home-life rejoices
Unshadowed by sorrow or care.

In all noble achievement, all worthy endeavor,
Men in kindly ambition contend;
But the valiant of heart may yet know he hath ever
In his sturdiest foeman a friend.

Nevermore the proud boast or the haughty defiance;—
Without end shall His kingdom increase;
'Tis the day of all nations in Holy Alliance,
'Tis the reign of truth, justice, and peace.

Nevermore shall a nation lift sword against nation,
The dominion of Hatred is o'er;
'Tis the triumph of Love, 'tis the dawn of Christ's kingdom,
They shall not learn war any more.

RECALL

Put up thy sword, O Nation, grand and strong!
Call in thy fleet-winged missiles from the sea;
Art thou not great enough to suffer wrong,
Land of the brave, the freest of the free?

Put up thy sword. 'Tis nobler to endure
Than to avenge thee at another's cost;
And while thy claim and purpose are made sure,
Behold that other's life and honor lost.

Put up thy sword. It hath not hushed the cry
That called it all too rashly from its sheath;
Still o'er the fated isle her children lie
And find surcease from anguish but in death.

Put up thy sword, O Country, strong and free,
Let strife and avarice and oppression cease;
So shall the world thy Star of Empire see
Resplendent o'er the heaven-touched hills of Peace.

PHILISTIA'S TRIUMPH

1 Samuel 4: 10, 11; 7: 3.

(WRITTEN ON THE DEFEAT OF THE PROHIBITION AMENDMENT IN PENNSYLVANIA.)

They fought with lances in that ancient day,
With sword and spear and arrow deftly sped.
At eventide the hosts of Israel lay
Vanquished and spoiled, the dying with the dead;
And the Ark of God was taken.

They fought with ballots in our nearer day;
From morn to eve the light-winged missiles flew;
Again Philistia's triumph brought dismay,
And Wrong, victorious, struggling Virtue slew,
And the Ark of God was taken.

O ye to whom the sacred trust was given
To guard the altar and the ark of God,
Have ye been recreant to the charge of heaven,
That thus we fall before the avenging rod,
And the Ark of God is taken?

Rouse from your shameful slumbers. Put away
Your strange gods from among you. Turn again;
That in the drawing of some nobler day
The hosts of sin may be rebuked of men,
And the Ark of God re-taken.

THE WHITE RIBBON ARMY

(Air: King Bibbler's Army.)
FOR M. B. T.

In the years, years ago, when the true-hearted women,
Started forth on their errand of prayer,
Many said, "'Tis the cry of the Home for protection";
Many said, "'Tis delusion and snare."
Some said, softly, "God bless you"; some murmured, "Mistaken";
Some the swift shafts of calumny hurled;
But they went bravely forward, a praying procession,
Marching out, out, out in the world.

Chorus

Hark! hark! a trembling chorus:
No, no, no, no;
We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;
No, no, no, no;
And now to save our young men the White-Ribbon Army
Marches on, on, on round the world.

At the head of the host came the silver-haired mothers,
Arm in arm with the daughters so fair;
While the wives for their husbands, the girls for their brothers,
Raise their voices to heaven in prayer.
As their pleadings prevail, and "the worst foe" surrenders,
The white banner of peace is unfurled;
And we now may behold them, a joyful procession,
Marching on, on, on round the world.

Chorus

Hark! hark! a swelling chorus:
No, no, no, no;
We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;
No, no, no, no;
And oh to save our country the White-Ribbon Army
Marches on, on, on round the world.

They have entered the gates of the Empire Celestial,
They have compassed the Isles of the Sea,
And they carry glad tidings of good to all people,
From the land of the brave and the free.
On the peeress of England, on Afric's dark daughter,
Is the white-ribbon emblem now twirled;
And the army moves onward, a dauntless procession,
Marching on, on, on round the world.

Chorus

Hark! hark! a ringing chorus:
No, no, no, no;
We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;
No, no, no, no;
And lo! to save all nations the White-Ribbon Army
Marches on, on, on round the world.

CHRISTMAS

Dawn of glory! radiant morn!
To-day the Christ, our King, is born.
Our King, our Saviour, Son of Man,
And Son of God—all-wondrous plan!
A Virgin's joy; a world's salvation;
Humblest type of exaltation!
Highest form of life despised;
Visage marred, and beauty prized.
By angels heralded on high;
By men abhorred and doomed to die.
Entombed secure 'neath seal and stone;
Uprisen to the Eternal Throne!
Hail, blessed light! Hail glorious morn!
The Wonderful, the Christ is born!

"A DAY IN JUNE"

The Early Dawn looked out upon the world
And cried, "How beautiful a world to be!"
The Dawn herself was beautiful to see;
Her hair of glowing golden light uncurled
About a face of clear serenity,
Whereon rose-tinted smiles played daintily and free.
"Aye, fair the earth," she said, "most fair—and yet
How can I for one briefest space forget
How dark a stain its loveliness doth mar;
A stain, a scourge, the cruel curse of war!
Even now I dimly see and faintly hear
The clang of drum, the clash of sword and spear."
And pale with pity, swift she shrank away,
Leaving the world and war to broader day.

The Sun at noon looked down upon the world;
From depths of vast ethereal blue looked down,
And mused, "You far, fair Earth, sure we must crown
Queen of the Universe. Great flags unfurled
O'er her bright waters witness high renown
Won by her creature, Man; aye, bring for Earth a crown!

Yet stay—there riseth over Afric plains
A cloud of battle-smoke; with crimson stains
Her rivers run; her hills and meadows fair,
Trampled by hostile hordes, lie waste and bare.
And yonder, in the islands of the sea,
A people struggle vainly to be free;
And everywhere the banners of fair fame
Trail in the dust of hatred, greed and shame.
No crown for Earth; I mourn so bright a star
Lost in the chaos of consuming war."
And veiled in robe of woe, he went his way,
Borne by the passing hours to close of day.

The twilight lingered, and the Evening Star
Looked back upon the world and whispered low:
"These who have spoken surely could not know:—
Earth is a great, pure pearl, and seems from far
Set with fair homes, like gems; in amber glow,
Or emerald green, or gold or roseate snow.
But hush! In palace hall a bitter cry;
A mangled hero is borne in to die;
And in yon lowly cot, a widow's moan;—
A mother's heart-break o'er her only son.
Alas! 'tis true. Earth's battle-fields destroy
Her noblest manhood; rob her homes of joy."
And sad the Star of Evening sank from sight,
While Earth lay shrouded in the gloom of night.

But from afar—beyond the Morning's birth,
Beyond the depths whence Sun looked down on earth,
Beyond the dreamy distance of the Star,—
A voice proclaimed: "They shall no more learn war."

TO-DAY

Light on my pathway, blessed Lord,
The light of life, I pray;
O, let the glory of Thy word
Shine o'er my life to-day.

I cry to Thee for present help,
Turn not my prayer away;
O Strength and Refuge of Thine own,
Keep Thou my soul to-day.

My willing but uncertain feet
Guide in Thy chosen way;
And let Thy grace sufficient be
For all my need to-day.

LOSING VICTORIES

My 'Infant Class' one summer morn,
Was gathered in the maple shade
Near the church door, and there we talked
Of the fair world our Lord had made—

The swaying trees upon the hill,
The waving grain, the shadowy grove—
Till every little heart seemed filled
With the sweet sense of Jesus' love.

A query came: Dear little ones,
As days go by what shall we do—
Since Jesus has so loved us all—
To show him that we love him too?

"I'll mind mama," said wilful Tim;
And Ben, "I'll carry in the wood;"
Said Mary, "I will lessons learn;"
While Dimple lisped, "I will be dood."

And how will Helen show her love?
She, with a wistful glance at Rose—
A sweet, but pale and timid child—
Replied, "By giving up, I 'spose."

Dear girl! To fragile sister Rose
She oft must yield her will and way;
But now this duty shall disclose
Her love for Jesus, day by day.

Oh oft, were we but wise, we'd find
Our triumph in another's gain;
On glowing altar—coals of love—
Would joy to see self-idols slain.

In simplest ways the soul may drink
With Christ the sacrificial cup,
And many a victory is won,
And nobly won, by 'giving up.'

NOT MINE

Thy will, Thy way, not mine, O blessed Lord;
My will would choose the smooth and pleasant way,
And that might lead from duty's path astray;
Nay, I would walk "according to Thy word,"
Choosing Thy way, not mine.

Thy peace, my gracious Saviour, would I choose,
My peace might lead me man, not God, to please,
Might lure my soul to take its selfish ease,
And, gaining all the world, itself to lose,
Give me Thy peace, not mine.

Thy will, Thy way, Thy peace, Thou knowest best;
Let me but see the guiding of Thine eye,
Let me but know Thy voice, and swift reply
My soul shall make to every know behest,
Doing Thy will, not mine.

IN THE DESERT

Ah me! what life since hers in age agone
Hath not known Hagar's hour in desert wild;
Outcast from sheltering home, adrift, alone,
Bereft of love's sweet ministry, her child—
Her heart's one treasure—late so fond and fair,
Become a burden more than she could bear;
All earth and sky a strange enfolding scroll
Writ o'er with nameless pain and sense of need
To which nor pitying eye nor ear gave heed
Till came the thought of God. Even so the soul,
Consumed with vain regret and doubt and dread—
As she upon the barren sand her boy—
Lays all it once had counted hope and joy
Upon the desolate waste itself had spread;
Self-abnegating, tho with bitter cry—
"I yield thee, but I cannot see thee die."
But, passing thence, the agonizing plea
Faith transforms into tuneful harmony,
Glad to remember "Thou, God, seest me."

A PHANTOM IN THE "CIRCLE"

Written for a literary club, to which the author had formerly belonged, in Waterford, Va.

Start not, good friends; there was a time
When I, whom fate, in kindly mood,
Made brief sojourner in your clime,
Was glad partaker of the good
That from your "Circle" emanated;
And as the seven days went 'round
The appointed "Fourth-day evening" found
Me with its members congregated.
And also now I recognize
The smiling lips and beaming eyes
Of some, who, cordial, kind and free,
Had smiles and loving words for me.
Who, when I entered rose to greet,
And welcome gave, sincere and sweet.
But that was years ago, and now
There may be wrinkles on my brow;
There may have fled from form and face
The transient charms of youth and grace,
And time and sadness may have thrown
A shadow o'er the "chestnut brown"
Of locks that once—well, let that pass;—
These are but sorrowful reflections,
And, like those of my looking-glass,
Do but discover imperfections;
So let us leave this train of thought
And start in happier directions.
But first I think it may be due
Alike unto myself and you,
Lest some should think I may have brought
My ghostly presence here unsought,
To make this note of explanation:—
That not for pride, or praise, or gloom,
Or curious motive am I come;
Nor yet for want of occupation;
Far from intruding thus, I would
Have it distinctly understood
I'm here by "special invitation."

Here! and my phantom pulses quicken!
Pale memories gather round me fast,
And now they grow, and gleam, and thicken,
And fan me with their wings of light,
And bear me to a realm more bright
Than fairy land or elfin home,
Or that sweet world whence dreams do come
The heaven of a happy Past!

* * * * *

Familiar faces on me smile,
Remembered voices greet my ear,
And social converse gives the while,
The old-time wisdom and good cheer.
But while we're all engaged in chat,
Of work, of weather, and all that,
And voices rise and smiles grow broader,
Presiding dignity comes forth
With modest but "amazing" worth
And calls the whole concern to order.
Then "minutes" penned by snow-white hand,
Approved without dissension stand;
And hushed is all the talk and noise
The while some soft or manly voice
From gifted author doth unfold
Before us treasures new and old.
We grant them rare, yet lay them by
Our intellectual strength to try
In essay, speech, or declamation;
We reverence the might of mind,
But here our home-spun thoughts still find
A kindlier appreciation.
With hushed breath and eyes that glisten,
To some fine argument we listen,
From one with head so full of lore
That to prevent its brimming o'er
He must impart his information.
The which he does "by book and rule,"
Achieving in the village school
A never-ceasing reformation.
With rapt attention now we hear
A discourse upon Sound and Ear,
Wherein is beautifully blended,
The Science and the History,
The Knowledge and the Mystery
So fair, when fairly comprehended.
Then some poetic brain is fired,
Some secret spring unlocked, for
A brother brings, with love inspired,
Kind thoughts in glowing words attired,
And prays at once with heart and pen—
And all the people say Amen—
"God bless the Country Doctor."

And "lesser lights" send out a gleam
Of intellectual glory;
And many a grave or playful theme,
Or fact profound, or doubtful dream,
Or song, or allegory
Beguiles the gloom of winter night,
And makes the slow hours swift and light;
To social pleasure adds a charm,
Makes young hearts wise and old hearts warm,
And Life a pleasant story.

* * * * *

O friends, I live it o'er again!
I cross the gulf 'twixt Now and Then,
And live that happy time again;
Its varied joy and brightness, all—
The crowded room, the lighted hall,
The merry laugh, the friendly nod—
And bless the Fate that brought—but no,
Let us not read these chances so—
Fate is the Sovereign will of God;
He marks the paths by mortals trod;
And He appoints our joy and woe.
Then bless we God, whose gracious hand
Hath led us gently on our way;
By whose good will to-day we stand
Rejoicing that we live to-day.
By whose sweet mercy yet we trust
That all of us which is not dust,
From time and toils of earth shall rise
To nobler life beyond the skies.

A VALENTINE

Up in the same sweet heaven,
Though parted far,
We two may see at even
The same bright star.

So the same blessed guide-star
Of Love divine
Illumines with its glory
Thy path and mine.

When thoughts of these, of heaven
And love are thine,
Be one kind memory given
Thy Valentine.

A CONVENTION HYMN

Bless us now, our Heavenly Father,
As we gather once again
And unite our hearts and voices
In a grateful, glad refrain;
Praises for a Father's bounty,
Praises for a Saviour's reign.

Guide us by thy Holy Spirit,
Lead us in thy perfect way;
Show us as we strive to serve Thee,
What to do and what to say;
Teach us how to work and suffer,
How to watch and how to pray.

Gracious Lord, we come with pleading
For our tempted brother's sin;
At the open door of mercy
Praying Thou wilt take him in.
Sin-sick, heart-sore and repentant,
Let him now new life begin.

And we bring our sister, moaning
Over blighted hope and home;
Robbed of all life's best possessions
By the ruthless spoiler—Rum,
To her rest in Thy compassion,
Bid the heavy-laden "Come."

And we pray, O God of Nations,
That thine outstretched arm of might,
May rebuke this prowling evil,
May drive back the powers of night,
And preserve us Home and Country
Overruled by Love and Right.

A COLLECTION SONG

FOR THE LOYAL TEMPERANCE LEGION

Kind friends, we thank you, one and all,
For giving such attention,
While we've arraigned Old Alcohol,
And of his faults made mention.
And if you'd like to see him now
Put "in a pretty pickle,"
Just lend a hand and help us on
By giving us a nickel.

He stalks the earth from east to west,
A deal of mischief doing;
But we are "on the war-path" now,
Old Alcohol pursuing.
So if you'd like to see him caught
And punished for his crime, sir,
Just lend a hand and help us on
By tossing us a dime, sir.

He robs our homes of peace and joy;
He fills the land with sighing;
Sets snares and pitfalls for our feet,
(He'd better be a-dying.)
So if you think he should be slain,
As we believe he'd or'ter,
Just lend a hand and help us on
By handing out a quarter.

He boasts himself a King—by law
And license well protected;
But now "the children are a-field"
We'll have him soon ejected.
So if you'd see us tackle him,
And take him by the collar,
Just lend a hand and help us on
By dropping in a dollar.

THE BALLAD OF THE BOUNDARY LINE

"Here shall the Boundary Line be laid."
"Not so, but here," the other said.
Clamor of contest ran fierce and high,—
Defiant challenge and proud reply.

For heights of the Andes rose between
The Chilean States and the Argentine;
And the mooted question, day by day,
Was "What doth limit my neighbor's sway?"

The sunlight rose and the shadows fell
On either slope, but none could tell
Just where the morning's magic wand
Touched the Argentine or Chile land.

Fair in their verdure, pure in their snow,
So near to heaven their summits go—
Why should they ever by man be trod?
'Twould seem they should only belong to God.

But the strife went on with passing years,
Fed by resentment and pride and fears;
Nor priest nor people could yet define
The rightful range of the Boundary Line.

The strife went on with its loss and shame,
As generations went and came,
And each in its turn the task essayed
To solve the problem so long delayed.

* * * * *

Then kinder, kinglier thought prevailed,
Where threat of sword and gun had failed;
And love-illumined reason wrought
The adjustment long so vainly sought.

"For how can a trifle of earth and air
With the worth of human lives compare?
And what can it matter if thine or mine
Be the narrow side on the Boundary Line?

"And why should greed and grim distrust
Despoil us of our faith and trust?
Enough, enough, let us pledge our word
To settle by judgment, not by sword.

"Let us heed the counsel our good priests bring,
And raise the standard of Christ our King,
And the here or there of the Boundary Line
Let God and the British king define."

Then the mother-heart of the nation stirred,
As the fair De Costa's plea was heard:
"Fathers and brothers! warriors, men!
Shall we give our bravest to death and pain?

"Shall we hush our hearts as we see them go—
God pity!—to strive with a brother foe?
Long we have waited, have suffered and prayed
For a joy still denied us, a hope still delayed.

"Enough; let the sun in highest heaven
Pencil the line for which you have striven;
Let a princely people on either side
In friendship and fair accord abide;

"Be the strife of the past to the wild winds swept;
The faith of the future unswervingly kept;
And let 'The Christ of the Andes' rest
In token of peace on the mountain's crest."

Grandly the people made reply;
The pledge was taken, the arms laid by,
And glad thanksgiving and festal song
Witnessed the joy of the gathered throng.

Joy! for the strife of the past was o'er;
Joy! for the promise of war no more;
Joy in the gladness of land and home,
Joy for the world-wide peace to come.

On snow-tipped height of the Andean range
They planted the statue fair and strange;
And there, to the query of the sky,
Its bronze and granite make reply:

"I witness the failure of the sword,
The victory of the Love-sent word;
To dust may crumble rock and hill,
This pledge of nations abideth still."

* * * * *

So now the Boundary Line is laid;
Christ in the heart hath the conflict stayed;
And now doth "the Christ of the Andes" rest
In token of peace on the mountain's crest.

MARGARET LEE

Margaret Lee—you do not know her?
Rightly named—a pearl is she;
Half a score of years I've loved her—
Precious Margaret Lee.

"Dimples?" No; nor "golden tresses,"
Nor yet "voice of silvery tone";—
If such phrases must express her,
Beauty she has none.

Soft brown hair and grey eyes dreaming
Visions that none others see;
Plain her features; you might call her
Homely Margaret Lee.

Margaret owns no stately mansion,
Carries not a heavy purse;
Heiress to no "lordly acres,"
Humble station hers.

Quietly she treads life's highway;
Quiet, yet with noble mien;
'Mid the lowly, 'mid the lofty
Journeying like a queen.

Some have called her cold and haughty,
From her bearing, high and free;
Some have said a lofty spirit
Dwells with Margaret Lee.

Why then do the "heavy-laden"
Hail with joy her coming nigh?
Why the childern love her shadow
As she passeth by?

Some have deemed her weak, erratic.
Some, too self-reliant, strong;
One avers, her mood too gloomy;
One, too light her song.

All may be; the clouds of error
Ofttimes overshade her way,
Hiding where the rough and changeful
Paths of duty lay.

But unseen by mortal vision
Daily bends a suppliant knee;
Humbly bows a contrite spirit—
Praying Margaret Lee—

Asking of the All-forgiving
Pardon for her erring life;
Seeking wisdom, faith and patience
For its coming strife.

So with footstep sometimes faltering,
But with steadfast hope in God,
Keeps she still a blithesome journey
O'er the earthly road.

And at last all loss and failure
Lost in mercy, it may be
Heaven's gate of pearl will open
For sweet Margaret Lee.

There redeemed from sin and sorrow,
There from care and conflict free;
She will walk the angel city,
Angel Margaret Lee.

SOARING UPWARD

A. G. M., lingering on the threshold of eternity, looked lovingly back to tell of the glory revealed to her purified vision. "Angels are waiting," she whispered, "and all is beautiful, beautiful." Then, as her spirit winged its happy way, a sweet murmur again was heard, and the words were: "Soaring upward, upward into Heaven."

They call thee dead. They say that thou art gone,
Forevermore from earth. It is not so;
I know thy gentle spirit will return
And linger fondly round the loved below.

They call thee dead. And now thou art not ours;
"God touched thee," for thy work on earth was done.
Thy presence was to us like summer flowers;
And they are faded now; and thou art gone.

I had not thought, fair girl, that thou couldst die;
I knew thee gentle, innocent and gay;
And dreamed not that the brightness of thine eye,
Was destined thus so soon to fade away.

'Tis well: "He giveth His beloved sleep,"—
O Sleeper, thou so early loved and blest!
Say, were it wrong, if we who linger weep,
And long to sleep, like thee, and be at rest?

Ay, we who linger should not idlers be;
Day hath appointed work from morn till even;
And while we wait 'tis sweet to think of thee
As "soaring upward, upward into heaven!"

By the Sea, and Other Verses

About This Book

A NEW EARTH

RECALL

PHILISTIA'S TRIUMPH

THE WHITE RIBBON ARMY

CHRISTMAS

"A DAY IN JUNE"

TO-DAY

LOSING VICTORIES

NOT MINE

IN THE DESERT

A PHANTOM IN THE "CIRCLE"

A VALENTINE

A CONVENTION HYMN

A COLLECTION SONG

THE BALLAD OF THE BOUNDARY LINE

MARGARET LEE

SOARING UPWARD

THE END OF THE ROAD