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Title: Poems
Author: Clara A. Merrill
Release date: August 9, 2017 [eBook #55315]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
POEMS
BY
CLARA A. MERRILL
“Take me back to the home
Of my youth once again—
To the dear Pine Tree State—
The Old State of Maine.”
Of my youth once again—
To the dear Pine Tree State—
The Old State of Maine.”
Copyrighted 1915
CLARA A. MERRILL
MERRILL & WEBBER CO. PRS., AUBURN
CONTENTS
To my Beloved Sister Appey
This little book is lovingly dedicated
The memory of her beautiful life, and of her deep and unchanging love for me,—together with the knowledge of the interest she felt in my writings, fills me with a longing to do that which I know would be pleasing to her.
For though the dear voice of her whom I so loved can no longer cheer and guide me on, yet in spirit I hear her gently whisper bidding me resume the work I had laid aside.
Thus from my writings I have selected a few poems which, though submitted with diffidence, I hope may be kindly received by my many friends; and accepted by them with such degree of generosity as will enable them to throw the mantle of charity over the many short-comings, and to see any good that may chance to exist.
And if from any of these poems there may perchance be found one little ray of sunshine—though it beams ever so faintly—that may radiate and give pleasure to even one appreciating heart, then surely I may feel that my labor will not have been wholly in vain.
Clara A. Merrill
The Author
The Old State of Maine
Sail on gallant bark, bearing onward your freight,
Ye breezes blow briskly! her sails to inflate,—
See how her staunch prow the green billows will break,
And the path of white foam that she leaves in her wake!
Speed onward, ye courses of iron!—Swiftly steals
Away the bright rails as they fly ’neath your wheels.
Bear me onward, fleet charger, nor yet me detain,
Oh take me back home to my Old State of Maine!
Ye breezes blow briskly! her sails to inflate,—
See how her staunch prow the green billows will break,
And the path of white foam that she leaves in her wake!
Speed onward, ye courses of iron!—Swiftly steals
Away the bright rails as they fly ’neath your wheels.
Bear me onward, fleet charger, nor yet me detain,
Oh take me back home to my Old State of Maine!
When twilight’s dark shade o’er the valley impends,
And the pale crescent moon its refulgence blends;
Then fancy reverts to the long agone days,
The sweet scenes of Childhood revisit our gaze;
And hill, vale and woodland our minds will employ,
Expanding the bosom with infinite joy.
Peal on, memory sweet! Let me hear thy glad strain,
Oh take me back home to my old Old State of Maine!
And the pale crescent moon its refulgence blends;
Then fancy reverts to the long agone days,
The sweet scenes of Childhood revisit our gaze;
And hill, vale and woodland our minds will employ,
Expanding the bosom with infinite joy.
Peal on, memory sweet! Let me hear thy glad strain,
Oh take me back home to my old Old State of Maine!
Tho’ I traverse at will Old Neptune’s domain,
Or by fair country-side bounding river and plain;
In dreams I can see,—in their places once more
Kind familiar faces, long since gone before,—
And I dwell once again in the days that are past,
Nor think, for the time, that naught earthly can last.
Dream on, faithful muse, I have long sighed in vain,—
Oh, take me back home to my Old State of Maine!
Or by fair country-side bounding river and plain;
In dreams I can see,—in their places once more
Kind familiar faces, long since gone before,—
And I dwell once again in the days that are past,
Nor think, for the time, that naught earthly can last.
Dream on, faithful muse, I have long sighed in vain,—
Oh, take me back home to my Old State of Maine!
From Katahdin’s proud crest, to Atlantic’s blue verge,
New lights and new scenes in succession emerge;
Silver lakes and green meads, in confusion arise
In grand panorama to gladden our eyes.
I love the old ingle, each nook, rock and knoll,
And the country’s dear flag that waves over the whole;
Take me back to the home of my youth once again,
To the dear Pine Tree State,—the Old State of Maine.
New lights and new scenes in succession emerge;
Silver lakes and green meads, in confusion arise
In grand panorama to gladden our eyes.
I love the old ingle, each nook, rock and knoll,
And the country’s dear flag that waves over the whole;
Take me back to the home of my youth once again,
To the dear Pine Tree State,—the Old State of Maine.
ALL THINGS SPEAK OF GOD
The stars in their infinite beauty,
And the moon in yon azure deep;
All speak of some great Duty—
Of some tireless Watch to keep.
This beautiful, beautiful world so grand—
The trees, the birds and the flowers;
All point with a beckoning hand,
To a wisdom more potent than ours.
And the moon in yon azure deep;
All speak of some great Duty—
Of some tireless Watch to keep.
This beautiful, beautiful world so grand—
The trees, the birds and the flowers;
All point with a beckoning hand,
To a wisdom more potent than ours.
Hear ye the Ocean speaking—
Hear ye the surges roar!
As the wild-winged winds come shrieking
From some far distant shore.
Is there not something greater
Than the power of Man alone?
Aye, the power of the Creator
Is far greater than our own.
Hear ye the surges roar!
As the wild-winged winds come shrieking
From some far distant shore.
Is there not something greater
Than the power of Man alone?
Aye, the power of the Creator
Is far greater than our own.
See ye the lightning flashing—
Now, as in anger comes
Booming, rolling, crashing
Like a hundred beating drums
Peals of terrific thunder—
We stand in silence, awed;
We can but pause and wonder
At the infinite power of God!
Now, as in anger comes
Booming, rolling, crashing
Like a hundred beating drums
Peals of terrific thunder—
We stand in silence, awed;
We can but pause and wonder
At the infinite power of God!
And thou, oh mighty torrent
Flowing on, and on, through time—
Tell us, who sends thy current
O’er the cataract sublime?
And thou, gigantic mountain—
Canst tell us whence thy birth—
Sprang thou from some living fountain—
How into existence came this earth?
Flowing on, and on, through time—
Tell us, who sends thy current
O’er the cataract sublime?
And thou, gigantic mountain—
Canst tell us whence thy birth—
Sprang thou from some living fountain—
How into existence came this earth?
Could we doubt for a single hour
That these marvelous works were lent
By the high and wondrous power
Of One Omnipotent?
Nay! tho’ we seek where man ne’er trod
And traverse sea or land;
It seems that all things speak of God—
And a Loving Father’s hand.
That these marvelous works were lent
By the high and wondrous power
Of One Omnipotent?
Nay! tho’ we seek where man ne’er trod
And traverse sea or land;
It seems that all things speak of God—
And a Loving Father’s hand.
WELCOME TO SUMMER
The south wind returns, with a gentle caress
And it kisses the lakelets’ bright waves;
And softly it moans in low musical tones
As it sighs through the mystical caves.
Sweet Summer is waiting to welcome the rose,
Who is queen of the flowery band—
In regal robes new and jewels of dew
She with majestic grace will command.
And it kisses the lakelets’ bright waves;
And softly it moans in low musical tones
As it sighs through the mystical caves.
Sweet Summer is waiting to welcome the rose,
Who is queen of the flowery band—
In regal robes new and jewels of dew
She with majestic grace will command.
Drowsy and low is the hum of the bees
As the nectar they sip from the bloom;
The rivulet courses, all nature rejoices,
For Winter is laid in the tomb.
Gaily among the green arches the birds
Pour forth their thanksgiving in song;
Their clear, mellow notes in pure cadence floats
As the echoing gale sweeps along.
As the nectar they sip from the bloom;
The rivulet courses, all nature rejoices,
For Winter is laid in the tomb.
Gaily among the green arches the birds
Pour forth their thanksgiving in song;
Their clear, mellow notes in pure cadence floats
As the echoing gale sweeps along.
The hillside with blushes lifts up its fair head
In its verdurous beauty so proud;
And the flower-faces gleam as a loving sunbeam
Wafts down from the light fleecy cloud.
The grand, lofty mountain where hangs the white mist
Tells the brooklets of Summer’s warm glow;
And they in turn hail each glen, woodland and vale
Where the soft willow catkins bend low.
In its verdurous beauty so proud;
And the flower-faces gleam as a loving sunbeam
Wafts down from the light fleecy cloud.
The grand, lofty mountain where hangs the white mist
Tells the brooklets of Summer’s warm glow;
And they in turn hail each glen, woodland and vale
Where the soft willow catkins bend low.
The flowerets join the harmonious strain
With the cricket, the bird and the bee;
And the rippling rill the sweet chorus will trill
On its clear winding way to the sea.
’Neath the gnarled oak tree by the silvery lake
Are the fairies all robed in white;
Awaiting their queen, for they dance at e’en
By the fireflies magical light.
With the cricket, the bird and the bee;
And the rippling rill the sweet chorus will trill
On its clear winding way to the sea.
’Neath the gnarled oak tree by the silvery lake
Are the fairies all robed in white;
Awaiting their queen, for they dance at e’en
By the fireflies magical light.
Then come to the country so grand—
O come to the old oaken tree
Where mystical notes on the gentle breeze floats
And the fays dance so gay on the lea.
O come to the old oak tree
Where the ivy so lovingly twines,
And Zephyr’s warm kiss so freighted with bliss
Is perfumed by the evergreen pines.
O come to the old oaken tree
Where mystical notes on the gentle breeze floats
And the fays dance so gay on the lea.
O come to the old oak tree
Where the ivy so lovingly twines,
And Zephyr’s warm kiss so freighted with bliss
Is perfumed by the evergreen pines.
ODE TO THE NORTHERN LIGHTS
Aurora-borealis:—Thy secret vast
Hast ne’er by Man been found—
As, through the Ages of the Past
From Times remotest bound
When Night her sable curtains fold
O’er all the earth, then high
’Mid star-gemmed canopy—behold
Thy rays illume the sky!
Hast ne’er by Man been found—
As, through the Ages of the Past
From Times remotest bound
When Night her sable curtains fold
O’er all the earth, then high
’Mid star-gemmed canopy—behold
Thy rays illume the sky!
Canst tell—ye ice-bergs of the North—
Whence comes these waves of light
Whose golden splendor shimmers forth
To greet the Queen of Night—
Dost power that welds thy icy chain
And casts thy fetters strong
Ere thus make radiant thy domain
As the ages creep along?
Whence comes these waves of light
Whose golden splendor shimmers forth
To greet the Queen of Night—
Dost power that welds thy icy chain
And casts thy fetters strong
Ere thus make radiant thy domain
As the ages creep along?
THE SONGS MY MOTHER SUNG
(Dear Mother)
Round the homestead old I wandered,
Slowly, and with silent tread;
And at last I turned my footsteps
To the chamber overhead.
There, among the broken rubbish,
Where the cobwebs thickly hung;
Something sent my thoughts far backward
To the songs my mother sung.
Slowly, and with silent tread;
And at last I turned my footsteps
To the chamber overhead.
There, among the broken rubbish,
Where the cobwebs thickly hung;
Something sent my thoughts far backward
To the songs my mother sung.
That old fashioned, wooden cradle
Which I slept in when a child;
As my mother sat beside me
Singing ever low and mild.
With her foot upon the rocker,
To and fro the cradle swung;
Peacefully I lay and listened
To the songs my mother sung.
Which I slept in when a child;
As my mother sat beside me
Singing ever low and mild.
With her foot upon the rocker,
To and fro the cradle swung;
Peacefully I lay and listened
To the songs my mother sung.
Long ago was that old cradle
Banished to the dust and gloom
’Neath the dark and musty rafters
Of that unused lumber room.
Long had it remained forgotten,—
Yet fond memory quickly sprung
As I view’d the dear old relic—
To the songs my mother sung.
Banished to the dust and gloom
’Neath the dark and musty rafters
Of that unused lumber room.
Long had it remained forgotten,—
Yet fond memory quickly sprung
As I view’d the dear old relic—
To the songs my mother sung.
Oft I’ve roamed in distant places,
I have traveled far and wide;
And I know the hours most care-free
Were those spent by mother’s side.
While the bell of Time is tolling
With its harsh unfeeling tongue;
In my memory I shall cherish
All the songs my mother sung.
I have traveled far and wide;
And I know the hours most care-free
Were those spent by mother’s side.
While the bell of Time is tolling
With its harsh unfeeling tongue;
In my memory I shall cherish
All the songs my mother sung.
IN MEMORY OF APPEY M. MERRILL
Who Died Nov. 20th, 1903
Softly, sweetly she is sleeping
Where the slender grasses wave;
Daisies bright, their vigil keeping
O’er her calm and peaceful grave.
Naught can e’er disturb her slumber—
Passed all pain—from sorrow free;
Gone from earth, to join the number
O’er the silent, mystic sea.
Where the slender grasses wave;
Daisies bright, their vigil keeping
O’er her calm and peaceful grave.
Naught can e’er disturb her slumber—
Passed all pain—from sorrow free;
Gone from earth, to join the number
O’er the silent, mystic sea.
Sweetly sleep, dear, gentle sister,
Tranquil ever be thy rest,—
Yet, ah yet, how we have missed her—
Gone from those she loved the best.
Gone from the home—and o’er her pillow
Strewn with flowers, so fair and white
Fell tears, and grief like surging billow
Touched the heart with withering blight.
Tranquil ever be thy rest,—
Yet, ah yet, how we have missed her—
Gone from those she loved the best.
Gone from the home—and o’er her pillow
Strewn with flowers, so fair and white
Fell tears, and grief like surging billow
Touched the heart with withering blight.
Time can ne’er efface our sadness—
Still the heart’s filled with despair
For the loved one, who in gladness
Made the earth-home bright and fair.
Sad the way seems now, and lonely,
As we journey day by day
Paths through which she wandered, only
Scattering brightness o’er the way.
Still the heart’s filled with despair
For the loved one, who in gladness
Made the earth-home bright and fair.
Sad the way seems now, and lonely,
As we journey day by day
Paths through which she wandered, only
Scattering brightness o’er the way.
Memory points with beckoning finger
Through the mists of long ago
To her songs, which sweetly linger
In the hush of twilight’s glow—
Points to words of comfort, spoken
By those lips so good and true—
Tells of her love, so true, unbroken,
And we weep in grief anew.
Through the mists of long ago
To her songs, which sweetly linger
In the hush of twilight’s glow—
Points to words of comfort, spoken
By those lips so good and true—
Tells of her love, so true, unbroken,
And we weep in grief anew.
For the gentle hands lie folded,
And the pure heart now is still;
And the brow, in beauty molded
By the Hand of Death, so chill
Is now at rest.—Yet visions brightly
Through the misty haze will bring
A joy, like whispered promise, lightly
Wafted as on Zephyr’s wing.
And the pure heart now is still;
And the brow, in beauty molded
By the Hand of Death, so chill
Is now at rest.—Yet visions brightly
Through the misty haze will bring
A joy, like whispered promise, lightly
Wafted as on Zephyr’s wing.
Visions of that promised splendor
Of a mansion fair, on high;
Where, with welcome warm and tender
She will greet us by and by.—
By and by—sweet hope, elating—
When the Voice that bid dear Appey sleep
Shall call us forth, where she is waiting,
Ne’er to part, no more to weep.
Of a mansion fair, on high;
Where, with welcome warm and tender
She will greet us by and by.—
By and by—sweet hope, elating—
When the Voice that bid dear Appey sleep
Shall call us forth, where she is waiting,
Ne’er to part, no more to weep.
GOD IS LOVE AND WE SHALL KNOW
When the darkness seems to gather
O’er the dawn of hope and peace;
Like the storm-cloud towering upward
Which the wild winds e’er increase,—
And, like angry ocean billows
Fainting soul is fraught with woe;
And we’re longing for our loved ones—
Does the Heavenly Father know?
O’er the dawn of hope and peace;
Like the storm-cloud towering upward
Which the wild winds e’er increase,—
And, like angry ocean billows
Fainting soul is fraught with woe;
And we’re longing for our loved ones—
Does the Heavenly Father know?
Though He notes the fallen sparrow—
Does He heed the child who weeps—
Does He see my tears fast falling
O’er the grave where Sister sleeps?
When the bitter sob of anguish
Mingles with the earnest prayer;
Pleading for His love and comfort
Does the Heavenly Father care?
Does He heed the child who weeps—
Does He see my tears fast falling
O’er the grave where Sister sleeps?
When the bitter sob of anguish
Mingles with the earnest prayer;
Pleading for His love and comfort
Does the Heavenly Father care?
Will He in His loving wisdom
Send that sweet peace bye and bye—
When the eye can gaze far upward
To the brighter realms on high?
As the way-worn, weary pilgrim
Turns his footsteps toward the grave;
And ’neath load of sin he falleth—
Will the Heavenly Father save?
Send that sweet peace bye and bye—
When the eye can gaze far upward
To the brighter realms on high?
As the way-worn, weary pilgrim
Turns his footsteps toward the grave;
And ’neath load of sin he falleth—
Will the Heavenly Father save?
In that home where friends await us
Shall we know them when we meet—
Will they seem the same dear loved ones
That on earth we used to greet?—
Mystic thoughts—Ah! who can tell us
All that Fancy fain would know?
“God is Love” and “We shall know then”
Faith responds in answer low.
Shall we know them when we meet—
Will they seem the same dear loved ones
That on earth we used to greet?—
Mystic thoughts—Ah! who can tell us
All that Fancy fain would know?
“God is Love” and “We shall know then”
Faith responds in answer low.
A WINTER OUTING
Get up Sam, ’n’ harness Nancy,
Shake the hayseed from yer head;
We are goin’ on a ’s’cursion,
Goin’ on the old bob-sled;
Won’t the folks think we are handsome,
As we pass the village street;
With the old horse-blanket round us,
And a bed-quilt at our feet!
Shake the hayseed from yer head;
We are goin’ on a ’s’cursion,
Goin’ on the old bob-sled;
Won’t the folks think we are handsome,
As we pass the village street;
With the old horse-blanket round us,
And a bed-quilt at our feet!
Won’t they stare with mouths wide open,
When they see our fine turn-out?
Stare away, ye duck-leg’d dandy—
Guess we know what we’re about!
Won’t they think that Sam’s a daisy,
Settin’ there so grand ’n’ straight—
Wonder what they’ll think of Phoebe
With her sleepy-lookin’ pate?
When they see our fine turn-out?
Stare away, ye duck-leg’d dandy—
Guess we know what we’re about!
Won’t they think that Sam’s a daisy,
Settin’ there so grand ’n’ straight—
Wonder what they’ll think of Phoebe
With her sleepy-lookin’ pate?
Have yer got the harness mended?
Well, go tie it with a string!
Fix it so’s ’twill hold together;
Take a rope, or anything!
Drive a nail into the fender!
It won’t wobble then, I hope,—
The thill is broken in two places?
Here—come get this other rope!
Well, go tie it with a string!
Fix it so’s ’twill hold together;
Take a rope, or anything!
Drive a nail into the fender!
It won’t wobble then, I hope,—
The thill is broken in two places?
Here—come get this other rope!
Then go brush old Nancy’s foretop,
From her mane pick off the hay;
In a knot then tie her tail up
So it won’t be in the way.
Tie a greased rag round her spavin!
To let ’er hurt it won’t be right,—
Say! d’ye spose we’ll want the larntern,
When we’re comin’ home tonight?
From her mane pick off the hay;
In a knot then tie her tail up
So it won’t be in the way.
Tie a greased rag round her spavin!
To let ’er hurt it won’t be right,—
Say! d’ye spose we’ll want the larntern,
When we’re comin’ home tonight?
Wish we had a nigger driver,
Then I guess we’d go in style;
We’d make the people gaze before
We’d been a half a mile!
Come now, hurry, Jake and Lydia,—
Have ye washed yer? where’s the comb?
Come now, hurry,—let’s start early,
So we’ll find the folks at home.
Then I guess we’d go in style;
We’d make the people gaze before
We’d been a half a mile!
Come now, hurry, Jake and Lydia,—
Have ye washed yer? where’s the comb?
Come now, hurry,—let’s start early,
So we’ll find the folks at home.
Hope Aunt Hulda’ll bile some ’taters;
Won’t we ply the knife and fork?
Hope she’ll have a Injun pudd’n!
Hope she’ll have a hunk of pork!
Marm, bring out that bag o’ apples!
See them youngsters fight ’n’ scratch!
Shut the door ’n’ crawl out o’ the winder!
Stick the scissors in the latch!
Won’t we ply the knife and fork?
Hope she’ll have a Injun pudd’n!
Hope she’ll have a hunk of pork!
Marm, bring out that bag o’ apples!
See them youngsters fight ’n’ scratch!
Shut the door ’n’ crawl out o’ the winder!
Stick the scissors in the latch!
Now we’re off, as sure as preachin’
Sun is in the eastern sky,—
Nancy! Nancy! don’t git frisky!
My! but aint the critter high!
Phoebe, tuck that blanket round yer,
Have ye got yer gaiters on?
Gosh—I’ve left my pipe ’n’ barker,
Clean forgot ’em sure’s yer born!
Sun is in the eastern sky,—
Nancy! Nancy! don’t git frisky!
My! but aint the critter high!
Phoebe, tuck that blanket round yer,
Have ye got yer gaiters on?
Gosh—I’ve left my pipe ’n’ barker,
Clean forgot ’em sure’s yer born!
Sam, set over side of Lydia—
Marm ’n’ me will set in front,—
Thought I’d get a jug o’ ’lasses,
But I swan, I guess I won’t.
Got to stop ’n’ buy some barker—
Can’t git through the day without.
Double up yer long legs, Sammy—
Stop yer sprawlin’ like a lout!
Marm ’n’ me will set in front,—
Thought I’d get a jug o’ ’lasses,
But I swan, I guess I won’t.
Got to stop ’n’ buy some barker—
Can’t git through the day without.
Double up yer long legs, Sammy—
Stop yer sprawlin’ like a lout!
Hold on Bill! ye’ll git a tumble—
Ye’ll be slidin’ on yer head!
Jake, SET DOWN! or I shall send ye
To the other end o’ the sled!
There, now see if ye’ll keep quiet—
Billy, Sh! shut up yer beak!
Mustn’t holler by the houses,—
Bad enough to look ’n peek.
Ye’ll be slidin’ on yer head!
Jake, SET DOWN! or I shall send ye
To the other end o’ the sled!
There, now see if ye’ll keep quiet—
Billy, Sh! shut up yer beak!
Mustn’t holler by the houses,—
Bad enough to look ’n peek.
Without a squallin’ like a ’n Injun!
Guess yer mammy was a squaw,—
What! he keeps his chin a goin’
Just the image of his Pa?
Get up Nancy! Show yer sperit!
Whoop-along thar, Nancy—climb!
Durn ye, git a wiggle on ye—
We sha’n’t be back ’fore milkin’ time.
Guess yer mammy was a squaw,—
What! he keeps his chin a goin’
Just the image of his Pa?
Get up Nancy! Show yer sperit!
Whoop-along thar, Nancy—climb!
Durn ye, git a wiggle on ye—
We sha’n’t be back ’fore milkin’ time.