The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

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
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***

POEMS

BY
CLARA   A.   MERRILL

[Colophon: pine tree, unavailable.]

“Take me back to the home
 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

The Old State of Maine5
All Things Speak of God7
Welcome to Summer9
Ode to the Northern Lights11
The Songs My Mother Sung13
In Memory of Appey M. Merrill15
God is Love and We shall Know18
A Winter Outing20
Home is Where the Heart Dwells24
The Mystic River26
Loved Ones Passed Away28
Adventure of a Lover30
As it Happened32
The Captive Butterfly34
What Would They Do?36
Courageousness39
Tales that were Told42
Bravery46
The Missing Link48
He Got Left50
The Jay and the Frog53
The Cottage by the River56
The Poet to the Artist59
The Tramp’s Story61
’Tis Easy to get Mistaken65
Song of a Suffragette68
Rural Delight70
Look Up72
The Burning of the Turner Mill74
Carpe Diem84
A Bachelor’s Comments on Women’s Rights85
Wealth vs Virtue88
Be Merciful91
Sunshine on the Hill93
Your Real Wealth95
Changeable97
Pleasure99
Time Brings Changes101
Mamma’s Story103
Every Cloud Hath Silver Lining106
Dennis O’Neil’s Dream108
A Lesson Well Taught110
Reminiscence114
Humorous116
Onward for Freedom and Right118
A Mystery Explained120
A Birthday Greeting122
All’s Well That Endeth Well123
A Tale from Mountain Grange124
Song of the Grangers’131
Uncle Joe’s Soliloquy133
When Daddy Rocks the Kid136
Stop Talkin’138
A Yule-Tide Missive140
The Hunter143
The Poetry Machine145
October147
To Mary148
The Winds do Blow149
Farewell to the San151
We Know Not Why153

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!
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!
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!
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.

[decorative bar.]

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.
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.
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!
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?
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.

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.
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.
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.
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.
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.

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!
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?
Ye wavering light!—Afar on high
 Shines forth, like chastening rod
 That Power, reflecting on the sky
 The mighty Hand of God!
Then bow, ye mortal monarchs brave
 Before thy crumbling throne!
 Aurora’s beams shall deck thy grave
 When a hundred years are flown.

[decorative bar.]

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.
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.
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.
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.

[decorative bar.]

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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.

[decorative bar.]

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?
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?
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?
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.

[decorative bar.]

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!
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?
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!
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?
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.
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!
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!
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!
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.
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.

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART DWELLS