It is but a bright autumn leaflet,
Blown adrift from the fond parent stem,
To wither and perish in silence,
Like many a flowering gem;
But I gathered the flame-tinted treasure,
As it fluttering fell at my feet,
To send to my own absent darling,
Her radiant glances to greet.
It grew in the grand air of freedom,
From the heart of the mountain sod,
Fulfilling its destiny gladly,
In cheerful obedience to God.
It struggled through life well and bravely,
'Gainst wind, cruel night, frost and storm,
Which gained it that bright sheen of glory,
Its fond dying face to adorn.
'Tis said that the song of the bulbul,
Floating sweetly through calm moonlit skies,
As he sings to his dearly loved partner,
Is the sweetest just ere he dies;
So it seemed that the leaflet whilst dying,
Was discoursing of love from its core,
Which gave it a beauty and glory
It had never appeared in before.
It spoke of a life in the future,
Transcending the glory of this,
Where hearts in harmonious concert,
Would form an existence of bliss.
So I gathered the love-freighted leaflet,
Which brought such sweet message to me,
In hopes that its heavenly language,
Might be eloquent also to thee.
For I knew that the beautiful message,
Came from fond nature's glorious king,
So I linked it in rhythmical measure,
For you, my own darling, to sing.
And as your clear voice gives it utterance,
Think of her who has sent it to thee,
As a love-laden token and blessing,
From her fond heart far over the sea.
Kind friends and passengers, we near
Our destined port, in England dear,
But ere we land, our thanks are due,
To our skilled captain and brave crew,
For having brought us safely o'er,
Broad ocean from its further shore,
With uniform consummate care,
Beyond expression or compare.
Then, Captain Sumner and your crew,
Accept our loyal thanks, most true,
For steering the good ship Egypt o'er,
In safety to her destined shore.
Then, as is customary here,
Let these thanks find expression clear,
Towards sailors' orphans, who have claim
On all who safely cross the main.
Then pass the broadest plate around,
Let great bright coins on it resound.
The claim ungrudgingly fulfil,
With generous heart and right good will.
Then, ere we part, let each one try
To sing "Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye,"
With hopes, some day, again to meet
And each the other kindly greet.
Never did rosy morning
Sweep o'er the skirts of night,
Calm nature's face adorning,
With more intense delight;
Never did earth exultant
Summon her offspring all,
To life-work, love and duty
With more inspiring call,
Than in the young spring season,
Three centuries ago,
When Roberval set sail from France
To skim broad ocean's flow.
Nobles, rich, young and restless,
Statesmen and soldiers too,
Women of birth, and sailors,
Composed the adventurous crew.
Leaving St. Malo's harbour.
They steered in Cartier's wake,
For that New France which Francis hoped
A source of wealth to make.
For of it wondrous stories
Were floating in the air,
A very Paradise it seemed
Of joy beyond compare.
A vast, mysterious country,
Studded with gems and gold,
Where virgin soil and forests grand
Were girt by headlands bold.
A land of beauty, where 'twas said
Celestial fountains played,
Whose waters made the aged young,
And Time's dread havoc stayed.
Such were the thrilling stories
Of ancient Florida.
And of that favoured part of it
Now known as Canada.
France, prompted by ambition,
Was on its conquest bent,
Though Rome to Spain had given
The whole vast continent.
To subjugate a people
In wildest freedom bred,
Whose trade was armed barter,
To utmost hardship wed,
To potent savage nations,
To teach the white man's creed;
This was the hardy project
That France's king decreed.
Among the group of women
Was Marguerite, the fair
Niece of the Viceroy, Roberval,
Young, lovely, debonnaire,
Like gleams of summer sunshine
That glorify the sea,
Among the ship's companions,
Her presence seemed to be.
There, too, was a young noble,
Who with her left his home,
Content all honours to renounce,
With her he loved to roam;
Together had they plighted
Their vows before high heaven,
To the new faith together
Their pledged adhesion given.
Before their loving pastor,
And Marguerite's maid, with prayer,
These Huguenots in secret,
To sign the contract dare,
In the still hour of midnight,
Whilst all were thought to be,
Bound in the gyves of slumber,
In that ship far out at sea.
Alas! a listening traitor,
Ere waned the morning star,
Prompted by hate and malice,
Had spread the secret far;
And Roberval rose furious,
In wild ungoverned rage,
Against the hated heretics,
A deadly war to wage.
Fast bind the men in irons,
The women thrust, he said,
Into a boat with fire-arms,
Some powder, meat and bread,
For see! the Isle of Demons
Lies close athwart our lee,
And they the fit companions
Of its horned fiends shall be.
The wild, infernal orgies
Of these winged imps of night
Yet fill the air with horror,
And thrill it with affright;
To these I now consign them,
Quick, thrust them out to sea,
And through a life of torture
May they repentant be.
Thus Roberval, the Viceroy,
Thundered his fierce commands,
As Leon, Marguerite's husband
Burst from his iron bands,
Plunged headlong in the wild flood
And toward the threatening shore,
Swam boldly forth'—defiant
Of him and ocean's roar.
The swimmer and the boat's crew
Long fought for life and breath,
And all appeared together
Entering the jaws of death,
As Roberval steered from them,
Outbreathing curses loud,
And imprecations furious
That stout hearts chilled and cowed.
The ship receded—vanished,
Leaving the wave-tossed three
All valiantly contending
With the belated sea.
The swimmer battled fiercely,
With ocean's maddening strife,
As the frail women bravely
Contended for dear life.
Till haply, thanks to heaven,
They're saved, for see, they stand
Linked heart and hand together,
The three once more on land.
'Tis said infernal demons,
Beset them day and night,
And with their shrieks satanic
Chilled them with dire affright.
But a strong hand celestial
Was ever interposed,
And round about them ever
A viewless barrier closed.
Unutterably hideous,
Th' infernal brood of hell,
Howling in baffled fury,
Around them powerless fell.
In course of time kind heaven
Gave them a baby boy,
Who filled their hearts with rapture,
And thrilled them to new joy,
But death soon stole their treasure,
Then Leon made his own
The Norman nurse then summoned,
And Marguerite was alone!
Alone on that dread island,
In whose accursed soil
Her loved ones found unhallowed rest
From harrowing care and toil.
Still courage never failed her,
Though fettered to the sod
Where hideous fiends assailed her,
To try her faith in God.
Though foes came gathering round her,
Appalling to the view,
From upper as from nether worlds,
And nearer lurking drew,
Of these, grim bears were foremost,
Who boldly round her close,
But with her gun brave Marguerite
Slew three of these fierce foes.
Thus, though most gently nurtured,
This maiden rose to be
A heroine undaunted
On the lone isle of the sea,
And Leon was a hero,
Who risked fame, fortune, life,
To be the sworn defender
Of helpless maid and wife.
Two dreary years of warfare
Had passed o'er Marguerite's head,
Crowded with deeds heroic,
Since she with Leon wed,
When, far at sea some whalers
Observed a curling smoke
Rise from the haunted island,
Which fear and wonder woke.
Was it the trick of demons
To lure them to the shore,
And lead them on to ruin,
As many had been before?
They thought it was, and kept aloof,
Then vague surmises made.
That some unhappy mortal
Might need their timely aid.
So, triumphing o'er terror,
They warily drew nigh,
Descried a female figure
Waving her signals high;
Clothed in the skins of white bears,
So lovely she appeared,
That the brave-hearted sailors
Most gladly toward her steered.
Thus Marguerite was rescued,
Through a heaven-directed chance,
Restored to home and country
In her beloved France.
'Tis said the baffled demons
At her departure fled,
And never to the island
Again their legions led.
Firm in her new faith, Marguerite
Was a brave pioneer,
Of those devoted Hugenots,
To true hearts justly dear,
Who, half a century after,
Composed that sturdy flock,
Who from the good ship May Flower
Landed on Plymouth rock.
And who shall say how many
This noble woman led,
To break their bonds asunder,
Who were to priestcraft wed?
And as I close this ballad,
Historically true,
Learn, reader, that its heroes
Toiled not in vain for you.
NOTE—Isles of Demons: one of two islands north-east of Newfoundland supposed to have been given over to the fiends, from whom they derive their name, variously called by Thevet Isle de Fische, Isle de Roberval, and Isle of Demons. The Isle Fichet of Sanson and the Fishot Island of some modern maps.
Twas eve in Brooklyn, and the bracing air
Of northern regions fanned the city fair,
Urging life's currents to a generous flow
And quick'ning nerve and pulse to joyful glow.
A touching tragedy had been installed
Within the theatre, "The Orphans" called,
One of the most successful dramas sage,
America has placed upon the stage.
To it for peaceful recreation strayed
Scores of the citizens, en fête arrayed,
Some with beloved ones whom they hoped one day,
Might be their partners through life's checkered way.
Others formed parties from the family group,
Maidens and children in the joy of youth,
Glad schoolboys taken for reward or treat,
And worthless idlers sauntering from the street.
Many a fond and loving pair were there
Who in each other's joys and griefs had share;
Grave statesmen, merchants, all in that brief hour,
Sat spell-bound by the dramatist's rare power.
When in an instant the appalling cry
Of fire! fire!! fire!!! was heard resounding high;
The terror-stricken crowd in blank dismay
Rushed frantically towards each narrow way.
No ears had they for the brave girl who sought
To counsel in that hour with horror fraught,
Who cried "We are between you and the fire,
Be calm, for God's sake, in this danger dire."
[Footnote: On the first alarm of fire and whilst others were escaping, Miss Kate Claxton with three other actors came bravely forward to the footlights uttering these words of passionate entreaty.]
Those nearest haply reached the narrow way,
And thanking God, emerged from the affray,
Whilst others stumbled, dazed with terror wild
And soon in tangled heaps lay powerless piled.
In wildest proxysms of fear and pain,
Each sought his giddy footing to retain,
Whilst piercing cries of agonized despair,
Rose through the gloomy smoke-charged stifling air.
Then suffocation, oft more merciful
Than fire, its victims claimed to lull,
Scared victims, gasping for that precious air,
Which fire and smoke alike refused them there.
Fast hurried on the greedy tongues of fire,
To make of those dread mounds a funeral pyre,
As raging onward o'er their victims broke,
The fearful conflict of the fire and smoke.
Dread was the scene o'er which the Fire King laughed
As he his bowl of frantic pleasure quaffed,
Whilst the doomed structure tottered in the girth
Of his wild, bellowing, satanic mirth.
Strong men and feeble women, young and old,
Statesmen, financiers, and warriors bold,
Who were a short hour since elate with pride.
Now charred and calcined, slumber side by side.
The fierce insatiate fire-fiend raging flew
In wild demoniac rage the structure through,
Tearing down rafters, hurling to the ground,
Props, pillars roof-beams with appalling sound.
Oh! what a scene of strife raged wildly there,
'Mid cries for help and struggles of despair;
All human efforts powerless to assuage,
The greedy fire-fiend's devastating rage.
The fiery monster dashed away all trace,
Of that late mimic world of beauteous grace,
Swallowing in a fleet, wrathful breath of rage,
All the vain baubles of the tinseled stage.
All the wild tumult has subsided now,
Hushed is the pleading prayer and woe strung vow,
Breathed by fond parents, brothers, husbands, wives
Of near three hundred late exultant lives!
Then, as the demon's rage was well nigh spent,
He o'er the drenched and trampled corses bent,
Effacing as he best could, every trace
Of recognition from each ghastly face.
Drunken and gorged the sated fire-fiend spread
His gloomy sable shroud about the dead,
And left the fort he could not longer hold
Conquered by man's heroic efforts bold.
Too painful 'twould be to prolong the tale,
Of that which followed, or the piteous wail
Of friends bereaved, who sought with harrowing dread,
To single out their loved ones from the dead.
Close we, by urging those in power to do
What well becomes all rulers wise and true,
To make new laws, enforced by vigorous means,
To spare all repetition of such scenes.
Oft will Columbia sing to future time,
Of her centennial union sublime
But ever with the memorable year,
Will mingle memories of this history drear.
The morning broke with streams of welcome rain,
Such as the two preceding ones had brought.
Rain, that in tropic climes means life and joy
To man and beast as to the thirsty soil
And though the sky hung like a sable pall
Over the fair oasis, nestling calm
Beneath the trusted shelter of the hills,
And o'er the broad lake-outlet of the floods,
What cause had they to fear? 'Twas often thus,
And the long wished-for rains would bring forth joy
So reasoned they who, peaceful, viewed unmoved
Th' outpouring of that sullen ocean cloud,
When suddenly, they who had calmly felt
So safe one little span of time before,
Discovered in dismay the swollen floods
Meant danger—that the safety of their homes.
Was menaced, walls were tottering, waters rose,
Sapping foundations, threatening precious life.
Security was lost in maddening fear,
And, panic-stricken in disordered haste
And direst plight, they quit their homes, and fly
To seek a refuge from the merciless,
Relentless flood. On, on, they wildly rush,
No matter where, so they preserve the lives
Of those they dearly, passionately love.
Some o'er fierce rolling streams are helped by men
In mercy sent to render priceless aid,
And happy they, the rescued, who escape,
For scarcely had they timely refuge found,
Than a huge limb of the great mountain fell,
Sweeping the fair hill-side of house and land,
And burying dozens of their fellow men
In one uncompromising, living tomb!
Brave men with tender hearts and stalwart arms,
Regardless of their lives flew quickly there.
Seeking to save their fellows; but, alas!
The task is useless, they are past all aid;
The cold earth sepulchres their mortal frames—
Still, hope's star-beacon lures the toilers on,
And with stout hearts and mercy sinewed arms,
They, toiling, dig, if haply they may save
But one poor soul from out the piteous heap.
But as they worked, their honest hearts elate
With love-inspiring toil, Oh, sad to tell!
Another mass, far larger than the last,
Fell from the dark flood-loosened mountain side,
Burying those noble men beneath the deep
Dank heap, like those they fondly hoped to save.
O noble band! thy Christ-like heroism
Shall be enshrined in deathless memories
Outliving time; for rolling ages love
To chronicle the history of brave deeds,
That spur by their example other minds
To acts of heroism such as thine!
Oh! fearful was that avalanche of earth,
That in its fury, e'en with lightning speed,
Swept to eternity such precious freight!
Strong men in the proud glory of life's prime,
Women in joyful trustfulness of love
With little children in full bloom of life;
All in the twinkling of an eye cut down,
In that rude harvest of the tyrant Death!
Now the late lovely valley, Naini Tal
Stands as a witness of the frailty
Of human strength 'gainst the o'erwhelming might
Of forces, which the All Mighty only guides;
Proving, that great as oftimes is man's force,
It is as nothing, when the elements
Proclaim Him monarch of all power and might,
In language for the world to comprehend.
Now, welcome home, ye valiant band,
By science lured to roam,
Thrice welcome to your native land,
To Britain's hearth and home;
For ye have conquered many a foe,
And vanquished many a fear,
Since in your country's name ye sailed
So bravely forth last year.
Then many a fervent "Good speed ye"
Was wafted from the land,
That blent with blessings from the ships,
For those left on the strand.
Hope streaming through each hot tear formed
Rainbows of promise sweet,
To comfort each lone sundered heart,
Till blest again to meet.
But eighteen months have passed away
Since those farewells were breathed,
And ye've accomplished what was wished
Without a sword unsheathed.
And with her royal chaplets light
Of honour and renown,
Your brows of manly fortitude
Britain delights to crown.
Ye've had the courage, nerve, and skill,
To do, and bravely dare,
That which none other save yourselves
Have had the joy to share.
In penetrating furthest yet,
Into that region lone,
Where grim uncompromising ice
Girdles the Polar Zone.
"The sea of ancient ice," henceforth
Inscribed on the world's chart,
Though never of that world to be
A sympathetic part;
Since mighty floating fortresses,
With adamantine towers,
Form everlasting barriers grim,
That mock man's feebler powers.
Heroic Nares! Commander bold
Of the well-ordered band,
Accept with thy intrepid crews,
Thanks from thy native land,
For having with determined zeal,
Reached a much longed-for goal,
And solved the mystery that veiled
The regions of the Pole.
Thus proving inacessible
The ice-ribbed polar sea,
Ye've earned your laurels valiantly,
Still it is well that we
Join ye in rendering fervent thanks,
To the Supreme above,
For safe return in joyous health,
To country, home and love.
Oh! what a change since last we met, when thou wert all my
own,
And love dictated every word, and sweetened every tone.
Cold and repelling was the gaze that rested on the one
Whose heart's devotion, true as steel, thy treachery had
won.
Who could have thought that vows exchanged before the God of
heaven,
And pledged so solemnly, could be so soon, so rudely
riven?
But, false one, I fling back to thee thy hollow, withering
gaze,
And spurn thee in the bitterest tones my scorn-strung voice
can raise.
Arise, ye valiant warrior hosts, arise!
Now, in the flush of victory, pierce the skies
With grateful outbursts of exultant praise.
Such as victorious hosts alone can raise,
To the great God of nations, Lord of lords,
Who in your pride of conquests sheathes your swords,
And claims your rapturous homage from afar,
For all the brilliant exploits of the war.
Let the majestic paeans heavenward sent,
Be with united voice of Britain blent;
Like measured thunders the grand anthem swell,
A nation's fervent gratitude to tell.
And yet another strain of prayer outpour
For the lamented victims of the war.
And for our Queen, who now delights to crown
Her brave commanders with deserved renown.
God bless these mighty men of mind and power,
Who led the well-trained hosts in war's dread hour,
Crushing rebellion, bidding rapine cease;
Then, with heroic valour, courting peace.
And as each soul is heavenward winged to raise
To the Creator this grand psalm of praise,
Forget not the crest-fallen hosts, but bear
Their country's troubles to the throne of prayer.
Sons are we all of the same Father wise.
Who rules in sovereign pomp the earth and skies,
Who bids all live in brotherhood divine,
Without distinction of race, creed or clime.
God speed the day when cruel wars shall cease,
And all the wrestling earth shall be at peace,
When liberty's proud flag shall be unfurled,
And justice, not the sword, shall rule the world.
"Peace with honour," glorious, joy-lit words!
Britons, lay down your arms, re-sheath your swords,
For the red demon War lies foiled and chained,
And Britain's prestige is anew proclaimed.
With re-united Europe, grateful raise
To Heaven glad paeans of exultant praise;
For see, crest-fallen strife, abashed, retreats,
As Berlin's congress her design defeats.
While Justice, Peace and Hope effulgent stand,
Aiding the Council of the patriot band.
Grand conclave of the wise, 'twas well ye bade
Such Heaven-born guests lend to your council aid,
Well for the good and welfare of the world
That ye your Heaven-blest flag of peace unfurled!
Great Emperor Peacemaker! well hast, thou done,
To link to thy long list of victories won,
This bloodless one, where all alike contend,
With cultured courtesy, as friend with friend,
To help the fallen, bid rude passions cease,
Through moral suasion, and re-throne blest peace.
And thou, Disraeli, pillar of the State,
With the proud flush of triumph now elate,
Well hast thou earned thy laurels, nobly won
Thy Queen's and country's verdict of "well done,"
For with far-seeing mind, unflinching skill,
Rare tact and talent, calm, consummate skill,
Thou hast, with thy brave colleagues, fought our fight,
And made stern right triumphant over might.
Since to the foremost and most honoured place
A subject could aspire to, or could grace,
Thou hast ascended by the nation's will,
Let "Peace with Honour" be thy motto still.
Thus shall our civilizing mission be
To future ages a reality,
That where the flag of Britain is unfurled,
Peace and good-will may flow to all the world,
Till throughout every nation wars shall cease,
And honour reign triumphantly with peace.
The long day of the year is nearly done,
The atoms through its sand-glass almost run,
Another bridge is well-nigh swung—by Time
O'er the grand current of life's course sublime.
For see! through floods of eastern glory high
The morn's fair chariot swoops athwart the sky,
And from its circling rose-lit atmosphere
Steps, beaming with young hope, the infant year!
Knowing no bygones, he points gaily on
To battles to be waged and victories won,
Struggles with self, o'ercomings that will crown
The combatants with honour and renown.
Battles which make the men of mark on earth.
Men who feel culture of all God's gifts worth,
A thorough abnegation of self-will,
To fit them life's work rightly to fulfil.
Then let each with the glad New Year begin
To act so they may fadeless victories win,
Since heaven's choice gifts and deathless wreaths of
fame
Wait for the good, and great, their joys to claim.
Home! magic name of sweetest sound,
That thrills us like a spell;
That consecrates the humblest cot
Where loved ones kindly dwell.
How much that simple name recalls
Of happy childhood's days,
When the old homestead was illumed
By love's inspiring rays.
Visions of beauty unsurpassed,
Are conjured by that word
That thrills a Briton's heart where'er
The English tongue is heard.
And when in exile wandering,
On fairer, brighter plains;
How the melodious name of home
Our best affection claims.
The roof-tree may be stricken down,
And loved ones be no more;
But the sweet memories of our home
Live on for evermore.
Wealth may attract and pleasure lure
When far away we roam;
But ah! how joyful we return
To the pure shrine of home.
There we find sweet repose and peace,
There too our holiest love;
And there we gain a foretaste pure
Of coming joys above.
Then "Home, sweet home," shall be our song
On earth, and when on high
'Twill still be home, dear, happy home,
In the glad "by-and-by."
It is but a lone faded rosebud
That a dearly loved one gave to me,
In years now long past but remembered
And shrined for the years yet to be.
It opens the floodgates of memory,
Discoursing of dear days gone by,
Dead and buried except to rememb'rance
Which never can slumber or die.
For hearts that have once truly mingled,
In sympathy, love and esteem,
Can never be really sundered
Though oceans and seas roll between.
And still I will cherish my rosebud,
Though it never may bloom to a flower,
As a symbol of love that was strangled
In life's saddest yet happiest hour.
Thou reverend relic from a far-off clime,
Of ancient days, triumphant over Time.
Thou ocean traveller, brought with peril o'er,
To rise again on London's busy shore.
Superb exponent of Egyptian art,
What wondrous secrets load thy granite heart
Since thou wert fashioned from the ribs of earth
To show the great sun's golden glory forth!
Thou with six noble compeers hast surveyed
The birth and death of empires undismayed.
Some of them saw at On the guiding light
Shed o'er the Holy Family in their flight.
The oldest still ennobles Goshen's brow,
Almost the sole surviving relic now
Of her foundation, and upon whose sod,
When years had rolled their courses, Jesus trod.
And one in Turkey, yet one more in Rome,
Captives and aliens from their childhood's home,
Tower in lone majesty, recording still
The grandest era of Egyptian skill.
A fifth in Alexandria calmly rears
Its stately form, and o'er it kindly peers
A noble landmark, like an angel guide
To wanderers o'er Egypt's sand plains wide.
Ask of the ages where the sixth has gone,
For naught of that stone mountain now is known.
Thus perish all things, save the spirit free,
Inheritor of immortality!
Past ages fondly raised to Ra and Tum
(Whose morn and evening glory robed the sun),
These sacred fanes, to grace the sun shrine high,
Full in the golden splendour of the sky.
Where now is Heliopolis? ah, where
Her sun-shrine, raised in classic beauty rare?
Crumbled, and lost in rainless Egypt's dust,
Save what these columns guard in sacred trust.
And shall we fondly consecrate and raise
Vast monuments to sing of mortal praise,
And then presume to criticise and scorn
Fanes raised the sun-god's temple to adorn?
Ah no, but let us rather consecrate
Anew this worship-sign of ancient date,
Than join in scoff by sneering cynic thrown
On faith and on religion not his own.
Upon the generous donor's aged brow
Let Britain place her graceful chaplet now,
Since unto him is due that she doth hold
This precious relic of the faith of old.
And let us not forget what thanks are due
To skilful Dixon and his gallant crew,
And as is just, be honour also paid.
To useful Dmetri for his timely aid.
Then plant the precious fane on Britain's shore.
In solemn tribute of the faith of yore,
That coming ages may revere the sod
That shrines this tribute to the living God.
Inhabitants of Liverpool,
List to the urgent call,
Which summons you in crowds to-day,
Within St. George's Hall.
There earnest Women are convened,
In purpose strong to seek,
Through your kind help and influence,
To aid the Faint and Weak.
The Convalescent Hospital
Stands burdened with a debt,
Which we resolve (if you permit)
Shall now be promptly met.
To this intent, a Grand Bazaar
Is held by us to-day;
And fifteen hundred pounds the sum
We fondly hope to pay.
The cause is good; then quickly prove
Your gratitude for health,
By giving with a willing heart
Of your abundant wealth.
Or if not quite disposed to give,
Then freely buy, I pray,
Of the rich stores of wondrous art
Displayed for you to-day.
Work marvellously wrought, and rare
As beautiful you'll find;
With good plain, homely garments, too,
Of varied form and kind.
And lovely flowers, in sweet perfume,
Breathing delight and love;
Discoursing, in mute eloquence,
Of fadeless ones above.
Groups, too, of artificial flowers,
To serve when others die;
Like photos of dear absent friends,
Delighting heart and eye.
Presents there are for Boys and Girls,
And darling Pets at home,
And souvenir for Grandmamma,
If too infirm to come.
And, mingling with the festive scene,
Is music's witching voice,
Swelling, in harmony divine,
Man's spirit to rejoice.
Beneath the master hand of "Best"
The organ springs to life,
Like some roused monster in his lair,
Goaded to deadly strife.
Attuned to Angel sweetness, then,
And tremblings of delight,
It fills the dreamy marble Hall
With visions pure and bright.
Then merchant Princes, Tradesmen, too,
Dry business leave awhile;
And with your dear ones by your side,
With us an hour beguile.