E-text prepared by Mark C. Orton, Charles Bidwell, Beth Trapaga,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdpcanada.net)

Rev. J. H. Chant

Gleams of Sunshine

OPTIMISTIC POEMS

By

Joseph Horatio Chant

Printed for the Author by
WILLIAM BRIGGS
TORONTO
1915

Copyright, Canada, 1915
by J. H. CHANT.

CONTENTS

Gleams of Sunshine

[ ]

INVOCATION

O Thou, who art the source of joy and light,

The great Revealer of the will Divine;

Thyself Divine, all nature owns Thy might,

And bows in homage at a beck of Thine,

Afford me light to guide my unskilled hand,

And by Thy Spirit all my thoughts command.

To Thy great name I dedicate my powers,

Yielding to Thee what Thou with blood hast bought,

Resolved that Thou shalt have my days and hours,

And for Thy sake shall every work be wrought;

O deign to use me, if it be Thy will,

And my poor heart with love and gladness fill.

If this strange impulse which I feel within

To write this book proceeds, O Lord, from Thee,

Let it not die, nor be defiled by sin,

But let the work from self and sin be free,

And prove a guide to home and bliss above,

And help to fill this warring world with love.

The Master's touch I know it sadly lacks,

And may not please the nice artistic taste

Of some fine mind that naught but gold attracts;

Some may not count these iron-filings waste;

Like magnets, to which gold will not adhere,

May they find ore in this to bless and cheer.

In this plain pitcher, Lord, Thy blessing pour,

That from it men their raging thirst may slake,

And when exhausted is the scanty store,

Then let the earthen vessel quickly break;

Its end is gained if Thou art glorified,

And men have learned to love the Christ who died.

As flowers drink in the solar rays and dew,

And in return give bloom and odors sweet,

So would I to Thy Spirit's touch prove true,

And render that return which seemeth meet;

Come, dews of grace! Great Sun, illume my heart!

That I to some sad soul may joy impart.

[ ]

FATHER OF UNIVERSAL MAN

Father of Universal Man,

Where'er in this wide world he roam,

Not known to thee by kith or clan,

Nor height, nor breadth of mental dome,

Nor babbling tongue, nor sounding creed,

But by his woe and common need.

The pushing Anglo-Saxon race,

The Celts with wealth of heart and mind,

The Esquimaux of leaden face,

The Arabs whom no chain can bind,

With hardy Boers and all the rest,

Are with one common Father blest.

And all are brothers, though at times

Our flashing swords obscure the sun.

We ring aloud our Christmas chimes,

But louder sounds the booming gun,

And brother is by brother slain,

And kindred ties are rent in twain.

Yet Thou art true whate'er betide;

Thy heart o'er human woe doth melt;

For men of every race Christ died,

And, as a zone, Thy love would belt

All human kind from pole to pole

Into one grand, harmonious whole.

Men war with men in every clime,

Commotions rock this earthly ball;

Our souls are covered o'er with grime—

Sad fruits of our Adamic fall,

But grace shall triumph in the end,

And good the evil far transcend.

Thy throne remains forever firm,

And here, amidst the strife of men,

We find with joy a heavenly germ

Which shall re-stock this world again

With fruitful plants of righteousness,

If Thou, O God, but deign to bless.

Help us that we may not deny

Our brotherhood in hour of strife;

When swords shall from their scabbards fly,

And great the sacrifice of life,

May we in pity o'er them bend,

And help to wounded foe extend.

If we are working out Thy plan,

Give our brave soldiers arms of steel,

And may each prove himself a man—

To God and to his nation leal,

And never falter in the fight,

But die, if need be, for the right.

May right prevail in this dread war,

Though we be humbled in the dust;

To fail our end is better far

Then gain it, if it be unjust,

But if our aims with Thine agree—

We trust—and leave results with Thee.

The world moves on; let none essay

To block it in its onward course,

Lest they like chaff be swept away

As by a supernatural force;

For laggards progress does not wait—

Keep pace with time or bide your fate.

May our brave foes rise in defeat

To higher form of liberty;

And Freedom's flag, as seemeth meet,

Wave over all from sea to sea;

Pushed on as by the hand of fate

To nationhood, both firm and great.

[ ]

GOD'S PLAN IS BEST

Thy plan is best, though it may not agree

With my conceptions of my needs and rights,

And faith may fail to scale its azure heights;

Yet still I trust, and leave my cause with Thee.

With single eye I sought to do Thy will.

I felt Thy smile and left results with Thee;

If they have failed, then that is naught to me—

I did my part, and am Thy servant still.

The hearts of men are in Thy mighty hand;

Naught is concealed from Thy all-searching sight;

Canst Thou not turn them to the left or right?

The raging ocean calms at Thy command.

The aching clay may circumscribe my sphere;

Yet in confinement I may labor still

In work which harmonizes with Thy will,

And e'er rejoice to have my Master near.

Thoughts of Thy love will yet remain with me,

And in my silent hours may shape assume,

And by their measures help to lift the gloom

Of this dark world, and bring men nearer Thee.

Whate'er may come, I will not, Lord, complain;

My plan is Thine, I have no other choice.

In work or rest 'tis meet I should rejoice;

Contentment in my lot is blessed gain.

[ ]

CANADA

Dear Canada, our native land,

Our love for thee grows day by day;

Our fathers left the olden strand,

O'er sea and rapids made their way,

And by their energy and skill

They laid thy firm foundation deep,

And sowed the seed o'er vale and hill

Which we, their sons, are called to reap.

The wilderness blooms as the rose;

The old-time hardships are unknown;

And wealth in streams of commerce flows

From sea to sea—a nation grown—

Still youthful, but with thews of steel

To throttle foes that may arise;

Yet loving touch sore hearts to heal,

And lift us nearer to the skies.

We cannot boast as blue a sky

As smiles o'er many an Alpine plain,

Nor are our mountain peaks as high

As theirs, yet we have other gain;

Our hills are rich in yellow gold,

Our plains are broad and fertile too;

Our lakes and streams hold wealth untold,

And grander forests never grew.

Our sky is bright to healthy eyes;

Pure ozone lades the air we breathe;

Our climate we have learned to prize;

Nor do we o'er our winters grieve;

For nature throws her ermine robe

O'er purple hills and vales as well;

No portion of this earthly globe

As gay as this, with sleigh and bell.

But soon the winter wears away,

And plants long sheltered now are seen,

And April showers and smiling May

Soon clothe the earth in living green.

Monotony is thus unknown—

Each season is a glad surprise,

In which God's truth and love are shown,

And hope within us never dies.

Our sons, inured to noble toil,

Grow strong in arm and broad in mind;

Some stay at home to till the soil,

Others in various callings find

Their missions—but where'er their place

In the great drama of our day,

They, as a class, win in the race,

And the behests of Heaven obey.

The gold of monarchy have we,

Without the useless silt and dross;

And like our cousins, all are free,

Yet we have no election boss.

No union here of Church and State,

Yet Church and State full well agree

That nations never can be great

If they refuse to bow the knee.

We make the nation's weal or woe,

As one may shape his future life.

"God's mill," 'tis said, "grinds fine, tho' slow,"

A fact lost sight of in the strife

For place and power in Church and State,

And think God cares not what we do;

But to our doubt he whispers "wait,"

And time proves Him both just and true.

From England and from sunny France

Our fathers came, long years ago;

On Abraham's plain with sword and lance

They fought as foes—gave blow for blow.

The victors and the conquered now

Recall that day with mutual pride;

To their grand destiny all bow,

And as true peers, stand side by side.

So give me Canada before

The fairest land beneath the sky.

We stretch our arms from shore to shore

And all are free, both low and high;

An infant nation yet, 'tis true,

But strong in muscle and in nerve,

We hold our own, give all their due,

And God's great purpose humbly serve.

[ ]

LATE AUTUMN

The fields lie bare before me now,

The fruit is gathered in,

Not even seen a grazing cow,

Nor heard the blackbird's din.

The heath is brown, and ivy pale,

The woodbine berries red,

And withered leaves borne on the gale

Sink down on peaty bed.

At morn the fence was covered o'er

With a pale sheet of rime;

The earth was like a marble floor,

But now is turned to grime.

For Autumn rains are falling fast,

And swells the running brook;

The Indian Summer, too, is past;

For snowfall soon we look.

[ ]

FRIENDSHIP

When presses hard my load of care,

And other friends from me depart,

I want a friend my grief to share,

With faithful speech and loving heart.

I want a friend of noble mind,

Who loves me more than praise or pelf,

Reproves my faults with spirit kind,

And thinks of me as well as self—

A friend whose ear is ever closed

Against traducers' poison breath;

And, though in me be not disclosed

An equal love, yet loves till death—

A friend who knows my weakness well,

And ever seeks to calm my fears;

If words should fail the storm to quell,

Will soothe my fevered heart with tears—

A friend not moved by jealousy

Should I outrun him in life's race;

And though I doubt, still trusts in me

With loyal heart and cloudless face.

True friendship knows both joy and grief,

The sweetest pleasure, keenest pain;

Its sharpest pangs are ever brief,

Mere flitting clouds before the rain.

But soon the joy returns again

With bluer sky and brighter light;

The grief proves but a narrow glen

All full of flowers, though hid from sight.

And e'en in darkness we inhale

The fragrant odors love emits;

Friendship like this can never fail—

On love's strong throne its monarch sits.

True friendship is of greater worth

Than words, though they were solid gold.

To all the glittering gems of earth

I it prefer, a thousandfold.

One Friend I have who knows my heart,

And loves me with a changeless love;

I love Him, too—nor death can part

Us two, for we will love above.

A woman's love to His is faint;

No brother cleaves as close as He;

No seraph words could ever paint

The love this Friend now bears to me.

[ ]

LIFE

Our lives seem filled with things of little worth;

A thousand petty cares arise each day

Which bring our soaring thoughts from heaven to earth,

Reminding us that we have feet of clay;

Yet we will not from path of duty stray

If we amidst them all cleave to the right;

Nor great nor small are actions in His sight;

Through lowly vale He shows our feet the way.

Our early dreams may not be realized;

The roseate sky now proves quite commonplace;

The constellations we so highly prized

Have vanished all—nor left the slightest trace

Of former glory in its azure face,

But high o'er all beams out the polar star

To guide us safe through rock and sandy bar;

Life is complete and its cap-stone is grace.

[ ]

TO MR. RUDYARD KIPLING[¹ ]

True laureate of the Anglo-Saxon race,

Whose words have won the hearts of young and old;

So free from cant, and yet replete with grace,

Or prose or verse it glows like burnished gold;

Thy muse is ever loyal to the truth,

And those who know thee best forget thy youth.

Unbend thy bow and rest with us awhile;

Thy active mind requires a healthy brain;

Death's shadow has gone back upon the dial,

And thou art left a higher goal to gain;

The future will eclipse the brilliant past;

Fear not; thy ideal will be reached at last.

To do the grandest work one must needs be

Endowed by Nature for the master task;

Yea more, he must possess the light to see

Those mysteries which nature seems to mask,

And this can gain but in the royal way—

'Tis dread experience leads from gloom to-day.

The Master saw a struggling youth, and smiled,

Pleased with his work in main; but, knowing too

His latent power, if it could be beguiled

From hiding-place, much greater work would do,

He took His servant's hand and led the way

Through vale of sorrow up to brighter day.

By other path this height is ne'er attained,

Nor books nor schools its hidden wealth unveil.

Philosophy and art have treasures gained,

But in this quest they must forever fail—

Experience only can the gift impart,

Bring needed light and regulate the heart.

To solace those who grieve one must have felt

In his own heart the rending pangs of pain;

The heart that suffers not will never melt

At others' woes, though free from selfish stain;

What we have felt and seen we truly know,

And thus endowed, our tears for others flow.

So leave thy much-loved lyre awhile unstrung

Till health again invigorate thy frame;

With brain renewed, with vigorous heart and lung

Take up thy work once more, and greater fame—

A richer man by far than e'er before,

For thou hast treasure on the other shore.

[ ]

¹ These lines were written directly after Mr. Kipling's recovery from severe illness.

[ ]

MEN BELOW DECK

The battleship its anchor weighs,

And belches forth its thunder;

Its commodore all classes praise,

And at his victories wonder;

And well they may—for braver man

Ne'er wielded sword or sabre;

But tell me, brother, if you can,

Who did the lowly labor.

Below the deck in engine-room,

As oilers and coal-heavers?

Amidst the smut and ghastly gloom,

Who worked the iron levers?

And thus it is in other lines;

Brave men are often hidden

"Below the deck," in shops and mines,

To higher plane unbidden.

The men on deck the praise receive,

But meagre thanks the others;

As honest men they seldom grieve,

And envy not their brothers;

A common cause they gladly serve,

Though in a lowly station,

From path of duty never swerve—

Loyal to God and nation.

For when the smoke has cleared away,

And din of battle ended,

On upper deck, in bright array,

By angel bands attended,

The whole ship's crew will then appear,

From high and lowly station,

And each the words "well done" shall hear,

'Midst shouts of acclamation.

[ ]

"OTHERS SAVE WITH FEAR"

Some men there are who stand so straight,

So equipoised, that others' fate

Seems to depend on their behest;

And useless all our every quest

To gain perfection or renown,

Unless we touch the flowing gown

Of these high-priests, whose shadows fall

Within themselves, if fall at all.

Others are not as straight as these,

But more like rough and gnarled trees;

But little beauty they display;

Shadows they cast across the way;

And from them men with scorning turn,

Or, if they speak, their accents burn

Like capsicum on chafed skin,

And leave a smarting wound within.

Once noble men, when turned aside

By fleshly lust or sinful pride,

Each one becomes a broken bell

On which the angry fiends of hell

Ring out their discord, harsh and loud,

As if with demon powers endowed.

Colossal once through grace they were;

Colossal still, though cleft and bare.

On northern rocks is often seen

The impress of some southern sheen,

The brightness of a warmer bloom,

Unknown to winter's frost and gloom.

The fossil flower of epoch fair

Has left its lasting impress there.

So in some men whose hearts are cold

You find a trace of days of old.

While we deplore the Arctic chill,

The frigid heart, the ice-bound will,

We must admire the fossil trace,

Still seen, of early days of grace.

Hiding from sight as best we can

The traces of the fallen man,

We feast our eyes upon the fair,

Though fossil, lines that linger there.

How to restore is our concern,

As we o'er their declensions mourn.

Can such dire ruin be repaired?

Only if God's strong arm be bared.

But we must do a brother's part,

And try to thaw the frozen heart;

Not by the fire of wrath above,

But by the melting coals of love.

As bullets smooth are farther shot,

Because rough angles they have not,

So gentle ways and loving speech

Are sure the erring heart to reach,

While jagged deeds and words unkind,

Like pebbles rough, much friction find;

They fall before they reach the goal,

And seldom help the needy soul.

To truth be loyal, but take a care

That with true zeal tact have a share.

The lightning when it strikes the tree

Runs with the grain, as oft you see;

Those who at angling are adepts,

Choose well their bait and guard their steps;

So if you would the sinner gain,

Bait well your hook, or mark the grain.

[ ]

TREAD SOFTLY

In the courts of truth tread softly,

Though your tread be firm and bold;

Your steps may awaken echoes,

Resounding through years untold.

The trend of the age is onward,

And you should not lag behind;

If men's minds are bound with fetters,

Perchance you may some unbind.

Our creed, say you, needs revising,

In line with the growth of light;

Be sure you have made real progress

Before you assume the right,

By stroke of pen, to unsettle

The faith of the long ago;

For many who err in judgment

Stand fast to the truth they know.

You bring from the mine rare jewels,

That you think the world should see;

But, perhaps, their estimation

With your own may not agree;

They may lack discrimination,

And their worth may not discern;

So polish them at your leisure,

And give the world time to learn.

Before you dig up the old tree

That sheltered in ages past

The earth's noblest men and women

From the fury of the blast,

See that your sapling is rooted,

And no borer at its base,

And its boughs both strong and spreading,

To cover an erring race.

Bear down on the lever gently,

Or the rock may be o'erturned!

Or, perchance, your lever shattered,

And little experience learned!

Take time to adjust your fulcrum,

Then thrust home your iron bar;

Bear down and the rock is lifted,

Is lifted without a jar.

Your views are, perhaps, exotic—

Young shoots from a tropic brain,

They need to be better rooted

To endure the wind and rain;

You may well admire the markings

On each graceful stem and leaf,

But if taken from the hot-house,

They will surely come to grief.

Before they have wholly perished

They may please admiring eyes,

The old be thrown on the dunghill,

To receive your floral prize;

They adorn the porch and window,

And brighten the wayside bed,

But we waken some summer morning

To find our new treasures dead.

'Tis better to make haste slowly,

Than to antedate your day;

The farmer waits for the sunshine,

To transmute the grass to hay.

When the fields are ripe for harvest

Fear neither the heat or rain,

But thrust in your sharpened sickle,

And gather the golden grain.

[ ]

"IT WAS MY FAULT"[² ]

Those men are deemed heroes who rush on the foe

Regardless of danger, and seek not to know

What others may do;

Stern duty demands it—why should they falter

If all they hold dear is laid on the altar,

And conscience be true?

The greatest of all is the man who can say

When battle is over and foe gained the day,

"The fault was in me:

My plan miscarried through miscalculation;

On me rests the blame, and not on the nation:

My soldiers are free."

In George Stewart White, and men of like mind,

Our nation can rest, for in them you will find

A true manliness;

Their failures acknowledged are failures no more;

Defeat to such men only opens the door

To future success.

[ ]

² General White's words.

[ ]

KEPT THE FLAG FLOATING

"Thank God, we have kept the flag floating."—General White.

Some men, like French, display much dash;

They boldly rush upon the foe,

Their sword-blades like the lightning flash,

As they on helm or hauberk clash;

Nor fear the foeman's blow.

We praise them for their gallant deeds;

They are the men the Empire needs.

But true as they are those who stand

Within the fort beleaguered round;

Resources few at their command,

Their army but a feeble band,

Yet bravely hold their ground;

And o'er their blood-bespattered coats

The Union Jack in triumph floats.

Reduced their strength through lack of food,

And fever germs on vitals preyed;

Yet they o'er trouble did not brood,

By night or day of cheerful mood;

This burden on them weighed—

To keep the flag afloat—in brief,

Till Buller came to their relief.

Brave White, accept our meed of praise!

We crown thee equal to the best

Of heroes of the olden days,

Whose deeds inspired the poets' lays!

We need no further quest;

But this with gratitude we note,

Thy valour kept the flag afloat!

Valor like thine does not surprise

When we review thy noble past;

A hero is the one who tries,

Though he may not to ideal rise—

His plan may fail at last—

Yet is too brave to lay the blame

On others, but takes all the shame.

"The fault was mine," thy language then,

Revealing the divinest grace

Possessed by truly noble men,

And, prophecy of triumph, when

With foe brought face to face,

The choice remains, defeat or death,

The flag will float till latest breath.

[ ]

MARY

She brought her alabaster flask

Well-filled with precious nard;

Nor did she deem the act a task,

Nor look for great reward;

She only thought of His great love,

And felt her gift was small

For Him who left His home above

To suffer death for all.

But her blest Lord more highly prized

The loving heart that gave;

For loveless gifts are e'er despised,

Yet men oft seek to pave

The way that leads to glory land

With deeds devoid of grace;

But only those who love can stand

Approved before His face.

[ ]

A WORLD REDEEMED

This world is but the shadow

Of the world that is to be,

A ripple on the surface

Of a deep, unfathomed sea.

God's plans are always perfect,

But long ages intervene

From the planning of the temple

To the glow upon its sheen;

But we can be co-workers

In accomplishing his plan;

For in God's purpose is a place

For every son of man.

The germ may be developed

In a more salubrious clime,

All obstacles surmounted

In the onward march of time,

And nature's forces harnessed

Will their destiny fulfil,

And things now deemed supernal

Respond to human will;

For God has so adjusted

The laws of this earthly sphere,

That by man's help his plans unfold,

And order doth appear.

The words of God's own prophets

Concerning these latter days

Of mighty transformations,

To our great Redeemer's praise;

When wastes shall glow in beauty,

And the savage beast be kind,

Though they have prior fulfilment

In the realm of soul and mind;

Will then be more than figure,

Though that we all count sublime;

The earth will wear its regal robes

In every land and clime.

This life is but a sample

Of the life that is to be;

There we know the perfect lesson,

Here we learn the a—b—c;

And the life beyond is fashioned

By the thoughts and deeds of this;

Fitting it for realms of darkness,

Or for never-ending bliss;

For those alone will sorrow

Who receive His grace in vain,

But those who wrought with God will prove

That godliness is gain.

[ ]

ALASKAN BOUNDARY SETTLEMENT

My neighbor's farm and mine lie side by side,

And nothing should our mutual trust divide;

But they who made th' original survey

Were guided by the stars, the records say,

So that the line that marks out our domain

Is indistinct, and puzzling doubts remain.

Our farms are large, and portions near the line

With rocky soil and stunted spruce and pine,

With scarce a wigwam or a ranger's hearth,

We left untilled, and deemed of little worth;

The petals of this desert rose unfold,

When man discovers mines of yellow gold.

"Where is the boundary line?" is now the cry.

Each stakes his claim and gives his reason why;

One sought an exit to the main highway,

The other closed the gates and gained the day

In custom duties on the shining ore,

And stores for man and beast that inland pour.

Each claimed his own, whatever that may be,

Yet, neighbors true, we feared to disagree.

We studied maps and treaties old and new,

Yet each his own line-fence declared was true;

Then, to avoid unseemly strife, we chose

To settle our dispute as friends, not foes.

My neighbor chose three men in his employ,

I three, at least, accepted them with joy;

Not chosen these to arbitrate our case,

But from material at command to trace,

In harmony with law, the primal line

For boundary fence, between his farm and mine.

I lost my case—all but one narrow lane!

All other gates are closed, but why complain?

Diminished somewhat is my large estate,

But self-respect remains—nor place for hate;

O'er our line-fence we grasp each other's hand,

And for the right, united, ever stand.

[ ]

MY PRIMROSE

My sweet primrose with thy open face,

And with fringe-like leaves, without a trace

Of coarseness, either in flower or stem,

Among all my plants thou art the gem.

My lovely lilies soon disappear;

Thy bloom is constant through all the year;

In summer's heat and winter's cold,

Undimmed the light of thy floral gold.

Or if thy color be pink, or blue,

Or white as snow, thou art ever true;

My room is bright with thy smiling eyes,

And thy fragrance rare I also prize.

Thou hast done thy part, my little pet—

Let me keep thy roots forever wet,

But guard with care all thy tender leaves

And growing crown, which the earth-crust heaves.

Thou dost heaven-ward tend, aspiring high,

To kiss the stars in the vaulted sky,

And they look down from the azure blue,

My sweet primrose—they are smiling, too.

[ ]

NIAGARA'S RAINBOW

Upon the "table-rock" I stand,

And gaze into the depths profound,

In ecstacy at sights so grand,

And deafened by the sound

Of rushing waters, as they leap

Like maddened steeds, down hillside steep.

The falling spray my head bedews,

As gently as a vernal shower;

Or, as the Holy Ghost imbues

In consecrated hour,

The soul that inly yearns for love,

And seeks it from the throne above.

But I see more than chasm deep,

Than falling spray and rushing tide.

Sublime, indeed, the awful leap;

The awe will long abide—

God's rainbow hangs in colors bright,

A thing of beauty in my sight.

Our cousins on the other side

And we too often disagree;

Puffed up, I fear, at times, with pride,

Each strong, and brave, and free;

But we forget the stormy past,

Our lands and hearts are linked at last.

The "Union-Jack" hangs o'er my head,

The "Stars and Stripes" my cousin rears,

But old-time grievances are dead

For all the coming years;

As separate flags they still may wave,

But we are one the world to save.

[ ]

MY SISTER NELL AND I

We strolled down by the river side,

My sister Nell and I,

To watch the waters onward glide,

And vessels passing by.

On Nature's floor of lovely green,

Bedecked with flowers of gold,

The purple sassafras as sheen,

Which trumpet vines enfold.

We played our youthful games for hours,

And told our childish tales;

Adorned each brow with fragrant flowers,

And slept 'neath cooling gales.

For I was then but nine years old,

And she was only seven;

Yet joys like ours can ne'er be told—

They savored much of heaven.

Close by the bank, in shady nooks,

The waxen lilies grew;

We called them fish, and with our hooks

To shore full many drew.

With these I made a wreath for Nell.

She was so good and pure,

They seemed to suit her brow so well,

Yet could not long endure

The heated brow and dewless air—

The river suits them best;

But graced awhile her golden hair,

As dove would silken nest.

Frail like the lilies, too, was Nell.

The fever's scorching blast

Swept by, and my fair flowerette fell,

And to the dust was cast.

But now she blooms in glory land,

Close by the tree of Life;

Better to bloom at God's right hand

Than in this world of strife.

I hope some day to meet her there,

And as in days of yore

We plucked the lilies, pure and fair,

Up there we'll gather more.

[ ]

GATHER THE WAYSIDE FLOWERS

'Tis well to have a goal in mind,

A life-aim, high and true;

Clear as the day, and well defined,

And ever kept in view.

But God has strewn along the way

Bright flowers of every hue.

Gather the brightest while you may,

For they were meant for you.

Heaven's joy transcends the joys of earth,

But if earth's joys be pure

They must have had a heavenly birth,

And bless while they endure;

So pluck the flower before it fades—

Drink from the purling stream;

Nor look for sorrow's darkening shades,

But for the morning gleam.

Life's burdens lose full half their weight

If gay our spirits be;

The rest beyond we antedate,

And serve, though ever free.

Our lamentations all will end,

Exchanged for smile and song,

And men will mark our upward trend

By joy-points all along.

The poet wrote, "no room for mirth;"

Much less for sigh and frown.

"A vale of tears" may be this earth—

'Tis so to every clown.

The desert blossoms as the rose,

And joy flows everywhere;

The star of hope in brightness glows,

No room for dark despair.

Before we reach God's heaven above,

Enjoy His heaven below;

And by the ministries of love

A Christlike nature show;

For he who lives a selfish life

Must lose the joy of this;

For highest good, vain is our strife,

If man share not our bliss.

[ ]

HIDE THEIR SCARS!

A painter, high in worldy fame,

Was sought to reproduce by art

A likeness of the man whose name

Sent darts of anguish through the heart

Of mighty monarchs in his day;

For he by arms subdued the world.

Kingdoms and empires owned his sway

And bowed beneath his flag unfurled.

But Alexander bore a scar,

Deep marked upon his royal brow;

To paint him thus would greatly mar

The monarch's beauty; as a slough

Would mar the beauty of a lawn,

Where queenly feet are wont to tread;

Or like the cloud at early dawn,

Which hides some glory 'neath its spread.

To leave it out would not be true,

For Alexander bore the scar;

The painter this resolved to do,

Which would be true, yet would not mar:

To paint the monarch's head reclined,

With his fore-finger on his brow;

And thus much grace with art combined,

Like ornament on vessel's prow.

The finger rested on the scar,

As if mere chance had placed it there;

And hid from sight this fruit of war,

And left a likeness true and fair.

So let us try, as best we can,

To cover o'er each ugly scar

Upon the brow of mortal man,

So none may see it, near nor far.

[ ]

"ASHAMED, BUT NOT AFRAID"

O God, I am ashamed to die,

But not the least afraid;

Tho' death's dark shadow draweth nigh,

Atonement has been made

For every member of our race,

And I on it rely,

And hope immortal blooms thro' grace;

I'm not afraid to die.

But Thou hast done great things for me,

And I have nothing done.

To set my sin-bound spirit free,

Was sacrificed Thy Son;

And every day by Thy kind hand

Rich blessings are bestowed;

Oh, how can I before Thee stand,

Or rest in Thine abode

With self-respect, or feel at home

With no returns to show,

My whole life like the worthless foam

On time's incessant flow.

Oh, that in life's great harvest field,

I may some reaping do;

Early and late the sickle wield,

And prove a reaper true.

And when the summons comes from Thee,

While I on Christ rely,

Thou wilt not be ashamed of me,

Nor I ashamed to die.

[ ]

DUNBAR

Up to Dunbar our Cromwell went,

Not to invade was his intent;

But they who first King Charles sold

Now turn their backs on friends of old,

And principles they then held dear

Were sacrificed for self, I fear.

Another Stuart they receive,

Who knew too well how to deceive;

The most perfidious of his race,

Corrupt in life, and void of grace,

The menial of the Papacy;

And yet content by oath to free

Himself from Holy See's control,

And covenant to save his soul

By the Scotch Presbyterian mode,

As to the crown this paved the road.

But Cromwell brooked not this control;

He wished man free to save his soul

As conscience may to him dictate,

Without subservience to the State.

He saw also thro' the disguise

Of one well versed in fraud and lies,

And saw how England's liberties

Were threatened by this scheme of his.

So up to Dunbar Cromwell went;

To break this compact his intent,

Conserve the rights of Britons true

To worship God in desk and pew

As conscience may to them dictate,

Without control of king, or state,

Or Papal "bull," or legate's rod—

Only accountable to God.

On Sunday night he reached Dunbar.

From darkened sky gleamed not a star;

The way he travelled o'er was drear,

Made doubly so by Scotchmen's fear.

At his approach like sheep they fled,

Made frantic by an awful dread

Of red-hot irons, spear, and sword,

Of breasts thrust thro', and bodies gored,

Which they were told would be their lot

When Cromwell came. So from each cot

They bore away what pleased them best,

And to the flames consigned the rest.

But now Dunbar is reached; yet he

Finds himself in extremity;

Midst swamps and bogs unfit to tent,

By Lammermoor from hillside rent,

Leslie in front defiant stands

A noble army he commands

Of thousands two score seven, or more,

Ready on Cromwell shot to pour.

Behind the sea cut off retreat;

With such great odds can he compete?

The mountain sheep may safely tread

The Lammermoor, but men may dread

To cross this heath at any time;

Much more now, midst the rain and slime,

Will Cromwell with the smaller score

Dare to cross o'er to Dunbar shore?

Tho' shipped were half his guns and men

The foe falls ere he turn again.

With foresight keen, like one inspired,

He saw the end ere Leslie fired.

"The Lord," said he, as rapt he stands,

"Hath given them into our hands!"

'Tis the ninth month and second day,

A wild, wet night, historians say.

Quit you like men, and bravely stand;

Death's wrestle now is close at hand;

Heed not the hoarse sea's doleful moan,

As on the cliffs its waves are thrown.

Think not of life nor kindred dear—

Who goes to war should nothing fear

But God, whose eye-lids never sleep—

His Israel He will safely keep.

Oh, pray! but keep your powder dry—

Your part do, then on God rely.

Stand to your arms the whole night thro'

Or lie awake with arms in view.

And you, ye Scots, your lights blow out,

But stay not in your strong redoubt.

'Midst shocks of corn your shelter seek,

And rest in sleep; your foe is weak,

Yet ere another night comes 'round

In deeper slumber shall be found

Full many of your stalwart host,

And stilled for aye their every boast.

In Cromwell's camp all night was heard

The voice of prayer in tones which stirred

The tender hearts of "Ironside" men,

As never can be told by pen.

Ere shone the first faint streak of morn,

The Scots beneath the shocks of corn,

Stretched out full length in quiet sleep,

Hear a loud blast, and upward leap

To seize their arms and face the foe.