A Dream of Creation.

Come O, muse, into my dark chamber,Where gloomy and cold repines the soul,And light on the mind's hearth stone a flame,And set my poetic fires aglow.Enfold me close to thy gentle bosom,And like a mother, fond, endearing,Press me closer and hold me fondly,And imprint my lips with wisdom's kiss.Let love, deep in my soul and wisdomSweetly vibrate in responsive strains,And part the curtain invisible, that.Doth swing 'twixt me and eternity.Lift out, I pray thee, gentle the soulFrom its prison walls, this finite clay,That rolling waves of the infiniteMay onward bear it forever more;And to me the mysteries unfold,Of myriad worlds that fly in space.

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Explain the heavens, its depth of blue,And that flaming orb, all glorious,Which from the canopies e'er doth brushThe shadows down, as some maiden would,From her parlor walls, the cobwebs sweep.And to me the book of nature ope,That read it I may, and understandThe scenes that in all creation change,E'en human souls, how have their being,And the gentle rocking earth that driftLike some bubble by the winds blown forth,Whence cometh it? Whence come the flowersThat in varied hues bedeck this sphere?Ah! now the heaven doth, like a scroll,Roll back itself as I pass through,And swift in the arms of gentle muse,Am I borne off into nothingness.For before creation now am I,Where reigneth darkness silent profound,Until with sound, the darkness tremble,And the thundering voice of God doth call"Let there be light"--and inky darkness,By vibration breaks into a flame.Then forth from God's hand into spaceA veil of white nebulae is hurled,Which rapid whirling, swift in motion,Rolls its flames into balls which it hurlsWith a quick momentum, sphere by sphere;And each bright ball as it speeds away,Into a million or more doth break.Thus time begins and ten million yearsFly past while age doth quick recordThe first eve and morn of the day.Now eastward paling, the stars among,Round a flame whirling, beautiful earthDoth fly unceasing, itself aglow,And dieth the flame in ten million years;Which dying flames with vapor doth drapeThe firmaments, and the waters formAbove and below, while hoary age,Upon his wrinkled brow doth record

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The second eve and morn of the day.Then comes, twixt water and land, a strife,And formed are the seas which swift retreat,And on rapid wings doth hasten flight;While the land left bare doth put forth sprout,And out of the dust, green herbage spring;Which dust being crushed ten million years,The plants support while hoary ageDoth quick in his ancient records writeThe third day doth the eve and the morn.Then out of a vague unseeming space,This pamorama of mysteryDoth bring ten myriad of angels forthWhich gird with gravitation the stars,And into groups doth bind them fast.And bound by this invisible band,In space the constellations moveIn a changeless flight, in great star-drifts;Nor break do they their family tie,For ten million years have made it strong:And age once more sits down to writeThe forth eve of the day and the morn.Then fish from the water forth take wings,And from them hatched are all the birds,And snakes likewise, but from the earth,The beast and worm and insects spring.And the deer, that feed on the meadow-land,Doth, in time, a pacing horse become,And likewise moles into elephantsTurn, and the wild cats into lions,And this, within ten million years,Doth the fifth day end, both eve and morn.Then the sixth day begins and mystery darkUpon earth doth like a mantle hang,And when up it lifts, a double world.Revolving rapidly, sphere in sphere,Doth move thro' space, and intangible,00077Each to each; as thee move and they whirl.And in the one, vibrating beings,Transparent, move and eat and live,And the soul with face and wings take flightAnd moves on thro' space and lives and waitsTill man is formed, for in spirit world,None come to this until some new formDoth it invite and summon it forth.Hence from the dusty earth springs man,A form without life, but fleet, the soulDoth come, and into the brain of him,Doth go and live and make its abode,And man doth a living soul become.And knit together are man and soul,Nor from the one can the other part,Nor die can man, for he like the soul,And blessed with it, must eternal be:But he was lone and his nature cravedTo multiply and to bring forth souls;And into sleep God maketh him fall,That he may never the secret know,How man is formed and how the soulDoth give it life, and maketh HeA mate for man and layeth her down,And man awakes, and by him lyingIs a poet's dream, and beautifulHer love lit eyes looked into hisAnd ideals meet, and he graspeth herAs would cupid grasp the fair psyche.And to him she now must ever beA wife and a kind receptacleFor his desires, and like the flowersCast her bloom and bear forth fruit to God.Thus creation ends, and man supremeDoth rule on earth and the God doth rest:For within the sixty million years 00088Hath He planned and made the universe.But ten million years must still roll on,And man for the things of earth must care.And forth from neath fair Eden's bowers,Doth he and his wife perambulateLike lovers two on a star-lit night;And sit do they on flowery moundsAnd watch the stars as they nightly pass.But she superior far to him,Doth say to him, "There is life beyond,And mystery which only spirits know:So let us take of this poison plantAnd of it eat that our bodies die,And our souls, released, may fly aboveAnd back and forth the two worlds through,That all of creation we may know."But speaketh he thus:-"Dost thou not knowThat knit as twins are body and soul,And when one dieth, so dieth both,And what then, shall we not surely missThe very thing for which thou plannest?"Thou fool!" she cried "and dost thou not knowThat the body before the soul must die?For sure the one is spiritual,And carnal sure, the other is.But what if by this much poisoned plant,The soul should grow sick nigh unto death.Is not there a cure? for knoweth thouThat next every bane is an antidote,And relief there is for every pain.Behold! there standeth the tree of death,And is not hard by the tree of lifeAnd naught there is for us both to doBut eat of the bane and nestle closeBeneath its bowers and cast our forms,And forth reach out with our hands and pluckThe fruit of life, and all buoyantLift up ourselves into heavenland." 00099Then spake he thus:--"Thou speaketh well,And happy now is the lot of man,That woman noble did come to earthTo give him her sweet companionship.I will eat the fruit for thy sweet sake,And for thee would I upturn the earth;And further more would I wreck the stars,And cease from motion the universeTill entirely thou wert satisfied."Then each of the fruit of death doth eat,And into their bodies the poisonDoth work corruption, and man is doomed;For on rapid wings, with flaming sword,Doth an angel come and quick doth standMidway twixt the tree of life and them.And speaketh he in thundering tones:-"Depart from here, O, ye cursed man!And hasten thou on ere the angry GodDoth melt the heavens upon thy head.For die thou shalt, yet the soul shall not;But doomed, it shall stand and ever waitAt thy burial place, nor leave it,Except to roam in some vacant place,Or to visit some sad familiar spotWhere often with toil thy flesh did sweat.And yet, there cometh a time some day,When resurrected shall be the dead;And rejoicing souls shall quick go forth,And within these resurrected forms,Shall move thro' all material things,And mysteries of the two worlds know:Thus is your most sanguine hope fulfilled.But before doth come to pass this thing,From glory land doth Prince come downAnd with his blood our redemption pay:For die shall he and within three days,Himself again lift out of the grave.Nor shall His body corrupt or rot,But thine shall decay; nor from the tomb 001010Shall ever rise thy flesh and thy bone;But when rottest thou, those elementsWhich giveth the bone and maketh fleshShall break their bonds until purified;Then reunite into pure compound.Thus, shall thy bodies new be madeAnd gloriously resurrected."Then vanish fair Eden's fruitful lands,And man quick with grief burdened much,Goes forth in sorrow to multiply,And with wild beast for mastery fight.The sky above, with a sorrow deep,Doth veil, in a cloud, her dazzling face,And bitterly weeps till with her tearsThe whole of the earth is flooded;And narrowly doth the race of manEscape being off creation swept.But swift the wind to his rescue comesAnd chaseth the tides and parts the clouds,And man, high upon a mount rescued,Doth again go forth to fill the land.And heaven again upon him smiles,And forth to Sinai's rugged tops;The Holy Spirit, and greatest muse,Doth come and kiss him with holy truth.And later cometh of heaven down,The Prince upon mount Calvery,And sheddeth his blood that man may liveAnd happily spend eternity.But the man not yet is satisfied,And into the skies, the telescopeHe lifts, and measures the space betweenThe planets and stars that race alongIn a ceasless flight the heaven lands.And he knoweth why Orion's swordIs in nebulae casing sheathed,But thinks the dipper hangs in the skiesThat drink may the weary, thirsty stars.

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But soon the secret he knoweth well,Just why the stars are together grouped,And how each one, in its fiery glow,Doth trail with its flames the ether through.He catches sound and holdeth it fast,And familiar he is with science,And knoweth that light by seconds leapAbout the fifth of a million milesYet soon he may o'er the empty spaceWhich is between this earth and the stars,Throw forth a bridge and on rapid trains,Carry on an extensive tradeAnd then will the merry cycler haveA race along the etherial blue,Singing sweetly o'er the airy way,Closing the record of the seventh day.But forth come angels and cut in twainTh' invisible band that binds the stars,And they, let loose, dart off into space,Pell-mell in their flight, and quicken speed.And then what spectacle to beholdThe stars that in tangled mazes fly!While troop in their wake, ten million souls,Seeking their bodies to find and catch.Then suddenly sounds the trump of God,And worlds collide and explode and burn;And doth our Lord, in a whirling flame,Snatch up the righteous into his armsAnd then doth He to the wicked cry,"All of ye cursed from me depart."And upon a throne of wickedness,Doth quick the King of darkness reign,While aged time with the seventh sealShuts up the record of the "last" day.

Astronomy.

Oh science sequestered much,And by wisdom's gentler touch,Accelerated more!Did not thy voice give the commandThat man must venture from his strandIn quest of other distant land,Or was it ancient lore?

For sure into his peaceful breast,Thou breathed the spirit of unrest,And bade him search the skies:Thou pictured earth a moving sphereWhose revolutions make the year,And whispered to his listening ear,"Search heaven and be wise."

Thy presence round him, charming fell.And break did it the magic spellThat ignorance had wrought:And plain did seem the merry raceOf myriad planets thrown in space-Just how each kept in his place,Has fostered wondrous thought.

And oft the would-be infidelHas list the story that you tellAnd wisely gave a nod;For now the planet checkered skyAnd tangle comets hissing byHave siezed and borne his thoughts on high,Acknowledging a God.

No day has dawned, no sunbeam shone,Where thought of man has not yet gone:And the rugged panoply,

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Encasing of his mental frame,Doth burst with unbounding fameAnd conquers heaven in thy name,Science of the canopy.

Ah! could the Alexander braveBe resurrected from his grave?Weep he would no more,That no worlds to conquer stillHe had; for science would fulfilThe very letter of his will,Of worlds, would give him more.

Thanks-Giving.

From the mountain's rocky summit,From the distant arid plain,Thanks-Giving comes a rompingThrough heather mead and lane.But with his very presenceAmerica is aglow,And hearts like brimming riversWith joy do overflow.

And too the bird is singing,Caroling as he flies,While turkeys stand in waitingTo make a sacrifice.

In the tower leaps the church bell,And music fills the air:The echoes ring the chorus,"This is a day of prayer."

Then let this fair America,From mountains to the sea,Thank God that this asylumIs the home of the free.

No wars are now a rageing,No bloody banners stainThe fair name of AmericaOn the heated battle plain.

No cannon balls are whistlingNo starling bugle's blast,Disturb us by repeatingThe horrors of the past.

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O God! how thou doth bless usBountifully from above!And in return requestestBut a token of our love.

Ah! could we but realizeThy peaceful blessings more,Blot out the hideous spectreOf fields of human gore!

For Peace has tossed her mantle back--No more the years of pain--And with her gentle hands has stoopedAnd covered up the slain.

And bids the nations now at restNo more the wars release,And whispers in the gentle breeze,"Peace! Forever, peace!

The Blind Musician.

The vesper bells rang out the dayThe jostling crowd moved on its way:The sexton flared the old church light;The lamps were lit and all was bright.Then slowly thro' the open door,The moving crowd began to pour;And smiling youth and hoary age,Alike were crowding round the stage.A blind musician, flushed and gay,Mounted the stage and picked his wayTo where an old piano loneAwaited to adjust its tone.His form swayed as moved by the breeze,Electric fingers swept o'er the keys,And like the mighty tides of the seaThat slowly swell and flood the lea,He made the strains of music riseAnd swell till they had lashed the skies.The crowd sat mute, their minds had flownOn trembling notes to shores unknown,Belated teamsters left their drayAnd toward the chapel sought their way;A star peeped thro' the clouds o'er headAnd seemed to trip and onward sped.The blind musician lower bent,And swift the rolling music wentLike the gentle ebb and the flowOf ocean tides that come and go,Or like the roll of drum and fife,Or sounds of conflict and of strife,E'en more, the mocking bird would trillIts warbling lays and all was stillTill soft the sound of winds swept o'er,And broke a mighty tempest roar.

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Lightening seemed in the player's hand;A music cyclone struck the land.Then came a creak as if were struckSome massive house, or trees were pluckedFrom their roots, and the thunder's mightMade those near by leap up in frightThen came the lull, the storm was gone:The musician seemed sad and lone.Thought he must of his darling wife,Whom he'd ne'er seen in all his life.But as he sat in sad repose,Much he looked like the last fair rose.Tho' music vibrated ev'ry vein,A rose bloomed out on Sharon's plain.O, what genius in deed and thought!What mechanism by heaven wrought!A soul of light, tho' earth and skiesGave not light to his blinded eyes,His fingers sought the keys once more,And played he then as ne'er beforeAnd tossed he like a ship on the main,Till his soul echoed the last sad strain.

Battle of Port Hudson.

Above the plain and cannon capped,Towers Port Hudson's head,Its mighty guns lie low and waitTo belch a storm of lead.Upon the plain an army brave,A regiment black as nightBehold the cannon on their leftAnd cannons on their right,And tremble never, brave are they,Louisiana's blackest sons,But nervous fingers hard are pressedUpon their glist'ning guns

Tho' hungry, worn and long have marchedThis army of the brave.And long the burning sun has parchedA spot to be their grave.Yet bravely do they stand and waitThe bugle's battle call.And to defend their country's cause,Martyred, they will fall.Oh bugle, stay thy startling blast!Beyond are desp'rate foes.And neath thar angry frowning fortA mighty bayou flows,

Forbear, O, Captain! utter notWords useless and unwise,To waste your men in useless strifeIs needless sacrifice.But ah! they wait the order; march!And with bated breath:The order comes, and swift they run

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Over the field of death.Then from the summits cannon cappedBursts judgment o'er the plain,And along the bayon's sullen streamIs strewn the mangled slain.

They stop, retreat, and then advanceMid destructive, grape and shell'Tis but the gaping jaws of deathThe open gates of hell.But on they rushed and cannons belchedFurious storms of leadTrees were lifted from their trunks,The plain o'er strewn with dead.'Twas here that brave Callioux fell,"Comrades follow me!"And thro' the storm of shot and shellRushed into eternity.

And here did Planciancois cry"I'll bring these colors back,Or report to God the reason why,"And shrank within his track.Another comrade standing bySeized the flag and stoodProudly waving the colors high,They, painted o'er with blood.When crash! a ball dashed out his brainAnd by his comrade's side,Laid him low upon the plain,His valor and his pride.

At last the army shattered, torn,Forbore to battle moreAnd retreated o'er a battle fieldO'er spread with human gore.And tho' no more of battle sceneOr trampling soldiers' feet,Fair memory cherishes what has been,And soldiers' rest is sweet.

Christmas Carol.

O'er the deep and boundless space,Live leaps the message long,Till zephyr's mute and trembling tongueVibrates a Christmas song.

Her sweet and trembling notes reboundFrom heavens sacret throne:Her echoes spread the world aroundAnd make the Christmas known.

Yet, every gentle breeze that blowsIs music's sweetest note,From zephr's trembling tongue sent forthTo countries far remote.She sits upon the passing yearAnd chants a merry rhymeAnd tells us of a Savior dearWho came at Christmas time.

And e'en the leafless trees among,Resounds her trembling voice--No music sweeter could be sung--And Nature does rejoice.

The clouds she drives around the sphere,Their peaks with luster glow,And from their vapored eyes the tearEnshrouds the earth with snow.

But with the snow her musics come,The sleigh bells gentle chime,"Wake up"! the whistling wind doth hum,"Rejoice! tis Christmas time."

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"Rejoice ye mortals here on earth,The year is passing by,And chant the new year's happy birthWhile fleet the moments fly."

Ah list the whistling winds that sigh,And church bells as they chime,Look up toward the smiling sky,Thank God, tis Christmas time.

Secret of the Mad House.

O'er the green walled mead the sunlight shoneAnd dew drops sparkled on the mossy stoneOf a madhouse standing dark and loneWhile people passed it by.But from its gloomy walls ther cameA mad man's cry--In heaven's name!Was this sunny France alone to blameIf this, her hero die?

For he Pierre Anthon once was braveAnd was in war to France a slave,And to save his country was his crave,But madness was his fate:For die would he for his dear Marie,A sister at home, while he at sea,Would strive to make her a lady beAnd choose for a mate.

Now she to woman-hood had grownAnd early love for a lawyer shownAnd the lawyer claimed her for his ownAnd Pierre gave consent.Then swift the reign of terror downWhile sunny France deposed a crownAnd the guillotins swung in er'vy townAs some one to glory went.

Guillotins reddened with human bloodSwept many away renown for goodAnd death rode through the neighborhoodUpon his fiery steed'Til the lawyer cross his pathway sprungAnd upbraided him--His thrill words rang

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Till guillotins did in trembling hang,But paid he for this deed.

Though shut he from his eye the scenesOf horrible crimes and guillotinsYet seized he was by the JacobinsAnd sentenced to exile.

His brother in-law had chanced to beWithin a neighboring port at seaAnd ready to save his own countryE'en when the message cameWhich called him away to fair BayonneTo receive this pris'nor sad and loneTo depose upon a shore unknown--Oh France thou art to be blame!

A man, in the secret service sworn,Had surely the true instructions tornAnd a false one sealed and duly swornInserted he instead;His pris'nor masked he took to the shipAnd bade the captain allow no slipBut ere three days his oars should dip:La Coste must be shot dead.

Had Anthon known his brother-in-law,But naught he knew. And the lawyer sawTo make him know might over awe.And so kept still his tongue:But a note he wrote, and under sealIt was sent his brother with appeal--"Keep this when thou hast dealt the dealAnd night her curtains swung."

The day went by, the prisoner slain,His body sank in the gurgling main,And Captain Anthon at home again,Back in his dear LaClare;

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But naught of this to Marie was said.Oh tell me, sir! is my husband dead?And with grief the captain bent his head,"Twas more than he could bear.

With uplifted hands she gave a scream,And staggering walked like one in a dream,The world was blank and strange does it seem,Madness had seized her brain.She ne'er recovered in after years,Her brother sat by her bed in tears,And a tombstone o'er her grave he roarsTo mark where she was lain.

He, worn out with care and old and gray,To madness also did fall a preyAnd there was he on this summer's dayIn truth, no idle tale,And e'er and anon would come the cry,And people would pass and give a sigh;And murmuring winds in passing byWould waft that dreadful wail

Sweet Singer.

Reign did silence o'er the stageAs aged night passed onAnd destiny fraught with laurels sat,Sweet laurels never won,Till was read aloud her nameAnd forth the sweet voiced singer came,While grim old night worn out with age,Listening to the vibrating stage,Wept because he must pass on.

But hark! they do applaud her so:She bows, she smiles and then looks round,She opens her lips and lo!Bursts forth a trembling sea of sound:A sea voluptuous in its swell.The waves rose high and then they fell;While beat the etherial shores, the tide,And ebbing then the waves subsideTo music's gentler flow.

O'er the vast and blue expanseLeaped the merry music on:Around the universe, the flowOf that angelic tone;Till heaven's shores, the tidelets lashedAnd wavelets o'er the portals dashed.The billowy waves break forth the soundsReach the great white throne and reboundEchoing the song of home.

Departed Spirit.

Oh, Nathan! Nathan! where art thou,Precious flower of truth,What mighty hand has plucked thee fromThy verdent stem of youth

Oh tell me why that thou art gone,And whither winged thy flight,Putting the shining helmet down'Mid the heated battle-fight?Ah sure thou wert not weary,Commander young and brave!For leading souls was thy chief joy,Oh! why then seek the grave?

O, mortal once, but spirit now,Permit the muse to sing!Thus pouring through my own sad heart,Thy own true answer bring.

'Twas God, you say, Oh mighty God!Who summoned you to him.And left your habitation wasteTo death grewsome and grim.

'Twas but the tottering mass of clayThat weak and weary grew,Until at length the casement fellAnd out the spirit flew.

And then, O soul, not left adrift,By God's eternal truth,On rapid wings was wafted homeJust in the bloom of youth.

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Speed on, O soul, to heaven's gateAnd through its portals sweep,

Consign this empty mass of clayTo silence and to sleep.'Tis but a dream of silent years'Mid glorious scenes to stray,When God himself will send the soulTo resurrect its clay.

Ah, then speed on ye noble soul!Yes, noble brave and true,I pledge to fight as you have foughtTill I have fallen too.

Tis but a span of life and years,Then list my funeral knell.Till then, dear Nathan, I must bidTo you a sad farewell.

Her Last Farewell.

O welcome death! I'm glad you've come'Twill serve my purpose true:Just cut eternity's veil in twainAnd let my soul pass through,And away from Earth's dismal sceneAnd the merry making crowd,The giddy whirl of the banquet hall,To home beyond the cloud--Ah! then, dear mother, weep no more,But strive to meet me there:The space is small twixt life and death,Fill it well with prayer--So now, O, death, let fall thy sword,'Tis but a kiss of loveMuch welcomed by the eager soul,Waiting to flit above.Farewell to earth! Farewell to friends.To maiden young and gay,Think well on how you spend your life,For death will come one day.

Passing Away.

At last thro' toil and suffering,In misery, endless pains,When patience seemed exhausted,Flits she to higher plains.

Buoyant from neath its burdens,Thro' realms celestial fliesThe soul released from sorrow,While the body silent lies.

And three sisters, gone before her,Await their sister Kate:Ah! list their glad rejoicing,She enters heaven's gate.

And light winged, sweeps she onwardWhile Angels join her wake,And harp notes of glory soundingMake heaven's portal shake.

Tis but a race thro' heavenly landsTo catch the fleeting soul:Alas! less fleet the angels prove,And she has reached the goal.

And 'neath her God's majestic throneTells the woful story,And He with gentle loving hands,Presents a crown of glory.

God is Love.

Hark! the sound of musicWafted from aboveAnd list the voice of angelsSinging God is love.God is love and gloryIs the oft repeated storyTold by tongues above:God is love and gloryGod is peace and love.

Christmas bells are tolling,Holly trees abendingFleeting moments rolling,Hearts with joy rending,Santa Claus is HappyAs the cooing doveTo hear the children singingGod is peace and love.

Watch the dancing star-beam,On the wings of night:See the year revolving,Fading in its flight.Hear the peal of laughterWafted up above--Ah! it but reminds usGod is peace and love.

E'en the merry river,As it ripples byWith its sparkling watersNeath a Christmas sky,

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Bursts into merry music,Lifts its voice alove,Joyous in its frolicSinging God is love.

As earth goet a whirling,Spinning round the sun,Conscience is revolvingAll the deeds we ve done;Yet our hearts keep beatingThanks to God above,And our souls repeatingGod is peace and love.

Purity.

Purity is a secret treasure,Untarnished by age or time;To hold it is a holy pleasure,And to lose it is a crime.

It is the precious stone of heavenThat on earth our Savior wore,Its sparkling rays still light the wayTo Heavens Eternal shore.

Christ made His will while on the cross,And it covered all reforms:That men may, who this diamond wear,Forever rest in His arms.

Moon-Light Dreams.

Oh to view the azures skyBedecked with diamonds bright,To catch the moon-beams as they flyOn the rapid wings of night:

To list the merry cricket's songIn the corner near at hand.And watch the meteors race alongThe azure heaven land:

To see the little stars to swingIn orbits over head,Or list' the murm'ing winds that singTo winters silent tread.

It makes the conscious spirit say,"For sure there is a God,"And all of nature gives assent,And heaven seems to nod.

Ah sweet influence, inmost friend!Lift high our inmost thought,That always to some Godly end,Be ev'ry action wrought.

Douglas.(To his widow.)

Is Douglas dead.That grand old man, that pleasant face,That mirrored idol of the Negro Race!Has he been struck from foremost rank,Into earth's dusty apron sankAnd no one to take his place?God Forbid!

Yea forbid that the winds should mourn,Or on zephyr's timely wings be borneThat word:For death in silent tread,Would loath to disgrace that honored headBy writing 'bove it "He is dead:"

For he lives.And every hour that wings away,Prolongs his life another day.For sure the flower from its stalk,May drop and wither upon the walk,Yet lives to bloom again that stalk:So Douglas lives.

He tho' a plant of the tropics, grewIn America to live and do;And did he it, and did it well,True until his gray hairs fell.Of a greater man, no records tell,And still he lives.

Tho' kind old mother earth, perhap,Doth rock him gently in her lap,His slumber is sweetest rest:

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Gray hairs float on his mother's breast:Yet speak not of him, but as the best,For still he lives.

And up this barrier wall of life,His deed amid the storm and strife,Doth clutching, climb on like the vine,Around each rock some tendrils twine,Till blossom they in warm sunshineTo never die.

No, never tho' that aged headBe lulled to sleep--but one was made,And making him, was made a cleftIn earth, and not a remnant left,From which another might be made.So sleep on thou aged blestThy work is done, so take they rest.For bear, O winds, to murmur aughtBut praise for mighty deeds he wrought!Rock gently in thy orb, O earth,Fret not him of humble birth,But let him rest.

Stoop down, O heaven, kiss his brow,For oft before thee did he bow;Let holy angels watch his grave,And ne'er let man forget the brave,The good, the noble, humble slaveWho rose to highest fame.

Immorality.

Immorality the terror of our homes,With hoisted banners in procession comes,And we sit here as stoneAnd watch him while he in his demon tread,Raiseth the sword and strikes fair virtue dead,And on o'er her form with victorious tread,He mounts upon her throne.

In tyranny he rules while naught remains,As o'er our young his fierce sway he gainsWide spread in home and state,But hang our heads in shameful regretThat we gave our girls to pay shame's great debt,And now watch hope's luminaries setAnd mourn fair virtue's fate.

'Neath the tyrant's gaze society belleQuailed and from her state of purity fell.And some one came alongAnd a crape did he o'er her door way hangAnd wrote--"Modesty died of chronic slang,The kneel of her funeral beer-bells rangAnd gamblers sang the song.

For her soul to the sporting house went homeTo forever with white-robed demons roamE'en as her grave was dug;And the preacher who spoke the sad farewell,Had made that membership of demons swell;And that no member in his church would tell,Gave each a whiskey jug.

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Now both hands in with the tyrant he standsAnd force the people, by fierce commandsTo recognize "that thing."Who owns the saloons and gambling divesAnd betrays our homes, our daughters and wives,And to which our girls with all of their lives,On to his coat-tail cling.

Oh heaven and God! can this be for longThat purity must be sold for a songAnd we sit still and gazeWhile our girls on the public thoroughfareWith the sport in his slang do gladly share,And to chastise them we would not dare,Oh God! our courage raise.Let every woman and man and boy,With determined hearts that beat with joy,Take up fair virtue's gunAnd then onward to battle like a host,Let not our wives and our daughters be lost.But slay the tyrant and count not the cost,For this work must be done.

Friends.

Somewhere in the depths of human heartsIs the many chambered cell,In each compartment a treasured friendDoth deem it fit to dwell.

But oft', in the course of fleeting yearsFriends step out and quick depart,And sacred memory writes, mid tears,Their names upon the aching heart.

And thro' all the lapse of weary yearsTheir names some happiness tend,E'en sacred to us the precious spotWhere a friend doth part with friend.Not even miles of the earth and sea,Nor the worlds that drift in space,Can come twixt us and the memoryOf the pleasant friendly face.

Nay, not all the years that time can roll,In all of this life's domain,Can tarnish the links of friendship dear,For it is a golden chain.

A chain that girds the whole earth with loveAnd claims life's fretful sea.It binds the earth to heaven above,And time to eternity.

But ah! to the soul what awful test,E'en more than the tongue can tell,And ah! what sorrow fills our breastTo say to a friend farewell!

Forever Mine.

She is mine, altho' the fair wheel of fateDoth seem to say that I am just too late,And the ring on her finger mocks in scornAnd makes my heart ache from night until morn,It was heaven's holiest high designThat we should wed and so she is mine,Forever mine.

Mine when the winter sun wanes in its flight,Mine when the moon beams drift over the night,Mine when forth the little violets peepAwake in bed from their mid-winter sleep;And e'en the wind of the summer tide breezeDoth catch it and whisper among the trees,Forever mine.Mine as I watched her in her early life,And oft I vowed that she would be my wife,And at school I watched her the live-long day,And admired her form when she was at play,And e'en tho' I knew she had lovers nine,Yet still I had claimed her and she was mine,Forever mine.

Mine thro' all of the long years of the past,Mine when her woman-hood was reached at last,Yea mine thro' all of the long years to beAnd still mine in the vast eternity;Altho' she is another's promised bride,She is mine so the heavens will decide,Forever mine.

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Yes mine in spite of her pride and her scorn,My heart beats her name from night until morn,And oft' as we wander in nights of June,Our hearts in love, and both beating a tune,We study the stars as they dance and shineAnd then she denies it, that she is mine,Forever mine.

But mine she is and oft' when I am sleep,These feelings of love back over me creep;She comes to me radiant in her charmsAnd like mist we drift in each other's arms,Ah! could we thro' all of the ages longDrift thus, my soul would e'er vibrate the songForever mine.And so oft' at the noontide when I restAnd my head in slumber kisses the chestIn a vision I lead her, as my bride,To the altar rail and stand by her side,Our arms lovingly round each other twine,And I say in my sleep, she is mine, she is mine,Forever mine.

She's mine when I wake and mine when I prayMine till the coming of the judgment day,Yea mine until the awful trumpet soundsAnd caught up the echo, "she's mine" rebounds:For we are wed forever, wed in love,And she's mine in the sacret courts aboveForever mine.

Yea mine when th' eternal judge decends,Mine when my knee in humility bends;I will clasp her close to my beating heartAnd pray O, God, do let us never part!

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This precious treasure and myself are thineI have brought her home, but still she is mine.Forever mine.

And I rise from neath his majestic throne,Still clasping her fondly claim her my own,And all of the heavenly angels sing,And the sweet wedding bells of glory ring--As with them ten million harps combineIn proclaiming--she's mine, she's mine, she's mine,Forever mine.

Battle of Manilla.

Just off Manila's lighted port,*Corr'gidor and Cabilla lay,And sentinel like each island, armed,Kept watch at the mouth of the bay;While cross each narrow neck betweenThe mainland and its guardian isle,A chain of mines were hung unseenTo make our ships a funeral pile-Between the isles a current sweptAnd sped unchecked a spreading sheet,Beyond, an island city sleptProtected by the Spanish fleet,And on the bay black night was King,The winds were strolling toward the lea:Our men-of-war like birds on wingWere speeding o'er the China sea.'Twas midnight by the Eastern clocks,Strong batteries guarded the seas,Manilla shone in lighted blocksAnd the Spaniards were at their easeNo man of sense, the captain thought,Would clinch with death to enter there;But Dewey brave, our hero, wroughtA deed none other man would dare.For like the winds on wings of night,He swept the secret passage wayWith ships and men prepared to fightAs his fleet put into the bay.Just then the drowsy iles awokeAnd spied, it seems, the phantom floats,

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And thunder like their voices spokeWith roaring flames from cannon throatsManilla 'woke from slumber sweet,A frightened queen in robes of night,And rushed into the drowsy street,Producing panic in her flight.The winds helped bear the fleeting skirts,The street echoed the sounding treadTill forth upon the eastern skyThe sun its golden glory spread.And Sunday morn beheld our fleetIn haste a streaming to the fray.While from each yawing cannon mouthWas bursting judgment on the bay.The Spanish fleet and batteries loudSpat out their flames the waters o'erWhile from our ships with pennons proud,Came one reverberating roar.A cloud of smoke spread o'er the bayAnd thro' it loud the thunders crashed:Beneath it was the shimm'ring sea,Resplendent as the lightning flashed.Terrific shells, hot thunder bolts,From Yankee cannon's deadly pour,Burst flaming o'er the Spaniard's decksAnd made them slippery with gore.Old Spanish hulks were raised on highAnd poised were they the waters o'er,Their magazines lit up the skyAnd frightened gunboats dashed ashore.Then all was still, the smoking cloudWent up from o'er the judgment seatAnd coiled its sombre glory roundThe flags of our victorious fleets.

*corregidor.