CLARA BARTON SPEECHES & WRITINGS FILE Speeches & Writings by Others Poetry, 1854-1909 & undatedTHE ANGELS WHISPER "COMES." Washington, D.C. Dec. 6, 1854. For the Village Record. Arleen. THE ANGELS WHISPER "COME". There's darkness o'er the city, there's dearth upon the plain, There's hardness in the heart of man that softenth not again; There's a cloud upon each vision, there's gloom in every thought, And a shadow on each image the soul hath darkly wrought; There's midnight blackness gathering, earth seems no longer home, Deep ruin glares on every side and the angels whisper -- "come". There's Error boldly stalking, there's Falsehood black as night, More Poisonous than the Upas, more fatal in its blight; There's Shame with sable mantle close wrapped about her head, And Truth, all gashed and gory, lies cold and stark and dead; And Sin is strong and Faith is weak--Hope Pointeth to the tomb, And Wrong is deep, and Crime is high, and the angels whisper--"come".-2- Suspicion darkly lurketh, Destruction walks abroad, The heart is rife with malice, man feareth not his God, Pale Pity weeps unheeded, Conviction waileth long-- The soul in bitterness must learn to "suffer and be strong": Ay, learn the lesson truly--in Heaven there yet is room, And the heart throbs deep, and beateth quick, when the angels whisper "come". The soul is waiting, yearning, Lord--Temptations gather thick-- Earth darkens here, Heavens brightens there, and the heart is blind and sick, Patience, to wait Truth's victory, Lord, o'er Falsehood, Sin and Wrong, Calmness, to bide the issue, though error triumph long; Courage to face Life's battles Lord, "Thy will, not mine, be done". O, give me strength, forsake me not, when the angels whisper "come". Arleen. Washington, D.C. 6, 1854.'For the Village Record. By Miss Irevson of Oberlin O. Written for the Ohio Farmer One pair of stockings to mend to night. An old wife sat by the bright fireside, Swaying thoughtfully to and fro. In an ancient chair, whose creaky craw, Told a tale of long ago. While down my her side, on the kitchen floor, Sat a basket of worsted balls a score. The old man dozed, o'er the latest news, Till the fire of his pipe went out.- And unheeded he kitten, with cunning paws rolled out Aand tangled the balls about. Yet still sat the wife in her ancient chair, Swaying to and fro, by the firelight glare. But anon a misty tear-drop came To her eye of faded blue, And trickled down her wasted cheek, Like a single drop of dew. So deep was the channel, so silent the stream The good man saw naught, but the dimmed eyebeamYet marvelled he much that the cheerful light, Of her eye had weary grown, And marvelled he more at the the tangled balls,- So he said in a gentle tone - I have shared thy joys, since the marriage vow, - Conceal not from me thy sorrow now. Then she spoke of the time, when the basket there, Was filled to the very brim. But now there remained of the goodly pile, But a single pair for him. Then wonder not at the dimmed eye-light, There's but one pair of stockings to mend to night. But I cannot but think of the busy feet, Whose stockings were about in the basket to lay, Awaiting the needles turn. Now wandered so far away,- How the sprightly steps, to a mother dear, Unheeded fell on the careless ear. For each canty nook in the basket old, By the hearth is an empty seat. And I miss the shadow from off the wall, And the patter of many feet. 'Tis for this, that a tear gathers over my sight, At the one pair of stockings to mend to night. It was said that far through the forest wild, And over the mountains bold, Was a land whose rivers, and darkening caves, Was gained with the fairest gold. There my first born turned from the oaken door, And I knew the shadows were only four. Another went forth on the foaming wave. And diminished the basket store, But his feet grew cold,-so weary and cold, They will never be warm any more. And this nook in the emptiness seemeth to me To give back no voice, but the moan of the seaTwo other have gone towards the setting Sun. And made them a home in its light. And fairer fingers have taken their share To mend by the fireside bright. Some other baskets their garments fill But mine, O mine is emptier still. Another, the fairest, the purest, the best, Was taken by the angels away. And clad in a garment that waxeth not old, In a land of continual day. O, wonder no more at the dimmed eye-light,- There's but one pair of stockings to mend to night. Will Clara please accept from her Affectionate cousin Vera - North Oxford Mass. Aug. 21st 1863.30 "Only one pair of stockings to mend to night-" from Cousin Vera Sent to [?Hiltern ?ean] 30 A ESTELLE! Tandis que dans le ciel tu revis immortelle, C'est un sombre sillon que nous laisse ici-bas, Sous le nom de regret, ô notre chère Estelle La trace de tes pas! La maison, si longtemps témoin de ta souffrance : Est morne et désolée. On n'entend plus d'ami Demander chaque jour tout ému d'espérance A-t-elle un peu dormi? Même l'ordre parfait qui désormais y règne Dit que ta pauvre mère a trop de liberté. Depuis qu'elle n'a plus d'enfant qui la contraigne A vivre à son côté. Tendre mère! à son front nulle trace de peine, Alors que tes désirs étaient toutes ses lois! Ses veilles, ses tourments se révélaient à peine, Si ce n'est dans sa voix..... Mais depuis ton départ, combien elle est changée! Sans doute, en revenant, tu la reconnaîtrais, Mais tu verrais combien sa pauvre âme affligée A creusé tous ses traits!2 Et ton bon père, lui, que dans notre pensée, De son enfant jamais nous n'osions séparer; Comme une biche, hélas! de son faon délaisée Il ne sait que pleurer! Aussi pour contenir le sanglot qui soulève Sa poitrine oppressée, il reste silencieux; Et puis, me regardant, doucement il se lève Et m'appelle des yeux. C'est qu'il veut me montrer la chambre mortuaire Que l'on a consacrée à ton seul souvenir, La chambre où tu souffris, que tu quittas naguère Pour n'y plus revenir... Au-dessus de ton lit, je revois la couronne Et le voile éclatants qui paraient, ton cercueil; Et, de tous les côtés, muguet, rose, anémone Semblent nous faire accueil! Jadis, à son retour de chaque promenade, Quant il te rapportait quelques charmantes fleurs, Succédait bien souvent chez sa chère malade Un sourire a des pleurs. Se rappelant cela, dans ce mois de Marie, Sans rameaux odorants il ne rentre jamais. Tu n'es plus... mais, du moins, ta chambrette est fleurie Comme si tu vivais. Comme si tu vivais! mais tu vis! Cette image Qu'on fit après ta mort et que j'ai sous les yeux, Cette image angélique en est un témoignage Cetain, victorieux! 3 De la mort, sur ce front tout empreint de lumière, Je ne reconnais pas le cachet souverain! Et je croirais plutôt qu'un Dieu, sur ta paupiere Doucement mit sa main. En distant : " O martyr, ferme, tes yeux au monde; " Dans un autre sejour, ce soir, ils vont s'ouvrir. " Ne crains pas la vallée en terreur sans seconde " Que tu dois parcourir. " Moi, je serai ton guide : Au ciel je te convie ! " J'en ai frayé la route à tous ceux que j'aimais. " Par moi tu trouveras le bonheur et la vie " La vérité, la paix! Et l'on sent qu'attentive à la voix qui console, Tu n'as plus de frayeur, que tu ne souffres plus, Et que bientôt luira sur ton front l'auréole Que portent les élus! 20 Mai 1869. To Miss Clara Barton with kind regards of [?CHU] [ l? , S?] Oct 9th, 1869To Miss Clara Bartin No boom of guns, no crackers wildly ringing No crowds of happy people sallying forth No drum and fife, no speeches, shouts or singing And yet it is today.. "The Glorious Fourth" In vain you look for your Start spangled banner Its bright folds waving 'gainst the summer sky, From Fatherland from friends far far away, You are alone in this our [?town]. -[?And] why? Thousands have thronged to Paris, year by year To spend a season of delightful leisure To gaze upon the beauty of her face To take their sip at the full cup of pleasure Not thus with you. But when at last we saw Our sin and folly end in crime and shame. The brother slaughtered by the brother's hand Sheets red with blood and mansions wrapped in flame The city fell of anguish and dismay, of widows and of orphans. - then you came. Now as before, true to the self same path, Where suffering is the greatest you are there, With loving heart, and helpful hand, to save Body from pain, and spirit from despair God grant to you what you to others give! God be your joy and crown your [?guared] and guide And while you labor for the Saviour's sake, Be his dear presence ever at your side. Receive the grateful blessing of the poor In their name please accept these humble flowers And pray with us, that you "red white and blue" May teach henceforth true liberty to ours. Paris 4th July. 1871 - To CB To one who will understand Out of the valley and shadow of death, My love is coming slowly; She holdeth the balm, in her loving hands And dispenses The Waters Holy Her touch is like to those of old Who were said to be annointed Her gifts are the gifts of God, to few - Such labors are appointed. She is brave and true as Knight of old Ah! braver still, and better, At her countrys call, she gave her all And received in turn these fetters, These galling chains, that bind to earth A soul too grand and loving; She lifts her hands for other lands, All good in each approving; Oh loving heart, Oh tender hand Still clasp me in thy vision So bind me in thy heart, of hearts That earth may seem Elysian Goody bye, Good bye, how long shall This good bye be repeating, My heart says come, my arms say come And let our lips give greeting. Hail Columbia Vermont Ill Dec 25th 1877 The Clay and the Potter "And the vessell that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter": "Behold, as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in mine hand, O house of Israel." 1 Jer. 18th - 4, 6, ver. Suppose a lump of senseless clay, While in the potter's hands should say, "Now potter, try on me your skill," "And fashion me what form you will" 2 Then with a master's cunning art, He moulds in shape each separate part;- Beneath his fingers' deft controll, He views the finished, perfect whole, 3 And says."my skill I have essayed," "A goodly vessell thou art made"- "Wouldst thou thy perfect shape retain", "The fiery process, doth remain:" 4 But, when within the over laid, All heated as the potter said, The clay no longer passive lies, But quickly to the potter cires. 5 "Come hither, quick for pity's sake", "And me from out this oven take"; "I said I would be fashioned, turned", "But did not bargain to be burned" 6 Obedient to this stern command, The potter reaches forth his hand,- A lump of clay,- all incomplete,- It falls down - shapeless, at his feet; 7 "Just such, my child, is thy desire;- "Thou wouldst be formed, but not by fire"! "Thou wouldst the perfect image take", "The fiery ordeal, yet forsake"!. 8 "Now, from this truth, a lesson learn";- "And when the flames around thee burn";- "Just think, who knoweth best, I pray," "The potter,- or the insensate clay"! Dansville Dec 30th \77 Mary Anne Willard Dear Miss Barton I've copied the poe,-as you desired,-but from memory, and under many disadvantages,-so I trust to your leniency for all mistakes, etc -- I was only too happy, to oblige you; as I promised aforetime. I cannot write one other word, at this time, but be assured that I will answer your very kind letter, as soon as possible, that you may know how much it is appreciated and prized, and whatever happens, you will believe that, "Faithfully, loyally, loving and true", "O, friend of the friendless, my heart turns to you" Pardon the liberty of plagarism . . . M.A.W. Anna Lang - 11 - 1878 Miss Millard Pason Miss Clara Barton Care of John Hitz Esq. "Consul General of Switzerland" Washington City D. C. Why Hayes was President. Perhaps Harrison came in the same way - Jan. 1888 y Somewhere in the neighborhood, no matter where, Our colored fold met for a "season of prayer" They met together the old and the young, Many a prayer was said, many a hymn was sung. At length one old brother rose up on his feet, And looking around his friends thus did greet, "My brethren, this night I find , A something a hanging upon my mind. De Demicrats say, and I hope 'tis true; For [?'twile] be a good thing for I and you, If Hayes should chance to be de president, [?Twile] be cause ob de [?prasns] were [?tent]." Up rose a shout both loud and long, "Twould have cracked the rafters But they were strong : For densely packed was that little hall, And each one voted both great and small To give to the cause two hours of prayer, And they fell on their knees then and there. And when those humble souls went home that night, They said to each other,"Our cause is all right. For just as sure as this round world stands We've left that matter in powerful hands." E.W.J. Jan 1888 "Aunt Lizzie" [?J] 33 Jackson To Do - Hubbell Respectfully referred to CB The Red Cross Ship (The Texas) I Forth from the bosom infinite, Beaming the Red Cross sign; Came Christ, earth's many wrongs to right. Thrones, crowns He did resign. II The Gloria rang in midnight sky, The Magi offerings bring; Later, on Red Cross He shall die, Now, angels joyful sing. III And soon the sword the Mother's heart, Shall pierce with agony : At thought of it, the tears do start. The Red Cross she shall see. 2 IV He comes to heal a wounded race, Lifting above earths strife; The Red Cross banner. Darkness chase. Giving through death rich life. V A ship we see, deep freighted, strong. The Red Cross on her side; Bearing to starving. suffering wrong. The offerings of Christ's bride. VI From land of plenty, forth She speeds Bearing not armies, but bread; Relieving suffering, hunger feeds The Red Cross lifts the head. VII Go peaceful bark. holy thy task. Soldiers to save, count gain but loss. Ye cannot greater honor ask. Than to uplift Christ's holy cross. VIII May favoring winds, now fill thy sails. And ye right early, haven find . Hush Cuba's sorrows, still her wails. The dying [?ncear], all wounds binds. IX Like Good Samaritan of old, Pouring the oil and wine; "In this sign conquer", pure as gold, Red Cross! O symbol e'en divine Rev E P Herrick. Tampa Fla July 1898 Lines dedicated to Miss Clara Barton Pres Ms B Literature . read - Many thanks E P H Rev. E.P. Herrick poem dedicated to Clara Barton 11 Poem to C. B. file OUR RED CROSS KNIGHT. Reverently inscribed t o Miss Clara Barton. Two Copies OUR RED CROSS KNIGHT. Reverently inscribed to Miss Clara Barton. Not as in time of old- With sword and spear, and shield, and coat of mail, The gallant knight went forth to holy strife, To dare in battles gage the Infidel For Love of Christ, to save His Sepulchre From long procession of unholy hands Her crusade must be told. No deed of knight on page of history stands Higher than hers-our knight; no nobler life; Devoted,pure and bold. O soul of Chivalry; Thy heart devoid of fear, r guile, or hate- Thy generous hands untouched by War's red stain- Thou sailest forth with ships and bounteous freight Of food for starving citizens of Spain; Of soothing cordials for famished babes, Dying of hunger and of fierce disease; Thy ministry is to all needy ones, Benign dispenser of all charities, Thou knowest no rivalry. (2) For fame and honor bright, No name exists in all the centuries gone Worthier than thine for Virtue's need of praise; Angel of Peace, and Mercy's champion! For thee shall rescued thousands clap their hands And all with one accord their voices raise In prayer and thankfulness through many lands. Exemplar of Christ's love to sinful man, Blessings be e'er on thee ,heroic saint- Our Red Cross Knight! -Granville Fernald. From Mrs.Fannie B.Ward, Feb.14,1899. Portland, Maine D TRAN ORL Original Poetry. OUR RED CROSS KNIGHT. REVERENTLY INSCRIBED TO MISS CLARA BARTON. Not as in times of old- With sword and spear, and shield, and coat of mail, The gallant knight went forth to holy strife, To [?] in [?] gage the Infidel For Love of Christ to save His Sepulchre From [?] [?p] of unholy hands Her crusade must be told. No deed of knight on page of history stands Bigger than hers-our knight; no nobler life; Devoted, pure and bold. O soul of Chivalry! Thy heart devoid of fear, or galle, or hate- Thy generous hands untouched by War's red stain- Thou salient forth with ships and bounteous freight Of food for starving citizens of Spain; Of soothing cordials for famished babes, Dying of hunger and of [?] diseases Thy ministry is to all needy [?], Benign dispenser of all charities, Thou knowest no rivalry. For fame and honor bright, No name exists in all the centuries gone Worthier than thin for Virtue's need of praise; Angel of Peace, and Mercy's champion! For thee shall rescued thousands clap their hands And all wit one [?ooord] their voices raise In prayer and thankfulness through many lands. Exemplar of Christ's love to [?] man, Blessings be e'er on thee, heroic saint- Our Red Cross Knight! -Granville Fernald. From Mrs. Fannie B Ward Feb. 14, 1899. [*11-P*] [*Wor. 1905.*] WELCOME TO BABY. Stephen Bernard Barton Welcome little traveller, right from babyland. Is'nt this a funny world, however it was planned? To such a'tis, dear Little One, we bid you welcome in, With the names that waken tender love from all of kith or kin. We wonder how it seems to you, all things so strange and new. Here's light and darkness, heat and cold, and people, not a few. And some, seem bright, and beautiful, and some that make afraid We wonder how it is to you, this world of light and shade? What is the sweetest - Baby - of all that comes to thee? The brightest, softest, richest, most beautiful to see ? - Ah, listen to that tiny wail, and it will tell us all. The joys and sorrows, glad and sad, the heartaches and the call. The brightest is the lovelight ,within my mamma's eyes, The sweetest is the tender voice, that speaks the hush-a-bys The softest is her finger touch, the gentlest, her tone. And the richest is the banquet she spares me from her own. But here's another, Baby -, we are leaving in the shade; A true and tender Papa - I trov as ever made; He gave to thee, thy cherished names, his anxious brow is wet, He'll watch, and guide thy erring ways, and never once forget. And this is Papa; standing by; as proud as proud can be? He's grown a foot in stature since first he looked on me. Oh, yes, I'll love my Papa, and I'll love all the rest. But just now, let me nestle right here, on Mamma's breast. A Degree. _____ Samuel Gridley Howe, A. B., Brown, 1821 Julia Ward Howe, his wife, Litt. D., Brown, 1909. Oh, graceful act, that linked the living June With that far, unremembered afternoon And Brown's young knight that helped set Hellas free; Our Lady of the Hymn, whose lofty rime A loyal nation chats, has conquered Time; Was his abyss e'er bridged so graciously? The Independent, July 22, 1909. Oliver Otis Howard _____ Sola Virtus Invicta "All the blood of all the Howards," Noble tho it be, Never boasted truer, braver, Tenderer knight than he. Beside his life their proudest blazon, Dimly splendid, pales; Kin or no, he lived their legend; Virtue alone prevails. The Independent, Nov. 11, 1909. Billington's Sea _____ "This day, Francis Billington, having, the week before, seen from the top of a tree on a high hill, a great sea, as he thought, went with one of the Master's Mates to see it, they went three miles, and then came to a great water divided into two great lakes, the bigger of them five or six miles in circuit, and in it an isle of a cable length square, the other three miles in compass." Mourt's "Relation." "The sea! The Western ocean!" rang his cries. The mate came hurrying up. A minure more And his face, too, a strange elation wore, For westward through the trees there gleamed the prize King's fleets had sought for ages. The boy's eyes had seen it first. Soon, disappointment sore. Always too soon we find a farther shore Confines our seas of boyhood lakelet-size. But Fate's grim smile for once was not unkind; His fair sea with the Pilgrim' lad's name still Commemorates the hour he was a king. What if his after years were vision-blind? He knew a moment that transcendant thrill That Cortez felt and found a Keats to sing. The Youth's Companion, Aug. 26, 1909. The Last Great Chief _____ Red Cloud, Died Dec. 1909. Over the ridge blow cold December snows. Within the lodge falls yet more piercing chill. The herald of a Guest. With sudden thrill The aged warrior, groping, half arose; His Comrade of red battle-plains he knows; Gravely assenting to the Comer's will, On his last trail, the old chief, dauntless still, Forth from the land of the Dakotas goes. Soon welcome him a venison repast, Spoil of the Happy Grounds; the numerous tread Of wind-swift ponies; the proud pulse of drums; Ten thousand waiting braves whom once he led; As to the realm of the Dakotas comes Red Cloud, their chief, the greatest and the last. The Youth's Companion, March 30, 1911. The Old Family Burying-Ground. __________ I have planted myrtle there Where my gray forefathers lie, Myrtle, that with pauseless care Weaveth dark robes silently; And, perchance, when spring is fair, Beareth emblems of the sky. Loyal as a sister, she Her counsel and her pledge will keep; She will come and cover me When they bring me there, asleep. The Youth's Companion, June 1, 1911. L Little May. By Alice Cary Call Jenny from her spinning And call Josey from the mill; I am going on a journey That is very dark and still I am going on a journey To be long and long away And I want to see and charge them To be good to Little May. I am not afraid to leave them For they both have strength and will, And will work away their grieving At the wheel and in the mill My Jenny's heart is tender But in all the long hot hours, She never leaves her spinning To bear water to the flowers And I want to see and charge her Though I know she will do right To mind she keeps the cradle Where the fire is shining bright And Josey seeming proud and cold Is only firm and brave; His hands will be the first to plant The daisies on my grave. But to his heart a baby's wants Might fail to find their way And I want to see and charge him To be good to little May. So go and call them quickly From the wheel and from the mill For I'm going on a journey That is very dark and still. THE YELLOW-HAMMER'S NEST. By John W. Chadurck - Harper's Magazine for September. Poem Alice Cary THE YELLOW-HAMMER'S NEST J The yellow-hammer came to build his nest High in the elm-tree's ever-nodding crest, All the long day upon his task intent, Backward and forward busily he went. Gathering from far and near the tiny shreds That birdies weave for little birdies beds; Now bits of grass, now bits of vagrant string, And now some queerer, dearer sort of thing. For on the lawn, where he was want to come, In search of stuff to build his pretty home, We dropped one day a lock of golden hair Which our wee darling easily could spare; And close beside it tenderly we placed A lock that had the stooping shoulders graced Of her old grandsire; it was white as snow, Or cherry-trees when they are all ablow. Then throve the yellow-hammer's work apace; Hundreds of times he sought the lucky place Where sure, he thought, in his bird-fashion dim, Wondrous provision had been made for him. Both locks, the white and golden, disappeared; The nest was finished, and the brood was reared; And then there came a pleasant summer day When the last yellow-hammer flew away. Ere long, in triumph in its leafy height, We bore the nest so wonderfully dight, And saw how prettily the white and gold Made wary and woof of many a gleaming fold. But when again the yellow-hammer came Cleaving the orchard with their pallid flame, Grandsire's white locks and baby's golden head Were laying low, both in one grassy bed. An so more dear than ever is the nest Ta'en from the elm-tree's ever nodding crest. Little the yellow-hammer thought how rare A thing he wrought of white and golden hair! By John W. Chadruck. Harper's Magazine for September. [*11 P *] 347 An Old Stun' Wall. If ye only knew the backaches in an old stun wall! ,! O, Lordy me, I'm Seventy-three! -Begun amongst these boulders and I've lived here through it all. I wasn't quite to bub's age there, when dad commenced to clear The wust of ninety acres with a hoss team and a steer. And we've used the stuns for fencin' and we've built around the lot. O, I've tugged and tugged there, sonny, ontil, gracious me, I've sot And fairly groaned o' evenings with the twinges in my back; Sakes, there warn't no shirkin' them days; it was tug and lift and sack/ For it needed lots of muscle. lots of gruntin', lots of sand, If a feller calculated for to clear a piece of land. Bub, it isn't any wonder that our backs has got a hump, That our arms are stretched and awkward like the handle of a pump, That ourpalms are hard and calloused, that we wobble in our gait There's the reason right before you 'round the medders in the state. And I wonder sometimes, sonny, that we've any backs at all When I figger on the backaches in an Old Stun' Wall. If ye only knew the backaches in an old stun' wall! We read of men Who with a pen Have pried away the curses that have crushed us in their fall. I don't begrudge them honor nor the splendor of their name, For an av'rage Yankee farmer hasn't any use for fame. But the man who lifted curses and the man who lifted stones Never'll hear the mite of diff'runce in the Heavenly Fathers tomes. For I have the humble notion, bub, that when all kinds of men, The chaps that pried with crowbar and the chaps that pried with pen, Are waitin' to be measured for the things they've done below The angel with the girth chain's bound to give us all fair show. 357 3 And the humble man who's tusled with the rocks of stubborn Maine Won't find that all his labor has been thankless and invain. And while the high and mighty get the glo[u]rious honors due The man who took the brunt of toil will be remembered too. The man who bent his aching back will earn his crown, my child, By the acres he made fertile and the miles of rocks he piled. That aint my whole religion, for I don't propose to shirk What my duties are to Heaven - but the gospel of hard work Is a mighty solid bedrock that Iv'e built on more or less: I believe that God Almighty has it in his heart to bless For the good theyv'e left behind them rough old chaps with humped-up backs Who have gone ahead and smoothed things with the crow-bar and the ax. For if all our hairs are numbered and He notes the sparrow's fall He understands the backaches in an old Stun' Wall. (Holman F. Day in Lewiston Journal.) My dear Miss Barton, I send you tonight, The work done as best I could do it, And hope it will be satisfactory quite, As you, in your turn, shall review it. I put in the commas, and a dash here and there, And my paragraphs, I think are quite "sprucy", And I hope when you read it, you will declare, I did it as well as your "Lucy. I know when you saw me, that cold winters day, You ne'er would have thought me a poet, But when one is a genius, I have heard say, They seldom, if ever, show it. I send you a gem, of quite recent date, Of the fruit of the Emerald Isle, And bid you good night, as I see it is late, And begging your pardon the while, Just sign myself here, Yours, W. I. F., But fear that my bow is most dreadfully stiff. P o t a t o, 'tis of thee, Fruit of old Ireland, ye, Of thee I rave, Fruit by all Paddies praised, Fruit by no weather phased, At your farm I'm amazed, Still you I crave. P o t a t o, large or small, In cottage or in hall, You are all right. Baked, boiled or fried, I say, Roasted, or any way, Yes, every single day, You're my delight. So at this merry time, While rings the happy chime, P o t a t o dear, While round the festive board, Loaded with goodly hoard, You'll be by me adored, And bring me cheer. Frances Esmond. Sent to a friend at Christmas as a joke, because of this friend's great fondness for potatoes. THE RED CROSS FLAG. By John T.Napier, in the Moravian. Two Copies THE RED CROSS FLAG. "When the smoke of the cannon cleared away we saw the Red Cross flying over the hospital." The shot sped out from our serried ships, Like the sob of a strong man crying; The sun was veiled as with sudden eclipse, When the shot sped out from our serried ships, And England's flag was flying. Up from the shore the answer came, The cry of the wounded and dying. A burst of thunder, a flash of flame-- Up from the shore an answer came, Where the Prophet's flag was flying. So we dealt destruction the livelong day, In war's wild pastime vying; Through the smoke and thunder and dashing spray, We dealt destruction the livelong day, And the hostile flags were flying. But far through the rolling battle smoke-- Ah God: 'mid the groans and the crying-- A sudden gleam on our vision broke; Afar through the rolling battle smoke, And the Red Cross flag was flying. O'er the house of mercy with plain, white walls, Where they carried the wounded and dying, Unharmed by our cannon, unfearing our balls; O'er that house of mercy with plain, white walls, The Red Cross flag was flying. As the sign of the Son of Man in the heaven For a world of warring and sighing We hailed it; and cheered, for the promise given by the sign of the Son of Man in the heaven-- The Red Cross banner flying. For we know that wherever the battle was waged, With its wounded and dead and dying-- Where the wrath of pagan or Christian raged-- Like the mercy of God, where the battle was waged, The Red Cross flag was flying. Let the angry legions meet in the fight, With the noise of captains crying; Yet the arm of Christ outstretched in its might, Where the angry legions meet in the fight, Keeps the Red Cross banner flying. And it surely will come that war will cease, With its madness and pain and crying, Lo! the blood-red Cross is the prophet of peace-- Of the blessed time when war will cease-- And the Red Cross flag is flying. John P. Napier, in the Moravian. THE OLD HORSE . I never can forget, alas! that good old horse of mine; How proud he was, and always loved to see his harness shine. And when I mounted on his back, he champed his bit in glee, And, fleet as antelope or deer, he danced off merrily. I'll not forget the journeys long that we have had together, Nor how he bared his face, alas! in every sort of weather. Just that I might enjoy the heath or breath of morning vapor, He'd rear and plunge, to frighten me, and cut a high-bred caper. I always loved to see the foam that flecked his breast like snow, And see the muscles stretch and quake whene'er I bade him go. And, grander still, with whistle shrill, he roamed the fields so free, With nostrils red and eyes aflame that told his ecstacy. And I'll remember all the steeps and glades his feet have trod, And for the sake of those sweet days I'll keep the old horse shod. Well groomed and fed, he shall not know his usefulness is past; I'll hitch him to the plow by times, and love him to the last. And when the old horse lays him down, to take his last drawn breath, I'll hold his head, nor blush to speak and tell him it is death. And though the dear old tongue is dumb, his eyes,to me,will speak, And he will know I love him still, as my tears bedew his cheek. Country Gentleman. 6 AGRICULTURAL. The Old Horse. _____ I never can forget, alas! that good old horse of mine; How proud he was, and always loved to see his harness shine. And when I mounted on his back, he champed his bit in glee, And, fleet as antelope or deer, he danced off merrily. I'll not forget the journeys long that we have had together, Nor how he bared his face, alas! in every sort of weather. that I [?] enjoy the heath or breath of morn- Just [?] I might [?] me, and cut a high- ing vapor, He'd rear and plunge, to frighten [?] bred caper. I always loved to see the foam that flecked his breast like snow, And see the muscles stretch and quake whene'er I bad him go. And, grander still, with whistle shrill, he roamed the fields so free, With nostrils read and eyes aflame that told his ecstacy. And I'll remember all the steeps and glades his feet have trod. And for the sake of those sweet days I'll keep the old horse shod. Well groomed and fed, he shall not know his usefulness is past; I'll hitch him to the plow by times, and love him to the last. And when the old horse lays him down, to take his last-drawn breath, I'll hold his head, nor blush to speak and tell him it is death. And though the dear old tongue is dumb, his eyes, to me, will speak, And he will know I love him, as my tears bedew his cheek. --Country Gentleman. I look around, and cannot trace One friendly smile, or welcome face; And even in crowds I am still alone, Because I cannot love but one. And I will cross the whitening foam, And I will seek a foreign home; 'Till I forget a false fair face, I [?soon] shall find a resting place My own dark thought I cannot shun But ever love and love but one, The honest [?] wretch on earth Still find some hospitable hearth, When friendships or loves soften glow Many smile in joy or soothe in woe; But friend or lover I have none, Because I cannot love but one. I go, but whereso, I flee There,s not an eye will weep for me, There's not a kind congenital heart Where I can claim the means to part Nor thou who hast my hopes undone, With sigh, although I love but one , To think of every early scene - Of what we are and what we've been - Would whelm some softer hearts with waves But mine alas ! has stood the blow, Yet still beats on as its begun And never truely loves but one. And who that dear loved one may be To not for vulgar eyes to see; - And what that love was evenly cost, Thou knowest the best, I feel the most But few that dwell beneath the sun Have loved so long and loved but one. I've tried anothers fetters, too, With charms perchance as fairs to view And I would fain have loved as well But some unconquerable spell Forbade my bleeding breast to own A kindred same for ought but one . Twould soothe to take a lingering view, And bless this in my last adieu; Yet wish I not their eye to walk For him who wanders oer the deck, --- Though wherever my book may run, I love but thee, I love but one. ByronTis done! and shivering in the gale The bark unfurls her snowy sail; And whistling oer the [bend?] mast Loud sings on high the freshening blast- And I must from this land be gone, Because I cannot love but one. But could I be what I have been, And could I see what I have seen- Could I repose upon the breast Which once my warmest wishes blast I should not seek another gone Because I cannot love but one. Tis long since I beheld that eye Which gave me bliss or misery! And I have striven, but in vain Never to think of it again; For though I fly from Albion, I still can only love but one. As some lone bird without a moth My weary heart is desolate; Content The pretty brooklet glides along, Without a care & gay with song. It speeds its way, From day to day, Without a thought or wish to be [Other] Ought else than the silver thread we see Why not? The silver brooklet that we see, So full of laughing, romping, glee, Draws life from God's pure, sparkling founts. It dances down the shady slopes of grassy hills of lofty mounts; It has no cares & hence no hopes. Its home is in the deep, blue sea, Where it finds rest eternally. Why should it be, then what we see Ought else since it is pure and free.WHERE IS MY BOY TO-NIGHT? Where is my wand'ring boy to-night, The boy of my tenderest care, The boy that was once my joy and light, The child of my love and care? CHORUS. O where is my boy to-night? O where is my boy to-night? My heart o'erflows, for I love him, he knows; O where is my boy to-night? (2) Once he was pure as morning dew, As he knelt at his mother's knee; No face was so bright, no heart more true, And none was so sweet as he. (Chorus) (3) O could I see you now, my boy, As fair as in olden time, When prattle and smile made a home a joy, And life was a merry chime! (Chorus) (4) Go for my wand'ring boy to-night; Go, search for him where you will; But bring him to me with all his blight, And tell him I love him still. (Chorus) Rev. R. Lowry. 1. I wandered to day to the Mill Maggie to watch the scenes below The creek and the creeking old mill Maggie as we used to long ago 2. The green grove has gone from the Hill Maggie where first the daises sprung, the creaking old mill is till Maggie, since you and I were young chorus 3. But now we are aged and gray Maggie and the Trials of life nearly done. Let us sing of the days That are gone Maggie when you and I were young 4. A city so silent & lone Maggie Where the young and the gay and the Best In polished , white mansions Of stone Maggie have each found A place of rest. 5. Is built where the birds used To play Maggie, and Join in the Songs that were sung for we sang As gay as they Maggie , when you And I were young 6 They say I am feeble with age Maggie my steps are less Sprightly than then. My face is A well writen page Maggie But time alone was the pen 7 They say we are aged and gay Maggie. As sprays by the Wild breakers flung but to me you are as fair as you Were Maggie when you and I were young Two old grey-headed women Lived all by themselves Kept salt in the cupboard & tea on the shelves ate when they were hungry & cooked their own oats Coughed or cryed as it [?sted] And gargled their throats So these grey-headed women Just live at their ease Shake their fists at the MD & do as they please. Mrs. F. D. Gage. (Keeping own house & heal colds) [*R - 11*] [*Used in R & [?Barton] as preface to cuba.*] [*By John Napier*] THE RED CROSS FLAG. "When the smoke of the cannon cleared away we saw the Red Cross flying over the hospital." The shot sped out from our serried ships, Like the sob of a strong man crying; The sun was veiled as with sudden eclipse, When the shot sped out from our serried ships, And England's flag was flying. Up from the shore the answer came, The cry of the wounded and dying; A burst of thunder, a flash of flame-- Up from the shore an answer came, Where the Prophet's flag was flying. So we dealt destruction the livelong day, In war's wild pastime vying; Through the smoke and thunder and dashing spray, We dealt destruction the livelong day, And the hostile flags were flying. But far through the rolling battle smoke-- Ah God! 'mid the groans and the crying-- A sudden gleam on our vision broke; Afar through the rolling battle smoke, And the Red Cross flag was flying. O'er the house of mercy with plain, white walls, Where they carried the wounded and dying, Unharmed by our cannon, unfearing our balls; O'er that house of mercy with plain, white walls, The Red Cross flag was flying. As the sign of the Son of Man in the heaven For a world of warring and sighing We hailed it; and cheered, for the promise given By the sign of the Son of Man in the heaven-- The Red Cross banner flying. For we know that wherever the battle was waged, With its wounded and dead and dying-- Where the wrath of pagan or Christian raged-- Like the mercy of God, where the battle was waged, The Red Cross flag was flying. Let the angry legions meet in the fight, With the noise of captains crying; Yet the arm of Christ outstretched in its might, Where the angry legions meet in the fight, Keeps the Red Cross banner flying. And it surely will come that war will cease, With its madness and pain and crying, Lo! the blood-red Cross is the prophet of peace-- Of the blessed time when war will cease-- And the Red Cross flag is flying. John T. Napier, in the Moravian. DETROIT CIRCLE No. I, LADIES OF THE G. A. R. DETROIT, MICH. ----- . . . GREETING . . . To all our friends, both far and near, We crave your kind attention; Please listen patiently, while we An open secret mention. Our Ladies of the G. A. R. will hold Some day, not distant far, If we have been correctly told-- A Handkerchief Bazar. So this, then, is our plea in brief; To help along our enterprise, Will each one send a handkerchief, Regardless of its kind or size. To be without a handkerchief, You know is quite distressing; From every state let one be sent-- T'will surely be a blessing. [*Poems by friends no favorite authors.*] [*25- Glen Echo.*] [*25 Her attitude*] "THE EVERLASTING MEMORIAL" - Horatius Bonah, D.D. Up and away, like the dew of the morning Soaring from earth to its home in the sun,- So let me steal away ,gently and lovingly, Only remembered by what I have done. My name and my place and my tomb, all forgotten, The brief race of time well and patiently run, so let me pass away , peacefully, silently, Only remembered by what I have done. Gladly away from this toil would I hasten Up to the crown that for me has been won; Unthought of by man in rewards or in praises,- Only remembered by what I have done. Up and away, like the oders of sunset, That sweeten the twilight as darkness come on,- So be my life, - a think felt but not noticed And I but remembered by what I have done. Yes, like the fragrance that wanders in freshness, When the flowers that it came from are closed up and gone, So would i be to this world's weary dwellers, Only remembered by what I have done. Needs these the praise of the love written records, The name and the epitaph graved on the stone? The things we have lived for ,- let them be our story , We ourselves but remembered by what we have done. I need not be missed, if my life has been bearing (As its Summer and Autumn move silently on) The bloom, and the fruit , and the seed of its season; I shall still be remembered by what I have done. I need not be missed, if another succeed me, To reap down those fields which in Spring I have sown, He who ploughed and who sowed is not missed by the reaper- He is only remembered by what he has done. No myself, but the truth that in life I have spoken- Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown Shall pass on to ages,- all about me forgotten, Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have done. So let my living be, so be my dying; So let my name lie, unblazoned, unknown; Unpraised and unmissed, I shall still be remembered Yes, - but remembered by what I have done.