Book 2 — FAMILY PIECES

LINES TO MY MOTHER, WHO DIED WHEN I WAS ABOUT TWO YEARS OLD.

I had a mother once, and her dear name Has power even now to thrill my very frame, And call forth feelings which can only rise When Love doth view its object in the skies. So would I view thee, Mother, and rejoice That I have power to raise my feeble voice And tell what thoughts arise within my breast, As thus I view thee entered into rest.

O, say, my Mother, canst thou see thy son? Dost thou behold the poor, erratic one Who has been tossed on Life's tempestuous wave Till he has fairly longed to find his grave? I fain would know if, when I heave a sigh, Tears e'er bedim thy sympathetic eye? When I have drunk so deep of heartfelt woe, And: roved the vanity of all below, Oh, say, my Mother, hast thou felt a share Know'st thou what 'tis to be weighed down with care?

Why write I thus? for souls in heavenly bliss Feel not our woes—know not what sorrow is— Unless their past experiences they feel, To aid, by contrast, in producing weal. For it is written, "God shall wipe away Tears from all faces," in Eternal Day! Then let me rest content, and strive to show True patience, while I suffer here below, And follow Christ wherever he may lead: Thus proving faith sincere by every deed. O, then, whenever he may call me hence, I shall be willing to leave time and sense And mount aloft to dwell with God forever, To taste that bliss from which naught can me sever.

TO MY WIFE.

Ellen, dear, it is clear I have not half thy merits told; Sweet of life, lovely wife, More precious thou hast been than gold.

Listen now; truth I trow Will be my guide while I relate What pure love, sweetest dove, Thou still hast shown in marriage state.

When I'm ill thou dost fill The office of a comforter; Soothing sickness with such quickness That disease seems banished far.

If low spirits we inherit, Thou swiftly drivest them away By sweet song all day long, Until I feel quite young and gay.

Then our house, tidy spouse, Is kept by thee so trim and neat, That from home I'll not roam To try and find a snug retreat.

Of girls and boys, and many joys, We have, my dearest, quite our share; How to use them, not abuse them, Should always be our constant care.

But alas! how soon pass All present good desires away. Feel we weakness? then in meekness Let us unto our Father pray.

He is strong, and has long Upheld us by His mighty arm; O how glorious! Faith victorious Will us preserve always from harm.

Then let us pray, love, day by day, That our dear children may be brought Into His fold, ere they are old: Even as God himself hath taught.

O, what pleasure in rich measure We then should feel, my own true love! For naught ever could us sever, But all at last would dwell above—

By God's grace in that place Inhabited by Spirits bright. This secured, we allured, Might view by Faith the glorious sight.

TO THE SAME, WHEN AWAY FROM HOME

Oh, when will my beloved come To her own home again? Surely it will not be my doom To miss her always in each room, And of her loss complain.

Dear Chris and Jenny wish her home, And ask why she's not here; And I in quest of her would roam, But fear to miss her much-loved form, Which I would hope is near.

Yet I would not impatient be; Thou art on Mother tending. Thy love to her I like to see. It will not lessen mine to thee, Until my life is ending.

And should'st thou stay another week, A month, or even a year— Thy conduct past would loudly speak Thy faithfulness, thy spirit meek, And say I've naught to fear.

Then stay, my dear, till thou hast done All that thy mother needed; Yet just remember there is one Who will be sadly woe-begone, His loneliness unheeded.

For well I know that such a wife Is better far than gold; And all the joys of bachelor life, However free from care and strife, On my mind take no hold.

Just now her brother brings me word That I must go and see her. For all the joys this will afford May I be thankful to the Lord, And go from care to free her.

Within an hour I see her face Bedecked with smiles to greet me, But yet she seems in woeful case, For marks of toothache I can trace As she comes forth to meet me.

We spend the night with th' dear old folk, The moments quickly fly, While we link-armed start on a walk, But soon return to sing and talk— The fire all sitting by.

Upon the morrow then return To home, "sweet home," again. Our hearts afresh with love do burn, As we at hand our house discern, And all it does contain.

TO MY DEAR LITTLE BOYS, JAMES, CHRISTOPHER AND ALFRED.

Three lovely boys who bear my name, Have all upon me equal claim, And seem to ask a rhyme from me— A humble poet as you see. James, Christopher and Alfred, dear, You often do my spirit cheer, Each in his own most charming way, From hour to hour, from day to day. James by his often tuneful mood, And other things best understood By a fond parent, at the time, To he as sweet as music's chime. In him, though young, my eye can trace A something in his pretty face Which shows strong passion lurks within That childish breast—the fruit of sin. I also think I truly see A trait somewhat too miserly. I may be wrong—I hope I am, For 'twould be sad in my sweet lamb.

Then Chris, what must I say of him, Who shows us many a little whim? But with it all displays affection For one so young in much perfection, And can forget his sorrows all, Though his young heart he filled with gall. If but his mother seem to cry he upward turns his bright brown eye, And asks so earnestly a kiss That we're compelled to love our Chris.

Once, dear child, O strange to tell, From brother Willie's knee he fell And sadly burned his little arm, Which greatly filled us with alarm. He cried, as might have been expected, And quick relief was not neglected. But while his heart was fit to burst, He spied a wound on Mamma's hand, And though his own w as far the worst, The sight of Hers he could not stand. He ceased his crying, gave a sigh, "Poor Mamma's sore," [Footnote: A literal fact] became his cry. My darling child, this act of thine Makes me right glad to call thee mine.

But I must hasten; one remains Who well deserves my ablest strains. This is my Alfred—lovely babe A smiling cherub sure art thou, How can I best describe thy charms? How can I write about thee now? Nearly four months have passed away Since thou first saw the light of day; And in that time we've hardly had One tedious night with thee, my lad. By day thy chirruping and smiles Thy own dear mother's heart beguiles, And makes me run a dreadful risk Of falling to idolatry! But let me tell thee, little Frisk, This will not do for thee or me! 'Tis time to quit; I cease to write, And bid my precious babes good night!

TO ALFRED, JUST LEARNING TO WALK

1854

O, Alfred dear, thou wilt, I fear, Get burned before 'tis long; Thy little tricks with fiery sticks Have called forth this my song.

That roguish eye seems to defy All I can say or do. Thy chubby face does not disgrace The food thou art used to.

Come now, my boy, thy skill employ In walking to Papa; Well, now, my child, I own I smiled To see thee choose thy Ma.

But still I will that thou fulfill My just commands to thee; Sometime I shall soon make thee squall For disobeying me!

And now a walk or else some talk I do insist upon; But mind that chair or thou wilt fare Not cry well, my son!

Thy limbs are strong, so don't be long, Nor mind that little mountain; Ah, down he goes! and out there flows Big tear-drops from their fountain.

Fear not, my son, thou hast well done; I'll wipe thy tears away, And lie in hopes on Life's rough slopes Thou wilt not go astray.

Now come again, I can't refrain From tuning one more trial; Don't stagger on so woe-begone, But use some self-denial.

Thou wilt have need if thou succeed In life, to use it often, And I have found in moving round It does life's trials soften.

Mind thou the stove! nor further rove, For fear thou get a burning Let not thine eyes in such surprise Upon thy Pa be turning.

See, there at last thou hast got past The dangers which beset thee, So in my arms, proud of thy charms, I'll hug thee if thou let me.

I fain would hope that thou wilt cope With ills besetting mortals, Depending on God's Arm alone, And so reach Heaven's portals.

TO AMELIA MY LAST INFANT DAUGHTER

1854

On the fifth of chill November Came my Amie unto me, Adding one more lovely member To my numerous family.

Daughter, thou art welcome truly To the care we can bestow; May we do our duty duly While we stay with thee below.

Think not, daughter, we will slight thee, Since so many claim our love; Gladly—wish we to delight thee, As we look for help Above.

Thou art to us, little charmer, Dear as any child we own; And our love to each grows warmer For the sorrows we have known.

Take then, daughter, take our blessing, It comes forth from loving hearts; Though we shrink hot from confessing Oft we fail to act our parts.

TO FREDRIC

Fred, thou art six months old This very day! And I no more withold From thee a lay.

That rosy, smiling face— Thou need not fear— Has weeks since claimed a place 'Midst "rhyming gear."

Thy winning, childish pranks Make further claim To set thee in the ranks Of infant fame.

But when I think what troubles Thou hast passed through, The obligation doubles What I've to do—

In rhyming for thee, Fred, My dark-eyed boy; And I have left my bed To sing the joy.

I feel from day to day In seeing thee So full of lively play— Most sweet to see.

By such most lovely smiles, Such crowing, too, Ah, Fred, thy many wiles Have charmed me through!

'Tis true Ma lost much rest, By day and night, Through thee when so distressed. Which scarce seemed right.

But doubtless 'twill be seen To be for good, Since God our Friend has been, And by us stood.

Then, with this full in view I 'll close my rhyme, And hope that it may do Thee good some time.

TO MY DAUGHTER IDA, WHEN THREE MONTHS OLD.

1859.

Ida, it is a burning shame That thy short, sweet poetic name Has not a single lay called forth From my cranium since thy birth! Thy pale-face, brown-eyed style of beauty Every day points out my duty. Conscience, too, whispers 'tis not right That I this task should longer slight. So now I take thee on my knee And woo the Muse right eagerly, In earnest hope she'll lend her aid Until this tribute be well paid.

Ida, thou art of babes the best; This much at least must be confessed, Unless thy mother's words are wrong— Words shadowing forth Affection strong. Thou art indeed, sweet tempered pet, As good a child as I have met. And oh, my heart for thee' has bled, When thou wert forced to be spoon-fed, Because of Mamma's trying weakness. Yet this thou didst still bear with meekness, And ever from the first thy cries Had for companions tearful eyes, And such a mournful, piteous mien As is not in bad temper seen. When I saw this thou may'st be sure, I felt quite ready to endure Thy tediousness by night or day, While mother on a sick-bed lay. Now, as reward for all my toil, Thou cheerest me by many a smile. And while I gaze on thy sweet face Bedecked with every infant grace, My soul's best feelings are called Forth— I see in thee increasing worth.

Say, sweetly smiling, pretty creature, So perfect in each limb and feature, What means that dreamy sort of look Thou wear'st at times? Art thou then struck With wonder at our household ways? At brother's, sister's childish plays? I would give something just to know How thoughts within the mind can grow. I fancy sometimes thou art thinking On what's around thee or else drinking Thou fill of heavenly visions sweet, Such as would prove to me a treat: Art silent still? Ah, then, young Miss, Thou must eve'n give a parting kiss! Farewell, my dear, my lovely child, Fair Ida, with the look so mild!

TO MY WIFE, ON THE THIRTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF OUR WEDDING DAY

SEPT. 26, 1860.

A thousand joys, my darling wife, Be thine on this our marriage day! And now I'll sing; for such a life As we have led deserves a lay Fresh-gushing from a heart like mine— By thee well known to be sincere. O, where are charms compared with thine? Which, after years of toil appear More fresh and fair, Though much of care Has fallen daily to thy share.

On me old Time has marked his flight— My outward frame doth tell me this; But still, sweet dove, my heart's as light As when at first I found the bliss Of Ellen's love in silken bands. And what the future has in store I know not, but my soul expands Assured thou lov'st me more and more. This rapturous thought With blessings fraught By gold could never have been bought.

But love—such love as we now feel Ten thousand ills can face and foil, And passing years afresh reveal— We better are for cure and toil! I would not then my lot exchange For one where pampered luxury The hearts of man and wife estrange, And all is insincerity. A lot like this, Devoid of bliss, Dear wife, may we forever miss!

What though when let but forty-three I sober Grandpa have become? With thee, my Ellen, yes, with thee I can enjoy our humble home; And the dear children to us given, With those left by my first loved spouse, Can by God's blessing make a heaven For me in yet a poorer house! The world dreams not That in our cot We pure, substantial joys have got.

As thus I sing in gladsome strain Of my unmatched felicity, There comes an almost endless train From the deep founts of Memory, Of pleasing pictures which retain Poetic colors lich and rare. Yet fearing they might make me vain, I breathe to God this fervent prayer: Lord, shield me well, From potent spell Of syren Pleasures, and Pride quell!

Oh, let us humbly now renew Our vows to God, my sweetest love! He then will shed His grace like dew Upon us all, and bid the Dove Of steadfast Peace assure our souls. Thus may we battle on in life, And as each season forward rolls Feel stronger for the daily strife Until at last Our lot is cast With those who into heaven have passed.

TO THE SAME, ON THE TWENTY-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF OUR MARRIAGE.

SEPTEMBER 26, 1872.

Dear Bride of five-and-twenty years, I gladly give to thee this song. That thou wilt spurn it I've no fears, For love still reigns within thee strong, And will reign long as life shall last; For it has stood the fiery test Of anguished moments in the past— When out of pain came peaceful rest, Until our life Of toil and strife Is joyful still, my darling wife.

When last I penned a lay to thee I little dreamt that youthful charms Would cling to thee at forty-three; But now the thought my spirit warms That I can see thee lovelier grown! While fond affection constant beams Within thy lovely eyes, light brown, Thus realizing my young dreams. For then I thought The wife I sought Should bring to me what thou hast brought.

A face lit up with genial smiles, A heart to love through trials great, With winning ways, with pleasant wiles, To cheer me in life's troublous state. I pictured her both fair and neat, With voice so soft, with wifely skill, To make my home a snug retreat From many kinds of mortal ill. Such hast thou been, My own heart's queen, As good a wife as e'er was seen.

What though we've not attained to wealth? Have still to toil for daily bread? So long as God gives precious health, We have no worldly needs to dread,

For, day by day our table's filled, Our dearest children constant fed; With many comforts life to gild, Our years enjoyably have sped. Then we'll not care For larger share Of riches, which oft prove a snare.

Then, darling, let us battle on, The future may ev'n brighter prove; But if it does not we have won A glorious boon in such true love As well might smooth a harder life. And few, I trow, have lived so long wedded state with joys so rife. Then fear not, let our hearts be strong In Christ our Lord, And let His Word Yield us the comfort therein stored.

Now, as the ears flow swiftly by, With crosses manifold to hear, We still will look to Him on high, Who has permitted us to share So much of matrimonial bliss, And in that bond has kept us true. Let's deem it best His rod to kiss, And keep His promises in view. So, side by side Our lives may glide Till death bring us o'er Jordan's tide!

TO THE SAME, ON THE THIRTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF OUR MARRIAGE.

SEPTEMBER 26, 1877.

Full thirty years of wedded bliss, My darling wife, we have enjoyed; And still I can with rapture kiss Thy sweet, chaste lips—for I am void Of every fear that thou wilt fail To love me till our race is run. Our mutual love is still as hale As though we had but just begun To link our fate In marriage state, Where joys for sorrows compensate.

So, filled with sense of God's rich love, Let us those decades three review; For though we have with trials strove To keep our happiness still new, We've had Religion's holy aid Still shedding sunshine on our way, As we pursued our humble trade And struggled on from day to day. Our hearts imbued With gratitude Call loud for vows to God renewed.

Now looking back through all these years, 'Midst chequered scenes of daily life, A family of eight appears For thee to love and serve, my wife! Thou wert indeed a youthful bride, But weak in body—not in heart— As thou my cherished hearth beside Sat down, content to do thy part. And well I know No lot below Was e'er more free from earthly woe.

In this review I can't forget How oft in sickness, grief and pain, Thy loving heart our needs has met, While solace rich came in thy train. Nor when thyself on sick bed lay, Racked with Neuralgia's maddening pangs. How Patience kept the wolf at bay, And made him soon withdraw his fangs. My darling sweet, 'Tis surely meet I thee with song like this should greet!

Nor yet when by that dreadful fall Thy limbs were bruised, thy system shook, How easily I can recall Each winning smile, each tender look,

As I attempted to alleve Thy sufferings great for many days. And while I could not help but grieve, I saw thy meekness with amaze; For no dread pain Could triumph gain O'er thee, nor did'st thou once complain.

Then, O my darling, join with me To celebrate our Father's praise! For he has kept us lovingly From hankering after worldly ways. Raise then our Ebenezer high! Join, children, in my joyful song! Lay ever disagreement by, That you in, union may be strong. Thus let us wait At Wisdom's gate, Till Christ in turn shall each translate.