Autumn leaves

Preface

Many of these leaves of simple verse have been drifting about in literary by-ways nearly half a centuiy, and now, as the winter of my life approaches, I have gathered them up as a little handful of "Autumn Leaves," believing .that the loved and loving friends, for whose sake, chiefly, they have been collected, will look with kindly eyes upon the frost-touched things, while they considerately ignore their man}^ blights and imperfections.

CONTBISTTS.

PAGE

A Memory - ^ '

Cheerfulness _._ ^^

Worry -- - 20

Soldiers, O Tell us the Story 21

Write Them a Letter Tonight ! 23

Frances E. Willard ^ .24

To Be Forest - 25

All Day - 26

Prayer For Peace 27

Her Absent Boy - 28

Chrysanthemums 29

Christmas is Near , 30

Miranda's Quilting Bee .. 31

The Penitent 32

Retrospection 33

An Old Man's Lament 36

Morning, Noon and Night 37

To Edwin H. 38

December Twenty-second 39

How Tight-fist Helped Build the Sidewalk 41

Laugh an' Fergit it All 42

Decoration Day 43

A Word. 43

"Back There" 44

To Miss W. 45

The Reading of "Bittersweet" 46

To Martha W. 48

Whereas I Was Blind, Now I See 49

Farewell Words 5 1

Pray For Him 52

To E. C. S. 53

Easter 54

Sixty-five's Unconsciousness 55

Be Good and True 55

To Mrs. Amelia Peck 56

With a New Year's Gift 56

You Bid Me Come 57

After Many Days 58

Hello Papa 59

With a Thankoffering 60

To Mr. and Mrs. Espenett 61

Is This the IJest Way 62

To M. P. Wheeler 63

They Drank in the Same Canteen 64

"Let Bygones be Bygones" _.._ 65

Waiting the Summons at 86 Years 66

Mater Dolorosa 67

Easter Morning 6 9

Majority 71

Good Bye to 1896 72

To Mrs. G. 73

The Hero of Manila Bay 74

Apple Blossoms 76

or Folks 77

The Twenty-fifth Anniversary 80

Water Lilies 81

Baby's Thanks to "Auntie" Sherman 82

Punished 83

Autumn's Gift 84

Just Twenty-one 85

To Mrs. E. H. .- 86

Where is the Gallant First 87

A Skeleton Closet 89

The Eightieth Birthday 90

The Eighty-first Birthday 91

Good-by 92

To a Friend 93

To a New Grandmother 94

Fruitless 94

Farewell to a Pastor 95

Christmas Greeting 96

To My Valentine Friends 96

A Dream _. .- 9 1

To Mrs. Sarah B. 98

To Mrs. Edna D. : 99

A Saint ; - 99

Three-score and Ten 100

Reunion of the Thirty-sixth Regiment 101

Parting Words 103

The Grieved Wife 104

To "Carly" „ 105

Rallying Song r 106

A Mother's Gethseriiane 107

To a Pleasant Doorvard Caller 108

His Curls 1 08

To a Soldier in 1862 109

To the Critics of Jay Gould 110

Despair _ Ill

When Lanes Were Purple With Michaelmas Daisies 112

To Mrs. C. S. : 112

Honor to Whom Honor is Due 113

Trailing Arbutus _ 113

Out of the Shadows 114

The Candlemas Baby 115

To Cora _ 1 1 6

Home on a Furlough , . 117

Election Day 118

Poem ; 1 1 9

A Head-rest '_ 120

To a Friend in Winter _ 121

He Has Been Drinking Again 123

Go to Bailey's : ; 124

Lines 125

Finis 126

STORIES AND SONGS FOR YOUN& PEOPLE.

For Annie's Scrap-book i 129

Barnardo :.... 130

The Baby Boy ; 131

A Modern Hiawatha's Wooing 132

The Drunkard's Boy 135

Teaching the Teacher 136

A Story for Children's Day. * 138

Repentance __ 142

What Willie Needs 143

To Claude 144

Baby Grade's Rebellion 145

A Pound Donation 146

Baby Alice _ 1 4 7

A Bonnet Social 149

Carried by Storm 152

The Empty Swing 154

Little Alice's Reply 154

Little Sally - 155

A Glad Thanksgiving Day 156

Two Robbers 1 5 7

A New Year's Wish 159

Rondeau 160

Janey Lee And Christie Oleson 161

To the Students of Downer College IVO

Class Song for Sun Prairie, 1893 iVl

Class Song for Sun Prairie, 1895 1V2

Class Song for Bloomington, 1899 1*73

Class Songs for Windsor High School —

Class Poem 187

WEDDING CHIMES.

A Love Song _ 191

To Lydia 192

Silver Chimes _ 193

Golden Wedding Sonnets — Number One , 195

Sonnet Number Two 195

Golden Wedding Greeting 196

Lines on the JNtarriage of Miss H, Y. 196

Sam is Married 197

Ella Wheeler— Married and Gone 198

Retaliation 199

To Fred and Eva 200

Relinquishment 201

To Lois R. 203

Bonny Kate 204

Silver Bells 205

To Mr. and Mrs. Claudius Ellis 206

Bertha's Farewell to Mary 207

To Miss Alice Sabin 208

To Sister Alice 209

To Mrs. Lois A. Wheeler 210

To Mr. and Mrs. James Clements 211

Baby Sister 212

To Edith _ 2 1 3

To Edna Clements - 214

IN MEMORY OP THOSE WHO HAVE EI^TERBD INTO ENDLESS LIFE

Unseen — Yet Near 217

"He is not Here— He is Risen" : 218

Tribute -Mrs. Mirthi Warner : 220

Made Whole 221

Miss Ida Farwell 222.

Lines —Miss Martha Chamberlain 223

Mrs. Edna Ellis ; 226

Into Silence \ 228

She is Dead 229

A Pioneer at Rest .*. 230

Mrs. Emily Miller _._ 231

Ruby Fuik'r. 232

Asleep on the Saviour's Breast 233

Fallen Asleep 237

Forever Sale 238

To a Kriend 238

Mrs. Adaline Clement 240

Deacon Newton Lewis 241

To the Mourning Friends of C. D. Burrington 242

A Tryst 242

We Can Not Understand _ 243

To the Parents of Little Dan 244

Mourn Not 245

Our Neighbor 246

To My Brother 247

A Requiem 248

In Memory of Mrs. Tryphena Burrington 249

To One in Heaven 252

Leave Thy Little Ones. 253

Claudius Ellis 254

The Light of Home is Quenched 255

In Memory of My Sister „ 256

Autumn Leaves

A MEMORY.

Of all the haunting memories

From out the buried years, •One comes to me on summer eves,

To fill my eyes with tears.

The sweet, sweet memory of a house.

Low browed, and white as snow.

Where climbing roses almost reached

The chamber windows low; A small yard shut it from the road

With trim-kept beds of flowers; There were mountain ash, whose rubies glowed.

A welcome at the gate; Bluebells and stately lilies bowed

Each side the pathway straight; A plum tree grew behind the house.

Where a robin built her nest.

When the sun sank in the west.

A brooklet near, in a stony bed,

Went babbling merrily; A shrill -voiced cricket, in the wall,

At eve, chirped cheerily.

Then a welcome bath my mother gave

To rest my weary limbs, And gently rocked me in her arms

Singing sweet evening hymns.

Again I see the clean soft bed.

Where, kneeling by my side.

She told, in simple language, how

Our Saviour loved and died; She did not make His kingdom seem

So strange and far away As many do, who stand and preach

In pulpits, grand, to-day.

She heard the childish prayer, and then

With kiss and fond "good night"

Went down and left the door a-jar.

That I might see the light.

O, tender, thoughtful mother-love,

That would not, careless, doom Her little one, before it slept,

To a dungeon's cheerless gloom.

Then bass of frogs from the mill-pond near.

Blent with the hoot of the distant owl

From ihe top of the pine-crowned hill; And the noisy brook, and a tinkling bell.

And the stir of mother's feet, All, soothed and lulled, unconsciously.

To slumber deep and sweet.

Now, when I seek ray restless couch.

Oppressed with nameless fright.

None pray, and leave a door a-jar

To give my spirit light.

And so, in hush of summer eves.

My eyes overflow with tears When this haunting memory comes to me

From out the buried years.

CHEERFULNESS.

Not less we love the simple note That thrills the russet rohin's throat.

Than if he soared, with golden wing, Higli in the azure sky to sing.

He waits not for the summer shower To make the woods a leafy bower; But comes when orchard boughs are bare.

Presaging flowers and fruitage fair.

And thus should every human heart,

Tho' humble, ever do its part

To cheer the downcast and to say

Bright flowers and fruit will come, some day.

WORRY.

We had worried all the year —

Thought the crops would surely fail Unless God should send us rain —

Unless God kept back the hail.

Worried ere 'twas planting time;

Thought the Spring was cold and late; Feared the very elements

Would combine to spoil our fate.

Thought of locusts, chinch-bugs, flies,

Rust and mildew for the grain; On our brows a worried scowl

Came, and would not leave again.

Thus we worried all the year,

And the corn peeped from the cribs

Bright, and clean, and many-rowed.

Then, at glad Thanksgiving time.

How we smiled, and praised ourselves; That by patient toil and faith.

Good things heaped our pantry shelves, One who heard us talk would think

We had never doubted God; Were he not all-merciful

He would make us feel his rod.

SOLDIERS, TELL US THE STORY.

Soldiers, O tell us the story, of the scenes, that you passed through, In days of the great Rebellion when you proudly wore the blue. Repeat it over and over, for we must never forget That time of our Country's peril, when the ground with blood was wet.

Tell how you sprang to the rescue, so swift, when you heard her

call, And swore, with your arms uplifted, no star from her flag should

fall.

And how the sound of the bugle was sweet as a mother's song, And nerved you to deeds of daring, as you bravely marched along.

And tell of the weary marches, in snow or in scorching heat, Thro' swamps, or over the mountains, with frozen or blistered feet. Tell us again of the camp-life, with all its hardships and care. How you longed for good home rations instead of a soldier's fare.

And tell us again, with laughter, of the struggles, fierce and hard, With chickens, and pigs, and turkeys, that encountered the foremost guard; Repeat how the dear home letters were read again and again. By flaring light of the camp tire, or perhaps in prison pen.

And tell how the sabres rattled, and the horses stamped and

neighed; In the night when "Boots and saddles!" was the call the bugle

made : How you sprang, full armed, to the stirrup and rode, thro' the

chill night air, To meet the foe that was waiting, like a tiger in his lair.

Tell over the wild adventures of picket, or daring scout; And the awful scenes of carnage, ere the foe was put to rout. And tell of the brilliant charges you made, against brist'ling steel; How the wall of men was shattered — was made to tumble and reel.

And tell of the loathsome prisons, of Libby and Anderson,

Tho' our hearts turn faint with horror, at the mention of deeds

there done.

And tell of those brave young comrades, while we listen, with

bated breath, Who never would yield to any, till they met the victor, Death.

Tell, too, how forts were taken, the final victory won; How Lee surrendered his forces, and the cruel war was done. Tell all this and more, O soldiers, that none may ever forget That time of our country's peril, when our cheeks with tears were wet.

Repeat it to little children, with their faces bright as a star. Who, born since the great Rebellion, have only heard of the

war, — For your ranks are growing thinner and soon there will not be one, Who bore a part in the conflict, to tell of the deeds that were done.

And tell them the flag of our countrj^, that floats over land and sea,

Was saved by the blood of martyrs, and must e'er wave proud and free;

That to them you will leave the banner, as a grand and sacred trust.

Which they must guard with their life-blood while you are turnin o- to dust.

WRITE THEM A LETTER TONIGHT.

Don't go to theatre, lecture, or ball,

But stay in your room to-night; Deny yourself to the friends that call,

And a good, long letter write — Write to the sad, old folks at home.

Who sit when the day is done, With folded hands and downcast eyes,

And think of the absent one.

Don't selfishly scribble: "Excuse my haste,

I've scarcely the time to write,"

Lest their brooding thoughts go wand'ring back.

To many a by-gone night When they lost their needed sleep and rest,

And every breath was a prayer, That Uod- would leave their delicate babe

To their tender love and care.

Don't let them feel that you've no more need

Of their love and counsel, wise; For the heart grows strangely sensitive

When age has dimmed the eyes.

It might be well to let them believe

You never forget them, quite; That 3^ou deem it pleasure, when far away,

Long letters, home, to write.

Don't think that the j'oung and giddy friends,

Who make your pastime gay, Have half the anxious thoughts for you

That the old folks have, today.

The duty of writing do not put off,

Let sleep, or pleasure wait; — Lest the letter, for which they looked and longed,

Be a day, or an hour too late.

For the sad, old folks at home,

With locks fast turning white.

Are longing to hear of the absent one- Write them a letter tonight.

FRANCES E. WILLARD.

O, grandest Ship that ever sailed Life's sea,

All other vessels dipped their Hags to thee.

And honored thy pure banner, high unfurled,

As 'twere the ensign of the Better World,

Thou, stately ship, didst touch at every port

And lay thy plea before each nation's court.

Thy followers, the brave white-ribbon band.

Are pledged for "God and Home and Ev'r}'^ Land."

To-day, we nerveless hover in the bay,

Gazing where thou in grandeur sailed away,

Full rigged, and from our sight went, stately, down.

Where sea and sky seem blended into one;

Knowing that nevermore thy mast shall climb

Up the horizon, tho' we watch thro' time.

For in a harbor fair, securely strong,

Thou'rt anchored now, 'mid greetings, and glad song.

Send back a bugle call, the fleet to guide. That scarce, without it, can the mad waves ride; Send back sure signals we may understand. To guide and cheer thy own white-ribbon band; On lofty cliff set thy bright beacon light. That wrong may fall before unswerving Right; Let not the fleet lose its aggressive zest, Tho' its flag-ship in Heaven's harbor rest.

The greatest port of all thoii'st entered in, Bearing thy banner, free from stain of sin, Where, interceding, with thy queenly love. Thou wilt the courts of Heaven to action move; And weapons never known in wars before, Shall aid thy noble cause, till strife is o'er; And base Intemperance shall fall, in shame, Before the allies marshalled in thy name.

TO DE FOREST. .

(When the question of licensing saloons was to be voted upon.)

Fair De Forest, thou art standing like a young and lovely bride,

Wrapped in thy robe of purity, with ways in life untried;

The wooded hills are girding thee, rich fields smile in thy face;

Thou beamest softly back on them, in innocence and grace.

The pearls of honor bind thy brow, and villages around

Bow down in homage unto thee, as to a queen that's crowned;

They say "Behold her purity, her graciousness, her pride;

No wrong, no shame, no guiltiness can in her realm abide."

"Her subjects live by industry — true women and true men — They spurn the bribe saloons would give, and scorn such demon's

den .

Saying, we'll keep our village pure, we'll shield her honored name; We'll give to her no place of vice, to dye her brow with shame." Stand firm, De Forest, keep thyself spotless and undefiled; Guard, thou, the man of feeble will; protect each mother's child. Be like a city on a hill, so all may see thy light; And hold thy banner proudly high for God and Home aijd Right.

ALL DAY.

When I opened my eyes at early dawn

There came, like a flash of light, Your dear face smiling out of the gloom —

A vision, welcome and bright; And thus thro' the changeable web of life

I have woven, grave or gay.

Like a shining thread of gleaming gold

You have been in my thoughts all day.

When others were speaking I heard your voice.

And saw on their lips your smile, And answered their words in gentle tone.

Thinking only of you the while.

It seemed to me you were by my side,

Altho' you are far away, I bless the hours that have been so bright,

For you've been in my thoughts all day.

Can it be your soul has broken its chain

And, knowing how I would grieve, Has come and tarried a day with me

Ere taking of Earth its leave?

Ah, no! I banish a thought so sad.

And hope, wherever you stray, I have been with you in all your dreams

As you've been in my thoughts all day.

All the whole day long — yes, the whole day long- Thro' moods both grave and gay.

Like the sweet refrain of some glad old song. You have been in my thoughts all day.

PRAYER FOR PEACE.

O, God of mercy, hold we pray, The red-mouthed dogs of war at bay; They sniff for blood and battle wrecks — Slip not the leash from off their necks. Fair-faced, in peace our country stands. Industry's web stretched in her hands, Sending Thy missions east and west, And north and south at Thy behest.

Proudly she stands and will not brook

A wrong, nor an insulting look;

Like Roman matron, grandly pure,

She guards her honor, quick and sure.

Let her not rashly loose the pack

Of war hounds struggling for attack —

For war is horrible at best.

And leaves its scars on victory's breast.

Have we forgotten those dread days When skies were lurid with wai-'s blaze? Have we forgotten loved ones slain On the ensanguined battle pliain?

Have we forgot the orphan's cries — The war-made widow's tearful eyes — Mothers whose hair turned sudden gray For sons cut down in battle fray?

Have we forgot the awful strain That came to home-kept heart and brain; How blood in veins well nigh congealed While waiting news from battle field?

The broken homes, unmended yet.

By peace and time can we forget?

Never! Burned into heart and brain, , Those mem'ries ever more remain.

Let not those scenes repeated be — Let carnage hold no revelry; Let the white angel Peace expand Her wings o'er this and ev'ry land — Let nations not unsheath the sword — Guide us in ways of peace, O, Lord!

Let Thy blest message, once again.

Be "Peace on earth, good will to men."

HER ABSENT BOY.

Somewhere,' there's an aching heart to-day.

Somewhere there's a tear-Avet cheek.

And faded lips that ti-emble so

Your name they can scarcely speak.

A mother mourns for her absent boy,

And longs for a written word — Her locks turn gray, and her heart is sick

With the hope so long deferred.

O, send the message she longs to get, And say you will sometime come; 'Twill dry the cheek, that with tears, is wet And brighten the gloomy home.

All the dreary day she thinks of you.

And at night on I'estless bed.

She asks this question again and again

"Is he living, or is he deadV"

Fearing and doubting, while night winds moan,

She prays for a word from you: — Ah! you'll never find in all your life.

Another fond heart so true.

She thinks of days when you came to her With each childish joy and grief:

And wonders to whom you go, to-day, ■ For solace and kind relief.

She watches the way she thinks you'll come, And starts at each step near the door —

'Tis not her boy — her heart sinks down — O, lighten her heart once more.

Some day her eyes will not watch for you,

Nor her lips your name repeat: And tho' footsteps come, and footsteps go.

Her heart will not faster beat — She will not wake, from a troubled sleep,

To pray for a word from you. — Write her the letter ere that time comes. —

'Tis a little thing to do.

Send her the message she longs to get, And say you will sometime come; 'Twill dry the cheek that with tears is wet And brighten the gloomy home.

CHRYSANTHEMUMS.

O, after-glow of summertime, how bright thy colors gleam From cottage windows on the street, making a summer dream. We see no more the garden beds blackened with frost and blight; But gaze thro' polished window panes, at blossoms red, and white, Or purple as a pansy's cloak, or bright as sunset's gold, Or pink as maiden's blushing cheek, when lover's words grow

bold.

Thou hast the power to summon back the scenes of long ago: As after-glow of sunset's light can flush a field of snow.

CHRISTMAS IS NEAR.

Christmas is coming again; coming with all its cheer — 'Tis only a week away — Christmas will soon be here! Evergreens standing in sight proclaim old Christmas cheer; Windows with toys are bright — Christmas is near, — is near!

Yon are wondering what to buy, to give your little one joy; It is tired of picture books, and every wonderful toy; And the gayest of little suits would scarcely be a treat. So oft it is clad anew, from its head to dainty feet. Fill its sock till it overflows, add all you can to its joy; God, only, knows what the future holds for your cherished

girl or boy.

But alas! alas! for the poor, who have no stockings at all — Only a ragged "make believe" to hang on the cold bare wall.

Have you not some garment laid by, where moths a revel will

keep?

Which would warm a shivering child? O, give it before you

sleep — And perhaps your well-filled purse a trifling sum might spare To buy what would seem to him a princely Christmas fare. O, remember why we keep the Chistraas holiday — The birthday of a child as poor, as any on earth today. Forget not this — and then, may Christ, the Saviour hear Of your charities in His name, swelling the Christmas cheer.

MIRANDA'S QUILTING BEE.

We come, we come, a merry group

Of friends and neigbors, fond and trne; With warm good wishes in our Jiearts,

To take a timely stitch for you.

And when the joyful day is past

With all its jests, and quips, and fun, We envy not your hands the task

Of taking out the work we've done; With stitches long, in crooked lines,

We know how hard a job 'twill be; Therefore, as partial recompense,

We each have brought a little fee.

Which please accept, thb' small it is.

As token of our friendship true, While each of us can surely boast

A greater gift, O friend from you.

The blest example you have given

Is cherished in each weary heart.

It nerves its in our gloomy hoiirs.

And bids us act a nobler part.

And since you'll leave us soon, sweet friend.

We're glad we have this gift to keep: — The memory of your }>atient life.

In pathways rough, and dark, and steep.

We each commend you unto Him,

The widow's and the orphan's friend,

And pray that you and your's He'll guard. And unto each, rich blessings send.

THE PENITENT.

Kneeling, am I, while the shadows are falling,

Touching my hair with the silvery gray; Hearest thou, Father, thy wayward son calling? —

Long have I wandered in devious way. — Brightly hope's sunbeams illumined my boyhood.

Gilding the dreams on ambition's high crest; Dreams that were beautiful, lofty and holy —

Burned to white ashes, today, in my breast.

Lured on by tempters, I carelessly followed;

Knowing my footsteps were veering toward hell; Fiend-like, they joyed in the unequal contest —

Little by little, 1 faltered and fell.

Merciful Saviour, thou knowest my errors,

Blessed Redeemer, thou, only, canst know The struggles, defeats and passionate yearnings —

Pity the prodigal's heart-rending woe.

Hast thou a place reserved for the penitent

Where one may find the lost dreams of his youth; Where, with the mem'ry of struggles and failures,

One may regain all life's beauty and truth? Give back once more in that realm for the penitent

A chance to regain opportunities lost. — Closely I'll follow the Guide thou hast given

Who came to save sinners, at O, what a cost!

Tho' sweetest of wiles and temptations surround me.

With eyes fixed on Thee I will walk in thy way.- Forgive and forget the dark past where I stumbled, —

Give one more trial, O Father, I pray!

Thou, who hast known all my sinning and sorrow.

Thou, who hast noted my penance and pain, Pity andpai'don me — O, Father, pardon me!

Give back the lost chance of youth-time again.

RETROSPECTION.

Pent in the city, year after year, lam tired and sick of its din and strife; And I long once more for country cheer.

With the quiet joys of the okl farm life; And I clasp my hands behind ray head, .

While I lean far back in ray office chair. And close my lids over tears, unshed; Forgetting the present with all its care.

Far from the city my fancy flies.

To a quaint old farmhouse, seeming asleep.

So placid the landscape 'round it lies,

With its lazy cattle and grazing sheep;

And the fragrance sweet of the locust trees

Steals over my senses, and I can hear

The droning hum of the bumble bees.

And the meadow lark singing, loud and clear,

I ci-oss the brook, whose babbling voice Was music to nre in the years gone by; It seems to say, "O, drink and rejoice!

I Avill never becloud your brain nor eye." On the vine-wreathed porch, I doff my hat And lightly step thro' the open door; The house cat sleeps on the braided mat Where sunshine brightens the painted floor.

I'm a hearty, hungry boy once more.

And mother with footstep light and spry Hurries to bring from her ample store, A quarter section of pumpkin pie.

Then I haste away the cows to bring, And call "Co' boss" as I lower the bars; They wend along to the bell's "klang-kling" Down pathways bordered by cowslip stars.

The chores are done, and night comes down As we kneel together for evening prayers; The sweetest sleep I have ever known, Conies in the room at the head of the stairs. Unbroken my sleep till father calls.

In the stairway door, "It is time to rise"; And cheerily says, "Good luck befalls The early bird that is seeking a prize."

No feast Delmonico ever spread Was as good as our simple morning fare.

With golden butter and sweet brown bread, And mother j^residing with gi-acious air. Then off to work, while the sun's first rays Make diamonds of all the drops of dew; And our hearts soar up to God, in praise. As the city dwellers may never do.

No drones are found in the farmer's hive. Even children to little tasks must bow; Their Bible teaches them they can thrive Only by honest sweat of the brow.

Men work with a will, in rain or sun, Believing that he who sows shall reap; This creed from fathers is handed down — The day is for work, and the night for sleep.

But days of pleasure are sandwiched in.

Never grand receptions, for pride's display.