Gold gleams of poetry

Dedication

As a token of sincere love and gratitude, I herewith dedicate this little volume to Mrs. Ettie E. Wilson Duncan, a native of Andrew County, Missouri, and a present resident of Axtell, Kansas.

I dedicate this little book To one retired in quiet nook; Heroic, though her humble name May never sound in halls of fame.

Preface

The poems contained in this volume were written at irregular intervals during a period of more than thirtyyears, beginning far back in school days. These verses are so varied as to please most any reader. Among them are found appropriate recitations for almost any occasion — Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year, Easter, Children's Day, etc. If something suitable is desired for church, lodge, school, or indeed any other place of entertainment, a careful search of these pages will never disappoint you. Just what you want is here.

Through many seasons I have wrought, Prospecting in the minds of thought, These humble specimens at last Into my reader's hands are passed. Of poetry they show gold gleams, Their glitter sends through all my dreams A hope that time may yet unfold A shining vein of real gold.

Accept, at present, these gold gleams. Let radiance of their glad beams Throw golden light on all life's way, And better, brighter, make each day. If, in the course of future years, A vein of real gold appears Gold gleams of poetry grown old. Exchange for poetry's pure gold.

Introduction

When the day at last is ended,

With its business, toil and cares When oblivion would free you

From all troublesome affairs, When to listening stars and flowers

Lovers true their loves rehearse; If you still feel worn and weary,

Find then soothing rest in verse. Dearest heart, this same small volume

Would console in such an hour; Closely read its humble pages.

They may wield a magic power.

Here's a balm for joy or sorrow.

Nothing ill, but could be worse; Nothing good, but might be better,

Find, then, soothing rest in verse.

Index

Page

A Year Ago • ^

A Lost Rose H

A Blind GirPs Dream of the Stars 11

A Question 12

Album Verse 12

A Picture of You When You Were a Baby 13

An Acrostic 1^

Autumn Leaves ' 14

An Autumn Rose 17

A Little New-Made Grave 17

Baby 18

Bridal Greeting 19

Behold the Lilies 20

By and By 21

Cats 22

Cupid's Freak 23

Children's Outing 24

Confession 25

Claudia 26

Christian Contentment 27

Christmas Time 28

Dream of a School Boy 29

Dry Cleaning 31

Dora 32

Eventful Bank Check 33

Easter Bells 34

Ever or Never 36

Earth's Dearest Place 36

Extra 37

Easter Flowers 38

Flowers 39

Flower Song to One Most Dear 40

Fond Eyes Do All the Wooing — Lips Only Name the

Day 40

Following Christ 44

Galveston Deluge 45

Glittering Shams 46

Page

Good-By 48

Grant Thou This Prayer 49

Gentle, Sweet Louise 50

Golden 51

HaUeluia 52

Her Baby 52

How It Happened 53

I'll Not Care 55

Impromptu 58

It Will Not Be Always So 59

I Would Die For You 61

I Want To Hear From Mamma 62

Jus' a Little Rope Wiz Handles 63

Just a Letter From Jack Frost 64

Kiss and Message 65

Life's Galilee 66

Little Alice 67

Little Tot's Speech on Washington 68

Lover's Lane 68

Look Out For the Web 69

Love 70

Last Friday in November , 71

Loads and Loads of Toys 72

Lost Opportunity 73

Must Folks Keep Still in Heaven? 74

My Prayer 76

Magic Fruit 77

My Old Rustic Home in the South 77

New Leper Healed 78

Next Strawberry Time 79

No Gift to Suit 80

You Pretty Red Automobile 81

Our Beautiful Dead 82

Only in Dreams 83

Old Letters 84

Origin of Christmas 85

One More Star 87

Pulling Her Tooth 88

Practical Demonstration 89

Play Indians 91

Popping Corn 93

Real Fairies 93

Reverie During Rainfall 94

Royal Flowers 95

Robins 96

Page

Santa Claus Up-to-Date 98

Sailing 100

She Has Swept Through the Gates 101

Sing To My Heart 102

Souvenirs 102

Story of the White Rose Tree 103

Story of the Baby and Cat 105

Sing the World a Song of Gladness 106

Soap Bubbles 107

Sparrows 107

Taking Their Turns 109

The Sherman Cyclone 110

The Mustard Plaster Ill

Through Hallowe'en Havoc to Cupid 112

The Beautiful 117

Take Thou My Hand 119

That City Beyond 120

Those Times and These 121

The Darkest Hour 122

There Goes a Hearse 123

The Can on the Little Dog's Tail 125

Twilight 126

Tears and Rain 127

The Waiting Time 129

To Miss Rose Greenleaf Elliott 130

Titan Claims Titanic 131

Utopia 136

Up in the Breezy Blue 139

Unlicensed Nell 140

Unsatisfied 141

Unbar the Door 144

Vase, Shell and Picture 144

Valentines 145

Verse Offering For Thanksgiving 147

Where Will You Spend Eternity? 148

Why 150

When 151

Waiting the Sound of Wheels 152

Words of Truth 154

Where is Old Mrs. Santa Claus? 155

Work Mixed With Play 156

Were the Stars and Flowers Just Flirting 157

Watching a Change of Years 158

Wanda 159

Worth and Beauty 160

A YEAR AGO.

I. The sky is just as cloudless

As fresh the green below, As when I woke from slumber

This morn a year ago; The wild birds trill as gayly

And sweetly now as then; Is this not that same sweet morn

Of springtime come again?

No, no, this brow, then sunny

As Heaven's face, has been O'ercast by clouds of sorrow.

That morn's not come again.

No bird voice sounded higher.

More glad than mine rang then.

Now low its notes, and mournful,

That morn's not come again.

II. I seek the verdant meadow

No choicer flowers here grow Than those so fair and fragrant

This morn a year ago.

The gem-like dew drops o'er them.

Look just as bright as then; Is this not that same sweet morn

Of springtime come again?

No, no, blushed just as deeply

This cheek as yon rose then, 'Tis pale now like that lily.

That morn's not come again.

Pearls brighter than these dew drops

Gleamed o'er my white robe then, They ill would suit this sable.

That morn's not come again.

III. The day at last is dying, The winds sigh just as low

As when I heard their whispers,

Tonight a year ago; The stars, too, beam as calmly

And brightly now as then, Is this not that same calm night

Of springtime come again?

No, no, I sighed more lightly

Than gentlest breezes then, None now can sigh so deeply,

That night's not come again; No star that beams can rival

Your eyes, was told me then, Now dull these eyes, and tearful,

That night's not come again.

IV. I steal off to the church yard

Its tombstones high and low, Look just as when I passed them

Tonight a year ago; But now I pause beside one

That did not stand here then.

No, this is not that calm night

Of springtime come again.

That worshiped form so faultless,

So fondly near me then, This new made grave embosoms.

That night's not come again.

V. My heart its throbbing quickened

At each tone rich and low.

My dear companion uttered

Tonight a year ago ; That heart and all 'neath Heaven

Held sacred by it then.

This deep dark grave has buried,

That night can't come again.

Some sweet day Heaven's portals

Shall part for me, and then.

Bliss to enjoy forever,

I'll clasp my own again.

A LOST ROSE.

No one can guess, nor can language express,

How passionately I love flowers, And roses, gay, dewey roses of May

Are the dearest in all earth's bowers.

A fresh bouquet of these beauties of May

A friend kindly gathered for me, 'Neath heaven 's blue dome, then I took my way home,

My heart fairly dancing with glee.

While on my way, from the precious bouquet

One blushing rose loosened and fell, Where it was tossed, and so hopelessly lost,

I grieve that I am powerless to tell.

That evening cool, though my hands were quite full

Of rosebuds and roses of May, Loath to pass on with one tender bloom gone,

I lingered and sought where it lay.

I searched in vain, fated never again

To clasp the rare blossom I lost, And who can say? Did it die where it lay?

Did no one find where it was tossed?

Some passer-by, who, as dearly as I,

Loves radiant roses of May, I hope soon found my lost gem on the ground.

And tenderly bore it away.

A BLIND GIRL'S DREAM OF THE STARS.

I viewed, while sweetly I slumbered, The beautiful stars of the night,

Full many of which I numbered, With infinite delight.

I had oft been told of their splendor. And wished God had granted me sight,

That I might behold their tender. Sweet love-inspiring light;

So last night during my dreaming,

To heaven I lifted my eyes, And saw them twinkling and gleaming,

Gemming the deep blue skies.

My soul expanded immensely, Lest I should ne 'er see them again,

How long, how very intensely I gazed upon them then.

I watched the glittering clusters And counted their radiant stars,

Observed their various lustres.

Which nothing ever mars.

They glowed with unrivaled splendor. Those beautiful stars of the night.

What joy to behold their tender, Sweet, love-inspiring light !

Just as they shown through my dreaming, Like millions of diamonds most bright,

I fancy them o'er me gleaming In heaven's dome each night.

A QUESTION.

Are we but dreamers, I and thou? The joys and hopes that thrill us now, Are these mere visions of the night, That cannot bear the morning light ; But with the first faint blush of dawn, Must fade and be forever gone?

Must our bliss always only seem Or shall we realize our dream?

ALBUM VERSE.

True love is dearer than all else,

When has it wooed and failed to win?

The hardest heart it charms and melts. It lifts the wretch from woe and sin.

Love wipes the tears from weary eyes, Brings back their long forgotten light,

It comes with laughter, checks all sighs, Plants roses on the cheek most white.

Love changes discord, pain and strife, To harmony repose and peace ;

Makes souls it found so sick of life, Deplore that life must ever cease.

Love's magic power can soothe and calm When vain hath proved all other skill;

Love is the surest healing balm For every wound and every ill.

A PICTURE OF YOU WHEN YOU WERE A BABY.

My precious girl, a mother sobbed,

Amid the twilight gray, While bending fondly o'er the couch

Whereon her daughter lay, Death's angel hovers o'er you now,

We soon must part, it may be, A vivid picture comes to me

Of when you were a baby.

A picture of you when you were a baby I kiss your lips and dream of all you may be ; It shows you cooing in my arms, It points out all your countless charms. That picture of you when you were a baby.

The cooing, prattling baby one.

What else on earth so dear?

The velvet hands, the silken hair,

The tender eyes so clear.

The tiny form, the trusting heart.

How richly you repay me For every care, the mother sings.

My own, my darling baby.

It matters not how fast and far

The child has strayed in sin, It matters not how fraught with crime

The wayward life has been, The mother loves and claims it still,

And prays reformed it may be, She sings, a picture comes to me.

Of when you were a baby.

Your son may reach the topmost round

That crowns fame's ladder high, Dame Fortune may surround your girl

With all that wealth can buy; Mid clouds or sunshine, weal or woe.

Whatever lot it may be.

The sweetest picture of your child

Is when it was a baby.

AN ACROSTIC.

When dreaming, my heart knew no sadness,

It thrilled with ineffable gladness.

Life's toils and its worries were banished.

Love's yearnings and cravings had vanished;

I knew not a sorrow in seeming.

All was as I wished it when dreaming;

My hopes in fruition all ended.

My life with a dearer life blended.

Unchanging was all that I cherished,

Lived nothing, which charmed me, that perished.

Fain would I have this more than seeming;

Oh, I was so happy when dreaming,

Reality wakes me with weeping.

Dear dreaming, return when I'm sleeping.

AUTUMN LEAVES.

All the autumn leaves are dying.

All the autumn breezes sighing,

Waft the last sad message of perishing leaves.

So withers all beauty to which the heart cleaves.

Those leaves, living-green and tender, From spring till fall waved in splendor. And now they are fated to burn or to mold, Because they are fallen, dead, withered and old.

Dead leaves raked by tons together,

Must burn during autumn weather.

Or lie there decaying, enriching the soil.

From ghostly tree branches we shrink and recoil.

So low are those bare boughs swaying, , As if to seize us while straying, And hoarsely they echo the dirge of the leaves : So withers all beauty to which the heart cleaves.

But is there no future waking?

No balm for bereaved hearts breaking?

Faith *s song drowns all voices of dirge wailing leaves,

For there comes sure resurrection. Of all most dear to affection.

Hold fast the assurance, each spirit that grieves. Next springtime watch tree boughs all put forth new leaves.

Each cherished sweet human blossom.

Dropped to sleep here on earth ^s bosom.

Shall bloom new in heaven, where nothing deceives,

Where life-trees eternal wear evergreen leaves.

ALL ABOUT THE WASH-OUT ON THE LINE.

On busy city thoroughfare

I mingled once with passers there.

At middle of the afternoon

On the last fleeting day of June.

Black clouds had threatened rain for hours,

And now it came in |;orrent showers.

I listened to the murmuring throng.

That seeking shelter rushed along,

Myself escaping the downpour

Beneath the awning of a store.

With all the world I felt at peace.

And planned to dream till rain should cease.

But sudden great surprise was mine —

The newsboys all began to shout.

I knew my wife had washing out,

For I had put the boiler on,

And all the needed water drawn.

Before I went to work that day,

While still the sunshine's golden ray,

Fell fondly down with kisses warm.

And gave no sign of coming storm ;

But clouds arose of dark design —

All about the washout on the line.

It rang, it echoed near and far.

Above the clash and din and jar

Of all the tumult and the strife

Of busy, restless city life.

I thought about my socks and shirt.

And hoped they still remained unhurt.

I wondered if the wind, perchance.

Had seized and carried off my pants.

I thought of wife and all our boys.

If minus clothes, then minus joys.

But had my wife the storm foreseen,

And gathered all in safe and clean?

At least one gleam of hope was mine;

''All about the washout on the line,"

A newsboy yelled quite close to me

But still that hope-gleam would not flee.

I said I'll yield myself to fate.

And sheltered here serenely wait,

'Till this rain ceases, then I'll go.

Perhaps I have no cause for woe.

My wife is not the only dame,

A thousand women just the same.

Hung clothes today as well as mine —

"All about the washout on the line,"

In each direction roared a kid,

And then no matter what I did.

My thoughts would still revert to home,

And picture grief beneath its dome.

At last the mad rain ceased to fall;

I bought a paper, that was all,

For I was too confused to read,

I hailed the street car, and with speed.

Was hurried up the homeward track.

And soon to my own door was back.

Wife met me in her usual way,

I gasped, how fares the wash today ? Oh, it's all safe, and clean, and dry, I'm ironing now, was her reply.

I told her then my story through. She laughed at me and I laughed, too. We searched the paper to divine, "All about the washout on the line," And found some bit of railroad track, Had been washed out and all put back.

AN AUTUMN ROSE.

I held a pure rose to polluted lips,

While I kissed its life away.

Breathing perfume stored in its heart's pure depths,

Till I breathed it all that day. How blighted and black soon became the rose,

Quite killed by my foul hot breath. Ah ! its pure sweet breath, had it sweetened mine.

And changed my life through its death ? I dropped it at last with most reverend hand,

Its grand mission here was done, To Calvary's cross then I looked in faith,

And the victory was won.

There the crimson stream flowing down for all.

Made me pure as that pure rose.

Only wholesome breath now my lips exhale,

As each moment comes and goes.

No more does it blight blooming autumn rose,

Fraught with fragrant holy balm. So with light glad heart and pure spirit free

My life is forever calm.

A LITTLE NEW-MADE GRAVE.

When the springtime fully opens.

And sweet warblers trill again.

When soft grasses and wild roses

Grow along the pleasant lane, When orchards bud and blossom.

When the leafy tree-boughs wave, I will often steal in silence.

To a little new-made grave.

There is a little new-made grave, Where the stately oak trees wave,

And my lonely heart is pining evermore. But I'll clasp my precious child, When I cross death's river wild,

And be happy on that far-off golden shore.

II.

Since I lost my infant darling,

Life is dark and incomplete.

How I miss the magic music

Of his voice and tiny feet.

To my soul divinest rapture

His angelic presence gave, But his baby form now slumbers

In a little new-made grave.

III.

But I know when life is ended

I shall clasp my child again.

And forever live in heaven

Far beyond all grief and pain.

I am trusting in the mercy

Of the Christ whose power can save, In the long-ago He triumphed

Over sin and death and grave.

BABY.

My little Circy brought one day

A half-dead squirrel found at play.

Said we can save it maybe.

Sweet-milk soon caused it to revive, And wonderfully it seemed to thrive.

We fondly called it Baby.

Dear cunning, cute little tree-squirrel, So charming to each boy and girl,

With fur soft as silk, through saucer of milk, In fancy I still see it whirl.

No one can tell what made it die, One evening so lively and spry,

And dead the next day we laid it away. With sorrowful tear-drop and sigh.

II.

*'We saved its life," my boy would tell. It seemed so happy, strong and well,

We hoped to raise it, maybe.

My story ends in deep regret.

Just one short week we kept this pet.

Then lost our wild-wood baby.

BRIDAL GREETING.

Dear friend, may this, thy wedding day, Prove sunny as the flowery May, With not one cloud in all the sky. Nor anything to make thee sigh.

II.

Sweet faithful friends and kindred dear With kisses, gifts and words sincere, Will greet thee when thou art a bride And all will praise, not one will chide.

III.

Kind heaven, grant it may be so,

Thro ' all the years thou yet must know ;

May all the happiness divine,

Wished thee this day, some day be thine.

IV.

Thou are a treasure truly rare.

May he whose name thou soon shalt bear Quite realize that such thou art, And cherish thee with all his heart.

Keep thee secure from every ill, And each day love thee better still; And when life's summer passeth by And thou with other flowers must die.

VI

In paradise I pray that thou With bloom anew, more fair than now, I wish him all that I've wished thee, For time and for Eternity.

BEHOLD THE LILIES.

Behold the lilies how they grow. They reap not, neither do they sow. And yet King Solomon so great, With all his glory, wealth, and state, Was not arrayed like one of them, Once said the Christ of Bethlehem.

II.

Behold the lilies! just the same

As when Christ called them by their name,

While pausing to admire their dress.

He pointed out their loveliness ;

Since then with every sacred breath,

They honor Christ of Nazareth.

III.

Behold the lilies, white and pure.

Of food and raiment always sure ;

For God, who marks each sparrow s tall,

Doth feed and clothe the lilies all ;

And whether on the land or sea.

They praise the Christ of Galilee.

IV.

Behold the lilies, evermore, Umblemished as in days of yore.

True emblems of the sinless soul. Which all beholders must extol ; They whisper far more pure than we, Was Christ of dark Gethsemene.

V.

Behold the lilies' dewdrop tears.

Gleam mid their white leaves through the years,

Gold sunbeams kiss them all away.

Still fresh tears bathe them each new day;

Their dewey tears of sympathy

Are for the Christ of Calvary.

VI.

Behold the lilies, fresh and fair, Adorning every house of prayer In snowy, splendid, sweet array, They bless the holy Easter day.

Proclaiming through each bud and bloom, The risen Christ from Calvary's tomb.