Gems of inspiration

Preface To Scrap-book

In the poems contained in this scrap-book I have endeavored to portray the conditions of the present age, which have been thrust upon us through the social, poHtical, financial and religious bondage which we, through ignorance, have been forced to accept.

But as the earth now stands upon the threshold of a new era, I hope the time is not far distant when we shall all realize where we stand, and see the cause and learn to seek and apply the remedy, which is freedom and co-operation.

It is indeed a pitiful sight to look over our civilized and so-called Christian land and there behold the penitentiaries, insane asylums, almshouses, jails, houses of correction, reform schools, etc., etc., to say nothing of our fallen women and animal men, tramps, idlers, etc., but try as we may we cannot blind our eyes to the sight if. we have any heart or soul left, and we are all seeking for a clue of thread to guide us out of those Cretan labyrinths and place us on our feet. But we are looking in the wrong direction, for we are looking to the money-god instead of the mangod as our Savior, for our religion is of the earth

6 Preface.

earthy and binds us through ignorance to ceremonies and customs.

If earth's children are ever saved it must be through woman's emancipation, but woman will never be free until she is delivered from financial dependence and the yoke of custom. This I have tried to show in the poems, "What is Man?" "What is Woman?" and "An Appeal to Liberty."

Above all, women and men must be free spiritually, for the great architect of a human soul is spiritual truth, and she cannot work with material gloves on. And this is where we all have failed ; we have been building from a material standpoint instead of spiritual, as our divorce courts very clearly prove, and some of the poems in this little volume show the present dilapidation of tiie social fabric and also the order that must come out of all this chaos. It is my belief that this change is governed by planetary laws, and must be brought about through the plan of the ages ; so we must hope and work with as much patience as we can command for the new age to be born which is to make us all free, man as well

as woman.

Marcia M. Sisco.

THE TIME WILL COME

I make no moan above my faded flowers, I will not vainly strive against my lot,

Patient I'll wear away the slow, sad hours As if their sombre ray were quite forgot.

While stronger fingers snatch away the sword And lighter footsteps pass me on their ways,

I'll bow submissive to the stern award That says I must go humbly all my days.

I know some heart is beating quickly yet, I know the dream is sweet and subtle still,

And struggling from the clouds of past regret, I yield the conflict to my fate's stern will.

And when the surging waves of human scorn Shall break my hold on all the heart holds dear,

I'll find that throbbing pulse in some bright form Filled with the love that casteth out all fear.

I do not mourn, for on this bright spring morn I know that leaf in my life's book is turned.

The golden memories from my heart are torn, I know this gall will into sweet be turned.

The blotted pages in my book of life

Shall be torn out and scattered to the wind.

And with new hopes my future shall be rife. Oh ! may a lofty purpose fill my mind !

I know that I must bear the scoflFs of creeds, But if need be I'll die for truth's sweet sake ;

Yes, I'd give all to show the world its needs. To show the world the fetters it must break.

For lo, the time will truly come, when all The filth of ages must be gathered up

And burned by fire of truth in one broad hell, That joy may fill life's universal cup.

OCTOBER

Oh, this soft October sunlight,

How it dallies with the ferns, Turns to day the soul's dark midnight,

When for some unknown it yearns.

Ah, indeed, the hearts are many,

Craving pure and holy love, Like this soft October draping,

Tinging lake and field and grove.

But away from love's fair glory.

We pierce the shimmering mellowed light,

Until we stand in heaven's own gateway, Bathed in October's colors bright.

Sweet emblems of the coming ages

Are the many colored leaves.

When His hand shall turn the pages

Which disclose life's autumn sheaves.

Are they filled almost to bursting,

Like October's sheaves of earth, With fruits of gladness everlasting.

Or are those soul sheaves filled with dearth ?

Are we like October's sunset.

Tinged with heavenly glories bright?

Or are we like earth's cold December,

Shut out from love's own warmth and light ?

GcJils of Inspiration.

Aye, do we live in hopes and fancies, That each year will fill our sheaves

With bright glories fit for mansions, Standing near Icarian seas?

SINCE WE PARTED

A thousand hours have come and gone, And left their mark on our weary brain ;

A thousand miles have drifted between

Your home in the city and mine on the plain.

A thousand fancies have knitted a chain

Of orient hues and somber shade, Which oft lies low on the cold, dark plain,

And as oft reaches up to the sunniest glade.

A thousand tides have ebbed and flowed On the stormy shores of life's surging seas.

And a thousand ships have gone down with the flood, With never so much as a rollicking breeze.

A thousand banners have been flung to the winds. Some laden with hope and some with despair,

And a thousand fetters have been unforged, To free weary souls from canker and care.

A thousand tyrants have been at work

In monopoly's furnace, welding our chains.

While the angel hosts have been keeping their books.

Recording therein all our losses and gains.

A thousand friends we thought to be true. Have floated off with the outgoing tide.

And a thousand more have arisen to view The golden truths on the other side.

A thousand tendrils are weaving a web Of joy and sorrow and pleasure and pain,

And a thousand souls are daily led By the Master's hand to eternal gain.

THE LAST TRUMP

Hark, we hear the trumpet sounding, Light is breaking in the east — The night is passing, The morn is flashing, And earth's blackest night is past.

Hark, the jubilee is booming, The clouds of error have fled away — Light is streaming.

The earth is teeming.

With great truths of earth's coming day.

Hark, we hear the thunder's rumbling, Back in the dark discordant past —

Kings are weeping.

Mammon is sleeping.

Beneath the trumpet's welcome blast.

And lo, the coming of time's warriors !

Marshaled into merry lines — Their step is heeded, Their presence is needed,

To light the torch of modern times.

Hark, we hear the bright waves dashing On Lethe's shores of sin and hate —

Swords are rusting.

Creeds are musting.

And old hydra sees his fate.

Hark, the new-born age is singing, As the angels sing with power —

Stars are gleaming,

Banners are streaming, From the courts of wisdom's bower.

Hark, we hear Apollo tuning His golden lyre as in ages gone —

Bacchus is dancing,

Pegasus prancing, But the morning stars still sing their song.

Hark, we hear the angels calling To every nation in all lands —

Orion is kneeling,

Chiron is healing.

Just by laying on his hands.

Lo, the gates of heaven are opening, To let earth's ignorant children in —

Angels are hoping.

Sinners are voting, For a life that is freed from sin.

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW

Oh, these terrible black clouds that lie across my way!

When will they break asunder and show me the light of day?

And, oh, this leaden weight that is crushing me with its might !

Shall I ever be able to stay the fiend in this unequal fight?

To-day I held the mastery o'er Satan and his

throng, To-night I yield the conflict although he's here

alone, To-morrow's fight will spill the blood of virtues

great and grand, Then I hope to slay the vices by the help of the

angel band.

Ah, such is life, to-day we sail on clouds of fleecy

To-night in bitter agony the very dust we bite ; To-morrow we go to battle and slay the good and

just, While the wicked are left to revel in their unholy

lust.

This morn I plucked a lovely rose and twined it in my hair,

At noon it began to droop and die, tho' it was passing fair ;

To-night it lies at my very feet, a faded and lifeless thing,

But I know its fragrance has gone above to wliere the angels sing.

Long years have passed since I first saw the light, And I can scarcely tell where they have flown ;

My sun seems setting in rainbow tints so bright. It seems the grave with flowers nnist l)e strewn.

No roseate morn shone on my early life.

For I was born a sickly little elf. And worst of all, I was unwelcome here,

For even God did not consult himself.

Gems of Ifispiralioii. 13

To know if I would like to live or no,

But in my childhood hours I found some joys

As fleeting as the balmy morning dews,

While here and there I gathered up my toys.

In early youth I lived my life alone,

A wanderer here and there in nature's halls,

Seeking companionship in tree and stone. Or in the waves that beat against their v^^alls.

How like myself those restless waves appeared, As ever and anon they beat their breast.

And tried to leap above their fountain head, Then settled back in an unquiet rest.

At noon a darkling cloud obscur'd my way, My hungering spirit tried to pierce the mist.

It beat against its earthly prison walls,

But angels waved it back and would not list.

Oh, how I prayed that God would rend the cloud That I might thro' the cleft behold one ray

Of spirit light, but as I humbly bowed The cloud grew thicker and blocked up my way.

Lo, then I prostrate fell, weary and faint I cried To heaven for light, for hbpe's lone star had set,

Which, until t.hen, had been my soul's true guide. And whose fair glory I could not forget.

To keep want from my door I struggled hard, And harder still to keep my frenzy down.

E'en midnight labors brought me no reward ; I bore my cross and wore my thorny crown.

In vain I bore my cross up Calvary's hill, And wore the thorny crown upon my way,

For faith was dead, and joy had flown at will, And I was left alone to grope and pray.

I pray'd for strength in vain, I pray'd for light. But selfishness withheld them ])Oth from me ;

Behind the cloud those golden words shone hright From God's own throne, "iVaise waiteth here for thee."

Alone 1 pray'd, while angels stood and sniil'd,

Not at my agony or thorny way, But at the birth of one poor sorrowing child,

Who pleads with them for just one little ray.

At last I heard a voice from out the depths

Saying, "Arise, my child, cast off thy shoes. If thou wouldst wisdom choose make now the}' choice, But with much wisdom you must sorrow choose."

I wavered then — could I more sorrow brook ?

Weary and worn I stood before the cloud — I had no faith to trust the hand I took —

I stood erect ; unto no creed I bow'd.

In darkness then, I stood before the throne. Wisdom and grief, twin sisters, stood afar ;

Pleasure and folly beckon'd me to come,

And said my pleasures ne'er a grief should mar.

I courted wisdom, but dark grief repell'd

For misery had ever been my fate. Against all tutor'd knowledge I rebell'd.

But wisdom is science born of truths innate.

Aluch as 1 wished for wisdom from above, I had no strength to brook her sister, grief ;

I begged for faith and hope and charity,

For these, \vith wisdom, sure would l)ring relief.

Gems of Iiispirafioji. 15

I bowed me then before the sovereign throne And begged the eternal powers to choose for me ;

While thus I bowed my soul poured forth a moan Which rent the cloud and left my spirit free.

Lo, then I faintly touch'd the golden harp Which prophets and poets and bards have tuned for all

Who have the power to reconcile the heart To all the ills that human life befall.

Tears brought relief, but pleasure mocked at me, While wisdom took my hand and raised me up

And pointed out my future destiny, Yet holding to my lips the bitter cup.

I drank it up and tho' it bitter seem'd, It proved a healthy balm and strengthen'd me,

The light of life's elixir in it gleamed. Pointing the way to a higher destiny.

'Twas then my guardian did new power lend. While wisdom taught me out of nature's book,

Yet said to classic lore I should not bend But o'er the cycles of the ages look.

And as I looked the darkness fled away.

The glory of the morn shone bright and fair,

Ignorance and bigotry had had their day,

And wisdom's wand was set with diamonds rare.

Which, as she dips in time's swift rolling years, Robs death of its malignant hated sting,

Will banish victory from the welcome grave. And peace and joy to all on earth will bring.

i6 Gems of luspirafio)!.

So, as the years have passed, they've paved my way

With a prophetic Hght that is born of truth ; And age shall find its youth again for aye,

Clothed in the garments of perpetual youth.

And now I own 'tis pleasant to be here,

Tho' my spirit longs to reach its home above,

To meet my kindred and my loved ones there, And bask with them in heaven's flowery grove.

ETERNITY, ROLL ON

Roll on, roll on, ye mystic years, roll on, L^nfold the secrets which are hidden yet

In the eternal laws of God's great plan. Where time his signs has set.

Peal on, peal on, ye truths of nature's might, Send back your echoes to the squalid past.

And then look forward to the radiant light Where all iiiust stand at last.

Dash on, dash on, ye shining orbs, dash on, Perform your cycles with unerring zeal.

O'er the unmembered ages yet unknown. For life's eternal weal.

Smile on, ye suns of awful might, smile on. And dip your beams in streams of living rays,

Flooding the uncreated time to come With your mysterious ways.

Flow out, flow out, ye streams of bloody gore. And satisfy the gods that warp our fates.

Ye miscompute the lives that evermore Waste even to heaven's gates.

Gems of Inspiration. ly

Wave high, ye gods, your banners of golden lore, And sweep away all creedal priests and bonds.

Set firm your flagstafif on the eternal shore Of heaven's unmeasured grounds.

Drink deep, ye souls of endless life, drink deep. From nature's pure and never-failing fount,

The redeeming glory of your power to keep, While you ascend the mount.

Stand high, stand high, on Zion's holy mount. And sound thy trump of joy to worlds afar.

Give them to drink from life's pure living fount. That they thy wisdom share.

A WAIL FROM THE UNFORTUNATE

The clouds are gathering thick above my head, All damp and cold the night is closing in.

And yet I find no place to lay my head, For lo, my mortal life is stained with sin.

And tho' the Christ has risen, he comes not To say to me as did the Christ of old :

"Neither do I condemn thee; sin no more," Nor lead me with his flock up to his fold.

What shall I do, add blackened crime to sin. And stain my hand with blood of innocence,

Or shall I seek the river and plunge in. Or seek the poison cup in God's defiance?

Shall I make clean the outside of the platter. And thereby shun the taunts of human hate.

Or shall I listen to hate's gibberish chatter,

And leave the last great judgment to my fate?

i8 Gcuis of Inspiratuvi.

I will be strong in purpose and in will.

And bare my breast to catch the flaming sword

Aimed at my soul with the intent to kill,

And ope my ears to hear hate's taunting words.

But where shall I go, where shall I lay my head, Sleep on the cold, cold ground this bitter night,

With nothing for my pillow but a stone : Oh, can I live to see the morning light ?

But God, who tempers winds to the shorn lamb, Will care for me, if not then let me die

Here on the street all freezing and alone. With none to shed a tear or heave a sigh.

Well, Christians ahvays told me "God is love," And so I know he will draw near to me,

And mercy wall unlock her bolted doors To let the pinioned sinbound soul go free.

If God should say, "Depart, I know you not," He cannot justly take my child from me ;

I know he'll let me bear it on my breast Thro the long ages of eternity.

Curse him, no, never, he is not to blame,

'Tw^as woman's love, stronger than death itself,

That prompted me to do this deed of shame. And as God lives, I'll bear the blame myself.

Love my child? go ask the drooping flower If it loves the evening dews it cannot see ;

Go ask the bird in yonder shady bowser If it loves the tiny nestlings yet to be.

Go ask the sunbeam in the valley green

If it loves the little flower it stoops to kiss;

Go ask the breeze that skims the water's shore If it loves the water lilv it doth caress.

Go ask the matron in her palace home If mother nature is more true to her,

And gives her mother's heart a deeper love Than God imparts to the Icne wanderer.

Go ask the bride before the altar there, Clothed in her satin robe of richest folds.

And bridal veil with orange wreath so fair, If she loves him who by the hand she holds.

Am 1 cast in a meaner, humbler mould?

Too low to love, and yet too high to hate Aught save the price of virtue bought and sold —

Too low to love aught save a perfect mate ?

Well now, most righteous judge, come take my hand,

And lead me up before thy gilded throne, Fm anxious to receive thy just command,

That sends me to perdition or says Come.

THIS SILVERY HAIR

In old Golconda's mines there is no gold So vastly rich as is this slender cord.

All silvered o'er with freighted years untold. As it twines around the throne of reason's lord.

This silvery hair was bought with the price of years

Of grief and pain and uniequited toil, Bathed at the baptismal fount of scalding tears,

Tried in the test of pestilential fears.

20 Cans of Inspiration.

Yet it bears the shades of Hlies pure and white — Sweet emblems fair of some forthcoming joy —

Oh, may it serve as guide to peace and right. And heavenly joys unmixed with earth's alloy.

No richer boon could to my soul be given

Than this bright waymark of the coming life;

It stands as mile-stone on the way to heaven, Cleansed from all dross by earthly pain and strife.

TRUE FRIENDSHIP

Friend after friend we thought sincere Have proven false and left us lone,

And oft we've shed the silent tear As cords were broken one by one.

Not more than twelve have proven true To friendship's pure unselfish claims,

And those we treasure far above The richest, rarest diadems.

Nor can we dote on all of these

Since Christ could only boast of eleven,

Indeed we would not be surprised To only find the Jewish seven.

And e'en among the eleven was one Who came with smiles and oily tongue.

And whom e'en Jesus could not see As he stood there amid the throng.

A worse than Peter was this onr^, This Judas of the olden times,

Tho' ancient as the Hebrew's song He marches on thro' crcedal lines.

And sits to-day 'neath costly domes,

Beneath tall spires that point to heaven,

While Peter his great sin bemoans, Judas still lurks among the eleven.

And so we still expect to find

Peter and Judas among the few, We thought sincere, for we are 1)lind

Till hidden springs are brought to view.

Tis very hard to doubt a friend

Who Clasps our hand with earnest zeal,

On whom we think we can depend In times of woe as well as weal.

And yet we have so often felt

A Judas kiss upon our cheek, And with a Peter we have knelt,

Who us denied within a week.

That we have almost broken faith

With sunny smile and pleasant nod. And iron grip of hand that saith I want you for my present good.

ONE BY ONE

•One by one our footprints vanish From the sounds of long ago.

One by one are memories banished From our hearts by weal or woe.

One by one our moments hasten Into dim visions of the past,

One by one are fountains opened, Each one different from the last.

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One by one the angels meet us With a balm for every tear,

One by one the bright lights greet us From the future heavenly sphere.

One by one the sands are running Thro' the glass we cannot turn ;

One by one our thoughts are turning To the lessons yet to learn.

One by one we're passing over

To that bright and flowery plain ;

One by one the angels guide us ; One by one we'll meet again.

One by one cold hands are folded ;

One by one our footsteps cease ; One by one are spirits moulded

By His hand to stern decrees.

One by one earth's bonds are broken, And the pinioned soul goes free ;

One by one the words are spoken, ''Come ve wearv, rest with me."

MY WINTER GARDEN

Dame Nature last night while I was asleep

Carried me off to the land of dreams, She led the way over oceans deep

And I gathered strength from the golden beams.

That were poured over bright Italian ]:ilains

By the tropical sun of tliat l)eautiful clime, Laden with odcrs from fragrant moors

Embalmed with the toucli of a hand divine.

As if by magic while I was away

A mystical garden was grown for me ; The flowers were blooming as lovely as May,

All laden with silver they seemed to be, Here's a beautiful bed of ten-week stock

And here the momordea trails its vines. Here grows the little forget-me-not,

And here the delicate cypress twines.

And here the cactus with stately leaves Lifts its crowned head from the vale below, Here a lofty palm is bowed by the breeze.

Close by the side of the glistening snow. And here's a bed of beautiful ferns,

The loveliest bed in the garden, I ween They have drifted in from my childhood bowers,

Of which naught is left but a sacred dream.

And here lies a leaf from an oaken tree

Which has floated in from some oaken glen, And here the wild flag is growing free

As it does in nature's deserted fen. And here stands a rose-tree covered with leaves.

Some are turned back and some fearfully torn, As if't had been shaken by a chilling breeze

Of December's cold breath, with a touch o^ scorn.

As true as Hfe there's a woman's face.

Peeping out from the crystalized bowers, Tho' her form is hid neath the glistening lace.

Her face is as fair as the silvery flowers. But a fatal simoon has come and gone

And breathed on my garden its heated breath That withered my flowers one by one

With a magical wand surcharged with death.

FROM THE SPIRIT OF G. W. HASTINGS, TO M. M. SISCO

By Mrs. Samuel Sunderland.

Out of the darkness into the light, I in true beauty have taken my flight,

And from my home so pure and so lovely, I have come to you, cousin, to-night.

Sweet is the life that fears not our answers As we approach from the bright world of bliss,

Often I come and on your loved forehead

Imprint my true love in affection's warm kiss.

You are yet to win greatest of glories,

From the bright angels that come near you each day To tell you of heaven and all ancient stories. Of the realms where we go the world says, if we pray.

But I passed on and without that achievement I reached the bright home that awaited me there.

And as a brave soldier that's resting from battle I stand with bright angels both loving and fair.

You will the same have a briglit home in heaven.

Ever so bright for the good works you've done ;

Tis your works that will give you the brightest

of mansions,

When death yield unto you the crown you

have won.

Sweetest of hours 1 have often passed with you Dearest of cousins, so noble in mind,

Beautiful angels come oft to impress you

With the great truths that you some day will find.

For which ere a year has rolled its time o'er you,

You will be given due praises in song, Give all the grand truths with which they impress

And all of the honors are yours when they re won.

THE SOLDIERS' HOME At Marshalltown, Iowa.

Three hundred and fifty human souls Dwell in this beautiful soldiers' home,

Embellished with beautiful trees and flowers. Overshadowed by heaven's blue-arched dome,

Three hundred and fifty lone, wrecked souls Stand on the shores of time's low ebb,

All bereft of tender and loving ties,

With no brilliant shades in life's dark web.

Three hundred and fifty hearts beat low, With never a thrill at the touch of hands,

Three hundred and fifty wonder how

A note would sound from angelic bands.

Three hundred and fifty lonely hearts Hunger in vain for the love of a child.

And they list in vain mid the crowded marts For the silvery laugh, rolicking wild.

Three hundred and fifty tongues hsp no more The loving words they were wont to speak

To a mother or sister, or wife, or child, Ere their manly pulse grew tired and weak.

Seven hundred trembling and weary hands Fall listless down by their master's side,

Seven hundred tired, faltering feet Over the threshold noiselessly glide.

Seven hundred longing and time bleer'd eyes Look hopelessly back o'er love's dead waste,

Then look ahead to the coming days,

When each hungering soul shall meet its mate.

When they, too, shall walk in the summerland, Freed from the thoughts of that terrible war.

Where they suffered and bled, a united band, For the liberty tyranny could not mar.

Seven hundred ears have long listed the sound Of voices heard in the days gone by.

When each youthful heart with love did bound, And their breast heaved not with a hopeless sigh.

They have given their health, they have given their all, To snatch human souls from a viper's fangs. They responded freely to their country's call. And exchanged hope and love for war's dread pangs.

But America's sons have done their best

To prepare good homes for our war blighted men,

WHiere their shattered bodies may wait and rest. Yet those homes are charncl houses, T ken.

Cciiis of Ins {miration. 2J

Debased bv the claims of their obdurate minds, Their manhood has fled and their virtues arc gone — They have tarnished the crown that war's g-lory wins, But 'twill brighten again in the life to come.

TO THE FRIEND OF MY YOUTH

My friend, I stand by your side once more. Take my poor lone hand in your own,

And lead me down to the shady shore

Of that silvery lake where we used to roam

For I long to look on the rippHng waves,

As they lave the shore where our feet have trod,

Tho' strange feet now crush the autumn leaves, As they fall on the faded yet sacred sod.

Tho' strange hands gather the nuts so brown, And strange hands gather the lilies fair,

Let us sit on the shore near the dear old home And for one brief hour forget grief and care.

And now, dear one, bathe my throbbing brow With cooling drops from the lakelet's breast,

Oh press me, dear, to your own heart now. And here for one moment let me rest.

Let me pillow my head once more on thy breast, And list once more to thy beating heart —

Oh grant as a boon this one last request,

Just for one sweet moment and then we must part.

28 Gcuis of Inspiration.

Let the pent-up fountains of sorrow flow O'er the hurning aUar of love's dead waste,

And mix with the sparkling waves below

As they sweetly sing us their songs of the past.

Kiss my lips again as in days that are gone, Smooth back the hair from my wrinkled brow,

Now call me again your own loved one, And now fare-thee-well, for I must go.