Poems

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POEMS

POEMS

BY

Regret

The spell of another life is round me, A spell I cannot nor dare resist, And the ghosts of murdered hours surround me, Glooming pale thro' the chilling mist.

A cross is there—a cross whose shadow Darkened the sunshine in my path, As the trees fall athwart the light in a meadow; But I trampled it down in my puny wrath.

The heavens grew black as the tempest gathered, I felt my idols were cold, too late; But I raised my head when the storm I weathered In proud defiance of any fate.

Thy smile has softened my heart, O Saviour! Meekly I bow where I would not resist; Thou hast redeemed all my sinful behaviour On the cross that gleams thro' the lurid mist.

Thou hast spoken, my soul befriending, The spell of the other life is Thine; See, my rebellious neck I am bending To bear a burden Thou'st made divine.

Now the shadows are slowly fading And the mist grows clearer with purer light, And upon the clouds that my heart are shading Thy cross is shedding a gilding bright.

"I Will Forget Thee!—Yes, in the Grave—for the Dead Remember Not"

When my eye on life is closing, When it looks its last on thee, Then thy star will rise the brighter O'er the grave's drear vacancy.

What were life, itself, without thee When the friends that round me stand Smile approval on each action, Listen to my least command?—

Then 'twere anguish were we parted, But within the sombre gloom It were worse than death to linger With no star to gild the tomb.

He had never known the deepness Of immortal love who said That the grave had no remembrance Of the living, for the dead.

I'll remember—well thou knowst— While this heart with life shall beat, But I'll swear it—that I love thee When my life deserts her seat.

"I Have Never Received an Arrow with a Barb"

I know that pride would bid thee quell Memories thou ever deemest weak, But ah! the tale thou canst not tell Thine eye and brow are quick to speak.

I know that pity brings no balm; But surely sympathy like mine So deep, so true, might breathe a calm E'en o'er a heart as proud as thine. No confidence I crave from thee, No secret that thou fain wouldst keep; Enough to force the tears from me, That if it dared, thy heart would weep.

Charity

Disappointments may have bittered Hearts that else had bravely striven— Tempters, bright and angel-robed, May have drawn them from Heaven.

Whisper softly, whisper lowly, That the cold world may not hear; Name his errors with a kindness You would use to kindred dear— Let your loving words in mercy Drop upon his erring heart; Teach him with your gentlest actions How to choose the better part. So at last your love shall win him To his lost fold back again:— Whisper softly, very softly, When a brother's sin you name.

Woman's Glory

So far above earth's stainéd soil Should woman's glory ever beam; To cheer with pale but steady gleam, Like angel's holy smile.

The Voice of the Pine

A step on the walk—it neareth, As always her step would come, And I rise, as I hasted in Auld Lang Syne, To welcome the dear one home.

I gaze wistfully out at the window, But darkness meets my eyne; And my heart sinks low, as it knows her step Was mocked by the Voice of the Pine.

Oh, heart! whose hope, deferred, Sickened and died thro' years, Look where the Pine-trees beckon, If thou canst see for tears.

Look up to the starry heavens, That spread so broad and fair; And gird up thy strength to hasten To her who awaits thee there.

Then the voice of the Pine shall token The sweep of the angel's wing, Who shall loosen the cord that binds thee To a life-long sorrowing.

Smile Upon Me

Now the shadows close around me, Earth itself is fading from me, Yet I would thy smile should be The last of life, of love, I see. Smile once more.

Little Nellie

Cling thou close unto the nest, That for thee has so much rest— Lean upon thy mother's breast.

Never shalt thou find a love Half as generous, half as pure; Mid the storms, the coming storms, It shall be a post secure. Strew thy lilies on the tide— Let them scatter far and wide, But do thou at home abide.

Household Sorrow

But the shadow—oh, close it falleth, Thro' the dim and dusky air; We whisper low, and with light foot-fall, We press the echoing stair.

And yet so soundly she sleeps above In that chamber cold and dim, No noise from the busy world without Can reach her world within.

The shadow cast from the old pine-trees Flickers upon her face, Mocking the play of the features rare, In their pure and chiselled grace.

And the wind stirreth tresses long and brown, 'Tis but the wind alone— And tears are filling our eyes, to see How stilly she sleepeth on.

The sorrow that broods o'er the household Marks every weary brow;— Hers only is quiet and peaceful— She heedeth no sorrow now—

She whose warm heart felt ever The woes of other hearts— Whose look of sympathy would draw The sting from suffering's darts.

The shadow over the household— The shadow of Death's pale wing— Shall fill our hearts with the dreariness Of a life-long sorrowing.

"Tarry With Me"

When one dreary, dreary anguish Comes between my soul and Thee, Oh! remove not then Thy presence; Tarry still to comfort me.

When the tempters loud assail me, Imaging a form of light, And my wavering feet are straying From the pure, the true, the right, Tarry with me, Thou who suffered, And Thy crown of thorns shall be As memento of Thy anguish, All endured, oh Christ! for me.

Tarry with me, tarry with me, For the night draws near apace. Death comes fraught with fearful terrors If I cannot see Thy Face;— If Thou wilt not, Risen Saviour, Make Thy creature still Thy care. Tarry with me, tarry with me; This is my most earnest prayer.

"Our Angel Walks Still Behind Us and Bears Our Sorrows and Sins"

He is mine—my guardian spirit, And my sins he bears for me; And my sorrow would inherit Could our God e'er let this be. But 'tis sadder, sadder far, Than if I alone should go With the evil that I do On me, not on this lost star.

All alone we wander on, With our patient hope and trust, With our heads bowed meekly down, And our feet amid the dust. Nearer, day by day, we come, Where my sins shall be forgiven; And my angel in his Heaven Find for both our native Home.

Idealine

Yes, I turned, no look betraying, And no word of passion saying, Aught of what was surging wildly, wildly in my heaving breast; And my eyes were veiled from telling Thoughts and dreams too highly swelling— They could give no joy unto her—they would break her peaceful rest.

Oh! my heart it clingeth to her, And it rich love bringeth to her, But another claims my duty,—and my love can yield no peace,— So I left the pure-eyed maiden, With a spirit heavy laden, Where the yearning shall be sated only when the life shall cease.

Were my spirit grown colder, Often might my eyes behold her,— And rejoice upon a beauty fairer than the flowers of spring;— But my pulses bound to meet her, And my eye is quick to greet her With the tender love—rich language that the amorous poets sing.

So I turned aside, unheeding Her sad lips and eyes' mute pleading,— For her heart turned still unto me and she knew not why 'twas so. And I stifled into dying, Wishes that were loudly crying In my spirit, "Love her, love her, let the frowning future go."

Wild the autumn wind was blowing, As I turned from her in going; Like the wail of anguished angels heard I it in my despair. And my heart was well-nigh broken, Yet no tale-tale word was spoken,— I have left her, fled and left her, my too sweet temptation, there.

Now all holy angels guard her, And a better love reward her Than I ever could have given,—I so wild and strange of mood. Yet my life's light gathers round her As she stands where erst I found her, All amazed and sorrow-stricken, in the lonely beechen wood.

Tide of Time

Give me the fond caressing smile, The gentle look, the tone That all my childish woes beguiled; Too early are they gone.

Roll back, relentless tide of time, Too many treasures lie Upon that rugged shore of thine To pass them careless by.

Still on, still on, thy steady stream Moves to eternity,— And only in my fancy's dream Can I these treasures see.

The shore beyond is gray and rough; Behind, it fairer shines,— But I have lingered long enough Mid dreams of auld lang syne.

The future claims my throbbing heart; No more of dreams for me; Friends of my earlier years, we part; Our meeting Heaven shall see.

Translation of Lamartine's "Le Lac"

And I am sitting listless by thy border, Alone, where thou hast seen her by my side. Thus didst thou murmur on thy winding way, Thus thy waves broke against these rugged rocks, And thus the wind would waft thy foamy flakes To bathe her fairy feet with sudden shocks. Dost thou remember one fair even our oars Made silvery music in thy plashing stream, While the fir-branches swayed in mournful cadence, Like fairy whispers in a fairy dream? Like fairy whispers, with no mortal meaning, They woke the echoes of thy charméd shore; 'Twas then she sang, whose voice thrilled all my heart-strings, And made the silence sweeter than before.

O time, suspend thy flight, and ye, oh happy hours, More slowly glide away! Oh, let us drink deep draughts of this sweet life of ours, Our life's bright summer day!

The sorrow-stricken cry—Oh! fly; fly on forever!— Thy feet too slowly creep! Forget the happy in thy kind endeavor— To soothe the tears they weep.

Ah! all in vain thy rapid wings are flying; Thou wilt not, wilt not stay. I cry,—O night, speed slowly! Lo! 'tis dying; And rosy dawns the day.

O love, come crown us with thy roses, laying No thorns within our perfect happiness! Men have no home—life's stream hath no delaying— It ever runs, and onward must we press. Oh! jealous time, couldst thou not spare these moments, When Love had filled our cup with bliss supreme? Shouldst thou then fly for us as for the stricken Whose hearts are breaking 'neath their heavy pain? Are these hours lost? Have they then left no traces? Gone, gone forever, in the dark abyss? Time gave them to us; time hath torn them from us, And can we do no more for them than this? O lake of silver, O dark and lonely forests, You whom He spares altho' your youth is flown, Guard you of this fair night the fond remembrance, And thou, sweet Nature, make the thought thy own! In thy repose and in thy stormy passions, Beautiful lake, and in thy smiling shore, In the dark firs and in the rugged black rocks, Still let the memory dwell forever more; Still let it speak, in gentle zephyrs breathing, And in the echoes murmuring round thy bed, Let it beam forth in the clear star that silvers Thy rippling tide beneath its glory spread; Let it have voices in the reeds that whisper; Let it breathe ever where perfumes have roved; Let every sight and every sound speak gently, This fond, this sweet remembrance, "They have loved."

The Shadow

And I feel her love around me Fall still thro' the heavy air; And it soothes my wearied, worn soul Like an angel-tone of prayer. Oh! yes, and at eve she kneeleth, Raising her hands so white; My name on her lips is dwelling In her vesper prayer at night.

That shadow—'tis gone so quickly— And yet a sunny beam Comes thro' the gray clouds around me, A joy-imparting gleam. For, oh! while she still can love me I'll bravely bear thro' all, And my talisman of faith shall be That shadow on the wall.

"I Must Sleep Now"

And she, the dearest, she whose image ever Shrined in thy heart was purest, and the best— Shalt thou then leave this weary world, and never Repose thy head upon a daughter's breast?

But tho' thy smiles delight with untold gladness, Her mother's heart, to her the riper years Will fill her soul with sympathizing sadness, As o'er thy tale she bends with bitter tears.

Be it for us to name thy errors slowly, While Mercy's tears remove the sanguined stain; For Death's cold touch hath made thy memory holy,— A thing beyond our judgment or disdain.

Household Martyrs

Those whose love and faith grow stronger As the tempest swells around; Who so sanctify our homesteads That they make them holy ground.

Oh! these silent, humble martyrs Bear their cross about them still, Crucifying selfish longings And the stubborn human will; Bending unto love or duty, Or to stern necessity,— Bearing cheerful spirits with them, Whatsoe'er their lot may be.

These are they, God's chosen martyrs, Burning bright before His throne, Steady beacons thro' the darkness To guide us who stumble on. And altho' no crown of laurel May entwine their pallid brow, In men's hearts and homes their place is Radiant, there their stars shall glow.

"What Shall I Swear By?"

tpp|{sm} Rom. What shall I swear by? Jul. Do not swear at all. >>—Romeo and Juliet (Act 2; Scene 2). >><< Oh, ask no vows by sky or stars above thee!

The sky hath clouds, the stars will fade away;

It is enough for me to say, I love thee;

Then, ask no vows from lip or heart to-day.

Thou knowst not love if vows are thy requiring,

Vows that are born of false and idle breath.

I am all thine,—to all of thy desiring,—

Ah, if thou lovest, have a little faith.

Nay, pledge me none, lift up thine eyes to greet me,

And in their gaze I'll read thy constancy;

They are too true in all their haste to greet me,

To bid me cherish any fear of thee.

He who would find his jewel all sustained,

Must cast no shadow from his spirit there;

Then all its pristine light will be retained,

The light it caught in Heaven's upper air.

"Will You Tread the Long Path with Me?"

I ask thee, with beseeching eyes, For patient tenderness, When tears thou canst not comprehend Nor all my power repress,

Fall from the eyes I try to raise Submissively to thine; Nor think because the rain-drops fall I uselessly repine.

Our woman-hearts are finely strung, Vibrating with a breath, And she is saddest who must smile O'er bleeding wounds beneath.

A careless word, a hasty line, Strikes like a barbèd dart; Deal very gently, you who win, With woman's loving heart.

I place my hand within thy own, Thro' love, confidingly, Content to tread thro' any path So that it be with thee.

Lines Written on My Twenty-first Birthday

Ah! I abhor myself! I loathe my being! False, false as falsehood, save by transient spells; Driven on shoals by every gale of passion That at a word, a smile, a sneer, oft swells.

Oft-times my heart is bowed beneath its burden; I weep with bitter tears my sin, I cry— Have mercy, mercy on me, Lord, a sinner! Turn on this erring one a pitying eye.

But, ah! He heeds me not, earth clings so closely Around my spirit, He can hear me not; And so I seek to drown, in worser passion, The voice that, heard, can never be forgot.

I sin repent,—yet my repentance serves not; I feel no peace, no joy, no quiet here; Heaven is so far off, the world so kindly, I seek to lose my grief and anguish there.

And him I love—for his sake, oh my Father, Hear me this once, for his sake bring me low, That I may win him back, by coming with him Back to thy fold; teach my wild heart to bow.

Could I but wander back this rosy childhood, Thro' gates of birth, all would be well with me; But now!—oh aid thy feeble child, Great Father, To reach, by any steps, Thy Heaven and Thee.

On My Twenty-third Birthday

From death-distilling vapors of the night, Whose power provides the insects' destinies And guides, thro' pathless air, the birds aright, He who has given unto me a soul Thrilled with aspiring and immortal life, With power to force to my will and control The elements that else with death were rife—

He will care for me, whatsoe'er I be; Sinner or saint, still, still a child of His; And tho' I grow bewildered as I see The mazy windings of a world like this, He has cared for me, thro' my wayward youth; He, if I yield unto the yoke when given (In night and storm, still let me hold this truth!), He will recall me to my Loves in Heaven.

I Love My Love

Sing louder and fuller yet, sweet bird, From thy wind-rocked home in the sunlit tree; Yet my heart in its joy shall outswell thy song, For I love my love, and my love loves me.

Where are life's sorrows? I see but her smile, And beneath its glories all shadows flee; I hear no tears in her tender voice As she whispers softly, "I love but thee."

In the quiver of leaves thro' the summer air, In the murmur of waters clear and low, In the breath of flowers, the light of stars, In the flitting shadows that come and go;

In the evening clouds with their royal pomp, In the gentle patter of summer rain, In the dew that drops like an angel's tears, But, most of all, in thy joyous strain—

I hear but the echo of one soft song, That shall never cease, in the days to be, To bring summer and bloom to my care-worn soul— "Oh! I love my love and my love loves me."

Concealed Love

And, thou and I, in duality one, Shall keep from the curious world around, This love of ours, so sweet, whereon God's smile hath shined, making holy ground. And none, with haughty and trampling feet, Shall come near its sanctified hidden retreat.

"Only Waiting"

Thro' the sunshine, thro' the shadow, over flowers, over thorns, By the graves of loved and lost ones whom the soul in secret mourns, Hand in hand, still tightly clasping, these two faithful ones went on, Thro' the nodding sheaves of harvest, onward to the setting sun.

But on one the Master smiling, in His great Love, gently down The slant rays called very softly, "Come, receive thy labor's crown." So she left him, lingering, waiting, till the summons come again, To endure a little longer storm and labor, cloud and rain.

But the evening sun is setting, tinging all the quivering leaves, And he's only waiting, standing, waiting, 'mid the harvest sheaves. Ye whose tears are falling hotly for the loved ye see no more, Bind your sad hearts up from breaking: they are only gone before.

And in Heaven ye shall meet them whom ye loved so long on earth, There their smiles shall be far brighter than they were around your hearth; For they catch their glorious beauty from the smiling of Our Lord, Who gives resting after anguish, after labor, the reward.

The Step on the Stair

The crossest hound that tore his keeper, still Grew mild beneath her hand; So like a smile from God she seemed, To shine thro' all the land.

But dark and crafty and cold to her Grew the face of her wedded lord, And jealousy crept around his heart And whispered a poisonous word.

And in its venom, her beauty Seemed full of lures and guiles; Her very artlessness to him Looked like the wanton's wiles.

So, once, in the quiet sunshine, Forth from that dim old room, A voice of mortal agony Rang thro' the hush of noon.

A cry—and then all was silent; And the bees were humming still; And the distant dash of the fall was heard, And the drone of the olden mill.

But a spell of terror grew dark and close, Over that chamber dim, And a nameless curse on the Master fell, That drove all men from him.

The lady, alas! was no more seen, In her beauty young and fair; But ever at dead of night comes still A cry—and that step on the stair.

To Time

Oh! Time, we resign unto thee Those early loves of ours; There clingeth a fragrance round them yet, Tho' they be but withered flowers.

Our hopes, our ambition, blighted, By the world's all chilling breath, We resign to thee; but oh, leave us Our childhood's simple faith!

Leave us the faith that answers That Heaven lose not its light, That our soul be not affrighted By the perils of the night.

Leave us the faith that answers When storms threat to o'erwhelm; I cannot fear, my Father's hand Is steering at the helm.

To Time—1858

And when my heart bowed low beneath The veiled image it had made, Thy hand hath torn the mask aside, And I have scorned where erst I prayed.

Thy hand is on my brow, thy mark On cheek and eye, yet, with a start Of terror at the fleeting years, I feel thy touch is on my heart.

The impulses of youth are flown;— With graver aspect I behold Fancy's gay follies, Joy's allures, And feel my pulses calm and cold.

Yet I can bless thee, Fearful One, That tarriest never for our cries, That urgeth us forever on, Thro' our God-cared-for destinies.

Thou, the Destroyer, art to me The Soother, Friend and Comforter; Thou bindest up the hearts that bleed In this world's rude and careless stir.

Thy veil is thrown o'er by-gone scenes, Extracting all the pain; it leaves The tender beauty that earth wears On autumn's quiet misty eves—

Till we stand, counting pleasant paths, Forgetting we have been storm-driven, And, lingering in thy parting smile, Step from thy arms to God and Heaven.

Chasing a Shadow

Darker and darker the path grows before him, The shadow is lost 'mid the shades of the night; He hath fallen at last, and the gloom closes o'er him, Forgotten, unthought of, when lost to the sight.

"To be Wroth with One We Love"

tpp|{sm} "And to be wroth with one we love doth work like madness in the brain." >>—Christabel. >><< Is this time for estrangement, O my friend!

When all the air is filled with angry cries,

And one great wrong, of which we see no end,

Bids us bind closer all our olden ties;

Should it not rather be that a true love

Should burn but steadier in this night of war;

That when the earth reels, and we look above,

We may behold at last one faithful star;

See—I will kneel to thee, beseeching thee,

By all held dear by thee, refuse me not;

Are those hours nought, that were so much to me? Or, with their flight, have they been quite forgot? I will not let thee go, except thou say,

Smiling still kindly on my sore distress,

The cloud has gone that shadow'd yesterday,

And with it all the doubts that did distress."

So shall thy words dispel this bitter pain,

And I be folded to thy breast again.

Christmas—1863

Seeking Him only when our sins grow thick, And we are somewhat faint with fight and loss, Then, blindly staggering with life's weight, we go To lean upon His Cross. For Thou insulted but forgiving God We would avert the justice of Thy rod.

How can we bring our children unto Thee When their clear eyes our own short-comings find? And see no signs of Thee thro' all this land, "Where madmen lead the blind;" Where nature is the only minister True to the teachings Thou hast left with her!

Go—take away those merry Christmas wreaths! They are for faithful hearts and peaceful homes; But veil our walls with cypress, while we sit Weeping amid its glooms. Unhappy land! No Christmas joy for thee— Sackcloth and ashes should thy portion be.

Blacker than night, unlit by moon or stars; Sadder than human tongue can ever tell; More hopeless than the doom that bound for aye Satan to Hell; Must be the Fate that Time's unswerving hand Deals from his chalice to a Godless land.

Pennsylvania

Waiting until the gradual plan Shall bring her in th' appointed hour; When, with a shout of conscious power, She shall produce the Man.

My native State! so near my heart! So closely held within my heart, Dearer than life itself thou art. Loved with so fond, so proud a love, I long to hear the dread command, That bids thee show the iron hand Beneath the velvet glove.

Pro Patriæ

Are we, then, steeped so far in lust of gold, That we can tamely kiss the hand that binds? Degenerate sons of those brave hearts of old That would not beat, or beat as free as winds. Are ease and comfort so very much, That we should hold them with so tight a clutch?

Steeped in humiliations to the lips By fools at home, and fanatics abroad, Our country's star is near a dread eclipse, And we smile on, and helplessly do nod. We have been taught in blood the sword's abuse, And tyrants now should learn of us its use.

Must we, then, con through years of chains and shame That honor is a better thing than joy? That gold can never gild a tarnished name? That a firm will can even hell destroy? That swords have better uses, or as good As letting forth a Southern brother's blood?

I will not think it; we are freemen's sons; We cannot shame our fathers in their graves; While yet one drop of their life-current runs It will not let us tamely yield, as slaves, To those who now with parricidal hand Stab at the very heart of our dear land.

Yes—we shall free her in a little while, And she again shall crown herself a queen, Wielding her mighty sceptre with a smile, By consciousness of power made serene; And, gathering up her royal robes, she may Move on in triumph down her Appian way.

Song

tpp|SONG|{sm} "Solitude is sweet; but one needs ever a friend to whom one can say, 'How sweet is solitude!'" >><< Merry it is in the grand old woods,

Where ferns and the mosses grow,

And oh! I wish in those solitudes,

I could wander the whole day through;

Yes, I would wander,—but not alone, I would have some laughter to echo my own.

Sweet would the song of the wood-birds seem,

Hidden 'mid clustering leaves,

And tender the murmuring sound of the stream,

As one who rebels not, yet grieves;

But sweeter, I ween, and more tender would be The vows I should hear 'neath the greenwood tree.

Solitude, solitude surely is sweet,

In the heart of the forest dim;

Where the pulses of life in the still air beat,

Like the cadence of a hymn;

But I'd rather have one whom I love to say How sweet is the solitude here to-day."

Profile Mountain

Thus, like the solemn sphinx we seem to be Sitting with heads raised upward to the skies; While on our feet when we would rise and flee The desert sand still lies.

In vain we watch, and strain like yon stern Face, Into the Land Beyond, the form we wear Clasps us so tightly in its dull embrace, Even God we scarcely hear.

But when at last Death's solemn shades unroll, And this mean life of daily toil is o'er, The riddle shall be solved, and the freed soul Question no more.

Sunset

As if this surpassing show Aroused anew a latent thought Of what my spirit used to know Ere she within this form was caught.

Oh! far more than joy of eye Moves me to these happy tears, As the radiant colors die And the first pale star appears.

Nothing more I know, than this; Earth and her lovely mysteries Move us to such thoughtful tears, As holier things they symbolize.

Our life, like this fair summer day, Hastes us to death's starry night; And God grant our parting may Be as radiantly bright.

Violets at the Opera

I wonder if you're dreaming, half shut up, Of far-off garden plots, and wooing breeze; Of the sweet drop of honey in your cup, Hived from the nectarous dew, for happy bees!

Like that clear drop of concentrated sweet, Lies in my heart the thought of one beloved; So let us wait until Time's flying feet Bring to us those who gather unreproved.

For you, I fear, no fragrant summer noon, No humming bees, no tender sunny sky; Garnered in vain the honey-drop, for soon, Stifled in light and music, you must die.

For me—well, what for me? I wait, I dream Amid the fever of the world around; Perchance, my happiness may on me beam, When I, like you, sink to our mother ground.

My Bird

The clouds are gathering fast, And angry rolls are heard Which bode the coming storm. Then haste away, sweet Bird!

Haste thee away to skies Where tempests never come, Where love eternal smiles In an unfading home. Speed, speed away, sweet Bird! Seek thou a happier spot; Leave me and speed away; Behold, I hold thee not!

What heed if tears will swell To these rebellious eyes? What heed if words of cheer Are checked by breaking sighs? What heed if vain regrets The mother's heart assail? The love I bear to thee O'er nature shall prevail.

O speed thee hence, while yet I feel my soul so strong: Take with thee smile and look That charmed my heart so long.

Take with thee, sweet, thy wiles, That cheered me in my sorrow, My Angel Bird, whose eyes Gave new hope for each morrow.

Speed, speed away, ere thought Recalls me to my lot, And tells of lonely hours When I shall have thee not. Ere fancy pictures how At every turn I'll miss Thy little winning ways, Thy gentle, fond caress.