Poems

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POEMS

BY

(Mrs. Alice J. Barker.)

Little May and Bruin

"And lately I've been thinking, Mary darling, That if I went away to the far West, Perhaps that I would sooner be in building For my dear bird a cosy, little nest: And I will work with heart and hands, my darling, Inspired by thoughts of this sweet, patient face, This little form, so tender and so loving, That holds for me each earthly charm and grace.

"Then I'll come back a happy man and claim you, And all our dreams and fancies will come true; But you must promise to be very careful, When I have gone so far away from you. What is it, Mary? Can it be you're crying? You, who have always been so brave and true?" "Yes, and I will be yet," the young girl answered, "If you will only let me go with you."

"If there is care, we'll share it dear, together; If there is joy, our mutual joy 'twill be; We'll build our nest in sunshine and ill-weather, And help and cheer each other, don't you see?" So Ned and Mary in the sunny spring time. Pledged their two hearts, to share each other's life; The sun ne'er looked upon a happier husband, Nor smiled upon a fonder, fairer wife.

And in the far-off Western wild together, Far from the sight of any human face, With patient bands, and hearts by love uplifted, They laid the plans for their abiding place. And as the days went by, a tiny dwelling Sprang into view beside a brooklet fair; A grand, old mountain towered high above them, And lovely flowers blossomed everywhere.

Their life was peaceful, toiling late and early. With promise of the pleasure yet to come, For every monarch felled or seedling planted, Kept softly whispering to them, "This is home." And so the months went by; another summer Had brought its beauty to this quiet place, And Ned grew still more tender to his darling, And watched each look of the dear, patient face.

And when the trees had turned to red and yellow, There came to them a little welcome guest; Their loving hearts and arms were widely opened To take this little bird into their nest. Ob, such a dainty bird, whose first faint cooing Made wondrous music in that little cot; A blessing sent from God, they fondly called her, To brighten and to sanctity their lot.

How fair she grew, so dimpled and so rosy, This little blossom in the woodland wild, And all the graces of the fond young parents Seemed to be doubled in the gentle child. The years stole on, 'till three had blossomed round her, And glad, light-hearted, happy little May, Without a care or sorrow to perplex her, Danced in the sunshine all the live-long day.

Oft with her little basket lade with treasure, She followed papa to his daily toil, Or sang within the open door for mamma— The brightest blossom of that Western soil. One day the mother tied the little bonnet, And stooped to kiss the glad, expectant face, Before she started out with the dear papa, For the accustomed merry noonday race.

"When she gets tired send her to me, husband, I'll keep a watch. Farewell, my pretty one. One—two—and three. start fair, be careful, papa! Our little girl has won the race; well done!" Then to her work the busy housewife started, And through the long and sunny afternoon She sang old songs and worked with willing fingers, The warp of life one sweet and tender tune.

But when the shades of night began to lengthen— "How long the baby stays, 'tis time for Ned: I'm sure the little bird is tired and sleepy, She ought to fold her wings, and go to bed. Oh, there he comes! I hear his merry whistle, But where is baby? Ned, where is our May?" "She came to you long hours ago," he answered; "She wanted mamma, and she would not stay.

"Is she not here? Speak wife!" The startled father Reads the dread answer in her anguished eyes. "I watched her to the very gate. Oh, Mary! See here one little shoe and stocking lies. Where is our child. Great God in heaven help us! Alone, and to the beasts of night a prey! I'll go, dear wife, and surely I will find her. But lest she wander home, you here must stay.

"Bring me my gun, and give me food and water, She will be hungry: do not fret, dear one. Trust to the arm that than our own is stronger. And all that can be, darling, shall be done." Through the long night the heart-sick father wandered, Torn by the briers and bruised by many a fall, But still no answer came through the dread silence, But the weird echo to his frenzied call.

And when the beams of early morning found him, Half up the mountain, near a darksome cave, He well remembered that it had been told him Whoever entered there would find a grave. For 'twas the haunt of an old mountain grizzly Whose name was terror many miles about: And so he walked with cautions step, and slowly, And hushed that long-repeated tearful shout.

Drawn by a strange desire to look within it, He neared the cave and peered into its shade; Then staggered back, with white lips set and rigid, And raised his bloodshot eyes to heaven for aid. Just near the entrance lay the massive creature. His eyes were closed in sleep, but at his side Slumbered his little child, his darling baby, The comfort of the home, the joy, the pride.

Her little breath came fast, as if from weeping, Her sunny curls upon the ground afloat, While one wee baby hand was calmly resting Upon old Bruin's rough and shaggy coat. He raised his gun the little creature lying So near the brute stirs in her restless sleep And softly calls his name. Oh! anguished father, This is no time, no time to wait or weep!

One upward glance and then his aim is taken: The bullet to the mark has quickly sped; The child is in his arms, and the old grizzly, The terror of the mountain side, is dead. "Oh, papa, is you come to get your baby? I tried to find the sun, to get the gold; But I will never try again to find it; Because it gets so dark and still and cold.

"Has you been crying, too? Oh, papa, darling, I guess God sended you to look for me, And that's the very reason that you found me; He must have led you, papa, don't you see?" Oh, music sweeter than the song of angels, That baby voice, and folded to his breast He hastened to the new heart-broken mother, A voiceless bird within a lonely nest.

And mothers' hearts alone can tell the rapture That filled her soul once more to see her child, While e'en the father paused in awe struck silence To see her joy, so passionate and wild. And then together in the sunlight kneeling, They blessed their God for this most wondrous day, That from the cloud uplifted, in their bosom, Still rests their baby, their dear little May.

Baby's Worth

I'd like to dwell in a palace, With its wonders of wealth and art, But it wouldn't be worth the sunshine, Of the love of my baby's heart.

So I think it fair to tell you, Although you would like to buy, That what I ask is beyond your reach, I have set my price too high.

The Fishers Wife

"Hush, my baby! hear the breakers Dashing on the rocky coast, Do you know my precious wee one, How your father's boat is tossed? But he'll come—I know it darling, For he never broke his word! How the wind is sweeping seaward, E'en our little cot is stirred.

"Hush your wailing, Willie darling, Closer lie to mother's heart. Still its painful throbs, my baby, Kiss the tears back when they start! Hark was that a footstep, Willie? No! the wild wind answers now, Are you sleeping, baby darling? With a smile upon your brow.

"Wake my baby, cheer your mother! I had rather hear you moan, Weeping for the absent loved one Than be with my fears alone. Oh! I see that bark so fragile On the wild sea rudely tossed: God, in pity spare my husband, Let, oh let him not be lost!

"Look up, Willie, baby darling, Father'll surely come to-night, For he told me he'd be sailing Up the bay at candle light. Now the lights are brightly shining All along the rocky shore, And my own is in the window, Come my husband, I implore!

What is that? Oh! hark, my baby! Hear that step upon the stone; God be praised! my darling Willie, We'll no longer be alone. See him baby; oh my husband! O, my love, my joy, my life." On the broad and loving bosom Sank the thankful fisher's wife.

And the baby ceased its moaning, Smiled, and laid its tiny hand On the bowed head of the mother, Happiest woman in the land. "I have kept my promise, Jennie, Many barks went down to-night, But my own came safely sailing Up the bay at candle light."

Little Two Year Old

I would shelter thee, my boy, I would give thee every joy; Yet I know a Master hand, Guides thee with His blest command; If He leads thee through the flood T'will be only for thy good.

Two years old, my darling boy, Two bright years of sunny joy: By a father fond, carressed, Folded to a mother's breast, Rocked by love, and patient care, Sheltered by the wings of prayer.

This thy life, sweet little Ray, Brighter on each passing day; Dearer to our loving hearts, As each flitting hour departs; Richer treasure far than gold, Precious little two year old!

Sold

<>Weep, weep, weep, O'er the sin so sad and deep. Had she no loving friend, I pray, To call her feet to the better way, To say that the gold would lose its sheen, That the world had ways she had never seen?

<>Sold, sold, sold, A simple heart for gold! The light will fade from the sweet brown eyes, Like the transient blue from the summer skies, And the roses pale, and the sweet lips sigh, Slowly this blossom will fade and die.

<>Lost, lost, lost, Who counteth the tearful cost! Who will gather the trusting child, Up to their heart when her sea grows wild? And speak to her of a peace divine, Of a blessed, holy, and sacred shrine.

<>Mourn, mourn, mourn, For the heart so early torn Out of the trusting peaceful ark By the glittering bauble; her path is dark, Place on her brow, white lillies fair They are type of the flowers her soul should wear.

Press Straight Ahead

But once in the tempest of pain and care, I lost my guiding star. And my heart sunk down with a leaden weight To be left behind so far: When the darkness was darkest, a sweet voice said, "I am waiting, mamma, press straight ahead."

Do you think I ever can lose my way, With those little feet to guide? With that little heart so pure and true. Close up to her Saviour's side? When the pathway is brightest. I close my eyes, And dream of our meeting in Paradise.

It may be long ere my weary feet Shall enter the blessed gate. But I know the way, and I'll hasten on. Lest perchance, I may be late, Remembering ever that sweet voice said, "I'm waiting, mamma, press straight ahead."

Which of the two

And into the watches of the night, When the mother heart with bitter grief, Mourns over the failures of the day, He sendeth a message of relief. For into His hands, the Good and Wise, I place my darlings, pure and sweet, And lay all the wealth of my treasures down, With trembling joy at the Master's feet.

Which of the two in years to come Will ripen the promise these glad days bring? Which of the two will hush the song That now is the only song I sing? God keep my boy with his loving heart, God bless my girl with her sunny eyes Dancing into my very life, And making a little Paradise.

Filling the house with a constant glee, Filling the house with a constant noise, Bidding me weep o'er their little woes, And laugh with them o'er their little joys. There are playthings strewn from the attic stair, All the way to the cellar door, A broken horse by the kitchen fire, And a headless doll on the parlor floor.

And who would gather the playthings up, And who would censure the children's glee? O, God, without it this earth would seem A dreary desert indeed to me. Which of the two I love the best, Or which is the dearer one to me? God only knows, I know the rest, That both are as dear as dear can be.

Growing Old Together

tpp|Growing Old Together.| {sm}<>TO MY HUSBAND, <>3 What matters it, we're growing old—

We're growing old together,

With hand in hand, and heart to heart,

We mind not stormy weather.

Our little boat is nobly manned,

Love, Faith and Hope shall guide it,

We'll stand together, side by side

And brave all that betides it.

|end=stanza

Our arms are strong, our hearts are firm, To bear life's ills and losses; We hold a passport to a land, Beyond these earthly crosses. Your step is firm, as yet, my love, Your cheek with health is glowing, And in your veins the pure bright blood Of manhood's prime is flowing.

And I am not the simple girl, Whose heart you crowned with loving: A woman in your home to-day Her woman's heart is proving. And as the years go swiftly by, Life's phases all must alter, My hair with yours will gather snow; My steps with yours will falter.

I would not hear you mourn, dear one, That time so fleet is flying, For many rich and fruitful years Before our feet are lying. We'll try and make each moment bright, We'll fill the years with gladness, And live, to drive from other hearts, The sorrow, and the sadness.

We'll live to scatter seeds of good, To water and to tend them; We'll make full many sad mistakes, We'll live, my own, to mend them. And when our heads with snow are bent, Like trees in wintry weather, We will not mind the growing old, We will be old together.

The House upon the sand

"Is it better so," he said, And I answered him, "ask me not, For I cannot see o'er the wall of pride, And the past is all forgot." "Is it all forgot?" he said. And I answered him, "look around, My home is beautiful, fair to see, Though 'tis built on the yielding ground."

"Have you no doubt?" he said, And I answered him, "Master, no, For this lovely vale is bright with flowers, And rough winds never blow." "Will they never blow?" he said, "Will the sunshine never fail, And your feet find easy paths to tread, In this bright and pleasant vale?"

And I answered him, "Master, yes;" But e'en as I spoke the word, A rumbling low, as of thunder, came, And the little vale was stirred. Then a blinding flash of light, And the winds began to roar, And the waves ran high as the tempest came, And dashed far up the shore.

Then a voice, like an angel's, said, "Can you stand the tempest's shock? Remember, whatever betides the vale, No tempest can shake the rock." And I answered him, "Master, come, Come quick, e'er it be too late! For my beautiful home in ruin lies, And I stand at the outer gate."

"Where would you build?" he said, As he looked at the desolatet land, And I answered him, "Master, never again Shall I build upon the sand." "But, will you not be afraid, When you hear the tempest's shock?" And I answered him quickly, "Master, no! For I build on the solid rock.

The Rapids of the St Mary

"You are not afraid, dear lady?" and she softly touched my hand, Though it was a tone of pleading, there was in it a command, And I gently reassured her, as we entered the canoe, And were leaping, dancing, whirling, the St. Mary Rapids through.

Onward guided by the pilot—onward through the waters bright, Flashing, dashing in the sunshine, leaping up to meet the light; How the waters whirl and eddy—how they toss and foam and run, Lifting up their joyous faces, for the kisses of the sun.

Whispering of the "big sea water"—asking of the briny deep: Whither they are madly going—where they soon shall calmly sleep; Or be wildly lashed to fury, by the raging of the storm; Peering through the heavy darkness, at the tempest's dreaded form.

Onward! onward, o'er the rapids, while they madly dance and whirl, Echoing the merry laughter of the bright-eyed Indian girl; Guided past the greatest danger—past each rock so sharp and wild, By the fearless Indian Pilot, trusting in him as a child!

Oh! how bright the dancing water, and I almost held my breath, As we whirled, and dashed, and glided, past the many gates of death; And I never shall forget it, wildly, madly dancing through The bright rapids of St. Mary, in that little birch canoe.

To the Rapids of the St Mary

I love your dancing waters well, To me there is a magic spell; Oh! rapids of St. Mary, tell— What is your power? I love to watch the light canoe, Guided your swiftest waters through By hands that, to their task are true, In evening hour.

I love to feel the dancing wave, And know there is a watery grave So near that only God can save From certain death. When past the sharp and rugged rocks, Where oft the water rudely mocks And madly locks and inter-locks, We hold our breath.

But still the faithful Indian guide Knows well the paths, none hath descried Save those who oft your waters ride Without a fear; And as we catch his earnest eye Fixed on the waves we dared to try, How eagerly we question why— To him 'tis clear.

Ah! yes, he knows each fatal rock, And at your waves would only mock, His boat can bear the rudest shock; His arm is strong. How merrily we dance away, And whirl and dash like tossing spray! Delighting with your waves to play, And hear their song.

But now our merry ride is o'er, We only hear the rapids roar And wonder as we did before At your bright dower. I love your dancing waters well, O! Rapids of St. Mary, tell— Where is your power?

The Boatman's Child

All day, her father at his work, Thought of his darling child, The pride, the pleasure of his lite, With eyes so blue and mild. All day, the daughter at her play Thought of her father true, And of her mother's grassy grave Beneath the sky so blue.

And oft' at night the boatman went, With reverent look and tread, To sit with Irene by the grave, And tell her of the dead. How when she was a tiny babe, They laid her mother there, With lillie's in her snowy hands, And on her bosom fair.

And so the days had slipped away With noiseless, painless tread, Until ten pleasant tranquil years, Had flitted o'er her head. And now 'tis even' and heavy clouds Are gathering, one by one; Loudly and long the thunder roars, While Irene waits alone.

But soon her father's boat she sees, And runs with happy feet, Her laughter ringing on the air, Like joybells clear and sweet. The raindrops fall in torrents now, She laughs them all to scorn: "My little lass,"—the boatman thinks— "A palace would adorn."

Swift to the cottage now they fly, The father and the child, "The wind is rising, hark Irene! The night is very wild." "But here we are so safe," she said, "And I'm so glad you've come; The Boatman answered with a smile, "God bless my child and home."

But all night long the thunders roar, And faster falls the rain, And wild the wind that dashes it Against the window pane. Three days, three nights the tempest wild. Has with them made it's home; And now the river running mad Lifts up it's arms of foam.

The boatman sees with sinking heart, The water's rapid rise: He sees his little home afloat, To gain the shore is wise. And yet, how can he breast that flood? Stout heart, and brave, I wean, There is one thought, and only one, 'Tis of his child, Irene.

His only hope is in the shore, He calls her to his side, "See, darling, we must leave our home, Death is on every side;" Her blue eyes look into his own, With light so pure and free, "Dear father I am not afraid, You'll take good care of me."

He takes her to his loving heart, His boat was near at hand, "O, God, thy strength," the boatman cries, To help me gain the land." Out, out, into the angry flood, That laughs to see its prey, And catches it and tosses it Far in its arms away.

"Irene, hold fast! my child, my child, Your form I cannot see," Her sweet voice answers, "I am safe, You'll take good care of me," The shore, oh Heaven! how far it seems, How little does he gain; The torrent sweeps him farther down, He pulls with might and main.

His eyeballs glow like living coals, His lips are stern and white; "Irene, my darling, say your prayers We'll be in Heaven to-night;" "O! father, father, help has come, Mother is there with you; I know her by her lovely hair, And by her eyes so blue.

"Pull to the right, pull to the right, The way is bright before, And mother stands with outstretched hand To point us to the shore." On! on, brave father, nothing now Your strength can overwhelm, See, through the blinding, dashing spray, An angel at the helm.

"We're safe, we're safe," the boatman cries, "And Heaven has sent us aid," For every muscle had been strained And every effort made; "Once more, oh, darling of my life! "I fold you to my breast, "Where ten long years I've fondled you, "And soothed you into rest."

"Irene, if you have seen her face, "Who left me years agone, "It was because we were so near, The portals of the dawn; "And if her love has given us back "To life, and earth once more, "We'll nightly bless the angel hand "That brought us to the shore."

Adele's Mission

The door is thrown open, an oath meets their ears, Hope dies in their bosom extinguished by fear. "Where are you, speak quick or I'll murder you both," Each sentence embellished with gesture and oath. "Here father, but oh, please don't beat me to-night, "I haven't a penny, I walked till the light "Was all gone from the sky. We're so hungry and cold," And the little one sobbed when her story was told.

Oh merciless father, brute, demon thou art, Drink has closed every window and door of thy heart, Else never that hand could be raised to the child. Whose eyes now are watching, appealing and wild. She sank to the floor neath the weight of the blow, But sprang to her feet at the words, "Now, where's Lo?" "Oh father, don't touch her, my darling, my pride, "Mother left her to me on the night that she died.

"You may beat me again, I'll not murmur or cry, "But father, for Lolo, I'd willingly die." In vain is her pleading, his mad, brutal hand Grasps the fair fragile child and his angry command: "Now leave me Adele, do you hear what I say?" She sprang to her feet like some hurt thing at bay, And the look in her eyes was so hunted and wild, For one moment he paused in surprise at the child.

No word left her lips, but before he could guess, He caught the last fluttering glimpse of her dress As she fled down the stair, while her arms fondly pressed The sister she loved to her desolate breast. His voice met her ears and the sound of his feet, Down, down, down she flitted, then out in the street, Out into the darkness, out into the snow, With no one to point her young feet where to go.

Upbourne by the weight of her grief and despair, It mattered not then, anywhere, anywhere, On the wings of the wind with her burden she fled, Anywhere from the sound of that staggering tread, Anywhere from the weight of that uplifted hand, Anywhere in the breadth or the length of the land But fainting and weary at last she sank down, She has come to a far better part of the town.

It is quiet and still save the winds fitful cry, And here but for Lolo she gladly would die. She gives one sad look at the desolate night, When o'er her pale face falls a glimmer of light. It comes from a window whose curtain withdrawn Throws a bright ray of light o'er the snow-covered lawn, With the child in her arms to the window she crept, And gazed with full heart while she silently wept.

'Twas a fair, pleasant room with a fire warm and bright, Books, pictures and flowers she saw by its light, And wondered if flowers could be found in the snow, And how the pale blossoms could learn how to grow. But the fairest of all in that fairy-like place Was the form of a woman, with half hidden face. There were tears in her eyes but they had not been shed, As the bell tolled for midnight she bowed down her head

A moment, then sprang to her feet and the child Heard her words like a prayer, so heart-broken and wild. "O father in Heaven, oh Savior of mine, Give, give back my husband, unsullied by wine." There are steps in the street, there's a form at the door, "Kept by business, Lucile, and your grace I implore. "You are lonely and tired, but now little bride, "Here's a gift for your patience," she laid it aside.

"No gift you could offer would fill me with bliss "Half so Heavenly and pure as your warm greeting kiss, "Your lips all unsullied, oh husband of mine, "Your bright eye undaunted, unclouded by wine. "Oh give me your promise this demon to shun, "'Twill lead you to ruin, 'twill blot out life's sun." He laughed at her gently then drew to his side, This fair, little woman his scarce six months bride.

"I see no hurt in it, what harm can betide," "If you'll listen I'll tell you," a soft voice replied. They sprang to their feet in wondering amaze, Two poor little waifs met their pitying gaze, And the servant behind them "pray what could I do, For she begged at the door just one moment with you." The child all unheeding their pitying surprise, Came quickly towards them with sad upturned eyes.

"O! sir I will tell you what harm will befall, "Death, darkness and ruin, destruction to all. "Your wife will grow pale and this fair golden hair, "Will shine with the silver of pain and despair. "These eyes will grow hollow, these cheeks will grow thin, "There'll be darkness without, there'll be sorrow within, "Your home will be poverty's haunt of distress, "The end of the harm, sir, you never can guess.

"See here," and she pointed her poor swollen feet, All bleeding and torn by the stones of the street, And her white shoulders bearing the mark of the blow, And her torn, ragged dress and her face full of woe. "To-night from my father I hastened in fear, "He said he would beat her, this baby so dear. "My fair little Lolo, oh sir, do you see, What hurt there is in it, what harm there can be?"

The child has ceased speaking, then husband and wife, In hushed solemn silence are filled with new life. His eyes are uplifted, the promise is given, And angels rejoice in the bright courts of Heaven. "So helping me God, I will never depart, With hand clasped in hand and with heart joined to heart." Then two little wanderers were sheltered and fed, And cuddled up close in a warm, downy bed.

"They are ours from the Lord, He will care for his own, "Their bruised feet will lead us close up to His throne. "Oh Lolo so fair, with your golden crowned head, "Dear gentle Adele, your sad lesson is read. "And may God in His justice deal ever with me, "Little lambs from the flock as I e'er deal with thee. "And you my sweet wife, all your vigils are o'er, "With God's help, I never shall drink any more."

Florrie

O mother, sweet mother, the spirit. Confided this day to your care Is a diamond your hand must make ready To shine 'mong His jewels so fair. The wee little hands must be guarded, The sweet tender heart must be fed. The dear little feet of your darling To the still, quiet waters be led.

She's a tiny wee bit of a maiden, No flower more fragile or sweet. Still she binds every heart in her fetters, And brings you, like slaves, to her feet, With the love of the father and mother. Her wealth, all around her displayed; With the smile of the angels upon her, How blest is the dear little maid.

Are You Coming

Then I awakened from my dreaming, And I sighed that 'twas a dream; Still I feel so very near you; Still I see the lingering gleam Of the light that shone about you, Of the glory on your face; When the house is still, my darling, Every feature I can trace.