9
POEMS RECEIVED BY THE OREGONIAN FROM MANY SOURCES
Lovers of Poetry Send In Rare and Old Verses in Response to Requests From Readers and Contributors.
THE SUNDAY OREGOXIAX, PORTLAND, JAXUART 21, 1917.
N'
-UMEROUS requests have been re
ceived for poems which have al
ready been printed on this page
several weeks or months ago. While
The Oregonian would be glad to reprint
them, the space is limited and there is
buch a volume, of new contributions
coming in continually that it cannot be
done, in justice to other contributors.
"Curfew Shall Not" Ring Tonight" is
one which has been several times asked
for, although It was printed about six
months ago.
Attention has been called to a rather
inexcusable oversight In failing to
credit "The Schoolhouse" to its author,
John Greenleaf Whlttier.
Many I"om Reqnented.
Klizabeth Stafford asks for "Bonnie
Wary of Argyle," which was printed
February 6, when the page was begun.
"The Ship That Never Returned" and
"The Dying Cowboy" are two other
requests for poems which have already
been printed. v
A. J. Millsasks for the- poem "Wash
ington." which begins, "He fought, but
not for love of strife; he struck but to
defend." Also he asks for - the poem,
beginning. "England. my heart is truly
thine; 1 love my nativehearth, the
land that holds a mother's grave and
gave that mother birth." The' first
poem mentioned is to be found, he says,
in some old readers of half a century
aK' ,
Requests or euch songs as America,
I Love You," are coming a trifle too far
into the present to be given answer on
a page intended to be devoted to old
and semi-antique favorites.
Modern SongM Heqnested.
Mrs. Charles S. Tibbs. of Carlisle,
Wash., sends copies of '"My Ain Coun
tree" and "Little oy Blue." the lat
ter in song form, and in addition to a
request for songs too nearly modern
for treatment on this page, asks for a
song of the California gold-rush days,
which begins, "Pile on a few more pine
knots. Tom. It's snappy cold tonight;
the wind from 'the Rocky Mountains
comes with the keenest kind of bite."
Miss Bernlce Jones also sends a copy
of "My Ain Countree" and asks for
"The Merchant's Daughter." "My Ain
Countree" comes also from Edith Weid
man, of Eagle Point, who sends a copy
of "Douglas Tender and True." The
latter was printed several months ago.
Juanita Hughes requests a copy of
"The Suanish Cavalier."
Among scores of other letters In a
similar vein a letter has been received
from Mrs. Sam Nass, of Astoria, which
is printed in part:
"I wonder if I. too, may come with a
request for precious verses of long
ago. I have not seen those I wish in
print, but they may have been, as I
have only seen a very few copies. All
my neighbors and friends seem to be
saving them, and we all hope you will
be able to give them to usj some time
in the same form as the popular 'Heart
Songs.'
"I would like 'Old Actor's. Story," by
George R. Sims, telling pf an actor and
his wife being aboard a ship which
takes fire. It begins:
"'Mine is a strange, wild story
The strangest you ever heard.
There are many who .won't believe it.
But it is gospel, every word."
"The next one is 'Santa Claus' Stock
ing," by Francis S. Smith, which be
gins: 'It was Christmas eve in a min
ing town, where the great Sierras rise,
and many a miner strikes it rich and
many a miner dies."
"The next one is 'Surprise Party."
also by Francis S. Smith, in which Mr.
and Mrs. Pinchbeck are prominent fig
ures." Judge J. C. Moreland sends the fol
lowing, which he put in type for The
Oregonian during the Civil War:
TI1K RISING OK THE PEOPLE 1S61.
The drum's wild roar awakes the land.
the fife is calling shrill;
Ten thousand starry banners gleam
o'er town and bay and hill.
Our crowded streets are throbbing
with the soldier's measured
tramp;
Amid our bladed cornfields gleam the
white tents of the camp.
The thunders of the rising war hush
labor's drowsy hum,
And heavy to the ground the first dark
drops of battle come.
The souls of men flame up anew, the
narrow heart expands.
And woman brings her eager faith to
nerve her eager hands.
Thank God. we are not buried yet,
though land in trance we lay;
Thank God. our fathers need not blush
to own her sons today.
Oh, sad and slow the weeks went by,
each held his anxious breath.
Like one who waits in helpless Xear
some sorrow great as death.
Oh, scarcely was there- faith in' God,
or any hope in man.
While fast along the southern sky thefForall the crafty men of peace have
blighting shadows ran
It veiled the stars one after one,
It
hushed the patriot's song.
And stole from men that sacred sense
that parteth right from Avrong.
Then a red flash, the lightning across
the darkness broke.
And with a voice that shook the land
the guns of Wumpter spoke;
Wake, sons of heroes, wake, the age of
heroes dawns again;
Truth takes in hand her ancient sword
and calls her loyal men.
Lo. brightly o'er the breaking day
shines Freedom's holy star.
Peace cannot cure the sickly time, all
hail the healer, war.
That call was heard on Plymouth Rock,
'twas heard in Boston Bay,
Then up the piney woods of Maine
sped on its rinsring way.
New Hampshire's rocks, Vermont's
green hills it kindled into flame.
Rhode Island felt her mighty soul
bursting her little frame.
The Empire City started up, her golden
fetters rent.
And meteor like across the north its
fiery message sent:
Over the breezy prairie lands by bluff
and lake it ran.
Till Kansas bent his arm and laughed
to find himself a man.
Then on by cabin and by camp, by
stony wastes and sands.
It ran exultant down the sea. where
the Golden City stands.
And wheresoe'er the summons came
there rose an angry din
As when upon a rocky coast a stormy
tide comes in.
(Straightway the fathers gathered voice.
straightway the sons arose.
As when the east, in flushing cheek,
with day's red current glows.
Hurrah; the long despair Is past; our
fading hopes renew;
The fog is lifting from the land, and lo,
the ancient blue.
We learn the secret of the deeds our
- sires have handed down.
To fire the youthful soldier's zeal and
tend his green renown.
Who lives for country through his
veins feels all her forces flow;
Tis
Oh.
Oh.
easy to be brave for truth as for
the rose to blow
Law, fair form of Liberty, Gods
light is on thy brow;
Liberty, thou soul of Law, God's
very self art thou.
One' the clear river's sparkling brink.
that lines the bank with green.
And one the line of stubborn rocks
that holds the water in.
Friends whom we cannot think apart.
seeming each other's foe.
Twin flowers upon a single stalk with
equal grace ye grow.
Oh. 'fair ideas, we write your names
upon our banner's fold:
For you the sluggard's brain is fire,
for you the coward bold.
Oh. daughter of the bleeding past; Oh,
hope the prophets saw,
God give us Law in Liberty and Lib
erty in Law. ,
Full many a heart is aching with
mingled joy and pain.
For those who go so proudly forth and
may not come again;
And many a heart is aching for those
it leaves behind,
As a thousand tender memories crowd
in upon the mind.
The old-men bless the young men and
, praise their bearing high.
And women in the doorways stand to
waive them proudly by.
One threw her arms about her boy and
said, "Good-by, my son,
God help thee do the valiant deeds thy
father would have done!"
One held up to a bearded man a little
child to kiss,
"I shall not be alone." she said, "for
, thy dear love and this."
And one. a rosebud -in her hand, leant
by a soldier's side,
"Thy country weds thee first," she said,
"be I thy second bride.'"
Oh, mothers, when around your hearths
ye count your cherished ones.
And miss from that enchanted ring the
flower of all your sons;
Oh, wives, when o'er the cradle child
ye bend at evening'? fall.
And voices which the heart can hear'
across the distance call.
Oh, maids, when of the sleepless night
ye ope the little case.
And look till ye can look no more upon
that proud young face;
Not only pray the Lord of life who
measures mortal breath.
To bring the absent back unscathed out
of the fire of death;
But pray with that Divine content,
which God's best favor draws.
That whosoever lives or dies He saves
His holy cause.
So out of store and farmhouse, from
shore and inland glen.
Thick as the bees in clover time are
swarming armed men.
Along the dusty roads in haste the
eager columns come.
With flash of sword and musket gleam,
with bugle and with drum.
Ho, comrades, see the starry flag,
proud waving at our heads.
Ho, comrades, mark the tender light on
the dear emblem spread.
Our fathers' blood hath hallowed it.
'tis part of their renown.
And palsied be the caitiff hand would
pluck its glories, down.
Hurrah, hurrah, it is our home wher'er
thy colors, fly.
We win with thee the victory or in thy
shadow die.
Oh. women, drive the rattling loom and
gather in the hay.
For all the youth, worth, love and
truth are marshaled for the fray.
Southward the hosts are Hurrying with
banners wide unfurled.
From where the stately Hudson floats
the wealth of balf the world;
From where amid his clustered isles
Lake Huron's waters gleam;
From where the Mississippi flows an
unpolluted stream;
From where Kentucky's fields of corn
bend in the Southern air:
From broad Ohio's luscious vines, from
Jersey's orchards fair;
From where bet ween his fertile slopes
Nebraska's rivers run:
From Pennsylvania's iron hills; from
woody Oregon.
And Massachusettes led the van as In
the days of yore.
And gave her reddest blood to cleanse
the streets of Baltimore.
Oh, motners, sisters, daughters, spare
the tears ye fain would shed;
Who seem to die in such a cause ye
cannot call them dead.
They live upon the lira of men, in
story bust and song.
And nature folds them in her heart to
keep them safe from wrong
Oh. length of days Js not the boon the
brave man prayeth for; ,
There are a thousand evils worse than
death or any war.t, ,
Oppression with his iron strength, fed-f
on the souls .or men.
-tnd license, with -the hungry brood,
that haunt hw ghastly den.
But like bright stars ye fill the eye,
adoring hearts ye draw.
Oh. sacred grace of Liberty; Oh, majes
ty of Law.
v
Hurrah, the drums are beating; the
fice is calling shrill;
Ten thousand starry banners flame on
town and bay and hill:
The thunders xt the rising war drown
labor's drowsy hum;
Thank God that we have lived to see
the saffron morning come
The morning of the battle call, to every
, soldier dar;
Oh, joy, the cry is forward, oh, joy.
tne roe is near.
iauen to purge tne land
Hurrah, the ranks of battle close, God
. takes His cause in hand.
Ruth Luce sends us the
Story," rectntly requested:
THK PILOTS STORY,
. BY W. r. HOWELLS.
"Pilot's
It was a story the pilot told, with his"
back to his hearers.
Keeping his hand'to the wheel, and h
eye oil the globe of the jack-staff.
Holding the boat to the shore and out
of the sweep of the current.
Lishtly turning aside for the heavy
logs of the drift-wood.
Widely shunning the snags that made
us sardonic obeisance.
All the soft, damp air. was full of deli
cate perfume
From the young willows in bloom on
either bank of the river-
Faint, delicious fragrance trancing the
indolent senses
In a luxurious dream of the river and
land of the lotus.
Not yet out of tle land of the West
the roses of the .sunset were
withered;
I In the deep-blue above light clouds of
gold and of crimson
Floated in- slumber - serene, and the
restless river beneath them
Rushed away to the sea with a vision
of rest in its bosom.
far on the eastern shore lay dimly the
swamps of the cypress:
I Dimly before us the islands grew from
the river s expanse;
Beautiful wood-grown isles with the
gleam of the swart inur.ijation
Seen through the swaying boughs and
slender trunks of their willows:
And on the shore beside us the cottoh
trees rose in the evening.
Phantom-like. yearningly. wearily,
with the inscrutable sadness
Of the mute races of trees while hoarse
ly the steam from her scape-pipes
Shouted, then whispered a moment,
then shouted again to the silence.
Trembling through all her frame with
the mighty pulse of her engines.
Slowly theft boat ascended the swollen
and broad Mississippi,
Bank-full, sweeping on, with nearing
masses oi ariit-wooa
Where in his arrowy flight the twit
tering swallow alighted
And the belated blackbird paused
on the way to its nestlings.
It was the pilot's story: "They both
came aboard there, at Cairo.
From a New Orleans boat, and took
passage with us for-Saint Louis.
She was a beautiful woman, with just
enough blood from her mother.
Darkening her eyes and her hair, to
make her race known to a trader;
You would have thought she was
while.
the
(A generation ago this poem,
America. The copy used here is
I stood on the bridge at midnight.
As the clocks were striking the hour.
And the moon rose o'er the city.
Behind the dark church tower;
And like the waters rushing
Among the wooden piers.
A flood of thoughts came o'er me.
That filled my eyes with tears.
How often, oh?- how often.
In the days that had gone by.
I had stood on that bridge at midnight
And gazed on that wave and sky!
How often, oh! how often.
I had wished that ebbing tide
Would bear me away on its bosom.
O'er the ocean wild and widev
For my heart was hot and restless.
And my life was full of care.
And the burden laid upon me
Seemed greater than I could bear.'
But now it has fallen from me,
It is buried in the sea, :
And only the sorrow of others
Throws its shadow over me.
Yet whenever I cross the river,"
On it bridge with wooden piers.
Like the odor of brine from the ocean,'
Comes the thought of other years.
And I think of how many thousands
Of care-encumbered men.
Each bearing his burden of sorrows.
Have crossed the bridge since then.
The man that was with he
such
-you see
Weakly, good-natured and kind
and
weakly good-natured and vicious.
Slender of body and soul, fit neither
for loving nor hating.
I was a youngster then, and only
learning the river.
Not overfond of the wheel, I used to
watch them at Monte,
Down in the cabin at night and learned
to knoyv all of the gamblers.
So when I saw this weak one staking
his money against them.
Betting upon the turn of the cards,.!
knew what was coming:
They never left their pigeons a single
feather to fly with.
Next day I saw them together the
stranger and one of the gamblers
Picturesque rascal he was, with long
black hair and moustaches.
Black slouch hat drawn down to his
eyes from his villainous fore'iead.
On together they moved, still earnest
ly talking together in "whispers.
On toward the forecastle where sat the
woman alone by the gang-way.
Roused by the fall of feet, she turned.
and. beholding her master.
Greeted him with a .smile that was
more like a wife's Hian another's.
Rose to meet him fondly, and then,
with the dread apprehension
Always haunting the slave, fell her
- eyes on the face of the gambler.
Dark and lustful and fierce and full
of merciless cunning.
Something was spoken so low that 1
could not hear what the words were;
Only the woman started, and looked
from one to the other.
With imploring eyes, bewildered hands
and a tremor
All through her frame; I saw her where
I was standing: she shook so.
"Sav! is it so?" she cried. On the
weak, white lips of her master
Died a sickly smile, and he said
"Louise. I have sold you."
God is my judge! May I never see
such a look of despairing.
Desolate anguish, as that which the
woman cast on her master.
Gripping her breast with her little
hands, as ir he had staDoea ner.
Standing in silence a space, as fixed
as the Indian woman.
Carved out of wood on the pilot-house
of the old Pocahontas!
Then, with a gurgling moan, like me
sound in the throat of the dying.
Came back her voice, that, rising, flut
tered, through wild incoherence
Into a terrible shriek, that stopped
my heart while she answered.
Sold me? sold me? sold and you
promised to give me my freedom!
Promised me for the sake or our little
hnv in Saint Louis!
What will you say to our little boy
when he cries for me tnere in ou
What will you say to. our God? Ah,
you have been joking, i see it;
No? God! God! He shall near n.
and all the angels in heaven
Even the devils in hell and none will
believe when tlvSy hear it.
Sold me!" Fell her voice with a thrill
ing wall, and in silence
Down she sank on the deck, and cov
ered her face with her lingers.
In his story a moment the pilot paused
while we listened
To the salute of a boat. that, rounding
the- xioint of an island.
Flamed toward us with " fires that
seemed to burn from the waters.
Stately and vast and swift, and borne
on the heart of the current.
Then with a mighty voice of a giant
rhallene-ed to battle.
Rose the responsive whistle and all the
echoes of island.
Swamp-land glade, and , brake replied
with a myriad clamor.
Like wild birds that are suddenly
startled from slumber at midnight;
Then were at peace once more, and we
heard the harsh cries of the peacocks
Perched on a tree by a cabin-door.
where the white-headed settler's
White-headed children stood to look
at the -boat as it passed them.
Passed them so near that we heard
their talk and their laughter.
Softly the sunset had faded, and now
on the eastern horizon
Hung like a tear in the sky, the beau
tiful star of the evening.
Still with his back to us standing, the
pilot went on with his story:
"Instantly, all the people, with looks
of reproach and compassion.
Flocked around the prostrat ? woman.
The children cried, and their mothers
hugged them tight to their breasts;
But the gambler said to the captain:
'Put me off there at .the town that lies
around the bend of the river.
Here, you! rise at once, and be ready
now to go with me.'
Roughly he seized the woman's arm
and strove to uplift her.
She she seemed not to heed lym. but
rose like one that is dreaming.
Slid from his grasp. and fleetly
mounted the steps of the gangway.
Up to the hurricane deck, in silence,
without lamentation.
Straight to the stern of the boat, where
the wheel was. she ran. and the
People followed her fast till she stood
and turned at bay for a moment.
Looking them in the face and the face
of the gambler.
Not one to save her not one of the
compassionate people!
Not one to save her. of all the pitying
anerels in heaven!
Not one bolt of God to strike him
dead there before her!
Wildly she waved him back, we waited
in silence and horror.
Over the swarthy face of the gambler
a Dallor of passion
Passed like a gleam of lightning over
the west in the nighttime.
SThite she stood, and mute, till he pu
bis band to secure her;
mimz
'&ziryfv'. LongrfeJow
set to a sweet melody, was perhaps one
furnished by Miss Fay Shaw, of Coquille.)
Forever and forever,
As long as the river flows.
As long as the heart has passions.
As long as life has woes -
Then she turned and leaped in mid
air fluttered a moment
Down there "whirling, fell, like a broken-winged
bird from a tree-top,
Down on the cruel wheel that caught
her. and hurled her. and crushed her.
And in the foaming water plunfed
her, ana hid ner forever.
Still with his back to us all the pilot
stood, but we heard him
Swallowing hard as he pulled the bell
rope to stop her, then turning,
"This is the place where it happened."
brokenly whispered the pilot.
"Somehow I never like to go by here
alone in the night time."
Darkly the Mississippi flowed by the
town that lay in the starlight.
Cheerful with lamps. Below we could
hear them reversing the engines.
And the great boat glided up to the
shore like a giant exhausted.
Heavily sighed her pipes. Broad over
the swamps to the eastward
Shone the full moon, and turned our
far-trembling wake Into silver.
All was serene and calm, but the odor
ous breath of the willows
Smote like the subtile breath of an in
finite, sorrow upon us.
Ruth Luce, of Portland; W. C. Mc
Donald, of ..Independence, and R. V.
Loomis,
of Portland, send "Tommy'e
in response to a request.
Prayer'
TOMMY'S PRAYEH.
By John F. Nlcholls.
Tn a dark and dismal alley, where the
sunshine neveV came.
Dwelt a little lad named Tommy, sickly.
delicate and lame;
He had never yet been healthy, but had
lain since he was born.
Dragging out his weak existence, well
nigh hopeless and forlorn.
t was
He
wa six. was little Tommy;
just five years ago
Since his drunken mother dropped him.
and the babe was crippled so.
He had never known the comfort of a
mother's tender care:
But her. cruel blows and cursea made
his pain still worse to bear.
There he lay within the cellar from the
morning till the night.
Starved, neglected, cursed, ill-treated.
naught to make his dull life
bright;
Not a single friend to love him; not a
living thing to love
For he knew not of a Savior, or a
hjeaven up above.
"Twas a quiet Summer evening, and the
alley, too, was still;
Tommy'e little heart was sinking and
he felt so lonely, till.
Floating up the quiet alley, wafted in
wards from the street.
Came the sound of someone singing,
sounding, oh! so clear and sweet.
Eagerly did Tommy listen as the sing
ing nearer came
Oh! that he could see the singer! How
he wished he wasn't lame.
Then he called and shouted loudly, till
the singer heard the sound
And, on noting whence it Issued, soon
the little cripple found.
'Twas a maiden rough and rugged, hair
unkempt and naked feet.
All her garments torn and ragged, her
appearance far from neat.
"'So yer called me," said " the maiden,
"wonder wot yer wants o" me:
Most folks call me 'Singing Jessie"; wet
- may your name chance to be?" '
"My name's Tommy, rmn cripple, and
I want to hear you sing.
For it makes me feel so happy sing
me something, anything."
Jessie laughed and answered, smiling,
"I can't stay here very long.
But I"I1 sing a hymn to please you, wot
I calls the 'Glory Song." "
Then she sang to him of heaven, pearly
gates and streets of gold,
Where the happy angel children are not
starved or nipped with cold;
But where happiness and gladness
' never can decrease or end.
And where kind and loving Jesus is
their sovereign and their friend.
Oh! how Tommy's eyes did glisten as
he drank in every word
Ab it fell from "Singing Jessie" was it
true, what he had heard?
And so anxiously he asked her: Is
there really such a place?"
And a tear began to trickle down his
pallid little face.
Tommy, you're a little heathen. Why,
Xn s up oeyona ine eny,
nd if yer will love the Savior, you
shall go there when yer die."
"Then." said Tommy, "tell -me, Jessie,
how can I the Savior love.
When I'm down In this 'ere cellar and
he's up In heaven above?"
So the ragged little maiden, who had
heard at Sunday school
All about the way to Heaven, and the
Christian's golden' rule.
Taught the little cripple Tommy how to
love and how fo pray.
Then she sang a "Song of Jesus,"
kissed his cheek and went away.
Tommy lay within the cellar, which
had grown so dark -and cold.
Thinking all about the children in the
streets of shining gold.
And he heeded not the darkness of that
damp and chilly room.
For the joy in Tommy's bosom could
disperse "the deepest gloom.
"Oh! if I could only see it,"
the cripple, as - he lay.
thought
of the best loved heart songs in
The moon and its broken reflection,
And its shadows shall appear.
As the symbol of love in Heaven.
And its wavering image here.
"Jessie said that Jesus listens, and I
think I'll try and pray
So he put his hands together, and he
closed his little eyes.
And in accents weak, yet earnest, sent
this message to the skies:
"Gentle Jesus, please forgive me, as I
didn t know afore.
That yer cared for little cripples who
is weak and very poor.
And I never heard "of Heaven till that
Jessie came today.
And told me all about it, so I wants to
try and pray.
".Yer can see me. can't yer, Jesus? Jes
sie told me that yer could.
And I somehow must believe it, for
it seems so prime and good;
And she told me if I loved you, I
should see yer when I die.
In the bright and happy Heaven that
is up beyond the sky.
"Lord, I'm only just a cripple, and I'm
no use here below.
For I heard my mother whisper, she'd
be glad if I could go;
And I'm cold and hungry sometimes;
and I feel so lonely, too.
Can't yer take me, gentle Jesus, up to
Heaven along o' you?
"Oh! I'd be so good and patient, and
I'd never cry or fret.
And your' kindness to me, Jesus, I
would surely not forget;
I would love you all I know. of. and
would never make a noise.
Can't you find me just a corner, where
I'll watch the other boys?
"Oh!
I think yer'I do It. Jesus, some
thing seems to tell me so.
For I feel so glad and happy, anfl I
do so want to go.
How I long ter see yer. Jesus, and
, the children all so bright,
Com o and fetch me. wnnt v-t- .tkiik
come and fetch me home to
night?" Tommy c leased his supplication, he
had told his soul's desire.
And he waited for the answer till his
head began to tire:
Then he turned towards his corner and
lay huddled in a heap.
Closed his little eyes so gently, and
was quickly fast asleep.
Oh! I wish that every scoffer could
have seen his little face.
As he lay there in the -corner, in that
damp and noisome place;
For his countenance was shining like
an angel's fair and bright.
And it seemed to fill the cellar with
a holy. Heavenly light.
He had only heard of Jesus from a
ragged singing girl.
He might well have wondered, pon
dered, till his brain began to.
wniri ;
But he took it as she told it, and be
lieved it then and there.
Simply trusting In the Saviour, and
His kind and gentle care.
In the morning, when the mother came
to wake her crippled boy.
She discovered that his features wore
a look of sweetest joy;
And she shook him somewhat roughly.
. but the cripples face was cold
He had gone to join the children In the
streets of shining gold.
Tommys prayer had soon been
answered, and the Angel Death
had come
To remove him' from his cellar, to his
bright and Heavenly home.
Where sweet comfort, joy and gladness
never can decrease or end.
And where Jesus reigns eternally, his
sovereign and his Friend.
A recent request for tne song of
Spanish-American War times brought
tne rouowtng from Mrs. L. H, Davison,
of Brlarwood:
A I.ITTLK BOY IV BLIK.
By Raymond A. Brown.
A mother sits In sadness, thinking of
ner only son.
As she looks up at two pictures on
the wall.
They're all that's left to cheer her and
she says. "Thy will be done."
As she mourns for him. who's gone
beyond recall.
One shows him as a little hoy in soldier
clothes at play.
With his army lying scattered oh the
floor. " -
The other in his uniform the day he
marched away
And said good-bye, alas, forever
more. Chorus
it strange when the band starts
playing v
That her eyes fill up with tears.
As the soldiers pass her window
And the street rings out with cheers?
For It's then that her heart is saddest.
And it seems it can't be true.
As she looks up at the pictures
Of her little boy in blue.
The war that took him from her has
been over many ittara,
i And the troope that pas are only in
parade.
But as she watches them go by she's
thinking thro' her tears
Of her own boy marching while the
music played;
The pictures hanging on the wall they
seem to blend In one.
And she seems to hear a voice, "I
miss you. too."
That's why she's heavy-hearted when
all is said and done.
He was only just her little boy In
blue.
Mrs. Grace De Con, of Eugene, sends
us a copy of sweet larie, a popular
song of 1895. recently requested by one
ot our readers:
SWBET MARIK,
I've a secret in my heart, sweet Marie.
A tale I would impart, love, to thee.
Every daisy in the dell
Knows my secret, knows It well.
And yet I dare not tell sweet Marie.
When I hold your hand in mine, sweet
Marie.
A feeling most divine comes to me;
All the world is full of Spring.
Full jot warblers on the wing.
And I listen while they sing, sweet
Marie.
REFRAIN.
Come to me, sweet Marie,
Sweet Marie, come to me.
Not because your face is fair, love, to
see.
But your soul so pure and sweet
Makes my happiness complete.
Makes me falter at your feet, sweet
Marie.
In the morn when I awake, sweet Ma
rie, Seems to me my heart would break,
love, for thee;
Every wave that beats the shore
Seems to say it o'er and o'er.
Seems to say that I adore sweet Marie.
When the sunset tints the west, sweet
Marie.
And I sit me down to rest, love, with
thee.
All the stars that stud the sky
Seem to stand and wonder why
l hey re so dimmer than your
Sweet Marie.
eye.
"Papa's Letter" was asked for many
weeks ago. We are indebted to C W.
Castle, of Baker, for the copy.
PAPA'S LETTER.
I was sitting in my study.
Writing letters, when I heard
Please dear mamma, Mary told me;
Mamma musn't be 'isturbed.
"But I'se tired of my kitty;
Want some',ozzer fing to do:
Writing letters, is 'ou, mamma?
Tan't I write a letter, too?"
"Not now, darling; mamma's busy;
Run and play with kitty now."
"No. no. mamma; me write letter;
Tan if 'ou will show me how."
I would paint my darling's portrait.
As his sweet eyes searched my face;
Hair of gold and eyes of acure.
Form of childish, witching grace.
But the eager face was clouded.
As'I slowly shook my head.
Till I said: "I'll make a letter
Of you, darling boy, instead."
So I parted back the tresses
From his forehead, high and white.
And a stamp in sport I pasted
'Mid its wave of golden light.
Then I said: "Now. little letter.
Go away and bear good news."
And I smiled as dowithe staircase
Clattered loud the little shoes.
Leaving me, the. darling hurried
Down to Mary. In his glee;
"Mamma's writing lots of letters;
I'se a letter. Mary see!"
No one heard the little prattler
As once more he climbed the stair.
Reached his little cap and tippet.
Standing on the entry chair.
No one heard the front door open.
No one saw the golden hair
As it floated o'er his shoulders
In the crisp October air.
Down the street the baby hastened
Till he reached, the office door.
I'se a letter, Mr. Postman:
Is there room for any more?"
'Cause dis letter's doin' to papa:
Papa lives with God, you know;
Mamma sent me for a letter:
Does 'ou fink at I tan go?"
But the clerk. In wonder, answered:
"Not today, my little man."
"Den I'll find anozzer office.
'Cause I must go if I tan."
Fain, the clerk would have detained
him.
But the pleading face was gone.
And the little feet were hastening
By the busy crowd swept on.
Suddenly the crowd was parted:
People fled, to left and right.
As a pair of maddened horses
At the moment dashed in sight.
No one saw the baby figure:
No one saw the golden hair.
Till a voice of frightened sweetness
Rang out on the Autumn air.
"Twas too late a moment only
Stood the beauteous vision there.
Then the little face lay lifeless.
Covered o'er with golden hair.
Re-erently they raised my darling.
Brushed away the curls of gold.
Saw the stamp upon the forehead.
Growing now so icy cold.
Not a mark the face disfigured.
Showing where the hoof had trod.
But the little life was ended
"Papa's letter" was with God.
Mrs. II. 11. Smith sends the following
CHARITY BEGINS AT HOME.
Author unknown.
Judge not another look within:
There you wi.l find enough oC sin;
Weeds luxuriant, rank and wild.
Many a thought by sin defiled:
Many a fretful, peevish feeling
Many a cold, ungrateful look
Warm affection scarce can brook;
Many a harsh, unfeeling word.
Heart-piercing as a sharpened sword;
Ah! look within, thou need'st no
roam:
For charity begins at home.
Judge not another, for you'll find
In dark recesses of your mind.
Hidden by self-esteem from view.
Seen by others not by you.
Follies that make you blush when seen
By the light of conscience's faithful
beam: -
Drag the intruders forth to light.
And judge them by that standard
bright;
Banish the beam before you try
To force the mote from another's eye.
Ah! look within, thou need'st not
roam
For charity begins at home.
Judge not another keep in mind
The golden rule of all mankind;
Whenever .tempted to expose
Another's follies, think of those
That lurk within: the wish repress
Your scorn of others to express;
Whene'er to ridicule inclined.
Ah: think how sensitive your mind;
Perhaps that very moment, too.
Someone may be displeasing you.
Ah! look within, thou need'st no
roam.
For charity begins at home.
Judge not another keep in mind
The Judgment that ye give ye'll And
That measure ye to others mete
Shall be returned to you complete.
Cease then, all Judging, till you And
No trace of error in your mind:
Then you will never judge again.
Till all your pulses cease to beat.
With error you'll be found replete.
Ah! look within, thou need'st not
roam.
For charity begins at home.
. L. . Hainan, of RidgefieldL, Wash
sends the following copy of "Rory of
the Hill," requested some time ago:
rory ok thk hill.
The rake up near the rafters.
Why leave It there so long?
The handle of the best of ash
Is smooth and straight and strong.
And. mother, will you tell me
Why did my father frown.
When to wake the hay in Summer time,
I climbed to take it down? .
She looked Into her husband's eyes.
While her own with a light did fill;
You'll shortly know the reason, boy.
Said Rory of the Hill.
The midnight sun is lighting up
The slopes of Sliev. no man
Whose foot affrights the startled hares
So long before the dawn.
He stopped Just where the Anner's
stream
Wnds up the woods anear.
And whispered low and looked around
To see the coast was clear.
The shelling door flew o-x-n.
In he stepped with right good will;
God save all here and bless your work.
Said Rory of the Hill.
Right hearty was the welcome
That greeted him. I ween;
For years gone by he fully proved
How well he loved' the green.
And there was one among them
ho grasped him by the hand
And who through all that weary time
Roamed In a foreign land.
He brought them news from gallant
friends
That made their heart strength thrill;
My soul, I never doubted them.
Said Rory of the Hill.
They sat around the humble board -
Till dawning of the day.'
And yet not song or shout, oh.
No revered were they.
Some brows flushed red with gladness.
While some were grimy pale.
But pale or red. from out those eyes
Flashed souls that never quail.
And singing now about the vow
They swore for to fulfill.
You'll read it yet in history.
Said Rory of the Hill.
Next day the ashen handle
He took from where It hung.
The toothed rake full scornfully
Into the fire he flung.
And in its place a shining blade
Is gleaming once again
Oh, for a hundred thousand of
Such weapons and such men.
Right soldierly h"b wielded it.
And going through the drill
Attention! Charge! Front point! Ad
vance Cried Rory of the Hill.
She looked at him with woman's pride;
With pride and woman's fears.
he- flew to him.- she clung to him.
And dried away her tears.
He feels her pu'.se beat truly, .
While her arms around him twine
Now, God be praised for your stout
heart.
Brave little wife of mine."
He swung his firstborn In the air.
While with joy his heart did fill:.
You'll be a freeman yet, my boy.
Said Rory of the Hill.
Oh. knowledge Is a wondrous power.
And stronger than the wind.
And thrones shall fall and despots
bow
Before the might of mind
The poet and the vorator
i no near; ui iusit cn nwoj,
And would to the kind heavens
That Wolfe Tone were here today.
Yet. trust me. friends, dear Ireland's
strenth.
Her truest strength, i still
The rough and ready roving boy
Like Rory on the Hill.
The Christmas Baby," by Will Carl
ton, was contributed by Ruth Luce:
THK CHRISTMAS BABY.
(By Will Carleton.)
Thart welcome, my bonny brid.
But shouldn't ha' come just when tha"
did:
Teimes are bad."
English Ballad.
Hoot! ye little rascal! ye ome'st on
me this way.
Crowdin' yerself amongst us this blus-
terin Inter s day.
Knowin' that we already have three of
ye. an seven.
An' tryin' to make yerself out a
Christmas present o' heaven?
Ten of ye have we now, sir, for this
world to abuse.
An' Bobbie he have no waistcoat, an'
Nellie she have no shoes.
An' Sammie he have no shirt, sir (I tell
it to his shame).
An" the one that was just before ye.
we ain t had time to name!
An all o the banks be smashin an on
us poor folks fall.
An' boss he whittles the wages when
work's to be had at all;
An' Tom he have cut his foot off, an
lies in a woful .plight.
An all of us wonders at mornln at
what we shall eat at night;
An' but for your father and Sandy
a-nnding somewhat to do ,
An' but for the preacher woman who
often helps us through.
An' but for your poor dear mother
a-doin' twice her part.
Ye'd a seen us all in heaven afore ye
was ready to start!
An' now ye have come, ye rascal! so
healthy an' fat an' sound.
A-weighin'. I'll wager a dollar, the
full of a dozen pound !
With yer mother's eyes a flashin', yer
fathers flesh an' build.
An' a good big mouth an' stomach all
ready fer to be filled!
No, no! don't cry. my baby; hush up.
my pretty one!
Don't get my chaff in yer eye, boy, I
only was just in fun.
Ye'll like us when ye know us, al
though we're cur'us folks':
But we don't get much victual, an' half
our livln'is jokes!
Why, bow. did ytt take me in earnest?
Come, sit upon my knee;
I'll tell ye a secret, youngster, I'll
name ye after me.
Ye shall have all yer brothers an"" sis
ters with ye to play
An' ye shall have yer carriage an" ride
out every day!
t
Why, boy, do you think ye'll suffer?
I'm gettin' a trine old. ...
But it will be many years yet before I
lose my hold; .
An if I should fall on -the rond lo'.
still them's yer brothers thre.
An' not a rogue of 'em ever would e
ye harmed a hair!
Say! when ye came from heaven, my
little namesake dear.
Did ye see. 'mongst the little girls thm-fre
a face like this one here?
That was yer little sister she dil a
year ago.
An all of us cried like babiM when
they laid her Ainder the snow!
Hang it! If all the rich men I ever see
or knew
Came here with a.'! their traps, boy. an"
offered 'em for you.
I'd show "em to the door, sir, so quick
they'd think It odd
Before I'd sell to another my Christina.
Sift from God!