How glad the joys at eventide When 'round the hearth-stone's pleasant heat The simple song in music sweet From loving voices floated wide!

The mellowed apples gave a charm, While pop-corn white and cider bright With worlds of laughter lent delight To winters on the olden farm.

Thrice happy nights and happy days, Sweet isles of pleasure in the past, May long your hallowed moments cast A sacred sunshine o'er my ways!

And where life leads me, gladly arm My soul with angel songs of bliss, With true embrace and holy kiss, O, winters on the olden farm!

"O, WEAK AND WEARY WORLD!"

O weak and weary world Forever struggling on, When will thy toils in comfort be impearled, When will thy sorrows and thy cares be gone?

When shall the races, all ambition dead, Forsake the stony slope and rocky steep, And in contentment sweetly wed The joys that never sleep?

O, weak and weary world, Long hast thou toiled in vain; The smoky fumes of woe are darkly curled With endless troubles and enduring pain; When will thy bosom, faint and helpless grown, Rest sweetly in the balmy bowers of ease?

Avoid the woes that constant groan And follow shapes that please?

O, weak and weary world, Why search the hills and seas?

All Nature is in secrecy enfurled And thou canst never solve her mysteries; Thou canst not understand nor comprehend Her varied movements nor the intricate, The systems that so far extend, Creation wide and great.

O, weak and weary world, Why more attempt advance?

Long have thy forces in confusion whirled In circles through the misty maze of chance; The nations rise and sink in sepulchres, Thy peoples perish in a common grave; Progression dies, perfection errs, Wrong rules the wood and wave.

O, weak and weary world, Let thy ambition rest!

Long have defeat and gloomy ruin twirled In dark embrace the purest and the best; Destruction is thy portion, death thy part, Ashes thy glory, and thy splendor dust; Then ease the longings of thy breast; Serve pleasures well; and trust!

EX ANIMA.

The gloomy hours of silence wake Remembrance and her train, And phantoms through the fancies chase The mem'ries that remain; And hidden in the dark embrace Of days that now are gone, I see a form, a fairy form, And fancy hurries on!

I see the old familiar smile, I hear the tender tone, I greet the softness of the glance That cheered me when alone; The ruby chains of rich romance That bound our bosoms o'er, I still can know, I still can feel, As they were felt before.

I name the vows, the fresh young vows, That we together said; What matters it? She can not know; She slumbers with the dead!

Again the fields of fate I sow, As she and I have sown; I dream again the same old dreams, But I am left alone!

The twining gra.s.ses verdant wreathe Above her silent grave; The rose and violet over all Their purest blossoms wave; Unbidden from their fountains fall The tender tides of tears; A sorrow winds among the days, And chains the pa.s.sing years.

My life commingles shine with shade, The lily with the rose, And in my heart a loathsome weed Beside each lily grows; Through every thought, through every deed, The somber shadows play; And I am sad, alone and sad, And life is never gay.

"LO, ALL THE AGE IS RANK WITH WRONG."

Lo, all the age is rank with wrong!

The nations kneel to monstrous might, And horrid cries that haunt the night, Have hushed the notes of happy song; Mankind the deepest truth has missed, The best emotions have grown dim; We praise the G.o.d that dwelt in Christ, But crucify the man in him.

Laws, n.o.ble, good, and great at first, With plan perverted, bind again The regal rights of mind and men And prove of tyrants far the worst; With blinded eyes is Nature made, And knows her constant purpose crossed, While crafty Jacob plies his trade And Esau finds his blessing lost.

Earth yields her fruits in ample store; Her children all are heirs that trace Their lineage through the royal race, And all her wealth is theirs--and more; But one with cunning hand controls The portions that his brothers fed, While thousands--just and worthy souls-- In aimless anguish cry for bread!

No royal blood by caste or creed, No pride of place, no gild of gold Can warm the weak, accursed with cold, Or light the awful nights of need; Labor alone can blessings bring To crown the brows of freedom's brave; The toiler is the truest king, The idler is the only slave!

But laugh, O, Labor, dry thy tears!

A better day is drawing nigh; Hope brightens all the somber sky; The golden age of Love is near!

Behold! But yonder stands a Star!

The ancient lies are downward hurled; A man--a child--is greater far Than all the wealth of all the world!

"LOVE, THOU GAYEST FANCY-WEAVER."

Love, thou gayest fancy-weaver, Heart-betrayer, soul-deceiver, Come with all thy clinging kisses; Bringing all thy beaming blisses; It may serve the cynic's parts, If he curse and if he scout thee, But, O, where were gentle hearts, If they had to live without thee!

Weave the spells of thy beguiling 'Round and 'round me with thy smiling, Till the ashen cheek is beaming, And the faded eye is gleaming; Millions may endure the fight In the battle vain to end thee, But when taste they thy delight They will serve thee and defend thee.

Bring thy little winsome graces And the sweets of glad embraces, Till the pleasures all are dancing Into mazy whirls entrancing; It may please the icy breast To despise thee and distress thee, But the burning hearts find rest When they bless thee and caress thee.

Send thy gladness, laughing rover, All my sorrows o'er and over, Till the strains of happy pleasure Mingle in melodious measure; It may give a transient glee To condemn thy ways and sever, But the sweets of melody Thou wilt murmur on forever.

Bind my heart in silken chaining, Till from thee is none remaining; Clothe my soul in glad completeness Of thy happiness and sweetness; When the times are true, the soul May not hunger for thy gladness, But when surging sorrows roll Thou alone shall banish sadness.

THE FARMER.

Let nations encircle the brows of the brave With glory the greatest that glitters below, Who make in the blood of the battle a grave For all that are found in the ranks of the foe; But I from the greatness, the grandeur, and gleam, Would turn to the light of clear-glowing hearth, And choose from his joy for the soul of my theme The farmer, the lord and the king of the earth.

Let millions give worship to riches and wealth, That gay in their brilliancy sparkle and gleam, And serve with the hands of their happiest health The haughty who idle and revel and dream; In hall or in hamlet, in cottage or cave, Or sickened with sorrow or maddened with mirth, There's none I shall serve with the will of a slave But the farmer, the lord and the king of the earth.

Let poets in praises heart-swelling and sweet With rapture that rises in beautiful song, Make sages immortal and ages replete With hundreds of heroes who wrestled the wrong; All honest men well from the Muses may claim The numbers that murmur to merit and worth, And so I would fold in the mantles of fame The farmer, the lord and the king of the earth.

Let orators over the deeds of the great Re-echo the tributes of tenderest praise, And over the ashes that slumber in state Let peoples their marbles and monuments raise; But I, from the frenzied applauses uncouth, To those who are chained in the bondage of birth, Would flee to surround with the lilies of truth The farmer, the lord and the king of the earth.

Let hearts that are grateful in grat.i.tude crown The friend of the many and foe of the few; Let souls in their secret admiring enthrone Whatever a martyr or minion may do; But down in my bosom while reasonings reign, Of friendship and love there is never a dearth For him who is toiling in pleasure or pain, The farmer, the lord and the king of the earth.