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AUTHOR’S PREFACE

 
I am a New Hampshire girl. I have written
these poems in the interests of Christian Endeavor.
My friends are so much pleased with them that I
have had them published for our mutual benefit.
 

KATE  L. WHEELER.

 
“Thou’lt ne’er be poor nor quite alone,
Whilst thou a mother call’st thine own.”
 

THE OLD GRANITE STATE

The New Hampshire Christian Endeavor State Song

Tune, “How Firm a Foundation.”

 
The State of New Hampshire is dear to us all,
Her hills and her mountains respond to the call,
Her onflowing rivers in gladness awake
To sound forth the praises of Old Granite State.
 
 
Her heroes undaunted in times of distress
’Neath the flag of the union went forth with the rest;
When duty is calling and danger is nigh
The Old Granite State will conquer or die.
 
 
Her sons and her daughters are loyal and brave,
’Neath the banner of Christ they march onward to save;
In the battle for right which they undertake
As firm as the granite in Old Granite State.
 
 
From loftiest height to lowliest shore
New Hampshire, our home land, is our’s evermore!
“For Christ and the Church” she resounds the glad call,
The Old Granite State sends a greeting to all.
 

THY PLACE

 
Do not dream away life’s morning,
Rise to bless as does the sun;
Let no shadow fall about thee,
Till thy given work is done.
 
 
Look not downward, to the valley,
Blessings come from heights above;
Falter not upon thy journey,
Let each effort teem with love.
 
 
Tho’ thy life work may be humble,
Keep a brave and trusting heart;
Do it well, it is thy portion,
God himself assigned the part.
 
 
There is not on earth another—
Even monarch of the throne—
Who can fill thy place so nobly,
As thyself, thyself alone.
 
 
If a few shall rise above thee,
And the world their deeds applaud,
Do not let their fame depress thee,
None can judge thee save thy God.
 

CONSTANCY

 
He makes the most of life, who soonest learns
That ’tis not best to try for heights too high,
Nor yet to be content with vales too low;
But day by day upon his upward way,
Accepts the possible for which he yearns,
Rejects those things that far beneath him lie,
And asks the strength of slow success, to know,
Which gains the Heaven for which we mortals pray.
 

FAIREST DAYS

 
The sun is flooding all the land and sky,
The waves are dancing o’er the deep blue sea;
The world is gay and yet, they say, not I—
Since absence makes a gulf ’tween you and me.
 
 
When you were here the clouds were in the sky,
The rain-drops fell, the sun was hid from view;
The world was dull and yet, they say, not I—
For my gay world is centred, love, in you.
 
 
When you are near no matter what the sky,
No matter what the sea nor what the weather;
The world is gay and so, my love, am I—
The days are fairest when we are together.
 

MY PETITION

 
O let me say one little word,
Ere I depart,
To soothe one sorrow,
Teach one truth,
And help one heart!
 
 
O let me sing one little song,
Before I go,
To wake one wanderer,
Lift one load,
And wing one woe!
 
 
O let me breathe one little prayer,
While yet I live,
To bring one blessing,
Heal one hurt,
One sin forgive!
 
 
O let me write one little song,
Ere life is o’er,
To cause one comfort,
Save one soul,
Forever more!
 

IMPERISHABLE MELODIES

 
Around the world they ring to-day,
And they will ring forever;
Like beauteous birds that sweetly sing,
Good cheer and comfort they shall bring;
And saving souls along the way,
Will be forgotten never.
 
 
Both autocrat and peasant poor,
With heaven born inspiration,
Composed these grand and soulful themes
That wake the dreamer from his dreams,
And shall, while patriot rights endure,
Arouse a loyal nation.
 
 
The mighty chimes ring out the fame
Of him who wrote with feeling,
And while sweet symphonies prolong,
He lives again to move the throng,
And preaches in Jehovah’s name
From spires where bells are pealing.
 

MOTHER

 
In all the wide world there is not another
Whose name is so dear as the sweet name of mother.
The babe’s tiny head finds it’s most perfect rest,
When pillowed from harm on the fair mother breast;
The youth, from all sorrow, temptation and care,
Seeks the warm mother heart and finds comfort there;
The woman, whose virtues are whispered above,
Will daily thank God for the dear “mother love;”
The man, be he lover, or husband, or brother,
Will ever hold sacred the love of his mother.
Tho’ the years may have turned her tresses to gray,
And the rose from her cheek may have faded away,
Tho’ her step, once so light, may have feebled with age,
And her eyes may have grown too dim for the page,
Tho’ the hand that was once so dainty and fair,
May have changed with the seasons of toiling and care,
Tho’ the voice that to youth and it’s freedom belongs,
May have lost all its sweetness for lullaby songs,
Yet the years that shall make the dear mother grow old,
Will but add to her nature a blessing untold;—
Tho’ they rob her of youth, she retains, as a prize,
A love more mature and a counsel more wise.
Tho’ her life lose it’s sunshine and burdens oppress,
Yet the love of the mother will never be less;
Tho’ her children may wander away from the fold,
And the world shuts them out in the darkness and cold,
Tho’ their friends may prove faithless and sin may allure,
Yet of mother’s true love they can ever be sure.
Tho’ to far away lands they may wilfully roam,
The fond mother’s prayer will be guiding them home.
If they climb to the height of honor and fame,
They should whisper, in credit, the dear mother name.
Her love inspires all that is noble and good,
And Purity reigneth o’er sweet mother-hood.
Tho’ the great word applaud, the praise of another
Is nothing compared with the praises of mother.
The earth home is dreary, when she is away,
Her presence adds sunshine to each changing day,
And Heaven, in it’s glory, will be the more fair,
When the spirit of mother shall find entrance there.
 

HIDDEN TREASURES

 
Beneath the waves of ocean blue,
The precious pearls are lost from view;
Within the darkness of the mine,
The gold and uncut diamonds shine;
From human sight beneath the sky,
The little seeds in waiting lie.
 
 
Within the mind, like pearls of white,
Some hidden thoughts await the light;
Which, brightly polished, shall outshine
The varied treasures of the mine;
And like the seeds that wake to flowers,
Shall bless and brighten all life’s hours.
 

IN LIFE AND DEATH

 
I see her smile in sleep
And to her crib I creep
To kiss the baby face where dimples play;
I smooth her sunny hair
And breathe to God a prayer
That He will teach me how to lead the way.
 
 
I see her smile in sleep
And to her couch I creep
To kiss the saintly face where peace doth stay;
I smooth her silvery hair
And breathe to God a prayer
That He will teach me how to find the way.
 

PROGRESS

 
He, who to elevate himself
Labors with earnest will,
Forgets, that should he wisely try
To elevate the minds near by
And public needs to fill,
Will still continue to advance
And while their cause he does enhance
Will be their teacher still.
 

ONLY A LITTLE FELLOW

 
He was only a little fellow
With a very plain little face
And his teacher said,
With a shake of the head:
“Dan never can keep his place.”
 
 
He was only a little fellow
With a mouth neither rosy nor sweet
And his father said,
With a shake of the head:
“Dan always is under my feet.”
 
 
He was only a little fellow
With eyes neither brilliant nor gay
And his mother said,
With a shake of the head:
“Dan always is in my way.”
 
 
He was only a little fellow
With a little turned up nose
And his sister said,
With a shake of the head:
“Dan must keep away from my beaux.”
 
 
He was only a little fellow
With tumbled apron and hair
And his brother said,
With a shake of the head:
“Dan is out of place in there.”
 
 
He was only a little fellow
But at last there came a day
When every one said,
With a shake of the head:
“Dan never was in the way.”
 
 
He was only a little fellow
Yet the neighbors came in to weep
While the baby face,
In a rose-decked place,
Was calm in eternal sleep.
 
 
He was only a little fellow
Who left his books and his play;
At the Saviour’s call,
Where there’s room for all,
He will never more be in the way.
 

UNDER THE PINES

 
Under the pines, on a summer’s day,
I list to a whisper from far away,
And, lying low, with my half-closed eyes,
Behold the beauty of fairer skies.
Some say ’tis the sound of the sighing sea,
Whose distant murmer steals over me;
Some say ’tis the baby breeze instead,
That rocks in the branches overhead;
But I know it is neither wave nor breeze,
On shining sands and in leafy trees;
’Tis the music sweet of a voice divine,
That whispers peace to each pensive pine.
 

PRAYER

 
Pray not for self if thou wouldst be most blest,—
The prayers for others are for self the best.
Christ is not first if self be first in prayer;
He blesses most when we for others care.
Forget thyself if thou wouldst Christlike be,
Praying for others, some will pray for thee.
While self’s own burdens are of prayer a part
“Thy kingdom come” is prayed not from the heart.
Pray not for light to solve thy problems right,
But be thyself to other souls a light.
God gave thee mighty strength to help the weak,
And yet thy prayers of thine own weakness speak;
God gave thee power to comfort and to teach,
And lift souls up to heights they strive to reach,
And yet thy prayers ascend to His white throne,
Pleading for comfort for thyself alone;
Thou prayest too for wisdom and release,
And hands to draw thee upward into peace,
Forgetting that which Christ would have thee know,—
Peace comes to those who make peace here below;
Forgetting that His arms shall draw thee near
Only as thine are held to others here;
That wisdom comes to thee each passing hour
By teaching others what is in thy power;
That comfort comes by thy own word and deed,
Which comforts others in the hour of need.
If thou wouldst pray for self, ask God to give
More power in prayer that other souls may live.
To live right is to pray and to believe
That Christ will hear, and that “thou shalt receive.”
Two gifts are thine, if thou wouldst pray aright,—
Peace here below, and Heaven’s eternal light.
 

OUR BABY

 
When baby’s soul is claimed beyond the skies,
And little eyes are closed in final sleep;
When angels hush our darling’s cooing cries,
What words are there to comfort those who weep?
 
 
When broken playthings, lying on the floor,
And treasured toys have all been put aside,
When baby wakes to play with them no more,
And fondest hopes that brightened life have died;
 
 
When dimpled hands no longer seek the face,
And baby lips no more shall feel the kiss;
When tiny feet have found their resting-place,
What shall be said in such an hour as this?
 
 
When baby’s crib is idly standing near,
And cherished form is laid from human sight,
When loved ones think they even now can hear
The little cry that woke them in the night;
 
 
When mother puts the baby gowns away,
And ’round her neck can almost seem to feel
Those clinging arms, whose touch will with her stay,
What helpful thoughts can Sympathy reveal?
 

A HALO

 
No mortal can unhappy be
Who lives for other’s good,
And takes an interest in the lives
Of happy brother-hood.
 
 
Depression that destroys the mind
Will thereby disappear,
And gloom will all be swept away
In radiant atmosphere.
 

THE DESERTED FARM

 
An unkept field, whose grasses greet the sun,
And pure, white daisies spread like fallen snow;
The shady nooks, where trout brooks gaily run,
And, ’mong the trees, the farm-house quaint and low.
 
 
Like some worn soldier on the battle fields
It stands upon the old familiar ground,
And to the past it’s former strength it yields,
While naught but desolation broods around.
 
 
’Neath shutters closed the phœbe builds her nest,
While near the eaves the little sparrows fly;
All undisturbed they sing their young to rest,
As did a mother in the years gone by.
 
 
The wicker gate is falling to decay,
The narrow paths with growing weeds abound;
The long, low shed thro’ which the sunbeams stray,
Is leaning eastward to the grassy ground.
 
 
The barn door creaks upon it’s hinges old;
The prop that stayed it from the winds that blow
No more stands guard against the heat and cold—
The summer’s rain and winter’s drifts of snow.
 
 
The lofts, once laden with the new mown hay,
No longer echo with the merry din;
From beam to beam, where children loved to play,
The spiders many a silken cobweb spin.
 
 
No more the tinkle of the distant bell
Disturbs the hush of daylight’s waning hours;
The pasture bars, beside a covered well,
Are twined with grape-vines and with fair wild flowers.
 
 
The “Bouncing Bet” is growing near the gate,
The climbing roses bloom beside the door;
The brave “Sweet William,” left alone to fate,
Has struggled upward thro’ the grass once more.
 
 
The clover blossoms, pink and white and red,
Fill all the balmy air with perfume sweet;
The honey-suckle proudly bends it’s head
Close to the door-stone worn by many feet.
 
 
Where once a maiden slied a bit of green
Within her shoe, and there expectant stood,
To-day the self same “Grandma’s pride” is seen,—
A little bunch of fragrant southern-wood.
 
 
The low-eaved porch supports the clinging vine,
While thro’ the roof the summer rain-drops fall;
Upon the floor a rusty hook and line,
A well-worn bench and silence over all.
 
 
A well-sweep, overgrown with moss and mould,
Shelters a hornet’s nest within it’s nook;
Above the running waters clear and cold
An old tin dipper hangs upon it’s hook.
 
 
The dull-edged scythe swings idly in the sun,
A grindstone crumbles ’neath the maple’s shade;
A cart-wheel and the faded coat of one
Who long ago beneath the sod was laid.
 
 
Tho’ gone the smile of each familiar face
And merry voices break no more the calm,
Yet Memory sweet shall hallow all the place
And flood with peace the old deserted farm.