Poems by Hattie Howard Part 17

At General Grant's Tomb.

Afar my loyal spirit stirred At mention of his name; Afar in ringing notes I heard The clarion voice of fame; So to his tomb, hope long deferred, With reverent step I came.

The pilgrim muse revivified A half-forgotten day: A slow procession, tearful-eyed, In funeral array, And from MacGregor's lonely side A hero borne away.

Here sleeps he now, where long ago Hath nature raised his mound: A mighty channel far below, Divided hills around, Where countless thousands come and go As to a shrine renowned.

With awe do strangers' eyes discern A casket mid the green Luxuriance of flower and fern; Airy and cool and clean, Unchanged from spring to spring's return, This charnel chamber scene.

His country's weal his care and thought, Beloved in peace was he; Magnanimous in war--shall not The nation grateful be, And render at his burial spot A testimonial free?

Oh, let us, ere the days come on When energy is spent, To him, the silent soldier gone, Statesman and President, On Riverside's majestic lawn Uprear a monument.

"Be Courteous."

Ah, yes; why not? Is one more advent.i.tious born Than others--shekels richer, honors fuller, and all that-- That he can pa.s.s his fellows by with lofty scorn, Nor even show this slight regard--the lifting of the hat?

Why prate of social status, cla.s.s, or rank when earth Is common tenting-ground, the heritage of all mankind?

Except in purity is there no royal birth, No true n.o.bility but n.o.bleness of heart and mind.

Life is so short--one journey long, a pilgrimage That we cannot retrace, nor ever pa.s.s this way again; Then why not turn for some poor soul a brighter page, And line the way with courtesies unto our fellow-men?

To give a graceful word or smile, or lend a hand To one downcast and trembling on the borders of despair, May help him to look up and better understand Why G.o.d has made the sky so bright and put the rainbow there.

Be courteous! is nothing helpful half so cheap As kind urbanity that doth so much of gladness bring; More precious too than all the treasures of the deep, Making the winter of discomfort seem like joyous spring.

Be courteous and gentle! be serene and good!

Those grand enn.o.bling and enduring virtues all may claim; Of each may it be said, of the great mult.i.tude: Oh that my life were more like such an one of blessed fame!

Is it that over-crowding, care, anxiety, Vortex of pleasure, the incessant round of toil and strife, Beget indifference, repressing love and sympathy, Till we forget the beautiful amenities of life?

Then cometh a sad day, when with a poignant sting Lost opportunities shall speak to us reproachfully; And ours shall be the disapproval of the King-- "Discourteous to these, my creatures, ye have wounded Me."

A New Suit.

The artist and the loom unseen, In textures soft as _crepe de chine_ Spring weaves her royal robe of green, With gra.s.ses fringed and daisies dotted, With furzy tufts like mosses fine And showy clumps of eglantine, With dainty shrub and creeping vine Upon the verdant fabric knotted.

Oh, winter takes our love away For ashen hues of sober gray!

So when the blooming, blushing May Comes out in bodice, cap, and kirtle, With arbutus her corsage laced, And roses clinging to her waist, We crown her charming queen of taste, Her chaplet-wreath of modest myrtle.

For eighteen centuries and more Her fairy hands have modeled o'er The same habiliments she wore At her primeval coronation; And still the pattern exquisite, For every age a perfect fit, In every land the favorite, Elicits world-wide admiration.

Gay b.u.t.terflies of fashion, you Who wear a suit a year or two, Then agitate for something new, Look at Regina, the patrician!

Her cleverness is more than gold Who so transforms from fabrics old The things a marvel to behold, And glories in the exhibition.

Why worry for an overdress, The acme of luxuriousness, Beyond all envy to possess, Renewed as oft as lambkin fleeces!

Why flutter round in pretty pique To follow style's capricious freak, To match _pongee_ or _moire antique_, And break your peace in hopeless pieces?

O mantua-maker, costumer, And fair-robed wearer! study _her_ And imitate the conjurer So prettily economizing, Without demur, regret, or pout, Who always puts the bright side out And never frets at all about The world's _penchant_ for criticizing.

The Little Clock.

Kind friend, you do not know how much I prize this time-ly treasure, So dainty, diligent, and such A constant source of pleasure.

The man of brains who could invent So true a chrono-meter Has set a charming precedent, And made a good repeater.

It speaks with clear, commanding clicks, Suggestive of the donor; And 'tends to business--never sick A bit more than the owner.

It goes when I do; when I stop (As by the dial showing) It never lets a second drop, But simply keeps on going.

It tells me when I am to eat, Which isn't necessary; When food with me is obsolete, I'll be a reliquary.

It tells me early when to rise, And bother with _dejeuner_; To sally forth and exercise, And fill up my _porte-monnaie_.

I hear it talking in the night, As if it were in clover: You've never lost your appet.i.te, You've never been run over.

It makes me wish that I might live More faithful unto duty, And unto others something give Like this bijou of beauty.

It holds its hands before its face, So very modest is it; So like the people in the place Where I delight to visit.

Sometimes I wonder if it cries The course I am pursuing; Because it has so many I-s And must know what I'm doing.

Sometimes I fear it makes me cry-- No matter, and no pity-- Afraid at last I'll have to die In some far, foreign city.

It travels with me everywhere And chirrups like a cricket; As if it said with anxious air, "Don't lose your tick-tick-ticket!"

Companion of my loneliness Along my journey westward, It never leaves me comfortless, But has the last and best word.

I would not spoil its lovely face, And so I go behind it, And hold it like a china vase, So careful when I wind it.

A clock is always excellent That has its label on, And proves a fine advertis.e.m.e.nt For Waterbury, Conn.