Poems by Hattie Howard Part 18

Those Yankees--ah! they never shun A chance to make a dime, And counterfeit the very sun In keeping "Standard Time."

Ah, well! the little clock has proved The best of all bonanzas; And thus my happy heart is moved To these effusive stanzas.

Improvement.

Along the avenue I pa.s.s Huge piles of wood and stone, And glance at each amorphous ma.s.s, Whose c.u.mbrous weight has crushed the gra.s.s, With half resentful groan.

Say I: "O labor, to despoil Some lovely forest scene, Or at the granite stratum toil, And desecrate whole roods of soil, Is vandal-like and mean!

"Than ever to disfigure thus Our prairie garden-land, Let me consort with Cerberus, Be chained to crags precipitous, Or seek an alien strand."

But while this pining, pouting Muse The interval ignores, Deft industry, no time to lose, Contrives and carries, hoists and hews, And symmetry restores.

Behold! of rock and pile and board A modern miracle, My neighbor's dwelling, roofed and floored, That rapid grew as Jonah's gourd, And far more beautiful.

The artisan's receding gait Has brushed the chips away, Where innocence shall recreate, Or like the flowers grow, and wait The balminess of May.

An arid spot, where careless feet Have long been wont to roam, Where cattle grazed, as if to eat Were life's delicious, richest treat, Becomes a charming home.

O man primeval! hadst thou known, Ere rude hands scooped thy grave, Of Homestead Act, or Building Loan, Thou wouldst have quite disdained to own A rugged cliff or cave.

And now I see how skill and art May cleave fair nature through, Disintegrate her breathing heart, And to the tissues torn impart A use and beauty new.

And this improvement is, to turn The things which G.o.d has given To their best purpose, as we learn To make the place where we sojourn Homelike and more like Heaven.

On Bancroft Height.

On Bancroft height Aurora's face Shines brighter than a star, As stepping forth in dewy grace, The gates of day unbar; And lo! the firmament, the hills, And the vales that intervene-- Creation's self with gladness thrills To greet the matin queen.

On Bancroft height the atmosphere Is but an endless waft Of life's elixir, pure and clear As mortal ever quaffed; And such the sweet salubrity Of air and alt.i.tude, Is banished many a malady And suffering subdued.

On Bancroft height the sunset glow When day departing dies Outrivals all that tourists know Of famed Italian skies; And happy dwellers round about Who view the scene aright In admiration grow devout And laud the Lord of light.

Round Bancroft height rich memories Commingle earth's affairs, Among the world's celebrities, Of him whose name it bears; The scholar-wise compatriot Who left to later men The grand achievements unforgot Of that historic pen.

Fair Bancroft height revisited When all the land is white, A halo crowns its n.o.ble head Impelling fresh delight; The daring wish in winter-time The blizzard to defy Those shining slippery slopes to climb Up nearer to the sky.

Though Boreas abrade the cheek With buffetings of snow, He gives a vigor that the weak And languid never know; And with rejuvenescent thrill, Like children everywhere, Bestirs the rhapsody, the will To make a snow-man there.

On Bancroft height and Bancroft tower Such vistas charm the eye 'Twere life's consummate, glorious hour But to behold--and die; Yet in the sparkle and the glow Is earth so very fair The spirit lingers, loath to go, And dreams of heaven--up there.

A Reformer.

When I was young, my heart elate With ardent notions warm, I thirsted to inaugurate A spirit of reform; The universe was all awry, Philosophy despite, And mundane things disjointed I Was bound to set aright.

My mind conceived a million plans, For Hope was brave and strong, But dared not with unaided hands Combat a giant wrong; So with caress I sought to coax Those who had humored me In infancy--the dear old folks-- And gain their sympathy.

But quarreling with extant laws They would have deemed a shame Who clung to error, just because Their fathers did the same.

I sought in Pleasure's gilded halls, Where grace and beauty stirred At revelry's impetuous calls, To make my projects heard.

Then turned to stately palaces Of luxury and ease, Where wealth's absorbing object was The master's whim to please; And spoke of evils unredressed, Of danger yet to be-- They only answered, like the rest: "But what is that to me?"

And even pious _devotees_ Whom sacred walls immure Condemned me (as by feeble praise)-- What more could I endure?

Down by the stream, so pure and clear That sunbeams paused to drink, In loneliness and grief sincere I pressed its gra.s.sy brink.

Thick darkness seemed to veil the day; Beyond a realm of tears Utopia's land of promise lay; And not till later years I learned this lesson--that to win Results from labor sure, "Reformers" always must begin Among the lowly poor.

For they whose lot privation is And whose delights are few, Whose aggregate of miseries Is want of something new, The measure of whose happiness Is but an empty cup, For every novelty will press Alert to fill it up.