The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland Part 31

My proud arms cradled his infant head, My prayers arose by his boyhood's bed; To better our fortunes, he traversed the main; G.o.d guard him, and bring him to me again.

The postman has pa.s.sed midst the beating rain, And my heart is bowed with its weight of pain; This dark, dark day, I am tortured with dread That Sandy, my boy, may be ill or dead.

But hark! there's a step! my heart be still!

A step at the gate, in the path, on the sill; Did the postman return? my letter forget?

Oh 'tis Sandy! Thank G.o.d, he loves me yet!

THE MISSIONARY'S STORY.

Hard were her hands, and brown; Coa.r.s.est of stuff her gown: Sod hut her home.

Pale was her care-worn face, Beauty and youth and grace Long since have flown.

Stern was her lot in life; She was a drunkard's wife; And forests drear Shut not temptation out; Strong drink was sold and bought; Poor pioneer!

Slave he to demon rum; Houses and lands all gone; Want came by stealth.

Yet her scant fare she shared With me, who worse have fared In homes of wealth.

Stranger was I to her Save as Christ's messenger; And for His sake She, all her little store Wishing it were but more,-- Bade me to take.

Oh like the widow's mite, Given for love of right, May it be blest.

When her last hour has come, May angels bear her home, Ever to rest.

TRANSITION.

She is lying in state, this fair June day, While the bee from the rose its sweetness sips; Her heart thrills not at the lark's clear lay, Though a smile illumines her pallid lips.

What glorified form did the Angel of Death a.s.sume to her view, that it left the bright trace Of a jubilant welcome, whose icy breath Froze the sunny smile on her fair young face?

Did angels with snow-white wings come down And hover about her dying bed?

Did they bear a white robe, and a starry crown To place on their sainted comrade's head?

Did her gaze rest on valleys and pastures green, Where roses in beauty supernal, bloom?

Where lilies in snowy and golden sheen Fill the air with their heavenly, rare perfume?

Did strains of sweet music her senses entrance While Earth, with her loved ones, receded in air?

Did friends who had left it, to greet her, advance And joyfully lead her to dwell with them, there?

Did she cross the deep Jordan without any fears For all were now calmed on her dear Saviour's breast?

On pinions of light did she mount to the spheres Where all is contentment, and pleasure, and rest?

All this we may humbly and truly believe, For Christ to the Bethany sisters did give The comforting promise, which all may receive: "He that believeth, though dead, yet shall live."

DOROTHY MOORE.

A bachelor gray, was Valentine Brown; He lived in a mansion just out of the town, A mansion s.p.a.cious and grand; He was wealthy as Vanderbilt, Astor or Tome, Had money invested abroad and at home, And thousands of acres of land.

A friend of his boyhood was Archibald Gray; And to prove what queer antics Dame Fortune will play When she sets about trying to plan, She heaped all her favors on Valentine, bold, And always left Archibald out of her fold, The harmless, and weak-minded man.

So, while Valentine reigned like a king on his throne, Poor Archibald ne'er had a home of his own, Yet never was known to complain; Year in and year out, he wandered around, In mansion and farmhouse a welcome he found As long as he chose to remain.

The lilacs and s...o...b..a.l.l.s which guarded the door Of the ivy-decked cottage of good Parson Moore, Were waking from out their long sleep; For the last month of winter was hastening by, The last hours of Valentine's day had drawn nigh, When Archibald's travel-worn feet

Were heard on the door-step; he entered and smiled, Then sat down and slept like a play-weary child, Woke, and told them how long he would stay; Then slumbered again, while sweet Dorothy Moore, The motherless daughter, who loved all G.o.d's poor, Made him welcome around the tea-tray.

And archly she said as she gave him his tea, "Where's the valentine Archy, you promised to me?

All maidens expect one to-day;"

Then forgot it; nor noticed when supper was done, And her father had gone to his study alone, That Archie had stolen away.

But, drawing the curtains on darkness and night!

She sat down to spin by the cheery fire-light, While before it, so cozy and warm, Slept the kitten,--a snowy white ball of content-- And her wheel, with its humming activity, lent To the hour, a picturesque charm.

No scene more enchanting could artist dream know, Than this peaceful, calm spot, in the ruby-red glow Of the pine knots aflame on the hearth; But Dorothy thought, "Were he but there with me And loved me as I love, a desert would be The happiest place upon earth."

"Oh were he but poor, and forsaken;" she sighed, "He then a poor maiden might seek for his bride, But his love will some great lady crown; Since all is so hopeless, dear Father above Oh help me to cast out my unreturned love!

And forget the proud Valentine Brown."

In his elegant library, sat Valentine Brown, The argand burned brightly, the rich curtains down, Luxurious home of repose;-- Yet his handsome face saddened, his heart was oppressed; He sighed, and his spirit was full of unrest, For his love he should never disclose.

He had roamed over Europe, and Countesses fair Had graciously smiled on the great millionaire.

Yet his heart had turned coldly away; "From her childhood, I've loved her, sweet Dorothy Moore,"

Just then the latch clicked--through the half opened door Crept humbly, poor Archibald Gray.

"I want you!" he whispered; "I promised her, come!"

And Valentine followed, till reaching the home Where Dorothy spun by the hearth; And when he had entered with Archibald Gray And courteously waited, commands to obey, Knew no lovelier picture on earth.

But the tact which had piloted Valentine there Deserted poor Archie; then Dorothy fair, Blushing deeply, yet smilingly said: "Why, Archibald, why did you leave us I pray?

You said till to-morrow at noon, you would stay, And in less than an hour you had fled."

The memory of Archibald took up the clew Thus kindly supplied, and eager he grew; "Yes, yes; Archie promised he would; I have brought you a valentine, Valentine Brown,"

(Here he smoothed his gray beard, and looked helplessly down), "He's so good to poor Archie, so good!"

The three stood in silence, two wondering no doubt How this intricate problem would ever turn out, And Valentine, thoughtful and kind,-- Felt pity for Archie, who meant for the best; And for Dorothy--flushing like clouds in the west And fearing he thought it designed.

He looked at the maiden--modest and sweet; At her lovely blue eyes, her peach-blossom cheek And sighed for his youth which had fled; "She never could love me, good Archibald Gray, Her beauty and youthfulness stand in the way, Just look at my frost-covered head."

"Please tell him, good Archie," said Dorothy fair, "That I love nothing better than silvery hair When it crowns one so n.o.ble and true; His heart all men say is exalted and grand, He is known for his good deeds all over the land, Loved by every one, equalled by few."

"That heart, my good Archie, I lay at her feet To spurn or to thrill with an ecstasy sweet;"

(And he reverently took her white hand,) "That hand is his, Archie, and so is my heart To have and to keep until death do us part To meet in the Heavenly land."

Good friends new and old, should you journey that way And should anything happen, to cause a delay, And you call upon Valentine Brown: In the coziest nook, you'll see Archibald Gray, Awaiting with patience the dallying day, Till the sickle of Time mows him down.

And Fortune still favors her Valentine dear, She winters and summers there year after year; To thank her he never forgets; With his rosy-cheeked children and beautiful wife The heart of his heart, and the life of his life, The sun of his peace never sets.