The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland Part 37

Cull the sweets from ev'ry flower, Seize the moments while you may, Nor idly pa.s.s one sunny hour-- Work to-day.

ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD.

Dear sister, has thy little son, Been s.n.a.t.c.hed from thy embrace, Thy fav'rite child, thy darling one, Has left a vacant place.

His father oft with little John Beguil'd the hours away, To watch his little fav'rite son, Enjoy his childish play;

For there was laughter in his eye, And health was on his cheek, I fancy that he's standing by, And almost hear him speak.

The patt'ring of his little feet, In fancy's ear is heard, The music of his voice as sweet, As singing of a bird.

The objects that we fondly prize, How soon they pa.s.s away, And we are left to realize, The emblems of decay.

Dear sister, be resigned then, Nor let your faith grow dim, He cannot come to you again, But you can go to him.

SPRING.

Awake and sing, for early Spring Comes forth with beauty gay, With joy elate, both small and great Now bless the happy day.

Through all the earth comes beauty forth, So sweet, so fresh and fair, And ev'ry sound that echoes round, Comes with a gladsome air.

While from the hill the little rill, Comes trickling down so clear, Its bubbling voice made me rejoice, In many an early year.

Along the mead where'er we tread, Will little flow'rets spring, And through the air in colors rare, Waves many a tiny wing.

Back to their home, the songsters come, And gaily, blithely sing, The sun looks gay, I love the day, The sweet and early spring.

HOPE.

When storms arise, and tumults jar, And wreck this mortal form, There is a bright, a lovely star, That shines above the storm.

'Tis hope that buoys our spirits up, Along the chequer'd way, And when we drain the bitter cup It points a brighter day.

Though all the ills of life stand by, It proffers still to save; And when the shades of death are nigh, It looks beyond the grave.

AUTUMN.

How sad the breath of autumn sighs, With mourning and decay; The woods are clothed in varying dyes, Of funeral array.

Where beauty bloomed of late around, On mountain top and vale, Now wither'd foliage strews the ground, And tells a piteous tale.

And summer birds are on the wing, Bound for a warmer sky, They greeted us in early spring-- They bid us now good bye.

So pa.s.s away our early years, Youth sinks into decay, And age, like autumn soon appears, And quick we pa.s.s away.

MRS. IDA McCORMICK.

Mrs. Ida McCormick was born at Cameron Park, the family homestead, one mile south of the pleasant little village of Zion, Cecil county, Maryland, December 31, 1850. She is the daughter of William Cameron (of Robert,) and a cousin of Annie M. Biles; her mother Anna M. Oldham, being a sister of Catherine R. Oldham, the mother of Annie M. Darlington, whose biography may be found in this volume. She was educated at the Church-side Seminary, at Zion, and at an early age engaged in teaching in the public schools of her native county. She commenced to write poetry when quite young, and for some years occasionally contributed to the columns of the _Cecil Whig_.

On the 7th of August, 1873, she married James McCormick, of Woodlawn, and for about a year after her marriage resided with her husband near that place. In 1876 the family removed to Philadelphia where they have since resided, except short intervals when traveling.

MY FANCY LAND.

I'm roaming to-day in a far-away land Where the roses and violets grow, Where white waves break on a silvery strand, And are lost on the cliffs below.

High up in a palace of sparkling gold Where voices are hushed and still, Where lips are silent and hearts are cold, And the days are rich with a glory untold, And no one disputes my will.

The walls are rich with an amber light, And waters in fountains fall, There are landscapes which vie with Italy bright, And servants within my call; There are sounds of music, bewitchingly sweet, With tender, plaintive chords, Like the patter of tiny innocent feet, Or the voices of joy when loved ones meet And their hearts speak out, their words.

All day from my turret I watch the sails That fleck the sweep of the tide,-- Whose pa.s.sengers all are joyous and hale, As into the harbor they ride.

They enter my golden castle gate,-- They roam thro' my stately halls,-- They rest in chambers furnished in state, Then close by my glory-throne they wait, Until I shall answer their call.

There are faces bright with a merry light And the music of long ago; And others dark as Lethe's night And as cold as the winter's snow.

Hands that meet mine in a trusty clasp With blushes that come and go, Strangers to pain in this world so vast, With its pleasure now and sorrow at last, In the land we do not know.

They are bound for this strangely mystical land So shadowy, lone and so dim, And my castle's a port on the ocean strand, Where they wait for the ferryman grim, To row them away from the silvery beach Beyond the foam of the tide, Where a palace looms far away from their reach, Whose gates are closed with a clang to each Who have chosen the pathway wide.

They tell me I'm treading with careless feet This th.o.r.n.y, deceitful path, When the Master cometh my face to greet He will open his vials of wrath.

But I turn again to the world so real, And my "Fancy Land" grows dim, Time's hand has taught me not to feel The wounds which sympathy cannot heal, And I anchor my faith in Him.

WITH THE TIDE.

Beneath the bright sun's dazzling ray, She watched his vessel sail away To distant, far-famed lands.

Her heart was gone,--upon her hand Sparkled a diamond fair and grand, Telling in silent jubilee "His love is all the world to me."

Time goes by wings,--the years flew on, The days had come,--the summers gone, And still no loved one came To feed the burning pa.s.sion flame Still glowing in her heart.

They told her "in another land He captive held a heart and hand And graced Dame Fashion's mart."

She listened to love's second tale That came with Autumn's misty gale, And hid her heart within the fold Of satins rare, and l.u.s.trous gold, Sadness so deep, must live untold Shut in her marble palace high, Reared almost up to touch the sky.

Haughty and cold her heart had grown, For wealth and glory she lived alone, Yet as oft she watched an out bound ship Its prow in foamy waters dip, The day came back when lip to lip Her heart met his in a sad farewell.