Yesterdays Part 15

Their boats have drifted into the sea That laves G.o.d's holy feet.

But the river's course, too, seeks that source, So the ship and the boat shall meet.

COME NEAR

Come near to me, I need Thy glorious presence.

Through the dense darkness of this troubled hour Shine on my soul, and fill it with the essence Of Thy pervading and uplifting power.

Come near, come near to me!

Come nearer yet, I have no strength to reach Thee; My soul is like a bird with broken wings.

Lean down from Thy fair height of peace, and teach me The balm Thy touch to mortal bruises brings.

Lean down, O G.o.d, lean down!

Come near, and yet if those eternal places Hold greater tasks to occupy Thy hands, Send Thy blest angels whose celestial faces Smile sometimes on us from the spirit lands.

Send one, send one to me!

I must have help. I am so weak and broken I cannot help myself. I know not how That moral force of which so much is spoken Will not sustain or fortify me now.

I must, I must have help!

Some outside aid, some strength from spirit Sources, We all must have in hours like this, or die.

To one, or all of those mysterious Forces Which men call G.o.d, I lift my voice and cry, Come near, come near to me!

A SUGGESTION

As I go and shop, sir!

If a car I stop, sir!

Where you chance to sit, And you want to read, sir!

Never mind or heed, sir!

I'll not care a bit.

For it's now aesthetic To be quite athletic.

That's our fad, you know.

I can hold the strap, sir!

And keep off your lap, sir!

As we jolting go.

If you read on blindly, I shall take it kindly, All the car's not mine.

But, if you sit and stare, sir!

At my eyes and hair, sir!

I must draw the line.

If the stare is meant, sir!

For a compliment, sir!

As we jog through town, Allow me to suggest, sir!

A woman oft looks best, sir!

When she's sitting down.

A FISHERMAN'S BABY

Oh! hush little baby, thy Papa's at sea, The big billows rock him as Mama rocks thee.

He hastes to his dear ones o'er breakers of foam.

Then hush little darling till Papa comes home.

Sleep little baby, hush little baby, Papa is coming, no longer to roam.

The sh.e.l.ls and the pebbles all day tossed about Are lulled into sleep by the tide ebbing out.

The weary sh.o.r.e slumbers, stretched out in the sand, While the waves hurry off at mid ocean's command.

Then hush little baby, sleep little darling, Sleep baby, rocked by thy mother's own hand.

The winds that have rollicked all day in the west Are soothed into sleep on the calm evening's breast.

The boats that were out with the wild sea at play Are now rocked to sleep in the arms of the bay.

Then rest little baby, sleep little baby, Papa will come at the break of the day.

CONTENT AND HAPPINESS

How is it that men pray their earthly lot May be 'content and happiness'? Dire foes Without one common trait which kinship shows I hold these two. Contentment comes when sought, While Happiness pursued was never caught.

But, sudden, storms the heart with mighty throes Whenceforth, mild eyed Content affrighted goes, To seek some calmer heart, less danger fraught.

Bold Happiness knows but one rival--Fear; Who follows ever on his footsteps, sent By jealous Fate who calls great joy a crime.

While in far ways 'mong leaves just turning sere, With gaze serene and placid, walks Content.

No heart ere held these two guests at one time.

THE CUSINE

The woman who looks upon man as a sinner Unsaved as to soul, and uncertain in heart, Should learn how to cook, and prepare him a dinner, And serve it with talent, refinement, and art.

Full many a question is solved by digestion.

Bad morals are caused, oftentimes by bad cooks, And many a riot results from poor diet-- Conversion may lie in the leaves of cook books.

About the dull stalk of the thorntree of duty Plant flowers of fragrance and vines of good taste.

Surround the coa.r.s.e needs of the body with beauty, Make common things n.o.ble, make vulgar things chaste.

Put art in housekeeping, nor think culture sleeping Because the base animal, man, must be fed.