Part 18

Only a dream! He winds her form Close in the coil of his curving arm, And whirls her away in a gust of sound As wild and sweet as the poets found In the paradise where the silken tent Of the Persian blooms in the Orient,-- While ever the chords of the music seem Whispering sadly,--"Only a dream!"

OUR LITTLE GIRL

Her heart knew naught of sorrow, Nor the vaguest taint of sin-- 'Twas an ever-blooming blossom Of the purity within: And her hands knew only touches Of the mother's gentle care, And the kisses and caresses Through the interludes of prayer.

Her baby-feet had journeyed Such a little distance here, They could have found no briers In the path to interfere; The little cross she carried Could not weary her, we know, For it lay as lightly on her As a shadow on the snow.

And yet the way before us-- O how empty now and drear!-- How ev'n the dews of roses Seem as dripping tears for her! And the song-birds all seem crying, As the winds cry and the rain, All sobbingly,--"We want--we want Our little girl again!"

THE FUNNY LITTLE FELLOW

'Twas a Funny Little Fellow Of the very purest type, For he had a heart as mellow As an apple over ripe; And the brightest little twinkle When a funny thing occurred, And the lightest little tinkle Of a laugh you ever heard!

His smile was like the glitter Of the sun in tropic lands, And his talk a sweeter twitter Than the swallow understands; Hear him sing--and tell a story-- Snap a joke--ignite a pun,-- 'Twas a capture--rapture--glory, An explosion--all in one!

Though he hadn't any money-- That condiment which tends To make a fellow "honey" For the palate of his friends;-- Sweet simples he compounded-- Sovereign antidotes for sin Or taint,--a faith unbounded That his friends were genuine.

He wasn't honored, maybe-- For his songs of praise were slim,-- Yet I never knew a baby That wouldn't crow for him; I never knew a mother But urged a kindly claim Upon him as a brother, At the mention of his name.

The sick have ceased their sighing, And have even found the grace Of a smile when they were dying As they looked upon his face; And I've seen his eyes of laughter Melt in tears that only ran As though, swift-dancing after, Came the Funny Little Man.

He laughed away the sorrow And he laughed away the gloom We are all so prone to borrow From the darkness of the tomb; And he laughed across the ocean Of a happy life, and passed, With a laugh of glad emotion, Into Paradise at last.

And I think the Angels knew him, And had gathered to await His coming, and run to him Through the widely opened Gate, With their faces gleaming sunny For his laughter-loving sake, And thinking, "What a funny Little Angel he will make!"

SONG OF THE NEW YEAR

I heard the bells at midnight Ring in the dawning year; And above the clanging chorus Of the song, I seemed to hear A choir of mystic voices Flinging echoes, ringing clear, From a band of angels winging Through the haunted atmosphere: "Ring out the shame and sorrow, And the misery and sin, That the dawning of the morrow May in peace be ushered in."

And I thought of all the trials The departed years had cost, And the blooming hopes and pleasures That are withered now and lost; And with joy I drank the music Stealing o'er the feeling there As the spirit song came pealing On the silence everywhere: "Ring out the shame and sorrow, And the misery and sin, That the dawning of the morrow May in peace be ushered in."

And I listened as a lover To an utterance that flows In syllables like dewdrops From the red lips of a rose, Till the anthem, fainter growing, Climbing higher, chiming on Up the rounds of happy rhyming, Slowly vanished in the dawn: "Ring out the shame and sorrow, And the misery and sin, That the dawning of the morrow May in peace be ushered in."

Then I raised my eyes to Heaven, And with trembling lips I pled For a blessing for the living And a pardon for the dead; And like a ghost of music Slowly whispered--lowly sung-- Came the echo pure and holy In the happy angel tongue: "Ring out the shame and sorrow, And the misery and sin, And the dawn of every morrow Will in peace be ushered in."

A LETTER TO A FRIEND

The past is like a story I have listened to in dreams That vanished in the glory Of the Morning's early gleams; And--at my shadow glancing-- I feel a loss of strength, As the Day of Life advancing Leaves it shorn of half its length.

But it's all in vain to worry At the rapid race of Time-- And he flies in such a flurry When I trip him with a rhyme, I'll bother him no longer Than to thank you for the thought That "my fame is growing stronger As you really think it ought."

And though I fall below it, I might know as much of mirth To live and die a poet Of unacknowledged worth; For Fame is but a vagrant-- Though a loyal one and brave, And his laurels ne'er so fragrant As when scattered o'er the grave.

LINES FOR AN ALBUM

I would not trace the hackneyed phrase Of shallow words and empty praise, And prate of "peace" till one might think My foolish pen was drunk with ink. Nor will I here the wish express Of "lasting love and happiness," And "cloudless skies"--for after all "Into each life some rain must fall." --No. Keep the empty page below, In my remembrance, white as snow-- Nor sigh to know the secret prayer My spirit hand has written there.

TO ANNIE

When the lids of dusk are falling O'er the dreamy eyes of day, And the whippoorwills are calling, And the lesson laid away,-- May Mem'ry soft and tender As the prelude of the night, Bend over you and render As tranquil a delight.

FAME

Once, in a dream, I saw a man With haggard face and tangled hair, And eyes that nursed as wild a care As gaunt Starvation ever can; And in his hand he held a wand Whose magic touch gave life and thought Unto a form his fancy wrought And robed with coloring so grand, It seemed the reflex of some child Of Heaven, fair and undefiled-- A face of purity and love-- To woo him into worlds above: And as I gazed with dazzled eyes, A gleaming smile lit up his lips As his bright soul from its eclipse Went flashing into Paradise. Then tardy Fame came through the door And found a picture--nothing more.