I climbed the stairs with grandma,-- 'Twas not very long ago, To the attic--full of rubbish; (P'r'aps I shouldn't call it so), For her lips were all a-tremble, As she whispered low, "You see, Child, no one can ever realize The scenes they all bring back to me!"
Then she drew into the sunlight, From a corner, almost hid, The quaintest, oddest hair trunk, With brass nail words on the lid!
Lifting it, she took out slowly (Once she wore it--you can guess), Just the daintiest of garments,-- A faded, sleeveless bridal dress.
Just beneath there lay a sampler, Folded o'er some rose leaves wild; "This," she said (I scarcely heard it), "This I did when but a child."
Near by stood a tiny flax-wheel,-- Round and round the wheel she turned, As with it, a blushing maiden, She her wedding "outfit" earned.
Then beside a wooden cradle, Grandma in an arm-chair sat; Rocked it back and forward gently, With her foot--yet stranger'n that, Sang: "_Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber_",-- And with such a yearning tone, I softly stole away and left her, With her dream scenes all alone!
A WEED
A careless gipsy vagrant, Out at play, 'Midst the corn rows loitering, Lost its way.
Climbing up a friendly stalk, Weed Bo-peep Twines its tendril arms about and Falls asleep.
REGRET
Regret--so bitter was the shame!
Confessed ('twas with a yearning sigh), "You'd scarce believe--alas! 'tis true; Once Opportunity was I!"
HIS CHANGE OF NAME
They called him Guy, and he did much And oft his parents blame: "They might have given me," he said, "A pretty _Bible_ name!"
"Well, we might change," his mother thought; When father heard the news, He paused a moment, then agreed, "I'm willing--you may choose: Mahalaleel, Ham, Shem, or Cain, Methuselah, Ludim, Sidon, Serug, Arphaxad, Reu, Nahor, or Naphtuhim, Peleg, Terah, Hazarmaveth, Eber, Hul, Uz, Diklah, Jobab, Joktan, Sheleph, Obal, Anamim, Phut, Jerah!
Ashkenaz, Gomer, Togarmah, Sabtah, Raamah, Kittim, Meshech, Accad, Calneh, Erech, Melchizedek, Casluhim?"
"Are--are those Bible names?" he said, And drew a heavy sigh: "I think, papa, if you don't mind, I'm _satisfied_ with Guy!"
WITH OUTSTRETCHED CUP
A tiny blossom,-- Just a lone weed beside the garden wall, Ragged, a little vagrant beggar, Pleading for a drop of sunshine--that was all!
There I beheld it, Lifting from the tangled grass its outstretched cup,-- "Take, too, my empty life," I cried. "With Thy unfailing mercies Fill it up!"
THE CONQUEROR
An angry Word rushed forward, "I'll settle the matter," said he; But the struggle was only augmented By the harsh Word's agency.
Then a Tear of Forgiveness unbidden, Born of a thought above, Stepped in without boast or notice,-- And Enmity changed to Love.
FATHER'S ADVICE
Back on the farm in the fifties, How often I heard father say, "Don't growl if you can't have it all, boy, Take what you can get--that's the way!"
There were days in the spring during planting, When I couldn't go over the hill, With my books and slate strapped on my shoulder, To the little red school by the mill.
"Never mind," father said, at my pouting, "If you do have to stay home, my lad, There are weeks of the term yet before you, Take what you can get and be glad!"
We often for birds went a-hunting,-- There was game in the woods in his day, And wasn't it just jolly tramping,-- I really wished no better play!
But oh! it was so disappointing, When only one bird I would hit; "Cheer up!" father's voice was so merry, "And be glad of the one you did get!"
There are shrubs in the path by the schoolhouse, I stay now at home every day, But not to drop corn for my father,-- Long ago was his hoe hung away.
But I hear those wise words when I grumble, Just as sweet as of old and as mild: "You can't have it all, so be thankful With what you can get of it, child!"
ONE GUIDE
How strange for worlds above, Unnumbered stars, to know, Through space unlimited, Just where to go!
Within their trackless course, They vary not, nor fear (Their Maker gave command) Of any danger near.
His laws they steadfast heed, Afar off in the blue,-- The God who guides unnumbered stars, Guides you.
LITTLE POLLY MARY
Little Polly Mary, all the morning hour, Doted on her bonnet with its bright new flower, Wondered if the next day would be bright and clear, Wished the jolly holidays came twenty times a year, Looked without the window when the teacher didn't see, Watched a golden robin building in the tree-- AND-- When the hour came all too quick for Polly to recite, Will you believe, she never got a single answer right!
So for failure, on the record-book, her name, alas! was starred, But was it 'cause, as Polly thought, the lesson was so _hard_!