the wall,
Their work will give away.”
But Nehemiah wrought in hope,
Though heathen foes did frown
“My work is great,” he firmly said,
“And I cannot come down.”
And when Shemai counselled him
The temple door to close,
To hide, lest he should fall a prey
Unto his cruel foes.
Strong in his faith, he answered, “No,
He would oppose the tide,
Should such as he from danger flee,
And in the temple hide?”
We wrought in earnest faith and hope
Until we built the wall,
And then, unto a joyful feast
Did priest and people call.
We came to dedicate the wall
With sacrifice and joy—
A happy throng, from aged sire
Unto the fair-haired boy.
Our lips so used to mournful songs,
Did joyous laughter fill,
And strong men wept with sacred joy
To stand on Zion’s hill.
Mid scoffing foes and evil men,
We built our city blest,
And ’neath our sheltering vines and palms
To-day in peace we rest.
Out in the Cold
Out in the cold mid the dreary night,
Under the eaves of homes so bright;
Snowflakes falling o’er mother’s grave
Will no one rescue, no one save?
A child left out in the dark and cold,
A lamb not sheltered in any fold,
Hearing the wolves of hunger bark,
Out in the cold! and out in the dark.
Missing to-night the charming bliss,
That lies in the mother’s good-night kiss;
And hearing no loving father’s prayer,
For blessings his children all may share.
Creeping away to some wretched den,
To sleep mid the curses of drunken men
And women, not as God has made,
Wrecked and ruined, wronged and betrayed.
Church of the Lord reach out thy arm,
And shield the hapless one from harm;
Where the waves of sin are dashing wild
Rescue and save the drifting child.
Wash from her life guilt’s turbid foam,
In the fair haven of a home;
Tenderly lead the motherless girl
Up to the gates of purest pearl.
The wandering feet which else had strayed,
From thorny paths may yet be stayed;
And a crimson track through the cold dark night
May exchange to a line of loving light.
Save the Boys
Like Dives in the deeps of Hell
I cannot break this fearful spell,
Nor quench the fires I’ve madly nursed,
Nor cool this dreadful raging thirst.
Take back your pledge—ye come too late!
Ye cannot save me from my fate,
Nor bring me back departed joys;
But ye can try to save the boys.
Ye bid me break my fiery chain,
Arise and be a man again,
When every street with snares is spread,
And nets of sin where’er I tread.
No; I must reap as I did sow.
The seeds of sin bring crops of woe;
But with my latest breath I’ll crave
That ye will try the boys to save.
These bloodshot eyes were once so bright;
This sin-crushed heart was glad and light;
But by the wine-cup’s ruddy glow
I traced a path to shame and woe.
A captive to my galling chain,
I’ve tried to rise, but tried in vain—
The cup allures and then destroys.
Oh! from its thraldom save the boys.
Take from your streets those traps of hell
Into whose gilded snares I fell.
Oh! freemen, from these foul decoys
Arise, and vote to save the boys.
Oh ye who license men to trade
In draughts that charm and then degrade,
Before ye hear the cry, Too late,
Oh, save the boys from my sad fate.
Nothing and Something
It is nothing to me, the beauty said,
With a careless toss of her pretty head;
The man is weak if he can’t refrain
From the cup you say is fraught with pain.
It was something to her in after years,
When her eyes were drenched with burning tears,
And she watched in lonely grief and dread,
And startled to hear a staggering tread.
It is nothing to me, the mother said;
I have no fear that my boy will tread
In the downward path of sin and shame,
And crush my heart and darken his name.
It was something to her when that only son
From the path of right was early won,
And madly cast in the flowing bowl
A ruined body and sin-wrecked soul.
It is nothing to me, the young man cried:
In his eye was a flash of scorn and pride;
I heed not the dreadful things ye tell:
I can rule myself I know full well.
It was something to him when in prison he lay
The victim of drink, life ebbing away;
And thought of his wretched child and wife,
And the mournful wreck of his wasted life.
It is nothing to me, the merchant said,
As over his ledger he bent his head;
I’m busy to-day with tare and tret,
And I have no time to fume and fret.
It was something to him when over the wire
A message came from a funeral pyre—
A drunken conductor had wrecked a train,
And his wife and child were among the slain.
It is nothing to me, the voter said,
The party’s loss is my greatest dread;
Then gave his vote for the liquor trade,
Though hearts were crushed and drunkards made.
It was something to him in after life,
When his daughter became a drunkard’s wife
And her hungry children cried for bread,
And trembled to hear their father’s tread.
Is it nothing for us to idly sleep
While the cohorts of death their vigils keep?
To gather the young and thoughtless in
And grind in our midst a grist of sin?
It is something, yes, all, for us to stand
Clasping by faith our Saviour’s hand;
To learn to labor, live and fight
On the side of God and changeless light.
Wanderer’s Return
My home is so glad, my heart is so light,
My wandering boy has returned to-night.
He is blighted and bruised, I know, by sin,
But I am so glad to welcome him in.
The child of my tenderest love and care
Has broken away from the tempter’s snare;
To-night my heart is o’erflowing with joy,
I have found again my wandering boy.
My heart has been wrung with a thousand fears,
Mine eyes been drenched with the bitterest tears;
Like shadows that fade are my past alarms,
My boy is enclasped in his mother’s arms.
The streets were not safe for my darling child;
Where sin with its evil attractions smiled.
But his wandering feet have ceased to roam,
And to-night my wayward boy is at home—
At home with the mother that loves him best,
With the hearts that have ached with sad unrest,
With the hearts that
