dismayed.”
Go follow that star, ’twill lead
To the Christ-child’s lowly bed,
Though Israel’s King, He sleeps in an “inn”
Where the cattle oft are fed.
Then over the humble place
Where the Royal Babe was laid,
Did the “Star of the East,” blest Bethlehem’s star,
Irradiate no more to fade.
O! brightest and best they cried,
Our long promised Israel’s King,
Shine out from afar, thou bright morning star,
To thee our offerings we bring.
Bethlehem! blest city of old
Like pilgrims to Mecca we come,
To thy hallowed site, on each Christmas night,
The Christ-child’s humble home.
Bells of St. Michael
Come and listen to the chiming
Of St. Michael’s merry bells,
When the joyous Christmas morning,
All of Bethlehem’s story tells.
When they sweetly chime the anthem
“Glory to be to God on high,”
When the children swell the chorus,
Earth to heaven seems very nigh.
On the gladsome Easter morning,
When the earliest flow’rets bloom,
Snowdrops pure and violets purple
Blend to scatter sweet perfume;
Then your happiest notes are poured forth,
Then your Jubilee is heard,
Pealing out in joyful accents,
Chiming, “God is very good.”
From that ancient lofty turret,
Overlooking land and sea,
Peals of comfort have been wafted,
Sounds of gladness o’er the lea.
Many a storm-tost, weary wanderer
Looked to thee as hope’s bright star,
Listened to thy mellow chiming,
Smiling as he crossed the bar.
Ah! old bells, beneath your tolling,
Many a form lies buried low,
’Neath the green-sward of “God’s Acre,”
Rest they, all their sorrows o’er.
Softly wave the bending willows,
Sweetly sing the birds their lays,
Whilst thy dear old bells are clanging,
They are singing hymns of praise.
Dear old bells your music thrills me,
Whether rung in joy or woe,
They recall the joyous spring time
Of fond mem’ry’s “long ago”
Sweetly chime through all the ages;
As time’s cycles swiftly move;
Peal forth loudly, God is gracious;
Whisper softly, He is love.
The Exile’s Reverie
’Twas sunset’s hour, the glorious day
Had in its beauty passed away;
The sun had bathed in golden dyes
This Southern land of sunny skies;
And crimson clouds, like birds of wing,
Did o’er the earth their radiance fling;
While zephyrs sang amid the trees,
And song-birds warbled to the breeze;
For Spring, just bursting into birth,
Had come once more to gladden earth.
Near Pensacola’s margin, lay,
Laved by its never ceasing spray,
The exile, from his native land
The dweller on a foreign strand.
And as he lay kind thoughts of home
Like visions of the past did come;
And mem’ry’s mirror pictured clear
The starlight of his boyhood there;
The hopes that clustered round his brow,
The shrine at which he loved to bow.
He mused aloud, Oh! Italy!
Land of the chivalric, the free!
Bruce may of Scotland tune his lyre.
But thee alone, can’st me inspire.
Birthplace of beauty! never more
Shall I behold thy vine-clad shore;
The sward where I in childhood play’d—
The haunts deep in the forest shade—
The place where, mould’ring in decay,
The ashes of a sire lay.
Why did I leave thee? As spring flowers
Return no more through summer hours
When once they blossom, bear and die,
No more will bloom neath sultry sky;
So heart of man when hopes have fled,
And love lies buried with the dead,
No second spring time sends one ray
To cheer his path through life’s dark day;
Hope’s blossoms like the early dew
Once passed away, naught can renew.
Still I live on, and oft, at eve
My isolated cot I leave;
Thence to this lonely nook I hie
To take a glance at days gone by.
Each blue wave hast’ning to its goal
(Fit type of the immortal soul)
In thrilling accents seems to say
Thou’rt nearing fast life’s closing day;
Thou soon wilt reach thy better home,
The home where changes never come.
The Snowstorm
Gentle as a maiden’s dream,
Softly as the gliding stream,
Falls the glittering, sparkling snow.
With its wealth of crystal pearls—
Shining, pure-white coronals,
With its robe of silvery sheen,
Decking earth like virgin queen.
As the noiseless flakes descend,
As they downward quickly tend,
Floating waves of downy snow.
Garnered from the upper realms;
Harvested by unknown hands,
Gulfed from cloudland’s brightest bower,
Sent to earth as richest dower.
Symbol pure, and emblem sweet!
Type of purity! ’twere meet
That many swell the strain attuned.
Clad with garb like angels wear—
Robed in heaven’s holiest gear—
Pure, white snow, I welcome thee,
Hymning lays of minstrelsy.
Maiden and River
River, why in ceaseless flow
Must you ripple to and fro?
Stop a while.
Lonely on thy bank I stand,
On your shining, pebbly strand,
Canst thou not a moment stay
Through the long, long summer day?
Stop a while.
Child of earth dost thou not know
Ne’er can cease my endless flow?
I must go.
Onward till I reach my outlet,
Out beyond the golden sunset,
Seek not then to stay my flowing,
Onward still I must be going
To my goal.
River, when the storms are raging,
Wind and rain a warfare waging,
Do you fear?
When thy waves with whitened crest,
Toss around in wild unrest,
Doth thy bosom shake with fear,
Trembling, lest thy end is near?
Say, O! say.
Child, my race will ne’er be run
Not till yonder blazing sun
Fades away.
Look t’wards the horizon’s crest,
See the mighty Ocean’s breast,
Now its billowy waves are still,
He who says it is My will,
Keepeth me.
River, should’st thou chance to see,
On thy journey through the lea,
Snow white sail?
Reaching out towards the clouds,
Quivering with its massive shrouds,
Touch it gently with thy arms,
Shield it safe from rude alarms,
It is mine.
Child of earth hast thou not heard?
That He knows of beast and bird
Every hair,
Can He not then bring to thee
Safe from o’er the murmuring sea.
Mortal child O! ne’er despair,
“Ship ahoy!” may greet thy ear,
Soon, ay soon.
River, then glide sweetly on,
Till thy goal is safely won,
Till at last
Thou dost hear like thunder roar,
Breaking from the golden shore,
Awful words from sacred lore,
Time for thee shall be no more.
River, farewell.
Chicago Exposition Ode
Columbia, all hail!
May thy banner ne’er be furled
Till Liberty, with her beauteous rays,
Enlighten all the world.
Columbia, to thee
From every clime we come,
To lay our trophies at thy feet—
Our sunbright, glorious home.
’Twas a lovely autumn morn,
And the leaves were turning red,
And the
