I’ve lost a thing of value great,
And, woe is me, I’ll now find it
The very choicest thing of all,
Or sure, you know I wouldn’t mind it.

Some call it friendship—I don’t know.
But take their word as is my duty,
But if the definition’s true,
Then friendship is a thing of beauty.

For mine took on so fair a form
It charmed away all care and sadness,
It flashed out beams so strong and warm,
Away went everything but gladness.

It looked from tender eyes of brown,
And spake my greatest fault forgiven,
In wondrous sweetness there it shone—
In truest eyes outside of heaven.

I felt it in the hand I clasped,
So small, and yet so strong to guide me
Through waters deep, or breakers past,
Or aught that threatened to betide me.

With ripe red lips it spake to me,
O voice, that always soothes and blesses!
While I, Philistine, felt to pray
That I might silence it with kisses.

I’ve lost all this by my mistake,
I walked, you see, not circumspectly,
I pressed a claim for love’s sweet sake,
And friendship took to flight directly.

And I am left to think with pain
How folly caused my loss and sorrow,
Had I my friendship back again
I’d do the very same to-morrow.

THE three sat at meat in a country inn,
And Patrick’s face wore an elegant grin,
For the Scotchman lean, and the Englishman stout
Were having a nice little quarrel out.
Now, it all begun when five times had gone
The glass and bottle to everyone,
The Englishman, he had a stubborn jaw
And could quote whole pages of English law,
While the Scotchman, was as stern and as gray
As the rocks of his country far away.
The bottle it made him but look more stern,
But the other one took a boasting turn,
He talked of their big brave ships on the sea,
Of their soldiers as brave as brave could be,
Of the English beef that no land could beat,
Of their puddings and pastries good to eat;
And the Scotchman listened to every word
And seemed agreeing with all that he heard,
Till the squared-jawed fellow by-and-by claimed
His country the wittiest ever named;
“The Henglish wit, sir, hit shines like the sun”
“Aye! the sun in a fog,” the other one,
Then the arguments flew so thick and fast—
They’d have come to blows ere the thing was past
Had not Patrick, good hearted, blithe and gay,
Chanced to travel with them that summer day,
“Now sure,” said he, “you know ’tis the fashion
To settle disputes by arbitration,
Faith, a rale ould shindy’s the thing for me,
But the rale ould shindy has ceased to be,
Let’s be the powers, and raison a bit,
Whist now! and ould Erin will settle it.”
Then these two disputants, they both agreed
To take his finding in word and deed.
“The English wit, sir—let’s take off our hats—
Can’t be seen by folks that are blind as bats,
’Tis none of your common everyday stuff,
Nor like that of Ireland, vulgar and bluff,
Sure, ’tis something I would only compare
To what is well known as precious and rare,
Say to the famous philosopher’s stone—
Or elixir of life to ould sages known;
No Irishman from the hill or the bog
Would say it was like the sun in a fog,
That statement, sirs, on the face is untrue
For sometimes the fog will let the sun through.”
One pacified man went off with good grace,
And Patrick laughed at the other’s stern face,
“You think me a blarney—hark, what I say,
I tould the truth in an iligant way,
Sure you know, and I know, and everyone,
The fable of the philosopher’s stone,
For stone, elixir, and Englishman’s wit
Men have searched long, and found nivir a bit,”
Then low to himself, “faith, that joke’s so clear
That even a Scotchman may see it—next year!”

A PRETTY port I sailed from,
So long, so long ago,
As day down golden stairway
Climbed to the world below.
Ho, mariner! come tell me,
Come tell me of a truth
Know you a track will lead me back
Unto the shores of youth?

A pretty port I sailed from,
So long, so long ago,
The blue sky stretching over,
Blessed all the world below.
I laughed good-bye so lightly,
Nor recked I then, forsooth,
That leagues of years and mist of tears
Would hide the shores of youth.

Yet ever follows after,
A breath of fragrance rare
From hearts of flowers that blossom
But in its tender air.
And ever hear I, sweet and clear,
The music of its birds—
The whistling flight of wings at night—
The songs too sweet for words.

And ever see its beauty,
The smiling of its shore,
And ever wait, and ever long
To anchor there once more.
Ho mariner! Ho mariner!
Come tell me of a truth
Know you a track will lead me back
Unto the shores of youth?

A pretty port I sailed from,
So long, so long ago,
As day, down golden stairway,
Passed to the world below.
Sail on! Sail on! till light is done,
Ho mariner, so wise!
’Tis far behind—so far behind—
This port I sailed from, lies.

Sail on! Sail on! you tell me,
And in the twilight’s glow
I’ll reach the port I sailed from,
So long, so long ago.
If this be so, then we may know
That all who lose will find
Each ship will come to love and home,
And all it left behind.

Youth’s golden shore lies on before,
So gaily sail we on,
For the port we reach at even
Is the port we leave at dawn.
The harbor bar shines golden,
O sweetness of the truth,
We’ll cross it o’er, and come once more
Unto the shores of youth.

First, she is good enough to see—
A pretty face and kind,
That somehow fairer is to me
Than others I can find.

She has two lips with laughter filled,
That hold not scorn nor sneer,
She is a little bit self-willed—
Gangs her ain gait, I fear.

She has two strong and supple hands,
Two bright and tender eyes,
She has a heart that understands,
She has a judgment wise.

Her voice—at least to me—is fine,
I like to lie and rest,
And hear her reading, line by line,
The poems I love best.

No jealousy, no trace of spite
Is in her nature strong,
She is so loyal to the right,
So gentle with the wrong.

His room stands just as he left it—I go upstairs each day
And smooth the pillows with my hands, and for my darling pray.

He may not have—sometimes my heart grows fairly sick with dread—
In cold, or storm, or in sickness, a place to lay his head.

My heart would break did I not know the Father of us all
Stoops down to make my sorrow less, counts all the tears that fall.

You will not turn where comfort lies, towards Him you will not move,
O husband, give the Lord your heart—prove, prove His faithful love.”

“If I had sought the Lord,” said he, “when youth and strength were mine,
I might have had to cheer me now as dear a faith as thine.

But God is just, His laws so stern, I’ve broken year by year,
God is a judge—I feel that now—just, holy, and severe.

I scorn to seek Him after all the years I’ve walked in sin—
’Tis too near to life’s ending now for me to just begin.

My heart lies heavy in my breast, but I must bear my load,
My pride has kept me all along a sad and dreary road.

Yes, I’m thinking, wife, of Willie, the boy who went away—
Thoughts of him fill the heart of me when comes this time of day.

I watch you praying for his soul, a light in your dear e’e,
Methinks a soul from heaven itself might well come back to see.

But I—I cannot pray at all; the words they will not come,
My soul rebels and will not bow—my boy is far from home.

My lad I was so proud of, though often I was stern,
Wilful was he, but ah, to-night for his presence I yearn.”

There’s a step on the walk outside, trembling hands at the door,
And some one is kneeling by them, sobbing out o’er and o’er:

“Father, your prodigal has come, unworthy of your name,
Broken in spirit, buffeted, baptised with bitter shame.

But say forgiven, and lay your hand on me in the old way;
Pride kept me long from you, but I had to come home to-day.”

Such a welcome he got from them—the old love changeth not,
Faithful to death, unswerving—miracles hath it wrought.

The father turned a glowing face, and whispered: Let us pray,
My pride has kept me long from God, but I’ll go home to-day.

And then with the firelight shining, leaving his heavy load,
A prodigal old and hoary came tremblingly back to God.

He knew the truth, deep as the sea, high as the heaven above,
Knew that the Fatherhood of God was made and crowned with Love.

I LIKE to hear the kettle sing
At this time of the day,
Such cheery thoughts it seems to bring,
All worries flee away.

Now spread your table cloth so white,
It tells me as I wait,
Come, bustle ’round, ’tis almost night—
The goodman’s at the gate.

Long time ago it heard John say
Some foolish lover things,
And do you know that to this day
They’re in the song it sings.

It caught the gladness in my tone
When baby Grace arrived,
My pride when Jim first stood alone,
My joy when Robbie thrived.

All this was such awhile ago,
You’d think it would forget,
But ah, the tune—I love it so—
It sings me sometimes yet.

When I was vexed with John last night,
And sat here full of pride,
It sang away with all its might,
And shamed me till I cried.

’Tis humming now, Come, broil the ham
Or supper will be late,
Put on the biscuits and the jam,
You’re goodman’s at the gate.

Only a fancy (you take my breath
With your passionate kisses) people die,
And happiness is no bar to death
Or we never need fear him, you nor I.

Only a fancy, so don’t look grave,
We’ll be together for years to come,
But, listen, would you be good and brave
If Death, God’s reaper, came into our home?

Would you remember the full glad years,
And remembering them forget to weep?
We have been happy, no need for tears
If one of us, dear one, should fall asleep.

Living without me would break your heart,
“O sorrow of joys remembered!” You cry,
Keep all the brightness though far apart,
Explain my meaning—well dear, I will try.

One summer morning I heard a lark
Singing to heaven, a sweet-throated bird,
One winter night I was glad in the dark,
Because of the glorious song I had heard.

“The joy of my life,” I’ve heard you say,
“With her love and laughter, her smiles and tears”—
Let these be the lark’s song, sweet and gay,
That will sound in your heart through all the years.

For tell me, dear one, what is love worth
If it cannot crowd in the time ’tis given
To two like us, on this grey old earth,
Such bliss as will last till we reach heaven?

So, if I should die just bend your head,
And kiss my lips as I lie at rest,
Whisper, I love you living or dead
Always and ever I love you best.

Why talk of it now? A woman’s whim,
We are whimsical creatures, as you know—
Look yonder, the twilight soft and dim
Comes hurrying over the world below.

“Your brother, stubborn fellow, he would break a woman’s heart,
I tell you I was glad for one they thought it best to part!”
I thought of this the other day, when our relations came
To eat the Xmas turkey, and more things than I could name.

For Aunt’s face got as red as fire when Uncle Ned came in,
“Peace and goodwill at Xmas time,” said pa, with such a grin.
“I wish,” said I to brother Tom, “they’d have a wedding day,
What is the good of two nice folks sulking around this way?

I’d be a bridesmaid for them, Tom, and wouldn’t that be fun,
Then we’d go there for holidays as soon as school was done.”
“Don’t you believe such stuff of him,” said brother Tom to me,
“Why, everyone that falls in love is silly as can be!

Put all their good clothes on at once—strut ’round an’ show off so,
The folks that have to live with them get sick of it you know.”
Sho! don’t tell up such stuff as that about our Uncle Ned,
If you don’t mind your p’s and q’s I’ll tell him what you said.

But I found out that I was right—I’ll tell you how it came,
Truth upon Honor, we did play—it’s just a lovely game,
You ask the queerest questions and they answer out quite free,
And if they tell what isn’t true, it’s wicked, don’t you see?

Tom asked me was I awful mad (he can be dreadful mean)
When a great deal prettier hat than mine went by on Mabel Green?
I had to tell, but never mind, I paid him back again,
I made him own he copied sums from clever cousin Ben.

Aunt Jess she laughed, and Uncle Ned said ’twas a jolly game,
He changed his tune though pretty quick when round his own turn came.
“Now tell the truth,” I said to him—“not maybe or I guess—
Ain’t you just heaps and heaps in love with our dear Auntie Jess?

At first he scowled at Tom and me as mad as any hoe,
And Tom he laughed and said, “Own up! you used to be her beau.”
At this he looked and looked at her, and thought her nice I guess
For right out quick he said, “It’s true—I love your dear Aunt Jess.”

We clapped our hands. Now ’tis your turn to question Auntie here,
But if he didn’t—mean old thing—just whisper in her ear.
Said she, “This is a pretty game, which everyone should know.”
“I wish we’d played it, dear,” he said, “a long, long time ago.”

Then I winked hard at brother Tom, and he winked back at me,
And we sneaked off and left them there as jolly as could be.
I know a thing that I won’t tell—not to Tom anyway,
I’ll be a bridesmaid all so fine before next Xmas day.

Not that I’d hurt his pride for the world,
But I’d feel most awful bad
To see father’s features one by one
A-showing up on our lad.
Sam got to college all right enough,
When he came home I declare
He told me about wonderful things
He’d had to learn while up there.
He showed me gloves all padded out,
The cap an’ the scanty trews,
An’ the mask of wire that hid his face,
The day that they beat the Blues.

I had my doubts about Sammie too,
For fear ’twould spoil the lad,
An’ widow Dobbs kept throwing out hints
That he was going to the bad.
She’s awful quick with her nods and winks,
An’ a body can’t forget,
Why, she made me do a thing one day
That I’m mortal shamed of yet.

She’d been telling up a big long yarn
Of boy’s deceit, an’ of things
That mothers discover unawares—
An’ get just desperate stings.
It vexed me so much, that up I went
An’ opened our Sammie’s trunk,
Though if he had come an’ caught me there—
Well, I know I should have sunk.

I searched through all that big pile of stuff,
An’ I tried each little key,
But there was nothing in that big trunk
That his mother daren’t see.
Then I went over to widow Dobbs,
An’ we had a little spat,
My boy was hiding nothing from me,
Thank God! for a boy like that.

But I must tell you about his wife;
You see we had always planned
That he’d marry Eliza Jane Jones—
She owns a good bit of land.
She isn’t good looking, I’ll own up,
But in all your mortal life,
You never saw a better
Nor thriftier farmer’s wife.

’Twas a shock, I tell you, when he wrote
(Father said I was to blame)
That he’d bring a bride from the city—
Daisy, he said, was her name.
Well, I’ll never forget how I felt
When I first saw Sammie’s wife,
I shook hands—I couldn’t have kissed her
Had it been to save my life.

You see, I’d a thought of the work,
Plenty to do I can tell,
An’ I thought when Sammie’s wife came home
That I’d try a shirking spell.
An’ when I saw her, my heart was full
Of vexation an’ surprise,
I thought of hearty Eliza Jane Jones
Till the tears came in my eyes.

She looked like a picture standing there,
A-smoothing her soft hair down,
It made me feel hateful, just to know
I was homely, old, and brown.
It vexed me just to look at her hands,
So dimpled, an’ soft, an’ white—
I took Mr. Sammie to my room
An’ told him it wasn’t right.

“She is no worker,” I said to him,
“An’ drones are bad in a hive,”
He laughed, “Oh we are a sleepy lot,
Daisy will keep us alive!”
“I know how ’twill be,” I said to him,
She’ll want new things every day
In machinery, to do up the work
In the quick new-fangled way.

“But I won’t have it,” I said to him,
“I have my way of going,
An’ it’s girls that can’t do anything
That want to do the showing.”
He took it good—thinks I to myself
I’ll finish while I’m in it,
“There’s one thing, Sammie, I’ve never done,
An’ I’m old now to begin it.

I’m old to wait on your lady wife,
An’ stick to it day by day,
An’ listen to high-falutin’ talk,
An’ feel I’m just in the way.
An’ another thing,” I said to him,
Then stopped, an’ got red an’ hot,
“You needn’t think your babies I’ll mind,
Because I tell you I’ll not.”

I wish you could have heard the boy laugh,
He shook the things on the shelf,
“The dear little mammie, shan’t be ’bused”
He said, “I’ll mind ’em myself.”
All this talk I tell just to show
What a fickle thing I am,
An’ how little my words really meant
When I said all this to Sam.

It was only some four years ago,
An’ stowed in the big back hall
There’s machines for almost everything,
Leaning their backs to the wall.
My daughter-in-law ’tends to it all—
A good stout girl at her hand—
If I say it myself, you can’t find
Better kept house in the land.

The books, an’ papers, an’ flowers seem
Part of her every-day life,
An’ no doctor can ’tend to a sprain
Better than our Sammie’s wife.
Now, I like to sit here in my chair
An’ watch her happy an’ free,
An’ I like—yes, I’ll own up—I like
Baby to climb on my knee.

Poor old father is sillier yet,
A slave to three-year-old Jim,
My, he grins an’ looks proud as can be
Because the boy looks like him!
Oh, we all have our worries I know,
We find each blemish an’ flaw,
But there’s one perfect thing in this world—
Sam’s wife, my daughter-in-law.

I tell you it was a big surprise
When I got a look at her.
Blue, there was nothing blue but her eyes,
They were as blue as the summer skies,
Adam laughed,—but no matter.

She hadn’t been there many weeks
When I began to worry.
A girl should have roses in her cheeks,
Should sing, and laugh sometimes when she speaks,
And not be sad and sorry.

I knew what was wrong, and told her so,
Studyin’, and contrivin’
Over things she had no call to know,
An’ quite neglectin’ the life an’ glow
That keep the soul a-thrivin’.

She had books on science, an’ books on art,
An’ books on things still higher,
Wonderful things that gave you a start,
But not a line, or a word, on the heart
Full of its vain desire.

Well, she’d been there a month—maybe more,
’Twas dreadful stormy weather,
She’d just been telling me o’er and o’er
Quaint little stories she’d told before
As we sat there together.

When Martha came showin’ in young Blaine,
(Most as tall as our ceilin,’
Such a splendid fellow, good and plain,
With no great beauty to make him vain,
But lots of sense an’ feelin.’)

I introduced him all right I know—
I like him—so does Adam,
But Minerva’s face went white as snow,
And he said, bowing his head, just so—
“We’ve met, have we not, madam?”

A nice romance right under my nose,
I watched it growin’, growin,’
Along through the weeks of frosts and snows
(Oh, I wasn’t blind you may suppose)
And bitter north wind blowin’.

For a man from Boston came along,
(Such an elegant fellow)
Played the guitar, wore his hair quite long,
Talked to Minerva of art and song
In tones so soft an’ mellow.

Before long I had my feelings stirred,
And vowed he should’nt have her.
I listened long, but I never heard
From his mouth one good sensible word,
Nothin’ but rank palaver.

And to watch that girl, who seemed so wise,
Listenin’ to all he told her,
It made the tears come into my eyes,
An’ my strong temper get on the rise.
But when the man got bolder.

And they talked together, an’ agreed
God’s word was but a fable,
A good, well-written story, indeed,
Why I got right up, as I had need,
Stand this? I wasn’t able.

I told him he had better take
His views where they were needed,
Minerva said ’twas a great mistake,
Said sometimes her heart did fairly ache
To know as much as he did.

Then I got Minerva off alone,
Ah, she was dear, the sinner,
Said I, if old Satan gets this one
It won’t be because I haven’t done
All that I could to win her.

So I told her things tender and true,
Told her of love undying,
Told her of peace that my own soul knew,
Till pride died out of her eyes of blue
An’ she fell softly crying.

“You were a babe when your mother died,
And I stood there beside her,
Can you believe that your mother lied
When she kissed your face?” I said, an’ cried
“The Christ will keep an’ guide her,”

“Will bring my little one home to me,
As gates of pearl were lifting.”
Your mother was very dear to me.
Now on what big mysterious sea
Would you have her soul drifting.

Next day there came through the bitter cold
Two offers, or what I suppose was.
One in an envelope square and bold,
The other all perfume, white and gold,
Tied up in hot-house roses.

They all went skating that afternoon
Down on the frozen river.
When I think how they came back so soon,
Minerva half-drowned, an’ in a swoon,
It always makes me shiver.

’Twas all for the best, that bath so cold,
Proved a boon an’ a blessin’,
Down went Blaine after her, strong an’ bold,
While safe to shore the other one rolled.
O ’twas a wholesome lesson!

We sat there a happy crowd that night,
Though winter winds were blowin’,
Minerva, a little weak and white,
Her left hand hid in the preacher’s right,
Her eyes all soft an’ glowin’.

Would you believe it, the other came,
Full of presumes and supposes,
Hoped nobody held he was to blame,
I carried him down, though, just the same,
His bunch of hot-house roses.

He bowed himself off with such an air,
Not a bit overpowered,
And Adam said anything was fair,
With a man who went around with such hair,
And proved himself a coward.

My brother wrote to me yesterday,
“How did you cure my daughter,
She’s not the same girl that went away.”
But when I ask her, she’ll laugh and say,
“The cure! O just cold water!”