Poems

Christmas 1885

The trees are white with crystal
The brooks are frozen hard
Our little baby’s grave is white
In the quiet old churchyard

The rooks have left the old trees,
The swallows too have gone
But little robin still is here
To cheer us with his song

He still sings very sweetly
On the old green holly trees
His loud sweet notes make melody
Upon the cold sharp breeze

The holly and the fir tree
Are still dressed out in green
But here & there a speck of white
May now & then be seen

How pretty is the country
Christmas rose & snowdrop white
And little purple crocus
Looking up into the light

I hope you like my verses
That I have made for you
I wish you a merry Christmas
And a happy new year too

Bolam Vicarage
Age 6

Angels

Listen to the Angels singing
Chanting by the sparkling sea
Singing welcome unto sinners
Sinners e’en like you and me

Hark the sound of Angels singing
Telling of the joys to come
Pilgrim, are you sad and weary?
Rest then in your Father’s Home
 
Listen they are singing to us
Hasten Pilgrim to the gate
Lest an Angel close it sadly
And you find yourself too late

Oh the joys within those portals
None but Saints and Angels know
If those Saints could tell its glories
To their dear ones here below

1888

 

Sunset on the sea

The hour of sunset now is nigh
So let us, me and you
Come watch the fiery golden sun
Sink into the ocean blue

See what a beautiful path of light
It makes on the peaceful deep
It shines on the seagulls & cormorants homes
On the rocks so tall and steep

That path seems a way to the heavenly land
Where the angels are singing all day
And the sun is not needed to rise or to set
For all is Eternal day

Come and stand on this rugged rock
Where you can see the view well
Oh if the sun could only speak
What tales it would have to tell

It saw the Romans first land on this shore
And the battle where Harold was slain
And the Spainish Armada defeated
When it ventured on our British Main

Look at the sky’s lovely colours
Purple and pink and pale blue
And the beautiful gold and crimson
Sets the clouds all on fire with their hue

1888 August 6 A D

 

Ode To Spring

The spring is once more come again
The bare brown trees look green
While here and there the Celandine
And pale primrose are seen

The crocus makes the earth look gay
With crown of mauve & gold
While in the lane the violets
Their purple flowers unfold

A goodly troop of blackbirds too
Do sing from every tree
& thrushes make the woods resound
With their joyous melody

By the riverside the ladies smock
And yellow flagflowers grow
& the blackthorn & pure white may
Doth cover all with snow
 
The newborn lambs do skip about
In the fields so gray and green
While frolicking by their mother’s side
The frisky calves are seen

The cuckoo sings from noon till night
The lark is everywhere
& the delicate scent of the cowslip bloom,
burdens the balmy air

The forget-me-not clusters about your path
And as you walk over the moor
You see little children gathering gorse
Not far from your cottage door

How happy is the springtime
And happy to be young
How soon our tales will all be told
And our songs will all be sung

Bolam  1888

 

Winter

The skaters glide along the ice
For it is Christmas tide
The children play upon the pond
With many a bump and slide

The robin is tapping at the door
His little red waistcoat all bright
He is chirping good sir please
I want some breadcrumbs
And a bed in the barn for the night

The icicles hang on the skeleton trees
The ground is all covered with snow
And there’s signs of another fall coming
The birds are all flying so low

When the boys come out of school
Blowing their fingers so red
Running & jumping to keep of Jack Frost
There is so much to be said

About what they will do that day
Now the ice bears so well
I know says Tom I’ll have my sledge
And coast with sister Nell
 
And I cries John shall try my skates
Given me by uncle Bill
And we will snowball you all
Shout jolly Joe and Will

And then a mighty fight begins
With snow and laughter merry
And each boy face does get as red
As any holly berry

And then a great snow man is made
With bits of coal for eyes
And in one big snow hand there is
A stick of wondrous size

And by the giant snowman’s side
A snow house there is too
With sheets of ice for window panes
For which they nicely do

Hurrah, Hurrah, for Jack Frost
Hurrah for winter’s snow
May you have a merry Christmas
Where ever you do go

1888

 

Christmas Verses  1888

With crown of ice King Christmas comes
Snow falling on his way
He’s Christmas pies & sugar plums
And toys to make you gay

He gives them all to Santa Claus
In his sleigh of ice and snow
Who pops them down the chimney pots
As his reindeer onward go

The very best of all his gifts
May he shower down on you dear
I wish you a merry Christmas
And a happy gay New Year

If every little holly leaf
Upon its leafy spray
Could speak, it could not tell the love
I send to you today

November 25. 1888 

 

Luck

Only a little Street sweeper
As he stands on the icy cold street
No hat on his head, clad in rugged old clothes
No stockings & shoes for his feet

But no monarch is happier than this little boy
For, sweeping up refuse and waste
He’s found, what d’ you think?  A real penny
And snatched it up gladly in haste

He eagerly stands with his broom in his hand
With rapture regarding his treasure
T’ will buy him a bed, or some food, milk & bread
Or marbles or sweets without measure

This Street sweeper is happy as any great king
Who counts up his money in gold
To one, the small coin would appear a mere naught
To the other, great riches untold

Jan, 27th 1889

 

 

 

Ode To Autumn

Spring & Summer long have passed us
Autumn now comes flying past
Ceres with his golden sickle
Comes to reap and bind at last

See! the fields stand thick and yellow
Harvest time is here I ween
And dotted o’er the fields to golden
Red poppies beautify the scene

In the woods the nuts are ripening
They are soon picked by merry boys
Who shake the trees
& throw the brown nuts
In a bag with laugh and noise

In the woods too, little rabbits
Play with the leaves dead dry
Everywhere are ferns bracken
Tinged with ruddy autumn dye

On the tall high trees the few leaves
That remain, are gold and brown
Scarlet leaves from that red creeper
Flutter slowly, slowly down

See! the harvest moon is shining
In the sky so clear and blue
Goodbye autumn with your corn-fields
And your leaves of brilliant hue

November twenty fifth 1888

 

Summer in the Country

Summer, gay Summer, the Queen of the Year
With her Sunshine and flowers and sweetbirds is here

How pleasant to toss in the fragrant hay
And bath in the warmth of the bright Summer day

How pleasant to row on a shady pool
Where fishes leap up from the water cool

How pleasant to eat sweet strawberries and cream
Or on a high haycock to doze and to dream

The cuckoo is gone but the thrush and blackbird
With hundreds of other sweet songsters are heard

How pleasant to lead to the river’s brink
Old Bess and, bathe while she has a drink

To ride on the wagon so full of hay
And see it stored in the barn away

To lie in the meadow and dream for hours
Or make daisy chains and gather sweet flowers

To make cowslip wine all the long Summer day
And then have your tea in the fragrant hay

To lie in a hammock beneath the green trees
And to hear the birds song and the buzzing of bees

To watch the large Sunflowers all in a row
And see the gay butterflies flit to and fro

All these pleasure belong to bright Summer so gay
Oh Summer, dear Summer, don’t yet go away

Goodbye lovely Summer we mournfully cry
Come back soon to us Summer or else we must die

Now Autumn has come with its fields full of grain
Cheer up for sweet Summer will soon come again

Jan 29th 1889

 

Ode to the Country

 I love the country
The place of shady dells
Where the sweet violet bows its purple head
And the bright poppy glows amid the corn
The place of mountain, stream & roaring flood
Where the calm brooklet gently flows along
Reflecting the warm sun upon its heart
It sees the bonnie lambs that stoop to drink
It’s azure heart is laden with the weight
Of the forget-me-not & blue birds-eye
I love to watch the trees
That first in spring are clad in pale hued green
And then in Summer you may see them drest
In all their glory ‘neath the August sky
And then in Autumn you surely cry
“the forest is on fire” ! Yes, ‘t is afire
But with a fire that man hath never made
Dame Nature paints the trees in fiery red
In sunset gold that glows among the green
Branches of the fir, like golden thread
In winter, when the snow is on the ground
Trees stand like skeletons, but beauteous still
With frost that shines like diamonds & pendants
Of the glittering ice. 
 I love the country
With its grim mountains all ablaze with red
And purple heather that looks like Amethyst
When the Aurora Borealis fires the sky
The “Merrie Dancers” swiftly sweep along
While thousand diff’rent colours tint the sky
 I love the country
The land of Nightingales
That sing at even wakened by the swell
Of the roaring cataract, leaping o’er the rocks
While silver fishes leap with graceful ease
While the wood thrills with blackbirds melodies
And as you walk over the mossy ground
You cannot count the thrush’s plaintive song
 I love the country
With its plantations carpeted with flowers
There, nestling ‘mong the ferns, you sure will see
The bluebell, anemone, & columbine
Primroses, pansies, cowslips buttercups –
That tempt the butterfly or honey-bee
The trees form arches & thick green walls
T ‘is like a church, but the aisles are soft moss
Bestowed with violets, the walls are firs
The sweet-scented lime, & the green sturdy oak
The weeping willow & the graceful larch
And ‘midst them all there rolls a gushing stream
Flowing o’er pebbles with a trickling sound
 I love the Country!
I would & might dwell there!
But t’ is not so, I must abide in town
Farewell sweet Country, visit oft my dreams
And cheer me for the sake of Auld Langsyne

Jan. 20 1890

 

Sunrise

The Sun is gilding the weathercock
Which glitters like burnished gold
There’s a rosy flush on the grey Church-tower
With its belfry worn & old

The cock doth crow, with a clarion voice
To herald the dawn of day
And round the Orient’s bright path
Lie clouds of colours gay

Purple, with silvery tinge they float
In a lake of fiery gold
The brilliant sun doth banish far
The night’s grey cloudlets cold

The thrushes & larks begin to sing
To welcome the glorious sun
The flowers awake to feel his kiss
And nod to him every one

A broadly smiling azure sky
With streak of red and gold
And pink and creamy feathery clouds
Wait his face to behold

At length he rises! All the earth
Is decked in freshest green
The daylight’s king has come to reign
In the place of night’s pale Queen

The dewdrops sparkle like diamonds
The birds are twittering bright
I’ll hail & welcome thee, glorious Sun
Oh! Stay until the night

Shall send thee back to thy silver couch
To sleep ‘til the coming day
When thou wilt rise with thy golden beams
Making the earth feel gay

March 2nd 1890

 

 

 

To Mother on her Birthday

I send you much love on this happy Birthday
And also some flowers sweet emblems of May
Wherever you roam by the land or by sea
Forget me not dear & I’ll not forget thee!

The flowers of the field for thy garland I send
And tho’ only wild flowers such one is a friend
& I’m sure tho’ their feelings I cannot send through
They send love like me, although not so true.

For they fade in an hour, but I always will stand
True to you darling Mummy the best in the land
May you have ten score of bright birthdays & gay
And long remain darling the queen of the may

May 5 1889

 

A Dream in a Laburnem Tree

I sat in a Laburnem tree
On a calm may day so fair
Around me hung the blossoms
Like a maiden’s golden hair

The book of Revelation
Fell from my listless hand
& my thoughts were carried far away
To the heavenly better land

The snow white clouds sailed slowly
Through heaven’s vault of blue
And I heard sweet sounds of music
That thrilled me through & through

It came so soft & sweetly
And yet so full & clear
That it made me think that angels
Were hovering somewhere near

Ah! Was it only fancy!
The scene that burst on me
A thousand Angels harping
Upon the crystal sea
 
Heavens golden gates were opened
To my enraptured gaze
Each angel had upon its head
A crown of golden rays

The music sounded louder
And sweeter & more clear
A sweet faced angel smiled on me
Who looked like granny dear

But then a mist came o’er my eyes
I could no longer look
And I think I was awakened
By the falling of the book

The angel’s glorious crowns
Which had so dazzled me
Turn to the golden tassels
Of the sweet laburnum tree

It was only a short vision
Of Heaven’s golden door
But I hope someday to enter
And dwell there evermore

May 18 1889 A D

 

The Cowslip

Nodding their heads to gentle breeze
And ringing their golden bells
The cowslips stand on their broad green leaves
In the shady woods & dells

Gently caressed by the zephyr sweet
Woo’d by the butterflies
A dew-drop comes to them every morn
And washes their golden eyes

Flinging their perfume far & wide
Over the mossy glen
The cowslip fulfils its mission here
Of love & good-will to men

March 1st 1890

 

To the Violet

Oh modest little violet
In robe of purple sheen
How timidly you cower beneath
The leaf so broad & green

But oh! Your perfume rich & rare
The passer-by doth tell
That violets, not a clump of leaves
Are hidden in the dell

Look up! Oh timid violet
And hear the thrushes sing
I would not hurt thee for the world
Poor blushing little thing

March 1st 1890

 

The Triumphal Entry of Alexander the Great into Macedon

The trumpets are sounding & banners are waving
And people are gath’ring from near & from far
To see Great Alexander the conqu’ror of Persia
Triumphant, return from his glorious war

His chariot is decked out with garlands of laurel
His horses are gay with red ribbons so bright
The sun glistens on the long lances & helmets
Of the brave band of soldiers returned from the fight

The maidens are throwing sweet roses & lilies
As their handsome monarch & warrior goes by
His helmet encircled by bay & by olive
Under which flashes proudly his dark fiery eye

In his corset of steel & his skirt of rich purple
His armlets of gold & his sword fierce & strong
Phillip, thou mights’t be proud of thy son Alexander
As he goes through the midst of the cheering glad throng

And, first of his horses, Bucephalus proudly
Is rearing his head: as if he would tell
That he is the horse who carried his master
Over the battlefield bravely and well

Ride on! Alexander!  Thou last of the monarchs
That have given to Greece all her fame and renown
Rule well and rule wisely, and follow the Master
And soon thou shalt gain a bright heavenly crown

March 9th 1890

 

Lilies of the Field

These pretty flowers call me back,
Far away o’er the deep blue sea
I Seem to see Pieter & James, & John
Mending their nets by calm Galilee
Listening to the word Divine,
In the far off land of Palestine

I see Him walk through the verdant fields
Amidst the corn so fair to behold
And hear Him say “Yea the Great King
With his Cedar Palace & crown of gold
With his ivory throne & servants gay
And ships full of spices in the Bay”

“Yeah, Solomon, with all his power
And mighty men who bent their knees
In all his glory & his pomp,
Was not arrayed like one of these
Bright Lilies.  “Therefore take no heed
For raiment:  on to-morrow’s need”
 
Their pretty crimson petals bright,
Are like Thy life blood shed for me,
As the sharp thorns thy forehead wound
When dying on the accursed tree
Thou’ve saved my soul from Death & hell
By suff’ring pangs no tongue can tell

But, Alleluia! on this day
Thou burst wide the rocky tomb
And risen to God’s bright home of light
Scattering for all Death & Gloom
Help me, oh Lord, to love Thee more
As each day rolls on time’s changing shore

Grant me to love Thee as I ought
And ever rightly worship Thee
And when I die, oh! keep a place
In lovely Paradise for me
And all the Golden harps shall ring,
At the great Easter of our King

Verses written for Mother at Easter
Easter Sunday 1890

 

True charity

A poor little waif of the city grand
Was plodding her weary way
Hoping to get a small coin or a crust
She had had no food that day

A small, pinched, white wan face had she
Her feet were blue with cold
Her piteous hungry eyes looked up
From a mass of tangled gold

If she had been fed clothed – Ah, then
She would have looked fair as dawn
But father was dead and mother too
And she was an orphan forlorn

She came to a beautiful West End Street
And she gave a wondering cry
For a proud young dame, her white hands full
Of flowers was passing by

She did not envy the silken dress
Or the jewels the lady wore
She longed for just one of those lovely flowers
She had never seen before

With a heart made bold by her great desire
She ran to the ladies side
“O! Ma’am would give me a little one
Of those lovely flowers she cried?”

The lady turned, “you are rude indeed
To speak in that way to me
Well, here is one, I shall have no peace
If I refuse you I see,

For these little brats do pester one
Until they are satisfied”
She turned away & the little child,
Hid her face, and softly cried

The poor child had been cut to the heart
By the cruel words and the sneer
The pink rosebud fell from her hand –
“Why are you crying, dear?”

A sweet voice said – she started up
A little girl stood there
About three years older than herself
With dark brown eyes and hair

Her dress was patched and worn, but clean
She had shoes on her feet
Her parents could not have been rich,
But they kept her nice and neat

And in her hand she held a bunch
Of daisies, pure and white
She picked up the rosebud from the street
And looked at its colours bright

“What a pretty flower, who gave it to you?
What a bright pink,” said she
Then little child sobbed out all her grieve
With her head on the other’s knee

“Poor little child, how sorry I am!”
Said the kind minst'ring girl
And she stooped & kissed the little waif
And smoothed back a golden curl

From her forehead.  “Perhaps the lady
Didn’t think her word you’d mind
At any rate she gave to you
This flower and that was kind!

Would you like some of my daisies?
And she straightway gave her a few,
“Oh, thank you” said the little child
“How very kind are you!”

Then the other one kissed her again
And drying her soft blue eye
She hurried adown a by-street
Saying “Poor little one goodbye!!”

Then the little one took the flowers
And wended her weary way
To the little empty garret
With its dirty heap of hay,

That formed her bed.  And then lying
With the flowers on her breast
She whispered “I love the rosebud
But the daisies are the best”

Ah, my dear reader, remember
That daisies, with words of love
Are thought more of than rosebuds
By the heavenly one above

For one gave of her abundance
The other of poverty
But the widows might was chosen
And the rich man passed by

April 18th 1890

 

To a Daisy

How pretty is the daisy
With crimson edged leaves
It finds its way among the graves
O’er which the mourner grieves
It has a crown of silver
Around a heart of gold
It grows & blossoms on the knolls
Of ruins worn and old

 

The Bluebell’s Song

I have walked far in the woods today
And heard an enchanting, sweet story
It was the rime in the joyous fresh spring
When the bluebells were out in their glory

I came to a mossy, wild thyme spangled bank
And sat on it for a short rest
And over my head, in a bush of sweet briar
A red speckled thrush had her nest

A sea of bluebells & slender green leaves
With a sprinkling of orchids so red
The dark sombre pines flung their plumes upon high
And formed a green arch o’er my head

The scent of the bluebells was flung far & wide
And as the wee merry thrush sang
Methought I could hear a sweet musical sound
As the bells of the bluebells all rang
The bluebells song

Oh, a merry life doth the bluebell lead
Under the green-wood tree
Growing in beds of the softest moss
Toss’d by the hedges free

In robes of azure and bows of green
We pretty bluebells are dressed
And every morn & even a gem
A dewdrop, lies on our breast

Sometimes we grow by the rushling brook
Which, with music low
Flows by the duckweed & bluebirds eye
And over the stones that glow.

In the burning ray of the noontide sun
Or we grow in the shady dells
Where the fairies hold their moonlight balls
And sleep in our scented bells

Or, we temp the bee & the butterfly
At the foot of the mountain grey
And by the red heather & golden grass
While the long hours away

Or else in a wood among beds of fern
By the violets white and blue
We dwell.  And the sweet pink wild dog-rose
And the cowslips are there too!

Steeling a kiss from our gentle lips
Away goes the laughing wind
And we are pressed by graceful deer
As the hunters come behind!!!

But do not envy our happy life,
For the bluebell soon must die
You’ll look in vain for our bells of blue
When a few more weeks go by

The bluebells sadly shook their heads
And gave a mournful cry
And I woke & found the sunset hues
Was spreading o’er the sky

April 13th 1890

 

A Poem

When ere with melancholy pressed
Or full of grieve distraught,
Go out, into the verdant fields
And learn what nature taught

Go out! & see the dark green trees
Appointing to the sky
Tossing their heads & their giant arms
As the wild winds through them sigh

Oh! See the lovely flowers that bloom,
Hark to the birds that sing
And your soul will fly thro’ the deep blue sky
Till it rests upon Natures King

Sept 16th 1890

 

A Poem

“How shall I bear life’s weary load”?!
Did a tired pilgrim cry
As he sat on the shore where the wild waves roar
And the billows were dancing by

Just then there came to his mind a thought
A promise of Christ so true
“Cast your burden on Me I will bear it for thee,
That is all you have to do”

The pilgrim knelt down on the sand & cried
“Oh Christ! I believe in thy word
Oh God take my soul & make it quite whole
I cast it upon thee O Lord!”

Christ answered his prayer & at night he lay there
Two angels were guarding his head
But his soul was a-singing & the joy bells were ringing
In heav’n for the pilgrim was dead!

A lovely radiance lay on his face
Lit by the light of the “morning Star”
Given unto us by the God of grace
To see how fair the angels are

Sept 16th 1890

 

To Basle

Basle is the beautiful antique town
That stands on the lovely blue Rhine
Kept from cold breezes by high dark green hills
Around which the brave ivy doth twine

It has picturesque people in picturesque dress
And queer little dogs with snub noses & tails
And pigeons all feathers and pink feet and beak
And timid Tomcats with terrific long nails

Herbert E flung a stick at a timid tomcat
He missed him & he disappeared through some rails
But out of a window he shook a black fist
Adorned at the end with a long row of nails

Verses written when abroad in the Summer of 1890

 

To Lake Lucerne

Sweet Lake Lucerne!  The beautiful
With thy waters shining green
And emerald banks & waving trees
Of lakes thou art the Queen!

Encircled by the rugged heights
Of mountains bare and grey
On top of which the genial sun
Ne’er melts the snow away
 
Pilatus proudly rears his crest
And there too Rigi frowns
And with a hundred more provide
A shelter for the towns

Gay steamers ply upon thy breast
And little boats dart to and fro
And tiny fishes swim about
Now jump and then dive deep below

Summer of 1890