Golden rod and cypress

KIHTHPI.ACK OF MHS. LOlJ.A KENDALf, KOGKHS, HRU.WOOI), tPSON COUNTY, CiKOHOIA. A fine type of tlu- Old Southern JluntaUiiii llniiic>. Mcilicul Office in Krunt.

GOLDEN ROD
and CYPRESS
BT
Mrs. LOULA KENDALL ROGERS
"The lands are lit With all the Autumn blaze of Golden Rod,
And every where the Purple Asters nod, And bend and isase and flit." Helen Hunt Jackson.
1914 BYRD PRINTING COMPANY
ATLANTA, QKOBO14

TO THE ALUMNAE OP WESLEYAN FEMALE COLLEGE, MAOON, GEORGIA
ALUMNAE OF GORDON INSTITUTE, BARNESVTLLB, GEORGIA
UNITED DAUGHTERS OF THE CONFEDERACY AND TO THE MEMORY
OF OUR BRAVE CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS, THESE WOODLAND SPRAYS
OF GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS EMBLEMS
OP YOUTHS BRIGHT DAY AND SORROWS DARK NIGHT ARE TENDERLY DEDICATED

INTRODUCTION
- INTRODUCTION
T O qttote an almost forgotten writer, "poetry is unfalien speech." It was the language spoken by our first parents in the Garden of Eden, and down to the end of time it will continue to be the mother-tongue of noble minds. The songs of a nation are mere powerful than any other factors in shaping its laws and in molding its institutions; and, even in an age wedded to material things, we cannot without an implication of self-reproach affect to despise the eldest of all the arts.
This exquisite volume of verse comes from the gifted pen of one whose writings are already known to thousands throughout our broad Southland. The formality of intro ducing Mrs. Loula Kendall Rogers to an audience of friends, most of whom have long felt the subtle charm of her genius, is quite a needless one, but the privilege of penning these simple lines of tribute is nevertheless most eagerly embraced, if only for the borrowed radiance with which it gilds an humbler name. When the clouds of war first began to hover over our homes, on the ominous eve of the great sectional conflict, Mrs. Rogers then.a girl in her teens first discovered the divine gift which was des tined to weave for her many a green laurel in the years to come; and when she bade adieu to historic Wesleyan, in the summer of 1857, her commencement composition was the first poem ever written by a graduate of the oldest fe male college in the world. It was a gem meet for the crown of her Alma Mater.
Some of the happiest poems of Mrs. Rogers were in spired by the chivalry of Dixies gray battalions. Under the silken folds of the "Bonnie Blue Flag," she saw our brave defenders go forth to battle. She cheered them in victory. She consoled them in defeat. She bent over them

6

INTRODUCTION

in the hospitals where they languished in pain and suffer ing. With the enthusiasm of youth, she gave her maiden songs to a Conquered Banner. The civilization of the Old South its lofty ideals of honor its noble standards of culture its beautiful memories of plantation life in the old feudal days these have always been favorite themes with Mrs. Rogers, themes which have never failed to touch her deepest chords of feeling and to kindle her sweetest strains of music. Though loyal to the flag under which she now lives, she has never deigned to apologize for the flag to which she once vowed allegiance and today her heart is still an Ark of the Covenant in which the precious manna of the Confederacy is kept.
But her love for the South was fore-ordained. She comes of an aristocratic old Southern family, the name of which is linked with the earliest traditions of a land of Cavaliers. She could not be other than what she is loyal in every fiber of her being to the home of her birth. Some may smile at the claims of long descent. But lineage counts in the making of the character. The bias of heredity is even stronger than the influence of environment; but in weaving the ties of loyalty which were to bind this gentle daughter of Dixie to her beloved Southland, both of these forces contributed. Mrs. Eogers traces collateral descent to Sir Ralph Lane, Jr., who sailed from Plymouth, Bng., in one of the vessels equipped by Sir Walter Raleigh, in 1585; and by virtue of his official commission he became the first Colonial Governor of the New World. Her great uncle, Joel Lane, was the founder of Raleigh, N. C., while her grandmother boasted not less than five nephews, who be came Governors of five different States, viz. Joseph Lane, of Oregon, Henry Lane, of Indiana, Alfred H. Colquitt, of Georgia, David Swain, of North Carolina, and Governor Lane, of Alabama. Her great-grandfather, Jesse Lane, was a soldier of the Revolution, and fought with his three boys in the battles of Cowpens, Bangs Mountain, and Guilford

INTRODUCTION

7

Court House. In the light of this exhibit, we can readily understand why it is that her love for the South is no ordinary passion. Mrs. Rogers, herself, is no ordinary woman. The home of her girlhood, in Upson County, Ga., was a typical old Southern home of the ante-helium days, and in an atmosphere of hooks, sweetened by the enjoyment of social life and by the gentle precepts of religion, her rare intellect began to flower.
For several years in her childhood, she and her sister were taught by a competent governess in their own home, called Bellwood. Afterward they were sent to Central Fe male College, Culloden, under Professor John Darby, of "prophylactic fame;" thence to Georgia Episcopal Insti tute, Montpelier, Ga., a celebrated school under the super vision of the Right Reverend Bishop Elliott. When this excellent institution was suspended, they entered the halls of Wesleyan College, at Macon, Ga., where she graduated.
We are told with an accent of impatience that the age in which we live is hopelessly devoid of sentiment. But no one can read this little volume of verse and hold to the doctrine that poetry is a lost art. The most powerful fac tor in the lives of man today is sentiment. It does not always appear upon the surface. Like the waters of Arethusa, it may sparkle in concealment, but it drives the en gines, and feeds the dynamos, and lights the incandescent lamps. As long as there are human hearts to enshrine the master passion, which we call Love as long as there are friends to cherish as long as there are tender mem ories to which we may fondly cling as long as there are fragrant hearthstones around which our affections can center as long as there are ideals to be kept before the minds of the youth of our land as long as there are hopes and dreams and visions to beckon us on to higher and bet ter things in a Heaven beyond so long will the voice of poetry find an echo in human lives. The same God who has stored our hills with coal and iron and marble, has

8

INTRODUCTION

beautified our fields with verdure and glorified our sun sets with gold. The same God who made Adam of the dust
of the earth, also breathed into his nostrils the breath of
life, and he became a living soul. If we have bodies to
be clothed and fed, we also have spirits to be nurtured for
the skies. To deny sentiment is to deny God.
Mrs. Eogers has given us in this little volume of verse,
a rich collection of melodies. It is a book to be prized. On
every page there is sunny optimism, bidding us be of good
cheer and to keep on friendly terms with Hope. There is
practical religion, bidding us cling to the unseen realities and to walk the companion of Faith. There is sound and sane philosophy, bidding us do with our might what our hands find to do in the little spheres of life around us, shrinking from no allotted task, but remembering while we toil that every duty, however humble, is divine. She has given us poems in many keys, but her own life tranquil and serene and lovely is her real masterpiece the sweet est poem of them all.
How one, circumstanced like Mrs. Rogers engaged in a thousand varied employments a devoted U. D. C., a loyal D. A. B., an active worker in the ranks of the Wo mans Christian Temperance Union, a zealous church wo man, intent upon the Masters business has accomplished anything in a literary way is little short of marvelous; but
she has nevertheless found time to write songs which the world will not willingly let die. Usefulness has kept her heart young. Purity and faith and love have held her in touch with childhoods golden charm; and, though her locks are now almost white, there is still a youthful sparkle in her eyes, a buoyancy of younger days in her foot-steps, and a hint of blooming April in her cheeks. Long may she live to charm away our griefs; and when her smile is missed among us, let us still rejoice amid our tears that she has left to us and Georgia this best emblem of herself, this fragrant wreath of evergreens.
LUCIAN LAMAK KNIGHT. Atlanta, Ga., March 25, 1914.

JJoem* delating to OTeslepan Jfemale College,
fK? &Ima plater, anb tfje &acreo &f)rine of a
Though twilight shades may gather round Our way at lifes decline,
We hail with joy the Evening Star That gleams on "Auld Lang Syne."

CKK.VTKI? WKSI.KYAN.

WESLEYAN COLLEGE

11

BRIEF SKETCH -
OP
WESLEYAN FEMALE COLLEGE,"
THE FIRST TO BE CHARTERED IN THE WORLD FOR THE EDUCATION OF WOMEN EXCLUSIVELY.
This noble institution "the old Wesleyan"--at Macon, Ga., was the first chartered college in the world to confer degrees upon women.
It was first called the Georgia Female College, and had for its first agents, Dr. Lovick Pierce, and for it first pres ident, Dr. George Foster Pierce (afterward bishop). These illustrious men father and son deserve all the reverence paid their memory, but for nothing are they more worthy of honor than for the distinguished part they bore in the establishment of this first college for women.
Dr. Lovick Pierce traveled for two years to collect the funds required to erect the first buildings and put the in stitution in operation. He encountered many difficulties and endured toils untold. Some of the objections to the scheme are highly amusing now, though urged with much seriousness then. One man and be it said he was a man of means and some culture told the zealous agent: "I will not give you a dollar. All that a woman needs to know is how to read the New Testament, and how to spin and weave clothing for her family." Another said: "I will not give you a cent. I would not have one of your graduates for a wife, for I could never build even a pig pen without her criticising it and saying it was not put up on mathematical principles." (Wesleyan graduates might have some views as to whether any of them would wish for a husband this man of pigs and pens.)
The first record (1836) gives the names of the members of the first Board of Trustees as follows: James 0. An drew, John "W. Tally, Samuel K. Hodges, Loviek Pierce, Ignatius A. Few, Alexander Speer, William Arnold, Thorn-

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

aa Samford, "William J. Parks, George F. Pierce, Elijah Sinclair, Henry G. Lamar, Jere Cowles, Ossian Gregory, Robert Collins, E. Hamilton, George Jewett, Henry Solo mon, Augustus B. Longstreet, Walter T. Colquitt, James A. Nesbit and Robert Augustus Beall.
Georgians especially Georgia Methodists will recog nize in the list names worthy of a place in the catalogue of earths noblest and mightiest spirits. These men had the courage of their convictions. Wherefore they became great.
In 1838 the trustees elected the first faculty and the college was opened January 7, 1839, with the following board of instruction:
Rev. G. P. Pierce, President and Professor of English Literature; Rev. W. H. Ellison, Professor of Mathematics; Rev. T. B. Slade, Professor of Natural Science; Rev. S. Mattison, Principal of Preparatory Department; B. B. HopkLns, Tutor; John Euhink, Professor in Music; Miss Lord, First Assistant in Music; Miss Massey, Second As sistant in Music; Mrs. Shelton, Matron; Mrs. Kingman, Department of Domestic Economy; A. R. Freeman, Stew ard.
The opening of the college, even at that time, was rec ognized as an important event in the history of the age. We quote from the history of Macon, by John C. Butler, Esq. : "It was an occasion of great interest and deep and thrilling excitement. A large and respectable number of citizens of Macon assembled in the college chapel to wit ness the opening scene. The hopes and plans of the friends of the college, and speculations of its enemies, and the eager delight of the congregated pupils, all conspired to invest the services with an interest additional to its intrin sic importance." On that day ninety young ladies en rolled their names as pupils; during that term the number
increased to one hundred and sixty-eight.
From that day forward the college has gone on unin terruptedly with its workj with the exception of about three weeks during the war between the States, while Gen. Sherman was "marching through Georgia;" a brief space in 1873 on account of a small-pox scare, and more recently, for a little while, on account of a scarlet fever fright. All told, the interruptions have not aggregated three months
during the 76 years of its history.

WESLEYAN COLLEGE

13

The roll of alumnae runs up into the thousands and includes the names of some of the most notable women who have blessed Southern homes and adorned Gods church with godly lives and Christian culture. The daughters of the Wesleyan are found in every good work, both in the home and foreign fields of the church. They have repaid, a thousand fold, all the toil and money expended on the college.

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

THE BEAUTIFUL OF EAETH.

(Graduating Composition the first one ever written in verse at Wesleyan Female College, M.acon, Georgia.)

Oh! beauteous vale whose rose and lily vie With myrtle shade, and bay and laurel high, Whose clustering vines with fruit and flowers stoop While sweet narcissus crowns the sacred group, Here cedar, pine and towering oak wave free With cypress sad, and famed magnolia tree, The elm and orange near the sparkling spring Shade seats for fairy queen or elfin king.
The Muses here renew their ancient seats, And call the rambler to their soft retreats, The calm heart fill with grandeur more sublime In whisperings of their own Elysian clime, Paint with fresh flowers the distant mountain green, And robe in beauty the sequestered scene, While Eolian music wafting on the gale Inspires the poets as they seek the vale.
When twinkling stars, the brighter worlds above In Orions splendid constellation move, And moonlight falls in faint and feeble rays, Ocmulgees banks invite to tuneful lays Here then, my muse, I 11 court thy kindly smile, My cares and toils with thee forget awhile The charms of nature I may here review The scenes of childhood and its pleasures too.
Heres beauty still when many years have flown And memorys wing is all thats left my own, To bear me back to Macons classic hill And my saddened heart with raptures sweet to thrill, Then College scenes, instructions blessed retreat Now spread with laurels by the good and great, Will rise before me and a light cast oer The school girl hopes and happy days of yore.
Come, on the distant mountains let us gaze Wrapped in their tinsel robes of azure haze Their lofty heights with sunny smiles are crowned

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15

And beauty beams from every crag around, Below, the flowery dale and woodland dell Cast on the mountains side a softer spell, While at its base a stream of silvery sheen Flows neath rich jessamine vines and willows green. The glorious sun, majestic in his might Dispels the darkness that attends the night, Afar he shoots his various tinted rays And sweet birds trill to him their welcome lays; Earths fairest scenes their loveliest now appear, Beauty the fancy, music charms the ear, The wildwood flowers to life and light awake, The ripples laugh with glee and music make. Thanks, thanks to him who kindly decks our earth With flowers whose fragrance is of heavenly birth, Midst all our grief and care they still bloom on And cheer the soul of natures roughest son; What work of art can with their grace compare ? What gem so bright to decorate the fair? Ah, flowers methinks were unto mortals given To waft their sordid thoughts from earth to Heaven! Theres beauty in each leaf so gently bowed By passing breezes to the silvery cloud; In converse sweet its summer life is gay Till autumn robs it of its bright array Then oer it spreads the deeply tinted shade And warns it that the beautiful must fade, For like the closing of a summers day, Its eve approaches and it hastes away. Beauty her scepter sways oer childhood hours, When left to play in cool and shaded bowers, Or when culling flowers near a winding stream It falls asleep, and angels watch its dream. Birds sweetly sing above its little head A strain of joy, while on its mossy bed, The modest violet keeps a watchful eye, And nods to every breeze that passes by. Years onward roll and that young heart has thrilled To warm emotions that in childhood filled

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

His inner spirit with poetic fire And woke to minstrelsy his youthful lyre;
Worlds echoed to the whisper of his fame
And nations bowed entranced at Miltons name, Such was the spell oer him by beauty cast The spell which God threw oer him to the last.

Theres beauty in the broad expansive lake Which exultant feelings ever awake Bespeaking the skill of that Heavenly hand Which garnishes earth, the ocean, the land, But oh, how grand is the wide spreading main
When calm and smooth as an unbroken plain, As the twilight shadows there softly creep Oer billows quietly cradled in sleep.

A storm at sea, far away from the land, In a staunch-built ship well rigged and manned, Neither rock nor reef but a boundless sea Where the true-hearted sailor rides happy and free, While rolling thunders the reveille sound, And the waves start up from the deep profound, Oh! beauty is here in her grandest array,
In her storm-cloud robe and her jewels of spray!

Theres beauty in the distant murmuring low Of waters that thrill in their musical flow, Whose mist-woven wreaths are caught up on high To fall again from the dew-giving sky. Thus ever cheerful their tribute they pay, And joyously smiling pass swiftly away To greet their mother who had given them birth And sent them to kiss and gladden the earth.

When golden clouds brightly curtain the West And smile on the sun as he retires to rest, The angels of evening tune their soft lay
And lull to sleep the proud monarch of day. The silver-girt moon in her vesture of light, Leads forth her bright train to gladden the night, Looks kindly oer earth while its denizens sleep, And stations the stars their slumbers to keep.

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What scene more lovely than the blushing morn When crimson clouds her snowy neck adorn When mountain top, and hills, and flowery nooks Green meads, Arcadian vales, and murmuring brooks, Are flooded with a gold and purple light As radiant Venus hides herself from sight, While Aurora speeds the rosy opening dawn Oer mountain, valley, and soft velvet lawn.

When spring casts over her mantle of green Theres beauty in each rural verdant scene And summer too on light and airy wings Her various tinted fruit and herbage brings Then autumn richly decks the forest leaves And stores the ripened fruit and golden sheaves, Till snowy wreaths and ice gems winter gray Presents to every branch and tender spray.

The rustling leaves in the grand old trees, The murmuring waves, the sighs of the breeze The pattering rain in the dark still night The roar of thunder and quick flashing light, The voices of pines as frightened they bend And clasp with affection their nearest friend, The brilliant-hued rainbow and snow-capped Are beauties which prove Gods wisdom and skill.

All earth is beautiful! Each hidden stone Has a volume of beauty in itself alone, And in the dark cavern by man untrod Are gems -which silently worship their God, Who has clothed our earth with all thats bright And illumined our heavens with worlds of light, May these beauties of earth so lavishly given Attract us to God and allure us to Heaven!

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GOLDEN BOD AND CYPRESS

THE BEAUTIES OF EAETH ABE THE GOOD AND THE TBUE.
BY COL. J. W. WASSSN, of Columbus, Ga.
(On reading the graduating composition of Miss Loiila Kendall of Wesleyan College.)
TO MISS LOULA K , OP UPSON.
Fair minstrel, thy muse hath sung with delight Of the beauties of the earth that ravish the sight; The glory that crowns the hoar mountains head The soft shady dell and the flowery mead; Of Springs cheerful green and the sombre cast Of Autumn which tells us that life cannot last; Of whispering rill and bright placid lake That mirror the heavens, and thence color take; Of the waves of the ocean lulled to rest When the storm-fiend hath lashed and furrowed its breast, Of mornings bright beam, and the mellowing light Of evening that clouds with the shadow of night Thro those fair silver fields thou hast wandered still "Where the stars their mysterious mission fulfill. And the moon, pale Empress of Night, holds sway, And divides her command with the monarch of day. But the chief of all beauty that dwells neath the sky. Thy too modest muse did in silence pass by; Tis woman dear woman, who holds that high place; Her beauty of form, and her beauty of face Her graces of mind and her kind, gentle heart Inspire a pleasure naught else can impart. I turn from a world where beauty may fade Where so often mingle the sunlight and shade; Where the laurel now wreathes the brow of the brave, Anon the sad cypress glooms over his grave. Where the landscape which now looks fair to the sight, Will tomorrow be tarnished with mildew and blight, Where the heavens, whose brightness now dazzles the eye, Shall ere long be darkened when storms sweep the sky, To woman, true woman, whom nothing can move, Most stern in her faith, ever constant in love, And give praise to Him who in mercy did send Mans earliest partner, and latest best friend; Then the beauties of earth are the good and the true Whose type I discover, sweet minstrel, in you.

WESLEYAN COLLEGE

19

FROM TEJANO OF JEFFERSON, TEXAS.
(On reading The Beautiful Of Earth, by Miss LouJa Winefred Kendall, a poem read on the day of her graduation at Wesleyan Female College, Macon, Georgia.)
Sweet minstrel, I have pondered oer the lays That from thy youthful lyre so lately came And many a sister lyre resounds thy praise And thine already is the poets fame. I boast no kindred art, I only claim The power to feel such magic thoughts as thine (And I am grateful that such power is mine) Yet would I fain my admiration tell For thy sweet song, and while for thee they twine The laurel wreath, I may not wholly quell The glowing thoughts that in my bosom swell And ask for utterance. "Were thy gifts of song Vouchsafed to me, Id be the first among Thy worshippers, and then this lay I might prolong.

But I will haste to let thy own sweet strain Speak for itself, and to each heart appeal For well I know it will not come in vain
To those whose souls can see, and hear and feel The thrilling beauty, love, and heart-warm truth Gushing spontaneous from the lips of youth! 0, if in thy young girlhoods springtime, thou Hast power to thrill with rapture or with tears; If thou canst wake such warm emotions now What may we hope from thy maturer years? Sing on, sweet minstrel, let the gift divine Be fondly cultured, for to thee belongs The power to sing een sublimer songs!
Sing on and we shall weary not Of hearing strains like thine.

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

LIFES POETRY.

(A poem read before the First Alumnae Association of Wesleyan Female College. While a pupil Miss Loula Eendall was a leading officer of the Adelphean Society, now called, "The Alpha Delta Pi Sorority.")

Bright Goddess of the Harp and Lyre! for thee we humbly twine
A simple wreath of wildwood flowers, and place them on thy shrine.
And tho thy gifted worshippers, our notes discordant deem Thou wilt not spurn the offering, nor scorn our youthful
dream.
Een years ago our child-heart thrilled with eager, wild delight,
While listening to thy whisperings at morn, at eve, at night.
A veil of beauty oer each dream, sweet Fancy kindly threw, The future path illumining with joys of brightest hue.

Oh! "What a power hath minstrelsy! Its simplest voices tell Of "heavens joy unspeakable," of seraph forms that dwell In spirit lands, neath cloudless skies, of boundless realms
above, "Where light supernal ever reigns the light of sacred love.

Like fountains on the desert strand, like sunlight to the flowers,
Its melodies refresh the heart, and light the darkest hours; Truth, Beauty, Love, fair spirits three, point onward to a
Goal; Bright stars whose radiance elevates and purifies the soul.

The earth is full of Poetry, its sylvan minstrels haunt Each silent vale, each lonely glen, where pearly waters
chant Soft music to the spirit ear, notes sweeter, dearer far Than moonlight zephyrs ever bore from fairy-toned guitar.

Imagination like the Sun, gilds mountains, glade, and lea, And gives to every leafy crest a voice of melody;

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21

The oceans billows ceaseless roar, the storms that wildly sweep,
Are changed to harmonies that stir the spirits fountain deep.

Oer every scene, however drear, the Heaven-eyed Goddess reigns,
And Natures bright-plumed choristers all sing in measured
strains, The purple cloud, the shrieking wind, the flower that blooms
alone Have each a spirit minstrelsy, a language of its own.

Life too is full of poetry, Mnd works and gentle smiles, Are dearer than the brightest gems of oceans emerald
isles, Tho lighter than the wavelets foam their zephyr pinions
bear, Sweet fragrance that surrounds the heart and lives forever
there.
And tears, the pearly glistening tears, that rest on sorrows cheek
Have they no guardian minstrel with power to feel and speak ?
Ah! yes, they breathe a mournful tale of some neglected heart,
"Whose brightest dream whose every hope the eye has seen depart.
The Queen of Songs celestial smile gives brilliancy to Truth,
To friendships tone, Loves witching power, the sunny dreams of youth.
Her magic lines are gleaming een on the plainest face Where Kindness, Faith, and Charity their radiant signets
place.
Theres poetry in a prayerful heart, a never-ceasing flow, For there the kindly hand of heaven its purest gifts bestow; Oer mind and spirit tuned aright its waves unbroken
roll, But brighter far than all of these, is poetry of the soul!

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

And memory, sweet memory on rosy-tinted wing, Holds forth her mirror to our gaze and visions to us bring Of crystal streams, and fragrant dells where sunlight ever
plays, Weaving fancy webs of poetry o er the scenes of other days.

Bright minstrel! e en now we hear the rushing of thy wing, Thy perfumed breath is on our cheek and friends around
us cling, Friends fond and faithful, classmates dear, with love we
greet once more, And scenes that time had swept away, their wonted joys
restore.

Oer Alma Maters sacred halls our footsteps gently tread, In dreams we cull again the gems of learning round us
spread, Voices we loved in other days repeat the choral strain. And joyously Alumnae, friends, and teachers meet again!

On lifes wild path, its deserts drear, and rugged mountains
steep, Anon we reach some flowery land where fays their revels
keep; Its odorous zephyrs, Hesper shades, and beauties lull the
heart, The worlds gay splendor, grief and care all silently depart.

Ah! here the gentle minstrel dwells, bright cheering Poesy, She breathes sweet lays of fadeless love, of joy and melody She wakes anew the flowers that sleep in friendships holy
shrine, And bids the sunny light of hope oer each dark spirit shine.

Alumnae! "Welcome! We to-day have reached thai iuagic
land; We meet in academic shades to clasp the eager hand. Hail friendship, hail! tis ours to quaff Egerias purest
stream, And gather from its placid depths, the brightest pearls that
gleam!

z. <

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But where are they, the gentle ones who wandered here before,
We see them not the witchful tone, and laugh are heard no more;
They come! they come! the heavens shine with beams of living light,
And the air around is laden with the weight of angels bright!

Blest day of peace! When years have flown and change is on each brow,
Still linger in each faithful heart, all joyously as now, And when lifes minstrel voices cease and College scenes
are oer,
Alumnae, may we meet again where we shall part no more!

ALUMNAEN SONG.
FOR WESLEYAN FEMALE COLLEGE, MACON, GA.
(Motto of ribbon badges--"Sope Points To The Future," "Memory To The Past.")
PUPILS TO ALUMNAE AND FRIENDS.
Bright beams the sun that gilds our life With all thats pure and fair
No storm cloud gathers with its strife No fearful lightnings there
Dear friends and sisters tell us why These radiant visions shine
More hopefully oer girlhoods sky In days of "auld lang syne?"
ALUMNAE AND FRIENDS.
Tis lifes sweet morn, young sister fair, Where only roses bloom
No poisonous weed hath entered there No sorrow with its gloom
We too have felt the joys that thrill Your spirits holy shrine
And at lifes noon we hallow still The dreams of "auld lang syne."

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

PUPILS.
But will a darkening cloud oer cast The freshness of our spring ?
Will love and beauty die at last Or still around us cling?
Dear friends, kind teachers, sisters say, How may the heart entwine
Its flowers oer lifes wintry day As in the "auld lang syne?"

TEACHERS, ALUMNAE AND FRIENDS. Let love and faith united be
Their aim and purpose high, Then will there linger oer lifes sea
A light that neer will die. No earthly tempest eer can blight
The smiles that heavenly shine, Like stars theyll gleam oer darkest night
More bright than "auld lang syne."

THE ANGELS KISS.
(Written when a school girl at Wesleyan in memory of little Algie, son of President O. I,. Smith, who died with measles at the age of four years.)
He was a gentle boy. Oft at silent eve "When the face of Heaven was tinged with gray, And my school girl heart sadly pined For my mothers sweet voice, he would come And place his little hands in mine "While I played with his sunny curls. Methought as I gazed on that upturned face So earnest in its innocent joy, That his pure soul was already in touch With Heavens beauty. Time onward sped And summers balmy breezes wafted oft That buds sweet fragrance oer my heart, While Hopes silvery wand was lifted, As she smiling whispered to our souls

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What the expanded flower might be, Fond dreams threw their fairy influence Over us and we saw through fancys veil That beautiful boy a blooming youth, Whose sparkling eye grew brighter still When oer his noble brow was placed A graceful wreath which bore The impress of Fame. The steeps of Parnassus He had gained, and his eloquent lips Had deeply quaffed the Pierian Spring, While in his hand a banner waved On which was stamped "Excelsior!" Such were our dreams!

Twas a calm sunny morning when We again welcomed home our darling, He had left us at the first call of spring To roam oer grass-covered fields afar But when his voice once more was heard Smiles beamed on every face. On a fleecy cloud came an angel fair And bending low to earth her golden wings Fluttered oer our tiny bud, Hark! he gently Feels her kiss and softly whispers "Mother, Im not afraid to die." The wild wood bird may trill its lay In sweeter strains of melody, And the modest harebell timidly droop To hide its blushes in the wavy grass But hushed and still as a broken lyre Is our pure and guileless pet. Flowers fair Are clasped in the little lifeless hand, And the half-parted lips seem to answer The angels song above, while seraph voices Whisper to his father and mother "It is well."
--"LEOLA."

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

MEMORIES OP WESLEYAN COLLEGE.
(Dedicated to my class and read at a meeting of the Alumnae)
There was brightness in the dawning of that golden summer morning
"When arrayed in snowy whiteness stood a young and timid band,
And their hearts were bowed in sadness, though the future held but gladness
As the glittering world before them called with syren voice so bland
To radiant dreams, sparkling streams, and lofty moun tains grand.

How eagerly they listened as their eyes with tear drops glistened,
For they dreamed not of the darkness that the future held in store,
They heard not distant thunder, they only glanced in wonder
On the dazzling world before them and the mocking smile it wore,
So merrily they could not see the miseries it bore.
Ah, we only saw the flowers blooming in those wayside bowers,
Each holding crystal dew drops that reflected life and light!
"We knew not that the morrow would bring us grief and sorrow,
Or the storm of War unheard afar would cast a withering blight,
Transforming happy visions to a dark and cheerless night.

Yet night brings out the gleaming of beauteous planets beaming
All the brighter in the darkness alighting earth and sky, So womans strength and power in adversitys dark hour
Should illumine hall and cottage though a wintry blast is nigh,
Its shadows grim can never dim her starry cross on high.

WESLEYAN COLLEGE

27

Always I shall remember twas an evening in November When our honored Alma Mater rose before my raptured sight,
There were zephyrs softly sighing while the autumn sunset dying
A hundred fair young faces in its rosy-tinted light For earth to them like opal gem reflected all thats bright.
Fair Ida, with her roses and a smile where love reposes Was to my girlish fancy all a poet ever dreamed,
And Fannie G 2 enhancing every soul to her entrancing, So joyous in her loveliness, a very sprite she seemed To hover near with words of cheer, Gods sunlight on her gleamed!
No study room could ever be more full of bright endeavor Than that to which my memory turns so happily to night,
Good humor never ceasing een though Latin was dis pleasing,
For love can tint the hours both with zeal and with delight,
The aftermath a merry path to Learnings lofty height
There was one among the number3 who often in my slumber Rises radiantly before me like a spirit of the air,
The sunlight skies above her and all the flowers love her, So cheerful was the smile that shed its beauty every where, The dewy morn could neer adorn a cheek more sweet and fair.
Oer these winding paths we wandered as we at twilight pondered
Oer some perplexing problem, or some lesson nature taught,
Then we lingered on the pages of the ancient classic sages Interlining them with fancies that imagination wrought, Singing ever, caring never, what fate the future brought.
Alas! those friends are scattered the flowers of youth are shattered,
For life is not all sunshine there is often grief and pain! Death crept with stealthly lightness, taking Dinda3 in her
brightness,

28

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Een when upon her snowy brow the bridal wreath was lain
One golden tie beyond the sky for those who yet remain.
Ere Summers glory ended, low the evening shades descended,
Where Augusta* too was sleeping by the murmuring river side,
Then Mollie,5 true and tender in the sunsets radiant splendor
Found a rest in Beuna Vista, where she stood a bonnie bride
So fades away the light of day when comes the surging tide.
Again Deaths pinions winging where Ocmulgees waves are singing
Bore away the peerless beauty, our gentle Georgia C How lovely was the voicing of her soul in praise rejoicing
Angelic choirs blending beyond the crystal sea! Her sister left in grief bereft fair twins in minstrelsy.
Though many chords are broken, and last farewells are spoken
Some still are bravely battling mid the billows rolling high,
Among them is "Sweet Alice,"7 holding forth a golden chalice,
Bearing blessings on the nations as her years are drifting bv>
Her lamp of Learning always burning incense to the sky.
Then let us cling together in fair or wintry weather, Meeting in these halls of science where our youthful feet have trod,
The olden love still cherish though one by one we perish, Learning through afflictions lessons as we pass beneath the rod That earthly joy is all alloy without the light of God!
1. Mrs. T. W. Mangham, n6e Ida Winship; 2. Miss Fannie Graham, Newton County, Ga.; 3. Mrs. Scott, nee Dinda Howard, of Columbus; 4. Miss Augusta Wardlaw, Fort Gaines, Ga.; 5. Mrs. Edgar Butt, nee Mollie Mathis, Beuna Vista, Ga.; 6. Misa Georgia Connor, Maeon, Ga.; 7. Mrs. J. B. Cobb, nee Culler."

WESLEYAN COLLEGE

29

A SCHOOL GIRLS SYMPATHY.
(To my teacher, Prof. S. S. Russell, on the death of his wife.) "She is too pure to linger here Amid the homes of earth, Her spirit in another sphere Must have immortal birth."
Thus in the dark and silent night Methought I heard this strain
It seemed to tell of angels bright Who walked on earth again.
I listened still the music low Swelled on the midnight breeze, Beautiful yet fraught with woe
But not with dark despair. Despair? No trust in blessed Hope It says, "Again well meet Our portals to the good well ope
Only the pure to greet." My spirit bowed beneath the spell
Of this seraphic song I felt it bore the dying knell
Of one we had loved so long. Hushed was the citys busy call
And sleep on every brow No lights gleamed from our classic hall
Naught reigned but darkness now. The song had ceased! Thofar above
I seemed to hear it yet Another voice was joined in love
Then all in Heaven met. Our friend has gone, but weep no more
For there mid fadeless flowers, Her earthly sorrows all are oer
Joy crowns the golden hours. With thy grief and sorrow, teacher kind,
We deeply sympathize, Though saddened hearts are_left hehind
Theyll brighten in the skies. LEOLA,
Wesleyan Female College, Macon, Ga,

30

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

CONSECRATED LIGHT.

(Bead at the Semi-Centennial of Wesleyan Female College, Macon, Georgia, June 18, 1888. Affectionately dedicated to the Alumnae.)
"In the darkness of the world many torches blaze. But there is only one Light. DR. LIPSCOMB.
Above Ocmulgees swiftly flowing tide A stately building reared its head with pride, Tall massive columns clothed in snowy white At once spoke power, wisdom, strength and might. "Is there aught else to do?" The builder said As o er his work the shades of eve were spread In golden and crimson hue " tis most complete An arcolade where grace and knowledge meet."

"Each stone," replied the architect in state, Is firm and sound, none of inferior rate
Nor is it fashioned as a palace on the sand, Undaunted twill the wildest tempest stand." Fair Maeon with a glad exultant thrill Gazed proudly on her academic hill, And conscious of the princely gift assigned, Gave homage not to gold but royal mind. And yet with all its prowess, strength and might The work was incomplete. Dark shades of night In solemn grandeur brooded oer each hall Until the word of God in holy accents fall Upon the new-born altar, then arose Triumphant shouts of praise, and lo! there glows A light more radiant than the noontide sun! Then and not til then the builders work was done.

Thus consecrated by a Higher Power Proud Wesleyans fame grew from that very hour From east to west her glorious banner spread Till o er the world its sacred Light is shed
See! "Tis waving now oer Chinas flowery plain
And Mexico hath caught the joyful strain O, waft ye winds the precious freight it brings And crown its chosen Prince the King of Kings.

WESLEYAN COLLEGE

31

Not all the sparkling gems of fair Cathay Nor bowers where Castalian waters play May lift the darkness from a human soul Or give that peace whose waves unbroken roll.
How hallowed then the teachers hand must be Who wakes the tenderest chord of minstrelsy, Who opes the golden gate at early dawn
Revealing wisdoms store to lifes young morn.

Such was our gifted Pierce.* An eagles eye Was his, and far beyond the star-gemmed sky He led the aspiring mind to glorious rays Emitted from the dazzling blaze Of the very Fount of Light! Afar and near
Encircling half the earthly sphere His talents shone. Ten thousands heard the word
And through his wondrous power sought the Lord.

The rainbow dies not when it fades from view It shineth ever in crystal drops of dew, So when this man of God had passed away
There lingered still a life-diffusing ray.
Twas he who launched upon the untried sea This grand old ship with waving banner free
Illumined by the light of God alone All other lights grew pale before His throne.

For what were Learning, Science, Classic Art, Without this light reflected on the heart? A desert waste where no bright waters flow
A barren plain where no sweet flowers grow. Long may its ray dear Alma Mater shine!
We kneel with reverence at thy holy shrine And on this Fifth Decade we gladly bring
The sweetest memories of lifes vernal spring.

Twas here my soul first wakened unto joy Of that new life no power can destroy, It shines oer Bacas vale or Beulahs height Alighting all the gloom of sorrows night, Oh, where are they, the loved of other days,
Bishop George Pierce TOS Wesleyan 'e first President.

32

GOLDEN ROD AND -CYPRESS

Who pointed out to us fair wisdoms ways, Whose names with Wesleyan neer will cease to blend The kind preceptor and the Christian friend?
But a few weeks ago a noble one Was sudden culled. The race most bravely run*. The victors crown is his and glorious light Unknown to mortals greet his raptured sight. Ah! neer shall we forget the smiles that thrill The words that fell from lips now cold and still, Thank God such holy teachings never die But live eternally beyond the sky.
Can we eer forget the mighty power of song That wakens rapture in the admiring throng, Or lose one silvery strain whose echoes stirred Like far-off carol of the halcyon bird? Remembrance oft will bring to view The sightless bard of Wesleyan ever true His music lives and memory hails the fame That lingers oer a Guttenbergers name!
The class most loved must have its honor due Philosophy and conic sections too, Of Virgils cool umbrageous shades we dream As on we glide oer Times relentless stream, O, lift the veil and let us peer once more Adown the vista of the days of yore, Alumnae, let us once again renew The friendships happy girlhood knew.
What though the sunlight from our path has fled And all its flowers wreathed about the dead T What though the rosy visions of the past Are rudely blighted by the wintry blast? Shall we grow faint and weary on the way ? Ah! no, well onward press till perfect day With power divine shall make complete The work we offer at our Masters feet.
Hallowed we hold within our memories deep The thoughts that oft in midnight hours creep

Dr. Cosby W. Smith.

WESLEYAN COLLEGE

33

We touch the harp whose lays have ceased to flow And sing again the songs of Long Ago. Again we hear the bells of Wesleyan chime And pupils speed their way from every clime Sweet Poesy from sorrowing slumber wakes And thus the long oer shadowing silence breaks

All hail the class that gathered here Where Pierian waters flow
Bright eyes that sparkled with the love Of Fifty Years ago!

And heres a toast to those whose hearts Will even warmer grow,
As time rolls on and bears a thought Of Forty Years ago.

Can I forget the smiles and tears That yet in memory glow
Of my own class so dearly loved Full Thirty Years ago?

There lingereth still a picture sweet Of those who whispered low
Of future plans and brilliant dreams Some Twenty Years ago.

A laurel wreath we kindly bring From vales where pleasures flow
And place it on the brow of those Who sung Ten Years ago.

And now for these fair blooming maids Who graduate today,
May Heaven illume their future with The Light, the Truth, the Way.

34

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPEESS

TO ONE OF MY WESLEYAN CLASSMATES.

Miss MINNIE P. BEADY, of Wetumpka, Ala. I am dreaming, sweetly dreaming while the moon with
loving ray Oer the lawn is brightly beaming and the zephyrs are at
play Of a sweet and gentle maiden pure as those who dwell above For her tender heart is ladon with the gems of faith and
love.

Hushed and still, all natures sleeping. On each form is slumber pressed
Twinkling stars their watch are keeping and the wind harps lulled to rest,
But in other realms Im roaming, far away from earthly care
Where no stormy waves are foaming naught is seen but beauty there.

Tis in Dreamland, where the roses never wither, droop or fade,
And the sunbeam e er reposes on each inviting mossy glade, Where bright minstrels oft are singing plaintive, soft and
tender lays While around the heart is clinging memries sweet of other
days.

Neath Etrurian shades reclining near a stream of silvery hue
I am fragrant garlands twining for this gentle maiden true, When list! I hear an echo of the minstrels golden string, And a sunny light is creeping oer my soul as voices sing.

"Sweet Minnie! May thy pathway here be crowned with fragrant flowers
No harrowing sigh or bitter tear eer cloud thy youthful hours,
May pleasures sweet as summer dreams when balmy sleep hath bound thee
Forever cling as sunny beams of love and hope around thee!"

WESLEYAN COIJJEGE

35

BALLTING SONG FOB THE ALUMNAE OP - WESLEYAN.
(Memorial to be built by the Alumnae of Wesleyan Female College, Maeon, Georgia, in honor of Susannah Wesley, the Christian mother of John and Charles Wesley, founders of Methodism in America.)
AJK "Reapers Are Needed." Bing the bells of other days and bid thy daughters come From eastern shore or western plain wherever they may
roam, Open wide thy portals Alma Mater, call them home "Alumnae! Alumnae! Wilt thou come today?"
CHORUS. Wake the songs of praise triumphant evermore Loud the strain prolong as in the days of yore
Haste ere the morrow With its burden of sorrow Fade the roses and the sunlight of this hallowed day, There is work to do, a temple shall arise! Wave victoriously its banner to the skies Honor and glory Tell the wonderful story Of the light that leadeth millions oer the stormy way.
Morning, noon and evening with a spirit ever true Memory brings the loved ones of our College days to view, 0, ring ye bells the tidings of a consecration new Sisters, dear sisters, there is work to do. Chorus.
Lo! upon the heights we see across the rolling tide A shining star whose light hath spread a blessing far and
wide; Susannah Wesley, hail to thee! Thy God with us abide "Lux Christi! Lux Christi!" Be thou eternal guide! Chorus.
--LOTJLA KENDAUL BOOEBS. Barnesville, Ga.

36

GOLDEN Eon AND CYPRESS

MEMORIES OF AULD LANG SYNE..
(For The Diamond Jubilee of Wesleyan Female Cottege. By one of the Alumnae--Mrs. Loula Kendall Rogers.)
The music used on this occasion is from a book of songs by Lowell Mason, published in 1839, the year Wesleyan College was built and equipped.
Oh, welcome to this joyful day Enthroned on Memorys height,
"While far adown the vale below There shines a glorious light.
CHORUS. Tis Auld Lang Syne at school
Tis Auld Lang Syne! The glorious light returns again
Of Auld Lang Syne.
We oft have wandered oer these hills And culled sweet flowers rare,
"Weve crowned with honor and with love Some brow once passing fair.

CHORUS. For Auld Lang Syne at school,
For Auld Lang Syne, The glorious light returns again
Of auld lang syne.
Weve roamed with Virgil hand in hand Neath Wesleyans classic shade,
Weve heard Ocmulgees waters flow Where woodland fairies played.
Though twilight shadows gather round Our way at lifes decline,
We hail with joy the Evening Star That gleams on "Auld Lang Syne."
Tennille, Ga., May 25, 1911.

Norton institute
BARNESVILLE, GA.
Teacher I to thyself Thou hast assumed responsibilities Of crushing weight. A mighty peerless work Is thine. The golden chords attuned by thee, Or grown by tky neglect discordant, not In time alone, but through the limitless Expanse of all eternity shall throb.
Thou hast to do with Gods most noble world Immortal mind. That emanation bright From His Divinity! Sole transfer made To man from His own deathless nature! Such Instructor is thy trust. Thus sacred, high, And precious, een beyond all finite power To estimate, thy holy charge. No work Of art, or finest mechanism in things Material, hath eer so challenged for Its right discharge een the vast aggregate Of human skill.
SOCTHWICK.

GOHDON INSTITUTE. BARNESVII.LE, GEORGIA.

Where

the

author

hus

spent many yrars of hci life in cducationnl Home of whom art* prominent in vitriolic

work, li^ld.H

liiyiiiK tlio foundation of character i>f u.wfulneJU botli Nortli und South.

for

hundreds

of

children,

GORDON INSTITUTE

3d

TOCCOA THE BEAUTIFUL.
Prize Poem.
(For the best poem celebrating a local legend, Mrs. Rogers was awarded the prize, by the Home Economist (o paper published at Worcester, Mass.), which has won several medals as a recitation on Indian custom*.)
BY MRS. LODLA KBNDALL ROGERS.
In a dark enchanted forest where the Bed Man loved to roam
Searching for the Misha-Mokwa and the Wawa in their home,
Where no spirit of the Iceland with its chilly, blighting breath,
Ever dared to venture boldly lest he meet with woe and death; Lived the mighty Hiawassee, Brave in peace and brave in battle, For the lightnings flash he cared not, Or the Annemeekees rattle.
Hated he the beaded wampum of the valiant Cherokee, Scorned he all the famed adventures of their warriors bold
and free.
In the home of Hiawassee near the rippling waters tide, Bloomed a radiant Forest Flower all his own, bis joy, his
pride, And from Yonahs height so lofty to the Rio Grandes
shore, Grew no maiden half so lovely as the Beautiful Toccoa.
Like the ravens wing her tresses Flowing light oer land and water,
Eyes emitting sunny flashes Hiawassees cunning daughter!
Like a wild gazelle she bounded oer the dewy mountain side,
Resting oft upon its summit, regal in exultant pride.

40

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Though untutored in the graces, and unskilled in classic
lore, A poets rapture thrilled the soul of Beautiful Toceoa,
And when other maids were dancing at the Harvest of the
Maize, The grandeur of the mountainheight far more entranced
her gaze, Southward rolled the broad Savannah, And the flowery Chattahoochee, At her feet the hallowed stillness Of the lovely Vale Naeoochee,
Westward gleamed the swift Btowah hearing gold upon its breast,
Par away the Alleghany blends with sky its snowy crest.

Neer had earth a fairer temple than this rugged forest
home "Where the Manitou, Great Spirit dwelt in every lofty dome, Where each woodland dell, and grotto, and the winds His
name repeat, Ah, Toceoa felt their beauty, and she worshipped at His
feet! Every bird and every flower,
And the Minnewawas singing Whispered in the solemn stillness,
Of the land beyond the dying. And the Indian maiden wondered if the love of which she
dreamed Would be granted in that Aiden where the golden glory
beamed ?

Far away she heard the thundring of the swiftly coming Storm,
Saw the river courses yielding to the victors mighty arm, Saw the clefting of the mountains by the rushing Iron
Steed Bearing ruin desolation on the path her fathers lead
When the council men astounded Heard the vision dark expounded
With loud menaces and yelling, Oer Tallulahs crag they bounded,

GORDON INSTITUTE

41

Threatning woe against the maiden whose prophetic Evil Eye,
Saw the downfall of her nation, and they swore that she must die!

Wrapt in solemn grandeur, gazing on the mountains lofty height
Found they beautiful Toecoa far away from mortal sight, As pure in heart and spirit as the Hawthornes snowy
bloom, All unconscious of the evil, and her own approaching doom,
"Onaway! 0 evil-hearted!" Shouted they in mocking laughter
As they rudely seized the lovely form Of Hiawassees daughter
Tore the Snow Bird of the Mountain from its home upon the crest
As the summer sun was sinking in the glory of the West!

Farther on they bore her trembling, to the fern-encircled edge.
Of a mighty rock descending far below the "Table Ledge." There disrobed her of her jewels, taunted her with cruel
hate, But she calmly heard their frenzy, calmly met her awful
fate, "Hold there! hold 0 Rushing Eagle."
Cried the Chief in scornful ire, "Take thy belt and dim her vision,
Ere the hundred darts come nigher!" Proudly glancing on the traitors, fearlessly responded she "Never! seest not craven-hearted, that Toecoas soul is
freet

"Canst thou, tyrant, bind Polaris? Turn him from Auroral sky?
True as he, I stand undaunted, for I do not fear to die! Tell my father, Hiawassee, when two moons have passed
away He shall see a pearly tear-drop, falling with the dashing
spray."

42

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Then she knelt and glancing upward Called on Manitou, the Mighty,
"Ah, Showain, Nemeshin, Nosa!" (Father! Father! hear in pity!)
Quickly sped the fated arrows streamed her heart blood far below
Then adown the fearful chasm sank the Beautiful Toccoa I

Soon the Indian maids assembled, hoping for some linger ing trace
Of the beauty they had envied but alas, no more her face Beamed amid the fragrant flowers of Nacoochees peerless
vale, And no more they heard her whisper on the softly sighing
gale!
Hastning homeward Hiawassee Battling long with Shawondasse,
Missed the welcome of his daughter, His own singing bird Owassee.
Then they told him as the shadows gathered in the distant west,
Of the hundred arrows buried in her pure and lovely breast!

Maddened faint and broken-hearted, plunged he in the crystal stream,
Resting not amid the darkness or the daylights piercing beam,
Searching ever for his daughter but he saw her face no more
Gone from earthly sight forever was the radiant Toccoa. Ere two months had passed in sorrow, Came a shimmering stream of brightness. Still so still its silvery whiteness Seemed a bridal-veil in lightness;
Twas the tear of sweet Toccoa gleaming in the rainbow hue
Of the Great Hereafter telling of the Beautiful and True!
Gordon Institute, April 23rd, 1882.

GORDON INSTITUTE

43

A DAY IN OCTOBER.
(Descriptive of the Great Fire in Barnesville on the 17th of October, 1884. Recited at Commencement.)
The Autumn light dawned strangely fair that morn, As with her magic wand Aurora tipped The eastern hills, in glowing splendor gleamed Each quivering leaf upturning to the sky Its gold and crimson hue, as hright-winged birds Amid the branches stirred. Wide spreading fields In snowy white evinced the farmers thrift And every lovely flower sent out Its sweetest fragrance with the dawn.
The bells With vigorous sound rang quickly forth The laborer to his post, while from afar Full many a smiling lass with sparkling eye And ruby lip, responded to the call That led her to the heights of Fame.
Anon The school boys shout burst on the morning air But soon the bantering ceased and quiet reigned Within the grand old Halls where Learning Held her sway. Higher and higher rose the swell Of song and praise as youthful voices poured Their souls in grateful hymns to God. Then bent They to their daily task with strength renewed, Neer dreaming of tie cloud that hovered near.
The noontide came And on its wing a fated breeze. And yet That breeze no whisper gave, or token brought Of blighted hopes of rain and bitter tears!
Hark! what means that quick alarm ? The loud clamorous bell that calls brave men To their feet with wondering awe ? The blackening v Cloud that fast obscures the Northern sky And rolls in winding volumes toward the South t Whence comes the cry that chills the soul with dread And curdles een the blood with horror?

44

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Tis Fire! Fire! Fire! Nearer comes the wild excited shout as Men rush to and fro in frantic haste. See!
A lurid flame has broken forth amid The circling clouds that shroud it and leaping high Like some wild fiery serpent long confined,
"With forked tongue, and venomous sting Devours all within its reach. The tramp Of gallant steed with loosened rein resounds Upon the street. With flying mane
Headlong they madly phinge through blinding smoke As if proudly charging mid the shot and shell Of battle field.

Amid Calypsos flowers And magic vales, the earnest student roamed
Nor heard the din without, till springing through The hall a maiden fair with flashing eye Implores their aid; then rose the valiant band
And rushed with youthful ardor to the flames.

Brave, gallant firemen toil
And wrestle with the swiftly conquering foe But it only mocked them!
"Water! more water!" cried they Alas, the summer drouth had drained the fount
And left it low. And yet with tireless zeal
On on they toil till the devouring element Threatened all their homes, then on lightning wing A message to the nearest city sped, "Help! for Gods sake help, or all is lost!"

In yonder church a Mission Band had met Like Hebrew maids of old, with offering fair To lay upon Gods altar. Pure as snow On Horebs lofty height, white roses shed Their fragrance all around. Suddenly They heard the deafening shout, the rolling wheels, The clattering hoofs, and above them all a voice Of someone in command. "Halt!" he cried, "Pile high the goods within the holy shrine
For here no thief will dare intrude," Twas done

GOBDON INSTITUTE

45

And woman lent a helping hand that day Receiving precious freight, and keeping watch Amid her tears.
But soon another shout Embittered even this. "Out with the goods!" The church is doomed! Seest not the angry flames By autumn winds are borne this way ? Oh God! What can we do ? Must Thy holy temple Where so oft weve felt Thy precious love And sung Thy praise, must it go down ? Ah no. Here let us kneel and plead as never have we Plead before.
Oh, blessed Father! speak one word And still the roaring flame For Thou hast promised help to all Who call upon Thy name. This hallowed house and all our homes In gracious mercy spare Oh stay the course of sweeping winds In pity hear our prayer.
A moment more, and oer the raging flames A "still small voice" came down. O wondrous power! The winds recede and changing soon their course Sweep down toward the East. Thank God! the church With all its precious memories is saved!
The weary firemen onward press, till some Oercome by heat, fall fainting at their post. Will no one ever come in answer to Their call ? Yes, to their rescue flies as brave A troop as ever met the foe. Nor did The poor imprisoned souls of India, greet The gallant Havelock with more joy, as cheer After cheer rose on the evening air.
The night with all her myriad hosts came forth And kindly hid the ruins from our view
Leaving embers only to tell the tale Of buried hopes. And although far and wide Was desolation spread, with humbled heart We knelt and thanked our God above . That mid the homeless not one life was lost.

46

GOLDEN ROD AND CTPEESS

THE WOMEN OF GORDON
BY MRS. H. M. FRANKLIN, OF TENNILLE, GA., FORMERLY Miss HELEN ROGERS, ON FOUNDERS DAY, MARCH 26,1909.
Upon broad-spreading canvas, in brilliant-hued colors, we have had pictured to us the sons of Gordon as they stand with solid phalanx in the forefront of the battle of life. I would paint for you a companion picture, in colors just as glowing, its lights and shadows revealing the woman of Gordon, standing shoulder to shoulder with her brothers, lending the helping hand, the ready smile of encouragement, ministering to his needs, a veritable tower of strength.
With the light of valor in her eyes, she quails before no enemy, be he man, or be he mouse! She comes, she sees, she conquers! Man she twirls around her little finger, the rat she imprisons in the coils of her hair! Whenever a great victory is won for Gordon Institute, when her daughters win honor and distinction for them selves in halls of learning, then with pride I exclaimed, "I am a woman of Gordon." When legislative and con gressional halls ring with the voice of her loyal sons, again I am proud to exclaim; "I am a woman of Gor don!" When her splendid cadet battalion is in line be fore a vast multitude, and is showered with encomiums of praise, even upon football or baseball fields when the Gordon teams are victorious, then I would throw up my hat and join in the yell, calling "I am a woman of Gordon!"
Come with me back into the past, when Barnesvilles grand man, Charles E. Lambdin, was the ruling spirit of Gordon Institute. He was a man of strong character, of firm discipline, but with a heart as tender as a childs. From him the future women of Gordon learned many lessons not included in the text-book alone, but general information of service in after life. Mr. Lambdin was a poet, and often times have we sung his patriotic poems in chorus upon Commencement and Anniversary occas ions. His soul was ever thrilled by music, and my school mates will recall how often for the morning chapel ex ercises, at his request the school sang his favorite song.

GORDON INSTITUTE

47

"Do you hear the Savior calling, By the wooing of his voice,
Bo you hear the accents falling, Will you make the precious choice!
I am listening, oh! Im listening Just to hear the message fall . I am listening, oh! Im listening To the Saviors gentle call!"
Is it any great wonder that a man of his character should have left an indelible impress upon the young lives of the women of Gordon ? Is it any wonder that the influence of such a life lives and glows today, and will forever live? The walls of Gordon Institute are imbued with his spirit. Her teachers today are extending the influence of this one grand life, her thousand graduates are exemplifying the same principles, just as "One splendid rose makes fragrant all the room. The suns small disc how many worlds doth light? So many a life through centuries of gloom, be as a torch by night."
No history of Gordon Institute would be complete without a tribute to one who is an honored guest today. One whose gentle hand, persuasive voice, line upon line, and precept upon precept, were potent influences in moulding the lives of the women of Gordon. In our present lives, how often there comes before us the noble example of Miss Sallie Candler, the trite maxims and proverbs she impressed upon us as rules of conduct, the conscientious control of mischievous girls. How firmly did she endeavor to impress the principle that "Order is Heavens first law." How she tried to teach us lessons of neatness, in our books, at our desks, in our persons!
Thus were the women of Gordon at a tender age in structed in neatness, in the rudiments of good housekeep ing, and. as Gordon leads in everything, so her women scattered abroad over the land make the best house keepers she has learned the wisdom of the advice.
"Go bottle your tears and pickle your sighs For descend you must to everyday life, And enter the ranks of the housekeepers strife. You may settle, like Darwin, the monkeys sad fate, You may settle all questions of kingdom or state But no art of persuasion, witty or wise, Will settle the coffee, or make the bread rise; No doctrines or creed since eating began, Were known to regale a right hungry man."

48

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

In the far mission fields of Korea a woman of Gordon
is teaching principles of right and truth, is spreading the light of the gospel, reflecting a holy radiance upon her Alma Mater. In St. Louis, a woman of Gordon stands side by side with her noble husband in his work for the uplifting of humanity, her approval the chief inspiration of his sermons which sway the multitude. In the home of the State School Commissioner is a woman of Gordon
who is a power behind the throne, who encourages the ambitions of her husband and cheers him to climb ever higher. Like a brilliant meteor was the life of Annie Blalock, which for a few short years illumined all the
horizon. As a teacher in Emerson College of Oratory she made a name which will never be forgotten. In the
Womans College of Baltimore, one illustrated the capa bilities of the women of Gordon. In Chicago another represented the women of Gordon as she gave instruc tion to a class in music.
Of all the women of Gordon, not one has been more useful than the Principal of your Grammar School de partment, Mrs. Lambdin, who by her lofty intellectual attainments has won a name in the world, and by her womanly disposition has so endeared herself to pupils and patrons.
All over our land today are women, busy toilers in the school rooms, holding positions of trust in business houses, in their homes in their daily lives, ever illus trating Gordon Institute. Thus let us continue to

"Uplift the Gordon colors, O, raise the standard high,
Above the eagle soaring Into the azure sky,
Then far above the cloud lines. Well falter not, nor wait
Till with a radiant glory, They float from Heavens gatet
Wide spread the Gordon colors, Till earths remotest place
Has joined the brilliant circle, Is wrapped in their embrace,
When rocks and shore and mountain All glow neath their bright sway.
In triumph wave the colors, Keep them floating on for aye! "

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THE PASSING OP THE OLD STEEPLE.
Farewell good friend. How oft on Sabbath morn, When all the world was chilled by winters blight
Thou last inspired the sorrowing soul with joy, And changed its darkness into radiant light!

And when sweet spring her fragrant offerings brought
The sun-lit crest far, far above looked upward still Inviting heavenward each storm oer shadowed heart
Where peace and beauty all its longings fill.

When summers sun with dazzling beam of gold Illumined heaven above and earth below,
It seemed to me that thou hadst surely caught
Some ray that cast oer blighted hopes a glow.

And in the silvery moonlight when the world Was silent in its autumn beauty drest,
Ive often sat alone and gazed aloft Upon thy beacon light and dreamed of rest.

But with the Old Year thou art gone! Oh, may That light which cheered so many souls still shine
With the glad New Year, and wreathe a temple new In all the joys of Gods own love divine.
Barnesville, Ga.

LILY VOICES.
Sweet flower, thou tellst how hearts As pure and tender as thy leaf as low
And humble as thy stem will surely know The joy that peace imparts. PERCIVAL.
I sat alone in the school room, A burden was pressing sore
And the more I strove to lift it The weight appalled me more.
Tears fell upon the pages

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GOLDEN EOD AND CYPRESS

That open before me lay, And thought on shadowy pinion
Flew back to childhoods day.

Fair Bellwoods rosy bowers, The home of long ago
With all its dreams ol beauty That made my spirit glow
Gleamed oer me in the darkness
And whispered of a way, That banished all tEe shadows
Oer childhoods happy day.

There was a bed of lilies
Within the garden wall, And oft when sorrows overwhelmed
And seemed a heavy pall
I knelt amid the holiness That in their beauty lay,
And ever found a sweet relief
In childhoods simple way.

And now, while sadly dreaming Of that unfailing balm
Of the heavenly message dwelling In the waxen petals calm,
There came two little angels* In snowy white array
And put their arms around me In childhoods sweetest way.
"Dear teacher, we have brought you Some Easter lilies fair
And violets from the wildwood, With roses for your hair!"
Oh, precious little comforters, How oft they chase away
The clouds that gather oer me In the gloaming of the day.
As morning beams have scattered The shadows that affright
My little pupils, Minnie Tyler and Annie Kate Smith,

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And love and joy have lifted The darkness of the night;
So to my life the children
Have brought a gladsome ray And made my heart an Eden
In childhoods loving way.

Like the lilies of my garden Pure spotless as the snow,
They bear sweet thoughts of Heaven Where flowers immortal grow;
And oh, may He who sent them
To brighten up our way, Give me grace and strength to guide them
To lifes eternal day. LOULA KENDALL ROGERS.
Gordon Institute, Barnesville, Ga.

"THERES LIGHT AHEAD."
(To My Barnesville Friends on Searing of Their Misfortune.)
What, though the clouds be dark and drear, And cheerless is the wintry blast
That sweeps the wreck of many a dream As o er your heart a pall is cast;
Far in the east there lingers still Fair Hope, whose brilliant ray hath spread
A rainbow arch which whispers low "Look up, look up! theres light ahead."
Then follow where bright Iris leads, And trust the promised light she brings
No heart can break, that stems the tide And fearless to the rudder clings,
Above the tempest and the roar Of threatening waves a voice is heard
"Peace, be still!" Take courage then Seest not the gleam of light ahead?
Press on, press on, its ambient ray Will soon illume the midnight sky

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GOLDEN BOD AND CYPRESS

No cloud so black but that a star Unseen is shining somewhere nigh
Then lift thine eyes toward the dawn And say not every hope is dead,
Thy beauteous homes and loved are left Repine no more, theres light ahead!

Lifes shadows like the cloud by day And fiery pillar through the night
Oft lead us by some path unknown To realms of beauty far more bright.
I, too, have lost. The cherished dreams Of youth and fame lie scattered dead
But thanks to God, who ruleth all, Theres light ahead! Theres light ahead!
Tennille, Ga., 1902.

THE GOLDEN WEDDING OF MR. AND MRS. REUBEN BLALOCK OF UPSON COUNTY, GA.
There comes today a breath of flowers That blossomed in the Long Ago,
It wings it way through summer showers Oer spreading fields of glistening snow
Oer woodland vale, oer rippling streams When Love in willingness enchained
Defied all fate, and there supreme A prisoner, yet a monarch reigned.
O sunny days of plighted love! How sweet each pleasure to recall
When wandering oer the moonlit grove In flowery glen or festive hall,
What though wild storms should sometimes sweep Upon the lake so smooth and fair
The sunlight comes again to keep Its calm and holy vigil there.
And so with love when hand in hand With Christian graces gleaming fair

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No frightful wreck lies on the strand If only heaven is mirrored there;
Such love we celebrate today Its home is harmony and peace
Oh, may its bright eternal ray Lead where Gods blessings never cease.
Five decades mark the rolling years Sometimes in shade, sometimes in sun
Affections smiles and sorrows tears Full many a happy victory won.
And oft as morn illumed the sky In gorgeous robe of golden hue
There floated on the zephyrs by Sweet prayers from fervent hearts and true.
Twas here your children rambled free O er verdant fields and mossy dell
And now their own meet on the lea To ring anew the marriage bell.
Blest be the sacred ties that bind Such faithful hearts that beat as one
Oh may Loves star still brighter shine Till the Golden Crown in Heaven is won!

"ON TO THE HEIGHTS."
(Dedicated to the Eunomian and Lysian Societies of Gordon Institute, Barnesvitte, Go., 1887.)
Am "Marsellaise Hymn."
0 hail, the light of Wisdom beaming From yonder heights so far above!
The Star of Duty is gleaming; Behold its ray of peace and love.
It leadeth on to realms of glory, And not alone to worldly fame,
Or winning but an empty name That lives a day in song or story. CHORUS:
All hail! ye strong and true, Press forward to the Bight,

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March on, march on, all hearts resolved To reach- the glorious Light.

"Ad Altiora!" brightly shining Far, far above the mountain height,
No one may stand in dull repining, For "Mind is Empire crowned in light."
Then rally round her. Throned in power Her colors float on land and seas,
And as they wave upon the breeze A light unfolds each golden hour.
CHORUS.

GREETING SONG.
(For The Primary Department Gordon Institute, Barnesville, Ga.) AIR "Bonny Blue Flag."
"With love and joy we greet you, A happy, joyful band.
We gladly welcome you tonight With open heart and hand.
Kind parents, friends and teachers, Oh! listen to our lay.
All hearts are light with new delight, On this our harvest day. CHORUS :
Hurrah! Hurrah! For school days, all hurrah!
Hurrah for the bonnie young hearts We greet to-night, hurrah!
In youths sweet rosy morning, In sunshine, or in rain,
Weve nobly fought to win the prize, Nor labored all in vain.
Our work is done, and now, tonight, Our hearts are full of glee;
Let all unite with all their might In songs of jubilee.

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PARTING SONG.
(For The Senior Class at Gordon Institute, July 2, 1879.)
Now in sadness we sever The ties so fond and true
Softly the echoes falling Oer joys of rainbow hue.
Glowing the dreams of gladness Lighting each hopeful heart
But they are tinged with sadness, Whispering to-day we part.
CHORUS :
Now in sadness we sever The ties so fond and true.
Softly the shadows are falling Oer joys of rainbow hue.
Breathe the parting word gently Ah, shield these hearts from pain
Joyfully looking forward Hoping to meet again.
Lovingly trusting our Father As we His praises swell,
Looking above us ever Where theres no sad farewell.

TO MY FRIEND, MRS. J. T. BLALOCK.
(At the Celebration of her Crystal Wedding, Dec. SO, 1881.)
Hail Wedded Love! Of thee I sing, Thy beautys glowing light
Hath crowned with joy this festive scene, And made it wondrous bright!
Bring forth the Lyre, invoke the song Resound a merry lay;
Let every voice the notes prolong, On this the Wedding day!

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The flowers that bloomed in vernal spring Still breathe their fragrance here,
For Time has flown on gilded wing, And bore no sorrow near.
Then touch the Harp, and bid the Past With all its joyous gleams,
Illume each brow with shade oer cast Restoring youthful dreams.
Oh, may the sun eer shine as bright Upon thy happy way,
No tempest with its cruel blight Obscure its glittering ray.
May Love his golden shafts employ Among the roses still,
Whose fragrance breathing only joy Thy hearts with gladness fill.
The hopes the plans the sunny dreams Of fifteen years ago,
Have been fulfilled the noontide beams Increase the sunsets glow.
Till sinking in the far off west, A circling crown of light,
Enshrines old age with mem ries blest E en down to Deaths dark night.
Then wake my Harp of festive lay For her so dear to me!
What tho the darkness brings no ray Oer chords once light and free?
What tho the Cypress wreath may twine Its shadows oer my brow,
It must not shall not sadden thine Oh, no, be happy now!
Sweet Friend, for "Summer hours" alone Thy troth was never given,
True Love has ever been its throne Its aim and purpose Heaven!
All one in every thought and deed, Thy wedded life be blest
May Faith and Hope thy spirit lead To Joy 'a eternal rest! LOULA KENDALL ROGERS.
Barnesville, Qa.

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TWICE A CHRISTMAS GIFT.
(Suggested by the passing away of Miss Bertie Rogers on a beautiful Christmas morning, a lovely young girl of seventeen, the only child of Mr. and Mrs. S. D. Rogers, of Sparta, Go.)
She came on snowy wing of peace and love, With smiles of cheering tight from bowers above, A tender flower to bloom awhile on earth
As a token pure and rare Of all thats bright and fair, Insignia of Heavens own true immortal birth.

Twas on the Christmas Morn. And brighter stfll Grew crimson rays upon the eastern hill, When this sweet home was made complete
With all the magic wiles Of childhoods sunny smiles, A Yule-tide gift the parents deemed most meet.

To God the Giver, arose their grateful prayer As merry bells resounded on the air, And neer before the Christ Child seemed so near
As on this blessed Day When His eternal ray Illumed their thankful hearts with praise and cheer.

Time onward sped. Some new attractive grace Beamed every day on Berties lovely face, And all the gifts of golden-hearted youth
Breathed round her every where A charm so sweet and rare One could but love such purity and truth.

Yet not for earth alone, her beauty bloomed, There is a fairer land beyond the tomb And there where living waters ceaseless flow
The loved ones glorified Called Bertie to their side Revealing to her sight its radiant glow.

Twas Christmas Morn! Upon the eastern hill, The same bright golden sun was shining still But hushed the home where youthful feet had trod

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. GOLDEN Eon AND CYPRESS

As angels from afar Sped from the gates ajar And bore this precious gift again to God!

O, stricken hearts tis well; for safely there Thy sainted child in glorious mansion fair Has changed her earthly crown of pearly white*
For that of burnished gold, And ecstacy untold Thrills all her soul forever with delight!
Barnesville, Ga., 1886.

TRUSTING.
"I will hold thee by the right hand of my rigJiteousness."Isaiah 41:10.
I am trusting, only trusting In the darkness of the night
Looking for the glorious dawning Of that day of promised light.
I am trusting, only trusting Through each night of care and woe
By His precious hand He leads me And I trust Him as I go.
I am trusting, only trusting In my trials every day
Leaning on the arm of Jesus He will lead me all the way.
I am trusting, only trusting Morn and evening, noon and night
Casting all my care upon Him He will make my burdens light. LOULA KENDALL ROGERS.
Among the Christmas gifts sent in that morning was a wreath of pearly mistletoe, which was placed on her brow.

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THE BROKEN LINK.
(Suggested by the untimely death of Miss Lizzielu Veal, member of the Junior Class, Gordon Institute, BarnesvilTe, Ga.)
Flashing mid the dews of morning Gleamed a chain of jewels rare,
And no land beneath the heavens Boasted gems more pure or fair.
Bainhow tints of radiant beauty Sparkled in the joyous light,
Deeming it a precious duty Keeping vigil day and night.
But one day there came a shadow Dark and ominous it grew,
And the light of promise faded, Lost its brilliant, rosy hue.
Then the circlet in the gloaming Gave no more its wondrous light,
For the sweetest link was broken And around was hopeless night!
Gone! Oh! must it be forever? Shall her classmates neer more greet
Eyes that beam with youthful beauty Speaking love to all they meet.
Shall we never clasp again Hands that now lie folded oer
The flowers, that rest upon her bosom Are they cold forever more f

Silence broods where once her music Echoed oer the raptured throng,
And we miss her, sadly miss her Child of beauty, and of song.
But theres something sweet and cheering Een in sorrows darksome night,
Though the precious link is broken It shines forever in Heavens light!

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

THE TRI-COUNTY FAIR PIKE, MONROE AND UPSON.

Bring forth your gifts, your golden grain, And all that grows on hill and plain, Tour luscious fruits, and cotton white, That clothe our land in sunny light, Then ring the bells, the merry bells! The joyful sound that ever tells, Of Hope and Love and Happiness And all that breathes of great success.

"Hail, all hail to thee fair Pike!" That holds so many things we like, Thine Institute, thy boys and girls, Where freedoms flag each day unfurls, Thy school of Agricultural lore, Increasing knowledge more and more, Till farming has become a joy, Instead of troubles that annoy.

Old General Pike whose name it bears Is honored by these triple fairs, And nature robed in Autumn hue Extends each hand to welcome you. Then let us sing some joyful song, And greet with smiles the gathering throng, For Barnesvilles lovely homes enshrine True hearts worth more than golden mine.

A thousand cheers for the old red hills, The flowery glades and murmuring rills Of dear old Upson, where mine eyes First saw the light of Southern skies. And there where Thronateeska flows, A radiant Georgia Star arose, Twas Gordon! Hail all hail today The Hero of the 12th of May!

And to Monroe with valued store Of gifts, and wealth of Wisdoms lore,. Her daughters fair and noble men

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Well shout, "Thrice Welcome oer again"! Then ring the bells, the merry bells! Triumphantly their rapture tells Of all thats beautiful and rare We see at this Tri-County Fair!

OUR SOUTHLAND.
"Flecti, Non Frangi."
O Sunny Southland! The fairest and best So long in the ashes by sorrow oppressed Look up from the darkness awaken once more To voices that whisper of bright hours in store! Flecti non frangi though war clouds beset us, Crushed in misfortune as sorrows have met us Our God is above us. There gleams a bright token To lead us through darkness bent but not broken!
From beautiful homes in ashes now laid From snow-covered mountain to valley and glade, Wherever the shadow of grim-visaged War Has blighted the love light and swept it afar, There cometh a sound that banisheth sadness There bloometh a flower that whispereth gladness
Tis Hope with her roses, whose fragrance enshrining Our souls with new effort her tendrils entwining.
Then cast off thy garb of mourning and woe No longer the Cypress a crown shall bestow, Bring laurels and orange blooms sparkling in dew For the fairest of lands the sun ever knew, Whose proud Magnolias in grandeur are cheering The legions, who rally to Right never fearing, We Bail thee, O Southland, in song and in story Enrobed in sunlight of Heavens own glory!
Fleeti non Frangi! Awaken once more To the chivalry, splendor and valor of yore Up, up from repining, let the pean arise Till it rouses the nations and reaches the skies! No longer thy talents in darkness shall slumber

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GOLDEN BOD AND CYPRESS

No longer shall others thy statesmen outnumber The strong arm of Justice thy standard upholds And Liberty once again smiles on its folds.
All hail to thy patriots, brave sons of the free! And down with tyranny oer land and oer sea, The North and the South, the East and the West All hail the glad day when no longer oppressed Each state of this glorious Union once more May rally together as our fathers of yore To banish the Wrong, the Rightful upholding, The spirit of love its banner unfolding.

THE TWILIGHT TRYST.
(By Mrs. 3. A. McCrary, nee Dollie Louise "Rogers, of Barnesville, who died in July, 1910. The verses contain an incident in the life of her mother, Mrs. Lula Kendall Sogers, one of Georgia's women of the Confederacy, and were written for the Barnesville Chapter, of which Mrs. Sogers was president.)
It was twilight. Dusky shadows crept to meet the Southern day,
Where the sunset on the hilltops left the glow of its last ray. Birds were crooning o er their nestlings mong the branches
of the trees, To the softened obligate of a scented Southern breeze.
Peace lay over all the meadows peace where seemed no breath of war,
But, alas! thro sunny Southland had already rung afar, The dread tocsin; and brave heroes, paling at the sound of
woe, Yet responded to its echo, and went forth to meet the foe.
In the shadow of the gloaming, stood a soldier with his bride,
Fresh upon his lips the vows that would have held him by her side,
But he heard the direful summons, in his breast no cowards heart,
So they lingered oer their farewell, for the hour had come to part.

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And he told her, at each night fall, just between the dusk and day,
They must think each of the other he, so very far away, Yet their souls in sweet communion, een might plead that
heaven spare His young life, and save their Southland surely God
would heed their prayer.

Hark! adown the woodlands quiet harshly shrilled a bugles tone,
One last whisper, "God be with you," and the soldiers form was gone.
O, the blackness of the war-cloud bursting oer fair hill and plain;
O, the horror of the battle field, with countless heroes slain!

Through those long black days of warfare, through that bitter time of strife,
"When one brother, drunk with carnage, madly sought a brothers life,
Through it all, when twilight falling, hid the wreck of shot and shell,
And unnumbered forms that lay there, all so silent where they fell.

Then two blended prayers went heavenward for the soldier neer forgot,
And the maiden, each lone evening, wandered to the fare well spot,
Pleading that the blackening war-cloud might be lifted from the sky,
Praying for the soldiers safety, "while the tempest still was high."

Years have brought their joys and sorrows, since the Dove of Peace has come,
And the God who doeth all things well, has borne the soldier home.
But a tired little woman yet keeps tryst at eventide, Still her prayer from out of the shadows, "safe into the
haven guide."

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

And the soldier, waiting for her, when the shadows have all passed,
Does he hear and join the message, "0, receive her soul at last?"

SONG FOR MEMORIAL DAY.
(Sung in Barnesville, April 26, 1883.) THEY HAVE CROSSED THE CRYSTAL RIVER.
They have crossed the Crystal River, All the strife and warfare oer,
Loving hearts are still forever, Hopes are buried evermore;
But the life that seemed to perish Mid the clouds of dark despair,
Girdeth on immortal armor, Where no longer foes ensnare. CHORUS :
"We shall meet them we shall greet them, On that bright and peaceful shore,
Safe within that golden city, Vietry; Victry ever more.
2 They have laid aside the struggles,
And sweet peace beyond the skies Is a balm for all they suffered.
Bravely they have won the prize ; Noble hearts that once were cherished
In the past, oh neer forget, Years have passed, fond hopes have perished,
But we love their memry yet. CHORUS :
We shall meet them &c.

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Strew their graves with fairest flowers, Sing memorial songs to-day,
Once a mothers fondest blessing, Rested oer their dreary way;
Father, brother, husband, lover, Yonder with the pure and blest,
All the strife and warfare ended, Thou hast found a peaceful rest. CHORUS :
"We shall meet them &c.

GATHER THE FLOWERS THAT BLOOM IN THE DELL.
(Memorial Song for the Children of the Confederacy.') Am "Ben Bolt."
Oh, gather the Roses that bloom in the dell And weave into garlands today,
To place on the shrine where our soldiers repose From the shout of the battle away.
On the mountain, in woodland and valley they lie. Unhonored, unwept and alone,
But we know that the angels are hovering nigh, And tenderly watch oer the stone.
Bring too the violets that bloom in the wood Where they wandered in lifes sunny day,
Ere the loud thundring guns woke the stillness of night,
And blighted their homes far away. Sweetly rest neath the garlands we tenderly weave
Loves offering dear soldiers, we bear, Foes may shadow the hope that illumined the heart *
But its memory will live ever there. Oh, gather the lilies so pure and so fair
For the hearts that were noble and true, Whose life blood was shed for our dear, native land
The fairest the sun ever knew.

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Ah give them the chaplets they won in the strife And honor the gray that they wore,
For in memory shall linger the gallant and brave, Though furled is their flag evermore.

TALLTJLAH PALLS.
"When you reach Tallulah, and catch your first glimpse of the grand chasm, through which a wild mountain stream noisily tumbles over successive piles of rock, the senses are intoxicated with the rugged beauty, the sublimity and the fascination of the scene. Here among the shadows of the eternal hills you may look down from the rustic seat of a vine-clad summer house upon a gorge much wider and more picturesque than Watkins Glen, and a thousand feet deeper than Niagara, intersected by roaring cataracts which break into numberless cascades before reaching the Tugaloo. This river, which was so named by the Indians, after spending its power on these wonderful falls, quietly flows onward to mingle with the broad Savannah in its march to the sea.
"Armed with long walking canes we presented quite an Alpine appearance as we carefully follow our guide over the winding mountain path. L eau dor (water of gold) is the first fall we reach, and as its musical waters come dashing downward we think of Southeys famous poem Lodore! Lodorel The next fall is Tempestia, whose deep bass voice resembles that of the turbulent billows of the ocean. After listening to what its wild waves are saying, we approach Old Hurricane, which is rushing down a pyramid of white rocks with a frightful velocity. "When we reach Oceana, the lowest of the falls, no imagination can picture its grandeur. On our right is a wild shaded mountain, overhung with huge boulders of dark, mosscovered rocks, bending downward as if waiting for some fearful cyclone to hurl them into the depths below. On our left is a perpendicular height of solid rock painted by nature in different colors red, blue, yellow and green, fifteen hundred feet high, upon the summit of which is Point Inspiration. Look straight up and you will see a natural pulpit called The Devils Pulpit, but my heart rebelled at this sacrilege, so I call it The Holy of Holies.
"Close your eyes one moment and listen to the voices

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of all those waters, each in a different key, and you cannot help hearing this grandest of all anthems, Who is the King of Glory ? Then all the mighty waters catch up the wond rous strain and together reply: The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of Glory! What a grand symphony in A minor! Reclining on this broad, flat stone, with Oceana at our feet, hemmed in from the outer world down in the canyon by two giant walls, where not a ray of sunshine penetrates, we may silently drink in the inexpressible beauty of the scene. Surely not in sunny Italy, or the far-famed Vale of Chamouny can there be found a more impressive picture than this among the hills of beautiful Georgia, the Empire of the South."

THE NEW YEAE.
Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring happy bells across the snow, The year is going let him go;
Ring out the old ring in the new."
Oer the crowded street is stealing Sounds of distant joy-bells pealing,
Sweet bells ringing, Softly singing. What is it ye have to say ?
Ah we come with Hope to cheer thee, Chiming sweeter as we near thee,
Peace adorning New Years morning, Listen to our song to-day.
Wake, O, wake to lifes great duty! Let thy light shine out in beauty,
Still achieving; Christ believing, This is what we say to thee.
What if clouds should darkly lower Whispering of some evil hour
Must their sorrow Shadows borrow From the grave of Eighty Three?

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GOLDEN BOD AND CTPBESS

No! Look up, with sunlight streaming
O er each cloud in golden gleaming. And endeavor Laboring ever
To accomplish more and more.

Onward! Upward! Grow more holy, "Whisper we to great and lowly,
Drawing nearer. Seeing clearer In the light of Eighty Pour.
Barnesville, Ga., New Years Day, 1884.

"THE LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OP A HUNDRED
YEARS.
Bring forth thy wand, O magic Seer, And lift the veil of years gone by
Tis meet that those who treasure art Should feast the soul and charm the eye
Bring forth the fairest morning light That ever shed its crimson glow
Upon the gallant forms who trod The festal halls of Long Ago.
Here gleaming on the mountain brow, Where dusky savage roamed at will,
There sparkling on the oceans foam, Then glancing oer the woodland rill,
Afar the conquering hero stands Where Egypt once braved every foe,
Twas there Napoleon smiled at fate One hundred fleeting years ago.
Our Mother-land embarked her sons Upon the Atlantics stormy wave,
And threatened with her mighty guns To crush the freedom of the brave.
But change the scene and then behold

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Columbia driving back the foe A thousand cheers we echo still
To cheers of a hundred years ago!

Beset by wars without within,. She onward presses, dauntless, true,
Nor yields one inch of freedoms right But daily wins some trophy new
Till thirteen silvery stars appear Alighting earth with radiant glow
And Columbia sits a queen in grace Enthroned a hundred years ago.
Her banners wave in liberty, And joys within her borders reign,
Yet threescore years scarce roll along Ere storms sweep o er her bright domain,
Then War, alas, with envious touch Tore off her crown in reckless woe
And cheerless, weary, desolate Was Georgia thirty years ago.
Turn once again 0, mystic seer, Will Heaven forsake the true and just,
Shall noble spirits conquered be Their banner trampled in the dust ?
Ah, no, again the South arose With stainless soul and heart of snow
From all the ruin and wreck of war Een fairer than the long ago.

Then praise His name who ruleth all, Casting treasures at His feet;
All Heaven and earth unite in song, His greatness and His love repeat!
With every year that passes by The olden covenant renew,
And onward press, unshrinkingly Through storms of 1902!

Tennille, Ga.

;

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A CHRISTMAS REVERIE.

The wintry night was dark and chill, There came no voice of cheer,
The lonely coronach of pines Was all that I could hear.
The pattering feet that once had crept Around the mothers knee,
In days long past, were far away And all was dark to me.
Een the moon above hid neath a cloud, The stars withheld their light,
And nature gave no sympathy To sorrows cheerless night.
I looked far down the checkered way Of years too quickly flown,
To the joyous scenes of happy youth When sadness was unknown.

The home ancestral gleaming bright Amid the grand old trees,
The blazing Yule, the warmth and cheer
That sheltered from the breeze, For every thing within that home,
The lengthy spacious hall, And every room entwined with flowers
Spoke, "Welcome! Welcome all."

True type wert thou, 0 Bellwood fair Of the old time Southern home,
Where peace and plenty reigned supreme Nor ever cared to roam,
A fathers honored presence there Lent dignity to mirth,
And the love that beamed in mothers smile Was the dearest thing on earth!

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THE OLD HOMESTEAD.

Ive come once more, my childhoods home,
To ramble o er thy grand old hills, To breathe the perfume of thy flowers
That bloom beside thy sparkling rills. How cherished each familiar spot, Yon shadowy vale and moss-wove grot No sun hath ever shone so clear As that sweet Bellwood shining here.

The sylvan meadow sloping down Toward the fern-encircled spring,
Where oft I quaffed the crystal fount
And made of oaken boughs a swing. Each distant field of emerald hue, Each winding walk, each stretching view, All tell a tale of childhood days, Their sunny dreams, their mirthful plays.

Oh! tell me murmuring waters low, Where are the friends of other years,
Who smiled with us at festal board, And wept with us the mourners tears?
One by one their forms depart Leaving here an aching heart, Some are living oer the wave, Others sleeping in the grave.
In yonder grave our loved ones lie Where oft as evening shades decline
Tis sweet mid woodland flowers to kneel The widows and the orphans shrine.
Ah, there methinks no fearful storm Or evil spirit eer could harm, Then wonder not that all is here So sacred to my heart, so dear.
And must the Cypress always wave Fair Bellwood, oer these cherished haunts,
Shall wildwood nymph and minstrel fay Beneath the hawthorne no more dance ?
Shall the harp" that hung amid thy bowers

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GOLDEN BOD AND CYPRESS

Give forth no more a cheerful strain, Shall sadness linger oer the flowers. That gayly bloom on hill and plain?

"What though the Fates have rudely flung Oer all these scenes a shade of woe
And blood-stained hands have torn away The halcyon joys of long ago ?
Though mellowed is the light that falls Oer latticed porch and pictured walls, Thou art still beautiful to me, No other spot so dear as thee.

Twas here the summer roses bloomed First on my childhoods wondering sight;
Twas here my soul was taught to love The good, the beautiful and bright.
And time can never fade away The glittering hues of lifes young day, Nor grief nor pleasure from me bear The memory of my mothers prayer! Bellwood, Upson County, Georgia.

BENEFITS OF MUSIC IN THE HOME. LOULA KENDALL ROGERS.
Luther says, "Where music is not, the devil enters, for he is of a melancholy cast, and the cheerful strains of loves language drive him away."
There is really no power so potent to frighten off the demon of irritability, and a mother must be unnatural who is not conscious of its holy influence in her home. It binds brothers and sisters with a closer tie of kindred compan ionship, and asserts such a charming power over the fire side that they do not care to seek pleasure elsewhere. How pleasing even to those who profess to be indifferent to its charms is an orchestra composed of members in the fam ily circle who while away the hours of a long winter evening in the discourse of sweet sounds, with a vocal solo occas-

GORDON INSTITUTE

73

ionally which speaks in rhythmical flow of that affection no earthly power can destroy!
Nations are often judged by their music. The trium phant song of Miriam has immortalized the freedom of the Hebrews from Egyptian bondage, and the harp of David, the sweet singer of Israel will ever bring up a picture of Sauls persecution of the young shepherd and of the cap tivity of the Jews in Babylon. The highlands of Scotland are familiar to us through the old songs "Bonnie Doon," "Scots who hae with Wallace Blend" and hundreds of other ballads characteristic of that brave race, who clung so per sistently to their native heath.
The foundation of English metrical harmony is sup posed to have arisen from the Gregorian chant introduced by St. Gregory the Great A. D. 590. The Greeks and Romans possessed many folk-songs and these came from the very depths of the human heart, and express the emo tions of the people as produced by occurrences in every day life or by certain national events. Music, as we know it, in its developed form as a fine art belongs to the Chris tian Era and practically to the last four centuries. It is the latest born of the family of fine arts; and one of our great musicians who is also an accomplished artist in paint ing and poetry says:
"A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the soul."
A martial air inspires one with patriotic fire, a merry roundelay brings lightness to the spirit, a low, tender song of love whispers of happiness that may never be expressed in language, and the triumphant swell of the souls victory over sin, breathes exultantly of a higher life where death, the last enemy, is conquered forever.
Weber beautifully says "music is to the arts what love is to man, in truth it is love itself, the purest, loftiest lan guage of passion, portraying it in a thousand shades of color and feeling and breathing its intensity with far more pathos than words." The troubadours of France, Italy and Spain understood its power in the days of chivalry, and if the knight of the lance could not sing himself, he hired an other to act as his minstrel and chant the praises of his lady love, and of his victories of the battle field.

74

GOLDEN HOD AND CYPRESS

Songs were among the earliest, probably the very earliest manifestations of what could be called music. The im pulse to express feeling vocally is universal. All the world over women have sung lullabys to their babes and have had much, very much, to do with cultivating the taste for har monious sounds and touching the tenderest chords of the human heart. A man whose soul is steeped in sin has been known to weep bitterly when ever he heard the simple songs his mother was accustomed to sing in his childhood, and once more he longed for the purity and innocence of those happy days. A young woman I once knew, who had fallen among the temptations of a large city was reclaimed by hearing a sweet young voice sing
"Eock of Ages! cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee!"
The picture it brought before her of a gray-haired mother, the vine-clad home and the little village church, were over powering and her heart in its anguish sought relief in a new life and she became an active worker in doing good to others.
Jean Paul Richter alludes to this longing for something higher when he says: "0 music! thou who bringest the receding waves of eternity nearer to the weary heart of man as he stands upon the shore and longs to cross over, art thou the evening breeze of this life, or the morning air of the future?"
May the beautiful sentiment of Mozart inspire all nations of the earth, so that when lifes trials are ended, and all things recede from view we may with him ex claim :
"Crown me with flowers, intoxicate me with sweet perfumes, but oh, let me die to the sounds of delicious music!"

of
In girlhoods bloom amid its flowers When friends around us clung,
No darkness dimmed the happy hours As joyous songs we sung.

POEMS OP GIRLHOOD

77

LBOLAS HOME.

BEAUTIFUL BELLWOOD.
O, Bellwood, sweet Bellwood! The spot where I wander In Utopian dreams, and such bright moments squander In thy valleys of pleasures where Terpsichore muses, With her soul-stirring song that in rapture diffuses Such visions of bliss that I neer can refrain My fancy from winging its flights there again.

Bless the bird of thy bowers, the sweet singing bird, Whose songs of true friendship I so often have heard; Who breathes not of passion, yet I know in her heart Wells a fountain of love pure as Heaven can impart As bright as the diadems true ray to the eye
And sweet as the nectar that Jove sips on high.

O, soft be the breezes that pass through thy bowers, May gayly flit oer thee, the long weary hours May the stars that are shining above in thy skies Be as calm and serene as the angels own eyes, And thou silver Moon with thy face sadly fair
Shine soft on sweet Bellwood Leola Is There!

Emory College, Ga. 1861.

- C") RT3 STES

THE AIDEN FOR SALLIE AND ME.
{A Beautiful retreat near Rogers' factory, Ihomaston, Georgia, where there is a natural sofa, formed of large rocks, overloolcing three dashing water falls, a spot noted for its loveliness and picturesque beauty. Dr. Curran Rogers, who owned the large factory building and grist mill had planned building another mill at this spot, to be called Aiden Mills, in honor of the name I gave it, but after the factories and cottages were all destroyed by Wilson's Said through Georgia, was disheartened and unable to carry out his plans.)
Tis a quiet sweet spot embowered in green Oer looking a streamlet of silvery sheen,

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Whose waterfalls murmur in musical flow Dashing spray on the ripples as onward they go, Like children delighting in sunshine to play When crowned with the roses and lilies of May, Merrily singing and laughing while dancing in glee Oh, this is the Aiden for Sallie and me!

Dark rocks are around us, and kindly the sky Is beaming above us as zephyrs float by On lightest of pinions, which ere they retreat Bend softly and stories of rapture repeat Those stories are magical, wondrous, and rare, Of beauteous visions and "castles in air," Where all our pictures are gloriously free Yes, this is the Aiden for Sallie and me. And when we are wearied with picture and dreams, Or watching the sunlight that brilliantly beams Oer poetry unwritten, we turn to a page Of some favorite author or classical sage And while away hours so pleasantly there That the world is forgotten with all of its care. In chatting and sketching hill, valley and lea, Time merrily passes by Sallie and me.

Sometimes we endeavor in this Aiden to sew Keeping time to the needle with rhythmical flow, Or lay aside poetry, sketches and dreams To glide in a boat oer the clearest of streams. Thus happy and careless were spending each day, Wishing such gladness could linger alway, That the earth may ever as beautiful be As tis now in its freshness to Sallie and me.

To this shadowed retreat we wander each eve, And wildest of fancies in chaplets we weave Trying vainly to peer through the fast-coming years And read of our future, its joys and its tears Then sadness all robed in her somber array Comes stealthily and dashes bright visions away! Ah! what Sybil of streamlet or woodland can see The trials in store for dear Sallie and me ?

POEMS OP GIRLHOOD

79

Like those spray-crowned riplets that gladden the heart A moment ere from us forever they part, The dearest of friends for awhile may surround us, Then leave us with naught but deaths darkness around us Hopes blighted, the dreamings of girlhood all ended, Torn hearts whose rents may no more be mended Oh, Heaven, may never such sorrowings be The fate of my dark-eyed Sallie and me!
Mount Zephyr Factory Place, Oct. llth 1860.

SONG OF THE HARP.
(One bright Autumn day while strolling amid the flowers of my dear old country home a mysterious little package was handed me containing a tiny harp woven of dark hair and! golden strings. No name accompanied the modest little gift, but these words were hidden underneath:)
"Tis said that Byron touched his harp and nations heard entranced, when your gentle fingers shall wake this sleeping lyre, the Autumn breeze shall bear its echoes to hearts no less entranced; though if its chords should refuse to breathe your spirits song, think none the less of him who gave it, but wear it near your heart."
Beautiful emblem of song! There was an atmosphere of romance and mystery about this simple touching gift, and while examining its delicate workmanship, my fingers unconsciously swept over the strings. Immediately the surrounding hills echoed to a soft fairy like music and faintly my ear caught the following strain:
I sing of all things good and fair, of beautys radiant light That shines around my melting tones een on the darkest
night And I breathe a cadence to the soul of Poesy and Song As in the realms of fancy my echoes linger long.

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

I sing of moonlight, love and flowers, streams of sparkling sheen,
Etrurian groves and Hesper smiles that fall with ray serene Oer sylvan woods, where music dwells in every passing
breeze, And Muses graceful sit beneath the shade of spreading
trees.

And if you wish, I 11 oft recall the hallowed days of yore And tell of sunny childhood hours that can return no more, Then I 11 sing in concert with the winds that gently touch
your brow Of Christmas joys, and happy friends that cling around
you now.

111 soar on wings of limpid light beyond the clearest skies, And bask on crescent rainbow neath the beam of angel eyes Then Ill sing of Heaven, blissful home of righteousness
and peace, "Where no clouds and tempests gather, but true pleasures
never cease.

My lute like murmurs oft shall fall at twilights vesper hour And sweetly lull in sleeps embrace each lowly bending
flower, And when all natures pulse is still and silence dark and
deep Broods oer the world, Eolian strains will soothe thine
hours in sleep.

And when gently falls upon your face a veil of silvery beams
Ill come with musics sweetest note to cheer your rosy dreams,
Ill sing of friendship warm and true that never will depart, And nestle softly mid the leaves and flowers of your heart!
Bellwood, Upson County, Ga.

POEMS OP GIELHOOD

81

THE HEALING FOUNTAIN.
(Written after reading Beulah, by Augusta Evans, afterwards Wilson.)
A nameless unrest urged me forward, but whither should I got My loadstars were blotted out; in that canopy of grim fire shone no star. I was alone, alone 1 A feeling I had that for my fever thirst there was, and must be somewhere a Healing Fountain. From the depths of my own heart it called to me Forward! The winds and the streams and all nature sounded to me "Forward!"
CARL-TUBS SARTOB RESARTDS.

On, on she wandered all alone, oer deserts vast and dim No hopeful ray to light the gloom, no spirits soothing
hymn The weary heart no goal had found, all dark the future
seemed "There must be rest somewhere," she cried, and nought the
toils she deemed.

Black shadows clung around the heart, once filled with child-like trust
And tempters whispered in her ear, "thy spirit is but dust,"
She longed to know, poor orphan child, if in another sphere Sweet Lily and herself would meet to live forever there?

Or if the spirits voice must cease with lifes deep care and pain
No searching for Egeria her future hope all vain t Beulah! Thy childhoods sacred haunts are truthful guides
for thee. There rove at twilights silly hour and lowly bend the knee.

Your lofty mountains snowy height points upward to the sky
Een natures simplest voices tell the Soul can never die, Then leave thy desert vast and deep where erring feet have
trod Each streamlet here, each bird and flower will speak to
thee of God.

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GOLDEN EOD AND CYPRESS

But onward still, 0, child of toil, by storm and tempest tost, Thy burning feet are wandering on till childhoods faith is
lost. The scorching beam of summers sun poor Hagar scarce
could bear No fount to slake her fever-thirst, no waters gurgling there.

Till words of confidence and trust her parching lips expressed
Then joyfully an angel came and gave her peaceful rest! So Beulah might have found the balm to lighten every care A spring to heal her aching heart by true and earnest
prayer.

The Healing Fountain! Pure and bright those ripples near us gleam,
"We need not roam oer burning sands to quaff its crystal stream;
Its whispering music oft we hear, a Star shines from above Illuming all with holy light that Star is Heaven's Love!

THE EEALM OF SONG.
BY LEOLA.
(" 'Its Poesy's hand that paints in the shadowy Isle of Song, and casts o'er the cold realities of life, a golden veil of beauty."')
What sweet spirit thus enchants me, With its soft and tender lay?
What bright visions now entrance me, As oer woodland hills I stray?
Forms of beauty round me gliding, Softest rays of lucid light,
Streams in sylvan shadows hiding, Opening buds and flowers bright!
Purple clouds of gilded lining, Crimson waves on azure seas,
Eainbow hues of brilliance shining Oer the emerald-created trees.

POEMS OF GIRLHOOD

83

Fields elysian, crystal fountains, Golden tassels, leafy sprays,
Fruits immortal, vales and mountains, Beautys richest scene displays.

Minstrels hands oer lyres sweeping, Strains of rapture deep and wild,
Soft enchantment gently creeping Oer the heart of Natures child.
Musics spell ascending Heaven, Quickly wakens all the skies.
And the bright and "peerless Seven," In a glittering circlet rise!

Then the Moon a goddess seeming, Mid the lesser stars of night,
Sways her wand with diamonds gleaming, Tinging all with radiant light.
Gems spring up from dark recesses, Pearls are showered from above,
As the God of Heaven blesses, Earth with Poetry and Love!

Poesy! Bright spirit dwelling, Over all thats pure and fair,
Of unfading chaplets telling, Painting lightly every care.
Linger here and still enchant me, With thy thrilling, plaintive lays,
"While the spectral visions haunt me, Visions sweet of other days.

Happy seraphs roam above me, In this flowery realm of dreams.
See I now dear forms that love me, Hovring oer these star-lit streams.
Here I d linger oh! forever, With this heaven-inspired throng;
Guardian angel! take me never, From the beauteous Isle of Song!

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GOLDEN BOD AND CYPRESS

TO LEOLA OP UPSON.

Leola! Breathe again the musics witching lay From rosy bower thou singest in youths entrancing May, You sing so sweet of friendship, that lured by the theme, My heart but answers to the strain and echoes back thy
dream.

May thy life be always happy, as in childhoods sunny hours
And may Poesy with magic wand illume thy rosy bowers, If grief should shade thy fair brow and anguish fill thy
breast May I gather the broken chords and soothe thy heart to
rest.

REPLY OP THE WOODLAND MUSE.
And do the simple whisperings the dreams of idle hours The garlands culled by youthful hands from Poesys sweet
bowers Eer find within one unknown breast a kind and answer
ing strain "Which thrills with joy oer all things true and echoes
back again?
Ah! would they were more beautiful more worthy of thy lay,
The gentle muse who hovers near might hold a higher sway!
Id sing then of the purling rills that from yon valleys glide
Of Natures ever changing hues when robed in regal pride.
Id be at times a twinkling star to watch oer those I love, To cast a light oer troubled souls and sing of bliss above, And oh! Id tell them of the joys that meet the raptured
eye "When borne by radiant moonbeams to the realm beyond
the sky!

POEMS OP GIRLHOOD

85

Id be a fairy winging far, an elfin form of light, To flit about this beauteous world and sing of all thats
bright,
And with Titania magic queen, Id touch my Harp once more
And charm all nations with the strain of loves entrancing lore.

But alas! tis vain and worse than vain to sigh for Heavens gift,
Of minstrelsy that soars aloft and earthly spirits lift Far, far above all mortal dreams to visions dazzling bright
Where Poesy in glory throned, is crowned in living light 1

Then give to me my woodland bower and there content Ill sing
In simple strain some cheerful song for those who round me cling,
I envy not poor Sapphos fame, nor would I have them bow
To place a wreath of laurel with flattery on my brow.

Amid the cool and fragrant dells of TJpsons spreading shades
Its brooks so dear in childhood hours, its moss-embower ed glades,
Where oft my fervent evening prayers with childlike faith
ascend Ill scatter flowers here and there for those who call me
friend.

And if among them one should cheer some soul afar from mine,
A stranger who should touch the harp with cadence soft as thine,
Then sweet twill ever be for me to cull these simple flowers
Till they form a fadeless chaplet in Gods eternal bowers.
1862.

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GOLDEN BOD AND CYPRESS

ACROSTIC.
To MY SISTEB JUUA.
How brightly would I paint the sky Of future hopes for thee on. earth!
My sister neer should know one sigh B en shed one tear oer sorrows dearth.
Id gild thine hours with brightest hue Sweet flowers thy dreaming should enfold,
No vain regret, no darkening cloud Of danger eer should blight thy soul;
Thy brow should wear a peaceful calm, (Heaven holds I ween no fairer one)
0, there Id place a crown whose light Might rival that of yonder sun.
Embalmed thy heart should ever be With goodness, virtue, love and truth,
Id paint thy lip with happy smiles Thy life should be perpetual youth.
Hearts joined in love so strong as ours Oh, will the future dare to sever?
United firm with changeless ties, Their childhood love should live forever.
Then when our life is ended here, How sweet twill be to wander oer
Enchanting realms where angels dwell Eer singing "we shall part no more!"

TRUE FRIENDSHIP ABOVE RUBIES.
"Theres nought on earth so sweet, so dear As friendships staile, as friendships tear."
Eternal friendship be my theme Say not tis but a flattering dream, Where eer my youthful footsteps tend No joy is found without a friend.
What were the gems of Ophir worth Or all the dazzling gold of earth ? What were the joys that riches lend Without a true and faithful friend ?

POEMS OP GIRLHOOD

87

The scenes of mirth and wild delight Give but a short and transient light To gleam awhile and fade oh, then Give me a warm and treasured friend. A palace home in halls of pride "Where vassals linger by my side And nations proud before me bend Were valueless without a friend. List to yon warblers of the vale "Whose notes are pealing on the gale And as their songs to Heaven ascend They thank their Maker for a friend. The forest leaves and flowers sweet With love and joy each other greet Till a cold and wintry blast descends Then each one mourns for fallen friends. In pleasures gay and happy flow In youth or age, in joy or woe, "Where eer my fate and fortune wend Life is not life without a friend! And when the silvery cord at last Is severed from the joyous past, Sweet, loving faces oer me bend, Yes, give me then a faithful friend.

SUNLIGHT.
Down the valley beaming lightly Leaf and riplet spreading oer,
"With its golden ray so brightly "Whispering gladness ever more. Gayly dancing, Sweetly glancing,
On the brow of Summer fair, Telling of the Light eternal Ah! no darkness lingers there!

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Oer the meadow softly sweeping Dew drops from the queenly rose,
To each silent recess creeping, Rousing earth from its repose. In its gleaming Ever seeming
As an angel sent on duty, Every where her smile appearing Cheering all with love and beauty.
Songs of rapture forth are breaking From the boughs of every tree,
Natures minstrels each awaking Welcome strains of mirth and glee, Clouds have vanished, Grief is banished,
And a light is on each brow, For the bow of promise gleaming Bids the world be happy now.
Tester een were shadows creeping Oer yon oceans tranquil breast,
But today mid billows peeping Is a golden ray of rest, Rejoice O, earth! Resound with mirth,
No clouds eer mar the Glory Land, Eternal light shines oer the blest!

TO MISS IDA L. WINSHIP OF ATLANTA.* A SCHOOLMATE AT WESLEYAN COLLEGE. In Upson when the clouds were low And every heart was dark with woe, Atlanta sent a beam of light To gladden every mortals sight It came one eve on rainbow wings When Venus to the Day God sings, And cast its rosy cheerful hue Oer human hearts and natures too
Now Mrs. T. W. Maugham of Macon.

POEMS OP GIRLHOOD

89

Then Upsons old vermillion hills, Its lofty trees and sparkling rills, All echoed to the welcome cheer, "Bejoice ye woods, sweet Idas here!" And from a thousand birds there came A song which breathed her beauteous name Fresh country breezes kissed her brow And whispered, "all is beauty now." From her cheek no cloudy day The rosy tint eer snatch away, Her laugh so clear and full of glee E er ring as wild and merrily. Loves banner oer her gently play Hose leaves perfume her sunny way Long be her life, her cares be few Her joys be all of golden hue. May angels guard her day and night To keep her sky forever bright, And oh, may some sweet spirit bring Her back to Bellwood with the Spring. Tis eve but scarce can yonder star Light up his lamp in Heaven afar The moon in sorrow grows more pale And hides her beauty neath a veU. The woodland flowers refuse to smile, And bend their heads to weep awhile, Our favorite haunts no joys bestow, Our dashing steeds unwilling go. "What wondrous spell has changed our light To such a dark and dismal night? All Upson weeps, each heart is lone And nought resounds save, "Ida's gone!"

90 1861.

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS
TO A BRIDE.
EPPIE OF MACON.
Fair bride of beauty and of love! The word is spoken now
And all yon twinkling stars above Repeat the solemn vow
Orange flowers add enchantment To thy girlish face so fair; Brightly gleaming Softly beaming Eyes that never knew a care.
In thine ear kind friends are breathing Wishes that thy life may be
Like the sunlight ever wreathing Earth with beauty, love and glee
Hope with starlit banner dances Round and round thy trembling heart Pears dispelling Gently telling That thy dreams shall neer depart.
Ever thus may Hope enchant thee With her blissful dreams so fair
Neer may grief and sorrow haunt thee Darkly mingling with despair.
Happiness with viewless fingers Oer thy heart strings gently sweep Bright angel eyes From starry skies Vigils oer thy spirit keep.
Bride of Beauty! near thy side Memory wafts me though away
While snowy forms around thee glide Wilt thou list my simple lay ?
O, if all my warmest wishes Wove together were a flower Its beauteous light Should grow more bright Every day and every hour.

POEMS OP GIRLHOOD

91

THE MYSTERIOUS VALENTINE.
(An elegant volume of Lalla Sookh, with only these words on a card, "Thou art my chosen Valentine.")
It has no golden heart enchained In Cupids tiny cage,
No carrier dove with snowy wing Is seen upon its page;
And yet there is a beam of joy Entrancing pure and bright,
That lingers o er this Valentine, A never fading light.

Tis Poesy, so soft and clear Its rippling numbers are
That while I read some angel comes Swift gliding from a star
And folds one wing about my heart The other shades my brow,
And tells me of the pearls within, Sweet Lcdlc Rookh 'tis thou!

Theres Hinda too, with streaming hair; She watches oer the deep,
And Nourmahal whose flowery crown Lulls innocence to sleep.
The Prophet veiled in mystery, The haunted house of woe;
The wandering Peri at the gate Where Edens flowers grow.
For hours I have wandered on Those distant eastern climes,
Where the young Prince touched his light Guitar And breathed his love in rhymes.
And when the silvery queen of night Oer Bellwood softly beams,
I close the book, but visions bright Still cheer me in my dreams.
"Thou art my chosen Valentine!" O tell me vigils fair
Whose is the hand that lightly traced

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GOLDEN ROD AND CTPBESS

Those modest letters there ? Breathe gently, but the donors name
In musics thrilling tone, Then bear, sweet minstrels, on thy wing
Thanks to the "Knight Unknown."

ST. VALENTINES DREAM. To H. H.
I.
Long years before we ever met I often heard a name, Which like a dream of melody unto my spirit came, Gently and harmoniously it fell upon the air, Like sunlight on the buds of Spring like smiles that banish
care.
II. A form my fancy oft portrayed, a voice was heard in
dreams, And oft methought I saw the eye where truth and honor
beams, We met and when thy tender smile so kindly greeted mine, I knew the image seen in dreams, and magic name were
thine!
III. Bright be thy future mayst thy life glide by on golden
wing, And crowned with Loves sweet roses may their fragrance
round thee cling, May friends surround thee fond and true most noble
Valentine, . And happy dreams of holy things through all thy slumbers.
shine.

POEMS OP GIRLHOOD

93

TO A FRIEND.
(With a Cross made of sweet violets.)
I bring tb.ee fresh violets all sparkling with dew, Memorials of friendship unfading and true, Just gathered from bowers where heralds of Spring
Are modestly peeping And zephyrs are sweeping Oer rocks where the Muses assemble to sing.

Ill twine them together and weave thee a cross, Intermingled with branches of myrtle and moss, Then breathe on these flowers a magical spell,
And send them oer mountains Oer rivers and fountains With a thousand good wishes they softly may telL

Theyll whisper of fancies and hopes of the past "We cherished ere War with its cold chilling blast Swept oer a land where the suns warmest ray
Gave glory and beauty To life and its duty And lent to such flowers their brilliant array.

Thy life, my friend, be strewn with like flowers, As you rest in the midst of Loves roseate bowers, No sorrow invade thee, no darkness be thine,
But bright as the beaming Of summers sweet dreaming, Thy virtues like dew on the violets shine!

ONCE A FRIEND, A FRIEND FOREVER Tell me not that friendship fadeth, Fadeth as a summer flower, Blooming brightly in the morning, Drooping ere the evening hour.

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPBESS

When that flower has lost its beauty And its blush is clouded oer,
Is there not a tender fragrance Hovering near it as before ?

When the sky has lost its brightness And the storm cloud gathers fast.
The heart is gloomy but the sunshine Does it not efface the past?
Thus with friendship, words may sometimes Lengthen shadows oer its chain
But the sunny beam of kindness Will restore its light again.

In the soul where beauty dwelleth Is a garden heavenly fair,
Words of kindness are its roses Friendship does not wither there.
Wintry winds may chill those roses Thorns unseen may enter yet
There are memories pure and holy Which the heart can neer forget.

Then tell me not that earthly friendship Is but fleeting as a dream;
Tell me not its vows are faithless "But a false deceitful gleam."
Tell me not my cherished visions Are but like the meteors glow,
If the world such wisdom teaches May I neer that wisdom know.

Oh, tell me somethings sweeter, dearer, That the world is full of love
That each heart may hold some goodness Akin to that in Heaven above,
That the friendships of my girlhood, No light word hath power to sever,
That the future still may prove them "Once a friend, a friend forever!"

POEMS OP GIRLHOOD

95

TO LEOLA FROM A FRIEND. I think of thee when morning light
Comes smiling oer the Eastern hills, When the fresh breeze like some sweet sprite
With pleasure every life-drop thrills, Tis then, like that bright flower that turns
Where eer its shining god may be, My waking mind to thee returns
I think of thee.
When Phoebus with his fiery car Ascends his bright and glittering way
And brighter grows his rays from far Impelling to more lucid day;
When cares oppress my weary soul Would gladly from this dark world flee,
But oer me joys ecstatic roll I think of thee.
And when the rays of ending day Beam from the chambers of the west,
And gorgeous clouds float oer the sky, Where Sol has calmly sunk to rest;
Then fondly beats my loyal heart And fancy roams unbounded free,
Bright hopes its visions then impart I think of thee.

When night comes on and stars appear Like sparkling gems in heaven above
And that pale orb to lovers dear Upon its nightly path doth move
Dispensing forth its silvery beams In beauty oer the land and sea,
When wandering through the land of dreams I think of thee.

At morn, at eve, at noon, at night, Each home that speeds me on through life,
Though prosperous sums my path should light, Though adverse winds and storms may rife

96

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

N
As the poor exile afar from home Thinks of that home where eer he be,
No matter where on earth I roam, I think of thee.

CASTILE.

TO LBOLA OP BELLWOOD.
BY ELFINB.
Thou art lovely Leola! Thou art very fair The shades of midnight linger in thy soft dark hair, While thy large bright eye of deepest, clearest blue Has caught from the noonday sky its own cerulean hue. When I hear the sweet melody breathed in thy song; When the music of poesy dwells on thy tongue, O, then I listen to thy soul-thrilling voice, And I know that the Muses have hailed thee their choice. Thou art natures true lover, thou art genius child Thou art a model of girlhood, gentle and mild Yet higher and purer than talent or art, Is the light of true Christian love deep in thy heart. Oh what more canst thou wish for? Leola, the fair, With best friends all near to shield thee from care; While angels of peace guard thy bright happy hours. And thy young heart is fresh as the dew on the flowers. Sweet "bird of the South," thou art all I would have, Thou hast beauty and youth, with a heart full of love; Theres nought I could wish thee, but thy own bright mind Combined with the true woman, the Cristian, the friend. Atlanta, Ga.

POEMS OP GIRLHOOD

97

RESPONSE TO ELPINE.*
BY LEOLA OP BELLWOOD.
I thank thee, bright spirit of music and song For kindest of wishes entwined with thy flowers,
In Poesys ehaplet their memory shall long Impart its own sweetness to lifes saddest hours.
Oh would I could wake thee an answering strain Of beauty and gladness, sweet music and mirth,
Id wish that thy pathway might ever retain The fairest of flowers that bloom on the earth.
But the muses have left me and I cannot indite Smooth lyrics whose beauty will never depart,
But Ill touch my young lyre be it ever so light, And sing to thee, Elfine, a song of the heart.
First Id wish that some Fairy of beauty and love Would wing her way downward on pinions of fame,
And while her sweet singing still echoed above She would show me thine image and whisper thy name.
Then I d wish for thee Elfine, a pearl-covered way Through bowers where sunlight and flowers neer die,
Where lilies, sweet violets and roses so gay Beam brightly with welcome when eer you pass by.
Fair gems of the rarest and loveliest hue Be scattered wherever thy footstep may press,
And friends be around thee, the faithful and true, Whose love smiles and whisperings may never grow

DESERTED.
Tis midnight, and the silvery moon Smiled lovingly on earth,
The nightingale her sweetest tune Was warbling full of mirth.
*The poems of early years were all written under the nom de plum* of "Leola," a name coined from the Indian language.

98

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Pair Myrza came with weeping eye To a stream and kneeling low
She whispered to the listening sky Her tale of love and woe.

In girlhoods bloom amid its flowers When friends around her clung,
No darkness dimmed the happy hours, As joyous songs she sung.
But love beseiged her quiet way, And with deceptive art,
He painted life in colors gay, And won her trustful heart.

To Italias fair and sunny skies Where beautys throne is set
The artist bore his gentle prize But only to forget!
For oh, how changed! The marble brow Bespeaks a world of care,
No rosy hue is lingering now On her cheek so pale and fair.

A broken heart! A faithless love A seared and blighted life,
A weary, wingless, wandering dove A young deserted wife
No kindred friends, nor loved ones there Far from her childhoods home,
No shelter from the chill night air Save Heavens azure dome.

She gazes on the placid stream Its star-gemmed surface clear,
And fancies in the moons pale beam That Heavens reflected there!
A frantic plunge with white arms thrown Toward her native shore,
An upward glance a stifled moan And lifes short dream is oer!

The moon shone on with tranquil ray And kissed each tiny wave,

POEMS OF GIELHOOD

. 99

While night birds sung a tender lay Oer Myrzas lonely grave.
All earth is still. The quiet scene Bright holy dreams impart,
None dreamed that neath the sparkling sheen There rests a broken heart!

NO NIGHT THERE.
{After hearing a beautiful sermon in Talbotton, by Dr. A. K. Wynn of the Georgia Conference, on the text, "There shall be no night there, and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light, and they shall reign forever and forever.")
No night there! Bright sunlight is streaming Oer minrets of silver and turrents of gold
Sweet flowers mid dew drops are fadelessly gleaming And garlands of beauty the angels unfold.
Each rain-bow-hued fountain its mist wreath is weaving In glittering circlets, while cherubims fair
Rejoice in its splendor, no darkness and grieving No weeping, nor sighing, no harrowing care.
No night there! Soft zephyrs abiding Forever in daylight, no tempest at sea,
But beautiful streamlets neath laurel shades hiding Unite in their carols exultant and free.
Crimson-hued cloudlets oer blue skies are flowing And strains of sweet muses are floating abroad
All heaven with brightness and beauty is glowing As seraphims murmur the name of the Lord.
No night there! No angels are mourning Oer lost ones low-sleeping in deaths chilly shroud,
No hunger in heaven no wailing or groaning, No sorrowing there of the meek and the bowed.
0, is it not blessful to think of the meeting "With memorys treasures who live in the heart?
For long-loved voices in accents of greeting Will mingle in heaven never to part.

100

GoLUEtf ROD AND CYPRESS

No night there! The sunlight is spreading
Its mantle of glory oer beautiful grove
"Where wind the bright pathway that angels are treading, And song birds are chanting of God and His love.
No curses, no murder, no midnight of horror,
No shriek of the wounded, no revellers bowl, Gods light is eternal! No shadow of sorrow
Can ever invade the sweet peace of the soul I

TO "LEOLA."

'

BY ROSALIE.

Kindred spirit of the poetic clime List unto this lay of mine; Fraught with hopes that serve to tell
Of friendships pure and holy spell.

Hope now lures each fondly on "Whisperings of enchanted tone Bid us sing of roseate bowers Filled with lifes most brilliant flowers.

Leola, though we have not met, In ideal fame full oft I ve set Thy picture; not with painters art
Thy songs reflect it on my heart!

I grasp at Fames bright coronet,
Yet hope bids me to forget That in this day tis woful, wrong, For Woman's Harp to win the song!

But a flower from the garden of life I gather with affection rife; To Leola, this I gladly give Tis Friendship, wilt thou bid it live?
Macon, Ga.

POEMS OF GIRLHOOD

101

TO MISS JULIA ELLISON.
OP CHUNNENUGGEE, ALA.
After receiving news of the death of my beloved classmate, Mrs. Scott, nee Dinda Howard, of Columbus, Georgia.
What shall I sing for thee, dear friend? Come sit beside me here,
And chide me not if you should chance To see a falling tear.
Oh, speak to me fond words of. love, And press my aching brow,
Then let my lute neglected be, Its songs are mournful now.
I would not make thy spirit drop Or cause one tear to shine
Upon thy cheek so fresh and fair, Although theres grief on mine.
Then ask me not to sing tonight My strain too sad would be
For sorrows pinions ruthlessly Have folded over me.
Twas recently the death bell tolled In tones of deepest woe,
And trembled on the twilight air In plaintive echoes low,
Around the home where sound of joy And merry laughter rung,
It tolled the death-knell of the fair The beautiful and young.
I listen to its cadence low As angels oer me bend,
And whisper softly Death has touched Another faithful friend.
Another friend! Two numbers less Of those within my heart,
And oh, I shudder when I think That others may depart.
Ere winters silvery moon may wane Ere summers queen is nigh,

102

GOLDEN BOD AND CTPBESS

And this thought too will still return That I, yes I must die.
But why should Death such shadows fling And shroud our souls in gloom,
Why should we weep the scalding tear When bending oer the tomb 1

The happy spirit is not changed Tho words we cannot hear, It plumes its wing and lives again In a holier brighter sphere.
Of that bright world I love io dream Where lights eternal shine;
For every plain and valley there Is robed in love divine.

And Poesy with heaven-born touch Finds all fulfilment there,
While Music carols songs of praise Triumphant everywhere.
All, all is beauty, peace and joy, In that bright realm above
As angels hover oer the throne And whisper, "God is Love!"

And there, sweet Dinda, we shall meet As in the days of yore
I would not give this blessed hope For all the world and more
We knelt at Wesleyan side by side, And gave our hearts to God,
Neer dreaming, one, ere youth had sped, Would rest beneath the sod.

Then ask me not to sing to-night, The hours are gliding fast,
Well watch the New Year coming in While musing on the past.
But well not meet the glad new day In sorrows gloomy night,
Avaunt dark sadness, grief and care, Thrice welcome love and light.

POEMS OF GIRLHOOD

103

TO LEOLA.
BY ORESTES OP EMORY COLLEGE.
.0! murmur Leola, thy sweet soothing lay Let its soft breathing music steal over my soul
While roll the fast moments unconscious away And my heart is found reveling at happiness goal.
0, touch but thy harp, be it never so light For its whispers calm each wild throb of my breast,
Thrills through my free spirit with joyous delight And transports it to yonder bright realm of the blest.
In dreams thou hast charmed me when darkness held sway And bright visions of beauty have come to my view
While one so enchanting, a blithe little Fay, I have seen in those visions methinks tis like you.
Then wake, sweet Enchantress, thy murmurs again! And my spirit will sit near thy presence to hear,
While banished is sorrow, affection, and pain, As thy minstrelsy chases away every tear.

WHO IS ORESTES, THE YOUNG BARD OF EMORY? Thy shadows of twilight had spread on the breast Of Evening, and sunbeams were gathered to rest While forest and vale disappeared from my view As dreams crept oer me of friends fond and true. In a flower scented garden afar from my home At this holy hour twas lovely to roam With a fairy-like maiden as pure as the dove Whose heart was the home of beauty and love. We sat in a moss-covered bower of green And gazed on the heavens so calm and serene Its numerous stars that like sentinels bright Kept vigilant watch for the angels at night. Then softly came stealing mid flowery perfume A fairy like cadence dispelling all gloom Twas music enchanting. Those silvery strains Were surely from Emory where poesy reigns!

104

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Then tell us ye flowers that gracefully bend To inhale thine own fragrance, what magical friend, Or Spirit of song on pinions afar Has wafted a message from yonder bright star ?
LEOLA.

TO MY LOVELY SCHOOLMATE.
(Miss Jennie Cook of CiAloden, Georgia, afterward Mrs. Robert McEvoy, of ifaeon.)
"She dwells among us like a star that from its bower of bliss Looks down yet gathers not a stain from aught it sees in this.
0, silent harp breathe once again A soft and tender lay,
And chant my muse a dulcet strain Of love and melody.
Ye sylphid forms of rosy light Soft floating on the air,
Join in this song to her I love The pure, the good, the fair.
Ye nymphs that glide so lightly oer Yon moonlit wave afar,
Strike gently now your silvery lute By light of moon and star.
Sing on sweetly of dear Jennies face "Where love and beauty dwell,
Of rosy lips that charm the ear Like musics wondrous spell.
And sing sweet minstrel of her heart The resting place of truth,
No chilling blast may sweep away The sunny love of youth.
Then chant ye night birds, of her mind Its treasures rich and rare,
The fount of knowledge sparkling bright Has found a rival there!
Sing gently of her loving soul The shrine of all thats pure
Where God has placed immortal light No shadow can obscure.

POEMS OP GIRLHOOD

105

Together we have sat and dreamed At twilights mystic hour,
Together we have culled the sweets From natures rustic bower,
And of all the girls so dear and true My heart would rather be
This moonlit eve when all is still With lovely Jennie C.
Bellwood, Upson County, Ga.

THE BROKEN HOME.
(Written After My Father's Death.)
Tis midnight hour. The world is still And solemn shadows lie
On garden walk where cedars wave Their arms toward the sky
All earth is gently slumbering But sleep has left my brow
One dark, one bitter thought is mine I have no father now!
My tears have mingled frequently With orphan friends I knew
For something whispered in my heart That I would be one too.
But neer before had sorrow dreamed How bitter was the cup
To hear the last short fleeting breath To give the loved one up.
To watch death shadows gathering oer The face we fondly love
To see the eye which gently beamed Turned movelessly above,
Tfie lip that first had pressed our own, Instructive stories told
In childhoods bright and joyful hours Grow silent, lifeless, cold.

106

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

To hear each groan, to feel each pain Grim messengers of death,
Is there no balm whose power may Call back the fleeting breath ?
Ah, none but He, our Priest and King Commands the setting sun,
Oh, God! tis hard at such an hour To say, "Thy will be done!"
Tis oer! Well never hear again That kind paternal tone
Oh, fold us mother, to thy breast For now were all alone.
The home so lately filled with joy With dreams of happy years
Is cheerless sad and desolate A home of grief and tears.
Yes, a change has come, a shadowy gloom Oer Bellwood once so fair,
At twilight still the family meet But one is missing there.
Twill never be the same again As in the days of yore,
And yet the world all joyfully Moves onward as before.
A broken home, and yet each fount
Of Marah hath its balm To heal the wounded, sorrowing soul
The troubled spirit calm, Tis Heavens kind protecting love,
A priceless pearl to me, And "Father to the fatherless,"
Our God will ever be.

GENTLE ANNIE.
(In memory of my young schoolmate, Annie Morris, of Marrietta, Georgia.')
Sweet Annie! They tell me thou art sleeping, neath a dark and gloomy mound,
That thine eye is closed to sorrow and thine ear to every sound,

POEMS OP GIBLHOOD

107

That thy graceful form is shrouded in a robe of snowy white,
And around thee flowers scattered like the smiles of angels bright.

They tell me that the loving words which lingered on thy tongue
Like pearly dew on roses oer which mirth and gladness hung,
Have hushed their silvery whisperings, that they are silent now,
And the cold unfeeling hand of death is placed upon thy brow.

But oh, I cannot see thee thus! for near me still in dreams Comes a fairy form of minstrelsy round which a halo beams, And the joyous laugh of childhood is ringing on the air As at the Wayland school-ground we greeted Annie there.

Ah, those sunny days of happiness I neer can forget In memorys fount the ripples shine with joy and gladness
yet,
And often when its depths are stirred within its light I trace A dark-haired girl with rosy cheek, tis Annies lovely face!

Thy beauty and thy goodness like a brightly shining star Shed their radiance oer the hearts of those who loved thee
from afar, And thy winsome laugh so clear and free like tone of
silvery bell,
Drew thy teachers heart with ours in a soft and magic
spell.

And thou are gone! Oh, Annie I had fondly hoped to see Thy dark eye beam with welcome, een this starlit eve on
me, And thought of listening to thy songs with rapture and
with pride, But they told me, ere I reached thee, that our singing bird
had died!

108

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Yes, they told me in a crowded hall, where musics sweetest strain
Found an echo in my spirit, with its triumph over pain But Emorys fairest flowers failed to charm me with their
hue, When the whisper of thy death knell, saddest feelings oer
me threw.

Once more I tread the winding paths where twas our joy to roam,
And with another Annie watch the heaven-lighted dome, Once more I greet the friends I knew in childhoods happy
hour When life seemed but a sunbeam on a brightly tinted flower.

Tis sweet to view old Kennesaw where youthful feet once strayed
And listen to the streamlet where with careless heart we played,
But each varied scene is whispering of a summer day thats flown,
And the gzoenpeh!y"rs sadly sighing tell me, "Gentle Annies
Marietta, Ga.

TO MISS LOULA KENDALL. "Leola! Breathe again thy muses witching lay From rosy bower thou singest in youths entrancing May, You sing so sweet of friendship, that lured by the theme My heart but answers to the strain and echoes back thy
dream. "Oh, sing of loves sweet story nor shroud its whispers
oer, But breathe the happiest measure that fancy can explore, Go bind lifes melody with flowers profusely flung From nature while revealing her harmonies unsung. "To you sacred be the tears that gem soft pitys shrine, And bright be every hope that gilds that heart of thine, Which sings at morn sweet numbers, where once its music
slept Till roused from Lethean slumbers thy soft notes gently
swept.

POEMS OF GIRLHOOD

109

"May youi< spirit eer be as light as in girlhoods happy hours
Then you can seek the Muses een in fancy gayest bowers, If grief should shade thy fair brow and anguish fill thy
breast, May I gather the broken chords and soothe thy heart to
rest." I.

THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY.
("La belle Mai est id, et le terre frisoune de plaisir! Lea fleurs son' hymnes, qui dans son enthusiasms chante an soleil.")
Yes earth is bright and beautiful with garlands fresh and gay
And cheery smile of welcome for the gentle blue-eyed May Gracefully she dances near and I almost hear her speak, As her golden curls sway in the breeze and kindly fan my
cheek. A coronet of roses set in leaves of brightest green Is on her brow, and all the months pay homage to their
Queen Within her snowy hand she clasps a lily pure and fair, And morning dewdrops glittering hold the light of heaven
there. On fairy wing she cometh chanting now and then in mirth, Or posing mid her flowers bright to soothe the hearts of
earth, Then floating on the cooling breeze near amber clouds above She whispers to the heart bowed down, "I am the month
of Love. "The month of Beauty, Love and Flowers." Tis echoed
everywhere, Tis whispered by each laughing brook and bending blossom
fair, And all the Muses meet at dawn to sing a rapturous lay To the fairest child of balmy Spring bright heaven-lighted
May!

110

GOLDEN HOD AND CYPRESS

TO MY LITTLE NAMESAKE
LULA KJENDALL GRiswoLD, of New York.
Sweet Loula! Fair emblem of innocence dear Bright be your rose-tinted destiny here! . May angels sing softly a lullaby sweet, And guide the light patter of thy fairy-like feet.

In sleep may they cheer thee with loveliest dreams,
And paint on thy rosy lip joys bright beams, And on thy heart petals in golden hues trace The magic words, "Purity, Gentleness, Grace."

Then "Wisdom, fair goddess, cast oer thy mind A mantle bright gilded with power divine, A holy influence oer mortals to shed And reflect many blessing again on thy head.

Thy soul be all lovely, unspotted and fair, The sunlight of genius and poesy there, Full of noble impulses, by envy neer trod Oer flowing with mercy, and love for its God.

And may thy young pathway be blooming with flowers Of joys everlasting encircling thine hours,
With fragrance so balmy that angels may bow To inhale the sweet zephyr that touched thy brow.

And 0 may thy future be free from all care A star-lighted pathway with gems rich and rare, There waiting for Loula to gather them up And place them as treasures in Memorys cup.
Bellwood, Upson County, Ga.

POEMS OF GIRLHOOD

111

A PHILOPOENA GIFT TO A FRIEND.
" A YOUNQ STUDENT OF THE LAW SCHOOL.
I bring to thee no costly gem, no ring of burnished gold, No showy gift of rarest worth enshrined in beautys mold, No talisman of mystic power with brilliant pearls inlaid But tis an humble offering, and one that cannot fade.

It does not glitter with a ray of soft and rosy hue And bears no flower on its stem, no crystal drop of dew, It has no silvery casket filled with rubies rich and rare And yet youll find within its depth the light of kindness
there.

I send it in a gush of song, and with it weave a prayer That the future years may bear for thee no sorrow, grief or
care, But gently all their trials fall like dew on fragrant flowers, To give an after-brightness to thy dark and lovely hours.

May the heart within through every scene retain its Chris tian light,
And shed oer friends around thee an influence pure and bright,
And may each high and lofty wish, each hope that fills thy soul
Each dream of Fame and Honor find at length their envied goal.

And now my pleasant task is done, Ill bid a kind adieu, And vanish in a misty wreath of twilight 'a somber hue; Here take the gift youve nobly won it neer will depart Through sunlight, storm, in weal or woe, tis Friendship of
the Heart*

112

GOLDEN BOD AND CYPRESS

THE STONE MOUNTAIN OP GEORGIA.

{One of the Wonders of the World. Not a mass of loose rocks, but one mighty solid stone that lifts its regal crest far above all the surrounding country.)

One pleasant day when Autumns green
Had donned her vestal garments bright And Nature wore a smile serene
Of tranquil pride in her delight,
A sylvan Spirit whispered low Of beauteous flowers and woodland dells,
Where never-ceasing waters flow
And Oreades wander from their cells.

I listened to her witching words And thrilled with wonder, joy and pride
As distant sound of warbling birds Shrill echoed from the mountain side,
"Away! I cannot linger here When other voices call me home!"
Then quick she hied to a streamlet near And vanished in its dashing foam.
Her voice still trembled in the air Eer singing of a towering Mount,
And on we followed, free from care, Till the echoes led us to a fount
Of crystal water pure and clear, Where oak and ash in beauty grew
Near mossy rocks whose every tier Was covered with the glittering dew.

Ah, this then was the Mountain Queen!
Who called us hither, and my heart Thrilled wildly oer the inspiring scene
Thus spread around me to impart
Emotions never felt before, For high above us in the air
Through rift of cloud that floated oer Methought twas Heavens own radiance there.

POEMS OF GIRLHOOD

113

Wide-spreading fields and groves below With streamlet, sloping hill and vale,
Grew softer as the sunset glow Crept oer each mead and flowry dale.
Old Kennesaw in azure hue Saluted Yonah from afar,
And Chattahoochee pledged anew Allegiance to the Evening Star.
Oh! here was beauty in a dress Of brilliancy and grandeur rare
Which gave my soul the power to bless The God whose might had placed it there.
And memory sweet without alloy Though weal or woe the Pates may bring,
Shall yet recall my girlhood joy When first I saw, "The Stony King."
September 1860.

TO OUR NEW PAPER THE UPSON PILOT.
Thrice welcome to our sunny hills! Our grand old woods and sparkling rills; Thrice welcome! to our homes so dear, Now filled with smiles of friendly cheer.
We ve dreamed of thee for many days, But Hope had hid her golden rays Till one bright morning to us came A white-winged messenger of Fame.
"The Upson Pilot!" Mayst thou steer Oer threatening billows without fear, And when a darkening cloud may dare To hover oer thee bringing care.
May gentle breezes guide thy sail, To an anchor strong where joys may hail, And sunbeams render still more fair The intellect and wisdom there.

114

GOLDEN BOD AND CYPRESS

Then onward still thy course pursue Among warm hearts and spirits true, "Excelsior!" flash amid the gleam Of every bright and dazzling dream.

A wreath of Bellwood flowers we twine As laurels oer thy sacred shrine, And echo as the hills repeat Three cheers for Upson's classic sheet!

TO LBOLA PROM THE PILOT.
(In Response to 'Her Kind Welcome.)
We scarce know how to express our thanks for the beautiful poetic contribution sent us by Leola. Leola! What a name! How soft and expressive of female purity! It falls on the ear, the very personifica tion of that ideality which extracts inspiration from the whispering wind, the song of birds, the blush of flowers, the rainbows hue, the lightnings flash and the thunders roar.
We have long since hung one harp upon the willows. Its strings are rusted and broken. Its notes are discordant, but we snatch it from the mouldy tree and it utters tKe following response to Iieolas Welcome.
Lady, most welcome thrice we greet The first sweet warblings of thy lyre,
Wake oft its strings, its songs repeat, Warm with true poetic fire.
Here thorns lurk oft amid the flowers Storms oer most tranquil seas will steal,
But mid dark waves, or blooming flowers, God still stands Pilot at the wheel.
Should fools deride, or critics sneer Through sunny vale or Alpine height,
Excelsior, still thy steps shall cheer And pilot thee at last aright.
"Excelsior!" Let the strange device Be graven deep upon thy heart,
In joy or grief, storm, heat or ice Neer let this Pilots light depart.

POEMS OP GIRLHOOD

115

MY SISTERS MARRIAGE.
"She stood before us a timid bride "With silvery veil but slightly swept aside The fresh young rose-bud deepening in her cheek And on her brow the sweet and solemn thought Of one who gives a priceless gift away.

Sweet Sister, thou hast left us! Thy sunny childhoods home
The dark old woods and valleys Where twas our wont to roam
Where woodland nymph and fairy Their ancient revels keep
Where wind-harps echoed nightly And lulled our hearts to sleep.
The orchards where we lingered In joyous summer hours
The smiling brooks and meadows The spell-enchanted bowers
The shadow oak and myrtle Beneath whose boughs we played
And crowned each others forehead With the snowy wreaths we made.
Thou hast left them all, dear sister! Our childhoods cherished haunts,
And though a messenger of love Thy trusting heart enchants;
Though light and gay the bridal throng, A watchful eye might trace
A solemn tear that glistened Upon thy fair young face.
The snowy robe, the flowing veil The wreath of orange flowers
Methought could grace no one so well As this sweet bride of ours.
No glittering gem shone on her breast No pearl gleamed in her hair
And only on her finger flashed What love had fastened there.

116

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Tis oer! Her pets and flowers The old years piteous moan
And every cloud at sunset Tell me Im all alone!
I miss her morn and even When cedars gently wave
Their graceful branches silently Oer fathers newmade grave.

The country Church where oft we joined In singing and in prayer,
The quiet little Sabbath School
Oh, I shall miss her there!
And Ill miss her in the springtime When flowers come again,
When they bring my eager pony For a canter oer the plain.

The streamlet where we glided The songs so wild and free,
The dark old woods, sweet Sister, Are cheerless without thee.
The bowers where we lingered Have lost their fairy spell;
And the star-eyed nymphs of "Aiden" No more their legends tell.

A beauteous home receives thee Another love is thine,
But thoult neer find, my Sister, A deeper love than mine.
Our hearts shall be united Wherever you may roam,
And neer shall distance break the tie Of childhoods happy home.

Jtoenwf
"Always look for the sunny aide of life and even if yon faint by the way, it is something to be on the road that leads to the High Ideala."

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

119

LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE.*
If Fate should oer shadow one moment thy life, And change all its dreaming to darkness or strife Pause not to grieve oer sweet joys that are past But seek the bright side then toil on to the last.
A sigh to their memory perhaps a fond tear Then away to thy duty with love and with cheer, Time is too precious to mourn and to fret, Oh, faint not, theres life in our Southern land yet!
What though its fair homes that we honor so dear Are bereft of the mirth that was wont to appear? The plantation songs that once echoed at eve Resounding oer valleys where fancy might weave.
Their semblance to that of the wild mountaineer The Swiss "Ram Des Vetches," in its national cheer, What though there be sorrow where none was eer
known, And the haunts that we cherished all silent and lone ?
Is there not in the darkness a star that may shine And bid us look upward, neer stoop to repine? 0, watch for its coming! Thy soul it shall guide And teach thee in trial to look on the bright side.
Ive stood in the halls where in childhood I played And gazed on the wreck that sad fortune had made I sought me the bower where roses so fair Were gathered to twine in the braids of my hair.
I wept for twas there the dear Poets of old Inspired the sweet lute that of happiness told. Whose music no more may resound oer the hill, But the snowy white roses ah, they will bloom still.
Thus may it be in the darkness and gloom When eer the tried spirit would welcome the tomb Look above! Thou surely wilt find a bright ray To lift up thy soul and drive sadness away.
Days of " Reconstruction."

120

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Then arouse thee brave heart! Struggle on with thy fate
Though cares press around thee and troubles await Let not the cold world eer blight with its pride The pure flowers of childhood look on the bright side I
Thomaston, Ga., Nov. 1870.

LINES TO AMELIE.
BY LEOLA.
"Radiant in beauty not brighter the skies, Then the gold of the hair, the blue of her eyes, Not richer the damask that crimsons the rose, Than her cheek as it flushes and smiles in repose!
Thou bidst me Minstrel sweet, to wake My long-neglected Harp for thee,
But oh, I fear its silvery chords May all too unharmonious be,
Since wintry winds so pitiless, Have swept where only sunlight shone,
And faded in the rosy Bower, Where echoed oft its joyous tone.
Yet warmly beats the heart that erst Sang careless all the livelong day,
It may be happy anywhere, If love will lend its bright'ning ray.
Then ask me not to touch the Lyre, But let us ramble-oer the lea,
And as thy hand mine own doth clasp Oh, whisper thou'lt remember me!
Bright child of sunny France! Thy life Be ever free from care as now,
May none but summers fairest flowers, Be twined about thy radiant brow.
What though the despots heel hath spoilt The glory of thy native vale,
Thoult find true hearts to love thee here, Then welcome to our quiet dale.

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There is no winter dark and drear, Where eer thy sunny smile is seen
Thou art like Morning on the wave,
Illumining the rippling sheen. Around thy path sweet roses spring,
The sun for thee beams ever hright, And oft of fabled nymph Ive dreamed,
When listning to thy songs so light!

Oh, ever sweet as silver bells TEat gently oer the waters peal,
And soft as twilights hallowed shades, That over Aiden gently steal.
Mayst thou, fair queen of melody, Eer sing thy sylvan notes so free,
And when oer distant lands you roam Say, wilt thou kindly think of met
Thomaston, Ga., June 9th, 1871.

SCENES OF LOVES YOUNG DREAM.
(Written among the ruins of Rogers Factory near Thomaston, which was destroyed by Wilson's Kaid through Georgia, April IS, 1865. This favored spot of nature was surrounded by the grandest scenery of Vpson, lying beneath majestic peaks of the Pine Mountains, on a large stream noted for its tremendous water power. Here amid these rugged scenes the young people delighted to hold their May Day picnics and summer festivals.)
Once more tis mine to ramble oer these hills Where erst there bloomed but flowers in my path Whose fragrance bore my spirit far above Earths fleeting joys to radiant realms of light Beyond the stars. Oh, who in words can paint The glowing hopes of youth, the first sweet dream Of love, neath sunlit skies whose tinted clouds Gleam oer some placid stream reflecting naught But golden waves of light?

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In days gone by Twas here I wandered oft with one who loved To hear in natures tones, the mighty voice Of God. Who saw in all things beautiful His wondrous seal, the setting sun, the roar Of rushing waters, aye, each tree and flower His wisdom taught.
There on the mossy rock 0 er twined by angel hands for those who gaze On crystal waters far below, we sat, And watched at dewy eve the foaming waves As madly downward oer the rocks they dashed In mimic fray. Blest Aiden! Gently sweep Spring zephyrs oer this dear retreat, for here O changeless heart, in golden summer days Neath intermingled boughs of Beech and Pine Where heart leaves clustered lowly o er the bank Our troth was plighted. Heaven heard the vow E'en Death itself can never break!
How sweet To memory are those hallowed days! Each spot Some happy story breathes of moments past And as I gaze upon yon distant hill, The joy of girlhood fills again a heart That since has felt lifes wintry wind grow drear As Fortune treacherous proved. Oh, tell me where Ye rippling waves, are those who once enjoyed This beautiful retreat ? One soldier true Is sleeping near the village Church who fell A hero at his post. And nearer still That holy house of God, another rests Whose noble life went out when the morning sun Came in. And though its radiant beams illumed All earth with joyful light twas dark to me!
But here where Omnipresence reigns, My soul looks far beyond the shadowy grave The blighted hope, and faded flower. A Star No night may dim shines bright above me still And leads me upward where no eye hath seen Nor mortal ear hath heard the glorious scene Prepared for those who love the Lord of all.

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MEMORIES OF AIDEN, BEFORE AND AFTER THE WAR.

Sweet Memory! Oer the lapse of years bring back The same bright forms that once assembled here! The merry eyes that sparkled oer this sheen Reflecting light and happiness below, The jest, the careless laugh, the buoyant heart, As oer the waves in light canoe we sped Or gayly cantered up the mountain height, Where towering oaks the gathering cloud ne er heed, But grandly wave their dark green plumes above. Each haunt of ours some classic title bore Parnassus here, and yonder Tempe s Vale. That jutting cliff and isle, with Jasmine strewn A legend of their own might tell. Twas here One summer eve, ere desolation spread Its havoc wild oer all this sunny land. A youthful party wearied with their stroll In search of flowers, paused. It was a scene The brush of Titian might have graced, for high Enthroned in regal state with sapphire crown Of violets sat our woodland Queen. A blush Suffused her cheek, as oer she leaned to twine An ivy garland for the Knight who held The star-gemmed Cross. With smiling mien each came To list the name bestowed. Apollo, Pan, And Orpheus thrilling with his magic lyre, Arcadias Shepherd too with staff and crook Bearing lilies white for the golden curls Of her we called sweet Naiade of the stream. Then Oreades, Dryads, Fates and Muses came With offerings fair and flowers, fruits and song. How bright the world to our young hearts appeared As on the hours flew! Ah, well for us We could not see the darkning.clouds above! Long years of trial, war, and tears Since the sad morn we bade these scenes adieu As refuge sought we from the coming foe. Strange forms have wandered here, strange hands have
crushed Youths cherished flowers. Decay and ruin blight Each cot deserted, where at close of day

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The laborers cheerful song was heard. No more
The massive wheel moves on; the noisy din Of busy loom has ceased, and the toil of years In crumbling ruins lie. A melted mass Of iron is strewn where once the Factory stood
The Mill with all its cereal store is gone
And heaps of ashes only mark its place A mournful wreck. O, Change! How dreary here Thy shadows rest! Yet still the stream flows on
The same as in those glorious days, and most When twilight stillness broods oer all I love
Its ceaseless roar. To God it nearer brings The wondering soul, for His temple is in this grove
And here to prattling childhood may I teach The holy lessons Nature taught to me.
Oer all a holy Presence reigns, and within
A consciousness pervades that not alone Before His throne I kneel. A spirit true
Is wont to meet me at the mercy seat And neer while life shall last, can I forget The sacred "Twilight Tryst!" Though worlds and worlds
May roll between thy soul and mine, the same True faith is there, and one in heart forever
Our vespers still may blend at evenings close.

THE ANTE-BELLUM CHRISTMAS.
For several weeks before the great event to which all the world was looking forward, there were many superstitious ideas among the colored people on the large plantations of the South.
For instance, every chorister among the rustic chanti cleers in the neighborhood began to erow with all his might as an advance herald of the all-important day, not only every morning, but many times during the night at unusual hours, which was ominous of something to come.
On Christmas eve at midnight if one dared to peep in the barn he would see all the horses, cows and lambs on their knees! All through the woods there were mysterious Jack-o-lanterns with strange lights wandering here and there, but if the spectator would take off his coat turn it

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wrong side out, he was released from being followed by the haunt! Many of them had been taught to read and always attended church services, but as in the days of witches at Salem they still believed in the weird and supernatural.
When, the beautiful dawn of Christmas came and shed its holy light upon the hills and valleys of the old planta tion home, every weird imagination gave way to joy, real, uncontrollable joy, and with banjo, trumpet, tin pans and toy drums they gave vent to their delight. Twenty or thirty "little pickaninnies" came rushing up to the "big house" and all of our morning naps vanished as they shouted, "Christmas gift, Massa!" "Christmas gift, Mistiss!" "Christmas gift, everbody!"
There was no alternative but to hurry up and march down to see our Christmas tree with its weight of beautiful gifts, but we were forthwith ordered first to the dining room, where the ever-faithful Jack had already put on a Yule log with the blazing pine, and the cook had a tempting breakfast of her famous hot rolls, bannock bread, "spare ribs," sausages and other accompaniments of hog-killing times.
But, notwithstanding the hog-killing arrangements, the Christmas turkey was ready to be roasted and there were snowy piles of frosted cakes in the pantry, boxes of fruits, raisins, confections and richest cream for the syllabub.
After breakfast a cavalcade of the grown folks among the colored people gathered on the lawn to make a Christ mas speech to old Massa, after which the old ones were treated to a big Santa Claus cake, and a "sweetened dram," according to the fashion of those days, while the younger ones quaffed the nectar of locust and persimmon beer with cookies.
At length a tremendous box was opened on the back piazza, and from its retreat came warm woolen blankets for everyone on the place. From another box came socks and farm shoes. In each shoe was a white-oak measure con taining each ones name. After all were supplied, another box was opened, packed with kersey suits, made of wool from sheep raised on the plantation, being spun, woven and made up by the colored women, under the supervision of my mother.

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For the women there was woven a real pretty homespun
gingham of turkey red and indigo plaid, and to each was given a calico dress, besides gay bandannas for all. My father each year turned over several acres 1 of land to each
one of his servants, so they raised an extra crop of cotton for their own use, and sold their bales to the factory near by. By this means they were enabled to purchase extra
clothing and furniture for their best wear. The children were all treated apart from their supplies
to a lot of Santa Claus candies, after which they capered
and danced in their joy. This dance came from the very
soul of happiness, and was not a "turkey trot" or a "tango," but in their vernacular called "cut the pigeon
wing," and every muscle in the body was brought to play.
With a grateful speech from the foreman to the beloved Old Massa, they dispersed to enjoy their holiday parties,
and never were people happier during the Christmas festi
vities than the old-fashioned darkey of the South. The gentry of those days spent the week of Christmas
in a round of social gayeties from one family to another,
for they were in the midst of plenty and prosperity and enjoyed sharing it with each other and dispensing blessings
to those not so fortunate. Truly the memory of those happy days is like a brilliant symphony of harmonious music that
ever lingers in the soul with a radiant glimpse of all the
beautiful forms of times long gone floating through the cheering vision.
LOULA KENDALL ROGERS.
Tennille, Ga.

LONGING FOR PEACE.
"Dona nobis pacem--pacem pacem!"
In a dim enchanted castle where the sunlight never gleams And no mirthful voices echoed, I was wandering in my
dreams, While the fitful hollow wailing of the wind as on it rolled, Lent a solemn death-like stillness which of gloomy spectres
told.

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127

All was darkness round my footsteps, and above me to and fro
Swept a phantom train of mourners sighing deep with grief and woe.
And their sobbings like the billows, rose and fell upon the air,
While a mocking whisper uttered back their cry of dark
despair.

Tis the home of sorrow! "Lead me," cried I, "spirit of
my dream, From this gloomy haunted castle, where no joy and pleasure
beam, To a land of. rest where loved ones wait to greet Tne with
delight, And no misty shadows linger on the bosom of the night!"

Then a door was opened where the rays of costly chandelier Shed brilliant light on beautys cheek which scorned at
sorrows tear, Loud merry peals of laughter blended with the mazy dance, And a smile of seeming gladness shone in every witching
glance.

I gazed awhile upon the scene but mockery was there! And like a serpent crept near those who once were good and
fair, And I wondered as they proudly oer the gilded palace trod. If there was one among the number who rendered homage
unto God?

Then I heard the muttered curses of some wicked sin-lost soul,
And the dangerous slipping worse than death, of debau chees dark bowl,
Wildest shouts of mirth and revelry were borne up to the skies,
And scalding tears of pity fell from wondering angels eyes.

Peace is not here! Oh, take me to some far-off beauteous isle,
Where song of birds is greeted by a bright and happy smile

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Where the snowy wings of Purity and Faith are hovering oer,
And een the waves are joyous as they kiss the pebbled shore.
Swift pinions bore me thither, but the winter chill and dreary
Had withered all the flowers there and warbling birds were weary,
The King of Death and Pestilence whose cravings never cease,
Had robbed the lovely island of its happiness and peace.
Then around me softly falling, came a veil of silvery light, And I knelt in holy worship with a thrilling strange delight, As above me in the moonlight flew a gentle meek-eyed
Dove, Who whispered that in Heaven above is Peace, abiding
Love!

TO MY GIBLHOOD FRIEND MRS. JULIA COOK SMITH.
(At her golden wedding, with the gift of a golden spoon, contain ing the following symbols of her native State--Georgia's Coat of Arms, State Capitol, Old Fort Hawlcins and a Bale of Cotton.)
What shall I send my old-time friend On this, your Golden Wedding Day ?
A diadem, to grace thy brow, And shine with loves immortal ray?
Or shall it be a golden key To ope sweet memories of the past.
And bring to mind the Auld Lang Syne Whose joys will time itself outlast ?
Ah, well I know the Long Ago Is forever centered in thy heart,
For mid Cullodens lovely bowers Sly Cupid sent his golden dart.
And there it clings and ever brings A joy with every passing hour,
Oh, who can tell the magic spell That lives in loves eternal power I

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129

"Pis then with cheer a souvenir I send to grace that festal day,
Its heart is gold and Georgias shield Alights the way with Wisdoms ray;
In regal pride the other side
Embodies eloquence of State, While nearer still upon the hill
A fort reveals the Indians fate.

Accept it thee, my school girl friend, Twill sometimes bring a thought of me;
And may our friendship never end But live beyond the Crystal Sea.
Best wishes twined with loving thoughts And all things bright today be thine
Until the golden years of life With brighter gold in Heaven shine!
Tennille, Ga., April 4th, 1911.

BEAUTIFUL LAKE JACKSON, FLORALA, ALA.
(Lake Jackson on the Boundary Line between Florida and Alabama, whence Comes its Name.)
Oh, could I paint with magic brush The white-capped waves as now they rush Like oceans roar in raging storm, Enrobed in beautys wildest form. Impetuous, gushing madly on As if a goal is to be won, Yet frantic when they reach the shore To leap still onward evermore!
Such grandeur speaks in thundering tone Of great Jehovas mighty throne, The sea is His, He makes the deep Where rushing winds their revels keep. But storm and tide obey His will When comes the whisper, "Peace be still," The clouds recede all earth grows bright, Lake Jackson then is robed in light.

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Ten thousand diamonds sparkle oer Translucent waves from shore to shore, And down the vista of the years A swiftly gliding hark appears. Tis *Enchee Anna, Princess fair! The Indian maid with raven hair, She leaves her brow in water sweet, And all the birds her songs repeat.
The Seminole and Choctaw brave Skimmed lightly too the bounding wave, And with the warriors steady aim Triumphantly brought down the game. Mid Alabamas cooling shade Reclined they in this woodland glade, And as the sun sank in the West, Low whispered, "Here, oh, here we rest!"

Alas, the hand of discord tore The dream away, and farther bore The warrior onward from his lake, His hunting ground he must forsake. The pale face sought his woodland lair To rear some lofty mansion there
And the iron steed with lightning wing Flies where Red Eagle once was king.

Yet lovely still the waters play, For none but God can take away The mirrored sky with all its light Reflected there in colors bright. Each varied charm, morn, noon and eve, Brings golden dreams that oer me weave A mystic spell, and upward raise A song of joy, of love and praise.
Eacheeanah.

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131

TO MY LITTLE GRAND-DAUGHTER.

MABY LOUISA MCCEABY,
On The Day She was Christened, June 10, 1906.
Baby Louise! Sweet Baby Louise! Oh, may thy life be like the beam
That shines today upon thy brow Of Heavens light a radiant gleam!
But not upon thy face alone May God send down his brightest ray,
May all thy heart, and all thy soul Be symbol of a perfect day.
God bless thy life! Oh, may its flowers Shed their fragrance every where,
And may this world grow still more bright For such a life so pure and fair.
May angels hover oer thy way And scatter blessings at thy feet,
While all things beautiful and true Thy joyous spirit ever greet.
O, dainty babe, our babe so fair! God"s seal is on thy brow today,
And He who loaned this priceless gift Hath power to give and take away.
But with thee comes a message sweet That breathes of love and all things bright,
For close within His heart He blessed These rose buds, crowning them with light I

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THE FOURTH ANNIVERSAEY.

Pour years ago today, my love Four years ago today
We breathed the pure and holy vows Which made us one for aye.
Bright dreams were in our happy hearts Of usefulness and peace
Of a lovely home where the Star of Love Her vigils neer should cease.

The fairest summer flower should grow In tenderest nurture there,
The clearest fount its crystals throw Out on the perfumed air,
Sweet Poesy with gentle touch Should gild each leaf and tree
And Musics thrilling strains should fill One soul with minstrelsy.

Alas! grim War hath clouded oer The skies of which we dreamed
The footsteps of a foe hath .pressed The path where sunlight gleamed.
But dark how eer the world may be, Though deafening thunders roll,
No tyrant power on earth can dim The sunlight of the soul!

The harp that once so fondly waked Its sweetest lays for thee,
Is silent now and yet there lives A dearer minstrelsy,
The rippling laugh of childhood floats Upon the morning air,
And merry little blue eyes claim Of love their rightful share.

Two little souls tis ours to guide Along lifes chequered way,
Two little minds to treasure up With gems that neer decay,

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133

Two precious little hearts to keep
In purity and truth,
0 may kind Heaven help us shield
Them from the sins of youth.

How bright and beautiful the day As twas four years ago!
And still more radiant beam our hearts In loves unchanging glow.
Oh! shine on thus all through the years
Blest star of love divine, In sunny morn or sorrows night
Our joy in lifes decline!

THE HOME OP MY CHILDHOOD IN ASHES.
Just at the close of our fall term at Gordon Institute, as twilight shades enshrouded the earth, there came the sad tidings that Bellwood the beautiful home of my child hood was destroyed by fire!
Like a lone sentinel of the past it had stood for years keeping watch over the grand old hills and valleys where four generations quietly sleep their last sleep, "far from the worlds ignoble strife" resting peacefully under the towering oaks till awakened on the morning of the resur rection.
So passes away all that is earthly. In the morning our lives are brightened by some lovely flower whose sweet fragrance brings back cherished memories, and in the even ing it is gone. Change, decay, withered hopes and ashes leave their trail on all things in this life. How fondly my heart reverts to a festal scene in those brilliantly lighted halls when as a bonny bride I saw only the bright and beautiful side of life. Three hundred guests were assem bled whose joyous hearts were freighted with kind wishes that the new life might be paved with flowers of radiant hue. Ah they little dreamed that so soon the cypress would take the place of the lily and rose!
Of this dear old home, a true type of the plantation home of ante bellum days, a gifted visitor once wrote:

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"The scenery around and about is sublime. Standing on the summit of one of those high hills when the golden rays of the sinking sun fall gently on the differently shaded fields and the vernal pictures of lofty oaks that stretches
out far and wide over hill and dale, a scene so grand is
presented that my feeble language cannot describe it." A poet of Emorys classic groves thus alluded to its
charms in rhythmical strains.

"Oh, Bellwood! sweet Bell-wood, the spot where I wander

In Utopian dreams and such bright moments squander

,;

In thy valleys of pleasure that I ne er can refrain

My fancy from winging its flight there again."

It was an old saying that no one ever entered those wide double doors leading into a long broad hall, without a wish to visit there again, and enjoy once more its fragrant sum mer breezes, its luscious fruits, and the unstinted hospital ity which breathed a warm-hearted welcome to all. Whether there was a horse shoe or a lucky bone suspended some
where it mattered not, but it was certainly "my mothers way, to give all who entered there a cordial greeting, and
such a bright beaming smile that they were at once assured of a kindly welcome and made to feel immediately at ease.
Every conceivable plan for their comfort and happiness was carried out, and where a dozen well-trained servants were constantly in readiness for duty, housekeeping was not the Herculean effort it is in these days, where good
help is scarce and hard to find. My fathers whole-souled hospitality gathered around him the great and good from all parts of the State, among whom I remember, Dr. Samuel
K. Talmage (uncle of our present Dr. Talmage), Judge Walter T. Colquitt, Gen. Bates of Tennessee, Dr. and Bishop Pierce, Gov. Smith and many other distinguished men, but they too have passed away. It is said that words never die but echo on and on through endless ages. If so may that dear old spot where dwelt my honored parents ever bear on its light breezes the musical refrain of loving voices and fervent prayers.
When I graduated at Wesleyau College, the old house which was our birth-place, and one of the first settled in Upson county was torn down, and a handsome residence of the style of architecture then prevailing was built. My

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135

gifted mothers artistic taste beautified every room, and
the impress of her touch was perceptible everywhere on the lawn and in the flower yard. A true artist herself by nature and in practice, she taught us to love all that is
true, beautiful and good. The best books filled our library, and it was my delight when a child to climb up to the highest shelves and capture some old antique volume that had passed a century in the family.
With music on Piano, Violin, Guitar and Flute, our sweet country home was never lonely but always a pleasant retreat for our city friends who were quite enthusiastic over its woodland bowers and meandering streams.
In the blue room overlooking a brilliant landscape of lofty hills whose azure blended with the sky, was a quaint
antique bedstead of our ancestors whose tall posts of solid mahogany were curiously carved in flowers and leaves. This, and the old-fashioned bureaus and great heavy side
board, with many other articles of olden times, all went down in the flames.
Home! Sweet home! How often amid the cares and the burdens of life have the scenes of my birth-place arisen be fore me, and urged me to press on toward the beautiful Eternal Home where there will be a grand reunion of all the loved ones who once assembled here!
Many of the old family servants still cling to those hallowed haunts and will never leave them till death breaks the tie that binds them to the old plantation.
It is a strange coincidence that on the anniversary of
my mothers death her beloved home has passed away. Ashes, ruin, and desolation where joy, beauty and luxury once made their abiding place. How many a happy song was sung in girlhoods springtime of love, how many a
poem was written by that window upstairs overlooking the pale blue Pine mountains in the distance, and wide-spread ing green fields interspersed with great orchards of pink
peach bloom, that listened day and night to the ceaseless roar of swift gliding Tobler as it flowed onward in its march to the deep Thronateeska (Flint River). Now, alas, the tender chords are broken whose light cadence can never
again awaken to life and beauty. And not only sweet Bellwood with its lovely bowers
has passed out of existence, but tnother bright home also which was next in my affections, where loves young dream

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tI.;

softly stole over the gliding waters and whispered of a hap-



py future. With Mount Zephyr the happiest hours of my

;

life were associated, and every crested hill bore on its height

some cherished memory. Thus two of old Upsons most

beautiful homes are laid in the dust, and the spot where the

:

Thomaston Factory once stood in grandeur, with its eom-

-

manding residence on the hill, and picturesque cottages

^

below is now only a heap of ruins.

;

Change, decay, withered hopes and ashes mark all things

!|

in this fife. Should we not cling all the closer to the

promise that breathes of an heirship with One who is the

same Yesterday, Today and Forever?

ftacreb
The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament showeth His handiwork.--Bible.
Should we not then with tongue and pen Show forth our love and praise,
On Beulaha height, or shadowy night To God our voices raise t

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139

THE TEST OP ABRAHAMS FAITH.

(Suggested by a sermon at old Trinity Church, Atlanta, Georgia, from Bev. William M. Crumley.)
Softly the moonlight fell upon the plain Covering with a silvery veil of beauty The dark grove of Beersheba. Gracefully The long-leafed palm waved to and fro as light Breezes gently fanned its lofty boughs, while Gleaming white like spectral forms arose The queenly sycamore, whose tireless watch With conscious pride was kept oer snowy tents Where slumbered innocence and peace.

All earth Was still, but to the aged one whose hand So tenderly each tree had planted here No slumber came. The loved one at his side Was dreaming, and to her he whispered not The stern command that rent with grief his heart, But smothring the anguished groan upon his lip He arose, and while in fervent prayer, beheld
Afar the crimson light that now began To flood the eastern sky. Bright but alas! The signal of his days work. To the task
He uncomplainingly set forth and when The suns bright beams oer crystal wavelets east Their mellowed ray, he was far beyond the spot Where Sarah slept. His son was beside him The joy of his wintry years, and anon With all the buoyant lift of youth Brought cheerful smiles and loving words from those Who followed in their train. Each look of his Was oh, so fondly watched, and eagerly
The old man heard the music of that voice So soon to be forever stilled.

Thus passed

Two days upon the way, when on the third

Behold the lofty heights of Mount Moriah!

\

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GOLDEN BOD AND CYPRESS

The Patriarch paler grew as at the foot They paused and gazed in awe above. Light clouds Bright gleaming in the morning sun Drifted oer its barren peak, and just below A thousand cedars sparkling in their dew Majestically waved. All silently The four dismounted and the aged sire Passed onward with his son toward the place Of holy worship. The sacred fire was Borne aloft with meek solemnity as The glittering steel reflected with each step Its lurid glare. On Isaacs youthful arm The wood was laid, but when at length they reached The chosen spot closed in by mountain fires, In vain he looked for an offering. "Father, Behold the fire and the wood but where
Is the lambt"

Ah, how could the parent tell That pure young heart its doom ? How meet the fond Inquiring look of Sarah, as he reached At eventide the cool inviting grove f His bosom heaved bis breath grew short his eye Toward Heaven turned with mute imploring gaze; Then blessed Faith triumphant nerved his soul And gently calmed its troubled waves. "My son," Twas thus with strength renewed, he low replied, "God will provide Himself a lamb!"

Then forth

He stretched his hand and bound the boy. No one

His anguish knew but God. No eye but His

Was witness to that scene. His hoary locks

And silvery beard fell low upon his breast,

As oer the wood he leaned with mind intent

Yet quivring lip from whence no murmur came.

At length the glittering steel was raised when lo!

A voice came from the sky. "Lay not thine hand

Upon the lad! Now I know thou fearest God."

Like welcome shower of tears to burdened heart,

Aye, like Hopes dazzling light oer dark despair,

"Was that sweet voice to Abraham and changed

His pent-up anguish into joy!

j

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141

THE CRY OF NATIONS.
(A few nights 'before Miss Laura Saygood gave her life vsorle to China, I dreamed of being on the shore as she embarked, and saw above a mighty host of angels, in the midst of whom were her father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Green Haygood, who triumphantly sang: "Praise God from whom all blessings flow.")

From distant lands there comes a pleading cry Of woman yearning for the light on high, Tis wafted oer the foaming waters deep, Oer burning sands and rugged mountains steep. She calls, dear sisters, help from you, 0, heed The cry, and haste the hungering soul to feed! Should we with lamp untrimmed regardless stand Until too late to lend a helping hand ?

Hark! from the silvery shores of Mexico On wintry wind there breathes a wail of woe, "We crave more light! Our cloistered hearts are cold, Oh, take us, Christians, to your blessed fold!" Not all the wealth of Montezumas halls Could break the chain of slavery that enthralls, Nor gold nor diamond rare could purchase aught Of that pure love a Saviors blood has bought.
From Orinocos plain is heard a sigh As ignorance and vice go stalking by And from the golden Selvas of Brazil A gentle voice is calling softly still Tis a mother imploring truth and light As Papacy excludes from her the Right And veils the Word of Lifes eternal ray, The joyful beam that leads to perfect day.

From coral reef a voice steals oer the wave In piteous cry "My daughters save, 0 save!" Poor India reeking with the crimson blood Of innocence, as with the rolling flood Is swept a precious babe and farther on A suttee widows recompense is won. Canst thou, oh, Christian hear this pleading cry Yet leave the weak and helpless thus to die t

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Behold the Orient! Bright cradle of the race, In the fair Asia, mournfully we trace Sins holocaust the downward path from light
That once illumed Gerizims lofty height, The glorious beam that shone o er Carmel s brow, And Jordans crystal wave, where is it now? Ah, wayward souls yeve wandered far away
List, to the call from darkness unto day.

Girt round by shadows gleams the silvery crest Of a Chinese Temple in regal splendor dressed,
Proud monarch of wide-spreading vales below
Where winding streams in peaceful beauty flow. No Christ is known! and from Zhehol
No joyful song, no shout of rescued soul, For here, alas! a midnight darkness reigns As countless idols dot the flowry plains.

Lo! what barque is that upon the moonlit sea With snowy sail, and banner waving free ?
What means that shout of vast exultant throng Who gather on the shore with praise and song ?
Miss Haygoods there! Gods light is in her eye, And Faith and Hope illuminate the sky, As heeding Chinas call she nobly gives Her all to Him in whom she moves and lives.

Thus Georgias gifted daughter on the wave Braves threatening flood degraded souls to save One hand the symbol bears of Light and Love The other holds "The Book of Books," above But whose the hand that firmly steers the helm, And guides aright though fearful storms oer whelm? The same that bore the Cross! He leadeth oer The trackless sea and pilots safe to shore.
Ascending high bursts forth a shout of joy As friends the parting hour in songs employ Far, far above a vision opes to mortal sight And Heaven beams one dazzling blaze of light! What aged forms are these in white array Who hovering over cheer her on her way? Her sainted parents! mid a holy throng Of angels bright they sing this grand old song.

SACRED POEMS

143

"Praise God from whom all blessings flow Praise Him all creatures here below
Praise Him above ye heavenly host, Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!"

Tis caught by all the heavenly host, they sing Hosanna! Glory! Praises to our King! Sun, moon, and stars a joyful tribute raise. And everything on earth resound His praise.
Par oer the sea is borne this precious Light, No longer idols tears and darksome night
There comes good tidings of great joy adore And magnify His name forever more.

THE LORD HATH NEED OP ALL.
(Written by Mrs. Loula Rendall Rogers for the Woman's Parsonage ana Some Mission Society, assembled at Miltedgeville, Ga., September 5-9, 1894.)
"And all the women that were wise hearted did spin with their hands, and brought that which they had spun, both of blue and of purple and of scarlet and of fine linen. Exodus 35:25.
"O Christian women! For the temples set Throughout earths desert lands do you forget The sanctuary curtains need your broidery yet."
Bring thine offering, oh, my sisters, for the Lord hath need of all;
Lay it freely "on the altar, though to you it seemeth small; Man may rear the mighty temple, but his power neer
hath wrought Such dainty gifts of beauty as thine own fair hands have
brought.
Bring the blue and purple curtains where thy love hath gently traced
All its faith, and all its patience, with a sweet, artistic taste;

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Place them in the holy chancel; let their silken folds entwine
In soft embrace each broken heart that seeks the hallowed shrine.

Lovely minstrel! let the music of thy most entrancing lays Swell the triumph of Jehovah in a song of joy and praise; Like the voice of Miriam, wafted oer the billows of the sea Chant his glory with the timbrel "Who, 0 Lord, is like
to thee?"

Bring thy painting and thy flowers breathing natures life so true,
For they oft refresh the spirit and the inner man renew; Make the parsonage an Eden where our ministers may rest As the golden waves are circling in the heaven-lighted west.

Ah! their lot is oftimes lowly, all their needs we may not see,
And the weary wife discouraged though her song may cheerful be;
From Atlantics waves to Mexico whereer Gods anointed roam,
Let us help to bear the burdens and to beautify the home.

Bring the garments like Tabitha for the poor and thinly clad;
Make the widows heart grow lighter and the trembling orphan glad;
Speak a word of true devotion smiles of joy and comfort bring;
Every talent He has given, let it glorify the King.

Wilt thou stand amidst the splendor of a brilliant, lighted hall,
Caring nought for those who suffer, heeding not anothers fall?
What answer couldst thou render when thou hearst a voice repeat,
"I was sick, in prison, hungry, and ye gave to me no meat?"

SACRED POEMS

145

In the darkness of the dungeon where there cometh not a ray
Of the light that ever shineth oer the Christians happy way,
Sing, 0 sing of his forgiveness who hath whispered unto thee,
"Inasmuch as ye give comfort ye have brought the same to me."
Unto me!" Oh, tribute sweeter than ten thousand worlds of gold,
Is a tear of true repentance from some reckless, sin-curst soul;
Awake thy heart, thy tongue, thy pen, each rally to the call, And bravely toil in His dear name who hath a need of all.
Spread afar the joyful tidings where the cry for help is heard;
Teach the little ones of Jesus and to love his holy word; 0 er the mountains of "Walesea to Laredo s sunny plain May His banner float in triumph and His kingdom ever
reign!

"THE CEOSS HERE, THE CROWN THERE."
To THE TOUNG WOMENS CHRISTIAN ASSOCIATION OP GORDON INSTITUTE.
"Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life."
Take up the cross! Oh, let it not Lie wasting in the dust;
It seemeth heavy but tis light When borne in faith and trust.
Hold steadfast, God will give thee strength To guide thee on the way,
Firm as a rock His word shall stand Through Heavens eternal day.
The world may scoff, it hath not felt The glory and the power
That brightens up the Christians face And cheers in sorrows hour.

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

It does not hear the fountain flow That murmurs of the blest,
Nor sees the dazzling ray of light Illumining the blest.

It matters not, oh, be thou true No other light can give
Peace to the weary troubled soul Or bravery to live,
When all the hopes of life are fled And earth is robed in gloom,
Then comes the glory of that trust That hovers oer the tomb.

O, blessed Cross our Savior bore! Though dark my way may be,
Still let me kneel in childlike faith And cling always to thee.
And if one tear that I may shed Could help to wash the stain
From some poor heart by sin oppressed, I shall not live in vain.

How glorious is the eternal light That gleams on wisdoms page.
It lifts above our earthly thought Heart, mind and soul engage.
Then onward, upward, higher still, So let each virtue shine,
Till with the pure in heart above The star-gemmed crown is thine.

A Crown of Life! Ah, tempest-tossed, What though the waves roll high,
And leave thee but a shattered wreck Of joys that hasten by ?
What though the sky be dark with gloom That now seems bright and fair,
Still let these words thy pilot be "The Cross Here, The Crown There!"

SACRED POEMS

147

DYING SOULS.

Hearst thou to-day, aye even to-day* The cry of a mighty host,
Knowst thou that while we worship here A million souls are lost?
They know not Him whose praise we sing, In vain for help they cry,
Too late! too late, our lamps we trim In unbelief they die.

One thousand million dying souls In midnight darkness grope,
No light comes with the crimson dawn No God, no Christ, no hope.
E en childhood is bereft of joy In servile bondage bound,
The light that gleams in all things free, Alas! they neer hath found.

HoW blest are we in Christian lands ! Our banners proudly wave,
When Knowledge, Truth and Love unite Each wandering soul to save.
At morn when earth is tipped with gold, Our happy voices blend
And when the evening shadows fall,Our fervent prayers ascend.

From yon dark land where Vishnu reigns, There comes a voice today,
Tis pleading for these precious words The Light, the Truth, the Way.
Oh, Christians rise! up with the dawn, Shine as the golden sun, _
With heart and soul and strength and might, Work ere your race is run.

Daughter of Zion, awake, awake! Go spread the tidings far
Dispel the gloomy shades of night,
This may be used for a missionary recitation.

148

. GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Point the Bright and Morning Star. O, waft ye winds, the precious name
Of Jesus oer the sea, Let north and south and east and west
Shout Christ our King shall be!

CHRIST AT THE FEAST.
GOLDEN TEXT: If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink.-- John 7:37; Lev. 23:40-44.
International Sabbath-School Lesson for February 26, one of the most impressive utterances of the lifetime of Jesus.
Amid a circling host of golden clouds The autumn sun arose. In loveliness No mortal hand may paint, Jerusalem The joy of all the earth was slumbering. And hushed and still were courts where kingly Robes had swept, while mirthful voices echoed To timbrel and the harp. The mighty gates Not yet unbarred revealed in morning light Their massive strength, and breathed of peace within. Why comes not from the inner veil a sound Of praise, the burning incense and the song? Hark! from the everlasting hills a chant is heard For tis the holy Feast of Seven Days, And Israels host now dwell in shaded booths In memory of the tents at Sinai. The brow of Olivet is crowned with palm And myrtle blooms, and from the neighboring heights Of Mount Moriah, boughs of willow twined With waving Lulabh and the Olive branch Are borne aloft, as rises on the eastern slopes The great Hallel, to which each host responds, And symphonies resound from hill to hill As psaltery, harp and cymbal all unite In praise. Four candelabras shed their light From four times four vast jets of burnished gold Illumining all through hours of night

SACRED POEMS

149

The plain below. At dawn of day the priests "With stately tread keep time to solemn chant Our feet shall stand within thy gates 0, Jerusalem." Afar oer shadowy steep and barren plain Is Siloam s fount, and from its rippling tide In burnished gold is borne the cooling draught. Hallelu Yah! Hallelu Yah! Then from silver throated trumpets came a blast Of loud rejoicing. Over garden wall And all the hillsides rose the mighty shout As thousands joined the glad triumphant song "Oh, let us thank the Lord for he is good For his mercy endureth forever!" From every booth the same responses came "The Lord Jehovah is our strength and song Therefore with joy shall we draw water From the wells of his salvation." Beyond all Earthly joy this sacred rite was deemed, So shout after shout arose till human strength Gave way and even Siloams fount refreshed No more the weary soul. Alas! some there stood "Who neer had known the blessed rest and peace "Which comes alone from that pure cleansing fount. Whence living waters flow. Aside they turned Exhausted from the long-continued feast And craved still something more.
Twas then the time A princely form appeared, yet clothed in garb Of humblest texture wrought. No diadem Gleamed on His royal brow, no priestly chant Fell from His courtly tongue but there was light And love and mercy in His eye, and that itself Revealed His power divine. At once
The multitude drew back and marveled much That He who straightway come into the pool Should hold Himself aloof until the last And take no part in all the pageantry. Twas Christ, the son of God, and thus he spoke As man neer spake before: "If any thirst Let Mm come unto me and drink: and he

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Shall have eternal life!" 0, blessed words!
How many faint and weary souls ye lead Along lifes pilgrim journey. Oft when grief Oppresses every sense, and burdens crush The poor, bleeding heart, there sweetly comes This precious call, not alone to one, but all Whosoever will may come!
We thank Thee Heavenly Father, for this healing fount, And as we quaff its sparkling stream our love Wings oer the sea, and shouts from pole to pole "Let all the world rejoice! The crystal tide. Gives life, eternal life!

LIFES WOEFUL WRECK.
"When earth a woeful wreck through the sea of space shall roll No tears will be shed in heaven like those oer one lost human soul." --MAB.Y E. BEYAN.
Gone! Gone! Gone! The dreams of sunny years Their vacancy is filled with naught But bitter sighs and tears. Oh, who can paint the anguish Of torn and bleeding hearts, When a hope that clustered fondly 0 er some loved one thus departs ?
Dead! Dead! Dead! To virtue and its goal, All pleadings and entreaties fail To melt that sin-curst soul! The revellers wild shrieking, The reeling, wretched sight, The proud form bowed in misery, Lifes morning turned to night.
Woe! Woe! Woe! A still small voice repeats But the warning is neglected

SACKED POEMS

151

Till the soul its ruin meets, Kind whispers are unheeded
The heart is frozen oer And all the love of other days
Eeclaims it never more. Down! Down! Down!
It sinks to endless woe, The poisonous cup has done its work
Mans worst and deadliest foe. Yet the midnight watch as usual
Proclaims that "all is well!" To ashen lip and lifeless clay
A mocking funeral knell. Lost! Lost! Lost!
On eternitys foaming sea! No anchor near to stay its course
Where will the haven be Oer mountain billows floating
By tempests madly tost No glorious morn is beaming
Oer the human soul thats lost.

THE RESCUED SOUL. Rescue the perishing, care for the dying
Snatch them in pity from sin and the grave, Weep oer the erring one, lift up the fallen,
Tell them of Jesus the mighty to save. FANNIE CBOSBT.
Tis night! Dreary night! No star illumes the sky,
No dawn of day breaks in the east, No hope of joy is nigh.
A soul despondent chained to earth Is pining to be free,
Yet knows not where to find relief, Or who will hear its plea.

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Despair, dark despair Steals oer that anguished soul -
Hiding all its wretchedness As deep waters oer it roll.
Thou knowst not afflicted one That storms in mercy fall,
Thou seest not the rainbows gleam Hearst not the Saviors call.

Alone! All alone! Though a city full is near,
No peace that wrestling soul shall find, Not one can give it cheer.
The burden presses sorely While passing neath the rod,
The Cross is heavy but it leads Thee nearer unto God.

Tis Morn. Glorious Morn! The sunlight floods the sky,
Illumining the troubled soul That looked for aid on high.
Riven the chain! A prisoners free, That erst in darkness lay,
At midnight came the white-robed throng And "rolled the stone away!

Joy! Celestial joy! Is beaming all around;
No more in sins strong fetters Is the rescued spirit bound.
Hark! those holy voices Too sweet for mortal ear,
Rejoicing oer the dear one saved So near to God, so near!

SACRED POEMS

153

A DREAM OF THE HOLY CITY.
(And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.--Bev. 21:4.)

One dark and dreary morning As I looked upon the dawning, And awaked from dreams of loved ones in the radiant ideal, Not a flower in its beauty Or the thought of life and duty, Could chase away, the shadows when I found my dream unreal!

For I thought around me trending All their heavenly voices blending Were the loved ones who had left me in the happy days of yore And amid the joyous faces Where no sorrow leaves its traces, Was my precious loving mother, with the smile she always wore.

Then I drew a little nearer Where the light shone all the clearer And beheld my sainted father with the crown upon his brow, While the angel voices singing And the heavenly music ringing Filled my soul with joyous rapture I had never known till now.

Still farther on I hied me And then there stood beside me In that dazzling scene of glory one I often longed to see Oh, joyful was our meeting And happy was the greeting As he whispered "Faithful ever through eternity to thee!"
Then he led me to the Fountain On a star-encircled mountain, And pointed to the City with its shining streets of gold,

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GOLDEN BOD AND CYPRESS

Ah, what were groans and sighing In the land of death and dying, Since the pearly gates were open, and Gods Temple I behold?

There was no heavy burden In that celestial guerdon, For the shadow on my earth-path fell not upon me there; And in the radiant gleaming Eternal life was beaming "God is Love, and Love is God," is echoed every where!

I awaken to my duty

From the glorious dream of beauty,

And

mid the yet

clouds

around

me

struggle

bravely

onward

But this happy vision ever Points me to the Bright Forever, And sheds a light upon my path I never can forget.

1861-1865
WAR CLOUDS
O'zRflHADOW THE DBEA1IS OF HAPPY GlBlHOOD.
Oh, daughters and sons of the fathers that bled For the cause that was lost, and the dream that is fled, Come rally around them while yet there is time For duty, devotion, and homage sublime! Be ours the voices to fondly proclaim The pride of the home-land in each hallowed name, Till afar down the ages the echo repeat The plaudits that drown the sad knell of defeat, And the pages of History shall cherish for aye The fame and glory of OUT Heroes in Gray!

WAB POEMS

157

A NEW STAB.
OUB GLOBIOUS CONFEDEBACY.
I was musing in the twilight of a bright and beauteous land Of its lovely streams, its placid lakes, and hoary mountains
grand; Twas strewn with flowers of every hue, and bore upon its
breast A gem whose brightness far exceeds the purest diamond
crest.
There was beauty in its valleys, in its fountains and its rills,
And Euterpe with her magic touch awaked to joy its hills; There was beauty in its banner as it gracefully unfurled Its triple folds in triumph oer an all-admiring world.
With blessings Heaven crowned it, there was beauty, peace and love,
And angels smiled upon it from the star-gemmed courts above;
A thrill of pride rushed through my soul, for Yonahs height so grand,
And the broad Savannah beautiful my own, my native land!
Then the shadowy veil of night came down, and oh, what darkness drear
Fell on my beauteous visions so lately filled with cheer. In agony I wildly wept all happiness had fled, And before me was a bloody pall where Peace lay cold and
dead.
What maniac horde had thither rushed, what demon of the air,
With fiery brand and withering breath, had wrought the ruin there f
Who barred the glorious sunlight from those sweet mag nolia bowers
And sprinkled human blood upon those luscious fruits of ours?

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Columbia! my native land, oh, where is now thy boast, The united hope and destiny of thy freedom-loving host? Ah, thy glory has departed and a guilty erring one With brothers blood would desecrate the home of "Wash
ington.

The night is black around thee will it neer be light again Will crimson blood like rivers flow upon each sunny plaint Alas! the temple is divided. List! a thousand cannons roar And thundering tones re-echo, "Are we parted evermore?"

Yes, the veil is rent asunder, see how human passions swell For every deafening volley is a solemn funeral knell; Oh, God, in pity hear us! Send a messenger of peace To quell the roaring tempest and its mighty murmuring
cease.

In compassion came the answer: 0 er the ruins shone a ray, Bringing to the worn and weary promise of a brighter day, All honor to the nation born, the beautiful New Star That gleamed above oppression like an angel from afar.

Star of the South! Whereer I gaze thy radiant light is there
And neath its smile my spirit kneels in thankfulness and prayer,
Shine on through endless ages oer the fields by heroes trod, And lead each noble patriot on to glory and to God.

Bellwood, Upson Co., Ga.

1862.

A DREAM VISIT TO THE BATTLEFIELD OF SHARPSBURG.
Hushd was the inspiring strain of martial band, Which late had waked the slumbring hills of life, No deafening roar fell on the midnight air No burnished helmet gleamed upon the plain; As o er the blood-stained battle-field there hung A heavy funeral pall. .Anon I heard The murmuring waters of Antietam Whose crystal waters were crimsoned with the blood

WAB POEMS

159

Of the fallen foe, yet save this low dirge, No sound disturbed the calm, for Nature slept, And awful seemed the stillness of brooding oer That spot where Death had been the conqueror.
"Oh, where," I cried, "Is the promised goal the bright recompense Of proud ambition, and the radiant beams Of Glory and Fame ? The nickering light " That led upon our soil a thirsty horde To bathe their hands in brothers blood, and feast On the gathered spoils. Where the mighty hosts, The gallant steeds, that swept at early dawn The now neglected plain! Aye, tell me where Are those shrieking souls that at the judgment seat Must bear a record of this day?" A groan Pell on my ear a deep, heart-rending groan, Which told the tale more touchingly than words.
I hied me to the spot whence came The sound of woe, and there, beyond the reach Of help, had wandered one whose wasting breath Had almost sunk. His years were few; and on Thought bore me, to our brave soldier boy, Whose love-lit smile, een then, might sleep in death.
The dark and wavy hair That fell upon his marble brow was red, With clotted gore; and the youthful cheek A mothers lip had fondly loved to press, Was blanched with suffering. Upon his breast an open Bible lay, Whose holy pages had guided him in life, And tenderly would lead him through the waves Of Deaths deep waters. A trembling whisper Fell upon the breeze, and reverently kneeling, I faintly caught the soldiers song;
"I am dying slowly dying, Wave our banner oer my head;
Let its radiant folds surround me Though my heart be cold and dead.
Tell my comrades neer to waver In the glorious work begun,
Onward be their footsteps ever

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GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Onward! till the goal is won! Tell my mother, gently tell her,
For her soul is widowed now, That I neer forgot her teachings,
Or the solemn parting vow. Tell my fond and loving sisters,
When the fire around me rolled, Their hope-inspiring, cheerful voices,
Made my heart grow strong and bold, And her, oh, tell her how my spirit
Breathed for her its latest prayer.
Ere it winged its way to Heaven
May we greet each other there!"
The song was hushed the moonlight softer fell Upon his face, and close beside his heart, An image pure and fair was fondly pressed, Defying death to tear their souls apart.
On, on the dream spirit bore My wandering footstep, lingering oft to cheer In this broad Aceldama, the wounded And the dying. Ah, here among the heaps Of fallen braves, was one who nobly led His comrades to the charge, and fearless, held
Aloft his colors, though four had perished there! Alas! thou too my gallant kinsman, here Hast found thy resting place; thy manly form Was foremost in the van, though angels breathed Thy death knell days before. In slumers deep Thou heardst the ominous call, and dimly viewed The shadowy land of death. Thy brave, young heart, No more will list to Glorys call, or join The shout of triumph pealing far above, When Southern soil is free!
No more thy smile May cheer with joy the loved at home, or soothe Thy lone young wife whose all is sacrificed Upon her countrys shrine. And, tHese, oh war, Are victims of thy power! Forms tall and brave, With manhoods noblest gifts the old and young, Alike are thine. From home and friends afar, Here, too, the sons of my own native hills, Who dreamed of Fame neath Upsons beauteous shades,

WAS POEMS

161

Lie cold and dead. No pitying angel comes To hush the strife; and one by one they fall, Of those we hold so dear. All seeing God! We implore Thee hear the helpless cries of grief That well nigh crush our aching hearts send forth Thy Holy Spirit oer our bleeding land Oh, hide the war-clouds from our trembling gaze, And with the New Year whisper, "PEACE BE STILL."

SOME MOTHERS DARLING.
(In memory of an unknown young soldier of General Bragg's Army, who died from exhaustion on the march in Mississippi, July 4, 186S.)
The summer sun with livid ray Streamed oer the Western hill
No gentle breeze the forest stirred No voice came from the rill.
Beneath the burning noontide beam All natures heart was bound
Her birds, her streams, her whispering winds Gave forth no gladsome sound.
Hark! the drums deep music falls Upon the silent air,
And the tramp of parched and bleeding feet Awakes the stillness there.
Our wearied soldiers pass along It is not theirs to rest,
As long as the dreaded foemans heel On Southern soil is prest.
And yet one lingers in the rear His wasted strength to gain,
Hoping to join his comrades ere The moon is on the wane.
Alas! he sinks to rise no more Far from his mothers side,
And there beneath the forest shade The brave young patriot died.

162

GOLDEH ROD AND CTPEESS

Oh, who can tell what visions may Have cheered his dying hours,
Of joys that bloomed, of hopes long nursed "When life was paved with flowers?
We only know the midnight moon Its solemn radiance spread
Oer cheek and brow, there keeping watch Sole vigil of the dead.
When years have flown and balmy peace Oer earth her banners wave
And stranger eyes may rest upon This lonely wayside grave,
Oh! let one tear of sympathy For Georgias son be shed,
Whose valiant deeds lie buried with The unrecorded dead!

A GEORGIA WELCOME.
(To my kinsman, Lieut. John Lane, son of General Joseph Lane, of Oregon, Z7. S. Senator, and Candidate with Breekenridge for Vicepresident, who left West Point, 2f. Y., to enlist with the Confederate Army.)
Welcome! Welcome young patriot true, To the fairest of lands that the sun ever knew, Where the spirit of beauty in radiance flings
Her thousands of flowers On emerald bowers All gleaming with light from the flash of her wings.
Where proud magnolias in grandeur arise, And bloom in the light of the clearest of skies, Where white-robed orange by sea-breeze caressed
Its blossoms unfold To form apples of gold, That shine mid the leaves like sunbeams at rest.
They may tell us of mountains beyond the dark sea, Of Italias fountains and rivers so free Where Poesy dwells in each glittering wave,

WAB POEMS

163

A pearl more bright Than the fairest moonlight That eer shone on the pure hearted and brave. In song they may weave us love stories of yore, That were told in the lands of chivalric lore, And of Merons bright castles with pearl-finished
dome, But dearer than these
The sweet stunmer breeze That tells us of beauty in our own Southern home.

Then welcome, thou son of a patriot sire! To the land of enchantment and home of the lyre,
Our colors are thine, and long will they reign "When shielded from foes By the bravery of those
Who bear neath their armour the heart of a Lane!

TWILIGHT PRAYER FOR OUR COUNTRY.
(A covenant agreed upon by several friends durintf the War be tween the States, all of whom save myself, have been called to the Life Eternal, where thundering guns are heard no more.')
Tis a holy hour! Those crimson shades That gather in the west
Are vespers whose low call unites The good, the pure, the blest
Above there shines a chastened light Heaven nearer, fairer seems
The world departs, a brighter hope Within the spirit gleams.
Oh, dear is sunlights merry glance And beautiful its flowers
But dearer still the sacred thoughts Of twilights hallowed hours!
Tis then I wander oer the hills In silence and alone
While fancy robes each childhood scene In colors all her own .

164

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPKESS

I gaze upon the Autumn leaves That thick around me lie,
And breathe a prayer for soldier friends Who far away must die.
The fearless ones who stem the tide, Approach its wildest wave,
And sudden wrecked oh, may they find Sweet peace beyond the grave.
My Country! Many fervent prayers For thee, sweet land arise,
Each silent eve, and wing their way Beyond the starlit skies
Let every Southron heed the hour And trust Jehovahs might,
The "still, small voice," within our hearts Will guide us in the right.

And woman, of all others then Should hear the vesper call,
For on her countrys shrine is placed Her hopes, her treasures all!
And little children too should leave Awhile their careless play
To plead that Gfod their loved ones spare And lead them all the way.

Oh, Father, heed our anguished cry Put forth thy mighty hand,
And hush the deafening thunders roar God save our native land.
Drive back the foul invading foe, Their evil plans undo,
Show them their grievous wrongs to us, "They know not what they do!"

WAB POEMS

165

TO OUR DARLING SOLDIER BOY.
(Who left the Georgia Military College at only fifteen years of age to enlist in the Confederate Army.)
"We sing our winter songs again Around the evening fire,
But the sweetest sounds without thee Are like a broken lyre."
Thou hast gone my precious brother To the battle field away
But our hearts though rent with anguish Would not, could rot bid thee stay.
For the voice of glory culled thee In a deep and solemn tone,
And we gave the dearest treasure Our home has ever known.

Home is changed so changed without thee No merry laugh falls on my ear,
And the dark eye beaming fondly Greets me not with loving cheer.
In thy lonely vacant chamber Noiselessly my footsteps fall
But no fond caress awaits me, No one answers to my call.
Dost thou not remember, brother,

Oft as evening tide came on, How we roamed in joy together
Oer the meadow, oer the lawn?
Thinkst thou of our favorite woodland Where the sunlight brightly shown,
Where the flowers bloomed the sweetest ?
There I wander now alone.

Oh! I miss thee, brother, miss thee,
One by one my treasures go, Twas but last year the Death angel
Robed our home in shades of woe.
Then my heart was saddened later As there passed a bridal throng
And led my gentle, loving sister
From the bowers wed loved so long.

166

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Home grew silent, dark and cheerless, Hushed my lyres mirthful lay
Now its silver strings are broken For thou who loved it art away.
Ere the hopes and dreams of manhood Touched thy pure and youthful heart,
We saw the youngest of our household From our longing sight depart.
Oh! we miss thee, brother, miss tb.ee, Every day and every hour;
And I see thy name engraven On each tree, and on each flower;
Eagerly thy pet dog listens For thy footstep bringing joy
Kindred, friends, and servants ever Miss our darling soldier boy!
But thy cherished country needs thee On the distant tented field,
There our fondest hope may perish, But will never, never yield.
Onward still, thou brave young patriot, Oer the path by heroes trod
The Southern Cross will gleam before thee, And thy shield the soldier's God!

A SOLDIERS BRIDE.
Thou are gone! Thou art gone! no more may I hear Loves lingering tone lowly breathed in my ear, My bower is desolate where lately there shone A bright beaming star but now I'm alone! Tis beautiful there, more brilliant the flowers Of autumn than those of past summer hours, Mock birds are singing but I hear not their lay, All earth is darkness when thou art away!
Each favorite haunt tells me, dearest, of thee, Or my heart is thine image where eer I may be, When I call to the Echo no sound is so sweet As the name of all others I d rather repeat.

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But thy country has called thee, in her hour of need While the groans of her dying for victory plead, And I know thy valor in her service will shine, Though one may not conquer the glory is thine! God shield thee, my soldier, and keep thee from harm In peace or in battle, in sunlight or storm,
And memory, sweet memory illumine thy heart "With dreams of our past that neer may depart.

Thou art on the field where the cannons loud roar Sends a doom to thousands wholl hear it no more! There war rages and dangers beset, Yet thy home and thy loved ones thoull never forget. I gazed on thy form as it passed from my sight, Thine eager war charger exultant in might,

And called in my anguish on the God of the free That He would restore my brave soldier to me! For each morning and evening our prayers will unite That He may defend us in justice and right, Give us liberty and triumph and gladness again, And no more let battle cries rage oer the plain.
1865.

REMINISCENCES OF A WAR-TIME GIRL.
Living on a large plantation, remote from the seat of war, there was no opportunity of accomplishing the mili tary achievements of Joan of Arc, or bravely dashing through the dangers of a wild night like Jennie McNeal, nor of capturing half a dozen tories as did brave old Revolutionary heroine, Nancy Hart, so the question was often asked at the "Round Table," "What shall we girls do for our country?"
Scarcely had the noble women throughout the United States succeeded in the purchase of Mount Vernon as the property of the American nation, when the sacred soil of Virginia, the native State of General Washington, was pol luted by the tread of a vandal horde whose object at Harpers Ferry was to incite insurrection and incendiarism

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*

among our servants. "We were never allowed among the cultured people of the South to speak of our dependents as "slaves," but as "house servants and field hands," and my father never failed to dismiss an overseer who was un kind to them. Owning a large number, it was quite a heavy expense to furnish all of their clothing, shoes, blankets, hats, fuel and provisions, yet he not only did this, but being a physician, provided needful medicines and
careful attention in cases of sickness. Happiness and peace reigned over their homes, cheered
each night by gleeful melodies, and songs of praise characteristic of their race. Their contentment was in evi dence by the "never-a-eare" expression, and their faithful
devotion to their own white people. I had been appointed, soon after my graduation at
"Wesleyan College, Macon, by Miss Eve of Augusta, as Lady Manager of the Mount Vernon Association in my county, and felt no little pride in the thought of what a young girl could do toward preserving the beautiful home of "Wash ington as a precious heir-loom of our very own, never to be desecrated for other purposes but to.be kept sacred to the memory of the "Father of our Country." No section con tributed more than the Southern States, and as he was a true-hearted son of the South, we still value above gold our interest in his lovely home, and its twin sister "Arlington, the Beautiful," which should have been held
sacred in like manner, as the home of General Robert E.
Lee and his bride. The purchase of Mount Vernon having been accom
plished, there was soon a rumbling sound of dissension upon
the northern hills, where there should have been peace and brotherly love. Emissaries were sent to incite the servants against their owners. Strange stories were whispered in their ears, and promises if they should raise in arms, the property and homes of the Southern people should be
divided among them, and even the poorest should own "forty acres and a mule." These things which were not noticed at first, began to alarm us, and although we trusted our own servants, there were rumors that our own dear
home was chosen as a favorite point of division among those
of other plantations. Girls who had never seriously considered politics before
began to study the situation and signs of the time.

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The presidential candidates were divided into three parties. Those two noble scions of a noble race, John C. Breekenridge and Senator Joseph Lane, called "the Marion of the Mexican War," and the gallant hero of Beuna Vista, were on the Democratic ticket.
John C. Bell and Edward Everett on the American Party or "Know Nothing" ticket, while Abraham Lincoln, and Hannibal Hamlin were representatives of a party, that in common parlance was known as the "Black Repub lican" division. This Republican ticket had the majority in the Electoral College, though the popular majority was nearly a million against it.
Only sixteen of the thirty-three states voted for it, and not one of these was south of the Ohio River.
The Northern Democrats had nominated Stephen Douglas and Johnson, but how much bloodshed might have been spared if all parties had centered on Breekenridge, and Lane, who had already won laurels in the service of their country!
When the startling news spread over this section that Lincoln was elected President of the United States, there was a pall of consternation draped over every fond hope, and as "coming events east their shadows before," we instinctively felt that something terrible was ahead of us. The young people gathered here and there, wondering what they could do to inspire hope and cheerfulness among the older ones.
There were violent abolitionists in the cabinet who openly avowed a hatred of the South and its institutions. Even Whittier and Lowell, to whom God had granted the
divine gift of poesy, saw not the beautiful, holy and true, in this part of their own country, but published it to the world as "A land of the scorpion and the lash!"
Harriet Beecher Stowe, Garrison and Hoar, besides many others wrote defamatory accusations against the South and
scattered them broadcast over the waters to incite other nations, and causing them to look upon us as barbarians, devoid of humanity.
Had they known the attachment of servants to their owners on the large plantations, and their devotion to the
young people of the family, conscience might have awaken ed them to appreciate the situation. Every true Southern mistress was a Florence Nightingale on her premises, wait-

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ing on the sick, looking after their clothing, and teaching them industrial occupations in every line that would make them useful throughout life.
It was a pleasant task with me to hold a Bible class for them every Sabbath morning, before I attended my own class. The Commandments were made a special study with grown-ups as well as the children. Our "old black
mammy," was a most important factor on the place, and would sacrifice body and soul to protect "her babies," my
two brothers, sister and myself, from harm. But there were rumors of war and fearful things that might and did happen.
Lincoln had stated that he would not interfere with the sovereignty of each State but finally after he had taken an
oath to support the Constitution, he consented by one stroke of his pen, to turn loose upon the world 4,000,000 of colored people, constituting the property of the South, without any
arrangement for remuneration. Thousands of struggling widows and orphans were made penniless by this proclama
tion, and the terrible consequences were like Bamah weep
ing for her children but found them not. The world can never realize the condition of the country from that time to the end of the Beeonstruction Period.
The most conservative of our great men were opposed
to secession and the probability of war, so they sent com missioners three times to Washington for the special pur pose of arranging honorable terms of peace without blood
shed. Twice they failed, as the bitterest men of Lincolns cabinet were determined to use coercion and force the South to submit only to their terms. This they would not
do. A third time our commissioners were sent to hold a council of peace, but Lincoln would not see them! Then the whole solid South arose and stood like the grand old
Grecian heroes for the defense of home and native land. Never will I forget my feelings when we heard that
War had really begun. Tears, bitter tears fell in silence,
for although on a visit to gay young friends we knew not
what to say or do. In the meantime military companies were being
equipped in every city, as State rights were ignored by.
the new government, and Lincoln publicly made use of the
expression, "It is necessary to put the foot down firmly and teach them submission."

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"Would the proud spirit of our Revolutionary ancestors kneel and submit to any one but to the God of. Heaven? (The reader must remember these are war-time sentiments and experiences.)
"With that inherited spirit of patriotism from those who helped to frame the Declaration of Independence, I im mediately presented a beautiful banner to the Upsou Guards of Thomaston, and bade them never to allow it to trail in the dust, or to be used as a symbol of tryanny and oppression.
"Ah, well for us all that some sweet hope lies Deeply hidden from human eyes!"
We did not really dream that the horrors of war could reach us here, or that such dark clouds as the days that follow would ever agonize our very souls! Perhaps this was the last United States Flag presented at the South. How beautiful was its signification, how we loved its grace ful stripes, and silvery stars as they shone in the light of hope and the golden sunlight of that lovely Autumn day!
I was in Augusta a few days afterward at the marriage of "the Empire and Palmetto States." A vast crowd was assembled to witness the scene while a band of music pealed forth harmonious strains. Old Glory was to be placed at the top of a lofty pole riveted on the bridge across the Savannah Eiver, but who was brave enough to climb that pole? No one ventured, until "a tar who ploughed the water," ran up and taking the flag rope in his teeth climbed safely to the top amid the cheers of the crowd, and the roar of fifteen guns for the Southern States. Trium phantly the old Revolutionary Flag waved over both States, while the people filled the sailors pockets with bills as he came down.
On the 4th of February 1861, the Confederate Congress assembled in Montgomery, Alabama, and was presided over by General Howell Cobb. The Constitution of the Con federacy, similar in some respects to the Declaration of Independence was drawn up, and Colonel Jefferson Davis, the hero of Buena Vista, Secretary of War in President Pierces administration, and afterward Senator from Mississippi was nominated President of the Southern Con federacy. He was a son-inJaw of General Zachary Taylor,

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a brave soldier who saved the day in one of the battles of Mexico, refined, cultured, and withal a noble, upright Christian gentleman, who held the respect and esteem of the whole of the United States, until difference of opinion clouded their minds with hatred.
During this convention many designs of flags were sent in as models for the new Confederacy. Among them the most beautiful chosen was one that emanated from the patriotism of Colonel Orren Smith of North Carolina, known as, "The Stars and Bars." The three bars were emblems of the Trinity, the white for Love, and the stain
less character, while the blue was for the great Heaven spangled with stars to watch over us, and the red for the vesper light that should never die out.
Col. P. W. Alexander, one of the signers of Secession
(afterward War Correspondent of the Confederate Army), was present at this first conference, and as soon as the design was chosen, drew one at the head of a letter and sent it to me, knowing my interest in everything that con cerned the welfare of our beloved Southland. In his de scription he dwelt particularly on the stars being placed in a circle instead of broadcast as in the United States flag. I made one the very hour that description arrived so I
had the honor of making the first Confederate Flag ever
made in Georgia.
Our first company, the Upson Guards, was ordered into service the seventh of May 1861. Several young ladies of Thomaston accompanied their brothers and friends to
Macn, where they saw the whole of the Fifth Georgia Kegiment, a splendid body of soldiers from different cities on dress parade at Central Park. That was our first glimpse of over a thousand soldiers at once. The first little Georgia flag had been presented (by vote of the girls) to one of the handsomest, noblest, bravest officers in that regi ment, and watched like a ministering spirit over his tent at Pensacola, Cumberland Gap, Corinth and the battles of Kentucky. As that young Captain afterwards became my husband, the honored relic of many loving memories came
back to me. It was a singular coincidence that while in Macon on
the 7th May 1861, I wrote a song for the Fifth Regiment, which they sung in camp at Central Park and on the way to Pensacola. Fifty years from that time on the 7th of

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May 1912, at the Great Reunion in Macon, some of the same company assembled at the same spot, and sung the same song!
Very soon after Lincoln ordered out his 75,000, the services of women were needed in work for the hospitals. The first hospital for wounded soldiers in Atlanta was or ganized by Mrs. Isaac Winship, sister of General Phil Cook, whose son is now Secretary of State.
Her daughter was one of my schoolmates of Wesleyan College and often during my visits to her we assisted in arranging supplies for the sick and wounded soldiers. On the 4th of July she gave them a bountiful dinner at one of the hospitals over which she presided and appointed our young ladies Belief Corps to wait on them.
Their encampment was near her beautiful home (on an elevated situation, which two years afterward by Sherman s order was burnt to the ground) so we visited their head quarters with her, to ascertain if there was anything we could do for them. Governor "Joe Browns Boys," of the North Georgia mountains, asked us to- cover canteens for them, which occupation we greatly enjoyed, and the poor fellows who were homesick called in the evening and re quested us to play "Home, Sweet Home," "Annie Laurie"
and "The Girl I Left Behind Me." During the winter we knit "Arabs" for the head, and
long wool comforts for the throat, besides making flannel fatigue jackets, knitting socks, displaying our taste on pretty little silk and velvet tobacco pouches, hemstitched handkerchiefs and everything kind thought could suggest for their comfort and pleasure.
From 1861 to the close of the War between the States, our busy hands were never idle. Carpets and piano covers were cut up and sent to the tents to sleep on, having al ready given up blankets and quilts in abundance. Boxes of eatables were sent to our brothers and friendjs whenever an opportunity was found, as many of the railroads and bridges were destroyed, which prevented communication.
My mother sent General William B. Bate a handsome suit of gray, which was grown from our own sheep, woven and spun in the county, and a beautiful embossed cake for Christmas, as one of my brothers was in his command. After the close of the war, there were so many "Bush whackers" among the mountains, he could not return to

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Gallatin, but spent some time with us, at Bellwood, and with friends in Culloden only a few miles from us.
One of our favorite plans for raising money for hos pitals, was getting up hasty concerts, and literary enter tainments in Thomaston, Culloden and other places, which were very successful, although our young men were all in the service of their country and could not assist us. "We dramatized Lalla Rookh at one time, and exercised our ingenuity in arranging glittering oriental costumes and scenery without expense, and were rewarded by quite a nice sum for war times.
When collecting supplies for different hospitals, we had
a committee for each county, who visited every house in the community, but there was an old lady on our way who lived in a small log house, from whom we expected nothing, yet wishing to give all an opportunity of helping our wounded soldiers, we informed her of our errand, and her reply was "the ring of the right metal," even among the poorest people of the South. "Why girls," she exclaimed, "I would give up the last thing I had on earth for those poor boys who had to leave home and everything to" drive the Yankees back!" Then she bade us at once to put down her name, for a feather bed and pillows, a coverlet woven by her own hands, several bushels of dried fruit, strings of
pepper, sage, bottles of blackberry wine, and bandages for wounds. After supplying the hospitals in Atlanta and other towns in Georgia, we sent a cargo of necessaries to Beans Station, Tennessee, where some of our boys were suffering for attention among the sick and wounded.
In April of 1862, there originated in Georgia (where so many patriotic deeds had a beginning) a movement that was called, "The Ladies Gunboat Association." Immedi ately after hearing of this (although it was a sad duty), I collected the first funds in our part of the State, to which amount was added $350 subscribed by the Holloway Grays of Upson County, through their brave, generous Captain,
A. J. White, who sent it to me from Beans Station, Tenn. A fine little iron-clad boat was fitted up, and there never
was a vessel before this, that was christened by womans
tears, and sent out upon the deep, underneath the conse crated incense of womens prayers for her country! How many fond hopes sailed over the seas under that beautiful flag, the "Stars and Bars!"

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175

But those fond hopes were fleeting, for as soon as the gallant crew heard that Sherman had invaded Savannah, rather than allow this little shrine of womans patriotism to fall into his hands, they sorrowfully placed a torch upon the helm and bade it farewell forever.
Brightly the crimson flames arose in glowing incense to the sky bearing in its light the wreck of a million widowed hearts, and the wails of helpless orphans who wondered what all this destruction of property and the terrible bom bardment of Savannah meant.
In the meantime the Confederate Cabinet had moved to Richmond, but with a party of friends I visited afterward the Capitol at Montgomery, and stood on the star-marked spot where the President of the Confederacy had made his inaugural address. Prom there we went to Selma on the gallant steamer "Coquette," where we saw the manufactury of guns and cannon balls of all sizes, which was a novel sight and saddening to think our Southland had to come to this! As we returned to Montgomery, an immense cargo of cotton was rolled down the embankment to the boat, and a rarer sight to us were the two hundred and fifty Federal prisoners captured and placed on the lower deck.
During the bombardment of Savannah, a family of dear friends from that city sought refuge in our dear old country home, and were made welcome for several months, enjoying rides over the "red old hills of Georgia," and fishing parties on the Tohler. Even during our carriage drives, we took our crochet and knitting along so as to keep supplied with needful comforts for our soldiers.
At length the fearful days of horror came, which we never really believed would happen in such a civilized country as ours.
We had just returned from our plantation in Wilcox County on the Ocmulgee River, that we might spend the Summer at my beautiful childhoods home, "Sweet Bellwood," which stood on the crest of one of the grand old hills of Upson County.
It was a lovely spring day on the 18th of April, 1865. A rumor came that the Federal Army was in Columtus, fifty miles away, and was marching toward Macon, l-y way of Thomaston and Culloden. Immediately our family silver and jewels were deposited in security, the horses and

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mules were sent to a remote part of the plantation, and provisions such as hams, jars of lard, sacks of flour, coffee, sugar and syrup were buried away from prying eyes, by my nurse and her husband, whom we knew would be faith ful unto death.
The white wings of Hope were then folded about our
hearts and bade us cast out all fear. There was no one at home, but my dear old grandmother, my mother and my self, and we had always heard that a Masons family would be protected in the time of danger, so we hung a Masonic
Apron in the broad hall where it could be seen. In a few moments fires were seen in every direction,
from the second-story windows. Beyond Thomaston,
Rogers Factory, a large four-storied building with the Grist Mill and many cottages were all in flames.
Nearer and nearer columns of thick black smoke were
seen which showed that the Waynmanville Mills also were under the relentless torch. These splendid mills were owned by Colonel George Swift formerly of New York, a man of sterling worth, culture and refinement, whose
family were among our most appreciated neighbors. To add to our horror, a troop of little negroes with eyes
like a full moon, came rushing in with a shout, "Yankees comin!" Very soon about fifty on horseback surrounded
our homes. Bureau drawers were ransacked, locks cut out
of trunks, jewels abstracted, closets searched, long-treasured
heir-looms removed, finally leaving every room in wild disorder.
As the first troop took leave, another came in, and this kind of visitation lasted three days. About one hundred
bales of ginned cotton and thirty bales of lint cotton were destroyed. My mother with the assistance of our servants who nobly stood by us, poured water on some of the bales,
and had them rolled to the horse lot into a stream of water,
saving seven out of the number. A handsome cameo set, a garnet set, and other articles
too numerous to mention were lost to us forever. On the 19th of April 1865, we were horrified by seeing
that these men had found our horses and mules! As I
had been married only a few months, there was among my
most valuable bridal presents two splendid bays and a handsome Victoria. What were my feelings then when two rough-looking soldiers rode up to the gate on these beautj-

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177

ful horses that were associated with the happiest hours of my lifeT Hitherto I had been too indignant to weep, but how could I stand thisf Tears then began to flow not silently, but I actually wept aloud, and begged those hard hearted men to spare these two horses, and they might have some of the others. But the dashing bays were the very ones they wanted most, so out of the gate they passed, the dear fleet-footed, graceful friends, who had brought to me amid the clouds of war so much of joy and brightness, but never to cheer our desolate home again!
My little pony "Joe Brown," mothers fine buggy horse, and thirty other horses and mules shared the same fate. How was the plowing to be done f
These incidents are only as one among many, during Shermans March through Georgia, and Wilsons Baid, which .left ruin and desolation in their track.
"But a land without ruins is a land without memories A land without memories is a land without history."
Had it not been for the midnight shadows that en shrouded our country we should never have known the brilliant stars who illuminated the Southern Cross with their radiance, and have emblazened their glory in undying light over the whole world.
Our Heavenly Father in His tenderness and compas sion has lifted our once suffering country from its shadows of mourning, and with the golden horn of Plenty agaiu showering its gifts upon hill and plain, all hearts should be filled with peace, gratitude, forgiveness, and love remember ing that
"To err is human to forgive is divine."

^Memorial ftoems
"The soul would have no rainbow Had the eyes no tears."
"Sometime when all lifes lessons have been learned, And sun and stars forevermore have set,
The things which our weak understanding have spurned, The things oer which we grieved with lashes wet,
Will flash before us out of lifes dark night, As stars shine most in tints of blue,
And we shall see how all Gods plans are right, And how what seemed unkind was love most true."

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181

THE SOULS TWILIGHT.
(At the Grave of my Husband.)
Im kneeling by the grave, beloved, the shadows gently creep Oer this dear spot where loved ones lie in peaceful hallowed
sleep, There comes no busy sound of life, no rude and careless
tone, It is an hour I long have sought with thee and God alone.
For here, methinks while yonder sun is sinking in the sky Tis sweet to wander oer the past, though all its glories die, Those radiant clouds, so like my life, will lose their golden
light, And leave the world as I am left in dark and rayless
night!
The path is drear. There blooms for me, no cheering wayside flower,
That bids me heed its beauty in this wretched lonely hour, No sun is nigh no moon no star no dawning of the day. All joy is dead and hope itself gone like the meteors ray.
Oh, why should Death so ruthlessly invade the happy cot, Where love and peace harmonious blent all earthly care
forgot? "Oh, why," I cried, in griefs despair, "should one whose
virtues shone As sparkling gems, be torn away and I am left alone?"
Alone! alone! to brave the flood, to stem the current deep; To battle on though foe should press, and pitilessly heap Een more the mighty burdens, that oerflow my drifting
barque Oh, Father, light the way for me! tis cheerless, cold and
dark!

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Come, Holy Spirit! Let Thy love illume my troubled soul, Let me but see my Saviour when these thundering billows
roll, Ob, speak to me! yes let me list to whisper from above, "Be still and know that I am God--I chasten whom I
love!"

Lo, comes a Light! thrilling my soul; a heaven-beaming ray,
It bears the only balm for woe, and bids my spirit say "Thy will tie done!" Poor broken heart--tho bleeding in
the dust Look up, thy God is ever near in Him put all thy trust.

O joyful Beam! 0 promised Best! ye bring me comfort sweet;
My cross is lighter once again my loved ones I may greet, Forever mine! Love cannot die this blessed hope is worth Far more to me than all the pomp and riches of the earth.
Churchyard Cemetery, Thomaston, Ga.

"DEEPLY VEILED FBOM HUMAN EYES."
(Written After the Death of my HusbanA, Capt. James Henry Rogers, of Thomaston, Georgia.)
If I had seen the hovring gloom That rested oer my future way,
Or heard the thunders distant roar, The storm-kings weird and muttering lay;
Could I have touched so lightly, then, The harp, whose every chord awoke
Responsive echoes in his breast Who cherished every word I spoke?
If I had known, that Christmas Day So beautiful long years ago
"While twining oer my pictured wall The holly and the mistletoe,

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183

That never more ah, never more!. His eye would rest upon the scene,
"Would I have watched so peacefully, The waning sunlights golden sheen?

If I had felt oh God, the woe! The wretchedness that must be mine
Had known that ere another year The sun for me no more would shine,
Could I have listened to the bells So gladly pealing oer the lawn,
Or lightly met the tender gaze That soon forever would be gone?

If I had known that with my cup Of overflowing joy that day,
Was mingled wormwood, grief and tears, Could I have joined in mirth and play
With youthful hearts that knew not care And felt no stealthy shadow near?
Ah! well for them no fate revealed
The sable pall and gloomy bier!

Oh, had I known the rugged heights, That now my weary steps ascend,
The heavy cross designed for me The burden under which I bend
Could I have willing kissed the rod And calmly said, "Thy will be done?"
No! no! my poor heart would have shunned The path that victory since hath won.

For now I see, through rifted cloud, The golden gleam of heavenly love;
And know, and feel, that by this way, My wandering soul is led above.
Crushed, broken-hearted, though I be Gods sheltring arm shall be my rest,
And in the darksome night my song Shall trusting be: "He knows the best!"

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IN MEMORIAM.

(Lines commemorative of the death of Rev. J. L. Davies, whose last words were "Tell My Brethren to Meet Me on Sigh.")

The holy Sabbath day had closed Each hallowed duty oer;
And on the distant mountain height, Its light will gleam no more,
But cherubim and seraphim With snowy, winged unfold
A spirit, brighter, purer far Than sunlights gleaming gold.

List on the air a whisper falls In accents soft and clear;
Oh! catch the last faint dying word We know that God is here.
Go, tell the loved ones who have toiled, With worn and weary feet
To struggle on, a day will come, When there well meet.

Then angel hands rolled back the door, And bade him welcome home,
Where clouds no longer may oppress, Nor woe and sorrow come.
No midnight darkness linger there No fearful storms invade,
No mourning hearts within those walls, No flowers that droop and fade.

Eternal glory dazzling bright Alights the Great White Throne,
And songs of rapture fill the soul Nor mortal ear hath known.
Safe! safe within the Pearly Gates, The joyful realm of day
No more pain or weariness, God wipes all tears away.

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185

How oft he told us of the Fount
Where living waters gleam Of endless Sabbaths where no death
May chill loves rapturous dream. These precious words who could forget?
Such tender Christ-like love!
Oh, may we strive like him to find Eternal rest above.

Where eer there was suffering and distress, Was seen his aged form,
At morn, at noon, and shadowy eve In sunlight or in storm.
A holy calm fell on the heart Dispelling earthly care,
For peace, sweet peace came gently down
Besponsive to his prayer.

We shed the sympathetic tears
With her whose light is gone. Yet why should grief overwhelm her soul
When Victory is won? Victory! Victory!" was his cry
When near the Golden Shore, All else forgot his joy complete
With Jesus evermore!

LITTLE JULIAS MISSION.
(Affectionately inscribed to the memory of little Julia Wright, infant daughter of my brother, Dr. T. S. Kendall, pastor of Trinity Church, Atlanta, i The little motherless darling was called by the church "Our Baby.")
She came with cold Decembers snow On angel pinions shining bright,
A gleam of Heavens morning ray Illumining our hearts with light.
Earth fairer, brighter, warmer grew And snow-white lilies reared their crest,
The robin sang a sweeter lay, When Baby came awhile to rest

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She whispered low a message sweet From Him who sent the gift of love,
Another precious link between This fleeting life and that above,
A few brief hours passed in joy Then swiftly oer the starry skies
The messenger returned, and bore The mother home to Paradise.

Ah, sudden darkness shrouded earth As crushed we passed beneath the rod,
Our bleeding hearts could only hear "Be still and know that I am God."
"Thy will be done!" the answer low From broken-hearted mourner came
Though chill the hearth, its sunlight fled, Still blessed be Thy holy name.

For Thou hast left a precious charge, A soul immortal to our care,
A pure, sweet gem from Edens bowers To tell us of the glory there.
Ah, how we loved her! Day by day As some new charm shone in her eye,
We held her in a close embrace Neer dreaming that she too, must die.

But en for her a message came, Twas wafted on the summers breath,
And we again with heavy heart A treasure give to thee, O, Death!
A few short months our baby stayed. Just long enough to win our love,
And then her little mission done She sought her mother up above.
Gordon Institute, Barnesville, Ga.

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187

ONLY A FLEETING DREAM.

Vents Amor Sempilternus Est.
Down from the hills of the Unseen Land A whisper comes to me,
Fraught with precious love-words true From oer the crystal sea.

Sweet flowers spring up around the path
So desolate before; My hand is clasped within his own
The world is bright once more!

0, loved and wept! not lost ah, no How sweet to walk again
Oer youths fair rosy-tinted way, "Where golden glories reign!

The soul-lit eye, the tender word How like the same of yore:
0, waft the story far and wide,
My loved one comes once more!

0, bells, sweet bells, ring out to-day Your chimes far oer the sea,
And tell each bird, each sun-lit wave, He comes again to me.

How bright and beautiful is earth, Dark sorrows night is oer,
The mourning heart no longer sighs
My loved one comes once more!

But see! the sky is black oh, why The lightnings fearful gleam?
Storm-girted clouds obscure my way Twas but a fleeting dream!

He is not here. Im all alone, Alone! the vision oer
Dark night returns all chill and drear, My loved one comes no more J

188

GOLDEN HOD AND CYPRESS

No more for me sweet tones of love Where silvery waters flow,
No rippling song on moon-lit bridge, As in the long ago.
A lonely mound is all I see, The blissful dream is oer,
And down lifes weary way I turn My loved one comes no more!
Beyond the lowering midnight gloom A kindly, beaming star,
With tender pity hears my cry And beckons me afar.
O, Loves eternal, blessed light! Come from the Golden Shore
And lead me where my loved one waits Mine! mine forevermore!

THE BLIGHTED ROSEBUD.
(Tenderly inscribed to the memory of little Corinne, a beautiful babe of eight months old, and affectionately dedicated to her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Amos White.)
Once there bloomed a tiny rosebud Mid the fragrant bowers of earth,
And its brightly glowing beauty Pilled all hearts with joy and mirth.
Not the richest gem of India, Be it eer so sparkling fair,
With this precious little treasure, Heaven-lighted, could compare.
Spring with all her radiant glories Added charms unseen before
As the bud unfolded gently Pleasing angels more and more.
Yet scarce had summers livid ray, Lighted up each shadowy dell
When neath her fever-laden breath The treasure drooped and blighted, fell!

MEMORIAL POEMS

189

0 Summer! with thy gilded wing,
Radiant smiles and garlands fair, Dost know the sorrow thou has brought i
The hopes all crushd, the dark despair? Ah, yesterday, twas here there shone,
The purest love that earth can know, A mothers joy, a fathers pride,
To-day tis but a scene of woe!

Dear stricken hearts, yield not to grief, Tho the chastning seemeth sore,
Thy precious rosebud blooms again Where Summers breath can blight no more
No chilling blast can ever sweep
Oer her chosen places of rest, And no cherub sings more sweetly
Than the one on Jesus breast.

Hark! her voice een now is calling Home the loved ones left on earth,
And I know her little spirit, Pleads for their immortal birth.
Oh, listen to those holy whispers, And the love and peace they bear;
Nearer, nearer may they lead thee, To the ties that bind thee there!

THE LONE GRAVE ON THE HILLSIDE.
(While living on Richardson Street, near the old Barracks of Atlanta, there was on a part of the remains of a circular fort, an isolated grave, upon whose rude head board was the name of a Con federate soldier. The body was soon afterward removed and cared for by the Ladies' Memorial Association.')
Out upon a lonely hillside Where no weeping willows wave,
Near an emerald-bordered pathway Is a fallen soldiers grave.
Who is sleeping there I know not Neath that humble bed of clay,
But I pause when eer I pass it, For he fell in his suit of gray.

190

GOLDEN BOD AND CYPRESS

No marble rears its urn aloft Oer this quiet hallowed spot
And no flower sheds its fragrance Breathing low "forget me not."
The great, the fair, the pompous bow Where rests the proud, victorious brave,
But no tearful mourner lingers Oer this lonely hillside grave.
When sweet April brings her flowers This grass-grown mound well not forget,
Some tender hand will here implant A violet or mignonette.
An ivy wreath till then I twine Oer the soldiers heart to lay,
Sad memory holds a fadeless shrine For our dead who wore the gray.
The chilly blasts that sweep at eve Fiercely round my cottage door
Bear sounds of music drum and fife But can awake to life no more
The heart that here its last blood gave For the land he loved so well,
Fallen! like the hope that buoyed him On to meet the shot and shell.
Day by day that grave neglected Gleams before me as I gaze
Out upon the furrowed highlands Where the suns last glittering rays
Linger as if loth to leave it Where no star of lovelight shone
And I turn with saddened spirit Whispering "All alone! alone!"
Yet once he was a mothers pride, Loved as only mothers love,
And oft I wonder if she taught him Trustingly to look above?
Or if Faith had tried her impress Vainly on a heart of stone ?
Bather would I dream that angels Led him to our Fathers Throne.

MEMORIAL POEMS

191

Had he once a gentle sister
Watching him with tender care T Or still dearer, one whose spirit
Knelt with him in twilight prayer ? By War unfeeling were they banished t
Scattered wrecked like thousands roam In their own Southland as strangers
Comfortless without a home!

These miseries, 0, War, are thine! Homes in ashes fortunes flown
Ruin havoc desolation Dreamings blighted like my own!
Forget! I try, but oh, how can I
Banish hope and joys of yore, Every day brings back the story,
With that grave so near my door!

LITTLE ANGEL EMMIE.
(Daughter of Dr. and Mrs. Eugenia logon of TusJcegee, Ala., wlio died of scarlet fever at five years of age.)
Oh, hast thou seen bright Spirit, that keepst Heavens door A darling little fairy, and the happy smile she wore 1 Hast thou heard her silvery laughter so full of joy and
mirth, And gazed upon the features too beautiful for earth T
Ah! yes we know she entered that realm of love and light, Far from our threat ning war clouds and dark impending
night, We know her tiny fingers are making music now, As Seraphim and Cherubim around their Savior bow. Two song birds only cheered the nest, two little blossoms
fair Who taught the lone young mother to forget her every care, But like the sweetest flowers of bright and beauteous May This favored child of heaven was the first to pass away.

192

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

I have listened to her prattle with wonder and surprise, Have watched the light of talent that beamed within her
eyes, And felt that God with loving touch had marked her as His
Own And needed her to join the band of children round His
throne!

1863.

______

"I AM GOING HOME TO THE CITY OF GOD." LAST WORDS OF MRS. BETHANIA SPARGER. Going home!" Of all words sweetest, Lifes long journey now is done, The struggle o er, the conflict ended, Heaven in sight, the goal is won! In the radiant glow of morning, When all natures voices praise, This good Mother rising early, Taught her children wisdoms ways. And when noontides dazzling splendor, Gleamed upon the mountain height, Then she told them of the glory, Living in eternal light. Then again as twilight shadows, Crept in silence oer the lea, Prattling childhood lisped their prayers, Lovingly at Mothers knee. Oh how tenderly she watched them, As in after years they grew, And in lifes broad field of battle, Bore their banners brave and true. Now alas, the home is silent, Darkness sleeps upon the hill, But in all the hearts that love her, She is ever living still.

MEMORIAL POEMS

193

Not a prayer has been forgotten, Incense breathing on the air,
0 er the quiet homestead lingering, Keeping holy vigil there.

She has reached the Golden City, Lifes long journey now is oer,
And with loved ones there united, Sings rejoicing evermore.

No longer pain, no grief or sorrow, All are numbered with the past,
New life, new joy comes with the morrow,
Glorious City! Home at last!

TWO TEAKS AGO.
Thou with the Seraphim, the gifted and just, With God and His angels, I in the dust! "
Two years ago a noble heart Was all my own
I heard no harsher sound Than loves sweet tone.
Two years ago what high resolves Sore in their train
A host of golden dreams Now life is vain.
The sun is blotted out! The world Is stern and cold,
It feels no pity hears no sigh Of grief untold.
Two years ago it was not thus, Ah, no, the light
Beamed radiant from my cottage door Love made it bright!

194

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPBESS

O, weary heart, wait on the Lord For promised rest,
In two more years thou too mayst dwell With all the blest.
"Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard" What may be thine
If thou art faithful to the end As stars thouIt shine.
Then welcome woe and bitter grief, If they must be
My portion here to draw me near O, Christ to Thee!

GARLANDS FOR THE PATRIOTS GRAVE ON MEMORIAL DAY, 26TH OF APRIL.
We care not whence they came Dear is their lifeless clay Whether unknown or known to fame Their cause and country still the same They died and wore the gray.
FATHER RYAN.

The battle shout is heard no more The thundering guns all silent now
The flag we loved is flolded oer And death sleeps on the soldiers brow,
Dark is the gloom Around his tomb Where weeping loved ones lowly bow.

The voice of triumph echoes not

*

Its thrilling strains upon the air

No victors song awakes the spot

No marble rears its head so fair,

But thanks to God

That precious sod

Hides no unfeeling ruffian there!

MEMORIAL POEMS

195

High toned and brave, he asked no fame, No pageant grand, or gilded shrine,
But he has left a deathless name, And memories that no foe can bind, Such virtues bright In endless light Through all eternity shall shine.

For who could pass irreverent where A Jackson or a Johnson fell ?
Can those who robbed us ever dare To take een memories loved so well? No! Tyrant hands May take our lands But cherished memories neer dispeL

Then let us wreathe in garlands sweet The flowers that April brings again,
From broad Potomaca silvery sheet To Floridas low sandy plain, Let roses grow And sweets bestow Wherever sleeps our gallant slain.

How many homes have been bereft Of all in life they held so dear
How many aching hearts are left
To weep in anguish oer the bier. Then let us all Old, young and small
Assemble thus each passing year

To mourn oer freedoms hallowed grave A ruined countrys broken trust,
Oer those who bled our rights to save And now lie mouldering in the dust, Tis sacred ground Then strew around The gifts of God, forever just.

196

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

Near Cumberlands dark rolling wave My eldest brother peaceful sleeps
Perhaps sometimes near by bis grave A sympathizing stranger weeps And should she there
Place flowers there When twilight over Franklin creeps.

I know the lonely widowed heart The kindly deed will ever bless
And tears from thankful children start Who miss the fathers fond caress, Ah, tis sweet to feel That we may heal A heart thats bleeding in distress.
Written on the First Memorial Day, April 26, 1867.

DIED FOB HIS COUNTRY.
"Oh, War what art thou? At once the proof and scourage of mans fallen state,
After the brightest conquest what remains Of all thy glories? For the vanquished chains! For the proud victors what ? Alas, to reign 0 er desolated nations!
Onward rolls the heavy chariot of War, crushing in its resistless course thousands and thousands of brave hearts that beat with the noblest impulses of life. Daily we must listen to a recital of woes, that in ordinary times would have made the blood turn cold in our veins, and not only have we wept over the desolated homes of others, but bitter tears have fallen on our own bright hearthstone, which has recently witnessed the withering blight of fond hopes crushed forever!
My noble young brother-in-law, Simeon Rogers, was wounded near Petersburg, Va., on the 22nd of June 1864,

MEMORIAL POEMS

197

and ere the dawn of the next morning his spirit had flown to the God who gave it. In the bloom of health, youthful and strong, with a heart buoyant in the light of anticipated glory and happiness, he has fallen upon the shrine of his suffering country and poured out his last drop of blood in her defense.
Eighteen summers had placed no care upon his hand some brow and the becoming dignity of early manhood sat there betokening the promise of an extraordinary future. He was endeared to the hearts of all who knew him, for besides being full of life, generous, high-toned and affec tionate, his sunny young spirit was so free from chilling formality that even strangers were favorably attracted toward him and felt as if they had always known him. At the early age of sixteen he entered service attaching him self to the Upson Guards, Fifth Georgia Regiment, then stationed at Pensacola. Manfully he followed that Regiment through all of its hardships in Tennessee and Missis sippi never wearying of a soldiers duties, but bearing them bravely and uncomplainingly until recalled by his father to resume his education.
After a few months his restless spirit again chafed to serve the land he loved, and he joined the Macon Volunteers, then on the march to Pennsylvania. But a few weeks passed ere he was severely wounded at the great battle of Gettys burg and taken prisoner.
Long months of suffering were patiently endured, until released, when he again joined his company, before being able to undergo the fatigue of a lengthy march.
His letters were ever cheerful and radiant hopes illu mined his future, but alas! this nable boy so beloved by his grief-stricken family has fallen another victim to the power of an insatiate foe.
Farewell! Our much beloved young soldier! No more will thy merry laughter resound through the broad halls of Mount Zephyr thy once happy and beautiful home. Its sunny radiance has departed, and a silent srlonm dwells where once thy buoyant step made sweet music to the doting ones who beheld thy manly form with only the pride and affection that home hearts can feel.

198

GOLDEN EOD AND CYPRESS

Words can never heal the crushed and bleeding heart of his poor bereaved mother, but there is comfort in the thought that he is lifted far above the deafening roar of battle where his daylight reveille is a glad burst of rejoic
ing, the beautiful new song that welcomes his pure spirit to a realm of eternal joy and happiness.

TRIBUTE OP LOVE.

(In memory o'f Simeon William Bogers, of the Macon Volunteers, who fell mortally wounded at Petersburg, Va., June SSd, 1864.)

When far from home and all the heart holds dear A lonesome wanderer on a foreign shore
What grief unspeakable it was to hear That he my gallant brother was no more!

The light of our home was he the pride Of doting hearts; so young, so fair, so brave,
So fondly loved! In vain too has he died In vain his countrys cause he sought to save 1

How proudly went he forth in manhoods strength I His safe return we fondly hoped to see
When peace and independence crowned at length The efforts made to set our country free.

Months passed away, and I, who thought him well Recalled to mind our scenes of youth and love
Alas! across the ocean came the knell Which told that he had winged his flight above I

God comfort mother, weeping for her boy

Who fell a bleeding sacrifice in vain

God comfort father mourning oer his joy,

Departed never to return again.

;

MEMORIAL POEMS

199

God cheer that home, now desolate and sad Because of those so dear forever lost!
No more in life the aching heart make glad Cut down alas, hy deaths untimely frost!

Best, sweetly brother, where so eer you sleep Your battles all are fought your campaigns oer
Eternal joys are yours while we are left to weep And wait reunion to be broke no more.

Paris, France, July, 1864.

A C. BOGEBS.

THE AGED CHRISTIAN.
"As Wheat Sipe for the Harvest."
(On hearing of the death of Mr. Henry Rogers, of Sparta, /otter of Mrs. f. M. Richardson, of Atlanta, and the great-great uncle cf my children. Just as the golden grain was garnered on earth, tht silent reaper came and bore him to the harvest above, "ripe and full of years.")
Not as the youthful in his prime With hopes all beaming in the glow
Of joys untested scarce prepared To battle with the coming foe,
But as the mellow golden grain Bends to the reaper passing by
So he the aged loved one fell, By angels garnered in the sky.
Full fourscore years and four had passed Of mingled brightness, woe, and pain,
Since earth to him unfolded scenes Of beauty, and of pleasures vain.
His manhood dreams were crowned with all That rendered usefulness to life
A gifted mind, a Christian heart, That longed for peace and hated strife.

200

GOLDEN ROD AKD CYPRESS

Home was for him a cherished shrine,
"Where pure and holy thoughts would rise And there as oft as day declined,
His prayers were wafted to the skies. But darkness came. The radiant sun
Long years was hidden from his sight, No more the fond and tender smile,
Of loved ones came with morning light.
0 bitter fate! 0 waters deep! Whose surging billows darkly roll!
Couldst thou with mighty power sweep Away the faith of that pure soul ?
Ah no, the simple childlike trust Tho crushed beneath the chastning rod,
Still meekly bore the Cross, and laid
His burden at the throne of God!
And worse, aye, even worse than this Came mental darkness. Crimson dawn
And nights dark shades were all the same, To him whose earthly light was gone!
But ever that sweet childlike trust Gleamed brightly over lifes decline,
Revealing to his inmost soul A glimpse of perfect love divine.
Wheneer they told him night had come, Hed fold his arms upon his breast,
Forgetting all but childhoods prayer
As closed his sightless eyes to rest. "Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep If I should die before I wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take!
Thus Death a welcome messenger,
One night passed noiseless thro the door, And eyes that closed in darkness here
Were opened to light forevermore! O Christian heart! The victory won!
Death has no wrathful sting for thee The weary spirit long enchained
Is home at last unfettered free. Barnesville, Ga.

MEMORIAL POEMS

201

DEATH OF THE FAMILY PHYSICIAN.
(The death of Dr. G. 3f. McDowell is a public bereavement. To day there is mourning in every household in this community. Every man, woman and child feels the weight of our common sorrow, and is quietly manifesting every true mark of respect to the memory of their departed friend.)
"Be still, and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10.
Dark is the gloom oer shadowing every heart As night dews fall upon the silent street;
No sound of mirth is heard, but solemnly Bowed forms with step subdued in sorrow meet. "What means this hush of song, This stillness in the air? That distant wail of grief, That sob of deep despair?
Ah! Death is here! So stealthily, he creepeth to and fro, One scarce may note the fleeting breath, the life tide ebb
and flow.
Life hangs upon a thread yet still we hope And fear to ask lest some dark dread reply
Should greet the ear. Oh, Father can it be, That he our loved physician too must die ? He who so oft hath soothed Our hearts when racked with pain Have we for him no balm That wakens life again?
Ah, no! een hope is dead to us. The slowly sinking breath Defies all skill as powerless for this oh, this is death!
Remorseless Death! thy hand hath crushed the hopes That gleamed at morn and with the darksome night
Comes bitter tears. No more, alas, no more That noble form may greet our mortal sight? Each home alike bereft Will miss his welcome tone, But who can solace bring To her thus left alone ?
Theres light above! List to the voice that riseth from the sod,
"Be stiUr--oh, mourning heart, Tie still, and know that I am God'"
July 23, 1882.

202

GOLDEN BOD AND CYPRESS

UNDER MY MOTHERS PICTURE.

"So calm, so holy in the light of closing day
It seemed but a strip of sea between us lay And the dearly loved one waiting on the shore Is more beautiful, more precious than before."
0 sweet and hallowed spot! how oft

Amid lifes cares a ray Of Gods own sunlight seems to rest,
Where most I love to pray, Here surely He will hear my cry,
And for her sake impart, That joy and comfort He alone,
Brings to a broken heart.
0 precious hands that toiled for me, Now folded still in death,
0 lips that sealed a holy pledge, E en with their latest breath!
Wilt thou neer bless again thy child, As in the days of yore J
Shall I go down the shadowy vale, Without thee evermore?
Shall storms sweep oer my drifting barque, And no one there to guide T
Ah, Mother! Ive missed thee every day, Since thou art from my side!
But thanks to Him in whom thy trust, Shone with a heavenly ray,
Thine influence and thy teachings still, Ulume my dreary way.
Then let me every twilight kneel, Nearer those sainted features fair,
Where God will wipe all tears away, And all lifes burdens bear,
And some sweet day well meet again, No more by storm opprest,
Where neer the rolling billows break, Our calm and peaceful rest.

>

MEMORIAL POEMS

203

THE BROKEN LILY.
(Affectionately dedicated to Mrs. 8. S. Newton, in memory of her daughter, Mrs. T. H. Galloway, who died in Atlanta, October 26th, 1881. Like a pure white lily, broken from the stem in early spring, she was suddenly severed from all earthly ties, leaving a disconsolate husband, affectionate sisters and a heart-broTcen father and mother to miss her from the domestic circle.)
Ten months ago sweet Carrie stood a bride, Her silvery veil but lightly swept aside, Nor yet had sorrow cast its withering blight Upon the brow so strangely fair and bright So fair, it rivaled een the orange spray That oer it like a snow-flake peaceful lay, Awaking brightness in the dreamy eye That only gazed upon a cloudless sky. Alas! too soon the sunshines golden ray Grew dim, as Death, the reaper hied away Oer hill and dale, oer cottage and oer throne, And marked the lovely victim as his own. A few short months the earth an Eden seemed, As love with all its brightness oer her beamed, Then noiseless the Messenger came near, With spirit-words too swaet for mortal ear. She heard the voice and bade her loved ones read The blessed Book, her Guide her Friend in need And when, with quivering lip they sung of rest, She clasped her hands upon her snowy breast, And turning with a lingering gaze, she smiled A farewell to her husband and her child; Then whispered, "when the storm of life is past, Dear Savior! Oh, receive my soul at last!" And thus her spirit fled. Too pure to dwell Afar from Him who doeth all things welL In bridal robe they laid her down to rest, As the autumn sun was sinking in the west. Oh, mother, for thy darling weep no more! She is not lost, but only gone before To call the loved ones mourning oer her fate, To joys eternal at the Pearly Gate. Gordon Institute, Barnesville, Ga.

204:

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

LITTLE EDDIE MOORE.

(A beautiful babe of fourteen months, only child of a devoted young couple. Died in Fort Valley, October llth, 1859.)
"0, lay her gently in the earth and strew her grave with " roses,
And birds will sweetly sing around where she in death reposes,
Yes, lay her neath the bright green earth and cease those tear drops falling
Methinks I hear her from the skies in spirit music call ing."

Oh! lay her gently, tenderly Shes cold and silent now
And flowers bring of every hue To place upon her brow,
The little heart is pulseless, still, The arms are folded oer
And neer again well hear the voice Of little Eddie Moore.
A morning star of radiant beam That brightened every heart
And pictured there a merry smile "Which never will depart
Then do not sing a funeral dirge But sing of love in store,
Of joy, and peace, and happiness, Awaiting Eddie Moore!
The mocking bird may sing his lay Above the murmuring rill,
And autumn flowers richly bloom On yonder verdant hill,
The Sunlight still may brightly beam As merry as before,
But neer again our hearts be cheered By little Eddie Moore.

MEMORIAL POEMS

205

I asked how Deaths relentless hand
Could from that cottage dare To snatch this birdling from its nest
So sweet, so pure, so fair f The twilight zephyrs low replied,
"On Heavens radiant shore,
God wished another brighter gem And chose sweet Eddie Moore!"

She shines in Heaven! Then cease oh, cease Ye mournful tears and sighs!
Those ringlets fair and eyes so bright Are garnered in the skies.
The same on earth she wore And hovering near the throne of Light,
Sweet Baby Eddie Moore!

CHILDEENS GREETING TO THE VETERANS ON MEMORIAL DAY AT TENNILLE, GA.
Words by Mrs. Loula K. Rogers.
Ant: "let the Sills and Vales Resound."
We will sing a song today To the gallant men in gray, To bring anew sweet memories true Of Auld Lang Syne; We welcome you with song As we lightly march along. No sadness will we bear neath our flowers so fair, Nor sorrows tear, But love and peaceful cheer, To crown the evening of your life with golden hue, Glory and fame Will shine upon each name And all the world will glad unite in honor due.

206

GOLDEN BOD AND CYPRESS

Then well sing a song today For the gallant boys in gray To bring anew sweet memories true Of Auld Lang Syne. God bless each veteran dear With love and peace and cheer, And this shall be our song As we march along.

May sweet memory bring to view
Every comrade brave and true,
The hero bold and heart of gold Of Auld Lang Syne.
The shining hosts of gray As they shout Hooray. Hooray!"
All earth we will defy for Dixie wed die!
No craven is here, He leads with hopeful cheer, To save his home, his native land, and all thats dear. Glory and fame
Will shine upon his name,
And all the world will gladly sing his honors true,
Then resound a song today For the gallant men in grey To bring anew to memorys view, The camp "rendezvous," Where love and cheer abound, And noble hearts are found, And this shall be our song As we march along.

THE OLD PLANTATION HOME.
I saw from the hills a fair home that was gleaming In the sunlight of morning, twas happy and bright,
There was gladness within, and young hearts were dream ing
Of a future that held for them only delight.

MEMORIAL POEMS

207

Wherever I gazed there was taste in the grouping Of each tree and shrub that oer shadowed the lawn,
Tall cedars and myrtles were gracefully drooping Oer bowers where lingered the kiss of the dawn.

How sweet was the fragrance that wafted around me From thousands of flowers each differing in hue,
How gentle the spell with which Poesy bound me
As she sung in the dearest old spot that I knew

The soft breeze of summer was gracefully straying
Oer wide spreading fields of emerald and gold, And light-hearted children were merrily playing
Where vineyard and orchards their riches unfold.

Green meadows sloped down to a stream that was shaded By wild honeysuckle we gathered each eve;
There too by the spring ere sunlight had faded, I wandered alone my own fancies to weave.

All nature was bright I And I knelt in the morning
On the hillside where often in visions I roam
How hallowed the joy my spirit adorning As I thanked the Great Giver of this beautiful home!

Years passed I stood on the hillside again Twas not in the morn, but the gloom of the night
There was darkness around me, there was weeping and pain
Ohl where was the rapture once greeting my sight?
Ah 1 death had been there! My father no more Came forth to relieve the sufferers groan
And sorrow reigned oer the halls that before Had echoed to music and pleasure alone.
But scarce had the darkness of night passed away Ere deep rolling thunder, was heard on the air,
And brother fought brother, the Blue and- the Gray, Despoiling the homes once so joyous and fair]

208

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

"0, spare it," I cried, "the dear home of my childhood I Take silver and jewels whatever you wilL"
Though fires were raging in valley and wildwood In mercy they spared us our home on the hill.
But how changed! Three brothers are quietly sleeping One far away near Missouris white foam,
Another at Franklin and the night bird is keeping Her vigil oer one who is resting at home.

"CALLED IN THE MORNING."
(To the memory of little Katie, a sister of Dr. J. D. Hammond, of Augusta, Ga. She was a member of my Sabbath School Class at Old Trinity Church, Atlanta.)
"An evanescent guest below, She came and went without a stain,
Whither and whence T We only know, Out of Gods hand, and back again!"
And there sweet child, On the banks of the crystal stream that flows By the great White Throne thourt resting. Gently Beside the still waters that hand will lead Thine angel form and point to wondrous scenes More dazzling far than is the noontide sun. On earth eye hath not seen such radiant light, Ear hath not heard such sounds as those that greet Her listening ear. No night is there! No cloud Is hovering oer the sky that brightly gleams With glory ineffable. No anguished moan Falls on the perfumed air. No fearful cry Of sorrow bursts from seraph lips that there Sing Zion s songs forevermore
A crown Rests on thy fair young brow, a thousand times More fair since it hath known the touch of God! And those dark lustrous eyes whose gentle light So oft hath filled my heart with tenderness As toward the better land I tried to point The way, shall never more be dimmed with pain, We must not weep! Our angel only waits

MEMORIAL POEMS Beside the pearly bars, for us who still Each Sabbath feels her near. And though the hand Of fate hath borne me from my precious charge, And nevermore on earth it may be mine Te meet with them at early morn, or sing Those songs that ever thrilled with joy, and guide Their tender feet along the Christians path. Yet blessed hope! One day we may unite Below the shining Mercy Seat, and there Learn holy lessons from our God. How sweet B en now, to close our weary eyes to all The glare of worldly sheen, and only dream Of Heaven 1 Ah, this great joy I would not give For all the pomp of earthly fame.
Tis then Our loved and lost are near. Star-crowned they gleam In the solemn waning light to keep our hearts "Without a stain, to whisper peace, and hush The warring elements that wage within. Such, gentle Katie, is thine own pure soul A comforter unseen. If on the good And beautiful our thoughts should rest still more, How bright would be our path, for "AS THE LOVE SO IS THE LIFE." No evil fostered long, Or hasty word of passion then should blight The heart in which our Saviour dwells. It shines Exalted free from bitterness and pride A ceaseless type of His who taught each day That God is Love! Then oft when worldly strife Oppresses may we turn to thoughts of these Our absent ones, and make their own pure lives Examples for our own. Fond memory loves To dwell on this sweet flower, plucked in the morn Of life, and tho no more joyous smile on earth Is seen, we know the glory on her brow To-day is far more lasting than the crown There placed by loved ones on a festive scene One year ago. Her May Day now is spent In fadeless bowers where no withring breath may pale The rosy hue upon her cheek, dispel the warm light From her eye, or sweep from Gods own hand The gem forever His.

210

GOLDEN ROD AND CYPRESS

THE CONFEDERATE FLAG. BY MBS. BJBHBEBT M. FBANKLIN, Tennille, Ga.

Furl that banner? We will never But will sing its glory ever,
And will love it for its part When the war-cloud was appalling And the battle tocsin calling, This flag led from bondage galling,
And still floats proudly in our heart 1
Wave it, for not one fold grows dimmer, And not one star has lost its glimmer
In the passing of the years Since its colors bright and glorious In defeat or when victorious,
Cheered the boys who knew no fears!
Wave the banner! Tell its story Till our children catch its glory, When the veterans, worn and hoary
One by one have passed away! Teach the childish heart to love it, Clasp its tendrils close above it,
Keep it floating on for aye!

MEMORIAL SONG
BY MBS. H. M. FBANKUN, of Tennille.
(May be sung to "Massa's In The Cold, Cold Ground.')
When the war cloud dark appalling O er all our land held sway
And the battle tocsin calling Lured her gallant sons away,
Loved ones then were broken hearted Yet bravely bade them go
Drear their homes when they departed Marching forth to meet the foe.

MEMORIAL POEMS

211

CHOEUS. All oer our Southland
Flowers we bear today For the graves of those who loved us,
Gallant boys who wore the gray.

Now the veteran ranks are breaking Vanquished neer before
Death the victor overtaking Battle fields for them no more
One last foe they cannot conquer Still their valor lives
We bestow a cross of honor Heaven a crown of glory gives.

"CLOSE IN! THE VICTORYS OURS!"

Herbert Mitchell, Fourth Ga. Regt., Milledgeville, 1862.

(The dying words of loung Herbert Mitchell, son of Dr. /. J. Mitchell, of Mittedgeville, and grandson of Gov. David B. Mitchell, of historical fame. He was an officer in the renowned Fourth Georgia Regiment, and after the battle of Fredericksburg, May gnd, 1863, I received a letter from the late Mrs. Barnett, of MiUedgeville (whowill ever be remembered for having secured the Seal of Georgia from vandalism), requesting a poem on the death of this gallant young soldier. In reply she presented me with a handsome ring on which was engraved "Leola," the nom de plume of my girlhood. By a strange coincidence I discovered a few years ago that this dashing Confederate officer was great-uncle of my little grandson of Tennille, who bears the name Herbert MitcheU Franklin.

Hark! there comes upon me stealing

A souna of mourning and woe,

And I see a pale form weeping

"

Ac she trembling whispers low,

"Bring the lyre, the silent lyre,

Its silver chords long hushed awake,

d breathe a lay to glorys son;"

;Twas thus the white-robed herald spake.

212

GOLDEN BOD AND CYPRESS

"Weave in song his manly virtues And the hopes that lit his brow,
Oh, spread a ray of cheerfulness Upon the home so lonely now.
Tell of how he led his comrades Oer the heaps of fallen brave,
How gallantly he fought the foe Till he too had found a grave."
The herald left I seized my lyre And swept again the gilded string,
But when alas, Wars pinion spread So dark above us, who could sing?
Of flowers, birds and beautys spell My girlhood muse oft sang alone
Since these had ceased to charm the soul All dreams of poesy had flown.
Bright flowers still bloom around my path And life its sweetest joys impart,
But nature hath no power to break The clouds that lower o er the heart.
My country! Land of light and love How many hearts have bled for thee,
The young, the gifted, martyrs all Upon the shrine of liberty!
And this brave youth whose requiem The flashing steel and cannons roar,
Fell in thy service, sunny land. Fair herald, couldst thou ask for more?
Thy tears are not the only ones That fall where Herbert silent sleeps,
For every valiant son that bleeds In freedoms cause, a nation weeps 1
"Close in I close in! the victorys ours!" Triumphantly the soldier cried.
Loud rose the shout but ere it ceased To linger on the air he died!
Deaths heavy pall looms oer his home And joy and mirthfulness depart;
May Heaven send bright angels down To heal each bleeding, broken heart.

MEMORIAL POEMS

213

Ah, me! how many hopes lie dead That once illumined the mansion fair,
Where Georgias gifted sons awoke With silvery tongue the summer air.
And thou, oh, grim, relentless War Hast claimed the noble and the brave,
But they have won a glorious prize A victory beyond the grave I
LOULA KENDALL.

IN THOMASTON.
{Memorial Song The following beautiful words u,f,re composed by Mrs. Loula Kendatt Rogers as a song for Decoration Day:
REST! SOLDIERS, REST!
Rest .Soldiers Rest! Sweet be thy sleep! Neer may wars invade, This billowed spot, this blessed retreat, Where thy dear forms are laid, No .-nore the drum and fife shall sound Their creadful battle call, No more thoult hear the thrilling cry "Come Southrons! one and all!"
CHORUS.
Rest. Soldiers Rest. War thou11 fear no more On the golden shore Rest I sweet rest! Rest! Soldiers Rest! Sweet be thy sleep!

214

GOLDEN ROD AND CTPEESS

On this our Floral Day, We come with garlands fresh and fair,
To scatter gloom away And neer shall Memory cease to weep,
Nor footsteps lightly tread, Where far from kindred, home and friends,
Lie low our gallant dead! CHORUS.
BestSoldiers Best! War thoull fear no more On the golden shore Best! sweet rest!