By the Sea, and Other Verses
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A VALENTINE
Up in the same sweet heaven,Though parted far,We two may see at evenThe same bright star.So the same blessed guide-starOf Love divineIllumines with its gloryThy path and mine.When thoughts of these, of heavenAnd love are thine,Be one kind memory givenThy Valentine.A CONVENTION HYMN
Bless us now, our Heavenly Father,As we gather once againAnd unite our hearts and voicesIn a grateful, glad refrain;Praises for a Father's bounty,Praises for a Saviour's reign.Guide us by thy Holy Spirit,Lead us in thy perfect way;Show us as we strive to serve Thee,What to do and what to say;Teach us how to work and suffer,How to watch and how to pray.Gracious Lord, we come with pleadingFor our tempted brother's sin;At the open door of mercyPraying Thou wilt take him in.Sin-sick, heart-sore and repentant,Let him now new life begin.And we bring our sister, moaningOver blighted hope and home;Robbed of all life's best possessionsBy the ruthless spoiler – Rum,To her rest in Thy compassion,Bid the heavy-laden "Come."And we pray, O God of Nations,That thine outstretched arm of might,May rebuke this prowling evil,May drive back the powers of night,And preserve us Home and CountryOverruled by Love and Right.A COLLECTION SONG
FOR THE LOYAL TEMPERANCE LEGIONKind friends, we thank you, one and all,For giving such attention,While we've arraigned Old Alcohol,And of his faults made mention.And if you'd like to see him nowPut "in a pretty pickle,"Just lend a hand and help us onBy giving us a nickel.He stalks the earth from east to west,A deal of mischief doing;But we are "on the war-path" now,Old Alcohol pursuing.So if you'd like to see him caughtAnd punished for his crime, sir,Just lend a hand and help us onBy tossing us a dime, sir.He robs our homes of peace and joy;He fills the land with sighing;Sets snares and pitfalls for our feet,(He'd better be a-dying.)So if you think he should be slain,As we believe he'd or'ter,Just lend a hand and help us onBy handing out a quarter.He boasts himself a King – by lawAnd license well protected;But now "the children are a-field"We'll have him soon ejected.So if you'd see us tackle him,And take him by the collar,Just lend a hand and help us onBy dropping in a dollar.THE BALLAD OF THE BOUNDARY LINE
"Here shall the Boundary Line be laid.""Not so, but here," the other said.Clamor of contest ran fierce and high, —Defiant challenge and proud reply.For heights of the Andes rose betweenThe Chilean States and the Argentine;And the mooted question, day by day,Was "What doth limit my neighbor's sway?"The sunlight rose and the shadows fellOn either slope, but none could tellJust where the morning's magic wandTouched the Argentine or Chile land.Fair in their verdure, pure in their snow,So near to heaven their summits go —Why should they ever by man be trod?'Twould seem they should only belong to God.But the strife went on with passing years,Fed by resentment and pride and fears;Nor priest nor people could yet defineThe rightful range of the Boundary Line.The strife went on with its loss and shame,As generations went and came,And each in its turn the task essayedTo solve the problem so long delayed.* * * * *Then kinder, kinglier thought prevailed,Where threat of sword and gun had failed;And love-illumined reason wroughtThe adjustment long so vainly sought."For how can a trifle of earth and airWith the worth of human lives compare?And what can it matter if thine or mineBe the narrow side on the Boundary Line?"And why should greed and grim distrustDespoil us of our faith and trust?Enough, enough, let us pledge our wordTo settle by judgment, not by sword."Let us heed the counsel our good priests bring,And raise the standard of Christ our King,And the here or there of the Boundary LineLet God and the British king define."Then the mother-heart of the nation stirred,As the fair De Costa's plea was heard:"Fathers and brothers! warriors, men!Shall we give our bravest to death and pain?"Shall we hush our hearts as we see them go —God pity! – to strive with a brother foe?Long we have waited, have suffered and prayedFor a joy still denied us, a hope still delayed."Enough; let the sun in highest heavenPencil the line for which you have striven;Let a princely people on either sideIn friendship and fair accord abide;"Be the strife of the past to the wild winds swept;The faith of the future unswervingly kept;And let 'The Christ of the Andes' restIn token of peace on the mountain's crest."Grandly the people made reply;The pledge was taken, the arms laid by,And glad thanksgiving and festal songWitnessed the joy of the gathered throng.Joy! for the strife of the past was o'er;Joy! for the promise of war no more;Joy in the gladness of land and home,Joy for the world-wide peace to come.On snow-tipped height of the Andean rangeThey planted the statue fair and strange;And there, to the query of the sky,Its bronze and granite make reply:"I witness the failure of the sword,The victory of the Love-sent word;To dust may crumble rock and hill,This pledge of nations abideth still."* * * * *So now the Boundary Line is laid;Christ in the heart hath the conflict stayed;And now doth "the Christ of the Andes" restIn token of peace on the mountain's crest.MARGARET LEE
Margaret Lee – you do not know her?Rightly named – a pearl is she;Half a score of years I've loved her —Precious Margaret Lee."Dimples?" No; nor "golden tresses,"Nor yet "voice of silvery tone"; —If such phrases must express her,Beauty she has none.Soft brown hair and grey eyes dreamingVisions that none others see;Plain her features; you might call herHomely Margaret Lee.Margaret owns no stately mansion,Carries not a heavy purse;Heiress to no "lordly acres,"Humble station hers.Quietly she treads life's highway;Quiet, yet with noble mien;'Mid the lowly, 'mid the loftyJourneying like a queen.Some have called her cold and haughty,From her bearing, high and free;Some have said a lofty spiritDwells with Margaret Lee.Why then do the "heavy-laden"Hail with joy her coming nigh?Why the childern love her shadowAs she passeth by?Some have deemed her weak, erratic.Some, too self-reliant, strong;One avers, her mood too gloomy;One, too light her song.All may be; the clouds of errorOfttimes overshade her way,Hiding where the rough and changefulPaths of duty lay.But unseen by mortal visionDaily bends a suppliant knee;Humbly bows a contrite spirit —Praying Margaret Lee —Asking of the All-forgivingPardon for her erring life;Seeking wisdom, faith and patienceFor its coming strife.So with footstep sometimes faltering,But with steadfast hope in God,Keeps she still a blithesome journeyO'er the earthly road.And at last all loss and failureLost in mercy, it may beHeaven's gate of pearl will openFor sweet Margaret Lee.There redeemed from sin and sorrow,There from care and conflict free;She will walk the angel city,Angel Margaret Lee.SOARING UPWARD
A. G. M., lingering on the threshold of eternity, looked lovingly back to tell of the glory revealed to her purified vision. "Angels are waiting," she whispered, "and all is beautiful, beautiful." Then, as her spirit winged its happy way, a sweet murmur again was heard, and the words were: "Soaring upward, upward into Heaven."
They call thee dead. They say that thou art gone,Forevermore from earth. It is not so;I know thy gentle spirit will returnAnd linger fondly round the loved below.They call thee dead. And now thou art not ours;"God touched thee," for thy work on earth was done.Thy presence was to us like summer flowers;And they are faded now; and thou art gone.I had not thought, fair girl, that thou couldst die;I knew thee gentle, innocent and gay;And dreamed not that the brightness of thine eye,Was destined thus so soon to fade away.'Tis well: "He giveth His beloved sleep," —O Sleeper, thou so early loved and blest!Say, were it wrong, if we who linger weep,And long to sleep, like thee, and be at rest?Ay, we who linger should not idlers be;Day hath appointed work from morn till even;And while we wait 'tis sweet to think of theeAs "soaring upward, upward into heaven!"THE END OF THE ROAD
Do you wonder at my smiling?Do you wonder that I faint not 'neath the burden of my load?O, the gloom and toil and dutyChange to light and praise and beautyWhile I'm looking toward the end of the road.Though the way is long and dreary,And I languish for a happier, a more serene abode,As the light of earth grows dimmer,Looking up, I see the glimmerOf its glory at the end of the road.Though the talent seemeth meager,And my Sovereign Lord doth gather, ever, where He hath not strowed,Yet I would not therefore spurn it,But "with usury" return it,At His coming at the end of the road.Though I now go forth with weeping,If I bear the precious seed which the Master would have sowed,I shall come again with singing,Sheaves of plenty with me bringingTo His harvest at the end of the road.Peace shall follow tribulation:This the boon Divine Compassion upon mortal hath bestowed;Heavy now the cross I'm bearing;Bright the crown I'll soon be wearingIn the Temple at the end of the road.