To A Motherless Babe.

Why art thou here, little, motherless one, -
Why art thou here in this bleak world alone?
With that innocent smile on thy beautiful brow,
What hath this stern world for such as thou?

Why art thou here in this world of unrest,
Thou that of angels shouldst be the guest? -
Oh, wild are the storms of this wintry clime,
Dire are the ills that will meet thee in time!
Lamb, with no shelter when tempests are near,
Dove, with no resting place, why art thou here?

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Pamela S. Vining, also known by her pseudonym J. C. Yule, was an English poet whose work was recognized in the 19th century. Despite her significant contribution to English poetry, detailed information about her life, including her birth and death dates, remains elusive. She remains a noteworthy figure in the canon of English literature for her emotive and thought-provoking poetry.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Idle

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

Broken

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

Somewhere

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

Honor To Labor

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

English

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Johanna

'Twas a balmy day in Autumn,
In the drowsy, dreamy Autumn,
When from out the quiet woodland
Sounds of rustling leaves came only -
Leaves that floated softly earthward -
And the streamlets had a murmur
Such as wanders through our visions
In the hushed and starry midnight -
Low, soft murmur, full of music.

With the small hand of her darling
Clasped in her's, there came a mother
To an Artist - fondly asking
For the picture of her pet-lamb -
Winsome pet-lamb full of child-life,
Full of merry, ringing laughter -
Laughter that went up unceasing
Like the happy chime of streamlets
Singing thro' some mountain valley, -
Like the bird-song in the forest
In the time of early roses, -
Like the tinkle of sweet waters
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Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Lines On The Death Of A Young Mother

    A voice missed by the dear home-hearth -
A voice of music and gentle mirth -
A voice whose lingering sweetness long
Will float through many a Sabbath song,
And many a hallowed, evening hymn,
Tenderly breathed in the twilight dim!
- But that missing voice, with a richer tone,
Is heard in the anthems before the throne;
And another voice and another lyre,
Are added now to the angel-choir!

    There's a missing face when the board is spread -
There's a vacant seat at the table's head, -
A watchful eye and a helpful hand
That will come no more to that broken band.
- But she sits to-day at the board above,
In the tender light of a holier love;
And the kindling eye and the beaming face
At the feast on high hold a nobler place!

    A form is ...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

The Bird And The Storm-Cloud

    Little bird, is that thy sphere,
Yonder threat'ning cloud so near?
Sunbeams blaze along its brow,
Yet what darkness reigns below!
There the sullen thunder mutt'ring,
Wrathful sounds is sternly utt'ring; -
There the red-eyed lightning gleameth,
Where no more the sunlight beameth,
And the strong wind, fiercely waking,
Wings of fearful might is taking; -
Creature of the calmer air,
Wherefore art thou soaring there?

    Wert thou weary of the vale,
With its blossom-scented gale? -
Weary of thy breezy bowers? -
Weary of thy wild-wood flowers? -
Weary of thy wind-rocked nest
In the bright, green willow's breast? -
Didst thou sigh, on daring wing,
Up in heaven's blue depths to sing? -
Claim with storms companionship,
And in clouds t...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

The Drunkard's Child

A little child stood moaning
    At the hour of midnight lone,
And no human ear was list'ning
    To the feebly wailing tone;
The cold, keen blast of winter
    With funeral wail swept by,
And the blinding snow fell darkly
    Through the murky, wintry sky.

Ah! desolate and wretched
    Was the drunkard's outcast child,
Driven forth; amidst the horrors
    Of that night of tempests wild.
The babe so fondly cherished
    Once 'neath a parent's eye,
Now laid her down in anguish
    Midst the drifting snows to die!

"Papa! - papa!" - she murmured,
    "The night is cold and drear,
And I'm freezing! - Oh, I'm freezing!
    In the storm and darkness here; -
My naked feet are stiff'ning,
    And my little hands are numb, -
Pa...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Under The Snow

    Over the mountains, under the snow
Lieth a valley cold and low,
'Neath a white, immovable pall,
Desolate, dreary, soulless all,
And soundless, save when the wintry blast
Sweeps with funeral music past.

    Yet was that valley not always so,
For I trod its summer-paths long ago;
And I gathered flowers of fairest dyes
Where now the snow-drift heaviest lies;
And I drank from rills that, with murmurous song,
Wandered in golden light along
Through bowers, whose ever-fragrant air
Was heavy with perfume of flowrets fair, -
Through cool, green meadows where, all day long,
The wild bee droned his voluptuous song;
While over all shone the eye of Love
In the violet-tinted heavens above.

    And through that valley ran veins of gold,
And the...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

No Solitude

"Whither shall I go from thy Spirit?"


I stood where ocean lashed the sounding shore
With his unresting waves, and gazed far out
Upon the billowy strife. I saw the deep
Lifting his watery arms to grasp the clouds,
While the black clouds stooped from the sable arch
Of the storm-darkened heavens, and deep to deep
Answered responsive in the ceaseless roar
Of thunders and of floods.

                                                    "Here, then, I am alone,
And this is solitude, "I murmured low,
As in the presence of the risen storm
I bowed my head abashed. "Alone?" -
The echoing concave of the skies replied, -
"Alone?" - the waves responded, and the winds
In hollow murmurs answered back - "Alone?"

"Thou canst not be alone, for God is he...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)