Jean Blewett

    We met her on the hillside green
    Below old Castle Blarney;
    Her name, she whispered, was Eileen,
    Her home it was Killarney.

    I see her yet, her Irish eyes
    Blue gray as seas in summer,
    And hear her welcome, on this wise,
    Vouchsafed to each new-comer:

    "I'll guide ye up the stairway steep,
    And naught will ye be missing
    O' battlement or donjon keep,
    Or blarney stone for kissing.

    "The tower that was McCarthy's pride,
    The scene o' battles thrilling,
    And where the Desmond kept his bride -
    Me fee is but a shilling.

    "Here's for ye, now, a keepsake charm" -
    Her low tones grow caressing -
    "A bit o' shamrock green and warm,
    To bring ye luck and blessing."

    When I was but a little lad
    One thing I could not bear,
    It was to stand at mother's knee
    And have her comb my hair.

    They didn't keep boys' hair as short
    As it's kept now-a-days,
    And mine was always tangled up
    In twenty different ways.

    I'd twist my mouth and grit my teeth,
    And say it wasn't fair -
    It was a trial, and no mistake,
    When mother combed my hair.

    She'd brush and brush each stubborn curl
    That grew upon my pate,
    And with her scissors nip and clip
    To make the edges straight.

    Then smooth it down until it shone,
    While I would grin and bear,
    And feel a martyr through and through,
    When mother combed my hair.

    She'd take my roun...

    Her eyes are the windows of a soul
    Where only the white thoughts spring,
    And they look, as the eyes of the angels look,
    For the good in everything.

    Her lips can whisper the tenderest words
    That weary and worn can hear,
    Can tell of the dawn of a better morn
    Till only the cowards fear.

    Her hands can lift up the fallen one
    From an overthrow complete,
    Can take a soul from the mire of sin
    And lead it to Christ's dear feet.

    And she can walk wherever she will -
    She walketh never alone.
    The work she does is the Master's work,
    And God guards well His own.

    Among the vivid green I see
    A yellow leaf,
    And yonder in the basswood tree
    An empty nest swings lonesomely -
    The wheat's in sheaf.

        I built a castle in the air -
    A radiant thing made out of dreams;
    Love's dear desire its golden stair -
    Naught heavier than a hope was there -
    A thing of mist and rainbow gleams.

        But when it fell - ah! when it fell,
    Though made o' dreams and mist and shine,
    The mystery of it who can tell?
    Its falling shook both heaven and hell,
    And ground to dust this heart of mine.

    The teacher was wise and learned, I wis,
    All nonsense she held in scorning,
    But you never can tell what the primmest miss
    Will do of a bright spring morning.

    What this one did was to spread a snare
    For feet of a youth unheeding,
    As March, with a meek and lamb-like air,
    To its very last hour was speeding.

    Oh, he was the dullard of his class,
    For how can a youth get learning
    With his eyes aye fixed on a pretty lass
    And his heart aye filled with yearning?

    "Who finds 'mong the rushes which fringe a pool,"
    She told him, "the first wind blossom,
    May wish what he will" - poor April fool,
    With but one wish in his bosom.

    Her gray eyes danced - on a wild-goose chase
    He'd...

    In powdered wig and buckled shoe,
    Knee-breeches, coat and waistcoat gay,
    The wealthy squire rode forth to woo
    Upon a first of April day.

    He would forget his lofty birth,
    His spreading acres, and his pride,
    And Betty, fairest maid on earth,
    Should be his own - his grateful bride.

    The maid was young, and he was old;
    The maid was good to look upon.
    Naught cared she for his land or gold,
    Her love was for the good squire's son.

    He found her as the noonday hush
    Lay on the world, and called her name.
    She looked up, conscious, and her blush
    A tender interest did proclaim.

    For he was Hubert's sire, and she
    To keep a secret tryst did go.
    He said: "Methinks she c...

    A prayer of love, O Father!
    A fair and flowery way
    Life stretches out before these
    On this their marriage day.
    O pour Thy choicest blessing,
    Withhold no gift of Thine,
    Fill all their world with beauty
    And tenderness divine!

    A prayer of love, O Father!
    This holy love and pure,
    That thrills the soul to rapture,
    O may it e'er endure!
    The richest of earth's treasures,
    The gold without alloy,
    The flower of faith unfading,
    The full, the perfect joy!

    No mist of tears or doubting,
    But in their steadfast eyes
    The light divine, the light of love,
    The light of Paradise.
    A prayer of love, O Father!
    A prayer of love to Thee,
    God's best be th...

    God's garden is this dim old wood,
    And hidden in its bosom
    The bursting bud, the feathery leaf
    And soft, sweet smelling blossom.

    Ho! May is fair, and glorious June,
        In rose leaves doth enfold her;
    Their bloom is richer than my own,
        But mine is sweeter, bolder.

    God's garden is this dim old wood,
    And I, the pretty vagrant,
    I am the gardener He sends
    To make it fair and fragrant.

"Poet by the grace of God."


    You sing of winter gray and chill,
    Of silent stream and frozen lake,
    Of naked woods, and winds that wake
    To shriek and sob o'er vale and hill.

    And straight we breathe the bracing air,
    And see stretched out before our eyes
    A white world spanned by brooding skies,
    And snowflakes drifting everywhere.

    You sing of tender things and sweet,
    Of field, of brook, of flower, of bush,
    The lilt of bird, the sunset flush,
    The scarlet poppies in the wheat.

    Until we feel the gleam and glow
    Of summer pulsing through our veins,
    And hear the patter of the rains,
    And watch the green things sprout and grow.

    You sing of joy, and we do mark<...

    Oh, a big broad-shouldered fellow was Ben,
    And homely as you would see,
    Such an awkward walker and stammering talker,
    And as bashful as he could be.

    The son of a lone, widowed mother was he,
    And right well did he act his part,
    A giant at sowing and reaping and mowing -
    His farm was the pride of his heart.

    His mother depended on his strong arm;
    In the cottage so neat and trim
    He kept the fires burning, did sweeping and churning -
    Oh, the odd jobs saved up for him!

    "My Ben's a comfort," she said every day,
    With pride that made his head whirl,
    "As handy at sweeping as he is at reaping -
    Ben is just as good as a girl!"

    "A six-foot fellow to work round the house!
    We...

    Here's a song of cheer
    For the whole long year:

    We've only to do our best,
        Take up our part
        With a strong, true heart -
    The Lord will do all the rest.

    Praise God for blessings great and small,
    For garden bloom and orchard store,
    The crimson vine upon the wall,
    The green and gold of maples tall,
    For harvest-field and threshing-floor!

    Praise God for children's laughter shrill,
    For clinging hands and tender eyes,
    For looks that lift and words that thrill,
    For friends that love through good and ill,
    For home, and all home's tender ties!

    Praise God for losses and for gain,
    For tears to shed, and songs to sing,
    For gleams of gold and mists of rain,
    For the year's full joy, the year's deep pain,
    The grieving and the comforting!

A little crippled figure, two big pathetic eyes,
A face that looked unchildish, so wan it was and wise;
I watched her as the homesick tears came chasing down each cheek.
"I had to come," she whispered low, "I was so tired and weak.
My spine, you know! I used to be so strong, and tall, and straight!
I went to school and learned to read and write upon a slate,
And add up figures - such a lot, and play with all my might,
Until I hurt my back - since then I just ache day and night.
'Tis most a year since I could stand, or walk around at all;
All I am good for now, you see, is just to cry and crawl."
Poor, pale-faced thing! there came to us the laughter gay and sweet
Of little ones let out from school, the sound of flying feet.
She listened for a moment, then turned her to the wall

    God in His own right hand doth take each day -
    Each sun-filled day - each rare and radiant night,
    And drop it softly on the earth and say:
    "Touch earth with heaven's own beauty and delight."

    O! He was the boy of the house, you know,
    A jolly and rollicking lad;
    He never was sick, he never was tired,
    And nothing could make him sad.

    If he started to play at sunrise,
    Not a rest would he take at noon;
    No day was so long from beginning to end,
    But his bed-time came too soon.

    Did someone urge that he make less noise,
    He would say, with a saucy grin:
    "Why, one boy alone doesn't make much stir -
    O sakes! I wish I was a twin.

    "There's two of twins, and it must be fun
    To go double at everything;
    To holler by twos, and whistle by twos,
    To stamp by twos, and to sing!"

    His laugh was something to make you glad,
    So brimful was it of joy;
    A conscience he h...

    When I'm at gran'dad's on the farm,
    I hear along 'bout six o'clock,
    Just when I'm feelin' snug an' warm,
    "Ho, Bobby, come and feed your stock."

    I jump an' get into my clothes;
    It's dark as pitch, an' shivers run
    All up my back. Now, I suppose
    Not many boys would think this fun.

    But when we get out to the barn
    The greedy pigs begin to squeal,
    An' I throw in the yellow corn,
    A bushel basket to the meal.

    Then I begin to warm right up,
    I whistle "Yankee Doodle" through,
    An' wrastle with the collie pup -
    And sometimes gran'dad whistles too.

    The cow-shed door, it makes a din
    Each time we swing it open wide;
    I run an' flash the lantern in,
    There stan...

    I can see her in the kitchen,
    Apron on and sleeves rolled up,
    Measurin' spices in a teaspoon,
    Figs and raisins in a cup.

    Now she's throwin' apple quarters
    In that wooden bowl of hers,
    'Long with lemon peel and orange,
    An' she stirs, an' stirs, an' stirs.

    Then she takes her knife an' chops it,
    Chops so fast her hand jest flies.
    Now I know what ma is up to -
    Makin' mincemeat for the pies.

    I smell Christmas in our kitchen,
    An' my heart gets big an' glad,
    An' I, somehow, fall to wishin',
    That I wasn't quite so bad.

    An' I tell myself I'll never
    Cheat at marbles any more,
    Nor make faces at my teacher,
    Nor hang round the corner store

    '...