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Title: Poems
Author: Hill, Jennie Earngey
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Poems" ***

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                          JENNIE EARNGEY HILL

                      s [Illustration: colophon]


                           THE GORHAM PRESS



                          All Rights Reserved

                 Made in the United States of America

                   The Gorham Press, Boston, U.S.A.


                            MY BELOVED AUNT

                   MRS. JENNIE HEWES CALDWELL, PH.D.


SONG OF THE BROOK          9

A SLEIGHING SONG          10

THE DRESDEN MAID          12

SONG OF THE BEE           13

THE GOLDFINCH             14

BONNY BUNNY               15


OUR COW                   17

ODE TO A BROOK            18

CONSECRATION              19

ENCHANTMENT               20

LIFE’S DAY                21

FOR YOU                   22

DISTANCE                  23

ALONE                     24

WINTER                    25

LOVE’S MESSAGE            26

MY TRIBUTE                27

HEARTBLOOM                28

DEATH’S SPECTRE           29

DREAMING                  30

SAILING                   31

FISHIN’                   32

LIFE’S SUNSET             34

THE MEADOWLARK            35

NATURE’S GAME             37

A BIT O’ CHEER            38

THOT                      39



    Whispering brooklet running nigh,
    Do tell why love must die,
    Brooklet onward toward yon sea,
    Speak to me! speak to me!
    Do tell why love must die,
    Tiny brooklet flowing by.
    For aye! Oh, tell why!

    Brooklet gently gurgling by
    Must love die e’en for aye,
    Tell why shouldst love die;
    Oh, why must love die,
    Tell why! For aye! For aye!

The above was set to the music “The Brook” by Theodore Lack.


    Slipping, sliding, high then low,
    O’er the ice and fleecy snow,
    Hearts attune with all around,
    Merrily away we bound;
    While jubilant our spirits fling
    Echoes of their reigning king,
    Till circling air seems drunken quite,
    Breathing revelry tonight.
    Boist’rously we raise good cheer,
    One in voice and accent clear;
    As bracing wine such atmosphere,
    With love like thine,
    Maiden of the dell,
    Loud thy praises swell,
    Life’s rhapsody
    For me but thee,
    Thru the livelong day
    If at work or play.

    ’Tis living dew thy lips impart,
    Nectar to a fainting heart;
    Thine eyes--gems of beauteous hues,
    Amber mid the blues,
    Gleam Paradise--’gainst yon sparkling snow,
    Twinkling as they go;
    Thy cheeks transmit roseate light,
    Tint the dancing white,
    Heart-throb bespeaks
    Earthly paragon,
    Binding two in one,
    In this--our sleighing time, our playing time,
    Our sleighing, playing, sleighing time.

    Moonbeams falling, gently trace
    Lovers’ secrets on each face,
    As to and fro they skip--perchance,
    Lending joy with each fond glance,
    While slipping, sliding, high then low,
    O’er the ice and drifting snow,
    Till circling air seems drunken quite
    Breathing revelry tonight;
    Boist’rously we raise good cheer,
    One in voice and accent clear;
    As bracing wine such atmosphere
    With love like thine,
    Maiden of the dell,
    Loud thy praises swell,
    Life’s rhapsody for me but thee,
    Thru the livelong day
    If at work or play.

    I love you in the sleighing time,
    I love you with a love sublime,
    Oh, give to me that heart of thine,
    In this, our sleighing time, our playing time,
    Our sleighing, playing, sleighing time.

Set to music “Arabesque,” by Eric Meyer Helmund.


    Thou pretty, dainty Dresden maid,
    Tripping thru the grass,
    Dandelion lifts shining head,
    Gleaming as you pass.


       Thou Dresden maid
       My heart rings true,
       Speak but the word,
       I’d give my life for you.

    Simply clad with flowered kirtle,
    Ever bloom more fair!
    Azure petals like yon myrtle
    Touch thy nutbrown hair.


    Wistful eyes of violet shade,
    Tinting morn’s own dew,
    Love pure as thine could never fade,
    Grown in heart so true.


    Blossoms adored by thee, sweetheart,
    Flourish but a day,
    One smile thou canst to me impart,
    Lendeth hope alway.



              Buzz! buzz!
    You’re just a honey-bee,
    Yet a simple song you say,
    Turneth work into play.

              Buzz! buzz!
    As flitting here and there,
    Among the flowers by the way,
    Work turneth to play.

              Buzz! buzz!
    While seeking clover sweet
    For its nectar thru the day,
    Work turneth to play.

              Buzz! buzz!
    A lesson true you’d teach,
    A song in the heart alway,
    Turneth work into play.


    Oh, tiny goldfinch richly clad,
    Your joyousness bespeaks the morn,
    Whose beauty tends to make you glad,
    And eager just that you were born.

    You dart about o’er crag and moor,
    To us bequeath your choicest boon,
    Your silvery note so soft and pure,
    A simple, mellow twitter-tune.

    You ride away on rippling crest,
    Over hill and stony shallow,
    You seek the thorny thistle-pest,
    As it thrives on field and fallow.

    Your sheaves of down you garner in,
    And store them in your covert-mow,
    Away from human noise and din,
    To fluff your nest in bush or bough.

    The Hoary Alder catkin-hung,
    Where tinkling waters wander round,
    And Marigold is Music’s tongue,
    Here holds your cup in fork fast-bound;

    A leafy canopy of green,
    Above eggs touched by sea and sky,
    Which ling’ringly, you laid unseen,
    Save by the pale Day-moon on high.


              Bonny bunny!
              Tracks so funny!
    Playing round our cottage door,
    Fruits and food are here a-plenty,
    Laid away for winter’s store.

              Bonny bunny!
              Tracks so funny!
    Whiter even than the snow,
    As it dances all about you,
    Have a pear before you go.

              Bonny bunny!
              Tracks so funny!
    Why are you so timid, pray!
    Cold will soon be fast upon us,
    Let’s be friends, don’t run away.


    I love you in the springtime,
    Still I love you in the fall,
    And I love you in the winter,
    With the snowflakes merry call.

    Yes, I love you best of all
    With the snowflakes as they fall,
    While the winters biting cold,
    Makes me sense a warmth untold.

    Then I love you in glad summer,
    When birds and flowers breathe cheer,
    To me this seems the gladdest time
    Of all the season’s year.

    But I love you best of all,
    With the snowflakes as they fall,
    While the winter’s biting cold
    Makes me sense a warmth untold.


    Our Jersey cow is just as kind
    And friendly as can be,
    A wisp of hay I hand to her,
    She gives her milk to me.

    All day she tramps the meadow grass,
    And browses on the hill,
    She seems to like the clover best,
    While wand’ring at her will.

    Moo! moo! she always seems to say,
    She never minds the showers,
    We children love to hear her low,
    Thru all the pleasant hours.


    I wish I were a stream, O brook!
    If but for a single day,
    Then would we wander on and on,
    While rippling a roundelay.

    I wish I were a stream, O brook!
    Just to sense all you would say,
    Then could we wander on and on,
    Still babbling along our way.

    I wish I were a stream, O brook!
    Each forest-flower I’d know,
    Like wild birds we’d sail on and on,
    Joyfully prattling we’d go.

    I wish I were a stream, O brook!
    We’d wind thru lane and lea,
    Playfully gurgling on and on,
    Till at last we’d reach the sea.


    “Give God the glory,” ’tis thus speaks my soul,
    “Take thou my life, Lord, in sweetest control;
    When blinding storms of sorrow assail me,
    Oh, thou! who didst walk on blue Galilee,
    Beneath thy rich mantle sheltered I’d be.

    Dub thou me knight, Lord, our most holy King,
    While rend’ring thee service, trophies I’d bring,
    If mid life’s fray thou wouldst call me today,
    Oh, Christ! who canst raise the fallen, lift me,
    To bask in thy presence eternally.

    Truth as the emblem, ’tis right royally,
    Under her flag, firm, united we’d be,
    Dark powers of might at thy Word prostrate lie,
    While blazoned with love our banner waves high,
    In homage to him who reigneth--the King.


    Ethereal bursts yon morn, bluebirds awake,
    Joy-notes break forth, Heav’n born, for love’s sweet sake,
    Thy face, in waking dreams, reveals the day,
    Sunlight in beauty streams, pointing the way.

    ’Tis but a dainty flower I bring to you,
    Bathed in celestial light, mingled with dew,
    Still deeply rooted in this heart so true,
    Is wealth the world holds not, treasured in you.

    Fairest of all the bloom I proffer thee,
    Plucked from yon garden rare, Sincerity;
    Pure bud of enduring love, shield thou me,
    And bear my soul to God in chastity.


    Thou Sun! whose smile wreathes early Morn,
    A cheerful light to those forlorn,
    And dries the dripping eyes of dawn,
    Bless Life’s fleet day ere she be gone.

    Teach her to shine as unto thee,
    A lesser light as needs must be,
    A ray bent toward lonely places,
    Sun! whose beams reflect glad faces.

    I ask when Life’s young day is done,
    E’en as thy afterglow, O Sun!
    I might bequeath one worthy song,
    A candle in a world of wrong.


    The golden sun sinks
    On a bosom of blue,
         A-smiling for you;
    While each bird in the nest
    Lulls her tired brood to rest,
         A-crooning for you.

    The weed-blossoms blow
    Full as wild flowers do,
         A-blooming for you;
    ’T is my heart casts a spell,
    Sets the plants in the dell
         A-springing for you.

    A moth of the night
    Is my love--ever true,
         A-winging for you;
    Like yon firefly it glows,
    As it kindleth anew
         A-longing for you.


    Sometimes when western lamps burn low,
    I feel thee near, tho thou art far,
    Doth parting heal I long to know,
    Or distance deeper brand the scar.

    Sometimes when chill the winds that blow,
    Thy spirit calms the atmosphere,
    A zephyr heartstrings’ lyric bow,
    Warm strains of melody I hear.

    Sometimes when in the evening glow,
    My soul seems interlocked with thine,
    While artful shadows come and go,
    I pause to quaff a drink divine.


                    ’Tis midnight!
    One lone star stands a fiery sentinel,
    Whose eagle eye portrayeth silence well,
                    Keeping watch!

                    ’Tis midnight!
    The screechowl’s plaintive scream pierces the gloom,
    Alone goes she forth from her cavern tomb,
                    Making moan!

                    ’Tis midnight!
    Wrapt in the mourning garment of despair,
    One thot “Alone” enshrouds the mystic air,

                    ’Tis midnight!
    A doleful bell peals forth its dismal dirge,
    Alone--dim spectres tread that haunted verge
                    Death’s own.


              Bleak and chill!
              Bleak and chill!
    Winter winds are bound to blow,
    Thru the valley, o’er the hill
              At their will.

              Winter wind!
              Do be kind!
    I know little children four
    The wolf stands ever howling
              At their door.

              Winter wind!
              Oh, be kind!
    Just to those who lack for food,
    You devour their scanty fuel
              In such mood.

              Bleak and chill!
              Bleak and chill!
    Tho your winds must ever blow,
    Teach the heart of him who hath
              All the woe.


    Apple blossoms everywhere!
    White wings sailing scented air,
    To fairyland--on vernal breeze;
    Art thou wafting love’s message--
            From the trees?


    Thou master! deftly as Nature herself,
    Awakes yon sleeping bud in early spring,
    E’en neath thy gentler, guileless touch, methinks
    A soul opes wide, ’tis Music’s wakening.

    Thou, shapen in clay, art by Heav’n moulded,
    Thru thee I sense both human and divine,
    This, God’s gift, within thyself enfolded,
    Pervades the air my spirit breathes of thine.

    Bear me afar, beyond majestic portal,
    Down loyal Art’s lost corridor of Time,
    Human-hearted soul, echo immortal,
    Lead thou me inspired by living notes sublime.


    When love is there, one asks not whence he came,
    Enough to know the wealth he doth bestow;
    A budding heart blossoms, then bursts the same,
    Whether in realm of high estate or low.

    Crimson the flow’r, touched by the life it gives,
    Rooted in works of faith, love ever lives,
    Aglow with thrilling warmth of sentiment,
    Each soul becomes a fount of sweet content.

    The bloom, crushed, turns to Mother Earth once more,
    Anew seeketh strength in rising as before;
    Tho years of healing help to right the wrong,
    A bleeding heart can never beat as strong.


    Buoyant like the waves our spirits,
    Borne eastward by the foaming brine,
    Till the band in lazy ripples,
    Set drifting shoreward “Auld Lang Syne.”

    Smile for smile, amid tear for tear,
    Lavished in love that fateful day,
    While frothing billows furtively,
    Tossed high their caps in mirthful play.

    A frown soon crost the gleaming sky,
    Darker and graver it became,
    Glow’ring wrath then fell from on high,
    Her anger struck our ship aflame.

    A host of patient suppliants,
    With penitence each heart did burn,
    Crash! one seething surge broke o’er us,
    Rending asunder bow from stern.

    Does God still live where torment dwells,
    Thou branded spectre of the night,
    I challenge Peace, if Peace be God,
    To throttle Hell, who seemeth might.


    Mid each glimmer of sunlight,
    On the early morning dew,
    Refreshing thots came trooping,
    Old-time memories and you.

    I could hear thy footsteps falling,
    Doubt in sleep all cast asunder,
    Dreaming of thee, ever dreaming,
    Lost in love I ceased to wonder.

    ’Twas the bluebird’s lyric note,
    Welcomed me to light of day,
    With thy kiss upon my lips,
    Wrapt in ecstasy I lay.


            Only last night,
            My life! my light!
    Sailing the sea ’neath silent moon,
    This heart sent thee its sovereign boon;
    Thy spirit seemed one glorious gem,
    Set in a royal diadem.
            Come thou to me,
            Over the sea!

            Growl and grumble!
            Fume and mumble!
    Madcaps! let Fury lead the way,
    Our loyal ship will reach the bay,
    Peace caroleth her song of cheer,
    Where love abides there is no fear,
            Toss and tumble!
            Rage and rumble!

            Sing foaming sea,
            Sing thou to me!
    Praise love in modest litany,
    Swell forth one mighty symphony,
    Till God’s exultant hosts reply,
            Swing low! then high!
            Rest draweth nigh!
    Breathe yawning Deep,
    The breath of Sleep.


    Would you blame a feller any,
    If the sun was all aglow,
    If his pa had gone to meetin’,
    An’ his ma was soon to go.

    Then if his ma had rigged him out
    In togs for Sunday-school,
    If his chum came by and argued
    ’Twas no need to go by rule.

    Is there really any harm,
    If a feller does no wrong,
    But jus’ takes his fishin’ tackle
    An’ goes marchin’ straight along;

    Jus’ to where the fish are bitin’
    At a mos’ outlandish rate,
    Could you blame a feller any
    ’Cause he went to diggin’ bait.

    Could you blame a feller’s daddy,
    Should he make a solemn vow,
    That his sonny’d get a trouncin’,
    Tho ’twould start a family row;

    When to class the kids came troopin’,
    Every feller, all save one,
    When he found the fishin’ tackle
    To be missin’--like his son.

    “To think,” says he, “a son of mine
    Would break the Sabbath day,
    He’ll cause this head to bow in shame
    While trudgin’ earth’s highway.”

    Then a righteous rage o’ertook him,
    Like a ship that’s lashed at sea,
    While his long strides brought him nearer
    The spot where his son might be.

    Alas! when he saw his son there,
    Jus’ atuggin’ at the line,
    With a monster fish adanglin’;
    (’Twas a sport he too thought fine!)

    His old eyes jus’ fell a-dancin’,
    Like the waves borne by a breeze,
    An’ his soul was set a-singin’
    With the birds in nearby trees.

    Would you blame a feller’s daddy,
    Should he break a solemn vow,
    An’ help a lad to lug away
    All the fish the law’d allow?

    Who’d begrudge dad any pleasure,
    (When his sun was bendin’ low,)
    Which might set his old heart beatin’
    With lost chords of long ago.


    Thy day is far spent,
    And thy night draweth nigh,
    Life’s sunset at even,
    Shines forth from on high.

    Eternity’s dawn,
    As the closing of day,
    ’Tis shadow or sunbeam
    Precedeth thy way.

    A life such as thine,
    Is inspired from above,
    Reborn of God’s spirit,
    Immersed in his love.

    Sweet strains from afar,
    Thy rich entrance doth raise,
    While yon Heavenly choir
    Sings anthems of praise.


    The meadowlark wingeth his grassy way,
    His plaintive note rings clear,
    He seeketh shelter ’neath the new-mown hay
    His flute-like voice we hear
                  “Spring o’ the year!
                  Spring o’ the year!”

    His coat, brown-mottled, with silver’s soft streak,
    While nesting, serves him well,
    When summer’s sun sears the grass, dries the creek,
    ’Tis then he rests a spell.
                  In meadow-dell!
                  In meadow-dell!

    This jaunty fellow in vest of yellow
    And crescent-collar black,
    A cap to match; his music how mellow,
    Chap with the whistling knack.

    A ground nest by him of grasses is made,
    Distant his dream of fear,
    Till the spotted white eggs his mate has laid,
    Begin to disappear.

    The thieves of sad fate are mice of the mead,
    Or else some reptile rare,
    Again he builds stronger, with greater heed,
    Then guards his home with care.
                  “Tseer” dire deed!
                  “Tseer” dire deed!

    ’Tis golden sheaf-time and each spotted shell,
    Appears to be pipping,
    Alas! the tale of the binder to tell,
    She come clipping, clipping.
                  Thru meadow-dell!
                  Thru meadow-dell!

    The doom of the sputtering mates is sealed,
    The reaper spurns his guest,
    As he cuts a swath of the ripened field,
    Brings havoc to the nest.
                  “Tseer” oprest!
                  “Tseer” oprest!

    Still sputtering, the mates fly far a-field,
    Such grief was theirs that day,
    And here is to hoping their fate may be sealed,
    Next year a diff’rent way.
                  “Tseer” sad lay!
                  “Tseer” sad lay!


    The gusts of wind that frisk about,
    With the winter sprites at play,
    And pile them high like football fiends,
    In a most fantastic way,
    Are stragglers from the woodland dell,
    Just assuming to be fay.

    The birds cheer with chirps, squirrels with chats,
    A clouded lining of sun-beam slats,
    Curtains Sol of cunning eye;
    Crows “Caw! caw!” as tho at play,
    A golden bomb bursts the glow’ring sky,
    And frightens the elfins away.


    Such scurrying of blow and bluster out,
    Instilled a longing just to look about
    For one stray emblem of returning spring,
    Some form of life aquiver on the wing.

    A massive mound of snow towered mountain high.
    The nude trees, all ashiver stood opprest;
    One brave bough saluted the whistling wind,
    That had cruelly bared her aching breast.

    The tiny twigs twisted and twined for warmth,
    Still striving in vain for reviving breath,
    While the icy palm with a ruthless calm,
    Soon smote many a sickly one with death.

    Ah, me! Is that a vision which I see!
    Are those real, rosy apples on that tree?
    Or is it God’s own gleaming sun streams thru--
    A crimson hue, on them for me and you?

    Or must I deem it destiny of war--
    Bloody war, never known on earth before
    Stains them gore; or reflected words of cheer
    From afar, to home friends who writhe in fear.

    ’Tis Nature’s pretty prank our hearts have blest,
    Yet simple truth should always be confest;
    The flaunting fruit which flings high in that tree,
    Are merry, dancing, dangling apples three.


    Thot is the skiff that bears the soul,
    To Heaven’s celestial shore,
    With our God as the stanch pilot,
    To guide the light craft o’er.

    ’Tis thot which makes the poor man rich,
    That makes the rich man poor,
    Lord! may each treasury of thot,
    Be thy Word firm and sure.

    No Scylla lifts six hungry heads,
    No Sirens’ song is heard,
    No Charybdis engulfs the soul,
    With thot driven by God’s Word.

    Let Triton blow his shameful blast,
    Unfurl your sails--nor care!
    With Christ to man your vessel frail,
    Foul weather will prove fair.

    Tho Neptune seethe, Christ soothes the waves,
    While low-hung cloudlets pout,
    Some peevish, purse their beating brows,
    Soon all are put to rout.

    Thot speeds along the bounding brine,
    While mingled mists of care,
    Take their flight on the rifting clouds,
    When Soul breathes freer air.

    The skiff of thot, a soul its crew,
    Now welcomes her haven fair;
    She anchors in God’s Elysium,
    Our Heaven, of laurels rare.

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