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A Child's Elegy

e know her not whom once we knew,
Who died it seems e'er death was due—
We know her not; she is asleep;
Our hearts are dumb—we can but weep
That one so young must bid adieu,
Must part so soon from earthly view.

Those tender feet we knew so late
We hear no more; we can but wait
To hear them in the House of God
When dust to dust we tread the sod,
For in that home of homes they wait
For us beside the city's gate.

Those little hands out-held in love,
That in such innocence did move
To fondle each familiar face
Are still—they cannot now embrace
As once they did so like a dove
That weary parents would approve.

Those little lips that met our own
So sweetly when we were alone
No more shall meet the lips of earth,
Sealed up unto another birth;
But when these larger lives have flown
Our lips will meet; she will be known.

Springtime was here—the birds would soon
Have re-appeared—the birds would soon
Have warbled from a new-built nest,
Would soon have felt beneath their breast
The little ones—and such a boon
Had taught them still a sweeter tune.

But of the little ones not all
Will answer to the parent-call,
Not all will learn to rise and fly—
Many are born, but some must die;
Many will rise, but some must fall,
And God knows best for each and all.

This is the hope—we know not how—
This is the hope that lures us now,
That makes the parting less of pain—
The hope that we shall meet again,
And so while unto grief we bow
The road beyond seems brighter now.

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Dreaming of the Delaware

I

 have been far away from the Delaware's shore,
From the river where once I did play,
But I'm dreaming tonight by the old cottage door
Where the moonlight is gleaming bright as day.

Refrain:

Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming of that dear old stream,
Dreaming of the days that are no more—
The days so bright and fair,
Dreaming in the moonlight gleaming on the shore
Of the dear old Delaware.

II

And the river is still, and so peaceful tonight
That its murmur I scarcely can hear,
And across it the moonlight is beaming so bright
That the scenes of my childhood appear.

III

And I think of my mother who bade me farewell
And the sister who kist me good-bye—
They are sleeping below in that beautiful dell
But methinks that again they are nigh.

IV

Long deserted has been the old river home,
My old home by the dear Delaware,
But never, O never again will I roam
From the scenes of my childhood so fair.

V

I will cherish the dreams I am dreaming tonight,
Will upbuild the old homestead once more,
And perhaps when I'm dead, for another's delight
It will bloom by the Delaware's shore.

Refrain.

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Norma

A Legend of the Wayne Highlands

long the lake's wild northern shore
An island dark with trees
Lies shadow-like, and o'er and o'er
At midnight thru a leafy door
Comes music on the breeze,
Sweet music on the breeze,
Where sad-eyed Norma dreams,
And o'er the wave, in thru the trees
The mellow moonlight streams.

And Norma's voice is sweet to hear
As the breathing of a bell;
But while so welcome to the ear
Of any one afar or near,
The notes, O few can tell!
The notes, O few can tell!
Falling so wildly sweet,
Like the mournful ringing of a bell
With the tones still incomplete.

How came this maid upon the isle
Within the Hills of Wayne?
Why sings she sweetly all the while
As if to ease her self-denial?
Why sings she a refrain
At the lonely midnight hour
On an island dark with trees,
Enchanting souls unto her bower
By such sweet melodies?

The legend runs:—That long ago
A lover came to woo,
But left her—why?—(no man doth know)
For while her love like wine did flow
Away from her he drew—
He drew from her away,
While she was left forlorn
And ever (so the legends say)
Did daily for him mourn.

But Norma left her home one night
When all were fast asleep
And angel-like she trod the light
Moonpath across the waters bright
Until she ceased to weep,
Until she ceased to weep,
Singing a sweet, sweet song
That on the lake that lay asleep
The night-wind did prolong.

And after Norma's death, one day
A knock at her father's door
Announced the lad who went away
When both were lovers young and gay,
Who now would love her more
Than any other maid,
Yes, any other maid,