Homepage
Login
Profile
BookClubs
dmBox
Read Ebook: Home Poems by Wheeler Kate Louise
Font size:
Background color:
Text color:
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page Prev Page
Ebook has 548 lines and 31624 words, and 11 pages
Under the pines, on a summer's day, I list to a whisper from far away, And, lying low, with my half-closed eyes, Behold the beauty of fairer skies. Some say 'tis the sound of the sighing sea, Whose distant murmer steals over me; Some say 'tis the baby breeze instead, That rocks in the branches overhead; But I know it is neither wave nor breeze, On shining sands and in leafy trees; 'Tis the music sweet of a voice divine, That whispers peace to each pensive pine.
PRAYER.
OUR BABY.
When baby's soul is claimed beyond the skies, And little eyes are closed in final sleep; When angels hush our darling's cooing cries, What words are there to comfort those who weep?
When broken playthings, lying on the floor, And treasured toys have all been put aside, When baby wakes to play with them no more, And fondest hopes that brightened life have died;
When dimpled hands no longer seek the face, And baby lips no more shall feel the kiss; When tiny feet have found their resting-place, What shall be said in such an hour as this?
When baby's crib is idly standing near, And cherished form is laid from human sight, When loved ones think they even now can hear The little cry that woke them in the night;
When mother puts the baby gowns away, And 'round her neck can almost seem to feel Those clinging arms, whose touch will with her stay, What helpful thoughts can Sympathy reveal?
A HALO.
No mortal can unhappy be Who lives for other's good, And takes an interest in the lives Of happy brother-hood.
Depression that destroys the mind Will thereby disappear, And gloom will all be swept away In radiant atmosphere.
THE DESERTED FARM.
An unkept field, whose grasses greet the sun, And pure, white daisies spread like fallen snow; The shady nooks, where trout brooks gaily run, And, 'mong the trees, the farm-house quaint and low.
Like some worn soldier on the battle fields It stands upon the old familiar ground, And to the past it's former strength it yields, While naught but desolation broods around.
'Neath shutters closed the phoebe builds her nest, While near the eaves the little sparrows fly; All undisturbed they sing their young to rest, As did a mother in the years gone by.
The wicker gate is falling to decay, The narrow paths with growing weeds abound; The long, low shed thro' which the sunbeams stray, Is leaning eastward to the grassy ground.
The barn door creaks upon it's hinges old; The prop that stayed it from the winds that blow No more stands guard against the heat and cold-- The summer's rain and winter's drifts of snow.
The lofts, once laden with the new mown hay, No longer echo with the merry din; From beam to beam, where children loved to play, The spiders many a silken cobweb spin.
No more the tinkle of the distant bell Disturbs the hush of daylight's waning hours; The pasture bars, beside a covered well, Are twined with grape-vines and with fair wild flowers.
The "Bouncing Bet" is growing near the gate, The climbing roses bloom beside the door; The brave "Sweet William," left alone to fate, Has struggled upward thro' the grass once more.
The clover blossoms, pink and white and red, Fill all the balmy air with perfume sweet; The honey-suckle proudly bends it's head Close to the door-stone worn by many feet.
Where once a maiden slied a bit of green Within her shoe, and there expectant stood, To-day the self same "Grandma's pride" is seen,-- A little bunch of fragrant southern-wood.
The low-eaved porch supports the clinging vine, While thro' the roof the summer rain-drops fall; Upon the floor a rusty hook and line, A well-worn bench and silence over all.
A well-sweep, overgrown with moss and mould, Shelters a hornet's nest within it's nook; Above the running waters clear and cold An old tin dipper hangs upon it's hook.
The dull-edged scythe swings idly in the sun, A grindstone crumbles 'neath the maple's shade; A cart-wheel and the faded coat of one Who long ago beneath the sod was laid.
Tho' gone the smile of each familiar face And merry voices break no more the calm, Yet Memory sweet shall hallow all the place And flood with peace the old deserted farm.
SEED THOUGHTS.
The celebrated Author pens His thorough thoughts from depths of mind, And they are not in proper place Until the depths of our's they find.
The wisest reader may perceive, In writings that shall ever live, A reflex of his own wise thoughts That to the world he did not give;
But to the mind of him who learns, They are as seeds of knowledge brought That soon take root and rarefy Into a whole great field of thought.
SCHOOL.
Life is a school for all mankind, Where daily lessons are assigned And each may do his best; God is the Master who will teach The truths that lie within our reach And leave to us the rest.
Each has his proper place at start And each can learn his little part If earnestly he tries; Altho' his standard may be low, He surely to the head will go Who on himself relies.
Each has a chance among the rest To do his worst or do his best And his must be the choice,-- Either to break the golden rule And cause confusion in life's school, Or heed the Master's voice.
The discipline is not severe, Altho' the Master we should fear To keep us from a wrong; There is no need to sigh and fret, Or to despair, with lashes wet, Because our task seems long.
The lessons that so oft' we spurn We know that some time we must learn, Then why should we delay? He stays behind who is the dunce, The wisest does his task at once And goes upon his way.
The Master's sympathy prevails With him who tries altho' he fails, For He will help not chide; When rest and honors have been won He hears the Master say: "Well done," And he is satisfied.
THE GRACES.
Faith, the angel of my prayer, Hope, to lighten every care, Love, to lift life's heavy yoke, These the graces I invoke; But the greatest of the three Is the last--sweet charity.
SUNSHINE.
The sunshine makes the flowers grow, They cannot thrive in shade; If naught but darkness did they know Their brightness soon would fade.
Our lives require the sunlight's glow, They cannot thrive in gloom; If naught but darkness did thy know Bright hopes would never bloom.
The sunny smiles that make life bright And bless the passing hours, Will do for souls that need the light What sunshine does for flowers.
"WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT?"
Will it matter, by and by, When he calls us each by name, Whether you, or whether I, Win earth's honor and earth's fame?
Onward, in the rush of life, For the prizes of the race, Shall we mingle in the strife Crowding others out of place?
Shall we seek Ambition's goal, Where the earthly treasures stay, Passing by some helpless soul Who has lost the Heavenly way?
If no kindness we have shown, Seeking to be first of all, Shall we gain a "welcome home" When we hear the Master's call?
When life's busy day is past, Will He question you and me Who was first, and who was last, In the worldly victory?
If earth's laurels we have won, And Heaven's glories are denied, Shall we hear the words: "Well done," And our souls be satisfied?
Ere the prize we seek is gone, And the triumph comes too late, Love of fame shall urge us on But the angels whisper:--"Wait."
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page Prev Page