Results for ‘POEMS’
Herbert McBean Johnston
December Canada Monthly
[The Welland Telegraph, 3 December 1912] 
Wake up! Wake up!
I say, wee tad.
Drop your crib and tell your dad
Who came last night
With his reindeer.
Do you think Santa Claus was here?
Run to the hearth
In your bare feet,
Tell me, who left those candies sweet
And that great orange,
Round and fat;
Tell me-did Santa Claus do that?
The Noah’s Ark.
Those lettered blocks,
The timid bunny-see, he walks
When you just press
The rubber ball.
And whence, I wonder, came that doll?
Who brought that engine
And that drum?
And that gay top- my, hear it hum!
Who weighted down
Beneath his pack,
Found our home lay right on his track?
That stocking packed,
Those wonders bright-
What good old Saint was here last night
To leave his treasure
Trove so rare?
No Santa Claus! Ah who would dare?
What! Shatter faith
And bare the truth!
Would you? I’d not do that forscoth!
No! Santa paused
Here on his way
To help make Christmas “Children’s Day!”
Mrs J.B. Shrigley
[Riverside, Dorset, Muskoka - Sept, 18th, 1905]
Fifty years since we were wedded,
Fifty changeful, checkered years;
Years of sunshine and of shadows,
Years of gladness and of tears.
Years that oft seemed full of promise–
Bright as rainbow-tinted skies,–
But, too oft. The mists would gather
And along our pathway rise.
Well, indeed, do I remember
How my young heart thrilled with pain,
When, awakened by the patt’ring
Of a chill September rain.
When my bridal morn was clouded,
Of all mornings of the year,
Filling me with dark forebodings,
Filling me with nameless fear.
And I wondered, sadly wondered,
If it could a forecast be,
If the years would thus be clouded,
Filled with cares for you and me.
But my fears were all forgotten
E’er the closing of the day,
For the rain had ceased its falling
And the clouds had rolled away
Still, it seemed a fitting emblem,
Of the years that were to come,
Of the shadows that have fallen
Dark’ning oft our hearts and home.
But today we’ve reached the milestone
On life’s broad, uneven way,
Reached the goal so few attain to,
Reached our golden wedding day.
And new friends, and grownup children,
Loving words and gifts bestow,
Still we miss the oldtime faces,
Miss the friends of long ago.
Miss the fair, young smiling faces,
With their wishes, kind and gay,
As they fondly pressed about us
Fifty years ago today.
Ella Higginson in Woman’s Home Companion
[Welland Telegraph April 1900]
Long had we pleasant comrades been
And loved each other well,
Yet never had a traitor glance
The secret dared to tell.
And when that first sweet night we stood–
That rose sweet night in June–
Alone and watched the herald clouds
Outride the languid moon.
Yes, even then we did not guess,
But stood entranced, apart,
Until the silence suddenly
Beat with God’s mighty heart.
And then—we know not how it was–
We trembled, each to each,
And kissed, **** and all our pulses thrilled
Too holily for speech.
James Daly [Welland Tribune October 29, 1931]
My friends the leaves, who used to entertain me
On summer afternoons with idle chatter,
Are dropping off in ways that shock and pain me.
I wonder what’s the matter.
My friends the birds are quietly withdrawing;
The meadowlarks are gone from fence and stubble;
Even the cows are gone; I liked their chatter,
I wonder what’s the matter.
My friend the sun is here, but altered slightly;
He acts more coolly than he had been doing;
He seems more distant and he smiles less brightly
I wonder what’s the matter.
Fay Inchawn [Welland Tribune October 29, 1931]
One step too far, this way, or that;
A sleepless night;
A headache, oh, some extra cleaning;
A trivial worry, overleaning
A fancied slight;
Such little things as these are fret and tear
The fragile casket that my soul must wear,
Yes; progress in the life of faith is slow.
This makes me wonder why
My body is so easily laid by, why.
When the will seems resolute and straight
Should nerves respond to temper so?
Why do I wish to say the things I hate?
How should wet footmarks or a rug awry
Disturb my peace and put me out of tune?
I marvel that I am removed so soon.
Harry Van Dyke [Welland Tribune October 13, 1905]
Not to the swift. The race;
Not to the strong, the fight;
Not to the righteous, perfect grace;
Nor to the wise, the light.
But often faltering feet
Come surest to the goal;
And they who walk in the darkness meet
The sunrise of the soul.
A thousand times by night
The Syrian souls hosts have died;
A thousand times the vanquished righteous
Hath risen glorified.
The truth the wise men sought
Was spoken by a child;
The alabaster box was brought
In trembling hands defiled.
Not from my torch, the gleam,
But from my stars above;
Not from my heart life’s crystal stream,
But from the depths of love.
Chicago News [People’s Press January 19, 1909]
It said so on the sign,
But still you felt a doubt
About it, and, in fine,
You thought you’d find it out.
It didn’t help you much,
But still your heart was set
To put it to the touch–
Of course, the paint was wet.
You’ll find such signs, my friend,
Along this life’s highway,
The men who know intend
To warn by that display,
But we, of course, are bound
Experience to get,
Although we’ve always found
The paint we touched was wet.
My boy, control the itch
To prove—be not beguiled
Who handles paint—or pitch–
Is sure to be defiled.
At warnings never scoff
And then you’ll not regret
You kept your fingers off
Believe the paint is wet.
‘Tis a lonely cry and I know it’s part
For it lures my soul to the marsh and heath.
‘Tis the cry of a wild and beating heart
With it’s bourne sky and earth beneath.
I saw them come near the closing of day,
Their north-bound wings a-beating the sky,
And their spirit called “fly up and away
“For a kin of the north we’ll not deny.
And I’ll have no part in the haunts of men
When wild geese calling a-becken to me,
And I’ll hie me thither and on again
For we’re kin of the north and friends are we.
As a clarion note rings clear to the heart
Is the wildling call of the marsh and heath,
‘Tis the cry of an untamed world apart
With it’s bourne the sky, or the earth beneath.
I saw them go near the close of the day
Where a moulten sunset ribboned the sky.
And their north-bound wings went fleeting away
With my spirit a-tuned to their fading cry.
A Book of Poetry & Prose by Lorne C, Loney, 1964
Of the many things we love the best,
Of these that humans share,
There are some that stand above the rest
For God has put them there.
Of things that touch the human heart
And make us all Divine,
It’s hard to find a place to start
With these blessings, yours and mine.
I know I love the sunset’s glow
A-sinking in the west,
And winding brooks with shady pools
Where water-lilies crest.
Or forest nook with verdure bright
Where sunlight finds it’s way,
Through branches, filtered Heavenly light
Where cool green moss-banks lay.
A puppy-dog with wagging tail
I count among the best.
I love a ship with billowed sail
Or an April robin’s breast.
And blossoms white in spring-time
That come heralding the May
And frogs that sing “it’s green-up time”
And the smell of new-mown hay.
I love a home with hearthside bright
And children small to hug,
I love to sit by candle-light
When all is warm and snug.
And the at night all gathered there
A family round the fire,
With gladsome song to quell despair
And fulfil the heart’s desire.
I love the autumn’s red and gold
I love the sunrise fair,
And among them does my heart enfold
A maid with shining hair
A moonrise on some hidden lake
Among the forest pine…
There is so much from life to take
In this world of yours and mine.
Then I love the blessed Christmas-tide
The Birthday of Our Lord.
For He who came and for us died
Shall ever be adored…
Of the many things we love the best
Of these that human’s share,
There are some that stand above the rest
For God has put them there.
A Book of Poetry & Prose by Lorne C, Loney, 1964.
Lest grieving tears and sorrow damp my cheek
Hark not I to grieving with it’s kin to pain
Though mortal flesh be wilted like the rose,
If I have greatly loved. His soul shall ne’er be slain.
Then soars the loosed spirit, like beauteous butterfly,
As earthly shell like spent cocoon by shed.
Through mists of dark eternity, may God’s love on High
Still light the darkened path of earthlings tomb.
Oh! flesh-bound spirit in my earthly span,
May this beacon-light through darkness, guide my loved one safely home.
A Book of Poetry & Prose by Lorne C. Loney, 1964
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