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POEMS
Mother Hubbard’s Cupboard
or
Canadian Cook Book, 1881
WOMAN’S LOVE
Like ivy, it is often seen
To wear an everlasting green-(no sarcasm)
Like ivy, too, it’s apt to cling
Too often ‘round a worthless thing.
May the flowers of friendship
Embellish thy cot,
And flourish long after
This friend is forgot.
While silently one by one,
In the infinite meadows of heaven.
Blossomed the lovely stars-
The “Forget-me-nots’ of the angels.
I kissed her little tiny hand,
I pressed her fairy form.
I vowed I’d shield her from the blast.
And from the world’s cold storm.
She raised her gentle eyes to mine,
They were filled with drops of woe,
With trembling lips she faintly said,
“Confound you-let me go!”
Sweet songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
May thy voyage through life
Be as happy and free
As the dancing waves
Of the deep blue sea.
Remember me-’tis all I ask;
But, if remembrance proves a task,
Forget me.
Remember me, and bear in mind
A constant friend is hard to find;
And if you find one that is true,
Oh! do not change her(him) for a new.
May the great spirit, so brighten the chain of affection between you and me, that even a child may find it by the pale light of the stars, when the sun has gone to sleep behind the western hills.
There is a pretty little flower,
Of sky-blue tint and white,
That glitters in the sunshine,
And goes to sleep at night.
‘Tis a token of remembrance,
And a pretty name it’s got.
Would you know it if I told you?
‘Tis the sweet “Forget me not.”
Had I the power to carve or print
Thy future, my dear friend.
It would be fair and ever bright,
Unclouded to the end.
I saw two clouds at morning
Tinged by the morning sun,
And in the dawn they floated on
And mingled into one;
I thought that morning cloud was blest,
It moved so sweet to the west.
Such be your gentle motion,
Till life’s last pulse shall beat,
And you float on in joy to meet
A calmer sea, where storms shall cease,
A purer sky where all is peace.
May heaven protect and keep thee
From every sorrow free,
And grant thee every blessing-
My earnest wish for thee.
Think of me when you are happy,
Keep for me one little spot;
In the depth of thine affection
Plant a sweet “Forget-me-not”
SUITABLE SELECTIONS FOR AUTOGRAPH ALBUMS
It is good to be merry and wise,
It is good to be honest and true;
It is good to be off with the old love
Before you are on with the new.
I ask for thee as much happiness as can safely be given without unlinking the chain that binds thee to heaven.
A tiny, slender, silken thread
Is friendship, and we make it
Bind hearts and lives to hearts and lives,
But e’en a breath may shake it’
And oft it takes but one wee word,
But one wee word to break it.
If your lips, you’d keep from slips,
Five things observe with care-
Of whom you speak, to whom you speak,
And how, and when, and where.
Love is a little golden clasp,
That bindeth up the trust,
Oh! break it not, lest all the leaves
Should scatter and be lost.
Men are not to be trusted-
No, not even a brother.
So girls, if you must love,
Love one another.
Though oceans now between us roll,
And distant be our lot;
Though we should meet no more, sweet maid,
Forget me not.
LOST:
Somewhere between sunrise and sunset, a golden hour, set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, as it is lost forever.
Go, little book, thy destined course pursue,
Collect memorials of the just and true;
And beg of every friend so near
Some token of remembrance dear.
We may write our names in albums,
We may trace them in the sand;
We may chisel them in marble
With a firm and skilful hand;
But the pages soon are sullied,
Soon each name will fade away;
Every monument will crumble,
Like all earthly hopes decay.
But, dear, there an Album,
Full of leaves of snowy white,
Where no name is ever tarnished,
But forever pure and bright.
In the Book of Life-”God’s Album”
May your name be penned with care,
And may all who here have written,
Write their names forever there.
My album’s open! Come and see!
What! won’t you waste a line on me?
Write but a thought-a word or two,
That memory may revert to you.
As life flows on from day to day,
And this, your book, soon fills,
How many may be far away
From treasured vales and hills!
But there is joy in future time
To turn the pages o’er,
And see within a name or rhyme
From one you’ll see no more.
My album is a garden spot
Where all my friends may sow,
Where thorns and thistles flourish not,
But flowers alone may grow.
With smiles for sunshine, tears for showers,
I’ll water, watch, and guard these flowers.