Posts Tagged ‘Life’

A Little Life

November 12, 2012

Image from Chatham Historical Society


(Detroit News.)
A little house to keep,
A little floor to sweep.

A little meal to make,
A little sweet to bake.

A little friend to know,
A little flower to grow.

A little bird to sing,
A little hand to cling.

A little child’s caress,
A little life to bless.

A little grief and pain,
A little cheer again.

A little fleeting day,
A little prayer to say,

A little house to keep,
Life has no joy as deep.

Iowa City Press Citizen (Iowa City, Iowa) Jul 27, 1923

Tired to Death

October 3, 2012

Eau Claire Leader (Eau Claire, Wisconsin) Oct 24, 1897


My lady is tired to death!
She has studied the print of the gay velvet rug,
And given her dear, darling poodle a hug,
And from her bay window has noticed the fall
Of a ripe nectarine from the low sunny wall;
She’s embroidered an inch on some delicate lace,
And viewed in the mirror her elegant face,
Has looked at an album, a rich bijouterie,
Then restlessly owned herself dead with ennui.

Eau Claire Leader (Eau Claire, Wisconsin) Dec 19, 1897

And my lady it tired to death!
Exhausted! It’s strange that as day after day
Of her frivolous life passes away,
So aimless and “stylish,” so empty and fine,
So free from those duties sometimes called divine —
That she wearies of something, she hardly knows what;
Thinks of not what she is, but of all she is not!
Oh no! all emotions are vulgar, you know,
And my lady’s have always been quite comme il faut.

Eau Claire Leader (Eau Claire, Wisconsin) Jul 2, 1898

Still, my lady is tired to death!
Oh woman, false woman, false mother, false wife,
What account can you give of your poor wasted life,
Of that life that has passed like a feverish dream,
The life that has not been to be but to seem!
What account will you give in the awful, last day,
When the pomp and the show of the world pass away,
When the Master demands of the talents He’s given,
A stewardship rendered on Earth and in Heaven?

Eau Claire Leader (Eau Claire, Wisconsin) Aug 27, 1898

Tired to death!
Cast off for a moment your diamonds and lace,
And shine in the light of true womanly grace;
Look around you and see with eyes raised to the light,
Strong men and true women who live for the right;
Brave hearts that ne’er falter, though distant the goal,
Great lives whose fierce struggles will never be told,
Whose wild, straying hearts stern duties control,
Whose only true life is the life of the soul.

Written for the PRAIRIE FARMER.

The Prairie Farmer (Chicago, Illinois) Jul 14, 1859

Eau Claire Leader (Eau Claire, Wisconsin) Jul 15, 1898

Grandma’s Stocking

December 2, 2011


The supper is over, the hearth is swept,
And, in the wood-fire’s glow,
The children cluster to hear a tale
Of that time so long ago —

When grandmama’s hair was golden brown
And the warm blood came and went
O’er the face that could scarce have been sweeter then,
Than now in its rich content.

The face is wrinkled and care-worn now,
And the golden hair is gray;
But the light that shone in the young girl’s eyes
Has never gone away.

And her needles catch the fire’s light,
As in and out they go,
With the clicking music that grandma loves,
Shaping the stocking toe.

And the waking children love it, too,
For they know the stocking song
Brings many a tale to grandma’s mind,
Which they shall hear ere long.

But it brings no story of olden time
To grandma’s heart to-night —
Only a ditty, quaint and short,
Is sung by the needles bright.

“Life is a stocking,” grandma says,
“And yours is just begun;
But I am knitting the toe of mine,
And my work is almost done.

“With merry hearts we begin to knit,
And the ribbing is almost play;
Some are gay colored, and some are white,
And some are ashen gray.

“But most are made of many a hue,
With many a stitch set wrong,
And many a row to be sadly ripped
Ere the whole is fair and strong.

“There are long plain spaces without a break
That in your youth are hard to bear;
And many a weary tear is dropped
As we fashion the heel with care.

“But the saddest, happiest time is that
We court and yet would shun;
When our Heavenly Father breaks the thread,
And says our work is done.”

The children come to say good night,
With tears in their bright young eyes;
While in grandma’s lap, with a broken thread,
The finished stocking lies.

Cambridge City Tribune (Cambridge City, Indiana) Dec 5, 1872

What are Bubbles?

January 23, 2011


“What are bubbles?” asked a child,
Gazing, with bewildered eyes,
On the spheres of fairy form,
Glittering with the rainbow dyes;
“They seem to sail so gaily on,
Yet when I grasp them they are gone.”

What are bubbles? — Careless boy,
Thou ask’st a question rife
With stern meaning deeply trac’d
On the varied page of life;
And a voice, with sadness fraught
Answers from the cells of thought:

Hopes are bubbles, born to burst
When their hues the brightest seem;
And the joy, that o’er our path
Scatter a delusive gleam,
Like bubbles sparkling in the sun,
Are only bright when shone upon.

Fame, ambition, the delights
We have longed for years to clasp,
Won at length, through toil and strife,
Perish in our eager grasp:
Grief and gladness — pleasure, troubles,
All alike are empty bubbles!

Life’s a bubble, bright and brief,
And its ever changing dyes
With a purer brilliance glow,
As it mounts towards the skies;
Till wafted on Time’s passing breath,
‘Tis shattered by the touch of death.

Newport Daily News (Newport, Rhode Island) Aug 28, 1846