The Iceberg

I drift, I glide, I take mine ease!
Sing to me, sing, ye serving seas!
Hath puny man subdued your might?
Swing me, and sing, while dies the light!

Sired in the womb of the North’s old age,
Torn from the breast by the storm king’s rage,
Son of a realm forgot come I -
Was that spray, or tears from on high?

O, I have heard of man’s warm world -
Dreamed, while the storm king fury hurled,
Of mating,mothering, home’s sweet joy,
Of the kingdom of minds and the soul’s employ.

Dear to the love that reigns are these;
Sing to me, sing, ye whining seas!
But pride of life and lust of the eye
The laws of the life the world defy.

Better that some should die than all!
Methinks I heard man’s siren call!
Better is grieving love than hate!
Wraith of a realm forgot, I wait.

Watch me, stars, through the timely dark;
Wind, hover near, breathe low – and hark;
Wrap me, mist, when I seem to sleep;
Then, swing me, and sing, ye waves of the deep!

What! Shall pigmy man defy
Land and sea, yea, air – and sky?
Shall be no more in sacred awe
Hold God, nor faith, nor love, nor law?

Loud through the dark again he bellow’s!
Speeds he, warning away his fellows?
I come from a realm where love is not
To warn love’s world lest law be forgot.

I drift, I glide, I take mine ease!
Ha; ‘Neath the flood I draw my knees;
‘Tis well! – Why smite – so weak a thing?
Swing me, ye moaning seas, and sing!

A gleaming palace afloat; – ah me!
“Titanic” – Enough that I stretch one knee!
God grieves, I know, and a world will weep -
Ho! hushed is the song of the quailing deep.

The dark is gone, The vast seas shine,
I drift in the gleam of a world divine,
What ails me? Why should the day’s bright grace
Start streams like fears on my furrowed face?

Son, as I took mine ease last night,
I saw in the dark a wondrous sight,
Poor man – he did but touch my knee,
Then – O, what a noble thing is he!

“Be British, my men!” I heard one call,
In the glare I saw their faces all -
The strongest helping the young, the weak -
The rich forgetting self-weal to seek.

Love leaned on love while the ocean roared! -
I heard – it was there in the light on board -
Sweet music rise that seemed to me
Rhythmic with “Nearer, My God, to Thee”;

A mystic clicking sped through the dark,
“What is that?” I said, as I strove to hark,
“A wonderful thing is man!” quoth I,
“He calls to the world and the God on high!”

At dawn I saw that men had heard -
A ship had come like a winging bird.
I would that I knew what men will do
In the days that soon shall be lit by you.

I would that I, too, O son, might see
How deeper than man’s shall God’s help be!
For, deeper than human pity is,
Flow the mercies that evermore are His.

But, No! my face is streaming brine;
to see loves’ world shall ne’er be mine!
I drift, I vanish, Ill at ease,
A dying wraith in earth’s warm seas.

His Prayer

By Albert W. Mathews

O! Mother dear, In those far off lands,
Do you ever think of me?
Do you ever pray with uplifted hands,
That better your boy might be?

Sometimes, dear Mother, I seem to feel,
As I sit in my room so cold,
A gentle caress of your angel hands,
And around me you white wings fold.
O! Mother dear, look down tonight,
If such a thing can be,
And guide the steps of your boy aright,
In better paths, that you can see.

You knew my heart when I was young,
That heart is the same as then,
So Mother dear, tonight so come,
And cheer me if you can.

Sent in by Mrs T. F.

The Vagabonds

By J. C. Trowbridge

We are two travelers, Roger and I
Roger’s my dog: – come here you scamp!
Jump for the gentleman, – mind your eye!
Over the table, – look out for the lamp -

The rogue is growing a little too old,
Five years we’ve tramp’d through wind and weather,
And slept outdoors when nights were cold,
And ate and drank – starved together.

We’ve learn’d what comfort is, I tell you!
A bed on the floor, a bit of rosie,
A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow)!
The paw he holds up there’s been frozen;
Plenty of catgut for my fiddle,
(This outdoor business is bad for strings)
Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle,
And Roger and I set up for kings.

No, thank he, sir – I never drink;
Roger and I are exceedingly more, -
Aren’t we Roger? – See him wink!
Well, something hot, then – we won’t quarrel,
He’s thirsty too – see him nod his head?
He understands every word that’s said,
And he knows good milk from water and chalk.

The truth is, sir, now I reflect,
I’ve been so sadly given to grog,
I wonder I’ve not had the respect,
(Here’s to you, sir!) even of my dog,
But he sticks by, through thick and thin,
And this old coat, with its empty pockets,
And rags that smell of tobacco and gin,
He’ll follow while he has eyes in his sockets,

There isn’t another creature living
Would do it, and prove, through every disaster,
So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving,
To such a miserable thankless master!
No, sir! – see him way his tail and grin!
By George! makes my old eyes water!
That is, there’s something in this gin
That chokes a fellow. But no matter!

We’ll have some music, if you’re willing,
And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is sir!)
Shall march a little, – Start, you villain!
Stand straight! ‘Bout face! Salute your officer!
Put up that paw! Dress! Take your rifle!
(Since dogs have no arms, you see), Now hold
Cap, while the gentlemen give a trifle,
To aid a poor old patriot – soldier.

March! Halt! Now show how the traitor shakes,
When he stands up to hear his sentence; -
Now tell us how many drams it takes
To honor a jolly new acquaintance,
Five yelps, – that’s five: he’s mighty knowing!
The night’s before us, fill the glasses!
Quick sir! I’m ill, – my brain is going!
Some brandy, – thank you, – there! – it passes!

Why not reform? That’s easily said;
But I’ve gone through such, wretched treatment,
Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread,
And scarce remembering what meat meant,
That my poor stomach’s past reform;
And there are times when, mad with thinking,
I’d sell out Heaven for something warm
To prop a horrible inward sinking.

“Is there a way to forget to think?
At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends,
A dear girl’s love, – but I took to drink;
The same old story; you know how it ends,
If you could have seen these classic features -
You needn’t laugh, sir; they were not then
Such a burning libel on God’s creatures;
I was one of your handsome men!

If you had seen her, so fair and young,
Whose head was happy on this breast!
If you could have heard the songs I sung
When the wine went round, you wouldn’t have guess’d
That ever I, sir, should be straying
From door to door, with fiddle and dog,
Ragged and penniless, and playing
To you tonight for a glass of grog!

Flo’s married since – a parson’s wife;
‘Twas better for her that we should part -
Better the soberest, prosiest life
Then a blasted home and a broken heart.
I have seen her? Once. I was weak and spent
On the dusty road, a carriage stopp’d
But little she dream’d, as on she went,
Who kiss’d the coin that her fingers dropp’d!

You’ve set me talking, sir; I’m sorry;
Is it amusing? You find it strange?
I had a mother so proud of me!
‘Twas well she died before. – Do you know
If happy spirits in Heaven can see
The ruin and wretchedness here below?

Another glass, and strong, to deafen
This pain: then Roger and I will start.
I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden,
Aching thing, in place of a heart?

He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could,
No doubt, remembering things that were, -
A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food,
And himself a sober, respectable cur.

I’m better now; that glass was warming. -
You rascal! limber your lazy feet!
We must be fiddling and performing,
For supper and bed, or starve in the street. -
Not a very gay life to lead, you think?
But soon we shall go where lodgings are free,
And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink; -
The sooner, the better for Roger and me!

His Prayer

By Albert W. Mathews

O! Mother dear, in those far off lands,
Do you ever think of me?
Do you ever pray with uplifted hands,
That better your boy might be?

Sometimes, dear Mother, I seem to feel,
As I sit in my room so cold,
A gentle caress of your angel hands,
And around me your white wings fold.

O! Mother dear, look down tonight,
If such a thing can be,
And guide the steps of your boy aright,
In better paths, that you can see.

You knew my heart when I was young,
That heart is the same as then,
So Mother dear, tonight do come,
And cheer me if you can.

Sent in by Mrs T. F.

Proposal

By Bayard Taylov

The violet loves the sunny bank,
The cowslip loves the lea;
The scarlet creeper loves the elm
But I love thee.

The sunshine kisses mount and vale,
The stars, they kiss the sea,
The west winds kiss the clover bloom,
But I kiss thee,

The oriole weds his mottled mate,
The lily’s bride o’ the bee,
Heaven’s marriage ring in round the earth
Shall I wed thee?

The Queen of Sheba

In Scriptures we read of a certain old king,
The monarch of Israel, whose praises we sing,
He built a fine fabric as you will understand,
It was on Mount Moriah in Jerusalem.

He slew great Goliath, in Scriptures you’ll find,
He purchased those lands, for to raise his designs,
He commanded King Solomon, he being his son,
To finish the building which he had begun.

King Solomon, in order to execute the plan,
He numbered the workman that were in the land;
Seventy thousand to bear burdens he had in reserve,
Eighty thousand on the Mount to hew, cut and carve.

Three thousand three hundred were chosen to be
The Masters of workmen for to oversee,
And if you’ll believe me ’tis certainly true,
He clothed them all with the orange and blue.

King Solomon in a letter to Tyre did send,
Entreating King Hiram for to be his friend.
King Hiram being willing to grant him relief,
Sent him a cunning craftsman named Hiram Abiff.

The son of a widow, and the tribe of Dan,
In every particular he acted a man;
For wit and for beauty there’s none could excel,
So the Queen of Beersheba, she loved him well.

When the Queen of Beersheba had heard of his fame,
Up to Jerusalem she instantly came,
And while she was there, she was filled with surprise,
The wonderful building so dazzled her eyes.

The Little Green Leaf in the Bible

It’s Sunday evening, children, then by the embers’ light
We’ll read the family Bible, that dear old guide to right,
Between its leaves a treasure lies hidden which I’d save
It’s a green leaf which I plucked in my grief
From the side of your dear mother’s grave.

Chorus
It’s a little green leaf, sweet emblem of grief,
From the grave of your mother, my idol,
O guard with care, for her spirit lies there,
With the little green leaf in the Bible.

“Twas in the early Springtime, when Nature all was gay,
To join the angels that she was called away,
I read the family Bible, while carefully I save
That little green leaf which I plucked in my grief
From the side of your dear mother’s grave.

When withered, old and faded, and I am called from here,
Preserve its moldering ashes, keep them forever, dear.
‘Mid toil and tribulation I placed them here to save,
That little green leaf which I plucked in my grief
From the side of your dear mother’s grave.

Sent in by J.N.