POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS.
17
BE GENTLE, KIND AND TRUE.
Be gentle, friends, in word and deed, For harshness is a hateful sin, And oft o'erthrows a wealth of good That gentleness were sure to win.
Be kind to all, however good There's none that's free from woe and care, And those who tread forbidden paths Must still your kindly pity share.
Be true in all that you may say— With friend and foe alike sincere—True to yourself in living well, With faith in God and conscience clear.
IN THE WOODS.
Here in the woods the grass is tall, But lowly bends as if to hear The hosts of nature hastening; To beautify and bless the year.
The breeze has blown the old dry loaves From off the fragrant winter green, And winter clover fresh and bright In pretty rivalry is seen.
Here's wind flower and the drooping fern, And moss in blossom under trees, Jack in the pulpit preaching, too, A sermon that is sure to please.
Here's oak and chestnut, maple, beech, Hemlock and cedar, trembling pine, The lowly shrub, and rankling weed, And here and there a clasping vine.
Beside the brook is liverwort And violets both white and blue, The Mayflower in a wealth of bloom And beautiful strange orchids, too
Here little squirrels frisk about, But watch me with attentive eye, And rabbits sit in underbrush And peer around alert and shy.
Here's music perfect, of its kind, Now soft and low, then loud and strong, As robin, thrush and wren unite In one unceasing flow of song.
Sure, here is pleasure true for those Possessed of hearing and of sight; Nothing that will the senses pall, A healthful and a pure delight.
UNDER THE SNOW.
The flowers that made the meadow bright, The buttercups and daisies white, The violets of deepest blue, The fragrant crimson clovers too,Where are they now? I see them not; The bee no longer haunts the spot, Nor butterfly yet lingers there To dine on such delicious fare; But o'er the valley, o'er the hill,The wintry wind sounds loud and chill, And where the sweetest flowers did blow, 'Tis laying now the drifts of snow.
The forest, oh, how grand a sight When bathed in the summer's golden light,When all so wondrously arrayed In leaves of every form and shade; The mighty oak, the mountain's pride,Close by the quivering Aspen's side; The tasseled birch, the cone-clad pine,Arranged in harmony divine—But now their lofty branches rise In mournful grandeur to the skies; They seem as if in silent woe,Their leaves are lying 'neath the snow.
'Twould seem the streamlet had a voice,That bade each careful heart rejoice, As gliding on through grassy meads,O'er shining sands, through tangled weeds, Now dark and slow, then swift and bright, First touched by shade, then bathed in light.But making sweetest music ever, 'Till lost in some wild flowing river; Today we hear no babbling brook, Nor on its waters gladly look, The ice has stopped its gentle flow,It lies concealed beneath the snow.
How bright the hopes we had last year,Our path seemed smooth, our sky how clear Those hopes on airy wings have flown,Those cherished dreams, alas, are gone, But spring will come with ready hand Will wave her beauty giving wand, And meadow flowers again will blow,And forest leaves all brightly glow; And so to us new hopes will come,As bright as those already gone,And then our tears will cease to flow O'er hopes as dead as flow'rs 'neath snow.
ENCOURAGEMENT.
I saw a plant that just had sprung From out the teeming earth,And 'twas a pale and puny thing, That seemed of little worth.
And the young thing grow close beside A ruin dark and tall, When cold and dark throughout the day The gloomy shade would fall.
And There it stood for many weeks, Yet scarcely seemed alive; At last I bore it far from thence To see if 'twould not thrive.
I placed it where refreshing dews Would fall at close of day,And where the sun might warm to life, With its reviving ray.
And soon a lovely, beautiful plant Rewar'ded well my care; Where once was naught but tiny leaves, Were blossoms sweet and fair.
Methought how many, like this plant, Dwell in unfavored homes—Where dewy love, and sunny hope, And friendship never comes.
And there they stay, and droop and pine, Perhaps grow sick and bad—And think their lot of all that live, Is surely the most sad.
But give to them the helping hand, And bid them courage take,And place them where the dawn of love Upon their night will break;
And see how soon those woful looks Give place to looks of health, And founts of feeling there gush forth, Unbounded in their wealth.
