POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS.
21
OVERJOYED.
Ah, joy does kill as well as grief,For hearts that long have known suspense.If all too sudden they are blest,Must break, the chords are strung so tense.
'Twas thus the aged mother whoFor long had mourned her absent son,And ventured o'er the briny deepTo see again her darling one.
But Oh, the blessing was too great,She could not bear the glad first sight,And with his name upon her lipsHer spirit winged its upward flight.
THE BURNING ORPHAN ASYLUM.
What is that sharply crackling sound That's bursting on the midnight air,That stifling smoke, so dense and dark, And now that fearful, blinding glare.
There's shouting, screaming, wildest fright, And haste and confusion most dire;And weeping, praying on every side, The Orphan Home is all on fire.
And men are toiling with their might, And devising every way,Endangering limb, and even life, To save those children if they may.
And silent women rush to rooms, And clasp those little ones in arms,And bear them out through heat and smoke, And hush their cries, sooth their alarms.
Now there's rejoicing that all are saved, The work was gladly, nobly done.The poor blind sister, where is she? The best beloved is the missing one.
'Twas she who nursed when dread disease Assailed them all as with a blight,And watching o'er those helpless ones, She gave for them her precious sight.
And swift to her rescue they fly, To find her sitting, calm, alone,Waiting whatever may befall, In peace like that the saints have known.
They catch her up with joy elate, Though death seems on the backward route,They brave the peril and are blest, And now ascends a thankful shout.
Blest attributes of humanity Are those of sympathy and love,Implanted deep in every breast By Infinite wisdom above.
THEIR PART.
One sang a song, a simple strain, With little of the grace of art,But all its words were comforting And meant to soothe a troubled heart.
One told a tale of noble deeds, Of those who sought to right the wrong,Inspiring courage in the weak, And, too, rejoicing with the strong.
One spoke a kind reclaiming word To those, the outcast and forlorn,Had pity for their sinful souls, Instead of bitterness and scorn.
And so they acted each a part; Each made a record on that day;The good they wrought may ne'er be known, 'Till in the land that's far away.
HOME MEMORIES.
A seeming presence in these rooms Still beautifies and makes them dear.For loved and lost companionship Survives in sweetest memories here.
We bring to mind familiar forms, Though in the mold for long they've lain,And give to each their wonted place, As if in truth they lived again.
