The ‘small blue’ edition of “A few simple lines” was printed by Kidgell and Hartley Printers, South Melbourne, in 1883. The book consists of 32 pages, a staple-bound work with a pale blue paper cover. The edition I have based this post on was found in the State Library of Victoria’s Manuscript Archive for Zachariah Sutcliffe.
The title “A few simple lines” has the byline “Led by simplicity divine, I try to please and not to shine”. Patronage by HRH the Duke of Edinburgh and the Rt Hon Earl Belmore, late Governor of NSW is acknowledged.
There are 52 separate pieces of writing, 14 of which are untitled (I have titled these numerically to allow for referencing of the work). With a couple of exceptions the pieces are in poetic form. A number of the pieces are dedicated to a specific person, who I assume has supported Sutcliffe in some way.
I have replicated the formatting in this document even though I don’t quite understand the logic around the indentation.
I identify three themes in the work; (1) Sutcliffe’s clear identification with an evangelical form of Christian faith, possibly Salvation Army; (2) grief, possibly the death of a child; (3) feeling abandoned in his quest to be a self-supporting artist.
This third theme nearly had me abandon the Sutcliffe project, as he is in many ways inconsistent and pathetic. However, to some extent this pathetic aspect of Sutcliffe evokes some pathos in me. There is genuine struggle here, loss and loneliness and he is attempting to explain it via poetry. It is not great poetry, but I can read the works of recognised good poets and not be moved. There are a few pieces in here I genuinely liked, and a few others where I could at least see what he was trying to say. Hence my pathos. But I am reeling back the planned project; from giving each poem its own blog post, to publishing each collection in a long form post. It is probably too much for a casual blog reader, but if a person interested in Sutcliffe stumbles in here it is perhaps easier than an index that in the end will exceed a hundred poems.
CHRISTMAS.
(Tune." Come let us be happy together.")
Then let us be merry together,
This is the day to be glad,
Then why should we fret o'er the weather
But banish all thoughts that are sad.
Come bring hither your nosegays,
Let them be scented and gay,
And join in a song with your schoolmates,
This is a great holiday.
Come bring hither the weary,
The halt, the lame and the blind,
We will give them a hearty welcome,
This is the day to be kind.
Then tell all strangers of Jesus,
Oh! tell it with earnest delight,
This day was the birth of the Saviour,
Sing praises from morning till night.
CHRISTMAS.
Don't be snuffling Mary Jane,
But dry up every tear,
You may not live, perhaps not I
To see another year.
Mamma is making a cake so nice,
And Pa is reading rhyme,
The weather is hot, the flies torment,
But still it is Christmas time.
Bushes are tied around the posts,
The world casts care away,
The bells are ringing, and boys are singing,
'Tis Christmas, Christmas day,
Untitled 1
I live on Emerald Hill,
In an humble lowly cot,
I work with right good will,
Who says that I do not.
THE DEPARTING YEAR.
What, is it true, we hear them say
Another year has pass'd away,
And yet we say we live.
Yes 'tis true another year has past,
But what account can we give of the last,
But say thank God we live.
Many souls have been taken by the tidal wave,
Thousands more death laid in their grave,
Great God and still we live.
Help us Lord for Heaven to prepare,
Guard us and keep us from every snare,
While yet we live.
BEAUTIFUL WORLD.
Beautiful world that we live in,
Gliding along with all our sin,
Neither caring for Heaven or Hell,
This is the truth I now tell.
Beautiful world that God has made,
The day gives light, the evening shade,
Man little thinks of Thy great power,
But sins against Thee every hour.
Beautiful world fair and bright,
The Creator made the Author right,
He made me to work and pray,
And I should love Him every day.
Beautiful world, sunshine and showers,
Mountains and seas, wheat, flesh and flowers,
Fruit in abundance covers the earth,
Beautiful world the place of my birth.
A CONFESSION.
I, Zachariah Sutcliffe live on your charity,
And I beleive that I will be buried by your charity,
And I'm certain that I will be in Heaven out of charity,
For nothing good have I done,
At least I ast I cannot see,
Yet still I hear thy sweet voice say
There's room prepared for me,
THE SALVATION ARMY.
Watch them marching down the street,
See how our neighbours all do stare,
Salvation soldiers are singing glory,
Inviting sinners to God and prayer.
Hark they sing with voices loudly,
About a Saviour and loving king,
And they all seem so happy,
My mind's overburdened with a sting.
I shall go and and hear their story,
For I feel so sick at heart,
I can't say I've got their glory,
What's this, the tears do start.
I will go and leave misdoubting,
Jesus Christ will take me in,
I must go to thy dear fountain,
Jesus Saviour take all my sin.
Oh what a precious thing to know,
And feel Jesus is my king,
I am a soldier now I'm saved,
And like a soldier sing.
THE LORD'S PRAYER,
Our father, how sweet to know,
Who art in Heaven, Thy gift while here below,
Hallowed be Thy name, by each and every one,
Thy kingdom come, and Father Thy will shall be done.
Thy will be done, Lord give us strength day by day be
On earth, so as we may be ready when Thou callest us away,
As it is in Heaven Thy holy place where there's no deceit,
Give us our daily bread, and prepare us Father Thee to meet.
And forgive us our sins, Lord we need forgiveness every hour,
As we forgive those that sin, fill us oh God with thy love and power,
And keep us from all temptation, onward rejoicing while there's breath.
Deliver us Lord from all evil, and we may safely conquer sin and death.
For Thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, Amen and Amen.
Untitled 2
When all the world frowns on me Lord,
And all is dark and dead,
I look to Thee with tearful eyes,
And plead to Thee for bread.
WINTER.
Dull, cold, wintry, and drear,
I am sitting writing here,
Wondering why I was ever born,
A thing held up for scorn,
Friends the rhymer has but few,
Reader what I state is true,
All that preach are not sincere,
I proclaim it with a tear.
The clergy almost to a man,
Say can't I find some other plan,
To earn an honest loaf of bread,
I sometimes wish I were dead.
Pawnbrokers are a selfish class,
Put me down for an ass,
Scarcely one will wish me well,
But tell me plainly to go to H---
TO E. A. PRAHRAN,
It is my friend, I to you write,
With thanks and delight,
We were sitting down to tea,
Rat, tat, tat, news for me,
Post-mark bore name Prahran
Eager eyes I did it scan,
Opened letter, news so good,
Stamps obtained honest food,
Little verses that you sent,
Were read and gave content,
They spoke of Jesus meek and low
And showed the sinners where to go
God in mercy bless you three,
For remembering even me,
We join in heart felt love,
Praising God, God above.
TO Mrs. ----, PRAHRAN.
Another year we say has fled,
Nearer to heaven and God,
The Christians have the certain hope,
Reminded by our Lord,
Oh God we bow before Thy throne,
Believing in Thy dear Son,
Unworthy though we are my God,
Save each and every one.
TO E. A., PRINCESS STREET, PRAHRAN,
(Tune. “Speak to me gently.")
Write to me kindly, Oh I write,
Why so long delay,
If thou art weak and ill friend,
Let somebody write I pray.
Write to me earnest and true friend,
Write to me softly and clear,
I have been very ill friend,
A word from you will cheer.
You ask'd me always to write friend,
When I was really ill,
I thought it so kind of you friend,
To ask with such kind will.
Then write to me kindly dear friend,
God help thee to write I pray,
Jesus is waiting to crown thee,
And make it one bright day.
Then write to me kindly,
Oh! write, Why so long delay,
If thou art weak and ill friend,
Let somebody write I pray.
TO A LADY IN SOUTH YARRA.
Why tell such as I,
So wicked and must die,
A bare-faced lie.
You said when July came,
What you would do, no name,
No shame,
I accepted with thanks the tea,
But that don't get over me,
Or the lie.
Woman why act with such deceit,
You know you have a God to meet,
As well as I,
My home is poor, your mansion great,
I love the poor' the lie I hate,
And always will,
TO MRS. SHANNON, KING WILLIAM STREET FITZROY.
I've journeyed about a bit in my time,
And friends I have found but few,
I've shook the hand of many fair ones,
But there's none dear friend like you.
You welcomed my only treasure on earth.
And kindly gave her some tea,
As long as life lasts I'll pray for thee,
Who gave so willing and free.
The little trinkets she wears with pride,
And longs for the time to be
When she will come to your sweet home
To have some more good tea.
I with her mamma will come
To see you some time 'ere long.
And Alice will read to you dear friend
Her father's latest song.
TO MR. AND MRS. SHANNON,
EMERALD COTTAGE
KING WILLIAM STREET, FITZROY.
Some of our brethren vainly boast
And herald each act they do,
Others give with such good heart,
But few that gives like you.
Money, jam, pictures and eggs,
You gave us o'er and o'er,
God bless you both sincerely
Now and for evermore.
I could not pen our gratitude
Though I should write all night,
Such friends to unworthy Zach
Fills me with delight.
My wife, Alice and myself
Send you both our love,
Trusting we will meet again
In a happy home above.
TO E. A. PRAHRAN,
Thou art to me a sincere friend,
God keep thee so till the end,
You gave me help in my distrsss,
And for that help God will you bless.
Money, food, and clothing, you sent to me,
And gave it freely, how kind so free,
Jesus Saviour be thou to E. A. her greatest friend,
Then I will meet you at the journey's end.
With love from wife, myself, and Alice dear,
I close this rhyme with a reverential tear,
My heart is full of love to God and thee,
Sister pray for strength to God for me,
TO Mrs. ----, GORE STREET, FITZROY.
Saviour Thy name is sweet to me,
Cast all my doubts aside,
Hear my humble prayer dear Lord,
Let love to Thee abide.
Earnest may I always be,
Still kneeling at thy throne,
Saviour God of all mankind,
I'm nearer Thee and home,
Nearer each day draw me Lord,
God bless my wife and child,
Everlasting thanks to you my friend,
Religion makes me mild.
TO MY WIFE.
Soft and sweet I've heard thee sing,
And listened to thy gentle voice,
Rich in tone, the song so sweet,
And thou my wife made me rejoice.
Heavenly song, do sing it again,
Soul stirring words, beautiful home,
Unknown to the soul sunk in sin,
They like the ship, live on the foam.
Chaste is the wife that clings to home,
Looking for comfort not elsewhere,
In Christ alone, the chief corner stone,
Finds the wife deep in prayer,
Friends love your God and home,
Earth is only lent for a little roam,
Untitled 3
There beneath Heaven's high arch,
Live millions in a selfish greed,
Their hope is cheating and deceiving,
The world and gold their only creed,
They think not of a great Creator,
And never bend the knee to pray,
Curses seem to them a pleasure,
Take, Oh I take your God away.
Beasts are an example to most men,
Who have not souls to leave behind,
The horse, the dog, the cat, the bird,
And animals with a smaller mind,
Feasts and obeys the human-kind,
Man with his might and conquering skill,
Given to him to use and not abuse,
Turns on his kind with fiendish hate,
Not thinking he has a soul to lose,
And tells us sin is the best to choose,
But never mind time will tell,
I'll live for Heaven, you live for hell,
You may have all worldly fame,
Let me starve, if Heaven I gain.
Life is short to every man,
Deny it sceptic if you can,
I love my God, and God loves me,
Poor souls, God give you faith to see,
And if you give up all your sins,
God will make you happy kings,
Untitled 4
Well here we are again my dear,
And it's good old Christmas time,
I often wonder how Zach gets on,
Each year by selling rhyme.
He says his health is failing fast,
And friends he has but few,
I'll watch him well, and if he's sound
I'll help him, so will you.
And if he be not what I think,
He must be bad indeed,
I'll buy his book and through it look,
If true, God onward do him speed.
The strong should help the weak, I know,
And we have health and money,
Lord may we use it as we should,
By spreading truth like honey.
Untitled 5
I am poor and needy,
Lord take me in.
Thou alone can pardon,
And wash away my sin.
I've leaned too much to mankind,
I've heard men preach and pray,
I've seen God-like ungodly,
Oh! list to what some say.
We have got no saviour,
We know nothing of our God,
So say the Walkerites,
Take us at our word.
Another says to take a plunge,
In water cold and clear,
This will wash your sins away,
Take my word no fear,
The third one says we'll have a ride,
To the holy happy land
If we only join his sect,
And list to his command.
He says the Saviour is going to sit,
On David's throne again,
And He will rule one thousand years.
This world's wide domain.
But if we die and don't believe,
In his especial creed,
We are no better than cats or dogs,
Death finishes the deed.
The fourth sect will tell you,
Right straight up to your face,
The Salvation army are all fools,
They God and man disgrace.
Fifthly another sect will say,
No harm in getting tight,
Only just once a week,
It will make a man look bright.
The sixth sect are a fiery class,
And if we won't obey their laws,
Old Nick will drag us down to H---
And tear us with his claws,
Are ye judges of the Great Supreme,
And declare with laws of your own,
Reader I rivet my faith on Christ,
God's well-beloved Son,
Almighty three in one.
Untitled 6
(Tune. --- “A starry night.”)
I once was very wicked Lord,
But thou hast changed my heart,
I saw my saviour on the tree,
From whom I'll ne'er depart.
He bore my sins, none else could,
He took my curse and shame,
And now I am a soldier,
Fighting in his name.
I'll fight with all my might and main,
With Jesus at my side,
Salvation through His precious blood,
Will flow from side to side.
God bless our brother soldiers,
God bless our dear good Queen,
May all the world sing glory,
Salvation will be seen.
Untitled 7
(Tune.--- " How doth the little busy bee")
Lord have mercy on my soul,
I know thou don't despise,
Thou bid'st me lay my sin all down.
And tells me to arise.
When wickedness entwined my heart
And Satan reigned supreme,
I thought the world was made for me,
I found it was a dream.
Oh! come and get salvation free,
Come friends and ope your eyes,
Jesus is waiting to welcome thee,
And join him in the skies.
No troubles will e'er enter there,
No sin nor cold deceit,
For God alone can save thy soul,
Come sinners to his feet.
Untitled 8
Place no roses round my head,
When in my coffin dress I lie,
Thorns my friends will do instead,
It matters not when I die.
Be kind to me while I'm alive,
And I'll be kind to you,
This is the place to do all good,
That God would have us do.
Untitled 9
The creatures that Jesus loves the most,
Are those of a broken and contrite spirit.
God's love to man is not half and half,
He requires the sinner to make full surrender,
Man's whims and fancies are but a shadow,
Give them up and go to God, and God alone,
Sinner He loves you best, and will take you home,
Surely happiness is a comfort while here on earth,
Refuse God's love and His salvation,
You lose more than the world's worth,
What is fame but a thunder clap of death,
What is life but one short breath.
God help you dear reader to realise the fact.
Untitled 10
Father Almighty, omnipotent, omnipresent,
Have mercy and strengthen me both body and soul,
Thou canst do it, I believe Thou will,
Look down in pity, and make Zachariah whole.
Father Thou alone knowest what I require,
It is not worldly wealth neither honour nor fame,
Suffice I had Thy blessing and health,
So I could pay just debts I owe and leave behind an honest name.
Thou knowest my mode I have for earning bread,
It is simply Thy power that I cannot describe or tell,
How beautiful to have Thy gift, so divinely sweet,
And with Thy help dear Father I will use it well.
Have mercy on those who do not place their trust on Thee,
And deem me an idiot born, who is the work of Thy mighty mind,
How dead mankind are, and stupidly senseless,
To Thy Almighty power, and yet so forgiving and kind.
Father Thou dost not ask much only one wise request,
Always looking to Thee for help who alone maketh happiness,
And can make the writer wise, yet meek as a child,
Great Incomprehensible revengeful yet just
Who loveth those that sincerely repent and loveth Thee,
But hatest the being that denies Thee to be the living God
Which some there are, Lord pity them, may they see.
Untitled 11
My mind is troubled, I mean my soul,
Lord heal my wounds, and make me whole,
The world is thine and all else I see,
Lord of the helpless Thou cans't help me,
Me in distress, weak and in pain,
Pity me my Saviour, I trust in Thy name.
Untitled 12
Clothed in vanity and distress,
Sin reigning in thy heart,
Bolstered up with degradation,
God let it from thee part.
Thy outward show may look fine,
Your inward parts are black,
Deceit may cheat the world you know,
But God's the One can track,
Then while there's time give up deceit,
And from thy soul be true.
Love the King the mighty Saviour,
Poor child He died for you.
Untitled 13
Forward every Christian soldier,
Black or white, bond or free,
Preach to all Christ's salvation,
Draw us nearer Lord to Thee.
May our armour brightly shine,
No evil spirit daunt our march,
Giving God alone the glory,
Eyes fixed on heaven's arch.
Keep us Lord from all temptation,
Onward, upward, without sin,
Waving only Christ's salvation,
Then we are sure to win.
Untitled 14
I love my home, my wife and child,
Sometimes I’m cross, sometimes I'm mild,
The cross part is Satan's, whom I do not admire,
The better part is God's, give me thy fire,
Wash me Saviour, make me white as snow,
Each day may I be nearer Thee where'er I go.
A COMMAND.
Jesus Christ has commanded his disciples to go and preach the gospel unto every living creature, and also to go into the highways and hedgeways and preach salvation through His precious blood, bring to Him the halt, the lame, the blind, and every poor creature that has a diseased mind. This class Jesus requires, for this people the Saviour was crucified, and loves those of a broken and contrite heart, these Christ declares I will not despise. Men may have earthly palaces, health and every comfort, and even give money to the churches, hospitals, and all charitable institutions, but if they do not come unto Thee and confess their sins, believing Thee to be their only mediator, friends you are all damned. May God bless you all. Amen.
ADVICE TO YOUNG LADIES,
Seek not alone the high born man, put not trust in birth,
Men with blood as blue as heaven have been worst of all on earth.
Think only of thy happiness, 'tis the best thou canst do,
And ask thy heart this question,"Is he honest, is he true?”
Seek not alone for sordid gold, perish such dross as wealth
If the man thou takest for evermore has honor, strength and health,
Choose such a one, and joy is thine on both sides of the grave,
Ask thy trusting woman's heart-Is he honest, is he brave?
O seek not alone for beauty, seek not alone for grace,
If a man but does his duty what care we for a face?
Maiden ask within these questions, -answer true as God's above,-
Is he upright, is he manly, is he honest, does he love?
And tell me when I ask thee, has he thought, has he mind,
Does he love his neighbor as himself, has he mercy, is he kind,
Does he scorn to hear of meanness does he scorn revenge and lust?
Does he hold his head up boldly - Is he honest, is he just?
If he hate wrong and scorn a lie, respect and love the old.
If more precious to his mother's heart than countless piles of gold.
If he worships with true faith? - let the words be understood,
He's the man to be thy husband, for he's honest, he is good.
But, what need of all these questions, where one will suffice.
If a man is simply one good thing, his love's beyond all price;
Whoever he be, wherever he dwells, in palace, cot or hall,
Of poor estate, or rich or great, - If he's honest, he is all.
NO BABY IN THE HOUSE,
No baby in the house, I know-
'Tis far too nice and clean;
No tops by careless fingers strewn
Upon the floor are seen.
No finger marks are on the panes,
No scratches on the chairs,
No wooden men set up in rows,
Or marshalled off in pairs,
No little stockings to be darned,
All ragged at the toes;
No pile of mending to be done
Made up of baby's clothes,
No little troubles to be soothed,
No little hands to fold;
No grimy fingers to be washed,
No stories to be told.
No tender kisses to be given,
No nicknames 'love' and 'mouse,
No merry frolics after tea,
No baby in the house.
THE SEASIDE MARSH.
God made the marsh; and not alone on hill,
Or mountain-height, sweet field, or golden grove,
I trace His goodness; but behold Him still
Leaving, even here, the footprints of His love.
The marsh is covered wide with flocks and herds,
By thousands grazing in their calm content;
And there innumerable flights of birds
Find food, mysteriously, but surely sent.
See from the dyke the broad-winged heron rise,
Grasping a fish within its lengthy beak:
And there a beautiful kingfisher flies
Swift as the wind, with intermittent shriek.
From yonder bed of tremulous rush and reed,
A dozen duck and teal, in hasty flight,
Sweep o'er the marsh, or circle in their speed
Up the blue heavens, and up, till lost to sight.
And wild birds overhead with frequent call
Fly seawards in the shape of figure five.
Yet He who feeds the raven, feeds them all-
God's birds are they, and by Him kept alive.
A marsh is not a melancholy place,
But wisely formed, and redolent of good;
High lessons there of providence and grace
Are taught; it is God's market place for food.
Down in the marsh ten thousand beasts and sheep,
In healthful pastures wait the wants of men;
And there they chew the cud, and eat, and sleep,
And multiply, earth's millions to sustain.
Shout in the marsh! sing with the jubilant sise.
Whose waves are vocal with the hymn of praise,
Oh man! God made the seaside marsh for thee,
To give thee pleasant food and length of days.
"LOVEST THOU ME."
I can hear a sweet voice that comes echoing down
Through the dim fading vista of years that have flown
Like the last dying note of some beautiful song,
That 'mid mountain glen faintly is wafted along,
As I listen my heart seems to tremble with fear,
For the voice, tho' far distant, seems wondrously near,
And close to my spirit I feel that there stands
The form of one gently extending his hands.
Oh! heart do not tremble, 'tis thine to rejoice;
"Tis Jesus that speaketh, His own gentle voice
Is melting with tenderness. Speaking to thee;
It says, "My beloved one, Lovest thou me ?"
"Can men love a serpent, can angels a fiend?
Or sin by hypocrisy ever be screened?
Then how canst thou speak with such love unto me,
Whose guilty soul shrinks before thy purity?
Recall those sweet words, and ne'er speak them again,
For they fill all my spirit with sorrow and pain-
My rebel-heart feels that Thy mercy's too great?
Thy love is not mine, I deserved but Thy hate;"
I feel that Thy presence still stands by my side,
Has listened with pity while I have replied.
A gentle hand touches me, oh! can it be?
And that voice says more tenderly, Lovest thou Me?
No word can I answer . "I've loved thee so long,"
Said the beautiful voice, "and my love is so strong,
That I've done all I could-I have died on the cross,
And in agony perished to heal thy remorse;
Then come to me, love me, and keep near my side,
And to thee, my long loved one, no harm shall betide,
"No word can I answer; but He sees my heart,
He knows all my anguish, He sees the tear start;
He smiles, and I feel that my sins are forgiven-
That tear was my first my sweet foretaste of heaven.
"Thou knowest I love thee, my Saviour, I cry,
"Do Thou comfort and help me, and ever be nigh.”
Thus happy my new, my first love, I confess,
Whilst I know that His hands are uplifted to bless.
A LAMENT.
I'm sitting in the room Lizzie,
This little chamber where
We have knelt so oft, dear, to
In morn and evening prayer,
My heart was full of gladness then,
God made His face to shine,
And crowned my life with blessings,
When He joined my lot with thine,
The place is just the same, Lizzie,
As on that dreadful day,
When He who gave you to my love,
Again took you away,
Took from me in a moment,
My gentle loving wife,
The idol of my home and heart,
The sunshine of my life.
'Tis but a gentle walk, Lizzie,
To the side of yonder hill,
Where with many tears I laid you
Beneath God's eye, until
The voice that from the sepulchre
A Lazarus once drew,
Shall wake again the slumbering dead,
And raise both me and you.
I mingle with the world, Lizzie,
Talk with my fellow men;
But sunshine to my lonely hearth,
Will ne'er return again.
I miss the smile at even eventime,
The kiss at dawn of day,
And I miss you at my side, Lizzie,
When I kneel down to pray.
Yours was the simple faith, Lizzie,
That knew no doubt nor fear,
That made you more than conqueror,
When the hour of death drew near,
And I feel half reconciled at times,
Thus alone to be
For though in Heaven now,
I know Your eyes are watching me.
I knew your words were true, Lizzie
And, though my heart should break .
I must confess His love in this,
He took you for my sake;
He saw an earthly idol claimed
My worship and my love;
Round you all my affections turned,
Instead of things above.
And now through all my pilgrimage,
I wend my way alone
But like the ancient patriarch,
Who, pillowed on a stone,
Saw angels pass 'twixt heaven and earth,
I feel you come and go,
And with thy spirit oft' commune
While I am here below.
And if, when thinking of the past,
The tears should fill my eyes,
Accept them, thou Almighty God,
For a frail sacrifice.
When turning to the wall my face,
My spirit rises free;
May Lizzie at the gates of Heaven,
Be first to welcome me.
THE DYING GIRL TO HER MOTHER.
Life passes from me, Mother,
Oh! so rapidly away,
Eternal voices speak to me
They will not let me stay;
Oh there are dark forebodings
All entwined around my heart,
And they tell me, dearest Mother,
That you and I must part.
Oh, let me see the sunshine,
And the gay and glorious earth,
With all that's bright and beautiful,
Just budding into birth,
They told me, when the spring time came,
With song of birds and flowers,
That I should rally and revive,
Amid its genial hours.
They told me -- but it was not true --
I feel its falsehold now,
The signet of the shadowy land,
Is set upon my brow.
It is a long long journey,
I am going, all alone;
The pathway to the spirit world
Is distant and unknown.
Nay, Mother, dearest Mother, nay,
I would not have thee weep,
Oh, is not a gentle thing
To lay one down asleep.
Away from all the weariness,
The sorrow and the pain,
Which make the fairest things of life
So empty and so vain.
I would not have thee mourn for me,
And grieve when I am gone,
For when thy star of life shall set,
And hour of death come on,
Thou'lt join me there within those realms,
Those regions of the blest,
Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.
The shades are gathering o'er me fast
Alas, I cannot see,
Life's barque is tossed upon the waves
Of lone Eternity.
The waters are around me,
They engulph my wavering breath
Oh, Mother, take my hand in thine.
This is the night of death.
SONG OF THE SEA-GULL.
I come I come! from a far-off land,
Where the sea birds gaily roam,
Where the white waves roll o'er the golden sand
Of our rock-bound island home.
I've been where the sun with scorching ray
Shine's fierce on Queensland's shore,
And I've been where dazzling meteors play
The glittering icebergs o'er.
I ride on the billows sparkling foam,
And dive in the blue abyss,
Or with white wings spread thro' the air I roam
And each wandering wave I kiss.
I love to float when the rippling waves
Are calm as an infant's sleep,
And the moon shines pale on cold dark graves
In the stronghold of the deep.
I've watched full many a gallant ship.
In her hour of final doom,
And I've heard the shriek from each pallid lip
As she sank within her tomb.
I've seen how the young wife weeping clung
To her husband's trembling form,
And nought but my voice their requiem sung,
As they perished in the storm.
I've seen how the mother fondly strove
Her children from death to save,
But the sea was deaf to a mother's love
For they sleep beneath the wave.
Sweetly they sleep where the bright sea flowers
Are waving in wild array;
And the glowing tints of the coral bowers
O'er their up-turned features play.
I go, I go, where the deep blue sea
Is murmuring its magic spell,
Where the whisp'ring waves and the wild winds free,
Have charms that I may not tell.
THE GUESTS OF THE HEART.
Soft falls through the gathering twilight,
The rain from the drooping eaves,
And stirs with a tremulous rustle
The dead and the dying leaves;
While afar in the midst of the shadows
I hear the sweet voice of the bells,
Come borne on the wind of the autumn,
That fitfully rises and swells.
They call, and they answer each other ---
They answer and mingle again ---
As the deep and the shrill in an anthem
Makes harmony still in their strain.
As the voices of sentinels mingle
The mountainous regions of snow,
Till from hill-top to hill-top a chorus
Floats down to the valleys below.
The shadows, the firelight of even,
The sound of the rain's distant chime,
Come bringing, with rain softly dropping,
Sweet thoughts of a shadowy time,
The slumberless sense of seclusion,
From storm and intruders aloof,
We feel, when we hear in the midnight
The patter of rain on the roof.
When the spirit goes forth in its yearning
To take all its wanderers home;
Or, afar in the regions of fancy,
Delights on swift pinions to roam;
I quietly sit by the firelight ---
The firelight so bright and so warm,
For I know that those only who love me
Will seek me through shadow and storm
But should they be absent this evening,
Should even the household depart,---
Deserted, I should not be lonely,
There still would be guests in my heart.
The faces of friends that I cherish.
The smile, and the glance, and the tone,
Will haunt me wherever I wander,
And thus I am never alone.
But with those who've left far behind them
The joys and the sorrows of time,
Who sing the sweet songs of the angels
In a pure and holier clime.
Then darkly, O evening of Autumn?
Your rain and your shadows may fall,
My loved and my lost ones you bring me,
My heart holds a feast with them all,
BROUGHAM.
He stood erect in manhood's golden dawn.
His work to free the slave and to instruct the free:
He stood and saw the nineteenth century born,
With all his gifted life's renown to be.
Unknown, and yet did he dream of coming years;
Was there vouchsafed to him, as through the rents
Of the black clouds of ign ignorance and tears
All round some dim foreknowledge of events,
That were to make his time so stored with strife,
The birth-time of great thoughts to stir mankind
To wake the nations to a nobler life,---
The moving power, through all, his marvellous mind,
Bowd'd in the dust. The thund’rous snow-crowned,
Grand old head, that bow'd to none in its stern pride
Silent in death, the voice that shook the land,
Ere Waterloo was fought, or Nelson died,
But yesterday he stood amongst us still,
A giant of a generation past,
All obstacles receding from his will,
All schemes of good in his conception cast.
Is it a jealous weakness looking far
To find its idols, which obscures the array
Of circling lights where disappear'd this star,-
Which sees no equal where he passed away.
Not that he matched in statecraft lesser men,
If statecraft be the mastery of the hour;
But that the statue of the citizen
Still rose above the statesman flushed with power:
And that his strong heart's sympathies went out
To meet the struggling millions of his race,
And that he never paused in fear or doubt
To raise his fellow to the freeman's place,
Look down the muster roll of death! and say
What name is written of his peers;
Peel, Lyndhurst, Canning, Wellington, and Grey.
What greater will there rise in after years?
THE MOTHER.
Hush! softly enter there,
Was ever sight more fair?
A girlish mother cooing o'er her boy.
Her tender arms enclose
The little crimson rose,
Her bosom heaving with a new found joy.
In accents sweet and low,
As streamlet's murmuring flow,
She tells the babe the story of its birth;
How, when her heart was lone,
By winds of heaven blown,
He came her little angel-to the earth.
With lips that never tire
She tells him of his sire,
Her brave young soldier fighting for his king,
And pictures his delight,
When returning from the fight,
He marvels at the dainty little thing.
His future in his eyes,
To read she vainly tries,
And thinks she sees the warrior within
Then paints with mimic dread,
A helmet on his head,
A beard upon his chubby little chin.
She smoothes his downy cheek,
And, wishing he could speak,
She asks him if he'll always love her best;
The lips that know no guile
Give answer with a smile,
At which she folds him closer to her breast.
* * * *
Hush! softly enter there,---
A mother in despair
Is wailing for her baby who has fled;
A soldier standing near
Is weeping tear for tear,
As she points him to the little empty bed.
THE BROKEN HEART.
I saw her not as others did, her spirits free and wild,
I knew her heart was often sad when carelessly she smiled;
Although amidst a merry throng her laugh was often loud
I knew her mind, her very soul, by bitter grief was bow'd,
That bright red spot upon her cheek, it was not youth's warn blush,
It was a thing more fatal far, a broken heart's bright flush;
That white and red so clearly marked upon her lovely face
Gave every charm that once she had a more seraphic grace.
More lovely day by day she grew; her parents watched with pride,
The fatal bloom of that disease of which at length she died.
They did not think that form so fair, no earthly power could save.
They did not dream their only child was sinking to the grave,
She died, they said, in youth's warm life their darling and their pride,
And many mourned the gentle girl who thus so sadly died,
When life was in its early spring, when all around was gay
They knew not of the grief within that wasted her away,
She died, and oh I can but feel how greatly she was blest
Life was to her a misery, only rest.
She feels no grief, for earthly care she does not have a sigh,
Is it not better, happier far, when broken hearts can die.
UNTO HIM THAT LOVED US.
Tell me, my soul, if Christ be thine?
Yes, the assurance blest is true!
In Him I live and He is mine,
For He hath formed my heart anew.
In Him I live and He in me ---
Oh! how happy my spirit glows!
With rapture I my Saviour see ---
With joy my soul its Saviour knows.
Once a sad stranger to His grace,
I trod the slippery path of sin;
But Jesus showed to me His face,
And sought my vagrant heart to win.
"Sinner, I love thee much," he cried:
"Wilt thou not give to me thine heart
It is for thee that I have died;
Wilt thou not have in Me a part.
"Wilt thou not take the wond'rous prize,
Now offered to thee in my blood?
Wilt thou for ever shut thine eyes,
To peace-eternal peace with God?"
Ah! my Redeemer, did'st thou die
To save a sinner vile like me?
Can there be hope that such as I
May take Salvation full and free?
"Yes! there is hope for thee," He said,
"Only believe that I can save :
No more in sin shalt thou be dead,
For I wilt raise thee from its grave."
"Only believe, only believe;
My power is great. My word is sure;
If thou wilt now the truth receive.
My blood shall wash thee clean and pire
Lord, I believe ! my trembling soul,
Glad to accept the promise, cried
He made my sin-sick spirit whole:
I felt the Lord for me had died.
And now, rejoicing in His name,
Triumphant in redeeming love,
It is my never-ceasing aim,
That I may faithful to Him prove,
Then unto him be all the praise,
'Tis He the mighty change hath wrought
And to the latest of my days,
To Him I'll give the life He bought.
And when at last I reach the sky,
To dwell with him in endless day,
"All praise to Thee! dear Lamb! I'll cry
"For Thou didst wash my sins away."
A LETTER FROM HOME
"A letter from home!" oh, what measure of gladness
Do these simple words and their meaning contain,
Tho' the heart is oppressed and bow'd down in sadness,
Those words can awake it to pleasure again.
When parted by fate from the hearts that still love us,
And outcast from all, amid strangers we roam;
When the earth frowns beneath, and the sky glooms above us
How dear to the heart is a letter from home.
Perhaps we can trace the kind heart of a mother,
Amid tears gushing out, as we think of her love,
That love which no time nor distance can smother,
Shed forth from a heart that no absence can move.
And oh! if in reading that page we discover
A small wrinkled spot with the stain of a tear.
The fountain of love from its banks will flow over,
And bathe it with drops that are not less sincere.
A letter from home! when by seas we are parted,
A voice speaking out from the midst of the gloom;
'Tis a token of love from the firm and true hearted,
To tell us we are not forgotten at home.
CHARITY.
Whether you be rich or poor,
Spurn no beggar from your door,
Aid him, for you cannot say
That you may not want some day.
You to him this world doth spare
Of her gifts a goodly share.
See the hungry creature fed,
Freely let him taste your bread.
Visit at his home, and give
From the substance that you have
Let your heart with love expand
Give not with a grudging hand
You who work and hardly toil,
Bear your burthen for a while,
Tho' in humble life you are,
There are many worse by far.
Spare a mite from what you have ---
'Twas a mite the widow gave
It is not the sum that's given
That will pave the road to heaven.
Those who from their treasures part,
With a glad and cheerful heart,
They it is who shall receive
Sweet rewards for what they give
Let us lend a helping hand
To the poor throughout our land,
And in every way we can
Let's assist a fellow man,
OUR DARLING
Bounding like a football.
Kicking at the door,
Falling from the table top,
Sprawling on the floor.
Smashing cups and saucers,
Splitting dolly's head.
Putting little pussy cat
Into the baby's bed.
Building shops and houses,
Spoiling father's hat,
Hiding mother's precious key
Underneath the mat.
Jumping on the fender,
Poking at the fire,
Dancing on his little legs,
Legs that never tire.
Making mother's heart leap
Fifty times a day,
Aping everything we do,
Every word we say.
Shouting, laughing, tumbling,
Roaring with a will,
Anywhere and everywhere,
Never, never still.
Present, bringing sunshine,
Absent, leaving night,
That's our precious darling,
That's our heart's delight.
THE DRUNKARD'S DAUGHTER.
Out in the street, with naked feet.
I saw the drunkard's little daughter;
Her tattered shawl was thin and small.
She little knew, for no one taught her.
Her skin was fair, her auburn hair
Was blown about her pretty forehead;
Her sad, white face wore sorrow's trace,
And want and woe that were not borrowed.
Heart-broken child! she seldom smiled,
Hope promised her no bright to-morrow,
Or if its light flashed on her night,
Then up came darker clouds of sorrow.
She softly said: "We have no bread,
No wood to keep the fire a burning;"
The child was ill; the wind so chill
Her thin, cold blood to ice was turning.
But men well fed and warmly clad,
And ladies robed in richest fashion,
Passed on one side, where no one cried
To them, for pity or compassion.
That long night fled, and then the light
Of rosy day, in beauty shining,
Set dome, and spire, and roof on fire,
And shone on one beyond repining.
Asleep alone, as cold as stone,
Where no dear parent ever sought her,
In winding-sheet of hail and sleet
Was found the drunkard's lifeless daughter.
SWEET HOME.
"Sweet Home," oh blissful holy place,
Where perfect love and peace are found
Within it, shedding joy and grace,
To make the threshold "Hallowed ground,"
When heart to heart, and hand to hand
Are closely linked by silken chains;
When each one shares the fears and cares,
The hopes, the pleasures, and the pains.
Where open deeds and guileless speech
Dissolve all clouds of mean deceit ;
Where honest eyes without disguise
Look straight into the eyes they meet.
Where Manhood, Infancy, and Age,
With simple faith and earnest trust,
In lowly reverence hear the page
In which 'tis written "Be ye just."
Where words that preach "Good will to all."
And widely herald "Peace on earth,"
Are heard in gentle tones to fall
Like music of seraphic birth.
Where the rich flower of conduct blows
From the pure blood of Christian thought,
And living practise daily throws
Truth's halo round the precept taught.
Where merry songs and harmless jest
At festal tide are heard to blend;
Where "welcome" greets the stranger guest,
And loud rejoicing hails the friend,
"Sweet Home," oh blissful holy place,
Where "home" is all that "home" should be
And man despite his fallen race,
Some trace of Eden still can see.
MOONLIGHT.
Tho moonlight is a silvery light
That through the window gleams,
Upon the snowy pillow, where
My dear mother dreams.
The moonlight is a glorious light
That comes alike to all,
Lighting the shepherd's lowly cot,
The rich man's painted hall.
It shines upon the little boats,
Out on the lonely sea,
Or where the little lambs lie down
Beneath the old gum tree.
It shineth where the night owl sings
Above the miner's door;
It shineth in the lonely glen,
And also on the moor.
THE CHILD'S APPEAL
"Mamma, Why do the roses fade?”
A little girl did say,
"Methinks such lovely flowers as these,
Should never know decay.
They look so beautiful and fair,
And such bright tints disclose;
Then, dear mamma, oh tell me why
So quickly fades the rose?
"I've often heard you say mamma,
How life is like the flower?
Which though it passing fair doth seem
May wither in an hour.
But why, mamma, is life so short,
And why do flowers decay?
And why is every joy on earth,
Destined to pass away?
"You said when little brother lied,
The child we all did love ---
That he has gone where brightest flowers
Deck the sweet meads above.
But why, mamma, did brother die,
And leave us here to pine?
And wherefore must we sigh in grief
And every hope resign."
"My sweetest child," the mother cried
We will no more complain,
Since mourning never can restore,
The lost one back again.
But rather let us joy, my love,
At this assurance given;
That all which fadeth here on earth,
Blooms yet more sweet in heaven.”
OLD TIMES.
Rosy hours of youth and fancy,
Happy hours of long ago;
Ah! the playful pictured memories,
Let us catch them as they flow.
Galaxies of blue-eyed Mary's,
With a Julia or a Jane
Or a troop of little Lauras,
Laugh and blush and romp again.
Moonlight meetings, evening rambles,
When the night was still around,
And a sweet voice softly murmuring,
Or a kiss the only sound.
These remember, and remember
How the kind stars shone above ---
Keeping in their softened splendour
Watch and ward upon our love.
Youth is as a diamond dawning,
Bold it breaks to gorgeous day;
Heavenly lights of power and beauty
Glance and gleam along its way.
Far within the mighty future
There be solemn voices heard;
Shaped to many a stately anthem
Floats the music of the world.
But that music in the present
Softly droops with sad decay,
Till its echo in the spirit
Faints and fails, and dies away.
Green be then the tender memory
Of the past, for ever sped;
That our youth may be immortal,
Though its days and dreams are dead
THE TWO CRADLES.
In life's young dawning, fair and bright,
Baby, what love was thine;
How met the household deities
Around thy infant shrine.
How all thy little baby looks,
Thy pretty senseless ways,
Were chronicled as something great, y
And worth a poet's praise.
How seemed the wind a cruel thing,
To ward with fur and fold,
And guard against with anxious care,
Lest "baby" should be cold.
Midst sunny smiles and hopes unknown,
They hailed thee at thy birth,
And on the pillow soft and warm,
They cradled thee for earth.
Thy little morn has passed away,
And all thy smiles are fled,
No matter though the coldest winds
Blow round thy lowly bed.
Thy crowing laugh, he dimpled arm,
The curl upon thy brow,
Thy tiny picture of a foot,
Alas! where are they now?
Midst falling tears and looks of woe ---
Oh! be our grief forgiven ---
Upon the churchyard's mouldering turf,
We cradle thee for heaven.
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