Whither?

Whither this Highway, Child? “To the Field of Flowers,--to the Flowers wild.”

Whither this Highway, Youth? “Through the Fields of Love to the home of Ruth.”

Whither this Highway, Man? “Through the realms of Fame into Class and Clan.”

Whither this Highway, Sire? “To the silent Tomb with its marble spire!”

Whither, oh whither, Tomb?-- But voiceless it points to the azure dome.

OUR ALMA MATER.

Dear Alma Mater! beloved thro’ all the west! Thou who hast taught our infant feet the way Of light and truth! thou who hast been our stay And prop thro’ all our weakness! thou whose zest In strength’ning us would never let thee rest, E’en in thy trials as in prosperity! ’Tis ours to-day in thy adversity

To aid thee, speed thee thro’ this fiery test. And as thou, like the Phœnix, bird of old, Comest from forth thy ruined home, for aye In broader fields to live and grow, from west To east the lengthened shout is roll’d, “’Tis ours, by thee made strong, to strengthen thee, To us, of all the world the dearest, best!”

FATHER TIME.

I am the father of the river, Of the sea, and of the mountain; Of the sunlight that doth quiver In the rainbow of the fountain.

I have raised up men and nations, I have builded homes and cities; I have given all their stations, Him who scorns and him who pities.

I have forged the tears and sorrows Of a Russia, broken-hearted, Into chains of sad to-morrows That but death of kings has parted.

I have woven joy and laughter, Fairest of life’s flowers, Into garlands that hereafter Shall be worn in Eden’s bowers.

Oh the sorrows and the pleasures Of the world in faultless rhyme Blend the music of their measures With the step of Father Time.

THUS LIFE’S TALE.

I.

Away out yonder on the great horizon Sail, sail away; Sail, my soul, with thy breaking burthen, Sail, sail, nor stay.

II.

Away in the westward where the sun is dipping Gold, gold from the sea, Gold of a glorious El Dorado-- Sail, sail to-day.

III.

See the straight horizon by the great sun hollowed: Sail swift that way. Sail! ’tis the portal the sun has opened, Sail, sail nor stay.

IV.

The sun is flashing thro’ the broad portcullis: See, see my sail! See the shroud thro’ the gate disappearing!-- Thus, thus life’s tale!

Finale.

The sea is tolling and the mer-folk weeping: Sailed, sailed away; Sailed the soul with its life-laded burthen, Mourned, mourned the clay.

PART OF THE NEW ENGLAND LAMENT.

ON THE KILLING OF SITTING BULL, 1891.

Sitting Bull and the other Sioux Lived in the land where the blizzards blioux, And they grioux, and they grioux, and they grioux!-- Till one day they shot him thrioux And kicked up an awful hullabalioux,-- Bioux-hioux, bioux-hioux, bioux-hioux! --Terhwytt-in-the-Twinkle D’Bioux.