Read Ebook: The Sylvan Cabin: A Centenary Ode on the Birth of Lincoln and Other Verse by Jones Edward Smyth Braithwaite William Stanley Contributor

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Ebook has 105 lines and 8467 words, and 3 pages

What is the place we call our home, "sweet home"? Naught but a span of space where one may roam: Night's pitchy corner; a hard crust of bread; Cot for your feeble limbs, pillow your head-- What's the use?

Now, what is loving but acting a fool? And what is quitting?--Producing a rule: Break short the flight of Dan Cupid's swift dart, Aimed at the core of an innocent heart! What's the use?

Say, what is marrying but getting in trouble? Trifling 'way joy while your sorrow is double? What, then, is your state my friend, after you've wed? Naught but a vial of wrath poured upon your head! What's the use?

Ah! what is batching but living a man; Sporting and sleeping--just running his plan? Come when he's ready, and go when he please-- Brain's full of joy, his heart is at ease-- See, that's the use!

O GOD, WILT THOU HELP ME IN SCHOOL?

On Saturday, March 1, 1902, I left Alcorn and went home in order to earn money enough to defray my expenses for the year 1902-03. I began work as soon as I reached home and labored on father's farm until the last week in June, 1902. I had seen by that time that there was nothing to be realized from that source but disheartening failure.

I then acted as agent for the "Zion Record," published by Rev. R. A. Adams, 39 St. Catherine Street, Natchez, Miss., until August 20, 1902. Knowing that there was a dormitory to be built for girls at Alcorn, I went there, hoping to get work and to be there when school opened. On arriving, I failed to get employment. I had no money. The Boarding Hall was run by boys who stayed over summer. Finding I was unemployed, they refused to let me take meals with them. There I was--friendless and penniless--without a bite of bread and nowhere to lay my head. To drive the wolf of starvation away and to keep from being devoured, I made arrangements with President Lanier to cut wood for something to eat, until school opened Sept. 2, 1902.

When school opened, the Faculty met the first day and distributed the positions to the eligibles. On going down to the Hall to take my first meal, to my surprise I found I had been awarded the position of waiter. To hold a position, or even remain on the Campus, one must matriculate within three days after school starts, if there when it opens, or after he arrives, if not. I then wrote home for the matriculation fee , as I had labored there all summer. As that letter was sealed my destiny was sealed in it. It was one that hauled my anchor of hope; yes, one to bring glad tidings of great joy and crowning success, or the gloom of disastrous failure. Thus, having my hope sealed, I wrote across it "In Haste!"

The night of its return was a dark, rainy one. As all sat discussing different events that had transpired since the new session had begun, suddenly a whistle was heard. How our hearts throbbed with gladness as we exclaimed, "There, that's the mail!" Dear reader, you cannot imagine how overjoyed I was. I knew that bag contained a letter for me; so anxious was I to receive it I did not trust anyone, but rushed to the office, and ere long my name was called.

O, God to Thee, who knowest all things, To Thee each being his praises brings, In heaven, or earth, or sea, or sky-- To-night to Thee I raise my cry.

To-night as Thou doth know the why, The why I make each tearful sigh-- Hast Thou not crowned and blest my way? Why'st Thou forsaken me to-day?

To-night while in my deepest grief, I calmly wait Thy sweet relief; Thou knowest I have done my best, Oh, give my pondering soul some rest.

To-night, O God, grant all to know, For man to reap he first must sow; To know to have both bread and wine He must reap all at harvest time.

To-night, O God, to Thee I plead, Thou must protect me, guide and lead Through this which is my darkest night To a day when Thou shalt give me light.

To-night my soul does bleed with pain, As murky clouds drip down the rain! O God, heal me of this heart ache, For thy dear Son Christ Jesus' sake.

To-night me compass grief and fears, To-night while drip heart-broken tears; There seems to be no one to save My weeping soul from chilly grave.

To-night as I, Thy servant, pray To Thee, to turn my darkness day, And change my many blinding fears To brighter hope for future years.

O restless soul, thou canst not sleep, For, ship-like, thou art tossed the deep; Aye, tossed by surge of mighty wave, With none to share and none to save.

O God, in Thee I now believe, Since life in Thee I do receive; I pray Thee now with trembling fear To my sad soul draw near, draw near.

O God, Thou knowest this night I dread, As 'twere to number me with the dead-- I plead to Thee as by a rule, O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

To-night, O God, the darkest gloom Hangs o'er me like a cloud to doom; I cry while sitting on this stool-- O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

This wide world o'er my mind doth roam, So many miles away from home, With thoughts thread-like wound in a spool-- O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

Dear Lord, I ask of Thee one boon, Pure as the light of "harvest moon"; And cry as when bathed in a pool-- O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

While time and tide flow o'er my mind, For wisdom, Lord, I ever pine; But not in folly of a fool-- O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

Oh, may I now look up and smile, As children, mirthful all the while, When playing in the shade so cool-- O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

When life's long journey nears its end, And friend so dear must part from friend, To bathe deep in Thy living pool-- O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

Oh days of woe, oh do relent, For all my sins I now repent, To bathe in Siloam's ancient pool-- O God, right now help me in school.

Ah, when this stormy life is o'er, I'll moor my bark on th' eternal shore; Then shall I cross life's mortal pool, And God will then help me in school!

BEHIND THE BARS

I am a pilgrim far from home, A wanderer like Mars, And thought my wanderings ne'er should come, So fixed behind the bars!

I left my sunny Southern home Beneath the silver stars; A northward path began to roam, Not seeking prison bars.

I sought a higher, holier life, Which never virtue mars; But Fate had spun a net of strife For me behind the bars!

My mother's lowly thatched-roofed cot My nobler senses jars; And so I seek to aid her lot, But not behind the bars!

'Tis said, forsooth, the poet learns Through sufferings and wars To sing the song which deepest burns Behind the prison bars!

Thus I resign myself to Fate, Regardless of her scars; For soon she'll open wide the gate For me behind the bars.

I plead to you, my fellow man, For all who wear the tars; To lend what little help you can To us behind the bars.

O God, I breathe my prayer to Thee, Who never sinner bars: Set each immortal spirit free Behind these prison bars!

HARVARD SQUARE

'Tis once in life our dreams come true, The myths of long ago, Quite real though fairy-like their view, They surge with ebb and flow; Thus thou, O haunt of childhood dreams, More beauteous and fair Than Nature's landscape and her streams, Historic Harvard Square.

My soul hath panted long for thee, Like as the wounded hart That vainly strives himself to free Full from the archer's dart; And struggled oft all, all alone With burdens hard to bear, But now I stand at Wisdom's throne To-night in Harvard Square.

A night most tranquil,--I was proud My thoughts soared up afar, To moonbeams pouring through the cloud, Or some lone twinkling star; And musing thus, my quickened pace Beat to the printery's glare, Where first I saw a friendly face In classic Harvard Square.

"Ho! stranger, thou art wan and worn Of journey's wear and tear; Thy face all haggard and forlorn, Pray tell me whence and where?" "I came--from out--the Sunny South-- The spot--on earth--most fair," Fell lisping from my trembling mouth-- "In search--of--Harvard Square."

"Here rest, my friend, upon this seat, And feel thyself at home; I'll bring thee forth some drink and meat, 'Twill give thee back thy form." And then I prayed the Lord to bless Us, and that little lair-- Quite sure, I thought, I had found rest Most sweet in Harvard Square.

"I came," I said, "o'er stony ways, Through mountain, hill and dale, I've felt old Sol's most scorching rays, And braved the stormy gale; I've done this, Printer, not for gold, Nor diamonds rich and rare-- But for a burning in my soul To learn in Harvard Square.

"I've journeyed long without a drink Nor yet a bite of bread, While in this state, O Printer, think-- No shelter for my head. I mused, 'Hope's yet this side the grave'-- My pluck and courage there Then made my languid heart bear brave-- Each throb for Harvard Square."

A sound soon hushed my heart's rejoice-- "The watchman on his search?" "No!" rang the printer's gentle voice, "'Deak' Wilson in from church. O'er there, good 'Deak'," the printer said, "The wanderer in that chair, Hath come to seek the lore deep laid Up here in Harvard Square."

"It matters not how you implore, He can no longer stay; But on the night's 'Plutonian shore,' Await the coming day. I'm sorry, sir," he calmly said, "Though hard, I guess 'tis fair, Thou hast no place to lay thy head-- Not yet in Harvard Square!"

"Good night!" he said, and we the same-- I sighed, "Where shall I go?" He soon returned and with him came An officer and--Oh! "Now sir, you take this forlorn tramp With all his shabby ware, And guide him safely off the 'Camp' Of dear old Harvard Square."

As soon as locked within the jail, Deep in a ghastly cell, Methought I heard the bitter wail Of all the fiends of hell! "O God, to Thee I humbly pray No treacherous prison snare Shall close my soul within for aye From dear old Harvard Square."

Just then I saw an holy Sprite Shed all her radiant beams, And round her shone the source of light Of all the poets' dreams! I plied my pen in sober use, And spent each moment spare In sweet communion with the Muse I met in Harvard Square!

I cried: "Fair Goddess, hear my tale Of sorrow, grief and pain." That made her face an ashen pale, But soon it glowed again! "They placed me here; and this my crime, Writ on their pages fair:-- 'He left his sunny native clime, And came to Harvard Square!'"

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