Read Ebook: Atlanta offering: Poems by Harper Frances Ellen Watkins

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Ebook has 371 lines and 35269 words, and 8 pages

Outcast from her home in Syria In the lonely, dreary wild; Heavy hearted, sorrow stricken, Sat a mother and her child.

There was not a voice to cheer her Not a soul to share her fate; She was weary, he was fainting,-- And life seemed so desolate.

Far away in sunny Egypt Was lone Hagar's native land; Where the Nile in kingly bounty Scatters bread throughout the land.

In the tents of princely Abram She for years had found a home; Till the stern decree of Sarah Sent her forth the wild to roam.

Hour by hour she journeyed onward From the shelter of their tent, Till her footsteps slowly faltered And the water all was spent;

Then she veiled her face in sorrow, Feared her child would die of thirst; Till her eyes with tears so holden Saw a sparkling fountain burst.

Oh! how happy was that mother, What a soothing of her pain; When she saw her child reviving, Life rejoicing through each vein.

Does not life repeat this story, Tell it over day by day? Of the fountains of refreshment Ever springing by our way.

Here is one by which we gather, On this bright and happy day, Just to bask beside a fountain Making gladder life's highway.

Bringing unto hearts now aged Who have borne life's burdens long, Such a gift of love and mercy As deserves our sweetest song.

Such a gift that even heaven May rejoice with us below, If the pure and holy angels Join us in our joy and woe.

May the memory of the giver In this home where age may rest, Float like fragrance through the ages, Ever blessing, ever blest.

When the gates of pearl are opened May we there this friend behold, Drink with him from living fountains, Walk with him the streets of gold.

When life's shattered cords of music Shall again be sweetly sung; Then our hearts with life immortal, Shall be young, forever young.

A DOUBLE STANDARD.

Do you blame me that I loved him? If when standing all alone I cried for bread a careless world Pressed to my lips a stone.

Do you blame me that I loved him, That my heart beat glad and free, When he told me in the sweetest tones He loved but only me?

Can you blame me that I did not see Beneath his burning kiss The serpent's wiles, nor even hear The deadly adder hiss?

Can you blame me that my heart grew cold That the tempted, tempter turned; When he was feted and caressed And I was coldly spurned?

Would you blame him, when you draw from me Your dainty robes aside, If he with gilded baits should claim Your fairest as his bride?

Would you blame the world if it should press On him a civic crown; And see me struggling in the depth Then harshly press me down?

Crime has no sex and yet to-day I wear the brand of shame; Whilst he amid the gay and proud Still bears an honored name.

Can you blame me if I've learned to think Your hate of vice a sham, When you so coldly crushed me down And then excused the man?

Would you blame me if to-morrow The coroner should say, A wretched girl, outcast, forlorn, Has thrown her life away?

Yes, blame me for my downward course, But oh! remember well, Within your homes you press the hand That led me down to hell.

I'm glad God's ways are not our ways, He does not see as man; Within His love I know there's room For those whom others ban.

I think before His great white throne, His throne of spotless light, That whited sepulchres shall wear The hue of endless night.

That I who fell, and he who sinned, Shall reap as we have sown; That each the burden of his loss Must bear and bear alone.

No golden weights can turn the scale Of justice in His sight; And what is wrong in woman's life In man's cannot be right.

OUR HERO.

Onward to her destination, O'er the stream the Hannah sped, When a cry of consternation Smote and chilled our hearts with dread.

Wildly leaping, madly sweeping, All relentless in their sway, Like a band of cruel demons Flames were closing 'round our way

Oh! the horror of those moments; Flames above and waves below-- Oh! the agony of ages Crowded in one hour of woe.

Fainter grew our hearts with anguish In that hour with peril rife, When we saw the pilot flying, Terror-stricken, for his life.

Then a man uprose before us-- We had once despised his race-- But we saw a lofty purpose Lighting up his darkened face.

While the flames were madly roaring, With a courage grand and high, Forth he rushed unto our rescue, Strong to suffer, brave to die.

Helplessly the boat was drifting, Death was staring in each face, When he grasped the fallen rudder, Took the pilot's vacant place.

Could he save us? Would he save us? All his hope of life give o'er? Could he hold that fated vessel 'Till she reached the nearer shore?

All our hopes and fears were centered 'Round his strong, unfaltering hand; If he failed us we must perish, Perish just in sight of land.

Breathlessly we watched and waited While the flames were raging fast; When our anguish changed to rapture-- We were saved, yes, saved at last.

Never strains of sweetest music Brought to us more welcome sound Than the grating of that steamer When her keel had touched the ground.

But our faithful martyr hero Through a fiery pathway trod, Till he laid his valiant spirit On the bosom of his God.

Fame has never crowned a hero On the crimson fields of strife, Grander, nobler, than that pilot Yielding up for us his life.

THE DYING BONDMAN.

Life was trembling, faintly trembling On the bondman's latest breath, And he felt the chilling pressure Of the cold, hard hand of Death.

He had been an Afric chieftain, Worn his manhood as a crown; But upon the field of battle Had been fiercely stricken down.

He had longed to gain his freedom, Waited, watched and hoped in vain, Till his life was slowly ebbing-- Almost broken was his chain.

"Master," said the dying bondman, "Home and friends I soon shall see; But before I reach my country, Master write that I am free;

"For the spirits of my fathers Would shrink back from me in pride, If I told them at our greeting I a slave had lived and died;--

"Give to me the precious token, That my kindred dead may see-- Master! write it, write it quickly! Master! write that I am free!"

At his earnest plea the master Wrote for him the glad release, O'er his wan and wasted features Flitted one sweet smile of peace.

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