Poems Teachers Ask For Volume II Part 44

"I am the flag of the wives who wait For the safe return of a martial mate-- A mate gone forth where the war G.o.d thrives, To save from sacrifice other men's wives.

"I am the flag of the sweethearts true; The often unthought of--the sisters, too.

I am the flag of a mother's son, Who won't come home till the victory's won!"

Dear little flag in the window there, Hung with a tear and a woman's prayer, Child of Old Glory, born with a star-- Oh, what a wonderful flag you are!

_William Hersch.e.l.l._

Flying Jim's Last Leap

(_The hero of this tale had once been a famous trapeze performer._)

Cheeriest room, that morn, the kitchen. Helped by Bridget's willing hands, Bustled Hannah, deftly mixing pies, for ready waiting pans.

Little Flossie flitted round them, and her curling, floating hair Glinted gold-like, gleamed and glistened, in the sparkling sunlit air; Slouched a figure o'er the lawn; a man so wretched and forlore, Tattered, grim, so like a beggar, ne'er had trod that path before.

His s.h.i.+rt was torn, his hat was gone, bare and begrimed his knees, Face with blood and dirt disfigured, elbows peeped from out his sleeves.

Rat-tat-tat, upon the entrance, brought Aunt Hannah to the door; Parched lips humbly plead for water, as she scanned his misery o'er; Wrathful came the dame's quick answer; made him cower, shame, and start Out of sight, despairing, saddened, hurt and angry to the heart.

"_Drink_! You've had enough, you rascal. Faugh! The smell now makes me sick, Move, you thief! Leave now these grounds, sir, or our dogs will help you quick."

Then the man with dragging footsteps hopeless, wis.h.i.+ng himself dead, Crept away from sight of plenty, starved in place of being fed, Wandered farther from the mansion, till he reached a purling brook, Babbling, trilling broken music by a green and shady nook, Here sweet Flossie found him fainting; in her hands were food and drink; Pale like death lay he before her, yet the child-heart did not shrink; Then the rags from off his forehead, she with dainty hands offstripped, In the brooklet's rippling waters, her own lace-trimmed 'kerchief dipped; Then with sweet and holy pity, which, within her, did not daunt, Bathed the blood and grime-stained visage of that sin-soiled son of want.

Wrung she then the linen cleanly, bandaged up the wound again Ere the still eyes opened slowly; white lips murmuring, "Am I sane?"

"Look, poor man, here's food and drink. Now thank our G.o.d before you take."

Paused he mute and undecided, while deep sobs his form did shake With an avalanche of feeling, and great tears came rolling down O'er a face unused to showing aught except a sullen frown; That "our G.o.d" unsealed a fountain his whole life had never known, When that human angel near him spoke of her G.o.d as his own.

"Is it 'cause my aunty grieved you?" Quickly did the wee one ask.

"I'll tell you my little verse then, 'tis a holy Bible task, It may help you to forgive her: 'Love your enemies and those Who despitefully may use you; love them whether friends or foes!'"

Then she glided from his vision, left him prostrate on the ground Conning o'er and o'er that lesson--with a grace to him new found.

Sunlight filtering through green branches as they wind-wave dance and dip, Finds a prayer his mother taught him, trembling on his crime-stained lip.

Hist! a step, an angry mutter, and the owner of the place, Gentle Flossie's haughty father, and the tramp stood face to face!

"Thieving rascal! you've my daughter's 'kerchief bound upon your brow; Off with it, and cast it down here. Come! be quick about it now."

As the man did not obey him, Flossie's father lashed his cheek With a riding-whip he carried; struck him hard and cut him deep.

Quick the tramp bore down upon him, felled him, o'er him where he lay Raised a knife to seek his life-blood. Then there came a thought to stay All his angry, murderous impulse, caused the knife to shuddering fall: "He's her father; love your en'mies; 'tis 'our G.o.d' reigns over all."

At midnight, lambent, lurid flames light up the sky with fiercest beams, Wild cries, "Fire! fire!" ring through the air, and red like blood each flame now seems; They faster grow, they higher throw weird, direful arms which ever lean About the gray stone mansion old. Now roars the wind to aid the scene; The flames yet higher, wilder play. A shudder runs through all around-- Distinctly as in light of day, at topmost window from the ground Sweet Flossie stands, her golden hair enhaloed now by firelit air.

Loud rang the father's cry: "O G.o.d! my child! my child! Will no one dare For her sweet sake the flaming stair?" Look, one steps forth with m.u.f.fled face, Leaps through the flames with fleetest feet, on trembling ladder runs a race With life and death--the window gains. Deep silence falls on all around, Till bursts aloud a sobbing wail. The ladder falls with cras.h.i.+ng sound-- A flaming, treacherous ma.s.s. O G.o.d! she was so young and he so brave!

Look once again. See! see! on highest roof he stands--the fiery wave Fierce rolling round--his arms enclasp the child--G.o.d help him yet to save!

"For life or for eternal sleep,"

He cries, then makes a vaulting leap, A tree branch catches, with sure aim, And by the act proclaims his name; The air was rent, the cheers rang loud, A rough voice cried from out the crowd, "Huzza, my boys, well we know him, None dares that leap but Flying Jim!"

A jail-bird--outlaw--thief, indeed, Yet o'er them all takes kingly lead.

"Do now your worst," his gasping cry, "Do all your worst, I'm doomed to die; I've breathed the flames, 'twill not be long"; Then hushed all murmurs through the throng.

With reverent hands they bore him where The summer evening's cooling air Came softly sighing through the trees; The child's proud father on his knees Forgiveness sought of G.o.d and Jim, Which dying lips accorded him.

A mark of whip on white face stirred To gleaming scarlet at his words.

"Forgive them all who use you ill, She taught me that and I fulfill; I would her hand might touch my face, Though she's so pure and I so base."

Low Flossie bent and kissed the brow, With smile of bliss transfigured now: Death, the angel, sealed it there, 'Twas sent to G.o.d with "mother's prayer."

_Emma Dunning Banks._

Betty and the Bear

In a pioneer's cabin out West, so they say, A great big black grizzly trotted one day, And seated himself on the hearths and began To lap the contents of a two gallon pan Of milk and potatoes,--an excellent meal,-- And then looked, about to see what he could steal.

The lord of the mansion awoke from his sleep, And, hearing a racket, he ventured to peep Just out in the kitchen, to see what was there, And was scared to behold a great grizzly bear.

So he screamed in alarm to his slumbering frau, "Thar's a bar in the kitchen as big's a cow!"

"A what?" "Why, a bar!" "Well murder him, then!"

"Yes, Betty, I will, if you'll first venture in."

So Betty leaped up, and the poker she seized.

While her man shut the door, and against it he squeezed, As Betty then laid on the grizzly her blows.

Now on his forehead, and now on his nose, Her man through the key-hole kept shouting within, "Well done, my brave Betty, now hit him agin, Now poke with the poker, and' poke his eyes out."

So, with rapping and poking, poor Betty alone At last laid Sir Bruin as dead as a stone.

Now when the old man saw the bear was no more, He ventured to poke his nose out of the door, And there was the grizzly stretched on the floor, Then off to the neighbors he hastened, to tell All the wonderful things that that morning befell; And he published the marvellous story afar, How "me and my Betty jist slaughtered a bar!

O yes, come and see, all the neighbors they seed it, Come and see what we did, me and Betty, we did it."

The Graves of a Household

They grew in beauty, side by side, They filled one home with glee;--- Their graves are severed, far and wide, By mount, and stream and sea.

The same fond mother bent at night O'er each fair sleeping brow; She had each folded flower in sight-- Where are those dreamers now?

One, 'midst the forest of the West, By a dark stream is laid-- The Indian knows his place of rest Far in the cedar shade.

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one-- He lies where pearls lie deep; _He_ was the loved of all, yet none O'er his low bed may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are drest Above the n.o.ble slain: He wrapped his colors round his breast On a blood-red field of Spain.

And one--o'er _her_ the myrtle showers Its leaves, by soft winds fanned; She faded 'midst Italian flowers-- The last of that bright band.

And parted thus they rest, who play'd Beneath the same green tree; Whose voices mingled as they pray'd Around the parent knee.

They that with smiles lit up the hall, And cheer'd with song the hearth!-- Alas! for love, if _thou_ wert all, And naught beyond, O earth!

_Felicia Dorothea Hemans._

The Babie

Nae shoon to hide her tiny taes, Nae stockings on her feet; Her supple ankles white as snow, Or early blossoms sweet.