Poems; Iola Leroy

It is nothing to me, the beauty said, With a careless toss of her pretty head; The man is weak if he can't refrain From the cup you say is fraught with pain. It was something to her in after years, When her eyes were drenched with burning tears, And she watched in lonely grief and dread, And startled to hear a staggering tread.

It is nothing to me, the mother said; I have no fear that my boy will tread In the downward path of sin and shame, And crush my heart and darken his name. It was something to her when that only son From the path of right was early won, And madly cast in the flowing bowl A ruined body and sin-wrecked soul.

It is nothing to me, the young man cried: In his eye was a flash of scorn and pride; I heed not the dreadful things ye tell: I can rule myself I know full well.

It was something to him when in prison he lay The victim of drink, life ebbing away; And thought of his wretched child and wife, And the mournful wreck of his wasted life.

It is nothing to me, the merchant said, As over his ledger he bent his head; I'm busy to-day with tare and tret, And I have no time to fume and fret. It was something to him when over the wire A message came from a funeral pyre— A drunken conductor had wrecked a train, And his wife and child were among the slain.

It is nothing to me, the voter said, The party's loss is my greatest dread; Then gave his vote for the liquor trade, Though hearts were crushed and drunkards made. It was something to him in after life, When his daughter became a drunkard's wife And her hungry children cried for bread, And trembled to hear their father's tread.

Is it nothing for us to idly sleep While the cohorts of death their vigils keep? To gather the young and thoughtless in, And grind in our midst a grist of sin?

It is something, yes, all, for us to stand Clasping by faith our Saviour's hand; To learn to labor, live and fight On the side of God and changeless light.

She leaned her head upon her hand And heard the King's decree— "My lords are feasting in my halls; Bid Vashti come to me.

"I've shown the treasures of my house, My costly jewels rare, But with the glory of her eyes No rubies can compare.

"Adorn'd and crown'd I'd have her come, With all her queenly grace, And, 'mid my lords and mighty men, Unveil her lovely face.

"Each gem that sparkles in my crown, Or glitters on my throne,

Grows poor and pale when she appears, My beautiful, my own!"

All waiting stood the chamberlains To hear the Queen's reply. They saw her cheek grow deathly pale, But light flash'd to her eye:

"Go, tell the King," she proudly said, "That I am Persia's Queen, And by his crowds of merry men I never will be seen.

"I'll take the crown from off my head And tread it 'neath my feet, Before their rude and careless gaze My shrinking eyes shall meet.

"A queen unveil'd before the crowd!— Upon each lip my name!— Why, Persia's women all would blush And weep for Vashti's shame!

"Go back!" she cried, and waved her hand, And grief was in her eye: "Go, tell the King," she sadly said, "That I would rather die."

They brought her message to the King; Dark flash'd his angry eye; 'Twas as the lightning ere the storm Hath swept in fury by.

Then bitterly outspoke the King, Through purple lips of wrath— "What shall be done to her who dares To cross your monarch's path?"

Then spake his wily counsellors— "O King of this fair land! From distant Ind to Ethiop, All bow to thy command.

"But if, before thy servants' eyes, This thing they plainly see, That Vashti doth not heed thy will Nor yield herself to thee,

"The women, restive 'neath our rule, Would learn to scorn our name, And from her deed to us would come Reproach and burning shame.

"Then, gracious King, sign with thy hand This stern but just decree,

That Vashti lay aside her crown, Thy Queen no more to be."

She heard again the King's command, And left her high estate; Strong in her earnest womanhood, She calmly met her fate,

And left the palace of the King, Proud of her spotless name— A woman who could bend to grief, But would not bow to shame.

Thank God for little children, Bright flowers by earth's wayside, The dancing, joyous lifeboats Upon life's stormy tide.

Thank God for little children; When our skies are cold and gray, They come as sunshine to our hearts, And charm our cares away.

I almost think the angels, Who tend life's garden fair, Drop down the sweet wild blossoms That bloom around us here.

It seems a breath of heaven Round many a cradle lies, And every little baby Brings a message from the skies.

Dear mothers, guard these jewels. As sacred offerings meet, A wealth of household treasures To lay at Jesus' feet.

"Tim Thompson, a little negro boy, was asked to dance for the amusement of some white toughs. He refused, saying he was a church member. One of the men knocked him down with a club and then danced upon his prostrate form. He then shot the boy in the hip. The boy is dead; his murderer is still at large."—News Item.

He lifted up his pleading eyes, And scanned each cruel face, Where cold and brutal cowardice Had left its evil trace.

It was when tender memories Round Beth'lem's manger lay,

And mothers told their little ones Of Jesu's natal day.

And of the Magi from the East Who came their gifts to bring, And bow in rev'rence at the feet Of Salem's new-born King.

And how the herald angels sang The choral song of peace, That war should close his wrathful lips, And strife and carnage cease.

At such an hour men well may hush Their discord and their strife, And o'er that manger clasp their hands With gifts to brighten life.

Alas! that in our favored land, That cruelty and crime Should cast their shadows o'er a day. The fairest pearl of time.

A dark-browed boy had drawn anear A band of savage men, Just as a hapless lamb might stray Into a tiger's den.

Cruel and dull, they saw in him For sport an evil chance, And then demanded of the child To give to them a dance.

"Come dance for us," the rough men said; "I can't," the child replied, "I cannot for the dear Lord's sake, Who for my sins once died."

Tho' they were strong and he was weak, He wouldn't his Lord deny. His life lay in their cruel hands, But he for Christ could die.

Heard they aright? Did that brave child Their mandates dare resist? Did he against their stern commands Have courage to insist?

Then recklessly a man (?) arose, And dealt a fearful blow. He crushed the portals of that life, And laid the brave child low.

And trampled on his prostrate form, As on a broken toy;

Then danced with careless, brutal feet, Upon the murdered boy.

Christians! behold that martyred child! His blood cries from the ground; Before the sleepless eye of God, He shows each gaping wound.

Oh! Church of Christ arise! arise! Lest crimson stain thy hand, When God shall inquisition make For blood shed in the land.

Take sackcloth of the darkest hue, And shroud the pulpits round; Servants of him who cannot lie Sit mourning on the ground.

Let holy horror blanch each brow, Pale every cheek with fears, And rocks and stones, if ye could speak, Ye well might melt to tears.

Through every fane send forth a cry, Of sorrow and regret, Nor in an hour of careless ease Thy brother's wrongs forget.

Veil not thine eyes, nor close thy lips, Nor speak with bated breath; This evil shall not always last, The end of it is death.

Avert the doom that crime must bring Upon a guilty land; Strong in the strength that God supplies, For truth and justice stand.

For Christless men, with reckless hands, Are sowing round thy path The tempests wild that yet shall break In whirlwinds of God's wrath.

Twas a night of dreadful horror,— Death was sweeping through the land; And the wings of dark destruction Were outstretched from strand to strand

Strong men's hearts grew faint with terror, As the tempest and the waves

Wrecked their homes and swept them downward, Suddenly to yawning graves.

'Mid the wastes of ruined households, And the tempest's wild alarms, Stood a terror-stricken mother With a child within her arms.

Other children huddled 'round her, Each one nestling in her heart; Swift in thought and swift in action, She at least from one must part.

Then she said unto her daughter, "Strive to save one child from death." "Which one?" said the anxious daughter, As she stood with bated breath.

Oh! the anguish of that mother; What despair was in her eye! All her little ones were precious; Which one should she leave to die?

Then outspake the brother Bennie: "I will take the little one." "No," exclaimed the anxious mother; "No, my child, it can't be done."

"See! my boy, the waves are rising, Save yourself and leave the child!" "I will trust in Christ," he answered; Grasped the little one and smiled.

Through the roar of wind and waters Ever and anon she cried; But throughout the night of terror Never Bennie's voice replied.

But above the waves' wild surging He had found a safe retreat, As if God had sent an angel, Just to guide his wandering feet.

When the storm had spent its fury, And the sea gave up its dead She was mourning for her loved ones, Lost amid that night of dread.

While her head was bowed in anguish, On her ear there fell a voice, Bringing surcease to her sorrow, Bidding all her heart rejoice.

"Didn't I tell you true?" said Bennie, And his eyes were full of light,

"When I told you God would help me Through the dark and dreadful night?"

And he placed the little darling Safe within his mother's arms, Feeling Christ had been his guardian, 'Mid the dangers and alarms.

Oh! for faith so firm and precious, In the darkest, saddest night, Till life's gloom-encircled shadows Fade in everlasting light.

And upon the mount of vision We our loved and lost shall greet, With earth's wildest storms behind us, And its cares beneath our feet.

Two little children sit by my side, I call them Lily and Daffodil; I gaze on them with a mother's pride, One is Edna, the other is Will.

Both have eyes of starry light, And laughing lips o'er teeth of pearl.

I would not change for a diadem My noble boy and darling girl.

To-night my heart o'erflows with joy; I hold them as a sacred trust; I fain would hide them in my heart, Safe from tarnish of moth and rust.

What should I ask for my dear boy? The richest gifts of wealth or fame? What for my girl? A loving heart And a fair and a spotless name?

What for my boy? That he should stand A pillar of strength to the state? What for my girl? That she should be The friend of the poor and desolate?

I do not ask they shall never tread With weary feet the paths of pain. I ask that in the darkest hour They may faithful and true remain.

I only ask their lives may be Pure as gems in the gates of pearl, Lives to brighten and bless the world— This I ask for my boy and girl.

I ask to clasp their hands again 'Mid the holy hosts of heaven, Enraptured say: "I am here, oh! God, "And the children Thou hast given."

He stood before my heart's closed door, And asked to enter in; But I had barred the passage o'er By unbelief and sin.

He came with nail-prints in his hands, To set my spirit free; With wounded feet he trod a path To come and sup with me.

He found me poor and brought me gold, The fire of love had tried, And garments whitened by his blood, My wretchedness to hide.

The glare of life had dimmed my eyes, Its glamour was too bright. He came with ointment in his hands To heal my darkened sight.

He knew my heart was tempest-tossed, By care and pain oppressed; He whispered to my burdened heart, Come unto me and rest.

He found me weary, faint and worn, On barren mountains cold; With love's constraint he drew me on, To shelter in his fold.

Oh! foolish heart, how slow wert thou To welcome thy dear guest, To change thy weariness and care For comfort, peace and rest.

Close to his side, oh! may I stay, Just to behold his face, Till I shall wear within my soul The image of his grace.

The grace that changes hearts of stone To tenderness and love, And bids us run with willing feet Unto his courts above.

The treacherous sands had caught our boat, And held it with a strong embrace And death at our imprisoned crew Was sternly looking face to face.

With anxious hearts, but failing strength, We strove to push the boat from shore; But all in vain, for there we lay With bated breath and useless oar.

Around us in a fearful storm The fiery hail fell thick and fast; And we engirded by the sand, Could not return the dreadful blast.

When one arose upon whose brow The ardent sun had left his trace, A noble purpose strong and high Uplighting all his dusky face.

Perchance within that fateful hour The wrongs of ages thronged apace; But with it came the glorious hope Of swift deliverance to his race.

Of galling chains asunder rent, Of severed hearts again made one,

Of freedom crowning all the land Through battles gained and victories won.

"Some one," our hero firmly said, "Must die to get us out of this;" Then leaped upon the strand and bared His bosom to the bullets' hiss.

"But ye are soldiers, and can fight, May win in battles yet unfought; I have no offering but my life, And if they kill me it is nought."

With steady hands he grasped the boat, And boldly pushed it from the shore; Then fell by rebel bullets pierced, His life work grandly, nobly o'er.

Our boat was rescued from the sands And launched in safety on the tide; But he our comrade good and grand, In our defence had bravely died.