OTHER POEMS

BY

FREEMAN E. MILLER, A.M.,

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE IN THE

AGRICULTURAL AND MECHANICAL COLLEGE OF

OKLAHOMA TERRITORY.

BUFFALO

CHARLES WELLS MOULTON

1895

COPYRIGHT, 1895,

BY FREEMAN E. MILLER, A.M.

PRINTED BY

CHARLES WELLS MOULTON,

BUFFALO, N.Y.

TO

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY,

IN AFFECTIONATE

MEMORY OF OTHER DAYS.

Our dearest joys forever flow

From fountains of the Long Ago,

That from the heights of pleasures past

Flood all the present valleys vast,

And with eternal glees provide

The future's endless ocean tide.

To ope each cage where a heartless age

Hath chained the birds of singing,

Till Love's own glee that is fond and free

Shall laugh where they are winging,—

Such is my wish. 'Tis true, hold I,

That songs, like birds, in bondage die.

CONTENTS.

OKLAHOMA 9

THE RACE FOR HOMES 15

AT PERRY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1893 19

"SING ME A SONG, O WIND." 21

A CHRISTMAS CAROL 24

YEARS THAT ARE TO BE 26

IF WE DON'T OR IF WE DO 28

DEAR SONGS OF MY COUNTRY 30

JULY FOURTH 33

"O, GENTLE SHADES OF QUIET WOODS." 35

LOVE 37

WINTERS ON THE FARM 39

"O, WEAK AND WEARY WORLD." 41

EX ANIMA 43

"LO, ALL THE AGE IS RANK WITH WRONG." 45

"LOVE, THOU GAYEST FANCY-WEAVER." 47

THE FARMER 49

"NATURE HAS A THOUSAND CHOIRS." 51

THE WORKINGMAN 53

GIVING AND FORGIVING 55

"O, SACRED SOULS THAT GRANDLY SING." 57

CHRISTMAS TIME 59

TRUEST HEROES ARE UNKNOWN 61

IF WE BUT KNEW 62

HOPE 64

DESPONDENCY 66

IF LOVE WERE KING 68

"SING ME THE OLD SONGS, MOTHER." 69

TWO LIVES 71

"AWAY, AWAY, FROM THE SULTRY WAYS." 72

SPINSTERHOOD 74

"SWEET FAIRIES FROM THE ISLES OF SONG." 75

STANZAS 77

"MAKE THE MOST OF THIS LIFE." 78

"THE SONGS THAT MOTHER USED TO SING." 80

"QUAFF THE GLASS, THE WINE IS RED." 81

GOOD-NIGHT 83

LIVE LIFE WITH LOVE 84

DISCONTENT 86

STANZAS 87

THE WAY OF THE WORLD 89

MY SHADOW AND I 90

IN THE VALES 91

THE WILLOW 92

AT THE MILL 94

SHADOW AND SHINE 95

THE GROWTH OF SONG 96

SPRING AND MUSIC 97

COMPENSATION 98

MY MOLLIE, O 100

SING NOT OF BEAUTY 101

AT EVENTIDE 102

WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES 103

WHEN THOU ART NEAR 104

HE SLEEPS AT LAST 105

WHEN FORTUNES FROWN 106

WHEN WE SHALL MEET 107

SWEET EYES OF BLUE 108

HAD WE NOT MET 109

A SONNET 110

OKLAHOMA.—A SONNET 111

ESTRANGED 112

RECONCILED 113

THE DYING HERO 114

SONNET 115

GREATNESS LIVES APART 116

POEMS 117

SINGER AND SONG 118

TO ONE WHO PLEDGED HER FRIENDSHIP 119

THE BANKS O' TURKEY RUN 119

OKLAHOMA.

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Land, O, land of the Fair God,

Land where ancient, savage races

Through barbarian ages trod!

Through thy story fancy traces

Facts above what fictions say,

Where the world with haste advances,—

Born are nations in a day!

Where the wigwam stood so lonely,

Lordly cities rise in might;

Where spread desert wildness only,

Fertile farms and homes delight.

Thou hast summoned to thy bosom

From the ends of all the earth,

All the youngest, strongest, bravest,

Full of will and wondrous worth.

O'er thy valleys grow the blossoms

Culled from earth's remotest sod;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Land, O, Land of the Fair God!

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

There is music in thy name.

There is gladness in thy glory,

There is fondness in thy fame!

In the wonders of thy story

Shines the sheen of noble deed,

Brighter than the glare of battle

Where the warriors toil and bleed;

Ruling with immortal forces,

There is found the king of might,

Over all thy great resources

By the strength of truth and right.

With thy happy sons and daughters,

Live the virtues fair and pure,

And the better angels guiding

Keep their hearts and souls secure.

There are treasures in thy valleys,

There are treasures in thy hills;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

How thy name my bosom thrills!

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Child of law and liberty,

Thou art always true and tender,

Thou art ever dear to me!

I will always praises render

To the grandeur of thy worth,

For the fortunes all presided

At the moment of thy birth.

Pleasures in their pure completeness

O'er thy pleasant prairies shine,

And the raptures run with fleetness

Through the happy vales of thine.

Thou art empress of the angels,

Thou art queen of all the gods,

And the happiness of heaven

O'er thy laughing valleys nods.

I will always crown with praises

All thy glories, O, my state;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Thou art greatest of the great!

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Bravest are thy noble sons,

In the thunders of the battle,

And the roaring of the guns!

Flash of sword and musket's rattle

Never fearful terror gave

To the staunch and valiant bosoms

Of thy happy hosts and brave.

When the roars of hell grow louder,

And the mountains shake in fright,

In the lurid clouds of powder,

They are foremost in the fight;

And when bayonet and musket,

Sword and saber, slaughter cease,

They are tenderest and truest

In the silent ways of peace.

O, my state! A stream of greatness

From thy mighty people runs;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Bravest are thy noble sons!

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Fairest are thy daughters fair,

In the thousand deeds of duty

Thou hast given them to bear;

Peerless is their wondrous beauty,

Bright with blushes as the rose,

Pure as petals of the lily,

White as newly-fallen snows;

And their voices bright with blessing

Banish misery and woe,

While their fingers' soft caressing

Soothes the fevers from the brow.

Souls are always blessed with brightness

Bosoms filled with goodly pearls,

Hearts forever harvest gladness,

In the glances of thy girls.

They are robed in golden garments,

Nature's vestments, rich and rare;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Fairest are thy daughters fair!

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Sweetest are thy happy homes,

Smiling in the holy gladness

Which above thee always roams;

They are never linked with sadness,

They are never bound with pains,

For the sunshine of enjoyment

Rules the people of thy plains.

Songs are singing with thy maidens,

Music echoes with thy wives,

Rapture slays the grief that ladens

All the gladness of their lives.

Happiness is with thy husbands,

And thy swains are blest with joy,

While the fondest rapture rises

In the hearts of girl and boy.

Pleasures linger in thy woodlands,

Gladness on thy prairies roams;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Sweetest are thy happy homes!

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Thou shall ever live in song;

Freedom, near to nature, raises

Temples that to thee belong;

Minstrels shall in merry praises

Wind their music o'er thy name

Till the voices of the ages

Shout for thee in wild acclaim;

They shall sing with tender pleasure

Beauty of thy daughters true;

Sing, in high, exultant measure,

Deeds thy sons in battle do.

Sages shall in wisdom offer

Full rewards of love to thee,

And shall crown thy land and people

Favorites of liberty.

All thy glory shall be shining

Through the cycles clear and strong;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Though shall ever live in song!

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Romance of the ages, thou!

Now, unknown; a moment later.

Kingly crowns upon thy brow!

Child of all the nations, greater

Shall thy splendors year by year

Grow unfading, bringing bounties

Full of happiness and cheer!

Morning saw a desert sleeping,

Worn and wasted with distress;

Night beheld an empire keeping

Watch above the wilderness.

Progress with her wand of magic

Touched the sleeping valleys bright,

And they leaped with instant vigor,

Shaking out their locks of might;

Earth shall send her fairest blossoms

As a garland for thy brow;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Romance of the ages thou!

THE RACE FOR HOMES.

APRIL 22, 1889.

Behold! As from the shades of night,

An army gathers full of might,

And strong with constant courage stands

'Tween civilized and savage lands,

Where, vast in power, the legion waits

The turning of the desert gates,

That men of might may enter in

And progress all her glories win!

Lo, where these thousands make assail,

The barren ages all shall fail,

And swift advancement far be hurled,

O'er sleeping empires and the world!

The morning hours haste hurried by;

Behold! The noon is drawing nigh!

The anxious host with careful eyes

Marks well each rapid hour that flies,

While hope, exulting, wildly rolls

The highest, such as filled the souls

Of Jason and his comrades bold,

Who sought the famous fleece of gold.

Upon the trampled grasses beat

Impatient steeds with restless feet;

The dins of harsh, discordant cries

Above the thrilling thousands rise;

Shrilly the scattered children call,

And soft the words of women fall,

While men with voices hushed and weak

Their low commands expectant speak;

Till suddenly a mighty cry,

A shout of warning, smites the sky:

"Attention! Ho,

Attention here!

Attention! Lo,

The noon is near!"

O'er hill and brake

Resounds the warning cry;

The moment great is nigh;

The hosts awake;

Awake, to strive with mad delight,

Awake to win the friendly fight;

And from the camps anear and far,

Where nervous haste and hurry are,

Vast legions gather on the plain,

While chaos and confusion reign;

The neighing steed with quickened pace

Impatient seeks the vantage place;

The slower ox with lightened load

Stands waiting in the crowded road.

And wagon, buggy, carriage, cart,

Vehicles formed with rudest art,

All forward, forward, forward dart,

Swift-forming on the level ground

Where most advantage may be found.

"Line up! Ho, there,

Line up, line up!"

The hurried order smites the air;

Above the silent prairies fair

Unseen progression holds her cup,

Filled to the brim with magic seeds

That harvests hold for human needs.

Excitement grows on beasts and men;

The saddle girths are tightened o'er,

The stirrups lengthened out once more,

And silence softly falls again;

Each bit and buckle, strap and band,

Is tested o'er with careful hand,

And man and beast in chosen place

Stand ready for the coming race;

The circling sun

His morning race has fully run;

A waving hand

Signals above the brief command

That sight and sense will understand,—

And open swings the desert land!

A shot! A hundred, thousand more

The grassy meadows echo o'er;

A shout! From countless throats a shout,

On rolling wings leaps madly out;

A yell, a raging roar, that flies

On bounding winds o'er hill and glen,

And 'round the land electrifies

A thousand living miles of men!

A mammoth stir,

A sudden dash,

Swift whip and spur

Together clash,

And wheels on wheels that totter crash!

They're off! They're off!

Away, away,

In mad array!

No stop nor stay!

The hurried charge they ride to-day

Would shame and scoff

The Tartar, Turk and Romanoff!

The race is on;

The host is gone;

The thronging legions madly ride

O'er hill and dale,

With hurried pace unsatisfied.

In fierce assail

Where none may fail;

And only phantoms dimly blent

Tell where the mounted armies went,

Like shifting shadows, faint and dim,

Or ghostly spectors, gaunt and grim,

Beyond the far horizon's rim!

Behold! Adown the valleys bright,

The last, lone straggler fades from sight,

And only hasty hoof-beats say

What thousands rode the race to-day;

What hosts, with hearts that build and bless,

Found homes amid the wilderness!

AT PERRY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1893.

Crowds! Crowds! Crowds!

Suddenly here as if come from the clouds

That faded away as they came;

Mad acres of people aflame

With thirst for a morsel of land;

Wild hunters of fortune, whose game

Is ever escaping the hand;

Vast, countless, uncountable throngs

With restless, unrestable feet,

That hurry the ways, full of agonized wrongs,

For the conquest of happiness sweet;

Wild seas of ambition whose waves of desire

On their obstacles mighty continually beat,

Where neither the shore nor the ocean is fixed;

Like thunderous songs of a choir,

Whose murmurs in music repeat;

And confusion and chaos are terribly mingled and mixed.

Dust! Dust! Dust!

Borne in the arms of the gathering gust,

And whirled on the wings of the wind,

The eyes feel the blight of the blind,

And horror comes into the heart;

For nature is far more unkind

Than the thousands that struggle apart.

Dark, wild, inescapable dust,

In fiercest, untamable clouds,

That men into misery helplessly thrust,

And bury in agony-shrouds;

A simoom of sorrow whose pestilent breath

To the strong and the weak, to the young and the old,

Brings despair that is reckless of possible gain,

And the awfullest anguish of death;

Till the soul in its rage uncontrolled,

Droops low in the horrible sickness and sorrow of pain.

But out from the clouds,

Out from the agonized dust that enshrouds;

True kings shall arise who shall reign

In homes on the populous plain!

Great cities shall gather and grow

In glories that never shall wane,

Far over the valleys below.

With merry yet measureless might

They conquer the waste with the gladness that brings

To the desert the newest delight.

The barren shall bloom as the rose, and the land

That is sleeping, a wilderness wasted and wild,

And dreaming to welcome its master's command,

Shall leap at the touch of his hand,

His voice shall obey as a child!

"SING ME A SONG, O, WIND."

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

Of musical cadence sweet,

Which in the wood around

Shall often and oft repeat;

Soft as an angel's song

That never can give annoy,

Which in the balmy notes

Shall tell me its tales of joy.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

Of countries beyond the sea,

Which in thy wand'rings oft

Thou pass with a footstep free;

Lands that are ever green

'Neath blaze of the tropic spells,

Bright with their blessed suns,

Where summer forever dwells.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

Of groves with a verdure fair,

Waving their boughs of green

O'er solitudes grand and rare;

Groves with a stillness sweet,

With cheering and cooling shades,

Where from its cares the race

May rest in the leafy glades.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

Of birds with a plumage gay,

That with their carols sweet

Give praise to the God of day;

Music of sad refrain,

Though fond in its tender chime,

Thou in thy travels wide

Hast heard in a fairy clime.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

Of crystalline brooks at play,

Which with the murmurs low

Make sweetest of sounds all day;

Winding through meadows wide,

And blossoming fields between,

Fringed with the willows tall

On emerald banks of green.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

Of flowers that are fond and fair,

Filling the fields of earth

With beauty and fragrance rare;

Wafting an incense pure

On every breeze that blows,

Drawn from the lily's heart

And soul of the royal rose.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

Of man in his brightest homes;

Tell if he there meet joy,

Wherever his longing roams;

Tell if there's e'er a place

Where, all his ambition spent,

He toils throughout all his days

And knoweth no discontent.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

For I am a-weary now;

Life, with its woes and cares,

Hangs heavily on my brow;

Sing me a song of cheer,

My heart that is sad to ease;

Sing in thy brightness and joy

With heavenly harmonies!

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

The brazen bells of laughing lands

In swelling echoes wildly ring,

And over seas and hoary strands

This Christmas carol sing.

"Awaken, O, heart of the race,

To bountiful riches from Eden above,

Till roses of beauty and lilies of grace

Shall sweeten the languishing bosom with love;

Till virulent sorrow and venomous hate

Their poisonous curses of misery cease,

And rapturous fortune, felicitous fate,

Have rule in the musical meadows of peace.

"The voices of morning to men,

In passionate whispers of bounteous glee,

Are pulsing the gladness of Christmas again

O'er plains of the prairie and sounds of the sea;

Rejoice and be happy, O, languishing soul,

In limitless treasures of marvelous cheer,

Till ravishing murmurs of lullabies roll

Through all of the sorrows that sadden the year!

"Though summer has gone from the earth,

And silken embraces of velvety snow

Are folding the blossoms of beauty and worth

In wretched surroundings of wearisome woe;

Let innocent joys in their sweetness abound

And silvery cadence in melody start,

Till rapturous fortunes with pleasure surround

The aims of the soul and the hopes of the heart.

"Let youth with its yearning engage

All vigorous passion that lives in the breast,

While tearful remembrance of tottering age

Finds halcyon harbors of comforting rest;

Let silver of years with the ardor of youth

Be going again through the temple of joy,

While palms of amusement and laurels of truth

Encircle the hearts of the maiden and boy.

"Let happiness reign with the race;

There's never a reason for sorrowful tears,

Kriss Kringle has come with his fatherly face

To comfort complaining humanity's fears;

Let music go 'round and the beautiful smile

Bring gladsome delight to the bosom of bliss,

Till gentle enjoyments unbroken beguile

The souls of the sad with their coveted kiss.

"Though crystalline frost on the trees,

Though ice on the river and snow on the plain

Are freezing the breath of the shivering breeze.

The heart has Nepenthe for all of its pain;

For Christmas is king, and his bountiful hand

Is giving its treasures to mountain and lea,

And gentleness rules on the billowy strand,

And reigns in the far-away isles of the sea."

This is the carol that swells

Over the meadows and brakes,

From brazen throats of the pealing bells

When Christmas morning wakes.

YEARS THAT ARE TO BE.

Wild years that are to be

The sad completion of my weary life,

In ghostly mantles of despairing strife

Your phanton dimness darkly shadows me!

Gaunt demons dancing from your horrid halls

Entwine my soul in gloomy arms of woe,

While mystic fancies to my madness show

The monsters on your walls.

Your forms are skeletons,

Whose bony hands with mortal fingers play,

Where grinning skulls are heaping on the way,

And airy specters meet the timid ones;

Death drops his arrows from your sullen skies,

Destruction dances in your noisome shades,

And in the dreadful darkness of your glades

The horrid shriekings rise.

There in your cycles are

Dark valleys where my weary feet must go,

Though devils of disaster hurl and throw

Their awful sorrows from the fortunes far;

No hands of pleasure can presume to part

The clouded curtains of impending care,

And hissing serpents of insane despair

Pour poison in my heart.

O, years that are to be,

Among your solitudes I, dreaming, grope;

My life's the shade of unaccomplished hope,

My heart's a ghoul that feeds on agony!

No strains of music call my tears away,

No smiling star illumes the awful night;

Ambition weeps; my soul draws without light

My shameless feet astray!

No soothing welcome floats

Between your marble lips, nor sweetly rise

The tender songs of gentle melodies

From croaking caverns of your iron throats;

But from your dirges of destructive pain,

Wild clash of wretched sound is borne to me,

Where death and failure, tears and misery,

In robes or anguish reign.

But my heart hopes to find

Some infant joy for woes that sorrow did,

Some faded garland on some coffin lid,

To cheer the wildness of my broken mind;

Some angel pleasures in your realms must roll,

Some laughing life, some music, in your glooms,

Shall gladness give, amid your ghostly tombs,

Mad Future, to my soul!

IF WE DON'T OR IF WE DO.

What's the odds to me and you?

Fame is e'er a heartless jade,

And her slaves are poorly paid;

Weary hearts and soul's distress

Are the prices of success;

All our stations sadness view,—

If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do,

Our deservings will accrue;

We must pay the fullest price,

For each virtue and each vice,

And each life for every thing

Must an equal portion bring;

Justice shall our deeds review,

If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do,

Fortune to our worth is true;

Trophies that enshroud our clay,

Scarce are worth the price we pay;

Shame doth small endeavors share,

Fame and glory, toil and care;

Earth floats but an equal crew,

If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do,

What's the diff'rence 'tween the two,

When our souls have gone to God

And we sleep beneath the sod?

Kindred grasses wave and creep

Where the prince and pauper sleep;

We shall have our six-feet-two,

If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do,

We but dust and ashes brew;

Labor, trouble, toil and strife

Weave within each human life;

Sorrows cloud the younger years;

Age is bowed with cares and tears;

Accidents in fame are few,—

If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do.

Fate to our deserts is true;

If we fail, or falter not,

Every life deserves his lot;

Every human, small or great,

Buys with current coin his fate;

What's the odds to me and you,

If we don't or if we do?

DEAR SONGS OF MY COUNTRY!

Dear songs of my country! How sweetly thy measures

Come stealthily stealing o'er mountain and wave,

To sweeten the riches of liberty's treasures

And thrill with their numbers the hearts of the brave!

To move in wild glory the souls of a nation,

Till men are together so happily hurled,

That millions are bound in fraternal relation

And brotherhoods rule in the ranks of the world.

Such praises ye offer our heroes and sages,

So grand is the greatness that lives in thy strains,