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Or glitters on my throne,
VASHTI. 45

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."

46 VASHTI.
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,
THANK GOD FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. 47

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.
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.
48 THANK GOD FOR LITTLE CHILDREN.

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.

THE MARTYR OF ALABAMA.
"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,
(49)

50 THE MARTYR OF ALABAMA.
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.
THE MARTYR OF ALABAMA. 51

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;

52 THE MARTYR OF ALABAMA.
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 horrorblanch 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.
THE NIGHT OF DEATH. 53

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.

THE NIGHT OF DEATH.
Twas a night of dreadfulhorror,--

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
54 THE NIGHT OF DEATH.

Wrecked their homes and swept them down-
ward,

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.


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