I know in part, but know not all, The part I know is known; What know I not I hope with Paul
With purpose strong to do or die, The race of life he ran, With love supreme to God on high,
I stand to-day on higher ground Than ever reached before, Yet from this summit I have found,
Is brotherhood to flesh confined? Is there no kinship of the soul? To have it thus, I am resigned,
Dear Canada, our native land, Our love for thee grows day by day; Our fathers left the olden strand,
Up to Dunbar our Cromwell went, Not to invade was his intent; But they who first King Charles sold
Somewhere in the realms supernal Is a home prepared for me, Where my joys shall be eternal,
Every flower that decks the way, Whether it be dun or gay, Fills a place in God's great plan,
A painter, high in worldy fame, Was sought to reproduce by art A likeness of the man whose name
In gentle showers the rain descends, And softly falls the dew. The dewdrop with the raindrop blends;
She brought her alabaster flask Well-filled with precious nard; Nor did she deem the act a task,
The battleship its anchor weighs, And belches forth its thunder; Its commodore all classes praise,
My lot on earth is not all mirth, Nor is it constant gloom; Some joys decay and fall away,
My old sweetheart is away to-day; I feel as I did of old, In my courting days, when far away
My pansy pets are sleeping well Beneath their quilt of snow; How they can breathe I cannot tell,
We strolled down by the river side, My sister Nell and I, To watch the waters onward glide,
Upon the "table-rock" I stand, And gaze into the depths profound, In ecstacy at sights so grand,
"Mamma, what noises do I hear? They keep me wide awake." "The chirping crickets, little dear;
My greatest grief is not my own; That often proves a blessing, For in my grief God's care is shown,
A Prize Birthday Poem, 1885. We do not sing of vast domain-- Empires as vast as ours are seen,
A group of mounted officers Ride up and fall in line; Their gleaming swords hang at their sides,
The waters of the Big Bear creek Glide slowly on their way; The western lakes they surely seek,
The winter through I lay asleep, Unconscious and unseen; The howling winds disturbed me not,
Looking o'er this written page, Many blurs and blots are seen; Crooked strokes, at every stage--
The end we sought is not attained, But wisdom has been won, And thus a higher goal is gained.
Some flowers are brighter far in hue Than others by their side, But God baptizes all with dew,
The highest goal is not success, If that be made the aim; But faithfulness, tho' counted less,
Doomed to decay are all things here; Whate'er their form or worth, Color and beauty disappear,