While plaintive seas are calling, my heart for one doth yearn,
“Find love in kindly service,” sweet fern leaves sighed, “Return.” 
Sad waves then cease thy moaning—­let hope’s resplendent rays
Imbue my heart with courage—­God’s love’s with me always.

Voices Hushed.

I stood in the mossy gateway,
  And thought of years gone by;
Then tapped on latticed windows,
  Heard naught only my sigh.

The house was cold and empty—­
  A stranger’s home, they say;
The voices hushed of dear ones,
  Loved footprints passed away.

In fancy then I peopled
  The place with moving life,
The halls again resounded,
  With laughter, song and fife.

In father’s arms I nestle,
  Caressing soft, dark hair;
I beg for one more story,
  Or breathe my childhood’s prayer.

My heart cries out, when fancy
  Brings mother back to me,
Her loving care o’er shadows
  The past sweet memory.

The house now grows resplendent
  With joys of former scene,
My brothers loved so dearly,
  And life a happy dream.

Our uncle, kind and tender,
  The cousins, buoyant, gay;
My playmates calling for me,
  To school we his away.

Awakened from my dreaming,
  Time speaks of saddened years,
Two-score more, and voices hushed. 
  Flow now, ye pent-up tears!

Oh, voices hushed, where art thou? 
  A stranger lone I stand. 
Good-bye, good-bye, old homestead;
  Farewell, sweet mystic band.

Why I Love Them.

I would tell thee of Stella, how she made glad the hours,
So oft calling mother with strewn wreaths and flowers,
Blue eyes fondly glancing, and gleefully dance,
While singing so gayly or skipping, perchance.

Then comes my son Ernest, an affectionate boy,
So true and so thoughtful, never aught but a joy,
E’er steady and happy, eyes earnest and clear;
His dear voice so merry, methinks I still hear.

I would say of Marie, that she is very fair,
With ways of a lady, and golden-waved hair;
She scolds and laughs sweetly, while people all tell,
With curls and long lashes, she’ll yet be a belle.

Then rosy-cheeked Bertha, whose housewifely care
And womanly habits call forth praises rare;
Small, winsome maiden, whose large, tender heart,
To blame makes thee timid, thy tears swift to start.

Tall, slender Celesta, whose spiritual face,
And excelling talents could a palace well grace;
Five faces so pretty, eyes brighter than gems,
And hearts kind and loving is why I love them.

My First Gray Hair.

One day amid brown tresses there gleamed a silvery thread,
Life pages, past and present I wonderingly then read. 
I saw a blithsome maiden, a child serenely fair,
A woman heavey laden now lifts her first gray hair.