Kate Wheeler - Home Poems

I am a New Hampshire girl. I have written
these poems in the interests of Christian Endeavor.
My friends are so much pleased with them that I
have had them published for our mutual benefit.

The State of New Hampshire is dear to us all,
Her hills and her mountains respond to the call,
Her onflowing rivers in gladness awake
To sound forth the praises of Old Granite State.

Her heroes undaunted in times of distress
’Neath the flag of the union went forth with the rest;
When duty is calling and danger is nigh
The Old Granite State will conquer or die.

Her sons and her daughters are loyal and brave,
’Neath the banner of Christ they march onward to save;
In the battle for right which they undertake
As firm as the granite in Old Granite State.

From loftiest height to lowliest shore
New Hampshire, our home land, is our’s evermore!
“For Christ and the Church” she resounds the glad call,
The Old Granite State sends a greeting to all.

Do not dream away life’s morning,
Rise to bless as does the sun;
Let no shadow fall about thee,
Till thy given work is done.

Look not downward, to the valley,
Blessings come from heights above;
Falter not upon thy journey,
Let each effort teem with love.

Tho’ thy life work may be humble,
Keep a brave and trusting heart;
Do it well, it is thy portion,
God himself assigned the part.

There is not on earth another—
Even monarch of the throne—
Who can fill thy place so nobly,
As thyself, thyself alone.

If a few shall rise above thee,
And the world their deeds applaud,
Do not let their fame depress thee,
None can judge thee save thy God.

He makes the most of life, who soonest learns
That ’tis not best to try for heights too high,
Nor yet to be content with vales too low;
But day by day upon his upward way,
Accepts the possible for which he yearns,
Rejects those things that far beneath him lie,
And asks the strength of slow success, to know,
Which gains the Heaven for which we mortals pray.

The sun is flooding all the land and sky,
The waves are dancing o’er the deep blue sea;
The world is gay and yet, they say, not I—
Since absence makes a gulf ’tween you and me.

When you were here the clouds were in the sky,
The rain-drops fell, the sun was hid from view;
The world was dull and yet, they say, not I—
For my gay world is centred, love, in you.

When you are near no matter what the sky,
No matter what the sea nor what the weather;
The world is gay and so, my love, am I—
The days are fairest when we are together.

O let me say one little word,
Ere I depart,
To soothe one sorrow,
Teach one truth,
And help one heart!

O let me sing one little song,
Before I go,
To wake one wanderer,
Lift one load,
And wing one woe!

O let me breathe one little prayer,
While yet I live,
To bring one blessing,
Heal one hurt,
One sin forgive!

O let me write one little song,
Ere life is o’er,
To cause one comfort,
Save one soul,
Forever more!

Around the world they ring to-day,
And they will ring forever;
Like beauteous birds that sweetly sing,
Good cheer and comfort they shall bring;
And saving souls along the way,
Will be forgotten never.

Both autocrat and peasant poor,
With heaven born inspiration,
Composed these grand and soulful themes
That wake the dreamer from his dreams,
And shall, while patriot rights endure,
Arouse a loyal nation.

The mighty chimes ring out the fame
Of him who wrote with feeling,
And while sweet symphonies prolong,
He lives again to move the throng,
And preaches in Jehovah’s name
From spires where bells are pealing.

In all the wide world there is not another
Whose name is so dear as the sweet name of mother.
The babe’s tiny head finds it’s most perfect rest,
When pillowed from harm on the fair mother breast;
The youth, from all sorrow, temptation and care,
Seeks the warm mother heart and finds comfort there;
The woman, whose virtues are whispered above,
Will daily thank God for the dear “mother love;”
The man, be he lover, or husband, or brother,
Will ever hold sacred the love of his mother.
Tho’ the years may have turned her tresses to gray,
And the rose from her cheek may have faded away,
Tho’ her step, once so light, may have feebled with age,
And her eyes may have grown too dim for the page,
Tho’ the hand that was once so dainty and fair,
May have changed with the seasons of toiling and care,
Tho’ the voice that to youth and it’s freedom belongs,
May have lost all its sweetness for lullaby songs,
Yet the years that shall make the dear mother grow old,
Will but add to her nature a blessing untold;—
Tho’ they rob her of youth, she retains, as a prize,
A love more mature and a counsel more wise.
Tho’ her life lose it’s sunshine and burdens oppress,
Yet the love of the mother will never be less;
Tho’ her children may wander away from the fold,
And the world shuts them out in the darkness and cold,
Tho’ their friends may prove faithless and sin may allure,
Yet of mother’s true love they can ever be sure.
Tho’ to far away lands they may wilfully roam,
The fond mother’s prayer will be guiding them home.
If they climb to the height of honor and fame,
They should whisper, in credit, the dear mother name.
Her love inspires all that is noble and good,
And Purity reigneth o’er sweet mother-hood.
Tho’ the great word applaud, the praise of another
Is nothing compared with the praises of mother.
The earth home is dreary, when she is away,
Her presence adds sunshine to each changing day,
And Heaven, in it’s glory, will be the more fair,
When the spirit of mother shall find entrance there.

Beneath the waves of ocean blue,
The precious pearls are lost from view;
Within the darkness of the mine,
The gold and uncut diamonds shine;
From human sight beneath the sky,
The little seeds in waiting lie.

Within the mind, like pearls of white,
Some hidden thoughts await the light;
Which, brightly polished, shall outshine
The varied treasures of the mine;
And like the seeds that wake to flowers,
Shall bless and brighten all life’s hours.