File:Ballads of life (1886) (14803980343).jpg

Identifier: balladsoflife01ward (find matches)
Title: Ballads of life
Year: 1886 (1880s)
Authors: Ward, J. H. (from old catalog) Hardt, Thomas. (from old catalog)
Subjects:
Publisher: Salt Lake City, Utah, J. H. Parry & co.
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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down by grief or care;Lifes sweetest cup is mingled with bitterest drops of gall,And dreary, rainy days will come iipon the paths of all. But if all that seemeth lovely, unselfish, pure and good.Respectful, true and tender, in full-orbed womanhood;Might win the fairest human lot our Father could assign,That peace, that joy, that portion fair, would certainly be thine. A DAUGHTERS LOVE AT FOURTEEN YEARS. .How majestic he looks, his fine light hair, I would with no one exchange.Like the floss of silk so soft and clear, His locks in ringlets arranged.Oft I stroke them and then he smiles so calm. And calls me his darling Grace;They are not black, nor gold nor brown, Then what is the shade, now guess? His bearing, his looks are those of a king. His majesty goes to my heart;And when he frowns I tremble with fear. And sometimes the tear-drops start.Again his features light up with a smile, As cheery as conscience clear;Then I even love on the stool to kneel. And bathe his hands with a tear.
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Sometimes in the evenings golden haze,At the garden gate I^stand; I see him coming amid the trees,And I go and take his hand.j BALLADS OF LIFE. 57 I awoke this morn at the earliest dawn, In the suns early light I hied,And joyfully skipping took my way To the banks by the fountains side.I strawberries found like rubies bright, See how in the basket they smile;Ill place them neath his plate out of sight, For hell dine in a little while. •JSometimes in the evenings golden haze, At the garden gate I stand;I see him coming amid the trees, And I go and take his hand;He calls me his joy, his hope, his pride, Ofttimes he gives me a kiss;Por he is my father so true and tried, And I am his darling Grace. A FALLEN ONES LAMENT. Where is the promise of my years, Once written on my l)row?Ere errors, agonies and fearsBrought with them all that speaks in tears.Ere I had sunk beneath my peers? Where sleeps that promise now? Naught lingers to redeem those hours, Still, still to memory sweet!The flowe

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