Mr. Bliss’ Miscellaneous Poems
Nearly all of the following have been published in sheet
music form by Messrs. Church & Co. The others appeared
in the Sony Messenger, by the same publishers. The words are
here given by their permission.
FORTUNE’S BEST GIFT.
Dame Fortune smiled upon my youth,
Gave me kind friends and parents dear,
Who taught me virtue, love and truth,
The right to love, the wrong to fear.
Gave me of learning my small share —
My verse exhibits that is small — Gave my heart strength its ills to bear.
Gave health, strength, voice, friends, learning, alL
Through childhood’s days she led me on
And smiled upon my boyhood years;
Her favors all, save wealth, I’ve won.
But wealth brings cares and toils and tears.
She’s given me all I’d have her given,
She’s given me cause to hope through life,
And after life to hope for heaven,
And next to heaven she’s given MY WIFB.
Aboade K. T., Laet day of October, 1874.
Ueocmber, 1868.
THE WOOD bird’s SONG. IS’J
FAREWELL, OLD YEAR.
Farewell, old year, farewell;
We can no longer stay;
Our spreading sails the breezes swell
To speed our onward way:
With song of wave and splash of oar
We leave thy fond, familiar shore.
Farewell, old year, farewell;
We leave thy sacred shore;
Yet oft on thee will mem’ry dwell.
And count thy treasures o’er.
While future years will brighter shine
Reflecting joys as pare as thine.
Farewell, old year, farewell,
‘Tis late — we must be gone;
One day, again, thy scenes will tell
When earthly life is done;
One day again thy joys we’ll see,
From earthly ills and sorrows fre«.
hpril, 1F69.
THE WOOD BIRD’S SONG.
Hear ye not the wood bird’s song.
As it gaily floats along.
On the breeze so sweet and clear.
Telling that the spring is near V
Cold the winter winds have blown.
Sad the leafless moan.
Silent now those perfumed bowers.
Gone the fragrant, blooming Howers.
Over prairie, grove and hill,
Hear that song, so loud and shrill.
Blessed harbinger of sprin«r,
Welcome tidings dost thou bring — Tidings of a brighter clime,
Tidings of a sweet spring time,
Blooming flow’ret, bush and tree — Songster sweet, we welcome ihee.
LET US Have peace.
Over the land of our weal.
Freedom and union increase;
liist to the earnest appeal,
“Let us, oh, let us have peace.”
Members of cburcU and of state,
Let your iniquities cease;
Only the good are the great — “Let us, oh, let us have peace.”
What though our neighbors do wrong,
Slander and envy increase?
Cheerily join in our song,
“Let us, oh, let us have peace.”
Fortune to freedom shall yet
Grant a perpetual release:
Let us forgive and forget;
“Let us, oh, let us have peace.”
AafTQUt, 1860.
AUNT TABITHA’S TRIALS.
Pots, kettles and pans, pans, kettles and pots 1
I’m sick of their sight, and I’d give them all for a bunch of” forget-me-nots ;* But my children cannot live on the scent of a nosegay fair; They would much prefer a chicken pie to flow’rets rich and rare. But I never complain.
Tub, boiler and suds, suds, boiler and tub!
My arms are red and my fingers are spread, with terrible, terrible rub. You inay talk of your babbling brooks, you may sing of the streamlets bright It would take waters of both, 1 know, to make these clothes white. But I never complain.
Wood, shavings and coal, coal, shavings and wood I
My fire has gone out, though I coaxed it as long and patient as any one could. You may sing of the “Brave Old Oak,” you may praise “Mountain Pine,” I’d rather have some splinters now, to kindle this fire of mine, But I never complain.
Pan, duster and broom, broom, duster and pan 1
I’m worried to death, and I’d give all the world if I’d only been born a
Oh, pity me, ye who dwell in cabins with one sntall room;
Oh, pity me, ye who never know what ’tis to handle a broom.
But I never complain.
January, 1920.
THE LAST BUGLE.
The sad muffled drum sounds the last march of the brave,
The soldier retreats to his quarters, the grave.
Under death, whom he owns his Commander-in-chief.
No more he’ll “turn out with the ready relief,”
But in spite of death’s terrors and hostile alarms.
When be hears the last bugle, he’ll stand to his arras
Farewell, brother soldier, in peace may you rest.
And light lie the turf on each mouldering breast,
Until that review when the souls of the brave
Shall behold their chief ensign, fair mercy’s flag wave
Then, freed from death’s terrors and hostile alarms,
When we hear the last bugle, we’ll stand to our arms.
BOYS WANTED.
Written for Daniers Band, Loalsville, Kentucky.
Boys are wanted, so they say,
Boys are wanted every day,
Boys are wanted; we will pay
Cash for boys.
Chorus. — Boys are wanted, brave and true.
Boys of mind and muscle, too,
Boys who dare the right to do,
Faithful boys.
Boys are wanted, here and there,
Boys who will for work prepare,
Boys are wanted everywhere.
Willing boys.
Boys to handle hoe and spade.
Boys to bend who’re not afraid,
Boys to follow any trade.
Business boys.
fioys of speech and bojs of Bong,
Boys to rigliten many a wrong,
Boys to help the world along.
Noble boys.
Boys the busy world employ.
Boys, and not self-acting toys.
Boys are wanted — real boys —
Boys, Boys, Boysw
WORK AND PRAT.
OR, THE TEMPERANCE WOMAK*S WATCHWORD.
Do you hear the thrilling sound, floating out upon the air.
That stills at once the noisy throng? Tis the tender, pleading tone of a mother’s voice in prayer,
Tis followed by a burst of song.
CuORUS. — Rise, oh rise, the day begins to dawn. The shadows flee away, away; We’re a faithful praying band bound to purify the land-Our watchword “work and pray.”
In the sweet and holy name of humanity we plead.
For temperance we sing and pray;
For our fathers and our sons and our brothers intercede.
To drive the demon drink away.
‘Tis the old familiar shout of the army of the Lord,
The Ruler of the earth and heaven.
He alone can give the power. He alone can speak the word.
To Him alone the praise be given.
THERE’S MONNY A SHLIP.
Och, list to my sorryfull song.
For matthers is all goin’ wrong:
And shure I must shpake,
Or me heart it will break.
An’ I’ll not be detainin* ye long.
Bad luck to Miss Kittie McKay,
She’s taken me sinses away,
Say in’” Monny a slilip twixt
The cup and the lip.”
Ah, there’s monny a shlip now, they sa*
Ah, Kittie was nate as ye plaze,
Faith, she could make butther and chaze ’
She minded the pig.
And the praties she’d dig
In sich illegant, lady-like ways.
I bought me a rake and a shpade,
A gim of a gairden I made,
C’oom find it,” I said.
But she shook her swate head,
And Tm wonderfull sorry Indade.
My shanty I plashtered wid mud.
And I shtop’t all the howels that I could
Thin my blankets I shpread
Wid new shtraw in my bed.
And the matther so pleasantly shtood.
Then I towld her my love and intint,
Bu.t she said she wad niver consint,
And from my poor lip, thin,
The cup she let shlip, thin,
And off wid Mike Rooney she wint *
And shure, Fll be niver supplied
While her shweetness to me is denied.
Me heart is so lone,
In me bosom, och, hone 1
I’d as soon we’d a both of us died.
Me sorrows to sbmodder HI try,
Though monny a time will I sigh.
To think that the cup
Which others may s up
Has no dhrop for my two lips 00 dry.
SIRE AND SON.
Farewell, my son, if thee must go
To find a western home,
Thy father’s blessings follow thee,
Though far thy feet may roam.
Thee was a frail and feeble lad>
How soon to man has grown;
Now I am feeble, failing, too — Tis hard to stay alone.
Good cheer, my sire, a year or two.
And you my home will share.
In peace and comfort spend your days
Without a want or care.
Old neighbor Williams’ letter says
That he is well to do,
And gives consent to my request
About his daughter Sue.
^ris well, my son. Long since I mind
Another bright-eyed maid-How like thy mother is that smile
But now I’m sore afraid
rhee’U hardly find a place for me.
A year — how long ‘twill be;
My son, I may not need thy care;
Qod bless thy home and thee.
Farewell, my son, though miles away.
For thee my prayers shall rise
That heaven may cheer life’s fleeting hoon
And peace illume thy skies;
My heart to thee will fondly turn
Where’er my feet may roam;
And by and by we’ll meet again,
My son, we’ll meet at home.
FOR ME.
There’s not a flower that decks the field,
Nor bud by wayside bower concealed;
Whose life a perfume rich doth yield.
But blooms for me, but blooms for me;
There’s not a star in yon deep blue,
That shines with radiance calm and true.
Nor mirrored in the morning dew,
But shines for me, but shines for me.
There’s not a heart whose beating thrillfl
In sympathy with human ills.
LOVIXG LITTLE LOU. tW
Whose loDgiug loving only fills,
But beats for me, but beats for me.
There’s not a joy the heart can move.
No pleasure here, no bliss above,
No earthly weal, no heavenly love.
But waits for me, but waits for me.
The ten songs that follow are published in sheet music form bj S. Brainard’s Sons, Cleveland, Ohio, by whose permission the words are here inserted:
TIS THE HEART MAKES THE HOME.*
‘Tis the heart makes the home, ever brightly to bloom:
‘Tis the heart, ’tis the heart makes the home.
Through the dark, weary day or in joy’s milder ray,
‘Tis the heart, ’tis the heart makes the home.
Though humble and poor is my cot on the moor,
The love-light brightly beams through the gloom;
Though storms gather round, purest joys here are found.
And I turn, fondly turn to my home,
‘Tis the heart makes the home, though afar we may roa”
‘Tis the heart, ’tis the heart makes the home.
How we turn from the new to the old, tried and true;
‘Tis the heart, ’tis the heart makes the home.
No halls of the gay, let them lure as they may,
Ever charm while the heart longs for borne;
We laugh o’er our fears, and we smile through our teara
Still the home of the heart whispers come.
LOVING LITTLE LOU.*
With a bright winning smile I remember.
And a glance of her witching eye so blue,
Like a soft sunny day in December,
To iijy life came my loving little Lou.
And the dim future way seemed to brighten.
And life’s daily duties dearer, dearer grew,
And my lone, weary heart seemed to lighten,
At the thought of my loving little Lou.
Ohobus. — And to-day with my darling here beside me,
With her loving heart, so noble, kind and true,
I can battle with the sorrows that betide me,
For the sake of my loving little Lou.
* By permiBston of S. Bbainabd’s Sons, Cleveland, owners of Copyright of words and tuasie.
Softly down on a calm summer even,
Shone the stars from the distant dome of blue
But a light brighter far had been given
To the eye of my loving little Lou.
As I told her the old simple story,
To my heart her form I nearer, nearer drew;
Just a tear and a smile- bright with glory.
Then I called her my darling little Lou.
Many years, happy years have departed;
Many friends, faithful friends, are lost to view.
But can I ever bow broken-hearted.
While I’m blessed with my loving little Lou t
No, the dream of the past stealing o’er me
Gives the present all the fairer, fairer hue,
While the bright future smiles aye before me.
With the life of my loving little Lou.
THE PHOTOGRAPH.*
Oh, what a pretty picture, dear.
Your likeness, darling Lou,
‘Twill make you jealous yet, I fear.
It is so much like you.
A pretty picture, really;
I’d know if I shall see,
But if ’tis very pretty, why.
It can’t look much like me;
Duet. — Not at all like me, not at all like me? ’
Oh, the likeness I don’t see,
Tho’ ’tis true, tho’ ’tis bright, tho’ ’tis beautiful
Tho’ ’tis true, tho’ ’tis bright, tho’ ’tis beautiful.
Oh, ’tis not at all like me.
Oh, yes, my dear, ’tis true as life,
And art can do no more.
It is so very much like you,
I’ve kissed it o’er and o’er.
Ha, ha, ’tis poor, the likeness, sir,
I do not quite discern,
But tell me, pray, can you e’er say
It kissed you in return? ‘By permlsBlon of S. Brainabd’s Sonp, Cleveland, owners of Copyright of words and nmsic.
BOOM FOR ONE MORE. ^01
The picture kissed me t now, my dear,
You surely are in fun,
For though I kiss it o’er and o’er
It never pays me one.
Ua, then you’re wrong, I’ve caught you now.
And you will quite agree,
That if it never kisses back,
‘Tis not at all like me.
Duet. — ‘Tis like you, as all can see,
‘Tis like you, as all can sne.
Oh, the likeness you must see,
So true, so bright, so bright, so beautiful.
So true, so bright, so beautiful,
‘Tis like you, as all can see
ROOM FOR ONE MORE,*
All aboard for the depot; hurrah, we can’t wait;
Ten minutes to train time, hurry up, you’ll be late I
Oh, yes, here is room, find a seat near the door;
For we’re never so full but there’s room for one more.
Chorus. — Room for one more. Room for one more.
Never so full but there’s room for one more.
Room for one more. Room for one more;
So we’re never so full but there’s room for one more.
There is “room for one more,” in the world’s omnibus;
What need of complaining, or making a fuss?
We can bear being crowded, the ride is soon o’er.
So we’ll just move along and make “room for one more.”
There is ‘’room for one more,” in the cause that is just,
Stand firm to your purpose, be patient and trust;
Though the basement be crowded, the hall running o’er.
In the broad upper story “there’s room for one more.”
There is “room for one more “in the heart that is true; Al ways room for the worthy, it may be for you; Love’s realm is unbounded, its sea has no shore. And there’s never a heart but has ‘’room for one more.” * By permission of S. Bbainabd’s Sons. Cleveland, owners of Copyright of words and mnslc.
202 MEMOIIi OF P. P. BLISS.
MR. LORDLY AND L*
Mister Lordly keeps a wallet, so do I,
He has piles of greenbacks in it, none have I,
He’s no bappier with bis coupons than am I
With nij little emptjr wallet light and dry.
I bide my purse, lest be should see
The empty thing and pity me.
His fine wife has dainty lingers, mine has not;
But she gives him curtain lectures, mine does not.
He goes home and gets a scolding, I a kiss;
She a frown, bat mine a smile and perfect bliss.
She rules bis house, her rights demands
And holds possession in her hands.
Mister Lordly has bis failings, so have I,
But be wears bis in bis bosom, outside I.
He will leave the world bis money by and by,
I shall leave my friends my mem’ry when I die.
He’s worlds of wealth his own to call,
I’ve love and hope, and that is all.
He has those that court his favor, none have I;
But r.ve wondrous satisfaction, glad am I.
rd not change it for his millions, no, not I.
We must both return our income by-and-by.
Then pray what difference will there be
Twixt Mister Lordly’s self and me?
THE TIN WEDDING.*
Ten years ago to-day two hearts did fain begin
To walk in wedlock’s winding way, and share their mutual tin;
Ten years ago to-day, it seems but yester morn,
And now they come around and say ’tis time to blow the horn.
Chobus. — We come with a clatter and din, we come with a trumpet and tray,
We come with a tinkle of tin, to welcome our friends to-day;
Hear the tinkle, tinkle, tinkle of the tin
In the dining-room, the kitchen and the hall;
With a culinary chorus we’ll perpetuate the din
And our wishes for the weal of all. * By permission of S. Brainabds Sons. Cleveland, owners of Copyright of worde and muBic
JOHJSr CHINAMAN. 808
Ten years ago — ’tis strange, how swift the years have flown — But you and I don’t seem to change, like some that we have known We love our kith and kin, our friends are kind and true, And all our hopes, and loves and tin are just as good as new.
Then fill the cup to-day, and raise Britannia high,
Enjoy their luster while we may, ‘twill tarnish by and by;
The present let us prize, the future welcome in.
With “crystal,” “silver,” “golden” joys, we’ll never want for tin.
WILLIE’S WOOING.*
When the snowy daisies decked the meadows fair.
And the apple blossoms filled the balmy air;
When the verdant woodlands smil’d in beauty rare.
My Willie came to me a-wooing.
Chorus. — Barling Willie came across the lea.
Bright-eyed Willie came a-wooing me;
Oh, skip, ye little lambkins, sing, ye birds, in gleti.
For Willie came to me a-wooing.
Violets he brought me from the shady dell,
And his loving glances told he loved me well;
But the half he said I’ll never, never tell.
When Willie came to me a-wooing.
Now the fiow’rs have faded with the blooming spring.
Soon the fruitful autumn brighter joys will bring;
Here upon my finger shines a golden ring.
Since Willie came to me a-wooing.
JOHN CHINAMAN*
John Chinaman, dear sir, since you’re making such a stir
In the waves that wash along our western strand;
Stop the jingle of your gong,’ while we sing our greeting soq. As you gaze upon our broad and happy land.
.Chobus. — Ho, John Chinaman, now, John Chinaman,
Leap o’er the crumbling wall.
Bring along your tea, for don’t you see
We’ve room enough to welcome all?
By permission of S. Brainabd’s Sons, Cleveland, owners of Copyright of words ami tniiBte,
John Chinaman, Esquire, though we really don’t admire
All the Oriental notions you may bring,
We have room enough for you, and we’ve work enough to do.
And owr nation’s song of welcome now we sing.
John Cbinaman, they say you have loitered by the way,
While the nations of the world were marching on,
So we’re waiting now to see what a “forward march” there’ll be
In the future of our distant neighbor, John.
A TRAGICAL TAIL*
Oh, listen a while to my tragical tale,
Be still as you ever can be,
For I will be heard while I wildly bewail
The fate of poor Thomas Maltese.
Ghokus. — Ah, pity poor kitty Thomas Maltese,
Ah me, ah me, ah me; ah, pity poor kitty, ah me, ah me.
C)1<1 Thomas was one of the nicest of cats;
So kind, and so clean, and so quick;
We s’pose that he used to kill mices and rats.
But we know that he killed the poor chick.
Well, what if he did? must the poor fellow die?
You’ve enough; do you grudge him a crumb?
‘e’re all ‘ind of chicken, though may be more sly.
We’re none of us better than “Tom.”
Old Thomas has been a faithful old friend,
But now they declare he must die;
I’m Borry to think of his terrible end;
If I only had time, I would cry.
Don’t kill the poor Thomas; I think it a sin.
Because he has seen his” best day;
But they’ll dig him a grave and they’ll tumble him in,
And that’s what he’ll get for his pay. Bv iiermission of S. Bbainabd’s Sons. Cleveland, owners of Copyright of words and mnFic
WHEJSr QEANDMOTHEB IS GONE. 305
WHEN GRANDMOTHER IS GONE,*
In her old arm chair she’s sitting,
As in the days of long ago,
While she’s knitting, knitting, knitting.
Gently rocking to and fro;
And a dark’ning thought steals o’er me.
Like a shadow o’er the lawn,
Of the lonely days before me
After grandmother is gone.
CaoKUS. — Oh, when grandmamma is gone, when grandmamma i& gone,
And her prayers, and tears and toils for us are o’er,
Who will cheer us day by day all along our weary way
To the beautiful, the ever shining shore?
Silvered locks beneath the border
Of her snow-white cap I see,
“Through a glass,” though dimly, fondly,
Falls her loving gaze on me;
On the high, old-fashioned bureau.
Lies the choicest book she’s known;
Who will turn its sacred pages
After grandmamma is gone?
Years ago, a dear companion
Promised her, a blushing bride,
“To protect, to love, to cherish”
“E’en till death should them divide.”
O’er a low mound ‘neath the willow.
Summer roses long have blown;
They will bloom above another
After grandmamma is gone.
O’er the hills the sun is setting.
And the twilight shadows come — Still she’s waiting, waiting, waiting.
Till the Master calls her home.
Though I weep for friends departed,
While they’re going one by one,
I shall have one more in heaven
After grandmamma is gone. B7 permissioo of S. BbadiaRD’s Sons, Clevelaud, owners of Copyright of words and
20C MEMOrR OP p. p. BLISS.
RESOLUTION.
If you’ve any task to do, task to do,
Let me whisper, friend, to you, do it, do it, do it.
If you’ve anything to say, thing to say.
True and needed, yea or nay, say it, say it, say it.
If you’ve anything to give, thing to give,
That another’s joy may live, give it, give it, give it.
If some hollow creed you doubt, creed you doubt.
Though the whole world hoot and shout, doubt It, doubt it, den&bt tt.
If you’ve any debt to pay, debt to pay.
Rest you neither night nor day, pay it, pay it, pay it.
The two compositions following appeared in ^’ The Joy,” published by Church & Co. in 1873:
BUSHNELL.
In me ye may have peace;
My peace 1 give to you.
Rest, troubled soul, rest in the Lord,
His love will bear thee through.
“In me ye may have peace;
Though wars against thee rise,
Hope thou in God, be not dismayed,
Lift up thy weeping eyes,
“In me ye may have peace;
Dear Lord, our refuge be.
In weal or woe, in life or death.
We would abide in Thee.”
WELCOME.
Welcome, welcome, welcome.
Messengers of love!
Kindred souls with joy are swelling
Like the blest above
Welcome, welcome, welcome,
Joy illumes our way;
Love shall reign in every bosom
With an bounded sway.
Praises, praises, praises,
For the sacred past.
For the mercies, rich, abundant.
Freely o’er us cast;
Praises, praises, praises,
For the glad to-day,
For the future, grand and glorious,
Praise, oh, praise for aye.
JOLLY JONATHAN.
Haow du yu du, my naburs? I’m glad tu see yu all,
Just make yerselves tu hum, I say; Vm tickled with your cftll,
I guess you’ll find Columby a purty place tu stay;
I kalkelate you never see a land so fair and gay.
. Ameriky, Ameriky, Ameriky, Hoorawl
Ameriky, Ameriky, Ameriky, Hooraw I
Aw, beg you pawdon, mistah; a chawming land I see,
But, aw, acwas the watahs wide a lawdly land theah be — A land we call Old Hingland, magnifithent and grand;
A higheh awdehBwiton, hath, a wich, a noble band.
Britannia, Britannia, Britannia, Huwaw I
Britannia, Britannia, Britannia, Huwaw!
Och, bother, shtop yer blarney, just let Ould Ireland shpake;
A blessid darlin’ koonthry, too, she is, and no mishtake,
Sich gintlemanly pigs, oh, sich praties there are raised,
Wid niver once a shnake, ye mind, Saint Patrick’s name be praised Nix komarouse der Deitchland, das is der land for me;
Mit shootsenfest, mit sangerbund und sauerkraut so free;
Yaw, yaw, das is der koontry, mein faderland so dear,
I love, oh, my I I feels so pad, I’ll dake some lager bier.
Der Deitcherland, Der Deitcherland, Der Deitcherland, yaw, yaw
Der Deitcherland, Der Deitcherland, Der Deitcherland, yaw, yaw