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Ebenezer Bain

61 Nature
62 Misconceptions
63 Winter in Canada
64 Spring, 1918



A Sonnet

Nature is King of Kings, and Lord sublime ;
He only, as immortal, cannot die;--
Holds in his hands the reins of space and time,
In him the great first cause of life doth lie.
In ways mysterious, his sovereign will
He works in air and ocean and on land.
Sometimes the whirlwind and the earthquake fill
Men's hearts with dread and fear on every hand.
And then, in still small voice, he whispers low,
Like winds in summer, breathing soft and sweet;
Sends genial showers, that fruits and flowers may grow,
And corn, that all may have enough to eat.
Nature is King! and we shall sing his praise
While we have health and strength and length of days.



A Sonnet

Ah, me! the crowds with hearts bow'd down in gloom,
That grow more gloomy as the years go by;
Some young in years, who should be in their bloom,
Are prematurely old, and grieve and sigh.
And oft the cause has been a wrong impression,
A fancied slight, with no intention given;--
A thoughtless word, mayhap, was the transgression,
Yet, brooded over, it has worked like leaven.
She never knew he loved so true and well,
He thought her cold of soul and hard of heart;
And no kind friend was near, the truth to tell,
And so two loving hearts asunder part.
Thus trifles, light as air, divide mankind,
And leave an empty aching void behind.



A Sonnet

Ah, Winter! thou hast come again, I see,
I would that thou had'st tarried yet awhile.
Though there is scarce a leaf on any tree,
And flowers have fled from meadow, bank and stile,
Yet we're prepared; our bins are filled with coal,
And double windows greet thee and thy blasts;
So come, King Winter, thou'rt a merry soul,
And we thy slaves, the while thy pleasure lasts.
Yet are we slaves of hope, for well we know,
Though long thy reign, yet thy days are numbered,
And Spring again shall melt thy frost and snow,
And wake to life hosts that have but slumber'd.
Therefore advance, and we shall try to be
Merry as thou, in thy cold companie.


SPRING, 1918
After a long, dreary winter.

Primrose and crocus are bursting their tomb,
Wee birds are merry, as merry can be ;
Winter has gone, with his cold chilly gloom,
Nature rejoices with both them and me.
Welcome! right welcome! my gentle spring maiden,
Coming the herald of hope and good cheer;
Coming with dew and with bright sunshine laden,
Telling us summer and songbirds are near.
Softly your footsteps fall over the mountains,
Cheerful your voice in the valleys below;
Precious your showers, like pearls from the fountains,
Blessings distilling wherever you go.
Angel of mercy and handmaid of love,
Surely you've come from the bright realms above.

April 7, 1918.

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