Your candles, are they burning? Do you watch
With girded loins, with anxious, hopeful hearts?
The Lamb is slain, and if His saving blood
Be on your lives, the angel wilt pass by,
And with the rising sun you'll quit
Your bondage for the precious Promised Land.
Written upon the departure of the corn train from El Dorado, for the relief of the Ohio
flood sufferers, April 6th, 1884. )
CHEERLESS prairie stretching southward,
Barren prairie stretching north;
Not a green herb, fresh and sturdy,
From the hard earth springing forth;
Every tree bereft of foliage,
Every shrub devoid of life,
And the two great ills seemed blighting
All things in their wasting strife.
As the human heart, in anguish,
Sinks beneath the stroke of fate,
So at last, despairing, weary,
Bowed the great heart of our State;
She had seen her corn blades wither
'Neath the hot wind's scorching breath;
She had seen the wheat heads bending
To the sting of cruel death.