It is December as they ride Slowly across the Great Divide; The blinding storm turns day to night, His horse? Nay, child, it were death to stir! Turning to stone; till one poor mule, Pricking his ears as if to say If they gave him rein he would find the way, To last night's camp in that lonely land. It was January when he rode Into St. Louis. The gaping crowd And eager. He raised one frozen hand With a gesture of silent, proud command: "I am here to ask, not answer! Tell Me quick, Is the treaty signed?" "Why, yes! "In August, six months ago, or less!" Six months ago! Two months before The gay young priest at the fortress showed The English hand! Two months before, Four months ago at his cabin door, He had saddled his horse! Too late, then. "But Oregon? Have they signed the state 'Away?" "Of course not. Nobody cares "About Oregon." He in silence bares His head: "Thank God! I am not too late!" It was March when he rode at last Into the streets of Washington. "Well, The warning questions came thick and fast: "Do you know that the British will colonize, "If you wait another year, Oregon "And the North-west, thirty-six times the size "Of Massachusetts?" A courteous stare, And the Government murmurs: "Ah! indeed! Pray, why do you think that we should care? "With Indian arrows and mountain snow "Between us, we never can colonize read The wild North-west from the East, you know. 'If you doubt it, why, we will let you "The London Examiner; proofs enough. "The North-west is worth just a pinch of snuff!” And the Board of Missions that sent him out Gazed at the worn and weary man With stern displeasure: "Pray, sir, who "Gave you orders to undertake 44 This journey hither, or to incur, "Without due cause, such great expense "To the Board? Do you suppose we can "Overlook so grave an offense? "And the Indian converts? What about The little flock for whose precious sake "We sent you West? Can it be that you "Left them without a shepherd? Most "Extraordinary conduct, sir, "Thus to desert your chosen post!" Ah, well! What mattered it? He had dared A hundred deaths in his eager pride To bring to his country at Washington But Whitman could act, as well as ride; The United States must keep the North-west. He-whatever might say the rest Cared, and would colonize Oregon! It was October, forty-two, When the clattering hoof-beats died away On the Walla Walla, that fateful day. It was September, forty-three Little less than a year, you see When the woman who waited thought she heard The clatter of hoof-beats that she knew On the Walla Walla again. "What word "From Whitman?" Whitman himself! And see! What do her glad eyes look upon? The first of two hundred wagons rolls Into the valley before her. He Who, a year ago, had left her side, Had brought them over the Great Divide Men, women, and children, a thousand souls The army to occupy Oregon. You know the rest. In the books you have read The United States have kept Oregon Rode eight thousand miles, and was not too late! And Whitman! Ah! my children, he Christina G. Repetti. A CHRISTMAS CAROL. I. In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan; Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter Long ago. II. Our God, heaven cannot hold Him Nor earth sustain, Heaven and earth shall flee away When He comes to reign: In the bleak mid-winter A stable-place sufficed The Lord God Almighty Jesus Christ. III. Enough for Him whom Cherubim Worship night and day, A breastful of milk And a mangerful of hay; Enough for Him whom Angels Fall down before, The ox and ass and camel Which adore. IV. Angels and Archangels May have gathered there, In her maiden bliss V. What can I give Him, Poor as I am? If I were a Shepherd I would bring Him a lamb; If I were a Wise Man I would do my part, Yet what I can I give Him,- AN APPLE GATHERING. I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple-tree, I found no apples there. With dangling basket all along the grass As I had come I went the self-same track: My neighbors mocked me while they saw me pass So empty-handed back. |