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                            MUSE AND MINT

                                 BY
                           WALTER S. PERCY


                     [Illustration: (Colophon)]


                               BOSTON
                      SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY
                                1914




                           COPYRIGHT, 1914
                      SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY




                                 TO

                       MY DEAR MOTHER AND WIFE

                       WHO BEST LOVED MY MUSE
                       AND WHOSE LOVE WAS THE
                       MINT THAT EVER MADE IT
                       AN INSPIRATION AND JOY




                   MUSE AND MINT


  I mused upon the strangeness of all things,
      So different from the dream
  Whereof the morning mounted up on wings
      Above the world agleam
  With light that trembled into life and love
      As when a censer swings
      And joy of promise sings--
        “The dream whereof
         The gleam above
         The world is love!”

  Oh, bitterness to muse and neither find
      The beauty of the Muse
  Nor yet the music which the soul divined
      Ere set the rosy hues
  In sombre lines that disenchant and fret
      The heart with growing grief
      Which struggles for relief--
        “O Muse, but let
         My spirit yet
         The rue forget!”

  As if to answer me a little child,
      To whom the sunshine’s glint
  Was gloom forever, on the corner smiled
      And vended sprigs of mint,
  As though there were in blindness still a bloom
      And fragrance which could reach
      The passer-by and teach--
        “In glint or gloom
         There’s mint in bloom
         To earth perfume!”




                              CONTENTS


                               NATURE

                                                        PAGE

          FIREFLIES                                       3

          BO-PEEP                                         5

          PEEP-OF-DAWN                                    6

          THE RILLY RIVER                                 7

          CHERRIES                                        8

          A SNOWFLAKE                                    10

          THE BLIZZARD                                   11

          SUGARING OFF                                   12

          THE CHRYSALIS                                  13

          WHEN I SURVEY                                  14

          PAUPACK                                        19


                              FIRESIDE

          MOTHER                                         23

          CHATTERBOX                                     24

          LITTLE STOCKING                                26

          ELFIN FACES                                    28

          SWEET ’STEEN                                   30

          BOY                                            31

          A CHILD’S LIFTED CROSS                         32

          THE BOY MILLIONAIRE                            33

          A LULLABY                                      34

          THE LAST SONG                                  35

          YOUTH                                          36

          AGE                                            36


                              SENTIMENT

          A CORONATION                                   39

          I’LL BE WATCHING ON THE SHORE                  40

          I GIVE THEE MY PROMISE                         42

          CHAMBERED ROSES                                43

          TWO FRAMES                                     44

          _Pars Summae_                                  45

          A VISION                                       46

          THE AFTERMATH                                  48

          PROOF-WORDS                                    49


                              MEMORIES

          ADIEUS                                         53

          DUST TO DUST                                   54

          LITTLE WORDS                                   55

          A WAYSIDE LIFE                                 56

          O TEAR!                                        57

          THE DEW OF DUST                                58

          A SMILE                                        59


                             PHILOSOPHY

          THE HILL-TOPS                                  63

          THE MAN WHO BEARS THE HOD                      64

          JOG ALONG!                                     65

          THE FAMILY TREE                                66

          REPLEVIN                                       68


                              HOMILIES

          WHAT IS TRUTH?                                 71

          FRIENDSHIP                                     72

          THOUGHT                                        73

          WHEN I’M NO MORE                               74

          THE BLAZED TRAIL                               75

          GRIEF AND JOY                                  76

          HOPE                                           77

          SOWING AND REAPING                             78

          HOPE ON!                                       79

          HEARTED GOOD                                   80


                               COUNTRY

          AMERICA                                        83

          THE ALTAR OF COUNTRY                           85

          THE STARS OF DESTINY                           86

          LAST OF THE GRAND ARMY                         87

           _Vincit Omnia Jus_                            90

          THE FLYING JACK                                92


                                HUMOR

          SAP’S A-BILIN’                                 97

          JUST MUD                                       98

          KNOCKIN’ ROUND                                 99

          THE SNAIL AND STAR                            100

          THE OLD SOR’L HOSS                            102

          NICODEMUS BOGGS                               103


                               SACRED

          WHAT IS FAITH?                                107

          A FORGIVENESS                                 109

          THE GOOD SAMARITAN                            111

          SHEPHERD OF ISRAEL                            113

          THE LADDER OF CLOUD                           114

          THE RISEN CHRIST MEANS VICTORY                116

          THE EVERLASTING ARMS                          117

          HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP                   118

          THE GLORY DWELLS                              119

          THE LIGHT OF LIFE                             120

          DESIGN                                        121


                                SONG

          GOLDEN HOPE                                   125

          THE COMING CROWNING                           126

          THE LIVING CUP                                128

          THE SINGERS                                   129

          THE CROWN OF THORNS                           131

          SONG ALONG                                    133

          _Ecce Homo!_                                  134

          THE LOVE THAT WASHED HIS FEET                 136


                            MISCELLANEOUS

          THE SHUT AND OPEN HAND                        141

          THE MAN-BIRD                                  144

          THE PHANTOM CAVALRY                           146

          THOU CALLEST ME BROTHER                       149

          THE SINGING DEATH                             150

          THE OLD MOON IN THE ARMS OF THE NEW           152




                               NATURE




                 FIREFLIES


  The murky night hung dank and dark
    The Summer shower after;
  A distant dog’s staccato bark
    Disturbed the strollers’ laughter;
  The mournful whip-poor-will’s lament,
    The frogs’ and crickets’ chorus
  A weird, sepulchral feeling lent
    To meadow-lot and morass.

  A thousand insect-lanterns flashed
    Their phosphorescent signals
  Of living sparks that dot-and-dashed
    Out swift electric riddles;
  For scarcely was the eye upon
    A single tiny glowlight
  When wink, it flitted and was gone
    Like prankish imp on show-night!

  And while one guessed its next surprise
    Afar from where it dwindled
  A myriad others to the eyes
    All intercrossed and kindled
  Until the ghostly gloom became
    Illumined with manœuvres
  As though of fairies fanning flame
    Within a park of lovers.

  And thus does fancy people night
    With fugitive creations
  Of phantom-folk whose fitful light
    Yet feeds our inspirations
  And teaches us there is no dark
    But fellowships the presence
  Of every soul that sheds its spark
    Of humble incandescence.




              BO-PEEP


  Everywhere I ramble
    In the ides of May,
  Through the boughs and bramble
    The wood-nymphs play.
  Where the sunshine dapples
    Shadows all a-creep
  Beneath the budding apples,
    Dances Bo-Peep.

  Over where the mosses
    Make a coverlet
  Which the Spring embosses
    With a green fret,
  From the long hibernal
    Dreaminess of sleep
  Wakes with dimples vernal
    Little Bo-Peep.

  Violets and bluets
    Mischievously peek;
  Monks like pigmy druids
    Play at hide-and-seek;
  O’er each stump a picket
    Spies with cunning deep,
  And in every thicket
    Beckons Bo-Peep.




              PEEP-OF-DAWN


  The tallyho of slumber’s on
  The last relay of dreams;
  Posthaste it rides with ribbons drawn
  O’er curvetting gray teams.
  The wayside house just left behind
  Was Where-the-Cock-Crew Inn;
  The road ahead with rose is lined
  And known as Work-to-Win.

  Intoxicated senses sink
  In visions of delight;
  And Venus’ eye begins to wink
  Where it outrides the night.
  Sly fingers lift the window-shades,
  But ere espied are gone;
  And on the drowsy milking-maids
  Tiptoes the Peep-of-Dawn.

  Dame Nature in abandon lies
  With skirts in disarray,
  And overtaken with surprise
  Is kissed by stealthy Day;
  The coverts rub their eyes and wake,
  And dreaming Love anon
  Goes forth on Rosy Road to make
  A tryst with Peep-of-Dawn.




              THE RILLY RIVER


  The cold and turbid flood of Spring
  Has melted to the Summer shallow,
  And now the vivid greeneries cling
  Along the margin lush and fallow,
  And where were sombre deeps and chills
  Are silver trills of rippling rills.

  The loiterer upon the bridge
  Which o’er the eddying river poises
  Salutes the island’s sandy ridge
  That reappears; the eye rejoices
  In all the old familiar frills
  And saucy spills of rippling rills.

  The rod and reel the rapture feel
  And from the boat take finny chances,
  But less for luck than with the keel
  To be a part of runic dances;
  For thus the river’s music thrills
  Like joy that fills the rippling rills.




                 CHERRIES


    Cherries! Cherries! Cherries!
  The robins are excited and delighted
    To change the fare at last;
  For ’twas bugs and grubs and slugs
    Over two months past.
  Now it’s cherries till the berries
    Ripen full and fast.

    Cherries! Cherries! Cherries!
  The robins are excited and affrighted;
    There’s a man up the tree
  In a big wig and rig
    That would scare a chickadee--
  But a robin--see him bobbin’
    In a solemn colloquy!

    Cherries! Cherries! Cherries!
  The scare-crow is indicted and requited
    With a pocketful of eggs
    Baby-blue, with ’em too
    Gettin’ ready bill and legs
  For the Summer that’s a comer
    When the cherry-season begs.

    Cherries! Cherries! Cherries!
  The robins are excited and delighted--
    Not the redbreast but the kind
    That eclipse with cherry lips
    And are not a whit behind
  Robin Jerries stealin’ cherries
    When the dummy’s but a blind.




             A SNOWFLAKE


  Million-needled star of hoar,
  Parachuting little kite
  Sailing by my cottage-door,
  Flurried, jostled, fairy-light--
  Whither, whither, whence and why
  Comest thou of crystal
  From the welkin, hasting by
  Like a lost epistle?

  Softly did the snowflake sigh
  “Read me as I rest awhile!”
  So I read the whence and why;
  For the snowflake is a smile,
  Melting Heaven-dew congealed
  Lest we miss its beauty,
  Love in miracle revealed
  On the wings of duty!




                THE BLIZZARD


  The whited pumice of the storm
    Is over house and hill
  Or drifted into shroudlike form
    About the ruined mill.

  The fences hide beneath the drifts;
    The snowy terraces
  Ascend to where the hemlock lifts
    Its virgin-broidered dress.

  The trackless highway challenges
    The sweltered caravan
  Of traffic and in fastnesses
    Of chalk imprisons man.

  The wind-wolves howl at cottage-door
    Or down the chimney leap;
  The windows all are rimed with hoar
    Where frozen fingers creep.

  The house-frame groans at blast and frost
    Like quarry of the pack
  O’ertaken, but though torn and tossed
    Still stout of heart and back;

  Still stout of heart like us secure
    By ruddy fire warm,
  Too humbly thankful to be poor
    While sheltered from the storm.




              SUGARING OFF


  Essence of all that’s sweet, what joy
  To watch thy amber flow
  And sip thy nectar till it cloy
  Or waxen it on snow!

  What joy to watch the trickling veins
  Of our old maple-friend
  And know the vernal Odin reigns
  As heir of Winter’s end!

  Drink to the earnest of the Spring,
  The ichor of the bud,
  To all the rising hopes that sing
  Of life and loverhood!

  Drink to the sweetness in thee hid
  By softer airs distilled;
  Let Nature sugar off and bid
  Her kindlier cup be filled!




               THE CHRYSALIS


  Come out of your Winter shell, old grub
    Of horns and crusty twist,
  And with your fellows elbows rub
    More like a humanist!
  A spiral armor’s very well
    For its eccentric curve,
  But not a gloomy hermit-cell
    Of cynical reserve.

  Come out of your Winter shell, old slug
    Of dormant sense and soul!
  You’re far too round and hard and smug;
    Your Summer self unroll
  And show you’ve got some nature left
    That sprouts an airy wing;
  The man of humus is bereft
    Who can’t respond to Spring.

  Come out of your Winter shell, old worm
    Of wrapped-up gossamer,
  If you would burst your scaly derm
    And let the spirit stir;
  For after all, for better things
    A man created is
  Than lying with imprisoned wings
    A half-dead chrysalis.




                       WHEN I SURVEY


  ’Tis midnight and I am in the country!
  The world is still and all the lights are out
  Save for the ones which stud the firmament
  With diamond clusters everywhere about.

  Like royal David pondering the Heaven
  I stand uncovered, torn and battle-spent
  And from my flocking meditations driven
  By spectral bears and lions; but not as he
  Victorious, for the raveners I smote
  Were modern pride and doubt which stalked my faith
  For its ewe-lamb of trust and by the throat
  Dragged it away from me to bleating death.

  My staff is broken and the scroll I read
  A thousand nights like this lies crumpled where
  I flung it as with fevered brow I fled
  In mocking disillusion and despair
  From burnt-out wicks still sputtering in the oil
  Of self-illumination with the quizz

  “What am I? What the infinite I AM?”

  God! If the answer were in spirit-toil
  Or as the echo of Whatever IS!

  The stars smile down on me undimmed and calm.
  My soul! Have I so many years been blind
  To all the glories wheeling o’er my head
  And starry with the challenge of my quest?

  Orion jewel-girdled and behind
  Coursing his dogs, in mighty combat strange
  With red-eyed Taurus!

                        And the Charioteer
  Flashing toward the goal in full career!
  The thrice-immortal Twins the chase abreast,
  Cheering the race but keeping out of range
  Of Ursa’s long, lean paws where his huge frame
  Looms in the Polar Circle!

                            Farther south
  The Lion’s crouching form, with gleaming eyes
  And shadowy mouth!

                    The Plowman of the skies,
  Proud of Arcturus’ fame!

                          And Hercules
  Setting his giant heel upon the fang
  Of the unwieldy Dragon; while beyond
  The Serpent’s Crown makes mockery of the deed!

  Far over by a handful of degrees
  Imperial Vega rides the horizon,
  Harped on by Lyra, as when morning sang
  The genesis of systems God-decreed.

  Already shines afar the Northern Cross
  Where else were only dreariness and dark,
  Like flaming symbol of a holy Cause
  Which bore its ensign up the Winter arc
  And more divinely glowed with sacred fire
  Than the tiaraed Lady of the Chair
  With dazzling looks, or than her daughter whom
  Impetuous Perseus, thinking her so fair,
  Delivered by the right of passion from
  The Beast with jaws of grossness open wide.

  Nor would I miss the Eagle, argus-eyed
  And swift on wings of night.

                        What! Call this Night,
  With thousand thousand suns in timeless space
  So vast that distance gives no parallax
  And centuries untold would pass ere light
  From the remotest wanderer could burn!

  So vast yon fires are a hundred-fold
  More luminous than ours to them in turn,
  And it in lost direction would dissolve
  From Earth’s own lode-star here yclept the Pole!

  So vast that hosts so numberless revolve
  In unison as no assembled whole
  Of man’s most perfect mechanism moves,
  Yet by the which he boasts perpetual noon
  As though the elements he late improves
  And plays them in a more triumphant tune.

  What! Call this Night and our small dial Day
  Because by it we see ourselves and then
  As mere automatons! Such is the way
  Of over-conscious men; why, even I
  An hour since called light a flickering lamp,
  Philosophy the palimpsest of pedants,
  The universe a papier-mache script,
  While on it egotism’s ink was still too damp
  And speculation dript.

  But as I mount the Great Highway of Pearl
  Which turns to diamonds where its steeds strike hoof
  And chariot-wheels o’er the arena whirl
  Until the course is flashing flint and fire--
  How my soul thrills with this real vision of
  The truth no lips can utter--with desire
  To feel, not name, the Maker!

                                Night is Day
  To eyes which earth’s diurnal sun had blinded
  But now see glory, majesty, design,
  Love eternal-minded, Will divine,
  Swinging out censers, filling space with throne-rooms,
  Ordering the times of destiny,
  Making music and revealing purpose
  Perfect but unthinkable, yet in man
  Tuning a chord of nature in response
  To fugitive notes of a melodious plan,
  To stray scintillas of a Master-spell,
  That we might have sufficient just of sense
  To throb with feeling of theophany,
  Just awe enough of the Ineffable
  Out of our pinpoint nothingness to cry

  “What is man that Thou art mindful of him?
  And what is he that he should give a Name
  Which we with lips vainglorious can laud,
  A shape of Person to the Great I AM
  Before we deign to worship Him as GOD?”




                   PAUPACK


  Whither waters, gently flowing
  In thy rocky channel-race,
  Yet anon more noisy growing
  O’er the stones which stay thy pace--
  Gentle waters, whither going?

  Laughing louder as they hurried,
  Making music as they ran,
  Deeper still the rock they furrowed
  And a stolen run began
  Half in cliffs and chasms buried.

  Through the narrows flung they churning,
  Leaped they in a mad cascade
  And a bedded boulder spurning
  They a misty iris made,
  Spray to fitful spectrum turning.

  Wildling waters thus romancing
  Through the gorge in joy’s career,
  Wooded witchery enhancing,
  Paupack picturesque and dear,
  Haste thee onward ever dancing!

  Let thy pilgrimage and laughter
  Quicken an Algonquin vein
  Till the lure I follow after
  Flushes every sense again
  Like the freshet of the water;

  Till, O Paupack, each erosion
  Of my nature is at flood
  With a primitive emotion,
  With an impulse of the blood,
  Singing on towards the ocean!




                              FIRESIDE




                  MOTHER


  Only one link is to us all
    A never-failing bond,
  Only one thought of time’s recall
    Makes all the world respond.
  Dear ties there are that knit us close
    As parent, friend or brother;
  But God a universal chose
    In the dear name of “Mother!”

  Only one face no stranger is
    Sometime at every side,
  Only one love whose holy kiss
    To few has been denied;
  And whether we it treasure up
    Or its affection smother,
  Yet still the world’s communion-cup
    Is the dear name of “Mother!”

  Only one touch of nature makes
    Us feel alike at best,
  Only one gift for our sakes
    Outbalances the rest;
  And whether good or evil, we
    Are human to each other
  When our most sacred memory
    Is the dear name of “Mother!”




                  CHATTERBOX


  Miss Chatterbox, come here and tell
  Me all about the fairies’ spell
  So new to you but strange to me
  Till you revive its mystery!
  I, too, delight in Summer bowers
  But you bewitch the birds and flowers;
  I, too, rejoice in sunny nooks
  But you make music of the brooks!

  Miss Chatterbox, the secret share
  Of all the magic of the air!
  How comes the woodland’s passing breeze
  To be the whisper of the trees?
  How come the echoes through their screen
  To be the pranks of elves unseen?--
  The bushy tails and beadlike eyes
  The wizard and the kewpie spies?

  Miss Chatterbox, the riddle read
  Of yonder fence-side hearts that bleed,
  Of yonder riot in the field
  Where buttercups to daisies yield;
  Where drowsy sprites sip clover-sweets
  And bobolink with Cupid meets;
  Where brownies over on the knoll
  The puff-balls of the pasture roll.

  Miss Chatterbox, how happens it
  That you in all this witchcraft fit;
  That in your feet the fairies dance
  And from your eyes the sun-sprites glance;
  That in your curls are elfin kinks
  And in your cheek a cupid winks;
  The wood-nymphs clap their hands with thine
  And thou art nature’s countersign?




                 LITTLE STOCKING


  Cunningly, patiently I knit you,
            Little stocking,
  Counting the stitches the while;
  Lovingly in thought I fit you
            While rocking
  Back and forth, back and forth, with a smile,
  On the baby-feet I kiss
  Or in slumber absent miss,
  Dreams flocking, little stocking,
            Like this.

  Skilfully, wistfully I weave you,
            Interlocking
  The strands in and out and around;
  Tenderly in mind I leave you,
            Little stocking,
  As the woolen thread’s unwound,
  And I think of baby feet
  You will cover when complete,
  Half-mocking, little stocking,
            So sweet.

  Artfully I toe and heel you,
            Little stocking,
  Clicking the needle ends;
  Fondly I fashion and feel you,
            Heart a-talking

  As the tapering fabric spends;
  Will the baby-feet be true
  To the dreams I wove in you?
  Little stocking, little stocking,
            Adieu!




              ELFIN FACES


  Round me gather Rosycheeks,
  Clean and fresh as peaches,
  Smiling daughters of the Greeks,
  Golden-tongued with speeches.

  “Papa, tell your little girls
  All about the fairies!”
  Bless my soul! they all had curls
  And Cupid-lips like cherries.

  Yes, indeed, and starry eyes
  And merry little dimples
  Something like a sly surprise
  Hid in cunning wimples.

  Yes, and twinkling baby-feet
  Dancing midst the flowers,
  Gathering the honey sweet
  Through the morning hours.

  But at twilight is the time
  Each becomes a brownie,
  Murmuring a sleepy rhyme,
  Growing soft and downy

  Till--say, I declare there springs
  Up from either shoulder
  Fluffy little angel-wings
  That at first enfold her,--

  Then I have to rub my eyes
  All alert and scarey,
  For right out the window flies
  Every single fairy

  And I’m left there all alone,
  Peering in the corners.

*       *       *       *       *

  Little elfin-faces gone
  Leave behind them mourners.




            SWEET ’STEEN


  Little outgrown pinafore
  Hanging there behind the door,
      Seldom seen,
  Sprigged all over full of buds
  Like the yesterdays whose suds
  Only partly washed you out--
      What d’you mean
  By reviving such a time
  Like a phantom put to rout
  Till it runs to rue and rhyme?

  Ah, ’tis sad to think of it--
  Missy that you used to fit
      Till between
  Top and bottom was a glance,
  Now is wearing styles of France;
  For alas, she’s grown to be
      Sweet sixteen,
  With young ladyship’s conceit
  And its sprouting vanity--
  Sixteen, pinafore, and sweet!




                       BOY


  Boy, thou art the work of ages,
  Disporting by creation’s glades and streams--
  Laughing at the sages
  And filling all the pages
  Of time eternal with thy hopes and dreams!

  Boy, thou art the work of nature,
  Commingling of earth and air and fire--
  In consciousness and feature
  A juvenescent creature
  With active mind and limbs that never tire.

  Boy, thou art the work of gladness
  And meant to fill the world with lusty shout,
  With laughter, not with sadness,
  With goodness, not with badness,
  With eager confidence and not with doubt!

  Boy, thou art the work of Heaven,
  A thought to give the world a bonnie heir--
  A living joyous leaven,
  A spirit nobly driven
  To try the future and divinely dare!




              A CHILD’S LIFTED CROSS


  How are we taught by childhood’s simple plea
  Our greatest need and poor deformity
  When such a child each vesper hour could pray,
  “Lord, make me well and take my cross away!

  “That I may share in joy and love return,
  That I may live to labor and to learn
  And that to-morrow may redeem to-day,
  Lord, make me well and take my cross away!”

  The help came down not as the cry went up,
  Not as the thirst the giving of the cup;
  Poor little one, if only we could say
  God made him well and took his cross away!

  ’Tis thus we bring our own distorting grief
  To our beloved Physician for relief;
  And as our burden at thy feet we lay,
  Lord, say ’tis well and take our cross away!

  Thus too we bring our sin-misshapen soul
  To our great Healer, who can make us whole,
  And there beside His cross, not ours, we pray,
  “Lord, make me well and take my sins away!”

  Ah, time may hold surcease from pain and care;
  Who knows what is the answering of prayer
  Or why the Potter breaks the faulty clay?
  Lord, make us beautiful in Thine own way!




           THE BOY MILLIONAIRE


  Boy, I’m worth a hundred million
  And I’m sixty seasons old,
  But you’re worth about a billion
  In another kind of gold!
  I’ve the money, you’ve the treasure,
  You’ve the future, I’ve the past,
  I’ve the power, you’ve the pleasure,
  Mine is fleeting, yours will last.

  When you whistle through the clover,
  Capturing the bumble-bee,
  When the brook is running over
  And the trout-line craftily
  Feels the eddy--who can offer
  You a kingdom more divine?
  I’ve an overflowing coffer
  But would trade it all for thine.




              A LULLABY


  Little birdie, fold thy wings,
  Snuggle in thy nest;
  While the wind thy cradle swings,
  Baby-birdie, rest!
  Oh, so wee and warm and near
  To thy mamma’s breast!
  Oh, so free from harm and fear!
  Go to rest, go to rest!

  Little flower, hide thy face,
  For ’tis eventide!
  In the sleepy night’s embrace,
  Little flower, hide!
  Oh, so wee and fair and still
  On thy mamma’s breast!
  Oh, so free from care and ill!
  Be at rest, be at rest!

  Little baby, close thine eyes;
  Fairies come for thee
  From the land of lullabys,
  Where my baby’ll be
  Oh, so blissful while she sleeps
  On her mamma’s breast!
  And I kiss her smiling lips;
  She’s at rest, she’s at rest!




               THE LAST SONG


  Just one more little song, mother,
    Before I go to sleep;
  For thou hast often hushed my heart
    To slumber soft and deep.
  Before ’tis dark I long, mother,
    For thy dear voice, which seems
  To make thy gentle face a part
    Of childhood’s golden dreams.

  Just one more little song, mother,
    Before I sink to rest;
  For thou hast often stilled my fears
    Upon thy tender breast.
  Thy love so great was strong, mother,
    With childhood’s safe repose
  On lips that kissed away its tears,
    In arms that held it close.

  Just one more little song, mother,
    Before I dream of skies
  Where stars and flowers smile and shine
    And angel-harps surprise.
  But not in Heaven’s throng, mother,
    Is there a dearer face,
  A sweeter song or soul than thine
    The Gloryland to grace.




             YOUTH


  A vision of morning,
  A sparkle of dew,
  With roses adorning
  Life’s pilgrimage through;
  All joy and no sorrow,
  No trouble to borrow,
  An endless to-morrow,
  And love ever true.




                 AGE


  To sit in the gloaming
  And muse by the fire
  Till the spirit of homing
  Takes wings of desire;
  And the might-have-beens lighten
  And the things-to-be brighten
  And the heavenlies heighten
  And the holies inspire.




                              SENTIMENT




              A CORONATION


  Dear, on thy brow I set a crown,
    Invisible yet rare;
  Not jewelled gold, which burdens down
    With royalty and care.

  I bring thee nothing but my love
    And what my hands can win,
  And yet I crown thee, dear, above
    A kingdom’s proudest queen.

  I kiss each gleaming tress of thine
    Coiled lightly round thy head,
  And woman’s glory grows divine
    With love’s aurora shed.

  If thou canst but forget the rest,
    The gems I cannot bring,
  This jewel doth become thee best
    To me, thy lover-king.

  Dear, in my soul thou hast a throne
    All white and heavengold,
  And on thy brow I set a crown
    That doth my heart infold.




      I’LL BE WATCHING ON THE SHORE


  She kissed me when we parted,--
  I to sail the stormy main,
  She to keep the little cottage
  Snug until I come again;
  And well do I remember
  What she promised o’er and o’er:--
  “When you come sailing from the ocean
  I’ll be watching on the shore!”

  So I was a jolly skipper,
  Coiling rope or reefing sail;
  Many a distant port I entered,
  Many a homebound ship did hail.
  If I sent or got a message,
  Always it the promise bore:--
  “When you come sailing from the ocean
  I’ll be watching on the shore!”

  Death came yawning in the tempest;
  Wild and high the spindrift flew,
  And from dizzy deck and masthead
  Oft I thought my hour was due;
  Till her dear prophetic promise
  Sang above the billows’ roar:--
  “When you come sailing from the ocean
  I’ll be watching on the shore!”

  But alas! One time I harbored
  She was sleeping white and still
  Where the ivy made a trellis
  Of the lookout on the hill;
  And the cold engraven marble
  Yet the farewell promise bore:--
  “When you come sailing from the ocean
  I’ll be watching on the shore!”




         I GIVE THEE MY PROMISE


  I give thee my promise, sweetheart,
    With thy dear lips to mine,
  That nothing shall keep from us
    The sealing of this sign;
  As o’er the world I wander
    By hope of fortune sped,
  My heart will grow the fonder
    For thy promise me to wed.

  I give thee the token, sweetheart,
    Whose circle on thy hand
  God grant may ne’er be broken,
    However far the land!
  For where it pleaseth Heaven
    To lead my errant feet,
  This little token given
    Will keep the promise sweet.

  I give thee the keeping, sweetheart,
    Of my own heart that pleads
  For love’s immediate reaping
    And with the parting bleeds;
  But I with arms that hold thee
    Must labor for thee, too;
  And so I fast enfold thee
    And bid thee, love, adieu!




                 CHAMBERED ROSES


  Over in Dolorosa Hall,
  Romantic memories breathing,
  There’s a quaint old room with flowered wall
  Of roses interwreathing,
  The key on golden chain I wear
  To guard the sacred chamber,
  For as a bride demure and fair
  My sainted Mary came there.

  ’Twas her dear self arranged it so
  And helped to match the roses,
  As she, alas, the ones which grow
  O’er walls where she reposes.
  I nurture these, the others seal
  For subtler necromancy
  Where Mary’s loving roses steal
  Around the room of fancy.

  They ramble from each corner to
  The border o’er the moulding
  And on in buds and tendrils through
  The ceiling’s faded golding.
  No hand shall ever tear them down
  With cheap artistic violence,
  For Mary wreathed the roses on,
  Still fragrant with her silence.




              TWO FRAMES


  In the gallery of remembrance
    Down on Unforgotten Street
  Hangs a picture of two lovers
    After they the vows repeat;
  Lovely--handsome--picture--lovers--
    Golden-framed against the wall,
  Love in rich and stately setting--
    Revenue and manor-hall.

  And beside it hangs another,
    Limned again with lovers’ pose,
  Just as lovely on the canvas
    Till the golden in it glows;
  But ’tis framed in white enamel
    Whereon lilies intertwine--
  Love in sweet and simple setting--
    Virtue and a cottage-vine.

  Love-in-woman stands before them
    With reflected gold and grace
  But with struggling decision
    On her dew-and-flower face;
  Eyes are drawn to frame of yellow,
    Heart to canvas set in white:
  Rich man, poor man? Love-in-woman
    Chose and lilies turned to light.




             _PARS SUMMAE_


  I did not think that love was mine
      Because I toiled;
  But if I caught its every line
      And not despoiled
  More perfect love to grace my own,
      Then might I feel
  That I at love’s supremest throne
      Could rightly kneel.

  I veiled my face when glory shed
      Its trembling light;
  Nor would I lift my humbled head
      Till I as white
  Could show the pureness of a soul
      That doth reveal
  Love which before the sacred whole
      Can rightly kneel.

  My altar was her blessing-place
      Whence she bestowed
  The gifts divinely of her grace
      On worship bowed;
  For as my adoration rose
      To love’s ideal
  She lifted me as one of those
      Who rightly kneel.




                     A VISION


  Tall and fair and azure-eyed,
  Covert glances ’neath the drooping lash
  Like Cupid’s arrows in an artful quiver--
  She is this and much beside,
  Which to tell in detail would be rash
  By any but the beggar to the giver.

  If I gathered, if she gave,
  I could put it better into art,
  By countless little charming things elated--
  Silken tresses in a wave,
  Cheek with stolen pigment from the heart,
  And mouth the most inviting e’er created.

  Still I’m short of total truth
  Just to feature forth her lovely face
  Wreathed in rebel-locked or coiffured limbus;
  Yet the highest charm of youth
  Is the soft inimitable grace
  That bathes a woman with a glowing nimbus.

  And this my goddess hath improved
  By every feminine instinct of taste,
  And still the deeper charm of spiritism--
  Which, if it were the soul and loved
  Some kindred soul in this world of love-waste,
  Would laugh at every selfish catechism

  Of worldly wisdom and its creed
  And tremble to the fate which love revealed,
  Flushed at its glimpse of Paradise, delirious
  That life was not all craft and greed
  But underneath its shallows half-concealed
  Lay passion grand, transfiguring, imperious!




             THE AFTERMATH


  Lovers making foolish vows,
  Thinking love is deathless
  When ’tis fiercest to espouse
  What it sings so breathless;
  Now caressing, now confessing
  In romantic stanza--
  Such is passion and its fashion
  Of extravaganza.

  But the love that’s worth a throne
  Is the kind that later
  More than sentiment alone
  Proves and heavens greater
  Than a frenzy of the fancy
  Or a creed of nature,
  Or the praises in fine phrases
  Of a charming creature.

  Oh, the happy aftermath
  When the mating’s over
  And ordeals of life and death
  Teach the whilom lover
  That the woman, though for human
  Charms he did enshrine her,
  Is the essence of a presence
  Sweeter and diviner!




             PROOF-WORDS


  There was a face--I loved it;
  There was a pulse--I felt it;
  There was a soul--I sensed it
  And made it mine for aye.
  There was a heart--I proved it;
  There was a word--I spelt it;
  Yet scarcely had commenced it
  When called from dreams away.

  There was a hope--I wreathed it;
  There was a prayer--I sped it;
  There was a seal--I gave it,
  Then bade my love adieu.
  There was a sigh--I breathed it;
  There was a tear--I shed it;
  There was a gift--I save it
  To know my love is true.




                              MEMORIES




                ADIEUS


  When we from the ship or shore
  Bid farewell--Oh, fare thee well!
  Though the voyage may be o’er
  Ocean-vasts and none can tell
  Whether we shall evermore
  Meet again, yet fare-thee-well
  Means a hope whose accents spell
  Till we greet again--farewell!

  When we over sea or land
  Godspeed wish--Oh, speed thee God!
  Him we trust with kindly hand,
  Narrow though the way or broad,
  Sometime from the distant strand
  Back again to bring us shod
  Joyous o’er the way we trod.
  Hope is Godspeed--speed thee God!

  When our parting word fore’er
  Is goodbye--God’s way be thine!
  Whether ’tis ourself who fare
  Or another we resign,
  Yet committed to His care
  And a future as benign,
  We await the proof divine
  Hope’s goodbye is God be thine!




              DUST TO DUST


  Earth to earth, we sadly sigh--
  Beloved, beloved, why didst thou die?
  Heaven, why untimely death
  When so sweet are life and breath?
  Earth and Heaven tell us why
  Our beloved have to die?

  Dust to dust, the elements
  Swallow clay and sleeping sense.
  Wilt thou wake, beloved, yet
  To the eyes no longer wet,
  To the arms that no more ache,
  Wilt thou, O beloved, wake?

  Ashes to ashes mingling,
  Flesh they cover, tears they wring.
  Beloved, beloved, the flowers I bring
  Wither, but the ones that spring
  O’er thy mould with promise smile
  “Dearest, yet a little while!”




                    LITTLE WORDS


  Speak but the little words of truth
  And they shall live when thou hast ceased to be;
  The lips by trial daily put to proof
  Breathe nothing sweeter than sincerity,
  Helping thy brother to be true like thee.

  Speak but the little words of love
  And they shall linger when the tongue is still;
  For whether there be thrones they shall remove,
  But love abideth all our thoughts to fill
  And fashioneth remembrance as it will.

  Speak but the little words of hope
  And they shall cheer the way when cometh night
  To thee or others who in dark would grope
  But for the courage of thy humble light
  Fed by the oil of promise--“All comes right.”

  Speak but the little words of trust
  And they shall rob the struggle of its cross,
  The heart of sorrow’s bitterness, the dust
  Of victory o’er our dead--for out of loss
  Trust sees eternal gain transform the dross.




                    A WAYSIDE LIFE


  A little stream sprang from its distant source,
  And through the peopled valley with a song
  It held its smiling uneventful course,
  Grateful with cooling draught the whole year long,
  Till they who daily drank of it grew strong.

  A little star shone softly in the night,
  And in the many-gloried heavenly host
  It shed a true and never-failing light;
  So that for constancy ’twas loved the most
  Because for lack of it no way was lost.

  A little coin was passed from hand to hand,
  And humbly served its mission day by day
  In the life-needs its value could command;
  Pure gold it was though small in currency,
  And many a debt of want sufficed to pay.

  A humble life was lived where others felt
  Its truth and worth to hand and lip and eye;
  And when ’twas spent its debtors mutely knelt
  To thank the Giver for its ministry--
  The stream, the star, the coin they travelled by,

  The vanished life whose benison of grace
  Was like the cup of water or the beam
  Of friendly light or as the gold whose base
  Of humanness, though it might dull the gleam,
  Yet perisheth and leaves its worth supreme.




                         O TEAR!


  O tear of grief from stricken spirit wrung
  By nature’s requisition of our shrined
  And best-beloved!--if sympathizing tongue
  Can speak one word of hope or comfort kind
  By Heaven approved,--
  Drop thou upon it like a jewelled sphere
  Whose trembling iris makes it lovelier!

  By such a Heaven-inspired word, O tear
  Of human sorrow, thou art made to be
  Divinely thrilled with comforting more dear
  Than helpless love or hopeless sympathy!--
  For thou art filled
  With visions now of soul’s supremer sphere,
  Like thine but infinite in love, O tear!

  Thou art too blurred and blinding now to let
  Thine eye behold the beauty of the light
  That glimmers through thy grief,--but thou wilt yet,
  If pleaseth God, with faith-anointed sight
  And love anew
  Dissolve in joy and for the sepulchre
  Glad that which makes it victory, O tear!




              THE DEW OF DUST


  O dead of earth, rejoice!
  The flowers from the dust
  By vernal dews arise
  And smile reviving trust,
  When from their Wintry tomb they wake
  And into Summer beauty break.

  And so shall sleeping be
  Within our fleshly tomb;
  The Eastertide shall free
  The life that lieth numb,
  And from the dust shall rise anew
  The deathless bloom of Spring and dew.

  Say not to ashes turns
  Our being with its shell,
  For a divineness burns
  By death unquenchable
  To warm the poor chill mould we’re of
  And our undying nature prove.

  If not another grace
  Shall clothe our soul’s desire,
  Let not the grave efface
  What in us doth aspire!
  So shall we nobler be than clay
  And give a truth to “life for aye.”




                      A SMILE


  As from the window-pane a light doth gleam
  To cheer the traveller at eventide,
  So was her smile the ever-friendly beam
  That lit the way or bade the guest abide.

  She knew no cross or care but what was eased
  By smiling trust that everything was best;
  When all around were happy she was pleased,
  When she could make them happy she was blest.

  We knew who loved her best, the sweetness of
  Her always gentle look and Christian grace;
  She filled the home with precious motherlove,
  And no one else can fill her sacred place.

  Hers was the smile that shone in sun and storm,
  In ministry to others or when they
  Looked to her out of trouble, and the charm
  Of such serenity drove doubt away.

  She smiled in life and then the miracle
  Of soul untroubled triumphed to the end;
  She smiles in death to comfort us--“’Tis well!”
  To let us know that she hath found a Friend.




                             PHILOSOPHY




             THE HILL-TOPS


  There are cloudy, sullen skies,
      But what of that?
  There are discontented eyes,
      But what of that?
  When the day is gloomiest,
  Over on the hill-tops west
  There is sunshine. Brother, best
      Think of that.

  There are dour looks enough,
      But what of that?
  Tasks forbidding, hard and rough,
      But what of that?
  Though the vale the weather spoils,
  On the hill-tops there are miles
  Of old Sol’s unconquered smiles;
      What of that?

  Living in the valley long,
      Maybe that
  Quenched the laughter and the song;
      But for that,
  Hearts might look to higher hills,
  Kissed by sun and full of rills,
  Smiling over cares and ills.
      Think of that!




         THE MAN WHO BEARS THE HOD


  Go, mould and burn the clay to brick
  With all the skill of ages;
  It took the shovel and the pick
  Before it took the sages.
  But leaving that to honor’s past
  For things which men applaud,
  Who is it makes the pile so vast,
  An edifice to rise and last?
  The man who bears the hod.

  The potter and the architect
  May shape and plan the temple,
  The master-builders may erect,
  Ennoble or assemble;
  But leaving that to future fame
  For things we rarely laud,
  Who is it carries up the frame
  On shoulders called in lieu of name
  The man who bears the hod?

  The dreamer and the statesman may
  Inspirèd be with genius,
  And in the oven put the clay
  That rears renown between us;
  But who must heap the bricks they mould
  On backs and bases broad,
  Toil up the scaffolds and uphold
  The towers growing high and bold?
  The man who bears the hod.




                 JOG ALONG!


      Jog along! Jog along!
  The day is young, the goal’s ahead,
  The limbs are strong and hope is fed
  On promises where’er you look,
  Of nodding bud and laughing brook.
  Cheer up! Cheer up! while there’s a song
  Of bird or smile of sunny nook,
  There’s love and bread. So jog along!

      Jog along! Jog along!
  ’Tis only noon and there’s an inn
  Where you may soon an hour win
  Of humble fellowship and fare--
  A luxury of life too rare.
  Hail, friend well met, who in the throng
  Is brotherly in spite of care!
  There’s human kin--so jog along!

      Jog along! Jog along!
  The sun goes down but twilight’s still
  To reach the town upon the hill;
  And there the sun’s an hour high
  To give thee grace of foot and eye.
  Keep on! Keep on! with dauntless will;
  You’ve still the promise of the sky
  The stars until! So jog along!




               THE FAMILY TREE


  Your genealogy may be
  The finest thing on earth
  Or merely a decadent tree
  Of past descent and worth.

  The children of the Puritans
  Should have the Pilgrims’ souls
  Or else an alien wire spans
  Your insulated poles.

  An aristocracy of breed
  Is that which keeps the stamp
  Of spirit from heroic deed
  In patriot hall or camp.

  The veins whose life-blood flows for home
  Or right or liberty
  Should be the same from which they come,
  To keep the nation free.

  To find in our ancestral line
  A sire of noble blood
  Puts on us truth to make the sign
  Of our escutcheon good.

  Colonial forbears condemn
  Like ghosts from hollow boles
  Unless we reincarnate them
  Without their shrouds and stoles.

  To be well-born a century back,
  A century of fruit,
  A century the soil to pack
  About the ancient root,

  Is such a heritage we well
  May trace it to its source
  For all from which its scions swell,
  Its vital ichors course.




                REPLEVIN


  Who can replevin all his own
  From his platonic debtors--
  From plagiarists perchance unknown
  Who steal his thoughts or letters?

  His property is small or great
  As it is worth the using,
  And such a tribute to his rate
  Makes property worth losing.

  To say or do a thing that’s fine,
  Which makes the world the wiser,
  Should be a royalty divine
  To any but a miser.

  Their pound of flesh let Shylocks sue
  And bank in figures seven--
  Our noblest own is what is due
  In goods beyond replevin.




                              HOMILIES




              WHAT IS TRUTH?


  Truth is the vision of the skies
  That does not ask us to be wise
  But just to lift perceiving eyes
  Wherever there is living light
  To clearer make the way of right
  Or soiled humanity more white.

  Truth is the meaning of all things
  Not to the mind but to the springs
  Of love and peace and fashionings;
  For what we love is life’s concern
  And hope is more than sages learn
  And truth is most to which we turn.

  Truth is the spirit of all truths
  Which from the same supremeness moves
  And universal purpose proves;
  Truth is the light and not the spheres
  Whose laws are known to only seers;
  But by the stars the sailor steers.

  Truth is the image of its God
  Who all its endless vistas trod
  And flung His attributes abroad;
  For while too rare to minds more dense
  Its mirror makes it real to sense
  And gives its soul an evidence.




                FRIENDSHIP


  O Friendship! On life’s crown the pearl
  Amidst its jewels rare,
  A star for peasant or for earl
  The other gems whate’er--
  Be diamond on the kingly brow
  Or garnet dull on toil,
  The hearted radiance art thou,
  Of noblest might or moil.

  But ah, to only value thee
  As treasure of desire
  For peerlessness of purity
  We gain to but admire;
  And not to feel thy inner worth
  As stuff of primal deeps,
  Some miracle of troubled birth
  Where lowly nature creeps!

  Is this, O Friendship, worthy of
  The praises of the Muse,
  Of life so lightly prone to love
  But fire to refuse?
  If only in our hand we hold
  Another’s sacrifice
  And give it back no gift of gold,
  ’Tis not the Pearl of Price.




                     THOUGHT


            Think nobly!
  For the things we ponder are the sum
  Of what we treasure and we do become
  The fashion of our thinking--just as from
      The chain we know the linking.
            Therefore think nobly!

            Think purely!
  For our meditation is the glass
  Through which our spirit doth in vision pass,
  The face of God beholding--and the grace
      Of his divine unfolding.
            Therefore think purely!

            Think truly!
  For a true ideal is the light
  By which we struggle up the lofty height
  Of Truth’s supreme divineness--and the right
      To which it doth incline us.
            Therefore think truly!




                  WHEN I’M NO MORE


  Will yonder Orient flush with morning hue?
  Will on the flowers shine the crystal dew
  And Heaven retain its soft cerulean blue
            When I’m no more?

  Will yet the jasper ocean lap the beach
  And woo the wildflower just beyond its reach?
  Will yet the treebirds murmur each to each
            When I’m no more?

  Will yet the laughing brook keep on its way?
  Will yet yon moon smile sadly o’er my clay
  And those bright twinkling stars dance in the day
            When I’m no more?

  Will yet a smiling world salute the dawn
  And still its course of love and joy flow on--
  My image once some heart enshrined soon gone
            When I’m no more?

  What means this chill misgiving--fate or fear?
  Death, rend the veil and calm this dark despair!
  Say, tell me will this memory be dear
            When I’m no more?

     *       *       *       *       *

  Ah Death, thy only kindness is the bliss
  Of answer in love’s fondest parting kiss
  That one at least my humbleness will miss
            When I’m no more!




            THE BLAZED TRAIL


  Life is a human wilderness
  Where duty, right and truth
  Are tangled in the morasses
  Of folly, doubt and youth.
  I know I cannot hope to cleave
  A path through brake and swale,
  But I a guiding index leave
  If I but blaze the trail.

  The forest as I struggle through
  By compass, sun and stars
  I’ll mark so that another, too,
  Can travel by my scars.
  From woods where labor would get lost
  And feet would err or fail
  I’ll single pines on ridges crossed
  And blaze on them the trail.

  O’er range and river toward the West
  I’ll keep and pray to learn
  Not what is easiest, but best,
  And worth a life’s return;
  For though I shall not pass again
  The way I thus prevail,
  It is my task for other men
  To blaze the homebound trail.




             GRIEF AND JOY


  Grief said there was no gladness
  At the season of the Child,
  But only memories of sadness
  In homes where babes once smiled.

  Joy said there was no sorrow,
  But found solace in the touch
  Of gladness that perhaps to-morrow
  Would need our cheer as much.

  *       *       *       *       *

  Grief said that songs awaken
  Echoes of our buried love,
  As when silent chords are shaken
  And still responsive prove.

  Joy said it yet were stranger
  If our babes made Bethlehem
  Not more dear because the manger
  Bore Him who gathered them.

  *       *       *       *       *

  Grief said that gifts but mocked us
  With the treasures snatched away
  And with chains forever locked us
  In tombs of memory.

  Joy said that gifts were token
  Of our love and its domain,
  Earnest of our hopes unspoken
  Love would get again.




                    HOPE


  I have a hope--’tis spirit-born
    And spirit-winged beside;
  ’Tis like the holy light of morn
    When Heaven opens wide.

  Hope like the bird whose every note
    A loving Father’s hand
  Hath tuned within its swelling throat
    As though the song were planned!

  What is it but the joyous sense
    Of love and harmony?
  What is it but the evidence
    Of life’s divinity?

  That hope which makes us most divine
    And like to what it clings--
  That hope which makes our hearts incline
    To higher, holier things--

  That hope which spells eternal youth
    And goodness infinite--
  Hath reason in it strong as truth
    And logical as light.




                 SOWING AND REAPING


    Sow on though another age
    May do the reaping!
    Sow on, for the final wage
    Is in the keeping
  Of our divinest Master, who declared,
  “Sow on, for he shall reap not who hath spared!”

    Reap on what another age
    Began by sowing!
    Reap on, for the highest wage
    Is in the knowing
  The fruit is garnered and the harvest-song
  To sower and to reaper doth belong!




                  HOPE ON!


  Hope on! For there is no rising star
  When shadows creep across our sky
  More precious than this beam afar
  That trembles through eternity.

  Hope on! That infinite desire
  Is but a foreglimpse of the dawn
  Of an immortal, holier and higher
  Day of perfection; therefore hope on!

  Hope on, lest the heart be cankered
  By its own sense of dumb despair!
  But rather let the soul be anchored
  To the veiled Heaven over there

  Where the light trembles through the mist
  And hope becomes more lucid faith,
  Yea, glad expectancy--for lo, the Christ
  Bids life unfold its wings and death
  And doubt begone! Therefore hope on!




                  HEARTED GOOD


  Blest be the goodness which is spirit-fruit
  Of reverence as worship is of awe,
  Till goodness is both ripening and root!
  For just as truly as that it doth draw
  Its substance from divineness it must shoot
  By the same potency of nature’s law.

  We may dispense the good we never grew
  As those who borrow; or we may profess
  The goodness which we know but never do,
  And so put on a form of fruitfulness;
  But ah, ’tis barren-hearted and untrue
  To worthiness, whate’er its outward dress!

  To love as well as practise what is fine,
  To be what we would fain be taken for,
  To ripen from the root whose tendrils twine
  Around the very heart whose currents pour
  Into the good we do--this is divine
  And living fruit that blesses more and more.




                               COUNTRY




                   AMERICA


  Divided by the ocean’s vast
  From other dear and shining strands,
  The wonder of the storied past
  Confesses this the land of lands;
  The refuge of the fair and brave
  When freedom was denied her due;
  Sing with the wild, wild ocean-wave,
    “America the true!”

  Dear was the boon the pilgrim sought
  Amid the redman’s forest wild,
  And dearly, too, the lesson taught
  By this sweet Freedom’s native child;
  Which yet once learned forget no more,
  O heir of that loved Liberty!
  Breathe with the spirit of thy shore,
    “America the free!”

  Her stars and stripes that proudly float
  So many citied states above,
  Shall we forget that they denote
  The oneness of a common love?
  Sweet token to the patriot
  O’er all thy territories wide,
  Float to this one inspiring thought,
    “America our pride!”

  And still as fuller swell thy veins
  And crimsoner thy throbbing blood,
  Be virtue in thy broad domains,
  The God of nations be thy God!
  The echo of thy forest-days
  Still mingle with thy voiceful sea
  Or linger in the poet’s praise,
    “America the free!”




               THE ALTAR OF COUNTRY


  O Country of my altar,
  Where the incense flame doth burn
  And a priestly hand doth part the Temple-veil--
  Let me ne’er in purpose falter,
  Let me never from thee turn
  Nor the vision of the holy ever fail--
  O my country, till I learn
  How to purpose not to palter,
  Let the vision of the holy never pale!

  O altar of my Country,
  Sealed with bloody sacrifice,
  Yet glorious with living triumph, too,
  May I nobly offer on thee
  Duty’s most devoted price,
  Never doubting it to be thy sacred due!
  From thy altar let me rise
  All to offer, O my country,
  That I treasure most supreme and true!

                                      (_From_ “GREATHEART.”)




            THE STARS OF DESTINY


  The midnight stars wheel in their course
    Through trackless vasts of space,
  And every distant sun’s a source
    Of motions taking place
  Beyond the reach of eye or thought,
    Yet part of Heaven’s design
  In order infinitely wrought
    By majesty divine.

  We cannot know the perfect plan
    In such a universe,
  Nor what its horoscope for man,
    Be it for good or worse;
  Enough the same law rules the stars
    And human destinies,
  And man the future makes or mars
    As he observeth these;

  As he the lesson of the past
    Applies to issues new,
  And makes experience forecast
    The Fate which cometh true
  Because it is the TRUTH and moves
    Though oft in courses strange,
  And like the time-eternal proves,
    The stars that never change.




                LAST OF THE GRAND ARMY


    There they come with feeble step,
    There they come with lessened rank,
    And yet pathetic with the martial air
    And ancient discipline of field and camp!
    There they come with sounding pipe,
    There they come with armor clank;
  The dimming uniform’s parade each year
  And ensign’s flaunting--Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

    Thus they pass in broken corps,
    Thus they pass in mounted troop,
    Across the square in valor’s proud review,
    Beneath the victor’s green triumphal arch;
    Heads with many a Winter hoar,
    Upright shoulders now astoop;
  Their once imperial numbers grown so few,
  But bravely onward--March! March! March!

    Many a soldier’s vacant place,
    Many an officer’s blank post,
    And many a veteran, too, with touching zeal
    To mend the losses hobbling along;
    Many a scarred and figured face,
    Many a luckless member lost
  With silent eloquence the tale reveal
  Of desperate battles--On! On! On!

    By Gratitude’s tall monuments,
    By private cemetery tombs
    Where floral wreaths from loving hands lie mute
  Upon each honored grave for Memory’s sight;
    Bowing heads in reverence,
    Treading slow with muffled drums,
  With tear-dimmed eye and sorrowful salute
  And lowered standard--Right! Left! Right!

    Every footfall of the past,
    Every annual elapse,
    The silent hearts and silent years no more,
    Half-echo, mingle in that ghostly tread
    And seem to swell the muster vast
    And seem to say with hollow steps,
  From all that mighty vanguard gone before
  To this small rearguard--Dead! Dead! Dead!

    A few more years bivouac here,
    A few more years of sepulture
    In trench or dungeon, grave or moaning deep,
  A few more years of Death’s soft slumbering night
    Till all that spectral host appear
    Before the throned Cynosure
  Whose reveille will call them from their sleep
  To Heaven’s reviewing--Right! Left! Right!

    No shotted cannon, deadly arms,
    No trophy of a fallen foe,
    Till God define the worthiest conqueror;
  Him who has vanquished Death and conquered Doubt
    And faced a thousand alarms
    Till life sits firmly on his brow
  Or echoes through the happy Evermore,
  Ye host of victors--Shout! Shout! Shout!




                        _VINCIT OMNIA JUS_


  With one foot on the rock of right already won
  And one upon the rock of faith no right can be undone,
  I stand prophetic-voiced that presently from these
  _Right_ peak by peak shall grandly rise in towering Pyrenees.

  The Liberty we know and passionately love
  Shall bless the vineyards far below that drink the snows above;
  And in the guardian frown of Freedom’s lofty height
  Shall think ’tis God who cometh down to thunder for the right.

  As from the granite base where we must battle for
  To firmly plant each sacred Cause, we rear the mountain o’er,
  The bolt of stormy skies shall burst above each peak,
  Assuring us when man defies oppression God doth speak.

  And if from some sheer crag a vanguard hero fall
  The while the coward safely lags who’d rather be a thrall,
  We’ll set a cross upon the cliff from which he fell
  And over it a victor’s crown of Freedom’s immortelle.

  But better still we’ll climb inspired by his fate
  To heights of liberty sublime unreached by tyrant’s hate;
  And Right shall look at last from mountain-top to land
  In glad humanity more vast, in destiny more grand!




               THE FLYING JACK


  The sky was blue and smiling down
    Upon a human sea;
  Old Glory fluttered, danced and shone
    In varicolored glee.

  A merry breeze went laughing through
    The laughing folds of silk
  Until the red and white and blue
    Were sylphs with teeth of milk.

  Yet not for them the rapturous eyes
    Of shouting crowds were bright,
  Who came to hail with praise and prize
    The hero winged for flight.

  “The first to fly,” the challenge read,
    “Shall win the wreath and cup.”
  He spread his pinions and o’erhead
    A dizzy height went up.

  “Bravo! Bravo!” they shouted as
    He spiralled down and down;
  Then surged toward him in a mass
    And wreathed him with the crown.

  He smiled and in his eyes of blue
    And on his cheeks of red
  A something noble came to view
    As gallantly he said:

  “The cup I’ll keep, the wreath I’ll place
    Where it by right belongs;
  The first to fly my hand shall grace
    And you acclaim with tongues.”

  So saying towards his ship he stepped
    And set the sails again,
  Then in a rising circle swept
    With sun-kissed face and plane.

  They wondered when they saw him rise
    Toward the streamered staff
  Until he grazed its middle thrice
    And cleared it with a laugh;

  Until above its gilded ball
    He steadied and from high
  The trophy flung before them all
    With practised hand and eye.

  Upon Old Glory’s head the wreath
    Fell true and with it fell
  The airman’s words to those beneath
    Who needed but their spell:

  “The first to fly above our land
    On wings that never lag
  I crown with patriotic hand,
    Our country’s starry flag!”

  And then he doffed his cap and lo,
    A jackie’s suit he wore
  As circling still he cried, “Oho,
    I’ve flown in peace and war!”

  I rubbed my eyes and all was fled
    Except the silken folds
  Of Glory floating overhead
    A sailor-boy which holds.




                                HUMOR




             SAP’S A-BILIN’


  Out in the country where they tap
  The maple-trees in Spring,
  There’s something doin’ on the map
  When March is on the wing.
  The bar’ls and buckets overrun,
  The busy farmer’s smilin’,
  The cracklin’ fire helps the fun;
  For sap’s a-bilin’.

  Out in the country where they all
  Have lived a hundred years
  And heard the go-to-meetin’ call
  As Sunday storms or clears,
  Thermometer’s a-risin’ when
  For trouble folks are spilin’;
  Till some one pokes the kettle--then
  The sap’s a-bilin’.

  Just hold a bit--don’t let it burn
  By bein’ too intense!
  The man who biles has first to learn
  A leetle common sense.
  It’s sugar that we’re bilin’, mind,
  Not human nature rilin’;
  So jest go back to sweetness kind
  When sap’s a-bilin’!




                  JUST MUD


  What’s this live stuff you call a boy
    Just in the plastic stage
  And fairly oozing with the joy
    Of youth’s unmoulded age?
  What’s this to fashion into form
    Of early blade or bud
  Or fruit with life or color warm?
    Why say, just mud!

  What’s Summer’s golden harvest-yield
    That ripens into grain,
  The bloom of orchard, wood or field
    So riotous with gain?
  What’s this comes trooping with the grace
    Of man-and-woman-hood
  From out the muck of yesterdays?
    Why say, just mud!

  What’s yonder statue borne aloft
    By noble edifice,
  Which passers-by beholding oft
    Forget immortal is
  Of living deed and living art
    (Now clay, once flesh and blood)
  Both growing from a humble start?
    Why say, just mud!




           KNOCKIN’ ROUND


  Funny how some men grow up
    Knockin’ round--
  Drinkin’ out of fortune’s cup
    Overwound
  With the ivy of Japan
  Or a South-American
  Revolutionary plot--
  Comin’ back no matter what,
    Knockin’ round.

  After seein’ half the world,
    Knockin’ round
  Under every flag unfurled
    Safe and sound--
  Home again from climbin’ Alps,
  Raisin’ Filipino scalps,
  Fishin’ in a Scottish tarn--
  You will find him at the barn
    Knockin’ round.

  All the smiles of Beauty’s eyes
    Knockin’ round
  Underneath Italian skies
    Or renowned
  Erin’s native land of charms
  Fade away as in his arms
  Blushes--just the same old girl
  From whose locks he kept a curl,
    Knockin’ round.




                THE SNAIL AND STAR


  A humble snail crawled from his shell one night
  To drink the dew and surfeit on young greens;
  How came he wise in nature when so slight
  A weakling of it passes wisdom’s means.

  But as he inched along, a winking star
  His locomotion mocked and oddity--
  “How far, O pigmy gastropod, how far
  Dost thou suppose it is from thee to me?

  “And at the rate of travel thou dost creep
  How long to bridge the distance would it take?
  Yet I across its vastness nightly leap
  While you a paltry rod of progress make.”

  “I may be slow,” the snail vouchsafed reply,
  “But then I’m no pretense, howe’er you twit;
  Thou movest not at all except thy eye
  And now as I perceive thy nimble wit.

  “No doubt we both our mission magnify;
  You give the world the cheer of astral fire
  While from a lowlier position I
  A proverb for its ridicule inspire,--

  “A proverb which, while I’m the ancient butt,
  Yet makes the human snail a byword too,
  And often moves him more of life to put
  In duty; therefore why so much ado?”

  The star had no retort, so saved its face
  By prompt amends:--“My brother, you are right;
  We both are filling our appointed place
  To teach the world a lesson. So good night!”




           THE OLD SOR’L HOSS


  The old sor’l hoss limps up the lane
    And whinners for his oats;
  But he will never work again
    ’Cept as the milk he totes
  To skimmin’-station down the road
    To sort-o’-make-believe
  He’s haulin’ of an honest load
    And earnin’ his reprieve.

  Sure that was paid for long ago
    If twenty faithful years
  Can make a critter’s master owe
    Return for what he clears
  By plow and reaper, laden rack,
    And stump-an’-loggin’ bee,
  Yet gives the beast-of-burden back
    Oft scant humanity.

  For when the old sor’l hoss’s jints
    Grow stiff with work and age,
  There’s many a man with musket pints
    His death and keeps his wage;
  But not this hoss with sorrel mane
    And coat, which every morn
  Comes limpin’ up the scrubby lane
    And whinners for his corn.




                NICODEMUS BOGGS


  Nicodemus Boggs was named
  By scripture-loving aunts,
  Though never for that virtue famed
  Was Demus----till by chance
  His mind was turned to churchly choice,
  And then one solemn night
  He heard an otherworldly voice
  Which put him in a fright
  Call
      ----“Nicodemus! Nico-de-mus!
          Nic-o-de-mus Boggs!”
  Although there were some folks blasphemous
  Who said ’twas only frogs;
  Be that however as it may,
  To Demus ’twas a sign;
  So forthwith he began to pray
  And talk of things divine.

  Of course ’twas given him to know
  Without a studied mind;
  His tongue was loosened and the flow
  Of words left wit behind.
  Yet strange to say no church was moved
  His parish to become,
  Though Demus said it only proved
  The church was deaf and dumb.
  For certainly the call was plain,
  As often half-asleep
  He heard the selfsame voice again
  In solemn tones and deep
  Urge
      ----“Nicodemus! Nic-o-de-mus!
          Nic-o-de-mus-s Bog-g-s!”
  Although there were some folks blasphemous
  Who said ’twas only frogs.

  Be that as each opined, ’tis sure
  With Demus soon it turned
  To ague, and the only cure
  For flesh which froze or burned,
  The doctor ordered, was to drain
  The hollow in the rear
  Where Demus lived; for while in vain
  He followed his career
  Of human welfare, there had lain
  The most neglected near.
  ’Twas remedied and ne’er again
  Did Nicodemus hear
  The voice which had become so famous
  For back-door croaks and frogs
  Call
      ----“Nicodemus! Nic-o-de-mus!
      Nic-o-de-mus-s Bog-g-s!”




                               SACRED




               WHAT IS FAITH?


  Faith is no weakling, howsoe’er
  It needeth courage for its task,
  But strength whose confidence to dare
  Is that which humbles it to ask
  A higher help, a higher word
  To lift it, bid it trust and try,
  Assured its selfless prayer is heard,
  Its task beneath a Master’s eye.

  Faith is the reasoning of heart
  Toward the Heart-of-hearts which beats
  In unison with every part
  Of all it quickens and completes;
  And with a sense of love and plan
  Sees only good from truth and right,
  Wrong as the only ill which can
  Defeat design and quench the light.

  Faith is the fortifying gate
  Which walls us in, our terrors out,
  Through which we fare to conquer fate
  Or flee for refuge from our doubt;
  Faith blows the trumpet, mans the tower,
  Inspires hope, believes in Heaven
  And trusts the overruling Power
  To care for what its will hath given.

  Faith is the burden-bearer’s stay,
  The footsore pilgrim’s trusty staff,
  The victor’s martial panoply,
  The martyr’s noblest epitaph.
  Faith is the vision’s inner eye
  Whose pupil is the seeing soul,
  Its iris the reflected sky,
  Its long perspective Spirit’s goal.




                    A FORGIVENESS


  A pilgrim long devout arrived at last
  Before the Gate of Paradise, and cast
  His staff aside triumphantly to press
  Within the dreamed-of goal. But strange to say,
  It did not open to his eagerness
  As knocking he solicited the way.

  “Nay,” said the Guardian Angel of the Gate,
  “The proof of thy assurance I await,
  The sesame and heavenliest word
  That passes here! Three trials shalt thou have,
  And if thou hast not found it by the third
  No privilege to enter canst thou crave.”

  So sure the Pilgrim was the truest right
  Must be the one of evangelic might
  He quickly answered “LOVE!”
                                   The Angel’s wing
  Drooped o’er his countenance as he replied,
  “Nay, such a plea might any sinner bring
  Like any saint whose zeal is undenied.

  “Canst thou not to the name come closer yet
  Of Goodness’ greatest key?”
                                    The Pilgrim let
  His thoughts go outward in a second quest
  And slowly made response, “Why, then, ’tis GRACE,
  The covenant and seal of all the rest,
  The chain whose lock is Love.”
                                   The Angel’s face
  Was still compassionate as he withheld
  The entrance, and his pity would have spelled
  The password in his eyes as he again
  Made answer, “Grace is truly all our hope
  In promise and fulfilment, but ’tis when
  We lay it to our hearts the Gate we ope
  And our admission most divinely plead;
  For none can think the word but feels its need
  And healing touch.”
                       The Pilgrim’s brow grew sad,
  But as he pondered to his knees he fell
  And rose as oft before in wonder glad--
  “FORGIVENESS!”
                        The Angel answered, “Well!”
  And stood aside to let him pass.




           THE GOOD SAMARITAN


  The Good Samaritan was he
  Who had compassion not alone
  Humanely but divinely. We
  Must look beyond the Healer--see
  The Sympathizing Savior--be
  Forgiven, lifted up and shown
  The heart of Love and in our own
  Begin to feel the sympathy
  Which from His humanness had grown
  To deeds of such divinity.

  How little ’tis to minister
  To one poor soul unless we feel
  The touching brotherhood of care,
  The sense how easy ’tis to err,
  To fall, to need another’s prayer,
  Another’s help! But when we kneel
  Our fellowfeeling must be real
  Enough that we can rise and share
  The burden of our own appeal
  And help our brother’s cross to bear.

  He is the Good Samaritan
  Who loves enough to never wrong,
  To ever right a brother man--
  To bind his wounds and shape the plan
  Of life benignly so he can
  His neighbor also cheer along.
  Blest be the mercifully strong!
  Blest be the human-hearted man
  Who never quenched a living song!
  For he is God’s Samaritan.




             SHEPHERD OF ISRAEL


  Shepherd of Israel, hear
  The calling of thy flock,
  And when we seek do thou be near
  To lead us to the Rock
  Where full and sheltered we
  At noonday may repose
  Or find at night security
  From all our lurking foes!

  Help us to trust thy care
  Through green or barren ways
  And voice our doubts and fears in prayer,
  Our blessedness in praise!
  If thorns beset our path,
  To feel Thou leadest us
  Is sweet assurance goodness hath
  A loving purpose thus.

  Guide us by living streams
  That rise in mountain height
  And up where wisdom’s heavenly beams
  Our spirits bathe in light!
  Lead us to ranges high,
  To visions rich and broad,
  To pinnacles that touch the sky
  And help us know Thee, God!




                  THE LADDER OF CLOUD


  There’s a beautiful ladder of fine-spun cloud
  That stretches from earth to sky
  And up and down it the angels crowd
  With calling and soft reply:--

                        AMRAEL

  Children of men, who only by sight
  Know that the stars exist,
  There was one that shone o’er the world last night
  Through an aureole of mist.

                        MISHAEL

  They only saw it who had kept
  The vigil of the seers
  With inner sense; but ye who slept
  Knew not the sign of the years.

                         URIEL

  The spirit of life became a star
  And we the herald-host;
  And we sang as the Wise Men gazed afar
  And the Shepherds Heavenmost;

                         HOST

  Joy to the world! For lo, is born
  The Gift-Child! Echo on
  And on forever song of morn,
  Yet trembling into dawn!

                       _Refrain_

  Joy to the pure in heart! For thou
  Alone dost know the worth
  And meaning of the Gift, who bow
  Before the Virgin-birth.

                       _Chorus_

  All hail Madonna’s Gift
  That shall the earth to Heaven uplift!
  All hail! Rejoice!

      *       *       *       *       *

  What softening of angel-voice
  And light and listening sense
  Fell hush-like on the last “Rejoice,
  Madonna-reverence!”

      *       *       *       *       *

  The pearly wings the host enshroud,
  The voices fade away,
  And the beautiful ladder of fine-spun cloud
  Becomes the Gate of the Day.




    THE RISEN CHRIST MEANS VICTORY


  Go forth and hail the Conqueror
  With flowers and sacred psalms!
  The triumph we observe is more
  Than that of martial palms;
  For lo! there cometh from the tomb
  The Lord of life and life-to-be,
  Around whose feet the lilies bloom;
  The risen Christ means victory.

  Go forth and on His living brow
  Entwine a laurel-wreath;
  For never was so great as now
  The glory of His death!
  The Cross and Sepulchre had been
  The world’s most damning tragedy
  But for the conquered curse of sin;
  The risen Christ means victory.

  Go forth with precious ointment of
  Affection to thy dead,
  With Easter’s glad, believing love
  That He Who for us bled,
  Who slept and rose again, is strong
  To roll corruption’s stone away.
  And loose the Resurrection Song;
  The risen Christ means victory!




           THE EVERLASTING ARMS


  When to our life dark shadows come,
  Stern crosses, sacrificial cares
  And other fancied temporal harms,
  There is eternal refuge from
  Our terrifying doubts and fears
  Within the Everlasting Arms.

  When o’er our souls temptations sweep
  And goodness loses half its grace
  As sin pursues us with its charms,
  There is no refuge left to keep
  But the eternal hiding-place
  Within the Everlasting Arms.

  When through the valley dark and drear
  We walk or see another sink
  And death o’ercomes us with alarms,
  Be then, Eternal Refuge, near
  To hold us up upon the brink
  Within the Everlasting Arms!




         HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP


  The task is done, the sun is set,
    The evening shadows fall apace,
  The course is run, and tarries yet
    The glory only of the race;
  But ere the guerdon of the toil
    The fleeting soul shall rise to reap,
  God maketh it to rest awhile--
    He giveth his beloved sleep.

  What though the eyes are closed in death,
    The tired hands are folded now?
  Life shall arise, saith living faith.
    And ministry diviner grow.
  ’Tis but the hush before the day:
    The Father bids his angels keep
  The treasure that we lay away--
    He giveth his beloved sleep.

  But not, oh not forever thus
    Doth death enshroud our silent ones--
  We know not what transfigures us,
    What miracle of quickening suns--
  But we await their healing wings,
    Their living flash, seraphic sweep,
  The glory of the King of Kings
    Who giveth his beloved sleep.




            THE GLORY DWELLS


  Oh, the glory that we dream of
  Trembling over Bethlehem!
  Magi following the beam of
  Starry prophecy to them!
  Shepherds startled by the gleam of
  Heavenly light and angel-hymn!

  Time hath made the vision holy,
  But I know that glory dwells
  Not in manger-village solely,
  Nor in dream that prophet tells,
  But wherever there’s a lowly
  Child-heart, there the glory swells.

  Pride of earth and pomp of power
  Dazzle with their tinsel show;
  But compared to goodness’ dower
  They’re as only glint to glow.
  Pride is merely for an hour,
  Goodness doth to glory grow.




                THE LIGHT OF LIFE


  O Light of Life, shine thou
  Into my soul as doth the Sun of Day
  Into the world for seeing with mine eyes!
  Reveal the good and evil--teach me how
  To stumble not but walk the Living Way
  That fills earth with the glory of the skies!

  Let there be spirit-quickenings
  That thrill the being to responsiveness
  Lest vision be but human, uninspired!
  Ah, make it throb until from vision springs
  Anointed nature to in life express
  The Grace which makes the Heavenly desired!




                  DESIGN


  The universe of rolling spheres
  Is not for Deity’s display
  But for a purpose which appears
  In its supernal harmony.

  Its mass that in momentum sweeps,
  Its energy of elements,
  The order which its system keeps
  Are aspects of omnipotence;

  And power working such design
  Is proof of Presence everywhere
  Intelligent, supreme, divine,
  Both in creatorship and care.

  For in His watchcare of the worlds
  He-Over-All doth manifest
  A greater power than that which whirls
  Them on their way at its behest,

  A greater purpose than to span
  The Heavens by His glory lit;
  For ’tis the more eternal plan
  Of making all creation fit

  For fellowship with Nature’s God
  In higher terms of wisdom, truth
  And love by perfect will endowed,
  Whereof the worlds are but the proof.

  Thou Supersoul, who Spirit art
  And rulest star-host, wave and wind,
  Teach us Thy majesty to heart
  And feel in music perfect Mind!




                                SONG




                   GOLDEN HOPE


  There is nothing in the world so sweet
    As the hope which never, never dies,
  That sometime, somewhere we shall meet
    In gladder love beyond the skies--
    Oh, beyond the skies so golden,
    With the hope of Heaven olden;
  For there’s nothing in all the world so sweet
  As the olden, golden hope again to meet!

  There is nothing in all the world so fleet
    As the hope that ever, ever flies
  Swift onward, upward to the seat
    Of perfect love beyond the skies--
    Oh, beyond the skies so glowing,
    With the hope of Heaven growing;
  For there’s nothing in all the world so sweet
  As the glowing, growing hope again to meet!

  There is nothing in all the world so great
    As hope that bids us, helps us rise
  With more responsive hands and feet,
    With gladder tongues and clearer eyes--
    Oh, upon the skies so golden,
    With the hope of Heaven olden;
  For there’s nothing in all the world so sweet
  As the olden, golden hope again to meet!




          THE COMING CROWNING


  When the chariots of glory
  Come flashing from the east
  On the day of Advent-story,
  The crowning of the Christ;
  When the clouds are seraph-mounted
  And radiant of wing
  With angel-hosts uncounted,
  And the skies with rapture ring--
  My soul, wilt thou undaunted
  Meet the coming of the King?

  When earth the blessed vision
  With lifted eyes beholds
  And feels the swift transition
  Of glory that enfolds;
  When from the skies descending
  The hosts of Heaven bring
  The Kingdom never-ending
  Of which all peoples sing--
  O Spirit, wilt thou blending
  Hail the coming of the King?

  When thrones are set for mercy
  And love to minister
  To the naked, sick and thirsty
  And all who faint or err;
  When the Lord of glory reigneth
  And choired censers swing
  With the praises God ordaineth
  As Heavens their banners fling--
  O Soul, a crown that gaineth,
  Crown and enthrone the King!




                      THE LIVING CUP


  Gather all the beauty and the riches of the world,
    The flowers’ blush and lover’s flush,
      The hoards of gold and pearl;
    But you’ll never have enough to sum
        The wealth and treasure up
    Like the blessing of the drinking from
        The living water’s cup.

  Gather all the music and the fountain-springs of love,
    The heart’s desire, censer’s fire
      And starry host above;
    But you’ll never have enough to sum
        The soul of gladness up
    Like the blessing of the drinking from
        The living water’s cup.

  Gather all the glories and the triumphs of all time,
    Of temples’ pride and kingdoms wide
      And grace and art sublime;
    But you’ll never have enough to sum
        The joy of Heaven up
    Like the blessing of the drinking from
        The living water’s cup.




                          THE SINGERS


  Oh, the song of the soul we have sought for forever,
  In ages gone by and the ages to come,
  But what of the voices whose noblest endeavor
  Must lift it as high as the height it is from?
  For the song must mount up on the wings of the Spirit
  And out of the heart that kindles with love
  Before all the world will listen to hear it,
  Before the world’s sense it trembles above.

  Oh, the song of the soul we have sought for wherever
  There’s beauty or sunshine, glory or joy;
  But what of the voices whose praises must gather
  The echoes that melt with the lips they employ?
  For the notes must spring up from the souls they awaken
  And out of the hearts they kindle with love
  Before all the world by their sweetness is shaken,
  Before the world’s life they triumph above.

  Oh, the song of the soul we have sought for as treasure
  Wherever are kingdoms, jewels or gold;
  But what of the voices whose heavenly measure
  The wealth of the world’s richest treasure must hold?
  For the song must be born from the world’s greatest passion
  And out of a Heart that was kindled by love
  Before all the world its power can fashion
  To glory like that of the Master above.




              THE CROWN OF THORNS


  O crown of thorns upon the brow
  Of Him they nailed on Calvary,
  The serpent’s coil and sting wert thou,
  The seal of sin and agony.

                   _Chorus_

 _For where the grief and thought of us_
   _The Savior’s brow had borne,_
 _They put the_ MOCKERY _of the Cross,_
   _The crown of thorn, the crown of thorn_.

  O crown of thorns, whose suffering
  The Savior for the world endured,
  ’Twas thus He healed the serpent’s sting,
  The evil mind of nature cured.

                   _Chorus_

 _For where the grief and thought of us_
   _The Savior’s brow had borne,_
 _They put the_ SORROW _of the Cross,_
   _The crown of thorn, the crown of thorn._

  O crown of thorns, whose wounds became
  Redeeming scars of victory,
  The glory where was once the shame--
  The diadem of Heaven be!

                   _Chorus_

 _For where the grief and thought of us_
   _The Savior’s brow had borne,_
 _They put the_ TRIUMPH _of the Cross,_
   _The crown of thorn, the crown of thorn_.




                   SONG ALONG


  I sang an old song as I worked one day--
    What cared I who smiled,
      What cared I who frowned?
  So long as my song made the task seem play,
  What cared I how many were pleasure-bound?
  I heeded them not unless they as well
  Were singing a song that work-glad fell,
  And then we together went singing along.

  I courted my love when dreamers were we--
    What cared I who laughed
      What cared I who sighed?
  So long as my love was the world to me,
  What cared I for others the whole world wide?
  I heeded them not unless they as well
  Were dreaming upon the same love’s spell,
  And then we together went dreaming along.

  So I worked with a love-song for my cheer--
    What cared I who hated
      Both labor and joy?
  So long as my loved ones to me were dear,
  What cared I how others made loving alloy?
  I heeded them not unless they as well
  Were part of the song which cherubs swell,
  And then we together went singing along.




              _ECCE HOMO!_


  Upon the Cross I see Him nailed,
    The man of Nazareth;
  His brow is pierced, His visage paled
    With sufferings of death.
  Around Him gather those who hate
    And those who love Him most
  To watch His sin-appointed fate
    With grief or ruthless boast;
  And as His pleading face I scan
  All history cries--“Behold the Man!”

  His wounded hands and feet I see,
    The fountain from His side;
  O Calvary, O Calvary,
    Behold the Crucified!
  Yet not the cruel thorns are worst
    Nor blood of anguish spilt,
  But that the sinless One is curst
    For all the race’s guilt;
  And as His pleading face I scan
  All history cries--“Behold the Man!”

  Yet as I on His visage marred
    With guilt and sorrow gaze
  It changes from the beauty scarred
    To time’s most wondrous face.
  A glory as of Heaven breaks
    Upon the crown of thorn
  And every tortured feature takes
    A love by passion born;
  For as His pleading face I scan
  All history cries--“Behold the Man!”




        THE LOVE THAT WASHED HIS FEET


  She came as at supper the Lord reclined,
  She came with purpose sweet;
  Not of the host’s or servant’s kind
  Withheld from Him at meat;
  For she came to wash His feet.
  She watered them with tears of grief,
  She wiped them with her hair,
  She kissed them till she found relief
  And words of pardon there
  As she knelt to wash His feet.

  She loved the most because she knew
  Forgiveness so great;
  She loved, and nothing else could do
  To prove her love complete
  But to wash her Savior’s feet.
  No goodly laver did she own,
  No costly perfume bring;
  But hers was the truest service shown
  Whose faith the world will sing
  As the love which washed His feet.

  O sinner, the Savior’s present still
  Beside Compassion’s seat
  To pardon whosoever will
  The woman’s trust repeat
  And kiss the Savior’s feet!
  Let contrite tears be mercy’s plea
  And love its passion press
  Upon the feet of ministry
  That came to save and bless
  The hands which clasp His feet!




                            MISCELLANEOUS




          THE SHUT AND OPEN HAND


                 THE FIST

  I shut my eyes and opened them,
  And while they were shut I saw
  All the dread things that happen to men
  In the name of cause and law.

  I saw the tortured toil and travail
  As the cost of bread and birth;
  I saw the skein of fate unravel
  Around the helpless earth;

  A million who had nobly striven
  Go down to grim defeat,
  A million who their heart-blood given
  Spurned from proud Honor’s seat;

  Hope mocked and dear ideals shattered,
  Truth crushed and crucified,
  The fruits of love and labor scattered
  And Greed o’er Goodness ride;

  Curse like a ghoul despair and sorrow
  Leave at the race’s door,
  Pledging to-morrow and to-morrow
  Cursing the world still more.

  And as men were broken and stricken
  I saw the darkness loom
  To a frown of Hate and slowly thicken
  To a spectral shape of Doom.

  Shadows, thunders, griefs and grossness
  Gathered in a blacker mass,
  Life’s calamities and crosses
  Wrapped the midnight of all space

  Into--God! What awful likeness
  Of a giant arm and wrist
  Bulking blacker still to smite us
  As a clenched terrific FIST!


               THE OPEN HAND

  I shut my eyes and opened them,
  And when they were open I saw
  All the glad things that happen to men
  By a more benignant law.

  I saw the smiling heaven bending
  Above the fruitful land,
  The beauty and the bounty blending,
  The kiss of sea on strand;

  The love in labor and the guerdon
  Of home and wrought ideal,
  The benison behind the burden,
  The worth which works the weal;

  The glory of the sacrificial,
  The sanctity and song
  Of Nature’s benedictive missal
  O’er suffering and wrong.

  I saw the good and grace of seasons
  Aglow with golden yield,
  And giving trust a thousand reasons
  In flowerfest and field;

  Until a misty plexus trembled
  In midair and anon
  A presence as of Love resembled
  Diaphanous at dawn,

  With morning vestments all a-shimmer,
  Yet from whose potent charm
  Of godlike gloriole and glimmer
  There stretched a Titan ARM.

  Earth and sky seemed coalescing
  By filmy fingers spanned
  And became as if in blessing
  A mighty, OPEN HAND.




                THE MAN-BIRD


  The man-bird harnessed on his wings,
  Empowered the impatient heart
  And mounted into space as springs
  Some captive eagle when released
  From durance; but though human art
  Might imitate, its genius ceased
  Too short to force one secret of
  The wild, fierce mastery of flight
  In spiral sweeps away, above
  The dizziest pinnacle of sight.

  Man could but follow as he dared
  With plane and engine, chance and nerve,
  Yet like a Jove who boldly fared
  Across the firmament supreme;
  O’er vortexes with plunge and swerve,
  O’er air-abysses where the scream
  Of harpies echoed mocking forth
  On ears too tense--yet ever on
  O’er blinding South and blasting North,
  Triumphant up or headlong down!

  Ten thousand feet on high, ye gods,
  Man tries conclusions for your realm
  And gambles life at daring odds
  To ride above the storm-strewn fleece;
  A modern Jason at the helm
  By siren lured like him of Greece
  To desperate hazard; yet to fail
  One pulse-beat for a thrilling glance--
  Ah, well the boldest might turn pale
  And choose ’twixt glory and mischance!

  A moment poised the avian,
  Then earthward swooped as never Jove
  Rode down the vault of superman.
  Wind-surges roared and clouds fled by,
  Death raced beside and demons strove
  To wrench one slender part or ply;
  But flawless-sinewed, man and steed
  Came flashing, wheeling down and down
  With thrice a Roman courser’s speed
  To earth and conqueror’s renown.




                 THE PHANTOM CAVALRY


  What knows the world of battles? History writes
  The deeds of men with blood and triumph hails
  As trophy of their valor, armament
  Or better fortune, thinking he who fights
  With surer odds or tactics seldom fails
  In the last holocaust of war’s event.

  Impassioned eyes see not the shadow-shapes
  That hover on the flank of charging hosts,
  Ready to launch themselves as chance array;
  Not one of all the mustered lines escapes
  When mockery’s phantom centauri the boasts
  Of martial pride downtrample and dismay.

  Ah, Waterloo! where scarred battalions strove
  And overwhelmed each other, blood-imbrued,
  Hurling their troops with savage impotence--
  The conquering cavalry which o’er thee drove
  Was not the one the Corsican reviewed,
  Nor yet the Iron Duke with grimmer sense.

  Ah, Gettysburg! whose murderous brigades
  Met in the shambles of a horror-hell
  Or rushed like demons in the jaws of death--
  Thy most resistless riders were the shades
  Of other erstwhile terribles who fell
  Drawing the sword from its envenomed sheath.

  In vain each other’s throats the blue and grey
  Sprang at like wolves of Winter mad for flesh,
  And yet unsated till the kill-lust leaped
  In exultation’s shout of victory!
  Not all thy columns veteran or fresh
  Could save the field by grisly corpses heaped

  Against the spectral squadron which outrode
  Both Fighting Phil and Morgan’s Men alike,
  As on the Battle’s flank it weirdly hung
  Or where the Dragon’s Teeth of Hate were sowed
  Sprang up as Headless Horsemen armed to strike
  And crumple back the charge by fury flung.

  They loomed like apparitions, terror-born,
  Yet ghastly real and dreadly sinister,
  Abreast of every vanguard and redoubt;
  O’er trench and belching gun they swept in scorn
  Or carried panic to the broken rear
  Till all was carnage, cowardice and rout.

  Invincible formations, onsets’ surge
  Of vengeance’ boldest fiends, manœuvres dire
  With compassing destruction--all before
  The grewsome legionaries’ mounted charge
  Were swept like chaff by maelstrom wind and fire
  And rose again in prowess nevermore.

  But on the ghost-troop galloped as of old
  In every bloody battle, never dead
  And never yet defeated; phantoms still
  That gallop, gallop o’er the mortal mould
  Of every tragic battlefield once red
  With madmen’s life-blood at their country’s will!




             THOU CALLEST ME BROTHER


  Thou callest me thy human brother; well,
  Am I less flesh and spirit than thyself
  Or less entitled so to humbly dwell
  In honest peace and plenty that to delve
  Is equally as noble as to draw
  From the rich depths digged up? Or is the law
  Of brotherhood pretense?--Our separate lots
  But differ as our make, not as our meed.
  Do brothers share according to their thoughts
  Or in the rough according to their need?
  If thou dost think thee finer in the end
  Than him thou flatterest, thou art no friend.

  Thou callest me thy brother and dost praise
  My struggle to get even, holding fast
  Thyself the odds of vantage, so the race
  Is to the swift and strong--and he is last
  Whose toiling body forged the chariot-wheel
  That rolls thee on to fortune. It were base
  To make the difference one of feast and fast,
  Of full and empty measure of our weal;
  For I am he who’s spent--the spender thou;
  Yet thou dost call me brother! Heaven, how?




                    THE SINGING DEATH


  Men whisper low of spectres, calibans
  And curses almost devilish with doom,
  Mysterious fiends like hellhounds, werwolves, ghouls
  And other nameless shapes as jinns and janns
  That spring from demon-haunts and skulk or loom
  To terror-stricken fancy of weak souls.

  But none have named the scourge of Singing Death,
  The dread reality which out of hell
  Comes forth as often as the blood-lust burns;
  Foulness and fury volcanize its breath
  As, ravening for flesh insatiate, fell
  It swoops, devours and bloodier returns.

  An army gathers flushed with high resolve
  And there is martial music and display
  Of glory ominous with human fate;
  For ere the dial shall again revolve
  The Singing Death exultantly will prey
  Upon the host till horror outdoes hate.

  A floating citadel superbly steers
  Her ocean-course with victory-flags unfurled,
  Alike to sea and foe invincible;
  Yet somewhere from the blue as she careers
  The Singing Death by Titan forces hurled
  Will scream above her decks with damning knell.

  Hark! Hear you it like vomit from the throat
  Of Hades hurtling through the sulphurous air,
  With cross between the moan of Manes’ wraith,
  The torture of Inferno and the note
  Of vulture-torn Prometheus’ despair?
  Ah! ’Tis the cannon missile’s Singing Death!

  It plays no diapason as the roar
  It leaves behind where thunders loud intone,
  Nor as the mighty swell of organ-reeds;
  But all the stops of battle rising o’er,
  It shrieks its way to finish with the groan
  Of mortal agony where valor bleeds.

  It sings not as a master for applause,
  With perfect-voiced-and-chested range of gift
  Till song becomes the triumph of all time;
  But, rather, ’tis a dirge which discord flaws
  With time’s infernal arts lest God uplift
  The world by love to Peace’s choir sublime.




  THE OLD MOON IN THE ARMS OF THE NEW


  The young moon rises low
  Just where the passing earth
  Has stood aside to help it grow,
  Once it has come to birth.

  Yet on the old moon’s back
  The image of the new
  Reflected is with lustre-lack
  From earth it kindled to.

  In gleaming arms of youth
  The sire is embraced;
  The silver edge of ancient truth
  In younger truth is traced.

  The clasp of morning love
  Embosoms that of eve;
  And memory’s in the crescent of
  Old age’s child-reprieve.

  A sickly sickle frames
  The lusty one that reaps;
  So power, pleasure, fortune, fame’s
  Pale as the keener sweeps.

  Our latest wish infolds
  The hope that’s almost spent,
  And every rim of promise holds
  The past to future bent.

  But not so feebly say
  Youth hastens on the heels
  Of age, but that ’tis nature’s way
  Our myriad orb reveals.




                         Transcriber’s Notes


  All poetry spacing and minor errors in the original have been
  maintained.