b'\nCJass /S^i^c^nn \n^^ \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x94 ^~t- \n\n\n\nBonk -/ S^_ \n\n\n\n"L \n\n\n\npresp:n\'ted by \n\n\n\nDigitized by the Internet Archive \nin 2010 with funding from \nThe Library of Congress \n\n\n\nhttp://www.archive.org/details/poetscabinetbein01raym \n\n\n\n-^ %l= \n\n\n\n\nWt^. ^ ^7*^ 7u^\'^^/^ \n\n\n\nA Poet^s Cabinet \n\nBeing Passages, Mainly Poetical, from the \nWorks of \n\nGeorge Lansing Raymond, L.H.D* \n\nAuthor of \xc2\xab*A Life in Song," "Ballads, and Other Poems,\'* \n** Dante and Collected Verse\xc2\xbb** etc. \n\n\n\nSelected and Arranged According to Subject by- \nMarion Mills Miller, Litt. D\xc2\xbb \n\nEditor of "The Classics \xe2\x80\x94 Greek and Latin/* etc. \n\n\n\nnifistrations by \nHoward Chandler Qiristy \n\n\n\nG# P\xc2\xbb Putnam\'s Sons \n\nNew York London \n\nJlbc "ffinicFierbocftci: presg \n1914 \n\n\n\n\n\n\nGift- \n\n\n\nim \n\n\n\nUbe V^nfcKetbocIiec t)Kss, flew ^orft \n\n\n\nPREFACE \n\nCyclopedias of quotations are many and various, and yet \neach may have a particular value that fully justifies its \nexistence. The editor may have collected standard quota- \ntions, in which case his compilation possesses mainly the \ncharacter of a reference work, giving the golden thoughts \nof the race in that mintage of artistic expression which has \nbeen stamped with approval by the masters of literature \nand accepted as sterling currency by the people. Such a \nwork requires wide and accurate knowledge in its editor, \nbut this alone; indeed the less literary discrimination he \nhas the better it may be for a book recording confessedly the \njudgments of the men of the past whose endorsement of \nparticular forms of expression has caused their incorporation \ninto literature. The standards for constructing a work of \nthis sort are identical with those of dictionary-making. \n\nAgain, there is an order of cyclopedias of quotations in \nwhich the editor assumes the function of a connoisseur. \nHe selects from accepted passages those whose form and \nsubstance meet with his special approval, and he adds other \npassages less known which in his opinion seem worthy of a \nsimilar incorporation into literature. If his taste and ability \nare such as to justify his purpose, the work has itself some- \nthing of the character of the literature with which it deals. \nIt is a true anthology, valuable for inspiration as well as \nfor reference and research. \n\nA third form of the cyclopedia of quotations is that in \nwhich these are confined to one author, the purpose being \nto present, in representative extracts from his works, an \nordered conspectus of his views, either direct or implicit, \non life or nature or art or whatever subject it be upon which \nhe has contributed to the world thoughts of enduring value. \nSuch a work is of a higher class than not only a general \ndictionary of quotations, but also a general anthology. It \nis, in fact, the best form of autobiography, the unconscious \nrather than the self-conscious sort ; in it the essential spirit \n\n\n\niv PREFACE \n\nof the author is revealed, the obscuring bulk of the body of \nhis work having been eliminated, and only those features \nretained which reveal the characteristic gestures of the mind \nand soul that express personality. \n\nThe present book is a work of this last class. The author, \nwhose intellectual and spiritual portrait it is intended to \ndepict in a synthesis of his ideas and ideals as expressed \nin literary form, is both a philosopher and a poet. As \na teacher of eesthetics, chiefly the artistry of language in \nboth oral and written forms, he has exerted an influence over \nthousands of young men, in Williams College and Princeton \nand George Washington Universities, some of whom, among \nthem the writer, who was his pupil and assistant-teacher \nat Princeton, acknowledge with gratitude the formative \ninspiration which they received from personal contact \nwith him. \n\nA far wider area of influence he has circumscribed by his \nbooks, \xe2\x80\x94 a long series of works on esthetics comparable \nonly to those of Ruskin for scope of subject, consistency of \ninterrelation, and originality of observation. The writer \nhas had occasion a number of times, in his capacity as \nliterary adviser, to refer authors who thought that they had \nmade original discovery of vital principles in art, especially \npoetry, to Professor Raymond\'s series as expressing the \nsubstance of their ideas. Among the disciples of his pen \nare to be found even more enthusiastic admirers than \namong his former pupils. \n\nProfessor Raymond has fc5llowed the principles of his \naesthetic philosophy, in so far as these apply to literature, in \nthe writing of many poems upon widely varying subjects in \nmany moods and measures. Through them all run the bind- \ning threads of a consistent philosophy both of art and life. \nThis causes his work to appeal especially to those who read \npoetry for intellectual and spiritual inspiration. It is a \nfundamental principle of his aesthetic philosophy that the \nmost important function of technique is to rid the form of \nthe thought from whatever may make it appear artificial or \nunnatural; from whatever may prevent a perfectly trans- \nparent \xe2\x80\x94 not to say luminous \xe2\x80\x94 expression of the substance \nof the thought. Consequently those readers who are in- \nclined to estimate poetry by striking and eccentric effects of \nphraseology or arrangement irrespective of any noteworthy \n\n\n\nPREFACE V \n\nideas to which they call attention may not appreciate his \nwritings in the same degree as do those who believe with \nhim that language is a vehicle which derives its chief value \nfrom that of the thought which it conveys. \n\nProfesssor Raymond\'s verse is simple yet dignified, direct \nyet graceful, and clear yet, so far as he fulfills his own ideal, \ninvariably imaginative, his conception being that nothing \ncan be expressed according to the methods of art except as, \nby way either of reproduction or reference, the means or \nimplements of expression are forms that can be seen or \nheard in natural life. When poetry fulfills this require- \nment, its statements of facts affect one like arguments from \nanalogy, e.g.: \n\nIn form our frames but vehicle the soul; \nYet by the vehicle, the world will rate it. \nWhen comes the splendor of the monarch\'s march \nMen cheer his chariot, not his character. \n\nDante, iii., 2. \n\nMere words are wind, nor all their storm or stress \nCan pack the air so thought cannot see through it. \n\nIdem, II., I. \n\nAnd its records of experience enable the reader to perceive \nmore than the things described, because these are con- \nstantly being likened to something else, e.g.: \n\nAs dawn began \nErasing all the stars with lines of light \n\nA Life in Song: Daring, xiv. \n\nWhile the stars like sparks that linger where the fire of sunset dies. \n\nIdem: Dreaming, 11. \n\nMoreover, as a man usually refers by way of comparison to \neffects in nature because these have seemed to him to be \nattractive or beautiful. Professor Raymond maintains \nthat in poetry beauty should usually characterize the \nillustration even of subjects that in themselves have little \nor no beauty; as, for instance, in this reference to hostile \nfootsteps heard through a midnight tempest in a jungle: \n\nHark! There seems human rhythm in this hell. \nWhat hot pursuit is it comes burning through \nThese crackling branches? \n\nThe Aztec God, I. \n\n\n\nvi PREFACE \n\nOr this, suggested by the approach of a blizzard : \n\nIt came like a boy who whistles first \nTo warn of his form that shall on us burst, \nAs if nature feared to jar the heart \nBy joys too suddenly made to start. \n\nThe Last Home Gathering. \n\nAs applied to both thought and description, Professor \nRaymond holds with Aristotle that the purpose of art is to \nfulfill and, as it were, to transfigure, nature \xe2\x80\x94 not copy her, \n\xe2\x80\x94 to aid her to attain, by her own methods, the ideals \ntoward which she is striving, as these are divined by the \nartist. Artists in general, and poets in particular, must \ntherefore possess the qualities of reverent observation and \nspiritual interpretation, be not only lovers and disciples of \nnature, but prophets of the coming perfection, as well. \nProfessor Raymond is such a poet; he is an idealist whose \naim is the attainment of the highest order of reality. This \nis indicated by one of his titles, "Ideals Made Real" \n\nThis philosophy of Professor Raymond is so evident in all \nhis writings that there is general agreement among the critics \nof his books that he has a noble message to impart, and a \nclear and consonant manner of delivering it. That he will \ngrow in the esteem of lovers of high thinking and fine \nfeeling and inevitably become recognized as one of the \ntruest and best of modern poets, is also a prevalent opinion \namong those reviewers who, wearied with the ever increas- \ning roll of the "idle singers of an empty day," hail with \nardor the advent of a poet who can show us the fullness of \nlife, \xe2\x80\x94 phases of every part of it \xe2\x80\x94 brimming with beauty \nand saturated with spirituality. It was a critic of this \norder who said in reviewing "A Life in Song": "Some day, \nDr. Raymond will be universally recognized as one of the \nleaders in the new-thought movement. ... He is a poet \nin the truest sense. His ideals are ever of the highest, and \nhis interpretation is of the clearest and sweetest. He has \nrichness of genius, intensity of human feeling, and the \nrefiriement of culture. His lines are aHve with action, \nluminous with thought and passion, and melodious with \nmusic." \n\nIt is with this faith in the enduring value and growing \nappreciation of Professor Raymond\'s poetry that the \n\n\n\nPREFACE VU \n\npresent book of selections from his works has been com- \npiled. This has been done with his thorough approval \nand invaluable assistance. The passages quoted, though \nabounding in phrases and Hnes characterized by those \nclassic qualities of outer sensuous beauty and inner spiritual \ntruth which invite remembrance and repetition have not \nbeen selected mainly for these reasons, but for the impor- \ntance of the sentiments expressed in them, and the revela- \ntion that they afford of the author\'s attitude toward the \nworld without and the world within." Indeed, m many \ncases it is the paragraph as a whole which will be treasured \nby the reader, and recalled as much, perhaps, m mood and \nthought as in form of expression. _ \n\nThe contents of the volume have been arranged m the \nalphabetic order of their subjects, thereby rendering them \navailable without an index. The book thus forms m both \nthe subjective and objective senses of the phrase "a poet\'s \ncabinet," being an ordered collection of representative \nspecimens of the work of a poet, intendedfor the use and \nenjoyment of everyone who in spirit if not in rite is himself \na votary of the Muses. That the devotees of these divini- \nties are increasing rapidly in number is indicated by the \nrecent organization of poetry societies, pubhcation of \npoetry magazines, and repeated printings of collections of \nverse by single authors, as well as general anthologies, new \n\nIt is hoped that the present work will find its share of \nreaders among this select class upon whom the benison \nstill rests which was uttered by Theocritus of Sicily, \nconsecrated priest of the Muses. \n\nIn solemnly affirming his devotion to these goddesses of \nSong he said, \n\n"Beloved are they by me, for him who is loved by the Muses \nCirce can never degrade to grovelling uses ^^ \nWith the magical draught she infuses. \n\nMarion Mills Miller. \n\nThe Authors Club, New York. \n\n\n\n" The artist, the priest, the historian, the philoso- \npher, in moments of discouragement when they \nfeel themselves assailed by the temptation to think \nonly of a career or of money, may well find new \nstrength in the idea that each of them is working in \nhis different way to preserve an ideal of perfection in \nmen\'s souls \xe2\x80\x94 ^it may be a perfection of art or of \nmorahty, of the intellect or of the spirit. Let them \nremember that this ideal, limited as it may seem, \nserves as a dike to prevent our civilization from being \nengulfed in an overwhelming flood of riches and from \nsinking in an orgy of brutality. The task is so great \nand so noble that those who strive for it ought surely \nto feel that they do not live in vain." \xe2\x80\x94 The conclusion \nand climax of \'^Ancient Rome and Modern America" \nby Guglielmo Ferrero, page 248. \n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS \n\nI. The Author . . . Frontispiece ^ \n\nFrom a photograph \n\nDRAWINGS \n\nby \nHoward Chandler Christy \n\nIt is only doing justice to Mr. Christy \xe2\x80\x94 and it should enhance the in- \nterest in these illustrations \xe2\x80\x94 to state that they represent almost the earliest \nof his drawings and of the public\'s recognition of their excellence, having \nbeen prepared, twenty years ago, for an edition of " Ideals Made Real," \nwhich, owing to the financial depression of the period, was not issued as \nplanned. \n\nFACING \nPAGE \n\nII. Caused that our school\'s head, \n\nAh"eady nodding o\'er his noonday pipe, \nShould beck at sever\' d dreams with one \n\nnod more, \nAnd so consent to our dreams. . . 32 "^ \n\nIII. How, all its chairs made vacant one by \n\none, \nTh\' applause rose thinner at his bachelor \n\nclub . . . . . . 96 i\' \n\nIV. Awake, asleep, throned constant o \'er \n\nmy heart, \nI served this image all intangible, \nThis photographic fantasy . . . 128 \xc2\xbb\' \n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS \n\n\n\nFACING \nPAGE \n\n\n\nV. That oft then I recall\'d your form, your \nwords ? \nThat then I came to do as you would do, \nAnd think as you would think? . .192 \'\xe2\x80\xa2\' \n\nVI. Would only crave, \n\nWhen we have so much else in sympathy, \nThat holy state where two souls, else at \n\none, \nWould both be God\'s. . . . 224;-\' \n\nVII. With cravings pale \n\nFor church and stole and sermons of my \n\nown ...... 256/ \n\nVIII. " I mean," I breathed out cautiously, \n" to write \nA tale of love, and I have planned the \n\ntale \nTo open here." 288 \n\nIX. When autumn steals the simlight from \n\nthe flowers ..... 320V \n\nX. Storms of swift and full distress \nMay make of mind a wilderness, \nA flood of anguish bringing. . . 354^\' \n\nXI. Woman\'s grief, \n\nIf there be any manhood left in him. \nWill rouse his efforts to bespeak her \n\npeace ...... 384 \n\n\n\nA Poet\'s Cabinet \n\n\n\nA Poet\'s Cabinet \n\n\n\nACCENT AND LANGUAGE \' \n\nWe speak \nOne language too, but differ in the accent. \nThe language gives the passwords of the race, \nThe accent keys the culture of the home. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nACCEPTED \n\nTo-night when the sun had sunk below \n\nAnd the moonlight fill\'d the sky, \nOur hearts were beating Hke wings that would go \n\nAnd glow with the stars on high. \n\nsurely our souls had left the earth; \nFor a vague and mystic light \n\nHung over our hopes, and hush\'d our mirth, \nAnd hid the world from sight. \n\n1 had touch\'d her hand ; but my soul within \n\nFelt not the flesh that I press\'d; \nBut the flow of currents it knew were akin \n\nTo the fair dear life of the blest. \nAnd then it was all so easy, at last, \n\nFor me to say what I said; \nAs her full bright eye she downward cast, \n\nAnd turn\'d from me her head. \nShe is mine, she is mine; and the years may go; \n\nAnd the worlds may whirl where they will; \nBut heaven is good, and forever I know \n\nOur hearts must have their fill. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xlii. \n\nACCIDENT, INTENTIONAL \n\nAn accident! \xe2\x80\x94 \nLike that which follows from the rock that falls \nWhere men who lie in wait have loosened it. \nAn accident\' \xe2\x80\x94 oh yes! \xe2\x80\x94 that plots to arm \n\nI \n\n\n\n2 A POETS CABINET \n\nThe palsied, shaking, thought- void clutch of rage, \n\nAnd let it loose to raise a hellish storm \n\nJust where the good have come for heavenly calm! \n\nThe lightning of your flashing blades fell not \n\nBy accident. Dante, li., 2. \n\nACCUSATIONS, DANGER OF PETTY \n\nThat reminds me of a hunter who pelts a cliff with \npebbles that the birds may fly from it, and be shot \ndown. When ills are threatening conscience, petty \naccusations, that fright from paltry dangers, often \nprove the surest way to make us fly to great ones. \nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nACTION AND THOUGHT, MEN OF \n\nWith him quick action follows on the thought. \nWith me come only talk, and then more thought. \nHe mounts to find success. I prophesy\' \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \nPerhaps; but where success is, at my best, \nAm only of the crowds that cheer it. \n\nColumbus, v., 2. \n\nGive monks the meed of vague abstraction, \nBut noblest souls find satisfaction. \nAnd consciousness of life in action. \n*T is they that, where they cannot know, \nWalk on by faith, who strengthen so \nThe faith by which they further go. \n\'T is they that try what work can earn. \nWho test their own work\'s worth, and turn \nFrom wrong to right for which they yearn. \n\'T is they whose thinking aids their kind, \nWho, while they help their brothers, find \nThe truth that most rules every mind. \nAnd, while to this they too adjust \nTheir lives, because they feel they must, \nTheir faith beholds the form august \nOf God behind each form of dust ; \nFor God\'s truth only all men trust. \nAnd so I hold that work controls \nThe life that blesses most our souls. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, XLII. \n\nACTRESS AS ACTRESS \n\nReal lovers, hand in hand, may fail to see \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 3 \n\nHow she, with feigned famiHarities, \nCan make more firm my faith in my ideal. \nAh, they wot not that Hfe has left to me \nBut dreams of that which might be, not what is; \nAnd, while no dream holds her, I feel them real. \n\nMy Actress. \n\nACTRESS AS SWEETHEART \n\nShe would live, \nWith faintest smile, to fascinate \xe2\x80\x94 ah \xe2\x80\x94 crowds! \nThe rabble would be ravish\' d but, forsooth, \nTo clap with crazy hands the rarer air \nWherein she moved. For them her voice would sound \nWith every trill so swaying all who heard \nThat thronging cheers would thunder in response ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nHer form, so sweet, would plead till foulest lives \nWould feel how pure were joys beyond their reach, \nAnd long for things their touch could never taint ! \nMy sweet, sweet love ! Ideals Made Real, XL. \n\nACTRESS AS WIFE \n\nAlas, I could but seem \xe2\x80\x94 \nBeside the gilded glory of the stage, \nBeside the loud-mouthed suitors of the show, \nAn unwhipt cur, to wait at some backdoor, \nAnd jar with signalling bark the echo sweet \nOf all-the-town\'s applause. She mine would be \nBut as the sun, whose flaming brow has touch\'d \nThe morning sea that flushes far and near, \nIs thine, O trembling globulet of spray. \nBecause, forsooth, his image, glass\'d in all \nThe sea and world, is glass\'d, as well, in thee! \xe2\x80\x94 \nFool, fool! yet dear, dear folly! Idem. \n\nADMIRATION \n\nAnd what if her heart should then find sweet \nThe praise that her nature knows is meet? \xe2\x80\x94 \nA flower may live in its own perfume. \nAnd why not a maiden fresh in her bloom \nIn the sweet air shared by all the wise \nWho follow like fringe her beauty\'s guise? \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxxv. \n\n\n\n4 A POETS CABINET \n\nADVANCE {see CHANGE and progress) \nTruth\'s warriors in a mighty host advance, \nWhose Hnes with wings of infinite expanse \nNow rout, and now seem routed by the foe. \nSmoke-wrapt amid the fight, no man can know \nIf most he should exult in drums that beat \nFor forward movement, or for full retreat. \nThe line near by him may but backward roll \nTo shape the slow sure progress of the whole. \nIf so, surmising where he can not prove \nHow all things toward life\'s final victory move, \nHis faith need not lose all its confidence, \nTho\' it surrender every old defence. \nHeaven\'s truth were small, if naught it brings could be \nOutside the mental range of such as we. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, Liii. \nadvanced thought and action \nO soul, what earthly crown \nIs bright as his renown \nWhose tireless race \nOutruns the world\'s too halting pace. \nTo reach, beyond the things men heed, \nThat which they know not of, but need! \nO soul, what man can be \nAs near to Christ as he \nWho looks to life \nNot first for fame and last for strife; \nBut shuns no loss nor pain that brings \nThe world to new and better things ! \n\nColumbus, IV., 2. \n\nADVANCE IN ART \n\nIn_ candor, my friend, you seem too much at home \nWith nymphs of Olympus and gods of old Rome. \nThe world has advanced, and the artist, if sage, \nWill seek to give form to the thought of his age. \nThe curve of a limb and the pose of a head \nMay be all the same in the living as dead; \nBut she that you woo, must have life and be young, \nAnd speak, ere you love her, and speak your own \ntongue. The Artist\'s Aim. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 5 \n\nADVICE \n\nIn every path \nExperience is the warrant for advice. \n\nHaydn, xxvi. \n\nADVICE, SOMETIMES AN ECHO \n\nSome people ask advice like boys when shouting \nto get an echo; and a rock will give it. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, iii. \n\nAFFINITY \n\nYes, all through life, whenever come in view \nThose helper-spirits, always on the quest \nFor moods too like their own moods to rebuff \nThe thought that is to their own thinking true, \nTo know our own twin angel from the rest, \nOne touch, one look, one accent is enough. \n\nOur Affinity. \n\nYet at times I deem our souls \nAre all of them born in pairs ; \n\nAnd a sweet unchangeable law controls \nThe love that each of them shares ; \n\nAnd she, could she only know my mind, \n\nMight find a love, so deep, so kind! \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, XV. \nIn a single path I see them wend ; \nWith one thought\'s weight I see them bend. \nBrought face to face with whispers low \nFrom breath to breath their secrets flow, \nAnd, as if one stroke the sweet lines drew, \nThe smile of one is the smile of two. \nThen oft, more swift than a flashing ray \nThrough rifting clouds at the dawn of day, \nThrough lifting lids a glance will fly, \nAll slight yet bright, from eye to eye; \nWhile like twin clouds one sunset flushes \nOne feeling fills them both with blushes. \n\nIdem, XVI. \nI have found her face in the crowded room; \nAnd strange it arose as a rose in bloom \nIn the depth of a desert of rocks alone. \nFor I never saw then a charm but her own. \n\nIdem, XI. \n\n\n\n6 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nI have talk\'d with her; and oft has it seem\'d \n\nAs if I had known her long, \nIn a mystic realm of which I have dream\'d, \n\nIn a realm where speech is all song. \n\nBut what has brought her, and who can she be \nThat reads me through and through, \n\nWith the eyes of a god that, turn\'d on me, \nKnows all that ever I knew? Idem, x. \n\nAh, did my love but love me well, \n\nI scarce could need my love to tell; \n\nOut through my every trembling tone \n\nWould thrill through her the joy I own. \n\nAh, did my love but love me well. \n\nHer soul would need one only spell, \n\nMy face would come, my voice would call, \n\nAnd these would charm her, all in all. \n\nIdem, XXVIII. \n\nAFFINITY REVEALED BY AFFLICTION \n\nSoon as I show my spirit, \nYour own sweet spirit which is one with mine, \nWill recognize it, as we both thank heaven \nFor cloud and storm and flash that struck me down, \nAnd heaven in life that followed death in life. \n\nCecil the Seer, ill., i. \n\nAFFLICTION {see BEREAVEMENT and TROUBLE) \n\nHow often love that loses earthly friends. \nComes back from all things outward toward itself; \nAnd finding self, finds heaven\'s design within? \n\nHaydn, xxix. \nSuch conflicts come but seldom ; storms of spring, \nUprooting much, and wracking much the soil. \nThey find it frost-bound, and they leave it green. \nAlas, if grain or chaff grow then, depends \nUpon the germs their rains have wrought upon. \n\nIdem, xxxv. \n\nAnd He who made man what he is \xe2\x80\x94 ah, me ! \n\nTo make him what he should be, more and more, \n\nMay send the storms that sweep life\'s troubled sea \nTo bring from depths the gems that line the shore. \n\nOft spirits, rent within by grief and sighing, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 7 \n\nShow each on whom their inward treasures pour \nA wealth of worth that long has there been l3dng, \nBut not by one about them ever seen before. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, lxxxiii. \n\nAh me, to think what all could win, \nIn spite of natures prone to sin, \nBy working well their wealth within! \xe2\x80\x94 \nFor it, Hke gems of priceless worth. \nThat fill the mire and mines of earth. \nOft gains its dearness from its dearth; \nNor oft is got, until, at last, \nThe pick, or flood, or fire, or blast \nHas rent the place that held it fast. \nThen wonder not that wreck and woe \nShould be one\'s lot on earth below. \nKind heaven itself may open so \nThe spirit\'s depth, its worth to show. \n\nIdem: Doubting, xliii. \n\nAGE, A HAPPY, VS, UNHAPPPY YOUTH \n\nLike other earthly tilings, our lives move on \n\nHalf Hght, half shadow, and with me \n\nThe shadows came in youth. \n\n.... Your brilliancy \n\nDeveloped late, eh? like a winter\'s eve \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nOr lightning from a cloud. But you are right. \n\nThis life is like a bladder-air-ball. If \n\nYou press its youth-side in, you, by-and-by, \n\nWill bulge its age-side out. Columbus, 11., 2. \n\nAGE, CONSERVATISM OF \n\nEarth\'s elders and sages. \nFar off from the place where the springs all start, \n\nScarce ever can prize \n\nA stream that supplies \nA draft less far from its font than their age is. \nNo deeds can course from as grand a source \nAs the life of which they in their youth form\'d a part. \n\nNaught sparkles as bright \n\nTo them as the light \nOf an old, cold, frozen, and crystallized art. \n\nUnveiling the Monument, \n\n\n\n8 A POETS CABINET \n\nAGITATION \n\nMy spirit\'s agitation \nSo wrenched the links of memory that they failed \nTo hold together. Dante, iii., 2. \n\nAGITATOR, THE \n\nHe wanders through the state, \nAnd prophesies convulsion and reform \nTo those that feel they have not long to wait, \n\nWho heed in him the mutterings of the storm. \nHe spends his years in pleading and in proving, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd every year to more who mind his call, \xe2\x80\x94 \nHow life on earth toward life in heaven is moving, \nAnd freedom is a gift that God shall yet give all. \nA Life in Song: Serving, lxxxviii. \n\nFar his feet \nWould journey through the land from town to town. \nThe trumpet-blast of truth his lips would blow, \nThough courting oft maltreatment by his pleas, \nRoused throngs, erelong, with whom he march\'d \n\nunarm\'d, \nA champion of that love of man for man \nWhich cannot rest ere all have liberty. \n\nIdem, Note vii. \n\nAGROUND \n\nDeep plow\'d the cruiser\'s prow \n\nThe broken waves below, \nSo bows a bull whose pride is full \n\nTo toss a stubborn foe. \nShe plung\'d and reel\'d and roU\'d. \n\nAh, better had she tack\'d! \nThe water flew the bulwark through. \n\nThe mainmast bent and crack\' d. \nThe wind, it whistled there; \n\nThe boatswain whistled here. \nThe captain swore; the mainsail tore; \n\nThe jib had ript its gear. \nA flood was on the deck. \n\nThe crew were floundering round. \nThen, clean and chill, and safe and still, \n\nThe cruiser lay aground. \n\nThe Last Cruise of the Gaspee. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 9 \n\nAIM; NOT THE SAME FOR ALL \n\nOh, do not think that heaven moves all alike ! \nSome minds are sighted for a single aim, \nAnd right for others may be wrong for them! \n\nWest Mountain. \n\nAIM IN ART \n\nWhile only the light of a coming ideal \n\nLures those to the good who imagine it real, \n\nNo work can ever inspire the earth \n\nThat embodies no promise of unfulfill\'d worth, \n\nAnd naught that the world accounts worthy of fame, \n\nIn art as in act, but is rank\'d by its aim. \n\nThe Artist\'s Aim. \n\nAIMS \n\nOur lives are finite, but the aims of life \nAre infinite, and crowd on every side. \nWhate\'er we strive to reach, in thought, in deed, \nAt last, some one aim surely tips the scales; \nAs it has weight, its rivals are thrown up. \n\nColumbus, III., I. \n\nAIMS, HIGH \n\nI would rather snatch at birds than dig for worms. \n\nDante, I., i. \n\nCan it be true that aims too grand, too high, \nMay miss the garden sought, where, hour by hour, \nThe fellow- workers in new Edens meet? \nCan but the small seed\'s growing, by-and-by, \nEngarland all one\'s path with leaf and flower, \nAnd keep the world he lives in fresh and sweet? \n\nThe Climber. \n\nGod gives each man \nOne life where kindle feeling, thought, and will; \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd bids him hold it Uke a torch on high \nTo light himself and others. Do you claim \nThat he should lower it? \n\n.... Why, in form, perhaps ; \n\nAnd forms of different shape hold torches. \n.... None \n\nCan ever plunge the torch beneath earth\'s mire \nAnd keep it burning. Dante, iii., 2. \n\n\n\nlo A POET\'S CABINET \n\nAIR \n\nYou know a man may have an air about him \n\n.... Yes, and that which puffs up, makes a swell, \nis bad air. \xe2\x80\x94 No good air in gas ! \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, ill., 2. \n\nAIR, KEEN AND BRIGHT \n\nEvery atom of air is as keen and as bright as a dart \nof a Cupid to tingle one\'s blood to a glow and make one \nin love with all things. The Ranch Girl, 11. \n\nALMS \n\nWhat most men want the most, I think, is being \nlet alone; and money enough to buy the privilege. \n\n.... Then give us money. \n\n.... Give you money? \xe2\x80\x94 A true man wants not \nalms but aid. The Little Twin Tramps, in., 3. \n\nALONE {see COMPANIONSHIP, LONELY, and SELF- \n\nconquest) \n\nHow sad, when thoughts, proud once to roam, \n\nAbused and bruised, came mourning home \n\nWith their young ardor overthrown ! \n\nHow sad is life that lives alone ! \n\nThere was a time, when, brave and bare, \n\nThe little hands, all soft and spare, \n\nClaspt all, and hoped that love was there; \n\nNot gloved in fear, claspt every thing, \n\nWith every rose to grasp a sting; \n\nThen dropt it, sad and suffering. \n\nAnd what are now those thoughts about? \n\nOh, they have turn\'d from deed to doubt: \n\nThey work within, if not without. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, viii. \nIn life or death, knights crowned at heaven\'s high \n\nthrone, \nPass up through paths where each must move alone. \n\nMidnight in a City Park. \n\nWithin himself when fierce the fight is waged, \n\nOh, who can aid the purpose thus engaged! \n\nThe soul, unheard, in darkness and alone, \n\nCan never share a contest all its own. \n\nWhat coward he, then, when the crisis nears \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS il \n\nWho cries for comrades, nor dare face his fears! \nNo comrade\'s arm or mail can ever screen \nThe coming conqueror in that strife unseen. \n\nIdem. \nAlone, and yet not lonely. Be one true \nTo his own mission, he is in the ranks \nWith all that move toward all good ends that wait. \n\nColumbus, v., 2. \n\nAMBASSADOR, THE BEST \n\nNo wise or permanently successful man tries to \ninfluence others against their own judgments or \ninterests. The best ambassador is the one who best \nrecognizes that the world is wide enough for all, and, \ntherefore, that what is good for one is good for all. \n\nWhere Society Leads, ii. \n\nAMBITION \n\nWhat an appetite \nHas man\'s ambition ! all that gluts to-day \nBut bringing greater hunger for the morrow; \nA fire consuming all it feeds upon, \nStill flaming upward and beyond it all. \n\nColumbus, IV., I. \nHe \'s the happy man who holds his head not higher \n\nthan his home. \nT is right hard to stoop forever. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, xxvi. \nLet one, who honor craves, be strong \nIn worth, to make dishonor wrong: \nOr, if he crave a sceptre, find \nA task that fits a sovereign mind. \nTheir high ambition, do not doubt. \nIs heaven-directed and devout, \nWho strive, to plan, and then work out \nWhat God has given them souls to will; \nWith thankful heart remembering still \nThat shallow depths the soonest fill, \nAnd endless blessings wait in store \nFor those alone who long for more. \n\nIdem, Doubting, xvii. \nA woman wrecked at sea, would better lash \nThe anchor to her throat, than try to breast \n\n\n\n12 A POETS CABINET \n\nThe waves of life in such a world as this, \nWed to a man without ambition. She \nCould not sink sooner. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\nAMBITION, AND OTHERS\' WELFARE \n\nWhere thrived ambition yet, but strove to build \n\nItself a monument by heaping up \n\nThat which, when lost, made hollow all about it! \n\nHow many castles have I seen in Europe, \n\nWhere every graceful touch in breadth and height \n\nThat formed the great hall\'s pride, seemed underlined \n\nAs if by shadowy finger-prints of force \n\nThat snatched all from the hamlet at its base ! \n\nIdem. \n\nAMERICA \n\nOur native land, we love it. \n\n\'T is Freedom\'s own, where reign \nNo tj\'-rants throned above it \n\nO\'er serfs that wear their chain; \nWhere birth and wealth to worth give way, \nAnd none in camp or court have sway. \n\nExcept as all ordain. \n\nAmerica, Our Home. \n\nAMERICAN WOMEN \n\nOur waiting friends, \nAnd, grouped with them, some ruddy German maids \nWhose deeper hues but finely rimmed with shade \nThe subtler beauty of our special hosts. \nThese came from out that western world wherein. \nBy fresher breezes and by brighter suns. \nThe Saxon tissue, sweeten\'d and refined, \nUnfolds, each season, more ethereally. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xv. \n\nAMIABLE LOVERS \n\nIt \'s strange that the most amiable people are the \nvery ones that you girls seem to like the least. \n\n.... Wewant to have people like us not on account \nof their own good traits, but on account of ours. \n\nWhere Society Leads, i. \n\nANGELS \n\nAy, ay, as blest as the angels are \nThat over her pathway hover, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 13 \n\nWhose heaven is truly sweeter far \nBecause they feel they love her. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxi. \n\nANGER {see WORDS PASSIONATE) \n\nWere anger wise, \nThe face that would its force disguise \nWould not so blush to feel it rise. \n\nIdem, Doubting, iv. \nanother\'s \nNone from another\'s practice gains in skill, ^ \nOr grows in power of feeling, thought, or will; \nNone with another goes to God in dreams \nTo seek the strength that his lost strength redeems. \n\nMidnight in a City Park, \n\nANTICIPATION \n\nA coming glory casts a glow before it. \n\nThose who shall be the lords of f owldom gobble \n\nA gobble at times before their gills are grown. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nappearance, JUDGING BY \n\nWhere there are so many who think that eyesight \nis the spring of thought, our plans for them can be \nthe best made good, when we present them with a \ngood appearance. You see, if we dress up, and they \nsuppose we always keep dressed up, \'tis not our fault. \nWe have but done what everybody does; and they \nhave not had wit enough to know it. \n\nOn Detective Duty, li. \n\nappearance vs. substance in a witness \n\nIn a witness, one should not forget that words, like \n\nwine, are valued less for what they really are than for \n\ntheir fiask and label; and so the best thing one can \n\ndo for others is in appearance, often, and not substance. \n\nThe Two Paths, 11. \n\nappearances, NOT DECEPTION TO ALL \n\nI tell you these men know the world. To them \nwhite faces are no signs that show white souls. For \nthem no tears can wash away from cheeks the colors \npainted on them by the heart. Idem. \n\nAPPEARANCES PUT ABOVE ESSENTIALS \n\nHenceforward, though you know a bush be poison, \n\n\n\n14 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nBid men come pluck and gorge its pretty berries; \nAnd, if all die, expect no blame for it \xe2\x80\x94 \nYou have but carried out the kind of thought \nWith which heaven filled the kind of mind Hke yours. \n\nDante, ii., i. \n\nAPPETITE \n\nThe worst of prisoners is a soul \nSevered from its own realm by appetite \nThat lets naught pass that pays no toll to greed. \nMere soulless brutes are better than are men \nWith souls that love but that which they can lust for. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nAPPETITE, NEVER SATISFIED \n\nMen are never satisfied with things as they are. \nWhen their throats are dry, they wet them with a \ndrink; and when they are wet, they dry them with \na smoke. The Snob and the Sewing Girl, i., 2. \n\nAPPETITE, TO TEMPTER OF \n\nIf I gulp not the feast you gorge me on, \nAnd bury all my soul beneath the spoils \nOf foul and glutton appetite \xe2\x80\x94 why then \nI will not prove the bloated beast you wish. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nAPPLAUSE \n\n*T is not the accent of this world\'s applause \nThat marks the rhythm of the songs that fill \nHeaven\'s vault, and, with their sweetness, well-nigh \n\nstill \nThe wings of angels, tempted then to pause. \n\nStaking All. \n\n.... Ah, yes, as I remember, when I left, \nI roused a noise too. \n.... You have roused one now \nThat all the world will hear. \n.... You never praise \nA wind, because it makes the sea- waves roar: \nIt may be empty, and it may do harm. \nA man should judge men\'s noises at their worth. \n\nColumbus, IV., I. \n\nAPPLAUSE, AS A LIFE\'s REWARD \n\nHer soul had loathed applause, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 15 \n\nHad found her nature so belied, misjudged, \nHer life the embodiment of hollow sound, \nAnd all surroundings echoing back but sound, \nChill admiration in the place of love. \nHer friends but flatterers, and herself unknown. \n\nIdeals Made Real, LXix. \n\nAPPRECIATION \n\nThe sun may find \nIts image in the dullest pool. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nAPPRECIATION, THE WORLD\'s LACK OF \n\nA nation has been made the first on earth. \nWho made it this, for this deed has been made \nThe last in all that nation \xe2\x80\x94 not one shred \nOf all his property, or power, or rank, \nStripped by injustice from him, when well proved \nTo be injustice, has been given back. \n\nA new world has been found of boundless wealth ; \nAnd he who found it, finds himself a beggar. \nA king and queen were throned o\'er that new world. \nWho throned them there, they seized and bound in \nchains. Columbus, v., 2. \n\nAPRIL-DAY, AN \n\nCan I forget \nThat wondrous April day that set me free? \nAt first, as though I own\'d no soul at all, \nI seem\'d myself a part of that wide air. \nAnd all things else had souls. The very earth \nBeneath me seem\'d alive! its pulse to throb \nThrough every trembling bush! its lungs to heave \nWhere soft-blown wind-sighs thrill\' d the wooded hills! \nAnd then, this great life broke in many lives, \nAll one through sympathy. In lieu of clouds. \nThe gusty breeze caught up the fluttering lark \nAnd shook down showers of trills that made bare rocks \nMore sweet than fount-spray \'d flowers, while all the \n\nleaves \nWent buzzing on their boughs like swarming bees. \n\nHaydn, viii. \n\n\n\n16 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nARGUMENT VS. TESTIMONY \n\nIt is no one\'s business, in this world, to pound \naway with arguments until he has exhausted his own \nbreath, or benumbed the brain of the one who differs \nfrom him. It is his business to testify to the truth; \nand then to have faith enough in it and in God to \nleave it to do its own perfect work. \n\nArt and Morals. \n\nARISTOCRACY \n\nAway with all the forms in state or church \n\nThat aid the aristocracies of earth; \nAnd make men rate the bad or good they search \n\nBy outward accidents of rank or birth. \nAway with honoring spirit less than station. \n\nAnd crowning men for blood, and not for brain; \nWith testing worth by garb or occupation: \n\nAnd letting vice by might maintain itself, and reign. \nA Life in Song: Serving, lii. \n\nARMFUL \n\nOh, one could give a world of common men \nFor just one armful of a man like that! \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nARMS, A child\'s \n\nHer little arms about my neck seem adding to my \nlife as much of beauty and of sweetness, too, as does \nthe vine whose tendrils cling about the mouldering \ntrunk of our old oak. On Detective Duty, i. \n\nART \n\nWorks of chisel, brush, and pen. \nFit to body forth the thoughts breathed into them by \nGodlike men. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, xxxv. \n\nART AND BEREAVEMENT \n\nOGod, \nTo save one\'s art must love be sacrificed? \xe2\x80\x94 \nRedeem\'d at that price, art would be too dear ! \n\nHaydn, LV. \n\nART AND NATURE \n\nYou know there were no art, were there no forms \nOf nature in which art could frame its tribute. \nBut many an artist, for this reason, fears \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 17 \n\nTo emphasize the part he finds in nature \nLest it outdo the part he finds in self; \nSo often that which seems most natural \nThe one thing is that he will not let seem so. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\nWe read of truth who spell from nature\'s page ; \n\nAnd art can best make out the meaning there ; \n\nFor \'t is the artist\'s thought that finds each form \n\nA form of thought,\' \xe2\x80\x94 imagination\'s glass \n\nThat views the infinite in the finite fact. \n\nHere moves a man, you say. What see you?\xe2\x80\x94 man? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nNay, nay; that guise material fashions there \n\nThe image only of his manliness. \n\nAnd you can only know his hfe within, \n\nAs from the image you imagine it. \n\nYon Uttle girl that skips beside the porch, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI know her, love her, not, save as I pass \n\nBehind that face to reach a region rare \n\nWhere dolls are sentient babes, and brothers kings. \n\nAnd yonder maidens, musing in delight, \n\nI know not, love not, till, in sacrifice, \n\nMy spirit seems to yield to their desires, \n\nTo wait a watchful servant unto them. \n\nTo move with motives that inspire their deeds, \n\nTo look through their own eyes and see their views, \n\nAnd thrill with rhythm when their ear-drums throb ; \n\nThen, joining all with all, imagine thus \n\nThe movements of their hidden inner moods. . \n\nThus too, through all of life, how know we more? \n\nAll things are fitful images alone. \n\nReflecting glory from the Absolute; \n\nAnd he who can imagine from the part \n\nWhat marks the whole, walks in the light of heaven. \n\nFind then a life where every child becomes \n\nEarth\'s animated toy of manliness. \n\nEach man the mass from which to mould a god. \n\nAnd earth the pit whence all heaven\'s wealth is mined, \n\nYou find for thought a life worth living for, \n\nA life the artist gives us: it is he \n\nDiscerns a spirit always veil\'d in shape, \n\nA soul in man, and reason everywhere. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxxi. \n\n\n\n18 A POETS CABINET \n\nART AND TRUTH \n\nWhen emotion swells and shrinks, \nThe spirit\'s wings are moving, . . . \nAnd that art moves them most, which mirrors most \nThe life that is, and therefore is the truth. Idem. \n\nART, ITS INFLUENCE ON CHARACTER \n\nAnd things there are that art can do for man \n\nTo make him manlier. Not the senseless rock \n\nIs all it fashions into forms of sense; \n\nBut senseless manhood, natures hard and harsh, \n\nGreat classes crush\'d, and races driven to crawl \n\nTill all their souls are stain\' d with smut and soil, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nMore human seem these when the hands of art \n\nHave grasp \'d their better traits and hold them forth. \n\nAnd men who see these better traits, and see \n\nThe tender touch of art that holds them forth, \n\nBehold a beauty never else beheld; \n\nAnd all their hearts beat more humanely while \n\nThey heed the plea of these humanities. \n\nIdem, XLVII. \n\nART, MAKING THE IDEAL REAL \n\nThe Sistine Babe it was, we spoke of Him. \nBecause I find art\'s glass, when rightly held, \nRevealing through the real the truth ideal, \nI said: "I seem to see not only Him, \nThe Babe, but back of Him, His heavenly home. \nI seem to enter this \xe2\x80\x94 His handmaid there, \nAnd there commune until my soul is blest." \nI said : \' \' From thence my spirit seems to come, \nAnd feel its arms to be the throne of Christ. \nAnd this," I said, "is wrought for me by art. \nSome hold that souls transmigrate after death. \nBut art," I said, "makes mine transmigrate here." \n\nIdem, XVI. \n\nART, MODELLED UPON NATURE \n\nAnd truth is in nature, nor dealt second-hand \nThrough art, though most artful to fill the demand. \nSo think of the present, its deeds and its dreams. \nAs Raphael thought, but not Raphael\'s themes; \nNor be a Venetian to picture like Titian \nA woman to worship or goddess to kiss. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 19 \n\nYou are a new- world\'s man: model from this. \n\nThe Artist\'s Aim. \n\nART, NEW PHASES OF \n\nThe wants of the present, one never can gauge \nBy the heathenish tastes of a heathenish age. \nThe mummy lived once, and spoke as it ought. \nWe moderns, forgetting its life and its thought, \nFor lost art sighing, too oft re-array \nWhat is only a corpse, and ought to decay. \nE\'en if it were living, long centuries fraught \nWith progress in action and feeling and thought \nOutgrow the old charms, and make the world crave \nNew phases of art that the past never gave. Idem. \n\nART, SUGGESTIVE OF THE HIGHEST TRUTH \n\nIf the mere forms of nature can suggest the infinite, \nthe eternal, the absolute, and much, also, with refer- \nence to the character of the Life of which these are \nattributes, then the forms of art, even though they \nbe, as is sometimes the case, no more than imitations \nof those of nature, can do the same. \n\nThe Representative Significance of Form, 11. \n\nART, THE, OF LIFE \n\nThe ideal! \nHenceforth our aim be this, \xe2\x80\x94 the art of life. \nI saw it not before; the stage of spirit \nSo much more broad is than the stage of sense! \nComes on the soul now, actor, all divine. \nAt play no longer; nay, but shadowing forth \nA love complete that personated a God I \n\nIdeals Made Real, Lxxiv. \n\nART vs. NATURE, ENDURING INTERESTS OF \n\nThe works of human art may lose their charm. \nThe picture, statue, building, wear no mail \nThat can resist the subtle shafts of time. \nTheir brightest color fades, their bronze corrodes. \nTheir carving crumbles, and their marble falls. \nOft, too, when one has wandered far from home. \nAnd craves the things he once thought wrought so well. \nThe soul\'s enlargement of the treasures missed \nThat each may fit a niche of larger longing \nWill make all seem, when seen again, but small, \n\n\n\n20 A POETS CABINET \n\nAnd, tested by the touch of present fact, \nBut fabrics of a dream conjured by fancy. \nNot so with works of Nature. Years that pass \nMay make the field more brilliant with more flowers, \nThe ore more precious, and the cave more vast, \nAnd every mount, at our renewed return, \nSoar higher like thick smoke above a flame \nFanned into ardor by the panting breath \nOf fleet-sped winds that rush to its embrace. \n\nGreylock. \nart\'s proof \nArt\'s proof is in the setting. Judge by that. \nFor a Book of Contributions from Authors. \n\nASCETICISM \n\nThat slattern of the soul. \nAsceticism, shuffling toward far bliss, \nSlipshod and snivelling? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nIdeals Made Real, xlix. \nWhat of those \nWho deem it wise to keep themselves in shade, \nHeld as a shield to ward away the light \nWith every ray of color that might reach them, \nAs if they thought it their worst enemy? \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nASCETICISM CARICATURED \n\nWho ever saw thee decked in vain attire? \n\nOr thee not grave and gray? \n\nOr heard thee romp? \n\nOr thee hilarious? \n\nOr found thee once the toj^ of giddy fancy? \n\nOr thee, of disconcerted calculation? \n\nNone ever ! \xe2\x80\x94 Yet I fear this path. \xe2\x80\x94 I thought \nI heard \xe2\x80\x94 and oh, I dared then listen twice ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nI thought I heard strange singing \xe2\x80\x94 \n.... Birds? \xe2\x80\x94 I thought \n\nI saw \xe2\x80\x94 and oh, I dared then look there twice ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nI thought I saw a wicked, grinning ape. \n.... Hush, hush! Think not of these things. \n\nNay, but think \nOf things that God hath made. Idem, ii., 2. \n\nThe colors on the leaves, the very sky, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 21 \n\nSeem sadly gay. \n\n.... Oh, do not look at them! \n\nThey glow to tempt the lusting of the eye. \n\nIdem. \n\nASPIRATION \n\nA wingless hand \nLifts only to a wingless height. A r61e \nNot past the common reach of common men \nCannot incite uncommon aspiration. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nOur aspirations, which, as grandly they evolve, \nLight the brow of meek conjecture with the flush of \nbold resolve. A Life in Song: Dreaming, ii. \n\nthey know, when aspiration sweeps them onward \n\nthrough the sky. \nThat the outward Hfe could never give the inward \n\nlife the lie; \nKnow no heaven would draw them on, or give them \n\npower to heed its call. \nIf indeed the love and duty due to earth were all in \n\nall; \nKnow no soul could ever tremble, touch\'d as by an \n\norgan\'s key, \nIf the spirit\'s life that touch\'d it were a life that could \n\nnot be ; \nKnow no soul could dream a dream set free from all \n\nthat flesh can bind, \nIf within were naught to vibrate, like to like and kind \n\nto kind. Idem, Watching, xxvil. \n\nOh, have you never felt within the soul \nDesires that search far off in thoughts that steal \nAll rest from sleep through dreams and revery; \nAs if the spirit in its loneliness \nWere haunted by some long-lost sympathy, \nAnd struggling to regain the sunder\'d state? \xe2\x80\x94 \nDeem not to end these wants by earthly gains. \nWhile seeking them, the boy would be a man, \nMaids blush for maidenhood, and lovers kneel, \nThen fiercely strive for wealth and power and fame. \nBut, tho\' they know it not, they ever strive \nFor gains that loom beyond their earthly sphere, \n\n\n\n22 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nUntil their wasted energies give way, \n\nOr mount earth\'s thrones to feel they rule, alas, \n\nLike Alexander, only vanity. \n\nFor ah, their spirits crave the Infinite, \n\nNor can be sated save by that embrace \n\nWhich makes them one with God. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xli. \n\nASPIRATION AND HUMAN LIMITATIONS \n\nThe while my soul has longed to rise \nSuccessfully as field and clifi and tree \nTo heights where one could dwell above a world \nWhose common life appeared but all too common, \nIts aims too low for love to seek and honor. \nAnd yet a world in which my own self, too, \nMy body, spirit, all, bore part and share. \n\nWest Mountain. \n\nASPIRATION OF THE SPIRIT \n\nThere is one only mission fit for man, \xe2\x80\x94 \nTo be a spirit ministering to spirit, \nWhat fits for this? \xe2\x80\x94 A breath of higher sky, \nA sight of higher scenes, at times, a strife \nTo mount by means impossible as yet. \nWhat then? \xe2\x80\x94 Believe me that the spirit-air, \nLike all the air above the soil we tread, \nTakes to its own environment of light \nNo growth to burst there into flower and fruit \nThat does not get some start, and root itself \nAmid this lower world\'s deep, alien darkness, \xe2\x80\x94 \nNo spirit uses wings in heaven that never \nHas learned of them, or longed for them, on earth. \n\nBerlin Mountain. \n\nASPIRING \n\nEarth only shoos or shoots a bird ; \n\nTo draw its wealth, it yokes the herd. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBut few are those not tiring \n\nOf natures too aspiring. \nThe common leaders of the day \nAmid the common people stay. \n\nWho but confide \n\nIn those that guide \nAlong the common way. The Idealist. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 23 \n\nASS \n\nA grazing ass that kicks but grass \nHas tricks that yet may kill. \n\nHow Barton Took the General. \n\nASSOCIATES, EVIL \n\nLay hands on me, not I alone will have \n\nA score of masters. Look you to your mates. \n\nYou pledged yourselves to stand together? What? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHave you, or you, no foe in all this crew? \n\nAnd now you place your life in that foe\'s hands? \n\nWhen all he needs to raise himself in Spain \n\nIs telling truth? \xe2\x80\x94 no more? \xe2\x80\x94 Humph! Will he not \n\ntell? \nAy, kill me, drown me, I shall be avenged. \nWhen bad men band, then traitors fill the camp; \nAnd, if a fair foe fail, the foul will not, \nFor in that fight are God and devil both. \n\nColumbus, III., 2. \n\nASSOCIATION \n\nNothing keeps a man from going down like trying \nto keep side by side with those who are high up. \n\nThe Snob and the Sewing Girl, 1. \n\nATTIC \n\nMy attic here \nThat shields me like a soul in clouds. \nWhen one has left the grave\'s white shrouds \nAnd crawHng worms that gnaw\'d his heart. \nEre he and things of earth did part. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxxii. \n\nATTRACTIVE \n\nHave you observed which maid it is that proves \nThe most attractive to the most men? \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 No. \n\nTell which? Yes, tell us. \n\n.... Why, of course, the one \n\nThe most attractive to the most of them. \n\nYou see that most men are such apes \n\nThey never know which girl to go for next, \n\nUntil they see where some one else has gone. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\n\n\n24 A POETS CABINET \n\nAUTUMN (see FALL and mountain view) \n\nAWE \n\nWhen we disembark \nOur hands will plant the cross just where we land. \nAnd now \xe2\x80\x94 you seem exultant \xe2\x80\x94 I confess \nTo awe like that which Moses must have felt \nWhen God\'s own hand had touched him as it passed. \nI cannot stand \xe2\x80\x94 nay, let me kneel with you. \n\nColumbus, III., 2. \n\nBABES \n\nBut babes in homes, like buds that bloom in bowers, \nKeep out the sunlight but with hues that hold it there. \nA Life in Song: Serving, xv. \nAll men are babies of a larger growth ; and take our \ngood things as these do a bath. They shrink from it, \nat first, but forced to it, they feel so good they know \nhow good are we who give it to them. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, iii. \n\nBACHELOR \n\nAnd I confess that, while this light of love \nPlays lambent round so many glowing lips, \nI feel as chill, and lost, and out of place, \nAs one lone dew-drop, prison\'d in a shade \nOf universal noon. Ideals Made Real, v. \n\nHe was not loath to be left there with the ladies; \nand, while he was left there, you may rest assured \nthat he did not slight his opportunities. His eyes, \nas became one fresh from a school in which he had \nbeen trained to watch the acts of those each side of \nhim, were working vigorously. He had noticed soon \nthe sizes of these young ladies\' hands and arms, and \nhow they used them; the backs of their heads, and \nhow they had done up their hair, as well as many \nother little arrangements and adjustments, traits and \ngraces, that can be revealed best when a woman is at \nwork, and which, when they have been revealed to a \nbachelor, are apt to make him feel that he has been \nplaced on a footing of especial intimacy with her. \n\nModern Fishers of Men, II. \n\nBACK, TURNING ONE\'s \n\nA generous mind is never loath to face \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 25 \n\nThe object of its benefaction. No ; \nHad all that they have done been kindly done, \nThey would not thus have turned their backs upon me. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nBAD, LET LOOSE \n\nWhen you tap your bad, it flows like tides from \nflooded dykes \xe2\x80\x94 to loose an endless ocean. To be safe, \none ought to dam himself up at the start. \n\nOn Detective Duty, iii. \n\nBAD, THE, HARMS MORE THAN THE GOOD HELPS \n\nIt seems as if our good deeds all are written against \nthe light of heaven in light; and few, and often none, \ncan see them. Bad deeds are written there in black; \nand one spot makes a blotch of all things. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, iv. \n\nBALANCE \n\nIf off his balance, balance him, ay, ay \xe2\x80\x94 \nGet even with him \xe2\x80\x94 no great task for you! \n\nColumbus, II., 2. \n\nBALANCED CONTRARIES OF MOODS \n\nMy moods moved on, \xe2\x80\x94 life\'s usual way. \nThe mainspring sped by balanced contraries, \nAnd every pulse, whose beating proves we live, \nAnon with deathlike voids alternating. \nOne hour, my faith in her was like the sun. \nThe next, my doubt was Ughtless as the night. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxiv. \n\nBANISHMENT \n\nDid you ever dream \nA fate like mine? \xe2\x80\x94 a civic leper, Cino, \nTurned out of his own home because a pest; \nAnd then declared a pest to every home \nThat still would welcome him. This final blow, \nIt snaps the only staff remaining now \nFrom which my soul could wave a single signal. \nWorse off am I, than were a soldier slain, \nAy, than a traveler in a tiger\'s den. \nIf but these limbs were plucked out, one by one, \nI were not doomed to live on then alone. \nAn alien to all comrades, conscious ever \nThat to oppose the currents coursing round \n\n\n\n26 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWere vain as efforts of mere spurting spray \n\nTo still a surging ocean. Oh, my God! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTo live, yet be too frail to do the work \n\nThat makes a life worth living! Dante, III., 2. \n\nBARD, COMIC \n\nOr when sad souls the wine would quaff \nOf mirth brimm\'d bubbling o\'er with laugh, \nWhat sparkling draughts in their behalf, \n\nThe comic bard comes bringing! \nAnd ever, round the social board. \nAs full the foaming pledge is pour\'d, \nSee how good- will the heart could hoard \n\nIs lavish\'d with the singing. A Song on Singing. \n\nBARKING \n\nThis devil\'s cur, abuse, \nIs ever barking at my heel, \nProvoking sighs I should conceal, \nAnd making all my reason reel. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, IV. \n\nBASHFULNESS \n\nYou have such awful eyes. \n\nThey hush him so his inward soul stops thinking: \nAnd then his outward mien plays pedagogue \nAnd whips himself to make himself behave. \n\nDante, i., i. \nJust think how hot he must be in his heart \nTo make him warp and shrink up as he does \nWhen you come near. Idem. \n\nBASHFULNESS OF LOVE \n\nLove, like God, \nSo brightly dear is it, that lives like ours. \nPoor vapory lives, mere dews before the dawn. \nDare not to face it lest we melt away? \n\nHaydn, xvi. \n\nBASHFULNESS, THE SOURCE OF INSULT \n\nBecause my soulless will has made me brute. \nAnd kept me staring like a pointer-cur \nAs if to turn to prey the very one \nI most revere, must then my voice, forsooth. \nBark out an insult in the same direction? \n\nDante, i., I. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 27 \n\nBATTLE {see war) \nAnd not for self, but others, \nTrue men to battle go. \nNo longer meek, \nWhere wrong is cruel, right is weak, \n\nOr aught has brought the base to band, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThey throng to lend a hand. \n\nCecil the Seer, ill., 2. \n\nBATTLE WITH BOW AND ARROW \n\nWe just had drawn otir bows, each arrow aimed \n\nTo wedge eternal stillness in between \n\nUnhinging joints of some affrighted heart, \n\nWhen down upon us burst that thunder-flash. \n\nThe shock, so sudden, glanced the arrows up \n\nAs if to shoot them in the face of gods \n\nAsail the clouds in yon black gulf. It gave \n\nTheir men their chance. With one wild yell and \n\nbound \nThey closed like smoke about the lightning\'s fire ; \nAnd, all with darts whirled on like sparks before \nA flame that followed, they came roaring on \nTo fill the gaps their shots had made. \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \n\nBAY \n\nAnd reach the wharves, and watch the water still, \nOr ships about it sail\'d with subtle skill. \nLong charm \'d he knew not why ; and there would stay \nTill sunset\'s fire his glowing heart would thrill. \nWhose throbs within seem\'d felt as far away \nAs bells\' whose echoes broke like breakers round the \nbay. A Life in Song: Daring, lvii. \n\nBEAU \n\nSome women like a man that truckles to them, \xe2\x80\x94 a \nbeau that bends the way that he is pulled. But in a \nmodern camp the thing most needed is not a how, I \nthink, but bayonet. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, ill. \n\nBEAUTIFUL \n\nAy, sometimes things may be so beautiful, \n\nAnd fill the spirit with such holy thrills, \n\nTo doubt their truth were kin to doubting God, \n\n\n\n28 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWhen face to face with his own blazing presence. \n\nDante, ii., 2. \n\nBEAUTIFUL, THE, SUBJECT TO TEMPTATION \n\nGhouls Hke her can never look on what is beautiful \nwithout a strange, unconscious jealousy that turns \nwhat, in a pure mind, would be love to morbid hatred, \nhankering to play hell. Their ways would almost \nwarrant joy in heaven when all were singing impre- \ncatory psalms. The Two Paths, in. \nBEAUTY (see IDEAL and ideals) \nNothing of sweetness can fill the air, \n\nNothing of beauty bloom. \nSave as visions of life more fair \nOver the spirit loom. \n\nMusician and Moralizer. \nEver5rthing in art or nature, robed in rich or rude \n\nattire, \nGains in beauty while it gains in power to lure a pure \n\ndesire. \nSurface claims may charm the senses, but the spirit \n\nfrom its throne \nWaives away all other suitors for what charms itself \nalone. A Life in Song: Dreaming, 11. \n\nAll beauty changes what it brightens. \nA flower that blooms may merely fall to soil, \nBut, when it does, the soil to which it falls \nIs never quite the same it was before. \n\nDante, 11., 2. \nNo beauty was ever revealed in art \nWhere rhythm and tone or color and line \n\nDid not combine; \nAnd beauty of life was never one\'s own \nWho, when he had sought it, sought it alone. \n\nLove and Life, l. \nThe dim-veiled beauty of God\'s holiness \nLooms always through art\'s holiness of beauty. \n\nIn the Art Museum. \nI judged \nYour spirit by the beauty of its body ; \nAnd that seemed so at one with what I fancied \nI could not doubt that it would prove at one \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 29 \n\nCould we but know each other, through and through \xe2\x80\x94 \nWith all my soul that had conceived the fancy. \n\nDante, iii., i. \nHenceforth, let beauty\'s beams but gleam for me, \nI shall not shun them, as has been my wont, \nBut make my eyes a sun-glass for my heart, \nAnd let them burn it. Ideals Made Real, v. \n\nCan her eyes have ever beheld my frame, \nTransfigur\'d by a glow \nFrom foot to face \nOf beauty and grace. \nAs I see her? \xe2\x80\x94 Yet the halo came. \nOr she had not lov\'d me so. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xliv. \nThe hands of beauty when they touch and thrill us \nAll leave their imprint on ideas, and thus \nWe get ideals. ^ Dante, i., i. \n\nIn realms of right \nWith no such charms is wrong indued ; \nAll beauty is the halo bright, \n\nThe coming glow of God and good. \n\nHer Haughtiness. \n\nBEAUTY, THE ULTIMATE, SOUGHT BY ART \n\nBut, sure \nAs days roll up the sun, an hour must come \nWhen blazing blasts again shall shake these peaks. \nShall pile them higher, level them to plains, \nOr melt them back to primal nothingness. \nMeantime their mission shall be what it is : \nTo teach the world, not rest but, restlessness, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe aspiration and the aim of art \nThat will not bide contented till the law \nOf thought shall supersede the law of things. \nAnd that which in the midnight of this world \nIs but a dream shall be fulfilled in days \nWhere there is no more matter, only mind. \nAnd beauty, born of free imagination, \nShall wait but on the sovereignty of spirit. \n\nWest Mountain. \n\nBEAUTY, WHEN COMPLETE AND IDEAL \n\nBeauty is complete and ideal in the degree only in \n\n\n\n30 A POETS CABINET \n\nwhich those results of it attributable to effects upon \nthe ear or eye are combined with those attributable to \neffects upon the mind. Art in Theory, xiii. \n\nBEES, BUZZING \n\nMen swarm\'d, like bees, to buzz before, \nPrepar\'d to die, they stung. \n\nThe Lebanon Boys in Boston. \n\nBELGIUM \n\nThe snappish gales that fret the channel\'s waves \n\nWhirr\'d soon the traveller toward the Belgian shore; \nWhose belfries peal each hour that labor craves \n\nFull half an hour before the hour is o\'er. \nWhat thrift her fields evince! her art what beauty! \n\nBut would her strong, rough Rubens had but guess\'d \nThe joy a wise man finds, as well as duty, \n\nIn making art portray fair nature at her best. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, XLii. \n\nBELLOW, BRAINS THAT \n\nThese brains that bellow so about their pains, \nProve mainly their own lack of brawn to bear them. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\nBELLS OF THE TOWN \n\nThen, when the morn was breaking. \n\nOn every hill and plain, \nIn all the towns, we toll\'d the bells, \nThat all began with doleful knells, \n\nAs though for Freedom slain. \nAnon, they rang out madly \n\nWhat might have peal\'d to be \nThe land\'s alarm-bell \xe2\x80\x94 only now \nThey peal\'d to hail the new-born vow \n\nOf men that would be free. \n\nOur First Break with the British. \n\nBENEVOLENCE SHOULD NOT BE UNLIMITED \n\n.... Why, he\'s given his property away. \n\n.... Given everything away? \n\n.... Oh, no; not everything! Not such a fool as \nthat! Not such a sponge, either! To live at the \nexpense of the public in an almshouse makes a man as \nmuch of a public nuisance as to live in the same way \nin a palace. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 31 \n\n.... But, in this case, the judgment involves \nwhat seems rather compHcated. You are not choosing \nbetween povertj^ \xe2\x80\x94 or, say, sociaHsm \xe2\x80\x94 on the one side, \nand wealth \xe2\x80\x94 or, say, aristocracy \xe2\x80\x94 on the other side. \nYou are trying to take a Httle from both sides. \n\n.... Yes; because both sides are made up of \nparts, and I don\'t think my judgment will have done \nits perfect work until it has tried to distinguish be- \ntween some, at least, of these parts. A rational mind \ndiscriminates and selects, and discards only what\'s \nof no use. Well, I try to be rational. So, on the one \nhand, I don\'t accept socialism as a whole; because I \nbelieve in personal responsibility. I think every man \nhas a right to the stimulus that comes from knowing \nthat his own diligence and thrift will obtain for him \ncertain possessions that he can call his own ; and can \nkeep as his own; and, by and by, when unable to \nwork, can use for the support of himself and his family. \nBut, pn the other hand, I\'m not an aristocrat because \nI believe in communal responsibility \xe2\x80\x94 for others. I \nthink no man has a right to excessive wealth, to put \ninto his own coffers what is needed for the support of \nhis fellowmen and their families. Hoarding up money \nbeyond what one can use is Hke hoarding up fruit in \nthe same way. It tends to rot. It makes the indi- \nvidual self-centered, inconsiderate, mean, immoral. \nIt_ makes the community lose faith in republican in- \nstitutions, and fail to practice that love of humanity \nwhich underlies these institutions. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, iv. \n\nBEREAVED \n\nThen think not love is mortal, or can die. \n\nNo floods can flow but it has power to brave, \nToo near in nature to the heaven on high, \n\nTo sink resistless in an earthly wave, \nMore strong than death, bereaved of loved ones living, \n\nTrue love will aim anon for all men\'s good ; \nFor this its thought, time, strength, and substance \ngiving,\xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAh, could it find an aim sublimer, if it would? \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, lxxxv. \n\n\n\n32 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nBEREAVEMENT (see AFFLICTION and TROUBLE) \n\nWhatever the promise of rest or of toil, \n\nThere never can be an earthly soil, \n\nBut flood and earthquake tear; \n\nThere never can be an earthly air, \n\nBut wind and lightning rend. \n\nVain then to think of an earthly friend \n\nWhose love and help can last ! \n\nFor all, whenever their day be past, \n\nThe air they breathe, the soil they tread \n\nWill close in a coffin and leave them dead. \n\nLove and Life, xvi. \n\nI brought back not alone what books could give, \nBut in myself a sense of others\' wants, \xe2\x80\x94 \nFor in my heart a wondrous wealth of love; \nAy, wealth it was; though, like the ore in mines, \nIt only proved that that which lived had died. \nWhat though my life, complete with her alone, \nSeem\'d always rent? a weight of broken quartz \nThat only gleam\'d where it had fractur\'d been? \nThat weight was wealth that sparkled back to greet \nEach glance of sunshine. \n\nIdeals Made Real, lxv. \n\nBEREAVEMENT, LOSS OF A CHILD (see CHILD) \n\nHow sad when the one we had led by the hand \nWho had looked to us for every demand \nOf body or soul has gone to the grave. \nAnd we must live, not die as we crave, \nBut watch him pass to the sunless gloom \nBeyond that mile-stone mark of the tomb. \nAnd, led by those whom never he knew, \nGo journeying on the darkness through. \nAs, all alone. \n\nHe makes his quest \nFor a home to own \n\nIn the land of the best. \n\nLove and Life, XLVI. \n\nBIAS (see prejudice) \nHelp on no ways nor words that extol \nThe vise of a bias that binds the soul; \nNo rank held up by holding down \n\n\n\n\nCaused that our school\'s head, \nAlready nodding o\'er his noonday pipe, \nShould catch at sever\'d dreams with one nod more. \nAnd so consent to our dreams. \n\nSee page i \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 33 \n\nTrue worth as an underling stript of his crown; \n\nNo cause with a He \n\nFor a party-cry \nTo catch the low or to cotu-t the high; \n\nNo Hfe with a creed \n\nThat ends all the need \nOf knowing or growing in thought or deed. \xe2\x80\x94 \nWeigh well their worth ; true dawnings of light \nCan abide your waiting and grow more bright. \nWeigh not, you prove the trend of my thought \nYotu" soul is a slave to be sold and bought. \n\nWhatever the Mission of Life may be. \n\nBIGOTRY {see CHARITY and modern) \n.... Eyes, they say, \n\nMade free to roam round all the world of thought \n\nFind views too strange \n\n.... To those not free to roam? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWho envy what they cannot see themselves? \n.... They say such hate what does not aid reHgion. \n.... Aid whose, and what? \xe2\x80\x94 their own? \xe2\x80\x94 and are \n\nthey sure \nThey do not make their own selves lords, forsooth, \nBecause they wish to lord it over others? \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nBIG THING, TRYING TO LIFT A \n\nNo one ever tried to Uft a big thing, who didn\'t risk \nits falling back on him. On Detective Duty, I. \n\nBIRD, IN A SNOW STORM \n\nWhirred like the moulting wings of some vast swan. \nThe snow-blast broods above the landscape drear; \nBut through the wild wind shivers, high and clear, \nThe call of one lone bird that sings anon. \nSing on, thou child of warmth and light, sing on! \nI know thy loneliness, I know thy cheer. \nThy call will never bring one comrade near, \nNor make the world about less chill and wan. \nBut, oh, no tempest can outblow, sweet bird. \nThose drafts thine ardent spirit draws to bring \nThe breath of heaven to fill thy trembHng breast. \nSo thrilled to voice the world\'s Creator\'s word ! \n\nThe Solitary Singer. \n\n\n\n34 A POETS CABINET \n\nBIRDS OF PREY \n\n.... Show US, as I think, \n\nBirds of another^ s feather \xe2\x80\x94 birds of prey. \n.... In praying they do priest\'s work. \n. . . . Yes; in that \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd making mortals humble. One with aught \nTo plume himself on, will not go unplucked. \n\nColumbus, II., 2. \nBIRTH {see heredity) \nWhen the world began. \nWhat gave it light \nWas the touch of love\'s electric might. \nThat touch still brings, in the heavenly plan \nThe spark of the spirit that makes man man. \nHis life all starts in a flash of light, \nA gleam of glory, blessed and bright. \nThe while within him is lighted a fire \nWhere burns forever the soul\'s desire; \nAnd all he owns that gives him worth \nIs that inward glow that shines for earth. \nAnd shows the love that gave it birth. \n\nLove and Life, xxxix. \n\nBITTERS \n\nNo fetes are feasts with every course alike; \nAnd all fare better who begin with bitters. \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \n\nBLADE \n\nDull not the blade that carves at your own feast. \n\nColumbus, I., I. \n\nBLIZZARD \n\nWith a scowling sky blue-black from a blow, \n\nAnd the whur of a giant in skirts of snow. \n\nThe blizzard came howling ahead. The Blizzard. \n\nBLUSH \n\nOr blush anon with inward kindled fires \nTo feel the flatteries breath\'d from women\'s lips. \n\nA Life in Song, Note v. \nWhy, too, had she flush\'d? \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhat subtle weapon had been used to cut \nBeneath the surface of her mien, and bring \nThe heart-blood from its core? \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxv. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 35 \n\nBOARDING \nAnd you now \xe2\x80\x94 you are living with him here? \n.... Yes, living! \xe2\x80\x94 Did you think that we were \nboarding? Cecil the Seer, iii., i. \n\nBOARDING HOUSE FOR SERVANTS, A RICH MAn\'s HOME \n\n.... I should give up French cooking rather than \nrun the risk every week of having a French revolution \nin my basement. \n\n.... Yes; but John \n\n.... John\'s our old family butler, absolutely \nhonest and faithful. \n\n.... But the cook says he \'11 leave if John stays. \n\n.... But John \xe2\x80\x94 why John mM5^ stay. \n\n.... Now you see the trouble you make? \n\n. . . . / make? Oh, no mother, you make it. \xe2\x80\x94 \nWell, then, perhaps, both of us make it. We do it by \ntrying to run a boarding-house for a lot of half -worked \npeople whose resources of thought or feehng are ex- \nhausted the moment hands and feet cease pumping in \norder to fill them. A lazy booby wags his tongue for \nthe same reason that a lazy dog wags his tail; and he \nlashes mdiscriminately whatever happens to be near. \nNo wonder there are rows in the kitchen. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, iii. \n\nBOARDING HOUSE IN A COLLEGE TOWN \n\nThey act like a set of students in a college-town \nboardmg-house. They are away from home, and feel \nthat they are not responsible if they fail to keep up the \nhome-standard of respectability. \n\nWhere Society Leads, I. \nBODIES {see frame) \nMen may be best as they are; \n\nOur bodies may lenses be \nTo focus a light with a source too far \n\nFor earth its rays to see; \nAnd but for the finite forms we love \nWe never might know of the light above. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xv. \n\nBONDSMAN \n\nThe one that everybody\'s bid can bind \nIs everybody\'s bondsman. Columbus, i., 2. \n\n\n\n36 A POETS CABINET \n\nBOOKS \n\nAgain, desires that spurr\'d his eager mind \n\nWould dash it through the lines of some chance book, \nMuch thought to seize, and much to leave behind. \n\nAlas, how many truths did he o\'erlook! \n\nHow many rich-robed lies for guides he took! \nHow dazed grew hope, that follow\'d in the track \n\nOf forms that vanished ! how his conscience shook. \nCharged by each innuendo\'s base attack, \nSmooth-tongued as knaves are when they stab behind \none\'s back! \n\nA Life in Song: Daring, lviii. \n\nBOOKS, HYPNOTIC IN EFFECT \n\nSome men who always keep their minds on books \nsee only what their writers have described; or when \nthey think, think like hypnotic subjects whose ravished \neyes yield sight to breed suggestion. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, iii. \n\nBOTTLES, men\'s BODIES LIKE \n\nMen\'s bodies are like bottles; their heads on top \nlike corks that seal the contents. If you can only fill \nthe body up with what can make the whole thing be \nlight-headed, one little shake will leave the contents \nstale as popped champagne \xe2\x80\x94 with no life left in it \nexcept what can be used for your own purposes. \n\nOn Detective Duty, ii. \n\nBOUQUET \n\nOnly the stalks of an old bouquet, \nColorless, faded, gone to decay, \xe2\x80\x94 \nStill they are dear for the joys they bore \nWhile they were blooming in days of yore. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, I. \n\nFor one who would himself be here, \nAnd for ourselves who hold you dear. \nWe come, fair maid, to welcome you. \nFor sun-bright eyes like yours we grew. \nFor cheeks like yours, with ardor meet. \nWould flush, aglow their glow to greet; \nAnd up to you, our fragrance rare \nIs breathed from lips that burst in prayer. \nOur goddess dear, our sister sweet, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 37 \n\nThis meeting leaves our lives complete. \nNow dew may fail, or frost may sear, \nWe fade, we die; but have been here. \n\nWhat the Bouquet Said. \n\nBOY {see CHILDREN and youth) \nBut I would blend the purity \n\nOf her whom I adore \nWith manly power for mastery \n\nAnd promise yet in store. \n\nSo I would take the boy who roams \n\nToward life, half understood, \nFrom thresholds of those holy homes \n\nThat face alone the good; \xe2\x80\x94 \nA boy who has not reach\'d the brink \n\nWhere vice will cross his track. \nWhose wish that loathes the wish to drink \n\nStill keeps the tempter back; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA boy who hardly knows of ill, \n\nOr ill can apprehend. \nWith cheeks that blush, with eyes that fill, \n\nAnd faith that fears no end. \n\nAnd oh, I know that those who love \n\nThe purest part of joy, \nWould choose with me from all above \n\nThe heaven that held my boy. \n\nA Phase of the Angelic. \n\nBOY-FRIENDS \n\nThe kind was new ; \nNot human, so angelic. Ay, that soul. \nAs pure as loving, and as fine as frank, \nI half believe to-day, as I did then. \nStood strange amid his comrades of the play \nAs dogwood, wedded to the skies of spring, \nWhite in a wilderness of wintry pines. \nAh me, could all find all on earth so dear, \nChrist\'s work were common. I had died for him. \nIn fact, to shield the rogue, I just escap\'d \nThat very fate a score of times or more, \nBluft, bruis\'d, and battling for him on the green. \n\nIdeals Made Real, iii. \n\n\n\n38 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nYou know boy-friends are shy: is it a trait, \n\nTheir shielding of their hearts, that fits them thus \n\nFor life-tilts of their manhood? \xe2\x80\x94 How we two \n\nWould rasp each other when the world look\'d on! \n\nIn truth, each seem\'d to wear his nature\'s coat \n\nThe soft side inward, comforting himself, \n\nAnd turn the rough side only toward the world. \n\nIf strangers chafed against it, yet oneself \n\nAnd friend were saved this. Idem. \n\nBOY-LOVERS OF ONE ANOTHER (see MATE) \n\n.... Since we two were boys, \n\nThe only love that I have felt returned, \n\nHas been my love for you. \n\n.... And yet they say \n\nThe love of woman \n\n.... Could that satisfy \n\nAnd thrill with aught so true, unselfish, pure? \xe2\x80\x94 \nI worship boyhood, thinking what we were. \n\nDante, ii., 2. \nIn truth, I never see to-day a face \nWhere flash the kindling feelings of a boy, \nBut back of it, I seem to feel the warmth \nOf Elbert\'s heart. No school-boy past me bounds \nBut his dear presence comes to leap the years, \nAnd rush on recollection, with a force \nThat brings from depths of joy, still\'d long ago, \nA spray as fresh as dash\'d from them when first \nThey stream \'d in cataracts. With love like his \nTo flood its brim, my soul appear\'d so full \nThat, overflowing at each human touch. \nIts pleasures could not stagnate. \n\nIdeals Made Real, iv. \n\nI would that the boy whom thus I knew \n\nHad been of her kith and kin. \nAnd had shared her earthly nature too \n\nWith that sweet soul within; \n\nFor if so, I now could be sure as then \n\nThat all of my hopes were true; \nAnd my faith could join with another\'s again, \n. And joy in the strength of two. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xix. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 39 \n\nBOY, WHEN IN LOVE \n\nWhy, a boy, \nA boy in love, could not more gracefully \nLet tumble forth from his embarrassed lips \nThe whole sweet burden of his blushing cheeks, \nThan he did, pelting, helter-skelter, out \nThose metaphors at us, to vent his joy \nIn welcoming our own! Cecil the Seer, iii., i. \n\nBOYS, NOT SOUGHT FOR \n\n.... Some man might want to speak to me, and \nwhat should I do then? \n\n.... Why, run. Then they would know you were \na boy. \n\n.... He might run after. \n\n.... I should smile! \xe2\x80\x94 There\'s none want boys as \nbad as that. They don\'t run after them. We boys \nare thick as paving stones, and used like them to \ntramp on. There \'s no rush for us, except to rush us off. \nAh, Miss, you\'ll have a lark in these. The lark keeps \nflying and is safe. The Little Twin Tramps, 11. \n\nBOYS THAT SMOKE AND DRINK \n\nA boy that smokes at your age and drinks whiskey \ncomes carrying all about him like a weed, an air and \nodor no one can mistake. The shops avoid him, and \nthe sports decoy him. The Two Paths, iii. \n\nBRAHMINISM \n\nBut on a high, broad cliff his quick gait ceast; \n\nAnd thence, the while he pointed toward the east. \n\nMy eyes could see \xe2\x80\x94 upon a greener field. \n\nSwept of the cumbering trees, and half conceal\'d \n\nBy clouds of smoke as white as was its own \n\nPure marble hue \xe2\x80\x94 an altar; nor alone. \n\nSoon, standing near it, where the air had clear\'d \n\nA white-robed multitude of priests appear\'d. \n\nAnd multitudes about them ranged in line, \n\nAnd multitudes of victims, fowl and kine, \n\nAnd, ever and anon, a listening ear \n\nSome vagrant fragments of men\'s praise could hear. \n\nSoft interrupted strains that stroked the air \n\nAs though vibrations from the wings of prayer. \n\nThen, as I sought to learn the cause of all, \n\n\n\n40 A POETS CABINET \n\nThe altar-smoke that, ere this, like a pall \nHad rested o\'er it, rose afar and spread, \nLike Paribanou\'s tent, o\'er every head, \nUnfolding far past all foretoken\'d size. \nYet still the fumes unfolded, till the skies \nWere black as when that drapery thick hung o\'er \nThe pyre of dead Pompeii, lit of yore \nBy her fierce executioner, the grim \nVesuvius. Like that did this mass dim \nAll things except its own form hovering \nAbove the earth, and swiftly covering \nThe moon and struggling stars : but lo, ere long \n\'T was limb\'d anew, the while a wind-blast strong \nRent from its ragged outlines threatening forms, \nWhirl\'d like tornadoes, torn from clouds in storms. \nThese then, that seem\'d o\'er half the earth to lower, \nWere seen to be the arms of some vast power \nThat floated on the air: and soon behold \nTheir fingers far seem\'d stretching off to mould \nThe yielding texture of the pliant space. \n" Now watch, " my guide said ; "while on high they place \nThe stars call\'d surges, and the earth, mirtlok. \nAnd patals of the lower realm, where flock \nThe evil bands of Nardman. This is he, \xe2\x80\x94 \nGreat Brahma, who above the Indian sea \nOnce on the lotus lay, when truth began \nTo gild the dreams of youth, and guide the man. \nA Life in Song: Seeking^ xviii. \n\nBRAWN \n\nSay what you may of thought, \n\nMan\'s brawn was given him as well as brain, \n\nAnd there are things to tramp for, things to clutch. \n\nAnd days for doing. They are brighter, too. \n\nAt times, than nights for dreaming. Dante, ill,, 2. \n\nBREED \n\nThe strength that flows from a soulless mould \n\nMay bring me a breed, to my cost, \nThick-skinn\'d, thick-limb\'d, with brawn that is bold \n\nIn a world where love is lost. \n\nAll hell may hail their brawlings loud, \nBrute-headed, bull-necked, beast-eyed, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 41 \n\nA herd to make the devil proud \nOf the way God\'s wish is defied. \n\nAccurs\'d of God, and a curse to man, \nAs have ever been all of their kin, \n\nWhose lives have only fulfill\'d a plan \nTo thwart the spirit within. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxxi. \n\nBRILLIANCY IN ART \n\nWe sometimes hear it intimated that a foremost \ncharacteristic of the artistic mind is brilliancy. Let us \naccept this word. Brilliants concentrate and disperse \nthe light. The artist gathers in the truth which is \nmanifested through the appearances of nature, truth \nwhich is ordinary to an ordinary mind, and, forcing \nit through his own limiting but also illuminating \nindividuality, makes it flash forth with illustrating \nwisdom on all the world about him. \n\nThe Representative Significance of Form, xiv. \n\nBRILLIANCY WITHOUT STABILITY \n\nI have known of men \nWhose thought would flash like Hghtning, Hghting up \nHalf heaven besides the whole of earth; and yet \nA whirlwind, did you trust to its caress. \nWould never lead you in a madder dance. \n\nColumbus,!., I. \n\nBRILLIANT CHANCE \n\nIt were a brilliant chance! \n\nYes, far too brilliant \nFor moths to meet with, and escape a scorching. \nNo wick-light dazzles him. He knows the sun. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nBRINGING UP, OF BOYS \n\n.... No boys like him are wholly bad. \n\n. . . .But only not brought up well, eh? \n\n.... Are not brought up at all. Truth is are kept \ndown badly. You trample on a growing vine, it grows \nup crooked. The Little Twin Tramps, iv. \n\nBROAD \n\nHis broad desires in broadest fields would roam, \nWhere\'er was worth his nature to attract. \n\n\n\n42 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWhile ignorance with him smiled and seem\'d at home, \n\nAnd wisdom would not know a trait he lack\'d. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, iii. \nBesides, broad views alone give men offense. \n\nWhat tho\' on life\'s wide sea loom stars and shoals, \nBoth theories for thought and facts for sense? \n\nAlas for those whose too well-balanced souls \nLet not the aspect of but one view draw them! \n\nThink you that men will yield to such their trust? \nMost men are curs, and let small brute- will awe them \n\nFar more than great-soul\'d thought, however wise or \njust. Idem, vii. \n\nBROOK \n\nAnon a brook before my vision spread. \n\nIt seem\'d a path that fairy feet could tread, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA path of silver, o\'er a jewell\'d ground. \n\nWhich far away toward heaven-like mountains wound. \n\nWhite mists were clinging to the brook\'s bright side. \n\nLike spirit-bands I thought them, whom its tide \n\nLull\'d softly, couch\'d amid the dark-leaved trees, \n\nAwaiting bugles of the morning breeze. \n\nAnd all the rush of daybreak sweeping by, \n\nTo bear them off in glory to the sky. \n\nIdem, Seeking, iii. \n\nBROTHER \n\nA man alone? \xe2\x80\x94 You yet a brother are \nTo many a soul that sails the sea of life. \nWhere oft the horizon trembles with the change \nOf wind and wave; and hope, too hale, oft mourns \nFair promises, like skies that fade in fog. \n\nIdeals Made Real, liii. \n\nBRUTES AND THINKERS \n\nThe surest proof we men are not all fools, \nIs in the way we bruit them when we find them. \n.... Ay, and the surest we are not all brutes, \nIs in the way our thinkers make us mind them. \n\nColumbus, I., I. \n\nBRUTES, HUMAN \n\nA bear, you know, has hair upon his cheek. \nAnd growls, and, now and then, stands up and hugs. \nI like men who can prove themselves no brutes. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 43 \n\nBRUTES VS. REASONING BEINGS \n\nA man should use his reason. Are we brutes? \n.... No ; \xe2\x80\x94 worse than brutes when he comes. \n\nBrutes, at times, \nTo save their lives, will turn upon a man. \nBut we \xe2\x80\x94 five score to one, but all afraid \nTo call our souls our own. Let him appear, \nWe fly like cry-girls from a buzzing bug \nOne touch could crush in no time. \n\nIdem, III., 2. \n\nBUBBLES \n\nOutward gains bring only a show \n\nGleaming in bubbles a breath can blow. \n\nAll the glitter that ever they make, \n\nFlashing or dashing away as they break, \n\nAll is as nothing, unless men find, \n\nWithin and without them and broader in kind, \n\nThe light enlightening soul and mind. \n\nLove alone is the sun-bright air. \n\nFilling the bubbles, and making them fair, \n\nAnd shining on, when they all have burst, \n\nAs brightly as when it lighted them first. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, v. \n\nBURIED \n\nDying as a stranger dies, \nAnd buried like a man to be forgot. \n\nIdem, Finale. \n\nBUSINESS \n\nBusiness \nIs like a cyclone, fills our paths with dust \nAnd bustle; yet men say it comes to clear them \n\nAnd bring us rest and comfort. Humph! \n\nDante, 11., i. \n\nBUSINESS SUCCESS \n\nThe tides when highest fall the soonest. Success in \nbusiness depends on buying when others want to sell \n\xe2\x80\x94 so buying cheap; and selling when the others want \nto buy. The Two Paths, 11. \n\nCALL, THE spirit\'s {see SOUL and spirit) \nFor him who hears anon by day or night the spirit\'s call. \nNaught is fitting save to be and do and speak the \ntruth to all. \n\n\n\n44 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nLet the world refuse to heed it, \xe2\x80\x94 he at least is not to \n\nblame; \nFor the truth still rules his action, and the heavens \n\ndirect his aim. \nLet the world with force oppose him, \xe2\x80\x94 he may lead \n\na worthy life ; \nAnd his words may prove prophetic, tho\' his works \n\ninsure him strife. \nLet him make mistakes in methods, \xe2\x80\x94 who can learn \n\nthese till he tries? \nAnd the world that brings him failure, makes him \n\nfail to make him wise. \nHe alone can hope to prosper, who has learned to use \n\nthe light, \nRay by ray, that shows the spirit, step by step, the \n\nway of right ; \xe2\x80\x94 \nOnly he, who, when his dreaming lures him toward \n\nideals rare. \nWakes to gird and venture on, to be, to do, at least \nto dare. A Life in Song: Dreaming, XLiii. \n\nAnd so, when ceaseless calls appeal, \nOne dare not from them turn away. \nNay, nay, he must some work essay, \nHowever slight, in every fray. \nWho blows a bugle, beats a drum, \nOr jingles rhymes, may rouse in some \nThat spirit which, in truth\'s grand war, \nGains all this life is given for ! \n\nIdem, Doubting, xxxvi, \nLet then the Spirit\'s voice be heard, \nTho\' warbling only like a bird \nVague sounds that hardly hint a word. \nThe men who hear that call on high, \nI will believe, if toward the sky \nThey turn, and think that love is nigh. \nAre bless\'d tho\' they but heave a sigh. \n\nIdem, XLiv. \n\nCAP AND BELLS, ATTRACTING ATTENTION \n\nYou think a fool in cap and bells is not so big a fool \nas he that never wears the cap and bells, yet wants to \nget the world\'s attention. Go on, boy, I will listen. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, ii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 45 \n\nCAPTIVES, LED \n\nSo now they held three captives ; \n\nAnd these, by daggers led. \nThey slipt about the camp and out, \n\nAs needles flit with thread. \n"^ How Barton Took The General. \n\nCAPTURE OF A CRUISER \n\nThey came to Fenner\'s dock; \n\nAnd found, awaiting there. \nEight yawls, that Brown had lent the town, \n\nIn Captain Whipple\'s care. \n\nThe crews that mann\'d the yawls \n\nHad muffled every oar; \nAnd they, and men who join\'d them then. \n\nAll told, were sixty-four. \n\nTheir arms were pick\'d with care \n\nFrom all their friends could loan ; \nAnd all the yawls, for cannon balls, \n\nWere stock\' d with paving-stone. \n\nThey battled wind and tide, \n\nThree hours amid the gloom. \nThe midnight pass\'d. They saw, at last, \n\nThe cruiser\'s bulwarks loom. \n\n"Who comes?" her watch call\'d out. \n\n"Who comes!" her captain cried. \nThen swift alarm\'d, in tones that arm\'d, \n\nHer crew that toward him hied. \n\n"Move off!" her captain roar\'d. \n\nHis pistol aiming well; \nThen fired \xe2\x80\x94 alack! fire answer\'d back; \n\nHe started, stagger\'d, fell. \n\nAnd then, as dark and fierce \nAs tidal waves, where fleets \nAre whelm\'d and whirl\'d and downward \nhurl\'d \nTill death their deed completes, \n\nOur men, at Whipple\'s cry, \n"Up, up!" clear\'d every check; \nAnd dash\'d and leapt and slash\'d and swept \nAcross the cruiser\'s deck. \n\n\n\n46 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nBut hold ! \xe2\x80\x94 her men were gone. \n\nOurs held the deck alone; \nTheir work had done, nor fired a gun; \n\nThe cruiser\'s crew had flown. \n\n"Surrender here!" rang out; \n\nAnd out the cabin glanced \nAt first a few, then all the crew; \n\nThen one and all advanced. \n\nThe Last Cruise of the Gaspee. \n\nCARE \n\nWhat joy to feel that now it all is over! \n.... All never will be over in this world. \nThe great care passes, but trails lesser cares \nThat aggregate no less of worry. \n\nColumbus, IV., I. \n\nCARE-TAKING, AND A SENSE OF OWNERSHIP \n\n^ Humph, what a fool a fellow is for being envious of the \nrich ! \xe2\x80\x94 They want to seize this house and smash it. One \nonly owns the thing he keeps. A man might think he \nowned the world, if everything he saw he tried to keep as \nsafe as when he found it. The Little Twin Tramps, ii. \nCARICATURE {see donkey) \nA caricature, when popular, is a conclusive proof \nthat what is caricatured is popularly thought to be \nridiculous. When this is something to which all have \nbeen accustomed all their Hves, it indicates the skepti- \ncism that may lead to reformation. \n\nThe Laws of English Orthography. \n\nCATCHING \n\nYou want to free this fox, eh, for the fun of catching \nhini again? You want to play your game of hell? \nA sinner saved, you think, may fall once more? \n\nThe Two Paths, i. \n\nCATHEDRAL VS. CHARACTER AS SOURCES OF INFLUENCE \n\nYou but wander\'d as the lamb; \n\nMy spotless, worldling-mediator, you! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nIt wander\'d?\xe2\x80\x94 yes; it cross\'d a threshold chill; \n\nA proud cathedral enter\'d; there found one \n\nToo pleased with what he had, to gaze outside. \n\nTo him those arches low seem\'d high as heaven; \n\nAnd all the sweet and sunny air without. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 47 \n\nWhen strain\'d through stain\'d and smoke-wreathed \n\nwindow-panes, \nGleam\'d lurid as were hell. This man spied you: \nHe saw you shun him \xe2\x80\x94 leave him. He pursued \xe2\x80\x94 \nOut, past the doorway \xe2\x80\x94 and he found God\'s world^^ \nSo much more broad than walls named after Him!" \n\nIdeals Made Real, lxxii. \n\nCAUSE, THE \n\n"Head. You follow. Should I fall, \n\nMove on : my corpse may give \nAt least a vantage ground! Move up: \n\nThe cause, it is, must live!" Ethan Allen. \n\nCAUTION \n\nA man who lives for others, not for self, \nHas Httle fear for self; yet care for them \nMay give him caution. Columbus, iii., i. \n\nOur nearest friends, \nIn judging us, our works, not wishes, take, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWorks oft as far from what the soul intends \nAs dreamland from the Hfe to which we wake. \nFull oft our traits that temper it may make \nImpure the coloring of our purest aim. \n\nSo need we caution, and for truth\'s own sake; \nLest those who watch love\'s fire within us flame \nShall doubt if it from love or something baser came. \nA Life in Song: Daring, LXix. \n\nCAUTIOUS \n\nIf when one come to pluck a rose, he finds \nIt grows on thorns, he may become more cautious. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nCAVALRY CHARGE, A HERO IN A \n\nYou should have seen him when the battle came. \nHe led the last charge, speeding on a steed \nWellnigh as white as was the air it sHd through, \nHis form bent down as if to hurl his head \nAgainst their lines, and by sheer force of brain, \nBurst through them. Faster than the following wind \nHe flew, as if the blast that urged him on \nWere some last trump of Gabriel\'s, and the soul \nCould fear no ills, for it had passed beyond them. \n\nIdem. \n\n\n\n48 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nCEMETERY, A \n\nThe live-oak\'s bending boughs, gray-draped in moss, \n\nLike mourning sentinels, guard the winding ways ; \n\nBut under them each grave the eye surveys \n\nIs wreathed with flowers that breezes gently toss. \n\nAh, if the bowed oaks fitly frame our loss. \n\nBeneath them crowd, too, symbols of the bays \n\nTo crown our loved ones in those far, fair days \n\nThat nights end not and storms can never cross. \n\nThough bodies fail, souls need not meet defeat. \n\nNay, let our spirits rise above like these \n\nBlithe birds that, winged from out sweet flowery beds, \n\nSoar up and sing through clouds of moss-hung trees, \n\nSing as of dreams of beauty, sure to greet \n\nThe slumber on which God such beauty spreads. \n\nBonaventure Cemetery, Savannah. \n\nThere are few kindred places on the earth \n\nWhere rest as many great men as lie here; \n\nOr, in proportion, more men to revere \n\nOf those whose learning was outweighed by worth. \n\nNot strange then that, at many a household-hearth \n\nAnd student desk, our generation fear \n\nTo change or question aught these men held dear; \n\nAs if, forsooth, a saint could need new birth! \n\nPrinceton Cemetery. \n\nCHANGE FOR ITS OWN SAKE \n\nAnd times that do not like a cackling hen. \nAnd seek to fill their coops with fowl that crow. \nWill not get many eggs. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\nCHANGE IN ASPECTS OF SPIRITUAL TRUTH {see ADVANCE, \n\nPROGRESS, and wisdom) \nSo, when life\'s last grand sunrise gilds our night. \nAnd heaven\'s wide opening gates flash forth their light. \nWho knows what forms on earth may be the first \nTo catch the glories that shall o\'er us burst? \nWith all our boasts, life is not perfect yet ; \nNor are all forms within which truth is met \nTransparent to reveal its hidden worth ; \nNor large enough to hold it, when from earth \nIt springs toward heaven. The safeguards fram\'d \naround \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 49 \n\nThe sprout when first it starts to leave the ground, \n\nNow that it presses upward and about \n\nAnd from its narrow frame is bursting out, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nCan these that held the twig in, hold the tree? \n\nOr think you life a force that can endure, \n\nAnd never change, nor ever grow mature? \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, LI. \n\nCHARACTER, DETERMINED BY DOING, NOT FEELING \n\nSome men there are have murder in their hearts \n\nThrough all their lives ; and if they murder not \n\n.... They may be rightly numbered with the saints. \nNot what our lower nature makes us feel, \nBut what our higher nature lets us do, \nDetermines what we are. Dante, 11., 2. \n\nCHARITY FOR OTHERS* OPINIONS {see MODERN) \n\nAy, when men desire the whole truth, each one\'s \nnature like a chart \n\nShall unfold to show what only all together can impart. \n\nTill that time, though those about us vie to be the \nfoes of truth, \n\nLet it be its own defender; they will learn in time, \nforsooth. \n\nHow much more may spring to light, where only won- \ndering fancies teem, \n\nThan where listlessness in stupor slumbers on with- \nout a dream ; \n\nHow much more may be discerned, where love too \nlightly waives distrust. \n\nThan where mad intolerance gags a pleading doubt \nwith naught discuss\'d. \n\nThey will learn that wise men find that minds when \ntrusted most, confess \n\nWhere are hid the springs of thought which he who \nmoves them needs to press. \n\nLearn that those who war with words must heed, ere \ncrown\'d with victory, \n\nBoth the right array\'d against them, and the wrong; \nfor charity. \n\nFirst in logic as in worship, leads the mind\'s trium- \nphant train. \n\n\'T is the Christ, not Aristotle, holds the scepter of the \nbrain. A Life in Song: Watching, xix. \n\n\n\n50 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nCHARM, UNCONSCIOUSNESS OF \n\nUnconscious of their charm, the wind-swayed trees \n\nTheir welcomes wave ; and hills with flower-lined ways \n\nRise dawn-like, and, bedimmed with morning haze \n\nLike incense visible, make sweet the breeze. \n\nAnd, all unconscious of their charm as these, \n\nThe fair, sweet children pass me in their plays, \n\nNor dream that seeing them one joy conveys \n\nTo me whom they feel no desire to please. \n\nAh, thus unconscious, must each human will \n\nInspire enchantment in a fellow-soul? \n\nVain then to hope that our mere toil or skill \n\nCan gain our life or art its lordliest rdle. \n\nThe spirit\'s touch that stirs the spirit\'s thrill \n\nStarts in a source too deep for man\'s control. \n\nUnconscious Charm. \n\nCHARMER \n\nA wretch has come, as vile as he is ugly; \n\nAnd if I were the charmer of a snake, \n\nI could not shrink from touch more horrible. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nCHEST \n\nHow broad his chest is! \xe2\x80\x94 Look! \xe2\x80\x94 and how it heaves! \nHard work, I think, but thrilling work as well, \nTo keep inside of it a spirit grand \nAs his! Dante, i.,2. \n\nCHILD {see BOY and youth) \n\nWhile a man can doubt \nThe truth within him, nor show it without, \nThe child holds fast, unfetter\'d by lies, \nA faith that he never has dared to despise, \nExpression that knows no other control \nThan that of the Maker who moves the soul, \nA beauty of wisdom that works to obey \nA holy, because a natural way; \nAnd that may he have that a man may not. \n\nOf Such Is the Kingdom. \nThe truth is trite that earthly trust can wend \n\nTwo ways alone in which \'t is ne\'er beguil\'d: \nWhen, journeying with it, moves a like train\'d friend \nOr, this impossible, an untrain\'d child. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, xxi. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 51 \n\nCHILD, A DECEASED {see BEREAVEMENT) \n\nOh, surely love must care \nFor child-life everywhere! \nKind hands, they must be there, \n\nSo soft, so fond! \nThey must keep my child for me, \nForever a child to be. \nWhere forever a home I see \n\nIn the life beyond. \n\nIn the Life Beyond. \n\nCHILDREN \n\nMore sweet than bursting buds and sprouting grain \nThat bring new life to view when spring draws \nnear; \nMore bright than summer suns that gild the plain. \n\nEre autumn crowns with gold the old grown year; \nMore sweet, more bright to me appear the graces \n\nThat fill the spring of childhood\'s opening worth; \nMore sweet, more bright the smiles of kindly faces \nThat in the home make ripe the fruits of heaven on \nearth. A Life in Song: Serving, xvi. \n\nOur children that make our houses anon \nWeird mirrors in which, with scarcely a blur, \nOur own lost lives we see as we were. \n\nThe Last Home Gathering. \n\n.... Have you children too? \n\n.... Oh no. \n\n.... Congratulations! Few things make a slower \ncoach than crowds of passengers. \n\n.... No, really no! \n\n.... Have known a lot of homes that were so \nloaded down. Some children climb their parent\'s \nknees as parasites climb trees \xe2\x80\x94 you never see them for \nthe parasites. On Detective Duty, iii. \n\nCHILDREN, REPRESENTATIVE \n\nThe little children of a house, like little drops of \ndew, not only flash the light about them, but they \nimage, too, the source from which it comes. So one \ncan read a parent\'s or a teacher\'s traits through what \nthe children show by thus reflecting them. \n\nIdem, I. \n\n\n\n52 A POETS CABINET \n\nOne hates to have her children tagging round. You \nknow some people always judge us by them, as if they \nadvertised us, like the tags that we forget to cut from \nour new capes. Idem, in. \n\nCHILDREN, SCRATCH OR SPONGE \n\nAll children, too \xe2\x80\x94 too sharp, or else too soft. They \neither scratch you, or they sponge upon you. \n\n.... They give a scrubbing, though, that keeps \nus clean. The Two Paths, in. \n\nchildren\'s and parent\'s thoughts \nOur children, when we feed and dress them well, \nmay trot along contented where our bodies are leading \nthem, but never where our thoughts. These do not \nwalk but fly; and, where they wing, they leave no \ntracks behind them. Even those who try to follow \ncan not often do it. Tuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nchildren\'s views of life \nLo, feebly rises \n\nA voice that wails, \nAs life surprises \nAnd lifts the veils \nFrom the eyes of a babe that little prizes \nAn unsought birth \nIn a lone chill earth \nWhere it weeps and wonders what life is worth! \nThe eyes draw back from the points of the light \nThat glance from a world that is all in a glitter. \nThe cheeks to mysteries huge look fright. \n\nThe swaddling chafes and the cups are bitter. \nThe small hands clutch for motes of the air. \n\nFor plaits of the dress, for folds of the bed; \nBut the marvels move and mingle and tear, \n\nRedoubled by every shred. \nSoon, limbs that balance the tottering brain \nFall down in the pathway damp with the rain ; \nOr fly with shrieks from the boisterous joys, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe barking and bounding of dogs and boys, \nAnd wheels incessantly grinding out noise. \nAnd if, indeed, the flowers be sweet. \nThe garden is close to the long, wide street, \nAnd all the big houses, and who can they be \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 53 \n\nThe smileless people so stern to see? \n\nThe lone little being, bewildered by needs \n\nAnd thoughts it can speak not, or nobody heeds, \n\nAh, where can it find any respite or rest, \n\nTill cradled, anon, on its mother\'s breast, \n\nIts faith a feeling by none withstood; \n\nIts hope that of saints in God and in good. \n\nLove and Life, iv., V. \n\nCHOICE, FOR LIFE {see CONVERSION, PRIEST, REGENERA- \nTION) \n\nThere comes a time that none can escape, \nWhen each for himself a choice must make. \nMust turn to a path that is right or is wrong, \nAnd the path that he takes is a path life-long. \nWhat though some weak, mild memory know \nNot the hour nor the day that tested it so? \nWhat though some shrink from the woes before \nWith a shock that is never forgotten more? \xe2\x80\x94 \nAll noted their paths, and thought of the change \nTill nothing that came seem\'d wholly strange. \n\nLove and Life, xvii. \n\nCHOOSE, LEARNING TO, AT MATURITY \n\nBetween youth\'s immature credulity. \nThat dares to think but what some guardian thinks, \nAnd manhood\'s faith mature that thinks for itself, \nA realm there is where will must learn to act \nThrough doubt and danger; where the character. \nFirst wean\'d from oversight, must learn to choose. \nThen, like a tottering child it yearns to cling \nTo one whose greater power can for it act. \nIts mood determines that to which it clings. \nSome girls are giddy : \xe2\x80\x94 they embrace a lover \nAnd some are gloomy: \xe2\x80\x94 they beset a priest. \n\nHaydn, XL. \n\nCHRIST, THE \n\n.... But what then of the Christ? \n\n.... Did He not say \n\nHe lived in spirit ere He lived on earth? \xe2\x80\x94 \n.... He said He came for others. \n. . . . Do you think \n\nA spirit such as His would need to come \n\n\n\n54 ^ POETS CABINET \n\nFor His own good? \n\n.... And yet that sacrifice? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n.... He sacrificed the spirit-Hfe for Hfe \nOn earth, and Ufe on earth for spirit-life. \n\n.... And but fulfilled a common r61e? \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \' \xe2\x80\xa2\' Not common, \n\nDid He fulfill our spirit\'s best ideal; \nFor spirits live in thought. How can they know \nOf any God beyond their thought of him? \n\n.... But if they know the Son? \n\n.... They know, at best, \n\nA "Son of Man," as well, too, as "of God,"\xe2\x80\x94 \nIn spirit one with Him, but not in frame. \n\n.... And yet a "Saviour" \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n.... What inspires, but spirit? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nOr saves, but inspiration? He \xe2\x80\x94 enough \xe2\x80\x94 \nAll must move upward would they find the Christ. \n\nCecil the Seer, ii., 2. \n\nCHRIST AND HIS FOLLOWERS \n\nAsk me not to limit thus the Christ. \nHow dare I? \xe2\x80\x94 ^if our churches teach the truth, \nIf He incarnated the sum of life \nAnd spirit of all good, \xe2\x80\x94 His holiness \nHis wholeness, and His perfectness, the proof \nOf what He was? Nor dare I limit those \nWho follow Him. \xe2\x80\x94 Why may they not live His, \nNot aiming here nor there, but everywhere \nTo make the most of all God meant them for. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xlvii. \n\nCHRISTLIKE \n\n"Whatever your churches or priests may claim, \n\nWhen making their worldly rolls, \nThose made by God for heaven will name \n\nThe men that have Christlike souls. " \n\nThe Religion of Rescue. \n\nCHURCH {see form and spirit and worship) \nA church the home of all that hope has taught, \nOr faith has felt, or love and grace have wrought. \nOn earthly floods the ark that saves the soul. \nHow blest its halls, and its divine control, \nWhere youths\' unfolding natures learn to pray, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 55 \n\nAnd move through Hfe in heaven\'s appointed way! \nHow blest its reverent rites, \xe2\x80\x94 the quiet throng, \nThe pealing organ and the mutual song! \nAnd, after praises, prayers, and wise advice, \nThe still walk home, and earthly paradise! \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, xliii. \n\nBelieve me, whatsoe\'er has pass\'d away, \nOf temple-service or of priestly sway, \n\'T is well the church, our synagogue, remains \nWherein each soul from other souls obtains \nInterpretations, varied with each mood. \nOf truth that else might not be understood. \nNo single man could know, so Israel thought, \nThe whole mind of the Spirit. Hence each sought \nTo supplement his truth by charity \nWhich heeds what all report. How righteously \nCould we in all that all men know rejoice! \nThey serve the church who serve the Spirit\'s voice. \n\nIdem, XLV. \nWe are few, but what are numbers? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThis church may proof supply \nThat right may move to triumph \n\nWith only one \xe2\x80\x94 to die! \n\nThe Crown\'s Fight against the Town^s Right. \n\nOr church ! \xe2\x80\x94 Must it then crucify the soul \nTo save appearances? the body? form? \nThe Christ gave up all these to save the soul. \n\'T is treason when His churches join the world, \nAnd courting smiles from bigotry appeased, \nAnd grinning hell that holds the whole its own, \nPreach up the crucifixion of the soul \nTo save the body, save the outward form. \nA church is His no more, whose rites or creeds \nKeep souls untrue to truth within that shows \nGod\'s tempering there, the touch that makes man man. \n\nIdeals Made Real, lxii. \n\nCHURCH, CONSERVATISM OF \n\nCome, come, the church is wise, perhaps, to put \nHer brake on wheels that else might whirl us down. \nBut how about those wheels when mounting up ? \n\nColumbus, I., I. \n\n\n\n56 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nCHURCH, ITS INFLUENCE \n\nThe church can but confirm a fact that is, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA love that lives already in the soul. \n\nNot outside hands, though reaching down from heaven, \n\nCan push inside of it what is not there. \n\nNor keep love inside, would it then pass out, \n\nDante, i., i. \n\nCHURCH UNITY \n\nWhen shall men strive to find a wiser way \nOf warfare, than, with hostile ranks at bay. \nTo turn from these, and with the corps contend \nThat on their own side their own cause defend? \nWhat if corps-colors differ? Loyal hearts \nMay cherish and advance through better arts \nTheir church, \xe2\x80\x94 the cause of truth. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, xlvi. \nHe sought to move mankind \nThrough moving unseen springs of love behind \nMan\'s thought and deed. His church, assuredly, \nWere but like Him if seeking unity \nNot in the mask that hides whatever strife \nDisturbs the soul, but in the inward life. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nIdem, XLiv. \n\nCIRCUMSTANCE \n\nOn earth men cannot choose their soul\'s relations, \nBut riding toward success must bridle circumstance. \nA Life in Song: Serving, xxiii. \nGive blind men sight. At first their new-viewed sun \nWill stand still in the heaven. But give them time. \nThat sun will set and rise. Then give them space, \nLift them a thousand miles above the soil, \nIt may do neither. Columbus, ii., 3. \n\nCITY LIFE \n\nYour eternal and infernal grind for gold here is about \nas deafening as mills are when they pound it from the \nrocks. \n\n.... The city is not still, you think, or slow \n\n.... Or comfortable. Take your streets and \nstreet cars. All clogging up with crowds that pour \ndown out the twenty stories of your sky-scrapers, a \nman might better risk his breath and body when \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 57 \n\nslipping down inside a load of wheat just emptying in \na great grain elevator. \n\n.... You scarcely seem to like our modern im- \nprovements. \n\n.... They do not all improve. \n\nThe Two Paths, iii. \nAy, far from pining after city-life, \n\nWhere things moved not so slowly, as they said, \nOur folk had found enough of stir and strife \n\nIn this more quiet life that here we led. \n\nWe might but watch the seasons as they sped; \nYet some new task or sport gave each its leven ; \n\nAnd, whether suns or storms were overhead, \nCompared with city-air, all stench and steven. \nAlthough outside their world, our own seem\'d nearer \nheaven. A Life in Song: Daring, xxiii. \n\nCITY LIFE AND AIR \n\nI think the rich should be contented when they \nown the earth; not try to appropriate all the air as \nwell. \n\n.... You like the country air the best then, eh? \n\n.... There was a time I did. To-day the country \nis filled with motors shuttling to and fro, and weaving \nshrouds of dust and gasoline to bury everything that \nonce was fresh and sweet. The Two Paths, iii. \n\nCITY LIFE AND CONCEALMENT \n\n.... They still are in the city. \n\n.... Why stay here? \n\n.... To hide, for one thing. For an active frame, \na moving screen is better than a fixture; and there is \nnothing like a crowd to keep an individual incon- \nspicuous. Idem. \n\nCITY LIFE AND OBSERVATION \n\nThe stories of a city life are printed in types of many \ndifferent climes and classes ; and those who often meet \nstrange characters get used to not interpreting their \nmeaning. It would not be so in a little village. \n\nIdem. \n\nCLASSICAL \n\nSo I fear, when I see men striving to mold \nThe forms of the new after those that are old, \n\n\n\n58 A POETS CABINET \n\nWhile all true life grows better and better, \nThat classical models a modern may fetter. \nSmall virtue has one with no hope in his heart, \nAnd little of merit, if none in his art. \n\nThe Artist\'s Aim. \n\nCLASSICS, THE \n\nLet stay thy "classics"! No one not a fool \nTo get new learning need forget the old ; \nAnd minds, like fruit-trees, bear their best when \ngrafted. Princeton University. \n\nCLEARNESS IN EXPRESSION \n\nShell your thoughts before \nYou fling them at us \xe2\x80\x94 are so hard to crack! \nYou surely would not have them crack our skulls? \n\nDante, I., i. \n\nCLIMBING VS. JUMPING \n\nA man who is always content to climb, never gets \nalong as fast as one who risks an occasional jump ; but \nhe is much less likely to miss his aim and fall. \n\nWhere Society Leads, I. \n\nCLINGING NATURE OF GIRLS \n\nBut we, poor girls, too trusting natures have. \nWeak parasites at best, each tall stout man \nSeems just the thing that we should cling about. \nBut, dear, I think that half these trunks give way: \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe wonder is we dare to cling at all! Haydn, xx. \n\nCLOTHES AND CHARACTER \n\n.... A noble race, who live there in a state \n\nAlmost of Paradise, their wants but few \n\nAnd nature so profuse \xe2\x80\x94 I tell you truth \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThey neither toil nor spin. \n\n.... Nor spin? Why how \n\nAbout their clothing? \n\n.... Is not needed. \n\n.... What? \n\n.... Oh, you get used to that ! \n\n.... Then how about \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTheir character? \n\n.... Is not so much a thing \n\nOf clothes as Europeans think, perhaps. \n\n.... But then \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 59 \n\n.... The Turks keep faces veiled; turn all \n\nThe body into private parts \xe2\x80\x94 what for? \n\nIf ill-desire be fruit of thinking, germed \n\nIn curiosity, to clear away \n\nSome underbrush, and let in light might help \n\nTo blight the marsh-weed, and reveal, besides, \n\nPart of the beauty that brought bliss to Eden. \n\n.... You mean \n\n.... That nothing like a length of robe, \n\nMaterial in substance and in sense, \n\nCan stole an anti-spirit-ministry. \n\nIt bags what heaven made that the world may deem \n\nThe bag well baited for a game of hell. \n\n.... You talk in riddles. \n\n. . Read a page or two \n\nFrom human nature, they are solved. \n\nColumbus, IV., I. \n\nA true lady never is civil to one on account of his \ndress. For my part, I wish that all men, who ever \nexpect to be married, could get into a woman\'s clothes \nbefore they get into her clutches. \n\n.... And what would they find, pray, in there? \n\n.... Find, first, a good deal of sham. You know \nwhat a maid is? \n\n.... What? \n\n.... Why, what but a thing that is made ? \n\nThe Ranch Girl, iv. \n\nThere are some society women who in character \noften seem just what they are in appearance. Three- \nfourths of their substance is dress; and all of the soft \nsleek satin and silk is on the outside. \n\n.... And what on the inside, pray? \n\n.... Well, very extensively, pins. Idem. \n\nCLOUDS \n\nThe sunset? \xe2\x80\x94 Ah, what comes on earth so bright. \nSo beautiful as clouds? \xe2\x80\x94 There were no clouds \nWhere one could always look and see the heaven. \n\nHaydn, lvii. \n\nCLUB \n\nSuppose we club together \xe2\x80\x94 ay, let fly \nOur blows at him together \xe2\x80\x94 down him sooner! \n\nColumbus, I., 3. \n\n\n\n6o A POET\'S CABINET \n\nCO-EDUCATION \n\n.... You would not open then our college-doors \n\nTo women? \n\n.... Why not? \n\n.... Why, our boys and girls \n\nMight think of love! \n\n.... That would be no new thing; \n\nAnd, being wont to walk in love, when young. \n\nThey might be much less prone to fall in love. \n\nIn ways not wise, when older. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\n.... And you would have them like each other? \n.... Yes. \n\nIt seems important if they are to marry. \nLike ought to go with like. And paths that push \nYoung men and maids together, whet their wits \nAnd make their weddings wise ones. Idem. \n\nA brotherly or sisterly regard \n\nGrows up from family relationship. \n\nTrain boys and girls together, side by side, \n\nAs in one loyal household, holding all \n\nHumanity, and then, perchance, may love\'s dishonor \n\nSeem foul as incest, and imperilers of it, \n\nNo longer vehicles of life humane, \n\nUnsouled of self-control, all flag themselves \n\nThe death-trucks that they are, and make health \n\nscud \nFrom their contagion as from carrion. \n\n.... You mean \n\n.... The young are not so trained in Spain \xe2\x80\x94 \nNot schooled to know each other, soul by soul, \nAnd nothing but the soul can outweigh sense. \n\nColumbus, n., i. \n\nCOLLEGE MEN IN NON-COLLEGE SURROUNDINGS \n\nI sometimes regret our sending our boy to college. \nThis having in the same family two kinds of products, \n\xe2\x80\x94 one educated and one uneducated, \xe2\x80\x94 is risky \xe2\x80\x94 is \napt to turn out like our planting together in our \ngarden two kinds of corn. The kind meant to be \nsweet had too much pop in it, and the kind meant \nto pop had too much sweet. \n\nThe Snob and the Sewing Girl, I. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 6i \n\nCOLOR-HARMONY IN DRESSING \n\nHow did you choose that color for your cape, too? \nOutside the clouds that veil the suns at evening, I \nnever saw such contrasts as between that cape and \nskirt; and then, inside of it {handling the cape), with \nthese flaps hanging here Hke Httle doors. I say it is a \ncute thing in us women to make ourselves all bright \nand tidy here! It seems a fitting gateway then to that \nwhich holds the heart ; ay, ay, and homes our love. \n\nThe Two Paths, ii. \n\nCOLUMBUS \n\nIs from Genoa; \nA mathematician, studied at Pavia. \nSince then, till now, for more than twenty years, \nA sailor and a soldier \xe2\x80\x94 in the scrubs \nAt Naples, Tunis, famous for his fights \nAgainst the infidel \xe2\x80\x94 last year, the man \nWho clampt his frailer bark against a huge \nVenetian galley, and, when both took fire. \nDriven to the waters, holding but an oar, \nSwam in to Lisbon ; and that oar of his. \nAll that he brought here, may yet prove to be \nThe scepter-symbol of a mightier sway \nThan your King ever dreamed of. Columbus, i., I. \n\nI can wait forever \nThe light is in me. But could you see through \nThese forms that cloak it, worse than worst of rags, \nDiscourtesy, suspicion, and contempt \nOf those who know Columbus as the fool? \n\nIdem, I., 2. \n\nCOMIC TREATMENT, DUE TO POPULARITY \n\n.... Why, mama has been publicly disgraced. \nThey say the soldiers seized her \xe2\x80\x94 knocked her hat \nlop-sided. Think! And how she must have looked! \n\n.... Yes, what a picture for the comic papers! \n\n.... The comic papers are but incidents. ^ They \nmainly make the smile a Httle broader with which we \ngreet a popular favorite. \n\n.... They hurt \n\n.... Why any more so than the tickling that we \ngive to little children, when we like them? \n\nTuition for her Intuition, ii. \n\n\n\n62 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nCOMMERCE \nSoon shall winds that leave the sky arouse the waves \n\nof every strand, \nAnd the sails of friendly commerce hail the ports of \n\nevery land. \nSoon shall throb the tramp of labor, and the whir of \n\nwork be wheel\'d \nWhere a host of emigration camp on every vacant field ; \nWhere shall wise men aid the unwise; and as hand to \n\nhand they toil, \nTrain, anon, the fruits of culture in their souls as in \n\nthe soil. \nMore and more the host advances, though but lower \n\ngains it sought. \nBridging vales and felling forests for the paths of love \n\nand thought, \nMaking earth a human frame, with ribs of steel and \n\nnerves of wire, \nDestin\'d soon to thrill responsive at the touch of one \n\ndesire. \nLearning, duty, love, are coming. Toil ye on, aspiring \n\nsouls. \nOn to where unroll before you, grander methods, \n\ngrander goals. \nComes a day in which the sun shall burn the mists \n\nupon the hills, \nFlame against the frozen summits, flash adown from \n\nmelting rills. \nThaw the whited wastes to verdure, flood the plains \n\nand quicken dearth. \nRout the clouds and all between the man and heaven \n\nthat gave him birth. \n\nA Life in Song: Watching, xvii. \n\nCOMMISSIONS \n\nPlaces of trust are only for the trusted; \nAnd high commissions but for men with missions. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., 2. \n\nCOMMON SENSE \n\n.... Oh, no, not so very strange! The strange \nthings in the world, I am beginning to think, are those \nthat are the most sensible. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 63 \n\n.... You hardly believe, then, in common sense. \n\n.... No; if sense were common, the devil would \nlose his kingdom. \n\n.... What do you mean? \n\n.... Would lose his world. According to the \nBible, you know, the world is the thing of which he \nis prince. \n\n.... Elected that, I suppose, by popular suffrage. \n\n.... No; by popular sufferance \xe2\x80\x94 the method of \nselecting rulers where people are governed not by \nconstitutional codes but by constitutional cowardice. \n\n.... Your hope for those who have to inhabit the \nworld seems rather a dismal one. \n\n.... What do you take it to be? \n\n.... To get out of the devil\'s kingdom by dying. \n\n. . . . Oh, no; one can sometimes find a foreigner \nin that kingdom and yet not of it, and then he can \nknow by experience something of a holier subject, and \na higher state, even while he is living. \n\n.... Oh! \n\n.... Don\'t owe me. You owe me nothing. It is I \nthat owe you. I should like to spend the whole of the \nrest of my life in paying the debt. Will you let me? \n\nWhere Society Leads, in. \n\nNo common system can deprive every agent of it of \ncommon sense. Artistic vs. Scientific Education. \n\nCOMMUNISM, THE HIGHER \n\nThe world is a ship that sails through space; \n\nAnd men are voyagers journeying where \nOne destiny waits for all the race, \n\nOne common port for joy or care. \nWhy not, like travelers, launched at sea, \n\nJoin hands and hearts, and, in every way, \nIf heaven be love, wherever we be, \n\nBegin the heaven we seek to-day? \n\nLove and Life, li. \n\nCOMPANIONSHIP {see ALONE and lonely) \nA foe we meet upon a desert plain. \n\nWhere we who meet turn back to back, and part, \nIs better than a friend who brings disdain \n\nTo greet the utterance of a trusting heart. \n\n\n\n64 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nA slighter cloud above the Christ had hover\'d \nIf men had made his flesh their only mark; \nHis woe was love that felt love undiscover\'d, \n\nThe Father\'s face withdrawn, and dying in the dark. \nA Life in Song: Serving, Lxxix. \nCOMPARISON {see FANCY and imagination) \n\nCOMPETENCE VS. WEALTH {see MONEY-MAKING) \n\nWhy seek for riches, when we have enough? \n.... Enough! Oh, sluggard! Have we that? \n.... We have \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nEnough for comfort, not enough for care; \nEnough to make us grateful for the wage \nRewarding earnest work; but not enough \nTo bind long habit to their fate whose course \nWhile serving earth has made them slaves to it. \nThe peace of life crowns competence, not wealth. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nCOMPLACENCY \n\nSo, more to shock her than for sympathy. \nMy thought play\'d round the surface of her life: \nIt had been shaped so \xe2\x80\x94 to so smooth a thing \xe2\x80\x94 \nI burn\'d to warp it of complacency. \n\nIdeals Made Real, L. \n\nCOMPROMISE \n\nO, I hail the crackling barriers of expedient compromise. \n\nLet them fall, nor more obstruct the pathways of the \nbrave and wise. \n\nO, I welcome shouts of war when men defend human- \nity; \n\nThey may die, but right will live, and God, and give \nthe victory. A Life in Song: Watching, ill. \n\nCONCEALMENT {see DECEPTION, FRANKNESS, TRUTH) \n\nThe truth may harm. \n" How so? " he ask\'d. " If one show naked sin, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWho knows? \xe2\x80\x94 it then may shame men from the sin. \nAnd could the naked good accomplish more? \nMust not we Christians here confess our faults? \nWhy should we not? Has wrong such lovely smiles \nAnd loving tones, that men should long for it? \nThe harm is in the lie that masks the sin. " \n\nHaydn, xxvii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 65 \n\nIs ill less ill when hid? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nIs not the penitent a sinner frank, \n\nThe hypocrite a sinner not so frank? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nIdem. \nTheir aching smiles travest with joy-like arts \nThe throes of grief that rack their trembling hearts. \n\nMidnight in a City Park. \nWho lives not conscious of some inward thought \nWhich out to outward life should not be brought? \nHow many a soul must purchase all its joy \nWith coin one test of ours could prove alloy! \nEarth owes its faith to men who will not share \nDistrust with him who now has none to bear. \nNo sighs of theirs give vent to inward strife, \nLest weak confession give it voice and life. \n\nIdem. \n\nCONCEITS, LIGHT, AS AFFECTED BY IRRITATION \n\nWhen minds are filled so full of light conceits. \nChipped off like clippings from substantial concepts, \nThey store fit kindling-wood, when comes a friction, \nTo burst in flame. Dante, i., 2. \n\nCONCENTRATION OF THOUGHT AND ENERGY \n\nWe are men; \nAnd straight and narrow must our pathways be. \nIf, Adam-like, we would be gods, we fall. \nNot given to mortal is the life supreme. \nIn naught unbalanced, laden light in naught, \nExistence evermore at equipoise, \nComplete with that which on itself depends. \nOft, who his worth would double, nothing does \nExcept to break the back of worth that was. \nWhile doubled burdens fall to doubled waste. \nWe men should humbler be, and pray to heaven \nTo have horizons hanging nearer us. \nOur views too broad unfit us for the earth. \nYet fit us not for loneliness divine, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe wide chill chaos, back behind the stars. \n\nIdeals Made Real, liii. \n\nCONCORDANT, ALL LIFE IS \n\nWhen the tunes of life get past their solos, and have \nreached the chorus, it may be found that all the parts \n\n\n\n66 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nhave uses, and equal uses, whether they be played by \npoor and feeble or by rich and strong. \n\nOn Detective Duty, ii. \n\nCONFIDENCES \n\nShe was a person of strong prejudices, and, on \ncertain occasions, evidently took delight in displaying \nthem, not only in her words, but also through eccentric \nlittle adjustments of her forehead, eyes, lips, head, \nshoulders, and whole frame. At the same time, with \nthose whom she liked, these traits were not disagreeable. \nThey were interesting; they were charming. There \nwas something so confiding in the spirit that she mani- \nfested when she told one how she hated other people, \nsomething so sympathetic in her bearing, that her pres- \nence seemed to act like sunshine on one\'s intellectual \nand spiritual energies. Modern Fishers of Men, ii. \n\nCONNECTIONS AND CHARACTER \n\n.... We have had in our house, this evening, \npeople as well connected in Europe as any who \never visited America. \n\n.... What difference does that make? \xe2\x80\x94 Your \ntrain may have very fine silk in it. Does that fact \nkeep it clean, in case you trail it in the mud. \n\nWhere Society Leads, ii. \n\nCONQUEROR, THE \n\nThe man who tramples on his country\'s foes \nTreads upward toward a height, however gained, \nWhere all his countrymen look up to him. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nCONSCIENCE \n\nOur conscience is the leven of character; \n\nAnd just enough of it may sweeten life. \n\nBut too much keeps in ferment moods that work, \n\nLike brewings, flung to froth and sediment; \n\nThe froth flies up and off to vex our friends; \n\nThe rest sinks down in self, embittering \n\nOiu" own experience. Haydn, xxxix. \n\nFew can see, beyond their thought, the source whence \nall that lights them flows ; \n\nFew, except the best whose heaven seems bright \nthough earth be dark with foes; \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 67 \n\nOr the worst who learn that, when uprightness bends \n\nto evil\'s might, \nConscience brings the consciousness that souls have \nlost their spirit-light. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, xxiii. \nDoes not our conscience come from consciousness? \nAnd when, then, are we conscious? When unwell: \nHot, swollen blood frets limbs that feel inflamed; \nA sound man lives unconscious of its flow. \nAnd so a morbid train of foul ideas \nWill vex a soul diseased. But if in health. \nIts aims all true to God and self, \xe2\x80\x94 what call \nFor conscience, which we wear but as the curb \nWhereby God reins the thought that love reins not? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHaydn, xxxix. \nOur outward lives will serve truth\'s inward laws. \nUnconscious of the conscience that but checks \nThe course of him who moves toward conscious wrong. \nA Life in Song: Doubting, xli. \nThis too much conscience, overbalancing \nAll wiser judgment, has wrought worse results, \nMade men crave heaven and fear for hell, so much \nThat, in the gap betwixt the two, was left \nNo charity with which to do good here \nWhile on the earth. Haydn, xxxix. \n\nBut ah, what hell-forged fetters rest \nWhere one\'s own conscience must attest \nHe would, but dare not, do his best. \nBecause his lust or hunger waives \nThe truth that but the spirit saves! \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxi. \nYou, who in bondage feel because your lives \nHave made your conscience curb you for your sins. \nThink not your conscious wills can rid your souls \nOf that which will not mind a mortal will. \nThe law of truth, which is our spirit\'s law. \nIs omnipresent as our spirit\'s Lord. Idem, xli. \nThe next best thing to having a personal con- \nscience, I suppose, is having a parent\'s conscience, \xe2\x80\x94 \nespecially if one believe in heredity. \n\nWhere Society Leads, 11. \n\n\n\n68 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nCONSCIOUS \n\nI was not conscious \n\n.... ^ Nay, nor is a child \n\nOf aught in her of movement or of form, \nThat, fitting sweet ideals of loveliness, \nMakes fancied grace and beauty visible. \n\nColumbus, I., 2. \n\nCONSCIOUSNESS \n\nBorne through life, all move in orbits, whose far cycles \n\ncurve about \nCircling spirit-light within them, circled by the world\'s \n\nwithout. \nWhat they call their consciousness is but the focus \n\nwhere are brought \nRays borne in from all about them burning to a blaze \n\nin thought. A Life in Song: Dreaming, xxiii. \n\nCONSISTENT \n\nWhen into doubtful paths they stray. \nThe wise turn back, tho\' fools may stay, \nConsistent \xe2\x80\x94 but that title lacks \nOne word to make it fit the quacks. \nWhere wisdom grows and change attacks. \nConsistent \xe2\x80\x94 monomaniacs . \n\nIdem, Doubting, xxiii. \n\nCONSTANCY \n\nFor who that loves can think a human heart \nCan ever lightly lay its love aside? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe spirit\'s life, whose gentle thrills impart \nEach separate ripple of the power supplied \nFor every act, can aught its presence hide? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAh, sooner might the heaving sea attest \nIts life, without the movement of the tide; \n\nAnd sooner might the sunlight sink to rest. \n\nNor trail the sunset hues adown the glowing west. \n\nIdem, Daring, lxiii. \n\nCONTRAST \n\nShe came : she went : a beam sublime \nThat, straying toward a sunless clime, \nTrembled along the edge of Time \n\nAnd then in fright sped back amain. \nAh, wherefore came she if to go ! \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 69 \n\nI had not known the half of woe \nHad I not felt that heavenly glow, \n\nAnd, match\'d with it, found earth so vain. \n\nMy Ideal. \nCONTROL, DIVINE {see self-control) \nThanks to God and adoration, that our minds whose \n\nfreedom hied \nIn the first vague dread of duty from the sway they \n\nhad not tried, \nNe\'er can be, where\'er they wander, free from that \n\ndivine control \nWhich attains its grandest glory in the good of every \n\nsoul; \nNor can find where life is darkest aught that wholly \n\nhides from sight \nLove amid the springs of being imaged in the depths \nof right. A Life in Song: Watching, xxxiv. \n\nconversion {see choice, formalists, priests, and \n\nregeneration) \nThe truth converts one oft, if he be true. \nThe true man loves his own, and fights for it ; \nAnd, since his own is little and God\'s is large, \nHe often fights to fall. Yet ranks on high \nNow throng with heroes, whose too slender blades \nWere wielded but for slender causes once ; \nNor sheathed, ere flying shatter\'d from their grasp, \nTill truth they fought had proven too strong for them. \nThen, when they knew themselves, and knew the \n\ntruth. \nAnd knew its mercy too, they loved the truth, \nAnd came to be its champions, evermore. \n\nIdeals Made Real, lxiv. \n\ncordiality \nIt seems to me better, in the long run, to be cordial \nto everybody. \n.... Why so? \n\n.... Because everybody\'s opinion of us, using the \nphrase in one sense, doesn\'t need to wait very long, \nnor change very much, in order to become everybody\'s \nopinion of us in another and more general sense. \n\nWhere Society Leads, i. \n\n\n\n70 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nCordialities that make the backward friends \nBut tempt the forward to presumption. Force, \nAlive to clear its own approaches, flouts \nA welcome meant for weakness. Columbus, i., 2. \n\nCORDOVA, SPAIN, BY NIGHT \n\nNight bade me rest. I left the street, \n\nIts faces fair and banter sweet; \n\nAnd oh, how human seem\'d the town \n\nBeside which I had laid me down! \n\nBut, ere I slept, the rising moon, \n\nFrom skies as blue as if \'t were noon, \n\nPour\'d forth her light in silvery streams, \n\nEclipsing all my light of dreams. \n\nAnd soon, as if some power would shake \n\nMy drowsy eyes, and make them wake, \n\nThe walls were spray\'d with showers of light. \n\nWhose flickerings left a fountain bright \n\nThat toss\'d the moonbeams in its play. \n\nAnd dash\'d and flash\'d their gleams away. \n\nI just could see the fountain flow \n\nWithin a marble court below. \n\nIt seem\'d a spirit, clothed in white, \n\nBut half reveal\'d to mortal sight. \n\nWhose glancing robes would lift and glide \n\nO\'er dainty limbs that danced inside. \n\nAnd touched the ground with throbbing sweet \n\nAs if the tread of fairy feet ; \n\nWhile round about the fount-sent shower. \n\nThat strung with pearls each grateful flower, \n\nRare fragrance rose from bush and bower. \n\nEre long across the marble court \n\nSoft laughter rang and calls of sport. \n\nAnd maidens pass\'d the entering gate. \n\nWhose voices rose in sweet debate, \n\nSo clear, so pure, they might have sprung \n\nFrom moonlight, not from mortal tongue. \n\nI lay there charm\'d, my eyelids closed. \n\nMy limbs enchain\'d; but, ere I dozed. \n\nGave one look more. Alas for me ! \n\nThe moon had moved, and made me see. \n\nIn dreamlike light where slept the day. \n\nVague forms that join\'d those maids at play. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 71 \n\nThey linger\'d there, half hid by trees \n\nAnd sprawling cactus; now at ease, \n\nNow whirling off in shadowy sets \n\nWhere tirged guitars and castonets. \n\nAnon, this music rose and fell. \n\nAs if, because, all fill\'d so well. \n\nSo laden down with sweets before, \n\nThe languid air could hold no more. \n\n"Ah J how could it or I?" I thought; \n\n"This land of lasting spring is fraught \n\nWith charms that pale by living truth \n\nThe brightest dreams that lured my youth. \'* \n\nThen, while the music heaved my breast, \n\nThe thought it cradled sank to rest. \n\nI slept and dreamt. To you it seems \n\nNo censer, swung to souls in dreams \n\nBefore the mind\'s most holy shrine, \n\nRear\'d there to memories most divine, \n\nCould incense hold whose fumes could rise \n\nAnd dim what bless\'d my closing eyes. \n\nYou think my soul most surely thought \n\nOf Cordova in dreams it brought. \n\nYou think that once again it calms \n\nMy mood to watch beneath the palms \n\nThe ancient river freshly lave \n\nRome\'s ruined bridge that naught could save. \n\nYou think, once more, my wonder wends \n\nAcross that orange-court and bends \n\nIn that cathedral-mosk, in which \n\nA thousand shafts with sculptures rich \n\nSurround the soul like ghosts of trees \n\nBeyond the touch of time or breeze, \n\nWhile all the shafts to all bespeak, \n\nIn jasper, porphyry, verdantique, \n\nThe skill that train\'d their artist\'s hand \n\nIn grand old times that blest this land \n\nBefore the Moor\'s glad suns had set \n\nOn days that earth can ne\'er forget. \n\nNay, nay, I dreamt with joy intense, \n\nBut did not heed a hint from thence. \n\nYou think my spirit rose to flights, \n\nAspiring past all present sights. \n\n\n\n72 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nInvoking from the grave of time \nThe heroes of that city\'s prime, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe great Gonsalvo marching on, \nOr Ferdinand of Aragon? \xe2\x80\x94 \nYou think I saw, by camp-fires bright, \nThe turban bow beneath the sight \nOf chieftains marshall\'d, far and near, \nWith drifting plume and flashing spear, \nLike cloud and lightning sent to sweep \nAbdillah\'s Moors across the deep? \xe2\x80\x94 \nYou think I trod these lanes in days \nWhen Califs vied to sound their praise, \nAnd term\'d the town that seem\'d so blest \n"The grander Bagdad of the west"; \nOr trod them, when it gave the Goth \nHis "Home of holiness and troth"; \nOr, long ere through its children\'s veins \nFlow\'d Roman blood to richen Spain\'s, \nBeheld it named by every mouth, \n"The matchless gem of all the south"? \xe2\x80\x94 \nNay, nay, I dreamt with joy intense, \nBut did not heed a hint from thence. \n\nMy Dream at Cordova. \n\nCORSETS AND CRINOLINE \n\n.... Corsets and crinoline \xe2\x80\x94 traps for women ! \n.... No \xe2\x80\x94 for men. They go around the one; \nthey get around the other. \n\nThe Snob and the Sewing Girl, i., 2. \n\nCOURTESIES \n\nFor your sake made and kept a friend \n\nBy courtesies limbering my stiff limbs of pride \n\nTill limp and limping as humility. \n\nColumbus, I., 2. \n\nCOURTESY \n\nWhen courtesy \nAnd caution balance in the scales, the heart \nIs kinder than the head, if not more wise. \n\nIdem, in., i. \nTrue courtesy shows itself to the least as well as \nthe greatest. If once a lady then always. \n\nThe Ranch Girl, iv. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 73 \n\nCOURTING {see FLIRT and suitors) \nA fool may think that a passing glance, _ \nLike a spark from a wheel, as he whirls in a dance, \nA touch of his hand, a word, a sigh, \nMay win the heart that his form flits by. \nBut love is a boon, if wise one be, \nToo dear to be won by a worthless plea. \nWise love has a spirit that craves to find \n\nThe inward mind, \nA soul to its own soul so allied \n\nThat though no more \n\nOf flesh two wore \nTheir souls would linger side by side. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxxv. \n\nIn common walks of life the two had met ; \n\nAnd joined in common thought and common speech; \nAnd, often, many a common good to get, \n\nHad tender\'d apt assistance each to each. \nPlaced side by side, their hands had touch\'d and \ntrembled. \n\nTheir eyes glanced at and through each other\'s eyes. \nBehind the hands were hearts; nor had dissembled ;_ \n\nBehind the eyes were souls ; there had been smiles \nand sighs. \nAnd then, anon, to him this maiden\'s frame, \n\nOne mote of many a million in the world, \nMore dear appear \'d than all the gems that flame \n\nIn all the stars through all heaven\'s welkin whirl\'d. \nThus thought the man; and she, the while he thought \nit. \n\nHad found such strength within his frame of dust, \nWhich even winds could waste, that, ere he sought it, \n\nHer sold, at rest with his, had felt unending trust. \n\nIdem, Serving, xiii., xiv. \n\nCOURTING, ITS METHOD \n\nMost maids love mastery; and the closest cling \nTo those who show the strength to hold them fast. \nFull many a suitor, when he wins his love. \nWill treat her merely like some petted puss, \nCaress, then cuff her, till she yield at last. \nWon solely through his wondrous wilfulness. \n\n\n\n74 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nIf one defer to her, she pities him; \n\nAnd names him friend, because she feels him frail. \n\nHer favorite cavalier seems less a friend, \n\nAt first, than foe who stays the brunt in time \n\nTo seem to save her when she seems to fall. \n\nIdeals Made Real, lvi. \n\nCOURTING, A SENSITIVE MAN\'s \n\nOnce upon a time, I too discovered, by the presence \nof unwonted flutterings in my bosom, that I also had a \nsimilar yearning for the companionship of a similar \ncombination of human flesh and \xe2\x80\x94 what I then con- \nsidered \xe2\x80\x94 human coloring. And in that romantic \nperiod it often happened that, the evening after I had \ncalled upon her, and the next and next and next, I \nwould sit alone, unable utterly to do a thing but face \nmy mirror, and to meditate upon the problem how to \narrange to call on her again. At last, upon the fifth \nnight possibly, I would dress myself, pull on a pair of \ngloves a size too small for me, and, saying "I have \nwaited long enough; to-night I will call," saunter out \nand down the street, and reach her door-step. But, \nalas! once there, my heart would fail me. I would \nsay: "I cannot \xe2\x80\x94 not to-night; it\'s soon, too soon. \nWere I to go in now she really might suppose that I \nthought something of her ! " So I would stand a while \ndebating with myself, or cross the street and try to \nlook from a distance into her parlor- window, wonder- \ning who that fellow was that was with her now, and \nthere I would linger, walking up and down for hours, \nuntil aroused at last by a strong conviction that every \npoliceman on the street had marked me out as some \nsuspicious character. And this absurd performance I \nwould repeat for nights and nights, until, perhaps \nupon the tenth night, I would summon up sufficient \npluck to ring her door-bell with a throbbing heart, pass \ninto her parlor with a face as flushed as Daniel\'s \nprophets entering into the fiery furnace, and then \nspend all the evening talking to her sister! for fear \nstill that the girl I fancied really might suppose that I \nthought something of her! \n\nModern Fishers of Men, ix. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 75 \n\nCOWARD {see heroism) \nYou never know a coward soul till cowed \nBy gusts out-winding his own self-conceit; \nAnd garbs they guise in, never cloud the air \nIn time for us to brace the fence they fell. \n\nColumbus, III., I. \n\nCRANK, A \n\n.... ^ Him? \n\nA crank, \xe2\x80\x94 and worse, a creaking crank! \n.... Without \n\nSome crank to creak of it, men might forget \nThe wheels of thought. Idem, i., i. \n\nCREDITOR \n\nNo watch-dog keeps a creditor at bay \nLike well-housed earnings. \n\nColumbus, I., 3. \n\nCREEDS (see DOUBT, FAITH, PROGRESS and WORDs) \n\nThe thing that most men worship is themselves. \n\nOr, look they upward, then it is the god \n\nMost like themselves. You know religion\'s aim \n\nIs bringing gods and men together; so \n\nTo many men that creed seems best, which best \n\nMakes out how mean and small a god can be. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nWhen souls have grown to truth, their nurture needs, \nEre growth can pass beyond it, growing creeds. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, liv. \n\nCRIME vs. FAULT \n\n.... Do you suppose men punish most the ones \nthat are the most at fault? \n\nWhy, yes, of course. \n\nOh no. \n\nWhat then? \n\nThey punish crime. \n\nAnd what is crime? \n\nThe fault that some one has found out. It \n\ngrows in low life usually. The seed is dropped from \n\nsin in high life. With God, the seed may count for \n\nsomething. Man forms his judgment from the growth. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, iv. \n\n\n\n76 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nCRIMES \n\nGreat crimes can never their souls allure, \n\nWho have kept their moods and memories pure, \n\nAnd so I know, \nThat the souls that hold to the right with ease, \nHave fought their vice before they fall. \nThe time to stop sinning \nIs ere its beginning. \n\nLove and Life, xvii. \n\nCRITIC \n\nAll this their critic cares not to know. \nHe is nothing if not the dog of his day, \n\nWho barks or who licks \nAs his master, the world, may make him obey \nBy throwing him bones or swinging him kicks. \nPray, what can he know till all the world know it? \n\nUnveiling the Monument. \n\nCRITICISM, EXCESSIVE \n\nDid we turn \nOur preferences to pedagogues, and school \nThe souls that came to us for sympathy, \nThough best of friends, we might seem worst of foes. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nCRITICS, POPULAR \n\nPopular critics, like other popular people, give \nvoice to popular opinion. They are on the crest of its \nwave for the very reason that they have the full \nsupport of the opinion that is about and below them. \nFor this reason, paradoxical as it may seem, those \nesteemed the best critics of an age are often its worst \ncritics. \n\nThe Representative Significance of Form, xxvi. \n\nCROWDS, COURTING THEM \n\nCourting crowds, \nA soul lives crampt; but if one speak the truth, \nCrowds leave \xe2\x80\x94 good riddance! \xe2\x80\x94 place is clear\'d for \nfriends. Ideals Made Real, xvii. \n\nCULPRIT \n\nAnon, awaking, he could hear the sound \n\nOf vying voices from a seat behind. \nAnd saw two men there, as he turn\'d him round. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 77 \n\nAnd one had eyes of that swift glancing kind, \nWhich hint the culprit, whose suspicious mind \nThe secrets of his inner self would shield. \n\nLow views of others and himself combined, \nHad given this man distrust, not all conceal\'d \nIn manners taught to stay what should not be \nreveal\'d. A Life in Song: Daring, xxxi. \n\nCULTURE, STARTED IN DIFFERENT WAYS \n\nThe temple of culture is entered by many doors. \nThe instructor who induces a young man to push open \none of them will force him to a glimpse that will lure \nhim to as grand an experience as could any of the \nothers. The Literary Artist and Elocution. \n\nCUPID \n\nOur lips, but parting e\'en to speak of love, \nInfringe on Cupid; and, before they shut, \nSome tingling arrow of that jealous god \nWill make them drop all soberness. \n\nIdeals Made Real, LV. \n\nCURRENT VALUE IN TRUTH \n\n.... No truth then, eh? \n\n.... Yes; truth enough for all. \n\nBut truth expressed is coin to use, not hoard. \n\nFor when it bears the stamp of times too old, \n\nIt loses current value. Columbus, ii., 2. \n\nCURSES \n\n.... My curses on you! \xe2\x80\x94 To the sacrifice! \n.... The two things go together. And how kind, \nWhen one has curses loaded on him so, \nTo let him load them on another! \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nCUSTOM \n\nTo most men no disgrace can loom like theirs \nWho dare do aught save by the grace of custom. \nWhere earth\'s esteem is what all strive for first, \nHer customs make them cowards to the call \nOf conscience; and the foulest crime \nSeems not a curse, if it be only common. \n\nIdem, V. \n\nIs it so well \nFor one man to resist what all men wish? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\n78 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThe customs that the centuries have crowned? \nHow many have dared all, to thwart the world, \nAnd only thwarted good the world could do them ! \n\nIdem, V. \n\nCUSTOMS \n\nOur lives reflect \nThe light of our surroundings. What are here? \xe2\x80\x94 \nAccursed customs that mistrust the soul, \nAy, robe its every feature in their rags. \nDraped all to hint unshapeliness beneath. \nAway with earthly habits that can hide \nGod\'s image framed within! Columbus, ii., i. \n\nThe world has its encircling customs too. \nDrawn sharply round the spheres we fill in life. \nThey make one shame-faced, make the soul a slave. \nWe need the truth to free us from the world. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, XLI. \n\nCYNIC \n\nOnce I saw a mortal sailing toward a lone isle of \n\nthe sea \nWhere, he thought, no other\'s will would check his \n\nown that would be free. \nFirst upon the shore he rested; then, not born to dwell \n\nalone, \nLonging to be loved, his nature broke away from \n\nreason\'s throne. \nHowled the winds like witches\' voices; moved the \n\nshades like ghostly forms, \nWhile the leaves like footsteps rustled \'twixt the \n\nthunders and the storms. \nTill the cynic, far from manhood, all man\'s nobler \n\ntraits forgot. \nCurst himself and earth and all things, rest or free- \ndom finding not. Idem, Watching, vii. \n\nCYNICISM \n\nWe lie to our nature; we twit and we laugh; \n\nWe dare \nTo jeer of a love that was ours, \n\nWe dare, yet there \nThrough thorns and tares are living the flowers ! \n\nLove and Life, xxxvi. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 79 \n\nDAMN \n\nNot far away, a place is waiting those \nWho wish to damn a soul for doing right, \nIn which that sort of thing is done much better. \n\nDante, iii., 2. \n\nDAMNATION {see will-power) \nSome tell us that the fairest forms on earth, \nMost full of mirth and softness and caress, \nWhose mildness tames Hfe\'s wild, coquettish blood, \nLeave in the tomb their loveliness and charm. \nAnd go thence, fiends. The Aztec God, v. \n\nDAMNED, THE \n\nSad, sad, indeed, is the lot of those \nWhom no one mourns when their coffins close. \nHow lone, when the robes of earth-life fall, \nAre spirits that hear no welcoming call; \nAre spirits that see no smile of delight, \nBut, flying in shame from all things bright. \nAnd, hiding in horror themselves have made. \nLive ever in sunshine and dwell in shade. \n\nLove and Life, LV. \n\nDANCING \n\nAsk the leaves \nThe reason why they vibrate in the breeze. \nOr ask the trees when swaying in the storm; \nAsk of the spray-drop leaping from the rill, \nOr up and down amid the waves at sea; \nAsk of the circling smoke, tornado\'s cloud. \nThe sun and moon revolving round the world. \nBut when the throb of music beats the air \nAnd sets the currents of the breast in motion, \nSweeping the bounding rills to rhythmic waves \nThat dash like breakers through the heart and \n\npulse. \nAsk not why every vein begins to glow. \nEach nerve to tremble, all the frame to heave, \nAnd to and fro to march, to leap, to dance, \xe2\x80\x94 \nEnough \xe2\x80\x94 if natural ! \xe2\x80\x94 When checking nature. \nYou lay your human hands upon the work \nHeaven meant for what it is; you are profane. \n\nThe Aztec God, il. \n\n\n\n8o A POET\'S CABINET \n\nDARK \nYet, in the dark, is all so vague and wild. \nHow the whole air is weighted with the gloom! \nEven to draw it in, my lungs, o\'ertaxed. \nWould rather choose not breathe than bear the \n\nburden, \nThese clouds are curtained like a funeral pall, \nFit funeral pall, rotmd my dear dying hope. \n\nIdem, V. \nDAWN (see sunrise) \n\nJust as dawn began \nErasing all the stars with lines of light. \n\nA Life in Song: Daring, xiv. \n\nThey rout the gloom \nWithin the heart sure as the morning sun \nThat spreads new glory o\'er the darkened world, \nThe while its fire-sped lances tilt the shades \nThat fly afar, and leave our lives with heaven. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nAnd what a dawn was that ! \nAs if the sun had drawn the earth to itself, \nI dwelt in central light; and heaven, high heaven \xe2\x80\x94 \nCould feel some rays, perhaps, was touch\'d by them, \nAt star-points in the sky, but own\'d no more. \n\nHaydn, viii. \nAbove his crimson couch, \n\nThe sun drew back the curtains of the east ; \nWhile pale-grown shades began in vales to crouch. \n\nOr, hurrying westward, leave the world releast \n\nFrom spells that long had silenced man and beast \nThen winds, arising, shook the rustling trees, \n\nAs if they said, " \'T is time your rest had ceast"; \nAnd birds that sang soar\'d high, as if to seize \nThe last of flickering stars, blown out by morning\'s \n\nbreeze. \nSoon o\'er the hills ascends the sun\'s bright crown \n\nAnd, richly robed, as welcoming thus their king, \nThe dew-deck\'d groves and bushes bend low down. \n\nBright limbs o\'erladen with rare gems they bring \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nRare gifts, borne all too soon, on sunny wing, \nToward clouds that in the blue dome o\'er them blaze. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 8l \n\nThen sounds of labor join with bells that ring ; \nAnd one more dawn has heard the prayer and praise \nOf those who past it see the day of all the days. \nThey see a day, where heaven\'s bright grain of life \n\nSprouts in the last dark death-urn of the night, \nAnd buds of peace burst through the thorns of strife, \nAnd souls awake to praise enduring light. \nAh, even now, they see, with earthly sight, \nThat men may track the rain-storm by the rose, \n\nAnd make the wake of war the way of right. \nAnd learn, as each fresh breath of morning blows, \nHow sweet and fair a life beneath the darkness grows. \nSo might our youth have hail\'d this morn; but he. \n\nFor whom the soft winds whisper\'d in their round. \nFor whom the brisk birds chirpt their calls of glee. \nFor whom the bright sun up the heavens wound, \nAnd all the world of work awoke to sound. \nWhile men moved gladly and the children leapt, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHe, dead to hope and happiness profound. \nHis dreams begun, while all his heavens had wept, \xe2\x80\x94 \nUpon the chill, damp ground, through all the dawn \nhad slept. \n\nA Life in Song: Daring, lxxviii-lxxxi. \n\nSo the sun withdrawn \n\nClimbs up to a dawn. \n\nWhen, just before it, the night gives way \n\nAnd clouds are hanging like blossoms of light, \n\nPresaging the fruit of the day. \n\nIdem: Loving, xii. \n\nDAY \n\nSworn to ceaseless constancy. \nDay had come, his fair suite with him, all their armor \n\nburnish\'d bright. \nSearching, as they search forever, for the flying forms \n\nof night. \n\nAll the van of early sunbeams shot reflections from the \nhill. Idem, Dreaming, xlii. \n\nIts glancing beams \n\nAssail\'d the trees, through boughs that draped the \nstreams \n\n\n\n82 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nLike shot-rent banners, where bright shafts of day- \nClove through the yielding darkness of the way. \n\nIdem, Seeking, xxii. \n\nDEAR, MY, ITS MEANING \n\nWhen a man says "my dear" we all know what \nit means. He thinks the word necessary. He is \ntrying to balance something that he knows to be \nunkind with something \xe2\x80\x94 a mere phrase in this case \xe2\x80\x94 \nthat he thinks may seem the opposite. \n\nWhere Society Leads, ii. \n\nDEATH \n\nIn death\'s long sleep \nNo more shall weary eyes close but to weep, \nNor thoughts keep mining from the darkened brain \nFit fuel for the morrow\'s burning pain. \n\nMidnight in a City Park. \n\nDEATH, A lover\'s \n\nWhen I am gone \xe2\x80\x94 their ghastly deed been done \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI wish you to recall me as I am, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nOne fit for all things almost, save to die, \n\nEach factor, organ, limb of me complete, \n\nAnd, at this moment, hot against the fire \n\nBlazed through me by your love-enkindled eyes, \n\nNo sinew but is trembling with the draft \n\nOf that delicious flame; and yet none too \n\nNot strengthened by a power divine like that \n\nPropelling all creation, \xe2\x80\x94 I am god, \n\nNot man. Nay, nay! Remember me as god. \n\nYou must not see that unveiled, writhing frame \n\nWeak, color- void, save where the death-blood dyes it. \n\nWaloon, you must not be there. I shall writhe \n\nMore like a god to know you are not there. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBut go you where we met first \xe2\x80\x94 in the woods \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nYou know the place \xe2\x80\x94 to me the holiest place \n\nMy life has ever known! Waloon, go there. \n\nOh, swear to me you will. \xe2\x80\x94 My soul will swear \n\nTo meet you. \n\n.... What? \n\n.... By all that makes me god, \n\nIn form, perchance, in spirit certainly. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe Aztec God, TV., i. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 83 \n\nDEATH, BETTER THAN LOVELESS LIFE \n\nFar better than bodies that rot before \nThe breath has left them, and hold no more, \nIn the haunted hell that is glassed by their eyes, \nA charm to inspire, a thought to make wise, \xe2\x80\x94 \nFar better than these, the face as white \nAs ashes where dead fires drop their light ; \nFar better the eyes, all dim and dry, \nBut blind as one\'s own that can only cry; \nFar better the crape and the veils that fall ; \nFar better the living room turned to a pall. \nAll these, whatever the future may give, \nHave proved that love has a right to live. \n\nLove and Life, xxxv. \n\nDEATH, BEFORE MAIMING \n\nWhy \nOutlive the happy moment for one\'s death ! \nA body maimed may mold a spirit maimed. \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \n\nOpe wide the casket that the world has bruised \nAnd let the unbruised soul fly out of it. Idem. \n\nDECEIT \n\nAt times, \nDeceit that spices daintily with doubt \nThe plain-served truth more seasons it to taste. \n\nIdem, II. \n\nDECEIVED, OWNING ONESELF \n\nWise men who wish to guard their influence are \nnever quick to own themselves deceived. \n\nThe Two Paths, 11. \n\nDECEPTION {see CONCEALMENT, LIES, and TRUTH) \n\nWhen comes a loss of fortune, honor, sway, \nWhen threatens death that hope alone can stay, \nWhen senile states presume they still have youth, \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\xa2 \nOh, what could curse men worse than words of truth? \n\nMidnight in a City Park. \n\nWotdd you deceive them? \n.... What men have no right \nTo know, one has no right to let them know. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\n\n\n84 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nSocial despotism is the mother of deception. \n\nThe Snob and the Sewing Girl, i. \n\nDECEPTION THROUGH PERSONALITY \n\n.... Deception ! Men deceive as much as women. \n\n.... Oh, no, no; not that way! They He, they \nbribe, they use brute force ; but never think of baiting \ntheir hooks with their own personality; suggest \xe2\x80\x94 as \nthat man thinks all women do \xe2\x80\x94 that he is master of \ntheir thought and feeling. We might excuse re- \nformers their attempt to level woman to the plane \nof man, did this not carry with it, too, the risk of \nsinking her to something lower. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, ii. \n\nDECORATION, A FOREIGN \n\nA foreign decoration on a man\'s breast has the same \neffect upon some people as a disk made to glitter by a \nhypnotizer. Where Society Leads, I. \n\nDECORATION DAY \n\nWith every Spring-time to that region comes \n\nA day when all the people, far and near, \n\nRecall the warfare waged in former years \n\nThat from disruption saved their native land, \n\nSet free the bondman, and made liberty, \n\nThroughout their country\'s length and breadth, \n\nsupreme. \nAnd ere that day comes, through the week before, \nThe wives whose husbands fell in that sad war, \nThe friends and sweethearts brooding o\'er a loss \nThat oft is deepest when \'t is least express\'d. \nThe mothers mourning sons, and boys and girls, \nWho think of their dead fathers as of forms \nThat fill\'d the twilight of their childhood\'s dreams, \nAre forming wreaths of all the greenest leaves, \xe2\x80\x94 \nOf myrtle, ivy, arbor-vits, join\'d \nWith all the fairest flowers the season yields. \nThe garden\'s tulip, pansy, peony. \nMagnolia, honeysuckle, bleeding-heart, \nPhlox, lilac, snowball, and wisteria. \nThe forest\'s bursting glories, chief and first \nThe dogwood, rill\'d like mimic drifts of snow, \nThe blue-flag, waving welcomes from the marsh, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 85 \n\nThe lily of the pond and of the vale, \nThe daisy, violet, and buttercup, \nThe elder-berry and the bridle wreath. \nFrom garden, grove or roadside \xe2\x80\x94 all are cuU\'d \nAnd weaved in wreaths to deck the soldiers\' graves. \nAt noon the church-bell rings, the organ peals, \nThe hymns and prayers ascend, the orator \nRecalls once more the virtues of the past. \nThe privilege of the present; then the throng \nMove slowly toward the place where sleep the dead, \nAnd, bending o\'er the graves of loved ones lost, \nAnd o\'er the graves of strangers who no more \nHave friends they loved on earth to care for them, \nKind forms lay one by one their tributes down. \nNo soldier\'s tomb is pass\'d and not enwreath\'d \nWith flowers that rest there like embodiments \nOf fragrant hopes and beautiful desires. \nAnd make the grave no type of death\'s dark night, \nBut of the rosy dawn of life beyond. \n\nA Life in Song: Finale. \n\nDEEDS {see work) \n\nDEEDS OF MAN ARE NATURE\'S FLOWERING \n\nHe must have felt that earth\'s unconscious growth \n\nCould flower alone in conscious deeds of man. \nAnd where man wrought with nature, there that \nboth \nWere working to fulfill a God-formed plan. \n\nThe American Pioneer. \n\nDEEDS REVEALERS OF CHARACTER {see WORDS) \n\nOh, not what life appears to be. \n\nIs what in life is true. \nInveiled behind the forms we see \n\nAre things we cannot view. \nWhat but the spirit working through \nThe guise men wear to what they do \nReveals the force that, foul or fair. \nAwakes and makes the nature there? \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., 2. \n\nDEEDS, TRUE, TESTS OF TRUE LIFE \n\nThe words of men whose deeds have proved them true \nAre also true. Cecil the Seer, iii., 2. \n\n\n\n86 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nDEEDS VS. WHIMS \n\nThe world is full of brains, and all the brains \nOf whims, and all that gives the whims more worth \nThan blood that churns them up to consciousness, \nIs that they leave the brain and live in deeds. \n\nColumbus, II., I. \n\nDEFERENCE TO THOSE WELL KNOWN \n\nA man is not without honor save in his own house- \nhold \xe2\x80\x94 for the same reason, I suppose, that most of our \nwomen prefer French frocks and phrases to homespun \nand Saxon; or that, in the street, most of our men, \nwhen courting a woman, take off their hat to her; but, \nwhen married to her, keep it on. Those who are near \nto us may be very dear, but often we fail to fear them \nenough to be awed into even decent deference. \n\nThe Snob and the Sewing Girl, ii. \n\nDEFINED \n\nThe finite only can be well defined. \n\nHaydn, xxi. \n\nDEFINITION \n\nA definition is of value in the degree in which it \naccords with the undefined conceptions that are in \nthe minds of the largest number of thinkers upon the \nsubject. Art in Theory, xv. \n\nDELIRIUM TREMENS \n\n.... Ever try to sit up for a night with one who \nhad delirium tremens? \n\n.... No. \n\n.... You never got as near to hell as I, then. \n\n.... Yes, a drunkard can make the very devil of \na bed mate. Tuition for her Intuition, ii. \n\nDELUSION \n\nAlas, must I ever wandering go \n\nWhere shadows and echoes delude me so? \n\nHow can one live a life ideal \n\nWho fears that love can never be real? \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxxix. \nO eyes that had watch\'d for the form of delight, \nO ears that had listen\'d the long, long night, \nO hands that had touch\'d what dropp\'d from you dead. \nNo looming delusion your faith had misled. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 87 \n\nNay, brighter than suns, love\'s own true beams \n\nAre burning through mists that obscured them in \n\ndreams. \nNo cheeks of a phantom had e\'er such a glow; \nNo eyes of a phantom such trust could show. \nCome hither ; lay hold of my spirit, O love. \nThat flutters its wings like a captive-dove. \nSweet pain, to be pierc\'d by the shaft of thine eye! \nSweet prison, in thy warm clasp to lie ! Idem, xli. \n\nDEMEANING ONESELF \n\nTo^ demean oneself is to be mean to oneself; and he \nthat is mean to himself will seldom be not mean to \nany man. Where Society Leads, i. \n\nDEPTHS \n\nThough dense the depths around, \nNo high-aimed spirit to them is bound; \nNo heaven-aimed spirit abides in a grave; \nBut surely as air when plunged in a wave. \nWhatever may try to hinder or stop. \nThere comes a time when it comes to the top. \n\nThe Last Home Gathering. \n\nDESCENT \n\nThe man who boasts a family tree, \n\nAnd great grandpas that came and went, \nWhich proves to all, the more they see. \nHow great has been his own descent; \nAnd who from self-made people shrinks \nThat now do what his grandpas did. \nLest other men may see the links \n\nThat bind to what he wishes hid, \xe2\x80\x94 \nIs just the thing he thinks. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, 11. \nDESIRE {see AMBITION and aspiration) \nWith no teacher but desire \nIn these hours of stolen study, snatch\'d from toil in \nsweat and mire. A Life in Song: Dreaming, vi. \n\nDESPONDENCY \n\nWhere is hell? Ah me, there is life on earth \nTorn away from all it is worth. \nThings are severed by nature allied: \nWish and all of its wants divide. \n\n\n\n88 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWho but the loving are dupes of hate? \nWho but the faithful are foiled by fate? \nWho but the seekers of truth can find \nHalf of the falsehood framed for the mind? \nWho but those with ideals fair \nDeal with a real life hard to bear? \nTrue to an instinct cheating all trust, \nFlapping white wings that raise but the dust, \nStuck like stones in the mire of the earth, \nWhat for our souls are the bright stars worth ! \n\nLove and Life, xxiv. \n\nDESTINY \n\n.... One\'s destiny, you think, is made by talk? \n. . . . One\'s destiny was never yet fulfilled \nBy one whose coward conscience dared not give \nExpression to the spirit that inspired it. \n\nColumbus, I., I. \n\nDESTRUCTION OF THE WORLD, IN SCANDINAVIAN MYTH \n\nBut while I gazed upon that scene, behold, \n\nA storm arose. Its thunders, while they roll\'d, \n\nWoke Heimdall, who, anon, on Gulltopp rode \n\nLike lightning to Valhalla, the abode \n\nOf mighty Odin. Then each hill and plain \n\nSeem\'d filled with gods, who moved with signs of pain. \n\nHere Tyr uplifts, like some vast mountain-side. \n\nHis heaven-high shield that shakes with wounded pride. \n\nThere Ullur aims his bow to test his art. \n\nAnd meteors through remotest regions dart. \n\nNow Braji leaves his wife, Iduna fair. \n\nFor Forseti ; and toward them in despair \n\nComes Freyja with her plaintful team of gray, \n\nAnd Vidar, Vali, Njord, all join the fray. \n\nWhile through the north, like an Aurora, gleam \n\nThe spears of Skadi\'s troops that nearer stream. \n\nFar up in Hlidskjalf, towering o\'er the crowds. \n\nLike some fair morning sunburst o\'er the clouds, \n\nBright Odin stands, and prompt at his command \n\nConvulsions dash the sea and shake the land. \n\nWhere comes great Thor, whose chariot sweeps the sky \n\nOn wheels of fire far flashing as they fly. \n\nEclipsing all those rival hosts of light \n\nAs thunder-storms blot out the stars of night. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 89 \n\nBut what had roused the gods? \xe2\x80\x94 I gazed below, \n\nAnd there beheld a mighty waste of woe. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe serpent, Nidhogg, with new _mahce lash\'d \n\nThe sea surrounding all things, till it dash\'d \n\nO\'er all the shores. The great tree\'s giant form, \n\nAmid the waves and winds of that wild storm, \n\nSway\'d to and fro, till with a mighty crash \n\nIts trunk was rent, the while a bhnding flash \n\nOf lightning tore apart the upper sky, \n\nAnd fired the great tree\'s Hmbs that hung on high, \n\nAs if an orb of flame, or comet whirl\'d \n\nAgainst what might become a bursting world, \n\nTho\' yet the crash came not. Its flashing drew \n\nFire-genii from the depths who fiercely flew \n\nTo tear the bifrost down. More dread than these, \n\nHuge giants weeding up the shaken trees. \n\nAnd rending from the earth the crumbling cliffs. \n\nPress toward the gods, who through the smoke that lifts, \n\nAdvance their blazing lines ! Of no avail \n\nIs now their show of strength! For once they fail; \n\nFor once can force more dread than gods\' assault; \n\nAnd, almost ere they charge, the columns halt; \n\nThen back through many a lengthening league they roll ; \n\nThen, wheeling bend their rivals like a scroll. \n\nBorne back again, for one more charge they form. \n\nAs terrible as every earthly storm \n\nConcenter\'d into one. On, on they bound. \n\nAnd meet \xe2\x80\x94 O soul, to have outlived that sound! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nNor heaven nor hell could stand so fierce a shock; \n\nBut all things, \xe2\x80\x94 god and giant, star and rock. \n\nAnd sky and earth, with bursting fires were hurl\'d \n\nLike lava through the air! then all the world \n\nSeem\'d smoke, so dense I felt it on me press. \n\nThen still was all, and all was nothingness. \n\nA Life in Song : Seeking, xxxiii., xxxiv. \n\nDETAILS \n\nRequesting all details. \nIt took me weeks to draft them, had to turn \nMy methods upside down and inside out. \nAnd mass and multiply and magnify, \nTill truth was large enough for all to see it. \n\nColumbus, I., 3. \n\n\n\n90 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nDETECTIVE WORK, AND TEACHING \n\n.... You like your occupation, do you? \n\n..... Quite late \xe2\x80\x94 your asking that of me! \xe2\x80\x94 when \nI have taught for twenty years. \n\n.... Is that detective work? \n\n.... Much like it. A teacher must detect, at \nleast, a place inside the brain where thought, when \nplanted, will be apt to grow. He usually finds the \nplace just where some mischief has been weeded out. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, i. \n\nDEVICE (see tact) \nWhile earth keeps training men to use device, \n\nThe souls too proud to use it or too pure, \nAre sure to rouse at last from lips precise \n\nThe chidings of some wrong-reform\'d ill-doer, \nWhose former vice has foul\'d the soul\'s emotion, \n\nWho deems a sight of naked spirit sin. \nAnd all love haunted by some carnal notion. \n\nAnd so keeps out the Christ to keep the devil in. \nA Life in Song: Serving, vi. \n\nDEVIL \n\nWe all of us were loving, were we not? \n\nYet working outward, wisely, as we deem\'d. \n\nWe all have done the thing to doom us all. \n\nAlas what power has wrought to thwart us thus? \n\nI do believe, though long I doubted it, \n\nThere lives a Devil! Hell-scorch\'d hands alone \n\nCould weave such death-black shrouds from thread so \n\nbright. \nDrawn from sleek skeins of love. That spider- \nfiend. \nFeeding on our sweet plans, emits this web, \nTo trip and trap us in like flies ! \xe2\x80\x94 Ah me, \nIt may be well that one should suffer here \nUntil a wish bereaved shriek prayers for death ; \nBut through what fearful pangs earth peels away \nThis withering flesh from off the worthier soul ! \nWhat further shred invests the love so stript ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nIs this, then, being freed from earth? \xe2\x80\x94 Yet where \nAre signs of heaven? \xe2\x80\x94 My God, I see them not. \n\nHaydn, XLVii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 91 \n\nDEVIL, WHEN HE DRIVES \n\nThe Prince of this World is not nice in choice \nOf equipages ; where he cannot check, \nHe mounts the car of truth and grasps the rein ; \nAnd when the Devil drives, he drives for home. \n\nIdem, LI. \n\nDEVILISH \n\n.... The devil! \n\n.... She reminds you of him, eh? \n.... All pretty things do. \n\n.... What a world to live in! \xe2\x80\x94 where all the pretty \nthings are devilish pretty. \n\n.... And pretty devilish. On Detective Duty, 11. \n\nDEVOTION TO IDEALS {see IDEALS) \n\n.... Yes, yes, but yet can it be worth the price? \n\n.... I know your meaning, \xe2\x80\x94 loss of life, perhaps, \nAnd all for which some prize life, \xe2\x80\x94 ease and love. \nBut, \xe2\x80\x94 ah, who would not feel it is worth this? \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd others go with me who think the same. \n\n.... Some call them fools \n\n.... They are fools, if this life be all; \nAnd fools, if they but claim that it is all. \nFor, risking dangers thick as mid-sea-mists \nIn war, in wave, men\'s deeds outdo their words \nAnd prove they serve a grander sovereignty, \nWhose realms outreach all death-lines. \n\nColumbus, III., I. \n\nDICTATOR, THE RIGHT OF THE \n\nThink you God gives to strength of will the right \nTo say what is right? And if not, what then? \nIf one obey then, how can he be sure \nThat he obeys not sin? Haydn, xxvi. \n\nDIPLOMATS AND FOREIGN MANNERS \n\n.... Do foreigners determine our diplomatic \nappointments? \n\n.... Those are most apt to get them who show \nthat they know how to adapt themselves to foreign \nrequirements. \n\n.... I suppose a man then is to fit himself to \nrepresent America abroad by showing how un-Ameri- \ncan he can be at home. \n\n\n\n92 A POETS CABINET \n\n.... You know \xe2\x80\x94 you have seen our foreign rep- \nresentatives. \n\n.... Yes. I congratulate you upon the logical \nworkings of your mind. Where Society Leads, i. \n\nDISAPPOINTMENT \n\nIf blind men all were born blind, none \n\nWere cursed by losing sight. In nights like this, \n\nNot unawakened hope I dread, as much \n\nAs wakening disappointment. Columbus, ill., 2. \n\nDISCERNING \n\nThe sky contains full half I see. \n\nIn soil below I live, I love. \n\nHigh in the half that looms above, \nOh, is there nothing there for me? \n\nThe sky\'s bright sun and stars I see \nThe soil below is guised in green \nIn heaven whose orbs are robed in sheen, \n\nOh, is there nothing there for me? \n\nIn thoughts within, sweet rest I see; \nIn things without, but dust and toil. \nWhere hang no veils of flesh and soil, \nOh, is there nothing there for me? Dante, 11., 2 \nDISCIPLINE {see pain) \nOh, what is the meaning of life like yours? \nDoes heaven mistake the traits that it cures? \nOr must the mood of a soul when trained \nBe gauged by the discipline each has gained? \nAnd is discipline never in reach of those \nWhose natures have never been crushed by woes? \nDo the cheeriest need the weariest strife, \nEre broken to bear what blesses our life? \nIs the test of true metal the blow and the scrape \nAnd the time that it takes to bend it in shape? \nIf so, perhaps, it is well that the best \nAre those to whom earth brings the least of rest. \nThe Last Home Gathering. ^ \n\nThe pest of tutors, but the students\' pet, \nWho gain\'d more discipline than all the school \nThrough working hard to break through every rule. \nA Life in Song : Daring, L. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 93 \n\nDISCONTENT \n\nWe are not always curst, when born \nBy throes of nature\'s freak or scorn \nWith moods abnormal and forlorn; \nWe are not curst ere we consent \nTo dam our own development \nBy choking down our discontent. \nIf truth be something sought and learn\'d, \nHe most may gain, who most has yearn \'d \nTo fill a need he most discern\'d. \n\nIdem: Doubting, xviil. \n\n.... If none would feel, none would have discontent; \nAnd that would cure all evils of the time. \n\n.... Yes, that is true. Why, even small boys now, \nMust have small beer \n\n.... For that will pop, you know! \n\nWill make a noise! explode monotony! \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nDISEASE \n\nDisease that roam\'d for prey \nFirst made his pulse flee fever\'d from the shroud, \nThen clutch\'d and check\'d and chill\'d it, where he lay. \nA Life in Song: Serving, xxii. \n\nDISESTEEM \n\n.... It never is one\'s duty to do what can justly \nearn the disesteem of others. \n\n.... Those never justly earn men\'s disesteem who \nhave not first earned that of their own conscience. \n\nThe Two Paths, 11. \n\nDISHONESTY \n\nI have found dishonesty a species of decay that \ngrows more rank the longer it keeps hidden. \n\nThe Two Paths, 11. \n\nDIVINE GUIDANCE \n\nLife divine, what soul succeeds \n\nIn aught on earth but he \nWho moves as all desires and deeds \nAre lured and led by thee ! \n\nColumbus, I. \nDIVORCE {see honor) \nYou deem it wise or good, humane or Godly, \n\n\n\n94 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nTo doom a boy for one mistake in mating \nTo everlasting punishment on earth? \n\nDante, i., i. \n\n.... Why not assert yourself with her to-day? \n\n.... You ask her, she will tell you that I dare not. \n\n.... But that would not be true. \n\n.... I think it would, although my reasons for it \nmight not be what she would think or understand, if \ntold. \n\n.... And what are they? \n\n.... What she might do, in case I angered her, \xe2\x80\x94 \nthe accompaniments of divorce \xe2\x80\x94 for Florence and the \nwhole community. A man should suffer rather than \nrelieve a sore, if doing it might spread contagion. \nBesides, it was not she proposed our marriage, but I \nmyself; and every man should bear the burden of his \nown mistakes. Tuition for her Intuition, ill. \n\nDOCTORS \n\nLarge practice that doctor of hers has ! \n\nYes, all the society ladies go to him. \n\nAll of them? \n\nMost of them. \n\nHumph! \xe2\x80\x94 is an expert in cramps, I sup- \npose, which in women seem to be attributable about \nequally to what is put over the waist and feet, and \nto what is not put over the spine and shoulders. \nIn the olden time, when a man married, he had \nto have a doctor of divinity around; now it seems \nto be a doctor of medicine. In a little while, as \ndivorces multiply, I suppose it will be a doctor of \nlaws. \n\n.... No other doctors? \n\n.... Oh, yes; when the end of our civilization \ncomes, as it may, after a little, its story will have to be \nwritten. Then we shall need a doctor of literature. \n\nWhere Society Leads, iii. \n\nDOG \n\nA dog or woman cringing to a man, \nBecause of kicks or curses? Haydn, xxv. \n\nDONKEY, DEMOCRATIC \n\nWhat an advertisement it is for one in public life \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 95 \n\nto prove both prominent and picturesque \xe2\x80\x94 to draw \nthe world\'s attention in such an interesting way! \nYou know some folks dislike the democratic donkey. \nBut when an artist mounts the candidates upon its \nback that sets them ofE ! \n\n.... Becomes what one might term the office- \nseeker\'s asset. Tuition for her Intuition, 11. \n\nDOUBT, DOUBTING, and DOUBTS {see faith) \n\nAnd thus they talk\'d. \nTill, welcoming doubt, my faith succumb \'d to it; \nAnd all the love once making me so proud, \nWhose growth, I thought, would be so sweet and fair, \nStung like a very thistle in my soul ; \nEach breath of theirs would blow its prickles keen, \nAnd sow its pestering seedlets far and wide \nO\'er every pleasing prospect of my life. \n\nIdem, XXX. \n\nDoubt on empty nest sits brooding o\'er the things \nthat have been done. \n\nA Life in Song: Watching, xvi. \n\nIntroducing dusk to darkness, dodging doubt to \ncrawling night. Idem, Dreaming, xxxv. \n\n.... Had you a glimpse of God like no one else\'s \nYou would not speak of it? \n\n.... Why not? \n\n.... It might \n\nSubject Him to the insult \xe2\x80\x94 might it not? \xe2\x80\x94 \nOf human doubt? \n\n.... You are a strange soul. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\nAt last, he learn\' d \nHow faith reacts on doubt; if truth be sought. \nHow most for those who most have ask\'d and yearn\'d \nRing echoes from the boundary walls of thought. \nA Life in Song: Daring, lix. \n\nThe world keeps rolling on from day to night. \nNone always dwell where always glows the light \nWhen darkness comes, and doubt assails the mind. \nThen light and faith come following swift behind. \n\nDante, 11., 2. \n\n\n\n96 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nStrangely led, \nThrough doubtful ways, he thought, toward doubtful \n\nends, \nTill doubts had wrought reaction, \xe2\x80\x94 as when clouds \nThat course on clouds, at last, bring lightnings forth \nThat clear them off. Ideals Made Real, lxviii. \n\nYet all whose learning brings them fame to last \nBegin by doubting what earth claims it knows. \nWhy should not their true follower do the same? \nThink not the present can but phase the past. \nThe fire whose dying brand so steadfast glows \nOnce proved its life through flickerings of its flame. \n\nPrinceton Cemetery. \nHe lets his own thought lead him ; and you know \nMen led by thought are often led to doubt. \n\nDante, i., 2. \nAnd doubt rose round his growing powers of thought, \nLike vapors reeking from the refuse heap\'d \nOn undevelop\'d germs in early June, \nPerchance his manhood\'s fruit was ripening then. \n\nA Life in Song: Note iii. \nWhere springs from will \nOne wise effect that does not follow doubt? \nOne choice that does not weigh alternatives? \nDoubt comes with waverings of the balances \nBefore the heavier motive settles down. \nLet those who feel so sure their views are right. \nDissolve my doubt : \xe2\x80\x94 I dare to doubt if they \nWalk not by knowledge rather than by faith. \n\nHaydn, xliii. \nBelieve me, there is faith so full and deep \nThat all the surface-doubts that o\'er it sweep \nAre fog-banks to its ocean, \xe2\x80\x94 fill the skies \nAmid inactive hours, but shift and rise \nWith each new change that brings a sun or storm. \nOur mortal doubts are conjured up by form. \nNot substance, when weak insight fails to reach \nBeneath the vapory whiffs of human speech. \nThey come to him whose wars are waged at words, \nA knight, who at some whirring windmill girds \nTo wound the wind that whirls it, nor will know \n\n\n\n\n-f>\'?J \n\n\n\nHow, all its chairs made vacant one by one, \nTh\' applause rose thinner at his bachelor club. \n\nSee page iy6. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 97 \n\nThat, back of all this realm of sound and show, \nA subtle, unseen spirit works, which all \nMaterial means are far too weak and small \nTo hold or image; that the spirit\'s life \nHas power within it to survive all strife \nOf forms, at best, but fashion\'d from the dust, \nWhose changing creeds are not men\'s constant trust. \nA Life in Song: Seeking, xxiv. \nI read that Jesus answer\'d him who pray\'d, \n"Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief"; \nThat on the cross itself even He could cry: \n"My God, O why hast thou forsaken me?" \nAnd so I think, at times, these doubts of ours \nMay only rise like minor preludes here. \nEre that triumphant cadence, "It is finished." \n\nHaydn, xliii. \n.... The next time that men watch me, they \nshall think so. \n.... And why? \n\n.... No doubt, no thought! What men conceive \nThey comprehend, they cease to guess about. \n\nDante, i., i. \nTo doubt is charity, where to believe \nIs to condemn. Cecil the Seer, 11., 2. \n\nTo be true \nTo life, when all the men that have life doubt me \nI ought to join with them, and doubt myself. \n^ Columbus, v., 2. \n\nDREAM \n\nSuch a sight has oft allured me, rous\'d by morn\'s first \n\nherald-gleam, \nFloating up the edge of slumber in a just awaking \n\ndream. \nAngel forms, no man could number, circled in a band \n\nof light \nRound a chariot framed of splendor, drawn by steeds \n\nof dazzling white. \nSoftly sped they o\'er the vapors; and, with wings of \n\ntexture rare. \nWoke low throbs of murmuring music, as they lightly \n\nstruck the air. \n\n\n\n98 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nAnd the chariot bore a Being with a smile so sweetly \n\nbright, \nOne could better paint, than it, the fragrance of that \n\nsummer night. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, xii. \n\nDREAMING \n\nA blockhead may take pride \nIn never dreaming. Blocks are n\'t made for it, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nLive not in clouds. Yet clouds not often glide \nO\'er barren soil; nor rich dreams often flit \nO\'er minds too poor to yield the deed such dreams will fit. \n\nIdem, Daring, LXVI. \nThink you \'t is by the sword \nThat one can set a soul, while living, free? \nAh, not by deeds but dreaming does the spirit, \nItself uplifted, lift up those about it. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nDREAMING MAN \n\nA dreaming man is not a dangerous foe; \nFor dreams portend their opposites. Just when \nHe wings his whims to heaven, he wakes in hell. \n\nIdem. \n\nDREAMLAND \n\nMy friend, thus widow\'d, caused that our school\'s \n\nhead. \nAlready nodding o\'er his noonday pipe, \nShould beck at sever\'d dreams with one nod more. \nAnd so consent to our dreams. \n\nRoom-mates made, \nWe slamm\'d his door and woke him; not ourselves. \nOur dreamland lasted. Ideals Made Real, iii. \n\nBut beneath its boughs a dreamland, like a labyrinth, \n\nunwove. \nThere were paths like those of Eden. There were \n\nmountains high and grand, \nHung to wild, fantastic fortunes o\'er a dizzy dearth \n\nof land. \nThere were lakes all diamond-dappled; there were \n\nstreams that rushed at meres \nArch\'d by bridges, rainbow-girdled, where the high \n\nspray leapt their piers. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 99 \n\nThere were flowers that flush\'d through vistas, where \n\nalternate floods of sheen, \nRich as tides of amber, flow\'d through shaded banks \n\nof evergreen. \nThere were trees whose broad, high branches cradled \n\nall the stars o\'erhead. \nThere were lawns whose tender grasses could not stand \n\na fairy\'s tread. \nOrchards, gardens, halls, and temples fill\'d the fields; \n\nand in them seem\'d \nEvery creature, of which fancy, past or present, e\'er \n\nhad dream\'d, \xe2\x80\x94 \nBirds and beasts of all conditions, dancing, dozing, \n\nforward, shy, \nStrown, as if on isles that throng\'d an endless ocean in \n\nthe sky. A Life in Song: Dreaming, xvii. \n\nDREAMS \n\nFelt as one when streams \nUpon his waking eyes the morning light \nThat swings the golden goal-gates of his dreams. \n\nIdem, Daring, xlix. \n\nDRESS {see clothes) \nIn my visits to the city, the one thing that I like \nthe most to see is just the way you city women dress. \nHow do you do it? Take your own gown now \xe2\x80\x94 the \nway your skirts hang \xe2\x80\x94 just enough above your feet \nto make these play at hide and seek, and never let the \nglance that spies them catch them. You know that \nnothing so enchains attention as play too deft to lend \nitself to prey. The Two Paths, 11. \n\n.... You and sister seem to think that you must \nhave a new and different hat and gown about every \ntime that you step out of the front door. \n\n.... You wouldn\'t have us going around so \npeople could recognize us a block away, as they do a \nyellow dog \xe2\x80\x94 by the colors we always wear? \n\n.... Well, if your set keeps on you\'ll have to go \naround that way before long. All the beasts and birds \nof the world will have been butchered. None of their \nfurs and feathers will be left. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, iii. \n\n\n\nloo A POETS CABINET \n\nDRESS, CONCEALMENTS OF \n\nDid you see their little sister Mamie\'s feet and under- \npinnings? By Jove! it was worth the whole show just \nto get a sight of them! What\'s the use, confound it! \nof all the grown ones\' wearing those flapping, trailing \ndresses? One wouldn\'t know that they had any feet \nif he couldn\'t judge of them \xe2\x80\x94 as we have to do of all of \nthem \xe2\x80\x94 by their younger sisters. In a perfect state \nnow " \n\n" Well, well, but we\'re not in a perfect state, you \nknow." \n\n"I think I do \xe2\x80\x94 yes, yes," said the captain; "but \nthat\'s no reason \xe2\x80\x94 is it? \xe2\x80\x94 for rendering half our \nrace \xe2\x80\x94 and the prettier half, at that \xe2\x80\x94 but little \nbetter than deformed? I only meant to say that, \nwith society in a perfect state, the dress would \nshow off natural charms, you know, whatever they \nmight be," \n\n"Ah! yes, but, you see, the majority of mortals \nhaven\'t natural charms; and, as the majority rule, of \ncourse they\'re bound to keep their neighbors covered \nup; so general ugliness shall lose as little as possible \nfrom contrast with exceptional beauty." \n\n"Exceptional beauty! Humph! Don\'t lose your \nfaith; hold on to a God of general goodness, and \nonly issue bans against the exceptional ugliness of \nthose who make the fashions. \n\nModern Fishers of Men, iii. \n\nDRESS, OF WOMAN ON A MAN \n\nThere\'s one thing, boys, I\'ve found that no man \never can do; and that is \xe2\x80\x94 outstrip a woman in her \ndressing. . . . Not so anxious, perhaps, to be an angel, \nand put on airs, when these drafts that we feel on \nearth have drafted us up to heaven. No wonder, the \nwomen surpass us in not getting hard or tipsy. Truth \nis they are tough by nature, and get tight in ways and \nstays \xe2\x80\x94 I wonder if squeezing the blood keeps it warm. \nThat might explain why their arms and necks never \nfreeze. I feel like a turkey-gobbler hung up in front \nof a shop, with neck and wings and legs all plucked, \nand what feathers are left, bunched up in a tuft at the \nmiddle. The Ranch Girl, iii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS loi \n\nDRINKING \n\n.... Clear champagne, not so? \n\n.... One must drink something on a hot night \nlike this. \n\n.... But you can\'t get away from a hot time \noutside by getting up a hot time inside. \n\nWhere Society Leads, i. \n\nDRINKING {see smoking) \n.... You men seem always very thirsty. \n.... A business man, when not at work, feels Hke \na fish when out of water, so he soaks. \n\n.... And if his palate be not dry enough to \ntake in all that flows his way, he starts a fire to do \nthe work. {Lighting a cigar.) \n\nTuition for her Intuition, ii. \n\nDRONE \n\n.... Oh, drone, \n\nThat I could sting you, as do bees their drones, \nThat make no honey ! \n.... You do sting at times. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\nDUPLEXITY \n\nOf all the devils that ever have curst \nThis earth of ours I deem the worst \n\nMay be a duplex woman, \nWhose airs are snares that none suspect, \nAnd are spread where naught can souls protect \n\nFrom ruin more than is human ; \n\nWhose thoughts, when her lover is craving a soul \nSo pure he can yield to her the control \n\nOf all his aims and actions, \nAre weighing the worth of houses and rooms \nAnd dresses and diamonds and horses and grooms \n\nFor which to sell her attractions. \n\nA curse to her spirit that makes bright eyes \nAs blind as an owl\'s, \xe2\x80\x94 and with gaze as wise, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTo heaven\'s light sent to assist them. \nA curse to her fangs from flesh so soft. \nAnd her serpent-like grace, far crueller oft \n\nThan aught ever stung to resist them. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxiv. \n\n\n\n102 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nDUST, OF WHICH MAN IS MADE \n\nDid you hear her comment on the sunbeams \xe2\x80\x94 how \nthey show the dust? She is a young philosopher. \nNone reaHze the dust that man is made of Hke those \nthat watch the light of heaven shine through it. \n\nOn Detective Duty, i. \n\nDUTY \n\nOh, in worth the deeds of duty \nRival all the claims of beauty. \nOnward world, with steadfast spinning, \nLearn to turn a perfect day. \nWork cannot go wrong for aye. \nWoes but roll to roll away. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, xli. \n\nDUTY, DEVOTION TO, PROTECTS THE AGENT \n\nNo mind or soul was ever harmed inside because of \nits devotion to a duty. One might as well attempt to \nharm the life that whirls the world, and all the stars \nabout it. On Detective Duty, i. \n\nDUTY, GIVING ONE CHANCES \n\n.... I did but do my duty. \n\n.... That is what \n\nBut very few do. It gave you your chance. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nDUTY vs. EXPEDIENCY \n\nWhen they have stripped me of all things besides, \nI shall have left a clean, clear conscience, death \nAnd heaven. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\nDUTY vs. LOVE \n\nA friend most pleases when, forgetting due, \nHe seems to do his pleasure ; but a foe, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWho does not shrink to feel him near enough \nTo freeze one with a chill though duteous touch? \nMere duty forms the body-part of love : \nLet love be present, and this body seems \nThe fitting vestment of a finer life : \nLet love be gone, it leaves a hideous corpse! \n\nHaydn, xvi. \n\nEARLY INTEREST IN LIFE-WORK \nThe best day-laborer is usually one who wakes up \nearly in the morning. The best life-laborer is usually \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 103 \n\none who has had something of entertainment and \ninterest to wake up his mind early in Hfe. \n\nMusic as Related to Other Arts. \n\nEARTHLY LIFE, AS VIEWED FROM HEAVENLY \n\nI dimly can recall what now appears \nA troubled, stormy sea, yet not a sea; \nAnd in the depth that which I call myself \nSeemed held and heaved as in some diving bell. \nBut evermore in reveries and dreams. \nBut most in dreams when outward sense would sleep \nMy soul would be released, and rise and reach \nFresh air, in which was breathed what gave fresh life ; \nThen, sinking downward, wake and work again, \nTill time for rest and fresh refreshment came. \nBut never could my powers at work below \nRemember aught that blest them when above. \n.... And now you dream that somehow they came \n\nhere? \n.... Oh, do not tell me that I now but dream! \xe2\x80\x94 \nNay, call it heaven. \xe2\x80\x94 Or is the rest of sleep \nBut absence from the body while we draw \nNew drafts of life from that whicti gave us life? \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \n\nEARTHLY LOVE VS. HEAVENLY \n\nHow safely might one sail the sea of life \n\nIf all his reckonings were but true to heaven ! \n\nAh, siren-like, a rivalling earthly love \n\nMay lure to realms whose mountain heights are clouds, \n\nClouds warmly hued above a cold gray shoal, \n\nWhose only outlines are the breakers\' caps. \n\nWhose only stir, the fury of the storm. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxx. \nOur thoughts of good should learn to separate \nThe heavenly love from its foul earthly nest. \nTo hold the latter\'s dead impurity \nAt one with spotless life that wings on high. \nIs often to deserve \xe2\x80\x94 I will not judge them. \nI would I could forget them. Dante, 11., 2. \n\nLife is no failure in which earthly love \nIs grown and ripen\'d for the world above. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, lii. \n\n\n\nI04 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nEASE \nThere is most for us all to do, I think, \n\nWhen the heart is least at ease. \nThe falls that leap the stoniest brink \n\nFill most with mist the breeze. Idem, XL. \nECCENTRIC {see odd) \nA man I see with blood and brain the kind \n\nEarth terms eccentric, since it finds them few; \nAs wise Chinese with half-hiss\'d whispers mind \n\nA heathen head to which they find no cue. \nFor far extremes his moods were always linking, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe swiftest passions and the strongest will. \nThe maddest fancies and the sanest thinking, \nA poet\'s ken and all a plodder\'s trust in drill. \n\nIdem, Serving, ii. \nI am not one \nHas lived or worked with other men. My soul \nHas dwelt alone, and sails the waves of life \nLike some stray oil-drop lost upon the sea, \nRefusing still, however wildly tossing, \nTo lose or fuse itself in things about it. \nI have so craved a mate! but, whoso came, \nThe spirit that is in me would deny \nMy clasping to a heart that might not beat \nIn time to pulses of another\'s purpose. \nSo what I would caress, I dared not touch. \nFor fear the rhythm throbbing in my veins \nWould prove discordant and reveal us foes. \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \n\nECHOES \n\nEre the echoes that rehears\'d it learn\'d the tones of \nhalf the lay. A Life in Song: Dreaming, xii. \n\nEDUCATION SHOULD BE UNIVERSAL \n\nTo be their brightest, minds need burnishing; \nAnd earth needs all the light that we can give it. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nEGGS, BOILED \n\n.... When travelling, in certain places, there is \njust one meal I alwavs order. \n\n.... Humph! What\'s that? \n\n.... Boiled eggs. I am the first to get inside their \nshells. On Detective Duty, ii. \n\n\n\n\xc2\xab SELECTED QUOTATIONS 105 \n\nEGOTIST, THE \n\nEach to his own conception is a god. \nProclaim him this, you but concede a claim \nLong felt within. He knew it all before. \n.... The egotist! \n\n.... Yes, but we all are that. \n\nThe spirit, we are told, is made of air. \nLike air it is in this, \xe2\x80\x94 will force its way \nAnd feel full right to enter and possess \nWhatever space a crack or crevice opens \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nCome wounds! come jeers! where were they miss\'d \n\nBy one who sought the noblest list? \n\nZeal ne\'er did sigh, but some drone hiss\'d, \n\n"Be dunce with me, or egotist." \n\nWise world, that you our due begrudge us \n\nYou yet, years hence, may understand. \n\nIf we work out the good, so judge us; \n\nIf ill, time then to use your brand! \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, vii. \nLike a great many other people who have read little \nand thought much \xe2\x80\x94 about themselves \xe2\x80\x94 and possess, \nin addition, that susceptibility of temperament which \ncauses one to be easily kindled to enthusiastic ad- \nmiration for the object of his thoughts, he had arrived, \nafter many years of persistent self -culture all tending \nin the same direction, at the conclusion (than which \nwhat could be more satisfactory?) that anything that \nhe himself did not know, wish, or feel, was not worth \nknowing, wishing, or feeling. Could any conclusion, \nif communicated to others, prove more beneficial to \nthem than this? Was there any better method of \ninstruction or appeal through which another\'s soul \ncould become more completely disinthralled from all \nthe petty annoyances that come to one so blind to the \nconditions of perfect peace as still to study, doubt, and \nstruggle? What more noble aim, then, could thrill \nhis trembling locks, explode his tones, or animate his \narms, than to become the prophet of what he acted as \nif he thoroughly believed to be the kingdom within \nhimself? \xe2\x80\x94 the Lord of which, when ruling within so \ngreat a man as he was, needed apparently, in his \n\n\n\nlo6 A POETS CABIXET \n\nopinion, to exercise no contemporaneous lordship \nwithin the minds or consciences of an}\' who surroiinded \nhim. Modern Fishers of Men, \\*ii. \n\nEMBRACED \n\n"Who would let a soul, nor fear it, \nBe embraced with no love near it, \nBoth to cherish and revere it? \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxrv. \n\nENTRAXCHISEMEXT, A WIFE\'s (see WOMEN\') \n\nOnly wise, \nAs owls thai blink at Hght ! \xe2\x80\x94 so blind \xe2\x80\x94 nor see \n"What day dawns with a wife\'s enfranchisement; \nAmbitious, but forgetting that the meek \nInherit heaven, or that the oppressor dwarfs \nHis own surroundings ; that if pride stoop not, \nThen must the soul ; that earthly lords must bend, \nAnd lift their consorts to their own prized seats, \nAs equals, queens; or else must house with slaves, \nAnd make the slavish habits there their own. \n\nIdeals Made Real, x. \n\nENGAGEMENT, A COLLEGE \n\n.... And what is a college engagement? \n.... Why, that of a home-sick boy, who wants a \nmother or sister. The Ranch Girl, i. \n\nENGLAND \n\nAnd then \xe2\x80\x94 who could describe in lines of rh\\Tne, \n\nNor circumscribe, the joy, so keen yet kind, \nThat England holds for souls of even,\' clime, \n\nWho honor aught that nobler makes the mind ; \nWhere grand catliedrals throb with chorals breathing \n\nThrough forms of grace their life of gracious thought ; \nAnd ancient towers decay, with ivy wreathing \n\nFair forms of fresher art round aU the ruin wrought. \nNor could mere words one\'s eager wish appease. \n\nWhen striving to depict an Enghsh home. \nWhere no crude care intrudes on ctiltur\'d ease. \n\nAnd service vies but to exalt its own, \nGod bless thee long, our own land\'s mother-nation \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nMost motherly when proud of England too ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nGod bless that loyalty to each relation, \n\nInbred with British bloodfromlord to tenant through ! \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 107 \n\nOur land\'s descendants from thee ever boast \n\nOf what they first imbibed upon thy knee, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat stalwart Anglo-Saxon sense that most \n\nIn church and state keeps thought and action free; \nWho fears a progress, charg\'d with freedom\'s mission, \n\nThat gives to English genius broader scope? \nEarth fears far more thy foe, whose politician \n\nIn tearing thy flag down may lower the whole world\'s \nhope. A Life in Song: Serving, xxxix-xli. \n\nENGLISHMEN \n\nI think that I should try \nThe court of England. You have seen their men : \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhite skinned, the spirit just behind the face. \nTheir very faults the proof they are not false; \nToo impudent for truthlessness, too bold \nTo stab behind one\'s back, too proud of push \nTo trip with little tricks, too fond of sport \nTo keep one down, when down. Columbus, i., 3. \n\nENJOYMENT \n\nEnjoyment is the man\'s most heartfelt praise \nTo Him that fram\'d his being. What shoidd I, \nA child of God, do here but Hve God\'s life? \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhich is not now, nor then, but evermore. \nMy soul must thrive the best, as best I make \nMy now, eternal; my eternal, now. \nSo when a storm comes, let me bar it out ; \nAnd, braced against the present ill, grow strong; \nAnd when the sunshine, let me open wide \nTo that which makes all nature grow more sweet. \nThus, realizing in my earthly state \nThe aim of heaven, why do I praise Him less \nWhose life is that of heaven, than those who wear \nThe guises of that slattern of the soul, \n\' Asceticism, shufiiing toward far good, \nSlipshod and snivelling? Ideals Made Real, XLix. \n\nENLARGE \n\nTo think things larger may enlarge one\'s thought. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\nENLIGHTEN \n\n.... You all make too much light of this. \n.... What better can enlighten dullness, pray, \nThan making light of it? Columbus, 11., 2. \n\n\n\nio8 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nENLIGHTENMENT \n\nReclined \nAgainst the western slope, looked off to give \nA god-speed to the sun, and half-believed \nThe blue-tint sky-sheet, held to light against \nThe little town of learning that I loved, \nCould bear away with photographic art \nThat which should give enlightenment to all \nThe western land through which it should be trailed. \n\nWest Mountain. \n\nENLISTED \n\nTho\' he himself may be misunderstood, \nGainsaid and thwarted by the very souls \nWith whom his has enlisted, if they yet \nPress bravely forward, he may feel for them, \nIf less than whole love, more than interest. \nHis lord-like spirit, like the spirit\'s Lord, \nContent to work or wait, to do or die. \nIf but the truth he serves may be supreme. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, XLI. \n\nENTHUSIASM \n\nEnthusiasm is \nThe essence of religion \xe2\x80\x94 valueless \nWithout its uplift and its oversight. \nIf these it lack, it is a lifeless corpse \nNot measured by its worth but want of it. \n\nColumbus, I., I. \nEnthusiasm needs a margin. Idem. \nENVY (see jealousy) \nI hate to think it, yet at times one must, \nThat some men deem mere conscious envy conscience ; \nAnd seem most zealous when they are but jealous. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \nWhen hunting sometimes, I have found that birds \nOf brightest plumage are the soonest shot. \nThis is a world where many men go hunting. \n\nColumbus, IV., 2. \n\nEQUALITY \n\nThe nearer heaven our view-points be, \nThe more of men\'s equality we see. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, xvii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 109 \n\nWhat is one that he should thrive? \n\nAh, though high he be in station, though he nobly aim \n\nand strive, \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \nYet the small man in his cottage and the great man \n\nin his hall \nHere fill equal spheres, the agents of the power at work \n\nin all. A Life in Song: Watching, 11. \n\nESPIONAGE \n\nWhere I hope \nNo mortal will be present to profane \nVows fit for only gods to hear, some form, \nWith eyes omniscient as a very devil\'s \nIncarnate in an earthly messenger, \nOutspawns its fouling shadows on the light \nLike night-shades to the lost who pray for day. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nEULOGIES \n\nIf currents in view \n\nAre to crystallize too \nLike things of the past, the winter will show it. \n\nThe future must rate \nThe fruit of the present : so shrewd men wait, \n\nAnd but of the dead \n\nAre their eulogies read. \xe2\x80\x94 \nGood souls, they never will let one rest \nUntil he is borne to the land of the blest ! \n\nUnveiling the Monument. \n\nEVEN, GETTING, WITH THE LOW \n\nThere is no such thing \nAs getting even with a low-lived soul. \nWithout degrading one\'s own self. \n\nCecil the Seer, ill, 2. \n\nEVIL UNIVERSAL \n\nThe well-made locks and legal barriers \nBy which the best philanthropist avers \nDistrust in men ; the long sad list of crimes \nIn lawyer\'s lore ; the armies of all times \nWith men so elate to man them; anarchy \nWhose brute force prostrates all prosperity \nTill shot and steel instate it ; toil that schemes \nFor self or steals another\'s; rest that dreams \nOf vice and wakes in vileness ; conscience, care, \n\n\n\nno A POET\'S CABINET \n\nDisease, and death, \xe2\x80\x94 alike one record bear; \xe2\x80\x94 \nAll show the trace of evil gone before, \nWhose trail is clear to all, but clear yet more \nTo those who strive most hard to walk aright. \nYet walk misled where but the past sends light. \nA Life in Song: Seeking, xxi. \n\nEXAMPLE \n\nAll men who try- \nTo glorify the Lord on high \nMust prove His goodness through their own. \nThey cannot lead one toward His throne, \nSave through the Godlike traits alone \nThat their transfigured lives have shown. \n\nIdem, Doubting, XLIII. \nNot skill to chide another\'s pride \nCan make a wise or welcome guide; \nBut he the best for noble deeds \nInspires his kind, who best succeeds \nIn finding what his own soul needs. \nThough others\' need to his be small, \nHe may be less, yet more than all. \nNay, God gives each an equal call, \nWith ill to bear and good to share \nAnd, whether it be full or spare. \nSome truth to show the Godlike there. \n\nIdem, XLiv. \n\nEXAMPLE AND INFLUENCE \n\nHow can \nI pray the gods to give me light, if those \nThat have been sent to lead me where it shines \nForever stand betwixt my soul and it? \n\nThe Aztec God, ii. \n\nEXAMPLE, IN A LEADER \n\nThose are most worth our help on earth \nWhose eyes look up, and he who stands above them, \nWould he fulfill their soul\'s ideal, must show \nA life worth while their looking up to see. \n\nIdem, IV., I. \n\nEXCEPTIONAL DEEDS \n\nOur deeds that are exceptional appear the rule to those \nwho see us only once. Tuition for her Intuition, I. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS iii \n\nEXCESS OF SERVICE IN NATURE {see OVERFLOW) \n\nThink not that every leaf that sprouts in spring \n\nMust be a stem straight-pointed toward a flower; \n\nThat every bud must bring a blossom-nest \n\nIn which to hatch and home a future fruit. \n\nFull many a leaf can only catch the shower \n\nAnd quench the dry Hmb\'s thirst; full many a bud \n\nGrow bright alone as might a short-lived spark \n\nAglow to show some soiirce of kindled fragrance \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAglow to show itself a part and partner \n\nOf that excess of service in which all \n\nThe starry worlds are joined, as, hung beneath \n\nHeaven\'s dome, like golden censers brimmed with fumes \n\nOf smouldering myrrh, their God-enkindled fires \n\nNow flash, now fail, while souls, awe-thrilled to thought \n\nBoth trust and fear their fires\' unfaihng Source. \n\nBerlin Mountain. \n\nEXCITEMENT \n\nYou hunger for excitement, man. You hail \nThe trump of war, the tramp of onset, all \nThat sweeps you on where drafts of Hfe and love \nFan up the flames that flicker in the breast \nAnd set the whole form\'s trembling veins aglow. \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \n\nEXCLUSIVENESS, IN SOCIETY \n\nIf you want to be "of the few, " you must take care \nto let people know that you are not "of the many. " \n\nWhere Society Leads, i. \n\nEXPECTATIONS \n\nFresh expectations, Hke fresh eggs, may hatch. \nNot so with stale ones, though, however white. \n\nColumbus, I., 3. \n\nEXPECTATIONS, YOUTHFUL \n\nFrail, faint heart! \nAnd it had so much Hfe! I thought its thrills \nThe riUing of a fount whose brook should flow \nOut to a sea of Ufe, as wide as earth, \nAnd upward to a golden clouded heaven. \nWhy, all my moods \xe2\x80\x94 they banner spring-time yet, \nThe buds but just unfolding, scarce a flutter \nTo balm the breeze with their sweet promises! \n\n\n\n112 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nMust all be now cut off? \xe2\x80\x94 uprooted? \xe2\x80\x94 what? \n\nThe prickliest cactus clutches, at the last, \n\nThe flower toward which it grows ; and shall these nerves, \n\nAll tender to the touch of life, so live \n\nThemselves, so hungry to be fed, yet void \n\nOf all with which hope pledged them to be filled \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nShall they be cheated out of this they craved? \n\nAre all the visions of the fancy frauds \n\nThat fool our faith, anticipating joy \n\nThat never comes? Is that mysterious power \n\nThat prompts our lives to be, and pushes on \n\nToward what it promised them, so vilely weak \n\nThat, like a knave who fears to be outwitted, \n\nIt needs must lash and lure us with a lie? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nYet now \xe2\x80\x94 heaven ! I will not so believe it. \n\nI cannot; no. The Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nEXPERIENCE, A GUIDE TO TRUTH \n\nA man of sense \nTrusts first his own experience; \nNor waives the truth he draws from thence \nFor all mankind\'s experiments. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxiii. \n\nThe moonlight guides us, if we have no sun. \nBut forms that loom at midnight lie to those \nWho know them in the day; and in the day \nNo judgment of the distance can be true \nExcept for him who pushes on to reach it. \n\nColumbus, II., 2. \nIt is our trying \nThat turns the latch-key of experience. \nWhose door swings inward quite as oft as outward. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\nEXPERIENCE, ONE\'s OWN, INDICATED BY HIS CHARACTER \n\nEach passing season circling round a tree \n\nLeaves, clasping it, a ring; the rings remain, \n\nSo seasons past remain about the soul : \n\nAnd men can trace its former life far less \n\nBy tales the tongue may tell, than by the range \n\nAnd reach of that which circumscribes the mood. \n\nIncluding or excluding right or wrong. \n\nHaydn, xxix. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 113 \n\nEXPERIENCES, UNPLEASANT, ARE TRANSITORY \n\nOnly have a little faith and patience. Experiences \nlike yours never last forever. They are like bad dreams. \nSometimes, the very first hour after one wakes, one \nfeels as well as if he had had no dream. \n\nWhere Society Leads, in. \n\nEXPERT \n\nNo man who is no expert risks a judgment \nOn questions experts only can decide, \nWithout revealing his own lack of judgment. \n\nDante, 11., 2. \nEXPRESSION {see REPRESSION and words) \nA mood but half expressed is all distressed. \n\nThe Aztec God, 11. \nWhom God inspires, though they unheeded sing, \nMay be through mere expression wholly blest. \n\nThe Solitary Singer. \nWhen the heart is all aglow \n\nWith the flame of love\'s desire, \nThe inward fume must outward flow, \nOr smother all the fire. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xx. \nWhat can curse one worse \nThan force that jails expression, whether walled \nIn masonry or flesh! \xe2\x80\x94 Though it may be \nFit training for a life whose brightest end \nIs death. If all men die alone, may be \nThey ought to learn, ere death, to live alone. \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \nThemes and aims as grand as these \nOverflow the burden\'d words that bear our lesser \n\nthoughts with ease. \nMany guiding views beyond us loom but dimly un- \nderstood : \nMany schemes are hatch\'d to famish where our im- \nperfections brood. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, ix. \nHe comes on plotting.\xe2\x80\x94 That is plain enough. \nHow form and face \xe2\x80\x94 mere garments that they are \xe2\x80\x94 \nWill twist and wrinkle to a touch of thought! \n\nColumbus, III., 2. \n\n\n\n114 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nEXPRESSION TO FIT THE MOOD \n\nGo bid the flowers \nKeep back their perfume ; then, perchance, may souls, \nAll sweet with blooming love, keep back sweet words. \n\nHaydn, i. \n\nEYE \n\nShone a light in her dark, deep eye \n\nPure as a star, when shining \nFar in a sky whose depths defy \n\nAll but a god\'s divining. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, il. \n\nAy, oft I hide my eyes apace \n\nBeneath my eyelids\' awning; \nToo bright behind each flushing face \n\nA holy light seems dawning. \n\nEach eye I see appears a lens, \n\nThrough which, with stolen glances, \n\nA realm divine my spirit kens, \n\nWhich all my hope entrances. Idem, Vlll. \n\nEYE, MEN INFLUENCED THROUGH THE \n\nTry looking at them, my lady. The men that oppose \na man will sometimes yield to a woman. The toughest \nof them can be wounded like crocodiles through the \neye. The Ranch Girl, ii. \n\nEYE, STEADY, VS. DODGING \n\nHe never holds a steady eye to greet \nThe look that rests on him. It seems as if \nHe feared that one might spy within his brain \nSome secret that a dodging glance could shield. \n\nThe Aztec God, in. \n\nEYE AND EYES, WHEN BLUE \n\nFarmer lad, where the herd will drink \nWaits a maid that bathes by the brink \nBare brown feet; and the rill, made sweet. \nThrills to touch her who thee would greet. \nThere is more for thee in the blue of her eye \nThan in all the towns that are under the sky. \n\nFarmer Lad. \n\nI seem to see him yet, the straight brown hair \nToss\'d wildly backward from the broad white brow. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 115 \n\nThe sunburnt cheeks, the deep and wondering eyes, \nAs blue when grand emotion swept within, \nAs autumn skies are in the northwest wind, \nWith just as much of heaven back of them. \nDear boy! A Life in Song: Note i. \n\nEYES \n\nA sight supreme, arousing me : \xe2\x80\x94 \nTwo bright eyes only, sparkling in the light, \nWhere fiush\'d a face that flared, then hid itself \nBehind a travelling hood, befleck\'d with dust. \nAnd fring\'d with venturous locks of careless hair. \n\nIdeals Made Real, ix. \n\nLook up, my love, and let me see \n\nThose eyes of thine gaze full on me. \n\nOne glimpse were heaven, although their light \n\nShould blind me to each lesser sight. \n\nWhat though their more than earthly fire \n\nShould turn to flame my heart\'s desire; \n\n\'T were sweet to let this life of mine \n\nAll burn to incense at thy shrine. \n\nO could thy power thus make me thine, \n\n\'T would all my coarser self refine; \n\nFor nothing would be left of me. \n\nSave what should be a part of thee. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xliii. \n\nEYES, EXPECTANT \n\nWhen \nHis troopers flash in sight here, why, these eyes \nThat have been straining so to see them come \nWill scratch some blinks to cure their vision\'s itching. \n\nColumbus, v., I. \n\nEYES, EXPRESSION OF \n\nHer features, while not sufficiently regular to answer \nall requirements of beauty, were, nevertheless, pecul- \niarly fascinating because cast into shade by the \npeculiar brightness of her eyes. These might have \nbeen called blue, but there was in them, more than in \nany other eyes that I ever saw, that constantly chang- \ning color and expression that seems to say, "I trust \nyou \xe2\x80\x94 no, I don\'t," which, because it sets a man to \nthinking and keeps him at it, is more likely perhaps to \n\n\n\nIl6 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nawaken his interest in a woman than any other charm \nthat she can possess. Modern Fishers of Men, ii. \n\nEYES vs. SOUL, IN SEEING \n\nWhen their eyes are open, then they see so much \nbesides that they don\'t care for. It\'s only when the \neyes are shut the soul can wholly live with those it \nwholly likes to live with. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, ii. \n\nFACE, FLAMED \n\nMy face flamed hot as if its veil of flesh \nWould burn, and bare the soul. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xii. \n\nFACING DANGER \n\nA man who once begins to swim a current, must \nface the way it flows \xe2\x80\x94 it is never safe to dash heel \nforward where one needs a head. \n\nOn Detective Duty, ill. \n\nFACTION \n\nNow who remembers faction \nForgets his Florence. Dante, i., I. \n\nThe trumpets call to action \n\nThrough all the threatened land, \nNo more is heard of faction, \nThe time has come to band. \nWhat soul can see \nThe state in fear, and fail to be \nBeneath the flag, enrolled with all \nThat heed the trumpet\'s call? \nNo patriots are they who can see \nThe state in fear and fail to be \nBeneath the flag, enrolled with all \nThat heed the trumpet\'s call. \n\nCecil the Seer, ill., 2. \n\nFACTS AND FANCIES \n\nMen take too many chances \nIn drawing facts from fancies. Idem, i. \n\nFAILED \n\nThe soul succeeded though its project failed. \nHe lost his outward end, indeed, but gain\'d \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 117 \n\nAn inward end that, for his youthful years, \nHad far more value. \n\nA Life in Song: Note iii. \n\nFAILURE \n\nFailure \n\n.... Shows a spirit as it is. \n\nIt throws one\'s manhood into full relief, \nStript of all circumstance and accident. \n\nColumbus, II., I. \n\nFAIRNESS \n\nIf you\'re fair men, to win your race, you only want \nfair play, hands off, and elbow room \xe2\x80\x94 a clear track, \nand the right of way. That\'s what the law gives. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps: iii., 2. \n\nFAIR PLAY \n\nNow, now, fair play! Fair play in argument \nWill catch our thoughts before it throws them back. \n\nColumbus, I., 2. \n\nFAITH {see CREEDS, DEEDS, HUMANITY, KNOWLEDGE, \n\nPROGRESS, and nature, material as a school) \nIf still for growth in truth we trust, \nWhile faith can dare, it cannot die. \nWith facts against it, \'t will espy \nFar distant lights that guide its eye, \nSnatch hope from talons of despair, \nAnd welcome flight vnth. fancies fair. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xviii. \nForemost of our best possessions, faith fails not that \n\ncan but feel ; \nYet how blest are they who know and can their \n\ngrounds of faith reveal. \nThey alone, amid the shades, where men who move \n\ntoward mystery \nLong to know what joy or woe is yet to be their destiny. \nThey alone, with heaven-lit torches, flashing light the \n\ndarkness through, \nCan disclose beyond the gloom the looming outlines \nof the true. Idem, Dreaming, ix. \n\nfaith and FACTS \n\nHis body served the soil, but from the skies \n\nHe breathed the spirit in with which he wrought. \n\n\n\n1 18 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nIn them he saw fair homes and cities rise. \n\nNo facts can bury faith that Hves in thought. \n\nThe American Pioneer. \n\nFAITH AND REASON \n\nTo walk by faith and not walk hand in hand with \nreason also, is to walk to ruin. \n\nThe Two Paths, iv. \n\nFAITH AND THINKING \n\nBut I was thinking \n\n.... Thinking has its dangers. \n\n.... Yes, but for it I should have been a priest. \nAt present, am confessor but to you. \nAnd my advice is, \xe2\x80\x94 not to say to others \nWhat you have said to me. \n.... Why? \n\n.... It would make \n\nThe world suspect you. \n.... How? \xe2\x80\x94 and what? \n\n.... Why, say, \n\nYour faith. \n\n.... Impossible! God knows \xe2\x80\x94 they know \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe purpose of my life. \xe2\x80\x94 \n. . . . Your life! But faith- \n\nIs not a thing to-day of life, but talk; \nAnd God \xe2\x80\x94 He has not much to do with it. \nA man of faith, is one whose faith in those \nTo whom he talks will make him talk their thoughts. \nNone here will think that what you say can be. \n\nColumbus, IV., I. \n\nFAITH IN MAN AS WELL AS GOD, ESSENTIAL \n\n{see honor) \n.... Suppose the women cease to trust the men? \n.... Suppose they go to hell. They will go there \nno sooner if they lose their faith in man than if they \nlose it in divinity. In one regard the Mormon theory \nis right \xe2\x80\x94 though it applies to both the sexes \xe2\x80\x94 when \nfaith in man is gone, all chance is gone of being saved \noneself, or saving others. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nNot all the doubts of the creeds \nCan shake their faith who find \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 119 \n\nNo selfishness back of the deeds \nOf one pure sensitive mind. \n\nLove and Life, xiii. \nThe world is wide, and wisdom strange ; \nTo find it one must freely range; \nAnd, when from this to that we change, \nWe lose our friend, unless his mood \nWill justly weigh our former good \nWith what is now misunderstood. \nAnd though he cannot see our goals, \nHave faith enough to trust our souls, \xe2\x80\x94 \nFaith man as well as God demands \nFrom every soul that near him stands. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxvii. \n\nFAITH, TO one\'s OWN SOUL \n\nThey are proud \nOf one who, all his lifetime, has kept faith \nWith his own soul, however left alone. \n\nColumbus, v., 2. \n\nFAITHFUL, THE, VS. THE WISE \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 The wise \nAim not beyond their reach. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 The faithful aim \nWherever they are called. Idem, 11., i. \n\nFALLEN \n\nLook \xe2\x80\x94 my soul! \xe2\x80\x94 a man has tumbled; \nShown himself a beast, and humbled \nMan and God, at whom he grumbled. \xe2\x80\x94 \nMoans a wife now never sleeping, \nBabes that her thin hands are keeping: \xe2\x80\x94 \nWaits a grave where none are weeping. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxiv. \n\nFALL OUT, WHEN OUR ENEMIES \n\nWhen our enemies fall out, \n*T is time that we ourselves fall in. For then \nThey fight for their own cause with half their force \nAnd with the other half they fight for us. \n\nDante, i., 2. \nFAME {see MONUMENT and posthumous) \nAh, why should one who shrinks from sight \nEssay to push where fame\'s clear light \n\n\n\nI20 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nCan make him but a target bright, \nWhere every individual mood \nAnd all the best he has pursued \nIs flouted or misunderstood? \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \nWhere sense might rather wish to be \nA wild beast caged for men to see \nThan be a lion such as he? \xe2\x80\x94 \nWith every word he speaks the cause \nOf public jeering or applause, \nAnd every one he loves, in fear \nThat half the world will elbow near; \nThrough life a slave to scrutiny, \nWhen dead, a dress \'d-up effigy, \nA puppet of biography, \nThat dances high or dances low \nTo please the men who make him go \xe2\x80\x94 \nTo please the men who strip him bare. \nTo bring him shame, or make him wear \nA suit striped like a convict\'s, where. \nWith every hue that helps his fame. \nAlternate shades insure him blame? \nYe fools, who ne\'er for wisdom sought. \nAnd ne\'er for deeds immortal wrought. \nYe never knew, nor fancied aught \nThat near\'d at all the inward thought \nOf men of truth, whose footsteps went \nThrough life that was one long ascent: \nThey did not seek a monument. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxxvii. \nImmortal fame . . And do you think . . that this \nCould set the heart at ease? \xe2\x80\x94 or think you none. \nIf set at ease, can thrill with drum-like throbs \nThat marshal on the spirit to success ? Haydn, iv. \n\nFAMILY LOVE \n\nHow blest is the mother \n\nWhose boy is her lover! \nHow blest is the father who seems but a brother ! \nHow blest all the household who all discover \nThat even a babe\'s life just begun \nHas a heart and a head that must be won; \nThat the youngest will with a wish has rights \nFor all to respect ! \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 121 \n\nAh, what is there human that nature slights, \nAnd what in Hfe that love can neglect ! \nThe petty desire of the tenderest tone \nTo God is as great and as dear as one\'s own. \n\nLove and Life, xlvii. \n\nFAMILY PRIDE \n\nNo poison paralyzes thought like pride; \nNo pride as poisonous as family pride. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nFANATICISM \n\nA Moloch, clasping in his arms of fire \nDesires he kindles, but can never quench. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nFANCY \nFancy is the flower of thought. \nThe more of life there is, the more of flower: \nThe more of thought there is, the more of fancy. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\nWho think the poets\' fancies true? Their brains, \nLike helmets when their metal is the best, \nReceive the light of life and flash it back. \nNone take the flash for fire. Idem. \n\nFANCY AND FACT \n\nA fresh young brain acts like a keg of beer when \nfreshly brewed. You try to tap it, and at first you find \nthe froth of fancy, not the flow of fact. \n\nOn Detective Duty, v. \n\nThe world you think in is a world of fancy. \n\nThe world all live in is a world of fact. \n\nDante, i., 2. \nNot fact-full only, but a mind that you \nDeem fanciful, is needed, would a man \nPut this and that together, and build up \nThe only structure that can make his facts \nWorth knowing. Columbus, i., i. \n\nFANCY AND TRUTH \n\nA woman\'s fancy may be near the truth. \n.... As near as fire to water. Yonder pool \nIs truth. The sunbeam it reflects is fancy. \nOne water is, one fire. The Aztec God, iii. \n\n\n\n122 A POETS CABINET \n\nFANCY AND REALITY \n\nOur fancies are the children of the soul, \nWith rights of heritage as true as those \nOf any other form of thought. If so, \nThen their relationship may be as true \xe2\x80\x94 \nThough how we never now can understand \xe2\x80\x94 \nTo that which mortals term reality. \n\nDante, III., i. \n\nFAREWELL \n\nOh, bitter, bitter, bitter word farewell, \nSo bitter when the lips belie the heart \nThat knows too well that life will not fare well. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nFARMER \n\nBrought near the man, he finds his frame is bent, \n\nAs if by long devotion to his lands ; \nHis arms are brown with heat by sunlight sent \n\nTo turn red-ripe the fruit served by his hands. \n\nHis chest is broad, and gratefully expands \nTo feel the generous air his health renew, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA master of his house and farm he stands, \nWho, fearing no man, dares to all be true. \nWith open eyes and lips that let the soul speak through. \nA Life in Song: Daring, xv. \n\nFASHION \n\nLike bodies why should souls, forsooth, \nNot be well padded, stay\'d, and laced \nTo suit the world\'s prevailing taste, \nTill through the form no truth is traced? \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxix. \nThe most beautiful thing in the world is the human \nface and form, the most attractive thing the human \nmind and soul. Your set paint the face and upholster \nthe form till the whole personality comes at one from \nbehind a mask. What sense is there in making life \nuninteresting? The most charming sight conceivable, \nI think, is a fresh, pretty girl in a clean, unadorned \nwhite gown. What Money Cant Buy, ill. \n\nFASHION, AND WOMEN \n\nYou flaunt the flag of fashion in a crowd \nAnd, in the bee-line of their rush to tail \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 123 \n\nIts leading, one could pick the women out \nWithout their having skirts on. Columbus, ill., i. \n\nFAST LIFE \n\nSuppose this heart a toy- \nWound up to run through just so many ticks \n\n.... I see, you mean a fast life is a short life. \n.... The fleetest foot is first beside the goal. \n\n.... But if the goal be high as well as far \n\n. . . . The bird of fleetest wing may fly the highest. \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \n\nFATE AND FREE WILL \n\n. . . .Must all new growth be planted in the earth? \n\n... .Is any germ that grows not planted there? \n\n. . . .What trains it then? \n\n.... Some say that where it falls, \n\nIn age, clime, country, family, fleshly form. \n\nThe mighty wheels of matter \xe2\x80\x94 earth and moon, \n\nAnd sun and planets, all the unseen stars \n\nOf all the universe that round it roll \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWith one unending whirl grind out its fate; \n\nYet only earthly fate. Flung to and fro. \n\nAnd torn by care and toil and pain and loss, \n\nThe spirit knows in spirit it is free; \n\nAnd, true to its high nature, may pass through \n\nThe terror of the ordeal with all \n\nThe finer flour of nature\'s grain preserved. \n\n.... So though careers be fated, souls are free? \n\n.... The consciousness of freedom comes from force \n\nWhich is of heaven; the consciousness of fate \n\nFrom that which is of earth; and both are true; \n\nOr that which makes all feel them both is false. \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \n\nFATHER, THE HEAVENLY \n\nAh, who that thinks, can yet believe it true \nThat earth has not a common Father? \xe2\x80\x94 who \nCan deem that any soul is wholly driven \nFrom light that blesses all. Some ray has given \nSome glimpse to each one who has heavenward striven. \n\nIdem: Seeking, xix. \nfather\'s vs. mother\'s influence \nI think the father starts the tendency, the mother \n\n\n\n124 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nmolds it, then they both together, when life has left \ntheir handling, and been launched, stand on the shores, \nlike builders of a ship, and hope the storms will not \nhave strength to wreck it. On Detective Duty, i. \n\nFAULT-FINDING \n\nWhen you visit your neighbor\'s garden you ought to \njudge it by what appears on the surface. If you choose \nto dig down into the dirt and soil yourself, it is not his \nfault but yours. What Money Can\'t Buy, ii. \n\nFEARS \n\nYou fill my soul with fears for you; but, ah, \nWith fears that are so sweet, again I fear \nThat my own soul is what I most should fear. \n.... The wise fright off their fears by facing them. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nFEEDING IN SOCIETY \n\nMost fish that I know of can be caught by bait. \nThrow overboard enough to keep busy the mouths \nthat are opening to you, and though you seem some \ndistance from the general current, it may prove more \ndifficult to keep out of society than to get into it. \n\nWhere Society Leads, i. \n\nFEELING \n\nWho can know \nRound what conceits our surging fancies foam \nWhen depths of feeling rise, and overflow, \nAnd swamp the reason in their floods of woe? \nAlas, one can but feel (while all sweep on, \n\nAnd, flitting through their mist and darkness, show \nGrim ghosts of buried good with features wan) \nSensations too acute for thoughts to poise upon. \n\nA Life in Song: Daring, xxxix. \nThe surest way to keep from feeling things \nIs not to touch them. The Aztec God, ii. \n\nFEELING, DEPENDENT ON THOUGHT \n\nThe soul of feeling is in thought, not so? \nThen one, to feel refresh\'d, must think she bathes \nIn rills that reach her from the freshest springs. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xvi. \n\nFEELING IN MEN AND WOMEN \n\nNo one admires a man who yields to feeling. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 125 \n\n.... And few a woman who does not yield to it. \n\n.... Strong argument against a woman ruler! \n\n.... And yet some say the sexes are alike. \n\n.... Will never grow alike \'till men grow soft and \nwomen sharp. \n\n.... And both grow like the devil \xe2\x80\x94 the one \nbecause they have no strength, the other because \nthey have no sweetness to outwit him. \n\n.... You ever note how suffragettes object to \nhave us praise up sweetness in a woman? \n\nTuition for her Intuition, 11. \n\nFEELINGS VS. FACTS, IN FELLOWSHIP \n\nWith outer facts we merely fashion faction, \nIn inner feeling we find fellowship. \n\nDante, 11., i. \n\nFEET \n\nTo and fro the folds of her gown, \nWith fair little feet below them, \n\nTo and fro and up and down \nDaintily swung to show them. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, 11. \n\nFELLOWSHIP, THAT BRINGS COMPETITION \n\nThat strange stress \nOf human fellowship which sometimes makes \nA fellow-worker, from his very zeal \nTo help another, elbow him aside. \nHad seemed to force me to a precipice \nAs real as any that my feet could find; \nAnd I must fight, or fall; and if I fought \nMust fight myself and fight my every friend. \n\nWest Mountain. \n\nFEVER \n\nHow marvellously throng\'d with strange weird shapes \n\nDeep halls of fancy loom, when lighted up \n\nBy fires of fever. Haydn, xxii. \n\nFIDELITY TO MAN, SAME AS TO GOD \n\nYou think fidelity to man can grow \nFrom germs of infidelity to God? \nYou think that questioning the forms men most \nEsteem proves high esteem for men themselves? \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\n\n\n126 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nFIGURES \n\nYou speak in figures. \n\nWe all live in them. \nWhat then? \n\nWhy, they are beautiful. \nAnd this \nGives life its beauty? \n\n.... Ay, and interest. \n\nFor every time a spirit veiled in them \nReveals itself, why, it anticipates \nThe resurrection of the soul, not so? \nAnd that brings heaven. \n\n.... Then to reveal myself \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n.... Is very much in such a world as this \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhen owning so much that is worth revealing. \n.... You jest. \n\n.... I am in earnest. When one needs \nMore strength of spirit, nothing save a spirit \nCan ever give it. You have given me yours. \n\nColumbus, II., I. \n\nFIGURES LIKE WORDS SHOULD BE TRUE \n\nA figure of a man untrue to the conditions of nature \nwould be no more out of place in painting or sculpture \nthan the words of a man untrue to the same would be \nin poetry. \n\nPainting, Sculp., and Arch, as Rep. Arts, ii. \n\nFINE vs. COARSE MEN \n\n.... Fine man. \n\n.... No; not what I call fine. \n\n.... Because the man has risen in life? \xe2\x80\x94 If \none shake pebbles in a pail, the fine ones fall, the \ncoarse ones rise, you think? \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, v. \n\nFIRE, PLAYING WITH \n\nDangerous to play with fire! All easy enough \nbeginning it; but when it gets to burning \xe2\x80\x94 well, \nis like a crack there in the dam. Your little \nfinger, when it starts, can check the flood and \nstop the leak; let go a time, the strongest man \nwho tried to stem it would be drowned. \n\nIdem, I. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 127 \n\nFIRES IN THE HEART \n\nGreat fires are kindled in a moment only \nWhere hearts are tinder, and a glance a spark. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nFISHER \n\nYou never saw a fisher catch a fish \n\nWhose hook would not get tangled in the line. \n\nColumbus, I., 3. \n\nFIST \n\nThe fist is fashioned for the use of God \nIn just as true a sense as is the finger, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhat grasps a sword as that which guides a pen. \n\nDante, ill., 2. \n\nFLAG, THE AMERICAN \n\nHail, all hail, the flag above us. In its blue more bright \nShine the stars to guide our way than in the dome of \n\nnight; \nHigher aims the hope that sees them, for their spotless \nwhite \n\nSymbols the pure light of freedom. \nHail, all hail, the flag above us. Nature never knew, \nIn the dawn\'s red ladder-bars where daylight climbs \n\nto view. \nStripes that brought as fair a day as these anon shall do, \n\nWhen all the world turns to freedom. \nHurrah ! Hurrah ! beneath the flag to be ! \nHurrah ! Hurrah ! its loyal wards are we ! \nWhere the Stars and Stripes are flying over land or sea. \nUnder the flag there is freedom. \n\nHail the Flag. \n\nFLATTERY \n\nNo friendship that is true \nWas ever caught or kept by flattery. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nFLESH \n\nDoes ever the slightest move of mine \nWith rhythm so fill the air. \nThat her veins all beat \nWith throbs more sweet, \nThan if she were breathing a breeze divine, \nAnd a god were passing there? \n\n\n\n128 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nCan ever my flesh appear so fair, \nAnd the blood so warm below \nThat the gentlest touch \nIs all too much? \xe2\x80\x94 \nNor her tingling nerves can bear \nThe joys that through them flow? \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, XLiv. \n\nFLIGHTY \n\nThey call him flighty. \n\n.... So are birds \xe2\x80\x94 and so \n\nAre \xe2\x80\x94 angels \n\n.... What? \n\n.... And every kind of life \n\nAbove the common. Columbus, i., 2. \n\nFLIGHTY MINDS \n\nThese flighty minds \n\nThat cut connection with the world\'s demands \n\nAre sure to have a limping time of it, \n\nIf ever they get down to useful work, Dante, i., i. \nFLIRT {see COURTING and suitors) \nI watch\'d a man and maid, to-day: \nEach dimm\'d the other\'s eyes with spray. \nHe dash\'d from his life\'s dregs unseen \nWhat pleased the lady\'s wistful mien, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA maid not vicious, yet I ween \nNot loath to be, with open eyes, \nHis mate whom honor could not prize. \nAh, lust is lush in flatteries wise! \nFull well she liked her dash of danger \nWith such a spicy, saucy stranger \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut let them pass. For conquest girt, \nThe man a rake, the maid a flirt. \nWill get, when caught, their own desert; \nBe prey; and prey is always hurt. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxix. \n\nForsooth, if beauty pleases me, I smile; \n\nIf gracefulness beguile me, gaze at it ; \n\nIf wisdom awe me, offer my respect. \n\nGood art I laud; with fancy, am a poet; \n\nAnd with emotion, an enthusiast. \n\nWhat then? \xe2\x80\x94 Am I a hypocrite? \xe2\x80\x94 How so? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\n\nAwake, asleep, throned constant o\'er my heart, \nI served this image all intangible, \nThis photographic fantasy. \n\nSee page i8y. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 129 \n\nMust all our sympathy be personal? \n\nMust one appropriate all that he would praise? \n\nIs beauty such a flower, or is a man \n\nSo much a beast, that, having taste for it, \n\nHe needs must go and gorge it down? \xe2\x80\x94 Go to! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI watch the fair thing; of its fragrance quaff; \n\nThen leave for others. Ideals Made Real, xxxiii. \n\nAh me, but I pity the race \n\nIf one with his beast of a face \n\nCan win a woman like that. \n\nBy dancing attendance, and holding his hat, \n\nAnd grinning and bowing to see her nod \n\nAs if he were playing the ape to her god. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xvii. \n\nFLOGGING CHILDREN \n\nThese children are like eggs \xe2\x80\x94 all white outside \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \nbut what they are inside you never know till you have \ncracked them {giving bertha a hex on the ears) . \n\n.... Oh, now, please, not that! I want to gain \nher confidence. \n\n.... Her what? You never saw my husband \nbreak a colt. He starts by flogging. \n\n.... Children, though, have minds; and what \ncontrols a mind best is its wish and not our whiplash. \nThat never cuts below the outside skin. I want to \nreach the soul. \n\n.... Well, really, now! \xe2\x80\x94 of all the weak old women I \nBut you can train your colt the way you please; for \nwhen it kicks, \'twill not be in my circus. \n\nOn Detective Duty, v. \n\nFLOWER \n\nO, if as my life began, \n\nI had only bloom\' d as a flower, \nA smallest flower in a vine that ran \n\nBeneath her feet, or climb \'d to her bower, \nShe might have pluck\'d me and held me tight \nIn her warm moist hand, or pour\'d the light \nOf her soul-bright eyes on my wondering view, \nTill with love they had burn\'d me through and through. \nShe might have Hfted, and coil\'d me there, \nCaress\'d by a tress of her trembling hair; \n\n\n\nI30 A POETS CABINET \n\nOr let me lie all day on her breast, \n\nWhere the lace-folds throb like nerves of the blest ; \n\nAnd then if aught I could be in that hour, \n\nOr aught I could do with the life of a flower \n\nCould add to the store of her charms, and make \n\nHer form more fair for my poor sake, \n\nMy making her sweet life sweeter seem \n\nWould bring me a bliss that I could not dream. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xiv. \n\nFLOWERS FOR THE DEAD \n\nWe mortals eat. \nBut think you that ghosts deem eating a treat? \xe2\x80\x94 \nNo hollow within have they to fill, \nNo blood to flow, no nerve to thrill, \nBut get you flowers, all fresh and sweet, \nOf all things leaving the world at death. \nThere is nothing of which we know but breath. \nAnd what but fragrance can they bear \nThe whole of whose bodies are merely air? \n\nThe Last Home Gathering. \n\nFOE, A MAN vs. WOMAN \n\nA man-foe is a brute, a shark that whacks \n\nThe spirit\'s prow and whirls it from its course. \n\nA maid may be a devil seizing on \n\nThe spirit\'s helm to turn it where she will. \n\nHer victim though \xe2\x80\x94 he thinks her will is his. \n\nYou never knew a man to dodge the touch \n\nOf love-like fingers feeling for his heart. \n\nThat heart held once within a grip so gained, \n\nWill take each wrench that wrings its life-blood out \n\nTo be its own pulsation. The Aztec God, i. \n\nFOES, NOT TO BE KILLED \n\nWho made me heaven\'s avenging messenger? \n\nOr bade me cull for those high gardeners there \n\nWhat grow in nights of earth to greet their dawn? \n\nI should not know them foes but for their guise. \n\nAnd what is all their alien flesh but guise \n\nA little nearer to their souls? It gone. \n\nWhat would they be but spirits, freed from space, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFrom all the need of trampling others down \n\nTo find a place to stand in for themselves? \xe2\x80\x94 Idem. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 131 \n\nFOLLY \n\nTo flay a folly slaj\'-s it. \n\nA Life in Song: Darings XLV, \n\nFOOL \n\nTo fool \n\nWith fools is feeding folly. \n\n.... Feed a fool \n\nOn folly, and he grows so fat with it \n\nThat soon all wisdom\'s world that he would sit on, \n\nWould it not die itself, must make him diet. \n\nColumbus, II., 2. \n\nFOOLED, IT TAKES A FOOL TO BE \n\nAll men start Freshmen, and, to learn their places, \nneed hazing. So the Sophomores get their fun \xe2\x80\x94 but \nyet discriminate \xe2\x80\x94 put like with like. They never \nhaze where finding nothing hazy. If you uncork \nmen, rid them of their brains, you merely further \nwhat, before you came, they, on their part, were at \nwork fermenting. No fun can make a fool of any- \nbody until he makes a fool, first, of himself. \n\nOn Detective Duty, 11. \n\nFOOLS \n\nFools! \xe2\x80\x94 Yet without fools, where were sovereignty \nFor wise men? \xe2\x80\x94 they would find it harder work \nTo do earth\'s thinking for it; harder work \nTo string the nerves that center in one\'s brain \nThrough all the mass, and rein it to one\'s will. \n\nColumbus, III., 2. \n\nFOOTFALLS \n\nFootfalls, light as dreams\', may wake the slumbering \n\nsoul\'s activity, \nRouse the source whence thought and feeling issue \n\ntoward their destiny, \xe2\x80\x94 \nToward the good, if lured by movements where a \n\npathway leads to weal ; \nToward the ill, if turning only where the wiles of craft \n\nappeal. A Life in Song: Dreaming, i. \n\nFOOTSTEPS, IN A WILDERNESS NIGHT-STORM \n\n. . . . Hark! There seems human rhythm in this hell. \nWhat hot pursuit is it comes burning through \nThese crackling branches? The Aztec God, i. \n\n\n\n132 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nFOP \n\nWhose jingling pocket-toys \nOutweigh\'d his brain, a fop and fawning fool, \nToo mean to join in others\' jokes or joys, \nThe gull of all the girls, the butt of all the boys. \nA Life in Song : Daring, l. \n\nFORCE, AND SUCCESS {see TYRANNY) \n\nFanatic ! Do you think in men\'s mad rush, \nEach toward his own life\'s goal, they wrest the power \nThat makes another serve them, without work? \xe2\x80\x94 \nSkill? shrewdness? tact? and forcing to the wall. \nOr down the precipice, each weaker rival? \n. . . . I do, if power that crowns them come from God. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nFORCE, APPLIED TO THE SPIRIT \n\nEach time you try to mold a spirit\'s life \nWith fingers grappling from the fist of force, \nYou clutch but at the air, at what is far \nToo fine for force to handle. \n\nThe Aztec God, IV., I. \n\nVain souls, \nTrained on the earth to influence men through force, \nIn realms where spirits have not forms that force \nCan harm, must find their occupation gone. \n\nCecil the Seer, II., 2. \n\nFORCE, WHEN COMMUNICATING TRUTH {see THOUGHT \n\nand truth) \nNo fighting of error by force does aught \nBut change the statement not the thought. \nTo ponder and halt \nAre seldom all fault; \nA natural smile \nHas in it no guile; \nBut many a false array of zeal \nHas frightened from frankness, and so from weal ; \nAnd many a blast of pious hate \nBeen blown by the devil to train his mate. \n\nLove and Life, xliii. \nIf deeds go astray, no force men know \nCan check what nature has made to flow. \nIf wrong attract, and right estrange, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 133 \n\nThen love must enter, and subtly change \nWhat courses forth from the soul below. \n\nIdem, XLiv. \nNaught, forsooth. \nThrives less where force restrains it than the truth. \nA Life in Song: Seeking, XLVi. \n\nFORCE TOGETHER WITH CARESSES \n\n.... You force the boy, and he will use his fists. \nThe men might do it. \n\n.... With ladies? \n\n.... When mosquitoes buzz around, the men they \nsting hit anything in reach. The truth is that your \nmethod is at fault. You try to force men\'s actions, and \nexpect the sort of treatment due to gentleness. \'Tis \nrisky work to ply a whip, with one hand, and to try \ncaressing with the other. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, ill. \n\nFORCE vs. LOVE \n\nThe child is ruled by love ; grown people often must \nbe ruled by force. Love using feeling tends to make \nlove perfect. Force, using feeling, tends to violence. \n\nIdem, I. \n\nFORCE vs. NATURAL INCLINATION \n\nGod gave you beauty \xe2\x80\x94 to be seen! \nAnd grace to bless this dear, sweet home. What power \nWould snatch you from us? make a very hell \nOf what might else be heaven? \xe2\x80\x94 Think you \'tis love? \nNot so ; it only hates love ; plays the part \xe2\x80\x94 \nNot of the Christ who yielded up his life. \nBut of the world that made him yield it up; \nIt only trusts in force, in force that lies ; \nAnd now that it can hold you with a vow \nWhich but deceit could claim that God enjoin\'d, \nIt seizes you to plunge you down, down, down. \nTo feel the full damnation of a faith \nThat can believe the voice within the soul \nA lying guide which cannot be obey\'d \nWithout foul consciousness of inward sin, \xe2\x80\x94 \nTo plunge you down, and hold you till the cells \nOf your pure, guileless heart, all stain\'d and steep\'d. \nDrip only dregs of stagnant viciousness! Haydn, LI. \n\n\n\n134 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nFOREIGN HUSBANDS \n\n.... Everything will be all right again. Think of \nit, mother, all right again ! \n\n.... Yes ; you will have become a Countess \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n.... And have gotten rid of the Count ; and then \nhave become an American again with an American \nhusband ! \n\n.... You think that last possession particularly \ndesirable? \n\n.... You wouldn\'t ask that, if you knew as much \nas I do about foreign husbands. \n\nWhere Society Leads, iii. \n\nFOREIGN TRAVEL \n\nFriends came and urged him, other aims displacing, \nTo court the favors of a foreign shore, \n\nAssuring him that there the airs more bracing \nWould kindle in his veins the healthful heat of yore. \nA Life in Song: Serving, xxii. \n\nFORGIVENESS, A SENSE OF \n\n.... Your faith means faith that God forgives. \n\nIf he forgive you, why not feel forgiven? \n\n.... Though the Lord forgive, \n\nIn spirit how can spirits feel forgiven \n\nEre they undo the wrong their lives have wrought? \n\nEre this had been undone, not even laws \n\nOf Moses let the trespasser receive \n\nThe benefit of sacrifice; and how \n\nCould heavenly joys crown even perfect love \n\nSave as it served the soul it once had harmed? \n\n.... But how and where can spirits right their \n\nwrong? \n.... Wherever spirits influence the spirit. \n.... Ah, then, through others\' lives they work \n\ntheir work? \n.... Perchance they may; perchance they may do \n\nmore. Cecil the Seer, ii., 2. \n\nFORM and FORMS (see significance) \n"Yet none," he soon had said, "could really solve \nAll riddles hidden in the forms outlined \nBy nature\'s curves and angles, or amid \nThe play of her fair features, made more fair, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 135 \n\nLike human faces, by the thoughts beneath, \nRead all that so has thrill\'d in every age \nThe spirits of the wisest and the best. " \n\nA Life in Song: Prelude. \nYield in form you say? \xe2\x80\x94 \nIn form our frames but vehicle the truth ; \nYet by its vehicle the world will rate it. \nWhen comes the splendor of a monarch\'s march \nMen cheer his chariot, not his character. \nShould I let mine trail, broken, bruised, bemired, \nThe world would hiss both car and occupant. \n\nDante, iii., 2. \nOnly fools have faith \nIn forms they have not wit to find unfrocked. \nNot sages even see the spirit through them. \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \nThe ringing strings within his harpsichord \nWould seem to call toward form that formless force \nEnrapturing so the spirit. Haydn, x. \n\n"Alas, how many a thought," he said at last, \n"Whose accents reach us through the rustling blast, \nOr meaning seems inscribed in circling rills, \nAnd outHnes of the rocks, the trees, the hills, \nIs void of purport to the soul whose eyes \nHave never yet been taught to know and prize \nThe purpose underneath! Forms can impart \nTheir import only to a feeling heart. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, ix. \n\nFORM AND SPIRIT {see DOUBT, REGALIA, RITES, \n\nRITUALISM, and spirit) \nAs if, forsooth, a mere material guise \nCould ever veil the spirit from the eyes \nOf Him men worship, or, by outward show. \nAtone for wrong still strong in souls below. \nCan it be true that sin can disappear \nFrom lives made right but to the eye and ear? \nWhat can their spirits be but dead, indeed. \nWho neither feel their faith nor think their creed? \n\nIdem, XLix. \nThe Spirit formed the forms \nTo fit the life?\xe2\x80\x94 they fitted life that was; \n\n\n\n136 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nBut life, if life, will grow; the life of love \n\nHas not yet fill\'d the scope around, above, \n\nOf heavens that for it wait. What form\'d the forms \n\nCan still be forming them. \xe2\x80\x94 If forms exist \n\nWherein no Spirit works, no present life, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe things are hollow. Haydn, li. \n\nOur faith in forms may trust a God- void shrine, \nWhere nothing that is worshiped is divine; \nMay look to human systems, made to fit \nNot all the truth, but only part of it, \nTo finite frames wherein the infinite lies \nDefined so well that, in the compromise \nBetwixt the faith and form, whate\'er we view, \nContracted, clipp\'d, and only halfway true, \nIs wholly harm\'d. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, xlvi. \n\nA hollow form \nThe Devil flies for, like a flying squirrel \nFor hollow tree-trunks ; and when once within, \nBut half disguised inside his robes of white, \nLoud chanting out mere ceremonious cant. \nHe tempts toward his hypocrisy an age \nThat knows too much of Christian life, at last. \nFor heathen life to tempt it. Haydn, li. \n\nFORMALISTS, AND THEIR CONVERSION \n\nIt seems that even formalists like hirn \n\nCan see some spirit through a form; but what? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nOne time upon a mountain top, I saw \n\nMy own shape magnified on clouds about me. \n\nHow many men in earth\'s high places find. \n\nLooming on clouds of false regard about them, \n\nFalse forms of self, distorted in their size ! \n\nTo waken such to their own true position. \n\nThank heaven for precipices ! When they fall. \n\nTheir views of God and self, turned upside down. \n\nMay bring, at last, conversion. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nFORTUNES, ACCUMULATING \n\nWhat men term fortune grows like a snowball, \nslowly at the start, but gathers faster as its weight \ngets greater. The Two Paths, i. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 137 \n\nFOUNDATIONS \n\nHard strove the youth, aye feeling, while he \nwrought, \nThat but from deep foundations, grand in size. \n\nLife-structures rose like that for which he sought ; \nAnd, tho\' he oft would think this ne\'er could rise. \nAnon in visions fair he saw it fill the skies. \n\nA Life in Song: Daring, liv. \n\nFRAME, HUMAN \n\nAh now, my frame, you are dear to me. \nWhat else below or above \nCould ever appear \nSo deeply dear? \nWhat else could I wish to have or be? \xe2\x80\x94 \nFor ah, you have won her love. \n\nnew-found bliss of an earthly birth; \nThis frame may be but sod; \nBut sod or soul \nShe loves the whole \nThat I am, nor another could have such worth; \nI would rather be man than God. \n\nIdem: Loving, xliv. \n\nFRANCE \n\nBut thou, our country\'s friend, and valor\'s own, \n\nO France, rash champion in all conquests new. \nWho has not bow\'d when dazed before thy throne, \n\nNor feared on it to find a tyrant too? \nTop- wave, thou art, where flows our civilization; \n\nThy white crest shows the wind that sweeps the sea, \nA courtier\'s dress or country\'s devastation, \n\nWhate\'er our fashions be, they all are set by thee. \n\nAnd some are wise ones! Would all homes could \nown \n\nThe courtesies that grace the Frenchman\'s pride. \nAlas, our own forms oft repeat alone \n\nWhat apes and parrots might, as well, have tried. \nDefects we have, but overdo confession \n\nWho shroud our own home-life in foreign ways, \nAnd, short of thought, intent on long expression, \n\nCurve into devious French each straight-aim\'d \nSaxon phrase. \n\n\n\n138 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nForgive us, France, if fools or fashion-plates \n\nHave made us rank thee foremost but in arts \nDisguising well a world of worthless traits : \n\nTrue worth hast thou within thy heart of hearts. \nAnd hadst thou only wrought us works of beauty \n\nEarth\'s unattractive forms to guise and glove, \nStill beauty in this world ranks next to duty, \n\nAnd those who make life lovely next to those who love. \n\nBut grander arts embodying grander thought \n\nAmid thine architectural glories throng; \nAnd, where the painter\'s brush so well has wrought, \n\nThine orators have well denounced the wrong. \nLet them as well renounce all wrong ambition, \n\nLest with some later revolution cursed \nTheir genius, like the lightning, fire its mission \n\nBy brilHant strokes that but make dire the gloom \nthey burst. Idem : Serving, liv-lvii. \n\nFRANK \n\nAnd yet if love must love the soul, \nWhat power more lovely can control \nThe men we meet, than words and ways \nSo frank and open all can gaze \nOn thought behind the outward phase! \nWhile every eye serene and bright, \nTransparent with the inward light, \nReveals what thrills angelic sight! \n\nIdem: Doubting, XXIX. \n\nA time there was I thought mankind \nHad all an inborn right to find ^ \nHow truth appeal\'d to every mind. \nHow noble is the task, I thought, \nWhen one has wisdom gain\'d in aught, \nTo show what he has thus been taught! \nAnd this to do, my every nerve \nI strain\'d and pain\'d, so all might serve \nFor men to harp on. But the strings \nI held to them were scarce the things \nFor them to harp on with content. \nMen guess not oft the whole truth meant \nBy words that voice another\'s thought. \n\nIdem, XXXI. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 139 \n\nFRANKNESS {see CONCEALMENT, DECEPTION and \n\ntruth) \nWhen young, not few had found his ways too old ; \nWhen older, few had found them not too young. \nHis friends for his reserve oft thought him cold ; \n\nHis foes thought aU he knew was on his tongue. \nYet ever for a true demean ambitious, \n\nHis greatest virtue proved his greatest fault. \nOft men, adepts in vice, would deem him vicious. \nBecause no guile\'s discretion made his frankness halt. \n\nIdem: Serving, v. \nA man who cannot bear abuse \nWould better live a mere recluse. \nThan turn his own soul inside out \nBecause, forsooth, men stand in doubt \nOf what he thinks the most about. \nAlas, where foes our souls assail, \nNot all can conquer, stript of mail, \nWhat spurs the firm may wound the frail. \n\nIdem: Doubting, xxxii. \n\nFRANKNESS, ITS INFLUENCE ON OTHERS \n\nIf they\'re so frank with you, you can be frank with \nthem. A little unalloyed truth from the inside of your \nbrain transferred to the inside of theirs might work \nlike leaven, and do them good. \n\n.... Why try to force medicine down a throat \nthat\'s always throwing up! I have as much as I can \ndo trying to dodge the output. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, 11. \nThank God that lips tell not what hate might say. \n\nMidnight in a City Park. \nIf but the truth of love a soul should tell \nWhat hearts might break, what homes become a \n\nhell! \nIf touched by ardor of one\'s brightest aims. \nHow black his earth might scorch beside the flames ! \n\nIdem. \n\nFREEDOM, INDIVIDUAL {see INDEPENDENCE) \n\nAh, when shall mortals learn \nThat truth is grander than the earthly urn \nTo which they would confine it, or conceive \n\n\n\n140 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThat wisest laws in states or churches leave \nEach man to govern rightly his own soul \nAnd thus, through practice, nurture self-control? \nA Life in Song: Seeking, xlvi. \n\nWhate\'er old age may need, needs it the most \n\nThe young who old have grown before their time? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nNeed sick men nurses pale? \xe2\x80\x94 or poor men, those \n\nWhose moods have never stored the rich results \n\nMined from a world the world\'s heir should explore? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nNay, nay, these all would be more ably served \n\nBy spirits free to live their own love\'s life. \n\nHaydn, xli. \nOh you who prate of freedom, \nIn home, in state, in church, \nIf any realm could grant your wish, \n\nIt would not end your search. \nThe place where most men like to be \n\nIs where with most they mingle; \nAnd such a place none ever see \n\nSo long as they keep single; \nNay, those, in all they care about, \nWho always leave their neighbors out. \n\nFind life not worth this jingle : \xe2\x80\x94 \nOh, you may call that being free, \nBut it does not seem free to me. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, v. \n\nFREEDOM IN STATE AND CHURCH \n\nNot mountain chains, nor streams that cleave the plains, \nNor the wide ocean that around them rolls \nCan bound the realm of Freedom\'s loyal souls \nWho serve the Spirit that above it reigns. \nNot the mean few who snatch for selfish gains \nThrough pathways opening toward the noblest goals \nCan shake Heaven\'s children\'s faith that Heaven \n\ncontrols \nThat life the most which Earth the least enchains. \n\nExpansion. \nYet oh, how dear thy sons, where\'er they stray. \n\nHold thee, our own just Land, in memory! \nWhere every set and sect may have their say, \n\nAnd worth alone insures nobility; \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 141 \n\nWhere thrill the breasts of freedom\'s humble mothers, \nWho feel their offspring have but God to serve, \n\nAnd in the race they run with common brothers, \nMay win whatever crown of life their lives deserve. \nA Life in Song: Serving, lix. \n\nBut trust me, friend, wherever lifting skies ^ \nImpel deep slumbering souls to wake and rise \nAnd press toward nobler things that then they view, \nThe church or nation that there lets them do \nTheir best to make their best ideals true, \nBrings forth more worth from every character \nThan all the rites and codes that ever were. \n\nIdem: Seeking, XLiv. \n\nGod\'s laws are inward, and they most control \nThose left most free to serve what moves the soul; \nBut what earth\'s rulers force men to fulfill \nOft flows from but one headstrong himian will. \n\nIdem. \n\nAll in vain men sigh for freedom, heedless where its \n\nboons begin; \nLife is one; and souls are never free without till free \n\nwithin. \n\nMen must learn of wiser action; all their aims must \nnobler be, \n\nLove for all mankind must rule them, ere their laws \ncan leave them free. \n\nOnly when the right impels them, will they cease their \nlong complaints ; \n\nOnly love for every duty moves unconscious of re- \nstraints. \n\nOnly when no malice moves them can the fetters \nclank no more ; \n\nOnly love in every heart can open every prison-door. \nA Life in Song: Watching, xi. \n\nfreedom: the fight for \n\nCrowds and shoutings \nCan never end our strife. \nBut sadder scenes and sounds await \nOur loss of wealth and life. \n\n\n\n142 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThe structures fair of freedom \n\nMen rear beneath the sky, \n, Press down on deep foundations, \n\nWhere thousands buried lie. \nOur course we well may ponder: \n\nHope\'s rainbow in the cloud \nMay lure a march beneath its arch \nTo flash and bolt and shroud. \n\nThe Lebanon Boys in Boston. \nThe course of one born humble as themselves. \nWho yet attained the end of highest aims \nAs grand as any land or age e\'er sought, \nBecause his plans when struggling toward the light \nEmerged where freemen leave to God and heaven \nThe right to rule the spirit though on earth. \n\nA Life in Song: Finale. \n\nFREE SCHOOLS AND HOMES \n\nOur schools are schools where poor men\'s boys can \nlearn to act like gentlemen. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, v. \nWe love the schools that rear us. \n\nTheir learning free as light, \nAnd laws, if truth loom near us. \nThat let men use their sight; \nWhere each can helm his own soul\'s thought, \nWhen, drawn by Heaven, the Inward Ought \nPoints, compass-like, to right. \n\nAmerica, our Home. \n\nFREE SPEECH \n\nAnd in a land where speech is free as thought \nWhoe\'er do wrong, erelong, will find their ruin wrought. \nA Life in Song: Daring, vii. \n\nFRESH, IN EXPERIENCE \n\nA little rill just starting from a spring \n\nCould not be quite so gushing fresh as you are! \n\nI love you, boy; but when the rill has rubbed \n\nA little more of soil from both its banks \n\n\'Twill have more substance if not quite \n\nSo much transparency. Dante, i., i. \n\nFRICTION, AS A SOURCE OF LIGHT \n\nThe first man in the world who had no light made \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 143 \n\nit by making friction; and, to-day, when wanting \nmore light, most men do the same. At times, the \nfriction sets their thoughts aglow. At times, it frays \nthern^ into splinters; but the splinters make choice \nkindling too; and so the world at large keeps getting \nmore light still, and by that light, men walk. \n\nThe Two Paths, iv. \n\nFRIEND and FRIENDS \n\nAmid the traits of multitudes \n\nThe Maker speaks through many moods \n\nOf truths that are not understood \n\nBy those who by themselves do brood. \n\nAnd better be, in lone despair. \n\nSome king\'s court fool, astride a chair, \n\nWho dreams he rules a kingdom there, \n\nWith stock-still statues his hussars. \n\nAnd scarfs of Knighthood, but the scars \n\nDeep-whipt across his bleeding back, \n\nThan be a man whose life must lack \n\nThe love that waits on friendship\'s throne. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxvi. \n"What is a friend?" I ask\'d. \n\n"What else," he said, \n"But, in a world, where all misjudge one so, \nA soul to whom one dares to speak the truth?" \n\nHaydn, xxvii. \nFor all our worth is crown\'d alone. \nWhen friends have made our cause their own. \nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxvi. \nI, not for future gain, \nFor what he may become, would prize my friend; \nI prize the thing he is; nor wish him changed. \nI would not dare disturb for aught besides \nThe poise of traits composing sympathy. \nWhich, as they are, so balance my desires. \nAh, did I chiefly prize the profit gain\'d \nOr promised me, where were my present joy? \xe2\x80\x94 \nNay, nay, that love I, which I find possess\'d. \n\nHaydn, xxi. \nBut love in heaven is always just; \nAnd so I think I would not trust, \n\n\n\n144 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nBut fear a friend, by day or night, \nWhose love contain\'d no love of right. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxvii. \nWhy, we were like two arms that limb one frame, \nTwo hands that ply one work, two eyes that trace \nOne onward path, two ears that heed the same \nInciting cry, two steeds that lead the race \nYoked to one car, twin rivals for one aim, \xe2\x80\x94 \nTo think my friend base, I myself were base. \n\nThe Lost Friend. \nThe same boat floats you both. \nYou pull together. Friends are worth the having \nWho best can serve themselves when serving us. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \nA friend grows grain and chaff. Sift out the first \nAnd cultivate it well, some gain may come \xe2\x80\x94 \nSome profit from your friendship. "But," said I, \n"If you should change yourself who change your \n\nfriend, \nOr change but his relations to yourself, \nOr, some way, make a new, strange man of him?" \n\nHaydn, xx. \nOur friends, at times, are parasites. \nWho drain our strength, to crawl to heights \nOn which they thrive on others\' rights. \nAt times, not made for light, they spring, \nAs fits an upstart underling. \nBeneath the shade our branches bring. \nIn either case, it scarce would suit \nTheir aims, to bear the best of fruit. \nThe usual yield that fills the stalk \nIs promissory buds of talk, \nOr gossip-tales \xe2\x80\x94 which spring around. \nIf low-lived friends gain slightest ground. \nLike toadstools where decay is found. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxx. \n\nFRIENDS, PARTING OF \n\nAnd so these friends of mine, so prized of old, \nAnd I had parted, \xe2\x80\x94 not as friends would part. \nWith love\'s high zenith fever\'d like the skies \nWhere eve has rent from them a fervid sun, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 145 \n\nThen cool\'d and calm\'d in starlight sprinkled thick \nUntil the sun come back. We crack\'d apart, \nLike icebergs drifting southward, join\'d no more, \nAnd sunn\'d alone the while they melt away. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xli. \n\nFRIENDS AND FOES \n\nNay, light, \nIt trails the shadow. It is those with friends \nAre sure of foes; and only those with neither \nAre sure of neither. Columbus, il., I. \n\nFRIENDS, AND LOSS \n\nIt is worth some loss \nTo learn we own some friends. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., i. \n\nFRIENDS, FOOLISH \n\nThe pull that lifts one by a rotting rope \n\nIs far less dangerous than the help that comes \n\nFrom foolish friends. Dante, 11., I. \n\nfriends\' friends \nI never hope my friends\' friends to be my friends. \nThose we meet all look at us from different points of \nview. Some like our fronts, and some our sides, and \nsome our backs. Some think our eyes are heavenly; \nand some our touch ; and some \xe2\x80\x94 the most of women \xe2\x80\x94 \ncan never look beyond the clothes we wear. \n\nThe Two Paths, 11. \n\nfriendship \nIt seem\'d a rare and royal friendship, ours, \nThe very sovereignty of sympathy; \nBegun so early too \xe2\x80\x94 mere lads we were \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd now I never look back there again \nBut, swept like shading from a hero\'s face \nIn pictures, \xe2\x80\x94 those of Rembrandt, \xe2\x80\x94 all the school \nAppear in hues of dim uncertainty \nvSurrounding Elbert, shining in relief. \n\nIdeals Made Real, 1. \n\n\'Tis well to sow the seeds of friendship when the \nsun is shining on your summer, then, when your \nfall comes, they bear fruit. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, V. \n\n\n\n146 A POETS CABINET \n\nFriendship\'s light \nReflects but what is kindled in ourselves. \nExtinguish it within, and soon without \nWe find our worid in darkness. \n\nColumbus, v., I. \n\nFRIENDS, OLD \n\nWhen people have been brought up together, they \nare like two trees that grow near each other in the \nsame forest. You can hardly distinguish the branches \nand leaves of the one from those of its neighbor. All \nseem to belong together . So with the thoughts , feelings , \nactions of these old friends. They can sympathize and \nhelp one another, as is impossible for those who have \nhitherto been strangers. Where Society Leads, iii. \n\nFRIEND TO ONESELF \n\nNo best friend ever seems a friend to one not \nfriendly to himself. The Little Twin Tramps, i. \n\nFRIGHT AND FUN \n\nIt struck us all, I think, as waves do when they \nsplash at parties rowing in a yawl, and seem about to \nswamp them; but, when passed, seem memories to \nlaugh at. The Two Paths, ii. \n\nFRUITAGE \n\n. . . . Who knows the fruitage of the seed he plants? \xe2\x80\x94 \nLike seed, like fruit. \n\n.... The seed was very small. \n\n, . . . The fruitage large? \xe2\x80\x94 Yet both were one in kind. \n\nThe Aztec God, ill. \n\nFRUIT OF LOVE \n\nYou remind me of the fruit we watch in summer, \ngrowing rosier the longer we delay in plucking it ! \n\nThe Two Paths, i. \n\nFUGITIVE, A \n\nAmid the darkness of the night, \nTwo star-like eyes, a gown-cloud white, \nAnd, just above, like phantom rays, \nGray, bony fingers met my gaze. \nWhat skeleton had sought my side? \xe2\x80\x94 \n"In God\'s name who are you?" I cried; \nAnd, wind-like came a ghostly hiss, \n"In God\'s name, let me tell you this. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 147 \n\n"Someone did something wrong, \xe2\x80\x94 a man. \nSome thought his color dark. He ran. \nWe heard a tread, a hoot, a song. \nWhat of it? \xe2\x80\x94 We had done no wrong! \n"We never dreamed of their attack, \nFor we, we were not very black; \nAnd should we flee, someone might say \nThat we were guilty \xe2\x80\x94 better stay!" \n\nAfter the Lynching. \n\nFUN, RISKY \n\nIn balancing between the wise and unwise, fun, at \ntimes, is risky. If by a jot the joker lose his wit, he \nplunges into folly. Tuition for her Intuition, ill. \n\nFUNDAMENTALS VS. ORNAMENTALS \n\nNo man can put up a building without laying \nfoundations. My work is in the mud, you think ; but \nwait a few years. I am useful now. By-and-by, I shall \nbe ornamental. The Snob and the Sewing Girl, i. \n\nFUSSY, THE \n\nIn the efforts of art as of all human action, it is \nimportant to remember that the fussy is never con- \nsistent with the dignified. \n\nPainting, Sculp., and Arch, as Rep. Arts, xix. \n\nGAMBLERS (see MONEY AS A TOY) \n\nBeguiled to fling away \nThe hard-earned token-coin of pay, \nDishonoring, in the craze of play, \nThe law that blesses work. \n\nThe Society Leader. \n\nGAMBLING, WHEN SEDUCED INTO \n\n.... I have charge of money. I might have very \nlittle left to have charge of, if it were thought that I am \nin the habit of playing with what I have. \n\n.... Nobody need find it out. \n\n.... I shall see that nobody does find it out. The \nfirst thing that I do to-morrow will be to tell those for \nwhom I work exactly what I have done to-night, and \nlet them, for themselves, judge of the circumstances. \n\n.... And why should you do that? \n\n.... So as not to seem a sneak, in case they learn \nof it from others. Where Society Leads, 11. \n\n\n\n148 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nGAMBLING, TEMPTING ONE INTO \n\n.... I know quite a number of gentlemen who \ngamble ; but not one of them that wouldn\'t warn off a \nyoung fellow who wanted to play at the risk of losing \nhis business situation. \n\n.... What do men do at their clubs? \n\n.... At most of them of which I know they draw \nup by-laws forbidding gambling. \n\n.... I have played for money myself at the Wood- \nside Club. \n\n.... Yes; but it has lady-members. It wouldn\'t \ndo to have by-laws that would interfere with their \npleasure. \n\n.... I thought that you were a member of the \nPlayers\' Club? \n\n.... I am! but do you think that the word \nplayer means the same as gambler? A player \nnever can be the latter so long as he is inside that \nclub house. \n\n.... You mean to tell me that actors don\'t \ngamble? \n\n.... Oh, no; only that the majority of this par- \nticular set of actors have a sense of responsibility that \nprevents their allowing conditions that might induce \nothers to gamble. \n\n.... What do they do on Sundays, when you are \nnot there? \n\n.... Oh, on that day, in that club, they are \nforbidden to play any games at all. \n\n.... Do you suppose that I am taking what you \nsay for truth? The idea ! \xe2\x80\x94 Nothing to do on the only \nday they have for recreation! \n\n.... Plenty to do, my dear. The houses of their \nlady-friends on Fifth and Massachusetts Avenues are \nwide open; and they are not only welcomed there, \nthey are allured to go to the devil there just as fast \nas they choose. Idem. \n\nGARB \n\nBless\'d with beauty\'s dower, \nAlthough her garb was plainer than her neighbors\', \nHer face made this unmark\'d as leaves beside a \nflower. A Life in Song: Serving, xii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 149 \n\nGENERAL EFFECTS NOT ACCUMULATIONS OF SPECIFIC \n\nONES {see PARTS and suggestions) \n.... The little things together make the greater. \n.... No; hardly that. You never judge one\'s face \nby all its features, but by the foremost ones; and not a \npark by all its blades and bushes ; but by a few things \xe2\x80\x94 \nhills or trees in sunshine that cast the rest in shade. \nThe gods may find all life a sieve, and strain all wisdom \nthrough it ; but human beings only get the drops that \nfilter through an opening, here and there. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, 11. \n\nGENERALSHIP \n\nHail to the ring of the voice that taught \nDrumming and roaring the rhythm of thought. \n\nColumbus, IV., 2. \n\nGENEROSITY WITH THE UNGENEROUS \n\nYou give to one who never gives to others, \n\nHe first will recognize you as a dupe, \n\nAnd then prepare to treat you as a prey. Dante, i. , 2 . \n\nGENIUS \n\nA mind like his \nGlows like a spark upon a wintry hearth, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe brightest promise that the times afford. \n\nDante, 11., i. \nOft in earth\'s bigot-brotherhood \nThe fools alone are understood. \nAnd stupid souls alone seem good. \nBut, while the rest are dozing late, \nThe genius, quick to sight his fate, \nWill wake and wish, and work, and wait, \nAnd fix his aim on looming schemes, \nApart from those that earth esteems. \nElse would he mind but common themes. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xviii. \nThe train of genius marshals everywhere \nDistrust before success, and envy after. \n\nColumbus, IV., I. \n\nGENTLE \n\nA steed we drive, a stream that floods its banks. \nHas not less force because its gait is gentle. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\n\n\n150 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nGENTLEMAN \n\nA gentleman is one \nWho never does the unexpected. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nGENTLEMANLY LOVE \n\n.... Why, you might fall in love with her \xe2\x80\x94 \ncompromise her \xe2\x80\x94 injure her reputation. \n\n.... I think I am too much of a gentleman to \ninjure a woman with whom I fell in love. \n\n.... Oh, I didn\'t mean that exactly. Of course, \nthat would be absurd. I meant that she might fall in \nlove with you. \n\n.... Well, if that should happen, I am too much of \na gentleman, I hope, to have much to do with a woman \nwith whom I failed to fall in love in return. \n\nThe Snob and the Sewing Girl, ii. \n\nGENTLEMAN THIEF \n\nRather than not be thought a gentleman, you pre- \nferred to be a thief. It\'s the way with a large number \nof people in this city. Idem, iv. \n\nGENTLEMAN VS. AMERICAN \n\nNo ; he\'s very straight-laced. \nAnd the Count is not? \nOh, he\'s a perfect gentleman. \nAnd Bernard is not? \n\nWhy, not in the same way. You know \nBernard is only an American. The Count belongs to \none of the oldest families in Europe. All of them have \nbeen gentlemen for generations. \n.... Who told you that? \n.... Why \xe2\x80\x94 mother \xe2\x80\x94 everybody knows it. \n.... I didn\'t know it. \n\nBut you \xe2\x80\x94 you are an American, and- \n\n\n\nSo are you Winifred; and so is your \nBut you can read about the Count\'s family \n\n\n\nmother. \n\nin books. \n\n.... Every family contains some black sheep. \nHow do you know that he\'s not one? \n\nWhere Society Leads, ii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 151 \n\nGENTLEMEN \n\nNo man can tell which curse a country most; \xe2\x80\x94 \nIts gentlemen who feel above all work; \nOr workmen so far down they feel beneath \nAll obligation to be gentlemen. \nAs for the first, heaven grant they soon find out \nThat this new world is not a place for them. \nAs for the second, if we plan no way \nTo keep them on the other side the sea, \nFarewell to all the good we hope for here. \n\nColumbus, v., I. \n\nGENTLEMEN VS. LADIES \n\nWhile learning to be gentlemen, some girls forget \nhow to be ladies. Tuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nGENTLENESS \n\nPerchance we are wiser for deeds \nThat learn from feelings as much as from creeds, \nWhen taught thro\' the injuring zeal of our race \nThat gentleness shows a growth in grace. \n\nLove and Life, xxxviii. \n\nRemember Him, that once men sacrificed, \n\nBut now rules over souls in every land. \nThe world had long His gentle spirit prized, \n\nEre it had come to heed His each command. \n\nRemember Moses : \xe2\x80\x94 with his mission grand, \nHis meekness was the trait his race knew best ; \n\nNor can our restless world e\'er understand \nHow one can lead it toward a promised rest \nWhose own soul has not yet this promis\'d boon \npossess\'d. A Life in Song: Daring, lxx. \n\nA few short leagues, and, calm and sluggish grown, \n\nThe fickle brook has left the mountain steep ; \nAnd now, no more in boisterous torrents thrown, \n\nThrough fertile fields, flows noiseless, broad, and \ndeep. \n\nAlive with sails and lined with those who reap. \nSo may our lives, altho\' no more allied \n\nTo narrow rock-bound brooks that wildly leap, \nSend forth an influence no less strong and wide, \nBecause a gentler motion moves its growing tide. \n\nIdem, XIII. \n\n\n\n152 A POETS CABINET \n\nGENTLENESS, THE BASIS OF INFLUENCE \n\nThe wild beast may roar. It is the gentle horse \nand the faithful dog that make men treat the animals \nlike friends. The goose may hiss. It is the unobtru- \nsive dove that draws the children to the barnyard, and \nmakes them generous with their grain. \n\nSuggestions for the Spiritual Life, ix. \n\nGERMANY \n\nOur friend now found a land, where, ere their weaning, \n\nThe children clap their hands to classic airs. \nAnd gray-hair\'d sires, on canes or crutches leaning, \n\nHear no profounder truths than those which music \nbears. \nThere flows a genial force from things we see, \n\nWhich blends with subtlest currents of the mind, \nAnd though it leaves each soul\'s expression free, \n\nIt forms the motive power that moves mankind. \nIt pleads in music, argues in suggestions ; \n\nAnd bursts to passion in philosophy; \nIn lieu of wielding arms, it merely questions; \n\nAnd in the world it thrives the most in Germany. \nHow blest her sons whose needs appear supplied. \n\nWhen but the spirit\'s wants their lives possess; \nAnd, with its joyous freedom satisfied, \n\nScarce care for what the world would call success! \nWhoe\'er may seek for truth to make inventions \n\nThat strain all lore through lucre\'s well-filled sieve, \nTheir souls, content with having high intentions. \n\nRejoice in life because it seems a joy to live, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA joy to be a boy with endless hope, \n\nA joy to be a man, mature and strong, \nBy day augmenting labor\'s widening scope, \n\nBy night at rest with "wife and wine and song." \nLet others\' thirst at once drain pleasure\'s glasses, \n\nThe German\'s lip first blows from his the foam, \nAnd, ere to sip a second glass he passes. \n\nThe others doze in stupor, or reel raving home. \nYet who could not wish here for less that bars \n\nThe outward action from the inward thought; \nAnd more humanity, and less hussars. \n\nTo further on the progress all have sought? \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 153 \n\nWho could not wish for faith and aspiration \n\nMore worldly scope? \xe2\x80\x94 for there were times, one \nreads, \nWhen, not content with theories, the nation \n\nLed all mankind to truth not more in dreams than \ndeeds. A Life in Song: Serving, xlv-xlix. \n\nGETTING AROUND VS. FIGHTING A MAN \n\nIn paths where men and women go opposite ways \nand meet, I have seldom known of a woman who \ncould not get around a man; but she seldom could \nget around a man she began by fighting. \n\nThe Ranch Girl, iv. \n\nGILDING \n\nWherever people prize things mainly for the gilding \nyou may be sure that whatever is under it would look \nmighty cheap if it were not covered up. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, ill. \n\nGIRLHOOD, THE LOVE OF \n\nEre I knew of it, \nIn budding girlhood even, he had pluck\'d \nMy blushing love, and wore it on his heart ; \nAnd all my life took root where sprang his own. \n\nHaydn, 11. \n\nGIRLS, THAT USE WHISKEY \n\nBeen drinking, eh? Are fragrant as a living whiskey \nbottle! Young girls whose kisses bring a breath like \nthat we know are reeking ripe for anything. \n\nThe Two Paths, in. \n\nGLEN, A \nWhen first I followed up thy modest brook. \nAnd left the northwest road, and came on thee. \nHow grand thy wood-crowned rocks appeared to be \nWhose high-arched foliage heaven\'s dim light forsook ! \nBut when, years later, I came back to look \nOn what so awed, I stood amazed to see \nHow small and shrunk, when shorn of every tree, \nWere all that I for lofty cliffs mistook. \nThen, in my college-town, I joined, once more, \nThe mates I so had honored in my youth. \nAlas, in some, no mystery seemed to lurk \nWhere heights of promise had so loomed of yore ! \n\n\n\n154 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nHas life no sphere in which one finds, forsooth, \nNo wrong to nature wrought by man\'s mean work? \n\nFord\'s Glen, Williamstown. \n\nGLORY \n\nBrave souls who in dark times had turn\'d them where \nThe light of coming good on earth should burst; \nNor knew \'t would gild themselves with all its glory- \nfirst. A Life in Song: Daring, viii. \n\nGLORY, DERIVED \n\nThus lived I, triumph\'d over; as are clouds \nWhereon the sun sits throned ; all bright are they, \nAnd bright beneath them is the sunset sea. \nIn splendid serfdom to its love, my soul, \nThat shone with kindling glory, thence beheld \nA kindling glory shine from all about. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xliv. \n\nGLORY, HUMAN \n\nWho, think you, live in story \n\nThat live for self alone? \nWho care to spread his glory \nThat cares not for their own? \nIn every strife \nThat stirs the pulse to nobler life, \nThe man that has the thrilling heart, \nHe plays the thrilling part. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., 2. \n\nGOALS OF LIFE \n\nOf what do we talk? \xe2\x80\x94 Of the goals of life. \n\nThe freedom and peace to be, \nWhen the good shall always gain their strife \n\nWith truth as their only plea. \n\nWe talk of the world as it shall be, when \n\nMen heed the spirit\'s call; \nAnd the untold worth to bless them then. \n\nWhen heaven shall rule them all. \n\nWe talk of the world as it is, that strives \n\nWith forms to hide the heart. \nWere it made by us, forsooth, no lives, \n\nWhen at one, would dwell apart. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, XL. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 155 \n\nGOD \n\nThither thus may all be drawn, and find, at last, that \n\nperfect Love, \nPower, Truth, Wisdom, Justice, Beauty, throned \n\neternally above; \nFind the Mind that moves creation, Maker, Father, \n\nSaviour, Lord. \nSource and Sum and Destination, Life with which all \nlives accord. Idem: Watching, xxxiv. \n\nThe stars that make \nHigh aims awake \nAre but what Thine eye seest. \nThe stroke and stress \nThat earn success 1 \n\nAre but what Thou decreest. \nIn all the past \nWhose blessings last. \nThy presence fills the story; \nAnd all the gleams \nThat gild our dreams \nObtain from Thee their glory. \n\nColumbus, III., 2. \n\nGOD IN MAN \n\nUpon the man we call; \nBut bright behind the gaze we greet, \nThere gleams a glory yet to meet \nOur souls beholding past the gloom \nOf toil and trouble, tear and tomb, \n\nThe god beyond it all. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nGOD, LOVE-MADE \n\nWhy should a soul with faith sublime as yours \nFear aught? \xe2\x80\x94 Your love alone, if nothing else. \nCould here create of me the god you think me. \n\nIdem, v. \n\nGOD, MAN-MADE \n\nWe never have a God we understand \nUntil we learn to judge Him by ourselves. \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \nThey say they make me god. \nNo, no; they make me devil! \xe2\x80\x94 Would they could! \n\n\n\n156 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWhat happy hoiirs in hell would heat the hate \nMy heart could hurl at what they call divine! \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n.... How does he seem to take it? \n\n.... Just Hke a god when made by man; or, if \nYou like not that, a man when made by a god. \xe2\x80\x94 \nIs there much difference between the two? \n\nIdem. \n\nGOD, SON OF \n\nYes, God. \nWhat voice, or face, or form, or robe, or crown. \nOr throne attests His Presence? Who can trust \nAnd serve mere outward, sensuous things Hke these. \nAnd not be all through hfe \xe2\x80\x94 ay, out of it \nAnd even after death \xe2\x80\x94 a slave to sense, \nNo brother of the Christ, no son of God? \n\nColumbus, v., 2. \n\nGODS, THE \n\nOh, ye that dwell less in the earth and sky \nThan in the meditations of the mind. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., 2. \nBut in the thrills that fill the hush \nWhen naught without is passing by, \nThe gods are always nigh. Idem, 11. \n\nBut in the looks that on us gaze \nFrom out the love-Ht human eye \n\nThe gods are always nigh. Idem. \n\nGODWARD \n\nWould men look\'d Godward more! \'T would save \n\ntheir souls \nFrom many a hell that their own hands have made. \n\nHaydn, xli. \n\nGOLD \n\nWhy gold? \xe2\x80\x94 The best way to hypnotize men is \nthrough twirling a metal that glitters. \n\nThe Ranch Girl, 11. \n\nGOLD vs. SPIRITUAL RICHES \n\nWith men like these, preparing \nTo root their very spirits out from earth. \nThat they may thus transplant them where the world \nWill reap a richer fruitage, what were Spain, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 157 \n\nWere she to grudge a void from which were scraped \n\nA paltry heap of gold ! All were too mean \n\nTo pedestal aright the lasting fame \n\nThat would be hers, did they attain their end. \n\nColumbus, II., 3. \n\nGOLDEN RULE \n\nWe love the life that bears us \n\nToward all that seers can see, \nAnd, led by hope, prepares us \n\nThe whole world\'s hope to be. \nWhen, in the day that war shall cease, \nOur Golden Rlt^e shall keep the peace, \n\nAnd all mankind be free. \n\nAmerica, our Home. \n\nGOOD, ACCOMPLISHED IN DIFFERENT WAYS {see CHRIST) \n\nHowever or wherever plied, I said, \nReal power for good owns good enough to claim \nSome courtesy from Christian charity. \nIf I but fling a stone in yonder pond. \nWherever it may fall, it stirs the whole. \nSo if I throw out thought for mind or heart. \nThrough art or through rehgion, each may move \nThe whole man thus, and move him for his good. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xlvii. \nThe earth is not a heaven, nor man a saint; \nBut truths there are to which our faith may cHng, \nAnd trace with joy some good in every thing. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, xiv. \nAnd so, I think, although the wilderness. \nAt times, a John in camel\'s hair may need. \nThere open too, in ways of life less wild, \nMore ways, where love may plead in guise more soft. \nIn short, as long as one may choose his course, \n\'T is best we do what each can do the best. \n\nIdeals Made Real, XLVii. \n\nGOOD DEEDS, LEADING TO GOOD LIFE \n\nIt\'s always seemed to me that there\'s enough in \npeople, if you can only get them to doing good once \xe2\x80\x94 \nget them interested in it \xe2\x80\x94 to cause most of them to \ncome out in the end all right. \n\nModern Fishers of Men, iv. \n\n\n\n158 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nGOOD, DONE BY SELF \n\nEvery soul \nIs proudest of the good itself has fathered. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., i. \n\nGOOD, THE, FIND GOOD IN OTHERS \n\nThe best effect of being good oneself is finding \ngood in others. Every mind works like a magnet \n\xe2\x80\x94 draws from all about it the thoughts and moods \nthat seem most like its own. \n\nOn Detective Duty, i. \n\nGOODNESS \n\nWe best can judge of some things by their source, \xe2\x80\x94 \nOf days by daylight, and of good by goodness. \nHeaven sends the one, and only heavenly traits \nCan bring the other. Dante, ii., i. \n\nGOSSIP \n\nNot a chum she knew. \nFor all her hints of news that she might tell,^ \nWho found out all folks did, and not one doing well. \nA Life in Song: Daring, li. \n\nGOSSIPS \n\nThese gossips all are scavengers \nOf nobler people\'s characters. \nAnd how can one of taste or sense \nBe made, and yet take no offence, \nThe cess-pools of their confidence? \n\nIdem, Doubting, xxx. \n\nMean slanderers of characters. \n\nThese friends that stick to us like burrs, \n\nThrong every home, and boast an ear \n\nWell hugg\'d against one\'s heart, to hear \n\nEach secret throb of hope or fear. \n\nWhy tell they what they ne\'er have known? \n\nAnd force one, since he cannot own. \n\nTo leave their untrue love alone? Idem, xxxi. \n\nGOVERNMENT, FORCE THE FUNCTION OF \n\n.... To your conception then the function of \nthe government is force that keeps down outward \nwrong? \n\n.... Precisely, yes. \n\n.... And by police and soldiers, I suppose? \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 159 \n\n.... Of course, \n\n.... Then where do women come in? \n\n.... You? \xe2\x80\x94 a man? \xe2\x80\x94 and asking that? \xe2\x80\x94 They \ncome in where there is a need of love and sympathy ; \nor any pubHc good that flows from these. More work \nin them than women have time for now! \n\n.... But how about their rights? ) \n\n.... I think the rights of all humanity are more \nimportant. Tuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nGOWN, A woman\'s \n\n.... The surest place to hide things from a man \nis in a woman\'s gown. He doesn\'t know or understand \nit, and he dare not search it. \n\n.... Oh, no, afraid of being pricked with pins. \n\nThe Two Paths, il. \nI had almost been content to have lost \nMy soul itself, nor begrudg\'d the cost. \nHad it brought me as near to her, as were \nThe soulless things that surrounded her. \nMy moods all seem to fit her own, \nAnd without her seem so void, so lone, \nI have learn\'d to envy her senseless gown \n\nThat never knows it is bless\'d, \nYet all day long moves up and down \nWith the laughing or sighing that heaves her breast, \nAnd, clasping tight in its folds embraced \nThe neck so white, and the tender waist, \nKeeps clinging close to the frame so sweet, \nAnd fluttering in and out to meet \nThe dear, dear touch of the dainty feet. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xil. \n\nGRACE \n\nHe lived, with restless eyes and merry voice \n\nAnd yielding ways, whose yielding gave them grace. \n\nIdem: Daring, lvi. \xe2\x96\xa0 \nHer name was Grace, and gracious was her mien; \nAnd graces everywhere attended her \nThrough jars and joys of journeys afterward. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xlv. \n\nGRATITUDE \n\nGratitude is a spring whose flow is measured, not by \n\n\n\ni6o A POETS CABINET \n\nthat which falls upon it from without, but by that \nwhich is already stored in the depths within. \n\nThe Function of Technique. \n\nGREAT AND SMALL MEN SIMILARLY CONDITIONED \n\nYou may think that you are a great man, and that \nI am a very small one. But if one can\'t jump on \nanother like an elephant, he can like a flea, and, \nwhere the flea goes, there, in this case, at least, will \ngo the flesh he feeds on. \n\nThe Snob and the Sewing Girl, iv. \n\nGREED FOR GOLD \n\nOh, what a worm \nIs greed for gold ! Did ever human fruitage \nTurn into rot but this greed gnawed the core? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nGRIEF \n\nYou think that veins too heavy weighed with grief \nMay empty then through talk as well as tears. \n\nDante, ii., i. \n\nGRIEF, ALTERNATION IN EXPERIENCE OF \n\nAt times my soul appears a stormy sea, \n\nAll rage below and rain above ; at times \n\nIt seems the tears I shed have drained me dry, \n\nAnd left a void too deep for faith in God \n\nOr man to fill. Idem, ii., 2. \n\nGROUPED, MANKIND ARE \n\n.... Do you know,you look so much like an old \nfriend I used to have. Oh, yes, and we were intimate, \noh, very! I sometimes think that men \xe2\x80\x94 like animals, \nsay, foxes, dogs, and cats \n\n.... And jackasses? \n\n.... Ha! ha! \xe2\x80\x94 ^are grouped; and half the joy of \nlife depends on finding which group is one\'s own. \n\nThe Two Paths, iii. \n\nGROVE BY MOONLIGHT \n\nThence wandering forth one still clear night I \n\nfound \nBeneath the moon that rose up, large and round, \nThrough vistas opening like some temple\'s aisles. \nGreat trees that arched the moveless air for miles. \nTheir spreading boughs, like shadowy rafters, lined \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS i6i \n\nA Star-filled dome, and oft, where foliage twined \n\nIn leafy fretwork round each trailing limb, \n\nFlash \'d bright with dew. Beneath them, fair though \n\ndim. \nAbout the trees\' wide trunks, in half seen bowers, \nAnd pushing up through paths I trod, were flowers. \nI seem\'d their nature\'s lord; for, when my feet \nWould crush them as I pass\'d, they grew more sweet. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, ii. \n\nWith gratitude for each toy-touch of air \nAt play on my knit brow, I rested there. \nBut while I rested, lo, a stranger\'s form \nPush\'d through the white bars of the moonlight warm. \n\nIdem, V. \n\nGROW \n\nIt strikes me, friend, that all things truthful grow. \nE\'en love outgrows the fashion of its youth: \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe world whirls on apace ; and different hues \nTurn toward the noonday-sun. No dawn returns. \nWhat form or color robes the infinite? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nIdeals Made Real, lv. \n\nGROWLING \n\nDogs are not the only brutes that growl when waked. \nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nGUARDIAN SPIRIT, THE \n\nYou and I have loved supremely, \xe2\x80\x94 yet \n\nOur love has loved another. \xe2\x80\x94 Could this be \n\nOf that form which we walked with in our dreams? \n\n.... Why \n\n.... Did you ever think that all our dreams \n\nAre in ourselves; and this form too may be there? \nThey say that human brains, ay, all our frames \nAre doubled. \xe2\x80\x94 If so, why? \xe2\x80\x94 For use? \xe2\x80\x94 then whose? \nWho is it twins existence with us here? \nCan it be our own real, live, better self \nWhich under consciousness we vaguely feel \nDreams while we wake and wakes the while we \n\ndream, \nRecalls what we forget, incites and is \nLess form than spirit, but, because a spirit, \nHeaven\'s representative, our guardian, guide, \n\n\n\ni62 A POETS CABINET \n\nAnd all that tells of God? You know all praise \n\nThe men dependent only on themselves. \n\nYet why? \xe2\x80\x94 Is it so noble to be free \n\nFrom love, or wish for love? Or own these men \n\nA subtle consciousness of nobler love \n\nWhich, in the spirit-life, is all in all? \n\nKnow they that earthly forms which seem divine \n\nBut image that within which is divine? \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., 2. \n\nGUESSES \n\nMen\'s guesses are like their gifts. I have found \nthey are often bait on a hook and line thrown out \nto draw inward toward themselves. \n\nThe Ranch Girl, iii. \n\nGUIDING BY FOLLOWING \n\nI have learned that most of those that are obscure \nguide others best when, like a rudder, they are follow- \ning them. The Two Paths, iii. \n\nGUILT \n\nAllow\' d to grow, \nThe germs of guilt, like those of disease. \nProve deadly because they seem so small. \n\nLove and Life, xvii. \n\nGUILT, REVEALED BY GOOD TALK \n\nThe one best proof that men are guilty, friend, comes \nwhen they talk as if they were too good. \n\nThe Two Paths, iii. \n\nHALF-HEARTED \n\nNo weak, half-hearted love can be \nThe noblest love, or the love for me. \nThe power supreme on the spirit\'s throne \nIf it reign at all, must reign alone. \nWhat fills my soul with its claims divine, \nLike God whose image it forms in mine, \nCan never clasp to a full-thrill\'d heart \nA love that can only love in part. \nThe pulsing heat of my life\'s desire \nIs the glowing light of a growing fire, \nWhose flames in the form on which they fall \nMust all be quench\'d, or burn it all. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxvii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 163 \n\nHAND \n\nIf only a moment I could but stand \n\nAnd hold in my own her soft warm hand, \n\nAnd under her rustling robe could hear \n\nThe breath that proved that her soul was near, \n\nI never could ever have doubts again \n\nThat God can live in the frames of men. \n\nIdem, XIII. \n\nHAND-CUFFED \n\nA single bracelet is enough, men think, \nTo show a common gratitude. But we, \nWhy, we have two ! They think their debt \nTo us a doubled one! How it will thrill \nAmbition in the future sons of Spain \nTo learn what badges of true servitude \nAwait the souls that serve her best. We, we, \nWho made of Spain the Empress of the West, \nHave weightier honors waiting us, \xe2\x80\x94 to be \nThe slaves that, crushed to earth, will pedestal \nThe towering contrast of her sovereignty. \n\nColumbus, v., I. \n\nHARMONY {see music) \nThis chant as rare in harmony \n\nAs if all the soiils that sang, had melted into melody. \nA Life in Song: Dreaming, XL. \n\nMore sweet than heavenly harps are hearts, \n\nWhen love her low throb in them starts ; \n\nMore sweet than sweetest songs, when sung. \n\nAre harmonies of deed and tongue \n\nWhere two together think as one. \n\nAlas, and what have my moods done \n\nTo part me so from all my brothers? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nYet how can I accord with others. \n\nWhen all the strings I play, though nerves \n\nThat every feeblest feeling serves \n\nTo fill with thrills, oft bear a strain \n\nOf stretching fibres wrench \'d with pain \n\nThat wellnigh snaps them all in twain. \n\nEre fitly strung to sound aright \n\nSome highest pitch of scorn or spite? \n\nIdem, Doubting, v. \n\n\n\ni64 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nHARMONY, UNIVERSAL \n\nAs in the older advent, so to-day, \n\nWould I believe in power behind sweet song \n\nTo hold the universe in harmony, \n\nExpelling evil and impelling good \n\nThrough all the limits of created life, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA spirit\'s power ! \xe2\x80\x94 What though we mortals here \n\nWith eyes material cannot see the hosts \n\nThat issue forth in forms that while they move \n\nAwake around us echoes everywhere ! \n\nWe spring to spy them, but we only hear \n\nTheir rustle in the trees by which they pass; \n\nOr where, with dash of water o\'er the rocks. \n\nThey leave the sea or linger in the rill. \n\nAt times they rest a moment on the earth, \n\nWhen twilight hides them, sighing gently then, \n\nAnd lull to dreams, with tones in sympathy. \n\nThe lowly insect and the lowing herd. \n\nAt times, amid the winds that rise at morn, \n\nThey sweep across the land and startle sleep \n\nFrom nervous birds that twitter in their track; \n\nAnd, now and then, in clouds that close the sky, \n\nThey bound adown the rift the lightning cleaves \n\nTill sunlight overhead pours through again. \n\nA spirit\'s power has music; and must rule \n\nUnrivall\'d still as far as ear can heed, \n\nOr reason hark behind it. All the chords \n\nOf all things true are tuned by hands divine, \n\nAnd thrill to feel the touch! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBut sounds may rise \nIn souls untuned, like harp-strings when they snap. \nOr, though more soft than dreamland breezes are. \nMay fright like forests when the dark leaves blow \nAbout the solitary murderer \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd sweetest airs to sweetest moods may bring \nBut foretastes vague of harmonies on high. \nThe school-girl hears her comrade\'s ringing laugh,\xe2\x80\x94 \n\'T is but the key-note trill\'d before the tune. \nThe maiden heeds her lover\'s mellow plea, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\'T is but the gamut rill\'d ere surge the chords. \nThe dame is moved by tones that cheer her home, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd they perchance prelude the theme of heaven. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 165 \n\nFor even blows of toil and battle-guns \n\nMay be the drum-rolls of the martial strains \n\nThat rise to greet the glory yet to come. \n\nAy, wait we long enough, we all may hear \n\nIn all things music; far above, at last, \n\nMay hear the treble thrilling down from heaven, \n\nAnd e\'en from hell no discord in the jar \n\nThat only thunders back a trembling bass. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxxviii. \n\nHARVESTING \n\nEvery harvesting before thee \nShows the vintage is but rain \nTurn\'d to wine the grapes obtain \nFrom the floods that fill the plain. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, XLI. \n\nHAUGHTY LOOKS \n\n.... Seen him, eh? \xe2\x80\x94 How then does he look? \n\n.... Look? \xe2\x80\x94 with his eyes \xe2\x80\x94 would better ask how \nhe doesn\'t look \xe2\x80\x94 at Hmbs like us ! \xe2\x80\x94 has held his head \nup high so long it has forgotten where it came from. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, v. \n\nHAY CART vs. CHARIOT \n\n.... I suppose if you were offered, to-morrow, the \nchoice between a chariot and a hay cart, you would \ntake the hay cart. \n\n.... It would depend entirely upon who was in it. \n\nWhere Society Leads, 11. \n\nHEADS vs. HEARTS RULING ACTION {see REASON) \n\nThank God, we all have heads above our hearts; \nAnd, if we let them reason with us well, \nThey rule us for our best. \n\nIdeals Made Real, lxiv. \n\nHEADSTRONG \n\nThe rose that with the fondest care we tend, \n\nMay grace a bush whose briers but cause distress, \nAnd those on whom we most of love expend \n\nGive sorrow in return for our caress; \n\nYet need we not despair of their success ; \nFor oft, where others would move on no more, \n\nThose who in youth these headstrong wills possess, \n\n\n\ni66 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nTheir way so push that every check, in store \nTo stop the weak, becomes for them an opening door. \n\nA Life in Song: Daring, iv. \n\nHEALTH \n\nIf those blooming looks \nHid wormy fruit like that, I ne\'er would trust \nSound health again ! Haydn , xxxix. \n\nHEART, DEAR \n\nThat dear, dear heart, so eager-sped by love, \n\nWhose each pulsation, like a paddle\'s beat \n\nSeemed furthering some canoe\'s o\'erladen prow \n\nWhere it should rest and empty at my feet ; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThat dear, dear heart, so pliant to my wish \n\nThat, at my lightest breath, the brightening smiles \n\nWould open round his lips in hues as fair \n\nAs rosebuds parted by the breeze of May; \n\nThat dear, dear heart, the germ of all he was \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe sweetest outgrowth of the sweetest life \n\nThis earth has ever molded into form; \n\nTo think that even now a heart like that, \n\nIts nerve-roots quivering in their agony. \n\nIs being torn out from the bleeding breast \n\nAs if some foulest weed that could pollute \n\nA soil that, just to hold it \xe2\x80\x94 that alone \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nIs more than sacred ! Oh, how can the heavens \n\nBe so unjust? Far better not to think \n\nThan think but of that fearful, bleeding vision. \n\nWould, would that I could veil it out \xe2\x80\x94 but no ! \n\nThe Aztec God, v. \n\nHEART, woman\'s \n\nYou think \nA woman\'s heart, if tested through long years. \nWith burdening love would break? You think it \n\nkinder \nTo break it at the start? Columbus, i., 2. \n\nHEATED BRAIN, NOT INFLUENCED BY WORDS \n\nThrowing words at a heated brain is like sprinkling \nwater on a red hot stove. It never goes below the \nsurface; and whatever you get back is a combination \nof hiss and shot, and if it hits you, it burns. You must \nwait till he cools off. What Money Can\'t Buy, ill. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 167 \n\nHEAVEN {see IMMORTALITY and love) \nThere, where the sun burns all the view, \nWhat sounds there in the boundless blue? \nFaith \xe2\x80\x94 is it more than a meek despair? \nTruth \xe2\x80\x94 than one\'s own note echoed in air? \n\nHope \xe2\x80\x94 than his dawn\'s bright dew? \nhush\'d Heaven, but what would I give, \nHow would I love, and how would I live, \nTo know the soul\'s tale to be true ! \n\nWhat Would I Give. \nWhy should we mourn for life\'s dry leafless vine. \nWho seek heaven\'s vintage, and have saved the wine? \nA Life in Song: Loving, lii. \nHeaven so very bright must be ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nFor even here the past is bright ; and there. \nUp there, we faith shall have, such perfect faith, \nThat none can longer fear the future. \n\nHaydn, vii. \nLet love light all our pathway, till our days \nGrow dark with shades of life\'s departing rays; \nBut O how brightly then shall heaven, at last, \nGlow like a sunset o\'er a loving past ! \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, lii. \nheaven, beyond the influence of hell \n\nHeard in heaven. \nStorms blowing from the mouth of hell make music. \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \nheaven, near hell \n.... You are \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n.... A virgin, yes, but were I the \n\n.... Do not say that \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n.... I could imagine times \n\nWhen one I know would seem divine. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 . . Wait, wait! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHow near together heaven and hell may be ! \n\n.... Yes; only earth and earthly thinking make \n\nIt possible for sense to deem them two. \n\nThrone God in hell, all heaven would burst the gates \n\nAnd dream of blessed rest, though every foot \n\nWere sea\'d upon a prostrate seething devil. \n\nColumbus, II., I. \n\n\n\ni68 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nHEAVEN, THE WORLD AND HELL \n\nThere is heaven ; and all the world, \nA world that will the more pollute my soul, \nThe more I try to cross it, lies between \nMyself and it, and keeps me here in hell. \n\nThe Aztec God, ill. \n\nHEELS, CULTIVATION OF \n\n.... Part of everybody\'s understanding is in his \nheels. \n\n.... And those that cultivate their heels alone are \nin danger of using them, by and by, mainly in trampling \nother people down. What Money Can\'t Buy, i. \n\nHELL \n\n.... Why, then, here\'s to hell! \n\n.... Not here yet \xe2\x80\x94 do you mean it, eh? \xe2\x80\x94 is not \na pleasant place for one to go to. \n\n.... Why not? It is the sort of place you like \nwhen here, not so? \n\n.... You are a great logician. \n\nOn Detective Duty, ii. \n\nHELL AND HEAVEN \n\nIn spirit those work most for truth, who most \nAre true ; for all are led, yet all are leaders. \nThus does the line of being bridge the gulf \nBetween the world of worm and fire \xe2\x80\x94 the hell \nAs well as home of all not saved from matter \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd that eternal rest where souls, made free \nFrom longer craving a material frame \nThrough which to signal their vain selfhood, lose \nTheir lower life to find a higher life. \nWhere now their spirits are at one with His \nWhose love creates but that it may bestow; \nAnd, even as the Christ is in the Father, \nSo, too, become joint heirs with Him of all things. \n\nCecil the Seer, ii., 2. \n\nHELLISH \n\nFalse and hellish moods \nCreate a false and hellish world to live in. \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \n\nHELPING HANDS \n\nAll men at times have need of helping hands. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 169 \n\n.... The hand that helps another most is his \nWhose own hand would find help. Dante, 11., i. ^ \n\nTheir outstretched hands may show that love is \n\nhidden \nBehind the mysteries that seem to cloak it. Idem. \n\nHENS, OLD \n\nWe form a body sitting on Columbus. \nAn old hen, even, doing this, I say, \nWould hatch out something. \n\nWait now. You will find \nknough old hens here to bring forth, at least, \nWhat they will think worth while their cackling over. \n\nColumbus, II., 2. \n\nHEREDITY {see BIRTH) \n\nA flower may blossom, sweet and bright. \n\nThough grown in mire where hang but clouds; \n\nHer Haughtiness. \n\nI blame her not because her veins \nContain her foul forefathers\' blood, \n\nBut that her own work now maintains \n\nThe present spring that taints its flood. Idem. \nWe know not whence came manhood; but we know \nWhence came the man, \xe2\x80\x94 from unfulfilled desire \nWhen springs that welled from body quenched the fire \nThat burned to fuse in one two souls aglow. \nEmbodiment of wish, on earth below, \nFor union which no earth-forms can acquire, \nMan is a spirit, aimed for regions higher, \nEntrapped and ^ntrailed in a world of woe. \nWhat wonder if he wander on and on \nThrough ways that bring no respite and no rest? \nWhat wonder if no crown that shines upon \nHis brow can ever sate ambition\'s quest? \nWhat wonder if death only end, anon, \nA strife that never one deems wholly blest? \n\nHeredity. \n\nHERESY \n\nYour church, \nThat fann\'d some whim of his, left smouldering. \nSome spark of doubt to ardent heresy. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxxvii. \n\n\n\nI70 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nHEROISM AND BRUTALITY \n\nIt is an old saying that barking dogs do not bite; \n\nand no one knows much of the world who is not aware \n\nthat an essentially coarse and brutal character, a \n\nbraggart boastful chiefly of his independence of the \n\nwishes or sympathy of others, is incapacitated by his \n\nvery nature for deeds involving the grandest heroism. \n\nSuggestions for the Spiritual Life, xvi. \n\nheroes\' homes \n\nYet heroes\' homes are human hearts. \n\nEthan Allen. \n\nHERO, THE POPULAR \n\nAnd all the people while he lived, \n\nThey loved his eagle eye; \nAnd when he died \xe2\x80\x94 ah, friends, you know \n\nSuch spirits cannot die! \nTo-day, go search those mountain wilds \n\nAnd valleys, humbly trod \nBy souls whose pure, strong faith holds on \n\nTo country, home, and God; \nAsk men who own those towering trees, \n\nOr plant the hillock steep ; \nThe school-boys, bounding back from school, \n\nOr watching well the sheep ; \nThe housewives, where in thrifty homes \n\nThe generous meals are spread; \nThe sisters, gently handing down \n\nThe Book when prayers are said; \nAsk all, who value aught they own, \n\nWhose fame all value most? \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe flashing eye and flushing cheek \n\nWill figure him they boast. Idem. \n\nHIGHER LIFE, THE \n\nConceive how barren, cold, and colorless \n\nIs life upon the heights. \n\n.... Conceive, as well. \n\nHow far, and broad, and varied, and sublime \n\nAre earth and heaven when these are seen from them. \n\nSouls oft are driven from our lower life \n\nThat thus they may explore for us the higher. \n\nDante, iii., 2. \n\n\n\n^SELECTED QUOTATIONS 171 \n\nHIGH LIFE \nMan is but man: \nHe cannot scan \nToo high delights, and highly rate \nThe lowly joys of earth\'s estate. \n\nThe Idealist. \n\nHIGH POSITION \n\nHis friends must see he does not get so high \nThat falling far will hurt him. Cecil the Seer, I. \n\nHILLS \n\nBut in the east there lie sky-drifting hills. \n\nTheir cliffs, cloud-coursed in heights of mystery, \nDim dreamy glens, and flash\'d surprise of rills. \n\nHad train\'d in youth his faith and fantasy. \nHe loved them, as a child may love his mother, \n\nA simple child who cannot tell you why. \nYet something feels he feels not for another, \n\nToo near the springs of life for question or reply. \nA Life in Song: Serving, lxxii. \n\nHINT \n\nWit heeds a hint ; \'t is dulness questions it. \n\nHaydn, xvi. \n\nHINTS ABOUT LOVE \n\nAnd thus a habit grew that our two lives \nDwelt there like friends, made separate by war, \nWho out from hostile camps wave now a hand, \nAnd now a kerchief, but who never speak. \nAnd yet I cannot say love never spoke. \xe2\x80\x94 \nWe did not mean it ; but I think that love \nMay tell its tales, unconscious of the fact. \nFor who is conscious when God touches him? \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut littlest acts there were; yet spirits read \nFrom signs too fine for measurements of space ; \nLove heeds no measurements. But hints there were ; \nAnd yet what words of love yield more than these? \nThey hit the sense of love, but fail of sense \nWhere nothing loving waits to take the hint. \n\nHaydn, xxxvii. \nAnd kitten-like, at play beside the hearth. \nWe told our secrets, and none knew of them. \n\nIdem. \n\n\n\n172 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nHINTS vs. HITS \n\nThose who are too stupid to take hints have to be \ntrained at times by getting hits. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, i. \n\nHISTORY, PHILOSOPHY OF \n\nAll of history but fulfils the law that rules the single \n\nsoul. \nTimes there were, near earth\'s beginning, when im- \n\npell\'d but from within, \nMen but felt the good of goodness and the sinfulness of \n\nsin. \nThen they learn\'d of outward right, but still, too dull to \n\nprobe its cause, \nWasted reverence on commandments and the holy \n\ntext of laws ; \nNow the times, at last, are coming, when the soul in. \n\nclearer light \nMust amid unfolding learning serve the wisdom of the \n\nright. \nGod is Lord through independence. By and by we \n\nall shall see \nHow the truth that rules above can rule below, yet \n\nleave us free. \nSee through all earth\'s changing phases whence we \n\ncome and where we wend, \xe2\x80\x94 \nSee the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. \nA Life in Song: Watching, xv. \n\nHOLIDAYS \n\nWe have our holy days and holidays. \nI sometimes wonder which are holier. \n\nColumbus, II., 2. \n\nHOLLAND \n\nOf art he also found a heedful school. \n\nAs cleanly trimm\'d as dikes that guard her farms, \nWhere crouching Holland makes the sea her tool, \n\nNor lets one breeze escape her windmills\' arms.- \nThis thorough race, what have they ever slighted? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nE\'en in their church what tireless energy. \nWhere crowds, in chants monotonous united. \n\nPraise Him who stretched their plains, in like \nmonotony. A Life in Song: Serving, xliii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 173 \n\nHOLY MEN \n\nYou seem a holy man. \n.... Nay, none is that. \n\nWhen men seem holy do not think of them, \nBut of the cause that has affected them. \n\nColumbus, II., I. \n\nHOME \n\nHome seems a state. \nNot place. \n.... A state of happiness \n\nIdem, II., 3. \nNo setting so becomes \nA jewel of a woman as a home, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA loving home like this. \n\nCecil the Seer, ill., i. \nSo storms that sweep where man in vain contends, \n\nWhen forced unshelter\'d through the earth to roam. \nAnd trust in those who prove but fair-day friends. \nHarm not the soul well wall\'d within the home. \nLet false friends go, when those of home stay near \none. \nPrivations come that but deprive of ease, \nNo other loss can seem the most severe one; \n\nNor other woe o\'erwhelm one toiling still for these. \nA Life in Song: Serving, xviii. \nAnd tho\' no more his old home\'s forms and faces \n\nAwait him, when his feet no more can roam, \nIn every human form and face he traces \n\nA likeness of the lost that makes each house a home. \n\nIdem, Lxxxix. \n\nHOME, A farmer\'s \n\nIn moments when \nThe stress of work is waived, perchance in hours \nOf sickness or of sorrow, or when storms \nHave block\'d the roadways of accustom\'d craft. \nOr evening shadows hid the daily task, \nAnd brought the cattle home, and shut the school \nAnd shop and factory; when carts and plows \nAre in their places, and the horses fed. \nAnd stable-doors made fast, and dogs at watch; \nWhen in the house the evening meal has pass\'d, \n\n\n\n174 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThe lamps been lighted, and the little folk \nBeen put to bed with that last prayer and kiss \nWhich hallows all their dreamland ; when the wife \nTakes up her sewing, and the maid draws forth \nHer embroidery work, well folded to conceal \nHer future gift from him for whom \'t is wrought, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThen often comes at last the poet\'s hour. \n\nIdem, Finale. \n\nHOME-LIFE IN REVOLUTIONARY TIMES \n\nBut hist! the cheers were check\'d. \n\n"Keep mum!" the murmur spread; \nThe crown, to get these men, had set \n\nA price on every head. \n\n"Five hundred dollars down, \n\nFor him who tells of one, " \nWas first proclaim\'d : but no one named \n\nA man who aught had done. \n\n"Five thousand," then were pledged, \n\n"To know who took the lead; \nAnd half as much to know of such \n\nAs join\'d him in the deed." \n\nThe King\'s commission, last, \n\nSat half a year or more; \nBut not a word it ever heard \n\nAbout the sixty-four. \n\nForgotten were they then? \n\nThey might have pass\'d by day, \nWithout a wink to make you think, \n\nOr hint that it was they. \n\nBut, when the night had come; \n\nAnd door and blind were lock\'d. \nAnd window fast, and blew the blast \n\nTill all the chimney rock\'d; \n\nWhen, safe from eyes and ears. \n\nIn homes where all were true, \nThe way those men were feasted then \n\nA king, full well, might rue. \n\nAnd when the board was bare; \n\nAnd round the roaring fire, \nThe nuts were crack\'d and cider smack\'d \n\nTill tooth and tongue would tire; \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 175 \n\nWhen each his tale would tell \n\nAbout that ship and night, \nAnd still the way he dodg\'d, each day, \n\nThe British spy and spite; \n\nThe boys who husk\'d the corn \n\nWould forward bend, and spring, \nAnd draw the ears, like swords, with cheers, \n\nTo make the rafters ring ! \n\nThe host who stirr\'d the fire \n\nWould stab it through and through : \nYou might have thought the flames he brought \n\nHad burn\'d a cruiser too. \n\nThe girls would fancy then \n\nIt was the cruiser flared; \nAnd round the walls would aim like balls \n\nThe apples red they pared. \n\n"To arms!" would cry the men; \n\nAnd each a maid purloin; \nWhile mother\'s yarn would snap, and dam \n\nThe dance that all would join. \n\nAh, so we hush\'d the tale! \n\nYet spies that nigh would roam \nCould not decoy the smallest boy \n\nTo tell what pass\'d at home. \n\nWe hush\'d it, till the hush \n\nBecame our countersign \nTo save from those we knew were foes, \n\nAnd make our men combine. \n\nWe hush\'d it, till we learn\'d \n\nThat thousands would be free, \nAnd long\'d to know which way to go \n\nAnd when the call would be. \n\nWe hush\'d it, till we heard \n\nWhat Concord had to bear; \nThen shouted loud, a mighty crowd, \n\n"Our heroes lead us there!" \n\nThe Last Cruise of the Gaspee. \n\nHOME LIFE WITH LOVE \n\nHow swiftly sped the hours in happy nights \nWhen, after work, he rested there at home! \n\n\n\n176 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nSuch winning ways he had to lure my trust! \nSuch sweet pet names would call me, till I felt \nSo fondly small, he well might be my lord! \nWoiild tease me so, anon to comfort me ! \nOr rouse my temper that he mild might seem; \nOr tell such tales, that in my dreams I laugh\'d \nAt wit reflecting, though distorting, his. \n\nHaydn, xxxviii. \n\nHOMES \n\nHow, all its chairs made vacant one by one, \nTh\' applause rose thinner at his bachelor-club; \nHow, brief as birds\', are human mating- times ; \nHow men, mere songs forgot, withdraw to nests \xe2\x80\x94 \nTo homes \xe2\x80\x94 their worlds, where all the sky is fill\'d \nWith sunny smiles they love, and shadowy locks. \nHow sweet were life whose light and shade were these ! \n\nIdeals Made Real, v. \n\nHOME-SINGING \n\nHow blest are homes, all fill\'d with song, \n\nThe mother\'s hum, the choral strong, \n\nThe hymn that bears great thoughts that throng \n\nWhere all pure hope is winging! \nHow heaves the breast in air so sweet, \nHow thrills the blood it fills to meet, \nWhile all the spirit bounds to greet \n\nThe joys of life in singing ! \n\nA Song on Singing. \n\nHONESTY AND WORK \n\nWhen you\'re older, Miss, you\'ll find it isn\'t honest \nfolks that earn their living, cent by cent, that prove \ndishonest when they deal with you. They\'re not the \nkind your father meant. He meant the kind that \nnever work for what they get ; but live by filching what \nothers work to get. Their hands are not like mine ; not \nhard, but soft. They slip around you like a snake, \xe2\x80\x94 \nthe sneaks! I\'m not a boy like that. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, ii. \n\nHONIED PHRASES \n\nThe kiss of honied phrases is apt to leave behind \nthem what proves sticky and may sicken us. \n\nIdem. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 177 \n\nHONIED WORDS \n\nToo often \'tis those who bring us honied words whose \nstings are sharpest when they leave us. Idem. \n\nHONOR {see divorce) \nI honor\'d God the more from this, the hour \nI found His honor so encased in man. \n\nIdeals Made Real, lxi. \nWe men who wed incur a debt of honor. \n.... But should that let one harm himself ? \n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2.\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 Why, honor \n\nIs m oneself, and so does not depend \nOn anything another is or does. Dante, iii., i. \n\nHad he look\'d, in his youth. \nFast the shadows of form to the substance of truth? \nHad he learn\'d that all Hfe turns to seasons, and shifts \n\nFrom wmter and spring into summer and fall? \nOr divmed that eternity, balancing gifts. \nGrants honor like heaven, a state after strife, \nAnd a glorified name to a sacrificed Hfe? \nDid he know that sighs, when yearning for love, \nBest open the soul to breathe in from above \nThe air immortal, and make it worth while \n\nThat art should chisel in marble clear \nThe lines divine that temper a smile \n\nBeyond the sway of a mortal\'s cheer? \xe2\x80\x94 \nDid he know it or not, perchance for his good \nHis work was lonely and misunderstood. \nPerchance it was well, the best for the soul, \nIts nature, its nurture, that aught to control \nThe aims inspiring his life or its plan \nHad gain\'d but Httle from earth or man. \n\nUnveiling the Monument. \n\nHONOR, AT THE EXPENSE OF SYMPATHY \n\n^ For all whose paths \n\nUf honor and of sympathy divide. \nOne choice alone remains \xe2\x80\x94 to dwell content \nWith loneliness, and one\'s ideal, and God. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., 2. \n\nHONOR, DESIRABLE ONLY FOR EARNERS OF IT \n\n^T,. - . , . . . A man\'s best friend \n\nWill bid him wait for honor till he earn it. \n\n\n\n178 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nAmid earth\'s envious crush of frenzied greed, \nIt is no kindness, pushing to the front \nOne who is not a leader. Zealous forms \nThat crowd him there may tramp him under foot. \n\nIdem, I. \n\nHONOR, ONE woman\'s SENSE OF \n\n.... You really should not touch them. \n\n.... ^ No? Why not? \n\n.... He would not like it. \n\n.... Oh, of course not ! but \n\nHe need not know it; need he? Columbus, i., 3. \n\nHONORS IN OFFICE (see STATION) \n\n.... This getting of&ce is like getting married \xe2\x80\x94 \nfor better, or for worse. No man can gain its honors, \nand escape from some dishonors. \n\n.... No portraits ever grace a hall of fame with- \nout suggesting caricatures. \n\n.... Our metal may be gold; but beat the gold, \nas men do when they make a server of it, the plate may \nprove so thin that every bulge embossed in beauty on \nits upper side is matched by hideous holes upon its \nunder. Tuition for her Intuition, 1. \n\nHOPE \n\nAnd yields not heaven some gleam to thought. \n\nOr hope by spirit-whispers brought, \n\nTo guide toward all our souls have sought? \n\nAy, ay; do not clear skies reveal. \n\nAt times, to cheer our wavering zeal. \n\nBright realms that mists no more conceal? \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, XV. \nWhen lit by hope, rebuffs \nAre merely clouds aglow where dawn brings light, \nBut when no ray of hope is visible \nThe dark seems full damnation. \n\nColumbus, I., 2. \nDown underneath my deep despair. \nWhere heaved a sigh that loosen\'d all my soul, \nLike some sweet kiss of sudden death that draws \nTo sudden bhss, when men to heaven are snatch\'d \nFrom all the roar and rage of war, there came \nOne hope. Ideals Made Real, lix. \n\n\n\n, SELECTED QUOTATIONS 179 \n\nHOPE AND FEAR \n\nSweet hope is a bird of light, \nThe pulsing touch of whose aspiring wing \nThrills to new life the very air one breathes. \nIn gloom like ours the trembling heart but leaps \nTo dodge the whir of some blind bat of fear. \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \n\nHOPE vs. DESPAIR \n\nThe brute-despair my soul has housed so long \nIs trained to bear hard blows, and beat them back; \nBut this frail trembling babe of hope, just born, \nOh it were cruel murder, maiming it ! \n\nDante, ill., 2. \nOft, while the eyes of hope are looking up, \nThe devil trips the feet. The Aztec God, 11. \n\nImpossible! Heaven cannot be malicious. \nWhat? build so high a structure for my hope. \nThen knock the prop from under? All, all gone? \n\nColumbus, I., 2. \n\nHUDSON RIVER \n\nHis house was built beside those lordly banks \n\nThat rise to greet the Hudson\'s glimmering train; \nWhere man, as if to it were due his thanks. \n\nHas decked with art its every hill and plain. \nBelow him flowed that rare and royal river. \n\nSo white with sails, and waveless tho\' so wide, \nAnd first of rivers destin\'d to deliver \n\nTo steam and wheel the power to stem their cur- \nrents\' tide. A Life in Song: Serving, lxv. \n\nHUMANITARIANISM \n\nTo wisdom\'s eyes all paths in life reveal \nEach man a sentinel of all men\'s weal. \n\nMidnight in a City Park. \n\nHUMANITY \n\nBelieve me, in humanity it is, \n\nIn charities, and kindly courtesies. \n\nIn eyes that sparkle, and in cheeks that blush \n\nWith love and hope and faith, which make them flush, \n\nThat all the bloom and fruitage of the earth \n\nAttain their consummation and their worth. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, xii. \n\n\n\ni8o A POETS CABINET \n\nHUMANITY, LOVE FOR \n\n"Here where nature rules and gives its due to all \n\nhumanity, \nHere must be the land, " I thought, "of all the dearest \n\nprophecy. \nHis way surely ends in brightness, who is ruled in every \n\nplan \nBy a love like God\'s, not slighting one whom God has \n\nmade a man. " A Life in Song: Dreaming, xxxvi. \n\nNo pride in man can thrill the mind \nThat treats, like soulless brutes, its kind; \nNo heavenly father seems to cheer \nThose who see not his children here. \n\nThe only joy that love can know \nDwells in our own hearts when aglow. \nThe only hope that faith can feel \nOur spirits in themselves reveal. \n\nAfter the Lynching. \n\nHUMANITY, OBLIGATION TO \n\n.... We are under obligations, as I said before, to \nsociety. \n\n.... We are under more obligations, I think, to \nhumanity. \n\n.... But society\'s a part of humanity. \n\n.... It forms a larger part, I think, of inhumanity. \nWhen we follow society\'s lead, or become leaders in it, \nwe tread a path, and set a pace, that may tumble half \nof those behind us down a precipice. \n\n. . . . If so, it is their own fault. \n\n.... Yes and no. It\'s our fault so far as they are \nled astray by our example. Our deeds, mother, never \nend with ourselves . They include what we do to others . \n\n.... What others? \n\n.... All others \xe2\x80\x94 persons or things; yes, all ob- \njects that surround us off to the remotest star. No \none can think of himself except as the center of the \nuniverse with all of which he is connected as a soul \nwith a body, and this with the atmosphere around the \nbody. There is so much truth, at least, in what some \ncall the exploded science of astrology. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, iii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS i8i \n\nHUMAN NATURE \n\nHe sought he knew not what : he found mankind. \n\nIn all the regions where his feet would wend, \n\'T would thrill his heart in every sphere to find \n\nHow love reveal\'d can always find a friend. \nWho have not faults? who are not faults regretting? \n\nWho wish not much? who ever gain their aim? \nWho form not plans for all mankind\'s abetting? \n\nAnd is not human nature in us all the same? \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, lxxv. \n\nWe trust in human nature; \n\nThe conscience, ruling there, \nMay guard the right, full well as kings \n\nWith crowns their dearest care. \nLove rules in human nature, \n\nFor, all of history through. \nThe slaves have been the many, \n\nThe tyrants been the few. \n\nThe Lebanon Boys in Boston. \n\nHUMAN, SOME MEN ARE NOT \n\nTo understand what is humanizing, people have to \n\nbe human themselves. Some are not so. When you \n\ntry to train them, they are like dogs. You ask them to \n\nlend you a hand, and they can only scratch with a paw. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, iii. \n\nHUNGRY MAN \n\nThere\'s not a fish that\'s caught by bait as easily as \na hungry man. The Little Twin Tramps, iv. \n\nHUSBAND \n\nShe must not thwart me so. \n\nHer life\'s full destiny must she know. \n\nWhen dower\'d with mine own, as well, she stands \n\nWith doubled head and heart and hands. \n\nAh, could she but dream \n\nHow sweet it would seem \nFor me to give my life for her own, \nTo be her slave and that alone, \n\nA willing slave. \nWho all worth living in life would save. \n\nThough I toil\'d all day \n\nIn the weariest way. \n\n\n\n182 ALLOWANCE OF CERTAIN CLAIMS. \n\nwhether the facts so proved are sufficient or insufficieut to excuse the claimant \nthe court makes no finding, that question being exclusively within the judg- \nment and discretion of Congress. \n\nBy the Court. \nFiled December 5, 1904. \n\nA true copy. \n\nTest this 13th day of December, 1904. \n\n[seal.] John Randolph, \n\nAssistant Cleric Court of Claims. \n\nO. H. PEREY, ADMINISTRATOR. \n\n\n\nSTATEMENT OP CASE. \n\nThe claim in the above-entitled case for supplies or stores alleged to have been taken \nby or furnished to the military forces of the tjnited States for their use during the late \nwar for the suppression of the rebellion was transmitted to the court by resolution of the \nUnited States Senate on the 3d day of March, 1903. \n\nThe case was brought to a hearing on loyalty and merits on the 16th day of February, \n1904. Moyers and Consaul, escis., appeared for claimant, and the Attorney-General, \nby G. M. Anderson, esq. , his assistant, and under his direction, appeared for the defense \nand protection of the interests of the United States. \n\nThe claimant in his petition makes the following allegations: \n\nThat he is now, and at all times hereinafter mentioned has been, a citizen of the \nUnited States and a resident of the county of Craven, State of North Carolina; that he \nis the duly appointed, qualified, and acting administrator of the estate of George W. \nPerry, deceased; that during the late war for the suppression of the rebellion said \ndecedent resided in said county of Craven, State of North Carolina, and was a citizen \nof the United States; that during said war the United States military forces under \nproper authority, took from said decedent and converted to the use of the United \nStates Army quartermaster stores and commissary supplies of the kinds and values \nbelow stated, to wit: \nTaken by troops under command of General Bumside from the farm of said \n\ndecedent, near Newborn, in said county and State, during the spring of \n\n1862: \n\n1 stallion $150. 00 \n\n4 work horses, at 3150 each 600. 00 \n\n6 work mules, at $150 eacli 900. 00 \n\n200 beef cattle, at |20 each 4, 000. 00 \n\n200 sheep, at 12.50 each 500. 00 \n\n2,450 bushels of corn, at 75 cents per bushel 1, 837. 50 \n\n10 tons of blade fodder, at $20 per ton 200. 00 \n\n2 work carts 50. 00 \n\n500 pounds smoked meat, at 12 cents per pound , 60. 00 \n\n1 ferry flatboat 50. 00 \n\nTaken by the same troops in the fall of 1862: \n\n150 bushels of corn from field, at, 75 cents per bushel 112. 50 \n\nTotal \'. 8, 460. 00 \n\nThe court, upon the evidence and after considering the briefs and arguments of \ncounsel on both sides, makes the following \n\nFINDINGS OF FACT. \n\nI. It appears from the evidence that claimant\'s decedent was loyal to the Govern- \nment of the United States during the war of the rebellion. \n\nII. There was taken from the claimant\'s decedent, in Craven County, State of North \nCarolina, during the war of the rebellion by the military forces of the United States, for \nthe use of the Army, property of the kind and character above described, which was \nthen and there reasonably worth the sum of four thousand three hundred and fifty dol- \nlars (14,350), for which no payment appears to have been made. \n\nIII. The claim was not presented to the Commissioners of Claims under the act of \nMarch 3, 1871, and is consequently barred under the provisions of the act of June 15, \n\n\n\nALLOWANCE OF CERTAIN CLAIMS. 183 \n\n1878. No evidence has been offered by the claimant under the act of March 3, 1887, \n"bearing upon the question whether there has been delay or laches in presenting such \nclaim or applying for such grant, gift, or bounty, and any facts bearing upon the ques- \ntion whether the bar of any statute of limitation should be removed, or which shall be \nclaimed to excuse the claimant for not having resorted to any established legal rem- \nedy," except the evidence submitted on behalf of the widow and son of the deceased \nclaimant to the effect that soon after the war the claimant placed in the hands of an \nattorney the papers in this claim for the purpose of prosecuting the same, but what was \ndone by him does not appear. Thereafter the claim was presented to Congress, and in \nthe year 1903 the Senate referred it to this court, as hereinbefore set forth. \n\nBy the Court. \nFiled February 29, 1904. \n\nA true copy. \n\nTest this 5th day of March, 1904. \n\n[seal.] \' John Randolph, \n\nAssistant Clerk Court of Claims. \n\nTRUSTEES OF THE METHODIST CHURCH SOUTH, OF MOREHEAD \nCITY, N. C. \n\n[Court of Claims. Congressional, No. 11S70. Trustees Methodist Episcopal Church South, of More- \nhead City, N. C, V. The United States.] \n\nSTATEMENT OF CASE. \n\nThe following bill was referred to the court March 3, 1905, by resolution of the \nUnited States Senate under act of Congress approved March 3, 1887, known as the \nTucker Act: \n\n"fS. 6714, Fitty-eighth Congress, third session.) \n\n\n\n" Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America \nin Congress assembled, That the Secretary of the Treasury be, and he is hereby, author- \nized and directed to pay, out of any money in the Treasury not otherwise appropriated, \nto the trustees of the Methodist Episcopal Church South, of Morehead City, North \nCarolina, the sum of one thousand two hundred dollars, for use of and damage to their \nchurch property by the military forces of the United States during the late civil war." \n\nThe trustees of "the Methodist Episcopal Church South, of Morehead City, N. C, \nappeared and filed their petition in this court July 25, 1905, in which they make the \nfollowing allegations: \n\nThat during the late war for the suppression of the rebellion, and on or about the \nmonth of March, 1862, the military forces of the United. States, by proper authority, \ntook possession of the church building of the Methodist Episcopal Church South, of \nMorehead City, N. C, and used and occupied the said building for a period o.f about \neighteen months, and at the end of said period tore down and removed the said build- \ning and appropriated the material to the use of the United States Army. That the \nsaid building was reasonably worth, at the time the said military forces first took pos- \nsession of the same, the sum of \xc2\xa71,200, for which no payment has been made. \npIThe case was brought to a hearing on loyalty and merits on the 2d day of January, \n1906. \n\nG. W. Z. Black, esq., appeared for the claimants, and the Attorney-General, by \nGeorge M. Anderson, esq., his assistant and under his direction, appeared for the \ndefense and protection of the interests of the United States. \n\nThe court, upon the evidence and after considering the briefs and arguments of \ncounsel on both sides, makes the following \n\nFINDINGS OF FACT. \n\nI. It .appears from the evidence that the Methodist Episcopal Church South, of \nMorehead City, N. C, as a church, was loyal to the Government of the United States \nthroughout the war for the suppression of the rebellion. \n\nII. During the war for the suppression of the rebellion the military forces of the \nUnited States, by proper authority, for the use of the Army, took possession of the \nchurch building of the Methodist Episcopal Church South, of Morehead City, N. C, \n\n\n\nl84 A POETS CABINET \n\nYou serve ideals, like all idiots. \n\nIdem, XII. \nidealist\'s mis judgments \nA mind with thought forever in the clouds \nMay be excused for stumbling, now and then. \nAt what, if seen through, might appear mere shadow. \n\nDante, ii., i. \n\nidealist\'s view of life \n\nWhat they see \nIs never in the thing at which they look ; \nBut, Hke a halo when it rings the moon. \nAll in the clouds, and drawn there by themselves. \n.... Break through the halo, you might find them \n\nout. \n. . . . Or else be found out by them. \n.... That is it; \n\nAnd by-and-by come tumbling from the hights \nWhere they, not we, have put us, \xe2\x80\x94 in a realm \nWhere pebbles all seem palaces, and mounds all \n\nmounts. \nAnd clouds all continents, and moons have faces, \nAnd all the littlest stars that prick the sky \nAre spear-points of some huge hobgoblin. \n\nIdem, I., I. \nOne may excuse a bird, if, when it flies. \nIt fails in seeing everything on earth. \n\nIdem, II., I. \nIDEALITY (see poetry) \nOh what were life without the worth \n\nOf ideality, \xe2\x80\x94 \nIts home, heaven\'s halo round the earth; \n\nIts language, poetry. \nThe world of deeds whose armor gleams \n\nMay light the path to right \nFar less than rays that rise in dreams, \n\nAnd days that dawn at night. \nGod\'s brightest Hght illumes the soul. \n\nThat light this life denies \nTill earth\'s horizons lift and roll \nLike lids from opening eyes. \n\nThe Poet^s Lesson. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 185 \n\nIDEALS, INFLUENCE OF MEN\'s, ON WOMEN \n\nIt\'s men\'s ideals that keep us ladies. I\'m sure that \nmen are better pleased with other men that act like \nwomen, than women are. When we want women, we \ntake to our own mirrors \xe2\x80\x94 thus. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, iv. \n\nIf men should let the girls do what they choose, we \nnever should have ladies. Tuition for her Intuition, 11. \n\nIDEALS LOST \n\nAt last, we had parted; \nNor had ventured one hint, forsooth, \nOf the light that gave heaven its glory, \n\nAnd earth its worth, in our youth. \nHe had wrought for wealth, I had married; \n\nWe had both earned board and bed ; \nBut for what had we made a living \nWhen all we had lived for was dead? \n\nIdeals that Were. \n\nIDEALS NOT MARKETABLE \n\nBut I hardly think fulfilling one\'s ideal the surest \nway of filling, too, one\'s purse. Who want ideals? \nYou ask our merchants; every one will say the finest \nwares find fewest purchasers. Why not the finest writ- \nings fewest readers ? You think men weigh in metal got \nfrom mire a fair exchange for what is got from mind? \nOne represents the extractioning of greed, the other \nsomething given by the spirit. The Two Paths, 1. \n\nIDEALS, THEIR INFLUENCE ON SPIRITUAL LIFE \n\n.... They did not see us. \n\n. . . . No; \n\nFor they did not look up. \n\n.... I know, but why? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWhere all things round them were so new and strange? \n\n.... The spirit is the slave of its desire. \n\nThey did not care to look above themselves. \n\n.... Pray tell me who they were. They seemed \n\nso near, \nAnd yet so many million miles away. \nThey looked like people, too, whom once I knew; \nYet moved like cuckoos jointed on a clock, \nAccenting nothing they have thought themselves, \n\n\n\ni86 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nOr have the force to make another think. \n\n.... They seemed as if lost souls. \n\n.... Lost souls, you say? \n\n.... Did you not note them \xe2\x80\x94 how they wandered \n\non; \nNor knew their destination? \n.... Heaven forbid! \n\n.... Why pray for this? \xe2\x80\x94 You think that force \n\nrules here, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat spirits are not free to wander where \nTheir own ideals bear them? \n.... Those they formed \n\nOn earth you mean? \n\n.... Where else could they be formed? \n\n.... And whither, think you, will ideals bear \nThose whom we just have seen? \n.... Where would you deem \n\nThese could be realized \xe2\x80\x94 save on the earth? \n.... But some of them seemed looking for their \n\nChrist. \n.... I fear those looking only for their Christ \nMay sometimes fail to find the Christ of God. \n.... But will they never find Him? \n.... Do you think \n\nThat those in search but for a false ideal, \nCould recognize Him, even should they find Him? \n.... Is not the Christ of God in all the churches? \n.... Is he not preached through men? \n.... And are not men \n\nControlled ? \xe2\x80\x94 inspired ? \n\n.... And, if so, from what source? \n\nAre there no spirits in the line between \nDivinity and man? \xe2\x80\x94 And what of man, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThis urn of earth in which the true seed falls? \xe2\x80\x94 \nThere was an Arab in Mohammed\'s time; \nIn Joan of Arc\'s, there was a maid of France. \n.... But would you grant their claim? \n.... Some keen as you \n\nBelieved it true. And is it charity \nTo deem them dupes? \n\n.... But one must rate them thus, \n\nOr call upon their prophets. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 187 \n\n.... Think you so? \n\nOne hears of gypsies telling what comes true. \nDoes this truth prove them seers of all the truth? \n\nBelieve not every spirit; prove \n\n.... But how? \n\n.... How but by what is told, and character \n\nOf him who tells it? To the true soul, truth \n\nAppeals to taste, as beauty to the sense; \n\nIts test is quality. The truth of Christ \n\nIs proved by traits of Christ. The like comes from like. \n\nTheir inspiration is the nearest God \n\nWhose lives and loves are nearest Him. \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \n\nILLNESS \n\nHow pale he lay! \nWe fear\'d for him, lest life should slip its net: \nThe fleshly cords were worn to film so thin ! \nBut how the soul would shine through them ! \n\nHaydn, xi. \n\nIMAGE \n\nAwake, asleep, throned constant o\'er my heart, \nI served this image all intangible, \nThis photographic fantasy of truth, \nThis fairy nothingness of vanish\'d fact, \nA shape to love, minute yet mighty still, \nTo senses nothing, but to spirit all. \n\nIdeals Made Real, XLiil. \n\nIMAGE, man\'s, in WOMEN\'s EYES \n\nGive a woman a pair of eyes and bring almost any \nman near her, he will see his image inside them, an \nimage exceedingly small, an image, too, upside down. \nBut a man never saw any image inside those eyes but \nhis own. The Ranch Girl, iii. \n\nIMAGERY \n\n.... Men term youth poetic. \n\n.... Rightly too. \n\nThe freshest fires are brightest. But our thoughts, \n\nHow e\'er they burn and melt, not often flow \n\nTo moulds of nature\'s rarest imagery. \n\nTill life has been well sought to find and store it. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\n\n\n1 88 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nIMAGINATION (see fancy) \nUnless you wish to think and feel, and thrill \nTo feel, there is a larger world than ours. \n.... In one\'s imagination. \n.... Be it so. \n\nImagination is the soul of thought. \n\nColumbus, I., I. \n\nOh, they have turn\'d from all the pain \nThat came from earth they served in vain, \nTo that still world within the brain, \nWhere fancy forms it mead and main. \nThere many a fairest vision, sought \nIn clearer light than sunlight brought, \nIs mirror\'d in the wells of thought. \nBut oh, how oft must one surmise. \nWhile o\'er the soul\'s wild sea of sighs \nImagination\'s glories rise. \nThat, as at sunset, every form \nDerives its best from cloud and storm! \nOft fancy works but to appease \nA restlessness that shows disease, \nA fever that the brain would ease. \nOft crimson floods of thought impart \nTheir brilliant hues to speech and art, \nWhen thus a pierced and bleeding heart \nIs drain\'d in drawing forth a dart. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, vill. \n\nThe power that makes imagination burst \nThrough limits of our world, as you have done. \nTo find this new world, makes it pass beyond them. \nThe glories of that sunset-land may all \nBe in the land you saw, or in the sky. \n\nColumbus, IV., I. \n\nIMAGINATION AND KNOWLEDGE \n\nImagine only \xe2\x80\x94 not the same as knowing! \nImagination dreams : its dreams anon \nMay leap Time\'s processes, or, keen-eyed, spy \nThe end from the beginning. Yet such dreams \nCome but to him so stirred in sympathy \nWith nature\'s courses, or inspired in aim \nFor nature\'s goals, or swept on by its force, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 189 \n\nThat sheer inertia of the soul outspeeds \n\nThe pace of grosser matter. \n\n.... And to you \n\nAt times \n\n.... The times come seldom. Ay, not oft \n\nDo fancy\'s flowers foretoken fruit ; not oft \n\nIs ripe fruit laden on the limbs that bloom \n\nMost brilliant with the flowers. \xe2\x80\x94 Yet have I seen It, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nImagination imagining true life, \n\nLife true to all its images; and then \n\nI found a seer, earth\'s rarest product. Idem, v., 2. \n\nIMAGINATION AND MOUNTAINS \n\nWhen dwelling in a realm of endless plains. \nThose whom thy shade had haunted pointed out \nThe clouds, and bade me find thine image there, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWith what delight my heart first welcomed thee! \nAnd then, like one whose form lies prone in sleep, \nMy young imagination woke and rose \nAnd strove to climb, and \xe2\x80\x94 heaven alone can tell \nHow wisely \xe2\x80\x94 has been climbing ever since. \n\nGreylock. \n\nIMAGINATION, A SOURCE OF TRUTH \n\nThen I thought this whole odd vision might be an \n\nimagined one; \nSome had deem\'d that half life\'s fabrics were from \n\nmere thin fancy spun. \n"Is it so?" at last I question\'d; "are not things the \n\nthings they seem? \nDo souls oft but heed delusions, heeding steps of which \n\nthey dream?" \n"Those who think so," said she softly, "overlook, \n\nwhen thinking so, \nTruths within man\'s nature deeper than proof\'s \n\nplummets ever go. \nSouls reflect all life Uke mirrors, and their dreams by \n\nday, by night, \nThough they oft distort, oft image facts too fine for \n\nfinite sight." A Life in Song: Dreaming, xxiii. \n\nIMAGINATION, THE TEMPLE OF \n\nWe had left that place of fancy, and had reach\'d a \nstar-lit sea; \n\n\n\nigo A POET\'S CABINET \n\nAnd across its dark, deep waters, clouds, like smoke \n\nwhere burned the lee, \nClung about a crystal temple, rising from the surf below \nLike a dawn of endless promise o\'er a night of ended \n\nwoe. \nEverywhere behind the cloud-mist, could we see the \n\ntemple rise. \nEverywhere, each side and o\'er us, till we lost it in the \n\nskies. \nThen, anon, at pearly steps, before an entrance dim \n\nand vast. \nIn some way, but how I knew not, we had left our \n\ncar at last ; \nAnd through gold-mail\'d hosts were moving, who \n\nwould part, and pass us on, \nSwept, like gods, amid a glory blazed from all we \n\ngazed upon. \nToward a towering portico, a cliff of shafts that up- \nward went. \nTill the very stars appear\'d to trail beneath their \n\npediment. Idem, xxv. \n\nThen at once wide doors before us open\'d like a dawn- \ning day, \n\nAnd disclos\'d a hall resplendent, sweeping through \nlong leagues away. \n\nAll about it clouds of incense floated, fringed with \ngolden haze. \n\nAnd within them lamps, half -hidden, shone like sparks \namid a blaze ; \n\nWhile huge caryatic figures, carved on columns tall \nand white. \n\nFiled far off like phantom sentries guarding thus a \nphantom rite. Idem, xxvii. \n\nWhen, behold, high, high uplifted, I was borne along \n\nthe air, \nOn and on, with slippery speed, far sliding still to \n\nswifter flight. \nWhere strode by us tall, white columns, like gigantic \n\nghosts of night ; \nWhere high arches fell and rose up like an ocean in the \n\nsky, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 191 \n\nAnd bright lamps like lines of lightning on the clouded \n\nwall flew by. \nThen more steadfast came a splendor, and, amid the \n\nburning air, \nChecks that gently stay\'d our progress, in a domed \n\nrotunda there. Idem, xxix. \n\nBroad this was and high, heaved heedless of that \n\nlavish\'d wealth of space, \nAs all else had been, \xe2\x80\x94 a marvel even in that marvellous \n\nplace. \nSuch a sight creation\'s dawning might have seen, when \n\nfirst arose \nMorning mists to end the night of an eternity\'s repose. \nAll the pavement gleam\'d as bright as could that first \n\nchaotic sea, \nWhen it floated all the germs of all the beauty yet to be. \nAnd the shafts that held the dome, and seem\'d to hold \n\nin half the skies, \nRose with lines of earthly grace, but wondrous in their \n\nhues and size. \nFar above their hazy flutings burst in blazing capitals, \nWhere amid encircling glory hovered hosts of terminals. \nDid they live or not, I knew not, but to my confused \n\nsuspense \nTheir high distance made them holy; and I bow\'d in \n\nreverence. Uem, xxx. \n\nIMAGINATION VS. PERCEPTION \n\n.... It\'s easy enough to see through things if \nonly you keep your eyes open. \n\n.... And your imagination at work. That\'s im- \nportant. Like working beer, it sometimes doubles one\'s \nperceptive powers. What Money Can\'t Buy, 11. \n\nIMITATION \n\n, About the lips \n\nFound sweet by merely one, all swarm Hke bees. \nBut let that one forsake him all forsake him. \n\nThe Aztec God, 11. \n\nIMITATION, AS A RESULT OF LOVE \n\n"Ah, strange was it \nThat oft then I recall\'d your form, your words? \n\n\n\n192 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThat then I came to do as you would do, \n\nAnd think as you would think? \xe2\x80\x94 or that my tongue \n\nShould linger o\'er your language, as o\'er sweets \n\nRe-tasted still again? \xe2\x80\x94 or that, anon, \n\nThose accents ardent with your own dear aims, \n\nShould fire mine own to ardor? \xe2\x80\x94 or that then \n\nMy soul should flash forth light that flamed within, \n\nAnd tracing far the rays that left it so. \n\nShould find here \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n"One to help you, friend?" I asked \xe2\x80\x94 \nThen let us both thank heaven that made us weak \nSo may a mortal pair bide, each to each. \nBoth priest and partner; like the church, their home; \nFor what are churches here but chosen courts \nOf One pure Spirit, moving all to love? " \n\nIdeals Made Real, Lxxiii. \n\nIMITATION IN MANNERS \n\nYou are spending most of your time now in taking off \nthe manners that suit your own character, in order to \nput on those that suit theirs. Where Society Leads, i. \n\nIMMATURE THEORIES \n\nNo theory spun for concepts immature \nCan ever fit their full maturity. \n\nColumbus, II., 2. \n\nIMMORTALITY (see LIFE AND HEAVEN) \n\nYet, though never mortal vision saw the spirits\' \n\ntorches flame. \nOr the white of robes ethereal, rustling never when \n\nthey came; \nNever prest the hand so sacred from the sacred work \n\nit plies; \nNever watch\'d the light of heaven within those peace- \nful soul-lit eyes; \nNever heard that distant music, which can hush the \n\nseraph\'s wings \nWith the pathos all unconscious, which from earth \n\neach memory brings; \nThough no saintly guest ere blest us down amid these \n\nvales below ; \nOr unveil\'d for us that beauty which no eyes of earth \n\ncan know; \n\n\n\n\nThat oft then I recall \'d your form, your words? \nThat then I came to do as you would do, \nAnd think as you would think? \n\nSee page igi. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 193 \n\nStill our souls would dream about it, still would feel its \n\nendless charm, \nDrawing all the good within us toward a life no ill can \nharm. A Life in Song: Watching, xxxiii. \n\nAh, do not deny the soul its hopes of immortality; \nWhere did ever noblest living seek a lesser destiny? \n\nIdem, Dreaming, xxxv. \n\nIMPATIENCE \n\nNo jerk \nCan root out all the wrong in just a trice. \n\nWherever grain can ripen, tares must lurk \nAnd grow till harvest-time. \'T was Christ\'s advice: \nImpatience cannot force the fruits of Paradise. \n\nA Life in Song: Daring, xx. \nIMPETUOUS {see anger, self-control, and zeal) \n\nToo impetuous \nAnd stormy was the temper of the youth ; \nAnd blustering weather blew about their ears \nWho cross\'d his pathway, like November winds \nThat shake the mad red leaves, turn pale the flowers, \nBut leave the vales as barren as a waste. \nHis zeal wrought little. A Life in Song: Note 2. \n\nIMPRESS on THE MIND \n\nNay, no land shows one sunlit scene \n\nThat rose-like bursts from earth\'s wide green, \n\nBut brings an image swept away \n\nWhen eyelids close at close of day. \n\n\'T is but the impress mind receives. \n\nThat, sunn\'d or sombre, never leaves. \n\nMy Dream at Cordova. \n\nIMPULSE AND REASON {see REASON) \n\nMy head would oft, made jealous of my heart, \nDeny that reason ruled my impulses. \nAnd oft my heart, to bear such weight of joy, \nWould faint from too much feeling. I would ask \nCould I be sane yet find my life so sweet? \xe2\x80\x94 \nAt least I would be sure ; so like a friend \nWho finds a long-lost friend amid a crowd. \nAnd stares, and holds him at arm\'s length, a time, \nEre clasping him with courage to his breast \nThat wellnigh bursts the while, I held her off, \n13 \n\n\n\n194 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThis long-sought soul that mine had found a friend; \nAnd did not dare to trust her as I would. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xix. \nMy heart rose up from reason to rebel ; \nIndignant to have found a theory \nThat dared to hold an innate impulse down ; \nWhile will, caught there, betwixt the heart and head, \nEach charge would bear, and yet forbear to act. \n\nIdem, XLii. \n\nINARTISTIC EFFECTS, HOW AVOIDED \n\nThe only sure way of learning how to avoid in- \nartistic effects, is to learn positively how to produce \nartistic ones. Rhythm and Harmony, ix. \n\nINDEPENDENCE OF NEIGHBORS \n\nYou and I like to be independent of our neighbors, \nespecially of any whom we think to be particularly \nself-centered. But one who tries to be independent of \neven such neighbors, when, by another course, he could \nmake something out of them, is not acting the part \nof a wise man. National Probity. \n\nINDEPENDENCE OF SOCIETY \n\n.... I think you women ought to show a little \nmore independence. \n\n.... But society \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n.... I suppose society \xe2\x80\x94 some kinds of it \xe2\x80\x94 might \nlet you alone. Where Society Leads, i. \n\nINDEPENDENCE OF THOUGHT (see FREEDOM) \n\nFull many are paths where life can guide us. \nWhichever we take from some they divide us. \nWherever we go, and follow men not, \nNo slight of their leading is ever forgot ; \n\nThe best of our deeds is quoted as bad ; \nOnce John seem\'d a devil; and Jesus a sot. \nOur toil \xe2\x80\x94 what of it? \xe2\x80\x94 is lonely and sad. \nBut God made us all, in spite of the throng \nWho deem us, if not like themselves, made wrong. \n\nLove and Life, xxxviii. \nFor God has given you your own moods, friend ; \nAnd are you not responsible for them? \nAnd if you yield them up too readily. \nNot meaning wrong, yet may you not mistake? \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 195 \n\nOur lives, remember, are not sounding-boards,^ \nNot senseless things, resounding for a world \nThat nothing new can find in what we give. \nIf one but echo back another\'s note. \nCan he give forth God\'s message through his own? \n\nHaydn, xvi. \n\nINDIANS \n\nWeill \nTake any man who flushes red all over, \nAs they do when I meet them, for a foe. \n\nColumbus, v., I. \nINDIVIDUAL {see SOCIAL, and also society vs. indi- \nvidual) \nindividuality of thought \nAnd when the thought is in one, when it springs, \nWhy, then, not let it spring? The world is not \nSo fill\'d with thoughts that it can spare our own. \nAnd if we startle folks, jog off the guise \nOf their deceit, we spy them as they are. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xvill. \nWe all when in our noblest moods \nCrave homage for our souls\' nobility. \nBut what our souls are in themselves, who know, \nSave as our rdles report us outwardly? \nDid not divine hands form us as we are? \nWho love us as we are, love higher things \nThan those who love what earth would make of us. \n\nIdem. \n\nINDULGENCE, ONE PHASE SUBSTITUTED FOR ANOTHER \n\n.... Instead of beer, then, I suppose the women \nwould give us candy. \n\n.... And, with it, dyspepsia. \n\n.... And with dyspepsia whiskey, as its cure. \n\n.... And, if not cured, dyspeptic dispositions that \ndamn one\'s home life more than drunkenness. \n\n.... Make drunkenness in those they drive from \n^ovoQ. Tuition for her Intuition, 11, \n\nINEFFICIENCY \n\nPower and wealth \nBoth loom before you. When I tell it you. \nAnd strive to urge you toward them, you, blind loot. \n\n\n\n196 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nSquat, blinking like an owl; or, if you stir, \nBut flutter, blunder, miss your aim, and fall \nFrom off the very branch, the topmost branch. \nYou ought to perch upon. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\nINFALLIBLE \n\nYet, all may fail of truth ; none fail like those \nWho deem themselves the most infallible: \nNone more than men who, fallible in proof, \nYet flout the failure of a woman\'s guess. \n\nHaydn, xvi. \n\nINFERENCE \n\nThat facts are facts is plain without explaining. \n\nTo know things grow, we need not know their method. \n\nTo think things handiwork, we need not see \n\nThe hand that does the work. Dante, ii., 2. \n\nINFERIOR \n\nTrue men are never sent \nBy their inferior. They will face him down ; \nAnd not tiu-n tail like driven beasts of burden. \n\nColumbus, v., I. \n\nINFIDEL \n\nThe infidel is one who does not trust \nThe power that made and moves the soul within. \n\nCecil the Seer, I. \n\nINFIDELITY TO SELF \n\nGrand it is, to know that mortals, though their deeds \n\nappear their own. \nWhen aroused in noblest effort never need to toil \n\nalone. \nWhen athirst for good, we turn to springs that in the \n\nsoul well high \nAnd within their depths reflected see a fairer earth and \n\nsky, ^ \nGrand it is to feel that visions making all our powers \n\naspire \nMirror oft the truth above us imaged thus to bless \n\ndesire. \nAnd if heaven, indeed, have moved us, when our spirit \n\nso is awed. \nInfidelity to self is infidelity to God. \n\nA Life in Song: Watching, xiii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 197 \n\nINFLUENCE \n\nYet why judge influence by what most men prize? \nMust that which leads the spirit have recourse \nTo what attracts to station, or to guise? \nNaught draws life heavenward like the sunlight\'s \n\nforce. \nBut sunlight never blest one man with eyes \nLured but to gaze upon its blinding source. \n\nInfluence. \n\nINFLUENCE, BEING AN \n\nThink not I lived my life \nTo beg men for a badge to brag about! \nEnough, if I have been an influence. \n\nColumbus, v., 2. \n\nINFLUENCE, WHEN UNSYMPATHETIC \n\nSome minds that try \nTo be in touch with ours but tickle them; \nOr vex an itching that can merely fret us. \nWithal, too, they but scratch the brain\'s outside; \nAnd then, as if they took the hair for thought. \nExhibit this, when tossed and puffed, as proving \nHow they themselves have thus our brain developed. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\nINNER MEANING, THE {see INWARD, OUTWARD, and \n\nspiritual) \nWhat then remains for Hfe? \xe2\x80\x94 If one have aimed \nFor outward profit, nothing. If his thought \nHave always, through the outer, sought the inner, \nThen, not alone, the stars that shine on high \nMay all prove beacons, guiding on and on \nTo havens holding glories infinite, \nBut each frail flower that blooms for but an hour \nMay store in memory an ideal of beauty, \nA sense of sweetness, that shall never leave him. \n\nWest Mountain. \n\nINNOCENT FEARFUL OF SUSPICION \n\nIf he himself have done what makes him guilty, we \nshall frighten him; and, if he haven\'t done it, we shall \nfrighten him still more. It takes the surprising in this \nworld to make the startling. Spiritualists aren\'t \nafraid of ghosts, because they have got ready for \n\n\n\n198 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nthem; and, ten times to one, the innocent are more \nafraid of being suspected than the guilty are of being \ndetected. The Snob and the Sewing Girl, iii. \n\nINSANE \n\nI had a cousin once who went insane, \nAnd all his family had to play insane \nTo keep him company. The sport was royal \nTill, sure that he was royal and they slaves, \nHe ordered off their heads. \n.... And then? \n\n.... And then \n\nThey left off playing, and made war on him; \nAnd so dethroned him. They should do so here. \n\nColumbus, I., 3. \nINSANITY (see madness) \nLest, if my cup of fear I fill, \nInsanity, the glee of ill, \nShall rave upon the throne of will. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xii. \n\nINSENSIBILITY TO SORROW \n\nWhy, I thought her tears would melt away her very \nface. Humph! Curse your soul! To see that sight \nand not grow sentimental, one should be devoid of \nsenses not alone, but sense. On Detective Duty, iii. \n\nINSIDE THE SOUL \n\n.... You think that any soul can ever see what \nlies inside another? \n\n.... No ; not if it lies. It ought to stand up to be \nseen. The Two Paths, i. \n\nINSIGHT AND INSPIRATION \n\nThough no new message may inspire them, insight \nMay often read through oldest form new meaning. \n\nDante, iii., 2. \n\nINSPIRATION \n\nIn the soul\'s profoundest depth when all without is \n\ndim and still, \nOft a breath of inspiration lights a flame to guide the will ; \nAnd the men who grope in darkness, where the gloom \n\nmay lead astray, \nBy this flame aglow within them read some signals of \n\nthe way; \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 199 \n\nNor pursue mere flash and shadow; oft for those who \n\nstill press on, \nOutward light will dawn far brighter than the soul\'s \n\nit shines upon. \nThen, when inward love is kindled and the outward \n\ndoubts dissolve. \nSafe within a mystic orbit doubly blest our souls \n\nrevolve, \nSafe in life\'s completed orbit, where from faith they \n\nmove to sight. \nFrom the truth within to truth that floods the cosmos \n\nwith its light. \nBut, alas, outside the orbit only gloom and grief have \n\nsway. \nHeaven preserve us all from straying, guide our wish \n\nand guide our way, \nJoin for us the lost connection, where all nature\'s \n\ncurrents blend \nWith the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. \nA Ltfe in Song: Watching, xiv. \n\nIs mind a deep that wells with most of thought \nWhen void the most? I tell you none can draw \nA truthful inspiration save from truth. \nThe poet\'s ken may people heaven like clouds, \nAll phantom shaped, and splendid as their sun; \nBut all his fairest forms were vapors first \nThat heaven drew, mist-like, from the earth beneath. \nThought decks itself in holiday attire, \xe2\x80\x94 \nTurns fantasy, \xe2\x80\x94 to expend the inertia large \nOf large reserves of philosophic force. \nForced into play, the night\'s dream opening where \nThe day\'s work closes. Ideals Made Real, liii. \n\nThe one sure proof of inspiration is \nThat it inspires. Dante, 11., i. \n\nINSPIRATIONS \n\nThe thoughts that live like spirits in the words, \nAnd save our own thought through what they incar- \nnate! Idem, I., I. \n\nINSPIRATION vs. IMAGINATION \n\nInspiration is of the depths. It has to do with that \nwhich comes from within. Imagination is of the \n\n\n\n200 A POETS CABINET \n\nsurface. It has to do with that which is mirrored \nfrom without. In reli^^ion the predominating rela- \ntionsliip is to a source beyond human control; in \nart, a source within human control is of equal \nimportance. \n\nThe Rtpreseniative Sigfiificance of Farm, vii. \n\nixsPiRiXG POWER (see spirit) \nDeep underneath our nature is a power \nThat pushing forth tlirough soil and seed and flower, \nMoves on and out tlirough all of sentient life, \nAnd struggles most in man ; nor can the strife \nBe ended ever, till the force controls \nThe last least impulse that impels our souls. \nE\'en then this power, inspiring words and deeds, \nThough check\'d. at times, in customs or in creeds, \nAnon bluets through all these to sliow the stress \nOf that behind them which would thus express \nThrough finite forms that it is limitless. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, xn. \n\nINSTINCT \n\nWhat is this instinct, that it should not Ue? \nIf one should feel the instinct of the lamb \nWhile skipping to welcome the butcher\'s knife \nThat waits to slaughter it, would he be wise \nTo foUow instinct? \n\n"Why not?" answer\'d he: \n"The lamb was made that it might die for man : \nIt follows instinct and dies easily. \nThe soul was made that it might live for God: \nIt follows instinct and U\\\'es happily. " \n\nHaydn, XLix. \n\nMay there not be \nSome d^th, beyond the reach of mortal sight. \nWithin whose grooves unseen our spirits glide \nUnconscious of the balancings of will? \nGod\'s touch may be too subtle to be sensed. \nMay it not stir beneath all conscious powers, \nA spontaneity that moves the soul \nAs instinct mox-es the body? \xe2\x80\x94 Ah, to me, \nLove seems an instinct that impels them both. \n\nIdetn. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 201 \n\nINTENTIONS {see MEANT) \n\nHe intended well ; \n\nBut good intentions, if they be not mail\'d \nIn prudence and well train\'d to self-control, \nAre no more fitted to contend with wrong \nThan half-stripp\'d serfs with steel-clad veterans. \n\nA Life in Song: Note 2. \n\nINTUITION, RULING BY \n\nWhen one rules by intuition, the right is made right \nby one person\'s thinking. That is the devil\'s excuse \nfor deviltry ; and, where a tyrant rules, for tyranny. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nINVESTIGATION \n\nThe time to see the feathers on a wing \nIs not the while it flies; no, no; and not \nWhile playing sleight of hand to see the fingers. \n\nDante, 11., 2. \n\nINWARD CONSCIOUSNESS \n\nA force conjured \n\nFrom inward consciousness of mind and body. \nWith all the doubts that shadowed thought in one, \nAnd nerves that stiired revulsion in the other, \nAs if to make my spirit fly as far \nFrom fellow-spirits as those mountain hights \nWere far from all that shoiild be in one\'s home? \n\nWest Mountain. \n\nINWARD vs. THE OUTWARD IN HUMAN LIFE \n\nOh, there are views of life that so depend \nOn inward entity at work beneath \nThe whole that has been, or that can be, shown \nIn what men merely see or hear or clutch, \nThat each and all seem hollow as mere husks. \nTo-day a man is young, to-morrow, old; \nTo-day in health, to-morrow in disease; \nTo-day enthroned, to-morrow in his grave; \nAnd not alone to man these changes come. \nThe earth, our home, that so enduring seems, \nThe sun and stars that light it from above \nBelong but to a camp, set up to-day. \nAnd, on the morrow, fell\'d and flung aside. \n\nIdem. \n\n\n\n202 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nBefore the day, beyond the day, \n\nAbove the suns that roll, \nThere was a light, there waits a light \n\nThat never leaves the soul. Cecil the Seer, ii.,Q. \n\nAn eye, when seeing the sphere of being. \nMay look out through the senses, or else look in; \n\nBut looks each way, toward a different goal, \n\nToward hell through senses and heaven through soul. \nWho searches without, and not within. \n\nHe thinks the good far off that is near; \n\nAnd sees no heaven tho* heaven be here. \nIf that which he worship be worldly pelf, \n\nOh, he knows not what souls have got \nWhose God is the God of the inward self. \n\nLove and Life, xxxii. \n\nIRELAND \n\nToo slowly sail\'d our friend those waters o\'er, \nUntil one sunny morn their outlines bent \n\nOn purple downs of Ireland\'s fertile shore. \nThat paradise beyond the ocean, dreary \n\nWith endless restlessness of roll and spray, \xe2\x80\x94 \nCould any dream relieve the eyelids weary \n\nMore restful than the hills encircling Queenstown \nBay! \nOr where could fairer bands of fairies arm \n\nThan Spenser spied on those fair banks of Lee! \nOr how could beauty bear one other charm \n\nWhere Lake Killarney rock\'d Kate Kearney\'s glee! \nRare isle! \xe2\x80\x94 but ah, were nature\'s gifts expended \n\nEre here she reach\'d the boons the soul demands? \nOr wast thou left by wealth and rank unfriended, \n\nTo make thy sons , fled hence, all friends of other lands ? \n\nOh Ireland, Ireland, would some power divine \n\nCould point the way to free thy peasantry \nFrom all that fetters those proud souls of thine \n\nIn bonds of ignorance and poverty! \nYet still hope on! For thee, tho\' progress falters, \n\nThe light shall come for which thy children pine, \nWhich long on other lands\' less favor\'d altars \n\nHas fanned the brightest life from hearts less warm \nthan thine. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 203 \n\nPast leaden Dublin and her silvery bay \n\nThe traveller trod the lowly banks of Erne; \nThen dream\' d in Londonderry of the day \n\nWhen Walker\'s breath made hope extinguish\'d \nburn; \nThen chmb\'d the Giant\'s Causeway, thrill\'d with \nthinking, \nHow round those cliffs like Coliseums grand, \nOnce o\'er the ships of Spain\'s armada sinking, \n\nHis wave-swept organ roar\'d its Irish reprimand! \nA Life in Song: Serving, xxx-xxxiii. \n\nJAIL \n\nOne should always fear the hand \nThat taps a leaking jail to flood its faction. \nWho breaks one law may live to break another. \n\nDante, i., 2. \nYou \nWill have your crew ; for they have found a source \nBeyond exhausting. \n.... What is that? \n\n.... The jail, \n\nWhich, like an Arab-shirt turned inside out, \nWill shake its lice upon you. Columbus, iii., i. \nJAR OF LIFE {see worry) \n\'Tis not the rolling of the years that leaves men \noldest; but their jar. A few find places made for \nthem; but some are never placed, and all the tally of \ntheir score is marked by scratches kept upon them- \nselves. A boy that life has knocked about is older, \nsometimes, than a gray-beard. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, 11. \n\nJEALOUSIES \n\nBut soon, like worms that would not wait for death, \nFear-fretted jealousies clung round the form \nOf dying hope. Ideals Made Real, xxv. \n\nJEALOUSY {see envy) \n\nLove, if shorn of jealousy, \nDrops half its charms, like maids whose locks are \n\nclipped, \nAnd better might be boys, or bald-head-babes. \n\nThe Aztec God, 11. \n\n\n\n204 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nChewing on the cud of jealousy \nIs not a pleasant practice for one\'s friends. \nFor though you give them naught to work upon, \nSo much the more the grinders work away \nAnd grind themselves the sharper, \xe2\x80\x94 ay, and grind \nThe words that pass them too \xe2\x80\x94 made sharp as \n\narrows \nTo pierce the soul they hit. Cecil the Seer, iii., i. \n\nYou, you have genius, brains; \nAnd those without them must get even with you, \nIf not by higher then by lower means. \nYou are original and they derived; \nAnd thought full-centered in itself, owns not \nA parentage that puts another first. \n\nColumbus, I., 3. \nWho wants \nTo blacken Spain with shade from Genoa? \n\nIdem, v., I. \n.... Of all inane performances, the worst is trying \nto call back a wandering love by sending out a messen- \nger disguised in robes of hatred, as the jealous do. \n\nThe Two Paths, 11. \n\nJEW \n\nMight not His will, \nIntent on purposes He would fulfil \nThrough human means, at first selections make, \nAnd guard the truth, \xe2\x80\x94 not wholly for the sake \nOf Israel; nor for an exclusive cause, \xe2\x80\x94 \nBy one peculiar people\'s life and laws? \nAnd where in all of history, tho\' one traces \nAmid all kinds of castes and clans and races. \nIs ever found a stabler element? \xe2\x80\x94 \nOf all the men against mutation bent. \nIn spite of court or church or sword or flame, \nBut one, the Jew, forever stays the same. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, xxvil. \nIf Jews, who read His law and sacrificed. \nWere saved by faith in Him; the uncircumcised \nWith faith in Him would scarce unheeded go, \nBecause they but the higher law could know. \n\nIdem, XXVIII. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 205 \n\nJOBS, BAD \n\nBad jobs are near their best \nWhen nearest ended. The Aztec God, iv., i . \n\nJOKE, RECEIVING ONE \n\nThere is only one way in which to receive a \njoke, and not be hurt by it. One must himself \nbe able to make light of it. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, i. \n\nJOURNEYING, AS REVEALING CHARACTER \n\nOur natures are much like buckets \xe2\x80\x94 slop over \nthe most when jolted. And what jolts more than \na journey? No wise man swallows his physic \nuntil he has had it well shaken. \n\nThe Ranch Girl, i. \nJOY {see enjoyment) \nHeaven would let the devil never \nRile clear springs that gush and ever \nThus refresh our faint endeavor. \nOur own spirit, when too near it, \nTaints the good that comes to cheer it : \nWe debase until we fear it, \nJoy that was not meant to curse us, \nBut to nerve us and to nurse us. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxiv. \nJOY in great things \nThe great things in the world are very few ; and those \nthat find their joy in them alone can find but little \njoy in anything. The Two Paths, in. \n\njudge \nA good judge is a man whose judgments you f \nApprove. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\njudgment, men praised for \nHumph ! I have found \nThe men most praised for judgment are the men \nMost echoing others\' judgments. Thus, forsooth, \nThey make their own appear approved by all. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \njustice \n\nWhen mercy fails \nThe cause is lost that does not call on justice. \n\nColumbus, v., I. \n\n\n\n206 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nJustice due to each \nNever can be gain\'d, till each is free to claim his due \nin speech. A Life in Song: Watching, xxi. \n\nJUSTICE, NOT INVOLVING PUNISHMENT \n\n.... That does not give the guilty their deserts. \n.... Not punishment that often merely shifts \none\'s load of guilt on shoulders of another; not that, \nperhaps ; and yet it may give justice \xe2\x80\x94 the only justice \ndue from man to man. All justice fails that does not \nmake men better. Tuition for her Intuition, iii. \n\nKISS (see lips) \nOne kiss of yours could make the thrilling lips \nGo fluttering all day long like Cupid\'s wings \nTo bear sweet words of love to all they meet. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., i. \nYet oh, a fiend too \nMight deem it sweet \nTo know of a soul to his own soul true; \n\nAnd if their lips were to meet, \nI think in the swoon that followed that kiss, \nThey might die to wrong, and awake in bliss. \n\nLove and Life, xxviii. \nknaves \nSome go as far astray through ignorance \nAs through ill-meaning. I would rather have \nOne shrewd knave\'s ^counsel than ten pious dunces\'. \n\nDante, iii., i. \nIf you can call them men, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThese creatures, whom a life-long fear of light \nHas trained for treachery stabbing in the dark; \nSneaks, too irresolute and indolent \nTo push by worthy means to worthy ends. \nBut I would trust in waves adrift for hell \nAs much as in a rudder held by knaves. \n\nColumbus, III., I. \n\nKNOWLEDGE VS. FAITH (sce FAITH) \n\nCan aught that leads our souls toward life above \nTrain human worth by knowledge more than love? \nIf but to know, gave souls their victory, \nWhere were the need of faith, hope, charity? \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, xlvii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 207 \n\nKNOWLEDGE VS. PROPERTY \n\nWherever gains depend the most on brains, to know \nmay make men richer than to have. \n\nThe Two Paths, i. \n\nKNOWLEDGE VS. STRENGTH \n\nStrength speeds the feet, but knowledge aims the bow, \nAnd where the one but just begins the race. \nThe arrows of the other cleave the goal. \n\nThe Aztec God, v. \n\nKICKING WOMEN \n\nYou know, I never like to see a woman kick. Her \ndress doesn\'t go with it. It seems as if she ought to \ntrip up ; or, if she doesn\'t do it of herself, be made to do \nit by somebody else. What Money Can\'t Buy, 1. \n\nKINDNESS BRINGING PAIN \n\nHave you not felt how much more pain it gives, \n\nThis pain from kindness? Love is like the sun: \n\nIt brightens life, but yet may parch it too. \n\nAnd wind may blow, and man may screen himself; \n\nAnd rain may fall, and he may shelter find; \n\nAnd frost may chill, and he may clothing wear; \n\nBut what can ward off sun-stroke? \xe2\x80\x94 Love, \n\nIts first degree may bring fertility ; \n\nIts next one barrenness. It lights; it blights. \n\nThe flames of heaven, flash\'d far and spent, turn smoke \n\nTo glut the gloom of hell. Haydn, xxviii. \n\nKINGS \n\nNo people crown new kings like Saul, I see, \nTill, made slaves by men, they fear them more than \nGod who makes all free. \n\nA Life in Song: Watching, ix. \n\nKINGS AND PRIESTS \n\nBut what were life without its discipline? \nAnd what are kings and priests for but to give it? \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \nLABOR {see work) \nLong will those controlhng labor, loving money more \n\nthan man, \nCrush as grapes are crush\'d for vintage all the growth \nof all they can. \n\nA Life in Song: Watching, xxi. \n\n\n\n208 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nLABORS \n\nThough hard she wrought, her touch made all her \n\nlabors \nLike works of art. A Life in Song: Serving, xii. \n\nLAKES, THE ENGLISH \n\nThen pass\'d his feet to where he spied on high \n\nHelvellyn\'s crest wise Wordsworth\'s haunts an- \nnounce; \nWhere bright, susceptive lakes like mirrors vie \n\nTo swell the charms of else unrivall\'d mounts; \nAnd sudden brooklets, purling each a story. \n\nDash down each ledge, and dodge through every \nbrake. \nFrom peaks like broken fragments dropt from glory \nWhose heaven-trail\'d clouds will not their skylike \ncliffs forsake. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, xxxviii. \n\nLANGUAGE VS. ACTIONS {see WORDS) \n\nMere lips can form our words ; our actions are con- \nformed to head and heart. Men hear our language, \nbut our life they heed. No testimony ever could seem \nweaker because of cords that bind the soul to it. \n\nThe Two Paths, ii. \n\nLAUGHTER {see RIDICULE) \n\nThe best of physics \nFor seriousness is laughter. Where is bile, \nWell tickled throats will throw it up. \n\nColumbus, II., 2. \nA fount of laughter now that sprang within, \nO\'er-rill\'d her lips and rippled round her guise, \nThe very train\'s hem shaken by the flow. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxiv. \n\nCharmed at this, I bent me nearer; but dismay! off \n\ndodged the toy. \nShaken like a note of laughter from the bounding \n\nbreath of joy. \n"Cruel thing," I cried, provoked then; "weazen\'d \n\nwitchery of delight, \nFar too fine for eyes to find you, why should you have \n\ncrossed their sight!" \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, xxii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 209 \n\nA man who loved a "yes," but dared say "no"; \nStrict, yet with smiles; and gay yet earnest too. \n\n\'T was said his life had weather\'d many a blow; \nStill was it staunch : when gales of laughter blew. \nTo hold one\'s own with him was more than most could \ndo. Idem, Daring, lii. \n\nLAW MADE FOR DEEDS NOT MOTIVES \n\n.... We only meant \n\n.... The laws are made for what men do, not \nwhat they mean to do. No law could ever find that \nout. The Two Paths, ill. \n\nLAW NO CURE FOR DEVILTRY \n\nNo law \nCan legislate the devil out of life. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nLAW, TAKING IT INTO ONE\'s OWN HANDS \n\nThe man who tries to take the law into his own hands \nis tackling what is larger than himself, and it may \nthrow him. The Two Paths, ill. \n\nLAWLESSNESS \n\nIn lands where law supports the right, to seek \n\nTo rise by breaking legal barriers \n\nIs worse than climbing up a dizzy stair \n\nBy leaning on a broken bannister. Dante, I., 2. \n\nLAWS \n\nWould God we all could free ourselves from laws; \n\nBut half our lives we spend in learning them ; \n\nAnd half in learning how to love them then. \n\nAnd but in souls that learn life\'s laws by heart. \n\nHas wisdom, so it seems, a sway complete. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxiii. \n\n.... You sent Bill Jones to jail. \n\n.... He broke the laws. \n\n.... And what of that? \n\n.... Why, man, the laws are rails that keep \nthe world\'s great train of civilization on the track. \nYou break them, and you ditch the train, check \nprogress, baffle enterprise, and maim or kill the \npassengers. \n\n.... It is the laws are maiming us. \n14 \n\n\n\n2IO A POET\'S CABINET \n\n.... Then change them. You\'ve the right. \nThat\'s why I Hke this country. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, iii., 2. \n\nLAWS, APPLY TO OUTWARD NOT INWARD LIFE \n\n.... No cruelty is too incongruous to cap what \nrests on fundamental error. The error of herself and \nkind is this, \xe2\x80\x94 the notion that a man-made outward \nlaw \xe2\x80\x94 law made by government \xe2\x80\x94 can reach and rule, \nnot outward deeds alone, but inward moods. You \ngrant this, law can be responsible for what men do, \nand also what they may do. \n\n.... Then law could punish both for crimes found \nout, and for such things as some one had imagined. \n\n.... Of course it could; and so could be unjust. \nThe object of a law, when wise and just, is this, \xe2\x80\x94 to \nkeep down outward wrong, promote sobriety and \nhonesty \n\n.... But how about reforms? \n\n.... They flourish when you get the right condi- \ntion, \xe2\x80\x94 outward peace. Get that, and then, in part \nbecause of this condition, but never due to law except \nin part, men\'s minds can hear and serve that still small \nvoice to which all true advance in home, school, shop, \nasylum, hospital, or social life is really due. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nLAWS, DETERMINED BY PUBLIC SENTIMENT \n\nWhere did you learn that all the people make the \nlaws; or that the women have no share in making \nthem? All the laws, I know, are made by legislators, \nor congressmen, who represent the people. Nor do \nthey represent the thoughts alone of men who vote, \nbut public sentiment, including thoughts of mothers, \ndaughters, wives, impressed in home, school, church, \nsociety, on men whose interests are the same as theirs, \nand, touched upon their sympathetic side, may be \nmore loyal than if voted for. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nLEADER \n\nThe wind swept toward him, and the sunlight glanced \nFrom his bright armor, but the smoke and dust \nHid all his comrades in a train august \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 211 \n\nTrailed from him, as in splendor he advanced. \nWe deemed him leader, yet he merely chanced \nTo be where all things round him could adjust \nTo his position wind and sun, and thrust \nOn him a prominence naught else enhanced. \nOh blame not wind or sun, nor envy him! \nWhat though the world too highly rate his worth? \nWho, who, for this, would choose a r61e so mean, \nSo distant from the clouds that always dim \nThe central fight? \xe2\x80\x94 It is one law of earth \nThat godlike leaders work, like God, unseen. \n\nThe Leader. \n\nA leader, if he lead not, shames his birthright. \n\nThe Aztec God, 11. \n\nLEADER IN THE CAUSE OF TRUTH \n\nHe who leads men up, himself must mount \n\nWhere he appears above them. \n\n.... How and where \n\nHe mounts, depends on that in which he leads. \n\nA leader in the truth would better kneel \n\nUpon the footstool of a throne, than sit \n\nUpon it, crowned by falsehood. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\nLEADERS \n\nThe greatest victory may be quickest won ; \n\nAnd they who happen to be in the lead \n\nAre hailed as leaders, and the rest as led. \n\nBut, oh, the work, ere fighting had begun! \n\nThe drill! the foresight! \xe2\x80\x94 Well, some men succeed, \n\nAnd some do not, and soon will all be dead. \n\nThe Chance that Comes to Every Man. \n\nLEADING, AND BEING LED BY, A LIFE \n\nI fear that, by-and-by, you may become a mere \nmachinist, mesmerized by watching mere wheels \nthat whiz and whirl till you forget the work that they \nshould further. We men talk of leading such and \nsuch a life, but life is far too large for any man to \nlead. He binds himself to it, and it leads him. \n\nThe Two Paths, i. \n\nLEARNING {see KNOWLEDGE) \n\nLong will those controlling nations fear, if learning be \ndispers\'d, \n\n\n\n212 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nMen who serve them Hke the brutes will learn "to know \nthemselves accurst. \n\nA Life in Song: Watching, xxi. \n\nLETTER OF THE LAW \n\n.... Did one merely waive \n\nThe letter of the law, what could be harmed? \n.... One\'sconscience, if he went against the law, \xe2\x80\x94 \nOne\'s heed of right. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\nLETTER vs. SPIRIT \n\nBut I, though yielding to her, as it seem\'d, \nMade loose the letter for the sake of spirit ; \nNor promised aught. Ideals Made Real, LX. \nLIARS {see truth) \n"The young \xe2\x80\x94 the prejudiced" \xe2\x80\x94 \n"For their sake, " said he, "wisdom may be wise \nIn what it screens from folly. \xe2\x80\x94 Yet you know \nThe crime of Socrates, \xe2\x80\x94 \'corrupting youth\'? \nThe tale is old ; this lying world wants liars, \nBut what of that? The Christs lie not: they die." \n\nHaydn, xxvii. \nLIBERTY {see FREEDOM and mob) \nYou fear that skies aglow with liberty \nAttend some sun that ^ets in anarchy. \nAlas, too often men mistake the light \nOf coming day for that of coming night. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, xliv. \nThose yet possess heaven\'s liberty, \nWhose minds are not in slavery. \n\nIdem, Doubting, xxi. \nLive self, but live not for self. Not for one, \nFor all of us the truth brings liberty; \nFor our own spirits, when we serve the right, \nFree wishes, hearts, and hands; for others charity. \n\nIdem, XLi. \n\nLIBERTY, DIVINE \n\nFar above I saw a King, whose glory crown\'d him like \n\nthe sun. \nWhile, more fair than stars, his people circled round \n\nthe royal one. \nWhere they moved, as he directed, came no hint of \n\nhindrancy. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 213 \n\nEvery pathway opening outward led along unendingly. \nThere anon, full plenty waited, wells of joy that might \n\nbe quaff\'d, \nWhile their depths with scarce a ripple, clos\'d above \n\neach long deep draft. \nAnd the people in the shadow far below that realm \n\nof light, \nCrush\'d by burdens, lying prostrate, \xe2\x80\x94 this was what \n\nhad lured their sight ; \nThis was what, from every lip, had roused the cry for \n\n"Liberty," \nRight in deeming its possession would fulfil their \n\ndestiny. A Life in Song: Watching, xii. \n\nLIE {see truth) \n\nEvery well compounded lie \nMixes truth to please the truthful with the false to \npoison by. Idem, ix. \n\nLIFE \n\nLife is a mystery, mystery bound. \n\nAbove or about us no rest is found. \n\nOur past is a dream of the soul\'s dim home; \n\nOur future a scheme for the mist and the foam. \n\nThe winds drive us on; we shudder but steer; \n\nWe tack for safety, we drift in fear; \n\nWe cry for help and a helper, but none \n\nWill answer our cry; we struggle alone. ^ \n\nIf our landing, indeed, were near some light \n\nTo signal the harbor were now in sight. \n\nBe alert, my soul, nor ever a ray \n\nLet gleam unused when the gloom gives way. \n\nNo doubt or danger can ever dispense \n\nWith a sigh or a sign for spirit or sense. \n\nLove and Life, i. \n\nLife is a mystery, mystery-bound. \nAbove or about us no rest is found; \nBut, center\'d in every cycHng change, \nIf one hope draw us, wherever we range, \nThen must it be that the soul incHned \nTo merely an earthly love must find \n\nWith each new light \n\nThat cheers the sight \n\n\n\n214 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThe shaft of a corridor stretched afar \nTo where the glories of all love are, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA shaft to whiten and brighten the way \nTo a hall and home where ends the day, \nAnd heaven and earth, life\'s groom and bride, \nShall gather their children, trained and tried, \n\nAnd those that have learned \n\nWhat faith has earned, \nShall sleep the sleep of all the blest \nAnd dream the dreams of an endless rest. \n\nIdem, LX. \n\nLIFE BEYOND THIS LIFE {see HEAVENLY and SPIRIT) \n\nOh, if there be laws that faith can trust. \nHigh laws that righten all things unjust. \nWhat spheres for dreaming and doing must lie \nIn airs not domed by a mortal sky! \nWhat fulness of living must life contain \nWhere losing one\'s life on earth seems gain ! \n\nIdem, VIII. \n\nLIFE, HUMAN \n\nYou know \nWhat human life is? \xe2\x80\x94 all a fight of soul \nTo keep the body sweet, \xe2\x80\x94 a fight a bird \nOr beast knows nothing of. A babe when bom \nIs dipped in water; every following day \nIs dipped again. If not, ere long will come \nDisease and death, and, when a mortal dies, \n\xe2\x96\xa0 His fellows all thank heaven that they have hands \nTo keep the fight up for him; for, if not, \nBe he not burned or buried in a jiffy, \nThe air of heaven may find the spirit sweet. \nBut not the air of earth \xe2\x80\x94 pugh ! \xe2\x80\x94 well he left it ! \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nLIFE, OF THE SPIRIT (see SPIRIT) \n\nLife\'s greatest gain is life itself; \n\nAnd life, though lived in matter, is not of it ; \n\nNot of the object that our aims pursue, \n\nNot of the body that pursues it, not \n\nOf all the world of which itself and us \n\nAre parts. Nay, all things that the eye can see \n\nAre but vague shadows of reality \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 2IS \n\nCast on a frail environment of cloud, \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut illustrations of a general trend \nWhich only has enduring entity, \nAnd is, and was, and always must be, spirit. \n\nBerlin Mountain. \n\nLIGHT \n\nBut once for all \n\nCan dawn a day like this. \nAnd those who will not use their light \n\nWill all life\'s glory miss. Ethan Allen. \nToo few were they to brave a fort \n\nWell mann\'d at every gun; \nYet those who slight the light of stars \n\nBut seldom see their sun. Idem. \n\nLIGHT, HUMAN AND DIVINE \n\nLet no one take the lamps men hang at night \nFor stars that never leave the upper air; \nOr think a dawn worth while comes anywhere \nExcept where skies and sunhght bring the sight. \n\nSense and Soul. \nThe worth of a diamond is measured by the quan- \ntity and quality of the light emitted by it. The worth \nof an object of perception is measured by the quantity \nand quality of "that light which never was on sea or \nland," \xe2\x80\x94 in other words, by the amount and character \nof thought and emotion which it awakens. \n\nPainting, Sculp, and Arch, as Rep. Arts, xiii. \n\nLIGHT OF LIFE \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 Like lesser lights this Hght of life is nigh \nTo see by, not to handle, lest we die. \nAnd while it makes the paths before us bright \n\'T is our work to advance from sight to sight. \nA Life in Song: Seeking, xxxviii. \n\nLIGHT, THE, OF CHILDHOOD \n\nWere we to lose our little leaping light, with burning \ncheeks and sparkling eyes, we all of us should be in \ndarkness. ^ On Detective Duty, i. \n\nLIGHTS \n\nAh me ! how strange ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nHow the lights we carry with us make the scenes about \nus change ! A Life in Song: Dreaming, xxxix. \n\n\n\n2i6 A POETS CABINET \n\nLIGHTNING \n\nEach fearful time this hd of heaven is lifted, \nThe rays pour in and focus here on us. \nThey axle here the foes\' near wheeling lines, \nAy, draw them like a whirlpool to its vortex. \n\nTheAzlecGod,!. \nThere is not a tree \nOr leaf, or trunk, but what, to point us out. \nThese fiery fingers of the storm would dash \nAside to ashes \xe2\x80\x94 fume \xe2\x80\x94 thin air. Idem. \n\nLIKE \n\nMen judge of us by standards in themselves; \nAnd so like us when they see us like them. \n\nColumbus, II., I. \n\nLIMBS \n\nNote you his graceful limbs, and how \nHe poises at the waist, as if about \nTo leap to some fair realm of beauty which \nHis flesh enrobes but cannot realize ! \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nLIMITATIONS, WOMEN\'s \n\nWomen\'s limitations \xe2\x80\x94 children\'s too, as everybody \nknows, and men\'s as well \xe2\x80\x94 are just the things that \nmake them most attractive. If it were not for limits, \nthere could be no outlines; if no outlines, then no \nbeauty, in fact no individuality of form or character. \nWhat charms in each comes from the bounds in which \nkind heaven confines it. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\n.... But mama says by women\'s limitations men \nmean our weaknesses. \n\n.... What then? We all like best those weak \nenough to let us help them. Idem. \n\nLIMITS FOR HUMAN THOUGHT \n\nAll brains with limits are what polyps own, \n\nYou think? \xe2\x80\x94 Ours too fit forms whose grasp can never \n\nOutreach the touch of short tentacula. \n\nDante, 11. 2. \n\nLIMITS IN EXPERIENCE \n\nYou think that one small man\'s experience \nEmbraces in its clasp the whole broad earth? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 217 \n\nNay, it is finite. Every path has Hmits. \n\nClimb up to mountain-tops, you turn away \n\nFrom flower and verdure, spring and warmth, to dwell \n\nWith rock and weariness and thirst and chill. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \nLINE, army\'s {see snake) \nThen, down the hunter\'s trail, our line \n\nWound on as winds a snake, \nAnd, late at night, prep\'ared to spring, \nLay coil\'d beside the lake. Ethan Allen. \n\nLINES AND OUTLINES \n\nYou have your pencil \xe2\x80\x94 still can draw \n\n.... Yet not \n\nThe outlines I had hoped. There looms a face \nWith more care-lines upon its wrinkled brow \n\nThan e\'er I blacked a map with \n\nColumbus, I., 2. \nLIPS {see kiss) \nAnd if but once, as I grew more bold, \nHer lips in the bowl of their beauty should mould \nA word of love, or should seal my bliss \nOn lips that were burning to feel her kiss, \nMy spirit, I think, would bound so high, \n\'T would be translated nor need to die. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xiii. \nAnd full red lips, through which flow\'d soft and low \nWords richly color\'d by the warmth within. \nAs was the face that flush\'d in uttering them. \n\nA Life in Song: Note v. \nAnd from his lips that have not lost the tint \nOf daybreak yet, there breathe forth sweeter sighs \nThan morning air brings when it drinks the dew \xe2\x80\x94 \nAy, ay, than morning air brings when it rings \nWith all the choruses of all the birds. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \nA tale, strain \'d sweeter through those lips aglow \nThan sunset music. Ideals Made Real, ix. \n\nLITERATURE AND LEISURE \n\n.... What literary men need most is leisure; and \nwhat brings leisure in the world is wealth. Had I the \nwealth for it, I should endow, not colleges, but rather \n\n\n\n2i8 A POET\'S CABINET \n\ncollege men, and hope that, when relieved from outside \npressure, their inward promptings would reveal them- \nselves. \n\n.... Why so? \n\n.... Because these promptings are the sources in \nsouls of almost everything on earth that changes what \nis base because of soil, to what is beautiful because of \nspirit. The Two Paths, i. \n\nLITERATURE AND SOCIETY \n\nOne has to build up brain work on body work. To \ngive the head heat, you must make the heart beat. To \nbecome a social force, our literary outlet must connect \nwith a social inlet. What Money Can\'t Buy, iii. \n\nLITERATURE VS. ORATORY \n\nNor would I bide content with utter\'d words. \nToo often, these, when widest welcomed, wake \nBut echoes brief as breath from which they spring. \nI craved the mission less of roaring waves \nThan of the rare wrought shells that, evermore, \nWhen storms are gone, suggest their living presence. \n\nIdeals Made Real, Lxv. \n\nLITTLE STEPS TOWARD WRONG \n\n.... That last was but an accident. \n\n.... It always is. Yet paths that lead to it are \nvery slippery ; and those that enter them must risk the \nending. The little first step in the path of wrong is like \nthe little first step of the fox that springs the trap that \ncatches him. So little, you wouldn\'t think it could be \nfatal, no! The Two Paths, ill, \n\nLITTLE THINGS, SOURCES OF TROUBLE \n\nUsually little things bring the most unexpected \ntrouble. There is nothing except air inside a rubber \nball. But if you play with it too recklessly, it is more \napt than anything of which I know to bound back and \nhit yourself. Where Society Leads, i. \n\nLITTLEST {see ridicule) \nThe littlest diamond in this ring I wear \nIs better for my humble, human use, \nThan a whole world of dust whirled in a star \nSet in an orbit out beyond my reach. \n\nCecil the Seer^ I. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 219 \n\nLIVELY AND RISKY VS. SAFE AND PLEASANT \n\n.... Old friends are like old horses. When too \nold, are never very lively. \n\n.... When too lively, are never very safe. \n\n.... Without its risks, the game of life would not \nbe so exciting. \n\n.... Without exciting, it might be more pleasant. \n\nThe Two Paths, iv. \n\nLIVES \n\nAll lives are summers, veiled at either end \nIn shadows of the spring and autumn storms. \nWe pass from tears of birth to burial; \nAnd in the brief, bright interval between \nThere comes anon the fevered flush of life, \nThen paleness, then the fevered flush of death. \nMen leap and laugh, and then lie back and cough, \nBoth but hysterical, betwixt the two, \nWarring for power that more of war must keep, \nPushing for place that prisons those who seize it, \nKneeling for love to tramp on when they get it, \nTheir little rest is large-brought weariness, \nAnd what they wish for most is mainly death. \n\nThe Aztec God, I. \nOur lives are vapors forced to roam. \n\nOf sun and storm the prey; \nBut cling like mists, with hills their home. \n\nTogether while they may. \nOur lives are vapors, whirled through skies, \n\nWhere some by storms are torn, \nAnd some the sunlight glorifies. \n\nAnd some to heaven are borne. \nOur lives are vapors wrecked and lost. \n\nNone sail their journey through. \nEre long behind some blow that tost, \nWill naught be left but blue. \n\nThe Ranch Girl, iv. \n\nLIVES, ALIKE \n\n.... All lives are much alike. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n.... How so? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n.... All thorns or roses, if you please. \nGrown on the self -same bush. \n\n\n\n220 A POET\'S CABINET \n\n.... Do all lives grow \n\nBoth thorns and roses? \n\n.... Yes, we show the thorns \n\nTo those that try to pluck us for themselves ; \nThe roses to the ones that let us be. \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \n\nLOCKS, WHITE \n\nNor did white locks about his brow attest \nHow rays of ghost-land\'s light had touch\'d its coming \nguest. A Life in Song: Daring, xi. \n\nLOGIC \n\nWhen mortals climb a path to truth unseen, \nThey feel their way along the links of logic. \n\nDante, ii., i. \nAnd this man\'s head and heart were so united, \n\nHis thought woke passion, and his passion thought, \nHis logic fired his fancy, when excited ; \n\nHis fancy fann\'d the forge wherein his logic wrought. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, viii. \n.... Logic is a lance that never hits what lies \noutside its range. \n\n.... And is never used by a wise man except on \nwhat gets inside his range. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, i. \n\nLOGIC AND LIGHT \n\nNot logic leads the artist on, but light. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxxvii. \n\nLONELINESS \n\nAnd there strange faces drove my lonely thoughts \nBack into memory for companionship ; \nAnd there imagination moved anon \nTo fill the void love felt in earth about, \nInvoking fancies where it found no facts. \nBeheld an earth about that seemed bewitch\'d. \n\nHaydn, vii. \n\nLONELINESS OF GREAT LEADERS \n\nWhoever would seek high aims \nMust oft forego all lower claims. \n\nNot a few there are \n\nMove on so far \n\nThat never a man \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 221 \n\nHelps on their plan, _ \nNor a confidant\'s voice \nConfirms their choice. \nThere are years for them, when the loveliest face \nSeems only a framing wherein to trace \nA part of an interest felt in the race. \nBut oh. \nLet us beHeve they grow, \nThe farther that thus they leave behind \nThe common paths of all mankind. \nThe higher the sound of their spirit\'s call. \nIf the less to one, the more to all. \n\nLove and Life, xlviii. \nLONELY {see ALONE and companionship) \nAll woe is not the loud complaint that pleads \nWhere startled pity weeps in sad surprise; \nNor bliss the gorgeous guise that decks the deeds \n\nThat win wide homage from admiring eyes. \nNay, one may weep, despite men\'s cheers too lonely, \n\nBecause his inward spirit stays unknown: \nAnd smile amid dispraise world-wide, if only \n\nOne other soul be wending heavenward with his \nown. A Life in Song: Serving, lxxviii. \n\nI pass\'d a grove on a lowery day; \n\nAnd out through the trees there rang \nThe deep clear note of a low sweet lay \n\nWhere a lonely night-bird sang. \nI watch\'d a cloud that floated away; \n\nAnd it seem\'d as if bearing along \nA lark whose trills were filling the day \n\nWith an endless flood of song. \nThen the sun burst forth; and the night-bird stopp\'d \n\nAnd flew away to his rest; \nAnd the lark to the ground in silence dropp\'d \n\nWhere brightly shone his nest. \nAh, better I thought to sing in the gloom \n\nThan never be stirr\'d by the worth \nOf a beauty that never can seem to bloom \n\nSave over a darken\'d earth. \nAnd better, if like a lark, to soar \nThan sink to the silent ground, \n\n\n\n222 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nAnd tune the old sweet songs no more, \nBecause one\'s mate is found. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxxill. \n\nLORDS, HUMAN \n\nNo wonder \nThese human lords combine \nThe masses\' rivalling wealth to steal ! \nLet them be stript, my lord may feel \nHis decency divine. \n\nOur First Break with the British. \n\nLOSS (see affliction and bereavement) \nDid not I know that loss and gain are both \nSent here to aid the worth of inner traits \nAnd change the phases of the spirit\'s growth? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHaydn, xxix. \n\nLOSS MADE GAIN \n\nMy dear one has driven me off; but I know \n\nMy heart is hers, and its love will show; \n\nAnd to find a way for this will give \n\nMy spirit an aim for which to live. \n\nMy lips will pour into every ear \n\nThe thought she has waked, and whoever may hear. \n\nWhile hearing an echo of life so fair. \n\nWill dream and live in a fairer air. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxxiv. \n\nLOST, PRIDE IN WHAT IS \n\nHow much some people do pride themselves on \nwhat they have lost ! Perhaps they think it a reason \nwhy others should help them to get it back. \n\nThe Snob and the Sewing Girl, i. \n\nLOVE, ALLOWING IT EXPRESSION \n\nNo life could so be cleansed, \xe2\x80\x94 by wringing thence \nThe blood that warms the heart ; no face made pure \nBy turning pale the blush of beauty cast \nBy shadows where sweet love goes in and out. \n\nIdeals Made Real, LXIII. \n\nLOVE, AND FAITH (see FAITH) \n\nTrue love forever fulfils the ideal \n\nOf faith, that in loving, can love to kneel. \n\nLove and Life, xxxiv. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 223 \n\nLOVE AND HEAVEN {see HEAVEN) \n\nIf heaven indeed have naught to do \n\nWith love, then let my soul, \nAccepting earth as its master too, \n\nPlay out the curse of its r61e; \nAy, play for a pawn without a soul \n\nInstead of a god-like queen \xe2\x80\x94 \nFor the grace of a crafty self-control, \n\nOr a face like a painted screen. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxxi. \n\nLOVE AND SINGING \n\nThere let sweet love a pair ensnare \nWith dainty dreams of visions fair, \nWherein, like wings athrob the air, \n\nRare wedding bells are ringing. \nThen, stirr\'d by moods that move the heart. \nWhat tunes upon the lip will start, \nAs if true love could not impart \n\nSuch sweets except through singing! \n\nA Song on Singing. \n\nLOVE, AS A RULER {$66 SERVICE) \n\nIf ever the mind to faith be brought, \nIs it love that shall rule the inward thought? \nIs it love that shall rule the outward life \nAnd crown both source and sum of strife? \xe2\x80\x94 \nIs it only that which springs from the heart \n\nThat can ever impart \nWhat fills the veins with vigor infused \nAnd thrills the limbs with strength to be used? \nIs it only this that can ever fulfill \nThe way of the world\'s Creator\'s will, \nAnd thus create \nThat heavenly state \nFor which men work the while they wait? \n\nLove omd Life, lviii. \n\nLOVE AS THE PRINCE OF ILL \n\nThe Prince of 111 \nCame oft robed like an angel of the light; \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhy not like love? \xe2\x80\x94 Haydn, xxx. \n\nLOVE AS THE SOURCE OF LAW {see PRIEST) \n\nAnd what are the laws for word or deed \n\n\n\n224 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nOf the priest whose ministry all will heed? \nOh, what but laws of that in the soul \nWhich starts the life that the laws control? \nAh me, if to love we owe life\'s giving, \nIt must be love that rules right living! \n\nLove and Life, xliii. \n\nLOVE, DEAD YET ALIVE \n\nLove at times may prove a treasure even dead, \nIf dead enough in spirits yet alive. \n\nIdeals Made Real, lxv. \n\nLOVE DECEIVED \n\nShould some red thunderbolt from sunlight burst \nAnd burn all torturing blindness through my eyes, \nThe night came less foretoken\'d! I, who dream\'d \nThat here I gazed on truth, here bent these knees \nUpon the very battlements of heaven, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI to be tript thus from my dear proud trust, \nSent reeling down by such foul-aim\'d deceit! \xe2\x80\x94 \nStrange is it if my jolted brain should slip \nThe grooves of reason? \xe2\x80\x94 if I rave or curse? \xe2\x80\x94 \nYou, who had known my heart, and after that, \nAnd after I had warn\'d you of the thing. \nAnd simulating all the while such love, \xe2\x80\x94 \nYou, vowing to abjure me! more than this, \nTo-day with such cold-blooded, soulless tact. \nSoft-stealing, through the door-ways left ajar. \nWithin the inmost chambers of my heart, \nTo snare, \xe2\x80\x94 as though the victim of a cat \nThat could be play\'d with, trick\'dwith,kiird, cast off, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThis heart of mine which, as you might have known. \nWas throbbing but to serve you! \xe2\x80\x94 Yes, once more, \nYou gain your end ! Once more, your wish is mine. \nHow can I love? \xe2\x80\x94 God help me! \xe2\x80\x94 Go you free. \n\nHaydn, Lii. \n\nLOVE, DREAMING OF \n\nWhere, like a child and lover both united, \n\nHe dreamt of love, yet woke and thought real love \nthe best. A Life in Song: Serving, xix. \n\nLOVE, DRIVEN \n\nLove, if driven, is only driven away. \n\nMidnight in a City Park. \n\n\n\n\nWould only crave, \nWhen we have so much else in sympathy, \nThat holy state where two souls, else at one, \nWould both be God\'s. \n\nSee page 28 g. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 225 \n\nLO^\'E, EARTHLY \n\nIf in the spheres of Hfe on high, \n\nThe fadeless growth of each bright year \nUnfold but that whose germs are here, \n\nWhat good do they gain on earth" who die, \nAnd let the love of earth go by? \n\nA Life in Song: Loving^ ix. \n\nLOVE, EARTHLY, RENEWED IN HEAVEN \n\nWhy, when you speak, your voice the echo seems, \nOf some familiar strain, with which all sounds \nThat ever I thought sweet were in accord. \nAnd when my dimmed eyes dare to face your own, \nEach seems a sky within which is inframed \nA world that holds my lifetime; and the light \nBeams like a sun there, scattering doubt and gloom. \n\nCecil the Seer, II., 2. \n\nLOVE, ENOUGH FOR \n\nEnough to love, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n.... What holds enough \n\nFor that? \n\n.... Enough, \n\nTo make his presence here a boon to me; \n\nTo make his wishes a behest for me ; \n\nTo make me feel an instinct seeking him. \n\nAnd, finding him, a consciousness of all. \n\nHadyn, xxi. \n\nLOVE, ETERNAL AND INFINITE \n\nTrue love has life eternal, infinite. \n\nComplete within itself, and craving naught, \n\nIt needs no future far, nor outlet vast. \n\nNor aught to feel or touch in time or space. \n\nA sense within, itself its own reward. \n\nIt waits not on return. For it, to love \n\nIs better than to be loved, better far \n\nTo be a God than man. Haydn, xiii. \n\nLOVE, ETERNITY OF \n\nLove is of eternity, and knows \nNo youth, no age; \xe2\x80\x94 is like the air of heaven \nThat tosses in its play the dangling fringe \nAthrill with grace about our outward guise. \nAnd runs its unseen fingers through our hair, \n\n\n\n226 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nAnd brushes to a glow our flushing cheeks, \n\nBut has more serious lasting moods than these. \n\nIt is the substance of the breath we breathe \n\nThat keeps the blood fresh, and the heart in motion; \n\nAnd, e\'en when these give out, it still is there \n\nTo buoy us up and bear on high the spirit. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., i. \n\nLOVE, EVIDENCES OF \n\nNow say you never saw the sea, for waves; \nOr stars, for twinkling; or the trees, for leaves; \nBut tell me not, you never saw the heart \nThat bosom heaves; nor ever saw the play \nOf faith and freak within that twinkling eye; \nNor ever saw the spirit when the smile \nThat breaks in laughter shakes the form aside. \n\nIdeals Made Real, lv. \n\nLOVE, EXCLUDING SYMPATHY WITH ONE\'s AIMS \n\nOur youth knew love was no love, that loved not \nWhat made his life worth living. \n\nA Life in Song: Daring, lxvi. \n\nLOVE, EXPRESSED {see WINNING LOVE) \n\nAgain my arms were round that neck; \nAnd cheek to cheek without a check \nOur souls had met. O Love, long cold. \nWhat frame could hope to feel, when old \nAnd numb from long bound loads of pain, \nSuch warmth and life thrill every vein ! \n\nMy Dream at Cordova. \n\nLOVE, FIRST \n\nThere dawns, transfiguring earth and skies, \nA day in the light of which faith may be sure \nWhat power makes all life be and endure. \n\nIt comes, when, filling with hope, we rise \nRedeemed in soul by the Spirit of Truth; \n\nAnd it comes with assent that glorifies \nA soul that has won the love of its youth. \nAh, never the trills \n\nOf the birds were half so thrillingly sweet; \nNor ever the rills \n\nRolled on so clear at the feet. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 227 \n\nThe leaves are all flowers, \n\nAnd crystal all showers. \nThrough the clouds the green hills loom, as grand \nAs the nearing shores of a spirit-land; \nAnd the lights of the stars gleam down thro\' a soul \nThat heaves like a wave of the infinite whole. \nWe float and fuse in the fragrant air; \nWe fade from ourselves; we die to all care. \nAy, she that is ours in that moment of bliss \nBrings all immortality, worth not this. \nNay, nay, we have gain\'d the life above. \nWho dares to deny it to our first love? \n\nLove and Life, xxi. \n\nNothing in the world is so beautiful, so blissful, \nso life-inspiring, as is love when it first opens in the \nheart; but, ah, when it appears, it must be plucked by \nhim for whom it ripens. If not, why, then, in a little \ntime it turns to rot \xe2\x80\x94 and oh, the loathsomeness of \nthat which might have been so sweet if taken in its \nprime! Where Society Leads, ill. \n\nLOVE IN THE YOUNG \n\nI mused of other days ; \nHow once, and at the merest hint of love. \nMy younger blood, like some just conquering host \nThat trembling hope bears on, would bound through \n\nveins \nThat thrill\'d and thrill\'d while shook each trodden \n\npulse ; \nHow, hot as deserts parch\'d by swift simoons. \nAnd wild as forests fell\'d by sudden blasts. \nMy frame would glow and bend at every breath \nThat tidings bore me of the soul I loved. \nHow then had love been tamed! \n\nIdeals Made Real, lix. \n\nThen, with nobler cause, \nMore nobly moved, I mourn\'d that older love. \nIt aye had come from regions far and pure. \nFrom sacred heights of dream-land and desire, \nAnd traiHng light like Moses from the mount. \nWith one hand clasping mine, one pointing up \nTo something earthly, yet more near the sky. \n\n\n\n228 A POETS CABINET \n\nIt aye had thrill\'d the throbbing veins it near\'d \nAnd made my brow flush proudly as the boor\'s \nWhen king\'s hands knight him, and he bears away \nEnnobled blood forever. \xe2\x80\x94 My mood though \xe2\x80\x94 \nThis lax-limb\'d, loitering, sisterly regard. \nSo cold, so calm, so cautious, \xe2\x80\x94 what was this? \xe2\x80\x94 \nTo call it love my spirit could have swoon\'d. \nShrunk like some parent\'s when he first has found \nHis fair babe\'s brain to be a gibbering blank. \n\nIdem. \n\nLOVE, IRRADICABLE \n\nShe thinks my nature water. I did once ; \nAs each new face looked love upon its depths, \nI thought they might be filled with that ; but, ah, \nMy heart is like a photographer\'s glass \nWhereon the image once impressed remains ; \nAnd Celia\'s face is always framed in Faith\'s. \nI fear I love the picture for the frame. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., I. \n\nLOVE, ITS DOUBLE SOURCE \n\nLove is the flame of a fire divine \nLit and fanned on an earthly shrine. \nHeaven and earth both claim it their own. \nWhy should either let it alone? \nWhy should the earth not strive to show \nThat all of its traits belong below? \nWhy should the heaven be loathe to try \nTo prove that they all belong on high? \nFor the most of us men, betwixt the two, \nThe only things that are left to do \nAre to grieve that the one has lowered our love, \nOr to mourn that the other has borne it above. \n\nLife and Love, xxv. \n\nThis love, in morals based on faith in man, \n\nAnd in religion on our faith in God, \n\nSeems, in its essence, an experience \n\nNot wholly feeling, yet not wholly thought, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nNot all of body, yet not all of soul. \n\nOf what we are or what we are to be, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBut more akin to marriage, within self. \n\nOf our two separate natures, form and spirit. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 229 \n\nGod meant them to be join\'d: when wedded thus, \nOne rests content, the other waits in hope. \n\nHaydn, xlix. \n\nLOVE, ITS ULTIMATE CONSUMATION \n\nWhen souls touch souls, they touch the springs of life; \n\nFor them the veils of sense are drawn aside, \n\nAre burn\'d away in radiance divine, \n\nThe while their spirit\'s contact starts afresh \n\nThe electric flash that scores new glory here, \n\nAnd lights the lines of being back to God. \n\nThen, with their whole existences renew\'d. \n\nFar up these Hnes, the souls that thus commune. \n\nDiscern anon that sacred home on high, \n\nWhere boundless rest is blest by boundless love \n\nAnd dreams the dreams of bounty absolute.\xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThey find that home, whence issue floods of light \n\nWhich, flowing forth from white mysterious heights, \n\nFlame down and flash and burst anon in sparks \n\nThat star the dark through all life\'s firmament ;\xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThey find that home, whence whirl the cycles wide \n\nWhere all the wastes of nature fuse and form. \n\nAnd all the things that thought can touch take shape, \n\nUntil the restless wheels of matter, roll\'d \n\nThrough roadways worn to waste by speeding years, \n\nAt last in fatal friction fire themselves. \n\nAnd light returns to light from whence it sprang. \n\nThrough all, where souls commune with central \n\nlove, \nThey stay secure, awaiting birth or death; \nThe Spring that starts the blossom blown to fall, \nOr Fall that drops the seec* that springs afresh. \nThey watch nor fear whatever change evolve, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe splendor grand of epochs borne to waste, \nThe ruin wild of times that end in law. \nThe monarch mail\'d whose lustre dims his folk. \nThe people\'s guns whose echoes hush their king. \nWhat though dark clouds loom up and storms descend? \nTrue faith would not bemoan the forms they wreck; \nFor forms if true are formulas of love \nThat still is ardent to consume them all. \nThough lightnings thunder till they crack the sky, \nWhat unroofs rage leaves heaven to dome our peace. \n\n\n\n230 A POETS CABINET \n\nThe more convulsion shakes and fire consumes, \nThe more of love and light may both set free ; \nThe earlier may they end these earthly days \nThat fret our lives with flickerings vague below \nOf steadfast light in endless day above; \nThe earlier may the power of hate give way, \nAnd good awake, and every path be bright. \nWhile hope of glory gilds the gloom on high. \n\nIdeals Made Real, Lxxiv. \n\nLOVE, LOST \n\n.... All any life is worth \n\nLies in its possibilities of love. \n.... But were love\'s object lost? \xe2\x80\x94 \n. . . . One cannot lose \n\nWhat is eternal. Hearts must always keep, \nIf not their love, what love has made of them. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\nLOVE, MANLY \n\nMy soul was immature \nRomantic, young. It must be manly now. \nA man has breadth. I take it manly love \nIs love that yields most blessing to the most. \n\nHaydn, liv. \n\nLOVE, man\'s right TO \n\nMy heaven holds love. \nAnd what thrives there thrives here, and has a right \nTo all things men can rightly let it have. \n\nThe Aztec God, il. \n\nLOVE OF WOMEN AND OF MEN \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 Do you know, \n\nYou women always will match thoughts to things? \nYou chat as birds chirp, when their mates grow \n\nbright : \nYou love when comes a look that smiles on you. \nWe men are more creative. We love love, \nOur own ideal long before aught real : \nOur halo of young fancy circles naught \nSave empty sky far off. \xe2\x80\x94 And yet those rays \nFit like a crown, at last, above the face \nThat fortune drives between our goal and us. \n\nHaydn, xvi. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 231 \n\nLOVE, REFINING INFLUENCE OF \n\nLove, rarest of passions, with burnings untold, \nRefines all the being to turn out its gold. \nOne sound of their kindling, wrong hears as a knell, \nAnd sinks from that heaven as far as to hell \n\nLove and Life, xxvii. \n\nLOVE, RENUNCIATION OF \n\nNot God, \xe2\x80\x94 the devil \xe2\x80\x94 he, he rules the world! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThen let me rule it with him. \xe2\x80\x94 But no, no! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nOh, what a universe of agencies \n\nAre centered in one life that may be both \n\nThe God and devil of the soul it loves! \n\nYet wits were given one to outwit the world. \n\nIf Celia be what I have dreamed she is. \n\nThe world must work its work upon her will \n\nWithout one touch of mine, or hint, or sigh. \n\nTo make her life more tempted or less true. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nOh, cursdd world, in which forswearing love \n\nIs our best proof that we would foster it ! \n\nBut wait! \xe2\x80\x94 What moves me? \xe2\x80\x94 Am I but a fool \n\nControlled by dreams? \xe2\x80\x94 No, no; I had a dream; \n\nBut this, at least, is none, \xe2\x80\x94 that each who aids \n\nAn angel upward for himself prepares \n\nAngelic friendship ; and if there be spheres \n\nWhere spirit can reveal itself to spirit. \n\nAnd sympathy be sovereign, there must be \n\nOne soul supremely loved. I dreamed no dream. \n\nHigh, knightly chivalry whose love protects. \n\nThy knightly honor is the sacred thing \n\nOf which thy pride is conscious. But \xe2\x80\x94 oh God! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTo be just on the threshold of all bliss : \n\nAnd fail. \xe2\x80\x94 Fail? \xe2\x80\x94 No. Let Freeman have her now \n\nA few brief years. \xe2\x80\x94 I dream with her forever. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., i. \n\nLOVE, REPRESENTATIVE \n\nYet wheresoever love is roused in me. \nEach form I love shall seem a part of thee. \n\nNo more can man or matron, maid or boy \nWith coming charms excite my spirit\'s joy, \nBut these must find in thy fair form their birth, \nBut these must gain from thy dear life their worth. \n\n\n\n232 A POETS CABINET \n\nThe light of heaven has biim\'d thine image where \nMy soiil must evermore its impress bear. \nNaught now can come to bless my spirit\'s view, \nBut, where it comes, thy s mi ling form stands too. \n\nNay more, my true one, thy soul\'s flowing love \nHolds in its depths the imaged heavens above; \nAnd when \'t is quaffed, and floods my being\'s brim, \nThe draft fits God. I feel akin to Him. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, Lll. \n\nLOVE, RIPE \n\nRight love is ripe love. Life must be exposed \nIn sun and storm \xe2\x80\x94 to frost and bruising too: \nThe fruit grows mellow by and by alone. \n\nHaydn, xix. \n\nLOVE, SACREDNESS OF \n\nThe spirit of love is far too rare \nFor ever deceit or doubt to dare, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA hallow\'d spirit whom awed delight \nMust ever worship in robes of white. \nToo oft by a touch that never was meant \nThe veil of its holy of holies is rent ; \nToo oft from a heedless impious tone \n\nLove\'s glory has flown. \nThe souls that together hved in light, \nThey weep apart through the long, long night. \n\nLove and Life, xxiii. \n\nLOVE, SECRETIVENESS OF \n\nThe friends that in closeted hours confess \nThe faith so dear \n\nThat both possess, \nWhen others are near. \nAbide contented not to reveal. \nBut merely to feel, \nIn walking \nOr talking. \nThat some one is nigh \nWith a kindling eye; \nAnd some one exults at their well earned p>ride. \nTo tattle of love were suicide. \n\nNo trumpet or drumming \nProclaims the coming \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 233 \n\nOf God on high to a spirit on earth. \n\nThen wherefore of love, if it have any worth? \n\nLove and Life, xiv. \n\nLOVE, SPIRITUAL {see faith) \n\'T is time the Spirit of the living force. \nWhose currents through the frame of nature course. \nAnd make the earth about, and stars above, \nThe body and abode of infinite Love, \nThat breathes its own breath through our waiting \n\nframes \nWith each fresh breeze that blows, and ever aims \nOur lesser lives where all we call advance \nBut plays within its lap of circumstance, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\'T is time this Spirit should be known, in truth, \nInspiring hope in age and faith in youth. \nAnd in us all that charity benign, \nWhich in us all would make us all divine. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, LV. \n\nOne talent of which love has full direction \n\nFinds heaven, while hate-led genius yet gropes near \nto hell. Idem, Serving, xx. \n\nLOVE, THE, OF A SWEETHEART \n\nYou ask me why I love my love. \n\nAh, think not love needs proving. \nShe sways me like the breeze above \n\nThat keeps the tree-top moving. \n\nIn her fair face I find a bloom \n\nLife could not own without it, \nWhich, like a rose that sheds perfume, \n\nMakes all earth sweet about it. \n\nIn her deep eyes I see a light \n\nThat turns her slightest glances \nTo beams that guide, like stars at night, \n\nMy life\'s dark fears and fancies. \n\nThrough her dear voice there sounds a charm \n\nPast music\'s in attraction. \nThat bids all forms of ill disarm. \n\nAnd nerves to noblest action. \n\nShe is of all life\'s hues the sun; \nNor whiter could a dove\'s be \n\n\n\n234 ^ POETS CABINET \n\nThan hers to me, for all seem one, \nBecause all mean she loves me. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, li. \n\nLOVE, THE, OF ONE SWEETHEART (see POLYGAMY) \n\nIs his experience then \nSo strangely brilliant who is loved, forsooth, \nBy one maid only? \n\n.... It may not be brilliant. \n\nBut like a star in heaven it fills with light \nOne point \xe2\x80\x94 that where the gods have placed it. \n\nThe Aztec God, in. \n\nLOVE, THE SERVICE OF {see TRUTH) \n\nHow oft I thank\' d the Power that gave me power \n\nTo think and do for him what he could not. \n\nI knelt : I gave my body to his needs : \n\nBrain, hands, and all things would I yield to him. \n\nAnd was I not paid back? \xe2\x80\x94 His dear, sweet heart, \n\nEach slightest beat of it, would seem to thrill \n\nThrough all my veins, twice dear when serving two. \n\nAnd this was love! You know the Master\'s words, \n\nThat they alone who lose it find their life. \n\n\'T is true. No soul can feel full consciousness \n\nOf full existence till it really love, \n\nAnd yield its own to serve another\'s life. \n\n"To serve Christ\'s life," you say? \xe2\x80\x94 But part of \n\nthat \nBy Christ\'s humaneness is to serve mankind. \nI speak a law of life, a truth of God : \nTo heaven I dare as little limit it \nAs to the earth; whatever be our sphere, \nWe know not life therein until we love. \n\nHaydn, xii. \n\nLOVE, THE TEST OF \n\nIt seems to me \nThat love, like light, is tested by its rays. \nThe halo crowns the saints, our lights of life. \nJust as the love they shed surrounds their souls. \nWhere one is God\'s, the strong soul serves the weak; \nThe mother yields her powers to bless her babes; \nThe man his powers, for her; and Christ for all. \n\nHaydn, xxiii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 235 \n\nLOVE VS. FRIENDSHIP \n\nLove reinforces our own best desires, but friendship \noften merely leaves us free to work out for ourselves \nour own salvation. The Two Paths, iv. \n\nLOVE, WHEN A CURSE \n\nAccursed love, that makes the brightest eye \n\nA sunglass through which heaven would wilt the soul, \n\nAnd by the very pleasure beauty gives \n\nMete out the measure of impending doom. \n\nThe Aztec God, 11. \n\nLOVER-FRIEND \n\nA sorry end \nHas the lover-friend. \nA place akin to a dog\'s has he. \nWho, whenever her form may be spied, \nDeems nothing so meet for him, or sweet, \nAs to snuff the halo of dust at her feet, \nAnd to crouch and bound and bark at her side, \nAnd, trembling to feel the tap of her hand, \n\nBe weary never \nOf springing to fetch and carry whatever \nHer face and her voice demand. \nFull many a man has found to his cost \nA master made of the maid he had lost. \nHer lover turn\'d friend is one to abuse \n\nAnd cushion her sense of sovereignty, \nA man to attend her, and flirt with, and use \nTo waken another to jealousy. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxvi. \n\nLOVER VS. HUSBAND \n\nAm I, think you, a man to play \nA second fiddle to your tune of love \xe2\x80\x94 \nWith instnmient aU broke beyond repair. \nMake discord of the music of your life? \nI promise you to leave here. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., 2. \n\nLOVER, WHEN COMES HIS SWEETHEART \n\nAll of nature with rhythmic beat \n\nSeem\'d at one with her swaying, \nKeeping time to her fair young feet. \nThe beat of her heart obeying. \n\n\n\n236 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nAh, thought I, since the world was new, \nAll its whirling and humming, \n\nAll its working, and waiting too, \nMeant that she was coming. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, ii. \n\nLOVERS \n\nWe look\'d in each other\'s eyes to see \n\nOur dearer selves reveal\' d; \nAnd nothing within each orb saw we \n\nSave too much love conceal\'d. \n\nWe rested back in each other\'s arms. \nAnd we heard each other\'s hearts, \n\nWith music far sweeter than ever the charms \nThat ever the world imparts. \n\nFor every throb in the blood of one \nWould thrill through the other\'s veins, \n\nAnd the joy of one dispel like a sun \nThe night of the other\'s pains. \n\nDiscordant never in smiles or sighs, \n\nWe wonder\' d if it could be \xe2\x80\x94 \nOh God, to think we were then so wise! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThat others could love as we. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xix. \n\nLOVERS, A maid\'s \n\nMy mind \nHad stumbled on the impression that a maid \nLooks on her lovers as a Toltec brave \nOn scalps : she likes to see them hanging on \nHer neck \xe2\x80\x94 at least in presence of such mates \nAs make no conquests. The Aztec God, iii. \n\nLOYAL \n\nI care not what to others \nA loyal feeling brings; \nTo me it still will loyal be \n\xe2\x80\xa2 To serve the King of kings. \n\nThe Lebanon Boys in Boston. \n\nLOYAL spirits \n\nNay, theirs are loyal spirits, \n\nBut when the wrong is great. \nAnd forms of law do not deserve \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 237 \n\nTheir soul\'s allegiance, then they serve \nThe spirit of the state. \n\nOur First Break with the British. \n\nLOYALTY TO PEOPLE VS. TO RULER \n\nIn states that free men govern, loyalty may prompt \na man, at times, to serve the people and not the per- \nsonality of one disloyal to the people, though their \nruler. Tuition for her Intuition, ill. \n\nLUST \n\nBut am I to waive a life of truth \n\nFor a lower wish that craves \nThe swine-fiung husks that the world, forsooth, \n\nSlings those it has turn\'d into slaves? \nAm I to yield the spirit\'s claim \n\nAnd grip what has come to thrust \nThe empty hide of a soulless frame \nAt clutches of greed and lust? \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxxi. \nAnd if no love their lust control \n\nWhom the rites of earth entice, \nAlas for churches that prostitute soul, \nAnd states that establish vice! Idem. \n\nLUST vs. LOVE \n\nI turn my back on lust \n\nThat I may turn my face to love. \n\n.... Poor fool, \n\nBut one life can you live, and yet you lose it ! \n\n.... But one love can I keep, and I shall keep it. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \nWhat? When I have let \nTheir lustful kisses drain the dew of youth, \nGive her the parched and lifeless remnant? \xe2\x80\x94 No. \nGo take that wolf -skin from the snarling hounds \nWhen all the blood has been sucked out of it, \nAnd flesh gnawed off, and fling it, cold and limp. \nOut to another wolf panting for a mate ; \nBut ask me not to fling love\'s foul cold carcass \nOut to her arms to whom I owe my life. \xe2\x80\x94 \nOh, cursed fate ! Idem. \n\nMAD \n\nAm I mad? \xe2\x80\x94 My sole proof that I am not, \n\n\n\n238 A POETS CABINET \n\nLies in my thinking that I may be so. \xe2\x80\x94 \nHumph! I will hold this thinking and keep sane; \nAnd if it be a cool head takes the trick, \nWill find what trick is here. Cecil the Seer, iii., i. \nMADNESS {see insanity) \nHow near proud reason\'s realm may be \nThat fierce Charybdis-craving sea, \nThat drags toward madness you and me! \nWe wander toward its misty strand: \nThere swells the wave; here stops the land. \nHow bright the sea! how dull the sand! \n"Oh Guardian Sense," we cry, "away!" \nWe wade the surf; we feel the spray; \nWe leap ! \xe2\x80\x94 and God prolongs our day. \nAh, Holy Wisdom, if Thou be \nThe Logos from the Sacred Three, \nWho all men\'s good and ill decree; \nAnd if the wise above us dwell, \nThe unwise then \xe2\x80\x94 but who can tell? \xe2\x80\x94 \nMay madness be the mood of hell. \nWhere God, who ruleth, ruleth well? \nIf it be true that death translates \nTo other spheres the self -same traits \nOur souls acquire in earthly states; \nIf it be true that after death \nThe heat of some accursed breath \nCan into fever\'d action fan \nAll lusts that once inflamed the man, \nTill life grow one intense desire, \nA burning in a quenchless fire, \nA worm that gnaws and cannot die, \nSince worldly things no more supply \nWhat worldly wishes gratify, \nAnd flesh and blood no more remain \nTo make a fleshly craving sane; \xe2\x80\x94 \nIf then the passions, anger\'d sore \nBecause indulged, as once, no more. \nRise up, and rave, till reason swerve. \nAnd lose command of every nerve, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhat state can anarchy preserve? \nWhat state? \xe2\x80\x94 O Christ, I see them now \xe2\x80\x94 \nThose teeth that gnash! \xe2\x80\x94 and see why thou. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 239 \n\nTo save our souls from future strife, \nDidst cast out devils in this life. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xiv. \n\nMAID, A MODEL \n\nHer brilliance would not dim a rival\'s eyes, \nNor beauty shade another\'s face with frowns. \nOne saw in her a modest, model maid, \nA woman loved by women; and with men \nA presence, mellow-lighting like the moon. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xlv. \n\nMAID, AND A BOY \n\n.... They were here, alone, together, and in \ndanger. It brought him very near to her. \n\n.... And when a boy comes near a maid just in \nher blushing bloom, she\'s like a ripe red peach upon a \nbranch. One touch \xe2\x80\x94 she tumbles. Humph! \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, iv. \n\nMAIDEN, DECEASED \n\nA maiden of such beauty, grace, and love. \n\nIt were impossible to think her dead. \n\nAnd not be drawn toward beauty, grace, and love \n\nIn their diviner aspects. Dante, 11., i. \n\nMAIDENS, LOVE FOR \n\n"But maidens," cried he, "are not loved like men. \nBind beauty to their souls, then weigh the twain. \nIf one weigh naught, he waives his judgment then. \nWe must be practical." Ideals Made Real, v. \n\nMAIDS \n\nMaids, like flowers. \n\nAre sweetest, pluck\'d when in the bud? \n\nHaydn, xix. \nMaids, like minnows, rarely show themselves \nTill, caught and drawn from out the open sea. \nThey frisk in safety in some household pond ! \nIdeals Made Real, xxiv. \nThe two then moving from their sister-maids. \nLike petals loos\'d from roses when in bloom, \nCame forth to welcome us. Idem, xv. \n\nMAIDS WITH INTELLECT \n\nMaids \nIn whose one person love so womanly \n\n\n\n240 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWith intellect so manly has been join\'d, \nNeed not to marry for a hand or head. \nThere, hearts alone can win. Bear this in mind ; \nAnd fan your fancy till your words grow warm, \nAy, glow to flash the white heat of the soul ! \n\nIdem, XII. \n\nMAN \n\nA man alone? \xe2\x80\x94 And yet the moods of man \n\nMay make men love us for our manliness, \n\nWho draw them, Christ-like through our sympathy, \n\nToward self, \xe2\x80\x94 God\'s image here, and thus toward \n\nHim. Idem, liii. \n\nLet ancient lore trace man\'s ancestral story \n\nTo mystic loins of superhuman birth. \nThe grandest good in which our times would glory \n\nIs merely to inherit, at the last, an earth, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAn earth made perfect, where converting love \n\nMakes each man share his heritage with each, \nAnd prove his faith in heaven\'s pure life above \n\nBy bringing heaven within each mortal\'s reach. \nFor tho\' a grander hope the soul confesses. \n\nSo long as human nature guides its aim. \nWho learns to be a true man here, possesses \n\nThe most that He who made man what he is can \nclaim. A Life in Song: Serving, lxxxi. \n\nMAN-FORCE NOT MERELY BRUTE-FORCE \n\n.... When it comes to any traits of body, under \nthem one usually surmises deeper traits. \n\n.... And so you see in men? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n.... Not brute force merely, but brain force, too. \n\n.... It is not always shown. \n\n.... Not always found by those whose natures \nlook for brute- force only. When our men are gentle \xe2\x80\x94 \nsay like my self -controlled and thoughtful brother \xe2\x80\x94 \nwe women ought to thank them, and not act like curs \nwho never hint what hints of courtesy save when they \ncringe to lick the hand of cruelty. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, ill. \n\nMANAGING OTHERS \n\nI would not dare to mould another thus; \nNay, though I knew that I could model thence \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 241 \n\nThe best-form\' d manhood of my best ideal. \nWho knows? \xe2\x80\x94 My own ideal, my wisest aim, \nMay tempt myself, and others, too, astray. \xe2\x96\xa0 \nIf I be made one soul to answer for, \nAnd make myself responsible for two, \nI may be doubly damn\'d. How impious, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe will that thus would manage other wills ; \nAs though we men were puppets of a show, \nNot spirits, restless and irresolute, \nPoised on a point between the right and wrong \nFrom which a breath may launch for heaven or hell ! \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nHaydn, xxvi. \n\nMANHOOD, EQUALITY OF \n\nNow shall all men trust in manhood, knowing all must \n\nread the right \nBy the aid of that same spirit giving every soul its \n\nlight. A Life in Song: Watching, xviii. \n\nNow shall no man lord another. God will have His \n\nown sweet way, \nHis own Eden, where all souls may work their work \n\nand say their say. Idem. \n\nWhere, O where shall trust in truth that speaks \n\nthrough manhood great and small, \nOvercome the few\'s oppression by intrusting power to \nall? Idem, XXI. \n\nmanhood\'s worth \n\nService done \nFor manhood measures manhood\'s worth. \n\nHer Haughtiness. \n\nMARRIAGE (see DIVORCE, MATRIMONY and WEDDED) \n\nA natural state. \nMade statelier through authority of law. \nThat, otherwise, might authorize the wrong. \n\nHaydn, XL. \n\nMARRIAGE, EFFECTS OF A FOREIGN \n\nA foreign marriage for an American girl. The one \nthing that she is sure to do is to break off with the \nthought to which she has been trained in her own land \ntoo late to form connection with the thought to which \nanother has been trained in another land. She is most \n16 \n\n\n\n242 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nlikely to remain through life a stranger in a strange \ncountry. Where Society Leads, i. \n\nMARRIAGE FOR LOVE \n\n.... Does Winifred love him? \n\n.... How can I tell? How can she tell? \xe2\x80\x94 No- \nbody knows how a suit will fit till it has been tried on. \nEven then, especially if young, one may outgrow it. \nYoung chickens have down ; old chickens have feathers. \nThe down feels smooth, the feathers may scratch. \nThe chicken is the same, only it has become an old \nchicken. \n\n.... Men have in them what chickens have not, \xe2\x80\x94 \nminds and souls. \n\n.... Have they? \n\n.... Some of them have, and know it. Others, \nwho overlook the fact, discover it sometimes when it\'s \ntoo late. Idem, ii. \n\nMARRIAGE FOR MONEY \n\n.... The woman might have money. \n\n.... And I might marry her for it, eh? Yes, and \nI might murder her for it; and, if not found out, or \nnot a spiritualist, have a much more pleasant time \nin the future \xe2\x80\x94 be rid of the embarrassment of my \nvictim\'s companionship. \n\nThe Snob and the Sewing Girl, i. \n\nMARRIAGE WITH THE UNSYMPATHETIC \n\nCursed fate! \xe2\x80\x94 \nThis trudging on and on in paths of right, \nAnd knowing every pace takes one more stride \nAway from all one loves! \xe2\x80\x94 From all one loves? \xe2\x80\x94 \nNo, no ; \xe2\x80\x94 from all that, once, one thought he loved. \nOh, cruel customs of a cruel world. \nWhich damn us for those dreams that seem to be \nOur holiest inspirations! Cruel dreams, \nThat never prove delusions, till the world \nWelds bonds for us that death alone can break! \nAnd cruel bonds that make all happiness, \nIn one so bound, impossibility, \nUnless he live a sneak\'s life. Cecil the Seer, I. \n\nMARRIAGE WITH THE VICIOUS \n\nOh, it\'s not my fault that I am thinking of, not my \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 243 \n\nfault ; it\'s my foulness ! Why, why, if I sent off a boy \nto act merely as a valet to a man like that, it would \nfrighten me to think of the risk involved in having \nhim come back into my house again; yet I, I, \xe2\x80\x94 think \nof it! \xe2\x80\x94 I have been that creature\'s wife! Ugh, the \nhumiliation of it all ! Where Society Leads, ill. \n\nMARRIED WOMEN, AS CONFIDANTES OF MEN \n\nMen seldom take off their coats and sit down in the \nsleeves of their souls with a woman, unless she is \nmarried. I may see him without his coating. \n\nThe Ranch Girl, l. \n\nMARTYR \n\nSurely, surely, truth and justice rule the worlds; and \n\ncares and pains \nWhich the martyr meekly suffers are not all that duty \n\ngains. \nGrand desires are not delusions, though one die before \n\nhis day, \nAnd the soul that plann\'d for manhood fall a child \n\namid his play. \nTrembling through the dying whispers of the men who \n\nlive for right \nComes a call to nobler living than the sleep of endless \n\nnight. A Life in Song: Watching, xxviii. \n\nMASK, A SYMBOL OF THE POET \n\nThe mask is a fitting symbol for the poet, not only \nbecause the classic actors wore one in presenting \ntragedies and comedies, but because the poet himself \nappears in one whenever he writes objectively or \ndramatically \xe2\x80\x94 indeed, one could almost say, whenever \nhe writes artistically. Words and deeds that would \nprovoke disesteem and persecution, if employed by a \nphilosopher or an essayist, can be made to fit the \ncharacters or situations represented in a poem or a \nnovel, and never raise a protest. \n\nThe Representative Significance of Form, xi. \n\nmasses\' PRAISE OR BLAME {see APPLAUSE) \n\nWhat care I for the masses\' praise or blame? \nBut larger atoms of earth\'s common dust, \nIf whirled against one or away from one, \nThey cannot fill or empty thus the sphere \n\n\n\n244 ^ POET\'S CABINET \n\nWhere dwells the spirit. Let them come or go. \nAly soul desires not many things but much \xe2\x80\x94 \nAh yes, and too much, too much, as it seems ! \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nMATCH, A LO^\xe2\x96\xa0E \n\nWe two souls were fitted so \nTo match each other. Here, where jars the world. \nAnd all goes contrary,\'-, where every sun \nThat ripes this, withers that; and everj^ storm \nThat brings refreshment here, sends deluge there. \nWe two, exceptions to the general rule, \nLike H^ing miracles (is love fulfill \'d \nA miracle indeed?), seem\'d bom to draw \nThe self-same tale of weal or woe from each. \nI saw but last night, darling, in my dreams. \nOur spirits journeying through this under gloom: \nAnd hand in hand they walk\'d; and over them. \nAs over limner\'d seraphs, did there hang \nA halo, love reflected. By its glow \nThe gloom about grew brightness : while far off. \nIn clearest Unes, the path passed up and on. \n\nHaydn, XLViii. \n\niLA.TCH, T"WO BY TWO \n\nWe too should walk alone, or else have four. \nOr six. When two agree thej^ make a match. \nA third is but a wedge with which to spHt \nThe two apart. Haydn, rv. \n\nMATE (see boy-friends) \nHow oft with an old but strange dehght, \nI awake and turn when the day grows bright; \nBut O, no arm o\'er my neck is thrown. \nNo soft, warm breath is fanning my own. \nI feel but a draft of the passing air \nThat drifts through the window to Hft my hair. \n\nI hear but the breeze \nThat is whispering where \n\nIt plays with the trees. \nThe mate of my boyhood in days long past \nI loved with a love that coiild not last. \n\nHe has left me for life; \nAnd far away with children and wife, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 245 \n\nHe shows not, knows not, would not crave \nThe old, old love that sleeps in its grave. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, vii. \n\nMATED \n\nSouls are not mated when two forms of flesh \nJoin hands, or merely share each other\'s arms. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nMATERIAL VS. SPIRITUAL AIMS \n\nHow vain to let afiEections all go forth \nTo things material, hard and heavy foes, \nWhose mission is to fall at once and crush, \nOr, through long labor, wear our spirits out! \nHow much more wise, behind the shape, to seek \nThe substance, and, in sympathy with it, \nLearn of the life that never was created \nBut all things were created to reveal ! \n\nWest Mountain. \n\nMATRIMONY, COMMITTING IT \n\nIn certain circumstances matrimony is precisely \nlike murder. Once committed, one\'s committed for \nlife; and to a prison-life at that. \n\nThe Snob and the Sewing Girl, i. \n\nMEAN \n\nThe mean are mean without meaning. \n\nThe Ranch Girl, iii. \n\nMEANING, HIDDEN \n\nA friend can heed the meaning of our thought \nUnhelpt by word or gesture. \n\nThe Aztec God, in. \n\nMEANS OF GOOD TO OTHERS \n\n.... Oh, no man in the world can fall so far \xe2\x80\x94 \ncan be so weak or poor \xe2\x80\x94 in short, so mean \xe2\x80\x94 but there \nare some of us can make of him a means of good to \nothers. \n\n.... How? \n\n.... Why, we can help him on \xe2\x80\x94 or else we can \nsuggest that he help us on. On Detective Duty, 11. \n\nMEANT \n\nTo God with what you meant ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nOne who has not His confidence must guess it \n\nDante, 11., i. \n\n\n\n246 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nMEANT RIGHT \n\nWhen we find men saying they meant right, \nWe find most others thinking they went wrong. \n\nIdem, I., 2. \n\nMELANCHOLY \n\nLife has had its fill of pain; \nBut the shade of melancholy clasped me to her breast \n\nin vain; \nPhantom-film of mortal making, why dared she to \n\nhide the light? \xe2\x80\x94 \nScarcely had I dared oppose her, ere her form had fled \n\nfrom sight. A Life in Song: Watching, xxv. \n\nMELANCHOLY TEMPERAMENT, THE \n\nAnd some are bom with heavy, sluggish blood, \nThat will not leave the heart but keeps it weighted. \n\nThe Aztec God, ii. \n\nMEMORIES \n\nOur homes, as we grow old, are in our memories. \nWe take these with us, wherever we may go, enjoying \nthere less what we see than what we seem to see. \n\nOn Detective Duty, IV. \n\nMEMORIES THAT RETAIN THE UNPLEASANT \n\nYou know there are people whose memories act like \nsinks. You may flush and flood and scrub them. \nThey keep on catching and holding what only makes \nthern a nuisance. The Ranch Girl, iv. \n\nMEMORY \n\nBehind it there was left a lingering light \nPervading moods of memory like the rays \nPour\'d through a prism, wherein the commonest hues \nWill spray to uncommon colors when they break. \n\nIdeals Made Real, iv. \n\nMEMORY, OBLIVIOUS OF THE UNPLEASANT \n\nOur memories are kind \xe2\x80\x94 would rather drop their \npen than blacken joy that is to come with grief that \nwas. They let us tread the present as on a bridge that \nrests at either end upon a past and future that seem \nbright. Were this not so, were it not so upheld, \n\'twould fall through gulfs of bottomless despair. \n\nOn Detective Duty, IV. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 247 \n\nMEN {see man) \nEarth was Eden till the pair that lived there tried to \n\nmake \n\xe2\x96\xa0Gods of men, but only dwarf\'d their heirs that curse \nat their mistake. \n\nA Life in Song: Watching, xviii. \n\nMEN, WOMEN, AND GODS \n\n.... You seemed in anger. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 So are gods at times. \xe2\x80\x94 \nThey think of men. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 . . . Of women too? \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 Oh yes; \nOf women: \xe2\x80\x94 they are said to be in bliss. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nMERRIMENT, RESULTING FROM NATURES NEEDING IT \n\nThe birds that sing most are the birds whose natures \nthe most need singing; and the men that make merry \nthe most are the men whose natures most need a world \nthat appears to be merry. The Ranch Girl, i. \n\nMESSENGERS \n\nOne may judge \nA message from its messengers. \n\nColumbus, v., I. \n\nMESSING AND MATING \n\nIn crowds men crave companionship with men, \nwhere all can throw aside, as bathers do, all thought of \ndress or consequence, and lose a sense of difference in \nthe harmony of superficial but hilarious good fellow- \nship. With women \xe2\x80\x94 well \xe2\x80\x94 most men Hke women best \nwhen most alone with them. They like the confi- \ndences half revealed, half hidden, that show the traits \nthat ^separate souls not ahke, but complementary. \nMan\'s love for man may be but secular, for woman, \nsacred; yet he needs them both \xe2\x80\x94 men for a throng, \nand maids for t^te-^-t^es. To mess is just as usefui \nas to mate. Tuition for her Intuition, 11. \n\nMETHODS vs. MODELS \n\nGood masters give us methods but not models. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\n^ MILLIONAIRES AND INFLUENCE \n\nYour millionaire is like a drop cast up from the sea \n\n\n\n248 A POET\'S CABINET \n\non a sunny day, reflecting all the colors of the rainbow \n\xe2\x80\x94 so you think; and, to an extent, your thought is \ntrue. But besides this, there is something else that\'s \nalso true. The drop is usually dashed high up onto a \ncliff, where it stays and expires alone and useless. \nMeantime the great ocean of humanity, to live and \nwork in which and with which and for which, is all \nthat makes life to other men really worth the living, \nmoves on to accomplish its destiny without perhaps a \nsingle serious contribution from himself. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, iv. \n\nMILLIONAIRES AND LONELINESS \n\nIt\'s hard to live in a world where one was meant to \ngo with others and to find himself obliged to live alone \n\xe2\x80\x94 his purest motives misrepresented, his kindest deeds \nmisunderstood, the members of his own family his \nworst enemies, and everyone to whom he feels that he \nshould most like to look for an exchange of sympathy \nso situated as to think that it can\'t and shouldn\'t be \ngiven ; and all this because he\'s the son of a millionaire. \n\nIdem, III. \n\nMILLIONAIRES AND PROFLIGACY \n\n.... Oh, you\'re going in with our classmates, \nBob Martin and Jack Sharp, eh? \n\n.... How so? \n\n.... Why, they are millionaires. \n\n.... And what have they done? \n\n.... Why, you know! Bob has written a play, \nand Jack a novel, both of them intended to show up \nthe profligate lives of pleasure led by the millionaires. \n\n.... I haven\'t read their effusions. Are they \ninteresting? \n\n.... Well, rather! \n\n.... I should think they would be. Accounts of \nprofligacy usually are. \n\n.... But these, you know, are founded on facts. \n\n.... On all the facts? \xe2\x80\x94 Anything less than all the \ntruth, you know, is never the whole truth. As a fact, \nmost millionaires that I know are not profligate. If \nthey were, or had been for any length of time, they \nwouldn\'t be millionaires. Nor are their pleasures pro- \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 249 \n\nfligate. If they were, or had been for any length of \ntime, they wouldn\'t be pleasures. Idem, iv. \n\nMILLIONAIRES, HANDICAP OF BEING \n\nIt\'s an awful handicap to be the son of a millionaire, \n\xe2\x80\x94 to know you have something inside of you, and yet \nto know that everybody about supposes that all you \nhave is on the outside, \xe2\x80\x94 that you are a make-up not of \nmind but of money. Money glitters and attracts \xe2\x80\x94 \nglitters for moths and attracts the mercenary; makes \none a center of superficiality, brainlessness, selfishness, \nsordidness, sensuality. What Money Can\'t Buy, 11. \n\nMIND, CHANGING ANOTHER\'S \n\n.... Have you or I? \xe2\x80\x94 has any one the right to \nturn a mind from that which its own thinking has \nreckoned wise? \n\n.... You would not change my mind? \n\n.... I would not love you if I tried to do it; for \nyou yourself are what your mind has made you. \n\nThe Two Paths, iv. \n\nMIND, FUNCTION OF \n\nA man who fails to judge the character \nOf what is promised by the character \nOf him who promises, reveals no mind; \nFor mind is what connects effect and cause. \n\nDante, 11., i. \n\nMIND MOULDED BY ITS OCCUPATION \n\nWhen a man makes anything, he moulds not only it, \nbut moulds, as well, the tool with which he makes it. \nThe sharpest blade was never keen enough to keep its \nown edge, was it?\xe2\x80\x94 nor so dull but that a constant \ngnnd might sharpen it? It seems the same with \nminds. The scholar\'s tools are thinking tools, and \nusually by merely thinking can unravel what is tangled \ninto knots. But business friction makes the tools \ntoo sharp. They cut the knot without unraveling it. \nFew men who once form habits of not thinking except \nwhen thought is absolutely needed can rest content \nwith thinking as a life-work. The Two Paths, i. \n\nMINUTES \n\nMinutes grow the seeds from which the things that \nspring may fill eternity. On Detective Duty, i. \n\n\n\n250 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nMIRACLES \nFew things, when we turn them inside out, \nAre proved to be the miracles we thought them. \n\nDante, ii., 2. \n\nMIRE, FALLING IN \n\nA man may fall in such a mire that when he tries \nto clutch a thing to rise on, he only pulls down what \nmay sink him deeper. The Two Paths, 11. \n\nMIRROR \n\nAy , how often, when the light that guided us has gleamed \n\nwithin, \nWe have wish\'d that our reflections might enlighten \n\nthen our kin. \nBut though brighter minds might aid them, ours, at \n\nleast, were dull as night, \nStriving ever, failing ever, half our views to mirror \n\nright. A Life in Song: Dreaming, ix. \n\nMISSION \n\nThere can be no one, not the least of men, \n\nBut has his mission. Half a mortal he, \n\nAnd half a spirit ; half the son of earth. \n\nAnd half of heaven ; it is his work divine \n\nTo mediate for his race between the two; \n\nTo take the life God gave him at his birth, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nIts germ, its growth, and all its varied fruit, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd offer it, like him \xe2\x80\x94 that greater priest \n\nWho offer\'d more \xe2\x80\x94 a willing sacrifice \n\nUpon life\'s altar, where the heaven-born soul \n\nIs tested and refined by fires of earth. \n\nThen must he work with whatsoe\'er survives, \n\nAnd show to men his preservations grand \n\nOf common things that they profane and slight. \n\nAnd hush their murmurs by sublime appeals \n\nThat urge their spirits to the spirit\'s best. \n\nThus can he fill a worthy sphere, and be \n\nEarth\'s humble victim, who, its prophet too, \n\nReveres his life for what his life reveals. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, XLI. \n\nWhen all sailing is over, the shouts of a state \nThat hail a Columbus may name him great. \nBefore it is over, that isle of the west, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 251 \n\nThe goal of his quest, \nIs merely, for most, the point of a jest. \nNor a few, the while he turns to his mission, \nWill deem him moved by a mean ambition. \nAy, often indeed, the nobler the claims \n\nInspiring his aims, \n\nThe more earth deems \n\nThey are selfish schemes \nOf a Joseph it hates for having strange dreams. \nUnveiling the Monument. \n\nMISSION, FINDING ONE\'s \n\nWith broaden\'d means, led on to push \nToward broaden\'d purposes, I spoke and wrote; \nAnd found, anon, while aiding here and there \nWhere aid was rare, wide opening to my view, \nA worthiest mission. Ideals Made Real, lxvii. \n\nI like to think this frame of mine \nContains a spark of life divine. \nEnkindled there with some design. \nI oft have thought, there ought to be \nSome light to glow and flow from me, \nAnd show what all men long to see. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, ill. \n\nMISSION OF MAN, SPIRITUAL \n\nThere is one only mission fit for man, \xe2\x80\x94 \nTo be a spirit ministering to spirit. \nWhat fits for this? \xe2\x80\x94 A breath of highersky, \nA sight of higher scenes, at times, a strife \nTo mount by means impossible as yet. \nWhat then? \xe2\x80\x94 Believe me that the spirit-air, \nLike all the air above the soil we tread, \nTakes to its own environment of light \nNo growth to burst there into flower and fruit \nThat does not get some start, and root itself \nAmid this lower world\'s deep, alien darkness, \xe2\x80\x94 \nNo spirit uses wings in heaven that never \nHas learned of them, or longed for them, on earth. \n\nBerlin Mountain. \n\nMISSION, MAN WITH A \n\nThe more they knew him, something made of him \nStill more a stranger. All about his life \n\n\n\n252 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThere hung an atmosphere of mystery. \nHe seem\'d through it to see what they saw not; \nAnd as their hush would heed the rare reports \nThat reach \'d them through the music of his voice, \nHis thought oft seem\'d a spirit\'s; none could tell \nFrom whence it came; nor trace it where it went. \n\nA Life in Song: Prelude. \n\nMISSION vs. MISTRESS \n\n.... A woman craves attention and a home. \nHer lover\'s mission, let it oft withdraw \nHis ear or sphere from her, seems then her rival. \n.... It would not, did she love the man\'s true self. \n.... Perhaps, and yet the kinds of love men feel \nFor mistress or for mission are so like! \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhat, if behind the mission\'s love should be \nSome sentient spirit too in realms unseen? \nThese women may be right. They may have rivals. \n\nColumbus, II; I. \n\nMISSIONS \n\nSome souls have missions because misled. \n\nRighting a Wrong. \n.... True missions only serve the higher self. \n.... Some people always think their own selves \n\nhigher \nThan are the selves of those about them. \n\nDante, iii, i. \n\nMISSIONS VS. BUSINESS \n\nOne\'s mission, as a rule, \nIs wrought alone; one\'s business with others. \nThings done alone may but be done for self. \nThings done with others may be done, too, for them. \n\nIdem. \n\nMISTAKE, MADE EXCUSABLE BY MAKING IT WORSE \n\nYou know when one gets into slippery places, and \nstarts to slide down hill, the safest thing, at times, is \nnot to try to stop himself, but keep on sliding, till he \ntouches bottom. So when a man has made a big \nmistake, he sometimes makes a bigger one, in case he \nfails to emphasize the one he made, so all will see how \nbig it was, and what a big excuse he had for making it. \nTuition for her Intuition, ii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 253 \n\nMISTRESS OF THE HOUSEHOLD \n\nI know one household now \nAll radiant through its mistress ! Where she dwells \nA sweet content pervades the very air, \nAnd genial sjmipathy smiles on to make \nEach whole long year one summer of delight. \n\nIdeals Made Real, lxxv. \n\nMISUNDERSTOOD {see UNDERSTOOD) \n\nAll the thoughts \nThat flood the world spring up from single souls ; \nAnd some of these may bless it most when made \nTo spend their lives interpreting themselves. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nI fear that any soul \nThat needs to be interpreted, before \nIt gains the common love of common men \xe2\x80\x94 \nFor this alone is all for which I long \xe2\x80\x94 \nDwells in the doom of some uncommon curse. \n\nIdem. \n\nMOB \n\nThen I saw a wiser instinct, flowing forth unitedly, \nWhere were crowds that came together at the call of \n\nliberty. \nWhich, like thunder on the hillside, rousing rills from \n\nevery spring, \nWhen they dash to seas that madly o\'er the rocks the \n\nbreakers fling. \nRoused, anon, a mass of mortals, who beneath a hissing \n\ntide, \nQuench\'d the flaming guns that bellow\'d from a \n\ntyrant\'s tower defied. \nThen anon the wrath subsided; but the mob, ere back \n\nit roU\'d, \nHad to havoc swept the good as well as bad that \n\nthrived of old. A Life in Song: Watching, viii. \n\nMODERN {see progress) \n\nThink you, friend that naught \nHas dimm\'d with new alloy the modern phrase, \nAnd that it still makes clear thought\'s ancient phase? \nNay, may not one\'s own thinking, too, debase \nThe soul\'s pure springs of God\'s inspiring grace? \n\n\n\n254 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nIf so, can one be wise, and take no thought \nOf what another spirit has been taught? \n\nIdem, Seeking, XLV. \n\nMODEST \n\nThe modest may be more unjust to self \nThan are the egotistic to their fellows. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nTo be - \n\nToo modest, is to lag behind, and break \nGod\'s Hnes, who ranks us right. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nMODESTY, A WOMAN\'s \n\nA woman\'s modesty is her best treasure-case in \nwhich to hide her morals, yes \xe2\x80\x94 but if a drunken thief, \nshe probably has lived so long with thieves that the \ntreasiu*e-case is empty. The Two Paths, iii. \n\nMOMENTS \n\nLife is poised on slender moments; all eternity on \n\ntime; \nAnd the "still small voice" reveals the presence of a \n\npower sublime. A Life in Song: Dreaming, i. \n\nMONEY {see MARRIAGE FOR WEALTH) \n\nThe time will come when money \n\nWill pay what work is worth; \nWill buy your task, and none will ask \n\nYour station or your birth. \nThe right to earnings will be won \nBy what a man himself has done. \nThe time will come when money \n\nWill not seem more than man; \nBut hearts will yearn with all they earn \n\nTo help all men they can. \nIn rolls of honor in that state, \nGreat love alone will make men great. \nThe time will come when money \n\nWill not buy one a crown \xe2\x80\x94 \nTo lift a snob above the mob \n\nAnd keep all others down. \nFor men, to inward worth alert. \nWill only bow to true desert. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, i. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 255 \n\nMONEY AS A TOY {see GAMBLING) \n\nAt some time, you know, boys always use up or lose \ntheir toys. In the end, the same thing happens to \nmen who begin to play with \xe2\x80\x94 make toys of \xe2\x80\x94 their \nmoney. The Snob and the Sewing Girl, iii. \n\nMONEY MAKING (see COMPETENCE) \n\n.... Would not make money, then? \n\n.... Enough to spend; but not enough for coffers, \nor for coffins. You gild a living leaf, and it will die. \nYou cover living souls with gold, too often they shine \nfor others but decay for self. Their buried best is \nnever brought to light. The Two Paths, iv. \n\nMONOMANIACS (see consistent) \n\nMONUMENT (sec FAME, POSTUMOUS, and TOMB) \n\nNot oft, nor till ages of suns and storms \nHave wrought with the verdure in earthly forms, \' \nAre these turn\'d into stone, no more to decay. \nBut often on earth \nThe owners of worth \nThat men image in marble grow stony, that way. \nAh, man, whom in hardship you might make a friend \nAnd turn from \xe2\x80\x94 beware, beware in the end, \nLest he whom you harden grow hard unto you. \n\nO world, when ready your hero to cheer, \nHow heeds he your welcome? say, what does he do? \n\nHis eye, does it see? his ear, does it hear? \nHis heart, does it throb? his pulse, does it thrill? \nOr his touch, is it cold? his clasp, is it chill? \xe2\x80\x94 \nO world, you have waited long ; what have you done? \nman, you have wrought so long; what have you \nwon? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThat monument there, \nSo high, so fair. \nThat throne of light for the man who led. \nIs only a tomb. They are cheering the dead. \n\nUnveiling the Monument. \n\nMOOD, EVIL \n\nYour evil mood is master of your thought \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nMOODS, LIGHT, RESULTING FROM TROUBLE \n\nThe lightest of moods, and the brightest as well, are \n\n\n\n256 A POET\'S CABINET \n\noften mere spray flung up from the waves that a \nserious blow has been tossing. The Ranch Girl, i. \n\nMOON, THE, IN A STORM \n\nAt last, my doubt had made me leave my beads, \n\nAnd, moved as if to cool a feverish faith, \n\nPass out, the night air seeking. There I saw \n\nThe moon. It soothed me always with strange spells, \n\nThe moon. But now, as though all things would join \n\nTo rout my peace, I seem\'d this moon to see \n\nCaught up behind an angry horde of clouds, \n\nChased by the hot breath of a coming storm \n\nThat clang\'d his thunder-bugle through the west. \n\nWhen once the rude gust hit the moon, it tipt \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nOr so it seem\'d \xe2\x80\x94 and with a deafening peal \n\nIt spilt one blinding flash. Then, where this lit. \n\nJust in the path before me gleam\' d a knife! \n\nHeld o\'er a form of white! To see the thing \n\nI scream\'d aloud. It seem\'d a ghost! \n\nHaydn, xxxi. \n\nMORAL EQUAL \n\nMy soul demands in one whom I obey \nA moral equal, at the least. \n\nColumbus, I., 3. \n\nMORBID \n\nThey call me morbid \xe2\x80\x94 if they mean \nI hate the wrong, wherever seen; \nAnd make supreme my own ideal; \nAnd grieve to find it not made real ; \nI hail the name. No titles go \nFrom earth to bias heaven, I trow. \nMen\'s normal moods may sink and swell \nAt one with tides that drift to hell. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, ix. \n\nMOTHER \n\nHow oft in the night, \'mid the wind\'s wild sweep \nThrough the leaf -hung trees, or the spray-flung deep, \nMy eye sees not, but a light will gleam \nLike an angel-face in an angel-dream ; \n\nAnd back through the years \n\nMy hush\'d soul hears \nThe call of a tone \n\n\n\n\nWith cravings pale \nFor church and stole and sermons of my own. \n\nSee page joi. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 257 \n\nLike the spirit\'s own; \n\nAnd I feel the press \nOf a lost caress, \n\nAnd of Hps that bear \nBoth a kiss and a prayer \nFor my cheeks that glow as my ptdses thrill. \nAh, is it a wonder my eye should fill? \nI feel, whatever my life may be, \nThat one in the past had love for me; \nWhen, dear as a boon from a realm of the blest. \n]\\Iy soul was press\'d \nTo my mother\'s breast. \n\nIdem, Loving, yi. \n\nMOTHERHOOD \n\nShe hints \xe2\x80\x94 not so? \xe2\x80\x94 that truest womanhood \nIs maidenhood? \xe2\x80\x94 By Eve and Mary, false! \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe mother hves the model of her sex, \nAnd not the maid. Haydn, XLII. \n\nThe tender plant that springs to the air \n\nFrom the small frail urn of youth \nIs trained, if at all, by a woman\'s care \n\nFor the flowering and fruitage of truth. \nEach home is an Eden that owns an Eve \nWhose deeds make all Hfe joy or grieve. \n\nLove a-nd Life, vii. \n\nMOTHS VS. WORMS \n\nMore blest the short-Hved moths that fly to flame \nStraight through a pathway Ht by coming Ught \nThan long-lived worms that crawl thro\' endless mire. \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \n\nMOTn\'T:S AND THOUGHT \n\nWhat moves me seems beyond all conscious thought; \nSeems Hke the lure that leads the summer bird \nSouthward when comes the fall. It is enough, \nIt is my destin5^ I weigh it well, \nAnd find it rational; yet why I first \nConceived it as I do, I cannot tell. \n\nColumbus, III., I. \nIf men were manikins they might be moved hv mo- \ntives not translated into thought. But men have \nminds, and so they often get what gtddes more wisely \n17 \n\n\n\n258 ALLOWANCE OF CERTAIN CLAIMS. \n\nized and directed to pay, out of any money in the Treasury not otherwise appropri- \nated, to the trustees of Loudoun Street Presbyterian Church, of Winchester, Vir- \nginia, the sum of seven thousand dollars, for use of and damage to their church prop- \nerty by the military forces of the United States during the late civil war." \n\nThe trustees of Loudoun Street Presbyterian Church, of Winchester, Va., appeared \nand filed their petition in^this court August 28, 1906, in which they make the follow- \ning allegations; \n\nThat during the late war for the suppression of the rebellion, and on or about Sep- \ntember 20, 1864, the military forces of the United States, under command of Maj. \nGen. P. H. Sheridan, took possession of the church building of Loudoun Street Pres- \nbyterian Church, of Winchester, Va., and used and occupied the same for hospital \nand other purposes until the fall of 1865. That the reasonable rental value of said \nbuilding during the period it was so occupied, including the repairs necessary to \nrestore the building to the condition in which it was at the time the said military \nforces took possession, was the sum of $7,000 for which no payment has been made. \n\nThe case was brought to a hearing on loyalty and merits on the 17th day of Janu- \nary, 1906. \n\nG. W. Z. Black, esq., appeared for the claimants, and the Attorney-General, by \nW. W. Scott, esq., his assistant and under his direction, appeared for the defense and \nprotection of the interests of the United States. \n\nThe court, upon the evidence and after considering the briefs and arguments of \ncounsel on both sides, makes the following \n\nFINDINGS OP PACT. \n\nI. It appears from the evidence that the Loudoun Street Presbyterian Church, of \nWinchester, Va., as a church, was loyal to the Government of the United States \nthroughout the war for the suppression of the rebellion. \n\nII. "During said war the property described in the petition was taken possession of \nby the United States troops, the furniture removed, aud the church building occu- \npied as a hospital for a period of about two years. \n\nThe reasonable rental value of said building for such period, together with the \ndamage to same in excess of ordinary wear and tear, was the sum of twenty-six hun- \ndred dollars (|2,600), no part of which appears to have been paid. \n\nIII. The foregoing claim was never presented to any department of the Govern- \nment prior to its presentation to Congress and reference to this court by resolution of \nthe United States Senate, hereinbefore stated, and no reason is given why such was \nnot done. \n\nBy the Court. \nFiled January 21, 1907. \nA true copy. \n\nTest this 16th day of February, 1907. \n[seal.] John Randolph, \n\nAssistant Clerk Court of Claims. \n\nTRUSTEES OF LUTHERAN CHURCH OF TOMS BROOK, VA\xe2\x80\x9e AND OTHERS. \n\n[Court ol Claims. Congressional, No. 12611. Trustees of Lutheran Church ol Toms Brook, Va., and \ntrastees oJ Reformed Church of Toms Brook Va., successors to the Union Church, of Toms Brook, \nVa., V. The United States.] \n\nSTATEMENT OP CASE. \n\nOn February 1, 1906, Senate bill 4025 was introduced in the Fifty-ninth Congress, \nwhich said bill reads as follows: \n\n"A BILL For the relief of the trustees of the Union Church, of Toms Brook, Virginia. \n\n\' \' Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America \nin Congress assembled, That the Secretary of the Treasurjr be, and he is hereby, author- \nized and directed to pay, out of any money in the Treasury of the United States not \notherwise appropriated, to the trustees of the Union Church, of Toms Brook, Virginia, \nthe sum of eight hundred dollars, in full compensation for the use and occupation of \nand damage to real estate of said church by United States military forces during the \nlate civil war." \n\nSaid bill,, with accompanying papers, was referred to this court by resolution of the \nUnited States Senate on June 13, 1906, for findings of fact under the terms of section \n14 of the act approved March 3, 1887. \n\n\n\nALLOWANCE OP CERTAIN CLAIMS. 259 \n\n, The case was brought to a hearing upon lovaltv and merits on the 9th day of January, \n1907. \n\nMoyers & Consaul appeared for claimants, and tlie Attorney-General, by John Q. \nThompson, esq., his assistant, and under his direction, appeared for the defense and \nprotection of the interests of the United States. \n\nThe claimants in their petition make the following allegations: \n\nThat petitioners John H. Bauserman and Abraham Keller are the trustees of the \nReformed Church, of Toms Brook, Va.; that petitioners Noah F. Snarr and B. F. \nBorden, jr., are the trustees of the Lutheran Church, of Toms Brook, Va. \n\nThat previous to and during the late ci^dl war said two churches were the owner in \ncommon of a certain house of worship, known as and called the " Union Church," of \nToms Brook, Va. ; that said building was a substantial wooden structure, well finished \nand furnished, and reasonably worth in the spring of 1862 not less than $1,000; that in \nthe spring of 1862 the United States military forces, under Gen. N. P. Banks, took pos- \nsession of said building and used and occupied the same for military purposes; that \nduring said use of said building the same was greatly damaged, the building when \nvacated being practically nothing but walls and roof ; that the reasonable rental value \nof said premises during said period of occupation, with the damages incident to such \noccupation, amount to the sum of $800. \n\nThat petitioners as trustees as aforesaid for said Reformed Church, of Toms Brook, \nVa., and for said Lutheran Church, of Toms Brook, Va., are the owners of this claim. \n\nThe court, upon the evidence and after considering the briefs and arguments of \ncounsel upon both sides, makes the following \n\nFINDINGS OF FACT. \n\nI. Throughout the late civil war the Lutheran Church, of Toms Brook, Va., and the \nReformed Church, of Toms Brook, Va., remained, as organizations, loyal to the Gov- \nernment of the United States. \n\nII. During the civil war the Lutheran Church, of Toms Brook, Va. , and the Reformed \nChurch, of Toms Brook, Va., were the owners in common of a certain house of worship \nused by said two churches, which building was called the "Union Church," of Toms \nBrook. During said war said building was used and occupied by the United States \n\n\xe2\x96\xa0 military forces for military purposes and was incidentally greatly damaged. The \nreasonable rental value of said premises during the period of said occupation, and for \ndamage to the pulpit, pews, and building was the sum of two hundred and fifty dollars \n($250), no part of which appears to have been paid. \n\nIII. Tills claim was never presented to any Department of the Government prior to \nits presentation to Congress and reference to this court as aforesaid, and no reason is \ngiven why such was not done. \n\nBy the Court. \nFiled January 14, 1907. \nA true copy. \n\nTest this 28th day of January, 1907. \n\n[seal.] John Randolph, \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 Assistant Clerh Court of Claims. \n\nTRUSTEES OF MACEDONIA METHODIST EPISCOPAL CHURCH, STAF- \nFORD COUNTY, VA. \n\n[Court of Claims. Congressional, No. 12420. Trustees of Macedonia Methodist Episcopal Church, of \nStafford County, Virginia, v. The United States.] \n\nSTATEMENT OF CASE. \n\nThe following bill was referred to the court, June 13, 1906, by resolution of the \nUnited States Senate, under act of Congress, approved March 3, 1887, known as the \nTucker Act: \n\n" A BILL For the rehef of the trustees of Macedonia Methodist Episcopal Church, of Stafford County, \nVirginia. \n\n"Beit enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America \nin Congress assembled, That the Secretary of the Treasury be, and he is hereby, author- \nized and directed to pay out of any money in the Treasury not otherwise appropriated , \nto the trustees of Macedonia Methodist Episcopal Church, of Stafford County, Virginia, \nthe sum of one thousand dollars, for use and destruction of their church property by \nthe military forces of the United States during the late civil war." \n\n\n\n26o A POETS CABINET \n\nTo shape like this when some primeval frost \nChilled, caught and crystallized the storm-swept \n\nwaves \nOf chaos that, arrested in their rage. \nThey fitly might portray the power beneath. \nStay there, great billows, all your boiilder-drops \nHeld harmless where they hang; and all the spray \nThat might have dashed above them merely leaves \nOf bush and forest, held to equal pause \nSave where, perchance, their fluttering, now and then. \nReveals a feeling that they once were free; \nStay there suspended in the sky ! But sure \nAs days roll up the sun, an hour must come \nWhen blazing blasts again shall shake those peaks, \nShall pile them higher, level them to plains, \nOr melt them back to primal nothingness. \n\nWest Mountain. \n\nMOUNTAINS, SUGGESTIONS OF SURROUNDING \n\nDid ever yet a form appear on earth \n\nDivine in mission that would fail to bless \n\nThose, too, who could but touch its garment\'s hem? \n\nAs long as thinking can be shaped by things. \n\nAnd that which holds our hfe can mould our love, \n\nWhat soul can seek the skies with wistful gaze \n\nAnd be content with only soil below? \n\nOh, does it profit naught that one should dwell \n\nAmid surroundings that no eyes can see \n\nSave as they look above, no feet can leave, \n\nTo seek the outer world, save as they chmb? \n\nWhere every prospect homes itself on high, \n\nAnd each horizon seems a haunt of heaven? \n\nGreylock. \n\nMOUNTAINS IN A THUNDER STORM \n\nWe saw the mountain-summits as before. \nAnd soon, upon the highest peak of all. \nSome clouds appear\'d. They seem\'d, ere long, to \n\ncrawl \nAlong the hights, and lengthen out, and show \nThemselves the first of others gathering so. \nWhich soon closed up behind them. Then we heard \nThe moan of forests that above were stirr\'d; \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 261 \n\nThen nearer trees began to quake and sway; \nAnd with good cause! for blackening all the way \nA storm was coming on, with an array \nAs fierce as hosts of fiends might be, if sent \nFrom hell to charge some heavenly battlement. \nAs fiercely, foully, did its forces try \nTo break the Hnes of Hght in earth and sky, \nWith sad success! they carried each redoubt; \nAnd, bounding down with thunder-tread and shout, \nOn every side their weapons flash\'d, and lash\'d \nThe howling waste through which their fury dash\'d. \nA Life in Song: Seeking, xxii. \n\nMOUNTAIN VIEW \n\nAt last we reach\'d a dark defile. \n\nThrough which a river dash\'d; but soon the dell \n\nBecame a precipice, adown which fell \n\nThe spray-sent stream, then thunder\'d its farewell \n\nA thousand feet below. From where we stood \n\nWe watch\'d it wind and gleam amid a wood, \n\nWhose tree-tops far beneath us waved away, \n\nWell swept by winds that made them sigh and sway, \n\nAcross a sea-Hke space of hills and dales. \n\nThe high-heaved peaks and all the deep-rent vales \n\nWere bright with autumn\'s tints that end the year \n\nLike sunset ending day. "The glories here \n\nBespeak translation and not death," said he. \n\n\'\'These leaves are bright as flowers that lure the bee \n\nIn orchards. When they fall, the limbs are clear \n\nFor life\'s fresh fruitage of the coming year. \n\nSo find I autumn\'s hues of gold and red \n\nWorn by each season, ere the leaves are shed, \n\nA mantle which the old year from the skies \n\nDrops like Elijah\'s, and it prophesies \n\nNew hfe beyond to which all nature hies." Idem, xvi. \n\nMOURNER, EXPERIENCE OF A \n\nLast night when darkness fell and veiled my face \nFrom those I surely thought it else had frighted, \nI walked the streets and watched the city dream. \nIn lanes, m inns, in churches, and in homes \nEach face I gazed at loomed as grim with shadows \nAs those that clung to mine. Her funeral pall \n\n\n\n262 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nSeemed closely hung about my form as her\'s, \nFlopping a dangling, dire, bedraggled fringe \nOf tear-soaked black between myself and all things. \n\nDante, ii., i. \n\nMOUTH \n\nI would rather risk, \nWithout a disenchanting yell or yolp, \nExtracting teeth than thought from such a mouth. \n\nIdem, I., I. \nWere I a moth \nIn a rug their crowd came trampling, I should fight \xe2\x80\x94 \nAy, with my mouth, too, as you seem to ask \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd keep on fighting there, until I wrought \nMy way to something that could not be trampled. \n\nIdem. \n.... He talked, at first, of eating and of drinking. \n.... Quite natural ! The mouth, like other things \nwill buzz the most of what it does the most. \n\nOn Detective Duty III. \n\nMOUTH, KEEPING IT SHUT \n\n.... But if you drug him? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n.... He himself gave you the chance. Con- \nfounded idiot \xe2\x80\x94 should have kept his mouth shut ! \n\n.... The same that one could say of most fools. \n\n.... Yes; the sooner, too, they find it out the \nbetter. Why were our stomachs put inside our bodies, \nwhy were our senses put inside our skulls, if we were \nmeant to open up to everything? Idem, ii. \n\nMOUTHS, FOR TALKING AS WELL AS EATING \n\nOur human mouths are doors that swing in front of \nsouls as well as palates, \xe2\x80\x94 where the fun comes out as \nwell as food goes in. To balance the lower use of \nthem in chewing, \'tis better, when we eat, to talk. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, iv. \n\nMOVEMENT \n\nNay, as the flush\'d and fever\'d blood will start \nAbout the shot that rends a soldier\'s breast, \n\nAs if mere movement could remove the smart. \nUnrest relieved his pain, each month revealing \n\nA milder movement and a firmer eye. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, lxxiii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 263 \n\nMURILLO \n\nNo sweeter Murillo\'s divine designs, \nWhose purity rivals each thought it refines, \nWhile the dreamy intent of a life-brooding haze \nThrongs thick with the beauty of immature praise. \nConceptions immaculate still may be \nIn the pure white light that he could see, \nInspired to incarnate a soul in each plan, \nThe life of a picture as well as of man. \n\nThe Artist\'s Aim. \n\nMUSE \n\nWoe me, I stand, \nA poet born, who deem\'d his Muse had fled; \nThat time and trouble had a stone roll\'d up, \nHer sweet form sealing in their sepulchre. \nAnd yet one breath of love could rouse the dead. \nAll day the subtle spirit haunts me now, \nThrill\'d through and through to sound her sweetness \nforth. Ideals Made Real, Liii. \n\nMUSIC (see harmony) \n\nMusic throbs with life. \nThe sounds are sentient . . . \nThey make me thrill, as if a power should come. \nAnd touch, with hands below these fleshly robes. \nAnd clasp, as loving spirits do, the spirit. \nThey woo me as a god might, owning heaven. \n\nHaydn, i. \nmusic, expressing grief \nDid ever harpsichord so crave a voice \nTo utter forth a cry of full despair? \nDid ever aught that human hands could touch \nSo tremble to reveal such agony \nAs wrung the frame of him whose fingers wrought, \nAlong the sympathetic key-board there, \nThe counterpoint still pointing out his woe? \n\nHaydn, xlv. \n\nI never so had trembled at the peals \nOf thunder as beneath the chords he struck; \nNor felt my cheek so moist by rains as there \nBy tears that flow\'d as flow\'d his melodies; \nWhile all the air about appear\' d surcharged \n\n\n\n264 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWith dangerous force electric, touch\'d alone \nTo flash keen suffering from his heart to mine. \nAnd yet, each day, his music sweeter swell\'d. \nEre that, it may have lack\'d in undertone, \nThe pleading pathos of half -utter \'d grief: \nSince then, I never hear it but it seems \nAs if the heavens had been bereaved of love, \nAnd pour\'d their sad complaint on earth beneath; \nAnd I who listen to the sweetness of it \nCan never tell if I should smile or weep \nTo think that it has come so far below, \nOr feel that it has left so much above. \n\nIdem, XLVi. \n\nMUSIC FREES THE MIND IT RULES \n\nWhat different moods. \nThese chords, we hear, arouse in different minds! \nThat maid may smile amid sweet dreams of love; \nHer dark attendant dream of but her wealth; \nThat matron plan some fresh self-sacrifice; \nAnd that spare fellow, twirling near her side \nThe soft mustache that downs his pursing lips, \nPlan only how to hide their stingy look. \nAnd thus all listen, musing different things; \nAnd all, with conscious freedom, muse of them; \nAnd yet one harmony controls them all. \nAroused or calm to match its changing flow. \nWhat else but music frees the mind it rules? \n"Good-will to man," was first proclaim\'d in song. \nIdeals Made Real, xxxviii. \n\nMUSIC OF LIFE \n\nMusic round the world is ringing. \n\nSweeter ne\'er is heard by man; \nMusic angel hosts were singing. \n\nEre the morning stars began; \nSweeter \'t is than dreams of music, \n\nMusic one awakes to hear \nTrailing on a train of echoes \n\nO\'er a mild and moonlit meer; \nMore it moves than martial marches, \n\nMore than gleams of long-lost hope. \nMore than suns to glory lifting \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 265 \n\nDew they draw from plain and slope; \nMusic \'t is that thrills us only \n\nIn the art that hearts control, \nWhen the breath of ardor holy \n\nSoftly stirs a sighing soul. \n\nThe Music of Life. \n\nMUSIC OF NATURE \n\nAt times, mysterious whirs of winds and wings \nAnd whisperings rose, with long-drawn echoings. \n\'T was music, lingering lovingly along \nThe breeze its fragrance freighted, like a song \nFrom bay-bound barks in hazy autumn calms ; \nNor less it sway\'d my soul than slow low psalms, \nBegun where organ blasts that roar\'d and rush\'d \nAnd made the air-waves roll, are swiftly hush\'d, \nAnd our thrill\' d breasts inhale as well as hear \nThe awe-fiU\'d sweetness of the atmosphere. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, iv. \n\nMUSIC OF THE SPHERES \n\nThe wise who once thought heavenly spheres, \nAs all unroll\' d their store of years, \nWoke music through their atmospheres \n\nThat soft and far was ringing; \nHeard subtler music, it may be, \nWhere love rules all, yet all are free, \nAnd though not thoughts, yet hearts agree, \n\nFor all beat time in singing. \n\nA Song on Singing. \n\nMUSICAL vs. POETIC MOVEMENT \n\nMusic moves forward like a wheel when its spokes \nare revolving, the united influence of the tones being \nfar more marked than the significance of separate \ntones. Poetry moves forward Hke one walking, step by \nstep, the united influence of sentences being scarcely \nmore perceptible than that of separate words. \n\nThe Representative Significance of Form, xxii. \n\nMUSICIAN \n\nHow could I show more worth, \n\nThan as a reed for a breath divine, \n\nBlowing from heaven to earth? \n\nMusician and Moralizer. \n\n\n\n266 A POETS CABINET \n\nMYSTERY IN LOVE \n\nDo we mention love? Oh, how should we dare? \n\nFor love one may only harm \nBy stripping its form of the mystery there, \n\nWhich is oft its holiest charm. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, XL. \n\nMYSTERY IN RELIGION \n\nNaught can train more truthful piety \nThan earnest thought, awaiting patiently \nIn heaven\'s own light each heavenly mystery. \n\nIdem, Seeking, xlvii. \nCould one solve \nAll motives and all means of mystery, \nThere were no sphere for faith. \n\nDante, Ii., 2. \n\nCan aught that men serve reverently \nBe void of deep dark voids of mystery? \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, xlvii. \n\nMYTH \n\nYou, like a myth, \nAre not inspired, but yet inspiring; not \nReligion, but could make a man religious. \n\nColumbus, II., I. \n\nNATURE, AND HUMAN CHARACTER \n\nNo character, I think, grows wholly ripe \nSave that which grows as nature guides its growth. \n\nHaydn, xli. \n\nNATURE AND HUMAN INFLUENCE \n\nEarth might have more of beauty, had it had \n\nMore continence; nor spent, and spawned such crowds \n\nBetween ourselves and nature. As it is. \n\nWhat tempt our taste appear too often served \n\nLike viands one can scarcely see for flies. \n\nOr test for spice and pepper. Dante, iii., 2. \n\nNATURE, AS A GUIDE TO ACTION \n\nWhat has a man that a child has too. \nWhen "of such is the kingdom" on high? \nHe knows that life is better\'d by rules. \nBut he knows how split the wise and the fools \n\nWhen judging of rules they apply. \nHe feels that life worth living proceeds \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 267 \n\nFrom nature that prompts the bent of deeds; \nAnd he lets the reins of his being go, \nWhenever the soul moves upward so. \nIf he look to God through self or His Book, \nOr leading the way through a bishop\'s crook, \nHe welcomes whatever has worth in the new, \nThough it grew outside of his Timbuctoo. \nFor modest he is, and loves to find \nEarth blest by minds that differ in kind. \nIn short, to the simple, the frail, and the few \nHe is fill\'d with charity through and through; \nAnd, waiving your reason its right of control, \nTrusts God for enough truth left in your soul; \nAnd though he may tell you he doubts your way, \nHe has much to love in spite of his "nay"; \nAnd that may a man and a child have too. \n\nOf Such Is the Kingdom. \n\nNATURE, BEING TRUE TO \n\nAh, he who learns of this, and comes to live \nIn close communion with it, finds, at times, \nWhen Nature whom he loves has laid aside \nHer outer guise and clasps him to her heart. \nThat there are mysteries, not vague but clear. \nNot formless but concrete, which, it must be. \nThat those alone can know, or have a right \nTo know, who always, like a faithful spouse, \nHave kept their spirits to the spirit true. \n\nWest Mountain, \n\nNATT\'RE, INDIVIDUAL \n\nIn loneliness I wander \'d; \nWhen, lo, above me, ringing \n\nAmid the breeze \n\nThat shook the trees, \nI heard a bird\'s glad singing. \nI looked, and through the leaves could see \nThe warbler nod and chirp for me. \n"One friend is left me yet," thought I, \n\nAnd ventur\'d near \n\nThe song to hear; \nBut when he saw me drawing nigh, \n\nAlas, in fright \n\nHe took to flight! \n\n\n\n268 A POETS CABINET \n\nNot, not for me had been his care. \nHe sang to greet the sunny air, \nAnd serve his own sweet nature. \n\nA Misapprehension. \nWe fight the hydra, we. \nWho war against our nature. Every head \nThat reason clove would rise redoubled there. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xiii. \nSome natures are choice as gems, and every tool \nmen turn against them grinds itself, not them, and all \ngrow brighter from the process. The Two Paths, ill. \nYou know there are some natures that act toward \nour own as flowers do toward bees. No matter how \nmuch we buzz about them, even though we sting them, \nonce in a while, we never get back anything but \nsweetness. Where Society Leads, iii. \n\nNATURE, MATERIAL, AS A SCHOOL \n\nAnd when these mounts, like mighty sheets above \n\nSome slumbering giant soon to wake and walk. \n\nFall back to formlessness from whence they came, \n\nWhat wisdom shall be proved the choice of him \n\nWhose eyes, in mercy shielded from the blaze \n\nOn which the soul alone can look and live, \n\nDid not mistake mere grossness in the form \n\nFor the true greatness of the inward force ; \n\nWhose mind too slightly taught, as yet, perhaps, \n\nTo read, beneath the picture, all the text. \n\nHas yet surmised its meaning by that faith \n\nWhich, though its guide be instinct, dares to think. \n\nAnd, though it bow to greet the symbol, yet \n\nLets not its magic cast a spell on sense ! \n\nTo him the world seems but a transient school; \n\nThe universe, a university; \n\nThe blue that homes the sunlight and the stars, \n\nA dome above a vast museum built \n\nWith glens for alcoves, plains for galleries. \n\nAnd mounts for stairways, where he works and waits \n\nTill comes the day he takes his last degree, \n\nAnd then goes forth, and leaves all these behind. \n\nYet, in a true sense, holds them his forever. \n\nWest Mountain. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 269 \n\nNATURE, MATERIAL, ITS RELIGIOUS INFLUENCE \n\nMy mind was turn\'d to nature. Where but there \nCould earth-born trouble find maternal care? \nHow long\'d I to be hidden in the shade \nWhich the thick mantlings of her forests made, \nAnd stay there undisturb\'d by human thought, \nTill sweet and soothing influences, brought \nFrom sources far removed from man\'s control \nShould cool the burning fever of my soul. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, i. \nNature is \nTransparent, and reveals her mysteries \nTo mortals only whose own sympathies \nMake them transparent, opening all between \nThemselves and nature, so that naught can screen \nHer inmost meaning from their inmost mind. \nSuch spirits in earth\'s round horizon find \nA glass divine \xe2\x80\x94 like that called Claude Lorraine\'s \xe2\x80\x94 \nA strange, strong lens that deep within contains \nHeaven\'s forms for thought, made small in scope to \n\nmatch \nMan\'s comprehension. Idem, x. \n\nHow few so wise \nThat they can look beneath the rustling guise \nOf Nature\'s vestments, and perceive below \nThe mind informing them, that makes them glow \nWith Hving truth. Alas, how many souls. \nAs blind to all that might be seen as moles. \nLive, merely burrowing in earth\'s dust and gloom \nTo make their whole surroundings but a tomb \nWherein dead minds may lie. And yet how grand \nMight life become, could all but understand \nThe thoughts that flow with brooks in every glade, \nAnd grow to strengthen souls with ever blade \nOf verdure in the spring-time! Could they read \nAnd know and use earth rightly, then, indeed. \nMight heaven too open above them, while they too \nWould cry like Paul, "What wilt Thou have me do?" \n\nIdem. \n\nNERVES \n\n.... Youneverfeelyour soul here in yournerves? \n.... No, no. \n\n\n\n270 A POETS CABINET \n\n.... My nerves are weaker, then, than yours. \n.... Your soul may then be stronger. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nNEW, THE (see ADVANCE, CHANGE, and PROGRESS) \n\nAy, let the dead bury their dead, and pursue \nThe aims of a people that push for the new \nThe proudest ambition, the readiest hand, \nMight wisely embody ideals less grand ; \n\nThe Artistes Aim. \nYet ne\'er at daybreak had begun \nOne ray a shining course to run \nBut snakes crawl\'d out to hiss the sun; \nAnd e\'er, if truth then dawn\'d in view, \nWould tongues, whose fangs in fury flew. \nCry: "Who have seen the like? Have you?" \nAh me! and what, forsooth, is new \nAnd strange to men\'s experience, \n*T would libel all their own past sense \nFor them to treat wfth reverence ! \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xviil. \n\nNEW YORK MANNERS \n\n.... It seemed to me that she was quite familiar \nwith you, Roger. \n\n.... That is the New York manner. \n\n.... Yes, you know, the roudy-genteel manner of \nNew York. Our students have it, Faith \xe2\x80\x94 I mean our \nSophomores. \n\n.... They always from New York? \n\n.... They always are \xe2\x80\x94 those that we have to \nquestion. They were there the night before. \n\nThe Two Paths, i. \n\nNEW WORLD, VISION OF THE \n\nLo, there dawn\'d a light about me and a vision in my \n\nsleep \nRose above the midnight vapors, and it floated o\'er \n\nthe deep: \nIn a shell like alabaster, by an unseen impulse drawn, \nThere I saw three forms who journey\'d softly as the \n\nlight of dawn. \nBeautiful, the central figure stood with eyes upon the \n\nsky, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 271 \n\nAs if fiird with faith that siirely heaven would all her \n\nneed supply. \nJust above her unbound ringlets gleam\'d as \'t were the \n\nmorning star; \nAnd within her shining breastplate mirror\'d lands \n\nappear\'d afar. \nAt her right hand, underneath her, crouch\'d the aged \n\nlimbs of War; \nYet he fiercely clutch\'d his bow as when in youth \'t was \n\nbattled for, \nThough his eyes were glaring backward, and seem\'d \n\nanger\' d but to find \nThat the storms they sought had linger\'d on the shore \n\nthey left behind. \nAt her right hand, peering forward, knelt the white- \nrobed form of Peace, \nAs a prince might kneel for crowning, or a serf for his \n\nrelease ; \nWhile against his brow his palm bent, shielding from \n\nthe light the glance \nOf an eye whose pleas for patience were but prayers \n\nfor swift advance. \nThus I saw the forms, when, lo! more forms before \n\nthem suddenly \nSprang from sky and sea like hopes along a path of \n\nprophecy. \n*T was as if a grander people, wash\'d of prejudice and \n\npride. \nPassed a newer, broader Jordan, rose upon a grander \n\nside. \n\'T was as if all earth had caught a glory flash\'d on \n\nmount and isle ; \n\'T was as if the heaven had open\'d, where all nations \n\nthrong\'d the while. \nAnd a fresh wind rose that whisper\'d: "Where shall \n\nman to man be true? \xe2\x80\x94 \nIn the old world old ways triumph; Freedom hies to \n\nseek the new." \n\nA Life in Song: Watching, xxii. \n\nNICHE, FILLING AN EMPTY \n\nThe surest place of refuge for one out of place \nis a vacancy. It rids him of the trouble of upsett- \n\n\n\n272 A POET\'S CABINET \n\ning the plans of others, in order to set up his own. \nNo need of fighting for an empty niche when \nusing eyes can find one. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, i. \n\nNIGHT \n\nNight, too, blesses him who feels \n\'T is a star in which he kneels. \n\nIdem, Dreaming, XLi. \nAbove vague moon-lit forms of mount and vale \n\nThere lies the haze- wrought mantle of the night. \nThe winds are hush\'d; the clouds are still and pale; \nThe stars like drowsy eyes just wink their light. \nEarth sleeps, except where on the seashore white \nThe tumbled waves are waked by distant gales, \n\nOr where the calls of owls and nighthawks fright \nThe startled slumberer of the silent dales \nWith sounds they never make till night their plunder- \ning veils. Idem, Daring, i. \n\nNIGHT, WHEN ANTICIPATING LOVE \n\n"Ah me!" I sigh\'d, yet strangely; for there seem\'d, \n\nWhile all the way the twilight thicker sank, \n\nSweet silence luring dreamward wind and bird \n\nUntil the reverent air lay hush\'d where came \n\nThe hallowing influence of holier stars. \n\nAnd, all the way, deep folding round my soul, \n\nWith every nerve vibrating at its touch, \n\nFell dim delight, through which, as through a veil, \n\nSome nearer presence breath\'d of holier life. \n\nAh, wandering Heart, and had I had my day? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWith closing gates as golden as yon west? \n\nAnd whither was I moving in the dark? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"Who knows?" my spirit ask\'d, "who knows or cares? \n\nOn through the twilight threshold, trustingly! \n\nWhat hast thou. Night, that weary souls need fear? \n\nThou home of love entranced, thou haunt of dreams, \n\nThy halls alone can hoard the truth of heaven ! \n\nThy dome alone can rise to reach the stars!" \n\nIdeals Made Real, xiv. \n\nNIGHT, WHEN IN TROUBLE \n\nWhat comes as direful as the direful night \nA spirit spends in trouble? \xe2\x80\x94 fill\'d with fears \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 273 \n\nThat sleep may bring distressful nightmares now; \nAnd now, that morn may come before we sleep ; \nUntil, betwixt the two, distracted quite. \nAwake one dreams, and dreaming seems awake. \nAnd evermore does weep at what he dreams. \nAnd then does weep that he should dream no more. \n\nHaydn, xxxiii. \n\nNOBLE, MAN \n\n.... How noble is a man like you \n\n.... A pauper and fanatic \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 No, a man \n\nWho, all alone, can stand with but one friend, \nHis own brave soul, and trample underfoot \nA hissing world that, coiling like a snake. \nWould clutch him to its clod and hold him there. \n\nColumbus, I., 2. \n\nNOON \n\nWhen, at noon, \n\n1 ne trees drew m their shade, as birds their wings. \n\nA Life in Song: Daring, xxviii. \n\nNOTORIETY \n\nWhat he \n\nCares for is notoriety, which means \n\nThe bulge of contrast. Crush and hush your kind. \n\nAnd you yourself are seen and heard. \n\nColumbus, III., 2. \n\nNURSE, THE WOMAN IN THE HOSPITAL \n\nLet them find \nLarge, sunny, healthful halls; and dwell therein: \nFrom thence deal forth that gentle charity \nSo potent coming from a woman\'s hand. \nNot strange it were if sickness, tended thus, \nEnhven\'d by her smiles of Hght, should flush \nOr blush to perfect health! if wickedness. \nBeneath incrusted woes of years of wrong, \nShould feel the earlier faith of childhood waked \nBy woman\'s voice, and thus be born again!\xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd find a life renew\'d within the soul \nAs well as body. Haydn, XLI. \n\nOBSCURE SOURCE OF WISDOM \n\nIt came from an obscure source. Anything very \n\n\n\n274 A POETS CABINET \n\nsensible usually does. The recognized rulers of the \nworld, like the devil whom the scriptures declare to be \nthe prince of it, generally have more will than wisdom. \nFundamentals of Education. \n\nOBSCURITY IN POSITION \n\nFull many a blaze-mailed knight men\'s cheers allure \nTo wrong by which mere groundling-praise is won; \nWhile serfs, though soil-stained, keep life\'s record \n\npure \nBecause their dust-hid deeds are wrought for none \nSave One for whom no life is too obscure \nTo show the spirit in which work is done. \n\nObscurity. \n\nOBSCURITY, SAVING FROM TROUBLE \n\nMy mail has not been gilded yet enough to make \nmyself a mark for blackmail, has it? Heaven never \nhelps us more than when it sends us obscurity. This \nlets us work our work just as our spirits wish, with \nnone to curse us or cheer us falsely. \n\nThe Two Paths, iii. \nODD {see eccentric) \n\nI knew a family \nWhere all the children grew so very odd, \xe2\x80\x94 \nLike fruit when tough to touch and sour to taste. \nNot ripe nor mellow. Too much spring had they, \nAnd not enough of summer in their home. \n\nHaydn, xxiv. \nofficial, the \nIn Church or State, the official seems the same, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA fist in front with which to threaten one ; \nA palm behind to beg him for a bribe. \n\nDante, ii., 2. \n\nOLD HEADS \n\nWhen young, I, too, saw heights I thought sublime; \nAnd tried to drive toward them some older folk; \n\nBut, boy, \'t is only young blood cares to climb. \nTry it: you cannot drive, and may provoke \nOld heads, too long ago grown steady to life\'s yoke. \nA Life in Song, Daring, xxv. \n\nOLD MASTERS \n\nI will not think with those who would let none \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 275 \n\nBut some "old master" dictate my new deed, \nAs if a plan to fit the future\'s need \nCould all be fashioned on what once was done ! \n\nThe Final Verdict. \n\nOLD PEOPLE, WHY UNINTERESTING \n\nWe two are old; we should remember that. The \nthing that makes most people take an interest in us is \nwatching how we grow; and when we cease to grow, of \ncourse they lose their interest. The lisping tongue, \nthe tottering gait of childhood, are charming, yes; but \nnot in second childhood. There once were times that, \nwhen I walked the street, the boys and girls and all \nwould look at me. Those times have passed. To-day \nthey look away, if there be younger people near me. \nWhy? In me they face no hope. I soon shall die. \nI can remember well the earliest time I found our \ndaughter drawing hsteners away from me myself. \nThe thing she said was far from wise. What of it? \nThose we meet care less for sense in us than sympathy ; \nand when we turn down hill toward waiting graves, \nwhat hope of fellow-feeling from the young? \n\nOn Detective Duty, i. \n\nOLD, THE, NEVER RETURNS \n\n.... I like to get back where I have been. \n.... You never can get back there, the world \nkeeps whirling around, and grinding out something \nnew. The Ranch Girl, iv. \n\nONWARD {see progress) \nWhy should mortals be becalm \'d amid the earthly \n\ndarkness here, \nWhile the lights from countless havens throng the \n\nheavens far and near ! \nSurely sails, wide spread to woo them, heaven\'s fair \n\nwinds cannot forsake: \nThat which moves to right moves onward, tho\' but \nslowly grows its wake. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, vii. \n\nOPPORTUNITY \n\nShe left; and I who wander, fear \nThere comes no more to see or hear; \nThose walls that ward my paradise \n\n\n\n276 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nAre very high, nor open twice. \n\nAnd I, who had my own design \nFor destiny that should be mine, \nCan only wait without the gate \nAnd sit and sigh \xe2\x80\x94 "Too late! too late!" \n\nThe Destiny- Maker. \nLife brings day as well as night. \nWhen day, the wise will use the sunshine. \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \n\nOPPORTUNITY, USE AND ABUSE OF \n\nThe same sunshine that ripens one plant, rots \nanother. The Snob and the Sewing Girl, iv. \n\nOPPOSITION, REQUIRED AT TIMES \n\nParents gone insane, \nOr but awry, are saved by opposition. \nLove uniformed and forced in hatred\'s pressgang \nIs only served by those who war against it. \n\nDante, ii., 2. \n\nORDAINING \n\nThere may be some ordaining grace \n\nThat priest and prince of every race \n\nHave sought through mystic lines to trace; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA something back of sword and gown. \n\nPower apostolic, handed down: \n\nThere are no wise men to the clown: \n\nThe royal mind in tent or town \n\nTo loyal genius owes its crown. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, iii. \n\nORIGINALITY VS. IMITATION \n\nYou write as one who rests in a ravine \nRecording but what others have beheld \nAbove where he dare venture. \n\n.... ^ You would have me? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n. . . . Climb up, or soar \xe2\x80\x94 \n. . . . But how? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n. . . . The spirit\'s wings \n\nAre grown, not given, unfold within oneself. \nBut you \xe2\x80\x94 you get both word and thought from others. \n\nDante, I., i. \n\nOTHERS \n\nWho, who that once brute-force enthrone \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 277 \n\nO\'er others\' rights can save their own? \n\nAfter the Lynching. \n\nOTHERS, A PART OF SELF \n\n.... Do I owe you because you worked for others? \n\n.... Humph! What are others but a part of \nyou? \xe2\x80\x94 This house and all it holds \xe2\x80\x94 the roads, the \nfarms, the flocks, the cattle \xe2\x80\x94 all that feed and clothe \nyou, the schools, the government, and everything that \nmakes you what you are, are part of you; and if I \nworked for them, I worked for you. \n\nOn Detective Duty, 11. \n\nOURSELVES \n\nWhat fools we are when we would read ourselves. \n\nThe Aztec God, 11. \nThe sun gives everything its light ; \n\nThe mind gives everything its thought ; \nAnd what we deem is dark or bright. \n\nReflects but what ourselves have brought. \nThe Little Twin Tramps, il. \nOUTSIDE vs. INSIDE {see bubbles) \nNot outside things that men can take away \nBring ruin, but the things that stay within, \nWhich would they could take ! \n\nColumbus, I., 3. \n\nOUTWITTING those OUTWITTING US \n\nA man like him, who earns his living by outwitting \nothers, will not be keen to let the whole world know \nthat he himself has been outwitted; see? \n\nOn Detective Duty, in. \n\nOVERBEARING \n\nYour overbearing shows us \nYour underbred ideal. \n\nTo the Wife of a Public Man. \n\nOVERFLOW IN NATURE AND MIND {sCC EXCESS) \n\nIn every sphere, beyond what merely meets \n\nThe first demand of need, there issues forth \n\nA constant overflow. \'T is this that brings \n\nMore sunlight than the eye of toil exhausts, \n\nMore summer rain than clears and cools the air \n\nWhere smoke and flame the world\'s too heated axles. \n\n\'T is this regales the hunger of fatigue \n\n\n\n278 A POETS CABINET \n\nBy foretastes of refreshment never failing, \n\nAnd shows, beyond the prisons of this earth. \n\nThrough opening gates, the free expanse of heaven. \n\nWithout this overflow, no wish could play, \n\nNo thought could dream, no fancy slip the links \n\nOf logic, and wing off with childlike faith \n\nAnd poise o\'er mysteries too deep for sight. \n\nWithout it, not one poet would repeat \n\nHis empty echoes of life\'s humdrum work, \n\nHis rhythmic laughter of disburdened thought. \n\nWithout it, not one artist would essay \n\nTo mimic Nature when it molds to gems \n\nIts melting worthlessness, or, like a wizard, \n\nWaves with its wand to welcome bubbling froth \n\nAnd turn to amber that which aimed for air. \n\nWithout it, ah, without it, there would be \n\nNo life of life more grand by far than all \n\nThat worlds can outline or that minds conceive, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nNo wings to lift aloft our thrilling souls \n\nAnd bear them on, unconscious how or why. \n\nFar past all limits of all earth-moved thought \n\nUntil, at last, they seem to reach the verge \n\nOf heaven\'s infinity. Berlin Mountain. \n\nOWN, one\'s \nThe things that are seen may all be white. \nOne\'s own is the sugar; the others\' are salt. \n\nLove and Life, xxxii. \n\nPAIN \n\nThough, perchance, it seem \nToo old a story, weigh it yet, until \nYou think, once more, what men, whom all esteem, \n\nThe same old story in their lives fulfil. \nWe know them now; but ah, there is no knowing \n\nThe pain that gave their souls their second birth. \nWhen fetters of the flesh fell deathward, showing \nThat love for all one\'s kind which makes a heaven of \nearth. A Life in Song: Serving, xc. \n\nPAINT ON THE FACE \n\n.... Strange that a sensible woman shouldn\'t \nrecognize that anyone can see through paint. \n\n.... You mean can not see through it. That \'s the \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 279 \n\ntrouble. It makes everybody wonder what there is \nthere which might be seen, but is not, because it needs \nto be covered up. Where Society Leads, i. \n\nPALACES THAT ARE PRISONS \n\nYou sometimes build a prison when you think it is a \npalace. Some men, who start by gilding what they \nfive in, keep scrubbing all their days to keep it bright. \n\nThe Two Paths, iv. \n\nPALMISTRY, ITS PSYCHIC CLAIMS \n\nYour future is the fruit of present dreams, \n\nThe lure that leads the deepest wish within you; \n\nThe goal that lights the furthest path of hope. \n\nA touch that feels the start can point the finish. \n\n.... You think so? \n\n.... There is nothing stops the flow \n\nOf thought betwixt my fingers and my brain, \n\nBetwixt your fingers and your brain; not so? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nNow join these \xe2\x80\x94 what cuts off your brain from mine? \n\n.... Our wills. \n\n.... Yet if I yield my will to yours \n\n.... But can you? \n\n.... And if not, what boots the priest \n\nHis years of fasting and of discipline? \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \n\nPANTHEISTIC VIEW OF LIFE \n\nYou call them beautiful? When you have seen \nAs much of men as I, you will think more \nOf greater spirits with their lives enshrined \nIn mountain, valley, forest, bush, and flower \nThan of these little spirits framed in flesh. \n\nIdem. \n\nPARASITES \n\nA rich man is like a tree in a southern climate \xe2\x80\x94 in \ndanger of being overclimbed and over-reached, as \npeople say, by parasites. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, iii. \nPARENT {see FATHER and mother) \nBehold in the parent the world\'s first priest, \nTo tender, till childhood\'s wants have ceast, \n\nThe flickering fires \nThat fall and rise in rash desires ; \n\n\n\n28o A POET\'S CABINET \n\nTo soothe and assuage, \nIn a body that thirsts and soul that aspires, \nThe wishes of youth with the wisdom of age; \nTo kneel or to stand \nWith a mission more grand \nThan any but His whose touch divine \xe2\x96\xa0 \nFirst lit the flame on the human shrine, \nThen left it alone where all men try \nTo fan its burning or find it die. \n\nLove and Life, XLii. \nPARENTS (see children) \nWhat tho\' the years that come with drought and frost \n\nMay bring disaster and may leave distress? \nThe parents\' faith can look past harvests lost \nTo where the future shall the harm redress. \nTheir offspring whom their love is fondly training. \n\nShow beauty in the bud, and promise more : \nAnd if one season blast its best attaining, \n\nOh, has not early life long years of growth in store! \nA Life in Song: Serving, xvii. \nparents\' laws vs. god\'s \n.... But how about the honor due to parents? \n.... The only parent of the soul is God ; and when \nour language fails to speak its prompting, think what \ndishonor we have done to Him? \n\nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nPARLIAMENT OF MAN \n\nThe largest hope since time began, \nFor which the whole world waits. \n\nIs that for which our statesmen plan, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe coming Parliament of Man, \nThe world\'s United States, \n\nGod Bless America. \n\nPARROTS \n\nThe phrases parrots quote are those that charm them. \n\nOn Detective Duty, iii. \n\nPARTING \n\nTill out of her lips a parting came \n\nWhere I waited a welcoming word. \nShe could not have meant to make me sadder, \nBut long, long after good-bye I bade her. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 281 \n\nBehind me would flow \n\nLike a note of woe \nThat parting word, as if what she had said \nWere a wail of the wind in a night with the dead. \nA Life in Song: Loving, xxiii. \n\nPARTNER FOR LIFE {see WEDDED) \n\nI, all my life, \nHave served a spirit larger than myself. \nThese limbs but fit it on a single side, \nTheir utmost only half what it would have. \nAnd now, athrill with spirit-arms that stretch \nUp toward the heavens and onward toward heaven\'s \n\nlove, \nMy balanced being had embraced in you \nThat other side. We are not two, but one. \nAnd \xe2\x80\x94 think \xe2\x80\x94 to part two factors of one Hfe \nIs murder \xe2\x80\x94 not of body but of spirit. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \nPARTS vs. WHOLE {see suggestions) \nAnd then, how would I tear her traits apart; \nAnd pluck the petals from each budding grace \nAnd hope its naked stem some trace would show, \nToo void of beauty, to suggest again \nThe bloom and sweetness of the life I loved. \nAlas, but while I wrought for this alone, \nHow would her virtues but the more unfold! \xe2\x80\x94 \nLike God\'s own glory flowering in the skies. \nThat those detect who would not flnd it there. \nBut, when they test the stars, have dealt with light. \n\nIdeals Made Real, XLii. \nPASSION {see anger, lust, and impetuous) \n\nYou and I and all, \nIf passion suddenly o\'erflood our will, \nShould just as quickly our quick words recall. \nThus love may seem our life\'s controller still. \nA Life in Song: Daring, lxxii. \n\npast, our, as influencing our future \nAh, if the past must always cope \nWith future joys for which we hope, \nHow vain the aims that make their quest \nA life that merely shall be blest. \n\n\n\n282 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nAnd slight earth\'s meed of lowly sweets \nFor purple heights and golden streets! \nFaith fails that merely waits below. \nDreams after death would bring but woe \nWithout remember\' d love that blest \nThe soul before it found its rest. \n\nMy Dream at Cordova. \n\nPATHOS {see MUSIC EXPRESSING GRIEF) \nPATHS \n\nI may not fit \nThe world I live in. Did the Christ fit his? \nCould any man walk straight in paths of earth, \nNor trespass on some crooked paths of others? \n\nDante, III., 1, \n\nPATIENT \n\nAnd you, my brother ? Such a patient man ? \n.... Oh, patient ! When a fire has been kept in \nFor eighteen years, blame not its blazing out, \nThank God it did not wholly blast the fool \nWhose fumbling fouled it \xe2\x80\x94 thought it had no life. \nThe villain ! if I only could be sure \nHe would be better for the punishment ! \n\nColumbus, III., I. \nPATRIOT {see progress) \n\nThe earth\'s Creator made this earth for man, \nAnd promised heaven to those who used it right; \n\nAnd heirs of heaven should follow none whose ban \nPrevents their moving onward toward the light. \n\nWhy serve a king preventing this? or nation? \nThe patriot\'s home is where his duties be. \n\nWhy serve a church? \xe2\x80\x94 God\'s promise of salvation \nIs not of peace on earth through fear of priests men \nsee. A Life in Song: Serving, li. \n\nPEDANTRY, ARTISTIC \n\nIncreased intelligence tends to increase not only \nintellectual activity but also pedantry. The artistic \nexpression of pedantry is imitation. \n\nArt in Theory, ill. \n\nPENETRATION OF A WOMAN \n\nUnfortunate man! he had forgotten that he had \nbeen dealing with the members of a sex whose penetra- \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 283 \n\ntion is so keen as to require alone the glancing of an \neye or the waving of a finger in order to detect the \ninmost secret of the most secretive soul ; from whom the \nsprings of speech may burst and flow unceasingly in \nanswer to a gesture slight as that which, of old, nerved \nthe arm of Moses at Massah. \n\nModern Fishers of Men, x. \n\nPENETRATION THROUGH SENSIBILITY \n\nThere are souls on earth \nWith senses all so fine and penetrant \nThat no thoughts in a kindred soul can lie \nSo deeply hidden that they stand not naked. \n\nDante, 11., i. \n\nPENS AND SCRIBBLERS \n\nIs a goose, like all those literary cacklers. But he \ncan be plucked ; and a goose\'s quill {taking a pen from \ntable at left of mantel) may make a useful pen. Only \nhave pens enough in this world, and you can take in all \nthe sheep-heads. If one doesn\'t belong to them asses \nwho are taken in by the Morning Journal, he belongs \nto them A stars who are taken in by the Evening Post. \nThe Snob and the Sewing Girl, 1. \n\nPEOPLE GUARDED BEST BY PEACE \n\nIn kingdoms men may fight to guard the king; in \nstates like ours they fight to guard the people. He \nguards them best who best wards off all fighting. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, 11. \n\nPEOPLING, BY THE VICIOUS \n\n.... This land needs peopling. \n\n.... And will need it more, \n\nIf Spain send more of those vile wretches here. \n\nWe all may be killed off. \n\n. . . . And rightly so. \n\n.... Had I my way, a brute forever kicking \n\nAgainst the law should go in bit and bridle; \n\nAy, ay, to see a surgeon too. A touch \n\nOf horse-play \xe2\x80\x94 there were cuttings that would cure him \n\nAnd all his kind. The best should let their land \n\nBe peopled only by the best. Columbus, v., i. \n\nPERQUISITES \n\n.... What perquisites? \n\n\n\n284 A POET\'S CABINET \n\n.... The kind that make us call \n\nA public man "His Honor," lest the world \nMight fail to recognize it, if not labeled. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nPERSEVERANCE \n\nThe deed that best \nProves each man\'s workmanship is what he is. \nIf God be the eternal, he who shows \nEternal perseverance falls not far \nFrom fellow-craft with Him. Columbus, ii., i. \n\nPERSEVERANCE, LACK OF \n\nThe hand that drops the hoe, when one has merely \ndropped the seed, may reap no harvest. \n\nThe Two Paths, IV. \n\nPETS, WOMEN AS MEN\'s \n\n.... The world has grown, and women with it. \n\n.... Let them \xe2\x80\x94 unless they grow away from their \nown nature ; or, say, from ours. \n\n.... A shame to have them grow! A woman \nwants a pet. She gets a child. A man has like wants, \nand he gets a wife; and pets, if wives or children, show \nno sense to keep on growing, if they can avoid it. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nPETULANCE \n\nWhat? \xe2\x80\x94 you call him great? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nMere bluffer of some baby brawls in Florence? \n\nThe flimsiest nerve can fret to feel a flea. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\nPHILOSOPHY \n\nNow shall those of all opinions all each other\'s truth \n\ndescry, \nWhile philosophy supported by what all who think \n\nsupply,\xe2\x80\x94 \nPillars this, and pillars that side, grounded well, and \n\nhigh and wide, \xe2\x80\x94 \nShall a grander temple rear than all man\'s art could \n\ne\'er provide, \nWhere the saint and sage together at the shrine of \n\nfaith shall bend. \nAnd the love that lights their life to all the ends of \n\nearth extend. A Life in Song: Watching, xviii. \' \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 285 \n\nOf late, when I am all alone, \n\nI try to make the tests my own \n\nThat wise Philosophy has known. \n\nMy questioning thought to satisfy, \n\nWith eager soul but patient eye, \n\nI search in every moving thing, \n\nTo find, at last, its hidden spring. \n\nI fancy it is fire or air \n\nOr mind itself so conjuring there. \n\nI press against the window pane. \n\nAsk \xe2\x80\x94 feels my nerve? or feels my brain? \n\nWhat is it joins my sense and soul? \n\nIs it the Absolute\'s control? \n\nOr is it faith? or is it aught \n\nBeyond the ebb and flow of thought? \n\nAm I, who muse thus, made to be \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nResponsible in no degree \n\nThe vagrant wave of some vast sea? \n\nOr am I more than most men deem, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAre forms that round about me gleam, \n\nThings not substantial as they seem, \n\nBut only phantoms of a dream? \n\nIf so, if not, can men, forsooth. \n\nWith all their searching, find the truth? \n\nOr do their eyes, approaching near \n\nThe grandeur sought, with vision blear \n\nSee all things falsely looming here? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThen flashes right, as lightnings glance? \n\nOr dawns it o\'er some dozing trance? \n\nShall one know more when earth is done? \n\nReach misery? or oblivion? \n\nOr through some mystic, spiral way \n\nA Babel mount, and there survey \n\nAn earth become a heaven for aye? \n\nIdem, Doubting, xxxiv. \nPHRASES {see words) \nCan human phases fully satisfy \nDivine requirements? Let men only sigh \nFor God as Father in the home above. \nOr as the earthly Son whose life was love, \nOr as the Spirit sent to woo the soul; \nStill may the truth, though not all known, control, \n\n\n\n286 A POETS CABINET \n\nHowe\'er their lips may limit and confine it, \nTheir whole lives, while they struggle to divine it. \n\nIdem, Seeking, liv. \n\nPHYSICAL {see BODIES, FLESH, FRAME) \nPHYSICAL CHARM OF SLEEPING WARRIORS \n\nHow beautiful ! What flowers \nTo bloom amid the desert of the storm ! \nWhat glow of vigor in their fair, round limbs, \nAy, how their colors warm this cold-hued air! \xe2\x80\x94 \nCan they be wounded? \xe2\x80\x94 dead? \xe2\x80\x94 Oh, cruel man. \nWhen spirits of the sunlight guise in flesh \nAnd fringe the halo of the sunshine round them, \nHave we so much to cheer us on the earth, \nWe can afford destruction to the frames \nThat form fit settings of a light so dear? \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \n\nPHYSICAL vs. MENTAL PROWESS \n\nPraise not the spears that split the foeman\'s mail, \nBut praise the brain whence came the skill that aimed \nthem. Dante, i., 2. \n\nPHYSICIAN \n\nBeside him sat another, all whose face \n\nBore marks of patience, train\'d by years of care. \n\nHis glasses, lifted oft with easy grace, \n\nGreat coat, large pockets, and abundant hair \nMarked him \xe2\x80\x94 "physician," one whose calm, wise \nair \n\nCan bid the raging fever sink to rest ; \n\nAnd turn to smiles his patients\' weary stare, \n\nWhile children wonder at his bottle-chest. \n\nAnd how a still pulse tells him just what pill is best. \nA Life in Song: Daring, xxxii. \n\nPICTURE GALLERY \n\nAll the halls had pictured walls, of brightest hues \n\nwhich, far away, \nStream\'d like oriflammes of dawn before a march of \n\ncoming day. Idem, Dreaming, xxxii. \n\nPIETY \n\n\xe2\x96\xa0 Your tastes are not religious? \xe2\x80\x94 Mine are not, \nIf by religion you mean piety, \xe2\x80\x94 \nReligion\'s brew, froth\'d bubbling to be seen. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 287 \n\nBut how is it beneath the surface? \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxxvil. \n\nPIGMIES \n\nPigmies, did one plod with them, might give \nA little common man a chance of greatness. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nPILGRIM \n\nOnce I saw a pilgrim, treading o\'er a thorny desert \n\nwide; \nAnd I saw his face grow brighter, as he dash\'d his tears \n\naside. \nOn and on, though stumbHng often, with a gaze intent \n\nhe sped. \nWhile behind his path grew plainer from the blood his \n\nwounds had shed. \nThen he fell, and sweetly fainting said he now no more \n\nwould roam; \nAnd with smiles had left his body, sure the soul would \n\njourney home. \nAh, I felt a joy so cloudless must forebode a coming \n\nday, \nAt whose break Hke morning vapors all the shades of \n\nlife give way. \n\nA Life in Song: Watching, xxviii. \n\nPIONEER IN THOUGHT \n\nHe push\'d for the light ; and grew old and hoar \nEre one whom he knew had begun to explore, \nOr seek what he sought. Alone in the van. \nHe had fail\'d of aid had he thought it in man. \nUnveiling the Monument. \n\nPISA, ITALY \n\nWe took the train at Florence, we, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe day was warm and pleasant. \nThe town of Pisa would we see. \n\nNo time was like the present. \nAnon we climb\'d the Leaning Tower, \nDropt something down, and sat an hour; \nAnd then the grand Baptistry door \nThey swung for us; and, o\'er and o\'er, \nWe made its domed rotunda roar, \n\nTo echo back our joking. \n\n\n\n288 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWe set our pockets jingling, we, \n\nTo make our guide a crony, \nSaw the cathedral, paid a fee, \n\nAnd ate some macaroni, \nThen feasted on an outside view \nOf all three buildings, yet so new; \nThen bought, in alabaster wrought, \nSome models of them; then we sought \nThe Campo Santo, where we thought \n\nAbout the dead, while smoking. \n\nWe took the train at sunset, we. \n\nAnd while we left the station, \nExtoll\'d the land, "How much to see! \n\nHow grand this Roman nation! \nOur own, how mean! \xe2\x80\x94 no works of art!" \nWe strove to sigh, but check\'d a start \nAnd cried, "How home-like!" o\'er and o\'er. \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhat thrill\'d us thus? \xe2\x80\x94 alas, it bore \nNo hint from art ; we heard once more \n\nA frog, near by us, croaking. \n\nOur Day in Pisa. \n\nPITY AND LOVE \n\nPity is but a sadder kind of love \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n.... No love at all. But as a motive to it \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA door to open, \xe2\x80\x94 why complain of it. \n\nIf only opening where we wish to go? \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., i. \n\nPLAINS vs. MOUNTAINS \n\nOh, some may praise the plain! It has its use \nFor plow and reaper, railway and canal; \nBut all that human hand could ever plant \nOr thought invent, or energy transport \nCould never, through long ages, bring together \nWhat here were gathered in a few short hours, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA wealth of mound and meadow to suffice \nFor many a county, all rolled up in one, \nA hundred miles of surface in a score, \nA score of climates in a single mile, \nAnd all the treasury of plant or soil \nFrom half a continent arrayed against \nThe slopes that flank a soHtary valley. \n\n\n\n\n\' I mean," I breathed out cautiously, " to write \nA tale of love; and I have planned the tale \nTo open here." \n\nSee page jog. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 289 \n\nWho says there are no wiser views of life \nWhere every view displays a wider range? \nMore blest a decade spent in scenes like this \nThan ages in some never-ending plain. \n\nGreylock. \n\nPLANS vs. PERSONALITY \n\nI plead, too, for myself; \nAnd tell my plans that you may know myself ; \nNot holding that I stand above you, friend. \nNay, nay; I oft feel worthy scarce to touch \nYour fingers\' tips, or stand erect and taint \nThe level of the air you breathe in; nay, \nI would not judge your life ; would only crave, \nWhen we have so much else in sympathy, \nThat holy state where two souls, else at one. \nWould both be God\'s. \xe2\x80\x94 Ah, could you thus be mine? \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxxvi. \n\nPLAY, THE, OF LIFE \n\nThe forms we see are puppets of a play, \n\nA dull play too ! Though seek what pulls the string, \n\nNo longer is it dull. A button breaks, \n\nA veil falls off \n\n.... Too bad to hope for that ! \n\n.... Too bad, if lives be bad! If not, too good! \nSome things that on the outside seem profane. \nUpon the inside may be sacred. Cecil the Seer, 1 . \n\nAll should watch the play, and not forget \nThat they themselves are part of it. Idem. \n\nPLAY, OF THOUGHT \n\nOur thoughts are children that must play to grow. \n\nDante, i., i. \nPLAY vs. PAY \nOh, happy days of youth ! when empty sport \nOf mere imagination \xe2\x80\x94 fancied game \xe2\x80\x94 \nCould fill the hunter\'s pouch to overflowing ! \nAy, how much better than the days of age \xe2\x80\x94 \nAlas, I fear it, too, of modern youth \nFor whom, so rich in matter, poor in mind, \nWe manufacture implements of play \nThat clip at fancies till they all fit facts. \nPlane joys to toys, and level games to gain, \n19 \n\n\n\n290 A POETS CABINET \n\nTill every pleasure palls that fails to pay \n\nIn scales that rate life\'s worth by what it weighs \n\nWhen all the spirit\'s buoyancy is lost. \n\nWest Mountain, \n\nPLAYS AND PLAYERS \n\nMy tales, pour\'d forth to voice my loneliness \n\nIn echoing talk and song, were framed in plays, \n\nAnd then were phrased in music; and, in time. \n\nArose like sighings of a human wind \n\nAbove a human sea, while, all about, \n\nThere swept, like surgings of a rhythmic surf, \n\nThe shifting scenes and singers of the stage. \n\nIdeals Made Real, Lxvi. \n\nPLAYS, THEIR EFFECT ON IMAGINATION \n\nOur thoughts are roused far less by what we know \nthan what we fail to know; and once aroused, they are \nkinetoscopic. The pictures in the play are played \nagain, a thousand times within imagination till all one\'s \nworld of action, like a film, fills with the impress of the \ninward image. Humph! nature\'s life repeats the \nthoughts of God no more than human life the thoughts \nof man. The Two Paths, iii. \n\nPLAYTHING, NOT A THING TO WORK \n\nMost girls about here are American. \n\nWhat difference does that make? \n\nThey have learned to look out for themselves. \n\nAfraid to work here? \n\nNot for themselves, but for their reputation. \nYou know that sports and playthings go together. \nOur men are mostly sports. Few families want a \nplaything when they want a thing to work. \n\nOn Detective Duty, ii. \n\nPLAYTHINGS, PEOPLE USED AS \n\nThe women in her set are just as bad as the men. \nFor them all the world is a playground and all the men \nand women in it only playthings. One fact that they \nthink they know with certainty is this \xe2\x80\x94 that the more \npoor girls they can get a son of theirs to fall in love \nwith, the more likely they are to get him to marry a \nrich girl that he\'s not in love with. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, III. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 291 \n\nPLEAS \n\nFrom such lips pleas, \nLike fragrance from the flowers upon a shrine, \nMight bring an answer. I will trust in you. \n\nThe Aztec God, 1. \n\nPLEASURE OF THE VEINS \n\n. . . . To think \n\nThat all this glowing blood within these veins \nShould be spilled out, before my soul has drunk \nThe pleasure that is in them. \n.... When thus drunk, \n\nThe veins will be exhausted, have no stock \nTo treat the sense with longer; and the soul, \nIntoxicated with the joys of earth. \nWill be too heavy weighed to rise above them. \n\nIdem, IV., I. \n\nPOEMS \n\nTrue poems hold the truth as gems the light. \nWhen rightly polished drawing to their depth \nAll that is luminous in earth or heaven; \nAnd thence reflect it not alone but flash it ; \nAnd not till all light go, can lose their brilliance. \n\nDante, 11., i. \n\nPOEMS, THEIR EFFECT ON THE READER \n\nTo lift the lives of common men, it is. \n\nThat poems make the common seem uncommon, \n\nTheir richest boon, believe me, that which brings \n\nTo him who reads an inward consciousness \n\nOf oneness with the spirit that indites them. \n\nAnd its own oneness with the loftiest spirit. \n\nIdem, I., I. \n\nPOEMS, THEIR TESTIMONY IN PAST AND FUTURE. \n\nIn searching through the pathwaj^-s of the past, \nWhat guide men better in their task than poems? \n.... But how about the future? \n.... \'T is in them \n\nOne reads the most of that which is to come. \n.... And in the present, too? \n.... In it, not that \n\nWhich is but should be, is the poet\'s theme, \nAnd he who thinks it thinks the thought of God. \n\nIdem, II., I. \n\n\n\n292 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nPOEMS, WRITING THEM \n\nI "love to write"? You near the truth. \n\nI love to talk, as well; \nAnd poems breathe a part, forsooth, \n\nOf what the soul would tell. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAy, ay, the soul. For it how meet \nThat those we love should see \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nNot poems \xe2\x80\x94 but the poem sweet \nThat all one\'s life would be! \n\nThe Poet*s Reason. \n\nPOET AND POEM \n\n.... A poet like a poem is a product. \n\n.... I thought him born, not made. \n\n. . . . And why not both? \n\nLet nature frame a man to feel. He thinks \n\nOf what he feels. He feels what touches him. \n\nThe substance of his thought and feeling then \n\nIs what experience has brought near to him. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\nPOET, HAS TRAITS OF BOTH SEXES \n\nHe seemed a woman ; now he seems all man. \n.... And both are fit in one ordained to be \nA representative of all things human. \nIf he by nature be a poet, then \nHe should by nature be in substance that \nWhich art demands of him in semblance. \n.... We should go home. \n. . . . What for? \n\n.... To put on kilts, \n\nAnd show ourselves half women. \n.... Nay, without that, \n\nMy Dino, you can prove your womanhood; \nFor who but women take all words to heart, \nAnd think each point we make must point toward \nthem? * Idem, i., i. \n\nPOET, MUST STUDY THE TRUTH \n\nWhen born with souls like harps the Muse would play, \nWhat better can men do than toil to keep \nTheir thoughts and feelings close in tune with truth? \nFor this will tax them wholly. They, who try. \nWith those few strings that fate has given to them. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 293 \n\nTo play all parts of all the orchestra \n\nWill help the play of no part. Ideals Made Real, liii. \n\nPOET, THE {see rhymes) \nThe soldier and the statesman are the state\'s, \nAnd all the pageantry that can augment \nThe dignity of office and of power \nBefits them, as the king his robe and crown. \nNot so the poet. He is all mankind\'s, \nAkin to both the humble and the high, \nThe weak and strong. Who most would honor him \nMust find in him a brother. He but strives \nTo make the truth that he would speak supreme, \xe2\x80\x94 \nTruth strongest when the simplest, needing not \nThe intervention of pretentious pomp. \nPlumed with vain symbols of authority \nTo make men keep their distance. \n\nA Life in Song: Prelude. \n\nPOET, THE DEAD \n\nHis voice has join\'d that choir invisible \nOf seers and singers who have pass\'d away, \nWhich oft, in moments when earth\'s din is hush\'d, \nSends back o\'er infinite depths a spirit\'s call, \nWhose inspiration subtly wakes to life \nWhatever welling from the soul may swell \nThe stream of truth that flows from each for all \nToward that far distant light where heavenly hues \nPresage the dawning of the perfect day. Idem, Finale. \n\nPOETRY \n\nOh what were life without the worth \n\nOf ideality, \xe2\x80\x94 \nIts home, heaven\'s halo round the earth; \n\nIts language, poetry. \nThe world of deeds whose armor gleams \n\nMay light the path to right \nFar less than rays that rise in dreams, \n\nAnd days that dawn at night. \nGod\'s brightest light illumes the soul. \n\nThat light this life denies \nTill earth\'s horizons lift and roll \n\nLike lids from opening eyes. \n\nThe Foetus Lesson. \n\n\n\n294 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nPOETRY, AN INTERPRETER OF SPIRIT \n\nYou would say- \nOne cannot see the spirit save through forms. \nYet who can see through forms, except as these \nObscure the spirit? . . . \nOur king was right to bid us use our eyes, \nYet not beHeve that what we saw was all. \nAnd what we cannot see, yet feel exists, \nWe cannot think of, save as we imagine. \nAnd so the phase that best reports the spirit \nIs that of poetry, \xe2\x80\x94 so said our king. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nPOETRY, EFFECTS OF READING IT \n\nAt times in silence is the volume read ; \n\nAt times aloud, by one who while he reads, \n\nWith cheeks aglow beside the brightest lamp, \n\nCharms every listener, e\'en the sage whose head \n\nWill nod and dream, and then awake again; \n\nNor find within the volume less to praise \n\nBecause it chiefly spell-bound holds the young. \n\nIn them the friction of the flying rhymes \n\nOft fires imagination to a glow. \n\nThrough which the spirit gazes on a world \n\nThat bright aureolas of circling thoughts \n\nRobe in celestial beauty not its own, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA world that makes men wistful, and inspires \n\nA purpose in their souls to image forth \n\nIn their real life a life that is ideal. \n\nA Life in Song: Finale. \n\nFor then the book is open\'d, leaf on leaf \n\nUnfolding there like petals of a rose, \n\nA southern rose far sent to northern vales \n\nNot freed from fingers yet of frozen streams, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA rose that with its odor brings a thought \n\nOf bright blue skies, and trees deep-draped in green \n\nAnd air so thick with fragrant warmth that all \n\nIts thrilling tissues quiver visibly \n\nO\'er flowers reflecting back the choicest rays \n\nThat sunlight showers upon them from above. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAh, like these thoughts more fragrant than itself, \n\nThrough which this rose recalls another world \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 295 \n\nOf beauty and delight beyond the haze \n\nOf blue horizons walling our world in, \n\nCome sweet suggestions opening with the leaves \n\nThat fill the poet\'s volume, widening all \n\nThe spirit\'s range of sight and sympathy, \n\nAnd making e\'en the humblest life appear \n\nTo be, indeed, the noble thing it is. Idem. \n\nPOETRY, ITS VALUE \n\nThe value of the contribution of poetry, in all cases, \nis exactly proportioned to the light with which it \nillumines facts in connection with the process of trans- \nferring them to the region of fancy. \n\nIntroduction to The Aztec God. \n\nPOETRY, MAKING \n\nMaking poetry is practising \nThe language of the spirit. I should like \nTo learn to speak it altogether. Dante, ill., I. \n\nPOETRY, WHAT IT CONTAINS \n\nThere came a volume; and within it, lo. \nAs by-gone glories of the siunmer\'s life \nRest focus\'d and imprinted in warm hues \nOf autumn leaves, so in this volume\'s leaves \nLay all the glory of the poet\'s life, \nHis imprint of the soul. \n\nA Life in Song: Finale. \n\nPOETS \n\nYour humming bees may sip the sweets they need \nFrom every flower; and why not humming poets? \n.... They were not made to sting, nor souls for \n\nstinging. \nThe poets are not lesser men but greater; \nAnd so should find unworthy of themselves \nA word or deed that makes them seem less worthy. \n\nDante, i., i. \nIn the vague light of ages old \nThe poets were the first who told \nThe truths to make late logic bold. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xviii. \n\'T was not the first time life has proved that poets \nAre fools who judge their fancies to be facts. \n\nDante, III., i. \n\n\n\n296 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nPOETS AND PRIESTS \n\nYou know, in ancient times, it was the poets, \nIsaiah, Jeremiah, and Hosea, \n\nRevealed the truth. The priests could but repeat it. \n\nIdem, III., 2. \npoet\'s brain \nI knew him when a boy, a poet then, \nWith brain on fire to learn, aye glowing like \nA gilder\'s cauldron, so the crudest thought \nThat reach\'d it from a neighbor\'s lip or book \nCame from it glittering like a precious thing. \n\nA Life in Song: Note, i. \npoet\'s meaning, and a maid\'s \nTwo things a wise man never boasts about, \xe2\x80\x94 his \nprobing fully to their depth a poet\'s meaning, or a \nmaid\'s, \xe2\x80\x94 the sweeter poem of the two. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, ii. \npoet\'s models \n\nAnd the poet\'s models. \nThey bring us dies, when our ideas glow. \nTo leave their impress and remain ideals. \n\nDante, i., i. \npoets, their ideality \n\nYou think, \nYou poets, you are called to testify \nTo what incites you from within, and so \nThe less you take from outside life the better? \n\nIdem, II., I. \n\nPOETS, THEIR IRRESPONSIBILITY \n\nYou poets wing your words \nWithout the least conception where they wend. \nLike birds with broken feet that keep on flying \nFrom simple inability to perch. Idem, i., i. \n\npoet\'s themes \n\nWould the poet\'s themes \nThemselves were worthier! Then they less might \n\nneed \nThe lyre of fancy to give charm to fact : \nEnough of sweetness might attend reports \nOf footfalls really heard, and deeds perceived. \nImpelled by sweet desire. A Life in Song: Prelude, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 297 \n\n.... And what, pray, is it all about? \n\n.... Not hard to guess. I think, \xe2\x80\x94 most likely \nwhat people all think most about? \n\n.... What\'s that? \n\n.... Themselves. \n\n.... He said true poets, they always think what \nmost men think. \n\n.... Yes, poets of his kind! He meant, they \nwrite it out, perhaps. \n\n.... Oh, yes. They right it out when wrong. \nThat\'s what he meant. \n\n.... Humph! \xe2\x80\x94 Revolutionary? \xe2\x80\x94 is meant to \nturn things round? \n\n.... {beginning to dance) . Oh, yes \xe2\x80\x94 Turns me. \nThe Little Twin Tramps, i. \n\nPOLICEMEN \n\nWhen suns begin to rise, the thieves fly down some- \nwhere, the angels up; but the policemen keep their \nplaces. The watch of their blue forms on earth is \nconstant as the blue in heaven, and, for the just, their \nstars are just as bright as its are. Idem, iv. \n\nPOLITE, TOO \n\nA man too polite is like a floor too polished, \xe2\x80\x94 is aot \nto make you slip up, unless you can save yourself \nbecause, beforehand, you have got hold of something \nabout him. \n\nThe Snob and the Sewing Girl, 11., 2. \n\nPOLITENESS AND DISHONESTY \n\nIn a world of donkeys, all trying to hide their ears \nin a lion\'s hide that hides nothing, how can one be \nwholly honest yet wholly polite? You see dishonesty \nis to politeness what Latin is to a doctor, or pedantry \nis to a teacher, or lace to a last year\'s ball dress. We \nall see through it; and yet we all say nothing about it. \n\nThe Ranch Girl, i. \n\nPOLYGAMY \n\nTheir sex\'s claims \nAre well acknowledged, as I think, by him \nWho plights his whole soul\'s faith to one of them. \nWhy, I would not insult these women so \nAs to suggest that love for one alone \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n\n\n298 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nDid not fill my whole heart to overflowing. \nYou seek here room for more? \xe2\x80\x94 Then you mistake. \n\nThe Aztec God, ill. \n\nPOPULAR \n\nOh, to be popular, just let one be \nAbulge with promise, pledging everything. / \nTill time present him his protested bills, \nThe world will fawn and paw him like a cur \nTo do his bidding. Promise is a flea : \nIt makes us itch; but fools us, would we catch it. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nPOPULARITY \n\nTo you our suitors all present their best. \nYou get the diamonds as if you were noon; \nWhile I, I get but coals. They never touch, \nUnless to burn or else to blacken me. \n\nHaydn, xxi. \n\nPOSITION, INFLUENCE OF \n\n. , . \' . I did not think I had such influence. \n\n.... Nor does the sun. It never thinks at all; \nYet keeps the whole world whirling \xe2\x80\x94 by its light? \xe2\x80\x94 \nNo, no, \xe2\x80\x94 by its position. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\nTruth\'s position aids its mission, men will serve his \n\nvoice \nWho commands what most they treasure. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, xxxiv. \n\nOne whose position lifts him where the crowd \nLook up to him should never use the station \nTo drag up low down brutes. Dante, i.,2. \n\nPOSITION, KEEPING ONE\'s \n\n.... You must remember, dear, what\'s due to our \nposition. \n\n.... What? \n\n.... I think your uncle here could tell you,-=-to \nkeep from slipping down from it, to pay it the respect \nwe owe it ; and not let people none respect stand here \nbeside us. \n\n.... None respect? \n\n.... None in society, I mean \xe2\x80\x94 the kind we go in. \nSo, for it, we must be careful. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 299 \n\n.... Yes, I see. \n\n.... We always must be full of care, \xe2\x80\x94 when poor, \nfor fear the rich will harm us ; when rich, for fear \'twill \nbe the poor. The Little Twin Tramps, 11. \n\nPOSSESSION BY EVIL \n\nWhy, one might almost visit hell to-day \nIn safety, \xe2\x80\x94 so deserted by the fiends \nCalled out to take possession here of you! \n\nDante, 11., 2. \n\nPOSSESSIONS, HAVING NONE \n\nDon\'t you fear! Men squeeze a lemon for its juice. \nThere\'s nothing one can ever have that always keeps \nhim quite so safe as having nothing. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, 11. \nPOSTHUMOUS FAME {see FAME and monument) \nThose heroes of old Rome appear\'d not gods \nTill all were dead and veil\'d from mortal eyes. \n\nHaydn, vii. \n\npower, BEHIND THE DEVIL \n\nThe power \nThat handles Kraft can make that devil spin \nLike potter\'s clay to work out his designs. \n\nCecil the Seer, III., i. \n\nPRACTICAL VS. SPECULATIVE \n\nIf, man, your metaphysics be not yet \nBeyond all physics, pray you, cure yourself; \nBe more material; or material powers \nWill alienated grow, and so forget \nAnd count you out in all their reckonings ; \nAnd you who are of earth, will earth own not; \nAnd you who would be heaven\'s, will heaven own not. \nTo own yourself and only own yourself, \nIs worse than serfdom that has earn\'d a smile, \nThough but from wrinkling cheeks of sham good- will. \n\nIdeals Made Real, Liv. \n\nPRAYER \n\nAy, men feel, that, bow\'d in prayer, \nNot with flesh and blood they wrestle, but with those \n\nthat rule the air; \nNor will vanish thence till vanquish\'d by that Spirit, \n\nwhose control \n\n\n\n300 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nRolls the star, and waves the sea, and works the most \n\nself-govern\'d soul; \nAnd can send, for rare communion, cloth\' d in raiment \n\nall too white \nFor the ken of common vision, those who force the \n\nwrong to flight. A Life in Song: Dreaming, xxiv. \n\nPREACHING \n\nWho rails at preaching proves his need of it. \n\nCecil the Seer, ii., 2. \n\nPREJUDICE \n\nMoods, whose range, \nIs girt by customs past (which could alone \nPrejudge thought\'s present range), fit prejudice; \n\nHaydn, li. \n\nPREJUDICE vs. PROOF \n\nThere are some things that neither you nor I can \nexplain. One is why people always prefer to be \ngoverned by their own prejudices rather than by \nothers\' proofs. What Money Can\'t Buy, 11. \n\nPRETENDERS \n\nNo longer they seek for the right, too vain \nTo ask it, and make their ignorance plain. \nNo longer they struggle for love that lends \nNo more than frailty borrows from friends. \nNo longer they live in the light, but trust \nDisguises that doom them to garbs of dust. \nOh earth, tho\' royal the robes you bring. \nThey stifle the spirit to which they cling! \n\nLove and Life, xix. \n\nPRETENSE \n\nWhen only a boy, \nTo know a little is all our joy. \n\nBut alas, for a man. \nHis trials begin as Adam\'s began! \nLike him, we all would be gods, and boast \nOf knowledge and power to the uttermost. \n\nWhen comes the day \nRevealing how small \nIs the sphere that life has allotted us all, \n\nWe choose a way \nTo rise or to fall; \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 301 \n\nWe accept from above, \n\nAnd use with love \n\nOur partial dower, \nAnd learn to master and make it a power; \n\nOr we boast of what \n\nOur souls have not, \nAnd turn from the frank, fair ways of truth \nTo the ways that avoid it, and think, forsooth. \nThat nothing can shatter a sham defense \nThat hides our hollowness in pretense. \n\nIdem, XVIII. \n\nPRIEST {see LOVE AS SOURCE OF LAW) \n\nOne time, when, lonely, I to Christ had knelt \n\nI rose to seem not lonely; I was His, \n\nHe mine. I vow\'d to live then but for Him, \n\nTo break away from every cord of Earth, \n\nAnd make my life accordant with his own. \n\nNot only would I think the truth, but yield \n\nEach grain in all my being to the truth. \n\nAnd sow in wildest wastes, where all should germ \n\nIn generations growing toward the good. \n\nIdeals Made Real, vi. \n\nA novice yet, though, like St. Paul, \nTo will was present with me ; to perform \nI found not how; but, on performance bent. \nWithin a chancel chanting with the choir, \nI stood before an altar, half the day. \nAnd half before my books, with cravings pale \nFor church and stole and sermons of my own. \n\nIdem. \nA priest \xe2\x80\x94 a man, forsooth. \nWho differs from the rest of men in clothes. \nIn wearing worn-out habits, which the need \nAnd progress of our times have cast aside ; \xe2\x80\x94 \nAy, wearing them o\'er body, mind, and soul. \n\nHaydn, Li. \n\nAnd go you as a student. \nNor clad so like a priest, for whom all earth \nWill don some Sabbath-day demean; go free \nTo find the man, hard by his work, at home. \n\nIdeals Made Real, vii. \n\n\n\n302 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nGod started man; man\'s deviltry the priest. \nFor one, I like the thing God started best. \n\nColumbus,!., I. \n\nPRIEST, WHEN ARBITRARY \n\nPriests \nAre not ordain\'d for work in every sphere. \nA prince dispenses, does not mine, his gold. \nA priest administers the truth reveal\' d; \nWhat power has he to delve divine designs, \nOr minister dictation, in the spheres \nWhere God, to train our reason, leaves us free? \n\nHaydn, xxvi. \n\nI tell you this is cursed selfishness; \n\nI tell you it is downright sacrilege! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTo strain the oceans of the Infinite \n\nDown through that sieve, man\'s windpipe, wheezing out, \n\n" I deal the voice of God, I, I, the priest. " Idem, xxv. \n\nPRIESTESS \n\nBut I like to unfold to her all my plans \nFor the courage she makes me possess, \n\nLike a warrior touch\'d by a priestess\'s hands. \nForetelling a sure success. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, XL. \n\nPRIESTHOOD \n\nI see a portion of the heaven of which \nThe priesthood holds the key, is on the earth. \n\nThe Aztec God, i \n\nPRIESTHOOD AND THE IMAGINATIVE MIND \n\nThat fancy thin my own true self reveal\'d. \n\nIf spray it were, it left a constant sea \n\nThat heaves and heaves. With moods that move like \n\nmine, \nSo madden\'d by traditions, calm\'d by dreams, \nContent scarce ever, till at hazard dash\'d \nThrough ways that lead to sheer uncertainty, \nWhere fancy more may seek than matter shows \nIn things that are but matter, \xe2\x80\x94 what am I \nFor life-work such as priesthood, sure in creeds \nAnd sureties for the soul, whereon may lean \nAll weaker faith, with warrant not to bend? \n\nIdeals Made Real, lit. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 303 \n\nPRIESTS OF NATURE \n\nWe mortal men may all be priests, high priests \n\nOf nature, who may gather in from beasts \n\nAnd birds and creeping things, and sky, and earth, \n\nThat which each form reveals of truth or worth, \n\nAnd, in our higher natures, find a speech \n\nTo voice the praise that thought can frame for each. \n\nCan aught on earth give right supremacy, \n\nExcept this priesthood of humanity? \n\nWhere burn the altar-fires that can make pure \n\nEarth\'s wrong and dross, and through their flames \n\ninsure \nTrue worship for all forms of life or art. \nIf not enkindled in the human heart? \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, xi. \n\nPRIESTS, WHEN MATERIALISTS \n\nNothing like a priest\'s grip on a form \nTo squeeze the spirit out of it ! \n\nThe Aztec God, 11. \n\nPRIESTS, WHEN MERCENARY \n\nI know of priests who judge of gods \nLike altars by their gilding, to whose greed \nOne god in hand is worth a score in heaven. \nFor every time they kneel to touch their puppet. \nIt shakes to sprinkle gold-dust on them. \n\nIdem, IV., I. \n\nPRINCE \n\n.... A prince \n\n.... Is mortal \n\n\n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 Is a lord of earth ; \n\nAnd on the earth he sometimes has the power \nTo make a man immortal. Columbus, 1., i. \n\nPRINCESHIP \n\nI reverence the princeship; not the prince \nWho doffs his regal robes, and leaves his throne. \nAnd lowers his aims and slaves it with mere serfs. \n\nHaydn, xxv. \n\nPRINCETON \n\nWell placed, my Princeton, on the foremost range \nWhere Allegheny uplands first appear \nBent down to greet the sea, bent up to rear \n\n\n\n304 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWhat walls our continent of rock and grange! \n\nIf English sires, too loyal to seek change, \n\nTheir Kingston, Queenston, Princeton founded here. \n\nIt made no Witherspoon nor Stockton fear \n\nA throne that dared their new land\'s rights estrange. \n\nNor now shall Princeton, welcoming to her school \n\nThe thought of Europe, find her own less bold \n\nBecause of that which from abroad is drafted. \n\nPrinceton University. \n\nPROBLEM PLAYS \n\n. . . This is a problem play ; and they themselves \nare problematical. Are mighty few folks in the world, \nI guess, who wouldn\'t rush to see their own traits \nprinked and staged, and everybody staring at them. \n\n.... I wish that no one ever saw such plays but \nthose who have already solved the problems. \n\n.... Why so? \n\n.... If so, they might not try to solve them in \ntheir own future. The Two Paths, iii. \n\nPROGRESS {see ADVANCE, CHANGE, and modern) \nBeneath men\'s outward lives \nThere flows a force whose current, sweeping on, \nImpels to outward good. But if they start \nTo gain this good, they oft are driven back; \nAnd oft must start anew. Through all their lives \nThey thus may struggle forward, then draw back, \nAnd move now here, now there, and half believe. \nLike half the world, that all their deeds are vain; \nYet must it be that far above this earth. \nWhere grander progress courses grander paths \nThan mortals ever dream of, aims that urge \nMen\'s hope so vainly to and fro below, \nAre seen to swing the pendulums that turn \nThe hands on heaven\'s high dials to better times. \n\nA Life in Song: Prelude. \n\nCan you deem \nThat all the springs that flow to swell the stream \nOf ever-living truth are far away \nAs where fair Eden\'s first clear water lay? \nAre there no nearer mountain-sides and plains, \nO\'erfiowing with their stores from present rains? \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 305 \n\nIs there no rock struck now by prophet\'s hands \nTo meet in barren fields the new demands \nOf thirsting souls, who find the stream of thought \nPolluted by the debris caught and brought \nFrom long past ages? \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, XLV. \n\nNever yet an age progress\'d, but something wrought \n\nthere stronger still \nIn the power that swept it onward than was in a human \n\nwill. \nNever yet a deep desire for light aroused a slumbering \n\nrace, \nBut above the heaven was open\'d, and the night to \n\nday gave place. \nThanks to God for nobler spirits whom the morning \n\nbreezes wake, \nWhen they bear the tidings forward, that the dawn \n\nbegins to break; \nWhen they pierce the gloom of forests, and across the \n\ndeserts roam. \nHeralding the truth, enlightening every darkened hu- \nman home. Idem, Watching, xvi. \n\nNow I see the day before me, when the pageantries of lies \nWhich have check\'d the march of progress, melt as \n\nclouds in summer skies. \nCome, divines, and seek the limits of a sect whose \n\nname ye call \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \nFeel for flying shades of darkness. Love has levell\'d \n\nevery wall. \nFree in form but bound in feeling, slight in talk but \n\nstrong in deed. \nWhat the Lord has left to manhood man has left out- \nside his creed. \nStatesmen, come and seek the boundaries of the land \n\nyour people fear\'d; \nPhantom-like the foes conjured there in the night, \n\nhave disappear\'d ; \nWealth, and rank, and honor, come, and seek the poor, \n\nthe low, the base, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhere are they? \xe2\x80\x94 in all about you now the child of \n\nGod ye face. \n\n\n\n3o6 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nMore and more give way the barriers: one in feeling, \n\none in thought, \nWhat remains to hinder aught that all aspiring souls \n\nhave sought? \nWhat are plains and mounts and oceans, what are \n\ntongues to unity? \nCommerce, customs, institutions, have not all one \n\ndestiny? \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhen the time shall come, a banner by the right shall \n\nbe unfurl\' d, \nWhere the patriots of the nation shall be patriots of \n\nthe world ; \nAnd the right shall triumph then in spite of selfish \n\nmen and strong, \nGog and Magog or the devil, \xe2\x80\x94 or conservers of the \n\nwrong. A Life in Song: Watching, xx. \n\nPROHIBITION, NOT TRAINING RESISTANCE (see SELF- \nCONTROL and temptation) \n\n.... Ah, just there, my friend, you hint the canker- \nworm that makes most forms of prohibition rot. The \nold Greeks used to tell about the hydra \xe2\x80\x94 could not be \nkilled by cutting off one head ; it had so many heads \xe2\x80\x94 \nmust cut off all. It is not appetites we have to fight, \nbut appetite in general \xe2\x80\x94 all of it. \n\n.... And what has that to do with prohibition? \n\n.... It never can prohibit all that tempts us; \nand what it does prohibit is prevented from train- \ning in us habits of resisting. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, ii. \n\nPROMINENCE OBTAINED BY DEPRIVING OTHERS OF IT \n\nA king is human ; place is relative ; \nDown honor, and you boost dishonor up. \nMake men in common kneel, and common men \nStand up like giants. Banish out of sight \nThe bright minds, and the dull ones beam like beacons \n\nColumbus, I., 3. \n\nPROMISE, A woman\'s \n\nWhat woman ever cared about her word \xe2\x80\x94 \nHer own word or her husband\'s? Bless her jaws! \nThey have so many words, why care for one word? \n\nIdem, III., I. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 307 \n\nPROMISE, FULFILLING ONE {see VOW) \n\nHonor helping none and harming self, \nNeed never serve the body of a vow \nFrom which the life to which it vowed has flown. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nPROMISE, NEEDS A GUARANTEE BEHIND IT \n\nBut your word- \n\n\n\n.... Would, like a bank-note, quickly lose its worth \n\n"Were nothing stored behind it, to make true \n\nThe storage it bespeaks. Idem. \n\nPROMISE, SECURED BY A LIE \n\nA promise made to suit a He but cloaks \nUntruth that truth should strip and so show naked. \n\nDante, 11., i. \n\nPROMISED LAND \n\nThe poet\'s is the promised land, \xe2\x80\x94 \nIs always promised, but it never comes. \n\nIdem, I., 2. \n\nPROMOTION \n\nWhy blame my soul, because it must be true \nTo higher aims and higher influence? \nIf, seeking these, this world\'s promotion come, \nLet come! I take it then by right divine. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nPROPERTY, master\'s, VS. WORKMAN\'S \n\n.... The master\'s property is all the workman\'s \nprinciple. \n\n. . . . It is? And who wants principle? \n\n.... Yourself\xe2\x80\x94 enough at least to have some care \nfor your own interest. The Little Twin Tramps, i. \n\nPROPHECY \n\nHis life was hard, yet seemed a rare romance, \nThe sense in thrall, the soul at Hberty; \n\nAnd, winged beyond his age in its advance. \nWhat he saw then, we now term prophecy. \n\nThe American Pioneer. \n\nPROPHET \n\nAy, rare, indeed, in that day is his fate. \nIf the eye of the prophet \xe2\x80\x94 so noble a trait \xe2\x80\x94 \nEscape from censure and gibe and hate. \nFor an eye like his will a goal pursue \n\n\n\n308 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nSo far in advance of his time and its view, \nThat only the march of an age, forsooth, \nCan o\'ertake the vision he sees in his youth. \nBut, oh! in that age, when it comes, the earth \nWill live in his light and know of his worth. \nAnd many and many will be the men \n\nWho move on then, \n\nAnd about them find \nThe scenes that he in his day divined, \nWho, sure of his presence, will know he is nigh, \nAnd feel he is leading, and never can die. \n\nUnveiling the Monument. \n\nPROPHET, TEST OF A \n\nMy words come true, eh? \xe2\x80\x94 One might think they \n\nwould; \nSo few regard them ! It is one sure test \nOf prophets that they prophesy in vain. \n\nColumbus, v., 2. \n\nPROPHETIC VISION \n\nIf only once the souls that climb \n\nSo slowly up this mount of time, \n\nCould, with prophetic vision clear, \n\nSee views that from its peaks appear; \n\nThen gaze below, where foul mists creep \n\nAlong black waters of the deep, \n\nNote slippery stones that trip the feet, \n\nOr slide beneath the indiscreet, \n\nHow closely would they watch and tread \n\nThe narrow, narrow paths ahead! \n\nAnd then, should one a safe way trace \n\nO\'er some supremely dangerous place. \n\nWhat could he do, except to try, \n\nTho\' plains were wide, and hills were high, \n\nTo make those heed his warning cry. \n\nWho in the paths behind him moved? \n\nThough means he chose to some but proved \n\nHis madness and his meanness both \n\nWhich they must hound with many an oath; \n\nThough he were kill\'d where loom\'d the danger. \n\nHis corpse might save some coming stranger. \n\nWho in the stare of death could trace \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 309 \n\nThe aims that flush\' d his Hving face. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xix \n\nPROPOSAL, FOR MARRIAGE, A \n\nFor I would say I loved her, not her aims. \nIf then she should prefer her aims to me, \nIt would be proof that she could love me not. \nBut if she should prefer me to her aims. \nThen surely she could yield her wish to mine. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxxiv. \n\nSo, near the sunset of a summer\'s day, \n\nWhile walking by the lake within the park, \n\n"I mean," I breathed out cautiously, "to write \n\nA tale of love; and I have plann\'d the tale \n\nTo open here. In after time, perchance, \n\nThose minds to whom it proves of interest \n\nMay love to linger here, recalling it. \n\nLook now \xe2\x80\x94 this lake. To gain the full effect \n\nOf palace, park, and yonder heaven unveil\'d, \n\nOne, gazing downward in the water\'s depth \n\nShould note them wash\'d of gross reality, \n\nAnd \xe2\x80\x94 as in art \xe2\x80\x94 reflected. With this view \n\nThis tale of mine shall open. First of all, \n\nHere, in the sunshine near us \xe2\x80\x94 at our feet \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAy, in the water; ay, friend, here I mean \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nJust underneath us, \xe2\x80\x94 mark you, mark you, there, \n\nThe hero, and, beside him, his ideal!" \n\nIdem, XXXV. \n\nPROPOSING TO A SWEETHEART \n\n"And there\'s another sphere in life," he added \nhurriedly, as though he feared that, if he should stop, \nhis courage might forsake him \xe2\x80\x94 "another sphere, in \nwhich a woman can do more for one than in this, and \nthat is \xe2\x80\x94 in the home. What might a home not be, \ncould it have you there as its mistress!" \n\nThey walked a little way in silence. Then the girl, \nwho had not yet looked up, knelt down on the pave- \nment of the green-house. They had come to the \nflower that she had taken him there to see. That \nflower she plucked, and a leaf or two, and then she \nrose and reached up to his button-hole \xe2\x80\x94 the one in his \ncoat that lay the nearest to his heart \xe2\x80\x94 and placed her \n\n\n\n3IO A POET\'S CABINET \n\ngift within it. Then the captain caught her head be- \ntween his hands, and made her look up toward him ; and \nit was not the hot flush on her cheeks that dried the tears \nthat trembled in her eyes, nor the smile that was break- \ning there that shook them off, but the first embrace in \nwhich she buried her blushing face in the bosom of her \nheart\'s true love. Modern Fishers of Men, xvi. \n\nPROSE \n\nA poet has to pose, to prose himself \nSufficiently for some companionship. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\nPROSPERITY \n\nWharves and ships that fill\'d a harbor, busy streets, \n\nand market-halls, \nFruit-red trees, and yellow corn-fields, open mines that \n\ngemm\'d a land. \nAnd a gay-dress\'d throng that drove through winding \n\nways to mansions grand. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, xxxiv. \n\nPROTECTOR, MAN AS A \n\nA woman never is as much a woman as when she \nfeels that man is her protector ; nor man as much a man \nas when he feels the same. The law works perfectly \nfor both. Tuition for her Intuition, iii. \n\nPROVIDENCE \n\nWe war with Providence, who war with life. \nWe seek to mould our own existence out; \nBut life, best made, is mainly for us made. \nEach passing circumstance, a tool of heaven, \nGrates by to smooth some edge of character, \nAnd model manhood into better shape. \n\nIdeals Made Real, LXXI. \n\nGod guided it and us, alas, \nBut how He scorch\'d our heaven to pass \nHis finger through the skies! \n\nOur First Break with the British. \n\nPROVIDENCE, LEAVING TO \n\nWhy, he had done his duty, sown the seed; \nThen why not leave the rest with Providence? \n.... Fling seed to seas, or bid it root in winds; \nBut do not trust your thoughts to Providence. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 311 \n\nTheir soil is in humanity, nor there \nSpring, grow, or ripen without husbandry. \n\nColumbus, II., 3. \n\nPUBLIC SENTIMENT \n\nThese all but echoed back my own soul\'s voice; \n\nAnd yet, augmented by the voice of all, \n\nIn heeding them, I heeded not myself, \n\nBut something greater, grander than myself. \n\nFor if a single man may image God, \n\nThen many men who join their partial gifts \n\nAnd parted wisdom, \xe2\x80\x94 till the whole become \n\nNot merely human but humanity\'s, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nMay watch our ways and keep them circumspect \n\nWith eyes that often wellnigh stand for His \n\nWho still more fully in mankind than man \n\nRules over truth in each through truth in all. \n\nWhy term me slave, then, when I serve my kind? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThrough serving it, I best may serve, as well. \n\nMy godlier self! \xe2\x80\x94 Let general thought take shape; \n\nWhat better can incarnate sovereignty? \n\nWhat stir to nobler dreams or grander deeds? \n\nThe soul in reverence may kneel to it, \n\nYield all to it. \xe2\x80\x94 So may my neighbors reign, \n\nAnd I may be their slave, yet own myself; \n\nAnd deify, while I defy my pride ! \n\nIdeals Made Real, lxiii. \n\nPUBLIC SENTIMENT, IN MEN AND WOMEN \n\nA man but in his public thought \nAntiphonals the public sentiment. \nA woman does it in her private thought; \nAnd woe to lovers who dare say their say \nWithout a little clique that, echoing it. \nCan make it seem, at least, a little public. \n\nColumbus, III., I. \n\nPUBLICITY, A CURE FOR SOCIAL EVILS \n\nAnd ought to swear \nTo level every wall that can shut out \nThe sun that brings to light man\'s every act, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe only weapon that can ward off ill \nFrom souls allured to wrong through secrecy. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\n\n\n312 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nPULPIT {see stage) \nAh, could they all who plead with men for truth, \nMeet face to face convictions that are strong, \nHow strong would grow the pleaders, and how wise! \nNo longer, fill\'d with fear lest prejudice \nShould flee the shock of unaccustomed thought, \nWould coward-caution hush to voiceless death \nThe truth that breathes within. Earth would not hold \nOne pulpit echoing like a parrot-cage \nThe thought- void accents of a rote-learn\'d creed ; \nNor heed one preacher like a cell-bound monk \nWho, knowing men as boys in school know flowers, \nNot as they grow, but pluck\'d and press\'d in books, \nWould rather save the pictures of the soul \nSketch\'d on some small cell wall, than one live soul \nIn whose free thinking God depicts himself. \n\nA Life in Song: Note 4. \n\nPULL, A \n\nSome men, if any matter ever go against them, are \nalways looking for a man behind it. The world to \nthem is just one big machine \xe2\x80\x94 a puppet-show; the \nthing comes out ahead that you or I have given the \nstrongest pull. On Detective Duty, 11 \n\nPUNISHMENT, EFFECT OF UNJUST {see JUSTICE) \n\nYou fail to see the danger? Why, their tribe \n\nWill massacre us all; if not, your vices \n\nWill bring you hell here, even while you live. \n\n.... You know my story \xe2\x80\x94 was condemned to death \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFor nothing, though \xe2\x80\x94 and then the court decreed. \n\nInstead of this, that I should come out here; \n\nAnd if I make it hell, it seems to me. \n\nIn hell is where they want me. Columbus, v., i. \n\nPURE \n\nAnd coming softly down from above, \nAnd crossing a corridor clothed in white, \n\nI saw my love, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA form as pure as the moon\'s pure light, \nA form so pure that the night\'s dark air \nSeem\'d the robe most fitting for me to wear ; \nAnd I shrank to my gloom, and left her there. \nA Life in Song: Loving, xii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 313 \n\nPURE, IN SPIRIT \n\nOh, nothing of good can life secure \nSave when the springs of life are pure! \n\nWhen this they be. \nTheir earliest vent, \n\nAs mad and free \nAs a mount\'s cascade, may all seem spent \n\nIn dashing away \n\nTo spatter and spray, \n\nBut yet may go \n\nIn an onward flow \nTo flood wide valleys where buds are elate, \nAnd fruit is forming, and harvests wait. \n\nLove and Life, XLiv. \n\nPURE SOUL, MAKING SURROUNDINGS PURE \n\nYour pure soul \nBreathed such an atmosphere about itself, \nYour very presence could impart an air \nOf sacredness to all brought near to you. \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \n\nPURITANIC \n\nBut all began to pray, \nWith eyes to duty open wide \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe Puritanic way. \n\nThe Lebanon Boys in Boston. \n\nPURITANS \n\nFor they forgot, our lords, \n\nThey dealt with Puritans, \nTrue sons of those whom Cromwell led, \n\nWhose right means every man\'s; \nWho take their individual ill \n\nFor proof of general pain, \nAnd, where one prince has made them wince. \n\nFight all, that man may reign. Ethan Allen. \n\nPURPOSES IN LIFE \n\nAll life\'s purposes \nAre held like lenses that a soul may use \nTo gather in heaven\'s light and flash it round \nUpon its world illumin\'d; or, not so, \xe2\x80\x94 \nIf turn\'d on self, \xe2\x80\x94 to but inflame and dim \nIts own self-centered vision. Ideals Made Real, lxix. \n\n\n\n314 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nPUZZLES \n\nI do not understand this. \n\n.... _ ^ No; but half \n\nThe interest of life is in its puzzles. \n\nThe Aztec God, ii. \n\nRACE-PREJUDICE \n\nClear the air. \nStand off a white man\'s shadow. \n\nColumbus, v., I. \n\nRAILWAY \n\nEscaped from them, his feet approach\'d a town \n\nFrom which a railway stretch \'d invitingly; \nAnd in its train he soon had sat him down. \nIt moved, and filled his mind with ecstasy. \nThe hum recall\'d his favorite melody. \nThe trees wheel\'d by like dancers in their flight; \n\nAnd, as they whirl\'d with mad rapidity. \nSpell-bound, he slept and dream\'d all wrought for \n\nright, \nAnd made the world they wrought in, beautiful and \nbright. A Life in Song: Daring, xxx. \n\nRAIN (see harvesting) \nApril\'s rain is autumn\'s gain. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, xli. \n\nRAKE \n\nI feign\'d a fall in fancied depths of ill, \n\nAnd mock\'d that I might hear her call me thence; \n\nAnd learn\'d therein to envy some the rake. \n\nFor what a charm it were to hear \xe2\x80\x94 not so? \n\nThat is, if one were vicious, through and through \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSuch pleas for love from lips that aye were pure? \n\nThe very depth of one\'s unworthiness \n\nWould whet such relish for a thing so strange ! \n\nIdeals Made Real, L. \n\nRANCH EXPERIENCE \n\n.... The most of the people out here have to hunt \nas much for a thing to see as they do for a thing to eat. \n\n.... They do? \xe2\x80\x94 with the sheep and the cattle \nthat keep up their going and coming; and clouds of \ngrasshoppers flying, and coyotes and partridges dart- \ning up out of the rocks and the grasses, and rattle- \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 315 \n\nsnakes turning to life the very sticks at your feet! \nThe most enlivening place I ever set foot in. . . . We \nwent over here three miles to visit a prairie-dog town. \nWe found such a lovely valley; and, at last, we spied \nthree owls. At first I thought they were bird\'s nests, \nbushed up on a dead tree\'s branches; but Foodie called \nthem watchmen \xe2\x80\x94 night watchmen, you know, of the \ndog-town. I wonder whether they guard the dogs \nthe most, or haunt them. Well, then, as we passed the \nowls, we pounced, full drive, on the town. The dogs \nwere sunning themselves on the tops of their little \nmounds. When Foodie drove in among them, you \nought to have seen them dodging and darting down to \ntheir holes. It seemed to me just Hke charging through \nhills of elephant ants. You do everything here out \nWest on a very big scale. The Ranch Girl, 11. \n\nRANK \n\nFor him who judges manhood by its best \n\nThere is no noblest rank not won by soul. \n\nNo throne worth seeking reached on steps of sod, \n\nNo life that ever can seem wholly blest \n\nBut feels itself a part of that great whole, \n\nAt one with which is being one with God. \n\nClass and Caste. \nThe work that lets \nThese common laborers wipe their dirty paws \nUpon one\'s coat. \n\n.... Then take it off. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 Ay, ay; \n\nAnd grovel at their level? \n. . \xe2\x80\xa2 . Does your rank \n\nDepend upon your coat? \xe2\x80\x94 pray heaven that you \nBe bom again, a new man and a true one. \n\nColumbus, v., I. \n\nRATIONAL ACTION \n\nRational action is to the spirit what self-respect is to \nthe body. Pyschology of Inspiration, xi. \n\nRATIONAL, AS THE SOURCE OF RIGHT, ACTION \n\n.... Do you expect a girl of my age to be able to \nlive like a philosopher, and go through a process of \nargumentation every time that I have to do anything? \n\n\n\n3l6 A POET\'S CABINET \n\n.... All the minds in the world have to go through \nsomething of that process. If not, they have not \nattained rationality, which is the one thing that \nseparates a human being from a brute. \n\n.... And if they have not attained it? \n\n.... To speak plainly, I fail to see why \xe2\x80\x94 meta- \nphorically, at least \xe2\x80\x94 they shouldn\'t go to the devil \xe2\x80\x94 \neither in this world or in the next, and probably in \nboth. Where Society Leads, i. \n\nREASON (see HEADS AND HEARTS ) \n\nSome things that may go wrong \nAre righted by the touch of circumstance. \n.... Most things are righted by the touch of \n\nreason. \nWithout it men are but base tools of passion, \nAnd all their world here, the abode of brutes. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nWould reason drop the curtain of the eye, \nAnd dwell in darkness, and be proud of it? \n\nThe Aztec God, 11. \n\nIf one clear truth have cross\'d the world\'s brink, \n\nThis truth is clear, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThat all learn here \nLess what to do, than how to think. \n\nLess what they ought to gain or lose, \n\nOr feel or say, \n\nThan how to weigh \nThe worth of what they judge or choose. \n\nAnd if spirit-life be a life in thought, \n\nThought must control \n\nThe reasoning soul \nBefore to the wisest life \'t is brought ; \n\nThought here must learn to know and feel, \n\nYet choose the mean \n\n\'Twixt each extreme \nOf dunce or dreamer, sloth or zeal. \n\nLife\'s problem thus may all be solved, \n\nIf far above \n\nEarth\'s truth or love \nHeaven rates high reason\'s powers evolved. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 31? \n\nFor good can never be lost when sought; \n\nBut joy and pain \nBoth turn to gain, \nIf spirit-life be a life in thought. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxxii. \n\nLife has taught me, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat reason\'s God must be a God of reason. \nIf so, there lives no right but reason fashions; \nNor is there aught that should seem right to man \nYet wrong to reasons fashioned by himself. \nSo those who know they own an understanding. \nAnd know how all things earthly join to train it. \nYet think of God as all misunderstood, \nMust think with minds whose methods are the devil\'s. \n\nDante, iii., 2. \n\nREASON AND FORCE \n\nBeware of strength \nThat, like the brute\'s, is wielded not by reason. \nExcept by reason thought was never forced \nFor its own good. Idem, i., 2. \n\nREASON IN A FRAY \n\nA foe deficient in his brain \nIs quicker vanquished than if so in body; \nFor he whose reason fails him in the fray \nFights like a knight unbuckling his own mail. \n\nIdem, I., 2. \n\nREASON, NOT HELPED BY ANOTHER\'S HAND \n\nReason is a weapon never helped by touches of \nanother\'s hand than his who holds it. \n\nThe Two Paths, ill. \n\nREASON vs. MEMORY \n\nHave always heard it, eh? \xe2\x80\x94 and most of us \nCommune with reason through our memory ; \nAnd not the work of our own minds we heed. \nBut rote-repeated phrases framed by others. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nRECEPTIVITY, THE CONDITION OF SPIRITUAL LIFE \n\nThough spirit-life be lived in thought. \n\nWhere thought pervades the atmosphere like air, \n\nWhat can its measure be, for any mind, \n\nSave that mind\'s receptivity? If so. \n\n\n\n318 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWhen freed from bounds conditioning human thought, \nIt is a mind not filled so much as open, \nWhere waits not bigotry but charity, \nAlthough with Httle learning, that first thrills \nTo tides that flow from infinite resources. \n\nCecil the Seer, ii., 2. \n\nRECIPROCATION \n\nThe sun may fill with clouds the sky; \n\nThe moon may lift the tide, \nAnd winds that blow from heaven wash high \n\nThe wave-swept ocean side; \n\nBut all the world keeps whirling round; \n\nAnd always, while it hies, \nFair exhalations, heavenward bound, \n\nFrom mead and main arise. \n\nThe sun and moon and wind above \n\nMove not an unmoved sea; \nThe heart that does not heave for love \n\nWill not be woo\'d by me. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxix. \n\nREFORMERS, UNSEXED \n\n.... And do you then approve, do you admire \nLean, short-haired women, and lank, long-haired \n\nmen. \nExchanging shawls and coats, and stripping life \nOf character to make it caricature? \n.... I do not much admire the straw in spring \nThat forms the spread of flower-beds; but beneath \nSleep summer\'s fairest offspring. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\nREGALIA (see FORM AND SPIRIT, and RITES) \n\nWhen men distrust \nTheir own thought or their thought\'s authority \nSo they disguise it all in robes of office, \nWhich only men are bid to honor, then \nI fear they hide what no man ought to honor. \n\nDante, il., I. \n\nREGARD, AWAKENED BY SYMPATHY _ \n\nNone can command regard from those with whom \nthey do not show some sympathy. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, iii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 319 \n\nREGENERATION {see CHOICE, CONVERSION, FORMALISTS \n\nand priest) \nThe graft of all true love regenerates. \nThose in whom love is born are born anew, \nAnd all their family of fancies then \nBear family traits; those loving, and those not, \nBeing wide apart as rainbows and the rain. \nI might be superstitious, but to me \nThe temple of my life\'s experience \nHad been less sacred, had it held no shrine \nWhereon to heap sweet tokens of my love. \nAnd all that loom\'d around seem\'d holier now. \nIllumed by holy lights of memory. \n\nIdeals Made Real, XLIV. \n\nreincarnation {see transmigration) \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 . I thought, \nThat, if a soul must live hereafter, why, \n\nItmust have lived before. \xe2\x80\x94 You know the Christ \nDid not rebuke those who confessed they thought \nElias had returned; but, in an age \nWhen all believed he might return, confirmed them. \nAnd then our creed \xe2\x80\x94 Where can it come to pass, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe body\'s resurrection? \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 . . . Where? \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 Where but \nIn that new earth of Hebrew prophecies? \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhich would have but misled, had those that heard \nNot had it in their power themselves to be \nRestored to Hfe in that restored estate. \n\n.... Seems life so bright then? \xe2\x80\x94 You would live it \n\nover? \n.... No, no; so sad that I would solve its reason. \nIf we have Hved before, we all are born \nIn spheres to which our own deeds destine us. \n.... Not Adam\'s? \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 Each one may have been an Adam. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 Who ever \n\nMet mortal yet whose memory could recall \n\nA former state? \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 He might recall the state \n\n\n\n320 A POETS CABINET \n\nWithout the circumstance. To know, bespeaks \nExperience. To be born with intuitions \nAnd insight, is to know. To sun new growth, \nWhy should not all be given an equal chance \nUnshadow\'d by dark memories of the past? \n.... But if the past were bright? \n.... If wholly so. \n\nWould one need progress? or could he be cursed \nWith deeper woe than thought that could recall, \nEnslaved in flesh, a former liberty? \nWhy lure to suicide, that, breaking through \nThe lines determining development. \nMay plunge the essence down to deeper depths \nThere planted till new growth take root anew? \n\nIdem, II., 2. \n\nRELIGION, AND REAL ESTATE \n\n.... With me religion is the chief \n\nConsideration. Think how poor our life \n\nWould be without religion. \n\n.... Be less rich, \n\nYou think. \n\n.... Just so ; for there is nothing like \n\nA church to elevate the character \n\n.... Of real estate. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\nRELIGION, ATTITUDE OF NATURAL \n\n.... Where were you reared to such impiety? \n.... Where sun, moon, stars rained from the blue \n\nabove \nAnd flowers were fountained through the green below, \nWhere lights we knew not what, but they were \n\nheaven\'s, \nLooked down on eyes that looked up from the earth, \nAnd men, whatever might impel their souls. \nWere guided onward by a goal to mate it. \n.... Ay, and by priests and prophets \xe2\x80\x94 Tell the truth \n.... Yes, there were those who dreamed, and those \n\nwho deemed \nIn darkness they saw forms that had been earth\'s. \nAnd heard their words, and they believed it true \nThat there was life behind the sights we see. \nBut those who stood the highest of the high, \n\n\n\n\n.... Sf^EALS \'THE \' ^ \n\n\n\nSee page 327. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 321 \n\nAnd knew our poet-king, were taught to look \nUpon a God beyond the reach of men. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv. \n\nRELIGION, OF THE SPIRIT \n\nNot every man that names the name \nThat is the Lord\'s can enter here ; \n\nBut only those whose inward aim \n\nWould do his will howe\'er made clear. \n\nFor naught can reach the Spirit\'s throne \n\nSave what in spirit spirits own. \n\nA Hymn for all Religions. \n\nRELIGION UNTRUE TO LAWS WITHIN \n\nHis was a vague religion ! \n.... Not so vague \n\nAs that religion is whose forms befriend \nA life to which all laws within the soul \nAre foes. The Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nRELIGIOUS, ACCORDING TO THE ZEALOT \n\nWhat is more religious \n\nThan ministering discomfort? Rile folks up, \nTheir dregs appear ; they see their own foul depths. \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \n\nRENUNCIATION \n\nHow many die, or all they live for lose \nBecause of weapons honor cannot use! \nWhat hopes men bury that the ghosts which rise \nMay lead the dance of others toward the skies ! \nMidnight in a City Park. \n\nREPETITION, IN THOUGHT \n\nThe slowest lines of thought are like the lightning\'s \nIn this, \xe2\x80\x94 they never track the same trail twice. \n\nDante, iii.,2. \nREPRESSION {see expression) \nThe clerk, hard pressed, who holds the coffer\'s key, \nThe scribe in debt who writes that none can see, \nThe maid in want who fingers gem and dress, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWe trust them all for thoughts that all repress. \nThe forests flourish and the sweet flowers blow \nBecause of soil that hides foul roots below; \nAnd all fair fruits of human life are grown \nAbove dark moods and motives never shown. \n\n\n\n322 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nAh, were they shown, did man not rule himself, \nThe world were whelmed in murder, vice, and pelf; \nAs vainly watchmen trod this dreamlike mist \nAs might some weird, unwaked somnambulist. \n\nMidnight in a City Park. \n\nREPRESSION, OF LOVE \n\nMy heart, it suffocates. This feeling here. \n\nIt stifles me. I think that one might die, \n\nForbidden speech. Ah, friend, had you a babe, \n\nA little puny thing that needed air, \n\nAnd nursing too ; and now and then a kiss, \n\nA mother\'s kiss, to quiet it; and arms. \n\nWarm arms to wrap and rock it so to sleep ; \n\nWould you deny it these? And yet there lives \n\nA far more tender babe that God calls love; \n\nAnd when He sends it, why, we mortals here, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI would not say we grudge the kiss, the clasp, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWe grudge the little heavenling even air. \n\nThe tears will come. It makes me weep to think \n\nOf this poor gentle babe, this heir of heaven, \n\nSo wronged because men live ashamed of it. \n\nNot strange is it that earth knows little love \n\nWhile all so little dare of love to speak. \n\nFor once (I ask no more) you must permit \n\nThat I should nurse the stranger, give it air, \n\nAy, ay, and food, if need be; let it grow. \n\nGod\'s child alone, I have no fear of it. Haydn, v. \n\nREPUBLIC, OUR \n\nBut our republic here must bring to birth \n\nA nobler man than ever lived before; \nOr else from those who have not grown in worth \n\nWill tyrants rise as they have risen of yore. \nThe home, the school, the church, where no crown \ntrains one. \n\nMust teach of reverence and of truth supreme. \nOr many a will, not taught what best restrains one. \n\nWill break the free land\'s peace and end the free- \nman\'s dream. A Life in Song: Serving, LX. \n\nREPUTATION \n\nGood reputation is to good men what \n\nFine perfumes are to flowers. A charm it has \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 323 \n\nWhich lures the sense that heeds it to a search \nThat will not cease till finding its fair source. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., 2. \n\nRESPONSIBILITY, INDIVIDUAL FOR INDIVIDUAL PLANS \n\nThe goal \nIs not of their discerning. \xe2\x80\x94 Why should they \nBe thought the ones to bring it to the light? \n\n.... But they \n\n.... To them it seems a madman\'s whim, \n\nA thing to flout ; \xe2\x80\x94 to me the one conception \nOf all that is most rational and holy. \nWhich, then, would give his life that it might live? \n\nColumbus, II., 3. \n\nRESPONSIBILITY, OF CHILDREN AND FOOLS \n\nWe never hold a child responsible for laughing out \nwhen tickled; nor a fool for falling when some other \nfool has tripped him. Tuition for her Intuition, iii. \n\nREST \n\nRest, the Paradise \nOf work, is yet the Purgatory, too. \nOf indolence. Haydn, XLix. \n\nRest enjoys no more than effort earns. \n\nThe American Pioneer. \n\nThe spirit of life \n\nIs a spirit of strife; \nAnd, whatever the thing we may gain or miss, \nThe end of it all is to lie like a knight \nWhose rest is the weariness won in a fight. \n\nLove and Life, iii. \n\nREST, DAY OF, IN AMERICA \n\n.... If anywhere in the world people need to use \ntheir nights, and, at least, one day in the week, for \nrest, it\'s in America. \n\n.... I didn\'t know that you were so much of a \nPuritan. \n\n.... Not a Puritan, a patriot. \n\nWhere Society Leads, i. \n\nRESTLESSNESS \n\nIn life\'s unending strife, \nThe wrestler the most fit to win the palm \n\n\n\n324 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nMay be the strong soul\'s restlessness, while rest, \nLike sweetmeats, all too sweet, when served ere meats, \nBut surfeits appetite before it acts. Haydn, iv. \n\nRETRIBUTION \n\nEach spirit by and in itself. \nInsures what heaven should bless or brand. \n\nHer Haughtiness. \n\nREVELATION (see INSPIRATION) \n\n.... Is this a revelation? \n\n.... Ay, to those \n\nWho heed the truth behind the words I use; \n\nAnd yet for those who heed this truth themselves \n\nI do not need to term it revelation. \n\nCecil the Seer^ ii., 2. \n\nRHETORIC, RHYTHMIC \n\nWhile the wind \nWould whistle through the trees and round the rocks. \nOur shouts would join them, now, perchance, intent \nTo tempt the lonely echoes to applaud \nOur strife to make our ungrown voices fit \nTo bear the burden of the larger thought \nFor which the world beyond our youth seemed waiting ; \nAnd now, perchance, though seldom recognized. \nNor if, though subtly recognized, confessed. \nIntent to gain fore-echoes, as it were. \nOf that which should be college approbation \nWhen words that to the air were now rehearsed \nShould load the breath that carries freight to spirit, \nAnd, borne along the clogs of others\' pulses. \nShould start that subtle surging in the veins \nThat proves the presence and completes the work \nOf what impels to rhythmic rhetoric. \n\nWest Mountain. \n\nRHYMES {see POEMS, POET and poetry) \nNone aid, or deem his aim sublime, \nFor only those who try to climb \nAnd reach the far-off heights of rhyme, \nCan know their distance. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, XX. \nA poet is a babe, whose plea \nIs whined in words. Alas for me, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 325 \n\nCan screaming scare away one\'s pain? \n\nThe rattlings of a restless brain, \n\nWhat good did ever rhymes obtain? Idem. \n\nRIDICULE {see laughter) \n.... Far better have men point at us and laugh, \nThan never have them point to us at all. \n.... Do you say this, who were so sensitive, \nHigh-spirited? \n\n.... One may have so much sense \n\nIt holds the spirit down. Besides, our spheres \nAre stagnant and need movement. Make men take \nYou gravely if you can ; if not, what though \nThey laugh? You move them that way. There are \n\ntimes \nThe tiniest tinkling that can tap the air \nRings up life\'s curtain for its grandest act. \n\nColumbus, II., I. \n\nRIGHT AND WRONG \n\nStrange mixture life is of the right and wrong! \nShould one be good, or kind? and which is which? \nHow much that seems in line for both is but \nA ray that falls to form a pathway here \nFrom the rent forms of clouds beyond our reach \nWhich, while they let the light in, bring the storm ! \n\nIdem. \n\nRIGHT APPEARING DIFFERENT TO DIFFERENT PERSONS \n\nWhen we deal with others whose judgment we must \ninfluence, what is right depends much less on what \nseems right to us, than what seems right to them. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, iii. \n\nRIGHT, AS DETERMINED BY STATE AND SELF \n\n.... But you and I \xe2\x80\x94 we know the state is wrong ; \nand we are helping it to find the right. \n\n.... The right to it is what the laws decree, until \nthe state that makes them makes them void. \n\nThe Two Paths, iii. \n\nRIGHT-MINDED VS. WRONG-MINDED AS FRIENDS \n\nIf you start out to repel even a few right-minded \npeople, you may end by attracting a good many who \nare wrong-minded. Where Society Leads, i. \n\n\n\n326 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nRIGHT OR WRONG DEPENDENT ON CIRCUMSTANCES \n\nThe right is right, and wrong is wrong. \n\nIt is; and when a strife is threatened, that which \ntends to peace is usually right, and that which tends \nto strife is wrong. Tuition for her Intuition, ii. \n\nRIGHT, PERSONAL AND LEGAL \n\n.... Why, it is right to get your paper. \n\n.... In one sense yes ; but in another, no. Right \ntoward ourselves, but not right toward the state, \nwhose laws, like its policemen, guard both good and \nbad, and thus give all security. \n\nThe Two Paths, iii. \n\nRIGHTEOUS, THE, FORCING RECOGNITION FROM FOES \n\nYour men that rule \nWhen others hold the place that they would fill, \nTramp an inferior, and push off an equal ; \nBut if some scheme they basely brew be spoiled \nBy one above them, \xe2\x80\x94 they are left no option; \nBut, like a cover, they must lift him higher. \n[So, by their very righteousness, you see \nThe righteous force their foes to do them justice. \n\nCecil the Seer, I. \n\nRISING IN LIFE THROUGH FALLING \n\n. . . Why see, my shoe has been unbuttoned. \n\n.... Yes; you take me for a shoe shop\'s clerk? \n\n.... I take you for one who wants to rise in life. \nYou know there\'s nothing like beginning at the foot. \n\n.... But some that do it, stay there. I have \nheard that women like to keep men at their feet. \n\n.... And I have heard that some men like to be \nthere. The two things go together \xe2\x80\x94 men and women. \n\n.... Yes, sometimes! Sometimes, though, they \nkeep apart. The Two Paths, I. \n\nRISK \n\nNo one ever ran a race worth while but ran it at a \nrisk. On Detective Duty, iii. \n\nRITES (see FORM AND SPIRIT, and regalia) \n\nA publican may use \nVain rites that oft the truth of heaven abuse, \nYet breathe through each dead body of a prayer \nSighs that infuse a living spirit there; \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 327 \n\nAnd he whose faith in freest ways may roam \nHave constant yearnings for some churchly home. \nAh, they who trust in God\'s most sovereign might \nFind much to do, if they would do the right; \nAnd they who trust the power of human will, \nOft fail, and feel their need of mercy still. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, lii. \n\nRITUALISM {see FORM AND SPIRIT, REGALIA and \n\nrites) \nWith incantations exorcising sin. \nThe white-robed choir and priests have marched and \n\nbowed; \nAnd pleas, politely phrased to please the crowd, \nHave flattered those whose coin the coffers win. \nAnd thus, forsooth, with lip and eye and ear \nMen seek to honor him whose one chief call \nWas \' \' Follow me. \' \' Were they to meet him here. \nCould those whose faith these outward forms enthrall \nTrust to the spirit in him, or revere \nThe kind of living for which he gave all? \n\nThe Faith That Doubts. \n\nrival, a, in courtship \nHe flutter\'d like her fan at Edith\'s beck, \nHer silence fill\'d with subtlest flattery. \nHer vacant hours invaded with himself; \nTill all my life, at last, appear\'d a plot \nTo steal upon his absence, and then pluck \nLove\'s fruit. Ideals Made Real, xxxii. \n\nHe on us burst, and brought a sudden light \nIlluminating her, and paling me, \nBlanch\'d, ash-like, in the flame of that hot flush \nThat warm\'d her welcome. All my heart and breath \nSeem\'d sunk in silence like the buzzing bees \nWhen autumn steals the sunlight from the flowers. \nAnd frost seals down their sweets. I heard them \n\ntalk \nLike one who just has walk\'d a glacier path \nWith boist\'rous friends; then, stumbling, slips away. \nFar suck\'d through freezing fathoms down to death. \nYet hears the cruel laughter crackling still. \n\nIdem, xxvi. \n\n\n\n328 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nROMANCE \n\nRomance is a dream \nThat the wise esteem, \nFor none whom it never possest \nWere ever the bravest or best. \nThe helpers that bend to all need \nAre sensitive first to heed \n\nThe calls that are nearest. \nThe loving all learn the art \nOf opening mind and heart \n\nWith those that are dearest. \nAnd, oh, wherever two souls agree \n\nWith every mood transparent within, \nHow pure they grow to the eyes that see, \n\nHow empty themselves of sin ! \n\nLove and Life, xxil. \n\nRomance is but the day-time of the soul \nWell sunned by love, beneath which, when we dwell, \nEach act of duty and each thought of truth \nIs haloed with a light that seems like heaven\'s. \nTo spirits rightly moved, the whole of life, \nHome, school, religion \xe2\x80\x94 all lead through romance. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nROSY \n\nIf I to you were cold, \nA certain rosy face with opening lips \nCould come with power to bring me summer air. \nDispelling sweetly my most wintry wish, \n\nHaydn, xxiv. \n\nROUGE ON THE FACE (see PAINT) \n\n.... I fail to understand why a woman should be \nblamed for making herself look beautiful. \n\n.... Say beautiful and good. Only good people \nblush, you know. A little rouge can make one seem to \nbe blushing all the time. \n\n.... And so prepare her for all the emergencies of \ngood society ! Where Society Leads, i \n\nROUGH, IN CONDUCT \n\nYou musn\'t think I have no heart. I\'ve been a little \nrough with you. But you were rough with me, at first. \nYou know we can\'t trust strangers always; and have \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 329 \n\nto give back what we get. This life\'s an ocean wild \nwith waves ; and every soul that sails upon them must \nbeat and keep them down and off ; or else be swamped \nand sink in them. The Little Twin Tramps, iii., 2. \n\nROWING THROUGH A HOSTILE FLEET \n\n" The roads are block\' d by soldiers; \n\nWe cannot reach him thus. \nWhat then? \xe2\x80\x94 A way across the bay \n\nMay yet remain for us. \n" I know three frigates guard it. \n\nBut when, some moonless night, \nBy clouds beset, the wind and wet \n\nHave swept the sky of light; \n" And when the breeze and breakers \n\nOut-sound a rowlock\'s beat, \nAmid the roar a mufHed oar \n\nMight safely pass the fleet." \nHis comrades hush\'d and heard him; \n\nThen swore to try the feat ; \nAnd soon with more each held an oar \n\nTo row him past the fleet. \nThe night was dark and stormy; \n\nThe bay was wild and wide; \nAnd, deftly weigh\'d, each paddle-blade \n\nLike velvet stroked the tide. \nThey near\'d the English frigates, \n\nThey heard their sentries\' feet, \nThey heard a bell, and then "All\'s well" \n\nRe-echo\'d through the fleet. \nThey pull\'d around a guard-boat; \n^They struck the land, and then \nFiled softly out, and moved about, \n\nLike shadows more than men. \n\nHow Barton Took the General. \n\nROYAL RULE \n\nThe nobles, while their winnings \n\nLike nuggets clog the sieve \nThat ours drop through, would not eschew \nTheir royal rule: "To others do \n\nWhat makes them humbly live. " \n\nOur First Break with the British. \n\n\n\n330 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nRULES, WITHOUT AND WITHIN \n\nOh, something surely must be wrong \nWhen that which rules without rules not within. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nRULING \n\nThat cruel mill \nWhere the wheels that run the ruling grind to dust \nthe people\'s will. \n\nA Life in Song: Watching, xxi. \n\nRULING FOR WOMEN BY MEN \n\nThey merely yield to laws of nature that give wives \ntheir way, not through demanding but desiring, while, \nlike willing slaves, men wait on their desiring. You \nknow I think that only when some woman becomes to \nhim a source of love can man, on his part, represent \ntrue love\'s effects. When I was young, men had more \ncourtesy than now. None helped themselves to any- \nthing before they helped the women ; talked when they \nwere talking, or sat down when they were standing ; or \nfailed to be their champion, if their lives or honor \nneeded. All too had been caused by men\'s, not \nwomen\'s, ruling. Is it so to-day? I fear not. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nRUTS FOR ACTION \n\nOn earth, our souls are fastened where we find them. \nOur bodies, families, lands and laws are frames in \nwhich we squeeze or slip to failure or success. What \nthen? One thing, at least, is true. If heaven have \nshaped the ruts we move in here, they move the best \nwho move through them. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, iii., 2. \n\nSACRIFICE \n\n.... I spoke of sacrifice \n\n.... And I have sacrificed low love for higher. \n.... You call that sacrifice? \n.... What? Is it not?\xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTo give up what is earthly for the heavenly? \xe2\x80\x94 \nTurn from the serpent coiled within the loins \nTo follow in the flight of that fair dove \nWhose wings are fluttering within the heart? \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 331 \n\nSACRIFICE, THE LAW OF SPIRITUAL DEVELOPMENT \n\nWere I to tell you that the realm \nIn which the gods dwell could be reached by you \nIn one way only, \xe2\x80\x94 in the self-same way \nThat severs in the temple soul from form \nIn him your priests and people choose as god? \xe2\x80\x94 \n.... Then I would thank the force that severed me \nFrom all that could weigh down a soul so light \nThat but for them it might soar up to heaven. \n\nIdem, v. \n\nSAILING \n\n"All hands aloft!" he cried; \n"All sail!" and at the words, \nThe masts were fill\'d with sailors drill\'d \nTo climb and cling like birds. \n\nWide flew each flapping sheet. \nAnd sagg\'d and bagg\'d the gale, \nAnd cloud-like lash\'d the waves that dash\'d \nAs if they felt a flail. \n\nUp toss\'d her canvas high; \nAnd dipp\'d, as round she ran. \nThe saucy way that seems to say \nNow catch me if you can. \n\nThe Last Cruise of the Gaspee. \n\nSAINT \n\nOur home is like a sick bird\'s nest, \nWhose fellows\' beaks all pierce its breast. \nStrange cure ! \xe2\x80\x94 yet \'t is an old complaint, \nThat much of love, when only faint, \nIs peckt to death to make a saint. \n\n" Life in Song: Doubting, xxvil. \n\nSAINTS \n\nYou act like saints we read of in the legends, \nWith holy air about them. As you enter, \nOur thoughts turn toward religion. \n\nCecil the Seer, I. \n\nSANGUINE TEMPERAMENT, THE \n\nSome men are born with Hght, aspiring blood \nThat, bounding brainward, keeps the whole frame \nglowing. The Aztec God, 11. \n\n\n\n332 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nSATISFIED (see discontent) \nWhere so much good is still untried, \nOur souls must all, if satisfied \nWith what they have or are, abide \nUntaught, unhonor\'d, and unblest; \nFor but to-day what is is best. \nThe morrow\'s gain is all possess\'d \nBy those who journey ere they rest. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xviii. \n\nIf earth held all our souls could wish, no soul \nCould ever wish for heaven. \n\nThe Aztec God, ii. \n\nSAXON \n\nThus Heaven, where hung the purpose \n\nA grander man to mould, \nHad Saxon hurl\'d on Saxon, \n\nThe new world on the old. \n\nThe Rally of the Farmers. \n\nSCALES, BETWEEN OUTWARD AND INWARD \n\nWhy are the scales \nThat measure what our world is worth so poised \nBetwixt the outward and the inward life \nThat what lifts up the one must lower the other? \nWhy, when we reach the highest earthly place \nMust this be balanced by the spirit\'s fall? \n\nThe Aztec God, Iii. \n\nSCENT AND SENSE \n\nNo scent is keen for what it can not sense. You \nthink a hard and loveless thing like her could sense my \nsimple self here in a r61e that did not seem \xe2\x80\x94 say \xe2\x80\x94 \nunsophisticated? The Two Paths, ii. \n\nSCOLDING THAT IS CHIRPING \n\nNo; do not rough your feathers. When a bird like \nyou flies in the door, it need not sing to give one pleas- \nure. It need only scold ; for when it scolds, it chirps. \n\nThe Two Paths, Iii. \n\nSCOLDING vs. LOVE \n\nWhen a woman blows out at a man she runs about \nas much chance of not uprooting his love as a cyclone \nof not uprooting a twig it begins to twist. \n\nThe Ranch Girl, IV. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 333 \n\nSCHOOLS, FREE, AND THEIR EFFECTS \n\n.... At school, sir, he has mixed with others. \n\n.... Yes, yes, and, in a way not true in our old \nland across the sea, been given a chance to go with \nthose brought up in our most cultured homes, and \ncome to feel and act as they do. Our schools are \nschools where every boy can learn to be a gentleman. \nThat\'s why I love this country, yes, despite the snob \nI\'ve seemed to be who couldn\'t root out the old world\'s \nweeds. The Little Twin Tramps, v. \n\nSCOTLAND \n\nBut who, that sought historic mounts and lakes, \n\nTraced not fair Scotia\'s image o\'er the wave. \nToward mounds and meads, where scarce a sunbeam \nbreaks \n\nBut bounds the ground to star a patriot\'s grave? \nProud land, whose knees have knelt to tyrants never, \n\nWhose clans of old have kept their children free, \nWhere thrives an earnest thought, a high endeavor, \n\nThat would not take deHght, when face to face with \nthee? \n\nWhere dwell the pure who would not praise thy name? \n\nThy wrong at home precedence gives to worth, \nAnd though in thy chill clime cold greets the flame, \n\nThy light, wherever borne, enlightens earth. \nFor this would truth forget false virtue\'s features. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAwed still by thoughts of hallow\'d Sabbath noons, \nYe beggars never doff the cant of preachers ! \n\nNor squeeze through squeaking bagpipes, irreligious \ntunes ! \n\nBut who could here note all a stranger\'s thought \n\nThat springs to crowd each path where\'er he turns, \nWhile every scene with new suggestions fraught \n\nRecalls a Scott or Wallace, Bruce or Burns? \nHe delved through Bannockburn ; he mounted Stirling, \n\nWhere half-way up to heaven appear\'d his view ; \nThen, coach-swept, through the cliff-walled Trossachs \n\nwhirling \nCame first upon Pitz- James, and then on Roderic Dhu. \nNor did a force that seem\'d enchantment fail \n\nTo draw him where the rills of Yarrow gleam; \n\n\n\n334 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nNor did an echo through its drowsy vale \n\nDisturb that haunt of many a wizard-dream. \nAnd not a tree beside its bank was leaning, \n\nNor by it there reclined a sheltering rock, \nBut veil\'d for him a poet\'s mien and meaning, \n\nFrom Newark\'s birchen bowers to bare St. Mary\'s \nLoch. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, xxxiv-xxxvii. \n\nSEA \n\nYet wrong I thee, thou wide and wave-swept sea, \n\nAnd tireless wheels that whur so ceaselessly. \nI wrong the skies that, bending down to thee, \n\nYet fail to compass thine immensity. \nI wrong that mighty breast, whose endless grieving \n\nInspires the wild response of sailors\' lays, \nThat bosom where omnipotence is breathing. \n\nAnd wakes in distant isles the heathen\'s awe-struck \npraise. \nTremendous monarch of all elements \n\nWhose broad arms clasp the heavens, their only \npeer. \nWhat age of wrong, what wail of turbulence \n\nFirst hail\'d thee tyrant of our trembling sphere? \nWho bade those winds arise and rouse thy laughter? \n\nThose lightnings flash to fret thy fitful reign? \nThat menace fierce to peal in thunder after? \n\nThose waves to howl and hiss at life o\'erwhelm\'d \nand slain? \n\nSay power of dread, is it thy rage or joy \n\nThat hurls confusion o\'er the vessel\'s way, \nThe while \'t is toss\'d as lightly as a toy, \n\nOr cliff -like driven to sink beneath the spray? \nAh, when \'t is dash\'d along the dark fog under, \n\nNo eye can pierce the veil of instant doom. \nTill hidden rock or ice with madden\'d wonder \n\nRoars at the rising foam, \xe2\x80\x94 man\'s ghost-track and his \ntomb. \nNo human skill saves here; men work, men weep. \n\nWhy shouldst thou care, thou omnipresent sea? \nThe blasts that rave and clouds that round thee sweep \n\nOwe substance, breath, existence, \xe2\x80\x94 all to thee. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 335 \n\nThey gain their grandeur, when thy waves are hoary ; \nAnd when, worn out, their wayward might would \nrest, \nNo rest they gain, till thou with pardoning glory \nDost gather all again on thy resentless breast. \nNor when fair skies or shores most beauty show, \n\nCan they outrival thee, O, Lord-like deep ! \nWithin, and yet not of, they life below, \n\nOn thy calm breast, they all in image sleep ! \nAy, ay, the peace that follows thy restraining \n\nOf storms that rage to vent thy wrath sublime, \nCrowns thee victorious, every power containing, \nThou God in miniature, eternity in time. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, xxv-xxix. \nSECRETIVENESS {see FRANK and frankness) \nWe men who think have duties due our kind. \nOne duty is, to block their finding out \nWhat are our thoughts. Yes, they may learn too much. \n\nColumbus, III., 2. \nThe truth is not a plaything for a babe. \nTruth is a gem, and sometimes needs encasing. \n\nIdem. \nI had a dream \xe2\x80\x94 \n.... And you are blamed for dreaming? \n.... No; I told it. \n\n. . . . Another Joseph ! \xe2\x80\x94 indiscreet, I see. \nYou should have known we all at heart are Tartars; \nAnd value most the beauty of the spirit. \nWhen, like the Tartar\'s daughter, it is veiled. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \nSECTS {see church unity, and unity) \nLong will sects of darker ages, darker made by man\'s \n\ncontrol, \nClog the growth of aim and action, save the form and \nlose the soul. A Life in Song: Watching, xxi. \nseduction \n.... Next to murder there is no sport like it. \n.... To murder? \n\n.... Oh, you never were a soldier? \xe2\x80\x94 killed In- \ndians; or southerner? \xe2\x80\x94 killed niggers; or hunted big \ngame in the West? \xe2\x80\x94 killed bears? You know the \n\n\n\n336 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nconsciousness of mastering a something big enough to \nmaster you, and all the risk you run \xe2\x80\x94 it makes you \nthrill; and feel you are an animal all over. \n\nOn Detective Duty, ii. \n\nSEE, THE INFLUENCE OF WHAT WE \n\nOur deeds express the thought suggested by the \nthings we see. The Two Paths, ill. \n\nSEEMING AND BEING \n\n.... There are some things clear. \n\n.... And some things only seem clear, like the \nwater inside a glass, because our own dull sight fails \nto detect the microbes peopling it. \n\nThe Two Paths, i. \n\nSEGREGATION OF VICE RESORTS \n\n.... So you would shut us up? \n\n.... That doesn\'t follow. A cess-pool is a nui- \nsance, but has uses. It catches in a single place, and \nholds what might be dangerous, if distributed. Be- \nsides, your poor policeman needs a pond where he can \ncatch what he is fishing for. On Detective Duty, li. \n\nSELF \n\nO could some Godlike soul look through \nMy outward life, like God, and view \nAnd judge my soul, with judgment true, \nBy what I am, not what I do; \nBy what I am, not where I stand, \nWhich souls of low, short sight demand \nBefore they dare give bow or hand ! \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, vii. \n\nSELFHOOD AS THE OBJECT OF LOVE \n\nI want you; and you are what you are, and think and \nplan. You are my sun, my source of light and life, \nand I your satellite, attending you ; you bless me most \nwhen you are most yourself. The Two Paths, i. \n\nSELF-CENTERED \n\nIn her the smile that brings life cheer, \nThe tone that faith can understand, \n\nThe phrase that makes the doubtful clear, \nThe clasp that plights the helping hand, \n\nThe sympathies that zest infuse, \nThe comradeships that souls ally, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 337 \n\nHer heart has never thrilled to use, \nHer head has never planned to try. \n\nHer Haughtiness. \nSELF-CONCEIT {see EGOTIST and themselves) \n.... He is a very interesting man. \n\n.... You think so? \n\n.... To himself. When all one\'s eyes \n\nAnd ears are turned like his on his own person, \nHe bears about both audience and actor. \n\nDante, i., i. \nself-confidence \nHad I but more self-confidence, \nThe men who give me such offence \nMight yield my thought more reverence. \nWhen foes attempt to cow their zeal, \nThose who would do good work should feel \nThat none can rightly make right kneel. \nSome men have manners dignified \nBy nature; others learn to stride; \nBut others still, with no less pride. \nCan never show what will not screen \nAnd keep their inner worth unseen. \nThe brute that shakes at these his mane, \nLets fly his hoof, nor minds their pain, \nIf only whipp\'d from his disdain \nAnd broken once, might mind the rein. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, vi. \nself-conquest {see alone and lonely) \nWithin himself when fierce the fight is waged. \nOh, who can aid the purpose thus engaged! \nThe soul, unheard, in darkness and alone, \nCan never share a contest all its own. \nNone from another\'s practice gains in skill. \nOr grows in power of feeling, thought, or will; \nNone with another goes to God in dreams \nTo seek the strength that his lost strength redeems. \nWhat coward he, then, when the crisis nears \nWho cries for comrades, nor dare face his fears! \nNo comrade\'s arm or mail can ever screen \nThe coming conqueror in that strife unseen. \n\nMidnight in a City Park. \n\n\n\n338 A POETS CABINET \n\nSELF-CONSCIOUSNESS \n\nA man may double up his fist and frown, \nAnd make fiend-faces merely at himself. \n.... Why so? \n\n.... Because that self asserts itself; \n\nAnd he keeps fighting it to keep it down. \n.... That self must then be very strong. \n.... Itis\xe2\x80\x94 \n\nIn Dante. Dante, i., i. \n\nSELF-CONTROL (see IMPETUOUS and prohibition) \n\nStrong self-control \nHas never yet forsaken man or clan \nWhere did not enter the control of others. \n\nDante, iii., 2. \nHold friend \xe2\x80\x94 the good for which men yearn \n\nMakes ill to them provoking; \nAnd only zeal on fire to burn \n\nFirst fills its air with smoking. \nIf this be so, some day, your soul \n\nA worth world-wide may sunder \nFrom those who have \xe2\x80\x94 their self-control, \nBut nothing to keep under. \n\nNothing to Keep Under. \nAh, self-control. \nThe rest rheumatic of a zest grown old. \nIt came with time; but mine had come from care. \nCold self-control, the curse of northern climes, \nThe artful despot of the Arctic heart, \xe2\x80\x94 \nBefore my summer scarce had warm\'d me yet, \nWas it to freeze me with its wintry clutch \nOf colorless indifference? chill and check \nThe springs of love till still\'d in ice-like death? \n\nIdeals Made Real, lix. \n\nSELF-CONTROL AND PERMANENCE IN PLEASURE \n\nMen know more pleasures than the brutes, not so? \xe2\x80\x94 \nbut why? \xe2\x80\x94 The difference lies in self-control. Excite- \nment makes men yield this. Say they drink : \xe2\x80\x94 a single \nglass may set their thoughts to glowing ; but one glass \nmore \xe2\x80\x94 two glasses \xe2\x80\x94 they may lose both senses and \nsensation \xe2\x80\x94 wake with headaches, and sometimes heart- \naches ; and some last forever. The Two Paths, iv. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 339 \n\nSELF-CONTROL VS. RIGHT FEELING \n\n.... Like plants, our natures never can grow \nstrong, if always kept inside of nurseries. \n\n.... Some women want to keep us all there, \nalways. \n\n.... What they were made to live in \xe2\x80\x94 nur- \nseries! \n\n.... Yes, what a man conceives that he must \nfight, most women seem to think that they must fly \nfrom. While he seeks virtue in his self-control, they \nlook for theirs in absence of its need. Their aim is not \nlike his, \xe2\x80\x94 to do the right despite wrong feeling, but to \nfeel aright. \n\n.... And in their habits formed by following \nfeeling you find the reason why a fallen woman is \nharder to reform than fallen man. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, 11. \n\nSELF-DECEPTION \n\n.... But surely there are some occasions when the \nlaws within are all we need for guidance. \n\n.... And yet if these occasions come to thoughts \nthat once have slipped the track of truthful logic, as \nnow I fear that ours have done, what then? \xe2\x80\x94 We risk \na wreck. The Two Paths, ill. \n\nAn eye, made dim, may facts gainsay \nAnd see, in fairest forms at bay. \nBut lions fierce that fill the way. \nWhen dull to sounds, a man may fear \nAnd take the rumbling he may hear \nWithin his own disorder\'d ear \nFor footsteps of advancing strife. \nWhate\'er we seek or shun in life, \nToo often we ourselves conjure \nThe direst foes its veils obscure. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxv. \n\nSELFISHNESS, AS A GUIDE TO ACTION \n\nMere selfishness \nHas been enthroned so long in men\'s affairs, \nThat naught seems worthy of respect to some \nOf which it only is not king and guide. \n\nCecil the Seer, ill., 2. \n\n\n\n340 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nSELF-INTEREST \n\nSome minds would walk and some would fly . You fear \nThat those that fly all fail to leave a footprint? \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nSELF-KNOWLEDGE \n\nWhen you have read yourself, you may be heard \nWhen trying to read others. Cecil the Seer, I. \n\nSELF-MADE MEN \n\nYes, all made men are self-made men: \nWe ask too much of friendship then : \nThe soul\'s best impulse, in the end, \nIs evermore the soul\'s best friend. \nAnd when truth\'s whispers all pertain \nTo our souls only, why complain, \nTho\' none but us their import gain? \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xvii. \n\nSELF-RELIANCE \n\nWell for those who kneel in youth. \nSelf-reliance tends to failure, even where it starts with \ntruth. Idem, Dreaming, xxxviii. \n\nSELF-RESPECT, A MAN\'s LOSING IT WITH A WOMAN \n\nThe worst disrespect that a man can show a woman \nis to lose, in her presence, his own self-respect. Her \ninfluence upon his nature is never what she ought to \naim for, unless she is appealing to him as an ideal ; and \nan ideal is never appealing to a man, except as it is \nsuggesting to him ideas that are his best. \n\nWhere Society Leads, i. \n\nSELF-RULE \n\nOh, would some power \nCould tell us how to balance, in our lives. \nThe rule of others and the rule of self! \nHow can we, when the two conflict, serve both? \nAnd which one should we {serve? \xe2\x80\x94 which first? \xe2\x80\x94 For \n\nme. \nTill spirit seem no more than matter is, \nI hold it that which rules me through the spirit. \n\nThe Aztec God, v. \n\nSELF-SACRIFICE \nFull oft, all ease denying. \nOne\'s only gain is conscious right, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 341 \n\nOne\'s rest comes but from dying. \nBut once a prince here died to give \n\nHis own good spirit to us; \nAnd good for which we, too, would live \nMay work less in than through us. \n\nAt the Parting of the Ways. \nThe bugle calls the hill to storm. \n\nMy body thrills ! \xe2\x80\x94 I use it \nAs due a spirit\'s uniform \n\nUsed best by those who lose it. Idem. \n\nSELF-SEEKING \n\nEverything that has to do with mind or soul is wrong \nthat involves any impoverishing of others in order to \nenrich oneself, or any waiving of ideal advantage for \nall, in order to make real what is termed practical \nsuccess for a few. Fundamentals in Education. \n\nSELF-SURRENDER \n\nAh, loved one, not the dullest nerve \n\nIn all this form I own \nBut would be thrill\'d with bliss to serve \n\nAnd toil for thee alone. \nSo, darling, put thy hand in mine, \nAnd let me hear thee call me thine. \nWhat canst thou do to seem more dear? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSeem more to own me, soul and form; \nNor think they e\'er can be too near \n\nThy heart that love keeps warm. \nO darling, make my whole life be \nOne long sweet dream of pleasing thee. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, XLV \n\nSELF THE SOURCE OF MENTAL CHANGE \n\nWhere did you find these notions? \n\n.... In the place from which all better notions \nwell, I think, if we would only heed them, \xe2\x80\x94 in myself. \n\nThe Two Paths, iv. \n\nSELF vs. SOCIAL FOLLY \n\nForgive you? \xe2\x80\x94 You were merely, for the time \nbeing, like almost everybody else, \xe2\x80\x94 the mouth-piece \nof the social folly of the world about you. Now you \nare yourself; and in this there is nothing to forgive. \nThe Snob and the Sewing Girl, iv. \n\n\n\n342 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nSENSATIONAL \n\n.... Does that \n\nMake preachers, eh, sensational? You should know. \n. . . . You think sensations are acquired? \n.... I know \n\nA soul that squeals well, is a soul well squeezed. \nSensation is the step-son of depression. \n\nColumbus, II., 2. \n\nSENSE AND SOUL (see soul) \n\nOurs are souls that oft \nWe strip for heaven by flinging sense to hell. \n\nSense and Soul. \n\nUnselfish, all ethereal in her thought, \n\nA disembodied soul had held less moods \n\nTouch\'d through the senses. One had sooner snared \n\nWith tatter\'d nets of tow a wind of spring, \n\nOr with his own breath warm\'d the wintry air. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxii. \n\nSENSE AND SPIRIT \n\nWe mortals are compounded \nOf sense below, and spirit resting on it. \nIf sense give way, no wonder spirit falls. \n\nDante, ii., i. \n\nSENSES without SENSE \n\nTo see is not to think. The animals all see. It \nseems a paradox, and yet one may have senses, and \nbut little sense. Tuition for her Intuition, ii. \n\nSENSITIVE (see courting and susceptibility) \nThose modest plants that men term sensitive. \n\nIf unmolested, show no morbid traits. \nIt is the alien touch which strangers give \n\nThat shrinks their leaves to sharp and hostile \nstates. \nThus find we often shrinking spirits wearing \n\nUnfriendly mail, where aught their trust repels; \nBut, when the doubt has pass\'d, which caused this \nbearing. \nOf what a genial life their loving welcome tells ! \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, X. \n\nWhat drug to hearing poured he in her ear \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 343 \n\nTo deaden nerves hereto so sensitive \nTo slightest whispers of my thrilHng love \nThat hands, voice, Hps, and eyeUds, all her frame \nWent trembling like a willow in a wind? \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nWhen men\'s misjudgments thus have made a man \n\nWithdraw from them, nor longer care to live, \nHe oft is forced, as if by nature\'s plan, \n\nTo seek new friends, who, too, are sensitive. \nIn these, perchance, the soul may find its brothers; \n\nWith these, perchance, can life again seem sweet, \nFor these, in seeking charity from others. \n\nHave gain\'d it, too, to give to those with whom they \nmeet. A Life in Song: Serving, xi. \n\nMy nerves are sensitive to form and hue, \nA little flitting of the two but serves \nTo irritate and make me itch for more. \nBut let me once be free to bound and whirl \nAnd scratch my gaze upon them in the dance, \nWhat cures me will not scar below the surface. \nYes; I have better avenues through which \nThese outer visions reach the heart. \n\nThe Aztec God, ii. \n\nOh, who is he that shall win life\'s prize? \xe2\x80\x94 \nHe may be the least in his comrades\' eyes. \nFor the compass that saves when mysteries throng \nWould better be sensitive first than strong. \nThe triumph of sinew and speed are brief; \nFor the harbor sought is dim and far, \nPast many a bar. \nAnd many a well hid reef. Love and Life, xi. \n\nYou and I, reader, do not understand a sensitive \nman if we always attribute his actions to motives \nthat lie within the sphere, or are under the con- \ntrol, of intellect. I have seen a child stand mute \nbefore a teacher who was threatening him, and make \nno effort, apparently, to recite a lesson that he knew \nperfectly. It was simply a physical impossibility for \nthe child to utter a syllable. \n\nModern Fishers of Men, iii. \n\n\n\n344 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nSENTIMENTAL WHIMS DANGEROUS \n\nIt would not be the first time men have paid in blood \nthe price of an experiment in courtesy. No microbes \nundermine the mind like sentimental whims that, \nwhen they move inside our fancy, make us think them \nthe promptings of some deep, wise inspiration. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, iii. \n\nSENTIMENTALITY \n\nSentiment and sentimentality seem to represent the \ncomparative and superlative degrees in which thought \nin this world is removed from sense. \n\nArt and Morals. \n\nSERPENTS, PLAYING WITH \n\nNo man is such a fool as he who thinks to keep his \nown soul free to do the right, yet keep in touch with \nthose embodying the serpent traits of him we call the \ndevil. Why, all they live for is to crawl and coil ; and \nall their coils are wound about ourselves. \n\nThe Two Paths, ir \n\nSERVICE, AN ANTIDOTE FOR TROUBLE \n\n.... When the child of our brain gives us trouble, \nwe must send him out into service. \n\n.... You mean if people be lazy they forget them- \nselves the most, when they seem surrounded by work. \n\nThe Ranch Girl, ii. \n\nSERVICE OF LOVE (see love) \nThe world plays tyrant to the soul would serve it. \nIt treats him like a female relative \nWhose drudgery is deemed supremely paid \nBy her own love. But when the wage one wants \nIs not within one, love is never paid. \n\nColumbus, II., I. \n\nAlas, where hate \n\nIs a normal state. \nWho serves the world with a love that is great \nIs rated a foe by those who refuse it, \nNor always a friend by those who use it ; \nFor he, forsooth, he knew of their need \nIn the day they knew not how to succeed! \n\nUnveiling the Monument. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 345 \n\nSERVITUDE \n\nWhen one\'s inward sense \nOf mastership outweighs an outward show \nOf servitude, why, one but serves herself. \n\nColumbus, II., I. \n\nSEWING AND ROMANCING \n\nIt would seem as if the wheels of the sewing ma- \nchine were always attached to the machinery of the \nimagination. The Snob and the Sewing Girl, i. \n\nSEX {see woman) \n\n.... I sometimes think, if I had made mankind, \nI should have made them all of but one sex. All might \nbe women, up to forty, say ; then \xe2\x80\x94 by a sort of tadpole- \nchange \xe2\x80\x94 all men. \n\n.... That would have rid life of two nuisances, \xe2\x80\x94 \nthe small boy, and great women. \n\n.... And we all, before we got through living, \nwould have had the same experience. \n\n.... Oh, yes, I see; have sung soprano first \xe2\x80\x94 and \nsung it well \xe2\x80\x94 and then sung bass. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nSEX-DISCRIMINATION NEEDED \n\nWhen listening to a foreign opera, and both the \nstars upon the stage begin to flush, and fisticate, and \nmake a noise, no matter what they say, you fail to hear \nit; you wouldn\'t understand it, if you could. All that \nyou care to know of it is this: It is a part \xe2\x80\x94 a strong \npart \xe2\x80\x94 of the play. The sort of thing that I have just \nbeen hearing appears to me the very strongest part of \nthat experiment in harmony \xe2\x80\x94 in human \xe2\x80\x94 yes, in- \nhuman, harmony \xe2\x80\x94 on which you all seem practicing \nout here. You see the feature of the plot is this : The \nmen and women love each other so, they both think \nboth of them are just alike. But nature never made \nthem thus. The one is fatter here, the other leaner \nthere: but when they mingle, holding all in common, of \ncourse they put on one another\'s clothes. The clothes \nmost always bag or pinch, and then they start to \nhowl and swear at one another because all seem so \nmeanly selfish when they all want clothes that merely \nfit themselves. Tuition for her Intuition, 11. \n\n\n\n346 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nSHADE \n\nNothing bright can come, \nBut brings beside it something in the shade. \n\nColumbus, IV., I. \n\nSHADE vs. HEAVENLY LIGHT \n\nThere were no shade beside a thing on earth, \nIf heaven\'s one sun were central over all. \n\nDante, ii., i. \n\nSHADOW, A WALKING \n\nThe sort of man that always plays the walking \nshadow to some woman; and all he seems to do is \ndone by her! Tuition for her Intuition, iii. \n\nSHADOWS \n\n.... High noon will come for him when he can see \nA form like that one shadowing him no more. \n.... I think it always may seem noon to those \nWho trample all their shadows underfoot \nAs he does. Cecil the Seer, I. \n\nMy shadow might shed blackness on yourself. \n. . . . The blackest shadows fall from brightest forms. \n\nDante,iii.,2. \n\nSHAME FOR MISRULE \n\nThey did not dare to kindle \n\nA spark that, should it flame. \nWould shed no glory round a throne \nWhere prince and peer would flush alone \n\nTo blush for their own shame. \n\nOiif First Break with the British. \n\nSHARING LOVE WITH ANOTHER\'S LOVER \n\nAnd then I learn\'d \xe2\x80\x94 as many a friend has learn\'d \xe2\x80\x94 \nWho with them strove my joy for them to share. \nHow much more joy was theirs, when theirs alone. \n\nIdeals Made Real, LXii. \n\nSHARING PROFITS {see WAGe) \n\n.... I am one of those who look for times when \nall will take more joy in sharing profits than in storing \nthem. \n\n.... A long way off! \n\n.... I hope not. It would be so pleasant \xe2\x80\x94 so \nmuch more pleasant in the world \xe2\x80\x94 to see around one \neverywhere employees, all well housed, well clothed, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 347 \n\nwell fed, well educated! When men learn how \npleasant that would seem, the labor-problem will be \nsolved. \n\n.... Yes, when \n\n.... Oh, men will learn it yet! \xe2\x80\x94 but not until \nboth your employers and you yourselves have learned \nto think \xe2\x80\x94 and so to trust in brain instead of brawn. \nI tell you mind not muscle is that which has the \nstrength to make this old world better; and by mind \nI mean the whole mind, \xe2\x80\x94 thought and love and all \nthat lifts above the brute, and gives one soul and \nfellow-feeling. The Little Twin Tramps, iii., 2. \n\nSHEEP COMING HOME \n\n.... I like to watch the sheep coming home \xe2\x80\x94 a \nbeautiful sight! At first you notice they look like a \nlow, stone fence on the top of the distant hill; and then \nflock on till the whole of the hill is gray as a ledge of \nmarble; but when nearer they look like a wedge. \nLast night I rode out on a donkey; and, when I had \nmet them and turned, they all ran sweeping behind \nme, like the white and spreading train of a long \ntrailed wedding dress. \n\n.... It is not the first time, my lady, that a \ndonkey\'s bridle has led a wedding train on toward a \nhalter. The Ranch Girl, iii. \n\nSHIPS \n\nThere are ships \n\nThat still need captains \n\nCould one see their sails \nLike arms, white-surpliced, praying heaven for wind, \nYet keep his prow still turned away from that \nWhich he had vowed to heaven that he would seek? \n\nColumbus, I., 2. \n\nSHIRK \n\nTo work off whims. \nThe best way, say they, is to work them out ; \nOne hand at work is worth ten heads that shirk. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xlix. \n\nSHOCKS FROM TRUTH \n\nI and all my truth \nSeem like champagne, \xe2\x80\x94 a thing that pops and shocks, \n\n\n\n348 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nBut yet enlivens when the hour is dull. Idem, lvi. \n\nSHOULD BE \n\nAh, when what should be is, \nWhat is will be beyond this earth. \n\nColumbus, II., I. \n\nSHOULDERS SHRUGGED \n\nWhile her shoulders gently shrugg\'d \nAs if to tempt me like two dainty doors. \nDoors all but swung ajar before a heart \nThat love was dared to enter ! \n\nIdeals Made Real, x. \n\nSHRIEKS \n\nWhose piercing shrieks cut through \nThe fitful surgings of the storm, and maim\'d \nThe sever\' d thunder. \n\nA Life in Song: Daring, Lxxvii. \n\nSIDES, TWO \n\nWhat you moot \nMay show two sides. A man may be run down \nAmid the clash and clangor of a street, \nBecause one ear is deaf. In any path. \nThe rush of life may run down all who hear \nBut on one side. Cecil the Seer, I. \n\nSIGH \n\nIf you sigh\'d \nYour sigh out once, it to the winds would glide. \nNaught like an airing would you oust a moan! \n\nA Life in Song: Daring, XLV. \n\nSIGNALS \n\nYet hope not for gleams of wisdom lighting all life \n\nholds in store. \nFinite souls must journey onward, learning ever more \n\nand more. \nOnly signals can be given; look to these; and, by and \n\nby. \nThrough the pure white air beyond you grander views \n\nwill greet the eye. Idem, Dreaming, xxxviii. \n\nSILENCE \n\nThe silence of the good \nDamns more than bad men\'s curses. \n\nColumbus, II., I. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 349 \n\nNone thought on shore to cheer us, \n\nThough all had waited there; \nTheir silence match\'d the silence. \n\nWhere souls have flown to prayer. \nTheir silence match\'d the silence \n\nOf war\'s reserves, whose breath \nIs hush\'d to hear the order, \n\nThat orders all to death. \nTheir silence match\'d the silence \n\nOf heavens, close and warm, \nEre, like a shell incasing hell, \n\nThey burst and free a storm. \nAs hush\'d as on a Sabbath, \n\nThe people homeward went; \nTheir eyes alone transparent. \n\nTo show their souls\' content. \n\nThe Lebanon Boys in Boston. \n\nSIMPLEST \n\nWhen men learn all, and skies that dome earth here \nRoll back to let the light of heaven stream through. \n\nGrand truths may in the simplest things appear. \nIn outlines which before all mortals knew. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, lxxxi. \n\nSIN {see crimes) \n\nBut even with sin \n\nMay rescue begin, \n\nAnd out of a fall \n\nCome the safety of all, \xe2\x80\x94 \nCome the knowledge of good as well as of bad; \nWith the knowledge of ill from the shade of the sad, \nThe knowledge of faith which alone can unite \nA soul to the Infinite source of light. \n\nLove and Life, lvi. \n\nIn natures framed \nOf spirit, mind, and flesh, the cause may be \nSome sin that clogs the current of the soul ; \nBut, just as likely, thought that puzzles one; \nYes, yes, or indigestion, nerves diseased \xe2\x80\x94 \nNo trace of sin whatever; \xe2\x80\x94 moods cured best \nBy sunshine, clean clothes, larders full, good cheer. \n\nHaydn, xxxix. \n\n\n\n350 A POETS CABINET \n\nSINGING \n\nLet echoes answer, linging \nTo that which lulls the babe at birth, \nAnd voices all the good of earth, \nGives God His glory, heaven its worth \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nEternal sway to singing! \n\nA Song on Singing. \n\nSIREN \n\nAnd what if over a net so fair \n\nThe brightest eyes be beaming? \nO who can know if there \n\nA friendly light be gleaming; \nOr one like a torch on a hostile shore \nThat wreckers are waving where breakers roar? \nWho knows if the tone that allures his choice \nBe a seraph\'s or only a siren\'s voice, \nWhich, were he to heed it, his hope would be \nFar safer lured to the stormiest sea? \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xviii. \n\nSITUATION, RESULTING FROM ONE\'s OWN CHOICE \n\nA man\'s worst situation is usually a site of his own \nselection. He ventures where he knows that there \nis quicksand, and, after that, feels never free to make a \nsolitary movement \xe2\x80\x94 never sure about his ground, as \npeople say. On Detective Duty, iii. \n\nSKEPTIC \n\nAs long as one thing in the world is wrong, \nSome skeptic should be here to think it so. \n\nDante, ii., i. \n\nSKILL \n\nSkill, the wage of duty \n\nIn the Art Museum. \n\nSKYLIGHTS, EYES ARE \n\nThe eyes are skylights of the soul. And I see better \nthings for you, if you will but be true to that which \ndwells within you, \xe2\x80\x94 your better self; and what it \nwishes, let it do. The Little Twin Tramps, iii., 2. \n\nSLEEPISHNESS VS. PERSISTENCE \n\nWhen sleepy most men fail to notice things \xe2\x80\x94 the \nreason why mere blunt persistency succeeds on Wall \nStreet. Men have been tired out. They sleep, they \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 351 \n\ndream; and we, we stock their dream; they take our \nstock, and pay us for our pains. The Two Paths, iv. \n\nSLEEVES \n\nWaved her thanks, \nWith white sleeves fluttering from her shapely sides \xe2\x80\x94 \nAh me, a wing\'d one sent to save my soul \nHad scarcely stirr\'d in me a greater joy. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xviii. \n\nSLOWNESS, AND SAFETY \n\nThe floods that rise fast, fall fast. If you wish for \nsafety, slowness is more safe than swiftness. \n\nThe Two Paths, 11. \n\nSLOWNESS AND SURENESS \n\nSlowness at the start is often the very best means of \nsecuring sureness and swiftness at the finish. It takes \nmuch longer to build an automobile than a bicycle. \nBut after the first has been prepared for its work, it \ncan go much faster and further. \n\nFundamentals in Education. \n\nSLUR \n\nStop the echo after you have heard the sound that \nstarted it, then perhaps you can stop a slur after it has \nleft the throat that uttered it. \n\nModern Fishers of Men, vi. \n\nSMOKING AND YOUTH \n\nYou know how smoking will dry the blood of hams \nand toughen them? It does the same, too, with the \ntender brains of boys and girls. You wait till you are \nolder. The Two Paths, iii. \n\nSMOKING {see drinking) \n\n.... They say that in inebriate asylums they \nstart out first by curing smoking habits. \n\n.... Of course. \n\n.... And earth would need few such asylums if all \nshould start to keep our growing boys \xe2\x80\x94 and not to \nsay our girls \xe2\x80\x94 from cigarettes. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, 11. \n\nSMUGGLED SPIRITS ARE STRONG \n\nNo man can smuggle spirits in a keg. The little of it \ntraveling in a bottle must go a long way. So it must \nbe strong. Idem, ill. \n\n\n\n352 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nSNAKE (see: line) \nBack slunk their line before us, \n\nA weary, wounded snake: \nUp hill, down dale, round river, \nIt wound and bled and brake. \n\nThe Rally of the Farmers. \n\nSNEAK \n\nA sneak, like a snake, never moves straight for- \nward. If you think it going in one direction, it can \nprove by its wiggling that it\'s going in another. It \ngets on all the same, though. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, i. \n\nSNOB \n\nFor our race are too ready to turn with a sneer \nFrom arms that are brawny, and hands that smear. \nWhile a man is dependent, in need of a friend, \nThe world is a snob, and shuns its own peer. \nWhen a man is a master, his need at an end, \nThe world is a sycophant, cringing to cheer. \n\nUnveiling the Monument. \nMean, cowardly souls, whose natures feel \nThat they were born to cringe and kneel, \nAnd heed like dogs a master\'s heel, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThey show a due respect alone \nFor those who fill, if not a throne, \nAt least a station o\'er their own. \nSo must one\'s worth that these despise \nPress on and up, until it rise \nAnd reach a place that all will prize. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, vii. \n\nSNOBISHNESS \n\nMe thought you know \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n.... What right had you to think? \n\nAnd if we know, is it our business \n\nTo do your errands for you? \n\nColumbus, v., I. \n\nSNUBBING \n\n.... One can\'t have all sorts of people coming to \nher house. \n\n.... No danger of that \xe2\x80\x94 with some of the other \npeople you have coming here. If anybody needs to be \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 353 \n\nsnubbed, why not let them attend to the matter? \nWhy foul your own nest? Leave your dirty work, as \nthe Turks do in the streets of Constantinople, to the \ndogs that delight to bark and bite. \n\n.... You are complimentary to our guests. \n\n.... No; truthful and sensible. Let those that \nwant to show their own superiority by exhibiting their \nability to hurt the feelings, if not the fortunes, of \nothers, hurt one another, not us. \n\nWhere Society Leads, i. \n\nSOCIAL ADVANCEMENT, PERILS OF \n\nIf made a member of our family, \n\nHe might prove ours in all things. Few have brains \n\nToo cool and clear to feel a rise in blood \n\nAnd not be fevered and confused by it. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nSOCIAL BETTERMENT, AN AIM OF RELIGION \n\nI know true faith that largely aims to rid \n\nOur present life from fears of future ill. \n\nTo it what need of storms, if sunshine here \n\nMay best prepare one for the future calm? \n\nThat future is eternal ; even so \n\nHow can we gauge th\' eternal save by time? \n\nHow can we judge of joy that will not end, \n\nSave by our own, if ours would only last? \n\nWhat is it to be blessed, if not this, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTo find our process of becoming blest \n\nMade permanent, our young weak wings of faith \n\nFull fledged and flying by habit? \xe2\x80\x94 and if so. \n\nHeaven\'s habits are form\'d here. Suppose a youth, \n\nThat, by and by, he may enjoy much wealth, \n\nAct miserly, \xe2\x80\x94 what gains he by and by? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nMuch wealth, perhaps; but, holding with it, too, \n\nThe miser\'s moods, establish\'d now as traits, \n\nIncorporated modes of all his life. \n\nHe with them holds what most unfits the soul \n\nTo use wealth, or enjoy it. So on earth \n\nWhen avarice, aim\'d for heaven, makes man a monk, \n\nWhat can he gain thereby, save monkish moods, \n\nBecome establish\'d in him now as traits, \n\nIncorporated modes of all his life? \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 355 \n\nAh, in our good society, \n(Where things that gain acceptancy \nAre fashion\'s phrases, and an air \n\xe2\x96\xa0 Which, caught with neither thought nor care, \nMake wits and fools both equal there). \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxviii. \n\nSOCIETY, AND FOLLOWING LEADERS \n\n.... It\'s natural I should want to see you fill the \nplace in life that I have gained for you. \n\n.... Yes, but \n\n.... Don\'t butt at sheep. Your father means to \nsay society are sheep that always follow leaders. \n\n.... Yes. \n\n.... And so, if you keep near the leaders, society \nwill follow you. \n\n.... The Smiths are just as good as we are. \n\n.... Yes, that is true; but are they better? \n\n.... We ought to go then with our betters? \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhat if all others did the same? \n\n.... Well, fortunately for the few, the others \nusually are fools. The truth is others look at you in \njust the way you look at them. Look up and they \nlook up to you. \n\n.... Come, come, now Uncle! \xe2\x80\x94 You believe all \nthat? The Little Twin Tramps, 11. \n\nSOCIETY, FOREIGN, VS. AMERICAN \n\n.... You wouldn\'t have thought that they would \nintroduce such a man into American society. \n\n.... Who would introduce him? \n\n.... The foreigners. \n\n.... Why not? You can\'t blame them. The \nCount and the Baron were well connected. There was \nno mistake or misrepresentation. Their credentials \nwere correct. \n\n.... But they were gamblers who came here to \nmake money ; and the Count to marry for money. \n\n.... What of that? He made no secret of it. \nHe did it openly. The fact that a man spends a month \nor two at Monte Carlo every year ; and, when he runs \nout of money, marries a girl who has it, never seems to \ntaboo him in the least in American society. A few \n\n\n\n356 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nyears ago I was at Aix-les-Bains. Every afternoon, \nat the Casino, in sight of everybody, a duke sat gam- \nbling behind a pile of gold as big as a rat-trap. At his \nside always sat a painted lady, known by everybody to \nbe his mistress. What of that? Every evening, al- \nmost without exception, he was dining, usually in the \nvery next room, with rich Americans who were in- \nvariably scrupulously careful to see that the fact was \ntelegraphed to the Paris edition of the New York \nHerald. It was quite remarkable what pains they \nwould take to let all the world know in what kind of \nsociety they were going. You can\'t blame foreigners \nfor doing what they can to assist such people to con- \ntinue to go in the same society. Why should they not \nassist them? \xe2\x80\x94 if that is supposed to be what we \nAmericans want? \n\n.... You mean to say that Europeans have no \nregard for character. \n\n.... Not that, no; but that they think \xe2\x80\x94 and \nrightly \xe2\x80\x94 that our people have no regard for it. When \nwe get to the border of their social pool, we are like \nchildren on the banks of a fishing pond. Anything \nwith scales satisfies the children. Anything that has a \nscaly glitter \xe2\x80\x94 and often the more scaly the better \xe2\x80\x94 \nsatisfies us. We forget that the pool has different kinds \nof occupants, and that we might often make a better \nhaul outside of it than in it. Where Society Leads, iii. \n\nSOCIETY, SEGREGATING INFLUENCE OF \n\nThe sea of life is filled with countless drops, but only \nthose that rise and float the surface where dancing \nspray leaps flashing into sunlight can constitute \nsociety. Its life is never of the many, but the few; \nand these its influence mainly weans away from \ncommon sympathy with common people; \xe2\x80\x94 makes \neven men hold back from contact with these, and much \nmore women. Why should they, forsooth, rub robes, \ntouch hands, with dirt and soil? \n\nTuition for her Intuition, I. \n\nSOCIETY, TYRANNY OF \n\nI don\'t object to it. Why should I? What good \nwould that do? We are all members of it, and have to \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 357 \n\nbe. I object merely to the tyranny of society, \xe2\x80\x94 to its \ncrushing out individuality. I object to its expecting \neverybody to become its slave. \n\nWhere Society Leads, i. > \n\nSOCIETY vs. THE INDIVIDUAL AS A SOURCE OF GOOD \n\nThe truth is that almost everything in the world of \npure quality and permanent value has its source in the \nmotives and opinions, not of people in general, but of \ncertain people in particular. In human as in vegetable \nlife \xe2\x80\x94 in the leaf and flower, for instance \xe2\x80\x94 develop- \nment \xe2\x80\x94 all that makes for progress and reform \xe2\x80\x94 is a \nprocess of unfolding that which comes from within \nthe individual. This is the natural way, and, so far \nas one can judge from nature, God\'s way. Society \nseeks to change all this, \xe2\x80\x94 to dictate from without not \nonly our modes of dressing and addressing, but of \nthinking and feeling. If the method of influencing \nthe mind from within be of God, that which seeks to \ninfluence it from without is more likely than anything \nelse to be of the devil. Idem. \n\nSOCIETY, WHEN IT SHOULD BE DISREGARDED \n\nOne has to live in the world of society. But even \nthere he can bear about with him a consciousness of \nliving, too, in another world, \xe2\x80\x94 the inner world of \nmind; and whenever the laws of the two worlds con- \nflict \xe2\x80\x94 they by no means always do \xe2\x80\x94 then he can \nremember that it is his first duty to obey the law from \nwithin. Idem. \n\nSOFT MEN \n\nMen half done, like eggs \nHalf boiled, are very soft. I much prefer \nTo have them hard. Dante, i., i. \n\nSOIL \n\nA little black \nIf mixed with white, may soil the white as much \nAs all black would. Idem, i., 2. \n\nSONGS {see music) \nA shadeless waste, a mist-hid sea, \nWere earth that knew no songs of glee; \nAnd what would heaven beyond it be \nIf anthems ne\'er were springing \n\n\n\n358 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nFrom voices there, where funeral knells \nAre sweeter far than marriage bells \nTo love call\'d hence that ever dwells \nWithin the sound of singing! \n\nA Song on Singing. \n\nSONGS AND RIGHT \n\nHow oft, of old, when reign\'d the wrong, \n\nAnd rare and regal rose in song, \n\nThe call sublime that roused the strong \n\nFrom hut and hamlet springing. \nLike avalanches launch\'d in might \nWhere thunder shakes an Alpine height, \nResistless down its path of white. \n\nHas right been led by singing. Idem. \n\nSORDID \n\nLife\'s bright paths hold a sordid fold, \xe2\x80\x94 \nHold men like cattle bought and sold. \nWho treat each sky-born child of truth \nAs valiantly as bulls, forsooth. \nThat goar, and tramp, and leave to moan \nSweet children caught in pastures lone. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xx. \n\nSORROW AND SINGING \n\nThe cares may come that track success, \nOr storms of swift and full distress \nMay make of mind a wilderness, \n\nA flood of anguish bringing; \nThe sorrows of the soul will rise. \nAnd pour their woe through weeping eyes, \nAnd drain at last the source of sighs. \n\nWhen hearts o\'erflow in singing. \n\nA Song on Singing. \n\nSOUL {see sense and spirit) \nIs the soul indeed but matter, welded, moulded, \n\nmultiple, \nWhite in snow and green in sunshine, by the storms \n\ndissolvable? \nOr is it a lingering breath that, snared to work these \n\nlobes of clay, \nSoon, like air that shapes the wind-cloud, passes through \n\nit and away? \xe2\x80\x94 A Life in Song: Watching, xxxi. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 359 \n\nWarn men not to take \nMere earth and sky for that one priceless jewel, \nThe sold, that they encase. With care for it, \nThe men who keep their spirits clean and clear \nFrom touch or taint of selfishness or vice. \nMay oft behold in depths of inner life \nWhich nearest lie to nature\'s inner life, \nThe image and the presence that reveal \nThe power and purposes that are divine. \n\nDante, 111., 2. \nWhat is the use of our learning, \n\nAnd toiling to come to the right. \nIf none can know we are yearning \n\nTo lead their spirits to light? \nWhat is an outward attraction, \n\nWhat is a power to control. \nIf men through the guise of our action \nSee nothing of God in the soul? \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, iv. \n\nHe dreams of destiny. \n\nHis whole soiil in his work. That soul speaks out , \n\nAnd like a sovereign. Souls are sovereign always. \n\nColumbus, I., I. \nWho cares to doubt the tale, when told \n\nThat seers with second seeing \nBehind the forms that all behold \nDiscern a spirit\'s being? \n\nPast curtains keeping souls from sight, \n\nWho never found a friend there. \nTransfigured by a purer light \n\nThan earthly suns could send there? \nWho never felt an impulse true, \n\nA better self within him, \nA spirit yearning to break through \n\nThis life from which \'t would win him, \n\nLook through his frame and through each frame \n\nOf those about who love him, \nTill soul met soul with joy the same \n\nAs fills the heaven above him? \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, viii. \n\n\n\n36o A POET\'S CABIXET \n\nUntil with a strange and thrill \'d surprise, \nI had found what look\'d through her o^^^l deep eyes, \nAnd had watch\'d hke gestures from God the grace \nOf her beckoning form; and at last could trace \n\nThrough coursing hues that would come and go \nAcross the radiant veil of her face, \n\nThe shade of her soul as it moved below. \n\nIdem, XXII. \n\nSOUL .4JST) SERVICE \n\n.... JM}^ father\'s maps \n\n.... Ay, they confirm twice over all my plan \xe2\x80\x94 \nNot thej\' alone, but j^our directions with them. \n.... ]\\Iine? (Sitting with one hand resting on the \n\nmap.) \n.... Yes, ^\'\'oirr fingers pointing out the course. \nIt all is there, just there beneath 3^our hand. \nA sailor steers the way his compass points. \n.... Is that 3^our compass? \n.... It might compass me \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI mean mv soul. \n\n.... \' That Httle hand? Oh, what \nA little soul! \n\n.... Do souls have size? One might \n\nBe universed in this; j^et not contained \nIn all the luiiverse outside of it. \n.... To put yoiu" soul thus in another\'s hand, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWoiild that be wise? \n.... Why not? \xe2\x80\x94 the hand that serves \nThe soul one loves may serve but selfishly, \nAnd 5"et ser^^e best the one who trusts to it. \n.... But shoiild it fetter him? \xe2\x80\x94 \n. . . . Then would he thrill \n\nIn every atom of his frame to feel \nIts fingers\' throb and pressure. \n.... Would not bound \n\nAway? \n\n.... Away and up, but alwaj\'-s back again, \nLike grains of sand in earthquakes. \n.... Foolish man! \n\n. . . . Why, only God is wholly wise; and I \nAm but a man \xe2\x80\x94 so never quite so manly \nAs when \xe2\x80\x94 wh}^ say \xe2\x80\x94 made fooHsh. Columbus, i., 2. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 361 \n\nSOUL-LIFE, THE CONVERSE OF SENSE-LIFE \n\nWhy should not those who were the most oppressed \nHave most that serve them where but souls are served? \nAll things inverted and turned inside out, \nThe last in station may become the first, \nThe lowly lordlike and the high the low. \nThe crown\'d the chain\'d, the crucified, the crown\'d. \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \n\nSOUL-LIFE THE RESULT OF NATURAL GROWTH \n\nThere are no vantage-platforms for the soul framed \nof mere outside gettings, Hke the logs men cut and \nwedge together. Soul-Hf e grows ; and as it springs in \nyouth, it sprouts in age. You split a living tree, and \nsplice in limbs from trees around it, you destroy the \nwhole. The Two Paths, iv. \n\nSOUL, NECESSARY FOR GREAT ENTERPRISES \n\n.... Any man who sails \n\nAcross that unknown sea must have far more \n\nThan enterprise, experience, caution, skill, \n\nKnowledge of sail and compass, wind and star. \n\nThe soul must be embarked upon the voyage \n\nWith aims outreaching all that but concern \n\nThe narrow limits of this earthly life. \n\n, . . . How few such men! Where would you find \nyour crew? \n\n. . . . Wherever minds are subject to ideas. \n\n.... And where is that? \xe2\x80\x94 You judge men by your- \nself. \n\n.... I would not dare to boast such difference, \n\nOr so humiliate my humanity. \n\nAs to presume it possible that aims \n\nInspiring my own soul, if rightly urged, \n\nWould not inspire, too, many another. \n\nColumbus, II., 3. \n\nSOUL, STATURE OF THE \n\nThe statiu-e of the soul is measured by \nThe distance of its outgrowth over earth. \n\nDante, iii., i. \n\nSOULS, SUBORDINATED TO EARTH \n\nOne \n\nMust be what earth has made him. \n\n\n\n362 A POET\'S CABINET \n\n.... Let me die \n\nBefore I learn a lesson sad as that ! \n.... Wise prayer ! Ay it is mercy lets us die \nBefore our souls decay \xe2\x80\x94 makes life more sweet \nTo those who have to live it with us here. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nSOULS, THEIR DEPTHS \n\nIn our souls, \nFar down within, are depths, like sunken seas. \nAll dark ! \xe2\x80\x94 yet only when concealed from light \nAnd from the face of love they else might image. \nAnd my soul \xe2\x80\x94 you should know its depths to know \nMy coming joy. Cecil the Seer, iii., i, \n\nSOULS, WHEN MADE AGENTS OF EVIL \n\nIf what the priesthood teach us be the truth, \nAy, if the gods do everything, themselves, \nWhy should they smut our mortal souls to stoke \nThe fuel of their smoking fires on earth? \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nSPARK OF GOOD \n\nEach slightest spark of good \n\nFlies upward, and the heaven returns it where \n\nIt fires the most. Ideals Made Real, lxx. \n\nSPECIAL PLEADER \n\nA man for all mankind: \xe2\x80\x94 \nNo special pleader for a special class \nWhose grasping greed crowds out the general good ; \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut one who pleads for all fair rights for all. \n\nIdem, Lxv. \n\nSPECULATION, ENCOURAGING FINANCIAL \n\nYou rushed the stock upon the market, like a \nrunning boy that trails a ruined kite; and by his \nrunning keeps it mounting higher. There comes a \ntime that boy grows tired and halts; there comes a \ntime when cheating fails to cheat ; there comes a time \nwhen fraud must go to jail. The Two Paths, Ii. \n\nSPECULATION, THEOLOGIC \n\nThese earthly eyes can never spy \nBeyond where heaven has hung the sky. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxxv. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 363 \n\nSPEECH {see TALK and words) \nAt times, I have found no need of speech. \n\nA simple wave of the hand, \nA shrug, a look, so far would reach \n\nThat her soul could understand. \n\nBefore my lips had time to frame \nThe feeling that sprang to thought, \n\nUp out of her own fair lips there came \nThe answer my soul had sought. \n\nI have learn\'d from her with a sweet surprise \n\nHow few are the words they need, \nWhose dimples and wrinkles of cheeks and eyes \n\nWrite out what the soul can read. \n\nIdem, Loving, x. \n\nSPIDER \n\nThink how a spider must enjoy its web when \nthrilling with the misery and music of buzzing flies \nthat it has caught! Here that? A rustling! I be- \nlieve her coming now. The Two Paths, 11. \n\nSPIRIT, THAT OF GOD {seC CALL) \n\nBeneath the whir of worldly strife, \n\nAll undisturb\'d, there dwells a Hfe \n\nThat feels the tender infant-plea \xe2\x80\xa2 , \n\nOf something grander yet to be. \n\nThere winds do whisper, waves have speech, \n\nAnd shapes and shades have features each \n\nThat friendly to the soul appear, \n\nAnd bring a Spirit subtly near. \n\nAnd make the truth of heaven seem clear. \n\nPerchance, when forced to gaze away \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nFrom earth, to find Hfe\'s perfect day, \n\nA soul so yearns for what should be \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nThat God, who always will decree \n\nHis presence where men bend the knee, \xe2\x80\xa2\' \n\nTrails, through the strange unearthly light, \n\nHis robes that, while they Wind the sight, \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nYet lure men onward toward the right. \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxxiii. \n\nMinisters, I ween, \nUrge none in heathen lands to choose between \n\n\n\n364 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThe good and ill, without attesting so \nThat God\'s good Spirit strives with all below. \n\nIdem, Seeking, xxviii. \n\nMight not He \nWhose good accepts the good where\'er it be, \nAnd reads the inmost motives of the mind, \nIn "every nation, people, kindred," find \nThron\'d e\'en behind the idols of each race, \nIdeals that human art could not make base? \nHow sad if not! This world\'s theology- \nScarce blows a trumpet causing piety \nTo kneel, ere out from opening mystery \nSweeps forth, full mail\'d, the world\'s idolatry. \nIt is not he of heathen name alone \nWho bows his knee to gilt and wood and stone. \nWhere live the souls who seek God\'s living truth \nWhom priest-craft does not find, and praise, for- \nsooth, \nIts own deeds, which it claims must lead the way \nAnd meditate for all men while they pray? \nAlas for man, thus made to look to man! \xe2\x80\x94 \nJust charity with kindlier eye might scan, \nAmid Athenian gods, a Socrates, \nWho would not bow in spirit e\'en to these. \n\nIdem, XXIX. \n\nSPIRIT, THAT OF MAN (see TEMPERAMENT) \n\nThey will have done your spirit so much honor. \nIt will be too much honored for this body. \n.... You mean the body will be too dishonored \nFor any spirit to remain in it. \n\n.... Oh, not dishonored ere the godship leaves. \xe2\x80\x94 \nThen what does flesh devoid of god deserve? \n.... Damnation, if devoid of godship mean \nDevoid of spirit to defend the flesh. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nSo women do not worship those they marry. \nNot after they have married them. \n\nWhy not? \nThey get too near them. \n\nHumph ! but that depends \nOn what one means. They can not get too near \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 365 \n\nTo any one in spirit. \n\n.... What is that? \n\n. . . . Thatinus which has least of body in it; \n\nAnd yet, like fire, may glow when bodies meet, \n\nAnd make one\'s whole life luminous. \n\nDante, iii., i. \nOne fond of friends, who yet sought oft by choice \nIn soulless forms to find a spirit\'s face, \nIn wordless tones a subtle thought to trace. \n\nA Life in Song: Daring, lvi. \n\nNext to honoring the holiest spirit one ought to \nhonor spirits that are like it. On Detective Duty, i. \n\nA spirit\'s best is always done just where its love has \nplaced it. The Two Paths, i. \n\nA spirit\'s measure is its outlook. Find \nA man horizoned by the whole broad world \nWho sees it all in all, he stands a son \nOf God! \xe2\x80\x94 is here to do his Father\'s work; \nAnd you should join in it, or not join him. \n\nColumbus, II., 3. \nHe seems a spirit lured to gates of dawn \nThat, venturing near the clouds when all aflame, \nHad been snatched up within their ardent arms \nAnd borne to earth with all their glow about him. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nSPIRIT, THAT IN A MAN WHICH INSPIRES \n\nIn the end \nAs the beginning, nothing thrives but spirit. \nIf trusted, it survives too, every time. \n\nColumbus, I., I. \n\nLife grows here like a tree with outer branches \nToo broad for any handling, but with trunk \nSo small and slender that a single hand \nCan fix its destiny for earth or heaven. \nThe trunk of all that lives is in the spirit. \nBut find the hand that can be laid on that, \nYou find what brings to all things bloom or blight \n\nDante, 11., i. \nO could we in our misgivings only see and hear once \nmore \n\n\n\n366 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWhat our fathers thought so bless\'d them, when the \n\nheavens unclosed of yore; \nEre men\'s eyes intent on matter, minding not what \n\no\'er them towers. \nLost their spirit-sight, if not their right to know and \n\nuse its powers ; \nEre men\'s wits were ground to tools more sharp than \n\nblades, but narrow too, \nPlied at earth our day makes brighter but to hide the \n\nstars from view ! \nIs it wise, \xe2\x80\x94 belief so bounded as to let three hundred \n\nyears \nOf the faith of half of Europe give the lie to all the \n\nseers? \nIs it wise, \xe2\x80\x94 the mean ideal, whether form\'d of man or \n\nGod, \nDeeming truth in all religions born and bred in con- \nscious fraud? \nIs it wise, \xe2\x80\x94 the church, assuming mortals once could \n\nhear and see \nSounds and shapes from realms immortal, but that \n\nnow this cannot be? \nIs it wise, \xe2\x80\x94 the coward science, which, when faith its \n\naid requests, \nFrighten\'d still by Salem\'s witches, does not dare \n\napply its tests? \nWitchcraft probed, might burst the bubble of the \n\nworld\'s religious frauds, \xe2\x80\x94 \nShowing seers themselves deceived, who deem all \n\npower beyond them God\'s ; \nAnd, with seers, the seers\' disciples, who, with pride of \n\nmind and will, \nFix belief, prohibit thought, and bid the truth, for- \nsooth, stand still. \nPowers beyond us may be finite; nor can ever tell or \n\ndo \nAught that frees the mind that heeds them from its need \n\nof reason too. \n\nA Life in Song: Watching, xxxii. \n\nWhy differs it, though they may rise on earth \nImpelled through emulation to enforce \nTheir wills on others ; or through appetite \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 367 \n\nMay fall, and yield control of reason\'s reins \n\nTo that which drives them on to lust and crime? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA spirit that inspires through selfishness \n\nTo mean success or failure, equally \n\nMay vex as by a devil made incarnate \n\nOneself and all about him. \n\n.... Poor weak man! \n\n.... Weak ever \xe2\x80\x94 save when conscious of his need. \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \nspirit, that in a man which survives death {see \n\nreceptivity) \nWe have left the bounds of matter; here are burst the \n\nprison bars, \nOut from which, with powers contracted and a weary \n\nsense of strife, \nSouls, like convicts through their grating, steal a \n\nluring glimpse of life. \nHere are regions where the spirit, freed from fettering \n\ntime and space. \nWings her flight through scenes eternal, reading \n\nthought as face reads face. \nHere the good reveal their goodness, and the wise their \n\nwisdom show ; \nAnd from open minds about them souls learn all that \nsouls can know. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, xiv. \nIf one\'s own spirit tempt not astray. \nBut only the senses it fails to sway, \nWhere worth is judged by spirit, I dream \nThat some prove better than here they seem. \n\nThe Last Home Gathering. \nIn the world brains mould to bodies, but across its \n\nborder-line \nRoyal_ minds must share their purple. Slaves with \nkings become divine. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, xv. \nThe one that led to the best things here \nMust be some spirit that heaven holds dear. \n\nThe Last Home Gathering. \n.... Can mortals aid immortals? \n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 Life is one. \n\n\n\n368 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nOur daily deeds bring sweeter dreams at night ; \nAnd sweeter dreams more strength for daily deeds. \nIf thought may pass from sphere to sphere, why not \nThe benefit of thought? Cecil the Seer, ii., 2. \n\nSPIRIT IN NATURE \n\nHow vain to let affections all go forth \nTo things material, hard and heavy foes, \nWhose mission is to fall at once and crush, \nOr, through long labor, wear our spirits out! \nHow much more wise, behind the shape, to seek \nThe substance, and, in sympathy with it, \nLearn of the life that never was created \nBut all things were created to reveal ! \nAh, he who learns of this, and comes to live \nIn close communion with it, finds, at times, \nWhen Nature whom he loves has laid aside \nHer outer guise and clasps him to her heart. \nThat there are mysteries, not vague but clear, \nNot formless but concrete, which, it must be, \nThat those alone can know, or have a right \nTo know, who always, like a faithful spouse, \nHave kept their spirits to the spirit true. \n\nWest Mountain. \n\nSPIRITUAL, THE, VS. THE MATERIAL (see WORLDLINESS) \n\nBound down to petty tasks, more useless ye \n\nThan ships loosed never from their anchorage, \n\nNor sailed to ports for which they have been freighted. \n\nOh, think ye ends that souls were made to gain \n\nWere ever reached by one who never breathed \n\nA higher air, or saw a higher sight \n\nThan those on which contracted brows are bent \n\nIn library or laboratory? \xe2\x80\x94 what? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nDoes thought grow broader, whittled down to point \n\nAt microscopic nuclei of dust, \n\nAs if the world were by, not with, them built? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAs if the game of true success were played \n\nBy matching parts whose wholes are curios? \n\nNay, nay! Life\'s greatest gain is life itself; \n\nAnd life, though lived in matter, is not of it; \n\nNot of the object that our aims pursue, \n\nNot of the body that pursues it, not \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 369 \n\nOf all the world of which itself and us \n\nAre parts. Nay, all things that the eye can see \n\nAre but vague shadows of reality \n\nCast on a frail environment of cloud, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBut illustrations of a general trend \n\nWhich only has enduring entity, \n\nAnd is, and was, and always must be, spirit. \n\nBerlin Mountain. \n\nSPONGE, ANIMAL OR HUMAN \n\nThat soft thing termed a sponge \nWill always hug you, when in touch with it. \nBut no one finds the least impression left \nWhen you are not in touch with it. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nSPORT, A FINANCIAL \n\n.... The trouble is that you are not a sport \xe2\x80\x94 finan- \ncial sport, I mean. \xe2\x80\x94 Is just a danger that sometime \nyou may fail to play the game, and lose. \n\n.... I have too much imagination. I sometimes \nthink of \xe2\x80\x94 and think with, I fear \xe2\x80\x94 the other fellow. \n\n.... And to be successful in business a man should \nthink about only himself and his own interests. \n\n.... Yes, yes \xe2\x80\x94 and no \xe2\x80\x94 ^is only true in part. Yet \nif success to you mean sudden gain, and great gain, \nand obtained with little work, you may be right. \n\nThe Two Paths, iv. \n\nSPRINGTIME \n\nThe time of year it was, when nature seems \n\nIn mood most motherly, with every breath \n\nHeld in a mild suspense above a world \n\nOf just born babyhood, when tiny leaves, \n\nLike infant fingers, reach to drain warm dews \n\nFrom palpitating winds, and when small brooks \n\nDo babble much, birds chirp, lambs bleat, and then, \n\nWhile all around is one sweet nursery, \n\nNot strange it seems that men ape childhood too, \n\nAnd lisp \xe2\x80\x94 ah me ! \xe2\x80\x94 minute the syllables. \n\nYet still too coarse for love\'s ethereal sense ! \n\nHaydn, ill. \nWho feel like springing in the Spring? . . . \nYet all life may spring on as bodies do \n24 \n\n\n\n370 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThat draw first back, or down, and then leap up. \nTo feel relax\'d, perchance, prepares one best \nTo leap the hedge of each untested year; \nFirst action, then reaction \xe2\x80\x94 eh, not so? \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd think \xe2\x80\x94 The same may form the law of souls : \nThey stoop, then rise; they kneel, then know of \nheaven. Idem, iv. \n\nSPY, A MORAL \n\nWhat need that I \nPlay spy here to Monaska and Waloon? \xe2\x80\x94 \nTrail like a reptile\'s tail to prove them brutes, \nWhere\'er the love goes, which but proves them human? \nThe power that makes a man who would stand straight \nProstrate and prostitute his nobler nature, \nSneak, dodge, crawl, shadow spirits bright as theirs, \nMay come from gods, but, if so, they have lent \nThis part of their dominion to a devil. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nSQUEEZING OUT MONEY \n\n.... Last night, you seemed too squeamish. In \na broker that scarcely does. \n\n.... He should not squirm but squeeze; \xe2\x80\x94 and \nwring the water on his customers ? The Two Paths, iv. \n\nSTAGE AND GALLERIES {see PULPIT ) \n\nDid you ever find \nThat ever, when the seers look forth through heaven, \nThey view there pews and pulpits? \xe2\x80\x94 Nay, not so: \nYet oft they note a stage and galleries. \nAll throng\'d with white-robed hosts attendant there. \nSo these, you see, at times may hint of good. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxxi. \n\nSTAGE OF A THEATER, ALL LIFE IS \n\nAy, whether we may march our frames to greet \nThe cannon\'s mouth, or duty\'s commoner call. \nGo where death threatens, or long seems to tarry, \nOne destiny, at last, awaits us all: \nUpon life\'s little stage the play will close, \nThe curtain drop, and leave the actor dead. \nYet, soldiers, what care you, or what care I? \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe souls that fight for truth, beyond scenes here, \nFind life that does not end in tragedy ; \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 371 \n\nFor all our world is but a theater \nOutside whose walls, where shine the stars of heaven, \nThe actors with their rdles and robes laid by \nMay all meet smiling in the open air. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., 2. \n\nSTAKE one\'s all \n\nBetter to stake one\'s all on some high cause \nAnd lose, than never know the spirit\'s thrill \nWhen gates of heaven are seen, past mortal ill, \nThough light that bursts from them at once withdraws. \n\nStaking All. \n\nSTAR PERFORMER \n\n.... But I must practice now. \n\n.... Hard work? \xe2\x80\x94 Not so? \n\n.... Oh yes \xe2\x80\x94 down here . . . but higher up, \nwhere one can breathe free air, and be a star, I guess \nit\'s easy there as it is bright. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, v. \n\nSTARS \n\nThe stars like sparks that linger where the fire of sun- \nset dies. A Life in Song: Dreaming, 11. \n\nSTARS, MESSAGE OF THE \n\nI believe. \nThough hard the drill that trains the soul to read it, \nThat every message of the stars is written \nIn letters one can learn to spell on earth. \n\nDante, 11., i. \n\nSTATEMENT, ONE TEST OF ITS TRUTH \n\nA statement that confutes a general faith, \nAt risk of reputation ; yet meantime \nConfirms our natural reasoning, seldom lies. \nWho would have said this, had it not been true? \nYet that it should be, what more natural? \n\nColumbus, II., 2. \nstation, troubles of exalted (see honors in \noffice) \nYou know heads crown\'d with flowers \nNod most for bees that buzz and sting about them. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nSTATUES \n\nStatues, white robed, such as art redeems \n\n\n\n372 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nFrom the fate of fellow-fancies, when, too soon, they \ndie in dreams. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, xxxii. \n\nShapes were there of every kind \n\nCrystallized to forms of art from flooding thoughts \nwithin the mind. Idem. \n\nSTORM : ITS APPROACH (see thunder) \nOff through the wild November sky, \nA storm, was it, that there drew nigh? \nOr was it a pall-car of the dead \nWith crape-like curtains round it spread? \nAnd oh, was a death-doom ever due \nBut lives that were sunny before it flew? \nHeigh-ho, heigh-ho, as the thing came on, \nTo have seen the hurry and scurry, anon! \nHeigh-ho, heigh-ho, to have seen the way \nThe breezes before it began to play! \xe2\x80\x94 \nIt came like a boy who whistles first \nTo warn of his form that shall on us burst, \nAs if nature feared to jar the heart \nBy joys too suddenly made to start. \nIt came like the peck on the blind by a bird \nThat taps for help when a hawk is heard; \nIt came like the shot of the pickets of rain \nWhen sunshine flies from a window-pane. \nBut who of us ever can judge the way \nA storm will strike from its first felt spray? \nThe walkers without soon found in the sleet \nA net that was tripping their floundering feet, \nA veil that was falling as light as lace \nBut snapped as it hit each stinging face. \nThen shattered to scatter the street below \nWith hail-shot followed by smoke of snow. \nThe snow, it followed and lay like soot \nSwept down from realms its white could pollute. \nOr was it, instead, a pure rug spread \nFor the feet that came in that car of the dead? \nThe Last Home Gathering. \n\nSTRANGE \n\nSo very strange \nIt seems that when I think it can be true, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 373 \n\nI pause to listen for the morning bells \n\nTo wake me from a dream. Columbus, v., 2. \n\nSTRANGE IDEAS \n\nIf more people had strange ideas, fewer would have \nwrong ones. Where Society Leads, i. \n\nSTRANGENESS \n\nIf strangeness were a test of what is false, \nMost things that are believed would not be true. \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \n\nSTRANGER {see ALONE) \n\nOn every side, I see the stranger smile, \nAnd hear anon his ringing laughter bound. \n\nI heed it, as within some chapel aisle \n\nOne in his coffin seal\'d might hear the sound \nOf his own burial hymn, when it had drown\'d \n\nHis last faint cry of "murder!" He were blest \nTo have those friends his final woe surround. \n\nBut who would mourn for me? my soul\'s unrest \n\nThe very grave might shrink from, as a worrying \nguest. A Life in Song: Daring, XLI. \n\nI might not then seem whirl\'d \n\nFrom a star afar in space, \nA stranger into a stranger-world, \n\nTo seek but find no face \nTo tender my soul a welcome home. \nWhere its inward wish would cease to roam. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xv. \n\nSTREET LAMPS \n\nHung high above this crape-like dusk of night, \nThe star-lights flicker, and, with star-like light, \nThe street-lamps ranged in order round me glow. \nWhat victor\'s pall was ever lighted so? \n\nMidnight in a City Park. \n\nSTRENGTH VS. SPIRIT \n\nAnd that would bring the whole our city needs, \xe2\x80\x94 \nNot strength so much to fight the force without \nBut spirit to unite the force within. \n\nDante, 11., i. \n\nSTRIFE AND STORM \n\nNever while these years are waiting for a nobler worth \nin man. \n\n\n\n374 A POETS CABINET \n\nWhile the strife for life continues, does the dark hide \n\nall the van. \nHowe\'er thickly clouds may gather, howe\'er fierce the \n\nstorm may be, \nEven down the thunder\'s pathway trembles light by \n\nwhich to see. A Life in Song: Watching, xxv. \n\nSTRIKE, A LABOR \n\nIt\'s not for theft we strike that want an honest \nwage for honest work. The Little Twin Tramps, i. \n\nThe fools! \xe2\x80\x94 to seek for favors thus. A man who\'s \nstruck at will strike back. Idem, ii. \n\nSTUPIDITY (see knaves) \n\nAh, next to deviltry, the devil himself likes nothing \nbetter than stupidity. The Two Paths, I. \n\nSTYLIST, HIS USE OF FORM \n\nWe all admit that genius, especially literary genius, \nis characterized by brilliance. A brilliant concen- \ntrates at a single point all the light of all the horizon, \nand from thence flashes it forth intensified. This is \nprecisely the way in which a brilliant stylist uses \nform. In describing anything in nature, he selects \nthat which is typical or representative of the whole, \nand often not only of the whole substance of a scene, \nbut even of its atmosphere. Art and Education. \n\nSUBTLETY, BECAUSE OF SPIRITUALITY \n\nDeem not the worthiest art-work wrought by those \nWhose thoughts and aims are easiest to find. \nFull oft the purpose that it subtly shows \nWill long elude the keenest searching mind; \nAnd, sometimes, not before this life shall close \nCan what it means for spirit be divined. \n\nThe Final Verdict. \n\nSUCCEED \n\nAnd oh, how many and many a tomb \nOf a dead hope, buried and left in gloom. \nMust mark the path of the man whose need \nIs taught through failure how to succeed! \nAnd oft how long, ere he know of this, \n\nWill hard work doom \nHis heart that in sympathy seeks for bliss \nTo a life as lone as death in a tomb, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 375 \n\nWhere sweetness and light \nAre all shut out, \nNor a flower nor a bird \nIs heeded or heard, \nNor often, if ever, there comes a sight \nOf a friend who cares what he cares about, \n\nOr is willing to soil \nA finger with even a touch of his toil ! \n\nUnveiling the Monument. \nAh me, the pilots of sure success \nSail not at random, nor steer by guess. \nThe voyage of life is a voyage for naught, \nIf souls keep not to one thing sought, \nAnd never forget to give it their thought. \n\nLove and Life, xi. \nWhat seems to one success, to others may mean \nmere escape from failure. The Two Paths, i. \n\nAwake, my soul, and strain each power \nThat hints of effort. Let the hour \nOf sleep, that was, watch armor-clad; \nCalm seem a pest; contentment mad; \nAnd slander\'d patience onward press \nTill steadfast force achieve success. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, vii. \n\nSUCCESS, DEPENDENT ON SELF \n\nI\'ve been thinking, lately, that success may not \ndepend upon situations as much as on ourselves; not \nupon conditions as much as on the way in which we \nmeet and master them. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, iv. \n\nSUCCESS, PROSPECT OF \n\nNo man, if wise, will waive from what he plans \nThe prospect of success. If you attempt it. \nTrust me to thwart you. Cecil the Seer, iii., 2. \n\nSUCCESS, THE EARTHLY SOURCE OF \n\nThe power that crowns one with success on earth \n\nIs earthly. Keen men know this. Not, not God : \n\nThe devil rules the world. \n\n.... God overrules it. \n\n.... In far results, but in the near ones never! \n\n.... Then look to far results. Transferring there \n\n\n\n376 A POETS CABINET \n\nThese transient whims, \xe2\x80\x94 ah you will find them melt, \nLike summer mist, while, rock-bound under them, \nEach goal remains that your true nature craves. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nSUGGESTIONS, LITTLEST \n\nThe littlest bird-track, sometimes, in the sand \nMay make one think of wings flown out of sight. \n\nIdem. \n\nSUGGESTIONS OF WHOLES FROM PARTS {see GENERAL \n\nand parts) \n\nMeantime, confined \nWhere only finite form can hint of what \nInspires formation, many souls there are \xe2\x80\x94 \nOh, may I join them! \xe2\x80\x94 who, in all things earthly, \nBehold what evermore transfigures earth. \nNo scene can greet them but it brings to sight \nFar less than to suggestion ; not a tone \nWhose harmony springs not from overtones; \nAnd not a partial stir but, like a pulse. \nIt registers what heart-beat moves the whole. \n\nBerlin Mountain. \nThis world contains two kinds of people, Cino,\xe2\x80\x94 \nThe kind who see the whole thing in its parts. \nAnd those who see the parts, and not the whole. \n\nDante, ill., i. \nSUITORS {see courting and flirt) \nSome men are suitors who offer their hands \n\nLike the opening palms \nOf beggars when kneeling and asking for alms; \nBut the one that pays heed \nThey clutch in their greed. \nTurning fingers to fists and prayers to commands. \n\nLove and Life, xxxiii. \n\nSUNSET \n\nThe sun has touch\'d the earth. See how its disk, \nRed-hot against the river, starts the mist, \nLike steam, to drive us home. Haydn, iv. \n\nThen I turn\'d and watch\'d the sunset, with emotions \n\nvague and wild. \nTill I seem\'d a thing scarce human, strange as mys- \ntery\'s very child. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 377 \n\nNot of earth nor heaven appear\'d I. I was one with \n\nthat mild light, \nWhich had veil\'d in awe the hiUs before the hush\'d \n\napproach of night ; \nAnd through all the clouds that floated rose the forms \n\nof angels fair, \nAnd I seem\'d to heed their whispers in the movements \n\nof the air. \nFar adown the west I track\'d them, till there met my \n\nwondering gaze \nMountains in the sky that fring\'d a sky-set sea begirt \n\nwith haze, \xe2\x80\x94 \nHaze from shore-sand bright as gold-dust blown to \n\nclouds by winds of noon; \nBut across the sea\'s blue depth appear\'d to sail the \n\ncrescent moon. \nScarce I saw this, when beyond it I descried with \n\npleasure great \nOutlines of a heavenly port illimied as for a heavenly \n\nf^te. \n\nAh, how wondrous was that city, rear\'d amid the \n\ncloud-land bright. \nWhere that sunset capt the climax of the day\'s com- \npleted light. \nHow the wall that coil\'d around it glow\'d along its \n\nwinding way ! \nAnd how flash\'d the floods of flame that in the moat \n\nbefore it lay ! \nWhat though underneath their splendor stretch\'d a \n\nstorm-cloud black and long? \n\'T was a bass-note held beneath that sweeter o\'er it \n\nmade the song. \nFor, above, as if aspiring toward the heaven\'s enkin- \ndled fires. \nToward the sky in countless numbers, press\'d the \n\ndomes and pierc\'d the spires ; \nDomes, high arch\'d, with tints to rival rainbows in \n\ntheir every hue, \nJoin\'d with spires from darkness pushing, till their \n\npeaks effulgent grew ; \nSpires Hke prayers that start from anguish, aim\'d for \n\nwhere all blessings are, \n\n\n\n378 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nSpires like hope that falters never while above it \n\nshines a star. \nThen \xe2\x80\x94 and how my gaze profan\'d them! \xe2\x80\x94 what re- \ntreats for bliss appear\'d \nIn those fair illumined mansions that along the streets \n\nwere rear\'d! \xe2\x80\x94 \nStreets like shafts of light far shooting, fading like \n\nthe sun from view, \nBack of trees with leaves like autumn\'s, when life\'s \n\nfires have burned them through. \nIn my soul I half believed I longed to leave this earthly \n\nstar, \nGazing like the seer on Pisgah, toward that promised \n\nland afar. A Life in Song: Dreaming, iv and v. \n\nSUNSET, THAT OF LIFE \n\nLife I watch, like one at sunset, high upon some \n\nwestern hill, \nLooking eastward while the sunbeams with their light \n\nthe valleys fill. \nHe beholds a world of beauty, and its darkest shade is \n\ncast \nBy his own sun-girded shadow, stretching o\'er it, \n\nvague and vast. \nLife to me lies like his view there, when a storm has \n\nthunder\'d by. \nAnd the forests flash with raindrops, and a rainbow \n\nbends on high. \nBrightly gleam the plains below him, where the golden \n\nrivers run; \nBrightly glow the clouds above him, where in glory \n\nsets the sun ; \nAnd he knows night\'s curtain, falling o\'er the little \n\nworld he sees. \nFalls away from heaven to show there worlds of \n\nworlds whose light it frees. \nThus I watch the earth and air, and find that age like \n\nyouth is bright, \nAnd life\'s eve and dawn, like day\'s, are flush\'d the \n\nmost with heavenly light. Idem, Watching, i. \n\nSUPERFICIALITY OF THINKING \n\nHow many people, do you suppose, look beneath the \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 379 \n\nsurface of anything? I am inclined to believe that \nmost men would start out to walk over the quicksands \nof the bottomless pit if only the sun should happen to \nstrike the surface so as to make it seem, for the time \nbeing, a little bright. What Money Can\'t Buy, iv. \n\nSUPERSTITION \n\nWho loves not, where all shapes and sounds we test \n\nSo charm us by the mysteries they suggest, \n\nTo throw aside, or strive to throw, at least, \n\nBeliefs that satisfy our times, and feast \n\nOn superstition, and half credit freaks \n\nWith which fair fancy lured those dreamy Greeks. \n\nOur older age has dropt the young world\'s joys, \n\nAnd takes life earnestly ; but it employs \n\nIts ardor too much like an o\'ergrown boy\'s, \n\nWhose fist and arm so often plied in strife \n\nBut show his brain is weak. There are in life \n\nDeep truths we value not. We rend apart \n\nThe forms of nature, but have little heart \n\nTo prize the hints to thought that meet our view. \n\nAnd we forget that mysteries too are true ; \n\nAnd we forget the bourn beyond the blue; \n\nAnd we forget about the silent pall; \n\nAnd faith, which only holds the key of all. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, vi. \n\nSUPPLIANT \n\nWise men do not greet \nA suppliant with too open hand and heart. \nDid gentleness not midwife his desires, \nHis cries would sooner die for lack of nursing. \nAnd so I think they best refuse requests \nWho best refuse to hear them. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nSUPPOSING \n\nAlmost all men\'s failures spring from supposing \nwhen one might be sure. Do you suppose your \nmatches are put out before you lock them in your \nwriting desk? On Detective Duty, III. \n\nsukE {see DUPLEX and love) \nO stars of heaven so pure, \nO buds of earth so sweet, \n\n\n\n38o A POETS CABINET \n\nWhat souls can ever be sure, \n\nWhen hues Hke yours they meet, \nThat they move to aught with thrilling breath \nExcept to danger and to death? \nO maiden eyes more pure, \n\nO rose-red lips more sweet, \nWhat hearts can ever be sure \n\nThat thrill with you to meet, \nThat aught awaits the panting breath \nThat does not lure true love to death? \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxv. \n\nSURPRISING BY THOUGHTS \n\nThose who suppress their thoughts for fear of \nsurprising others seldom speak the truth. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, iii. \nSURROUNDINGS (see association) \nThis is a world where we must judge of most things, as \nof souls, by their surroundings. The Two Paths, i. \nSouls make their own surroundings, moving on \nThrough lights and shadows by their presence cast; \nAnd paths, with these all gone, seem changed anon. \nWhen seen by those who trod them in the past. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, i. \nFor on this voyage of life, not seas alone. \nBut skies \xe2\x80\x94 all things about us \xe2\x80\x94 mirror back \nThe souls that they surround. With each to him \nThat hath, is given back more of what he hath: \nOne smiles at aught, it gives him back a smile; \nHe frowns, it gives a frown; he looks with love. \nHe finds love ; but without love, none can find it. \nAlas, that men should think one secret fault \nCan hide itself. Their sin will find them out. \nBefore, behind, from every quarter flash \nTheir moods reflected. Let them tell the tale. \nNay, let them whisper, glance, or shrug one hint \nOf what they find in earth about, and lo! \nIn this, their tale of it, all read their own. \n\nHaydn, xv. \n\nSURROUNDINGS, INFLUENCE OF, ON THOUGHT \n\nOh, does it profit naught that one should dwell \nAmid surroundings that no eyes can see \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 381 \n\nSave as they look above, no feet can leave, \nTo seek the outer world, save as they climb? \nWhere every prospect homes itself on high. \nAnd each horizon seems a haunt of heaven? \n\nGreylock. \n\nAs long as thinking can be shaped by things, \nAnd that which holds our life can mold our love. \n\nIdem. \nSusceptibility {see sensitive.) \nHis mien, like water, imaged life around it ; \n\nAnd, chang\'d by each new-comer\'s wish or whim, \nA mirror to reflect whatever found it, \n\nA man could read some men through what they \nsaw in him. A Life in Song: Serving, iii. \nNo doubt, in youth \nThere were times when the joy in his heart overran \nAt a smile from one who knew him in truth ; \nThere were times, years later, when merely a tear \nFrom a grateful eye \nWould have seem\'d more dear \nThan all the glitter that gold could buy; \nBut, alas! in age, when character stands \nAs fix\'d as yon monument, then it demands, \nEre aught can move it, far more, far more \nThan the cheer or the sigh that had stirr\'d it of yore. \n\nUnveiling the Monument. \n\nSUSCEPTIBILITY AND COURAGE \n\nGenuine susceptibility is the condition of all true \ncourage. Suggestions for the Spiritual Life, xvi. \n\nSUSCEPTIBILITY, WOMAN \'s \n\nWhy, what were woman\'s nature, void of fine \nSusceptibility on edge to play \nSociety\'s deft weather-vane? \n\nColumbus, IV., I. \n\nSWEET {see HARMONY and music) \nSweet it was as if the heavens would all their sweet \n\nstore shower below ; \nAnd by one flood quench forever all the thirst of \n\nmortal woe ; \nAnd my moods were swept before it in a spell resistless \n\nbound. \n\n\n\n382 A POETS CABINET \n\nAs a sailor, sinking softly, where the deep sea laps him \n\nround. \nBut can I recall the song now? \xe2\x80\x94 Better bid yon \n\nmeadow nook \nHold the whole great rain that blest it on its journey \n\ndown the brook. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, viii. \n\nSWEETHEART, HOW TO JUDGE A \n\nNo man of us knows a sweetheart until he has \nheard and seen her when not on her guard. \n\nThe Ranch Girl, i. \n\nSWINE \n\nCook soup for swine! \nThey leave you, if they fail to find it swill ; \nOr else, in greed to get it, trip and tramp you. \nThey harm you for your help ; and still stay swine. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nSWORD \n\nWho, when arbitration once has been submitted to \n\nthe sword, \nDare or care to shield the wrong from shot and shell \n\nagainst it pour\'d? \n\nA Life in Song: Watching, iii. \n\nSWORD AND SENSE \n\n.... Now by my sword ! \n\n.... Nay, nay ; but by your sense. \n\nWhat fevers both of you is no disease \n\nThat can be cured by surgery. \n\n.... By what then? \n\n.... By stimulants. Accurse to cutting down, \n\nWhen one can gulp down! Save your health for me, \n\nAnd, while you sheathe your swords, pledge gratitude \n\nFor such delicious ways of sheathing spirits. \n\nDante, i., i. \nSYMPATHY (see REGARD and words) \nOur human thought, whose efforts, aim\'d afar. \nHave learn\'d so much of sun and moon and star, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\'T is time it tell us mortals what we are. \n\'T is time our wandering world\'s philosophy \nDiscern life\'s inward bond of unity, \xe2\x80\x94 \nNot like the Greek in mere material fire, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 383 \n\nBut in the soul\'s unquenchable desire. \n\n\'T is time it weigh the worth of arguments, \n\nThat treat each consciousness with reverence; \n\nAnd, starting with the soul\'s first certainty, \n\nEvolve in all its order\'d symmetry \n\nThe universal law of sympathy. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, lv. \nNot long a philosophic, loving mind \n\nCan well endure aU dearth of sympathy. \nTo seek this kindly, and yet fail to find, \nMakes lack of welcome seem hostility. \n\nIdem, Serving, viii. \nLike a lake. \nWhose fogs unfold, when comes a genial sun, \nHer moods unfolded to my sympathy; \nAnd, brightly imaged in her nature\'s depths, \nI seem\'d, at every turn, to face my own. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xix. \nNor therefore view with heartless unconcern \n\nEach special aim of manhood\'s general dust; \nBut fan each spark of ardor that may burn \n\nIn breasts that in their own soul\'s calling trust. \nFor though to reach their goals men from us sever, \nWhy, in their hearts, may not heave ceaselessly. \nAs in our own, an endless want that never \n\nCan free those from ourselves who need our sym- \npathy. A Life in Song: Serving, lxxvii. \nSo new to me such views were, that I felt \nAs thrill\'d as feels the savage maid, when first \nShe finds her own face in a stranger\'s glass, \nThen spell-bound lingers, learning of herself. \nSo wrapt, my wonder hung, all wistfully. \nAbout that spirit bright. What meant it all? \nI could not then beHeve, \xe2\x80\x94 I scout it yet, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat rnortals can afford to slight the souls \nReflecting theirs, who make them mind themselves \nAnd prize the good they own, and dread the ill. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xix. \nOh what a world is this for souls to live in ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nFor spirits whose one deepest wish it is \nTo think at one with others like themselves, \n\n\n\n384 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nAnd all together think one thought of God! \nBut here one knows no wishes not imprisoned \nWhere all the implements to set him free \nAre but these clumsy tools of breath and brawn. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nSYMPATHY IN SORROW \n\nOur sorrows are half lifted when the souls \nOf our true friends have come to bear them with us. \n\nIdem, II., I. \n\nSYMPATHY, INDIVIDUAL NOT COMMUNAL \n\nWhen the heart \nSinks deep as mine, touch deft enough to reach it \nRequires a single hand, not many. \n\nIdem, I., 2. \n\nSYMPATHY, LACK OF \n\n.... Poor, lonely man ! \n\n.... His own fault \xe2\x80\x94 would not have \n\nA soul go with him. \n\n.... Why should he? To minds \n\nIn which the spirit so subdues the sense, \n\nA lack of sympathy itself is absence. \n\nColumbus, II., 3. \n\nSYMPATHY, RECEIVED WHERE GIVEN \n\nNor long was it ere I had grown to share \nIn all the love of all with whom I met; \nAnd oft, too, thus invoking sympathy, \nMy wishes wrought like witches, and conjured \nThe thing they wish\'d for : sympathy would come. \n\nIdeals Made Real, XLiv. \n\nSYMPATHY, WHEN MERELY SUPERFICIAL \n\nWe all should sympathize. All own one lord; \nAll wait beside one shore; all watch one tide. \xe2\x80\x94 \nSo too do snipes and snails! and so do souls \nThat yet shall rule in heaven ten towns and one. \nSouls differ, . . . John from James, as well \nAs both from Judas. \xe2\x80\x94 ^Judas lingers too. \n\nIdem, XLVii. \nWhen hearts hold secrets, even love that comes, \nAnd comes in crowds, will bring the prying soul \nFull drive to spring them open. How I shrank \nTo meet with those with whom my soul could find \n\n\n\n\nWoman\'s grief, \nIf there be any manhood left in him, \nWill rouse his efforts to bespeak her peace. \n\nSee page 426. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 385 \n\nNo source of sympathy, but parrot-sounds \n\nProduced when tongue and teeth and lips combine \n\nTo mouth one shibboleth ! A fate like this \n\nForetoken\'d only, made me wellnigh faint \n\nAs feels a soldier, falling at his post, \n\nWith heart shell\'d out and emptied of the soul. \n\nIdem, XLVi. \n\nTABLE, DINING \n\n. . . I\'ll call you when the table\'s ready. Poor \nthing, with twice as many feet as you have, it can\'t \nwalk up stairs. \n\n.... It must be very full. \n\n.... It will be. You\'ll find it something like a \npigeon, a better carrier than a walker; and you can \npluck it all you wish. The Little Twin Tramps, iv. \n\nTACT {see device) \nO how oft when stirr\'d to rescue those we love from \n\nthreaten\'d woe. \nAnd to point them toward the pathways, where in \n\nsafety men may go, \nOur own lack of tact or temper has equipt advice \n\namiss. \nFrail as truth that veils its features in the guise of \nprejudice. A Life in Song: Dreaming, ix. \n\nThe very pack of howling sea winds loosed to drive \nthe skilful pilot from his course he harnesses to his own \npurposes by turning, twisting, bracing, while he yields, \n\xe2\x80\x94 by not attacking what he thwarts, but tacking. \nSo, too, a man can meet opposing forces with what the \nworld terms tact. The Two Paths, i. \n\nTALK vs. ACTION {see DEEDS and words) \n\nOh, to talk the truth \nIs easy as to breathe. To live the truth. \nAnd, mailed in its pure radiance, burn to black \nThe shade its white heat severs, needs a strength \nTo suffer hatred and inspire to love. \nHalf hell\'s, half heaven\'s, and wholly Christ\'s. \n\nColumbus, II., 3, \n\nTALK, EMOTIONAL \n\nThe worst disease I know of is the one that breaks \nout in these running sores of talk; and most contagious \n\n2S \n\n\n\n386 A POETS CABINET \n\ntoo. Its victims think they always must express their \nsentiments \xe2\x80\x94 not facts pale white, but ruddy with \nemotion; and human beings are like bulls \xe2\x80\x94 ^you wave \na little red at them, or let them see what brings a red \nflush on yourself, they fight. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nTALKATIVENESS \n\nSome people\'s ears and throats are so near together \nthat when you tickle the one you are sure to hear \nfrom the other. What Money Can\'t Buy, ii. \n\nTALKING AND THINKING \n\nMost men\'s thoughts are led, you know, \n\nIn trains of their own talking. Talk them down, \n\nThey lose their leader. Keep on talking then. \n\nThey find in you another. Any sound \n\nYou choose to make, they take for sense. Why not? \n\nThat course has grown to be their habit. \n\nColumbus, III., 2. \n\nTALKING VS. THINKING \n\n.... With all their talk, one might suppose them \nthinking now. \n\n.... Oh, no; the parrots talk, and men may make \nmost noise because, like engines letting off their steam, \ntheir minds are not at work. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nTASTE \n\nNo fish are drawn \nExcept by hooks first baited to their taste. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nTASTES \n\nThese dainty despots of desire, our tastes \nThe worst of tyrants are; nor brook offense. \n\nHaydn, xxii. \n\nTEACHER, THE \n\nThe autocrat\'s pride in his haughtier train, \nThe miser\'s clutch for the glut of his gain. \n\nAre as shade to the light. \nAre as hell to a heaven, compared to their lot \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 Though humble and poor, whose lives incite \nAnd train men\'s thinking that else were not. \n\nLove and Life, X. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 387 \n\nTEACHER, QUALITIES OF A GOOD \n\nFor a teacher \nA knowledge of mere books does not suffice; \nHe needs a knowledge too of human nature; \nAnd sympathy, to make his teaching welcome; \nAnd fire, to make it felt; and tact and skill, \nTo aim and temper it for others\' needs ; \nAnd modesty to keep his own acquirements \nIn strict-held servitude to their demands; \nAnd dignity that comes from honoring truth. \nTo crown its bondman as the student\'s master. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nTEACHERS WITH SNAP \n\nWhen teachers have no snap, they seldom teach \ntheir pupils how to snatch; and half the thoughts, as \nwell as things, we need in life are got by snatching. \n\nOn Detective Duty, v. \n\nTEACHING, WHEN FALSE \n\nAh, strange how much would not be thought \n\nWere it not taught ! A plague on their presumption \n\nWho first began to teach, and teach reHgion! \n\nAs if, forsooth, the heaven would be all dark \n\nWithout our great lights of the temple here \n\nTo thrust their smoking torches toward it ! \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nTEAM-WORK IN LIFE-WORK \n\n.... All our firms must have their secrets; and \nanyone who starts to play with others \xe2\x80\x94 he must \nsupport the team. \n\n.... Why play with others? \n\n.... The very question I have asked. The man \nwho sells himself to harness in a team, be friend \nor foe the one who tempts him to it, leaves the \none place where he may meet with God and starts \nin paths where he may meet the devil. \n\nThe Two Paths, iv. \n\nTEARS \n\nThe gem-like tears, pursed in his wrinkled cheeks, \nFell like some rich exchange of value due \nProved wealth of worth within the soul now gone. \n\nA Life in Song: Prelude. \n\n\n\n388 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThen soon the froth that foam\'d o\'er reason\'s cup \nDissolv\'d in timid tears, flow\'d down the side. \n\nIdem, Daring, lxviii. \n\nTEAS AND MEN \n\nWhen asked to ladies\' teas, some men dress up before \nthey go. These think the thing a nuisance before they \nstart; and some do not dress up: \xe2\x80\x94 they know that it\'s \na nuisance when they get there. \n\nTuition for her Intuition , iii . \n\nTEETH, USED IN TALKING, AS WELL AS EATING \n\nOur teeth are white keys of an instrument on which \nthe spirit plays \xe2\x80\x94 to sound the music of the speaking \nvoice. \'Tis better when they must move somehow, to \nkeep them at the spirit\'s work. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, iv. \n\nTEMPERAMENT, AS A SOURCE OF LIKES \n\nWhat one likes or dislikes .... depends at times, \nless on another\'s tendencies than on one\'s own tem- \nperament. Where Society Leads, I. \n\nTEMPERAMENTS AS INFLUENCED BY SPIRIT \n\nHis words and ways have seemed so void of grace, \n\nTo say not grit! \n\n.... In temperaments like his \n\nThe form is but the signal of the spirit. \n\nWe never judge a flag by gawky flops \n\nAgainst a wind-forsaken pole; but by \n\nIts flying when it feels the breath of heaven. \n\nDante, i., I. \n\nTEMPERAMENTS VS. TENDENCIES \n\n.... It is not irrational \xe2\x80\x94 is it? \xe2\x80\x94 to follow one\'s \nown tastes? \n\n.... Yes, when they prompt one to forget other \npeople\'s traits. Temperament appeals to us through \nthe body, tendencies through the mind. A rational \nbeing ought first to heed the latter. \n\nWhere Society Leads, i. \n\nTEMPTATION AND TRAINING (see PROHIBITION) \n\n.... No one can keep a man from being tempted \ntill he has rid him of his human nature, and ills you \nnever can eradicate you ought to try to regulate. If \nnot, take one thing from a man, he finds another; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 389 \n\nfor beer finds brandy, and for alcohol finds opium. \nTrue reform must aim to make the saints you seem to \nbreed not mere weak sneaks. \n.... An old plea, yes! \n\n.... It is \xe2\x80\x94 as old as Eden with trees that gave \nmen knowledge of the evil as well as of the good; \xe2\x80\x94 \nwith grains and fruits in which a man could find both \nfood and poison. \n\n. You wouldn\'t keep the poison from his lips? \n\n. Would rather make him keep his lips from \nit. \n\n. Could do it? \n\n. Not, perhaps, with every man. All training \nfails with some \xe2\x80\x94 is very hard to keep the devil from \ngetting his full quota. But this should not prevent \nour trust in training; or in the mind we train. Few \nmen are fools, and we shall find them fewest when we \ntreat them not like unthinking brutes which they are \nnot, but like true men who can be reached by reasons. \nWhen not reached thus \xe2\x80\x94 it may seem harsh to say it ; \nyet if this life be meant for discipline, both fools and \nwise must have an equal chance \xe2\x80\x94 no man can fight \nthe devil for another. Tuition for her Intuition, 11. \n\nWho knows what men can be, \nTill pierced where tenderest? It was the fleet \nAchilles could be wounded in the heel ; \nAnd some have heads, and some have hearts to hurt. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., 2. \n\nTEMPTED \n\nThe sa^ed think less that they themselves were good \nThan that they were not tempted overmuch. \n\nThe First Fascination. \nYou alone . . . \nWhen tempted, have not let them drain your veins \n\xe2\x80\xa2 Of healthful soul-strength, to inject therein, \nIn place of it, their foul sense-fevering virus. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nTEMPTER MAY BE AN ANGEL \n\nOh, do not think the tempter, when he comes. \nProclaims his presence through acknowledged ill! \nHis most seducing tones may leave the lips \n\n\n\n390 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nOf friends, or those who best may pose as friends; \nHis direst pitfall-paths mount up, nor hint \nWhat crumbling crags their garden glories wreathe. \nYou deem that, at the crisis of his life, \nIt was a devil Jacob wrestled with? \xe2\x80\x94 \nNay, nay ; Hosea\'s term for him was angel. \n\nWest Mountain. \n\nTENDENCIES, AVOIDING \n\nThings may tend where you and I needn\'t attend \nthem. The Snob and the Sewing Girl, iv. \n\nTHEMSELVES (see EGOTIST and self-conceit) \nThe men who scan us, as a class, \nTurn always toward themselves, alas, \nTheir magnifier\'s largest glass; \nAnd small and far seem all who pass. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, ill. \n\ntheories (see imagination, philosophy and \n\npractical) \n\nAnd what are theories worth, except so far \n\nAs each can make men better than they are? \n\nIdem, Seeking, liv. \nthieves cowardly \nA man who fights with thieves has justice to fight \nbeside him. They show their backs to the one and \nthey dare not face the other. The Ranch Girl, ii. \n\nthinking as related to acting \nMore is always brew\'d in error than befogs the thinking \n\nmind. \nThat which moves the springs of action flows to action \nlike in kind. A Life in Song: Watching, iii. \n\nTHINKING beings, TREATING PEOPLE LIKE \n\nAnd he will find before he dies \nThat men accept one\'s estimate of them. \nIf he esteem them thinkers, give them thought, \nThey turn to him like thinking beings ; but \nIf he esteem them brutes, and give them force, \nThey turn upon him like a brute. \n\nColumbus, III., 2. \n\nTHINKING, PREVENTING OTHERS FROM \n\n.... You seem to have a chronic objection to a \nwoman\'s thinking a little for herself. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 391 \n\n.... No ; I merely object to her thinking entirely \nfor others. Really, you should be more cautious. \nYoung people ought not to get into their heads the \nidea that everybody can be managed. \n\n.... Why not? \n\n.... Mainly because it\'s not true. You convey a \nfalse impression. It is about as easy to blow a feather \ndown a boy\'s throat when he himself keeps blowing as \nto get a thought into his mind when he himself keeps \nthinking. \n\n.... Yes;except when he stops to breathe! \n\n.... And then you can enter in, I suppose, and \ntake possession. Do you remember what the Bible \ncalls those that take possession of other people\'s minds. \nIt calls them devils. \n\n.... Oh, the Bible! \n\n.... Wise old book, nevertheless! The truth is \nthat when we try to influence others irrespective of \ntheir own thinking, we very soon begin to lose respect \nfor their thinking, and, not only so, but for our own \nthinking, and for any kind of thinking. As soon as a \nman does that, he begins to disregard thought and to \nsay and do what misrepresents it; in other words, to \ndeceive. Where Society Leads, i. \n\nTHINKING MEN, THEIR INFLUENCE \n\nOne thinking follower might make men believe \nYour other followers were controlled by thought. \n\nDante, i., 2. \n\nTHINKING OF OTHERS\' NEEDS \n\nA man can do a deal of things through thinking how \nmuch some one needs them. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, 11. \n\nTHINKING OUT LOUD \n\nA mind that thinks out loud works like a gun dis- \ncharged before it has been fully loaded. It harms \nitself and does not help its owner. \n\nThe Two Paths, 11. \n\nTHINKING THE MOST IMPORTANT OF POSSIBILITIES \n\n.... What\'s the use of having a fortune if you\'re \nobliged to live like a farmer? \n\n.... The farmer may have as much to think \n\n\n\n392 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nabout as if he were always thinking of a fortune; and \nwhat one thinks makes up the most of what one needs \nin life. What Money Can\'t Buy, i. \n\nTHOUGHT {see FANCY and imagination) \nAll men\'s wisdom flows from each man\'s thought; \nAnd every page of progress but records \nThe impress of this thought express\'d in deeds. \n\nA Life in Song: Note iv. \nAh, thought was crystallized when came the world! \n\nIdem, Seeking, xix. \nOh, not the outward things that may incite \nGive the true measure of the inward aim ! \nOur minds are deeper than our deeds proclaim; \nAnd only thought can make them move aright. \nBroadening Ones Outlook. \nAll things created can for thought procure \nNo more than one\'s creative thoughts conjure. \nA Life in Song: Seeking, x. \n\nTHOUGHT, AS INFLUENCED BY FORCE {see FORCE) \n\nWhen you come to deal with thought, \nThe only influence force can have upon it \nIs to suppress but leave it still possessed. \nIf error be in mind, it seems far better \nTo let it out, and so be rid of it. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nTHOUGHT, ENTANGLED \n\nAh, why should fate \nLeave thought entangled like an eagle here \nWhose wings are bound, and feet can only crawl \nSo slowly, and, when one so longs to fly. \nSo painfully? Berlin Mountain. \n\nTHOUGHT, HE WHO OCCASIONS \n\nHe whose words can wake the earth to thought \nHas heaven\'s own warrant that he should be heard. \n\nCecil the Seer, ill., 2. \n\nTHOUGHT, INTERFERING WITH ANOTHER\'S \n\nNothing in the world is quite so practically divine \nas mind; nothing so practically sacred as thought. \nYou and I have no right to interfere with another\'s \nthought, in order to prevent a truthful expression of it. \n\nWhere Society Leads, ii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 393 \n\nTHOUGHT UNCHECKED \n\nAnd thought uncheck\'d, \xe2\x80\x94 it oft more danger fronts \nThan does the uncheck\'d steed, whose frenzied flight \nDefies the rein, and, dashing down a road \nStraight deathward, trails his luckless driver on, \nWhirl\'d powerless to prevent all as a babe. \n\nHaydn, xxix. \n\nTHOUGHT vs. PERSONAL AFFECTION \n\nBe on your guard and think. \n\nAnd think? \xe2\x80\x94 \nI need that caution? \xe2\x80\x94 when this beaker all \nIs brimming to its overflow? \xe2\x80\x94 And think? \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhen all my thoughts are radiant with his form \nLike surging sea- waves glancing back the sun? \n\nColumbus, I., 2. \n\nTHOUGHT, WHEN OPPOSED \n\nOur thought, like light. \nOpposed, will vaunt itself; and brightest play. \nGlanced off from things it does not penetrate. \n\nIdeals Made Real, l. \n\nTHOUGHT, WAIVING ONE\'s OWN \n\nNo man has the right to waive his own thought for \nthe thoughts of others, except so far as these become \nhis own. Then, like night travelers, led to hghted halls, \nand sometimes to a dawn the sunrise brings, he can \nextinguish his own petty lantern. The Two Paths, iv. \n\nTHRONE \n\nA soul that summons all that does one\'s best \nTo do still better, sits upon a throne \nThan which none higher is conceivable. \n\nColumbus, I., 2. \n\nTHUNDER \n\nAll our lives, we start and wonder, \nIn this under world, what blunder \nWoke in heaven the voice of thunder. \nYet it peals; and oh, how sadly, \nLike the storms that gather madly \nOver days that dawn so gladly. \nBurst on heavenliest harmonies \nNotes from where no music is ! \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxiv. \n\n\n\n394 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nTHUNDER STORM {see STORM) \n\nThe night \n\nAlready shook beneath the threatening tread \nThat brought, anon, a storm. Oh, fearful sight, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThat black car of the thunderer overhead ! \n\nThose fierce bolts flashing down their track of red, \nAnd crashing on amid the shatter\'d sleet! \n\nAnd one broad elm, like Cssar, stabb\'d and dead, \nFlung up its robes and tumbled at his feet. \nWhile hoarse winds howl\'d about, and made his woe \ncomplete. A Life in Song: Daring, Lxxv. \n\nTIES \n\nAll ties are right that make true life more bright. \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \n\nTIME AND VITAL FORCE \n\nTo eyes \nThat scan eternity, time cannot be \nThe measure gauging vital force; nay, nay: \nThen heavenly lightning were a weaker thing \nThan earthly smoke. Haydn, i. \n\nTIME, ITS WORTH \n\nThe worth of time is measured like a gem\'s, \nNot by its bulk but by its brilliancy. \n\nThe Aztec God, ii. \n\nTIME-SERVER \n\nAnd yet he played no mere time-server\'s part, \n\nNor waived old truth and friendship for the new. \nWho judged he waived them would misjudge a heart \n\nNo more susceptive to them both, than true. \nBut traits like these, because not always blended, \n\nOft made his nature doubted and reviled ; \nSome deem\'d them craft, and such their friendship \nended ; \nSome deem\'d them whims, and such would chide \nhim like a child. A Life in Song: Serving, iv. \nShall one, when the world \n\nAsserts control. \nForget the soul? \nWith every flag of a high cause furl\'d \nGive up his fight for virtue and truth, \nAnd become a man of the world, forsooth? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 395 \n\nAy, ay, a coward, who cringed and bow\'d, \n\nAnd has grown content to court the crowd? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA mountebank who, in storm or calm, \n\nTurns up or down his wilHng palm \n\nFor a pittance from snobs that he thinks to please \n\nWith a sneer for those and a smile for these? \n\nLove and Life, xxxvii. \n\nTIMES, GOOD \n\nHow much is time here worth, if in it all \nWe live but slaves, and never know of good times? \nThe man who squeezes these all out our life \xe2\x80\x94 \nWrings our last sweat-drop out to serve himself, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHe has \n\n.... A vampire\'s care for us. \n\nColumbus, III., 2. \n\nTIP-TOP OF SOCIETY \n\nThey are at the top, the very tip-top, of society. \n\n.... Should think so! \xe2\x80\x94 like the tip-top house \nupon Mount Washington. You know \'tis it because, \njust when you see it, you feel like freezing. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, 11. \n\nTITLE, NOT NEEDED IN AMERICA \n\n.... You have no title. \n\n.... People of sense know enough to prefer a gold \ncup without a handle to a pewter cup with a handle. \n.... What an egotistical boy you are? \n.... Am I? \n.... No ; but you are very American. \n\nWhere Society Leads, i. \n\nTOGETHER \n\nWill never a Magellan sail around \nThis grander globe of truth, till he have found \nHow paths that part most widely sometimes tend \nTo bring two souls together in the end? \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, LV. \nTOIL {see LABOR and work) \nNo place in life but fills a need. \nWho tills the soil, he starts the seed; \nAnd on his kind of toil below \nDepends the kind of fruits that grow. \n\nAfter the Lynching. \n\n\n\n396 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nTOMB (see monument) \nTread softly. Nothing mortal we revere \nWithin the dwelling that we stand before. \nNo form will come to meet us from the door. \nOnly the spirit of the man is near. \nOnly to spirit do men ever rear \nThese shafts like arms uplifted to implore \nThe world to honor those we see no more, \nBut whose white souls the white tomb symbols here. \nAh, what could ever lead earth\'s dull throngs on \nTo those bright goals, concealed from mortal view \nIn future glory for which good men plan, \nExcept some spirit heaven had shone upon? \nOur awe for genius is a worship due \nTo that which comes from God and not from man. \n\nThe Grave of Genius. \n\nTONES, MERRY (see VOICE) \n\nWhose merry tones \nWould ring out, if our thoughts turn\'d far from her, \nLike bells that homeward lure the wind-blown bees, \nAnd bring our flighty fancies back again. \n\nHaydn, iv. \n\ntongue, the, and its poetic influence {ses \npoetry) \n.... The poet\'s tool is his poetic tongue. \n.... \'T is not the tongue that makes the bell ring \n\nsweet ; \nIt is the metal of the bell itself. Dante, i., i. \n\nTRACK, RIGHT, FOR THOUGHT \n\nYou place thought on the right track once, you find \n\nWhat moves it on is not what moves it off. \n\nThey differ. Columbus, I., I. \n\nTRADE \n\nE\'en trade is made by winds from heaven above \nTo join men in the bonds of trust and love. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, XLI. \nBut let us hope, while knowledge still advances. \n\nThat men will learn to trust in manhood more; \nAs trade that once crept on with lifted lances \n\nHas learn\'d, at last, unarm\'d to feed each hungry \nshore. Idem, Serving, lxxx. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 397 \n\nTRADES, JUDGING MEN BY \n\nMy mood, \nAs gloom would gather round again, would grieve \nTo think, in sorting souls, fate bungled so. \nAnd let our traits be judged of by our trades, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe dusty imprint of the things we touch. \n"As well," cried I, "to judge of winds of heaven. \nBy bogs they brush, or fogs they bear away! \nWe two that so could trust each other\'s hearts, \nWhy should we not join hearts, and leave to them \nThe hands?" Ideals Made Real, LXii. \n\nTRAGEDY \n\nIn every life. \nThe first and final acts are tragedy. \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \n\nTRAINING \n\nDo not think that men \nCan ever change our nature by their training. \nNay, clip, abuse, deform it as you may. \nThe weakest bush will bear its own flower still, \nAnd every heart the love life made it for. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nTRAINING AND WORKING \n\nYou can\'t train even a vine, unless it\'s working \nall the time itself. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, iii., 2. \n\nTRAINING OF THE WORLD {seC WORLD, SOUL and \n\nspirit) \nOh, he has been train\'d by the world and the school \nTo curb his character in by rule \nTill the rule of his life is a lie. \nA man like that would spurn to find \nIn God\'s designs the quest of his mind. \nHe crams and drams for an appetite \nThat nothing on earth can sate or excite. \nHis words are as dry as the words of a book, \xe2\x80\x94 \nYour sentence is ready, wherever you look. \nHis views \xe2\x80\x94 he never saw any thing strange: \nIf he did, some fellow might question his range. \nAnd all of profit he tests by pelf, \nAnd all of manhood measures by self, \n\n\n\n398 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nForgets that God rules the world he is at, \nAnd stars himself as its autocrat. \n\nOf Such Is the Kingdom. \n\nTRANSMIGRATION \n\n.... Who has traced for you \n\nThe history of spirits? If they came \n\nFrom God, as matter came, why came they not \n\nWith matter? \n\n.... What? \xe2\x80\x94 Through beasts and birds, you mean? \n\n. . . . Why not? \xe2\x80\x94 Why shotdd not these have endless \n\nlife? \nWhy, if they have it, should their course be checked \nEre they attain the highest? \xe2\x80\x94 and, if not, \nWhy should their essence not move up through man? \n.... Is man the son of beasts? \n.... In flesh why not? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBut may be born of flesh and of the Spirit. \nDevoid of spirit, all the body\'s nerves \nAre lifeless as the wires, when rent apart, \nWhich once were thrilling with electric force. \nBut ah! that force, though flown to air, comes back \nTo give new life wherever new forms fit it. \nSo, while the whole creation of the flesh. \nIn groans and travails of successive births, \nPrepares each new formation for its need, \nWhy should not psychic force, the breath of Him \nIn whom all live and move and have their being, \nWith rhythm mightier than the pulse of lungs, \nOr day and night, or autumn and the spring, \nPass up through all the lower ranks of life. \nThrough birth and on through death, from air to \n\nbreath. \nFrom breath to air, till, last, it reaches man; \nAnd, taught the lesson there of human hands \nWhich master matter, and of each man make \nA fellow worker in creation\'s work. \nAnd, taught the lesson of the human voice, \nWhich for each new conception frames a word \nTo phase and phrase it, and of each man makes \nA fellow-thinker in creation\'s thought, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhy should not this force, moulded by the hand \nAnd head, attain in man its final end, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 399 \n\nAnd dowered with will and reason, freed at death. \nFrom its material framework, hold its mould, \nAnd reach the last result of all that is. \nWhere that which served the serpent is the son, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA spirit in the image of the Father? \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \n\nTRAP \n\nI am practicing, you see \xe2\x80\x94 \nOn criminals. \xe2\x80\x94 That man there set a trap. \nBut it takes two to make a trap work. He, \nHe was a genius, this man, played both rdles, \nHe set it and was caught in it. \n\nColumbus, III., I. \n\nTRAP, SKIRTED \n\nYou skirted trap, you think all men will tumble \nwhen you try to trip them? The Two Paths, i. \n\nTREACHERY \n\nThey think that these will seem our friends; \nAnd make an opening through which all can enter. \nWhat keener point could treachery find to edge \nIts wedge of enmity, than tried old friendship? \n\nColumbus, v., I. \n\nTREADMILL \n\nThe feet that tread the treadmill no more bind \n\nThe spirit to their petty task, than do \n\nOur brains bind thought whose words, by working \n\nthrough, \nNot in, this mortal framework, lead their kind. \n\nObscurity. \n\nTREASURE, A NATION\'S \n\nIf I be queen, let me be queen \nOf Spain\'s rich spirit as of Spain\'s rich soil. \nI will \xe2\x80\x94 there is a treasure. \xe2\x80\x94 What to Spain \nAre her most precious treasures, that star most \nThe crown that they surround with living light? \nMere jewels, think you? \xe2\x80\x94 Nay, not these, but men. \nAnd if I give the one to gain the other, who \nCould strike a better bargain? Ay, I will \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nColumbus, II,, 3. \n\nTREASURE, HIDDEN BENEATH APPEARANCES \n\nEarth is a field where hidden treasure lies. \n\n\n\n400 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nAll search for it ; their searching wakes their thoughts, \nAnd draws out their desires, and aims their acts. \nAt last, they look and live for that alone \nWhich lures beneath appearances. Few find it. \nThe few that do, find that which makes the world \nWorth living in, and worth yon circling dome. \nThe crown God gives it, jeweled all with stars. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., i. \n\nTREES, ON MOUNTAIN TOPS \n\nI reached that great right angle where \nAll farms and all things fertile lie below, \nAnd only barren slopes of sterile rock \nAnd trees that nature struggles to disown \nAwait the climber who would still move on. \n\nWest Mountain. \n\nTRESSES \n\nThen, as nearer she drew, her face \nClear\'d from a shade of tresses. \n\nFair as a dawn that breaks apace \nOut of a cloud\'s recesses. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, ii. \n\nTROUBLE, AS AFFECTING STRONG CHARACTER {see \n\nAFFLICTION and bereavement) \nNothing that can come from the world, no matter \nhow much it may irritate or hurt, can really injure or \nweaken a strong character. It acts like sand when it \nscratches a gem, giving it a finer polish. \n\nWhere Society Leads, in. \n\nTROUBLE, TREATED LIGHTLY AND SERIOUSLY \n\nAt times, a trouble like this when coming between \nold friends, if treated as of serious intent, may, like \nseed, take root and grow enormously; but treated \nlightly, as a joke, be quickly brushed aside like seed \ndropped accidentally. The Ranch Girl, iv. \n\nTROUBLE DUE TO SELF {see WORRY) \n\nIn man as in nature, the outward jar \nLess brings our trouble than what we are. \nThe wind may but tickle the grass or the tree \nThat lashes to fury the wave of the sea. \n\nThe Last Home Gathering. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 401 \n\nTRUE \n\nIn all tales true to life \nMen read a lesson less from man than God. \n\nA Life in Song: Finale. \n\nTRUE, AND A TRUE SOUL \n\n, . . . These words recall an ancient eastern dream; \nAnd, in one\'s waking hours, can it be true? \n.... Think you a true soul ever served a thought \nNot souled in truth, whatever were its form? \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \n\nTRUE TO HUMAN NATURE \n\nAll men, to their own best natures true, \nLearn soon to let truth rule their fellows too. \nSo here the chains that on the bondmen clank \nAre loosed, and slaves may reach the noblest rank; \nAnd every field grows richer for the toil \nOf yeomen working well their own-held soil. \nTheir very king, at last, has come to plan \nThe common welfare like a common man. \n\nA Life in Song: Seeking, xli. \nTRUST {see faith) \nAh no, for shade no more than light will fall \n\nOn souls that still in God and man can trust. \nTo him who still has faith in generous action \nFull many a thankful eye will love confess; \nAnd many a hope that thrills life\'s nobler faction \nOn many a lip assiire his life of sure success. \n\nIdem, Serving, Lxxxvi. \n\nIn God we trust by trusting all \nIn whom His traits are shown. \n\nGod bless America. \nTRUTH {see FORCE and words of truth) \nI give them truth. \n\nTruth is for fools. \nI give it to them. \n\nHumph ! it comes from fools. \nYes, if they think men want it. I do not. \nThey merely need it. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\nOur God is great. I deem Him great enough \nHis truth to save without subverting ours. \nTrue sovereignty has truth: \'t is not a sham \n26 \n\n\n\n402 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThat holds high rank because we courteous men, \nConsiderate men, allow it seeming rank. \nWho lies to save the truth, distrusts the truth, \nDisowns the soul, and does despite to God. \nWho strives to save his life thus, loses it, \nIn evil trusting and the Evil One, \xe2\x80\x94 \nSalvation through the Devil, not through Christ ! \n\nHaydn, xxvii. \n\nWith truth, the longer kept, the longer thought of ; \nAnd thinking feeds conviction. Columbus, i., 3. \n\n.... I never saw a girl like you before. \n\n.... Am I so queer? I never thought I was. \nSome girls, you know, are kind, too kind to say what \nothers never want to have them say. \n\n.... And what is that? \n\n.... My mother calls it truth. \n\n.... Of all the innocents! You know, my girl, \nyou\'re scarcely fitted for a place like this. \n\n.... Why not? \n\n.... You are so pretty, and so good. Do you \nbelieve in love at first sight? \n\n.... What is that? \n\n.... The first time you see a fellow you know \nthat, somehow, he was made for you. \n\n.... Know somehow \xe2\x80\x94 how? \n\n.... Because he looks \xe2\x80\x94 looks nice. \n\n.... Oh, there are many people that look nice! \n\nHe looks particularly so. He makes you \n\n\n\nthrill, \nnice? \n\n\n\nWhy should I be afraid of him, when he is \n\n\n\n.... I didn\'t mean just that. \n\n.... You looked at me, I thought, as if you did. \n\n.... How looked at you? \n\n.... Oh, well, I hardly know. I never met a man \nlike you before. \n\n.... You never met a man who loved you then. \n\n.... Do men like you love all the girls they see? \n\n.... No \xe2\x80\x94 only you. \n\n.... What do you know about me? The only \nthing that I can think of is that I \xe2\x80\x94 I didn\'t want to \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 403 \n\ndrink; but you \xe2\x80\x94 You seem to like this drinking very- \nmuch. How can I think that you belong to me? \n(Then, as he bends over her.) Please, please, sir, point \nyour breath the other way. \n\n.... You are so sweet. \n\n.... Yes, I would like to keep so. \n\nOn Detective Duty, 11. \n\nTRUTH AND LOVE {see LOVE) \n\nCome to the truth, and come as you may, \n\nAll of love is begun. \nWhether you feel or think your way, \n\nLove and the truth are one. \nLove is the warmth, and truth the ray; \nTruth is the light, and love the day; \nCome to either, you wend your way \n\nUnder the lasting sun. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, xxviil. \n\nAnd truth the sovereign is, not speech, nor sect. \nWho love God\'s truth love God. \n\nIdem, Seeking, xlvii. \n\nTRUTH, DEPENDENT ON VIEW-POINTS {see CURRENT) \n\n.... Truth can never change. \n\n.... We can. \n\n. . . . And change it? \n\n.... Change \n\nIts bearings for us. Truth is of the heaven: \n\nThe mind regarding it is of the earth. \n\nThe one is infinite, the other finite: \n\nThe one expressed in light itself, the other \n\nIn forms that but reflect light ; and the truth, \n\nMade such but by reflection, cannot flash \n\nAn equal ray to every view-point. Columbus, 11., 2. \n\nTRUTH, GROWING OF ITSELF \n\nThere is too much life \nIn truth of any sort, when sown, to doubt \nIts growing. I have made a good beginning. \n.... A very small one. \n.... So a seed is too. \n\nWhose growth is great. When one awaits the dawn. \nA flush is better than a flash, which oft \nBut bodes a rush-light. Columbus, i., 3. \n\n\n\n404 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nTRUTH, ITS BREATH~ \n\nTruth far more includes \nThan most men deem who would deem all things theirs. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxxvii. \n\nTRUTH LIVING THROUGH CONCEALMENT \n\nFact is, the truth in the world, like a fox on a farm, \nhas been forced to hide in order to live; so finding it \nalways involves finding out what has been kept in. \n\nThe Ranch Girl, i. \n\nTRUTH, PEDDLING \n\nWhatever be his energy, no man can make a fortune \npeddling truth. The Two Paths, iii. \n\nTRUTH, RULING AND LEADING \n\nWhere truth moved on, tho\' few might know it, \nTo rule by the meek and to lead by the poet. \n\nLove and Life, lvii. \n\nTRUTH, SEARCH FOR \n\nYes, truth there is \xe2\x80\x94 I long have thought \xe2\x80\x94 \nOne finds, when he has merely sought. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubling, xxxvi. \n\nNo search for the truth with a willing mind \n\nIs a search for what one is willing to find. \n\nBut a search for the willing of all mankind. \n\nWho seek but this, though many may leave them \n\nAnd loss of all in the home may grieve them. \n\nAt last may slowly learn to trace \n\nFair traits of the spirit in each new face. \n\nLove and Life, XLIX. \n\nTRUTH SEEKING \n\nThe truth would seem too cheap, if brought \nTo souls that ne\'er for it had sought. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxxi. \n\nTRUTH, THE WINE OF MIND \n\nIt may be late in life for us to get what makes the \nbody young, but not so of the mind. When worn by \nwork, no wine should bring it better cheer than truth. \n\nOn Detective Duty, i. \n\nTRUTH TO MANHOOD \n\nWhatever the mission of life may be. \n\nLet love keep true, and let thought keep freC; \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 405 \n\nAnd never, whatever may cause the plan, \nEnlarge the calHng to lessen the man. \n\nThe cut of a coat, \n\nCant chatter\'d by rote, \nA priestly or princely state remote \n\nFrom the ties that bind \n\nA man to mankind. \nAre a clog and a curse to spirit and mind; \nFor God, who made us, made only a man, \nNo arms of a snob, no shield of a clan. \nFar better a friend that is friendly to God, \nThan a sycophant kissing a ribbon or rod. \n\nWhatever the Mission of Life may he. \n\nTRUTH TO SELF {see FRANK and FRANKNESS) \n\nHave your say. \nWhether you blame or applaud, \nI the behest of my soul obey, \nJust as it came from God. \n\nMusician and Moralizer. \n\nTRUTH TO SPIRIT \n\nBut why should he so suffer! \xe2\x80\x94 I half think \nIn truth to spirit there is that which makes \nAll earth its enemy. \n.... Yet conquers it. \n\nColumbus, I., 3. \n\nTRUTH vs. COURTESY \n\nI fear \nTo court with too much courtesy the truth \nThat but to be truth bids us oft be curt \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nDante, 11., i. \n\nTWILIGHT \n\nWhere evening shadows lie reclined at close of day, ^ \nAll the world grows more attractive, veil\'d in twi- \nlight\'s guise of gray; \nFor, in dim relief, its outlines woo our wonder and \nsurmise. A Life in Song: Dreaming, 11. \n\nTYRANNY, ITS OWN PERPETUATOR \n\nWe men ar.e trained in government \nAs well as manners. And the curse of force \nIs that its own mean methods keep alive \nIts first excuse for being. Tyranny \n\n\n\n406 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nMay make of chaos order; but, when throned, \n\nKnows not a subject that is not a slave. \n\nWould one of those o\'er whom my brother ruled. \n\nHave bent the knee to an authority \n\nNot ermined in the old familiar guise \n\nOf arbitrariness? Columbus, v., 2. \n\nTYRANT \n\nO ye masters and oppressors, ye who flout what poets do. \nKeen ye are, to treat as dreams the things these \n\ndreamers deem are true. \nDreams they are, forsooth, for men, when wide awake \n\nto gains of earth. \nSelfish here and there suspicious, all assail each other\'s \n\nworth. \nEach a tyrant where he dare be, crowds his neighbor \n\nfrom his path. \nWhining then for laws to limit and restrain his neigh- \nbor\'s wrath. \nWhining till he find a tyrant, who with acts that goad \n\nand bind, \nFitly bodies forth the tyrant whom he serves in his \n\nown mind. A Life in Song: Watching, x. \n\nNo tyrant ever triumphed yet \nBut first came cowards cringing to be trod on. \n\nDante, in., 2. \n\nUNCONSCIENTIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS \n\nWhen a man becomes unconscientious, the best \nthing you can do for him \xe2\x80\x94 eh? \xe2\x80\x94 is to make him un- \nconscious? Where Society Leads, i. \n\nUNDERSTAND \n\nAt times, us men who think we understand him \nHe welcomes but like strangers pushing in \nThe front door of one\'s house before they knock. \n\nDante, i., 2. \nUNDERSTOOD (see misunderstood) \nYou think I craved their cheering? No, not that. \nI only want the best I have within \nTo be made better and believed, and then \nReceived by those about me. Idem. \n\nUNDRESS OF MEN WHEN WITH WOMEN \n\nA house is one thing, and a camp another. In one, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 407 \n\nmen lay aside their working guise; but in the other \nthey must keep it on. Not strange it shocks a shy \nman\'s modesty to meet with ladies in what custom \ncalls undress! He likes to seem to hold them dear; \nnot treat them as if he were cheapening them. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, 11. \n\nUNEXPECTED, AN ELEMENT OF ENJOYMENT \n\nThere is nothing a circus cheers more than a man \nwho, in riding a horse, appears to be thrown, and is \nnot. The Ranch Girl, i. \n\nUNIFORMS OF MILITIA \n\n. . Why is it that militiamen enlist? \n\n. . To wear their uniforms? \n\n. . Just for the looks. \n\n. . They fight for that? \n^ . . Fight well, because of it. It makes them \nformidable. Dressed alike, they look like one big \ncreature; if they wore no uniforms would look like \nmany small ones. Tuition for her Intuition, ill. \n\nUNSOPHISTICATED GIRLS \n\nGirls unsophisticated are like bees : \nThey buzz for all, and yet sip all their sweets \nFrom the first flowery lips that open to them. \n\nHaydn, xix. \n\nUPSHOT \n\nBut now that the hour drew near in which to find \nout what would be the result of it, there was present \nto his consciousness a vague and sickening feeling, \nsimilar to what a boy has when, for the first time, he \nhas ended loading up a gun, and is about to fire it off. \nHe is not entirely certain whether the gun will hit its \naim, kick back at himself, or end in a general explosion ; \nthough, whatever is to be the upshot, he has braced \nhimself for the attempt, and is relieved to think that \nthe time has come to give the experiment vent. \n\nModern Fishers of Men, 1. \n\nUSE \n\nWe live our lives for use; if men misuse us, \nFar better so than that we lose all use! \n\nThe Aztec God, v. \n\n\n\n408 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nUTILITY \n\nThink not that every leaf that sprouts in spring \nMust be a stem straight-pointed toward a flower; \nThat every bud must bring a blossom-nest \nIn which to hatch and home a future fruit. \nFull many a leaf can only catch the shower \nAnd quench the dry limb\'s thirst; full many a bud \nGrow bright alone as might a short-lived spark \nAglow to show some source of kindled fragrance. \n\nBerlin Mountain. \n\nVANITY AND DECEIT \n\nAh, nothing like a she-hand, skill\'d in needles, \n\nTo prick men\'s vanity, and gown the hurt \n\nIn vain disguises ! Columbus, iv., i. \n\nVERSE {see POEMS, POET and poetry) \n\nWhere heedless ears \nAre disenchanted oft of all distaste \nBy words men chant in verse whose music seems \nTo pulse and pant like living blood and breath, \nOr leave the nervy lines like breezes blown \nFrom silence into song-land, as they cross \niEolian chords; \xe2\x80\x94 who in a world like this \nWould not wish all the current of his thought \nTo flow to speech amid these waves of rhythm? \nMore swiftly and more surely thus, perchance. \nThe truth that wells from him may clear the space \nBetween his own and other souls, and swell \nThe stream of truth which flows from each for all. \n\nA Life in Song: Prelude. \n\nVERSE AND LABOR \n\nAll the measures of your verse may show \nHow sweet can be the echoes waked anon \nBy labor\'s ringing anvil. \n\nIdeals Made Real, Liii. \nVICE {see CRIMES and sin) \nAt first, I shrank from life so mean; \nAnd oft would blush when I had seen \nHow man could boast, yet be unclean; \nBut, oh, I feel, as weeks wear on. \nVice, oft unveil\'d, appears not wan, \nAnd stings of sin wear blunt anon: \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 409 \n\nOne learns to know with little fear \nHow seldom love and life appear \nFull wedded in this lower sphere. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, x. \n\nVICE, WEAKENING ONE\'s DEFENSES \n\n.... The way to get the better of a man is to \nattack him at his worst. \n\n.... Suppose you fail to find his worst? What \nhappens then? You meet a man who drinks, and you \ncan drug him; or gambles, you can fool him as your \ndupe; or sports with women, gown them as decoys; \nbut if he have no vices, as a rule, he wears a mail whose \nevery joint is covered. On Detective Duty, ill. \n\nVICES, INFLUENCE OF MEN\'s AND WOMEN\'s \n\nMen\'s vices, as we know, lead men astray; but, fuse \nthem with a woman\'s natural charms, and you in- \ncrease their power to tempt ten-fold. A woman doing \njust the thing that man does can play the devil in a \nsense impossible for him. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, 11. \n\nVICTORY \n\nI know how deep and dark the vale \n\nWhere some, fair fortune\'s heights to scale, \n\nEquipp\'d with sword and shield and mail. \n\nHave found the power to wound the wrong, \n\nAnd dash aside its lances long. \n\nAnd press between its yielding throng; \n\nTill all men wonder\' d at the fight \n\nWhose brunts had made their mail so bright \n\nThat older glory shunn\'d its light. \n\nAnon, triumphant o\'er the wrong. \n\nAnd thron\'d above earth\'s cheering throng, \n\nAs chosen chiefs of all the strong, \n\nBehold, they stand where honor dwells, \n\nAnd earth with pride their story tells, \n\nNor envy evermore dispels \n\nTheir joy that swells at victory\'s bells. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xvi. \n\nVIEWS DIVINE \n\nThe views divine, with which such souls are bless\'d, \nAs, always looking up, forget to earn \n\n\n\n410 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nEarth\'s praise, because of joy in heaven\'s to which \nthey ttirn. A Life in Song: Daring, xxxvii. \n\nVILEST \n\nThere are times when the vilest of men disguises \nHis foulness in forms that love most prizes; \nBut alas! his gracious and graceful gait \nThe vilest of men takes on too late. \nIt never appears like a natural trait. \nNor long, I deem, will his mien cajole \n\nThose finding the whole \nOf the sweet in his coating and not in the soul. \nWho tastes that dainty, alas, but gnashes \nAt apples of Sodom! \xe2\x80\x94 he bites into ashes. \nAs well pursue a will-o\'wisp\'s flare! \xe2\x80\x94 \nHis fire of devotion is all in the air. \nAs well touch a carcass! \xe2\x80\x94 those pulsings avow\'d \nAre worms that go crawling round under a shroud. \nNo soul is within him our soul to accost. \nHis might, not right, of repentance is lost. \nThe glut of the senses, like vultures above \nA life that is dead, leaves nothing to love. \n\nLove and Life, liv. \n\nVILENESS OCCASIONING GOODNESS \n\nDo you know that goodness is a growth that springs \nfrom seed, and seed grows finest sometimes from a \nsoil when at its vilest? The Two Paths, iii. \n\nNay, tho\' my transient look went wrong, my feet. \nHave followed righteousness. Ah, sire, you know \nSome think the only harvests heaven can find. \nUnfold from germs dropped near enough to hell \nTo fear its heat and grow away from it. \n\nThe Aztec God, iii. \n\nVILLAIN, AS COMPANION \n\nSuch a villain, that his daintiest act \nOf kindness is a counterfeited coin \nWith which he chaffers and intends to cheat I \nIf I were drowning, I would spurn to grasp \nHis hand, if it would draw me near himself. \nBetter to die at once, when washed and clean, \nThan catch contagion and live on defiled. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 411 \n\nVIRTUE, ONE \n\nThis heart of mine were heavy were it not \nMade Hght and bright by eyes that can detect, \nBeneath all veils disguising what it is, \nIts one sole virtue. Columbus, 11., i. \n\nVISIONARY \n\nA visionary man produces visions; \n\nAnd in the world that is, men want what is. \n\nIdem, I., 3. \nVOICE (see tones) \nThe aged soldier\'s well kept, youthful voice, \nThe ringing echo of a singing heart, \nCharm\'d all, like chimings of the old church bells. \nWhich, sweet in summer, yet still sweeter seem. \nWhen peal\'d amid the winter\'s wind-whirl\'d snow. \n\nA Life in Song: Note i. \nNo wealth and rank belong to me. \nBut yet, where thought and word are free, \nThe voice alone a power may be. \nAnd rule the world by singing. \n\nA Song on Singing. \n\nVOICE, QUALITY OF \n\nAnd such a voice, too, ugh, ugh ! One would fancy \nher bom and cradled out here on a ranch, and forever \nasleep on it, catching cold, and every night growing \nhoarser by snoring. The Ranch Girl, ill. \n\nVOICE, TREMOR IN \n\nThat tremor in the voice \nThat seems to make the soul\'s pulse audible. \n\nA Life in Song: Note iii. \n\nVOICE vs. APPEARANCE \n\nMere sheep \nWould not be driven by another sheep \nThough clothed in bear-skin, could they only hear \nHis old familiar bleat. Columbus, iii., 2. \n\nVOTES, GETTING \n\nIn getting votes, like getting fish at sea, no one can \nhope to know what fills the net, or leave out anything, \nhowever foul, \'till all the catch has been drawn in, not \nso? Tuition for her Intuition, 11. \n\n\n\n412 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nVOTES, GIVEN FOR EXPECTED FAVORS \n\nWhen men give us votes, \nThey lie in wait to have their gifts returned, \xe2\x80\x94 \nTo wrest from us an undeserved reward, \nOr brand us ingrates whom all friends desert. \n\nDante, ii., 2. \n\nvow (see promise) \nThe soul should conquer nature; but this means \nThat spirits all should claim their rights, \xe2\x80\x94 be lords \nOf forms that spring from earth. But are they so \nWhen by a vow they swear to serve a form, \nAnd don the life and livery of a slave? \n\nHaydn, xli. \n\nvoyage of life {see lives) \nOn the scenes my gaze I fix\'d then. \xe2\x80\x94 In the first, there \n\nmet my eye \nFigures of a youth, and angel pointing out the head- \nlands high \nOf a land of peerless grandeur past an ocean wide and \n\nlone. \nIn the next, near harbors lured the youth to shores \n\nwhere wrecks were strown. \nNext, he sail\'d o\'er rough seas bravely; next, did drift \n\nbecalm\'d awhile; \nNext, flew on where fairest breezes blew toward many \n\na flowery isle. \nNext, great clouds were sweeping toward him, and \n\nhis frame was bent with fear ; \nBut the last scene show\'d a port with heaven-high \n\nmounts that he drew near. \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, xxxi. \n\nvoyager \n\nHow far his views \nReach\'d round the world, tho\' ne\'er a voyager! \nFor one may see this life and stay at home. \nBetween two walls imagination oft \nFinds truth that world-wide travellers never know; \nNor does it always make men wise, I deem. \nThat they have napp\'d in Nice or roam\'d in Rome. \n\nA Life in Song : Note vi. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 413 \n\nWAGE VS. SHARE {see SHARING PROFITS) \n\nThis new reform \nThat seeks to make the server and the served \nWalk hand in hand, while wage gives way to share, \nAnd, furthering all men to their furthest due, \nThus lifts the low and lost. Ideals Made Real, Lxvii. \n\nWAITING \n\nA seer should know that truth, like morn, comes on \n\nBy slow degrees, enlightening every sight; \nAnd, tho\' he wakes the world it dawns upon. \n\nHis faith should wait till souls can see the light. \n\n\'T is he that waves his own torch in the night \nWho feels that he must force on men its glare ; \n\nAnd, though, ere dawn, this seems the one thing \nbright, \nIf taken for the sun, it leads men where \nTheir leader\'s oil bums out, and they themselves \ndespair. A Life in Song: Daring, lxxi. \n\nWALKING \n\nI have walk\'d with her ; and my nerves have sway \'d \nAs if each were the chord of a harp she play\'d. \nAnd every pulse were a note to greet \nThe soft low beat of her firm young feet. \n\nIdem, Loving, xi. \n\nWAR \n\nOh, what a whirlwind\'s wave-lashed sea is war! \n\nThen hate breaks loose to over-flood the world, \n\nHurling all love-built order upside down \n\nTill weal is drowned in darkness of the deep, \n\nAnd wreckage rides the crest. \xe2\x80\x94 They might have known \n\nThey would be tricked. War\'s tactics all are acts \n\nOf treachery \xe2\x80\x94 the one sole sphere where he \n\nWho does the worst thing does the best, here faith \n\nFalls crushed beneath the trampling foot of force; \n\nAnd fair means trip, trailed mireward after foul. \n\nThe Aztec God, i. \nWhen sounds of war awoke. \nAnd wide as earth a vision broke \nOf sword and gun in flash and smoke, \nAnd flags o\'er freemen springing, \n\nA Song on Singing. \n\n\n\n414 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWAR FOR FREEDOM \n\nThese clouds of war break like a thunder-clap \nAmid clear skies of summer; but will bring \nOur plant of freedom to a finer fruitage. \n\nCecil the Seer, ill., 2. \nO ye who see but lust for wealth or rule \nWhere love would end one more wrong\'d people\'s \n\nthrall, \nAs your sires ended yours, how blind are ye! \nWho says there is no God is no more fool \nThan he who hears not God\'s voice in each call \nTo loose man\'s bonds and let the oppress\'d go free. \n\nExpansion. \n\nWARFARE ON EARTH PERPETUAL \n\nTo men whose purposes, like ours, push on \nTo work out high designs, all life on earth \nIs girt with warfare, where the light of heaven \nThat brings us each new day\'s enlightenment, \nContends with darkness, and there is no peace. \nOur very bodies are but phantoms formed \nOf that same darkness that we must oppose, \nAnd we must fight, if nothing else, ourselves. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., 2. \n\nWEAKLING \n\nA weakling soon to die, \nWho, if train\'d in-doors, might fail to make my friend- \nship with the sky ! \n\nA Life in Song: Dreaming, vi. \n\nWEAKNESS \n\nYour weakness is your wickedness. \n\nHaydn, xxxix. \n\nWEALTH, ARISTOCRACY OF \n\n.... Has she been trying to sit down on you again? \n\n.... Yes; and I never realized before how heavy \na lot of money in one\'s pocket can make a person. \n\n.... A chance for you to do missionary work, \nthen! Did you try to give her an uplift? \n\n.... Missionary work! I felt like a butterfly in \na bog trying to teach a worm to use wings. The more \nyou get the worm to wiggling the deeper down it \nsinks. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 415 \n\n.... There\'s one blessed thing about it \xe2\x80\x94 for her. \nShe never thinks of you as the butterfly or of herself \nas the worm, but vice versa. \n\nWhat Money Can\'t Buy, iii. \n\nWEAPON \n\nWise men, when they fear a fight, \nWill never lend one weapon to a foe. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nWED \n\nSome women, once wed, \nDrop the smile from their face with the veil they have \n\nshed. Love and Life, xxxiii. \n\nMen do not often wed their own ideals. \n.... I know it. I have thought it through; and yet, \nWithout that, life can have some brightness left. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., i. \n\nWEDDED {see MARRIAGE and matrimony) \nAnd one would be the shelter\' d tree \n\nWhose roots resist the blast ; \nAnd one the fruitful vine would be \nThat lives to clasp it fast. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xix. \n\nO darling, can it be this frame \nIs mine in truth as well as name? \nMy heart is trembling, love, to share. \nAnd make thy trembling hope its care. \n\nWhat is it brims these lips of thine? \nIs it a draft of wine divine? \nO surely never earthly gains \nCould thrill so sweetly through the veins. \nCome near me, love, for I would be \nForever still more near to thee; \nAnd while our lips and arms entwine \nLet all I am or own be thine. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, XLIX. \n\nWhen birds at morn are singing, \n\nAnd wake me from my rest. \nAll heaven above me ringing \n\nSeems echoed in my breast; \nYet not to answer back the birds, \n\n\n\n4i6 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nNay, love, but thy warm touch and words, \nWhich truly bring the heaven to me \nBecause I wake to live with thee. \n\nAt noontime, when my labor \n\nThat toils from height to height \n\nHas distanced many a neighbor, \nAnd all my skies are bright; \n\nAll, all seem nothing, till I find \n\nMyself within thine arms entwined, \n\nAnd thy dear lips assuring me \n\nThat all I gain is gain\'d for thee. \n\nWhen night falls dark and dreary, \n\nOr loss has check\' d anon \nMy powers that worn and weary \n\nRefuse to labor on. \nE\'en then I ne\'er can mourn the cost \nOf toilsome days and labor lost. \nWhile night and weariness to me \nBring dreams that all are fill\'d with thee. \n\nIdem, L. \n\nTwin lives have we, both rooted in one soil. \nAnd growing toward one hope for which we toil ; \nTwin lives have we, both branches of one vine, \nAnd all that threatens thy life threatens mine. \nA Life in Song: Loving, Lil. \n\nYou true Pygmalion, make a maid ! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBut all maids grow to us, when wedded once; \n\nFor practical, they are, far more than men, \n\nAnd bow to powers that be. Though caught, like \n\nfish \nThrough bait they crave not ere men tender it. \nThey cleave to love once offer\'d them; nor turn. \nLike male-friends, clinging \xe2\x80\x94 true as iron, forsooth \xe2\x80\x94 \nTo each new stronger magnet ! Were they thus, \nOur homes might hardly hold our rivals there. \n\nIdeals Made Real, LVI. \n\nWEDDED, INFIDELITY IN THE \n\nSoon, bird-like, flitting from homes unblest. \nTheir singing is all outside of their nest. \n\nLove and Life, xxxiii. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 417 \n\nWEDDING-DAY \n\nO wedding-day, thou flower most rare \n\nOf all that burst from bulbs of night, \nLift o\'er my eyes thy petals fair, \n\xe2\x96\xa0 Nor shed for aye thy leaves of light, \nNor let them e\'er decay. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, XLVii. \n\nWEDDING JOURNEY \n\nIt often might turn out as well to take one\'s wedding \njourney before, not after, the church has shut one out \nfrom hearing, till he or his mate are dead, any more \nof the wedding music. The Ranch Girl, i. \n\nWEDGE, AS A SYMBOL OF INTERFERENCE \n\n.... Strange world this! One could know it \nwhirled without the scientists \xe2\x80\x94 it jars life so! You \ndraw your plan, you build, you put together two \nthings that seem just fitted to each other; a third \ndrops like a wedge between them \xe2\x80\x94 ugh! \n\n.... At times the wedge seems brought there by \nthe builder. \n\n.... A wedge is part of all who push themselves \nsuccessfully. \n\n.... Some think to reach his aims, half earth\'s as \nwell as heaven\'s, a man should be in part, at least, a \npartner of the devil. The Two Paths, 11. \n\nWEEDS vs. ROSES \n\nIf when we walk, we bring our weeds with us, \nWe cannot hope our air will smell of roses. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\nWEEST \n\nThen I saw a stranger marvel: \xe2\x80\x94 smaller than each \n\nmate so small. \nFloated near the weest wonder one could ever see at all. \nFirst it seem\'d a passing snow-flake; then repaid my \n\nsteadfast gaze \nWith the outlines of a skiff there, fill\'d with cheery, \n\nfilm-like fays; \nAnd up through the shifting atoms of the air that \n\nparted us \nOozed in tiny tones a ditty, and the lines were worded \n\nthus : A Life in Song: Dreaming, xx. \n\n27 \n\n\n\n4i8 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWEST, THE MIDDLE \n\nHe left the south, and wander\'d through the west, \n\nWhere, Hke some Eden\'s garden form\'d anew, \nThe Mississippi\'s plains reward man\'s rest \n\nWith boons that elsewhere to his toil are due. \nThere sods are flower-beds, needing not a florist; \n\nThere every field a vale where moisture flows; \nAnd every barren swamp, or cliff, or forest, \n\nA mere mirage in clouds where labor finds no foes. \nA Life in Song: Serving, lxxi. \n\nWHIM \n\nHis brain seems like a bat\'s at blazing noon \n\nThat works but to work out some inward whim \n\nAnd aims at nothing. Dante, i., 2. \n\nWHIMS {see deeds) \n\nOur wishes and ways are heirs of our whims, \n\nAnd our footsteps follow our eyes. \n\nLove and Life, xvii. \nWe both stood round, scarce loath \nTo note his own wild set inflating him \nWith well-blown whims that swell\'d his empty pride. \nForsooth, the better bubble he could be. \nThe better hope we two could have of what \nShould blow him from us. Ideals Made Real, 11. \n\nWHITTLED \n\nThe problem wore me thin. \nMy very wits, indeed, seem\'d whittled off \nTo point and probe it. \n\nIdeals Made Real, lx. \n\nWHY \n\nWithin our souls is much of yearning \nThat patient thoughts are slowly turning \nTo deepest and to broadest learning \nThat cannot answer back a "why?" \nLike sailors, when they watch a sky \nWhere fogs, offscourings of the sea, \nBecloud their sight, so often we \nMust guess our reckonings, it may be. \nThen ye who with us onward sail. \nAnd watch our ways, with faces pale, \nAnd, hissing fiercely as the gale, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 419 \n\nOur right of reticence deny, \n\nYe force us, if we must reply, \n\nTo make your fears increase or lie. \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xxvill. \n\nWICKEDNESS VS. WISDOM \n\nWhatever wisdom leaves wickedness in some form \nhas entered. Fundamentals of Education. \n\nWIFE, THE \n\nAh, like the sky encircling the sea. \nEmbracing his thoughts wherever they be, \n\nShe rests above \n\nHis life with a love \nThat binds him fast, yet leaves him free. \nToward her his thoughts in fancies rise, \nLike mists aglow in the sunset skies, \n\nAnd like nights here \n\nWhen the stars appear. \nHis gloom gives way at the glance of her eyes. \n\nWould God her heart could ever abide, \nA heaven for his heart\'s heaving tide, \n\nStill calm above \n\nHis restless love, \nAnd all the storms that over it glide! \n\nThe Wife. \nWILL (see broad) \nLike wrecks that up and down are toss\'d. \nTill plunged beneath the waves and lost. \nHow aimlessly, through blame and praise. \nThrough depths of nights and heights of days, \nWe men are swept along our ways ! \nBut have our lives no nobler state \nThan drifting thus with tides of fate? \xe2\x80\x94 \nNo power to stem them, while they feel \nThe filling sail, the whirling wheel. \nThe steadfast helm that guides the keel? \nTho\' oft our course be turn\'d about \nBy wind and wave of hope and doubt, \nCome all our motives from without? \nDoes not some impulse oft begin \nWith mind\'s propelling power within? \n\n\n\n420 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nIs not the soul, whose low depths thrill, \nAn offspring of perfection still; \nAnd Godlike by creative will? \n\nA Life in Song: Doubting, xv. \n\nWILLOW SWITCH \n\n.... You never break a boulder with a willow \nswitch. \n\n.... A switch might crawl beneath the boulder, \nand dislodge it, and make it fall. Then it would break \nitself. On Detective Duty, i. \n\nWILL-POWER \n\nThere is not \nThe littlest finger of the littlest nerve \nIn all my frame here, that could summon power \nTo move where you moved not. \n.... Ah, then your will \n\nIs mightier than you deemed it? You can rise \nBut when you wish to rise? The haunts of heaven \nNeed not have walls to keep you out of them? \n\nCecil the Seer, ii., 2. \n\nWILL-POWER MUST BE APPARENT IN TRAINING \n\nYou know the danger for a man who trains wild \nbeasts, if accident give them a chance to taste his \nblood. So sometimes with the man who trains, in \nschool or camp or factory, those animals that we term \nmen. His will is what directs this training ; and when \nhe lets what fills his heart leak out, they note his loss \nof will-power far more than presence of his love. A \nwise man never lets his veins be drained of life-force to \naugment another\'s force till sure that this will not be \nturned against himself. The Little Twin Tramps, i. \n\nWINDOW-BLINDS \n\nYou do not fear \nInsulting nature when it comes to bless you \nWith window-blinds barred tight, as if the day \nHad brought not light but lances? \n\nDante, ii., i. \n\nWINE, WHITE \n\nWhite, not so? Its hue \n\nWill fit the sunny air, and make us think \n\nOf drinking-in the sunshine! Columbus, I., I. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 421 \n\nWING, ON THE \n\nA spirit conscious of a higher mission \n\nIs usually on the wing. Columbus, 11., 3. \n\nWINNING LOVE \n\nBut whenever the good of all good comes, \n\nThat most is worth possessing, \nThe feast of which all else are crumbs, \n\nThe viand of which the dressing; \n\nWhen comes true love that to gain, after all, \nIs the one thing in life worth doing, \n\nMen think it will yield to a beck or a call. \nAnd does not need pursuing. \n\nAh, fools, as little of good we earn \nBy ease on earth as by sinning; \nA love for which we are wise to yearn \n\xe2\x80\xa2 Can only be won by the winning. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxxvi. \n\nWISDOM \n\nWisdom is not that knowledge of the world which \nthe eye receives, which can be pictured upon its pupil. \nIt is the methods of the world fused into thought, often \nwith untold sufferings, \xe2\x80\x94 the image of the actual as \nphotographed \xe2\x80\x94 amid the glowing fervor of experience, \nburnt in upon the living tissues of the soul, and then \nkept there after the transient din and smoke of words \nand deeds have vanished. \n\nSuggestions for the Spiritual Life, v. \n\nHe paused the sober vineyard\'s toil to see. \nIf wisdom came, let go what came before it : \n\'T is no aristocrat to need a pedigree. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, lviii. \n\nWISH AND WISDOM \n\nThus, like two cowards, clinging each to each. \nWeak wish nudged wisdom, and weak wisdom wish. \nWho gets on better? Ideals Made Real, xiii. \n\nWIT and WITS \nHow much of good is often slain \nBy small, sharp shafts of wit, without restraint \nShot forth in sport, and lodged where one hears no \ncomplaint. A Life in Song: Daring, xxxviii. \n\n\n\n422 A POETS CABINET \n\nThe light mind is the bright mind. Wit and wits \nAre twins ; without the other each is lacking. \n\nColumbus, II., 2. \nA student of human nature, or lunacy \xe2\x80\x94 much the \nsame thing \xe2\x80\x94 finds out that those whose wits bubble \nover the first are the first to lose their wits; that \nthe mind whose thought comes first as a joke to be \ncracked, is the mind that is first to be cracked itself. \n\nThe Ranch Girl, i. \n\nWITHIN \n\nIt is within that love\'s warm springs begin, \nWhose genial flow makes fertile all about. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, lxxxvii. \n\nWOE \n\nMen meet woe \nAs moaning orchards meet an April blast ; \nTheir wounded limbs that first sway to and fro \n\nAre red with blossoms, when the storm has past. \nSo sometimes trouble keeps the feelings younger \n\nThan ever joy could. Many souls they say. \nDeprived of light, for simple sunbeams hunger, \nAnd robb\'d of rest, contract no mildew of decay. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, lxxxiv. \n\nWOES, DEADLIEST \n\nThose watching death-beds, mark \nThat souls, when dying, ere above they spring,^ \nBreathe deep, then pass away. And so with minds. \nWhen come the deadliest woes. Down deep in thought \nI scarce had deem\'d that aught from hell could roil \nSuch dregs of bitterness long undisturb\'d. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xxix. \n\nWOMAN \n\n.... What, pray, is a woman? \n\n.... What \n\nIs made to woo a man. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., I. \n.... That woman\'s gowns \n\nAre always clinging to you \xe2\x80\x94 look as if \nShe thought to make a woman of yourself. \nConfound their sex ! \n.... Be not so hard on them. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 423 \n\n.... No, they are soft, \n\nMore soft than cats, and mew, too, ay and scratch. \nHave seen their bHsters! ay, have seen a man \nWhose very soul had been scratched out by one. \n\nColumbus, III., I. \n\nWOMAN AND WAR \n\nMy throbbing heart \nWould spend its blood in blushes for my shame \nTill it forgot to give my being life, \nIf, by a single sigh, I durst keep back \nOne soldier from the ranks of this just war. \n\nCecil the Seer, iii., 2. \n\nWOMAN AS A man\'s FOE \n\nA man need not have vices of his own to make him \nsqueal when squeezed in a woman\'s vise. Remember \nSampson. Strength and steel count little against \nthe subtle weapons of a woman. \n\nOn Detective Duty, iii. \n\nWOMAN, AS A RULER {see FEELING) \n\nIt is not \nIn nature that a man obey a woman. \nAnd human ways, when not in nature, bode \nInhuman tampering somewhere. He should know \nThat none can turn to she the pronoun he \nWithout an 5 that puts a hiss before it. \n\nColumbus, III., I. \n\nWOMAN, HER ELECTRIC TOUCH \n\nThat in men which yields to the electric touch of a \nwoman is in their metal. No ordinary tempering \nsaves it. On Detective Duty, in. \n\nWOMAN, HER FUNCTION \n\n.... What can woman do? \xe2\x80\x94 what starts with her? \n.... No matter what. Men sow the seed, you think. \nHow could it grow, were it to find no soil? \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nWOMAN, HER MIND VS. MAN\'s \n\n"And what," she sigh\'d, "is this \n"That men-minds do so well? \xe2\x80\x94 discriminate? \nYet even I, dull woman, I can see \nBrains differ in their grain. But men, forsooth, \njFeel so much matter lodged in their brains \xe2\x80\x94 eh? \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\n424 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThat they weigh mind like matter in the lump, \nAnd judge of character, as if \'t were clay: \xe2\x80\x94 \nThis forms a man \xe2\x80\x94 has wisdom, firmness, power; \nAnd that, a maid \xe2\x80\x94 is foolish, fickle, frail, \nAnd never can be wholly safe, forsooth, \nExcept when subject to a man, her lord!" \n\nIdeals Made Real, x. \n\nWOMAN SUPERFLUOUS WHERE NOT NEEDED \n\nA woman, like a merchant\'s wares, can never seem \ntoo dear where she is wanted. But in a place where \nthere is no demand for her \xe2\x80\x94 well, one might say she \nmight be shelved. Tuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nWOMAN, WHAT A MAN LIKES IN \n\n.... Is it kind in him to get you to do things that \nBernard wouldn\'t like? \n\n.... Why should everything I do be determined \nby what Bernard likes or dislikes? \n\n.... Because he\'s such a good fellow! \xe2\x80\x94 so fine \ngrained! \xe2\x80\x94 such a clear complexion! \xe2\x80\x94 such white \nteeth! \xe2\x80\x94 Why, a moment ago, when he came in here, \nand was standing next to me, his breath was just as \nsweet, just as free from the smell of whiskey or to- \nbacco, as a man always likes to find a girl\'s when he \ncomes near her, and dreams that, possibly, in certain \ncircumstances, he might dare to kiss her ! \n\n.... {snatching the cigarette from her mouth and \nthrowing it into the fireplace) . Bah ! \xe2\x80\x94 It\'s mean of you, \nall the same. Where Society Leads, ii. \n\nWOMAN, WHEN REJECTING A MAN \n\nI swore \'t was ever so \nWith all her sex. Worth never weigh\'d a straw. \nA very satyr could outwoo a sage. \xe2\x80\x94 \nWeak woman ! \xe2\x80\x94 yet she must be weak \xe2\x80\x94 ^in brain \nOr body. Better to be weak in brain! \nShe then, perchance, might serve a husband\'s thought. \nAnd wisdom\'s voice might rule the family! \nBut were her moods too strong to serve his thought. \nShe might serve that in him which could not \n\nthink. \xe2\x80\x94 \nTo wed she-brains, a man should seek to be \nCommended as a fool! Ideals Made Real, xxxix. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 425 \n\nWOMANHOOD \n\nFaith always waits \nOn perfect womanhood. Show men a form \nWhose outward symmetry of nature frames \nA symmetry of soul, whose pure-hued face \nComplexions pureness of the character, \nWhose clear, sweet accents outlet clear, sweet thought, \nWhose burning eyes flash flame from kindled love, \nAnd all whose yielding gracefulness of mien \nBut fitly robes all grace-moved sympathy, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAy, find a soul whose beauty of the shield \nBut keeps more bright the blade of brain because \nOf what seems merely ornament, \xe2\x80\x94 to her \nAll men will yield a spirit\'s loyalty. \nThe fairy-goddess of the world of fact, \nDream-sister of the brotherhood of deed, \nAn angel minister as well as queen. \nThe splendor of her station Hfts her high \nBut like the sun that she may light us all. \n\nColumbus, II., 3. \n\nFor that so gentle, babelike sufferer, \nI lost all fear; and, true to womanhood, \nI loved him more for low and helpless moans \nThan ever I had loved him when in health. \n\nHaydn, xi. \n\nwoman\'s absorption when in love \n.... What a fire divine \n\nMust blaze within a woman\'s heart, who deems \nThat her one form illumined by its light \nCasts all things else in shade! \n\n.... Do men love less? \n\n.... Nay, but have eyes for things they do not love. \n\nThe Aztec God, 11. \n\nwoman\'s assurance \nTrue to her sex, unanswer\'d yet assured, \nThe woman left. Ideals Made Real, xii. \n\nwoman\'s character revealed in private \nStrong character that can convert and use another\'s \nthought and feeling for one\'s own, is often shown by \nwomen more in private than in public. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\n\n\n426 A POETS CABINET \n\nwoman\'s grief, and man \nYou know no man can flinch it : woman\'s grief, \nIf there be any manhood left in him, \nWill rouse his efforts to bespeak her peace. \n\nIdeals Made Real, xviii. \nwoman\'s influence \nAnd she, a queen; alas, but, like a queen. \nWas doom\'d to hold a throne where rivals came, \nTo spy her weakness out, and wrest away \nA power that could be kept by power alone. \xe2\x80\x94 \nHow sad for woman when her hopes were based \nOn practice that must all her heart conceal. \nThat must be conquering ever or be crush\'d! \n\nIdeals Made Real, LXix. \n\nwoman\'s influence on life \nThere are a thousand things that life has need \nof that only women have the brains to bring it \xe2\x80\x94 \nthe comforts of the home, its furnishings, its food, the \ntraining of the children there, the tempering of the \nhousehold atmosphere to be congenial to the neigh- \nbors\' households. Let men control in business; only \nwomen can rule the social circle. Man may make a \nfortune, but it is the woman makes the fortune for- \ntunate in furthering friendship. \n\nTuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nwoman\'s influence on men\'s manners \nWe men are so polite that, in that f^te called life, \nwe serve what might be termed deserts to women more \noften than to men. Their temperament seems apter \nto assert the subtle law that like attracts the like. We \nmen may have the strength of steel, but women have \na magnetism stronger than all steel and draw from us \nthe thing we get from them. If they be gentle, we are \ngentlemen. If they be rude, why, we are rude ourselves. \nWould be discourtesy, forsooth, to meet them on \nterms that might not meet their approbation ! Humph , \nall our lives they keep us in our places as planets do \ntheir satellites. Idem, \n\nwoman\'s love \nTrue flames, these women flicker with the wind. \nBut use you breath enough, their natures yield. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 427 \n\nYet blow for their sakes, not for your ideals. \n\nOne seldom finds a sweetheart sweet enough \n\nTo love her suitor\'s pinings for mere whims. \n\nNay, they alone our all-in-all would be; \n\nAnd so are jealous of our male ideals. \n\nThen, too, they are creative less than we, \n\nAnd cling more to the creature, love and serve \n\nEmbodied life that may be seen and felt. \n\nYou doubt me? \xe2\x80\x94 Test it, \xe2\x80\x94 Read that rhyme you wrote. \n\nInspired by fancy. \xe2\x80\x94 Say so ; \xe2\x80\x94 still they hint \n\n"Ah, this was she, or she, whom once he loved." \n\nIdeals Made Real, lvi. \nwoman\'s thoughts \nA woman\'s thoughts are echoes, and she echoes \nThe thoughts that have been nearest his heart too \nTo whom she stands the nearest. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\nWOMEN AS CONFIDANTES \n\n.... No third is needed where one starts ex- \nchanging confidences with women. \n\n.... Not unless he wants to have a witness in \nsome future blackmail suit. The Two Paths, iii. \n\nWOMEN AS SLAVES AND MASTERS \n\nHow women love their fetters! \xe2\x80\x94 Best, perhaps! \nThey make sweet slaves, but very bitter masters. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nWOMEN, BEST ENJOYED WHEN NOT TOO TALKATIVE \n\nMost of US who have to pitch our tones against a \nwoman\'s prefer to catch them, as when playing ball, \none at a time. Tuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nWOMEN, EDUCATION OF \n\nYou know the crystal globes clairvoyants look in, \nAnd think they see as heaven sees then? \xe2\x80\x94 Some \n\nwomen \nHave crystal souls. One faces them to find \nHis thoughts divine, himself akin to God. \n\n.... If that be woman\'s nature \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 It is not, \n\nTill polished in the friction of the schools. \nWhich some think needless ; but where woman\'s mind \nHas never been made bright, the thoughts of men \nWill never flash for it. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\n\n\n428 A POETS CABINET \n\nHeaven preserve \nThe world from women rear\'d to feel but weak, \nWhose whole experience, nurtur\'d not to think, \nUnfolds in passions pert of wishes dwarf \'d, \nAfraid of truth and dodging to deceit ! \nLet loose from home, their thing that ought to think \nIs dry and hollow as a sounding-board \nBehind a tongue that, like a weather vane, \nCreaks with the windy scandal of the town \nTill endless malice make one\'s ear-drum ache. \nAt one spot hammer\'d sore, and o\'er and o\'er, \nWith humdrum gossip of surrounding naught. \nSmall gain are they, to crown our courtships grand, \nPrinked out with flowers and flattery! Wise man: \nFlowers draw the bee, and flattery the fool. \nOne stings; the other \xe2\x80\x94 Laugh not. \n\nIdeals Made Real, lvi. \n\nWOMEN, FASHIONABLE, AND CIVILIZATION \n\n.... If you have so poor an opinion of women, \nwhy did you marry one \xe2\x80\x94 or two for that matter? \xe2\x80\x94 \nwhy not marry a man? \n\n.... It was not the fashion; but, if things \nkeep on as they have been going, it may become \nso. One might be able to control an obstreperous \nboy! \n\n.... What things keep on? \n\n.... The processions that some of you women \xe2\x80\x94 \nbut, thank God, not all of you nor the most of you \xe2\x80\x94 \nare leading. \n\n.... Leading where? \n\n.... At the top and bottom of society, where, at \nboth ends, our civilization seems going to rot. \n\nWhere Society Leads, ii. \n\nWOMEN, FRIENDSHIP OF \n\nYou know it well, what friendship craves ; and these \nLight, simpering women, testing manhood\'s woof \nBy worthless nap that tickles their vanity, \xe2\x80\x94 \nO I shall wait some coming woman, I, \nWho needs no suing since in soul we suit ; \nNor ruling either. \xe2\x80\x94 Love shall rule us both. \n\nIdeals Made Real, lvi. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 429 \n\nWOMEN, LOST \n\n.... A pretty girl like that out here at night! \xe2\x80\x94 \nShe might get into trouble. \n\n..... Why?\xe2\x80\x94 Who with? \n\n.... With anyone who knows what life is worth. \n\n.... What is it worth? \n\n.... When you have bought an orange, you suck \nits juice. The rest you throw away. \n\n.... I knew you New York people did that sort of \nthing in business. \n\n.... And New York people \xe2\x80\x94 they make a busi- \nness of everything, \n\n.... Get out of men, first, all that they are worth, \nthen throw, or let them throw themselves, away? \nAnd when once thrown away, are lost forever? \n\n.... Not men, not always \xe2\x80\x94 women, though, most \nalways ! \n\n.... Why so? \n\n.... The more a thing is worth, the more it usually \nweighs ; the more it weighs the more it sinks ; the more \nit sinks, the less its likelihood to rise itself, or to be \nlifted up by others. The Two Paths, iii. \n\nWOMEN MUST BE MADE AMENABLE TO LAW \n\nThe men who let a woman start stripping them of \nproperty, and not protect themselves, would be about \nas shameless as if they let her strip them of their \nclothing. Tuition for her Intuition, i. \n\nWOMEN, POLITICAL INFLUENCE OF {see ENFRANCHISE- \nMENT) \n\nWhat we want to know is how most wisely to obtain \nthe thought that comes from women. It may not be \ntrue that suffrage is the only, or the best, way. One \nhalf the energy now spent in pushing for theoretic \nsuffrage might bring women the practical results of \nlaws they need; nor could obtaining suffrage do with- \nout the energy that needs expending now. For years, \nI lived in Washington, a place where no one votes; \nand did I want to vote? Not I. Why not? I felt \nmy rights more safe entrusted to representatives of \nothers than of those, myself included, who would have \nformed the voting population. The principle applies \n\n\n\n430 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nto all our suffrage. Subtract the women well versed \nand refined, who find the polls distasteful; then add \nup the numbers, just the opposite, of women inclined \nto move in flocks, with feeling swayed as party-friend \nor foe may urge or force, and what would follow? \xe2\x80\x94 \nYou would lessen vastly what now is much too small \nhere, \xe2\x80\x94 the proportion of well-informed and indepen- \ndent voters. You think it wise to risk results like \nthat? Idem,i. \n\nWOMEN, RUNNING AWAY FROM \n\nAlone? Alone? \xe2\x80\x94 \nWith all those maidens praying for your presence? \n.... I dodged behind a tree, then, when they left, \nCame here. \n\n.... A valiant warrior! \n\n. . . . Yes \xe2\x80\x94 with men. \n\n.... With women? \n\n.... He with her I think is valiant \n\nWho waives what would be force. \n. . . . And runs away? \n\n.... Why, yes, if elsewise he might be ungentle. \n\nThe A ztec God, iii . \n\nWONDERS \n\nWho search the world, most wonder there to see \nHow few the wonders are, where\'er they stray. \nBehold, the same fair children, wild with glee; \n\nThe same proud parent, watching where they play ; \nThe same strong men, bent downward by life\'s \ntroubles ; \nThe same sad dames with tired eyes turn\'d above ; \nThe same small graves where drop life\'s bursted \nbubbles. \nMade dark by fears of ill, and bright by hopes of \nlove. A Life in Song: Serving, lxxvi. \n\nWOODS {see music of nature) \nAway from ways where human wills outwit \nThe wisdom that has made earth what it is, \nTo where, in that true temple of the spirit. \nThe winds are whispering what men know not of. \nAnd flower and leaf are trembling like the heart \nThat feels the presence of the power divine. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 431 \n\nWORD \n\nWhere thought appeals to thought \nThe only sovereign is the wisest word, \nWhich sometimes is the last word ; \xe2\x80\x94 any way, \nIs always of the spirit, and needs not \nAccoutrements and courtesies of form \nTo prove its prestige. We can waive them, then. \nAnd let the spirit prompt us as it may. \n\nColumbus, II., 2. \nWORDS (see CALL, SPEECH and talk) \nWords are like wrinkles, external marks of internal \nmoods. Sometimes by tracing back the derivation of \na word, one may find out the mental condition that \noriginated it. Art in Theory, xvii. \n\nMore to them all than any one of these \nIs he whose words, confined not by the grave. \nStill cheer their thoughts, and guide them in their deeds, \nAnd, oft repeated to each other, keep \nAs bright his memory as do stars by night \nThe light of suns that long have sunk to rest. \n\nA Life in Song: Finale. \nMere words are wind ; nor all their storm or stress \nCan pack the air so thought cannot see through it. \n\nDante, 11., i. \nWhen sworn to enter honor\'s list. \nOf which his fellows could or would not know. \nHis frank soul merely thought the truth to show, \nBut he had stopt at words ; and earth, that yells \n\nTo cheer the gold-laced swaggerers, who but go \nUnwhipt before their trump to onset swells. \nWill stand no words in protest \xe2\x80\x94 better cap-and-bells ! \nA Life in Song: Daring, lxvii. \nLet thought-built systems fail each modern test; \nOn truth beneath all systems faith may rest. \nOn truth unshaken by earth\'s changing facts. \nInspiring pure desires and generous acts. \nWhere spirit reigns alone, and through all creeds \nImpels all good men toward the self -same deeds, \nWho learn that though their words be contrary, \nAll worthy souls have inward sympathy. \n\nIdem, Seeking, liv. \n\n\n\n432 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWithout a word \nWe walk\'d at first, like pilgrims near a shrine \nThey much revere, who, fill\'d with thrills too fine \nTo throb through words accented, satisfy \nTheir souls by feeling that the god is nigh. \n\nIdem, IX. \n\nWORDS, AS ELEMENTS OF BELIEF \n\nThe walls were always echoing back the words \nYou spoke; and no one else was let to speak. \n.... All heard what they believed, \n.... Could they do else \n\nThan to believe what they were always hearing? \xe2\x80\x94 \nDear words, how we must thank them for our faith ! \n\nCecil the Seer, ii., 2. \n\nWORDS OF TRUTH \n\nClear as light, come proofs to show \nHow the breath of truth is keener than the bayonets of \n\nits foe; \nHow the gentlest words can waken consternation and \n\ndespair ; \nThough they leave no track behind them; nor with \n\nshadows dim the air; \nDo not glisten in the sunshine ; do not thunder o\'er the \n\nplain ; \nDo not flash the cannon\'s lightning; leave no smoke to \n\nshroud the slain ; \xe2\x80\x94 \nWords of truth, re-echoed like the words of Christ, \n\nthat everywhere, \nWhen they summon powers that lurk in forms pos- \n\nsess\'d of evil there, \nMake them rend the form that held them, leave it \n\nwrithing on the ground. \nWhile their spirits fly to darkness and forgetfulness \n\nprofound. A Life in Song: Watching, iv. \n\nWORDS, PASSIONATE (see ANGER, IMPETUOUS and \n\npassion) \nThose words were but a whiff, whiff light as breath \nOne blows at flies that come to trouble him. \nAnd can it be that they? \xe2\x80\x94 I half believe \n(My words have conjured cursed deeds before) \nThe very atoms of the air, like pools, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 433 \n\nHold spawn-strown vermin-eggs ! If one but speak, \nBut break the silence ; if his breath but bear \nOne faintest puff from passionate heat within, \nLo, breaking open some accursed shell, \nIt hatches forth foul broods of venomous life \nThat come, blown backward by the changing wind, \nTo haunt him who provok\'d their devilish birth! \nBy day they sting our eyes, and make us weep; \nBy night steal through unguarded gates of sense, \nAnd sting our souls in dreams ! \xe2\x80\x94 My heart ! and you? \xe2\x80\x94 \nHow could you deem my thoughtless words to be \nThe voice of so deform\'d a wish as this? \n\nHaydn, xxxvi. \n\nWORDS THAT ARE WEAPONS \n\nTrue words alone are weapons of true thought. \n\nIf I be free to use these, I am free \n\nTo be truth\'s champion. If, to gain the place \n\nYou wish me, or to hold it, being gained, \n\nI let my tongue be tied, I live a slave. Idem. \n\nTrust not in words with wind alone to back them. \nNothing is quite so empty as the sky \nBehind a blow, when once it has blown by. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nWORDS THAT HURT \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 . We exchanged some words \n\n.... And flung them hard to make them hurt the thing \nThey hit, not so? \xe2\x80\x94 They made your faces red. \n\nDante, i., 2. \nWORDS vs. DEEDS {see DEEDS and talk) \n\nNot how men \nCan fight the air with words, but how their frames \nCan back their words with deeds that free their air \nOf all that blocks right doing, this is that \nBy which a man reveals his worth in life. \n\nIdem, II., I. \nWise men don\'t trust the words of those whose \nworks deceive. The Little Twin Tramps, iii., i. \n\nWORDS, WHEN INFLUENTIAL \n\nWords are a currency that owe their worth \nLess to their substance, often, than their source. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\ns8 \n\n\n\n434 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWORK (see FAITH and knowledge) \nThe air of heaven to-day is full of sunshine. \nShut in here do you feel it? No; none do \nBut those who journey forth to do Hfe\'s work. \n\nDante, ii., i. \n\nWORK MAKES MEN VALUE THINGS \n\nIt\'s those whose work has earned them homes who \nprize them, and will work to keep them. \n\nThe Little Twin Tramps, ill., 2. \n\nWORK, UNDERTAKEN TO DROWN GRIEF \n\nI strove to drown my grief in work. The work \nWas but a worm\'s that eats from day to day \nThe morrow\'s bed, at morning dragging on \nA soulless trunk, through troubles void of hope. \nIdeals Made Real, lxii. \n\nWORK vs. RECREATION (see REST) \n\nMen measure all a day is worth by work that they \ncan do in it. Just think! \xe2\x80\x94 One might as well say skies \nwere made for clouds, and not for suns, or years for \nwinter, not for summer; or plants for thorns, and not \nfor roses; or life for men, and not for women; or lips \nfor drinking; not \xe2\x80\x94 tut, tut! \xe2\x80\x94 A day\'s worth measured \nby its work ! \xe2\x80\x94 As if a man\'s day were a donkey\'s. Our \ndonkey takes his pleasure on the farm exactly once a \nyear; so papa. The Little Twin Tramps, I. \n\nWORKING FOR A LIVING \n\nA few centuries ago, both the souls and bodies of \nthose who worked for a living, whether men or women, \nwere supposed to belong to those for whom they \nworked. To-day this sort of thing is played out. \nThose who work for themselves are the most likely to \nbe independent, \xe2\x80\x94 to belong to nobody but themselves, \nand therefore the most worthy of respect for what \nthey are in themselves. \n\nThe Snob and the Sewing Girl, ii. \n\nWORKING WOMEN VS. ARISTOCRATIC (see ARISTOCRACY) \n\n.... A woman of the working classes \n\n.... Is not of the aristocratic classes. I know it. \nThey do not work. They expect others to work for \nthem. Humph! \xe2\x80\x94 I know plenty of them, who go in \nthe very best society, \xe2\x80\x94 ay, in our society, too \xe2\x80\x94 who, \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 435 \n\nrather than lift one finger to do any work for themselves, \nwould prefer to have others steal for them. Idem. \n\nWORLD \n\nThe world for every man \nHolds but his own world, be it large or small. \n\nA Life in Song: Serving, xv. \n\nWORLD, LEAVING THE \n\nGod made our nature. Who make way with it, \nMake way with manhood, turn to suicide. \nHe made the world where works His Providence \nTo train our life. Who leave the world, leave Him \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHaydn, XLii. \n\nWORLD, THE NEW, DESCRIBED BY COLUMBUS \n\nYou see what we have brought: \xe2\x80\x94 \nThese birds and animals unknown to Spain, \nAll promising vast wealth in plumes and furs ; \nThese trees and plants that grow like reeds in swamps, \nAnd covered thick as leaves with ready food ; \nThese aromatic herbs, in which all forms \nOf sickness find a sure and natural cure; \nThis gold that lies upon the soil like dust, \nOr else like pebbles tumbling from the cliffs, \nAnd easily moulded into ornaments ; \nThese pearls and gems that Une the river-beds. \n\nColumbus, IV., 2. \nBut what that land contains is in supply \nAs far beyond the treasure here, as is \nA whole vast continent beyond the store \nThat can be packed in one small vessel. Yes, \nThat realm of boundless wealth in rock and soil \nAnd boundless progress for the state and soul. \nPast all that human fancy can conceive, \nLies there, embed in crystal seas and skies, \nA wondrous gift, fresh from the hand of God, \nAs if untarnished by the touch of man. \nAwaiting your most Christian Majesties. Idem. \nAdd these brave people, sons of God like us. \nWith generous natures and compliant wills. \nWho met us kneeling, as we knelt on shore. \nWith reverent souls prepared by heaven itself \nTo welcome us as heavenly messengers. Idem. \n\n\n\n436 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThey thought us fresh from heaven: \n\nOur flesh was fair; that wide, wild sea our slave. \n\nOh, what a race to be made Christians of ! \n\nIdem, IV., I. \n\nOut there, \nExcept with chiefs \xe2\x80\x94 it is the same, you know, \nWith our high classes \xe2\x80\x94 people live in pairs. \nAs birds do; and, myself, I saw no hint \nOf lust or competition. They all seem \nTo love their neighbors as themselves, and own \nAll things in common. Why, to us they gave \nWhatever we could ask ; and often too \nWithout the dimmest prospect of return. \n\nIdem, \n\nWORLD, THE TRUTH ABOUT THIS \n\n\xe2\x96\xa0 You villain, to say that ! \n.... Humph! I have seen the world, and tell you \n\ntruth. \nYou deem the truth is villainy? \xe2\x80\x94 it is \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe truth about this world. \n\nThe Aztec God, iv., i. \n\nWORLD, THE, VS. THE CHURCH {see CHURCH, FORM AND \n\nSPIRIT, and training) \n.... Poor youth, when you know more about the \n\nworld \n\n. . . . I shall know more about such men as you ; \nKnow how the dust of earth can make one blind, \nAnd din can make one deaf, till skies can blaze \nAnd heaven\'s voice thunder, yet no sight nor sound \n\nReach \n\n.... What?\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n. . . . What was a soul ! But there are souls \n\nAre stolen too when stoled. The devil\'s hand \nOutdoes the deacon\'s. There is nothing left \nBut vestment. All the barterer\'s priceless birthright \nGoes for the mess of pottage that he feeds on. \nNot strange such like to limit other\'s joys, \nTurn nature inside out and upside down. \nClaim spirit rules where all are slaves of sense, \nAnd heaven their realm though all is rimmed by hell. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 437 \n\n" The world," what means this, but the world alone, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe mass, devoid of mind, truth, spirit, love? \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut holds no Church the same? \xe2\x80\x94 A mass? \xe2\x80\x94 ay, ay. \nDevoid of mind? \xe2\x80\x94 Why not? \xe2\x80\x94 But show the place \nIt crowds not reason out to edge in faith. \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut "faith," say you, "is reasonable"?\xe2\x80\x94 Ay, \nWhen in it there is reason; when the thing \nIn which it trusts is truth. But, ah, too oft, \nJust prick the forms, and back of them you find \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhat? \xe2\x80\x94 truth? \xe2\x80\x94 nay, nay, a priest \xe2\x80\x94 a man. \n\nHaydn, Li. \n\nWORLDLINESS {see spiritual) \nSome more, some less, with little to love. \nWe all to the sky oft leave the dove. \nWe delve away in the depth of our trade; \nAnd all get dusty before well paid. \nSome like the dust; some mourn its need; \nAnd some are only intent to succeed. \nToo may grow prostitutes, hugging to all, \nGood, bad, or indifferent, beauty or scall, \nTill all wishes that worth would have kept \nDie out of the man unwept. \nNo pride or shame for himself or his kind \n\nBrings up to the cheek one blush. \n\nWhatever is there is a counterfeit flush, \xe2\x80\x94 \nMere paint on the surface of sham behind. \n\nLove and Life, Liii. \n\nAh, now, \nI know how Adam grieved that Eve could fall; \nHow Eve herself, when round her soul first crept \nThe serpent\'s cautious coils of smooth deceit, \nTo strap her inch by inch! I read it now. \nThat tale: \'t is all an allegory, ay; \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat serpent means the world. The world steals \n\nround. \nIntent to seize and own each heir of heaven. \nNot long are souls allow\'d ideal life, \nNot long unfetter\'d sense or hearts unbound: \nOur smiles grow stiffer, till, some fatal day. \nThe last is clutch\'d and held, a hideous grin. \nThen, when the body stirs not with the soul. \n\n\n\n438 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThe last nerve wrested from the Spirit\'s rule, \nNaught in us left of love, the world unwinds: \nOur capturer dissolves in mist or dust : \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd we, for its embrace, have lost our God! \n\nHaydn, L. \nWORLDLY (see LUST, SOUL and spirit) \nThis world has ways where far we roam \nFrom the purer light \nThat our souls deem bright, \nAnd yet this world is now our home; \n\nAnd planted here for some good cause \n\nLike seed to grow \n\nIn a soil below, \nThe laws of our lives are worldly laws. \n\nWe cannot live the life on high, \n\nWe cannot be \n\nIn all things free, \nTill the flower shall bloom and its fragrance fly. \n\nTill then, hemm\'d in from heaven by earth, \n\n\'T is ours to reach \n\nFor the good in each ; \nNor waive the higher for lower worth. \n\nA Life in Song: Loving, xxxii. \n\nWORLDLY WAYS \n\nIf wiser than the world we were, \nWhy should we act, forsooth, in worldly ways? \nWhat need that all should don the uniform \nThat fits men for the social march of fools? \n\nIdeals Made Real, lxii. \n\nWORMS, CRUSHING \n\nThe corner stones of monumental deeds \nMust always crush some worms. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \nWORRY (see JAR OF life) \nDoes not the world, then, worry life enough, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat one should crave for more to worry him? \nDo I so lack for exercise? Ah me! \nSome nervous mothers \xe2\x80\x94 bless them! \xe2\x80\x94 shake their \n\nbabes. \nI never deem\'d it wise; oh, no \xe2\x80\x94 am sure \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 439 \n\nThe friction frets the temper of the child. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nNot natural, you see: God never shakes \n\nThe ground with earthquakes when we wish for spring. \n\nHe does not drive life from its germ, He draws \n\nBy still, bright warmth. Haydn, xvi. \n\nWORSHIP OF GOD {see FORM AND SPIRIT, and RITUALISM) \n\nHow vain is worship, when its grandeur calls \n\nRegard away from heaven to human skill ! \nFar better level all our temples\' walls \n\nThan hide the thought of Him who rear\'d the hill! \nAy, better hush the praise that stirs the senses. \n\nThan have it drown the still small voice within; \nAnd better have no church for our offenses \n\nThan splendid rites that daze the soul made blind \nto sin. A Life in Song: Serving, xliv. \n\nAnd, think you, writ or vestment, art or arch, \nCan image Him, or His domain unbound? \nNay, trust my word, we worship Him the best, \nWhen two or three together, loving truth \nAnd one another, thus repeat, once more, \nAn incarnation, imitating Christ. \n\nIdeals Made Real, lxxiii. \nAs men\'s lives are, so their thoughts are; groping in \n\nthe dark they feel \nForms of flesh or robes that wrap them, and forget \n\nwhat both conceal. \nClouds hang low, and hide the sky, and make men \n\nthink that heaven is low. \nTill they kiss the dust, half hoping God is dust, and \nworshipt so. A Life in Song: Watching, iv. \n\nIn a sense, \nAll worship . . . springs from what is true. \nFor if to sin it ever could be due. \nCould grafts of true religion flourish now \nUpon the old religious nature\'s bough? \nBut if, in spite of tendencies to sin. \nWe still believe men\'s motives pure within, \nThen all that God has made appears to be \xe2\x80\x94 \nBe leaf, limb, flower, or fruit the part we see \xe2\x80\x94 \nSome perfect part still of life\'s perfect tree. \n\nIdem, Seeking, xxiv. \n\n\n\n440 A POETS CABINET \n\nWORSHIP OF MEN \n\nWorship is the interest men pay \nFor worth when they can get it \xe2\x80\x94 justly due \nTo men of principle. Cecil the Seer, i. \n\nIf any idol\'s niche be tenantless, \nThe one all worship is the one all want there. \n\nIdem. \n\nWORTH \n\nToo often in the judgments of this world \nWorth yields to weight. Columbus, i., 3. \n\nWORTH, ETERNAL \n\nThe force that keeps eternal worth from light \nIs but of time \xe2\x80\x94 a thing short-lived. \n\nIdem, v., 2. \n\nWRECKED, A LIFE \n\nHow fast he fails ! If there were once a time \nWe feared he might be wrecked, a time has come \nWhen his firm spirit reels, the prey of waves \nFar worse than waves that sweep the sea alone. \nSuch havoc has fierce envy wrought in him, \nWhat wonder if soon nature, in revolt. \nShould doff the guise this world has torn to rags \nAnd give him something richer? Idem. \n\nWRECKED AND RESCUED \n\nThen soon, as a coJEfin falls to a grave, \n\nThe yawl sank down, but alack! \nLike fingers white the crests of the wave \n\nWere clutching and flinging it back. \nThen, whirled, as it were, in a drunkard\'s dance, \n\nIt staggered, anon, and lunged. \nThen, tilted aside, like a hostile lance, \n\nAt the hull of the wreck it plunged. \nThree times, in vain, that helpless yawl \n\nToward the deck of the wreck was tost. \nThree times the wrecked, as it back would fall. \n\nLooked down with the look of the lost. \nThen shouts came snapping like whips the blast, \n\nThe yawl to the boom had clung ; \nAnd, one by one, from the wreck, at last, \n\nBlack forms like bales were flung. \n\nThe Religion of Rescue. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 441 \n\nWRINKLE {see words) \nA wrinkle shows the will. \n\nHow Barton Took the General. \n\nWRINKLED \n\n"Brows always knit grow wrinkled in their prime. \nA Life in Song: Daring, xxx. \n\nWRITING {see LITERATURE, POEMS and POETS) \nWRITING ABOUT VS. RIGHTING EVILS \n\n.... I don\'t believe in writing about evils and, \nat the same time, not trying to right them, \n\n.... But Dick and Jack say that\'s what they are \ntrying to do. \xe2\x96\xa0\xc2\xab \n\n.... They could do it much more effectively. \n\n.... How? \n\n.... If they think that it\'s the millionaires that \ncause society to be corrupt, it\'s their first duty to cease \nto be millionaires. What Money Can\'t Buy, iv \n\nWRITING, AND FEELING \n\n.... How do you feel when you write that sort of \nthing? \n\n.... Feel? \n\n.... Yes ; a man can\'t be inspired without feeling \nit, can he? \n\n.... I should think you would feel like a balloon \nwhen it has lost its ballast, and gone bounding up \ninto the highest sunshine. \n\n.... Or like a hen that has dropped an Qgg, and is \ntrembling into cackles from sheer nervous exhaustion. \n\n.... Or like a fellow who has flooded himself \nwith so much beer that he is obliged to belch it over- \nboard \xe2\x80\x94 very, very light-headed. Idem, 11. \n\nWRITING AS RELATED TO ART \n\nA man need not be a genius, in order to write well, \nand if he be a genius, he cannot write well without \ndeveloping his gift according to the methods common \nto every art. The Literary A rtist and Elocution. \n\nWRONG, ENDURING CHARACTER OF \n\nWho can tell \nWhat ages it may take to overtake \nThe wrong one\'s own wrong lashes into flight ! \n\nCecil the Seer, 11., 2. \n\n\n\n442 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nWRONG, FIGHTING AND RIGHTING \n\n.... To yield to wrong, is not to fight it. \n.... To double wrong, is not to right it. \nThe Little Twin Tramps, iii., 2. \n\nWRONG, ONE OVERBALANCING MUCH RIGHT \n\nIt is not what has been but what is that moves the \nsenses, which, far more than sense, determine human \njudgments. This is why, I take it, that so often one \ncareless wrong can overbalance a life-long care in \ndoing right. \n\n.... But is that just? \n\n.... No; true. The Little Twin Tramps, iv. \n\nWRONG THAT THRIVES \n\nWrong that thrives, becomes presumption; plans to \nmake the right retreat ; \n\nBlows with madden\'d lips the trumpet heralding its \nown defeat, \n\nBlows, till righteous indignation hails its opportunity, \n\nGlad to break a guilty peace, and crush its foe eter- \nnally. A Life in Song: Watching, iii. \n\nYANKEES \n\nIn our right merry State of Maryland, \nNo Yankees with their endless reprimand \nMake men run mad with isms fit to wear \nStrait-jackets! we their notions will not stand. \n\nIdem, Daring, xlviii. \n\nYEARS, EFFECTS OF \n\nA few short years, how soon their sun and storm \nAnd shifting seasons change one\'s face and frame ; \n\nAnd what one vaguely deems himself, transform \nTo that which friend and foe alike disclaim : \nHow calm the heart, which once those calls to fame \n\nThrill\'d through like beatings of a signal drum ! \n\nThose throbs, by turns, of hope and fear, how \ntame ! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFamiliar ticks of life\'s old pendulum, \n\nWound up to vibrate on till hope and fear are dumb. \n\nIdem, XII. \n\nYGGDRASIL \n\nWhile thus he spoke, I, dead to sight and sound, \nHad walk\'d abstracted, till I mark\'d around \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 443 \n\nStrange shadows quivering over all the ground, \n\nThe which, anon, far darker would be made. \n\nThey startled me; for what had caused the shade? \n\nNo tree nor cliff about us rose between \n\nThe moon-light and ourselves to form a screen. \n\nBut when I glanc\'d above, there met my sight \n\nAs high as clouds could be, as wild a light \n\nAs ever man could see, \xe2\x80\x94 light coming not \n\nFrom moon or stars; one could not judge from what. \n\nAs lightning were, if constant, so it glared \n\nAthwart the sky, and tore and cross\'d and flared. \n\nThat strange scene lasted long; but yet the moon \n\nIn time came forth again. Then cHmbing soon \n\nSome mighty ledges, we at last survey\'d \n\nFrom distant heights the forms that caused the shade : \n\nWe saw the giant ash Yggdrasil now \n\nThat loom\'d with many a thick and swaying bough \n\nAbove the plain through which our feet had pass\'d. \n\nBut think not leaves that had the shadows cast \n\nHad bridg\'d but our short pathway, and no more. \n\nThe limbs were leagues in length, and rose to soar \n\nAbove the earth like mountain-forests wide, \n\nYet cloud-borne, needing not a mountain-side. \n\nThey cover\'d all the north, yet hung as high \n\nAbove the darkness of the western sky; \n\nAnd far off through the east they stretch\'d away \n\nTill flushing at the touch of coming day. \n\nAh, where was ever aught like this tree seen! \n\nBeside it, a mere wind-bent twig, I ween \n\nWas that Aswatha by the Hindoo known, \n\nOr Persia\'s Gogard, or the Zampuh grown \n\nIn Thibet \xe2\x80\x94 figured o\'er with mystic signs \n\nWhich made but little wise its wise divines \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nOr Eden\'s too, reputed to have grown \n\nThe seeds of these through every nation sown. \n\nOf them my guide discours\'d, the while we scann\'d \nYggdrasil\'s roots ; one in the west where band \nThe fiends of darkness in their foul Mistland: \nAnd there the serpent lies like lengthen\'d night, \nAnd gnaws the bark, nor sates his appetite ; \nAnd one was in the north where Frost-Kings dwell, \n\n\n\n444 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nAnd drafts of wisdom drink from Mimir\'s well, \nWhile ever in its crystal depths below \nThe cool brain sees the mirror\'d pole-star glow; \nAnd one was in the east, hard by the morn \nAnd Urdar-fountain, where the patient Norn \nPerceives the present, future, and the past, \nNor slights the small, nor shudders at the vast. \nThence, heaved from earth to heaven, bridged o\'er \n\nthe dark, \nThe rainbow-bifrost bends, on which we mark \nIts warden, Heimdall, who his vigil keeps \nWith marvelous ears, which, even while he sleeps \nWith birdlike lightness, hear the grasses grow \nAnd wool on sheep ten thousand miles below! \nBeyond his place uploom high Asgard-homes \nOf gods, and Gladsheim with its golden domes. \nThere too, along Idavollr\'s wondrous fields, \nVingolf appears, which hush\'d retirement yields \nFor Frigga and her suite, \xe2\x80\x94 a wilderness \nOf lawns and lanes and arbors numberless. \nDim nights of groves and glowing days of flowers. \nAnd lakes and streams and fairy fountain showers, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA place where wish could every want confess, \nAnd all desire be drugged in drowsiness. \n\nIdem, Seeking, xxx-xxxii. \n\nYIELD \n\nShall we fight? \nIt might be useless ; and it must be wise \nTo keep the right, when with us, with us yet. \nNo ; let us yield. My brother, there are times \nWhen wrongs are great that they may be perceived \nAnd emphasize the need of their redress. \n\nColumbus, v., I. \n\nYIELDING \n\nSo gentle, so yielding, your face all aglow \nTo follow each friend, and never say "No," \nThe skies too cloudless dawned for you. \nToo sunny and warm \xe2\x80\x94 oh, nothing grew! \nYour golden fields that we fondly saw \nWere filled with a grainless crop of straw. \n\nThe Last Home Gathering. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 445 \n\nYOUNG VS. OLD MAN \n\nYou are a young man with a young man\'s dreams. \nYou are an old man; and an old man schemes. \n\nCecil the Seer, i. \n\nYOUTH {see BOY and children) \n\nToo young as yet to know \nHow youth alone to human love is dear, \nBefore warm tides of life in veins that glow, \nHave lost the heat and hue of heaven from which they \nflow. A Life in Song: Daring, xliii. \n\nYe, as well, with new hearts beating in the ranks of \n\nhuman life ; \nYe whose youth itself assures us good will still main- \ntain the strife ; \nYe whose tread is recreation, and whose every breath \n\na joy, \nNot exhausted yet in paths that earthly smoke and \n\ndust annoy; \nYe whose cheeks to flame-hue kindle, fired by all the \n\nfaith ye feel. \nNot yet frosted by the winters that have chill\'d men\'s \n\nolder zeal ; \nYe whose eyes are skies to spirits, whirl\'d as worlds \n\nfrom change to change. \nNot yet check\'d by disappointment, so ye dare not \n\ntest the strange ; \nYe whose wills ne\'er cringed in failure nor surrendered \n\nflags of hope, \nBut can look for victory still in highest spheres, of \n\nbroadest scope; \nDo ye know how old age rallies when it hears your \n\nbounding tread? \nHow, in youth\'s endearing presence, all things else \n\nbeloved have fled? \nAngels even see I bending through this thick and \n\ntroubled air, \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut for you so fresh from God, might earth and heaven \n\ntoo both despair. Idem, Watching, xxiv. \n\nAh, those little verst \nIn the codes that are current turn first from them all \nTo the herald that comes to trump a new call. \n\n\n\n446 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nThose nearest their youth \nLive nearest the breasts that glow with the truth, \nAnd welcome it gratefully warm from the heart. \n\nUnveiling the Monument. \n\nAnd now he lived for weeks in that bright land \nWhere youth appears in endless dawn to dwell ; \n\nWhere skies of pearl o\'er golden clouds expand ; \nAnd every breeze o\'erflows with sweets that well \nFrom warbling birds, and burst each blossom\'s \nbell; \n\nWhere every thorn that yet shall pave one\'s way \nIs strung with dews that coming joys foretell ; \n\nAnd all the glitter of the opening day \n\nStill blinds the eye to all that else might cause dismay. \nA Life in Song: Daring, lv. \n\nAnd fresh little thoughts in tones that tinkle. \nAs dance the dimples that round them wrinkle, \nMore dear to refresh the soul with delight \nThan all of their elders\' reason and right. \nFor the healthful, heartful blush \n\nOf youth\'s fair spring-time\'s flower and fruit, \nIs never the autumn\'s hectic flush \n\nOf a life that fades and dies at the root. \n\nLove and Life, xii. \n\nAlas, how oft in youth\'s chill morn \nTheir tears alone are the dews that adorn \n\nThe natures that wake \nTo the light of a day beginning to break! \nAnd oft how long, ere the light will btirst, \nThe mists of the valley surround them first ! \n\nUnveiling the Monument. \n\nThough gray-beards might recall a former time \nWhen many an indiscretion marr\'d his youth, \nNone blamed him now for any earlier fault. \nIn all completed pictures of this life, \nDark tints but give the bright ones rare relief. \nDefects in youth, because they are defects. \nBut prove more merit in the one who turns \nHis poor resources into rich results. \n\nA Life in Song: Note vi. \n\n\n\nSELECTED QUOTATIONS 447 \n\nYOUTH, FORMER AND MODERN \n\nOh, happy days of youth ! when empty sport \n\nOf mere imagination \xe2\x80\x94 ^fancied game \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nCould fill the hunter\'s pouch to overflowing! \n\nAy, how much better than the days of age \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAlas, I fear it, too, of modern youth \n\nFor whom, so rich in matter, poor in mind, \n\nWe manufacture implements of play \n\nThat clip at fancies till they all fit facts, \n\nPlane joys to toys, and level games to gain, \n\nTill every pleasure palls that fails to pay \n\nIn scales that rate life\'s worth by what it weighs \n\nWhen all the spirit\'s buoyancy is lost. \n\nWest Mountain. \n\nZEAL {see impetuous) \nSome men there are, whose moods, on fire for truth, \n\nBurn Hke that bush that Moses, one time, saw. \nAnd never lose the fresh, fair charms of youth. \n\nTheir souls from heaven itself their ardor draw. \n\nNor biurn according to an earthly law. \nTheir zeal, when kindled, kindles joy in those \n\nWhom worldly heat would but repel or awe; \nNor ever warps the soul that near them goes. \nBut by its warmth allures to love that through it \nglows. A Life in Song: Daring, liii. \n\nAnd while he longed to champion this fight \nHis life appear\'d a tourney, he a knight. \n\nA young Don Quixote, most on guard to dare, \n\nHe harm\'d more good, through zeal in need of light, \n\nThan any wrong his efforts could impair; \n\nAnd fill\'d with dust the way just where all needed air. \n\nIdem, Lx. \n\nWhat love I have, inspires me in my soul ; \nAnd, like the soul, it must express itself \nThrough every fibre binding me to life; \nAnd like the soul, too, I believe it comes \nFrom some far realm divine to make divine \nMyself, my world, and all that dwell in it. \nA man who feels like this, and would not fight \nFor church and state and home, would be a devil. \n\nDante, i., i. \n\n\n\n448 A POET\'S CABINET \n\nZEAL USING FORCE \n\nWhen unselfish zeal \nDemands investment in the mail of force, \nHe that of old had spirit to inspire \nSwings but a sword that cleaves a scar for greed. \n\nColumbus, IV., I. \n\n\n\nTHE END \n\n\n\nJi Selection from the \nCatalogue of \n\nG. P. PUTNAM\'S SONS \n\n\n\nComplete Catalogue sent \non application \n\n\n\nPROFESSOR RAYMOND\'S POETICAL BOOKS \n\nA Life in Song. 16mo, cloth extra, gilt top . . . . $1.25 \n\n"An age-worn poet, dying amid strangers in a humble village home, leaves the \nrecord of his life in a pile of manuscript poems. These are claimed by a friend and \ncomrade of the poet, but, at the request of the cottagers, he reads them over before \ntaking them away .... This simple but unique plan, . . . forms the outline o( \na remarkably fine study of the hopes, aspirations, and disappointments of ... an \nAmerican modern life. . . . The volume will appeal to a large class of readers by \nreason of its clear, musical flexible verse, its fine thought, and its intense human \ninterest." \xe2\x80\x94 Boston Transcript. \n\n"Mr. Raymond is a poet, with all that the name implies. He has the true fire- \nthere is no disputing that. There is thought of an elevated character, the diction is \npure, the versification is true, the meter correct, and . . . affords innumerable quota- \ntions to fortify and instruct one for the struggles of life. " \xe2\x80\x94 Hartford Post. \n\n" Marked by a fertility and strength of imagination worthy of our first poets. ._ . \nThe versification throughout is graceful and thoroughly artistic, the imagery varied \nand spontaneous, . . . the multitude of contemporary bardlings may find in its \nsincerity of purpose and loftiness of aim a salutary inspiration. " \xe2\x80\x94 The Literary World \n(Boston). \n\n"Here, for instance, are lines which, if printed in letters of gold on the front cf \nevery pulpit, and practised by every one behind one, would transform the face of the \ntheological world. . . . In short, if you are in search of ideas that are unconven- \ntional and up-to-date, get a \'Life in Song,\' and read it." \xe2\x80\x94 Unity. \n\nBallads, and Other Poems. 16mo, cloth extra, gilt top . $1.25 \n\n"The author has achieved a very unusual success, a success to which genuine poetic \npower has not more contributed than wide reading and extensive preparation. The \nballads overflow, not only with the general, but the very particular, ^truths of \nhistory." \xe2\x80\x94 Cincinnati Times. \n\n" A work of true genius, brimful of imagination and sweet humanity." \xe2\x80\x94 The Fireside \n(London). \n\n"Fine and strong, its thought original and suggestive, while its expression is the \nvery perfection of narrative style. " \xe2\x80\x94 The N. Y. Critic. \n\n\' Proves beyond doubt that Mr. Raymond is the possessor of a poetic faculty which \n5s worthy of the most careful and conscientious cultivation." \xe2\x80\x94 A\'^. Y. Evening Post. \n\n"A very thoughtful study of character. . . great knowledge of aims and motives \n. . Such as read this poem will derive from it a benefit more lasting than the \nmere pleasure of the moment." \xe2\x80\x94 The Spectator (London). \n\nThe Aztec God, and Other Dramas. 16mo, cloth extra, gilt top $1.25 \n\n"The three dramas included in this volume represent a felicitous, intense, and \nmelodious expression of art both from the artistic and poetic point of view. . . . \nMr. Raymond\'s power is_ above all that of psychologist, and added thereto are the \nrichest products of the imagination both in form and spirit. The book clearly \ndiscloses the work of a man possessed of an extremely fine critical poise, of a culture \npure and classical, and a sensitive conception of what is sweetest and most ravishing \nin tone-quality. The most delicately perceptive ear could not detect a flaw in the \nmellow and rich music of the blank verse. " \xe2\x80\x94 Public Opinion. \n\n"As fine lines as are to be found anywhere in English. . . . Sublime thought \nfairly leaps in sublime expression. ... As remarkable for its force of epigram \nas for its loftiness of conception. " \xe2\x80\x94 Cleveland World. \n\n"... Colunibus one finds a piece of work which it is difficult to avoid injuring \nwith fulsome praise. The character of the great discoverer is portrayed grandly and \ngreatly. ... It is difficult to conceive how anyone who cares for that which is \nbest in literature . . . could fail to be strengthened and uplifted by this heroic \ntreatment of one of the great stories of the world. " \xe2\x80\x94 N. Y. Press. \n\nDante and Collected Verse. 16mo, cloth extra, gilt top . $1.25 \n\n"Epigram, philosophy, history; \xe2\x80\x94 these are the predominant elements . . . which \nmasterly construction, pure diction, and lofty sentiment unite in making a glowing \npiece of blank verse." \xe2\x80\x94 Chicago Herald. \n\n"The poems will be read with keenest enjoyment by all who appreciate literary \ngenius, refined sentiment, and genuine culture. The publication is a gem. through- \nout. " \xe2\x80\x94 New Haven Leader. \n\n"The poet and the reformer contend in Professor Raymond. When the latter \nhas the mastery, we respond to the justice, the high ideals, the truth of all he says \xe2\x80\x94 \nand says with point and vigor \xe2\x80\x94 but when the poet conquers, the imagination soars . \n. . . The mountain poems are the work of one with equally high ideals of life \nand of song. " \xe2\x80\x94 Glasgow (Scotland) Herald. \n\n"Brother Jonathan can not claim many great poets, but we think he has \'struck \noil,\' in Professor Raymond." \xe2\x80\x94 Western (England) Morning News. \n\n"This brilliant composition . . . gathers up and concentrates for the reader \nmore of the reality of the great Italian than is readily gleaned from the author of the \nInferno himself." \xe2\x80\x94 Oakland Enquirer. \n\nG. P. PUTNAM\'S SONS, New York and London. Publishers \n\n\n\nPROFESSOR RAYMOND\'S WORKS \n\nPictures in Verse. With 20 illustrations by Maud Stumm. \nSquare 8vo, in ornamental cloth covers . $ .75 \n\n"Little love poems of a light and airy character, describing pretty rustic scenes. \nor domestic interiors. ... As charming for its illustrations as for its reading \nmatter." \xe2\x80\x94 Detroit Free Press. \n\n"Simple songs of human every-day experience . . . with a twinkle of homely \nhumor and a wholesome reflection of domestic cheer. We like his optimistic senti- \nments, and unspoiled spirit of boyishness when he strikes the chord of love. It is \nall very true and good." \xe2\x80\x94 The Independent. \n\nThe Mountains about Williamstown. With an introduction \n\nby M. M. Miller, and 35 full-page illustrations from \noriginal photographs; oblong shape, cloth, gilt edges. \nNet $2.00 postpaid \n\n"The beauty of these photographs from so many points of vantage would of itself \nsuffice to show the fidelity and affection with which Professor Raymond pursued the \ntheme of his admirably coristructed poems. The introduction by his pupil, friend, \nand associate is an exhaustive study. No better or more thorough review could be \nwritten of the book, or more clearly |3oint out the directness and power of Professor \nRaymond\'s work. . . . Arnong his_ many books none justifies more brilliantly \nthe correctness and charm of his rhetorical instruction, or his facility in exemplifying \nwhat he commends." \xe2\x80\x94 Hartford (Conn.) Courant. \n\n" The poems all show Dr. Raymond\'s perfect art of expression, his deep and relig- \nious love of nature, and his profound reverence for the landscape he celebrates. \nEvery New Englander will appreciate the volume, and Williams College men can \nill afford not to possess it." \xe2\x80\x94 Portland (Me.) Evening Express. \n\n"They show a keen ear for rhythm, felicity of phrase, exquisite taste, a polished \nstyle, and\' often exalted feeling. _Mr. Raymond\'s students . . . and those who \nhave read his book upon the principles that underlie art, poetry, and music will be \ninterested in this clothing, in concrete form, of his poetic theories. . . . Dr. \nMiller makes in his Introduction a long and lucid discussion of these. " \xe2\x80\x94 New York \nTimes. \n\n"The men of Williams College especially owe him a debt of gratitude that can \nnever be paid." \xe2\x80\x94 Troy (N. Y.) Record. \n\n"The many full-page illustrations give lovely vistas of the Berkshires and of \nthe stream-silvered valleys they guard. Sometimes philosophic, sometimes purely \nimaginative, through all the verse runs a high patriotism and a love of beauty and \nhumanity which uplifts and strengthens." \xe2\x80\x94 Boston Transcript. \n\n"Verse that often suggests Bryant in its simplicity and dignity. That is surely a \nsound rnodel for nature poetry. Large and finely produced photographs bring the \nmountains vividly before the reader. This is not a book to read in the subway; but \nlying on the sunny side of a stony wall when the leaves are bursting in spring, it \nwill surely appeal. " \xe2\x80\x94 Brooklyn Eagle. \n\nModern Fishers of Men. i2mo, cloth, gilt top . $1.00 \n\n\'_\' This delightful novel is written with charming insight. The rare gift of\'character \ndelineation the author can claim in full. . . . Shrewd comments upon life and \ncharacter add spice to the pages. " \xe2\x80\x94 Nashville Tennessean. \n\n"Deals with love and religion in a small country town, and under the facile pen \nand keen humor of the author, the various situations . . . are made the most of \n. . . true to the life. " \xe2\x80\x94 Boston Globe. \n\n"Such a spicy, racy, more-truth-than-fiction work has not been placed in our \nhands for a long time." \xe2\x80\x94 Chicago Evening Journal. \n\n"A captivating story, far too short . . . just as fresh and absorbing as when the \nauthor laid down his pen . . . that was before typewriters. " \xe2\x80\x94 Denver Republican. \n\n"Essentially humorous, with an undercurrent of satire .... also subtle char- \nacter delineation, which will appeal strongly to those who have the perceptive facul- \nties highly developed." \xe2\x80\x94 San Francisco Bulletin. \n\n"The book is delightful .... in several ways very remarkable." \xe2\x80\x94 Boston \nTimes. \n\n"A distinct surprise lies in this little story .... of 1879 .... so strongly \ndoes it partake of the outlook and aim of the new church of to-day." \xe2\x80\x94 Washington \nStar \n\n"In \'Modern Fishers of Men,\' one sees that the Men and Religion Forward \nMovement existed before it began." \xe2\x80\x94 The Watchman, Boston. \n\n"Pleasant reading for those whom sad experience has led to doubt the possibility \nof a real community uplift with lasting qualities. The story is brightened with a \nquiet but none the less hearty humor. " \xe2\x80\x94 Cincinnati Times. \n\nG. P. PUTNAM S SONS, New York and London. Publishers \n\n\n\nProfessorRayniond\'sSystetHofCOIPARATIVEISTHETICS \n\nI. \xe2\x80\x94 Art in Theory. 8vo, cloth extra $1.75 \n\n" Scores an advance upon the many art criticisms extant . . . . Twenty brilliant \nchapters, pregnant with suggestion." \xe2\x80\x94 Popular Science MonlJily. \n\n"A well grounded, thoroughly supported, and entirely artistic conception of art \nthat will lead observers to distrust the charlatanism that imposes an idle and super- \nficial mannerism upon the public in place of true beauty and honest workmanship. " \n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\x94 The New York Times. \n\n"His style is good, and his logic sound and . . . of the greatest possible service \nto the student of artistic theories." \xe2\x80\x94 Art Journal (London). \n\nII, \xe2\x80\x94 The Representative Significance of Form. 8vo, cloth extra $3.00 \n\n"A valuable essay. . . . Professor Raymond goes so deep into causes as to \nexplore the subconscious and the unconscious mind for a solution of his problems, \nand eloquently to range through the conceptions of religion, science and metaphysics \nin order to find fixed principles of taste. ... A highly interesting discussion. " \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe Scotsman (Edinburgh). \n\n"Evidently the ripe fruit of years of patient and exhaustive study on the part of a \nman singularly fitted for his task. It is profound in insight, searching in analysis, \nbroad in spirit, and thoroughly modern in method and sympathy. " \xe2\x80\x94 llie Universalist \nLeader. \n\n"Its title gives no intimation to the general reader of its attractiveness for him, or \nto curious readers of its widely discursive range of interest. . . . Its broad range \nmay remind one of those scythe-bearing chariots with which the ancient Persians \nused to mow down hostile files." \xe2\x80\x94 The Outlook. \n\nIII. \xe2\x80\x94 Poetry as a Representative Art. 8vo, cloth extra . $1,75 \n\n"I have read it with pleasure, and a sense of instruction on many points." \xe2\x80\x94 \nFrancis Turner Palgrave,^ Professor of Poetry, Oxford University. \n\n"Dieses ganz vortreffliche Werk. " \xe2\x80\x94 Englischen Studien, Universitiii Breslau. \n\n"An acute, interesting, and brilliant piece of work. ... As a whole the essay \ndeserves unqualified praise." \xe2\x80\x94 N. Y. Independent. \n\nIV, \xe2\x80\x94 Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts. \nWith 225 illustrations. Svo $2.50 \n\n"The artist will find in it a wealth of profound and varied learning; of original, \nsuggestive, helpful thought . . . of absolutely inestimable value. " \xe2\x80\x94 The Looker-on. \n\n"Expression by means of extension or size, . . . shape, . . . regularity in \noutlines . . . the human body . . . posture, gesture, and movement, . . . are \nall considered. ... A specially interesting chapter is the one on color." \xe2\x80\x94 \nCurrent Literature. \n\n"The whole book is the work of a man of exceptional thoughtfulness, who says \nwhat he has to say in a remarkably lucid and direct manner. " \xe2\x80\x94 Philadelphia Press. \n\nv.\xe2\x80\x94 The Genesis of Art Form. Fully illustrated. Svo . . $J.25 \n\n"In a spirit at once scientific and that of the true artist, he pierces through the \nmanifestations of art to their sources, and shows the relations intimate and essential, \nbetween painting, sculpture, poetry, music, and architecture. A book that possesses \nnot only singular value, but singular charm." \xe2\x80\x94 N. Y. Times. \n\n\' \' A help and a delight. Every aspirant for culture in any of the liberal arts, includ- \ning music and poetry, will find something in this book to aid him. " \xe2\x80\x94 Boston Times. \n\n"It is impossible to withhold one\'s admiration from a treatise which exhibits in \n. such a large degree the qualities of philosophic criticism." \xe2\x80\x94 Philadelphia Press. \n\nVI. \xe2\x80\x94 Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music. Together with \nMusic as a Representative Art. Svo, cioth extra , $1.75 \n\n"Professor Raymond has chosen a delightful subject, and he treats it with all the \ncharm of. narrative and high thought and profound study." \xe2\x80\x94 New Orleans States. \n\n"The reader must be, indeed, a person either of supernatural stupidity or of \nmarvelous erudition, who does not discover much information in Prof. Raymond\'s \nexhaustive and instructive treatise. From page to page it is full of suggestion." \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe Academy (London). \n\nVII. \xe2\x80\x94 Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color in Painting, \nSculpture, and Architecture. Fully illustrated. Svo. $3.50 \n\n" Marked by profound thought along lines unfamiliar to most readers and thinkers. \n. . . When grasped, however, it becomes a source of great enjoyment and exhil- \naration. . . . No critical person can afford to ignore so valuable a contribution to \nthe art-thought of the day. " \xe2\x80\x94 The Art Interchange (N. Y.). \n\n"One does not need to be a scholar to follow this scholar as he teaches while \nseeming to entertain, for he does both. " \xe2\x80\x94 Burlington Hawkeye. \n\n" The artist who wishes to penetrate the mysteries of color, the sculptor who desires \nto cultivate his sense of proportion, or the architect whose ambition is to reach to a \nhigh standard will find the work helpful and inspiring." \xe2\x80\x94 Boston Transcript. \n\nG, P. PUTNAM\'S SONS, New York and London, Publishers \n\n\n\nTEXT-BOOKS BY PROFESSOR RAYMOND \n\nThe Essentials of Esthetics. 8vo. Illustrated. Net, $2.50 \n\nThis work, which is mainly a compendium of the author\'s system of Comparative \n^Esthetics, previously published in seven volumes, was prepared, by request, for a \ntext-book and for readers whose time is too limited to study the minutis of the subject. \n\n" We consider Professor Raymond to possess something like an ideal equipment. \n. . . His own poetry is genuine and delicately constructed, his appreciations are \ntrue to high ideals, and his power of scientific analysis in unquestionable, . . . He \nwas known , when a student at Williams, as a musician and a poet \xe2\x80\x94 the latter because \nof taking, in his freshman year, a prize in verse over the whole college. After \ngraduating in this country, he went through a course of sesthetics with Professor \nVischer of the University of Tiibingen, and also with Professor Curtius at the time \nwhen that historian of Greece was spending several hours a week with his pupils \namong the inarbles of the Berlin Museum. Subsequently, believing that all the \narts are, primarily, developments of different forms of expression through the tones \nand movements of the body. Professor Raymond made a thorough study, chiefly in \nParis, of methods of cultivating and using the voice in both singing and speaking, \nand of representing thought and emotion through postures and gestures. It is a \nresult of these studies that he afterwards developed, first, into his methods of teaching \nelocution and literature (as embodied in his \' Orator\'s Manual \' and \' The Writer\') \nand later into his ssthetic system .... A Princeton man has said of him that \nhe has as keen a sense for a false poetic element as a bank expert for a counterfeit note, \nand a New York model who posed for him, when preparing illustrations for one of \nhis books, said that he was the only man that he had ever met who could invariably, \nwithout experiment, tell him at once what posture to assume in order to represent \nany required sentiment. " \xe2\x80\x94 New YorkTimes. _ \n\n"So lucid in expression and rich in illustration that every page contains matter of \ndeep interest even to the general reader." \xe2\x80\x94 Boston Herald. \n\n"Dr. Raymond\'s book will be invaluable. He shows a knowledge both extensive \nand exact of the various fine arts, and accompanies his ingenious and suggestive \ntheories by copious illustrations. "\xe2\x80\x94The Scotsman (Edinburgh). \n\n"The whole philosophy underlying this intelligent art-criticism should be given \nthe widest possible publicity." \xe2\x80\x94 Boston Globe. \n\nThe Orator\'s Manual. i2mo . . $1.20 \n\nA Practical and Philosophic Treatise on Vocal Culture, Emphasis, and Gesture, \ntogether with Hints for the Composition of Orations and Selections for Declamation \nand Reading, designed as a Text-book for Schools and Colleges, and for Public \nSpeakers and Readers who are obliged to Study without an Instructor, fully revised \nwith irnportant Additions after the Fifteenth Edition. \n\n"It is undoubtedly the most complete and thorough treatise on oratory for the \npractical student ever published." \xe2\x80\x94 The Educational Weekly, Chicago. \n\n"I consider it the best American book upon technical elocution. It has also \nleanings toward a philosophy of expression that no other book written by an Amer- \nican has presented." \xe2\x80\x94 Moses True Brown, Head of the Boston School of Oratory. \n\n"The work is evidently that of a skilful teacher bringing before students of oratory \nthe results of philosophical thinking and successful experience in an admirable form \nand a narrow compass." \xe2\x80\x94 J. W. Churchill, Professor of Homiletics, Andover Theo- \nlogical Seminary. \n\n" I have long wished for just such a book. It is thoroughly practical, and \ndescends into details, really helping the speaker." \xe2\x80\x94 J. M. Happin, D.D., Professor \nof Homiletics, Yale. \n\n" The completeness, exactness, and simplicity of this manual excite my admira- \ntion. It is so just and full of nature." \xe2\x80\x94 A. T. McGill, D.D., LL.D., Professor of \nHomiletics, Princeton. \n\nThe Writer (with Post Wheeler, Litt.D.) i2mo. $1.00 \n\nA Concise, Complete, and Practical Text-book of Rhetoric, designed to aid in the \nAppreciation, as well as Production of All Forms of Literature, Explaining, for the \nfirst time, the Principles of Written Discourse by correlating them to those of Oral \nDiscourse. Former editions fully revised. \n\n"A book of unusual merit. A careful examination creates the impression that the \nexercises have been prepared by practical teachers, and the end in view is evidently \nto teach rather than to give information." \xe2\x80\x94 The Pacific Educational Journal. \n\n"The pupil will forget he is studying rhetoric, and will come to express himself for \nthe pure pleasure he has in this most beautiful art." \xe2\x80\x94 Indiana School Journal. \n\n"It reaches its purpose. While especially valuable as a text-book in schools, it is \na volume that should be in the hands of every literary worker." \xe2\x80\x94 State Gazette, \nTrenton, N. J. \n\n"The treatment is broader and more philosophical than in the ordinary text-book. \nEvery species of construction and figure is considered. The student has his critical \nand literary sense further developed by . . . the best writings in the language used \nto illustrate certain qualities of style." \xe2\x80\x94 The School Journal. \n\nG. P. PUTNAM\'S SONS. New York and London. Publishers \n\n\n\nOther Books by Professor Raymond \n\n\n\nThe Psychology of Inspiration. 8vo, cloth. Net, $1.40; \nby mail, $1.53. \n\nThe book founds its conclusions on a study of the action of the human mind when \nobtaining and expressing truth, as this action has been revealed through the most \nrecent investigations of physiological, psychological, and psychic research; and the \nfreshness r.nd originality of the presentation is acknowledged and commended hy \nsuch authorities as Dr. J. Mark Baldwin, Professor of Psychology in Johns Hopkins \nUniversity, who says that its psychological position is "new and valuable"; Dr. \nW. T. Harris, late United States Commissioner of Education and the foremost \nmetaphysician in the country, who says it is sure "to prove helpful to manjr who \nfind themselves on the border line between the Christian and the non-Christian \nbeliefs"; and Dr. Edward Everett Hale, who says that "no one has approached the \nsubject from this point of view." He characterizes it, too, as an "endeavor to \nformulate conceptions that almost every Christian to-day believes, but without know- \ning why he does so. "_ As thus intimated by Dr. Hale, the book is not a mere con- \ntribution to apologetics \xe2\x80\x94 not a mere defense of Christianity. It contains a formula- \ntion of principles that underlie all rational interpretation of all forrns of revealed \nreligion. These principles are applied in the book to Christian doctrine, faith, and \nconduct; to the services, discipline, and unity of the church; and to the methods of \ninsuring successin missionary enterprise. It strives to reveal both the truth and the \nerror that are in such systems of thought as are developed in AGNOSTICISM, \nPRAGMATISM, MODERNISM, THEOSOPHY, SPIRITUALISM, AND CHRIS- \nTIAN SCIENCE. \n\nThe first and, perhaps, the most important achievement of the book is to show \nthat the fact of inspiration can be demonstrated scientifically; in other words, that \nthe inner subconscious mind can be influenced irrespective of influences exerted \nthrough the eyes and the ears, i. e., by what one sees or hears. In connection with \nthis fact it is also shown that, when the mind is thus inwardly or inspirationally \ninfluenced, as, for example, in hypnotism, the influence is suggestive and not dicta- \ntorial. As a result, the inspired person presents the truth given him not according \nto the letter, but according to the spirit. His object is not to deal with facts and impart \nknowledge, as science does. This would lead men to walk by sight. His object is \nto deal with principles, and these may frequently be illustrated just as accurately by \napparent, or, as in the case of the parable, by imagined circumstances, as by actual \nones. For this reason, many of the scientific and historical so-called "objections" \nto the Bible need not be answered categorically. Not only so, but such faith as it is \nnatural and right that a rational being should exercise can be stimulated and devel- \noped in only the degree in which the text of a sacred book is characterized by the \nvery vagueness and variety of meaning and statement which the higher criticism \nof the Bible has brought to light. The book traces these to the operation and re- \n(juirements of the human mind through which inspiration is received and to which \nit is imparted. Whatever inspires must appear to be, in some way, beyond the grasp \nof him who communicates it, and can make him who hears it think and train him to \nthink, in the degree only in which it is not comprehensive or complete;^ but merely, \nlike everything else in nature, illustrative of that portion of truth which the mind \nneeds to be made to find out for itself. \n\n\n\n"A book that everybody should read . . . medicinal for profest Christians, and \nfull of guidance and encouragement for those finding themselves somewhere between \nthe desert and the town. The sane, fair, kindly attitude taken gives of itself a \nprofitable lesson. The author proves conclusively that his mind \xe2\x80\x94 andif his, why \nnot another\'s? \xe2\x80\x94 can be at one and the same time sound, sanitary, scientific, and \nessentially religious. " \xe2\x80\x94 The Examiner, Chicago. \n\n"The author writes with logic and a \'sweet reasonableness\' that will doubtless \nconvince many halting minds. It is an inspiring hook."\xe2\x80\x94 Philadelphia Inquirer. \n\n"It is, we think, difficult to overestimate the value of this volume at the present \ncritical pass in the history of Christianity." \xe2\x80\x94 The Arena, Boston. \n\n" The author has taken up a task calling for heroic effort, and has given us a volume \nworthy of careful study. . . . The conclusion is certainly very reasonable." \xe2\x80\x94 \nChristian Intelligencer, New York. \n\n"Interesting, suggestive, helpful," \xe2\x80\x94 Boston Congregationalist. \n\n"Thoughtful, reverent, suggestive." \xe2\x80\x94 Lutheran Observer, Philadelphia. \n\n"Professor Raymond is a clear thinker, an able writer, and an earnest Christian, \nand his book is calculated to be greatly helpful to those in particular who, brought up \nin the Christian faith, find it impossible longer to reconcile the teachings of the \nChurch with the results of modern scientific thought." \xe2\x80\x94 Newark ( N. J.) Evening \nNews. \n\nFUNK & W4GNALLS COMPANY, Pubs., New York and London \n\n\n\nOTHER BOOKS BY PROFESSOR RAYMOND \n\nFundamentals in Education, Art, and Civics : Essays and \nAddresses. 8vo, cloth. Net, $1.40; by mail, $1.53 \n\n"Of fascinating interest to cultured readers, to the student, the teacher, the poet, \nthe artist, the musician, in a word to all lovers of sweetness and light. The author has \na lucid and vigorous style, and is often strikingly original. What impresses one is \nthe personality of a profound thinker and a consummate teacher behind every \nparagraph." \xe2\x80\x94 Dundee Courier, Scotland. \n\n"The articles cover a wide field and manifest a uniformly high culture in every \nfield covered. It is striking how this great educator seems to have anticipated the \neducational tendencies of our times some decades before they imprest the rest of us. \nHe has been a pathfinder for many younger men, and still points the way to higher \nheights. The book is thoroughly up-to-date." \xe2\x80\x94 Service, Philadelphia. \n\n"Clear, informing, and delightfully readable. Whether the subject is art and \nmorals, technique in expression, or character in a republic, each page will be found \ninteresting and the treatment scholarly, but simple, sane, and satisfactory , . . the \nstory of the Chicago fire is impressingly vivid. " \xe2\x80\x94 Chicago Standard. \n\n"He is a philosopher, whose encouraging idealism is well grounded in scientific \nstudy, and who illuminates points of psychology and ethics as well as of art when \nthey come up in the course of the discussion. " \xe2\x80\x94 The Scotsman, Edinburgh, Scotland. \n\n"A scholar of wide learning, a teacher of experience, and a writer of entertaining \nand convincing style." \xe2\x80\x94 Chicago Examiner. \n\n"\'The Mayflower Pilgrims\' and \'Individual Character in Our Republic\' call for \nunstinted praise. They are interpenetrated by a splendid patriotism." \xe2\x80\x94 Rochester \nPost-Express. \n\n"Agreeably popularizes much that is fundamental in theories of life and thought. \nThe American people owe much of their progress, their optimism, and we may say \ntheir happiness to the absorption of just such ideals as Professor Raymond stands \nfor." \xe2\x80\x94 Minneapolis Book Review Digest. \n\n"They deal with subjects of perennial interest, and with principles of abiding \nimportance, and they are presented with the force and lucidity which his readers \nhave come to look for in Dr. Raymond. " \xe2\x80\x94 Living Age, Boston. \n\nSuggestions for the Spiritual Life \xe2\x80\x94 College Chapel Talks. \n\n8 vo., cloth. Net$i.4o;by mail, $1.53 \n\n"Sermons of more than usual worth, full of thought of the right kind, fresh, \nstrong, direct, manly. . . . Not one seems to strain to get a young man\'s_ atten- \ntion by mere popular allusions to a student environment. They are spiritual, \nscriptural, of straight ethical import, meeting difficulties, confirrning cravings, \namplifying tangled processes of reasoning, and not forgetting the emotions. " \xe2\x80\x94 Hart- \nford Theological Seminary Record (CongregationalistJ. \n\n"The clergyman who desires to reach young men especially, and the teacher of \nmen\'s Bible Classes may use this collection of addresses to great advantage. . . . \nThe subjects are those of every man\'s experience in character building . . . such a \nwidespread handling of God\'s word would have splendid results in the production \nof men." \xe2\x80\x94 The Living Church (Episcopalian). \n\n"Great themes, adequately considered. . . . Surely the young men who \nlistened to these sermons must have been stirred and helped by them as we have \nbeen stirred and helped as we read them. " \xe2\x80\x94 Norihfield (Mass.) Record of Christian \nWork (Evangelical). \n\n"They cover a wide range. They are thoughtful, original, literary, concise, \ncondensed, pithy. They deal with subjects in which the young mind will be inter- \nested." \xe2\x80\x94 Western Christian Advocate (Methodist). \n\n"Vigorous thought, vigorously expressed. One is impressed by the moderation \nand sanity of the teachings here set forth and scholarly self-restraint in statement. \nBack of them is not only a believing mind, but genuine learning and much hard \nthinking." \xe2\x80\x94 Lutheran Observer. \n\n" Though most of the addresses were prepared over forty years ago ... no \nchapter in the book seems to be either \'old-fogyish\' or \'unorthodox.\' " \xe2\x80\x94 The Watch- \nman (Boston, Baptist). \n\n"The preacher will find excellent models for his work and stimulating thought . . . \nattractively presented and illustrated. . . . The addresses are scholarly and \nespecially adapted to cultivated minds. They show evidence of intimate acquamt- \nance with modern science and sympathy with modern ideas. " \xe2\x80\x94 Springfield (Mass.) \nRepublican. _ _ . \n\n" Beautiful and inspiring discourses . . . embody the ripe conviction of a mind \nof exceptional refinement, scholarship, and power ... a psychologist, a phil- \nosopher, and a poet. " \xe2\x80\x94 N . Y . Literary Digest. \n\n" Never was such a book more needed by young men than just now." \xe2\x80\x94 Philadel- \nphia Public Ledger. \n\nFUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Pubs, New York and London, \n\n\n\nDeacidified using the Bookkeeper process. \nNeutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide \nTreatment Date: Sept. 2009 \n\nPreservationTechnologies \n\nA WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTrONS PRESERVATION \n\n111 Thomson Park Drive \nCranberry Township, PA 16066 \n(724)779-2111 \n\n\n\nV \n\n\n\n'