' PS 550 ill illlilippii BY THE WAYSIDE By O, CHESTER BRODHAY Class 4 ••^ ' -■■ Book 'T?(-^g^"^^ CojpghtK". CDFmiGHT DEPOSm BY THE WAYSIDE BY THE WAYSIDE By ofc CHESTER BRODHAY (Author of Verses of Idle Hours) ^ CHICAGO THE LIBBY COMPANY 1922 ^^^^;> i^^> COPYRIGHT 1922, BY THE LIBBY COMPANY ©CI.A6619 93 INDEX Page LAURETTE 9 AS SOMETIMES HAPPENS 23 WHAT IS JUSTICE? 24 A TOILER'S MUSING 25 BUT A MEMORY 26 MISTAKEN 28 ONE AFTERNOON ........ 30 THE GOAL 31 HIS PHILOSOPHY 33 COULD WE BUT SEE THEM 34 THE GREAT DESIRE 35 SACRIFICE 36 OPPORTUNITIES 37 ONE NIGHT 38 THE EVERPRESENT ONE 39 THE GREAT "I AM" 41 THE PANACEA 43 BEYOND THE CITY'S LIGHTS 44 SELF-DECEPTION 45 AND A LITTLE CHILD MAY— 46 THE CALL 47 THE RESPITE 48 A WIFE'S COLLOQUY 49 THE DREAMER 52 AS A MAN THINKETH 54 V Page THE FADED GARMENT 56 AT THE DOOR 58 HIS CROSS 59 RECOGNIZED 61 TO THE ROAD 63 WHY? 65 YESTERDAY AND TODAY 66 A VICTIM 67 THE DARKENED VISION 68 SANDY 69 AS SOMETIMES HAPPENS 71 VALLEY OF DESPAIR . . ' 73 AN AUGUST DAY 74 SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT .... 75 THE GREAT ACHIEVEMENT ..... 76 HELL 77 HEAVEN 79 THEIR COURTSHIP 80 IN THE SILENCE— 81 GRATITUDE 83 GENIE 84 DOWN AT THE MARKET-PLACE .... 88 REJOICE 90 THE WAYS OF MEN . - 91 IN THE ALLEY 94 EVERYWHERE 95 BEYOND THE TURNSTILE 96 THE FALSE 99 Page MIRAGES 101 THE REBUKE 103 WHO KNOWS 104 THE SONG OF DAWN 105 MAKE-BELIEVE 107 THE OFFENDERS 109 HOW WONDERFUL . 110 THE SEAMLESS GARMENT. ..... Ill THE ONE THING 112 LJKE THE WIND THAT SIGHS 113 LIMITATION 115 ANTIPODES . 116 DARKNESS . 117 IN THE WORDS OF A PROPHET . . . .118 A DREAM OR A TRAGEDY 119 ABOVE AND BELOW 121 THE LAD UPON THE FENCE 122 REALIZATION 125 SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT .... 127 IDLE HOURS . 128 CARRY ON 129 SONG TO THE DAY 130 THE UNDISTURBED 132 LAURETTE It was spring. We planted a slip of a rosebush Close to the garden shed ; A tiny sprig, so delicate, so frail, A living human thing To Laurette and me. For weeks we watched it grow. In the early hours of the morning. Half clad, Down the garden path I'd run In search of some new shoot That might appear And then with wild-eyed joy and breathless speech Would bring to her The message of my great discovery. Expectant days of spring Grew heavenly with fulfillment. The warm sun, like a charmed magnet, Coaxed the moisture from the ground And wove the vapors into a filmy veil Embellishing the woods and fields With its mystic beauty. The pale green grass upon the hills Looked like fresh paint Upon an unfinished canvas. Patches of dandelions Scattered sunshine here and there. Far down our street the carpenters were busy Hammering and sawing. A new house arose Where once a beaten path Led straight down to the creek; Just such a home as Laurette and I would build, Some day — somewhere. Across the road, Where it turned into a lane, A box-elder hedge enclosed an old estate ; Where to trespass would have been A grievous wrong. A tall wrought-iron gate And two large boulders — one on either side — Freshly white-washed. Suggested to my youthful mind The gates of Paradise; A great horse-chestnut tree that stood close by, 10 Though still in dishabille — Suggested solemn Peter Guarding the entrance to forbidden lands. Laurette would never pass this silent sen- tinel Alone. Some fancied ill, some childish fear, Lurked in the sombre shadow It cast across the path ; But hand in hand, we two Would often trudge this most enticing lane, And here would pledge our love Upon the shrine of childhood innocence. Though many a summer's grandeur waned. And autumn's dazzling splendor passed And scarred and lifeless sticks and twigs Marked the trail of winter's ravages, Each spring our rosebush grew To be more beautiful. To me, its fragrance breathed the spirit of Laurette. I could not entertain the one without the other. To pick a bud or flower from the leafy stems Was like the severance of some mortal member From its rightful place. 11 Though, once each year, I never failed To place within her arms, Its choicest flowers. One day a great awakening came, As awakenings often do. Out of nowhere into stern reality. They were to take my own Laurette from me Beyond the woods and hills, To where the big black trains Go racing. How often at sundown, We had watched these flying monsters Speed on their way and fade from sight Into the great unknown. And as the evening shadows Engulfed the earth in mystery And stars came blinking into life, What dreams we carried home with us. Again, I hear the noise of hammers and of saws. But the men are not the same I saw that spring. They come not to build houses, To make cheer, But to dismantle, to disrobe the home, 12 To make the heart grow faint. At last their work is done ; The noise is heard no more. And then the neighbors come To say farewell. How strange now are the once familiar rooms, How loud the foot falls upon the denuded floors ; The hollowness rebounds upon the ears And oppresses the senses. The sunlight lies dusty gray upon the win- dow panes — A sudden chill overwhelms my being. I hear the whistles of the big black train, Its noisy shriek Ere it flashes into view. I stand with cap in hand. The pounding of my heart Beats loud and fast, Louder and faster than the nervous monster That puffs and thrumps and fumes, That steadies slowly, Then dashes onward. Straight down the tracks, Across the bridge — beyond the creek, Into the woods, 13 With only a crape of smoke Fluttering before my eyes. Seasons have come and gone— And now it is autumn : The sun's red blood lies splashed Upon the western horizon. I am thinking of Laurette — Of the rosebush, Of the bitter nights and frosty morns That laid it low. Far from that childhood play-ground My wayward feet have trod ; The ashes of ten years lie Upon the dust-pan of today. The friends of boyhood, but chaff Sped by the winds. Sometimes a half-forgotten face Flashes across my vision, Or a once familiar voice Breaks the silent chambers of my memory. I have heard the cry of the coyote by night, The scream of the eagle by day ; The unceasing roar of cataracts, tumbling Three hundred feet below ; The death-knell of trees that were Kings for a thousand years. 14 I have seen the mists from the valleys Weave lavender veils about the mountain- sides. These same naked hills, scarred with Mines that made millionaires, Others that filled State asylums And poor-houses. I have helped build trestles that Span rivers and levelled gulches : Up dizzy heights my feet have climbed, Down swift flowing rivers I have paddled. I have seen noble impulses actuate The worst of men, And the worst of passions degrade The best of men. Heroism that put to shame all sense of self And cowardice that seared Like the burn of branded cattle. Today, I am back in a smoke begrimed city. The people crowd one another. Just as they did yesterday and the day before — And ten years ago. Boys have become young men, And the young men grown into maturity. Four-story buildings have made room for the 15 Monsters that tower twenty odd Stories against the skyline. Wherever you look, the activity of life, Quickens the pulse and pounds upon the ears. I hear the factory whistles blow. A few hurrying, scurrying men come down the yard Then more men; stern men, careless men. Indifferent men, rough men, meek men. Faster and faster until the very thorough- fare is choked : A living surging mass, moving on and on. Broadening and scattering Like so many leaves before the autumn wind, Swallowed up by the great city, In that magic niche called "home." The red ball in the west flattens And disappears among the darkening emb- ers that burn out. How dismal now looks the yard with the workers gone. Dark shadows lie upon the ground along the lumber piles — Like deep ravines. A lantern flashes down the path — 16 The path that leads straight to the factory: A watchman on his nightly rounds. Darkness everywhere, spotted here and there With flickering street lamps And distant window lights. A brief respite for tired men and women — A measured hush, an ominous silence. I feel the mesmerism of toil, Of sweat, of want and woe, The cold indifference that makes strangers of neighbors. At last I am at home ; Not the home I knew as a boy. But ten floors up ; Alone but not lonesome ; Neglected but not hurt. I am learning that life's dreams Must be chiseled into actualities. I am measuring myself, condemning myself. Ascertaining my true height Without standing on tiptoes. The moon is rising high above the buildings That rise like bulwarks from the narrow streets below. 17 The incessant noises that drum upon my ears Bring visions of the fall of Babylon. Twenty-five hundred years have passed, Since that historic avalanche, Yet I can hear the tumult of that day ; "Babylon the great has fallen" — "Babylon the great has fallen" — That the star of Bethlehem should shine. That out of the chaos of every life, Should come the birth of a new idea. I have been looking at things from the hill- tops, But now I am groping in the valleys of decision. The dust stifles and the rocks bruise my feet, But I am gaining a truer sense of propor- tions. Today it comes to me in the desire for greater activity. Greater love, greater achievement, And blessed am I in knowing That every day is Thanksgiving day. Winter has passed, spring is here, And new-born hopes arise like Grass upon the hillside. 18 I am dreaming again of meadows and green pastures, Clear skies and running brooks. Pungent odors of fresh earth Watered by the winter snows And the April rains, Of the southern birds that come To build their nests each year. Out in the parks the lilacs are blossoming, The care-free robin proclaims Its freedom in a song And frisks about snatching worms From the dew-drenched earth. Here and there, gardeners are seeding and harrowing. Each flutter of air that touches my cheek Is a kiss of love from the breath of life. I can hear the voice of one calling to be heard. The same plaintive cry I heard many years ago. I am thinking of Laurette — Of the rosebush, Of the bitter nights that laid it low. I resurrect a tear-stained letter, Laid away these many years, Telling of her father's death. 19 I read each word with all the emotion Of an earlier age. A well-spring of memories crowd upon me. I feel the loneliness of self-pity Like a cry in the wilderness. I hear the axalted thought of one Calling from the mountain-peak. I have felt it in the stilly night, In the strength of fervent aspiration. I have seen it in the soft shadows Mirrored in sunny streams, In every contrast that inspired. Barriers which the years have built, Are swept away like papier-mache. Today I stand again upon the station plat- form And watch the big black train Pufif and thump and fume, Ere it steadies for a dash Straight down the track. Where once a modest station stood, A more pretentious structure greets my eyes. Across the street, a new hotel. Flashes an electric sign. The ''Morning Chronicle" 20 No longer slumbers on the second-floor back, But in gold leaf, proclaims itself, From a groundfloor window pane, A next door neighbor to the Citizens Na- tional Bank. I leave the thoroughfare behind. In a nearby field I see a farmer Driving his unhitched horses to the barn ; Along the deserted railroad track A workman with his empty dinner pail Labors homeward. Swift flying martins are frolicking noisily overhead. From a nearby puddle A frog is croaking its evening praises. I see the self-same house I once called home — The well remembered shed — Now overgrown with purple clematis. And low the rosebush I thought dead. A thing more beautiful than my boyhood eyes beheld. Across the lawn, a white-clothed vision conies ; I watch her measured step. The grace and beauty of her supple form. Her soft brown hair looks darker 21 In the subdued light; Her face as peaceful as the closing day. At last she lifts her eyes, A startled look overspreads her face. I breathe, 'Xaurette" — Just a whisper, I see a quiver pass across her lips. But, like a queen, with wondrous self- control. She smiles most graciously, And offers me her dainty hand. 22 AS SOMETIMES HAPPENS He condemned himself Because of physical deficiencies. His body was like a tree Sprung up amid rocks, Defying the very elements, Dwarfed and scrawny because of it. Alone he stood In his isolated relation to the world, Weighing the actions of humanity. Men thought him queer, Yet he had ideas to make him great. He toiled that he might prove to men A mind not fashioned to deformity A power greater than the thing they saw. The world would have called him a genius, Had fate dealt more kindly with him. He died before his earthly mission seemed fulfilled, And others reaped the worldly benefits of his toil. 23 WHAT IS JUSTICE? My brothers and your brothers — Today I saw them behind locked doors. Bars stood between us And between them and the streets. Boys who have fathers and mothers Who weep — Men who have wives With instincts to live and to love And children with affections as well as bodies Famishing for nourishment. The law is meant to deal justice To the breakers of law. And to those who obey the law, To those who are weak, And to those who are strong? Then — what is justice? 24 A TOILER'S MUSING Today is as yesterday And all yesterdays crowded with toil. Up with the sun in the summer; Chores to be done before breakfast; Out into darkness when winter comes ; Kids a-crying when he leaves home; Kids a-crying when he comes home; Noise a-pounding in his ears all day. Figuring the dollars to outwit old age, When fingers are stiff and hair turned gray, When shop-worn, marked-down, like dam- aged goods ; With pay-days lean and all things black — When of a sudden a smile lights his face. "By Gad," one thing he knows will be sure : The kids will be men and women some day. 25 BUT A MEMORY He always knew her as a strange child Dreaming dreams Of the moon and stars. Of the woods and the fields. She never enjoyed his playgrounds : The streams, the rivers, the bay . . She shrank from the noise of the waves And stopped her ears When asked to listen to their music. She worried when he told her He wanted to be a sailor To sail the seas ; To dehght in chasing nymphs That dance upon the waves ; To be lashed to the mast When the wiilds howl And the thunder roars — A captain at his post. They were children then. When she grew up, she studied art ; She wrote many verses And Vv^axed eloquent about concertos; 26 Music became her daily bread ; He often plagued her about it: "Verses," he said, were never for men And concertos all right at forty. She was always kind and he — Well, one day he awoke to find That her gentleness Was a shadow in the heat of noon And her presence a summer shower That perfumed the atmosphere — That was yesterday. Today the dust of the world Is in his nostrils; The activity of the present Stampedes his senses, And the past is but a memory. 27 MISTAKEN I never had known anything good about him, Neither could I call him any bad names. His manners always suggested — "Hands off." I never met him but what I wished to swap physiques, So that I might pummel him to twice his size — This was some years ago. Today I met him in a western mining camp, A dirt-stained, leather-skinned, sunken- eyed. Sinewed human tractor, That could mow down anything in his way ; Feared because of his fearlessness; Respected for his absolute disregard to danger. They told me he had saved many lives out there. So I recalled to him our former meeting. 28 Although his greeting caused my hand much pain, I noticed with some satisfaction The Hght in his eyes. What had tempered the man, I asked myself Had mine own disposition been transformed ; Or was it that the time and the place Gave to him a different setting? Later he asked me if I would take a message And a package, his entire savings — Home to his mother. 29 ONE AFTERNOON The atmosphere is Hmitless in Uicidity Like Hquid glass Rolled out unto the sky, With animate and inanimate objects Outlined in its depths . . . A certain melody diffuses itself Into the afternoon ; I know not whether it is The sigh of the winds Or the music of the spheres. Whether those I see and talk to Hear its harmony, Or out of the deep recesses of being, A companion of my dreams Is singing love-songs For my ears alone. 30 THE GOAL Through a pathless woods He fought his way, Where the underbrush was heavy And the fallen limbs were thick and tangled. At last he found himself free, In an open field Where the turf was green And patches of wild-flowers grew ; Birds were chirping And the warm sun embraced him. He followed a beaten path To a distant hill. Here in the shadow Sat a man with the seal Of "wisdom" on his forehead. The stranger asked Where he would go And straightway added: "There are six roads That lead into the great Beyond. Two of them" — he nodded — "You have already traveled. You have stumbled through the darkness 31 Of the one Into the awakening Of the other. Four more roads invite inspection. Three of them can be seen Beyond the hills, They are the roads to Experience : Trials, self-denials, suflFering, The other, though unseen, Is the confluence of them all. It is a single road That leads out of the mire Up to the peak of Understanding." 32 HIS PHILOSOPHY "Life," he mused "Is but a flowing stream And we are all Rocks or pebbles or sand or scum. The rocks with much commotion settle Down upon the river bottom. For settle down they must After stirring up the stream. Their effect is to purify, through action, Which carries away the scum. Pebbles never create much of a stir, There is little commotion, And the ripple is soon lost. But they are the great indispensable quantity, Whose effect collectively is immeasurable. The sand is that vast underlying element. Refining and supporting all. The scum is but a surface condition. That suggests all that is sluggish — It is inertia, the opposite Of that which stands for Life." 33 COULD WE BUT SEE THEM Where is the throng I mingled with all day? Scattered to the various nooks Which they call home. We see them, Not as brother sees his brother, But measured with the tape Of world-taught mathematics. Could we but see them as they now appear To those with whom they sit at meat, Or look into each anxious heart, As he or she travels alone Up the hill that hides tomorrow, More Christlike would our thoughts be- come. 34 THE GREAT DESIRE How appealing to our senses is comfort and ease ; How satisfying to have the appetites ap- peased. How pleasant to watch from a cosy room The raging storm without. Wealth we crave And health we struggle to possess or to retain ; Fame, that in our weakness we may be glorified ; At last to stretch our stiffening arms to Heaven And cry for light — When all the light there is Is Life. 35 SACRIFICE We think of sacrifice as giving up Something we would possess. There is no sacrifice; For self-denial is but one step Beyond that taken before, And brings us into possession Of what was heretofore unattained. Z6 OPPORTUNITIES We think ourselves important As we struggle through the day. A certain pride sustains us In the duties we assume. Men call them burdens. Viewed in the light of Truth, They are but opportunities That develop strength. n ONE NIGHT I watched the clouds of fleecy white Speed across the evening sky. The moon arose above the pines That topped the hills, While deep shadows crept from the silent places And flecked the road like an ink-stained blotter. A chill Northerly wind blew the dead leaves From the stiffening limbs. The golden light that lay upon the barren fields Was like a smile upon a saddened face — It was October. 38 THE EVERPRESENT ONE You knew me ere I grew to know myself, In that age of mist So long ago . . . One day, I wandered from the place called home, To where my feet had never trod And all was strange; Where rows and rowfe of smoke-stained buildings Resembled embankments That damned the human streams Flowing between their walls ; Where the ceaseless noises multiplied And drowned the senses in confusion. Not knowing where to turn or what to do, I thought of Mother, far away. How she had taught me every night to pray— "God leadeth me." And, standing there, I saw a man Come straight to me and say, "You are the little man who lives across the street," 39 And when I felt his hand encircle mine, My heart rejoiced again in confidence. Out of the mist, a message speeds today. It travels now across the distant hills, Through silent woods, down valleys, over plains : It is the self-same voice that spoke through him who said, "You are the little man who lives across the street." 40 THE GREAT "I AM" I am mother of you all, great and small, You children and you old men, Mothers and those yet to be mothers — You belong to me. I am the ever present ONE: Whatever is, is the manifestation Of my activity. The slumbering stream, Pale as a day-time moon ; The overpowering ocean, Restless, fathomless, unconquerable; The caressing wind, Singing love-songs through the trees; The cattle in the field, Lowing cadences to Heaven ; The tiller of the soil. Sowing that he may reap ; And the elements That bring him harvest time ; All are my handiwork. I am the power That makes the sun to re-appear, 41 The light of stars That gives to night a charm, Instead of fear. I know all things : The deep things that lie hidden In the bowels of the earth, And the amplitude that stretches Beyond your vision here on earth. The whisperings of the forest Are a language known to me ; And the murmurings of the rivers, Not a mystery. The thoughts of the just Are music to my ears, And the planning of the unrighteous, Delusions of the dreamers. My glory is the harmony of Life. The uninterrupted activity Of the Universe. 42 THE PANACEA Sleep, thou art the twin brother to Death, Yet mortals seek thee Because of surcease from the senses — A release from the weariness of the flesh ; Yet I know that in thee Is never to be found The remedy for our ills, For in thought alone carrection lies — The panacea for inharmony — disease. 43 BEYOND THE CITY'S LIGHTS No longer do the noises of the night drum upon my ears ; The thunderous rumble of the L, The unceasing hum of speeding motors^ The muffled roar of the lake, The constant noises of the multitudes. Sheltered for the night amid the silences, I feel the presence of good fellowship I look into illimitable space Reaching out unto the heavens The miriad planets swimming in the distant nebulae, The darkened hills reclining upon the lap of Mother Earth, The slumbering fields dreaming away the hours — All things hushed in unlabored action. 44 . SELF-DECEPTION Family A. She was his wife, he knew her as a thing That toiled for him, glad to do his bidding; Beloved, because of comforts that she brought. He petted her, proud in his own conceit — Contented with so valuable a slave. And she, poor creature, thankful that he gave Unselfishly of all that he possessed — Struggled on most grateful to the end. Family B. He was her husband and he loved her much. He wearied not to gain her smile, her touch. He toiled for years that she might have her spoils ; The emptyness of vain desires fulfilled. He lived for days upon one false caress. Never conscious of her great selfishness. Pitying those less richly blessed than he And never knew the happiness he missed. 45 AND A LITTLE CHILD MAY— It is morning, the sun shines . . . Just a repetition of other mornings : The blue sky hangs overhead ; The bigness of the great outdoors Expands before your eyes ; The gift of Hfe Lies in the freshness of the Air you breathe. Buildings that represent Labor and sacrifice, The evolution of ages of thought ; Inventions it has taken ages To crystalize ; The very streets you walk — All concrete facts that would fill Volumes And yet, to you, common-place, perhaps. This morning, I had an awakening: I heard a child exclaim, "Look, Mother: see the sun shine, Isn't it wonderful." 46 THE CALL To you Who have not known The gnaw of hunger, The bitter dregs of poverty, The lash of biting cold, The burden of unceasing toil That warps the nature And breeds bitterness in the heart. To you Who Uve within walls of comfort. Who behold the world With that complacent air That knows no gratitude But accepts each gift That life bestows. As so much air you breathe. To you — Awake from this mesmeric dream Of self-corroding ease, And lend a hand Unto your brother man. You are the weak. The much to be despised, Drunken with self-indulgence. 47 THE RESPITE Today I am weary, weary in purpose. Weary with the constant strife To prove two and two make four. Weary because of the mists That hide the weaknesses I should disown. I know the compass points to North, Though my eyes tell me it is South. I know the mist will lift And the dust will settle. But the interim is sombre-dull . . It is the hour before the dawn. 48 A WIFE'S COLLOQUY This is our birthday, dear And I have just turned twenty-nine ; Ten years of married life For you and me, Which, measured by the happy hours Spent together. Seems ages since we started onward, Up the garden path of Hfe. My thoughts go back To one bright starry night in June : A little girl just back from school, Radiant with the pride of vain accomplish- ments And flushed with emotions of exuberant youth. The world Seemed such a labyrinth of beauty And the people Living elements of mystery. The night was radiant with intoxication ; The spirit of gaiety everywhere. 49 Music, people, warm hand-clasps, infectious merriment, Dazzling lights, perfumed atmosphere, The exciting touch of embracing dancers, All blending into one bewildering presence. The crowded room became too small To circumscribe the ardor of my years And when you boldly challenged me To a clandestine trip beyond the garden walk. How unhesitatingly I acquiesced. It was my first exciting escapade with you. And how you overwhelmed me with your love. My senses seemed to float amid the stars ; I scarcely heard the half you said, I only knew Heaven had opened wide for me. The obscure blue of the heavens Added depths to the ardor of my love. Filling illimitable space with emotional ecstasy. The myriad leaves cooed love-songs to the night. The silence in the adjacent meadows Accentuated the resplendent glory of your being. SO The years have since more than fulfilled The great expectancy of my soul. The love and gentleness you display ; The quiet firmness in everything you say. The strange indifference to the things Which would other men annoy. A certain poise I have tried hard to acquire But never have been able to attain. Often have I wondered, dear, What it was that made you look at me With such admiring eyes ; At one whose shallowness Was quite as clear As any rippUng stream I have looked upon. Perhaps the dazzling love-beams In my eyes that night Reflected something that your own Great soul illumed, And in its light you saw What my poor senses never did reveal. 51 THE DREAMER Today he arose with visions in his heart. The morning sun made butterfly wings of the cobwebs Which hung outside his dusty window panes. The sparrows chirped with tantalizing de- light. The warm September sun had stolen June's bridal veil And spread its filmy mist broadcast. The great out-doors, with all its activity, Was never before so appealing to his senses. The dull rumble of the city's life Crowded a thousand revelations into his thoughts. He sauntered aimlessly along the street. Shadows from tall buildings Accentuated the bands of light That lay across his path. What a riot of color everywhere. Bricks of red and brown and gray, Splashes of blue and green, and lavender and yellow. 52 From where he stood, he could see the river below, A house-boat moored to the dock ; Close by, a freighter Sky-rocketing a heavy cloud of smoke ; He thought of pictures he had seen Painted on smaller canvasses. The clanging bell of an approaching train, Rising above the constant hum. Drowned his senses in confusion. The shriek of battle cry was in his ears. The hiss of bursting bombs And crash of steel was in the air. Defiance to the maddening foe was every- where. He started with decision down the street The clanging noises of the city he left be- hind. He beheld himself an atom in this colossal force, His powers but the fabric of an egotistic brain. 53 AS A MAN THINKETH The rain beat down in gusts. A heavy limousine Ploughed its way Swishing and hissing Through the reflected objects That danced along the lighted thorough- fare. The wind made miniature hurricanes Of the reckless rain-drops That dashed across the drenched wind- shield. On the inviting upholstery within, Half hidden in the recessed tonneau, Sat a man and a woman ; "A damn fine night to entice a man out/ growled he, As he looked at her With scorching criticism. In a far away corner of the town Where the car line ends And cement walks give place 54 To patches of prairie, A sturdy fellow who helped Build ships during the war, After twelve hard months of toil and sac- rifice, Was forging his way home — Home to wife and baby. What matters the rain, the wind, the dark- ness . . . He gave his hat an extra twist. He dug his chin deeper into his coat And double-quicked his step. There was a song in his heart And a sparkle in his eye — For to him, Heaven lay At the end of that dark deserted street. 55 THE FADED GARMENT Down through the purple shades of dark- ness, Into the blackness of uninhabited night, When mankind was but a dream And earth a wilderness to be explored, Man dreamed a dream apart from God That he a separate creature was. Down in the recesses of his soul There crystallized a newborn hope That shaped itself into desire To break the dumbness Of the world which he beheld. And lo ! a companion to his dream Was born. The news, wirelessed by the winds. Sped on and on. Until it swept the very heavens in its flight. The earth till now so dumb Began to quake And every living thing awoke into some new desire. 56 The vision of the night gave way To dawn of day, Blessed with a Hght That could be seen a million miles away ; To man and woman. The world became a bower of green and golden light With spreading fields and undulating lands ; Through which the silver threads of running brooks And sparkhng rivers wound their way. The monster ocean rolled upon its course To unknown depths that lay against the sky; The sun-bleached sands, a spotless blanket Outstretched along its shores. The wooded vales and forests echoed melodies And all creation breathed harmony For earth knew but one language — Love. 57 AT THE DOOR We see hopes die And new ones born. We see the leaves fall And their fibre sown to the elements Winter snows come And buds reappear. We see old friends pass away And new ones arise ; Sowing that betrays weakness And reaping that levels the strong; Romances that enlighten And mysteries that appall ; Yet, living or dying, Life stands triumphant At the door. 58 HIS CROSS He met her and saw in her The cravings of his soul ; He stood bewildered With his great discovery. He learned to know her better With each day, And the more amazed became With what he saw. He thought perhaps his dreaming Would take wings And leave him where he stood Before they met — Alas ! it was not so. The love that was a joy Was soon transformed into a cross That must be borne Through pain and want, Through lonesomeness and barren wastes and wilderness, And yet his heart Dared not cry for sympathy. 59 And as he tramped life's thoroughfares, Some said that he was queer, Others thought he was as hard as adamant And thus alone he fought The silent battles of his life ; And no one ever knew Or gave a care. 60 RECOGNIZED He was always kind to her, He gave her luxuries she had never known. He lavished gifts upon her, That his friends might envy him the more For the prize which he possessed. She lent distinction to her position As his wife, And won for him recognition He never would have known. He often thought how like the one Whom he had lost she was And grew affectionately attentive at such times. She loved him deeply, but he knew it not. He questioned the indifference she dis- played ; The growing strangeness And lack of confidence she betrayed And grew perplexed because of it. He recognized a subtle pallor in her cheeks 61 And a hidden something in her eyes That made her more appeaUng in her sor- row. His thoughts grew serious In contemplating what he saw ; And suddenly it dawned upon him That she knew. 62 TO THE ROAD The biting winter nights have loosed their grip ; The smile of Spring has tempered their dis- position, The dark shadows that lined the hard streets Have softened into hazy gray; The stifling tenements breathe a purer at- mosphere ; The cold indifference of fellow-men is broken, The desire of the heart is leavened. The soft winds whisper — to the road Where hunger burrows less into the cheeks, Where poverty grovels not along unpleas- ant streets. Where the road of man lies straight Through broad unfettered fields; Where dawn is ushered in with gladness And no unwelcome noises smite the ears; Where noon is bathed with refreshing shadows 63 And the joy of living is recognized in quietude ; Where nature sings a lullaby at the close of day And gathers all its creatures in its arms. 64 WHY? The day was cold. The wind whipped his Tattered misfit clothes About his lean form And pinched his haggard face Into chiseled cameo. His bony hand Trembled as he held his hat. Two big tears Were slowly coursing down his cheeks. Across the street, I saw a shaggy-faced dog Blanketed to the ears CuddHng in the arms Of a passer-by. 65 YESTERDAY AND TODAY Childhood seems such a remote experience; Something so far away. Like a lost chord Or the distant noise of jangled bells, A dim festival of the past. The succeeding years So many cloudy conceits That evaporate like the mist. Yesterday I felt a sense of loneliness For much that is gone. Yesterday I stood alone in the Wilderness of despair. Today I am content with the present; Rejoicing in this journey of the universe And the romance of man. I see Life, not as a thing That is ebbing away, But as self-existent. I am a child of life. I am one with the all inclusive Infinite. Existence proves my heritage. 66 A VICTIM His heart grew restless with conflicting moods ; His thoughts of life usurped his peace ; His inner nature was disturbed Much like a river churned By the passing of two great boats. He sought a quiet spot in an adjacent park Where the warm sun threw a veil of gold Across the spotted green. But the sun could not blot out the by-gone days, The falling of decaying leaves, The broken wings of a butterfly — And other silent visitants. He looked upon, instead of through the things he saw. His thoughts too dark to see the light be- yond. He clung to this bewildered vision Until life became to him a tragedy. 67 THE DARKENED VISION Man beholds the great firnr^ment That outwits his understanding; The broad sky overhead That outreaches his vision ; The winds that encircle him, That outrun his swiftest thoughts ; The Heavens and earth in perfect balance, Gripped by the hand of no mere thing — And yet he lives and moves And has his being In the great Infinite . . . 68 SANDY Sandy had much to make him unhappy, Yet he never lost his smile because of it. Up to the attic loft he climbed each night With Umbs heavy but v^ith a heart That transcended into Heaven. Had it not been so His life would have been a tragedy. In the trying hours of heated summer nights, The moon and stars became his sole com- panions. He measured Hfe, not by the toils And hardships of the day But by the unspeakable things His youthful vision beheld. Earth gave to him so little, He had to look beyond the finite sense of things. Each day transformed the commonplace Into a thing of beauty. Only when the winter came 69 And beat the snowflakes Through the broken windowpanes And the old timbers in the eaves Snapped and cracked, And the knotted boards upon the floor Creaked and groaned and threatened To drop him into the darkness and the cold His cheerfulness was sorely tried. He was a lad whose courage seldom failed And only once his burdens overwhelmed him. It was the night his mother passed away : She, who bore for him all things. That "Sandy" might grow up to be a man. Since then he nourished one unquenched regret : Had Daddy only been like other Daddies that he knew. 70 AS SOMETIMES HAPPENS He left her many years ago For the busy city and the ways of men. A girl of sixteen was she then. But in her heart she held the vision Of a woman's love. He was a lad of noble mien, With an ambition born of a strong purpose. He hungered for the life he chose, Where men were tried and strong And daring hearts great battles fought. With youthful energy he toiled. Never wearied nor discouraged with his lot, A brave and confident pilot, With eyes fixed steadfast on his compass And the course ahead. The way was long and progress slow, And when impatience persisted to be heard. He grit his teeth without a word And to his purpose turned And toiled the harder at the task. 71 He felt the blight of poverty, The trials of lonesomeness and home de- sires. He trampled on these smouldering fires, And with strong will subdued The finer feelings in his breast. The efforts of his burdened years, Crystallized eventually into power, And brought to him his longed-for hour. The forging of the first link. In the great chain of events. With greater vigor he toiled on. Work gained for him the cherished power to dictate. He learned to master men, to hate, To countenance no opposition To his word or will. His storehouse overflowed with gains. He flourished as a tree watered by a brook. The course he planned, he ne'er forsook, Until he reached his goal, And, them — he found his heart was stone. 72 VALLEY OF DESPAIR In the great silence of my thoughts, Where lies a desert, a great lonely waste Where ofttimes in the dark days And in the long, lonely nights My weary footsteps roam. I know not why I choose such desert wastes. A land devoid of hope And where the sun-baked carcasses Sneer at human efiforts as a thing most vain. Where, beneath my feet. Lies the dust of centuries. Not a blade of grass or leafy stem, Only miles of crusty stretches. Spreading across this valley of despair. 1Z AN AUGUST DAY The wind caught up the dust from the heated road. And smothered the weeds with its scattered upheaval. The sumac that hedged the fence Was transformed with ashen garments. The sun's fiery countenance Beat relentlessly down. The world lay helpless — Gasping — pleading. A life-long memory was burned Upon the hearts of a million Suffering beings today. At last came twilight; A huge blood spot upon the distant heavens, A splash of red that dyed the skyline, And the blazing dragon was consumed. 74 SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT Thoughts are things to grapple with, Phantoms that flit across the senses ; Sometimes good, often otherwise. As the distant flutterings of a lute. Music to charm the senses to sleep — = Melody to soothe — Or jangled bells to jar ; Making captives of us. Or freeing us from a yoke of bondage. 75 THE GREAT ACHIEVEMENT Charity, the pearl of great price, The achievement of a Hfetime, Acquired by few, most needed by all. We preach immortality As a thing to be thrust upon us, Rather than a possession To be acquired by growth, Through the development of love. 76 HELL The people cursed and feared. Hatred swept across the land. The clouds gathered and hid the shining sun. A black dragon swallowed up the valley. The wind arose and the rain came. Whirlpools of water lashed the trees and shrubs And drenched the earth. Mad torretits flooded the fields And swept away what was weak and un- protected. Lightning rip-sawed the sky And thunder burst its bombs upon the way. Fiendish, hellish noises screamed and hissed And wrought confusion. When its wrath was spent There came a sudden lull, As if a voice had said, "So far and no farther." Silently the black demon shrank. A faint sun-spot was seen upon the hill Lengthening and broadening n Until it obliterated this monster of darkness. But the ravaged forests, The fallen trees and rain-swept earth Remained as witnesses; Effects of this dream of hatred, Evil— Devil— hell. 78 HEAVEN Today the people sang praises For the good things that had come to them. The sun's warm glow caressed the moun- tain-side. The valleys bathed in mist were dreaming The dreams of awakening youth. The atmosphere diffused the beauty of holi- ness. The perfume of buds and leaves And fragrant bark. The odor of dewy earth And the freshness of rollicking streams. Nature rejoiced In the richness of its possessions, In the light of constant birth, In the resurrection of slumbering ideas, In the awakening of good. In the realization of Heaven — Not as a location — But as Harmony. 79 THEIR COURTSHIP Along the narrow path he came. She saw him as he turned into the lane. Her lover, with strength in every stride. At last he stood before her at the gate, Her anxious moments of expectancy ful- filled. He greeted her just as he always did. Yet each time brought to her an overwhelm- ing joy. He held her hands within his own. He felt her dainty fingers quiver Like a captured bird. He heard her laughter ripple like a quiet brook ; He looked into her eyes, fathomless as the sea; And saw the pink in her fair cheeks Grow blushing red. He thought how wondrous fair His love had grown And visions of a new life opened unto him. 80 IN THE SILENCE— Far into the country I walked today- Through heavy stubbled fields And over dusty roads Until my nostrils rebelled, My flesh grew weary, And my feet (ever ready to carry me) Became self-willed and deaf to reason. And there, beside the road I sat, Looking into the far receeding heavens Like one lost in the wilderness. There, in the silence of my thoughts, I discerned the restlessness That drove me here ; The sly little foxes of hidden faults ; The hungry wolves of ravenous desires. Within its sanctuary I also found The unselfishness of God to man : The peace which I saw reflected In the brook which babbled through the woods ; In the great expanse of sunUt sky, In the soft refreshing odors 81 Of the grass, the trees, the shrubs — In the sweet melodies of the woodland songsters — In the joyous recognition of life. Which drove all weariness from my flesh, And restored to my feet obedient activity. 82 GRATITUDE The wind was screaming round the eaves, Pounding the window casements, Scattering the rain Uke gusts of shrapnel, Flattening the wet bullets Against the resisting glass. And yet there was a song within my heart That would not recognize the storm. That rose above discordant elements To heights where darkness never dwells. 83 GENIE A deep shadow of loneliness Lies about him — upon him. He crosses the room And looks out into the night. Black billows of clouds Smother the moon and the stars; The night is a wall of darkness; A distant engine is thumping Above the subdued noises from the street. A heavy veil of fog and gases. Hangs over the city. An occasional puff of wind Drives the fumes through the half-open window — He is thinking of a letter — her letter. "Good-bye, dear hope of mine," he reads, "I knew that it would come — must come. You who taught me the principle Of true living Will not be surprised That after four months Crowded with the greatest blessings of my hfe, Marred only by the specters of the past — 84 My struggling heart gives up its own self-will That greater peace may reign. Through many nights my weary heart Has cried. Sometimes I doubted Lest this thing I call myself, Would play traitor, Cheat me into playing false with you. Even now, in selfish moments, My cry comes back to me and rebukes me. Mocks me for the principle I would uphold. You who taught me this unselfed love, Will understand. You never questioned me about my past. Yet my woman's instinct told me That you knew. The great compassion in your eyes Revealed it to me. Strange I never shrank from you Because of it; Instead it drew me closer to you. Never shall I forget That night at the river's edge. When I stood there hesitating . . . Out of the dark abyss Your words fell upon my ears 85 Like a rebuke from Heaven. In my bewilderment, I heard you ask: "What do you know about the place You are choosing?" I felt ashamed, I shrank like a coward. My cheeks burned suddenly, In the darkness there. "Come," you pleaded, "Let me prove to you the world is not so bad." And you led me away like a child. I followed, not knowing why. Things became blurred, Someone said 'Taxi,' That was all — Until I awoke in my new home. A voice at my side urged me To have some bullion and toast. Though my body was faint For lack of food. My soul was famished For want of a few kind words. I looked about the room ; Ycu were not there — A sudden fear obsessed me. The maid, thinking I was chilled. Tucked the covers closer about me. 86 I was too weak that night to resist sleep, Yet I tossed about helplessly Calling for you. And in my distorted dreams I was moaning for you. Much has happened since that night. You have opened my consciousness To my true being. It was your faith in me That made me whole. I am going from you A better woman than I came. My leaving seems hard — In this, I have still much to learn. You taught me that life is the overcoming Of false appetites, false thinking, And that love is reflected in gratitude. My gratitude overwhelms me tonight : The hot tears burn my cheeks; I cannot express to you What I would say — I will not try — I can only leave it to your great heart To contemplate. You came to me Like a song in the night. You go with me, A melody from Heaven — "Genie." 87 DOWN AT THE MARKET-PLACE The heavy darkness of the night Is gone. A few pale stars Still struggle in the sky, Then flicker out. A haziness, Like a deep gray veil, Hangs across the Heavens ; Thinner and thinner it grows, Then, as if by magic. Disappears. The clock strikes four, Four melodious rings Whose measured music rolls on and on Till lost; A rooster crows, And then he crows again vociferously To greet the streaks of dawn; One by one earth's living things Awake. The thrill of life is present In the dawn. 88 The market-place is noisy now With many sounds. The weighted trucks, With creaks and thuds, Collide against the curb. The varied greens in great profusion Are spread along the stalls, And ere another hour is gone, A multitude will push its way Through a garden thoroughfare. Along the narrow walk The marketers appear; A huckster cries with energetic lungs. To sell his wares. Near by a woman. Wearied by her toil, Looks dumbly on. A world of human nature is revealed That often stimulates to mirth; But looking deeper. Into the hearts of struggling, burdened men, Pity awakes. Pity that the sons of men Must rivals be — Must ever battle To outdo their brother man. 89 REJOICE "Joy and gladness shall be found there, And the voice of melody" — Sang the prophet — seer of old, Sang the prophet, we are told. "Joy and gladness shall be found there And the voice of melody" — Words that charm us, as v^e read ; Royal promises indeed. Joy and gladness we should all know. To begin, we must rejoice — Must be thoughtful of life's blessings, Grateful for the little things. 90 THE WAYS OF MEN In the days of Pharaoh, When he commanded the taskmasters, That they should no more Give the people straw to make their bricks As heretofore — But go and gather it themselves And let more work be laid upon the men, Nor to diminish ought thereof. The taskmasters were made to say, "Fulfill your work, your daily task; Let no man dare mercy to ask. We'll flog you, if you stop to pray." And when the Israelites arose To leave Egypt and all its woes, Pharaoh commanded them to stay. *Twas then the Lord to Moses spake, "Now shalt thou see what I shall do To Pharaoh." 91 The rivers changed to blood and stank; Vegetation soured and grew rank, But Pharaoh harkened not thereto. Frogs came and covered all the land, Till man and beast no more could stand. In sore distress did Pharaoh call for Moses. And when a brief respite was gained, And peace throughout all Egypt reigned, Pharaoh's deceitful heart grew adamant. Then locusts spread unto the coast. Clothed every tree and twig and post. Till not a stick nor stone remained un- touched. And Pharaoh's servants all arose To beg of him to end their woes, That Moses might go out and serve The Lord, his God. And Pharaoh did again implore This Moses as he had before. And when the blessing was obtained, His evil heart grew harder still. Then plagues and pestilences spread Throughout the land and left it dead, But never one of Israel's children fell. 92 The people cried in abject fear And begged their king that he might hear, Lest all be dead men ere the sun arise. Then Pharaoh rose up in the night; Terror-stricken in his fright, And summoning Moses to him cried : "Begone with thee, haste thou And thy detested tribe." 93 IN THE ALLEY Down the alley he slowly ambled along; A bundle of rags and dirt and hair and bones. Two sunken eyes, Ashamed to look above the ground, A thing unclean to look upon. Though I condemned, A sense of pity gripped my better thoughts, And in a holier light, I saw the Man. Not the thing That men had pinned opinions on. 94 EVERYWHERE Everywhere is that great silence — Within you, Without you, Here, There, Everywhere. In noise and commotion, In the activity of life, In storm and war and pestilence; In the gray dawn And in the sombre night; Within the seclusion of forest And the barren stretch Of uninhabited plains ; Upon the trackless sea. And in the canyon's roar — In silence Are all things created ; Noise is but a surface condition — The speech of infants and of beasts- The cry of limitation. 95 BEYOND THE TURNSTILE There's a path by the mill pond Scarcely seen from the road That leads to a neighboring creek, Where sluggish water loiters Amid the tangled grasses ; Then through dense woods Plays hide and seek. And as you follow onward, The everwinding trail, Wondering where its course may lead Perhaps a bird or flower, Or just some trifling thing — Nothing more than a gaudy weed — May tempt you for a moment To halt upon your way. Or from your chosen path digress. Or the deep hush of the woods May hold you enchanted With its weird spell of quietness. But if adventure lure you To still pursue your way 96 Through brush and brake or fallen trees And slippery, mossy ground, You will be rewarded With freedom and a sense of ease. Before you lies the country, Patched with its fields of grain; And pastures dotted here and there With sheep and browsing cattle. And the great broad heavens And sunshine bathed in perfumed air. Here you can watch the toilers As they harrow the field Or later thrash the harvest grain; Here sip the bubling crystals Emerging from a spring Or saunter up a nearby lane. Where tall poplars sentinel A much secluded road, Straight to an intercepting hedge That tufts a gravelled footpath, Which, if followed southward. Will lead you to the water's edge. But should you choose to travel The path that skirts the hill Beyond the turnstile-gate you see, 97 You will receive a welcome Most gracious and sincere, The kindest hospitality. John Gates, gentleman, lives here: A man of sterling worth. And his dear wife, a noble mate Who, throughout these thirty years, Has brought much cheer to homes That once were sad and desolate. There's not a man or woman Within ten miles around But knows of somekind deed they've done, Days of sacrifice and toil And unrewarded pains Bestowed upon some needy one. So should you choose to follow The road that skirts the hill Beyond the turnstile-gate you see. You will receive a welcome Most gracious and sincere, The kindest hospitality. 98 THE FALSE Beyond the city's din, the tumult, the mad roar, The engulfing noises of the busy streets. The clanging of the cars, the honking motors. The heavy stifling vapors and escaping gases, Out of the maelstrom of inharmonious discord. Like one awakening from a mesmeric sleep, I try to flee. The hideous shadov/s try to follow close behind ; I close my eyes to blot out what I would forget, But find, where'er I go. My discordant thoughts go too. For in my consciousness they live And flourish and grow fat. An army of conspirators against myself, This grown-up dream that toils And sweats and swears and struggles on. 99 But like the green bay-tree That flourished and was gone, It too will pass — the crowd, the din, the strife, And all their attendant mimicry. A kaleidoscopic picture soon forgot, This darkened vision of unrest. This mortal dream we miscall life, That frets and dies. 100 MIRAGES All day his wearied soul struggled With the darkened thoughts within: With discouragement, woe — For sorrow, like the night, Gives false proportions to all things. His eyes were fastened on his shadow Just ahead, While all about him The sun in radiant fullness shone. The birds were cooing to their mates Or singing from their leafy bowers Overhead. God's love reflected everywhere Was lost to him. There came a beggar down the dusty road, Begrimed and haggard. Bedraggled were his clothes; He never looked to right nor left But stared abjectedly ahead. They passed each other; The man of sorrow 101 And the lonely one — And as they went upon divergent ways. The sun descended and blotted out The very shadows they had made. 102 THE REBUKE A stranger came unto my door, And knocked . • . and knocked ... and knocked ... At length I asked him to come in. I cared not who he was nor whence he came; I only knew my heart was sad And that my hope was dead. That darkness reigned without— within, And there I stood in silence Alone. I waited long, no one came in, Yet in the silence, heard I this rebuke: "Fools, because of their transgressions And their iniquities, are afflicted; Then they cry out to their God in their troubles And He delivers them from their distresses." 103 WHO KNOWS Out in the Park, I saw a man employed, Picking up the papers that the careless leave. Just then I saw a man I knew quite well, Who, in his pride, Sneered at the common things of life. I stood there pondering the two men in my thoughts And to myself I said, Meekness is proverbially a virtue — Perhaps he and I have need Of what this stranger Has an abundance to spare. 104 THE SONG OF DAWN The starry gems of night, Like candles to the sockets burned, Flash and sputter till they flicker out. Familiar objects scattered indistinctly Here and there . . . One by one attention claim. The veil of night is rent. The darkened vision but a fading dream And daylight, Like the infinite Presence Of an immaculate being. Sheds its radiant countenance Upon the myriad symbols Of its own creation. The trees, the road, the vi^ayside bush, The vast outstretching line That marks the earth and sky; The awakening village. The broad refreshing fields; 105 The tinkling bells and the catbirds' call Amid the vast silences: In every thought The joy of life Unfolding the facts Of eternal existance. 106 MAKE-BELIEVE Come, sit thee down and tell me Once again the story I so oft have heard, In the twilight here. Here where the evening shadows Gently smooth the wrinkles from one's brow And blot them out, like the winding path That fades before my very eyes, Though it leads down to the water's edge. The winds that whisper in the trees Bear messages that tell of thee; The hymns of many summer nights Ring in my ears — Just such a night as I see now, Mellowed by the rising moon, With playful shadows at my feet. The same golden waves upon the rippling waters Tripping with the flowing tide That laps the shore. The same measured beat as I heard then. 107 Tonight, how strange, how sad without thee. I wish our love had been As faithful as some things I know. Ah, then, I would not have to live again These hours in this make-believe. 108 THE OFFENDERS How often have I sat alone In the solitude of night And watched the stars blink, And seen the moon Mischeviously look down, While I beheld the racing clouds Bent on some mysterious errand. Then in my heart I would extol The wonders of life And voice the gratitude I felt; ' When upon my exaltation would fall The shrill cry of a night-hawk, Or the weird hooting of an owl. Revealing the evil Which dares not show itself by day But with insolence proclaims itself From darkness' sheltering depths. 109 HOW WONDERFUL To breathe the freedom Of those hours after school; To put aside your cares, With the books you toss upon the shelf; To sniff the vapors from the kitchen stove ; And strive to guess the secrets Of the evening meal. To hear your mother's greeting Ere the lock clicks in the door. To see the boys collect upon the vacant lot, And hear their noisy ecstasy As you hurry to join in. To feel that spell That makes all things seem glad Because earth is one big playground For you and your friends And home the place Where love and good cheer dwell. 110 THE SEAMLESS GARMENT He remembered the fields Where he heard the song of the thrush And the melody of the meadow-lark; Where the blossoming magnolia Scattered its perfume in the spring; Where the hush of the summer noon Lay upon the hillside ; Where at sundown Dwelt the spirit of a golden day ; Then he looked about him In his city house, Where great paintings hung upon the walls, And he sighed and shook his head Because he missed the fields. Ill THE ONE THING "What seekest thou, what wilt thou have," A voice does often ask In moments when our hearts are sad. And face to face with Truth, Perhaps bewildered, we reply: ''Health or wealth or youth or love — " It matters not only That it brings one peace and happiness. Our tired feet are bruised with much walking. Our arms hang limp against our sides. Our eyes, once sparkling with the light. Look listlessly into the dawn. Oft have we striven Through toil or sacrifice or self-will To gain that something we would have. And now the very thing we need so much, We find we did possess and threw away. 112 LIKE THE WIND THAT SIGHS Youth, bright-eyed, Is tripping to the song of melody : "How wonderful," he cries, "This thing which we call life! Away with tears and vain regrets. Away with haggard cheeks and pinched lips. Young hearts beat fast; And feet quick-step to measured time. The universe aglow with light Dreams not of night!" The dizzy world whirls on, Into tomorrows. Youth finds himself divested of his frock. He sighs today; Thought whispers— thou art growmg old, Merry-making has become Noisy prattle to his ears. Age has thrown a veil across the light And to a minor key Has changed the melody. Life is swiftly passing Into yesterdays. 113 Friends have changed, some are gone — Like fading landmarks and vanished homes. " Tis strange" he thinks, That v^rhere I thought to find A thing most beautiful, most real, I awake as from a dream; And all that once seemed true Is like the v^ind That sighs and is gone. 114 LIMITATION The morning promised much And to expectant thought gave wings. The radiant glow of sunHght That warmed the dewy sod- That loosed the tongues of song-birds And to the cloistered buds gave eyes Vanished before the darkness Of onrushing clouds. How like the mystery of every mortal dream That measures time with every breath it takes, And measuring Builds the very barriers That preclude the light And makes all mortal thought finite. 115 ANTIPODES She wanted to be kind to me; And so she mentioned many things That might have pleased — That might have made me grow more vain, Had I not known down in my heart That they were but fancies Of her own true self. As a starless night differs From a sunlit dawn, Or a storm-tossed sea, From a pebble-bottom brook; So far estranged were her pure thoughts From mine. And I could not make her understand. 116 DARKNESS "There went up a mist from the earth," So read we from the book of Genesis. And that's why men through countless ages, Have groped in darkness and despair. Not knowing whither they were being led, Nor why their weary efforts proved so vain. Only as illumined thought has pierced the night Has right prevailed and man regained His heritage. We wondered at it all and oft have sighed And pondered as to what and why this mystery. 117 IN THE WORDS OF A PROPHET I often ponder on the things of life That make us glad or sorrowful on the way ; The pleasures that desired wealth bestows; The joys that mutual love inspires ; The complacency of gratified desires; The satisfaction of hard fought Battles won — And then I think of those that struggle To the end: Of patience unrewarded through long years ; Of sacrifices that never receives praise ; Of love craved for And throughout life withheld; Of toil that brings pinched cheeks And weariness to old age; Of ideals shattered and grown commonplace. Well might I cry with bitterness and despair, Did I not know That, "As a vision of the night, So shall it vanish." 118 A DREAM OR A TRAGEDY Is it a dream or a tragedy? A few short months ago I saw you — A pearl of youth, A sentient thing of beauty Throbbing with the joy of living, With eyes that radiated hidden emotions And lips it required fortitude to resist. Today the sun's glow is just as bright; The same creek still idles Along a familiar clump of trees Where the cool shadows Often welcomed you and me. Upon the beach A multitude of bodies flecked As by an artist's brush; With arms and legs exposed, But none so fair as yours. The same well-remembered faces I saw last year — And the year before — They are all here — I miss but one. 119 The same program year by year: I see the people dine and dance, Delight in warm embraces, Music, laughter, and flirtation. Try as I will, my thoughts outrun the scene To where the evening shadows lie thick About your quiet resting-place, To where the deep blue heavens overhead Beckon one to loftier heights ; Where a mighty chorus sings an anthem In the solitude of the evening hours. 120 ABOVE AND BELOW Sixteen floors "Up — The human mass below, Like two decks of cards Shuffled together by some magic energy And pushed along; Thousands upon thousands pressing on. I wonder at it all : This restlessness I see below. For overhead the sky is calm, Scarcely a cloud to mar the azure dome — Suggesting the presence of the Almighty, Unmindful of the petty noises : The clanging bells, The rumble of grinding wheels, The smoke and vapors rising From the throats of ten thousand buildings ; All are naught in this great sea Of limitless space. 121 THE LAD UPON THE FENCE I see a lad sitting upon a fence, As he often did ; Watching the sun go down, Dreaming of the time when he would see The land that lies afar off Beyond the horizon ; Where the great prairie Stretches out its flat palm To the distant Rockies, And spreads its fingers Far to the north, the south, the west. Often had he read of that untamed land, Where the mountains rise a thousand feet Above the timber-line Giants- Dark and mysterious against the limitless heavens, Where the dust of ages, Has congealed into a crusty blanket, Through whose chalky surface The sage-brush and cactus Have pushed their callous growth 122 Like warts and blemishes upon a human hand. Where Hzzards sun themselves upon flat rocks And sun-baked carcasses tell of tragedies Long forgotten. Where charred railroad ties and broken rails Tell of deserted mines; And the trail of empty huts- Silent as sepulchres — Proclaim the vicissitudes of man. Where scattered trees hem the mountain- sides And solitary pines are outposts for the woods beyond ; Where the wolf secludes itself by day And the mountain lion ravages unseen. Here upon the highest round of a distant peak, Where the wind whirls and whistles, Where the dizzy depths lie hidden in mist And the cold cloudless sky Is an impenetrable window of mystery- Life overpowers this chrysalis body 123 And wings its way across the wide chasms Into the deep abysses. Rivers have become snake-Hke paths And the winding roadways Yellow ribbons that circle around huge cones. Scattered towns and villages Lie along the foot-hills, Milestones of civilization That lead to the broad Pacific. As the evening shadows gather He fancies he can see the old stage-coach Rattle down the gully, Across the shallow creek. The steel-rimmed wheels crunch the hard stones And shots as from a skirmish fire Break upon the coming night And crack against the mountain sides. It needs but a few masked men And a familiar whistle. To recall again That lad upon the fence, And Daddy calling from the kitchen door. 124 REALIZATION It was an August day. The sun had baked the streets Until the reflected heat Made the atmosphere stifling. Those who had not deserted the city- Sought the parks and the beaches. A sense of irritation pervaded his being And made him ungrateful for many com- forts he enjoyed. Upon his ears fell the familiar strains of a violin, Many a night was he forced to hear This neighbor laboring hour after hour — Tonight he was not resentful — Perhaps he recognized the perseverance, the sacrifice; It may have been the plaintive tones that touched him, Or perchance his own imaginings. He forgot the sweltering heat, the irritation. His own selfish inclinations. 125 For he heard the cry of, a soul, Struggling battling, stumbling — Sometimes to the point of desperation — Rising each time through persistent effort To greater accomplishments, More satisfied endeavor, To the attainment of that spiritual thought Which breaks sense-limitations In the realization of unfettered capacities. 126 SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT A buzzard was volplaning in circles, High above a clearing in Gray's Woods, Maneuvering with strategy On its downward course to earth. A dead thing lay outstretched upon the ground A hideous sight for thought to dwell upon, Yet food for hawks to feed upon. 127 IDLE HOURS A child will cast his shadow in the sun And see himself reflected twice his size And straightway feel a pride, a sudden power, And think himself a giant for an hour; Alas ! these are but dreams — They are life's idle hours. 128 CARRY ON What is this cry we hear Throughout all life? That in our early youth Drove us with incoherent words To mother's arms ; That is heard today In an infant's wail ; That in the stillness Of some great desire — In pursuit of that we think Would bless — Overpowers us or leads us on. 129 SONG TO THE DAY I have loved thee In the gray dawn, When the mists hung About the hills ; When earth was a mystery And moon and stars and sky were Wonderlands ; When childhood days were glorified With dreams of life; In the fervent heat of noon, When turbulent desires Drove resisting thought Like wind-tossed vv^aves before a gale; In the struggle with discouragement; On the brink of tempestuous fears ; In the agony and sweat of sore defeat ; In the shades of afternoon. When all was hushed ; When the rhythm of the sea In measured time broke its cadences Upon the gray outstretching sands ; 130 When darkened hills lay peacefully Agamst the clear blue sky; When through the purple depths of night The mellow moonbeams crept into the valley ; In the wake of restless sleep, When visions of the night perplexed And the wind, toned to the hour. Moaned the distant roar of the sea. Again in the welcome light of dawn, Joyous with the thrill of living things I love thee, glorious day of today. 131 THE UNDISTURBED Out of the great silences where God dwells, Eternal creation flashes its ideas. I see a village nestled in the hills, Where the morning sun makes sparkling crystals of the dew ; Where the peace of Sabbath morn, Makes heaven of the rolling fields ; Where rest from toil is a glad event; Where hollyhocks and poppies and sun- flowers Are well known landmarks. I look upon outstretching lands, Plowed by honest hands; And behold again the furrowed soil Transformed by harvest time. Often have I witnessed the gray silences That wrap the hills at dawn ; The distant slopes that brighten with sun- shine, These same warm hills grow sombre, cold; Drifting snows ermine the plains, 132 speeding winds fling the frozen spray, Like geysers, high into the air. Today the same great silences I see, Where multitudes throng the streets : Amid the jarring testimony of many noises. In the faces of thousands that mingle with the crowds, That push their way into the towering tombs that engulf them. The silence of the Infinite is in their hearts, Their thoughts reach out to worlds unseen, Each one molding destinies Unknown to the other. 133 PRESS OF THE LIBBY COMPANY