FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
 REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. 
 
 BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
 DM*io3 
 
 Sretioa 
 
 MeCLELLAXD & CO., 
 BOOKSELLERS 
 
 COLUMBUS, - O 
 
 i 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 Princeton Theological Seminary Library 
 
 http://archive.org/details/ultimaOOglad 
 
ULTIMA VERITAS 
 
ULTIMA VERITl£&p21^/ 
 
 
 AND OTHER VERSE! 
 
 BY 
 
 
 WASHINGTON GLADDEN 
 
 THE PILGRIM PRESS 
 
 BOSTON NEW YORK. CHICAGO 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1912 
 BY WASHINGTON GLADDEN 
 
 THE 'PLIMPTON-PRESS 
 [ W • D • O ] 
 
 NORWOOD-MASS-U'S-A 
 
PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 IT would be disingenuous to hold my friends 
 responsible for the appearance of these verses; 
 the fault is mine. Several of them are waifs, 
 floating about the newspaper world and appear- 
 ing to me now and then in unkempt and be- 
 draggled form ; I have wished that those who 
 care for them might have correct copies of them. 
 
 How old-fashioned these verses are; how 
 completely they fail to answer the high demands 
 of modern poetic art, no one knows better than 
 I; it is only to a few old-fashioned folk that 
 they are likely to make appeal. 
 
 The verses of the period of the Civil War 
 will recall to some readers experiences from 
 which we have traveled far. Each of these 
 reflects the emotion of the day that gave it 
 birth. I am glad that I find in my heart 
 today none of the resentments that resound in 
 these martial lines, but I am not ashamed of 
 the passion and the purpose that called them 
 forth. 
 
VI PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 The youthful fervors and the rhetorical 
 enthusiasms of the college verses will be incred- 
 ible to most men under fifty; college boys in 
 these days are not encouraged to let themselves 
 go after this fashion. I have saved these 
 because to a very few persons some of them 
 have some reminiscent value. A lessening 
 group of old men will remember the early 
 dawn of that June morning when fifty of us 
 stood in a circle with joined hands in front of 
 the old chapel and sang our parting song. For 
 us the words of the last two stanzas were simply 
 metaphorical. There was no literal i( clash of 
 sabers" nor "roll of signal drums," and no 
 "flashing sword" to grasp as we "loosed the 
 parting hand"; but within two years from that 
 time, to several of the men who sang them, these 
 pregnant words were something more than 
 rhetoric. 
 
 There is an incident connected with the 
 initial poem of this volume which I will ven- 
 ture to tell. A good many years ago, when 
 I was serving on the Preachers 9 Staff of Har- 
 vard University, a young man came into my 
 room at Wadsworth House one morning and 
 told me this story: 
 
 "A year ago I was a senior here and was 
 
PREFATORY NOTE VII 
 
 secretary of the College Young Men's Chris- 
 tian Association. When I graduated, the 
 International Committee of that organization 
 sent me to Ceylon to take charge of work 
 in that field. It was a long journey, and I 
 had much time to think. I began to examine 
 the foundations of my faith and soon found, to 
 my dismay, that they were very insecure; I 
 was not sure of anything. But I thought that 
 when I reached my destination and went to 
 work my troubles would disappear, and so it 
 was. But before long the committee picked me 
 up again and sent me to Bombay. I had 
 another long voyage and another battle with 
 my doubts, and this time the overthrow was 
 complete. I knew that I had no faith, and 
 that I had no right to preach to others a doc- 
 trine which I did not believe. I went ashore 
 and told the authorities the truth about it, and 
 took the first ship for New York. 
 
 " That first night out was a gloomy night. 
 The faith of my childhood was gone. I was 
 sure of nothing. I sat upon the deck awhile; 
 then I thought of a little book of daily devotional 
 readings in my stateroom and had a sudden 
 curiosity to know what the message for that 
 day might be. I went down and opened the 
 
VIII PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 book, and this was part of the word for me, — 
 these two verses with your name signed to 
 them; I know them by heart: 
 
 " In the bitter waves of woe 
 
 Beaten and tossed about 
 By the sullen winds that blow 
 
 From the desolate shores of doubt, — 
 
 " While the anchors that faith had cast 
 
 Are dragging in the gale 
 I am quietly holding fast 
 
 To the things that cannot fail." 
 
 " That was all. I did not know you, but 
 these words brought light and hope to me. I 
 said, 'Here's a man who has found something 
 to hold on to. There must be something. I 
 shall find it. 9 And, do you know, I have been 
 clinging to that hope ever since. 
 
 "When I landed in New York there were 
 reasons why I could not go to my own home. 
 I was at a loss to know what to do, but finally 
 concluded to come up to Cambridge. I ar- 
 rived last night, and one of the first things I 
 learned was that you were here. And I have 
 come to you to have you tell me what the things 
 are that cannot fail" 
 
PREFATORY NOTE IX 
 
 77 was easy to satisfy myself that there was 
 more faith in this young man's honest doubt 
 than in half the creeds, and after an hour or 
 two of talk I sent him away with the assurance 
 that he. would soon find his way out of the 
 woods. Xot long afterward I had a letter 
 from him telling me that my word had come 
 true; that he was out of the jungle, with a 
 clear path before his feet. 
 
 W. G. 
 
 Columbus, September 10, 1912 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ULTIMA VERITAS 3 
 
 The Pastor's Reverie 5 
 
 Spring Song 9 
 
 Awakening 10 
 
 A Mother's Lamentation 13 
 
 At the Foundling Hospital .... 15 
 
 The Baby over the Way 19 
 
 The Murderer of the Period ... 21 
 
 Caws and Effect 24 
 
 Question and Answer 26 
 
 Mark Hopkins 27 
 
 Alma Mater 32 
 
 Hail and Farewell 41 
 
 Uncle Sam's Christmas, 1898 .... 44 
 
 Urbs Beata 55 
 
 THE ORATORY 65 
 
 The Disciple 67 
 
 The Believer 69 
 
 The Mourner 70 
 
 The Doubter 71 
 
 A Little While 73 
 
 The Way 75 
 
 My Sabbath 76 
 
 Hymn for the Dedication of Mark Hop- 
 kins Memorial Hall .... 78 
 xi 
 
XII CONTENTS 
 
 Hymn for the Williams Centennial. . 80 
 Hymn for the Dedication of the John 
 Robinson Church, Gainsborough, 
 
 England 82 
 
 Hymn for the Columbus School for Girls 84 
 
 Immanuel 86 
 
 MOMENTA MARTIS 95 
 
 November, 1860 97 
 
 April, 1861 99 
 
 May, 1863 102 
 
 April the Ninth, 1865 104 
 
 April the Fourteenth, 1865 .... 106 
 
 A Mother's Story 108 
 
 COLLEGE DAYS 113 
 
 The Mountains 115 
 
 Morning 117 
 
 Battle Song 122 
 
 Clairvoyance 124 
 
 The Cloudlet 125 
 
 A Song of Summer 126 
 
 Veiled 128 
 
 The Zephyr and I 129 
 
 Beyond 132 
 
 Parting Song 139 
 
ULTIMA VERITAS 
 
ULTIMA VERITAS 
 
 I 
 
 N the bitter waves of woe, 
 
 Beaten and tossed about 
 
 By the sullen winds that blow 
 
 From the desolate shores of doubt. 
 
 While the anchors that faith had cast 
 
 Are dragging in the gale, 
 I am quietly holding fast 
 
 To the things that cannot fail: 
 
 I know that right is right; 
 
 That it is not good to lie; 
 That love is better than spite, 
 
 And a neighbor than a spy; 
 
 I know that passion needs 
 The leash of a sober mind; 
 
 I know that generous deeds 
 Some sure reward will find; 
 
 That the rulers must obey; 
 That the givers shall increase; 
 3 
 
ULTIMA VERITAS 
 
 That Duty lights the way 
 
 For the beautiful feet of Peace; — 
 
 In the darkest night of the year, 
 When the stars have all gone out, 
 
 That courage is better than fear, 
 That faith is truer than doubt; 
 
 And fierce though the fiends may fight, 
 And long though the angels hide, 
 
 I know that Truth and Right 
 Have the universe on their side; 
 
 And that somewhere, beyond the stars, 
 Is a Love that is better than fate; 
 
 When the night unlocks her bars 
 I shall see Him, and I will wait. 
 
 
THE PASTOR'S REVERIE 
 
 A HE pastor sits in his easy chair, 
 
 With the Bible upon his knee, 
 From gold to purple the clouds in the west 
 
 Are changing momently. 
 The shadows lie in the valleys below, 
 
 And hide in the curtain's fold, 
 And the page grows dim, whereon he reads, 
 
 "I remember the days of old." 
 
 Fleet flies his thought over many a field 
 
 Of stubble and snow and bloom; 
 And now it trips through a festival, 
 
 And now it halts at a tomb; 
 Young faces smile in his reverie 
 
 Of those that are young no more, 
 And voices are heard that only come 
 
 With the winds, from a far-off shore. 
 
 "Not clear nor dark," as the Scripture saith, 
 
 The pastor's memories are; 
 Xo day that is gone was shadowless, 
 
 Xo night was without its star; 
 5 
 
b THE PASTOR S REVERIE 
 
 But mingled bitter and sweet hath been 
 
 The portion of his cup; 
 "The hand that in love hath smitten," he 
 saith, 
 
 "In love hath bound us up." 
 
 He thinks of the day when first with fear 
 
 And faltering lips he stood 
 To speak in the sacred place the Word 
 
 To the waiting multitude; 
 He walks again to the house of God 
 
 With the voice of joy and praise, 
 With many whose feet long time have 
 pressed 
 
 Heaven's safe and blessed ways. 
 
 He enters again the homes of toil, 
 
 And joins in the homely chat, 
 He stands in the shop of the artisan, 
 
 He sits, where the Master sat, 
 At the poor man's fire, and the rich man's 
 feast; 
 
 But who today are the poor, 
 And who are the rich? Ask Him who keeps 
 
 The treasures that ever endure. 
 
 Once more the green and the grove resound 
 With the merry children's din, 
 
THE PASTOR S REVERIE 7 
 
 He hears their shout at the Christmas tide 
 
 When Santa Clans stalks in; 
 Once more he lists while the camp-fire roars 
 
 On the distant mountain side, 
 Or, proving apostleship, plies the brook 
 
 Where the fierce young troutlings hide. 
 
 And now he beholds the wedding train 
 
 To the altar slowly move, 
 And the solemn words are said that seal 
 
 The sacrament of love. 
 Again at the font he meets once more 
 
 The tremulous youthful pair, 
 With a white-robed cherub, crowing response 
 
 To the consecrating prayer. 
 
 By the couch of pain he kneels again, 
 
 Again the thin hand lies 
 Cold in his palm, while the last far look 
 
 Steals into the steadfast eyes; 
 And now the burden of hearts that break 
 
 Lies heavy upon his own, 
 The widow's woe, and the orphan's cry, 
 
 And the desolate mother's moan. 
 
 So blithe and glad, so heavy and sad 
 Are the days that are no more; 
 
5 THE PASTOR S REVERIE 
 
 So mournfully sweet are the sounds that 
 float 
 With the winds from a far-off shore. 
 For the pastor has learned what meaneth 
 the word 
 That is given him to keep, 
 "Rejoice with them that do rejoice 
 And weep with them that weep." 
 
 It is not in vain that he has trod 
 
 This lowly and toilsome way; 
 It is not in vain that he has wrought 
 
 In the vineyard, all the day; 
 For the soul that gives is the soul that lives, 
 
 And bearing another's load 
 Doth lighten your own, and shorten the way, 
 
 And brighten the homeward road. 
 
SPRING SONG 
 
 O 
 
 HOPE of the world that risest again 
 
 New-born from the clod, 
 life that brightens on meadow and fen 
 
 With the breath of God, 
 daffodils brave whose banners fly 
 
 At the snow's retreat, 
 sweet warm winds of the South that sigh 
 
 O'er the springing wheat, 
 birds that tell in the branches bare 
 
 Of the leaf-clad sprays, — 
 Read me your lesson; teach me your prayer, 
 
 Fill my soul with your praise. 
 
AWAKENING 
 
 .LJOWN to the borders of the silent land 
 
 He goes with halting feet; 
 He dares not trust, he cannot understand 
 
 The blessedness complete 
 That waits for God's beloved at his right 
 hand. 
 
 He dreads to see God's face; for though the 
 pure 
 Beholding Him are blest, 
 Yet in His sight no evil can endure; 
 
 And still with fear oppressed 
 He looks within and cries, "Who can be 
 sure?" 
 
 The world beyond is strange; the golden 
 streets, 
 
 The palaces so fair, 
 The seraphs singing in the shining seats, 
 
 The glory everywhere, 
 And to his soul he solemnly repeats 
 
 The visions of the Book. "Alas!" he cries, 
 "That world is all too grand; 
 10 
 
A \Y A K E N I N G 11 
 
 Among those splendors and those majesties 
 
 I would not dare to stand; 
 For me a lowlier heaven would well suffice!" 
 
 Yet, faithful in his lot this saint has stood 
 Through service and through pain; 
 
 The Lord Christ he has followed, doing good; 
 Sure, dying must be gain 
 
 To one who living hath done what he could. 
 
 The light is fading in the tired eyes, 
 
 The weary race is run; 
 Xot as the victor that doth seize the price, 
 
 But as the fainting one 
 He nears the verge of the eternities. 
 
 And now the end has come, and now he sees 
 
 The happy, happy shore; 
 fearful, faint, distrustful soul, are these 
 
 The things thou fearedst before, 
 The awful majesties that spoiled thy peace? 
 
 This land is home; no stranger art thou here; 
 
 Sweet and familiar words 
 From voices silent long salute thine ear; 
 
 And winds and songs of birds 
 And bees and blooms and sweet perfumes 
 are near. 
 
12 AWAKENING 
 
 The seraphs — they are men of kindly mien; 
 
 The gems and robes — but signs 
 Of minds all radiant and of hearts washed 
 clean; 
 
 The glory — such as shines 
 Wherever faith or hope or love is seen. 
 
 And He, doubting child! the Lord of 
 Grace 
 
 Whom thou didst fear to see — 
 He knows thy sin — but look upon His face! 
 
 Doth it not shine on thee 
 With a great light of love that fills the place? 
 
 happy soul, be thankful now and rest! 
 
 Heaven is a goodly land, 
 And God is love, and those he loves are 
 blest; 
 
 Now thou dost understand; 
 The least thou hast is better than the best 
 
 That thou didst hope for; now upon thine 
 eyes 
 
 The new life opens fair; 
 Before thy feet the blessed journey lies 
 
 Through homelands everywhere; 
 And heaven to thee is all a sweet surprise. 
 
A MOTHER'S LAMENTATION 
 
 vJONE is the snow and the dull earth 
 awaketh, 
 Red is the maple and green is the willow, 
 Blackbirds are chattering free; 
 Bright on the sunny bank new greenness 
 breaketh, 
 Summer-tide surges in, billow on billow, 
 What is it bringing to me? 
 
 Life of my life, in the cold ground they laid 
 her, 
 Bare were the meadows and brown were 
 the beeches, 
 Twittered the lone chickadee; 
 There many a weary day winter hath staid 
 her, 
 Summer, sweet summer! my sorrow 
 beseeches, 
 Bring back my darling to me! 
 
 Nay, mock me not with your buds and your 
 greenery! 
 
 13 
 
14 a mother's lamentation 
 
 Spread me no flowery carpets to walk 
 upon! 
 Make me no music, I pray! 
 Desolate soul doth make desolate scenery; 
 Only one theme deigneth sorrow to talk 
 upon; 
 Take your brave splendors away! 
 
 "Will not be comforted!" Nay Master, 
 hear me! 
 Mothers in Bethlehem wept by the manger 
 Whence, in the night, thou hadst fled; 
 Come back to me, I pray, comfort me, cheer 
 me; 
 Lest to my heavy heart hope be a stranger, 
 Faith find her grave with my dead. 
 
AT THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL 
 
 .L/OOK up, little baby, that way is heaven; 
 
 The moon's white face 
 Shines out from the cloud like a soul just 
 shriven, 
 
 With tenderest grace; 
 The blessed stars are looking with pity 
 
 Right down on you; 
 If men and women in this great city 
 
 Were merciful, too! 
 
 Long in the hiding-place I waited 
 
 That death might come; 
 With the bitter draughts of sorrow sated, 
 
 My soul sat dumb; 
 But a baby's hand unloosed the cerements 
 
 That held love fast, 
 And the old dull pain in the new endearments 
 
 Was stilled at last. 
 
 But now, they tell us, the joy is over; 
 For your sake, dear — 
 15 
 
16 THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL 
 
 That the world may never the shame dis- 
 cover — 
 
 I leave you here; 
 Where the candle burns behind the curtain 
 
 The white crib waits; 
 And care and comfort for you are certain 
 
 Within these gates. 
 
 soft little hand, whose smooth caresses 
 
 Still search my face, 
 far-looking eyes, whose mute addresses 
 
 Have won Heaven's grace, 
 sweet red lips, that have drawn the sorrow 
 
 From out my heart, 
 You are mine tonight, but tomorrow — to- 
 morrow! 
 
 Nay, do not start! 
 
 These feet, when they totter, some hand 
 shall steady, 
 
 Not mine — not mine ! 
 Round somebody's neck these arms so ruddy 
 
 Shall cling and twine; 
 In the solemn twilight I see you kneeling 
 
 At some low knee; 
 baby, I need you, for my soul's healing, 
 
 To pray for me. 
 
THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL 17 
 
 Look up, little baby! this is your mother! 
 
 Once more — once more! 
 I must not tarry, the feet of another 
 
 Are at the door; 
 pitiful Christ, my poor heart breaketh 
 
 To drink this cup! 
 Yet this, my child, whom the mother for- 
 saketh, 
 
 Wilt Thou take up? 
 
 Stay! Let me look through the parted 
 curtain. 
 
 My child is there; 
 All round the room, amazed, uncertain, 
 
 Her blue eyes stare. 
 'Tis a motherly face that beams above her, 
 
 As all may see; 
 God love you, woman, because you love 
 her — 
 
 What ! crying for me? 
 
 Quick! open the door! give me back my 
 baby! 
 Hush, dear! don't cry! 
 You are kind, dear people, and good, it may 
 be, 
 Xo saint am I; 
 
18 THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL 
 
 But God gave me, and not another, 
 
 This child from heaven; 
 He will require of me, the mother, 
 
 What He hath given! 
 
 Come, innocent one! our cross we'll carry, 
 
 Our shame despise, 
 For He who faints not, neither is weary, 
 
 Will hear our cries; 
 We'll take His staff and lift our burden 
 
 With strength divine; 
 For a mother's love shall be your guerdon, 
 
 My child's love mine. 
 
THE BABY OVER THE WAY 
 
 1 HERE is the window over the way 
 That was lit with a baby's face by day; 
 But the shutters are closed, and by the 
 door 
 The doctor's gig for an hour has stood, 
 
 And they tell us — the little gossips four 
 Who bring us the news of the neighborhood, 
 That the doctor is coming every day 
 To see the baby over the way. 
 
 The terrible scarlet scourge has come; 
 And brother and sister are sent from home; 
 
 Each day they come to the gate to hear 
 From the mother's lips how the baby is, 
 And the face is blanching with trouble and 
 fear, 
 That drops from the window the mournful 
 kiss, 
 For in spite of the skill of doctor and nurse 
 The baby over the way grows worse. 
 19 
 
20 THE BABY OVER THE WAY 
 
 When midnight hushes the city's noise, 
 We hear the sound of a feeble voice, 
 
 And know that the room where the light 
 burns low 
 Holds hearts that watch for the morning 
 light; 
 What the day shall bring if they could but 
 know, 
 They would cling to the lingering hours of 
 night; 
 For hearts will break with the breaking 
 
 day, 
 When the long watch closes over the way. 
 
 The baby over the way is dead, 
 
 And the mourners will not be comforted; 
 
 desolate ones, no stranger's voice 
 May break your silence, for words are cheap; 
 
 Your griefs we tell by our tenderest joys; 
 Our four little gossips are warm asleep; 
 
 Would it lighten your burden if you 
 knew 
 
 That here, in the dark, we are crying with 
 you? 
 
THE MURDERER OF THE PERIOD 
 
 IES. I shot him. What of it? You 
 
 make a great row 
 About a small matter, I think. 
 The eye flashing fire and the cloud on the 
 brow 
 Tell of vengeance; but why should I 
 shrink? 
 You public that rages; you journals that 
 rave 
 When a dog's day ends quickly, like this, 
 Pray save your sharp words for some business 
 more grave; 
 Don't waste your hot breath in a hiss. 
 
 I was mad when I shot him — a minute or 
 two ; 
 Will was lost, judgment blind, reason 
 blank; 
 Will you punish the deed that a madman 
 must do? 
 Blame the mill when the fates turn the 
 crank? 
 
 21 
 
22 MURDERER OF THE PERIOD 
 
 True, I knew it was coming — this madness; 
 I thought 
 If I met him, he surely would die; 
 So lest hell miss its prey, the good pistol 
 was bought; 
 'Twas the frenzy that bought it, not I. 
 
 But what, after all, is the pother about? 
 
 A man (or a dog, say) is dead. 
 Is a dog or a man worth this tumult and 
 rout? 
 
 How much are they worth — by the head? 
 In the struggle for life, so the sages will say, 
 
 One man has gone down — that is all; 
 But 'tis always the strongest survive the 
 affray; 
 
 The weakest get pushed to the wall. 
 
 Here was live protoplasm, six quarters or so; 
 
 Now 'tis dead protoplasm, what more? 
 No force has been lost, as the chemists will 
 show, 
 
 The world is as rich as before. 
 All the atoms are here, all the builders are here, 
 
 And better work waits them, no doubt; 
 You zealots, who clamor for vengeance 
 severe, 
 
 Do you know what you're talking about? 
 
M I R D E R E R OF THE PERIOD 23 
 
 Pray, what have I done? There are forces 
 that play 
 And tissues that waste in the brain; 
 Some acetous ferment waked the passion to 
 slay; 
 'Twas the same, very likely, with Cain. 
 Will you fly in the face of a kingdom of laws? 
 
 Do you call a secretion a sin? 
 Is the steel when it rusts, or the snow when 
 it thaws, 
 A criminal, too, of my kin? 
 
 Do bethink you, good people; hear reason 
 at last; 
 The vengeance you ask for is vain; 
 You are haunted by ghosts of a day that is 
 past — 
 Mere films of a fatuous brain. 
 Guilt, crime, obligation — such words are 
 outworn; 
 On the ear of true science they jar; 
 And you surely can't know, in your anger 
 and scorn, 
 How unscientific you are. 
 
CAWS AND EFFECT 
 
 N: 
 
 INE metaphysicians, perched aloft 
 On the top of a dry pine tree, 
 Have talked all day in a marvelous way 
 Of divine philosophy. 
 
 No wild, Coleridgean ramblers they 
 
 All over the realm of laws, 
 They stick to their text, however perplext, 
 
 The doctrine (and practise) of caws. 
 
 The biggest crow, on the nearest limb, 
 
 Gave first, with never a pause, 
 A clear, profound, deliberate, sound 
 
 Discourse of proximate caws. 
 
 A theologue in a cassock clad, 
 
 With a choker under his jaws, 
 And a cold in his head, either sung or said 
 
 A treatise of second caws. 
 
 A fish-hawk lit on the topmost limb, 
 With a pickerel in his claws, 
 24 
 
CAWS AND EFFECT 25 
 
 When small and great began to debate 
 Concerning efficient caws. 
 
 And when, at the close, the congress rose, 
 
 I saw two old crows pause, 
 And what they said, as they flew o'erhead, 
 
 Had the sound of final caws. 
 
 No longer in me, Philosophy, 
 
 Thy devotee expect; 
 In spite of thy laws here's a chain of caws, 
 
 And not one single effect. 
 
QUESTION AND ANSWER 
 
 l\. VOICE spake out of the skies 
 To a just man and a wise — 
 "The world and all within it 
 Will only last a minute!" 
 Then a beggar began to cry, 
 "Food, food or I die!" 
 Is it worth his while to eat, 
 Or mine to give him meat, 
 If the world and all within it 
 Were nothing the next minute? 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 I 
 
 F the world and all within it 
 Could only last a minute, 
 A Voice from beyond the sky 
 To the good wise man would cry: 
 "Let this last minute shine 
 With the light of a grace divine! 
 Let the hungry see thee stand 
 With a loaf in the helping hand ! 
 So the world and its works shall end 
 With the benison of a friend." 
 26 
 
MARK HOPKINS 
 
 Read before the Alumni of Williams College, 
 June, 1887 
 
 A the Tishbite, stony-eyed 
 
 With a sorrow no speech might break, 
 'Twas the callow prophets cried: 
 
 "Knowest thou that the Lord will take 
 Our master from us today, — 
 
 That today his voice shall cease?" 
 "Yea," saith the prophet; "yea, 
 
 I know it: hold ye your peace!" 
 
 No sons of the prophets we; 
 
 To us no vision came 
 Of the whirlwind's majesty, 
 
 And the chariot of flame; 
 Yet forth from us one was caught 
 
 To the seats of the seraphim, — 
 Our master; lo, he was not, 
 
 For God had taken him. 
 
 List! the morning stars are hushed 
 As the mighty soul takes wing, 
 
28 MARKHOPKINS 
 
 And the tremulous skies are flushed 
 Where the portals open swing; 
 
 From the earth, no voice nor cry, 
 
 From the heaven but the dropping dew, 
 
 And for men who are drawing nigh 
 Unto heaven, there is silence, too. 
 
 No murmuring note we raise, 
 
 No dubious word we dare; 
 For the prophet, the heart's deep praise; 
 
 For his mantle, a voiceless prayer, — 
 Translated, as it was meet, 
 
 Ere his spirit's eye grew dim; 
 From the paths that knew his feet 
 
 It was only a step for him. 
 
 kingly soul! dost thou 
 
 From the blue above us bend 
 With a benediction now? 
 
 To us who loved thee, send 
 Thy peace, in our hearts to stay, 
 
 Thy courage, our souls to cheer? 
 We wait for thy voice today, 
 
 For, verily, thou art here. 
 
 We see thee, standing there, 
 The tall form gravely bent, 
 
 
MARK HOPKINS 29 
 
 The thin and silvery hair 
 
 O'er the lordly dome besprent, 
 The keen uplifted glance, 
 
 The long arm's curving sweep, 
 The serious countenance 
 
 Where the merry twinkles sleep; 
 
 We hear thee speaking now, 
 
 Each weighty word well weighed, 
 Simple, and clear and slow, 
 
 Xo rattling fanfaronade 
 Of words, but a master's thought, 
 
 Untainted by sneers or gibes, 
 Like His who the people taught 
 
 With authority, not as the scribes. 
 
 And now come memories fleet 
 
 Of the dear delightful days 
 When we sat at this master's feet, 
 
 And spake with him face to face; 
 The plain old room once more, 
 
 With its serried benches bare, 
 And the Teacher, sitting before, 
 
 In his quaint old swinging chair. 
 
 Now a question strikes a spark, 
 And the theme begins to shine, 
 
30 MARKHOPKINS 
 
 Till the truth that once was dark 
 Is touched with a gleam divine; 
 
 There find we guidance meet 
 In a way we had not known, 
 
 From the pebbles under our feet 
 To the sapphire under the Throne. 
 
 And ever the quickening word 
 
 That finds us, and leaves us, men; 
 "Stand up!" the summons is heard; 
 
 "What answerest thou again? 
 Thus Plato reasoned of old; 
 
 Thus Spencer reasoneth now; 
 Thus Kant hath the story told; 
 
 Thou hearest, what sayest thou? 
 
 "For thyself be wise, walk thou 
 
 In the light that lighteth thee, 
 For the truth that thou dost know, 
 
 Is the truth that maketh free; 
 And lo ! he is ever nigh 
 
 Who is Lord and Giver of light; 
 To him lift up thine eye, 
 
 And he shall guide thee aright." 
 
 And ever, amid the noise 
 
 Of the world's tumultuous throng, 
 
MARK HOPKINS 31 
 
 Wc have heard that august voice, 
 
 "Up! quit you like men; be strong!" 
 
 We shall hear, as we have heard, 
 Till the last long silence fall; 
 
 For the master's quickening word, 
 It abideth with us all. 
 
ALMA MATER 
 
 D 
 
 'RAWN from hill and plain and prairie, 
 
 from the lands of corn and pine, 
 We are gathered, Alma Mater, for our love 
 
 of thee and thine; 
 Silver hairs and beardless faces, men of 
 
 words and men of deeds, 
 Followers of many callings, worshipers of 
 
 many creeds, 
 Well content in mind to differ, only so that 
 
 we may be 
 Loyal to our Alma Mater, one in love to 
 
 thine and thee. 
 
 ii 
 
 Bond is this that brings no burden, loyalty 
 
 that never shames, 
 Pure the heart on whose high altar such a 
 
 blameless passion flames; 
 32 
 
A L II A MATER 33 
 
 Not for gold and not for glory cherish we 
 
 our love for thee, 
 From all soilure of the senses is the heart's 
 
 devotion free; 
 For the gift for which our praises and our 
 
 thanks to thee unite, 
 Is the bounty of the spirit, is the boon of 
 
 Life and Light. 
 
 in 
 
 Alma Mater, we invoke thee! let thy sons 
 
 behold thy face! 
 Wilt thou not, for our imploring, deign our 
 
 festival to grace? 
 In our speech we often name thee; in our 
 
 songs we tell thy worth; 
 Show us something of thy presence; let us 
 
 see thee on the earth! 
 Nothing ghostly can we deem thee; kindred 
 
 of our souls art thou; 
 Speak, that we may well discern thee, and 
 
 hold converse with thee now! 
 
 IV 
 
 Stately mountains, strong and silent, warders 
 of the valley sweet, 
 
34 ALMA MATER 
 
 Capped with clouds and clad with forests, 
 
 meadows nestling at your feet, 
 Writing out your mighty legend in the bold 
 
 horizon lines, 
 Roaring out your savage saga, when the 
 
 wind raves through the pines, 
 Green with all the tints of spring-time when 
 
 the May's sweet voices call, 
 Flaming, like the fires of sunset, when the 
 
 frosts of autumn call, — 
 
 Valley of the winding river, guarded by the 
 mountains strong, 
 
 Where the little hills, rejoicing, join the pas- 
 tures in their song, — 
 
 Halls and towers and groves and temples 
 rising now in vision clear, 
 
 Beautiful for situation, fair to sight, to mem- 
 ory dear, — 
 
 Ye are not our Alma Mater; ye are but the 
 sacred shrine 
 
 Of a spirit free, transcendent; of a Life 
 unseen, divine. 
 
ALM A MATER 35 
 
 VI 
 
 Stately halls and towers will crumble; brick 
 
 and stone will turn to dust; 
 All the treasures men can gather prove a 
 
 prey to moth and rust; 
 But the life of Alma Mater waneth not with 
 
 passing years; 
 On her brow, "Time writes no wrinkle," in 
 
 her steady eye appears 
 Not a trace of age or dimness, in her locks no 
 
 streak of gray, 
 For her life is life immortal and she knoweth 
 
 not decay. 
 
 VII 
 
 Nay, thou art no ghost, our Mother, yet no 
 shape of sense art thou; 
 
 Truth thou art, and Trust and Honor; Wis- 
 dom sits upon thy brow; 
 
 Honest Thought and High Endeavor are 
 thy left hand and thy right; 
 
 Faith thy vital breath and being, Hope thy 
 vision, Love thy light: 
 
 Eyes can see not, ears can hear not all that 
 thou art called to be, 
 
36 ALMA MATER 
 
 For the Spirit in its freedom lives and loves 
 and rules in thee. 
 
 VIII 
 
 So we welcome thee, enthrone thee, Alma 
 
 Mater, at our feast; 
 Reverently thy sons salute thee; art thou 
 
 not our welcome guest? 
 Here we stand with heads uncovered, and, 
 
 with minds attentive, wait 
 For thy gracious benediction, for thy smile 
 
 benign, sedate; 
 Hast thou not some word of wisdom, truth 
 
 to hearten, hope to cheer? 
 There is silence, Alma Mater; speak, and we, 
 
 thy sons, will hear. 
 
 IX 
 
 Something stiller than the silence, something 
 
 softer than a sound 
 Falls upon the inward ear as falls the dew 
 
 upon the ground: 
 "For your words of love, my children, for 
 
 the bounty of your praise, 
 Take my blessing; let it brighten all the 
 
 remnant of your days! 
 
ALMA MATER 37 
 
 With my sons I share my honor; all I have 
 to you I give; 
 
 In your weal I find my welfare, in your hap- 
 piness I live. 
 
 "In the peace of that fair valley where the 
 
 heavens are near and kind, 
 And the blessed balms of silence soothe 
 
 the heart and calm the mind, 
 Where no reek nor roar of cities soils the 
 
 thought nor storms the sense, 
 And the stars are mine for counsel and the 
 
 mountains for defense, 
 There I guard the sacred fire, and there I 
 
 list the living word 
 Only to the prudent spoken, only by the 
 
 humble heard. 
 
 XI 
 
 "There your loyal love has built for me a 
 
 many-mansioned seat, 
 By your bounty you have made it for my 
 
 use and service meet; 
 For your liberal care I praise you; only let 
 
 us ponder well 
 
38 ALMAMATER 
 
 That the life is more than form and that the 
 
 pearl is not the shell; 
 Shapely souls our art must fashion; ample 
 
 lives our toil must build; 
 Care we first that hall and cloister shall 
 
 with manly men be filled. 
 
 XII 
 
 "Ye are seeking how to serve me; ye have 
 
 thought how ye may best 
 Fill my days with peace and plenty, make 
 
 my life more fully blest; 
 Hear me then, while I adjure you by the 
 
 love ye bear to me, 
 That ye lift on high forever Kingly Truth 
 
 that maketh free; 
 That ye keep your faith in honest worth and 
 
 honor without stain; 
 That ye hate the bribes of Mammon and the 
 
 heresy of Cain. 
 
 XIII 
 
 "Words I hear — yet hear not often in the 
 
 valley where I dwell — 
 Noisome words, whose exhalations overcome 
 
 me like a spell, — 
 
A L M A II A T E R 39 
 
 Filling all the walks of wisdom with the 
 
 maxims of the mart, 
 Showing how the roots of honor from the 
 
 mold of lucre start, — 
 That the 'greatest need' of Learning — nay 
 
 I will not name the name, 
 For the greatest need of Learning is to blush 
 
 for this her shame. 
 
 XIV 
 
 "'Learning's need?' not millions; nay, but 
 
 men of light and power and truth, 
 Men whose steady flame shall kindle glow 
 
 of love in generous youth; 
 Men whose life is not for lucre; men to whom 
 
 the scholar's call 
 Is for duty, not for fodder, like the cattle in 
 
 the stall. 
 Can ye buy them in the market? Nay, 
 
 more dear their life they hold; 
 Who have given their lives for love can never 
 
 sell their souls for gold. 
 
 xv 
 
 "Give me men to stand before me as the 
 years my life renew; 
 
40 ALMA MATER 
 
 Men, heroic, consecrated, to the scholar's 
 
 function true; 
 With the soul of mighty Alcuin, with old 
 
 Beda's courage high, 
 Wiclif's vision of the future, Colet's glorious 
 
 constancy; 
 Give me these and Learning need not with 
 
 the powers of greed confer; 
 All things that her life requireth shall be 
 
 added unto her. 
 
 XVI 
 
 "Yea, and ye, my loyal children, ye my 
 
 witnesses shall stand 
 With the word of valiant counsel, with the 
 
 truth in your right hand; 
 Ye shall bear with me the burden of the 
 
 spirit's royal strife, 
 Ye shall share with me the guerdon of the 
 
 joy that crowneth life; 
 So I hail you, and I bless you ! may the years 
 
 your hopes increase, 
 And the lengthening days grow brighter, 
 
 and the end thereof be peace!" 
 
HAIL AND FAREWELL 
 J. G. IL, 1819-1881 
 
 M 
 
 OUXTAIX, that watchest down the 
 vale 
 Most like a couchant lion, 
 Wide, winding river, whose fair breast 
 
 Soft south winds gently die on, 
 Lift up the head; flow still and slow, 
 
 Let no chill blast now chide you, 
 For one who loved you long ago 
 Lies down to sleep beside you. 
 
 You nursed within his boyish heart 
 
 The springing love of beauty, 
 You taught him, by your steadfast ways, 
 
 The deeper lore of duty: 
 Your shade and shine about him lay 
 
 In life's abundant labor, 
 And now the mound that holds his dust 
 
 Shall be your lowly neighbor. 
 41 
 
42 HAIL AND FAREWELL 
 
 A good, brave man, a blameless man, 
 
 He lived and wrought among us; 
 The truth he taught, the tales he told, 
 
 The heart-songs that he sung us, 
 All shine with white sincerity, 
 
 All thrill with strong conviction; 
 His words were seeds of honest deeds, 
 
 His life a benediction. 
 
 The art he loved was not the art 
 
 That finds its end in pleasing; 
 He loved to help and serve and bless 
 
 With toil and care unceasing; 
 No gift, he said, its fruit hath borne 
 
 Until with love 'tis mated; 
 No art is high, no art is pure, 
 
 That is not consecrated. 
 
 And thus, with kindly souls who pass 
 
 Through Baca's vale of weeping, 
 Beside whose way the fountains play, 
 
 Joy-bringing, verdure-keeping, 
 From strength to strength this pilgrim went, 
 
 With grace that ne'er forsook him, 
 Till suddenly, at break of day, 
 
 He was not, for God took him. 
 
HAIL AND FAREWELL 43 
 
 We tell our loss, we bear our pain, 
 
 Still thankful hearts upraising, 
 For life so large and fruit so fair 
 
 Our God the giver praising. 
 The heart must bleed, the tears must fall, 
 
 But smiles through tear-drops glitter; 
 We drink the cup, and grateful find 
 The sweet within the bitter. 
 
 mountain, guard his precious dust; 
 
 river, seaward flowing, 
 By night your softest dews bestow 
 
 To keep the grasses growing 
 That ever, with the bitter-sweet, 
 
 His sacred grave shall cover — 
 Servant of man and friend of God, 
 
 Brave thinker, steadfast lover. 
 
UNCLE SAM'S CHRISTMAS 
 1898 
 
 U: 
 
 NCLE SAM is sitting there, in his 
 high-backed easy chair, 
 
 In an old colonial hall, bright with banners 
 on the wall, 
 
 And with pictures dimly seen all the starry 
 folds between, — 
 
 Bunker Hill, Ticonderoga, Trenton, York- 
 town, Saratoga, 
 
 Gettysburg's decisive day, smoke of Santi- 
 ago Bay. 
 
 Through the windows far and fair, in the 
 crisp December air, 
 
 Stretch the meadows, slopes and vales, in- 
 land seas with snowy sails, 
 
 Mighty rivers winding slow, mountains with 
 their crowns of snow, 
 
 Farms and hamlets, roaring marts, happy 
 homes and loyal hearts. 
 
 East and west his glances stray, in a satis- 
 fied survey, 
 
 44 
 
UNCLE S A M ' S CHRISTMAS 45 
 
 And he harvests with his eye all the wealth 
 of earth and sky, 
 
 And his look returns content from the teem- 
 ing continent. 
 
 Then upon his feet he stands, and he 
 stretches forth his hands, 
 
 And I hear him breathe a prayer for the 
 children of his care, 
 
 And as to and fro he walks, to himself he 
 softly talks: 
 
 "Wall, the boys and gals, I take it, 
 
 Is a doin' fairly well; 
 After all the fuss an' racket 
 
 Chris'mas brings a breathin' spell. 
 Pretty likely lot o' youngsters! 
 
 Mebby 'taint fer me to say, 
 But whenever this old tongue stirs 
 
 It will talk in jest that way. 
 
 "Pooty noom'rous, that's a fact, sirs; 
 
 Swarmin', like, within our doors; 
 Cities gittin' closely packed, sirs; 
 
 Pourin' in on all our shores. 
 Like a cloud the people gather, 
 
 From all lands beneath the sky: 
 
46 UNCLE SAM'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 Doves o' many a flock an' feather, 
 To our winders see 'em fly! 
 
 "Wall there's room enough, I reckon, 
 
 Fer a few more millions yit; 
 'Shet the gates 'n' put the brek on?' 
 
 Don't like that a little bit! 
 Man is man an' woman's woman, 
 
 'Taint no diff'runce where they's bred; 
 'Nuthin's furrin to me that's human'; 
 
 Wasn't that what some old chap said? 
 
 "Yas, I know they's some 'ats fractious, 
 
 Sorter itchin' to have a spat; 
 Some 'ats now and then distractious, 
 
 Some 'at don't know where they's at; 
 But jest hold 'em ca'm an' stiddy, 
 
 Soon they git to understand 
 'Taint no use in gittin' giddy, 
 
 An' they larn to love the land. 
 
 "So I take the hull blamed bilin', 
 Teuton, Celt, an' Czech, an' Pole, 
 
 Slick Eyetalian, Dutchman smilin', 
 Scandinavian, bland Mongole, 
 
 Chuck 'em into the skule-house hopper, 
 Grind 'em over, once 'n' agen, 
 
UNCLE S A M ' S CHRISTMAS 47 
 
 Out they'll drop at last, the proper 
 Yankee brand of American men. 
 
 " So I like tu think 'em all over, 
 
 Every kindred an' tongue an' line, 
 Ploughman, tradesman, ocean rover, 
 
 Man at the masthead, man in the mine, 
 Man at the bench, at the desk, at the lever, 
 
 Schoolmarm, kitchen-gal, shop-maid, scribe, 
 Mother o' men an' sweet peace-weaver, 
 
 All my children of every tribe, — 
 
 "Up on the banks o' the Androscoggin, 
 
 Daown where the alligators sleep, 
 Out in the Michigin woods a-loggin', 
 
 'Long o' the Canyuns wild an' deep, 
 Pilin' the sugar cane, pullin' the cotton, 
 
 Boxin' the or'nges, huskin' the corn, — 
 No, they ain't none on 'em skipped 'r f'r- 
 gotten; 
 
 Good luck toiler 'em, evenin' an' morn! 
 
 "Naow, in the nippin' winter weather, 
 Jest as the sun to the up-grade shifts, 
 
 I kin see 'em, gittin' together 
 
 Chris'mas greens 'n' Chris'mas gifts; 
 
 All the land is alive with givers; 
 
48 UNCLE SAM'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 Gittin', for naow, has gone to the rear; 
 Peace 'n' good will — they flow like rivers; 
 Happiest time of all the year! 
 
 "Wall, my children, I'm a wonderin' 
 
 What my Chris'mas gifts shall be : 
 Your old Uncle goes a-blunderin' 
 
 Raound to the winders, to look an' see 
 What he can git 'ats worth the givin'; 
 
 What'll tickle you thru 'n' thru; 
 Somethin' to make your life wuth livin', 
 
 Somethin' 'ats hullsome 'n' fresh, 'n' new. 
 
 "Best things, mebby, aint in the winders; 
 
 I suspicion 'at that's a fact; 
 Goods wuth most tu gitters 'n' senders 
 
 Can't be crated, 'n' boxed 'n' packed: 
 Mine'll hof to go by the sky-line, 
 
 Same way Tesla sends his news; 
 4 Lovers' Lightnin' Dispatch,' — that's my 
 line, 
 
 Skips through the air 'n' drops like the 
 dews. 
 
 "So here goes to the hull o' the people; 
 
 All o' the good 'at life kin hold; 
 Peace in the heart? yes, that's the staple; 
 
 
UNCLE SAM'S CHRISTMAS 49 
 
 Love in the home — that's better 'n gold. 
 'Taint fer me to be wishin' 'em riches; 
 
 That's comin' fast enough naow, I guess; 
 Better be knittin' up raveled stitches 
 
 Of quiet content 'n' happiness. 
 
 "'Taint 'at they need much more, I take it; 
 
 'Tis 'at it might be better shared; 
 Bread enough naow, if they's love to break it; 
 
 Greed's the stuff 'at kin well be spared; 
 Them 'at's climbin' the billion ladder 
 
 Work, I think, at the devil's chores; 
 That old sarpint is naow the adder, 
 
 Tryin' to add up all out-doors. 
 
 "Yas, they's some stands all day waitin', 
 
 Cause no man aint offered 'em work; 
 That's the horror 'at wants abatin', 
 
 Bondage wuss'n the nameless Turk — 
 Shame 'at the man 'at wants to labor, 
 
 Ever gits fed on a pauper's crust; 
 Love 'at worketh no ill tu his neighbor 
 
 Kin du better 'n that I trust. 
 
 "No, I know 'at there aint so many 
 
 Idle naow as a year ago; 
 But, you mind me! long as there's any, 
 
50 UNCLE SAM'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 Suthin' is wrong with the world, I know. 
 Not to coddle 'n' cosset, 'n' pamper, — 
 
 That aint our American plan, 
 Jest a free field 'n' nuthin' to hamper; 
 
 Give him a chance of bein' a man. 
 
 "Yas, ef yer Uncle could so contrive it, 
 
 Every man should have suthin' to du; 
 Life, like honey, wants work to hive it; 
 
 Work's the fortin' I've left to yeou. 
 Work for the workless, help for the lowly, 
 
 Love 'at shelters, 'n' love 'at shares; 
 Peace 'at shines from the manger holy, — 
 
 Sech is yer Uncle's Chris'mas prayers. 
 
 "What'll I git this year, I wonder? 
 
 What are you goin' to du fer me? 
 Yas, yer Uncle's a peekin' under 
 
 The curtain 'at hides his Chris'mas tree; 
 Several things he'd like to see there, 
 
 Things nobody but you kin bring; 
 Things so precious that if they be there, 
 
 Your old Uncle '11 dance 'n' sing. 
 
 "'Sech as what?' Wall, a few clean cities, 
 
 Purged with the besom of pop'lar ire; 
 Where no longer the game of wit is 
 
 
UNCLE S AM ' S CHRISTMAS 51 
 
 Robbin' the taown 'n' playin' with fire; 
 Cities where law is alive, and knows it; 
 
 Cities where plunderers das'nt stay; 
 Whirlwind seed an' the fiend 'at sows it, 
 
 Swep' by the people's wrath away. 
 
 "That's one thing; 'n' here's its mate, sir, — 
 
 Uncle Sam 'd be glad to git, — 
 Every place in nation 'n' state, sir, 
 
 Filled with men 'ats sound 'n' fit. 
 Heavens! for my gret tasks, don't send me 
 
 Sharpers, 'n' sponges, 'n' boors, 'n' loons, — 
 Wolves 'ats waitin' to turn 'n' rend me, 
 
 Sneaks 'ats watchin' to steal my spoons. 
 
 "'Taint the way you'd oughter treat me, 
 
 In these tumble times of test; 
 Find me the men 'at's fit to meet me; 
 
 Pick me your cleanest, strongest, best; 
 All the ills 'at the state is heir to, — 
 
 Here's the cure for 'em, once 'n' again: 
 You kin end 'em whenever you care to, — 
 
 Fill your places with faithful men. 
 
 "Wall, let's quit that! Suthin' shinin' 
 There in the Chris'mas greens I see! 
 Pines 'n' palms all clus a-twinin' 
 
52 UNCLE SAM'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 Jeweled with loyal love for me! 
 Under the branches I see 'em singin', 
 
 Cryin', 'n' stoppin' naow to pray; 
 'Union forever!' I hear it ringin', — 
 
 'One flag naow fer the blue 'n' the gray!' 
 
 "There hangs a picter of two hands 
 stretchin' 
 
 Over the sea fer a friendly shake, 
 Olive branch, aint it, the hands is techin'? 
 
 Ketch holt, partners! don't never break! 
 Aint no folks like yer own folks, blame it! 
 
 What's the old grudges, all on 'em, worth? 
 Peace is our portion; own it, claim it! 
 
 Carry the good news round the earth! 
 
 "Flags in the branches tell the story 
 
 I don't need to tell over today, — 
 Santiago's record of glory! 
 
 Miracle play o' Manila Bay! 
 How the hull land riz up in splendor, 
 
 Lovin' liberty, hatin' wrong, 
 Swift for the poor to stand defender, 
 
 Quick for the weak to be brave and strong. 
 
 "These poor creeturs, what's to become on 
 'em, 
 Stunned 'n' scattered by what we've done? 
 
UNCLE SAM'S CHRISTMAS 53 
 
 They'll need carin' for, anyhow, some on 'em; 
 
 Their wolf-mother was better 'n none. 
 Some folks say to me, 'Nothin's due 'em; 
 
 Let's get shet on 'em; leave 'em alone 1 
 Be a kind of a step-mother tu 'em; 
 
 They want bread; let's give 'em a stone.' 
 
 "No, siree, sir; that aint me, sir: 
 
 Uncle Sam aint built that way; 
 'Taint enough to set 'em free, sir; 
 
 What is freedom to sech as they? 
 What they want is a kindly hand, sir, 
 
 Leadin' 'em aout o' the wilderness; 
 What they want is a firm command, sir, 
 
 Makin' for freedom and happiness. 
 
 '"Cost me suthin'?' Wall, I guess so; 
 
 This ere business wasn't for gain; 
 'Taint wuth mindin' the folks that says so; 
 
 'Twasnt for plunder I fit with Spain; 
 I set aout for to help my neighbor; 
 
 Xaow, when he needs my help the most, 
 Shall I stop and flunk in my friendly labor, 
 
 Shirkin' the load 'n' countin' the cost? 
 
 "Xo: I can give 'em help an' healin', 
 Light, an' leadin', an' liberty, 
 
54 UNCLE SAM'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 Justice, an' faith, an' honest dealin', 
 Truth that maketh her children free; 
 
 So, poor brothers, I shall not leave you; 
 Such as I am, with sword an' pen, — 
 
 Such as I have I freely give you: 
 
 Stan' on your feet, an' I'll make you men." 
 
 So I left him sitting there, in his high-backed 
 
 easy chair, 
 With a light upon his face from some high 
 
 and holy place; 
 And I heard him breathe a prayer for the 
 
 children of his care, 
 And an answer softly sped from the silence 
 
 overhead, 
 While the church bells far away rang the 
 
 chimes of Christmas day. 
 
URBS BEATA 
 
 Read at the One Hundredth Anniversary of the 
 Founding of Columbus, Ohio. Sept. 1, 1912. 
 
 W E come at length, as shadows length- 
 ening fall, 
 To the last hour of our high festival; 
 In "God's first temple," in the summer air 
 We lift our hearts to him in praise and 
 
 prayer, 
 Praise for the good that crowns the century's 
 
 close, 
 Prayer for the light and strength his grace 
 
 bestows 
 On all who humbly seek him; that the days 
 Now lying fair before us, and the ways 
 Through which his love shall lead us may be 
 
 bright 
 With his o'ershadowing presence; that the 
 
 night 
 All round us shall be light because of Him; 
 That through the murk and maze of futures 
 
 dim 
 
 55 
 
56 URBSBEATA 
 
 His shepherding may keep us, and his power 
 Protect us in the dark and perilous hour. 
 
 We wait upon his word. Who speaks for 
 
 him? 
 Unseal our vision! Let the seraphim 
 Now stooping near us touch our eyes to see 
 The form that bends above us; set us free 
 From flesh and sense, that we may duly hear 
 The word she speaks unto the inward ear. 
 "Faith of Our Fathers"; let that be the 
 
 name 
 By which we know her. Evermore the same, 
 Benignant, beautiful, with radiant face 
 And smile that tells us of a happy place, 
 With beckoning hand, and winning upward 
 
 glance, 
 And sober yearnings on her countenance. — 
 "Faith of Our Fathers" — not their dogmas 
 
 drear, 
 Filling men's hearts with trouble and with 
 
 fear; 
 Faith is no fabric by logicians wrought, 
 No sublimate of metaphysic thought, 
 No trap of dialectic, shrewdly set 
 To catch incautious souls in error's net, 
 Nor any skeleton with bony hands 
 
URBSBEATA 57 
 
 That here today across our pathway stands; 
 Nay, 'tis a Spirit, the soul of trust and truth, 
 Of loyalty and honor, grace and ruth, 
 Through whom we know God near, and not 
 
 afar, 
 And that in him we live and move and are; 
 This is "Our Fathers' Faith," their living 
 
 faith, 
 That kept them whole, in loss and pain and 
 
 scathe. 
 Their creeds we could not keep; their life 
 
 we need; 
 Their life in God, for that is life indeed. 
 'Tis this fair form that bends now from the 
 
 sky 
 With beckoning hand to tell us God is 
 
 nigh, 
 As near to us as ever to our sires, 
 With grace that pardons, comforts, shields, 
 
 inspires. 
 Spirit divine, we wait thy words of cheer: 
 (If any man have ears, now let him hear.) 
 Thou art Religion, not rite, nor book nor 
 
 ban — 
 The life of God within the soul of man; 
 Thou hast been with us in the ages past; 
 What hast thou for us in the future vast? 
 
58 URBSBEATA 
 
 "Ye seek to know" — thus saith the Voice 
 
 divine — 
 "What visions call me, and what tasks are 
 
 mine 
 In days that are before us. Ye do well 
 Thus to inquire; for oft beneath the spell 
 Of whirling wheels and flying fires, man deems 
 That nothing is, outside the mindless streams 
 Of elemental force; that truth and right 
 Are apparitions that deceive the sight; 
 That obligation binds no human choice; 
 That duty waits on inclination's voice; 
 That reverence springs from superstition 
 
 stale; 
 That God's great law is but an old wives' 
 
 tale. 
 Too prone are men, in these tumultuous 
 
 years, 
 To still their consciences and quench their 
 
 fears, 
 To stifle all the hopes that lift them higher, 
 And feed with snow the flame of pure desire; 
 This is Religion's task, to bring again 
 The torch of truth to light the lives of men; 
 To touch their eyes, that visions may appear 
 Of God's great presence, shining round them 
 
 here; 
 
I'RBS BEATA 59 
 
 To lift the veil of law that hides God's face 
 And show that earth is still a holy place; 
 That every work of man beneath the sun, 
 By wisdom counseled and in love begun — 
 All work whose purpose makes for human 
 
 weal, 
 By hands that toil, or serve, or help, or heal — 
 That shape the fabric or that break the 
 
 clod — 
 Is done by men who needs must work with 
 
 God. 
 Yea, God is in his world; no prophet old 
 Could trace his power in shapes so manifold 
 As those which daily hold your wondering eyes 
 In loving work that round about you lies; 
 To find him here; his wise designs to see; 
 To join your wills with his in service free, 
 This is the task Religion finds for you 
 Who seek her ways to know, her will to do. 
 She brings the Holy City down to earth, 
 And bids its citizens to know their worth 
 As sons of God; she summons them to raise 
 On fair foundations walls of chrysoprase 
 And jasper, sapphire, beryl, chrysolite — 
 All stones of price, all precious in God's 
 
 sight — 
 On purity and truth and honor bright, 
 
60 URBSBEATA 
 
 Temples and towers and courts and halls of 
 
 light 
 And homes of purity, and mills and marts 
 And shops of industry and shrines of arts — 
 To build all these, in days now drawing nigh 
 After the pattern shown us in the sky." 
 
 Such is the message that today is brought 
 From that which answers to our deepest 
 
 thought; 
 Such are the tasks that wait upon our will 
 In days which mercies past with promise 
 
 fill. 
 To build a city here of fair renown 
 After the pattern that the heaven sends down; 
 A city founded on this simple plan — 
 Friendship for God, and friendship, too, for 
 
 man, 
 God's friendship! 'Tis the sure foundation 
 
 stone 
 On which its life must rest: the faith alone 
 That makes men faithful, the firm tie that 
 
 binds 
 Man to his highest fealties; clouded minds 
 It clears, crowns trust and truth, makes 
 
 honor dear; 
 Kindles high courage, quells ignoble fear, 
 
IRBS BEATA 61 
 
 Sends cringing craft to heel, gives love the 
 
 rein, 
 And holds in reason's thrall the greed for 
 
 gain. 
 Friendship for God — it is the vital breath 
 That cities live by, yea the prophet saith: 
 "Except God build the city it shall fall; 
 Men toil in vain upon its crumbling wall." 
 A godless city — what shall be her fate? 
 Hear what the Lord hath spoken: "Desolate 
 Shall be her courts, and bitter her complaints, 
 For the whole head is sick, the whole heart 
 
 faints; 
 How is the faithful queen, by treachery 
 
 stained, 
 Become an harlot; and, where justice 
 
 reigned, 
 Red murder riots: rulers, while men sleep, 
 Trample on laws that they have sworn to 
 
 keep; 
 Thieves their companions, bribers their al- 
 lies, 
 Heedless of justice, deaf to all the cries 
 Of fatherless and widows." 
 
 Such the scourge 
 Of godless cities, such the fateful dirge 
 
62 URBSBEATA 
 
 That prophets sing when cities turn from God 
 And recklessly defy his chastening rod. 
 
 you whom God hath called and set apart 
 To build a city after his own heart, 
 Remember well, your peace is in his hands, 
 Your welfare waits on his benign commands. 
 His friendship seek, his word of life obey 
 And trust his grace to guide you all the way. 
 "Be friends with God," this is the golden 
 
 text 
 That gives us queenly cities ; and the next — 
 "Be friends with men," this crowns the city 
 
 fair 
 And makes it beautiful beyond compare. 
 
 you whom God hath called and set apart 
 To build a city after his own heart, 
 Be this your task — to fill the cities' veins 
 With the red blood of friendship; plant her 
 
 plains 
 With seeds of peace; above her portals 
 
 wreathe 
 Greeting and welcome; let the air we breathe 
 Be musical with accents of good will 
 That leap from lip to lip with joyous thrill; 
 So may the stranger find upon the streets 
 
URBSBEATA 63 
 
 A kindly look in every face he meets: 
 So may the spirit of the city tell 
 All souls within her gates that all is well; 
 In all her homes let gentleness be found, 
 In every neighborhood let grace abound, 
 In every store and shop and forge and mill 
 Where men of toil their daily tasks fulfil, 
 Where guiding brain and workman's skill 
 
 are wise 
 To shape the product of our industries, 
 Where treasured stores the hands of toil 
 
 sustain, 
 Let friendship speed the work and share the 
 
 gain. 
 And thus, through all the city's teeming life, 
 Let helpfulness have room, with generous 
 
 strife 
 To serve; let those who sit at Beauty's feet 
 Rejoice to make this world of ours more meet 
 For men to live in; let the poet's art 
 Kindle new kindness in the human heart; 
 Let every hand find work to swell the store 
 Of common welfare, and let all hearts pour 
 Their offering of service, till the best 
 That each can bring is shared by all the rest; 
 Proving the Master's saying that we live 
 By what we get, but more by what we give. 
 
64 URBSBEATA 
 
 And thus, city fair, your life shall be 
 
 Benignant, bountiful, abundant, free; 
 
 For God shall dwell among us, and men shall 
 
 say 
 The former bitter things are passed away; 
 Gone are our strifes and banished all our 
 
 fears, 
 For here is love that wipes away all tears; 
 Here is the rest for which our souls have 
 
 striven; 
 This is the city that came down from heaven. 
 
THE ORATORY 
 
THE DISCIPLE 
 
 O 
 
 MASTER, let me walk with Thee 
 In lowly paths of service free; 
 Tell me Thy secret, help me bear 
 The strain of toil, the fret of care; 
 Help me the slow of heart to move 
 By some clear winning word of love; 
 Teach me the wayward feet to stay, 
 And guide them in the homeward way. 
 
 Master, let me walk with Thee 
 Before the taunting Pharisee; 
 Help me to bear the sting of spite, 
 The hate of men who hide Thy light, 
 The sore distrust of souls sincere 
 Who cannot read Thy judgments clear, 
 The dulness of the multitude 
 Who dimly guess that Thou art good. 
 
 Teach me Thy patience; still with Thee 
 In closer, dearer company, 
 In work that keeps faith sweet and strong, 
 67 
 
68 THE DISCIPLE 
 
 In trust that triumphs over wrong, 
 In hope that sends a shining ray 
 Far down the Future's broadening way, 
 In peace that only Thou canst give, 
 With Thee, Master, let me live! 
 
THE BELIEVER 
 
 J— /ORD, I believe in Thee, 
 
 In want, in pain, in grief; 
 I trust Thee where I cannot see, 
 
 Help Thou my unbelief! 
 
 Thy law is in my heart, 
 
 With that I follow Thee; 
 If sin still rule the worser part, 
 
 Be merciful to me! 
 
 I trust my brother, too; 
 
 In him, though lost, I find 
 Some spark Thy breath may yet renew, 
 
 For Thou to him art kind. 
 
 All that are Thine are mine, 
 To save men Thou didst come; 
 
 Live in my life, Love divine, 
 Then I, too, may save some. 
 
 69 
 
THE MOURNER 
 
 O 
 
 MOURNER, making thy piteous 
 moan, — 
 "What shall I do? How can I go 
 Down through the desolate days alone?" — 
 Wait! for the righteous light is sown: 
 Wait, and the dawn shall grow. 
 
 One by one come the desolate days; 
 
 It is only today that toucheth thee. 
 Look straight before thee! some guiding 
 
 rays 
 Shine now on my path. Go on with praise 
 
 In the light that thou canst see. 
 
 70 
 
 
THE DOUBTER 
 
 rORGIVE, Lord, the doubts that 
 break 
 
 Thy promises to me; 
 Forgive me that I fail to take 
 
 Thy pardon full and free. 
 
 "I will have mercy," Thou hast said; 
 
 "My ways are not your ways"; 
 Yet from Thy presence I have fled, 
 
 I dared not trust Thy grace. 
 
 I sought to put my sins away, 
 
 I strove to do Thy will; 
 And yet, whene'er I tried to pray 
 
 My heart was doubting still. 
 
 I thought that Thou with jealous eye 
 
 Wast watching me alway, 
 My deeds to mark, my steps to spy 
 
 Whene'er I went astray. 
 71 
 
72 THE DOUBTER 
 
 I hoped that when, by days and years 
 
 Of service and of prayer, 
 I had besought Thy grace with tears, 
 
 Thy mercy I might share. 
 
 Forgive, Father, this my sin, 
 This jealous, doubting heart; 
 
 For when men seek Thy love to win, 
 And choose the better part, 
 
 I know that, swifter than the light 
 Leaps earthward from the sun, 
 
 Thy pardoning love, Thy rescuing might 
 Speed down to every one. 
 
A LITTLE WHILE 
 
 W 
 
 HAT is this that He saith? 
 "It is but a little while," 
 And trouble and pain and death 
 Shall vanish before His smile. 
 
 "A little while," and the load 
 Shall drop at the pilgrim's feet, 
 
 Where the steep and thorny road 
 Doth merge in the golden street. 
 
 But what is this that He saith? 
 
 "A little while," and the day 
 Of the servant that laboreth 
 
 Shall be done forever and aye. 
 
 the truth that is yet untold! 
 
 the songs that are yet unsung! 
 the sufferings manifold, 
 
 And the sorrows that have no tongue! 
 
 the helpless hands held out, 
 And the wayward feet that stray 
 73 
 
74 A LITTLE WHILE 
 
 In the desolate paths of doubt, 
 And the sinner's downward way! 
 
 For a silence soon will fall 
 
 On the lips that burn for speech, 
 
 And the needy and poor that call 
 Will forever be out of reach. 
 
 "For the work that ye must do 
 Before the coming of death 
 
 There remaineth, faithful few, 
 But a little while," He saith. 
 
THE WAY 
 
 " How, Lord, shall we follow Thee?" 
 
 I heard one sadly say; 
 "Whither Thou goest we cannot see; 
 
 How can we know the way?" 
 
 "I am the way," the Shepherd said; 
 
 "He that dwelleth in love 
 Dwelleth in me, and shall be led 
 
 Safe to the fold above." 
 
 75 
 
MY SABBATH 
 
 -L/IKE the child weary, yet for frolic eager, 
 Held still at nightfall, on his mother's 
 breast, 
 
 Me, in the silence, gracious arms beleaguer; 
 Sweet, in their loving fold, I find my rest. 
 
 The noises of the blatant world are quiet; 
 
 Care's hungry pack have howled them- 
 selves to flight; 
 No news of plague or wreck or war or riot 
 
 Comes to disturb my day of dear delight. 
 
 The toilful days of fever all are ended, 
 And days more distant still of feverish 
 toil; 
 And painless rest and moveless trust are 
 blended 
 In a pure peace no trouble can assoil. 
 
 The deep, calm sky bends down with voice- 
 less blessing, 
 
 76 
 
MY SABBATH 77 
 
 The earth sleeps well beneath the winter 
 snow, 
 And wandering winds, that meet with mute 
 caressing, 
 Are shod with stillness as they come and go. 
 
 In heaven, 'tis said, was once a half-hour's 
 silence; 
 But mine this respite for a whole day 
 long, 
 Save, w 7 hen, from voices on the far-off high- 
 lands 
 Steals to my ear a breath of holy song. 
 
 "Rest and be thankful!" with a heart o'er- 
 ilowing, 
 I take the sweet refreshment Thou dost 
 send. 
 And may this peace, to fuller measures 
 growing, 
 With work and care henceforth divinely 
 blend! 
 
HYMN 
 
 For the Dedication of the Mark Hopkins 
 Memorial Hall 
 
 o 
 
 LOVE divine, all life is Thine, 
 Thy changeless bounty crowns our years, 
 Thy fadeless splendors round us shine, 
 Thy hand upholds the rolling spheres. 
 
 Thy gifts, God, are large and free, 
 Yet, best of all Thy love bestows, 
 
 The souls wherein Thy light we see, 
 The lips whereon Thy message glows. 
 
 Apostles, prophets, teachers stand 
 
 To show Thy way, to speak Thy thought; 
 
 Yea, Lord, the man of Thy right hand 
 To us the word of life has brought. 
 
 For him this day Thy name we praise, 
 All thoughts of him mount up to Thee; 
 
 And while in love these walls we raise, 
 Each memory linked with prayer shall be. 
 78 
 
H Y M N 70 
 
 Here may the truth he loved to teach 
 
 With ever-living luster grow, 
 Here may the heights he strove to reach 
 
 Still shine and beacon men below. 
 
 Here be the soul with ardor stirred, 
 And life with love's immortal leaven, 
 
 Here let the reconciling word 
 
 Link man to God, lift earth to heaven! 
 
HYMN 
 For the Centennial of Williams College 
 
 il ERE, neath the soft October sky, 
 A century gone, the scholars stood, 
 
 And praised the Power who dwells on high, 
 The Source of light, the Fount of good. 
 
 The flaming mountains heard their praise, 
 The winding river hushed its mirth, 
 
 And through the dreamy depths of haze 
 The heavens stooped down and touched 
 the earth. 
 
 A hundred years their gifts have brought 
 To crown the work that day begun, 
 
 And flames from off this altar caught 
 Light every land beneath the sun. 
 
 flaming mountains, guard us still! 
 skies of autumn, softly bend 
 80 
 
H V M N 81 
 
 And whisper of the loving will 
 
 Of God, our Father and our Friend! 
 
 Lord of life and light and love, 
 
 The years to come are safe with Thee; 
 
 Clothe us with wisdom from above, 
 
 And make us brave and strong and free! 
 
HYMN 
 
 For the Dedication of the John Robinson 
 Church, Gainsborough, England, 1897 
 
 B 
 
 'EHOLD a Sower! from afar 
 
 He goeth forth with might; 
 The rolling years his furrows are, 
 
 His seed the growing light; 
 For all the just his word is sown, 
 
 It springeth up alway; 
 The tender blade is hope's young dawn, 
 
 The harvest, love's new day. 
 
 Lord of life, to Thee we lift 
 
 Our hearts in praise for those, 
 Thy prophets, who have shown Thy gift 
 
 Of grace that ever grows; 
 Of truth that spreads from shore to shore, 
 
 Of wisdom's widening ray, 
 Of light that shineth, more and more, 
 
 Unto Thy perfect day. 
 
 Shine forth, Light, that we may see 
 With hearts all unafraid, 
 82 
 
ii v m n S3 
 
 The meaning and the mystery 
 Of things that Thou hast made; 
 
 Shine forth, and let the darkling past 
 Beneath Thy beam grow bright! 
 
 Shine forth, and touch the future vast 
 With Thine unclouded light. 
 
 Light up Thy Word, the fettered page 
 
 From killing bondage free; 
 Light up our way; lead forth this age 
 
 In love's large liberty. 
 Light of light, within us dwell, 
 
 Through us Thy radiance pour, 
 That word and life Thy truth may tell 
 
 And praise Thee evermore. 
 
HYMN 
 
 For the Columbus School for Girls 
 
 Tune, Pastor Bonus 
 
 o 
 
 UR morning song of praise 
 With thankful hearts we raise, 
 
 For life and youth, for love and truth, 
 For work that fills our days; 
 For grace and help we pray, 
 That all our tasks this day 
 
 In hope begun, in patience done, 
 May light us on our way. 
 
 The trees above us bend, 
 
 The skies their brightness lend, 
 All things that live their blessing give, 
 
 And with our labor blend; 
 
 So, with a loving will 
 
 Let each her part fulfil, 
 Her honor keep, her harvest reap 
 
 Of truth and strength and skill. 
 
 Through all the happy time 
 Of girlhood's golden prime, 
 84 
 
HYMN 85 
 
 To strength and good of womanhood 
 
 Our ready feet shall climb; 
 
 And still our song of praise, 
 
 With thankful hearts we raise 
 For life and youth, for love and truth, 
 
 For joy that crowns our days. 
 
IMMANUEL 
 
 Unto us a Child is born; unto us a Son is given." 
 
 U: 
 
 NDER its burden of sin and pain 
 
 The whole creation groans, 
 Lifting its hopeless prayers in vain 
 
 To the altars and the thrones. 
 Long and weary has been the night 
 
 Of sorrow and want and woe; 
 Long have the watchers strained their sight 
 
 To catch the morning glow; 
 But the world rolls on in its darkling track 
 And the cry "How long!" comes echoing 
 back 
 
 To the suffering souls below. 
 Thus the creation waiteth long, 
 
 In orphanage and in tears, 
 For the signs of his coming to whom belong 
 
 The everlasting years. 
 
 "Where is thy God, prophet; where 
 
 Is the Lord of life and light? 
 We lift to his throne our words of prayer, 
 86 
 
IMMANUEL 87 
 
 Wc wait for his arm of might; 
 Yet the earth is dark and life is lone, 
 
 And trouble and pain are here; 
 Will he never hearken upon his throne? 
 
 Will the Helper never appear? 
 What know we yet, prophet, of him 
 
 Whose name we have heard thee speak? 
 There is nought for us but a vision dim 
 
 Of the God whose face we seek; 
 He dwells in the high and holy place; 
 
 He rides on the tempest's crest; 
 The worlds that roll through the depths of 
 space 
 
 Obey his mighty behest; 
 The viewless winds are his ministers, 
 
 From his hand are the lightnings sped, 
 The shock that earth to its center stirs 
 
 Is only his footfall dread; 
 His power we see, his wrath we fear, 
 
 At his word our pulses start, 
 But who can read us his counsels clear, 
 
 And who can show us his heart? 
 All round the world the altars smoke, 
 
 And the costly victim bleeds, 
 And offerings rich his help invoke, 
 
 And prayer for his mercy pleads; 
 Does he heed our praise? does he hear our cry? 
 
88 IMMANUEL 
 
 Does he wait his grace to show? 
 Does he bend to earth from his throne on 
 high? 
 
 We trust, but we may not know; 
 For the earth is full of sorrow and sin, 
 
 Of weariness, want and pain; 
 There are fightings without and fears within, 
 There is shame where innocence once has 
 
 been, 
 "And guilt with its crimson stain; 
 And greed and pride and tyranny rule, 
 
 And the cruel devour the kind, 
 While the meek is scorned for a witless fool, 
 
 And the blind is led by the blind. 
 Is God in heaven? Why tarrieth he? 
 
 Why cometh he not with power 
 To smite the scorner, the slave to free, 
 The friend of the friendless poor to be, 
 
 To give to the meek their dower? 
 Why cometh he not when orphans cry, 
 
 And widows make their moan? 
 Why cometh he not to souls that sigh 
 
 For sins they can never atone? 
 Why cometh he not with comfort sweet 
 
 To the mourner walking in tears, 
 To guide and steady the halting feet, 
 And strengthen the fainting heart to meet 
 
IMMANUEL 89 
 
 The inevitable years? 
 Is God in heaven? On earth is Death; 
 
 Here reigns he monarch of all; 
 He smites the earth with his icy breath, 
 
 On the sky he hangeth his pall; 
 In his swaths the generations lie, 
 
 For none can parry his stroke; 
 Man that is born of woman must die, 
 
 Heavy this tyrant's yoke; 
 Here in our broken homes we mourn, 
 
 Empty our hearts and barms; 
 Babes from the mother's breast are torn, 
 
 Brides from the bridegroom's arms; 
 And the mourners go about the streets 
 
 And look, and listen, and wait 
 For sounds that the silence never repeats, 
 For faces the sunshine never greets, 
 
 Till, heavy and desolate, 
 They fall by the way and from sight are 
 swept 
 
 By the pitiless power of Death, 
 And they who were weepers themselves are 
 
 wept ; 
 Thus runneth the rede; thus the tale is kept 
 
 For children of mortal breath. 
 And whither, oh whither? From out our 
 sight 
 
90 I M MANUEL 
 
 Our best beloved have gone; 
 Is the word 'forever'? To Death's dread 
 night 
 
 Comes never the break of dawn? 
 Are the hands death parted never more 
 
 To be clasped in friendship sweet? 
 Is Death an ocean without a shore? 
 prophet speak! We beseech, implore; 
 
 What tidings? Shall we meet 
 In lands more fair, when from Life's dull 
 dream 
 
 We wake to eternal youth? 
 prophet, we wait by the sliding stream 
 
 Of Time for the word of truth. 
 Thou answerest faintly; thou hast no word 
 
 Whereon our hearts may lean; 
 Thou speakest only what thou hast heard, 
 
 And not what thine eyes have seen; 
 It is not enough; our hearts will cry 
 
 For a more sure word than thine; 
 For a voice that sounds from the throne on 
 high, 
 
 For a message all divine. 
 Is God in heaven? that his heaven 
 
 Were not from earth so far! 
 that some ray of his glory given 
 
 Might shine as a morning star 
 
I II M A N V E L 91 
 
 In the sky above us! Some tender gleam 
 
 Of its holy light appear 
 To scatter our night with its healing beam, 
 
 Our desolate souls to cheer." 
 
 Thus the world through the generations old, 
 
 Groaneth and travaileth here, 
 Waiting the hour so long foretold 
 
 When the Dayspring shall appear; 
 When the sons of men shall be manifest 
 As the sons of God, and the heart shall rest 
 
 From trouble and doubt and fear. 
 Wearily waiteth, but not in vain; 
 
 Lo, to anointed eyes 
 Breaketh the light over Bethlehem's plain, 
 
 Far in the eastern skies! 
 Bendeth now in a sweet embrace 
 
 Heaven to the fainting earth; 
 Dawneth the light in a mother's face, 
 The light that shines from the heavenly place, 
 When the Prince of Life and the Lord of 
 grace, 
 
 Immanuel, comes to birth. 
 
 Born from above, this child comes down 
 
 To the lowliest human ways; 
 Bare is the brow that hath worn a crown; 
 
 Emptied of power and praise, 
 
92 
 
 IM MANUEL 
 
 He walks in the paths of toil and care, 
 
 On pallets of straw he sleeps, 
 In the sorrows of earth he finds his share, 
 
 He hungers and thirsts and weeps; 
 Never a pang our hearts have torn 
 
 That doth not rend his heart; 
 Never a grief our souls have borne 
 
 But he must feel its smart; 
 From his hand he putteth away the power, 
 
 From his vision the heavenly ray, 
 He knoweth not the day nor the hour, 
 
 He trusteth in God alway; 
 Meek and lowly of heart is he, 
 
 Yet forth from his life there flow 
 Healing and cheer and comfort free 
 
 For every child of woe; 
 His touch brings life, his presence peace; 
 
 His word is a word of might 
 That gives to the fettered tongue release, 
 
 To the darkened eye the light. 
 Down to our death he stoops and brings 
 
 The life of the heaven above, 
 Lord of glory and king of kings 
 
 And his royalty is love. 
 
 "Here, prophet, is life and light! 
 Here is the message sure! 
 
IMMANUEL 93 
 
 Beams from this face the glory bright 
 Of the city where never cometh night, 
 
 Of the kingdom of the pure. 
 Heaven no longer is strange and far, 
 
 Heaven to the earth draws near; 
 Dawns on the world that morning star 
 
 Our desolate hearts to cheer. 
 God is no longer a vision dim, 
 
 For we have learned his name — 
 Our Father; and we draw nigh to Him 
 
 From whom Immanuel came; 
 Nay, in Immanuel' s smile we see 
 
 The brightness of His face, 
 With sweet compassion and mercy free 
 
 And gentleness and grace. 
 Trouble is here, and suffering still 
 
 Its shadow over us throws; 
 Secure we rest in the blessed Will — 
 
 Our heavenly Father knows. 
 Ancient Tyranny keeps his throne 
 
 And the poor are still a prey; 
 But light for the righteous now is sown, 
 And the tares may wait till the wheat is 
 grown, 
 
 Till God's great judgment day. 
 And Death, Death, old monarch of all, 
 
 Who feareth thy fiercest frown? 
 

 94 IMMANUEL 
 
 Behold the writing upon the wall! 
 
 Gone is thy scepter and crown; 
 For the Prince of Life hath snatched from 
 thee 
 
 Thy power, vanquished king, 
 Crying, 'Where, Death, is thy victory? 
 
 grave, where is thy sting?" 
 
 Thus to the world that travailed long 
 
 Under its sorrow and pain, 
 There is spoken the word of promise strong, 
 There is chanted the happy Christmas song, 
 
 Again and ever again; 
 To us, mortals, a Child is born! 
 
 To us a Son is given, 
 Light of light, and star of the morn, 
 
 Heir of the highest heaven ! 
 Swifter than morning ray e'er ran 
 
 Let the new glad tidings run 
 That the Son of God is the Son of man, 
 
 And heaven and earth are one. 
 
MOMENTA MARTIS 
 

NOVEMBER, 1860 
 
 STEADY there! 
 Strip the bending topmast bare! 
 Wear the ship ! the breakers stare 
 Through the grinning jaws of foam. 
 Pipe them down — the crazy crew! 
 Give us sober men and true; 
 Let the ship be manned anew! 
 Quick! we felt the shock of doom! 
 
 Pipe them down! 
 Shall the ship of old renown 
 Sink because we fear their frown? 
 Shall her precious freight be lost? 
 They have turned her from her track, 
 They are sailing swiftly back 
 Through the dim and blinding wrack, 
 Toward the dangers we had crossed. 
 
 Now she rights! 
 
 Hoist the canvas! trim the lights! 
 She has lived through darker nights, 
 97 
 
98 NOVEMBER, 1860 
 
 She was built in stormy seas; 
 None but shipmen brave could launch her, 
 But she rode the waves in grandeur 
 And the years have made her stauncher, 
 Ha! she laughs at gales like these! 
 
 Ready about! 
 
 Bring the broken compass out! 
 Find the chart, pilot stout 
 That the Fathers made for thee; 
 There is Freedom's morning star 
 Beaconing through the clouds afar, — 
 That's the headland, — see, the scar! 
 There's the port of Liberty. 
 
APRIL, 1861 
 
 M 
 
 EN of the North, are you ready? 
 
 The war cry is ringing! 
 Now with firm step and steady, 
 
 Round the old banner clinging, 
 With the blessings of mothers 
 
 On your hearts softly lying, 
 And the blood of your brothers, 
 
 From the ground sternly crying, 
 With the stars shining o'er you 
 
 To tell you God will guard you, 
 And the Ages before you 
 
 Whose guerdon shall reward you, — 
 Go forth, where the flashing 
 
 Of the war-cloud is keenest, 
 Where the leaden hail is dashing 
 
 Down the noblest and the meanest, - 
 Strike home! now's the hour! 
 
 Strike, landsmen and seamen! 
 Let the foe feel the power 
 
 Of the stout arms of freemen! 
 99 
 
100 A P R I L , 1 8 6 1 
 
 Men of the North, are you ready? 
 
 The traitors are mustering: 
 Now with firm step and steady 
 
 Round the old banner clustering, 
 Let the braves that are bending 
 
 From the blue heavens o'er us, 
 Hear your voices ascending 
 
 In a solemn swelling chorus, 
 Pledging life, pledging all 
 
 To the land in her trial, 
 Till the last drop shall fall 
 
 From Rebellion's last vial. 
 Leave the shop ! leave the field ! 
 
 Leave the nuptial torches burning! 
 Leave the client's suit appealed! 
 
 Leave the ancient halls of learning! 
 Come away! come away! 
 
 Every man shall call his brother; 
 Let the dead croakers stay! 
 
 They can bury one another. 
 
 Rally! Honor is calling; 
 
 Rally! Truth is interceding; 
 Rally! Freedom is falling; 
 
 Rally! Fatherland is bleeding; 
 Bloom with flags, ye roofs and towers ! 
 
 Blaze ye hills, with signal fires! 
 
 
APRIL, 1 86 1 101 
 
 Bells, that strike the lonely hours, 
 
 Clang alarums from your spires! 
 Let the bugle's fierce cry 
 
 Start the eagle from his aerie; 
 Bid the lightnings as they fly 
 
 Flash the news o'er peak and prairie; 
 Call the troops from the plains! 
 
 Mount the cannon dumb and dusty! 
 Loose the fleets from their chains! 
 
 Rouse the tars, true and trusty! 
 Down from every mountain crest, 
 
 Up from every smiling valley 
 For the land you love the best 
 
 Freemen, rally! rally! rally! 
 
MAY, 1863 
 
 M 
 
 EN, for today's stern toil and battle! 
 Knights were well in the feudal days; 
 Kings, when the people were dumb, like 
 cattle ; 
 Priests, when a lie was a means of grace; 
 Dancing masters, when morals were manners; 
 Schemers in ink when the sword was a pen; 
 But now, when God lifts up his banners 
 And war clangs fierce, send us men! send 
 us men! 
 
 contemptible tailor's dummy, 
 
 Dupe and noodle and snob and quack, 
 Stale old fossil and breathing mummy, 
 
 Politician and party-hack, 
 Fool of fashion and tool of barter 
 
 Living to cheat and be cheated again, 
 Drawler of cant and counterfeit martyr, — 
 
 Out and begone with you! send us some 
 men! 
 
 Send us men for the public stations, 
 
 Leal and honest and brave and wise, 
 Thoughtful beyond their pay and their 
 rations, 
 
 102 
 
M ay, 1863 103 
 
 Parleying never with traitors and spies; 
 Men whose works and promises tally, 
 
 Men who build upon principles grand, 
 Learning of Christ, not of Machiavelli, 
 
 What to enact, and how to command. 
 
 Send us men for the desk and the altar, 
 
 Fearless of councils and bishops and bans, 
 Never with righteousness daring to palter, 
 
 Orthodox rather in God's sight than man's; 
 Men who refuse all clerical mastership. 
 Being man's servants, and God's honest 
 freemen, 
 Knowing that lordship agrees not with pas- 
 torship, 
 Men whose first study is always to be 
 men. 
 
 Send us men for the private places, 
 
 Tradesmen and craftsmen and tillers of 
 sod, 
 Men with sympathies large as the race is, 
 
 Loyal to Fatherland, Freedom, and God; 
 Loyal in spite of high taxes and prices; 
 
 Lavishing life, kindred, fortune, all these, 
 Rather than sell, in humanity's crisis, 
 
 Liberty's birthright for pottage of peace. 
 
APRIL THE NINTH, 1865 
 
 B 
 
 ►ELLS, bells, peal from your towers 
 
 Maddest and merriest noises! 
 Organ and trumpet, burden the hours 
 
 With your victorious voices! 
 Break, Land, into blossoms and songs! 
 Gather, ye people, in jubilant throngs, 
 Praising His name to whom glory belongs; 
 
 Liberty lives and rejoices! 
 
 Glory to God! glory to God! 
 
 He hath with victory crowned us; 
 Sore was his chastening, yet hath his rod 
 
 Broken the shackles that bound us; 
 Lift up thy head, land of the free! 
 Humbled and smitten, no more shalt thou be; 
 Nations shall join in the glad jubilee 
 
 Ringing in melody round us. 
 
 Spirit of Earth, now hovering near, 
 
 Stoop thy bright wings as thou fliest, 
 Then to the peoples in bondage and fear 
 104 
 
APRIL THE NINTH, 1865 105 
 
 Speed thee, nor rest while thou criest: 
 11 Tidings! ye millions in manacles led; 
 Liberty cometh with jubilant tread! 
 Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny's dead! 
 
 Glory to God in the highest!" 
 
APRIL THE FOURTEENTH, 1865 
 
 ToLL! 
 
 Slowly toll, funeral bell! 
 
 Let your solemn pulses tell 
 
 That the white robes of the angel 
 
 Chanting peace are soiled with blood; 
 That Humanity's evangel 
 
 Was a curse misunderstood; 
 Toll! the staff of strength is broken 
 
 That the people leaned upon; 
 Toll! the grief that hath no token, 
 
 For our kingliest man is gone. 
 Toll! toll! 
 
 Weep! 
 
 Let the heavens drop tears of woe ! 
 Darkness shroud the land below! 
 Weep! ye millions he hath guided; 
 
 Weep! all ye who scorned him here; 
 Let the land so long divided 
 
 Meet in sorrow round his bier! 
 Weep! ye hosts whose chains are falling; 
 106 
 
APRIL FOURTEENTH, 1865 107 
 
 Palsied lies the arm that broke them; 
 Words of life ye heard him calling, 
 
 Silent are the lips that spoke them I 
 Weep! weep! 
 
 Rest! 
 
 He is resting in his grave 
 Where the prairie grasses wave; 
 Rest! our fathers' God ordaineth 
 
 That this martyr's blood shall be, . 
 Evermore while earth remaineth 
 
 Precious seed of Liberty! 
 Rest! our God will watch the sowing; 
 
 Wait! the harvest ripens fast; 
 All the golden fruitage growing 
 
 Will be gathered in at last, 
 And the reapers soon be going 
 To their rest. 
 
A MOTHER'S STORY 
 Decoration Day 
 
 H 
 
 ERE at the gate, let us stand and wait 
 
 Till the grand procession pass; 
 The marshal first, in marvelous state, 
 
 With the drums and the sounding brass; 
 Then the veterans brave in blue draw near 
 
 With a sober, soldierly air, 
 And the halt and the maimed are riding here, 
 
 And the priest and the poet there. 
 
 And now the troop of the children comes 
 
 In wavy, hesitant files, 
 All bright with the blush of the early blooms, 
 
 All wreathed in roses and smiles. 
 They are halting now at the graves of the 
 boys, 
 
 And a dirge will be softly sung, 
 And the parson will give to faith a voice 
 
 And the poet to love a tongue. 
 
 But you and I, my Harry and Bess, 
 Will turn from these well-meant words 
 108 
 
a mother's story 109 
 
 Apart, through the woodland silences, 
 Alone with the breezes and birds. 
 
 Here at this grave, where the pine boughs 
 grieve, 
 When the solemn south winds roam, 
 
 Our rosemary and our rue we'll leave 
 And carry our heart's-ease home. 
 
 Did I promise? Well, there is nothing new, 
 
 But the joy and the pain are one. 
 Sit down on the bank here, Bessy, and you 
 
 Lie there on the grass, my son. 
 Fourteen next month! You were only four 
 
 When your father went away. 
 And you, little queen, were scarcely more 
 
 Than a babe that desolate day. 
 
 A sudden and terrible call had come 
 
 For an army of volunteers, 
 And the tidings brought to our happy home 
 
 Hard struggles and boding fears. 
 That night he sat in a silent mood 
 
 And held you both to his breast; 
 I saw on his brow the shadows brood 
 
 And darken — I knew the rest. 
 
 He carried you up to your crib that night 
 And watched with you till you slept. 
 
110 a mother's story 
 
 Then praying that God would guide him 
 aright, 
 
 The strong man wrestled and wept. 
 I found him praying and left him there, 
 
 Alone with his Father and you, 
 Till the Helper lifted his load of care 
 
 And lightened his spirit, too. 
 
 And then he came forth and told me all; 
 
 I could neither strive nor cry. 
 He would follow his suffering country's call; 
 
 Who should dare to forbid? Not I. 
 You know the story — the parting word — 
 
 The year that drearily passed, 
 The droning pain of a hope deferred, 
 
 The blinding blow at the last. 
 
 But here is a picture you never saw; 
 
 On this side Mother and Bess, 
 Hal on the other — the little flaw 
 
 Is the dint of a ball, I guess. 
 He carried it always here, by his heart, 
 
 And when they led him away, 
 Faint, from the field where he bore his part 
 
 So gallantly on that day — 
 
 When they laid him down in a sheltered nook 
 (The Chaplain told me this) 
 
 
a mother's story 111 
 
 He drew it forth, and with many a look 
 
 And many a passionate kiss, 
 He gazed till he heard the order "Rest!" 
 
 And then, when his spirit passed, 
 It dropped from his hands upon his breast 
 
 And they found it there, at the last. 
 
 That is all, my darlings, I have to tell; 
 
 Like another diviner Friend, 
 Having loved his own in the world so well 
 
 He loved them unto the end. 
 The love that he left to you and me, 
 
 Is our fortune and our pride; 
 The truest, manliest man was he, 
 
 And he loved us all till he died. 
 
 Come hither, Harry, I'll lean on you; 
 
 His brow and his mouth are there! 
 And yours, little Bess, are his eyes of blue 
 
 And his wealth of golden hair. 
 So here at his grave, where the pine boughs 
 grieve, 
 
 When the solemn south winds roam, 
 Our rosemary and our rue we'll leave, 
 
 And carry our heart' s-ease home. 
 
COLLEGE DAYS 
 
THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 Williams College Song 
 
 KJ PROUDLY rise the monarchs of our 
 
 mountain land, 
 
 With their kingly forest robes, to the sky, 
 
 Where Alma Mater dwelleth with her chosen 
 
 band, 
 
 Where the peaceful river iloweth gently by. 
 
 Chorus. The mountains! the mountains! 
 
 we greet them with a song, 
 Whose echoes, rebounding, the woodland 
 
 heights along, 
 Shall mingle with anthems that winds and 
 
 fountains sing, 
 Till hill and valley gaily, gaily ring. 
 
 The snows of winter crown them with a 
 crystal crown, 
 And the silver clouds of summer round 
 them cling, 
 
 115 
 
116 THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 The autumn's scarlet mantle flows in rich- 
 ness down, 
 And they revel in the garniture of spring. 
 
 mightily they battle with the storm king's 
 
 power, 
 And conquerors shall triumph here for aye; 
 But quietly their shadows fall at evening 
 
 hour, 
 While the gentle breezes round them softly 
 
 play. 
 
 Beneath their peaceful shadows may Old 
 Williams stand, 
 Till suns and mountains nevermore shall 
 be, 
 The glory and the honor of our mountain 
 land, 
 And the dwelling of the gallant and the 
 free. 
 
MORNING 
 
 "The watchman saith, 'The morning cometh."' 
 — Isaiah, xxi: 12 
 
 U, THE dreary, dreary darkness; how it 
 girds the stifled land! 
 How it falls in viewless torrents from the 
 frowning midnight skies! 
 When shall Lucifer, resplendent, on the 
 eastern mountains stand? 
 Will the morning never rise? 
 
 Tell me, ye bards prophetic, where in olden 
 time ye stood, 
 When ye saw the flying shadows and the 
 swift-approaching day, 
 Hailed its bannered army marching like a 
 silver-rolling flood 
 Through the lands where darkness lay. 
 
 I have climbed these earthly Babels, many 
 and many a time, to look 
 For the dawning of the morning in the 
 eastern sky afar; 
 
 117 
 
118 MORNING 
 
 But I saw at brightest, only in some dim, 
 cloud-circled nook, 
 One lone, faintly burning star. 
 
 Upward! upward! through the darkness, 
 mount on Faith's undrooping wing, 
 Till the dim horizon merges in Eternity's 
 broad sea! 
 Till the eye shall catch the glory which the 
 latter day shall bring 
 To the millions yet to be. 
 
 See the heavy, blinding shadows, lying sadly, 
 like a pall, 
 On the nations that have never felt the 
 gladness of the light. 
 And they love their weary groping; Father 
 hear us when we call, 
 Let the blind receive their sight! 
 
 0, let morning, radiant morning come with 
 healing in its breath, 
 Filling vale and crowning mountain with 
 the splendor of its beams; 
 Let the slumbering millions waken, ere they 
 sleep the sleep of death, 
 From the madness of their dreams! 
 
MORNING 119 
 
 Yonder! see the cloudy curtains of the East 
 are rising now, 
 And the morning twilight glimmers, and 
 the daylight follows fast, 
 Floods of radiance are streaming o'er the 
 mountain's kindling brow, 
 Life and day have come at last! 
 
 See the startled nations waking! giants 
 bursting from their chains; 
 Heroes, girding on their panoply and 
 hasting to the field; 
 Hear a million voices singing on a thousand 
 smiling plains 
 Of the glory just revealed. 
 
 Walls of bigotry are crumbling, castled 
 ignorance falls down, 
 Hirelings of the old oppressor slink away 
 in pale affright, 
 Despots loose the iron scepter, and clutch 
 trembling at the crown, 
 Lest it fall before the light. 
 
 See the toils of superstition swept like 
 gossamer away; 
 See the mists of error vanishing before the 
 morning blasts; 
 
120 MORNING 
 
 Troops of freeman, bands of seekers, hosts 
 of workers in array, 
 Nations of iconoclasts! 
 
 Ah, how many hearts have waited for the 
 glory of this time! 
 Beat their faintest, last pulsations with a 
 yearning for the dawn; 
 Ah, how many ears have harkened for this 
 triumph note sublime, 
 Till both faith and sense were gone. 
 
 Sorrowing, yet rejoicing ever, hoping for the 
 promised gain, 
 Struggling toward the great Hereafter 
 with the earnestness of love, 
 Passed they through this world triumphant 
 in a faith that reck'd not pain. 
 To a grander sight above. 
 
 Now, from minaret and pagoda breaks the 
 song of jubilee, 
 And they hear it there in heaven with a 
 rapture none can tell, 
 And the chorus, ringing, ringing, over land 
 and over sea, 
 Chimes with songs the angels swell. 
 
M O R N I N G 121 
 
 In that city, built of sapphire, walled with 
 jasper, paved with gold, 
 Where the Tree of Life is growing crowned 
 with heavenly fruitage fair, 
 Kingdoms, tribes and tongues and peoples 
 shall be gathered and enrolled, 
 "And there shall be no night there." 
 
BATTLE-SONG 
 
 I 
 
 N the rush of the mountain stream 
 
 Is a flood of joy for me; 
 And the clattering hoof, and the saber's 
 gleam 
 
 Make my heart beat martially. 
 There is no joy in calm, 
 
 No dreaming time for the soul, 
 The music I love is the battle-psalm, 
 
 And I rest at the victor's goal. 
 
 I laid me idly down 
 
 In the lap of a drowsy ease, 
 And dreamed that the bane of life had flown 
 
 Beyond the boundless seas; 
 But I woke with a fevered brain 
 
 And a tempest of hot desire, 
 And grasped the sword of the real again, 
 
 And pointed it with fire. 
 
 There's a rush of rhythmic feet, 
 And a glimmer of spears afar, 
 122 
 
BATTLE-SONG 123 
 
 And an army marches, strong and fleet, 
 
 To the glory of holy war; 
 There is victory for the right, 
 
 And a crown for the conquering brave, 
 I will fall in the van of the glorious fight, 
 
 And sleep in a soldier's grave. 
 
CLAIRVOYANCE 
 
 A HERE'S a vision of a hammock swinging 
 
 in a shady nook, 
 And couched upon its cushions there's a 
 
 maiden with a book; 
 But it lies beside her open, and the far look 
 
 in her eyes 
 Tells of thoughts that travel other lands, 
 
 and rest on other skies. 
 
 wistful, wondering dreamer, all my life 
 
 makes answer clear 
 To your question, for I read it. Are you 
 listening? do you hear? 
 
 1 have just three things to tell you, ever 
 
 new and ever true, — 
 That I love you, and I love you, and I love 
 no one but vou. 
 
 124 
 
THE CLOUDLET 
 
 D 
 
 RAWN by a hungering heart, my eye 
 Turned to the western evening sky, 
 And there, upon a sapphire sea, 
 One small pink cloud sailed peacefully; 
 Some radiant orb beyond my sight 
 Filled all her life with glorious light; 
 Some fire my vision could not claim, 
 Glowed in her heart, a living flame. 
 Ah happy cloudlet, you can see 
 What that dull hill-top hides from me; 
 Yet know I, by your vision fair, 
 My light of life is shining there. 
 
 125 
 
A SONG OF SUMMER 
 
 W ITH the breath of flowers panting, 
 
 Comes the breeze, 
 And the birds their loves are chanting 
 
 In the trees; 
 So I know that Summer reigneth, 
 And that while her throne remaineth, 
 Every heart is full that draineth 
 
 Joys like these. 
 
 I can listen to the thrushes, 
 
 As they sing, 
 I can quaff the life that gushes 
 
 From the spring; 
 But I cannot tell the measure 
 Of my heart's supremest pleasure, 
 As it grasps the lavish treasure 
 
 Which they bring. 
 
 Gentle Spirit of the Summer, 
 
 Stay, oh stay! 
 Thou wilt find no kindlier welcome 
 126 
 
A SONG OF SUMMER 127 
 
 Hence away. 
 Nowhere will the fields be greener, 
 Or the summer skies serener, 
 Gladness purer, pleasures keener, 
 
 Hearts more gay. 
 
VEILED 
 
 L HE soft light lies on the mountain, 
 
 The south wind stirs the grass, 
 Below, on the dreaming meadow, 
 
 The fleet cloud — shadows pass; 
 The pomp of a perfect summer 
 
 In splendor marches by, 
 Yet the pageant wins no rapture, 
 
 And flings me back a sigh. 
 
 brave and radiant summer, 
 
 You are hiding your best from me; 
 There's a veil upon your beauty; 
 
 It is only in part I see; 
 Not to the lonely vision 
 
 Is the crowning glory sent; 
 Were another here beside me, 
 
 The veil were quickly rent. 
 
 128 
 
THE ZEPHYR AND I 
 
 ± HE Zephyr and I have been roaming 
 free 
 Up the glen, whence the orchids come, 
 And through the wood, where the solemn 
 grouse 
 Was beating his muffled drum. 
 We saw where the crows were building a 
 nest 
 On the top of a mountain pine, 
 And watched the bright buds peeping forth 
 From a latticed forest vine. 
 
 The Zephyr and I are welcome guests, 
 
 For a merry fellow is he, 
 And though he sports in a quiet way, 
 
 He is full of jollity. 
 The robin greeted his glad return 
 
 With a hearty, eloquent song, 
 And the amorous pine-bough softly sighed, 
 
 "0, where have you been so long?" 
 129 
 
130 THE ZEPHYR AND I 
 
 But the Zephyr capered away with an air 
 
 That plainly whispered to me: 
 "She deems that she alone is fair; 
 
 0, ho! what a witling is she!" 
 I knew he had been to the southern land, 
 
 And had romped with the tulip-flowers, 
 And courted the rich magnolia, too, 
 
 And flirted in orange bowers. 
 
 So we wandered on, the Zephyr and I, 
 
 He frolicking wildly along, 
 Now gliding by with a wanton sigh, 
 
 Now returning again with a song. 
 A weary old man by the wayside sat, 
 
 And the Zephyr brightened his face; 
 An urchin merrily chased his hat, 
 
 And laughed as he won the race. 
 
 He kissed the fields, and bade them hope 
 
 For flowers and a summer sun; 
 He kissed the woods, and swelled the veins 
 
 Of a life already begun; 
 The rivulets danced right cheerily, 
 
 By his melody beguiled, 
 And the dreary earth, for the love of him, 
 
 Looked up to God and smiled. 
 
THE ZEPHYR AND I 131 
 
 We wandered along, the Zephyr and I, 
 
 But just as the day was dying, 
 He vanished over the eastern hill, 
 
 With a faintly audible sighing. 
 He has gone with his mockery now, to play 
 
 With the curls on the sunniest brow! 
 Perhaps he will whisper a word of me; 
 
 Ah! that I were that Zephyr now! 
 
BEYOND 
 
 "0 Life, Beyond, 
 Thou art strange, thou art sweet!" 
 
 — Mrs. Browning 
 
 H 
 
 IGH up in a dusky mountain glen, 
 Away from the homes of turbulent men, 
 Where the rays of the sun had never been 
 And only the northern stars peeped in, 
 Where pale and slender the grasses grew, 
 And the flowers bloomed with a faded hue, 
 From beneath a rock a rivulet sprang, 
 And danced to the song the wood-thrush 
 
 sang, 
 As it hurried away down the deep ravine, 
 With a tremulous sparkle of silver sheen, 
 Away from its store of pearls and shells 
 Through flowery dingles and grassy dells, 
 Gathering strength as it leaped along, 
 Waking the woodlands to life and song, 
 Murmuring ever a cadence fond 
 Of the blissful shores that lay Beyond. 
 132 
 
B E Y O N 1) 133 
 
 The linnets sang in the tangled copse, 
 The mocking-bird whistled in Kalmia tops, 
 The lilies lovingly thronged its way, 
 And anemones kissed it and bade it stay; 
 But lingering never it sparkled by 
 Unheeding the sedge's amorous sigh, 
 Trilling a melody silver clear 
 Which a poet had stood entranced to hear. 
 
 Then rocks were tumbled athwart its path, 
 Till it grew a torrent and foamed in wrath, 
 Through clefts and gorges, and frightful 
 
 chasms, 
 Where the earth had been rent with thunder 
 
 spasms, 
 Through cavernous passages underground 
 With a roar, and a stifled murmurous sound, 
 Wildly and swiftly it thundered along, 
 And the woodlands rang with its triumph 
 
 song. 
 
 Then a beetling cliff its head upreared, 
 And below a yawning gulf appeared; 
 The fir trees grappled the rocks and clung, 
 And over the precipice dizzily swung; 
 The kingfisher screamed from a naked 
 
 bough, 
 And the torrent halted a moment now, — 
 
134 BEYOND 
 
 A moment it quivered upon the crag, 
 Then flung to the breeze its misty flag, 
 And wreathing its brow with a rainbow 
 
 crown, 
 It dashed in terrible madness down, 
 With a shock that shook the hills afar, 
 And a roar like the coming of distant war. 
 
 Gathering now its jewels of spray, 
 It glanced and rippled along its way, 
 Through ranks of towering palisades, 
 Through sycamore arches and beechen 
 
 shades, 
 Away from the forest in glee it dashed, 
 And out on the meadows in splendor flashed, 
 Where willowy thickets lined the shores, 
 And the water-nymph plied her slender oars; 
 Where feathery elms in grandeur swayed, 
 And flecked the stream with a tremulous 
 
 shade; 
 But tarrying never, it murmured past, 
 Through meadow and moorland speeding 
 
 fast, 
 A restless, wandering vagabond, 
 Forever singing, "Beyond! Beyond!" 
 
 Anon the current grew deep and strong, 
 And a widening river rolled along, 
 
BEYOND 135 
 
 With placid bosom and steady flow, 
 
 Its babble hushed to a murmur low, 
 
 It swept through fields of ripening grain, 
 
 It cleft the hostile nations amain, 
 
 And calm in its own resistless might, 
 
 It laved the valley and glassed the height, 
 
 Still flowing in lordly majesty down, 
 
 By stately city and busy town, 
 
 Still eddying, swelling, gliding away, 
 
 Till the dark blue ocean before it lay. 
 
 the mighty sea is a fearful thing, 
 With its dread, monotonous murmuring, 
 With its roar of tempest and dash of surge, 
 Forever chiming the awful dirge 
 Of the dead, the dead, the million dead 
 That slumber below in its rocky bed; 
 Forever smiling upon the skies 
 And plundering navies and argosies; 
 Retreating and greeting the land again, 
 And drinking rivers and strangling men. 
 
 And the river paused as the ocean's boom 
 Came rolling from far like the bolt of doom, 
 And its waters stayed — then gathered again, 
 And swept in strength to the raging main; 
 Not there in fathomless depths to sink 
 
136 BEYOND 
 
 With never a bubble upon the brink, 
 Not there to pave with turbulent wrath 
 The mighty storm king's triumph path, 
 But thence in vapory wreaths to rise, 
 On wings of light to the sapphire skies; 
 And there to build with crystal bars, 
 Their rainbow palaces 'neath the stars; 
 And there to float, with sunbeams drest, 
 In a heaven of purity and rest. 
 
 There is a river whose waters roll 
 
 Through the channels of every human soul; 
 
 A river whose crystal fountains rise 
 
 On the border of two eternities, 
 
 Whose beautiful current flows pure and free 
 
 Through the unnamed regions of infancy, 
 
 Where the shores are vocal with loving words, 
 
 And the songs of angels and singing birds; 
 
 Whose rippling waters in gladness sing 
 
 Through the bud and blossom of childhood's 
 
 spring, 
 And pour in many a tortuous route 
 Over rifts of passion and rocks of doubt, 
 While the blood is hot and the pulses thrill 
 With longing and hope and impulsive will, 
 While youth is planting the seeds of care 
 And nursing the phantoms that breed despair; 
 
BEYOND 1 ') 7 
 
 Then flow with a current strong but calm, 
 Through fields of labor and groves of palm, 
 Through the harvests of blessing and wealth 
 
 and boon, 
 That ripen in manhood's summer noon; 
 Still rolling their silver heritage 
 Through the tottering arches of honored 
 
 age, 
 Still sweeping, with steady, remorseless flow, 
 Through summer's blossoms and winter's 
 
 snow, 
 Through golden autumn and emerald spring, 
 But never a moment tarrying, 
 Till they sink in the silent, shoreless sea, 
 That flows between Time and Eternity. 
 
 And this, spirit, is this the end? 
 
 When the waters of Life with the ocean 
 
 blend, 
 And we hear the sullen, pulseless roar 
 Of the breakers that dash on the hither 
 
 shore, 
 Must we feel, as we hearken in dread to this, 
 That it tells of a boundless nothingness? 
 That for all who sorrow beneath the sun 
 There remaineth but drear oblivion? 
 That Death is God, and the world his throne, 
 
138 BEYOND 
 
 And the nations shall bow to him alone? 
 
 That all thy hopings and yearnings fond 
 
 For something better that lay Beyond 
 
 Were only phantoms that beckoned thee 
 
 To thy home in waste nonentity? 
 
 Is thy very being a specious lie, 
 
 And its end but to suffer and grope and die? 
 
 If this be all, this universe 
 
 Is a painted shadow, a gilded curse! 
 
 And this world, with its heaven-pointing 
 
 spires, 
 Its groves, and temples, and altar-fires, 
 Its incense of worship and solemn prayer 
 That burden forever the reverent air, 
 Were better hurled from its track of light, 
 To the depths of chaos and endless night. 
 
 It is not thus; it shall not be! 
 
 But upward, for aye, from that unknown sea, 
 
 A shadowy throng of spirits rise 
 
 To their God and Father beyond the skies, 
 
 To the golden streets, and the shining sea, 
 
 And glory and immortality. 
 
PARTING SONG 
 For the Class of 1859, Williams College 
 
 A HROUGH the merry months of spring 
 and the smiling Summer time, 
 
 Through the snows of dreary winter and the 
 autumn's golden prime, 
 
 Through the happiest days of life here to- 
 gether we have passed, 
 
 And we've seen the sunset glories gild the 
 saddest and the last; 
 
 And, Brothers, here tonight, beneath this 
 quiet summer sky, 
 
 We have gathered for our parting, and we 
 say our last good-bye. 
 
 While the vintage of the past sparkling wine 
 
 of pleasure pours, 
 And memory gathers home all her richest 
 
 harvest stores, 
 While the songs we here have sung float 
 
 with cadence soft and low 
 139 
 
140 PARTING SONG 
 
 Through the starry vaulted heavens of the 
 
 storied long ago, 
 Let us spread the festive board, and the 
 
 foaming beaker drain, 
 To the golden-fruited seasons that may never 
 
 come again. 
 
 Now the truce to toil is past, and the hour 
 of battle comes, 
 
 And we hear the clash of sabers and the roll 
 of signal drums, 
 
 Where the flags of Truth and Right o'er the 
 hosts of labor wave, 
 
 And the veteran columns open to the will- 
 ing and the brave; 
 
 So we grasp the flashing sword as we loose 
 the parting hand, 
 
 And the smoke of battle settles o'er our sep- 
 arated band. 
 
 And, Brothers, as the years roll their joys 
 and sorrows past, 
 
 And the smoke of battle clears away at vic- 
 tory's bugle blast, 
 
 Through our triumph and our toil we will 
 guard the sacred bond 
 
PARTING SONG 141 
 
 That has joined us here on earth; and in 
 better lands beyond, 
 
 When the silver cords are loosed and the 
 final partings come, 
 
 May we find it joined forever in an ever- 
 lasting home!