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 COPyRIGHT DEPOSIT; 
 
The Soul of the Singer 
 
 AND OTHER VERSES 
 
 BY 
 
 H. GRAHAM DU BOIS 
 
 Boston 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 Ubc ©orbam press 
 1908 
 
Copyright, igo8, hj> H. Graham Du Bois 
 
 {All Rights T^eserved.] 
 
 U88ARY of OONGKE33. 
 1 wo Copies Kece.'ve.! 
 
 MAY 29 1908 
 
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 7"/?f majority of verses appearing in this volume 
 were first published by ''The Baltimore News,'' 
 ''The Outing Publishing Company,'' "The Taylor- 
 Trotwood Magazine," and qther periodicals. 
 
 The Gorham Tress, Boston, U.S.A. 
 
TO 
 THE MEMORY OF 
 
 WILLIAM WARD CRANE 
 
 FOR MANY YEARS MY INSTRUCTOR AND FRIEND 
 I DEDICATE THIS BOOK 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Soul of the Singer 
 
 Autumn 
 
 A Song of War 
 
 At Nightfall 
 
 The Miracle 
 
 Love Song . 
 
 Dawn and Dark . 
 
 A Christmas Memory 
 
 Faith . 
 
 A Life Song 
 
 To Thee 
 
 The Call of the Woods 
 
 Changeless . 
 
 The Little Boy's Drum 
 
 I Love Thee, Dear 
 
 Inspiration 
 
 The Song of the Wind 
 
 Premonition 
 
 When First I Saw To\ 
 
 The Falsehood 
 
 A Farewell . 
 
 The Road to Happiness 
 
 Lullaby 
 
 Unrequited . 
 
 The New Tear 
 
 Transformation 
 
 The Dream Train 
 
 Evolution 
 
 Old Ruins . 
 
 der Face 
 
 7 
 8 
 
 9 
 
 10 
 
 II 
 
 12 
 
 13 
 13 
 14 
 
 15 
 16 
 
 17 
 18 
 
 19 
 20 
 
 21 
 
 22 
 
 23 
 24 
 
 25 
 26 
 
 27 
 28 
 
 29 
 30 
 30 
 31 
 32 
 32 
 
Nature-Worship . 
 
 
 
 33 
 
 The Rivals .... 
 
 
 
 34 
 
 Weariness .... 
 
 
 
 35 
 
 Forsaken .... 
 
 
 
 36 
 
 Antietam .... 
 
 
 
 37 
 
 Life's Aitist. 
 
 
 
 37 
 
 Destiny .... 
 
 
 
 38 
 
 In Autumn .... 
 
 
 
 38 
 
 Moonrise .... 
 
 
 
 39 
 
 The Valley of the Shenandoah 
 
 
 
 40 
 
 Reconciled .... 
 
 
 
 42 
 
 A Prayer .... 
 
 
 
 43 
 
 Fragments .... 
 
 
 
 44 
 
THE SOUL OF THE SINGER 
 AND OTHER VERSES. 
 
THE SOUL OF THE SINGER 
 
 He sought elusive souls of songs 
 
 That he might sing to weary throngs. 
 
 He touched the trembling key of Tears, 
 
 The note of Pain: a dirge of fears 
 
 Deep stirred their hearts; he bowed his head 
 
 "To laugh is best," he vainly said. 
 
 His fingers found the key of Bliss, 
 
 The empty note of Happiness; 
 
 The music of his singing wrought 
 
 No peace of soul, no depth of thought: 
 
 The mirthless laughed, and turned aside; 
 
 '*A holy thing, to weep," he cried. 
 
 "A singer's soul, O God, he pled;" 
 '*Thy lips are mute," the Master said, 
 "Until they drain the cup of loss. 
 And taste the passion of the cross: 
 For sweet the songs of those who sing 
 Through miracles of suffering." 
 
 And then he knelt above his dead; 
 "This is the cup, the cross," he said, 
 "For love has been, and love has died, 
 And hope has stirred, been crucified: 
 I hold the message of the years, — " 
 He sang: they smiled — amid their tears. 
 
juruMX 
 
 A path thick-strewn with leaves, 
 A held oi harlev sheaves. 
 
 A naked tree; 
 A rose, a thought, a sigh. 
 A dead leaf whirling bv — 
 
 And memon\ 
 
A SONG OF WAR 
 
 Go out, go out on the firing line. 
 
 From peaceful realms atar. 
 Where sabres ring and bullets smg 
 
 In the desolate song of war; 
 And heed not now the aching brow. 
 
 The soothing hand denied — 
 But what of a woman's sorrowing tears. 
 
 And what of a man that died r 
 
 Go out, go out on the firing line. 
 
 Where ghastly forms he still; 
 Forget the love of God above. 
 
 And onlv strike to kill. 
 .And turn awav with those who slay 
 
 From the wounded marrvTS side — 
 But what of a widow's pining brood. 
 
 And what of a man that died : 
 
 Go out, go out on the firing line, 
 
 -And breathe the breath oi Cain. 
 Where death is sweet, and bleeding teet 
 
 Must tread the way of pain; 
 And mark ve not the bloodv spot. 
 
 Where little children cried — 
 But what of a voice from Calvary, 
 
 -\nd what of the Man that died : 
 
AT NIGHTFALL 
 
 A dim remembrance brings a dream 
 
 Of days long past when hearts were young, 
 And Life and Love were one dear theme 
 
 From soul to soul in rapture sung; 
 And now, at nightfall, when the shade 
 
 Of evening rests on vale and hill, 
 My faded lips on thine are laid, 
 
 And low I whisper, ** Sweetheart," still. 
 
 Amid the shadows, sweet young hands 
 
 Reach out to grasp my own in prayer: 
 My claspt hand thrills, and understands — 
 
 Thy withered ones are resting there; 
 But still my plea is not to dream 
 
 That Youth's fair hand in mine I hold. 
 For now it sweetest gain I deem 
 
 That hand in hand we're growing old. 
 
 The twilight falls upon thy face 
 
 And veils each weary line of care; 
 Across the years I look and trace 
 
 A wonder and a glory there. 
 Thus, side by side, through fear and strife 
 
 'Mid bleak and stormy weather. 
 The hearts that faced the dawn of life 
 
 Will brave the dark together. 
 
 10 
 
THE MIRACLE 
 
 A marshland dank where leaves lie dead 
 In the crimson flood the sunset shed; 
 Black, withered stalks, 'mid tangled weeds, 
 That bend to drop their barren seeds. 
 A shrunken snake that starvins; lies. 
 Too lean to tempt the hungry flies. 
 Grim silence reigns; no passing breath 
 Of wind disturbs this haunt of death. 
 Then, all at once, a warming breeze 
 Ripples the pools and stirs the trees. 
 And out of the gloom of voiceless things 
 A lily blooms, and a wild bird sings. 
 
 II 
 
LOVE SONG 
 
 Bright eyes that shine to guide me, 
 Like planets in the night, 
 
 Thy tender beams 
 
 Will bring me dreams 
 Of morning and the light; 
 So if my feet should chance to meet 
 A dark and hidden way, 
 
 O stars of love, 
 
 Shine bright above, 
 And make of night a day. 
 
 Svs^eet cheeks that bloom to bring me 
 A bud when all is bare. 
 
 Thy beauty thrills, 
 
 And, thrilling, fills 
 The bleak and barren air. 
 When thro' dead leaves and garnered sheaves 
 The winds of autumn sing. 
 
 My heart will know 
 
 Where roses grow, 
 And I will dream of spring. 
 
 Dear heart that lives to lead me 
 A-down Love's golden stream, 
 Of all my songs 
 To thee belongs 
 The best and dearest dream. 
 So shine to-night, O stars of Light, 
 And roses lend thy hue. 
 
 And doubting heart 
 Perform thy part 
 To make my dream come true. 
 
 12 
 
DAWN AND DARK 
 
 Dawn, and dark: a little light between 
 
 To mark the way 
 To sleep and rest and dreams, perhaps — 
 
 And that is day. 
 
 Birth, and death: between their borders lie 
 
 A field of strife, 
 Where battle Love and Hope and Fear — 
 
 And that is life. 
 
 Night brings dreams, and each new morn that 
 breaks 
 
 Unfolds a rose: 
 So after death what worlds may dawn — 
 
 Who knows, who knows : 
 
 A CHRISTMAS MEMORY 
 
 The yule-log burns, and tender glow 
 
 The crimson chimney spaces; 
 The shadows dance, and backward throw 
 
 A light in empty places. 
 
 The years are here — the long dead years 
 
 That haunt the winter rain; 
 I hear the patter of their tears 
 
 Against my gloomy pane. 
 
 I dreamed, I know, and yet I thought 
 I breathed the breath of pine. 
 
 And miracles of love had wrought 
 A little hand in mine. 
 
 13 
 
FAITH 
 
 A thousand times when hope has died 
 
 And peace was lost in bitter fears, 
 Like weary ones our hearts have cried 
 
 And prayed reHef with silent tears. 
 Perchance our prayers ne'er brought reHef 
 
 And all our tearful faith was vain, 
 And yet, when deep the soul in grief, 
 
 We weep, and pray, and trust again. 
 
 "The sun will light to-morrow's way." 
 
 So sings the heart when eyes are dim, • 
 And e'en from lips unused to pray 
 
 Arise the whispers of a hymn. 
 Men see the night, yet watch the spark 
 
 Of light that tells of nearing dawn. 
 Much like a child who dreads the dark 
 
 But trusts the hand that leads him on. 
 
 14 
 
A LIFE SONG 
 
 Ah, Life is brief; 
 
 With shades that bend 
 
 Across the way, 
 And dreams that end 
 At close of day. 
 
 Ah, Life is sad; 
 
 One fleeting hour 
 
 In Love's bright reign, 
 A faded flower 
 
 And memory's pain. 
 
 Yet Life is sweet; 
 No night so dark 
 
 But holds a star, 
 To guide our bark 
 To ports afar. 
 
 15 
 
TO THEE 
 
 The mist comes, and the sun dies; 
 Shadows steal across the skies — 
 
 Darkness over land and sea! 
 But out of the gloom my spirit cries 
 
 To thee, to thee. 
 
 The stars shine, and the moon beams, 
 In meadow-lands the poppy gleams — 
 
 The past comes back to me; 
 And in the night my spirit dreams 
 
 Of thee, of thee. 
 
 Land and sea the mist forsakes. 
 The stars fade, and the sun awakes 
 
 Across the sky and sea: 
 And in the dawn my poor heart breaks 
 
 For thee, for thee. 
 
THE CALL OF THE WOODS 
 
 Here near the brook, 'neath the shade of the trees, 
 'Mid the odor of pine and the whispering breezy. 
 Raise we our camp, and each weary breast 
 Finds here a home, and feels here a rest. 
 Now by the stream that murmurs along. 
 Through the silence of ferns like the breath of 
 
 a song, 
 Hollow a spring in the silvery sands. 
 And quaff a cool drink from the depths of the 
 
 hands; 
 Then hark to the notes of the bird o'er his nest 
 And catch the last gleam of the sun in the west; 
 And watch the bright stars as they tranquilly rise 
 To twinkle their message of rest in our eyes. 
 The vast world is dim to us wanderers now. 
 For the calm of the wilderness rests on the brow — 
 The quiet of the shadows that tenderly gleam 
 To lull us to sleep with the voice of the stream. 
 God's silence is here — the absence of pain, 
 The dawning of peace, the sweetness of gain. 
 We were weary to-day with the burden of loss. 
 And the call of the woods has lifted the cross. 
 O restless ambitions of desolate years. 
 Bearing us naught but struggle and fears, 
 Cease thy wild callings to us of the night 
 And guide us, O Nature, to realms of the light. 
 And now by the fire, whose soft dying beams 
 Are leading us home thro' the mist of our dreams. 
 Let us lie down with our face to the skies, 
 While smiles wreathe our lips and tears dim our 
 
 eyes. 
 
 17 
 
CHANGELESS 
 
 The world is old, yet ever new, 
 
 Unchanging with the years; 
 Each heart must have its sacred joys, 
 
 Each hold its secret fears. 
 
 The sun that greets our hopes, to-day, 
 
 And sees them crucified. 
 Shone forth, dim centuries ago. 
 
 When Christ, the Saviour, died. 
 
 The deathless song we love to sing 
 
 Was born in ancient night; 
 The poet now conceives the dream 
 
 And sings a song of light. 
 
 Philosophers, in ages past. 
 
 Far sowed a golden seed; 
 The Present reaps a harvest rare, 
 
 Without one barren weed. 
 
 The long dead years have failed to change 
 
 The purpose of the free; 
 The hearts of nations throb with blood 
 
 That dyed Thermopylae. 
 
 And mothers then, as mothers now, 
 
 Like Mary, meek and mild; 
 For each did bend, at close of day, 
 
 To kiss her sleeping child. 
 
THE LITTLE BOrS DRUM 
 
 All day long he beat the drum 
 
 And marched with steady tread, 
 Till twilight fell, and mother's voice 
 
 Had called him off to bed; 
 Then he laid it down with a tender kiss 
 
 And a shake of his golden head; 
 "I'll teep my dwum and go to war 
 
 'En I dets big," he said. 
 
 He loved to watch the shadows creep 
 
 Across the silent hill; 
 He dreamed that they were soldiers brave 
 
 Who came to fight and kill; 
 And loud he clapped his chubby hands 
 
 When in the sun they died; 
 "I won't be 'fwaid to fight and die 
 
 'En I dets big," he cried. 
 
 Alas, for us! we blamed the child 
 
 Because he made such noise; 
 We wondered why he chose his drum 
 
 From all the other toys — 
 So once at night, when the little boy 
 
 Had answered mother's "Come!" 
 We searched among his treasures rare. 
 
 And hid away his drum. 
 
 When morning came, the big brown eyes 
 Were bright with fever's pain — 
 
 Outside no shadow soldiers played. 
 The day was dull with rain; 
 
 19 
 
A silence lay upon the house, 
 
 Unbroken by the drum; 
 At night there were no marching feet 
 
 To answer mother's "Come!" 
 
 There came a day, in after years. 
 
 When the little boy was dead, 
 That we took the drum from its hiding place. 
 
 And not a word was said; 
 But silently, and tearfully. 
 
 We breathed a childish prayer, 
 Then laid it away with a tender kiss, 
 
 And a curl of golden hair. 
 
 / LOVE THEE, DEAR 
 
 'T is all my song: I love thee, dear, 
 When nights are long and seasons drear; 
 'Mid deep'ning dusk and dawning glow. 
 When rains descend and bleak winds blow; 
 Though time brings only a heart that grieves, 
 And hopes that fall like autumn leaves; 
 Though love's a loss and life's a fear. 
 Still this my Song: I love thee, dear. 
 
 'T is all my Prayer: I love thee, dear; 
 
 I feel with thee that God is near. 
 
 I kneel before thy holy shrine. 
 
 To clasp thy tender hands in mine. 
 
 And pray for strength and hope to fight 
 
 Those weary shadows of the night 
 
 That cloak the smile, and bring the tear; 
 
 Still this my Prayer: I love thee, dear. 
 
 20 
 
INSPIRATION 
 
 Not from the thrill of loving, 
 Not from the call of strife, 
 
 But out of pain and sorrow 
 Must spring the songs of life. 
 
 For oft in nights of anguish, 
 With fear and doubt his theme, 
 
 Some poet, gentle, knowing. 
 Will weave a tender dream. 
 
 The hands of toiling children 
 That mingle work with pain; 
 
 The hearts of striving mothers 
 That long and break — in vain: 
 
 This is the dreamer's knowledge 
 That guides the poet's pen 
 
 To teach of greed's dishonor 
 In the crowded hives of men. 
 
 When through the troubled millions 
 The song in silence creeps, 
 
 A world looks on with laughter. 
 Or trembling bows, and weeps. 
 
 21 
 
SONG OF THE WIND 
 
 The wind sings a song as it hurries along, 
 
 O'er meadow, grove and hill; 
 A song of the woods and the dismal plain, 
 A song of the harvest's golden grain. 
 And of the sunshine and the rain, 
 
 Where autumn lakes lie still. 
 
 As it kisses the cheek of each crag and peak 
 
 Along its onward way, 
 It whispers a tale of the love that dies 
 In the heavenly depths of those beautiful eyes, 
 As the red light fades from morning skies. 
 
 Before the break of day. 
 
 And the song to me is a thought of thee, 
 
 Like a thought from God; 
 For, though mv heart's a desolate place, 
 Where sin and care have left their trace, 
 The storms of Time can never erase 
 
 Where angel feet have trod. 
 
 22 
 
PREMONITION 
 
 When wise men journeyed from the East 
 And brought their gifts of myrrh, 
 
 The mother heart of Mary woke 
 And trembling spoke to her: 
 
 "Amid the light encircling Thee — 
 The darkness of Gethsemane!" 
 
 They knelt beside the manger bed 
 
 To kiss her holy child, 
 And Mary's heart was quick with woe 
 
 And thrilled a message wild: 
 
 "What meaning in Thy life has this — 
 The torture of a traitor's kiss?" 
 
 They lifted Him with loving arms 
 
 And cradled him to rest; 
 Then Mary's heart leaped up in pain 
 
 And throbbed against her breast: 
 
 "Beyond the arms that cradle Thee — 
 A bloody cross on Calvary!" 
 
 23 
 
WHEN FIRST I SAW TOUR TENDER 
 FACE 
 
 When first I saw your tender face 
 The morning bells were ringing, 
 
 And over fen, and field and glen, 
 A mocking-bird was singing. 
 
 The daisies bowed their pretty heads, 
 
 Your little feet caressing; 
 The South wind blew a mist of dew 
 
 To give your lips a blessing. 
 
 The garden envied you your face, 
 
 And set the roses scheming: 
 They told the skies to close your eyes, 
 
 And rob them of their dreaming. 
 
 And that is why the roses bloom 
 
 A thousand hues combining. 
 And why, at night, with soft delight 
 
 Two other stars are shining. 
 
 When last I saw your tender face 
 The evening bells were sighing, 
 
 And over fen and field and glen 
 The calm of death was lying. 
 
 24 
 
THE FALSEHOOD 
 
 Each morn he Hes in his trundle bed 
 
 And sees the great sun rise; 
 He shakes the curls of his golden head, 
 
 And rubs his sleepy eyes; 
 Then softly steals across the floor 
 
 To climb upon my knee: 
 "Is mudder here?" he asks once more; 
 
 "Why won't she tum to me?" 
 
 I cannot tell the little boy 
 
 She died the other day; 
 I brush aside a mist of tears, 
 
 And answer: "Gone away;" 
 Then off he runs for his horse and drum, 
 
 And shouts aloud in glee: 
 "I'll wide my horse and pway at war 
 
 Till mudder tums to me!" 
 
 Again at night, when the little boy 
 
 Ascends the oaken stair, 
 And, kneeling, folds his baby hands. 
 
 He breathes her name in prayer: 
 "Dear Dod, pwease bwing my mudder home. 
 
 I hear him softly pray, 
 "Yes, God will bring her home to you 
 
 In the morning, dear," I say. 
 
 25 
 
The tears that fell for Lazarus 
 
 May fall for me to-day, 
 And Christ who died for human men 
 
 Will blot that lie away; 
 For, through the dark of coming years, 
 
 A day is breaking dim, 
 When the tender light of eternal dawn 
 
 Will bring her home to him. 
 
 A FAREWELL 
 
 I have no parting word to say. 
 My heart is all too full to-day; 
 But I will kneel and meekly pray 
 God's grace and love. 
 
 I ask that He may tender be. 
 In sending now this cross to me, 
 That all the years may speak of thee. 
 Thro' my poor life. 
 
 And though all time may ne'er atone 
 For the grieving heart whence hope has flown, 
 I thank Him much that I have known 
 Thy soul's great trust. 
 
 For while I bow my head and grieve, 
 I feel, that now in taking leave, 
 With parting's cross I yet may weave 
 A mem'ry's crown. 
 
 26 
 
THE ROAD TO HAPPINESS 
 
 "I seek the Road to Happiness," 
 
 The weary pilgrim said; 
 "My hands are torn, my garments worn, 
 
 My feet from thorns have bled." 
 
 O feet that tread the endless road, 
 When did ye bear another's load ? 
 
 "I seek the Road to Happiness," 
 
 The weary pilgrim cried; 
 **I gave up all to heed its call. 
 
 Yet all I am denied." 
 
 O narrow mind that thinks of self. 
 What other man has shared thy wealth .? 
 
 "I seek the Road to Happiness," 
 
 The weary pilgrim pled: 
 "And hearts that know, I pray thee show 
 
 The way that I must tread." 
 
 O doubting soul, the good you do, 
 In happiness comes back to you. 
 
 V 
 
LULLABY 
 
 Close thy eyes and softly dream 
 
 Till morning comes with golden gleam, 
 
 While here beside thy bed I keep 
 
 A vigil o'er thy peaceful sleep. 
 
 No thought shall dim thy face with tears 
 
 No doubt arise of coming years; 
 
 For Mother's watchful heart will pray 
 
 That angel hands may guard thy way. 
 
 So drift and dream, and dream and drift, 
 
 Until the night's dark shadows lift. 
 
 Thy father's barque is on the sea. 
 
 But morn will bring him home to thee. 
 
 I see thee smile now in thy sleep — 
 
 A sign of calm upon the deep, 
 
 A token that the stars tonight 
 
 Will guide thy father's ship aright. 
 
 I dream his nightly kiss is mine, 
 
 I kiss thee now — and it is thine. 
 
 So sleep and smile, and smile and sleep. 
 
 The morn will bring no cause to weep. 
 
 28 
 
UNREQUITED 
 
 Go toward that goal where thou wouldst be, 
 And going, leave no word behind 
 To comfort heart or ease the mind 
 Of demon fancies Love must find; 
 
 Lest in my doubting eyes thou see 
 
 A tortured soul's deep agony. 
 
 I do not dare thy hand to take, 
 
 For in thy clasp my hand would say: 
 
 " My love is thine, though cast away. 
 Will e'er be thine, by night, by day;" 
 
 Lest in that clasp my heart would break; 
 
 And I must smile, for thy dear sake. 
 
 29 
 
THE NEW TEAR 
 
 The year is dead, to-night, 
 
 .\nd so are fears; 
 A tender gleam of light 
 
 Creeps thro' our tears. 
 
 Our trembling arms have pressed 
 
 The voiceless dead; 
 Our falt'ring lips caressed. 
 
 And left unsaid. 
 
 Through davs that are to dawn 
 I hear a voice: 
 "Be still, O hearts that mourn, 
 Sad souls, rejoice. 
 
 "The strength of faith will hide 
 The depths of pain; 
 The dreams of love that died 
 Will bloom again." 
 
 TRANSFORMA TION 
 
 The tares had stolen mv garden, 
 
 Mv plants were barren of seeds; 
 The birds were lost in their silence, 
 
 -\nd rocking to sleep on the reeds. 
 Then sweet ^s the rain on the pathway 
 
 Thv musical footfalls rang: 
 You blp.shed — and the roses were blooming, 
 
 You spoke — and the nightingale sang! 
 
 30 
 
THE DREAM TRAIN 
 
 The sunlight fades, and shadows creep 
 In from the fields at close of day, 
 
 To bring a train thro' realms of sleep 
 To lands where happy children play. 
 
 The train is only a train of dreams, 
 And yet 't is safe from earthly harms, 
 
 For the guide's a guide the world esteems. 
 Each sleeping car a mother's arms. 
 
 The road is only a dreamy mile; 
 
 Along its tracks the flowers He. 
 The fare is but a mother's smile, 
 
 And the soothing notes of a lullaby. 
 
 31 
 
EfOLUTIOX 
 
 Hoe bcs^ mT wiiKloir grows 
 A tender plant that bote ai rose. 
 Eack moanig, wiKn the son again 
 Had come to li^ m^ ^bomr pane, 
 I bent above the blossom fair 
 To maiTcl xt its fragrance rare. 
 And dteam it snle its cmnsoo red 
 
 Alas! I woke one aofmn moin 
 To find the rose I kinred im gonc- 
 I WMMleied wfar the blossom went 
 Arc -srhere it? uiiii M wi hoe wias spent. 
 
 L ; . rait. I've lored tbe grace 
 
 Wiix-c :.-;^- :.ci.w. m onr de2r face, 
 
 OLD RUIXS 
 
 To : . : decar, 
 
 day. 
 
 And now wiicn onlr snails entwine 
 The poet's haip with stiings of rost. 
 
 Fond memofj dnigs, like the nnr-^ine. 
 To tieasoied d r p^«"y that lie in dust. 
 
XATURE- WORSHIP. 
 
 I have DO deep philosophv that leads 
 My mind astrav in channels wliere 
 My soul must grope, through dairkness, fejc 
 The light that guides me back to God 
 And faith again. 
 
 But Nature speaks to mc 
 In wondrous moods that leave no doubdi^ fears. 
 No vain regrets, no longings unfulfilled. 
 Her voice is sweet with music that has swaved 
 The souls of centuries: her heait stQl throbs 
 With love unchangeable, A chosen friend 
 In happiness, her laughing streams reflect 
 My jovs. vet hold no mirror to tlie past 
 Wherein I see my old dead seif. When death 
 Has robbed me of some friend I loved, from words 
 Of men I catch faint giimmeiings of Kfe 
 Beyond the vale whose shadows rest opon 
 Our treasured dead, and doak an endless dream 
 \S e know not of: then Natures tfaoosand tsm^ass 
 Proclaim her maiesr*- and lure mv soul 
 To svlvan sohtudes, where, face to face 
 With God, I learn of immortalinr. 
 
 There is an altar, buik bv Him, oi rocks 
 Where dawn awakes her sweetest-sin^in^ birds. 
 Where violets breathe an incense to the breeze^ 
 And oak-trees lay their sacrifice of leaves. 
 The church of man has made me bear the cross 
 That Jesus bore, has made me wear the crown 
 Of thorns thev wove about his head, and reel 
 The nails that pierced his hands. No agonv 
 Of loss IS here: the violet drops its seeds. 
 And where thev fall a thousand blossoms rise; 
 
The acorn sheds its cup of death, and springs 
 To life. A resurrection morning glows 
 Thro' flow'ring Mays: in every tree I feel 
 A God, a Jesus in each bursting bud. 
 
 THE RIVALS 
 
 When darkness falls and stills my voice, 
 Mv rival. Wind, against her pane, 
 
 With tearful sighs and pleadings casts 
 The love-song of his kinsman, Rain. 
 
 " Her heart is mine," I laugh in scorn, 
 " And where you weep, the gardens bear 
 
 Red roses for my ladv's breast, 
 And violets for her golden hair." 
 
 "Some dav she's mine," my rival sneers; 
 
 " You love her much, but can you sow 
 Fair violets in an empty skull. 
 
 And roses on a breast of snow : " 
 
 34 
 
WEARINESS 
 
 I'm weary, that's all, — 
 Of the town's long dav 
 And the noisy street; 
 
 I must wander off 
 Down the woodland way 
 Where the air is sweet, 
 
 To hear the sad notes 
 
 Of a lone whip-poor-will 
 
 As they float o'er the graves, 
 The graves on the hill — 
 
 The graves, sweetheart, the graves on the hill. 
 
 I'm weary, that's all, — 
 For the glimpse of a sky. 
 For the kiss of a breeze; 
 
 I want to go home 
 Where the meadows lie 
 In the shade of the trees. 
 
 To hear the wild waves 
 
 With their murmuring roar 
 
 As they break o'er the graves. 
 The graves on the shore — 
 
 Thy grave, sweetheart, thv grave on the shore. 
 
 35 
 
FORSAKEN 
 
 A change has come 
 Upon my world; 
 
 Its drums are still, 
 Its flags are furled. 
 
 The garden of 
 My heart is bare; 
 
 Yet, long ago, 
 
 A dream was there. 
 
 Its silence hears 
 An empty plea, 
 
 That sounds most like 
 Gethsemane. 
 
 For death is near: 
 Because of thee, 
 
 My soul must know 
 A Calvary. 
 
 36 
 
ANTIETAM 
 
 On paths that were made by the crash of a 
 
 wheel, 
 Where thunder of guns and the tempests of steel 
 Once sowed a red rain of passion and pain, 
 A morning has dawned, and out of it grows 
 The tear of the dew in the heart of a rose. 
 
 LIFE'S ARTISTS 
 
 The Artist Youth made of her face 
 
 A canvas chastely fair; 
 The Artist Love took tender brush 
 
 And traced his image there. 
 
 Life's pictures change, — in after years 
 
 I saw her face again: 
 Both Youth and Love had passed away 
 
 And left the Sculptor Pain. 
 
 37 
 
DESTINY 
 
 With hands grown gray in ancient dust 
 Which marks the pride old Athens wore, 
 
 Fate held the blade that Brutus thrust 
 And hewed the cross that Jesus bore. 
 
 IN AUTUMN 
 
 The summer lays her laurels 
 Upon the autumn's shrine; 
 
 But what is her sad dying 
 To this glad heart of mine r 
 
 For though the summer flowers 
 Forsake their dwelling place, 
 
 I find a thousand roses 
 In the garden of thy face. 
 
 And if the autumn darkness 
 Must veil the tranquil skies, 
 
 I seek a starry heaven 
 
 In the haven of thine eyes. 
 
 38 
 
MOONRISE 
 
 The night wind sighs amid the pines 
 
 Like one in pain; 
 The meadow grass in waving lines 
 
 Bends to the rain. 
 
 A cottage sheds its feeble light 
 
 Upon the hill; 
 And, rising from the womb of night, 
 
 Low groans the mill. 
 
 The rolling skies reveal a rift 
 
 Of gold and blue: 
 The wind is still; the storm clouds drift 
 
 The moon creeps through. 
 
 From out the pines the nightingale 
 Sends forth his call, 
 
 And on the silver of the vale 
 Dark shadows fall 
 
 39 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHEXJXDOJH 
 
 The sunset flickers on thv stre-un. and from its 
 crimson glow 
 
 The shadow ot our fancy fonns the shades oi 
 long ago; 
 
 The tremor of thv voice has stirred the heart's 
 unfathomed deep. 
 
 Where rest the loves oi other davs and lost am- 
 bitions sleep. 
 
 The tide of rears has turned to vield a stem and 
 
 martial tread — 
 The paths ot life resounding with the footfalls of 
 
 the dead; 
 And down the vales of EHxie, where the meadows 
 
 meet the sea. 
 Come men to fight with Jackson, and men to die 
 
 for Le^. 
 
 Tsst fades the sunlight from the stream, and 
 w^hisp'nns twilight comes 
 
 With cricket chirps for irum|>et calls and thimder- 
 tiirobbing drums; 
 
 But memon' sees on everr hill and each descend- 
 ing lane 
 
 A hig^hwav of the nadon with the h«-oes it has 
 slain. 
 
 The twilight deepens into night, and flashing fire- 
 flies cre^ 
 
 Ficxn grasses wfaoe the past has sown the camp- 
 fire's smould'nne heap; 
 
 The nurter of old banners falls like music on the 
 air, 
 
 Tlieir Ixexdi of passion dvin£ to the whisper ol 
 a leaver. 
 
 AC- 
 
Not dead, rhese treasured dreams that hold a 
 
 people's hopes and fears. 
 But blazoned forth in mights' deeds that thunder 
 
 down the years 
 To stir the souls of men unborn, and there to 
 
 build, at last. 
 The nation of the future from the shadows of 
 
 the past. 
 
RECONCILED 
 
 My grieving heart has known again my boyhood 
 days, 
 And felt anew the thrill of treading with bare 
 feet 
 The rocky mountain path close-hid in drifting 
 haze, 
 Where stand the never-changing pines in silence 
 sweet; 
 My weary hmbs have lain at rest in grasses where 
 The drowsy East wind blows the first faint flush 
 of dawn. 
 And autumn night descends with harvest-scented 
 air 
 To break the waiting stillness of the tasseled 
 corn. 
 
 The woodland road has borne the burden of my 
 tread, 
 And hushed its rustling leaves to hear my falHng 
 tears. 
 For in the solitude that gave me back my dead 
 I caught the meaning of the barren waste of 
 years; 
 The calm I sought was here — in golden harvest 
 yields, 
 In softly singing streams and tranquil, smiling 
 skies; 
 Through all the world a murmur ran: "The 
 silent fields 
 And w^oods are peace for aching hearts and 
 tear-dimmed eyes." 
 
 42 
 
A PRATER 
 
 The hands and hearts that bHndly ding 
 
 To memories of dead lips and hair, 
 Beneath their doubting silence keep 
 
 An inward eloquence of prayer. 
 As punished children in the dark 
 
 Bewail the absent mother's knee, 
 These groping hands and grieving hearts, 
 
 O Lord, confess their need of thee. 
 Kind Father, grant the mirthless ones 
 
 The tenderness of motherhood, 
 And wake in wa}^ward souls the cry, 
 
 "We will be good! We will be good!" 
 
 43 
 
FRAGMENTS 
 
 Asleep, we come from out the soundless deep 
 Whose surges break upon an unknown shore, 
 
 And when our eyes unclose, they droop, and weep, 
 For dreams we long since knew, yet have no 
 more. 
 
 Our little life is but a hopeless quest 
 
 To solve the secret dream of what has been 
 
 We taste it on the trembling lips of Love, 
 Or lose it in the yawning depths of Sin. 
 
 A pulsing rose will scent the tranquil night. 
 Perchance a nightingale will throb a song, 
 
 And then, when fall the dreary rays of light. 
 We are but shadows in a passing throng. 
 
 I feel that in the darkness after death 
 
 The stars will light the silence of the skies, 
 
 And, ere we lay our weary limbs to rest, 
 
 The mist that veils an endless dream will rise. 
 
 44