PS 3519 
 .032 P6 
 Copy 1 
 
 Pc 
 
Pass V^ -sJ 
 Book . fo g ^ft 
 
THE POET WILDEY AND 
 HIS POEM 
 
 An Address 
 
 BITS OF VERSE 
 
Brother of mine, your hand! your hand! 
 And with the hand your heart ; 
 For Love is King, let its word impart 
 Strength to your soul in the jostling mart. 
 
 Your hand ! In friendship your hand! 
 
 Ah ! God is Love, and Love is King, 
 And Love rules over all ; 
 O, will ye not heed the warning call : — 
 Crowd not your brother -man to the wall ! 
 
 Love him ! For Love is King! 
 
 Friendship and Love are born of Truth, 
 Truth is the heart's desire. 
 E'en though you burn with consuming fire, 
 Speak, for your soul is wafted higher ! 
 
 Live Friendship, Love and Truth ! 
 
CHARLES E. JACKSON 
 
THE POET WILDEY 
 AND HIS POEM 
 
 AN ADDRESS 
 
 AND BITS OF VERSE 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES E. JACKSON 
 
 PORTLAND, ME. 
 SMITH & SALE, PUBLISHERS 
 
AUTHOR'S EDITION 
 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1907 
 
 BY 
 SMITH & SALE 
 
 J\ , 0^4, 1, i _ A-ec. //- / <r ••) 
 
0% Port Wiltog nnb Iffta $0*m 
 
 AN ADDRESS DELIVERED BEFORE THE GRAND 
 
 LODGE, I. O. O. F., OF MAINE 
 
 OCTOBER 20, I903 
 
 TOGETHER WITH A FEW ATTEMPTS AT VERSE 
 
 THE ADDRESS IS DEDICATED 
 
 TO THE GREAT FRATERNITY OF ODD FELLOWS 
 
 WITH WHOM I HAVE BEEN AGREEABLY 
 
 ASSOCIATED THESE MANY YEARS 
 
 Stye ^0^ma 
 
 CRUDE AND COMMONPLACE AS I KNOW THEM TO BE 
 
 I DEDICATE TO HER 
 
 WHO, CALM AS THE SUNNIEST DAY IN JUNE 
 
 HAS TRANQUILIZED MY LIFE 
 
 / know of one unselfish life, 
 
 Brimful of love and sympathy : 
 Since thought and love are due thee, wife, 
 
 My verse is thine unwittingly. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Poet Wildey and His 
 
 Poem 
 
 . 3 
 
 Bits of Verse : 
 
 
 
 Invocation 
 
 
 . 19 
 
 My Little Fellow 
 
 
 . 20 
 
 My Life Pilgrimage . 
 
 
 . 21 
 
 George W. Marston 
 
 
 . 22 
 
 Dedicatory Poem 
 
 
 . 23 
 
 Two Singers 
 
 
 . 25 
 
 The Conflict 
 
 
 . 26 
 
 The Still Small Voice 
 
 
 . 27 
 
 The Passing Day 
 
 
 . 28 
 
 To Work . . ' . 
 
 
 . 29 
 
 In May . 
 
 
 . 30 
 
 Good Morning, Robin 
 
 
 . 31 
 
 Oriole 
 
 
 . 32 
 
 The Bluebird 
 
 
 . 33 
 
 To the Mayflower 
 
 
 . 34 
 
 Vll 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Faith 
 
 . 35 
 
 The Little Seed 
 
 . 36 
 
 November . 
 
 . 37 
 
 Trust .... 
 
 . 38 
 
 To Hermann Kotzschmar . 
 
 . 39 
 
 Alpha and Omega 
 
 . 40 
 
 The Father and His Child 
 
 . 41 
 
 A Touch of Nature . 
 
 . 42 
 
 Baby .... 
 
 . 43 
 
 Sunset .... 
 
 . 44 
 
 Impulse .... 
 
 . 45 
 
 Life 
 
 . 46 
 
 The First Snow Fall . 
 
 . 47 
 
 Soliloquy .... 
 
 . 49 
 
 Vlll 
 
THE POET WILDEY AND 
 HIS POEM 
 
 An Address 
 
This address was originally given, by 
 invitation, before the members of the 
 Grand Lodge, I. O. O. F., of Maine. 
 The author, feeling that it would be 
 ungracious to further resist the repeated 
 urgings of friends, has consented to the 
 publication of a limited edition. The 
 poems are included with the hope that 
 they will not be found wholly devoid of 
 merit. 
 
THE POET WILDEY AND 
 HIS POEM 
 
 EVERY life in its purity and power, is 
 the realisation, more or less complete, 
 of some ideal which the mind has ever 
 kept in view. We feel that the things which 
 make us what we are, — qualities of mind 
 and heart and will, — have come to us from 
 some larger and grander source. We feel 
 that the art of living involves intention, 
 direction and persistence, governed by an 
 inborn decision to work up the raw material 
 of our lives into something finer than they 
 otherwise would have been, — infusing into 
 life, something that we feel the soul shares 
 with God and with kindred souls. 
 
 And it is this attitude of heart and mind, 
 which, spiritualizing man, lifts him out of 
 his selfishness, — it is this phase of life which 
 the world is beginning to understand as 
 
THE POET WILDEY AND HIS POEM 
 
 representing true poetry, not alone something 
 written in merely rythmical, imaginative 
 language, but something deeper, fuller and 
 more complete; something that rises im- 
 measurably above the grandeur of the spoken 
 word as it finds expression in the humanities 
 of the race. For if we hold that the present 
 life is the preparation for a larger and more 
 complete existence, — if we hold that, I say, 
 then every agency, power and faculty that 
 develops man into a sympathetic and truth- 
 ful being, is an expression of the highest 
 kind of poetry. 
 
 Viewed by this standard, Thomas Wildey 
 becomes a poet, and that genuine baptism 
 of human sympathy, — Odd Fellowship, be- 
 comes a poem, — an epic, if you please, and 
 one of the noblest and most complete ever 
 written by man. Oh, Brothers, take from 
 the mind all that imagination adorns and 
 fancy paints, and the grandest powers of our 
 being are well nigh palsied; on the other 
 hand the mission of the true man in this 
 world is to dignify and uplift life, thus all 
 grand, helpful, trusting, loving souls through- 
 out the ages have been poets and the real- 
 isation of their dreams is poetry. 
 
AN ADDRESS 
 
 A poet is born. And lo, with Moses 
 came a conscience to the world. A poet is 
 born. And Galilee and Olivet are firmly 
 fixed upon the human heart, and love at last 
 has risen above mere name. A poet is born. 
 And see, with wondering awe, the world 
 beholds the patient Washington at Valley 
 Forge. A poet is born. And after many 
 weary days and sleepless nights, the sainted 
 Lincoln breaks the shackles which bind 
 four millions of his fellow men in chains. 
 A poet is born. And lo, the toiling black- 
 smith, Thomas Wildey, bared his strong 
 right arm, and as he welded iron bands he 
 dreamed of welding human hearts. 
 
 Thomas Wildey was a stranger to these 
 shores. The war of 1812 had just been 
 fought. The land he left and the land he 
 sought had been at strife. A stranger in a 
 strange land, he found few friends. The 
 poetic instinct possessed him. Thomas 
 Wildey lacked and Thomas Wildey craved 
 the sympathy of men. In his great heart, 
 so filled with love, there was no room for 
 hate. 
 
 As forge and anvil sang the songs of 
 honest toil, he saw humanity in need, and 
 
THE POET WILDEY AND HIS POEM 
 
 his great heart warmed with pity toward 
 mankind. His was a bold, audacious plan, 
 it took within its scope all human needs. 
 His word became not " sounding brass or 
 tinkling cymbal," his was no idle wish; 
 Odd Fellowship became a stern, imperative 
 demand. "That ye visit the sick, relieve 
 the distressed, bury the dead, and educate 
 the orphan " are backed by all the force and 
 strength of a command. Emblazoned upon 
 every charter, in every lodge room, the wide 
 world over, you find those splendid words. 
 And as this brave man toiled and struggled, 
 small men sneered. Men so obtuse, who 
 while they claimed to follow in the foot- 
 steps of Him who had no place to lay His 
 head, condemned Wildey's plan unheard. 
 
 Wildey made practical the teachings of 
 his Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. " Inas- 
 much as ye have done it unto the least of 
 these my brethren, ye have done it unto Me" 
 became no longer idle words. Through all 
 the dreamy, shadowy, small beginnings of 
 his work his faith stood firm. He had a 
 strong abiding trust in God ; he also knew 
 the natural dignity of man. He knew that 
 man at best was God's own image. He 
 
AN ADDRESS 
 
 did not find the worth of man as men weigh 
 coal. He did not measure men like cloth. 
 He saw right through the rough, begrimmed 
 and sweating form, a soul as sweet and true 
 as ever God had placed upon the earth. 
 And as he looked into an honest toiler's 
 face, he saw reflected there, his home, his 
 wife, his child, — love infinite — supreme. 
 Of all the syllables that ever sprang to 
 human lips, the sweetest word is home. 
 Home shields a thousand little kindnesses 
 that publicity profanes. And so to Wildey's 
 all embracing mind came visions of a larger 
 home, — a quiet home, — a trusting home, — 
 a home, a lodge, where men could meet their 
 brother men m joy and peace. Firmly he 
 grasped those two great truths : the Father- 
 hood of God and the brotherhood of man, 
 and he knew that whenever they abode 
 within the lives of men, God's kingdom 
 came to earth. He knew that where love 
 reigned were joy and peace. He knew that 
 selfishness could find no place at any true 
 domestic hearth. He knew that hunger and 
 abundance were never seen there side by side. 
 He knew that the old and the young, those 
 who could no longer, and those who could 
 
THE POET WILDEY AND HIS POEM 
 
 not yet support fatigue were alike sharers 
 with him whose face was dripping with the 
 sweat of honest toil. And so as he dreamed 
 and planned, he embodied into the Order's 
 great influence, the spirit of the home. And, 
 Brothers, Odd Fellowship truly stands for 
 home. It is a protection against man's 
 possible failure to make a success of life. 
 It shields man, not by sentimentalities, but 
 by substantial aid. Not by precept, but by 
 practice : not by words, but by works. 
 
 "Is he not after all my brother?" are 
 words that sink deep into human hearts. 
 We never know until we try to reach men 
 how accessible they are. There are thou- 
 sands of men, strangers to themselves, — 
 men hiding in the ravines of selfishness, — 
 struggling in the thickets of vice, — wounded 
 by their own false pride; — men lying all 
 but helpless on the battle-field of life, who 
 in and of their own strength fail, but who 
 with healing, care and consolation from 
 those who are stronger, or perhaps whose 
 lot was cast in pleasanter places, are able 
 and do give to them lasting good. This, 
 Brothers, is the essence, — this is the true 
 spirit of Odd Fellowship. 
 
 8 
 
AN ADDRESS 
 
 In the Gospel of St. John you will find 
 these simple words: — "And Andrew found 
 Simon Peter, his brother, and brought him 
 to Jesus." That simple statement is all the 
 record preserved of that man, — Andrew's 
 life. Yet between the covers of that book 
 so rich in human experience, there is no 
 more impressive biography than is contained 
 in those few simple words. Hundreds of 
 men have dazzled the world with wit, 
 whose lives were barren waste compared 
 with this man's life. He influenced men. 
 He could not preach, he could not sway a 
 multitude, but in his extremity, he found 
 an obscure man who could. 
 
 If the work of Wildey had never meant 
 another thing than give the world James 
 Ridgely, the influence of his life were in- 
 cense sweet indeed. The cultured Ridgely 
 took that still unfinished but grand and 
 simple statue of Odd Fellowship and chisled 
 it into the almost perfect thing it is. Ah! 
 my Brothers, if there be any man who 
 should so far insult his own intelligence as 
 to deny the existence and power of Almighty 
 God, let him turn to the tear-stained bloody 
 pages of history and note how strangely 
 
THE POET WILDEY AND HIS POEM 
 
 some men have been chosen to perform a 
 certain line of work. In every crisis the 
 right man has appeared. This, of itself, is 
 proof enough for me of the existence and 
 power of Almighty God. 
 
 Yes, Brothers, catalogue, if you will, all 
 the unthinking men who toil only to satisfy 
 their ambition for greed and gain, — who 
 ride rough-shod over all the finer feelings 
 of humanity, — whose only love is love of 
 self, — sneering, unimaginative men! Cata- 
 logue them, I say, but let us not forget to 
 make a list of those great souls who hunger 
 and thirst after righteousness, — men who 
 are wearing themselves out in the world's 
 great work; men who believe that knowl- 
 edge is better than much choice gold, — that 
 wisdom is better than rubies, — that life is 
 worth more than meat; men whose hearts 
 beat in unison with the world's great heart. 
 Such are the men who founded, such are 
 the men who sustain Odd Fellowship. 
 
 And, Brothers, another thought, a patri- 
 otic thought, Odd Fellowship as understood 
 by us is thoroughly American in spirit and 
 effect. No need to trace the annals of 
 antiquity to find its origin. There is no 
 
 10 
 
AN ADDRESS 
 
 other lodge influence in it. It is the Inde- 
 pendent Order of Odd Fellows, or if you 
 like the term better, American Odd Fellow- 
 ship. 
 
 Born in the days of the Nation's early 
 life, it imbibes the spirit of those times. It 
 was the first fraternal organization to estab- 
 lish absolute equality among its members. 
 It breathes the very air of independence. 
 Like every other thing American, it was and 
 is progressive in its character ; for while the 
 old and young, the rich and poor, all pay 
 alike to its support, all share alike its bene- 
 fits, yet beyond its business features, the 
 sweetest charity is constantly maintained. 
 
 The beginnings of Odd Fellowship were 
 extremely modest. It began with simple 
 relief, but it has grown to be a factor in the 
 great world's life. The establishment of 
 schools and homes attest its power for good. 
 It teaches the well known trinity of Friend- 
 ship, Love and Truth. It teaches Faith, 
 Hope and Trust, yet ever woven through 
 the whole vast fabric are golden threads of 
 charity that gleam and glisten as the Order's 
 mantle falls upon the world's great needs. 
 Again it teaches true democracy. To be a 
 
 11 
 
THE POET WILDEY AND HIS POEM 
 
 Noble Grand a man must earn the place. 
 To reach the station of a Vice Grand even, 
 he must have worked his way. And con- 
 gressmen and senators and judges have laid 
 aside the cares of state, and given to man- 
 kind this humble, yet exalted service. And 
 when a President of the United States, whose 
 power took rank with that of any ruler 
 on the earth, laid down the cares of state, 
 when President Hayes returned to live again 
 among his neighbors and his friends, and in 
 that true spirit of democracy which crowns 
 our American life, worked his way humbly 
 through the chairs of his Odd Fellow lodge, 
 he dignified humanity, he dignified his lodge, 
 yes, more than that, he dignified the high 
 office of President of the United States. 
 
 And now, Brothers, I return to my first 
 thought, and remind you that not all whom 
 the world has been pleased to call its great 
 men have been poets. Some men, filled 
 only with personal ambition, sought glory, — 
 men of splendid talents, yet whose lives 
 were the embodiment of selfishness and 
 greed, — men who set at defiance all the 
 principles of love, justice and mercy, and 
 utterly failed to accomplish even what their 
 
 12 
 
AN ADDRESS 
 
 own foolish ambition had willed. "But 
 yesterday the word of Caesar might have 
 stood against the world, now none so poor 
 to do him reverence." But yesterday 
 Napoleon by the might of his majestic will 
 defied the whole of Europe, — the morrow 
 brought him St. Helena filled with blasted 
 hopes. 
 
 These men sought glory. Their aim in 
 life was simply self. They never stopped 
 to think of widows' or of orphans' tears, it 
 was glory ! glory ! glory ! For what, I ask, 
 have all the noble men and women worked ? 
 Think ye for glory ? Was it for glory that 
 Luther stood against the greatest of his 
 time ? Was it for glory that Warren fought 
 and fell at Bunker Hill? Was it for glory 
 that Garrison and Philipps hurled their 
 matchless words, and Lincoln gave his 
 sleepless nights which finally led him to 
 a martyr's death ? Glory ! Glory ! Oh, 
 Brothers, there is no glory save the glory 
 of God, and all the tireless workers, the 
 dreamers, the poets throughout the ages 
 have contributed toward that glory. 
 
 Thomas Wildey's closing days were sun- 
 shine bright indeed. He had lived his life 
 
 13 
 
THE POET WILDEY AND HIS POEM 
 
 for others, and when that fearful shadow- 
 swept across the land, when the civil war 
 broke out, when brothers' hands were raised 
 to strike a brother, this noble man, whose 
 life had stood for brotherhood, — this loving 
 soul whose heart recoiled at strife, — like a 
 full, ripe shock of grain, and in the dim- 
 ming twilight of his years, and at that 
 season of the year when the husbandman 
 gathers the fruits of his labors into barns, 
 Thomas Wildey was gathered to the 
 Father's. 
 
 Fourscore years he had walked the earth, 
 ministering and to bless. Death came to 
 Wildey in the city of Baltimore, October 
 19, 1861, where forty-three years before he 
 lay the foundations for this vast brother- 
 hood. When his flickering light went out, 
 millions mourned. When his light went 
 out? No, Brothers ! the light grows brighter 
 day by day, such men never die. The 
 lodges that you represent, and thousands of 
 others with their hundreds of thousands 
 of willing messengers, running errands of 
 mercy, tell us that the spirit of Thomas 
 Wildey still lives. Oh, my Brothers, put 
 your hand upon your pulse and know that 
 
 14 
 
AN ADDRESS 
 
 with every throbbing beat, the Order pays 
 out in revenue enough to sustain a family 
 for the entire day. Think of it, eleven 
 dollars a minute, every minute in the day 
 and every day in the year, streaming out 
 into the channels of relief. Yet who would 
 dare to make the claim that cold statistics 
 tell the story of the institution's worth ? I 
 am talking to Odd Fellows, and there are 
 those among you who know from experi- 
 ence what it means to stand at the bedside 
 of the dying, sincerely mourning a brother 
 and a friend. You know what it means to 
 look into the faces of the dear ones thus 
 bereft, where the very silence was oppress- 
 ive, yet no one dared to speak. 
 
 Oh, my Brothers, a mightier hand than 
 ours turns with pitiless regularity the pages 
 of our book of life. We are living in an 
 earnest, busy, bustling age; living in the 
 grandest country upon the top of God's 
 green earth, for whatever pessimists may 
 say it is a privilege to be a citizen of the 
 United States, — a country whose liberties 
 are assured ; a country whose pulsing arm 
 is capable of striking down all foes, — the 
 tread of whose armies makes the solid earth 
 
 15 
 
THE POET WILDEY AND HIS POEM 
 
 to tremble and the might of whose navies 
 are acknowledged upon every sea. Yet, 
 Brothers, I make bold the claim that it is by 
 far a grander privilege to belong to this vast 
 brotherhood whose influence is ever exerted 
 to fraternize the world. For as the star of 
 Bethlehem led the wise men to the cradle 
 of their Redeemer, so will the star of 
 friendship lead mankind to universal peace. 
 
BITS OF VERSE 
 
INVOCATION 
 
 FATHER in Heaven, 
 Be near, I pray, while my frail bark is 
 gliding 
 Adown life's stream; the current's swift that's bearing 
 me along; 
 Thou see'st dangers 'neath the surface hiding. 
 Hard have I striven, 
 Thou King of kings, to shape my course with Thine 
 from conscious wrong. 
 
 Father in Heaven, 
 I pray my heart be stayed on Thee forever, 
 Each wish be lifted up to Thee, Thou mighty King 
 of Love, 
 And faith that seeth Thee in all endeavor 
 To me be given ! 
 Lord, God ! 'tis my desire to blend my will with Thine 
 above. 
 
 19 
 
w 
 
 MY LITTLE FELLOW 
 
 HO runs to greet me home at night, 
 And makes my weary day seem bright, 
 And hails my presence with delight ? 
 
 My little fellow. 
 
 Who is it, when his eyes half close, 
 Strives hard to cheat well-earned repose, 
 Unwillingly to bed he goes ? 
 My little fellow. 
 
 Who is it, at the peep of day — 
 When, O how good in bed to stay ! — 
 Says : " Take me, Parp, I want to play ? " 
 My little fellow. 
 
 Ah, may thy cares be ever mine, 
 And my love, interlinked with thine, 
 With ever-growing lustre shine, 
 Thou little fellow ! 
 
 And when my head is framed in white, 
 And life with me approaches night, 
 On Memory's page thou' It still shine bright, 
 My little fellow. 
 
 20 
 
MY LIFE PILGRIMAGE 
 
 O'ER desert drear, through grassy plain, 
 The path leads on 'neath changing skies; 
 ' Mid burning heat or cooling rain 
 I plod along — ne'er back again. 
 
 Light, Lord, by faith my anxious eyes. 
 
 Maybe I near my earth-life's span 
 And soon shall pause for final rest; 
 
 Press on then, Soul, strive whil'st thou can, 
 For life, not death, should be thy quest; 
 
 Lose self and find a grander man. 
 
 21 
 
GEORGE W. MARSTON 
 
 DEAD ! No ! he lives ! His melodies are ringing,- 
 His soul-inspiring songs the world is singing. 
 Though his loved form has vanished from the 
 earth, 
 His spirit hovers o'er us — round the hearth, 
 His pure soul made faith seem a little clearer; 
 He drew men to their God, a little nearer. 
 His was a triumph o'er the spectre grim. 
 Weep for the friends bereft, weep not for him. 
 
 22 
 
DEDICATORY POEM 1 
 
 FATHER, whose mercy gleams through allj 
 Thy name we bless, Thy name we call ! 
 Ours not to boast of victory. 
 Ours but the humble ministry; 
 
 Ours but the youth-time work begun, 
 The glow of morn, not setting sun. 
 O Father ! in this glorious hour 
 Reveal to us our strength and power ! 
 
 'Tis not by skill which art can show 
 Where softened tinted windows throw 
 Strange light into the chancel dim, 
 Picturing saint and cherubim; 
 
 Nor boasting pride in human things, 
 Nor kingdoms patronized by kings ! 
 Ah! nearer to Thy heart are laid 
 The suppliant prayers the poor have made; 
 
 Lord, God ! we come with willing feet, 
 And bend before Thy mercy seat, 
 And wonder not; 'tis holy ground 
 Where Light Eternal beams around. 
 
 What soul could step to yonder wood, 
 And resting in its solitude, 
 And hearing bird-song fill the air, 
 Could doubt a holy presence there ? 
 
 Or who could upward look in night 
 To where the million worlds gleam bright, 
 And think the all-wise loving Mind 
 Could be in any space confined ? 
 
 i Read at dedication of North Deering Church. 
 
 23 
 
None, gracious Lord ! Thy generous hand 
 Doth scatter what Thy wisdom planned; 
 Whilst all that charms the lonely thought 
 Comes to us with Thy blessing fraught. 
 
 Yet somehow, souls the stronger feel 
 When each dependent child doth kneel 
 To claim his blessings from above, 
 Receiving light in trusting love. 
 
 And Love has bid this building rise, 
 May it grow holy in our eyes ! 
 May that grand influence light the shrine, 
 Which bears the impress of Divine ! 
 
 That Love which charity bestows; 
 That Love which sorrows for all woes 
 And weeps with mourners o'er the dead, 
 May Love Divine its radiance shed ! 
 
 Lord, God ! in whom we live and move, 
 And daily Thy rich blessings prove, 
 This house we dedicate to thee ! 
 May souls here find tranquillity ! 
 
 And this is yours who seek the good, 
 Firm children of God's Fatherhood ! 
 The goodliest gift the heart can make, 
 Baptized in God's great blessing, — take. 
 
 24 
 
o 
 
 TWO SINGERS 
 
 NE labored long with patient thought, 
 Then sang his song; 
 The muse to him came not unsought, 
 He wooed her long. 
 
 The other from his subtle mind 
 Flashed forth a strain; 
 
 Songs came as free as summer wind 
 From heart and brain. 
 
 Both sang what human hearts desired, 
 Words true and strong; 
 
 His method hid, each seemed inspired 
 To sing his song. 
 
 25 
 
THE CONFLICT 
 
 THOU demon Hate, hell-born, how earnest thou 
 here — 
 Here in a human soul, Love's rightful place ? 
 Thy cruel, uncouth, devilish grimace 
 Hath fearful look in his own atmosphere; 
 Still Love dethroned and driven, hovereth near. 
 Can mother pressing babe to breast efface 
 What lieth hid behind her soft embrace ? 
 Not thine to hide behind a single tear, 
 O Love, who yet will blatant Hate destroy ! 
 But, oh ! why was his shadow ever cast 
 Across thy path ? Thou who wouldst fain employ 
 Thy patient toil unto the very last 
 To clear the heart of all its base alloy ! 
 O soul, slay not the dearest friend thou hast ! 
 
 26 
 
THE STILL SMALL VOICE 
 
 OSOUL be still, and hear the voice revealed ! 
 The song-bird breathes it through the notes 
 he sings 
 To cheer his silent dame, whose brooding wings 
 Doth give her offspring all that love can yield. 
 Come, hearken to those flowers that grace the field, 
 And catch the glorious message each one brings; 
 The voice is speaking from yon star that clings 
 To its given space within the heavenly shield. 
 Whenever hearts in sympathy are stirred, 
 And men enrich their longing souls in prayer, 
 The voice, so still, will give an answering word — 
 The message is responsive everywhere; 
 Be still then soul, and let the voice be heard, 
 It bears the truth from realms divinely fair. 
 
 27 
 
THE PASSING DAY 
 
 WAS ever day more precious than this day ? 
 Day born of God, created for man's use ? 
 Why spurn its promise by thy vain excuse ? 
 Block not ambition's path with thy delay, 
 When trumpet calls be foremost in the fray. 
 Be of decision prompt, when called to choose, 
 Better defeat than active life refuse. 
 Remember deeds more than thy words convey 
 The inspiration that alone is thine. 
 O Soul, be strong this day, strong in content; 
 Say to thyself: "All life is linked with mine; 
 All life is God's, and for a purpose lent, 
 And I must work this day, work is divine." 
 And love will tell thee what thy labor meant. 
 
 28 
 
TO WORK 
 
 AWAKE ! awake ! and greet the new-born day; 
 With night now past lay all thy cares away. 
 Yonder the rising sun in splendor gleams, 
 'Tis time to act, away with idle dreams ! 
 See opportunity's wide open gate — 
 Pass through ere Time shall say to thee, " Too late ! " 
 Courage is born of faith and lives in deeds; 
 He who is filled with "Dare" and "Do" succeeds. 
 Yes, though a thousand doubts encompass thee, 
 The onward path leads straight to victory. 
 Press on through toil and sweat of blazing noon; 
 Time's flight will bring the cool of evening soon; 
 Trudge on and on while yet the day shines bright; 
 Swift pass the hours that bring returning night. 
 
 29 
 
IN I 
 
 o 
 
 . n.L ~r~ . Tr 
 
 
 w 
 
 
 
 
 - 
 
 - - — r : - f : 
 
 I i_- : 
 
 ■ : :r .~ r - 
 
 _ 
 
 A— - v 
 
 
 
 Sr^z 
 
 - _ . 
 
 r:::r_:.r_: 
 
 I :t 
 
 
 _ :5: - 7 - r - 
 
 : tk 
 
 
 :.^-r 
 
 :.'-_.- 
 
 h n 
 
 ~-r--i 
 
 30 
 
GOOD MORNING, ROBIN 
 
 ACROSS the lawn at early davm, 
 He comes with tripping pace; 
 His bearing pert, the little flirt, 
 Embodiment of grace. 
 
 Break ! break to hear ! O morning clear 
 
 The redbreast's chirping call; 
 He pipa a doe, '" How In jam i: ! 
 
 Good morning, one and all." 
 
 31 
 
ORIOLE 
 
 WARBLE the strain again to me, — 
 Cadence of love-lit melody; 
 Warble the tune of laughing flowers, 
 Orchard's bounty and sunny showers; 
 Breathe once more to my listening ear 
 The glorious sound of festal cheer; 
 Gladly I' d linger the whole day long 
 To hear thy heart pour forth its song; 
 Sweet- voiced atom, with plumage gay, 
 Carol the cares of life away. 
 
 32 
 
THE BLUEBIRD 
 
 THY little wings reflect the sky, 
 Thy breast reflects the earth; 
 Thy coming is a prophecy, 
 Thy voice proclaims Spring's birth. 
 
 Sing ! little songster, sing to me — 
 
 Me, of the common sod; 
 My soul gains strength because of thee 
 
 Singing the praise of God. 
 
 33 
 
TO THE MAYFLOWER 
 
 DEAR little flower, why hide thy face ? 
 Thy tender life doth fill its place 
 As worthily as aught that grows. 
 Thou art the harbinger of spring; 
 Of flowers, thou first of all doth bring 
 To me new life from 'neath the snows. 
 
 34 
 
FAITH 
 
 YES, I have faith; what though I fail to see 
 With clearness all God hath in wisdom planned; 
 God is ! Enough for me to understand 
 That goodness reigns behind all mystery. 
 Yes, I have faith. 
 
 Yes, I have faith; for what hath been revealed 
 But hints of greater things yet unfulfilled, 
 Things that my longing soul hath wished and willed, 
 
 Something I know doth live, though yet concealed. 
 Yes, I have faith. 
 
 Yes, I have faith; though night obscure my way, 
 And, groping 'round, I sometimes lose the road; 
 I've come thus far in trust and borne my load. 
 
 Faith tells me night will soon give way to day. 
 Yes, I have faith. 
 
 35 
 
I 
 
 THE LITTLE SEED 
 
 HOLD within my hand this little mystery, 
 It is so small it trembles at my lightest breath; 
 Beneath its husk indeed lies power — infinity; 
 For in its tiny form are hid Birth, Life and Death. 
 
 36 
 
NOVEMBER 
 
 I HEAR the sigh of trees that sway 
 Their branches overhead; 
 Their sad moan seems to tell that they 
 Are filled with winter's dread. 
 And everywhere earth shows decay — 
 Grass, flowers, and leaves all dead. 
 Think thou to claim me, gloomy day ? 
 My heart is spring instead. 
 
 37 
 
TRUST 
 
 WILD is the night; the sea is lashed to foam; 
 The furies of the storm disturb the deep. 
 All through the din, as if it soothed to sleep, 
 The sea gull 'neath the creviced rock finds home. 
 
 What though I find my soul by cares distrest, 
 What though life's path arouse my inmost fears, 
 What though my eyes are dimmed with bitter tears, 
 
 The bird doth strengthen faith; I'll calmly rest. 
 
 38 
 
TO HERMANN KOTZSCHMAR 
 
 May 14, 1903 
 
 MUSICAL Portland !« musical indeed; 
 Thanks be to thee, whose genius sowed the 
 seed. 
 To-night, through vistas garlanded with gold, 
 Emblazoned clear, we see thy name enrolled. 
 Young faces look in thine, and young hearts teach, 
 Who owe their power to thy inspiring speech. 
 Grand privilege thine, confronting all the years 
 To live once more the hours thy heart endears. 
 Again the morn of toil and joy and fret — 
 Again youth's skies are bright with promise set — 
 And later, manhood, with its fair renown, 
 That won for thee the splendid laurel crown. 
 Comrades ! a bumper to our President — 
 And may his years be filled with sweet content; 
 We pay him tribute — tribute but his due — 
 Honor him, comrades, he has honored you. 
 
 1 Subject of the paper read at annual meeting of Kotzschmar 
 Club. 
 
 39 
 
ALPHA AND OMEGA 
 
 GOD breathed; and from the Eternal presence 
 veiled, 
 Sprang man ! all crowning mystery; — proud 
 one; 
 And then inhaled what He had once exhaled, 
 The soul returns ! its brief, swift journey run. 
 
 40 
 
THE FATHER AND HIS CHILD 
 
 HE holds my love secure, fast friends are we, 
 My little boy and I. 
 The roguishness, the mischief, the activities 
 Of his young life, but makes my love for him 
 Still more intense. 
 
 He who can think of God as aught but love — 
 
 Stern, just, severe 
 Has yet to know, in truth, a father's care. 
 Look to thyself, thou art not more than God, 
 He holds thee in His boundless love. Thy love 
 
 Is human, His divine. 
 
 41 
 
A TOUCH OF NATURE 
 
 FROM a cleft in the rock a bit of earth 
 From its own scant life gave a wee flower birth; 
 And the flower drank sunshine and bathed in 
 dew, 
 And lifted its face toward the dome of blue; 
 And of all the flowers, none more fond and true 
 Than the lone one, sympathy drew me to. 
 'Twas only a flower and a bit of earth, 
 But, they yearned for God from the common dearth. 
 
 Then, wondering I turned, from the better part, 
 To a tenderer blossom, — a human heart. 
 More frail, it contrasted the flower's grand trust; 
 For, look ! how 'tis eaten by idle rust. 
 Consumed by the heat of its own foul lust; 
 See ! 'tis drooping amid its own dry dust. 
 I woke from my muse with a sudden start, — 
 I was reading my own unconquered heart. 
 
 42 
 
BABY 
 
 DID ever home know full content 
 And radiance all around disclose 
 'Till came that joy by angel's sent ? 
 True love is found where baby goes. 
 
 The heart that leaps when baby cries 
 And folds the child in tenderness; 
 
 Hath found the deep where true love lies — 
 Close linked with babe in happiness. 
 
 43 
 
SUNSET 
 
 FOLDS of crimson and of gold 
 Curtained 'gainst the sky of blue; 
 Gorgeous scene mine eyes behold, 
 Fading fast to sombre hue. 
 
 Good-bye day, about to creep 
 
 Through the shadows of the west; 
 
 Night will lull a world to sleep, 
 God grant all a peaceful rest. 
 
 44 
 
IMPULSE 
 
 OTHERS may quibble and plod along 
 But I with my impulse run; 
 Impulse is life, sudden thought is strong 
 And would see new work begun; 
 Brave child of truth it would give the lie 
 
 To seeming truth before it; 
 With the heart in tune suspicions die, 
 A doubting mind ! — Ignore it. 
 
 45 
 
LIFE 
 
 A SOB ! a cry ! 
 It is a babe, — a little life is born. 
 A moan ! a sigh ! 
 An aged man by want and pain is torn. 
 Filled was the interval between 
 With groping for the hand unseen. 
 And ever rang those words, " Press on, 
 Nor rest until thy journey's done." 
 What then means life ? 
 What then means death ? 
 Turmoil and strife ? 
 A fleeting breath ? 
 Search thine own heart 
 And thou wilt find a purpose planted there; 
 Act well thy part 
 And life will rise above a world of care. 
 
 46 
 
THE FIRST SNOW FALL 
 
 T 
 
 RANSFORMATION since last night ! 
 Nature dons a mantle white. 
 
 Yesterday the leafless trees 
 Seemed to feel the northern breeze; 
 
 Now their white forms look serene 
 As when gayly clothed in green. 
 
 See the snowflakes dance and play, 
 Backward, forward, on their way. 
 
 Watch one flake, it seems to rise, 
 Yet finds earth in glad surprise. 
 
 See each branch and tiny spray 
 Clad in their sublime array; 
 
 See the path in yonder wood 
 Latticed in its solitude — 
 
 I bethought me in that hour, 
 
 This from Him who tints the flower. 
 
 This from Him who doth disclose 
 All the sweetness of the rose. 
 
 Thought I, He controls the spring, — 
 All its glad awakening. 
 
 Thought I of the summer days, 
 Knee-deep grass and tangled maize. 
 
 47 
 
Thought I of the autumn yield, 
 Ripened harvest of the field. 
 
 Now pure snowflakes at my feet 
 Crown another year complete. 
 
 Easy then for me to trace 
 Goodness through the snowy lace. 
 
 48 
 
SOLILOQUY 
 
 OSOUL of mine, thou loftier part of self, 
 From out thy tabernacle, deep from sight, 
 What fancies and what pleasures yet undreamed 
 Spring forth to bless and dignify my life ? 
 The energies that touch my sluggish brain; 
 That tune my heart above its outward sense, — 
 Struggling and dreaming, ever up and on, 
 O Soul, what means our vague existence here ? 
 How cam' st thou to this crude house formed of clay ? 
 For parents never yielded thee to me. 
 All that I am thou art, yet strangely real 
 Another force controls, — a mighty force — 
 Despotic Will has power to crush or raise; 
 To bid thee walk with God, or quench thy light, — 
 To live amid the glories of the world, 
 Or sink to nothingness, — a fallen star. 
 What then avails exertion ? What the toil 
 Of high ambition struggling for the van ? 
 The winner pays the forfeit with his life; 
 Time places her strong chain upon his heel 
 And trips him when he panteth near his goal, 
 Or maybe checks him ere the race begins. 
 What motive then has power to lead thee on ? 
 What bids all grumbling cease, turns sighs to song, 
 And maketh for thy feet a path of peace ? 
 What prompts the zeal of study, bringing home 
 
 49 
 
To thy stern court, O sovereign Memory, 
 The pictured life and light of other days, — 
 Filling the brain with rules to spur it on ? 
 O Memory ! thy power so strange doth make 
 My yesterdays more real than to-day; — 
 With thee, a backward glance, — I plainly see 
 The winding path through which I've wondering 
 
 passed. 
 What of that greatest power of all, that fire 
 Which shoots forth tongues of flame, — imagination; 
 That power contented not with things that are, 
 But every instant starting new creations. 
 What am I and who am I ? questions these 
 Mankind has asked through all the ages past. 
 
OCT 23 I90<« 
 
CONGRESS,