'MninillliHiiliif'^nj';;'!';;:!;;';:':!! PR 5023 .E87 69 1918a l|!!:: f J M||||||||||j|||U| 1 illlHilll Jill iumiiiiuiii LIBRARY OF CONGRESS DD0D3143bE4 .; i ^^Hi n H li 1 ^ Class Book. :?s MjL (J(iyiigta}}?___J3JJl ^^ CGEXRIGHT DEPOSIT. OVER THE HILLS OF HOME AND OTHER POEMS Over the Hills of Home and Other Poems BY LILIAN LEVERIDGE NEW YORK E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY 68i FIFTH AVENUE Copyright, igi8. By E. p. DUTTON & COMPANY All Rights Reserved Printed in the United States of America JUN 10 \m ©GI.A487655 I TO MOTHER There shines no pearl in the deep, deep sea. Mother of mine. So fair, so rare as your love to mey Mother, mother of mine. CONTENTS PAGE Over THE Hills OF Home ii The Way of the British i6 Woman's Part 20 Nutting 23 A Winter's Night 26 Near to Nature's Heart 28 Springland 30 The Song of the Wood Thrush ... 34 My Philosophy 39 What's THE Use? 41 Trifles 44 The Dreamer 47 The Little Green Gate 49 Day Dreams 52 In the Twilight 54 Love's Ministry 57 [7] PAGE The Easter Winds 60 Vacation at Grandma's 63 A Little Bit of Verse (fj Sydney Carton 70 A Smile from You 77 By Wireless 78 The Mountain Top 81 The Noonday Chimes 85 Mother of Mine 87 18] OVER THE HILLS OF HOME AND OTHER POEMS OVER THE HILLS OF HOME* LADDIE, little laddie, come with me over the hills. Where blossom the white May lilies, and the dogwood and daffodils; For the Spirit of Spring is calling to our spir- its that love to roam Over the hills of home, laddie, over the hills of home. Laddie, little laddie, here's hazel and meadow rue, And wreaths of the rare arbutus, a-blowing for me and you; And cherry and bilberry blossoms, and haw- thorn as white as foam. We'll carry them all to Mother, laddie, over the hills at home. * {Written as a tribute to Corporal Frank E. Leveridge, fwho died in France, after being ivounded in action,) [II] OVER THE HILLS OF HOME Laddie, little laddie, the winds have many a song, And blithely and bold they whistle to us as we trip along; But your own little song is sweeter, your own with its merry trills; So, whistle a tune as you go, laddie, over the windy hills. Laddie, little laddie, 'tis time that the cows were home. Can you hear the klingle-klangle of their bell in the greenwood gloam? Old Rover is waiting, eager to follow the trail with you. Whistle a tune as you go, laddie, whistle a tune as you go. Laddie, little laddie, there's a flash of a blue- bird's wing. O hush ! If we wait and listen we may hear him carolling. [12] OVER THE HILLS OF HOME The vesper song of the thrushes, and the plaint of the whip-poor-wills — Sweet, how sweet is the music, laddie, over the twilit hills. Brother, little brother, your childhood is passing by. And the dawn of a noble purpose I see In your thoughtful eye. You have many a mile to travel and many a task to do; Whistle a tune as you go, laddie, whistle a tune as you go. Laddie, soldier laddie, a call comes over the sea, A call to the best and bravest in the land of liberty, To shatter the despot's power, to lift up the weak that fall. Whistle a song as you go, laddie, to answer your country's call. [13] OVER THE HILLS OF HOME Brother, soldier brother, the Spring has come back again, But her voice from the windy hilltops is call- ing your name in vain; For never shall we together 'mid the birds and the blossoms roam Over the hills of home, brother, over the hills of home. Laddie ! Laddie ! Laddie ! "Somewhere in France" you sleep, Somewhere 'neath alien flowers and alien winds that weep. Bravely you marched to battle, nobly your life laid down. You unto death were faithful, laddie; yours is the victor's crown. Laddie ! Laddie ! Laddie ! How dim is the sunshine grown. As mother and I together speak softly in ten- der tone ! [14] OVER THE HILLS OF HOME And the lips that quiver and falter have ever a single theme, As we list for your dear, lost whistle, laddie, over the hills of dream. Laddie, beloved laddie ! How soon should we cease to weep Could we glance through the golden gateway, whose keys the angels keep ! Yet love, our love that is deathless, can fol- low you where you roam, Over the hills of God, laddie, the beautiful hills of Home. [15] THE WAY OF THE BRITISH IT isn't the way of the British, In the fight for country and King, On the fair, white field of their valor. The shadow of shame to bring. There isn't a lad in the army. There isn't a lad on the sea. Would dim the light of his honor By a deed of infamy. It isn't the way of Britain To grasp with greedy hand, And hold with a despot's power, Domain in a friendly land. But she fights for "a scrap of paper," She dies for "an old colored rag," When the one is her word of promise. And the other her blood-stained flag. [i6] THE WAY OF THE BRITISH It isn't the way of the British, With ruthless hands of hate, The priceless things of a nation To plunder and desecrate. Not 'gainst defenceless women And children their guns are turned; Not 'gainst the weak and fallen — That isn't the way they've learned. It isn't the way of the British To strike like the heathen hordes, To torture the hapless captives They take at the point of their swords. That was never the way with Britain. Her strength is the strength of ten; For her sons in her far-flung warfare Fight ever like gentlemen. There were thirty or more of our gunners- It seems now so long ago — Were called to a post of peril, In the path of the furious foe. [17] THE WAY OF THE BRITISH It was certain death, and they knew it; But the valor in each heart burned. **Good-by, good-by to you, fellows!'* They called — and never returned. Again came the short, sharp summons; And there dashed through the sulphurous smoke, With the same farewell to their comrades, While a wreath of smile outbroke — Thirty to follow the thirty; And the eager ranks closed in. That is the way of the British. That is the way they win. This is the way of the British — In the strength of their righteous cause, Upheld by the hosts of heaven. They strike for their King and laws. From what do they shrink — our soldiers? They may lose in the fearful fray Their lives, but never their honor. Who fight in the British way. [i8] THE WAY OF THE BRITISH Then here^s to you, lads in the army. And here^s to you, lads on the sea; To your hands that are strong and steady. To your hearts that are true and free! — Though long it he ere the dawning, It Cometh at last — the day. When all that you've fought for, bled for. You shall win in the British way. [19] WOMAN'S PART KNEEL down, kneel down, ye mothers, Kneel down, ye sisters and wives, And plead with the God of Battles To spare your loved ones' lives. Pray for your stricken sisters Who wait by the lonely hearth, Whence the glow is failed and the gladness fled, And the light is lost from earth. Kneel down, kneel down! — for the conflict Grows deadly and fierce and long. And the hearts of the foe are hateful. And the arms of the foe are strong. Yet the Judge of the whole earth giveth The battle to whom He will. Weep on, ye mothers — If ye must weep — Till He whispers, "Peace, be still!'* [20] WOMAN'S PART Kneel down, kneel down ! — There are terrors That stalk in the noonday light; There are scalding drops of anguish That fall in the fearful night, Where homes are ablaze like beacons, Where the winds are a-moan with pain. Where your sons and your brothers stand to fight 'Mid the drip of the warm red rain. Kneel down, kneel down ! They are thinking This moment, perchance, of you. They see you bow in the silence, Alone 'mid the starlit dew. They — they must stand at the cannon, They must look to the gatling gun : But the might of your prayer upholds them there Till the field is fought and won. Rise up, rise up, ye mothers, Ye sisters and wives, arise ! To the wide, ripe fields of labor Lift up, lift up your eyes ! [21] WOMAN'S PART There are suffering ones by thousands Your ministering hands may bless, And desolate mourners that weep alone, Widows and fatherless. To pray, to hope, to succor. To comfort the sick at heart, This is your field of battle, This is your worn n's part. Then pray while ye toil and suffer. Yes, weep, if weep ye will. Till, quelling to quiet the clashing arms, Comes the whisper, 'Teace, be still!" [22] NUTTING 1WANT to go nutting to-day, mother. There's a hint of frost In the air, Though the sun is spreading a cloth of gold On the uplands, rich and fair. Young voices call that the brown nuts fall And the squirrel scolds and grieves. Let us haste away to the woods to-day, In the Moon of Falling Leaves. I want to go nutting to-day, mother,-^ O mother! 'tis only a dream. 'TIs many a mile to the hazel copse On the bank of the silver stream. 'TIs many a year since I wandered there. Where the whistling winds are wild — As wild as they, in that far-off day, Was I as a little child. [23] NUTTING Should I go nutting to-day, mother, I must follow the path alone — The path that winds by the hazel copse And down by the mossy stone ; For the ringing beat of the boyish feet That clambered the rocky hill Falls never again on field or plain. Or the woodlands lone and still. O, where are the boys to-day, mother, Our boys so bonnie and bright. The lads who gathered the hazel nuts In the golden Autumn light? For over the hill floats the echo still Of laughter light and gay. While alone at the gate I watch and wait — They tarry so long away. They heard the call of the bugles, mother. And the rallying roll of drums. O, who can stay in the hazel copse When the call to a hero comes? [24] NUTTING One marches to-day 'neath the colors gay To a far-away field of fight; And the warfare of one is over and done. He rests on the hills of light. I want to go nutting to-day, mother, On the hills where the winds are free; But only the Spirit of Silence there Will walk and will talk with me. For the laughter of yore awakes no more On the path where the dim light weaves A web of dreams by the silver streams. In the Moon of Falling Leaves. [25] A WINTER'S NIGHT OH ! the rare delight of a winter's night, When drifted snows gleam whitely, When sleigh-bells chime with wild, sweet rhyme, And mirthful lips laugh lightly ! How pure and clear is the frosty air From far-off hilltops blowing! What joy it brings to the voice that sings, What light to bright eyes glowing! Night's thousand eyes from sapphire skies With glances soft are beaming, And all aglow in the fields of snow Are countless jewels gleaming. [26] A tVINTER'S NIGHT Come out to-night to the hills alight, To forests still and hoary, Where moonbeams play o'er the shining way And bathe the world in glory. [27] NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART IN yonder greening deeps a veery voices His plaintive note that almost thrills to tears, So sweet it is. Could I but learn that music, This harp of mine should echo down the years. Ye wildwood blossoms, ye are poems written In God's great wonder-book by His own hand. 'Tis yours to teach the happiest of lessons In words that all who read may under- stand. Blue Violets in dewy mosses hiding, And breathing peerless perfumes on the wind. Ye tell me there is blessedness in shadow. That lowly, simple souls may surely find. [28] NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART Gay Columbines, ye say that life is lovely, And brimming o'er with brightness even yet. Laughing ye lift your ruby cups of honey And bid me cease to murmur and to fret. Fair Dogwood, hanging garlands by the way- side, Rare Honeysuckle, leaning from your bowers, And Hawthorn, scattering snowflakes on the breezes, Ye gladden with your beauty all the hours. Ye thousand, thousand silver stars that spangle This emerald firmament of leaf and blade, Yc bid me lift my eyes, and bravely trusting. Go forward unashamed and unafraid. Dear Mother Nature, leaning on thy bosom, I half forget the things that made me sad. Out in the world of toil and strife, be with me: Teach me to love, to hope, and to be glad. [29] SPRINGLAND ALL the flowers are sleeping, all the trees are bare; All the little fairy winds that wandered whis- pering there, Golden sunbeams glancing, happy birds at play. All have flown toward the Southland, far and far away. Yet in dreams glory-gleams drift across the snow. Faces fair meet me here, loves of long ago. Once again I wander down the leafy lane. Where the woodthrush and the robin sing their morning strain. Once again I linger, gathering violets blue. Waiting In the woodland pathway, dear old friend, for you. [30] SPRINGLAND Buds unfold hearts of gold, fresh with fragrant dew, While I wait. You are late; what is keep- ing you ? List ! the leaflets whisper, robins carol shrill. Now I hear your lilting laughter floating down the hill. Books a-swinging gaily, sun hat all awry, Comes my merry, witching schoolmate, morn- ing in her eye. Wildflower grace lights her face. All the rosy spring. Everywhere passing fair, knows no sweeter thing. **MollIe, I have waited long for you," I cry. *'Have you solved the Euclid problems? Did you find Delhi, Fuji-san and Klondike, Fife and Innlsfree? Though I tolled for hours and hours they still eluded me." [31] SPRINGLAND Hark! the bell down the dell rings a sum- mons sweet. Swift we run. Shade and sun flash beneath our feet. Silent stands the schoolhouse 'neath its shel- tering trees; Softly through the open window comes the drone of bees. We are bees that gather honey-drops to store — Golden honey-drops of wisdom from the old world's lore. O how fleet are the sweet school days! All too soon They are sped, youth has fled, morning melts to noon. Wayward, laughter-loving, are my mate and I. He, the grave and kindly master, looks with patient sigh [32] SPRINGLAND Oft toward our corner — never once to chide. In our wilful way we love him( — teacher, friend and guide. Yet we prove not our love. Does he know or care? Hush! the day dies away, and the night is near. Night, and snowy silence, moonbeams pale and chill ! Night — and not a wildwood blossom on the wintry hill! You have passed before me, loves of school- days dear. To the sunny bowers of Springland, flower- clad and fair. Some glad day, far away, each dear face I'll see. I am late — will you wait on the hills for me? [33] THE SONG OF THE WOOD THRUSH BELOVED bird, I hear thee calling, call- ing. Where sun-kist morning smiles. A very shower of liquid music falling Adown the forest aisles Rains radiantly upon my spirit. Lightly The dewy gates of sleep Fold back. I enter where the sunbeams brightly Tryst with the roses keep. Beyond the garden and beyond the meadows, Beyond the breezy hill, Through quivering Hghts and dusky violet shadows, I follow, follow still; [34] THE SONG OF THE WOOD THRUSH Till here, where never human footfall soundeth, 'Mid breath of scented bloom, Where heaven's peace and earth's warm love aboundeth, I find thy hermit home. High up amid the green boughs swaying, swinging, Thy drowsy nestlings dream, Weaving with silver splendors of thy singing The morning's golden beam. O dwellers of the glowing dawn, what sweet- ness Of lullaby you list! Cradled and folded fast in love's complete- ness, Wind-rocked, song-soothed, star-kist! How lovely Is the world where Nature kneeleth With folded hands to pray! All loveliness thy clear songshine revealeth; The blue heavens far away [35] THE SONG OF THE WOOD THRUSH Are leaning lower, winds ahush are listening, And all the flowers rejoice, With tears of gladness on their faces glisten- ing, Blest bird, to hear thy voice. Those fluted notes, so pure, so richly mel- lowed. How silvery they flow I A pause, a hush, and then a peerless prelude In tender tremolo — A soft song-whisper — ushers in the glory Of thy sublimer strain. The song that tells thy passionate love story Again and yet again. Immersed within that flowing flood of rap- ture, A baptism divine. Some Eden-gleam my spirit may recapture. Whose glories round thee shine. [36] THE SONG OF THE WOOD THRUSH Some little measure of thy inspiration, Light not of land nor sea — The blessed, kindly light of consecration! — Thy music showers on me. Yet though thy matin song Is keyed to glad- ness, Joy breathes In every note. Thy hymn at even is athrill with sadness That trembles in thy throat. Hast thou, sweet bird, some unfulfilled de- sire, Some longing, wild and vain. That, howsoe'er thy throbbing hopes aspire. Thou canst not yet attain? O forest child, no dream that's worth the dreaming But some day will come true. Then let us sing while life's glad morning gleaming Inspires our love anew. [37] THE SONG OF THE WOOD THRUSH Yes, we will sing, unwearied and unresting. Who knows what bHss may wait For you and me, dear comrade of my quest- ing, Beyond the sunset gate ? [38] MY PHILOSOPHY SAY ! Fm glad Vm livln' such a glorious day. Makes me feel like dancin' two-steps all the way; Makes me feel as rich as any millionaire, With a sure life Interest in a world so fair. Diamonds In the dew-drops, sunshine drop- pin' gold, Better'n all the nuggets Klondike mountains hold; Sky a sea of azure, one white cloud afloat, Sallln' soft and airy like a fairy's boat. Lovely flowers a-flingin' perfumes to the breeze; Little winds a-quiver In the leafy trees; Little birds s-slngin' like they'd never stop — Joy as Hght as bubbles comes right to the top. [39] MY PHILOSOPHY Bumble bees a-buzzin' in the buckwheat flowers, Haulin' home the honey In the shinln' hours; Rivulets a-llspin', as they flow along, Happy little secrets, trills of summer song. All day long the gladness, loveliness and light, Then the starry stillness o' the welcome night; All life long the blessings scattered from God's hand. Then the rest remainin' in the Promised Land. Heart o' mine, be joyful! — Ain't no call for tears. Garner up the sunbeams all along the years. Souls that seek for brightness find it mani- fold. Heart o' mine, be joyful! Gather in the gold. [40] WHAT'S THE USE WHAT'S the use, dear heart, of sighing Just because the skies are gray. And the bright things that you dream of Never seem to come your way? Storms and shadows make the sunshine Afterward more clear and bright. Joy of dawn can only follow After dreary glooms of night. What^s the use of idly wishing For a soft and easy time? They who gain the sunny summits Are not carried there — they climb. Man was made for strong endeavor. Rich and rare the recompense That's awaiting grit and daring, Tempered well with common sense. [41] IV HATS THE USE Whaf s the use of fuss and fretting When the world seems going wrong? Time will smooth out all the tangles In the knotted skein ere long. Ever in the keenest conflict Worry's on the losing side. Follow faith, whose voice of quiet Safe to victory will guide. What's the use of fondly dreaming Of the great things you would do, Scorning little, lowly duties, Day by day that call for you? By the path of slight endeavor Honor cometh not — but such As are faithful in the little May be trusted with the much. What's the use of weakly yielding To a foolish fit of "blues"? Whistling's better far than weeping — You can whistle if you choose. [42] WHAT'S THE USE Wherefore magnify your troubles? Wherefore minimize your hope, Viewing virtues through the wrong end Of Love's mighty telescope? What's the use of pensive pining For the Alpine edelweiss, While about your feet are blowing Flowers as fair at lesser price? When you've used up all the sweetness That along your path is shed. Angel hands will surely scatter Brighter blessings on your head. What's the use of dull despairing When you've fought so hard and failed? After countless disappointments Heights of glory oft are scaled. Obstacles, mistakes and failures Stepping stones may prove to you. Courage, then! Nor faint, nor falter Till you win your Waterloo. [43] TRIFLES IT was only a kindly greeting And the grip of a warm, strong hand As I faltered — a friendless stranger — At the gate of an unknown land; But the light of a star shone clearly Through the dusk of the twilight gray; And my heart was a-thrill with music That night as I knelt to pray. It was only a gift of flowers, As I passed with weary tread Where she stood, In the summer gloaming, In the midst of her garden bed: But the breath of those bright, fresh blos- soms, And the smile In her soul-lit eyes. Kindled hope In my shadowed spirit. And filled me with sweet surprise. [44] TRIFLES It was only a little letter In the tremulous lines of a child; But it silenced the sigh of a heart-ache, And my burden of care beguiled: For it said I was not forgotten, Though our ways were wide apart; And I sang with tender gladness. For the love of that little heart. It was only a pale pressed blossom From haunts where I used to stray; But it brought me a tender token Of love from the Faraway: And I heard once more the sighing Of the pines by the limpid lake, When those fragrant rose-tipped petals I kissed for old time's sake. Mere trifles, long forgotten! — Yet a sweetness still they bring, For to me they were chords of music Whose echoes like harp-notes ring. [45] • TRIFLES And the silence of memory's hall-ways Grows sweet as the years grow long For love, is it not immortal? And kindness a deathless song? [46] THE DREAMER THE great life passions, burning love and hate, In the great world strive mightily for power. Mine are the little loves by Nature nursed — The bird on wing, the blossom In the bower. The winds that wander from the far-off hills Bring me a thousand messages. The wave That laps at evening on the twilit shore Whispers to me in pensive tones and grave. The rill that ripples on its pebbly way Brings me a gift of laughter, low and sweet. The forest leaves, they clap their hands for me, And all their little summer songs repeat. [47] THE DREAMER I share the brown bee's perfumed honey dew; My spirit dances with the butterfly; To me the cricket on his violin Plays all night long a lilting lullaby. Strange melodies I hear 'mid pine and fir — - Rare, fragmentary notes from heaven adrift, That floating, zephyr-wafted, 'mid the blue. On frail dream-wings my listening spirit lift. Perchance beyond th.z sunset and the dawn, Amid the symphonies of seraph-song. And deathless roses, I at last may find The warmer, closer love for which I long. [48] THE LITTLE GREEN GATE AWAY from the stress of the city, And to ceaseless, echoing sound Of tireless toiling and spinning. And pleasure — a dizzying round — With never a haunting whisper Of duties that press and wait, We fold our hands in the noontide. And dream, by a little green gate. The sun glows clear in the heavens — A luminous sapphire dome — And filters gold through the maple Where a robin has built her home. Comes rippling over and over Her "Cheerily, cheer up, cheer! 'Tis the season of roses and clover — O cheer up, cheerily, dear!" [49] THE LITTLE GREEN GATE In a fragrant blossoming locust A golden oriole swings Abreast of the frolicksome breezes, He preens his beautiful wings. A catbird hides in the cedars, And out of his dim retreat He pours, like a lovesome poet, A rollicking rhyme and sweet. Each pause in the birds' glad chorus Is filled by the soft, low sigh And whisper of leaves and grasses. As the winds go wandering by — Wild winds from the blue hills yonder. That watch by the purple tide. Where centuries pass in silence. And the dreams of the years abide. Far off, where the heart of the city Beats high with the pulse of life. There's a call to the ranks of endeavor. There's a challenge for ceaseless strife, [50] THE LITTLE GREEN GATE Away from the blossom-sweet stillness There are duties that throng and wait ; But Confidence walks with Courage While we rest by the little green gate. [51] DAY DREAMS A FAR-OFF light Of things that are yet to be, Like a pale star-gleam on the wings of dream, Floats through the dark to me. A dream of Faith That shines through the mists of years. Till the long, long night Is lost In light. And laughter blooms from tears. A dream of Hope That lives though all else be dead, — Hope crowned at last when the pain Is past. And the last of the tears are shed. A dream of Love, The Love that cannot fail, — For whate'er befall, Love conquers all. And Death shall not prevail. [52] DAY DREAMS Will my dream come true? Some day on a far-off shore Will Death lie dead on his shrouded bed, And Sorrow be no more ? Some glad spring dawn Will there blossom peace from pain? Will the hidden good be understood, And lost souls found again? Yes! For I know That only the good can live. On that morning fair, sometime, somewhere, All else will Love forgive. [53] IN THE TWILIGHT AT eve In the hush of the twilight We sit when the day is done, Watching the purpling shadows That steal from the sinking sun. And the murmur and tender cadence Of a loved old song to-night Resounds from the keys of the organ Agleam in the mellow light. A tender peace Steals over my soul, A sweet release From the world's control; While soft light wreathes With the shadows dim, And the silence breathes With a sweet old hymn. [54] IN THE TWILIGHT The day has been long and weary, But the evening at home brings rest. The world is shut out with its worries, The heart is no more opprest; And cares, Hke the dews of morning. Are lifted and swept away By the magic spell of music. As you sit in the twilight and play. Soft, soft, again Through the silence dim Floats the tender strain Of an old sweet hymn. 'Mid the amber gleam Of the sinking sun. When dreams we dream When the day is done I O beautiful hour of the twilight, All vocal with sacred song! To-night through the shrouding shadows How sweet are the thoughts that throng! [55] IN THE TWILIGHT No dreams like those dreams unfading, No music with power to please Like the old airs that trembled and floated From the yellow old ivory keys I Mellow and sweet, When the day is done And shadows meet With the sinking sun. Soft, soft and low, Through the shadows dim, The echoes flow Of a dear old hymn. [56] LOVE'S MINISTRY RUDELY cradled In a manger, Sweetly sleeps a little Child. O'er Him bends a maiden Mother, Lowly, lovely, undefiled. Star-led sages own His kingship; Gifts they bring on bended knee. What Is there that I may offer Him Who left His throne for me? Now with gracious touch of healing See Him cheer the sick, the sad. From the morn until the even Making countless mourners glad. He is Friend of all the friendless; Sweet His loving smile I see. What of service may I offer Him Who daily blesseth me? [57] LOVE'S MINISTRY Lo! at midnight in the garden Kneels alone the Son of God; Crimson drops of awful anguish Darkly dew the blossomed sod. "Must I drink this cup, O Father?" — This His agonizing plea — "Not My will, but Thine." My Saviour Drained those bitter dregs — for me. Lifted up 'twixt earth and heaven On the cruel cross of shame Hangs the Christ. For the redemption Of our ruined world He came: But they crucified Him, nailing Hands that blessed them to the tree. Yet He cried, "Forgive them. Father." Dying thus, He prayed for me. Easter dawns in peerless glory, Flower fragrance fills the air. Christ hath burst the gloomy portals Of the grave. The angels fair [58] LOVE'S MINISTRY Tell the world the wondrous tidings, "He is risen. Come and see Where He lay/' The glorious Victor Vanquished sin and death for me. Hark! I hear His sweet voice calling O'er the silence long and deep Of the ages: "Dost thou love Me? Feed My lambs and feed My sheep. From the fold My lost ones wander; Seek them as I sought for thee. Lead them, lift them, bless them, love them — And ye do it unto Me." [59] THE EASTER WINDS THE little winds of dawning, Long centuries ago, Went straying in a garden With bursting buds aglow. A wondrous tale they whispered Of One Who loved. Who died For men whose hatred pierced Him In hands and feet and side. Bright angels told His story; The winds caught up the song; On viewless wings forever They bear the strain along. The flowers await His coming; For love of Hifn they bloom — The fadeless Rose of Sharon That blossomed from the tomb. [60] THE EASTER WINDS O little winds of Easter That blow amid the hills, With lily perfume laden And breath of daffodils, Go, blow across the ocean. And carry to "our boys," Our truest and our dearest, A gift of Easter joys — The sweetness of the blossoms. The music of the bells, That, hour by hour unwearied. The glad evangel tells) — Of life that blooms unfading. Of love that cannot die. Of rest and peace abiding Beyond our shrouding sky. O viewless Easter angels That wander round the world. Where, reeking red with carnage. The bolts of hate are hurled, [6i] THE EASTER WINDS Where, rank on rank, the crosses Stand silent on the hill, Go, plant the amaryllis. The rose, the daffodil. Then all the winds of Easter Shall bear upon their wings To wounded hearts the essence Of all life's sweetest things. ^'The Lord is risen !" shall echo From shore to farthest shore, And Love shall reign eternal, And pain shall be no more. [62] VACATION AT GRANDMA'S ALL In the blue of the summer day, From morn till the twilight dewy, Tiresome lessons all put away. Three dear laddies keep holiday — Henry and Jim and Louis. O it is joy, pure joy, to be free From the thrall of examinations. This is the cry of the laddies three : ^'Holidays are the days for me. Hurrah for the glad vacations!'* Dangling a worm In the woodland stream To tempt the foolish fishes; Roaming the fields where the ripe fruits gleam — "Say, with Grandma's sugar and cream Strawberries are delicious!" [63] VACATION AT GRANDMA'S Somewhere the gray rocks, grim and old, Are purple with huckleberries. Somewhere the hazelnuts turn to gold; Somewhere bubbles a spring, ice-cold; Somewhere are crimson cherries. Somewhere the painted trilliums grow. And the bluebells are a-blowing; Somewhere are windflowers, white as snow. Where? You must ask the boys — they know All that is worth the knowing. Ever a new delight distills As the morning buds in beauty. Mirthful music of laughter trills Up from the valleys, over the hills — Joy is the day's one duty. Archery contests are on to-day. Yon arrow, how swift it wingeth Over the roof-tree, up and away. Up where the green boughs swing and sway, Up where the robin singeth. [64] VACATION AT GRANDMA'S *'What are you doing, my laddies three? Your laughter rings so merry." "Skinning a woodchuck to cook for tea. Have some?" "No thanks, Jim, not for me — Though it is tempting, very!" Skies grow gray and a deluge pours. Hurrah for a thrilling story Of strange adventures on far-off shores. Hidden treasure, and wrecks and wars, Valor and fame and glory! Books in plenty at Grandma's wait For the music of summer showers. Pass right in through the story gate; Find and follow your soul's true mate, Gather the dreamland flowers. Vacation comes to an end too soon. Farewell to the bracing breezes! Yet, if all days held the breath of June, If life were sung to a holiday tune, Would it be sure to please us? [6s] VACATION AT GRANDMA'S No ! For I know of the holiday song The true boy spirit wearies. Sure am I you will yearn ere long, Yearn to march with the brave and strong. Here's good luck to you, dearies ! [66] I A LITTLE BIT OF VERSE T may be early, ere the morn has lost its crimson flush, Or *mid the noonday clamor, or the fragrant vesper hush; Sometime before the hours of light their tale of toil rehearse, I seek a treasured volume for a little bit of verse. When Keats or noble Tennyson a rhythmic stanza sings, I bathe my soul in beauty and forget life's mundane things. In Browning's mine I deeply delve for grains of golden ore, And Ingelow sets my feet in paths they never trod before. [67] A LITTLE BIT OF VERSE I honor them, the mighty ones, the laureled poet band: But oh ! I love the singers of our own Cana- dian land. The eager years await to crown with stars their younger brows, And proudly weave about their names the myrtle and the rose. They sing of dear, familiar things in meas- ures wildly sweet, Like bird-songs in our native woods when night and morning meet. But not alone these home-born themes — wide as the universe. As high as Heaven, as deep as death, the lim- its of their verse. There's Lampman, Campbell, Carman, Scott, there's Crawford, Watson, Rand, With others, who have climbed the heights and in the starshine stand; [68] A LITTLE BIT OF VERSE A kinship sweet with them I claim as softly they rehearse — Lifting me skyward, too, awhile — a little bit of verse. [69] SYDNEY CARTON {A Tale of Tivo Cities) Sydney Carton, so far as we know, is a fictitious char- acter — a creation of Charles Dickens' wonderfully prolific brain. Yet after all, how very real he is! And how strongly his splendid heroism appeals to the noblest in- stincts we possess! The Great War is revealing many "Sydney Cartons" to-day — men whose lives have seemed to be failures, who have never been able to rise above environment, circumstance, or heredity; or who, for lack of sufficiently inspiring motive, have never amounted to anything worth while. But when the great call came, with no fuss or ostentation, with no consciousness of hero- ism, they quietly stepped into line and "marched breast forward." In so doing they have caught the "vision splendid," and inspired by its light have done heroic things, and laid down their lives, where "In Flanders' fields the poppies blow between the crosses, row on row." And so, to all the "Sydney Cartons" of the world, of whatever name or race — men who from apparent failure have risen to sublime heights of self-sacrifice — these lines are reverently inscribed. THE hour has come. His courage does not falter; His smile lights up the gloom, As forth to lay his life upon love's altar He steps to meet his doom. [70] SYDNEY CARTON In thought he views his friend to safety pressing, To home and love and peace Fast hastening on — so free, so little guessing The price of his release. He thinks of Lucie — was it vain to love her With love more strong than life? May holy angels spread their wings above her, And bear her from the strife ! He thinks of Lucie's child; and tender feel- ing Wells up in unshed tears. Across the gloom a vision fair comes steal- ing— A vision of the years Far distant, when that name may shine with glory That yet no fame has won. And loving lips will tell the boy his story Whose race Is all but run. [71] SYDNEY CARTON They bind his arms; they leave him in the dimness; They do not guess his name, Nor dream how, courting death in all its grimness. This hero plays the game. A little seamstress, fair and young and slen- deri — What could she know of guile? — Offers a greeting, timid-voiced and tender, A wan, pathetic smile. "What traitorous thoughts could they have feared me thinking? What plots could such as I Have dreamed or dared? Yet I would meet unshrinking My death, since I must die. **I am so small and weak" — her low tone alters, Her startled eyes grow dim With sudden mist of feeling as she falters, ^'Stranger, you die for him?" [72] SYDNEY CARTON ''Yes, and his wife and child," he whispers, folding Her small, thin fingers fast. ''Oh, let me then your strong, brave hand be holding!" He answers, "Till the last." All In the blue and sunny summer weather. Amid a heartless throng. They take the last, the awful ride together — The way will not be long. He recks not that the countless hordes stand gazing Unmoved upon that sight. He only sees those trustful eyes upraising To his their limpid light. He recks not that a myriad voices murmur, A myriad footsteps press. He only holds her slender fingers firmer In meek and mute caress. [73] SYDNEY CARTON Bending his head to meet her gaze confiding, Some thought of cheer to give, He whispers softly of the peace abiding Where radiant angels live. Her eyes beam clear; her shrinking heart grows braver, And calm her quivering breath. Her thoughts are fixed on Him Who died to save her From everlasting death. Thus voice to voice, each comforting the other. Yes, even heart to heart, Two children of the universal Mother, That else were wide apart. All In the blue and sunny summer weather, Earth's shadows nearly past, Have met to take the homeward way to- gether. And find a rest at last. [74] SYDNEY CARTON The rumbling tumbrils stop. They pause unf earing; A light is In each face. What should they dread — two humble spir- its nearing The soul's abiding-place? "One question more" — her eyes are dim with wonderf — "One friend I have most dear. Will It seem long that we two walk asunder, Until she meet me there?" "Fear not, dear child! There are no sad to-morrows, No partings there, no night. They leave behind their burdens and their sorrows Who pass the gates of light." "You comfort me — and Is it now I kiss you?'' Smiling he whispers, "Yes. Until we meet at yonder gate, God bless youl"— Their lips together press. [75] SYDNEY CARTON The tender maiden does not faint nor falter The short, sharp way to take: And Sydney Carton lays upon the altar His life for love's sweet sake. "I am the resurrection," He that liveth Forevermore hath said, 'T am the life : whoso my word receiveth Shall live though he were dead." [76] A SMILE FROM YOU A SMILE from you is all I ask To glorify my daily task. The skies may weep, the winds may wail, All outward founts of joy may fail. All costlier graces be denied — The morn for me is beautified. For just a smile from you may bring The birds and blossoms of the spring Within my heart to sing and bloom; May scatter sunbeams round my room; May touch the fringes of the mist And turn its gray to amethyst. Throughout the hours, it well may be, Your thoughts not oft will stray to me. Not many words I ask of you From morningshine till evening dew. But as you pass me on your way, Give me a sunny smile to-day. [77] BY WIRELESS YOUR hand and mine have never touched in greeting, Our eyes have never met: Your voice is still to me an unknown music, Heard but in dreams — and yet Your written words have blest me, cheered me, thrilled me. And lit the beacon fires Of strong resolve, and lofty aspiration, And noblest of desires. What matter though a thousand miles divide us? A thousand miles — 'tis naught! For kindred souls may converse by the wire- less Telegraphy of thought. [78] BY ir I RE LESS Upon my mountain-top I catch the mes- sage That Cometh from afar, And coming thrills my universe with music Beyond its farthest star. It tells me that the good, the true, the lovely. Life's well-refined gold. If I am strong of heart to seek and find it, Is mine to have and hold. My spirit calls across the starry vastness And answers: Even so — Come joy or pain, come shade or shine or tempest, I will, I will be true. O friend unseen, whose hope my hope hath kindled. Whose strength hath made me strong. Be thine the rich reward of high endeavor, Life's fruitful years along. [79] BY WIRELESS Be thine the magic melody that floateth Adown the hills of dream ! Be thine — and mine — to follow, follow star- ward The glory of the Gleam. [80] THE MOUNTAIN TOP THE summer sun lay golden on the mountain, And soft about us blew The elfin winds, the wild, free winds, that morning I wandered there with you. As up and up to higher levels tending We slowly passed along, Upon the slippery steeps I did not waver— Your hand was firm and strong. We gained the heights. The all-encircling vastness Our quickening pulses thrilled. With all the glory, all the wordless wonder, Our kindred souls were filled. [8i] THE MOUNTAIN TOP Above us and around us stretched the heav- ens, And far and far away, In misty, opalescent shadows melting, The dim horizon lay. Up from the town, to mellow music softened, There rose a murmurous din. As o'er the waves, wind-kissed and sunbeam- silvered, We watched the boats come in. But longer than the fair and pleasant pic- ture. In sunlight round us spread. Within my heart will live the vibrant music Of gracious words you said: "We may not reach the goal of our en- deavor Before the sun goes down; Yet you and I will upward press, and ever Be worthy of our crown. [82] THE MOUNTAIN TOP "No toil is lost, no energy is wasted, Our striving is not vain, E'en though we win no shining wreath of lau- rel, No proud, far heights attain. *'They are not dead, the seeds of hope we scattered Along the barren years, Though yet there springs no blossom of re- joicing. No golden fruit appears. ''Not in the prize, though lovely and allur- ing, Our best reward must be. Is not the strength that comes alone from struggle Enough for you and me? ''Enough to have uplifted by our message One life for one brief hour; Out of one heart a weed to have uprooted, And planted there a flower; [83] THE MOUNTAIN TOP "Enough if we a helping hand have given, Have strengthened faltering feet, Have shed about us ever the aroma Of kindness rare and sweet." Enough ! and yet the distant beacons beckon, The shining steeps allure. We long to breathe — the impulse is of Heaven — Those airs serene and pure; To stand beside the noble souls who con- quered, Who would not be downcast. Who, after all the heartache and the failures, Have won success at last. Some day — who knows? — after the toil and patience. The conflict long and tense, There yet may come to us life's crowning glory Of richest recompense. [84] THE NOONDAY CHIMES OUT o'er the snowy city roofs at noon, Out o'er the home, the market and the street, With solemn intonation floats a prayer — A lyric strain, melodious and sweet. A message in that mellow music rings. Far-flung upon the wind it peals and swells, With sweet reiteration day by day, From vibrant, silver-tongued cathedral bells. "Lift up your hearts to God!" — the strain sublime With pulsing, rhythmic cadence throbs and thrills. While listening hearts turn, silent. Heaven- ward, And longing eyes are lifted to the hills. [85I THE NOONDAY CHIMES O let that music sink in every soul ! O let it echo far across the sea, And breathe amid the discord, fierce and wild, A tuneful, tender prayer from you and me ! *'Lift up your hearts!" — ''We Hft them to the Lord"— Our longings heavenward waft on music's wing. God give us peace that blossoms bright from tears, God save our valiant men, our noble King ! [86] MOTHER OF MINE THERE shines no pearl in the deep, deep sea, Mother of mine. So fair, so rare as your love to me, Mother, mother of mine. The stars may wane, and the sun grow pale. Mother of mine; I know that never your love shall fail. Mother, mother of mine. My wayward feet in the far-off days, Mother of mine. You led in ever the safest ways. Mother, mother of mine. [87] MOTHER OF MINE The sweetest truths that a child may know, Mother of mine, Your voice instilled in the long ago, Mother, mother of mine. You taught me praise and you taught me prayer, Mother of mine; And a simple faith in a Father's care, Mother, mother of mine. You bade me rise from the common clod, Mother of mine, To purer heights on the hills of God, Mother, mother of mine. You taught me love for the finer things, Mother of mine; I drank of joy from the secret springs. Mother, mother of mine. [88] MOTHER OF MINE I've wandered forth In the world afar, Mother of mine. Your truth was ever my polar star, Mother, mother of mine. God's loving-kindness each morn is new, Mother of mine^ — I thank Him most that He gave me you, Mother, mother of mine. Your children arise and call you blest. Mother of mine. Our dearest treasure, the sweetest, best- Mother, mother of mine. This wreath I weave for your crowning, dear. Mother of mine, God bless you, keep you for many a year, Mother, mother of mine. [89] QTHER POETRY YOU WOULD ENJOY READING 135] SOLDIER SONGS BY PATRICK MACGILL Author of "Children of the Dead End," etc. In the trenches a man expresses himself by his occupations. Some make aluminum rings from the fuses of German shells, oth- ers carve in wood, but Rifleman. Patrick MacGill mostly writes. He foimd in a poem about the fairies, for instance, the best sedative during a heavy shelling of the British lines. Almost without exception the poems in this volume were written under fire, and many of them deal with the everyday events of a soldier^s life. Mr. MacGill has also written an interesting foreword telling of the songs that most ap- peal to the men at the front. Net $1.00 E. P. BUTTON AND COMPANY 68 1 Fifth Avenue New York City (13) T^o "BooK.^ of Toeiryfor Mother^s Feelings and Things BY EDNA KINGSLEY WALLACE Net Si.oo A book of delightfully humorous and delicate verse interpretive of the mind and feelings of a child. Under the titles ''Happy Ones," ''Wistful Ones," "Solemn Ones," and so forth, Miss Wallace has caught the yearnings and wonder- ings that a child feels, and which every mother will recognize with a wave of recollection. The poems are also singularly well suited for reading aloud or for recitation by the young people. Songs of a Mother BY MARIETTA MINNEGERODE ANDREWS Illustrated in black and white by the Author Net $i.oo The deepest feelings which the realization of motherhood brings to a woman, as well as the little everyday incidents which are so precious in later remembrance, are expressed in sym- pathetic, intimate verse by the author, who is known not only as a writer and teacher but as a strenuous worker in the cause of Woman. E. P. BUTTON AND COMPANY 68l Fifth Avenue New York City (16) POEMS BY EVELYN UNDERHILL The Historian and Poet of Mysticism Author of Mysticism, The Mystic Way, etc. Immanence : a Book of verses Net $1.25 TheOphanieS ; a Book of Verse Net $1.50 Mysticism is a term which has long been current to cover a multitude of dif- ferent matters, from the highest spiritual perception down to the lowest charlatanry. Miss Underhill by her writings has done more than any living English writer to re- deem the word and give it its true signifi- cance. These books of pure and exquisite verse are mystical in the finest sense, and pro- claim the author's relationship to the great mystics of old time. There is solace and refreshment in these poems for the soul that is striving to com- pass the invisible realities. E. P. BUTTON AND COMPANY 681 Fifth Avenue New York City (15) Uhree *BooK^ of Verse bjr JA MES W. FO LEy- BOYS AND GIRLS Net $1.50 Mr. Foley understands children in the same spirit of comradeship that shines in Steven- son's child-lyrics. Boys and Girls is a volume to give to any lover of children; but unless you have two copies you will not want to give it away. TALES OF THE TRAIL Net $1.50 If ever there were three well attuned pil- grims on Hfe's road, they are Eugene Field, James Whitcomb Riley, and James W. Foley. Foley's Poems, like those of his beloved fellow pilgrims, brim with humor and pathos, are chock-full of human failings and virtues, de- scribed in his delightfully characteristic dialect. THE VOICES OF SONG Net $1.50 With an Introduction by Theodore Roosevelt Since the death of Riley, Mr. Foley has been acclaimed the representative poet of the West, but he is much more than that as this volume proves. Here, in this collection of verse, we hear not merely the voice of the West, not even merely the voice of our entire land, but the voice of all humanity. E. P. 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