VACATION 
 
 LINES 
 
 HARRY COKER 
 
VACATION 
 
 LINES 
 
 HARRY COKER 
 
 COPYRIGHTED OCTOBER 1916 
 

 OCT 24 1916 
 
 A444570 
 
vs 
 
 
 The Seven Falls 
 
 Colorado Springs 
 
Nee Granda 
 
 Inspired from viewing the beautiful 
 lake, Nee Granda, near Eads, Colo. 
 
 Where the mountain quail is singing. 
 To the world, music bringing. 
 
 And the air with joy ringing, 
 Thou art there; Nee Granda. 
 
 Where the prairie dogs are playing, 
 Th-eir alacrity and fear displaying. 
 
 And their happy life portraying. 
 There I find. Nee Granda. 
 
 Where the rattlesnakes are sunning, 
 Where the rabbits big are running. 
 
 And the lizards small and cunning. 
 Too, are found; Nee Granda. 
 
 Where the cactus thick is blooming, 
 And the sage brush unassuming. 
 
 And the thistles just presuming. 
 Thou art there; Nee Granda. 
 
 Where the rising sun is blending, 
 Yonder hills dark green unending, 
 
 And the sky's bright hues descending. 
 Thou art present; Nee Granda. 
 
 Where the Colorado breezes blow. 
 And the Western sun doth show, 
 
 Sandy plains where castus grow. 
 Blissful spot. Nee Granda. 
 
 Across thy waters dark and green, 
 I often watch the sunrise gleam. 
 
 And wish to paint the rosy scene. 
 Our lovely. Nee Granda. 
 
 Then as morning swift advances. 
 And the sun at midday dances. 
 
On thy surface, the scene enhances, 
 All the more, Nee Granda. 
 
 As the sun his course pursues, 
 And the Western sky Imbues, 
 
 With his magic brush and hues, 
 I watch thee. Nee Granda. 
 
 And thy waters gently take, 
 
 A color rich and brightest make, 
 
 The prettiest blu-e that ere clothed lake, 
 
 Is thine own, Nee Granda. 
 
 When the sun doth disappear. 
 And day's curtains drawn near. 
 
 And the stars haste to appear. 
 Thou art restful, Nee Granda. 
 
 As the moon shows above, 
 
 Yonder tree and seeks to prove, 
 
 Our rememberance in God's love, 
 I see thee. Nee Granda. 
 
 And thy waters spark and gleam, 
 While a path of dazzling sheen. 
 
 In reflection can be seen, 
 Most beautiful Nee Granda. 
 
 When life's trials, quite unending, 
 And some burden is descending. 
 
 Into sorrow slowly blending, 
 I think of thee, Nee Granda. 
 
 And thy waters cool and pure, 
 From my sadness does allure. 
 
 And my lot I can endure, 
 In sweet peace. Nee Granda. 
 
 So thy beauty, never ending, 
 Is to me with joy attending, 
 
 In the book of Memory's sending, 
 A place most dear, Ne-e Granda. 
 
Mount Horeb's Cooling Fountain 
 
 Exod. 17:1-7; Cor 10:14; Rev. 22:17. 
 The day waxed hot; the sun 
 From his lofty home on high, 
 On sea and wilderness shone 
 Prom out the brazen sky. 
 The breeze so faint that blew 
 Across the burning sand, 
 Was hot and dry; and grew 
 Almost unbearable to man. 
 
 The trees stood silent, as if 
 In accents to complain, 
 Their trunks in silence stiff 
 Did seem to long for rain. 
 The grass was dying; small flowers- 
 Had long since ceased to bloom. 
 The wind and sun for hours 
 Had triumphed o'er their doom. 
 
 The Isarelites trudged on; their feet 
 Were blistered from the sands. 
 Their faces spoke defeat 
 And calloused were their hands. 
 Long weary years had passed 
 Since leaving Pharaoh's land; 
 Their hopes had fallen fast 
 On the desert's bleaching sand. 
 
 Their lips were dry and parched 
 And food supply was low. 
 So many days had they marehed 
 Through land and desert's glow. 
 Soon they began to murmur low. 
 Then as the day advanced. 
 They spoke in tones to show 
 Their pitiable circumstance. 
 
 Said they, "It were better far 
 In Egypt to remain. 
 And serve as bondmen there 
 For Pharaoh's royal train, 
 
"V^nere there were graves enough 
 To hold us when we die, 
 Than be brought here to starve 
 In wilderness so dry." 
 
 Alas! how soon forgot 
 They, of the hallowed ground, 
 Where manna rained upon the spot 
 And meat from Heaven came down; 
 And God's great power was shown. 
 His care for th-em made plain. 
 His word to them made known, 
 And promises not in vain. 
 
 Their murmurs rose, and Moses, . 
 Who saw their faith so small, 
 God's love again disclosed. 
 Within the sight of all: 
 With mighty force he struck 
 Mount Horeb's stately rock, 
 Sweet waters forth did gush 
 To people and to stock. 
 
 Tbe lips so parched and dry 
 Were moistened by waters sweet; 
 The herds and flocks came nigh 
 With eager, stamping feet. 
 The murmurngs ceased; and peace 
 Again was quite supr-eme. 
 The God of Israel's release 
 Still had the power to redeem. 
 
 The covenant long since made 
 
 By God with Abraham, 
 
 Was still in force and stayed 
 
 By His Omnipotent hand: 
 
 That hand led Israel -each day 
 
 Along the desert sand. 
 
 Nearer, nearer, always. 
 
 To the bright, Promised Land. 
 
 O, people of to-day. 
 
 Now listen and give heed. 
 
Sometimes the d-esert way, 
 And graft and lust and greed, 
 Doth storm our humble life 
 And in the shade we feel, 
 We are alone in strife 
 With none to care or heal. 
 
 Pleas-e come unto the Rock 
 Where healing waters flow, 
 No more the trials will shock, 
 Or power of temptation grow: 
 The waters pure and sweet 
 Will quench the thirsty soul, 
 You'll find your joy complete 
 As years to eternity roll. 
 
 Whosoever will, may come 
 To the rich and sparkling fountain. 
 That still doth flow to all 
 From Horeb's sacred mountain: 
 The stream of life flows ever 
 To lives in sweet accord. 
 That Rock shall stand forever 
 For it is Christ, the Lord! 
 
 Roselawn 
 
 This poem was written aft-er spend- 
 ing a forenoon in the peaceful, well- 
 kept cemetery, Roselawn, at Pueblo, 
 Colo. 
 
 As I journey toward th-e rising of the 
 
 sun. 
 In the morning when the day has just 
 
 begun, 
 Then I find the quiet land where life 
 
 is done. 
 Peaceful, quiet Roselawn. 
 
 Thru the gates, so old and quaint, I 
 
 pass. 
 Traverse th>Q walks past plots of grass, 
 
Where lietli men of each and every 
 class 
 In peace and rest; Roselawn. 
 
 There I see a monument tall and grand, 
 Of stately make and type of Eastern 
 
 land, 
 And lettered neat by sculptor's hand. 
 Imposing, serene; Roselawn. 
 
 Here a vault of rich and marble make. 
 It stands beside a charming lake. 
 With door and key with which to take 
 A view inside: Roselawn. 
 
 Th-ere a stone whose cross and form 
 Doth make me think of Galilean storm, 
 Of darkness, bowed head, outstretch- 
 ed arm 
 On Calvary: Roselawn. 
 
 But I pass thru walk and shady lane, 
 Over bridge, along the road, and walk 
 
 again, 
 'Till I reach a nook where spirits reign. 
 Peaceful, quiet Ros-elawn. 
 
 There the cross on almost every tomb, 
 Emblem of Hope and telling of Sa- 
 tan's doom. 
 Bringing comfort, sweet beauty and 
 bloom 
 To saddened hearts: Roselawn. 
 
 The mounds thickly cluster in num- 
 ber there. 
 
 The Italians are lying, free from life's 
 care, 
 
 Far from their home-land, Italy so fair. 
 In rest and peace: Roselawn. 
 
 Another section I next pass by. 
 Where brothers from Ireland peaoe- 
 
fully lie, 
 With cross telling of home beyond the 
 sky, 
 Peaceful, quiet Roselawn. 
 
 I journey on thru lanes and drives, 
 And see the marks of love to treasur- 
 ed lives. 
 And the Hope that life, the grave sur- 
 vives, 
 I see it all: Roselawn. 
 
 The stately elm and the sweet scented 
 
 pine, 
 Doth gently speak in music and line. 
 Of the plan of our Father true and 
 
 divine, 
 To me softly! Roselawn. 
 
 When Gabriel blows his trumpet from 
 
 on high. 
 And our Lord in His glory appears in 
 
 the sky, 
 Your mission is done when He passeth 
 
 by. 
 Peaceful, quiet Roselawn. 
 
 Beautiful South Cheyenne 
 
 Inspired from a visit to the Seven 
 Falls in South Cheyenne Canon, Col- 
 orado Springs, Colo. 
 
 Enchanted spot! Where nature bold 
 To all, her boundless store 
 Of treasure great and wealth untold, 
 Doth open wide the door. 
 
 Wonder of wonders! South Cheyenne, 
 Whose mighty towering walls. 
 Doth speak to me of ancient time. 
 In accents hushed and mystic calls. 
 
Marvelous, wonderful! Thy sacred 
 
 depths 
 Are guarded strong and well; 
 Many a secret you might disclose 
 If you v/ould only tell. 
 
 Strange, wondrous glen! Where si- 
 lence reigns 
 Except for murmur low 
 Of winding silv-ery mountain stream 
 As limpid waters flow. 
 
 The mighty pillars that ever guard 
 Thy magic entrance-way. 
 Are tall and grand; and shadows dark. 
 On the sides so rugged play. 
 
 I tread thy paths; the summer breeze 
 Among the fragrant pines, 
 Doth speak in quiet, soft-ened tone. 
 Of unmolested times. 
 
 On rustic bridge I cross the stream 
 That merrily runs along; 
 Its secrets deep I cannot learn 
 For I can't understand its song. 
 
 A dark weird way from mountain top 
 Doth lead down rugged side. 
 Black and odious, fearful and rough, 
 It is tbe Devil 's Slide. 
 
 A mass of rocks, in build and shape, 
 Doth make me think of Rome, 
 When Trajan built in ancient style, 
 rt is the Prospect Dome. 
 
 And now I think of feudal times 
 Of tournament, clash and shock, 
 I see the towers and massive walls. 
 The imposing Castle Rock. 
 
 The sacred glen I enter next 
 Where there is all to please, 
 
I pass between the granite walls, 
 The Pillars of Hercules. 
 
 The scenery richer and grander grows, 
 
 For nature -exceeds mere man 
 
 In building and shaping and coloring 
 
 here, 
 O, beautiful South Cheyenne! 
 
 The winding, murmuring mountain 
 
 stream 
 Doth journey in and out. 
 With one large pool so clear and pure. 
 Where lurk the mountain trout. 
 
 Above thy precincts cool and calm, 
 Above th-e forest glade, 
 Sentinel pines guard well the place 
 Where Helen Hunt was laid. 
 
 And now I reach a level spot. 
 In time enchanted halls, 
 And here I se-e, O beautiful, 
 The dashing Seven Falls! 
 
 Far up the path of granite rock. 
 The sparkling waters fall, 
 Down, down, for seven lengths 
 Along the canon wall. 
 
 O, Canon deep and dark and still 
 I love thy peaceful bowers, 
 And granit-e walls that guard thy dell 
 Where bloom the little flowers. 
 
 Wonder of wonders; marvels of mar- 
 vels 
 Finest of fine display; 
 Glory of glories; beauty of beauties 
 Where Natur-e has full sway! 
 
 Towering cliff and crag and rock. 
 Unsealed by humble man. 
 
Shadow and light, dark pine 
 
 stream, 
 O, beautiful South Cheyenne! 
 
 The Mountain's Story 
 
 PART I 
 "O, mighty mountain, tall and grand, 
 I sit beneath thy shade, 
 I marvel at thy tow-ering height, 
 And wonder how you were made. 
 
 "The scientist's theory, so often stated, 
 I cannot accept it now, 
 For as I sit and look upon 
 Thy calm and lofty brow, 
 
 "Thy pine-clad heights and towering 
 
 realms. 
 Where light and shadow play. 
 Thy mystic caverns dark and deep, 
 Wbere strangers never stray, 
 
 "I cannot think that powerful quake. 
 Upheaval great or storm. 
 Volcanic eruption, or earth movement. 
 Could build thy mighty form. 
 
 "As now I sit and gaze in awe. 
 Prom foot to towering peak, 
 O, won't you tell from out your home, 
 The things I humbly seek? 
 
 "So, tell me now, how you were made. 
 In time of long ago. 
 And I will hear with open ear, 
 Your accents soft and low." 
 
 "Dear child of God; but for your faith 
 And interest kind and true, 
 I would not now disclose my past. 
 In hushed accents to you. 
 
" 'Tis all in vain, that men explain 
 How I was formed and made, 
 It is to me so strange to see, 
 That people seek that aid. 
 
 "Some of cultured mind, broad and 
 
 refined, 
 Accept the idle tales, 
 That I was formed by time and change, 
 And my sequestered dales. 
 
 "But inasmuch, as there are such 
 Who do not take God's truths; 
 There is a class, who onward pass. 
 And seek the deeper views: 
 
 "With seeing eyes they recognize 
 That back of tree or sod, 
 The hill or vale or mountain dale, 
 Is seen the Hand of God. 
 
 "And so, my friend, my tale begins 
 
 At the time of Creation, 
 
 When God's Spirit moved, upon the 
 
 waters 
 In lonely habitation. 
 
 "The day and night. He made to be, 
 And Heaven's dome was reared; 
 The waters parted from waters above 
 And the dry land appeared. 
 
 "My companions and I took form and 
 
 shape 
 Beneath His touch of Hand, 
 He lifted my head in utmost grace. 
 That I might guard the land. 
 
 "He planted the pines around the base 
 And partway up the side. 
 Of rugged form, and they are ever 
 My comfort and my pride. 
 
"Amid the rocks and trees and shrubs, 
 In all the little bowers, 
 He planted with care, almost every- 
 where, 
 The lovely little flowers. 
 
 "From divine touch, beneath the crag, 
 A spring of water gushed. 
 It sweetly sang its Maker's praise. 
 As down its path it rushed. 
 
 "The boulders great that now you see, 
 He made in various shape, 
 And here a point from which to view 
 The changing landscape. 
 
 "He planted the cedars to beautify 
 The ledges plain and bare, 
 And in the dale. He gently placed 
 The aspen tree with care. 
 
 "And on one slope. He quickly fash- 
 ioned 
 
 A vale with carpet green. 
 
 Sprinkled the dew-drops at morning 
 time 
 
 In lovely dazzling sheen. 
 
 "The dale below, long, long ago. 
 The Master also made. 
 And now a town on picturesque ground 
 Is nestling beneath my shade. 
 
 "The cavern deep he rounded out. 
 For animals wild and bold, 
 A shelter and home to rear their young 
 In my protecting fold. 
 
 "He hollowed the place where canon 
 
 deep 
 Excites the traveler's gaze. 
 He quickly reared the mighty walls, 
 That guard the sacred ways. 
 
 "And so, c'ear friend, God made us all. 
 
Secluded vale and lofty peak, 
 
 Our treasures vast and wealth untold, 
 
 Which covetous men now seek. 
 
 "His handiwork is plainly seen 
 In stream and canon wall, 
 In dizzy height and fragrant pine 
 P^'or God did make us all." 
 
 PART II 
 "O, mighty mountain tall and grand, 
 Please speak to me again. 
 And tell me now what you have seen, 
 Since Time begain her reign. 
 
 "Serene and bold since times of old 
 You've stood in grandeur here, 
 You span the ages of mystic Past, 
 Thru times of dusk and cheer. 
 
 "Eras have risen and passed away 
 And races have gone to rest; 
 You've watched it all and locked the 
 
 secrets 
 Within your mighty breast. 
 
 "But now to me, won't you disclose 
 The history of the past; 
 I have no tablets marked and figured. 
 Or parchments crumbling fast. 
 
 "So won't you tell in low hushed voice, 
 What you have seen thru time, 
 And I will listen with reverence and 
 
 Joy 
 To story of western clime." 
 
 "Away back, in the beginning of his- 
 tory, 
 I saw the mystic dawn, 
 And I recall quite clearly 
 The light at break of morn. 
 
 "To the east a sea of water 
 
Bright and pure and blue, 
 Reflected the sun's caressing rays 
 In light and varied hue. 
 
 "The world was just as beautiful 
 In days of long ago, 
 As in the modern age when sun 
 Sets western plains aglow. 
 
 "After centuries long had passed 
 
 away, 
 God filled the deep blue sea 
 With trees and plants and fish and 
 
 flowers, 
 And covered them tenderly. 
 
 "Their fossil forms you now may find 
 In ledges of rock to-day. 
 To verify my thrilling tale 
 Of things long passed away. 
 
 "The years went by; and God again 
 Came with His loving hand. 
 And smoothed the surface into a plain 
 Of rich and fertile land. 
 
 "He dented the plains for river beds 
 And planted the graceful trees, 
 Along the banks of rippling streams, 
 That sang of mighty seas. 
 
 "He planted the fiowers in all the 
 
 bowers, 
 And over the endless plains. 
 By water's edge, in peaceful nook. 
 And in His favorite lanes. 
 
 "He finished the task that men might 
 
 see 
 The handiwork of God, 
 By covering the plain with verdure 
 
 rich. 
 The beautiful prairie sod. 
 
 "Soon after this I chanced to look 
 
Unto the north on-e day, 
 
 And there I saw a group of beings 
 
 Stealthily wending their way. 
 
 "Along my brother's majestic form 
 And 'cross the purling stream, 
 On, to my very base, then halted. 
 Quite undecided, it seemed. 
 
 "They looked at me and then passed on 
 As though my stately form. 
 Could not shelter them and their young 
 From rain and wind and storm. 
 
 "I afterwards l-earned that they were 
 
 men. 
 Whom God in His image made; 
 The highest creation; Omnipotent 
 
 power 
 So vividly portrayed. 
 
 "They lived below o'erhanging ledges, 
 In houses made with clay, 
 And rough-hewn rocks and cavern wall. 
 Cliff Dw-ellers, now you say. 
 
 "Years upon years flew swiftly by 
 And I was unmolested. 
 The bears and lions roamed at will 
 Or by the spring's side rested. 
 
 "And then one day as I kept watch, 
 
 I saw a band of men 
 
 Come from the north with cautious 
 
 tread. 
 And halt within the gl-en. 
 
 "Unsuited, too, they left my paths 
 
 And eastward went their way. 
 
 They built huge mounds to hold their 
 
 dead. 
 Mound Builders, they're called to-day. 
 
 "A century passed, another class 
 Came from the mystic north. 
 
In paint of war, f-eathers bedecked, 
 This hostile band came forth: 
 
 "The largest group, I yet had seen, 
 And they were different too. 
 Complexion red, and straight black 
 
 hair 
 And feathers of every hue. 
 
 "Bodies erect and lithe and strong, 
 And piercing, sparkling eye, 
 But strangest of all, their martial call. 
 Their far resounding war-cry. 
 
 "My lofty form, sequestered vales. 
 
 My tall and stately trees, 
 
 My silvery streams and sheltering 
 
 rocks 
 Did satisfy and please. 
 
 "So Chief Redman and all his tribe 
 Took up their new abode. 
 While I my blessings of hunting rare 
 Upon my friends bestowed. 
 
 "The years rolled by, old Father Time 
 Was long since turning gray; 
 Four centuries ago I chanced to look 
 Unto the south one day, 
 
 "And there I saw a corps of men 
 Bold Spaniards, people tell. 
 Searching, seeking Fountain of Youth, 
 In mountain height and dell. 
 
 "I saw Coronado and valiant band 
 Go 'cross the scorching sands, 
 "Midst hardships great and burning 
 
 heat 
 In search of New World lands. 
 
 "Then exploration ceased and once 
 
 again 
 The Indians reigned supreme. 
 Their dark lithe forms were every- 
 
where, 
 By tree and rushing str-eam. 
 
 "Then soon the French from sunny 
 
 Pushed up the riverways, 
 
 And trading posts were quickly built, 
 
 Foretelling busier days. 
 
 "The years went by, the shrewd white 
 
 man 
 Kept gaining greater power. 
 He built his posts, traded his goods, 
 And daily -enriched his bower. 
 
 "But wondrous change again took 
 
 place 
 A hundred years ago. 
 Brave Major Pike, I plainly saw. 
 With sturdy company below. 
 
 "Since then each year a change has 
 
 wrought 
 In these wild western lands. 
 The years have brought new sc-enes 
 
 and thought 
 O'er sunny western sands. 
 
 "Thru morning watch and noonday 
 
 bright, 
 And closing day's sweet blend. 
 In sun and rain, I've stood and watched 
 The famous western trend. 
 
 "The prairie schooner in wagon trains 
 
 Came 'long th-e dusty way. 
 
 With goods and treasure to trade or 
 
 sell 
 When they reached Santa Fe. 
 
 "Then soon I noticed, far to the east, 
 That little towns were forming. 
 They thrived and grew in spit-e of 
 drouth 
 
Or treacherous Indian storming, 
 
 "The wliite men came and Indian chief 
 And all his faithful band, 
 Were forced to come in stern retreat 
 To friendly mountain land. 
 
 "My treasure-hous-e was found one day 
 
 By white men brave and bold, 
 
 Then came the rush from eastern 
 
 lands. 
 In search of precious gold. 
 
 "The changing years have flitted by 
 
 And now the rolling plains. 
 
 Are graced with towns and farms and 
 
 And quiet, shady lanes. 
 
 "And at my base the busy hum 
 Of vast machinery is heard, 
 My precious jewels in secret chests 
 Have all been probed or stirred. 
 
 "My sole companion, friend of the past, 
 I see him now no more. 
 The Indian brave has passed away, 
 To the bright eternal shore. 
 
 "Yet still I stand in beauty rare 
 And lift my head with ease, 
 My lofty form, my sweet-scented pines 
 Shall never fail to please. 
 
 "My lucid streams where mountain 
 
 trout 
 Lurk in the deep clear pool. 
 My caverns dark, my canons deep, 
 My shade so sweet and cool, 
 
 "Will ever soothe the weary man 
 
 Along life's winding way. 
 
 Will lighten his load and give him 
 
 cheer 
 Thru busy life's short day. 
 
"It is well: that man has found 
 My gifts so deep and great; 
 The smelter flame, the foundry's ring 
 In fair Columbine State, 
 
 "The busy mine, p-erpetual hum 
 Of reduction works each day. 
 Doth speak to me in varied tone, 
 Saying, 'It is God's way.' 
 
 "And I am here to serve and give 
 Unto the sons of God, 
 That men may live, that men may walk 
 The path the Savior trod. 
 
 "So I shall stand to minister h-ere 
 Until that coming day, 
 'When trumpet sounds and time's no 
 more, 
 And former things are passed away!' " 
 
 Peace, Sweet Peace 
 
 Biblical References, Isa 2:4; Micah 
 4:3. 
 
 This is a dream which I trust will 
 be brought to a realization in the 
 near future. 
 
 The light of day is breaking 
 Far o'er the eastern hills, 
 The little birds are waking. 
 And trees and plants and rills. 
 
 In the quietude of morning 
 A solemn hush is heard, 
 The summer day is dawning 
 In obedience to God's word. 
 
 The whole of earth is teeming 
 With happiness and song. 
 The light of Love is streaming 
 Upon the happy throng. 
 
 The clouds have rolled away. 
 
We see the rising sun, 
 And we are told to-day, 
 A new era has begun. 
 
 Look! since man has breathed, 
 We have not seen before. 
 The mighty sword is sheathed 
 And seeks to kill no more. 
 
 No more the centimeter gun 
 Stands out in grand array, 
 And when the fight's begun 
 Mows down the men each day. 
 
 No more in God's clear light 
 The bristling canons gleam; 
 The tale of yesternight 
 Is but a frightful dream. 
 
 Dimly do we recall 
 
 The shell and liquid fire, 
 
 The bombs that dropped on hall 
 
 And roof and dome and spire. 
 
 And onc-e the poisonous gases 
 Were forced in trenches long, 
 And men were killed in masses, 
 The brilliant and the strong. 
 
 But praise our God above 
 We have put those things away, 
 And tools of Truth and Love 
 Have taken their place to-day. 
 
 I hear the angels singing. 
 The wars on earth have ceased, 
 Around the world is ringing, 
 "Sweet Peace — Universal Peace!' 
 
 "A nation shall not rise 
 Against a nation any more;" 
 Now shout until the skies 
 Re-echo o'er and o'er. 
 
 The arts of war shall never 
 Take up our mind again. 
 
The bonds of love ne'er sever 
 By any martial strain. 
 
 We'll beat the flaming sword 
 Into an useful plow-share, 
 And spear, its use absurd, 
 A pruning hook with care. 
 
 Our Master up above 
 We follow in truth and deed. 
 Our hearts are filled with love. 
 We work for brothers' need. 
 
 No time before has been 
 When wars so cruel had ceased. 
 When all earth's mighty men 
 Were following the Prince of Peace. 
 
 Sing out the glorious song 
 That sons of men may hear, 
 And happy mothers in the throng 
 Who hold their sons so dear; 
 
 And lovers too may know 
 
 In lane or busy mart, 
 
 When they have made their vow. 
 
 No war shall come to part. 
 
 The light of day is breaking 
 Far o'er the eastern hills, 
 A world new He's making 
 Of trees and plants and rills. 
 
 Where wars and bugle call 
 In all our lands have ceased. 
 And hovering over all. 
 Sweet Peace — Universal Peace! 
 
 Sunrise From Pike's Peak 
 
 The stars are twinkling 
 In deep blue sky, 
 But dimmer are growing 
 As minutes go by. 
 
The valleys are dark 
 Beneath our feet, 
 The dark, deep shadows 
 Cover retreat 
 
 Of mountain goat 
 And elk and bear, 
 Of busy beaver 
 And lion's lair, 
 
 Of graceful deer, 
 Of mountain sheep, 
 And chipmunks sly 
 In canon deep. 
 
 But look! a change 
 O'er sky doth creep. 
 Dame Night is ending 
 Her vigilant keep. 
 
 A light is stealing 
 From eastern sky, 
 Slowly, softly o'er 
 Starry canopy. 
 
 The moments speed by. 
 The azure blue 
 Takes on a softer 
 And richer hue. 
 
 The stars grow dimmer 
 And twinkle less. 
 For each is ending 
 Its mission to bless. 
 
 And now bars of light 
 Span eastern sky, 
 Phophetic of hope 
 To us, from on high. 
 
 The light is dispersing 
 The shades of night. 
 The jewelled canopy 
 Is passing from sight. 
 
The stars fade away 
 In ether-sal blue, 
 The morning star lingers 
 To bid adieu. 
 
 The deep azure sky- 
 Becomes a haze, 
 Where rich colors blend 
 And Nature's brush plays. 
 
 The -east grows lighter 
 And radiant beams, 
 Like pathways bright 
 In beautiful dreams, 
 
 Bar eastern sky 
 With bars of light. 
 That fall in beauty 
 On mountain height. 
 
 The bars grow longer 
 And bright and high 
 'Till they span in glory 
 The entire sky. 
 
 Some clouds that linger 
 At horizon line. 
 Are gilded and painted 
 Like Orient shrine: 
 
 As minutes pass by 
 They become like fire, 
 Vivid and red they flame 
 Up higher and higher. 
 
 The shadows are leaving 
 Mountain and vale. 
 The tall stately pines 
 And burro trail. 
 
 On swift silvery stream 
 The beams of light. 
 Are sparkling and flashing 
 Past dizzy height. 
 
Cliff, crag and rock 
 Are radiant growing, 
 Tree, bush and flower 
 From light is glowing. 
 
 Behold the sky! a cast 
 O'erspreads the dome, 
 More rosy and beautiful 
 Than art of Rom-e. 
 
 Look! from eastern realms 
 And land of light; 
 Heralds precede the king 
 In livery bright. 
 
 See! on comes the king 
 By magic power drawn; 
 We behold his face — 
 And day doth dawn. 
 
 Look up, ye waking world! 
 And watchers of the way, 
 For God has giv-en us, 
 Another day. 
 
 The Mountain Stream 
 
 Dedicated to my friend, Miss Myrtle 
 Sutherland. 
 
 Far up the heights 
 From out the earth, 
 A tiny spring 
 Bursts merrily forth. 
 
 From ledge of rock 
 In secluded place. 
 It began its rushing 
 Downward race. 
 
 Its waters pure 
 Were dazzling bright, 
 When first they saw 
 Th-e summer light. 
 
Over towering walls 
 It swiftly ran, 
 Descending heights 
 Untouched by man. 
 
 Thru patches green 
 And blooming flowers, 
 It sang its song 
 In nature's bowers. 
 
 Companions joined 
 On downward way, 
 And tiny stream 
 In delicate array, 
 
 Became a larger 
 And loveli-er brook. 
 Traversing dale 
 And shady nook. 
 
 Past dizzy heights 
 It sped along, 
 And ever sang 
 Its praise of song. 
 
 Still other streams 
 Joined in the race, 
 Down sunny path 
 Thru covert place. 
 
 Until the brook 
 With boisterous roar, 
 Became a torrent 
 Of mountain lore. 
 
 It rushed along 
 Past boulders great. 
 By trees and spots 
 Of historic date. 
 
 Then next it dashed 
 O'er canon wall. 
 And roared down 
 The mighty fall. 
 
Serene and quiet 
 Within the glen, 
 It rippled past 
 The t-ents of men. 
 
 Then bold again 
 It gathered force, 
 And over rocks 
 Pursued its course. 
 
 The sunlight played 
 On waters clear. 
 That sparkled bright 
 With dazzling cheer. 
 
 The glen oecame 
 More deep and wild, 
 But water's song 
 The time beguiled. 
 
 Hiding sometimes 
 Beneath the ledge. 
 Then reappearing 
 From under edge. 
 
 Between huge boulders 
 Where sunlight flashed. 
 Past fragrant pines 
 It madly dashed. 
 
 Down, down the glen 
 Sparkling and flashing, 
 Dancing and singing. 
 Foaming and dashing! 
 
 Down, down between 
 The canon walls, 
 Until it reached 
 Minnehaha Falls, 
 
 And there its music 
 In sweetest harmony, 
 Filled all the place 
 With pleasing melody. 
 
Continuing on, 
 Splasliing and churning, 
 With various falls. 
 Winding and turning. 
 
 The Ruxton reached 
 Fond Manitou, 
 And murmured down 
 Its avenue: 
 
 Under rustic bridge, 
 Past lovely inn, 
 Thru little parks 
 And city's din. 
 
 On, to the plain 
 Where other streams 
 Joined in the rush. 
 Where sunlight gleams. 
 
 On runs the river 
 Past field and tree, 
 Until it reaches 
 The mighty sea. 
 
 Dear mountain stream. 
 Your music sweet 
 Dispels my sadness 
 And chases defeat. 
 
 Your soothing waters 
 Sp-eak peace to me, 
 From business cares 
 I am set free. 
 
 Thy murmuring low 
 Doth speak to soul, 
 Of God above, 
 While ages roll. 
 
 So, silvery stream 
 In mountain glen. 
 Continue to be 
 A blessing to men. 
 
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