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THE TOILING OF FELIX A LEGEND ON A NEW SAYING OF JESUS TN the ruhbbh heaps of the ancient city of -*■ Oxyrhynchus, near the ri^er Nile, a party of English Explorers, in the IES RjbiCEi' tjbrary of coB^ree% MAR 94 1900 ^^i 57089 SECOND COPY, CONTENTS THE TOILING OF FELIX Page Prelude 3 Legend 6 Envoy 24 VERA 29 ANOTHER CHANCE 57 SEVEN SMALL SONGS The Angler's Reveille 65 A Bit of Good Luck 69 A Slumber-Song 71 The Echo in the Heart 73 A November Daisy 75 The River of Dreams 77 The Ruby-Crowned Kinglet 85 PRELUDE A LOST WORD OF JESUS TJEAR a word that Jesus spake Eighteen centuries ago, Where the crimson lilies blow Round the blue Tiberian lake : There the bread of life he brake, Through the fields of harvest walking With His lowly comrades, talking Of the secret thoughts that feed Weary hearts in time of need. Art thou hungry ? Come and take ; Hear the word that Jesus spake : 'T is the sacrament of labour ; meat and drink divinely blest; Friendship's food, and sweet refreshment; strength and courage, joy and rest. Yet this word the Master said, Long ago and far away, Silent and forgotten lay Buried with the silent dead, — Where the sands of Egypt spread, Sea-like, tawny billows heaping Over ancient cities sleeping ; While the River Nile between Rolls its summer flood of green, Rolls its autumn flood of red, — There the word the Master said, Written on a frail papyrus, scorched by fire, wrinkled, torn, Hidden in God's hand, was waiting for its resurrection morn. Hear the Master's risen word ! Delving spades have set it free, — V/ake ! the world has need of thee, — Rise, and let thy voice be heard, Like a fountain disinterred. Upward springing, singing, sparkling ; Through the doubtful shadows darkling ; Till the clouds of pain and rage Brooding o'er the toiling age, As with rifts of light are stirred By the music of the Word; Gospel for the heavy-laden, answer to the labourer's cry ; ^^ Raise the stone, and thou shatt find Me; cleave the m)ood, and there aml/^ LEGEND THE TOILING OF FELIX TISTEN, ye who look for Jesus, long to see Him close to you, To a legend of this saying ; how one tried, and found it true. ^ Born in Egypt, 'neath the shadow of the crum- bling gods of night, /^ He forsook the ancient darkness, turned his young heart toward the Light. Felix was the name they gave him, when his faith w^as first confessed ; But the name was unavailing, for his life was yet unblessed. ^ Seeking Christ, in vain he waited for the vision of the Lord ; / Vainly pondered all the volumes where the creeds of men were stored ; Vainly shut himself in silence, keeping vigil night and day ; ^Vainly haunted shrines and churches where the Christians came to pray. ^ One by one he dropped the duties of the com- mon life of care ; ^ Broke the human ties that bound him ; laid his spirit waste and bare ; Hoping that the Lord would enter to that empty dwelling-place, And reward the loss of all things with the vision of His face. Still the blessed vision tarried ; still the light w^as unrevealed ; Still the Master, dim and distant, kept His countenance concealed. Fainter grew the hope of finding, wearier grew the fruitless quest ; Prayer, and penitence, and fasting gave no comfort, brought no rest. In the darkness of the temple, ere the lamp of faith went out, Felix knelt before the altar — lonely, sad, and full of doubt. " Hear me, O thou mighty Master," from the altar-step he cried, *' Let my one desire be granted, let my hope be satisfied ! " Only once I long to see thee, in the fulness of Thy grace : Break the clouds that now enfold Thee, with the sunrise of Thy face ! " All that men desire and treasure have I counted loss for Thee ; Every task have I forsaken, save this one — my Lord to see. " Loosed the sacred bands of friendship, soli- tary stands my heart ; Thou shalt be my sole companion when I see Thee as Thou art. ** From Thy distant throne in glory, flash upon my inward sight, Fill the midnight of my spirit with the splen- dour of Thy light. ** All Thine other gifts and blessings, common mercies, I disown ; Separated from my brothers, I w^ould see Thy face alone. ** Let them toil and pray together, let them win earth's best reward. This shall be my only glory — I alone have seen the Lord. ** I have w^atched and I have waited as one watcheth for the morn : Still Thou hidest in the heavens, still Thou leavest me forlorn. **Now I seek Thee in the desert, where the holy hermits dwell ; i There, beside the saint Serapion, I will find a.' lonely cell. " There at last Thou wilt be gracious ; there Thy presence, long-concealed, In the solitude and silence to my heart shall stand revealed. ** Thou Shalt come, at morn or even, o*er the rolling "waves of sand ; I shall see Thee close beside me, I shall touch Thy pierced hand. ** Lo, Thy pilgrim kneels before Thee ; bless my journey with a word ; Tell me now that, if I follow, I shall find Thee, O my Lord ! " Felix listened : through the darkness, like the whispering of the wind, Came a secret voice in answer : ** Seek aright, and thou shalt find." Long and toilsome was his pathway through the heavy land of heat, Egypt's blazing sun above him, blistering sands beneath his feet. 10 Still he plodded slowly onward, step by step and mile by mile, Till he reached the rugged mountain, beetling high above the Nile, Where the birds of air assemble, once a year, their noisy flocks. Then, departing, leave their sentinel perched among the barren rocks. Far away, on wings of gladness, over land and sea they fly ; But the watcher on the summit lonely stands against the sky. There the eremite Serapion in a cave had made his bed ; There the bands of wandering pilgrims sought his blessing, brought him bread. Month by month, in deep seclusion, hidden in the ro6ky cleft. Dwelt the hermit, fasting, praying ; once a year the cave he left. XX On that day, one happy pilgrim, chosen out of all the land, Won a special sign of favour from the holy hermit's hand. Underneath the narrow window, at the door- way closely sealed, While the afterglow of sunset deepened round him, Felix kneeled. " Man of God, of men most holy — thou whose gifts cannot be priced ! — Grant me thy most precious guerdon ; tell me how to find the Christ." Breathless, Felix bowed and listened, but no answering voice he heard ; Darkness folded, dumb and deathlike, round the Mountain of the Bird. Then he said, ** The saint is silent — he would teach my soul to wait ; I will tarry here in patience, like a beggar at his gate." 12 So the companies of pilgrims, clambering up the rocky stair, Found the lonely, voiceless stranger by the window, lost in prayer, Never moving from his station, watching there w^ithout complaint, — Soon they came to call him holy, fed him as they fed the saint. Day by day he saw the sunrise flood the distant plain with gold. While the River Nile beneath him, silvery coiling, seaward rolled. Night by night he saw the planets range their glittering court on high, Saw the moon, with regal motion, mount her throne and rule the sky. Morn advanced and midnight fled, in visionary pomp attired ; Never morn and never midnight brought the vision long-desired. 13 Now at last the day is dawning when Serapion makes his gift ; Felix kneels before the threshold, hardly dares his eyes to lift. Now the cavern door uncloses, now the saint above him stands, Blesses him without a word, and leaves a token in his hands. 'T is the guerdon of thy w^aiting — look ! thou happy pilgrim, look ! — Nothing but a tattered fragment of an old papy- rus book. Read ! perchance the clue to guide thee tangled in the words may lie : " ^atse the stone, and thou shalt find Me; dea've the ivood, and there am I/^ Can it be the mighty Master spake such simple words as these ? Can it be that men must seek Him, at their toil, 'mid rocks and trees ? 14 Disappointed, heavy-hearted, from the Moun- tain of the Bird Felix mournfully descended, questioning the Master's word. Not for him a sacred dwelling, far above the haunts of men : He must turn his footsteps backward to the common life again. From a quarry by the river, hollowed out below^ the hills, Rose the clattering voice of labour, clanking hammers, clinking drills. Dust, and noise, and hot confusion made a Babel of the spot : There, among the lowliest workers, Felix sought and found his lot. Now he swung the ponderous mallet, smote the iron in the rock — Muscles quivering, tingling, throbbing — blow on blow and shock on shock ; 15 Now he drove the willow wedges, wet them till they swelled and split, With their silent strength, the fragment — sent it thundering down the pit. Now the groaning tackle raised it ; now the roll- ers made it slide ; Harnessed men, like beasts of burden, drew^ it to the river-side. Now the palm-trees must be riven, massive timbers hewn and dressed — Rafts to bear the stones in safety on the rushing river's breast. Axe and auger, saw and chisel, wrought the will of man in wood : 'Mid the many-handed labour Felix toiled, and found it good. Every day the blood ran fleeter through his limbs and round his heart ; Every night his sleep was sweeter, knowing he had done his part. z6 * Dreams of solitary saintship faded from him ; but, instead, * Came a sense of daily comfort, in the toil for daily bread. "^Far away, across the river, gleamed the white walls of the town ^ Whither all the stones and timbers, day by day, were drifted down. There the workman saw his labour taking form and bearing fruit, Like a tree with splendid branches rising from a humble root. % LfOoking at the distant city, temples, houses, domes, and towers, ,^ Felix cried in exultation : " All the mighty work is ours. ** Every mason in the quarry, every builder on the shore. Every chopper in the palm-grove, every rafts- man at the oar — 17 " Hewing wood and drawing water, splitting stones and cleaving sod — All the dusty ranks of labour, in the regiment of God, " March together toward His triumph, do the task His hands prepare : Honest toil is holy service ; faithful w^ork is praise and prayer." *So through all the heat and burden Felix felt the sense of rest \ Flowing softly, like a fountain, deep within his weary breast. '■ Felt the brotherhood of labour, rising round him "^ like the tide, y Overflow his heart, and join him to the workers at his side. Oft he cheered them with his singing at the breaking of the light, Told them tales of Christ at nooning, taught them words of prayer at night. i8 So he felt the Master's presence drawing closer all the while : Though the Master's face was hidden, yet he knew it wore a smile. Once he bent above a comrade fainting in the mid-day heat, Sheltered him with woven palm-leaves, gave him water, cool and sweet. Then it seemed, for one swift moment, secret radiance filled the place; Underneath the green palm-branches flashed one look of Jesus' face. Once again, a raftsman, slipping, plunged be- neath the stream and sank ; Swiftly Felix leaped to rescue — caught him, drew him toward the bank — Battling with the cruel river, using all his strength to save — Did he dream? or was there One beside him walking on the wave? 19 Now at last the work was ended ; grove de- serted, quarry stilled, Felix journeyed to the city that his hands had helped to build. In the darkness of the temple, at the closing hour of day, Once again he sought the altar, once again he knelt to pray: *'Hear me, O Thou hidden Master; Thou hast sent a word to me ; It is written — Thy commandment. I have kept it. Look and see. <« Thou hast bid me leave the visions of the solitary life ; Bear my part in human labour ; take my share in human strife. <* I have done Thy bidding, Master ; raised the rock and felled the tree ; Swung the axe and plied the hammer, working every day for Thee. 20 *' Once it seemed I saw Thy presence through the bending palm-leaves gleam; Once upon the flowing w^ater — Nay, I know^ not — 'twas a dream ! *' This I know : Thou hast been near me : more than this I dare not ask. Though I see Thee not, I love Thee. Let me do Thy humblest task! " Through the dimness of the temple slowly dawned a mystic light ; There the Master stood in glory, manifest to mortal sight: Hands that bore the mark of labour, brow that bore the print of care ; Hands of power, divinely tender ; brow of light, divinely fair. ** Hearken, good and faithful servant, true dis- ciple, loyal friend ! Thou hast followed Me and found Me ; I will keep thee to the end. 21 ** Well I know thy toil and trouble. Often weary, fainting, worn, I have lived the life of labour,' Jieavy burdens I have borne. " Never in a prince's palace have I slept on golden bed, Never in a hermit's cavern have I eaten un- earned bread. " Born within a lowly stable, where the cattle round Me stood. Trained a carpenter in Nazareth, I have toiled, and found it good. " They who tread the path of labour follow w^here My feet have trod ; They w^ho work without complaining do the holy will of God. " Where the many toil together, there am I among My own ; Where the tired workman sleepeth, there am I with him alone. 22 "I, the peace that passeth knowledge, dwell amid the daily strife ; I, the bread of heaven, am broken in the sacra- ment of life. *^ Every task, however simple, sets the soul that does it free ; Every deed of love and mercy, done to man, is done to Me. " Thou hast learned the peaceful secret ; thou hast come to Me for rest ; With thy burden, in thy labour, thou art Felix, doubly blest. " Nevermore thou needest seek Me ; I am with thee everywhere ; Raise the stone, and thou shalt find Me ; cleave the wood, and I am there." 23 ENVOY THE GOSPEL OF LABOUR T^HE legend of Felix is ended, the toiling of Felix is done ; The Master has paid him his wages, the goal of his journey is won ; He rests, but he never is idle ; a thousand years pass like a day, In the glad surprise of that Paradise where work is sweeter than play. But I think the King of that country comes out from his tireless host. And w^alks in this world of the weary, as if He loved it the most ; For here in the dusty confusion, with eyes that are heavy and dim, He meets again the labouring men who are looking and longing for Him. 24 He cancels the curse of Eden, and brings them a blessing instead: Blessed are they that labour, for Jesus partakes of their bread. He puts His hand to their burdens, He enters their homes at night : Who does his best shall have as a guest the Master of life and of light. And courage will come with His presence, and patience return at His touch, And manifold sins be forgiven to those who love Him much ; And the cries of envy and anger will change to the songs of cheer, For the toiling age will forget its rage when the Prince of Peace draws near. 25 This is the gospel of labour — ring it, ye bells of the kirk — The Lord of Love came down from above, to live with the men who work. This is the rose that He planted, here in the thorn-cursed soil — Heaven is blest with perfect rest, but the bless- ing of Earth is toil. 26 VERA AN IDYLL OF THE MYSTERY OF SOUND 27 VERA I A SILENT world, — yet full of vital joy- Uttered in movements manifold, and swift Clear smiles that flashed across the face of things Like sudden sunbeams of divine delight, — A world of many sorrows too, made known In fading flowers, and withering leaves, and dark Tear-laden clouds, and tearless, clinging mists That hung above the earth too sad to weep, — A world of fluent change, and changeless flow, And infinite suggestion of new thoughts, Reflected in the mirror of the heart With shifting colours and dissolving forms. From dark to light and back again to dark, — A world of many meanings but no words : A silent w^orld w^as Vera's home. For her The hidden doors of sound were shut and sealed. The outer portals, delicate as shells. Suffused with faintest rose of far-off morn. Like underglow of daybreak in the sea, — The ear-gates of the garden of her soul, 29 Shaded by drooping tendrils of brown hair, * Waited in vain for messengers to pass, And thread the inner paths with flying feet, And swiftly knock upon the inmost doors. And enter in, and speak the mystic w^ord To Vera, sitting there alone and listening. But through those gates no message ever came : Only with eyes did she behold and see, — "With eyes as crystal-clear and bright and brown As "waters of a woodland river, — eyes That questioned so they almost seemed to speak. And answered so they almost seemed to hear, — Only with silent eyes did she behold The inarticulate wonder of the world. She saw the great wind ranging freely down Interminable archways of the wood ; And tossing boughs and bending tree-tops hailed His coming : but no sea-tuned voice of pines, No roaring of the oaks, no silvery song Of poplars or of birches, followed him: He passed ; they waved their arms and clapped their hands ; But all was still. 30 The torrents from the hills Leaped down their rocky stairways, like wild steeds Breaking the yoke and shaking manes of foam. The lowland brooks coiled smoothly through the fields, And softly spread themselves in glistening lakes Whose ripples merrily danced among the reeds. The standing waves that never change their place In the swift rapids, curled upon themselves, And seemed about to break and never broke ; And all the wandering waves that fill the sea Came buffeting in along the stony shore, And plunging in along the level sands, And creeping in through creeks with swirling tides And eddies. Yet from all the ceaseless flow And tumult of the unresting element Came neither shout of joy nor sob of grief, For there were many waters, but no voice. Silent the actors all on Nature's stage Performed their parts before her watchful eyes, Coming and going, making war and love, 31 Working and playing, all without a sound. The oxen drew their load with swaying necks, The kine came sauntering home along the lane. The trooping sheep were driven from field to fold, In mute obedience. Down the unseen track The hounds, with panting sides and lolling tongues. Pursued their flying prey with noiseless haste. The birds, the most alive of living things, The quickest to respond to joy and fear, Found mates, and built their nests, and reared their young. And waged their mimic strifes, and flashed athwart Dark avenues of shade as sparks of light, And over sunlit field as spots of shade ; They swam the flood cf air like tiny ships Rising and falling o'er invisible v^aves, And, gathering in great navies, bore away To North or South, without a note of song. All these were Vera's playmates, and she loved To watch them, wondering oftentimes hov7 well They knew their parts, and how the drama moved 32 So swiftly, smoothly on from scene to scene Without confusion. But she sometimes dreamed There must oe something hidden in the play Unknown to her, an utterance of life More clear than action and more deep than looks. And this she felt most surely when she watched Ker human comrades and the throngs of men. They met and parted oft with moving lips That seemed to mean far more than she could see. No deed of anger or of tenderness Could bring such sudden changes to the face, Could work such magical effects in life, As those same dumbly-moving lips* She saw A lover bend above a maid beloved With moving lips, and, though he touched her not, Her cheeks bloomed roses and her eyes flashed light. She sav/ a hater stand before his foe And move his lips ; whereat the other shrank As if he had been smitten on the mouth. She saw great regiments of toiling men 33 Marshalled in ranks and led by moving lips. But once she saw a sight more strange than all : A crowd of people sitting charmed and still Around a little company of men Who touched their hands in measured, rhyth- mic time To curious instruments ; a woman stood Among them, with bright eyes and heaving breast, And lifted up her face and moved her lips. Then Vera wondered at the idle play, But w^hen she looked around, she saw the glow Of deep delight on every face, and tears Of tender joy in many eyes, as if Some visitor from a celestial world Had brought glad tidings. But to her alone No angel entered, for the choir of sound Was vacant in the temple of her soul. And none could pass the gates called Beautiful. So when, by vision baffled and perplexed. She sav/ that all the world could not be seen. And knev/ she could not know the whole of life Unless the hidden gates should be unsealed. She felt imprisoned. In her heart there grew 34 The bitter creeping plant of discontent, The plant that only grows in prison soil, Whose root is hunger and whose fruit is pain. The springs of still delight and tranquil joy- Were drained as dry as desert dust to feed That never-flowering vine, whose tendrils clung With strangling touch round every bloom of life And made it wither. Vera could not rest W^ithin the limits of her silent world ; Along its spoiled and desolate paths she roamed A captive, looking everywhere for rescue. In those long distant days, and in that land Remote, there lived a Master wonderful, W^ho knew the secret of all life, and could. With gentle touches and with potent words. Open all gates that ever had been sealed. And loose all weary prisoners that were bound. Obscure he dwelt, not in the wilderness, But in a hut among the throngs of men. Concealed by meekness and simplicity. And ever as he walked the city streets. Or sat in quietude beside the sea. Or trod the hillsides and the harvest fields, 35 The multitude passed by and knew him not. But there were some who knew, and turned to him For help ; and unto all who asked, he gave. Thus Vera came, and found him in the field, And knew him by the pity in his face. She knelt to him and held him by one hand, And laid the other hand upon her lips In mute entreaty. Then she lifted up The coils of hair that hung about her neck And bared the beauty of the gates of sound, — Those virgin gates through which no voice had passed, — She made them bare before the Master's sight, And looked into the kindness of his face ^A/'ith eyes that spoke of ail her prisoned pain, And told her great desire without a word. The Master waited long in silent thought, Like one reluctant to bestow a gift. Not for the sake of holding back the thing Entreated, but because he surely knew Of something better that he fain would give If only she would ask it. Then he stooped To Vera, smiling, touched her ears and spoke : 36 " Open, fair gates, and you, reluctant doors, W^ithin the ivory labyrinth of the ear, Let fall the bar of silence and unfold ! Enter, you voices of all living things, Enter the garden sealed, — but softly, slowly. Not with a noise confused and broken tumult, — Come in an order sweet as I command you. And bring the double gift of speech and hearing." Vera began to hear. And first the wind Breathed a low prelude of the birth of sound, As if an organ far away were touched By unseen fingers ; then the little stream That hurried down the hillside, swept the harp Of music into merry, tinkling notes : And then the lark that poised above her head On wings a-quiver, overflowed the air With showers of song. Thus, one by one, the tones Of all things living, in an order sweet. Without confusion and v/ith deepening power. Entered the garden sealed. And last of all The Master's voice, the human voice divine, Passed through the gates and called her by her name, And Vera heard. 37 II What rapture of new life Must come to one for whom a silent world Is suddenly made vocal, and whose heart By the same magic is awaked at once, Without the learner's toil and long delay, Out of a night of dumbly moving dreams, Into a day that overflows with music ! * This joy was Vera's ; and to her it seemed As if a new creative morn had risen Upon the earth, and after the full week When living things unfolded silently. And after the long, quiet Sabbath day When all was still, another week had dawned, And through the calm expectancy of heaven A secret voice had said, " Lfetall things spveak." The world responded with an instant joy ; And the untrodden avenues of sound Were thronged -with varying forms of viewless life. To every living thing a voice was given Distinct and personal. The forest trees Were not more diverse in their shades of green Than in their tones of speech ; and every bird 38 That nested in their branches had a song Unknown to other birds and all his own. The waters spoke a hundred dialects Of one great language ; now with pattering fall Of raindrops on the glistening leaves, and now With steady roar of rivers rushing down To meet the sea, and now with rhythmic throb And measured tumult of tempestuous waves. And now with lingering lisp of creeping tides, — The manifold discourse of many waters. But most of all the human voice was full Of infinite variety, and ranged Along the scale of life's experience With changing tones, and notes both sweet and sad. All fitted to express some unseen thought, Some vital motion of the hidden heart. So Vera listened w^ith her new-born sense, To all the messengers that passed the gates. In measureless delight and utter trust. Believing that they brought a true report From every living thing of its true life. And hoping that at last they would make clear The meaning and the mystery of the world. 39 But soon there came a trouble in her joy, A cloud of doubt across her sky of trust, A note discordant that dissolved the chord And broke the bliss of hearing into pain. Not from the harsher sounds and voices wild Of anger and of anguish, that reveal The secret strife in nature, and confess The touch of sorrow on the heart of life, — From these her trouble came not. For in these, However sad, she felt the note of truth. And truth, though sad, is always musical. The raging of the tempest-ridden sea. The crash of thunder, and the hollow moan Of winds complaining round the mountain- crags ; The shrill and quavering cry of birds of prey, The fiercer voice of conflict-loving beasts, — All these wild sounds are potent in their place Within life's mighty symphony ; the charm Of truth attunes them, and the hearing ear Finds pleasure in their rude sincerity. Even the broken and tumultuous noise That rises from great cities, where the heart Of human toil is beating heavily With ceaseless murmurs of the labouring pulse, 40 Is not a discord ; for it speaks to life Of life unfeigned, and full of hopes and fears, And touched through all the trouble of its notes "With something real and therefore glorious. Only one voice of all that sound on earth, — One voice alone is utterly discordant. And hateful to the soul, and full of pain, — The voice of falsehood. And when Vera heard This mocking voice, and knew that it was false ; When first she learned that human lips can speak The thing that is not, and betray the ear Of simple trust with treachery of words; The joy of hearing withered in her heart. For now she felt that faithless messengers Could pass the open and unguarded gates Of sound, and bring a message all untrue. Or half* a truth that makes the deadliest lie, Or idle babble, neither false nor true. But hollow to the heart, and meaningless. She heard the flattering voices of deceit, That mask the hidden purposes of men With fair attire of favourable words, And hide the evil in the guise of good. 41 The voices vain and decorous and smooth, That fill the world with empty-hearted talk And pass a worthless coin for gold, she heard. The foolish voices, wandering and confused, That cannot clearly speak the thing they would, But ramble blindly round their true intent And tangle sense in hopeless coils of sound, — All these she heard, and with a sad mistrust Began to doubt the value of her gift. It seemed as if the world, the living world. Sincere, and deep, and real, were still concealed, Shut out by secret gates not yet unclosed, And she, within the prison of her soul, Still waiting silently to hear the voice Of perfect knowledge and of perfect peace. So with the burden of her discontent She turned to seek the Master once again. And found him sitting in the market-place. Alone among the careless crowds of men. Half-hidden in the shadow of a porch And looking out with patient peaceful eyes On the confusions of the noisy throng, As one who sits beside a whirling stream And watches it serenely : for he knows 42 The meaning of the tide, and whence it comes, And where it flows. Then Vera spoke to him: "Thy gift was great, dear Master, and my heart Has thanked thee many times for that first touch That made the bar of silence fall, and let The voices of all living things pass through The gates of hearing to my prisoned soul. But I have learned that hearing is not all I need to make me understand the world. For underneath the speech of men, there flows Another current of their hidden thoughts. The messengers of sound have not revealed Life's secret to my heart ; for oftentimes They bring a false report, in treachery ; And oftentimes with vague and empty words They mock my longing to receive the truth. Behind the mask of language I perceive The eyes of things unuttered ; and I feel The throbbing of the real heart of the world Beneath the robe of words. Touch me again, Dear Master, with thy liberating hand. And free me from the bondage of deceit. 43 open another gate, and let me hear, Without confusion and with clearer sense, The hidden thoughts and purposes of men ; For only thus my heart shall be at rest. And only thus, at last, I shall perceive The meaning and the mystery of the world." The Master's face v/as turned av^^-ay from her; His eyes looked far away, as if he saw- Something beyond her sight; and yet she knew That he was listening ; for her pleading voice No sooner ceased than he put forth his hand To touch her brow, and very gently spoke, "With face averted, and with lingering words : *' Thou seekest for thyself a wondrous gift, — The opening of the second gate, — a gift That many wise men have desired in vain, — But some have found it, — whether well or ill For their own peace, they have attained the power To hear unspoken thoughts of other men. And thou hast begged this gift? Thou shalt receive, — Not knowing what thou seekest, — it is thine : The second gate is open ! Thou shalt hear 44 All that men feel within their hidden hearts : All thoughts that move behind the veil of words Thou shalt perceive as clear as if they spoke. The gift is granted, daughter, go thy way ! But if thou fmdest sorrow on this path, Come back again, — there is a path to peace.'* 45 Ill Beyond our power of vision, poets say, There is another world of forms unseen, Yet visible to purer eyes than ours. And if the crystal of our sight were clear, We should behold the mountain-slopes of cloud. The moving meadows of the untilled sea, The groves of twilight and the dales of dawn. And every wide and lonely field of air. More populous than cities, crowded close With living creatures of all shapes and hues. But if that sight were ours, the things that now Engage our eyes would seem but dull and dim Beside the splendours of our new-found world, And we should be amazed and overwhelmed Not knowing hov/ to use the plenitude Of vision. So in Vera's soul, at first. The opening of the second gate of sound Let in confusion like a dizzying flood. The tumult of a myriad-throated mob ; The trampling of an army through a place Where echoes hide ; the sudden, clanging flight Of an innumerable flock of birds Along the highway of the midnight sky ; 46 The many-whispered rustling of the reeds Beneath the footsteps of a thousand winds ; The long-drawn, inarticulate, wailing cry Of million-pebbled beaches when the scourge Of white-lashed waves is curled across their back, — All these seemed less bewildering than to hear What now she heard at once : the tangled sound Of all that moves within the minds of men. For now there was no measured flow of words To mark the time ; nor any key of speech, Though false, to bring a seeming harmony Into the sound ; nor any interval Of silence to repose the listening ear. But through the dead of night, and through the calm Of weary noon-tide, through the solemn hush That fills the temple in the pause of praise. And through the breathless awe in rooms of death. She heard the ceaseless motion and the stir Of never-silent hearts, that fill the world With interwoven thoughts of good and ill, With mingled music of delight and grief. 47 With songs of love, and bitter cries of hate, With hymns of faith, and dirges of despair. And murmurs deeper and more vague than all,— Thoughts that are born and die vs^ithout a name. Or rather, never die, but haunt the soul. With sad persistence, till a name is given. These Vera heard, at first with heart perplexed And half-benumbed by the disordered sound. But soon a clearer sense began to pierce The cloudy turmoil "with discerning power. She learned to know the tones of human thought As plainly as she knew the tones of speech. She could divide the evil from the good, Interpreting the language of the mind. And tracing every feeling like a thread Through all the mystic web that passion w^eaves From heart to heart around the living world. Then, — when at last the Master's second gift Was perfected v/ithin her, and she heard And understood the secret thoughts of men, — Then sadness fell upon her, and the weight 48 Of an intolerable knowledge pressed her down With weary wishes to know more, or less. For all she knew was like a broken word Inscribed upon the fragment of a ring ; And all she heard was like a troubled strain Preluding music that is never played. Then she remembered in her sad unrest, The Master's parting word, — *' a path to peace,'* — And turned again to seek him with her grief. She found him in a hollow of the hills Beside a little spring that issued forth From broken rocks and filled an emerald cup With never-failing water. There he sat, With waiting looks that welcomed her afar, And smiling lips that gently bade her speak. ** I know that thou hast heard, my child," he said, "For all the wonder of the w^orld of sound Is written in thy face. But hast thou heard, Among the many voices, one of peace ? And is thy heart that hears the secret thoughts, The hidden wishes and desires of men, Content with hearing ? Art thou satisfied ? " 49 "Nay, Master," she replied, "thou knowest well That I am not at rest, nor have I heard The voice of perfect peace. For all I hear Brings me disquiet and a troubled mind. The evil voices in the souls of men. Voices of rage and cruelty and fear Have not dismayed me ; for I have perceived The voices of the good, the kind, the true Are more in number and excel in strength. There is more love than hate, more hope than fear. In the mixed murmur of the human heart. But while I listen to the mighty sound. One thing torments me, and destroys my rest And presses me w^ith dull, unceasing pain. For out of all the minds of all mankind. And through all voices of unuttered thought, There rises evermore a questioning voice That asks the meaning of this widespread world And finds no answer, — asks, and asks again, ^A/'ith patient pleading or with wild complaint, But wakens no response, except the sound Of other questions, wandering to and fro, 50 From other souls in doubt. And this one voice Rises above all others that I hear, And binds them up together into one, Until the mingled murmur of the world Sounds through the secret places of my heart Like an eternal question, vainly asked, By every human soul that thinks and feels, And vainly echoed back, without reply. This is the heaviness that weighs me down, And this the pain that will not let me rest. Therefore, dear Master, shut the gates again, And let me live in silence as before I Or else, — and if there is indeed a gate Unopened yet, through which I might receive An answer in the voice of perfect peace — " She ceased ; and in her upward faltering tone The question echoed. Then the Master said: " There is another gate, not yet unclosed. For through the outer portals of the ear Only the outer voice of things may pass ; And through the middle doorv/ays of the mind Only the half-formed voice of human thoughts, 51 Uncertain and perplexed with endless doubt; But through the inmost gate the spirit hears The voice of that great Spirit who is Life. Beneath the tones of living things, He breathes A deeper tone than ever ear hath heard ; And underneath the troubled thoughts of men, He thinks forever, and His thought is peace. Behold, I touch thee once again, my child : The third and last of those three hidden gates That closed around thy soul and shut thee in, Falls open now, and thou shalt truly hear." Then Vera heard. The spiritual gate Was opened softly as a full-blown flower Unfolds its heart to welcome in the dawn, And on her listening face there shone a light Of still amazement and completed joy In the full gift of hearing. What she heard I cannot tell ; nor could she ever tell In words ; because all human words are vain ; There is no speech nor language to express The secret messages of God, that make Perpetual music in the hearing heart. Below the voice of waters, and above 52 The wandering voice of winds, and underneath The song of birds, and through all varying tones Of living things that fill the world with sound, God spoke to her, and all she heard was peace. So when the Master questioned, ''Dost thou hear?" She answered, " Yea, at last I hear." And then He asked her once again, " What hearest thou ? What means the voice of Life ? " She answered, " Love ! For love is life, and they who do not love Are not alive. But every soul that loves, Lives in the heart of God and hears Him speak." 53 ANOTHER CHANCE "a lyric FROM LIFE'S MONODRAMA 55 ANOTHER CHANCE r^OME, give me back my life again, you heavy- handed Death ! Uncrook your fingers from my throat, and let me draw my breath. You do me wrong to take me now — too soon for me to die — Ah, loose me from this clutching pain, and hear the reason why. I know I 've had my forty years, and wasted every one ; And yet, I tell you honestly, my life is not begun ; I 've walked the world like one asleep, a dreamer in a trance ; But now you 've gripped me wide awake — I want another chance. My dreams were always beautiful, my thoughts were high and fine ; No life was ever lived on earth to match those dreams of mine. And would you wreck them unfulfilled? What folly, nay, what crime ! You rob the world, you waste a soul — give me a little time. 57 You '11 hear me ? Yes, I 'm sure you will, my hope is not in vain : I feel the even pulse of peace, the sweet relief from pain ; The black fog rolls away from me ; I 'm free once more to plan : Another chance is all I need to prove myself a man. The world is full of warfare 'twixt the evil and the good ; I watched the battle from afar as one that understood The shouting and confusion, the bloody, blun- dering fight — How few there are that see it clear, how few that wage it right ! The captains flushed with foolish pride, the sol- diers pale with fear. The faltering flags, the feeble fire from ranks that swerve and veer, The wild mistakes, the dismal doubts, the cow- ard hearts that flee — The good cause needs a nobler knight to win the victory. 58 A man whose soul is pure and strong, whose sword is bright and keen, Who knows the splendour of the fight and what its issues mean ; Who never takes one step aside, nor halts, though hope be dim, But cleaves a pathway thro' the strife, and bids men follow^ him. No blot upon his stainless shield, no weakness in his arm ; No sign of trembling in his face to break his valor's charm : One man like this could stay the flight and lead the wavering line ; Ah, give me but a year of life — I '11 make that glory mine ! Religion ? Yes, I know it well ; I 've heard its prayers and creeds, And seen men put them all to shame with poor, half-hearted deeds. They follow Christ, but far away ; they wander and they doubt. I '11 serve him in a better way, and live his pre- cepts out. 59 You see, I 've waited just for this ; I could not be content To own a feeble, faltering faith with human weakness blent. Too many runners in the race move slowly, stumble, fall ; But I will run so straight and swift I shall out- strip them all. Oh, think what it will mean to men, amid their foolish strife. To see the clear, unshadowed light of one true Christian life. Without a touch of selfishness, without a taint of sin, — With one short month of such a life a new world would begin ! And love! — I often dream of that — the treasure of the earth ; How little they who use the coin have realized its worth ! *T will pay all debts, enrich all hearts, and make all joys secure. But love, to do its perfect work, must be sincere and pure. 60 My heart is full of virgin gold. I '11 pour it out and spend My hidden wealth, with lavish hand, on all who call me friend. Not one shall miss the kindly deed, the largess of relief, The generous fellowship of joy, the sympathy of grief. I '11 say the loyal, helpful things that make life sweet and fair, I '11 pay the gratitude I owe for human love and care. Perhaps I 've been at fault sometimes — I '11 ask to be forgiven. And make this very room of mine seem like a little heaven. For one by one I '11 call my friends to stand be- side my bed ; I '11 speak the true and tender words that I have left unsaid ; And every heart shall throb and glow, all cold- ness melt away Around my altar-fire of love — ah, give me but one day ! 6i What 's that ? I 've had another day, and wasted it again ? A priceless day, in empty dreams, — another chance in vain ? Thou fool — this night — it's very dark — the last — this choking breath — One prayer — have mercy on a dreamer's soul — God, this is death. 62 SEVEN SMALL SONGS IN DIFFERENT KEYS &3 THE ANGLER'S REVEILLE TXTHAT time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips of night, And all the drowsy little stars have fallen asleep in light ; 'T is then a wandering wind awakes, and runs from tree to tree, And borrows words from all the birds to sound the reveille. This is the carol the Robin throws Over the edge of the valley ; Listen how boldly it flows, Sally on sally : Tiira.-Urra, Do^n the ri'ver. Laughing o you hear ? All dear— Wake up ! 65 The phantom flood of dreams has ebbed and vanished with the dark, And like a dove the heart forsakes the prison of the ark ; Now forth she fares through friendly woods and diamond-fields of dew, While every voice cries out '* Rejoice ! " as if the world were new. This is the ballad the Bluebird sings, Unto his mate replying, Shaking the tune from his wings While he is flying : Surely^ surety, surety. Life is dear E