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ifHrfii. 1. Casitman Htmaan 
 
Pansy 
 Buds 
 
 By 
 MRS. L. EASTMAN KINCAID 
 
 To 
 EDITH 
 
 Copyright 1922 
 
 Published in 
 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 
 
 $1.00 
 
JUN -5 1922 
 C1A675833 
 
PRESENTATION. 
 
 To the many friends in all the yesterdays: To all the 
 friends in the unknown tomorrows: Today I GREET 
 you. 
 
 Iron is not as attractive as a diamond. The diamond in 
 the rough is not attractive except it be worked to a 
 finish. A gold nugget does not appeal to one as a thing 
 of beauty, except for its intrinsic value. These have not 
 the fragrance of the flowers. 
 
 So with friends. Each one has a place in the heart, 
 according to organic nativity. One sees them in retrospect. 
 One meets them in perspective. All in God's continuity 
 of the sweeping cycles. 
 
 Within the span of life, which means so much to each, 
 yet so minute as compared to the astronomical creation, 
 one finds the diamond friend, the gold, the iron, the rose, 
 the violet, and all hold a niche in remembrance. Even the 
 mistletoe friend, who saps life's sustenance from those who 
 shield and protect — has its place in the architecture of the 
 years. 
 
 In presenting this bookie, I enclose my love to you, 
 folded in little prayer leaves, that will open out to greet 
 you, as often as you think of me. 
 
MY PSALM. 
 
 God is my Father. I shall not need. He maketli me 
 to conform to His infinite laws, and leadeth me where it 
 is best that I should go. Tho the way seems dark and 
 wrong, He giveth me knowledge to see the wisdom of 
 His ways, as the years go by. 
 
 He filleth my soul with righteousness and faith; He 
 restoreth my hope. Tho sorrow and anguish flood my 
 soul, yet do I feel His presence. He covereth the black- 
 ness of despair with the glint of His glory. His love quiet- 
 eth the pain of sorrow. No evil shall overtake nie, for 
 He is my help, my strength, my all. Without Him I 
 could not be. 
 
 LEAVING. 
 
 Lillies in bloom, roses perfume, 
 Sweetly abundant this 8th of June, 
 
 Too soon you will be with tlie sod! 
 When I come back, you'll be gone. 
 When you come back. Til be gone, 
 
 Each thru the law of God. 
 
 Goodbye, my flowers! Good bye! 
 
 Dear old house! Dear old place! 
 
 So many sweet memories rest on your face. 
 
 These, too, by the law must die. 
 While the earth shall last, the land will abide. 
 The sweep of time the house will hide: 
 
 Thru decay and rust, 
 
 It will crumble to dust. 
 Good bye, old home! Good bye. 
 
ON MOUNT LOWE. 
 
 My soul's individuality merges into the universal whole, 
 as I stand in this sublime silence and limitless space, with 
 the planet-gemmed canopy of the heavens above and the 
 sound-crushed earth far below. 
 
 Lost in the sublimity of infinitude! Worlds beyond 
 worlds! Planets beyond planets! Suns uncountable! Our 
 beautiful Mount Lowe, not even a fraction of a dot as 
 compared. 
 
 This great silence bathes the soul in the boundless 
 space of the Most High. The wonder, the glory of the 
 eternal stillness, immerses my whole being. I am no 
 longer a person, but a part of this wonderful, limitless 
 universality. 
 
 ROY. 
 
 Alwaj^s — ever — everywhere, 
 
 Soft, blue eyes and sun-touched hair, 
 
 Are phantom like with me wherever I go. 
 
 Because I loved my baby so. 
 
 Beautiful hands reach out to mine. 
 
 Loving arms my neck entwine. 
 
 My thoughts will listen, with no will or choice, 
 
 To the tender cadence of a sweet lost voice. 
 
KEEP TENDER THE PAST. 
 
 I. 
 
 Keep tender the past, for its streets and its lanes, 
 Are strewn with fragments of sad and glad. 
 All we now have or hope for completement, 
 Is tinted and blended with those we have had. 
 The divine of us call.'; for these hallowed by-gones, 
 Sorrow touched, glory gleamed, joys and tears; 
 As lessons we've dropped, or mastered, or shirked. 
 Are substructure for in-coming years. 
 
 The travail of pain, thru the birth of our nation, 
 when freedom, triumphant a world's crisis met. 
 Keep tender their struggles, their hopes, their 
 bequeathment. These glory touched years. 
 We wish not to forget. 
 
 II. 
 
 Keep tender the past, the heart's clover meadow, 
 Where absent ones greet us as thoughts come and go. 
 As sunset leaves shade, but not a dark shadow. 
 So reminescently falls a soft afterglow. 
 Its storehouse, of wonderful, grey misty memories, 
 Holds stepping stones, gateways, beginnings, and more. 
 From the dear clinging arms of love-hearted mother 
 To the very threshold of today's open door. 
 
 The wonders of childhood, mid fogs of queries; 
 and youthood all glowing, built "Castles in Spain,'' 
 the fruits of the brain, born in hope and pain, to 
 be tumbled to ruins, j'et builded again and again. 
 Keep tender the toll bells, the joy bells for 
 memory bells, their melodies dimmed but to heart 
 music set. One loves as part of one's being, 
 many things. 
 
 We wish not to forget. 
 
III. 
 
 Keep tender the past in the present, 
 
 'Tis needful as sunset to morning; 
 
 Its fire still glows; its stories retold, 
 
 Inspires today for new dawning. 
 
 Today leads up to the summit, 
 
 Snow crowned and caressed by the sun. 
 
 Today is built of those yesterdays, 
 
 Thru which todaj^'s ideals are won. 
 
 The war-swept world, with its carnage and 
 crime, its pitiful victims, broken wrecks for life- 
 time; all shades of decreptitude, limbless, blind; — 
 yet, back thru the smoke-clouds we see heroes sub- 
 lime. These touch the soul, with both love and 
 regret. There are deified spots 
 We wish not to forget. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Today is all the time one has. 
 
 Whether for weal or sorrow. 
 
 Today still clings to yesterdfiy 
 
 While it smiles and beckons tomorrow. 
 
 The past is full of broken things. 
 
 As toys that would not last; 
 
 But we loved toys then, and we love IT now, 
 
 This kaleidoscopic old Past. 
 
 Today we are making yesterdays, with pictures 
 for memory's hall, to greet us again in other to- 
 days, where, with all, of joy or regret, there is 
 always so much. 
 
 We wish not to forget. 
 
A CHRISTMAS WISH IN THE ROCKIES. 
 
 I pine for a glimpse of the old sea shore, 
 To see the waves and hear the roar, 
 To, stretch and rest in the sun once more 
 On the sanded floor of the beach. 
 
 I pine for the pulsing life of the throng. 
 Who joy with the waves and their rhythmic song, 
 Where rest grows health as the waves roll along 
 On the sanded floor of the beach. 
 
 I long for poinsettias the Christmas bloom; 
 Sweet peas and roses with their perfume. 
 A stroll on the Pike with the ocean boom, 
 Near the sanded floor of the beach. 
 
 I wish! Oh, I wish! 
 A warm soft wind would blow, 
 Across this snow, and make it go, 
 
 Not very slow, into those warm, warm, regions below; 
 Then I would float on the fl.owing floe, 
 And fall like a frozen flake of snow. 
 Just where I most would want to go. 
 On the sanded floor of the beach. 
 
 TWO DEAR SPOTS IN KANSAS 
 
 The hallowed, sacred grassy mounds. 
 
 So dear for what they are: 
 They hold the precious dust of those 
 
 Who "crossed the Harbor Bar." 
 
 The old farm house at Sunnyside, 
 
 With glad friends all about; 
 Where cordial welcome waits within 
 
 And the "latch string" always out. 
 
 10 
 
JUST A COMMA 
 
 My heart feels lighter than it did an hour ago, 
 The world looks brighter in this golden sunset glow, 
 As I sit on the ground, in the twilight shade, 
 On the grassy carpet Dame Nature made. 
 Just the poising of the humming bird; 
 Just the chatter of the cricket heard; 
 Just the white clouds floating by 
 'Neath a sky of deepest blue; 
 Just the whippoorwill's far cry; 
 Just the evening wind's low sough 
 As they sweep the tree tops through. 
 Yet I'm rested: — -glad and still; 
 And my troubled spirits thrill 
 With the rapture of the living, 
 And my soul's triumphant filling 
 With the beauty and the melody of the holy — 
 "Peace! Be still!" 
 
 11 
 
CALIFORNIA AND KANSAS 
 
 I love the poinsettia and 
 
 The sunflower's golden glow. 
 
 I love the Kansas rolling plains, 
 
 And wonderful, Old Mt. Lowe. 
 
 Sometimes I feel I'd like to see 
 
 The lightning's vivid flash, 
 
 And to hear the thunder's distant roar, 
 
 Then burst with an awful crash. 
 
 Some times I have a longing 
 
 That nothing will appease. 
 
 To see the snow and glistening frost 
 
 Sparkling in the trees. 
 
 The blinding, whirling blizzard 
 
 And the freezing, sleet wind blow. 
 
 The vallej's leveled up to hills 
 
 With the sifting, drifting snow. 
 
 The rolling green prairies. 
 
 With the blue sky arching over; 
 
 Wild flowers and morning-glories, 
 
 The plovers in the clover. 
 
 The miles and miles of acres 
 
 Of ripening wheat and corn; 
 
 The whip-poor-will's call at sunset, 
 
 The prairie-chickens in the morn. 
 
 I love golden California, 
 
 With her fruits and flowers galore; 
 
 But — "My heart turns back to" — Kansas, 
 
 I want to go there once more. 
 
SEEMING 
 
 The earth seems ever just the same. 
 
 It seems that we the changes bring, 
 
 Forgetful of the noiseless swing 
 
 Of the beautiful earth on her orbit plane, 
 
 And the ceaseless whirl of time. 
 
 Like a rhythmical symphony of rhyme. 
 
 As one takes a backward look of the past, 
 
 The distance is spanned from first to last 
 
 With a web of facts, so beautifully spun, 
 
 That one is not finished ere another's begun. 
 
 And so the intricate web of years. 
 
 Is woven thru with hopes and fears, 
 
 With births and deaths, Vv'ith mirth and tears; 
 
 So mixed and intermixed with all, 
 
 The good, the bad, the sweet, the gall. 
 
 That one cannot separate tares from wheat. 
 
 Without uprooting some bygone sweet. 
 
 13 
 
EXTRACT FROM AN OLD LETTER— 
 
 Grandma Josie; Dear little Grandma! How deeply and 
 sincerely I congratulate you, with that beautiful crown ot 
 womanhood resting on you forever more. Grandma! 
 This is the sunset glory to the day of life. May thia 
 mellow, twilight gloaming, reach thru many, very many, 
 of the unknown coming years, ere the Father shall say, 
 "well done" — "Come up higher." 
 
 How rapidly the 3^ears have made "a-man-of-a-family" of 
 the little, blu.e-eyed "Willie boy," and a grandmother of 
 his mother. I wonder if Ross has forgotten me except 
 as a dear friend of his mother's. I wonder, because it is 
 so human for one to wish to be remembered; so natural to 
 like to be liked, love to be loved, hate to be hated or even 
 forgotten. Yet, how many have we forgotten! So otheis 
 forget us! I suppose, according to the law of recom- 
 pense, which is all the time working itself out, while one 
 is unconscious of the invisible mechanism, until some 
 psychical point touches one, then one is sad or hurt or dis- 
 appointed until some other unforseen sweep of old Time s 
 scythe makes one glad for something. 
 
 Night and day follow each other alternately; even so, the 
 light and dark of the soul. The dark of life, is studded 
 with the God stars of faith and hope and love; The 
 light is light because of the light of God's all-lightness. 
 When the dark, from earthly conditions and environments 
 is starless, it is despair. But back of it, is the infinite 
 silver lining of God's unchangeable eternal love, whether 
 one recognizes it or not. 
 
 Personally, Josie, I have tasted the darkness when ;+ 
 was so dense that it was impenetrable. Again — I have 
 seen the light so bright, that 1 could hardl}^ breathe, but 
 only worship silently, with prayerful adoration. It is not 
 all persons who swing to such heights of light, or down to 
 such depths of darkness. I find there are many who, all 
 
their lives, are "just-lctting-the-old-cat-die." I suppose 
 people are constituted according to the law of philosophy, 
 that a pendulum will swing as far one way as the other, 
 By the same law, it seems, to me just now, that the old 
 pendulum is like "Grandfather's clock," and has "stopped 
 short, never to go again," leaving me in the dark. But 
 grandfather Time is never dead, and it's only a question 
 of working and waiting, and I'll be on the hill tops again, 
 reaching for the stars. 
 
 Yet for so long I have been in the dark nearly all the 
 time, a kind of blue blackness, which throws out the bril- 
 liancy of the aforesaid stars witli a scintillating light as 
 changeful and vascillating as the focused rays of a kalei- 
 doscope. The completeness of all is in higher hands than 
 ours. Ours is only to do the best one can, with what is, 
 trust all the rest to Him, "who doeth all things well'.' That 
 is the God light back of the sheeted blackness, with tiny 
 holes cut thru, which makes a brilliant faith star. Some- 
 times a trust or faith star peeps thru as big as the moon, 
 and then the soft glints of glory that mellow life are like 
 dews on roses. 
 
 It seems to me that Old Father Time has slipped on his 
 "seven-league boots" and is just straddling over the weeks 
 with a speed that gives one no time to trim one's nails or 
 get the pebbles out of one's shoes, to say nothing of 
 letter writing and other like luxuries. But then he's a fine 
 old fellow, this old man Time. If he brings one into a 
 whirlpool of activities where one must struggle or go 
 under, there are struggles to the limit, and then Time 
 pulls one out again, and strides right along, with never a 
 v/ait, push, pull or hindrance. 
 
 IS 
 
HOMESICK THOUGHTS TO GO BACK EAST 
 
 I'm thinking of loved ones "Back East" tonight, 
 
 Their faces come one by one. 
 Thru the misty gloaming of the soft twilight, 
 
 They whisper — they smile — they are gone. 
 Heart throbs follow thru the old time days, 
 
 As thoughts guide the searchlight's glow; 
 And each old scene thru memory seen, 
 
 Melts away like springtime snow. 
 The heart leaps over the stretch of miles 
 
 As love leads the fancy on, 
 And I stand on the threshold with outstretched hands, 
 
 While they look — they smile — they are gone. 
 These phantom things on thoug'nts' swift wings 
 
 Bring food to one's hungry soul; 
 They soften the sadness and mellow the gladness 
 
 Like folk lore, told and retold. 
 They flit in their fleeting with fairylike greeting, 
 
 And the touch of a dreamland song, 
 'Til I see loved faces in bygone places, 
 
 Who whisper — who smile — who are gone. 
 
THOUGHTS OF ROY 
 
 Wait — resting sweetly, in God's loving embrace. 
 
 Loved ones come; loved ones go; 
 
 But love flows on forever. 
 
 Love glows bright; love burns low; 
 
 But love itself, dies never. 
 
 The cadence of a dear lost voice, 
 
 Is always near, from memory's choice. 
 
 Loving eyes look into mine; 
 
 Loving hands my hands entwine. 
 
 Good can't be lost, for God is good. 
 
 Love can't be lost, or it never could 
 
 Have come to earth 
 
 And given birth 
 To the limitless love divine. 
 
 My loss, his gain. 
 
 His peace, my pain. 
 For love is still sublime. 
 
 We can't recall 
 
 The funeral pall 
 But infinite love is over all. 
 
 And thru the gloom 
 
 Of the shadowy tomb 
 
 The Father walks. 
 
 In love He talks. 
 Love is eternal; heart's loves remain. 
 Through life supernal, loves meet again. 
 
 As soiled, tired children, 
 
 Come home at night. 
 Sleep sweet, in garments clean and white; 
 
 So — our weary loved ones, 
 
 At close of life's race. 
 Wait — resting sweetly, in God's loving embrace. 
 
 17 
 
FRAGMENTS 
 
 Love purifies and sanctifies 
 
 'Til God's love looks from love-lit eyes. 
 
 Love modifies and glorifies 
 
 'Til thoughts are links 'twixt earth and skies. 
 
 The only way to keep from wishing that things were 
 different from what they are not, is just to accept the in- 
 evitable and get busy with the evitable has-to-be, and DO. 
 No time-space for useless wishing. 
 
 Shake off the sad shadows of sadness, 
 And dream the day dreams most dear, 
 Glory and gloat in gay gladness, 
 Forgetting all false, faithless fear. 
 
 Literature and art, like music and character, are never 
 completed. 
 
 When virtue overcomes evil, it multiplies itself. When 
 evil overcomes virtue, the resultant effect, to other and 
 others, is washed to the shores of eternity. 
 
 A little evil on a virtuous life, is very pronounced; 
 Like smut on a clean, white dress. Some smut on a dark 
 dress, is quite unnoticed. Both can be washed and 
 cleansed and again be beautiful and pure. So, also, with 
 Hfe. 
 
 As the seed in the ground, is to the apple on the tree, 
 so are thoughts to human achievements. 
 
 As the acorn is to the tree, so is mankind to God: — in 
 embryo. 
 
 As a bucket of water dipped from the ocean, is to the 
 ocean, so is the finite to the infinite. Same qualitj^, lack- 
 ing quantity. 
 
 As roots are to the tree, so is God to all creation. As 
 the tree is to the branch, so is God to the Christ. As the 
 branch is to leaf and blossom and fruit, so is the Christ to 
 mankind. 
 
 1R 
 
CHASING AN IDEAL. 
 
 The blossoms of the brain aie ideals, 
 
 Nurtured and propagated "mid soft 
 
 Rains from the waters of life. They slip 
 
 Into the mind's realm, silent, and feed 
 
 The throbbing pulse of the real, as they 
 
 Live and thrive in the hot-bed of soul. 
 
 Tho years may roll, ideals change and grow 
 
 And glow, according to elemental 
 
 Soul conditions. Each makes one's own blooms. 
 
 The tints, bright or dark, to fruition. 
 
 As the longings and aspirations 
 
 Of the soul shall be. * * * * 
 
 What is the aim, thru labor and pain. 
 
 Of life's ambitious strain? Is it gain? 
 
 * * * Early and late, by plan 
 
 Or fate, the restless, surging mass of 
 
 Human love and hate, mingle and pass 
 
 One point and then another. Still it is 
 
 Unsatisfied, as it nears and grasps 
 
 The coveted, hard-earned, ideal prize. 
 
 With pulse athrob, — on the high crest which 
 
 Had loomed up mountains high, when the mind's 
 
 Eye first saw the beautiful vision, 
 
 Beyond the vales and deep, dark gulHes 
 
 Of fears, tears, sneers and hope-touched failures 
 
 Thru the years of unrecognized merit; 
 
 One now has all that one sought, and bought, 
 
 (For one remembers, from the start, brain 
 
 Or muscle or heart, paid some price for all.) 
 
 One stands, at last free from the bands of 
 
 The past, on this pinnacle of Fame. 
 
 Surrounded with attraction of the 
 
 Soul's satisfaction and harmonies 
 
 Atune with its passionate success. 
 
 One hugs its precious load, as one looks, 
 
 Down the winding road by which one came; 
 
 And with the exultant gladness, there's 
 
 Mingled a sweet sadness, as one sees 
 
 19 
 
Memorable points all thru the way; 
 
 Helping hands; loving hearts; the moist eye 
 
 With its last "good-bye"; Childish faces 
 
 In many places; While the aged 
 
 Face and silver hair were there to bless. 
 
 Then, too, effect of unseen powers 
 
 In weary hours of the march so slow, 
 
 So trying to the patience, in that 
 
 Start of long ago. * * * * 
 
 * * Having gained the alluring. 
 
 Long-sought object, is one satisfied? 
 
 Ambitions all gratified, with these 
 
 Tests? From further effort, rests? * * 
 
 No! Having looked back over the track 
 
 With a bird's eye view, one turns and looks 
 
 Forward again, thru the dim, distant 
 
 Blue, on and up, seeing point above 
 
 Point more in advance of the now gained 
 
 Prize than it of the primitive start. 
 
 That which seemed great in the distance then, 
 
 Now gained, seems small, compared to those which 
 
 Beckon on. (Divine will-o-the-wisp!) 
 
 By hope still led, how firm the tread, made 
 
 Strong by all thru which it has passed, slow 
 
 Or fast. One is now ready, anxious. 
 
 To start again, and go on — up to — 
 
 And thru all that lures and lies between 
 
 One and the Castled ideals in the 
 
 Dreamy, unknown distance. Still, always 
 
 Trying to do one's best, (at the soul's 
 
 Behest,) and trusting the rest to the 
 
 Infinite God, who will recompense as 
 
 The soul's work shall have been, in regard 
 
 To talents entrusted and given, 
 
 A birthright from God, which realized 
 
 Egoism with breath, and ends not with 
 
 Death, but, with the God-given spirit, 
 
 (After leaving earth's clod with the sod,) 
 
 Is swept on to eternity by 
 
 Eternity's God. 
 
CALIFORNIA. 
 
 California's face 
 
 Is an ideal place, 
 Where "home sweet home," rings true. 
 
 Where the sun at last, 
 
 Drops the day that is past 
 From a sky-dome of azure and blue. 
 
 The stars glint low 
 
 On the flowers below; 
 Out beauty all man made light. 
 
 The full moon rolls 
 
 In misty folds 
 And silver slash shadows of night. 
 
 The true hands of toil, 
 
 Who have worked in the soil. 
 
 Contentedly "rest on their oars." 
 One listens in peace 
 As night's stillness increase 
 
 Borne in from the ocean-washed shores. 
 
 'Tis a dear spot of land 
 
 Where one meets the glad hand, 
 Of friendship from friends who are true, 
 
 While the moon and the stars 
 
 Greet the sunset bars. 
 I want to live there. Don't you? 
 
 BY THE WAYSIDE. 
 
 One of the beauties of reminiscence, is to pick up 
 some little package laid on the mile posts thru the years. 
 
 The beautiful j'csteryears! Full of many things, 
 laughter and tears. Full to the brim, which we sipped 
 from the rim, hardly thinking of fears 'til our lips touched 
 the dregs of suffering sorrow; which filled the soul with 
 fears of tomorrow. Time leaves us with only a gossamer 
 veil of the has-been years, but faith-touched hopes, make 
 our present today, as full of bright hours as those flown 
 away. 
 
 21 
 
THE BRIDE. 
 
 (Listen to the Trust of her) 
 
 Ever my heart sings a sweet, low tune, 
 
 Like wind-blown leaves, by the zyphers of June; 
 
 A melody tender and sweet and low, 
 
 I love him so! I love him so! 
 
 Ever my heart, my soul, my brain, 
 Is filled with joy of a sweet refrain 
 That thrills me and follows, wherever I go 
 With touches of gladness: — I love him so! 
 
 I love my love! My love loves me! 
 
 And love is as deep as the deep blue sea, 
 
 And as wide as all width and as high as the sky. 
 
 And — I love him! Just love him! 
 
 'Cause I do, that's why. 
 
 THE GROOM. 
 
 (Listen to the man of him) 
 
 Mine! all mine! 
 From the soles of the busy feet 
 To the crown of silken hair. 
 Mine to have and to hold 
 And to love with protective care. 
 To friends she will give a love, 
 With fingers and lips for the time, 
 But the innermost sanctuary 
 Of her loving heart. 
 
 Is mine! All mine! 
 
 22 
 
FRAGMENTS— (Cont'd) 
 
 We can live without 
 Houses or horses or honey, 
 
 In any event: 
 But where is the one 
 Who can live without money, 
 
 Or its equivalent? 
 
 Do not cramp or dwarf your best thoughts or highest 
 ambitions. Plant them out in the open. An oak tree can 
 not grow and develop in a flowerpot. 
 
 Sometimes a failure, causes grief and disappointment, 
 which are travail pains to another line or object that leads 
 to a higher success. 
 
 Opportunities are born every day, and die waiting for a 
 greeting or nod of recognition, to develop into higher pos- 
 sibilities. 
 
 God docs not hold one accountable for failures, but for 
 motives. The world often gives praise, where He con- 
 demns. He often commends, while the world censures. 
 
 No one can look at light that produces shadows, and 
 see the shadows. Look at the God light in the soul and 
 the shadows are behind. 
 
 It takes more courage and bravery, to wait, to rightous- 
 ly submit to the waiting than to face great danger. 
 
 Happiness is dependent on the state of mind, and not 
 on the possessions of material things. 
 
 Uplift your thoughts, your ideas, your ideals. Purify 
 and magnify your aspirations and you elevate your per- 
 sonality. 
 
 23 
 
FROM OCEAN TO OCEAN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Into Ellis Island harbor 
 Whose portals forever swing wide, 
 Comes a flood of mixed races, 
 For new homes and new places, 
 'Mid strange scenes and strange faces, 
 Just over the sun-rise side 
 
 Of the welcoming U. S. Gate. 
 
 II- 
 
 Into Ellis Island harbor 
 Come childhood and youth and age; 
 Men and women, girls and boys, 
 Cats and dolls and dogs and toys. 
 With a tongue of Babylonian noise. 
 All shades of grief and expectant joys. 
 Foolish and wise, priest and sage 
 To the welcoming U. S. Gate. 
 
 III. 
 
 Drifting away from Ellis Island, 
 Where the great, broad lands invite 
 Each one and all, to hear the call 
 Of the trees as they fall, 
 To build the houses large or small, 
 To shelter them day and night 
 
 Out in the great Inter-Ocean. 
 
 IV. 
 
 This wonderful great Inter-Ocean! 
 Stretching from shore to shore, 
 
 While the gate still swings, with the "latch-string"out, 
 With a tumult of laughter and song and shout; 
 All things combine to invite still more 
 To pass on to this great Inter-Ocean. 
 
 24 
 
V. 
 
 All over this great Inter-Ocean, 
 The mountains and valleys and plains, 
 Are dotted with homes, 
 As if built by the gnomes. 
 
 And electric lights twinkle when iire-fties shone; 
 And millions of acres are fertile with grains, 
 All over this great Inter-Ocean. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Beautiful Golden Gate! 
 At the tnouth of the shimmering bay, 
 Where splendors roll in, at sunset even. 
 Like the tints of the seven-hued arch of heaven. 
 Inviting rest, with a blessing given 
 By the Father, as He closed the day 
 Out over the Golden Gate. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Beautiful Golden Gate! 
 Resting on restless waves; 
 
 With their countless lost ones within and without, 
 You kiss the waves that wash them about, 
 And whisper requiems that come and go 
 Down thru the grey fogs stooping low 
 Over their unknown graves. 
 
 Thou beautiful Golden Gate! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Beautiful Golden Gate! 
 America's good-night to the sun. 
 O, the sad! The mad, glad glory 
 Of the endless, boundless story! 
 Of the ever and the never 
 That is billowing on fotever 
 In one restless, ceaseless run 
 
 In the good-night. Golden Gate. 
 
 25 
 
A WAIL FROM THE OLD BADGER STATE. 
 
 O! for the nook of the ivy and rose, 
 Where all out-doors is not freezing or froze. 
 Thaw out this earth where snow banks are deep, 
 And give me the fragrance of flowers in my sleep. 
 I am so tired of iceicle fringe; 
 Tired of "thawing out" ever3^thing. 
 I am so weary of cold night and day; 
 Take me to Berkeley and "stow me away. 
 
 Turn on the rays of a torrid sun, 
 
 'Til I'm warmed and heated and "cooked-well-done," 
 
 For I am tired of frost bitten toes, 
 
 And hands and ears and cheeks and nose. 
 
 I am so tired of shaking in bed. 
 
 It's worse than the quakes that Berkeley has had. 
 
 I'd take all the earthquakes with thrills of delight 
 
 To sleep in the lap of Berkeley tonight. 
 
 I am so weary of leafless trees 
 
 And frozen bread and blizzard breeze. 
 
 Weary of seeing the wind blow the snow, 
 
 With mercury still lowering at 40 below. 
 
 I am so tired of hot bricks at night. 
 
 Even old "Sol" looks sickly and white. 
 
 So weary, I long back to Berkeley to creep, 
 
 And forgetting "Old Boreas" just warm off to sleep. 
 
 BE GLAD. 
 
 Be glad of your opportunities to love and be loved: To 
 live and help others to live. Be glad of the contact of 
 humanity, and use it as a means to broaden and develop 
 her attributes of the soul. Every movement has a mean- 
 ing of its own, spiritual, mental and physical. Be glac! 
 you have these powers within your own personality. Be 
 glad of the dissatisfaction, that urges you on to greater 
 endeavor. Be glad of the fear that makes you afraid to 
 do the wrong. Be glad of the appreciation which nature 
 craves and sends out, and cultivate it as flowers that de- 
 velop fruit, whether you gather the fruit or others. Be 
 glad to remember your friends, and forget that you have 
 enemies, thereby making an appeal for their friendship. Be 
 glad that the Christ is with you continually. Recognize 
 Him ,and be glad of His guidance. His loving forgiveness. 
 His infinite, elder brotherhood:— for, "Ye are heirs of God, 
 joint heirs with Jesus Christ." Live close to this divine 
 brotherhood, and Be Glad. 
 
 26 
 
I MISS YOU. 
 
 I miss you! yes, I miss you, 
 
 Since the hour you left me alone. 
 
 And tenderly thrilled, I kissed you 
 
 In response to your low pleading tone. 
 
 I feel 3'our kiss on my eyelids, 
 
 My lips, my forehead, mj^ cheek; 
 
 I feel your dear arms around me. 
 
 And it seems I can hear you speak 
 
 Those sweet, endearing wordings 
 
 That spring from the soul's overflow. 
 
 To bubble in rapturous heart beats 
 
 And caress me wherever I go. 
 
 I miss you! Yes, I miss you. 
 
 The only one of my choice. 
 
 I miss the echo of your steps 
 
 And the ring of your cheery voice. 
 
 I miss your face at the table 
 
 And your step upon the stair, 
 
 I miss you across in the greenwood. 
 
 Yes, I miss you everywhere. 
 
 I miss the' waiting — -the greeting — 
 
 The come and go thru the day; 
 
 The tender protective little things 
 
 That you scattered along my way. 
 
 A gassamer curtain of memories 
 
 Unworded by tongue or pen, 
 
 Divides exquisite realities 
 
 From the Now, to that beautiful Then. 
 
 27 
 
AUTUMN. 
 
 The gold is on the falling leaf, 
 
 The green, the red, the brown. 
 
 Caressed and kissed by the passing breeze. 
 
 They flutter and fall to the ground. 
 
 Content to live, to grow, to be. 
 
 Thru all the sunny summer. 
 
 They now relinquish growth and life, 
 
 And nestle down together 
 
 As they quietly slip to the waiting lap 
 
 Of dear old Mother Earth; 
 
 And the infinite power that gives them death 
 
 Is the same that gave them birth. 
 
 New life behind the dying leaf. 
 
 New pulsing force unseen: 
 
 The gold, the brown, drop to the ground 
 
 And aid in the new spring green. 
 
 CALIFORNIA. 
 
 How California's growing; 
 
 Like a mammoth mushroom. 
 
 On, no! not that! I take that back; 
 
 A mushroom dies too soon. 
 
 It's more like a nautilus chamber. 
 
 Each change surpassing the last. 
 
 Progressive California today. 
 
 Surpasses all feats of the past. 
 
 Beautiful California! Where ocean breezes blow; 
 
 Where plow-boy and cow-boy and cattle herds 
 
 Are replaced with the bungalow. 
 
 I want to live in this sea-kissed land, 
 
 Of flower scent, perfumed air; 
 
 With snow capped peaks and fruitful plains. 
 
 An Eden land, healthful and fair. 
 
 28 
 
LEAD THOU ME ON. 
 
 "Lead me to the rock that is higher than I." 
 
 From mother earth to the vaulted sky, 
 
 In some form ,some time, some way its own, 
 
 All nature responds in look or tone. 
 
 In all things created, above or beneath, 
 
 From the roots in the ground to the highest leaf, 
 
 Is the intuitive law to reach forth, reach high. 
 
 And be led "to the rock that is higher than I." 
 
 AIM! FIRE! 
 
 Aim at some object that's worthy and true. 
 Improve each hour as it comes to you. 
 Finish complete what you start to do. 
 
 Fire. 
 Fling all your soul at the target you've set 
 In faith of its worth, in love for its call. 
 Reach to the stars for the good j'ou may get. 
 Steadfast of purpose whatever befall. 
 
 HEART FRAGRANCE. 
 
 Thoughts of my darling come to me, 
 
 When the sunset radiance glints the Golden Gate, 
 
 And night spreads its blanket over the sea. 
 
 In the gloaming silence I love and wait. 
 
 Thru little whispers, sweet and low — 
 
 Of plighted pledges, tender and true; 
 
 And memory murmurs of sweet long ago. 
 
 Are wafted on zepher wings, thoughts of you. 
 
 29 
 
ACROSTIC. 
 
 Love and Kindness and their kindred kind, 
 Are the fal^rics in a Hfe worth living. 
 Under and over and through all rnind 
 Runs ever the Christly spirit divine, 
 As a river forever giving. 
 
 Kindness and love are threads of gold 
 In the warp of the web of life. 
 Night and day weave the threads alway, 
 Casting the shuttle for the woof, like play^ 
 Across the years untold. 
 
 In color and pattern, and beauty and blend. 
 Does the spirit of mind make its own, to the end. 
 
 — Author. 
 
 30 
 
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