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AUTHOR AT FIFTEEN. 
 
POEMS 
 
 SOMETHING FOR EVERYBODY 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT KROODSMA 
 
 HOPE COLLEGE 
 
 HOLLAND 
 
 MICH. 
 
 1913 
 

 COPYRIGHT, 1913, 
 
 by 
 
 ROBERT KROODSMA 
 
 ^.d..^ 
 
 A346827 
 
 ^-0 i 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 Life of the Author, by Rev. G. De Jonge 7 
 
 Introduction by the Author 9 
 
 A Fifteen Mile Walk after Midnight (An 
 
 Actual Experience, illustrated) 11 
 
 A Sunday at Home 18 
 
 A Letter to a Lady Friend 21 
 
 Reply to Her Answer 26 
 
 My Native Village 30 
 
 Mary's Magnificat, illustrated 36 
 
 The Vanity of Human Life 38 
 
 Lessons from the Sea : The Ship of Life 43 
 
 Semi-Serious Lines to John D. Rockefeller 45 
 
 Four Poems in Dutch : — 
 
 De Oude Woning, geillustreerd 46 
 
 Haar Aangezicht in den Spiegel, 
 
 geillustreerd 47 
 
 Twee Katjes in den Kansel : Eene 
 
 Ware Gebeurtenis, geillustreerd... 50 
 
 Eene Najaars Meditatie 53 
 
 Peter Loquacious and William the Silent 55 
 
 5 
 
Freaks of the Frost on a Window Pane 59 
 
 A Limerick: Poor Class Spirit 59 
 
 Sonnet : Sorrow, illustrated 60 
 
 Youth and Spring 61 
 
 Swe3thearts 67 
 
 Sonnet : A New Year's Meditation 68 
 
 Psalm 121 in Verse 69 
 
 The Ambitious Lump of Clay, illustrated 70 
 
 Sonnet : On the Resignation of President 
 
 Kollen, illustrated 73 
 
 Presenting a Bible to a Friend — 74 
 
 In Anticipation of the Cosmopolitan Banquet... 75 
 Original Translations from the Greek: — 
 
 Dactylic Hexameter Lines 
 
 From Homer's Iliad 76 
 
 The Same in Iambic Pentameter 78 
 
 Ode to Aphrodite 79 
 
 A Myth of Ostora, or Easter 80 
 
 September: When Everything's Just Right 81 
 
 My Christmas Gift 83 
 
 A Student's Greeting to President Vennema, 
 
 illustrated 84 
 
 W. G 85 
 
 The Snowflakes, illustrated 86 
 
A BRIEF SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR'S LIFE 
 
 By REV. G. DE JONGE 
 
 When the author requested me to prepare a 
 short sketch of his life for insertion in his book of 
 poems I readily consented to do so because, hav- 
 ing known him from childhood and having stood 
 for more than twenty years in relation to him as 
 his pastor, I felt a certain interest in his success 
 as a student, also a measure of satisfaction in the 
 fact that he was about to publish a small volume 
 of poems. 
 
 Robert Kroodsma was bom on the farm, at 
 Vriesland, Michigan, on December 3, 1890. He 
 comes of pioneer stock, his paternal grandfather 
 having settled on the farm where the writer was 
 born, in the early days of the Dutch colony in 
 Michigan. 
 
 As a boy he attended the public school in his 
 native hamlet, and distinguished himself for 
 studiousness throughout his schooldays. His par- 
 ents relate that at the age of eighteen months 
 he could already name each letter of the alphabet 
 when his grandmother showed him the blocks; 
 this is not saying much for one who at the age 
 of ten already wrote verses, and wrote poems 
 and sonnets while in his teens, and publishes a 
 volume of poems shortly after reaching his ma- 
 jority. 
 
 In 1905 he graduated from the public school 
 with high honors, having received an average of 
 92 per cent in the eighth grade examination. At 
 the early age of fifteen he joined the Vriesland 
 Reformed Church, which he has served as Sun- 
 dayschool teacher for nearly four years and as 
 one of the chief officers of the Christian Endeavor 
 Society for more than five years. After one year 
 on the farm he entered the Preparatory Depart- 
 
 7 
 
ment of Hope College, from which he graduated 
 in 1910, having throughout his course a high 
 standing in scholarship. In the fall of the same 
 year he entered the College to complete his liter- 
 ary training. 
 
 Not being afraid of hard work but rather 
 enjoying it, he chose the classical course, which 
 no doubt helped to develop the poetic taste in the 
 writer. In the volume now given to the public 
 will be found poems in Hollandish and in English, 
 poems of various character, inspired by various 
 circumstances and events. Some are in the light- 
 er vein, others are serious or even sad ; the great- 
 est majority are original, a few are translations 
 from the Greek, but all are chaste and all are 
 worth reading. 
 
 As intimated above, the first attempt of our 
 author was in his childhood days, a childish rhyme 
 of a boy of ten. This is lost, of course ; but sever- 
 al poems written in his seventeenth year are 
 found in this book and gave the first intimations 
 of the sleeping muse within. The first produc- 
 tion that ever appeared in print is the Dutch poem 
 about my kittens, which was published in DE 
 GRONDWET of April 20, 1909. Six of the 
 poems now collected in this volume have appear- 
 ed in THE ANCHOR. 
 
 The readers of this little book will perhaps 
 wonder with how many languages the author 
 is acquainted. Well, to tell the truth, he was 
 brought up in the Dutch, educated in the English, 
 trained in the Latin, cultured in the Greek, and 
 unless he is strongly urged to continue in his poet- 
 ical career he expects to learn the Hebrew and 
 hopes some day to speak the Arabic! Whatever 
 his future course may be, we doubt not that he 
 will be a credit to his friends. 
 
 8 
 
INTRODUCTION BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 Several motives have impelled the author to 
 undertake the publication of this volume: 
 
 1. Several of his friends, who had read or heard 
 some of the poems, asked him if he had not al- 
 ready composed a sufficient number to warrant 
 the publication of them for sale. Upon collecting 
 the various manuscripts, he was surprised to find 
 that with a few illustrations and a few introduc- 
 tory pages he could easily fill a book of a hundred 
 pages or more. Therefore, as a memento he of- 
 fers this little book to his friends at home and at 
 college. 
 
 2. Attending college involves a great expense of 
 money; whatever profits accrue to the author 
 from the sale of his verses will serve to help him 
 in his further studies. 
 
 3. For the last six years, from the fall of 1907 
 to the spring of 1913, he has been composing new 
 poems or revising his old ones. Many a weary 
 hour has been spent in complying with the re- 
 quests for occasional poems at times when the 
 author was not in the mood for poetical composi- 
 tion. He confesses that his poems are the result 
 of perspiration as much as of inspiration. Now, 
 if it was worth while for him to spend six years 
 in the composition of these verses, it ought to be 
 worth while for him to present them to the public. 
 
 4. With a few minor exceptions, he has arrang- 
 ed all the poems in the chronological order of 
 their composition. To those who are interested 
 in mind development this feature will present a 
 fine opportunity to study the changes produced 
 by study and practise. 
 
 5. A pardonable parental fondness for his own 
 
 9 
 
mental offspring has played no small part causing 
 the author to believe that other people will value 
 his rhymes as highly as he himself does. Neither 
 an author nor his most intimate friends can judge 
 his work impartially. Therefore the author pre- 
 sents his work to the neutral public and will let 
 them decide its merits. All readers of these 
 poems are invited to send their appreciation or 
 criticisms to the author, that he may ascertain 
 what kind of poetry is most pleasing to the general 
 public, and that he may thus be directed in his 
 course for the future. 
 
 He has made the title of the book purposely 
 ambiguous. To him SOMETHING FOR EVERY- 
 BODY means primarily that the book as a whole 
 is something which everybody ought to possess. 
 Secondarily, it means that, no matter how many 
 different kinds of people there may be, there is at 
 least something in this book for each individual 
 taste. Although the author cannot expect all the 
 poems to be liked by everybody, he hopes that 
 the book will contain many poems which will 
 please everybody. 
 
 The author desires to thank all those who 
 have helped him in making the publication of his 
 volume a safe enterprise. He is especially grate- 
 ful to Prof. J. B. Nykerk, head of the department 
 of English Literature at Hope College, for the cor- 
 rection and revision of many of the poems. 
 
 ROBERT KROODSMA, 
 R. F. D. No. 6. ZEELAND, MICH. 
 
 A copy of this book will be sent to you post- 
 paid for sixty cents in stamps sent to the author's 
 address. 
 
 10 
 
A FIFTEEN MILE WALK AFTER MIDNIGHT 
 
 AN ACTUAL EXPERIENCE 
 
 (In late October, 1907, the ''C" Class of Hope 
 College were entertained at the home of a class- 
 mate about three miles north of Holland. The 
 writer, who was boarding in the city at the time, 
 returned into the city too late. The landlord had 
 left his key in the lock of the door so that the 
 writer was unable to open it. Being of too timid 
 a nature to awaken the folks he resolved to walk 
 home.) 
 
 One Friday night two pairs of feet 
 Sauntered along on River Street. 
 We were conversing on the theme 
 That ''C" Class students soon would dream 
 Of all the things they'd heard and seen 
 While at the party they had been. 
 
 Bananas, pickles, cake, and bread 
 By some fair maiden daintily spread. 
 And coffee, ice-cream, milk, and dates 
 Had been enjoyed by all class-mates. 
 When all were filled, we stirred to leave, 
 Each put his arm around a sleeve. 
 
 11 
 
The homeward walk beat all the rest, 
 And of that walk each dreamt his best, 
 Except the one who wrote these lines 
 And did not dream of those great times. 
 The homeward walk I much enjoyed 
 Although it all the night employed. 
 
 For when goodnight to him I'd said 
 And he could straightway go to bed, 
 I had no place to sleep in town. 
 It was too cold to lay me down. 
 It was too late the car to take 
 For I was three half hours late. 
 
 One single choice was left for me, 
 
 And what I did you soon will see. 
 
 My home's about twelve miles from town, 
 
 And then three miles from Van Dyke's down 
 
 Makes fifteen miles in all, you see, 
 
 Before I could in Vriesland be. 
 
 'Twas half past twelve that autumn night 
 
 When I began my foolish flight. 
 
 The pale moon cast a peaceful light 
 
 On everything within my sigiit. 
 
 No people on the street were found. 
 
 My ears caught neither breath nor sound. 
 
 12 
 
The earth was tinged with silvery white, 
 Caused by the moon and planets' light 
 And by Jack Frost's destructive hand, 
 Who hurried fast through all the land, 
 And all alone, while others slept. 
 Performed his task, but quiet kept. 
 
 Although most tedious was that walk. 
 
 Yet only once my feet did balk. 
 
 At first they shrank from such a task, 
 
 And I myself did often ask 
 
 If 'twas worth while to undertake 
 
 What no one else would care to make. 
 
 So then, I hurried on until 
 
 I came to where a little rill 
 
 Was rippling underneath a bridge 
 
 And flowing close beside a hedge; 
 
 The bridge quite hid the little brook, 
 
 The hedges thick obscured my look. 
 
 The rippling sound came to my ear, 
 And sweeter sound I ne'er did hear; 
 I could not tell from whence it came. 
 But it was music all the same. 
 It was as if an unseen hand 
 Were ringing bells in fairyland. 
 
 Not bells on church or fire-barn. 
 Which cannot fascinate nor charm, 
 But like the bells in winter time. 
 That send forth their melodious chime 
 When all the earth is wrapped in snow. 
 When soft flakes fall and cold winds blow. 
 
 13 
 
As I stood listening with delight, 
 Could other sound my rapture blight? 
 Alas! I heard a distant train, 
 That broke the sweetness of the strain 
 Which came to me from that small stream 
 As if I heard it in a dream. 
 
 I hurried on from that sweet spot. 
 Though surely I would rather not. 
 The rumbling of that distant train 
 Impelled me on o'er walk and lane, 
 Inspired my repining frame, 
 And put this thought into my brain 
 
 That, like the train, I must advance, 
 And not depend on luck or chance 
 To bring me to my destined end. 
 For these will ne'er their service lend 
 To any vagrants, poor and lone. 
 Who in the moonlight idly roam. 
 
 It was not long before I heard 
 Another sound, which was the third; 
 'Twas far from a melodious sound. 
 It was the barking of a hound. 
 That does delight, when wide awake. 
 The stillness of the night to break. 
 
 I'm always filled with horrid fright 
 
 Whene'er I see such ugly sight 
 
 As when a dog runs up to me. 
 
 E'en though he straight again doth flee; 
 
 So, when I passed the farmer's house 
 
 I walked as quiet as a mouse. 
 
 14 
 
But all in vain: the ugly cur 
 Soon made a fearful, dreadful stir 
 And ran towards the roadside fence. 
 Twas then I used some common sense; 
 I picked a stone from off the ground, 
 Which I threw at the daring hound. 
 
 I journeyed on o'er hill and dale, 
 My pathway lit by moonlight pale. 
 No dreadful sound came to my ears, 
 No canine's bark aroused my fears, 
 For all was peaceful and at rest. 
 With none to hurt and to molest. 
 
 Now, once I stood upon a hill 
 Where long before had stood a mill; 
 Before me lay a valley wide. 
 One mile at least from side to side. 
 The scene was bright and picturesque. 
 Most like a fairy arabesque. 
 
 There in the valley flowed a stream. 
 Which like a silver cord did seem. 
 On yonder side were many farms, 
 On which I saw the homes and barns 
 Of farmers who possessed the land 
 That round me lay on every hand. 
 
 15 
 
When I approached what first did seem 
 
 A rivulet or little stream, 
 
 I then beheld a massive bridge 
 
 O'er which to cross from edge to edge. 
 
 The iron bridge served as a seat 
 
 On which to sit to rest my feet. 
 
 While I was sitting there alone, 
 Into the stream I threw a stone; 
 Into the air the water splashed 
 And in the moonlight brightly flashed; 
 The echo of the splashing sound 
 From all the hillsides did rebound. 
 
 As I did cast my eyes about 
 
 Sudden I heard a distant shout; 
 
 This roused my curiosity 
 
 And made me hurry on to see 
 
 What caused this shout so loud and shrill 
 
 That startled all the vale and hill. 
 
 Far in the distance I could see 
 What afterwards did prove to be 
 Three loads of beets upon their way 
 To the mill on Macatawa Bay. 
 I was surprised to see such sight, 
 But, then, it was no longer night. 
 
 1(^ 
 
My watch revealed the fact to me, 
 
 For both hands showed *twas half past three, 
 
 And at this season of the year 
 
 Such shouts at early dawn you hear, 
 
 For then the farmers with their loads 
 
 Are early found upon the roads. 
 
 The men who on the wagon sat 
 Would sometimes have a friendly chat; 
 But oftentimes they'd raise a shout, 
 Most like a country school let out. 
 Thus shouted they with all their might 
 And broke the stillness of the night. 
 
 Familiar scenes at length appeared. 
 And so my drooping limbs were cheered 
 To struggle onward, though they were 
 Exhausted and unfit to stir. 
 At last I reached my journey's end. 
 With but two hours in sleep to spend. 
 
 My father's doors are never locked. 
 
 And so my entrance was not blocked. 
 
 I tried to enter noiselessly, 
 
 The door I opened carefully; 
 
 Just as I closed the kitchen door. 
 
 The old clock struck: one, two, three, four. 
 
 November, 1907. 
 
 (In reciting this poem, the last stanza could 
 be made very effective by having a clock in the 
 room strike four just when the speaker is ready 
 to say: one, two, three, four.) 
 
 17 
 
A SUNDAY AT HOME 
 
 A RECOLLECTION OF EARLY YOUTH 
 
 I well recall one Sabbath day, 
 When I desired at home to stay; 
 I told my mother I was sick 
 Because my baby brother Dick 
 Had cried so loudly all the night 
 That I had not at all slept tight. 
 
 My parents let me stay at home, 
 And kindly told me not to roam 
 Outdoors, nor anything to touch. 
 But lay myself upon the couch. 
 I answered them with the reply 
 That with this all I would comply. 
 
 As soon as they were out of sight, 
 I did a thing that was not right: 
 I thought, **Now I've a chance to eat. 
 So just for once I'll have a treat." 
 The other folks to church had gone. 
 And they had left me all alone. 
 
 Some wood was kindled in the stove, 
 And soon the boiling water rose 
 In curls of vapor from the spout 
 From which the water was poured out 
 With which I made some chocolate 
 With which to swallow all I ate. 
 
 18 
 
The next thing that I tried to do > . 
 
 Was to prepare some dainties too^ 
 
 A custard pie stood on the shelf, ' 
 
 I dared not eat it all myself; 
 
 It was too good to leave untouched, 
 
 So cutting knife was quickly fetched. 
 
 The first piece cut was rather small, 
 Twas slowly eaten in the hall. 
 Where I could watch for anyone 
 Who unexpectedly might come. 
 For if one caught me at this trick. 
 He would not say that I was sick! 
 
 But so delicious did it taste 
 That I did to the pantry haste 
 To get another piece of pie; 
 E'en that did not yet satisfy 
 My big and hearty appetite: 
 Soon all the pie was out of sight. 
 
 The second course was lemon cake, 
 Which mother every week would bake; 
 And with it went the chocolate. 
 That greatly helped to masticate 
 And swallow all the mouthfuls great 
 That went down at a rapid rate. 
 
 At last I learned a lesson new, 
 
 Which heretofore I never knew. 
 
 That is, not by experience, 
 
 Or suffering from the consequence, — 
 
 I now discovered that I had 
 
 A stomach, which felt very bad. 
 
 19 
 
I then was placed in great distress, 
 The reason you can quickly guess; 
 What should I do when mother came 
 Returned from church, and asked the name 
 Of him who ate her lemon cake 
 And dared some chocolate to make? 
 
 But long before she had returned, 
 I felt that something in me churned. 
 Unpleasant, painful, and depressed. 
 The feeling caused me to take rest 
 Upon the couch from which I'd gone 
 When they had left me all alone. 
 
 I soon fell into slumber deep. 
 When they returned, I was asleep. 
 But surely I was sick indeed. 
 And sleep was something I did need. 
 I ne'er again thought of the theft 
 Until my sleep had fully left. 
 
 When I awoke, a great surprise 
 Awaited me in mother's eyes; 
 Instead of punishment deserved, 
 She gave me supper undeserved. 
 And treated me so kindly, that 
 I could no longer hide the fact. 
 
 I frankly told her what I'd done 
 While she unto the church had gone; 
 I asked her if she'd pardon me. 
 And promised her that I would be 
 A better boy from that time on, 
 A helpful and obedient son. 
 
 November 21, 1907. 
 20 
 
A LETTER TO A LADY FRIEND 
 
 Holland, Michigan, November 19, 1907. 
 
 Last Sunday eve someone was seen 
 Who dared not place himself between 
 Two of his fairer schoolday friends; 
 And now he tries to make amends 
 For having left them walk alone 
 And not gone with them to their home. 
 Who knows what handling they endured 
 From ruthless ruffians, who procured 
 Advantage o'er their helpless state 
 By running at a rapid rate. 
 And thus o'ertook their helpless prey, 
 And evil words to them did say? 
 They only know how much they longed 
 For someone who to church belonged. 
 Who would consent to take them home 
 And not allow others to come 
 To spoil their pleasant homeward walk 
 And sillily with them to talk. 
 
 The Sabbath service closed at nine; 
 The weather was so very fine 
 That someone thought he'd try to find 
 Some friend of his who would not mind 
 If he should see her home that night 
 And spend an evening of delight. 
 The old and young, the large and small 
 
 21 
 
Were standing in the church's hall; 
 
 Amid the crowd a girl did stand, 
 
 To whom someone would give his hand, 
 
 Accompany her on her way, 
 
 And gladly then would hear her say, 
 
 "Fm very much obliged to you 
 
 For having been a friend so true."- 
 
 But someone kept him from this act, 
 
 And he will not deny the fact 
 
 That he was kept from doing this 
 
 By someone else who made him miss 
 
 What he would call a happy time 
 
 If it were spent with hand in thine. 
 
 That someone surely did not mean 
 
 To be dividing line between 
 
 Whom I will call just you and me 
 
 If you'll allow me frank to be. 
 
 My name you easily can guess, 
 
 For I'm the one who soiled your dress 
 
 Long, long ago, one summer's day 
 
 When we did on the school-grounds play. 
 
 The person who kept you from me 
 Was our own friend. Miss L. C. D. 
 I could not go with both of you. 
 For what then would I have to do 
 When you and she should have to part? 
 
 22 
 
It certainly would grieve her heart 
 If she should see me take you home 
 And leave her on the road alone. 
 So now the reason you can see 
 Why I should somewhat doubtful be 
 As to the course that I should take 
 That not a heart be caused to break. 
 
 I very much regret the fact 
 That I have left a friendly act 
 Undone. I call myself a fool; 
 I've disobeyed the Golden Rule, 
 Which does command us that we should 
 Do unto others as we would 
 That they should do to us if we 
 Should in the same condition be. 
 If I had been a girl that night 
 I'd not have thought it more than right 
 To have some friend escort me home, 
 Who would not fear to walk alone 
 To his own home when it was time 
 To separate his hand from mine; 
 And yet Fve failed to do the same 
 For her, the mention of whose name 
 Sufficient is to cause my heart 
 
 23 
 
To throb the faster, and to start 
 The blood within my veins to rush, 
 So that it often makes me blush. 
 
 Forgive me if I utter aught 
 
 That seems a little over- wrought ; 
 
 I always mean just what I say, 
 
 And also now you surely may 
 
 Believe the statement I have made 
 
 About the love that does not fade. 
 
 Through love for you I wrote these lines ; 
 
 Through love for you there have been times 
 
 In which I put my books aside 
 
 And let my wandering thoughts abide 
 
 Upon a subject of the past: 
 
 When I had seen you for the last. 
 
 And now the reason why I write 
 
 These lines, in which you may delight. 
 
 Is to request of you that now 
 
 And all the time you will allow, — 
 
 Whenever opportunity 
 
 Arises for me there to be, — 
 
 That I shall see you home each night 
 
 And be the escort at your right, 
 
 That is, whenever I am there. 
 
 And when Fm not, you'll be so fair 
 
 As to remind yourself of me; 
 
 For if I could, Fd surely be 
 
 24 
 
Where I would be of aid to you, 
 And be your loving friend and true. 
 
 These lines will fill you with surprise, 
 For ne'er before did courage rise 
 In me sufficient to begin 
 What long in my warm heart has been; 
 Your sister Irene and her beau 
 Encouraged me my nerve to show; 
 It does not matter how 'tis done, 
 And I have done it half in fun 
 By sending this to your address. 
 
 I don't intend that you should guess 
 
 The number of my house and street. 
 
 So if you wish, me you may meet 
 
 On Thirty-Six East Nineteenth Street, 
 
 Where seldom I have such a treat; 
 
 The city also has a name, 
 
 And it is very much the same 
 
 As that of our small country town. 
 
 Where many men have settled down 
 
 From morning until night to toil 
 
 To till the hard and clayey soil, — 
 
 The one is Vries , the other. Hoi 
 
 Where I find life extremely dull. — 
 Or, if you wish letters to send. 
 Then do so to your truest friend. 
 
 25 
 
HER ANSWER 
 
 Vriesland, Michigan, December 3, 1907. 
 Kind Friend, 
 
 By this I kindly let you know that I re- 
 ceived your letter, and was very much surprised 
 with its contents. I am sorry for your sake that 
 I cannot answer your letter favorably, but by this 
 let you know that, at present, I have no more af- 
 fection for you than for any of my other friends, 
 but will treat you as any of them. 
 
 REPLY TO HER ANSWER 
 
 Holland, Michigan, December 4, 1907. 
 Don't read this if you've had enough 
 Of all the truly worthless stuff 
 Which lately has been sent to you. 
 And that from someone knowing too 
 That you could never answer it 
 With a reply which just would fit 
 The odd request that it contained; — 
 
 26 
 
For this I must be justly blamed. 
 
 Do not feel sorry for my sake: 
 
 I have deserved such news to take. 
 
 Fm not surprised to hear such news, 
 
 Nor does it make me have the blues; 
 
 It does cause me to feel ashamed 
 
 For having sent that letter, framed 
 
 Without first sitting down to think 
 
 That it might break a tender link 
 
 In that frail chain of friendship, which, 
 
 If given but a gentle twitch, 
 
 May break, and thus forever end 
 
 The friendship 'twixt a friend and friend. 
 
 I must confess my recklessness. 
 
 In having sent, in thoughtlessness, 
 
 That letter with its contents great. 
 
 Tve been in doubt about its fate 
 
 E'er since it left my trembling hands 
 
 With its strange contents and demands. 
 
 Two weeks have passed since it was sent, 
 
 And in this time embarrassment 
 
 Has filled my mind, and I have been 
 
 Unable wholly to begin 
 
 To think that it had been received. 
 
 And thus from worry be relieved. 
 
 27 
 
The Sundays and Thanksgiving Day 
 
 Which in these weeks have passed away 
 
 Did not reveal the mystery 
 
 Of where that letter finally 
 
 Did land. That it did truly land 
 
 Where it was sent, and reached the hand 
 
 Of her who was to answer it 
 
 I ne'er believed the slightest bit ; 
 
 For judging from your conduct straight, 
 
 You never read that letter great. 
 
 But now I know from what you've sent 
 
 That you to my request have lent 
 
 Not a deaf ear, but careful thought, 
 
 And due consideration brought 
 
 You finally to answer so 
 
 That I may now forever know 
 
 Your disposition toward myself, 
 
 And how you will conduct yourself 
 
 Whenever we together meet. 
 
 I don't deserve that you should treat 
 
 Me as one of your many friends : — 
 
 No true affection ever tends 
 
 To write a letter of the kind 
 
 That I did send to you; — but mind, 
 
 It was not meant as seriously 
 
 As it at first might seem to be ; 
 
 I will admit that some parts were 
 
 28 
 
Much overdrawn, and did incur 
 
 A great displeasure on your part, 
 
 And palpitation of your heart ! 
 
 Oh! could I but forget it all! 
 
 No more Vd feel the bitter gall 
 
 Which now does fill my troubled mind; 
 
 Oh ! if I could but leave behind 
 
 All recollections of these days, 
 
 And lead my thoughts in better ways, — 
 
 How happy, happy would I be! 
 
 My burdened mind would then be free 
 
 From brooding o'er my past mistakes. 
 
 Which me now melancholy makes. 
 
 Affection is too strange for me, 
 
 So now I thing I'll let it be. 
 
 And it will work its wondrous way 
 
 Just as it wills; — and haste the day 
 
 When everything shall straightened be 
 
 Between your very self and me. 
 
 No more I wish to be deceived 
 
 By that which was by me believed 
 
 To be affection true and pure. 
 
 For which I now do seek a cure. — 
 
 I'll leave you now to meditate 
 
 If I won't be a poet great; 
 
 To you I'll be just as before: 
 
 A warm admirer to the core. 
 
 29 
 
MY NATIVE VILLAGE 
 
 Dear Vriesland! lovelier thou art 
 And nearer also to my heart, 
 Than any other town on earth: 
 Within thy borders was my birth. 
 Let vagabonds remain averse, 
 And e'en their native village curse; 
 But he who loves the dear old home, 
 Which he has left, the world to roam. 
 His thoughts will linger on the spot, 
 Though he has left, forgets it not. 
 All honest men this will confirm, 
 Who, during a sufficient term 
 Of separation, have found out, 
 Without a question or a doubt, 
 That nowhere on the universe. 
 However much a bulging purse 
 May furnish means for empty mirth, 
 A place there is like place of birth ; 
 The best place for a girl or boy. 
 To fill the heart with peace and joy. 
 
 Vriesland, though a little town, 
 Scarcely worthy of renown, 
 Does deserve to be endeared 
 By the children who were reared 
 
 30 
 
In its homes and church and school; 
 He may well be called a fool, 
 Who was born in this sweet spot, 
 But who does respect it not. 
 He will some day feel regret, 
 When his life, with toil beset. 
 Makes him recollect the days 
 Of his frolics and his plays. 
 All her sons, devout and true, 
 Who from youth to manhood grew, 
 Will remember her as long. 
 With remembrance true and strong. 
 As their life to them is lent. 
 And their service for her spent. 
 
 Fertile farms like those of thine 
 Richer are than many a mine. 
 Agriculture flourishes 
 Where the rich earth furnishes 
 Sustenance for any crop. 
 Otherwise its growth will stop. 
 Farmers who have tilled thy soil. 
 And who have with patient toil 
 Given trial to thy worth. 
 Proved the richness of thy earth. 
 Many seeds in thee are sown. 
 Many crops in thee are grown. 
 
 31 
 
From the flour of thy wheat 
 
 And the sugar of thy beet, 
 
 Many people have made bread, 
 
 Thus through thee they have been fed. 
 
 Corn, which grows upon thy fields, 
 
 To the people corn meal yields, 
 
 While it gives to swine their fat ; 
 
 On it live the mouse and rat. 
 
 Horses crave to eat thy oats. 
 
 While the cattle and the goats 
 
 Thrive upon thy clover hay 
 
 Made upon a summer's day. 
 
 Poultry of the purest stock, 
 
 Laying hen and crowing cock. 
 
 Are the scavengers that eat 
 
 All the rubbish from thy street; 
 
 Through the scratching with their legs 
 
 They obtain their food for eggs. 
 
 Turkeys, prone to leave the barns, 
 
 Gobble over all thy farms. 
 
 While they live their life away. 
 
 Doomed to die Thanksgiving Day. 
 
 Who could wish for better land 
 
 On this side of heaven's strand ? 
 
 Only those who have not dwelt 
 
 On thy farms, and have not felt 
 
 32 
 
Influences of the kind 
 
 That uplift the soul and mind. 
 
 Cities, with temptations strong, 
 
 Lead the youth into the wrong, 
 
 Make a drunkard of a boy, 
 
 Rob him of domestic joy. 
 
 Theaters, saloons, and all 
 
 Are the cause of many a fall 
 
 Of a life which otherwise 
 
 Might have been, in others' eyes, 
 
 Spent more nobly than it was, 
 
 Given to a better cause. 
 
 But temptations of this kind 
 
 You in Vriesland do not find. 
 
 Parents send their children small, 
 
 Not a few, but send them all, 
 
 To the school, where they are taught 
 
 In the books that they have bought. 
 
 After some few years have passed, 
 
 Then they finally are classed 
 
 In the room where soon they learn 
 
 How the lily and the fern 
 
 And the other flowers grow. 
 
 Why the chilly winds do blow, 
 
 Where the greatest nations are, 
 
 How the products from afar 
 
 33 
 
Carried are to our own land 
 
 From a distant foreign strand; 
 
 Many other things they learn, 
 
 But from which we needs must turn. 
 
 Here they form their friendships new, 
 
 Sometimes false, but mostly true. 
 
 Recollections of these days 
 
 In us truer friendship lays 
 
 For the friends with whom we played 
 
 And with whom we also laid 
 
 The foundation of what we 
 
 In the future hope to be. 
 
 When the parents need help from their 
 
 children full-grown, 
 They will take them from school and will 
 
 keep them at home; 
 They deprive them of knowledge 
 
 invaluable found 
 In the journey of life and the whole 
 
 world around. 
 There is nothing so useful in all 
 
 the wide world 
 As a knowledge of all the deep 
 
 mysteries unfurled. 
 There is no one who ever regretted 
 
 the fact 
 
 34 
 
That he seized the advantage to gain 
 
 what he lacked, 
 Tis a good education that gives 
 
 us a place 
 In the row of competitors running 
 
 the race, 
 And the one who outruns all the 
 
 others will have 
 Adoration and honor and all he 
 
 may crave. 
 Yet, the children who live in the 
 
 country so free 
 And who never have known 
 
 education to be 
 The most precious of gifts that 
 
 we ever receive, 
 Are enjoying a blessing which none 
 
 can conceive 
 Who have never experienced aught 
 
 of the kind 
 That the country child has in his heart 
 
 and his mind: 
 No anxiety, worry, or cares can 
 
 annoy 
 The most lighthearted soul of the 
 
 country-bred boy. 
 
 December, 1907. 
 35 
 
MARY'S MAGNIFICAT 
 
 Luke 1:46—55. 
 
 My soul doth magnify the Lord, 
 Who sent his Son, the Truth, the Word 
 Upon this world, that I might be 
 From sin and death forever free. 
 
 My spirit hath rejoiced in God, 
 Who sent upon this earthly sod 
 The Christ and Savior of the world, 
 And earthly kingdoms down hath hurled. 
 
 He hath regarded mine estate, 
 And made my name forever great; 
 His handmaid hath He richly blessed, 
 Exalted her above the rest. 
 
 Almighty God hath done to me 
 Great things in love and grace so free; 
 May blessed be his holy name, 
 Which now and ever is the same. 
 
 God's mercy is on them that fear 
 Him, and that his commands will hear; 
 He visits the iniquity 
 Of those who will unrighteous be. 
 
 36 
 
He hath shown strength with his strong arm, 
 With which He keeps me from all harm; 
 In their imaginations great 
 The proud are scattered to their fate. 
 
 The mighty men He hath put down, 
 From monarch's throne and princely crown; 
 But raised them of humility, 
 Exalted them of low degree. 
 
 The hungry, who obey his will, 
 He gladly with good things doth fill; 
 The rich are empty sent away. 
 Because to Him they will not pray. 
 
 God helped his servant Israel; 
 Although he into bondage fell. 
 Yet God in mercy sent his Son, 
 And also this for us hath done. 
 
 God's promises to Abraham 
 Have been fulfilled in Christ the Lamb, 
 Whom He hath given to the seed 
 Of Abraham, whom He did lead. 
 
 December 19, 1907. 
 
 37 
 
THE VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE 
 
 What good does living do to us? 
 What is the purpose of the fuss 
 That people make upon this earth, 
 Beginning from their time of birth? 
 
 The mother, when her child is born, 
 In travail is, and is forlorn 
 Of all the joy and happiness 
 Which afterwards she may possess. 
 
 Few children, in comparison 
 To those who have their hfe begun, 
 Attain the age when they can walk 
 And with the older children talk. 
 
 How many sink into their grave. 
 And leave their parents nothing save 
 Bereavement of a treasure dear. 
 Great sorrow, and for death a fear. 
 
 How few, who do outlive the rest, 
 E'er realize that they are blessed 
 Above their fellowmen who are 
 Advanced in years and have by far 
 Exceeded them in length of life 
 And have commenced the lifelong strife. 
 
 The suckling at its mother's breast 
 Is seldom fully at its best; 
 It cries, e'en though it lacks no thing 
 That loving hands can give or bring. 
 
 38 
 
The baby has its joys and woes, 
 Which to express it cries or crows. 
 
 It is its mother's great delight 
 As long as everything goes right; 
 More often, though, it cries than crows, 
 And only loving mother knows 
 What it has cost in cares and sighs 
 To quiet baby's frequent cries. 
 
 The days of babyhood soon pass, 
 The babe grows into lad or lass ; 
 But with its growth augment its cares, 
 And far less happily it fares. 
 
 The lad of five is sent to school, 
 He's subject now to law and rule; 
 No more he's free to roam the fields. 
 To study nature, but he yields 
 To rules of strictest discipline; 
 His greatest troubles then begin. 
 
 To parents dear he oft complains, 
 Whene'er he punishment obtains 
 For having done what seemed to him 
 A very small and trifling sin. 
 
 To pore on books from day to day 
 Is but to wear his life away; 
 He longs for better days to come, 
 When he can help the folks at home. 
 
 39 
 
The thought ne'er enters in his mind 
 That when he leaves the school behind 
 He loses knowledge priceless found 
 In after-life, the whole world round. 
 
 E'er many years are passed, he'll try 
 In vain recall the days gone by; 
 If possible, he would live o'er 
 The days he's lost forevermore. 
 
 But time that was, no more will be. 
 
 Gone the lost opportunity. 
 
 Time rolls his ceaseless course; — the boy. 
 
 Still destitute of a real joy. 
 
 Has changed into a fullgrown man, 
 
 Who struggles on as best he can. 
 
 He now begins to realize 
 That this is but a world of sighs; 
 If poor, he sighs for opulence. 
 Ne'er thinking of the consequence 
 Which the enjoyment mars of wealth: 
 He oft forgets that life and health 
 Are far more worthy to be sought 
 Than all the things that can be bought 
 With money from the rich man's purse; 
 That riches oft are but a curse. 
 
 And happy he who is aware 
 That rich men bear a load of care, 
 
 40 
 
That poverty is not disgrace 
 But makes us competent to face 
 All the vicissitudes which fate 
 May choose to lay down at our gate. 
 
 The man who's reached maturity 
 Will also oft confronted be 
 By questions on which will depend 
 The future course and final end 
 Of his whole life upon this earth, 
 No matter if of grief or mirth. 
 
 He now must choose between two things 
 A married life, which worries brings, 
 A single life of selfishness 
 And more devoid of happiness. 
 
 In both of these there's vanity, 
 But pity those who fail to see 
 That benedicts lead nobler lives 
 Than he who ever singly strives 
 To lead a life of happiness 
 But finds a life of loneliness. 
 
 We'll leave the bachelor to his fate, 
 And follow him who chose a mate 
 To be his helpmeet here on earth, 
 With whom to live upon his hearth. 
 
 The first years of their married state 
 May happy be; but soon or late 
 
 41 
 
They'll learn the truth that all their toil 
 Which they perform on earthly soil 
 Will not afford them the real joy, 
 That once they had when girl or boy. 
 
 Their children are the only source 
 That lends some gladness to the course 
 Which otherwise would joyless be. 
 But e'en the children are not free 
 From bringing grief to parents' heart: 
 Their waywardness brings deepfelt smart 
 Into the minds of those, whose care 
 Did oft protect them from a snare 
 That Satan laid upon their path. 
 
 And often, too, the hand of death 
 Takes dear ones from the household flock, 
 And both the grief and longfelt shock 
 That come upon the parents' love, 
 Cannot be healed but from above. 
 
 They now must feel that life is vain. 
 That loss is all their earthly gain. 
 That he who dies in early life 
 Is freed from all this world of strife; 
 That he who lives to an old age 
 May gain the knowledge of a sage. 
 But with his learning he must know 
 That all is vanity below. 
 
 January 30, 1908. 
 
 (Voted into the Archives o f the Meliphone Society) 
 
 42 
 
LESSONS FROM THE SEA 
 The Ship of Life 
 
 This world is like the ocean: 
 O'er it we all must sail ; 
 Each of a ship is pilot, 
 His life, so weak and frail. 
 
 When quiet is the ocean, 
 When wind and wave are still, 
 The pilot steers his vessel 
 Wherever he may will. 
 
 So in this wide world also 
 We too can lead a life 
 Of perfect ease and happiness 
 If it is free from strife. 
 
 But in the heaving billows, 
 When high the surges roll. 
 The ship oft falls a victim 
 To treacherous rock and shoal. 
 
 So too our lives may suffer 
 From sickness, grief, and pain; 
 And oft life's ship must founder, 
 Never to sail again. 
 
 43 
 
The ships, with cargoes laden, 
 Sail toward a distant shore, 
 And enter there a haven. 
 Where storms can harm no more. 
 
 We too a soul must carry, 
 Until the end drav/s nigh; 
 Then souls, from bodies parted. 
 Are wafted up on high. 
 
 The lighthouse by the harbor 
 Sends out its cheerful rays 
 To guide the storm-tossed vessel 
 Through heavy fog and haze. 
 
 Christ is the Light that guides us 
 Through every storm of life, 
 Till Death at last o'ertakes us 
 And ends the lifelong strife. 
 
 For every faithful Christian, 
 Who stripes for Jesus bore. 
 Death is the soul's safe landing 
 On Heaven's tranquil shore. 
 
 August, 1908. 
 
 44 
 
SEMI-SERIOUS LINES TO JOHN D. 
 ROCKEFELLER 
 
 (In supporting the negative side of the debate 
 on the subject, "Resolved, that Mr. Rockefeller 
 would do better in sharing his profits with his 
 employes than in donating them for benevolent 
 purposes," the writer concluded with the follow- 
 ing lines.) 
 
 O guardian of a countless treasure. 
 Which thou canst spend at thine own pleasure, 
 How thankful all the world should be 
 That thou dost give so generously! 
 
 Thy gifts are not meant for a chosen few, 
 Who work under thy command, 
 But thy wealth goes forth, yea, even to those 
 Who live in a foreign land. 
 
 Thy wealth is not squandered in worldly pursuits. 
 But worthier motives thy actions attend; 
 Thou givest it not with a vain intent, 
 But for a beneficent end. 
 
 A cumbersome burden has fallen on thee, 
 Which thou dost so manfully bear; 
 A fortitude such as in thee we see, 
 In all the wide world is extremely rare. 
 
 How fain would we in thy burden share. 
 And help to lighten thy load of care; 
 But in vain is our wish thy burden to bear: 
 We cannot promote e'en the growth of thy hair ! 
 
 October 16, 1908. 
 45 
 
DE OUDE WONING 
 
 Hoe ver ik ook verwijderd zij, 
 
 Mijns vaders woning is nabij ; 
 
 In mijn geheugen zie ik haar, 
 
 In mijn' gedachten woon ik daar. 
 
 Er is geen huis daaraan gelijk, 
 
 Hoe groot het zij, of schoon het blijk. 
 
 Mijn vader heeft er in gewoond, 
 
 Hetzelve trouw en eer getoond; 
 
 Zijn vader heeft het eerst gebouwd, 
 
 't Is nu wel veertig jaren oud. 
 
 Hoe oud het zij, of ouderwetsch, 
 
 Het is dan toch geen bloot geklets 
 
 Indien ik zeg dat overal 
 
 Waar ik mag wandelen door 't heelal, 
 
 Ik nooit zal vinden zulk een huis, 
 
 Hoe vol het zij van rot en muis, 
 
 Dat mij zoo dierbaar is aan 't hart 
 
 Als dit ons huis, zoo oud en zwart. 
 
 Ik hoop, wanneer ik ben getrouwd, 
 
 Dat ik datzelvde huis, zoo oud, 
 
 Dat weerstand biedt aan weer en wind, 
 
 Bewonen mag met vrouw en kind. 
 
 7de November, 1907. 
 
 46 
 
-t- 
 
 'Het 'klingelen-klangelen* van de bel 
 Wordt wijd en zijd gehoord." 
 
HAAR AANGEZICHT IN DEN SPIEGEL 
 
 't Is Zondag morgen, warm en stil, 
 Geen windje koelt de wang; 
 Alom ontmoet ons in de lucht 
 Het schoone vogelen-zang. 
 
 Het "klingelen-klangelen" van de bel 
 Wordt wijd en zijd gehoord, 
 En spoedig wendt zich 't vrome volk 
 Te luisteren naar Gods Woord. 
 
 De banken zijn nog niet gevuld, 
 Slechts hier en daar maar een, 
 Wanneer de dienaar binnen stapt 
 Met def tigen gang en treen. 
 
 In een der banken, ver vooraan, 
 Zit iemand, zeer bemind 
 Door een die verder achter zit, 
 Haar allerbeste vrind. 
 
 Met kloppend hart zag hij haar aan, 
 Terwijl zij binnen trad; 
 En ook zijn oogen gingen dicht, 
 Terwijl zij neeg en bad. 
 
 De domine leest zijn psalm vers af. 
 En zit dan rustig neer; 
 En oogen, voor een tijd gesloten. 
 Die openen ook weer. 
 
 47 
 
De jongeling zoekt het versje ©p, 
 Hetwelk hij spoedig vindt; 
 Dan werpt hij eens een blik op haar 
 Die hij zoo zeer bemint. 
 
 Hij luistert naar het orgel-spel, 
 Hij kijkt naar de organist; 
 Maar, goede Hear! hij ziet iets meer, 
 Dat hij niet eerder wist! 
 
 Daar in den spiegel van het orgel 
 Ziet hij de witte hoed 
 Van haar, die hem zoo dierbaar is, 
 Zoo teeder, schoon, en zoet. 
 
 Vergeefs probeert hij zijn gehoor 
 Te geven aan de preek: 
 Hetgeen dat hem nu overkomt 
 Gebeurt niet iedere week! 
 
 Hij kan 't niet laten nu en dan 
 Zijn oog te vestigen 
 Op andere oogen, die hem vaak 
 Zoo zeer bemoedigen. 
 
 Ja, oogen als het hemels-blauw 
 Van eene wolkelooze lucht, 
 Die in hun rechte bUkken toonen 
 Van eerhjkheid de vrucht. 
 
 Haar hoofd is met een hoed bedekt, 
 Met blad en bloem versierd. 
 Zoo schoon als zelf s de mooiste roos, 
 Die in den bloem-gaard tiert. 
 
 48 
 
Gezondheid heeft haar wang gekleurd 
 Gelijk een pinke roos; 
 Natuur, en niet gepoederd stof , 
 Geeft aan haar wang dien bloos. 
 
 Ook nu, terwijl zij daarzoo zit, 
 , En in den spiegel kijkt, 
 Komt eene glimlach op haar lip, 
 Die hare schoonheid zeer verrijkt. 
 
 Het spijt hun dat de dienaar sluit: 
 Vol gaarne toef den zij ; 
 Maar neen, de kerk gaat spoedig uit, 
 Het eerste is voorbij. 
 
 Het laatste is het beste nog; 
 Daar buiten zien zij weer elkaar ; 
 Den groet gegeven, hand in hand, 
 Passeeren zij vandaar. 
 
 Toen zagen zij door eenen glas, 
 Nu aangezicht aan aangezicht; 
 Toen zagen zij wat tijdelijk was, 
 Nu in het blijvend licht. 
 
 Toen was het slechts een doode beeld, 
 Nu is het wezenlijkheid ; 
 Toen duurde het behoorlijk lang, 
 Nu voor een kleinen tijd; 
 
 Want spoedig kwam het scheidings punt, — 
 Maar, nog een laatste blik, 
 Eerdat zij geheel verdween, 
 Wier beste vriend was — ik. 
 
 Voorjaar, 1909. 
 
 49 
 
TWEE KATJES IN DEN KANSEL 
 
 Eene Ware Gebeurtenis. 
 
 't Is Zondag morgen, warm en stil : 
 Geen windje koelt de wang; 
 Alom ontmoet ons in de lucht 
 Het schoone vogelenzang. 
 
 Het "klingelen-klangelen" van de bel 
 Wordt wijd en zijd gehoord, 
 En spoedig wendt zich 't vrome volk 
 Te luisteren naar Gods Woord. 
 
 De banken zijn nog niet gevuld, 
 Slechts hier en daar maar een, 
 Wanneer de dienaar binnen stapt 
 Met deftigen gang en treen. 
 
 Wijd open staat elk' deur en raam, 
 Voor vlieg en vogel vrij ; 
 De leeraar heeft zijn preek bereid 
 Voor mensch en beest te zaam! 
 
 Hij geeft den kerkeraad een groet, 
 En stapt den kansel in ; 
 Gerust zet hij zich op zijn stoel, 
 En bidt reeds aan 't begin. 
 
 Hij staat en leest een psalmvers af, 
 Dat spoedig wordt gevonden; 
 De organist begint te spelen, — 
 De godsdienst is begonnen. 
 
 't Gaat alles goed en wel vooruit 
 Voor twee of drie kwartier, 
 De domine is al druk aan *t preeken, 
 Met geest en lichaam fier. 
 
 50 
 
Dicht bij de kerk, aan de rechter zijde, 
 Is eene appelhof, 
 
 V/aarin twee kleine katten spelen, 
 Hun kleuren zwart en dof . 
 
 Doch spoedig worden ze 't spelen zat,— 
 En aanstonds treft hun 't orgelspel, 
 Dat in hun ooren overtreft 
 Het ''klingelen-klangelen" van de bel. 
 
 Te zamen gaan ze op den weg, 
 
 Die naar de kerkdeur leidt; 
 
 Zij stappen dan het voorhuis binnen, 
 
 Al uit nieuwsgierigheid. 
 
 Bedwelmd door al die nieuwigheden, 
 Staan zij even bij elkaar ; — 
 Elk gaat zijn eigen richting in: 
 De zwarte hier, de doffe daar. 
 
 Eerst ziet het volk de katjes niet, 
 Die zachtkens binnen loopen, 
 En kijken alles wonderend aan, 
 Hun oogen zeer wijd open. 
 
 Maar als zij verder binnen treden, 
 Draait een bij een het hoof d, 
 Elk heeft een glimlach op zijn lip, 
 En meer is niet geoorloofd! 
 
 De diertjes gaan maar stadig voort, 
 Voorbij de banken nog: 
 Verbaasd, bedwelmd, nu staan ze stil: 
 "Wat is dit alles toch?" 
 
 51 
 
Juist voor hen staat een groote man 
 Te roepen en te praten, 
 Hij zwaait zijne hand, hij stampt zijn voet, 
 Als wil hij hen verjagen ! 
 
 Desniettemin gaan zij weer voort, 
 Zelf s bij de kansel trappen op ; 
 Een drietal op den preekstoel nu! — 
 Verbaasdheid stijgt ten top. 
 
 Het volk kijkt al den leeraar aan, 
 Die 't alles wel bespeurde, 
 En nochtans aan het preeken bleef 
 Als of er niets gebeurde! . 
 
 Vergeef s probeeren ze hun gehoor 
 Te geven aan de preek: 
 Hetgeen, dat hun nu overkomt 
 Gebeurt niet iedere week ! 
 
 De katjes staan een oogenblik 
 Elk aan zijn eigen zijde, 
 En staren met hun groene oogen 
 Op volk en leeraar beide: 
 
 Het gaat hun klein verstand te boven 
 Wat dit tooneel toch zij ; — 
 Zij stappen naar het midden toe, 
 En gaan elkaar voorbij. 
 
 Zij stappen van den preekstoel af> — 
 De domine staat alleen; 
 Dus eindigde het kort tooneel, 
 Dat toch zoo koddig scheen. 
 
 20 AprU, 1909. 
 52 
 
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EENE NAJAARS MEDITATIE 
 
 Geeindigd is de zomer, 
 En al zijn fleur verdwenen; 
 Vervlogen zijn de vogelen, 
 Die met zijn komst verschenen. 
 
 Ga met mij naar de velden, 
 Waar staat het rijpe koren; 
 Het schoon gezang des leeuweriks 
 Kan men daar niet meer hooren. 
 
 Ga met mij naar den appel hof : 
 Daar zien wij nu geen rood-borst, 
 Neen, niets dan doode bladeren, 
 Verkleurd door lichte vorst. 
 
 Gaan wij nu in de hooi-schuur, 
 En liggen neer in 't hooi-vak, 
 En kijken eens naar boven, 
 Wij zien iets onder 't dak: 
 
 Het is een nest van modder, 
 Door zwaluwen gebouwd; 
 Helaas! waar zijn de eigenaars? — 
 Vervlogen, jong en oud. 
 
 Het geeft ons stof tot peinzen 
 En ernstig overleg; — 
 Gelijk het gaan der vogelen, 
 Gaan vele kinderen weg. 
 
 Het leven is een jaargang: 
 De lente is de jeugd, 
 Wanneer het alles groeizaam is, 
 En alles vol van vreugd. 
 
 53 
 
De zomer van ons leven 
 
 Is vol van zwaren arbeid; 
 
 Wij zwoegen en wij streven 
 
 Tot 't naderen van den herfst tijd; 
 
 Dan rusten wij een weinig, 
 
 En leven van den schat, 
 
 Totdat wij 't stervens uur genaken, 
 
 "Oud, en der dagen zat." 
 
 Ik kende eens een huisgezin : 
 De kinderen waren zeven, 
 De ouders waren beide reeds 
 In 't najaar van hun leven. 
 
 De vader deed zijn dagelijksch werk 
 Alleen, en niet geheel tevreden : 
 Waar waren nu zijn groote zonen? — 
 Vertrokken naar de steden. 
 
 De jongste dochter bleef bij moeder, 
 Haar ouders tot een troost; 
 Zij was de eenigste tehuis 
 Van al het teeder kroost. 
 
 Zij was gelijk de musschjes, 
 Die altijd bij ons blijven, 
 't Zij zomer, herfst, of winter, 
 Toch nimmer van ons wij ken. 
 
 Gaf 't ons niet stof tot peinzen 
 En ernstig overleg? 
 Gaan ook, gelijk de vogelen, 
 Niet vele kinderen weg ? 
 
 Voorjaar, 1909. 
 54 
 
PETER LOQUACIOUS AND 
 WILLIAM THE SILENT 
 
 There once was a welltodo farmer 
 
 Who had ceased from his labors and toil, 
 
 And had left it all to his servants 
 
 To gather the harvests and till the soil. 
 
 Sturdy and strong were these servants, 
 Ever ready and willing to work; 
 Honest and true were they also, 
 And never their tasks would they shirk. 
 
 The older was always so quiet 
 (Now William was his name) 
 That all called him William the Silent, 
 Like the William of Netherland's fame. 
 
 The younger one^s tongue was so busy 
 (Now Peter was his name) 
 That some called him Peter Loquacious, 
 And we shall call him the same. 
 
 One night, when they went to a meeting 
 Which both of them always attended, 
 Loquacious returned not with William, 
 And William ne'er knew where he ended. 
 
 Next day, as they went to their labor, 
 And the work was in earnest begun, 
 "I'm going to town this evening 
 When all the work is done." 
 
 55 
 
Thus spoke Loquacious to William, 
 Who looked at him in surprise 
 And asked, "What for are you going?" 
 And upward glanced with his eyes. 
 
 But the face of Loquacious grew crimson 
 As he slowly made reply, 
 '*To buy me a linen collar 
 And a different kind of tie." 
 
 And when he came back from the village. 
 Where most of their shopping was done. 
 Loquacious had also a toothbrush 
 And several sticks of gum! 
 
 On this remarked William the Silent, 
 "Toothbrushes for ladies are. 
 And to chew on those sticks you have purchased 
 You are too old by far." 
 
 Then answered Peter to William, 
 "If others chew Rob Roy or Yum Yum, 
 Why ridicule me as childish 
 If I chew my sticks of gum ?" 
 
 Again, when that meeting was over. 
 Said Peter, still honest and true, 
 "I won't walk home with you this time, 
 I have something different in view." 
 
 "Do as you please," answered William 
 With a somewhat indifferent tone, 
 " Twill surely be lonely without you, 
 But still, I can walk it alone." 
 
 56 
 
Next day, as they worked in the beet field 
 And onward they patiently toiled, 
 Loquacious wore gloves o'er his fingers 
 That they might not by labor be soiled ! 
 
 But William disdainfully mocked him: 
 "Away with those bothersome things! 
 Those gloves are naught but a nuisance;" 
 And down Loquacious them flings! 
 
 Ashamed was he to confess there 
 The reason he virtually had 
 For thus protecting his fingers, 
 And so to his comrade he said, 
 
 "I know they are much of a bother. 
 And the truth I might just as well tell, 
 But since you yourself never wore them 
 How did you know that so well?" 
 
 "Today you are working more slowly 
 Than youVe been accustomed to do. 
 For today I keep up with you easily 
 Though by nature I'm slower than you." 
 
 Thus answered William to Peter, 
 Loquacious returned not a word. 
 And both labored on in silence 
 Until they the dinner bell heard. 
 
 At dusk their task was completed. 
 
 But their hands, through the toil of the day, 
 
 With mud and sap were discolored, 
 
 No water could wash it away. 
 
 57 
 
Alas for fastidious Peter: 
 Though he washed and polished away, 
 Though he scrubbed them hard with sapoHo, 
 Yet at last he sat down in dismay. 
 
 But old Father Time came to help him, 
 And after a few days were o'er 
 No trace was left on his fingers 
 Of aught that was on them before. 
 
 One evening this Peter Loquacious, 
 Since he loved to be tidily dressed, 
 Went with his suit to the tailor 
 To have it mended and pressed. 
 
 And when he returned to his comrade 
 There was on his finger what seemed 
 A precious diamond or jewel, 
 So in the sunlight it gleamed. 
 
 Poor William oft silently wondered 
 What force thus wrought in his friend 
 That made him indulge in these fancies. 
 Which he feared in folly would end. 
 
 One evening Loquacious supped early. 
 For that night he was going away. 
 But where he was going, or wherefore. 
 This he would rather not say. 
 
 Whither? my friends, do you wonder? 
 The mystery I'll shortly unfurl: 
 The cause of it all is found herein, 
 Loquacious had — a GIRL! 
 
 Autumn, 1909. 
 58 
 
FREAKS OF THE FROST 
 ON A WINDOW PANE 
 
 The dawning light of many a wintry morn 
 Presents most wondrous scenes, depicted by 
 The noiseless painter. On one window pane 
 We have a view of one whole nation: Here 
 Are cities beautiful, with shady trees ; 
 And smaller towns are interspersed among 
 The larger centers. All connected are 
 With railroad lines, some short and straight, 
 
 some long 
 And winding. Farther on, a vast expanse 
 Of treeless waste reveals a desert drear; 
 No beauteous sight Jack Frost has painted here. 
 
 Winter, 1912. 
 
 A LIMERICK 
 POOR CLASS SPIRIT 
 
 Whenever the class has a party. 
 Some members ne'er show themselves hearty: 
 
 But they ask, "What's the use?"— 
 'Tis their only excuse: — 
 Next day they recite like a smarty! 
 
 February, 1910. 
 59 
 
SONNET. 
 
 SORROW 
 
 Dread Sorrow! like a purging fire thou art, 
 Sweeping o'er all the land, and leaving few 
 Unscathed by thy fierce flame, which oft anew 
 
 Bursts forth, reviving all the poignant smart. 
 
 Chaste Sorrow! thou refinest many a heart, 
 Removing all the dross, leaving the true 
 And giving us a beatific view 
 
 Of Him who bade our friends from earth depart. 
 
 Kind Sorrow ! though our tender hearts may plain 
 For those we loved, whom long we mourn and weep 
 Though oft in vain for human balm we yearn. 
 
 Through thee we greater likeness shall obtain 
 To Him, the Man of Sorrows ; reverence deep 
 For Him shall grow ; our hearts within us burn. 
 
 From the Anchor of March, 1910. 
 
 60 
 
SORROW 
 
AUTHOR AT NINETEEN 
 
YOUTH AND SPRING 
 
 Spring ! how like to youth thou art ! 
 Now rejoicing fills the heart: 
 Fragrant, balmy is the air ; 
 Nature now seems young and fair, 
 Like a maiden in her teens, 
 Who devises every means 
 How she may delight her friends: 
 On her breast a red rose lends 
 Fragrance to the air around; 
 Or perchance a flower is found 
 Fastened in her tresses fair, 
 Adding beauty to her hair; 
 She's the cynosure of all, — 
 Many a heart doth she enthrall. 
 
 So doth Nature use her art 
 To enrapture every heart; 
 Lavishly her breath she yields 
 In the orchards, gardens, fields; 
 Never does she count the cost. 
 Yet she wastes not, — naught is lost. 
 Everywhere are odors sweet: 
 From the flowers at our feet. 
 From the blossoms on the tree, 
 Where the bustling, busy bee 
 Hums and buzzes by each sprig. 
 Darting oft from twig to twig; — 
 From the garden, where the rose 
 With the pink and pansy grows. 
 How delightful is their smell 
 Words like ours can scarcely tell. 
 
 61 
 
Beauteous prospects we discern 
 Wheresoever our look we turn; 
 Far away, the bluey haze 
 Turns our thoughts to halcyon days ; 
 Or when Helios hides his face 
 'Neath Horizon's wide embrace, — 
 His ethereal course all run. 
 And his daily duty done, — 
 Brilliant then becomes the sky. 
 Gorgeous colors greet the eye. 
 Such as dewy Iris wore 
 When upon the Libyan shore 
 She alighted, to release 
 Dido's soul at her decease. 
 
 Nearer by, the blossoming trees 
 Form a picture as one sees 
 Painted by no human hand: 
 Soft the mixture, mild and bland ; 
 Petals white, and buds of red 
 Rising from their downy bed. 
 And the leaves, soft, fresh, and green,- 
 All unite to make the scene 
 Equalled by no other sight — 
 Naught there is to mar or blight. 
 
 High above, some straggling cloud 
 Vainly struggles to enshroud 
 The delightful, cozy sun. 
 Who, his victory easily won, 
 
 62 
 
Blithe emerges from behind, 
 And again his smile most kind 
 Sends adown from his high throne 
 To the earth, all lovely grown. 
 
 Now, upon the joyful earth, 
 Carpets green, of priceless worth. 
 Greet us. Here are meadows wide, 
 With the dandelions pied; 
 There, a field of winter wheat 
 Smiling lies at Ceres' feet; 
 Yonder, clover, red and white. 
 Where the bees direct their flight. 
 Such is Nature's comely dress; — 
 Who would not this maid caress? 
 Who would not long hours spend 
 With this best and truest friend? 
 
 Youth! How much art thou like spring! 
 
 Now our souls delight to sing 
 
 Ditties soft, and songs of mirth, 
 
 While of gladness there's no dearth; 
 
 Life is now a pleasant dream. 
 
 Which with myriad joys doth teem. 
 
 Friends are many, foes are few, 
 
 Few are false, but many true. 
 
 All the youthful friendships made. 
 
 Afterward will seldom fade, 
 
 But their memory will cling 
 
 In our minds, and sweet thoughts bring, 
 
 63 
 
Even though we're sundered far 
 By relentless Distance' bar. 
 Happy we, if in these days, 
 When we walk in pleasant ways, 
 We acquire hosts of friends 
 Whose remembrance never ends. 
 
 Ah! how happy are those hours 
 When the children early flowers 
 Seek upon the hillsides green, 
 Where the air is mild, serene. 
 Hear the shrill, exultant cry 
 When a new one they espy 
 Hidden in some sheltered nook. 
 Then, with zeal renewed they look 
 For some others of its kind. 
 Leaving older flowers behind. 
 
 And ye schooldays, full of glee, 
 From all needless worry free, 
 What a host of joys ye give! 
 'Tis a pleasure then to live. 
 Every morning, fresh and bright, 
 Just to master and recite 
 Lessons from the thumb-worn page; 
 Or, with heart and soul engage 
 In the pastimes of recess; — 
 Homeward then at eve to press. 
 Loitering oft along the way, 
 Eager yet for still more play. 
 
 64 
 
Who can tell the joys of health? 
 Tis a, mine of untold wealth 
 Such as Pluto ne'er can give, 
 Though for years we slave and strive 
 To obtain his grudging gold. 
 Happy we, if we can hold 
 Mind and heart in due restraint, 
 Free from reckless Passion's taint! 
 Happy, if with scrupulous care 
 We protect this treasure rare. 
 Which was given us to use, 
 Not to waste in self -abuse! 
 
 All too soon, from dreams of youth 
 We must wake to higher truth; 
 Then, when simple joys are fled. 
 Be there deeper joys instead. 
 
 In our life, oh glorious spring! 
 May thy blossoms rich fruit bring; 
 May no killing frosts destroy 
 Any youthful buds of joy; 
 May no chilly, lingering rain 
 Overcloy the tender grain 
 Sown upon hope's fertile soil. 
 And our patient labors foil; 
 May we sow no worthless weeds 
 In amongst the precious seeds; 
 May our gardens always be 
 From unsightly rubbish free. 
 
 65 
 
Who would through life's springtime go 
 Ne'er enjoying flowers that grow 
 All along his pleasant path? 
 Pass absorbed, so that he hath 
 No delight in pleasures true, 
 No desire earth's joys to view? 
 Soon enough will come the day 
 And the year, when we shall say, 
 'If I could be young once more. 
 How much better than before 
 Would I spend each fleeting year!" 
 Prudence, be thou ever near. 
 Be our faithful, cautious guide, 
 Always walking by our side. 
 Climb with us the mountains steep, 
 Guard us from the chasms deep, 
 Show us every beauteous sight, 
 Till we've reached the giddy height 
 In the regions bright and clear. 
 Far above the storms of fear. 
 Far above the lightning's flash. 
 Far above the thunder's crash: 
 There shall be the final goal 
 Of each high aspiring soul. 
 
 Read at the Class-Day exercises of the class of 
 1910, Preparatory Department, Hope College. 
 
 66 
 
SWEETHEARTS 
 
 In my garden there's a melon 
 
 that I always like the best. 
 In its beauty, size, and flavor 
 
 it surpasses all the rest. 
 Though the others may be earlier 
 
 I never am in haste 
 To investigate their ripeness 
 
 or their lusciousness to taste: 
 If I ate of all the first ones, 
 
 which are never very sweet. 
 Later on the Sweetheart melon 
 
 would no longer be a treat. 
 Let the others eat the earlies, 
 
 be they bitter, small, or green, — 
 I shall fast until my favorite 
 
 has fully ripened been. 
 No more fasting then, but feasting, 
 
 every day until the end; — 
 Oh! the Sweetheart watermelon 
 
 is a very pleasant friend. 
 But alas! sometimes the thieves 
 
 dare lurk around at night. 
 And the rising sun next morning 
 
 shows a sorry, gruesome sight: 
 Green ones smashed to pieces, 
 
 and the ripe without a heart; 
 Some I find upon the roadway 
 
 scattered here and there a part. 
 If a righteous indignation 
 
 ever harbors in my mind 
 It is when I look for melons, 
 
 and my patch demolished find. 
 
 Late Summer, 1910. 
 67 
 
SONNET 
 
 A NEW YEAR'S MEDITATION 
 
 When I contemplate how I have defaced 
 
 The image of the year gone by, and spoiled 
 
 Its plastic form and features, now disgraced, 
 Disfigured, mutilated, marred, and soiled, — 
 
 With shamefacedness I seek myself to hide. 
 
 My harrowed mind is vexed with vain regrets. 
 
 My better nature doth severely chide 
 
 My carelessness, the sense of guilty besets 
 
 My troubled conscience. How dare I appear 
 Before my Master thus? — But now, behold! 
 
 He comes to me, and gives another year 
 
 For me with greater carefulness to mold; — 
 
 Resolves oft broken I again renew, 
 
 While He remains indulgent, patient, true. 
 
 New Year's, 1911. 
 
 68 
 
PSALM 121 INVERSE 
 
 Unto the mountains high, 
 
 To thee, Creator, King, 
 
 I, weary, lift mine anxious eye: 
 
 Help thou alone canst bring. 
 
 Thy foot from harm he'll keep ; 
 Jehovah slumbereth ne'er, 
 The God of Israel will not sleep: 
 On him be all thy care. 
 
 He is a grateful shade 
 From scorching rays at noon; 
 By night his mercy will not fade, 
 Though fade the stars and moon. 
 
 No evil shall befall 
 
 While God goes on before. 
 
 He'll keep thy life, thy soul, thine all, 
 
 Now and forevermore. 
 
 March, 1911. 
 
 69 
 
THE AMBITIOUS LUMP OF CLAY 
 
 I stood beside a river's bank, 
 Where was a bed of clay; 
 I saw a man who dug with spade, 
 And bore some clay away. 
 
 Long had it waited, hoped, and dreamed 
 That some day it might be 
 A cup or vase of beauty rare, 
 And now it sang with glee. 
 
 Although the grinding, pressing mill 
 Was painful, hard to bear, 
 The clay complained and murmured not: 
 It hoped a future fair. 
 
 I saw it placed above a fire, 
 
 It felt the burning heat. 
 
 By which 'twas hardened, scorched, and dried; 
 
 Now wa« its form complete. 
 
 A gardener placed it by a pond, 
 Its image it could see: 
 '*A homely, ugly, flower- pot! 
 No beauty is in me!" 
 
 It gave no heed while it was filled 
 With rubbish, mud, and dirt; 
 The feeling of disgrace was worse 
 Than all the burning hurt. 
 
 70 
 
The days now passed in gloominess, 
 No more it hoped and dreamed. 
 But pitied self, cast down so low, 
 Unbearable it seemed. 
 
 A dry and shriveled bulb was pressed 
 Into its heart of earth; 
 That bulb contained a germ of life. 
 That life was given birth. 
 
 A beautiful and tender plant, 
 
 An Easter lily pure, 
 
 Grew up and blossomed from the pot, 
 
 Its sadness soon to cure. 
 
 For it was carried to a church, 
 The pulpit to adorn, 
 And all was music, light, and joy 
 That sunny Easter morn. 
 
 The flower-pot no eyes despise, 
 But all with joy behold 
 The lovely blossom, pure and white. 
 With its bright heart of gold. 
 
 "They toil not, neither do they spin," 
 Someone was heard to say, 
 **Yet Solomon was never clad 
 In such a bright array." 
 
 71 
 
They brought it to a hospital, 
 The sick and lone to cheer ; 
 In many an eye new luster came, 
 Or glistened oft a tear. 
 
 Bewildered was the flower-pot: 
 It could not understand 
 Why it was softly, fondly stroked 
 By many a thin, white hand. 
 
 At last the secret was revealed, 
 
 A mirror told the tale. 
 
 It saw what from its heart had grown: 
 
 The lily, fair and frail. 
 
 No more it murmured, or desired 
 To be a costly vase. 
 Contented now with such a flower 
 Its lowliness to grace. 
 
 Far better than its fondest dreams 
 That lump of clay now lived; 
 With pride it held the fertile soil, 
 In which the lily thrived. 
 
 The Easter lily beautiful. 
 
 The lowly pot of clay, 
 
 Have brought good cheer to weary souls 
 
 Each in its own good way. 
 
 — This story of Henry Van Dyke was suggested 
 to the author by an article in the New Century 
 Teacher of March, 1911. 
 
 72 
 
"The lily, fair and frail" 
 
PRESIDENT EMERITUS 
 
 of 
 
 HOPE COLLEGE 
 
SONNET 
 
 ON THE RESIGNATION OF PRESIDENT 
 KOLLEN 
 
 Thou goest, yet reluctantly we part 
 
 With thee; we cannot calmly acquiesce 
 In this departure; thy kind watchfulness 
 
 And tender care endeared thee to each heart. 
 
 Thou goest, but thy noble soul must smart 
 
 To leave the youth whom thou didst richly bless 
 With counsels wise and warnings numberless ; 
 
 Nigh indispensable to us thou art. 
 
 And yet thou art not gone. Although deprived 
 Of thee, who after years of anxious toil 
 Retirest from the vast, oft traversed field. 
 
 We linger still where we have grown and thrived, 
 And oft when burdened with our mental moil. 
 We'll seek thy counsel with experience sealed. 
 
 From Anchor of June, 1911. 
 
 73 
 
PRESENTING A BIBLE TO A FRIEND 
 
 Eighteen Lines Written on the Fly-leaf of a 
 Bible Presented to a Friend on her Eighteenth 
 Birthday. 
 
 Friends from far and near are sending 
 Gifts today, and greetings kind; 
 This, of all those gifts, the rarest. 
 Best, most precious may you find; 
 Ties of friendship woven 'round us 
 May it still more closely bind. 
 
 Not for costliness nor beauty 
 Not for newness hold it dear: 
 'Tis the old and trusty Bible, 
 Changeless, faithful, ever near; 
 May it be your best companion. 
 Filling you with hope and cheer. 
 
 Tis a gift, in love presented. 
 
 Telling of a love divine. 
 
 Of God's love, eternal, holy. 
 
 Which can human love refine. 
 
 May that love, which passeth knowledge, 
 
 Sanctify your love and mine. 
 
 July, 1911. 
 
 74 
 
A PARODY ON HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY 
 
 IN ANTICIPATION OF THE COSMOPOLITAN 
 BANQUET 
 
 To go — or not to go! — that is the question: — 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
 The stings and arrows of unfeeHng ladies, 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
 And, by opposing, end them ? — To ask — be stung — 
 No more! — and, by refraining, say we end 
 The worry, and the thousand natural shocks 
 That would torment us, — 'tis a consummation 
 Devoutly to be wished. 
 
 To ask a friend, — 
 To ask! perchance be stung! — ay, there's the rub!- 
 For, in this delicate task, what ills may come, 
 When we dare make this hazardous attempt. 
 Must give us serious pause. There's the respect 
 That makes calamity of such a deed; 
 For who would bear the awful dread to ask. 
 Or, having asked, receive a scornful "No!" — 
 Endure the pangs of cold rejection, 
 The laughs of fellow students, and the thought 
 Of going friendless to the banquet hall, — 
 When he might easily prevent these ills 
 By mere inaction? 
 
 Who would wretched be. 
 To groan and sweat under such anxious thoughts. 
 But that the fear of losing the respect, 
 The estimation, and the high regard 
 Of fellow students, stimulates our grit; 
 And makes us rather undertake the risk, 
 Than suffer to be mocked as bashful cowards? 
 
 75 
 
Thus, social pride makes heroes of us all, 
 And thus the inward fear of cold refusals 
 Is overcome by firmer resolution; 
 Thus find we ladies, willing, glad, yea eager! 
 To spend with us a night of gayety: — 
 Thus, we attend the banquet. 
 
 January, 1912. 
 
 ORIGINAL TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 THE GREEK 
 
 DACTYLIC HEXAMETER LINES 
 
 FROM HOMER'S ILIAD 
 
 Sing of the wrath of Achilles, the great son 
 
 of Peleus, oh goddess ! 
 Wrath most destructive, that myriad woes on the 
 
 Achaeans inflicted. 
 Many brave souls of the valiant heroes hurling 
 
 to Hades, 
 Leaving their corpses as prey to the birds and 
 
 the canines voracious; 
 Zeus nevertheless his inexorable will and decree 
 
 thus accomplished, — 
 Sing of the doleful events that occurred since 
 
 there quarreled and parted 
 
 76 
 
Atreus' son the great ruler of men, and the 
 
 noble Achilles. 
 Who of the gods brought these heroes together 
 
 in loud altercation? 
 Offspring of Leto and Zeus. For, provoked by the 
 
 king, he inflicted 
 Noisome disease on the army, destroying the 
 
 innocent people, — 
 Angered, since Atreus' son Agamemnon had 
 
 rudely dishonored 
 Chryses the priest, who had come to the swift- 
 sailing ships of the Achaeans, 
 Seeking to ransom his daughter, and bearing 
 
 innumerable presents: 
 Chaplets he bore on a sceptre of gold of 
 
 far-darting Apollo; 
 All the Achaeans he entreated, but mostly the 
 
 people's two leaders: 
 "Atreus' sons, and ye other Achaeans well-greaved, 
 
 may the rulers 
 Dwelling on lofty Olympus permit you to sack 
 
 Priam's city; 
 Then to arrive home in safety ; but ransom 
 
 my daughter beloved, 
 Here is the price of the ransom: I pray you, 
 
 be pleased to accept it. 
 Holding in reverence the far-darting son of 
 
 Zeus, Phoebus Apollo." 
 
 Winter Term, 1912. 
 77 
 
THE SAME IN IAMBIC PENTAMETER 
 
 Sing, goddess, of the wrath, destructive wrath, 
 
 Of Peleus' son Achilles, which did bring 
 
 Upon the Achaeans countless woes, and sent 
 
 To Hades many valiant heroes' souls. 
 
 And made them prey for dogs and all the birds. 
 
 Although the will of Zeus accomplished was, — 
 
 When first the son of Atreus, king of men, 
 
 In quarrel from divine Achilles went. 
 
 What god brought them together to contend? 
 
 The son of Zeus and Leto. For, provoked 
 
 Against the king, he sent into the camp 
 
 An evil plague which carried off the folk. 
 
 Since Atreus' son had not in honor held 
 
 The priest of Chryse. To the Achaean ships 
 
 He came, his daughter's ransom to obtain. 
 
 With countless gifts and chaplets in his hands 
 
 From far-darting Apollo, on a staff 
 
 Of gold, — and all the Achaeans he besought, 
 
 But Atreus' sons especially, the two 
 
 Who led the troops : *'Ye sons of Atreus, 
 
 And other Achaeans, well equipped with greaves,- 
 
 May the gods of Mt. Olympus grant to you 
 
 To plunder Priam's city, and arrive 
 
 In safety home. Give me my darling child, 
 
 Accept this ransom, with due reverence 
 
 To Apollo, the far-darting son of Zeus." 
 
 78 
 
ODE TO APHRODITE 
 
 FROM SAPPHO; IN THE ORIGINAL SAPPHIC METER 
 
 Deathless Aphrodite! enthroned midst riches, 
 
 Child of Zeus, and weaver of wiles, I pray thee. 
 
 Sentence not my soul to satieties and 
 
 Sorrows, mistress! 
 
 Hither come, if ever at any other 
 
 Time thou answ'redst, hearing my voice afar off, 
 
 When thy father's home thou didst leave, the golden 
 
 Chariot thou mountedst; 
 
 Sparrows, swift and beautiful, brought thee hither 
 
 Over darksome lands from thy home in heaven. 
 
 Whirling wings of closely packed feathers through the 
 
 Midst of the ether ; 
 
 Straightway they arrived. Then,0 blessed, thou askedst, 
 
 Smiling with thy fair and immortal countenance. 
 
 Why I'd suffered time and again, and why so 
 
 Often I sought thee ; 
 
 Also what most strongly I wished my frenzied 
 
 Spirit. "Whom do you now desire that Peitho 
 
 Bring to you for fondest affection ; — who 
 
 Sappho, offends you? 
 
 Even if she flees, she will quickly follow ; 
 
 Gifts if she receives not, yet she will give them ; 
 
 If she loves not, quickly she'll love you, e'en though 
 
 She be unwilling." 
 
 Come to me e'en now, and from grievous troubles 
 
 Me release ; and all that my soul desires to 
 
 Have completed, end it, — and thou thyself shalt 
 
 Be my strong helper. 
 
 Spring term, 1912. 
 79 
 
A MYTH OF OSTORA, OR EASTER 
 
 Benignant Ostora, in ancient times, 
 
 Was hailed as goddess of the welcome spring ; 
 
 The folk who dwelt in wintry northern climes 
 
 Besought her warmth and fruitfulness to bring. 
 Each year she came, with birds upon the wing 
 
 Proclaiming her approach with joyful song, 
 
 Though often wintry blasts delayed her long. 
 
 Unaided she could not dispel the snow. 
 
 Nor break the fetters which held nature bound, 
 
 Nor cause the grass, the flowers, the trees to grow, — 
 For this, a willing servant soon she found — 
 The sun. With rays more warm he pierced the ground 
 
 Each morn he rose more early; and each night 
 
 He later hid his face, with glory bright. 
 
 Though Ostora each year the earth released 
 From winter's deadly grip and icy chain, 
 
 Another foe, more fearful, never ceased 
 
 To gripe her people with disease and pain. 
 For many a year no help could she obtain 
 
 To quell this mortal foe ; at length she found 
 
 A greater Sun, who did with strength abound. 
 
 Aroused by her, this Sun of Righteousness 
 Arose, as victor over death, — dread foe. 
 
 With healing in his wings, He 'gan redress 
 Man's fatal injuries, his heavy woe. 
 And light and life most glorious to bestow 
 
 On all. The name of Ostora we give 
 
 To the glad day on which He rose to live. 
 
 From The Anchor of April, 1912. 
 
 80 
 
SEPTEMBER 
 
 WHEN EVERYTHING'S JUST RIGHT 
 
 Welcome! thou month when everything's just right; 
 Now shade and sunshine both afford delight; 
 Now Summer's sultry, stifling heat has passed, 
 Not yet has come the chilly autumn blast. 
 Nocturnal frosts and constant showers by day 
 Have not appeared to make a permanent stay. 
 Of equal length are now both day and night, — 
 This is the month when everything's just right. 
 
 No heat or cold at night prevents our sleep, 
 
 Refreshing now our slumber, sound and deep. 
 
 No dust nor mud upon the road is found. 
 
 While soft, new grass again bedecks the ground ; 
 
 The orchard trees a heavy burden bear 
 
 Of luscious, mellow fruit, and still they wear 
 
 Their summer garb of leaves, fresh, green, and bright,- 
 
 All hail the month when everything's just right! 
 
 The hurry of the harvest days has ceased. 
 From sweat and toil the farmer is released ; 
 His barns are filled with plenty for his flocks 
 And herds. Next winter's month of need he mocks. 
 For on his farm he's grown a bounteous store 
 Of fruits and greenstuff s for his cellar floor. 
 The apples, melons, grapes, a tempting sight, 
 All crown the month when everything's just right. 
 
 81 
 
Now school-bells ring again their ''dong, ding, dong" 
 To call the children back where they belong; 
 Now mothers from a load of care are freed, 
 And teachers labor for their monthly meed. 
 Each student now resumes his proper place, 
 Refreshed and strengthened for the mental race; 
 Each one is eager to renew the fight 
 In this glad month when everything's just right. 
 
 Now pastors to their charges have returned 
 From summer trips and holidays well-earned. 
 Attending service wearies us no more 
 Since hot and sultry summer days are o'er. 
 Soon Autumn's chilly rains will come and go, 
 Soon Winter will be here with ice and snow. 
 September's days will soon have reached their height; — 
 Then farewell! month, when everything's just right. 
 
 First days of autumn, September, 1912. 
 
 (Voted into the Archives of the Cosmopolitan Society) 
 
 82 
 
MY CHRISTMAS GIFT 
 
 O soul of mine ! while angels sing 
 Their praises to the new-born King, 
 And mother Mary, meek and mild, 
 In awe adores her Holy Child, — 
 What canst thou do to voice thy joy? 
 Thine earthly notes would but destroy 
 The music of the heavenly song: 
 Thou canst not join the angel throng. 
 
 soul of mine! while Wise Men bring 
 Their tribute to the new-born King, 
 To Him their treasures they unfold, 
 Of myrrh and frankincense and gold, — 
 What worthy gift canst thou present? 
 Thou could'st but gaze in wonderment 
 And stand aloof with empty hand ; 
 Thou canst not join the Magi band. 
 
 My soul, I hear the clear air ring 
 With shoutings for the new-born King; 
 'Mong shepherds' voices, rude but strong, 
 'Mong these poor folk dost thou belong. 
 Go, join them quickly, for they haste. 
 No time for waiting will they waste ; 
 Behold the Babe; return, and raise 
 With them thy voice to God in praise. 
 
 From Anchor of December, 1912. 
 83 
 
A STUDENT'S GREETING 
 
 Each Hopeite*s heart was made to grieve 
 
 To see his former president leave 
 
 The side of Alma Mater; 
 
 For us who knew him when he left 
 
 'Twas bitter to be thus bereft 
 
 Of him, our Almus Pater; 
 
 His memory is with us still, 
 
 Though other men his place must fill. 
 
 For Alma Mater ever needs 
 
 A helpmeet at her side, who feeds 
 
 Her children, large and small; 
 
 She finds a man whose worth is sure. 
 
 Whose heart is sound, whose love is pure, 
 
 Who is true whatever befall; 
 
 He promises to be her stay 
 
 And both wait for the wedding day. 
 
 The days of test and trial sore 
 
 With manly fortitude he bore, 
 
 Victorious at last; 
 
 With joy we met, the high and low. 
 
 And saw him make the solemn vow. 
 
 By which his lot was cast — 
 
 Through years of stress to guide Hope's youth 
 
 In search of pure and priceless truth. 
 
 84 
 
AME VENNEMA, D. D. 
 
 President 
 
 of 
 
 Hope College 
 
As sons and stepsons welcome we 
 
 Hope's President our guide to be 
 
 Throughout our college days; 
 
 Obedient to his wish and will, 
 
 His heart with inward joy we'll fill — 
 
 He'll walk in pleasant ways. 
 
 While sons and daughters come and go, 
 
 Full streams of love 'round him will flow. 
 
 From Anchor of March, 1913. 
 
 W. G. 
 
 Through open windows sounds the voice of sprinQ 
 Ho^rf often do I pass a sleepless night 
 
 To hear the pied frogs' chorus que E^ly sing, 
 Or In the full moon watch the geese in flight. 
 No end of pleasure in the homBly sight 
 I find, when Legs and necks above me "honk!" 
 And curiously deviSe a letter right; 
 E'en when they've © isappeared from view, their "honk" 
 Re-echoes still within my Bars with "honk, honk, honk." 
 
 From the Anchor of May, 1913. 
 85 
 
THE SNOWFLAKES 
 
 Behold! great oaks from little acorns grow, 
 And mighty snowstorms from a flake of snow, 
 A storm so grievous that the mightiest force 
 On earth fights hopelessly against its course: 
 The locomotive with its powerful steam 
 Halts like a horse before a torrent stream, 
 When hosts of tiny crystals block its way: — 
 The strong still bows before the weak today. 
 While grownups dread the tiny snowflake's sight 
 And are rejoiced when again it takes its flight. 
 The youngster shouts for joy when it appears 
 And hails the wintry blast with happy cheers. 
 Out come the sleds, the coasting down the hills. 
 No matter if the frost the fingers chills. 
 And great the day when snow begins to melt, 
 When each live urchin can his fellows pelt 
 With balls. No less enjoyment does he find 
 In building forts of snow, whose walls behind 
 He seeks safe shelter from the enemies* shot. 
 Yea, never can we find a happier lot 
 Than when the myriad snowflakes flurry down, 
 When all the summer birds from us have flown, 
 When nature gives the children snow to mold 
 The image of a man. Then young and old 
 Delight to hear the merry sleigh bells chime. 
 Forget the rigor of our northern clime. 
 
 March, 1913 
 
 (The Bombast, of which this poem forms a 
 part, was voted into the Archives of the Cosmo- 
 politan Society.) 
 
 86 
 
JUN 2 1S13