COTTON= PICKER AND OTHER POEAS CAEX HOLL.IDAY 1 i 1! Copyright N". 'If? COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. THE COTTON-PICKER AND OTHER POEMS ^ S^^^fe^^fe^g^^a^^^;^^:S^^^^^-^»^;^^S« ;S£ 9^ The Cotton- Picker and Other Poems BY CARL HOLLIDAY AUTHOR OF "a HISTORY OF SOUTHERN LITERATURE" »^ 9^ 9^ 9^ 9^ NEW YORK AND WASHINGTON THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY 1907 ^ 9^ 9^ 9^ 9^ 9^ 9^ 9^ 9^ 9^ 9^ 9^ 9^ iWWWW^WWWWWWW^^WWWWWWWWWWWW 9*^ I UonAHY of CONGRESS j two Oooles Recelvecf ( OCT 2 i90r Ccpyrifht Entry GLASS A KXc, No. COPY B. Copyright, 1907, by The Neale Publishing Company CONTENTS Dedication The Cotton Dicker Morning Song Evening Song To THE South When Music Sounds Ambition A Lyric of Youth A Southern Summer A Southern Night At Eventide . Westminster Abbey Music .... Of Truest Love Old Age Sweet Evening Bell The Contrast A Toast to Spring . My Faith At Appomattox A Peace-Prayer To the Tw^entieth Century Woman For Every Tear Dedication for an Album The Stars The Young Man to His Soul An Old Man's Song 5 page 7 II 12 13 14 15 i6 17 i8 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 CONTENTS To Omar Khayyam The Cup of Life . The Prairie-schooner The Nation Builders They that Suffer Wondrous Love A Rrayer Memory's Jar My Ship The Answer . A Night Thought Life The Calmer Life Eternal Song Just for To-day The Light Some Day Beyond A Spring-time Hint November The Wise Prayer Love Liveth On The Culmination On Christmas Morn Heart-Songs Twilight Finis Vit^ PAGE 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 55 56 57 59 60 61 62 63 64 DEDICATION To youj my comrades, who have walked The path of shadows and of light; Who've heard my thoughts and to me talked In tones now silent as the night; Who've watched with me the morn of life. And gloried in its flush and glow; Who went with me into the strife And fell ere yet the sun was low — To you I dedicate each word. These short, faint notes of passage-bird. For we are as the birds that pass: We hover o'er the earth a space; A song or two amid the grass; And then a flight past time and place. We know not why nor when the hour; We only know that in the race Some pass more quickly to yon bower. But yet, we trust to see each face And know the voices we have heard. To you I dedicate each word. Thanks are due the Taylor-Trot wood Publishing Com- pany for permission to use poems which have appeared in Bob Taylor's Magazine and Taylor-Trotivood Magazine. THE COTTON-PICKER AND OTHER POEMS THE COTTON-PICKER Behold, amid the rows of gleaming white, The heedless negro sings, and stoops to pluck The fleecy boll. Beneath the glaring light Of Southern skies, all thoughtless of the luck That lifts or fells earth's kingdoms and her men, He onward goes across the far-stretched fields, And sings and bends and sings and bends again, Heaping the fluffy load. Oh, power that wields! What might this common worker of the soil Who grapples with th-e silent dust for bread Doth hold within those fingers! Stooped with toil, With every bend he spins a mighty thread That, reaching forth, doth hold the waiting earth In bonds as strong as is her common dearth! II MORNING SONG Sing, Spirit of Morning, sing! Spring forth from thy slumbers, spring! See the gold Now unfold ; Day doth begin. Shout, Spirit of Morning, shout! Earth's splendors are spread about. Far and wide. On ev'ry side, God's day comes out! Go, Spirit of Morning, go! Swift, e'en as the sunbeams flow! On them that sleep, On them that weep, Joy now bestow. 12 EVENING SONG Twilight and solitude And death of day; Calmness; an interlude Of star and gray. Silence and shadow-land And time of thought; Reckoning the fruit of hand The day has brought. Peace, yet regretfulness — The hand will stray — Father, in forgetfulness, Accept the day. 13 TO THE SOUTH So great a task, and yet so very few, Alas, to undertake the work anew! Too prone to be content with ancient ways; Too fond of thinking of the former days; While hill and mountain, mead and forest, all Cry, " Harvesters! " and wilderness doth call To wilderness. So little changed by thrift That Progress seems to ask, " Where is thy gift? " Too many words and not enough of deeds ; Long clinging to outworn social creeds. When shall we know our hidden power? Oh, when? The South hath need of men, of restless men. The heritage awaits! Where are the heirs? God grant we learn what unshamed Labor bears. 14 WHEN MUSIC SOUNDS When music sounds, soft grows the heart, And every weary soul apart From its thorn-strewn path doth steal, And, listening to the sweet appeal. Roams all enchanted by strange art. The deadly struggle of the mart, The shrieking engine, rumbling cart, No longer seem so madly real When music sounds. And o'er each stern, set face doth dart A kindlier glance, and tears oft start From hardened eyes that one would feel Would ne'er their soul's deep woe reveal. Ah, how the soul doth speak its part When music sounds! 15 AMBITION Hast thou ne'er thought of all the nameless dead Whom age on age hath laid in earth's dark bed ; The countless millions who did live and love And laugh and weep and worship One above; Who fought the fight and ran the self-same race Which led, as leads it now, to that vast space, Eternity? In blindness did they die And cease to be — as must both you and I. They felt the passions' impulse good and bad. And found life sweet and bitter, glad and sad; And yet each passing shower doth pelt their dust And mix it well to form a richer crust. My God ! I would not be as these. I crave A name remembered and a known grave! i6 A LYRIC OF YOUTH Youth is fleeting; Hear her greeting; Stop not for old Wisdom's speech. Sing the song now; Little's wrong now; Snatch each joy within thy reach ! Hearts are dancing; Eyes are glancing; Learn the lore that's taught by love. Let us haste now , Life to taste now; Earth hath joys unknown above. In the gloaming, Worn with roaming, Seek thou then some calmer joy ; But in youth now Learn this truth now: Languor doth the soul destroy. 17 A SOUTHERN SUMMER The hot air quivers; 'mid the drooping green Yon bird in silence gasps and views the scene With staring eyes. Afar the groaning mill Sends forth its multitudinous sounds that fill The air with heaviness, and send o'er all A stupor, — soothing, vague. Upon the wall The drowsy cricket dreams of winter-day, And speaks his thoughts. The day droops slow away. i8 A SOUTHERN NIGHT Afar the mountains loom through wreaths of smoke ; Beneath the moon the fields of cotton spread In ghostly gray: beyond, the marshes soak In darksome shadows, silent as the dead. And lose themselves amid the far-stretched haze. Near by, magnolias fill the languid air With rich and drowsy odor, while there strays, At times, far scent of burning pine. How fair And yet how full of awe the dim-spread scene! All Nature seems to wait some voice, some tone. And list! Behind yon heavy-woven screen The mocking-bird bursts forth as it alone Can sing, all wild, exultant, plaintive-sweet! The air is thrilled and seems alive with sound. Afar come answers soft, and echoes cheat The ear with lingering notes. Thus through the round Of hours the night glides on. Ah, rapturous night, Strained, listening, passion-laden night, why sleep ? Earth has no sweeter sounds, no stranger sight For him who doth thy balmy vigils keep. 19 AT EVENTIDE At eventide the shadows fall Athwart the field and cottage wall, And in the silence comes a call At eventide. And some one whispering by me bows With earnest kiss and earnest vows, A voice my soul with joy endows At eventide. Some eventide we'll roam away, And life shall seem one gladsome day; We'll live and love and cease to stray At eventide. Then, when the westward sun is low. When round us falls the winter snow, God grant that we together go At eventide. 20 IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY And now the groping evening shadows creep Along the deep, dark walls, and slowly veil The silent figures o'er the tombs. Afar The solemn organ rolls its mighty bass. And 'mid its pauses sound the dying tones Of vesper choirs. On every side the dead. What dead sleep here! Yet evenings come and go; And vesper choirs wail forth their prayer to God And go their way ; and men from strange far strands Gaze here in awe and pause to meditate; But these of other days sleep on in peace. 'Neath storied stone and urn and sculptured bust, And while the universal organ peals Its huge, far chords, reck not of time or fame. O God ! There is a voice within this- pile, Thy voice, and dimly through my soul I hear Its deep, deep tone: These dead died not in vain! From out the tomb they call to living men To do and dare and reap God's harvest ere He calls them to their storied stone and urn. The voices of the dead have wondrous power; For God hath chosen them to speak His cause; And here they dumbly raise a mighty cry. 21 MUSIC God gave to men the crude, rough power of speech, That, earthy, they might speak of earthy things; Then, filled with pity for their starving souls. He taught them Music, Heaven's native tongue. 22 OF TRUEST LOVE I pity him who in his heart Hath never felt the thrill, the start That comes from wounds of Cupid's dart Of truest love. I pity him who ne'er doth bow To one who doth with joy endow, And ne'er doth give a whispered vow Of truest love. For love and life are one, the same; — Then let men seek or wealth or fame, But ril go seeking in the name Of truest love! 23 OLD AGE Fear not Old Age. His face is grand, And calm, and tranquil, like a land That in its Summer-day and Fall Hath giv'n its fruits, its strength, its all. And now lies resting, while the snow. With kindly touch, spreads o'er it low A mantle white, and bids it sleep In slumbers soft, in slumber deep. 24 SWEET EVENING BELL Sweet evening bell! far down the stream The tones come stealing with the beam From slow departing sun and float Across the waters, while my boat Glides, rippling softly as a dream. So may my life's dim journey seem; When darkness gathers may I deem The last low call as sweet a note, Sweet Evening Bell. When far across the waters gleam The lights, may joy within me teem, And may it be as poets wrote Of those who, gliding in their boat, Passed on and heard, as in a dream. Sweet Evening Bell. 25 THE CONTRAST The tale of some men's lives is bitter-sad. Their souls are torn, and, quivering in their pain, They long for misery's sting to drive them mad. Alas, 'tis not to be; but they must feign A smiling face while shrieking fiends do crush The bleeding heart and w^ith their stormings hush The plaintive cry of sorrowing soul. Such men Look out upon the happy world and then Back to the den of turmoil black within, And in their horror do some desperate sin In hope that they may live and happy be. Alone, unloved, in darkness out to sea Their bark goes forth, and while the surges boom They fade away in ominous, threatening gloom. The tale of some men's lives is joyous-glad. They smiling go among their countless friends And sing and laugh; their souls are never sad, While man on every hand with homage bends. Sweet fortune looks with pleasure on their path, And, roaming 'mid its shades in careless glee. Nor want nor woe doth bring a tear, nor wrath Of destiny destroy the harmony. Their faces glow with peace, with deep content. While age draws near, like pleasure-laden dreams, And silvery hair adorns the head, unbent. With reverent glory like to Heaven's beams. Their lightsome boat frees softly from its bond. And gazing friends speak low of peace beyond. 26 A TOAST TO SPRING A mist is on the hill, And a laugh is in the rill, And I hear a bird a-singing in the wood, ho! And across the changing sky Clouds forever, ever fly, And my heart would not be heavy if it could, ho! The green is on the tree^ — • Ah ! it fills my soul with glee ! And it's O I wish the Spring could be my bride, ho ! For the wintry, wintry day Brings old Sorrow and his gray, And the smile of Spring alone can him deride, ho! Yonder plodding farmer-lad Sings a song, ah me, so glad, That I know he must be wooing — not the Spring, ho! But a lass, alas, may be Like a storm upon the sea. While sweet Spring believeth every man her king, ho! Then, a health, my fairy Spring! May you make my soul to sing Till I hear no more the bird-note in the wood, ho! And when I have gone my way Let them love you then that may And shout their song of joy, as they should, ho ! 27 MY FAITH I cannot see that realm, mystic, far. Where souls and angels dwell, and naught doth mar The beauty of the harmony. Perhaps It thus may be, and far across the gaps Of Time and Death there stands this calmer land Where never sorrow's tears are seen, and grand The souls, rejoicing, sing a rapturous lay. Perhaps 'tis thus, but I, poor one of clay, Must place my hope in earthly things and look For my Creator's proof in that vast book Of Nature spread afar. I have no creed. But in the dirt, the stone, the clod, the weed. In every flower and tree that through the sod Climbs upward toward the sky, / see my God. 28 AT APPOMATTOX What shall we say? Was it at last defeat That leader of the weary army gained? When those two knights of North and South did meet Upon that final field with blood so stained, Was one the vanquished, one the victor there? O patriots, no; on that sad day of peace There was no sign of conquest anywhere, But only two great hearts content to cease The strife and live at peace, the battle done. And who was greater of the twain that day? Ah, ask not that. One lost, the other won ; Each followed his ideal all the way. It matters little if we win not goals. But much how goals are kept before our souls. 29 A PEACE-PRAYER God of the nations, Thou who hast In ages past Thy causes won Through War's all-desolating blast, Grant that henceforth Thy will be done Through Peace and all her gentle arts, Through mutual faith and kindly hearts. God of the nations, see afar Thine ancient world one bloody field! Behold, a myriad sleeping are, Where oft Thy cause to arms appealed! There is no spot of Earth where Cain Hath not bestowed his bloody stain. God of the nations, hear our prayer! Thy people for deliverance call. Unmask the glitter and the glare; Teach us the folly of it all. Then shall we live and know Thy law, Its meaning, and obey in awe. 30 TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY WOMAN Just for a little while thou hast gone mad, Waiving the right of gentle motherhood, And flaunting at the love that made all glad The hearts of other days. In search of good Hast thou, O misled one, in howling streets And roaring marts and sharp-eyed gamesters, found The joys of liberty and freedom's sweets? Hast thou found peace in mannish honors gowned ? O gentle soul of woman, seeking far In troubled domains for thy heart's content, To thee, oppressed, full many an evil star Its toil and pain and tyranny hath sent. But, lo! when freedom comes wilt thou release Thine ancient realm of holy love and peace? 31 FOR EVERY TEAR Be calm, my heart, thou hast moaned enough! Though earth may vex thee with its guile ; Though 'neath thy cross the way be rough; For every tear there is a smile. Thou know'st not what the morrow brings; There is a peace between each trial; Perhaps my soul to-morrow sings! For every tear there is a smile. 32 DEDICATION FOR AN ALBUM Mute Mem'ry, softly pointing one, To thee we dedicate our book, In hopes when strenuous days are done Thou'lt linger by us while we look Into these pages of the past, And dream of that long-vanish'd day When gnawing sorrows could not last. And unawares the hours slipped 'way. Be with us then, and as we go Aback the long road, mile by mile. Help meet the faces we did know ; Change every tear to sweetest smile. We'll hear the murmuring voices dim; The tones that long ago forsook Will come like some inspired hymn: — To thee we dedicate our book. 33 THE STARS Is the night not a looking-glass For earth below: The stars the souls that pass Forever to and fro? Some souls with passion burn — Each a glittering star; Some, calm in virtue stern, Gleam cold afar. The few in splendor glow — Some, soft as love; But each is a heart below Reflected above. 34 THE YOUNG MAN TO HIS SOUL ''Life's a joke." "Life is real! Life is earnest!" Oh, the voices of the ages! They that speak from out the pages Of the Books of Time, the sages. Oh, the voices! Oh, the voices! From all times and ancient places. From immortals of all races. All whom Genius with her graces E'er hath blessed with her embraces. Some cry to me: " Rest you! Rest you! " Some speak: " Adam's curse has blest you; By your works your God shall test you." Oh, the voices! Oh, the voices! This one warns me: *' Life is fleeting; Sip joy's cup, all pleasures greeting." Comes an earnest voice entreating: " Work while youth's strong blood is beating ! my soul! what voice shall guide me? 1 know not; thou must decide me. See, the Babel doth deride me! Oh, the voices! Oh, the voices! They have lived, and they have known; Thy have reaped what they have sown. Can I else but, as God leads it, Live each hour as that hour needs it? 35 AN OLD MAN'S SONG O shattered dreams that once did live and glow, And now lie 'mid the woe and gloom of years, What raptures did ye in those days bestow Whilst yet we built our castles tiers on tiers, Ere ye did diel O shattered dreams that perished one by one, And left but bitter memories in your stead, How dark hath grown that once so valiant sun Which then we followed, fearless, where it led, Without a sigh! O shattered dreams, ye know there is no hope Where visions cease to warm the fainting heart; When 'mid the sickening din of mortal strife No far, sweet, whispering voices joy impart, 'Tis best to die. 36 TO OMAR KHAYYAM Omar, if I might live and sing like Thee A Song that to the Centuries would be The Spring of Tears and Smiles and deep, deep Thought, Then gladly would I drink Death's Cup — with Thee. Oh, Brother, surely Thou hast sung aright! The Potter shaped us with His Love's own Light; He will forgive the Weakness of the Clay: Else let me sleep — with Thee — th' Eternal Night! 37 THE CUP OF LIFE The cup that to my lips is prest Is often bitter to my soul; But, ah, I sip it, smiling, lest I taste no sweetness in the bowl. Each day the sweetness seems to grow; Some taste of bitterness is gone; I find more peace within the flow Of this strange bowl, as time goes on. Some day beyond — I know not when — ■ I hope to drink with naught of strife ; — The last deep draught all sweetness then — And then — farewell, strange cup of life ! 38 THE PRAIRIE-SCHOONER All day the creeping caravan Wound on its serpent-trailing way; A thousand miles of wind-swept tan, A thousand miles of cloudless gray. Beneath the quivering summer-heat The prairie-schooner creaked afar; Some day, some time, the trail would meet The Setting Sun, the Golden Bar. The course is done; the servant old Long stood in shivering rags, and gazed Upon the mansions built of gold; All wondering, by their splendor dazed. The course is done; yet on and on Beyond Time's wavering shadow-line The prairie-schooner long has gone, Forsaken, lost, with ne'er a shrine. 39 THE NATION-BUILDERS (On seeing Remington's "Snow-Bound Christmas on the Overland Coach.") See! far, unending, stares the desolate waste, In silence fearful. Calmly, without haste. The darkness of the winter-day creeps on, Nor smiles nor boasts the ghastly victory won, But, all unheeding, steals across the deeps Of snow. With bowed head the driver sleeps And shall not wake. His patient steeds heed not The wind's far moan and drift; but, all forgot. With him they sleep the long, long sleep of death. No movement anywhere — O God! no breath. No breath of life! No path, no friend, no foe; Dark day and night alone the secret know. So sleep these heroes of unheralded strife. Fameless, they died to give a nation life. 40 THEY THAT SUFFER I saw an ancient singer once; his beard Swept waving o'er his shrunken breast; his eye In blindness smiled as though he never feared The darkness blank. He sang right merrily. Hast thou ne'er seen a singer blind? The earth Is filled with them ; they roam abroad with brow All calm, and smile, though suffering from their birth Till death. Thou hast not seen? They pass thee now! 41 WONDROUS LOVE The eyes and ears of Love are wondrous sharp They see the hidden secrets of the soul ; They hear the soundless music of its harp ; And, seeming here, in Paradise they stroll. Enraptured there! 42 A PRAYER Let me but live. The earth, the sea, the sky, The far-spread scene, the teeming, roaring street, Just these are Heaven enough for me! Ah, why Should man the Earthly spurn with scornful feet And sing of joys beyond? Each morning brings A wondrous beauty, past the ken of soul ; Each noon with life doth throb, loud Labor sings ; The night descending calmly crowns the whole And whispers low — ah me, too low, alas! — That Earth is Heaven, if we but wish it so. With eyes all blinded, on and on we pass. E'en mourning that we linger here below! A thousand years would God to me might give; For Earth is Heaven, if we but truly live. 43 MEMORY'S JAR Ah me, my Soul, the years have fled Away as flee the clouds afar, And with them, too, for aye hath sped Full many a joy that, like the dead, Lives only where sweet memories are. And yet, when evening shadows tread Along yon sunset's shining bar, Oft are my thoughts with memories fed. As one who opens, fortune-led, Some olden, long-closed, perfumed jar. Then come the fragrant days long dead. That, like the crushed leaves in the jar. Call back those forms that, though long fled, Methinks yet in their musings tread Beyond this bar and evening star. 44 MY SHIP There's a wondrous ship on a distant sea, On the sea of the far Some Day; It has wandered long; — oh, what joy there shall be When my ship comes home to stay! There are crowns and gems in this ship of mine, And treasures in vast array: Oh, my soul shall rejoice as with royal wine, When my ship comes home to stay. Long lost on the waste of the ocean far. Oh, many the weary day! God grant that I be at the harbor bar When my ship comes home to stay. 45 THE ANSWER You ask me why I've grown cold And do not beam, As in the rapturous days of old, With love's first gleam. You speak of love now faithless, dead; Of how I uttered, passion-fed, Sweet words that falser were, instead. Than you could dream. I answer only this: that when I long had sought, I found in you my idol then (Or so I thought), But when I learned that by false art Your noble features did impart A beauty found not in your heart, Ah, havoc wrought! 46 A NIGHT-THOUGHT Just now my child, awaking from its sleep, Tossed restless, longing for the dark to cease, Then, groping, grasped my hand and, sighing deep, Slept soon in peace. Just so, O God, while runs day's golden sand I from Thy presence boldly seek release; But, ah, in night's black gloom I grasp Thy hand, And rest in peace. 47 LIFE A few dreams, and the day is o'er; A little yearning at the shore, A deep, deep hope that our souls may soar Ere day is done. A few greetings on the way, A little wonder that so few may Along the journey with us stay Under the sun. A wondering gaze toward the misty hills, A moment's lingering near pleasant rills. And then the climb ere the night-dew chills On the peaks unwon. And then the heights and the far, vast view, A wistful look back the valley blue, A peaceful gaze down the pathway new. And a setting sun. A silent prayer that for weary feet The way be smooth, and that yet we may meet A comrade or two whom we did greet In the course begun. A wandering on 'neath shadow and star, A tear, and a snatch from an old, old bar; Then the glimmering lights of the homeland far. And the course is done. 48 THE CALMER LIFE '' God helps them that help themselves " ; But to the patient soul that waits And calmly labors, free from hates, He gives a beauty and a life That grant a calm past all the strife Of him who delves. What need of this unceasing cry For worldly praise, for worldly pelf? Enough to live and know thyself. 'Twere better that ambition starve And pass without a name to carve, Than soul should die. 49 ETERNAL SONG When the poet dies His song lives on In the tearful eyes Till eyes are gone; And still it lives When the soul has fled. And comfort gives To the living dead. 50 JUST FOR TO-DAY The rose that blushed this morning fades ere night; Yon bird that sings may ne'er again be near; A few brief hours — and darkness follows light; The joys of yesterday no longer here; The pains of morrow hidden from my sight; Thy lesson, O my Father, is so clear: " Just for to-day." Since, then, my fortune cometh part by part, This hour a joy, the next a weary care ; Not knowing through what trials my waiting heart May have to pass, be this my only prayer: " I do not ask to shun Life's pain and smart ; But give, O Father, what my strength may bear Just for to-day/' 51 THE LIGHT I read in books of that great Spirit's might Who, speaking, caused from chaos earths to roll; I heard men tell of how the darkest night Is torn by him from ofi the mourning soul; All this I saw and heard, but never light Upon my darkness stole. I stood beside the ocean where afar The mountains raised in misty calm their crown; I felt the roaring surge beneath me jar; While from their heights of peace the peaks looked down ; All this I saw and heard, and, like a star, A light within me shone. 52 SOME DAY BEYOND Some day beyond — I know not when — My soul shall flee the haunts of men, Shall close its house and shut the door, And leave all bare the walls and floor. And silently, in darkest night. Shall wander far beyond man's sight — Some day beyond. Some day beyond it thus shall be, And men at morn shall pause and see The house all gloomy, dark, and lone. Naught there but piteous, silent stone. And, peering in, shall start and stare And wonder why I went — and where — Some day beyond. Some day beyond they'll come that way, Tip-toeing 'round the old home gray. And whisper soft, as though in fright: " The old soul went away last night. Poor heart, he was a curious man! " And thus they'll speak what good they can Some day beyond. 53 Some day beyond — ah, then too late — There'll be soft words and none of hate; But, oh, my soul ! that I might hear, Ere going forth, these words of cheer. Then should I grasp the hands of all, And leave — but not in night's dark pall — Some day beyond. 54 A SPRING-TIME HINT The clouds are drifting far above; 'Tis Spring-time, love! 'Tis Spring-time, level Adown the meadow by the brook The tender grass begins to look, And with its trembling arms to shove. 'Tis Spring-time, love! 'Tis Spring-time, love! The wavering breeze calls from above, " 'Tis Spring-time, love! 'Tis Spring-time, love! ' Amid the shadow and the glint (Pray, love, forgive the Spring-time hint) I saw a dove build with a dove. 'Tis Spring-time, love! 'Tis Spring-time, love! uurU 55 NOVEMBER A gray-brown field and a misty hill, A deepening shadow in every rill, A calm, and, lo, from all around A strange, far sound. A gathering-in of the fruit of hand, A sighing for rest in the weary land, A haze of smoke, and the leaves' dry heap For things that sleep. A psalm to God and a prayer that He The guardian of our harvest be, That we may midst the winter's roar Find joy in store. 56 THE WISE PRAYER 'Tfs said that in the mystic former days, When God and men did hold a closer walk, Mahomet, strolling in the evening rays (All weary of his teachers' learned talk), Was pondering deeply o'er the days to come, And wondering what to him would be life's sum, When suddenly, amidst the falling gloom, Behold ! a mighty light and wave of air. And, starting back, he saw before him loom An angel, great of form and wondrous fair. The angel spoke: " Mahomet, since thy way Is free from guile, thou hast in Allah's eyes Found grace exceeding. This He bids me say: ' Pray thou the wisest prayer thou canst devise. And it shall come to pass! * " Long, long in thought Perplexed, Mahomet stood, and long he sought For words. At length he raised his eyes above: " I do not ask for wealth or lore or jame. But show me, Lord, the work I most do love And grant to me to do it, void of shame! " 57 Mahomet ceased; the angel, wondering, spoke: " Thy prayer is granted, youth ; for it is wise. Each soul of all this struggling folk Hath sure some work that it might prize Above all other things. But, ah, how few E'er found their task — the very task they knew They loved past wealth and fame and earthly praise! " The angel went, and 'midst the evening murk Mahomet walked alone. And all his ways Were ways of peace: for he had found his work. 58 LOVE LIVETH ON Love liveth on. Swift fadeth every night and day; The earthly kingdoms pass av^ay; The might of pride moulds in decay; Love liveth on. Names mingle with the dust they wrought ; The beauty that great Art begot, The lore, the sage, all now are not: Love liveth on. Love liveth on. The story told in days of old To blushing maids by warriors bold Hath lost no charm nor e'er grown cold ; Love liveth on. Amid the pain and care of earth, So much of woe, such lack of mirth, See: there is e'er one thing of worth: Love liveth on. 59 THE CULMINATION The stars shine forth by night, The sun by day; Dim each glimmering light, But one great ray. So be my deeds, though small. That, filled with love. Death's morn beholds them all A Sun above. 60 ON CHRISTMAS MORN On Christmas morn long years ago A manger, lit with heavenly glow, Served for a youthful mother's bed. And 'round that lowly couch, 'tis said, An angel throng did come and go. The mystery of it all, I know. Has baffled Learning's pompous show, But still the old, old story's read On Christmas morn. And many a Christmas morning's snow Has crowned with white this world of woe; But still the angel throng is led Where'er lies in a mother's bed A gift like that God did bestow On Christmas morn. 6i HEART-SONGS My soul sings not in this late day As once it did in gayer years; Less oft along the clouded way The heart-song cheers. Is it my song? Is it my soul? That I no longer go my way With singing heart all free from dole The live-long day? God knows. I only know 'tis so, Yet pray that in the last, long way Some heart-song still may with me go On that dark day. 62 TWILIGHT In every perfect day there comes, Between the sunset and the dark, An hour when all the moaning hums And mortal strivings, raving, stark. Are sunk to rest, and all is calm. 'Tis then — sweet moment of the day — The great deep shadows creep afar And from the dim hills steal away All ruggedness — all scars that mar; And earth seems but a silent psalm. In every perfect life there comes Between the market and the tomb. Ere yet the long, long sleep benumbs. An hour when Calmness doth resume Her ancient seat beside the soul. Then all the hills of memory Loom forth in softest shadows deep, From rugged wounds and scars so free The Past seems but a dreamful sleep, The Now a waking at the Goal. 63 Z 130 FINIS VITJE Here on the embers of my fire I gaze and see the ashes fall In silence, one by one, till all Have heaped the pyre. Here on the embers of my life I gaze and see each feeble power Fade noiseless with the passing hour To rest from strife. And, yet, no murmur of complaint; For, like the embers of this fire. Some gleam of warmth did I inspire Ere I grew faint. And once more to my mother, Earth, Shall I, too, like these embers pass To join the universal mass Awaiting birth. 64 ^ . RRARY OF CONGRESS 015 938 361 ^